The Swindler, the Vanishing Man, and the Pretty Boys

2. In the Art Room After School

No matter how many times I looked, it was still a hundred thousand yen.

No matter how many times I counted, it was still a hundred thousand yen.

Crap.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I mean, of course it’s not only the custom but the law to give a finder’s fee of ten percent (Lost Goods Law, Article 4. Strictly speaking, the fee must be between five and twenty percent of the value of the found item), so you could say I had a legitimate right to the money.

Which meant that one option was to gratefully accept it─I could make my very own “my bad” face, giggle “tee-hee, lucky me ♪,” and take myself shopping at the mall.

But I’m not that type of person.

I’m not the type to go shopping at the mall, not the type to make “my bad” faces, and not the type to consider myself lucky.

That kind of good luck would screw up my life.

Selfish logic dictated that I couldn’t keep the money.

So I wanted to find some way to return it─which meant I had to find that businessman who had vanished so suddenly.

And who better than a bunch of detectives to search for a missing person?

…To tell the truth, I didn’t really think I could count on them, but I didn’t have anywhere else to turn─so after school, I headed to the art room.

The art room.

That fabulously redecorated classroom where the Pretty Boy Detective Club was headquartered.

The room had sat unused for years after electives were cut from the curriculum, until “those guys” commandeered it and turned it into their private stomping grounds.

“How do you do,” I called as I pushed open the door, using the theatrical salutation which had somehow become my habit─and there, in that extraordinary classroom which I never seemed to get used to, with its sparkling chandeliers, magnificent sculptures, stunning paintings, and luxurious carpets, were three members of the notorious Pretty Boy Detective Club, sitting on the sofa sipping tea─it was as if I’d opened the door and stepped into Merry Old England.

By the way, the three members in question were:

Michiru the Epicure, he of the beautiful palate.

Hyota the Adonis, he of the beautiful legs.

Nagahiro the Orator, he of the beautiful voice.

Put the other way around, neither the president nor the child genius was present─actually, since everyone in the club is something of a free spirit, getting all five (six if you include me) in the same place at the same time is more the exception than the rule.

In other words, my first visit to the art room had in fact been a fluke─though we’ll set aside the question of whether it was a rare stroke of good luck or an unparalleled misfortune.

“Hey, nice timing─I just brewed this,” announced Michiru the Epicure─that is, Michiru Fukuroi, year 2, class A─as he turned toward me. “And don’t worry, you’ll be able to drink it. I made it shitty enough to suit your underdeveloped sensibilities.”

Talking trash from the get go.

Still, it was surprising to hear that he’d specially adjusted his recipe for me without even knowing whether I’d show up.

And speaking of surprising, the fact that the very same “bossman” who inspired terror throughout our school was not only preparing tea for his friends but baking cookies to go along with it was plenty surprising to start with.

“That pretty boy look is really starting to suit you, Doji. As the former mascot of the Pretty Boy Detective Club, I’m insane with jealousy,” joked Hyota the Adonis─that is, Hyota Ashikaga, year 1, class A─from his spot directly across from me. Honestly, though, I was the one being driven insane with jealousy.

He was sitting upside-down on the sofa with his legs draped over the back, wearing a uniform he’d revamped even more dramatically than the delinquent sitting next to him, such that the slacks were now short shorts.

His exposed legs shone with a brilliance so legendary it had driven every girl at Yubiwa Middle to start wearing black stockings─of course, the light emanating from the legs of this boy who was both Pretty Boy Detective and ace member of the track team was by no means a skin-deep scam; to tell the truth, despite his angelic adorableness, his real role in the organization had more to do with physical labor than any kind of mascot business.

“Ms. Dojima, has something happened?” asked Nagahiro Sakiguchi, year 3, class A, in his enchanting voice. It was such a lovely voice, in fact, that if I hadn’t known the age of his fiancée, even a warped character like me would have long since fallen under its spell.

After all, this was the pretty boy who had risen to the position of student council president solely on the strength of his speech at the first-year entrance ceremony─although, since he’d just quietly detected that I’d come to the art room for some specific reason, he definitely had more to offer as student council president than just pretty speeches.

Since I was a member of the Pretty Boy Detective Club myself, at least on paper, I was perfectly entitled to come to the art room without a specific reason, but to be frank, I couldn’t help feeling hesitant as a newbie─and the student council president seemed to have picked up on that fumbling-in-the-dark feeling. If I hadn’t known about his fiancée, I would have been impressed─he definitely deserved his role as vice president of the club.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna ask us to do some detective work! What the hell, you’re a member yourself now and you’re still coming to us with cases? I’ll tell you right now, we don’t offer an employee discount.”

With that abusive tirade, the delinquent graciously placed a cup of tea before me.

Judging from the way he treated me like a proper member instead of keeping me at arm’s length like the rookie I am, he must have a really strong sense of team spirit─you could pass that off as typical juvenile delinquent gang mentality, but if you ask me, he’s not such a bad guy at the bottom of it all.

He’s dangerous, though, don’t get me wrong.

…But why was he talking about a member discount? I thought the Pretty Boy Detective Club was supposed to be a pro bono, not-for-profit organization.

“It’s about that, right? The bulge in your chest pocket?” Mr. Bare-Legs asked, pointing at my jacket from his upside-down position on the sofa─with his foot, since his arms were crossed behind his head.

The strange thing was that even though pointing with one’s foot is clearly poor etiquette, having that gorgeous leg pointed at me felt like the height of courtesy. I guess you could say I’d fallen head-over-heels for his heels-over-head way of sitting.

The folded-up hundred thousand yen was indeed tucked into my chest pocket─right where Mr. Businessman had left it. That was a dangerous place to keep so much money, but I’d been reluctant to put it in my wallet, even temporarily.

I suppose I should have praised him for being so observant, as befits a member of our club─but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was looking at the bulge of my chest, not the bulge in my chest pocket.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he was more interested in how I dealt with my breasts when I dressed as a guy than he was in the case I’d brought─as if I’d ever tell him.

Anyway, I timidly pulled the ten bills in question out of my pocket and placed them on the table.

I have to admit, the luster of that hundred thousand yen was dimmed a bit by such opulent surroundings…

“Hanh?”

“Would ya look at that.”

“Oh my.”

Each of the three members responded in his own way.

Unlike me, those composed eccentrics didn’t fall apart at the sight of the cash, but they did seem to share my confusion as to the meaning of the money that had materialized so suddenly before them.

And here I was about to tell them a story that involved a sum ten times greater─a million yen. Even this room couldn’t make that amount of cash seem paltry.

So, sipping the tea the delinquent had blended just for me, which apparently was called Mayumi No.6 (I wish he’d quit it with the weird names), I revealed the strange events that had befallen me that morning.