Chapter 12: Club Activity
After ending the call, Yomikawa Tsuko paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. This Hitomi-obasan… better to make contact now, arrange a meeting. Avoid any awkwardness down the line if our paths cross unexpectedly. It was all part of maintaining the facade, a necessary, if tedious, component of this new existence.
With a mental shrug, she dialed the number, her voice a carefully constructed blend of politeness and youthful deference. “Hitomi-obasan? It’s Yomikawa Tsuko. I’m so terribly sorry to disturb you again.”
“Eh? Tsuko-chan, dear! Your mother just rang. Seems she’s going to be tied up for a while longer. So, listen, if you need anything at all, and I mean anything, you call me straight away, alright?”
“You’re too kind, Hitomi-obasan. Mom does tend to lean on you, doesn’t she?” Yomikawa said, injecting a note of playful exasperation. “But truly, I’m managing perfectly well on my own. Nothing urgent to report.” Living alone for nearly a year now, after all. ‘Emergencies’ were hardly a feature of her previous, more… solitary… lifestyle.
“Tsuko-chan, you’re being far too formal! Goodness, with Yuna and me, there’s no such thing as a bother. And a young lady like you, living all by herself, you simply must be extra careful. Those dreadful men on the trains, the creeps who lurk around schools… and heavens, when it’s your time of the month, you absolutely mustn’t forget your sanitary supplies…”
Hitomi-obasan, Yomikawa mentally cataloged, is a champion-level rambler.
When the torrent of well-meaning advice finally paused for breath, Yomikawa smoothly interjected, “I’m taking all necessary precautions, Hitomi-obasan, thank you. Actually, if you happen to be free, I was wondering if we might have dinner together this weekend?”
“Eh? Dinner? Tsuko-chan, are you… inviting me?” The surprise in Hitomi-obasan’s voice was almost comical.
“Oh, if you’re busy, please don’t give it a second thought,” Yomikawa replied, already gauging the established dynamic between Senpai and this woman. Her own approach was clearly a touch too stiff, too… formal. But a single phone call wouldn’t raise any red flags. She could fine-tune the performance when they met in person, mimic Senpai’s mannerisms more closely.
They settled on Friday evening. Hanging up, Yomikawa Tsuko allowed herself a long, satisfying stretch. A blessing, really, that her ‘parents’ weren’t physically present. Navigating this web of pre-existing relationships was like walking a tightrope. One wrong step, one out-of-character remark, and the whole charade could unravel.
She found herself wondering, not for the first time, how the entity known as Lord Mask-Taker navigated these treacherous social waters with each stolen face, each new identity. Did it learn, adapt, or simply… not care?
……
Tuesday. The final bell echoed through the emptying halls of Suzaku High.
Yomikawa Tsuko, as was becoming her habit, was the last to arrive at the Folklore Research Club. Even before she pushed open the worn wooden door, she could hear the animated voices of Ågami and Junko, locked in what sounded like a fervent debate. She couldn’t quite make out Ågami’s words, but Junko’s contributions were a series of breathless interjections: “Eh? Is that really true?”, “No way!”, “That’s incredible!”
“Good afternoon, everyone.” She swept into the room, her gaze coldly appraising each member. They all looked… energized. Alert. “It seems our latest case has captured everyone’s imagination. I trust you’ve all conducted your own preliminary inquiries?”
“Ågami-kun’s been on fire! His analysis is, like, totally mind-blowing!” Junko gushed, her eyes shining with admiration.
“Well, I’ve formulated a few working hypotheses,” Ågami mumbled, scratching the back of his head with a display of modesty that Yomikawa found almost… charmingly transparent.
“Excellent. Then let’s not waste any time.” Yomikawa settled into her customary seat at the head of the table, the ‘president’s throne,’ and crossed her legs with an air of casual authority. She herself had done precisely zero preparation. Why bother, when she could simply react, guide, and subtly manipulate the flow of their discoveries? “Who wishes to begin?”
“Me! Pick me!” Takada ShÅji’s hand shot up, waving with an almost childlike enthusiasm. He was clearly bursting to share.
Seeing no immediate competition, he launched in. “Okay, so everyone knows about that super popular TV drama that’s airing right now, right? The one that’s also called ‘Sleepwalker’? Well, I went home yesterday and did a serious deep-dive into it.”
Kana propped her chin on her hand, a playful pout on her lips. “Ooh, Takada-senpai, you’re not about to drop a load of spoilers, are you? I was saving that one, planning to binge it all in one go when the season ends.”
Junko nodded vigorously. “Me too! I’ve heard it’s absolutely brilliant, so I’ve been meticulously recording every episode. My grand plan is a holiday viewing marathon.”
“Relax, no spoilers, I promise,” Takada said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But seriously, doesn’t the timing of this whole Kimura thing strike anyone else as a little too perfect? We’ve got this hit show about sleepwalking, the topic is literally trending everywhere, and then, bam, Kimura-san just happens to develop this bizarre, extreme case of it?”
Junko, however, was quick to poke a hole. “But the ‘Sleepwalker’ drama started after Kimura’s first incident, didn’t it? June 9th, the day he went up to that creepy cave on Mount Karasu-Go – the show didn’t even premiere for another two days after that.”
Yomikawa Tsuko gave a slow, deliberate nod. “An astute observation, Junko-chan. So, Takada-kun, how does your theory account for that discrepancy?”
“Ah! Even though ‘Sleepwalker’ officially premiered on June 11th,” Takada countered, a triumphant gleam in his eye, “the whole promotional blitz, the hype machine, that started weeks ago. I checked out the social media feeds of the main actors – they were posting teasers, behind-the-scenes stuff, all related to the show, as far back as last month.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms with a look of smug satisfaction. “In other words, if someone, say Kimura-san, wanted to draw… inspiration… from the show, he wouldn’t have needed to wait for it to actually hit the airwaves.”
“Therefore,” Takada declared, his voice ringing with conviction, “I submit that Kimura-san’s entire ‘ordeal’ is a fabrication. A hoax. He cooked the whole thing up, inspired by the ‘Sleepwalker’ drama. There’s simply no other rational explanation for such a glaring coincidence. And ItÅ-san? He’s probably just in on it, helping to spread the story, make it sound more convincing.”
Kana pursed her lips, unimpressed. “Kicking things off with a ‘it’s all fake’ theory… Takada-senpai, that’s a little… anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
“Wh-what do you mean, anticlimactic?” Takada spluttered, his confidence deflating slightly. “My hypothesis is perfectly sound! Even Senpai was nodding along!”
Kana paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. “But… what about the injuries? ItÅ-san and Fujita-san both got hurt, for real.”
“Faked!” Takada scoffed, waving his hand again. “Easy. Slap on some bandages, a little red ink for dramatic effect. It’s not like anyone’s going to demand to see the actual wounds, are they?”
Ågami YÅsuke, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Actually, Fujita-san’s injuries were quite genuine, and rather severe. I paid him a visit at the hospital yesterday. Due to his condition, we weren’t able to speak for long.”
“Huh? You’ve already seen Fujita-san?” Takada ShÅji stared at Ågami, momentarily stunned by his proactive approach. He’d been planning to suggest a group visit to investigate Fujita himself today.
“Yes,” Ågami confirmed. “I managed to ask him briefly about the circumstances of his injury. He said that after hearing Kimura’s story, he’d become… unsettled. Developed a distinct fear of falling asleep. He hadn’t slept well at all on Friday night. So, the next morning, he was on the sofa, watching television, and he must have dozed off. He felt incredibly tired, just wanted to rest for a moment. And that’s why he didn’t register the danger, didn’t notice the chandelier loosening from the ceiling above him, until it was too late.”
“Th-th-that…” Takada was utterly deflated. He managed a weak, sheepish grin. “Well, hell. So much for my brilliant theory. All that research last night… completely wasted.”
Junko beamed at Ågami, her admiration palpable. “You’re simply amazing, Ågami-kun!”
Yomikawa Tsuko crossed her arms, a placid, almost maternal smile on her lips. “Now, now, Takada-kun, no need for such dejection. In a way, your efforts have been quite valuable. You’ve helped us definitively eliminate one incorrect avenue of inquiry. As long as we continue this process, systematically ruling out the impossible, we will inevitably draw closer to the truth, however improbable it may seem.”
“R-really? Well, if I actually helped, then… then that’s great!” Takada said, his usual good-natured optimism returning.
As Takada settled back in his seat, Kana leaned forward, a new spark in her eyes. “You know, yesterday, when ItÅ-san was telling us about all the things that happened to Kimura-san… something about it felt… familiar. I couldn’t quite place it then. But I went home, and I thought about it, really hard. And then it hit me… It’s actually quite similar to a very famous, very creepy urban legend!”
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