Sasaki is forty-five, single, and running on fumes. Every night after overtime, he drags himself to Supermarket S for a half-price bento, a pack of Mevius, and one small reason to keep going: Yamada-san, the sweet, smiling part-timer at register two. She's polite, professional, and utterly out of his league—which doesn't stop him from lining up at her lane every single day like a lovesick idiot.
Then, one night behind the store, he discovers the truth.
The Yamada who clocks out is nothing like
Smoking Love Behind Supermarket S - The smile at register 2, and the true face at the back door
"...Three more minutes, huh."
Sasaki checked his watch and let out a small sigh. The lingering heat of September still clung to his skin. He trudged along in worn-out leather shoes in front of Kasaino Station. The weight of a full day's exhaustion pressed down on the shoulders of his suit.
Genki Trading. A mid-sized trading company headquartered downtown, where Sasaki worked as a supervisor at the suburban branch. Forty-five years old. His monthly salary, including the supervisor stipend, was 380,000 yen. Single. His hobbies amounted to cigarettes and supermarket rice crackers.
"Haah..."
Overtime again today. Covering for a junior's mistake, bowing his head to his boss, making apology calls to clients. Before he knew it, it was past nine at night. The "Lumière Kasaino" in front of the station was about to close, its lights blinking out one by one.
(I'm hungry.)
Sasaki fished through his suit's inner pocket. A pack of cigarettes. Mevius Premium. Three left. Whether that would last him until he got home was another question.
(Well, I can just buy more on the way back.)
His feet carried him naturally from the station toward the residential district. Twelve minutes on foot from Kano Station. Fresh Mart Kano — known locally as "Supermarket S." A perfectly ordinary grocery store. Open until ten at night. If he went now, he'd make it before closing.
Sasaki had started coming to this store eight years ago, when he'd moved to this neighborhood. Back then it was still called "Super Fresh Market." At some point the name had changed, and he remembered tilting his head at the sign, thinking, huh.
(Well, the name doesn't really matter.)
What mattered was what was inside.
The automatic doors slid open, and cold air from the air conditioning washed over him. A closing announcement played through the store.
"We will be closing shortly. Please complete your shopping."
Sasaki grabbed a basket. First, the prepared foods section. A fried chicken bento with a half-price sticker. Lucky today. Then to the rice cracker shelf. The usual "Kakimochi Soy Sauce Flavor." And two cans of beer.
(This'll get me through another day.)
He headed for the registers. At this hour, three lanes were open. The second register, farthest back. That was the only one with a bit of a line. The others were empty.
Sasaki didn't hesitate — he joined the end of the line at register two.
(Will she be here today too?)
His heart beat a little faster.
The line moved up by one. In front of Sasaki was an elderly woman carrying a shopping bag. Beyond her, he could see the clerk working the register.
Yamada-san.
A new part-time employee at Fresh Mart Kano. Three months on the job. Twenty-four years old. Black hair pulled back in a single bundle, wearing a clean green apron. Maybe about 160 centimeters tall. Slender build, the name tag on her chest slightly askew.
"Thank you for waiting. Do you have a point card?"
Yamada's voice carried well. And yet it was pleasant to the ear. She was smiling as she handled the elderly woman customer. That smile was unbearably dazzling to Sasaki.
(Another great smile today.)
Sasaki murmured it in his chest.
Yamada's smile was manufactured, yet it didn't look manufactured. Even the "Welcome!" straight from the customer service manual sounded like a genuine welcome when she said it. When their eyes met, his heart lightened, just like that.
Every day, Sasaki ignored the empty registers and lined up at register two just to see that smile.
(...I'm disgusting, even to myself.)
He thought so, and yet his feet headed here every single day.
"Next customer, please."
Yamada looked up. Their eyes met.
"Ah, hello."
Sasaki placed his basket on the counter. Yamada quickly scanned the barcodes.
"Good work today. Thank you as always."
Yamada smiled brightly.
"Th-thank you..."
Sasaki desperately fought back the crack in his voice. Good work today. Just those few words. And somehow, the fatigue of the entire day seemed to melt away.
(This is bad. Today especially, this is bad.)
Yamada's fingertips scanned the bag of rice crackers. Small hands. Her nails were cut short and clean.
"Would you like the bento heated up?"
"Ah, no, I'm fine."
"Understood."
Yamada deftly bagged the items. Rice crackers, canned beer, bento. Not a wasted motion.
"That will be 1,246 yen."
Sasaki pulled a thousand-yen bill and coins from his wallet. One five-hundred coin, two hundred-yen coins, four ten-yen coins, six one-yen coins. His fingertips trembled.
(Calm down, me.)
He placed the coins on the tray. They clinked and rattled.
"Exact change, thank you."
Yamada received the coins. At that moment, Sasaki's fingers and Yamada's fingers touched for just an instant.
"...!"
Sasaki pulled his hand back. His heart was pounding loudly.
(We touched. Our fingers. Yamada-san's fingers and mine.)
A grown man of forty-five, and what was he thinking? Sasaki wanted to punch himself.
"Thank you very much. Please come again."
Yamada bowed with a smile. Sasaki returned an awkward nod.
"Th-thank you..."
He took the bag and left the register. He felt the next customer step forward behind him.
Sasaki headed for the exit at a quick pace. In front of the automatic doors, he turned around. Yamada was already helping the next customer. That smile, now directed at someone else.
(Of course. She's a store clerk.)
Something in his chest twinged.
Sasaki shook his head and left the store.
Outside, it was completely dark. The September night breeze felt good against his flushed cheeks.
(...What am I even doing?)
Forty-five years old. Single. A tired salaryman. Coming to the supermarket every day just to see a young part-timer's smile.
(Disgusting. Really, disgusting.)
Sasaki adjusted his grip on the bag and walked around to the back of the store.
The back entrance of Fresh Mart Kano. In the northwest corner of the parking lot, there was a smoking area for employees. Two ashtray stands and one old bench. Beyond the fence stretched the residential neighborhood, and at night the streetlights cast a faint glow through.
Sasaki sat down on the bench. He took out his cigarettes from his suit's inner pocket. Mevius Premium. He opened the pack and put one between his lips. Lit it with a hundred-yen lighter.
—Ssss.
The smoke seeped into his lungs. The back of his mind slowly came undone.
"Haah..."
Sasaki exhaled deeply. White smoke dissolved into the night air.
The smoking area had an unspoken rule: "What you see here, you leave here." Whether an employee vented about work or a regular gossiped about someone, nothing left this bench. Sasaki too had been saved by the atmosphere of this place more times than he could count.
(This cigarette is good.)
The one he smoked at the end of the day was exceptional.
That was when it happened.
"Hey, mister, mind if I use this?"
A young woman's voice. Sasaki looked up.
Standing there was—
A woman with her hair down.
The black hair that was pulled back in a bundle during work now spread loosely past her shoulders. Small silver earrings glinted on her ears. A black choker around her neck. Her outfit was completely different from the green apron from earlier, too. A white T-shirt, a black tight skirt. Sneakers on her feet.
(Huh?)
Sasaki couldn't believe his eyes.
(Yamada... san...?)
No, wait. The face was definitely Yamada-san's. Those big eyes, that straight nose, those nicely shaped lips. But the atmosphere was completely different.
The Yamada on duty was the perfect smiling clerk. Clean, polite, the "good girl" everyone liked.
But the her standing here now—
"Huh, didn't you hear me? Mister."
She tilted her head. The earring caught the streetlight and glinted.
"Ah, yeah. Um, go ahead. I'm a regular here."
Sasaki hurriedly scooted to the edge of the bench. His heart was pounding incomparably harder than it had at the register.
(It's Yamada-san. No mistake. It's Yamada-san, and yet it's not Yamada-san.)
She plopped down next to Sasaki. Close. Their shoulders were almost touching.
"Ahh, I'm beat. So many customers today."
She stretched her legs out and looked up at the sky. Her tone was different too. She'd been so polite on duty, but now she was as casual as if talking to a friend.
(This is the real Yamada-san...?)
Sasaki sat frozen, cigarette still in his mouth.
"Mister, aren't you gonna smoke? Oh, Mevius."
She peered at his hand.
"Y-yeah."
"Nice, that's classy. Very old-man-ish."
She giggled. The way she laughed was completely different from the smile she showed at the store. Slyer.
"I smoke these."
She pulled a pack from her small bag. Pianissimo Menthol. She gave the slim pack a little shake and took out a cigarette. Lit it with practiced ease.
"—Ssss."
Menthol smoke drifted on the night breeze. She narrowed her eyes and exhaled.
(Beautiful.)
Sasaki found himself staring.
"...What're you looking at?"
"Uh, no, nothing."
Sasaki hastily looked away.
"Hey, mister. You always line up at register two, right? Even when the others are empty. Why?"
She looked straight at Sasaki's face, cigarette still in her mouth.
"Wh-why, you ask..."
"I've been curious. Same time every day, buying the same stuff, lining up at the same register. Weird."
She laughed. A teasing laugh, but somehow enjoying herself.
(She knows. Not just knows — she's telling me to my face.)
Sasaki wanted to bury his head in his hands.
"Um, well... I thought your smile was nice."
"Huh?"
"Ah, no, I mean, the clerk at register two, her smile, I thought it was nice..."
Sasaki stammered. Even he didn't know what he was saying.
She blinked, momentarily stunned. Then she turned her face away.
"...Huh."
It was a small voice.
(Hm?)
Sasaki noticed that the tips of her ears had turned slightly red.
"That's nice to hear as a clerk, but what about as a guy? What do you think?"
She immediately grinned.
"A-as a guy...?"
"Do you think that clerk is cute? From a guy's perspective."
"C-cu—"
Sasaki was at a loss for words.
(Do I think she's cute — that's, well, I mean—)
"She's cute."
He'd said it.
"...Pfft."
She burst out laughing.
"Wh-why are you laughing?"
"Because, 'she's cute' — you're bright red, mister."
"I'm not red."
"You are. I can tell even in the dark."
She laughed and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.
"Ahh, that's hilarious. You're funny, mister."
"I'm not funny."
Sasaki smoked sulkily.
(Damn. I'm being teased. Completely teased.)
But he didn't mind it.
"Hey, mister, what's your name?"
"Sasaki."
"Sasaki-san. I'm Tayama."
Tayama.
(Not Yamada — Tayama.)
Sasaki looked at her face. Black hair, earrings, choker. Her hairstyle, her clothes, her whole vibe — all different from the Yamada on duty.
But it was the same person.
Sasaki had known at a glance. The position of the piercing hole on her left earlobe. Her habit of tilting her head. The way her brows formed a slight 八 shape when she laughed.
(Yamada-san lives as Tayama, hiding her real self.)
The "Yamada" for customer service, and the real "Tayama." She used two faces.
(She probably doesn't want anyone to find out.)
Sasaki stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
(Then I'll—)
"Should I call you Tayama-san?"
Sasaki said it as naturally as he could.
"Yeah. Tayama's fine. Sasaki-san, are you gonna keep smoking here from now on?"
"Yeah. Well, I'm a regular."
"I see. Then we'll meet again."
Tayama stood up. She lightly brushed off the hem of her skirt and slung her bag over her shoulder.
"I'm on night shift tomorrow too. See you tomorrow, mister."
She waved her hand airily.
"Ah, yeah."
That was all Sasaki could say.
Tayama's back disappeared beyond the parking lot. Her hair seemed to float softly in the streetlight.
(Not Yamada-san — Tayama-san.)
Sasaki sat on the bench, unable to move for a while.
(I'll pretend not to notice.)
She was trying desperately to hide it. So he wouldn't notice. He wouldn't call her Yamada-san. He'd treat her as Tayama-san.
(That's for the be
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