Checking Out at 5:15 PM Chapter 40: A Childish Tongue (Patreon)

“Oh? Green tea ice cream?”

I looked up at the pristine, traditional wooden signage above the storefront: Kamakura Chacha.

If I was being completely honest, I had walked past this place a dozen times since transferring to the city. But unless there was a beautiful woman tugging on my arm, I would never willingly step foot in a trendy dessert parlor. To me, food was just calories meant to fuel the body.

A sweet treat was nice occasionally, but I was entirely pragmatic. I would much rather grab a cheap, chemically-perfected ice cream bar from the nearest 7-Eleven than stand in line at a popular, specialized tourist trap where the prices were absurd.

I didn’t lack money, especially since I lived rent-free in my parents' massive estate. But civil servant habits died hard.

Yet, since this was Misaki’s direct request, I wasn't going to argue. And looking at the shop closer, I couldn't deny it was a brilliant business model. The storefront was flawlessly designed—a perfect fusion of traditional Japanese aesthetics and modern, high-speed retail, optimized strictly for grab-and-go service right off the busy pedestrian street.

Grab and go.

Even though they were just selling scoops of green tea, the sheer volume of foot traffic meant they were basically printing money.

If someone actually wanted to make serious wealth, entrepreneurship was the only path, I thought idly.

But I also knew the soul-crushing reality of that path. A successful business required an agonizing amount of stress, sleepless nights, and constant legal battles. I was more than happy to just stamp library books and collect my stable municipal paycheck.

“Kamakura Chacha,” Misaki murmured, looking at me with a spark of excitement in her sharp eyes. “Have you ever tried it before?”

“No, it’s my first time.”

“Then you absolutely have to try their specialty.”

She spoke with the absolute, unshakeable confidence of a woman declaring a divine truth.

“I don’t mind ice cream, but...” I hesitated, looking at the display case filled with varying shades of vibrant green. “I’m honestly not very good with matcha.”

It was a slightly embarrassing confession. A grown man was supposed to crave thick steaks, fatty fried foods, and bitter black coffee. Yet, occasionally, I just violently craved something purely, unashamedly sweet.

It wasn't that I actively hated matcha. I could eat it if forced. But I possessed a somewhat childish palate. I genuinely disliked the sharp, earthy bitterness of pure green tea. If I had the choice, why would I actively choose something bitter when something sweet was available?

Some aggressive self-help gurus might argue that a man should constantly conquer his dislikes and step out of his comfort zone. But I was a pragmatist. If there was a smooth, paved road to my destination, why the hell would I deliberately walk barefoot over broken glass just to "build character"?

“Hmph~! How incredibly childish~!”

“...................”

Despite my brave, vulnerable confession, my terrifying boss showed absolutely zero mercy. She immediately mocked me.

“You live in Kamakura now, Motoi,” Misaki shook her head, placing a hand on her hip as she looked at me with deep, theatrical disappointment. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When you live in Kamakura, you need to be able to matcha.”

“......................”

I took a slow, deep breath, firmly holding my temper. I desperately wanted to point out that a grown woman mocking her subordinate over ice cream flavors was the true definition of childishness.

“But it’s okay. I won’t judge you too harshly for your weak palate,” Misaki smiled smoothly, reaching out to pat my shoulder with mock sympathy. “Just order whatever sweet, sugary thing you want. It’s my treat.”

My wounded masculine pride felt slightly healed by the offer of free food. But I couldn't resist being a little cheeky.

“So, do you actually like the Level Max, Kacho?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eh?”

This specific parlor was famous for offering different intensities of matcha ice cream, ranging from Level 1 to Level Max. Level 1 was creamy, incredibly sweet, and offered only a mild, elegant hint of green tea.

But Level Max?

That flavor was strictly for hardcore purists. It contained zero sugar. It was intensely, aggressively bitter—an astringent, punch-in-the-face explosion of raw tea leaves that would shock your taste buds to their core.

How did I know this if I had never been here?

Because Aoi had ruthlessly forced me to try it when we visited Kamakura together on a date years ago.

“Well, while it’s incredibly impressive that you have the refined, mature palate for Level Max,” I said smoothly, stepping up to the counter. “I think I’ll get the... oh, the seasonal flavor.”

I pointed at the bright orange tub. “Can I get the Chai Latte, please?”

“Certainly! One Chai Latte!” The young shopkeeper smiled brightly, noting the order before turning to Misaki. “And for you, Miss?”

“Er...”

Misaki suddenly looked incredibly nervous. She stared at the terrifyingly dark green tub of Level Max. But feeling the weight of my cheeky gaze on her, she set her jaw in pure, stubborn determination.

“I will have the Level Max matcha.”

“...Are you absolutely sure, Kacho?” I asked, genuinely shocked.

“What? Do you honestly think I can’t handle it?” Misaki snapped, glaring at me. “Unlike you, Motoi, my palate isn't that of a six-year-old.”

“...................”

I’m pretty sure you're the one throwing a childish tantrum over pride right now! I screamed internally, completely speechless.

“One Level Max, please,” Misaki ordered without a shred of hesitation.

“...That one isn't cheap, Kacho.”

Since pointing out her childishness clearly wasn't working, I tried a different angle to persuade her. The seasonal flavors were normal prices, but the premium Level Max matcha cost a staggering 740 yen for a single scoop.

For a civil servant, spending 740 yen on three bites of ice cream was absurd. And knowing perfectly well that she likely wouldn't be able to finish it due to the intense bitterness, it was a massive waste of money.

But Misaki wasn’t poor.

“Who do you think I am?” she scoffed elegantly, pulling out her sleek designer wallet and slapping a crisp bill onto the counter. “This is absolute pocket change for me.”

I just stared at her, completely defeated by her stubborn pride.

“Thank you very much! Your order will be right up~!”

As the shopkeeper quickly scooped the ice cream, Misaki turned back to me, her aura of absolute authority returning. “Where do you want to eat?”

“The beach?” I blurted out the most cliché, romantic location in Kamakura.

But the moment the word left my mouth, I immediately regretted it. The beach was beautiful, but it was actively terrorized by massive Black Kites (tonbi). Those aggressive birds of prey would ruthlessly dive-bomb anyone holding food.

I briefly wondered what a massive bird of prey’s face would look like if it successfully stole a scoop of Level Max matcha, only to be hit with pure, unadulterated bitterness. Would a bird actually gag?

Let’s not test that theory, I thought.

“Actually, it might be better to just eat here,” I corrected myself.

“Okay.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you like the beach, Kacho?” I asked, slightly confused by how quickly she agreed. Shouldn't a woman want to eat her expensive ice cream in front of a breathtaking, romantic ocean view?

“Unlike you, I’ve lived in this city for over a decade,” Misaki said flatly, completely unenthused. “More importantly, the coastal wind is incredibly intense right now. I’m terrified I’ll catch a cold if I stand out there.”

“O-Oh...”

“A-Ah! It isn’t because I’m getting old or anything!” Misaki panicked violently, misinterpreting my silence. Her face flushed bright red. “My immune system is perfectly fine! It’s just... the wind... the humidity...!”

“Kacho, it’s completely fine,” I said, desperately trying to calm her down before she had a public breakdown.

I understood perfectly. Despite her perfect beauty image and sharp suit, Misaki was in her thirties. Her body simply didn't recover as fast as a teenager's. It was entirely normal to avoid freezing, high-speed coastal winds to protect her health.

But her pride was wounded. She felt pathetic. Her eyes actually began to well up with frustrated tears.

“Let’s go to the beach right now!” she suddenly declared, grabbing her cup of dark green ice cream.

“No, no! Let’s just eat here!” I pleaded.

“The beach! We’re walking to the beach!”

“But Kacho, my stomach is actually feeling a bit sensitive today! The cold sea wind will give me terrible cramps!”

“Oh?”

Misaki stopped dead in her tracks. Her stubborn, prideful march instantly vanished. She looked at me with genuine, maternal concern and nodded. “Well... if your stomach is weak today, then we definitely shouldn't go. We’ll just eat right here.”

“..........................”

A dark, dangerous part of my brain deeply desired to lay her over my knee and spank her for being so incredibly, frustratingly stubborn. But since she had just bought me a 500-yen ice cream, I decided to let it slide.

“Here is your ice cream,” I said, handing her a napkin.

“O-Oh! Thank you.”

Misaki accepted her dark, terrifyingly green cup of Level Max. But as she looked at it, her eyes drifted over to my bright, sweet-smelling orange Chai Latte ice cream. A flash of pure, undisguised jealousy crossed her face.

“Let’s sit over there.”

I deliberately ignored her jealous gaze and pointed to a quiet wooden bench slightly off the main shopping path. We sat down together, our thighs just inches apart.

I took a small lick of my Chai Latte. “Hmm...”

It was incredible. It was deeply sweet, but complex—like a rich, brown-sugar caramel mixed with a sharp, warming hint of cinnamon and cardamom spice.

“How is it, Motoi?” Misaki asked, her voice tight as she watched me genuinely enjoy it.

“It’s really nice, Kacho,” I answered honestly, offering her a warm smile. “Thank you for the treat.”

“I-It’s nothing...”

She wasn't being humble; she was currently engaged in a terrifying mental battle with her own ice cream. She stared at the dark green scoop for a long, agonizing moment before finally gathering her courage. She took a tiny, tentative lick.

Instantly, her delicate eyebrows violently crashed together. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her entire face scrunched up in pure, unadulterated agony at the shocking bitterness.

“Hmm...” she groaned weakly.

We had both made the exact same sound, but the tone couldn't have been more different. Mine was pure bliss; hers was absolute suffering.

“...Do you want to taste mine?”

I knew it was a bold, inappropriate move. Offering my half-eaten ice cream to my boss meant asking her to share a very deliberate, obvious indirect kiss.

With Yui, an indirect kiss had caused a massive, stuttering panic attack. But Misaki was a mature, adult woman.

Hearing my offer, she didn't hesitate or blush. She just leaned forward eagerly, her soft lips parting as she took a desperate, generous lick of my sweet Chai Latte.

“Hmm...”

This time, the sound she made was a soft, breathy moan of pure relief.

“Motoi, you can have mine,” Misaki said quickly, practically shoving her dark green cup into my hands. “It’s the most expensive one on the menu, which means it's much more delicious!”

“Wait—”

Before I could even process the absolute audacity of her logic, she snatched my sweet Chai Latte right out of my hands.

“Yummy~!”

Misaki let out a bright, incredibly childish giggle as she happily devoured my sweet ice cream.

“............................”

I just sighed, completely defeated.

First, she had ruthlessly stolen my ice cream through a power harassment. Second, the sheer, radiant cuteness of her happy smile as she ate it made it physically impossible for me to be angry with her.

Resigned to my fate, I took a reluctant lick of her Level Max matcha.

“Bitter.”

It was exactly as awful as I remembered.

But as I looked up, the bitter taste completely vanished from my mind. Misaki was watching me eat her ice cream. The sudden realization that our lips were now touching the exact same wooden spoon had finally hit her. A massive, beautiful, incredibly deep red blush was rapidly spreading across her cheeks and down her pale neck.

“...I’m taking you out to dinner tonight,” she mumbled, her eyes darting away nervously.

Yeah, I thought, a genuine smile spreading across my face despite the bitter taste in my mouth. Misaki really is the best.