I Fell In Love With A Girl Who Died Before I Was Even Born

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was really more like three minutes, Sorane and I made our way into the Shin'yume Piggly Wiggly.

Three minutes too late.

The madness I had been afraid of had already taken root in the local grocery mart.

I saw and oni arguing with a kappa over whether or not skim milk counted as "real" milk or just "milk-flavored white lies."

In the cereal aisle, a very grumpy tengu was in a heated argument over a box of Froot Loops. Fushineko-sensei kept insisting that in no way wat the toucan on the front of the box an insult to the tengu's honor.

"Where the hell is Hotaru?" I asked out loud.

I didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"I'm just the clan-appointed safety observer!" Hotaru said, riding a shopping cart like a skateboard. "Asuka rules require we blend in and not disrupt society. So don't worry! I'm here to make sure no one misbehaves."

Then she kicked the cart directly into a pyramid of ramen cups and vanished into aisle five.

Kurogane-sensei took a deep breath and muttered something that may have been a prayer. Or a curse. It was hard to tell with her.

"You!" she said, pointing at me. "Yes, you, Kazeyama-san. Don't just stand there with your mouth open. If brains were gunpowder, you look like you've at least got enough to blow your nose. Now, help out!"

I nodded, and then I started walking towards aisle five to recover Hotaru.

But before I got there, I got yanked into an argument in the cereal aisle instead.

"Kazeyama-san," I heard Fushineko's grating feline voice whine as I tried to pass by unnoticed. "Tell this storm-crow here that the toucan has nothing to do with him or tengu in general!"

I turned towards the tengu.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms suspiciously.

"Follow your nose!" he said and pointed a long, narrow finger at the cereal box as though it had dishonored his family.

"Kazeyama-san," Fushineko-sensei repeated, her voice growing increasingly nasally and stretched thin like taffy left in the sun. "Please explain to this feathery fossil that Toucan Sam is not a racial caricature."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The tengu's eyes sharpened. His feathers bristled.

"Ahhh. So now I am fossilized, am I?" he said, voice dripping with indignation. "You mock my plumage. My lineage. My nose."

The nekomata rolled her eyes so hard that her shopping cart rocked.

"I didn't mock your nose," Fushineko said, deadpan. "General Mills did."

"That's Kellogg's," I muttered reflexively.

They both turned to stare at me.

The tengu stepped forward, his geta sandals clicking ominously on the linoleum. He thrust the cereal box into my hands.

"Then you explain, human," he said. "Look at this… this avian affront. You see the curvature of the beak? The flippant eyes? The... the swagger? That's not a mascot. That's a mockery."

I blinked.

He leaned closer.

I pointed to the toucan.

"Look, clearly, he's a toucan," I said, as though that explained everything.

He didn't look convinced.

"I mean, he's from South and Central America, you know? They're not even trying to reference tengu."

He stared into my soul like he was trying to get me to vacate the property.

"I see a bid. With a large snout. And the tagline says 'Follow. Your. Nose.' Now tell me, as a honorable tengu, how am I NOT SUPPOSED TO TAKE AFRONT?"

I sighed.

Fushineko-sensei laughed.

"Clearly, I picked the right person for the job. Well, good lucy, kid. You're on your own," she said.

I turned to argue with her now. To scream. To do anything.

But, quick as a cat, she was gone.

But the tengu remained.

"Would you enjoy it if I made a cereal called Soggy Salaryman, hmm? Mascot's just a dude in a necktie crying into a bowl of unpaid overtime?"

Ouch.

"Honestly," I said, looking down at the cereal box, "that sounds kinda accurate."

He held the box over his head like it was a championship trophy.

"Aha!" he shouted triumphantly, misreading my sarcasm as validation. "Even he agrees!"

I snatched the box back from him and pointed at the stupid smiling toucan.

"Look," I said. "He's a fictional bird designed to sell sugar to children. I don't think he's trying to offend you."

He laughed, loudly.

"Then why does he always look smug?" the tengu asked angrily.

"I—he's on a tropical beach! It's not smug. It's satisfied! Their whole thing is being tropical and chill."

He just crossed his arms.

"So am I, and I don't need an entire beach and the thrill of selling sugary confections to children to feel that," the tengu growled.

We stood there in silence for a moment, both of us contemplating the absurdity of our existence.

Then he pointed to the back of the box.

"Also, he can find hidden treasure just by sniffing it out."

I glanced at it.

"Yeah, it's part of the game. Kids follow his nose through mazes and puzzles to get prizes."

"That's our sacred rite of directional scent-reading!" he snapped. "He turned it into a minigame!"

My brain short-circuited.

He wasn't going to let it go.

And just then, from aisle five, I heard a distant crash and the unmistakable sound of a cheerleader yelling, "Hotaru Attack Formation Number Nine!"

I sighed.

"I'll buy you the damn cereal," I said.

The tengu paused, thoughtful.

He put the box we were arguing about back on the shelf and grabbed the one behind it that came with a free racecar included.

"I much prefer this one," he said solemnly.

I made sputtering noises.

"You may go. For now."

I didn't even think about it. I booked it down the aisle like a man running from a fire.