Chapter 37

Late autumn days are shorter than summer ones, and while fifty-two cadets trudged in circles through the mountains, the round sun slipped behind the peaks without anyone noticing.

After four or five frantic hours, their only real success had been rescuing a teammate whose foot had wedged between two rocks.

At noon they regrouped in a hollow between the ridges. For once, every squad was present—thirteen teams, fifty-two cadets in total. When they compared notes, they realized no one had actually seen Fushimi Shika. Yoshimura Yu had run into him, sure, but Yu was too embarrassed to admit it.

"We've combed the whole area. Nobody spotted him..."

"Maybe he slipped over to the next peak?"

"Or maybe he was never in this range at all? Giving a single cadet the role of fugitive feels weird. Maybe the examiners are testing our judgment..."

They sat cross-legged on the ground to rest. A few armchair geniuses aired their theories with the smug certainty of chess masters.

The accompanying instructors clenched their fists. They had watched these same cadets walk right past Fushimi Shika; a single downward glance into the underbrush would have nailed him. "Never in the mountains," huh? Why not just accuse the staff of misprinting the question?

Then someone's stomach rumbled.

Heads drooped. They hadn't eaten since dawn, and the mountain search had drained every last calorie.

At that, the instructors produced packets of compressed biscuits—the only meal they would get.

Sunset was one hour away; the exercise ended at 5:30 p.m. Whether or not they had caught the "criminal suspect," everyone had to reach the north-slope assembly point before then.

Suddenly the stakes felt real. At this rate the entire class could fail.

No wonder Instructor Shirata had called this the cruelest test of all.

Tamako accepted her pack of biscuits like a deflated balloon. Her trademark ahoge drooped, and she sprawled on the ground too exhausted to stand. "Arigatou," she croaked.

She tore the wrapper, chewed a mouthful of biscuit, and washed it down with gulps of water. The energy bar in her head inched upward.

Revived, Tamako sat bolt upright. "Since no one saw him, the flare must have been fired by Fushimi himself!"

Blank stares. Only Yoshimura Yu flinched, ready to clamp a hand over her mouth.

"I think one of us is working with him. Otherwise, where did he get a signal gun?"

Tamako's gaze turned grave. Another bite puffed her cheeks like a chipmunk's. "An inside man keeps tipping him off—that's how he keeps slipping the cordon."

Yu tried to wave it off. "Come on. What would any cadet gain by helping him? And now isn't the time for witch-hunts. If we start suspecting each other, the whole search falls apart."

"Wrong," Tamako said, swallowing. "We have to find the mole first, or we'll just keep chasing our tails."

She licked a crumb from her lip. "And the mole isn't hard to spot. We only need to inventory everyone's flares."

Understanding dawned; opinions of Tamako shifted a notch.

Normally she orbited Fushimi like a noisy satellite and rarely spoke to anyone else. Decent written scores, hopeless physical tests. In a culture that worshipped the strong, she was treated as a cute mascot—nothing more.

But right now they needed a "smart one" to lead.

Yu tried to change the subject, but the others were already pairing off, demanding to inspect each other's kits.

Hidenori noticed Yu's panic and leaned in. "Hey, Class Leader, where's your flare gun?"

All eyes pivoted. Yu flushed crimson. "It's not what you think! I didn't tip anyone off! He just—he actually—"

"Enough!" Instructor Shirata's roar cracked like a whip.

The cadets jumped. Tamako's half-eaten biscuit tumbled to the ground.

They turned to see Shirata's face dark with thunder. Hidenori scooted backward, half hiding behind the others. The instructor looked like a fighting-game avatar charging a super move—rage meter maxed out.

"Losing your sidearm is disgrace enough for a police officer," Shirata said, striding up to Yu. He loomed over him. "A failure like you has no place wearing the uniform."

He reached into Yu's breast pocket, drew out the cadet's police ID, and tore it to confetti in front of everyone.

Silence fell so thick it ached. No one dared breathe, let alone speak.

Shirata flicked the scraps into Yu's face. "March back to the assembly point and withdraw from the exercise. I expect your resignation letter on my desk when we return."

Yu's mind went blank. He knelt, ready to kowtow, to beg for another chance. Instead, Shirata had pronounced a death sentence.

"It's... just a signal gun... only a drill..." he whispered.

Shirata leaned down until their noses nearly touched. His finger stabbed Yu's chest with every word. "That kind of naïveté will get you killed—and worse, it'll get your partner killed."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the rest. "The exercise continues—move."

The others exhaled in unison, pitying glances sliding toward the shattered Yu.

Tamako felt sorry too—until she remembered that if they failed to catch Fushimi, she might share his fate.

Right—no time for sympathy!

Tamako sprang up, waving the remaining biscuit like a conductor's baton. "Listen up! Fifty-one cadets can clear a mid-size mountain in three hours if we post observers and runners at key points."

No objections. Encouraged, she went on.

"Basic geometry: if an observer's eye level is h meters, the maximum sight line d in kilometers equals the square root of 13h. At 1.7 meters, that's roughly 4.7 km—"

"Got it!" Hidenori cut in. "Just tell us what to do."

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