The counselor's office bore a visual resemblance to the office of the NA Times psychologist: two expansive leather armchairs from Herman Miller, designed for face-to-face conversations, alongside a couch, perfect for psychoanalysis sessions where patients could comfortably lie down. Combined, they're worth a small fortune.

Back at North Atlantic, visits to the psychologist had been mandated at least once a month. Journalists weren't typically the picture of mental health. Then again, those in sound mind didn't often masquerade as school reviewers or traverse the globe to uncover the mysteries behind the disappearances of individuals they'd never even met. As I held the principle of "truth above all," here I was, about to deceive the school psychologist, just as I had Nakamura and Hiroshi.

My reverie was interrupted by Ms. Fujiwara, a middle-aged woman with a welcoming demeanor and brown waving hair. "You must be Mr. Carter!" she greeted in nearly flawless British English, accompanied by a warm, inviting smile.

"Fuck, I dazed off and lost control over my face" - I thought to myself.

Hiding my internal panic, I returned the smile and entered the role again. How much of my grim expression had she caught as I lost myself in thought? What had my face been showing as I lost focus on my role? Had I compromised my cover? I strove to recompose myself.

"Yes, and you are Ms. Fujiwara, correct?" My mask slowly reconstructed as she appraised me with a discerning gaze.

Tea was gracefully served in delicate white and blue china. We took our seats in the plush armchairs, yet to me, it felt like leaning on daggers.

"Pardon my brief distraction," I began, taking a moment to clear my throat. "This office just reminds me so much of my brother's workspace. It momentarily transported me back home." I fabricated on the fly. While it was true my brother was a psychologist, his office most likely didn't resemble this one in the slightest. I've never been to his office.

With a slight tilt of her head and her smile unchanging, her probing eyes stayed locked onto mine. "Not to worry. How may I assist you today?" Her kindly grin betrayed a touch of amusement, the same kind one might reserve for a teenager caught in a white lie. She had seen something while I was in my thoughts, yet, I didn't know what. Regardless, knowledge of deceit didn't reveal motivation.

As I savored a sip of the aromatic green tea, the armchair's discomfort began to ebb away, so I slightly leaned back.

"You see, the American education system is failing, and the issues are slowly spreading to private schools. Affluent parents are now considering sending their kids away to receive an education far from the new ideological biases. We're trying to accommodate that trend."

It sounded natural, as both Adam and I deeply held this belief, having observed the decline of Western education up close.

"I wasn't aware the situation across the Pacific had become so concerning," she remarked, taking a brief moment to weigh my words. She then fixed her gaze on mine, questioning, "You're interested in how affluent Western students might integrate at Tokugawa?"

I mixed and matched the issues plaguing the US to move the dialogue in the direction I needed. "Indeed. Even kids of Asian descent who grew up in the West and are more attuned to Western sensibilities often fall victim to racial prejudices due to their mixed or foreign heritage.

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Ms. Fujiwara delivered her next statement with a rehearsed air. "Here at Tokugawa, we assist our few foreign students in navigating cultural differences. With time, they seamlessly integrate.".

I finally found a space to shift the conversation to Misaki.

"While touring the school, I came across a portrait of a mixed-race girl... Misaka, was it?" I purposely got Misaki's name wrong. "Ms. Miyako seemed to imply she stood out rather than blending in."

It was a deliberate prod, I knew that, and she knew that. But I had the upper hand here.

She would aim to conceal the minutiae that would intrigue Adam, not the elements crucial to my investigation. In truth, I didn't give a fuck to whatever might fascinate Adam or GHSR.

"Arashi Misaki was an exceptional student, loved by her peers and teachers alike. As soon as we were informed about the tragic incident, we organized grief counseling sessions and provided the students with a safe space to express their emotions."

She diverted from Misaki's fitting into the school response, assuming it'd slip past me. Adam missed it, I didn't. I also noticed her using the phrase "safe space to express emotions", it sounded completely unnatural, especially in a setting like Tokugawa that held Japanese customs in high esteem. The President of Tokugawa had mocked weakness and lack of order in Western schools in one of the recent interviews.

This was the kind of sentiment Adam would have latched onto. So I played subtle cultural ignorance to get the information I needed.

"Were her class's classes not called off in observance of the cremation ceremony?"

Ms. Fujiwara corrected me again, with a tone of slight annoyance towards me. It was fine, Adam was annoying and slightly disgusting, someone who needed to be put in his place. I would need to take a shower after I donned his mask.

"Firstly, cremations are for family members only and on the same day as the funeral, the public part. We couldn't cancel classes for the funeral because it was on a Sunday. More importantly, we believe maintaining a sense of routine and unity provides comfort for students during hard times. Many students came to visit me the following day and through the week."

She articulated her next words slowly as if she were asserting professional dominance. "We recognize the weight of grief and the proper way to address it. A week later, we conducted a memorial service at the school, allowing all of Arashi's friends and classmates to bid farewell."

All her words were tailored for Adam, but I got what I came for. Her quick pivot from discussing how Misaki fit into the school's response suggested Misaki was indeed isolated. The funeral being three days post her disappearance implied the cremation was on the third day, similar to others.

Meeting Fujiwara's gaze, it was clear she was irritated at Adam. I quickly apologized for my cultural insensitivity and shifted the conversation toward topics frequently highlighted in GHSR articles.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of activity. I was shuttled from one impressive facility to another, each stop on the tour carefully choreographed to showcase Tokugawa's excellence. The science labs gleamed with state-of-the-art equipment, the art studio with copies of classical works, and the library's vast collection left me genuinely impressed.

Yet, beneath the polished surface, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Nothing in this place felt genuine. Everything was an act and a flex, and that act was not for me. Everyone here was acting. I didn't envy the students of this place anymore. It probably sucked to learn in this sterile environment.

Ms. Miyako had suggested I review the extra-curricular activities, so at 4 PM, I was in the school cafeteria, which looked like an outdoor cafe, penning down notes on Misaki, waiting for extra-curricular to begin, left alone for the first time during the exhausting hours I had been there. During this whole day, not a single student went near me. It was neither good nor bad, just an observation of social distance.

I closed the notebook and allowed myself to enjoy the view from the panoramic windows framing the courtyard bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun.

The lights in the cafeteria flickered. Lights in the streetlights and people's houses mirrored the flicker. It was a blackout…