3:11 AM — The Hour When Fetishes Smell Like Floor Cleaner
The Konbini smelled of cheap disinfectant and adolescent shame. Miyu walked in dragging a girl who looked like a scared dog about to faint: short, messy dark brown hair as if a hurricane had passed through it, red and watery eyes like a small child holding back tears, an impeccable black sailor fuku uniform identical to Miyu's, fogged-up black reading glasses, and a red randoseru so out of place it was like a penguin in a police station.
"Hiroto-san!" Miyu pushed the girl toward the counter. "This is Hibiki-chan, she's one of my friends, she also needs help with math." Hibiki hid her face behind her notebook, which trembled like a baby in a hurricane.
Aoi, sitting on the drink fridge with a pudding in hand, raised an eyebrow.
"You brought a visual novel NPC? Does she come with a romantic route included?
"I-it's just... m-math..." Hibiki murmured, adjusting her glasses with trembling fingers.
"No," I said, wiping a coffee stain that was already part of the counter. "Ask Aoi to help her. She knows how to add and subtract."
"But you're better!" Miyu put the notebook in front of me. The first page said "Problem 1: If I have 5 pencils and they take away 2, how many tears do I shed?"
No comment.
"Is this a joke? This looks like an elementary school problem," I asked, pointing at the problem.
Hibiki nodded, red as a tomato in a microwave.
"I-I don't... I don't understand it..."
"Five minus two is three," I said, handing her notebook back. "Buy something and leave."
"There are also fractions!" Miyu opened a random page: 1/2 + 1/3 = ?.
"This is stupid," I replied. Hibiki whimpered.
Aoi jumped off the fridge, approaching like a shark smelling blood.
"What's wrong, Hibiki-chan...?" she whispered, circling her. "Do you feel bad?"
Hibiki backed up until she hit a shelf of Pocari Sweat.
"N-no... I just..."
"Hiroto-kun~." Aoi threw a marker at me. "Teach. With feeling so Hibiki-chan understands."
The next half hour was a test of patience.
"If you divide 3/4 by 2, it's 3/8. Not 3/4 minus 2, at least read the problem properly to begin with," I grumbled, while Hibiki scribbled random numbers.
"I-I'm sorry..." she whispered, sinking into her chair.
After an hour, my patience was at its limit.
"Do you really think 1/5 + 1/5 is 2/10?" I clenched my fist around the marker. "That's like saying two cats make a dog. Even an elementary school kid could do this."
Hibiki made a sound between a groan and a nervous laugh. Her cheeks glowed red under the fluorescent lights.
"U-um...!"
Aoi, who had been watching in silence from the counter, tilted her head.
"Hibiki-chan..." Aoi spoke up. "Do you like Hiroto-kun insulting you?"
Hibiki's notebook fell to the floor.
"N-no!" she shouted, but her legs pressed together tightly.
"Really...?" Aoi smiled, malicious. "Your ears are redder than Hiroto's blood. Don't you really want him to call you useless again?"
"A-Aoi-san!" Miyu tried to intervene, but Aoi already had Hibiki cornered against the coffee machine.
"Or do you prefer being called meaningless trash?" Aoi whispered in her ear, while Hibiki gasped. "Stupid, failure, shit on legs..."
Hibiki whimpered, grabbing her randoseru like a shield.
"S-stop..."
"No~" Aoi blew in her ear. "You're useless..."
Then it happened.
A puddle grew under Hibiki's feet, soaking her impeccable uniform and dripping onto the floor. The sound of liquid hitting the ground was as loud as a gunshot.
We all froze.
"Ah." Aoi stepped back, nose wrinkled. "Didn't expect that."
Hibiki sobbed, covering her face. Miyu screamed, running for tissues. And I discovered that even a loser can be left speechless.
At 4 AM, as we cleaned up the mess with rags and awkward silences, Aoi murmured:
"I think I kind of get it."
"Yeah," I said, spraying disinfectant on Hibiki's stain. "But at least she learned math."
Miyu, still pale, clutched Hibiki's randoseru (she'd fled without it) against her chest.
"I'm sorry... she's not usually like this, she just..."
"It doesn't matter." Aoi threw the rag on the floor. "That was more fun than I expected."
The Konbini kept smelling of cleaner and shame. And for the first time, I was grateful the night shift had no cameras.