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By the time summer comes round again, Shinsou’s gotten used to his part-time job at the convenience store. Greeting customers with a passably welcoming smile is arguably the hardest part, but it’s easy to go through the motions with the rest of his tasks: restocking shelves, working the register, taking inventory, sweeping, wiping the window glass and so on.
It isn’t the kind of work that Shinsou wants to get good at, by any means. But his tuition fees need to be paid and beggars can’t be choosers. Not many places are willing to hire sleep-deprived high school students who look like criminals for the night shift, so Shinsou supposes he should consider his hiring manager a blessing just for giving him a place to work, even if the pay is shit for the amount of work she foists on him.
Lately, however, he’s started to think that it’s not all that bad.
Seeing the neat rows of snacks and drinks after cleaning fills him with a kind of satisfaction. Hardly anyone ever comes by after midnight, but the occasional echo of rambunctious laughter from the harmless delinquents who like to hang out in the empty parking lot behind the store means that it’s quiet but never silent. Even the smell of fried chicken and steamed buns in the display has grown on him.
It’s comfortable.
Tonight, Shinsou only has one more thing to do on his list—stocktaking. It doesn’t take long, because there is always only one section that needs replenishing. Shinsou smiles as he marks down an extra order of energy drinks and jelly packs for a certain customer. Then he stands, stretching his limbs, as he looks around the empty store.
The white fluorescent lights don’t seem nearly as blinding now, compared to the time when Shinsou had worked mindlessly to pass the sleepless nights, when there was nothing he wanted and nowhere he wanted to go. When he had no dreams for the future.
But it’s different now, Shinsou thinks, as he returns to the counter. He has a goal; he has a reason to do things like studying and saving money. And it’s funny—once he realized that this convenience store was only going to be a temporary place for him, a pitstop where he gathered the pieces he needs for his dream job, it became dear to him, somehow.
It’s the rattle of the sliding door that makes Shinsou look up from the page he’s reading. He hastily slides his law enforcement textbook under the counter as the standard greeting of irasshaimase forms on the tip of his tongue. When he looks up, the merry jangle of the convenience store bell is accompanied by a familiar, crabby-looking face. Shinsou feels a smile tug at his lips.
A tired sigh escapes the man who walks in. “You again?”
Just like that, the world with Shinsou alone in it seems to expand.
Shinsou smiles. “Hello, Aizawa-san.”
Aizawa grabs a basket by the entrance and heads straight for the aisle where the energy jelly packs are displayed. “You’re a student, aren’t you?” he asks rhetorically, as he sweeps the shelf clean. “Don’t you have classes in the morning? Stop working and get some proper sleep.”
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Shinsou watches as Aizawa squats down and starts picking through their selection of ramen cups and coffee cans. “Don’t you have work in the morning, as well?” he counters.
“It’s not the same.” Aizawa stands. “A student’s job is to study. A detective’s job is to fight crime.” He rolls his shoulder. It makes an audible pop, and Aizawa sighs. “Unfortunately, offenders don’t limit themselves to committing crime from nine to five,” he says dryly.
Aizawa makes his way over to the counter and sets down his overflowing basket. Shinsou eyes the mountain of caffeinated drinks and high calorie junk food. Then he glances up at Aizawa; at his messy bun, the stubble on his chin, at the bags under his eyes. Shinsou would be the last person to judge by appearances, but Aizawa really looks nothing like the officers in crisp blue uniforms from the police box. He doesn’t give off the same energy at all.
Aizawa raises a brow when he doesn’t move to scan his items. “What is it?”
The smell of stale coffee and pain relief patches that Shinsou’s grandmother uses whenever she has a backache clings to him. Keep up that lifestyle and you won’t last, Shinsou almost says. And perhaps what’s in his heart is, I want to be like you.
But Aizawa doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d appreciate either of those sentiments, so Shinsou says neither of those things. Instead, he quickly rings him up, bags up their entire stock of energy drinks and tells Aizawa thank you and have a nice day —which, he thinks to himself wryly—isn’t at all inaccurate at three in the morning.
Aizawa gives him a funny look, but wordlessly inclines his head. Shinsou watches as the automatic glass doors slide close behind him.
He doesn’t smoke, Shinsou can’t help thinking again, as Aizawa’s figure blends into the darkness outside. Never buys any alcohol, either.
The disreputable town that he lives in has become less disreputable ever since Aizawa walked into it and set up his detective office in the desolate old building across the street.
The thing is, the lights in Aizawa’s detective office are always on—no matter when or what time Shinsou passes by, whether he’s out to get some fresh air during his break or on the way to school in the morning, or on a run to build stamina at night. As a result, Shinsou naturally finds himself looking up more often, curious as to whether he’ll ever find Aizawa slacking off.
He never does.
Maybe that’s why he can keep up even when everything feels like too much, when he feels like he’s running out of air, and the temptation to just give up worms its way into his heart.
On days like that, when Shinsou has to stop for a moment, catch his breath and relieve the burn in his calves, he looks up and sees the lights—two floors up, three windows to the left—and he remembers the way Aizawa looks at him.
Aizawa doesn’t regard him as some delusional kid who wants to join the police even though he has a face like a criminal. Aizawa looks at him like he’s simply Hitoshi, a naive high schooler with some potential—like he did when he shooed home the group of delinquents who carried nail bats and squatted outside the convenience store.
And the memory of that unravels the tangle of worries and uncertainty and doubts of will he really be able to? Shinsou turns back to the road, straightens his back, and picks up speed.
During these moments, he feels like he understands better, about what people mean when they say unsung hero.
Shinsou likes summer nights best. The hotter it is outside, the better. These are the nights where Aizawa lingers the longest in the store to cool off. It seems that like part-time convenience store workers, detectives don’t get paid much for the work they do either—apparently Aizawa doesn’t have the budget to install an air conditioner in his own rundown office.
Which is great for Shinsou, because that makes him more willing to stop for small talk. If he’s lucky, Aizawa might even indulge him with a story from his police school days.
“What’s wrong?” Aizawa says, as he scrutinizes the contents of the ice cream freezer. “This is usually about the time you try to convince me to tell you about the cases I’m working on. You’re not going to try bribing me with expired bread today?”
“These aren’t expired,” Shinsou says defensively, looking up from the shelf of buns he’s emptying into a basket. “Only about to.” He frowns. “Besides, that’s never worked on you anyway.”
He’d tried to make Aizawa his accomplice before, when Aizawa stopped him from pinching one of the just-expired buns that were about to be discarded. But Aizawa had remained steadfast even when he insisted that he was actually helping to reduce food waste.
“I have permission from my manager this time,” Shinsou announces, as he rips into the plastic packaging of a red bean bun. “I’m starving.” He places his hands together. “Itadakimasu.”
Aizawa’s eyes narrow, like whenever it’s implied that he doesn’t eat properly. “You won’t last long on sweet buns.”
Aizawa and his double standards. “You’re welcome to treat me to something, then.” Shinsou grins. “Sir.” He ignores the disapproving look that Aizawa shoots him after that, closing his eyes as he inelegantly shoves the bun into his mouth. “But you know,” he adds, after a moment, through a mouthful of bread. “You don’t really look like a stickler for rules like these.”
Aizawa raises an eyebrow.
“I mean,” Shinsou amends. “You don’t seem like the type to follow the rules unless you think they’re worth following.”
“You’re going to join the police force, aren’t you?” Aizawa says.
Shinsou feels a jolt of surprise at that, not because of Aizawa’s sharp tone, but because he says it so naturally it’s like he actually believes that Shinsou could actually…
“We’re held to higher moral standards than the general populace,” Aizawa continues. “It’s a matter of principle.”
We.
Shinsou hums thoughtfully, suddenly finding it hard to swallow down his bread. His throat has gone dry, and he feels the back of his eyes prickle. Oh no, no. It’s way too early to get misty-eyed. Blinking rapidly, he tries to change the subject. “Hey, why did you choose to become a police detective?”
Aizawa sets down two boxes of protein bars on the counter—the healthy, fancy kind that costs as much as a proper meal. Then he picks up Shinsou’s law enforcement study guide, with all of its sticky notes and dog-eared pages. Shinsou’s spent months poring over it, burying every line in his head. One day he’d been too tired to feel self-conscious about having it out in the open, and while Aizawa’s gaze had passed over the textbook then, he hadn’t commented on it.
Until now.
Aizawa seems to weigh his words as he carefully puts down the worn-out, battered book. “Probably for the same reason as you,” he finally says, as Shinsou hands him his change and receipt.
When Aizawa leaves, he only takes one box with him.
Left alone, Shinsou slowly lifts the other box, turning it over in his hands. There’s no mistaking Aizawa’s intention for leaving it behind, so Shinsou doesn’t chase him down to return it. Shinsou carefully breaks the seal of the box, and then unwraps one of the protein bars.
You’re going to join the police force, aren’t you?
Surely, it hadn’t been anything special to Aizawa. He probably doesn’t know how much that bit of acknowledgement alone means to him.
You can’t help who you admire, after all.
Shinsou bites into the protein bar and tries not to cry.
“Today’s my last day working here,” Shinsou says, as he hands Aizawa his card and receipt.
Aizawa’s eyes flick from his bag of purchases over to him in momentary surprise, before he nods in understanding. “Ah, it’s already March, huh? Congratulations—”
His phone blares, cutting him off. It’s an obnoxiously loud ringtone, and Shinsou catches a glimpse at the picture of a blonde-haired man wearing sunglasses as Aizawa checks the caller name. He’s seen that face a lot on the TV interviews.
Aizawa sighs in exasperation and runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t cut off the call.
Gone is the perpetually overworked man who tiredly stepped in to help a wandering high schooler that nearly got caught in the wrong crowd, and taking his place is a detective who doesn’t put on airs, who speaks bluntly and never sugarcoats the truth; Aizawa Shouta, who is completely dedicated to serving the people, so much that he neglects himself.
His expression has changed—Aizawa isn’t present in the convenience store with him anymore. His eyes are already on the next case, and Shinsou is just a part timer working the graveyard shift.
But even with the phone still screaming in his hand, Aizawa spares a moment to glance back at him. The corner of his mouth curls up. “Congratulations on graduating high school,” Aizawa repeats. “Maybe I’ll see you at the station in a couple of years. Hopefully not for stealing bread.”
“Yeah.” Shinsou swallows. There’s still so much that he wanted to say. “Be careful out there!”
Aizawa ruffles his hair on his way out. “See you.”
There’s Shinsou’s dream right there, in the flesh, walking away from him.
One day, he’s going to catch up.
And when he does, he’s going to say, Thank you for helping me that time. You inspired me to become a police officer.
The newbie who was unlucky enough to get assigned to Aizawa’s office knocks on his door at exactly the appointed time. Aizawa hadn’t bothered to check who was going to shadow him—it didn’t matter as long as they didn’t get in the way of his work.
But the young man who walks in has a familiar face. Looking unusually wide-eyed and eager, he seems to have caught a few pink petals in his shock of purple hair on the way here. There is a spring in his step, a spark in his eye, and enthusiasm that doesn’t diminish even after his gaze sweeps over the disorganized mess that is Aizawa’s office.
When their eyes meet, the kid’s grin broadens.
“Hello, it’s been a while,” his new assistant says cheekily, before he belatedly thinks to add, “Sir.”
Aizawa gives him a once over, not missing how Shinsou straightens a little at the attention, chest puffed out with pride. His tie is too straight and his starched uniform is wrinkle-free. Aizawa’s gaze briefly drops to the other’s rank insignia, which Shinsou wears like it’s worth more than its weight in gold. Maybe to him, it is.
“I’ll be in your care!” Shinsou Hitoshi announces, dropping into a deep bow, before peering up at him, shy and proud and hopeful, like he’s wondering if Aizawa still remembers him.
Aizawa smiles. “You did it.”