With a firm push
she turned her walkie talkie off. Kyoko desperately needed the rest.
An hour after the opening well over two thousand guests crammed the
school grounds. Several stalls were already running dry, and only
Urufu's desperate gamble kept most of them supplied.
She sank to the
floor in a tired heap and listened to the pandemonium from the office
area turned festival headquarters. While the official festival
planning room and student council room still operated as formal
planning centres, the students there were swamped beyond capacity
from before the cultural festival even opened.
Weary beyond
belief she rose to her feet and struggled to the desks occupied by a
few club members, two students from the festival planning committee
and the student council treasurer.
“Noriko, how
can I help?” she asked and slumped into a chair.
“Rest, please
just rest,” her friend said. “You've been fantastic. I understand
Yukio better now.” The smile in Noriko's face spoke of respect, and
for once Kyoko felt she deserved it.
Kyoko watched
Noriko send another email before she continued reading a seeming-less
endless number of unread ones on her screen. With her right hand she
jotted down notes on a piece of paper, moved it to the keyboard and
opened up a document and changed something in it. After that she
composed yet another email and sent it.
How can you
keep all of it in your head? My larger than life midget sister, isn't
that what Ryu calls you?
For each email
sent the treasurer made a quick call only making certain who was to
execute the instructions in it. An expression of awe played on his
face whenever he stole a glance at Noriko.
“What are
you guys really?” he asked during a brief lull in the madness.
Kyoko shot him a
tired smile. “We're part of the club management,” she teased.
“I'm the secretary and Noriko is our treasurer,” she continued
knowing well that wasn't what he really had asked.
“Treasurer,
huh?” he said instead. It made sense in a way. They shared that
position.
Noriko flashed
him a grin between emails “Talking about money,” she said, “we're
unable to provide more funding at the moment. I need your help.”
“Huh?” That
question pulled him back to the operational reality. “Funding?”
“Yeah, stupid,
we're out of money. I need council funding to secure the continued
flow of supplies,” Noriko said and frowned.
The treasurer sat
upright. “You paid from the club funds? How much?”
Noriko sighed and
pushed her laptop aside.
Kyoko couldn't
help but giggle when she saw her friend stare at the ceiling while
waving her fingers in the air like a Showa era elementary school kid.
Learned the abacus did you?
“Three hundred,
eh, make that four hundred thousand yen. Anyway, we're bled dry.”
“What?”
“I know. And we
can't recirculate the money paid at the stalls either. Way too many
coins.” Noriko grinned. “We'll get it all back later anyway, but
I can't wait until the banks open.”
The treasurer
stared at her, but Kyoko noticed how Noriko read the same email over
and over again. Kyoko rose from her chair and walked behind her
friend. Absentmindedly she started massaging tired shoulders while
looking out the window.
A bit inside the
back entrance another piece of Urufu's black magic grew into
existence. An unplanned outdoor café with the capacity to handle
over one hundred guests, staffed by third years he had managed to
scrounge up from gods knew where.
How he thought up
the concept and made it reality while handling security patrols,
their own food plaza and taking overall control of the cultural
festival when the student council organisation crumbled was beyond
her. Then she noticed one clue.
Among the third
years manning the impromptu café a few club members walked around
directing students two years their seniors as if it was the most
natural thing in the world. Yukio was among them, her Yukio, and a
third year always by his side year she didn't recognise at first. A
girl with gorgeous waist long black hair.
Kyoko felt a
brief sense of panic running through her until the identity of the
girl finally found a match in her brain. What's the council
president doing there?
“How much?”
The voice from
inside the room tugged at her attention and she turned, still
massaging Noriko's shoulders.
“How much,
Wakayama-san?”
Kyoko looked down
over Noriko's head and saw the email she had read so many times. And
gasped.
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