Eleven

Seven days, twelve hours and forty-six minutes after Sayuri disappeared, another girl went missing. Watanabe Hiroko from the art club, in class 2A. 

Makoto texted Naseru at 6 am, sending a screenshot of a text, received at 1 am from Mrs Watanabe, she'd texted demanding to know if he knew where she could be. And although Makoto didn't know where she was, he knew that she wouldn't come home on her own. 

Naseru left his bike at home, and texted Makoto, asking him to meet him as early as possible for school. Makoto replied with a thumbs-up emoji, and reluctantly, Naseru rolled out of bed. He yawned into his fist, padded along his bedroom floor and packed his bag for school, including a tiny reporter's notebook and a battered black digital camera, stuffed in his blazer pocket. 

The bags under her eyes were angry and purple, and his skin was a ghastly white. Lethargic and sore, Naseru jumped in the shower, hissing as the hot water seared the exposed skin of his scabbed back.

Makoto was waiting for Naseru outside the convenience store, wearing a black hoodie beneath his blazer. He had a split lip and angry red splodges like fingerprints around his neck. Naseru winced.

"Don't," Makoto said. 

"Fine," Naseru scowled. 

Makoto nodded. He forced a smile and looked down at his hands, where he held two freshly baked steamed bao buns, wrapped in tissue. He held one to Naseru. 

"I can't believe he managed to take someone else – poor 'Roko." 

"I don't know if I believe you," Naseru replied, quietly, "What happened to you? Seems like someone put up a fight with you." 

"I got in the wrong person's way last night. It looks worse than it is."

Naseru furrowed is brows, "It's sad, the time scale is getting shorter – Kibata Mae was taken, what? Seventeen days ago, if we go by what Sato said. Ten days later, he took Michimori Sayuri and between six and seven days later, Watanabe Hiroko."

Makoto took a long, slow breath, "He needs to give himself up."

Naseru nodded, "Or get caught." 

"The police could fine us if we say anything," Makoto said, "You remember what Ueno said."

Naseru sighed and chomped on his bao, barbequed shredded pork danced on his tongue. It was fresh, and delicious. He frowned at Makoto, narrowing his eyes. 

"You know everyone who was abducted," Naseru said, pursing his lips, "It's strange."

"That's a coincidence!" Makoto exclaimed. His voice cracked, and he reached for his neck, massaging the angry marks with his fingertips. 

"And you know who did it," Naseru said, brows furrowed, "But you don't want to say because you don't think anyone would believe you? Even though it's plausible to suggest you're somehow involved, whether you know it or not."

"Calm down, Sherlock Holmes," Makoto scowled, "If it had anything to do with me, I'd know." 

"Then who strangled you?"

Naseru turned and glanced at Makoto. His lip was trembling, eyes glassy. 

Naseru sighed. He lowered his head, "Sorry."

"No," Makoto said quietly. He cleared his throat.

"No," he said again, louder, firmer, "I don't think you are sorry, not really. I didn't have anything to do with this. I just want to help Hikaru, and Sayuri, and 'Roko and Mae and Emi. This has nothing to do with my own malcontent. These are my friends and classmates, Matsuoka, and you can either help me or you can leave me to help them." 

Makoto turned on his heels and stormed ahead, leaving Naseru staring, wide-eyed, mouth hanging partially open. 

He sighed, and leaned against a wall, the bao getting colder in his hand. Makoto had left his sights and hadn't turned around. Naseru didn't blame him. That was horrid. He groaned, leaning back against a wall. 

Houses lined the street on the other side, families laughed at the windows, eating breakfast, sharing jokes and joy, while Naseru scowled, chomping on the last of his bao. He wiped his hands on his blazer and looked up out at the street. The purple-blazered private school kids were congregating again. Which meant, if Naseru didn't move, he'd run into Ryota. 

A boy wearing a purple blazer leaned against the wall with him. He looked Naseru up and down, "You okay there? It's a bit early for your school to open."

Naseru shrugged, "I'm fine."

The boy shrugged and carried on with his walk to school, leaving Naseru staring at his retreating back. Was there any point in even going in? Ueno was probably hastily compiling a resource folder full of information and leads they had on Hikaru to justify arresting him, but with another kidnap on the books, was he even a viable suspect anymore? 

Naseru sighed and checked the time on his phone, if he picked up the pace and ran, he'd make it to school in fifteen minutes, twenty max. But then what, Makoto was right, and he'd been rude. He was sure half the kids in his grade would be familiar with Kibata Mae, Michimori Sayuri and Watanabe Hiroko. Everyone except him. He groaned and stretched his legs, starting with his hamstrings…

Kaho's weekend had been as much of a lark as you could expect after the fallout of a fun Friday evening. Even better still, when a rich friend foots the bill for two games of bowling, multiple portions of curly fries, bottomless soft drinks and tokens. He converted a wad of cash in another little white envelope into tokens and somehow got Kikiyo to accept them like that. With enough tokens, and subsequently, enough tickets, you could buy plenty of miscellaneous prizes, boxes of 'Hello Panda', to exotic and expensive American candies. But, you could also buy jumbo-sized stuffies and actual toys.

Kaho had never noticed that Kikiyo was collecting tickets, not until she folded each individual stub and fastened them together with a hair clip. Mamoru had something planned, she was sure, but no matter how much she'd messaged him, he hadn't explained himself. Except now her schoolbag was filled with singular ticket stubs, like they were stray hairclips or pencil shavings.

She'd messaged Mamoru the previous night and asked if he'd walk with her to school, which was how she found herself outside the Upper Hanagawa Station, forty-five minutes before class, wearing a knitted cardigan under her school blazer. She'd grabbed him a coffee from a vending machine. She had questions for him. 

"Kaho!" Mamoru exclaimed, tapping his train ticket on the sensor. He bounded across the station foyer and slung an arm around her shoulders. 

"Hi, Mamoru, here!" she thrust the coffee into his hands. He grinned, and opened it, "How's everything with you – have you had any mail today?"

Mamoru nodded, "Same thing as yesterday." 

Not that he ever told her what that actually was. She groaned and ran a hand through her hair, "Look, can we talk about what you've been doing? You're feeding Kikiyo – why?" 

"What? She likes food, duhhh."

They crossed the road, Mamoru a good two strides ahead of Kaho. She groaned and quickened her pace to follow him, "Mamoru, what does your letter say?" 

He shook his head, "Nothing important."

She scowled and crossed her arms with a huff, "Mamoru."

"Kaho," he replied, "I want to try some stuff on my own before I bare my soul to everyone, you know?" 

She huffed, trailing after him, "You'd better know what you're doing!" 

He ran ahead to a convenience store, and put a shiny blue bank card into the ATM. She averted her eyes from the PIN, but couldn't help but sneak a peek at the wad of cash he withdrew. Diligently, Mamoru folded the cash up and placed it inside a white envelope. Kaho sighed. 

"Is this about her Dad?" Kaho asked. 

Mamoru froze. Kikiyo seldom mentioned her dad; a raging alcoholic, in and out of rehabilitation, he often stayed in the bar by his office until last orders, missing the last train home and falling asleep in a flowerbed or a hedge. He'd been woken up with a knife in his face no less than four times that year, robbed for the few hundred yen he had left on his person, and his MetroCard. If not for the drinking, him having been the victim of so many crimes at late meant they were scrimping a bit, but sometimes everyone lived by their bootstraps. This was different; Kikiyo's bento boxes lacked anything of actual nutritional value, and the bags under her eyes were getting deeper and she was getting paler. The first standardised tests of the year were coming up and Kaho knew that Kikiyo would rather die than fail an exam. 

She sighed, "Is this why she's working two jobs, was her dad mugged again?" 

Mamoru didn't reply. He put the envelope in his inside pocket and walked further up the hill. Few students actually came to school this early, unless they had a club that took place before lessons, what Kaho hadn't expected to see was Makoto trudging up the hill, muttering to himself. 

"Oi! Makoto!" Mamoru called, "You're up early, you okay?" 

Makoto looked over at him, his eyes glassy. Kaho hissed through her teeth, he looked rough, and had clearly taken a beating. Mamoru beckoned him across the road. Makoto's breathing was laboured and ragged. He shook his head, confirming he wasn't okay, and crossed over the street to join Mamoru and Kaho. Kaho rummaged through her school bag and produced a packet of tissues. She handed one to Makoto. 

"Ouch, Makoto, who did this to you?"

"I'll give you one guess."

They didn't need to guess. Makoto sighed.

Kaho shuffled over, so Makoto stood between her and Mamoru, shielded by friends, keeping him safe from another round of punches. 

"This Sayuri thing is really getting to him, huh?" Mamoru asked. 

Makoto nodded, swallowing hard, "He's spiralling. However much he's making to do this is making him bolder and shameless."

"It would never be enough money. It should never be," Kaho said, squeezing Makoto's hand.

Makoto nodded, sniffling, "I just want Officer Ueno to work everything out. You know? Realise what's happening before someone else," his breathing hitched.

Mamoru tensed and hesitantly put a hand on Makoto's back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. 

"I'm sure she'll catch them. Then everyone will know it wasn't Hikaru," Mamoru said. 

Makoto looked up, wiping his eyes on his blazer sleeve, "I need someone to catch that bastard before something happens to them, it might already be too late."

"Them?" Kaho asked, "You mean Kibata?" 

Makoto swallowed and shook his head, "Watanabe Hiroko was taken last night..."

Kaho swore, wringing her hands. Her letter had distributed the blame as clearly as day after insisting of Hikaru's innocence. His name had taken up the whole sheet of A4 paper. There was no way to conceal, or deny whose name was on it: Kurosaki Katsuo.