Chapter Eight: The Invasion

Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, a steady downpour that marked the rainy season’s unyielding grip. It was the kind of weather that couldn’t be helped, but when the gray days stretched on like this, it weighed heavily on the spirit.

“It’s nice that more customers come in to take shelter, though,” she added with a faint laugh. “Ha…”

I nodded, catching her drift. “Speaking of which, Master, you mentioned rainy days don’t sit well with you, right?”

“Yeah…” She sighed, rolling her shoulders slightly. “It’s not like I’m in crippling pain or anything, but my shoulders feel heavy, you know? Kinda sluggish.”

“I totally get that.”

There’s a term for it in this world—meteoropathy. It describes the physical discomfort some people feel when the weather shifts or atmospheric pressure changes. Those who don’t experience it often struggle to understand, dismissing it as mere imagination.

“But, well, times like  are when coffee comes to the rescue, right?” Utahara-san said brightly, handing me a steaming cup.

“Thank you.” I took a sip, the strong aroma and deep richness spreading from my mouth to my nose, warming me from within. They say caffeine can ease meteoropathy’s symptoms, though some argue it does the opposite. For Utahara-san and me, though, coffee always seemed to lift our spirits, no questions asked.

“By the way, how’s it going with Shizuku-chan lately?” she asked, her tone teasing.

“Shizuku? Same as always, nothing’s really changed.”

“Hmm…?” Utahara-san shot me a meaningful look, her eyes narrowing slightly. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. But if I said nothing had changed, then nothing had. Shizuku and I chatted in the night duty room during lunch breaks, and at night, we’d hang out here at the shop. Nearly a month of this routine, and yet we never ran out of things to say—a small marvel in itself.

“Oh, but we did make plans to go out together,” I added casually.

“What!?” Utahara-san’s voice sparked with excitement. “That’s totally a date!”

A date, huh? I’d tried not to overthink it, but if even an outsider saw it that way, maybe my instincts weren’t off. Or was I just overcomplicating things? I’d never gone out with someone of the opposite sex before, so I was clueless about how this worked.

“So, like… how do you handle a date?” I asked, scratching the back of my neck.

“Hmm, I’m no love expert myself,” Utahara-san mused, her voice low as she pondered. “Back in high school, I wasn’t interested in romance at all.” Then, as if a switch flipped, she perked up. “Speaking of high school… I heard from Akira that you guys are using that night duty room, Jun-kun.”

“Yeah, Master, you used it back in high school too, right?”

“Yup, yup! We’d sneak in there and do whatever we wanted.” She twirled her wavy hair around her finger, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. “My hair wasn’t this long back then—more like a bob.”

“Mamiya-sensei told me you were quite the troublemaker back in the day.”

“Ugh, Akira, spilling all that…” Utahara-san pressed her cheeks, her face flushing with embarrassment. She didn’t deny it, though, which meant Mamiya-sensei’s stories weren’t exaggerated. What kind of student had she been? I was curious but figured some things were better left unknown.

“It’s not like I was causing trouble for anyone, okay? Seriously,” she insisted.

“I’m not doubting you,” I replied, suppressing a grin.

“Things were totally different back then, but it was so much fun in its own way. Akira used to complain that black coffee was too bitter, you know? I basically trained her to drink it.”

Wait, didn’t she just say she wasn’t causing trouble? I decided not to press the point.

“Jun-kun,” she said suddenly, her tone shifting to something softer.

“Y-Yes?”

“Take good care of those tools, okay? They’re pretty old now, but they’re packed with so many memories.”

“Of course, I will.” Her relieved smile made me feel like I’d officially inherited those tools—not just objects, but the memories they carried. I’d cherish them and add my own stories to their legacy.

As we spoke, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer.

“Welcome! Is it just one?” Utahara-san called out.

“Yes, just me,” came the reply.

The voice belonged to a young woman, her face obscured by a hat pulled low and sunglasses covering her eyes. She didn’t seem like a student,  than me. I guided her to a table.

Or so I thought. Something about her felt strangely familiar, like I’d seen her recently, though I couldn’t put my finger on  .

“I heard this place serves coffee tailored to the customer,” she said. “Could I have that?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh, of course.”

Very few regulars even knew about Utahara-san’s custom brewing style. We didn’t advertise that we adjusted the method for each customer, and most people didn’t care enough to ask.

“If it’s not rude to ask… where did you hear about that?”

“From an adorable kouhai… and about you, too.”

“Huh?”

“You’re Juntaro-kun, right?” She lowered her sunglasses slightly, revealing her face.

The moment I saw her, recognition hit me like a spark. “Nice to meet you, I’m Inamori Reiko.”

“Wha…!?” I barely stifled a loud gasp, shock rippling through me.

Inamori Reiko, the wildly popular actress—a true celebrity of our time—stood right in front of me. Wait, had she just said my name?

“Oh, did I get it wrong?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“N-No! You got it right,” I stammered.

“Phew, good.” Her smile was warm, disarming. “That adorable kouhai I mentioned? It’s Shizuku-chan. I’ve heard a lot about you from her.”

With that, Inamori Reiko flashed a grin that felt both dazzling and effortless, the kind that made her fame feel all the more real. “Ever since she told me about this place, I’ve been dying to come. I love coffee, you see.”

“I-I see. Thank you.” My voice caught, still reeling. “Would you like coffee, then?”

“Yes, hot, please.”

“Got it. Please wait a moment.”

Rattled, I turned to pass the order to Utahara-san. “Hot coffee,” I said, trying to steady myself.

“Got it,” she replied, already moving to prepare it. Then, lowering her voice, I leaned in. “Um, Master, that customer—”

“She’s an actress, right? In that drama with Shizuku-chan.”

“You noticed?”

“Her vibe’s different. You can tell right away.”

What even was a “vibe”? As usual, Utahara-san’s instincts were beyond my grasp.

I carried the steaming cup back to Inamori-san’s table. “Here’s your hot coffee.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy.” I started to walk away, but curiosity tugged at me, pulling me back. I hesitated, then turned. “Um.”

She glanced up, her expression open. “? Is something wrong?”

“Is Shizuku… doing okay on set?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. I wanted to kick myself—normally, I’d never talk to a customer like this. But since she’d mentioned Shizuku talking about me, I couldn’t resist asking.

Inamori-san’s eyes softened. “Shizuku-chan’s working really hard. Probably the hardest worker on set.”

“I see…” Relief washed over me, though I tried not to show it.

“Everyone’s being pulled along by her energy. Even the veterans are saying they rewatched their old movies for the first time in ages.” Inamori-san gave a wry smile, a mix of admiration and amusement. “Changing the mindset of those around you isn’t something just anyone can do.”

Inamori-san’s tone softened, slipping into something more casual as she continued. “Shizuku-chan’s acting has gotten so much better. The drama’s quality is improving, and the ratings are soaring.”

She must have faced her own struggles with relationships on set, yet her excitement was palpable when talking about Shizuku. Hearing such praise warmed me inside, especially coming from a talented actress sharing the same stage. It made Shizuku a friend to be proud of.

“Thank you for saying such nice things about Shizuku,” I said, gratitude lacing my words.

Inamori-san chuckled. “Hehe, you really are just like Shizuku-chan described.”

“Huh?”

“Kind, honest… and you’ve got really nice eyes.”

What exactly had Shizuku been telling her? I opened my mouth to ask, but the entrance bell chimed sharply, cutting me off.

“W-Wait…! Reiko-san!” Shizuku burst in, breathless, her voice tinged with panic.

Inamori-san stuck out her tongue playfully. “Oh, you’re here already.”

“You suddenly call me out, and of all places, it’s this shop… You didn’t say anything weird to Juntaro, did you!?”

“Nope, not at all. Just mentioned that you’re always talking about Juntaro-kun.”

“That’s totally saying something!” Shizuku’s face flushed bright red, a mix of anger and embarrassment. For once, the girl who usually teased others was completely at Inamori-san’s mercy. This grown woman was something else.

“Come on, let’s chat since we’re here. Sit down!” Inamori-san urged, her tone light but commanding.

“Mmph…” Shizuku muttered, glancing at me with a sheepish look.

“…Your order?” I asked, barely hiding my amusement.

“Oh, iced coffee, please.”

“Got it.” Stifling a laugh, I turned to pass the order to Utahara-san, leaving the two to their lively exchange

“Thanks for the coffee. It was delicious,” Inamori Reiko said as she left the shop, her enigmatic aura lingering like a faint perfume. Hard to pin down, everything about her felt like a carefully crafted performance. If someone said that’s how an actress should be, I’d probably nod in agreement.

“Sorry, Juntaro. Reiko-san can be a bit much,” Shizuku said, her tone apologetic.

“It’s fine. She seemed nice enough.” The second half of our conversation had been a barrage of questions, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant—maybe because most of it revolved around Shizuku. Her protective, almost sisterly concern for Shizuku warmed my heart, knowing someone cherished her so deeply.

As the usual evening hour rolled around, I found myself sitting across from Shizuku. Reiko-san aside, today had been relentless persistent questions nearly pushing me to say more than I should. If Utahara-san hadn’t stepped in, I might’ve fumbled. Exhausted, I sipped the iced coffee Utahara-san had made for me and let out a heavy sigh.

“You seem pretty worn out, huh?” Shizuku observed, her voice gentle.

“Yeah… Sorry, I’m just not great at handling pushy customers.” Today’s attention had been especially tough to navigate. Part of me wondered if I should feel flattered by the interest, but I lacked the confidence to see it that way.

“Do you get approached like that a lot?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Kinda…” I admitted, unsure of their intentions. It wasn’t rare, but each time left me bewildered. Women’s thoughts were a mystery I couldn’t unravel.

“It’s annoying, right? Getting bombarded with questions from strangers would overwhelm anyone,” Shizuku said with a wry smile. With her job, she probably faced far more attention than I did.

“At first, it felt nice—like I was getting popular. But now? It’s just exhausting. I know it’s a spoiled complaint,” she added, laughing softly.

“Sounds like you’re still dealing with a lot,” I replied, mirroring her small laugh.

“

“So, um, what kind of person is your type, Juntaro?” Shizuku’s question caught me off guard.

I’d never really thought about it. Love wasn’t something I’d considered much—it always felt  Now, faced with her question, I was at a loss.

“Hard to answer?” she prompted, leaning forward slightly.

“…It’s not really clicking for me,” I admitted, scratching the back of my neck.

“Want to break it down? Like, hair length?”

“Not too long, I guess?”

“Hmm, okay. What about height?”

“Maybe shorter than me would be nice?”

“What about their face!?”

“Pretty, I suppose…?”

“Age!?”

“Closer to my age, the better.”

“Personality!?”

“Someone I feel at ease with, maybe?”

“B-Breast size!?”

“Bigger is—” I answered reflexively, heat rushing to my cheeks. Had I just messed up? I glanced nervously at Shizuku, bracing for her reaction.

To my surprise, her expression was relaxed, almost beaming. “W-What’s up?” I stammered.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, grinning widely. Relieved that she didn’t seem put off, I let out a quiet sigh.

“So, what’s your type, Shizuku?” I asked, turning the tables. “I answered, so it’s only fair.”

She crossed her arms, deep in thought. “…It’s kinda tough when you put it like that.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, chuckling.

“If I had to say… someone kind, serious, with honest eyes?” she ventured, her voice soft but certain.

“That’s pretty vague,” I teased.

“Honestly, looks aren’t that important to me. I mean, I’m kinda pretty, right?” she said with a playful smirk.

I nodded honestly. She was fishing for a jab, but it was the truth—there was no denying her beauty.

“…So, it’s harder to find someone who matches me just based on looks. I’d rather look for someone with a good heart,” she added, her tone light but sincere.

Even said jokingly, her words rang true. She valued personality above all else. A faint unease settled in my chest as I wondered if I could ever measure up to her standards.