The Beautiful Kuudere Woman Who Always Reads Books While Standing Next to Me at the Laundromat Turns Out to Be the Vice President of One of Our Clients
Finally, Friday is over for another week. Well, to be precise, it’s already past 1:00 a.m. on Saturday, so it’s already the weekend.
Calendar divisions are just arbitrary conventions that humans have decided on.
My job as a human resources consultant is, to put it bluntly, like wandering through a maze called ‘human relations’ at other companies without a map.
That labyrinth can even swallow up concepts like a two-day weekend with ease. Today, I just stayed out late at a drinking party.
“Haa…I’m tired…..”
The sigh that escaped my lips echoed hollowly through the one-room apartment, too loud for the quiet of the late night.
I took a hot shower to regain a little bit of my humanity.
Alright, then. Let’s begin my modest weekend ritual.
The laundromat. That was where my weekend began, a kind of sanctuary.
I have a washing machine at home. But, how should I put it? Watching that huge drum spin quietly, I feel like the tangled threads of my thoughts slowly unraveling in my head.
There’s a sense of synchronicity between the process of the laundry becoming clean and the process of my thoughts being organized.
Once the drying is done, all that’s left is to sleep. I also liked how convenient it was.
As usual, I packed a week’s worth of laundry into a large bag, tucked a mystery novel I was reading under my arm, and ventured out into the late-night streets.
The cool night air helped cool my overheated head.
The slightly faded sign of the familiar coin laundry, glowing like a lighthouse, beckoned me.
There were no other customers inside. That was another reason I chose this time of day.
In my own private space, I could immerse myself in laundry and reading without being disturbed by anyone.
I tossed my laundry into the largest washer-dryer at the back and inserted some coins. The machines here automatically dispense detergent and fabric softener, so all I had to do was select the cycle and press the start button.
The machine emitted a short startup sound, and my daily life began to slowly spin behind the glass.
After confirming this, I sat down on the hard plastic chair provided and opened the pages of the novel I had brought with me.
The book I was reading was the debut work of a writer named Kirishima Jo
He was a writer known for his intricate plot twists and vivid tricks that defied readers’ expectations, and I was a devoted fan of his work.
The protagonist of the story is in a desperate situation. How will he get out of this predicament…?
I must have been concentrating. How much time had passed?
When I looked up, the entrance door opened and a new customer entered.
I glanced over.
I assumed that the only people who would use a laundromat at this time of night would be workaholics like me or people with special circumstances.
The person who entered was a woman.
The first thing that caught my eye was the color of her hair. A vibrant pink. Not a soft cherry blossom pink, but a bold, vivid pink. Her short bob hair swayed lightly with each step she took.
She was wearing an oversized white T-shirt and khaki cargo pants. Her feet were in worn-out sneakers.
Her indifference to her outfit somehow seemed to fit her lazy, laid-back vibe.
Her age…maybe mid-twenties? Or maybe she was just so beautiful that all those other details didn’t matter. That’s probably why both the casual fashion and the bold hair color suited her so well.
Overall, she seemed to have fair skin, and the pink hair stood out even more because of it.
She seemed to give me a slight nod, but then quickly scanned the store and headed toward the old-fashioned currency exchange machine by the wall.
However, after peering into her wallet several times and making a clinking sound as she rummaged through her change, she tilted her head slightly in confusion. It seemed she either didn’t have a thousand-yen bill for the exchange or didn’t have enough hundred-yen coins for the washing machine.
(She’s in trouble…)
The question was whether I should speak to her or not.
But being approached by a stranger would probably make her wary.
I hesitated for a few seconds, but when I saw her sigh in resignation, I looked up from the book I was reading.
“….Um.”
She turned toward me, looking a little surprised at my voice.
“If you’d like, I can exchange some money for you. I have a few hundred yen coins.”
She looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly seemed to understand the situation.
“Nn. Thanks. That’s a big help.”
With that, she approached me with a light step, as if she were meeting an old friend. She was holding several 10,000 yen bills in her hand.
“Today, for some reason, I only have ten thousand yen bills in my wallet. And this exchange machine only accepts thousand yen bills. I’m screwed.”
I couldn’t help but smile inwardly at her words. I had always thought that this exchange machine was a bit inconvenient.
“No, no. I sometimes have trouble with it too.”
“Would it be better to send money via an app? You can’t exchange ten thousand yen, right?”
“Ah…no, I can.”
Since I had received a lot of thousand-yen bills from the drinking party, it was actually a good opportunity.
“You can !?”
“Well…yes.”
“…Are you a thousand-yen bill collector?”
The woman asked apologetically. Do I look like the kind of person who collects thousand-yen bills?
“If that’s the case, I won’t exchange them. I received a lot because I handled the drinking party’s expenses.”
The woman nodded expressionlessly and said, “I see” then headed toward her washing machine.
And then I realized something. She had been using casual language the whole time.
This kind of communication with a stranger, with no sense of distance at all.
(Is my sense of distance off…? She’s not a weird person, is she…?)
I could feel my brain sending signals that were different from usual.
She successfully started the washing machine with the hundred-yen coins she had exchanged, then sat down on the built-in chair like me and took out a paperback book from her bag.
The cover looked slightly worn, and the title was unreadable from my position.
She opened the pages with a practiced ease and seemed to immediately immerse herself in the world within.
Occasionally, she nodded slightly or furrowed her brow ever so slightly.
What kind of book was she reading? Something that could captivate her so much at this hour.
Silence returned.
The only sound was the steady hum of the two washing machines.
The low rumble echoed like the breathing of a large creature.
I glanced sideways at her profile and the spine of the book she was holding, but I couldn’t tell what she was reading.
Is it a science fiction novel, or a difficult philosophical text? I wondered if her choice of books was as unique as her distinctive hair color.
I myself enjoy reading mystery and science fiction genres, so I tend to be curious about what others are reading.
Suddenly, I felt a gaze and looked up, and for a moment, I thought our eyes met.
She quickly returned her gaze to her own book, but it seemed like her eyes were fixed on the paperback by Kirishima Jo in my hands… or maybe I was just imagining things.
Maybe she’s a fan of Kirishima Jo—that’s too convenient a coincidence.
Still, though.
Her unconventional hair color and the ordinary setting of a laundromat. And the two of us quietly reading books there.
That combination somehow made my heart race.
“Hey, Mister. Laundromats are kind of mysterious places, aren’t they?”
The pink-haired woman put her book aside and spoke to me.
“Really?”
“Just the fact that the lights are on late at night is exciting, but then all kinds of people gather there temporarily. And then their everyday lives intersect and then separate again. Regardless of social status, age, or gender, people with the common purpose of ‘doing laundry’ temporarily share the same space in their pajamas or without makeup, looking much the same as they would at home. Isn’t that emotional?”
“Isn’t that the case in any store? Convenience stores are the same.”
She chuckled.
“That’s true, but saying that ruins it. It’s about the atmosphere.”
“The atmosphere, huh…”
Perhaps her casual attitude stems from the unique anonymity of this place.
Thinking that, I felt a little more understanding, but not entirely.
My thoughts were once again heading down a dead-end path.
It seemed that tonight was not the night for reading.
“Is this your first time using this place?”
“Yeah. My washing machine at home broke down.”
“Oh…that’s a problem.”
“Yeah…but I don’t feel like buying a new one.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Hmm. They’re boycotting it.”
“I’ve never heard of that with washing machines !? Don’t you buy them frequently anyway !?”
“Well, there’s a serious reason too. I just don’t know when to buy one.”
“If it’s broken, now’s the only time to buy one, right !?”
“No, now’s not the time.”
She said this while staring expressionlessly at the spinning washing machine drum.
“Because, if I think about how the next model might be better, I don’t want to wait for it. I’m not in trouble now, so I just keep putting it off.”
“I see. But if you keep doing that, you’ll be living off laundromats for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah. It’s like love.”
“It’s sad to compare it to a laundromat……”
“I think it’s as compelling as a reality dating show. At least I could watch it forever.”
She stared intently at the spinning washing machine drum. With her straight nose and sculpted profile, it seems like I could stare at her forever.
“That’s unique…”
“But if you’re staying here instead of going home, doesn’t that mean you like it here?”
I couldn’t deny it. I was here because I liked being surrounded by the scent of detergent and fabric softener, and the rhythmic sound of the machines.
“Well…maybe you’re right.”
When I admitted it, she gave a faint smile. It was the first smile I’d seen from her today.
“Which took longer—the time you spent watching the dating reality show, or the time you spent here?”
She asked with a mischievous smile.
“Definitely the laundromat.”
“Right? Over there, it’s just influencers seeking fame, and edited clips made to attract attention, whether it’s a scandal or whatever. And in the end, they probably break up anyway. Bad ending.”
“True. They try to cover it up with stylish video editing and music, but they’re just broadcasting their search for a mate to the whole world.”
Somehow, I clicked with this person. We vented our mutual frustrations and nodded in agreement, saying, “Yeah, right.”
“But I also know about happy ending content.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“Yeah. Clothes get clean.”
She pointed at the washing machine and laughed heartily. I couldn’t help but laugh along with her.
I never expected to be having a lively conversation about the flaws of a dating reality show with a stranger in the middle of the night. But perhaps that too was a small miracle brought about by this unconventional space of the laundromat.
Maigetsu