(He said he wants to buy game cards.)
On the very first day of opening, he not only found the store right away… but now he wants to buy cards?
There is a name that comes to mind, though.
"That, this customer you're talking about."
(...?)
"Is he, by any chance, as handsome as an actor?"
(He does have the most refined appearance of anyone I've met.)
It's him, for sure.
A few days ago, a sample was sent from Japan.
We were planning to launch a collaboration card between 'Dragon Quest' and our upcoming capsule monster promotion.
After confirming it looked good, I probably left it at the store.
But to think he'd somehow find out about it and even express a desire to buy it!
(What should we do?)
The answer was simple.
"Set some conditions."
(...?)
"He's the first customer at our store. Let's take a commemorative photo and put it in a magazine. If he agrees, give it to him as a gift."
Shortly after, there was a brief exchange over the phone.
(He's asking if the card needs to appear in the photo as well.)
Such a worrywart, as always!
"The card doesn't need to be in the photo."
(Then he said he'll go ahead with it.)
As the short call ended, I quietly organized my thoughts.
The fact that our first customer happened to be the heir of the Duke of Grosvenor.
There was no harm in leaving a record of this.
'By the way.'
Even someone with such a refined taste as Tennessee rushed over on the first day?
A grin crept onto my face at this auspicious beginning.
***
At the same time.
Carl Bernstein was in a meeting with the designers.
Calling it a meeting was a stretch; it was more of a venting session.
"Look at this."
When Carl tossed a magazine, one of them awkwardly caught it.
"Does anyone have a guess who made this?"
"...."
"When you reach a certain level, even if you aren't personally acquainted, you at least know the names of those in the field, don't you?"
"That's true, but among the well-known designers, there's no one with this style…"
"So, you're saying a complete amateur made this?"
"...."
"Oh, so John Green decided to team up with an amateur, huh?"
"I-I wasn't thinking clearly."
"Enough. Just bring me this person."
"Pardon?"
"What? Do I sound like I'm making a polite request?"
Carl glared, eyes wide.
"Find whoever made this outfit and bring them in front of me!"
"But we don't have any information…"
"Then go ask John Green to tell you who it is! Or scour every factory in London and find out who was asked to make this!"
"...."
"Or maybe you can come up with something better than this. Isn't that right?"
"I-I'll take full responsibility and bring them here."
Not long after the designers left.
Knock knock.
A familiar face entered with a polite knock.
Carl's attorney had arrived.
"You called for me?"
"Take a seat."
Even from the sounds he'd heard outside, he could sense that the atmosphere was tense.
"I'm thinking of creating a magazine."
The store had only recently opened, yet he was already planning another venture.
However, the attorney's expression remained calm despite his inner thoughts.
"I thought it would be good to release something like this to promote our brand."
"It would take a week to find contributors, a week to draft the content, and another week for printing. We could produce it in about three weeks. If we take advertisements from department store brands, we could run it without financial burden."
"You're quick with calculations."
Of course, he had anticipated this.
"But there's one thing missing, you know?"
"Pardon?"
"A comic. If you look here, at the very end, there's a 'Dragon Ball' feature. I need something like that too."
"But in terms of intellectual property law, that would…"
"Then how did they do it?"
"My guess is they probably purchased the rights."
"We could buy them too, couldn't we?"
"'Dragon Ball'?"
"This magazine will be a non-sale item. We'll distribute it for free every week. Why can't we do it too?"
"Well, you probably know better than I do, but… 'Dragon Ball' is extremely popular right now. To get the latest issues for serialization, we'd have to pay at least ten million pounds…"
"So you're saying this kind of tabloid cost ten million pounds to produce?"
"I can't say for certain, but…"
"It's the same difference, isn't it?"
The attorney shut his eyes tightly.
Would Carl be satisfied if he couldn't get what he wanted? No, he would likely insist on ruining it for anyone else who did.
And indeed, his next order was almost unreasonable.
"Shut down this magazine."
"..."
"Or make sure it never enters our school. You can do that, right?"
Shutting it down was absurd, but the latter was at least feasible. It wasn't an officially published book, so finding any excuse to ban its distribution wouldn't be difficult.
"I'll draft the notice and send it out immediately."
***
The next morning.
Large posters were plastered all over the school, announcing that the magazine I'd made was now banned from distribution.
The reason? They claimed it contained violent comics.
A small chuckle escaped me.
Noticing the line stating it was a decision by the student council, I had a good idea who was behind it.
Sure, this whole venture had started because of someone.
It wouldn't be any fun for me if I just took this lying down, would it?
Peter, unaware of my thoughts, let out a small sigh.
"Here we go again."
"…?"
"Every time things start to calm down, they go causing trouble. Just when things were settling down…"
Ah, was he worried about me?
Haha.
In hindsight, the sophomore class president had called me in place of Tennessee, and in the process, Jack and Peter had suffered.
For Jack, it was settled at an acceptable level due to his father being a congressman.
But Peter had suffered a severe retaliation, even dragging out parts of his past he'd wanted to hide, all because he had helped me.
Now it was my turn to help Peter.
'Not that I hadn't already prepared something.'
I looked back at Peter and asked.
"Do you have time today?"
"Time for what?"
"After class, I was hoping we could step out for a bit. Just checking if you're free."
That night, we headed to Queensman together.
As I pulled out Hamlet, a hidden door appeared.
The moment we stepped inside—
"Whoa—!"
Peter let out a big exclamation.
"It's even cooler than in the magazine!"
"Olivia put a lot of effort into making this."
While he looked around in amazement, Faber, who had been at the back of the store, approached us.
"This is the gentleman you mentioned, correct?"
When I nodded, Peter and Faber shook hands tightly.
However, the greetings were brief, and Peter soon turned to me cautiously.
Though he had come because I'd invited him, his expression now asked, "What should I do next?"
"Shall we start by changing clothes?"
"…?"
"Mr. Faber."
At my words, Faber brought over a shopping bag.
"What's this?"
In the center of the bag was the bold Ultimate logo, with Peter's name engraved beside it in large letters.
"Faber designed this for you."
"What…?"
Then Faber, who was standing next to us, added, "I heard you went through some challenges, but continued to support the director until the end."
Such remarkable courage and boundless guts. Perhaps it's because Faber's favorite trait is the spirit of resistance.
Even amidst his busy schedule, he'd promised to make a special outfit for Peter.
"I worked hard on it. Go ahead, open it."
Peter looked back and forth between Faber and me, as if asking if it was really okay to accept it.
You worked so hard for this!
"I, I feel a bit overwhelmed…"
Peter carefully took out the clothing. It was a varsity jacket, also known as a baseball jacket.
Made of the finest lambskin, it had the Ultimate logo on the left side and Peter's name on the right.
High-end clothing usually impresses with its quality of materials, and this jacket was no exception.
"Would you like to try it on?"
When Faber held out the jacket, Peter carefully slipped his arms into it.
"It fits perfectly!"
"I'm glad to hear that."
"How did you know my size?"
"We still have the measurements from when we tailored your school uniform."
"Oh, right. I got my uniform here!"
As Peter nodded, I asked Faber, "Is the barbershop ready?"
"Yes. I made the reservation under Peter's name."
You'd think by now he'd be used to this kind of surprise…
"A b-barbershop? What's that for?"
"Just go. You'll see when you get there."
Peter's hair was typically unkempt, as if he were growing it out to save money.
There's no way a thrifty guy like him would have visited the most expensive barbershop in London.
Sure enough, his expression looked tense.
"How would you like it cut?"
"Just… however you want."
"Then how about a short cut with pomade styling?"
"Anything… is fine."
The barber holding the scissors glanced at me. The moment I nodded, the scissors went to work with swift, precise motions.
I can't stand it when a haircut takes too long, even if it's well done. Doing your best is great, but when they keep trimming and tweaking, it really grates on my nerves.
However!
Maybe it's because this is the best barbershop in London.
Not once did the barber go back over the same spot.
'There's a difference here.'
In exactly 7 minutes, the messy hair was transformed into a clean look. Another 3 minutes to shape the lines.
In a total of 10 minutes, he looked like a completely different person.
And that wasn't all.
After washing his hair, the barber applied pomade.
"Oh—wow."
Even I couldn't help but be impressed.
Peter, on the other hand, looked awkward and self-conscious.
A small chuckle escaped me.
"I've paid for a year's worth, so come by every three weeks for a trim."
"Are you crazy? Do you know how much…?"
Most people who worry about my wallet usually end up scratching their heads in regret soon after. Peter was no different.
"I'm not really in a position to be worrying about you."
"Let's go. We've got an interview to do."
"An interview? What's that about?"
Why else would we have gone through all this polish and shine?
"The magazine. This issue is an interview special."
"And you're including my interview?"
I nodded.
"No, if it's a special issue, you should have someone noteworthy. Who's going to want to read what I have to say?"
He has no idea.
Peter will go on to create an incredible masterpiece. This interview will become a cherished record.
"Who else is in it?"
"Curious?"
"Well, just a little."
A small smile crept onto my face.
"Shigeru Miyamoto, the father of Super Mario."
"What?"
"Akira Toriyama, creator of Dragon Ball."
"Gasp!"
"Ralph Warren, the epitome of American classic fashion."
He looked like he was getting exhausted just from reacting.
"And last but not least, Peter Vint, creator of The Great Car Thief."
"...!"
Peter, who had been blinking in disbelief, finally managed to open his mouth.
"Wait, why is my name included in that?"
"Because Carl Bernstein did something stupid."
"So what?"
"We need to show them what kind of person you are."
"N-no, but still…"
"This time, you're going to restore your reputation. For real."