"In Return for a Connection" Episode 1: The Thread Shop "En" (2)

Do you know what a thread shop is?

I listened to Atsuhisa as we walked slowly toward the station.

"A thread shop?"

I couldn't imagine what kind of shop it was. Knowing Atsuhisa, I thought maybe it was a ramen shop with generous portions.

No, if that were the case, Miki would have nothing to do with it. There would be no need to inflict such intense damage on my back.

In that case, is it a shop he wants to invite her to?

In my mind, all I could picture was a fancy cafe where girls would surely be taking photos and saying, "So cute!" My experience is lacking, and my imagination is poor.

I understand that scouting a shop where girls gather in groups is tough to do alone. But even if two guys go, the feeling of being out of place doesn't change. If anything, the embarrassment just doubles.

I actually thought about turning him down, but it seems the thread shop Atsuhisa is talking about is completely different from the one in my head.

Even within the city, the commercial district where restaurants suitable for dates and karaoke facilities are gathered is a fifteen-minute bus ride from the bus stop nearest to our school.

However, the thread shop is located in the shopping district that we can walk to from school—the one we've been visiting since we were little because we chose to take the entrance exams for the high school closest to our homes.

It's not a place that gets featured on TV or becomes a tourist spot like some "Ginza" in Tokyo. There are far more shops with their shutters down now than when I was even younger.

It seems a project to rent out closed shops at a low cost has started, so perhaps the thread shop is a place that just opened under those circumstances. With the goal of preventing young people from moving to the city, come to think of it, a shop selling handmade accessories opened just the other day.

When I asked if he wanted to buy a gift for a girl he likes, he said it was a bit different.

"There's a rumor about the thread shop, you know."
"A rumor, huh?"

Located in the very corner of the shopping district, on the border with the residential area, the shop looked like nothing more than an old private house at first glance. There was no sign, just a sliding door entrance.

The thread shop, as the name suggests, was a shop that sold threads, strings, ribbons, and the like.

"A craft store?"

Apparently, that's not quite it either. There are no needles or fabric; it's a truly niche shop that only deals in "threads" and things of that nature.

Is it a shop run as a rich person's hobby, or is it a hidden gem known only to those in the know, dealing in carefully selected items and rare imports?

It's not the kind of place for a casual gift, and certainly not a shop that Atsuhisa, a former athlete, would have any business in. That is precisely why we should ask about the "rumors" before entering.

Atsuhisa started by saying, "I heard something the other day."

"Apparently, this shop can help you find or sever romantic ties."

I couldn't help but stare intently at his face.

Atsuhisa, who had poured his heart into baseball, had the physique to match. He was incomparably more robust than me, someone who had nothing to do with sports, yet he was blushing shyly.

If he were fair-skinned, it might look cool, but Atsuhisa had a naturally dark complexion, and after years of outdoor activities, he was permanently tanned. It was far from cute.

For someone as rugged as him—looking more like a man his age or older, and certainly not a dreaming maiden—talking about a "love-tying charm" was nothing short of a joke.

I almost laughed and covered my mouth. Inside my hand, my lips were twisted into a strange shape.

"Apparently, you just have to buy a red thread and get five yen in change."
"Huh."

I've been hanging out in this shopping district since I was a kid, but this was the first time I'd heard such a rumor. Though, naturally, I hadn't even known the shop existed.

"And if you want to sever a tie, they say you use a white thread."

And so, Atsuhisa had come to buy a red thread.

The person he wanted to tie a bond with was Miki Hamaya, who sat at the desk next to him.

During the break right after school started, there was a crowd in front of our classroom. It was a dense, swarming mass of nothing but guys.

Their target was Miki. She was a beautiful girl, so stunning it was hard to believe she was in such a rural town. I'm not well-versed in these things, but people were saying she looked like some girl from some idol group, or even better.

Indeed, Miki was striking. She had long, slender limbs and a small face. Her eyes were large, her nose was small, and her lips were plump and glossy, as if she were wearing something. Her eyelashes were long and curled upward, and her voice was clear and pleasant.

…The fact that I can recall her in such detail means that, in truth, I too am captivated by Miki's beauty.

If a beautiful girl who smells nice sits in the same class as you, it's only human nature for a man to end up looking at her.

The lucky guy who ended up sitting next to the beautiful girl who was the talk of the school was Atsuhisa Mogi. It was one of the eight coveted positions: front, back, left, right, and the four diagonals.

Among them, the one next to me is special. Since there's a girl sitting on the other side, Atsuhisa is the only guy right next to her.

Well, that's only until the next seat change, though.

"Since you're sitting next to her, you don't have to rely on such shady stories; you should just talk to her more yourself."

Even while we were talking like this, not a single customer came into the shop. The door remained closed, and the shopkeeper never appeared. Even though we were talking quite loudly. The silence was so heavy it made me wonder if anyone was actually working there at all.

In every age, there are many people who love things like charms and fortune-telling. Especially women, both young and old.

If this shop were really a matchmaking spot famous enough to be rumored, there should be more customers. Atsuhisa must have been teased.

"There's no way I can do that."

If he could just talk to Miki, it's not like Atsuhisa has no hope.

It might just be my bias as his best friend, but he's nicely muscular, cheerful, and not exactly hideous. His only flaws are that he's a bit dim and rather sloppy in various ways.

"Ah... you mean the knights, right?"

The reason he couldn't clear the major prerequisite of being able to talk to her was because of the group that guarded Miki so tightly. Even though their seats were far apart, the moment the bell rang, they would come over to Miki's side and stick to her until the next bell.

If you tried to talk to the princess they protected, you'd get glared at. Even if you had a legitimate reason, they'd give you a dirty look. Miki herself didn't seem to mind being talked to by other boys, nor did she seem to mind the duo guarding her.

"Well, I agree that we can't compete with the top-tier guys."
"Right?"

As he said that, Atsuhisa made up his mind and reached for the door. It felt like trespassing in a house without a doorbell, and I was the only one who felt a bit hesitant. Atsuhisa didn't seem to care at all.

The exterior was an old house, but the inside had been neatly renovated, giving it the appearance of a proper shop.

The floor was swept clean, and with nothing placed in the center of the room and the displays gathered along the walls, it felt larger than it actually was.

On the drawers of a small, amber-colored, chipped shelf—which felt more like an old tool cabinet than an antique—the names of colors like "White," "Red," and "Black" were written on paper.

If it had been masking tape, it would have been trendy, but since it was just torn pieces of dull-colored paper like the handouts distributed at school, it felt rather eerie.

Above all, the fact that only faint light entered despite there being windows only added to the creepiness. The only lighting was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, and it wasn't even on right now. Perhaps they were saving electricity during the day.

The refreshing air of May and the slightly sweaty climate were things of the outside world; I felt a sense of isolation between the inside and outside of the shop, and I couldn't help but shiver.

Ignoring my desire not to stay too long, Atsuhisa wandered around the shop with a look of interest. He opened the drawers, making a grating, creaking sound.

“Welcome.”

I was addressed from behind while I was watching Atsuhisa’s actions. It was a clear voice, like the murmuring of a river. A woman.

I turned around and gasped. The reason I forgot to breathe was that she was more beautiful than anyone I had ever seen before.

Her black hair, grown long to her waist, was so straight and glossy that it looked like it could be one of the shop’s products. As someone with curly hair, I was genuinely envious.

Her skin was white, and her lips were red. Her almond-shaped eyes were cast downward, casting deep shadows with her eyelashes. She was so beautiful that it reminded me of the story of the Chinese beauty who was said to have caused a succession of women to imitate her. Was that the one with the scowl?

I wondered how old she was. She looked like a young person around my age, but I also felt she was much older.

Miki is a real-life beautiful girl, but this person’s existence felt as uncertain as drifting mist. I felt like I was the only one who could perceive her, and that she might vanish the moment I reached out to touch her.

Atsuhisa, next to me, was also staring at her blankly. She must have been used to the attention. The woman, who appeared to be the shopkeeper, didn't seem to mind; without even a hint of a smile, she said, “Take your time,” sat on a chair behind the counter, and began to sew. She was stitching pure white thread—the exact opposite of her own hair—into a piece of white cloth.

I suddenly came to my senses and nudged Atsuhisa with my elbow. This was no time to be captivated by a beauty who had suddenly appeared.

Staying in this shop for too long felt like it would make me lose my mind. Atsuhisa, who had sneezed at the smell of old wood tickling his nose, said, “Oh, right,” remembered his original purpose, and opened the drawer labeled “Red.”

Red thread. Unlike the sewing thread or machine thread that was included in the sewing kits we were forced to buy in elementary school home economics class, it wasn't wound around a core. It was loosely bundled together.

Atsuhisa picked one up casually, then closed the drawer with another creaking sound.

Being the careless person he was, he didn't wait for it to close completely, leaving it slightly ajar. I noticed it and pushed it shut with force.

In the meantime, Atsuhisa finished paying. The price of the thread was negligible, and given the feel of this shop, there was no way they had any clever promotional items like loyalty cards.

It wasn't long before the old-fashioned cash register, which matched the shop’s atmosphere, made a “ching” sound—a noise I wasn't used to, yet felt strangely nostalgic.

I looked back at the counter. The shopkeeper, who had stopped her sewing and stood up, was as tall as Atsuhisa. I, being a shrimp, was overwhelmed.

She spoke with lips that were too red. Her voice, though small, was so clear that it sounded loud, vibrating against my eardrums.

“This is in return for your five yen...”

She said, wearing a chilling smile.

It was Atsuhisa who brought me back to my senses as I stared at her in a daze. He carefully tucked the five-yen change into his wallet and called out, "Tsumugi?"

"Are you going to buy something too?"
"No... I'm fine."

I shook my head. In that moment, I glanced at the shopkeeper's face again.

With eyes that made it impossible to tell if they were open or closed, I felt as though she were staring intently at me.