If I continue working part-time at a convenience store for a while, I will remember the faces of the regular customers. Especially if they are memorable customers.

On their way back from club activities, the pimple-faced baseball team members sweep away all the hot snacks.

The person in the white and blue checkered shirt who always comes to buy anime tie-in products, regardless of the quality of the work.

The old man who comes to buy a sports newspaper the day after Hanshin wins, wearing a hat with a large cross drawn over the Giants' team logo with a permanent marker.

There are various memorable customers, but among them, there was one particularly memorable customer.

That person always shows up just as my shift is about to end.

That day was no different. Near the end of the shift. Before ten o'clock at night. During the quiet time when there were no other customers in the store, the automatic door opened.

She was a woman with black hair, elegant and composed. She is wearing a black dress that shows her shoulders. She looks slightly older than I. I wonder if she's around university age.

A beautiful appearance that could even be suitable for a model. An adult-like atmosphere.

As she stepped into the store, she slowly made her way to me at the register, not even glancing at the other products.

She stopped. And then our eyes meet.

She said as usual with a faint smile.

"Good evening. Twenty-five, please."

Twenty-five.

I turn around to the shelf behind me and pick up one of the brands lined up there. I can do it without even looking.

She always buys just one pack of the same brand of cigarettes.

The cigarettes that women smoke are thin and light. It is often the case.

But the cigarettes she smokes are heavy. It has a satisfying draw. Apparently. The reason I say that is because I have no personal experience with it. Of course. Because I'm a minor. The heavy taste and draw can only be imagined in my mind.

I scan the barcode of the cigarette. Beep. A warning sound comes from the monitor. In response, I recite the predetermined phrase.

"Please touch the age verification button."

"Yeeees~"

She touches the age verification button displayed on the monitor. I imagine a cigarette wedged between her slender, white fingers.

When I tell her the price, she takes out some coins from her wallet and feeds them into the payment machine. Even in this cashless era, she always pays with cash, smiling all the while.

After finishing the payment, the receipt is ejected. She didn't even glance at it, picked up the box of cigarettes, and held it up to cover her mouth.

And then, she tells me while narrowing her eyes.

"I am deeply grateful."

She always says a word of thanks after finishing the payment.

And that wording is different every time.

"Thank you very much," "Thanks," "Thank you," "Thanks," "Thanks for this," "Thank you," "Deep thanks," "Many thanks," "Thank you, here."

I don't know what the meaning is. There might not be any meaning to it. Is she doing it out of her own playful spirit?

I'm the only one who has noticed that.

She thanks me with different words every time.

But I can only respond with thank you every time.

Because it's a part-time job. Because I'm a store employee and she's a customer. Because we are not on equal footing. Also, I don't have the humor or social skills to say anything clever.

When she expresses her gratitude, she slightly sticks out her tongue.

There is a silver glow there.

A red tongue, with a piercing embedded in its center.

My eyes are drawn to the silver shine. I became captivated.

Like a bug drawn to the light.

She often comes when I'm on shift. Almost every time. And then she buys just one cigarette of the same brand.

I call her Twenty-five-san in my mind. Only when she comes to the store do the dead emotions suddenly come back to life.

A longing. I think that's the most fitting word.

I don't know anything about her. Her name or where she lives. All I know is the brand of cigarettes she smokes.

There are ways to find out. I have actually tried to do it. It would be fine to ask for an ID to verify her age.

A driver's license, a health insurance card, anything is fine. There is a name and address written there. Just pretend to check the age and take a look.

But I won't do that.

Bringing up age verification now would be unnatural, and using such underhanded means to obtain her personal information is something my self-consciousness can't bear.

If I had courage, or if I were a reckless fool, I might have been able to seize the moment and speak to her.

But I didn't have that kind of courage, and I wasn't an impulsive fool either. I only have useless, half-hearted cleverness.

So, it's fine not to know the name or address.

It's fine just to continue secretly harboring admiration like this.

Please touch the age verification button, and thank you. Just exchanging those two words is enough.

The brand of cigarettes she always buys. Just imagining her smoking it in my head is enough.

That is all I need.

Even if we can't get involved. If we could remain in the relationship of convenience store clerk and regular customer.

At that time, I still thought so.

Chapter 1: Cigarettes and an Older Beautiful Woman