Chapter 20: Friday

June 22nd. Friday. A day that hummed with the subtle promise of the weekend.

For three days running, the Folklore Research Club had been a ghost town, formal activities suspended due to a convenient string of member absences. Yomikawa Tsuko, however, had dutifully made an appearance in the clubroom on Wednesday and Thursday. A bit of idle chatter, a carefully curated performance of normalcy, and then everyone had scattered to their respective homes. Time, meticulously managed.

Today, however, was different. Dinner with Hitomi-obasan was on the agenda. So, the moment the final school bell released its captive audience, Yomikawa Tsuko headed straight for the silent, empty villa. School uniform shed, she dialed Hitomi-obasan’s number, consciously injecting a lighter, more youthful cadence into her voice, a subtle shift from her usual precise formality.

“Hitomi-obasan? It’s me, Tsuko. School’s out. Where should we meet?”

“Ah, Tsuko-chan!” Hitomi-obasan’s voice, a familiar, slightly overwhelming wave of cheer, crackled through the phone. “Obasan is still chained to the old grindstone, I’m afraid. And isn’t it a tad early for dinner bells to be ringing, young lady? Tell you what, if you’re at a loose end, why not pop over to my climbing gym? You can ooh and aah at my magnificent establishment, and then, when suppertime rolls around, you can treat your dear Obasan properly. I’ve already got my heart set on what I want, by the way, so make sure that wallet of yours is well-padded. Obasan is absolutely not chipping in this time, not one yen…” As always, Hitomi-obasan’s words tumbled out in an unstoppable, rambling cascade.

A climbing gym owner? An unexpected data point.

Yomikawa Tsuko considered asking for the name and address directly, then dismissed the thought. Too blunt. Too… out of character for the ‘Tsuko’ she was supposed to be. Instead, she opted for a more oblique approach. “Eh? But Obasan, didn’t you mention last time that business was absolutely dreadful? Why on earth are you still slogging away there every day?”

“Did I say that? Oh, pooh, probably just pulling your leg, dear! Obasan’s place here is, without a shadow of a doubt, the premier climbing facility in the entire city! If my business isn’t booming, then every other climbing gym in town would have boarded up its windows ages ago. Anyway, you make sure to get here before proper dinnertime, and watch out for those dreadful perverts on the trains, you hear?”

Such an incorrigibly garrulous woman. Hanging up, Yomikawa Tsuko opened a browser window, her fingers flying across the keyboard, initiating a search for climbing gyms within the city limits.

In a sprawling metropolis like Tokyo or Kyoto, such a vague query would be a fool’s errand. Without a name or specific address, sifting through the countless listings would be an all-night affair, likely fruitless.

Fortunately, this city was more modest in its offerings. Only four climbing gyms appeared in the search results, located in Nagano, Mitsuba, Fura, and Seta-Minamichō Wards.

“Now, which one is it?” A direct search for the owner’s name yielded nothing. Standard.

“'The best climbing gym in the city.' A bold claim. If Hitomi-obasan possessed even a fraction of the business acumen she did verbal exuberance, there might be some truth to it. Then again, with a personality prone to such… enthusiastic exaggeration… the possibility of pure bluster was also high."

“And, judging by her tone, the original Senpai had likely frequented this establishment. More than once. Calling back to ask for directions now would be… suspicious. An unnecessary risk.”

“The four gyms are geographically disparate. A trial-and-error approach, visiting each in turn, is out of the question. Therefore, the only logical course of action is to temporarily operate under the assumption that Hitomi-obasan’s boast contains a kernel of truth, then utilize internet calls and a voice modulator to systematically eliminate the other possibilities.”

Yomikawa Tsuko decided Nagano Ward would be her first point of digital inquiry. Land values in Nagano were notoriously high. A business like a climbing gym, requiring significant square footage, would likely be a more modest, perhaps more exclusive, affair – prioritizing safety and privacy over ostentatious claims of being the ‘best.’

“Hello, am I speaking with the Nagano Climbing Gym?” Her modulated voice was crisp, professional.

“Yes, this is. How may I help you?” The reply was polite, efficient.

No immediate attempt to sell their services to an unsolicited caller. Interesting. Aligns with my initial assessment. She smoothly transitioned into her fabricated persona. “Please connect me to your owner, Mr. Matsuda. This is Makoto, a liaison from the municipal tax department.”

“The tax department? Oh! Uh, I… I’m terribly sorry, I believe you may have dialed incorrectly. Our owner’s surname is Yoshida, not Matsuda.”

No denial that the owner was male, however. One down.

Next, Mitsuba Ward. “Is this the Mitsuba Climbing Gym? I’ve heard reports that you’re audaciously advertising yourselves as the most luxurious climbing facility in the region. Preposterous! Are you deliberately attempting to insult the fine establishment we run here in Nagano? This is Yoshida, manager of the Nagano gym. Put your owner, Matsushita, on the line this instant!”

“Eh? Eh-eh? Yoshida-san? B-but…” The voice on the other end was flustered, taken aback by the aggressive opening.

“‘But’ nothing! Get that old lecher Matsushita on the phone, and be quick about it!”

“B-but our owner… our owner is a woman, sir! This is indeed the Mitsuba Climbing Gym, but… there’s no Mr. Matsushita here.”

Oho. A hit? Potentially.

“Hmph. Very well. Just… be warned. You and your establishment had better conduct yourselves with propriety in the coming weeks.” A vague, parting threat, designed to discourage further questions.

She systematically called the remaining two gyms. The results were as anticipated. Of the four, only the Mitsuba Ward facility boasted a female owner. The city’s actual premier climbing gym, according to online reviews and facility specifications, was located in Fura Ward – largest space, most professional coaching staff.

So, Hitomi-obasan, in addition to her chronic talkativeness, was also prone to… shall we say… enthusiastic self-promotion. Not an entirely scrupulous individual, then.

With these two defining characteristics – garrulous and a braggart – a reasonably accurate psychological profile began to form in Yomikawa’s mind. She changed into a set of unremarkable street clothes and headed directly for Mitsuba Ward.

The entrance hall of the “Mitsuba Rock Climbing Gym” was modest, almost disappointingly so. Two receptionists, a young man and a young woman, manned the front desk. Yomikawa Tsuko’s gaze flickered briefly over the young man. He sounded like the one who took my rather… aggressive… call earlier.

“I’m Yomikawa Tsuko,” she announced, her voice cold and even. “I’m here to see Hitomi-obasan.”

“Ah, Yomikawa-san!” The young man recognized the name instantly. A polite, practiced smile touched his lips. “Yazaki-san is expecting you. Her office is on the second floor, just up those stairs to your left.”

Yazaki-san. So, Yazaki Hitomi. An uncommon surname. Duly noted.

“Thank you. Actually, I’m not in a particular hurry to go up just yet. I think I’d like to have a brief look around first, if that’s permissible.” After a curt nod of acknowledgment, Yomikawa hesitated for a beat, then turned towards the corridor on the right side of the reception area. If the offices were to the left, then this passage presumably led to the main climbing facilities.

It would be… disadvantageous… to appear unfamiliar with the environment in front of Yazaki Hitomi. A quick reconnaissance is in order.

With this pragmatic thought, she began a slow, methodical circuit of the ground floor, committing the gym’s layout to memory. The corridor branched, leading to several ancillary rooms, each clearly labeled: Locker Room, Storage, Restrooms.

At the corridor’s end, a right turn led through a set of double doors, and suddenly, the space opened up dramatically.

The main gym was a cavernous, high-ceilinged arena. Climbing walls of varying heights and challenging inclines loomed on all sides, their surfaces a vibrant, chaotic tapestry of brightly colored holds and textured rock features. Yomikawa’s eyes, sharp and analytical, quickly assessed the setup. Four distinct climbing routes, the tallest stretching at least ten meters, its summit nearly brushing the distant metal rafters of the roof.

Disappointingly, the gym was not bustling with activity. Two of the four main routes were completely deserted. A third, clearly one of the more difficult ascents, was occupied by a solitary male climber.

Yomikawa Tsuko’s gaze, sharp and assessing, involuntarily snagged on him.

He was dressed in sleek, black athletic wear that emphasized a lean, powerful build – tall, but not overly bulked. As he moved, reaching, straining, the muscles in his arms and calves rippled with controlled force. He appeared quite young.

The only discordant note, the single element that seemed jarringly out of place, was his hair. It was shot through with an astonishing amount of premature gray, a stark salt-and-pepper that was strikingly visible even with his short-cropped style, even from this distance.

Well, now. To encounter this particular individual, in this specific location… the universe does occasionally display a rather bizarre sense of humor.

As if sensing her scrutiny, the man paused on the wall. He looked up, his gaze fixed on a hold approximately two meters diagonally above his current position. The final hold. The summit of this particular challenge. To reach it, however, would require a dynamic, almost reckless, lateral leap – a ‘dyno’ – followed by a secure, desperate grasp on that tantalizingly out-of-reach hold.

It was a maneuver demanding exceptional strength, precision, and no small amount of courage. The man began to rock his body, a rhythmic sway, gathering momentum, coiling his energy like a spring. Then, with an explosive burst of power, he launched himself sideways, his right foot kicking off the very hold his left hand had just occupied, a desperate, upward surge.

For a heart-stopping moment, it seemed he might make it. His outstretched left fingertips brushed against the target hold… but his momentum was already spent. His grip failed. And with a silent, sickening finality, his body peeled away from the wall, plummeting downwards. Throughout the fall, his eyes remained locked on that elusive final hold, his expression a mask of raw, frustrated determination.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Yomikawa Tsuko’s lips. “Well, well, Officer Kishida, I had no idea you possessed such… athletic… proclivities.”