By the time the humidity of late summer began to settle over Musutafu, Kaito had achieved something few fifteen-year olds ever managed: he had become a neighborhood landmark. He wasn't a landmark like a statue or a famous hero agency; he was more like a particularly reliable bus stop. You didn't appreciate it until it wasn't there.
His life had become a masterclass in mundane synchronization.
06:00 AM: Clock out of FamilyMart.
06:15 AM: Buy two discounted egg salad sandwiches (the "Worker's Breakfast").
07:00 AM: Open the Arisaka Hardware Shop.
08:00 AM – 04:00 PM: Fix things, sell things, argue with suppliers.
04:00 PM – 09:00 PM: "Sleep" (a loose term for passing out face-down on a pile of laundry).
10:00 PM: Clock back into FamilyMart.
"If I were a character in a simulation, the players would be complaining about the lack of plot progression," Kaito thought, wiping down the shop's front counter for the third time that morning. "But in the real world, no news is good news. Every day that a hero doesn't punch a villain through my roof is a day I can actually save money."
.....
The morning was suspiciously peaceful. The sun was out, the cicadas were screaming their lungs out in the trees, and the city's usual soundtrack of distant explosions was absent. It was the kind of silence that made a cynical person like Kaito very nervous.
"Kaito-kun!"
He looked up to see Mrs. Watanabe, the elderly woman who ran the local florist, standing at the door. She wasn't holding a broken faucet or a leaky pipe. She was holding a small, decorative bento box wrapped in a silk cloth.
"You've been looking a bit thin lately, dear," she said, placing the box on the counter. "My daughter made too much chirashi-zushi for the festival, and I thought you might need the energy. You're always working so hard, helping everyone with their repairs."
Kaito stared at the box. In his head, he was calculating the caloric value and the fact that this saved him at least 600 yen on lunch. "I'm just doing my job, Mrs. Watanabe. You didn't have to."
"It's not just a job, Kaito. Last week, when you fixed Mr. Tanaka's walker without charging him for the new bolts? We notice those things. You're a good anchor for this street."
"An anchor? I'm just a guy who hates seeing things rattle," Kaito thought. He gave her a stiff, polite bow. "Thank you. I'll return the box tomorrow."
As she left, the shop bell began to ring with a frequency that was almost comical. It wasn't just customers; it was a parade of neighbors.
Mr. Yamamoto dropped by to give Kaito a "surplus" bottle of high-end cold brew. A local delivery driver gave him a discount coupon for a ramen shop. Even the mailman, a man who usually looked like he wanted to bite anyone who spoke to him, gave Kaito a nod and a "Good luck with the exams, kid."
"I'm not taking the hero exams," Kaito told the mailman's retreating back. "I'm taking the business management certification!"
By the afternoon, the hardware shop felt less like a place of business and more like a community hub. Kaito sat behind the counter, eating Mrs. Watanabe's sushi, and watched the world go by. He felt a rare, fleeting sense of contentment.
His body was still tired, his lower back felt like it was being held together by rusted staples.
"This is it," he thought, leaning back in his chair. "The peak of the normal life. No drama, no quirks, just a good lunch and a neighborhood that doesn't want to kill me. If I can maintain this for the next sixty years, I'll have won the game of life."
.....
He spent the evening helping Grandma Saki organize the back office. She was humming a song from her youth, her movements fluid and happy because Kaito had managed to pay for the premium physical therapy sessions.
"You've done well, Kaito," she said, patting his hand. "You really have. Your grandfather would have been proud of how you've kept this place as the heart of the district."
"It's just a shop, Grandma. Let's not get sentimental," Kaito muttered, though he didn't pull his hand away.
As night fell, Kaito prepared for his shift at FamilyMart. He walked down the street, and for the first time, he didn't feel like a ghost in his own life. He saw the world clearly. He saw the way the streetlights he'd helped maintain flickered on. He saw the gates he'd oiled swinging silently in the breeze.
He arrived at the convenience store, and Sato-san, the manager, actually smiled at him.
"Arisaka. I've got good news. The regional manager saw your inventory logs. They want to use your 'facing' technique as a model for the other stores. There might be a small bonus in your next check."
"Money is always good news, Sato-san," Kaito said, pulling on his vest.
The shift was a dream. No drunks. No vigilantes. No crying babies. Just a steady stream of polite customers and a podcast playing quietly on his phone. It was calm. It was the perfect, mundane peace Kaito had worked fifteen years to build.
.....
At 2:30 AM, he took his break, sitting on a crate behind the store. He looked up at the stars, obscured by the city lights.
"I made it," he thought. He stood up, brushed the dust off his trousers, and headed back inside. He had no way of knowing that this was the last day he would ever be normal.
He had no way of knowing that the belief and trust he had farmed all over the years wasn't just a metaphor, it was a literal debt the universe was about to pay back with interest.
The storm was coming. And it was going to start with the smell of smoke.