III

We'll do our best to minimize geological disturbances," I assured her, earning a curious glance from Ms. Saitou and a suppressed sigh from Rina. It was another low-energy joke, based on literal interpretation and exaggeration of potential outcomes. Simple, effective, minimal brain power required for delivery.

We thanked Ms. Saitou again and retreated from the classroom doorway, Emiri clutching the key like precious treasure. The energy in the air had shifted. We had access. The next step was the storeroom itself. My energy reserves braced themselves for the inevitable dust, the uncertain contents, and the potential for the mystery to deepen even further within the confines of that locked room.

Emiri approached the storeroom door with a determined stride, the borrowed key clutched in her hand like a sacred artifact. Rina and I followed, my own pace measured to conserve maximum momentum. The hallway was quiet again, the energy of nearby classrooms muted.

"Okay," Emiri said, stopping in front of the plain wooden door. She inserted the old brass key into the lock. It was a tense moment, demanding more attention than a simple door should. Would it fit? Would it turn? Or would this low-energy path to access lead to a high-energy dead end, forcing us to seek out the legendary Mr. Tanaka?

The key slid in smoothly. Emiri took a deep breath and attempted to turn it. There was a brief resistance, a grinding sound of old metal, and then – a click.

The lock disengaged.

Emiri gasped, a sound of pure delight. "It worked! Saitou-sensei's key worked!"

Rina nodded, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face. "Logical. Older keys often share patterns." Her analysis was, as usual, energy-efficient.

My own internal reaction was mixed. Relief that a potential energy sinkhole (finding Mr. Tanaka) had been bypassed, immediately followed by the bracing realization that accessing the storeroom meant the investigation was about to require a significant output of physical energy – navigating a dusty space, potentially moving heavy objects, the sheer act of searching.

Emiri wasted no time. She pushed the door inward. It opened with a long, loud groan that echoed down the quiet hallway, as if the room itself was protesting being disturbed after fifty years.

The air that greeted us was thick with the scent of dust, old wood, and something else... a faint, lingering smell of paint and canvas, buried under decades of stillness. The room was large, dimly lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was indeed filled with "just dusty boxes," but also shrouded shapes that might be old furniture, leaning canvases covered in white sheets, and shelves piled high with indeterminate objects. The dust here wasn't just a layer; it was a visible presence, hanging in the still air, illuminated by the weak light.

"Wow," Emiri breathed, stepping inside cautiously. Her energy seemed undiminished by the oppressive atmosphere; if anything, the sheer volume of dusty possibilities seemed to excite her further. "It's... exactly like you said, Shinoda-kun. Dusty boxes!"

"Predicting outcomes based on available data is a fundamental principle of energy conservation," I stated, stepping just inside the doorway, carefully avoiding contact with anything unnecessarily. "It prevents the wasted effort of being surprised." The sheer amount of dust was still slightly alarming, though. This was beyond mere surface dust; this was a historical accumulation. Inhaling it would require my body to expend energy on filtering and potentially coughing. I regretted not bringing a mask.

Rina entered the room, her initial expression of satisfaction giving way to one of pragmatic assessment as she surveyed the cluttered space. "Alright. We're looking for a small wooden box. Similar to the one in the photo." She pulled out the photograph again, looking at the image of the box on the table. "Where should we start?"

"A systematic search is the most energy-efficient method," I advised, even as the prospect of systematically searching this room made my internal energy reserves weep. "Divide the space. Focus on areas where a small box might be placed or hidden. Lower shelves, corners, perhaps inside larger containers."

My gaze swept across the room. The task felt immense. So many places a small box could be hidden over fifty years. It was the kind of problem that made me want to curl up in a corner and wait for it to solve itself.

"Right!" Emiri said, already heading towards a stack of shrouded canvases leaning against a wall. "You two take the shelves, I'll check behind these!"

As Emiri enthusiastically plunged deeper into the room, stirring up small clouds of dust, I was acutely aware of the dynamic. The energetic girl leading the charge into the unknown, the pragmatic girl assessing the practicalities, and me, the sole male, observing from the relative safety of the doorway, already calculating the fastest exit route in case of a dust-induced coughing fit or the sudden appearance of fifty-year-old spiders. Being the only male didn't offer any inherent advantage in this situation; it just highlighted the differing approaches to energy expenditure. It was almost funny, in a deeply pathetic, relatable-only-to-myself sort of way. Like being the only person who brought an umbrella to a picnic because you checked the weather forecast, and then it doesn't rain, but you still look prepared while everyone else is just... there.

Rina, meanwhile, had moved to the nearest set of shelves, her fingers carefully tracing along the edges, looking for anything out of place. Her searching was methodical, quiet, a stark contrast to Emiri's more... enthusiastic method of potentially causing a small dust storm.

"Found anything?" I asked Rina, keeping my voice low to conserve vocal energy.

She shook her head slightly. "Just old paint cans and bundles of dried-up brushes. Nothing like a wooden box." She paused, then looked at me. "Are you coming in, Shinoda-kun? Or are you supervising the doorway?" Her tone was flat, a subtle dig wrapped in a simple question. It was that familiar, slightly awkward interaction – her active participation highlighting my passive observation, couched in a way that made me feel both seen and judged for my energy-saving choices. It was pathetic, but also, grudgingly, a little bit funny how predictable our dynamic was becoming.

"Strategic positioning," I replied, defending my energy-conscious stance. "Maintaining an overview. Also minimizing initial dust exposure."

Before this low-energy debate could escalate further, the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside drew our attention again. These weren't tentative footsteps like the Manga Club seekers; these were purposeful, relatively quick. They stopped right outside the Art Annex storeroom door.

A moment later, a voice called out, sounding loud in the quiet corridor. "Hey! Is anyone in there? The door's open!"

We turned towards the doorway. Standing there, framed by the hallway light, was a boy I didn't recognize. He had a bright, open face and an almost unnervingly cheerful energy about him. He held a stack of flyers in his hand and wore a brightly colored armband that read "School Festival Committee." He looked like the physical embodiment of excessive, undirected energy…

"Oh, hi!" Emiri said, emerging from behind a stack of canvases, leaving a small cloud of dust in her wake. "Yes, we're in here! We're from the Classic Cerebrum Club!"

The boy's eyes widened slightly, first at the dust, then at Emiri's enthusiasm, then at Rina's serious expression, and finally landing on me near the doorway, observing the scene. His gaze seemed to linger for a fraction of a second longer on the unexpected sight of the lone male in the dusty storeroom with two distinctively energetic girls. It was another one of those moments, subtle, perhaps only noticeable to my own energy-sensitive awareness, that highlighted the configuration of our little group.

"The Classic Cerebrum Club?" the boy repeated, his initial cheerfulness shifting slightly to curiosity. "Wow, I didn't know that club was still around! I'm Yamato. Yamato Kenta. I'm with the School Festival Committee. I was just putting up some posters in this area." He gestured with the flyers. "Didn't expect to find anyone in the old storeroom. It's usually locked." 

Emiri, already having recovered from the surprise, stepped fully into the doorway, blocking some of the dust-filled air from escaping. "Hi, Yamato-kun! We just got the key from Saitou-sensei! We're looking for something related to a mystery from fifty years ago!"

Yamato's eyes widened again, this time with genuine intrigue. "A mystery? Fifty years ago? In this storeroom? Wow, that sounds way more interesting than putting up posters! What kind of mystery?" His energy was infectious, the kind that made you want to take a nap just from observing it. It was the pure, unadulterated energy of someone actively seeking things to be excited about, a stark contrast to my own careful avoidance of such drains.

Rina stepped into view beside Emiri, offering a more concise explanation. "We found clues in the club ledger. A missing key, a missing box, and a note suggesting an urgent meeting. The ledger indicates the club used this storeroom temporarily fifty years ago. We suspect the box might have been moved here and somehow left behind."

Yamato's gaze flickered between Rina's serious expression and my own, still hovering near the entrance. He seemed to be rapidly processing the information, connecting dots with an eagerness that was, frankly, energetically intimidating. "A missing box? With secrets? That's amazing! Like buried treasure, but in a school storeroom!"

"More like misplaced history," I corrected, keeping my tone flat. "The energetic output required for a treasure hunt is considerable, and the potential return on investment, in this case, is likely just clarifying an old record. Not exactly 'buried gold' levels of payoff." Attempting to temper excessive expectations was a necessary energy-saving measure. Setting realistic goals prevented the wasted energy of disappointment.

Yamato laughed, a bright, open sound. "Misplaced history sounds cool too! So you guys are like school detectives? That's awesome!" He looked at me again, his gaze curious. "And you're... the quiet one?"

"I'm the energy conservationist," I clarified. "Solving mysteries is a significant energy expenditure. I participate only when necessary, or when presented with a puzzle whose logical inconsistency becomes an unavoidable energy drain in itself."

Yamato blinked, seemingly processing my explanation. Emiri giggled. Rina, however, looked at me with that familiar, slightly critical, slightly amused expression. My tendency to explain my energy-saving philosophy in overly precise, almost scientific terms often landed strangely. It probably sounded pathetic to someone like Yamato, who seemed to view high energy as the default setting. Like explaining why you chose to walk five steps instead of ten because of calorie expenditure, to someone training for a marathon. It just didn't compute on the same level.

"An energy conservationist detective!" Yamato exclaimed, his enthusiasm undimmed. "That's a unique club dynamic! I'm Yamato Kenta, like I said. Third year. I'm involved with the festival because I love seeing the school come alive with activity!" He radiated the kind of pure, unadulterated "school spirit" that felt like a powerful, invisible force I generally tried to avoid direct contact with.

"Shinoda Akito," I stated, returning the introduction with minimal verbal flourish. "First year." Being a first year was also a low-energy state, requiring less responsibility and fewer expectations.

"Ōsawa Rina, first year," Rina added, her voice calm and measured.

Yamato's gaze swept over the three of us again. "First years, huh? Getting into mysteries already? That's cool!" He paused, looking into the dusty storeroom. "Hey, do you guys need any help? I'm pretty good at finding things! The festival planning needs people who can track down obscure supplies!" His offer felt genuine, driven by that boundless, undirected energy.

Emiri's eyes lit up. "Really? That would be great, Yamato-kun! It's really dusty in here!"

I mentally calculated the energy cost of adding another participant to the search. An extra pair of hands could reduce the overall physical energy required per person. However, a new variable, especially one with high energy, also increased the potential for unpredictable interactions and required more processing power to manage. It was a complex equation.

Rina seemed to be performing a similar assessment, though perhaps focused on Yamato's potential usefulness rather than his energy output. She studied him for a moment.

Before I could complete my calculation and offer a carefully worded, energy-conscious response, Yamato's attention was suddenly drawn back down the hallway. "Oh, gotta go! Mr. Tanaka is looking for me about the stage decorations!" He gestured towards the far end of the corridor. "He gets really fired up about the festival!"

Mr. Tanaka. The head of the art department. The one Ms. Saitou said had the key to the storeroom. A fleeting connection, but Yamato's mention confirmed his existence and potential location. Useful information, acquired with minimal direct energy expenditure on my part.

"Good luck with your mystery!" Yamato called out cheerfully, giving a quick wave before jogging off down the hallway, a whirlwind of school spirit and festival flyers. His energy faded down the corridor, leaving the quiet dust of the Art Annex behind.

"Well, that was energetic," Rina commented dryly, watching him go.

"Considerable output," I agreed. "Impressive, in a purely theoretical sense." Like observing a high-performance engine from a safe distance.

Emiri, still holding the borrowed key, looked back at the open storeroom door, then down the hallway where Yamato had disappeared. "Mr. Tanaka has the key... Saitou-sensei said he was probably in the faculty room."

"And Yamato-kun just confirmed he's around and focused on the festival," Rina added. "If we had needed Mr. Tanaka's key specifically, we know who to look for and that he's currently engaged in a high-energy activity, making him potentially approachable but possibly distracted."

Useful deductions. The brief, energetically costly interaction with Yamato Kenta had, inadvertently, yielded relevant data for a potential future path of investigation, had Ms. Saitou's key not worked. It was almost frustrating how often expending a little energy led to unexpected, sometimes useful, results.

But for now, we had the key. The dusty, mysterious Art Annex storeroom lay open before us. The search for the missing box, the 'Minutes', and the identity of 'S' could finally begin within its cluttered depths.

Emiri, key still in hand, stepped fully into the storeroom. Rina followed, her initial pragmatic expression replaced by one of focused assessment as her eyes scanned the room's contents. I hesitated in the doorway for a moment longer, mentally bracing myself. Entering a fifty-year-old accumulation of dust felt like diving into a pool of pure, particulate energy expenditure. Every breath would cost.

"Deep breaths," Emiri said, then coughed slightly as she inhaled a bit of the air.

"Shallow breaths," I corrected, stepping inside and immediately minimizing my respiratory intake. "Maximizes oxygen intake while minimizing particulate consumption. Energy efficient breathing." The air was thick, dry, and carried that distinct smell of age and forgotten things.

The single bare bulb cast long, distorted shadows, making the shrouded objects look vaguely menacing. Leaning against walls were stacks of canvases wrapped in plastic or sheets, ranging in size from small to surprisingly large. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with jars of dried paint, brittle brushes, rolls of yellowed paper, empty sketchbooks, and various unidentifiable art supplies. In corners, larger objects were draped – maybe old easels, sculptures, or even furniture. Everything was coated in a uniform, undisturbed layer of dust and draped with cobwebs that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

"Okay," Emiri said, her voice filled with a strange mix of awe and determination. "Where do we start?"

Rina was already walking towards the nearest shelves, her eyes scanning methodically. "Logically, where would someone hide a small box quickly? Somewhere easily accessible, but not immediately obvious. Not in the open. Not somewhere that gets moved often."

"Higher shelves are less accessible, thus lower probability for a hasty hiding spot during an interruption," I noted, keeping my position closer to the entrance, observing. "Lower shelves or floor-level might be more likely, especially under or behind something."

"Good point, Shinoda-kun!" Emiri said, already getting down on her hands and knees to peer under a large, draped object that looked like a discarded statue base. Dust billowed slightly around her.

"Emiri-chan, be careful with the dust," Rina warned, though her own focus remained on the shelves.

"I'm being careful!" Emiri replied, her voice a little muffled.

I watched them. Emiri, enthusiastically disturbing dust bunnies the size of actual rabbits. Rina, systematically scanning shelves with the precision of a librarian cataloging forbidden texts. And me, positioned to minimize my own interaction with the environment while offering strategically useful, low-energy observations. It was a microcosm of our dynamic, playing out in a fifty-year-old dust trap. As the sole male, I wasn't exactly taking the lead in terms of physical searching; my contribution was strictly intellectual and, by my own standards, minimally exerted. It was, again, a mildly pathetic state of affairs, but highly energy-efficient. Why expend calories digging through dust if others were willing and able?

"Anything under there?" I asked Emiri, trying to project my voice without using excessive force.

"Just... more dust," she reported, emerging slightly covered in it. "And something hard. Feels like a brick."

Rina, meanwhile, carefully moved a stack of old, large sketchbooks from a lower shelf. They landed on the floor with a soft thud, sending up another cloud of dust. She knelt and peered into the newly cleared space. "Nothing here either. Just the shelf itself."

The search was proving to be exactly as energy-intensive as I had predicted. High dust, low immediate reward.

"Consider the size of the box again," I suggested, trying to refine their search parameters. "It was approximately six inches long. Small enough to be tucked away, but large enough to potentially hold 'Minutes', assuming 'Minutes' were documents."

"So, not tiny, but not huge," Emiri said, getting back to her feet. "Like... a shoebox size?"

"Smaller than a standard shoebox, based on the photograph," I corrected. "More like... a box for a set of drawing pencils, or a small journal."

"Okay, pencil box size," Emiri repeated, adjusting her mental target. She then turned her attention to a large, wooden chest in the corner, covered in a particularly thick shroud of dust. "Maybe in there?"

"Possible," I conceded. "Large containers can be used to conceal smaller objects. However, moving or opening a large, potentially heavy chest is a high-energy activity." I was stating the obvious, but it was a necessary reminder of the energy costs involved.

Rina walked over to the chest, examining it. "It looks heavy. And it's locked too, probably." She tried the handle. It didn't budge. "Yep, locked. Our small key won't work on this."

Another locked container. Another potential energy sink if we decided to investigate it further, requiring a new key or a new plan. The mysteries seemed to multiply within this room.

"So the box isn't in there, unless the key to this chest is also hidden somewhere," Emiri said, looking slightly deflated.

"Or the box we're looking for isn't in a locked container," I added. "If the original key was missing, putting it inside another locked box seems counterproductive unless they had a second key."

The search continued, a methodical sifting through layers of artistic history and accumulated grime. Emiri's initial burst of enthusiasm was being tested by the sheer tedium and dust. Rina's focus remained sharp, but even her movements seemed to acquire a thin coating of weariness. My own energy levels were holding steady, primarily because I was limiting my physical interaction with the environment, focusing instead on directional suggestions and low-energy observations. It was a remarkably effective, if slightly pathetic, strategy for surviving a dust-filled historical investigation.

As we moved deeper into the storeroom, the dim light seemed to struggle even more against the gloom. Shadows clung to the corners, hiding potential clues or just more dust. The air felt heavier, thicker. Finding a fifty-year-old, six-inch wooden box in this labyrinth of forgotten art supplies was proving to be a significant challenge, a challenge that required a level of sustained energy expenditure I was not accustomed to. My brain, however, continued to scan the environment, looking for anything out of place, anything that didn't fit the pattern of discarded art supplies. Something small, wooden, and deliberately hidden.

The search commenced. Emiri, with boundless energy, began carefully (and sometimes less carefully) moving stacks of old, large canvases, peering behind easels, and investigating shrouded shapes that turned out to be forgotten sculptures or pieces of old furniture. Rina maintained a more systematic approach, working her way along the shelves, methodically examining the piles of jars, brushes, and rolls of paper. My own contribution, in the interest of optimal energy management, was to focus on areas requiring less physical disturbance, such as scanning the tops of shelves from a distance, looking under the edges of large objects, or examining the floor area, which I had already determined was a plausible location for dropped items.

The air grew thicker with disturbed dust. Sunlight, filtering weakly through the high, grimy windows or the open doorway, illuminated the millions of particles dancing in the air, a silent disco of decay.

"So much dust!" Emiri coughed, batting at the air around her face. "It's like fifty years of dust bunnies decided to have a convention in here!"

"Dust is merely accumulated environmental particulates," I observed, stating the low-energy factual definition. "Its presence indicates a prolonged lack of disruptive activity. From a conservation standpoint, this room is a historical triumph of inertia." The less something moved, the more dust it collected. Simple, elegant, and energetically sound.

Rina, carefully lifting a bundle of old frames, gave a small, dry huff of amusement. "Or maybe just nobody wanted to clean it."

"Lack of motivation to clean is also a form of energy conservation," I pointed out. "A strategic decision to prioritize lower-effort activities over higher-effort ones like dusting. Quite understandable, if inefficient for respiratory health." My lungs were already starting to register their displeasure.

"Anything yet?" Emiri asked, emerging from behind a towering stack of abstract paintings, wiping her forehead with a dusty hand.

"Negative on a small wooden box resembling the photograph," Rina reported from the shelves. "Lots of old art supplies, some potentially interesting discarded projects, but no mysterious containers."

"My analysis of the floor area continues," I stated, scanning the dusty expanse near a forgotten easel. Finding something small on a floor this dusty was statistically challenging. It was like trying to find a specific grain of sand on a beach, a task with an energy-to-reward ratio that was astronomically unfavorable.

"Maybe it's hidden inside something?" Emiri suggested, her gaze falling on a large, lidded wooden crate near the back of the room.

"That would require opening and searching the crate," I responded, outlining the next steps and their associated energy costs. "Requires lid manipulation, visual inspection of contents, and potential re-securing. All non-zero energy activities."

Rina walked over to the crate, examining its lid. "Looks like it's just nailed shut. No lock. Might contain old canvases or larger equipment."

"Lower probability for a small box then," I concluded. "Unless it was simply placed inside and not intended to be hidden within the crate's primary contents."

The search continued. We moved deeper into the labyrinth of forgotten art supplies. Emiri's initial boundless energy was showing the first subtle signs of depletion, her movements slightly less springy, her voice a little less loud. Rina remained focused, her methodical approach perhaps more suited to sustained, albeit dusty, effort. As for me, maintaining a state of alert observation while minimizing physical activity was becoming increasingly challenging. My brain was actively processing the layout, the types of objects, potential hiding spots, but my body yearned for a return to a state of rest.

Emiri, peering into a corner behind a stack of old plaster busts, suddenly exclaimed, "Hey! What's this?"

She reached into the dark corner and pulled something out. It was a small, rolled-up piece of canvas, tied with a faded ribbon. It looked old, consistent with the age of the room's contents.

"Is it a painting?" Rina asked, moving closer.

Emiri carefully untied the ribbon and unrolled the canvas. It wasn't a painting. It was a drawing, in charcoal, of a part of the school. Specifically, a drawing of the Art Annex hallway, fifty years ago, judging by the style and details. The hallway we had just walked down.

"Look," Emiri said, pointing to a detail in the drawing. "That door... that's the storeroom door!"

The drawing showed the plain wooden door, just as it looked now, but perhaps a little newer. And next to it, faintly sketched on the wall, was a small, almost unnoticeable mark.

"Is that... an arrow?" Rina asked, squinting at the drawing.

It was a small, faint arrow, pointing away from the storeroom door, towards the main hallway. Underneath the arrow, written in small, faded charcoal letters, were two characters.

"カイドウ," I read aloud softly. Kaidō.

My internal energy levels, which had been steadily draining during the search, suddenly spiked. Kaidō. The name of our novel. The name potentially linked to a mystery. The name of a supportive character, Kaidō Shinsei. The coincidence felt too direct to be random, yet coincidences were often the most energy-efficient explanations for baffling phenomena, requiring no complex underlying cause. Unfortunately, my analytical engine was already rejecting 'coincidence' as insufficient given the context.

"Kaidō?" Emiri repeated, her eyes wide. She looked from the drawing to me, then back to the drawing. "Like... the mystery of Kaidō? Our club name?"

Rina leaned closer, examining the drawing intently. "A drawing of the hallway... the storeroom door... an arrow pointing away... and 'Kaidō'. What does it mean?"