Chapter 2: Public Humiliation
“Eh? Incredibly bizarre sleepwalking, you say? What kind of incident are we talking about?” All the intel Yomikawa had gathered on Nakamori Manatsu painted her as someone utterly uninterested in occult stories. Yet, here she was, genuinely rattled. This suggested the so-called incident was more than just schoolyard gossip; it might be something… significant.
“The exact details… I don’t know,” Nakamori Manatsu confessed, her voice still laced with a tremor of fear. “I just heard it’s terrifying, deeply unnatural. They whisper that anyone who digs too deep into the story… meets with misfortune. So, I didn’t dare ask more. Tsuko-chan, I know you have a taste for these dark things, but maybe this time… it’s best to let it lie. If something truly awful happened, there’d be no turning back, no regrets that could fix it.”
“Hmm.” A flicker of something cold and calculating in Yomikawa’s mind. “Manatsu-san, when you put it like that, it only piques my curiosity further.” A story potent enough to scare even Manatsu? The club members would devour it. And as club president, feigning disinterest would be… out of character.
Besides, a juicy new mystery would be the perfect smokescreen. A way to divert the club’s attention, especially from ĹŚgami’s dangerously perceptive gaze. He was likely still dissecting the Lord Mask-Taker affair, his mind a relentless machine. That simply wouldn't do.
“As for ‘something awful happening’,” Yomikawa said, her tone light, almost dismissive, “you’re probably letting your imagination run away with you, Manatsu-san.”
Nakamori Manatsu hesitated, unconvinced. “Whatever you say, Tsuko-chan. Just… be careful, okay?”
They fell into an easy rhythm of chatter as they walked, the school gates looming closer with each step.
And there, as if summoned, was Takada ShĹŤji. He spotted them from a distance, his face breaking into a wide, relieved grin as he jogged over. “Senpai! You’re back! Are you feeling completely better?”
“Thank you for asking, Takada-kun. I’m perfectly fine now.” Yomikawa offered him a carefully crafted soft smile, her eyes doing a quick, analytical sweep. “Still bursting with energy, I see.”
Takada, with his athletic build, always looked more suited to a sports team than their little society of folklore and shadows. His membership was a constant, minor surprise.
“I’m doing great, haha!” Takada beamed, then scratched his head, a hint of sheepishness creeping in. “So, Senpai… will you be at the club today? It feels like ages since we had a proper meeting. Everyone’s really been missing you.” He then seemed to reconsider, a flush rising on his cheeks. “But, of course, if you’re not up to it, don’t push yourself!”
“Not at all. I’m perfectly fine,” Yomikawa assured him. Interesting. Takada, the considerate type. Another detail I never bothered to notice before. “After school, everyone gather in the activity room.”
“Awesome!” Takada’s face lit up. He nodded vigorously, then, with a wave, sprinted towards the school building. “See you later, Senpai!”
Watching his retreating form, Nakamori Manatsu sighed, a touch of envy in her voice. “Everyone really does care about you, Tsuko-chan. It must be nice.”
“Well, Manatsu-san,” Yomikawa said, turning with a sudden, almost predatory grace, “why not join the club yourself? Then we could be together every day.”
“Eh? Me?” Manatsu recoiled as if stung. “Oh, no, I… I couldn’t. Ghost stories, all that… it’s a bit too much for me. I’m not brave like you, Tsuko-chan.”
“Is that so.” A flat, unreadable statement.
……
The classes themselves were a special kind of torture. Literatures and arts were bearable, a dull hum in the background. But science and mathematics? An incomprehensible alien language. The real agony was the performance – the necessity of appearing engaged, of mimicking attentiveness.
Six classes, stretching from the nine o’clock bell to the three-thirty release. If not for a will forged in… other fires, Yomikawa would have succumbed to the crushing boredom and slept through most of it. Mercifully, no teacher had singled her out for questions. That would have been a disaster.
“Finally.”
The chime of the final bell was a sweet release. She allowed herself a small, luxurious stretch in her seat.
Now, for the real business of the day. The clubroom was on the far side of the sprawling campus. She took her time, a deliberate, unhurried stroll. By the time she arrived, the others were already assembled, a tableau waiting for its central figure.
Ueno Junko and Tanaka Kana occupied the south side of the long wooden table. Takada ShĹŤji and ĹŚgami YĹŤsuke were positioned to the north and west. The east end, the head of the table, was, as always, hers.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” Her gaze swept the room. “Ah, Kana, you made it to school as well.”
“Yes, Senpai. I’ve been back since last Thursday,” Tanaka Kana replied, a little too quickly.
Takada and Junko chimed in with their greetings. After acknowledging them with a polite nod, Yomikawa Tsuko’s attention settled, with a chilling precision, on ĹŚgami YĹŤsuke. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips – Senpai’s lips. “What’s the matter, ĹŚgami-kun? You seem a little… subdued today.”
She took her seat, directly opposite him, a queen on her throne. His discomfort was palpable – the fidgeting, the inability to meet her gaze. This position of power, this subtle interrogation, was… deeply satisfying.
“Ah… Senpai… I… I’m so sorry…” ĹŚgami stammered, his head snapping up to meet her eyes for a fleeting second before dropping again, a flush of shame creeping up his neck.
He’d spoken to Kishida Masayoshi yesterday. They’d swapped numbers at that little café on Saturday. Kishida had promised to report back immediately after his… confrontation… with Yomikawa Tsuko. But the hours had ticked by, nine o’clock had come and gone, and his phone had remained stubbornly silent.
He’d tried to downplay his theories to Kishida, of course, suggesting they were just ‘stories.’ A touch of false modesty. Deep down, ĹŚgami had a healthy confidence in his own deductive abilities. So, eventually, he’d been the one to make the call.
Kishida had been evasive at first, muttering something about ĹŚgami staying out of it. But under persistent questioning, the truth had finally spilled out.
The summary was brutal: utter, humiliating failure.
Yomikawa Tsuko hadn’t just brushed off his accusations; she’d systematically dismantled them, exposed every logical flaw, and then, for good measure, produced an ironclad alibi.
The news had hit ĹŚgami like a physical blow. So much for his brilliant deductions. Real criminal cases, real darkness, wasn’t some intellectual puzzle to be solved from afar. He’d been arrogant, naive.
Worse, far worse, was the thought of facing Senpai. Since his transfer, since joining this strange little club, Yomikawa had always been… kind. Considerate, even. And he, in return, had pointed a finger at this gentle, reliable senpai and branded her a murderer. The shame was a burning coal in his gut. Unforgivable.
Seeing his pitiable state, Yomikawa felt a fresh surge of amusement, a perverse desire to twist the knife. “It appears, ĹŚgami-kun, that being wrong has shaken you quite profoundly.”
Her voice, though soft, landed like a whip. ĹŚgami’s head sank even lower. He couldn’t bring himself to look into those bright, knowing eyes. All he could do was rise, his movements stiff, and execute a deep, formal bow. “I am truly, deeply sorry! Please forgive me!”
The air in the clubroom crackled with a sudden, awkward tension. Takada, Junko, and Kana exchanged wide-eyed, bewildered glances. Something significant had clearly transpired, something they were not privy to. And Senpai was at the heart of it.
“Wh-what’s going on?” Takada finally ventured, his voice a hesitant squeak. “ĹŚgami-san, why are you apologizing like that?”
Yomikawa Tsuko crossed her arms, a picture of serene composure. Her legs, sheathed in those signature black thigh-highs, were crossed with an elegant nonchalance, the toe of her pristine white indoor slipper tapping lightly against the table leg. “Well, now,” she said, her voice smooth as silk, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “It seems our ĹŚgami-kun here had a rather interesting theory. He suspected that the culprit behind the little unpleasantness at the hot spring inn, and the unfortunate matter of Hasebe Koichi… was none other than myself. And Kagehara-kun, of course.”
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