Chapter 51: The First Meeting with Katayama Mao

“Finally… quiet.”

As the last of them—Ōgami, Junko, and the others—disappeared from the activity room, Yomikawa Tsuko felt the oppressive tension in her shoulders suddenly, blessedly release.

How, she wondered, slumping back in her chair, can there possibly be so many fools concentrated in one place?

If only some convenient, targeted virus could be developed. One that specifically culls the idiotic from the herd.

A world populated only by the intelligent… it would surely be a far more efficient and infinitely more pleasant place.

She tilted her head back, the narrow top edge of the chair, less than an inch wide, digging uncomfortably into the back of her skull. But the slight, sharp pain was a welcome sensation. A grounding force. It helped her to focus, to calm the chaotic, unfamiliar storm raging within.

“Speaking of which,” she mused, her thoughts turning inward with a cold, clinical curiosity, “it is remarkably difficult to control one’s own emotions.”

“I had originally hypothesized that my… loss of composure… would only occur when confronted with a specific, high-stress individual, someone like that contemptible fool, Kishida. But I had not anticipated that the others, with their simple-minded, almost infantile prattling, could also have such a significant, if less severe, effect.”

When faced with Kishida Masayoshi, she found it almost impossible to resist the primal urge to mock him, to verbally dissect him, to expose his every weakness, regardless of his own behavior. But she was surprised and deeply annoyed to find that even when Junko or Takada said something particularly foolish, she felt a similar, overwhelming impulse. The urge to ridicule them, to expose their idiocy for her own private amusement, arose with almost every inane word they spoke, growing stronger and more insistent with each passing, tedious moment.

But for the sake of her disguise, for the sake of maintaining the carefully constructed illusion of the kind, patient Senpai, she had to constantly, relentlessly, suppress this impulse. And the more she suppressed it, the more it seemed to rebound, to fester, to curdle, until it gradually, inevitably transformed into… a cold, simmering, and deeply unpleasant anger.

The so-called virtue of never letting one’s emotions show on one’s face… it was, she was discovering, an incredibly difficult and deeply exhausting skill to master. No wonder that in so many works of fiction, individuals who possessed this quality were often portrayed as incredibly powerful, almost superhuman characters. Or, just as often, as the main villain.

“But… no matter how difficult it may be, I must become such a person. It is an essential, non-negotiable quality of the strong. In fact, one could argue it is an essential quality of being truly… human, and not merely a beast.”

“A creature completely at the mercy of its own chaotic emotions and irrational impulses, a being unable to control its own internal state… what difference is there, really, between such a creature and a wild animal?”

“If only there were some method, some reliable technique, to instantly calm any unwanted emotional fluctuations as they arise.”

“Cracking one’s knuckles? Pinching oneself? Using a sharp, physical pain to distract the mind… perhaps that is a viable option I can test in the future. Speaking of distraction, Kishida Masayoshi uses rock climbing to clear his head, to… empty his mind.”

“Of course, if your brain capacity is as limited as his, you would naturally need to do such things, to make space for subsequent and likely equally flawed thoughts.”

“As for me… perhaps I can use such a method not to empty my mind, but to… escape the shackles of these new, unwelcome emotions.”

And on that note, it did seem that a visit to the climbing gym, to gather some more information, was indeed in order.

With that thought, a new sense of purpose, of cold, clear, logical direction, began to settle over Yomikawa Tsuko. Her emotional state gradually began to stabilize. She stood up and walked out of the activity room, only to find, to her mild surprise, Takada Shōji standing just around the corner of the hallway, deep in a hushed conversation with someone else.

The third-year classrooms were upstairs, and the path led directly past this corner. As Yomikawa drew closer, their hushed, indistinct conversation gradually became clearer.

“Takada, you were in the clubroom during lunch again, weren’t you? Don’t even try to deny it. You were just there to get a look at that senpai. I’m telling you, man, you’re way too thirsty!”

“What the hell are you talking about, you idiot? Our club is in the middle of investigating a bizarre and very serious incident. Don’t assume everyone is as obsessed with perverted, disgusting crap as you are.”

“Tch. All talk and no action, you big coward. I was even thinking we could team up. Next P.E. class, I could bring my new mini camera, you know? We could get some really nice… shots. But I guess, if you’re going to be like that, I don’t need to include you in on my little project.”

“Wh-what? Photos? Taking… photos…”

Yomikawa Tsuko had a fairly good and deeply uncharitable idea of what they were discussing. She cleared her throat, a soft, deliberate, and perfectly timed sound that instantly cut their conspiratorial conversation short.

Takada Shōji jumped, startled, as if he’d been tasered. He spun around and saw her, and immediately began to stammer, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated guilt. “S-Senpai… I, uh, oh, are you heading back to class now? We were just… just discussing… photography techniques…”

Yomikawa clasped her hands neatly behind her back, her gaze falling upon the boy talking with Takada Shōji. He was about five centimeters shorter than Takada, with short, choppy, and frankly rather uninspired hair. His features were… unremarkable. Neither handsome nor ugly. A forgettable face.

He, too, had jumped when he saw Yomikawa. He unconsciously scratched the back of his head, a nervous gesture, and tried to hide behind Takada’s larger frame, not daring to speak, clearly, and with good reason, wondering if she had overheard his earlier, rather… incriminating… words.

“Photography?”

“Oh~Takada-kun,” Yomikawa said, her eyes narrowing slightly, her voice a perfect blend of innocent, girlish curiosity, “I had no idea you had a hobby in photography.”

From that seemingly innocuous tone, Takada sensed a flicker of profound danger. He quickly and rather desperately explained, “Not me! It’s Katayama here! He’s the one with the hobby. Um… anyway, he was just asking me for some help. You know, our club has been so busy lately, so we were just… just discussing… scheduling.”

Katayama?

Katayama Mao?

The son of that disgraced reporter, Katayama Kenji?

A new, cold, and thrilling thought sparked in Yomikawa Tsuko’s mind. She shifted her gaze, with a new and deeply predatory interest, to Katayama Mao. “So, you’re Katayama-kun? I’ve heard Takada-kun speak of you. I hear you two are quite good friends.”

She remembered what Takada had told her. This boy was a braggart, a big talker, but not the type to hold a grudge. And now, she had two new and very useful pieces of intelligence: he was a lecher, and he enjoyed taking secret, illicit photos of people. It was highly likely he had done so before.

“I’ve heard Takada-kun mention you often as well, Yomikawa-senpai,” Katayama Mao said, his voice a nervous squeak. “It’s a pleasure to meet you for the first time.” It was clear he was a little intimidated. Yomikawa Tsuko wasn’t exactly one of the school’s most famous, most gossiped-about figures, but because of her family background and her striking, almost intimidating good looks, she was quite well-known. Katayama Mao was, of course, among those who knew of her. Every Friday, during P.E. class, he too, had… enjoyed the view.

“You enjoy photography, Katayama-kun. Was that perhaps influenced by your father? Are you planning to pursue a career as a journalist as well?” Yomikawa Tsuko asked, her tone deliberately, deceptively casual.

Katayama Mao scratched the back of his head, a nervous, reflexive gesture. “Whether I’ll be a journalist or not… well, that’s still a long way off, isn’t it? For now, I just… I just like taking pictures of everyday things. You know, just for fun.”

Takada Shōji quickly and rather clumsily jumped in to cover for him. “Yeah, yeah! Katayama usually just takes pictures of, you know, pedestrians, cars, subway stations, that kind of… everyday life stuff. Definitely nothing else… oh, I mean, the subjects he shoots are all very… conventional.”

“Oh~I see. So, Katayama-kun was asking you to be his model, then?” Yomikawa Tsuko thought, a new and deeply satisfying idea beginning to form in her mind. This could be… an opportunity. A chance to get closer to Katayama Mao. Under the noble pretext of… ‘chastisement.’

While Yomikawa and Takada were talking, Katayama’s gaze had begun to wander, a familiar, lecherous glint in his eyes. He was surreptitiously eyeing Yomikawa’s slender, well-proportioned legs, his gaze traveling upwards from her ankles, finally resting, with a pathetic, desperate intensity on the sliver of pale, smooth skin exposed between the top of her thigh-high socks and the hem of her short, plaid skirt. He was likely, she knew, praying for a sudden, convenient gust of wind, something that would make her skirt flutter upwards, revealing more of the white, lustrous and forbidden skin of her thighs.

“Yeah, that’s right, he wants to take some pictures of… sports… you know, like playing ball, running, that kind of thing. So he came to ask me for help,” Takada Shōji said, a thin sheen of nervous sweat now visible on his forehead. He was highly, and with good reason, suspicious that she had overheard his earlier conversation with Katayama.

“Is that so~” Yomikawa Tsuko tapped the toe of her pristine white indoor slipper against the floor, a slow, rhythmic, and almost hypnotic movement. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her voice a silken, dangerous purr, laced with a meaning that was both deeply curious, and profoundly, chillingly threatening. “And here I was, under the mistaken impression that you two were planning to secretly take photos of the upperclassman girls during P.E. on Friday.”