Somehow, Living Life in Another World is Wrong, as I Expected Ch. 15.3 (Patreon)

Visitors were considerably easier to deal with when they wanted to buy something. There were established procedures for that. Ask what they needed, determine whether I had it, then negotiate how much of their money would become mine. Even an unreasonable customer provided a useful starting point by announcing what they were being unreasonable about. A person who walked into your shop simply because they knew you was much harder to price.

You couldn't very well charge by the conversation. I had considered it, but Felt would immediately start billing me for listening to instructions, and I refused to create a financial incentive for her to ask me to repeat myself.

Back in Japan, an unexpected visitor generally meant somebody at the door while I silently waited for another member of the household to discover them. This was a perfectly functional arrangement. My parents understood how to talk to adults, Komachi understood how to talk to everyone,  Kamakura understood how to act like a cat, and I understood that getting involved would only interfere with their respective areas of expertise. 

Specialization was the foundation of an efficient society.

Running the shop complicated that defense. There was nobody else whose responsibility it technically was, and pretending to be absent became difficult once the visitor had made eye contact with you. I had done myself no favors by choosing a chair visible from the entrance. A serious oversight in what had otherwise been an excellent afternoon.

Astrea, unfortunately, also belonged to the category of people who made you feel rude before you had actually done anything. The uniform helped, so did the posture, the expression, and the general impression that he would thank you sincerely for offering him a seat, even if you had first needed to remove a pile of rubbish from it. 

Being polite to somebody like that barely counted as an achievement. He had already done most of the work for you.

I glanced down at the book still open in my hands. The knight on its cover had managed to make carrying a sword look more troublesome than the man standing in my doorway, which probably said something unflattering about either the illustration or my reading habits.

More irritatingly, I had already decided that my afternoon was over.

He hadn't asked for anything yet.

That seemed like a rather important omission, considering how quickly I had prepared to resent the request. People were allowed to enter shops. People I knew were even allowed to enter mine, though I would appreciate being consulted before that became a regular social activity.

I slipped a finger between the pages instead of closing the book. Felt and Rom had survived several hours without my supervision. Presumably, I could survive a greeting without volunteering the rest of my day.

“Hikigaya-san, it’s been a while.” Gah! That blinding aura of niceness that was even beyond Totsuka’s! I swear, this clearly-trying-to-hide-his-depression guy had a Divine Blessing just to manifest that shit!

“Astrea.” I managed, easing my finger away from the binding before I left a permanent mark, “If you're here for a sword, I'm going to need you to lower your expectations considerably. Preferably before you look at the prices.” His gaze shifted toward the shelves at that, and I briefly considered whether insulting my own merchandise counted as taking the afternoon off or simply being terrible at my job.

“I was hoping to see how you were doing.” He answered, looking back at me with the same inconveniently pleasant expression, “Though I hadn't realized you were in the middle of something. I can come back another time.” His attention dropped to the book, which had somehow acquired the importance of a scheduled appointment simply because he was too polite to call it what it was.

“He's had all afternoon.” Felt informed him, resting her elbows on the counter with the satisfaction of somebody whose account of events would be heard first, “We practically had to shove him out the door before he stopped looking for things to do. Now he's complaining about that book, but he won't put it down.” Wonderful. Apparently, purchasing one piece of fiction had entitled my employees to provide a running commentary on how I used it.

“I can dislike parts of something and still want to finish it.” I said, which would have been a stronger defense if I hadn't already spent most of the afternoon doing exactly that. Rather than give Felt time to prepare a response, I hooked a foot around the spare chair and pulled it closer, “Sit down, Astrea. Having you standing by the entrance makes the place look like it's being inspected.”

He thanked me and settled into the chair, taking care that the sword at his side didn't knock against the furniture. Rom raised his cup from beside the counter, and Felt returned to her coins with considerably less noise than before. Astrea seemed content to leave the small silence alone, which I appreciated right up until he glanced at the cover again, “What is it about the book that you dislike? You seem to have made it quite far.”

“The protagonist keeps surviving things that should have killed him, and the princess appears to have fallen in love with him because he's the only man the author bothered to describe.” I tipped the book enough to show him the handful of pages remaining, “Unfortunately, I've reached the point where I want to know how it ends. If he solves one more problem by challenging someone to a duel, I might start charging the author for professional consultation.”

“I suppose you'll have to finish it to find out.” The faint amusement in his voice suggested that he had noticed the weakness in my position. His eyes lingered on the cover before returning to mine, and I found myself asking whether he read much. He took a moment before answering, “When I have the opportunity. It's been a while since I've sat down with something like that.”

I let out a sigh and closed the book around my finger, keeping my place through what was beginning to look like an increasingly optimistic commitment to finishing it today. Astrea had been perfectly willing to discuss the contents, but there was something careful about the way he kept looking back at me, as though my opinion of fictional knights might eventually tell him whatever he had come to find out. “Alright. What did you actually come here for? I doubt you walked over just to hear me complain about a book.”

The Sword Saint smiled apologetically, though the concern in his eyes made it considerably harder to enjoy having caught him out. His gaze lingered on my face before dropping briefly to the hand resting against the cover, and I resisted the urge to hide it. I had already dealt with enough people checking whether I was still in one piece. 

“I did want to know how you were doing.” He said, “But there's something I should have said first. I'm sorry I wasn't there, Hikigaya-san. Against the White Whale, and then the Great Rabbit. You had to face both, and I wasn't able to help you.”

Felt stopped moving the coins. I could hear the last one settle against the counter, an absurdly small sound to notice when I had been doing such an excellent job of ignoring the shop earlier. Rom lowered his cup, and I found myself looking at the edge of the book instead of any of them. I would have preferred a request. A request gave me something to complain about without having to decide how much of the complaint I actually meant.

“I won't pretend I wouldn't have appreciated the help.” I rubbed my thumb along the cover, then stopped when the paper began to bend, “Having you there would have made things considerably easier on the rest of us. But what exactly are you apologizing for? Did you know what was happening and decide you had something better to do?”

“No.” His answer came quickly, and the smile faded as he continued, “But knowing that doesn't make it easy to hear what happened to you. I keep thinking about what I might have prevented if I'd been there.” He paused, watching me with an attention that made my usual collection of evasions feel particularly obvious, “I'm glad you're here. I wanted to tell you that myself, rather than assume that hearing you were back at your shop meant everything was all right.”

…I feel like Ebina would be squealing with a nosebleed right about now. Sorry, fans of that particular genre, I’m still not interested in men, period.

“Well, you've seen me.” I said, shifting the book on my knee as though that might help me recover a normal sitting position, “Alive, employed, and being prevented from enjoying perfectly respectable literature. You can leave that last part out when people ask.” I had intended to give him something easier to respond to, preferably without either of us having to discuss feelings in front of an audience. Felt was already listening closely enough.

Astrea's shoulders eased a little, and the smile that returned looked less strained than before. “I'm glad. Though I imagine Lady Crusch would prefer a more thorough account than that.” He paused just long enough for me to look up, then added, “Unless she's already had the opportunity to see for herself.”

I stared at him. The words themselves were harmless enough, but there had been something in the delivery, a small, deliberate hesitation accompanied by an expression I had absolutely no preparation for. This was Astrea. He was supposed to receive my complaints with unreasonable patience, occasionally say something sincere, and leave me feeling vaguely ashamed of myself. There were established roles in this relationship.

“What does Karsten have to do with this?” I asked, considerably more quickly than I would have liked. Across the shop, Felt's chair creaked as she leaned forward, and I regretted allowing the conversation to take place anywhere that offered seating for spectators, “We were discussing you coming here to check whether I was alive.”

“Yes, and I'm pleased to find you well.” His expression remained perfectly composed, except for the amusement that was becoming increasingly difficult to explain away, “I've also heard that you and Lady Crusch have been spending time together. I thought that might be another reason to ask how you've been.”

Oh, he was doing this on purpose. There was no misunderstanding to correct, no innocent choice of words that my damaged social instincts had interpreted incorrectly. The Sword Saint was sitting in my shop, politely inviting me to explain my relationship with a woman, and enjoying the fact that I hadn't immediately found an answer. When the hell had he learned to do that? Was there a Divine Blessing for selecting the most troublesome possible conversational topic?

“We've had things to discuss. My appointment, for one, and research.” I counted them off without raising my hand, because I could already tell how that would look, “You know, subjects people can talk about without giving everyone else permission to invent something more interesting.”

“Of course.” He inclined his head, and I might have accepted that as a retreat if he hadn't continued, “Then I should probably disregard the rumors. I thought it would be better to hear it from you before offering congratulations.”

Felt made a noise into her hand. Rom suddenly found something worth examining at the bottom of his cup. I looked between them before returning to Astrea, who was now making a visibly inadequate effort to keep his smile under control.

“You.” I pointed at him with the book, having apparently abandoned any pretense of dignity, “I expected this from Argyle. You were supposed to be the decent one.”

That finally got a laugh out of him, quiet enough that I almost missed it beneath Felt's much less considerate contribution, “My apologies, Hikigaya-san. I couldn't resist.”

I lowered the book before Felt could accuse me of threatening a customer, though I was beginning to think Astrea had forfeited that particular protection. She was still laughing, Rom had stopped pretending to inspect his cup, and the strongest man I knew looked rather pleased with himself for discovering that I could be embarrassed. An ordinary enough scene, provided you ignored who was participating in it.

That was when a deeply unpleasant thought occurred to me.

I had spent the day wandering around, buying something unnecessary, drinking something sweet, and discovering that my acquaintances had personalities beyond whatever emergency required their attention. Now we were sitting in my shop discussing romantic rumors. Even Astrea had been given an opportunity to demonstrate an unexpected side of himself. As a reader, I would have known exactly where to place this material.

Between volumes. After the exhausting conclusion of one incident, before the protagonist stumbled into the next. The little collection of everyday scenes you bought because you liked the characters and wanted to see them doing something other than suffering for once. Maybe there would be an illustration of everyone eating together. Maybe somebody would be teased about a girl. An entirely harmless purchase, right up until the next main installment made you regret becoming attached to any of them.

My fingers tightened around the book.

Natsuki was elsewhere. For the moment, his problems had stopped arriving at my door, and I had apparently mistaken that for a permanent improvement in my circumstances. I knew how these stories worked. Giving the supporting cast an afternoon off didn't mean the author had run out of terrible things to do to them. It meant there was enough room between the terrible things to remind the audience why they should care.

The calm before the storm. I hated that expression. It took a perfectly good calm and made enjoying it sound like a failure to check the weather.

I looked at Astrea, still smiling, then at Felt leaning over the counter. Neither of them appeared to have noticed that our pleasant afternoon had acquired a deeply suspicious narrative function.

I was the protagonist…of a side story.

Dammit, things really were too good to be true!

…