---
The line at the cashier was short, but for Yuna, it was the final exam of the day. Every item in the basket had to justify its existence, and the judge was a nine-year-old girl staring intensely at the register screen.
The small basket in Yuna’s hands felt heavier now than before—or perhaps that was just my imagination after watching its contents grow little by little.
---
A blue pencil case.
Two cat erasers.
One white eraser.
A box of 2B pencils.
Notebooks.
A ruler.
A water bottle.
And the sweater with the little character holding an umbrella, folded neatly at the bottom.
Yuna stood straight beside .
Her eyes didn’t look forward.
They looked into the basket.
Calculating.
Her lips moved softly, making no sound.
---
The cashier in front of us finished serving another custor.
"Next."
We stepped up.
The items were placed onto the counter, one by one.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The sound of the scanner was consistent.
Yuna watched the small screen displaying the numbers.
Every ti a "beep" sounded, the total went up.
Beep.
Beep.
The numbers changed again.
Her eyes darted rapidly.
Recalculating in her head.
I just stood there.
Hands in my pockets.
Calm.
The sweater was scanned last.
Beep.
The final total appeared.
---
Yuna froze for a fraction of a second.
Not shocked.
Not panicking.
Just stopping.
Then she calculated quickly once more.
Her lips barely moved.
I pulled a card from my wallet.
No comnts yet.
The cashier smiled politely.
"Your total is..."
I imdiately handed over the card.
Yuna turned to .
"Papa didn’t think it over first?"
"I already thought it over."
"When?"
"While you were comparing pencil cases for twenty minutes."
She fell silent.
The card terminal beeped quietly as the transaction processed.
Yuna was still looking at the screen.
"Still within reasonable limits," she murmured.
"Yes."
"We could have put back one eraser."
"A little cat won’t bankrupt us."
She looked at .
"I don’t think it would."
"Good."
The transaction finished.
The cashier began placing the items into a plastic bag.
---
"Your daughter is very ticulous," she said amiably.
Yuna imdiately stood a little straighter.
"I am simply ensuring there is no waste."
Her tone was neat. Practiced.
The cashier’s smile widened.
"That’s wonderful. Kids your age are rarely like that."
Yuna gave a small nod.
"Efficiency is important."
I took the shopping bags.
"Yes. She’s more ticulous than I am."
Yuna snapped her head toward .
"Papa isn’t ticulous?"
"I choose not to care too much."
"That’s not a strategy."
"It’s a lifestyle."
The cashier chuckled, probably assuming this was normal banter between a father and daughter.
---
To an outsider, it was.
We walked out of the store, the little bell chiming behind us. We had successfully purchased the items, but judging by the look on Yuna’s face, the transaction regarding the "value" of those items was far from over.
---
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