Four Of A Kind

Chapter 51: [2.24] You’re Gonna Carry That Manga

“So? What’s your tragic backstory?”

Harlow’s question hung in the air of the fitting room like a grenade with the pin already pulled.

I pushed open the curtain and stepped back into the main store. “We should get moving. Post office closes at five.”

“You’re deflecting!”

“I’m time management.”

“That’s ALSO deflecting! You’re just using schedule words to make it sound professional!”

She wasn’t wrong. I grabbed her tote bag from where I’d left it and headed for the checkout. Harlow followed, still clutching her burgundy satin like a trophy.

“I bet it’s something really interesting. Like you’re secretly a prince from a small European country who had to flee because of a coup.”

“That’s not even close.”

“Ooooh, so there IS something!”

“There’s nothing.”

“The way you said ’there’s nothing’ proves there’s SOMETHING!”

The cashier gave us a tired look as we approached. She’d probably seen a lot of strange conversations in a craft store. Ours probably didn’t even rank in the top ten.

“Did you find everything okay?”

“She did.” I gestured at Harlow’s haul. “I just carried things.”

“He’s my assistant!” Harlow announced proudly. “He’s very helpful! He untangled my zipper!”

The cashier’s expression shifted into something I couldn’t quite read. “That’s… nice.”

I paid for her supplies using the Valentine household card and escaped the store before Harlow could elaborate further on my heroism. The parking lot was half-empty now, late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the asphalt.

“Post office next?”

“Post office next! But quickly! We need time for the manga store!”

Right. The manga store. Forty-five minutes of “efficient browsing.”

The post office took exactly twelve minutes. Harlow’s custom buttons were waiting in a small brown package that she immediately opened in the parking lot, squealing over tiny enamel hearts and stars that would apparently “make the transformation sequence PERFECT.”

Hair clips consumed another eighteen minutes at a store I hadn’t known existed. It was entirely dedicated to hair accessories. Just hair accessories. Nothing else. Three full aisles of clips, pins, ribbons, scrunchies, and objects I couldn’t identify.

Harlow tried on approximately forty different items before selecting six.

“These ones have little strawberries!”

“I can see that.”

“And these ones have CATS!”

“Also visible.”

“And these ones—”

“Let me guess. Something adorable.”

“Stars! With little faces on them!” She held them up next to her twin tails. “What do you think?”

I thought we were running out of time. But her expression was so hopeful, her eyes practically begging for approval like a puppy presenting a chewed slipper.

“They suit you.”

The manga store appeared before us like a temple dedicated to Japanese pop culture.

The building was wedged between a dry cleaner and a sandwich shop, its storefront dominated by posters of characters I vaguely recognized. Bright colors. Big eyes. Improbable hair. A neon sign above the door proclaimed “KINGDOM COMICS” in both English and Japanese.

Harlow practically teleported out of the car.

“ISAIAH! THEY HAVE THE NEW DISPLAY UP!”

I locked the Lexus and followed her through the front door. A bell chimed overhead. The smell hit me immediately: paper, plastic packaging, and something slightly musty that suggested old inventory in back rooms.

The store was larger than its exterior suggested. Rows of shelving units created narrow aisles that stretched toward the back wall. Posters covered every available surface. Figurines occupied glass cases near the register. A handful of other customers browsed silently, their heads bent over pages.

The moment we entered, the chaos in Harlow fell away. Her bouncy energy settled into a quiet intensity. Her gaze, usually wide and scattered, sharpened into a focused beam, scanning the shelves like a hawk. The chattering girl was gone, replaced by a general surveying her territory.

“The shojo section got reorganized. Good. The old layout was ugly.” She turned a corner and disappeared. “OH! They have the new Spy x Family volume! AND the limited edition cover!”

Her voice echoed from somewhere in the depths of the store.

I stood near the entrance, slightly overwhelmed.

Harlow’s head popped out from behind a shelf. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll… follow at my own pace.”

“Okay! I’ll be in the manga section! And the figure section! And probably the merch section! Find me when you’re ready!”

She vanished again.

I wandered.

The store was organized by genre, with helpful signs hanging from the ceiling. Shojo. Shonen. Seinen. Josei. BL. GL. Light novels. Art books. Western comics occupied a small corner near the back, looking slightly out of place among their Japanese neighbors.

I recognized some titles from conversations with Iris. She’d mentioned My Hero Academia during one of our rare dinners together. Something about a kid with no powers becoming a hero. And Demon Slayer, which she’d watched three times and cried during each viewing

I should get her something.

I pulled out my phone and opened our text chain.

ME: What manga are you reading right now?

Her response came in seconds.

IRIS: why

ME: Curious.

IRIS: you’re never curious about manga

IRIS: wait

IRIS: ARE YOU IN A MANGA STORE???

ME: Maybe.

IRIS: OMG

IRIS: BUY ME VOLUME 8 OF SPY X FAMILY

IRIS: PLEASE

IRIS: I’LL DO DISHES FOR A WEEK

ME: You already do dishes.

IRIS: I’LL DO THEM BETTER

IRIS: WITH ENTHUSIASM

ME: Deal.

I found the shojo section. Or what I thought was the shojo section. A helpful employee pointed me toward the correct shelf when I apparently wandered into BL territory by mistake.

Spy x Family volume 8. Pink spine. Family on the cover. I grabbed it and tucked it under my arm.

What else would she like?

I wandered further.

The seinen section occupied a quieter corner of the store. Less colorful. Darker covers. Older demographic. The few customers here browsed in silence, their expressions serious as they considered their options.

I wasn’t planning to stop. I was just passing through on my way back to the registers.

But one cover caught my eye.

Dark background. A man in a suit. Sharp features. A cigarette trailing smoke. Behind him, a spaceship and scattered stars.

Cowboy Bebop.