The Case Of Takafumi Yokozawa Vol 3

Chapter 4

“Damn it’s hot…” Yokozawa muttered absently to himself as he stalked up a hill with absolutely no shade. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to sigh in the face of the baking sunlight streaming down upon him, and he could feel the heat seeping up from the asphalt through his leather shoes.

He belatedly realized that it hadn’t rained once since August had started—and while by now he’d almost gotten used to the heat, wandering around outside constantly exposed to the sun was slowly but steadily sapping his energy.

He really needed to strengthen his stamina, but more worrisome than the fatigue was the dip in his appetite.

“Wonder what I should eat today…”

Dabbing at his forehead with the handkerchief Hiyori had presented him with following her recent trip, he continued up the hill toward the office. The handkerchief had his initials shoddily embroidered into the fabric—naturally, Hiyori’s own handiwork.

It seemed she’d had her maternal grandmother teach her a bit of handicrafts when she’d recently gone to stay with her grandparents by herself and had apparently stitched the handkerchief—along with a matching, differently-colored one for Kirishima—and a collar for Sorata then.

Touched by the thought, he’d initially intended to keep it safely tucked away, but given what a waste it was not to use it, he’d now taken to carrying it around with him.

As he stepped over the threshold into the office building proper, a wave of cool air washed over him from inside, and he inhaled sharply at the sensation of his sweat drawing away. He grasped his shirt collar and began flapping the material over his skin as he headed for the elevators—when he noticed that there were an unusually large number of people milling about the first-floor lounge area.

“What’s going on?”

He couldn’t tell what the fuss was about, but it was clear something had them in high spirits, leaving them looking like a group of wayward middle-school students skipping lessons.

“What the hell are you lot doing? What about work?”

“Ah, Yokozawa-san! Check this out!” It was Katou from Japun’s editing department who excitedly turned to address him—and he seemed to be the source of the fuss.

“Check out what?” He cast a furtive glance at the table the group were all gathered around, noticing several photographs spread out over the surface. He couldn’t tell the subject matter from this angle, but they seemed to be artistic shots, the type used in gravure magazines.

“This!”

One of the photographs was shoved into his face like a seal case from some period drama, and the close distance made it impossible to focus, leaving him unable to tell for a moment just what the picture was of.

Furrowing his brow, he took the photograph by the edges and pulled it away from his face to a suitable distance. “What…the hell is this?”