[color=A9A9A9][h2]The Sharehouse[/h2][/color][indent]
With the threat (?) of more obese rats scrambling about outside, no one had any interest left in heading outside. Aya being the exception, the rest turned in for the night, settling into their rooms and preparing for a peacefully eventful day tomorrow. Thoughts of self-defense and rodent extermination would have to wait until morning; now, it was best off just to whittle away the hours until sleep turned from an option to a necessity.

[hider=Aya returned a couple minutes later, in no great rush.]
[b]“Sell it, probably. Then fix my lens.”[/b] The desk rattled as Tsunoda awkwardly pulled open one of the drawers of his desk while still reclined. After some rummaging, he tossed a set of keys at Aya. [b]“Take as long as y’need. Just don’t sleep in there.”[/b]

[b]“Thank ya, thank ya,”[/b] Aya replied as she caught the keys. Not very gracefully, but she didn’t knock over anything as her arms outstretched and her body shifted. Entering the darkroom, she began the process of developing her pictures. After pouring out the solutions in measured trays and other such preparations, she placed the film under the lightbox. With the magnifying glass, she looked for the images that were good enough to put in the effort to develop. After all, blurry photos of a dark cat were a paranormal laughing stock.

After finding a good one, the image went through all of the processes. The dark red lights made for a familiar feeling as the picture developed.

The cat didn’t transfer.

No, despite appearing clear as day on the negatives, the cat didn’t appear on the developed pictures. One may say that it was a disappointing affair, but it was, to Aya, an incredibly supernatural event. She had a ghost cat that possessed her photos. Or it was seared onto the negatives. Either way, it was interesting. 

Leaving the dark room, she paid her respects to Tsunoda and, on behest of the detective, called for an Uber on the way back.
[/hider]
Hiroyuki returned a couple hours later, tossing his overcoat in a heap before slipping into the shower room.

Mochizuki did not return at night.
[hr]Mochizuki did not return in the morning either.

It was a quiet morning, either from lack of sleep or lack of coffee. There was a pot of instant that was too hot to drink, and there was cheap natto to mix in with fresh rice as well. Leftovers from the snapper was reheated, and miso soup with diced tofu had been set up as well. Sayuri’s cooking, of course. It was warm in the sharehouse, an electric fan already humming away, but the weather forecast buzzing from the radio promised clouds today and cooler temperatures as a result. Not that it meant anything, really.

Hiroyuki reclined on the sofa, dressed as well as always in slate gray slacks and a pinstripe shirt. A manila folder was opened up in his hand, a few sheets of print paper inside. If he seemed considered about Mochizuki not returning or answering his phone, he didn’t show it.

[b]“Well,” [/b]he addressed the breakfast-eaters. [b]“As always, we’ve gotta get some club activities done to show off to the university. Picked out some places over the week, so, mm, check these out, pick one, and let’s do some exploring, shall we?”[/b]

Or trespassing, depending on how harsh of a light one used to view the club’s activities.

With that, he pulled the sheets out, handing them around to the rest. Each had a picture of the area, a name, as well as some other extraneous details, from address to historical detail. There was Yajirui-Kan, a seventh-generation ryokan that had been shut down a decade past due to declining customers, leaving naught but a boarded up facility in a corner of the Northwestern District no one visited. There was the new apartment complex being constructed at the behest of the Paraiso Conglomerate up in the Northern District, sporting a fascinating mix of Regency-style and Brutalist architecture by the up-and-coming designer, Fukugawa Boris. Construction crews had Sundays off, so all they’d have to do would be to sneak past ground-level security. And of course, on the safer side of things, they could head down to Southeastern District instead, to scout out the fabled warehouse where parts for fighter jets were being made and see if they can get any Instagrammable from giant machines and clanking gears.

The handouts made their way around the circle of university students.

Mochizuki still wasn’t home.

Hiroyuki still made no comment.
[/indent][center][color=A9A9A9][h1]Sunday, June 15 2025[/h1][/color][color=A9A9A9][b]Time:[/b][/color] 8AM
[color=A9A9A9][b]Weather:[/b][/color] Sunny, Patches of Clouds[/center]