On the eve of the quiz, the window paper rustled.
Che's brush stopped over the paper.
It wasn't the wind. Wind came through the courtyard entrance and would first stir the bamboo clothesline pole; when the pole struck the wall, the sound was duller. That sound had brushed against the window frame, brief and light, like someone had tapped it with their knuckles before pulling their hand away.
Nao was clearing bowls in the outer room. The sound of water stopped for a moment.
"Who is it?"
No one answered outside the window.
Che closed his workbook. The medicinal scent still lingered around his left wrist. Instead of using the front door when he got up, he first turned down the lamp wick, then circled around to the wall. The window paper rustled again, even more softly this time. Kiyo sneezed in the neighboring room, as if he meant to wake the entire street.
Che nearly laughed in exasperation.
The alley outside was narrow, with muddy footprints left by the rain two days earlier. Che went out through the side door and saw a folded piece of paper at the base of the wall. A small stone weighed it down, its underside still smeared with the pale yellow mud found near the training ground.
Nao came to the inside of the door, a broom in her hand.
"Don't touch it?"
Che glanced at the edge of the paper. "I'll look first."
The paper was folded plainly. Inside were only two lines.
For tomorrow's quiz, don't just look at the portrait.
If you want to become someone, first learn who most wants you to resemble them.
The handwriting was deliberately crooked, as though the writer had intentionally used their off hand. There was no signature. After reading it, Che first thought