Mihua Commercial Street
As Shuichi Hayashi opened the car door to climb in, he overheard the flower shop owner scolding her daughter. "You little brat, itching for a beating, huh? That mouth of yours cost me money again! Why can't you learn something decent instead of acting like your deadbeat delinquent father?"
"I'm not copying Dad—I'm copying you!" Midori shot back.
"You little—!"
Through the shop's window, Shuichi glimpsed the mother and daughter brandishing wooden sticks, the faint thwack of clashing wood echoing. Well, well, madam, that refined act was just a front, wasn't it?
…
The police car continued toward the Mouri family's building. Halfway there, Chief Ono, lost in thought, pulled out a thick stack of coupons and handed them to Shuichi.
"What's this?" Shuichi asked.
"Your reward," Ono said with a grin. "You did Mihua Station a huge favor, but since you're a student, cash feels wrong. Take these instead."
I'd rather have the money… Shuichi flipped through the stack. It was a chaotic mix: bathhouse vouchers, haircut coupons, hotel stays, shopping discounts, even a coupon for extra noodles at a ramen shop.
"These are this month's batch," Ono explained. "If you don't use them, you can sell them. They're worth at least 40,000 or 50,000 yen."
The dazzling array of coupons covered every facet of daily life, a clear attempt to offset the low salaries of Japan's police—a quirky perk of the job.
As the car neared the street where the Mouri family's building stood, Shuichi spotted a familiar figure at the corner. "Chief, stop here. This is fine. Thanks for the ride!"
"Here?" Ono muttered, puzzled. But when he saw Shuichi leap out and jog toward a girl holding an umbrella, he let out a teasing whistle. "Tch, young people and their energy. Another pretty girl, too!"
…
"Eri!"
In the pouring rain, Shuichi called out to the familiar figure, but instead of stopping, she quickened her pace at the sound of his voice.
Did I get the wrong person? No, that couldn't be. Having grown up together, Shuichi would recognize Eri Kisaki's silhouette—or even her shadow—anywhere.
"Man, this rain's brutal! It broke my umbrella!" he shouted deliberately. "If this keeps up, I'll catch a cold by tomorrow!"
The figure ahead slowed, then stopped entirely.
Shuichi folded his umbrella, ducked under hers, and offered the single rose from the flower shop. "For you."
Eri glanced at it, unimpressed, and looked away.
"You don't like it?" Shuichi said, surprised. "The shop owner said one rose means 'you're my only one,' a symbol of devotion. Guess she was full of it…"
Before he could finish, Eri snatched the rose from his hand.
"Why'd you walk off so fast?" Shuichi asked. "I called you, but you didn't wait."
"Didn't you go to give Yukiko Fujimine an umbrella?" Eri replied, her face expressionless. "You were gone for hours. I thought you weren't coming back."
"She got soaked, and it wasn't safe for her to go home alone, so I walked her back," Shuichi said honestly. "But then, at her apartment, we ran into four idiot thieves pulling a heist. I got hurt trying to stop them."
"Hurt?" Eri's stoic mask cracked, her voice tinged with worry. "Where?"
"It's fine, just some scrapes. Already treated," Shuichi said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the wound, stained with brownish iodine.
Eri huffed, eyeing the marks. "Yukiko Fujimine put that iodine on, didn't she?"
"No, a policewoman at Mihua Station did it," Shuichi began. "Then—"
He stopped short. Yukiko had helped afterward, but seeing Eri's sour expression, he wisely swallowed the rest. "Then Chief Ono drove us home. On the way, he stopped at a flower shop to buy an anniversary gift for his wife. The owner gave me this rose as we left."
"I thought you bought it," Eri said, her gaze turning disdainful. "So it was just a handout."
"Handout or not, what's the difference?" Shuichi said with a grin. "It's for you, isn't it?"
"Hmph. Always with the sweet talk…" Eri sneezed mid-sentence. "Achoo!"
"You okay?" Shuichi looked her over, noticing her school uniform was half-soaked. How long had she been out in the storm? He quickly draped his jacket over her shoulders. "Sorry, I should've called from the station. Not having a phone is such a hassle."
"A phone?" Eri asked, confused.
"Uh, a communication device," Shuichi said, scrambling. "Like a telephone, but portable."
"Portable?" Eri frowned. "What about the cord?"
"It uses wireless signals, no cord needed," he explained, thinking fast. "The first mobile phone was invented by Motorola in the U.S. Japan should get them in a year or two."
His half-baked explanation seemed to impress Eri, who assumed he was keeping up with American trends. A spark of excitement lit her eyes. "Shuichi, with your smarts, you could study abroad. M-maybe we could go to America together…"
"Nah, pass," Shuichi said, shaking his head. In a few years, anti-Japanese sentiment would spike in the U.S., with boycotts and attacks on Japanese goods and people. A Chinese-American had even died in the chaos. Going there now would be asking for trouble.
He couldn't say that to Eri, though—she wouldn't believe him. Seeing her about to press further, he pivoted. "By the way, isn't this rose fragrant? It's from that shop on the commercial street. The mother and daughter running it were quite a pair…"
Eri sighed, sensing his dodge but letting it go. She lifted the rose and inhaled its sweet scent, only to catch another, cloyingly familiar fragrance.
Frowning, she leaned closer to Shuichi's jacket, sniffing carefully. The scent grew stronger. If she wasn't mistaken, it was Yukiko Fujimine's perfume.
"Your jacket… take it back!" Eri's face darkened as she yanked off the coat, shoved it into Shuichi's arms, and stormed off.
Watching her go, a song lyric drifted through Shuichi's mind: The scent of her perfume on you, it's a crime my nose committed…
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