For nearly a full minute...

Neither of us moved.

Mrs. Akiyama and I simply stood on the sidewalk, staring at our shop.

It was...

Perfect.

Not "patched up."

Not "good enough."

Perfect.

The front windows sparkled under the streetlights. The wooden frame had been restored so precisely that even the tiny scratch near the bottom corner—where I'd once dropped an entire crate of canned peaches—had somehow been recreated. The sign hung exactly where it belonged, the flower boxes looked healthier than they had before, and even Gerald was standing proudly inside the shop through the front window as though he'd never spent the evening sacrificing himself in glorious combat against kidnappers.

I pointed.

"...They polished Gerald."

Mrs. Akiyama squinted.

"They did."

"..."

"...I don't know how to process that."

She smiled.

"I think Gerald appreciates it."

I unlocked the front door.

The little bell jingled cheerfully.

Exactly like always.

The familiar smell of coffee, fresh bread, and spices greeted us immediately. Every shelf stood where it belonged, every product had been restocked, and the register even displayed the exact amount we'd closed with before a truck had decided that doors were merely suggestions. I slowly walked down the center aisle, brushing my fingertips across the shelves.

"...This is creepy."

Mrs. Akiyama nodded.

"It is."

"I liked it better when they hadn't kidnapped us."

"I agree."

"But..."

She smiled softly.

"...Their repair crew is exceptionally talented."

I couldn't even argue.

I reached the coffee aisle.

Every bag.

Every box.

Every label.

Exactly where I'd left them.

"..."

"...Did they inventory everything?"

Mrs. Akiyama checked a nearby shelf.

"They alphabetized the imported teas."

I looked over.

"They weren't alphabetized before."

"They are now."

I slowly nodded.

"...I'm both impressed and slightly offended."

"Fair."

We locked the front door again and sat behind the counter with two fresh cups of tea.

Neither of us had much of an appetite after... well...

Everything.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

It was simply filled with the shared realization that we'd just had afternoon tea with the most wanted villain in Japan.

I took a slow sip.

"...Did we actually get kidnapped?"

Mrs. Akiyama took a biscuit.

"I believe so."

"...Because it honestly feels like we accidentally attended a business luncheon."

"It did end with business cards."

"It really did."

I rubbed my face.

"I think that's the weirdest part."

She looked at me.

"Not the portal?"

"...Second weirdest."

"The tea?"

"Third."

"The apology?"

"Fourth."

She smiled.

"The cookies?"

"...Those were excellent."

"They were."

I leaned back in my chair.

"So..."

"So."

"We're seriously considering helping him."

Mrs. Akiyama looked thoughtful.

"We're considering finding an item."

"Right."

"What the customer chooses to do with it..."

She shrugged.

"...Isn't our business."

I sighed.

"You really live by that."

"I've run this shop for forty-two years."

She smiled gently.

"If I started judging every customer..."

She gestured around the store.

"...We would've closed after the first month."

I couldn't deny that.

Heroes bought from us.

Police bought from us.

Neighborhood grandmothers bought from us.

Children bought candy from us.

Villains apparently bought kitchen knives and mouthwash.

The shop had somehow become neutral ground.

Ridiculous.

But true.

I reached into my pocket and unfolded the list All For One had given me.

The paper already had a few creases from being folded and unfolded throughout the evening.

I read the name again.

"...Hospital-grade regenerative infusion stabilizer."

Mrs. Akiyama nodded.

"A mouthful."

"An expensive mouthful."

"A very expensive one."

I frowned.

"There are only a few hundred units in the country."

"So we're told."

"Only hospitals are allowed to have it."

"Correct."

"It's heavily monitored."

"Yes."

"It's not commercially available."

"No."

I looked up.

"...This is impossible."

Mrs. Akiyama smiled.

"No."

"It isn't?"

She took another sip of tea.

"It's merely difficult."

I stared at the paper for another minute.

My brain was already doing what it always did.

Making lists.

Possible suppliers.

Retired distributors.

University laboratories.

Medical auction houses.

Government surplus.

Research facilities.

Discontinued inventory.

Emergency storage.

Companies that had merged.

Companies that had gone bankrupt.

Hospitals that had closed.

Private clinics.

International licensing.

I grabbed the notebook we kept beneath the counter.

Mrs. Akiyama smiled knowingly.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The look."

"...What look?"

"The one that appears whenever somebody tells you something can't be found."

I blinked.

"...Do I have a look?"

"You absolutely do."

"I wasn't aware."

"You become..."

She searched for the word.

"...Competitive."

I looked back down at the list.

"...Maybe."

I uncapped a pen.

"Let's see."

I wrote Medical Universities.

Then Retired Hospitals.

Then Military Surplus?

Mrs. Akiyama leaned over.

"I don't think they'll answer that one."

"You never know."

"They'll probably hang up."

"I've been hung up on before."

"They'll blacklist the number."

"I've survived worse."

She laughed quietly.

"You really see this as a challenge."

I stopped writing.

Thought about it.

Then slowly smiled.

"...Yeah."

"I do."

She nodded.

"I figured."

I tapped the paper against the counter.

"Everyone keeps saying the same thing."

"'Impossible.'"

"'Nobody can get it.'"

"'Only hospitals.'"

I shrugged.

"They said that about the coffee."

"They did."

"The mouthwash."

"They did."

"The rice cooker."

"They absolutely did."

"The discontinued candy from Hokkaido."

"You found six boxes."

"I found eight."

She looked impressed.

"I forgot about the other two."

I grinned.

"So did the supplier."

I stood up so suddenly my chair rolled backward.

Mrs. Akiyama didn't even flinch.

She simply watched me pace behind the counter.

"I've never failed an order."

"No."

"I'm not starting now."

"No."

"I don't care if there are only three hundred units."

She nodded.

"I'll find one."

"If anyone can..."

She smiled proudly.

"...It'll be the boy who somehow convinced a villain to answer customer service calls."

I pointed dramatically toward the ceiling.

"Exactly!"

She laughed.

"I still don't know how you managed that."

"Persistence."

"Obsession."

"Determination."

"Annoyance."

"...That too."

I looked back down at the list one final time before carefully pinning it to our order board.

Normally that board held things like...

Six bags of imported flour.

Special herbal tea.

Twenty kilograms of rice.

Now...

There was a single handwritten request for one of the rarest medical supplies in the country.

I folded my arms.

"Alright."

Mrs. Akiyama looked at me expectantly.

"When do we start?"

I smiled the kind of smile that usually terrified suppliers.

"Tomorrow morning."

She nodded once.

"I'll put extra coffee on."

"Good."

"You're going to need it."

I looked at the order pinned to the board.

Then at the phone sitting innocently on the counter.

Somewhere out there...

Someone had one.

Someone always had one.

And if there was one thing I'd learned since coming to this little shop...

It was that every impossible item had a trail.

You just had to be stubborn enough to follow it.