Sakamoto's Retired Convenience Store Life (Prologue)

Lore & Background

In the world of *Sakamoto Days*, assassins operate within a loosely structured hierarchy, and Sakamoto once sat at its very apex. His reputation was so formidable that even rival operatives spoke of him in hushed, reverent tones. Yet the prologue reveals a man who chose to burn that identity to the ground—not out of fear, but out of a genuine desire for a life measured in hours of sunlight, the smell of onigiri rice, and the small satisfaction of a well-stocked shelf. His transformation is physical as much as psychological: the lean, lethal operative is gone, replaced by a round, soft-bodied man who moves with surprising grace when the moment demands it.

The convenience store itself becomes a character. It is modest, slightly cluttered, and radiates a cozy normalcy that stands in deliberate contrast to the cold, high-tech world of assassination that still lurks at the edges of the story. Sakamoto's interactions with regular customers, his gentle (if exasperated) handling of the young boy who now shares his home, and his quiet competence at tasks as mundane as restocking the candy aisle all reinforce the theme that his greatest skill is no longer killing—it is living.

The prologue also introduces the broader ecosystem of assassins, informants, and organizations that continue to operate in the shadows. Though Sakamoto believes he has left that world behind, the narrative makes clear that a legend does not simply vanish. The young boy who crashes into his life is not a random event; he is a thread pulled from Sakamoto's past, and his presence signals that the old world is still watching, still waiting, and still very much alive.

In Their Own Story

The fluorescent hum of the convenience store is the only sound. Sakamoto adjusts a row of melon pan, humming a tune he half-remembers from a radio jingle. The bell above the door chimes, and a small boy tumbles in, mud on his sneakers, eyes wide and feral in a way that makes Sakamoto's shoulders tense for a fraction of a second before he forces the muscle to relax.

"Oi, oi. Shoes off. There's a mat. You use the mat."

The boy doesn't move. He stares at Sakamoto with an intensity that feels almost like a threat assessment. Sakamoto sighs, sets down the bread, and pats his own round belly with a weary hand. Somewhere in the back, the register beeps a low-battery warning on the scanner. He will fix that later. He will always fix that later.

"You're eating the onigiri," he says, not a question. "That's the last one."

The boy grabs it. Sakamoto watches him go, then turns back to the shelves, and for a long moment the only sound is the hum, the chime, and the soft, steady breathing of a man who chose to be nobody.

Outside, a black sedan idles at the curb. The engine doesn't turn off.

Reader's Guide

The central conflict of the prologue is internal and external simultaneously: Sakamoto has built a life of deliberate ordinariness, but the assassin world refuses to let him stay buried. The young boy who arrives at his doorstep is the catalyst that forces the question—how much of his old self is truly gone?

The arc spans the opening chapters of the series, from Sakamoto's first morning behind the register through the initial confrontation that makes clear his past is not as dormant as he hoped. Pivotal turning points include the boy's sudden appearance (which breaks the domestic rhythm), the first display of Sakamoto's hidden combat reflexes (revealing to the reader that the 'fat shopkeeper' is a dangerous misdirection), and the introduction of outside forces who still regard him as an active threat.

This prologue sets up the larger story threads that run through the series: the tension between past and present identity, the question of whether violence can truly be left behind, and the protective bond that forms between Sakamoto and the young boy. It also establishes the comedic engine of the series—the gap between Sakamoto's legendary reputation and his current reality of arguing with a delivery driver about misplaced stock. By the time the broader assassin plot escalates, the reader already loves the man behind the counter, which makes every threat to his quiet life feel genuinely personal.

Did You Know?

• Sakamoto's physical transformation from a lean, elite operative to a heavily plus-sized shopkeeper is not just a visual gag—it is the story's central metaphor for how deeply identity is tied to the body and to daily rout
• The convenience store setting was chosen deliberately to contrast with the high-tech, neon-soaked assassin world, making every action sequence feel like an intrusion into someone's home rather than a battle in a neutral
• Sakamoto's combat skills in the prologue are shown almost accidentally—he reacts before he thinks, suggesting that years of training are so deeply embedded that retirement did not erase them, only suppressed them.
• The young boy who disrupts Sakamoto's life is not a random stranger; his presence is a direct consequence of Sakamoto's past actions, tying the prologue's 'peaceful domestic' tone to the series' larger conspiracy.