Kevin stood in front of his newly inherited property, beaming from ear to ear. This was such a blessing for him; he was quite young for a person who now officially owned a business. Other young adults could only dream of this opportunity.

Kevin was still in his early twenties, but now he had achieved that dream. This quaint and cozy little shop with its large orange kanji name sign poking out of the roof, and the orange and white striped awning over the front side…the shop he had wanted to own since he was a boy...it was finally all his.

Decades back, it had started as a manga or comic book shop with imported comic books from Japan in their original Japanese, along with art prints, posters and other similar products. Now the shelves were stocked with similar, but more modern items, for the modern nerd.

Growing up and even into the present, Kevin considered himself an otaku or a connoisseur of the fine art of anime and manga and all things Japanese pop culture, and this was the perfect place for someone with his exquisite tastes. And he could read all of the comics in the shop in their original language too, since his mother had been a traveling doctor in Japan and east Asia for over a decade when he was young. Kevin even considered himself an honorary Japanese person, what with everything he knew and loved about the country.

Throughout his childhood, he frequented this shop to the extent that the previous owner hired him as soon as he legally could. And Kevin worked as a janitor, then a junior cashier, and ultimately the manager, at the previous owner’s request.

The old man who had once owned the shop was a transplant from Japan named Hazuo Kawasaki. In his will, Hazuo named Kevin as his business partner and expressly wrote that Kevin was to inherit the shop. And to Kevin, being called a business partner was the highest honor the old man could have possibly bestowed upon him. The man had been like a father to Kevin, even, since Hazuo and his wife and never been blessed with any children, and Kevin just so happened to be the child of a single mother.

Sadly, poor old Hazuo had passed away just a month ago. Kevin’s paid time off for bereavement was also, sadly, over.

Kevin pressed a fat white hand on the glass door. His mother would be so proud of him if she was still around. But she had tragically lost her life after a too-short battle with SARS in the early 2000s. The only thing Kevin had to remind him of her now was a cerulean blue banjo with a decal of stars that he always carried with him, which she had attempted to learn to play in her downtime between patients and jobs. She had painted the stars herself, between the bridge and tailpiece. She never did get very good at playing, but to Kevin, her desire to always keep learning was admirable. He placed his hand back at his side and sighed.

He needed to clean the place up. He owed it to Hazuo to uphold his great legacy. He could hardly see his own reflection in the dusty, bug-splattered glass. And since the shop had been closed for over fifty days, the jasmine bushes in their brick planter beds were becoming overgrown and wild, creeping towards the windows and filth-stained door. The power had been temporarily shut off as well, so he had to flip it back on and get the radio going. He missed the ambiance of that classic old Japanese music Hazuo always had playing on the shop’s overhead speakers.

Kevin had brought with him a plastic wash bucket, some liquid soap, a pair of pruning shears, and a giant yellow sponge, and he was prepared to spiff the place up, then do a grand re-opening. Soon, the shop would be back to the way it used to be: full of life and teeming with kawaii girls.

In the back of the shop there was a small room with a bed, microwave, fridge, television and a single bathroom stall. This was originally Hazuo’s kakurega or hideaway when he needed to stay extra hours or overnight. It still smelled like sour plums and sea urchin sushi, but at least now it was Kevin’s to do with what he pleased. Plus, the room was nice and dank and held a bit of a stale aura, like the basement of his mother’s old house. He had always wanted to live in that basement when he was older, with his gaming setup and mini fridge full of Yoohoos, so it brought him an extra sense of comfort to be there.

He went to fill up his wash bucket with water from the stall and squirted in some of the blue liquid soap, then flipped the breaker switch on in the circuit box so that old-timey music would come back on, before heading back outside. He set the bucket on the bricks and climbed clumsily up through the jasmines to begin scrubbing one of the three windows on the top right side of the door.

It didn’t take long for the 12:15 p.m. sunshine and rigorous activity to cause Kevin to break a sweat however, and after only a single half-scrubbed mostly-smeared window, he was more than ready to take a break. He was wearing a triple-extra-large black trench coat he had purchased as a teenager at the height of emo fashion, one that he rarely ever removed, but it was either that, or rest for a moment. He sat his large posterior down and watched the cars enter and leave the shopping center, and pondered whether or not he should go into the shop and grab a most-likely-expired Japanese energy drink.

In the midst of his pondering, a sudden distinct and rare vehicle pulled up to the bus stop across the street from Kawasaki’s: a coach transit bus with a South Dakota city name scrolling across its destination sign. This piqued Kevin’s attention. In his experience, most folks who traveled to Japantown for work just carpooled, or at the very least didn’t spend so much on a bus. Peculiar.

The bus didn’t stay long, maybe a minute, and when it left, just one passenger had exited. She was a young, possibly twenty-something dark-skinned black girl, very petite, slim, gangly and cutesy. She was dressed in sky blue leggings and a white crop top with puffy sleeves, and with her she had several pastel colored bags and a floral rolling suitcase. It was almost like she was going for a motif of soft, light spring colors. A Japanese plum tree with its branches in full bloom hanging over the white brick wall behind the bus stop perfectly rounded the scene. Like a postcard.

But then the girl appeared to become very frazzled; she sat on the bus stop bench and began to cry.

A damsel in distress? This would not do. Kevin dropped his sponge into the wash bucket and waddled his way across the comic shop parking lot to the crosswalk.

When he reached the same side of the street as this lovely young lady, he, as casually as he could, strolled up to her. She was facing away, watching the bus leave. Kevin tipped the black fedora atop his head, as gentlemen did when addressing attractive young mademoiselles. “Sumimasen, miss?”

She responded with a quick turn and a loud startled gasp. The two tiny black pigtails that were curled around the underside of her ears bounced with the movement, and her large dark eyes caught some sun and sparkled a dark chocolate brown. “Fuck, ah…yes?” she asked in a kind of shrill voice.

By her voice, Kevin guessed she was about his age, even though her body wasn’t developed as much as the average woman. Even so, she exactly fit his type: flat, probably smaller than A-cup size bra under there, dainty, childlike… Her utterance of such an expletive didn’t seem to fit with her innocent appearance.

“I noticed you seemed upset. Did you just move here? Did you need any help getting around?”

She quickly wiped the tears from her face and cleared her throat, as if her vulnerable state was something to be embarrassed by. “I’m a dyke,” she grumbled, pulling a flowery bookbag towards herself.

This had no effect on Kevin, he was determined to be of help. Besides, she was a ‘dyke’ for now, that would certainly change once she met the right man! “I’m not interested in…courting you,” he lied, “I just saw you from across the street and you seemed like you could use a friend. You know, a helping hand.” He stuck his hand out, but dropped it when she backed away in obvious suspicion. “I’m Kevin,” he continued, undeterred. “I work at that shop right over there,” he tilted his head towards his new property. “Well…actually it’s not open right now, but-”

The girl frowned pointedly at him. “Look, dude, unless you’re offering me a place to stay for free, I’m not interested. And I mean free, no sexual stuff. I just got out of a bad relationship and I don’t have time—I just can’t deal with men right now.”

Kevin, assuming he was the exception when it came to ‘men’, told her, “I might not have a place for you to stay for free, but when the store re-opens, I plan to hire a subordinate to do some cleaning up and organizing. If that interests you, I could help you start earning a living.”

“I’m not working in a love boutique,” she said flatly. She crossed her arms and legs and looked around, most likely in an attempt to find a security camera, because her eyes landed on the one that sat on the nearby traffic light. Japantown was very high-tech, low crime, after all, and most visiting folks knew that. But still, her hand had already landed on and clutched tightly what appeared to be a mini canister of pepper spray in a cute purple case hanging from a key chain on her bag. Kitty had claws.

“I know you can’t tell from the outside, but it’s actually a comic book shop,” Kevin explained, controlling his tone so to not sound too miffed. This girl was a hard nut to crack, and she was already trying to escape. He wouldn’t stop being polite to her though, that would go against the gentleman’s code. He sat down next to her with a light clunk, bending the red metal bench slightly in his direction with his weight. His mother’s banjo made a small hum as the strap attaching it to his body tightened to his form. “I mean yeah, we sometimes sell some hentai stuff, but it’s in the back and has to be ordered off the website. We mostly just sell manga and like…Japanese vending machine snacks. And sometimes those little Dungeons and Dragons figurines. You know, the ones you have to paint yourself? I fancy myself a bard…or I would if anybody would play with me…”

The girl squinted at him.

“Look, I’m a nice guy, I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. Think about it?” Kevin reached into his trench coat pocket and handed her a business card. Hazuo’s photo was still on it. She took it in one swift movement without taking her judgmental eyes off of his. Kevin stood up and straightened out his shorts, then stuck his hand out to her one more time. “That’s my old boss on there, but that’s my phone number.”

Continued silence.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, miss…?”

The girl continued to angrily stare and not reply, so Kevin lowered his hand once again and walked away, down to the crosswalk and back to his chores at his new comic shop.

But he wouldn’t be defeated by her rejection. Some women just had to be picked at until they finally gave in to the obvious temptation that was his presence. She just needed to cool off and let that interaction sink in.

With every couple inches of window cleaned, Kevin would look over his shoulder to his right to check up on her at the bus stop. She seemed to be nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs. Kevin thought, maybe she’s too timid to properly approach such a charming young guy like me…

Then, finally, she looked at the card. This appeared to be an act of reluctance, but Kevin could see the cogs in her brain rotating, considering…