Chapter 30
The Abbot pressed his palms together, sorrow etched on his face, and quietly chanted a sutra before turning to leave.
Fushimi Shika had no experience in comforting people; he just hovered awkwardly, lines from TV dramas looping in his head: Let her be alone for a while... Don't disturb her... Nothing you say will help...
He was about to slip away when Tamako grabbed the hem of his jacket. The girl was still crying, but Shika understood in an instant: right now, what she needed was a solid chest to bury her face in so the tears wouldn't hurt so much. Even a pampered rich kid needed a shoulder when she was heartbroken.
He started to crouch down, ready to offer the usual consoling pat—only for Tamako to blow her nose loudly into his sleeve.
"Ew! Gross!" Shika wrinkled his nose.
"I- *hic*—I'm already miserable and you call gross? Waaah..." Tamako wailed, convinced the entire world was conspiring against her. She pictured herself turning into a mountain hag, screeching so horribly that anyone who ignored her tears would flee in terror.
Shika sighed, took the rabbit doll from her hands, and—mimicking Kawai's voice—tapped Tamako's head with the plush ear. "Tamako-chan, you're amazing. Chin up, okay?"
"Eh?" Tamako blinked, the tears stopping mid-stream.
Seeing it worked, he pressed on. "I can feel Kawai's spirit in this doll. She's speaking through right now..."
"So childish! You actually believe in ghosts and superpowers like a grade-schooler?" Tamako wiped her cheeks, adopting the tone of a kindergarten teacher correcting a toddler. "Listen carefully: once soone dies, that's it—there's nothing left."
Shika bit back a retort—obviously I know that; I'm only saying it to make you feel better!—but voicing it seed cruel. He swallowed the words and kept the awkward act alive.
"Ah-la-la, nothing's impossible. It's , Kawai!" He wiggled the rabbit's head.
Tamako dried her eyes, suddenly serious. "Then tell my real reason for becoming a cop. Only Kawai knew that secret. If you can answer, I'll believe you."
Shika groaned inwardly. Are we really doing this? Last ti he'd comforted a heart-broken friend, he'd just sent a digital red envelope and dragged the guy to a footbath—none of this lodrama.
"Oops, the spirit's running low—ti for Kawai to nap!" He patched the lie as best he could.
Tamako cradled the rabbit, her storm of emotions ebbing. Maybe—just maybe—so fragnt of Kawai really lingered inside the plush toy.
"I've been having nightmares," she whispered. "You and Kawai turn into murderers. You kill Instructor Sakurai together."
Nice dream, Shika thought, startled into silence.
"But Kawai promised we'd be champions of justice. So I believe in her—she'd never do that!" Tamako lifted her head; the tears had left her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "The newspapers must be right—she only wanted to persuade Sakurai to turn herself in. And you're just an innocent who got dragged into it, right?"
Shika realized then that his lie had been flimsy; Tamako had simply chosen to believe it.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"All right!" Tamako sprang to her feet, shouting, "Roll call!"
Shika blinked, then muttered, "One," when Tamako fixed him with a stare.
"Two!" she yelled, holding up the rabbit and imitating Kawai's lively tone. "Three!"
"Roll call complete!"
"The Reasoning Squad—all present!"
"Next stop: Yukijirushi Parlor!"
They walked out of the temple gate together. Behind them, ginkgo petals drifted like golden rain; ahead, the asphalt shimred in rising heat. Both peeled off their jackets and stepped into the ice-cream shop.
Sumr was finally on its way.
If life were a novel, the next pages would promise "Sumr Murder Mystery," "Codic Sumr Days," or "Fireworks at the Festival." For most people, though, life is a loop of dull repetition—and Shika was no exception.
For the next six months he studied, drilled, and slacked off at the academy. Whenever Tamako brought up reopening the case, Shika clutched his head and blad phantom migraines or a sudden relapse of PTSD. On weekends, however, he was inexplicably energetic.
Tamako's obsession with desserts bordered on pathological, yet she hated shopping alone, so Shika beca her default escort. He tagged along, mooching parfaits and finally understanding the easy life Kawai had once enjoyed.
Autumn deepened; six months slipped by in a blink. Graduation lood.
New horoom instructor Shirata Masahiro delivered an announcent: the final exam would scrap the written portion in favor of a brutal practical test.
"Listen up! Six months of training doesn't make you real cops. This is the last hurdle—the toughest you'll face. Flunk it, and you don't graduate from Hokkaido Police Academy. Prepare yourselves!"
Standing on the parade ground, Shirata looked ready to make good on the threat.
Tamako lost sleep for nights, terrified she might fail. She cornered Shika daily to ask how ready he was; every ti he answered, "Ready for what? There's no syllabus, no hints—how can I prep?"
Knowing he hadn't studied either eased her mind.
At lunch she prodded her broccoli, sighing. "Wonder which koban we'll be assigned to. What if we don't end up at the sa post?"
"That would be amazing— I an, a real sha," Shika said.
After graduation, the six-month partner clause expired. If they weren't stationed together, he'd finally be free of Tamako's interrogations and could savor lazy days once more.
The scent of freedom was only a few weeks away.
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