● April 3 (Sunday) Yuuta Asamura
Sunday morning found me far from my usual routine of lounging about. Instead, I stood before the bathroom mirror, wrestling with my appearance. My hair refused to cooperate, my tie demanded retying again and again, and I glared at the relentless minute hand of my watch, each tick a reminder of my losing battle. Time was up. I sighed, resigned—this would have to do.
Wearing a suit properly was a mystery I hadn’t cracked. It wasn’t until the Friday before last, with spring break drawing to a close, that my old man’s question caught me off guard: “What are you wearing to the ceremony?” Panic surged. I’d naively assumed my school uniform would suffice for the entrance ceremony—old habits die hard. At eighteen, I was supposed to be stepping into adulthood, and buying a formal suit seemed like a fitting rite of passage. But now, draped in this unfamiliar attire, I felt less like I was wearing the suit and more like it was wearing me.
Gloom settled over me as I shuffled into the dining room. “Good morning,” I mumbled.
Ayase-san, arranging breakfast on the table, glanced up. Her eyes landed on me, and a smile curved her lips. “Yup. Looks good. It suits you.”
Her words sparked a flush of shyness, and I nearly blurted, “Not really,” but caught myself. If Ayase-san thought it looked good, who was I to argue? Her opinion carried more weight than my doubts.
After the entrance ceremony, I made my way to Shibuya, heading straight to my part-time job for the first time in five months. Today marked my return to work. I’d dropped by the bookstore a couple times to pick up novels, but stepping into the office felt like reentering a half-forgotten world. The staff might’ve changed since I’d last been here, and a flicker of nerves accompanied my greetings.
The manager, seated at the back of the office, looked up with a warm smile. “Asamura-kun, good to have you back.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, dipping my head before heading to the locker to change.
The door burst open with a rush of energy. “Manager, is that—!” Kozono Erina-san, my junior at work, barreled into the room, her inner-colored hair swaying with her lively movements. Her eyes locked onto me, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh, hi—wow, Yuuta-senpai! That suit is amazing! So cool!”
I scratched the back of my neck, flustered. “Nah, it’s not that big a deal.”
“No way! It’s cool. So grown-up! I’m jealous.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and after half a year, her face seemed a touch more mature. For a fleeting moment, I felt oddly parental, a quiet pride swelled in my chest.
Other coworkers echoed her sentiments, each one insisting the suit looks good. I began to wonder if formal suits were just engineered to flatter anyone who wore them. The shift went smoothly, save for a couple of fumbled keystrokes at the register. Learned skills, it seemed, didn’t rust so easily.
Surrounded by books after so long, I realized something: even if I left this job, my love for reading would never fade. Books were my refuge. Still, I couldn’t help but feel ambushed—two new volumes of a series I followed had dropped, alongside six intriguing new releases, including some practical books. It was as if a horde of authors had conspired to overwhelm this lone reader. At least my train commute offered a silver lining: plenty of time to carve out for reading.
