He who fears an isolated Queen's pawn should give up Chess.

— Siegbert Tarrasch

March 2nd

6th year of Shōwa

What would her value be if she had married Yū? Not her value as a person, but her value in projected numbers.

He was young and healthy. Sixty years life expectancy on a probability of one-hundred-to-three for an unavoidable accident or illness. He had a good job. Engineer. Sixteen-thousand-yen annual salary. Handsome, in a sloppy way. No data.

Silly, full of dreams. No data.

The histogram took shape. A house in Tokyo. Forty thousand yen. Two children, like her mother. Fourteen thousand yen to the age of eighteen, times two, twenty-eight thousand. One thousand, five hundred fifty-five staggered per annum.

The market crash two years ago had ruined her projections and sent once-fixed charts into zigzagging disarray. There was no room to integrate dreams in a world of financial uncertainty.

She changed her mind. A box plot would suit the data better.

Yukari Sanjō took pride in organizing her life by numbers. The daughters of Japan's ministers and officials came to her not knowing which end of an abacus was up. They left knowing how to allocate funds, calculate the ever-changing prefectural and Imperial taxes, calculate their household expenditures, budget when the babies came. The home is the smallest company, she liked to say. To be the executive of it is a thankless job.

Yukari liked to be thanked. It was why she was not married.

She counted the head of every girl as they disembarked the train, ticking off their name from her list. Without meaning to, she divided them based on how quickly their parents paid their tuition bill at the end of every quarter, and then from which bank the check was issued. From this data, she ranked them from one to four. Four, for a struggling bank and over a month between billing. One for a major bank and prompt payment. By the time they were sitting in the biggest classroom available, she had her numbers straight.

Yamabuki (1) had drawn her inner circle of friends off to the side of the school-room, speaking loudly of her excursion to Okinawa that summer. Hinamori (3) darted around nervously, as though her number flashed above her head where everyone could see it. Mashiro (2) spoke only to Hinamori. Hoshina (1), spoke to no one. Yuiki (4 after bailouts) yelled at anyone who would listen. Her pen paused at the name Fujisaki with surprise, looking up.

"Fujisaki-san?" Sanjō said. Fujisaki was a zero. Her mother, the headmistress, pre-emptively paid without fail.

"You'll be joining us again?" she said, without a flicker of a smile. "It's been a while. Welcome back."

Fujisaki smiled, bobbing a straight-backed bow. "Thank you," she said politely. "I hope to have you take care of me again this year."

"Nadeshiko-chan!" Hinamori said with delight, catching sight of her. "It's me, Amu! Do you remember me?"

Fujisaki whirled around, clasping her hands together.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she scolded. "I was only gone for eight months! Oh, but I missed you the whole time!"

They acted as though they had been war-torn for half a decade.

"It felt like forever!"

"Then visit me! Go write your parents and ask, this winter!"

"Can I? I mean, really? You wouldn't mind?"

"No! I'll tell you all about where I've been!"

Mashiro came into focus beyond Hinamori's shoulder. She had the frightening expression of a baby that's had food snatched right out from under its nose. Unwilling to undertake that particular liability, Sanjō stood up at the front and clapped her hands.

"Girls!" she shouted. "I understand It's been a whole summer, but sit down. I have things to go over before dinner-time."

Mashiro looked up at Hinamori, patting the chair next to her. "Amu," she invited, voice eerie. She was an odd one. "Sit."

She hated teaching this age group. The friendship tantrums were insufferable. She chanted the marriage costs to herself like a sutra.

"The pipe on one of the sinks has burst. Someone will be coming to fix it tomorrow, but in the meantime, please don't use it. When your sheets are dirty, we ask that you place them in the first-floor bins. At the beginning of each week, we will give you the duties you will be in charge of. This will be anything from weeding the garden, to dinner, to laundry, to the dishes. Your parents did not send you here to be catered to, as I always say. Before bedtime on Thursdays, we will be lining up to inspect you after t..."

A shriek, and the clattering of chairs. Fujisaki's graceful limbs sprawled onto the classroom floor. Several girls gasped and proffered hands. Somehow, the chair had moved more than six inches precisely to the left.

Sanjō pushed her glasses up her nose. How had that happened? She scanned the classroom.

Mashiro's little hand was circling rapidly below her desk, winding a length of ruddy thread. The incriminating evidence vanished into her breast pocket in moments.

Sanjō's jaw dropped. She looked to the etiquette teacher for help, but Kichiga-sensei hadn't seen it.

"Are you alright, Fujisaki-san?" Mashiro asked in her little voice, leaning around Hinamori. She had her best friend's arm in a tight grip.

Fujisaki stared hard at Mashiro, face white. She got to her feet without assistance.

"I am," she said, softly. "Are you?"

The classroom couldn't be more silent if Sanjō had ordered it herself.

"A-as I was saying," Sanjō said suddenly, finding her voice. "On Thursdays, we will inspect you before bed, so do not leave the baths until we have cleared you. Please remember. That is all."

Everyone made a big hurry of leaving quickly, excited for dinner. As the murmur of conversation rose to a swarm-like buzz, the etiquette teacher crept towards Sanjō, wringing her hands.

"How frightful!" Kichiga-sensei whispered, watching Mashiro and Fujisaki stare at each other. She had missed the thread, but not the glares: one livid, the other calm.

"Mark my words, Shoko," Yukari Sanjō said in an undertone. "Ten-to-one, those two are going to end up killing each other."