Chapter CXVIII: The Search, Part 3
The same day, the afternoon sun slants across cracked pavement as Ms. Soumei, Mr. Nashi, Mamoru, and Takeshi step into the Old Admin Building. From the outside, fresh scaffolding and gleaming paint mask years of neglect—but inside, it's a time capsule of decay.
Mr. Nashi leads with confidence, his knowledge of the building's layout returning like muscle memory. The group meanders past peeling posters, dusty lecture podiums, and lockers frozen ajar—emptied ages ago.
Takeshi (whispering): "Feels like a ghost story waiting to begin."
Mamoru: "I was kind of hoping for ghosts."
They inspect every desolate room across the first floor, but find nothing except strewn papers and a rusted old bell. Ms. Soumei takes a picture and sends it to the squad and captions it: "Day 2: no no Akikota, Yet ghosts might be looking here at 3am."
They find nothing so they go to the next floor.
Ascending to the second floor, the stale air is thicker as papers litter the hall like confetti thrown by time. Yellowed forms bearing outdated fonts hang from damp ceilings. Nothing obvious.
Mamoru (examining a bin): "These are class registration forms... from 2018."
Takeshi: "So nobody has been here in at least five years or more."
"Let's carry on, what's with this stickiness here?", Ms. Soumei asks.
"Well, I think we all know the idea why it's sticky.", Mamoru jokes.
He and Takeshi high-five, then proceed upward.
They ascend the stairs to the third floor.
On the landing greets them a filthy hoodie, snagged on a railing. It's surprisingly new—blemished, but clearly worn recently. They pull it off the rusted banister.
Ms. Soumei (lifting the sleeve): "Kids' small size... not Akiko or Kota."
Mr. Nashi (checking label): "Maybe... Tengen or Hanako's?"
Ms. Soumei: "Nah, they're the same sizes as Akiko and Kota."
No breath of laughter comes; they pocket it as evidence and push open the classroom door.
Inside the third-floor classroom, a massive sheet of paper covers the chalkboard. Cautious but resolute, Mr. Nashi instructs them to undo it together. Ripping through, they reveal a crudely drawn map of the school and rail lines, labelled "Operation: Kouhai.". Next to it, a shocking photograph: Akiko and Kota with big red X's over their faces.
Tension presses heavy.
Takeshi (whispering): "That's not decoration."
Mamoru (surveying the room): "This is a collection of tactics."
They flash back to the school—Hanako, and Tengen, with Megumi who is crying and labeling Kota and Akiko as perverts—and realize it's a coordinated plan. Ms. Soumei retrieves her phone for UV light mode.
The beam of a red-tinted UV flashlight illuminates two distinct sets of footprints: one bulky and one slender, shoeprints crossing the room haphazardly. Clearly, two suspects entered here but never returned.
Mamoru (kneeling): "Look at this arc—only one trip in."
Ms. Soumei (solemn): "They were here once, maybe two. Took the hoodie, left no trace—except the map."
They search every desk, locker, and drawer. They go look into 27 different lockers, in which 3 are locked with a student's padlock since it had their name and section on it. The rest are open.
In the final locker, tucked beneath a dusty binder, they find a battered notebook. Flipping pages: entries in Morse code—dots and dashes scribbled on yellowing pages.
Mr. Nashi (reading): "... dot dash dash... UEM—"
Ms. Soumei: "I can translate. Let's find a quiet corner."
They huddle against a blank wall. Ms. Soumei begins decoding out loud—her voice smooth, professional.
Ms. Soumei: "'Phase One: isolate the target—–'"
Before she can finish, Mamoru jumps.
Mamoru: "Holy—It says..."
Takeshi: "Wait—'Destroy the faculty, Operation: Kouhai.'"
The two burst into profanity, their shocked yells echoing through hallways.
Mamoru (swears under breath): "They're planning something... catastrophic."
Takeshi: "This is bigger than missing kids."
Ms. Soumei quiets them.
Ms. Soumei: "So. They call the mission 'Kouhai.' Two people, two hoodie prints, Akiko and Kota targeted. That's why they X'd their faces."
Nerves tighten. They can't reveal more yet.
The group exchanges looks, hearts pounding.
Mr. Nashi: "We can't hold this room much longer—they could return."
Ms. Soumei (flipping a page): "Wait, there's more."
She flips more pages and decodes more code, and then her eyes widen more as she catches a drawing in the notebook. Out of nervousness, she throws the notebook into the corner.
Ms. Soumei (nervously): "This, this is too much. There's no way, anyone could do this to our school!"
Mr. Nashi: "Calm down, Fuyutsuki-san. Mamoru, call campus security immediately. This classroom is a crime scene, and we have to shut it down before those suspects come back at any time."
Ms. Soumei calms down, and Mamoru calls campus security. The security guards come up, and as they see the situation, they call the police. The police then reprimands the classroom, putting police tapes around it.
Their footsteps echo in abandoned hallways until they reach the exit. Sunlight strokes their faces—ominous yet hopeful.
Ms. Soumei hands Mr. Nashi the notebook.
Ms. Soumei: "Hold this. We have more than a rescue. We have to stop disaster."
They file outside, shaking, wary—but driven.
The train sways underfoot as Asahi, Enmei, Gin, Natsuki, Himari, Haru, Yui, Masashi, Hatsune, Hana, Hina, and Hayato settle into their seats. It's evening, and no ordinary journey—this is a joint mission to find Akiko and Kota, missing now for 9 days.
Hatsune grips a paper airplane that folded into her fingers. She leans toward her sisters and brother. "I just... what do you think they're doing now?" she murmurs, her voice trembling more than the carriage.
Enmei, ever the impish one, smirks. "Banging each other?"
Within seconds, Asahi and Gin unleash twin karate chops—thwack! Hatsune flinches. Natsuki sighs. "You're hopeless."
Asahi, rubbing his hand theatrically: "Hey, verbal offense deserves physical defense!"
Gin grins, but turns on Enmei. "Cold joke, buddy."
Pushing the awkward moment aside, Natsuki gently soothes Hatsune. "I believe they're protecting each other, ma'am. Kota wouldn't ever hurt Akiko. Never."
Hatsune blinks slowly, tasting hope.
Nearby, Masashi and Gin are deep in discussion:
Masashi: "Funnily enough, the trains remind me of WWII troop movements—but for civilian transport."
Gin: "Right! Except no flak, just fancy air-conditioning."
On the other side, Haru and Asahi quietly share memes from the day—one referencing Craftsburg + koi = "carpkour"—while Yui, Himari, Hana, and Hina exchange group chat screenshots and anime farces. It's almost normal, if not for the pall over all of them.
Suddenly, Asahi's phone vibrates. He reads a message, then stands. "Ma'am?" he switches to Hatsune. "Ms. Soumei—just called. They found a huge cache of evidence at the Old Admin building."
A charged silence ripples through the group. Natsuki gives Hatsune a reassuring squeeze in response to her shaken gaze.
"Plenty to unpack after we get there," Asahi assures all voices. He drops back into his seat, summoning focus. "Let's finish this trip. Check everything once we arrive."
Train wheels click-clack beneath overhead lights, carrying them further from home, deeper into the night. Hatsune exhales, leaning on Hayato. "Just—please let them be okay."
Hayato, a calm presence all evening, nods without turning. "They'll be found."
Four hours later, the train sighs into the station. They step onto the platform into a place that looks halfway between modern charm and historical resilience: Sendai City. The air smells of salt spray from nearby shores and pine from mountains beyond. Neon signs buzz; families wait at taxi stands; bullet train ghosts linger on adjacent tracks.
Haru: "This town... it's urban but not too manicured. Feels... real."
Yui: "I like the pine scent."
Gin: "Homey city, yeah."
They don't pause long. Asahi leads the thread of flashlights and phone-torch beams out of the station.
They go to the heart of the city and begin to search. But they get to the suburbs.
The group flows along damp alleyways—side streets lined with out-of-place chairs, vending machines humming, stray cats threading between porches. Lights glare down like surveillance eyes. Each step is weighted.
Asahi: "Stick in pairs for phone-checks and AUDs. (audio detection) Plug me in if you hear anything suspicious."
Natsuki kneels by a lone hat, sketched with blue smudges. "Could be from Kota..."
Hina gently touches it. "Maybe."
Hana whispers to Hatsune: "Imagine if it's just blown away by wind. That'd be funny relief."
Hatsune cracks a reluctant smile. "Imagine."
Haru and Masashi drift together. Haru's phone pings silent Craftsburg Survival discussions. They swallow the irony that his heart is elsewhere—facing unknown darkness.
Natsuki streams a map onto her phone, marking crossed-out spots already checked.
Masashi: "Feels like Hitchcock's Psycho, except we're the missing."
Lightning cracks overhead. A sudden rumble ripples across alley walls, and the crowd halts.
Gin: "Shit! Typhoon's coming?"
Asahi: "More like thunder—just in time."
They press onward, velocity quickening. The air hums with expectation.
A sudden craving hits. A late-night ramen vending stall glows. The group sighs in relief.
They sip steaming bowls: each noodle swallow punctuates anxious quiet. Yui laughs over Chopstick-meets-phone trick shots—ramen selfies trending harder than they expected.
They recap that Ms. Soumei, Mr. Nashi, Mamoru and Takeshi found maps and hoodie evidence at the Old Admin building. UV footprints suggest two suspects. The code pointed to "Operation: Kouhai"—a prelude to sabotage. Now, they're in this city bent on salvage.
Enmei jokes: "The five of you would sabotage a Henna festival if you had a chance."
Asahi raises his bowl. "But the bottom line: we have something to go on."
They finish and move again—this time with collectible energy.
At 10 p.m., Asahi's phone glows. He steps aside, reads.
"All right," he says, voice tight. "Mr. Amane traced someone just a few kilometers north. That's our next stop."
He returns, eyes bright with energy—and worry.
Yui: "We're going?" Her voice cracks between worry and resolve.
Asahi: "We go. All of us."
They rally—shoulder hands clasp, tokens of solidarity. They'll face whatever horrors lie ahead.
They step into the night rain—umbrellas flop in wind. Flashlights carve arcs down the road. Somewhere beyond, two figures wait, planning. Or hiding.
The scene pulls back from Sendai City, blinking alive. Their shadows stretch, broad as the mission they accept to find Kota and Akiko and bring them home.
The lights inside the Shinomiya High faculty office flicker softly, the late hour wearing on the walls and minds of those inside. Ms. Ezura sips her nth cup of coffee, her brows furrowed, eyes darting between a city map and a series of printed CCTV screenshots.
"Sir," she begins, eyeing Mr. Amane across the table, "are you sure this is where they went? Sendai? That's... a bit far for two high school students who just vanished."
Mr. Amane, calm as ever, reclines slightly in his creaky faculty chair. "The cameras don't lie, Ezura. Especially when my assistant personally triple-checked the footage with facial enhancement AI, streetlight cross-angles, and a cup of convenience store yakisoba for context."
Ezura raises an eyebrow. "So... science and snacks?"
"Precision and passion," Amane retorts, smug. "You want results? Let me snack."
Principal Fukushu, standing near the window, watches the lights of the city twinkle in the night. He crosses his arms tightly. "I hope they find them soon. This is no longer just a student issue. Something bigger is stirring... I can feel it."
Before another word is spoken, a knock echoes through the room. All heads snap toward the door.
It creaks open dramatically—perhaps more than necessary—and stepping inside are none other than Ms. Soumei, Mr. Nashi, Mamoru, and Takeshi, fresh from their exploration of the Old Admin building, dust and mystery practically clinging to their clothes.
Principal Fukushu doesn't waste time. "Well? Did you find anything?"
Mr. Nashi, stoic and sharp, steps forward. From the tote bag slung across his shoulder, he pulls out the weathered, slightly singed notebook, its corners curled and pages marked with symbols no average student would ever scribble.
He walks up to Fukushu and places it gently on the table like it's a sacred relic—or a bomb.
"See for yourself," Ms. Soumei says plainly.
Principal Fukushu opens the notebook slowly, as though it might bite. He flips through indecipherable lines, then stops at the last page. His eyes widen. His pupils shrink. Without a word, he hurls the notebook onto the table, sending a few stray pens flying.
The room falls into stunned silence. Ezura squeaks and nearly knocks over her coffee. Amane blinks, adjusts his glasses, then picks up the notebook carefully.
"Oh, come on. It can't be that ba—"
He freezes. The line he reads causes the exact same eye-pupil shock reaction. "Mother of—this isn't just delinquent graffiti. This is strategy."
Fukushu turns, voice grave. "Did someone try to stop this?"
Amane, still processing the implications, nods slowly. "I've... heard a rumor that Class 3-A—specifically the class rep and Toshiro—have already made counter-moves to expose or fight back against this plan."
"Class 3-A?" Mamoru scratches his head. "You mean the class where everything always goes crazy before midterms?"
Mr. Nashi grunts. "Those kids do more investigations than our school security."
Ms. Soumei, "Ehem! That's my advisory class you're talking about!"
Soumei adds quickly, "That's not all. We also uncovered a hoodie stuck to the stair rail on the third floor. Too small to be from Akiko or Kota... which means someone else was there."
"Someone small... and sneaky," Takeshi mutters, biting into a granola bar he forgot was in his pocket for five days.
Ms. Ezura perks up. "Also, the classroom where we found the map and notebook? Shut down now by the authorities. Crime scene tape, the works."
"Wait, we have a classroom that's now a crime scene?" Amane blinks. "Why does no one tell me these things in a memo?"
"I tried," Soumei deadpans. "You left me on read, Sir."
Fukushu raises a hand to stop the side banter, turning serious again. "We'll see that room ourselves. First thing tomorrow. Bring gloves. And someone get me the name of the student who last used that classroom."
Amane nods. "Already working on it."
Fukushu exhales, finally sitting down. He places both hands flat on the table, letting the tension settle. "Good job... to all of you who went there. You just saved us from being completely in the dark."
Mamoru, still holding the UV flashlight from earlier, salutes dramatically. "Shinomiya's Dooby-Doo squad. Reporting in."
"Zoinks," Takeshi mutters, chewing his granola bar like a war ration.
Soumei facepalms, muttering, "Why do I work with theater majors in disguise..."
While tension brews in the faculty room, miles away on a speeding train, the students surge forward into the unknown.
But inside this room, with the notebook spread out under the overhead light, it becomes painfully clear: whatever this operation is—Operation: Kouhai—it's not a prank. It's real. It's methodical. And it's dangerous.
The scribbles inside the book, once decoded, whisper plans of infiltration, manipulation, psychological traps, and diversion tactics. Names are omitted, but initials, timelines, and hand-drawn maps provide more than enough evidence that the school has already been a target.
Principal Fukushu runs a hand down his face.
"We're being attacked from the outside, some foreigners," he says quietly.
"And it's not just about Akiko and Kota," Amane adds. "They might just be the beginning."
Soumei leans forward. "Then we move fast. The kids are already on the train."
"Let's just hope," Fukushu says slowly, "that they don't stumble into a trap."
As the clock ticks past midnight, the faculty office becomes a war room.
Maps and schedules litter the board.
Mr. Amane creates a makeshift "Suspect Chart" on a whiteboard, drawing two stick figures labeled H1 and H2 (Hooded 1 and 2) that might be connected to Iceburgh and MapleSyrup.
Ezura keeps snacking nervously on senbei rice crackers, offering some to Soumei who accepts without making eye contact.
Mr. Nashi tries to use his laptop but forgets his password—again.
Soumei sighs and takes over, muttering, "Your password isn't 'nashiboy123,' it's 'NashiKing2023!' Remember?"
"W-why would I make it that?"
"You literally shouted it during the teacher karaoke night."
The team goes quiet as Mamoru flips open the notebook again and turns to a mid-section.
"There's a page here that doesn't match the others..."
It's a sketched timeline—days, routes, and a curious final note that simply reads:
"Phase 2 begins once the Kouhai are out of the city."
They all stare at it. Then at each other.
Fukushu slowly whispers, "Phase 2?"
Ezura swallows her cracker whole. "You don't think..."
"They're counting on us looking in the wrong place," Amane finishes grimly.
"But if Akiko and Kota aren't the target..." Mamoru begins.
Soumei stands, closing the notebook. "Then maybe they're the bait."
Silence.
Fukushu rises once more. "Then we can't let the others out there face it alone."
"They're adults now, with Akiko's guardians. Don't you trust them?" Amane asks.
Fukushu sighs. "You're right, Josuke. But let them know that just a click of a button, help will be coming along the way."
Amane nods.
Mamoru raises a hand. "Can I request a snack budget for this mission?"
Everyone collectively groans.
"Here", Ms. Soumei throws Mamoru a can of Bringles. "You can munch it off while you're at it or so help us now!"
The streets of Sendai City pulse with the quiet energy of midnight—streetlamps casting golden halos on cracked pavements, distant train whistles echoing through the cold breeze, and vending machines humming like tired night owls.
Asahi marches forward like a boy on a divine mission, his steps sharp on the alleyway concrete, his eyes flicking from one building to another like a seasoned detective on his fifth coffee.
Behind him, the rest of the squad shuffle along, a bizarre caravan of determination and fatigue.
"Why does this place smell like fish and broken dreams?" Enmei groans, yanking his blue hoodie tighter as a gust of wind hits them. "Also, my legs are filing for divorce."
"Would you please shut up for five seconds?" Gin snaps, pushing his glasses up. "You said the same thing at the train station, at the park, and—oh, yes—the vending machine!"
"I was hungry, Gin. And that vending machine was suspicious."
"It sold green tea and crackers."
"Exactly!"
Asahi doesn't bother engaging. His eyes stay fixed on the phone screen, where Mr. Amane's live GPS pings and blips like a heartbeat.
He presses the call button. It rings once. Twice. Then—
"On your left," Amane says, voice calm, as though he's guiding a team through a minefield and not twelve exhausted, sarcastic teenagers through a Japanese alleyway.
Asahi glances left.
There it is. An apartment building, modest in size but aged in character. White walls now grayish, cracked cement stair railings, and rusty balconies. But there's something... odd. Warm, even. One window flickers with light.
He turns around, his eyes scanning his crew.
Enmei, arms crossed and grumbling.
Gin, pulling up Boogle Maps just to double-check if this is real.
Natsuki, silent and observant, probably already planning how to protect everyone.
Himari and Yui, holding hands like it's a horror film premiere.
Haru, chewing gum with the calmness of a 60-year-old monk in a hoodie.
Masashi, who's currently trying to recall whether the neighborhood was mentioned in any historical record from the Meiji era.
And finally, the quartet of chaos: Hatsune, Hayato, Hina, and Hana, all scanning the building with the tension of overprotective siblings on DEFCON 1.
"Well," Asahi says, pocketing his phone, "This is it."
"We sure this isn't just a tofu shop with a weird doorbell?" Masashi asks.
"Why would a tofu shop have six locks?" Haru mutters.
"I mean, tofu's valuable."
"Please stop talking," Gin pleads.
They climb the stairs slowly. Carefully.
Each step feels heavier.
And then—they reach the door.
Metal. A few stickers here and there. A hanging welcome sign with a badly drawn cat saying "Nyaaa~". Charming, if unsettling.
Asahi raises his hand to press the doorbell.
Ding dong.
Nothing.
Then—click.
And another click.
And another.
And then clank.
And chunk.
And creeeeak.
A full symphony of locks begins to play behind the door. One by one, like a xylophone of suspense.
"Why is this door playing percussion?" Enmei whispers. "Are we meeting Akiko or a Yakuza boss?"
Hatsune gulps. "Is this... really where they are?"
No one answers.
The last lock slides open with a tired shhhhk, like a sigh.
The doorknob turns.
The door opens.
Silence.
Twelve pairs of eyes stare in.
Two pairs stare back.
The hallway light inside the apartment pours out gently, illuminating the quiet faces of Akiko and Kota.
Their expressions are unreadable—tired, soft, and filled with the kind of mutual understanding you only get after surviving something... or running from something.
Akiko is dressed in a modest hoodie and joggers, her signature handmade hairclip now missing—probably the same one found back at the StarYen café, however, she is using a scrunchy and a ponytail at the back of her head.
Kota stands beside her in slippers and a slightly wrinkled shirt that screams, "I've been cooking instant noodles and reading local newspapers for a week."
The two groups stare at each other.
No one says a word.
Hatsune's eyes widen first.
Hayato's jaw drops.
Himari clutches Yui's hand tighter.
Masashi leans forward, squinting as if making sure they're not holograms.
Enmei's brain breaks. No words. Just static.
The air is stiff, thick with a hundred questions, a thousand emotions, and the haunting sound of the creaky apartment door's hinges slowly swinging wide open.
The silence stretches.
Stretches.
And stretches more.
Twelve outside.
Two inside.
None breathing.
They're all mannequins in a forgotten window display, frozen in a moment none of them are prepared to break.
TO BE CONTINUED...
127Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNniIsoxqZk
and then Add to home screen.