Chương 408: 188.Childish Prank 1

By the time we returned to the security office after the first internal patrol, I had pretty much confirmed two things. First, Nikaido really was afraid of that kind of thing. Second, now that I knew, I clearly had no intention of using that information for anything kind. One of civilized society's greatest misjudgments of human nature is the assumption that once you witness someone's weakness, you naturally grow understanding and tolerance. Unfortunately, I'm not that premium a product.

I'm more the type who, upon spotting a crack, squats down for a closer look, and then inevitably wants to tap it a few times with a fingertip. And Nikaido happened to be exactly the type who built her shell so beautifully that it practically invited vandalism. Back in the security office, Nikaido beat me to putting her clipboard on the desk.

She flipped the page, filled in the time, added the location, and even managed to write down that scraping sound from the equipment room as a perfectly calm line of text: Miscellaneous items outside equipment room shifted by wind. Confirmed non-anomalous. I stood beside her, genuinely impressed. This person's breathing had literally stalled for half a beat back there, yet now she could expressionlessly organize that moment into a record drier than a lunch menu notification.

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have suspected that half-second was just a night-shift-exclusive hallucination generated by my own cold-addled brain.

"Vice President, your log." Nikaido didn't look up, just tapped the tip of her pen against the edge of the paper.

"Don't forget the time."

"Got it." I dragged a chair out and sat down, replying casually while dutifully filling in the brief details of the first patrol. What can I say? I still have basic professional ethics. As for whether those ethics can coexist with a lack of morals, that depended on which side whatever gods were watching tonight decided to take. The duty room fell quiet again. The heater blew, the desk lamp shone with perfect regulation brightness, and outside the glass window was still that specific white of a snowy night.

Not a bright white, but a cold, dead white, like the entire campus had been soaked in over-diluted milk—the structure remained, but the temperature had already died. Nikaido was focused as she wrote. Focused to an irritating degree. Her head was bowed, her ice blue hair sliding forward slightly over her shoulder, the tip of her nose still holding that faint flush from the freezing air outside.

That bit of red was annoying, because it suddenly gave this person—who was normally as cold as a regulatory appendix—a trace of humanity she wasn't supposed to have. And once humanity appeared on Nikaido, it was very easy to recall that moment at the stairwell corner. She really had been scared back there. Only for half a beat. But half a beat was enough. I held my pen, staring at the words on the clipboard, but for once, my thoughts weren't exactly upright.

It felt like a bunch of little rule-breaking gremlins were running around in my head, taking turns on a megaphone. You saw it, right? She actually gets scared. That's why she was so annoying earlier. So what if we tap it again? I poked my pen against the paper. No. At least, not too obviously. With someone like Nikaido, if you played with her head-on, she'd probably immediately flip the table and hand me an instant-education flyer titled Prohibition of Low-Grade Pranks During Duty Hours.

If I was going to make a move, I had to pick the exact moment she had the least bandwidth to maintain that shell. Thinking of this, I glanced up at her. Nikaido happened to put down her pen, picked up her now slightly lukewarm tea, and took a sip. After drinking, she checked the clock on the wall and put the cup back.

"Twenty minutes until the second patrol."

"You really love managing human existence by slicing it into ten-minute blocks."

"It's more efficient that way."

"I think the biggest waste in your life is you yourself." Nikaido looked at me.

"Vice President, if you spent your complaining energy on paying attention to duty, tonight would be much easier."

"Nikaido, if you spent your duty-attention energy on living a normal life, you'd be much happier." She actually paused for a moment. Not a long pause. About the time it takes for a snowflake to drift from outside onto the edge of the glass. Then she said, "Happiness is not a duty objective."... That sentence was too sick. So sick I didn't even know whether to laugh first or hold a moment of silence for her. In the end, I could only prop my forehead on one hand and let out a half-genuine sigh.

"You're going to stunt your growth like this."

"That has nothing to do with duty."

"See? Even now you manage to drag the topic back to duty." Nikaido didn't respond, as if she'd already determined that this conversation contributed absolutely nothing to campus security and wasn't worth any more resources. She simply stood up, put away her clipboard, and then said very flatly:"I'm going to the restroom." In that instant, the gremlins with megaphones in my head immediately stood at attention, voted by a show of hands, and unanimously passed a highly unhealthy proposal. Now.

I watched Nikaido walk out of the duty room, heard the hinge click softly, and then, very slowly, very steadily, put down my pen. It really doesn't take much for a person to fall. Just a little free time, a little grudge, and a little bit of the I just want to see what happens gambler's mentality. And right now, I had all three. The nighttime women's restroom next to the duty room wasn't large.

Two stalls, a row of sinks, and a small window leading to the outer corridor that never seemed to close properly in winter. During the day, it was just the most ordinary restroom in the school; at night, it was different. A midnight restroom automatically gains a cheap but effective horror movie buff, especially when you know for a fact that someone is afraid of "unnamed things." Any white tile or buzzing fluorescent tube suddenly becomes full of potential. I got up and tiptoed out after her.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. It wasn't exactly high-level stealth. Honestly, my technique was closer to there's no one else in the duty room anyway, if I get caught I'll just pretend I was walking by. But the night was quiet, and sometimes quiet is a natural ally. As long as you know when to stop and when to quiet your breathing, the whole outer corridor behaves as if it's tacitly agreeing to your crime. The restroom door wasn't fully closed.

I paused outside for two seconds, hearing the soft snick of the stall latch from inside, followed by the rustle of fabric, shifting footsteps, and the half-dead electrical hum of the light tube. That was it. Very ordinary. But the moment I remembered the person inside was Nikaido, that wicked urge in my chest started bubbling up, almost hot.... I really just wanted to scare her a little bit. At least, that's what I thought at the time. I first went to the door of the equipment room next door and patted around.

Sure enough, I found a mop that someone had casually leaned against the wall, yet to be put away properly. Excellent. The school's administrative efficiency was unreliable in some areas, but touchingly reliable in others. Clutter like this, which normally only caused the Disciplinary Chair to write an extra note, clearly had a strong chance of making a concrete contribution to literature tonight. I quietly moved the mop to the outer wall of the restroom, not too close, not too far.

I wasn't intentionally setting a trap—at least, I refused to admit it to myself—I just thought it was good to have it there "just in case." Humanity's ability to justify its own actions has always been a highlight of evolutionary history. Then, I slipped into the restroom. It was slightly colder inside than out. The tiles reflected the light, making it look even whiter and emptier. Under the door of the furthest stall, I could see the tips of Nikaido's shoes.

She stood very steadily, so steadily it was almost frustrating. Like even when using the restroom, she was still the Nikaido who kept her back perfectly straight. I went into the other stall and slowly pulled the door shut. My heart was beating a little fast. Not because I was scared. But because once you start doing something like this, even your breathing wants to participate.

Your rational mind tells you you're sick, but your hands automatically start looking for the wall, the door panel, trying to figure out where a sound would grow from most perfectly. I waited first. Waited a few seconds to make sure Nikaido hadn't noticed someone coming in. Then, using my knuckles on the inside of my stall, I knocked lightly twice. Tap. Tap. Very light. Light enough to sound like the echo of pipes expanding and contracting, or someone accidentally brushing a fingernail against the door.

A normal person would probably just write it off as evidence of an old restroom and poorly maintained facilities. But Nikaido wasn't a normal person. She was the kind of species that would categorize "normal," put it into a spreadsheet, and demand all students sign off on it. There was no sound outside. But I clearly felt the tips of the shoes in the furthest stall stop moving. Oh. It's working. I almost laughed out loud, quickly biting the tip of my tongue to hold it back. Laughing now would be too classless.

Even though I had no intention of retaining much moral fiber tonight, as a practical prankster, I still had some standards for my professionalism. I knocked again. This time on the partition. Clack. The sound wasn't loud, but because it traveled through the tiles and the thin board, it naturally carried a very unpleasant hollow quality. Like someone had put something very close to you, but refused to let you know exactly where it was. Finally, Nikaido spoke.

"... Who's there?" Her voice was very low. So low it barely sounded like her usual way of speaking. My eyes lit up. It was actually working better than I thought. So I lowered my throat and, using a breathy voice that even I found cheap, replied very softly, dragging the words out slightly:"... Still... on... patrol... huh..." The moment I finished, I wanted to applaud that line myself. It was terrible. Terrible in just the right way.

Like discounted ghost movie props sold in the Halloween section of a convenience store—low cost, bad taste, logically ineffective, but exactly the kind of thing that wedges itself into the most unreasonable crack in a person's brain. It was dead silent outside for two whole seconds. Then, a very distinct rustle of fabric. Not the leisurely movement of adjusting a uniform. More like someone instinctively snapping to attention, or whipping around sharply. I could imagine Nikaido's face right now.

Not screaming, not breaking down, not that exaggerated comic-book terror. She was probably just tensed to the limit, eyes locked dead on the door panel or the gap above, her brain desperately trying to find a rational explanation for this criminally stupid ghost story line. The problem is, once certain things enter the ear, no matter how fast rationality runs, it's only a pursuit, not prevention.

I was just planning to add another touch—like dragging my shoe sole across the floor, or casting a small shadow under the door—when a very short intake of breath came from outside. The next second, the door of the furthest stall was yanked open with a bang. Nikaido practically charged out. Not a blind rush, but the kind of speed that abandons all concern for complete, composed movements. All her usual precise, crisp, ruler-drawn rhythms snapped in that instant.

She looked first at the sinks, then at the empty doorway, and finally her gaze whipped toward my stall. That look was bright, bright to the point of being sharp, but underneath that sharpness wasn't her usual coldness; it was a kind of vacuum she hadn't had time to hide. I thought wow in my head. —Really hit the spot. And then, within that single second, things slid in a direction I hadn't anticipated.

As Nikaido backed away, her heel caught the handle of the mop I'd moved next to the door—the one that, in theory, was just "in case." The mop hadn't been leaning securely to begin with; when she bumped it, the whole thing slid horizontally across the floor. Losing her balance, she instinctively reached for the wall to steady herself, but because there was a slight water streak left over from cleaning, her boot slipped, and she fell hard backward onto the floor. Clang.

The half-full mop bucket next to it was knocked over too. Cold, dirty water splashed across the floor, soaking her skirt, tights, and the side of her leg. The tiled floor instantly reflected a wet sheen, making the accident look even more pathetic than it already was. Before I even had time to pull my stall door open, I froze inside for half a second. Honestly, the first thought that popped into my head in that half second was extremely undignified, and extremely honest. —Well, that was a massive success.

But that absurd thrill of near-victory lasted for less than a beat. Because the next second, when I pulled the door open and saw Nikaido sitting on the floor, the urge to laugh bubbling up in my chest suddenly jammed. She looked a mess. Not the usual kind of mess where someone falls and immediately starts cursing. It was the kind of mess where dignity is shattered in an instant, and the person hasn't even had time to pick up the pieces yet.

A few strands of her ice blue hair were tangled, her shoulders were tense to the point of trembling, and her hands were still braced on the wet floor, knuckles white with exertion. The worst part was the expression on her face—it wasn't just anger anymore. There was anger, of course, but in front of it was something else: the stark panic of having her defenses blown through before she could cover up, followed immediately by a shame that looked ready to burn her alive.

The moment she saw me step out of the stall, her eyes changed instantly. Not Oh, it's you. But Oh, you saw. In that moment, I truly realized that I hadn't just simply scared her. I had directly smashed a crack into that neatly welded shell of hers, using the cheapest method possible, right then and there.

"... Nikaido." I barely opened my mouth before she gritted her teeth and said almost immediately:"Shut up." Her voice was a little hoarse. I shut my mouth. Rarely in my life have I shut it so quickly. Because if I dared to laugh now, getting struck by lightning would be a light punishment. Nikaido would probably write me directly into the school rules appendix, permanently displaying me as an Unstable Element Prohibited from Contact During Night Duty.

I took a step forward, crouched down, and first kicked that troublesome mop a little further away.

"I..."

"Vice President," Nikaido raised her head, looking at me. The corners of her eyes were slightly red from the shock just now, but her tone was cold enough to refreeze the puddle on the floor.

"You had better not say a single word of explanation right now." Fair. Because if I said "I just wanted to mess around a bit" right now, it would sound like a murderer telling the court they didn't actually intend to smash the vase over someone's head. I silently swallowed my breath, took off my coat, and draped it over her legs. Nikaido froze for a moment, as if she hadn't expected me to do this first. But she didn't throw the coat back in my face; she just glared at me fiercely.

The murderous intent in that glare was quite complete—complete enough that I actually felt a bit relieved. At least if she still had the energy to want to kill me, it meant the fall hadn't caused any major physical damage.

"Can you stand?" I asked. She didn't answer, just braced herself against the wall, trying to get up on her own. But as soon as she moved, her brow furrowed noticeably. I immediately reached out, and this time she didn't push herself—or rather, she probably didn't have the spare energy to use stubbornness to maintain anything anymore. The moment her hand touched my wrist, I knew she was still trembling. Very slightly, very restrained. But genuinely trembling. That tremor wasn't because of the cold water.

At least, not entirely. My chest suddenly tightened a bit. Not to the point of feeling guilty enough to turn over a new leaf—after all, I'm still me—but at least enough to make me understand that this time, I hadn't stepped on a normal joke boundary. I'd stepped on a place Nikaido personally was very unwilling to let anyone touch. I helped her up, the coat still draped in front of her, trying to minimize the exposure of her wet, messy state from the mop bucket water.

Once Nikaido was steady, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if forcefully shoving something back into her body piece by piece. When she opened her eyes again, that shell had actually started to patch itself up—not completely, but you could tell she was desperately trying to fix it.

"Back to the duty room," she said.

"... Alright."

"Vice President."

"Hm?" She didn't even look at me, just pulled the coat tighter around herself.

"You'd better pray tonight that before the second patrol, my mood recovers enough to distinguish between a campus accident and intentional assault." I was silent for two seconds.

"I can preemptively confess to attempted pranking—""Shut up."

"Okay." And so, one in front of the other—though actually with me half-supporting her—we walked back to the duty room. Outside, the snow was still falling, and the night campus was still as white as if nothing had happened. But I knew very well that the thing that had truly changed tonight wasn't the weather, wasn't the corridor, and wasn't that mop I'd kicked to the wall. It was that beautifully welded shell of Nikaido's. I tapped it. And it really cracked.

The problem was— After it cracked, I didn't seem to be as happy as I thought I would be.