Ketto grew more anxious and curious by the minute. Hanky was nowhere to be seen. He had searched every corner of the changing room, even opening a few cabinets to check if Hanky was somehow hiding inside. Nothing. He sighed in frustration.
Then he heard the sound of water running from the shower room. His mind immediately jumped to a conclusion: 'Hanky is in there. He played basketball at noon, so he must be sweating. Of course he'd take this chance to shower.'The more Ketto thought about it, the angrier he became. He had been cleaning the changing room diligently and seriously, while Hanky was off washing himself. It wasn't fair.
Ketto set his broom aside and marched toward the shower room.
The entrance was awkward. There was a bench area where several men stood drying their hair and bodies—completely naked. When Ketto walked in, a few of them glanced at him with strange, questioning looks. His face burned, but he told himself it would be worth it if he could just catch Hanky.
The shower room was laid out in rows of individual stalls, each separated by a curtain. The curtains covered the upper body but left the feet visible from below. Ketto slipped into the nearest row and began peeking at the feet, trying to identify Hanky.
Suddenly, a man stepped out of one of the stalls right in front of him. Ketto jumped, his whole body flinching. The man stared at him curiously.
'If I keep acting like this,'Ketto realized, 'people are going to think I'm some kind of pervert.' He needed a cover. His eyes landed on a mop leaning against the wall. 'Perfect.'He slipped out, grabbed the mop, and returned to the shower room, feeling clever. He almost laughed at his own genius plan.
The shower room had its own peculiar smell—a mix of shampoo, body wash, and soap that created a strange, blended odor. It wasn't bad, just odd. Ketto couldn't quite describe it.
As he re-entered, the same man who had caught him earlier gave him a long, hard look. Then he turned to the person next to him and said loudly enough for Ketto to hear, "Oh, he's a cleaner. For a second I thought he was some kind of creep. The way he was acting was really disgusting."
Ketto's ears burned. He wanted to disappear. But he told himself to stay focused. His mission was to find Hanky. Nothing else mattered.
He started mopping—or rather, pretending to mop—while bending his body as low as he possibly could. If he could have laid flat on the floor, he would have. Whenever someone appeared, he'd scrub vigorously at the tiles, but his movements were clumsy and unnatural. A few naked men passing by gave him looks of disdain or suspicion, but Ketto didn't notice. His mind was singular: 'Find Hanky. Prove I'm right.'
He was practically obsessed. In his head, he was already imagining what he would say when he caught Hanky, how he'd punish him for leaving all the work behind.
He finished checking one row of stalls and moved to the next, carefully examining each pair of feet visible beneath the curtains. Then, without warning, the pool manager appeared behind him.
"What are you doing?" the manager barked.
Ketto shot upright and spun around. "Nothing! I'm cleaning."
The manager frowned. "Why are you bending like that when you clean? It looks strange."
Ketto's mind raced. He spotted a man nearby wearing glasses and blurted out, "I'm nearsighted. I need to get close to see things clearly."
"Really?" The manager didn't look convinced. "Well, don't do that again. It looks weird. Too abnormal."
A man drying his hair with a hand dryer chimed in. "I thought he was some kind of weirdo too. Thought maybe he had a special hobby—like peeking at naked people."
Ketto's face went crimson. He lowered his head, unable to respond.
The manager sighed. "Fine. Just finish up here and leave quickly."
Ketto nodded. "Yes. I will."
After the manager walked away, Ketto glared at the man who had made the comment. "What?" he said, forcing a smirk. "I am a weirdo. Hehe."
Then, checking quickly to make sure no one was watching, he bent down again—just a little—to examine the feet in the next row. He even tried to catch a glimpse of people's thighs, convinced he could recognize Hanky that way.
Why did he have to find Hanky so badly? Who knew? Who cared? He didn't even understand it himself. It was like a ghost had possessed him, driving him forward without reason.