**SATO**
Ms. Sato had an unmistakable knock: three loud, sharp, evenly-spaced raps. Dr. Tanaka Kazuo, sat at his broad walnut desk, set his pen in its inkwell and gathered his papers with great aplomb, rustling them somewhat louder than was necessary and setting them to one side of his blotter.
"Come in," he called.
The door opened briskly - Ms. Sato tended to do everything briskly, often alarmingly so. She seemed always to be on the parade field, ready to snap a crisp salute. She marched in (briskly! crisply!) at the head of a column, and Dr. Tanaka thought she wanted badly for a baton, or better yet, a rifle. It was good fortune for them all, he mused, that she was not so armed. This would be what was known as giving an iron club to an oni.
Ms. Sato's age could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, for all anyone could tell from looking at her, but a brief encounter would incline one to estimate towards the upper end, wondering how life could have sharpened someone to such a fine point in just thirty years. Her hair, solid black with not a single grain of pepper suffered to remain, was worn in a bun wound tighter than a heretic on the rack. Her face was paradoxically soft in its features, rounded, flat, her complexion light and smooth; but her lips, painted a matte carmine, were forever pursed and frowning, her nose lowered with a slight flare, her tightened jaw jutting behind the molars.
She wore black Oxfords with one-inch slim heels. In the echoing corridors of Namegara Women's Preparatory School, her aggressive heel-toe stride striking the tiles sounded like the reports of a distant and dedicated sniper. It was a sound that quieted conversation, straightened skirts, and made phones slip into bags with a magician's dexterity. On the hardwood floor of the principal's office, the sound was almost deafening, reverberating off the paneled walls and pinging from the metal filing cabinet in one corner before finally burying itself in a short, low couch and its overstuffed footstool.
Her woolen pencil skirt was graphite gray with thin blue and yellow tartan. It fell to mid-calf, below which ribbed black stockings showed. It was unclear how it could hug her hips so tightly and still accommodate her martial stride. Her white button-down shirt had a frilled placket, and was buttoned all the way to the top, with the mandarin collar fastened with a hook and eyelet. Her three-quarter-sleeve black blazer was likewise buttoned tightly. Her bust, though not modest, was, with the assistance of a lacy black bra which had never seen the light of day, easily suppressed by these severe jackets. A single pearl on a thin silver chain lay unobtrusively in the folds above her sternum.
Her signature accessory, of course, was the fifty-centimeter leather riding crop which she carried with her at all times. When not in use it hung from her hip by a button that she had sewn on her skirts for this purpose. She would often hold it behind her back while archly strolling down the center of the hall between classes, gaze high, eyes snapping about for any infraction that might earn a bright welt on the back of the hand.
When she stepped onto the large maroon and black oriental rug that filled much of the office's floor space and demarcated the central seating and conference area, the silence left by her squelched footfalls was sudden, and small sounds like the rustling of her garments became audible. The column following her paused momentarily as she moved the two slatted wooden chairs sitting across the desk from Dr. Tanaka, placing them against the wall. Then, taking her crop in hand, she pointed with it silently at three spots on the floor in the center of the room, and the three girls stepped into their places.
**GIRLS**
On the left was Hideki Tatsuko, a long-limbed blonde, nineteen, most often seen with a confident, haughty stare, issuing her opinions as authoritative edicts, sorting the school's wheat from its chaff. Her lightly wavy hair fell to her shoulderblades in back, and tumbled across the rise of her breasts in front. Though of a good size, they were diminished by her sturdy shoulders; her strong, firm buttocks were a more noticeable feature from any angle. Her ice-blue eyes, normally glinting with ambition, were today a flat blue-gray, staring down and ahead with little motion. A mark was visible already on the back of her left hand, a wide pink streak with two sharp corners and a fading chisel-wedge. Her lips were free of lipstick, unusually - paired with the welt, Dr. Tanaka surmised it had been judged too garish and was scrubbed roughly from her face by Ms. Sato. Her expertly-applied eyeliner seemed to have passed muster, however. She stood with her feet a little apart, back straight, hands at her side.
In the center was Inoue Fumiko, the school's star student. She was only barely eighteen, having skipped a year in primary school. She had friends, but also plenty of enemies. She didn't socialize often, didn't gossip, and being of a somewhat anxious disposition, often had to excuse herself on field trips to go and sit in the bus. This earned her the scorn of the school's social elite, most especially Tatsuko. The older girl never seemed to tire of tormenting her, watching for her in the halls and loudly criticizing her fashion as she passed by. Fumiko tried to ignore her, but felt her cheeks reddening with shame each time an insult landed.
Short and slight, she had come suddenly into her figure shortly after arriving at the school, her breasts high and full, her hips wide with long, smooth curves up to a narrow waist, a wide gap open between the tops of her plumping thighs. There was no doubt this had only stoked Tatsuko's ire further. The only thing worse than a loser was a rival. Her black, neck-length hair was worn in a plain, inward-curving bob with flat bangs.
She stood with her feet together and shoulders hunched, one hand folded over the other in her lap, elbows drawn in to the ribs. Her lips were pressed tightly together as she stared at the floor, her hazel eyes flicking nervously at nothing. The light rouge on her cheeks, a rarity which she had had to work herself up to at great length, and now regretted, was responsible for little of the bright red coloring her face.
On the right was Tamashiro Minami, a transfer student who had arrived the previous month. She was small like Fumiko, but with a featureless silhouette, mousy and thin. Her skin tone was dark, a dusky almond, with copious chestnut hair spilling down her back in tight waves. With her brown eyes and dark lips, her head was dangerously near to monochrome. Thick black plastic glasses consumed much of her face. Her hands were folded in her lap as well, and she stared at the wood grain of the part of the desk nearest her. She was trembling slightly, not enough to see.
All of them were wearing the school uniform: white tennis shoes, black thigh-high socks with three white bands at the top, pleated black knee-length skirts with two white bands near the bottom, white button-down shirts, and at the neck fat black ribbons with white stripes tied into bows. The hem of the skirt fell directly across the scapula on Fumiko, and hid Minami's knees entirely, but Tatsuko's long legs had lifted hers above the knee, and home alterations (forbidden by the dress code but a common practice among the popular girls) had lifted it even further, showing every one of the three stripes on her socks. Careful posturing could further expose several inches of bare thigh, if needed.
When they had filed into place, Ms. Sato stood to their right and said "Hands at your sides." Fumiko's hands balled quickly into fists and found the seams of her skirt. Minami didn't seem to hear. Ms. Sato's crop struck the back of her right hand with a loud crack, and Minami jumped and gave a small shout. She snapped her hands at her side and in a strained whisper said "Sorry, ma'am."
Ms. Sato came around to Minami's front and lifted her chin with the paddle of the crop to stare down directly into her eyes. "Speak up," she said, inches from the young woman's face.
Minami cut her eyes far down and to the left to avoid Ms. Sato's stare. "Sorry, ma'am," she said, her voice wavering pathetically on the edge of breaking. Ms. Sato dropped the crop and Minami's gaze fell immediately to the floor again.
**REPORT**
Ms. Sato turned on her heel, strode again to the right-hand side of the assembled girls, then turned once more to face Dr. Tanaka. Dr. Tanaka continued to wait patiently as he had the whole time, knowing Ms. Sato had to proceed in her particular manner. She folded her arms smartly behind her back, holding the crop perfectly vertically against her spine, and stared straight ahead at the far wall, saying professionally, "Dr. Tanaka!"
"Yes, Miss Sato?" Dr. Tanaka spoke for the second time.
Ms. Sato issued her report in law enforcement jargon, like a police officer describing a crime scene. Dr. Tanaka thought it was a little ridiculous; he thought Ms. Sato's entire shtick was a little ridiculous, but if there was a human living who was brave enough to tell her that to her face, they had not yet stepped forward.
"Early this morning, while passing the locker room of the main gymnasium, I encountered the smell of aerosol. Following it inside, I heard raised voices and a commotion. I discovered these three girls conversing heatedly and a series of vulgarities written in spray paint across the lockers. A bag was open on the ground with a half-empty can of spray paint in it. I asked whose bag it was; it was Fumiko's. Since there were no senior administrators present at that time, I confiscated the spray paint, notified the custodial staff, moved the girls to my office until your arrival, and, as you know, called you to notify you of the incident." Ms. Sato was merely summarizing the situation for the benefit of those present.
"In my view, it is clear that one or more of these girls is responsible for this act of vandalism; however, I leave further fact-finding to you, Doctor."
"Thank you, Miss Sato. Please stand by while I deal with this situation."
Ms. Sato nodded curtly and moved to stand behind the girls in a menacing, wide-stance parade rest.
"Dr. Tanaka,-" Minami suddenly lifted her head and burst out. Dr. Tanaka turned to look at her and said mildly, "Hush. You will each have your turn to speak." Minami lowered her head again, closing her eyes briefly, and her trembling intensified for a moment.
