TSURUYA’S CHALLENGE

This is a recent development, but lately, after school, in a corner of the North High literature club, I’ve heard a number of worrying conversations.

Lots of ominous phrases, like alibi trick, impossible crime, somethingsomething murders, the tragedy of whatchamacallit, or XYZphobia. Or even more enigmatic expressions, like iodine tincture bottle, the Birlstone gambit, red herring, Y’s mandolin, the Ackroyd twist, and other jargon that no amateur had much hope of understanding. It was a small room, so it was hard not to overhear.

There were three main participants in these discussions. They centered around Nagato, but all she did was sit on her folding chair in the corner with a book open on her lap, silently reading. Her lack of movement was so distinct that it would’ve been convincing if someone claimed she was set in paraffin wax, meaning the other two participants were deliberately choosing to stand and talk in her vicinity so she only had to literally occupy the center between them. The majority of the conversation was carried by Koizumi and a rare honey-blond guest, while Nagato uttered no more than the bare minimum required to communicate…which only happened on exceedingly rare occasions.

While Nagato maintained a facial expression best described as an absence of emotion, the other two were flinging around the aforementioned phrases with blinding smiles and voices full of delight. I gotta admit, it was unnerving. Discussing murders, dismemberment, and headless corpses with cheery smiles? That’s the domain of fanatics, if not outright lunatics.

Turning my gaze in the opposite direction, I spotted a charming maid.

Clad in a springtime maid outfit, the SOS Brigade’s chamomile bouquet, Asahina, was staring at a grid laid out on the long table. It was a 4×4 grid of round spaces, with a number of wooden pieces on them. She had one such piece held in her fingers.

“Um…hmm…?”

The noises she made while deep in thought were adorable. She’d been thinking for a good five minutes now, her head tilting, her brows furrowing, her lashes batting against the air, examining the board from every possible angle. It was hard to believe this maid was a year above me, but I could never get tired of watching her face. It had the same soothing effect you’d get from watching a sleeping kitten. The remaining tea in my mug had gone cold, though.

“A question for both of you,” Koizumi started, addressing Nagato and our guest. “Of all the orthodox mystery novels you’ve read, what would you deem the best?”

“You want to know the greatest-of-all-time story that I’ve ever read?” T asked, poking her chin with one finger, blond hair swaying. She was from the mystery research club. “That range is way too broad. I can’t possibly narrow it down that far. Plus, I must admit I’m hardly an expert on Japanese mystery novels.”

“………” Nagato said nothing, never even looking up from her page.

“Then let’s go international. And to narrow the scope, what would you say is the finest work by John Dickson Carr? However, since The Three Coffins, The Judas Windows, and The Plague Court Murders are all in the hall of fame, I’d prefer you choose from the remainder of his oeuvre.”

Who ran this hall of fame?

In response to Koizumi’s proposal, T brushed back her bangs. Must be a habit of hers.

She normally let her blond locks spill onto her brow however they pleased, but today, for once, she had an unadorned hairpin holding them back. She flicked aside a single strand that had escaped that pin and said, “I applaud the direct simplicity of your inquiry. Naturally, I have not read every work by him, but from what I have, I’d have to go with The Emperor’s Snuff-Box.”

“Oh? Both surprising yet perhaps not.”

“Too obvious a choice? I just like what I like and refuse to deny those feelings. Koizumi, your turn.”

“If I must pick one, it would have to be The Burning Court. The admission in the epilogue hit me like nothing else. A masterful fusion of horror and mystery, a real testament to his writing chops, and a flawlessly constructed plot.”

“Oof. Hard to argue with that,” T said. She peered down at Nagato. “What’s your pick, Nagato?”

“The Problem of the Green Capsule,” said a flat voice below them.

“Huh,” said Koizumi.

“Oh?” said T.

They glanced at each other.

“That is unexpected. I wonder what— No, perhaps a trick like that, at that time? Plus, the thing.”

“Ah yes, the thing with the— That must be it. Hard to beat that.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, but they seemed to all be on the same page somehow, which was frightening.

Honestly, I thought the greatest mystery here was that Nagato had responded to a question from someone not in the SOS Brigade, but I suspected neither person talking above her head would agree.

“Then let me ask,” T said with delight. “What is your favorite Anthony Berkeley? Limiting your answer to the works published under that name. I assume you’ve read them all?”

“It has to be The Poisoned Chocolates Case,” Koizumi said without hesitation. “You?”

“The Poisoned Chocolates Case. Nagato?”

“…Poisoned Chocolates.”

Koizumi and T both groaned.

“I suppose that’s to be expected. If we eliminate that option…then either Top Storey Murder or The Second Shot.”

“We can’t dismiss Trial and Error or The Wychford Poisoning Case. Both are quite a riot.”

A thoughtful silence settled over the area around Nagato’s chair.

“I suppose that covers Berkeley. One of those authors whose most famous work has such impact that it’s like the sun while the rest are mere planets. The comparisons of popularity and significance are far too lopsided.”

“Mm-hmm. The rare mystery novel you can confidently recommend to both hardcore fans and beginners.”

Were they coming up with a staff-favorites display for a bookstore?

T placed her fingers on her hairpin. “Who’s next?”

“………”

Nagato silently turned a page.

“Allow me to make another suggestion, then. We cannot discuss orthodox mysteries without mentioning our favorite Ellery Queen. Yours?”

“I have a proposal,” T said, raising a finger. “Let’s limit it to titles with the name of a country in them. I’m ashamed to admit that, at present, I have yet to read many of the rest. Beyond X and Y, obviously.”

“So that eliminates The Tragedy of Y?” Koizumi said, seeming rather happy about that. “Fair enough. The nationality mysteries are a treasure trove in their own right.”

“To answer my own question, I’d have to go with The Egyptian Cross Mystery. There’s a certain elegance in simplicity.”

“I am firmly in The Siamese Twin Mystery camp. Yes, yes, I know! I’m aware of all the objections. It certainly has its share of flaws. But that climax! The characters placed in extreme peril, as Ellery makes his deductions and pinpoints the culprit, and the miracle that saves them just as their doom seems inevitable! Right as the finale draws near, Inspector Queen delivers a simple line, a statement of pure fact that ends the whole tale. The curtains fall in the most beautiful resolution I’ve ever seen.”

“So you value it less as an orthodox mystery and more for its pure entertainment value? They do say every book its reader, but that emphasis on the final scene does certainly seem like a very personal preference. Fascinating. Nagato, I’d love to hear your answer.”

“Greek Coffin,” Nagato muttered.

“Really? The Greek Coffin Mystery? A surprisingly banal choice for you.”

Nagato’s fingers twitched at T’s comment, pausing mid-page-turn.

Koizumi smiled. “I think it’s very Nagato. It’s the single thickest volume in the series.”

I wasn’t sure that helped.

“It receives every bit as much praise as The Dutch Shoe Mystery or The Egyptian Cross Mystery,” he added. “I have no objections.”

“That said, Ikki Koizumi, there are very few who would recommend The Siamese Twin Mystery in the same light.”

“Perhaps. But if nothing else, that’s more than you can say for The Chinese Orange Mystery.”

“Oh my god, that one… Yeah. Come to think of it, Siamese Twin is also famous for lacking a Challenge to the Reader. The rest of the books in the series all contain one right before the final solution is revealed. I have long suspected this is because the authors lacked confidence in the logic of the case in question. You can’t tell me they simply forgot to include it.”

Koizumi nodded, his gaze wandering over to the bookshelf nearby.

“Naturally, the lack of a Challenge in Siamese Twin was a conscious choice on Queen’s part. However, this is not due to any vagaries in the deductive reasoning. The reasons are detailed in Kaoru Kitamura’s Ellery Queen pastiche, The Japanese Coin Mystery: Ellery Queen’s Last Case. A copy of which happens to be right here!”

He plucked one of Nagato’s possessions off the shelf, flipping through it.

“I’ll avoid spoilers, of course, but I’d like to quote one of the characters in this novel. Starting in the middle of a speech, I’m afraid.

“A set of deductions is prepared for each arrest. The story is composed of shifting logic. The source of fascination lies in the ever-changing hues, and in wondering where it will wind up, and how far it will go. Thus, a Challenge to the Reader flies in the face of that fundamental ethos. Placing that in the table of contents would be tantamount to announcing all deductions before that point are flawed.

“Later, it says:

“In Siamese Twin, it’s the culprit’s own actions that prove decisive in identifying them. Naturally, there are clues and deductions to be found. But the final result is achieved without reasoning. It is not that this story lacked a Challenge. Siamese Twin was never a work that could have contained one in the first place.

“What do you say to that? Compare these two passages against the plot of Siamese Twin. Makes sense, does it not?”

Koizumi was looking at Nagato. She was staring at the book on her lap, but I could tell her head was tilted ever so slightly to one side, like, only measurable in millimeters tilted. It soon reverted to an upright position. Evidently, she had engaged in some rapid processing and finally arrived at a conclusion. She promptly went right back to reading.

T threw her hands up.

“I am adrift in a sea of fog,” she said. “Ikki Koizumi, I demand further explanation. Make it more dolce and adagio.”

Was that cooking jargon or something?

“Kaoru Kitamura explains it using terms like the process of temporary elimination or circular analysis, but if you’ll excuse the gross oversimplification, he’s saying the Challenge to the Reader is not only unnecessary for the effective identification of the culprit, but it is actively detrimental. That would be the gist of it.”

I couldn’t speak for T, but I did not follow any of that.

“Perhaps you have to read it to understand. But before you do, you must read The Siamese Twin Mystery while pondering the question of why it is the only book in the nationality series to lack a Challenge to the Reader. If you then read The Japanese Coin Mystery as a supplement to that, I am sure you will make new discoveries. Anyone out there who has not read both, I heartily recommend doing so.”

No one’s going to do anything that convoluted. People should be able to read however they want.

“A fair point,” Koizumi said, putting the book back on the shelf. “However, I believe there is one other reason Siamese Twin lacks a Challenge.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

The SOS Brigade’s certified most handsome member flashed a smile at T.

“Siamese takes place in a mountaintop home encircled by a forest fire. It is the one closed-circle mystery in the nationality series.”

“Come to think of it, that’s absolutely right. But what of it?”

“Consider the benefits of the closed-circle trope. The characters involved are unable to leave, and no additional characters can appear. In other words, the number of potential criminals is finite, and the number of suspects is correspondingly limited.”

“No unnecessary characters.”

“Another advantage, yes. Too many characters merely add to the chaos. Especially when the setting is overseas.”

“I have way more trouble remembering Japanese names! But what relation does the closed-circle thing have to the Challenge to the Reader?”

“When the suspects are trapped somewhere, their number is limited, and the scope of deduction need not expand beyond that circle. In Siamese Twin, the culprit must be one of the people trapped in the residence with no means of escape. I believe Queen assumed the case was too simple, and no challenge was warranted.”

“I see. Islands cut off by a rainstorm or snowed-in lodges provide plenty of atmosphere, limit the head count, and streamline plots, which is exactly why they’re effective— Is that your point, Koizumi?”

We’d done both stormy islands and snowed-in lodges before. I’d prefer this conversation between Koizumi and T not give Haruhi any more ideas on how to create closed-circle situations. Fortunately, she was not currently present.

“Let’s get back to basics.” Koizumi smiled again. “What purpose do those Challenges serve?”

“They’re telling the readers, If you’ve read this far, the truth should be evident, so go on, try to figure it out! Naturally, the mystery I’ve concocted will be far too difficult for an oily sardine head like you to solve, mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Basically bragging about how confident they are.”

“I think there are precious few writers who add challenges with quite that much arrogance.”

“In that case, what else is there?”

“I would think the opposite is more common.”

“How so?”

Rather than answer immediately, Koizumi’s eyes became unfocused.

“This notion was inspired by an orthodox mystery I read recently.”

Stick to the point.

“Stick to the point,” T said.

“This mystery was quite heavy on the puzzler aspects, one of those classic works famous for its emphasis on strict logical underpinnings.”

He turned his gaze to the bookshelf once more.

“The detective named five conditions that the culprit must meet, and only one person—A—met all five, thus A was the culprit. A very Queen-style process of elimination. However…”

Koizumi seemed to be running his eyes across the spines of Nagato’s paperback collection.

“Certainly, we readers knew only A met all five conditions. No one else had been described that way anywhere on the page. But how did the detective know this?”

“Aha.” T grinned. “The readers can flip back to the cast list at the front, but the detective is part of the cast and can’t do the same.”

“Put simply, yes. The scene was not a closed circle, so no real limit was placed on the cast. Perhaps there was some third party out there who met all conditions but simply wasn’t in the book. So how did he eliminate that possibility?”

“Good question.”

“There was no real explanation. But this struck a chord with me. How does a character in the novel—not a writer or a reader, merely a member of the cast—know, out of all the countless people who met the conditions required to be the culprit, it must be one of the cast members?”

“Hmm. The so-called late Queen problem.”

“Exactly.” Koizumi was nodding, but what the hell was that?

“Someone has summarized the problem most adroitly, so allow me to bring them into the mix.”

He plucked another novel from the shelf.

“Toru Hikawa’s The Penultimate Truth has the detective—also named Toru Hikawa—explain it as follows.

“…The Challenges to the Reader in the nationality series is largely unrelated to the chivalry Edogawa Ranpo examines. It is purely a product of logical necessity.

“In brief, the author operates on a meta level within the work, which means they have a capacity for arbitrariness that makes anything possible. But if they exercise that potential, the aspect of ‘fair play’ crumbles. The Challenge is a device to forbid that arbitrariness—or more accurately, a means by which creators announce they have restricted themselves from using it.

“Furthermore:

“…Based on a specific clue, the detective deduces A is the culprit. But this was in fact a clue left by the real culprit, B, who was aware it would mislead the detective into making that faulty deduction. The means to logically deduce this only exists outside the world—and the detective is merely a character who exists only within the work and has no access to such means. That leads immediately to one vital conclusion—in the world of the story, it is impossible to logically deduce there is only one possible culprit. This is the destructive conclusion Norizuki—and Queen—arrived at.

“Well? Clear as a bell, right?”

Who the hell is Norizuki?

“Rintaro Norizuki. A mystery writer known as the modern-day Ellery Queen and a talented critic to boot. And the man who invented the concept of the late Queen problem.”

Koizumi put the volume back in place and fished out another.

“To learn more, please consult the essay ‘On Early Queen’ included in this, Rintaro Norizuki’s Mystery School—Foreign Works—The Art of Complicated Murders.”

Man, what doesn’t that bookshelf have? Perhaps it’s made from fourth-dimensional materials from the future.

“The Challenge to the Reader doesn’t just bind the author’s hands. It also has an undeniable effect on the reader. Norizuki writes that the Challenge functions to restrict the reader’s ability to guess, to roll the dice, to intuit the logical culprit the author has constructed. He said, ‘Only with this mutual restraint is a closed formula, or the self-contained gamespace of a puzzle created.’”

He couldn’t have said that in a way I might actually understand?

“Basically, somewhere along the way, readers start to get a vague idea that someone might be the culprit, but even if they’re right, the author can smugly insist the reader hasn’t won. They’re demanding that the reader deduce the culprit with elegant logic, not just a hunch.”

No clue what the point of this conflict is, but I’m getting a clear sense of deep-seated love for this specific formula.

“If you understand that much, consider me satisfied.”

Koizumi grabbed yet another book.

“There are many ways of examining the late Queen problem. Like the short story ‘A Walk on New Year’s Eve,’ included in Alice Arisugawa’s Insights of Jiro Egami. The following is a conversation between the fictional Alice Arisugawa and Egami.

“But if a fake clue made it so the detective couldn’t make flawless deductions, wouldn’t that be bad?

“If any information remains hidden, logical deductions and reasoning are necessarily impossible. This is true beyond the world of mysteries, too. But information contained within a novel is always finite, so this deductive impossibility is a greater factor in the real world. Yet out there, no matter what trouble arises, everyone’s lives go on; perfection and infallibility may not exist, but the police and courts continue to function, and I can’t imagine any of those people are concerned about the nature of mysteries.

“In other words, you need not feel overly conscious of it.”

Does being a mystery writer mean you have to think about all kinds of nonsensical crap and not just tricks and logic? Sounds rough.

Koizumi was busy swapping out books again.

“We can sum up Egami’s proposal in brief. In Kouji Ishizaki’s A Killer of Record, there’s a serial killer attempting to act according to a bizarre set of principles, and the following dialogue occurs as the characters attempt to profile the killer.

“But what if the killer understands profiling? If their actions and the traces they leave behind are all done to bait us into profiling someone else entirely, what then? The investigators have no way of telling if a clue is intentionally left by the killer.

“The fictional Kouji Ishizaki hears this and responds:

“That’s the Gödel problem. The orthodox mystery’s dead end. The perennial conundrum.

“But yet another character responds:

“The Gödel problem arises through manipulated profiling. That means the Gödel problem crops up in real-world cases—and as a result, it inevitably occurs in orthodox mysteries as well.

“Pretty much the same conclusion as Egami, but framing the idea with the concept of profiling makes it easier to follow. Even when it’s fiction, if you’re basing the work on the real world, then the rules of your world follow those of the real one. It may seem self-evident, but there are many works where that isn’t the case, so it is far from meaningless to discuss it explicitly.”

I’m assuming the Gödel problem and the late Queen thingy are the same?

Also, is it, like, normal to have a character named after the author? Are orthodox mysteries I-novels by another name?

“We’ll discuss characters who share the name of the author another time.”

With that, Koizumi put the novel back and, this time, pulled out a B6-sized magazine.

“For a look at a more extreme opinion, Reito Nikaido’s column, Logic Excalibur, said:

“No matter what qualities the detective might possess, the late Queen problem is simply an excuse for the writer and detective’s laziness. Additionally, the detective is merely a genre device designed to carry out thought-based actions called ‘deductions,’ so this problem does not actually exist in any meaningful way.

“Quite dismissive, as you can see.”

Very blunt, but refreshing. I hate getting caught up in a tangle of thoughts. Better to not think about anything and just look for the next move. Like I’m doing in this game with Asahina.

“Occam’s razor? Certainly effective in the right time and place, but what you call ‘a tangle of thoughts’ is an enjoyable intellectual exercise for die-hard fans of the genre. Although, I certainly admit these topics tend to matter little to anyone outside the community.”

I guess if you realize that, you aren’t too far gone.

“For a much odder take, we have Reiichiro Fukami’s Inspector Oobeshimi’s Case Files, chapter seven, ‘The Serial Tetrodotoxin Poisonings,’ in which a detective yells:

“In the mysteries to come, the cast will be required to have flexible thinking! To avoid falling into a late Queen problem, they’ll be forced to question if they have all the facts, or if those facts are correct at all! Forced to constantly doubt themselves! And on occasion, required to do whatever they can to move beyond the boundaries of their own thoughts!

“Naturally, if you take it to this extreme, it’s more of a joke than anything else. The detective is aware of being a character in a novel and capable of ignoring all metalevel considerations. In fact, if you don’t go this far, your characters wouldn’t be able to discuss these subjects in the first place.”

But, uh, do you need to? Are orthodox-mystery writers like penitent monks, deliberately choosing to put themselves through torment?

“Ultimately, the late Queen problem is derived from the mathematical concepts of Gödel’s incompleteness theorems, but whatever value it may hold as a philosophical conundrum, there are many critics who argue against incorporating that discussion into the plot of an actual mystery novel.”

Koizumi returned the volume he’d been reading from to its rightful position on the bookshelf.

“Back to the original topic…”

What was that again?

“The raison d’être for the Challenge to the Reader,” T said. Guess one of us remembered. “Herr Koizumi. Say we have a mystery that is not a closed circle, and the logic employed is unable to narrow down the potential suspects to a specific set of people… Would a Challenge have a role there?”

“The Challenge is most effective in exactly that type of mystery. You want to limit the possible suspects to the cast, but the circumstances and setting do not allow it. One false move, and you might end up with everyone in the world as a potential suspect. So what then?”

“You can just drop in a Challenge. Phrase it right, and it solves all the problems! Make it sound like you’re being both considerate and fair, while clearly stating the culprit is a definitely a character in the cast.”

“No need to be so obvious! Just having a Challenge is enough to shape the readers’ thoughts. Common sense dictates that the culprit won’t be a third party whose name has never once appeared in the book—the author issuing a Challenge would never make the solution so arbitrary! But what if the author’s goal is to trick them into that assumption? Unlikely. If the culprit was someone unrelated to the story itself— Well, if they were going for a curveball like that, then they’d never include a Challenge in the first place.”

“So what would normally be an implicit understanding between the author and reader is being made explicit?”

“Exactly. Limiting the field to the cast in no way disadvantages the author; it simply prevents the reader from considering unnecessary suspects. This is an acknowledgement that the author had been unable to find a way to completely rule out the possibility of an unnamed third party being the true culprit.”

So it’s less of a challenge than an excuse.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Koizumi said. “And there is one other factor—for mysteries that include a Challenge to the Reader, it’s preferable that one member of the cast be named after the author. And the Challenge should be issued in their name.”

“When the namesake is the narrator, we have both the Queen pattern and the Van Dine pattern,” T pointed out.

“Either is perfectly acceptable,” Koizumi said magnanimously. “It is clear that orthodox mysteries with a Challenge included are an intellectual game played between author and reader. And since it is the author who prepares the problem, the Challenge must likewise be issued in his name. However, if the author’s name appears abruptly in the text, this adds an metatextual element to the work, which inevitably reduces immersion in the story itself. It pulls you back into reality. But if either the detective or a Watson-type share a name with the author, it becomes possible to seamlessly transition between the real world and the world of the story, or at least, effectively suggest as much.”

We all pondered this for a while.

“Mr. Koizumi, I definitely get that you’ve imprinted the Challenge to the Reader into your mind as a serious obsession,” T said with a rather lopsided grin. “But I would have to disagree at least some of the time. I wouldn’t say it makes much difference to me whether there’s a Challenge. Even if it’s a straightforward whodunit or one of Ellery Queen’s works.”

“Queen himself only insisted on the Challenges within the nationality series and Halfway House,” Koizumi said, shrugging. “But personally, I insist you can’t call it ‘orthodox’ unless it’s the sort of hardcore puzzler that could accommodate a Challenge to the Reader.”

“A little too fundamentalist for me! I can feel my hackles hockling.”

I wasn’t sure that was an actual word.

T turned her gaze downward. “What would you say are the conditions for an orthodox mystery, Nagato?”

“Not unfair,” Nagato said, short and sharp.

“Does that mean it has to be fair?”

“………”

Koizumi posed a question but received only silence in reply.

“Oh, I think I get it! Not unfair and fair are not the same.”

T had apparently decided to speak for Nagato.

“In other words, as long as the text doesn’t actively lie, she’s fine with it. Or even if it does include lies, that isn’t a problem as long as they are lies that you could reasonably detect.”

Koizumi held the palm of his hand out toward the mystery clubber.

“If the story has a first-person narrator, a certain degree of falsehoods and unreliable narration is acceptable, but surely not with omniscient third-person narration.”

“Nagato’s statement does not rule that out, either. Even if that third-person perspective includes feints, I’m sure she would see right through them.”

“That’s a radical position. If there were a Curia-like administration supervising the world of orthodox mysteries, they’d surely brand her a heretic.”

“At Nagato’s level, reading the author’s intent between the lines is easier than twisting a three-year-old’s arm.” T let that statement hang for a moment, then added, “First- and third-person narrations are ultimately one and the same. First-person perspective embellishes the narrative with the character’s point of view, while third person is merely first person from the author’s perspective. It merely pretends to omit subjectivity.”

“So you’re suggesting a first-person perspective is an interplay between the author, character, and reader, while third person simply eliminates the character’s perspective?”

“Rather,” T said, “omniscient third person is just another term for the author’s first person, so they can embellish the descriptions as they please, and some authors will take that as an opportunity for misdirection.”

“Surely, that’s a liberty too far. If we concede that deceptions hinging on misleading narration are viable, it’s not impossible to reach that conclusion, but if you ask me—”

Any moment now.

Asahina tightened her lips, like she’d made up her mind.

“Hah!” she said, placing her piece on the board. Then she reached for the lid we were keeping the pieces in and fiddled around with the bits of wood inside, examining them from every angle.

“Okay, here!” she said grimly, handing me one of them.

I could still feel a trace of her warmth on the piece and would have loved to savor that for, say, three minutes, but we were in the final stages of the game. I couldn’t exactly drag this out any further. Without really thinking at all, I plopped the piece down on an empty square, completing a row of four pieces with a common trait.

“Ah!” Asahina yelped, leaning forward, eyes round and shapely as the yolk of an egg fried by a top chef. “Oh, you had friends over there! I lost again.”

That sad smile hit me hard, but the game didn’t end until you declared victory, so I said, “Quarto.”

On the cusp between spring and summer, with the first whiffs of the rainy season approaching, the clubroom currently hosted the SOS Brigade, minus the chief, plus one outsider.

Asahina and I had finished our fifth play of our board game, and she was now hustling about, getting tea ready.

She first collected everyone’s mugs, including the guest mug T had been holding, then put the kettle on the gas burner, clutching the tea caddy that held our best leaves as if it were a precious treasure. Seeing this delightful maid at work was the highlight of my after-school experience.

Koizumi had brought in Cockroach Poker the previous day, and we’d tried it out, but Asahina was incapable of lying, so if she laid down a card and said it was a fly, you could easily tell if it was true or false. I tried playing without looking at her face, but I could tell from her voice alone. Clearly, I had become a certifiable expert in all things Asahina.

“Here,” she said with a smile, placing a mug in front of me. She then headed off to serve the group engaged in an increasingly fruitless and extremely specialized exchange of ideas in the corner.

Koizumi and T accepted their tea and thanked the maid, all while still standing. They quickly resumed adding to a stream of ominous jargon no ordinary person could possibly comprehend. Nagato, meanwhile, never even glanced at the tea placed on the table near her. I don’t think I’ve ever actually witnessed her drinking tea, but the contents of her mug did eventually vanish, so she was either draining the mug while no one was looking or consuming it via some incomprehensible cosmic art.

But just how long was T planning on hanging out here? She’d popped in right after classes ended to return Nagato’s book and struck up a chat with Koizumi and Nagato…well, mostly Koizumi…over tea, but was everyone in the mystery research club this laissez-faire?

Asahina finished her rounds and rejoined me at the table, holding her own mug in both hands. She blew on it several times, took a sip, and said, “Suzumiya’s really late.”

“Not unusual,” I said, glancing over at the chief’s chair. “In class, she said something about being late today. Beautification-committee meeting, I think?”

“Oh, she likes to keep things tidy? That’s a new discovery!”

“Our class drew lots to decide who was on what duty, so…it was pure chance.”

Still, this was Haruhi, so she may have unconsciously manipulated the draw to make herself part of that committee. Hopefully, she wasn’t up to anything…

We soon learned she wasn’t.

“The beautification committee will not shut up!” roared our chief, Haruhi Suzumiya, as she flung the door open. “Stuff we could take care of in three minutes took forty-five! That takes real talent! I fell asleep, which helped, but when the first-year next to me woke me up, they were still going! I couldn’t believe it! Must have been a real nightmare for anyone actually taking it seriously.”

She, on the other hand, had clearly not been taking it seriously at all. This whole speech had been delivered with a scowl on her way from the door to her chair.

“Mikuru, tea, please. On the warm side. Oh, T, you’re here? Go on, have a seat. We got enough folding chairs for guests. Koizumi, you can’t strike any decent poses with a mug in one hand. Yuki, you’re in a good mood! I approve. And you, Kyon!”

The torrent of words seemed to have cleared away her frustrations with the committee, and by the time she turned to me, she was her usual self again. She fired up the computer on the chief’s desk, asking, “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

I wondered how exactly I should report the futility of the last hour, when the computer chimed, “You’ve got mail!”

The voice sampled for this was Asahina’s. We’d actually recorded several such sounds. I’ll show you the rest in due time. Probably. Or at least, that was my intention before—

“Oh? That’s unusual.” Enough so that it even surprised Haruhi. “Someone actually used the SOS Brigade’s e-mail address?”

Since the dawn of our website’s operations, it had served basically no function at all. I was worried that someone had been inspired by the SOS Brigade’s stated interest in all things strange and been strange enough themselves to actually e-mail us about it, but…

“Oh? It’s from Tsuruya. Why bother using this address?”

Haruhi tilted her head quizzically. My own head yawed on a distinctly crooked angle.

The Tsuruya? E-mailing? And to the virtually unused SOS Brigade address?

She was usually the first person to just burst right in here without so much as a knock, so why take such a roundabout approach?

At my question, Asahina gingerly raised her hand.

“Tsuruya’s been out for a few days now,” she said. “N-not, like, sick or anything. Traveling, she said. Family business, couldn’t get out of it… She got permission from the teachers.”

“Huh, okay,” Haruhi said, grabbing the mouse. “Then she’s e-mailing from wherever she is now? Sending photos in lieu of souvenirs?”

She took a sip of Asahina tea, then leaned in closer to the screen.

“Or not, I guess? There’s a file attached.”

Curious, I moved around behind her, quickly reading the e-mail.

And almost let out a groan.

The timing was uncanny.

I glanced toward the side of the room, at Koizumi, Nagato, and T.

Of all the things she could have sent us, Tsuruya had gone with a Challenge to the SOS Brigade.

Haruhi read the e-mail out loud.

“Heya, SOS Brigade!

“How’s it going? I’m all revved up and ready to go!

“So I’ve been tagging along with my hyper dad and letting him drag me all over the map. You know, mostly stuck at parties, sitting next to Dad, forcing a smile, but that’s, like, so dull, I could die. Can’t relax like a real vacay, and I’m not allowed to wander off alone, which leaves just, like, awkwardly killing time. I know the meet and greet is, like, a big deal, but man, I ain’t your replacement or your proxy, so don’t treat me like one.

“So while all that’s been going on, I stumbled upon a case you might find interesting. Yes, it’s exactly what you’re imagining. Anyway, I kinda mixed in a travel story, figuring I’d write it up and send that over, too. Start with the scribblings in the attached file. I’ve got the problem listed at the end, so put your heads together and figure the solution out for me!

“Buh-bye!”

Haruhi’s imitation of Tsuruya was so perfect that I could have sworn it was her real voice, and I caught myself wondering if this was foreshadowing a trick that would make another appearance later on. Maybe I’d been listening to too much mystery chatter.

“Aha,” Haruhi said, eyes glittering. “Well done, Tsuruya. Sending us a quiz from distant lands! Hunting the strange and mysterious is the perfect extracurricular activity. Kyon, you should take tips. She’s not even in the brigade but still delivers in spades!”

We’ll see about that. Given her personality, I didn’t think Tsuruya was particularly trying to entertain Haruhi here, and she certainly wasn’t obligated to keep us posted on her status or anything. That line about how she “stumbled upon a case” had me worried. Plus, she’d used the words problem and solution.

Haruhi moved the cursor and opened the attached document file.

“So this is the problem? Can’t wait to see what mysteries it holds!”

She began reading aloud.

* * *

This was in a party venue at a hotel somewhere, okay?

I was bored. My dad dragged me here, and I guess I’m used to that, but dull is still dull.

Nothing but old men and women as far as the eye could see, and after doing the meet and greet with everyone, there’s nothing left for me to do. I mean literally; that’s my entire job. Dad didn’t even say well done or nothing. He just chattered away, champagne in one hand, with people who were either important or acted like they were. I’m used to that, too, and frankly, glad to be left out of it.

Anyways, I had this glass of orange juice and was stomping around this huge-ass banquet hall. In this fancy-ass party dress that was getting on my last nerve. My dad picked it out, so it had, like, frills all over it, ugggh. I told him it was completely wrong for me, but does he listen? No.

I found a wall that was just one massive windowpane, and I stopped to look at the view but got bored after, like, two seconds. I think we were on the third floor? Only an idiot would expect a decent view that low to the ground. Maybe it was different at night, but the sun was still doing its thang.

So I found a row of chairs lining the back wall and figured I’d take a break on one. Sitting still was boring, but I wasn’t hungry, and the buffet here was not getting on with my tongue too well. Sometimes, throwing money at a problem wasn’t enough.

But when I got to the corner, I found it occupied by another girl.

She was probably having the same problem I was. She had her hair all done up in fancy layers with a sparkly headdress and sat with a lady who was a bit older, probably her minder. The girl was as decked out as I was, but the older lady was in a drab pants suit, so I could tell she was here serving the girl. The lady was doing her best to engage her charge, but the girl was hella sulking and kept shaking her head. I feel ya, kid. I am just as bored by all this.

So I decided I was gonna be her friend.

I left my juice on a nearby table and went right on over. Up close, I could tell she was no regular customer. Total princess vibes radiating everywhere. So I was like—

’Sup!

And launched right into small talk.

Your dad drag you here? Mine too. Grown-ups, amirite? They all think their daughters are like trophies they won on the golf course, ya know? Putting all these frills on me ain’t gonna turn me into a jewel or nothing. You’re awfully pretty, though. Nah, I ain’t hitting on you. Just speaking facts. For real, though, you’re the only other person my age around here, so we should get along. What do you say?

I rattled all that off and then went for a handshake.

And the eyes on that cute face shot open, and then she giggled. I didn’t say nothing funny! The lady with her was giving me the weirdest look. I didn’t do anything to deserve— Argh, whatever.

The girl took my hand and stood up.

Her smile was mega-adorable. Humanity is definitely better off when people smile openly rather than maintain a poker face.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

I knew she’d have a cute voice.

Mmkay, let’s go!

Still holding the girl’s hand, I led her right out of the hall. The lady with her didn’t follow. Maybe she was caught off guard when the girl followed me so easy? Or maybe she knew who I was. Either way, we got outa that stifling party without anyone stopping us.

We just kept walking, hand in hand. I realized my stride was a bit longer than hers and was careful to slow myself down a bit. We hopped on the escalator toward the first floor, and as we rode, I turned back to her.

You good at sports? Wanna play tennis?

She looked unsure but said she had before. That was good enough for me.

We cut across the lobby to the front desk. All the other guests in the lobby were staring for some reason. Probably ’cause she was cute.

I made a few requests to the snazzily uniformed concierge lady. She managed this perfect balance between friendly and elegant, and she gave us the stamp of approval with a smile that seemed genuine instead of businesslike, so me and the girl whose hand I was holding bowed as she started making a call somewhere, and like that, we were out the front doors of the hotel.

The hard soles of our shoes tapped out a steady rhythm in unison.

Too easy? Well, the hotel people definitely knew my name. It sure sped things up when I could just let my name talk for me without me having to justify any requests. Course, that ain’t my accomplishment, and I ain’t proud of it, but I put up with enough crap because of it that I didn’t mind abusing the perks sometimes, too, you know? Not like I was gonna go changing my name anytime soon. That’d be a real pain in the neck.

Anyway, there we were on the hotel tennis courts. I’d spotted them earlier from the window back at the party venue.

We went in the locker room next to the courts, and there were tennis clothes, shoes, and rackets all laid out for us. Damn, concie-lady. You ain’t working at a first-rate hotel for nothing. You really get stuff done. And the tennis shoes were just my size, too.

The girl held up the matching tennis clothes, grinning. Before she went to put them on, I stopped her with a suggestion.

Why not play like this? Not like we get a chance to every day.

“In these gowns?” She blinked.

Yup. I mean, the shoes have to change, but yeah, I’m thinking we play like this. Everyone can watch us play tennis in these frills! Prove we ain’t dolls, but girls still young enough to wanna jump around. Sounds fun, right?

She stared at me with those strong-willed eyes of hers…and then she broke into a smile.

“Okay,” she agreed.

Glad I got through to her.

We grabbed rackets and headed out to the courts. No one else was playing, so we had them all to ourselves. Shame we only needed a single court.

I decided to let her have first serve, did a few stretches, and got ready on the baseline of the clay court.

In the far corner, she bounced the ball with her racket a few times, like she was adjusting to the sensation—then she looked at me.

Anytime, kid.

She read that sign no prob, threw the ball high, hit a serve with fine form—and caught me by surprise. If I’d reacted 0.2 seconds later, she would’ve aced me.

It was all I could do to return the serve, and it just barely landed inbounds. Whew! She seemed pretty shocked by that but still nailed a backhand return. Yeesh, good hit. Can’t believe she did that while her gown was wrapping itself around her legs.

I managed to catch up to her crosscourt shot and aim it back toward the center. Her second return was a bit more forgiving. I returned the favor, hitting it where she could easily reach. We didn’t need words to communicate this intent. The fun here wasn’t in the struggle to score—both of us just wanted to savor the simple joy in keeping a rally going.

As we played, I stole a sidelong glance at the hotel towering over us. I could tell several people were gathered at the windows of the party venue, watching us. Maybe people who’d found themselves without anyone to talk to. Two girls playing tennis in fancy dresses was a fine chaser for their drinks. I’d expected as much.

Both of us missed a few shots, and we took turns serving into the next rally. The crowd watching us from the venue was growing. I couldn’t tell if my dad was among them or not, but he was long past being surprised by any antics I got up to, especially minor stuff like this. That went both ways.

The two of us played tennis for quite a while, our skirts whipping this way and that all the while. Long rallies had been the goal at first, but we eventually got more heated as time went on. Returns started coming hard, aimed for the singles sidelines. I was past maintaining my cool, and I chased those balls hard. Putting a spin on the ball was definitely something best left for serious play, not messing around in these getups—which meant it was probably time to call it.

The girl hit a drive shot at my side, and I knocked it straight up, catching it with one hand as it fell.

That baffled her for a moment, but then she smiled. Great minds.

“It’s gotten so late.”

You don’t need a watch to tell you that. The sun was setting. There were still some people watching from the party venue, but it was definitely time to wrap things up.

“That was fun,” she said, still a bit out of breath. We shook hands across the net, completing the whole good game bit.

You sure are good at tennis. You got a pro as a coach or something?

I was joking, but she straight-up nodded.

Oh, I see. One of those cram-your-schedule-full-of-tutors deals? Tennis, piano, violin, ballet, horseback riding, swimming, the works. Totally unimaginative list of rich-kid lessons.

“More or less,” she said, looking depressed.

We headed back to the clubhouse and made a beeline for the showers.

Shucking off that gown felt like I was fairy freeing its wings. And with that headdress gone and her hair flowing free, no clothes at all, I thought for a second the girl was a fairy.

We washed the dust and sweat off, wrapped towels around ourselves, and were back in the locker room. After toweling off and running dryers through our hair, she reached for that gown again with a glum look.

Not that thing! Let’s put the tennis clothes on.

“You mean, we play tennis in the gowns and wear the tennis clothes after?”

Exactly! Sounds like fun, right? Besides, after that workout, the gowns are kinda grimy…

“They are dirty now.”

We both grinned and slipped on the tennis gear the hotel concie-lady had arranged for us. Way more comfortable than that glossy gown fabric. Shoes, too.

We could totally just ditch the gowns and dress shoes here, but…

Lemme see yours for a sec.

I reached for her hair decoration. Just a standard-issue headdress made of pure silver metalwork. Probably safe.

I looked over her shoes next. Elegant in their simplicity, no fussy decorative bits. Probably also clear.

What about the gown itself, then? There were buttons on those sleeves. Pure decorative buttons, no actual function, three on each side, six in all.

I held the sleeve to my face. Nope, couldn’t sniff it out. I tried flicking each button in turn. Oh, one sounded a bit different? What could that mean?

Clearly, there was something else inside this button.

“No,” she said, looking close. “A bug?”

If that was her first thought, it spoke volumes about the life she led.

But no, they aren’t listening in. Probably just a GPS tracker.

“A what?”

It uses the Global Positioning System to broadcast your location so somebody can keep track of you.

“Oh…”

A hand elegantly placed on her lips. She made that pose look good.

“How’d you know?”

I used to have similar crap planted on me a lot. I always dumped it the second I found it, though. It ended up becoming a battle of wits between me and my dad—actually kinda fun, looking back on it! All kinds of transmitters hidden in all sorts of places for me to find and discard.

I thought it was silly anyone would go to that much effort, but I’m clean now. Long as he didn’t plant one inside my body without me knowing, that is.

Clearly, both our parents are overprotective. Like, I get that all parents worry about their kids, but damn.

With her permission, I removed the transmitter button from her sleeve. Snapped the thread holding it in place with my teeth, a sight that made her laugh out loud, one hand daintily covering her mouth. Was that too uncouth?

“So now what?”

Back to the hotel. I’m parched! Gotta grab something to drink.

She looked slightly dejected. Did she think I meant the party?

’Cause I sure as hell didn’t.

I leaned in and whispered that in her ear.

This brought her smile back, so we picked up our shoes and dresses and left the clubhouse.

I looked up at the hotel on the way. Couldn’t see the venue from here. So they couldn’t see us, either. They could see the courts, but the route to the clubhouse was hidden—a fact that I’d noted before leaving the party.

We went right in the front doors of the hotel. Two girls in matching tennis outfits carrying ball gowns sure drew a lot of glances. There was an older dude carrying a trunk toward the door, must have just checked out. He smiled at us, so I smiled back.

As we brushed past him, I slipped the transmitted button in his pocket. I counted to three, then looked back. He was gone, and nobody was looking at me. If they played the camera feed back in slo-mo, they could probably catch the handoff, but for now, we were clean, Mr. Bean.

Acting like we owned the place, we waved over to the concierge from before, thanked her, and asked her to send the dresses out for cleaning.

Oh, and heads-up? One button came off, but don’t worry about that.

She readily accepted, super professional about the whole thing. Good-bye, party dress. Do not wanna put you on again anytime soon.

Then we hopped onto the elevator, and after a brief battle with gravity, we were in my room. I purposefully avoid sticking the card key in the slot to turn on the room’s lights.

I grabbed a bottle of grapefruit juice from the fridge, poured a glass, and handed it to her. She waited for me to pour myself one, then we both chugged.

We sat down on the bed and chatted for a while. About our homes and whatever. That’s all, but it was a real blast. I’d have gladly talked forever, but how much time could I buy? When they found the transmitter on a stranger, my dad would totally know what was up.

Maybe we should hide under the bed.

“What?” she said.

I didn’t know her eyes could go that wide.

Yup, only a matter of time before they show up here. Hiding under the beds is a primitive approach, but that might turn out to be an unexpected blind spot. Let’s call it the purloined-letter stratagem.

Wriggling on our bellies like lizards, we slid under the bed. She was laughing pretty hard.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” she said.

I’d hidden in all kinds of places, so it was getting a little old hat for me.

Facedown, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, we kept talking, moving from one topic to another. Man, it was fun.

Eventually, I got sleepy. I hadn’t slept much the night before and had been fine up till now, but lying still in the darkness like this got me good.

I must have drifted off.

When I woke up, I was on top of the bed, with covers drawn over me. It was night.

She was gone.

The only proof she’d ever been there was the pair of empty cups on the table, looking like, uh… Nope, can’t think of any good similes.

I pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes.

As I drifted back to sleep, I thought…

…I hope we meet again.

* * *

As Haruhi finished, a veil fell across the entire literature club with silence written on it in big letters.

In the distance, we could hear sports teams getting way too into practice, and the racket of the wind ensemble.

No one said a word, so I spoke for everyone.

“And?”

“And nothing. That’s all there is!”

Haruhi clicked around a bit.

“No other attachments, nothing else in the e-mail itself, no links or nothing. No follow-up e-mails.”

Wait. The e-mail said, “I’ve got the problem listed at the end, so…figure the solution out for me!” but where did she do that?

“Good question. I mean, there’s some odd things in here,” Haruhi said. She thought for much longer than she usually thought about anything. “Koizumi, what do you make of it?”

“Hmm,” he said. He was still standing with a tea mug in one hand. “It was certainly very Tsuruya. Positive, forceful, active, witty, and impish all at once. A true delight.”

“I wasn’t asking for your book report,” Haruhi snapped. She chugged her Asahina tea, clearly lukewarm by this point, and added, “How long are you and T gonna stand around? Sit the hell down.”

Koizumi grabbed a guest folding chair from the corner, unfolded it, and waved T into it. Only when the mystery-club girl with dazzling hair had taken a seat did he move to his own chair.

T was definitely here for the long haul, then. Hmm, okay…

“By the way, do you actually know Tsuruya?” I asked.

T was an exchange student, in the same class as Haruhi and me.

“Of course,” she said, glancing my way. “That is a verified fact. She’s famed throughout your North High. I would imagine the total sum of people who do not know Tsuruya is nobody.”

I’d never heard of her until she showed up at the pickup baseball game.

“Kyam, that’s just part of what makes you priceless.”

She made this sound like lousy ad copy. And please stop with the Kyam thing. Not like I love being called Kyon, but Kyam just makes me want to crawl into a hole.

T shrugged off my protests and took a sip from the guest mug.

“Would you prefer Kyami?”

What we have here is a complete breakdown in communication.

As I was teetering on the verge of giving up…

“I’ve got it!” Haruhi yelled, knocking her chair over.

Her eyes were gleaming like she had Sirius, Canopus, and Arcturus trapped in them, and she waited a moment to see if anyone would ask what she’d got, but nobody did, so I took one for the team.

“Got what?”

“This is a narrative trick!”

The term Haruhi dropped made the mystery trio’s ears twitch.

“A what?” Asahina whispered. I could swear I saw question marks going off over her head.

“You remember that pseudo love story Kyon wrote for the magazine last year? That kinda cheap crap.”

You’re the one who picked the genres. Your fault for making me write a romance.

“Cheap is hardly a fair descriptor,” Koizumi said, with his most gentle smile. “It’s a pedigreed literary technique that dates as far back as the Nihon Shoki, in the chapter on Empress Jingu. You can see clear signs of the people compiling that history struggling to make the facts match Chinese records like the Records of the Three Kingdoms.”

Rather than judging this statement on its own terms, I was inclined to be skeptical of the underlying premise.

“So what part of Tsuruya’s writings is the narrative trick?”

“I read the whole thing Tsuruya-style,” Haruhi said, “but that’s where Tsuruya’s trap began!”

Looking extremely proud of herself, our chief declared:

“The narrator of this passage isn’t Tsuruya!”

“Aha. Coming from that angle, I see,” Koizumi said. A rather loaded statement. “So you believe the trick lay in the very opening?”

“I’m sure she knew I’d read the thing in her voice. And I fell for it! Well done, Tsuruya. You aren’t an honorary SOS Brigade member for nothing!”

Seemed more like a dishonor, but let’s put that aside.

“But is that really true? I mean, all the details in that story really make the narrator sound like Tsuruya.”

“But her name is never mentioned,” Haruhi said. “That proves it! It’s all I and her—not a single name anywhere! Entry-level narrative-trick stuff.”

I dunno if it was entry-level or an advanced technique, but if the narrator wasn’t Tsuruya, then who could it be? Why would Tsuruya send us a story that didn’t even happen to her?

“No, Kyon, this is definitely a true story Tsuruya herself experienced.”

By what logic?

Haruhi waved a finger back and forth in front of my face.

“Don’t you get it? The girl the narrator meets at the party and hangs out with is only ever called the girl or she. But that was actually Tsuruya!”

Ridiculous. I refused to believe that. Please elaborate on your basis for this claim.

“If you insist…I’ll call it a hunch!”

That’s not proof. As far as I can tell, the first-person narrator of this essay is clearly and obviously Tsuruya herself.

“That’s the point! It was specifically written that way to create a false assumption. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be much of a trick, would it?”

Even so. If your theory is right and the girl is Tsuruya, no matter how I look at it, I can’t see her being Tsuruya at all.

“On what basis?”

Haruhi looked quite pleased to turn that around on me, knowing full well I couldn’t hit back with a hunch.

“For starters, I can’t imagine Tsuruya sitting quietly on a chair in the corner of a party venue.”

Haruhi’s smile never wavered.

“She might hide her true nature in public. And she was at this party doing her bit for her family, right? If her father was there for work, and she was there with him, she might be forced to act with decorum.”

“Secondly, she barely talks at all. I can’t imagine Tsuruya being a girl of few words. And she just seems way too genteel. What part of Tsuruya makes you think she could ever play this role?”

“Even Tsuruya would be forced to class up her act in high society. People are complicated!”

Yet it says she was sitting in a corner looking sullen.

“She does that, too! If the mood strikes her.”

“Third, and this is the biggest reason,” I said, moving on. “Let’s say you’re right, and the other girl is Tsuruya. Which in turn means the narrator is someone else.”

“Isn’t that obvious? What’s your point?”

“That would mean this world contains a second person with Tsuruya’s energy and enthusiasm, who also talks just like her. I find that difficult to believe. One of them is more than enough.”

“Fair.” Haruhi conceded that point. “Then how about this? Neither one of them are Tsuruya.”

This was another huge leap in logic.

“Huh…?” Asahina said with a face so surprised that I wanted to photograph it and register the image as the official illustration for the online dictionary entry on the word surprised. “Does that mean Tsuruya didn’t write this?”

“No, I think Tsuruya definitely wrote it. I’m not taking Kyon’s side, but I definitely doubt anyone but her could reproduce that distinctive speaking style.”

“Er…then why would Tsuruya write a story about two people who weren’t her and e-mail it to us?”

“No idea!” Haruhi flopped back in the chief’s chair, realized her mug was already empty, and said, “Mikuru, can I get a refill? Somewhat warm.”

“Sure thing!”

Asahina went right into servant mode, which clearly banished all memories of the question she’d asked a moment ago. Clearly, Mystery Solving < Tea Serving in her book.

Haruhi stuck her chin in her hand, glaring at the screen as Asahina scurried about getting the pot on the burner. Koizumi and T both had their arms folded, staring at the ceiling. They sure were two peas in a pod.

Nagato was still melting into the corner of the room, reading in silence.

Feeling like this topic was well on its way to getting dropped, I said, “Wait.”

Asahina froze in her tracks, so I hastily assured her I didn’t mean the tea.

“Let’s question the base assumption. Is this story actually the ‘problem’? What would the ‘solution’ be? Still no follow-up from Tsuruya?”

Haruhi clicked once.

“Apparently not.”

If there was a mystery hidden in Tsuruya’s story, perhaps we should consult people who knew more about these things than Haruhi or I did.

Fortunately, we had a mystery-research-club member right here. An expert on this exact type of problem.

“You want my opinion?” T had been sipping, birdlike, from the guest mug, but she put that down and said, “I’d like to get Nagato’s take first. Got anything for us?”

Nagato slowly looked up from the yellowing rectangular pages of the book on her lap.

“……Nothing yet,” she whispered.

Then she returned to her best impression of a statue reading.

Someone interpret.

“Kyam, how is it you fail to understand her intent? She said as of right now, the range of possibilities is far too vast, and she has insufficient data to narrow it down to a single truth.”

Can’t help but be impressed at your ability to weave anything that long and complicated from two words, but Nagato could have just said, Not enough information. Plus, your first line was entirely uncalled for.

T shook her head at me. Like she pitied my failure to comprehend the merits of Nagato-ese. It was legitimately a miracle that anyone outside the SOS Brigade was capable of conversing with Nagato on any level, so I would quite like for T to understand she was the exception here.

T’s headshake was making her hairpin and bangs sway, too. Looking closer, that hairpin was less for keeping her hair in place and more a fashionable accent.

Seemingly growing tired of radiating disappointment in my direction, T turned her back on me and said, “Koizumi, surely you have some line of reasoning you can present us with?”

“Well,” he said, flicking his bangs. “I think there has to be some sort of narrative trick included in this passage. However, I think the assumption that the first-person narrator is not Tsuruya is going a step too far.”

Here, he made eye contact with me.

“I think this narrator is undeniably Tsuruya herself. I simply don’t think Tsuruya would use such a mean-spirited deception. We should take her role at face value.”

“Hmph,” Haruhi said, accepting a fresh mug of tea from Asahina. “Then what’s she up to? Is there a trick or not?”

“I doubt she would send us something that was just intended to read like an ordinary passage from her diary.”

It’s true that she was always up to something.

“Perhaps we should focus on the text of the e-mail itself. She states in advance that she ‘stumbled upon a case.’ Yet while the adventures of these two girls are a bit eccentric, can this heartwarming tale of bonding really be called a case?”

“The only thing remotely case-like is that the narrator stuck a GPS transmitter on some random stranger.”

“And if we’re qualifying pranks as mysteries, then certainly. But I think we should examine her e-mail closer. She says, ‘I kinda mixed in a travel story.’”

“Oh,” Haruhi said, snapping her fingers. “Then the part about these two girls is just an anecdote?”

I’m lost.

“Kyon, you should know better! She said she’d put the problem at the end.”

Maybe I hadn’t been listening. I didn’t remember anything like that at all.

“That’s the point!” she said, leaning back in her chair like a big shot. “Tsuruya’s writings don’t end here. There’s more to it! We haven’t reached the end yet! There oughtta be a follow-up e-mail any minute, and that will present us with the final problem.”

Why create a time lag like that?

“So she could trip us up! It worked, too. We were totally overthinking! Don’t really feel bad about it, though.”

Doesn’t quite add up. Would she really send a story like that just to confuse us? Something’s bugging me.

“Indeed,” Koizumi chimed in. “I’m of the same opinion. Surely, the problem has yet to arrive. However, I think we would be hasty to assume this initial Tsuruya salvo is a straightforward piece of writing.”

“Fair,” Haruhi said, then grinned at us. “So what’s wrong with it?”

Koizumi smiled back. “We can safely assume the narrator is Tsuruya. And in light of that, it calls into question the actions of her companion, this mystery heiress. Specifically, her actions are much too childish.”

“Yeah, hiding under hotel beds to avoid discovery isn’t exactly doable when you’re in high school.”

“I believe even Tsuruya would hesitate to play tennis outdoors, in a party dress, in full view of spectators. But this other girl readily agrees, which again, indicates the time frame of this tale is not the present.”

I dunno about the other kid, but I feel like no matter what point she was at in life, Tsuruya would not give a damn what she was wearing whether she was playing tennis, basketball, or sepak takraw. And she definitely had the skills to do all that action without accidentally flashing anyone.

“This also applies to the GPS tracker. We can assume both girls are similarly affluent, but no matter how worried you are, hiding a tracker on their clothes is a bit much. Especially without their knowledge. I would think a high school girl would be well aware and involved in such decisions.”

“But since she wasn’t…,” Haruhi said.

“That’s where I began to suspect something was afoot.” Koizumi nodded. “Could this really be a recent incident?”

Okay, even I got it by this point.

Koizumi folded both his arms and legs.

“As Suzumiya’s intuition suggested, there was, indeed, a narrative trick at play. But this was not to disguise the characters involved—the deception lay in the time frame of the narrative itself! This is not a recent incident Tsuruya experienced, but something from the much more distant past, likely when she was in elementary school. Yet written and presented as if it were something that had just happened on her current travels.”

Kids that age could easily fit under a bed, and it wouldn’t be at all weird if they fell asleep. I could totally see my sister doing that. Sadly, her life was bereft of tennis and high society, so she didn’t really map well to this rich girl in the story, but I had definitely found her asleep in a closet with our cat, Shamisen, on a number of occasions. Why it was always my closet was an eternal mystery.

“She didn’t write a single false word,” T muttered. “But neither does it present any clear clues. Yet nothing so far could be declared unfair—right, Nagato?”

Nagato failed to respond to this in any way. She merely turned a page with her slender fingers.

Haruhi locked her fingers behind her head, reclining in her chair and scowling at the screen.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll know more soon enough. The next e-mail…”

“You’ve got mail!”

It was like she had eyes in the room.

Asahina’s daffy digital voice announced the arrival of Tsuruya’s follow-up.

Haruhi read it aloud.

“Heya, heya! Sorry for the mass e-mail attack! The last message had a travel tale attached, but I bet you figured it out—that all took place seven years ago! I got kinda bored, then remembered another boring day and wound up taking a trip down memory lane! Figured it was as good an excuse as any, so I wrote the whole story down and sent it to you. Had no one to share the piece with, and the waves of melancholy were getting kinda high, so basically, I just wanted someone to listen! Simple as that. And out of everyone I know, Haru-nyan’s brigade has the most free time on their hands, so I figured you might get a kick out of it. What did ya think?”

Koizumi had been right.

But the SOS Brigade’s most handsome member showed no signs of pride. He merely listened to Haruhi, shaking his head. T had her arms folded, eyes focused on the air, and Nagato never once looked up from her book.

Asahina alone was going “Huh? What?” and blinking at everybody, clearly lost.

I tried to picture Tsuruya seven years ago. My sister was in the sixth grade, so not that much different. But try as I might to imagine a miniature Tsuruya, my brain didn’t seem to want to lower her age at all. I just felt like she wouldn’t really have changed that much.

“But I figured if it was just an old story you’d all be like, Wut? so this time, I sent along a story from last fall. Me and the girl from the previous story have been running into each other now and then ever since. Once again, we’d both been dragged along by our dads, but for once, we got to spend a bit of time together and hang out, which was nice. This one’s a hot-springs episode! We hit up the baths together. Sit back and enjoy the tale! Buh-bye!”

Haruhi read that far, then fell silent. She moved the mouse, clicked the attachment, and opened the document file.

“Let’s hope we get to the case this time,” she muttered. Then she took a breath…

…and read Tsuruya’s second salvo.

* * *

We were in the outdoor bath at some hot springs.

I was leaning against a natural rock formation, enjoying the water.

The sky above was clear and blue, not a cloud to be found. It was kinda nice taking a bath in broad daylight sometimes.

“Thank goodness the weather’s so nice,” she said, making waves with her hands next to me.

Yup, I said back, trying to bore a hole in her smile with my gaze alone.

Same girl as before. Last story was the first time I met her. Family business led to us running into each other any number of times, so we grew pretty close. We were mostly just our dads’ plus-ones, so once we’d played our part, we were free to hang out together.

If there were games or facilities, we could kill the time easy, but sometimes, there was nothing but the hotel rooms and the party venue, nothing you’d normally take a kid to see.

And when that happened, our favorite pastime was real hide-and-seek.

Rules were simple. All we had to do was evade the grown-ups’ notice. Nothing more to it.

We’d start by checking each other over, finding where they’d hidden GPS trackers. Couldn’t get much hiding done with those things still on us.

But like I said last time, odds were high I was tracker-free, but since there was always a chance they’d try and slip one on me once my guard was down, we always checked. She nearly always had one. It was kinda impressive, really. You could see the technological improvements growing by the day. That was pretty cool in its own way. Scientific progress driven by overprotective parents.

Each time we found her trackers, they were smaller.

The trickiest ones were embedded in her shoes. Since everything she wore was custom-made, they were designed from the start to hide devices the size of a grain of rice. You couldn’t find those things unless you took the whole shoe apart. Like, why go that far, seriously?

There was one time we just couldn’t figure out how they always found us, so we actually tried just wandering around naked wearing only shoes, and her minders were on us instantly, so we realized then it had to be the shoes.

Once the hiding place was pinpointed, it was easy enough to handle. You just had to microwave the shoes. This sort of gizmo can’t handle that at all. Best trick when we couldn’t just swap out her shoes. But! Good kids shouldn’t try it at home. I mean, your shoes don’t have GPS trackers in them.

Anyhoo, after that, they stopped putting them in her shoes. In retrospect, I think it was less because we kept destroying the trackers and more because her walking around wearing nothing else was frowned upon. The follies of youth!

But that didn’t mean they’d given up trying to keep tabs on her location. They just changed up their approach. The two of us got a firsthand look at just how fast the tracker industry was evolving. Every tracker we found impressed us all over again.

And we played the trick of planting the trackers on random people one too many times, so it stopped working. They just started ignoring trackers that ran off in some inexplicable direction.

So one day, we used that to our advantage. We left the tracker on and just straight-up went outside. The purloined-letter stratagem: phase two.

Our dads thought it was the same old trick, ignored the signal, and just kept searching the area.

Meanwhile, we hitched a ride with some strangers, ditched the constraints of parents and family names, and cried freedom. Naturally, we offered up the ultrahigh-quality trackers as a gift to the nice driver as we got out.

Several hours later, after eating and shopping to our heart’s content in some place we had never been to before, her minders and my dad’s secretaries surrounded us. Apparently, they even had helicopters out looking for us. Maybe we went a bit too far. We made a show of at least looking sorry.

What’s my point? Well, freedom isn’t free, I guess. We had to work for ours. I feel like that’s a cool thing to say.

“How right you are,” she murmured, looking rather forlorn. The way she gently brushed the wet strands of hair off her forehead was a sight to behold. “I envy you, Tsuruya. You always seem free.”

That’s ’cause I make a point of enjoying life’s freedoms every chance I get. Doesn’t mean I’m as free as it looks. I mean, even this trip to the hot springs is for family business. But if it weren’t for that, I’d never get to see you, so take the thick with the thin and the snow and the rain.

“Yes, getting to know you has been a blessing. Accompanying my father before this was always so tiresome. Even if it isn’t every time, I’m always grateful for the time I spend with you.”

Same here! And thanks for playing along with the hide-and-seek thing.

“Not at all. I look forward to the things you talk about. You seem to really enjoy your schooling.”

School’s all right, yeah. But that place just has an extra helping of interesting people. Almost like someone specifically gathered ’em there.

“Tsuruya, you’re not a member of any specific club, right?”

Mm, yeah, I’m just not the joining type. I’m more into going my own way without a specific goal. Leaves my feet unfettered, so I can stick my head in wherever seems most fun. That makes it easy to talk to anyone and let me make the most of my time.

She sighed. Her shockingly long lashes drooping.

“Your drive toward freedom is what makes that possible. I wasn’t even allowed to choose my club.”

What club you in?

“Classic poetry recitation.”

Like Li Bai and Ikkyu Sojun?

“No, Goethe, Baudelaire, and sometimes Brontë.”

But you don’t actually like reciting Western poetry?

“No. My father forced me into it. I’m not obligated to obey, but he donated a considerable sum to the chairman and principal and pushed me into it.”

He a poetry fan, then?

“I’ve never seen him read a single sonnet. I think he just chose the most harmless-sounding club. Myself included, it’s all girls. So as my sole means of resistance…”

Here, a glimmer of a smile appeared.

“…I started calling it the Dead Poets Society.”

I think this was a joke of some kind, but I didn’t get the reference.

Still, I said. It’s not like you hate your dad, right?

“No,” she said, not hesitating at all. I liked that about her. “He’s very strict, but that comes from a caring soul. I have much to be grateful for and could never turn against him.”

No matter how many times I escaped with her, he never tried to keep us apart and never complained to my father, either. That generosity was worth respecting. He forgave it all with a smile. I quite liked the guy.

“But I do think I should at least get to pick my own club.”

Even her sad face looked pretty.

“My school is notoriously uptight. Even during club activities, we’re not allowed to cut loose.”

That sounds so dull. But there’s this girl and boy a year under me who weren’t the least bit fazed by school rules. They just made their own original club and spent the whole dang year doing weird stuff that looks like a hot mess, but even that turned out be an understatement. Now it’s actually total bedlam, and everyone and anyone who gets sucked in like there’s a tornado passing through gets turned topsy-turvy. Right, you two?

“I’d love to hear more about them. From the way you describe them, they seem most admirable.”

Well, we just had a school festival before I came here. They got up to all kinds of mischief. I got a bit involved myself, but, well, I didn’t even know I could go through so many emotions that fast. Surprise, laughter, the works.

“Heh-heh.”

She put the second knuckle of her index finger to her lips with a heart-stopping smile.

“Your school sounds like so much fun. I envy you.”

Hmm, I dunno about them, but I’m not sure me or the school are worth getting jealous over. The grass is always greener beyond the yellow brick road.

But she clearly had undying love for the “freedom” status effect. I’d known her long enough to get that.

I looked past her, to her right. On her other side, someone was half submerged in the water, trying to maintain a poker face.

We’d all been at this long enough to be fairly used to one another, and her minders followed her like shadows, never letting their guard down.

You’d think they’d at least let her hit the baths on her own.

This was why she always feels trapped.

If they said this was a countermeasure against our constant prison breaks, then all we could do was laugh.

“Miss,” the minder said, breaking the silence. “I believe you have enjoyed the waters long enough. I recommend emerging before they start to take their toll on your health.”

“Fine,” she said, sinking up to her chin. “I’ll consider it. Good enough? And stop calling me miss. Especially in front of people. It’s embarrassing.”

“Miss,” the minder said, not budging at all. “The beautification effect lauded by the waters of this particular spring has long since had time to render the desired effect. This is certain beyond all doubt. It is clear even to my eyes that the gods have wreathed both your bodies in the light of their blessings.”

“You don’t say.”

“Should you seek any further beauty, you would surely incur the jealous wrath of every goddess who art in heaven. Were we in ancient Greece, they might well have already descended from Olympus to bring calamity upon you.”

This was just a super roundabout way of saying Get out of the bath now, but I kinda dig the turn of phrase.

“This isn’t Greece, nor is it the age of myths,” the girl said curtly. “Am I not even allowed to decide when I get out of the bath on my own?”

“Miss…,” the minder said, exasperated enough to shoot a glance my way.

Not the first time this had happened. When the girl was being extra stubborn, the minders would check to see if I felt like helping. We’d never actually specifically discussed it, but somewhere along the way, her staff had decided sending me an SOS was okay. Apparently, she was much more prone to these fits when she was with me. Was I a catalyst of some sort? Maybe. I guess it didn’t hurt to do my bit sometimes. As a catalyst. I only felt a little manipulated.

But it was also true we’d been in here a long time. Our schedules were still totally fine, but hanging out in hot water all day wasn’t exactly ideal, either.

I remembered hearing that at one point along the path of evolution, humans were semiaquatic, like otters, but I don’t believe a word of it.

“…If you say so, Tsuruya.”

Somehow, that got through to her.

As reluctant as she sounded, she certainly stood up fast enough.

“Let’s go.”

The silhouette of her body was so beautiful that I couldn’t help staring.

Before the ripples reflected back toward us, me and the minder followed her out.

She headed straight to the changing room, and while her back was turned, the minder directed a quick head bob toward me.

The minder had a rockin’ bod, too. Walking between these two made me feel like a string bean or a stalk of horsetail.

I waggled the fingers of one hand, listening to the sound of our bare feet.

The fall breeze on my postbath body felt dumb cold. If I didn’t get something on fast, I’d be shivering uncontrollably in no time.

I sped up, catching up with the girl.

The minder hung back, following us—at first, but then swooped past us before we reached the building, heading into the changing room first. Probably wanted to make sure to be ready to leave before we were.

The girl and I exchanged glances, took measure of each other’s smiles, and stepped into the changing room.

The next bit was your standard postbath routine, so I’ll breeze through it.

We toweled off, ran dryers through our hair, put our clothes back on, drank some fruit punch, and went outside to find the minder waiting for us in pretty casual clothes—likely dressed with the intention of constantly being on the move.

Always so efficient. Like we’d be in the wind if any time was lost. I mean, we had priors, so maybe her staff were right to be concerned.

Anyway, the three of us departed the bathing area. Our driver was waiting for us—he’d been provided by the hotel we were staying at. The girl seemed accustomed to having drivers hold doors open and help her in. She settled onto those leather seats with real grace and no wasted motion.

The girl and I were in the back seat, and the minder in the front passenger seat. When we were all buckled in, the driver pulled out—he’d kept the engine running. We drove down country roads for a while.

The minder kept glancing at the clock, trying to hurry the driver up. Basically urging him to break the speed limit.

“We should have plenty of leeway before this evening’s gathering,” the girl said. “Let’s take our time and enjoy the scenery.”

I could tell the driver had eased his foot off the gas, even without looking.

“Miss,” the minder said, voice like the clear waters of a mountain stream. “This was an unplanned excursion to begin with. If we consider the possibility of unexpected accidents, my heart is called far from the realm of comfort, forced to wander, lost, in the darkness of the woods beyond. We agreed in advance to minimize deviations from your notoriously intricate schedule.”

“This hardly counts. We’re staying near proper hot springs! Even if I can’t stretch my wings, at least allow me to stretch my legs.”

“Miss, does this qualify as ‘near’? It is a half day by horse-drawn carriage from the hotel you ladies are staying at. We must all be grateful the internal combustion engine has saved us from the trials of the centuries that preceded the Industrial Revolution.”

“I don’t see any need for why any trips should be measured by horse-drawn carriage in this day and age, but out of curiosity, who are we giving our thanks to?”

“Jean Lenoir and Nicolaus Otto.”

“I offer my most sincere thanks to both those gentlemen. Satisfied?”

“Thoroughly.”

They might bicker like this, but she and her minder were actually quite close. Certainly nothing as distant as mistress and servant. When I said that, the girl made a face, but this was clearly an acknowledgment. Despite the girl’s polite griping, the minder had swiftly made arrangements for our little hot-springs jaunt.

After we drove for a while, the trees and mountains outside fell away as the car reached civilization. It was more a village than a city, and one that lived hand in hand with nature.

No sooner did we enter the village than the driver abruptly slowed down.

Wondering why, I leaned around the front seat to peer out the windshield.

“What’s wrong?” she said, doing the same thing.

There was a crowd in the street. A group walking together, dressed quite oddly. Like a costumed parade.

“It doesn’t seem to be a mistimed Halloween celebration. Some local festival, perhaps?” the girl said, looking around. She was clearly very interested. “Driver, can we stop here?”

“Miss,” the minder snapped.

But…

“According to my watch, we still have a good two hours to spare. If we head back to the hotel now, I’m more likely to fall asleep waiting for the party to begin. Do you want to drag me around to greet my father’s friends looking like I just woke up?”

I doubt my dad would even care.

“Just for a few minutes, then.” The minder made a show of reluctance but didn’t actually fight us on it, which I took as more proof these two really were quite close.

The driver found a spot to park, and the two of us exited through our respective doors.

Outside, there was lively music playing, a bright and simple melody we both immediately fell in love with. Clearly being played live somewhere nearby. We could hear the crowd cheering, too.

We headed toward the rear of the parade, and the minder followed after us.

I wasn’t really sure what concept these costumes were based on.

There were kids in witchlike capes and cone-shaped hats, like they were holding a Sabbath, but then others were just dressed like medieval European country girls.

Burly men were carrying big cages made of woven bark, laden with what looked like fruit.

The sticks in the witch kids’ hands were pointing at those cages, then waved wildly around, and they were apparently chanting some sort of spell. I didn’t see any pumpkin heads, so I was pretty sure this definitely wasn’t an off-season Halloween deal.

We joined the procession, walking with them as the music and cheering got louder. We soon worked out what kind of event this was.

We’d neared the town square, and there was a temporary arch waiting for us at the entrance. The procession passed under the arch, dancing to the music.

There was a wooden sign nailed to the arch, and it said:

AUTUMN FESTIVAL: GRAPE-STOMPING GIRLS PAIR CONTEST! LATE ENTRIES WELCOME!

A crowd of…villagers, I guess…were greeting the arrival of the procession with smiles, shouts, and music.

There was a huge barrel-looking vat in the center of the square, and the men were dumping their baskets into it. The fruit inside was all plump grapes, ripe and ready. Apparently, the witches’ chant was supposed to be a charm to enhance the grapes’ flavor.

There was an even bigger cheer.

Two girls in traditional clothing had stepped into the barrel, barefoot, and were dancing to the music—it was definitely dancing—stomping all over the grapes.

I’ve heard of this! You crush the grapes this way, making juice or wine. Of course, the stomping is just a spectacle these days, and they’ve got better ways to crush the grapes for actual production. Right?

This whole thing was really accentuating the exotic atmosphere. It was hard to tell if that was done deliberately to try to hype the thing up or if this was a storied, historical tradition of the locals. Could be either. Both possibilities were entirely possible.

Regardless, seemed like we’d lucked into seeing the local harvest festival.

She was watching them avidly. Bare feet crushing grapes, juice spurting out—I could tell it had captured her curiosity.

“Surely not,” the minder said, sounding more stunned than appalled. “You aren’t thinking of joining this ill-mannered revelry, are you?”

“Tsuruya.”

Sure.

“Let’s join in!”

Hokay.

Once decided, there was no time to waste. Before the minder could stop us, we skittered like squirrels over to the entry desk. When the girl said she wanted to join in, the woman at the counter smiled and handed her a clipboard. Seemed like all you had to do was write your name.

We both wrote out our real names, and she pointed us toward a long, thin building that looked like some sort of community center.

The minder followed right behind us, muttering something. Sounded like philosophical ruminations on the decorum (or lack thereof) in young women, present or past. I’d have to ask what the conclusion was later.

The girl knocked on the door.

Someone answered, the portal yawned open, and we slipped inside.

The community center was pulling double duty as a changing area and a closet, if that makes sense.

There were several women there, chattering and changing.

There was a rack full of the outfits the grape stompers wore, and the woman in charge of those eyed the two of us up for a good thirty seconds.

Then she handed us each an outfit, and we were told to change right here, so we did and were surprised to find the clothes a perfect fit.

The rack lady looked proud of herself, so we exchanged high fives. I took a good look at the girl in her new outfit. There were no mirrors in here, so I couldn’t see myself, which meant the only way to scope the costume out was to look at her.

“Well? Anything seem out of place?”

“You look like you’ve stepped out of an impressionist’s painting, miss.”

Definitely just like a lady dressed as a medieval European village girl. Looks totally natural.

She tied her hair back with a scarf, smiling with only one side of her mouth. Good trick.

“You look very good yourself, Tsuruya.”

These clothes seemed perfect for doing the schuhplattler, and I remember thinking I’d love to see Mikuru in them. She’d look way better standing next to this girl than I did, I’m sure.

The lady minding the rack said to wait here until they called our names.

Every now and then, they’d shout a pair of names over a crackling megaphone.

The girls in front of us headed out the doors with an embarrassed giggle.

We went to the door with them so we could watch what they did.

Between the door and the barrel was a mat that looked like what you’d have left after transmuting a red carpet. They walked across this barefoot and then washed themselves thoroughly in a basin of knee-deep water. Preparations complete.

Their names were read again, a cheer went up, the music started, and the grape stomping began.

As the new pair hopped into the barrel of grapes, plenty of new grapes were added.

Nice. We could stomp fresh grapes to our heart’s content.

Two more pairs went before us.

When our names rang out, we stepped through the doors, unable to repress our smiles.

It was somehow fun just walking outdoors barefoot. The hemp-like mat felt good on our soles.

We both raised our hands, answering the cheers, and headed toward the barrel, and the crowd of spectators.

We washed our feet as instructed, and then we hopped into the barrel. Fresh grapes squished beneath our soles. It was a sensation like nothing I’d ever felt before. Neat.

The band began playing a tune bright and encouraging. Matching the beat, my feet began moving on their own. Clutching my skirt, swirling the hems, copying what I’d seen others do, ad-libbing a bit, but most of all, I was dancing in the barrel of grapes.

She followed my lead, her body rocking. The way she held her skirt was much more elegant, and there was a real grace to her footwork. She grinned and stomped those grapes real hard. Like she was taking all her life’s frustrations out on them.

Juice went flying everywhere, and both our feet turned purple.

The minder was at the front of the crowd and nearly fainted at this sight.

“Oh, miss! This is most, most improper!”

“Don’t call me that here!”

“If your father saw you like this, whatever would he say?”

“Oh, give it a rest!” She giggled and was soon laughing so hard that her shoulders shook.

Even as she laughed, she was letting the music guide her. Dancing like the fairy of the grapevine. And stomping them grapes. With evident delight.

I did my best to match her pace.

There was no trace of the stiffness she carried with her when she was all prettied up for the ballroom.

A simple dance, down-to-earth, derived from the core of human lives, celebrating the bounty of the seasons. Like a glimpse into the shamanistic heart of things.

Or at least, the sort of vibe that makes you wanna dub that narration over it.

It was over all too fast.

We could only dance while the music played. I think it was a solid five minutes, but before we knew it, only echoes remained.

We were both out of breath. Quite a workout!

I glanced down at her feet, and she at mine. We both pointed, laughing.

To the sound of clapping and cheering, we stepped out of the barrel, washed our feet in cold water, and went back to the community center.

The minder followed like a shadow, tapping that watch and gesticulating at the heavens. Perhaps worried the goddess of plenty had grown envious. The sight of the girl throwing herself into grape stomping must have been just that alluring.

We ignored the minder’s grumbling and slipped back through the doors.

We chatted with the rack lady a bit, and she said after everyone had done their grape dance, the judges would announce the results.

There were still several pairs left, so it would be at least an hour.

There was a lovely prize and a wad of cash for whoever won. What do you think?

“I’ll bow out of the contest,” she said, taking off the costume. “We’ve got places to be and need to go. Sorry. But it was a real pleasure.”

She bowed her head to the lady and turned away.

“If the opportunity presents itself, I’d like to join again. Will we be able to fit it in next year?”

“A year is enough time to adjust any plans. But what your father will make of this, I could not begin to say.”

“My father will approve of anything as long as he knows his daughter is doing it together with Tsuruya.”

What an honor! I’ve been making mischief since I was little, so the fact that he doesn’t call me a bad influence is either a testament to his generosity or a sign I need to up my game. Maybe both. Then again, I think we’re both getting a bit too old to get our kicks out of harmless pranks.

We might need to take things to the next level, get some real devious skills. Okay, I dunno why I think we need that, but…

No, that’s not right. I do know. It’s just more fun that way. That’s all that matters. I’m sure all of you get that, right?

When we finished changing, we returned the grape-girl costumes and made sure we were presentable.

Man, we sure were changing clothes a lot today. And since we had a gathering or party or whatever tonight, we’d have to deck ourselves out in something else. Definitely something not as comfy as the grape-girl gear, that’s for sure.

The ruckus outside went up a notch. The next challengers must have entered the barrel. The music shook the whole building.

If we went out the front, we might distract the dancers. Dancing in a barrel of grapes was a rare experience. It would never do to interfere. Best to avoid drawing attention.

So we snuck out the back doors.

The square was all gussied up, but the back road was quiet, lots of shade. We went the long way around the square as we found our way back to the main road.

It took us a bit to locate our ride, and we found the driver with his seat back, taking a nap. We knocked, woke him, and hopped on in.

As the car drove off, she turned to gaze longingly out the back window. For a moment, she savored the lingering effects of the strange little festival, then she sat back down, glanced my way, and winked.

“Any further stops you’d like to make, miss?”

For the minder to say that here could only have been sarcasm.

“No,” the girl said. “We’ll stick to the schedule from here on out.”

“Then we shall proceed as planned.”

The driver knew where to go. The wheel was in his hands.

It didn’t take us all that long to reach the station.

We bought tickets and went through the gates to the platform. It was a pretty long wait before the train came in.

Once we’d settled into our seats, we watched the view passing by outside. It felt like our first chance to relax in a while.

“I feel like a dip in the hot spring would have been perfect after the grape stomping,” she said.

True, but I bet that autumn festival was a holy rite practiced in that village since days of yore. If we consider the springs a ritual cleansing prior to a ceremony, then it wasn’t a waste at all. It might have even been a boon! I bet Dionysus would be thrilled to drink wine pressed by the soles of postbath maidens.

“We definitely aren’t in Greece, but let’s hope so.”

The outdoor bath and the unique, local grape harvest festival…

Leaving the source of these pleasant memories in our wake, the train sped away, carrying us to a city far, far away.

* * *

Haruhi’s long recitation ended, and a renewed silence settled over the room.

The soccer, baseball, and track and field teams were still going all out in the school yard, and way off to one side, we could hear shouting from the handball court. The gym was closer to the club building; and the stereo sounds of the basketball and volleyball practices were totally drowning out the table-tennis team, and the wind ensemble was still producing noises like the angels sounding the dissonant fanfares that heralded the apocalypse.

Blotting all these quintessential school noises out of my mind, I said, “And?”

To this déjà vu query, Haruhi responded, “And nothing. That’s all there is!”

Clearly following established precedent.

“If this is the problem, it sure seems…like there’s a whole lot of nothing. But, uh…”

It was rare she had to think this hard about anything. She even put a hand to her chin.

“The whole thing just feels wrong. Even as I was reading it, I felt like Tsuruya was pulling a fast one on me.”

Did Tsuruya’s writing have magic powerful enough to defeat even Haruhi’s intuition? Maybe we should have her write a charm to ward off crows and stick it to the dumpster.

I glanced around the room. Nagato was staring at the paperback on her lap as if she hadn’t heard a word. T had her arms and legs folded and her head tilted all while fiddling with her hairpin.

Asahina was still blinking and going “Huh? Huh?” and searching our faces for clues.

Koizumi spent a while pondering this, but then he snapped his fingers.

“Aha! This is one of those,” he said.

And what would those be?

“I’m starting to see the pattern. At a glance, the story appears quite ordinary, yet there is a mystery hidden within—and the fun lies in figuring out what.”

So is this also not the case Tsuruya initially mentioned in her first e-mail?

“Likely not. I’m unsure of her intent, but instead of dealing with the fallout of that case, Tsuruya has sent us two stories about this friend of hers, each with something hidden. While we wait for the next e-mail, we shall have to ponder what. I suppose that’s the goal, at least.”

The last e-mail immediately spilled the beans, yeah.

“Kyon,” Haruhi said, standing up and jabbing a finger at the screen. “Print out enough copies of this file for everyone.”

We all have our own laptops, so you could just transfer the data. I guess that would leave T out, but I was surprised Haruhi was being that considerate. I assumed the chief’s chair, ordered the printer to run six copies of the second attachment, and only then did I realize I’d forgotten to yell at Haruhi for failing to master basic computer functions.

She probably hadn’t read my mind, but Asahina eagerly announced, “I’ll do the rest!”

Without delay, she scooped up the pages from the printer, dividing them into six stacks and binding each into little booklets with paper clips.

Apron frills ruffling, she handed them all out, leaving her own copy on the table before turning her attention to new cups of tea. Clearly far more important to her than deciphering Tsuruya’s writings.

Meanwhile, Haruhi swapped seats with me, allowing me to return to my own. Once there, I started reading through the ten pages of text-laden A4 paper.

It was impressive how well Tsuruya had captured her own voice in print. Haruhi’s flawless impersonation of her might have helped. Since I’d already heard all this before, I was able to skim through pretty quick.

As Asahina poured water into the pot, the rest of us flipped through the material we had received thus far.

MysClub T was the first to look up.

“I still know but the barest teaspoon of modern Japanese. So might I ask—is Tsuruya writing in anything resembling a conventional literary style?”

“They’re written in a distinctive colloquial voice,” Koizumi said, “but that’s not unusual for first-person writing. There are certainly a few places that tripped me up, but…let’s put that aside. I have a proposal.”

Smiling breezily, he raised an index finger…and then his middle finger, too.

“What say we refer to the story set in her childhood as Episode One, and the hot spring and grape-stomping adventure as Episode Two? It seems likely an Episode Three will arrive in due time, so this will make it easier to distinguish between them.”

No reason to oppose that. Only thing bothering me is how many of Tsuruya’s travel episodes we were gonna be stuck with. I dunno where she is now, but I hope this all wraps up before school closes for the evening.

“Then it’s decided,” Haruhi said. She had a ballpoint pen and was already inscribing dramatic check marks here and there on the printout. It seemed like there were more things bugging her toward the end of the story.

Her expression was significantly more serious than it had been five minutes before our last Japanese class exam, so clearly, she wanted to unearth the problem Tsuruya had hidden within Episode Two.

A mystery as to why she cared so much.

“Simple, Kyon,” Haruhi said, not looking up from the page. “I feel like I’m helping prop up her trick.”

She seemed to be going through the dialogue with a fine-tooth comb.

Koizumi raised a hand.

“As a preliminary assumption, my theory is that Episode Two, like Episode One, contains some sort of narrative trick.”

Nagato, Asahina, T, and I all nodded.

“Since Episode One disguised their ages, Episode Two made the time line perfectly clear. Tsuruya specified that this took place last fall. And the text of the story itself mentions the harvest festival.”

“That’s true, but…still…”

Haruhi seemed dissatisfied. She was tapping the base of her ballpoint pen against her brow.

“Mikuru, I’d like to hear your pure, honest opinion. When you reached the end, what was your first thought?”

“Huh?”

The maid had been going around the table, filling each mug in turn. She stopped in her tracks, cradling the teapot.

Haruhi picked up the chief’s mug, carefully ascertained the contents’ temperature, and added, “Especially about the ending. Anything strike you as odd?”

“Um…I guess so.” Asahina crooked her head, eyes shifting as she searched her memories. “They got on a train and went somewhere, right? But where did they go? I thought they were going to a party.”

“That’s it!”

“Eeeep?!”

Asahina levitated a centimeter off the ground but fortunately maintained her grip on the teapot.

“Amazing, Mikuru! A perfectly uncomplicated doubt! And right on the money to boot! Kyon, you should take a few tips; learn the value of a pure heart.”

Asahina’s purity levels were beyond question, so I said nothing.

Haruhi pointed at the end of Episode Two with her pen.

“They just go to a station and board a train. But that makes no sense! Tsuruya and the nameless girl went to the hot spring from their hotel. See, right here, ‘Our driver was waiting for us—he’d been provided by the hotel we were staying at’ (P134).”

Maybe they had some reason to take a train back instead?

“What reason? Did a landslide block the road? Then why not say that?! No reason to hide it!”

“And there are passages that allow us to estimate the travel time between the hotel and the hot springs,” Koizumi said, jumping on the back of her horse. “‘It is a half day by horse-drawn carriage from the hotel you ladies are staying at’ (P134). It is unclear why this minder chose to bring horses into this estimate, but that would make it approximately…”

He did a quick search on his laptop.

“Let us assume a horse and carriage have an average speed of ten kilometers an hour for simplicity’s sake. A half day is twelve hours, and they would cover a hundred twenty kilometers in that time. Assuming an average speed of sixty kilometers per hour, their driver would get them there in approximately two hours. You could shrink that down even more by assuming they took an expressway. Either way, I see no logical reason for them to board a train. The girl even says, ‘We’re staying near proper hot springs!’ (P134), so I think it’s safe to say this is a bit of a drive, but no more than that.”

“So it’s inconsistent! At the end of Episode Two, she’s all, ‘The train sped away, carrying us to a city far, far away’ (P143). If you could just drive there in a matter of hours, you wouldn’t say ‘far, far away’! Clearly, this train is not taking them to the hotel they’ve been staying at.”

So what did that mean? The minder seemed to be hell-bent on getting the girl and Tsuruya back to that hotel as soon as she could, so why is she accompanying them on a train that’s apparently bound for some entirely different destination?

“She isn’t!” Haruhi said, as if she’d just figured it out. “See! Only the girl and Tsuruya are on the train. They’ve ditched the minder and the gathering. They aren’t going to the hotel, but somewhere totally different!”

“Then I suppose that makes Episode Two’s narrative trick clear.”

Koizumi seemed sure of himself, but it wasn’t clear to me at all. When and where did the minder vanish?

I flipped through the pages, reading the ending.

The minder certainly doesn’t get any lines after they reach the station, nor does Tsuruya mention her specifically. Did they lose her between the car and the train?

“Nope.”

“Not at all.”

Haruhi and Koizumi spoke as one, and he gestured, conceding the floor to her.

“Kyon, when I read this aloud, how did you know who was saying what?”

Well, you helpfully changed your voice up for each line. You nailed the Tsuruya impression for the narration, and while we can only imagine what the girl and her minder look and sound like, you made them all distinct, so I never got tripped up.

“Exactly!”

If sighs had sisters, the one Haruhi let out would be the youngest.

“That’s where she got me. Reading it aloud only made it more confusing! She baited me into it. Well, probably not intentionally; it just worked out that way, but I hate that I ended up contributing to the misdirection here.”

Haruhi had somehow expressed remorse and pleasure in equal measure.

I turned from her to Nagato, who had put Episode Two aside and was reading an unusually oblong, yellowed volume.

Should I interpret this resumption of her typical silence to mean she’d already solved everything or to mean it simply didn’t interest her? I wasn’t sure.

Meanwhile, the real expert on these things, MysClub T, was still flipping back and forth through the pages.

“Ugh, so many different character sets, all mixed together!” she grumbled. “How do you keep them all straight? Phonograms and ideograms all piled on top of each other—whoever dreamed up this system is insane. Do you really need both katakana and hiragana, really? Can’t believe someone made up a system this complicated and had the gall to leave it for the world to come. He or she is my mortal enemy.”

She’d been reduced to cursing our ancestors.

Once she was sure my gaze had completed the circuit around the room and was back on her, Haruhi said, “Do you know what these two episodes have in common? As far as distinctive writing tics, I mean.”

Tsuruya’s dialogue never has any quotation marks?

I hadn’t directly seen Episode One, but based on Haruhi’s performance, it was likely written the same way.

“It was! And the way Episode One blended Tsuruya’s dialogue into the rest of the narration was itself a trick designed to pull the wool over our eyes when it came time to read Episode Two. During the sight-reading, I totally fell for it.”

Where exactly did you fall? And where did the minder vanish?

“Those two questions have the same answer, which makes it easy.” Haruhi took a deep breath, paused dramatically, and said, “I thought it was the minder talking, but it was actually Tsuruya!”

It took me a minute to digest that.

I looked down at the printout. It was open to the last page.

“Then this line here, ‘Any further stops you’d like to make, miss?’ (P142). Who says this?”

“Clearly, Tsuruya.” Haruhi grinned as she replied.

“Same for ‘then we shall proceed as planned’?”

“Also Tsuruya.”

She seemed confident.

“When did this start? And why is Tsuruya talking like the minder? And why do her lines suddenly have quotation marks?”

Countless question marks were pouring out of my brain and spinning through the air around my head. Haruhi and Koizumi had matching grins, which was extra annoying.

I took another look at these two Tsuruya lines, wondering if there was a hint hidden somewhere. One line caught my eye.

“Hang on. The sentence right after ‘Any further stops you’d like to make, miss?’ Tsuruya writes, ‘For the minder to say that here could only have been sarcasm’ (P142). Doesn’t that prove the line before it is the minder’s dialogue?”

“That’s the exact moment where Tsuruya’s trick is revealed!” Koizumi ran his finger along the relevant passage. “This line actually contains a subjunctive mood. Grammatically speaking, this structure is used to describe a hypothetical situation and outcome. If we examine this line carefully, it’s actually saying, ‘If the minder had said this line in this situation, it would have sounded very sarcastic.’ But by the same logic, it means the minder did not actually say anything. She wasn’t even there! Tsuruya deliberately omitted the word if. And the result is that, at a glance, it doesn’t appear to be a subjunctive.”

“A subjunctive?” T said, brightening up. “I get it now!”

She stared at the line awhile.

“So to paraphrase it, this is actually saying: This was obviously sarcasm—or would have been, if the minder were actually here to say it! Right?”

“Past perfect subjunctive.” Koizumi nodded.

This didn’t sit right with me. It felt like a cheap trick. But you’re okay with this, T?

“I would call it…not exactly safe. More like as close to going out-of-bounds as you can get.”

That sounded like an out to me.

Koizumi turned toward T. “I think you’re getting that impression because you’re translating the passage into English as you go. Tsuruya is employing a specific quirk of the Japanese language to create this illusion. Japanese is notorious for failing to distinguish between singular and plural and occasionally does not even make it clear if a verb is present or past tense. Especially if things are written colloquially. I’m sure you’ve been tripped up by these things in novels before.”

I’ve never really noticed, so can’t say I relate.

“Tsuruya is likely writing this with the intent of toeing the line between fair and unfair. Here, she says ittara, which is key—it can be read as either an abbreviation of itta to shitara, or simply a replacement for the present tense iu to. She’d deliberately employed a colloquial writing style to make both interpretations viable.”

Maybe so, but this was Tsuruya. We can’t rule out the possibility she just wrote this for shits and giggles. I turned to the literature club president for a second opinion.

“Nagato, what do you think?”

“Can’t call it unfair,” she whispered, then went back to reading a paperback with a title that sounded like something a Greek philosopher would perform on the lyre.

“If Nagato says so, then I’ll join her camp. I revise my earlier statement. It is as close to safe as you can get without being safe.”

I wasn’t sure T’s subtle adjustment actually moved it in the direction she intended.

Koizumi was still running the show, though.

“Let us take a closer look at where Tsuruya’s dialogue acquired quotation marks.”

“Mm-hmm, Kyon had a bunch of good questions, so let’s get into the nitty-gritty and take a closer look.”

What did I say again?

Spokesman Koizumi took over.

“Up to this point, Tsuruya has consistently left her own dialogue as narration, yet somewhere in Episode Two, she begins putting quotation marks around it. This begs several questions:

“1. When, exactly, does this begin?

“2. If this is Tsuruya speaking, then why is she speaking like the minder?

“3. Why was it necessary for these lines, and only these lines, to receive quotation marks?

“For off-the-cuff questions, these certainly do get to the heart of the matter.”

Good job making it not sound like a compliment.

Koizumi shrugged that comment off, flipping through the pages in hand.

“Let us begin by defining which lines we are certain belong to the minder,” he suggested.

Haruhi had already checked for this.

“I think we can safely say everything from the first ‘miss’ in the hot springs (P142) to the bit about ‘ill-mannered revelry’ (P137) right before they join the grape-stomping festival is all actual minder dialogue. Plenty of these lines specifically say ‘the minder said,’ leaving no doubt about who the speaker is.”

“So the lines after that are in doubt…like the scene where they’re changing.”

We were all flipping through the pages now, and the sound of pages rustling filled the room. It felt like we were in Japanese literature class.

Koizumi found them first.

“‘You look like you’ve stepped out of an impressionist’s painting, miss’ (P138). This isn’t clearly attributed to a speaker. I’d say that’s the answer to the first question.”

“It ends in ‘miss,’ which taken on its own would seem to suggest it’s the minder speaking. And up to this point, all of Tsuruya’s dialogue has been indistinguishable from the narration, which makes it unlikely anyone could tell at a glance.”

Haruhi had certainly not read that line in Tsuruya’s voice, or the girl’s voice, but as a third party. That had made it even harder for us to tell, but if you looked closer at the lines that followed… Hmm, it did kinda start to seem a bit suspicious, maybe?

“I’m grateful for it, Haru,” said the one non-Brigader member, T. “I’m still struggling to read Japanese text. It’s much easier for me to follow it by ear. Also, Haru, your voice is clear beyond compare. It’s like I’m listening to a radio drama.”

I completely agreed with this point. No matter what she tried her hand at, Haruhi was inevitably top-tier.

“Thanks, T,” Haruhi said, not the least bit bashful. “Anything minder-like after that point?”

“Let’s list them out,” Koizumi said, dedicating himself to following her lead. “‘You look very good yourself, Tsuruya’ (P138). The speaker here is technically unclear, but based on the conversation’s flow, it seems likely to be the girl’s line. From that point on we have…

“…‘Oh, miss! This is most, most improper!’ (P140).

“‘If your father saw you like this, whatever would he say?’ (P140).

“‘A year is enough time to adjust any plans. But what your father will make of this, I could not begin to say’ (P141).

“These three lines. In addition to the two we’ve covered before…

“…‘You look like you’ve stepped out of an impressionist’s painting, miss’ (P138).

“‘Any further stops you’d like to make, miss?’ (P142).

“‘Then we shall proceed as planned’ (P142).

“Six lines in all. Surprisingly few, but the story itself isn’t particularly dialogue heavy.”

The bulk of it is just Tsuruya describing things in her distinctive speaking style.

“But of these lines, how do we tell which are the minder’s and which are Tsuruya’s?” I asked.

Haruhi snapped her fingers. “No need!” she said, then chugged her long since lukewarm tea. “They’re all Tsuruya’s lines,” she added, slamming the mug down on her desk.

Asahina swiftly grabbed the teapot and filled her mug again. Her earnest pursuit of the maid ideal was now so polished that it no longer felt at all unnatural to have her dutifully serving us. When T had first visited the club and marveled at her, it had served as a harsh reminder that a literature club with a maid was actually a baffling thing to most residents of the world.

This might not be the best time to record my observations of Asahina in her natural habitat.

I should probably mull over Haruhi’s words.

But, well, uh…what did they mean?

I reviewed the last few pages of Episode Two again.

“So everything after they went into the community center to change…is actually Tsuruya talking to the girl?”

“Yep.”

And the minder didn’t say anything when she heard Tsuruya imitating her?

“How could she? She wasn’t there.”

What?

“Specifically, I mean in the community center. Or in the car after they left, or the train at the end.”

That was a lot of places not to be, I thought, but I elected not to say that out loud.

Koizumi ran his finger down the page.

“Look closely. When they first went into the community center, it says, ‘Someone answered, the portal opened, and we slipped inside’ (P138), but in this case, ‘we’ is Tsuruya and the girl, and the minder didn’t enter with them.”

How could you tell? And why? Wouldn’t she have just followed after them? The story makes it seem like she’s not only keeping her on schedule but also her bodyguard. Kinda doesn’t work if she leaves the girl’s side.

“So now we have a fourth question! Let’s put a pin in that for the time being.”

I thought I detected a note of spite in his grin and raised an eyebrow at it.

“If you must have a reason, we could simply say only grape-stomping dance entrants were allowed inside, but…”

Naturally, you think there’s another reason?

“Yeah, we can leave that point for later,” Haruhi said.

An unexpected burst of suppressing fire. When I saw just how broad her smile was, I got a sinking feeling in my chest.

“Koizumi, I leave the rest to you,” she intoned, and took a sip of her tea, assuming an observer’s stance.

“Then let us follow the remaining stretch of story,” Koizumi said, spreading Episode Two out on the table before him. “We’ll pick up at the moment they enter the community center. At this point, the minder has not entered with them. Tsuruya and the girl change, barrel dance in full view of the minder, and return to the center to change once more. At which point, they slip out the back doors.”

Even I got this part.

“So that’s where they gave the minder the slip?”

“It would appear so. This is where it becomes clear that the minder was not present in the community center. Which tells us that the line about ‘A year is enough time…’ (P141) is Tsuruya talking. After that, the girls leave, but because they wanted to ‘avoid drawing attention’ (P142), they ‘snuck out the back doors’ (P142). Naturally, it was the minder’s attention they did not wish to draw.”

Then the car they got in to get away from the minder was…

“Not the driver the hotel provided, but an entirely difficult vehicle. The evidence is here. ‘It took us a bit to locate our ride’ (P142), but if it was the same ride, they should’ve known right where he was parked. This was a vehicle they hadn’t previously used, and they only had a vague idea where the car would be, so they needed some time to track it down. Either Tsuruya or the girl had arranged for the driver to pick them up without the minder’s knowledge, telling him to wait for them in that village at a specific place and time.”

So the girl had only been pretending she didn’t know about the festival and wanted to stop and check it out.

“It seems certain she and Tsuruya knew there was a festival taking place on the route between the hotel and the hot springs, and about the grape-girl contest.”

It seemed slapdash at first, but they were actually on a pretty tight schedule.

“Indeed. Tsuruya describes them as being very unconcerned about the time and contrasts that with the minder’s constant fussing, but it seems likely their plans required much more careful timing than it appeared.”

Even then, they’d wound up keeping their second driver waiting. After all, they found him “with his seat back, taking a nap” (P142).

“That, too, was a clue. The driver of the car that transported them to this village would hardly do something that uncouth. After all, he’s described as holding the door open and helping them climb aboard (P134). This contrast is a hint that there are two drivers involved.”

And the second driver has no clue how rich Tsuruya and the girl are.

“There’s not much else worth mentioning. Having ditched the minder and the first driver, the girls elect not to return to the hotel or the intended ‘gathering.’ Instead, they seek freedom, boarding a train bound for some distant land.”

Didn’t really seem like they had a destination in mind. I looked back at my copy of Episode Two, reading again from the start.

I found references to “real hide-and-seek” (P127) and “we hitched a ride with some strangers” (P129).

“It establishes at the start of the episode that they often found ways to slip away from the supervision of the minder and the GPS trackers and escape the burdens of their respective families’ businesses. And this proves to be yet another such escape. A dash toward freedom.”

With that grand conclusion, Koizumi reached for his neglected tea.

Well, that explained what Tsuruya was writing about. Basically, she just wanted to avoid her responsibilities. But the doubts swirling in my mind remained unresolved.

“Your second question, Kyon,” Haruhi said, sticking her beak back in. “Why was Tsuruya talking like the minder? Koizumi, your theory?”

“Judging from the writings in these two episodes, we might assume Tsuruya always talks in the same frank manner as she does with her close friends. But perhaps that is simply how Tsuruya thinks, and she is actually speaking quite politely, as seen in these quoted lines. No one but Tsuruya herself can know definitively if this narration is what she actually says aloud.”

But even then, would it really sound so similar to how the minder talks?

“That, I dunno. Maybe if this girl’s family outranks Tsuruya’s by a lot…but personally, I bet Tsuruya was just goofing around. Making a joke by imitating the minder. Poking fun at her, but in an affectionate way, you know?” Haruhi pointed to the page. “Look at the conversation during the barrel dance. That one’s the most obvious.”

Her ballpoint circled the lines in question.

Juice went flying everywhere, and both our feet turned purple.

The minder was at the front of the crowd and nearly fainted at this sight.

Tsuruya: “Oh, miss! This is most, most improper!”

The Girl: “Don’t call me that here!”

Tsuruya: “If your father saw you like this, whatever would he say?”

The Girl: “Oh, give it a rest!”

She giggled and was soon laughing so hard that her shoulders shook.

“From her answers and reactions, we can tell they were joking around. If we assume that was always the vibe, then that explains why Tsuruya maintains this polite demeanor for the rest of the story.”

I felt like objecting but couldn’t find the right words. What was this? What was bugging me here?

“Yuki? Yes or no will do.”

Nagato didn’t look up. “No problems.”

“See?” Haruhi said, looking back at me. Proud of herself.

What about you, T? You’re a mystery-club girl. This solution doing it for you?

The blond exchange student rose to her feet with all the flourish of a stage performer and placed her hand on Nagato’s shoulder.

“I’m on the same page as Nagato. Count my vote as another yes.”

The cloud in my mind wasn’t clearing up, but I had to go with the majority. I knew from experience that we were usually better off following Nagato’s lead on these things. But I had hoped there would be at least one other person on my side here.

Asahina had clearly abandoned any attempt to ponder and was busy making an original blend of Japanese teas, which might well be the correct approach to avoid winding up with frayed nerves.

“Next,” Haruhi said, using her ballpoint pen as a fidget spinner. “Onto Kyon’s third question. The reason why Tsuruya’s dialogue suddenly acquired quotation marks, huh? But, Kyon, is this something we actually need to specify a reason for?”

I mean, it doesn’t make sense. If she’s got lines, might as well put them in quotes from the start or stick with the no-quotes style till the bitter end.

“That’s your opinion.”

Well yeah, obviously.

“Look at it this way—there’s no rule against it. Who cares?! Tsuruya can write this any way she wants. I don’t think it matters in the slightest.”

Don’t get apathetic on me.

“I would say it’s an intentional attempt to mislead us,” Koizumi said, stepping in. “I can’t see any other justification for it.”

“I don’t read a lot of mysteries,” Haruhi said. “Do they do this sort of thing a lot?”

“Narrative tricks weren’t designed to allow the culprit to fool the detective—they’re both members of the book’s cast, after all—but as a way for the writer to directly fool the reader. Naturally, the reader winds up feeling ‘tricked.’”

“But that’s not against the rules?”

“I hate to drop an ultimatum, but I don’t believe there are any rules—not just in mysteries but in novels at all. Personally, I have a marked preference for the type of mystery that drops in a Challenge to the Reader and encourages you to guess the culprit, but I am not so arrogant as to demand my tastes become the global standard. For one thing, I don’t see how you can enjoy reading if you’re worrying about rules.”

Keeping one ear on their conversation, I looked at Nagato.

Well, Nagato? What do you think?

Her gaze slowly drifted up from the pages of her book. For a very long second, she seemed to consider the question.

“Can’t say there’s always a problem.”

With that unusually long utterance out of the way, she went back to her book.

“Same!” T said. “Agreed with everything Nagato says!”

Are you her worshipper now? It’s entirely valid to interpret her as a cosmic horror, so maybe not the best choice for investing your unconditional faith.

Koizumi was doing his meeting-leader thing again.

“With Nagato’s seal of approval, let us reach a conclusion.”

I’m amazed that you counted that as an approval.

“It appears as if there are three characters present, but there were, in fact, only two. The narrative trick was designed to disguise the cast size. That is the deception built into Episode Two.”

He let this last sentence hang, and Haruhi took the hint.

“But that’s not the end of it! Right, Koizumi?”

“Quite right. I suspected you’d picked up on it.”

Quit patting each other on the back.

“Your fourth question, Kyon. Why wasn’t the minder with them in the community center? You’re the one who brought it up, so don’t tell me you forgot.”

Since this minder also seemed to be some sort of bodyguard, it was weird she took her eyes off them, right? Even if they were only allowing entrants in, she could easily have just insisted on being an exception. After all, she’d joined them in the baths, and a village community center was hardly a high-security area. It would make more sense if she’d forced the issue and made them decide between letting her follow them in or not letting them do the barrel dance at all.

“Right? Yet the minder didn’t join them. Before or after the grape stomping.”

The story certainly said as much.

“What did Tsuruya and the girl do in this community center?”

That was obvious.

“They changed.”

“Exactly!”

Haruhi picked up her tea like she’d proven her point. Sipping away, she glanced over at her computer screen.

“We should be getting the answer e-mail soon,” she muttered.

Koizumi was playing innocent, the smile on his lips so faint that I could barely identify it as one. Nagato was reading. Asahina had finished a pot of her house blend and was taste-testing it. T was grinning in a way that made it no less clear to me whether she understood, apparently leaving any further questioning in my hands. I hated to play along, but the explanation had clearly been inadequate, so somebody had to.

“What does ‘exactly’ mean here?” I asked, emphasizing those scare quotes.

“Do you know the difference between Tsuruya, the girl, and this minder?” Haruhi asked.

Students and adults.

“Not that.”

Employer and servant.

“Not that, either.”

Tricker and trickee.

“You’re getting colder.”

Does this spot-the-difference riddle have a right answer?

“It’s not so much spot-the-difference as much as it is figuring who’s the odd one out. And the odd one out is the minder. The minder has one trait that puts the other two in a completely different category.”

Haruhi flashed me a highly eco-friendly ten-watt smile, then snorted.

“The hint is the changing. Even a third-rate mind like yours should get it by now.”

While Tsuruya and the girl were changing in the community center, the minder stayed outside. Or was forced to stay outside. Because coming in would be inappropriate.

“You mean…”

“Mm-hmm. I think you’ve got it.”

“…the minder’s a man?!” I said. This was as loud I ever got. “This whole time?!”

“Why did you think the minder was a woman, Kyon?”

Because the story started with the three of them in a bath together. And because you—

“I know! I read the minder’s lines in a woman’s voice. If I’d known he was a man, I’d have voiced him accordingly. Tsuruya herself is easy to imitate, but I can only guess what the girl and her minder sound like. She had me fooled the entire time!”

Haruhi shook her head but was clearly enjoying herself.

“I bet Tsuruya knew I’d read both of these out loud. Did she do anything to encourage that?”

“That would be a big assumption,” Koizumi said. “I don’t recall anything in the e-mails themselves that would influence your choice to read them out loud. However, Tsuruya knows your personality well. It’s likely she knew the odds were in her favor but wasn’t counting on it.”

“My personality?”

You’re far too impatient to forward the e-mail to everyone or wait for it to be printed out. Reading it out loud would skip all that.

“I mean, yeah,” Haruhi said, baffled. “Reading it aloud is way faster! Episode One wasn’t even all that long.”

That might have been the first trap.

Koizumi nodded emphatically. “If you read the first story out loud, you’re likely to read the second the same way. If this was a psychological tactic, it’s a pretty accomplished one. It’s certainly a gambit, but the trick itself would still work well enough even if it failed.”

If we’d printed out the story and read it that way, would we have figured it out any faster?

“Perhaps.”

“Let’s print out Episode One, just in case. Kyon, you’re up!”

She leaned back in her chair, not even trying to get out of the way, so I was forced to lean in from the side and grab the mouse, making her wishes come true. To be fair, I wanted to take another look at it myself.

Asahina put everyone’s booklets together. For some reason, T helped.

Koizumi picked up the hot-off-the-presses sheaf of papers.

“Episode One clearly says she ‘was sitting with a lady who was a bit older’ (P109), and ‘the older lady was in a drab pants suit, so I could tell she was here serving the girl’ (P109). Both of which specify a gender. This may also function as a setup for the later deception.”

I quick skimmed both episodes, but nowhere did it specify the two minders were the same person. Perhaps this is why Nagato said it wasn’t a problem.

Haruhi locked her hands behind her head, grumbling, “I wish I could delete my memories and read it from the top. Silently.”

That was a terrifying concept. Please abandon it.

“Can I say one thing?” T said, showing us her right palm. “Do we have firm evidence that the minder from Episode Two is male? Is there a specific clue anywhere in the story? I could use some assistance here, given my Japanese-language shortcomings.”

She had Ep2 in her left hand and was waving it about.

“Isn’t the fact that he wasn’t watching them change enough?” Haruhi said.

I felt that needed a rebuttal, so I started paging through the booklet again.

“He was in the outdoor bath with the girls, so should we assume that was mixed bathing?”

“It’s likely. I can’t imagine any of them were actually naked. Tsuruya herself probably wouldn’t mind at all, but…”

An image of Tsuruya in the baths began forming in my mind, but thanks to years of training, I now had the self-control to brush it aside in time. I doubted there were any telepaths present, but it was best to avoid thoughts you wouldn’t want anyone to read.

Haruhi ran her eyes over the opening of Ep2.

“There’s no clear-cut descriptions, but I think this place is more like an open-air spa. Basically, a big outdoor bath, more like a pool than a traditional Japanese hot spring, and everyone wears swimsuits.”

My image of this bath had been pretty rustic, maybe because there’s several mentions of how far out they are.

I did a quick search for open-air spas on my laptop. Hmm. The results predictably looked like they’d remodeled a hot spring into a luxury heated swimming pool.

“Quite large,” Koizumi said, leaning in.

If they’d been somewhere like this, there would’ve been a huge crowd in the baths, not just the three of them. It would have been pretty lively.

My initial mental image of three lovely ladies enjoying the splendor of autumn in a secluded rural hot spring crumbled away.

Unaware of my disappointment, Koizumi took to his podium once more.

“Let’s take a good look at any Episode Two descriptions that seem relevant to the minder’s gender.

“First, right here, when the girls emerge from the water, headed for the changing rooms—which are perhaps more like gym locker rooms. ‘The minder hung back, following us—at first, but then swooped past us before we reached the building, heading into the changing room first. Probably wanted to make sure to be ready to leave before we were’ (P133). Clearly tinged with Tsuruya’s opinions.”

Haruhi nodded approvingly. “The minder, of course, ran into the men’s changing room and finished changing before the girls so he could wait outside the exit of the girl’s changing room and prevent them from slipping away.”

“Almost certainly, yes. There’s no mention of the minder in the changing room, and once they did finish, they ‘went outside to find the minder waiting for us’ (P133). Speaks volumes to this minder’s suffering.”

So what do we make of this bit just before that, where it says, ‘The minder had a rockin’ bod, too. Walking between these two made me feel like a string bean or a stalk of horsetail’ (P133).

“Well, the minder’s a bodyguard, too. Probably ripped like a martial artist or bodybuilder.”

My mental image of the scene shattered so hard that it made me dizzy.

“This one’s a close call,” Haruhi said, pointing at the page. “See, ‘…she and her minder were actually quite close. Certainly nothing as distant as mistress and servant’ (P135). On first reading, this sounded like a sisterly bond. Subliminally.”

“Yes, odds are she wanted to describe them as being close like sisters but decided that would be a bit too far from the truth. And if she specified siblings, it might hint that something was up. The best you could do would be like family, I suppose.”

“But even then, that’d be an invitation to wonder why she didn’t just say like sisters. I think she was right to pick an expression that skirted the issue altogether.”

Clearly, some intense proofreading went into this.

“In summary,” Koizumi said, smiling like he was in a commercial for bottled spring water, “Tsuruya included a dual-layer trick this time. The gender deception on its own would be difficult to pick out, but the final scenes arose suspicions, and the discovery of the character-swap deception leads us back up the chain of events to the discovery that we have mistakenly assumed the minder’s gender. A character presumed to be female was actually male, and where we thought three characters were present, there was actually only two. Discovering both of these deceptions has likely earned us a passing grade.”

Was this a workplace evaluation?

“I see,” T said. “I acknowledge that you all seem convinced. If you feel you have reached the correct answer, then I throw the matter to Nagato. Have they reached the correct conclusion?”

“…………”

Nagato said nothing, so it was impossible to tell what she thought, but to my surprise, she looked up from the book, stared at T for two full seconds, and then returned to her role as a book-reading mannequin.

“…Kyam, how should I interpret Nagato’s latest demonstration of motor skills?”

T seemed perplexed, but I was no more in the clear. At the very least, Nagato has always been capable of delivering yes or no answers with comprehensible definition, so perhaps she had gained new advanced skills and was now capable of vague answers.

This development clearly concerned Haruhi.

“Yuki, is the answer Koizumi and I proposed incorrect?”

Nagato didn’t look up but said, “Not incorrect,” in a voice that was barely audible.

“Then it must be right?”

Her head briefly rose and fell. A very Nagato gesture, which was something of a relief.

But…

Argh, how long was this nagging at the back of my mind gonna stick around?

It was like a pill that got stuck in my throat. Something just felt off.

Was that really the resolution of Episode Two?

I felt like there was something else there. For problems like this, I had utter faith in Nagato, so if she said we were right, then we must be right…but damn if it didn’t feel like I was rolling around on Tsuruya’s palm.

That didn’t seem all that bad, but…my inability to pin down the reason was bugging me.

While I was devoting myself to uncharacteristic levels of contemplation, a dish was set on the table before me. I followed the fingers on the edge of the dish up to the maid they belonged to.

“Some sweets to go with your tea?” Asahina asked.

It was ogura yokan with a little wooden fork. Any smile Asahina directed at me could be valued in hard currency, so I would drink any amount of tea on that alone, but without losing that smile, she proceeded to distribute yokan to everyone. T fixed the reddish-brown gelatinous rectangle with a look you might reserve for an alien’s space-travel rations. Maybe she didn’t eat a lot of red bean paste back home.

Just as the SOS Brigade+1 was starting this little break…

“You’ve got mail!”

…the chief’s computer announced the arrival of Tsuruya’s third missive.

Apparently not learning her lesson, Haruhi read Tsuruya’s solution e-mail aloud like she was a program built from the ground up to do nothing but imitate Tsuruya’s voice.

“Heyaaaaas! The second story was a bit long, so I had to trust my gut on how much time you needed, but did I get it right?

“Yep, you guessed it! We used our drop-in on the village festival to give that minder the slip. Good thing he was the one working that day!

“Obviously, we had swimsuits on at the springs. They’re required! Don’t worry your pretty little heads about that.

“Was it okay to bail on the gathering? Totally. Everyone there was already connected to our families, and we were only invited to spice things up a bit.

“Putting pretty clothes on and smiling at everyone is easy work, but once is enough for a lifetime. I’m sure you get why we’d wanna run. These events are hella boring, can’t recommend going.

“But when we got off the train at our destination, the minder was waiting for us with a big grin. Unreal. Couldn’t believe it!

“When the truth came out, we discovered they’d stuck a new kinda of tracker on us that had just hit the market. A nasty little thing that wouldn’t wash out, even after our long soak in the spa, and was invisible to the naked eye.

“It’s so gnarly. For all I know, there’s one on me right now! I’d love to write more about them, but apparently, the things are mega top secret, so I can’t! Sorry.

“That sure does explain why security was so slack that day! I thought we’d been super clever, but they were way ahead of us. Guess we’ll have to up our game! Mm, I’m extra motivated now. I’ll let you know if it works out. Jus’ you wait.

“Anyway, the story I attached this time is the last one! Never fear.

“As you know, I’m off somewhere with my dad, getting hauled all over the map, and this case happened just a little itty bit ago.

“I thought it was sorta neat, so I figured you all should hear about it, but if I started with this, it would all be coming outta nowhere, which is why I also wrote up a couple of travel stories and sent those over first. Consider them, like, prior reading or the opening act.

“Enjoy act three of my travelogue! Ciao!”

* * *

Where am I?

That’s sure a dramatic-sounding start, but I have no follow-through.

Let me state up front: All my lines this time will be like the first story and mixed into the narration, so friendly warning not to worry about that.

From this point on, anything in “” is someone other than me, and I guarantee that this time, I won’t be using that ploy again.

Anyhoo, I had my arms folded and was staring out the window.

I was in the back seat of a cab. Near sunset.

It was just me and the driver. Not a hired car like last time, just the ordinary kinda taxi you hail outside your hotel.

I was headed to another party venue at some other hotel. Yuck.

There was a reason why I was flying solo. Namely, I felt like it.

If Dad was gonna chip away at my happy school life for these jaunts of his and drag me around to greet people willy-nilly, then I was gonna insist on operating independently as much as was feasible, and he’d agreed to that. Nothing more unpleasant than being paired up with your dad at the hotel and the cab.

But I was forced to accept a condition in return, and that’s the reason I had my arms folded and was glaring at the window so hard.

Between my clothes and my shoes, I was dressed from head to foot in stuff my dad had picked out, the sort of getup you only ever wear to get an Academy Award.

And I didn’t have any Oscars coming my way, just a long, uncomfortable sulk.

I could move around freely as long as I smiled at the party in the designated outfit.

And this time, I had no escape plan.

I’d been informed—well, threatened—that the penalty would be costly. Apparently, they had big news to reveal, and I had to be there. I still hadn’t located this new tracker, and I was kinda curious what the news was.

The girl’s family and mine had been getting real intense about developing super-tiny, micro GPS trackers basically just for the two of us, but this research had led them to some unexpected benefits. One of them serendipity things. Big old windfall.

All kinds of supersmart people had their brains running at full power, just trying to figure out how to make good trackers small enough to foil a couple of kids, and they accidentally figured out some new hypothesis or theory only tangentially related. And since it wasn’t what they were supposed to be working on, they just scribbled it down on a Post-it and forgot about it, until another research-type person wandered through and happened upon it. When they realized it fell perfectly in line with their passion project, they raised a huge fuss and got my dad’s attention, and he approved the research green light on the spot, and then a bunch of stuff happened, leading all kinds of industries and scientific think tanks and research facilities to get involved in one massive project.

And since this was clearly gonna be huge business for the foreseeable future, we were throwing an equally huge announcement party.

They’d assembled all the bigwigs and big brains and big accounts and were gonna raise glasses to the success of the project and bring everyone together.

I’d actually been given a lecture on the topic before we came, but I only got, like, maybe 10 percent of it. Something about using genes in lieu of processors and having them calculate whatevers; totally futuristic stuff. What did they call it? DNA computing?

Anyway, what little I understood was still pretty exciting, which was one reason I was showing up like I was supposed to. It was, like, number three on my list.

First would be seeing old friends who showed up at these occasions, and second would be making new friends I’d only run into at events like this.

Getting dolled up in a dress my dad liked sucked, but I did appreciate him providing me opportunities like this. That’s how I got to know that girl, after all. Shame I had to miss so much school for it, though.

All this was running through my head while I was staring out that cab window.

Based on the map I’d glanced at earlier, the taxi oughtta be taking me due north. It was a wide road, and the buildings on the side were pretty tall, so I wouldn’t exactly call it a picturesque view.

When I tried looking out the other window, the only noticeable difference was the oncoming traffic whizzing past, but at least there were a few gaps between the buildings that let me catch the odd glimpse of the setting sun. Each time this happened, the car interior lit up, and it became pretty bright, so I turned my gaze upward.

The color of the sky right before sunset is real nice, ain’t it? Also, the smell of the air right before summer arrives or the smell right after rain hits hot pavement. If they do a revised edition of The Pillow Book, they oughtta put that stuff in.

While I was gazing longingly at the receding summer evening, the sun set completely, the night was born, and the cab reached my destination.

This was a gorgeous luxury hotel, several ranks above the one I was staying at. The presentation and networking party were being held in the largest hall they had—I remembered that much, at least.

I paid the driver, got out, and put my party face on.

A bellboy came running over, but I smiled and told him I didn’t have any luggage, then asked how to reach the venue, thanked him, and walked as gracefully as I could in that direction. My dad always grumbles that I walk like a kid. Who cares? Lemme walk how I want.

It didn’t take me long to get to the venue. There was still plenty of time before the presentation started, but it was already pretty packed. There were round tables placed here and there, and they had started handing out drinks.

I applied my best ornamental smile and waded on in.

First up, I made the rounds by greeting my dad’s old business friends, sponsors, and colleagues. People my dad got on with were mostly easy for me to get on with, so this wasn’t a problem at all.

Anytime I got introduced to someone new, I kept things affable. Same old routine.

Once that was over, I could start looking for my friends.

“Tsuruya.”

One found me first!

“It’s been far too long.”

The girl rose from her bow, and the smile on her lips was pretty but a bit distant.

She was wearing a chic dress of a subdued hue and making it look like it was a part of her. I let myself stare. She was so elegant that it was like she added color to the air around her. No comparison with my obvious I hate wearing this demeanor. I had the same thought every time.

As I returned the greeting, a server passed by and offered us some grapefruit juice, so I took that and stuck my tongue in it, making sure it was 100 percent fruit juice.

She had a tumbler filled with something fizzy and was swirling it mournfully.

“I’m glad we could meet. It seems like there aren’t many people here I can talk to.”

Yeah, the regulars at these shindigs aren’t exactly our age. This girl and I knew at least one other kid in this predicament, but it looked like she wasn’t here tonight. Her family was connected to the project, too, but she must be better at wriggling out of these obligations, I guess. Lucky dog.

While the two of us were catching up, the presentation got underway.

The lights dimmed, and a projector lit up the screen on the stage. Some full-on philharmonic music started booming, and a giant logo filled the screen. Then an epic-sounding narrator began to speak.

The next chunk ran through the project abstract, using images and narration to explain things. The crowd gasped several times. Enough time passed that I finished off a second glass of grapefruit juice.

As the crowd’s enthusiasm peaked, the video ended, and the lights came on.

There was a thunderous round of applause, and a thin, older dude took the stage—it was his job to explain stuff. He’d been in the video, listed as the project leader.

For a good long while, he explained things and took questions from the audience, but none of that’s got anything to do with my story, so I’ll leave it out. The plan was all bioscience jargon, and I wound up feeling like I was listening to a grifter do his thing, which made me laugh.

“The rich gather together, investing their funds in a ploy at getting even richer. Successful projects bring new products to the market and perhaps contribute in some small way to civilization’s advancement, but that’s simply a side effect of the money made.”

This girl was not mincing words tonight.

The man on stage wrapped things up by calling for a toast. The reasons weren’t particularly clear, probably just an attempt at mood setting. Glasses were clinking all around us, and they started bringing in carts ladled with food. Another day, another buffet. I hoped some of it was edible.

The volume rose, and a lot of business cards got exchanged.

These gatherings were all about making connections. I’m sure my dad was around here somewhere, but I didn’t feel like tracking him down.

I kept hearing bursts of warm laughter from one corner.

I turned to look and saw a man who wasn’t quite my dad’s age but was too old to call my age.

I felt like I’d been introduced to him somewhere but couldn’t recall the name.

The girl noticed me looking.

“Not familiar?” she asked. “He’s a distant relative. My paternal grandfather’s brother’s family, I believe? I’ve only met him at these types of gatherings, so I assume my father must have invited him tonight.”

What’s he do?

“He’s on the boards of several companies. Far too many titles to remember, but I believe he primarily fancies himself an entrepreneur.”

He was swimming in cash, so they brought him in to be a sponsor?

“Very likely.”

She did not seem interested.

I kept an absent eye on him and soon realized his card was the source of the laughter.

Each time the girl’s relative handed over a business card, he said something that got a huge laugh. He must have a good one-liner that he always used when introducing himself. Whether it was actually funny…

Then someone I actually did know wandered into my field of view. He moved with purpose toward the joking card guy.

He was a young man and had been in the video explaining the project; the captions had said he was a doctor of genetic something.

It didn’t seem like the doctor had met the comedian before, so they exchanged cards, laughed, and talked for a minute, and then the doctor turned right around and made a beeline for us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl straightening herself up.

“Hi,” he said, so I responded in kind. I remembered introducing myself to him once at another party.

He was tall and built like an athlete but easily pulled off that English-brand-name suit. The watch peeking out of his sleeve was totally a casual digital model from the I just need to know the time school of thought. He had a face that could mingle freely with the lead cast of a soap and a breezy smile to match. He was a doctor and a genetic researcher, the young hope of the industry, and…he’s single.

He remembered me, too, and explained his role in the project with smiles, charm, and even a little wit, subtly emphasizing just how important he actually was. He asked a couple of very specific questions about my high school that seemed like genuine interest, and his replies were impressively apt. Then he turned to the girl next to me, his smile somewhat strained.

“Not having a good time?” he asked. “You’ve been diligently avoiding looking my way.”

She let out a breath like a silent whistle and turned toward him.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure. I’m a bit wound-up, I admit. Both because I’m able to take part in this project and because I got to meet you.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say.”

I must have let it show on my face, because she shot me a glare and then emptied the glass in her hand.

He asked if she wanted a refill or anything to eat, demonstrating consideration, and then swiftly set off. A few seconds later, a few servers carried a round dining table over to us—presumably, at the doctor’s request. They refilled both our drinks and left the bottles, at which point, he showed back up, moving like he worked for a five-star restaurant, food piled high on platters in each hand.

He put the platters down and thanked the servers nicely. I dunno how many other drink refills required them to deliver tables, but they bowed professionally and quickly scattered across the room.

The doctor had a glass of mineral water, and he lifted it, cajoling us into a toast. This whole thing was so flawlessly theatrical that I totally played along.

The girl forced herself to look displeased and made a show of raising her glass reluctantly, but she still dinged her carbonated beverage on his glass.

She was being a hella obvious tsun before dere, and I just smirked at her.

“Tsuruya, are you remembering better times?” she asked, like she didn’t know perfectly well what my grin meant. So unconvincing. Nobody would possibly buy this smirk as nostalgia.

I started to wonder if I was just getting in their way and if maybe I should quietly make myself scarce, so I glanced his way, but the look he shot back said that wouldn’t be necessary. I read it as actually preferring I stuck around.

In that case, I was definitely gonna stand right here and enjoy the show.

Best to start by trying to remember what lay between these two.

Well, I knew she had a number of suitors.

And the young doc here was probably a primo candidate.

I didn’t have a handle on what her dad was thinking, but I had it figured he was arranging for decent men to coincidentally pop up around her and seeing if she bit. And he wasn’t just watching his daughter, but the guys. What did they talk about, how did they respond—I bet every word was gone over with a fine-tooth comb. So voyeuristic.

Which meant Mr. Doctor was not on this project by chance.

But she knew all that perfectly well. She knew her parents had the spotlight on him, so she’d stuck to the shade. But each time they met, he slowly pried her heart open—total cliché, right? That’s what it looked like from where I stood anyway.

“There’s a few things left out of the video I’d love to fill you in on,” he said. “The most revolutionary part of this research is…”

Dr. Suitor explained his part of the project clearly, with smart turns of phrase, incorporating comparisons that made it so even a junior high school kid could have understood it. It was like having a really top-notch science article read out loud; the knowledge just poured into your brain. If he were a professor, people would be lining up to get into his classes.

His conversation led us down many side paths, from politics, economics, and sports to the latest viral videos. He was great at holding your interest and did it with just enough humor to get me laughing any number of times.

Meanwhile, she was extremely busy looking away, slowly glancing back at him, and quickly averting her eyes when they met his.

He was talking to both of us equally, but his eyes were almost always on her profile. Like he was pitching words right at the beautiful curve of her ear.

They seemed good together, I guess. Not that I’m any judge.

“What’s fascinating is that this whole concept started out as an attempt to maximize conservation of energy in a GPS tracker. But by applying that to the entirely different field of genetic engineering…”

Just as he was getting particularly heated up, someone called his name.

A colleague of his was headed our way.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Come say hello.”

The colleague turned to us.

“Ladies, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to borrow him a minute.”

“Go right ahead. No need to get my permission.”

“Er, you’re sure? Then I’ll happily take him!”

The doctor winced and said, “Shouko, see you later.”

He walked away. It was a big room, and there were lots of people here. He was soon lost in the crowd.

She let out a little breath that could be read as just about any emotion under the sun and moistened her lips with the long-since-flat contents of her glass.

For a little while, the two of us talked about nothing in particular.

We could fill any amount of time just catching up.

We also munched on the food he’d brought us. As suspected, I didn’t care for it.

I told her a few stories from the new school year and got a big laugh out of her on a Mikuru one.

She wanted to go independent as soon as possible, trying not to ride on her parents’ coattails, and told me about the shop she was planning on operating.

Stuff like that always made me wonder about my own plans. Should I take over the family business or not? Part of me wanted to set off on my own on a new journey instead of just follow after my dad. Maybe I should take a day sometime and just stare up at the sky, thinking about my future.

A good fifteen minutes after he’d left us, I noticed she was checking her watch with increased frequency.

Then I heard a little shriek from somewhere. I was sure I had.

But the hum of the crowd around us was loud enough that neither the girl nor anyone else had noticed.

I said I needed to hit the can, then left her there.

I headed toward the voice, and as I left the hall, I found a hotel employee running out of another door, looking quite beside themselves.

This was an antechamber adjacent to the party hall.

I stepped in the open door and found several small tables with a bunch of chairs around them.

Since the main room was standing room only, this area was for people who wanted to sit a spell.

I soon spotted the problem.

Someone was lying on the carpet.

I ran over, and it was him. The young doctor we’d been talking to not fifteen minutes ago.

He was lying faceup with his eyes closed.

There was blood from the back of his head, staining the carpet.

I found more blood on the edge of a nearby table. He’d probably hit his head there. I found it hard to imagine he’d done that voluntarily.

Then I heard a groan. Good, he was alive.

Moving didn’t seem like a good idea, so I knelt down next to him. His eyes fluttered open. He wasn’t breathing right. I loosened his tie a bit.

You okay? I mean, I can see you aren’t, but…

One question on my mind.

Who did this?

He looked up at me. He moved his lips, and a painful breath emerged.

I leaned my ear closer, and the hotel staff came flooding in. The cloakroom lady and the concierge and someone who looked like the owner. They all looked horrified. At the back of the crowd was the staff member who’d gone running off. He had a first aid kit with him.

“Ungh…”

The doctor finally focused his eyes on something—the staff member. Or more accurately, he was looking at the first aid kit. When the staff member moved closer and put the box down, his eyes followed it.

He was trying to say something. What? The answer to my question?

Face screwed up in pain, he nodded slightly. His voice barely a whisper, he said, “Don’t swallow…”

Huh? Say that again?”

“…Do not…ingest…”

That’s what I thought I heard anyway.

But with that, he passed out.

The rest was a big uproar. Other partygoers started pushing their way in. Someone must have told the girl, and she rushed over, saw her potential fiancé covered in blood, and fainted. It felt like ages before the ambulance crew arrived.

Long story short, he suffered some lacerations from a blow to the back of the head but lived to tell the tale. They did thorough tests to be sure but found no lasting damage to his brain.

Naturally, he hadn’t clumsily tripped and hit his head. He’d been grappling with the culprit, been knocked off-balance, and hit his head on the way down.

So this was an assault case.

Feels like a long journey to get us here.

But at last, I can present you all with the problem.

Only one thing I want from you.

Guess the culprit’s name.

That’s it!

Oh, and just to be clear, the staff member with the first aid kit was just the first on the scene. Not that that’s much of a hint.

When I think it’s time, I’ll send you a better hint. Bye!

* * *

When Haruhi finished, a third silence reigned over the literature club.

The only sound was the rustling as we all read back over Tsuruya’s travelogue, Episode Three.

Having learned from Episode Two, we’d printed out copies for everyone in advance. I felt like we didn’t really need to have it read out loud, but since we’d done the first two that way, Haruhi seemed to think we should to stick to it, and so we all followed along while listening to her rendition. It felt like being in Japanese class, except when it ended, what greeted us wasn’t relief—because Episode Three finally posed the foretold problem. The thing this had all been leading up to.

And I didn’t have the slightest clue what the answer could be. I wasn’t even sure what Tsuruya wanted to get out of all this. Was there a fatal flaw in my reading comprehension skills?

But I clearly wasn’t the only one confused. Haruhi and Koizumi had both adopted contemplative poses, staring at nothing. Even Nagato had put her book down and was staring at the Ep3 booklet.

T had been grumbling about her Japanese reading skills from the get-go, and she’d ignored her booklet entirely, having spent her time fully concentrating on listening to Haruhi’s rendition. Next to her, Asahina had her eyes locked on one point of the page, not moving a muscle.

The club member least likely to read a mystery had locked onto a sentence that I’d clearly read without batting an eye. Had there been something that obviously out of place?

“Shouko?” Haruhi whispered.

“A dying message…or…,” Koizumi muttered.

Seemed like everyone was stuck on different things.

Since the meeting chairman and our chief were both sinking into a sea of thought, nobody was taking charge. Gratingly, the only other person not mulling over something specific was T.

“Aren’t you in the mystery club? Don’t you people solve mysteries for fun?”

“Sometimes,” T said. She pulled the printout closer and started writing on it with a ballpoint pen. “But I’m not in charge of whodunits. It’s outside my wheelhouse. I’ve never once solved one. I’m more the type to just read.”

A reading specialist?

“And this is a problem for the SOS Brigade! As an outsider, all I can do is sit on the sidelines cheering everyone on.”

I looked closer at what she was writing and discovered she was adding furigana to all the kanji in Ep3. Muttering vocab under her breath. Occasionally…

“Kyam, what’s kozaiku mean?”

Like, when you describe a woodworker who’s good with their hands.

“A ploy. An unpolished scheme that will soon be discovered,” Nagato corrected, not looking up.

T nodded to herself. “And this Chinese idiom–looking thing you pronounced fuukoumeibi? What does that string of kanji mean?”

The name of a famously pretty dancer in Luoyang during the Western Han dynasty. The Zizhi Tongjian contains an account of her dazzling beauty.

“‘Picturesque.’ It’s a term of praise, used to describe particularly spectacular landscapes,” Nagato said.

“And hyoutan kara koma is…?”

A gourd so big that you can fit forty shogi pieces in it. People in the Edo era used to carry them around like that so they could play shogi anytime. It evolved to be a term meaning “let’s play a round.”

“A horse from a gourd. A windfall. An example of an unexpected phenomenon. Koma here means ‘horse,’ not ‘piece.’”

While Nagato and I were teaching T some advanced Japanese, Koizumi looked up, selecting one of his vast repertoire of faint smiles and directing it at us.

Well? You solve the thing?

“No.”

So that smile was his way of rebuking us for goofing off when there was a mystery to solve.

“As far as whodunits go, it’s a bit unusual,” he said, pointing at the last page. “It doesn’t ask us to identify the culprit, merely their name. Curious.”

How are those different?

“Perhaps in ordinary writings, they would be equivalent. But given the problem posed here, we must assume otherwise.”

Why?

“‘Why?’” Haruhi repeated, swiveling her chair in our direction. “Because the culprit is patently obvious!”

Then who is it?

“Think for yourself sometimes! Your grades will never improve copying off other people’s answer sheets.”

I wasn’t planning on majoring in detectivology.

“You say that,” Koizumi said, “but surely you have some idea?”

“Yeah, sure,” I admitted. I flipped through the printout. “This dude Tsuruya called the card comedian. The girl’s father’s grandfather’s brother’s heir or whatever.”

“Why do you think that?”

Because the only real characters in this thing are the charming doc and the card comedian. And since the former is the victim, that means the latter must be the culprit. By process of elimination.

“Reverse engineering a solution from a metafiction perspective is generally considered an illegitimate approach…”

Don’t look at me. When did the SOS Brigade do anything the proper way? Our whole MO is defying reason. We’re both in this mess together!

“You have a point there. And the challenge Tsuruya sent us is hardly your standard mystery, is it?”

He glanced toward Haruhi there.

“Kyon’s right,” she said. “The culprit is obvious, so clearly not the problem. That’s why we’re told to figure out the name instead. Very Tsuruya. I like these logical leaps of hers.”

She started tapping the desk with her pencil.

“Mikuru, any tea left? All this reading aloud’s left me parched.”

“Oh, of course!”

Asahina had been staring at one line in Ep3 this whole time, but Haruhi’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Just a moment!”

Slippers pattering, the SOS Brigade’s maid went back to her real job.

I glanced at Nagato, too, and she’d abandoned the printout and resumed her original reading stance.

“…………”

This was Nagato, so it was entirely possible she already knew the answer, but if she did, she showed no signs of it. Was this because she knew we didn’t want to have it blurted out or just…how she always was?

Once again, Koizumi took the wheel.

“Let’s take a look at any passages that might provide a hint of the culprit’s name.”

“Yeah. Starting with the most obvious one,” Haruhi said, clearly on board.

“By that, you mean the dying message?”

“He’s not dead, so that term ain’t right, but whatever. Sure.”

“Fainting message just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Nobody cares. Let’s move on.

“Well,” Koizumi said, flipping through the pages, “just before passing out, the doctor says a few words to Tsuruya. We must assume these are a clue to the culprit’s identity.”

“It’s certainly the most obvious one.”

Haruhi picked up her mug, remembered it was empty, and put it back down. Asahina hustled over to the chief’s desk with the teapot and filled it with warm tea.

“Thanks,” Haruhi said and drank half the mug in one gulp. “The doctor says two very similar things. ‘Don’t swallow’ and ‘Do not ingest.’ I bet if we fiddle with those a bit, it’ll get us the card comedian’s name.”

How would you convert those phrases into any sort of name?

“Figuring that out is the key to the problem posed,” Koizumi said. He was placing check marks on his copy of Ep3. “First, it is highly likely that the card comedian and ‘the girl’—Shouko—have the same family name. Are we in agreement there?”

Since they were connected via paternal grandfather, that seemed reasonable.

“If we can work out Shouko’s family name, then we’d automatically know the card comedian’s. Anything in this that provides a hint to what her other name might be?” Haruhi turned her gaze toward the other two episodes.

“Not that I recall,” said Koizumi. “I’d even say it’s the other way around—figuring out the card comedian’s name would lead us to Shouko’s full name. Perhaps that’s the point.”

“After all this time being a nameless girl, I gotta think there’s a reason her name suddenly pops up here,” Haruhi said.

“Exactly,” Koizumi nodded. “In all three episodes, this ‘Shouko’ is the only time any names are specified. Episode One was almost entirely just the girl and Tsuruya, but Episode Two had the minder with them for most of it, so it’s actually rather surprising that nobody ever used a name.”

Because using a name might have blown the gender deception?

“A family name would hardly be an issue.”

“Hang on,” Haruhi said, raising her right hand and putting her left to her brow like she was checking for a fever. “That’s not it at all. If she’s gonna use the name Shouko at all, it would make equal sense for it to show up in the first two episodes. So turn that around—why was it only revealed in Episode Three? That’s super bothering me.”

Common sense dictates the name Shouko must be a clue to the card culprit’s name.

“Well, yeah, but…” She didn’t look satisfied.

What happened to your usual snap decisions, wild hunches, and logical leaps?

“Don’t be silly. I always think things through.”

If you mean that, I am officially frightened.

“Another mystery is why Shouko is written in katakana,” Koizumi said, getting things back on track. “Would the kanji be some kind of a giveaway?”

May I make a prediction?

“Go ahead.”

Tsuruya ends Episode Three with a promise. “When I think it’s time, I’ll send you a better hint” (P182). Doesn’t that imply it’s impossible to solve without any hints?

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Koizumi said, stroking his chin. “How much time before Tsuruya sends us the next hint? That length will be an indicator of just how high her opinion of us is.”

If she sends us the hint anytime soon, that’ll mean she knew we gave up quick.

“I bet the first hint’ll be the kanji for Shouko. Just guessing.”

She said that, but Haruhi’s guesses were pretty much always right.

“Then let us assume we’ll need a hint to ascertain the kanji there and attempt to work out the card man’s name from another angle. Tsuruya describes him in some detail, so one can assume this business card of his also hides a clue.”

That card would definitely have his full name on it, so if we could get a look at his card, we’d know everything.

“Tsuruya writes rather a lot about him exchanging cards. Like, she ‘soon realized his card was the source of the laughter’ (P176). Or ‘each time the girl’s relative handed over a business card, he said something that got a huge laugh’ (P176). ‘He must have a good one-liner that he always used when introducing himself’ (P176). This suggests there’s something about the name on the card that becomes a quick joke with the addition of a word or two spoken aloud.”

Getting constantly teased about a funny name sounded exhausting.

Anyone know any names that could be turned into jokes when introducing yourself?

“At the moment, I have no idea. The only thing I can say for sure is that the family name alone would not be the source of humor.”

“If that was all it took,” Haruhi chimed in, “then Shouko could be using that same joke. And Tsuruya would have known about it by now. But Tsuruya said she ‘couldn’t recall the name’ (P175), and it sounds like she’s not really sure what sort of joke this might be. So we can deduce the joker’s card joke involved both his names.”

Now I understood even less. Could really use that hint right about now.

Haruhi propped both elbows on the desk and put her cheeks on her palms.

“The funny name and the doctor’s dying messages, ‘Don’t swallow’ and ‘Do not ingest,’ have gotta be related. Tsuruya asked, ‘Who did this?’ (P181), and these two lines are his answer, so we have to assume they indicate the culprit’s name. But since the victim was fading in and out, his mind likely went in an odd direction and produced this inscrutable response.”

“Yes, in the famous words of Drury Lane, ‘the human mind is capable of even more amazing things than that, in the instant before death.’ Dying takes us close to God, so the leaps made while delivering a dying message know no bounds! Although, in this case, he merely drifted into unconsciousness.”

Was I the only one who thought that quote sounded like a desperate rationalization?

“Since he was just fainting, he definitely didn’t get all that close to God, then. It’s kinda half-assed, as far as dying messages go.”

This was an extremely disrespectful conversation.

“There is one other critical scene in this passage,” Koizumi said, raising an index finger to his brow. “Directly after delivering this message, note the doctor’s gaze. ‘Or more accurately, he was looking at the first aid kit. When the staff member moved closer and put the box down, his eyes followed it’ (P181). This makes it clear the first aid kit is a key item.”

So then…the card comedian’s name:

“An excellent summation.”

That was definitely the brightest smile he’d had all day.

“Now we must all let the wings of our imagination fly free and hope we can reach the correct answer if the missing piece comes our way.”

Optimistic. Might as well start by researching what’s in those first aid kits.

But just as I was reaching for my laptop…

“You’ve got mail!”

…the hint we’d all been waiting for arrived. Flawless timing.

“That was fast! I figured she’d keep us stewing a while longer.”

Haruhi took a noisy sip of her tea as she opened the e-mail. Once again, she read it aloud.

Unlike the previous e-mails, this one had no attachments and didn’t beat around the bush. It consisted entirely of the following four lines:

Just to be thorough, we printed this out and made sure everyone had a copy. Two of these hints seemed specifically directed at me.

“I thought she’d be doling them out one at a time, but she sent a bunch.”

“Perhaps being mindful of how long we’re allowed to remain on school grounds. If we mulled these over one by one, we’d run out of time. Either way, we do have to work down the list, so perhaps she just couldn’t be bothered sending so many e-mails.”

Once our two main thinkers had exchanged views, Koizumi got the ball rolling.

“Let us begin by stating all information gleaned from these clues.”

“Shouko’s name is definitely written like Naoko, with the family’s favorite kanji read as shou instead. The ko might be the character for ‘lake’ or ‘fox’ instead of ‘child,’ but that’s irrelevant, since what we need is the culprit’s name.”

“The tricky bit here is the reading of this ‘esteem’ kanji. The girl gets the on-reading, which gives us Shouko, but there’s no guarantee the card guy’s the same. Even if his name is written with the kanji for ‘esteem’ and ‘one,’ it could be read either as Naokazu or Shouichi. And that would change the joke.”

Maybe his joke was simply about how to read it? Or it could be wordplay that only required the kanji. Business cards usually have just kanji on them.

“Good point,” Koizumi said.

He rose to his feet, dragged the whiteboard out of the corner, and wrote the kanji for “esteem” in the center, and the two readings, shou and nao, on either side.

“That said, hint four tells us part of the name could be written in katakana instead, so we can deduce the joke is less about the kanji themselves than the reading. And in Episode Three, it says, ‘Each time the girl’s relative handed over a business card, he said something that got a huge laugh’ (P176). Based on this, just seeing the name alone is insufficient; he needs to take a specific action to complete the gag.”

A joke involving a word with nao or shou in it, and a phrase short enough to be expressed in a name?

Maybe if I did a search for it, I’d get something.

“Hint number one.” Haruhi grabbed a mouse. “But does that mean we’re free to look as much as we like because we won’t find squat? I’m also puzzled by her bringing up dictionaries.”

Perhaps this was time for Nagato’s stockpile of weird dictionaries to shine.

“That’s the thing, Kyon,” Haruhi snapped. “Why a dictionary, and not an encyclopedia?”

Those two words had different kanji but were both read jiten, so I’d need a dictionary to remind me of the difference.

Koizumi helpfully wrote both words on the board.

“Generally speaking, encyclopedias are multivolume sets with entries explaining things in great depth, while dictionaries, whether mono- or bilingual, give definitions and examples of usages. Encyclopedias are more specialized, but students like ourselves more commonly reference dictionaries.”

So understanding the card joke didn’t require the advanced level of detail present in a specialized encyclopedia?

“I bet you can get it with common knowledge, but it’s also just tricky enough that Tsuruya thinks we might need a dictionary to figure it out.”

Whose intelligence level was Tsuruya basing that assumption on?

I glanced at Nagato, but she was in default impassive-reading mode. Still wasn’t sure if she’d solved everything and was simply staying out of it or if this was an indication that there wasn’t enough information to bother thinking it through.

Outsider T was still analyzing Tsuruya’s writing on a textual level and had roped Asahina in as her kanji instructor.

An adorable maid working as a home tutor for a blond exchange student was a painting that would look great on any wall. The fact that all she was actually doing was telling her how to read kanji just made it cuter.

“Each of the four hints contains something of value,” Koizumi said, adding more words to the board. “The second clue, ‘It isn’t the name of anything in the first aid kit,’ is the only negative phrase, but perhaps the most significant of all.”

He wrote first aid kit and put an X on it.

“So what is in a first aid kit?”

Medicine, bandages, Band-Aids. That level of first aid kit could be found anywhere, but if we really wanted to know the exact contents, we’d have to phone the hotel.

“We can’t and don’t need to,” Haruhi said, swirling her mouse around her pad. “What’s key here isn’t the contents of the kit but the kit itself. The victim is a doctor, so why was he so oddly fixated on a first aid kit as his consciousness faded? This must be a vital clue to the culprit’s name.”

“And this doctor was not just a doctor, but a researcher. If we examine this from a medical perspective, perhaps we can glean something more from the significance of this first aid kit.”

I was not a doctor, or a medical student. Not even a prospective one.

“Nor am I.”

Koizumi erased the X-ed out first aid kit and wrote the words again.

“I feel completely ignoring the contents would be premature.”

The phrase you used for premature has shousou in it, and that includes our kanji of the day. Any chance it could be read naohaya here?

“None,” Haruhi said, dismissively. “Yeah, this ‘It isn’t the name of anything in the first aid kit’ doesn’t mean it isn’t something in the kit at all. It’s probably a word connected to something that is.”

“If it’s not a brand name, then perhaps it’s the generic name everyone uses? Like aspirin?”

“I think we can rule out ingredient names. Aspirin and acetaminophen both broadly qualify as the names of things in a first aid kit.”

“Even if not the specific names of those items?”

Then Koizumi got a flash of inspiration.

“What if it’s not a noun?”

“That’s it!” Haruhi dropped the mouse and locked her fingers behind her head, glaring at the ceiling. “But I have no idea what that leaves us with, specifically.”

I did a quick image search for first aid kits.

They were mostly square wooden boxes with crosses on the top. I think we even had one at home. The contents were just standard over-the-counter drugs, bandages, gauze, compresses, and ointments.

“Kyon, do some free association on first aid kits!”

I dunno about that, but looking at these had reminded me of one thing.

“Oh? What?”

“This was when I was younger than my sister is now.”

I was a curious kid and was rummaging around in the first aid kit. The bottles of medicine were particularly interesting. I was checking each out in turn. One of them was a brown bottle with a liquid inside. It was pretty old, and the label too worn to read. I figured the fastest way to figure out what it was would be to open the lid, bring it up to my nose, and take a sniff.

“And what happened?”

Agony. I was writhing all over the floor.

“What was in it?”

Ammonia. I think it was for beestings or something, but I’ve yet to encounter another odor anywhere near that strong. Just remembering it makes the back of my nose hurt.

“Later, I’d find out the way to check the smell of bottled medicine was to place your hand over the opening and tip it.”

Sepia-toned memories came flooding up.

“I also learned the importance of warning labels. If I’d known it was ammonia and known what ammonia was, I’d never have tried to smell it.”

Koizumi was rubbing his eyes just imagining it.

“Ammonia is used as a form of smelling salts. You see it sometimes in Western…mystery…”

He trailed off midsentence, so I looked up to find him frozen to the spot, mouth still open. His eyes unfocused, like he was looking at a hologram I couldn’t see. And this pseudopetrification effect had spread to Haruhi, as well.

Her jaw was hanging wide-open, and her eyes were every bit as wide.

After a minute, she blinked slowly.

“Er, huh? But then…,” she rasped. “So that’s why ‘Don’t swallow’? Not because you can’t drink it, just…literally. ‘It isn’t the name of anything in the first aid kit’ means…this?”

“I believe so.” Koizumi nodded. “If the doctor’s dying message relates to the first aid kit, not to the contents or the medicine, but the words written there…”

Haruhi and Koizumi moved like they were twins, both reading Episode Three from the top. They stopped on the same page, looked up, and spoke in unison.

““Aha!””

“Dammit,” I said.

What have you two figured out? Is it that weird that the first aid kit back home had ammonia in it?

“Kyon,” Haruhi said, with a smile that—creepily—could only be described as meek. “Your exploits were a portent of disaster. I want to travel back in time to officially thank little Kyon. Do you even realize how important what you just said is?”

I averted my eyes from her smile and got smacked with another.

“The importance of warning labels,” Koizumi explained. “Your words! That is the key to unraveling the dying message.”

“Not all the medicine in a first aid kit is consumable! There’s medicine for beestings and ointments for itches. And what do you think is written on those labels?”

Don’t swallow or Do not ingest?

“I dunno if they slap that on every medicine around. And they’re probably a bit less direct about it. I mean, not that many people would be tempted to swallow ointments. But there’s definitely something like that on bottles of ammonia.”

So the doctor’s mind went to the first aid kit, to medicine in it, to the warning label, and then to connecting the writing on that warning label to the culprit’s name, and after saying that warning aloud, he passed out? What the hell? That doesn’t even make sense.

“It’s not just a warning. Naturally, it’s also the culprit’s name.”

“That’s what’s on the culprit’s business card! Although, naturally, not word-for-word the same as the doctor’s dying message.”

Don T’Swallow, or Du Notin Gest?

Where was this dude from?

Haruhi and Koizumi glanced at each other, their smiles matching.

“That’s where the dictionaries and Internet come in.”

“The key is that Tsuruya said, ‘That’s what I thought I heard anyway’ (P181).”

Just as this mystery was feeling increasingly pointless…

“You’ve got mail!”

The instant she clicked on it, Haruhi’s smile got even brighter.

She read the one-sentence e-mail in Tsuruya’s voice.

Does that mean…where Tsuruya is currently staying?

According to the e-mail, she was with her dad, running all over the place, and if ‘this case happened just a little itty bit ago’ (P170) was referring to this dying-message case, she probably wasn’t back home yet.

Was figuring out her travel itinerary our next problem?

“It is, but it’s also a hint.”

Koizumi opened the A4 printout of Episode Three to the second page.

“Where is Tsuruya’s location in Episode Three? One scene gives us a clue to that—and only that one. Look again at the pages describing her cab ride. She describes the view outside the taxi window.”

I focused my optical nerves on the relevant passage.

All I could find on the view outside the window was that she said, ‘It was a wide road, and the buildings on the side were pretty tall, so I wouldn’t exactly call it a picturesque view’ (P172). But that could be anywhere. How could we narrow that down?

While I was glaring at the printout, Haruhi started clicking her tongue and waggling a finger.

“No need to name the exact location. You can go bigger than that.”

She dropped her finger to the page.

“The key here is the direction the taxi is headed, the location of the sun, and the direction of oncoming traffic.”

This was getting complicated. Koizumi, take over.

“It’s extremely simple,” he said, with the confidence of the well-informed. “Tsuruya actually describes the scenery quite well. Suggesting its significance. If you reread it with that in mind, oh my! There’s several elements that don’t jibe with our common sense.”

He wasn’t making it any less complicated. But T and Asahina were still studying together, and Nagato was reading, so I had nowhere else to turn. I had a brief moment where I wished Yasumi was here, but I soon drove that horrifying idea from my mind.

Oblivious to my inner turmoil…

“First, note the direction of Tsuruya’s gaze. She is looking out the window at the nonpicturesque scenery. Then she says, ‘When I tried looking out the other window, the only noticeable difference was the oncoming traffic whizzing past’ (P172) and ‘there were a few gaps between the buildings that let me catch the odd glimpse of the setting sun. Each time this happened, the car interior lit up’ (P172).”

Koizumi went back to the whiteboard and drew a malformed rectangle that I assume was intended to be the car. He then drew two circles on either side.

“‘The taxi oughtta be taking me due north’ (P172), so…”

He drew an arrow pointing up.

“The sun sets in the west, so when that light was falling on her face, we can assume she was facing left.”

If you were headed north, then the only way to look at the sunset would be to turn left.

“And that’s where she saw something entirely outside the realm of our typical experiences.”

Leaving a bit of a gap, he drew a sunlike circle to the left of the rectangle and then drew two vertical lines, one on each side of the car—indicating the road, I think.

Here, he turned to me.

“Picture it in your mind. You are in a car. You turn to your left. What do you see?”

I pictured myself getting on a bus, sitting down, and looking left.

“Houses, vacant lots, stores…etc.”

If there was a passing lane, then cars driving alongside us.

“Wait…cars?”

Even I got it now.

“Oh. Oncoming traffic.”

“Precisely!”

Koizumi drew a third vertical line to the left of the line he’d drawn on the car’s left side.

“Tsuruya was in a moving taxi, facing left, but she saw ‘oncoming traffic whizzing past’ (P172). As you know full well, traffic in Japan flows on the left, so we are only familiar with oncoming traffic on our right. Which means…”

He drew a new rectangle between the lines left of the rectangle and four circles and put a down arrow next to it.

“Tsuruya was in a country where the traffic is on the right. This doctor-assault incident did not take place in Japan.”

“Get it now?” Haruhi said, rummaging in her bag. “This is why the first hint said ‘dictionary’ and not ‘encyclopedia.’ Here.”

She handed me an English-Japanese dictionary.

It took me a good thirty seconds to parse the meaning of that, and then I turned the proffered tome down and woke up my laptop.

Haruhi didn’t seem particularly put out. Mouth like a sleeping cat, she put the dictionary back in her bag,

“Okay,” I said. That was all I could say. “I get that Episode Three takes place abroad. But what does that mean?”

“It casts suspicion on the language the doctor spoke.”

Koizumi scribbled Mr. Dr. on the board.

“Nowhere does it specify this man is Japanese. Now that we know the setting is international, odds are he is from that locale instead. Meanwhile, she says, ‘While I was gazing longingly at the receding summer evening’ (P173), so we can surmise the seasons match Japan’s, and this takes place in the northern hemisphere.”

“The name of country doesn’t matter, so no point thinking about it,” Haruhi jumped in. “Let’s just assume it’s America. That assumption won’t cause any issues. And that would mean the doctor was speaking English.”

How do we know that?

“That’s the only way the dying message makes sense.”

Really?

“Really. Everything he said before passing out? ‘Don’t swallow’ and ‘Do not ingest?’ He actually said that in English!”

Koizumi followed the same line of thought, adding, “He whispered a dying message in Tsuruya’s ear in English, and she translated that into Japanese for us. Hence her statement, ‘That’s what I thought I heard anyway’ (P181). Betraying her uncertainty! Anyone who regularly reads works in translation knows what a difference the translator’s interpretation can make. Even the choice of characters’ first-person pronouns—”

I held up a hand, cutting him off.

So we knew where the sleight of hand had taken place. But we didn’t know what kind of magic had been performed. I still didn’t see anything pointing to the culprit’s name.

Haruhi and Koizumi smiled in sync, like they’d rehearsed it.

“We actually lack sufficient clues to pinpoint what language he spoke. However, we have all been learning English for several years now, and with no clues to the contrary, that seems the most obvious assumption. It is the foreign language we are most familiar with.”

I thought you said reverse engineering was illegitimate?

“It is occasionally important to bend the rules. Rather than be stymied by calcified ideals, it is far more profitable to keep one’s perspective fluid.”

Sure, like, generally. But what about this long conversation the doctor had with Shouko and Tsuruya?

“Naturally, all in English. It’s certainly possible that the doctor was bilingual and spoke to them entirely in Japanese, but even if that’s true, it doesn’t matter here.”

I guess I wouldn’t be surprised to find out Tsuruya could speak several languages at a native level.

“Practically speaking, as long as we can confirm the doctor’s dying message was in English, the rest ceases to matter,” Koizumi concluded.

Cool. We’ll go with that, then. Can you just tell me the answer already? The problem Tsuruya posed for us says we’ve gotta “guess the culprit’s name.” You both look like you’ve figured it out, but you never know; this might be one of those you both have different answers things.

“Kyon, that’s a painful possibility,” Haruhi said, delighted. “Right, then I’ll give you a hint. Let me see…”

She tilted her head a couple of degrees sideways, like Nagato did on occasion, and thought for a few seconds.

“Ishikawa Prefecture,” she said. “Well, Koizumi? A little free association.”

“An excellent hint,” Koizumi said, blithely. “Allow me to provide half the answer. The card comedian’s given name is Takenao. See?”

Haruhi’s look made it clear she agreed. If I’d held a bar code reader up to her face, it would have told me, I leave the rest to you, Koizumi.

“The nao part is the kanji for ‘esteem’ again, but the take… Well, the character for ‘military’ is always a safe bet, but we can’t really say that for sure. Tsuruya’s third hint comes into play here; take could even be written in katakana.”

That’s enough preamble. What do you think that whiteboard’s for? And that dry-erase marker in your hand? If you remember how to use them, get on with it.

“You are but one step away from the answer! Are you sure you don’t want to work it out for yourself?”

If you and Haruhi beat Tsuruya’s challenge, then that’s a victory for the SOS Brigade. You can take the credit.

“If this were a mystery novel, this would be the perfect moment for a Challenge to the Reader…”

Who cares?

“Just tell me the culprit’s name.”

“Very well,” Koizumi said, looking slightly disappointed. He turned his back and started writing. “I can’t be one-hundred-percent sure, but I believe these are the right characters.”

You couldn’t possibly call his handwriting good, but there it was. The card comedian’s name.

Notobe Takenao.

Not too sure of the family name, I read it out loud in Japanese name order.

But no sooner had the words left my mouth than someone broke up laughing.

I looked and found T with her hand over her mouth, face buried in her shoulder, shaking with laughter. I thought she’d been focusing on Asahina’s Japanese lesson, but apparently, she’d been keeping one ear on us as well. And I guess she did come from an English-speaking country.

So how was this a hilarious gag? If you had to be good at listening comprehension to get it, I didn’t think I’d get much use out of it myself.

“So we said the doctor’s dying message was ‘Don’t swallow,’ but that was translated into Japanese, right?” I said, pressing further. “But in English, what he actually said was…‘Notobe Takenao’? How do you get ‘Don’t swallow’ from that? Is this a game of telephone?”

The room had divided into two camps. The only people not smirking were me, Asahina (blinking furiously), and Nagato (reading). Okay, that was half of us. Guess I didn’t need to count.

“I’ll explain later, but the culprit’s card joke required an additional phrase. And we have to remember that the victim was a doctor looking directly at a first aid kit.”

Koizumi swung the marker like a conductor’s baton.

“In light of that, what was the exact wording of the doctor’s dying message before Tsuruya’s translation? If we know that, then it all becomes clear.”

Koizumi began writing something horizontally.

“I believe what he said was…”

He turned around, popping the cap back on, and took a step sideways, revealing the English phrase beyond.

Not to be taken

“Depending on the situation, this phrase could mean many things, but assuming the medicine in the first aid kit was produced for an English-speaking market, something like a bottle of ammonia would have a warning label that might well read, Not to be taken orally.”

He popped the cap back off (that didn’t last long) and scribbled a few kanji below.

“If we translate that back into Japanese…”

Some very angular kanji there, but legible enough.

Fukuyou Kinshi

Okay, so orally meant “swallowing.” And since you shouldn’t do that…Tsuruya had gone with nomu na or “don’t swallow.” The thought process behind the translation was clear enough.

“Perhaps she thought those kanji would be too much of a hint. If you search for them, the first hit you get will give you the phrase not to be taken. You’ll soon see why.”

Right. Sure.

And we go from Not to Be Taken…to Notobe Takenao.

All this buildup for a pun? And a bad one. Notobe, fine. But getting Taken from Takenao would take some willful sabotage even in the wildest game of telephone.

“Thus, the extra step,” Koizumi said, flashing his pearly whites. “Remember the joke he used when handing out his business card. That card, naturally, had his name on it. And he was handing these cards out at a party in a country we’re assuming was America. He would, logically, be meeting very few Japanese speakers, so would the cards be in Japanese? Hardly seems likely. Japanese businessmen working abroad either have a separate set of cards in Romaji or two-sided cards with both languages on them. So his card…”

He proceeded to write the man’s name out again. Instead of kanji, he used the English alphabet. I expected the order to change, but Koizumi kept it as Notobe Takenao.

“I believe he kept the name in the Japanese order. It’s common to reverse the names on English-language business cards, but there’s a growing movement to dispense with that practice. Mr. Takenao is either part of that movement or simply realized he could use his name to get a laugh out of new acquaintances if he kept it in this order. His motives matter little.”

Associate Professor Koizumi’s lecture did not end there.

“When he exchanged cards, I believe he covered the last two letters—ao—with his finger, talked around the missing t, and told everyone his name formed an English sentence with an actual meaning to it. Not a claim many can make, and a joke about how he was ‘not to be taken,’—lightly or orally—would be an effective way of getting his name remembered after a single encounter. Especially if he was speaking to doctors.”

Not-to-be Taken-ao.

Perhaps the doctor had remembered it broken up like that. And when he was on the verge of passing out and trying to say the man’s name, he happened to spot a first aid kit, and it came out as a more regular English phrase instead.

Had Tsuruya figured out what he meant on the spot? Yeah, there was no way she didn’t know this comedian’s card joke. Yet she’d pretended otherwise, written the whole thing up as a Challenge, and sent it our way. With the first two episodes thrown in for good measure.

How generous of her. I was almost touched. What had driven Tsuruya to do this? Should we just accept it all in the spirit of fun?

Something was bugging me. Something unsettling that I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

Haruhi seemed thoroughly satisfied with a job well done.

“We don’t need to consider the motive, right?”

“I’d say motives are an issue of the inner workings of the human heart and impossible to uncover through deduction alone. We can, of course, speculate… For example, perhaps the card comedian was also in the running for Shouko’s hand, and this is the result of a broken heart, a common enough reason for assault cases like this. Or perhaps the doctor was secretly an agent for a criminal syndicate, and the card joker was trying to purge that influence from his relative’s life. We can imagine all sorts of things. And for precisely that reason, attempting to pick a motive is inherently futile. Nor did Tsuruya expect that of us.”

“Good point. It’s been hundreds of years, but we still don’t know what motivated Akechi Mitsuhide to take out Oda Nobunaga at Honno-ji. Wondering what someone was thinking at the time does us no good. I mean, people mostly act on impulse. And all of us come up with reasons for our actions after the fact. I’m a proponent of the theory that the whole Honno-ji event was just a fit of madness. Mitsuhide just happened to be in a traitory mood that day! Normally, he’d never have done it, but he happened to realize he was in a position to pull it off and acted before he could stop to think.”

While Haruhi and Koizumi were debating motives, I remembered something. Before Tsuruya’s e-mail arrived, Koizumi, T, and Nagato had been having a debate about the concept of fairness in a mystery.

On that basis, could we say Tsuruya’s problem was fair?

“It certainly isn’t the most generous problem, but if you work out that it’s set abroad, you’ve got a good chance at solving it.”

“Knowing there was a narrative trick involved helped a lot,” Haruhi added.

“The trap Tsuruya hid in Episode Three made it seem like they were speaking Japanese, when actually, they were speaking English. A deception applied to both the setting and the language used. But we were expecting it. Between Episode One’s age trick and Episode Two’s gender trick, we were all assuming there would be something like that here. In other words, the first two episodes were the biggest hints to solving Episode Three.”

So they weren’t just any random old stories, then. And we’d gotten to know Tsuruya herself better. How she was just as entertaining as a kid and would likely still be like this ten years from now—a weirdly comforting thought.

Still…

…this feeling swirling inside me… It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Tsuruya or anything. I just had a vague suspicion that we were still being fooled somewhere. It was like her smirking face was floating in the air just above me. And I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, which only made the itch worse. I was just sure we were missing something.

“I hate to sound picky, but I have one more question.”

At this, Koizumi put the marker down, turning toward me. “Which is?”

“Did this actually happen?”

“Oh!” he said, eyes widening. “What makes you say that?”

“The timing’s a bit too perfect. On several levels.”

Tsuruya being overseas on family business and at a party for the launch of a new project, sure. But did cases involving people with extremely specific name gimmicks actually happen?

“Perhaps because one did, she decided it was worth informing us about it. And…” Koizumi gave Haruhi a glance that only I could see. “Things that appear extremely unlikely do seem to occur on occasion. And it’s an established fact that there is a substantial discrepancy between our ideas of what is probable and the actual odds of them occurring. The birthday paradox and the Monty Hall problem are perfect examples.”

I’ll have to look those up later.

“So that means her actual name is Shouko Notobe?” Haruhi said, scowling at the computer screen and pointlessly swirling the mouse around. “Tsuruya’s answer e-mail’s a bit late, huh?”

Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.

So far, she’d sent those out right as we finished, but with Ep3, she was taking her sweet time.

“Think of the time difference. I dunno where she is, exactly, but it’s probably the middle of the night. She might have dozed off!”

Still…

“Perhaps Tsuruya believes it will take us longer to reach the answer. In which case, we should be patting ourselves on the back.”

Or maybe we hadn’t hit 100 percent yet? What if we let ourselves get stuck at 70 percent?

“Don’t be stupid, Kyon,” Haruhi scoffed. “Even Tsuruya can’t monitor the clubroom in real time. How would she know what we know?”

Her timing so far had been downright uncanny, but…now that you mention it, that’s a fair point. Tsuruya might be a bundle of energy you could easily label hyper, but she wasn’t clairvoyant and couldn’t possibly know just how far our deductions had taken us. Still, she’d sent those first two answer e-mails with such perfect timing that it sure seemed like she knew the moment we’d solved them. I mean, logically speaking, I knew she couldn’t possibly have known that, but…

Crap, I was stuck in a thought loop.

I shook my head, trying to free myself, and spotted something extremely unusual.

“……………”

Nagato had her eyes fixed on me. An unusually piercing gaze.

What? Why was she trying to bore a hole in me with her eyes?

But then she looked away, her eyes locking on something else.

I turned my head, following her look.

She was looking at T. All she could see from her position was the back of T’s blond head.

Nagato swiveled her emotionless face back to me once more.

“?”

All I had were question marks.

What was she trying to tell me?

I stared at Nagato’s wordless anomaly for a full five seconds.

“…………”

And Nagato did something genuinely astonishing.

She rose to her feet like there were strings attached, dragged her folding chair over to the main table, sat down again, and…

“…………”

…stared directly at T’s face.

I was not the only person gaping. Haruhi, Koizumi, and Asahina all looked like they were touring the Louvre and the Winged Victory of Samothrace had suddenly started dancing.

T looked up from her forest of furigana and said, “Is there something on my face, Nagato?”

She sounded confused. Like Nagato’s glare was physically repelling her, she leaned way back and held a hand up to hide her face, palm facing us.

Having observed this action, Nagato looked at me again.

Clearly telling me to work it out.

Work what out?

What was T’s hand hiding?

Wait…

If our reasoning was actually reaching Tsuruya…

A torrent of facts rushed through my mind.

Time lag. Young Tsuruya. The previously nameless girl. Shouko Notobe. The first two episodes were the biggest hint. The case took place overseas. English. Uncannily timed e-mails. The last e-mail not arriving. The one outsider in our midst. The exchange student who’d joined our class that spring. T.

I could almost hear the pieces click in place.

“…Oh,” I said. That’s what Nagato meant. I was pretty sure I had it. “So that’s what’s going on, T?”

“What do you mean, Kyam?”

I stood up and walked over to her.

T put her hands up in surrender, looking down.

I took a deep breath and yelled “Hah!” right at her head.

Loud enough that Asahina squeaked and levitated several centimeters above her chair.

I think I was allowed that much.

Haruhi and Koizumi looked at me like I’d blown a gasket, and I said, “We don’t need any more e-mails, Tsuruya.”

Speaking directly to the hairpin attached to T’s bangs.

A moment later, an unfamiliar ringtone echoed through the room.

T pulled her phone out, put it on speaker, and laid it on the table.

“Heya, Kyon! You got me good!” Tsuruya’s voice rang out. She seemed to be enjoying herself. “I did not see you being the first to work it out!”

Well, it was more than half Nagato, but I wasn’t gonna mention that.

Haruhi and Koizumi were staring at the phone so wide-eyed that you’d think they were related. After a minute—still perfectly in sync—they both put a hand to their head and said, “Ohhh.”

Haruhi pursed her lips. “That explains it! I shoulda known. It was T all along!”

“Huh? Huh?” Asahina alone was still looking around the room, confused.

“How far are you?” Tsuruya asked.

“The girl in the first two episodes isn’t Shouko. It was T.”

When I looked at T, she was managing to smile with only half her mouth.

“And her hairpin is actually an eavesdropping device. That’s basically it.”

“That term sounds so underhanded! Can’t we call it a high-spec directional-mic-plus-radio transmitter?”

Fine, whatever. How’s it work?

T unclipped her hairpin and handed it to me.

I took it without really thinking, but no matter how I looked at it, it was just a flimsy piece of metal. I couldn’t figure out where a mic, transmitter, or battery would go. Only Nagato could possibly have detected it. Can’t underestimate the human race’s scientific advancements.

As I examined it, T explained, “The microminiature pinhole mic collects sound, sending it to my phone, which then transmits it to Tsuruya’s phone. It’s the latest creation of the labs that are a joint undertaking between our two families. I don’t know the full specs, but…”

If they could make micro GPS trackers, this would be a cakewalk.

Tsuruya’s voice pulled my attention away from the phone. “What gave the game away?” she asked.

“Your timing, for one. It was just a bit too perfect.”

And also…T being here.

She didn’t exactly swing by every day. Even when she did, she usually didn’t stay long.

But today of all days, she and Koizumi got super into their mystery talk, and just as that was wrapping up, Tsuruya’s e-mail arrived. And with a solve the case challenge, almost like Tsuruya knew we had a mystery-research-club member in our midst.

No matter what the statistical likelihood was, I felt confident that was too good to be true.

And then the flawless gaps between the answer e-mails. So perfectly timed that we could only assume someone was relaying our conversations to Tsuruya. If we actually did have an informant in our midst, that explained everything. And there was little chance that informant would be a member of the SOS Brigade.

I did wonder if someone had planted a bug in the room in advance, but even Tsuruya wouldn’t go that far, and even if she did, Nagato would know—so I ruled that out.

Without even using the process of elimination, Tsuruya’s coconspirator had to be the girl from another club who didn’t usually spend this much time here.

“Perhaps I was a bit too blatant.”

“Or,” Haruhi said, “was the timing of the e-mails meant to be a hint? That you could hear us?”

“Maaaybe.”

Tsuruya was generous like that.

“More importantly, how’d you know the girl from the first two stories is the same person as this girl you’re all calling T?”

“Something’s been bugging me since I heard Episode Two,” I said, pulling over the printout. “The Tsuruya lines in quotes.”

“Yeah, that’d do it.” Tsuruya’s laugh crackled over the phone’s speaker.

“We knew Episode Three was set abroad, so what if Episode Two was, too? And that thought cleared up my concern.”

It had been like dominoes falling.

“If you know that, then yes.” Koizumi spread out the pages. “Tsuruya says six lines that sound like the minder.”

“You look like you’ve stepped out of an impressionist’s painting, miss.”

“Oh, miss! This is most, most improper!”

“If your father saw you like this, whatever would he say?”

“A year is enough time to adjust any plans. But what your father will make of this, I could not begin to say.”

“Any further stops you’d like to make, miss?”

“Then we shall proceed as planned.”

While Koizumi was doing his exposition thing, I settled back in my folding chair. I’d managed to land a solid blow and felt content at last.

With a brief nod to me, Koizumi smiled faintly and said, “Tsuruya, I assumed the reason these lines were spoken so politely and out of character was because the way you actually talk to the girl was different from your narration. That you’d been speaking like this all along.”

“I thought you were just goofing around,” Haruhi jumped in. “Imitating the minder’s way of speaking to make fun of him.”

“But neither explanation was true.”

Koizumi glanced at me, looking suitably impressed.

“These lines were all spoken in a foreign language. In other words, all the dialogue in Episode Two was translated into Japanese.”

“Yup! We were speaking English.”

Koizumi turned to T. “Does Tsuruya’s English sound that polite to your ears? The way it’s translated in Episode Two?”

The loss of the hairpin had left her bangs swinging free, so T brushed those back and said, “Mm, she uses proper grammar and by-the-book idioms. Although, she tends to stress the vowels a bit, which undermines that effect.”

“Mwa-ha-ha, yeah, I ain’t exactly at a native level yet. Working on it!”

On the other hand, T’s English got translated as pretty standard Japanese. It was her native language, so of course she spoke normally. When T actually spoke Japanese, she sounded a bit more distinctive, with some unorthodox vocabulary choices. And Tsuruya had even translated her English with a different first-person pronoun, perhaps to capture that different vibe.

“If we know the setting is foreign, it follows that this applies to many characters, too.”

“I’ll just say it was somewhere in Europe,” Tsuruya said.

“Episode Two does say, ‘…others were just dressed like medieval European country girls’ (P136) and ‘Definitely just like a lady dressed as a medieval European village girl’ (P138), so perhaps we should have taken that more literally.”

“Yup.”

The kind of European country that grew grapes and had outdoor spas. My vague, meager imagination could only come up with a mix of France and Germany.

Koizumi looked down at T’s phone.

“Then it follows that Episode One was also set overseas. Likely somewhere farther north than Japan.”

“I was wondering about that bit at the start,” Haruhi said. “Where it goes, ‘Maybe it was different at night, but the sun was still doing its thang’ (P108). Weird to have a party like that in the early evening, right? Wouldn’t you just have a dinner instead? But if the nights are super short, that would explain it.”

“And at the end, where Tsuruya says ‘lying still in the darkness like this got me good’ (P116) and falls asleep while hiding under the bed. Was this because you were jet-lagged?”

“Maybe I was! It happened a while ago, so I don’t really remember.”

You could picture Tsuruya’s expression from her voice alone.

“But that’s not enough to tell you who the girl is, right?”

“The key to unraveling that mystery lies in Episode Three alone,” Koizumi said, as if he’d been waiting for the question. “If ‘the girl’ in all three stories was the same, there was no need for Shouko’s name to appear only in the third.”

“Meaning?”

“If the girl in the first two episodes was Shouko, why hide her name? In fact, if you were being thorough about hiding the international setting, including a Japanese name at the start would be highly effective.”

He picked up the stack of paper.

“The fact that the girl was the same in the first two episodes is revealed in the e-mail accompanying Ep2. ‘Me and the girl from the previous story have been running into each other now and then ever since. Once again, we’d both been dragged along by our dads… This one’s a hot-spring episode! We hit up the baths together’ (P126). Which proves it!”

“Mm-hmm.”

“From there, to the first girl’s identity…” Koizumi ran his finger across the page. “At the start of Ep3, it says, ‘This girl and I knew at least one other kid in this predicament, but it looked like she wasn’t here tonight. Her family was connected to the project, too, but she must be better at wriggling out of these obligations, I guess’ (P174). This is clearly directly referencing the previous girl.”

Haruhi looked at T. “It’s a bit roundabout, but Tsuruya does tell us ‘she’ isn’t there. ’Cause you’re here.”

Why aren’t you there? Isn’t this family business?

T thumped her chest with pride.

“I’m an exchange student! I’ve traveled to distant lands to further my studies! Students should devote themselves to their educations. I can hardly be expected to play hooky just to go to some boring old party.”

Come to think of it, this girl was every bit as rich as Tsuruya. She didn’t really seem like it. Maybe it was the way she talked. Tsuruya was likely a bad influence.

“Let’s list up the steps that allow us to identify you.”

Koizumi grabbed the dry-erase marker again and resumed his torrid affair with the whiteboard.

He scribbled the following lines.

“Just ‘likely,’ huh?” I said, frowning at the parentheticals.

Koizumi answered with a smile, then added, “However, she is the only native English speaker from abroad whom any of us know personally.”

Second time today. I thought you said reverse engineering solutions from a metafiction perspective was illegitimate?

“When the given problem includes metatextual elements, and those of us tasked with solving it are required to consider the contents of the text and information gleaned from an outside perspective, we can logically conclude it is the only legitimate means of deduction.”

Ease off on the jargon. I can’t keep up.

“You’re the one who realized it first. Did you not follow this logical progression?”

Hmm, more like…you know. Nagato was weirdly interested in T’s hairpin, and there’d been something bugging me about Ep2’s dialogue, so, like, it all suddenly connected up in my mind, and I’d already said a bunch of things about how good Tsuruya’s timing was on her e-mails, so the rest just came together. If Nagato wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have figured it out. I’d merely borrowed her cosmic powers, which was definitely not playing fair. Couldn’t say that in front of Haruhi or T, though.

Koizumi seemed aware of this wrinkle. He glanced once at Nagato, then said, “Remember the discussion we were having before Tsuruya’s e-mail arrived—specifically, about the devices authors use to specify a range of suspects, eliminating the possibility of a culprit from outside the scope of the work. The Challenge to the Reader serves that purpose adroitly.”

That conversation felt like it took place a long time ago.

“The question hidden within the three episodes is: Who is ‘the girl’? Tsuruya is not so ungenerous or mean-spirited as to expand the number of potential suspects to the billions of people alive on this planet. If she were, she would not lay so many clues within the stories or send us a list of five additional hints. It was always going to be someone we could name—someone we knew.”

He turned to the interloper from the mystery club, who was sitting on the guest folding chair.

“Tsuruya sent the answer to us in person. Narrowing the field to one. The only doubt remaining was whether we noticed the question existed in the first place.”

T smiled elegantly. “Honestly,” she said, “I was pretty nervous about it.”

“The answer was before us the whole time. I must admit, I’m impressed by the irony of that misdirection.”

“Hide what you’re looking for in plain sight!” Tsuruya said.

“Your favorite purloined-letter plan.” Haruhi nodded.

“Tsuruya’s Challenge specified that we deduce the Episode Three culprit’s name from the dying message, but behind that question lay a secret one—who was ‘the girl’ in the first two episodes? If we had let that pass unnoticed, would she have remained silent, or…?”

“Oh, I would’ve told ya.” Tsuruya snorted.

The reason no e-mail arrived after we wrapped up was because she was waiting for us to notice.

Koizumi smiled, playing with the marker cap.

“To what degree were you involved, T?” Haruhi said, turning to our classmate. “Did you know everything she was gonna e-mail? You’re the girl in the first two stories, but I bet you knew the third story, too. And you knew the trick the whole time!”

T looked around for help.

“…………”

Nagato had seemingly lost interest and had returned to her paperback. T seemed impressed.

“You haven’t read me my Miranda,” she said.

Well, this ain’t America. You can reserve the right to remain silent all you like, but you’ve gotta pay for your own lawyer.

“Go on, tell ’em,” Tsuruya chimed in.

T sighed, brushing the hair off her ear.

“Pictures paint a thousand words.”

She scooped up her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and then held the pillbox-sized screen up to me.

“Seven years ago, one of many snapshots taken at a certain party.”

In a room with a gaudy chandelier, two little girls were standing cheek to cheek, posing for a selfie. Little Tsuruya in a fancy dress and T’s innocent smile definitely made for a compelling image, like two mischievous fairies who’d just crossed over into our world and formed a new idol act.

Haruhi, Asahina, and Koizumi all came over to look, too.

“Hey! Kyon! Move,” Haruhi said, straining her neck, mug in one hand. She rapped the side of my head lightly and forced her way in. “Oh, how cute! Neither of you changed that much. You just got bigger.”

“Oh! Wow! So! Cute!” Asahina sounded like she was in rapture. I wasn’t sure why it came out in such a singsong voice.

“Proof you’ve known each other some time,” Koizumi said, looming over my shoulder like a haunt.

“I want a copy of that!” Asahina said, clasping her hands.

T nodded right away. “Just gimme your ID! I’ll send it over. You don’t mind, right, Tsuruya?”

“Not at all.”

Haruhi went back to the chief’s chair.

“So you know Shouko, then, T?”

“Let me answer your earlier question instead. I did have prior knowledge of the events of Episode Three.”

The reason she hadn’t tried to guess the culprit (or their name anyway) despite being in the mystery club was that she was actually helping pull this whole thing off. Better to stay silent than say too much and blow your cover.

“That’s true, but I’m also at a total loss when it comes to narrative tricks relying on Japanese grammar,” T said, sounding weirdly proud of it. “I couldn’t explain those even if I wanted to.”

She turned to Haruhi.

“I do know Shouko. Tsuruya introduced us ages back. One of those Asian beauties who look younger than they actually are. She’s actually graduating college next year.”

“She’s older than Tsuruya? I guess…in hindsight, that comes across.”

“She’s in her twenties!” Tsuruya chimed in from afar.

“The three of us occupy similar positions in our families. Inevitably, we end up face-to-face anytime we all get dragged out on the road, which naturally led to us bonding,” T explained. “And while I’m blabbing, this Mr. Doctor from the story is actually my brother.”

By this point, I was well past having even the slightest clue how I should be reacting.

“He and Shouko have been intimate for several years. I have several brothers, but he’s got seniority.”

So he’s the eldest?

“I guess we should lay it all out there,” Tsuruya said. “Shouko’s distant relative with the business cards? You were right about the kanji. Take is written with the same character as ‘military.’ I dunno if their ancestors were warriors or nobility or what, but they’ve kept that ‘esteem’ kanji thing going. As for his motive… Well, I ain’t gotta explain that, do I?”

“No,” Haruhi said, sipping at the last of her tea. “If the motive was unusual, I’m interested, but…you make it sound like it wasn’t.”

“Nope. Just your typical drunken tiff over matters of the heart.”

Still assault. If they’d brought in the law, I imagine it would become a touchy subject for everyone.

“Was your brother okay?” Haruhi asked.

“Totally fine, all healed up,” T said, grinning. “I hear he’s so absorbed in his research that he’s totally neglecting Shouko, though. There may well be a crisis brewing that determines if she’s gonna be my future sister or not.”

“Don’t worry about them!” Tsuruya laughed. Then her tone grew grim. “Okay, I’ve gotta move. Once I hang up, I’ll be out of touch for a bit. Anything else you wanna talk about? Other than souvenir requests. I mean, I’ll take those, too, but…”

Was there anything left to say? A pretty open question. We’d just wrapped up the mystery, so I couldn’t think of any other questions.

Same went for Haruhi and Koizumi. They were both blinking in surprise.

When nobody spoke up, Tsuruya said, “Then I’m hanging up! I’ll return bearing gifts, so look forward to it! Buh-bye!”

She hung up rather quick. Maybe she was on a train or an airplane.

“I’ll get some fresh tea started.”

The thoughtful maid grabbed a tray and started her rounds.

Haruhi folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, seemingly mulling over Tsuruya’s last words. Koizumi was busy combining all three episodes into one booklet with binder clips. Nagato was, as per her wont, reading.

“Um,” Asahina said, hesitantly raising a hand. She was gathering up the mugs and disposing of any cold leftovers. She gave T an awkward glance, then made up her mind to press on. “Why is everyone only using your initial?”

“Oh, that?” T said. This time, her smile was distributed evenly across both sides of her mouth. “This is a name bestowed upon me by my friends in class.”

“It’s technically not her initial,” I said, feeling more explanation was required. “T, let Asahina know what your real name is.”

The visitor from the mystery club took a deep breath.

“Ottilie Adrastea Hohenstaufen-Baumgartner. A pleasure to meet you.”

She rattled that name off like it was nothing, handing her empty guest mug to Asahina.

Who the hell was this girl? That was too many names for any one person. It sounded like a name of a character from the imaginary history of a heroic/galactic space opera set in the distant future. It was downright weird that she didn’t have a von in there somewhere.

“I actually do,” she admitted. “I have to use it in formal settings, but if I’m honest, it causes nothing but trouble, and my family’s name is impossible enough to remember, so I always leave it out. If that makes sense.”

“Huh…,” Asahina said, at a loss for any other response. “So where does the T come from? The middle part of Ottilie?”

A number of nickname candidates had been proposed, but the girls in class had gradually chopped it down to the katakana ti (like Asahina said), and just as that was gaining steam, Taniguchi happened to be in charge of the class records for the day and included the line, The exchange student’s nickname has settled on as T.

Both ti and T sounded the same, but T herself said, “This is the finest nickname I have ever received. I approve.” Having stuck her flag in the alphabet camp, she insisted on shaking Taniguchi’s hand, and my dumb friend agreed to it, sweating profusely and with the most awkward smile I’d ever seen.

T twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

“I hear Japanese names are more than just sounds and contain inherent meanings. Like Haru is ‘a spring day,’ or Koizumi is ‘an ancient spring.’ It’s fascinating. Nagato is ‘a long gate,’ right? But my name doesn’t have any meaning that could be translated into Japanese. It’s not like I actively dislike my name, but it makes me sound like a character from some old tragedy, which…is somewhat concerning.”

Koizumi bade farewell to the whiteboard and sat down, asking, “So when did you fall in love with mysteries? What got you started on English-language orthodox novels in particular? I’d love to know whose work you read first.”

“It’s difficult to be that specific. I’ve been an avid reader ever since I can remember. Likely my brother’s influence.”

Guess she was the adoring-little-sister type.

“The doctor?” Haruhi asked.

“Oh, no,” T said, wincing. “The youngest of my older brothers—my twin.”

And she was a twin. Quit adding such unique character traits. This was already giving me heartburn. You could only burden a single character with so much.

T glared at me. “You are very rude, Kyam. My traits are all totally normal stuff.”

Sure, compared with time travelers, aliens, espers, and Haruhi Suzumiya…

“Hmm, a twin brother?” Haruhi said, eyes gleaming. “I’d love to see him! Is he in Japan?”

“Our faces are very similar, so I’m not sure you’d get much out of it.”

Only die-hard narcissists enjoyed staring at themselves in a mirror.

Haruhi stared the blond girl in the face, genuinely interested in her for the first time all day. “Your twin brother didn’t show up once in all three of Tsuruya’s stories. He wasn’t with you?”

“Oh…” T shifted uncomfortably, then she parted her lips. “He’s, uh, how do I put this…? Not fit for polite society. Incapable of reading a room? Rude? Arrogant? Bohemian? Ugh, I can’t think of the right word in Japanese.”

This just seemed to be making Haruhi all the more curious, but not me. I definitely didn’t need any more inscrutable characters joining the fray. Fortunately…

“I’m not even sure where he is now. Entirely possible none of my family does. My father appears unconcerned, so I’m sure he’s safe. He’ll probably show up in time for Christmas.”

Haruhi made a noise that veered awfully close to a snort.

T made a face and recrossed her long legs. “When we were very young, he used to read books out loud. And I listened to them. Many of them were mysteries. That had a profound influence on me, and it became a permanent hobby.”

By this point, Asahina had recovered all the mugs and had them arranged next to her. She was slowly pouring water from the kettle into the teapot, a stopwatch in her free hand.

Watching this, I asked, “What about Tsuruya? If you’re at North High, that’s because she helped arrange it, right? Is she…?” I trailed off, unsure what I was trying to ask. Eventually, I settled for “What is she to you?”

T straightened up, being very direct.

“Tsuruya is my mentor.”

In what way?

“In many things but primarily Japanese. She’s been a huge help there.”

Are you sure Master Tsuruya didn’t teach you weird Japanese for kicks?

T looked offended. “‘Weird’ how? I am painfully aware that I don’t speak it as well as natives like yourself, but Tsuruya said it comes across as quite charming and I’d have nothing to worry about.”

That was one way to describe it. Tsuruya’s own Japanese was no less eccentric, so if she studied under the master of Tsuruya-ese, then it was only natural that her own language would end up becoming rather distinctive.

“What do you mean, ‘distinctive’?” T asked, looking surprised.

I gave her a long look and decided she was genuinely curious.

I’d have to have a long think about how to phrase this.

“I’m been told the Japanese have a tendency to be rather…mouton de Panurge, and as a result, being a little different from everyone else would be seen as amusing. But you’ve got me concerned now.” She did look worried. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. How, exactly, is my Japanese weird?”

Maybe T thought her Japanese sounded just like a regular teenager. But odds were she was just trying to say, Huh? What? Weird how?

If I interpreted it that way, it explained why her demeanor, expressions, and gestures all seemed a little strange to me.

“It’s not weird at all,” Haruhi said, hovering somewhere between reassuring and dismissive. “I totally think you’re amusing. Don’t worry, you don’t need to change a thing.” Every muscle on her face conspired to form a smile. “The way you speak might well turn out to be a powerful asset in your arsenal. It helps complete the moe package! You’ve heard people use the term gap appeal, right? People love it when a character’s speech patterns don’t match their appearance! According to my research anyway.”

This sounded like the least reliable research ever.

Like a border collie leading a lost sheep, Haruhi declared, “I believe Tsuruya taught you Japanese specifically so that you would be different from others, the kind of friend who stands out in the crowd. She did a great job. The way you speak swiftly earned the approval of everyone in class, regardless of gender.”

In our classroom, T was always all smiles, steady and constant no matter whom she was talking to. She had no fear and possessed a boundless curiosity—I’d never seen her without someone to talk to. She was a social animal. Like nothing could be more delightful than talking to other people.

There was no trace of the sullen little girl Tsuruya met in Episode One, sitting alone in a corner. Maybe she still acted like that at home, but I’d be willing to bet all the change I had in my pocket (except the five-hundred-yen coin) that Tsuruya’s personality modification program had played a big part in that transformation.

“My gratitude, Haru,” T said, bowing her head. “Those words have renewed my confidence. I shall continue to call Tsuruya my mentor and polish my language skills with her patronage.”

Her smile was so warm, I could swear it raised the temperature in the room by one and a half degrees.

Haruhi’s smile rose up in sync.

“I wholeheartedly approve of that oath. And now that everyone’s happy, I have one more thing to ask. You mind?”

“Of course not, Haru,” T said, cheerily. “Go right ahead.”

“We thought we’d figured out all the tricks in the three episodes you and Tsuruya prepared, but there’s actually more, right?”

T’s smile turned to stone.

“Wh-why do you say that? I have no clue— I’m sure I don’t have the foggiest.”

T lapsed into English, her face a mask. Only her lips moved, and when her eyes did shift evasively, you could almost hear a creak escape.

“Kyam, why is it so hot in your lair? Is this the legendary Japanese summer heat I’ve been warned about?”

She grabbed the collar of her sailor outfit and fanned herself with it. Meanwhile, Haruhi rested her chin on her hands, grilling her.

“I knew it!” she said. “Something was bugging me! Like it was caught in my throat.”

“Aha,” Koizumi said. It had been a while since he’d spoken. “Just before Tsuruya hung up, she asked an odd question. To my ears, it sounded like Is that all? In which case, I must agree with you.”

Perhaps sensing it would soon be needed, he turned his gaze to the whiteboard. Seriously, don’t.

Haruhi stroked her lips with her fingers.

“I’m gonna figure out what’s bugging me,” she announced. “T, don’t say anything. I’m sure it’ll pop out any second…”

She fixed the air above her with a glare.

“I feel like there was a vital hook in something somebody said…,” Koizumi said, staring at the same spot and striking a thinking pose.

Suspect T shrank herself down in a chair, her gaze locked on her phone like it would come to her rescue. Nagato’s attention never once left her book.

The meaningless background sounds of the sports teams and wind ensemble seeped softly through the walls of the literature club room.

The whole club+1 was here, but the moment all of us fell silent, the vibe quickly became uncomfortable. Haruhi was usually the most boisterous, but she and her biggest yes-man (Koizumi) were both lost in thought, and the resulting spectacle was like encountering an endangered species in the wild, a momentary glimpse of our chief embodying the concept of a sound dampener.

The one outsider, T, spoke not a word. Nagato was being even quieter than her. The only sound the room generated was the pleasant clatter of Asahina making tea.

And in time, that clatter resulted in actual tea.

As Asahina happily made the rounds with her tray of mugs, she said, “I blended several kinds of leaves together. I’ve tried a lot of different things, but it usually doesn’t work out well. This is my one success!”

I peered into the mug and saw a dark-brown liquid steaming away. I think this is what the word fragrant was designed for. It smelled familiar but strange, like Japanese tea, like Chinese tea—I didn’t have the words for it, but it definitely smelled good.

I quickly took a sip. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Haruhi absently do the same thing.

I’m not sure which of us got there first.

“!”

“?!”

Both Haruhi and I threw our heads back and attempted to swallow the liquid in our mouths as quickly as humanly possible, but it was hot, so it didn’t go down right, and we spent a good ten seconds struggling before managing to get it all lodged in our bellies.

Seeing us both gasping away, Koizumi quietly took his hand off his mug.

“Huh?” Asahina said. “Is something wrong with it?”

Wrong? I’d never tasted anything so bitter in my life.

“It’s strong,” Haruhi said. “Ludicrously strong. What in God’s name did you put in it?”

“I-it’s that bad?!” Asahina gasped.

“Mikuru, write this blend down. We’ll make it the loser’s punishment for future games.”

Let’s at least call it an emergency wake-up medicine. This was the result of Asahina’s hard work. It was possible we’d get used to it and acquire a taste for this stringent harshness.

“Huh…? Um…”

Asahina picked up her mug with both hands and took a sip like a squirrel nibbling on an unfamiliar nut found in a distant corner of the forest.

“Eep!” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Then she wailed, “I’m so sorry! I forgot to add the sugar!” and started handing out sugar-sticks and spoons to everyone.

Sticking a spoon in one of these traditional mugs was an odd sight, but after stirring for a minute, Asahina’s shocking original tea blend was—surprisingly—quite pleasant.

That chaotic vortex of bitterness, harshness, and acridity was somehow entirely pulled into a harmonious whole merely by the addition of a little sweetness.

“Oh, it is good,” Haruhi said, staring at her mug in shock.

“Whew,” Asahina said, patting her chest. She then stirred some sugar into Nagato’s tea, since Nagato was clearly not about to let go of that mystery novel anytime soon.

I had a feeling Nagato would have consumed it without noticing a problem, but watching this little interplay between the time traveler and the humanoid interface©Data Overmind warmed the heart.

T was acting like she’d been brought in for interrogation, all hunched over with her hands on her knees. I had no clue what she was trying so hard to hide.

Having accidentally tricked Haruhi and me into poison-testing the tea, Koizumi calmly finished stirring in the sugar and took a sip.

“Was it like strong black coffee before adding the sugar?” he asked.

Don’t act like a food critic if you haven’t tried the brew from before.

I bet it was like chocolate liquor before they add any sugar—not that I’d tried that myself, but I think I’d read something about them using cacao drinks as a tonic in ancient South America.

“From the Age of Exploration,” Koizumi said. “Not an era modern sensibilities can approve of wholeheartedly, but the foodstuffs and produce found on the American continent that were brought back to Europe enriched the world’s cuisine, and for that, I am glad.”

“Tomatoes, too,” Haruhi said. “And chili pepper, potatoes, corn… I can’t even imagine what Italians ate before tomatoes were imported to Europe.”

Taking a break from the Tsuruya problem, she spent a moment pondering medieval Italian cuisine, but as she lifted her mug…her hands froze.

“Sugar…tomatoes…”

Haruhi set the mug down, staring into Asahina’s original blend.

“Not didn’t add it… Couldn’t,” she muttered, cryptically. “Kyon! Imagine pizza without tomato, chili pepper, potatoes, or corn.”

The pizza shops’ menus would be much shorter.

“It wouldn’t even count as pizza! It’s missing several vital ingredients.”

What’s your point? We can do a deep dive on the history of pizza some other time.

Koizumi seemed to have caught her drift.

“A vital component is missing… If that was a story, we would consider it incomplete. Yes?”

“Exactly, Koizumi.”

Can’t believe you got it from that. Well done, Professor of Haruhi-ology.

“So?” I said. “What’s incomplete?”

“Naturally,” Haruhi said, resuming that grin of hers. “Tsuruya’s problem and the third episode.”

I looked at T. She was playing with the sugar-stick and made up her mind to actually add it to the guest mug.

“Why did Tsuruya send us a mystery game in the first place?”

We’re going that far back?

“Not just because Tsuruya is a die-hard mischief-maker?”

Haruhi waggled her fingers dismissively at this suggestion.

“When did you find out Tsuruya was like that? We certainly get that impression from reading these three episodes, but the actual time we’ve spent with her gave no indication she was so dedicated to mischief, she’d go concocting an elaborate game like this. She was always just a fun, easygoing, cheery upperclassman.”

Now that you mention it… Given the time difference, sending all these e-mails from America or wherever was definitely a lot of effort.

Who would do that without a good reason?

So what was her reason?

Haruhi turned the blade of her smile on our cowering guest.

“Perhaps we should ask T.”

Her voice grew uncharacteristically gentle.

“Tell us, T. How much of these episodes are made-up?”

T spent a long moment stirring her Asahina blend with a spoon, eyes scanning the table, but having determined there was no spoon rest available, she let go. There was the soft sound of metal tapping against pottery.

“I have no idea why you’ve reached that conclusion,” she said, meeting Haruhi’s eyes with grace and a faint smile. “And I’d like to know where we went wrong.”

So did I. What’s going on, Haruhi?

“For one thing, why is T here?” Haruhi took a sip of her sugared blend. “I had T pegged as Tsuruya’s plant and coconspirator. I figured that’s why she had to be in the room on the day Tsuruya sent these e-mails. And since you found the bug, Kyon, that went from suspicion to confirmed fact. With me so far?”

No arguments here.

Haruhi gave me a satisfied nod. “Second—you said it yourself, Kyon. The timing issue.”

The e-mails certainly arrived with uncanny timing, and that was why I thought there must be a bug somewhere.

“Before that, even,” Haruhi said, picking up her copy of Episode Three. “Your first take on this story. Remember?”

What was it again?

“You said the following:

“‘Tsuruya being overseas on family business and at a party for the launch of a new project, sure. But did cases involving people with extremely specific name gimmicks actually happen?’

“Ring a bell?”

Can’t believe you remember that. Also, don’t try to imitate me. It’s creepy. Also, Koizumi, I’m sure you snapped your fingers as a sign of agreement, but it’s super smug, so don’t ever do it again.

“But sure, I did say that. What of it?”

“That’s the answer, isn’t it? It just so happened that Tsuruya left Japan a few days ago. It just so happened that she encountered a mystery at a party overseas. It just so happened that Tsuruya knew both the victim and the culprit. It just so happened that the victim said something to her that sounded like a dying message. It just so happened that the culprit’s name lent itself to a narrative trick. How many coincidences are we gonna rack up here?”

That was certainly the most uses of just so happened I’d ever heard in a single paragraph. Far too many. Any more, and we’d have to retire the phrase for good.

“I admit, it’s one coincidence too many,” I said. Not that I’m trying to be T’s lawyer here. “It may well be true that three coincidences equals a conspiracy, but that doesn’t prove anything. Do you have any more tangible evidence that these stories are fictitious?”

“I have several pieces of corroborating evidence.” Haruhi waved a hand at the pile of printouts on the table. Guess she was the prosecutor here. “Figuring out the third episode was set overseas allowed us to uncover the language deception, which in turn allowed us to narrow down the actual wording of the dying message. That led us to speculate that the first two episodes were also international and gave birth to the notion that the girl in those two stories was actually T, not Shouko.”

All true.

“Pretty dang unnatural, right? Just as Episode Three had that thing about oncoming traffic, there ought to have been hints in the first two episodes that this was not Japan. She could easily have added those. It’s actively weird that none cropped up.”

Were there really none?

“I mentioned one. But how high the sun was in Episode One doesn’t really tell us if they’re in summer in a high-latitude country or just at a longitude where the sun sets on the late side.”

Maybe she figured one hint they were abroad was enough.

“If you’re making a deduction game, you have to be thorough,” T insisted.

Haruhi shot her a look.

“Speaking of unnatural,” Koizumi said, breaking his silence, “the sights described in Episode Two certainly qualify. Are any real harvest festivals that outlandish?”

“And if we’re doubting the reality of things,” Haruhi said, “one character really stands out.”

Her eyes met T’s.

“Does Shouko even exist?”

T almost answered, then stopped herself. Clearly deciding she was better off hearing Haruhi out first.

“The entirety of Episode Three is suspect,” our chief continued. “The crime took place in a reception room adjacent to the party venue. Given the size of the party, I imagine this was not a small room. And there were a lot of people attending the event. Yet somehow, the doctor and the card comedian were alone together? Seems unlikely.”

“As is the fact that Tsuruya was the only person who heard the scream and went running,” Koizumi added.

So…what? First, a string of coincidences, now a list of unlikely events?

“There’s a simple explanation for this list of coincidences and improbable turns,” Haruhi said with an extra-strength grin. “All three stories Tsuruya sent us were completely made-up.”

Eventually, I was the one who broke the grip of the ensuing silence.

“Okay, so what does that mean? Tsuruya and T teamed up to send us a trio of original compositions? A three-part novel with multiple narrative tricks embedded and a final request to guess the culprit’s name?”

“Not quite right,” Haruhi said, miming a pistol with her hand and aiming it at T. “Remember what club T actually belongs to. If someone’s gonna trap us in a mystery game, is Tsuruya really the most likely candidate?”

I could think of any number of organizations that stood against the SOS Brigade. But Nagato’s foes, Koizumi’s opposition, and Asahina’s enemies also seemed like they’d be unable to get to Tsuruya. The student council certainly stood no chance.

“Oh. The mystery research club?”

Haruhi shot me an approving grin, like a math teacher to a student who’d just written a particularly elegant proof on the board.

“Yup,” she said. “Same place that snuck a tall tale about the anatomical model into the reference data on the seven wonders. T, who exactly thought up that spooky mystery?”

“The club boss, of course,” T said, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Haru, they whipped that up on the spot the moment they heard you were interested in the idea of seven wonders.”

“And they were the secret director behind the dying message this time, too?”

T put her hands down but didn’t deny a thing. She took a sip of Asahina tea.

“All this time, I thought Tsuruya was behind this, and T was her accomplice! But it was the other way around! T was one of the ringleaders. It was the mystery research club that talked Tsuruya into helping their ruse. While pretending it was all her doing!”

“That explains it.” Koizumi nodded. “I thought the deductions involved were a little far-fetched. This mystery game is incomplete!”

“Well, if you’ve figured that out, no use hiding it,” T said, setting her mug down for another banzai. “I think there’s something you’re supposed to doff at times like this, but I’m afraid I don’t have one. I’ll have to bring a hat with me next time.”

She dropped one hand but kept the other raised.

“I do have a few corrections, if I may?”

“Go on, T. Best if we’re on the same page.”

“First up, Episode One is completely true. The picture I showed you earlier was taken then. Next, Episode Two is mostly true. There are a few embellishments mixed in. The festival we went to is actually pretty famous, so if we wrote it as is, it might have given away which country we were in. That’s how it ended up being a little on the weird side.”

T looked up, meeting Haruhi’s gaze.

“And just to be clear, Shouko really exists. So does my brother, and Takenao Nottobe. But as you correctly surmised, no assault took place. The two of them have known each other as long as Tsuruya and I have. The story itself might give you a bad impression of Takenao, but I’d like to make it very clear the real one isn’t like that. He doesn’t even use his business cards for a dumb joke or do any stand-up comedy routines about his name. Well, maybe if someone notices it and outright asks.”

“Okay,” said Koizumi. “So the fictional parts of Episode Three are…at least some of the conversation Shouko and Tsuruya have, everything about Takenao’s behavior, and everything after Tsuruya hears a scream. Correct?”

“I think that’s right,” T said. “And before you ask, the planning and development were all done by the president. Tsuruya and myself supplied ideas, but it was the mystery research club that put everything together. The boss personally came up with the outline for Episode Three, and then Tsuruya did a rewrite on it. Tsuruya wrote Episode Two, then the boss did a few edits. And we got permission from Shouko and Takenao to use their names.”

Who in the hell was this president? I didn’t need any more people bringing complications into my life.

“Well, I enjoyed it,” Haruhi said, heedless of my concerns. “But you were aware you were handing us something pretty far from polished? Why have us take a run at something unfinished?”

“This story is an embellished version of actual events. We’re thinking about using it as part of an attraction at the next culture festival. Assuming Tsuruya is available to help. The way you solved it and the flaws you pointed out have shown us several ways to improve on it. On behalf of the entire mystery club, I thank you for your assistance.”

So we were basically play-testing their mystery room. Crafty.

“It was Tsuruya’s suggestion that we try it on you, but this is partly your fault, Kyam.”

I had not been expecting this attack.

“Kyam, we based this whole concept on the I-novel you wrote for your club magazine. The president said we were honor bound to let you have the first shot at it.”

I just felt used.

“But just between you and me, the two of us were definitely hoping to pull the wool over your eyes.”

I could picture the smirks on their faces.

“Haru, lemme ask, what would you say is the biggest problem?”

“That’d be you. In other words, the identity of ‘the girl,’” Haruhi said, not hesitating at all. “An attraction that can’t be solved unless you’re sitting right there fails whether it’s finished or not. You’ve gotta fix that!”

“The actual wording of the challenge provides no way to ascertain ‘the girl’ in the first two episodes isn’t Shouko, but someone else entirely. We spent a lot of time thinking about how to work clues and hints into the text proper. After all, we wanted to hide the fact that she was me as much as possible. Thanks to you, I think we’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel.”

T flipped the booklet over, writing something in English.

“I imagined Haru, Koizumi, or Nagato would find their way to the answer there. That said, Nagato! Why did you suspect something was up with my hairpin?”

“I was wondering that myself!” Haruhi said, vaulting out of her seat. She headed my way, hand out, palm up. The hairpin had been in my possession since T surrendered it to me, but I handed it off, and Haruhi inspected it carefully. “Where’s the mic switch?”

“I flipped it off before handing it to Kyam.”

I couldn’t even tell there was a switch.

Haruhi held it up to the light.

“How’d you figure it out, Yuki? What gave it away?”

“…………”

Nagato slowly looked up, spent a moment with her head tilted, seemingly searching for the right words, and then said, “Hunch.”

This was clearly a lie, but she was already back to her book.

And for some reason, both Haruhi and T bought it.

“Well done, Nagato! You are a modern Hitokotonushi.”

T was out here comparing Nagato to the god on Mount Katsuragi, but like, how did she even know about that god? I guess the kanji did mean “master of the monosyllable,” so maybe it was just a coincidence?

“If it was a hunch, then say no more,” Haruhi said, very on-brand. “By the way, Mikuru, is it actually true Tsuruya’s out of school for family business?”

Startled, Asahina looked up from the postcard she was taping to the tea caddy. (It read Sugar MANDATORY)

“Oh yes,” she said. “She said she’d be out a few days and asked if she could see my notes when she got back.”

I doubted even Tsuruya would play hooky for several days to just to pull a fast one on us… Probably.

“Do you know where she is, T?”

“I can confirm it’s definitely family business,” T said cheerily. Seemingly glad she didn’t have to lie anymore. “We actually timed this whole plan around her schedule. The other way around would have been a bit much.”

Haruhi humphed at this. “Well, now I’m the one with a hunch,” she said.

She grabbed Episode Three and pointed to the first page.

“I bet this is a hint! The first line of the narration!”

Koizumi and I leaned in to see. It said…

Where am I?

“T, call Tsuruya for us.”

Wasn’t she going somewhere?

“If I’m right, she’ll pick up.”

T let out what sounded like a sigh but tapped on her phone’s screen.

Before the third ring even happened— “Heya! Faster than I thought! You work out a question for me, then?”

Tsuruya’s voice sounded a little muffled, like she had to keep her voice down. She was probably riding on or in something.

Haruhi put T’s phone to her ear, listened in silence for a moment, then grinned and put the phone back down. Hands on her hips, she said, “Where are you, Tsuruya?”

“Ha! Ha-ha. Oh, you’re already that far, huh? Did Lie blab?”

Ottilie, Ti, Lie. This girl had a lotta names.

“I did not! Haru guessed.”

“Oh! Then say no more.”

Koizumi and I glanced at each other. Haruhi and Tsuruya seemed to be communicating, but all I was getting out of it was these two were on the same wavelength.

I opened my mouth to butt my oar in, but before I could…

…there was a noise like someone popping a balloon, the clubroom door slammed open, and a voice like a banshee screamed “Booyah!” in my ears.

“Eep!” Asahina shrieked, lifting a good five centimeters off her seat.

“…………” Even the ever immobile Nagato actually turned and looked.

“Mikuru! I’m back, baby!” the banshee said.

Tsuruya was standing there with a paper bag in each hand.

She’d brought us soba boro cookies.

T quickly got Tsuruya caught up to speed.

“I was planning on making you think I was abroad and then popping out to surprise you!” Tsuruya said, settling down on a guest chair. She popped one of her own cookies into her mouth. “But you worked that part out, too?! Man, you can’t fool the SOS Brigade. I give up!”

“Where’d you e-mail from?” Haruhi asked.

“Home. We got back today, and I’ve just been lying around the house.”

Asahina got out the mug with a circled tsuru kanji written in permanent marker and handed it to her.

“Couldn’t afford to miss any of the wiretap feed,” she said, like a hardened criminal. “But I had what you’re calling ‘episodes’ written out in advance, so all I had to do was bang out the bodies of the e-mails.”

She flashed a smile my way.

“And just as I was putting my uniform on to head on over here, someone decided to blow out my headphones. I mean, maybe I deserved it, but…”

She took a slurp of the properly sugared blend of tea.

“This trip didn’t require a passport, which made it perfect for springing the mystery story on all of you. We’d have preferred to give it a few more drafts first, but heyo.”

“I know the president looked a bit unhappy,” T said, nibbling at one of the boro. “Nevertheless, he was rightfully concerned that if we missed this opportunity, we’d never get another. Also, these Japanese cookies are rather delish.”

Haruhi took a bite of the yokan she’d been ignoring, then reached for the souvenir cookies.

“You and the mystery club tight?” she asked while closely examining Tsuruya.

Tsuruya made a face, not sure how to answer. “Lie told me their plan, and it sounded like a blast and a half, so I hopped on board. And I’d been wanting to try writing up some stories from my life. Which was pretty tough in practice! I compared notes with that president while I was working on ’em, but it still took way longer than I thought.”

“As a result, we learned a lot about T’s background,” Haruhi said, grinning at our classmate. “And the Notobe clan! I haven’t met any of them, but I feel like I already know Shouko.”

The two non-Brigaders glanced at each other, grinning. Must be an inside thing only people who knew both Shouko and Haruhi would get. Which didn’t include me.

Since the initial flurry seemed to have subsided, I had a question.

“Okay, Tsuruya, how long were you on standby outside the door?”

“Wut? I did no such thing.”

She was a third-year student. King of the school.

“I was just in the hall on my way here when Haru-nyan called. So I just kept going and slammed my way in!”

But once again, your timing was uncanny. It was like an act of god that Haruhi had called you right at that moment, but… Okay, we’ll chalk that one up as a coincidence.

“But how’d you know I was close by?” Tsuruya asked.

“Hunch,” Haruhi declared. Her confidence as boundless as it was baseless. Her way of thinking had never once been constrained by the concept of logic.

“Then say no more,” Tsuruya said. We kept coming back to that one. “Not surprised it was Nagato who picked up on the mic. Can’t fool you!”

The hairpin made its way back to Tsuruya.

How did that flimsy bit of metal manage to pick up all our voices? I really wanted to know how that worked.

Tsuruya closed one eye.

“I could tell you, but you’d have to sign an NDA.”

I had made a rule of not signing things I didn’t understand. You never could tell what might lead to you finding yourself in the French Foreign Legion.

That got a big laugh from her, and she flicked the hairpin into the air.

“Kyon, even with Yukikko’s help, I can’t believe you figured this one out. I was sure no one would notice!”

It was kinda obvious. She never wears a doohickey, then today of all days, she wears one, and it isn’t even holding her hair back? You gotta wonder what’s up. I dunno the names for all the stuff girls put in their hair and can’t exactly hold forth on the finer points of fashion. That’s the only reason I didn’t say anything.

T brushed the cookie crumbs off her skirt.

“I should have started wearing it a few days back to compensate. Only reason I didn’t…”

Because that was the intent, right?

T’s beatific smile was all the answer I needed.

After that, the conversation circled around Tsuruya.

Where she’d been, what she’d been up to, requests to share more travel stories in person, not as essays. Haruhi, T, Asahina, and Nagato all listening to her, absorbed in their girl talk, and as I watched from the outside, someone came over to me.

Koizumi gave me a meaningful glance, and I caught his drift, swallowed the last of my tea, and stood up.

“Gotta hit the can.”

“I’ll join you.”

In the hall outside the room, he shot me that damn faint smile of his.

“That hairpin,” he said. “I feel like I’ve come face-to-face with a Chekhov’s gun.”

A what? Was this like Pavlov’s dog? No, wait. I might have heard of this one. Tell me more about this gun.

“A playwright from the days of the Russian Empire, Anton Chekhov, once said, ‘If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired.’ In other words, an item of significance should not merely be part of the decor; if that item is not part of the story, it should never appear in the first place. An important dramatic principle. Put more simply, don’t use foreshadowing without following up on it. It’s become a core aphorism vis-à-vis plot construction.”

A principle that had yet to have the slightest bearing on my life, then.

“In the case of her hairpin, she was wearing an accessory she’s never worn before—the sort of minute change in routine that Chekhov euphemistically referred to as a gun. Foreshadowing you only picked up on because you see her every day in class.”

It seemed a little too obvious, but they’d clearly wanted it pulling double duty as a bug and a hint. These people were definitely keeping an eye on their consumer-satisfaction index.

“Also,” Koizumi continued, “Chekhov might be most famous for his plays and fiction, but among his many works were some orthodox mysteries. A comedic short story called ‘The Safety Match,’ despite being written over a century ago, reads like a satire of modern mysteries, proving the passage of time has not fundamentally altered our sensibilities, or perhaps that the debates the mystery genre spurs are destined to repeat themselves like the Buddhist cycle of death and—”

Sorry, but I don’t have a euglena’s flagellum of interest in the finer points of Russian literature, so save this topic for T and Nagato.

By this time, we’d reached the men’s room. But I didn’t actually have to go or have any real business in this dimly lit corner of the school building, so for lack of anything better to do, I washed my hands and checked myself in the mirror.

Still, this concept where every item had to serve a purpose was like writer’s bondage. There had to be some useless things around to add visual interest, surely.

Alarm bells started ringing in the corner of my mind.

A hairpin that looked like a simple piece of metal but was actually a directional mic. A bit of tech that was hard to believe modern science was capable of making. Show that to anyone not aware of the background, and they’d think you were lying to them. At best, they’d say:

It’s like an OOPArt!

Reminded me of the fake-treasure-map mess Haruhi got us mixed up in back in February.

That day, I’d told Tsuruya where to dig, and she’d obtained a device. I’d seen a photo of it.

It was a metal rod about ten centimeters long. An alloy of titanium and cesium, which made no sense for an object supposedly buried there for three hundred years.

…I couldn’t escape the feeling that we’d need that artifact eventually.

Was that a harbinger?

“No, can’t be,” I muttered, talking to myself. I could tell Koizumi was giving me a look. But he soon realized I was still thinking and left me to it.

Tsuruya was a lot, but she wasn’t a superpowered wonder girl. Unlike Nagato, Asahina, and Koizumi, there was nothing about her beyond the ken of any mere mortals. The fact that she was still not a permanent member of the club proved it. Even if she had any supernatural powers, Haruhi’s unconscious power would long ago have assigned her to the SOS Brigade’s roster—or ensured she was a founding member.

The fact that this had not happened proved she was actually normal.

Tsuruya was involved with the club but kept her distance; whether that decision was based on raw instinct or some level of conscious understanding, I couldn’t tell, but I liked her where she was.

She was the one upperclassman I could count on in a pinch. Except when it came to alien/future/esper-based sci-fi gadgetry.

Why not? Well, she might be as proactive as Haruhi, and her family might have the structural power of Koizumi’s agency, but she wasn’t like them—she was a normal person residing in the realm of common sense. Ordinary high schoolers could hardly be expected to deal with Data Overminds, Kuyoh Suoh, or hostile time travelers.

So I couldn’t count on her for that kind of stuff.

I’d just have to handle those things myself. The mystery metal rod Tsuruya was holding on to was definitely a thing I’d have to deal with in due time.

But that notion was tugging at the back of my mind, like a mild premonition.

I had no such powers, so it was definitely just gut instinct, probably not worth taking seriously, but…

“Then again, you didn’t accompany me here to discuss Russian firearms, did you?” I said, drying my hands with my handkerchief.

“When did you realize the truth?” Koizumi asked, doing the same.

What truth?

“I had it pegged at midway through Episode Two.”

He put his handkerchief in his pocket.

“You make an excellent Watson,” he said. “You ask perfect questions with perfect timing.”

Timing was clearly gonna be the word of the day.

“Every question you asked was extremely apt.”

I just said what I felt.

“Are you sure you don’t have the whole thing solved?”

You think way too highly of me. My hunches aren’t as accurate as Haruhi’s, and if I had figured everything out, I ain’t a good enough actor to pretend I hadn’t.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

That’s easier than expected.

“There’s a category of orthodox mysteries in which the Watson character reaches the truth before the actual detective.”

Orthodox mysteries basically have no rules, huh? I was starting to wonder if this orthodox word actually had any meaning at all.

“What about you?” I asked.

I was pretty sure there were no spies within the SOS Brigade. Koizumi was the only one even remotely likely. He’d certainly been known to provide safe events to keep Haruhi from doing anything too crazy—while she was focused on those diversions, there was no chance of her bending reality.

“I mean, you getting deep into that conversation with T is what gave her the excuse to stick around.”

His smile never wavered.

“It seemed more like they were hoping I’d provide solutions in a pinch. At the very least, with the dying message—given the right hint, it was highly probable that Nagato or myself would be able to ascertain Takenao Notobe’s name.”

We started walking back to the room, shoulder to shoulder.

“Anthony Berkeley wrote a novel of that title, you see. In Japanese, it’s known as Fukuyou Kinshi, but the original English title was Not to Be Taken. Which is why it comes up on a web search. That’s why I said, ‘You’ll soon see why.’”

He looked momentarily downcast.

“We were all playing the same game, but I was on easy mode. Or it felt like I was, at any rate.”

If Koizumi had been in on it, I’m sure Tsuruya or T would have blabbed that by now, so I’ll take his word for it this time.

“But one thing that’s been on my mind…”

Go ahead.

“When we finished Episode One, Suzumiya jumped right to a conclusion. I was concerned that her idea would be the truth, or used as a trick in later episodes.”

Oh yeah, the thing about the Ep1 narrator not being Tsuruya, and the girl being Tsuruya instead? And then she’d suggested neither one of them was Tsuruya.

“Both ideas proved wrong.”

Yeah, it was a random shot in the dark before we had any clues to work with.

“Do you really think that?” Koizumi’s eyes were fixed somewhere in the vicinity of my temples. “If it were anyone else, you’d have a point. But this is Suzumiya.”

Fair. I guess I at least get why it’s bugging you.

“If Haruhi’s intuition had turned out to be on the money, that would have been because she warped reality to get the truth she wanted.”

“We would also have to consider the possibility that she’d unconsciously given herself precognitive powers.”

Those both sounded bad.

“But neither one happened.”

Did Haruhi’s first impression being wrong mean her powers were fading? Or common sense was winning? Or was this outcome what she’d subconsciously wanted?

“Given Suzumiya’s innate extrasensory abilities, the off-the-cuff deductions after reading the first episode could easily have led right to the truth.”

We were taking our time walking back.

“She wouldn’t even have needed to ‘guess.’ Her random burst of intuition would have become the truth. The answer the mystery club prepared would have been rewritten in that instant, becoming the sole truth, the only truth that had ever been.”

We had to wrap this discussion up before we reached the clubroom. I shifted down another gear.

“But as you said, none of that occurred. Her intuition flew far from the mark, and the answer was not adjusted to match.”

In which case…hooray, right? Why the long face?

“If this means Suzumiya’s reality-altering powers are diminishing, then I agree.” He stroked his chin. “But what if that’s not the case? What if Suzumiya unconsciously chose to reach the answer without reality alteration?”

Where’s the problem with that?

“Even a whim counts as a conscious act. If her unconscious desires overcame her conscious ones, overrode them, and altered the outcome Suzumiya actually desired, that means her unconscious energy is now more powerful than her conscious equivalent.”

She’s always doing all kinds of crap unconsciously. The closed space being a prime example.

“If her conscious and unconscious minds are opposed, the latter winning out is a big problem. I hope I am unduly concerned, but if this trend continues, her powers—which were never exactly manageable to begin with—will become impossible to control at all.”

Unconsciousness beats conscious. So…you mean, she might unleash her ludicrous power, and even she won’t be able to stop it?

“In simple terms, yes.”

But nobody, ourselves included, could tell if Haruhi had interfered with the outcome of the mystery game.

“True. The late Queen problem only occurs because the detective exists solely within the story itself. They are incapable of perceiving anything outside the bounds of it. Nor should they be. The detective is neither the author nor the reader and thus has no means of knowing anything except what is described within the story itself.”

Just like how we couldn’t figure out the heliocentric theory while we believed the world was flat? Nah, that’s a stretch.

“When a character shares a name with the author—and this is not exclusive to Ellery Queen—the character and author are not the same. After all, you can’t have a character who knows everything and controls events like an omnipotent god.”

One reason ancient Greek lyric poetry could impress while also being no fun at all.

“However, Suzumiya can do just that. She is capable of interacting with and influencing the reality in which we exist. We—aliens and time travelers and espers—only exist due to the manifestation of her powers. The SOS Brigade members were selected at random and coincidentally included three such supernatural beings. What are the odds?”

If we’re ever in trouble, I’ll have to make her buy a lottery ticket.

“I believe the odds of her winning will remain within the standard parameters. I think I’ve said this before, but she’s been consistently sensible when it comes to everyday activities like that.”

He laughed like this sidebar had been a great joke.

“Imagine Suzumiya as the detective in a whodunit. She is within the story yet has the power to arbitrarily rewrite said story. What happens then? The story progression is determined not by the author or the reader but by the intuition of a character within it.”

You might as well get a book where the ending and identity of the culprit changed every time. Sounded like a plus to me. You could enjoy a single book any number of times.

“I would imagine not.”

Why are you so sure?

“Because Suzumiya’s alteration abilities would affect the world outside the story. Even assuming the culprit was different on the first and second reads, the reader themselves would not notice the difference. If the second truth becomes reality, then their memories of the previous truth would be altered to match. Rereading the book would simply result in you perceiving it to have the same contents it always did.”

I’m not big on having my memories messed with.

“The phenomenon alters everything, so it isn’t specifically altering anyone’s memories in particular. After all…” Koizumi paused for a beat. “Suzumiya is doing all this unconsciously.”

Can’t complain when you put it that way. I know as long as it doesn’t go out of control, that’s far better than her doing anything intentionally. But if Haruhi was what Koizumi said, then it was like having someone in the story who didn’t know she was an omnipotent god.

In that light, then yeah, like Koizumi said, it was kinda scary.

“Eh, it’ll probably work out okay.”

As long as Haruhi was preoccupied with other things, then she wouldn’t feel the urge to muck with the world, even unconsciously. Might as well keep the harmless events coming. Like this one or the seven-wonders thing.

The literature-club door was in sight. I could hear four girls chattering away inside.

There was something I should ask.

“What’s up with that Tachibana girl?”

Seemed like he saw that coming.

“She and her group are tired of playing at secret societies. Chasing after Sasaki clearly won’t get them anywhere. Only potential issue is…”

Kuyoh Suoh?

“Yes. But as far as she’s concerned, I must insist on staying out of it. That is for you and Nagato to handle.”

And T’s just normal.

“I believe so.”

Well, good.

As we stepped back in the club, Tsuruya and T were getting to their feet.

Off to report the results to the mystery club’s senior crew.

“I offer my deepest gratitude for your help today,” T said, bowing low. “I have once again confirmed the pleasure of knowing each of you. You’re all every bit as wonderful as Tsuruya made you sound. Thank you, my friends.”

She then made a big show of shaking my hand and Koizumi’s. We were gonna see each other again in class the next day, but the situation left me with no choice, so I shook her hand back. As she finished up with Koizumi, she said, “We’ll have to discuss our favorite Father Brown short stories next.” I guess there were priests writing mystery novels now.

Meanwhile, Tsuruya gave me a hearty slap on the back.

“Yo! Today was a blast and a half! I was grinning the whole time! We gotta do this again,” she said as she waved at us on her way out.

“Absolutely!” Haruhi said, leaning back in her chair.

“Bye!” Asahina said, clutching her teapot.

I looked around the room, feeling like I was searching for the mistake—and then realized Nagato was out of place.

“………”

Her book was closed. She wasn’t reading anything. Her short-haired head was staring fixedly at Tsuruya’s back. It didn’t take long before the two visitors were completely out of sight, but Nagato’s gaze betrayed a strength of will far beyond anything I had ever sensed from her before.

Tsuruya and T vanished like the two angels on the Thoth tarot card for The Sun, and the clubroom was once again filled with silence and the sounds of athletes practicing.

Koizumi sat down next to me, diligently bundling the three episodes together and reading them again from the top.

Feeling like our chief was being weirdly quiet, I looked her way, and she seemed sort of out of it, staring at nothing, calmly sipping the dregs of her tea.

It was like a scene from an art movie, a shot of someone savoring the warmth of daily life with an eerie sort of calm.

Placid Haruhi was rather unnerving. Maybe that just meant she had me thoroughly trained.

While I was wrestling with that notion, our eyes met.

She furrowed her brows, and she glared at me a moment, then glanced away, focusing on her computer screen.

Not sure what to do with my hands, I pointlessly stared at the bottom of my mug, and our club maid came over to me.

“Would you like another cup?”

I looked up at her glorious, smiling visage, saw the teapot in her hands, and said I’d be delighted. And while I was at it, I asked another question.

“Asahina, when you were reading Episode Three, you were staring at one spot like you were trying to put a hole in the page. What was bugging you?”

She was a third-year now but still never felt like she was any older than me.

Pouring tea into my mug, she replied, “Oh, that? I, uh, got hung up on the phrase DNA computing.”

“Can I ask why?”

She just smiled at me. We stared at each other for a while, then I hung my head.

Does that mean it’s classified?

I asked that question with a glance, and the eternally in-training maid just broadened her smile, putting a finger to her lips. Then her apron skirts fluttered as she shuffled back toward the kettle, like the human embodiment of a tea-making fairy.

DNA computing. I didn’t know how that worked or even have foggiest idea of the basic concept, but did they go inside your body? I remembered something Asahina the Elder had said.

It exists within our minds in an abstract form.

My mind took a leap.

I’d only realized we were being bugged because Nagato moved her chair to look directly at T’s face.

What if she wasn’t looking at the hairpin but at T herself?

What if there was a listening system embedded inside T’s body? If the hairpin was merely a dummy, and the actual bug was inside her…

“No way.”

That was clearly too out there. I dunno how futuristic the tech would have to be to make that possible.

Still…

…what about location trackers?

In the answer e-mail for second episode, she’d said, “For all I know, there’s one on me right now!” No matter how carefully she washed herself, it stayed put. An unknown GPS tracker invisible to the naked eye.

What if these miniscule micromachines really were implanted inside Tsuruya’s and T’s bodies?

And Nagato had been staring at T, and Tsuruya in turn, with spooky intensity not just because she’d noticed this but because she was destroying, disabling, or eliminating them? It was eminently possible that a wave of panic was spreading through the Tsuruya and the Whatevergartner staff right about now.

There was only one reason why Nagato would do that; they’d provided her with an entertaining mystery game, and she was simply returning the favor. For as little as she’d participated, she must have enjoyed it in her own way. Or known the answer from the start and elected to remain an observer.

But all this was just in my mind. Pure speculation.

I glanced at Nagato’s profile. No expression on her face, attention fully on her own book, not moving a muscle.

But for a fleeting second, I could have sworn the corners of her lips were tracing a gentle upward curve, one so subtle that it was beyond my ability to confirm with my eyes.

I took a sip of tea and savored the sensation of the hot liquid as it cooled off in my mouth. I turned my gaze to the window. The green leaves of the cherry trees were waving in the breeze from the mountains.

Summer was almost here.