Loss 4:
Shiratama Riko Strikes Back
ASAGUMO-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.”