Every time the automatic door of the Daily Port opened, cold outside air seeped in. The third Wednesday of November. Just past eight in the morning, the convenience store in front of Kagerou Slope Station was moderately crowded with commuters. Miyano Arisu had intended to head to Komugi Doki as usual, but her feet stopped in front of the Daily Port. A store clerk carrying a cardboard box passed by her side, restocking the magazine shelf. Arisu's gaze became fixed on one of the magazine spines lined up on that shelf. "Shuukan Libre." Kinoshita Seiji's name was written there in small letters. Her hand reached out. She pulled one copy from the shelf and checked the table of contents. She opened the feature page. "Women Without Names—In a Corner of Kagerou Slope Kinoshita Seiji" She read it. The fluorescent lights of the convenience store were harshly white. The linoleum beneath her feet was coldly damp. Arisu stood in place, turning pages. The article was a reportage piece that used Kagerou Slope as a lens to depict women living in the corners of the city. The description of a woman written as the anonymous "Ms. A" became invisible partway through. There was no need to read it again. "Twenty-five years old. Employed at a restaurant for seven years. Originally from Funabashi, Chiba Prefecture. With her characteristically sleepy, narrow eyes, she responds to whatever is asked of her, consuming her days without will." Her hands were trembling. "She has no will. That cannot be called living." She couldn't put the magazine back on the shelf. She tried to make the motion to return it, but her fingers wouldn't move. She forgot about getting in line at the register, about leaving the store—all of it that morning. Without buying a cream pan from Komugi Doki, Arisu went to work at Hinata. —– The lunch prep proceeded as always. Her hands moved. Even though her mind had stopped, her body moved of its own accord from seven years of habit. She drew broth, cut vegetables, checked the contents of small bowls. The sliding door opened at 11:40. Twenty minutes before the lunch service customers usually arrived. A young man she didn't recognize came in—or so she thought for a moment before recognizing his face. Ash-brown hair, slightly lighter in tone, gathered carelessly. Large eyes. He seemed a bit taller than three years ago, but the way he formed his expressions hadn't changed at all since middle school. His anger was overflowing from his entire face. It was Majima Ryou. Since getting a job in Osaka, he hadn't come back. Despite it being his father's—Majima Yoshiaki's—shop, he'd barely shown his face in three years. And Ryou was holding a magazine in his hand. Shuukan Libre. "[angry]Did you know about this?" His voice was low. Arisu had known since middle school what Ryou's voice sounded like when it was this low. It was the voice he used when he was holding something back. Ryou slammed the magazine down on the counter. The sound echoed through the small shop. "[angry]That bastard Kinoshita—he's been acting like a regular for three years, and he made you into material for an article. The name's hidden, but anyone who knows can figure it out. If he writes about someone from Funabashi who's been here seven years with sleepy-looking eyes—there's no one else but you" Arisu continued wiping a cup while standing behind the counter. The sliding door opened again. Dark brown hair cut short. Tall, with serious black eyes that looked at Arisu first. It was Kawase Takuma. Today was Wednesday, which was unusual for Kawase to come for lunch. He was holding the same magazine in his hand. Ryou and Kawase looked at each other's faces. One second of stillness. "[serious]Miyano-san" Kawase's voice was low and restrained. It was a different quality from Ryou's anger. It was a quietness with a firm lid sealed tightly on the inside. "[serious]Are you alright?" "[angry]How could I be alright?" Ryou turned to face Kawase. "[angry]Who the hell are you?" "[serious]I'm Kawase. A regular customer of Miyano-san's" "[sarcastic]A regular? Why would a regular bring a magazine?" "[serious]For the same reason as you, I think" The two exchanged glances. It was the look of recognizing the other's existence for the first time. Both of them thought they were standing on Arisu's side. It came through so clearly that both of them were looking at Arisu. Arisu continued wiping the cup. She only felt the sensation of the cloth fibers against her palm. No one asked Arisu what she wanted to do. "[serious]I'm going to talk to my old man. We're banning that guy from coming here" "[serious]I don't think that's enough" "[angry]Then what are you planning to do?" "[serious]I think we should talk to him directly. To Kinoshita" The conversation proceeded over Arisu's head. She folded the cloth and put it in the drawer beneath the counter. "[gentle]...Lunch service is about to start" Both men stopped. "[gentle]Could you please take a seat?" Ryou started to say something. Kawase pulled out a chair first. Ryou clicked his tongue and sat at a distant table. Lunch service began. —– After the lunch customers left, Arisu began preparing for the evening shift alone. Yoshiaki had gone out to buy supplies. Ryou and Kawase had finished eating and left, but both had said they'd come back in the evening. While doing prep with the sliding door slightly open, she heard voices from outside. "—Arisu-chan, looks like you got in a magazine." A familiar voice. It was Fujikawa from Komugi Doki. "So it seems. She looks like she's having a hard time with it." The response came from Takeuchi from Takeuchi Produce. It sounded like vegetable deliveries had overlapped. Arisu stopped her prep work. The two of them weren't saying anything bad. They were concerned. She understood that. But the voices, the air, were beginning to shift subtly. The magazine had reached all twenty-two shops on Hikari Street. More than if her name had been written, Arisu's outline had dispersed across a much wider range today. Arisu quietly closed the sliding door. Seiji had written about Hinata. He had written about Kagerou Slope. Everything Arisu had built up here over seven years, he had made into material for his article. The word "anger" came to mind. But she still didn't know if that was anger. Something was hardening in her chest, but she couldn't give it a name. Arisu picked up a knife. She continued cutting vegetables. —– About an hour after the evening service began, Ryou and Kawase returned. They probably hadn't arranged it, but they arrived almost simultaneously. Yoshiaki was also in the kitchen. Just after eight, the sliding door opened. It was Kinoshita Seiji. Black leather jacket. He wasn't wearing his usual camera around his neck. Hands in his pockets, he came straight in. He looked at the counter. Arisu was there, Ryou was there, Kawase was there. He confirmed that arrangement in one second without changing his expression. "[cold]Don't come in" Ryou stood up. Seiji didn't stop. He walked toward the end of the counter. Ryou stepped forward. His arm reaching to grab Seiji's collar was caught from the side by Kawase. "[serious]Calm down" "[angry]Let go" "[serious]This isn't the place for it" Ryou looked at Kawase. One second. He clicked his tongue and shook off Kawase's hand. But he didn't sit down. Seiji stood in front of the counter. He looked at Arisu. "[cold]I didn't use her name" His voice was quiet. "[cold]I protected the anonymity of my interview subject. It's within the bounds of freedom of expression" "[angry]Did you come here to say that?" "[cold]I'm stating facts" "[angry]Facts? What you wrote was——" "[serious]Ryou-san" Kawase spoke briefly. Ryou fell silent. Kawase turned to face Seiji. "[serious]You say you protected anonymity, but you've been coming to Hinata for three years in this town. Anyone who knows her could identify her. You knew that when you wrote it, didn't you?" "[cold]That's the reader's problem" "[serious]No, it isn't" Kawase's voice carried temperature for the first time. "[serious]That's your problem" Seiji looked at Kawase. Then he looked at Arisu again. His eyes didn't leave her. Arisu stood behind the counter. Three men were here, each in their own way. Ryou was angry. Kawase was saying what was right. Seiji—he didn't say anything, his eyes never leaving Arisu. She remembered a murmur from before. The dark walking path of Tsukimori Greenery. That small voice right after the kiss. Confirming something, deciding something. Now, its meaning was beginning to take shape. That night—Seiji had confirmed that Arisu wouldn't refuse. He confirmed she was a woman who wouldn't refuse. And then he wrote. No will. That cannot be called living. He had deliberately blurred the boundary between interview and affection, turning his own interior into a commodity. Yoshiaki came out from the kitchen. "[serious]Go home, all of you. Today" His voice was low. It was rare for the gentle Yoshiaki to speak like this. "[angry]Father-in-law, we can't just let this guy——" "[serious]I said go home" Ryou closed his mouth. Seiji moved first. He walked toward the sliding door, and just before leaving, he turned back once. He looked only at Arisu's eyes. He said nothing. Arisu couldn't read what was in those eyes. Kawase stood up and bowed deeply to Arisu. A sincere, careful bow. Then he left. Ryou looked at Yoshiaki. "[angry]You're pretty hopeless too, old man. You've been relying on Arisu for seven years, and if you can't protect her when it matters——" "[serious]Ryou" "...I get it" Ryou closed the sliding door. —– Silence returned to the shop. The sound of Yoshiaki's footsteps going upstairs echoed. The sound of each step on the stairs seemed to fade as if being counted one by one. When it stopped, there was truly nothing left. Arisu was behind the counter. She collapsed. She hugged her knees. The wooden floor of the counter was hard and cold. The wall clock chimed. It was closing time. No one came. Nothing could be heard. Arisu rested her forehead on her knees. The air that the three men had left behind still seemed to float in the shop. Ryou's anger. Kawase's righteousness. Seiji's eyes. She thought she was hurt. For the first time, she thought that word fit perfectly. Not anger, not sadness—hurt. Had she wanted Seiji to see her, or had she not wanted to be seen? That question was terribly painful tonight. There was a voice that said "not an interview." There was the warmth of fingertips touching the back of her hand. But at the same time, there was that confirming gaze. "I knew it." Which was true? Maybe all of it was true. That seemed like the most painful answer. Arisu leaned her back against the corner of the counter and looked up at the ceiling. An old beam ran across it. The pendulum of the wall clock swayed slightly. For seven years, Arisu had been in this place. She had thought this was her home. But Seiji's article had written those seven years as "time consumed without will." She didn't yet have words to say that was wrong. She didn't yet have her own words to say it was different. The pendulum continued to sway. Arisu sat hugging her knees, listening only to that sound.