Two weeks post-gala, Seika High buzzed with the awkward hum of scandal survivors—whispers in hallways like static on a bad radio, headlines fading from tabloids to footnotes. Mori's arrest splashed across every newsfeed: Tycoon Toppled: 1987 Secrets Unearthed. Nakamura and Hayashi suspended pending trials, the "scholarship fund" frozen under forensic audit. Kai walked the halls lighter, Dad's badge tucked in his backpack like a talisman, not a noose. Emiko's texts had trickled to check-ins: Stay sharp, kid. Embers glow. But school life clawed back—exams loomed, club sign-ups plastered every bulletin, and the everyday beckoned with petty puzzles.
Kai slumped into the art room at lunch, sketchpad in hand as camouflage. Aiko's domain: easels splashed with chaos, supply shelves a rainbow riot. She was mid-rant, waving a ledger like a flag of surrender. "It's gone! ¥50,000—poof! Last month's dues for the mural project. I counted it Monday, locked in the club vault. Today? Empty as Sora's gym bag."
Sora, sprawled on a stool with a half-eaten taiyaki, feigned offense. "Hey, my bag's got socks. Victory socks." He munched thoughtfully. "Theft? Or gremlins? We banished the real ghosts."
Yumi leaned against a windowsill, scrolling her phone—Emiko's latest forward: a redacted PD report on Mori's "offshore slush funds." "Gremlins don't need keys. Who's got access? You, the prez, and... who?"
Aiko ticked off fingers. "Treasurer—Rina from class 3-A, total bean-counter. And the advisor slot's open since Hayashi. Oh, and the lockbox code's in the club handbook—duh moment."
Kai set his pencil down, the blank page mocking him. Simple case: missing cash, prime suspects in a club of twenty aspiring Picassos. No sedans, no suits—just teen drama and a dash of larceny. "Retrace. Who knew about the dues spike? Big mural means big bucks; gossip travels."
Aiko deflated onto a stool, charcoal smudging her cheek. "Everyone. Posted the total on the group LINE. 'Art for Seika's Soul'—ironic now. Rina's been weird lately, though. Snapping at supplies orders, muttering about 'debts.' Family stuff?"
Sora perked. "Debt gremlin! Bet she 'borrowed' for cram school fees. Easy fix—confront with cookies."
Kai's mind ticked, details itching. ¥50K wasn't chump change—enough for a semester's tuition, or a bribe's whisper. Mori's embers? Nah, too tidy. But Emiko's words nagged: Watch the bike rack. Her last tease, vague as fog. "Let's check the vault first. No assumptions."
The club vault—a glorified safe in the supply closet—squatted behind paint cans and crumpled canvases. Aiko punched the code: 4-2-0-7 (art room extension). Click—empty. No forced entry, no dust disturbed. Kai knelt, flashlight probing corners: faint scuff on the floor, shoe print? Size 7, sneaker tread—girl's, maybe. He snapped a photo, pocketing a stray thread: blue cotton, like the uniform skirts.
"Inside job," he murmured. "Rina?"
They tracked her to the rooftop—Seika's unofficial "think tank," chain-link fence rattling in the autumn breeze. Rina huddled by the edge, ledger clutched, eyes red-rimmed. Aiko led the charge, voice soft. "Rina? The funds... we know. Talk?"
She startled, pages fluttering. "It's not what— I didn't! Swear. I locked it after count—¥52,340 exact. But Dad's hospital bills... I thought about it, okay? But no." Tears welled, smearing her mascara. "Check the logs. My alibi's the chem lab—teacher vouched."
Kai flipped her ledger—neat columns, no erasures. Alibi solid; print not hers (size 6). Thread? Hers, snagged yesterday per LINE stamps. Red herring. "Who else? Late dues payers? Motive?"
Rina sniffled. "One. That new transfer, Kaito—wait, no, Kai's common. The guy in drama club overlap, Taro. He fronted for paints last month, IOU pending. Shady vibes—always borrowing phones, dodging chats."
Taro. Kai's ears perked. Drama club: Yumi's turf. "Where's he now?"
"Rehearsal. Basement theater."
The basement smelled like dust bunnies and deferred dreams—curtains moth-eaten, stage lights flickering. Taro lounged center stage, script in hand, monologuing to empty seats. Lanky, dyed hair flopping over one eye, he froze mid-line as they entered. "Audition? No—wait, art squad? Props run?"
Aiko crossed arms. "Funds run. ¥50K from the vault. You had access—IOU cover?"
Taro's laugh barked, too sharp. "Me? Broke as the set budget. Ask my lines—I'm the starving artist." But his eyes flicked to the wings, where a prop trunk sat ajar.
Kai drifted over, casual. Trunk: fake swords, dusty hats... and a wad of yen peeking from a false bottom. He lifted the lid fully—bingo. Crisp bills, bundled tight. "Starving, huh? This says otherwise."
Taro bolted—script flying, stage left. Sora lunged, tackling him into the orchestra pit (thankfully padded). "Gotcha, drama king!"
Yumi cuffed his wrists with a jump rope prop. "Spill. Why the heist?"
Panting, Taro glared. "Not a heist. Payback. My uncle—old alumni—donated to your 'soul mural'? It was his hush money reroute. Mori's scraps, funneled through Nakamura's slush. I was supposed to 'liberate' it—prove the rot's dead. But... tuition tempted."
Uncle. Mori holdout. Kai's gut twisted—embers, indeed. "Name. And proof."
Taro slumped. "Uncle Ken—banker from the gala. He texted post-arrest: 'Grab the fund seed. Tanaka's watching—make it hurt.'" Phone out, messages damning: timestamps, Mori Corp logo watermark.
Aiko bagged the cash, Rina summoned for witness. "Club's safe. But this? PD fodder."
As uniforms arrived—Emiko's pull, no doubt—Kai pocketed a screenshot. Ken the banker: loose thread from Mori's web, tugging at the edges. Dad's case closed, but echoes lingered.
Sora dusted off. "Case cracked. But banker uncles? Next level petty."
Yumi grinned. "Everyday's relative. Club meeting? Debrief over ramen."
Kai nodded, but his phone buzzed—Emiko. Good eye. Banker's ledger next? Or the 'haunted' locker rumor brewing? Your call, detective.
The bell rang, pulling them to class. Mysteries multiplied, but so did the crew. Seika's shadows shrank—one yen at a time.
End of Chapter 10
(Next chapter tease: The "haunted" locker prank escalates when a hidden note inside points to a bullying ring tied to Mori's disgruntled ex-employee—dragging Kai into a heartfelt confrontation that tests his "everyday" resolve.)