The Miracles of the Namiya General Store

1

Shota was the one who suggested the “handy shack.”

“A handy shack? What the hell are you talking about?” Atsuya towered over Shota, looking down at his petite frame and boyish face.

“It’s handy. You know, convenient, the perfect place for us to lie low? I stumbled on it when I came by to scope things out. Had no idea we’d actually have to use it, though.”

“Sorry, guys.” Kohei shrank back, hunching his large body, and cast a longing look at the worn-out Toyota Crown parked beside them. “I didn’t think the battery would die on us here, of all places. Not in my wildest dreams.”

Atsuya sighed. “No use thinking about that now.”

“Seriously, I don’t know why. I mean, there weren’t any warning signs when we were on the road. It’s not like we left the lights on or anything.”

“It was her time to go,” Shota said dismissively. “You saw the mileage. Well over a hundred thousand miles. This thing’s like a senile old woman. She was on her last legs when we found her, and the trip out here was more than she could take. We should have stolen a newer car if we were gonna steal at all. Just like I told you.”

Kohei groaned, crossing his arms. “But new cars have all those alarms.”

“Enough already.” Atsuya waved him off. “Shota, is this abandoned house or whatever close by?”

Shota cocked his head to the side. “If we hustle, twenty minutes?”

“All right, let’s get moving, then. Lead the way.”

“I’m down, but what about the car? Are we okay just leaving it here?”

Atsuya looked around. They were in a monthly parking lot in the middle of a residential neighborhood. They’d found an empty spot to park, but the real permit holder was bound to call the cops as soon as they noticed it occupying their space.

“It’s definitely not okay, but it’s not like we can move it. You guys haven’t touched anything, right? As long as we didn’t leave any prints, there’s no way they can trace us to the car.”

“Meaning we’re crossing our fingers.”

“Like I just said, we don’t have a choice.”

“Just checking. Okay, follow me.”

Shota bounced off ahead, leaving Atsuya no choice but to follow. The bag in his right hand weighed him down.

Kohei caught up with them. “Hey, Atsuya, what if we grabbed a cab? There’s a busy street up ahead. I bet there’ll be a bunch of them there.”

Atsuya snorted. “If three shady dudes hail a cab in this part of town at this hour, the driver’s gonna remember us. The second they release a sketch of us, we’re done.”

“You think the driver’s even gonna get a good look at us?”

“What if he’s a nosy one? What if he’s one of those guys with a photographic memory?”

Kohei was silent for a few steps before conceding meekly. “Sorry.”

“Drop it. Shut up and walk.”

They continued to walk through the neighborhood, high above the rest of the town. It was past two in the morning. The houses were clustered together, all modeled after the same design. Almost all the lights were off, but they couldn’t afford to let their guard down. If someone overheard them carrying on, they might call the cops about some seedy guys messing around in the middle of the night. Atsuya wanted the police to think they’d driven away from the scene — assuming the stolen Crown would go unnoticed for the time being.

The road started off on a gentle slope, but as they walked, the incline grew steeper, and the houses began to thin out.

“Hey, how far we going?” Kohei asked between ragged inhalations.

Shota told them it was only a little farther.

It wasn’t much longer before he came to a halt in front of the only house in sight — a traditional Japanese home with a store on the ground floor. It was a decent size, and its living quarters were constructed out of wood.

The shutter was barely ten feet wide and pulled all the way down. Other than a mail slot, there wasn’t anything else on it. Next to the house was a small storage shed. From the looks of it, it was once used as a garage.

“Is this the place?” Atsuya asked.

“Um.” Shota squinted at the house and tilted his head. “I thought it was.”

“Was? What the hell does that mean? Isn’t this it?”

“Yeah, I think we’re good. It’s just that the last time I came, it felt different. Like, I could have sworn it was a little newer or something.”

“You came during the day, right? That’s probably why.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Atsuya took a flashlight from his bag and aimed it at the shutter. Above it was a sign. He strained his eyes and barely made out the part that read GENERAL STORE. There was more, but the characters were indecipherable.

“A general store? Who’s gonna come all the way out here to shop?”

“Nobody,” said Shota. “That’s why they’re out of business.”

“Right. And? How do we get in?”

“There’s a door out back. The lock’s busted. This way.”

Shota led them down a narrow passage between the house and the shed, no more than three feet wide. As he slipped through it, he looked up at the sky. The full moon was right overhead.

As promised, they reached a door. Fixed to the wall next to it was a small wooden box.

“What’s this?” muttered Kohei.

“Seriously? You’ve never seen one of these before?” Atsuya asked. “It’s a milk crate. For deliveries.”

“Huh.” Kohei stared at the box with fascination.

They opened the door and stepped inside. The place smelled stale and dusty, but it wasn’t too bad. They were in a mudroom beside a banged-up washing machine flaked with rust — broken, no doubt.

On a stone block that led into the house, there was a single pair of grimy house slippers. The three of them tried their best to avoid contact with the slippers and stepped inside without removing their shoes.

They found themselves in a kitchen with hardwood floors. A sink and a gas stove had been installed by the windows, and on the adjoining wall was a two-door fridge. A table and chairs occupied the middle of the room.

Kohei opened the fridge. “Damn, there’s nothing here.”

“Obviously,” Atsuya snapped. “What were you gonna do if there was? Chow down?”

“I’m just saying... It’s empty.”

The room next to it was floored with tatami mats, where the owners had left behind a dresser and a Buddhist altar. Square cushions were stacked in the corner. The room had a closet, but no one rushed to open it.

Just beyond that room was the store. Atsuya peered in through the doorway with his flashlight. The shelves were still stocked with stationery, kitchenware, and cleaning products, though in short supply.

“Bingo!” exclaimed Shota, rummaging through the drawers of the altar. “Candles. We’ve got us some light.”

He lit a few of them with a lighter and set them up around the house until the place was bright enough for Atsuya to click his flashlight off.

“Whew!” Kohei plopped down cross-legged on the floor. “Now all we gotta do is stick it out till morning.”

Atsuya pulled out his cellphone and checked the time. A little after half past two.

“Hey, look what I found.” Shota yanked something out from the bottom drawer of the altar. It looked like an old weekly magazine.

“Gimme that.” Atsuya took the magazine from Shota and dusted off the cover. A photograph of a young woman smiled back at him. He could have sworn he’d seen her face before.

Then it suddenly hit him: He’d seen her on TV, playing the role of a mother in a few different dramas. By now she had to be in her midsixties at least.

He checked the date on the cover: It was over forty years ago. When he read it aloud, his two friends went bug-eyed.

“Man, I wonder what things were like back then,” said Shota.

Atsuya flipped through the pages. The content wasn’t too different from a weekly magazine today. “‘Supermarkets Ransacked for Toilet Paper and Detergent.’ Huh. I think I heard about this somewhere.”

“Oh yeah, I know about that,” Kohei remarked. “That must’ve been during the oil crisis.”

Atsuya flipped back to the table of contents, then jumped straight to the pin-up page, but it wasn’t the type of centerfold he’d hoped for. No nude shots or idols. He snapped it shut.

“How long has it been since someone lived here?” He stuffed it back into the drawer and took another look around the room. “They’ve got merchandise out there on the shelves, and they left behind the big appliances. Seems like they moved out in a hurry.”

“Fly-by-night,” concluded Shota. “No question. Their customers stopped coming, but the debt kept pilin’ up. One night, they packed their bags and split. Game over.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I’m hungry,” Kohei whined. “I wonder if there’s a convenience store around here.”

“Even if there is,” Atsuya told him with a hard glare, “you’re not going. We’re stuck here until morning. Go to sleep, and it’ll be over quick.”

Kohei hung his head and hugged his knees. “But I can’t fall asleep when I’m this hungry.”

“Yeah, and who wants to cozy up in this grimy mess?” asked Shota. “We could at least find something to sleep on.”

“Hold on a sec.” Atsuya got to his feet and stepped into the storefront with his flashlight. He walked up and down the aisles, beaming the light along the shelves, trying to find a roll of plastic or a tarp.

Eventually, he came across a tube of the paper used for shoji doors. Anything would be better than sleeping in the dust. Just as he reached out to grab it, something clinked behind him.

He spun around just in time to see a white object slide into a cardboard box set against the shutter. He flashed the light at it. It was an envelope.

His pulse started pounding in his ears. There was no way any mail was being dropped off at this abandoned house, especially at this hour. Meaning someone knew they were here — and had something to tell them.

Atsuya drew a deep breath and poked open the flap of the mail slot to have a look out front. He fully braced himself to find the place swarming with police cars, but to his surprise, it was dark out. No sign of anybody.

With some relief, he grabbed the envelope. The front was blank, but the back was signed Moon Rabbit in bubbly script.

He took the envelope with him to the tatami room. When he showed the others the strange signature, they went pale.

“What the hell is that?” asked Shota. “Please tell me that was here when we got here.”

“Someone just pushed it through the mail slot. I saw it. Look at this envelope. Paper’s new, right? If it’d been sitting around, it would have been covered in dust, just like everything else in here.”

Kohei cowered, trying to make his husky frame as small as possible. “I bet it was the cops...”

“That’s what I thought, too, but I dunno. They don’t have the time to play games.”

“Yeah,” said Shota. “And they’d never sign a letter ‘Moon Rabbit.’”

“Then who would?” Kohei frowned. His dark eyes were uneasy.

Atsuya scrutinized the envelope. He could feel how thick its contents were. If this was a letter, it had to be a long one. What could the sender possibly have to say?

“Yeah, nope,” he concluded, shaking his head. “This can’t be for us.”

His friends regarded him with disbelief.

“Come on, think about it. How long has it been since we got here? I could understand a quick note, but writing this would take at least half an hour.”

“Makes sense,” said Shota, “when you put it that way. Except it might not be a letter.”

“True.” Atsuya looked over the envelope again. It was sealed tight. He squeezed at the glued paper with both thumbs.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Opening it. That’ll set things straight real quick.”

“But it’s not for us,” protested Kohei. “We can’t just do that.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to do? It’s not addressed to anyone.”

Atsuya tore open the seal. With his gloves still on, he shoved a finger in and pulled out a sheaf of papers, the pages crammed with handwriting in blue ink. It started, Please excuse my sudden request.

“What the...?”

Atsuya began reading, with Shota and Kohei following along over his shoulder.

It was a very peculiar letter indeed.

2

Upon finishing the letter, the three guys looked at one another.

“What the hell?” The first to speak was Shota. “Why’d she chuck this in the mail slot?”

“She doesn’t know what to do,” offered Kohei. “Says so right there.”

“I can read,” Shota said. “What I wanna know is what would possess her to write a letter asking for advice to a general store? An abandoned store, at that.”

“Don’t look at me. I don’t have the answers.”

“I’m not asking you, just thinking out loud. I mean, come on, what the hell?”

Atsuya stayed out of their conversation as he peeked inside the envelope. There was a return envelope folded up inside, with Moon Rabbit written in black marker in place of an address.

“What’s this all about?” he finally asked. “I don’t think this is some elaborate joke. She’s actually asking for help. For a pretty serious problem, too.”

“She probably got the wrong store,” Shota guessed. “I bet there’s another one that gives out advice, and she mixed up their names. Yeah, that’s my guess.”

Atsuya grabbed the flashlight and stood up. “I’ll go check.”

He went out through the back door and around to the front of the store, where he lit up the dirty sign.

He squinted. The chipped paint made the characters hard to read, but he was fairly certain it said NAMIYA in front of the words GENERAL STORE.

Back inside, he told the others.

“Guess she was right.” Shota shook his head. “But why would you expect a response from some deserted shop?”

“Maybe she got the wrong Namiya,” postulated Kohei. “Maybe the right Namiya is somewhere else, but since the names are the same, she came here by mistake.”

“No way. You can barely read that sign. She had to know what she was looking for. Hey, wait a second.” Atsuya picked up the magazine again. “I feel like I just saw this somewhere.”

“Saw what?” asked Shota.

“The name Namiya. I think it was somewhere in here.”

“Huh?”

Atsuya flipped to the table of contents and skimmed the page. He found the spot in no time: “The General Store That Answers Your Woes.”

“It’s a pun,” he said. “Namiya and nayami, the Japanese word for problems, woes, whatever.”

He opened to the page.

The article included a small photograph, an interior shot of the shop. A small old man was standing in the foreground.

“This magazine wasn’t left behind on accident. They saved it ’cause they’re in it. But — I’m surprised,” Atsuya whispered. “A general store that gives advice? And people are still coming here with questions? I mean, it’s been forty years.” He looked at the letter from Moon Rabbit.

Shota picked up the pages. “She says she heard the rumors about the Namiya General Store. Sounds like she only found out recently. In which case, it’s still a thing.”

Atsuya crossed his arms. “Yeah, I guess so. Hard to believe.”

“She must have heard about it from some old fart who’s going senile,” ventured Kohei. “Someone who has no idea what happened to the store but told this Moon Rabbit to come here for advice.”

“Nah, no way. Even if that was the case, she’d realize something was up the second she saw the place. It’s obvious the building has been abandoned for years.”

“All right, then Moon Rabbit’s the crazy one. All that worrying made her totally neurotic.”

Atsuya shook his head. “I don’t think this was written by some nutjob.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s hear your theory, then.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, okay?”

“Or maybe,” Shota suddenly said, “it’s still happening.”

Atsuya looked at him. “What is?”

“This whole advice thing. Here.”

“Here? Explain.”

“Meaning someone’s still answering letters, even if no one lives here anymore. The old man could live somewhere else. Maybe he comes by every now and then to pick up letters and leave his answers in the box. Then it’d all make sense.”

“Logically, sure. But you’re assuming this old guy’s still alive. He’d have to be at least a hundred and ten by now.”

“Maybe he’s passed down the business.”

“Still no sign that anyone’s been coming by.”

“That’s because they don’t need to come inside. They can pick up the letters by lifting the shutter.”

Shota’s theory was plausible. The three guys trudged out into the storefront to investigate. The shutter was welded shut from the inside, impossible to open up.

“Shit,” cursed Shota. “How the hell is this happening?”

They returned to the tatami room. Atsuya gave the letter from Moon Rabbit a closer read.

“What do we do?” Shota asked Atsuya.

“Eh, just don’t worry about it. We’re out of here first thing tomorrow anyway.” Atsuya put the letter back in its envelope and dropped it onto the tatami floor.

For a moment, it was quiet. They could hear the wind whistling outside. The candlelight ducked and shivered.

“Well, what’s she gonna do?” Kohei whispered suddenly.

“About what?” asked Atsuya.

“You know, the Olympics. Is she gonna quit or what?”

“Who knows.” He shook his head.

“She can’t do that,” said Shota. “Right? I mean, her boyfriend’s dream is to see her in the games.”

“But the man she loves is gonna die,” argued Kohei, in a harder voice than usual. “How’s she supposed to practice at a time like this? It’s better for them to be together. I’m sure that’s what her boyfriend really wants.”

“I’m not so sure. He’s fighting to stay alive so he can see her perform at her peak. Even if he doesn’t make it past that day. If she just up and quits, he’ll lose his reason to live.”

“But look, it says right here she can’t keep her head straight. How’s she gonna make it to the Olympics? She can’t make his wish come true because they’re apart. It’s a lose-lose situation, I’d say.”

“That’s why she has to practice like she’s the one running out of time. There’s no time for getting worried. For both of their sakes, she’s got no choice but to train like crazy and land that spot on the Olympic team.”

“I dunno,” Kohei said with a grimace. “I could never do that.”

“Nobody’s asking you. We’re talking about Moon Rabbit.”

“Yeah, but I can’t tell someone to do something I wouldn’t do myself. What about you, Shota? Could you do that?”

Kohei’s question disarmed Shota. Instead of answering, he made a sulky face at Atsuya and asked, “What about you?”

Atsuya looked them each square in the eye. “Why the hell are you two taking this seriously? None of this is our problem to worry about.”

“So what do we do about the letter?” asked Kohei.

“Do? There’s nothing left to do.”

“But we need to say something. We can’t just leave it.”

“What?” Atsuya glared back at Kohei’s big round face. “You planning to write something?”

Kohei nodded. “I think we should,” he said. “We opened it without permission, after all.”

“Listen to yourself. No one’s living here. It’s their own fault for leaving a letter at an abandoned shack. Of course no one’s gonna respond. Right, Shota?”

Shota stroked his chin. “I guess when you put it that way.”

“Right? Forget about it. Don’t waste your time.”

Atsuya disappeared out front and came back with a few rolls of paper. He divvied them up.

“Here, you can sleep on this.”

“Thanks,” Shota murmured.

“I appreciate it,” said Kohei.

Atsuya rolled out his tube and laid himself down gingerly. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but he noticed that the other two hadn’t stirred at all. He opened his eyes and raised his head.

Shota and Kohei were sitting cross-legged, hugging their bolts of paper.

“Maybe he could go, too,” whispered Kohei.

“Who could?” asked Shota.

“Her boyfriend. The guy who’s sick. He can stay at the dormitory or wherever she’s staying. That way they can be together all the time, and she can practice and play in her events.”

“That won’t work. This guy’s really sick. He’s only got six months to live.”

“Doesn’t say anywhere that he can’t walk. You never know. If he could use a wheelchair, why couldn’t he go, too?”

“If he could do any of that, she wouldn’t need advice. I bet he’s bedridden, or can’t move at all.”

“You think?”

“Probably.”

“Yo!” Atsuya yelled. “How long are you two gonna keep that shit up? I said drop it.”

The pair shut their mouths and hung their heads for a brief moment.

Shota’s head shot back up. “I know what you’re saying, Atsuya, but I can’t just let it go. Ms. Rabbit seems real worried. I want to do something to help.”

Atsuya snorted and sat all the way up. “You? Do something? Gimme a break. What could any of us possibly do? No money, no education, no connections. The most we can ever hope to be is small-time crooks, breaking into some abandoned houses and shit, and we can’t even do that right. Just when we steal stuff with value for once, our getaway car breaks down, and we end up sleeping in this pigpen. Who the hell are we to give other people any kind of advice?”

Atsuya’s diatribe made Shota look down again.

“Just go to bed,” Atsuya said. “In the morning, the streets will be stuffed with commuters. We’ll blend into the crowd and make our getaway.” With that, he lay back down.

Shota finally began unrolling his tube of paper, but his fingers moved at a crawl.

“Hey,” said Kohei hesitantly. “Want to write something? Anything.”

“Write what?” asked Shota.

“Geez, what do you think? A reply. We can’t just leave things hanging.”

“You’re an idiot,” Atsuya snapped. “Why are you still hung up on this?”

“Anything’s better than nothing, I think. I’m sure she’ll be grateful to have someone listen. Who wouldn’t be? I bet she’s having a hard time because she can’t confide in anyone. Even if we can’t give her good advice, the least we can do is say we got her message and we’re rooting for her.”

“Fine,” Atsuya spat. “Do whatever you want. Man, how stupid can you be?”

Kohei stood up. “Is there anything we can use?”

“I think I saw some stationery over there,” Shota said.

The two of them went out front, puttered around for a while, and stepped back into the tatami room.

“Find anything?” Atsuya asked when they returned.

“Yeah,” answered Kohei. “All the markers were dried up, but we found a pen that works. Some paper, too.” Looking thrilled, he went into the kitchen, set the pen and paper on the table, and pulled up a seat. “Okay! What should we say?”

“Didn’t you just say it? ‘We got your message; we’re rooting for you.’ Write that.”

“I dunno — isn’t that a little blunt?”

Atsuya clicked his tongue. “Suit yourself.”

“How about what you said earlier?” asked Shota. “The idea of getting her boyfriend to come with her.”

“Weren’t you the one who said she wouldn’t need to ask us for advice if she could do that?”

“Yeah, but maybe we should check, just in case.”

Kohei picked up the pen, but he looked over at Atsuya and Shota instead of writing. “What’s the best way to start a letter?”

“Oh yeah, the salutation or whatever,” said Shota. “You could say ‘Dear Ms. Rabbit.’ Or maybe ‘Greetings, Ms. Rabbit.’ Honestly, though, I don’t think you really need to. She didn’t say anything like that, right? Just pretend you’re sending her a text.”

“Like a text. Got it. Okay. ‘We read your text’— I mean, er, letter, right? ‘We...read...your...letter...’”

“You don’t need to read it aloud,” advised Shota.

Atsuya could make out every stroke Kohei executed with the pen. He was really bearing down.

A few minutes later, Kohei announced “Done” and brought the piece of paper to the tatami.

Shota had a look. “You’ve got some really ugly handwriting.”

Atsuya glanced over from beside him. It really was a mess. Plus everything was in lowercase.

“Good?” asked Kohei.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Shota confirmed. “Right?”

“Whatever,” Atsuya said.

Kohei neatly folded up their letter and slipped it into the return envelope that Moon Rabbit had prepared for them. “I’ll go drop it in the bin,” he announced and went out back.

Atsuya heaved a sigh. “What the hell is he thinking, giving advice to a person he’s never even met? And you, Shota, why the hell are you going along with this?”

“Lay off. Why shouldn’t we be able to do this once in a while?”

“‘Once in a while’? What the hell does that mean?”

“When was the last time someone came to us looking for advice? Oh, that’s right, never. And it won’t ever happen again. This is our first and only chance. We may as well take it, just this once.”

Atsuya exhaled sharply through his nose. “Don’t forget who you are.”

Kohei came back. “The lid of the bin was shut super-tight. Whew! Must not have been used for a pretty long time.”

“No shit. It’s not like the milkman is gonna...” Atsuya cut himself off. “Hey, Kohei, where are your gloves?”

“My gloves? Right there.” He pointed at the table.

“When did you take them off?”

“When I was writing the letter. I mean, with gloves on, it’s really hard to—”

“You jackass.” Atsuya stood up. “The paper’s probably covered with your fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints? What did I do wrong?”

Atsuya was ready to smack Kohei upside his clueless fat face. “Eventually, the cops are going to figure we were hiding out here. What happens if this ‘Moon Rabbit’ lady or whatever doesn’t come to collect our response? When they process the fingerprints, you’re done. They have your prints already, right? From that speeding ticket.”

“Oh... You’re right.”

“That’s why I’ve been telling you to leave this crap alone.”

Atsuya snatched the flashlight and strode across the kitchen and out the back door.

The lid of the milk bin was shut tight. Super-tight, like Kohei had said, but he managed to yank it open.

He scanned around inside with the flashlight, but there was nothing there.

He poked his head inside the back door and yelled, “Hey, Kohei, where’d you put it?”

Kohei came over, pulling on his gloves. “What do you mean, where? In the bin.”

“It’s not there.”

“Huh? No way.”

“Maybe you thought you got it in there, but it slipped out.”

“No way! I’m positive.”

“Where’d it go, then?”

“Dunno.” As Kohei cocked his head to the side, footsteps scrambled to the back door. Out came Shota.

“What?” Atsuya asked. “What’s going on?”

“I heard something out front, so I went and checked, and underneath that little slot, I found this.” Shota held out another envelope. His face was pale.

Atsuya held his breath. He clicked off the flashlight and tiptoed to the edge of the house. From the shadows, he peered at the street in front of the store.

But no one was there. Not now, and not a few minutes ago.

3

Shota was the last to read the letter. He looked up and blinked twice. “What’s the deal?”

“No idea,” said Atsuya. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s a response, right?” deduced Kohei. “From Ms. Rabbit.”

Atsuya and Kohei both shot him a look.

“How did it get here, though?” they asked him at the same time.

“How? Huh...” Dumbfounded, Kohei scratched his head.

Atsuya jerked his thumb at the back door. “It was barely five minutes ago that you dropped the letter in that box. When I went to look, it was gone. Even if this Rabbit woman came and grabbed it in the meantime, she wouldn’t have had time to write back. But we still got a second letter from her, like, instantly. This is way too weird.”

“Yeah, weird. But it’s a definitely a letter from Ms. Rabbit. Right? I mean, she responded directly to my advice.”

Atsuya had no rebuttal. Kohei was right.

He snatched the letter from Shota and scanned it again. No one could have written this without reading Kohei’s response.

“Shit, man,” cried Shota, exasperated. “Is someone screwing with us?”

“Bingo.” Atsuya jabbed a finger at Shota’s chest. “This is some kind of prank.”

He tossed aside the letter and threw open the door of a nearby closet. Inside was nothing but futons and cardboard boxes.

“Atsuya, what’re you up to?” Shota asked.

“Checking to see who’s hiding in here. They probably listened to our convo before Kohei started writing and got a head start on their response. Or maybe someone’s bugged the place. You two, look over there.”

“Wait a second. Who would even do that?”

“How should I know? It’s gotta be someone who gets off on playing pranks on people who sneak into this dump.” Atsuya lit up the inside of the altar with his flashlight.

Shota and Kohei sat still.

“Come on, help me look around.”

Uneasy, Shota shook his head. “I dunno, man. I can’t imagine why anyone would bother.”

“Well, I can. What other explanation is there?”

“I guess,” said Shota, still unconvinced. “But what about the letter disappearing from the crate?”

“That was some kind of illusion, like a magic trick.”

“A magic trick?”

Kohei looked up as he reread the second letter. “Something seems kinda off about this lady.”

“What?” asked Atsuya.

“Well, she says she wishes there was a ‘TV phone.’ I don’t get it. Doesn’t she have a cell phone or something? Or maybe she just can’t video chat with him?”

“They probably won’t let him use a cell phone in the hospital,” Shota offered.

“But she said they have them in manga. Sounds like she has no idea that cell phones can make video calls.”

“No way. Impossible. What world is she living in?”

“No, that’s gotta be it,” said Kohei. “Let’s tell her.” He headed for the table.

“Wait a sec. Are you writing back? This is just somebody screwing with us.”

“But we don’t know that for sure yet.”

“Someone is definitely screwing with us. They’re probably listening to us right now so they can start in on the next letter. Hold on — wait a second.” A light bulb went off in Atsuya’s head. “All right, Kohei, write her back. I thought of something.”

“What is it this time?” asked Shota.

“Just wait. You’ll see.”

Kohei labored through the letter and put down the pen. “Done!”

Shota had a look over Kohei’s shoulder at the paper. Chicken scratches, as usual.

“How’s that sound?” asked Kohei.

“That’s fine,” said Atsuya. “Whatever you want. Just put it in the envelope.”

Moon Rabbit’s second letter, like the first, contained a fresh envelope made out to herself. Kohei folded up his new response and slipped it inside.

“I’m going this time, too. Shota, you stay here.” Atsuya grabbed the flashlight and headed for the back door.

Once they were outside, Atsuya watched to make sure Kohei put the letter in the wooden container.

“All right, Kohei, you hide somewhere and don’t take your eyes off this.”

“Got it. Where are you gonna be, Atsuya?”

“Out front. To get a good look at whoever comes by with the letter.”

Atsuya went along the side of the house and peered out from the shadows into the street. Still no sign of anyone. But shortly after, he felt someone approaching him from behind and turned to find Shota.

“What are you doing? I told you to stay inside.”

“See anyone?”

“Not yet. Why do you think I’m standing here?”

Shota looked distraught. His mouth was open.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Shota answered by holding up an envelope. “We got another one.”

“What the hell is that?”

“What do you think?” He licked his lips. “Another letter.”

4

The three guys sat down at the kitchen table. Shota arranged the three letters from Moon Rabbit in a tidy row.

“Let’s recap,” Shota said. “Kohei’s letter disappeared again from the box. And even though he stayed hidden and watched it like a hawk, no one came even close to it. Atsuya was staked out in the front — same thing. Somehow, a third letter showed up in the mail slot. Anything wrong so far?”

“No,” said Atsuya curtly. Kohei nodded in silence.

“Therefore,” Shota concluded, pointer finger upright, “no one came near the house, but Kohei’s letter disappeared, and a new letter from Ms. Rabbit arrived. We’ve inspected the milk bin and the shutter, but there’s no trapdoor, no nothing. Where does that leave us?”

Atsuya leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “We don’t know. Why else would we be discussing this?”

“Kohei?”

His round face shook back and forth. “No idea.”

“Shota,” Atsuya started, “are you onto something?”

Shota gazed down at the trio of letters. “Something strange is going on. This woman has no clue what a cell phone is. She thinks it’s in a foreign language or something.”

“Maybe she’s messing with us.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. At this point, every person in Japan knows what a cell phone is.”

Shota pointed at the first letter. “What about this? It mentions the Olympics — next year. But think about it. There’s not gonna be an Olympics in the summer or the winter. It just happened in London.”

Atsuya let out a small cry. “Oh!” To cover it up, he screwed up his face and rubbed a finger under his nose. “She just got mixed up, is all.”

“You really think so? Hard to believe she’d make a mistake like that. This is the biggest event of her life. Between this and her not knowing you can video chat, things are more than just a little off.”

“I agree... And?”

“There’s one other thing.” Shota lowered his voice to a whisper. “This is totally weird, but I noticed it a minute ago, when I was outside.”

“Noticed what?”

Shota faltered for a moment, then spoke again. “Atsuya, look at your phone. What time is it?”

“My phone?” Atsuya pulled it from his pocket and checked the display. “Three forty AM.”

“Right. So we’ve been in here over an hour.”

“Okay. So what?”

“Yeah, well, follow me.” Shota stood up and led them out the back door to the passage between the house and the garage. He looked up at the night sky. “When we got here, the moon was directly overhead.”

“Yeah, I noticed, too. What about it?”

Shota stared into Atsuya’s face. “That’s weird, right? It’s been over an hour, but the moon hasn’t budged.”

For a moment, Atsuya was completely lost, unable to grasp what Shota was hinting at. But when he understood, his heart pounded in his chest. His face went hot, and something shivered through his spine.

He pulled out his phone again. The display said 3:42 AM.

“What the hell is this? Why isn’t the moon moving?”

“Maybe the moon doesn’t move that much this time of year,” proposed Kohei.

“No such season,” scoffed Shota.

Atsuya looked from his phone to the night sky. He had no clue what was happening.

“What about this?” Shota started fiddling with his own phone. It looked as if he was dialing a number.

His face was tense. His eyes, blinking repeatedly, were completely focused.

“What’s wrong? Who are you calling?”

Silent, Shota simply held out his phone so Atsuya could listen for himself. Atsuya held the phone to his ear and heard a woman’s voice.

“The current time is two thirty-six AM.”

The three of them went back inside.

“It’s not the phone that’s broken,” Shota began. “This house is out of whack.”

“Are you saying that something here is messing up the clocks on our phones?”

Shota didn’t nod this time. “I don’t think the clocks are messed up. They’re working fine. It’s just that they’re not displaying the right time.”

Atsuya frowned. “What would cause that?”

“There must be a rift in time inside and outside the house. Time isn’t passing at a normal pace; it can feel like a really long time in here, but it’s only like a second outside.”

“What are you getting at?”

Shota looked over the letter again and back to Atsuya. “We’re certain no one else has come near the house, but Kohei’s letters disappeared, and letters from Ms. Rabbit keep showing up. This should be impossible. But think of it this way: What if someone did pick up Kohei’s letter, read it, and came back with a response — but we weren’t able to see her?”

“Unable to see her?” asked Atsuya. “Like what? An invisible woman?”

“Ah, okay,” mused Kohei. “Like a ghost, right? Wait, are there ghosts here?” He cowered and looked around the room.

“Not invisible, and not a ghost. Whoever this is, they aren’t of this world.” Shota pointed to the third letter. “They belong to the past.”

“The past?” spat Atsuya. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Here’s how I see it. The mail slot and the milk crate are connected to the past. When someone leaves a letter at the store back then, it lands here in the present day. In the same way, when we leave a letter in the box, it winds up in the same place in their time. Don’t ask me why this is happening, but when you put it all together, it checks out. Ms. Rabbit is sending us letters from a really long time ago.”

Atsuya couldn’t string a sentence together. He had no idea what to say. His brain refused to process any of this

“Can’t be,” he finally said. “There’s no way.”

“I’m with you. But there’s no other explanation. If you think I’m wrong, try and think up something better. Something that explains everything.”

Atsuya had nothing. What else could explain this?

“You just had to go and write back,” he said, rounding on Kohei without much conviction. “That’s what got us into this mess.”

“Sorry...”

“Don’t blame Kohei. Look, if I’m right about this, we’re onto something huge. I mean, this would mean we’re exchanging letters across time.” Shota had a twinkle in his eye.

Atsuya didn’t like the sound of that, but he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Come on.” He stood up to leave. “Let’s beat it.”

The other two looked at him, surprised. Shota asked him why.

“Doesn’t this rub you the wrong way? If this gets out of hand, we’ll be in deep shit. Let’s go. There’s plenty of other places we can lie low. Plus, morning is never gonna come, no matter how much time passes in here. There’s no use waiting it out if the clock stops working.”

But his friends wouldn’t agree. They sat silently, heads heavy.

“What’s wrong now?” Atsuya shouted. “Say something, god damn it!”

Shota looked up. The light in his eyes was formidable. “I’m gonna stick around for a bit.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know yet. All I know is we’re involved with something incredible. Chances like this don’t come by often — In fact, this might be my only shot. I don’t want to waste it. You can go if you want to, Atsuya, but I’m staying.”

“What are you planning to do here?”

Shota looked over the row of letters on the table. “For now, I’ll write a few more letters. Communicating with someone from the past is, like, insane.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Kohei concurred. “And we have to help Ms. Rabbit figure out her problem.”

Atsuya backed away, still facing them, and shook his head dramatically.

“You’re crazy. What’s gotten into you? What’s so fun about being pen pals with somebody from way back when? Give it up. Drop it. What are you gonna do if this gets outta control? I don’t want any part of it.”

“I said you can go if you want to.” Shota gave him a gentler look.

Atsuya huffed a huge sigh. He wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He stomped back to the tatami room to grab his bag and barreled out through the back door, without even a glance at his friends. Outside, he looked up at the sky and the full moon. It had barely moved at all.

He pulled out his phone. Remembering that its clock would automatically synchronize, he let it catch up and looked at the OLED display. Not one minute had passed since they’d called and checked the time.

Alone now, Atsuya walked through the darkness of the sparsely lit street. The night air was cold, but his cheeks were flushed red, and he didn’t care.

There’s no way, he thought.

A mail slot and a milk bin sending and receiving letters across time? With some woman named Moon Rabbit?

Bullshit. Sure, the pieces fit together, but that didn’t mean it was actually happening. There must be some mistake. Someone was screwing with them.

Even in the hypothetical case that Shota was onto something, it would be best to leave that otherworldly shit alone. Worst case, if something went wrong, nobody would come to save them. They had to have one another’s backs. That was the only reason they’d made it this far. No good ever came from relying on anyone else. Especially someone from the past. There was nothing this woman could possibly do for them.

After a few minutes, he turned onto a wider street. There were cars, but they were few and far between. Up ahead, he saw the lights of a convenience store.

He remembered the pitiful way Kohei had whined about being hungry. If the other two stayed awake any longer, they were only going to get hungrier. What were they thinking? But then again, if time wouldn’t pass, maybe they’d never get hungry.

He knew if he showed up in a store at this time of night, the clerk was bound to remember his face. And even if not, he’d be there on camera.

Forget those two, he thought. They’ll figure things out.

Atsuya stopped out front. There was no one inside except for one guy working the night shift.

He sighed. “You damned softy.”

He hid his bag behind the trash can and swung open the glass door.

Atsuya was in and out; all he did was buy some rice balls, a few pastries, and bottled drinks. The clerk was young, but he didn’t so much as look up at Atsuya. Maybe they got his face on camera, but shopping at this hour wasn’t enough to pique the interest of the police. What criminal would risk it? No one. Of course not. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself.

He snatched his bag from its hiding spot and went back up the road he’d just come down. His plan was just to give the guys the food and split. He wasn’t trying to stick around that spooky house.

He was back in no time. As luck would have it, he didn’t pass anyone on the way.

Atsuya gave the house a once-over, then examined the mail slot in the welded shutter. If he slipped a letter through the slot right now, what year would it be when it landed inside?

Ducking down the narrow alley between the house and the garage, he went around back. The door had been left open. Peering inside, he stepped over the threshold.

“Ah, Atsuya!” Kohei cried cheerfully. “You’re back. After an hour, we started worrying you really left us.”

“An hour?” Atsuya checked his phone. “It’s only been like fifteen minutes. And I’m not back. I brought you provisions.” He dropped the plastic bag on the table. “I don’t know how long you’re planning to stick around.”

“Whoa!” Kohei’s face lit up. He eagerly snatched a rice ball.

“If you guys stay here,” Atsuya warned Shota, “you’ll never see the morning.”

“Yeah, we figured out a work-around.”

“A work-around?”

“The back door was wide-open, right?”

“Yeah...”

“If you leave it open, time passes at the same rate, outside and inside. Kohei and I tried all kinds of stuff and figured out this works. That’s why we’re only off by an hour.”

“The back door, huh...?” Atsuya stared out through it. “What the hell makes it work that way? What’s up with this house?”

“I’m not sure, but now there’s no reason for you not to stick around. We can stay here right through till morning.”

“He’s right,” agreed Kohei. “Would be better to stick together.”

“I bet you guys just want to keep writing to your weirdo pen pal.”

“So what? If it bothers you, stay out of it. But we do want your advice on one small thing.”

Atsuya peered suspiciously at Shota. “My advice?”

“After you left, we wrote our third letter. Then we got another back. Anyway, have a look.”

Atsuya looked at Shota and Kohei, who were both giving him puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine, I’ll read it, but nothing more,” he cautioned. “What’d you guys say to her anyway?”

“Here’s a draft of what we sent.” Shota handed him a sheet of paper, a draft of the third letter they’d sent to Moon Rabbit.

This time Shota had written it out. The handwriting was easy to read and properly capitalized.

“What gives? Why’d you ask all that?”

“Look, first things first — we need to pinpoint when Ms. Rabbit’s writing from. As long as we’re not sure, we’re not gonna be on the same page with her.”

“Why not just ask her, then? Like, ‘Hey, yo, what year is it?’”

Shota seemed annoyed by Atsuya’s question.

“Put yourself in her shoes. She has no idea what’s really going on. If we ask that out of the blue, she’s gonna think we’re crazy.”

Atsuya pouted his lower lip and scratched his cheek. He couldn’t disagree. “All right, so what’d she say?”

Shota picked an envelope up off the table. “See for yourself.”

Wondering what was such a big deal, Atsuya pulled out the letter and unfolded the pages.

Atsuya finished reading and mumbled, “Huh. Okay. Alien? ‘Ellie, My Love’? That pretty much nails down the era. Right around when our parents were our age.”

Shota nodded. “I just looked it up on my phone. Well, not just now. There’s no service in here. You gotta go outside to use it. Anyway, all three movies were released in Japan in 1979. Same goes for ‘Ellie, My Love.’”

Atsuya shrugged. “That settles it. It’s 1979.”

“Right. Which means the Olympic games Ms. Rabbit is trying to attend would be in 1980.”

“Yeah. So what?”

Shota gave Atsuya a look, as if peering into the hidden reaches of his soul.

“What’s up?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”

“You really don’t know? I mean, I figured Kohei wouldn’t, but not you, too.”

“What is it? Just tell me.”

Shota took a deep breath and told him. “In 1980, the Olympics were in Moscow. Those were the games Japan decided to boycott.”

5

Of course, Atsuya knew about the boycott. He may not have known it was in 1980, but that didn’t matter.

That would have been during the height of the Cold War. Things came to a head when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, and the United States responded by announcing its withdrawal from the Olympic games, urging the rest of the Western world to follow suit. Japan held off until the last minute but finally caved to join them in protest.

At least, that’s what Shota had said, after he’d consulted his phone. Atsuya had never heard the events outlined in such detail.

“Doesn’t this solve Moon Rabbit’s problem, then? If Japan isn’t going to the Olympics next year, she may as well forget about the competition and spend all her time caring for her lover. Why not say that?”

Atsuya’s proposal rang wrong to Shota.

“Even if we told her, there’s no way she’d believe us. I mean, I read that the Olympic athletes in Japan all thought they were going to compete up until the boycott was officially announced to the public.”

“If we tell her we’re from the future...” Atsuya trailed off. His face went sour. “Never mind.”

“She’s gonna think this whole thing’s a joke.”

Atsuya clicked his tongue and banged the table with his fist.

“Um, guys?” Kohei ventured to speak for the first time in a while. “Do we have to say why?”

Atsuya and Shota both looked at him.

“Um, I mean,” he said, scratching his head. “Why give the actual reason? Can’t we just say we think she should quit training so hard so she can take care of her boyfriend? Or is this just some dumb idea?”

Atsuya met Shota’s eyes. It was hard to tell who nodded first.

“No, that’s good,” Shota assured him.

“Not dumb at all. That’s the answer. She’s asking for advice because she’s unsure of what to do. She’s clutching at straws. There’s no reason to go into the reasons behind it. Tell her straight up that if she loves him, she has to stay beside him till the very end. I’m sure that’s what he really wants deep down.”

Shota picked up the pen and scribbled down a few lines. “How’s this?”

He’d basically written down what Atsuya had just said.

“Looks good to me.”

“Great.”

Shota took the letter out through the back door. It closed behind him. They could hear him lift open the lid of the milk bin and let it fall shut with a thud.

A moment later, something flapped into the box.

Atsuya went out front to look. In the box against the shutter, he found another letter.

Atsuya finished the letter and looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling.

“I don’t get it. What’s wrong with her? If she’s not going to follow our advice, why’d she ask for it in the first place?”

Shota sighed. “There’s only so much we can do. She has no way of knowing her advice is coming from the future.”

“If she called him, that means she isn’t close enough to go and see him,” Kohei surmised, focusing on the letter. “I feel bad for her.”

“I’m pissed at this guy,” Atsuya said. “I mean, try to understand what she’s going through! The Olympics are like a field day blown out of proportion. It’s only a game, right? How can he expect her to focus when her boyfriend is suffering? I don’t care how sick he is. It’s selfish of him to pressure her into this.”

“The guy has it rough himself, though. He knows it’s her dream to make it to the Olympics. I’m sure he’d feel real guilty if he forced her to back out. He’s fighting his feelings back and putting up a tough-guy front for her, or maybe just taking his good intentions too far.”

“That’s the part that gets me. He’s in love with the idea of fighting that battle against his own weakness.”

“You think?”

“Definitely. A tragic heroine. Well, hero. He just wants to play the part.”

“All right. How should we write back?” Shota pushed the pages aside to clear the table.

“Tell her she’s gotta open this man’s eyes. That’s the first step. She’s gotta tell him straight. It’s only a game, and definitely no excuse to put your lover in a bind. The Olympics are just a fancier version of a field day. Not worth getting worked up over.”

Shota, pen in hand, squinted back at Atsuya. “There’s no way we can tell her to say that.”

“Whatever. It’s what she has to say.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If it was that easy, her letter wouldn’t sound so upset.”

Atsuya scratched his head with both hands. “What a pain in the ass.”

“What if she got someone else to say it?” Kohei jumped in again.

“Someone to say it for her?” asked Shota. “Who? She hasn’t told anyone but us about his condition.”

“About that,” added Kohei. “What’s with not telling their parents? If she told them, I’m sure they’d take her side.”

Atsuya snapped his fingers. “You’re right. Her parents, his parents, doesn’t matter. She’s gotta get it out there. If they knew what was going on, no one would ever tell her to stick with the Olympics. Throw that in there, Shota.”

“Got it.” He started writing.

Shota went out to drop the letter in the milk bin, then came back in through the back door. “We really put the screws on this time. That oughtta settle things.”

“Kohei,” Atsuya yelled out into the store. “Anything come yet?”

“Not yet!” he shouted back.

“No? Hmm. That’s odd.” Shota frowned. “All the other ones came right away. Maybe the back door wasn’t closed enough.” He got up to check.

“Wait, got it!” Kohei hollered from the shadows of the storefront and came back into the kitchen with the letter.

Atsuya wanted to scream. This one made his blood boil.

“What the hell is she thinking? We tell her to quit, and she ships off to another boot camp. What’s she gonna do if he dies while she’s away?”

“If she skipped camp,” reasoned Kohei, “she would never be able to face him.”

“But what’s the point of even going? What’s this crap about ‘the more I think, the more confused I get’? We’ve spelled it out for her. Why can’t she listen?”

“It’s her way of showing how much she cares,” said Shota. “She doesn’t want to be the one to kill his dreams.”

“Well, they’re not gonna come true. Either way, she’s not going to the Olympics. Shit, man, how are we gonna get this through to her?” Atsuya impatiently bounced his knee up and down.

“What if she got an injury?” Kohei suggested. “If she had to drop out on account of an injury, he’d have to give it up.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Atsuya agreed.

“No way,” protested Shota. “That still means she doesn’t make his final wish come true. That’s the thing Ms. Rabbit worries about the most.”

Atsuya wrinkled his nose. “Would you shut up for once about this goddamned dream? That can’t be the only thing he wants in life.”

Shota’s eyes opened wide, as if he had a breakthrough. “That’s it! She’s just gotta tell him that the Olympics isn’t all there is to life. She needs to steer his will to dream toward something else. Like maybe...” He thought it over for a second. “Kids.”

“What kids?”

“Their kids! We’ll tell her to tell him she’s pregnant. With his kid, of course. That way she’d have to back out of the Olympics. He’d lose one dream, but he can redirect his efforts to dreaming about becoming a father. It would give him something to live for.”

Atsuya thought this through and liked it enough to clap his hands. “Shota, you know what? You’re a genius. Let’s do this. It’s the perfect plan. Her boyfriend only has half a year to live. She can lie without him ever finding out.”

“Okay!” Shota sat down at the table, ready to write again.

Atsuya felt as if this time, they’d be good. It wasn’t clear when the boyfriend had been diagnosed, but judging from the letters, it probably wasn’t too many months ago. He got the sense that their lives had been normal up to that point, meaning they were most definitely having sex. Even if they’d used protection, there was always the possibility of one getting through, and there were ways to talk around the details.

Much to their chagrin, the letter that fluttered through the mail slot did not sound so convinced.

“What is this crap?” Atsuya tossed aside the letter and stood. “We’ve stuck with her all the way, and in the homestretch, she tells us, ‘No thanks, I’m good, I don’t need another letter!’ Makes you wonder if she ever even wanted our opinion to begin with. I mean, she pretty much ignored everything.”

“She has a point,” admitted Kohei. “It’s hard keeping up an act.”

“Shut up. How can you go easy on her when her boyfriend’s on his deathbed? If you face death head-on, you can do anything.” Atsuya sat down in front of the kitchen table.

“Do you want to write back to her yourself?” asked Shota. “The handwriting would change again.”

“I just gotta lay it all out on the table now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“All right. Go ahead,” said Shota, sitting across from him. “I’ll write exactly what you say.”

6

Shota lit a new set of candles. Their eyes had adjusted to the dark, and a few flickering flames were enough to see all the way to the outer corners of the room.

“Still no mail,” said Kohei. “This is the longest it’s ever taken. Maybe she doesn’t want to write to us anymore.”

“I don’t think she’s writing back,” said Shota, trailing off into a sigh. “She got her ass handed to her. She’s either going to be butt-hurt or pissed. Either way, I can guarantee she won’t feel like writing anymore.”

“What the hell, man?” Atsuya glared at him. “You saying I’m the bad guy here?”

“No. I felt the same way as you did. I think it was good to write that. But now that you’ve said all you wanted to say, you can’t complain if she doesn’t write back.”

“...Cool.” Atsuya looked away.

“Makes you wonder what happened, doesn’t it?” Kohei said aloud. “Like, did she keep on training or what? Did she get picked for the Olympic team? All that work, just for Japan to boycott the whole thing. She must have been devastated.”

“If that’s what happened, serves her right,” Atsuya snapped. “She totally deserves it for ignoring us.”

“What happened to the boyfriend?” Shota asked next. “How long did he live? Did he last to hear about the boycott?”

Atsuya was quiet. An awkward silence settled over the room.

“Hey, how long are we gonna do this for?” Kohei inquired. “The back door’s still shut. Time’s never going to pass.”

“Yeah, but if we open it, we’ll cut off our connection to the past. Even if Ms. Rabbit sent us a reply, it’d never arrive.” Shota looked to Atsuya. “What should we do?”

Atsuya bit his lower lip and began cracking his knuckles. Once he’d cracked all five fingers on one hand, he looked at Kohei.

“Open the door.”

“You sure?” asked Shota.

“What do we care? Forget about Little Miss Rabbit. She’s nothing to us. Go on, Kohei.”

Kohei stood just as a knocking sound came from the store.

The three guys froze. They looked at one another and then out into the shop.

Atsuya stood with great care and tiptoed toward the shop with Shota and Kohei tailing him close behind.

Again, the gentle knocking came on the shutter, the little tap-tap-tap of someone checking whether anyone was home. Atsuya stopped dead in his tracks and held his breath.

A letter fell through the mail slot.

Shota and Kohei were both speechless. Atsuya assumed they couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say aloud. That was how it was for him, anyway.

This last letter from Moon Rabbit was wholly unexpected. She hadn’t given up on the Olympics after all. She stuck it out until the end, even though she ultimately wasn’t chosen for the team, and Japan had decided to forsake the games entirely. And yet, she harbored no regrets at all. According to her, she was actually happy for gaining something much more valuable than a gold medal.

She went so far as to say she believed it was all thanks to the Namiya General Store. She was convinced that Atsuya’s letter, a rant penned in a fit of anger and frustration, had steered her in the right direction. It didn’t seem as though she was writing out of scorn or irony. If she were, she wouldn’t have been compelled to write so much.

A smile crept over Atsuya’s face. This whole situation was so absurd. Little spasms in his chest gave way to snickering, which became an audible whimpering that broke into an uproarious cackle.

“Come on, isn’t this hilarious? We tell her to forget the Olympics, and she just hears what she wants to hear. And because things worked out all right, she thanks us for our ‘insight.’ As if we had anything to do with it.”

Shota’s face relaxed. “Is that such a bad thing? Things worked out, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, I mean, it was kinda fun,” volunteered Kohei. “I’ve never had the chance to give anyone advice before. Whether it’s a fluke or not, I’m glad she asked us for advice. Aren’t you, Atsuya?”

Atsuya screwed up his face and scratched under his nose. “Well, I can’t say I feel any worse.”

“See? I knew it.”

“I’m not as psyched as you two are. Okay? Come on, I’ve had enough of this. Let’s open up that back door. Otherwise we’ll literally be here forever.”

Atsuya walked over to the back of the house. He had his hand on the knob, ready to turn it, when Shota yelled out at him, “Wait a sec!”

“What now?”

Shota didn’t reply and made his way to the shop.

“What is it?” Atsuya asked Kohei, but he only cocked his head and shrugged.

Shota came back into the kitchen. He had a grim look on his face.

“What’s going on?” Atsuya asked.

“We’ve got another one,” said Shota, and he raised his hand to show him. “Looks like it’s from someone else.”

He was pinching a brown envelope between his fingers.