Mr. Do Nothing

Is It Wrong to Pick Up Your Rival in a Convenience Store? 𝟙/𝟚

June 16th, 9:01 AM

Yokohama, Yokohama Harbor

Akutagawa threw open the door, the little bell at the top jingling wildly as if to alert all the occupants that someone horrible and dangerous had entered and that they should all take cover if they didn't want to be skewered.

However -- there didn't actually appear to be any other patrons in the little convenience store Akutagawa had just entered. The rows were compact, the aisles narrow. At the front corner, by the single checkout counter, was a homely looking man flipping lazily through a magazine, the radio next to him crackling between a music channel and news station.

"bzzt -- incident on 140th -- bzzt -- resolved now for weath -- bzzt -- now playing today's hits --"

Akutagawa, still hovering in the doorframe, narrowed his eyes, but the shop-clerk didn't look up, too absorbed in whatever he was reading.

Akutagawa did not know what, but something about this man bothered him. He didn't think much of himself as someone who enjoyed wishing harm on others -- although he was exceptionally good at executing said harm -- but something about the way this man was just sitting there, like he had no concern in the world and not enough sense to adjust the radio, made Akutagawa wish that the shop-clerk would cut his finger on that magazine.

Akutagawa shook his head. No, he shouldn't be getting distracted with such meaningless thoughts. Sure, he hadn't been in the best mood since received that note -- but that didn't mean this was anytime to lose focus. He had a mission now, after all.

He set forth into the shop, coat fluttering behind him as his dark eyes appraised the shelves. Canned fish -- pickled vegetables -- plastic silverware with cartoon mascots on them. Something about these annoyed him too. If he hadn't been explicitly instructed not to -- he would've knocked them all down to more quickly search for what he was looking for.

As a matter of fact, if he hadn't been explicitly instructed not to, there were many other ways he would have gone about this instead. Literally anything that would make the task before him less painfully arduous and -- messy.

Of course, not that he was complaining. He was not at all complaining. If Dazai had requested this of him, then surely, he must believe that Akutagawa was capable of this at least.

And I am capable.

He thought, feeling that familiar irritation creep even deeper into his mind.

More than capable, he'll see.

Akutagawa turned into another aisle. It was even narrower here, and the items a little less organized. He passed by another set of silverware, boxed sets of tissues, and a line of rubber ducks.

The mad dog of the mafia, despite himself, did pause in front of these.

He narrowed his eyes at them -- at these ducks made of rubber. Although he was quite certain it was plastic, the sign that denoted the "buy two, get one free" sale very clearly said rubber. Why were they so -- odd? Why were there so many? Why were they on sale? The same sign denoting the bargain also had an image of the little ducks floating in bathwater. Was that it then? Was that their purpose?

His hands tightened in his pockets.

"How is it," he said, "That such a useless thing is allowed to exist?"