NCCnovel Chapter 252 Micro Avalanche
Chapter 252 Micro Avalanche
Setagaya Ward. A certain old, traditional shopping street.
"Sizzle—"
The transparent tape was roughly torn apart.
Grocery store owner Kimura pinched the edge of the tape and pressed it hard against the glass door.
A rough sign with the four large black characters "Closing Down Sale" written on it was firmly fixed to the inside of the glass.
Kimura's fingers pressed against the edge of the tape, his knuckles trembling slightly.
For the past six months or so, the experts on TV have been using obscure terms like "discount rate" or "aggregate regulation" that Kimura couldn't understand.
Moreover, in their view, the economy is still in a very good state, with only minor fluctuations?
Kimura doesn't know who would think the economy is still booming. Even if the economy is just experiencing what the experts call "normal fluctuations," such "normal fluctuations" are enough to crush everything he has.
All he could feel was pure despair.
One day, the upstream wholesalers who had cooperated with them for over a decade suddenly changed their tune. Delivery truck drivers blocked the narrow shop entrance, abruptly abandoning the tacit agreement of end-of-month settlements and demanding cash on delivery without hesitation. Their reasoning was simple: banks were pressuring wholesalers to repay loans, and without cash, they would all perish.
But in Kimura's cash register box, there were only a few pitiful coins left.
The S-Mart supermarket across the street has always insisted on rounding down the sales tax for customers. The regular customers in the shopping street who are usually very particular about their money have long been lured away by the extremely low prices and terrifying efficiency of not needing to give change across the street.
The dried goods piled on the wooden shelves in Kimura's shop were covered in a thick layer of dust. He gritted his teeth, crossed out the price tags with a red pen, and folded them in half, but still no one bought them.
To cover the cost of his purchases, he emptied the last of his deceased wife's savings and even humbly begged acquaintances at a credit union for a loan, only to be kicked out of the door by them on the grounds that "the small shop has lost its ability to repay the loan."
He clung desperately to the broken lifeline of his business, like a drowning man. He staked all his and his three-generation-old shop's future on the laws enacted by the government, hoping that the government could restrict the operation of large supermarkets.
But just yesterday.
The plenary session of the House of Representatives was broadcast live on television. Prime Minister Kaifu stood on the podium, braving a hail of debris and insults, and forcefully announced the complete repeal of the Large Retail Store Law and the passage of its amendment draft.
His last line of defense was shattered by the nation itself as the Speaker of Parliament's gavel fell.
Kimura turned his head and looked at his empty shop.
His gaze drifted through the dusty glass shop window, and he saw several housewives carrying shopping baskets, chatting and laughing as they walked past on the street. One of them was Mrs. Ito, who had bought soy sauce from Kimura's general store for five years.
"I heard they got a new batch of Hokkaido potatoes today, let's go check it out."
"And the air conditioning inside is really strong, and there's a smell of freshly baked bread. Even if you don't buy anything, it's comfortable to just go for a stroll."
Mrs. Ito, carrying an eco-friendly shopping bag with the S-Mart logo, didn't even glance at Kimura's "Closing Down Sale" sign for half a second, and walked straight across the street chatting and laughing with the other ladies.
Kimura's chest heaved violently.
Yesterday, he was kneeling humbly in front of a wholesaler's truck, begging for leniency, while the wholesaler spat in his face. Meanwhile, the culprit who drove him to this desperate situation was right across the street, reaping the profits from the customers his family had cultivated for three generations.
Kimura's eyes quickly became bloodshot.
What's so great about that? I don't believe you're perfect! Can this assembly-line supermarket have the soul of a small shop?
He pushed open his own glass door, its hinges rusty and creaking. He strode across the flooded street, ignoring everything, toward the enormous monster.
The automatic glass doors sensed his approach and smoothly slid open to the sides.
There were no harsh, cold industrial incandescent lights as I had imagined.
A warm breeze carrying the faint aroma of baked flour and oden broth instantly enveloped him.
The light streaming down from above was carefully adjusted to a warm orange hue, exuding a sense of life. Rows of three-meter-high shelves, their edges entirely covered with the smooth texture of natural wood, were arranged neatly and uniformly.
Compared to his cluttered little shop, this place doesn't feel like a cold discount warehouse; instead, it's like a stylish and incredibly comfortable upscale supermarket.
Amidst this warm and inviting atmosphere of everyday life, Kimura moved his feet stiffly.
He walked to the fresh produce section and stared intently at a pile of logs filled with Hokkaido potatoes and onions.
A prominent price tag with yellow background and black lettering hangs next to it.
That figure was even 50% lower than the wholesale price he got from the Daejeon Market last week.
Kimura's breath caught in his throat. He reached out, his hand trembling, and picked up a potato.
The skin is clean, the size is uniform, and there are no dents or imperfections.
"Oh, Mr. Kimura? Are you here to buy something too?"
A familiar voice rang out from the side.
Kimura turned around. It was Mrs. Takahashi, who lived on the street corner and had been a regular customer of his shop for seven or eight years.
At this moment, Mrs. Takahashi's shopping cart was already piled high with S-Mart's discounted items, leaving not a single gap.
Kimura opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He could only stiffly twitch the corners of his mouth and put the potato back in its place.
"Mr. Kimura? Are you alright?"
Mrs. Takahashi waved to him with some confusion.
"I...I'm fine."
He turned around and fled down the passage as if escaping.
Passing through the fresh produce section, a row of open refrigerated display cases, stretching for more than ten meters, came into his view.
The freezer emitted a faint white light, and the cold air inside condensed into a very thin layer of white mist in the air.
Kimura's gaze swept over the neatly arranged goods.
Boxes of freshly prepared bento boxes, single-serving pre-cut vegetables, and precisely sliced sashimi platters, packaged in minimalist transparent material, filled every refrigerated compartment like a military parade. Each package was specially designed to clearly inform customers about the product while maintaining a visually organized and aesthetically pleasing appearance. The pure white label clearly displayed the product name, calories, and expiration date, accurate to the hour, in bold font.
A single serving of sukiyaki, prepared with Hokkaido F1 hybrid beef and seasonal vegetables.
Price: 390 yen.
This price isn't even enough to cover the cost of buying all the fresh ingredients inside.
A neatly dressed S-Mart stock clerk pushed a silent cart over. In his hand was a black data terminal equipped with an infrared scanning probe.
"drop."
The scanner swept across the electronic barcode on the edge of the shelf. The stock clerk glanced at the real-time updated inventory and expiration date data on the screen, and quickly took out several boxes of the latest batch of bento boxes, which had just been delivered from the central kitchen, from the trolley to fill the gaps left by the customers who had just taken them from the shelf.
From scanning to restocking completion, the entire process takes less than five seconds.
There is no need to flip through paper ledgers or manually check for expired losses one by one.
Kimura looked through the glass partition of the freezer at the data terminal in the stock clerk's hand, which was emitting a red glow.
He recalled the handwritten inventory ledger in his shop, every page covered with corrections. Every night after closing, he would put on his reading glasses and, under the dim light of a fluorescent bulb, meticulously check the inventory of dried seaweed and soy sauce, item by item.
In this gleaming, high-end retail space, this behemoth has transformed the operation of a supermarket into a precisely integrated, modern digital factory. Their mass-produced, ultra-cheap fresh food is ruthlessly reaping the profits of urban dwellers who, despite the economic downturn, are strapped for cash but still yearn to maintain a decent standard of living.
No, it's not quite "harvesting"; it's "acceptance." This warm and enormous marketplace welcomes all those who yearn for "decency."
He turned around and walked towards the cashier area like a walking corpse.
All ten checkout lanes are open.
The checkout process was also extremely fast.
The customer handed over the banknotes.
Because of the "rounding down policy," all items in the supermarket are priced in whole numbers. Cashiers only need to return a few large coins before handing them directly to the customer.
The next customer's goods have already been pushed onto the conveyor belt.
Kimura stood still. He silently calculated that it only took one order every twelve seconds.
He looked at the customers pushing their overflowing shopping carts, and at this enormous commercial machine that, though draped in a warm exterior, operated like a precise clock.
His fists, which had been tightly clenched in his sleeves, gradually loosened.
All the pent-up hatred in his stomach—the urge to pick a fight, to curse, to fight to the death—turned into a weak wisp of air in the face of absolute power.
He spent thirty years of his youth in front of that wooden shelf, barely making a living by selling on credit to his neighbors. This outdated way of life seemed like that of a ridiculous primitive in the face of this behemoth.
Kimura's shoulders slumped completely. His back seemed to have hunched over ten years in an instant.
He turned around and dragged his heavy steps toward the exit of the store.
A brand new poster was pasted on the glass wall at the exit.
[Hiring: Floor Manager with over ten years of display experience. Excellent compensation and benefits. Includes SA Group's full-time employee pension plan.]
Kimura stopped in front of that poster.
The words "annuity protection" immediately caught his eye.
He stared at it for a long time.
He slowly raised his hand and took off the old hat with the words "Kimura General Store" printed on it. His rough fingers rubbed the faded brim of the hat a couple of times before he held it tightly in his hand.
He then strode toward the employee recruitment area on the side of the store.