Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 10: Gravity, Lace, and the Ebi Furai of Karkinos (Patreon)

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!? YOU ARE SCARING THE CUSTOMER!”

Smack!

“I-I’m sorry!” The chubby bento shop owner rubbed the back of his head where his wife had just ruthlessly karate-chopped him, then bowed deeply to a completely frozen Yui. “I am so sorry for startling you, Young Lady.”

“......................”

Yui stood paralyzed near the entrance, her large eyes blinking behind her thick glasses. The sheer volume of the shout, combined with a completely incomprehensible foreign phrase, had short-circuited her brain.

“That’s a traditional Greek greeting,” I explained smoothly, stepping up beside her. “Don’t worry, Amami-san. I told you the owner is a massive Saint Seiya fan, right?”

“O-Oh...” Yui let out a breathless sigh of relief, though she couldn't help but shoot me an adorable, trembling pout. I hadn't exactly warned her that the Greek mythology obsession extended to screaming at the customers.

“It’s your fault too, Motoi-kun!” The shop owner, dressed in a slightly stained apron and a tight polo shirt, pointed an accusing finger at me. “I was hyping myself up the moment I saw you walking down the street! I was in the zone!”

“Boss, do you seriously scream that at every customer who walks in?” I asked.

“Only you.”

“..................”

I sighed. Why did it feel so incredibly weird to be singled out by a middle-aged man?

“Please, just ignore my idiot husband, Motoi-kun.”

The shop owner's wife forcefully shoved her husband aside, stepping up to the counter with a warm, welcoming smile.

Her name was Kana. To anyone else, she was just the local obaa-san (aunty) running a takeout counter. But I knew better than to call her that. First, calling a woman an "old lady" was a one-way ticket to eating a "Meteor Fist" to the jaw. Second, she was genuinely a gorgeous, mature woman. She had a slender, graceful figure, and her long, dark hair was tied up into a high, practical ponytail.

She wore a soft, white triangular cloth wrapped over her hair to keep the food sanitary, but the domestic, wifey quality it gave her only amplified her charm. I would be lying if I said the dedication to hygiene was the only reason I frequented this shop.

“You don’t have a lot of time for your lunch break, right?” Kana asked, leaning over the glass display case.

“Thank you, Kana-nee.”

“I really am sorry about him, Motoi-kun,” she sighed, bowing her head slightly in apology.

As she bowed, gravity took hold of the loose collar of her t-shirt. Time seemed to slow down. From my angle, I was given an unobstructed, tantalizing glimpse straight down her shirt. Her chest might have been on the modest, flatter side compared to someone like Misaki or Yui, but the sheer, mature femininity of it was breathtaking.

I caught the delicate, intricate lace of her light blue bra pressing against her pale, smooth skin. The soft swell of her cleavage cast a mesmerizing shadow in the warm light of the shop, and the faint, incredibly domestic scent of soapy laundry detergent mixed with the mouth-watering aroma of fried food wafted up to my nose.

My throat went entirely dry. I immediately forced my eyes up to the ceiling, desperately pretending I hadn't just seen something incredibly intimate.

This wifey is far too gorgeous, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“But... was that really Greek?” Yui asked softly, tugging lightly at my sleeve and mercifully pulling me out of my dirty thoughts.

“It is,” I nodded, clearing my throat.

“Welcome, stranger! You are sent by Zeus; enter my house as a friend!” the shop owner boomed again, striking a dramatic pose like an NPC in an old-school RPG.

Surprisingly, despite the aggressive weirdness, Yui leaned in, her literary curiosity piqued.

“Motoi-kun is a great friend of mine. He actually helped me re-conceptualize this entire shop!” The owner puffed out his chest proudly. “Before, I was just a Saint Seiya wannabe. But thanks to his research, I have ascended to become a true follower of Zeus!”

“Ah, that makes sense. Zeus is the god of hospitality and guests, after all,” Yui nodded thoughtfully.

“Oh! You are a woman of immense culture, Young Lady!” The owner’s eyes sparkled, amazed by Yui’s casual mythological knowledge. “If you were a normal guest, I wouldn't do this. But since you have traveled far to reach this sanctuary, allow me to show you my special menu!”

With a flourish, he whipped out a heavy, leather-bound menu book—the exact one I had painstakingly helped him design.

“I really am so sorry about my husband,” Kana whispered to me, rolling her eyes affectionately. She knew that once he started his Greek spiel, stopping him was impossible.

“No, it’s completely fine, Kana-nee.”

I offered her a polite smile, making absolutely sure to keep my eyes locked strictly on her face this time. Kana smiled back, a soft, genuinely happy expression. Since I had started working at the Kamakura library and visiting their shop, she felt their daily routine had become much more festive.

Unfortunately for the romantic tension, her husband was far more interested in showing off his menu than noticing our interaction.

Yui took the heavy book, looking utterly confused. She glanced between the extravagant menu and the simple glass display case where the actual food was sitting behind handwritten, normal Japanese labels. Why did a takeout bento shop even need a leather-bound lore book?

Still, she opened it and read the dramatic calligraphy aloud.

“Crystallized Wings of the Stymphalian Fiend... The Golden Fleece of Calydon... The Fall of Icarus, Drowned in Lethe... Severed Limb of Karkinos... Primordial Clay of Prometheus....”

“What do you think?” the owner asked, crossing his arms proudly.

“...They are incredibly creative.” Unexpectedly, Yui didn't cringe. Instead, she pushed her thick glasses up the bridge of her nose, her eyes scanning the descriptions like she was analyzing a manuscript. “This one... Severed Limb of Karkinos... is it an Ebi Furai?”

She deduced that the "limb of the giant crab monster" had to be the massive shrimp, breaded in crispy panko, deep-fried to a golden brown, and served with rich tartar sauce.

“................”

The shop owner gasped, staggering backward as if he had been struck. He looked at me in pure awe. “Motoi-kun! Is this young lady a follower of the Greek Pantheon, too?!”

“I doubt it. She’s probably Buddhist or Shinto like the rest of us,” I replied flatly.

“Ah, what a tragic shame...” The owner sighed dramatically, then beamed at Yui. “Since you successfully deciphered the ancient texts, I’ll throw in a Severed Limb of Karkinos for free, Young Lady!”

“Ah, um, thank you very much,” Yui bowed awkwardly, blushing at the sudden generosity.

“Alright, alright, please just choose what you want to eat. Motoi-kun’s break is going to be over before he even takes a bite,” Kana scolded, physically pushing her husband away from the register.

“Have you decided what you want, Amami-san?” I asked.

“Hmm...” Yui stared through the glass at the steaming trays of food. The savory smell of sweet soy sauce, fried batter, and roasted meats was intoxicating. “Everything looks so delicious. What are you getting?”

“Do you mind if I order first?”

“No, please go ahead.” She stepped back slightly, her heavy cardigan shifting over her curves.

“Then, let me get the cabbage and sakura shrimp stir-fry, the simmered bamboo shoots, and a souvlaki.”

“Coming right up!” Kana cheered, quickly preparing the bento box.

“As expected of my best customer. You know exactly what our strongest dishes are today,” the owner nodded in deep approval. “The simmered bamboo shoots are flawless. I managed the seasonings perfectly and simmered them on a low, gentle heat until the deep, savory umami flavors seeped into the very core of the ingredients.”

As the owner proudly rambled about his cooking techniques, Yui leaned in close to me. Her shoulder briefly brushed against my arm, sending a soft, powdery scent of vanilla into the air.

“What is a souvlaki?” she whispered.

“It’s Greek street food. Basically, heavily seasoned roasted chicken served with a tangy yogurt sauce,” I whispered back, leaning my head slightly toward hers.

“Oh.” She nodded, her eyes lingering on the juicy grilled meat.

However, unlike my adventurous choices, Yui stuck to the deeply orthodox, comforting classics. She ordered Tamagoyaki (a slightly sweet, perfectly rolled Japanese omelet), Kinpira Gobo (julienned burdock root and carrots stir-fried in soy sauce, sugar, and sesame oil), and a massive scoop of Potesara (Japanese potato salad, uniquely rich and semi-mashed with Kewpie mayonnaise, thin cucumbers, carrots, and bits of ham).

“Here is your bento. And your bonus ebi furai,” Kana said with a gentle, motherly smile, handing Yui a warm plastic bag.

“Behold! The Severed Limb of Karkinos!” the owner bellowed from the back.

“Yes, dear, the severed limb, we know,” Kana rolled her eyes, accepting our cash with a laugh. “Please come back anytime, you two.”

“May your roads be safe from the wrath of Poseidon!”

“Thank you,” Yui and I chimed in unison.

Stepping out of the cramped, hot shop and back into the bright Kamakura sunlight felt like we had just survived a chaotic tavern encounter in a fantasy game.

“So... why Greek?” Yui finally asked, hugging her warm bento bag against her chest.

“Shouldn’t you have asked the owner that while we were inside?”

“Well, you clearly know him well. And you’re the one who came up with all those crazy names for the dishes, right?” Yui paused, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with a sudden, horrifying realization. “...Motoi-san, were you a Chuunibyou?”

Chuunibyou—the infamous "eighth-grader syndrome." An embarrassing teenage phase where kids delude themselves into believing they have dark, secret powers, cursed bloodlines, or vast mythological knowledge.

“...Do you seriously think I’m walking around suppressing a cursed dragon in my right arm?” I asked, staring at her in absolute disbelief.

“N-No! Of course not!” Yui shook her head frantically, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. But she couldn't hide the suspicion in her voice. “...Were you?”

“Did you completely forget that I’m a librarian?” I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “The owner came into the library before asking for reference materials on Greek mythology to rebrand his shop. I just helped him pull the books and brainstormed a few names so he wouldn't mistranslate anything offensive.”

“Oh! I see!”

Yui nodded rapidly, her shoulders dropping in relief. She felt incredibly guilty for secretly suspecting her reliable Motoi-san of being a former edgelord.

Though... he would probably be really cute if he actually had a hobby like that, she thought secretly to herself, her heart doing a strange, fluttering flip in her chest. She squeezed her bento bag tighter, not daring to say the thought out loud.

A quiet lull fell over us. Yui looked down at her shoes, assuming this was the part where we politely parted ways. I would go back to the air-conditioned staff room to eat, and she would go back to her gloomy, lonely corner in the reference section. The thought made a heavy sadness bloom in her chest. Even if it was just walking down the street to buy lunch, being outside with him felt like a genuine adventure.

“It’s a beautiful day out,” I said, looking up at the clear, cloudless blue sky. I turned to look at her. “I know a really good spot nearby with some shade. Let’s eat there.”

“Ah—” Yui gasped, her head snapping up in surprise.

“Unless you plan to head straight back to the library, Amami-san?”

“No! Please!” Yui practically shouted, her voice much louder than usual. She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, blushing furiously, but nodded her head eagerly. “L-Let's go to that spot.”

When she realized we were actually going to eat together, her entire demeanor shifted. The gloomy aura vanished, replaced by a soft, radiant eagerness.

“Good. Let’s grab some drinks from the vending machine first. What do you want?” I asked as we walked up to a glowing row of machines at the corner of the street.

“What are you getting, Motoi-san?”

I thought about the heavy, savory, and salty flavors of the bento boxes we were holding. “I think I’m going to get cold green tea. Something sharp and astringent, like Oi Ocha or Ayataka, to balance out the grease.”

“I’ll have the exact same thing, then,” Yui smiled.

As I dropped the heavy coins into the slot—clink, clink, clank—and grabbed the two freezing, condensation-covered plastic bottles from the dispenser, Yui watched my profile in the sunlight. It was such a painfully simple, mundane moment, yet she found herself desperately looking forward to every single second they were about to spend together.