Shigeo follows slowly, and a bit distantly, perhaps. Her voice feels a bit like jello; it doesn’t help that the rest of the cafeteria drowns out half of her words. “Is there a reason you think somebody is doing this and not… ya’know. Just bad reception or something?” Mezato ticks her finger back and forth like a grandfather clock. “Mob, Mob, Mob… First of all, bad reception does not cause phones to overheat and explode—actual case here, by the way—and second of all, don’t you want it to be some weird, paranormal thing going on?” “Uhm,” Shigeo tries, deciding between the “correct” answer in Mezato’s head and the correct answer in basic morality, “No?” She blinks, and then slumps, eyes lidded as her neckerchief almost dips into her vegetables. “Simpleton, Mob. Simpleton! Don’t you like excitement?” Shigeo stares at her blankly, hoping the message is clear.