The weeks following, in which Mitsui cast himself into the responsibilities that he had so suddenly announced his claim over, were widely revelatory. Having thought himself rather capable of taking care of his own needs, and owning up to a history of detesting the kind ministrations of his parents, he now found that he was actually ill-suited to the variety of skills needed in the upkeep of the Akiyamas' independent businesses.
In the first week of the course of employment, the setbacks he caused led him to no end of embarrassment. Kasumi left him to write the multitude chalk signs small and large that so prettily adorned the flower displays, but his efforts were so clumsy and lacking in colour coordination as to render them unusable.
Laughing, she had told him to leave them, and installed him in the back shed to prepare a fresh batch of household herbs. Still, he managed to upset the order of soil material layered in the little orange pots, and they spent the rest of that day separating shale and pebbles from loam and fertilizer, Mitsui occupied by a fugue of repentance for and capitulation against his incompetence; while Kasumi, nor her mother when she looked in for a minute, seemed to be fazed by the setback.
Another experience that caused Mitsui to question his constitution was caused by Kasumi's abandoning him to a group of middle-aged customers in the shop. Fluttering about Mitsui, the ladies patted tinted perms and talked about their sons who were disloyal and had never helped out at home, and how they wished that they had children that wouldn't play pachinko nor hang out like delinquents every day.
One of them was glad, she confessed conspiratorially to him, that the young Akiyama had a friend like him to safeguard her now that she had seemed to reform herself; Kasumi had been rather wayward, as she herself had been a beauty back in the day.
Another took the opportunity to squeeze his bicep, and thanked him and his manly sensibilities for choosing an arrangement that would suit her husband's altar for their anniversary; although, to Mitsui's consternation, he had not given any indication that he was remotely inclined to assert any opinion over such a matter.
The cloying pall of perfume that they left in the store did not diminish Kasumi's smile as she emerged again from the back of the store.
"What a delightful group of aunties. And your first sale!"
Mitsui slapped the bills from the transaction next to the cash register.
"You left me on purpose," he growled.
"I would never," Kasumi answered innocently, showing him the pre-made bouquet that was meant for the deceased husband.
"No one spends fifteen minutes doing that!"
"What do you know," Kasumi retorted with a toss of her head. "And, anyway, you've been such a dandy to old Mrs. Akito, yes?"
The image of the lady's red claws and tattooed eyebrows haunted him more than he cared to admit, and produced an aversion so deep that, much to the confusion of his parents, he protested most vehemently when his own mother returned home one day with her own, arguably mild, cosmetic enhancement. The vanity of the fading and middle-aged must be accommodated, however, and it can be safely said that the one who capitulated was not the person who benefited from the arrangement, nor the one who paid for it.
Eventually, Kasumi put him to better use out-of-doors. The sight of Mitsui, hammering characters into the new wooden sign above the shop, the ridges of his broad back visible through his shirt, encouraged a greater than usual amount of foot traffic.
As he cleaned around the surrounding wall and took a roller to the fresh concrete, a tide of upturned faces passed the threshold and asked Akiyama-san about her prices, and how about that fantastic job by the new worker in the paint-stained pants?
The serving girl, who had not forgotten the inestimably cool group of high school students whom she had served, invited her friends over on Pancake Day, and blushed all over as they pestered her about the boy cleaning the picket fence around her uncle's café.
She almost spilled the tea as he looked up distractedly from clearing some tough creepers from the point at which wooden slat met brick wall.
"What's this?"
Mitsui wiped his face in a rough dash that smudged grime from his gloves on his chin, by that striking line of his scar. She noticed that he had eyes of flashing black opal.
"Um, I thought… you must be thirsty from all your hard work. Please accept this drink."
She dared not look up from the ground, belatedly mortified by her forwardness.
Mitsui was perfectly civil in his response; he pulled off a glove and took the cup, blowing on the hot liquid, before downing it as fast as was humanly possible. Through this ritual, the girl felt the stares of her friends stabbing into her from a distant table, though she dared not look back to meet their probing.
"Thank you." Mitsui was vaguely irritated by her hangdog countenance, and was already chipping at a knot of stems with a trowel, trying to rid himself of the liquid look in her eyes.
The girl caught a glance of his frown, tore her eyes away, and felt a sharp arrow pierce her breast as she turned to leave. Even as she intuited that Mitsui was unhappy, such was her deep and narrow infatuation that she blamed herself for intruding upon him, rather than any other circumstances in the situation. The drag in her step must have been substantial enough that Mitsui interrupted her departure.
"Hey," he said, his eyes reading something close to remorse, "what is your name?"
"Suzuki," the girl blurted, mortified.
"Thank you, Suzuki-san. My name is Mitsui Hisashi. Please take care of me."
Her heart fluttered as Mitsui unknowingly called her by her first name. As for the second fact, though she already knew it, Suzuki would never wish him to unspeak any of his pearls of wisdom.
What about things on the basketball court, how did things move on in that gym? Kasumi, for one, was not left alone, once Miyagi related their backyard misadventure to his friends before Ayako could caution him with discretion. Akagi only asked Mitsui shortly if he had been hurt in the mishap, and given a glance at Kasumi when she turned up punctually for her cleaning duties, while a freshman, Kuwata, called over, "Akiyama-san, does your pet crow give tuition for English? Please help me ask how it accepts payment." It was an attempt at a ribbing, but Kasumi joined the repartee gamely.
"I would rather be worrying about the wisdom of your proposal, Kuwata-san. If you could address a starting fee to the name of Akiyama, however, I will see to it that the money gets to him."
She never made an attempt to include herself in the club's interactions, however, unless first called upon. Mitsui was aware that many of them were curious about the circumstances of her detention, her missing digits, and her reservedness; while not withholding the fact that he worked for her family almost all days of the week, he did not avail himself to their curiosity. The fact was, he did not know these answers himself, and was content to keep his peace and distance.
Mitsui himself played, not harder, but with a great deal more untroubled looseness than he had in a long time. The Inter Highs had been taxing on his endurance, and the return to the normal routine of training had him raring to prove his skill; now, however, his body had equilibrated itself, and the much-needed encouragement from Coach had stoked his robust player's spirit.
Kasumi's needle-sharp perception had also cast his mind back to his roots, and brought about a fresh reminder of how no tide was impossible to turn. Shohoku might be ranked C, and he might have denounced all ties with basketball, but this was his road to redemption.
His concentration during the sessions were unwavering, earning even an offhand remark from Miyagi. 'The Invitational' was, unknown to Mitsui, gradually forming a mantra for him and his team members, and they bided their time in persistent and amplifying application of skill.
