Kyoto PV: Youka

Rain was falling for the first time in the month the afternoon I walked alone into the headquarters to see the president.

I had been thinking about this situation for a long time, about how he would
handle it, and when. Now it was clear. He waited until the last possible moment, and he was going to do it by himself.

The lights were off, except for a lamp on the president’s desk. It was still not dark, so it was unnecessary, probably turned on just to give certain atmosphere. The president was behind his desk, with a serious face, reading a white cardboard card. He put it down when I walked in.

“Please sit down,” he told me, and he moved to the front of his chair.

When I did, I noticed there had been more people sitting on that chair that day. At least two. I sighed and smiled, it was like I expected, he was going to judge us.

The President quickly glanced at his card again, then put it back down.

“Is every wrong clue not as important as a correct one?” he checked the card once again, then looked at me with a satisfied expression.

It seemed like a rhetorical question at best, but after several seconds in silence, it was obvious he expected a reply before proceeding.

“It is, indeed,” I said. He nodded, satisfied, then cleared his throat.

Two of the books on the bookshelf had switched position since last time, so he must have been reading one. Perhaps to get “inspiration” for the card. One of the books was A Study in Scarlet. I couldn’t remember the quote as a part of any Sherlock Holmes story, so it must have been from The Three Musketeers. I made a mental note to remember to read it.

“I know you know why I told you to come here,” he said.

I knew. But he went on anyway.

“I’m leaving soon. And I was wondering if you’re interested in this,” and his eyes moved through the whole headquarters.

“I am,” I said.

He looked away for a moment, rubbing his chin with his left thumb, thinking.

Perhaps the biggest mystery in the world is the way people think. Everyone must have their own process, different from everyone else, or we would all think the same. And as soon you think you have figured out one person’s way of doing it, they seem to do something counterintuitive.

The president’s thumb stopped moving. He had solved a mystery. He looked at me, and for a moment I could see something in his eyes, doubt or nostalgia, but then I saw the usual decision he always had.

“Thanks for coming, you may now leave.”

He opened the desk drawer and put the card inside. My hand moved up, asking him to stop.

“Can I keep the card?” I asked. It was an impulse, and I had to make a big effort to not get flustered.

“Why, of course…” he seemed to be caught off guard, and being able to see that surprise felt like a victory. He, however, quickly recovered his everyday tone and gave it to me.

“Will this be the last time we—?” I began, but he shook his head.

He gave me an envelope, and told me it wasn’t meant to be opened until later. I knew what was inside, so I had to make a big effort to not open it there.

He then simply gestured me to leave. Knowing that he wasn’t going to say anything else, I put both, the card and the envelope, in my backpack, stood up, and walked out without looking back.

I met the Ayakashi in the hallway. She bowed to me, and I waved at her as I kept walking.

“Do you want to take my umbrella?” I heard her say when I walked out the school, but walking in the rain has never been a bad thing to me, and my backpack was waterproof.

The envelope was going to be fine.