Chapter 16
"He really is a lunatic."
Amid the crowd's scornful stares, Nagano Kawai flashed a brilliant smile. Anyone could see it was fake.
Minamoto Tamako knew the two sentences Kawai had spoken were ant for her.
If she stepped forward and confessed, their secret investigation into Instructor Sakurai would co to light, and the outco was easy to predict: all three mbers of the Reasoning Squad would be expelled, and the anonymous-letter writer Ishizuka Kazuo would lose his job.
Worse, the hit-and-run from sixteen years ago would stay buried, the victim forgotten by the world.
That was a future Tamako could never accept.
Her nose stung; tears blurred her vision.
On the platform, Instructor Sakurai declared that Kawai was unfit to be a police officer and stripped off her uniform in front of everyone.
Kawai sat on the chair in only her sports bra, shivering with cold, yet her spine stayed ramrod-straight.
Tamako bit her lip, forced her head down, and swallowed the words clawing at her throat.
The "interrogation" dragged on for two hours until the Guidance Instructor arrived and finally called it off.
Fushimi Shika watched the entire spectacle.
Several tis he was sure Kawai would na him; doing so would spare her so pain and protect Tamako—killing two birds with one stone.
Yet Kawai said nothing.
Back when he was a lawyer he'd t plenty of tough nuts. Those people either had compelling reasons or were clinging to money and status.
Why didn't she give up? To protect Tamako? Ridiculous—this whole ss started because of Tamako; doesn't she resent her at all?
Is it for Ishizuka Kazuo? They've never even t—why shield him?
Then what is it? So childish notion of "justice"? Give a break...
The devil in his ear wouldn't shut up, calling Kawai an idiot. Who's dumb enough to break into an instructor's dorm for a stranger? And after all that suffering, Sakurai is still strutting around as an instructor.
When the staff finally dismissed the assembly, the crowd drifted away in twos and threes.
Fushimi spotted Tamako standing stock-still in the front row, drawing curious glances from passing cadets.
He stepped up quickly, tugged her sleeve, and muttered, "Let's go."
"Mm."
Tamako's voice was thick.
They returned to their separate dorms. Fushimi lay on his bed, tossing and turning.
He wasn't upset for Kawai—he barely knew her. Still, the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten sothing refused to let him sleep.
What had he forgotten?
If the story keeps going like this, it's going to ruin the experience!
He sat up again. Outside, the sky was a hazy pre-dawn blue; he decided a walk around the parade ground might clear his head.
The next morning the assembly bell rang at 6:30 sharp.
Cadets lined up on the parade ground as usual. The wooden platform and chairs had been removed, and Nagano Kawai was nowhere to be seen—last night might never have happened.
Morning classes: disaster-scenario drill, water-rescue practice, and a lecture on criminal law commonly used by patrol officers.
During the break the loudspeaker announced Kawai's expulsion—no surprise. Cadets crowded the windows of the teaching building to watch two instructors escort her out the front gate.
"Well, looks like I'm next."
A pang of sympathy stirred in Fushimi: the rabbit dies, the fox mourns. Tonight Instructor Sakurai would give him "special guidance"... probably the sa torture.
For the next five months Sakurai would find every excuse to turn him into a dog on a leash.
Fushimi glanced at Tamako. She had stopped chattering at him; instead she stared blankly out the window, silent.
The quiet was almost too quiet, and it unsettled him.
At lunch he was heading back to the dorm with his tray when he ran straight into Tamako.
Her only close friend was gone; she stood in the cafeteria looking lost, unsure where to sit.
Fushimi sighed, patted her shoulder, and offered, "Let's eat together."
"Eh? Um..."
They found a secluded corner and sat facing each other.
Tamako stabbed listlessly at her broccoli, racking her brain for a way to expose Sakurai's true face: the instructor who used water magic in her office, the hit-and-run killer from sixteen years ago, the woman who abused her authority to punish students—why should she be allowed to teach?
Seeing her untouched food, Fushimi said, "Stop thinking and eat."
"I can't," Tamako mumbled, small brows drooping. "Last ti I couldn't do anything either..."
"Last ti?"
"When her younger brother died in the accident."
She speared the broccoli right through the middle, thoughts drifting back more than ten years.
Back then she and Kawai weren't close; they attended the sa elentary school but were in different classes.
Kawai had been wildly energetic, like a goth version of Crayon Shin-chan, driving teachers and parents crazy.
Tamako, on the other hand, was painfully shy—couldn't squeak out a word. When her deskmate slipped a frog into her bag she cried but never told the teacher.
One day a group of boys cornered her and stuck chewing gum in her hair. Kawai saw them and started a fight—not to defend Tamako, but because they'd stolen her gum.
The next day Tamako went to thank her, only to find Kawai changed.
"I rember it clearly—it was Obon. Monks were chanting sutras for the dead. People in yukata gathered near the temple, dancing hand-in-hand to the taiko drums. Kawai sat alone on the temple steps, staring silently at the golden Buddha inside."
"And I did nothing. I didn't even have the courage to walk up and say a word of comfort. She and Mr. Ishizuka must feel the sa—both lost the people most important to them, forced to watch the killer walk free..."
Tears dripped into Tamako's miso soup, rippling across the surface, making it taste bitter.
"Why are you crying?" Fushimi sighed. "Kawai isn't dead; stop the lodrama."
"You're so cold..."
"Besides, she left us a clue."
Fushimi's lips curved. He bit into a piece of tempura; the crust cracked between his teeth like brittle bone. Tamako stared—sothing in his eyes had shifted, restless and hungry.
"She slipped a page from her diary," he said, mouth half-full, sounding like a wolf testing its fangs.
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