Point of View: Ayanokoji
I couldn't say for certain whether this is the first time I've faced—or rather, met—a victim of this kind of abuse of power. Beck doesn't grasp the seriousness of the situation. They're demanding that she turn in a number of poetry manuscripts; it's a performance requirement at this writers' institution she attends, and if she fails to deliver what's being asked, she could even lose her home.
Aside from the financial help her father gives her, which still isn't enough, she mostly relies on the student subsidy provided by the government.
Her professor has made advances toward her, discreetly in public, but in private he tends to be more aggressive with his intentions.
—He doesn't even bother taking off his engagement ring when he touches me, "accidentally," according to him —that was something Beck told me during the morning call we had.
I had been spending time with Horikita until the countless times my phone rang made me leave her for a few moments. Beck genuinely needed my support. She told me that, in any case, she would talk about it more thoroughly with her friends today.
The usual course of action in these cases is to file a report with the authorities. But it isn't that simple.
Aside from the lack of evidence, Beck is not a minor. As a defense, her professor could argue that harassing a student with sexual intentions would be impossible, since he is a married man. The results of that process could turn out very badly for Beck.
Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do in this situation. Setting aside my lack of understanding of how someone like me could solve this, Beck is an adult.
—The best thing in this case, since you can't seek legal help, is not to back down. You should confront him when the time comes without hesitation. Show attitude, don't let yourself be blackmailed. Attack, don't wait passively —that was what I told her on the call.
She thanked me for the advice. Before ending the conversation, she told me there was a movie that had come out on Amazon Prime and that we should watch it at her house. I vaguely replied that it depended on whether I had to work that day.
—Your friend values you quite a lot if she wants your opinion before her friends' —to my left, Horikita was adjusting her clothes.
—Do you have a problem with that?
—None. I'm the one who had you in bed. Anyway, it was pleasant, but I have to continue with my internship. —She took out her phone and checked the time. She slipped it back into her purse as she approached me—. See you. —She planted a kiss on my lips and left my apartment.
Mentally, I couldn't be more grateful that she wasn't possessive or jealous. Well, that thought faded as quickly as it appeared, since the memory of her annoyance over the little stunt that barista pulled at that café where we reunited came to mind.
I have to go to work.
.........
Benjamin Ashby hasn't replied to any of the messages I've sent from one of the accounts I had prepared to contact him. I didn't make that many, only three. I used an old one to make it seem more genuine; caution was something that always went hand in hand with me. The bookstore has been fairly tense since the morning.
Ethan had tried his luck asking Joe about the basement, and he sharply replied that neither he nor I would be going down there. There was a critical situation with "the book," that's what he told me the previous time, but today he decided to say there were "two books."
An inconsistency.
He even went out of his way to add:
—Besides, because I wanted to change a few things, I made a mess down there and it's very disorganized. I'd like to take care of it when I have the time —that's what he told us.
Ethan really enjoys telling me about the things he likes, things he reads or watches throughout the weeks. Truthfully, I like it quite a lot. I'm not much for words, and having someone who talks to me no matter how empty my responses are tends to be good for me. In fact, I don't remember if he has ever exhausted my social battery.
—Kiyotaka, I assure you, it's incredible. I'm only two books into the trilogy and, I'm not lying, it's some of the best fantasy I've read this year.
—What was the author's name again? —I asked while flattening empty boxes to throw into the trash.
—Brandon Sanderson. He writes fantasy and he's incredibly prolific. He's even given his fans an exact date for when he'll finish each draft. Do you understand that? —his expressions shifted from happiness to amazement—. He doesn't abandon his projects; he's a man committed to what he does.
While wiping the sweat from my forehead with one hand, I searched my pockets with the other for my phone and, once I found it, I looked up on Google who this author Ethan was talking about was. Indeed, he was an author heavily focused on epic fantasy. Many critics praised his ability to create coherent magic systems. He had quite a number of published works. The one Ethan was talking about was specifically the first era, a trilogy called Mistborn.
—I see. You read Mistborn and The Well of Ascension, right? —I asked without taking my eyes off the phone.
—Yeah, yeah. I'd only be missing the third one, I think it was called The Hero of Ages.
—Hmm.
—What's wrong?
—According to what the internet says, the author was a fairly devoted Mormon who dedicated several years of his life to being a missionary.
—Mormon? But that… does that mean...?
—In the Mormon religion, work is something highly valued. Considered a divine principle, it's important to them because it shapes personal development.
—Oh.
As I scrolled through the screen to find out more about Sanderson, Ethan looked behind me.
—Ayanokoji, take care of bringing the cardboard boxes to the back of the store. More work, less phone. —I raised my eyes from the phone to look at him. Unintentionally, I raised an eyebrow—. Now.
There were many boxes. The weight wasn't the problem, but rather the lack of hands to carry them all. Ethan offered to help me. I accepted the help.
It took us a considerable amount of time to leave the old cardboard containers for the new books. The day had been fairly hectic: restocking shelves, organizing, prioritizing new releases, and rearranging sections required quite a lot of energy.
My phone had rung, but I didn't want to touch it; I had to wash my hands. Once they were clean, Ethan raised his hand into a fist.
—Come on. —I raised my fist and bumped his.
I finally looked at my phone. There were two messages from Beck:
"Heyyy, how's work going? Are you tired?"
"Well, I didn't want to bother you again today, but tomorrow my best friend, Peach, will be celebrating... uh, something important to her. But I didn't want to go alone. I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in coming with me."
After those two messages, there was a photo. The sunlight fell directly onto her face; her eyes looked more charming, to tell the truth. She was smiling in the picture. It only framed her face.
I thought for a moment and replied:
"Sure. Well, tomorrow I can ask Ethan to cover my hours."
Her next message was a "Thanks," accompanied by a blue heart.
Blue?
A hand reached my shoulder. I looked to my left and it was my boss.
—Take care of the sales floor. I'm going down to the basement to keep fixing the books. —After saying that, he closed his mouth. I felt his jaw tense up; his gaze put quite a bit of pressure on me.
Not really, actually, but it's something I know he wanted to provoke. It's curious how prominently the veins on his forehead show when he's angry.
You're not bothered by my distraction at work.
What bothers you is...