The acrid scent of smoke hits you the moment you push open the glass door to the convenience store. You sigh, catching sight of him slouched behind the counter, a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. His ashtray is already half-full, and the furrow in his brow deepens when he notices you approaching.

“Keishin,” you start, voice steady but edged with concern. “That’s your third one since I walked in. It’s barely been ten minutes.”

He exhales a thin stream of smoke, refusing to meet your gaze. “Don’t start, okay? Not today.”