Time to read: 5–10 min
3:00 AM. The convenience store on a back alley of the entertainment district emitted a bright, artificial glow, like a submarine left behind in the deep sea.
“Welcome.”
Matching the sound of the automatic doors opening, Taichi tossed out a flat, monotone greeting from behind the register. This was his fifth year working the graveyard shift. He was twenty-nine. The dream he once held of “becoming somebody” had long since been tossed into the trash can in the backroom. Now, he just traded his time for a thousand yen an hour, living colorless, transparent days just to earn enough for rent and utilities.
The customer who walked in was his regular.
She looked about fifteen or sixteen. Her dyed blonde hair had grown out, leaving dark pudding-like roots, and she was wearing a thin, out-of-season jacket. On her feet were cheap platform sneakers with worn-down heels. The fake tote bag with a massive brand logo on it was always slightly dirty. She was one of the runaway girls who had been gathering in this area in recent years, relying on social media hashtags—one of the so-called “Toyoko Kids” or “Gurishita Kids.”
Upon entering the store, the girl would always head straight for the cheap sweets aisle without hesitation and pick up just one of the cheapest, individually wrapped thirty-yen chocolates. Then, she would pay at the register and pretend to browse the magazine rack, standing perfectly still to bathe in the warm air blowing down from the air conditioner above.
“Thank you,” Taichi said, glancing at her as he rang up the purchase.
She looked paler than usual today. Her lips were a dirty shade of purple, and she was shivering slightly. If he followed the manual, he should call out, “Please refrain from browsing for extended periods,” and kick her out. Drunks, the homeless, and youths with nowhere else to go gathered at late-night convenience stores like moths drawn to light and warmth. If he took pity on every single one of them, he wouldn’t survive this job.
Yet, Taichi said nothing and stood in front of the door leading to the backroom. It was 3:15 AM. Time to check the expired bento boxes—commonly known as “haiki.”
He scanned bentos and deli items that had passed their expiration dates a few hours ago, tossing them into a large trash bag. Hamburger bento, spicy cod roe pasta, pork cutlet bowl. They were all still perfectly edible, and would be delicious if warmed up. But corporate rules were absolute. To prevent food poisoning risks and employee theft, throwing away the waste was strictly mandated. The security cameras were always blinking, too.
Taichi paused just as he was about to tie the trash bag shut. The girl’s back, visible through the glass, looked so incredibly thin and frail.
“…I’ll be fired if they find out.”
Muttering softly to himself, Taichi slipped into the shadow of a display rack, out of the security camera’s blind spot, and snatched a “Special Fried Chicken Bento” from the wastebasket. He tossed it into the commercial microwave and hit the “Warm” button. In the dead silence of the late-night store, the hum of the microwave sounded exceptionally loud.
With a ding, hot steam rose from the plastic container. Taichi placed it in a fresh plastic bag, adding a new pair of disposable chopsticks and a wet wipe. Then, pretending to take out the trash, he opened the backroom’s side door and stepped out into the alleyway where the cold night wind was blowing.
Taichi casually placed the warm bag on top of the air conditioning unit right next to the door.
When he returned inside, the girl was still standing in front of the magazines. Taichi pretended to mop the floor, edging closer to her. As he passed by, he mumbled softly while keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“Back door. On top of the AC unit.”
The girl’s shoulders jumped with a start. Taichi said nothing more and retreated to the backroom.
Ten minutes later. Checking the security camera monitor, the girl was gone from the magazine aisle. When Taichi cracked the back door open to peek outside, the plastic bag on the AC unit had vanished without a trace. However, left behind was the wrapper from the small chocolate she had bought earlier, carefully pinned beneath a small pebble so it wouldn’t blow away in the wind.
From then on, a strange complicity began.
The girl would come at 3:00 AM. She would buy a thirty-yen chocolate. Taichi would warm up an expired bento and place it by the back door. The girl would take it and leave the small chocolate wrapper in its place. They never exchanged direct words. They didn’t know each other’s names. They didn’t pry into each other’s circumstances. In a corner of the cold city, only a rule-breaking, warm bento connected the two of them.
For Taichi, it was supposed to be a mere whim. But before long, the act became something that saved Taichi himself. His rock-bottom life, which he thought no one needed, was keeping someone else alive just once a night. That fact melted Taichi’s frozen heart just a little bit. He secretly began collecting the chocolate wrappers the girl left behind, storing them in his wallet.
The seasons changed, the biting cold softened, and hints of spring began to drift through the city at the end of March.
Suddenly, the girl stopped showing up.
For the first three days, Taichi figured, “She probably caught a cold or moved to another town.” But after a week, then two weeks, she still didn’t appear. A dark anxiety began to spread in Taichi’s chest. Had she been tricked by a shady scout and dragged into the underworld? Was she collapsed in some alleyway from an overdose? Or perhaps, impulsively, from the roof of some building…
Every time a news report mentioned an incident involving a young woman, Taichi’s heart turned to ice. But he didn’t even know her name. He couldn’t go to the police; all he could do was wait, praying for the automatic doors to open every night at 3:00 AM. The chocolate wrappers in his wallet had become thoroughly wrinkled.
In the end, she never came back.
Taichi’s life reverted to its colorless, transparent days. Every time he regretfully tossed an expired bento into the trash bag, he remembered that frail back, and a sharp pain pricked the depths of his chest. He knew he shouldn’t have shown half-hearted sympathy in the first place.
Half a year passed. It was a night in October. The cold winter winds had begun to blow, signaling the approach of that harsh season once again.
3:00 AM. “Welcome.”
The automatic door opened. Taichi looked up. Walking in was not that girl… but a boy he had never seen before. He looked about fourteen. He was small, dressed in a dirty matching sweatshirt and sweatpants, with frightened eyes. He was clearly a runaway who had just drifted into this town.
The boy looked around the store, then slowly made his way to the cheap sweets aisle. He brought just one individually wrapped, thirty-yen chocolate to the register.
“…That’s thirty-two yen with tax,” Taichi said, slightly confused.
The boy paid in coins and went to stand right in front of the magazine rack. A coincidence? Taichi wondered. But the boy wasn’t reading the magazines; he was just casting nervous, flickering glances toward Taichi at the register.
Ten minutes later, as if making up his mind, the boy approached the counter.
“Um…” the boy said in a hoarse voice. “Nana told me…”
“Nana…?” Taichi frowned.
“Yes. Nana. She went back to her parents in the country this spring. When I posted online asking for advice about running away from home, she taught me how to survive in this city. She said… ‘If you ever get so hungry you feel like you’re going to die, go to the convenience store on the third block at three in the morning.’”
Taichi’s eyes went wide. That girl—her name was Nana—she wasn’t dead. She had safely returned to her parents and was rebuilding her life.
The boy clenched his fists tightly in his pockets and looked at Taichi with pleading eyes. “Nana said… ‘The guy working the night shift there, the one who always looks grumpy and has eyes like a dead fish, will break the rules and leave a super warm bento on top of the AC unit by the back door…’”
Taichi couldn’t help but look up at the ceiling. Eyes like a dead fish? Really? And what a troublesome parting gift that little brat had left behind for him.
There were as many lost kids in this city as there were stars in the sky. One convenience store clerk handing out expired bentos wouldn’t fundamentally solve anything. It was a foolish, irresponsible act that would get him fired instantly if corporate found out.
However.
“…Hey,” Taichi said in a low voice. The boy’s shoulders jumped.
“I’m going to do my hourly bathroom cleaning and take out the trash now. You understand?” “Huh…?” “The back door. …Which do you want today, fried chicken or hamburger?”
The boy gasped, and then showed the biggest, most tearful smile of the night. “…Hamburger, please!”
Taichi let out a deep sigh. It seemed that this winter, too, this expired hero wouldn’t be able to quit his job.
Turning his back to the security camera, Taichi quickly tossed a hamburger bento into the microwave. The hum of the machine announcing it was warming up echoed through the freezing late-night store, sounding somewhat proud.
