Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 20: L'Escargot Chocolat (Patreon)

“I never would have guessed you were the type to drive yourself around, Amami-san.”

As Yui smoothly piloted her sleek, incredibly pristine SUV down the winding Kamakura roads toward the local farmers' market, I couldn’t help but point it out.

Owning a car was a luxury in Japan, especially in Tokyo, where land premiums made parking spaces cost more than some apartments. But even down here in Kamakura, owning a car wasn’t exactly practical. The historic coastal city was notorious for severe traffic congestion, incredibly narrow, winding roads, and outrageously expensive parking lots. Most locals relied entirely on the Enoden train line, walking, or zipping around on electric assist bicycles.

I actually owned a car—a graduation gift from my parents after I passed the brutal Tier-1 civil servant exams—but it sat collecting dust. Frankly, it was almost always faster and cheaper for me to just walk.

“W-Well...” Yui kept her eyes firmly on the road, her knuckles white as she gripped the leather steering wheel. “I don’t really know how to explain it... but I just feel safer in a car. I-It might seem weird to most people, but in my car... I feel completely secure. I can go anywhere I want without having to worry...”

“No, I completely understand,” I nodded seriously.

“R-Really?” She blinked, glancing at me in surprise.

“Yes.”

I understood instantly why Yui preferred the fortress-like isolation of a personal vehicle over public transportation.

It was, frankly speaking, because of her massive breasts.

Japan was a beautiful country, but public transportation during rush hour was notorious. For a woman as breathtakingly beautiful as Yui, who also carried such an impossibly heavy, gravity-defying burden on her chest, a crowded train was a nightmare scenario. Perverts were everywhere, lurking in the packed crowds, waiting for any excuse to press themselves against vulnerable women. The issue was so severe that train lines constantly ran public service announcements about chikan (groping).

Some insensitive people might call Yui spoiled for driving everywhere while the rest of the working class suffered on the trains. But if she had the millions of yen required to buy a luxury SUV and pay for Kamakura parking, why shouldn't she? The peace of mind was worth every single yen.

However, while the exterior of her SUV looked like a spotless, impenetrable armored tank, the interior... was very much Yui.

“...I am so sorry for the mess,” she squeaked, her face burning red as she caught me looking around.

Despite her frantic attempts to shove things into the backseat when I climbed in, the passenger side was still cluttered with crumpled receipts, half-empty coffee cups, and mountains of loose manuscript paper covered in crossed-out sentences. It was the physical manifestation of her multi-year writer's slump.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Amami-san,” I reassured her smoothly.

Inwardly, though, I couldn't help but think that thoroughly cleaning this car might actually help clear the agonizing fog in her mind. A cluttered space usually meant a cluttered head. But as a civil servant who had never written a book in his life, I kept my mouth shut. Telling a genius author how to cure her slump felt incredibly arrogant.

If I spoke carelessly, I might accidentally hurt her feelings by minimizing a struggle I didn't actually understand. So, I chose to play the role of a supportive friend. Treating her strictly as a "patron" felt far too cold, especially since I was currently riding shotgun in her car on my day off.

Despite her reputation as a gloomy, introverted shut-in, and the sheer, distracting volume of her chest, Yui was actually a wonderfully sweet, lively person when she felt safe.

“So, what is so interesting about this market we’re going to?” Yui asked, her eyes sparkling with genuine anticipation as she pulled into a parking spot near the station.

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. “There are a lot of great things. You’ll just have to look forward to it. Though if it turns out you don't like it, I apologize in advance.”

“No, no! I know it will be interesting!”

“Why are you so sure?”

“...................”

Yui instantly clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. She couldn't possibly say the truth: Because I’m with you, Motoi-san, and that fact alone makes this the best day I’ve had in years.

We stepped out of the car and walked the short distance to the Kamakura Farmers' Market. Known locally as Rembai, the cooperative market has been operating since 1928, just a three-minute walk from the East Exit of Kamakura Station. Roughly twenty local farming households rotated daily, selling vibrantly colored "Kamakura vegetables," fresh flowers, and artisanal baked goods.

As soon as we approached the covered market stalls, the incredibly rich, intoxicating aroma of baking butter and toasted yeast washed over us. My mouth instantly began to water.

“Should we grab a pastry or two before we shop?” I suggested.

“Okay,” Yui nodded obediently, her stomach betraying her with a tiny, soft rumble. The smell was simply too tempting to resist.

We followed the scent to a small, chic bakery stall tucked near the entrance.

“Pax vobiscum!”

“................”

Both of us froze mid-step. I stared blankly at the wooden sign hanging above the display case.

Tarasque.

“Ah! The Tarasque!” The man behind the counter—who possessed an aggressively curled, incredibly dramatic French mustache—spread his arms wide. “A fearsome, dragon-like beast from Provence with a lion's head, a turtle's shell, and a scaly tail! It terrorized the town of Tarascon before being tamed by Saint Martha!”

“....................”

I stared at the shop’s logo. It was a cute, cartoonish turtle with a cat's face.

Just like the Pegasus Bento Shop, Kamakura apparently had a bizarre surplus of mythological-themed food stalls. Still, the name Tarasque was catchy, and more importantly, the golden, flaky pastries sitting behind the pristine glass looked absolutely divine.

Yui subconsciously stepped behind me, her small hands tightly clutching the hem of my running shirt as if we had just triggered a boss encounter in a fantasy dungeon.

“It’s my first time here,” I said casually, shielding her slightly. “What’s popular?”

“Ah, you have a magnificent eye, Monsieur!” The man beamed, his voice adopting a thick, exaggerated French accent that completely butchered Japanese grammar rules. “If you crave the savory, our artisan sandwiches are magnifique. But if your soul desires the sweet, I highly recommend our specialty: the Tourteau Fromager.”

“Tourteau Fromager?”

“Oh! Your pronunciation is flawless, Monsieur! Have you visited the City of Light?”

“No, not really.”

City of Light? You mean Paris? We’re standing in a vegetable market in Kanagawa.

“Ah, a tragedy! You must go!” The owner sighed dramatically. “To answer your question, the Tourteau Fromager is a traditional French turtle bread. It is a round, dome-shaped cake with a deliberately scorched, blackened top crust that mimics a rough turtle shell. Historically, the word tourteau shares roots with tortue (turtle) in old regional dialects!”

He leaned closer to the glass, gesturing grandly. “But beneath that dramatic, burnt crust lies an incredibly soft, airy sponge cake made from fresh, sweet milk cheese. It is so utterly sublime that my own mouth waters just speaking of it!”

“I’ll take one of the savory sandwiches and one turtle bread,” I decided instantly.

“Right away, Monsieur!” The owner smiled warmly. “Shall I prepare a fresh coffee to accompany them? We have a lovely outdoor seating area where you can leisurely enjoy our goods while watching the poor, miserable salarymen rushing to their corporate prisons.”

“...You have a very sadistic business model, but I respect it,” I noted.

“Thank you for the highest praise,” he bowed smoothly.

“Just the bread for now. We’re going to eat it while walking through the market.”

“Ah! Le croûton!”

“Le croûton?”

“Eating a fresh, warm baguette while walking directly outside a local boulangerie is a deeply respected cultural practice in France!” he declared proudly. He then turned his dramatic gaze to Yui, who was still peeking out from behind my back. “And what about the lovely Mademoiselle? Shall I offer a recommendation?”

“Amami-san, what do you want?” I asked gently, stepping aside so she could see the case.

“Er...” Yui pointed a timid finger at a perfectly round, spiraled pastry. “What about that one? The one shaped like a snail shell... like in that famous horror manga?”

“Ah! L'Escargot Chocolat Pistache!” The owner clapped his hands together. “A famous snail-shaped French laminated pastry. It is crafted with heavily buttered croissant dough, layered with rich pistachio cream, and studded with dark chocolate chips. The taste? There is no need for words. It is simply divine.”

“I’ll take that one,” Yui said softly.

“Right away! Please step over to the register, Monsieur.”

I didn't waste any time. Before Yui could even reach for her purse, I tapped my phone to the terminal and paid for everything.

“Let’s go, Amami-san.”

“...Wait, what about the payment? Let me pay you back,” Yui protested, hurrying after me as I walked into the bustling market.

“You can treat me to a coffee or something inside the market later,” I waved her off. “If you see something you want, just let me know.”

Yui stared at the back of my head for a long moment, her heart fluttering. “Okay. I will.”

“Should we eat while it’s hot?”

I handed her the warm paper bag containing her L'Escargot. I didn't wait on ceremony; I immediately took a massive bite out of my savory sandwich. The crisp bread and the rich, umami flavors exploded on my tongue. I closed my eyes in pure bliss.

“Delicious.”

“Hmn~!”

Beside me, Yui took a delicate bite of her pastry. The flaky, buttery croissant dough shattered perfectly, giving way to the sweet, nutty pistachio cream and the bitter snap of the dark chocolate. She practically melted on the spot.

As I chewed, I could feel the familiar weight of Yui’s gaze burning into the side of my face. I turned, catching her staring longingly at my sandwich. I probably should have ignored it to maintain professional boundaries, but seeing her blushing face hiding behind her messy bangs was just too incredibly cute.

“Do you want to try a bite?” I asked, holding the sandwich out to her.

Yui hesitated for a fraction of a second. The memory of our shared lunch yesterday flashed in her mind. But the temptation was too strong. Blushing furiously, she leaned forward and took a small, careful bite directly from the spot where my lips had just been.

She closed her eyes, savoring the rich flavor, but her flushed cheeks proved she was savoring the forbidden, naughty thrill of the indirect kiss far more.

“Do... do you want to try mine, Motoi-san?” she offered softly, holding up the half-eaten snail pastry.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

I didn't hesitate. I leaned down and took a bite of the pastry. The butter and chocolate were intensely sweet, melting instantly on my tongue.

When I pulled back, our eyes met perfectly. The bustling noise of the market faded away, leaving an incredibly thick, ambiguous romantic tension hanging in the air between us.

Yui’s breath hitched. She nervously clutched the pastry bag to her heavy chest, her eyes darting away as panic set in.

“B-By the way!” she blurted out, frantically trying to break the heavy mood. “This pastry... don’t you think the spiral shape looks exactly like the curse from Uzumaki?”

“........................”

I stared at her in total silence.

I let out a heavy sigh. Comparing a premium French pastry to a terrifying body-horror manga where people twist themselves into literal knots was certainly one way to violently murder a romantic mood.

But honestly, it was for the best. It snapped me out of the dangerous trance I was falling into. I wasn't ready to let myself fall in love again, not yet.

“Should we go look at the vegetables now?” I asked dryly.

“Okay,” Yui nodded obediently.

As I turned and walked toward the vegetable stalls, I didn't see Yui pause behind me.

She pressed her free hand tightly against her massive chest. Her heart was racing so fast she thought she was going to pass out. Despite her terrible attempt to ruin the mood, she looked at his broad back with a bright, hopelessly loving smile.