The Eccentric, the Beauty, and the Detective: Kiriki Junka's Mystery Log Volume 1 Chapter 7

03: The Case of the Broken Chalk

There was a buzz of conversation. My eyes often wandered from the chalkboard during class, almost as if to soak up the details of a certain personage. Hair, the length of a boy’s, seemed to glitter to my eyes. Her name was Iida Nao: 15 years old; my fellow classmate in 1, 3, and I had fallen for her. No matter where —not limited in any way to high school— there were those who would attract others. Such people, with more gravity, once noticed would find themselves being observed and venerated. Nao was one such leader, having become the central figure in the class before August was half finished. She was generally bright. Perhaps it was her nature, but her charming smile was fascinating.  Having once been struck by its light, I wanted to always bathe therein. Even being late to grow an interest in girls, I could tell. Not even a week had passed since the beginning of school before we had done day-duty together. We directed the class to stand and bow, cleaned the chalkboard, took out the trash, and filled in the daily log. Despite being one easily bothered, I had already seen her beauty and so snatched up the job of taking out the trash. It was limited to well built males.

Having completed the simple task of emptying the bin into the incinerator, I returned to class to find Nao raised up to her full height, cheeks puffed. Her eyes were large, rabbit like, and brown; her nose was petitte; her lips alluring. Both ears were round.

“Why’d you go by yourself? Aren’t we both on duty? If you don’t at least decide by rock-paper-scissors, it’ll bother me.”

“Oh, sorry…” came my curt reply.

Nao was cute and pretty. Her looks couldn’t beat Junka, but he was a special case. Even comparing them was a mistake.

Unable to look at her directly, I found myself quickly looking away.

“Is everything done? Then we can leave now, right?”

“Yup, once you fill in the log, we’re done, Suzaku-kun.”

Nao finally spoke with a lively voice as she picked up her bag from a desk, “Then I’ll head out now. Later.”

“Aight.”

With Nao gone, I was alone in the classroom. I fished out the daily log from its place and flipped to the day’s page. Nao had already written inside.

“Today went without incident and our class continued in its harmonious, peaceful atmosphere. Day duty is tough, but the difficult task of removing the trash was done on Suzaku’s initiative. Thanks, it helped.”

I felt my heart skip a beat. I turned to the door before I realised what I was doing, but Nao was gone, which was convenient for me. Had she seen how moved I was, I would have died of embarrassment. Since then I had taken a special interest in her, but she was well liked, and not matched at all to my unremarkable self. I knew that much. Concealing my fleeting thoughts deep within, unable to approach her as she was always crowded around, all I could do was gaze hotly at her.

Class ended right on time on Thursday, and it was time for homeroom. Miyako Hiroshi, the mathematics teacher in charge of 1, 3, entered the room. Her curly red hair came down to her eyebrows, and was cut off at the neck. Her quiet, intellectual eyes looked out from behind a pair of silver rimmed glasses. She was 33 years old.

“Stand! Bow!”

The class had risen and bowed as one upon hearing the orders. Once that was over, Miyako-sensei turned her eyes to the chalk dust collector, likely to pick up a piece of chalk. Not finding any, however, she opened a box of chalk. She clearly tutted.

“All the whites are broken, I see.”

Reflected in the eyes of the students was the sight of her returning to her desk, opening a drawer, and taking up a fresh white piece of chalk, smiling a satisfied smile.

“Chalk just has to be long.”

When she taught mathematics A and did her homeroom, Miyako-sensei enjoyed using a long, unbroken piece of chalk. Apparently, it was easier to write with. Incidentally, it seemed she could put up with various lengths of chalk, provided it had been well used. She found it particularly unmotivating to write with a broken piece of chalk, and had mentioned it before.

It happened concurrently with our case of the tears of blood. Specifically, on the Monday of the following week, Chopin’s portrait had been taken down, and we had solved the case on the Tuesday. What followed occurred on Wednesday. Junka had been trying to lend me the Japanese film “Devilman” but I had bluntly refused.

“Do something about not having watched such a splendid film.”

You’re the one who needs to do something about how you act.

That was when Miyako-sensei entered the room. All of the students sat at once, including Junka. We rose and bowed and Miyako-sensei turned to search for some chalk.

“This again?”

Her expression was plainly grim, and only grew sterner still once she checked the chalk box.

“Who keeps breaking the chalk?”

Unable to contain her frustration, she looked over the class that was bathed in morning light. It had been the same last Thursday evening. I, Miyako-sensei, and most likely all of the other students, finally realised that somebody had been breaking the chalk. Miyako-sensei lightly struck her podium.

“I like long chalk. Why do this knowing that? Who did it?”

I lowered my head. There wasn't a way to know if the culprit was even in our class. One of the other teachers might have broken them accidentally while writing with too much force, or so I thought, but I didn’t remember any teachers who would have done something like that yesterday.

Miyako-sensei took out another fresh piece of chalk from her desk and began to write relevant information on the board. The deadline for a printout, the self-study that took place today in 4th block… I got it. Turning around, she looked over the class, and postured up as if to throw a paper plane, releasing the chalk amidst the students. It drew a clean parabolic line straight into Junka’s head as he slept on his desk.

There it was: Miyako-sensei’s sure-hit chalk throw. It was the third time I had seen it. Her pre-eminent control was recognised widely by students and faculty alike.

“Ouch…”

Junka held his head and raised his upper body. Waving his legs around as if that half of him was still in dream-land, he looked around the classroom, causing an eruption of laughter in the classroom.

“Kiriki, at least try not to fall asleep at the beginning of the day. My lessons may be boring, but it ain’t nothing,” she said with a serious look.

“I’m sorry.”

Junka, apparently rather pained, kept his hand on the back of his head for about half a minute.

“I can’t express my frustration, Rouji-kun.”

Junka and I were eating lunch on a bench outside. After emptying his lunch box, Junka had spoken to me while pulling one eyelid down and sticking out his tongue. I stretched his cheeks a bit, causing a dry sound to come out. Junka took a long hard look at me while he massaged his cheeks, not understanding why I had pinched him.

“What’s bothering you?”

Junka replied, still rubbing his cheeks, “The chalk. Who could be breaking the white chalk one by one?”

“No clue. Isn’t it someone who has a grudge against Miyako-sensei? She doesn’t speak clearly, and she’s not refreshing at all.”

“It’s because of that I meet such a horrible fate every morning.”

He rubbed the back of his head.

“I don’t know if the chalk throws in morning homeroom hit a vital, or what, but it really hurts. If the chalk was all broken and short, it wouldn’t hurt this much.”

I dismissed it with a laugh.

“Aren’t you at fault for sleeping in the first place?”

Junka’s serious response was to begin a soapbox speech like a politician, “I just wanted to ease the fatigue from yesterday’s hard work. My intent was to wake up right away.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“Anyway!”

Junka stood, and clenched his fist.

“If nobody had broken the chalk, I would not have been faced with my tragic fate this day. At the very least, my pain should not be like a highrise building, but a collapsed kennel. If Miyako-sensei was not using brand new chalk, the longest chalk, the most lethal chalk, I would not have so much pain.”

What a strange reason.

“I will not forgive the chalk-snapping culprit. Never. I must find him. Now is the time for the detective association to mobilise.”

“Mobilise? It’s just us two.”

Translator's Note:

Miyako-sensei should just get a chalk-holder. That'd give her a uniform length handle to hold while using chalk, regardless of how used the individual piece is.

Editor’s Note:

Chalk holders can be a bit finicky though. And once again, pleasantly surprised at how… simple yet also interesting the case can be. Just goes to show that a good detective novel doesn't need to solve the unsolvable, just have good execution!

Chapter end