Dawn crept over Seika High like a thief in soft grays and pinks, the first light kissing the rooftops before daring to touch the ground. Kai huddled in the bushes lining the courtyard, knees drawn to his chest, the chill seeping through his hoodie. Sleep had been a lost cause—tossed in bed replaying the suited man's growl: Tanaka's brat. It looped like a bad remix, Dad's badge a cold lump against his thigh. He'd told Mom he was "studying late" at Sora's; the lie sat heavy, but so did the truth.
Sora snored softly beside him, curled like a comma, Pocky crumbs dusting his jacket. Aiko was the vigilant one, perched on a low branch with her sketchbook open, charcoal flying across the page. "Can't sleep either?" she whispered, not looking up. Her drawing took shape: the fountain as a watery eye, secrets bubbling beneath.
Kai shook his head. "Too much noise up here." He tapped his temple, forcing a half-smile. The map pin from the text glowed on his phone screen—exact coordinates for the fountain's edge. Follow the money to the founder's plaque. Money? The 1987 note's "suits own this place" echoed that. Donations, scandals—threads pulling taut.
A rustle snapped them alert. Sora bolted upright, eyes wild. "Ghost? Gator?!"
"Shh—rabbit," Aiko said, stifling a laugh. But her gaze flicked to the horizon, where the sky blushed deeper. "Five minutes to sunup. Think our texter's dramatic?"
Before Kai could answer, his phone buzzed—vibrate-only mode a mercy. Look under the plaque. Water hides what stone can't. Hurry—the dawn patrol stirs. No photo this time, just urgency. Kai pocketed it and nodded toward the fountain, a weathered stone basin etched with ivy and the school's motto: Veritas in Umbris—Truth in Shadows. Ironic, that.
They crept across dew-slick grass, the quad silent save for birdsong and the faint trickle from the fountain's spout. The founder's plaque gleamed at the base—a bronze slab honoring Mr. Kenjiro Sato, Benefactor, 1987, with flowing script praising his "generous endowment for Seika's future." Kai knelt, water lapping at his sneakers, and traced the edges. Loose? He wedged his fingers underneath, heart thudding. It lifted with a wet suck, revealing a shallow niche crusted with algae.
Inside: a small, watertight tin, rusted but sealed. Kai pried it open, breath clouding in the cool air. Folded documents—brittle, ink-faded—spilled out, alongside a tiny flash drive etched with E-Proof. He unfolded the top sheet: a bank transfer stub, dated October 1987. Sato Enterprises to Seika High: ¥50M. Note: For expansion—strictly confidential. No audits. But scribbled in the margin, Dad's handwriting: Forged sig? Check alumni board—Sato's ghost.
"Jackpot," Sora breathed, peering over. "Or curse. That's big bucks. Like, build-a-wing money."
Aiko scanned the next page—a roster of "elite alumni donors," names crossed out in red. One uncrossed: Takashi Mori, CEO, Mori Corp. The man from the dean's photo, smirking by the black sedan. Below it, a memo fragment: Overdose cover: Mori pulled strings. Tanaka sniffing—relocate evidence. E. warns.
Kai's blood ran cold. Mori—the shadow in every frame. Dad had tangled with him, alright. The 1987 scandal wasn't just a hushed death; it was a web of bribes, a student's "accident" buried to protect golden geese. And E? Still the phantom ally, dropping bombshells from the ether.
"This flash drive," Aiko said, holding it up to the light. "Bet it's got the dirt—emails, ledgers. We plug it in somewhere safe?"
Sora nodded vigorously. "My house! Dad's got that ancient PC in the garage. Offline, zero hacks."
But Kai hesitated, eyes on the plaque. Something glinted deeper in the niche—a second item, overlooked in the shadows: a slim envelope, wax-sealed with a Mori Corp crest. He fished it out, breaking the seal with a thumbnail. Inside, a single card: To the curious Tanaka heir—Stop digging, or join your father. The sedan's patient. —M.
Threat. Blunt as a brick. Kai's grip tightened, crumpling the edge. Join your father. Not accident—erasure. Mori's sedan, the hit-and-run. Proof, maybe, on that drive. Rage flickered, hot and unfamiliar, but he shoved it down. Details first. Emotions later.
"We've got enough," he said, voice low. "Sun's up—move."
They retreated to the bushes just as the janitor's truck rumbled into the lot, headlights slicing the mist. Sora exhaled. "Close shave. So, Mori's the big bad? Why school ghosts now?"
"Loose ends," Kai murmured. "Dad's file reopening? Or us getting too close." He pocketed the tin's contents, the badge joining the pile—a detective's kit from beyond the grave.
Aiko closed her sketchbook with a snap. "We need a plan. Copy the drive, confront the texter—E—whoever. And that threat? Not ignoring it."
Sora paled. "Confront? I'm more 'hide under bed' type."
Their debate cut short by footsteps—crunching gravel, deliberate. Not janitor. Kai signaled silence, peering through leaves. A figure approached the fountain: slight, hooded, backpack slung low. They knelt by the plaque, hand dipping into the water—searching the now-empty niche.
"Looking for this?" The voice was soft, feminine, laced with amusement. The hood fell back: Yumi, the third-year from the ghost photo. Lit club star, known for ghost stories and late-night essays. She straightened, empty-handed, and turned—straight toward their hiding spot.
Kai stepped out, hands visible. "Yumi-senpai. Fancy dawn dive."
She didn't flinch, just tilted her head, dark hair cascading. A knowing smile played on her lips. "Tanaka-kun. And friends. E's little birds, I presume?"
Sora yelped, tumbling from the bush. Aiko helped him up, eyes narrow. "You're E? The note writer? Ghost texter?"
Yumi's laugh was light, like wind chimes. "Half-credit. E for Emiko—my aunt. She was your dad's partner, Kai. Eiji was the cover; too many ears. After the 'accident,' she went dark. Raised me on scraps of truth—until the texts started pinging my burner."
Kai's world tilted. Aunt Emiko—Dad's shadow partner, the one who'd "retired" post-hit-and-run. Whispers of burnout, but now? A guardian weaving clues. "Why the games? Riddles, chases—why not just talk?"
Her smile faded, eyes flicking to the admin building. "Mori's eyes everywhere. Phones tapped, shadows tailing. The 'ghost' was bait—to flush you out, test if you'd bite. You did. Smart kid." She glanced at his pocket, where the envelope's edge peeked. "And that? Fresh from his goons. Dropped it last night after your desk raid. They're circling tighter."
Aiko crossed her arms. "So, ally? Or setup?"
Yumi met her gaze. "Ally. With teeth. Auntie's drive has Mori's emails—forged donations, the overdose kid's real tox report. Proof the sedan's no myth. But plugging it in? Risky. Mori's alumni network runs deep—board members, donors. One slip, and we're all 'accidents.'"
Sora swallowed. "Great. So, plan B: Burn it? Run?"
"No," Kai said, the word steeling him. Dad's badge burned hotter, a call to arms. "We use it. Copy, expose—quietly. School paper? Anonymous leak?"
Yumi nodded, pulling a slim laptop from her bag. "My dorm. Now. I've got air-gapped setup. But hurry—Mori's dawn patrol just pulled up." She jerked her chin toward the gate: a black sedan, tinted windows, idling like a predator.
They bolted, weaving through the quad as tires crunched closer. The sedan paused by the fountain, a suited driver stepping out—phone to ear, scanning the plaque. Too late; the niche was dry.
At the dorms' back entrance, Yumi keyed them in, the group piling into her cramped room—posters of classic whodunits papering the walls. She booted the laptop, drive slotting in with a click. Files bloomed: ledgers, scans, a video thumbnail—grainy dashcam of a rainy night, sedan fleeing a crumpled bike.
Kai's breath caught. Dad's bike. The plate: clear as regret.
"Jackpot," Yumi echoed Sora's earlier line. But her phone buzzed—hers this time. She read, face paling. "Auntie. Mori's moving—meeting at the alumni hall tonight. Founder's gala prep. If we want faces to the names..."
The room hung heavy. Ally gained, but the noose tightened. Kai stared at the screen, details crystallizing: Mori's empire, built on buried truths. Veritas in Umbris. Time to drag it into the light.
As code whirred, copying files, a distant engine revved—the sedan, prowling.
End of Chapter 4
(Next chapter tease: Crashing the alumni gala as "caterers," Kai uncovers Mori's inner circle—and a betrayal from within the school staff that hits too close to home.)