Minegahara High School, on a summer Sunday, was a concrete monument to wasted space.
Kaito stood before the closed main gate. The metal was hot enough to fry an egg, and the asphalt exuded that shimmering heat that made the air look liquid. He was sweating. Fia, in her ethereal form, floated around him, immune to thermodynamics but not to the stupidity of the situation.
"It is closed, Chosen One," the goddess observed, with the insight of a rock. "Generally, educational institutions cease operations on the seventh day. It is a concept called 'Weekend'."
"I know it's closed, Fia," Kaito retorted mentally, wiping his forehead with his t-shirt sleeve. "But Scientist Futaba lives in the lab. She practically photosynthesizes chemical fumes. Logic dictated she would be there, regardless of the calendar."
He looked through the bars. The building was dark and silent. No sign of life.
"Conclusion: Subject is not at the workplace," Kaito sighed. "Which means now I have to use the most tiring tool in my arsenal: deduction based on anime meta-knowledge."
He leaned against the hot wall, closing his eyes. He needed to access the "Mental File: Rascal Does Not Dream." It was a dusty file, full of emotional dialogue he usually ignored, but it contained crucial location data.
Where would a cynical teenager, displaced from her own body and mind, hide if she couldn't go home and couldn't go to school?
Parks? No. Too much sun, too many happy families, too much exposure. Hotels? Requires money and ID. Risky. A friend's house? Futaba has no friends except Sakuta and Kunimi.
The image appeared in his mind. A dark cubicle. The blue glow of a monitor. The smell of cheap instant noodles and stale cigarette smoke.
A Cyber Café.
"Of course," Kaito opened his eyes. "The natural habitat of the introvert in crisis. Dark, isolated, with internet access and unlimited drinks. It's where I would go if I were kicked out of my own life."
"Kaito!" Fia's voice sounded urgent, interrupting his deduction. "I finished the internet search! The account... the account of the 'Other Futaba'..."
"Don't describe it to me," Kaito warned, starting to walk toward the train station. "Just tell me the damage level."
"The account is called 'choco_cornet'. It has 30,000 followers," Fia whispered, scandalized. "And the photos... Kaito, she's not showing her face, but she is showing... everything else! Collarbones! Legs! And there's a picture of an open lab coat that violates at least three lab conduct codes and five divine commandments!"
Kaito massaged his temples as he walked. "Great. We have a scientist who became an anonymous 'e-girl'. The identity crisis is monetized in likes. Let's go to Fujisawa. There's a big Cyber Café near the station. The probability of her being there is 85%."
The "Media Cafe Popeye" in Fujisawa was an underground temple dedicated to social alienation.
Kaito descended the stairs, feeling the cold air conditioning hit him like a blessing. The place was dark, lit only by neon and computer screens. There were endless rows of numbered booths, narrow corridors, and a soda machine humming softly.
It was paradise. If he weren't on a mission, he would rent a booth for 12 hours and hibernate.
He went to the counter. The attendant, a young man with deep dark circles who looked like he hadn't seen the sun since 2019, looked at him.
"Member?" the attendant asked.
"I'm looking for someone," Kaito said, bluntly. "Girl. Short. Glasses. Probably ordered the 24-hour pack and is consuming dangerous amounts of caffeine."
The attendant shrugged. "Generic description. Half the clientele fits that. Can't give out customer info."
Kaito sighed. Bureaucratic obstacles.
"She's my sister," Kaito lied, with the ease of breathing. "She ran away from home because I ate her pudding. Our parents are worried. If I don't find her, the police are coming here. And the police ask questions about the age of your customers on the night shift."
The attendant stopped typing. The threat of police effort was effective.
"Booth 28. Back corridor. Non-smoking area."
"Appreciated."
Kaito walked through the labyrinthine corridors. The sound of clicking keyboards and mouse clicks was the ambient soundtrack. He reached Booth 28. The sliding door was closed.
He didn't knock. Knocking would give her the chance to hide or deny.
He slid the door open.
The space was tiny. There was a computer, a black mat, and a mountain of trash: onigiri wrappers, empty coffee cans, and plastic cups.
Curled up in the corner, hugging her knees, was Rio Futaba.
The original version.
She wore the thick-rimmed glasses. Her hair was loose and disheveled. She still wore the lab coat over her school uniform, but the coat was crumpled and stained. She was staring at the computer screen, where a quantum physics forum was open, but her eyes were glazed over.
She turned when the door opened. The fright in her eyes was genuine.
"Tanaka?" she whispered, voice hoarse.
Kaito stood in the entrance, blocking the hallway light. He looked at the depressing cubicle, at the accumulated trash, at the genius girl reduced to a digital refugee.
"You look terrible," he said. "And this place smells like hopelessness and instant curry."
Futaba adjusted her glasses, trying to recover a shred of her usual dignity, but failed. She shrank further against the wall.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, defensive. "How did you find me?"
"Deductive logic and veiled threats to the front desk employee," Kaito replied, entering the booth and closing the door behind him. The space became suddenly claustrophobic. He sat on the edge of the mat, the only trash-free surface.
"You aren't at school. You aren't at home. You have no friends. The Cyber Café was the only remaining variable."
Futaba let out a bitter laugh. "You have a charming way of reminding me I'm a social pariah, Tanaka."
"I am a neutral observer," Kaito said. "Now, explain. Why are you living in a 2-square-meter box while your ponytail copy is strolling through Fujisawa taking selfies?"
The mention of the "copy" made Futaba flinch. She hugged her knees tighter, hiding her face.
"Did you see her?" she asked, voice muffled.
"I saw her. Mai saw her. Fia saw her and had a moral breakdown because of her Instagram account."
Futaba groaned. "choco_cornet. I know. I monitor the account."
"You monitor your own dissociation by posting sexy photos?" Kaito asked, arching an eyebrow. "That is a level of narcissistic voyeurism not even Freud could explain."
"I am not her!" Futaba shouted, lifting her head. Her eyes were full of tears and anger. "She is... she is everything I hate! She is superficial, needy, vulgar! She uses the body I try to hide to gain validation from disgusting strangers!"
"Then why does she exist?" Kaito pressed. "Adolescence Syndrome anomalies don't come from nowhere. They are symptoms. If she is everything you hate, why is she half of you?"
Futaba bit her lip. "Because... because a part of me wants that. A stupid, biological, irrational part of me wants people to look. Wants to feel... pretty. Desired. And I hate that part. I tried to kill it with logic, with science, with baggy lab coats. But it didn't die. It split off."
She looked at her own hands.
"And now she is out there. Being the 'Rio' the world wants to see. And I am here. Being the 'Rio' no one cares about."
Kaito's phone vibrated in his pocket.
He picked it up. It was a message from Mai.
Sender: Mai-san (The Spy) Located the target. Followed 'New Futaba' to Rio's registered home address. She went in. She has the keys. Kaito... she is living in her house. She took the original's place.
Kaito read the message. The logical coldness of the situation settled over him.
It wasn't just a split. It was a replacement.
The "New Futaba," the confident and feminine version, had returned home. She had fitted into Rio Futaba's life perfectly.
The Scientist Futaba, the "boring" and complex-ridden version, had been discarded. Not by the universe, but by the social dynamics of her own life. She had nowhere to go because her own home was already occupied by a version of herself.
Kaito looked at the girl in the corner of the booth. She knew. She knew she couldn't go back home.
"Futaba," Kaito said, putting the phone away. "I have bad news and worse news."
"Say it," she whispered.
"The bad news is your copy is living in your house. She stole your room and probably your pillow."
Futaba closed her eyes, a tear escaping. "I already knew."
"The worse news," Kaito continued, "is that this makes you, logistically speaking, homeless. And since you are a minor and involved in a paranormal phenomenon I was hired to solve, you have become my responsibility."
He stood up in the cramped space, bumping his head on the low shelf.
"Ow. How troublesome."
He extended his hand to her.
"Let's go."
"Where to?" Futaba asked, without moving. "I can't go home."
"No. You can't. And staying here will turn you into a fungus."
Kaito looked at her with that expression of infinite boredom that, strangely, was the most trustworthy thing in the world.
"You are coming to my apartment."
Futaba's eyes widened. "What? You... and Sakurajima-san...?"
"Mai lives in her apartment. I live in mine. Fia lives in the closet. And now, apparently, I am opening a hostel for girls with existential problems."
He sighed, thinking of his beanbag, his new TV, and the peace he had for exactly 24 hours.
"Get up, Futaba. I have eggs. And I have a clean bathroom. It's better than this."
Futaba looked at his hand. Looked at the trash around her.
She took his hand.
"You're an idiot, Tanaka," she said, wiping her face.
"And you are a problem," Kaito replied. "Let's leave before I regret the kindness."
They left the booth, Kaito paid the bill (plus expenses), and they walked out.
Now he had a depressive scientist. And somewhere in the city, a "sexy" version of her was posting photos and living the life the original was afraid to live.
"Two bodies, one broken mind," Kaito thought. "This is going to require a lot of quantum physics and lots, lots of pudding."
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