The crunch of gravel under tires was the last sound Kai expected on a crisp October afternoon—tires that weren't his. He braked hard at the school gates, bike chain rattling protest as a sleek scooter swerved inches from his front wheel, clipping the curb with a spark. The rider—a harried mom type, helmet askew—wobbled to a stop, groceries spilling from her basket like confetti from a busted piñata. Kai's heart jackhammered, the echo slamming him back three years: rain-slick asphalt, twisted metal, Dad's bike mangled under the black sedan's ghost.
"Whoa—sorry!" the woman called, scrambling for her apples. "Rushed—late pickup. You okay, kid?"
Kai nodded stiff, dismounting on numb legs. "Yeah. Just... déjà vu." The gates loomed, wrought iron guardians to Seika's quad, where students milled oblivious. But his eyes snagged: fresh skid marks on the pavement, faint but telling—hesitant turn, not reckless. And there, tangled in the scooter's wheel: a frayed keychain, silver badge glinting. Seika PTA Volunteer.
Sora biked up seconds later, panting. "Dude! Thought you were roadkill. What happened—scooter rage?"
"Crash echo," Kai muttered, pocketing the keychain. Emiko's tease from last night burned: Bike crash echo? Or let it rest? He'd chosen rest—exams loomed, club dues sorted. But details nagged: the skid's arc, matching Dad's file photo. Coincidence? Or call-back.
Yumi and Aiko caught up, phones out mid-scroll. "Viral potential," Aiko quipped, snapping the scene. " 'Gate Guardian vs. Grocery Getter.' But you look ghosted."
Kai shook it off, forcing a grin. "Momzilla's fault. PTA tag—lost and found fodder." But as they chained bikes, his phone buzzed: Emiko. Skids don't lie. Check the volunteer logs—PTA meeting tonight. Grieving shades linger.
Grieving. Kai's mind slotted: Mori's web snipped, but Dad's hit rippled—witnesses silenced, families fractured. The PTA? Booster moms and dads, alumni ties. Loose end?
Dinner was quiet—Mom's shift swap leaving takeout and TV hum. Kai pored Dad's file on his bed: witness statements, faded. One name: A. Kobayashi, PTA rep, saw the sedan swerve. No follow-up. Kobayashi? Common as Tanaka. But the keychain's badge: engraved A.K. Volunteer.
Bingo.
The PTA meeting crammed the library annex—folding chairs in rows, coffee urn gurgling like a guilty conscience. Kai slouched in the back, hoodie up, "forgotten homework" prop. Sora flanked him, munching pilfered cookies; Yumi and Aiko "browsed" the stacks, ears perked.
Principal's interim—some suit from the board—droned: budgets, fundraisers, "healing post-scandal." Nods rippled, but eyes glazed. Then: "Volunteer report—Akiko Kobayashi?"
A woman mid-40s rose, clipboard clutched like armor. Tired eyes, bob haircut framing a face etched with quiet grief. The scooter mom. "All good, sir. Gate duty covered—despite the... hiccups." Murmurs; someone whispered crash.
Kai's pulse quickened. Akiko. A.K. Grieving? Her son—Seika freshman, per quick LINE scout—had "transferred" last year after bullying buzz. Mori's shadow? No—the overdose echo, whispers of copycat stress.
Post-meeting, Kai lingered by the coffee, "spilling" a splash for icebreaker. "Sorry—klutz move. You're Ms. Kobayashi? Saw your scooter—wild save at the gates."
She dabbed the table, smile strained. "No harm. Kids these days—bikes everywhere. Reminds me of..." Trail-off, eyes distant. "My husband. Gate crash, years back. Sedan clipped him—unsolved. Like your dad, I hear."
The hook landed. Kai's breath caught. "You knew? The Tanaka hit?"
She nodded, voice low. "Saw it. Rainy night—black car, no plates clear. I yelled, but... gone. Police dismissed—'witness error.' But I know cars; mine's a mirror." She tapped her keys—the keychain match. "PTA then, too. Mori donated for 'safety upgrades'—irony."
Sora choked on cookie; Yumi sidled closer from the stacks, eavesdropping pro. Kai pressed gentle: "Why no statement push? Grieving shades?"
Akiko's laugh hollowed. "Grief blinds. Thought it random—till the trial. Mori's web... my son's bully? Tied to alumni kids, Nakamura's 'favorites.' Pushed him out—transferred. I crashed the gate today chasing a lead: kid's old bike, ditched by the fence. Note attached: 'Shadows ride again.'"
Shadows. Echo of the locker notes—Watanabe's style? But poignant: a loose end, small but sharp. The bully ring, Mori's embers scarring families.
"Can I see?" Kai asked, heart twisting. Not case-cold; raw.
She pulled a crumpled paper from her purse: Ride safe—or join the ghosts. —B B? Bully initial?
Aiko materialized, "volunteering" a napkin. "Art club—could sketch the bike? For lost and found."
Akiko hesitated, then nodded. "Help? Police laughed last time. But you—Tanaka's boy. Dad's rep lingers."
Alliance sparked. They met at the gates dusk-deep, her scooter parked crooked. The bike—rusted kid's model, chain snapped—lay half-buried in bushes. Note confirmed: B's scrawl, paper from debate club scraps.
"Son's bike," Akiko whispered, kneeling. "Stolen post-transfer. Bully's taunt—thought closed."
Yumi scanned the area: tire tracks, fresh—scooter match? No—smaller, kid's wheels. Sora poked the bushes: a dropped gum wrapper, spearmint—club concession fave.
"B for Ben," Kai pieced. "Debate prez, Nakamura's nephew. Alum tie—saw him at the gala, smirking."
Akiko's face crumpled. "Ben? Pushed my boy—'Mori's way or walk.' After the bust, payback prank?"
Confront soft. They tracked Ben to the debate room—flu lights harsh on trophy walls. He paced, scripting a speech, but froze at the knock.
"Ben? The bike," Kai started, Akiko flanking—mom steel, not scooter scatter.
Ben paled, script crumpling. "Prank! After Uncle Nakamura's mess—thought it'd... scare off the 'detectives.' Mori ghost, y'know? My dad's old firm—banker Ken. Pressure to 'rep the name.' Stole it from storage, ditched for the crash vibe."
Sora snorted. "Vibe? Lame flex."
Akiko stepped forward, voice breaking but firm. "My son—your 'prank' broke him. Shadows aren't games."
Ben deflated, eyes down. "Sorry. Dad's crumbling—trial fallout. Thought toughening up... like Mori taught. Won't again."
Emotional pivot. Kai nodded. "Return it. And talk—to your dad. Loose ends choke."
Ben agreed, hauling the bike from the quad shed. Akiko hugged her—poignant, pedals creaking like closure.
Back at the konbini, ramen steaming, Yumi raised her cup. "Small win. Grieving alliance—poetic."
Aiko sketched the keychain. "For the mural. 'Echoes Healed.'"
Sora slurped. "Rest now? Or next ghost?"
Kai's phone pinged: Emiko. Ember snuffed. PTA's yours—watch for swapped lunches? Everyday calls.
He smiled. Echo faded, but the ride rolled on.
End of Chapter 12
(Next chapter tease: A classic "swapped lunchbox" mix-up at school turns suspicious when the wrong bento hides a cryptic message—pulling Kai into a light-hearted but layered puzzle involving club rivalries and a hidden crush confession.)