K's tepid response was reflected in his behavior the next day and the day after. He showed no interest in touching on the subject at hand. Then again, the chance didn't present itself. Unless Okusan and her daughter left the house for the day, the two of us couldn't talk heart to heart or at length. I was keenly aware of this. I was aware of this, but agitated nonetheless. As a result, I changed my tact. I'd been scheming in the shadows, waiting for K to approach me, but I decided now to broach the subject myself at first chance.
At the same time, I carefully observed the members of the household. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, however, in either Okusan's manner or in her daughter's bearing. If there was no notable change in their behavior following K's confession, then I had to conclude that he'd only confessed to me. It seemed certain that the crucial person in question and Okusan, who was effectively her caretaker, were still unaware. This thought helped calm my mind. If that were the case, then I didn't need to rush things. Rather than force the conversation, I decided to bide my time and seize the opportunity when it arose. I let the matter lie for a while.
As I've described this, it may sound simple, but my heart heaved through myriad highs and lows in the process, akin to the ebb and flow of the tides. I kept my eye on K, and I assigned various significance to his lack of initiative. I observed the words and actions of Okusan and her daughter, and in the end I couldn't help but question their authenticity. I wondered if the complex mechanisms at work in the human heart were capable, like the hands of a clock on a numbered face, of faithful outward expression. In short, you should understand that I satisfied myself only after multiple fits and starts. In all honesty, "satisfied" is hardly the right word to apply here.