Chapter 1: First Sight in the Convenience Store
The neon sign buzzed, a violent electric blue that spelled out ‘MART’ in jagged strokes, the ‘CONVE’ having flickered out long ago. It painted the wet asphalt in a shimmering puddle. Shinji stood frozen on the sidewalk, his breath catching in his throat.
Through the glass door, he saw her.
She was bent slightly, scanning a packet of rice crackers, her back to him. The fluorescent lights inside were brutally bright, bleaching everything into sharp relief. Her skin was smooth and unmarked, the curve of her spine a pale line descending into the swell of her hips. She was completely naked. A long, black ponytail rested between her shoulder blades. As she straightened and turned to place the item in a bag, her full breasts came into view, and the silver ring pierced through her left nipple glinted, a small laminated card dangling from it.
Shinji’s brain short-circuited. He’d been here, wherever ‘here’ was, for three days. The memories of his death—the screech of tires, the blinding headlights—were crisp and cold. The memories of his past life, a world of fabric and layers and implied shapes, were a haunting constant. This new reality was a sensory assault. The air here felt different, thicker, and everywhere he looked, the unthinkable was mundane.
His mouth was parched. That, at least, was a familiar need. He pushed the door open, a electronic chime announcing his entry.
The chill of the air conditioning hit his skin. The store was otherwise ordinary: rows of snacks, refrigerators humming, the stale smell of processed food and cleaner. The clink was what got him. A soft, rhythmic metallic sound. He looked down the aisle. A woman in her forties examined a can of coffee, her ID badge—clipped to a similar silver ring—swinging gently against her breast as she moved. She glanced at him, smiled politely, and went back to her shopping.
Shinji kept his eyes on the floor, on the signs, on the ceiling tiles—anywhere but the living, breathing world around him. He found the drinks, yanked a plastic bottle of water from the cold case, and beelined for the counter.
She was there. Ayumi. Her name, he would learn in a moment, was on the badge.
“Hello!” she said, her voice bright and clear. “Find everything okay?”
He couldn’t look at her face. His gaze was magnetically, horrifyingly, drawn to the center of her chest. The ring was a stark, polished circle of metal against the darker areola. The badge read ‘Ayumi’ in cheerful font, with ‘Clerk’ printed beneath. He stared, his mind a blank static.
“Sir?”
He jolted. “Sorry. Yes. Just this.” He shoved the bottle toward her, his fingers fumbling. He concentrated on her hands as they took it. Her nails were clean, short, painted a pale pink.
“That’ll be 110 yen.” She rang it up, the register beeping a mundane tune. Shinji dug into his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins, and dropped them onto the counter. They skittered everywhere, a few rolling off the edge and onto the floor with a pathetic ping.
“Oh, let me get those!” she said, cheerful and unbothered.
She leaned over the counter to see where they’d gone. The motion made her breasts sway, the badge swinging forward. Shinji recoiled as if burned, taking a full step back, his face flaming. He squeezed his eyes shut. This is normal here. This is normal. Act normal.
“You alright? You’re looking a little pale.” Her voice was closer.
He opened his eyes. She had rounded the counter, a few retrieved coins in her palm. She was standing right in front of him, well within arm’s reach, her body a breathtaking, shocking presence. Her scent—something like clean linen and vanilla—wrapped around him. The warmth of her skin seemed to radiate in the cool air. His eyes, traitorously, took in the smooth plane of her stomach, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle of hair between her legs.
He was drowning.
“I’m—I’m fine,” he stammered, his voice tight. “Just. Not feeling well. A headache.” He looked desperately at the ceiling, at the security camera dome in the corner.
“Aw, that’s no good. Hydration helps!” she said, holding out his water and the remaining change. Her expression was open, concerned. She took another step, closing the distance to place the coins in his still-outstretched hand. Her fingers brushed his palm. “Here you go. Do you need to sit down? You can use the stool in the back.”
Her nipple ring was inches from his chest. The laminated badge almost touched his shirt. He could see the tiny details: the employee number, the store logo. This was her work ID. This was the equivalent of a lanyard.
The cognitive dissonance shattered him. A sound, something between a choke and a gasp, escaped his lips. He stumbled back, his shoulders hitting a cardboard display of energy drinks. It wobbled.
“Whoa, careful!” Ayumi reached out, her hand coming to rest on his arm to steady him. Her touch was firm, real, and impossibly intimate. Her bare breast brushed against his sleeve.
Shinji shattered.
“Don’t!” he yelled, snatching his arm away as if her touch were acid. The panic was pure, visceral, a flood from a drowned world. “Just… just don’t!”
The cheerful concern melted from Ayumi’s face, replaced by stunned confusion and a flicker of hurt. She withdrew her hand, holding both up in a placating gesture. Her brow furrowed. “I… I was just trying to help. What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t explain. There were no words. He clutched the water bottle like a lifeline, the coins biting into his other fist. He looked at her—really looked at her face for the first time. She was beautiful, with kind, warm eyes now clouded with worry. And she was standing in a public place, naked and unashamed, wondering why he was screaming.
He was the alien here. He was the malfunction.
“I have to go,” he muttered, the words thick. He turned and practically ran for the door, the electronic chime mocking his escape.
The night air outside was no cooler. His heart hammered against his ribs. He didn’t look back. He just walked, fast, turning the corner into a dimly lit alley, sliding down a brick wall until he sat on the dirty pavement. He cracked open the water bottle and drank, the liquid doing nothing to wash away the seismic tremor in his soul.
Back in the store, Ayumi stood by the counter, arms crossed loosely over her stomach. She watched the door for a moment, then shook her head, a small, puzzled smile touching her lips. “Weird guy,” she murmured to herself, her badge clinking softly as she went back to straightening the counter. She hoped he was okay. He seemed genuinely distressed, in a way that went deeper than just a clumsy customer. She’d remember his face.
Outside, Shinji dropped his head into his hands. The image of the glinting silver ring burned against his eyelids. This was his life now. He had to understand it, or he would never stop screaming. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and got to his feet. The city glowed around him, a labyrinth of new rules written on bare skin. He had to find a map.