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
Several weeks had passed since I first recognized the pink-haired woman, Tsukishima san, as “Tsukishima san.”
To be precise, it had been three weeks. In any case, my weekend routine had become intertwined with a mysterious yet undeniable sense of anticipation. Though it may sound like a planned routine, it was more like being irresistibly drawn to a magnet, like iron filings being pulled toward it.
The source of that magnetic force was the coin laundry on Saturday nights, illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Every time the automatic door opened with a soft hum of the motor, I couldn’t help but anticipate my third encounter with Tsukishima san, with her vibrant pink hair. Of course, I didn’t see her every week, and in fact, the past two weeks had ended in disappointment.
As a human resources consultant, my job is to analyze people’s behavioral patterns and psychology and guide them toward a predictable future. Yet, I can’t logically explain this change in my own feelings.
“…Is Tsukishima san here?”
The muttered words, which should have dissolved into the midnight silence, reached my ears clearly.
What if she’s not here?
That’s fine. Really. I’ll just immerse myself in the world of the mystery novel I’m reading, as usual. I’m not here because I want to talk to that person.
No, that’s half a lie.
The automatic door of the coin laundry opens with its usual dull ‘whirring’ sound.
As I stepped inside, the humid air carried the familiar scent of detergent and fabric softener—a mix of the ordinary and the extraordinary, tickling my nostrils. It wasn’t a bad smell. It was a place where fragments of someone’s daily life were being washed away cleanly.
And then—I looked toward the back.
There she was.
In the prime seat at the far end, where the large washer-dryer was clearly visible, Tsukishima san was sitting on a plastic chair that, to put it politely, wasn’t very comfortable.
He was holding a book. It was the same deep blue-covered book I had noticed at the bookstore a few days ago. No doubt about it. It was the latest release by Kirishima Jo.
I found myself swallowing unconsciously. I could feel my heart beating a little faster and stronger. Last time it was a business book, but could it be that Tsukishima san was also a reader of Kirishima Jo? This was…well, it was the kind of event that made me think of words like ‘fate’ which I would normally dismiss with a laugh.
I tossed my laundry into the drum and selected the cycle. Through the glass, I watched the remnants of my week’s routine slowly begin to spin.
Alright.
I steeled myself and approached the empty chair next to Tsukishima san, trying to move as naturally as possible.
“Good evening, Tsukishima san.”
I spoke up. I noticed my voice was a bit hoarse, which made me panic.
Tsukishima san slowly raised her face. Her large eyes alternated between my face and the book in front of me, as if appraising them. Then, her eyes widened slightly. It was an expression of slight surprise.
“Did you see some unfamiliar flowers blooming?”
When I asked jokingly, Tsukishima san smiled gently.
“I don’t really feel anything when I see flowers.”
“Then I’ll avoid giving you a bouquet as a gift.”
“Hmm. If possible, I’d prefer Western sweets. Like Baumkuchen.”
“Right, right…is that…perhaps Kirishima Jo’s new work?”
“…Yeah. That’s right.”
Her voice had the same detached tone as before, devoid of any warmth. But I could tell. In that brief response, there was a definite pause for thought.
“Really ! I bought it too, but I haven’t read it yet…it seems to be getting really good reviews. Even online reviews are praising it as being on par with his early masterpieces.”
Tsukishima san’s expression seemed to soften just a little. The fluorescent lights of the late-night laundromat weren’t conducive to accurately reading people’s expressions, but even in such an environment, it was clear that his expression had changed.
“…Tsukishima san, do you like Kirishima Jo?”
The additional question was accompanied by a tension akin to gently touching the doorknob of a locked secret room in an old mansion.
“Hm. I’ve been following him since his debut work, ‘The Glass Labyrinth.’ I think I was around middle school age at the time. I couldn’t get enough of the narrative tricks that toyed with the reader’s psychology and the complex human dramas that intertwined…”
From there on, Tsukishima san’s love for Kirishima Jo poured out in a flood of words, as if a dam had burst. She seemed to be the type who became extremely talkative when discussing things she loved.
“—Kirishima’s works are especially masterful in the way they present mysteries. He skillfully misleads the reader, and then at the end, you get that shock like you’ve been hit in the head with, ‘Wait, it was that?!’”
Tsukishima san snapped back to reality and said, “…Sorry. I talked too much.” and looked down shyly.
“Not at all. I’m actually happy to meet a fellow fan.”
“…Hm. That’s good.”
Even I, who usually strive to remain calm and composed, think my eyes were sparkling at that moment. Tsukishima san’s usually cool poker face had melted away.
“For me, it’s the cold, ruthless truth revealed at the very end of ‘The Corridor of Illusion’…that was truly shocking.”
When I said that excitedly, Tsukishima san nodded deeply.
“I understand… That work transcended the boundaries of the mystery genre and ruthlessly depicted the depth of human sin lurking in the depths of the human heart. What attracts me most about Kirishima’s works is the eccentric but extremely skilled old detective who occasionally appears throughout the series… Do you know it, Minato san…?”
Tsukishima san said this hesitantly, yet with a clear passion in her voice. The name sent a shock through me, as if an electric current had run down my spine.
“Could it be… ‘The Guide to the Labyrinth’? The legendary detective from the Metropolitan Police Department’s First Investigative Division, Detective Tokito…!?”
“Yes ! Him ! I knew it. The way he casually dismisses the valuable information the protagonists have worked so hard to uncover, yet randomly drops decisive hints here and there—it’s irresistible. He always wears a shabby trench coat, yet he’s overly particular about the brand of tea leaves he uses—that contrast is fascinating.”
“I get it…! Tokito is great. He says things like, ‘These days, young detectives have forgotten the basics of getting out there and doing the legwork,’ but in the end, he’s the one who gets to the heart of the case faster than anyone else. I secretly hope they’ll release a spin-off series about his past.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Why did he retire from the front lines? How did he meet his wife? In the main series, his past is only mentioned in fragments, but it’s so intriguing.”
I never expected our ‘favorites’ to align so precisely… It felt like discovering the only oasis in a vast desert, and that sense of wonder filled my chest. Tsukishima san and I talked passionately and deeply about the charm of that old detective, as if we had found a lifelong friend.
At that moment,
Beep ! Beep !
As if to scold us for our enthusiastic discussion, the washing machine beeped to signal the end of the cycle. We had been so engrossed in our conversation that we had completely forgotten about our laundry.
“Oh…it’s done.”
Tsukishima san reluctantly stood up and rushed over to the washing machine. As she took out the steaming laundry, she turned to look at me.
“If it was still damp, I could have run it again. Unfortunately, it was a happy ending.”
That probably meant Tsukishima san wanted to keep talking a little longer.
“I see. I’ll look forward to season 2. Sorry, Tsukishima san. I took up so much of your reading time…”
“No, it’s my pleasure. This is the first time I’ve been able to talk so much about Kirishima Jo, and even about Detective Tokito.”
Tsukishima san said that, exhaling softly with a gentle smile. That smile, bathed in the cold fluorescent light of the coin laundry, seemed somehow fragile yet irresistibly charming. My heart was beating irregularly, not with the excitement of before, but with a different kind of rhythm—gentle yet tinged with a touch of sadness.
After packing my laundry into my bag, I pushed the lingering sadness deep into my heart and desperately searched for my next move. Parting ways like this felt too wasteful.
“Tsukishima san…if it’s okay with you…let’s talk again.”
Tsukishima san stared into my eyes for a moment. Her deep, almost hypnotic gaze left me unable to move. Then, she slowly but clearly nodded her head.
“…Yeah. I think so too. Maybe I’ll change clothes five times a day. Then I’ll end up coming here all the time.”
Her words and the faint, mischievous smile that accompanied them made my heart feel warm, like hot cocoa slowly spreading through my chest.
“Well, I’ll be going now. See you later, Minato san.”
“Yeah. Goodnight.”
As the automatic door opened in response to Tsukishima san, a slight night breeze blew in. Through the large glass window, Tsukishima san turned around and waved, so I waved back.
The joy of reading Kirishima Jo’s latest book seemed to have increased by one, no, by many more.
In my mind, Detective Tokito’s deep voice whispered to me, ‘Hey, kid, this is just the beginning. Don’t let your guard down.’ with a hint of amusement.
Maigetsu