Creak.
Me and Yuka stopped our bikes in front of a hole-in-the-wall shop about ten minutes away by bicycle.
The name of the shop was…
‘Hanaya?’ It was a flower shop.
I thought for a second that we’d come to the wrong place, but soon realized it was my mistake.
The sign read Hanaya (花屋), but in the corner, it also said Hanaya (ハナ屋) in different lettering.
Probably some kind of pun, their own little joke.
While I was thinking that, -Slide.
Yuka had already opened the door and gone inside.
“Takuya.
You coming in?” “Ah.
Right behind you.” Following her inside, the shop had a pretty nostalgic vibe.
More like the kind of old-fashioned charm that stirred up fond memories.
‘Feels like a place where I’d remember the taste of snacks from in front of my elementary school.’ Of course, this place looked way older than anything I remembered.
I thought that to myself as I looked around carefully.
The shop was stocked with all sorts of ingredients and snacks.
And among them, one item in the corner especially caught my eye.
It was Umai Stick.
Umai Stick is one of Japan’s most iconic snacks—think something like chakanin for reference.
Or so I read on a wiki once.
Eh, if that’s wrong, you’re right.
‘Looks tasty.
Should I ask her to get me one?’ I’d never tried Umai Stick before, so I was curious about the taste and debated buying one.
‘But isn’t this kinda too ero for a request?’ Still, asking someone who wasn’t even my mom the day after possession for something like that felt a bit off.
So while I was waffling over whether to ask for it or not, “What’re you staring at so hard?” Yuka came over to me as I was intently eyeing the Umai Stick, grabbed my shoulder, and peered at what I was looking at.
I casually pointed at the Umai Stick with my finger, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, Umai Stick?
It’s been forever.
I ate a ton of these back in school.” Saying that, Yuka picked one up and examined it from every angle.
Very seriously, too.
After inspecting it for a good while, she nodded and said, “Hmm~ Yeah, hasn’t changed a bit.” With that, Yuka grabbed a handful of Umai Sticks.
I was about to say something in surprise when, she flashed me a bright smile and said, “Good stuff’s better when shared, right?” I nodded without thinking at that smile, and pleased with my answer, Yuka ruffled my hair.
“Good boy!
Alright, let’s grab the soy sauce Ayaka mentioned and some snacks.” “Okay.” She pulled her hand away from my head, but strangely, the warmth lingered.
Not in a weird way, of course.
Just…
‘Feels familiar.’ Probably just an illusion from how unfamiliar someone touching me like that had become after so long.
Yeah.
Gotta be.
After that, we picked out soy sauce, snacks, and ice cream for the walk back, then headed to the counter.
And called out to the owner inside.
“Granny Haruna!
Come out here!” The owner of Hanaya was a 70-year-old grandma.
Her husband had died in the war.
Apparently, the unit he got drafted into was the one with that infamous Mutaguchi, and he got thrown straight into the disastrous Imphal Operation and never came back.
No compensation, either, naturally.
That’s why Granny Haruna hates the Japanese government.
This was way too much info.
Granny Haruna wasn’t coming out, so I’d rummaged through Takuya’s memories and ended up blurting out all this useless trivia.
‘No, seriously, why isn’t she coming?
Something wrong?’ Yuka also found it odd that Granny Haruna wasn’t appearing and started toward the room behind the counter.
That’s when, -Slide.
The door behind the counter opened, and someone burst out.
Not Granny Haruna.
“Yaaawn…” A young woman in gym clothes, with messy hair and glasses, yawning hugely.
She wasn’t just young compared to Granny Haruna—she looked fresh out of college, like a brand-new working adult.
Caught off guard by the sudden young woman, Yuka asked awkwardly, “Who are you?” The woman stopped yawning and answered casually, “Haruna Michiko here~yo.
Granny Haruna’s granddaughter, college student~yo.
On break from uni, so part-timin’~da.” Her super-detailed explanation left me and Yuka just nodding along.
She must talk to customers like this all the time—words came pouring out like machine-gun fire.