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“Isn’t the weather nice?”

My older sister slowly continued the conversation. It was hard to guess the reason. She had always been kind to everyone, but I had never seen her speak so warmly to a stranger. Then again, the only sister I remembered was the one who was with me, so I had no idea how she lived when I wasn’t around.

School was in the same direction, but we couldn’t attend together. My sister was three years older than me. When I was in elementary school, she was already in middle school, and when I became a middle schooler, she was a high schooler. Naturally, by the time I reached high school, she was a university student.

I felt like she probably didn’t have a boyfriend during that time, but there was really no way to know about her school life other than from her friends or hearing it straight from her.

I looked down at the coffee in front of me. A pretty large glass was filled with dark brown coffee. The color of the liquid that peeked between the ice was similar to cola, but it had no fizz and smelled completely different. Of course, that was to be expected; it was coffee, not cola.

“I’m paying for this. You don’t have to worry about the cost.”

My sister spoke with a still smiling face.

I thought again about the reasons, but nothing came to mind. Maybe I looked like I wanted something to drink. I had bought three pieces of bread, but there was nothing to wash it down with. Maybe the soboru bread would choke me if I didn’t have anything to drink, even if the cream puffs and choux cream bread were fine.

But even so… there was no reason for her to offer me a drink like this.

“Ah, okay… thank you.”

Right, questioning every little act of kindness from others wasn’t polite. I decided to quietly accept the coffee and drink it.

To be honest, I wasn’t someone who enjoyed drinking coffee regularly. I rarely bought drinks on their own. It seemed more economical to spend money on food than on drinks. Especially since I had never tried anything other than sweet canned coffee.

I knew this type of coffee was bitter.

Only after my sister saw me holding the coffee cup did she leave. I felt a bit disappointed. I wished we could have continued the conversation. Yes, the weather is very nice, but it’s a bit hot too, right? The air conditioning is on here, so it feels cool…

I held the cup while replaying the conversation I couldn’t finish in my mind. The cold glass met the air and moisture formed on its surface. With a lot of ice inside, it was freezing cold. I took a sip of coffee through a straw. The coffee that touched my tongue was a bit bitter and sharp.

But it wasn’t unbearable. Compared to the potions I had drunk to survive in this world, which were much more bitter and often made me gag, the gently wafting flavor was better than I expected.

After all, I had even had tea with His Majesty the King there. Initially, it was torture, but eventually, I managed to get a sense of the flavors that wafted from the tea. Of course, not everyone could fully enjoy it.

I held the bitter coffee in my mouth and foolishly rolled it around my tongue, frowning. Even if I had started to appreciate flavors, I still preferred straightforward tastes. Sweet, salty, a little spicy… No, salty foods were a bit of a turn-off. I had eaten so much salted meat and smoked sausages that I was sick of them.

I swallowed the coffee. Still, I thought it was okay since there was no stickiness like with sweet drinks.

Finally, I took a bite of the bread I had almost forgotten about. The rich cream between the fluffy bread dissolved in my mouth. Perhaps because I had just had the bitter drink, the sweet taste of the cream filled my mouth. The mouthfeel was the same. The creamy texture blended softly into the coffee that had slid smoothly down my throat without leaving much residue.

I could distinctly feel the sweetness in my mouth.

It’s delicious.

It wasn’t just because I hadn’t had it in a while; the bread itself was tasty, much better than what I remembered from my childhood.

If this was in another world, I would have called the chef over to compliment him. A compliment from me, the hero, was considered a form of recognition, and afterward, that establishment would do business doubly well. In reality, even if I praised the taste, my own palate was so average that my acknowledgment wouldn’t serve as an objective measurement, yet people tended to believe me.

But here, I was just an ordinary person. I didn’t represent anyone, nor did I replace anyone. No one recognized me as I walked down the street, and no knights or companions from the kingdom accompanied me.

Just like everyone else, a regular individual.

That fact was both liberating and a bit lonely.

Or rather, maybe bittersweet.

Like the coffee I was drinking now.

*

Why did I give that person free coffee? And on my dime, too.

Why did I approach them and say something like, “Isn’t the weather nice?” I had been here since morning and couldn’t grasp the outer weather, but that person was different. They had been out in the blazing sun just moments before. I couldn’t tell if they were sweating, but I figured they must have been quite hot on their way here.

I can’t remember the faces of every customer who visits the store. Most of them, I don’t even know their names. Occasionally, someone with particularly distinct features would come, or someone who returned regularly to buy similar bread or drinks would stick in my memory, but again, I wouldn’t know their names.

In that sense—though I didn’t know the name of that customer either, they could certainly be considered “distinct.”

They appeared pretty, looked a little younger than me, and were taller than me but somehow still looked naive.

Of course, if that qualifies as a feature, then it’s a feature. But it wasn’t a memorable one. I could think someone was pretty upon first seeing them, but such thoughts usually evaporated like: “I saw a pretty person,” by the next day. Unless that person returned, it would be hard to recall.

More than that, it was their attitude. Their demeanor stood out vividly.

It was as if interacting with another person felt incredibly awkward to them.

Upon stepping into the bakery for the first time, they seemed to look around frantically, and when our eyes met, they froze in fear. It took a while for them to realize they were blocking the entrance.

People often struggle to make eye contact with someone they don’t know. Some customers intensely stare at the bread they brought while paying, and others say nothing during the whole process of buying bread and leaving.

But… that person’s attitude felt different somehow.

If they had tried to avoid making eye contact completely, I would have thought they were just shy. But they attempted to make eye contact several times. Despite stumbling over their words, they tried to respond somehow.

That made me think, “They’re trying.”

I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Somewhere, at some point… I feel like I’ve seen that attitude before.

Slowly, while calculating the bread they had brought, I searched my mind for the cause of that déjà vu. Where had I seen something like this…

…Ah.

And then, I finally remembered.

That look was mine.

It was how I had looked after I lost him, after all the things I used to say that led to his demise—there was a long time when I wore that same expression. I locked myself in a room and didn’t come out. I didn’t even want to face his mother, so I avoided her calls as well. By then, I was independent, living in a studio room on my own, so if a friend hadn’t dragged me out at that point, I might still be stuck that way.

No, I must’ve come out eventually. I had to if I wanted to live. That kind-hearted person wouldn’t have wanted that for me.

That expression was the one I wore when forced out by friends, wandering around here and there.

The guilt of having caused his death, unable to meet anyone’s eyes, feeling like doing anything would be wrong…

And yet, still trying to live.

Trying to reclaim something lost.

At that time, I had friends with me, but now that person was alone.

“….”

Several years had passed, and most of the wounds had healed. I pondered why he had made such a choice. I had come to know that it was just terrible luck; it was not something I could blame myself for. Scars would remain for life, but I could recall the memories.

Once I realized that, I found myself pouring a cup of coffee without even thinking about it.

I didn’t know why it was an ice Americano. Maybe because it was the drink I used to grab often, the one that was sold the most and cheapest around this time.

Or maybe it was just because it was the cheapest coffee.

As I filled my cup with coffee, I thought, ah, I could’ve picked something better, but then shook my head. They might find it burdensome. No, even the act of this was thoroughly self-indulgent. If that person found out the reason, they might get mad for my rudeness.

But still, I just wanted to do this.

“Isn’t the weather nice?”

I handed her the coffee and asked her that as she looked up at me in surprise.

I tried to continue the conversation, hoping she would come again. But when I saw the trembling in her eyes, I felt I shouldn’t say such things carelessly.

I couldn’t pry into someone else’s wounds without knowing their story.

Only after I looked into her eyes did I remember that truth.

In the end, she thanked me afterward, and there were no further conversations.

I glanced back at the counter and watched her eat.

Her expression relaxed while eating the sweet bread. When she drank the coffee, her brows slightly furrowed. Did she perhaps dislike bitter things?

…That look reminded me of the expression they used to have when eating something bitter.

Five years have passed.

If that person were alive, they would have graduated from university by now.

Would they still wrinkle their face while drinking coffee? Did they still like sweet things?

“….”

If, by chance, I met that customer again, I thought I should prepare something a bit sweeter next time.