The cashier—a young woman with tired eyes and a便利店 uniform—stared at you like you'd just pulled a gun.

You turned. A salaryman in a wrinkled suit was prostrate on the floor, forehead pressed to the linoleum. His briefcase lay open beside him, papers scattered.

A woman in the snack aisle dropped her bag of chips. It burst open on the floor.

You looked down at your basket. Instant noodles. A bottle of green tea. A single banana.

Outside, you could hear boots hitting pavement. Multiple sets. Professional. Coordinated.

You raised your basket slightly.