Loss 4: Shiratama Riko Strikes Back

Loss 4: Shiratama Riko Strikes Back

Loss 4:

Shiratama Riko Strikes Back

A SAGUMO-SAN’S FOREHEAD GLEAMED. GOLDEN Week was behind us, and the four of us—that was, Yanami, the president, Shiratama-san, and me—had gathered in the club room after school.

“At last,” she said, “Operation: Shiratama Riko Strikes Back has officially gone golden. The plan will take place in two stages.” She wrote “Phase 1” in big letters on the whiteboard. “Our first objective is to get Yanami-san, the fake Shiratama, into the venue.”

Our secret agent gave a thumbs-up, her cheeks full of banana. The diet was on track. Morale was high.

“That said, Riko-san will presumably be well known by the staff , ” Asagumo-san went on. “A superficial disguise will only get us so far.” She wrote “8:30” on the board. “So the real Riko-san will make an appearance first, in her normal clothes, and once she’s been seen, Yanami-san will take her place. All good so far?”

Shiratama-san nodded lethargically, reluctantly siphoning bean paste straight from the tube. She did not look good. Her path to two kilograms had taken a toll. It would’ve been nothing for Yanami, but, well, that was an unrealistic standard.

“The absolute worst-case scenario that we must avoid at all costs,” she continued, “is Riko-san being discovered with her wedding dress. That’s why it’s critical that she be seen in plain clothes first. That way the impression is made, and even if she is spotted, nobody would suspect that it’s her. It wouldn’t even cross their minds, because she—Yanami-san—will be right there with them.”

Asagumo-san paused for questions. None came. She continued filling the whiteboard. “Upon successful infiltration, we enter phase two.” She circled the word several times in red. “This is when Houkobaru-senpai and Nukumizu-san, disguised as photographers, will enter. Your first job will be to attract as much of the staff’s attention as possible. Yanami-san will use this opportunity to escort the real Riko-san, now in her wedding dress, to the chapel.”

Yanami finished her banana and was now gazing deep into the peel. She nodded despondently. Shiratama-san was really starting to look sick.

“Once Riko-san is in position, Yanami-san will give the signal, and that’s when the photography team will lure Tanaka-sensei that way for an ‘equipment test.’” Asagumo-san clicked the cap back on the marker and faced us with a grin. “Thus, begins perhaps the trickiest part of the mission: Nukumizu-san, you’ll need to ensure Tanaka-sensei catches neither hide nor hair of Riko-san during the shoot.”

“How exactly?” I asked.

“The man’s a human being. How are we supposed to predict exactly what he’ll do? You’ll have to think on your feet.”

“That doesn’t—”

Asagumo-san whipped out a thick stack of papers and dropped it on the table before I could argue. “Follow this guidebook. It shan’t steer you wrong.” She flipped it open. “What makes phase two so difficult is the strict time limit. Our objective must be completed between the hours of nine and ten. We get one chance. No do-overs.”

Inside was an extremely detailed outline of the schedule for the day. Tanaka-sensei arrived at nine in the morning. The president and I would enter a half hour later. We had to wrap everything up before ten, when the real photographer showed up.

“If there are any questions, ask them now,” she said. “Or forever hold your peace.”

Her disciples in deception looked at each other. Questions abounded. But where to start?

I decided to bite the bullet. “So, um, if attendees are arriving at 10:30, and Shiratama-san is arriving two hours before that, how is she going to get in?”

“It’s very common for family to accompany the bride before the ceremony, so worry not. Her sister will be there at half past seven, getting dressed, doing makeup, fixing her hair. What this also means is that she’ll be too busy to come see Riko-san when she does arrive.” Asagumo-san flipped through the guide. “The chapel will likely be prepared sometime around nine o’clock. During the shoot, we can expect little to no disruptions.”

The president raised an eyebrow. “Pardon the silly question, but just how do you know all this?”

“Over the last five days, we’ve observed five ceremonies in total. Komari-san has been gathering intel behind the scenes.”

Komari? Was there anybody worse suited to intelligence gathering?

Yanami made a face like she shared the sentiment. “How? Security didn’t get on her butt?”

Asagumo-san produced a sketchbook with a black and orange cover. “She monitored the entrance from the parking lot, sketching and noting what she saw.” Inside the book was a drawing of the venue and the surrounding area. On the next page, notes on people that came and went. “Yesterday, she stood lookout from Kirinoki’s roof. It’s thanks to those observations of the chapel that we have a thorough understanding of how and when the staff enters it.”

“That’s great and all, but why didn’t she say anything?” I asked.

The president took the sketchbook and examined it closely. “A safety measure, I imagine. So that the entirety of the literature club doesn’t come under fire in the worst-case scenario.”

Fair enough. I couldn’t exactly judge. Being a passive observer to all this probably had her on edge. Still, she’d done what little she could for us. And all on her own.

“Keep this between us,” Asagumo-san said. “I did technically promise her I wouldn’t tell any of you.” She raised an index finger up to her lips playfully. Some people had absolutely no concept of privacy. Asagumo-san was some people.

Yanami stopped poring through the guide. “Hey, so why doesn’t Shiratama-chan change at the venue? Why’s she gotta go in, leave, go to Kirinoki, then go back? Feels risky.”

“She can’t realistically enter the venue with an abundance of luggage, given her criminal record, and there’s no telling if a relative will appear early to complicate things. Best we diminish the chances of her being caught red-handed. When she returns wearing it, we’ll conceal it beneath a coat.”

“That’s also why I picked a bit of a low-key dress,” Shiratama-san added before returning to her bean tube.

Asagumo-san waited for more questions. When none came, she took out two black, coin-sized, metal chips and placed them on the table. One had a button. “Yanami-san, you’ll take one of these clickers. The one with the button.”

“Did you say—”

“Clicker. Not fritter. Pushing the button will make its pair vibrate.” She demonstrated, and the other chip buzzed. “Once means ‘advance.’ Twice means ‘retreat.’ Thrice, ‘halt.’ Four or more—run like your life depends on it. Shiratama-san, you will carry its pair. This is how your doppelganger will direct orders to you.”

Direct. It was way simpler and easier than phones or hand signals or whatever. And yes, I was thinking it. I was a man without innocence.

“After the photo shoot, the photography team needs to make certain that Tanaka-sensei returns to the second floor,” Asagumo-san went on. “Yanami-san will then guide Riko-san back out and they’ll make their escape. For details, refer to the guide.”

That thing was seriously huge. I hesitantly picked it up. On the cover was a blank square with the word “Approved” written inside it.

“What’s getting approved here?” I asked.

“The plan, obviously. Go on, leader! It awaits your enthusiastic consent!” Asagumo-san stared at me and straight into my soul. Was I the leader of this whole thing? She pressed harder. “Now! Don’t even think! Stamp, down!”

“Well, uh, I don’t actually have one on me.”

Shiratama-san decided that was her cue. “Here you are, President. I made it myself. And here’s an ink pad. Whenever you’re ready.”

Wow. Imagine that. Someone forging your own signature for you. That was great. Just great.

At risk of being crushed under the weight of peer pressure, I smooshed the stamp into the ink, then onto the guidebook. And there was my name. Nukumizu Kazuhiko. Right on top of “Approved.”

***

After school the next day, we had some time to ourselves. The calm before the storm that would come tomorrow.

I passed by the athletic fields on my way to the bikes, trying to count just how many lines I had crossed in the last half-month alone. In wartime, on a battlefield, I might’ve been called a hero for my recklessness, but unfortunately there was no war, and this was a high school. Making me just an idiot.

The sun was just about below the horizon. Most sports clubs were packing up and getting ready to go. I tried to find her among the runners.

Then my back hurt. A lot.

“Friggin’ ow !” I shouted. Yakishio, still in her workout clothes, patted my back again. Technically lighter. “Still hurts. Not practicing?”

“Cooling down. Headin’ home?”

“On my way to the bike lot to do just that.”

She started walking with me. No asking for approval. She just did. Her eyes flitted left and right, and she lowered her voice. “Yana-chan told me you guys are up to some insane stuff.”

“It’s not… I mean, it is insane.” I half scoffed at myself.

Yakishio’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Anything I can lend a hand with? I can be the muscle.”

“You can focus on track. Still going well?”

She flashed a toothy grin. “Yeah, you could say that. If I win the prefectural prelims this month, I go to regionals. If I win there—”

“You go to nationals.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Feeling confident?”

“More than ever. Wanna see my six-pack?”

“What? N-no. Stop flashing people.”

She cackled. I was feeling a little lighter myself. Honestly, things had been a little awkward between us for a while after our race. Didn’t know why. Or how things eventually went back to normal.

“You and the girls gotta come to one of my races,” she said. “It’ll knock your socks off.”

“I’ll be at the Tokai regionals. Interested in seeing the opener to nationals.”

“Not prefecturals?” Yakishio prodded me, pouting her lips a bit too exaggeratedly to be convincing.

I wiggled away and smirked. “Won’t be much of a race.”

“True.” She smirked back.

Normal. Maybe things hadn’t gone back to normal. In the same way no two summers were ever the same. And we were probably still a bit too wet behind the ears to really comprehend what that meant. What we’d lost. What we’d gained. But I was looking forward to the answer one day.

***

Someone was getting married today. It was seven in the morning, and the sun was up bright and early, pouring its rays into the Kirinoki drama club room. On standby inside were me, Asagumo-san, the student council president, and two Shiratama-sans.

Two. One of them was Yanami in disguise. She wore a wig that matched the real one’s hair, and everything from makeup to uniform, all the way to her shoes, was perfectly mirrored—down to the most minute detail. Aside from the fact that the matter of volume was still an issue (they looked like a before-and-after shot standing next to each other), this was actually shaping up to be promising. You could only really notice the differences when you were looking for them. Even my personal biggest points of concern, those being the genre-splitting difference in chest and thigh size, had been miraculously taken care of.

I was impressed. Truly impressed.

Asagumo-san’s forehead beamed. “There we have it, folks. Nukumizu-san has proven an excellent test subject.”

“What? Huh?” Suddenly, all the girls were judging me.

“The first three places a man looks when faced with a woman are indeed the face, the chest, and the legs. In that order. So long as those areas are made to match, they’re practically the same person.”

“What?! You’re joking, right?!” The eyes. They hurt.

Asagumo-san unabatedly continued, “Women, however, will notice things like hair, makeup, and little details. To that end, she’ll be in her uniform, plain and simple. Hair and makeup have been done identically, and we’ve used blue as a strong accent color to draw the eye.”

Only then did I notice the blue pen in their breast pockets, their blue wrist watches, and their blue nails.

The president studied each of them. “That leaves the tricky issue of voice. Will Yanami-kun simply be avoiding conversation?”

“We’ve accounted for that. Yanami-san, if you would.”

She nodded, then pulled a blue mask up over her mouth. From it came the words, “Hello. I’m Shiratama Riko. Nice to meet you!”

And it was entirely Shiratama-san’s voice. Yanami enjoyed the shock that gave me. I could see her smug face even with that thing in the way.

Asagumo-san gestured to it. “I’ve inserted a thin piezoelectric speaker in the mask. She’ll be speaking with pre-recorded phrases as necessary. Rest assured, the quality is near lifelike. I spared no expense.”

“She did not,” Shiratama-san said gravely. “It was very expensive.”

“Yanami-san’s wig, too, is made from the hair of a young Asian woman of the same age group. A professional has styled it perfectly to Riko-san’s image.”

“It was very expensive.”

Some people had absolutely no concept of modesty. Asagumo-san was some people.

Yanami pulled a recorder from her pocket and started pushing buttons. “Occupied. I’m changing.” “I’m a little under the weather.” “Make that a large, please.” “Can you make the extra rice into onigiri, please?”

I could hear Yanami in a few of those, but they were all in Shiratama-san’s voice.

“We’re as ready for phase one as we can possibly be.” Asagumo-san’s face turned solemn. “That just leaves…”

The girls looked at me again. This worried me.

“Me and the president have to get in disguise now, right?” I asked. “You said you’d handle that part.”

“That’s right. As the only two who will be interfacing with Tanaka-sensei directly, we’ll have to take extra care with you.” Asagumo-san gave Yanami a look. She smiled in delight as she revealed the item she’d been hiding behind her back all this time: a black, extremely high-quality…skirt.

“Excuse me?”

There was no way, right? No way this was the part where they made me cross-dress. Just to get into a wedding venue?

No face covering could hide the sadistic delight on Yanami’s expression. “She’s one of my favorites, Nukumizu-kun. And she’s all yours today. Aren’t I the best?”

“Guys, please, can we be real for a sec?” I pleaded. “There’s no way this works. This is more risky. You realize that, right?”

Asagumo-san swiftly blocked my escape route. “But you proved my theory yourself, Nukumizu-san. Not even family is safe from the normalcy bias.”

“Okay, but doesn’t this mean the president’s going to have to dress up as a boy? She doesn’t want that, does she?”

President Houkobaru flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I’m more than fine with the notion, actually.”

There went my lifeline.

Witnessing my utter despair, Asagumo-san comforted me with a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve called in the best to do your makeup.”

“Huh? It’s not gonna be you?”

“Cross-dressing requires a particularly skilled hand. Meanwhile, Yanami-san and I have to get ready for phase one.”

A chill went down my spine just then. An icy wind blew. Shadows blotted out the hallway window. From the mysteriously ajar door, something gleamed. Something pale.

“Shikiya-senpai?!” I blurted.

“I heard we were…playing with Nukumizu-kun.”

Staggering and unsteady, my fate slithered into the room.

***

What would Kaju think if she saw me like this? I donned one of Yanami’s white blouses over an undershirt. My shoulders being so broad worried me, but according to her, it was “one of those oversize kinds you wear over layers.” Whatever that meant. Either way, I managed to get it buttoned. The loose collar distressed me somewhat, but that aside, we’d overcome the first hurdle. Now for part two.

I gulped. Before me, it lay silently. Menacingly. Yanami’s black, non-pleated skirt. Along its length, it gently widened, sort of like a blooming tulip. I could handle a woman’s blouse—I couldn’t, actually, but for the sake of argument, I could—but a skirt represented so much more.

“Um, guys?”

“Need help?” Shikiya-san breathed, peeking into my little room.

I frantically pushed her back. “No, I do not! Now please stay out!”

The despair became so great that it wrapped back around and became indignation. Resigned, I yanked the thing up over my pants. Which way was even the front on the thing? I managed to find a hook and zipper, fastening both. After a long, deep breath, I dared to look in the mirror. Staring back at me was a man. A man in women’s clothing.

It was worse than I thought. I threw the wig on next. It didn’t help.

“Gonna keep those pants on?”

“I’ll take them off when you people stop peeping, Yanami-san !” This was never gonna end. I tossed the pants off and threw aside the curtain. “I did it. Happy?”

There were awed sighs. Then applause. They were happy.

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” I grumbled. “I look like a total weirdo.”

Yanami, entirely too enthused about this, came up to me with an elastic band. “Skirt probably doesn’t fit, huh? Brought this to help.”

“Uh, no? It fits fine.” I tugged it a little. “Bit on the loose side, if anything. Will that help?” Nothing happened. “Hello? The band?”

She looked like she was ready to strangle me with it for some reason. Asagumo-san put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s coming together,” she said. “There are plenty of props and shapewear we can use here to adjust as needed. Shikiya-senpai, you’re up.” Then she and Shiratama-san escorted the president into the changing room.

I could see her pulling off menswear well. Something to look forward to.

I noticed Shikiya-san staring. “So you’re, uh, doing my makeup?”

“Not just that.” She staggered closer. “Anatomy… Hard to change. Limbs. Neck.”

“Neck?”

Her bony fingers felt my throat. “Boys have…an Adam’s apple.” She paused suddenly and cocked her head. “Yours is so small.”

Weird thing to have someone say to you. There was a first for everything.

Yanami butted in. “What? Come on, even he has to—whoa, dude, where even is it?”

“Tiny,” Shikiya-san rasped.

“Super tiny. Sousuke’s way bigger.”

I did not like the feeling of two girls calling any part of my body “tiny.” What was even happening right now?

I tried to retreat, but Shikiya-san’s hands were faster. They slid all over my body. “Your legs are…so smooth.”

“Hey! What—” I yelped as she somehow found her way inside my skirt.

Yanami snatched her hand back. “Senpai! The lit club has a strict no touching policy!” She marched her away to a corner of the room.

“But they’re smooth,” Shikiya-san protested.

“Look, I know it’s easy to forget, but Nukumizu-kun’s still a guy. Trust me. Sometimes I catch him eyeing me up like a freak.” She shot me a look. Hey, I had reason to be offended too.

“But he has the body…of a woman.”

“Does he actually?”

I could confirm, fairly reliably, that I had both the body and the soul of a man. They sent concerning gazes my way that made me reflexively cover my skirt.

Just then, the curtain slid open again. The president strode out confidently, without a hint of hesitation or self-doubt. Brown leather shoes. Plaid slacks supported by suspenders. Over a black, high-collared shirt she wore a light brown coat. Her hair was concealed beneath a classy flat cap.

She was absolutely rocking the Taisho-era newspaper reporter look. Gender: Houkobaru Hibari.

“How do I look? Natural?” she asked. “It’s difficult to tell myself.”

“You do. It’s very…convincing.” Wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but I meant it as a compliment.

Asagumo-san nodded in agreement. “The high collar is to obfuscate the neck area, and with her hair secured nicely in a net beneath the cap, I think we have quite the man on our hands.” She patted the president. “Now, the matter of your figures. We can use layers, shapewear, and bindings to adjust build. Shikiya-senpai, makeup is all yours.” She looked at the clock on the wall. Half past seven. Shiratama Minori would be getting to the venue right around now. “Phase one will begin soon. Once Shiratama-san is in, we’ll wait for an opportune moment, then swap her with Yanami-san. Now, leader! Rally the troops!”

Guess that was me. Right. Awesome. No going back now.

I stood up straight and faced the team. “Operation: Shiratama Riko Strikes Back is a go. I guess.”

***

Yanami’s group moved out. The rest of us stayed back in preparation for phase two.

The soft touch of a brush. The cold of her fingers. Rustling clothes. Her unsteady breath. Her smell, ever present beneath the pungent makeup. Every sensation was doubled with my eyes shut. I couldn’t budge.

“Open,” I heard her murmur.

I lifted my eyelids. In front of me was Shikiya-san’s handheld mirror. Staring back at me was a stranger. I could hardly recognize myself. That was me?

I stood up and examined myself in the full-length mirror. She looked about twenty. A plain girl who didn’t really have much to do with fashion or style, but who nevertheless put in an effort. She probably liked books and daydreamed about meeting that special someone. And it wasn’t just makeup that made this girl. Strategically placed bindings and towels adjusted my proportions, and a scarf hid my neck entirely. We’d chosen a coat that de-accentuated my shoulders. Skin-colored tights clung to my legs.

“Cute,” Shikiya-san summarized. “Would.”

With perfect timing, the door swung open. Asagumo-san and Shiratama-san came running in. “Phase one complete!” wheezed the former. “Yanami-san is in position. No time. Have to get that wedding dress on now .”

“Right!” Shiratama-san hurried after her into the changing area, undoing her ribbons along the way.

“Gonna go help.” Shikiya-san wobbled through the curtains after them. Her involvement worried me somewhat. Couldn’t put my finger on why, though, so I minded my own business.

The president snapped her suspenders, then threw her jacket on. “We’re up next. Once Yanami-kun has seen Shiratama-kun safely to the chapel, it’s our job to escort Tanaka-sensei there. And then, the photos. I’m beginning to feel the nerves.”

The real operation was only just getting started. It would be no hyperbole to say it all rode on us. If the photography team got compromised, then that was it. No photos.

“Where’s the camera, anyway?” I asked.

“Right, Basori-kun supplied one for me. She ought to have brought it to the student council…room.”

We stared at each other blankly for several seconds.

“You mean you forgot it?!” I shouted.

“Hiroto may have put it in my things for me. One moment.” She vanished into the changing area.

How in the hell were we supposed to be camera people without a camera? This could not be the way we went out. After all this.

A polite knock came at the door. Shortly after, it opened. “Excuse me. My name is Basori. I’m from Tsuwabuki?” Tiara-san?! I whirled around, turning my back to her. “Pardon me, but is there a Houkobaru here by any chance?”

“Er, uh, yes!” I squeaked. “Well, not here here! She’s away at the moment!”

I heard a frustrated “for goodness sake” escape under her breath. She approached. “I’m here to give her something she forgot. Where might she be?”

“I-I haven’t the foggiest clue when she might make her return, so you may leave the item here if it pleases you!”

She stopped. “I would much rather deliver it in person. Can I wait here?”

“By all means,” I chirped shrilly. Was this even working? I refused to turn around, or even so much as take a deep breath. I became as the Fairy of Kirinoki. An impish little fae unperceivable to the eyes of all except the most pure of heart.

“May I ask a question?” Perceived. I quietly nodded. Tiara-san paused before continuing. “What exactly is Houkobaru doing here?”

Uh-oh. Was the cat out of the bag?

“Why, for enrichment,” I said. “Enrichment of the drama club. What else?”

“She’s with people from our literature club. What does she have to do with ‘enrichment’ of two clubs she’s not even in?”

“Th-that is the question, isn’t it?” I gulped.

She was quiet for a while. “Not even Nukumizu-san wants to talk to me.”

“Huh? Me?”

“Who?!” I threw my hands up to my mouth. Too late. Hell. “Turn around! Show me your face!” Tiara-san yanked my shoulder. To say her eyes were saucers would have been an understatement. “Nukumizu-san?! What in the world is this?!”

“Uh, funny story about that.”

The curtain swung open. The president emerged. “Oh? I knew I heard Basori-kun. How did you find me?”

“It was written on your schedule! What are you doing—” Tiara-san let out a yelp like a strangled chicken when she saw Houkobaru.

President Houkobaru lifted the camera bag from her petrified hands. “Came to deliver this, did you? You’re a lifesaver, Basori-kun.”

“P… Nu… What… I…” Her lips flapped like a fish gasping for breath. Her eyes darted between me and the president. “The president is a boy. Nukumizu-san is a girl. Oh. Oh, I understand everything now!”

Doubt.

The president nodded with complete confidence. “Whatever you’ve deduced, it’s assuredly the truth.”

“Don’t say that!” I shouted.

Another chicken died in Tiara-san’s throat. Poor thing. It was bleeding through her nose.

She fainted on the spot.

***

It was 9:30. Time for phase two.

I adjusted the bag on my shoulder, staring up at the venue’s entrance before us. Here I was again. Not as a patron but a criminal.

“Wonder if Tiara-san’s gonna be okay,” I said, mostly to distract myself from the nerves.

The president patted me on the shoulder. “She has Shikiya, and I have full confidence those are good hands to be in.”

Doubt. But I digressed.

To my side, I spied two people in an alleyway between two buildings. One was Asagumo-san. The other, Shiratama-san, her wedding dress hidden beneath a coat. Once we were inside, Yanami would be guiding her to the chapel.

With one more pat on my shoulder, the president headed inside. The modern design and tall ceilings were familiar, but the place was far busier today. Employees scurried all over.

She proceeded to the front desk and flashed the business card without hesitation. “Pardon the interruption. Toratani, with Studio Damonde. We’re doing photography for the lucky couple. Mr. Tanaka and Miss Shiratama?”

The employee looked up from the documents on her desk with confusion. “Yes, we’re expecting you, but not until ten o’clock.”

“It’s a new venue for us, you understand. We want to be sure everything is in order. Might we say hello to the groom before we get to work?” The president whipped out one of those handsome grins of hers.

It struck the woman right through the heart. “I-I understand. I suppose I can speak with him on your behalf.”

“We would be much obliged. You don’t mind if we join you, do you?”

The president wasn’t a lady’s man. She was a lady killer . I followed quietly behind them, shoulders slumped in an attempt to make myself as unremarkable as possible.

There was Yanami in her Phonytama disguise by the bathrooms, lingering like a bored child. She noticed us and gave a thumbs-up as we passed by. Not smart.