Omake: Valentine's Day Special (Part 2)

Previously: Mai's mother encourages her to treat herself to a self-love Valentine's treat from the family, a jibun-kazoku-choco, so to say. We continue...

——————————

A few doors down from the station I spy what appears to be a bakery. The front window is aglow with Valentine's Day goodies; everything from pure chocolate to chocolate covered pastries and sugar figurines have been displayed behind the glass. Inside, a number of girls and women browse the shelves, pointing out to each other which ones they like best.

I walk over to the store and go inside. A simple tune chimes as I enter, and elsewhere behind the counter an employee calls in greeting. Nodding to them, I join the crowd of shoppers in the search for a Valentine's treat.

"Sugoi, these all look so good . . ."

And they smell good, too. The air is thick with the scents of cocoa and sugar. My stomach grumbles in response. 

I put a finger to my lips as my gaze wanders over the many displays.

It's easy to tell the fancy honmei-choco apart from the giri-choco by their decorations and packaging. The former tend to be wrapped with brighter colours and have large ribbons and bows. The latter . . . a lot less so, and for good reason; one must distinguish a special gift for a lover from an obligatory one for a colleague.

My sights land on a small pink box tied with a single bow. The open display holds nine chocolates in total, each wrapped with a different coloured paper liner. In particular, the chocolate hearts look tantalizing with their glossy sheen and icing decorations. Furthermore. the price is quite agreeable to my budget, despite Kaasan telling me to splurge.

"This one, please," I tell the cashier. 

"Hai." The cashier removes one of the boxes from the shelf and brings it over to the counter to her station. She rings the chocolates through and I pay up.

As I leave the store I think that rather than jibun-choco, this is kazoku-choco. I mean, it's still self-love chocolate, but it's technically from my family. It can be both, right?

I turn and head back toward the station, wondering to myself what I should make for dinner.

 Something light enough that won't put off my appetite for dessert. Using the leftovers from yesterday should shorten cooking time . . .

I'm so lost in thought that I don't notice a trio of salary workers brush past me. I try to step aside for them to pass, but as I'm walking on the edge of the sidewalk my heel slips off the curb and onto the road. 

In my surprise the chocolate box flies out of my hands and hits the asphalt, where it's run over by a car. 

I steady myself back on the sidewalk and stare at the box, feeling just as crushed. 

My jibun-kazoku-choco . . . Why am I getting déjà vu?

"Gomenasai," one of the salary workers says. 

Behind him, one of his colleagues elbows him. "Mah, mah. Just because you don't have a girlfriend to give you chocolate doesn't mean you should sabotage other people's chocolate."

I can tell that he's teasing his colleague, but still. 

"Seriously, Kazamatsuri?" the first salary worker grumbles. He looks to where the chocolates have tumbled out of the box and smeared like mud across the asphalt. "I'm really very sorry about that." He bows low at the waist. 

"Iie, iie." I return the bow, not wanting him to feel bad for a total stranger. "I should have paid attention to where I was going."

"It's my fault for bumping into you in the first place," he protests.

"That's right," his co-worker jumps in. "It's his fault your special chocolate got ruined, so he should do the right thing and replace it."

"That's really not necessary—"

"It's fine," another colleague says. "Did you get it from that shop? We can wait while he goes to buy you a replacement." She turns to the others.

"It's alright. I can just go home—"

"Why are you saying that when you looked so happy to buy it?" the man says. His gaze locks on mine so intensely that I can't refute him. 

I duck my head. "W-Well . . . I guess I was looking forward to it a little."

The man chortles. "Then it should be alright if I make it up to you by replacing it. Was that the store you bought it at?" He gestures to the store.

I nod, resigned under pressure of real adults. 

"I'll be right back," the man says to his colleagues. They wave to him and go to stand outside the shop. "Come on."

It seems I have no choice. I follow the man back into the shop. Some of the customers who were there when I first came in can't hide their shock. Already, I can hear them gossiping to one other. 

"Ara, ara. A high schooler and a salaryman?"

"Maybe it's not like that. He might be her uncle."

"But if that's the case why is she blushing?"

"Oh, stop it. She's probably just happy that her boyfriend is buying her reverse chocolate."

"Gyaku-choco is certainly very popular these days. I wish my boyfriend would buy my reverse chocolate as well . . ."

I swear it's not what it looks like!

It's true that more men have been buying women chocolate on recent Valentine's Days, but this man and I have no relationship whatsoever! 

I'm still completely and utterly embarrassed, but I dare to raise my head a little. I notice that the man before me is pretty tall, and his back is broad, though that could be the shape of his jacket. 

The salaryman stops at the display from earlier and points to it. "Is this the one you wanted?" he asks. 

Wordlessly, I nod. 

"This one, please," the man says to the cashier. To my luck, it's the exact same cashier who helped me before. At present she's glancing between me and the salaryman, trying to discern our relationship. 

Ahhhh! I want to crawl under a rock and disappear!

Before I can stop him the man pays for the chocolates and hands them to me. 

"I'm really sorry about this," he apologizes again. "I hope this will help make up for it."

I accept the box of chocolates, fingering the little bow tied at the corner.

"Arigatou gozaimasu. You really didn't have to do this."

He smiles, his eyes soft. "It's no trouble. A high schooler should be able to give chocolates to her boyfriend."

"Ah, but I don't—"

"Yo, Asahina!" the colleague from before—Kazamatsuri, was it?—pokes his head through the shop door. "Are you done buying honmei-choco yet?"

Both me and the salaryman are *this close* to crumbling into dust. 

"Seriously, Kazamatsuri . . ." The man runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Don't say stuff like that or you'll cause a misunderstanding."

"Eeh? But I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"Tch." 

Poor guy. He could use chocolate more than me right now.

"Are you alright?" I ask. 

He drops his hand and smiles. It's a little forced, but I can hear the genuineness in his tone as he reassures me that it's okay. 

"I hope your boyfriend will like these," he says. 

"Again, I don't have a—"

But he's already gone. 

He rejoins his colleagues outside, who continue giving him a hard time about the whole incident as they head toward the station. The man himself looks absolutely peeved to be the centre of their jokes. Now, I've never seen a grown man pout before, but his expression comes pretty close to how I'd imagine it. 

I let out a laugh and look down at the box of chocolates. 

It started out as jibun-kazoku-choco, but got mistaken for honmei-choco. In the end, they turned out to be giri-choco after all. 

Giri-gyaku-choco at that!

For a second I wonder what my mother would say if I told her. 

The box creases in my grip. 

On second thought, my mother doesn't need to know.