---
The form was damp from my palm by the time I reached the end of the west corridor.
Not from sweat—at least, not entirely. It had started raining as I left the shoe lockers. Just a spitting kind of rain, the kind that doesn't fall but floats sideways into your collar. But the windows down this hall hadn't been opened in weeks, and the air was heavy, like someone had exhaled and forgotten to breathe in again.
I held the form up to the hallway light. Still legible.
Clubroom Usage Confirmation – Spring Semester
Destination: Room 2C
Representative: Kurose Yui
Status: Provisional Approval
"I'm just delivering it," I muttered.
As if saying it out loud made it less pointless.
No one had asked me to do it. I'd picked it up from the student affairs box on my way to class out of habit. Kurose wasn't in class that day, and I remembered her saying something last week—something dry and forgettable, the way most things she says are. But it must have registered, because here I was.
Room 2C. Former photography club. No club signage. No visible members. Supposedly shut down three semesters ago.
I stood outside the door.
It didn't look like anything. Plain wooden plaque. No markings. Just "2C", the faded number hanging slightly crooked, like a tooth about to fall out. The hall was dead quiet except for the distant slush of rain on the windows.
I slid the door open an inch.
The smell hit first.
Not musty. Not mold, exactly. Something... floral. Synthetic. Like someone had sprayed perfume here a week ago and shut the door behind them.
I opened the door wider and stepped in.
The room was dimmer than I expected. One window was half-covered by a thick green curtain, tied only on one side. There were four desks pushed together in the center like a meeting table, and a lone chair next to the far window—facing out, slightly turned.
The fan in the corner was unplugged, but when I laid my hand on it, it was warm.
I stared at it.
Then stared at my hand.
I reached into my pocket and unfolded the clubroom form, letting it rest gently on the edge of the nearest desk. It flapped slightly under the weak breath of the building's air system—though I didn't hear any vents.
I should have left.
But something wasn't quite calibrated in this room.
---
I walked slowly to the window.
It overlooked the back field, mostly gravel, empty except for a crow picking at the edge of a trash bag near the gym. Rain tapped halfheartedly against the pane.
The chair was upholstered. Clean. Slight imprint on the seat, like someone had been sitting in it—recently.
There were no personal items. No books. No posters. No school banner. Just an unplugged electric kettle, a clean whiteboard with one black marker, and a small plant on the windowsill, slightly overwatered.
My hand brushed the desk near the chair.
Still warm.
No one had entered ahead of me. I would've heard the door. The hall had been silent the entire walk up.
I crouched to inspect the space under the desk.
Just dust.
Then I heard it.
The door behind me slid open with a sound like a breath being sucked in. I stood slowly.
"Did you touch my fan?"
The voice was clear. Slightly bored. Female.
I turned.
Kurose Yui was standing in the doorway, one hand in her blazer pocket, the other adjusting the pin on her tie. Her eyes slid from the fan to me.
I said the first thing that came to mind.
"It's warm."
She stepped in, closed the door behind her, and said nothing.
She wore her usual: skirt ironed too flat, top button closed, blazer one size too big like it had been handed down. Her black hair was tied loosely, strands escaping around her ears. Her gaze was fixed on the fan, not me.
"Was it plugged in when you got here?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Why would I plug in a fan when I wasn't here?"
"Because it was warm."
"That's not proof."
I tilted my head. "So you weren't here?"
"Did I say that?"
I squinted at her.
She walked past me—slow, unhurried—and pulled out the chair by the window. Sat down.
A faint rustle of air shifted past her knees. The room grew quieter.
"I brought the form," I said.
"I saw." She pointed without looking. "You placed it on the corner. Why not the center?"
"Didn't feel like I earned center placement."
That got the hint of a smile from her. Just one corner of her lip. She tapped the paper with her fingernail.
"You came all the way here just to drop that off?"
I didn't answer.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a thermos, unscrewed the lid, and sipped.
I noticed two things.
First: her fingernails were polished today. Subtle lavender. The color didn't match her expression.
Second: her skirt had a tiny slit at the side I hadn't noticed before. Probably a tear. Possibly intentional. It pulled slightly as she crossed her legs, but she didn't adjust it.
She noticed me noticing.
"Staring is free," she said. "For now."
I turned away.
She let the silence stretch.
Then, softly: "You smelled it, didn't you?"
I looked back. She was staring out the window again.
"The scent," she added. "You noticed."
"Perfume. Maybe."
"It's not mine."
Her voice was even. No hint of concern. No performance.
I waited.
"You're wondering why I said that." She leaned forward, setting the thermos down. "You didn't ask. I volunteered it. That makes it suspicious."
"You think I'm suspicious."
"No." She rested her chin in her palm, watching me. "I think you're observant. You walked around the room. You checked the fan. You hesitated before setting the paper down."
"Maybe I just like symmetry."
She laughed once. Soft, short. Then: "The plant moved."
"What?"
She nodded toward the windowsill. "It's a little to the left now. Not where I left it."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you were here earlier."
"I never said I wasn't."
I exhaled through my nose. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you make me feel like I've already lost a game I didn't know we were playing."
She smiled. "That's just because you don't know the rules."
There was a long pause.
Outside, the rain picked up again.
Kurose Yui leaned back in her chair, her shirt rising slightly as she stretched.
Then she said, almost casually: "You know... you can sit. If you're going to keep staring at my legs, it's more polite to do it from across the table."
I sat.
Not because of what she said.
I told myself that.
She poured a second cup from her thermos, set it in front of me, then sipped hers again.
It was tea.
Hot.
Which meant she'd made it less than ten minutes ago.
Despite what she'd said.
I looked at her cup. Then at mine.
She didn't blink.
"What do you think this club does?" she asked, softly.
I looked around the room. The unplugged fan. The chair. The half-drawn curtain. The not-quite-dry ring under the plant pot.
And that smell—still lingering, still unnatural.
I looked back at her.
"You don't solve crimes," I said.
She smiled slowly, leaning in, her hair falling just slightly forward.
"No," she whispered. "We watch them unfold."
---