Chapter 67: Mr. Ōkawa
“Ah… hah!”
Yomikawa Tsuko pushed back from the desk, putting down her pen and indulging in a long, luxurious stretch. The movement pulled her simple white shirt taut across her back, revealing a fleeting, almost incandescent glimpse of the pale, smooth skin of her midriff.
“Today,” she thought, a flicker of genuine satisfaction warming her in a way she was still unaccustomed to, “is a day to be commemorated. The first time I have, through my own, unaided efforts, successfully completed a portion of my assigned mathematics homework. And the results… were correct.”
Seeing that her own meticulous, hand-written calculations matched the answers displayed on the stark, impersonal glow of the computer screen, her mood, which had been so dark and turbulent just days before, was now surprisingly bright.
“Although a single, trivial practice problem took me a full twenty minutes to solve… it is a good start. It is a sign of quantifiable progress.”
More than half a month had now passed since the… exchange… with Senpai. Her desperate, frantic efforts to catch up on her studies were finally beginning to feel like they were on the right track. If there was one area where she was most vulnerable, most likely to expose the profound, fundamental inconsistencies of her new existence, it was in the realm of academics. And now, to finally begin to patch that gaping, dangerous hole in her carefully constructed disguise… it filled her with a sense of genuine, almost giddy pleasure.
She glanced at the time. That was enough for today. If she was going to take care of her other, more pressing… business… she had to leave now. Any later, and that man, her first suspect, would likely be finished with his work for the day.
With that thought, she went downstairs and changed into a rather mature outfit – something that made her look more like a serious university student than an underage, and therefore vulnerable, high school girl. Then, she headed towards the locksmith’s shop, the location of which she had already, with a cold, meticulous precision, thoroughly researched.
Previously, she had analyzed that on the night of June 11th, while she lay unconscious, there were two primary suspects who could have been the one moving, like a ghost, through the darkened villa.
The first, and by far the most logical, target: the locksmith technician.
The second, a target against whom she had not a single shred of tangible evidence: Senpai.
The actual, practical investigation should have begun days ago. But after the fifth wish, after the chaotic, unpredictable onslaught of her new and deeply unwelcome emotions, Yomikawa Tsuko had been… afraid. Afraid that her own emotional instability would compromise the investigation. And even more afraid that the results of the investigation, if her grim theory proved correct, would be so infuriating, so enraging, that it would, in turn, negatively impact her daily life, her carefully constructed and absolutely essential performance. And so, she had procrastinated, putting it off day after day, a weakness that, even now, she found deeply contemptible.
But now, nearly a week had passed. Her control over her own emotions, while still far from perfect, had improved significantly since those first, chaotic, terrifying days. Her mood, for the moment, was much more stable.
In her current state, even if her first theory was correct, even if she had to come face-to-face with this ‘perverted, habitual, sexually deviant locksmith,’ she was confident she could handle it. As long as the conversation took place in a public, neutral setting, she had a considerable degree of confidence in her own abilities.
The locksmith company her target worked for was less a ‘company’ and more a small, dingy, and rather depressing shop. It was tucked away on a nondescript street corner, its small, faded sign so inconspicuous that if Yomikawa hadn’t been specifically looking for it, she would have walked right past it without a second glance.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside, a small bell announcing her arrival with a sad, tinny jingle. A long, rectangular counter, cluttered with all manner of strange, vaguely menacing machinery and a chaotic array of sample locks, bisected the already narrow space, making it feel even more cramped and claustrophobic. The area behind the counter, a chaotic, greasy jumble of metal objects, gave off a suffocating, almost oppressive feeling.
Yomikawa frowned slightly as she took in her surroundings. To spend every day, every waking hour, in a place like this… even the most cheerful, optimistic disposition would eventually be crushed into a state of dull, listless misery.
Then again, the environment did seem to fit the other, hidden identity of the man she was hunting. A sleazy, sordid animal, living like a rat in its nest. If it were ever to be dragged out into the harsh, unforgiving sunlight, it would likely start squealing in terror.
“Oh, welcome. Is there something you’re looking for? Or something our shop can help you with?”
Hearing the shopkeeper’s voice, a surprisingly mild and pleasant sound, Yomikawa Tsuko turned, her eyes cold and assessing as she sized up the man before her.
He was somewhere between forty and fifty years old, with a square, honest-looking face. His features were unremarkable, not at all unpleasant. He stood behind the counter, his posture that of a humble and rather tired shopkeeper greeting a potential customer. But there was no trace of the obsequious, sleazy quality she had been expecting. In fact, he projected an air of quiet, unassuming trustworthiness.
“My name is Yomikawa Tsuko,” she began, her voice polite, her mind racing as she tried to recall the precise, and now crucial, details of that day. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you so unexpectedly.”
In the early morning of June 10th, she had called a locksmith to change the locks on the villa. Two men had come. One had remained in the car the entire time; she had never gotten a clear look at his face. The other, the one who had spoken with her, the one who had done the actual, physical work… he was her primary suspect.
She hadn’t seen the face of the man in the car. And the man standing before her now, with his honest, open face, was clearly not the one who had changed the locks that day.
With that in mind, she decided against fabricating an identity just yet. Instead, she asked, her voice a model of curiosity, “Excuse me, but does your shop employ any female technicians for on-site, residential work?”
The shopkeeper frowned, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “I’m very sorry, but all of our employees are male. Is there a particular, special reason you require a female technician?”
Yomikawa Tsuko didn’t answer his question directly. Instead, she feigned a wide-eyed surprise. “Four employees, and all of them are male?”
“I’m sorry, but we only have two employees,” the shopkeeper said, his tone still patient, a fact for which Yomikawa credited her own, carefully selected, attractive appearance. “You must be mistaken.”
“Eh? Is that so? But… one of your employees mentioned to me that you had four people working here. It seems he was… lying to me.” Yomikawa’s face was a mask of innocent, girlish surprise. After this artful explanation, she immediately, and with a disarming quickness, went on the offensive. “On the morning of June 10th, I called to request your services. Do you not remember, sir?”
The shopkeeper was still trying, with a growing look of frustration, to figure out which of his employees had been spreading such nonsensical lies about his business. He answered her second question without thinking, his guard now completely down. “I’m terribly sorry, I really don’t remember. I wasn’t in the shop on the morning of June 10th. It must have been one of my two employees who assisted you.”
“Well, it did seem to be two men,” Yomikawa mused, as if trying to recall the details. “One sat in the car the entire time, and the other changed the lock on my villa’s door. But to lie so casually… that’s not a very good habit, is it? Especially in your line of work. It could make your customers feel… unsafe.” Yomikawa Tsuko looked down, pretending to examine the sample locks on the counter, but her words were a continuous, relentless stream, a carefully calibrated monologue that gave the shopkeeper no chance to interject, no opportunity to question her narrative. “Are your two employees not in at the moment? I have a small after-sales service issue I’d like to consult with them about. Let me think… the technician who changed my lock… he was about thirty to thirty-five years old. He was only a little taller than me. A bit overweight, but not obese. He had small, slightly cunning-looking eyes… Of course,” she added, a note of fairness in her voice, “I’m not saying he’s a bad person.”
“Oh, I know who you mean. You’re talking about Ōkawa,” the shopkeeper said, a look of immediate recognition on his face. “He is indeed one of my employees, and his skills are very, very good. I’m very sorry that he caused you trouble with his careless talk.” The shopkeeper, unable to control the pace of the conversation, and with no opportunity to question Yomikawa’s strange and rather specific line of questioning, could only apologize first and shift the blame to his errant employee. “Ōkawa is not here at the moment. If you have an after-sales service issue, please allow me to assist you.”
“It’s not a particularly urgent matter,” Yomikawa Tsuko said with a faint smile, deliberately misinterpreting the shopkeeper’s words. “If Mr. Ōkawa will be back in a little while, I can wait.”
“I-I’m sorry,” the shopkeeper stammered, a thin sheen of nervous sweat now visible on his forehead, “but Ōkawa might not be back for a few days. He’s… taken his family on a trip.”
“Eh? A trip?” This time, Yomikawa Tsuko’s surprise was genuine. “Mr. Ōkawa doesn’t seem like the type who would be wealthy enough to take his whole family on a trip. Does he… does he play the stock market, perhaps?”
The shopkeeper scratched his head, a look of bemusement on his face. “Well, Ōkawa is just a lucky guy, I suppose. About ten days ago, he inexplicably won some kind of designated prize. A travel grant, or something. If he took a trip to… Mie Island… he would receive five hundred thousand yen in travel funds. So, last Sunday, he packed up his family and went on vacation.”
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