An otaku is an anime nerd, the word being used somewhat more derogatorily in Japan than it is in the US. (Our equivalent would probably be weeb/weeaboo.) Hikikomori are extreme social shut-ins, typically without jobs and living off their parents' support.

June 15th, 2024

They met in the library –both the government and the Sonozaki family tread delicately around one another, so any witnesses here won't speak on either side– wearing things neither of them would usually wear, in order to divert attention away from the telling green hair.

Mion tugged her trendy little cap off and shook out her ponytail, eyes scanning around the nook they'd found for themselves. On this sleepy school afternoon, no one was in the library, much less the back corner of it.

Shion briskly slapped her small notepad down on the circular table between them.

"Right," she said, lacing both hands together and cracking her fingers. "Obviously we don't have to worry about uniform sizes, and I'll try to keep any manicures I get plain and easy to fake."

Mion rolled her eyes a little. Shion might've been sent to that prissy little school, but it wasn't like she was a fashion freak –and more relevantly, the both of them knew better than to apply long nails during a job that involved a lot of manual dexterity.

And, less amusingly, there probably weren't a lot of beauty parlors even in Okinomiya that Shion could risk going to.

"Uncle already knows about us, so I don't have to worry about slipping up in front of him," Mion replied. "It's the customers and coworkers, right?"

"Right." Shion nodded sharply, and withdrew a set of pens and highlighters from her purse with the poise of someone unsheathing a weapon. Then she leaned over and ripped off the first sheet of notebook paper, sliding it over to Mion. "Here's a map of the employee sections of Angel Mort, and my locker combo and location."

Mion picked up the scrap of paper, studying it narrowly.

"Obviously I'll have more after I start on the job itself, but right now they've got me in sweets training," Shion continued, flipping a few pages in her notepad and bringing out a highlighter. "This, this, and this are the most popular treats, and I've written the kitchen nicknames for them opposite. The waitresses mainly serve, we don't cook, but we're expected to chip in with some of the less complicated tasks to keep everything moving smoothly and take some pressure of the confectioners."

"You guys hop out of the kitchen when it gets crazy busy though, right?" Mion asked, planting her chin in one hand and leaning her elbow on the table. "All hands on deck to serve tables, or whatever."

"We, Onee." Shion's smile was toothy, before it faded back into her prior expression of pleasant focus. "And yes, if we get a rush, all waitresses are expected to pile in and help keep the tables happy. From what I can tell, most of the customers who stop-n-shop are just regular people looking for a snack –it's the drooling little okatu and hikikomori and your otherwise average sweet-tooth addict that tend to stay and get booths."

They both wrinkled their noses in the same disgusted expression.

"Anyway, I've not gotten to serve them yet, so we'll just see how that goes," Shion sighed. "Oni-Baba or Mom teach you cooking yet?"

"Not the hardcore sweet stuff like this," Mion admitted.

"Four words to save your life," Shion said, splaying the corresponding digits at Mion and then folding them down word by word. "Temperature. is. your. god. Sugar icing is the worst stickiest thing in the world, and if you want to manipulate it well, turn up or turn down the heat."

She flipped the next page in her notepad and turned it to face Mion, using the bottom of her pen as a pointer.

"Buttercream icing is solid as a tub of lard until you heat it up –we use that on cakes and angel food stuff. Cream cheese icing is fine until it gets warm –we use it at room temperature or just out of the fridge for cinnamon-laced rolls and pastries. The white icing we use for everything else can be okay at room temperature, but it's pretty solid until you heat it up. You gotta be careful with that one, though; get it too warm, and it goes all runny. You want something that's just barely liquid, and that'll be ideal."

Shion flipped to a diagram of a tray with a number of small pastries in rows, pointing out more key aspects.

"If you're doing a striped frosting on tarts or something else, you dip one of these frosting spatulas in the bucket or tub or whatever of icing, then swing it back and forth above the rows to flick the frosting off. That'll get messy, though, so either be ready to clean up after or put down oven-paper on either side."

"The spatula thing looks like a bent popsicle stick with a handle," Mion observed.

"It's made of metal, Onee," Shion tsked back, shaking her head. "Anyway, that's the hot, moving on to the not…"

She pointed to the map tucked by Mion's elbow.

"A lot of the stuff for preparing food is in the cooler, here, and the freezer is for long-term storage here, right next to it," she said. "We move some fruits and stuff into the cooler for the shift every day, so it isn't frozen solid when it gets into somebody's sundae…"

Mion listened to the carefully-hoarded and regurgitated store of knowledge, marking it down in her own brain against the day when she might have to cover a shift for Shion at Angel Mort.

12.44 AM, USA Central Time