Speaking of which, the only thing Sotoin had said about the man’s puzzling disappearance into thin air was that it was “interesting”─so if there had been any time to do an about-face, that would’ve been it.
Since the mood had already taken a pretty unsettling turn by that point, I probably could’ve managed it─but now it was too late.
My warning sensor was too dull, and Sotoin’s beauty sensor had gone off first. I suppose any act that ignores cost performance─which is to say, that goes beyond profit and loss or personal interest─fits his aesthetic to a tee.
And once things reached that point, there was no stopping him.
Although I have to admit one thing.
The sort of refined, or perhaps...elegant spirit of play that ignores the bottom line strikes me as an essential element of artistic creation. I can’t deny that I, too, thought the act of creating over-budget counterfeit money was in and of itself beautiful.
But everything depends on context.
I hardly need to point this out, but producing counterfeit money is a crime. The crime of improper currency forgery or something like that─and I’m fairly sure it’s quite a serious charge.
If I accepted Sakiguchi’s analysis of the situation, then this was no time to be worrying about Mr. Bare-Legs’ aversion to the police─we had to get serious about handing that hundred thousand yen in (fake) bills over to the cops.
But as far as I could tell from Sotoin’s beaming face, he had no intention whatsoever of taking that course of action─no question about it, he planned to solve this mystery himself.
Which meant it was virtually meaningless to resist─from the student council president and the delinquent to Mr. Bare-Legs and, of course, the child genius stationed behind Sotoin like a bodyguard, all were loyal to der leader in der own special ways.
Come to think of it, this regime was outrageously autocratic.
Even if we put it to a democratic vote, I’d lose by a five-to-one landslide─which meant arguing for my position as the minority wouldn’t just be meaningless, it would be downright counterproductive.
In which case, a more productive approach would be to weasel my way into the regime by pretending to agree with the dictator, from which position I could subtly urge caution, hint at danger, and steer us all away from the jaws of death.
Crap.
How did I, the girl who had completely ignored relationship-building skills for practically a decade, suddenly get caught up in all this politicking? But, no exaggeration, if I didn’t start directing the show from the shadows, the Pretty Boy Detective Club could be headed for total annihilation.
“What’s with that face, Dojima? You look like one of those hot-blooded young people who actually believes politicians when they say, ‘We need your precious vote!’ What we actually need is grassroots mobilization on a massive scale.”
Awfully satirical for someone who doesn’t even know what I’m thinking.
Plus, my precious vote does matter!
Do you even realize how much responsibility is getting put on me here? Mostly by myself, but still.
Why did I even come to these guys for help in the first place….
I can only conclude that I wasn’t merely deluded, I was delusional.
“Come on, Dojima. I’ll accept that a guy like me can’t tell play money from the real thing, but you’re telling me that even with your crazy eyesight, you couldn’t see through a little trick like this?”
“Ouch…”
That one stung.
If I’d realized the money was counterfeit when I picked up the bundle of bills Mr. Businessman (who I was now certain was not in fact a businessman) had dropped, I probably could have settled the matter on my own.
If I’d realized the seriousness of the situation, I probably would have pretended not to notice the money lying there on the ground in the first place─which was a thought that made me wretchedly regretful.
“You have a point there, Michiru. It’s quite unlike Mayumi the Seer, she of the beautiful eyes, to overlook something like that.”
Sotoin cocked his head innocently.
Hey, don’t give people nicknames without their permission!
Mayumi the Seer? What the hell!
“It’s not like my eyes make me clairvoyant or something,” I pouted, mentally cursing him (although secretly I wasn’t at all unhappy that the leader seemed to have accepted me as a member). “Plus,” I added, “I was wearing my glasses, so what do you expect?”
“Your glasses, young Dojima? Ah yes, that’s right. The ones you use to restrict your greatest beauty─your vision.”
He sounded satisfied with my excuse.
The president always used to harangue me about taking off my glasses so he could see my “beautiful eyes,” but ever since he learned that I wear them to protect my overly good eyesight from overuse, he’d actually stopped doing that.
I suppose when it came down to it, even Manabu the Aesthete─who not only valued beauty above all else but was willing to ignore all else for the sake of beauty─had to draw the line somewhere if he was going to hold onto his humanity. Or perhaps the placement of that line itself was a part of his aesthetic. Though it didn’t make a lick of sense to me.
Still, the fact of the matter was that I didn’t have to be quite so uptight about protecting my eyes─overusing them would be bad, but using them here and there was fine. Sometimes I even forgot to wear my glasses, so essentially it was no different from wearing contact lenses for me.
And so, while I couldn’t undo my mistake, I could take a closer look at the banknotes─I placed one hand on either side of the frames and carefully removed my glasses (I do have a spare pair, but they’re expensive, so naturally I tend to handle them carefully).
Now let’s see here.
If I used my real vision─the vision that allows me to find stars that don’t exist, the vision that even I have to admit is frankly somewhat unbelievable─would I be able to determine the authenticity of this bill?
Sizzle.
“Huh?”