⚪️Short Story | Mikando Bookstore Episode 8

　Before me sits Mikan-san's chair.

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　When Mikan-san goes out for an hour or two during the day, I watch the shop.

　Though I say 'watch the shop,' for some reason, customers stop coming entirely during that time, so it's doubtful whether that can really be called watching the shop.

　Regardless, I watch it all the same.

　The semi-open office at the back of the shop doubles as the checkout counter, and when I'm watching the shop, I usually bring my own chair in there to sit on, but today, perhaps unable to bear the sight any longer, Mikan-san told me I should just use her chair.

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　On the chair sits a small cushion, or rather, a white floral-patterned seat cushion, resting softly. It is the very cushion Mikan-san was sitting on just a moment ago.

　Mikan-san's warmth should still be there.

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　Tanizaki would surely stroke the texture of the fabric to confirm it, press his cheek against it, or inhale its scent.

　What's more, he would reverently lift the cushion, try hugging it, or perhaps place it on the desk to stare at it intently, observing every minute detail—the way the fabric wrinkles, or whether there are any lint or debris attached to it.

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　Ranpo would bury his face in it without hesitation.

　Or perhaps he would pull detective tools like a magnifying glass from his pocket, hypothesize some sort of criminal connection, and mutter that this is strictly an investigation.

　Even then, he would end up burying his face in it anyway.

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　What about Kawabata?

　He would probably just wait. He would wait for the moment the warmth begins to fade, then gently hold his hand over it, without touching. Strictly without touching, he might fan his palm to catch the lingering scent while saying something like, 'Ah, that woman's hips were certainly here just a moment ago.'

　But everything is already lost.

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　Mishima would do this: he would rotate the cushion along with the chair, creating a configuration where the entire chair and he are facing each other, take a breath, and then bow deeply to it.

　After that, he would sit in the chair, slowly lean back into the backrest, confirm the sensation with his whole body, and finally shudder. That's the feeling I get.

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　Akutagawa would, for the time being, surely analyze it.

　At first, he would be thinking about whether to sit or not. However, before he knew it, he would get bogged down trying to measure the distance between what is merely a cushion and himself, who is hesitating to sit on it. Crossing his arms, or perhaps resting his cheek on his hand.

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　Soseki would stall for time.

　He might pretend to open and read a newspaper, or brew coffee despite his bad stomach, only to not drink it in the end.

　After about half an hour, he would finally stare intently at the cushion, try moving it to the right edge, or tilt it, inspecting the placement down to the millimeter, but in the end, he would probably just flip it over and sit on the underside.

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　Dazai wouldn't be able to sit on the cushion.

　He would lift the cushion and sit on the chair. Then, suddenly troubled by where to put the cushion he's holding, he would, for some reason, place it on his own lap. He is clearly that type. And naturally, he would fall into self-loathing.

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　Ango, well, he would probably slam the cushion onto the floor and stomp on it once. After doing that, he would pat the dust off the surface and, with a straight face, put it back and sit down heavily. I wish he wouldn't.

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　Naoya Shiga would just sit normally.

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　In the end, I brought my own chair and sat there.

(Continued in Episode 9)

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*The header image is a work by @Hane-san.

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