Chapter 17: The Diary
The club meeting dismissed, Ågami YÅsuke slung his bag over a single shoulder, a thoughtful frown etched on his face as he left the activity room. He hadnāt taken more than a dozen steps down the corridor when Junkoās voice called out, and she hurried to catch up.
āUeno-senpai? Is there something I can help you with?ā
His primary impression of Ueno Junko was still welded to the events of June 9th ā the day Tanaka Kanaās bloodcurdling scream, upon discovering the body, had drawn Junko to the scene. While Kana had dissolved into hysterics, Junko, a second-year, had displayed a remarkable, almost unnerving, composure and boldness. Not conventionally ācute,ā perhaps, but Ågami found her straightforwardness a refreshing change from the overly saccharine personalities he usually kept at armās length.
āOh, just call me Junko, please! And if itās alright with you, Iāll call you YÅsuke from now on!ā she said, falling into step beside him. From a distance, they might have even looked like a well-suited couple.
Ågami YÅsuke hesitated, then settled on a polite compromise. āJunko-senpai, was there something specific you needed?ā
āWell, not really anything specific,ā Junko replied, flashing a bright, disarming smile that didnāt quite reach her eyes. āItās just that Iām heading towards Takao Ward, and I figured thatās on your way too, right, YÅsuke?ā She didnāt give him a chance to demur. āBesides,ā she added, a playful pout forming, āI felt like our discussion in the club room got cut a little short. I wanted to chat with you some more, if thatās okay.ā
Ågami YÅsuke nodded slowly. An opportunity. Junko had known Yomikawa far longer than he had. āJunko-senpai,ā he began, his voice carefully neutral, ādo you, by any chance, have any⦠particular observations⦠about our club presidentās behavior lately?ā
āS-Senpai?ā Junkoās eyes widened, a flicker of something ā surprise? Suspicion? ā in their depths. A brittle, forced laugh escaped her. āYÅsuke, are you⦠are you very interested in her? W-well, I mean, of course, who wouldnāt be? Senpai is so beautiful, and sheās the president, and her personality is just⦠wonderful. Itās only natural to be curious about her⦠Iām the one being strange, arenāt I⦠ha, hahaā¦ā
Ågami, lost in the labyrinth of his own unsettling thoughts, barely registered the tremor in Junkoās voice. āDidnāt Yomikawa-senpai mention earlier that she was looking forward to my analysis? The thing is, itās quite the opposite. I was keenly anticipating her insights into Kimura-kunās ordeal. She possesses such a sharp intellect, such acute observational skills. So why, today, did she only steer the conversation towards⦠club outings?ā
āEh? Eh-eh?ā Junkoās expression did a dizzying three-sixty, from nervous tension to startled bewilderment. āYou think⦠you think Senpai is acting a little⦠odd? But wait, didnāt you suspect her before? Donāt tell me youāre still dwelling on that? Does her forgiveness mean nothing? Havenāt you reflected on how wrong you were at all?ā
Ågami YÅsuke remained silent. Yomikawa Tsukoās swift, almost casual, forgiveness had been⦠disarming. He was grateful, of course. But that persistent sixth sense, that cold knot of unease in his gut, wouldnāt let him rest. It kept prodding, urging him to look deeper, to question the placid surface. So, no, to say he hadnāt reflected on his suspicions at all⦠that wouldnāt be entirely accurate.
āSenpai is always so considerate of everyone,ā Junko pressed, a note of genuine concern in her voice. āSheās reliable, approachable⦠Itās really not fair of you to think such things. If Takada-kun were to hear you, heād absolutely lose it again.ā
At the mention of Takada, their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment of his explosive temper passing between them.
āTakada-kun certainly seems to hold Senpai in high regard, doesnāt he?ā Ågami YÅsuke remarked, feeling the tension ease slightly now that they were out of the schoolās oppressive atmosphere, away from prying ears. āItās rather obvious to everyone, I think.ā
Junko giggled, a more natural sound this time. āWell, Senpai is incredible. Itād be stranger if no one had a crush on her. Though, between you and me, I donāt think Takada-kun stands a chance. If he ever confessed, heād get the āletās just be friendsā speech so fast it would make his head spin. I have no idea what Senpaiās type is, but a simple-minded jock like Takada? Definitely not on the list.ā
Her expression shifted then, a spark of avid curiosity lighting her eyes. āSpeaking of which⦠you suspected Senpai was⦠a murderer? Before? What was all that about? There must have been a reason, right? You can tell me. I promise, I wonāt breathe a word to anyone.ā
Ågami YÅsuke hesitated. The temptation to share his lingering doubts, to voice the inconsistencies that gnawed at him, was strong. But he shook his head. āIt was⦠an incorrect line of reasoning. Based on flawed assumptions. Thereās no point in revisiting it.ā
āI-Is that so.ā Disappointment flickered across Junkoās face, but she quickly masked it with a bright smile. āOh, well! Hey, about your idea to ask that police officer for help⦠why donāt we go together? I know we all agreed on the weekend group activity, but we could try to get some official help beforehand. That way, it wouldnāt mess with the clubās plans. What do you think?ā
Ågami YÅsukeās eyes lit up. This was precisely what heād hoped for, a more direct path to information. āYouād want to come too, Junko-senpai? That would be⦠excellent. Today might be too short notice, though. I havenāt even contacted the officer yet. How about⦠after school tomorrow?ā
Yes! A silent cheer erupted in Ueno Junkoās mind. āItās a plan then! Tomorrow, after school, just the two of us! Our own secret investigation!ā
Back in the sterile silence of the villa, Yomikawa Tsuko ran a cold hand over the plaster cast. Several days had passed. It was bone dry now, hard as stone. Tapping it with a fingernail produced a dull, hollow thud.
With meticulous care, she moved the cast to an obscure corner of the bedroom, a place where it was unlikely to be disturbed. If her āparentsā were to return and accidentally knock it over, if the plaster were to crack and reveal the grisly contents within⦠Åshima Masakiās skull⦠that would present a significant, and entirely avoidable, complication.
Åshima Masakiās earthly remains will likely never greet the sun again, she mused, a flicker of something cold and distant in her eyes. One less loose end. I do wonder, though, how Senpai and Lord Mask-Taker dealt with Hasebe Koichiās⦠head.
The thought of their combined abilities, their shared, insane ambitions ā godhood, immortality, the casual reshaping of lives ā sent a faint, almost imperceptible shiver down her spine. There was no telling what madness they might unleash next.
However, she reminded herself, her focus narrowing, until the sixth wish is fulfilled, as long as their grand designs do not directly impinge upon my own⦠I will simply observe. And let them be.
She settled down to the tedious but necessary tasks of studying and completing her homework. By the time she finally pushed the books aside, the clock on the wall read ten. She brewed a cup of fragrant tea, then sat at her desk, her gaze fixed on the old, battered notebook that lay before her. For a long, silent while, she simply stared at its faded cover, lost in thought. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, she picked up a ballpoint pen and began to write, the ink flowing like a dark river onto the waiting page.
April 8th. Weather: Clear.
I have always maintained that only a fool would commit their innermost thoughts, their true heart, to the vulnerable pages of a notebook. Yet, recently, having made the irrevocable decision to undertake⦠that particular course of action⦠I find myself assailed by an unexpected, almost overwhelming, urge. A need to share, to confide, to unburden myself. But, of course, the nature of these⦠confessions⦠precludes their utterance to another living soul. And so, after much deliberation, the diary remains my only viable confidante.
It is only now, under these⦠unique⦠circumstances, that I begin to perceive a certain⦠utility⦠in this archaic practice of diary-keeping.
āScratch, scratch, scratchā¦ā
The whisper of pen on paper was the only sound in the still, quiet bedroom. Yomikawa Tsukoās lips were pressed into a thin, determined line. The lamplight cast sharp, elegant shadows across her profile, her expression one of absolute, unwavering concentration.
Time bled away. The words on the page multiplied, a torrent of carefully chosen phrases, meticulously constructed sentences. Her slender fingers guided the pen with a swift, almost unnerving, precision. The more she wrote, the smoother the words flowed. The most effective deceptions, she knew, were always a careful admixture of truth and falsehood. The greater the proportion of verifiable truth, the more potent, the more insidious, the lie became.
And so, regarding the matter of Tanaka Erikaās demise, she saw no need for significant alteration. Beginning with her own⦠motivation⦠for the act, she chronicled the events of that period with a chilling, dispassionate accuracy. The truth, or at least, her version of it.
As for the events that followed⦠those would require a more⦠creative⦠approach. Tailored to the specific needs of the situation, as they arose.
But this raw material, once committed to paper, was too valuable, too potent, to be delivered to Kishida Masayoshi all at once. No. First, a carefully selected morsel, a tantalizing crumb, just enough to whet his appetite, to ensure he remained⦠engaged. Later, when his particular skills were required, the subsequent entries would serve as currency, as payment for his⦠assistance.
Having completed the first entry, Yomikawa Tsuko retrieved her phone. With a soft āclick,ā she photographed the handwritten page. She reviewed the image, then frowned. The angle was too precise, the lighting too perfect, the text too starkly clear. She deleted it. Two more attempts, adjusting the shadows, introducing a subtle, almost imperceptible, blur. Yes. That was better. A satisfied nod.
All tasks for the evening complete. She stretched, a slow, feline movement. Eleven oāclock. Time to rest. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own opportunities.
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.