Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cycle of life is a molten construction designed to grant prosperous life to the strongest only.

Mankind has found beauty in nature, and yet, nature covets the law of consuming the smaller for the larger to survive. Biology and evolution hold the founding blueprint that the world is survival of the fittest, a predatory mass Social Darwinism.

With bloody masquerades and tilted empowerment of prejudice and malevolence dating back centuries, humanity has been on a myriad repeating brink of destroying itself.

Pointing fingers that resemble a gun, pulling the trigger, and firing the bullet. The barrel, the power. The bullet, the blame. And the trigger, the shift.

None of them can deny any longer that the most petrifying thing this world has to offer is one of their own.

Revenge. Anger. Spite. Rage. Threats. Beatings. Shootings. Death. Abuse. Suicide. Kidnapping. Rape. Torture. Murder. The most harmful hand on this planet is man’s.

And this is because humankind was born to destroy—birthed, and crawled out from the dirt of its mother’s cruel, cutthroat land. What’s weak dies, and what’s strong survives. Through the process of elimination, it’s no wonder only the most violent of our ancestors prospered.

While society has progressed—increased birth rates and higher life expectancies—survival instinct does not simply disappear. Even the most peaceful of us come from violent savages, killers, and heartless beings who crushed those beneath them to survive.

In light, there is darkness. In the day, there is night. In fate, there is choice. And in good men, there are monsters. All it takes is for the strings to be pulled to create an aberration in one's morals, and then fate will become the puppeteer.

What is right and what is wrong, while seen in black and white to some, is merely a choice. And the relief of giving in to violence and destruction like our ancestors is a calling a broken human won’t resist.

After all, a predator cannot sit and lick its wounds forever. Life is a cycle. When one dies internally, another more fiercely equipped predator is born.

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

30/9/23

18:24

Harleenie's Dine and Drink was a comical classic that was a hotspot for bringing friends and family to dinner for an old-timey meal and a cheap thrill.

The restaurant was opened in the late 1960s. It was a gag toward culture on the western side of the hemisphere, known for its saloon-reminiscent style and homey ambiance. It had polished but cracking wooden architecture, dim yellow lighting, an imposing crackling fireplace, deer heads on the walls, and a mechanical bull to complete the cowboy-like schtick.

One of the establishment's most frequent crowds was Hope’s Peak Academy students—the elite special kids who were living it up in the heart of the city at their prestigious school. 

Harleenie's was a gem in the city within easy driving distance of the boarding school. It's been a popular spot for students since the diner opened. And the locals have gotten accustomed to seeing groups of teenagers, most with a self-righteous flair, kicking back in the diner during after-school hours and weekends.

In late September, an unlikely group of students were tucked into a booth next to a window looking out into the street. Four second-years and three first-years of Hope's Peak Academy were seated on the outskirts of the restaurant.

The large fireplace in the center of the back wall was visible from their table. They could hear it crackle between the buzz of people talking and the clatter of spoons, forks, and dishes being placed on tables. The fireplace had a behemoth of a bullhead mounted on the wall. It had large horns and brown fur. Its wooden plaque had the date it was killed in the 50s by a young boy imprinted beneath it. Its lifeless marble eyes reflected the fireplace underneath it.

A handful of feet away was a long table hosting a family gathering—a 68th birthday celebration for a grandmother. In a room off to the side were the whoops and cheers of co-workers as they tried their hand at the mechanical bull. Waiters and waitresses in aprons dashed by carrying notepads and platters.

The decently sized restaurant had a high popularity rate among city slackers. It was quieter in the morning, mostly bringing in older folk for breakfast and coffee. But on Saturday nights like these, it was a mellow party.

The air circulated the smell of cooked and seasoned food from the kitchen, but had an underlying smell of dust and the crisp burning wood from the fire. Two banjos dueling in an Appalachian bluegrass style hummed through overheard speakers. Above the students were hung lights that flickered periodically, strung up above the window facing the parking lot.

Now that the sun set sooner, the sky was a blue canvas by 6 PM. The moon glowed overhead as a sliver of sky-blue light formed through the horizon as the last trace of day. Headlights on the highway zoomed past the parking lot.

Kaede and Sayaka sat across from one another. The two girls chatted idly as if they didn't just meet. They spoke with large smiles, comparing earrings and discussing musical arts. 

Makoto, beside Sayaka, nodded along with them, sometimes adding a personal anecdote when he deemed fit. He fiddled with the drawstring on his denim jacket as he smiled at them.

Kaito scratched at his soul patch with his large hand as he bit the inside of his lip and looked over the menu. He leaned into the booth's ratty cushion and put his other arm up to rest on the back of the seat.

Kyoko and Celestia sat by the window on the other side of Makoto than Sayaka. The two held hands underneath the table.

Shuichi silently sat on the other side of the booth, in between Kaede and Kaito. He watched them all interact.

The restaurant had a mostly dark brown and musty red color scheme. The booth's table was made with dark wood like the rest of the restaurant, while the seats were made with a cheap dull red fabric.

Shuichi leaned his weight onto his arms against the table. He scratched the grooves in the wood with his fingernail, occasionally tracing the lines. Underneath the table, he tapped his sneaker against the floor in a slow rhythm.

The material of the seats was scratchy. Even through his jeans, it bothered him. He wasn't sure how the girls in shorter skirts looked so at ease. Anytime he shifted uncomfortably, the booth would creak, and Kaede and Kaito would look at him.

His eyes stayed on Kaede, Sayaka, and Makoto to give him something to do—or to make himself feel like a part of the group. Occasionally, he would sneak glances at the other two, Kyoko and Celestia. Kyoko stayed rigid and still, and stared blankly out the window, and Celestia balanced her chin on her hand, bored. Every once in a while, she would sneak a glance at Kyoko.

"Hey, kids," a deep, honeyed voice with a notably thick American accent called. An older large woman with dark skin, pulled-back indigo hair, and warm brown eyes approached them with a white apron and a notepad and pen in hand. Celestia sat up straighter as the waitress approached them. 

The waitress’ eyes lightened with recognition when she saw the left side of the booth where the upperclassmen sat.

"Is' nice to see y'all 'gain!" she greeted, nodding at them with a large, hearty smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Harleen," Sayaka said politely with her arms folded on the table. She smiled at her with straight, perfectly white teeth.

"Hi!" Makoto greeted back while Kyoko gave a short wave and a small smile. 

"You guys frequent here?" Kaede asked the four.

"Oh, they sure do, honey," Harleen answered for them. "They're here all the time!" The plump woman gently placed a hand on Sayaka's shoulder and laughed. Her hefty shoulders shook up and down. "I'll take it you three must be new years over at your elite school, I bet." She gestured the pen at the underclassmen. "I’ve never seen ya'll 'round here." 

"We are," Kaede confirmed with a bashful tilt of her head.

"Well, here's a warm welcome to the diner. What can I get y'all started with?" Harleen raised her notepad and clicked open her pen.

"You guys'z got root beer by chance?" Kaito asked.

"You guys'z" Harleen pitched her voice lower in a mocking imitation of Kaito's. She let out a throaty laugh. "That's not the way we be speaking ‘round here. But of course we got root beer for ya', hun." Harleen jotted down the order.

Kaede turned to snicker in good fun at Kaito as he gave a surrendering shrug with a goofy smile.

"How 'bout you two?" Harleen asked Shuichi and Kaede.

"Oh, um," Kaede looked back at the menu before pointing to a specific item. "I'll go with the strawberry lemonade, please."

"Uh, I'll just stick with water. No ice, though…—please," Shuichi stammered. He slid his menu toward her, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to take it yet, and quickly pulled it back.

Harleen wrote down their orders before looking up at the other four. "And just the regular coffee, cherry coke, lemon water, and...?" She pointed the pen to each of them as she recalled their orders but paused and trailed off as she pointed to Celestia.

"Tea with extra milk please," Celestia politely told her. 

Harleen nodded and jotted in her notebook. "No Hina tonight, huh?" she asked as she wrote their orders.

"She's at the gym. She made plans with another friend," Sayaka explained.

"Mm," Harleen hummed. "She’s off with the one buff strong girl?" She gestured to her shoulders, pretending they were bigger.

Makoto laughed and answered, "Yep, she is."

"That's a shame. You four are always here together," she commented. "I'll be right back with your drinks." Harleen gave one more smile before she turned around and walked away from their table and to the kitchen.

"Hina was your friend who was going to come along too, right?" Kaede asked.

"Yeah, until she ditched us." Sayaka rolled her eyes playfully. "So we just let Celeste come instead."

Celestia leaned forward past Makoto to send a teasing glare at Sayaka. "Rude."

With the mention of Celestia, Kaede turned her attention toward her. "So, I'm still learning how to pronounce your name," she said honestly. "Suh-less-teh,” Kaede spelled out.

"Suh-lest," Celestia pronounced with much more ease but nodded with a poised smile as Kaede was close enough to be satisfactory. 

Kaede leaned forward, putting her weight onto her elbows. “Okay, I just gotta say, I love your accent,” she mused.

Celestia put a hand on her chest. “Thank you,” she purred.

“Yeah, that’s the European side of the table.” Makoto pointed his thumb to his left to Kyoko and Celestia.

Kaede looked at Kyoko. “You’re European too?”

“I was born here but moved there,” she clarified.

“Oh, interesting. Did you only come back to attend here or?” Kaede asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s so cool! So like, did you live in… Germany? Or France…?” she trailed off.

“I lived in Russia.”

“Was it nice there?” Kaede prompted.

“No.” Bluntly honest.

The kids snickered. But Shuichi was curious. “Where in Russia?” he asked.

“I’m from the far North region. Up in Sakha. Just around the outskirts of Yakutsk,” Kyoko aberrated from her softer, more melodic way of speaking and pronounced the heavier syllables of the Russian republic and its capital with a firmer tongue. The corner of Shuichi’s mouth turned upward in intrigue as he recognized the Russian accent.

“So you can speak Russian, right? You’re like bilingual?” Kaede asked.

Kyoko nodded. “I’m sure my Japanese is better, but I’m very fluent in it, yes.”

“She can speak four languages, actually,” Celestia cut in with a smirk as if she was bragging. 

“No, I can not,” Kyoko disagreed. “I know minor English, sure. But I can only speak just rough Yakut from living in the area. I’m not fluent in it. I can only say very basic phrases.”

“Trilingual, though. Still impressive,” Celestia refuted.

"So how did you two meet?" Kaito switched the subject, patting Shuichi's shoulder and pointing across the table to Makoto. The upperclassmen snickered and exchanged glances.

"You didn't tell him?" Makoto asked Shuichi.

"Not even when you invited him here?" Sayaka added. 

Shuichi stiffened and shrugged. "He invited himself!" he defended.

Kaito raised his arms in offense and gently hit the back of Shuichi's head, bumping the boy's cap out of place. "Hey, come on now! I drove!" 

"In your busted-ass truck," Kaede murmured.

Kaito leaned over the booth and flipped off Kaede. She gasped and giggled before she slapped the back of his hand away dramatically. They both laughed at the absurdity.

Celestia leaned closer to Kyoko and whispered into her ear, "Freshman."

Kyoko covered her smile behind her fist.

"Anyway," Makoto brought attention back to him. "We have painting class together. We sit at the same table and all."

"Aww, and then you became buddies!" Kaede teased and bumped her shoulder against Shuichi's.

Shuichi adjusted his hat and ducked his head in embarrassment. He looked for Makoto for help, but the other boy continued to smile at him with no concern. 

Makoto was a nice kid. A really nice one. But he was a little dense and a lot of things went over his head. He reminded Shuichi of a golden retriever. Maybe not in appearance; Makoto was pretty short, had messy brown hair, bright hazel-green eyes, a bit of a baby face, and freckles fading with the warmer months. He reminded Shuichi of a more woodsy forest-like aesthetic rather than golden, bright, and strong. 

But he was ferociously loyal and loved being around people. He wasn't very sure of himself and didn't have a lot going for him; he didn’t participate in much and had ubiquitous hobbies, but he had a lot of friends. 

Shuichi could see how Makoto's oblivious charm would make him friends with someone like Sayaka, no matter how high on the social ladder she was. She was lively and would adore someone as effortlessly kind as Makoto. 

Kaede and Sayaka made eye contact across the booth and exchanged animated smiles. Shuichi noticed the two girls were bubbly in a similar way.

Sayaka was cheery like Makoto but not as familiar, relaxed, or bearing low expectations as he did. She had tiny earrings shaped and colored like watermelons that were more pink than red. She wore a white backless top and knee-high socks. She was kind but intimidating to Shuichi. She seemed like the kind of girl who would giggle as a group of guys pestered him during school to make him a joke. 

She was just a little too sweet. A little too easily poppy. Her smile a little too wide, too artificial to Shuichi's anxious eyes. Her face was just a little too round and cordial. Her cheekbones were a little too perfect. And her eyes were a little too blue. A sweetheart, no doubt, but just too flawless to seem genuine. 

But he paused, recognizing his tendency to think the worst of others out of fear. He knew his perceptions of others were often biased. He was self-aware enough to know his impression of Sayaka was most likely twisted by anxiety. 

Additionally, he had never met a celebrity before then. He had seen Sayaka’s face, heard her name, and listened to her music dozens of times before meeting her in person. He didn’t think anyone could be blamed for feeling intimidated by her.

However, putting his initial assumptions about Sayaka aside, Shuichi was more curious about Makoto's friendship with Kyoko.

He wasn't sure how someone as level-headed as Kyoko had become close with Makoto. Perhaps she found him charming, too? But to Shuichi, Kyoko's business-only formality, with her many accomplishments and effortless skill, didn't seem likely to be swayed by something like that.

From what he understood about Celestia, she was Kyoko's friend brought along. The other two had hung out with Celestia and were friends with her, but she wasn't really a part of their friend group. Her only connection to them was her close friendship with Kyoko.

This is all Shuichi knew of the dynamic of Makoto’s friends, and he reran the information through his head on repeat.

Harleen shuffled back to their table, holding up a black circular tray containing their drinks in tall glasses. 

"Here y'all are," she said as she delicately placed each of their drinks in front of them, bending a little at the knees to not disturb the tray by reaching. Harleen couldn’t reach the back of the long table, and Kaito and Kyoko's drinks were placed just a smidge further away.

"Do any of ya' want to place in any orders to start ya' off? Any appetizers?"

Kaito’s purple bomber jacket ruffled as he raised an arm, holding up his pointer and middle finger. "Cheese curds."

"Gotcha. That'll be right out." Harleen jotted down the order before turning to leave again.

Kaito quickly leaned forward and swiped his root beer toward him before taking a swift gulp. His eyes widened, and he quickly pulled the rim away from his lips. "Ooh! Cold!" He reached up to wipe the liquid from his lips that dripped down and got his soul patch wet.

"You good there?" Sayaka asked.

"I've got sensitive little teeth!" he complained. He put the bottle on the table and snatched a napkin from the dispenser.

Sayaka giggled, and Kaede turned to address her. "The way that he's the biggest one of us, and yet, he's still so unintimidating."

"Come on!" Kaito complained, raising an offended hand.

"Don't worry, you're a lovable goof," Kaede reassured.

"You're right I am." That seemed to satisfy him, and he confidently reached up to run a hand through his slicked-back magenta-brown hair.

Kyoko quickly leaned forward to grab her mug of coffee. It was in a white thick cup, and steam slowly emitted out the surface. As she reached to grab it, she let out a hissing noise in pain and reflexively and instantly pulled her arm away. Her face contorted with discomfort as she gently settled her arm back into her lap.

Sayaka cringed. "Ooo, your sunburn still bothering you?" she asked like she already knew the answer.

"Unfortunately, so." Kyoko went back to staying as still and straight as a statue.

Celestia grabbed the mug by the rim with fingers adorning many silver rings and placed it in front of Kyoko. "I told you not to wear layers," she scolded. 

Shuichi just now noticed she had a thicker accent than he originally noted. Most likely because the most words Celestia had spoken tonight had been whispered in Kyoko’s ear, unintelligible to Shuichi. He could not place the twinge-like sound to her voice’s origin, but he recalled her telling him about her French-German nationality when he met her a half-hour ago. 

"I didn't want anyone to see," Kyoko defended. Celestia narrowed her eyes. Shuichi assumed she must have already heard that excuse.

"And at what cost? Now you're hurting," Celestia spoke to her as if she was reprimanding a child.

"I'm not hurting that bad," Kyoko mumbled. Celestia rolled her eyes. 

Kyoko stiffly raised an arm and grabbed her coffee mug before gently raising it to her lips and taking a sip. Her wince was almost undetectable, but Celestia saw. She shook her head.

"You got a sunburn?" Kaito asked Kyoko, pointing to her arm.

Kyoko wore a zipped-up black light-weight Bargain’s jacket accompanied by black studded gloves. The only skin that showed was her face, which was red, but it was still hard to decipher if the red complexion was her natural skin tone or not by people who had just met her.

Kyoko nodded. "The hottest day of September was last week."

"Oof, forget sunscreen?" Kaede asked with sympathy.

"No. I had it on."

"She burns easily," Celestia provided. "Very easily."

"It's kinda our fault," Sayaka explained. "We knew about it but still pressured her to come with us to the waterpark before it closed for the season."

Kyoko gave a small shrug. "I could use a tan," she commented indifferently.

"Yes, not skin cancer, though," Celestia shot back. Her long black acrylic nails tapped impatiently against the table as she turned away from Kyoko.

Celestia was the most dressed up at the table. She sat with a perfectly upright posture, nearly disguising her shorter height in comparison to the others. Her comportment was dignified and grandiloquent. Large gold hoops dangled from her earlobes to her jaw. Dark crimson red lips. Sparkly black eyeshadow, and skin as white as an envelope. Inky black hair and scathing blood-red eyes. And a pleasing, heart-shaped face with sharp features. But not as sharp as her tongue.

She had a reputation around campus: She was composed, elegant, and politely formal. If she liked you. She was also known for having a temper that could drop with the pin of a needle. 

Kyoko leaned forward slowly until she caught Celestia's eye. Her white hair fell past from where it was tucked behind her ear and curtained her cheek. "I'm taking care of myself. Don't worry," she said with more earnestness than Shuichi expected from her.

Celestia smiled, pleased. She was proud her temporary cold shoulder worked. She reached a hand up from her lap toward Kyoko’s cheek where her hair hung before catching herself and putting it back down.

"Are you two done bickering?" Sayaka asked from across the table. "The rest of us are still here if you were curious." Makoto snickered lightheartedly. 

Celestia turned her head to look at her. Her eyes did a quick scan around the rest of the table before she said, "My apologies. We're working on her self-preservation skills."

Sayaka addressed the underclassmen, "They bicker like an old married couple all the time."

The underclassmen giggled, and Kyoko sent a mock glare down the table at her.

Before a lull in conversation could appear, Kaede raised her strawberry lemonade to her lips and took a sip before bringing the cup back down to ask, "So how come you guys come here so often?" 

Makoto, Sayaka, and Kyoko briefly looked at each other to nonverbally decide who would be the one to answer. Kyoko looked away, throwing in the towel immediately. Sayaka and Makoto exchanged a look, and Sayaka shrugged, volunteering herself.

"It's really popular in school. People like to meet up here for projects and stuff. Or for making friends." Sayaka smiled and winked to the other side of the table. "You're kinda just bound to come here at least once. And I don't tend to get recognized here. And even if I do, no one cares that much. So we just grew to like it. It's trendy. What do you guys think? Do you like it so far?"

"Root beer's a little cheap, but I like it that way," Kaito spoke up and took a swig of the bottle in his hand. "This place is dope."

The table giggled at his antics. 

Sayaka asked, “Where did you find this guy?"

"In our class," Kaede answered, even though they already knew. "He sits in the back like the menace he is. I was placed next to him, and we’re both friends with Shuichi, so we became friends, too."

“Oh yeah," Makoto remembered before he looked to where Shuichi silently sat across from him, catching his eye. "You haven't said much." He folded his arms on the table, his loose denim jacket overlapping at his elbows.

"I've been listening," Shuichi responded instinctively. Knee-jerk justification of himself was built into him as obligatory as breathing. 

Being pulled from his spectator role and made into a participant in the conversation, Shuichi was reminded of family reunions. All eyes at the table on him being uncomfortably familiar. 

"Oh, don't worry! I wasn't calling you out!" Makoto raised his hands, apologetic. "I just felt bad because I thought we weren't giving you a chance to speak or something."

"Oh, no. I just haven't had anything to say yet," he said tentatively. 

That was not the truth. He had ideas, comments, and topics on his mind. However, they all spoke to each other with such ease that Shuichi could not match. He didn't know how to not be a prop. He couldn’t tether himself to a purpose there. His cheeks grew hotter as he quickly searched for something to say.

Sensing his discomfort, Kaede leaned forward and rescued him. "Hey, other than painting, what kind of classes are you taking?" she prompted him. 

Shuichi was grateful but refrained from flushing at the obvious way Kaede pointed her eyes right at Kyoko. He understood what she was prompting him to do, but would not acquiesce to making himself look like a fool.

"Oh, um, well, I take all on-level courses, except history ‘cause I like it. I'm not smart enough for anything else honors…."

"Yes, you are!" Kaede jumped in.

"Well, I don't think I could handle it." Shuichi smiled and tilted his head timidly. Kaede gave him a look.

"Come on, talk about your electives!" she encouraged, nudging his elbow with her own.

She wouldn't relent on this, Shuichi realized. She was going to innocently prod to aid him but ultimately would unknowingly make him look like a stupid-kid-wannabe-detective. 

"Umm, I'm required to take classes in anatomy and forensic science, with studying to be a detective and all." He chuckled an awkward laugh. 

He took a swift glance toward Kyoko and saw her nod her head approvingly. He let out a small breath he didn't know he was holding.

Makoto suddenly lit up with recognition. He reached over Celestia and tapped Kyoko's shoulder with the back of his hand. She flinched away and winced. "Oh, sorry! Forgot!"

"It's fine," she murmured. 

"You took those classes, too, right? Back when we were freshmen, that was a requirement for you, wasn’t it?" Makoto asked.

Kyoko nodded passively. She looked down at her coffee and took a sip. When she placed it back on the table, she spoke. "Yes. They were interesting. Are you liking them?" Kyoko asked Shuichi the first question he had gotten from her.

He smiled. "Yeah. I really like the forensic science one. It's really insightful. I'm enjoying them a lot." Underneath the table, his fingers dug into his palm so hard he created indents of red half-moons at the bottom of his hand.

"The lab is always cold, though," Kyoko commented.

"Oh yeah, really chilly. I usually grab an extra jacket from my dorm before heading to class there. But all the buildings are like that, aren’t they?" Shuichi let out a forced laugh, trying to be relatable. He attempted and failed to anchor himself into a natural part of the conversation.

"The music hall and theater are pretty fine," Kaede pointed out, looking to Sayaka for validation. She nodded in agreement.

"It’s usually a good room temperature in the other buildings," Kaito mentioned, doing a half-half motion with his hand.

Shuichi tried to swallow a lump in his throat. 

"Oh, I guess I haven't really gone around the other buildings on campus. I don’t even know where I am half the time anyway," he admitted.

"Really, dude?" Kaito questioned. "How do you get around? Campus is a maze."

"A map." Shuichi shrugged. "Sometimes I google how to get to where I need to be."

"Wait for when classes switch with the semester, though,” Sayaka mentioned. “I would recommend getting well-acquainted with the entirety of campus. Sometimes schedules can just switch up randomly too if they make changes." 

Makoto sat up. "Hey, I mean, if you want, we could…" he trailed off with a new thought. "Wait, actually—” His eyes lit up with an idea, and he turned to face Kyoko. “Kyoko, you're not doing much this weekend, right? Why don't you show Shuichi around campus."

Shuichi opened his mouth to object but quickly shut it, unsure what to say. His eyes flickered between Makoto and Kyoko. The older detective shrugged. 

"I could. Do you want me to?" Kyoko asked Shuichi.

"Uh, sure. If you don't mind? I wouldn't mind." His leg bounced anxiously under the table while his much more experienced upperclassmen stared at him indifferently. He pretended he had something to do by adjusting his hat.

"Oh come on, man. Week three, and you've already let yourself be adopted by another upperclassman?" Kaito questioned.

Makoto shrugged and said, "He's easy to adopt. Besides, that's just kind of what happens when you're freshmen. I mean, afterall, you guys are here with us now." He gestured to their side of the booth.

"Oh, I get it," Kaito said with a mock conspiratorial tone as he eyed Shuichi with suspicion. "You invited us to a little get-out with your older painting-class buddy and his friends to get us into your foster care system, too. I see how it is!" He took a sip of his root beer as the rest of the table snickered. 

Shuichi looked away, embarrassed but with a small smile. Unintentionally, he met Kyoko’s eyes.

"I'm free Sunday. Let's do then, okay?" she said.

"Okay," Shuichi agreed, a little exasperated, nearly forgetting the earlier interaction.

"Ayy! The curds!" Kaito interrupted as a different waiter brought a red basket of cheese curds to the table. "These are my jam, y'all." He adopted the Southern slang before dipping a curd into the homemade sauce in the basket, throwing it into his mouth, and chewing with his mouth open. "Mm! That's good!"

The others shifted topics and dug into the cheese curds Kaito ordered them. Celestia and Kaede were the exceptions. Kaede was distracted by her phone in her lap under the table. She typed and sent a message before smiling and returning her attention to the group.

ll

The stench of perfume was so piercing that Kokichi swore it would tear off all the hair follicles in his nose. The music made his ears bleed. His eyes would need to be filled with a bucket of bleach to scrub them clean of the sight of sex toys surrounding them. And yet, he was dying of laughter, nearly gasping as his lungs screamed to give out. 

“I should get it!” Miu yelled out, unable to cover up her wheezing that sounded like a cow dying. 

Miu held onto a tall pillar of perfume. The case was clear, showing a bright pink substance inside. The name? Pussy Chowder. 

Every time the two of them managed to get into the mall, they always winded up at the back of Spencer’s. Kokichi held two packages of earrings, one for himself and the other for Miu. 

Miu’s earrings were, with no surprise, pink sparkly dildos. Kokichi had ones that were in dazzling red, with the words ‘fuck off’. They absolutely couldn’t wear them on campus, but Kokichi didn’t give a shit. Neither did Miu. Especially when she was pulling a vibrator off of the wall, Pussy Chowder perfume in hand. 

“This is so cute!” she exclaimed, examining the box. 

“It looks so bland,” Kokichi said, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Miu snapped. “I’m getting it, and you can’t stop me.” 

“Fine.” Kokichi held up his hands, hearing the shaking of the earrings. The pieces of jewelry smacked against the cover. 

Miu tucked the box underneath her arm, glancing around the store. “Maybe we could go to Bath and Body Works to get rid of your man scent.”

“At least I smell better than you.” 

“I so hate you,” Miu said, though she was smiling. 

It was one of the first times they were hanging out, completely alone and away from school. The two of them attended Hope's Peak. As first years, they were still expected to complete the rest of high school before going on to more college-level classes. That meant Kokichi was stuck learning calculus at a school where all the other kids got to explode things in biochem classes in the idea of ‘learning.’

The school year started only three weeks earlier, leaving Kokichi still in the awkward phase of meeting all the others in his class, including Miu. She seemed to hate him but was lonely and pathetic enough to allow Kokichi to hang out with her. Kokichi thought of her as his friend-enemy. 

“Are you done sex shopping?” Kokichi asked. 

“Yeah,” Miu said. “We can pay.” 

The two of them quickly got in line. Many others were before them. Only one person was at the cash register, doing every single person's order, single file, one at a time, slowly. Kokichi began swinging his earrings around, already getting bored. 

Miu pulled out her phone and began to type something on it. Kokichi focused his attention on the flags hung up on the ceiling, each one having different queer and gender identities. His stomach curled upon staring at them. 

His feet seemed to be turning into cement, heavy and stuck, melting against the floor that was sticky from cleaning products. The faint smell of weed was floating around the store, mixing with perfume, adding to the overwhelming tightness circling around his throat.

“Kokichi! Oh my god!” Miu suddenly let out, gasping. 

“What?” Kokichi asked, turning to face her. Miu was staring down at her phone, jaw open. She whipped her head over to him, her dangly earrings smacking the side of her face. 

“Kaede texted me!” Miu exclaimed. “She texted me!” Her hands were shaking, causing the phone to tumble around. Kokichi had the brief thought that her phone would shake out of her hands. 

“And?” 

Kaede was the girl that Miu wouldn’t shut up about. Kokichi hadn’t known Miu for long, but he was already getting a sense that she loved getting obsessed with people. Not just any people though. Miu loved boasting about her attraction to women like it was a metal of honor. 

“She’s asking if I want to hang out with her later! She’s like, ‘Hey, would you want to watch a movie with me?’ Moi!” Miu let out a squeak as though she were twelve years old, clutching onto her phone while Kokichi was left to stand there, waiting for Miu to get to the point. 

“Kokichi, is it okay if we end our hang-out early? Like after we get out of Spencer’s? She’s like so fucking hot, and I need to take my chances! I’m sorry, but like, Kaede!” Miu gushed. Kokichi was slightly impressed by her naive horniness. Miu was chasing after a girl who seemed more as though she couldn’t give two shits. 

However, Miu wanted to end their hangout. The one Miu herself asked Kokichi to do. Kokichi clenched the two earring packets. His stomach churned, the smell of the store somehow multiplying in intensity, attacking his senses. 

In the back of his mind, a plan he wasn’t even aware existed crashed down in a futile puddle. They were to go eat something quick before shopping some more, even if Kokichi’s legs were near death, tired and shaky. 

However, despite all of this, Kokichi forced himself to smile, saying, “Sure! Go get Kaede!” 

The gap between them only seemed to be growing. 

“Thanks so much! I promise I’ll make it up!” Miu said, seemingly over the moon.

“Yeah,” Kokichi said, though his mind was already shifting to autopilot. He began thinking of what he would do upon getting back to his dorm, how the car ride would go with Miu, and finally, the arrival of an empty dormitory. He didn’t have a car, he couldn’t simply drive off somewhere to do something else once Miu dropped him off.

And fuck Kaede. 

Since when were they close enough that Kaede could casually ask Miu to hang out? It had only been a few weeks since school had started, how were they already so buddy-buddy? And Miu had gotten Kaede’s number? Had they hung out in the past? Where Kokichi hated how his mind was spiraling. He couldn’t slow it down, the blasting metal music invading his brain. 

“I can pay for our earrings,” Miu said. Kokichi hadn’t even realized they made it up to the cash register. 

Miu walked up, opening her pink wallet. “Hello!” she said, a bright smile cast on her face. Kokichi set down their earrings on the counter without saying a word. He could skip dinner. Starving was alright with him. 

Kokichi watched as Miu paid for their things, the person behind the counter placing them all in a black plastic bag. Kokichi knew he would have to separate his things from the bag. 

Miu snatched it up, turning to face him. 

“Alright. Let’s hurry to the car; I fucking need to get to Kaede quick,” she said, already rushing out of the store. 

Kokichi rushed after her, glad to be away from the pitch-black walls of Spencer’s. 

They stepped out into the actual mall. Faint pop music came from above, with sparkly white flooring and walls. Bright lights beamed down on them, the smell of food and perfume abundant. It just made Kokichi’s stomach twist tighter. 

His heavy heart made it difficult to walk towards the exit, Miu practically skipping in her high heels. Kokichi was usually the overly excited one, yet upon the word Kaede, he would have rather leaped over the brass railing to the bottom floor. People walked past them, bright smiles on their faces. They seemed to be having a much better time than him. 

Kokichi thought anyone would have been enjoying themselves much better than himself.

III

Kaede tapped her number into Sayaka's phone as the seven of them stood on the curb outside the restaurant. It was completely dark by then and chilly. Their exhales came out in gray mist in front of their faces. Cars wooshed by on the highway past the parking lot. 

"I'll be sure to reach out sometime," Sayaka promised as Kaede handed her pastel pink phone back to her. "Are you guys all set to get home safe?" she asked her.

"Oh yeah, definitely. Kaito's driving." She pointed back to where they had parked, front row, a few spaces away from the door. 

Shuichi was attempting to pry open the passenger side door of the dingy beat-up pickup truck. Kaito popped his head around the front and told him, "You need to kick it to get it open!" before patting the car's hood and hopping into the driver's side.

Sayaka looked back at her with a sympathetic look. Her eyes were shadowed by the arch where her eyebrow met her nose, making her pupil lost to the dark blue of her iris. Her small smile radiated to Kaede 'Are you sure?' 

On second thought, Kaede added, "We'll survive." She waved her off. 

"Hey, Shuichi?" Makoto called. He jogged past the girls to Kaito's truck before Shuichi closed the passenger side door that he managed to get open. 

"Yeah?" Shuichi asked. He turned his body sideways in the car seat to face Makoto.

"I nearly forgot!" he exclaimed. "Thanks for coming out tonight and meeting my friends. It was a lot of fun to see you outside of campus." He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.

Shuichi smiled bashfully. The two had spent time together outside of class one-on-one. They had walked to their dorm buildings together, they met up in the library once, and they had lunch in the dining hall on the weekends, but they had never left Hope's Peak's property until now.

"Don't mention it. Thanks for letting me bring my friends too."

"Oh yeah!" Kaito exclaimed. "Thanks for letting us come along!" He had to lower his head to see Makoto out the passenger door.

Kaede approached the truck. "Same here," she told Makoto. "It was a pleasure meeting you guys. You're very kind." She gave him an earnest smile.

"It was great meeting you guys too. I'm glad I could connect you with my friends, too." Makoto gave Shuichi a knowing smile. "Well, I'll let you guys get home now. Have a good night!" He beamed and raised his arm to wave at them.

"See ya'!" Kaede said, waving. The boys in the front seat echoed a similar parting.

Sayaka stood on her tiptoes, cupped her hands around her mouth, and called over to them from the curb, "Drive safe, you three."

"You too," Kaede called back as she climbed into the back of the truck.

With that, Makoto took a few steps backward, still waving as Kaito started up the truck. He had to twist the car keys four times until the beat-up truck fired to life. When it did, Makoto spun around and approached where Sayaka stood waiting for him, Kyoko and Celestia not far behind her.

"Are we all set to take off?" Sayaka asked. She held her arm up and started fishing through her small magenta purse to search for her car keys. 

"Yep," Makoto answered, and the four made their way toward the other side of the lot. The parking lot curled around the diner's side, and they had to turn a corner to get to their car.

Makoto took the lead. He became lost in his own world and gazed up at the few stars that were in the night sky. The three girls trailed behind him silently. They were used to Makoto’s sporadic daydreams.

A small beat passed before Sayaka commented, "I like them. They were nice." She tucked her hands underneath her arms to keep her fingers warm.

Kyoko nodded in Sayaka's peripheral vision. Kyoko kept her eyes forward and her head down, lost in thought because she always was. Celestia seemed to have the same mood Kyoko did because she didn't say much either. 

"And," Makoto suddenly whipped around, his head seemingly back from the clouds. "I got you set up with Shuichi!" he said merrily to Kyoko.

"What?" she questioned. She raised her head, more in focus, at Makoto with puzzlement.  

"What are you talking about?" Celestia questioned quickly. Her brows stiffened with offense. 

Sayaka humored Makoto. "What kind of mismatched match-making? Like, Shuichi, sure, but wrong tree…" She looked at Kyoko in the corner of her eye. They all knew. 

"No, I meant like platonically," he clarified. "He's a detective too, you know." 

Kyoko lightened up at the clarification. "Oh," she mumbled. "You've told me that." Her eyes drifted until they focused on the bright headlights passing by on the otherwise dark road past the parking lot.

Celestia remained tense. She interlocked her arm with one of Kyoko's while her hand was in her pocket. Kyoko didn't respond to the gesture.

Makoto turned his head back around to address Kyoko. "I think he's anxious to talk to you, but you'll like him. He's real smart. You're kind of smart. I think you two could be friends."

"I'll talk to him," Kyoko assured. 

Sayaka tilted her head to the side as she contemplated Shuichi and Kyoko. "Aw, yeah, I can see it," she said. "You two will make a fantastic detective duo," she boasted.

"Sure," Kyoko sighed with amusement at her friends. But a little piece of her bit at the back of her mind, and she looked to her right subtly at Celestia. 

Celestia was the same height as her when she wore her tall high heels. Kyoko could closely see the details of her side profile, so she studied them. Celestia was comely in dark lighting. Her pale skin almost glowed against her dark hair. Her lips were spellbinding; the red of them and her eyes in the dark were chic and alluring. She had always been so effortlessly beautiful.

Her face was indifferent, lacking its usual ersatz smile. Kyoko told herself it was because Celestia dropped her confident tranquility for another more honest one since it was just the four of them, but she knew what was on her mind.

Celestia remained quiet. The sharp click of her heels against the pavement spoke for her. Her eyes remained straightforward. And she waited. 

Kyoko opened her mouth to speak. She inhaled to find the words, and Celestia's eyebrow arched as she did. But it went back down when Kyoko just as quickly lost her words to the wind.

A breeze picked up and blew behind them, brushing against their sides. Dead fallen leaves scratched against the pavement as they flew by their feet. Kyoko closed her eyes as the wind blew her hair into her face. That time, Celestia reached up to tuck Kyoko's hair back behind her ear.

Sayaka used her thumbs to brush her hair behind her shoulders and extended her other arm toward her white Toyota, clicking a button on the fob, and unlocking the vehicle. The headlights and bumper lights briefly flashed white and red. 

Sayaka stretched her arms high above her head and arched her back. "Woo! I'm beat," she groaned in a strained voice before she opened the driver’s side door.

Makoto hopped into the passenger side. "I hope you can still drive then," he said.

"Don't be silly. I'm fine."

Kyoko and Celestia were detached from their friends' banter. Kyoko looked over at Celestia and saw her already looking at her. A silent communication took place. Celestia expected, her eyes beseeched, and Kyoko balked. 

She raised her lower eyelids and lowered her eyebrows. I don't know how to do this. Not yet, she tried to silently get across to Celestia.

The collar of Celestia's dress was across her chest. Kyoko was able to see Celestia's thin, prominent collarbones rise and fall as she took a deep breath through her nose.

Kyoko lowered her eyes further to her shoulders, dusted with light freckles across them, to her slender arms, thin elbows, and bony wrists. Her right wrist adorned a watch Kyoko bought her for her eighteenth birthday when she constantly complained about losing track of time. Her left hand was placed on Kyoko's forearm. 

Kyoko looked back into her eyes, and Celestia looked into hers. Her red eyes flickered toward the car where Makoto and Sayaka were buckling their seat belts, but Kyoko still didn't react.

Not yet, she, again, tried to silently communicate. I don't know how.

Eventually, Celestia lowered her head and abdicated her expectations. An act of benevolence to Kyoko. 

Kyoko sighed and dropped her head in defeat. The pressure was gone, but disappointment took its place as it left. Celestia guided her into the car.

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

30/9/23

20:09

Celestia clicked the door closed and snapped the lock into place, fumbling with it because in the two years Kyoko had lived in that dorm, the front desk had never gotten around to sending someone to repair the jammed lock. 

Celestia leaned against the door, lifted her right foot, and scraped her red high heel off her foot with her finger before repeating the process with her other heel. She placed her heels delicately beside the door next to Kyoko's tall leather boots. Behind her, the bed squeaked as Kyoko sat down on it. 

Celestia turned to look at Kyoko as she uncomfortably slid her jacket off her shoulders. Without folding it, she placed it on the bed beside her and zipped off her white collared shirt, revealing the thin black tank top underneath.

Kyoko's arms were scolding red, as red as the leaves outside the window. The first layer of her skin looked like it had been melted off her shoulders by the sun. UV rays torched skin. It was shredded, peeling off, and resembled scales that were barely still attached. Kyoko ran a gloved hand lightly over her shoulder.

Celestia tutted and shook her head. "Oh, you poor thing. We should get some Aloe on that." Now that they were alone, Celestia's accent had faded, shifting to her bare, drier dialect. 

Kyoko leaned back into the bed, moving robotically so as to not agitate her skin further, and letting her arms hold her up. She watched Celestia pace toward the many drawers in the opposite corner of the dorm from Kyoko's bed. She opened one, rifled through it, didn't find what she was looking for, closed it, opened another, and tried again. 

Kyoko couldn't say for certain where a bottle of Aloe would be between the infinite amount of medical supply she kept it with. Having been raised by a conservative grandfather who was her strict disciplinarian from ages eleven to seventeen, she had the fear of God pounded and drilled into her head. 

He never drove anywhere without a shovel, three first-aid kits, and a month's worth of water and non-perishable food in the back of his truck. He shoved pepper spray into her coat pockets when he sent her out. And he had a well-oiled shotgun guard the front door of their old home.

He used to always tell her, “You have no idea of the people who want to hurt you out there. No idea how many of them are evil. Be alert instead of dead.”

Kyoko obsessed over the many possibilities that crossed her mind and kept an assortment of various measures. Gauze. Hydrogen peroxide. Adhesive tape. Extra custom pressure garments. Antibiotic ointment. Bottles of anti-itch Aveeno that have taken over her workspace, nightstands, jacket pockets, bathroom, and any bag she brought anywhere. Eyewash solution. Multiple skin moisturizers. Spare orange bottles of medicine. And various types of emollients were just some of the many things Kyoko kept in her dorm.

In a cabinet that held a few bottles of various brands like Tums and Ibuprofen, Celestia found what she was looking for. She spun around, delivered Kyoko the Aloe, and scooped up her discarded leather jacket and shirt off the bed to bring to her closet.

Kyoko tried not to read too much into Celestia's thoughtfulness for both of their sakes, but it was difficult when she noticed Celestia had also already uncapped the Aloe for her. She squeezed some out onto her gloved hand and spread it across her shoulder. She winced from the sting of touching her burned skin but let the cooling gel do its work.

She spread it across both her arms and chest before she placed the Aloe on her nightstand and settled on staring at the ground, away from Celestia. She chose to fixate on the metallic clanking coming from her air vent. Something was caught inside it and had been banging against the interior of the vent for months. 

"You really need to organize your closet." Celestia shuffled through coat hangers, searching for an empty one to hang Kyoko's jacket on after she discarded her shirt into a laundry basket. "It's cluttered in here." 

She managed to find a hanger in between the thick coats, blazers, and jackets tightly compacted together. She slid the sliding mirror door closed and turned her head to look at Kyoko's burn. "Jesus, it's even worse closer up. I'll get you some water." 

"You don't have to," Kyoko declined. But Celestia waltzed back to the counter in the opposite corner of the room where plastic water bottles were kept on the countertop. 

Her gait reminded Kyoko of the way a modern dancer walked because she put too much weight on the front of her feet, making her have a very swift, purposeful stride. Most likely because of all that time she spent wearing high heels, Kyoko assumed.

"You need to stay better hydrated. Your nose bled the other day from how dry your sinuses have been," Celestia scolded her as she fumbled to pull a bottle through the narrow opening in the plastic wrap it was compacted into.

Celestia acted as if things were normal, but there was still tension tethered between them. It was laced between their words, stitched into Celestia's tone, and clawed at Kyoko's throat. She swallowed it down and put up a wall to block herself from it.

Celestia placed the water bottle she retrieved on Kyoko's nightstand beside her. Kyoko murmured a thanks before no words were exchanged between them. Celestia took a few steps back, put her hands on her hips, and focused on nothing in particular. There was nothing to look at. The only difference between the dorm before Kyoko moved in and after was it looked lived in, but there was nothing that indicated any personality. 

Folders, papers, binders, and textbooks stacked neatly on the sides of her desk, and some pens and pencils placed loosely around the surface. The filled drawers. The water bottles. The closet filled with blazers, skirts, pants, and blouses that had to be zipped up rather than buttoned. The secret magazines they both knew Kyoko kept hidden under her bed. The three novels on the bottom of Kyoko's nightstand. The notepads that could be found in almost any drawer in the dorm. The heavy boots that sat by the door. Her copies of 'Practical Homicide Investigation: Tactics, Procedures, and Forensic Techniques’, ‘Violence: A Reflection on a National Epidemic’, and the Holy Bible. She once told Celestia all three are equally books of worship to her. 

Her desk chair that was always slightly tilted or angled because Kyoko never pushed it in right. The box of protein bars kept near the water bottles as a lazy excuse for nutrition in her dorm. And the bland welcome mat by the door that Kyoko bought to cover up the mud stains she used to bring in when she entered her dorm.

If only Kyoko could find the time to place a rug underneath her desk to cover up the small splatters of hardened yellow-brown carpet from coffee stains.

No decorations were in the room. “Distractions” was what her grandfather had called him, and now Kyoko echoed the same sentiment. Her room was more of a cubicle she slept in rather than a sanctuary. 

It was the exact opposite of how Celestia preferred to live. And yet the dull simplicity of Kyoko's flat and slightly broken dorm was almost more familiar to Celestia than her own. 

An uncomfortable beat passed between them. Kyoko assumed she knew Celestia well enough to know she was not as affected by the silence as her. Celestia stood there, staring into nothing, hands on hips, still waiting, passively expecting. Kyoko knew the only way she was getting out of this was by speaking first. So she lowered her wall if only a little, and let the words scratch their way out of her throat.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell them," Kyoko mumbled. Her head was tilted, and she rubbed the tip of her thumb to the side of her pointer finger in a self-soothing motion. Celestia watched the way Kyoko’s face scrunched up in speculation as if she were tasting the words, testing how an apology felt on her tongue.

Celestia sighed and dropped her hands from her waist. She turned around and approached the bathroom across from where Kyoko sat. "Don't be," she said over her shoulder.

Despite her dismissal, Kyoko tried to justify herself. "I just… I know I told you I could do it. And I thought I would. I—” Kyoko raised her hands, trying to pull the words out of herself. Now that she had put them inside, they were reluctant to come out. 

"Don't trouble yourself. I understand." Celestia left the bathroom door open as she turned on the faucet to wash her hands. She flicked excess water into the basin and quickly pawed her hands dry on a hand towel before she turned around to face Kyoko.

"You shouldn't have to rush things," she told her as she lifted her hands toward her eyes. She delicately grabbed at a contact on her iris, angling her fingers to avoid being poked by her long nails.

"You told me you didn't want to keep us a secret…" Kyoko deflected. She hardened her exterior. In some way, Celestia must have sensed her doubts because she switched tactics.

"Perhaps, but that might have been slightly hypocritical of me. I keep many secrets." The blood red of her eye left with the contact, leaving a bright red dot on her finger and a muddy brown iris. She reached into a hidden pocket on her dress and pulled out her contact lens case. She dropped the red contact into it before repeating the process with her other eye.

"But this one's because of me," Kyoko self-loathed.

Celestia deflated and frowned. She decided on a new approach and crossed the room to sit down next to Kyoko. "You're allowed to take your time," she told her. Instead of staying upright, Celestia laid down on her side, her hand holding her head up.

"I already did the hard part. It’s been nearly a year since I came out. This should be the easy part."

"You said the exact same thing then. You said self-acceptance was the hard part, telling people should've been the easier one."

Kyoko looked down at the carpet, seemingly unable to refute that. Celestia breathed an internal sigh of relief that Kyoko wouldn't argue with her against the truth.

Celestia squinted her eyes the way she usually did when she was analyzing Kyoko. "You have a terrible habit of undermining yourself, you know," she told her.

Kyoko's wall was having a hard time withstanding. She knew she was right because she always was about her. But she didn't want her to be. She didn't want to expose those flaws about her and accept it to be true. But Celestia always had a way of seeing past that. Despite all the time Kyoko had spent burying parts of herself in time capsules, never to be seen again, Celestia was able to unearth and gently unpackage them.

"I don't undermine myself," she tried futilely.

"You do. You go through this cycle where you expect yourself to do everything with ease, and then, when you struggle with something, you beat yourself up over it.”

Kyoko sighed and closed her eyes. Celestia could observe she was letting down her walls more, absorbing what she was saying to her. 

"How are you so good at this?" Kyoko whispered.

Celestia shrugged. "Because I care about you too much," she said like it was common sense.

Kyoko raised her hands to her face and massaged her temples. A beat passed before joining Celestia and laying down on her back, and putting her hands over her stomach. There were grooves in the white paint of her ceiling. Kyoko focused on the pattern to ground herself.

"My own inadequacies shouldn't have to hold you back, too."

Celestia stared up at the ceilings as well. Without missing a beat, she responded, "Being a human being with emotions is not an inadequacy. What is an inadequacy of yours is your lack of patience."

Kyoko furrowed her eyebrows in denial. She turned her head to look at Celestia. "I'm one of the most patient people I know," she refuted.

“True but I meant to yourself." Kyoko bit the side of her upper lip. Celestia turned her head to meet her eyes. "Just take your time, okay? Don't do anything for my sake. Do it for yours."

Kyoko's wall crumbled. Drawn, she rolled over onto her side, facing Celestia. She placed her hand on the side of Celestia’s neck. And she admired the pale complexion of her skin underneath her hand.

"Your eyes are so pretty," Celestia murmured, side-tracked.

"They’ve known that I like you." Kyoko lowered her tone to match Celestia's. 

"I knew you liked me too."

"No, you didn't," Kyoko denied. "You never did. And we both know that."

Celestia snickered. "Fine, fine. Continue."

"I told Sayaka first. When we were doing homework together in my dorm… I told her I liked you. And she was so excited…. And then, I told Makoto and Hina. They've all been pestering me about it ever since." Kyoko smirked at the memory. "Trying to convince me to ask you out. Bothering me about when I would… I kept telling them to leave me alone about it, but they could see how bad it was. How couldn't they? It's so difficult to hide anything from them."

"Nosy sons of bitches," Celestia mumbled. They giggled and bumped foreheads.

Kyoko sighed through her nose. "I don't why it's this hard to just tell them. They'd be over the moon about it. I wouldn't be surprised if they threw a party.”

Celestia nodded her head to the side as she gave it a thought. "Imagine announcing that we're girlfriends through a celebration. It doesn't sound half bad."

"That's not—" Kyoko stuttered. "No."

"I was joking." Celestia shook her head as she smiled. "But… don't be so hard on yourself for not telling them. I mean, we just met new people, and you obviously weren't going to tell Makoto and Sayaka with them there, and by the time we were alone, it was late, we were tired, and you already had too much time to overthink it." 

Kyoko nodded and decided to accept her answer as the truth. "I think you're right."

"Well, of course. I'm always right." Celestia's shift to humor worked, and Kyoko giggled. A beat passed, and Celestia put a hand over the one Kyoko had on her neck. "We'll figure it out. It'll probably be easier to tell them when Hina's there too, so you don't have to do it all over again, anyway." 

Kyoko's eyes darted around the room like she did anytime something was bothering her. Celestia squeezed her hand. 

"Everything will be fine," Celestia told her. "We'll figure it out," she repeated.

Kyoko relaxed further into the bed. The physical tension in her body eased if only a bit. She ran her thumb up Celestia's neck. She admired the way her chest rose and fell as she breathed and the outline of collar bones that defined her upper chest. Not from the perspective of an erotic gaze, but just because studying the peaceful tranquility her partner emitted eased her. However, she was unable to feel any of the texture of the skin beneath her thumb; a consequence of the thick scarring.

"I wish I could feel your heartbeat," she mumbled. 

"Maybe you could." Celestia raised her left hand and delicately placed her hands over the seam of Kyoko's glove.

Kyoko raised her weight off her bicep to move her arm and use her other hand to assist in pulling off her glove. Celestia hooked her thumb under the left side of the glove, and Kyoko pulled at the seam of the base of her palm. They worked together and got the black leather glove off her hand.

Kyoko's hand was covered in raised lines and skin that folded over itself. The color of her skin had been mostly restored, taking on a whiter look rather than the cooked flesh discoloration it had in the past, but the scarring was noticeable, obvious, and a reminder. 

Celestia didn't bat as much of an eye as Kyoko did—even though Kyoko had five years to adjust and Celestia only had one. She guided Kyoko's thumb to hover over the left side of her windpipe before pressing it down.

Fire and scarring had killed the nerves in her hands long ago. However, it didn’t kill enough to prevent the remainder of living nerves from getting trapped underneath the intense makeup of her skin, causing unbearable itching. But enough were dead that even without her gloves, Kyoko was lacking a large portion of her sense of touch in her hands, especially the tips of her fingers, leaving them mostly numb.

But to her gratitude, she could feel the steady rhythm of Celestia's jugular pumping underneath her thumb. 

"I can feel it," she murmured. Celestia's pulse was slow as it lightly thrummed beneath Kyoko's finger, feeling more like a buzz through her scarred hand.

Celestia ran her own thumb across the back of Kyoko's hand and the raised lines of skin.

"I hope you're not thinking about killing me," Celestia ruined the moment. But Kyoko loved that she did. She made her smile. And Celestia's own smile widened in pride.

"Never," Kyoko denied. "Never ever."

Celestia caressed the back of Kyoko's hand. "Have you stretched your joints?"

"A little bit," Kyoko answered. She flexed each joint of her exposed fingers back and forth, exercising the scar tissue. Celestia assisted by removing Kyoko's hand from her neck and massaging Kyoko's palm with both her hands.

The skin of Kyoko's hands moved like clay underneath Celestia's fingers. Kyoko watched as Celestia worked on the joint between what Kyoko knew was the intermediate and proximal phalanges on her pointer finger.

"How has tension been lately?" Celestia asked as she swiftly moved on to the joint between the intermediate and distal phalanges.

"Not so bad. I've been having a lot less pain than I used to."

Celestia nodded. "And going to therapy?"

"… I haven’t found a therapist yet."

Celestia paused and looked away from her hand and at her.

Kyoko continued, "It's just… difficult. And slow. My grandfather tried to help this summer."

"He did?" Celestia prompted.

Kyoko nodded. "Mhm. When I was home, I…." Kyoko trailed off. She bit the inside of her upper lip again. The summer between their first and second year at Hope's Peak Academy had been a rough patch. But it had closed a door and unknowingly opened a new one.

"I got a little bit more closure this summer," was the best words Kyoko could find to describe it.

Celestia smiled and nodded, understanding. "Good. I'm glad." Her hands had slowed to a lazy circling motion. Kyoko yawned. “Tired?” Celestia asked.

Kyoko nodded. “I’ve got something to tend to tomorrow. It’s about time we got to bed.”

Celestia sat up. “Well, I won’t be going to sleep any time soon, but you get some rest. Make sure you don’t go outside any time soon unless covered.”

Kyoko muttered, “I know, I know.”

Celestia stood up and bent over to kiss her cheek. “I’m just looking out for you. Love you.” She spun around and moved toward the door that had her heels waiting for her. “Goodnight.”

“Love you too, goodnight,” Kyoko said back as she positioned her body to be centered in the bed. 

Celestia slipped on her heels and turned off the light of the dorm for her.

II

With no car, Kokichi had sought out another option. His legs, already dead from the mall, loudly protested each step he took; burning soreness in his knees. The campus pathways were tan concrete. Kokichi had begun counting each step he took per square of concrete, starting the counting over again once he reached the next square. 

The sun was long gone. Instead, a pale light shone from above. Twinkling stars rained down on him. Half of the trees were turning shades of red, orange, yellow, and an ugly brown. The others were faded green as if the trees themselves were sick.

Kokichi wasn't sure how long he had been walking for, though he was about done. He was in desperate need of a shower and a bed to sleep in. After being dropped off by Miu, he had aimlessly walked around the school for what felt like hours. He couldn't help but ever so often imagine her, hanging out with Kaede. Miu was probably having the time of her life, completely enamored with Kaede. 

Kaede seemed like one of those girls in middle school who had made him want to bash his head against the wall, who only cared for her friends and reputation.

Was it jealousy? Perhaps, but a righteous one.

Kokichi could see the tall buildings of the upperclassmen students, and some of the windows were lit up. He craned his neck up, curious if he could see anyone. However, no figures were present. He wondered if anyone could see him. Who was watching him?

He continued onwards, readjusting his earbuds by ramming them further into his ears. Only soft guitar music came out. He had tried listening to happier music, but the upbeat rhythms had the opposite effect. He seemed to be sinking further into despair from it. And so, he switched the music.

A bush beside him rustled, some leaves falling off with a light scratch on the concrete. Kokichi glanced over, finding a pitch-black bird staring directly at him. It was small, yet imposing as its head tilted, eyes gleaming black. The bird staring at him was a crow.

Is that a sign of bad luck? 

Kokichi wasn't into superstition; he believed most of the sayings were some bullshit made up during the black plague to speculate about who was going to die. However, people who believed in those things seemed to care about the world around them much more deeply than Kokichi could ever imagine. He only cared about his survival, not the supposed wrong way he stepped under a ladder. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to care about things that much. 

The bird didn't seem to blink, only focused on staring at Kokichi as if he were fresh meat to be plucked. The crow was so black it didn't seem to fit in with the background as if someone copied and pasted the thing onto the bush. It kept staring, Kokichi's mind had a fleeting thought that the 'birds are secret cameras for the government' conspiracy was a valid one.

It did seem as though the bird would give him bad luck.

"Shoo, bitch," Kokichi snapped.

The crow didn't answer because it didn't understand Japanese. It opened its beak, turning its head away. The crow cawed, ruffling its wings. Kokichi rolled his eyes. The bird was attempting to show off, wasn't it?

He turned his head, continuing down the path. The crow cawed again behind him before the bush rustled once again. He glanced over, finding the bird flying off into the line of trees. It was off to tell their friends that it met a weird animal.

At least it gave somewhat of a shit about Kokichi. He didn't like that thought.

He altered his path, laying eyes on his dormitory. It was a taller building, slated with older brick walls.

Hope's Peak was founded in 1942, Kokichi's class being in the seventy digits of how many years they had been open. He couldn't imagine what they would do once they hit one hundred years. But because of its older founding, most of its buildings were older, with more traditional elements.

Kokichi was surprised it had working electricity and running water.

However, something caught his eye. Kokichi paused, coming to a halt on the concrete. Two taller figures were further away from him, walking side by side.

The taller one had spikey, brown-magenta hair with a jacket that seemed to be halfway on, the rest falling behind him. The other wore a black hat with plain jeans and a sweatshirt. Kokichi recognized the two little shits.

Kaito and Shuichi. They were in his class, and within two weeks, already seemed to be best of friends along with Kaede. She was gone with Miu, leaving the two of them to hang out.

Shuichi's head was tilted, craning his head up to stare at Kaito as his loud and booming voice faintly carried over to Kokichi. Kaito was using massive hand motions, waving his arms around wildly to the point where Kokichi wasn't sure whether or not they would end up hitting Shuichi.

Kokichi significantly slowed down, turning up his music. Yet even if he blasted out his eardrums, nothing could be louder than Kaito's commander-like voice. He should've gone to a military camp rather than me.

"Come on, Shuichi! Just a few bucks? It needs that repair, man."

"I'm not sure. You don't even know how much it is going to cost."

"Sure I do! It's only around ten thousand yen."

"I would rather pay for lunch with that money than your dying car."

"Hey! She'll hear you!"

"It's not even close to us."

Of course, Kaito was already begging for money. He seemed to be the broke type. Though, what double standard was Kokichi committing? At least Kaito had a car. Shuichi was shaking his head, though a smile was on his face.

"You should seriously think about getting something new," he said.

"Nah, my grandparents wouldn't be so fond of that."

Kaito pulled out his phone, glancing down at it. Shuichi lowered his head, focusing on what was ahead of him. Kokichi wasn't sure why he was intentionally listening, though what other choice did he have? They were heading in the exact same direction he was going.

The closer they got to the entrance, Kokichi found himself closing the gap between him and the two boys. Their voices become louder, and Shuichi gives a few laughs at Kaito. Even without Kaede, they could still have a social life.

Kokichi was just stuck by himself. He glared at the two of them, knowing full well they weren't aware of his presence. He wasn't sure why Shuichi had the desire to hang out with someone as stupid as Kaito. He seemed smart enough to hang out with, well, the smart kids. Kaede was smart, but why Kaito?

Do you think you're smart enough for him? Fucking no. 

No. Kokichi was. As if he wanted to, though. Shuichi seemed to be the type to hide in his shell at the mere thought of social interaction, except for with his friends. However, he even cowered a little in their presence. He didn't want to be noticed by others.

Unfortunately, Kokichi was keen on noticing others, Shuichi especially. He just seemed…edgy. As if there were some secret dark past underneath his hat. Kokichi didn't care enough to know, but every so often it would pop up in his mind for a little while.

In the end, it didn't matter. Shuichi wasn't going to interact with him other than being acquaintances. They were in two different circles, and Kokichi was fine with that.

His heart hit his chest a couple extra times. Anxiety? Kokichi wasn't sure.

They were so close to the door that Kokichi was beginning to formulate a plan to work his way around the two of them. However, Kaito suddenly stopped at the card reader.

Kokichi inwardly groaned. Of course. As if his day couldn't get any worse, Kaito was making him have to squirm around the two to simply get in his room. Perhaps he should've given in and gone out by himself. It would’ve been sad, but at least he wouldn’t have to be present behind two of his bullshit classmates. 

"Oh, Shuichi. Sorry, I was just walking you over here," Kaito said, itching the back of his neck.

Kokichi was so close he could've reached out and touched them. He quietly walked around Shuichi, who was closest to him, pulling out his card reader. It was white, with the school's title laminated on the front in gold.

"Wait, what?" Shuichi asked, his back facing Kokichi. They seemed so absorbed in their conversation that Kokichi doubted he needed to be sneaky about slipping by. His heart kept pounding, and he wasn't sure why. A weird feeling was coming over him, one he hated.

Kokichi shook his head, reaching out the card reader in front of the scanner.

"Yeah, some chick actually said yes to hanging out with me," Kaito said. "So I have to bounce. See you!"

"Oh—Uh, bye," Shuichi stammered.

The scanner blinked green, beeping that the door was open. Kokichi moved his card over, reaching out to the door handle.

"Oh my god—"

Shuichi's voice was cut off as his shoulder rammed into Kokichi, causing his hand to slip away from the door handle. He stumbled back, slightly surprised by how much strength Shuichi possessed, yet the amazement was short-lived as his balance was suddenly swept from underneath him.

His feet wanted to watch him suffer, ripping off from the pavement as if they turned into rubber. Something gripped his arm, letting Kokichi's heels barely hit the floor. Curse him for not being rooted to the ground. He stumbled forward, gaining his balance back.

"Are you okay!?" Shuichi said. Kokichi found with great disappointment that Shuichi was gripping his arm.

Kokichi jerked his arm away, scratching at it as if a bug had landed on his skin. "I'm fine," he grumbled. His face was heating up with embarrassment, Kokichi couldn't even glance up at him. 

"Are you sure?" Shuichi asked.

"Yeah!" Kokichi exclaimed. He made sure to smile wide, ignoring the throbbing pain in his collarbone.

"Okay," Shuichi said. "I'm so sorry about that. I really didn’t know you were there, I'm so, so, so, sorry."

"God, you don't have to keep repeating yourself. I'm not deaf or anything," Kokichi said, rolling his eyes. Upon looking at the ground, he found his card on the floor. 

"Here," Shuichi said, bending down. He scooped up the card, handing it to Kokichi. "Sorry."

"Say it one more time and I'm going to kill you."

Shuichi's eyes widened.

"I'm joking," Kokichi added. He smiled. He reached out for his card, noticing Shuichi's fingers wrapped around the thing as if it were a delicate present. Inwardly, he wanted to frown, though he kept smiling as Kokichi snatched it from Shuichi's hand, making sure he didn't touch him. His mind was still reeling from being caught.

"Well, uh, good," Shuichi said.

The awkward silence was already starting.

"Have a good night, Shuichi!" Kokichi said before it could drone on further, scanning his card reader one more time. It beeped, setting him free. He swung open the door, nearly sprinting inside. 

Kokichi was unfortunately next to Shuichi's dorm. He didn't want to bear the horrible silence of walking together to their rooms. Shuichi already seemed uncomfortable. He most likely didn't want to be near Kokichi. Which was something Kokichi also felt. 

It’s not like his heart wasn't beating hard, his hands weren't shaky, and his mind absolutely was not replaying the interaction over and over already. 

He took the stairs two at a time, peeking over his shoulder to make sure that Shuichi wasn’t near. Letting out a sigh of relief, he reached his dorm room without the other in sight. He swiped his room key across the door handle, entering his room. He flicked on a light switch nearby, watching as the chaos of his room became illuminated. 

It had only been a month, and yet, he had already trashed the place by an indescribable amount. Random boxes were on the floor, sealed with tape that he hadn’t opened, filled with all of his belongings. His dresser and desk were filled with knick-knacks, books, notebooks, and free pencils. A trash can was underneath his desk, though it was so overfilled that it wasn’t serving any purpose other than a target for him to throw empty chip bags and candy wrappers at. His closet had clothes, some had fallen from their coat hangers and stayed there until he did laundry, which had been done only twice so far. 

He tossed his shoes near the front door, letting them scatter across the floor. Then, Kokichi proceeded to collapse on his bed; the soles of his feet breathed a sigh of relief. The room was quiet, he could only hear a faint buzz from his phone. He sat up, staring at the opposing wall. His bed didn’t escape the tornado of his mess, the sheets were sprawled and crumbled; some of his pillows were on the floor while the others had their covers half off. 

The walls only had a clock and window for decoration, Kokichi had no posters or photos in his possession. Even if he did, he wasn’t going to unpack the boxes. They would stay that way until summer when he would be forced to leave the school. He pulled out his phone, finding a single text displayed on the screen. 

Sorry, I can't hang out at the moment. College has been rough.

He sighed. Figured. 

Almost everyone from DICE was either still stuck in military school or had gone off to higher levels of education without him. Some were getting jobs. With the start of the school year, every single one of them became busy. Kokichi was the only one stuck and bored. He had texted a few of them when Miu had left. None had responded, except King. 

King was in college on the opposite side of Tokyo, studying finance stuff that always made Kokichi bored when he began talking about it. Kokichi texted him back, assuring him that it was alright. 

He was only trying to make King feel better. In actuality, Kokichi felt the sting in his chest. He wanted someone . As if his desires ever came to fruition. Kokichi was stuck alone in his dimly lit room, staring at the wall. Military school sucked, but at least he had friends there. In Hope’s Peak, he was constantly being the second choice. Not even two months in. 

III

If only things could be, though. What if life could be lived rather than survived by a past? Despite being healed, these old scars still ached. The stitches once threaded through them could hold the body's skin in place to mend, but the underlying, afflicted misery pushed through those seams like water, hovering over and clouding the vision of the host.

They can recover, but they are not to move on. Not when so young. Not when so vulnerable.

In the center of an empty church, Kyoko sat in one of the pews, a rose encased in a test tube, resting in her lap. Everyone else had left hours ago. They took the casket with them. It was underground now, buried. However, the stand at the front of the room for the casket to lay on remained. Wilted flowers were placed around it.

The recall of a past long abandoned had its way of resurrecting itself. Even when everyone else packs up and leaves at a funeral's end, those fragments continue to live within the morales it touched.

We're all too simple. We feel everything. There's a curse that comes with having a soul; it's the outbursts, the vulnerability, and the dread assembled by grief. Even then, the existence of ghostly non-physical apparitions that embody the emotional psyche has no proof of existing. The best, most logical way to label this psychological pattern—one's morals and drive to live, found only within mankind—is the possession of a consciousness.

Too aware and too sentient, the trauma inflicted on all species by the force of nature is too distressing for a mind capable of understanding it: humanity's. The burdens to bear are too heavy to carry for an entire lifetime.

Despite how we behave and act, our lifespans are far too long. It's an incredible amount of time to spend carrying tribulation. Once stricken by anguish, how could one be expected to sustain that for the rest of their lives?

Those burdens must be heavy and burn the backs of their hosts. And so, they bury them deep inside. But the subconscious always keeps maps marking those graves, never truly forgetting.

How could a fourteen-year-old be witness to death and expected to continue developing like the others their age? That's what Kyoko wondered when she was sent back to school, when the adults in her life questioned her behavior long after it happened, and when she never went back to normal or to the girl she was before the fire.

This memory, this place, was a blurry one, difficult to pinpoint and hold onto when thought about. Obscure details like the sound, the smell, and the words may be whispered into her ear during passing moments. But never on her own was she able to summon the event into her mind's eye. It was just another memory from this time, that year, that she could not recall.

"It was a tragedy," they told her. "You have our condolences. We're so sorry."

Dust collected on the satin-stained floorboards beneath her feet. The smell of aged wood drifted through the still air. Little dust particles floated through the room, exposed by the sunlight shining through the windows. There was stained glass above the cross at the front of the room.

The service had ended hours ago. It was a closed casket. Forever-sixteen-year-old Yui Samidare's remains were far too burnt and disfigured to be put on display. Just like Kyoko's hands were.

This was around the time she began wearing her gloves; she started going out in public again, and her hands healed enough, the burn scarring forming over what once was a wretched, disturbing injury.

Kyoko felt a mutual connection between the private obscuring of her hands and Yui's body. These things were to be unseen. They must not disturb the public, the rest of who wasn't there that night when the building burned to ash.

It was already chaos enough for all those who were there; the biggest tragedy to ever happen in that small corner of Yakutsk, Russia. No need to further trouble the already mourning city.

Still, the mission to keep the full weight of what happened a secret had a secret implication. Kyoko's assignment was to now go undercover as a normal child, pretending to be unaffected to those who knew what happened to her and never mentioning it to those who didn't.

Not that the outcome was necessarily a bad thing; there was no good way to handle the result. The best outcome would've been none of this happening at all. This was the best choice out of the cards she was dealt. This permitted her to feel the smallest amount possible. This allowed her to avoid the anguish. But this ended up stunting her, unable to turn back years later.

When one locks away their emotions and destroys the key so nothing or no one can let them out, that door can never be reopened again. It was impenetrable, resistant, and designed perfectly for the purpose Kyoko utilized it for.

But as she sat here, empty and rancid in this church, dumped and forgotten about, unmoving and left behind, she wondered what she gave away to receive this trade.

A memory echoed through her head.

"Here, let me show you something," she remembered Yui whispering on a summer night in July. They were outside in the woods, exploring together. "Come on, follow me. They're all around here. There's usually so many of them."

"So many what?"

"You'll see."

"… Oh. Woah."

"Haha, I know, right?"

"There's… That's … I can't even begin to count them all …"

"My dad showed me and my sister this spot years ago. He said they like to gather here during this time."

"…"

"Here, hold out your hand like this. They might come to sit on your palm. Then, you can watch them glow up close."

"They'll do that?"

"Mhm. They're not all that scared of people, not if you're friendly."

"None are coming, though."

"That's okay. You just gotta give them some patience. Stay very still and make yourself peaceful, so they know you're a friend."

"How do I do that?"

"Send them love."

…

"Yui, one's coming…! … It's so pretty."

"He is."

"How do you know it's a he?"

"The males tend to fly around while females hang around in shrubs or on trees. So right now, we're surrounded by a bunch of guys."

"Tell me more firefly facts."

"Well… Do you know how they glow? … So what they do is this chemical process. They use luciferin, which is an enzyme with oxygen and a bunch of other stuff, and that controls the flashing within their light-producing organs. I think the whole process is called bioluminescence."

"How do you know all of that?"

"I've always liked chemistry. Biochemistry, forensic chemistry, just chemistry-chemistry. It's all cool. You'll like it, too."

"You're going to study forensic chemistry in college though, right?"

"Mhm. I'll double major and do criminology, but forensic chem is one of them."

"Are you excited to go?"

"Kinda, but I'm not even in my senior year yet. It's so far out so…"

"It feels like a lot sooner than that."

"… There's no need to dwell on it. Hey, seriously. Don't be sad. Please? I'll still see you, and I'll reach out. I'll write to you, and I'll… call your landline… and I'll send in stuff for your birthday. I'll still be around even if it's not in the same way as I am now. I promise."

"I don't know what I'll do when you're gone, though."

"You'll continue to do what you're already doing: making progress. You don't need me for any of that. You've always been incredibly intelligent and productive, studying and asking questions. You've got a lot of potential. In fact, I'm worried about when you start getting older. You'll start making me look silly; you're already that good!"

"I want to do the apprentice work that you're doing."

"I'm sure you'll be good at it. The chief will be stumbling all around the place trying to recruit you once you finish college."

"Hehe."

"… Hey, don't worry about me going just yet. We've got such a long time before then. So don't think about it now."

"… It flew away…"

"Don't worry, he just wants to fly back into the sky now with the rest of his friends. I'm sure he had fun with you."

Yui's service hadn't ended a few hours ago. It ended a few years ago, Kyoko realized. And yet, she was still here.

What an odd epiphany. Since when was she eighteen? Had that much time gone by? How strange. The smell of smoke lingered in the air for that long. However, the smell of it grew stronger by the second. She began to cough.

As the church began to catch fire, she woke up.

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

1/10/23

11:55

Shuichi couldn't seem to move his legs; no matter how he willed himself, they were permanently stuck on the carpet.

He was leaning over, staring at the tops of his black shoes with the same colored laces. He had finished tying them, two bows staring up at him, and he was ready to leave. However, he couldn't get himself to take the final step and stand up.

His stomach was curling itself up in a ball, his chest tightening with each breath as if he were locked in a small box, cramped and stuck in place.

Remember. Square breathing. In for four.

Hold for four.

Out for four.

Hold for four.

And repeat.

Some of the tightness loosened. Even away from his therapist, Shuichi could still hear her voice echoing through his head. He was going to be okay.

Shuichi fluttered his eyes shut. He balled his hands in fists, clenched all of the muscles inside his palm and fingers, and squeezed the tightest he could, beginning a self-soothing mechanism. 

As he did, he tried to play out a scene of how today could go to prepare. In the worst possible scenario, Kyoko would become increasingly annoyed at how much knowledge he lacked compared to her. She'd snicker each time he missed a point and she’d shake her head when he fumbled to compare to her. She would hide it, but he would spot the sly smile each time he messed up. 

She would tell her friends about how painful being around him was, and then, rumors would spread about him. Everyone from Hope's Peak would know how easy of a target he was. They would know about the emo loser first-year who had managed to stay invisible for at least the first month, and then, the torment would start. They would silently shame him each time he stepped foot outside his dorm, and as he made his way to class. There would be giggles as he walked by and a game of avoidance. Hope's Peak would just turn out to be like every other school, but worse due to the higher stakes.

The thought was paralyzing, but he knew he had a tendency to catastrophize. He attempted to soothe himself by trying to shift to a more realistic mindset. Kyoko, in what little he knew, didn't seem that way. She seemed more…distant. She wasn't one for simple pleasantries or easy small talk, which implied she didn’t care much for social hierarchies or gossip. She didn't come off as shy or anxious, but she was quiet while being in tune and intelligent, making her a bit more mature. She wouldn’t find pleasure in something as dumb as pushing a Freshman around.

He could only hope that both of them didn't make it awkward. Kyoko was so straight to the point, while Shuichi was so all over the place that he would simply shut down. They were both on the silent side, but they seemed to have such different struggles.

He let go of the tight grip he had in his hands and untensed his muscles. His body calmed itself somehow. It was some mental health science he knew nothing of, but after practicing it and successfully mastering the act, he used it without questioning it. 

Shuichi opened his eyes, reminding himself where exactly he was. Still in his room.

It wouldn't take too long.

He took a breath and pushed himself off of his bed, hearing the springs creak as his weight was lifted off of them. He continued to ground himself by taking in his surroundings. His room wasn't much. When he arrived that summer, the dorm had only white walls and a matching-colored bed. As if he were in a psych ward.

To make up for the monotone room, he hung up posters of bands he liked and brought along his electric guitar with its stand and amplifier. On the provided wooden bookcase against the wall, he put his textbooks, favorite novels, and the directory for the campus. On his desk was a lamp with his clock. The time read noon.

He walked past his closet and bathroom and toward the door, making sure his room key was tucked into his pants pocket. He opened the wooden door and stepped into the hallway of the dormitory.

The hallway had velvet carpet, with tan walls holding pictures and paintings framed in gold. It felt more as though Shuichi had stumbled into a hotel rather than a school dormitory. Hope's Peak was expensive, and he almost felt like an imposter by just being present in the school.

He wasn't a detective. Or anyone important. Yet there he was, in the most important school in Japan, a part of a global company, the equivalent of America's Harvard in boarding school form. His heart quickened its pace as the reminder made him recall his imposter syndrome. Shuichi needed to get over it quickly, or else, it would swallow him as if it wasn't already.

He headed down to the bottom floor, hearing his footsteps echoing around the staircase. Each one tightened his chest.

Once Shuichi made it to the ground floor, he stepped outside into the bright sunlight. The air was getting much cooler, with harsher winds hitting Shuichi's face. Yet, if it weren't for the wind, it would be quite pleasant outside. Not boiling hot like in summer, but not cold enough that Shuichi would become frozen to the concrete. It was just peacefully sunny. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight. 

After the check was covered at Harleenie's and the group was getting ready to go, Kyoko asked which dorm building Shuichi resided in before telling him she would meet him outside of it at noon for the tour.

He was hoping she would be right outside the door, making herself easy to find since he had no way to contact her. But to his misfortune, he didn't immediately spot her when he walked out. A brief panic set into his stomach. What if he couldn’t find her? Then what? How long should he wait before returning back to his dorm? What would happen the next time he ran into her after that? Would she be mad?

He wished he had the confidence to ask for her phone number to avoid this outcome, but he pushed it aside and gave himself a few seconds to try and track her down before he panicked.

Scanning his eyes around his surroundings, he looked through groups of students around him until his eyes found her. She was standing a couple of meters away, underneath the shade of a tree. Her expression didn't give much of what she was thinking, but she stared off into the distance nonchalantly, most likely waiting for him.

She adorned a zipped-up casual black leather jacket with black jeans. The studded leather gloves she wore the night she met him were still on, and she held a parasol with white lacing and arches embedded on the edges.

The parasol drew much more attention than the rest of her outfit. It was chic and far less average than the rest of her attire. Vintage gold wiring was on the handle, connecting around in points. 

To top the outfit off, she had on a tan sun hat. The edges were a bit worn, with small threads sticking out. It cast a dark shadow over her face.

Shuichi could get a better view of her physique than when they were sat across from one another at a booth. Kyoko was built very slenderly. She wasn't abnormally tall; she was the same height as him at 5'7, but she had a looming presence that made her seem taller. She was built thin, but underneath her jacket, she seemed to have broad shoulders and well-toned muscle. 

He imagined she was stronger than him. Same height and gender difference aside, she could beat the shit out of him. Shuichi was thin, too, but he wasn’t healthy. He was wirey and awkwardly slim, while she seemed to actually be in good shape.

The expression on her face, while hard to read, looked lost in thought. She had a unique facial structure; Shuichi noticed that the night he met her. She had thin cheekbones that were placed higher than he first realized. Her complexion was ghastly pale with smooth skin, and unaffected by acne, implying she took reasonably good care of herself. She had thick eyelashes and thin eyebrows that were white like her hair, framing her purple eyes. Her eyes were narrow and naturally half-lidded. And she had full lips placed above a sharp jawline. She wasn't beautiful, but she was striking. 

With the dark clothing and shadow of the parasol contrasting with her ghostly complexion, Shuichi felt paused in place. His anxiety heightened at the proof in front of him that he really was going to have to do this today.

After a moment or two, Kyoko seemed to have felt his staring because she looked over and made direct eye contact with him. He nearly flinched at the abrupt motion but kept himself as natural as possible as he smiled and nodded at her before quickly forcing himself to walk forward, pretending that he wasn’t just standing there earlier.

"Hello," Kyoko greeted when he was close enough. Her voice was clipped and regulated, reminding him of the text-to-speech AI he used for intense study sessions, professional and well-controlled.

"Uh—hey," Shuichi muttered. He stuck his hands into his pockets, and focused his attention on the concrete underneath, obscuring Kyoko's view of most of his face and leaving her with the top side of his hat. He could feel her stare bore into his cap.

She was most likely fed up with him and his immediate anti-social, cringey behavior. Approximately, five seconds into their meeting, and he was already unable to act like a normal human. Great.

Shuichi was accustomed to a pattern where once he started acting awkward, the other person would also start feeling awkward because they didn’t know how to interact with him. They would start beginning their sentences with, um, well, or so in between uncomfortable chuckles, trying to direct the one-sided conversation and figure out how to deal with him. It always made him feel worse.

The only exceptions were really kind and very extroverted people who were capable of leading conversations on their own and very patient, like his current friends Kaede and Kaito, which is how he had managed to survive so far at Hope’s Peak. But Kyoko wasn't like them. She would feel weirded out and burdened by dealing with his oddities, not interested in coddling his emotions. 

He expected Kyoko would start treating him like the average person usually did, but instead of any awkward silence or fumbling attempts to try and engage in conversation, Kyoko flatly asked, "Have you prepared yourself?” 

"Um. Yes?" he answered, trying to leave out the confused tone in his answer, questioning her phrasing.

"Good." Kyoko turned around, unconcerned and unaware of his internal struggle, and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Then let's go."

"Okay." Shuichi quickly clamored his feet into motion to keep up with Kyoko's intense power walk as she abruptly started them forward. He was puzzled at just how direct and straightforward she was with him. No awkward laughter to fill the silence or muffled snickers at his nervousness. She didn't seem to care. At all. He figured that maybe she just wanted the tour over quickly. That's why she didn't care to address it. But still, he had never experienced that unbothered of a response from someone.

Kyoko led them onto a smaller path that went toward the back of campus. Shuichi never came there for any classes but caught sight of familiar buildings he always saw whenever he was walking to the main school building.

Shuichi smelled wet grass that had just been mowed, emitting from the campus lawn. Around him, people were walking by and chatting in groups. There were a few picnic benches set up for students to lounge at. Groups of friends ate lunch and did homework together. Some sat out on blankets. A group of boys kicked a ball back and forth, playing teqball but without the table. Shuichi was impressed by their movement. He was impressed by everyone around him. They all blended in naturally. He and Kyoko were in their own small silent bubble.

There were three structures they were heading toward. One was a small white building, while another had an even smaller frame with an open stage-like structure. A green shed was off to the side with an open classroom. 

Kyoko led him closer to the small white building. It had large windows, but he couldn't see inside them.

"Here are the first three," Kyoko explained in her usual blank voice. "Set, photography, and hair and makeup."

"What are each of those?" Shuichi asked.

"Well, hair and makeup is self-explanatory. It's just a studio for it," Kyoko started. "Photography as well. All their equipment is in that shed." She pointed towards the green box that didn't look well-locked.

"That seems…not smart," Shuichi muttered.

"That’s just common for the headmaster," Kyoko mumbled. "And set is used for photography with human models and for film."

After explaining each building's function, she led them to the smaller white building, placing one of her hands on the handle. "This is hair and makeup. Beware the perfume."

"Perfume?" Shuichi asked.

Kyoko swung open the door, stepped back, and held it open for him. "Go find out," she said.

"Oh, um, thanks," Shuichi sputtered, slightly nervous. Why did I thank her? 

Shuichi awkwardly stepped inside, almost immediately blinded by the fluorescent lights along the eight million mirrors set up at each station he could see. He blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes.

The floor was a pale wood with leather chairs along the mirrors. Some had sinks beside them. Each station had cabinets and various beauty supplies stored at them. It was a nicely kept salon. He wasn’t sure why Kyoko referred to it as a studio instead of a salon, but he figured she wouldn’t care much for beauty vocab.

His nose began to tingle as he breathed; the room smelled almost like the entrance to a mall, strong-scented perfumes hitting him square in the nose. Unable to stop it, Shuichi brought his elbow up to his face as he sneezed from the bombardment to his sense of smell.

"Oh my god, don't get your fucking cooties on me!"

Shuichi turned his head, finding a girl to his right sitting at one of the stations, her stylist beside her with a false eyelash in one hand and eyelash glue in the other. Shuichi recognized the stylist. She had long, curly blue hair and a pair of thin, round glasses. She wore a gray sweater, loose blue jeans, and white shoes gone brown with dirt. Her name was Tsumugi, and she was in Shuichi's class.

The other girl sitting down had long strawberry-blonde hair in two pigtails, bright blue eyes, and rose-colored lips, though that was most likely because of lipstick. She wore a white crop top with black leggings. Her phone was in one of her hands, long red acrylics attached to her nails. One eyelash was dark black and thick, while the other was much thinner and natural, waiting to have the fake eyelash applied. She was curling up her lip in disgust, glaring at the two of them for interrupting. 

Even in the girl's half-makeup get-up, Shuichi recognized a strong sense of superiority and importance, along with a familiarity he couldn't place. She was incredibly beautiful. She met the criteria for each standard put on women. He swore that she had to be a model. He wondered how anyone could naturally look that good.

"Sorry," Shuichi mumbled, finding much more interest in the floor.

"Hello, Junko," Kyoko greeted blandly. 

When Kyoko addressed her by name, Shuichi recalled where he had seen her before: On the covers of magazines. She actually was a model. Of course. 

She was one of the biggest sensations in the modeling industry, but she was, for sure, the biggest within her age group. Models usually don’t get famous to the point of universal recognition like actors and singers do, but Junko Enoshima was one of the few exceptions, known for her absurd scandals, preposterous personality, controversial takes, and most importantly, her looks.

Junko was much more successful than Shuichi at all levels; he seemed like a child compared to her accomplishments. So of course she would go to Hope's Peak. He again questioned why he was there.

"Girl, who is that?" Junko asked Kyoko, sticking her pointer finger at Shuichi. She asked with an undertone of judgment as she meticulously eyed him. Do they know each other? 

"This is Saihara Shuichi. He's a first-year," Kyoko explained.

"Oh, that’s your name!” Tsumugi exclaimed. Her eyes lit up, connecting two and two together. 

Shuichi’s face grew hot in embarrassment, and he turned to Kyoko absentmindedly, looking for her reaction. However, she was focused on Junko instead. 

Tsumugi carefully began attaching the false eyelash to Junko’s eyelid. Junko closed her eyes as she did and scoffed in amusement at Kyoko’s response. “What the hell are you doing with a freshie?” She smiled widely, obviously entertained by the notion. Shuichi became more nervous about her tone.

“Well—” Kyoko began, though she was unable to finish her sentence. 

“Oh wait, I remember,” Junko blatantly cut off. “I heard from Mookie Pookie that Sayaka and a bunch of you guys were hanging out with freshmen,” she recalled as she twirled a lock of her hair. 

Shuichi had to wonder who in the actual hell was Mookie Pookie???

Junko continued, more of an attitude creeping into her tone as she made fun of them. “So like, what’s going on here? Did you two… hit it off?” What she was implying was obvious. Shuichi cringed, embarrassed by Tsumugi also being there.

 Kyoko continued to speak for them, not as affected as Shuichi. “No. Not like that. We share talents; he’s the ultimate detective in his grade, but right now, I’m just showing him around.”

“Awww, you share talents? Cute! So what? Is he your boyfriend now? It would make sense.” If there was any doubt left, Shuichi was sure that she was making fun of them, her laughter aimed at them, not with them.

“You two do look good together,” Tsumugi tagged on innocently as she finished applying the eyelash. 

“We won’t tell anyone if you are~” Junko lowered her voice between a whisper and an average tone as if she was conspicuously gossiping. She opened her eyes and gave them a teasing smile.

“Not even remotely,” Kyoko said, unphased. 

“Oh, sad,” Junko said with a babyish tone, as though she were talking to a toddler. “You guys would’ve looked really cute together.” 

How? Shuichi wrinkled his nose. He was blown away at the audacity Junko had. Of course, he knew people were mean for no reason, sure. But it was usually subtle. He was impressed by how resoundingly bitchy Junko was. He knew the reputation younger celebrities were known to have, but Sayaka was nowhere like this, galaxies from it.

Besides, he was sure Kyoko wanted nothing to do with him like that. He wasn't sure what type of guys Kyoko liked (or if he could even see her with a boyfriend), but he was positive she wouldn't have eyes for him. And admittedly, the feeling was very mutual. Kyoko was… fine to him, but she was more bitter than anything sweet.

“I don’t think so,” Kyoko disagreed, not entertaining Junko's shtick. 

“Y—Yeah,” Shuichi mumbled. 

“Whatever,” Junko let it go. She shrugged and set her phone down on her armrest. “I guess I wouldn’t expect you to be into anyone else.” She sent a pointed stare to Kyoko with a cocky smile, playing a trump card that Shuichi didn't recognize.

Kyoko’s demeanor stiffened. Her eyes narrowed, glaring like the barrel of a gun at Junko, ready to shoot and warning Junko to back off. Shuichi watched like a fly on the wall. His mind lit up, trying to catch up with what was happening. Junko smiled, relaxed and comfortable. Something else was going on that Shuichi couldn’t quite understand due to contextual clues he didn’t have. 

"Anyway," Junko sing-songed, turning the conversation away from Kyoko. "This is Tsumugi," she said, waving her hand over the girl’s face. "She's learning how to do makeup the right way."

"It's fascinating! She’s a really good teacher," Tsumugi gushed, a massive smile across her face. 

Kyoko must have caught on to the other girl’s chipperness because she asked, "Is she a first-year?"

"Yep," Junko said, popping the p. "So I took her under my wing."

"What the hell are you doing with a freshie?" Kyoko mimicked Junko's question from earlier. Shuichi was surprised by Kyoko’s willingness to imitate Junko’s absurd language, the tone and words feeling foreign coming from her voice. 

Junko dramatically rolled her eyes, no longer smiling and snickering at them in judgment, but upset that Kyoko beat her in whatever attack she started. "Oh, fuck off. I'm doing charity work. It’s different; you two are getting all buddy-buddy over there and I’m doing her a favor.” Shuichi wondered how Junko could know his and Kyoko’s dynamic. “I told Tsumugi if she wants to get any better at makeup, she had to stop working with ugly models, and I volunteered myself.”

Shuichi’s eyes widened when he wondered if by ugly models she was referring to Tsumugi herself, knowing the other girl’s love of dressing herself up. Gaging from Junko’s tone, he assumed that was what she meant to imply, and he was impressed Tsumugi still willingly met up with Junko with such eagerness, a pleased smile was still on her face. Then again, with Junko’s celebrity status, he assumed Tsumugi felt validated by Junko talking to her, even if it was negative.

In an attempt to recover, Junko’s eyes quickly flickered to Shuichi, and he hated her attention being on him. “Hold on, Shuichi, right? Is Kyoko a good tour guide? She’s pretty bad at everything else other than being a detective." Her voice was sweet, dripping sickly honey that Shuichi knew better than to trust. 

“She’s good at it,” Shuichi meekly answered even though they've only been to one place so far. 

Junko accepted that answer and turned back to Kyoko. “Since when do you tour freshmen around? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I met Shuichi through Makoto, and he doesn't know campus well so I agreed to show him around," Kyoko explained.

Junko scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, that’s really boring.” She immediately became uncaring.

“Well, it’s the truth.” 

"Yeah? Well, I’m disinterested." Junko looked back at the mirror and her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Tsumugi! The eyeliner isn't even fucking straight!" Junko snapped.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Tsumugi fumbled, reaching for make-up remover.

"Ugh!" Junko groaned in frustration. "If you weren't new to this, I would fucking step on your tiny head."

"I wish you would," Tsumugi mumbled.

"What."

"Nothing!"

Kyoko shook her head, letting out a sigh. "Anyway," she addressed Shuichi. "If you haven't figured it out already, this is where people learn how to cut and style hair as well as do makeup."

"I…assumed," Shuichi said.

"Oh! Are you two going over to the stage?" Tsumugi asked as she fixed Junko's eyeliner. "I would love to come with you! I can show you all the costumes and props—"

"You're supposed to be staying with me!" Junko protested. 

“Right.”

"Let's… leave them be," Kyoko muttered. "Come on." She turned around and reopened her parasol to go back outside. The noise caught Junko's attention, distracting her from her rage.

"Kyoko, not so fast!” She said it like she was sad she was leaving. It was obviously an act. “What's with the goth parasol?” Junko asked, back to her conceiving tone.

"It's too sunny outside," Kyoko provided little explanation. 

“Isn’t that Celeste’s?” Junko speculated, leaning forward in her chair to examine the parasol. “No, wait… It is, isn’t it?” Junko giggled, a high-pitched and conspiratorial chuckle that unnerved Shuichi. “I didn’t realize what this has turned into!” 

“It hasn’t turned into anything,” Kyoko objected. “You're reaching for things that are not there.”

Junko shrugged, relenting. However, her smirk suggested she didn’t believe her. “If you say so~”

Shuichi could only zip his lips, watching the interaction. He remembered Celestia but didn't know much about the relationship between her and Kyoko, at least not to the degree to follow along with whatever Junko was implying. 

“We will be off now,” Kyoko said, resting her hand on the door handle. 

“Bye!” Junko called out. She waved with four fingers.

Walking away from the interaction, Shuichi was still dumbfounded by Junko’s undisguised malice. Everything about her seemed fake, rather than authentic. 

He shook his head to clear his mind, following Kyoko toward the door. He was glad to leave behind his first meet-up with a real-life Regina George. The two of them quickly exited the building, letting its door shut behind them. 

"I apologize that we happened upon Junko," Kyoko broke the momentary silence between them. She sighed and shook her head. “I should’ve known…” 

"Do you know her? No—Of course you do. I'm sorry, that was a stupid question," Shuichi rambled. He felt his face flare up, causing him to clench his hands into fists.

Kyoko's face showed nothing. "She's a part of my class,” she provided.

"Do…you like her?" He figured the answer would be somewhere in the negative, but he still wanted to attempt to know more about her.

"She's an interesting person." Kyoko's eyebrows furrowed as she thought about it. "But I don't necessarily mind her. Sometimes she's entertaining to watch."

"Oh." 

And that was the end of their conversation. Shuichi was finding it awfully difficult to talk about anything other than the tour. He couldn't tell if that was a him problem, but knowing himself, it was most likely him. He just had no idea how to get her to elaborate or relate to what she says. He had no idea how other people could just talk about anything so fluently.

The two of them began walking back towards the main path, heading further towards the main building. They were again surrounded by students lounging and conversing, and Shuichi could see the other dormitories lined up on the side. They extended all the way to the entrance. In the distance, Shuichi could faintly make out their indoor pool and the greenhouse.

As they stepped onto an intersection of merging paths leading to the main school building, Shuichi noticed Kyoko was guiding him to a pale yellow building placed beside the main one. 

"This is the tech engineering lab," Kyoko told him. Shuichi knew that since he read the sign labeling it and had to walk by it many times to go to class, but he had never been inside before.

Unlike last time—thankfully—Kyoko and Shuichi were the only two inside. The interior had a hard-surfaced floor and yellow-painted walls to match the outside. In the center of the room was a steel table top. The walls were covered in ginormous cabinets, shelves, and workstations to hold projects and tools. 

Off to the side was a door hanging open that led to a computer lab. Shuichi spotted a 3D printer inside as well. The wall by the entrance had a whiteboard with 'Quiz Tuesday' written on it in black marker.

"This is where people go to program material and write code, along with some other engineering-related projects that are more technical," Kyoko explained.

"That sounds complicated." Shuichi crossed his arms across his chest, more as a self-hug than in any confidence or assertiveness, as he tried to contribute to the conversation.

"I can't say I'm much of a STEM major either. All I do know is from a classmate of mine."

"What ultimate are they?" Shuichi asked, seeing an easy opportunity to grasp onto something.

"He’s the ultimate programmer. Chihiro Fujisaki. You may have heard of them."

Shuichi had no clue who that was. "Are you two friends?" 

"I would say we're friendly acquaintances. He's nice but…" Kyoko shrugged.

"But you are friends with your other classmates? Like Makoto and Sayaka?" Out of fear of mispronouncing it, he avoided saying Celestia's name. Kyoko nodded. "How did you guys become friends?"

Kyoko's eyes scanned around the room as she paused to think about it, and Shuichi felt bad. Here he was asking her all these random questions, wasting time, when she just wanted to show him around campus and call it a day. He told himself that after she answered, he would smile and nod, and let her continue showing him around without being a nuisance.

"Well, it mainly started when Makoto got more comfortable after beginning our first year. He didn't know how to talk to me at first, but he interacted with me more and more until we became friends. I honestly befriended the others because they were friends with him so…. Oh, except for Celeste. I got to know her on my own. She mostly copied my notes and bothered me during class, but she's charming in her own way. That's how that all came to be. Anyway." As she began finishing up, she headed toward the exit, and Shuichi followed.

Makoto didn't know how to talk to her in the beginning? Shuichi could certainly relate to that. It made him wonder how Makoto ended up figuring it out, and how those two came to bond. 

It’s because Makoto is good at social situations. You aren’t. He never ‘made’ friends, they all came to him. He was always waiting on the sidelines for a potential relationship. Makoto was the go-getter. He wasn’t. The pit in his stomach seemed to grow. 

Kyoko and Shuichi exited the lab, stepping onto the pathway once more. They walked by the main building. It was huge due to all the classrooms and offices inside it.

"I'm sure you know how to get around the main building, correct?" Kyoko asked.

"Yeah," Shuichi answered. His basic classes like math, history, literature, composition, science, and basic electives like painting took place there. He hadn't seen the entire building, but he knew the format well enough to know how to navigate it and find new places.

Kyoko nodded and turned a corner on the pathway, leading them behind the school again but in a new direction. They passed by the greenhouse he had seen earlier. 

He glanced ahead of them, finding that they were heading over toward a massive clearing. Tall green pillars were strung up, and a wire gate appeared in view. He squinted his eyes, trying to figure out where they were heading, though his nose caught what was going on much quicker.

Shit. Dirt. Grime. Animals. Shuichi scrunched up his nose, cursing his existence for having to smell such rancid muck. Something let out a moo in the distance. Hopefully, a cow.

"This is the garden and animal sanctuary," Kyoko said, walking up to the fence. She lifted one of her arms, pointing over to the right. Shuichi followed her line of sight, finding the very animals he could smell.

Cows, goats, pigs, and even horses were all in their respective wired fences. A small barn connected all the fences to it. It looked like it were glued together by a few scraps of metal.

Bird feeders were hung up. A whole separate building was off to the side that had bugs flying out of it. Four tall white boxes were side by side, bees covering the tops. Shuichi shivered just being near the place. He would consider it a personal hell. And to his dismay, Kyoko led him into it further as they approached one of the fences. However, something caught his eye. Or rather, someone.

The person was much taller and built very strong with long green hair. He had round glasses that had some specks of dirt on the rims. Gonta. A boy from his class.

He wore a tattered brown shirt and cargo pants. He also had green sandals that had seen better days. For someone who seemed so imposing, Shuichi was surprised by how nice and sweet Gonta was. He was bent over, petting one of the goats.

"You can go in if you would like," Kyoko told him. "Just know that I'm not joining."

"Oh, no, thank you," Shuichi declined. "I don't like farm animals. Or bugs. Or the outdoors."

Kyoko shrugged. 

Gonta glanced up and noticed them standing there. "Shuichi!" He called out, waving at him.

"Hello," Shuichi called back. At least Gonta remembered his name. He raised his hand in a shy attempt at waving back.

"Do you want to pet the goats, too?" Gonta asked.

"No, thank you," Shuichi answered, taking a few steps away from the wire. 

“Shuichi! They’re really, really, really soft!” Gonta’s tanned face lit up, smiling so wide that nearly all his teeth were visible. His eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile and adorned so much earnestness and welcoming. 

Shuichi tightened his fingers into fists, curling up his top lip. Despite being such a big guy, Gonta had the heart and purity of an innocent kid with no malicious intentions. Shuichi found himself unable to form words, unable to escape, unable to say no. 

Kyoko was staring at him with a raised eyebrow. Shuichi let out a cough, shifting his feet against the ground. “…I suppose,” he muttered. Gonta’s smile widened. 

“Yay! You’re going to love it! You can bring your friend, too!”

“No, thanks.” Kyoko shook her head. “I'm alright here.”

“Okay,” Shuichi murmured, disappointed he was going in alone, and unsure if that was for better or for worse. He was already beginning to regret his decision.

Gonta headed into the alcove that led inside the barn where most of the goats were relaxing in the shade. Unable to find a door and Gonta being distracted, Shuichi hopped over the fence and ignored the pain of the wiring digging into his palms.

“See you on the other side," Kyoko said to him as he landed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he asked her. 

“Not particularly.” She looked at the animals with neutrality, then back at him. “I’ll be fine.” Kyoko raised her hand toward him, waving Shuichi off. 

Shuichi gave up. He was going alone. With a nod, he turned around and began walking toward Gonta. He could count on one hand how many times he and Gonta had a conversation. While the latter seemed pleasant, Shuichi couldn’t shake the frozen matter in his joints that pressed for him to stop, terrified of what the other could do. The other animals turned to stare when he walked past, their beady eyes sinking in the feeling of perpetual doom in his heart. 

Gonta’s head lifted, smiling down at Shuichi. “Hello!” he said, waving at him again. Shuichi awkwardly waved back a second time. Gonta leaned forward, opening the door of the goat’s enclosure. “Come in!” 

Shuichi slid himself in, suddenly feeling as though half-dried sweat was coating his entire body. He felt stiff and uncomfortable, sticking out like a sore thumb. Even the goats were judging him. He wrinkled his nose, the smell of waste a million times worse in one of the fences.

Gonta lowered his head to the goat he was petting. It was much bigger. Its coat was a chocolate brown with white specks on the sides. Its black hooves stomped into the dirt, shaking its slim head. Its eyes were brown, reflecting off orange streaks as the sun’s rays bounced off of them. Its pupils were stretched into a thin line and horizontal. Shuichi glanced at the other goats. He didn’t realize how…unsettling their eyes were. 

"So, this is Cocoa! He is about three years old. He’s nearly fully grown.” Gonta stared at the goat as if he were his own child. The goat took a step, sniffing Shuichi. Gonta laughed. “He likes you!” 

“Is that a good thing?” Shuichi asked nervously. Cocoa’s eyes didn’t seem to blink. Instead, they watched him, unrelenting. Shuichi smiled at the goat, his lips trembling. “…Um…how do you do, um—Cocoa?” 

Cocoa sniffed. He opened his jaw and bit the sleeve of Shuichi’s jacket. Gonta laughed. Shuichi forced air out of his mouth to sound like he was laughing along, though it sounded as if he were a balloon letting air escape. Shuichi pulled at his sleeve, though the spawn of Satan didn’t let go. “Hey, can I have it?” 

“Cocoa, let go of him.” Gonta smiled. Shuichi’s heart was beating out of his chest. He could feel his pulse hitting the walls of his skin. 

Gonta gripped onto Shuichi’s sleeve, ripping the fabric away from Cocoa’s teeth. Shuichi immediately stepped back, shaking his hand. The goat's grip was surprisingly strong in contrast with his debatable ideas of goats’ performance. 

“Sorry about him. He’s like a weird dog.” 

“Um, y—yeah.” In his mind Cocoa was more like an alien that had landed and inhabited the body of a goat, thinking it was a dog. All the goats seemed not real, as if they were not from Earth. 

“Anyways.” Gonta turned his head. “Do you want to hold one of the goats?”

“Oh, no—”

“You should hold this one! She’s super sweet!” Gonta walked further into the enclosure, while Shuichi stayed rooted to the ground. Cocoa, luckily, followed Gonta. He bent down and picked up a much smaller goat. 

Gonta turned around. In his hands was a goat with a white coat, similar colored hooves, and crystal blue eyes. They seemed like containers to the ocean, trying to swallow him whole. He shuddered at the thought. 

“This is Betsy!” Gonta said. “She’s only a few months old. Isn’t she so cute?” 

“Um…” Betsy’s eyes stared at him. “…yeah?” he finished, scared of what the goat was capable of. 

“Here!” Gonta said, outstretching his arms. The goat’s legs swung around, squirming. Shuichi in a panic put his arms out, letting Betsy rest in them. She immediately calmed down, shaking her head. Some flies from her ears flew off. 

“Wait, what—”

“You’re doing great!” 

Betsy craned her head up to stare at Shuichi, whose heart felt as though it ceased beating. Betsy began sniffing and grabbed onto the strings of his jacket. She began chewing on them. “Come on!” Did all goats hate him? 

“Oh, Betsy. She’s still learning manners.” 

Didn’t the other fucker do the exact same thing!? Shuichi gritted his teeth. 

“Can you please take her?” Gonta nodded. Shuichi handed the goat back, pulling his strings away from its gaping mouth. Betsy screamed in protest. 

Shuichi took a few steps back. “They are bitey,” Gonta commented. Shuichi refrained from biting back with his salty comment. It wasn’t Gonta’s fault that the goats were demons and wanted to murder him. 

“Well…um…thanks…I’m going to…uh…go back to my friend? Sorry?” 

“Oh! Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Shuichi tightened his fists. “I just realized I, uh—have a dirt allergy.” 

“Oh no! Being here is no good for that! I’m sorry for forcing you into this!”

“It’s okay.” 

“Go back to your friend! Have a fun time!”

“Thanks.” Shuichi had never turned the other direction and bolted so fast in his entire life. He jumped over the fence, landing in soft, nearly clean grass. Kyoko lifted one of her eyebrows witnessing his dash of an escape and his most likely panicked face. 

“What happened?” Kyoko asked. 

“Both goats bit me!” Shuichi protested. Kyoko’s confused expression immediately disappeared. 

“Oh.” She turned around. “I saw that. I didn’t know that would be so alarming.” 

“Me neither…” Shuichi muttered. He could see all of their eyes staring at him, no matter how many times he tried to blink them away. They would surely show up in his nightmares. He shuddered, pulling himself back to the present. 

Kyoko was already beginning to walk off. Shuichi followed with joy, letting out a sigh of relief as the smell of putrid animals slowly dissipated from his nostrils.

"Is he in your class, too?" Kyoko asked once Shuichi caught up with her. 

"Yeah," Shuichi answered. "His name is Gonta. He's really sweet."

"Hm,” she hummed in acknowledgment. “Anyway, since we're both detectives, I won't be showing you the labs. I'm sure you know them well. And because of that, I'm not showing you the space dome either since it’s the only other building in that area, and it’s mostly pointless to go all the way over there.”

"That's fine."

"Besides… Kaito, yeah?” He nodded and she continued. “He could just show you if you want to see it. He’s the ultimate astronaut, right?” 

"Yeah."

From there, they descended into a mostly comfortable silence. They leisurely made their way to the next destination. Shuichi shoved his hands into his pants pockets and glanced at the scenery around him to give him something to do. He observed the imposingly large main building, the cut grass, and some students walking and talking together. 

Kyoko broke the silence with a question. “What’s your blood type?”

“I’m sorry?” Shuichi asked, startled and nearly tripping over his own feet. For all the average Sunday afternoon activities Shuichi was basking in around them, she certainly broke the mood.

“I just got curious. I remembered last year we did a lab relating to it, so I figured you had done the same recently and figured out what yours is,” Kyoko explained. It made her question somewhat more sane, yet it was still highly peculiar. 

“Uh—I’m AB,” Shuichi said, recalling his results. 

“Oh. I can donate my blood to you,” Kyoko murmured flatly. As if that was a normal response. 

“That’s…great?” Shuichi said. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that. 

“It might be important someday.”

            “What?” 

"Never mind.” Kyoko shook her head. 

Shuichi eyed her with a great amount of confusion. She looked down at the ground and seemed to pause and think before switching the subject, “My class is doing a lab at the moment.” 

“What's the lab about?” Shuichi asked, trying to keep up with her.

“Exposure to pathogens.”

“That sounds…not fun.”

“It’s interesting. We have to calculate how long it takes for certain specimens to become infected. Because of that, I have ziplock bags and a stopwatch on me at all times.” 

“That’s cool.” 

Kyoko simply nodded. 

Shuichi blinked as silence fell over them again. This girl was impossible to read. She gave nothing. She gave no context, no expression, and no elaboration. But she randomly, without warning, presented commentary and questions that seemed unrelated and out of the blue. And he couldn't figure out why. He didn't know why she was that way or what she was trying to do. He was so socially inexperienced that he didn't know how to handle her.

Maybe that's what small talk was to her? But even the average person would think that's abnormal. The way she acted and the way she spoke is abnormal. And with that thought, Shuichi came to wonder if Kyoko knew that about herself. With how smart she was, there was no way her actions were all unintentional. It didn't seem like it would be true, but Shuichi almost had to wonder if Kyoko got frustrated with herself about being unable to connect with others.

He could not read her, but past her blank expression wasn’t judgment of him or even pity for how weird he was. He thought, maybe, she wasn't all that normal either. And she had to know that about herself. And maybe, in her very odd way, she was trying and possibly struggling as much as he was. 

He stopped himself from trailing down those thoughts further. Those were a lot of assumptions to make about someone he was still getting to know, so he couldn't trust himself to make those bold claims about her yet. But still, he had to wonder if any of his ideas were true.

He knew Kyoko wasn't shy or anxious like him. She came off as very confident and assertive. He already knew she was anti-social, but he figured that was more in the judgment of others, especially him. However, maybe she was just… bad at it. Maybe just because she didn’t stutter and get bashful when she messed up, didn’t mean that she wasn’t struggling internally. Hm.

  "What made you want to become a detective?" Kyoko asked suddenly, breaking him out of his trance. 

"Um, well…" Shuichi stammered, trying to refocus himself into reality and out of his mind. He was a bit surprised by her shift of topics to him and the general curiosity about his life. "I didn't always want to. I just wanted to solve things, and since my uncle is a detective, that all led together."

"I see." Kyoko's eyebrows furrowed, her eyes staring down at the concrete.

"What about you?" Shuichi asked.

"Well, I was born to be."

Shuichi looked at her, his interest caught by the slightly bizarre response, but she stared forward as she continued, "At least one of my ancestors from each generation has continued this line of work. It’s a family tradition, and while we remained in anonymity, our family name has produced many infamous detectives. I believe the first detectives in my family date back to somewhere in the 1840s. Because of that, it’s my legacy. I’m just continuing what was started a long time ago.”

“That… seems intimidating," Shuichi marveled, fascinated by the history, but unable to imagine the dread and pressure he would feel if that were his bloodline.

“Well… That’s the main reason, but it’s mainly just a passion of mine. An intense one, but…” Kyoko shrugged.

“How did you first get into it? Like, did your family introduce you to it then?”

She nodded and looked up toward the sky. “I've lived with my grandfather nearly my whole life, and he's been training me since then.” 

“Are you close with him because of that?”

“I would say so. In our own way.”

“Did you live with him in Russia?" He recalled Kyoko talking about living there at the diner.

Kyoko nodded. "I did."

"Jeez. That must be hard for you—being so far away from him like that." Shuichi couldn't imagine living in countries away from his uncle. Just being an hour away felt weird.

"Not really," Kyoko disagreed. Her tone was indifferent. "He signed me off to be a legal adult at fifteen. I'm used to being on my own without him."

"O—Oh." Shuichi wasn't sure how he should respond to that. He supposed he was curious as to why, but he figured being emancipated was too personal of a topic for someone she had known for three days. 

They rounded to another pathway, where Shuichi could see more buildings looming over them.

"Are you close with your uncle?" Kyoko asked.

"Yeah, I grew up with him."

"As in, you lived with him?" Kyoko asked, her expression showed more curiosity than the neutrality he was used to.

"Uh, not my whole life, but for most of it, yeah."

Kyoko nodded. She smiled softly at the shared experience between them. "All of my friends have grown up with their parents. It's nice to meet someone else who's been raised by another family member. Do you think yours and your uncle’s work is much of a legacy?"

Shuichi was surprised by how naturally conversation was flowing between them now. It was still a bit awkward and choppy as they grabbed at easy-to-reach straws to keep conversational prompts going, but it didn't feel forced or unnatural. It felt like they were mutually interested in what they were discussing.

“I…I’m not sure.” Shuichi slowed down his walk, attempting to relay back the moments in his childhood. He remembered how his uncle seemed to enjoy it when Shuichi became fascinated with his job or how he had Shuichi come to work a few times to experience it. He could say that being a detective wasn’t forced on him by his uncle, but it was certainly nudged to him. 

“Then what is being a detective to you? If you simply like solving things, you could’ve become an engineer or journalist. Why a detective out of all things?” It was as if she was interviewing him. She held an expression that clued him into the genuine curiosity about him, too. He could tell how much being a detective was to her. It made him insecure about his own values.

“I…” Shuichi trailed off, unsure how to respond. He didn't want to mess it up. “Give me a minute.” He paused, standing while staring down at the concrete. Being a detective was a job that swept underneath him and flung him into Hope’s Peak, whether he wanted to or not. There wasn’t a drive to become one. Simply, he liked certain parts and ultimately wound up there on a crime scene, staring into the eyes of the very man that he caught. He couldn't piece it together, couldn't string it into words, couldn't make it sound as meaningful to him as it was to Kyoko. He couldn't get his mind to give him an answer.

Beside him, he heard a small click. Shuichi glanced over, finding a small red circle in Kyoko’s hand. Her stopwatch began counting the seconds as she stared down at it, waiting for it to hit sixty. His heart lurched. 

“No, not like—Can you not??” 

Kyoko blinked, processing before glancing down at the stopwatch. “Oh, sorry—” She stopped the watch and carefully placed the device back in her pocket. “I don’t know why…” she trailed off, confused with herself. Kyoko lifted her head, a small smile on her lips. “Force by habit, I suppose.” 

“It’s alright…” 

To his great surprise, Kyoko looked genuinely bashful. She quickly shook it off, not lingering on it for long, but he hadn't seen her slip up before. It was odd to see her make a mistake with how poised and put-together she was. However, he was also grateful for it. The question she asked him was one he wasn't able to answer for himself, nonetheless, for her.

“…Is living in Japan a shock compared to Russia?" Shuichi asked, attempting to take advantage of the situation by shifting topics away from him. 

"I guess. It's a bit warmer here," Kyoko answered. If she noticed what he was doing (and he had a small feeling she did) she didn't seem to care or mind. He was grateful for that, too.

"Yeah, in the summer it gets bad."

"It's dreadful. Where I'm from, seventy degrees is normal for July. Sometimes eighty."

"Only seventy?"

"Yes." Kyoko’s responses about the country she previously lived in seemed rehearsed and reiterated. This must be a frequent conversation for her. 

"That sounds lovely," Shuichi tried to compliment where she used to live in hopes of pleasing her. "I don't like hot weather that much."

"Do you like negative fifty weather?"

"Uh—no?" His attempt didn't work.

"It gets interesting in the winter, but that's what we're used to."

"I don't think I could ever get used to that."

"Some people can't. That's when they move."

Kyoko turned her head away, glancing up at another building. Shuichi followed her gaze, catching sight of massive steps leading to large double doors. The library.

The two of them walked up, and each step Shuichi took echoed. Kyoko was a few steps ahead of him, her boots stomping on the staircase with her strong, swift stride as she effortlessly went up the stairs. The building’s design was vintage, with a Victorian architecture, and detail laced into it.

Once they reached the top, Shuichi was panting, his face hot, and his legs ached from pain. Kyoko showed no physical sign of being tired, instead, she stared at Shuichi a bit impatiently.

"Do you not get much exercise?" Kyoko asked, confused.

"No," Shuichi answered in between breaths.

Kyoko opened one of the doors, heading inside. Shuichi followed, feeling the blast of air conditioning against his face. It felt like he entered heaven. He loved libraries. He would often walk over to his own back at home. He would spend hours studying, reading, or browsing books that, most of the time, he never fully read, but still enjoyed.

The Hope’s Peak library had a tall ceiling and a winding staircase right at the front, leading to the second floor. Bookcases lined the walls, each filled to the brim with novels, textbooks, essays, and other types of writing. Couches and chairs were scattered around, including desks with computers. Several students were at the computers, while some were talking on the couches. Others were quietly reading to themselves, others were walking around, holding books. People were walking up and down the stairs, talking with the staff or friends, or loudly tapping on their computers. Shuichi had never heard so much noise in a library before.

"This is the library," Kyoko said, barely lowering her voice. "A lot of people come here to study."

"Yeah," Shuichi muttered. An overwhelming amount of disappointment cascaded over him. He had a feeling that there was no way he could ever study here. There were too many people and too much noise for a place that was supposed to be quiet.

Overhearing a conversation nearby, both the detectives’ attention was caught by a group of staff talking and heading down the stairs a few feet away from them, each of them holding folders. 

"I don't know what Jin is thinking. We're a private school, not an American public school," one of them said. A nest of lavender hair was plopped on her head. She had thick black glasses resting on the bridge of her nose, which was wrinkled in disgust. Her piercing blue eyes were similar to the sky before a horrid storm.  

“Schneider, this is what we used to do! Remember Akabane?” another spoke. He had straight red hair, some getting into his eyes causing him to blink often, trying to brush it away. 

"Besides, I think it will be good for the kids. Most of them are so stressed about their future careers, letting them relax with a party would be nice,” another teacher with white hair spoke.

“Akabane was pathetic,” Mrs. Schneider mumbled. 

"And at the beginning of the year? A party is reserved for the graduating class," one argued. He seemed much younger than the rest. He was shaking his head, pursing his lips. 

"So? All kids deserve to have fun," the white-haired woman argued. 

"I suppose," the younger man muttered. 

"They can get creative! Being able to dress up for something and have anticipation for a cool event could boost their school spirit," the white-haired woman continued to speak. 

"I am just not looking forward to being a chaperone during the inevitable fight…" Mrs. Schneider grumbled.

The group of staff walked off, their voices becoming faint. 

A party? 

That sounded like the last thing Shuichi wanted to be a part of. He glanced over, finding Kyoko's eyes on the floor. She seemed as though she were thinking of something.

"What was that about?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Kyoko answered. "Whatever it might be, it doesn't concern us at the moment."

"Yeah," Shuichi muttered, glancing over at the rest of the library.

"Did you go to the library in your hometown?" Kyoko asked.

"Yeah. I did a lot."

"But you don't like this one." It wasn't a question. Apparently, he was that easy for her to read.

"I typically prefer less people…" Shuichi answered.

Kyoko nodded, seeming to understand. "There's one outside of school that normally doesn't have this amount of people. Sometimes, I go there to study."

"Really? That would be nice."

"I can give you the address later."

"Thanks." He smiled, happy with the idea and picturing how nice the other library could be. But then he wondered how he would get the address from Kyoko. "Do you know the address off the top of your head?" he asked.

"No, I'd have to search it up."

"It might be easiest if I give you my number. You can just copy and paste it, you know? I'd have to write it down in my phone anyway if you told me it verbally…"

Kyoko looked to the side, considering the idea. "That is true. Sure. Let's quick do that."

Shuichi breathed an internal sigh of relief at how easy it was to exchange contact information. He was worried about coming off weird or giving her the wrong impression, but it was casual. It was fine. It was laid back. He's totally got this. He's totally a normal person. Just a normal guy. It's great. He's great. Everything is fine. Normal people make friends. And he's a normal person, kind of making friends. Cool. Great. 

Once they finished creating each other's contacts, Kyoko led them to the exit. "Alright, let's go."

"Okay."

Kyoko opened up one of the doors, accidentally barely leaving it open for Shuichi, who had to just barely squeeze by. They got back outside, sunlight shining down on them. Shuichi glanced down, bracing himself for the long flight of stairs awaiting him. At least going down was easier than going up, but still, they've had too much cardio today.

Kyoko didn't seem to mind, though. What seemed to be most important to her was the tour itself. Shuichi was getting tired of walking. They hadn't even done much. He was definitely right about her being stronger than him. Then again, she was a Russian girl. He had seen Russian people doing crazy ass shit over there in daily life as if it was normal. Maybe she, too, fought bears with the other Russians. 

"You're never going to use the kitchen and music hall. Or the theater. I'm not showing you those," Kyoko said once they reached the bottom. "You have Kaede for that. Plus, you can see them from here." She pointed each one out for him. "If you want to see the insides, you can do that on your own time."

"You're right," Shuichi muttered. His gaze slid down to the concrete. Small bits of cracks were present, some being filled with newer concrete that had a slightly lighter color. Shuichi couldn't help but wonder when they would put down the concrete when needed, perhaps during the summer. This is the type of questions I'm having, instead of helpful ones. What is wrong with me? 

"It doesn't take long to memorize the map of this place," Kyoko went on to say. "It just takes practice."

"Mhm," was all Shuichi said. He stuck his hands into his pockets, grabbing his phone and making sure it was still there. They passed by the buildings Kyoko just mentioned. She was right that there was no use of them to him unless Kaede had a performance there. 

"How long did it take you to find things?" Shuichi asked.

"I adjust fast,” Kyoko answered indifferently. She didn't look at him. "Besides, it helped that my father is the headmaster. He was insistent on touring me himself."

"Wait, really?" Shuichi asked, baffled. He had no idea at all. And he wouldn't have guessed, considering he was told earlier about her family being detectives… except for her dad who ran Hope's Peak?

Kyoko's gaze hardened. She seemed a bit confused. "We have the same last name," she told him.

"Oh—Well—I—” Shuichi stammered, unsure of how to collect himself. Her surname, Kirigiri, wasn’t even a common one either. He couldn’t use the excuse of assuming it was a coincidence. The truth was he never put two and two together.

Kyoko let out a sigh, swiftly turning her head, an action that felt like she was shunning him. Which in fairness, was necessary. He was supposed to be a detective, not a dumbass.

However, she seemed upset talking about her father. He figured it was most likely because it was a well-known detail on campus that she got a lot of respect for, but here Shuichi was, not even knowing he was talking with the headmaster's daughter this whole time. 

But at the same time, Kyoko also didn't seem like the type to care about roles that aren't gained. Being someone important seemed more valued to her than being someone important’s daughter. At least, that's what Shuichi would think with how dedicated she was to her work. If that was the case, she wouldn’t care that he didn’t know her dad. So then, why was she bothered talking about her father?

God, Shuichi didn't know. Makoto was so much more accessible than Kyoko. He felt at ease and fine until hitting a brick wall all over again with her. 

They reached the entrance of campus, where Shuichi caught sight of the fence. There were a couple of buildings forming a campus on the other side, though they seemed much more new than their campus. Shuichi paused for a moment, staring at the whole other school beyond the fence.

"That's the reserve course," Kyoko said. She had noticed Shuichi's staring.

"Oh, I didn't know they were so close to us," Shuichi said, tilting his head up as if it would do anything. He was consumed by what life was like as a reserve course student. I should be there. Not here.

"Well, the headmaster would get sued by the student's parents if they didn't seem at least kind of included. It's an education policy," Kyoko explained.

"Oh." Shuichi took notice of how Kyoko called her father by his job title rather than as her dad, and she had done the same thing earlier before Shuichi knew he was her father. 

She had told him she lived with her grandfather, and not with her parents earlier. Shuichi had a feeling that meant she wasn't on good terms with her father, but he refused to ask about it. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. He related to the weird family dynamic. It wasn't easy to explain family history by answering the question: ‘Who do you live with?’

They rounded the corner, heading back further into the school. They were facing the dormitories that were nearest to the entrance, which held the graduating class. There was also a big garage that was connected to the parking lot behind the dormitories.

"That's the mechanic shop," Kyoko explained. "It's dusty in there."

"I'm not that interested in getting dirty anyway." Shuichi smiled awkwardly. Kyoko stared back. Shuichi quickly dropped his smile, letting out a cough. Kyoko's unwavering stare scared him sometimes.

"It's not like I'll force you in there," Kyoko said. Her face was blank. She seemed to have misinterpreted what he meant even though he thought it was straightforward. 

"Oh, sorry—”

"Don’t apologize,” Kyoko said. “It’s fine if you don’t want to go in. Come on.” 

Shuichi let out a sigh of relief. Kyoko trudged forward, and Shuichi could see the top of his own dormitory in the distance. But just then, he laid eyes on the thing he feared. 

It was a massive gray building with long windows. On the ceiling was a glass dome, with words displayed in blue, 'GYM'. 

Fuck me.

"Why?” Shuichi found himself muttering.

"It's a maze," Kyoko said. "And besides, I agreed to show you around. This is showing you around.” 

“Right…” Shuichi muttered at her very practical answer. He clenched his fists, ducking his head. He stared down at the concrete and trailing behind Kyoko. It was the last building. He could tell because they had made a full circle around campus being near the dorms again. He just needed to brace himself and wait it out.

Kyoko opened one of the glass doors, letting them inside. Shuichi glanced up, finding the next level on full display. He could see students working out, lifting weights, and jogging on treadmills.

On the main floor was an open basketball court with glass windows that didn't seem safe, while there were stairs leading down to some unknown location. He could see further down the hallway, where locker rooms and a sauna were. He saw students checking in with their school ID at the front desk, and others snacking at the health bar in the corner. It more felt as though he had walked into a high-class gym rather than a high school gym. 

"We can go down first." Kyoko began heading over towards the stairs. Shuichi followed, noticing how distinctively colder it was getting. The stairs were metal, a small railing following them down.

The lights seemed to be getting darker, and Shuichi could hear the faint clanging of something. They reached the bottom, which had a carpet floor. Besides them was a tennis court that had no one around. Small lockers lined the other wall, some closed. They reached the end of the hallway, where Shuichi caught sight of a black door ahead of them.

Kyoko opened it, a blast of cold air hitting Shuichi in the face. He stepped inside, finding a smaller baseball court. There was a taller figure swinging a shiny metal bat. He had on a white shirt and pants with thin black stripes, though no hat was present. 

The walls had dark green cushions, with weird machinery Shuichi didn't understand the first fact of. He averted his attention toward the boy, who had stopped swinging his bat and was looking at them. He had wind-blown red hair with pale blue eyes. He had countless piercings on his ears. There was even one on his lip.

"Hey, dude!" the guy called out to Kyoko. The last thing Shuichi expected anyone to address Kyoko by was ‘dude.’

"Hello," Kyoko greeted with far less enthusiasm. 

"What's with the umbrella? You look like Cel—”

Kyoko held up a hand to stop him. "I'm just showing a new student around, Leon."

"Alright, jeez," Leon huffed, running a gloved hand through his hair. Shuichi didn't want to imagine how dirty the boy was.

"This is Leon," Kyoko said, turning to face Shuichi. "Leon, this is Saihara Shuichi. He's a freshman."

"Did Makoto force you?" Leon asked. He laughed, leaning on his bat. 

“He didn't force me. He suggested it but I agreed because I thought that would be the right thing to do."

Her tone was colder and more sharp. Shuichi would think that she almost seemed offended. From everything he had microscopically picked up from her today, he wondered if she disliked being misunderstood. Her stand-offish, bizarre behavior was very noticeable and likely to be pointed out. He thought about how many times she must have been labeled as something unlikable when that wasn't the truth.

After all, he had done the same thing, hadn't he? He saw her quieter behavior and assumed it came from a place of distaste for others. When really, she was just more quiet and reserved because she just was. It wasn't that she disliked people, she was just okay with being in silence around them. She didn't work the same as others. And neither did Shuichi. And he could understand, with how many times he was labeled as an anti-social, emo freak when there was so much more dimension to him. Even now, he felt more of a connection forming between them even though it was nonverbal. 

"Alright, whatever." Leon held his hands up in surrender and laughed it off. He bent over and picked up another baseball. "Well, I’m going to keep practicing. See ya!”

“Sure.” Kyoko turned around and began walking away, Shuichi in tow. They exited the room together, and Kyoko led him upstairs.

“I mainly wanted to show you the basement because most people don't know it's there, but the rest of the gym is mostly easy to navigate, so we're about done. I'll just point out the basics on the main level."

"What's upstairs?" Shuichi asked. They reached the next flight of stairs, which was metal once again.

"You'll see," Kyoko answered. They headed up, walking past the people working out. On the top were multiple hallways. Some had massive doors that led to unknown places. Shuichi was beginning to shiver, feeling as though he was trapped inside an ice box. Kyoko didn't seem to mind, although she was wearing layers upon layers, including her parasol.

"There's the boxing court, other weight rooms, and small sports courts," Kyoko said, pointing at each one of them. "Upstairs is where the average gym equipment is. You just need to be a student to use the gym here. Both athletes and average students use it. That's it, really. There's also the pool next door, but you can look at that thing with your own eyes."

"True. But uh—thank you," Shuichi said.

"You're welcome." Kyoko’s eyes rested on him for a moment longer before her head turned away. 

“Hopefully, this wasn’t a huge waste of your time,” Shuichi said nervously as they walked toward the exit. He really hoped his fear wasn’t true. 

Kyoko shook her head. “It wasn’t that bad. It's not every day I get to explain this place. In the meantime, how about we get out of here?” 

“R—right. I don’t want to be here anymore.” 

“Me neither. I only come here early in the morning or late at night. It’s terrible during the day.” Kyoko vaguely gestured around them, referring to the amount of sound and activity around them.

Yep. He was right. She was physically active. He knew it. Although, that just gave him one more reason to be afraid of her.

A small smile had spread across her face. Strangely, a sense of hope overtook his worry upon seeing the faintest movement of joy in Kyoko’s face. 

Kyoko was, by all means, intimidating. However, in a strange way, they were similar to one another. Maybe not to all their extent; there were many things about Kyoko Shuichi wished he could be like. She was cool, calm, collected, and incredibly dedicated.

He wanted to envision a reality where there could be some kind of relation between them. He couldn't picture it, but he could see a reality where a friendship between them was possible. It would be nice to have an older friend in his profession and school that he could rely on to show him the basics.

Above all, though, he did get a better understanding of her. She wasn't split away and lacked emotions. She was attentive, curious about others, and willing to socialize even if it took a bit of effort.

Shuichi thought the most unexpected thing he learned today was that Kyoko, who was smart, confident, and high-achieving, needed about as much patience as he needed, too. There was a connection there. He might have to work for it, though.

Chapter Text

Sahka, Russia

13/8/23

16:42

Kyoko's heavy combat boots tapped against the wet pavement of the sidewalk. She walked through the outer edges of the city in the suburbs. Heavy store bags weighed down her fingers, and the ends of her long jacket brushed against the back of her calves.

Her hands were killing her that day. She should've driven instead of walked. Her hands were far too tender to carry bags all the way home. She shifted the handles of the paper bags from her fingers to her forearm to give herself a break from the pain. She sighed with the eased tension and continued her walk through her neighborhood while her left arm adorned the bags and pressed closely to her midsection.

The air was moist from having rained an hour ago. It was slightly foggy. However, the visibility rate was much higher than it was in winter, but that was expected from the city's variation in temperature. It was 50 degrees in late August but could plummet to -50 in winter.

She almost wished she got to go home in winter rather than summer. She missed the extremity of her home's cold weather. The way the cold would seep so deep into her bones and settle there like an embrace; how she could lose feeling in her hands if she took her gloves off for too long. And how ice would form on her eyelashes when she took trips to the store like this.

Pine cones were littered across the sidewalk. They crunched and split in half underneath her boots. Their source was the pine trees that stood tall above her. She counted the trees to the right of the sidewalk, opposite the empty road. One, then two, then three, then four, until an opening in the row emerged. She turned right, going off the pavement, onto the dying grass, and into the gap.

The back of her grandfather's home, which had only been her home for seven years, was a few yards away. She approached the backyard as a shortcut. It was easier than winding around the street and other houses just to get to the front door.

The firm grass crunched underneath the heavy soles of her boots as she crossed her backyard. Her grandfather's home was made of dark wood. Like all buildings in the Russian Far East, it had thick cement stilts that held it off the ground because the home's heating would melt the permafrost without the gap. The home was two stories and had a small tool shed off to the side. 

"We don't do half-bad with my career," her grandfather's voice echoed through her head from when they had dinner together after she moved in with him. "They don't have many guys doing what I do here. And what they do have, I'm the most experienced of them."

Kyoko walked around the side of the house, knowing that her grandfather never kept the backdoor unlocked. He would blow a gasket if she unlocked the backdoor for herself.

Using her arm that wasn't occupied by bags, she reached her hand into one of her jacket pockets for her house key as she climbed the many steps to her front door.

She fumbled while trying to wrap her fingers around the small, thin key. The joints of her fingers resisted and stung as she moved them. She winced in pain and decided to use her pointer finger to edge the key into the palm of her hand to pull it out.

Once she held it out in front of her, Kyoko used her other hand to hold up the key as she pushed it into the small slot in the front door. She put either side of her palms on each side of the key, as if she was paused while clapping, and turned the key sideways, clicking the door unlocked.

Once she was free to get inside, she used the same motion to pull the key out and back into one of her palms.

Kyoko silently stepped inside. She wiped her wet boots on the mat, locked the door, kicked off her shoes, placed them neatly to the side, next to her grandfather's, hung her jacket, and placed her house key on the dish next to the door.

Her grandfather's home was much warmer than outside, and the smell of brewing coffee wafted through the house. The smell seeped so deep into the architecture that the wood was engraved with it.

The floorboards creaked with each step Kyoko took to the kitchen. She never felt the need to announce her presence to her grandfather because the house did it for her.

A few framed pictures hung on the side of the staircase to her right. There were only a few scattered artworks that her grandfather had found interesting, never any framed photos of family.

Underneath the staircase was a door that led to her grandfather's office. It hung open, indicating the office was vacant. Across from the door was an opening that led to the kitchen. Straight ahead, at the end of the hallway, led to the den.

Her grandfather, she knew, was home. He usually wasn't, though. Either working or traveling elsewhere for work, leaving her to herself for days, sometimes weeks. The lower rates of police force in Yakutsk came from the lower crime rates. 

"Most of the time what they have me do is look into the bodies that froze to death to make sure it was just an accident and not caused by another party. And ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it was an accident," her grandfather told her once.

As a result, her grandfather would travel to cases rather than wait for them to come to him. With his long line of experience and hefty accomplishments in his work, he was often notified by surrounding cities and towns when more complex cases arose that needed his assistance. 

As Kyoko walked down the hallway, she heard her grandfather's pedantic voice from the kitchen. She assumed he was on the kitchen phone, but that was confirmed false when she heard hums of agreement from others in the room. She crept closer in curiosity. Rarely did her grandfather have company over. 

She walked underneath the small framed artwork on the staircase until she stood at the kitchen doorway. The balls of her feet placed on the hallway floorboards, and her toes on the cool kitchen tile.

Her grandfather turned his head to look at her from where he sat at the round kitchen table across the room, along with three other faces that sat with him. A younger man, a woman, and a middle-aged man. Kyoko accidentally tensed and bit the inside of her bottom lip when the faces sparked recognition.

"You're finally home, I see," her grandfather acknowledged.

Kyoko looked down at her arm with the bags. She lifted it for him to notice. "I picked up bread from the grocery like you asked."

Her feet swiftly moved her from the doorway to the kitchen counter, seeking distraction. She quickly busied herself with setting the bags down on the table. As she stepped fully into the room, the kitchen tiles radiated heat through her socks. It came from the warm water going through the pipes beneath them.

  She unloaded the bag's contents into their correct spaces in the kitchen. She opened the fridge door, squatted to be level with it due to the freezer being on top, and started placing Greek yogurt cups onto the shelves.

From behind the fridge door, her grandfather spoke. "I decided to invite some guests over. You remember Vlad, Azar, and Karp, correct? They're old friends." 

She did. She knew that they were the faces sitting at the table. And that she hadn't seen them in years. Not since they had recovered.

"You're wicked tall now," the woman commented. "A full-grown adult."

Kyoko kept her eyes trained on the fridge. "Same height as you, I'm sure."

"Last time I saw you, you were about here."

Kyoko didn't look but assumed the woman estimated Kyoko's previous height between the palm of her hand and the floor. From the laughter, Kyoko guessed the woman held her hand drastically lower to the floor. Even her solemn grandfather murmured a chuckle. 

The middle-aged man slapped his hand against the table three times. "I remember!" he exclaimed in a gravelly low voice.

Kyoko kept her head low and swiftly shifted to placing apples into the fruit bowl, sharply keeping her eyes on her task and away from the table. Her hands moved robotically, ignoring the stinging pain from her joints, as she transferred apples from bag to bowl.

"Once you're done, why don't you sit down and join us?" her grandfather asked. 

Kyoko shook her head. "I should go up to my room and keep packing. I don't want to forget something here when I go back to school," she dismissed.

"You have plenty of time left in the day to do that. You can spare some of your time, can't you?" 

Her grandfather had a straight and leveled voice for an older man. He had a way of controlling his tone that she had yet to completely master. He knew how to intimidate. He talked to criminals often, after all. And his voice emitted a stricter tone. One that let Kyoko know that the invite to join them was never a question.

Kyoko paused her task of organizing the fruit bowl. She placed the palms of her hands against the counter. She quietly sighed and stood still for a moment, scouring her mind for more excuses. There were not many. She did not have much to do in the final month of summer before she went back to Hope's Peak.

"Your grandpa told us you're going to Hope's Peak now," the middle-aged man with the gruff voice muttered. "Congrats, kid."

Kyoko didn't respond. She considered her options and accepted compliance. She glanced over at the table again. Her grandfather's piercing eyes stared at her expectantly through his glasses. Get over here, his stare demanded. You're being rude. Behave.

The other three stared at her expectantly as well. They were much more welcoming than her grandfather, but her gut tightened when she looked at them. She remembered them. But not like this. Not how they looked now.

Kyoko swallowed a lump in her throat, lowered her head, and approached the kitchen table. Her grandfather had pulled out the nice spare chairs for the guests. He kept the nicer chairs away in case they ever had company. They were old but plush and not used much.

Kyoko sat in the rickety wooden chair that was always assigned to her at the kitchen table.

"It's nice to see you again," the younger man said. He sat across the table from her and gave her a nod. She looked up at him. His face was easier to view than the others. It was only older than the last time she saw him.

Karp was just as unintimidating as she remembered him being. He had a youthful, agreeable face. His jaw was stronger and sharper than the last time she saw him. His cheeks were a little narrower, and he looked capable of at least growing stubble, unlike when she last saw him. 

But he was still skinny and had poorly defined muscles. He was as lanky as a pencil and had the body of a scholar, not a fighter.

"You too." She politely nodded at him.

Instead of keeping his hair only an inch or two past his scalp like when he was younger, Karp grew his silver hair out. He haphazardly combed it back away from his face, not using a gel, which made it stick out and disobey. He constantly fidgeted and brushed spare strands away from his face.

Her grandfather put a hand on her shoulder. "She's eighteen now. She'll be nineteen in the fall," he told them.

"You drinking beer yet?" Vlad asked, who sat next to Karp and was twice his age. He was a large traditional Russian man. He had a bald head and thick, scraggly, unkempt dark eyebrows. He had tattoos on his chest, barely visible through the low line of his shirt collar. And he was a balanced mix of fat and muscle. His biceps were large and defined, and he was tall.

Her grandfather sent him a glare, and Vlad raised his arms in surrender. "Was just wonderin'." He put his hands back down on the table, making the surface shake. His small, beady eyes went back to Kyoko. He evaluated her before saying, "I see you cover 'em up." 

Kyoko looked at him, not registering.

"Your battle scars." He nodded to Kyoko's hands, which were placed neatly on the table. Her studded gloves kept her hands hidden. She lowered them from their sight and into her lap.

She and Vlad were opposite to one another. As he mentioned, she covered her scarring while Vlad wore a loose-fitted white tank top that showed the skin of his large, muscular arms. His biceps and forearms were overtaken in large splotches and lines of folded and scarred skin from where fire had scathed them. Some of the scarring traveled up his neck and onto the sides of his face.

"I, um…" Kyoko struggled to explain in a way that would be non-offensive. She was aware she had suffered much less than others at the table.

"Don't like getting stares?" the woman finished for her. 

Kyoko clenched her jaw. She meekly looked up at Azar.

The woman sat to Kyoko's right. The back of her chair faced the wall, and she sat underneath the kitchen window. The censored sunlight covered by the clouds peeked through the window and made her dark glossy hair shine.

Her black hair fell down her shoulder to the right, but the left was partially bald, overtaken by scarring, and had small tufts of hair that managed to grow back. What remained of the cartilage of her ear was melted into the side of her head. The eyelid of her left eye folded over itself and kept the eye narrow. Kyoko was sure she was blind in that eye. And she was unable to close her lips fully. The left side of her face had a small gap where part of her upper lip was missing, flesh burned off, and now a few of her top row of teeth and gums were permanently on display through the small hole.

She kept her left arm closely tucked to her chest. Her sleeve covered most of her arm, but her exposed wrist was thin and overtaken with discoloration from burns. Her hand was boney and didn’t look capable of much movement.

"I get it," she said with a shrug. "People are judgemental."

"Just kick their asses," Vlad declared. 

"Watch your language," her grandfather told him.

Vlad's head went back as he let out an uproarious laugh. "I forget how modest you are, Fuhito," he chuckled while shaking his finger at him.

"Come on. It's his house, man," Karp told him, but he was smiling.

Vlad leaned closer to Fuhito. "You're prolly raising that kid too strict," he told him in his low, gravelly voice, and he pointed a large finger at Kyoko. "Telling her that bible stuff 'n all that, aren't ya?"

Vlad's fingers and hands were calloused heavily. He was a man of physical labor. Her grandfather—who was very capable due to his determination—still fell short sometimes on heavy lifting with his older age and smaller frame, only 5'8. Vlad was a helping hand for larger household necessities and projects, like moving the couch with Kyoko or bringing bags of heavy soil around back.

Vlad was an old friend of Fuhito's. Years ago, they crossed paths in town and recognized each other in the brief instances their lines of work as a firefighter and detective overcrossed. Vlad wasn't the type of man her loner of a grandfather would seem to get along with, but he was someone to talk to every once in a while. They got along; they had beers and chatted, and they both rooted for the same sports teams—Vlad much more passionately than Fuhito.

After Kyoko moved in, she became used to seeing the wall of a man show up to help with a labor project in the house with Fuhito or watch the game with him. Back when her grandfather still could drink heavier, the two of them went to the bar together to catch up. When Kyoko was a younger girl, Fuhito had Vlad educate her on the ins and outs of fire safety.

In the confusion that swarmed and raged through her life when she first moved to a whole new continent to live with her grandfather, Vlad was one of the few familiar faces in town. He was someone she greeted when she ran into him in stores. He was someone to ask for directions when she got turned around in the city. And he was someone whose phone she could borrow when she wandered too far that her grandfather needed to pick her up in his truck.

However, Kyoko had not seen Vlad in five years. Her grandfather had. But she had continued with her life in self-isolation. And eventually, she went to Hope's Peak Academy. He looked about the same as before. The aging lines on his face were deeper and more defined. And the scarring on his arms was unfamiliar and unseen by Kyoko until now. But he was about the same.

Fuhito nodded indifferently and unfazed at his old friend. "I'm raising her modestly." He turned to look at her. And Kyoko nodded in agreement for him.

She sent him a micro-expression that she knew he wouldn't miss. What's happening? she questioned. Why are they here? Her grandfather's worn lips spread into a thin line underneath his graying beard. 

"I wanted to invite some old friends over while you were here. It would be good to get you reacquainted with your past," he told her.

Not when it was a past she did not ask to revisit, Kyoko thought. Her eyes flickered around the table. Nobody said anything. Kyoko's mind state seemed to be known by the table. 

But to break the silence, she said, "I see."

Despite her attempt at disguise, Azar seemed to notice and understand.

"It's weird to be back here," she addressed the whole table but looked at Kyoko. "I went back home to recover after it happened and hadn't been back since." Azar had Iranian descent, having a tint of light brown in her skin, but grew up in Australia before coming to Russia. "I didn't think I could until now. It's tough. Revisiting the past."

Her voice had an airy undertone. The hole in the side of her face gave her a minor lisp from being unable to connect her lips fully to enunciate the letters B and P. And when she inhaled and exhaled through her mouth as she spoke, air audibly and softly whistled past the hole.

"I went away for a bit, too," Karp commented. He had his hand wrapped around a glass of water set out for him on the table. He had no scarring relating to fire on his body, but he was there. And he was affected in his own way. "Just to a different city. I had to clear my mind. Then I decided to just move, leave this place behind, you know. Start anew." 

Kyoko remembered when Fuhito told her Karp left. She was still in the hospital then. She wasn't sad about him leaving, but it added to her already existing distraught mind that, once again, every simple comfort that made up basic life was crumbling away at the foundations. And she had no say in the matter. She could only watch as what she hoped would be a quiet life molded into the byproduct of the town's tragedy.

While working on the aftermath of cases, Karp was one of the many faces Fuhito would see around the unit office. Their fields of work didn't cross often enough for them to collaborate, but they ran into each other quite a bit when Karp was fresh meat in the workforce. 

The coffee machine was by the front, and because of that, Fuhito would often see Karp rush in nearly late in the morning. He would point out to Karp the toothpaste stains on his shirt, or his untied shoelaces, or crumbs and smudges from breakfast on the corner of his lips so Karp wouldn't make a fool of himself.

As distant as Fuhito was, he still remembered what being a young man was like. When he could tell Karp needed it, he gave him advice for staying in their harsher lines of work. And he also taught him the basic things. Once, he taught Karp how to tie a tie for a meeting.

Karp was one of the many faces her grandfather had gotten to know well. And Kyoko had seen him, too. When her grandfather brought her into the office, if Karp was there, he would slip her a piece of candy in his pocket. She saw him as a pool noodle of a boy despite him being older than him.

But now he was older. And so was Kyoko, and Vlad, and Azar. And they were different beyond their age. They were all there at the scene when it all happened. Kyoko's hands, Vlad's arms, Azar's face, Karp's youth. All of it was changed.

A burning swell pushed at the back of Kyoko's throat. Her head cascaded waves of thoughts, memories, pictures. Too many images and recollections of that night that she had swept away and put neatly inside boxes and under shelves that she wouldn't have to see. In her head, she saw what they each looked like before.

The boy, now man, that sat across from her, Karp Elin, five years ago, was the newest member of the Bomb Squad. He was twenty-three and had youthful optimism. He wanted to help people in the geeky way he knew how. And that was why he did what he did. 

While he had some experience on the field, Karp had never responded to a call of such large proportions before that night in December. The childish young spark in his eye had dulled since he had lost friends, boys his age in the police force, to that fire. And what he had heard happened to his older semi-co-worker's granddaughter.

Kyoko's memory was so faded when she tried to recall that entire week after the fire, but she remembered Karp's face appearing in a snapshot from her mind in the hospital. He never knew her well, but he stood in the doorway of her hospital room with eye bags, dull eyes, messy hair, and so much grief. Kyoko was half-positive that he was the one who left the blue elephant stuffed animal by her bedside.

Vlad Lapin was a 37-year-old firefighter, not yet scarred or retired in 2018. He was a first responder. Kyoko briefly recalled the rush of firefighters in hefty yellow suits streaming by her into the building like a small-sized stampede because they knew people were still in there. And he was one of them in those yellow suits.

He rushed inside that building without knowing if anyone was still alive or not. He was one of the stories Kyoko read over and over in the hospital as news reports filed in. He stood on the second story, scanning the perimeter, clearing rooms for any signs of life as the blazing fire raged around him, crumbling the walls and infrastructure. Without expecting it, the fire made an electrical wire explode inside a wall. The miniature explosion went straight toward him. He used his arms to shield his head and body.

And Azar Khari was what Kyoko wanted to be when she was younger. She was a detective. She was 34 years old and conducting an investigation on a tip before anything went wrong. She was on the highest story when the explosion went off in the basement, killing everyone down there instantly, and setting the building ablaze. She got trapped when the fire spread to the stairwell faster than she could get out. 

And Kyoko saw herself five years ago. Newly fourteen years old. Quiet but hopeful, determined, and optimistic. And screaming and crying and kicking as she was dragged away from the burning debris. Her hands, scolding. Smoke clouds engulfed the night sky with an ugly dark gray in the cruelest way possible. No solace could be taken from the stars by anyone. Instead, the anguish of that night embodied itself into those heavy smoke clouds, a dome of grief over everyone's heads.

The fire roaring and raging so loud between the screeching sirens and screaming and crying and death. Glass, piping, and wires exploding. Strings of skin hanging like melted wax off the bloodied flesh of Kyoko’s hands. And her friend's body, Yui, still inside, being swallowed by those flames.

Kyoko's nose and cheeks tingled as she sat at that table with her grandfather and those three recollections of the past. She crammed those memories down as far back as she could. She forced herself into an indifferent dullness to make her feel nothing. She wanted a catharsis to wipe away the smudges and stains of grief before it metastasized again.

She stabled herself and grabbed a tether back into the present. She focused on the weight of the chair beneath her, the way the legs creaked when she moved. She focused on the dull gray-white drywall. On the smell of brewed coffee. The heat emitting from the floor beneath her feet. Her hands in her lap. She was here, she was present, she was no longer there. It was no longer December of 2018.

"I retired back a bit ago," Vlad said, lost in thought. "But when the doctor cleared me to go back to the job, I couldn't go into those buildings no more. I stood outside with the hoses. It was embarrassing. You still doing what you're doing?" he asked Karp.

He nodded. "Never wanted to stop. But it certainly changed things. But you know..." he trailed off. He brushed another few strands of hair out of his face as he stole a quick glance at Kyoko. With a sharp inhale, he changed the subject. "So you're going to Hope's Peak now?" he asked her. "How's that been going?" 

"Yeah, heard you're a detective now," Vlad added. "You any good?"

Kyoko nodded. "It's been going fine. I'm well accustomed there. And I've adjusted well to the requirements," Kyoko gave a brief layout of an answer. She viewed the conversation as a formal presentation when the topic switched to her, something she had to manage, perform, and present. That allowed her to be emotionally checked out.

"Have you done any cases?" 

Kyoko's attention was brought to the other side of the table where Azar sat. She stared at her in curiosity with one gold eye and one faded eye.

Kyoko nodded. "I've done apprentice work. I have since I was fifteen, actually."

Fuhito smiled with pride while the other two men gaped.

"Fifteen?" Karp repeated, bewildered.

Kyoko shrugged. Internally, small harmless hooks pulled at the corners of her lips, prying for her to smile, but she held them at bay. She bore an indifferent mask. "I did some minor shadowing then. Now, my apprenticeship involves more participation and contribution on my part. I've done a lot lately, thanks to Hope's Peak's curriculum and guidelines. The school gives me a lot of opportunities."

Fuhito crossed his arms, slightly miffed at the small praise for the school. The two had overcome their differences about her running away to attend it many months ago, but he had never changed his mind on his opinion of it. However, for both of their sakes, he didn't comment.

Vlad huffed in amusement while Karp leaned back and crossed his arms, impressed.

"She's done quite well," Fuhito added. "She's a natural. She's exceeded a multitude of expectations."

Vlad tapped Fuhito's shoulder and addressed Kyoko, "Your pops told us he's taught you all he's known. Good for you, kid. You're learning from the best."

"Bravo," Azar murmured. Her natural dialect was smooth and slow. "Those are quite the achievements for someone so young. You've really grown up, haven't you?" she said as if it were a realization.

Kyoko tilted her head, unsure of the notion. She had. She knew she had. But the concept was part of a sealed way enclosure in her mind. It was nature that she'd age, but to avoid the loom of future expectations, she had adapted to viewing her youth as a state of being rather than fleeting. She had always busied herself with looking forward that she forgot to look back and trace her steps.

"I suppose so," she said after a moment.

Fuhito leaned closer to Kyoko, seemingly satisfied. "For your information, Karp and Azar are in town for a little bit. Karp's visiting family and Azar will be around. So there will be plenty of opportunities to chat. If you still need to, you may resume packing if you like."

Kyoko nodded and gratefully took the permission to leave. She pushed the chair backward from the table, stood up, and pushed the chair in. She nodded to them.

"It was good to see you," she half-lied.

It was difficult, and it was relieving. It answered unknown questions about where they had been. And it was hard to have to remember. But they were still good people, kind enough to come back to visit.

The three of them gave various phrases of parting. Vlad gave her a salute of a wave. Karp said, "Hope to see you later," with a smile, and Azar nodded.

"I look forward to seeing you around then."

Not wanting to linger any longer, she quickly took leave out the kitchen opening, down the hall, up the creaky steps. The voices of the adults talking with one another muddied into a muffled background track as Kyoko made her way deeper into the house.

Her eyes watched the material of the dark green carpet pass by under her feet as she treaded to her room. She welcomed the much-needed mental break. 

She needed a moment to outlet her grief.

II

Sakha, Russia

15/8/23

10:34

Kyoko grabbed the ends of both sleeves of her purple leather jacket laid out before her on her bed. Her hands did not itch or ache. Today, she could be productive. 

She placed both arms of the jacket opposite of each other. She folded the jacket in half, making the collar touch the bottom. Then, she folded it in half again, this time along the side, creating a smaller square of purple leather.

When she was done, she tucked her favorite jacket into her suitcase sprawled open on the foot of the bed. 

In the second half of her childhood, spent raised by her grandfather, he was quick to ensure that she knew one of the many important rules of his home was making her bed. To test that she tucked her bed sheets tight enough, he would drop a quarter onto the comforter to see if it would bounce. If it didn't, she had to do it all over again. 

"It's good for you," he would tell her when insisting on the trivial rule. "It gives you a sense of order. Clears your mind."

Now, it was ingrained into her. Her half-childhood bed's gray wooly comforter was tucked tightly between the mattress and the wooden frame. 

That morning, when she lifted the blinds of the window beside her bed, she only crept them open a fraction. Later on, she realized her mistake and fully opened them. As she packed, her windows were still fogged over, a misty light gray obscuring her vision out the window.

Her bed, which she stood in front of, was tucked into the back corner of her room. Across from the bed, against the opposite wall, was her light wooden dresser. Its drawers hung open as she moved between it and the bed, packing her clothing into her suitcase. 

The door to the bedroom was on the same wall as the dresser, just on the opposite side. Behind her, she heard a knock on the door before the knob turned, and the door creaked open. She didn't bother to turn around, already knowing who it was, and continued her task.

"Still packing, I see," Fuhito commented from the doorway.

"Mhm," Kyoko responded in a hum. "Don't want to overstay my welcome."

Between the two of them, they did not joke. At least, not in a way where they made each other giggle and smile after cracking a cheesy punchline. Kyoko had long ago adopted her grandfather's formal sense of humor. 

They both made untrue comments as a poke at humor but did not display sarcasm in their tones. Very often, Kyoko caught her friends off guard with their lack of understanding of her sense of humor. They never picked up her sarcasm unless she put it into her tone, which she never did.

Between her and her grandfather, they had to be smart enough to know that's not what the other meant. Only Celestia had caught onto identifying this.

"Of course, you found a way to make telling jokes a matter of intellect," she said once between giggles. She was one of the few people who found Kyoko genuinely funny. 

Fuhito and Kyoko both knew there was no welcome that Kyoko could overstay. No matter how strict her grandfather could be, no matter how upset he could get with her for breaking his conservative moral code, he wouldn't close his door on her. Not after he had opened it for the first time seven years ago.

Fuhito brought a calloused hand to his face, his thumb and pointer finger raised, and scratched his forehead as he smirked before his hand moved down to stroke his thin beard.

"What time is your flight back to Japan again?" he asked. 

Kyoko stopped folding clothes to think. "Eleven in the morning. Three days from now," she confirmed to herself before returning to her task.

He nodded despite knowing the second part. He slid his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. "Aside from packing, are there any other loose ties to take care of before you go?"

"One," Kyoko murmured. "I just have an errand to run after this. Otherwise, I'm set."

"Do you need anything from me?" He leaned a shoulder against the doorway.

"No. Thank you, though. I'll be fine on my own from here." She delicately slid a blouse into her navy suitcase. It went on top of a pair of dark gray pants.

She walked away from her suitcase, and to her dresser, looking for more clothes to pull out inside the drawers to transfer to her bag.

"Your cousin got accepted into university, by the way," Fuhito commented from behind her. 

"That's nice." 

It wasn't uncommon for her grandfather to provide her with random updates about his side of the family despite her not being close with them. He often brought up details that did not matter in an attempt to make casual conversation.

She was aware that she unfortunately got that from him. Both of them did not know how to start or feed conversations if they were unrelated to their work. So they both brought up mundane ideas that crossed their minds, no matter how out of context they were.

"Maybe you could show him around town," her grandfather added.

"Hm?" She stopped what she was doing to turn around and look at him.

"In Tokyo. Remember?" His bushy eyebrows furrowed, going underneath the gray lens of his glasses. "I told you he applied to the university there last month." 

"Who?" she asked.

Fuhito sighed. "Kenta."

Kyoko looked off to the side. She studied where her bedroom floor met her wall before her recollection caught up to her. "Oh," she said, recalling the conversation. "Right." She went back to placing clothing into her travel bag.

"I told Anya you could help settle him in. She's nervous about her oldest moving out so far away. The only thing soothing her mind is him having family there."

Anya was her worry-filled aunt, who lived an hour or two away from them. Because of her, Kyoko had five cousins, all boys. She didn't mind her extended family. Her grandfather would take her to visit them a few times a year throughout Kyoko's teenage years. Especially, during the holidays.

Her cousins were annoying, unintelligent, and afraid of Kyoko, but it was fun to play snow rugby with them growing up. She didn't know every rule, but it was entertaining to tackle one of the pipsqueaks, who had yet to get their growth spurt and put them into a headlock on the ground, tight enough that they couldn't breathe.

By the time Kyoko was fifteen, and Kenta was thirteen and a half— who was the oldest of the four boys, making the rest of them younger than that—Kyoko's kumbaya aunt called off Kyoko getting to play rough with her little cousins, deciding she was too big.

Memories of snow rugby games served as a reminder of Kyoko's violent and harsh tendencies when she was younger. It was proof of how far she had come from her aggressive and angry early teenage years.

Kyoko hadn't seen her aunt and cousins since the last holidays they had before she went to Hope’s Peak. That was nearly two years ago. She wasn't sure what Kenta or any of his brothers looked like now.

"You think you could keep an eye out for him?" Fuhito asked.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" she responded.

"Good. Families got to look out for one another." They both knew that very well after Jin.

"I moved to Japan completely on my own," Kyoko commented, slightly bragging.

"That's because you were raised by me, not your aunt." Fuhito stood up straight from the doorway and adjusted his glasses on his nose. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to it. Good luck with your errand. Don't stay out too late. I'll make shredded beef for dinner."

"Alright," she said. 

With that, Fuhito closed her bedroom door.

III

 Ignorance can be a self-medicating mental band-aid. It's a self-blinding tool. It can shield a guilty conscience. That's why ignorance is bliss, and Kyoko cannot remember much of December five years ago.

All around her, scattered on the city sidewalks were people in lightweight coats, each headed in their own direction, each with places to be. And Kyoko had somewhere she needed to be, too.

Her eyes were straight forward, her hands tucked into her pockets, and she weaved and maneuvered around people as she zipped through the sidewalk.

Cars drove by down the road, the tires scratching against the pavement. She and other pedestrians walked underneath large metal piping that extended around the city. In winter, it got too cold to have piping underneath the ground. They would freeze and be unable to work. So the pipes could be seen overhead, running in complex patterns above them, looking like a futuristic pipeline. 

A sharp wind cut through the city, giving the illusion that the temperature was colder than it was. Kyoko's trench coat whipped around her legs, carried by the wind.

A few weeks ago, when it had gotten chilly, she pulled the jacket out of the mudroom closet to wear again. She removed the fur vest layer she wore underneath the jacket in winter. It wasn't cold enough to call for the extra layer, and unfortunately for Kyoko, she wouldn't be home long enough to need it.

In a few days, she would be boarding the downtown train to the nearest airport in Sakha and flying out of Russia and to Japan. Her tickets were bought, her bags were mostly packed, and her plans had been made: A late-night phone call confirming that Celestia would meet her at the Haneda Airport. Her flight from France would arrive two hours after Kyoko's. She would camp out until it did. Then, they would travel back to the academy together.

Kyoko didn't often go into the city. It was the country's capital, making it packed enough as is. But one benefit that came from living in one of the coldest habitable parts of the world was that for a capital city, Yakutsk wasn't as populated. It was thicker in population compared to other cities of Sakha, but most people couldn't handle the harsh weather conditions of the far North region of Russia.

But despite that, Kyoko preferred further solitude than a city could provide her. She liked the sleepier suburbs her grandfather lived in. She liked the population of tall pine trees, and the woods, the fewer people, the more open space. The more space she physically had, the more space she had to think. The more she could think, the more she could process. Because she was constantly processing. She was absorbing, recollecting, and decoding. 

She worked through everything she could. Every problem needed solving, needed understanding, and needed to be comprehended.

If there's one line per foot of sidewalk, how many lines separating sidewalk squares are on this block? Could she decipher how many feet extended before her to the corner thrift shop?

If the child that ran by her sped up, he could disappear into the crowd faster than his mother could stop him. He would be in a much more vulnerable position to be taken. And if he was with the wrong people, who always seemed to have the best luck, he would be taken. Then, Kyoko knew the first 24 hours would be vital.

If the light-haired man in front of her stayed behind the woman ahead of him after she'd made four right turns, would he be following her? The answer, she knew, would be yes.

If Kyoko's mind continued racing, would she get lost like she did when she was a child? Would she just keep walking? Maybe she could keep walking down this stretch of sidewalk. She could walk until she got to the edge of the city. She could walk until nightfall. Until she was back in the suburbs. Until she was in the woods. And then, who knows where she could go?

She could simply not stop walking and go straight into the sun. Maybe then, she would find all the answers to everything she had ever speculated. 

How long would it take humans to evolve beyond the current anatomy of the spine to cause less back pain? 

What natural event causes one side of the sky to be dark gray with clouds and the other bright and sunny? 

What caused the sole of Kyoko's boot to snap off that day in 7th grade when she got off the bus? 

Why does the sun set sooner in winter anyway? 

Why are there so many years to live? Why do they fly by so fast? 

Why does cancer seem to kill only the best of people? 

Is it because it's as cruel as fathers who leave behind children when a mother dies? 

Is it because it's as evil as the people who would rig a building with explosives after making an anonymous tip to the police?

And why could Kyoko remember the exact rhyme, tempo, and pitch of Yui's laughter but hardly recall the buzz of her vocal chords? 

She could just barely place the soft, gentle, thoughtful dialect that Yui's voice strung its words. But she couldn't remember what her voice sounded like.

She couldn’t remember that. But she at least remembered roses in vitro, a past Christmas present. And the object bumped against her leg from inside her pocket as she walked. 

Her destination was downtown, not far from where she was. 

If she knew the number of feet of sidewalk to the graveyard, would she be able to calculate how long it would take her to get there? She didn't bring a calculator.

Her inner dialogue kept racing. Her mind kept chasing itself in circles like a dog chasing its tail. It was a common occurrence when her brain was trying to protect itself. This walk from block to block was one she was familiar with. One she only went on to go to the graveyard.

Expanding her social pallet at the academy the past year taught her that it was enjoyable to speak her random thoughts to an ear that would listen. It was a cleanse, a relief for herself. Like her grandfather, she could release her mind's hold on the mundane things. She could clear space for the important things.

For one of the very few times in her life, she wished she had someone beside her. She could verbally purge the spiral of her entrapped mind.

If she were walking with someone, she would turn to them, break the silence, and ask, "Did you know they use drills to bury people when the ground gets too solid from the cold?" Albeit, a large portion of people who lived there would know that, but not all. Either way, it was a conversation prompt.

But Kyoko walked by herself. She asked herself questions she could not answer and recited facts that ideas or sites along the way made her recall. 

The wind picked up again. It was sharp and cold. The ends of Kyoko's jacket were picked up by the breeze, flapping behind her. Her bangs whipped against her eyelids. In this small corner of town, the smell of smoke wafted through the gray, cloudy air. 

She took a right at the end of the block, and her destination was in sight. Up ahead, in its own pocket, were the front gates to the graveyard. 

The glass casing of the vitro steadily bumped against her thigh as she continued down the block. A few people were scattered around. Not many, though. That small corner of the city only had a tobacco shop and a flower store, with its dead-end being the cemetery. 

Two men, each on separate sides of the street, smoked a cigarette outside a shop. Their smokey exhales could almost pass as the gray clouds of breath that came from anyone in the cold air. One man wore a blue blazer. He was clean-shaven, with misty yellow eyes and white hair like Kyoko's. The man stared solemnly ahead.

The other man wore a beaten jacket and beanie. He had a shadow of whiskers on his face. His eye bags were deep. His gloves were fingerless. He scanned across the street with tired eyes. His eyes were a reflection of the dull, solemn blanket draped over that part of the city.

Up ahead, by the graveyard entrance, a woman and man walked together, speed-walking. One of them held a bundle of a toddler in a large pink winter jacket, gloves, and a hat. The other parent held a young boy's hand. In the father's unoccupied hand, he held shopping bags. In the mother's, just-bought white lilies.

As they hurried down the sidewalk to their next destination, they passed by a woman who stood outside the graveyard. Her back turned to Kyoko as she looked up at the tall dark gray fence. She had long dark hair that went a little past her shoulders and over her dark maroon peacoat.

She stared blankly, unmoving as if she was as dead as the residents of the cemetery. An unmoving figure, as if stuck in place. The whole world continuing around her while she stayed there. 

As Kyoko approached the entrance of the graveyard, she stared at the back of the woman's head, drawn to her. She was reminded of someone.

The woman, who was a few yards away from Kyoko's approach, had her left arm bent at the elbow, raised, and tucked closely to her chest. Kyoko slowed her pace. 

She cautiously approached the woman's right. She kept a safe distance a few feet away but lurked to catch a view of the person's face. When she came into view of her side profile, she observed light brown tinted skin, a golden eye, and some marks of light discoloration on the other side of her face barely visible from her side profile.

Her stare signified the traces of being lost in thought. Her facial expression was blank. She, like Kyoko, was configuring something in her head. Maybe calculating, decoding, wondering, debating; Kyoko wasn't sure. But Kyoko admired the strong, confident comportment of a detective anytime she saw it.

"Hello," she tentatively greeted.

Azar turned her head to face Kyoko, taken out of her trance. Her one good eye widened while the other one mimicked a fraction of the movement. Her eyebrow furrowed as she processed the younger's sudden presence, but just as quickly, she recovered. Her face returned to neutral.

She licked her lips, dry from the cold, and nodded to the sign overhead the graveyard gates. "Где они отдыхают," she said, reciting its text. "Fitting," she commented before staring back up at it.

Kyoko nodded, supposing that was Azar's idea of starting a conversation, which Kyoko noted was similar to herself. She pondered Azar's statement, not quite sure what to say. "I wouldn't expect to run into you here," she decided on.

Azar looked back at her in the corner of her eye. "Me neither. I was taking a brisk walk. Ran into this place, got distracted."

Kyoko nodded. Another sharp breeze whipped by them. A few littered pieces of plastic and leaves were taken with it, along with their conversation. When the breeze left, dead air carried. 

Kyoko's fingers tensed a little inside her pocket. She and Azar looked up at the gates together. With annoyance, Azar used her good arm to brush her hair out of her face, displaced from the wind.

Kyoko broke the silence. "Do you know someone buried here?" she asked, nodding toward the entrance.

"No. Do you?"

"Yes."

Another small silence. She supposed Azar expected her to elaborate. With small reluctance, she inhaled to speak.

"Do you recall the name Samidare?" she asked.

Azar paused to think. Her eyes flickered around the sky as she thought about it, but Kyoko could identify the losing battle inside her head. She realized the result of Azar's delay was her fault.

"Sorry. I mean, Yui Samidare." Kyoko shook her head. "I'm used to living in Japan."

To her surprise, Azar let out a small huff of a laugh, a small croak. The corner of her lip turned upward, her casual solemn display broken. 

"Yes, I do remember Yui." Azar paused, still with a small smile as she reflected. "She asked a lot of questions. A curious soul."

Kyoko knew that. She knew that she was not the only one who admired Azar and all the other detectives in their sector. Yui, who she now understood was nearly as much a child as Kyoko was despite being older, also liked looking up to the adults.

"I remember she was one of the younger apprentices that we had," Azar continued. "And the youngest of those we lost that night. I'm sure you're here to pay respects before you leave?"

The leather of Kyoko's glove skimmed against the glass of the test tube in her pocket before her fingers wrapped around it. She let the gray cloud of her exhales carry away the heaviness of her thoughts as they dissolved into the air.

The cold sinking its teeth into her skin matched the bitterness seeping into her brain. They were a quasi-fitting pairing. She bit at her inner lip. 

The two women stood there. One in black, one in maroon. One waiting, one thinking. Azar stood patiently. Kyoko understood she was obligated to give her a response. She pushed down the brought-up bile of sorrow and opened her mouth to speak.

Kyoko nodded. "Yeah," she admitted. Not told. Admitted. It was a confession. Not just to Azar. But to herself.

When Kyoko lived there before Hope's Peak Academy, in a time before she was deemed the ultimate detective, before exposing her identity to get accepted into the school, before cutting contact with her grandfather, before connecting again, she came here seldom often.

When she would, she brought a flower, laid it there, stood for a moment, left… Nothing more to say, nothing more to think. Nothing more to do. Nothing more to process or wonder about.

Because that's what death was, the absence of existing. The absence of something being there any longer. So with all the wonders and questions of the world that flowed through Kyoko's veins, when it came to death, there was none to have. Because that was it. When something dies, it's over.

Once Kyoko knew the cause of death. The who, what, when, where, and why, then there was nothing else to ask. Nothing else to wonder. Nothing else to think. Because if she did, it would hurt too bad.

The night that building burnt down, Kyoko understood she could not live life. She could only survive it. Because she survived that night. Yui did not. 

The girl she was obsessed with because she was kind and funny. Because she was older and actually cared about her. Because she was the first real friend she made since her mother died and her father left. Because Yui was the first person she met aside from her grandfather, who was also born in Japan before moving to Russia. Because she was so relatable like that. She wanted to be a detective too. 

Kyoko met her one of the many times Fuhito took her to work with him. She was shadowing just like Kyoko would do years later. And she was so wise. She explained things to Kyoko that she did not understand so gently and non-judgmentally, in a way Kyoko hadn't experienced since her mother died. In every way, Yui was a big sister to her.

And now, forever frozen in time from death, Kyoko was older than her.

Yui died at sixteen. Kyoko stood there at eighteen, nearly nineteen, rereading the chapters of her life over and over, constantly looking at the ending and expecting to find another page added. All the while, she watched as her own life story slowly got longer and longer than Yui's.

Kyoko wished she could blind herself to that truth. She wished she wasn't so bitter about the last two years of her life that she got to live, and Yui didn't. She wished she could stop imagining the last two years of her achievements being Yui's. What if Yui got to turn seventeen, then eighteen? What if she got enrolled in Hopes Peak? What if she got to fall in love for the first time? What if she met the best people ever to call her friends? 

What if Yui was right there, twenty-one years old, and so proud of Kyoko going from a thirteen-year-old girl to an eighteen-year-old woman?

The back of Kyoko's eyes stung. The sharp cold of the air and her unblinking stare made the surface of her eyeballs dry and worn.

Azar's presence beside her became a hazy afterthought during her reflection. The maroon peacoat blurred in her peripheral vision. But then, Azar brought Kyoko back into focus.

"I lost someone that night, too."

In her disoriented lull, Kyoko could have almost chalked Azar's low, solemn voice to the wind. As if Mother Nature had breezed by them and whispered to Kyoko that all things die. Mother Nature had lost so many things to death, too. No need to be sad about the natural order.

But she came to her senses. She broke her stare from nothing in particular and looked at the older woman beside her. Azar turned her head to face her head-on. Her scars were on full display for Kyoko, like they were for everyone. 

Kyoko couldn't read her expression. She wondered if it was partially due to half of Azar's face being mostly motionless; the muscles were unable to move underneath the heavy makeup of the disfigured flesh. But even on the right side of her face with smooth skin, an almond-shaped eye, and perfect casing and framing of skin and flesh around bone structure, unharmed and undisturbed, Kyoko still couldn't read her. She was too talented to display what she was feeling. For Kyoko, it was almost like looking into a mirror.

"Everyone in the basement, the SWAT team," Azar spoke. She paused to shake her head. "They all died instantly."

Kyoko knew that. Yui died instantly, too. At least, she was speculated to have. Her burnt, charred, and dismembered remains underneath the ruins of the building were too disfigured to trace how long it would have taken her to die.

Azar studied the patterns traced into the sidewalk beneath their feet in another pause. Kyoko's grip tensed and untensed around the rose in vitro in her pocket as if she could squeeze some good out of it, something more positive than the stunned hue of remorse between her and Azar.

Ready to speak again, Azar raised her head and looked her in the eye. "Oliver Caffrey. He was an officer. Did you know him?"

Azar was restrained. She was well-educated and trained in keeping a poker face. Any heavier thoughts and feelings that were sure to be past the thick layer of her skin were indistinguishable. But on the topic of a man named Oliver Caffrey, Kyoko could outline the tinted desperation that highlighted her aura. She sensed that Azar was strongly hoping for Kyoko to nod and say she did recall him.

Azar looked like she needed to hear that from Kyoko. Perhaps, Kyoko wondered, that was her form of grief. Maybe she needed to know there was someone else out there who knew him, too, that he was still remembered by someone other than Azar.

But Kyoko couldn't provide her with any solace. The name was not familiar to her. She met some SWAT members when she was growing up, but only briefly in passing, unlike Vlad and Karp, and very few.

"I can't say that I do," Kyoko admitted.

Azar nodded. She looked away and toward the tree line in the distance as she processed and came to accept the information. Kyoko noticed that despite the stability of her facial expression, the light gray of her exhales came out a little heavier.

"He was my fiance," she revealed. "We were supposed to get married four months before it happened. And instead of getting to marry the love of my life, I had to bury him instead."

It was a choked revelation. Bitterness tugged at the corners of Azar's lips. Her mouth curled upward in disdain, and she scoffed. Her facial expression returned to solemn indifference.

“I knew him for…” Azar sighed as she calculated. “Eight and a half years. And we were together for about four and a half before he proposed. I couldn’t imagine a world without him.”

"Where did you bury him?" Kyoko asked.

"His family and I wanted him to be buried at home. In Australia. We both grew up there, and that's where we met. So we knew it was right to lay him to rest in his hometown. We had moved here for a new life, and because he had some extended family in Russia. We only got to live here a few years together."

Kyoko took notice of the various patterns of gray around them. Gray sky, gray sidewalks, gray buildings, gray gates. It was like the two of them couldn't receive any relief and breath of air away from the burden of constant melancholy. How could it ever be possible to find peace after what had happened?

"I'm sorry you lost him," Kyoko said. Because it was all she knew what to say. The similarity between her and Azar's story could not aid her. Even if she inserted herself into Azar's position, she wouldn't know what she would want someone to say to her about Yui.

Azar did not respond. She stood there silent, cemented into the ground, lost in her own world. Perhaps, a world where Oliver could be alive. And Yui, too. 

Kyoko recalled what Azar said back at her grandfather's house, that she hadn't been in Sahka since December of 2018. Maybe being in this town where hardly anyone remembered that night except for those who experienced it was making her relive it all over again. Maybe she could smell the smoke and feel the fire vividly, just like Kyoko could. Maybe this city she once loved was now ruined. The screams of that night were too far rooted into the soil to ever be removed, and now both of them felt the death all over again when they stood there in that wretched city. 

It was with that idea, that Kyoko and Azar were alike, that Kyoko wanted to further construct a bridge to one another. Azar knew what it was like. All of it. 

Vlad didn't lose anyone he loved. Karp didn't get burned. And her grandfather wasn't there.

Azar and Kyoko had been dealt the same unfair hand of cards. The other had a different version of each other's story. It was a parallel Kyoko had never found with anyone else before.

"Would you like to come with me?" Kyoko asked. "To Yui's grave," she clarified. "You knew her too."

Azar paused in hesitation and surprise at the invitation. Then, she slowly nodded her head. "I'd be honored. Aside from Oliver, I haven't paid any respects to anyone else who died that night."

Kyoko gave her a nod in gratitude. "Nobody goes to her grave consistently except for her family and some old friends who come here and there. I think a new face would be nice."

Somehow, that made Azar smile, and she nodded her head toward the entrance as if to tell her, “Lead the way.”

Kyoko led her through the gate and the cobblestone paths of the graveyard. They passed by lines of headstones stretching for yards in both directions.

Kyoko stayed straightforward. She counted rows to keep track of placement. Beside her, Azar scanned curiously, observing the graves. Some were cleaned, well taken care of, and had flowers left by loved ones on them. Other tombstones were dusty, abandoned, and long forgotten. 

In the fourth to last row of headstones, Kyoko led them into a right turn into one of the aisles. Yui's was the fourth one in. Kyoko recalled her fourteen-year-old self reciting in her head over and over, “Fourth to last, fourth in. Fourth to last, fourth in. It's always the fourth,” when she came to visit after she got out of the hospital. 

And there it was. A light gray slab sticking out of the dirt, once polished and nice, but beginning to sub come to the elements. Dirt engraved into its etches and corners crumbling. 

Yui Samidare

Beloved daughter, sister, granddaughter, and friend 

August 31st, 2002 - December 24th, 2018

Kyoko removed the rose in vitro from her pocket. Gently, she kneeled and placed the tube with the rose inside against the headstone. Instead of moving to stand up, Kyoko stayed there, close to the ground, and observed the grave.

Azar stood above her, analyzing the text etched into the stone. Her eyes grimmed when she read the short amount of time between 2002 and 2018.

"There is no greater sin," she said, "than death that could have been prevented." Azar then murmured something in Yakut. It was spoken too fast for Kyoko's intermediate skill with the language to understand, but the sentence sounded like some kind of prayer.

Kyoko stood. The wind blew, the trees' leaves shook, and the dead grass beneath them moved stiffly.

In four days, Kyoko would leave again to go live a life Yui could have lived, had she lived. But she didn't. Nothing else to think, nothing else to wonder, Yui was gone. Her story was done. And no matter how badly Kyoko wanted a continuation, it would never happen.

Kyoko delicately placed her hand on the rough concrete of the stone. She couldn't feel the texture through her thick gloves, but even if her gloves were off, she most likely would only feel half of it.

To Kyoko's surprise, she noticed she had been outside long enough to nearly begin to shiver. Only an hour in thirty-degree weather, and she was cold? She realized Japan's warmer climate was starting to take its toll on her.

"Did you know that in winter, the ground gets so solid from the cold that they have to use drills to dig graves?" Kyoko asked.

"Yes."

Yui did, too. Kyoko remembered her grandfather telling her the fact when she was twelve, and the next time she saw Yui, she told her too. Then she might have told her a few times again after that. Yui never said anything, though. Anytime Kyoko repeated a fact to her, Yui always pretended to hear it for the first time.

She had an unlimited amount of patience, an extremely rare attribute. She would have been an incredible detective.

Kyoko, too, murmured a prayer in Russian.

"Пусть Бог направляет вашу душу, друг мой."

Chapter Text

Kyoko, that morning, like every morning, woke up, unfortunately. A five-day week was ahead of her, and she spent a large portion of her Sunday with another person. 

But the morning became less unfortunate when she sat up and felt a fine sensation she hadn't experienced yesterday. No chronic pain in her hands. Eto zhizn. She could accomplish more things today beyond touring a scraggly Freshman kid around.

After Kyoko sent Shuichi back to his dorm, the most she could complete was studying, homework, or case files that only involved reading or observing. Because that day, God forbid her body gave her the bliss of picking up a pen or pencil and scrawling some words onto a page. 

And after yesterday's escapade around campus with Shuichi Saihara, she wasn't very fond of the idea of returning outside. Her skin, as a reward for going around campus with Shuichi, was stale and searing. How quaint. But regardless of some stinging shoulders and arms, she wouldn't waste the opportunity to be productive today.

Tokyo, Japan

3/10/23

15:01

Her to-do list for her free time after class was set.

Now that a new month had begun, she had to stop by the bureau and arrange what hours she could work with her training program mentor for October. Continue work for her lab on pathogens because it was due at the end of the week. Search online for a rug to cover the coffee stains underneath her desk. Hopefully, that would please Celestia. And her most prioritized chore for today was one she had done quite often since she was a Freshman to now: Confront her father.

The moment class ended, Kyoko stayed inside the main building on campus and ascended the nearest staircase on her floor to get to the top level of the building. The headmaster and vice headmaster's office was on the highest floor, overlooking the campus.

Every week, there was at least one thing Jin Kirigiri had done that prompted a confrontation between the two. Well, perhaps Kyoko would refer to it as a conversation. Jin was the one who would refer to it as a confrontation. But Kyoko would associate that with being another factor of his incompetence.

Either way, strained relationship or not, Kyoko never abberated from using her status as Jin's daughter to punch out what unwelcome surprises he was planning next or engage in his awful decisions. 

Most of the students exiting class were going in the opposite direction than her: downstairs to the front entrance. She had to weave around students and keep close to the wall to get through. She dodged and avoided, engulfed in the cacophony of passing time chatter. It was like swimming in the opposite direction of the current.

A tall boy moved too fast through the crowd for Kyoko to notice and dodge. The left side of his body rammed into hers. His shoulders were a few inches above her own, causing his side to only ricochet back a little before correcting himself, while the entirety of Kyoko's left was swung back, her shoulder blades nearly against the wall.

Her aggravated skin underneath her shirt sleeve sparked and screeched. Millions of pins dug into her arms, and the lower layer of skin had hornets buzzing inside. She winced.

"Sorry!" he called as he continued walking and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Kyoko didn't bat an eye. She continued. The further she went down the hallway, the more the crowd lessened, the majority in the staircase by now.

There were a few stragglers around. Some students walked slowly, trailing behind the crowd. Some students stepped outside their classrooms, the last ones to head out. And some were setting up for clubs or meetings.

Ahead of her was a left turn that led to a few staff offices, a janitor's closet, and notably, the headmaster's office. She took the sharp left, glad no other students lingered in that alcove of the school.

At the end of the hallway were double set doors and a gray label above that had the characters, "校長室" or principal's office. 

Kyoko wasn't bad at Japanese. She couldn't be. It was her first language. But spending her teenage years with her second language being her dominant way of speaking and extremely rarely speaking Japanese (because not even her grandfather spoke it with her), it was rougher. Anyone who studied another language could tell a student that thinking in that new language is better than constantly translating it to your first language.

However, she often took the easy route: reading in Japanese and translating to Russian. принципиальные... Why is she suddenly blinking on the Russian word for 'office'? She can remember it in Yakut for some reason despite barely speaking it.

She pulled open the hefty door and stepped inside the office. As she always was, the room greeted her with the smell of floral Febreeze. A grandfather clock on the opposite side of the room ticked every second. The room's carpet was white, and the center of the space had a light blue circular carpet. Tall fake plants decorated the corners and surfaces in the room. 

The vice headmaster/secretary's furious typing stopped when Kyoko stepped in. Her silver plaque on the front of her desk read, ‘Ms. Schneider’. Originally, the headmaster's secretary and vice headmaster were two separate jobs before Ms. Schneider came along.

She was an infamous face on campus, but not for any good reason. She was too strict and too easy to mess with. Her black-and-white view of society clashed hard with younger people's colorful and sporadic view of everything. In short, she was rude and boring to most, even to the most passionate scholars. Taka from Kyoko's class didn't even like her.

When Ms. Schneider introduced herself to a new group of students, she always said, "Ms. Schneider, it rhymes with apple cider," in her nasally, prudish voice.

"It also rhymes with martyr," Kyoko mumbled under her breath on Freshman orientation day when they all sat in the gymnasium. She spoke low enough that she thought no one could hear her, but Sayaka, who happened to be sitting beside her—a stranger at the time—heard her. She swiftly put a hand over her mouth to contain her crackling giggles. After Ms. Schneider's speech, Sayaka promptly introduced herself.

Kyoko approached her desk, and Ms. Schneider's sharp baby blue eyes beaded at her through the lens of her glasses. "Ms. Kirigiri," she greeted.

"Afternoon," Kyoko greeted back with far less attitude and bowed to her.

"Would you like me to inform your father you're here?" she asked.

Ms. Schneider tilted her head upward, sticking her chin up as if she were sizing her up or wielding an authoritative dominion over her. Her curly lavender hair, stacked in a tall pillar above her head by some ungodly hair routine Kyoko couldn't imagine, sagged backward from gravity.

“ Marge Simpson,” was what Celestia called her.

"If you may." Kyoko tucked her hands into her leather jacket, the movement aggravating the skin on her arms. Ms. Schneider pressed a button on her wired phone.

"Mr. Kirigiri, you have a student who would like to see you," she said into the phone.

Before Kyoko got approval from Ms. Schneider to head inside, she moved toward the door to the right of the vice headmaster. Ms. Schneider scowled as she hung up the phone and watched Kyoko step inside the headmaster's office without her consent.

Kyoko shut the door behind her, blocking Ms. Schneider out. Jin was sitting readily at his desk, facing forward toward the door, arms leaning on the desk and fingers intertwined together.

His eyes, the same color as hers, widened when he saw it was her, even though they really shouldn't have. This meeting was a common occurrence for both of them.

His posture stiffened, and he stood up straighter in his chair. "Hello, Kyoko." He took a glance at the clock on the wall. "Didn't class just end? How did you get here so fast?" he asked as she approached his desk.

The wall behind him was a large window with a perfect view of the entirety of campus. Tiny dots of students, nine floors down, were scattered throughout the property. Some were heading toward dormitory buildings, some toward the exit of the campus at the far front, and others toward random obscure buildings, backpacks slung over their arms and shoulders.

"I moved quickly. I planned to speak to you today," she informed him and crossed her arms. "Tell me about the party you're scheduling."

He nodded and pursed his lips because it always came to that, a confrontation. Sometimes, he convinced himself that, sometimes, she could be coming to just say hi, but that never happened. She came only to demand answers to something she always thought was a bad idea.

He grabbed his tie and straightened it even though it didn't need to be. Kyoko picked up on that motion a long time ago and noted it as a nervous habit.

"Are you referring to the Halloween party the staff are organizing?" he asked.

"Is that what it is?" Kyoko answered with a question.

He sighed and opened his mouth to try and provide her the clarification she came for, but she spoke first.

"I overheard some staff talking about a party you were arranging yesterday. There was mixed opinion among them, but that was the context I got. I want to know what it is before you last-minute inform the student body about it."

"Last minute?" He awkwardly laughed as if it was a joke. It wasn't.

"I recall only receiving information about the end-of-first-year banquet three days before it happened."

"There was an error in calculations and timing when that happened," he defended.

"There's often an error when you're responsible for something." Kyoko busied herself with stepping to a different side of the room. She analyzed the trophy case against one of the walls displaying awards for the school's previous headmasters and its current one.

Jin sighed. He ran a hand through his dark hair and swiveled in his chair to face his computer. He typed something, most likely an email or note for himself before he spoke again.

"Over the summer, I spent some time further researching the headmasters that came before me," he began. He clarified 'further' because they both knew that long before Jin got the job as headmaster, he memorized the names of each head of the school.  

"I found out that one of them, Botan Akabane, had a tradition where he threw a Halloween party each year," Jin sped up as he spoke. His awkward hesitation became more confident as more passion came into his voice. "It was his favorite holiday because he saw it as very important for all kids. He became the headmaster of this school from the seventies through the late nineties because he was passionate about the development of young adults."

Kyoko observed the awards in the trophy case. She found a large trophy with the name Botan Akabane on it and focused on it as her father rambled on about sidetracked details in his story.

"He believed that kids, while they need to find their career at this age, should still get to be kids. His most famous quote was, 'Hope's Peak prepares children for academic readiness and the future of the dominating careers they're sure to have, but right now, they're still kids.'"

There was a framed picture of Akabane next to his award. It showed him smiling widely as he accepted it, surrounded by students and staff who were smiling just as wide. 

"That's why he liked Halloween so much. Kids dress up and get candy, and get to be kids. So to encourage that, he threw a big party for it every year. Heck, he even stayed up in his office on Halloween night with a bowl of candy and gave it out to students who knocked on his door with costumes! He was a great headmaster and a great example still talked about in textbooks of the school's history. Everybody loved Akabane. So I wanted to bring back his annual Halloween party."

Kyoko looked at her father over her shoulder. "So you're going to let students trick or treat at your office? You know people would be at your door ‘till midnight." 

She caught him off guard. "Well, I... didn't think about that. I simply wanted to organize a fun event for the students here. And it's in the works."

Kyoko sighed and backed away from the trophy case. Her disapproval is evident through her body language.

He ran his hand through his hair again, brushing it back, exasperated. "Look, Kyoko, I know you've never been a big fan of how I run the place. But I know you're smart enough to understand. Think about it. Most of the events the school throws for the students are separated by grade. It'll be nice to have an extra event that connects the entire school. And besides, there's something else too."

"What is it?" she prompted.

"There's a disconnect forming between the students here." He spun around in his chair to look out the window at the campus below. His tone became more solemn. "I've been teaching here for nine years and running it for six. I can see it. The first-years are drawn away, into their own worlds, and people are keeping to themselves more than ever. I want to connect the student body again and form a sense of unity."

Kyoko thought about Shuichi and his friends. She wondered if any of the students outside were any of them.

"So that's why you delve into Akabane." Jin turned around to look at her, but Kyoko continued looking out the window as she spoke. "He was well-liked, infamous it sounds. It seems like he was because he formed what you were just talking about. Unity."

"I told you you were smart enough to figure it out." He smiled at her, but she didn't return it.

She shook her head, disregarding his compliment, and asked her final question. "Is it going to be on Halloween night?"

"Yes, that was the intended plan."

"I wish you the best of luck. You're really going to need it." She closed her eyes and spun around, heading toward the exit without saying goodbye.

“Kyoko, can you promise to keep this a secret? Just until the school board announces it?” Jin called after her. She didn’t respond.

"It was nice talking to you, too," he murmured as she closed the door.

II

October 3rd: Monday afternoon 

The Void 

The void is a desolate place, one with a simple word attached. 

Nothing. 

Just nothing. 

The void is an inky black, though describing denotes it. 

Words make the void a thing. 

The Void is no thing. 

The Void is nothing. 

Just nothing. 

The Void ties its hands with Time

Time brings forth its sacrifices to The Void. 

Its sacrifices become one with The Void 

Just nothing. 

Time ties its hands with Death. 

Death makes the kill. It makes the sacrifices. 

It hands them over to Time, which then offers them to The Void. 

And makes them nothing. 

Just nothing. 

Death ties its hands with life. 

Life brings forth subjects. 

Plants, 

Animals, 

Humanity.

Death’s favorite victims are humanity, who are aware of its existence.

They are aware of The Void, where they will become nothing. 

Just nothing. 

They are scared. 

For we are just men,

Just nobody,

Just someone, 

Just another person. 

Just nothing. 

For I am just a man, not a hero. 

I am just nobody in the wrong place. 

I am just someone to land on this earth for a brief moment, before becoming one with the dirt. 

I am just another person who will become lost in The Void. 

I am just nothing. 

Time says to its subjects that one dies three times. 

Once physically. 

Once when their names cease to be uttered. 

Once when all memories of them are forgotten. 

And they will become one with The Void. 

Just nothing. 

Some escape The Void. 

Their names, their actions, they won’t be forgotten for as long as humanity lives. 

But they, too, will become nothing.

Just nothing. 

But most don’t.

Billions of people lost. 

I will join them.

And you will most likely too. 

We will all become one with The Void. 

We will all become nothing. 

Just nothing. 

There was a scraping noise before something let out a thud. Shuichi jumped, 

veering his head over. The music had become muffled, the disordered voice of Hoppus melting into the carpet. Shuichi’s speaker lay face down, the peeling stickers staring up at him. 

He had gotten the speaker when he was fifteen, hence the wear and tear it 

had. It was a medium-sized speaker in the shape of an old-fashioned radio from the 1950s in a wood color that was obviously painted on plastic. 

Shuichi let out a sigh, dropping his pencil onto his notebook. He bent down, 

scooping up the speaker. He wasn’t even sure how it managed to fall. Only a ringing guitar was coming out of the speaker, which slightly concerned him. The music stopped. 

He could hear the ringing in his ears, only getting louder as if he were 

wandering closer to a broken television. Shuichi was quickly realizing how alone he was, sitting in his room with only the walls to talk with.

“Please don’t be broken,” Shuichi whispered, clutching onto the speaker. 

The next song began to play in response. He breathed a sigh of relief, 

though the much higher sound of DeLonge’s voice was only making him more miserable. Shuichi set the speaker behind his computer, which was opened without the screen on. It had been for a while. 

He picked up his phone, glancing down at the smiling woman staring up 

at him menacingly, in the action of putting on her blue glove while in a nurse's outfit. As if she were going to kill him. Even the fucking cover of an album was making fun of him. She was having a much better time than him. 

He skipped the song, only to get a somehow worse one. Shuichi immediately 

pressed pause, opening Spotify. 

It had been a few hours since he got back from class, yet it felt more 

like years. Shuichi had completed most of his homework before he had reached forensics science, where the guilt had swept him over. Anyone deserved to be in his position other than him. His uncle should have come instead of him. Shuichi was going to be the disappointment of the whole school. 

He didn’t deserve the friends he had quickly gained, thinking his talent was so 

cool, and how Makoto wanted him to become best friends with Kyoko, someone leagues better than him. They all eventually would dislike him. Shuichi wasn’t going to go anywhere. 

He clicked on My Chemical Romance’s page. Scrolling down to the weapons 

collection, he clicked on one of the songs before shutting off his phone. The music fit the hole in his heart. 

He turned his attention back to his notebook. He didn’t necessarily enjoy 

the stupid ass poem, but it was the best he could do from the other page of drafts. Shuichi ripped out the messy draft sheet, staring down at the list of ideas he had first written down. He tore the page in two. The final wasn’t great, but the draft made him want to cut off his hands and never write again. 

He crumbled it up and threw the disaster into the garbage can. Shuichi

leaned over his notebook, staring down at the words. He was sad. There was a need to write his thoughts more directly. But he didn’t want to. 

Ever since he was thirteen, his therapist had recommended he wrote down

whatever came to his mind in a notebook like a journal or a diary. Since then, he had gone through several. It was weirdly calming pushing his emotions and thoughts into the real world. 

He had also begun attempting poems. They weren’t the best at any since, but 

viewing them as fancier song lyrics helped.

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Shuichi picked up his pencil, placing it down onto the page. He had to write at least something. 

September is over. October has just begun. I’m still sad about the fact I was picked for this school. I shouldn’t be here. I’m going to embarrass myself, my friends, and my uncle. I’ll lose them all. 

Do I owe them an apology? Should I bother? I don’t like this pressure to be the best at something that I stumbled myself into. I have a “gift”, but what has that gift done for me? Figured out nothing really matters? Figured out my own mother doesn’t love me? 

I’m sure I wrote this same thing eight million times before school started, during September, and a few days ago. Why can’t I get it out of my head? Is it guilt? I want to bury myself in a hole and never come out of it. 

Shuichi’s heart dropped down to his stomach. He promptly shut his 

notebook, willing to never see his passage again. The cover was a simple black, with white paint running in weird lines going all around. The number three was painted beside a picture of Gerard Way that was taken at a concert tour. 

He wasn’t sure what year he had gotten it, but it had been long enough that the paint was beginning to crack and peel. The cover paint he had put on to protect it clearly wasn’t working. Gerard was perfectly fine, though. 

His phone buzzed. 

Shuichi paused before he picked up his phone, turning it over. 

Haru: Hey, Shuichi. I just wanted to check up on you. How is it going? Have you gotten around the school well enough? 

It was his uncle. Shuichi found himself cracking a small smile. He clicked on the message, typing out his response. Somehow miles away, his uncle seemed to know when he was upset. 

Shuichi: Hey. I’m okay. I’m feeling like I’m out of place, really. But on the positive side, I don’t need my map anymore whenever I walk around the school. How are you doing? 

Shuichi leaned over, closing his computer screen. He shoved his notebook away to the corner of his desk, along with the pencil. He had gone through all of the weapons songs, and Spotify was shuffling other songs by MCR that it knew he tended to listen to a lot. He turned up the volume a bit, letting the music engulf his room. Sometimes Shuichi wished he could feel and see the music physically rather than simply listening to it. 

Haru: I’m so sorry to hear that. Being in a new place such as that must be hard. But I promise you that just around the corner, it will get better. You are exactly where you're supposed to be, and no matter what, I’ll be proud of you. Your life at the moment, is much more exciting than mine. I’ve just been doing the same things as always. It’s quiet around the house without you here, but I’m adjusting. Can’t wait to see you one of these weekends. 

Shuichi’s smile grew wider. 

Shuichi: Thank you, I think I really needed that. I miss you. 

Haru: Miss you too.

Shuichi blinked a few times, willing the tears away. 

BANG!

III

“SO FIX YOUR EYES AND GET UP, BETTER GET UP WHILE YOU CAN!” 

Kokichi’s knuckles had been white for such a long time, he was scared they would stay as such. He was hovering over his Japanese class book they were being forced to read, watching as the characters blended together in a haze. Even when he was blasting his loudest music at the loudest volume, he could still hear the stupid ass emo music beyond the other wall. 

There was room in his brain for the assigned story. It was only My Chemical Romance screaming in his ears as if they were performing a concert right in his room that overtook such space. Kokichi had found rather quickly that Shuichi was one of his shared-wall mates, and he was cursing the headmaster for ever thinking it was a good idea. 

He wasn’t sure if he was surprised or well aware of the type of music Shuichi would most likely be listening to. 

“WHEEEEEEEENNNN YOU GO, WOULD YOU EVEN TURN TO SAY?” 

Kokichi swiftly lifted his fist, knocking on the wall beside him that connected their rooms. It let out a dull thud, barely audible above the emo screeching that was going on the other side. 

There was no need for him to complete his homework, anyway. Kokichi let out a sigh, pushing his chair back. He closed his book before throwing it behind him with a thud. He stood up, turning around to see that a corner of the book had been squished upon impact. 

“Weak ass bitch,” he muttered. His tone was tense, taking out his anger on a school project. It seemed pathetic. He wasn’t one to suddenly turn into a good student. He was supposed to be sneaking out, doing drugs, committing crimes, and nearly failing all his classes. That was the rebellion military school brought upon him. 

But none of his newly acquired ‘friends’ were adequate enough to come alongside him. Kokichi fucking hated the military school, but at least he had his members of DICE, his old gang, there to shake what was the norm. 

Most of DICE went off to their last year of military school without him, attempting to contact Kokichi with barely any successful attempts. They usually weren’t allowed their phone except for nighttime when most people were too tired to even entertain themselves. Or they’re forgetting about you. 

Kokichi shook his head, throwing the thought away into oblivion. 

He slipped on his shoes, grabbed his room key and phone, and opened his door. Kokichi walked out, feeling as if the music was chasing after him. He couldn’t help but wonder why no one else had complained to Shuichi; that boy wasn’t intimidating in the slightest. 

Kokichi quickly pivoted, rounding on Shuichi’s room. He let out a breath, raising his fist. 

Bang!

Kokichi stepped back, crossing his arms over one another. He waited a moment before the music suddenly ceased. His ears rang, though it was partly muffled. He let out a sigh, the weight on his chest gone. There were scrambling footsteps noises before a click could be heard. Kokichi forced himself to smile. 

The door flung open, and Shuichi was there standing before Kokichi. He was wearing the same raggedy-ass black sweater from earlier that day, with black jeans and white socks. Though, the hat was gone. Kokichi could see the thin outline of it from what little he could see in Shuichi’s room. 

Shuichi’s golden eyes were wide, staring at Kokichi with fear. He had much longer eyelashes than Kokichi imagined. There was clear eyeliner having been done. There were a few moments where he could only stare at Shuichi. It was as if he had finally finished a puzzle piece that he himself wasn’t even aware he was solving. 

 “Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Shuichi’s panicked voice brought Kokichi down to reality. Suddenly, he felt as though bugs were crawling over his skin. He suddenly couldn’t look up. Instead, he had to focus on the doorframe above Shuichi’s head. His mind felt foggy, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. 

“About what?” Kokichi asked. Shuichi paused. 

“… What? I—”

“Hey, maybe keep the fucking emo music down, will you?” Kokichi asked, cutting Shuichi’s whiny voice off. 

“Uh—yeah, sorry,” Shuichi muttered, keeping his eyes on the carpet. 

“I’m like, trying to study,” Kokichi said. He rolled his eyes, placing a hand on his hip. 

“You are?” Shuichi asked. He posed it as if it were an actual question, as if he wasn’t sure if Kokichi even knew what studying was. 

“Yeah! Obviously!” Kokichi smiled. “And I don’t want to feel even more depressed with your ‘I hate my life’ music.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Shuichi’s voice dropped, sticking his hands into his pockets. Lean against the doorframe, and you're going to look like an album cover. 

“Jesus…” 

“What were you studying?” Shuichi asked. 

“How to not hate myself,” Kokichi blurted. Shuichi’s eyes widened, staring at him. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“What?” Kokichi hoped if he acted dumb Shuichi would second guess himself into believing none of those four words ever left Kokichi’s lips. 

“I—I heard you.” 

“Heard what?”

“I…never mind.” Of course, it worked on someone like Shuichi. “Wish I could study that,” he muttered. It was so quiet that Kokichi found himself wondering if he was hallucinating. 

Unfortunately, his mouth was already open when his brain processed those words. “Hey! I know the perfect place to self-loathe!” 

“Huh?”

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Kokichi exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. 

“I—” Shuichi started, but Kokichi’s brain was running so fast that multiple ideas had to be vomited out of his mouth. 

“We’re going now! Get your shoes on, and you probably don’t want the emo hat!” 

“Where are we going?” Shuichi’s expression was more of a scared toddler. 

“You’ll find out!” Kokichi laughed. It didn’t help Shuichi’s already petrified state. 

“Oh—okay, okay, okay,” Shuichi stammered. He stepped into his dorm, turning around where Kokichi saw a pair of shoes lying on the ground. 

Kokichi rocked on his heels, watching Shuichi put on his shoes, grabbed his key, and grabbed the emo hat. 

“Did you not hear the last part?” Kokichi asked. 

“Yeah, I did. But, you know, just in case,” Shuichi answered. A nervous smile spread across his face. 

“Fine,” Kokichi grumbled. 

“Sorry.” Kokichi had lost track of how many times Shuichi had uttered the word ‘sorry’ merely five minutes into the conversation. 

Kokichi quickly turned around, briskly walking towards the stairs. He honestly wasn’t sure where they were going, but his taste for criminal activity was becoming too much to handle. He had to figure out what exactly they could get into that wasn’t allowed at that time.

IV

Kyoko put her phone face down on her desk. She interlaced her fingers together underneath her nose. Her broken air vent with something caught inside rattled loudly. 

In a moment or two (hopefully), Makoto, Sayaka, or Hina would reply to the message she sent to their group chat describing in detail the Halloween party. If they even would. Hina was awful about answering her phone, too distracted by whatever colorful things were happening around her. Sayaka, ever the workaholic, was always busy. And Makoto, who was good at answering, had a bad habit of forgetting to turn his phone back on after class.

Her frustration was combatted with the clamor of the vent. There was still more to do today.

After she spoke with her father, she returned to her dorm to get some semblance of calm. She sat down with her laptop and looked for rugs—all of them were ugly. 

She slathered Aloe onto her arms, but that didn't stop the stinging enough for her to go outside and work on the next part of her school project or even to go to the bureau. 

Her skin was killing her. She couldn't win with it anymore. She switched shirts to wear a tank top so her skin could breathe. And she hung her denim jacket on the back of her desk chair. But if she ever stepped outside, the searing sun would light her exposed skin on fire.

So now her plan was clear: No going outside. How ironic that one of the blessed days she had no pain in her hands was abolished by a sunburn, one she most likely wouldn't have gotten in September if she were in Sahka.

Deciding she couldn't stay still any longer, she got up to pace around her room. Her lab was due at the end of the week. Buying a new rug had been on her to-do list for several weeks. She needed to fill out her hours for this month.

As flurries of her wasted plan flooded her mind, she looked around for something to distract herself. She saw her phone on her desk. She could message Celestia and ask her to come over. She knew how to bring Kyoko back down to Earth.

But lucky Kyoko, Celestia was out in the city and wouldn't be back until late. She kept the details scarce; it was an unspoken rule between them for Celestia to keep everything vague. It was for Kyoko's sake. If Celestia were ever caught doing what she does, Kyoko could say she never knew about it.

Either way, that meant she was alone with herself. Well, not entirely alone. She looked out her dorm room window at the campus property. 

By then, the sun was setting. A few students were outside. They were scarce, though. Most of them were out on an end-of-day walk. That sounded pleasing to Kyoko. If only she could go outside.

She braced her hands on the window sill. Her eyes drifted over all the small figures throughout the property.

She wondered if Jin was still in his office. She wondered if he, too, was looking out his ginormous office window, observing all his students below. Maybe he was also trying to ground himself because of Kyoko showing up in his office today. She wondered if that's how she made her father feel. It was a bitter thought.

By then, nearly all the campus buildings were closed for the day. Some students sat or walked outside by themselves or in groups of two or three, sometimes larger.

Kyoko spotted a group of figures off in the distance by the Reserve Course. They stood there together in a small huddle. She bet they were most likely smoking something.

Unity was what Jin talked about, referring to it as a problem. She wondered if he saw the campus at sunset. Strangely, there was a sense of agreement among students, a shared tired relaxation of a Monday night. No one could be out of place.

Except for one figure.

Kyoko's attention was caught by a lone person isolated far out of sight from anyone else on the southeast side of the campus. They were on the far opposite side of the property from Kyoko, making them barely legible to her. However, she could see the way the figure crept behind the buildings, not wanting to be seen. She squinted her eyes and leaned closer to see what the person was doing.

The figure disappeared, then reappeared behind the lecture hall buildings as they walked behind them. They turned their head back and forth, swiftly walking, on a mission.

Kyoko noticed two students walking by the pathway in front of the lecture halls. The figure quickly hid itself behind the building and waited a few beats. When the students were gone, a head slowly peeked around the building, checked the coast was clear, and continued on its way, moving much slower.

Kyoko was disturbed. The figure's movement was unnatural, unsettling, out of place. The figure brought an arm to its waist and pulled something out of a satchel-like bag. It continued its slow creep down the campus. 

It changed its course, heading east until it was out of Kyoko's line of sight. Instinctively, Kyoko reached behind her toward her desk chair to scoop up her jacket, throw it on, and head out there after the person, but a sting ran up her arm when she did. Pins and needles dug deep into her skin.

She grimaced and looked back out the window and at the sky. The sun was still out. It was dim but still present. And hot. There was no way she could go outside.

She looked back to the lecture halls. She could no longer spot the figure. She looked all around the surrounding area but didn't see anything but the completely normal figures of other students.

She leaned her weight onto her hands on the window sill. Something wasn't right. She was a detective. Her intuition was ample. She wasn't being overdramatic.

She glided across the room and to her desk and scraped her phone off her desk. Tearing through her password, she opened Celestia's contact and furiously typed a message.

Kyoko: I need a favor from you when you come back onto campus. Please. Urgent.

V

Why am I following him? 

Kokichi was practically skipping as they exited their dormitory, his head 

turned away from Shuichi. He hadn’t uttered a word ever since he had begun dragging Shuichi away from the comfort of his own room. Instead, he briskly walked with joy in his step. One that Shuichi was scared of. 

He felt exposed, awkwardly walking behind while clutching his hat. Shuichi 

hadn’t placed it on his head in fear Kokichi would kill him if he dared even to try. Kokichi was simply terrifying for someone who had the appearance of happiness. He seemed almost like a bitter candy, a killer clown, an amusement park ride destined to kill him. His talent was being a leader. There wasn’t a doubt that Kokichi had the power to murder him. 

And yet Shuichi was following him. Kokichi spoke so fast that he didn’t have 

time to think. Instead, he blindly followed as if he were a lowly sheep. He had said something weird…he was studying how to not hate himself. Was it simply a joke, or was it something else? It was a joke. I don’t think Kokichi would willingly tell me that he’s sad. 

Shuichi’s legs were beginning to hurt as he tried speed walking in continuation 

to keep up with Kokichi, who was practically running. They were walking on the concrete path towards the front entrance, a few people passing them. The sun had begun to set, making the temperature much cooler than Shuichi expected. September had been much hotter than it had in the past due to climate change before dramatically dropping in the last few days. 

The wind brushed past them, making Shuichi wince. He hoped wherever they were going was warm. He glanced up, noticing the tall building of the gym. His heart sank. He could only pray that Kokichi was not taking them to the gym. He would rather be killed by Kokichi than work out. 

“Where are we going?” Shuichi asked, trying to see if they were truly going

to the gym. 

“You’ll see,” Kokichi answered. The answer gave him absolutely nothing 

to work with. 

“O—okay,” Shuichi muttered. 

Kokichi turned his head towards the grass, his eyes peering though as if he were looking for something. He paused for a moment, muttering to himself. “Where the fuck did it go?”

“What are you looking for?” Shuichi followed his line of vision, though all he could see was grass. 

“My rock is gone! My proclamation!” Kokichi protested. Shuichi wasn’t sure if he was being dramatic or genuine. 

“… Your rock?” Was it Kokichi’s imaginary friend?

“Ugh, and I marked it and everything. This school has to know who runs this horrid world. Oh, well.” Kokichi shook his head, continuing to walk, leaving Shuichi with more questions than answers. 

They kept walking closer to the gym, making Shuichi’s heart repeatedly sink further with fear. He could walk away from Kokichi if they were. But doing so seemed rude. Shuichi was going to be trapped, showcasing how weak he was in front of the class bully. 

However, once they got close enough, Kokichi didn’t continue to walk towards 

the gym. Instead, he stopped as the building connected to the gym. Shuichi glanced up, reading the words displayed on the front. ‘Pool.’ 

“Wait, didn’t our teacher say that the pool closes after four? It’s nearly six,”

Shuichi asked. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Kokichi walked up to the front door, pulling something out of his pocket. Shuichi hesitantly followed him, glancing down at his hand to find a set of weirdly shaped metal objects. Kokichi bent down, placing one of them inside the keyhole.

“Wait—oh my god, Kokichi, this is such a bad idea!” Shuichi protested, taking a step back. 

“This is a good idea,” Kokichi said. There was a clicking noise before he set another metal rod inside. 

“We’re going to get in so much trouble.” Shuichi did not want to be kicked out of the school because of something Kokichi did. 

“Not if you don’t tell.” 

“I wasn’t going to!” 

“Good. Now shut up. I’m trying to concentrate here.” 

Shuichi didn’t buy the fact that Kokichi was concentrating; this seemed second-nature to him. He seemed as though he had broken into the pool a million times before. Shuichi anxiously tapped his foot against the concrete, glancing from each side of the path. He hoped someone could come in and save him from committing a crime. 

There was a clunking noise. Shuichi turned his head. Kokichi was standing up, pulling at the door. He had fucking broken them in. Shuichi let out a sigh, watching as Kokichi’s eyes met his with a childlike grin spread across his face. 

“Come on!” Kokichi said, slipping inside the door. 

“Okay.” Shuichi reluctantly followed him. He slipped inside along with Kokichi. 

Shuichi frowned, immediately noticing the pool a few feet away from them. Only a few of the lights were on, stale luminous lights raining down in a haze. The blue water was still as if it were holding its breath. Further down the room were the locker rooms painted a deep blue. A small closet was off to the side, shut. Near the ceiling was a dark window. He had a feeling it was the gym. He could only hope no one was around to see them. 

He then realized why they were even there. “So, uh. How exactly do you hate 

yourself here? It seems really relaxing.” 

“What? Don’t you want to sink in the water, along with all your problems?” 

Kokichi asked. 

“N—no?” he squeaked. 

“Sucks to be you.” Kokichi shrugged, walking toward the ledge of the pool.

“Wait, we don’t even have—”

“And?” Kokichi asked, sitting on the edge. He began taking off his shoes, throwing them at Shuichi. Both landed a mere foot away from Kokichi. Shuichi supposed dipping his feet in for a bit wouldn’t hurt until a teacher came around. He sat beside Kokichi, beginning to unlace his shoes. 

Kokichi swiveled around, placing his legs into the water. The blue haze shivered, sending ripples away from the two. Something in Shuichi’s gut didn’t feel right. He was out of place. Out of order. Outside with the class nuisance. 

Shuichi placed his feet beside Kokichi, sending out ripples of his own. The water was cold as if he had just turned on the shower and stepped in like an idiot. Kokichi pulled out his phone, placing it on the tile with them. 

He stood up, turning to face Shuichi. “Sometimes I just feel better when thinking about myself drowning,” he said. He smiled brightly, before falling into the water. There was a splash, bits of it getting on Shuichi. He shivered, opening his mouth to speak. Though no words came out. What the fuck is going on? 

Shuichi blinked a few times. There were bubbles where Kokichi’s body had disappeared from. Though, no sign of him. He paused for a moment, his mind reeling in shock. Kokichi was the class pest. How come he was saying such dark things? Even if they were glossed over with a joking tone, the subject of such words didn’t truly fade away. 

How long had Kokichi been under the water? 

Shuichi quickly leaned over, reaching his hand out hoping Kokichi wasn’t actually attempting to drown himself. Just as he got close to the water, Kokichi’s head popped out with another splash. Shuichi’s face was in the crossfire of water droplets, unfortunately. He jumped back, holding onto his hand. 

“Ha! Were you actually scared?” Kokichi said. He laughed, his loud tone echoing around the tiled walls. His hair was practically black, droplets falling off of his eyelashes. He looked like a drowned rat. 

“A little bit,” Shuichi admitted. Kokichi was a nuisance, but he wasn’t about to let him die. 

Kokichi coughed, holding onto the railing. 

“Why did you do that?” Shuichi asked. 

“Why not?” Kokichi collapsed back into the water, floating on the surface.

“I guess no one is stopping you.” Kokichi closed his eyes, crossing his arms as if he were a corpse at a funeral. His shirt and pants were soaked. Shuichi didn’t want to imagine how uncomfortable that would most likely feel for Kokichi. Shuichi didn’t even like the feeling of a swimsuit wet, let alone regular clothes. “But…about your comments. Are you doing okay?” 

“Eh, I’m fine!” Kokichi waved one of his hands up in the air. He did tend to lie, though Shuichi didn’t know him well enough to sort out his conversation patterns. “The homework just made me want to become dirt.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No shit.” 

“What was the homework about?”

“Math.” 

“Ouch. I’m horrible at math.”

“Same!” Kokichi’s eyes flickered open. “The teacher fucking sucks! Like, I didn’t ask to be forced to learn calculus!”

“Wait, calculus?” Shuichi asked, widening his eyes. “That’s a much higher math class than I’m taking! I’m stuck still on Algebra Two.” 

“Algebra Two?” 

“I failed it last year…” Shuichi averted his eyes to the concrete.

Kokichi laughed, while Shuichi couldn’t help but smile. “I thought they wouldn’t allow people who fail classes here.”

“I guess they do.” Shuichi tilted his head up to the ceiling. He could hear the droning humming of ventilation, along with his own breath and the beating of his heart. “Why did you end up going here?”

Kokichi hummed. “I dunno. Anything’s better than military school, I suppose.”

“Military school?” 

“Yeah! It sucked ass. You can’t force the most important leader to follow the orders of some low life.” Kokichi wrinkled his nose. “All the generals hated me and my ideas.”

“I didn’t even know we had military school.”

“It’s mainly for kids who don’t know what their future is.” Kokichi shrugged. “And the violent ones.” 

“That sounds scary.” Knowing the smaller size of Kokichi made Shuichi wonder how he was able to survive, yet the keen bullying he did of their classmates gave some clues as to how. Perhaps he blackmailed them? Or worse? 

“It wasn’t.” For him, not. 

“Wow.” 

“But it wasn’t fun. And so, that’s why I’m here! What about you?”

“Oh, it was just an easier path to become a detective here. Especially when I, for some reason, was able to solve a case on my own…” he trailed off, worried he sounded like a narcissist. He hated talking about himself in front of others. 

“That’s crazy.” 

“Not really.”

“How were you able to get in on the case anyways?”

“Oh, my uncle is also a detective. So I’m really just following in his footsteps.” 

“Cool! What was the case about?”

“Well…it was an unsolved murder for a while. But there was just an evidence piece that they missed that I was able to connect the puzzle pieces. But it’s nothing really.” 

“What the fuck, Shuichi? That’s crazy! I mean, not as impressive as me conquering the military school but still good.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Shuichi smiled. Kokichi lifted his hand, showing a 

thumbs up. 

“I’m always right,” Kokichi said. 

Shuichi leaned back, staring into the deep pool water. He oddly felt comfortable, being with Kokichi completely alone. He seemed much sweeter when it was simply them than being in a classroom. In class, Kokichi was overly loud, enjoyed watching the torment of classmates, and would rather stay in the corner and make fun of the teacher than learn anything. An asshole. But he seemed to care about Shuichi’s life, though. Unless Shuichi was imagining it. 

Silence overswept the two of them. Only the simple drone of the ventilation filled it in between. Shuichi held onto his hat, slowly running his finger over the brim as some sort of fidget. He kept noticing that Kokichi would tap his fingers on the water, and then let them sink into the pool. His arms swayed, bending and twisting in much paler light as the water currents ran underneath him and out. 

Kokichi appeared more as if he were a corpse than a real human, floating in the water as life slowly drained from his body. Shuichi shook his head, calming his thoughts down. It isn’t real. You're going down a rabbit hole. Again. 

Two bells suddenly rang. Shuichi glanced up, realizing it was the announcement system. 

“Attention, students. Some parts of the gym will be closing in one hour.”

Shuichi quickly remembered what the fuck he was doing. He pulled out his phone, glancing down at the time. It was nearly eight. Hope’s Peak had a curfew of ten at night, where unless a student was going to the library, their car, or their dormitory, they were not allowed anywhere else unless they had an approved exception. Though it seemed as though not many cared about the rule, and would often simply sit around the park and the car lot. Ten was when the janitor would walk around and clean the rest of the buildings, while the ones that closed much earlier had the janitor come in before. 

“We should probably get going. Who knows when the janitor will come in here,” Shuichi said, tucking his phone away. Kokichi let out a groan. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah.” Shuichi pushed on the railing, propelling himself to stand up. 

Kokichi followed, standing inside the pool. Water ran off his soaked clothes, his hair sticking to the sides of his face. He grabbed his arms, gritting his teeth. 

“Are you cold?” Shuichi asked. 

“No,” Kokichi said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

“Sorry. Stupid question.” 

Kokichi climbed out of the pool, grabbing his phone off the floor. “Fuck me,” he muttered through his teeth. 

“Do you need anything?” Shuichi asked. 

“I’m fine,” Kokichi said. He picked up his shoes and began to walk towards the exit. Shuichi followed suit, his feet feeling more as if they had been put under an ice bath.

He opened the door, a sudden rush of cold wind hitting him in the face. 

“God damn it,” Kokichi said. 

“Maybe we should speedwalk,” Shuichi suggested. 

“Yeah,” Kokichi said. He picked up his pace before he began starting a sprint towards their dormitory. 

“Kokichi!” Shuichi called out, quickly beginning to run after him. His legs were freezing. He couldn’t imagine how god-awful Kokichi was feeling. Kokichi simply laughed, running faster away from him.

What the fuck is up with him? Though Shuichi found himself laughing along. Kokichi was absolutely weird, yet he had to admit that the class bully was intriguing. 

Vl 

Celestia’s feet were beginning to ache; the toll of wearing high heels for so long was beginning to get to her.

The previous blinding lights that illuminated the casino caused her eyes to see the world in inky black, small spots of color floating around. The bushes grew their shadows, buildings hung down over her, faint lights mocked her. She was exhausted, a stack of money nestled in her purse. Celestia would’ve kept playing, but instead, she was satisfied with her earnings for the night. She had been excited to go home, but doing so would have to wait. And the report Kyoko was most likely waiting for was her priority. 

Kyoko was one who, above all, had her head screwed on the most tight; she was incredibly intelligent and self-sufficient. Yet her logistical mind tended to work almost too well. She could gauge one’s intention simply through watching an interaction. She had an amazing intuition, and Celestia won’t argue with that. 

However, when it came to situations such as the one she was trapped in, Celestia knew Kyoko wouldn’t sleep properly until someone investigated the campus grounds. There wasn’t any use arguing with her, and besides, Celestia would rather make Kyoko feel better about the situation than brush it off as something trivial. It wouldn’t kill her to do a quick lap around campus and tell Kyoko no one was there instead of heading straight to her dorm. And so, she trudged through the campus, determined to get the search done effectively. 

The campus grounds were barren, not a single human in sight. The tall lights hung down, illuminating the concrete. Celestia glanced up at one, her eyes adjusting to the pale light. A small cluster of bugs swarmed around it. She wasn’t sure if the buzzing noise was from the bugs or the light itself. She winced, passing by the light hoping none of the bugs would try and get up in her face. She didn’t get ready for hours for a pesky insect to ruin it. She could hear frogs croaking in the grass, faint calls of birds up in the tree. 

She mentally checked off where she had been, the map of Hope’s Peak residing in the back of her eyes. She had passed by the main building, the labs, the astronomy dome, the animal sanctuary, and the cosmetics area. The last place Celestia had yet to pass through was the southeast side of campus.

Kyoko had mentioned that there was an unidentifiable person lurking around and trying to not be seen by students. Celestia thought that if it really was a person, they were most likely some reserve course student who was trying to sneak into the main campus and being really bad at it. They were most likely gone. 

She walked through a pathway on the southeast of campus, one that cut through behind the lecture halls. She passed by the culinary arts building. Nothing caught her eye, just like everything else on this trip.

She was so close to completion. She just needed to do this final swing around this corner of campus then head for the dorms. She was close to being done being paranoid, closer to Kyoko. In every step, she was nearly fucking done. 

She kept going, reaching the music hall, a massive building with posters of previous, present, and future performances that had been held by Hope’s Peak. She had been to a few, each one being a masterpiece that Hope’s Peak could afford the rights to, and performed excellently by the talented student cast. But right now, it was empty, and Celestia just needed to make sure nobody was loitering around it and doing whatever dumb shit someone who’d break onto campus would do.

Snap. 

Celestia turned her head, wildly glancing around, she examined the nearby bushes only to find once again, nothing. Being out on the campus at night was getting to her, clearly. She just needed to keep going. First, she’d check the area, then she would leave.

Feeling the need to be efficient, she took a few steps up the stairs leading to the grand front entrance of the music hall, checking for any strangglers hanging around behind the pillars in the front of the building. Large posters hung around the front advertising performances. 

She was disturbed by a presence. As expected, no one was there. However, there was the presence of a smell not previously anywhere else on campus. It was pungent, tangy, and unappealing, nothing of how Celestia remembered the well-kept music hall to be. It was a smell that was vaguely familar, but it wasn’t strong; only fainly in the air, making it hard to pinpoint.

She took the final few steps up the stairs to reach the front entrance, trying to find the source of the smell. It was coming from the inside, she could tell that. And God, it was gross. Fuck, Kyoko was right. As she usually was. Someone, probably from the Reserve Course, showed up and planted some kind of terrible smelling thing as a stupid fucking prank.

Celestia scoffed. Whatever. She would just go inside and find out what it was. Kyoko would be dissatisfied if she told her that she found out what the trespasser (if what they both found/saw was even related anyway) did, but didn’t go the extra mile to find out exactly what. Besides, it’d be fun to report them.

Celestia reached inside her purse and pulled out her skeleton key. Only the headmaster and some faculty had one, but Kyoko had gotten a copy as Jin’s daughter. Occasionally, Kyoko would lend it to Celestia. Good thing she had it on her now; all the buildings were locked at night. This way she could get in.

She slipped the key into the keyhole and twisted it. The door clicked. She grabbed the doorhandle and pulled. It didn’t budge. She frowned, testing out the key once again. It clicked once more. Celestia tried the door, and it creaked open. Odd. It must have been unlocked, and when she put the key in the first time, she just locked it. Weird. The janitor must have forgotten to lock it. God damn, does the security here need to be improved.

Inside the building was a long hallway, with several doorways that led to other areas, most likely sound proof rooms for rehearsal or practing or whatever musicians did; Celestia wouldn’t know and she didn’t care right now. The floors were tiled, and her phone flashlight, that she pulled out to illuminate the space, extended far enough to see the trophy cases rewarding student musicians.

Celestia began to walk down the long, extending hallway, her flashlight not bright enough to illuminate the end of it. Her heels echoed through the narrow hall, the sharp clicks reverbating in the large, open space into the dark. 

Her hands were tense, she noticed. The muscles in her palms, wrists, and fingers were at edge. Something was wrong. Nevertheless, she persisted, eager to find out what the smell was. It was much stronger from inside. She was beginning to think it was something rotten, like eggs maybe. Or… Fuck, it’s a dead animal, isn’t it?

She continued forward, looking for whatever dead creature was in here.

Clink. 

Something lightly broke beneath her. Celestia paused, glancing down at her heel. With the light, she saw a piece of broken glass. It’s midnight, surely the janitor would have picked this up by now. She furrowed her eyebrows. Celestia lifted her heel, continuing to walk down the hallway. 

However, there was a muddy pull that added a very subtle resistance when she lifted her foot to step forward. Celestia paused, her annoyance growing with each stupid thing that was happening to her. What idiot had left gum on the floor, only to have her precious heels pick it up and ruin them? 

Celestia lifted her heel, resting it against her other leg so that she could examine the underside. Something of the same color as her red shoes was present but much darker. Celestia carefully pressed her finger onto the thing. It stuck, though other parts flaked off, and onto the floor. Those flakes were brown. 

Her heart dropped. Celestia whipped her attention back forward, scanning her light along the wall. She hurriedly stepped forward, passing by each of the glass trophy cases until she found the source of the glass shard.

One of the cases was broken, completely shattered, none of the pieces of the large, seven foot case intact aside from the wooden base. The trophies once aside had been ransacked, thrown against the wall. Inside, as a replacement, was a body, the source of the smell, the death Celestia had been looking for.

A yell of a scream rang through the hallway that Celestia didn’t realize was hers until she closed her mouth She took a step back, unable to tear her eyes away. No wonder the smell was familiar. It was death. Not just of an animal. It was a person.

His hands were reached up to his neck, his eyes wide with fear. Though the pupils were dilated. His mouth was open in a perpetual scream, though not open enough to let out a great enough if his heart had kept beating. Glass was stuck to his back arms, legs, and back. Drying blood pooled out from them, along with his neck, though it seemed as though they had dried out. His skin was bright red, what Celestia could see from the underside had turned a stark white. Something had pushed him into the glass case. 

Some one had. 

Celestia’s stomach curled, she clutched her neck feeling a wave of nausea overtaking her body. Her legs shook, though she tightened them to keep still. She had seen this before, but in a life far more distant and faraway than this one, and none as violent as this. His face seemed so terrified, small cuts along his hands either from the mirror or the attacker. No wonder the door was unlocked. The man, clearly a janitor because of his uniform Celestia recognized, never left.

It was almost as if she were viewing a taxidermy, a shell of a human that in a single blink could come back to life. But he was gone, clearly. 

Celestia took another step back. She ripped her eyes away from the scene and turning to leave. She doubted it with how old the body looked; at least dead for a few hours, but she didn’t want to stick around if whoever did this was still there. She took off outside the building, bursting past the front doors, and still moving quickly as she made it out of the building, opening her phone as she did.

She opened the phone app and dialed 911. Something she hadn’t done since she was little.

Chapter Text

While her physical body remained rooted in one place, her mind was itinerant. She was hollow inside except for the belief that she could make it this time. This time, she could be faster. 

Hornet-like buzzing stung through Kyoko's legs as she ran faster than her body could move. The world crumbled down around her, engulfed and swallowed by the carnage of her youth and the inhuman apathy found within her own species. A hate so vile, it split mountains and minds. A fire so bright, the city dulled. A funeral so lively, there was irony.

That abnormality in the perception of a young, optimist mind embodied torment to all five senses. A misery of muscle's denial to fight, furious red, orange, and yellow consuming peripherals, the bargaining of lungs for fresh air in favor of the smokey ash on her tongue, the churn of remorse and depression in her stomach with the smell of cooked flesh, and the ear-splitting acceptance of the cacophony from the building around her collapsing.

The abrupt blaze consumed the halls on each side of Kyoko. Young lungs breathed in charred air, young skin smothered with soot and sweat, and the syllables of Yui's name strung between each neuron of her brain, each vowel tied tight around her heartstrings, tugging so tight it cut off circulation and left purple indents. There was a desperation born from love and history, born for such a cruel intention, utilized for her to save Yui's life.

Kyoko ran as fast as she could to keep up with every last memory Yui's name ignited. She raced with fate. Despite injury, she raced; adrenaline had contorted her exhaustion into fuel. She raced so that when she saw Yui, it wouldn't be the last memory.

Kyoko battled herself, resistant to everything begging and bleeding for her to stop. Her legs, the fire, her ankle, her lungs, she couldn't breathe, she didn't care, nor did she notice. She charged forward because Yui was in that basement. Yui was suffering more than her. Yui needed her to get there quicker. 

She didn't care that the explosion came from the basement. She didn't care that Yui was with the rest of the officers who set off the trap left for them. She didn't dare entertain the possibility that Yui was dead. She drove forward with the possibility that Yui was alive. And she needed to get down there because Yui was alive and breathing and burning and trapped and needed her.

The unrecognizable wallpaper coiled in on itself as fire turned it to dust. Kyoko's gut copied the motion, curling in on itself. The muscles in her torso tensed, tightening themselves to prevent her body from rejecting the food in her stomach and ridding itself of it. She couldn't afford to slow down.

The leg of her pants had a tear in it. She cut it on something on the way in. She didn't know what. She tore more than just the cloth, though. Blood trickled down her ankle, smattering the side of her shoe. They were her new shoes for that year. She got them two months ago on her thirteenth birthday.

Soon, the shoes would be another reminder, as would the rest of her outfit from the night, but the blood on the shoes left a statement. They'd become just another souvenir embodying the ubiquitous anguish to come.

She ignored all these things and carried herself forward. She wasn't aware that no matter how fast she ran, the end of the hallway never got any closer. She did not pay attention to the pieces of the ceiling falling above her. She did not notice the world crumbling down around her. She did not notice the hallway becoming narrower. She did not notice that she was supposed to be a thirteen-year-old in this memory, not a nearly grown woman running down this hallway.

The fire burnt brighter. Glass exploded somewhere in the building. Someone inside was screaming. Kyoko's arms were moving so fast in her sprint that the melted flesh of her hands was being shot forward and backward. Skin hanging off her hands like wax hung on in long strings.

The inside of her throat burned just as heavily as the narrow walls around her, and as hot as her abandoned skin cooking on the floor. She gasped for a breath but sucked in nothing. The hallway voided itself of oxygen. She nearly fell to her knees, but instead, she kept running. She ran as she choked. She ran even though she had nothing else to give. She ran even though she knew how this memory ended. She kept running until there was nothing.

Sahka, Russia

24/12/1̷̖̘̔͒8̵̢͓͔̺̲̾́—

Tokyo, Japan

06/10/23

4:54

Launching up, Kyoko frantically grabbed at everything around her. She clawed at her bedsheets, deemed them useless, and extended her reach. She knocked her water bottle off the nightstand. It fell to the floor with a dull thud on the carpet. She hit her alarm clock out of place. Her lamp nearly joined the water bottle on the floor, pushed right to the edge of the nightstand's surface.

Beside her, someone also shot up in a panic. The mattress creaked as the weight on it shifted so swiftly, and the sheets crumpled. 

"Kyoko—? Kyoko??"  

Kyoko blocked out Celestia's voice at first, too determined to find something she didn't know she was looking for, but as her hands gripped the sides of the alarm clock, she abruptly halted. It was four in the morning, a little before five. With bilious realization, she stood eerily still in her half-up position on the bed and remembered where she was. 

"Kyoko?" Celestia asked again. This time with more confusion, and less panic than when she first woke. Her voice was coarse and groggy. Celestia was not used to waking up this early, Kyoko remembered. The opposite of it, really. Celestia was more familiar with going to bed at this time than she was ever acquainted with waking up then. With that thought, Kyoko, deathly slow, rolled onto her back and laid back down. 

"Kyoko? What the hell."

Kyoko couldn't see her in the dark, but Celestia's voice emitted from above her now. Celestia was still sitting up, on edge. Kyoko wracked her mind to catch up and figure out how to respond.

"Yes?" she muttered calmly.

"Wh—Wha—" Celestia sputted, confused. Unsatisfied with Kyoko's response and wide awake, the sheets ruffled as Celestia reached over Kyoko and to the nightstand. Her palm slid against the surface of the wood, trying to locate the out-of-place lamp until she flicked it on.

Kyoko's eyes flinched at the abrupt apperance of light in the room, but otherwise, stayed trained on the ceiling when Celestia leaned back to her sitting position on the bed. 

"Are you okay? What happened?" Celestia questioned.

Kyoko could feel her partner's intense gaze on her. Her eyes were brown, not red; she had taken her contacts out for the night. Kyoko managed to provide a half-satisfactory explanation. "I just freaked myself out. Sorry." 

Kyoko heard Celestia sigh and looked over at her as she put her head onto her knees.

"You scared the shit out of me." Celestia's voice was muffled against her legs. Her arms wrapped loosely around her ankles.

"I'm sorry," Kyoko apologized again and sat up as well. She kept her head low in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. It was just a dream. I was on edge. I scared myself."

Celestia kept her head buried in her legs, probably more in exhaustion than anything else. She reached over and put an arm on Kyoko's shoulder. She rubbed her back before descending her arm and grabbing hold of her hand—her bare hand, ungloved. 

"Are you okay?" she asked again.

Kyoko nodded before realizing Celestia wasn't facing her to see it. She, too, was tired. "Yeah… I'm fine now."

Celestia let go of her hand and slid herself backward to lay back down. Kyoko craned her neck to look at her. Celestia's eyes were closed, her hair was disheveled, and her eyebrows were furrowed. Kyoko sensed her unease.

"… Are you okay…?" Kyoko tentatively asked Celestia's question.

Celestia nodded slowly, still with her eyes closed, and brought a hand up to her face, covering half of it. "When I asked to spend the night with you, this is not exactly what I imagined would go down."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry so often. You've gotten into this habit with me, and only me, with over-apologizing. Which is ironic considering you hardly apologize to anyone else, even when you really need to." Despite the bluntness of her words, her tone was gentle and honest. And Kyoko knew she was right. 

Celestia extended her free arm toward Kyoko. "Come on, lay back down."

Kyoko obeyed silently and flicked off the lamp, setting the room back into pitch darkness. When she did, Celestia rolled over, put an arm around Kyoko, and rested her head in the crevice where Kyoko's shoulder met her neck.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Celestia mumbled.

Kyoko shifted from ease to confusion. She furrowed her eyebrows. "What?" A beat of silence passed where Kyoko could feel, even through the dark, Celestia silently judging her before her brain caught up. October sixth. She was born that day. Right. "Oh yeah, right. Thanks."

Celestia groggily snickered. "Who forgets their own birthday?"

"To be fair, a lot has…" Kyoko trailed off because she knew she didn't have to finish. They both knew. There was no point in reminding Celestia what she had come here to forget.

Celestia settled her chin onto Kyoko's shoulder as they both thought about it, even though they knew they shouldn't. But it was hard not to, not when they could somehow feel the emptiness of the dorm buildings. Not when they could still feel the presence of death across campus even though the police had removed the body days ago. Not when figments of imagination embodied shadows to reenact the scene when they walked through the corridors.

Every last person on campus was awoken in the middle of the night—whatever ungodly hour it was when Celestia got home from the club—and were evacuated as police and ambulances took over the campus, their sirens blaring. 

Students, bleary-eyed and in pajamas, were rushed out of their dormitories by campus police and dorm presidents. Hundreds of students were jostled forward toward exits groggy and confused, but quickly and soberly awakened as panicked whispers swept through the crowd about what happened. Their grim, scared, dazed, perplexed faces were lit by red, blue, and white in the otherwise dark sky. 

By the time word of what was going on fully swept through the crowd, the confused, tired tension turned into full panic. Some people screamed, some were mentally checked out, one boy fainted and was carried out, some people were crying. But most were angry, fueled by raw adrenaline and panic. Who dared to come onto their campus and do what they did? Didn’t they know who they were?

Students who were close enough to go home went there for the night and the following days. Other students like Celestia and Kyoko, who made up the majority of the student body, were not capable of going home within one night unplanned and were made to stay in hotels paid for by the school for the night. And for the next day. And the day after that while being told a thorough, uninterrupted investigation was being taken place.

Two days later, they were allowed back on campus. They were allowed to grab their stuff and make a decision. They could leave and make plans to go back home, or they could stay. 

The day they were allowed back on campus, they were gathered outside at the center of the school because it was the only place that could fit all of the thousands of students. Jin spoke to them through a microphone on an elevated platform to be seen and heard. His words were rehearsed and most likely written by multiple people. There was no way he could make a whole community of young people feel safe again with some improved statements and a winning smile. His script was well written with apologies and grim honesty. 

He offered counseling services at the school. They were always present, but when tragedy struck, it was mandated that students be reminded of where they could access support. Classes didn't resume until the following Monday. That was to allow them time to adjust, grieve, and process. And all those who went home would be offered remote learning.

After that, they were allowed to go back to their dorms. Celestia went to Kyoko's. And when Kyoko asked Celestia what she wanted to do, she told her, "Lightning doesn't strike twice." But she still asked to spend the night with Kyoko. And that led them to right now, wide awake at 4 AM. 

If only Kyoko hadn't remained plagued by her own torments. If only the evacuation, the mass panic, and the mass grieving from a too-close-to-home tragedy weren't familiar. Then, she wouldn't have been reminded of the fire. Maybe then, she could be adequate enough and unburden Celestia, even for one night. 

Kyoko disliked that she struggled to envision a reality where she would be capable of that, but before she could think too hard about it, the long stretch of silence was brushed aside by Celestia.

"That wasn't the first time I saw a body…" she spoke slowly. Her voice was less groggy, but her tone was missing. Her voice was flat, lost to wherever Celestia was, but she was most likely not just in Kyoko's dorm room anymore. Kyoko would guess she was seeing herself in the music hall or her childhood home, miles from here.

"I know." Kyoko did. Celestia told her before. She told her about the place she grew up. She told her about the poverty overrun area. Cops always passing by, drugs found everywhere, and the constant threat of violence. 

Kyoko also knew what happened to Celestia's father. That Celestia had found that body, too. Then, a few more in alleyways and dirty roads. But her dad was the first one she ever saw; his neck a few inches longer from the pull of weight against the rope around his neck. Celestia was twelve.

Twelve years old and already seeing death in front of her. There was not much that could crack Celestia after having grown up like that. Kyoko saw that stony solemnity herself. Celestia was fearless—a gambler through and through—unintimidated, impulsive, reckless, and beautiful, all the same. A daring whirlwind of passion, unafraid of consequences. That's what Celestia was. How could she remain afraid when she had already fought with just about all there was to fear already?

And so Kyoko had spent two years of her life seeing the daredevil that was Celestia. Risking it all for thrills and never breaking character even under threat. The best part was that she introduced Kyoko to a far more colorful and spirited world beyond the simplicities of life, like bitter coffee and case files in folders.

She was fearless and ambitious. And yet, Kyoko had never seen Celestia as disturbed as she had in the past three days. But she knew why. It wasn't the sight of a body that shook Celestia so deeply. She was far too used to seeing them to be frightened by that anymore. No, it was the fact that she saw one outside of some deep, lost corner of Utsunomiya, Japan where she lived a laborious childhood. 

What tore Celestia apart was that she found a body in Tokyo, Japan, at Hope's Peak Academy, the school of dreams, the school that was supposed to change her life and be nothing like her childhood. The school that was supposed to birth Celestia Lundeberg from Taeko Yasuhiro and never undo it. It wasn’t supposed to bring her back to the past.

What Celestia was convinced she left behind three years ago—that felt more like a lifetime ago to her—had followed her here. That's what persecuted Celestia. And since then, there had been a shift in her. One Kyoko felt she could somehow physically see. Her presence in a room was just a little off. The way she spoke, while still poised, polite, and unnoticeable to anyone else, felt more controlled, like she was holding back something. Because she was. 

Kyoko bit her inner lip. She was so talented and trained to notice these things. She could see right through Celestia and pick up on every last obscure detail she kept hidden. And yet, that was all she could do. Kyoko could identify but not cure. She was a detective, after all. She could solve every last tragedy but never know what to say to it, never properly provide condolences or comfort. She spent too much of her life lost in her own world, she did not know how to provide for another. Her job was to discover the ending, but she never could save someone.

And she knew Celestia knew that. She knew that Celestia had always been aware of that and patient. But sometimes, Kyoko had to wonder how much Celestia could possibly take when they both knew Kyoko needed her and Kyoko wasn't there.

"I can feel you brooding," Celestia complained. 

"Oops."

Celestia sighed. She pressed her face up against the side of Kyoko's neck and left a kiss there. 

She silently traced her finger along her jaw before asking, "Now that you're aware you're nineteen, what do you want to do today? And by today, I mean a few hours from now."

"Hm." Kyoko knew she was just trying to distract her from her thoughts, but welcomed it anyway. She entertained the question. "Not much. I have something I need to do today."

From how close Celestia had her face to Kyoko's neck, she could feel Celestia furrow her eyebrows. It tickled the side of her neck. "Like what?"

"I have to see my cousin—Kenta. He started at the university here last month. I've been putting off seeing him, so I finally arranged it," Kyoko explained.

"Why did you schedule that on your birthday?"

"I forgot."

"How do you forget your birthday??" Celestia questioned again. "How can you live for eighteen years—now nineteen—and not easily associate October sixth as your birthday?" 

Kyoko managed to smile at Celestia’s tone that made her sound more like she was complaining. "In my defense, when we were messaging, we were talking about weekdays. When we agreed on Thursday, I didn't know my birthday was on that Thursday."

"Mm," Celestia muttered, giving up. A beat passed before she asked, "So your cousin's never been to Tokyo?"

"No. He's from Russia."

"And why do you have to see him?"

Kyoko knew Celestia was not one for family. Of course, the way she grew up, family didn't mean much of anything. Celestia wasn't even in contact with any of her family anymore.

Kyoko had a relatively similar outlook. She had complications in her own family, especially with her parents. But she still had her grandfather, and aunt, uncle, and cousins. While she was far from having a traditional nuclear family with a large extended family, she still had semblances of normal family life.

"Because it would make his parents feel better. He's their oldest. They've never had one of their kids move out, especially not so far. Besides, I suppose it would be kind of nice to have some family here for a change. It would be good to stay in contact."

"Fair enough. But don't think that means we're not going to do something to celebrate you tomorrow—today. Just humor me by allowing us to do something small tomorrow.”

Kyoko smiled. “Okay,” she murmured. 

“Anyway, I'm fucking exhausted. I'm going to go back to sleep." Celestia rolled over onto her other side.

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Kyoko quietly sat up. It was a little past five now. She got up at this time. She supposed she could silently get ready for the day without disturbing Celestia.

II

The fan hanging above the ceiling gently swung around, its separate beams of wood rushing around so fast, they were becoming a circle. His clock displayed the time, nearly noon. The curtains had been drawn, blocking the sunlight. Shuichi hadn’t gotten out of the comfort of his blankets for the day. 

His eyelids were heavy, matching the pressure in his heart. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the rushing off policemen, the teachers forcing them into a lockdown, while Shuichi could barely register anything in front of him. 

He turned over, staring at the opposing wall. His back prickled as if there were eyes plastered on him. He turned around, his breath caught up in his throat. Nothing. Of course, there wasn’t anyone. Yet, the back of his mind was keen on making him paranoid, wondering if he was the next victim. 

His phone buzzed. Shuichi paused for a moment before he rolled over. 

Grabbing the device, Shuichi squinted at the screen reading the name. It was his uncle calling him. Not just calling, FaceTiming him. Shuichi’s eyes met his own, dark circles underneath them matched with a bird's nest of hair. His chin had collided with his neck, producing an extra chin. He quickly sat up, running a few fingers through the tangly strands of hair. 

Shuichi clicked the green accept button, pulling his knees to his chin. His face moved over to the corner of his screen as Haru’s filled up the rest. His uncle had a similar complexion to Shuichi, though he bore a light beard. His eyes were slightly more brown than Shuichi’s, and his hair was black and wavy, ending just below his ears. He was wearing his black glasses that helped him read. Shuichi always thought he appeared like a professor whenever he wore them.

His uncle was sitting in their kitchen, a plate of food laid out before him. He was wearing a white collared shirt with a blue tie. Shuichi knew his jacket was resting on the back of his chair. 

Shuichi could see the yellow walls, the white countertop, and the oven behind him. Sunlight was on the side of Haru’s face, making his left eye appear more golden like Shuichi’s. 

He couldn’t feel the blanket wrapped around his legs. Instead, the cool wood of a chair was more present. The sunlight shining down on his face, a plate of food in front of him as well. Shuichi blinked, his eyes meeting the walls of his phone. Haru was over an hour away from Hope’s Peak, not right in front of him. 

His uncle was frowning, more wrinkles in his eyes than Shuichi remembered. “Shuichi! Are you okay?” he asked, his demeanor leaping into action. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Shuichi muttered, rubbing one of his eyes. 

“I figured you just woke up,” Haru said. 

“Yeah…” Shuichi felt as though he were sick, skipping school. He had gone to bed early, fully expecting to attend all of his classes. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do that day. 

“I heard what happened,” his uncle started. “I wanted to call, and make sure you’re okay.” 

“Thanks. Nothing happened to me.” Yet. 

“Who knows what will happen.” Haru shook his head. 

“Are you off work?” Usually, Haru was confined at the bureau all day. 

“Basically, I just need to write some reports for a recent trial.”

“Oh.” Shuichi unplugged his phone from the charger, not needing it anymore. 

“Well, have you decided on what you're going to do?”

“On what?” 

“If you’re leaving the premises or not.” Right. They were given the option that night. Shuichi paused, staring at his floor. Murders happened practically everywhere and anytime, yet knowing one was so close put him on edge. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was next in line. Perhaps the killer was going at random, and he was going to be the unlucky victim in the next attack. If there was going to be a next attack. Shuichi shook his head, attempting to rid himself of those thoughts. 

He had met so many new people. These people wanted to be friends with him. Whether it was a lie to make fun of him behind their back or because of pity, they enjoyed being around him. Shuichi felt like an imposter on the campus, unfit career wise and awkward to the point where a simple conversation made him want to die. Those people made him feel more as if he were supposed to be there.

“I’m not sure,” Shuichi muttered. “Leaving would relieve some worry.”

“I would think so, too. It’s your choice, but I would suggest that you come home.”

Being back in his room sounded heavenly. 

“I don’t want you to end up getting hurt, or worse.” Haru’s expression was creased with worry, nearly begging for Shuichi to cave in. His heart deeply yearned to, yet something within him was holding back. Shuichi hadn’t left his room since the lockdown. 

“I know that,” he started. “But…I don’t know, I think I want to see what’s going on.” 

Haru paused for a moment. His frown deepened, his eyebrows turning upwards. Shuichi had never seen him in such a stressed state. “What?” 

“I don’t know…” 

“When you left for Hope’s Peak you were worried that you wouldn’t fit in. You had that thought for the entire month that you’ve been there. What makes you want to stay?” 

“I’m not sure,” Shuichi muttered. Haru was speaking the truth. “I guess there’s been a lot of people here that I like hanging out with…even if they might not like it.” 

“Shuichi, I’m sure anyone who hangs out with you wants to.” 

“I know.” 

Haru let out a sigh, setting down his fork that was about to go in some rice. 

“Sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologize. I understand where you're coming from. You are clearly stressed out and overwhelmed. How about we discuss this later? You could decide then.” 

“Okay,” Shuichi said, his shoulders dropping from the tension he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Taking his mind off from the topic at hand, he imagined, would be beneficial. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Haru said. “Bye, stay safe.”

“Bye.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.” With that, Shuichi hung up the phone. He let out a sigh, feeling much more alone than before. He needed to decide. If it had been a month earlier, he would’ve left in a heartbeat. But knowing others made him pause. He ran a hand through his hair. What am I going to fucking do? 

III

The lunch rush at Harleenie's Dine and Drink was much more obnoxious than the evening rush. Kyoko preferred the mellow vibe that the city folk brought in past dark rather than the fuss of families, office workers on break, and older people complaining to managers during noon.

But here Kyoko was, sitting at a table for two by the front windows, head in her hand, and bored. She finished her sandwich minutes ago, leaving her to watch a group of staff clean up a mess left by a shattered glass on the wooden floor from a toddler knocking it off the table. 

Meanwhile, sitting across from her, her cousin devoured a full plate of ribs, completely undisturbed by the commotion from the rest of the restaurant. 

"I can see why you guys come here so often," Kenta spoke with his mouth full. "This is good!" He pointed at his ginormous plate. "Thanks for suggesting it."

"It's an enjoyable place," Kyoko agreed with less enthusiasm.

The two spoke back and forth in Russian. When they met up earlier that morning, Kenta initiated speaking with her in Japanese, and Kyoko followed likewise. Though, quickly into the conversation, she found that while he was great at understanding Japanese, he sucked at speaking it. After she got tired of trying to piece together his botched sentences between his thick Russian accent, she switched them to his first language.

They took a short walk around town. Kyoko just explained to him basic routes, which roads to take to get where, some of her preferred places to go for certain things, which dry cleaner in the city was the cheapest, and other tips that were good to know like the begging man in the green beanie wasn't actually homeless and was running a scam. 

After Kyoko was mostly certain she had told him all the basics of how to survive in Tokyo, they sat down for lunch before parting. Kenta asked her what the best restaurant in the city was, and Kyoko figured she might as well show him the most popular joint amongst Hope's Peak students. 

"What kinds of things do you like to do when you're not busy?" Kenta had learned about her intense schedule when he asked her about her studies and apprentice work.

"I usually work," Kyoko answered.

"No, I mean, when you're not working, what do you do?" Kenta tried again.

"I know what you meant. I continue to work." Kenta looked at her puzzled, so she elaborated. "When I'm not at class or at work, I will perhaps study or work on case files, overlook things, read emails, maybe organize my space."

"Damn. Okay." Kenta looked impressed. Most people did when she told them that. She knew why, but she didn't understand why. In the world she lived in, these things were the bare minimum to get by. "But, I meant to like, ask about your hobbies."

"My work is my hobby."

"Huh…" He looked perplexed. "I mean, does that not get… a little boring?"

"What does that mean?"

Kenta held up a hand in apology. "No, not like that. I meant, for a hobby, it sounds more taxing over time. I know people who like school and their jobs and stuff, but they've also got something they can do to kick back and relax."

"I suppose so. But it's just how I am."

Kenta shrugged. "Hey, power to you then. I can respect that."

Kenta made innocent, mindless conversation with her the entire morning. He was more curious than she remembered him being. She remembered a spaz of a kid, jumping from one area to the next, uninterested in anything that wasn't immediately in front of him. 

He immensely calmed down slowly but surely throughout his late teenage years, but she never thought she'd meet a version of him who didn't have his head in the clouds. And yet, that's what she found when she met up with him that morning.

"So Maizono Sayaka and Enoshima Junko are some big names in your class," Kenta switched subjects while also practicing saying surname first, followed by first name. "Who else do you know that's like, celebrity level?" 

He asked her a lot about Hope's Peak Academy. That didn't surprise her. Most people did when they found out she went there. Who wouldn't want to know what the biggest elite private school in the globe was like from an insider's point of view? 

When they walked around town, she told him about school traditions, what classmates were usually like, and what classes and schedules looked like. She told him about the dormitories, big names that attended the school, and coursework. 

"Well, those are the main two in my class." Kyoko paused to think. Mondo, the ultimate biker gang leader, came to mind as a notable name, but she decided against mentioning him. In Tokyo, his name was known with less celebrity status and more fear. "I guess… Kuwata…?"

Kenta's eyes widened, and he slammed his hands down on the table. "Leon Kuwata???"

Kyoko blinked, confused. "Yes. That's what I said."

Kenta leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms. "Jeez," he huffed with amusement. "That's insane! Biggest pre-league baseball star in the globe," he told her as if she didn't know.

Kyoko nodded, unimpressed. "Yep. That's probably why he got accepted. I didn't know you liked baseball, though."

Kenta shrugged. "I watch it sometimes. It's not a huge gig for me, but it's something. I can't believe you have such a big celebrity in your class, though. Did you ask for his autograph?"

"No."

While not a baseball player, Kenta played football. Kyoko knew he played for the University of Tokyo. It's why he came here. He wanted out of Russia; wanted to experience more of the world, and the University in Tokyo offered him a scholarship if he played football for them. He wasn't Hope's Peak level, but he was good. He had been playing almost his whole life. 

Kyoko remembered having to attend some of his matches when they were younger. She remembered him when he was much smaller in long socks and different colored jerseys in different seasons.

She remembered a lime green and a sky blue uniform in different phases of elementary school. She recalled a purple uniform when he was in middle school. She also remembered her personal favorite, a bubblegum pink uniform in his 7th-grade year that he wore with pride. And then, there was his consistent yellow and red jersey when he began playing for his high school team.

Seeing some of his high school soccer games were the few times Kyoko got to see public high school spirit. He was only one grade below her, but they didn’t go to the same schools. She attended an all-girls Catholic private school before enrolling in Hope’s Peak, the private boarding school. Having a taste of normalcy was more of an annual event for Kyoko.

Having thought about his sport, Kyoko decided to ask, "How's Tokyo University's soccer team?"

"We're pretty good. It's an awesome team. Me and the other guys have already become pretty tight. I'm super glad I came to Japan. It's less uptight than Yakutsk. And less cold. Way less cold. But yeah, good team, good coaches. All that. They said they're glad I joined, that I'm a good asset to the team, so that's pretty awesome, too."

Kyoko always figured one of the reasons he was so good of a football player was because of his height. He was quick to growth spurts growing up and always towered over the other kids, making the opposing teams intimidated. 

When Kyoko showed Kenta around in the streets, and while they ate at the restaurant, Kenta got some stares probably because of how abnormally tall he was. 

His mom—Anya, Jin's sister—had Japanese heritage from Fuhito, but was born in Russia, which is where she stayed, even when Jin left to live in Japan. She married a Russian man, who was a business accountant, or something like that; Kyoko could never remember. He was a very tall white man who passed his height to Kenta and his other sons, but especially Kenta since he was the tallest of his brothers.

In the streets of Japan, Kenta was more than a head over most civilians. He stood at 6'5, making Kyoko feel dwarfed when walking next to him. His height was intimidating, but to make up for it, he was relatively thin. He had a runner's body, lean and lanky.

He ran a hand through his dark black hair, pushing it out of his face as he finished his plate. The two of them had contrasting hair colors, but they shared the same eye color. Magenta. Just like Jin and Anya, too. In some ways, Kenta and Kyoko looked like one another. A similar narrow nose, thin jawline, slender build, and pale skin. But they highly differed in personality. 

"So," Kenta began, switching subjects. "What do you and your friends like to do?"

What surprised Kyoko about Kenta was that he was also interested in her life beyond Hope's Peak. He asked about her friends, what she does in her free time, her goals, her plans for after school, her summer break, about Fuhito, etc. 

She never envisioned Kenta becoming polite. Growing up, he knocked over furniture, broke glasses, and never said sorry; he was already running off to the next thing before he got in trouble. He wasn't a jerk when they were kids, but he was annoyingly oblivious. 

He was still a little clueless and carefree. He ate his food before Kyoko's arrived and sometimes spent a little too long talking and forgetting to ask for Kyoko's input (which she actually didn't mind), but he still held doors open for her. He said sorry when he accidentally bumped into her in a cramped space. And when a woman walking out of a shop dropped her bags, spilling its contents onto the sidewalk, he quickly went over to help.

Maybe the word polite wouldn't be how Kyoko described him, but he was respectful now. He was far more mature than the last time Kyoko saw him. And most importantly, he did not seem to know what happened at Hope’s Peak yet. Either that, or he was pretending he didn’t. Either way, Kyoko was grateful that it was not being brought up. After how much what had happened dictated her life the past few days, she was glad she could at least pretend like things were normal.

Everyone on campus had been keeping a close eye on the news for updates. They hardly got any updates from staff members as is, and they wanted answers. So far, no one had said anything about media coverage on the school, so Kyoko could assume Kenta was none the wiser, as were everyone around them.

Kyoko began to answer his question to distract herself. "Well, they all enjoy going out, so we often do that. We almost always go to the mall. Sayaka and Hina like to roller skate, and there's a rink close by. I usually don't go, but sometimes, I'm dragged along. Pretty often, we come to this diner." Kyoko caught sight of Harleen carrying two trays of food to a table across the restaurant. "Sometimes, we go to the library on campus to study and then get sidetracked. Hina occasionally takes me with her to the gym. And sometimes, we'll just hang out in our dorms to relax or study together."

"So, the adventurous type, huh?"

Kyoko shrugged. "You could certainly call it that. They are lively. But speaking of friends, how have you made friends if your Japanese is hardly understandable?" Kyoko changed subjects. When they were walking around town, Kenta told her about the waves of friends he had already made, even outside of his teammates.

Kenta shrugged. "I dunno. The guys on the football team like me. And I've gotten along with the kids on my dorm floor. I think they all kinda get it because some of their English sucks. But yeah, once I started getting along with those guys, I got invited to some parties where I meet even more people," he explained casually. 

Admittedly, Kyoko could see how he would have ease with intriguing others into befriending him, even with a language barrier. Kenta had a striking sense of style and a unique presence. He was tall, half-white, half-Asian, had a piercing on his right ear, and wore a ring and necklace, so a more stylish, attractive appearance.

He was athletic, the sides of his black hair were shaven and long on top, and he was easy to make conversation with. He was cool. He was appealing, the kind of guy you wanted to be your friend.

  "What about you? Did you struggle with language barriers when you first came here?" Kenta asked. 

"No. Japanese is my first language. I was born here, remember?" 

Kenta flinched as he remembered. He slapped his hand to his forehead. "Oh yeah, right! Sorry. I don't know why I always forget you came from somewhere else before you lived with Grandpa."

Kyoko knew why. It was because they hardly saw each other and were barely involved in one another's lives. She didn't say it out loud, though.

Kyoko held up a hand and dismissed his apology. "It's fine. Anyway though, it wasn't until much later that I started getting to know people at school."

"How come?" Kenta asked.

"I just wasn't interested to. I was focused on other things."

A beat passed as Kenta processed how different they were. She wasn't surprised that would strike him as odd considering how quick he is to jump into interaction with others.

Before he said anything in response, their waitress came over and put their checks on the table.

"Uh oh, let's see the damage." Kenta slid his check over to him and opened it as Kyoko quietly slid some cash from her jacket pocket onto her check. "Thank God. It's not that bad." Kenta slipped his debit card into the check and set it down on the table.

As Kyoko began counting through her remaining money to pick out a tip for the waiter, Kenta leaned back into his chair and put his hands behind his head. "Hey, thanks for meeting up with me today. It was nice seeing you after so long."

"No problem. And likewise," Kyoko answered.

"And let's stay in touch too, okay? We're the only Kirigiri and Antonov in Japan. We gotta stay connected."

Kyoko looked up, and Kenta beamed at her as if the two of them had their own secret club. Kyoko supposed the idea of having so much independence amused him. She couldn't blame him. She was the opposite of him. She had been independent nearly her whole life; emancipated at fifteen, training for her future career since then, and losing both of her parents much younger.

Kenta's life had been the complete opposite. He lived in a stable home with four younger brothers and a good-intentioned but smothering mother. He had never truly been on his own. And now he was a continent away from his family.

He had a glint in his eye. Perhaps it was the source of his newly harbored curiosity. He was excited to start living. And surprisingly, he seemed to like having Kyoko there, too. He liked the freedom he now had— that was clear—but he seemed to want some familiarity, too. So she nodded, agreeing.

"Yes, we should." And she meant it.

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

6/10/23

13:03

As he pulled a black sweatshirt over his white T-shirt, Shuichi closely watched his phone screen lying on his bed. He could see the three bubbles bouncing on the screen as Kaito typed a reply. After a beat, the message sent. Shuichi quickly bent over, reading it. 

Kaito: Sorry man, I’m going home. This shit is freaky. 

Shuichi sighed and picked up his phone, rereading the message a few times. The anxious pit in his stomach grew with each moment. A fear of loneliness, pressure to make his decision to stay or leave, and nervousness about whether he would make a good decision.

He knew Maki was staying, Kaede wasn’t sure, and now Katio was leaving. As for himself, he was conflicted. He had only been at Hope’s Peak for a month. He didn’t want to just leave. And yet, who else would be staying? What if the murderer killed on campus again?

He stared out the window as he contemplated these things. Making decisions on his own made him anxious. He hated that trait about himself. How babish it made him seen. He wanted to just grow up already. But he knew he couldn't simply force himself to make up his mind; he needed time to think.

Turning back to his phone, he began typing a response. Fair enough. He sent the message before shutting off his phone. If he were to leave, he wanted to, at least, check out that library Kyoko recommended before he'd go.

He decided it was something to do, and he could think about his options on the walk there, so he gathered his things, shoving his wallet and phone into his jean pockets, tying his shoes, and placing his hat on his head.

He stepped out, gently closing the door behind him. Not a single soul was in the dormitory hallway. After the evacuation, some kids never stepped foot back in the school and simply went home, leaving behind their things until the undisclosed future.

Shuichi headed down to the main floor, placing his earbuds into his ears and selecting a playlist on his phone. According to the directions on his phone, the library wasn’t too far of a walk from Hope’s Peak. He wouldn’t mind getting some exercise; it'd be good for him. He was still a little embarrassed when he remembered the tour…

The campus grounds were barren. Shuichi had never seen it so empty. Often, people came through in waves rather than in consistent numbers throughout the day. And during class hours, the campus was always void. No one skipping was dumb enough to risk getting caught from hanging around in the open.

But there was a large difference between now and when class was in progress. It wasn't just void of people. It was void of life. It was scrapped of its pleasing averageness, burdened by what had happened a few nights ago.

The day was much warmer than the others, though it was humid and uncomfortable rather than nice weather. The clouds were a deep gray, like a blanket over the world. The air was stiff and still.

In the distance, Shuichi could see the music hall. In his mind, he saw the familiar yellow police tape. A chill ran down his spine. Then his imagination began to picture what the body of the victim may have looked like before the forensic crew removed it. Rotten, and old, and bloodied. He pushed the image as far back as he could.

Arriving at the open gates of the school's parking lot, Shuichi saw a familiar face walking in the opposite direction than him, a drink in hand. The girl spotted him the same time he saw her, and a smile spread across her face once they made eye contact. Kaede. 

Shuichi smiled back, turning his music off and taking out his earbuds as Kaede picked up her pace to reach him. “Hey, Shuichi!” she called to him. 

“Hi,” he greeted back, slowing down to a stop. The drink in Kaede's cup was pastel pink and filled with ice, halfway empty.

"How are you? I haven't seen you a bit." Kaede at him. She was so kind and so agreeable. He really hoped she would stay.

"Oh, I'm fine. Well," he turned around, looking back toward campus, "I'm as good as I could be doing… How about you?"

"Same here," she said with a bit of solemness. She pointed a thumb behind her toward the parking lot. "You heading somewhere?"

“Yeah, just the library outside the school,” Shuichi answered. “Uh, Kyoko recommended it to me, so thought it'd be something to do with all this free time without class. Where are you coming back from?"

“Oh, just Starbucks.” She laughed, looking down at her cup. “Felt a little impulsive, so I went out this morning.” 

“Nice,” Shuichi said, grinning. It almost felt like a conversation they would have before everything happened. For a second, things felt normal.

“So Kyoko recommended the library in town to you? You two hanging out now?” Kaede prompted.

"Uh, sorta. She just toured me around campus a few days ago and that's when she told me about it. She noticed I didn't really like the library on campus."

“Aw, that’s sweet of her. You guys'll totally be good friends.” Kaede smiled with confidence in her opinion.

“Heh, maybe,” he muttered, breaking eye contact and looking down at the ground, a little flustered. Kyoko seemed too cool for him.

“Well, don't let me keep you.” She gestured behind her. “Oh… and… I'll shoot you a text when I eventually figure out if I’m staying or not. I'm gonna call my parents after this.” The joyful demeanor slowly disappeared as she spoke. Shuichi caught her eyes gazing towards the music hall. 

“Alright, no rush.” 

“I know. It’s just confusing.” Kaede shook her head. She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “My mom and dad already called me before. They’re worried sick. But I don’t know, this is my first year…”

“Yeah, I've been thinking the same thing. Like… all of those points,” Shuichi said, scratching at the back of his neck. Kaede nodded. 

“Well, I’m glad I'm not alone.” Kaede gave him a small smile. “I better head off now. See you soon hopefully.”

“Bye.”

And with that, Kaede walked past him. Shuichi stuck his earbuds back in and put his music back on. Walking past the entrance gate, he wondered if this would be one of the last times.

Outside Hope’s Peak was much more busy, with most cars aiming for the downtown area of Tokyo. On the opposite side of Tokyo, Shuichi felt like a fish out of water. 

A small gust of wind blew past him, displacing his hair into his eyes. He scraped them away, walking with his head down and his hands in his pockets.

Stopping at a pedestrian crossing, he pulled out his phone once more, looking at the directions to the library. He rarely went to the edge of Tokyo where Hope’s Peak was; it was mainly where all the much more well-off people lived. People who didn’t want to be in the downtown area, but still near the action. Shuichi, however, preferred the solitude.

The pedestrian crossing light switched, allowing him to pass the street to the other side. He glanced up at the shops, some small tables and chairs set out that seemed never used. A bundle of people were behind and in front of him, walking to their own destinations, most of their faces stoic and cold. Shuichi made himself blend in with the crowd, becoming just a simple guy going about his day. 

People in Hope’s Peak hated blending in, he knew that. Campus was filled with pride and confidence with myriad different kinds of people unapologetically with their own passions and priorities.

Unfortunately, Shuichi wasn’t like them. Standing out was a nightmare. He much preferred to be a fly on the wall, unnoticed. No expectations, no one disappointed in him, nothing. He was a simple filler amongst many. Where he preferred to be.

As he walked, he noticed some pedestrians carrying closed umbrellas waiting to be used. He smelled rain and could tell it wouldn't be long until the predicted forecast came true. Luckily, he wasn't far.

Up ahead was a sign displaying the public library. The building was considerably large with grand stairs and large windows. Across the streets was a McDonald’s. A small line formed outside the door. Shuichi smelled salt on fries. It made him a little hungry even if he wasn't a huge fan of American food.

The stairs to the library were concrete with a small landing at the top. Two big doors stood imposingly. Posters on easels were put beside the doors, displaying upcoming public events. The building was completely made of wood, with beautiful, intricate windows showcasing three floors. The ceiling was slanted and painted red. It was a rare occurrence to see a traditional building in Tokyo. 

Seeing the library in contrast with the simple-cut buildings put a sense of warmth in Shuichi’s heart. He loved the ambiance of the older architecture. As he walked up the stairs, there were a few people entering and exiting, holding bags, backpacks, and purses with books. A tall girl with long dark purple hair was reading while walking, holding a yellow book. The pink face on the cover had popping yellow eyeshadow that stared at Shuichi as he passed. It looked like a thriller novel.

Grabbing the gold handle, Shuichi pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside, a gentle breeze of warmth wrapping around his body like a welcome.

He looked up, significantly slowing his pace to a stop. The library was a large space with green stairs that ascended to the next floor. The staircase was wrapped in vines with white flowers on the stems. The walls, shelves, and floor were completely made of wood, and designs were carved on shelves and walls. Tapestry hung down in front of him, reading motivational quotes and tips for learning. 

Best of all, the library was quiet. Shuichi turned off his music, relishing the moment. There were rugs on the floor, comfy chairs and couches, a corner for computers, a separate room with a door reading, ‘documents’, and a desk for the check-out counter. 

His feet hit one of the rugs, coming to the surprise at how soft it was. Nearly every chair was occupied by someone either on their phone or reading, yet they were silent. No talking, no eye contact, absolutely lost in their own world. Shuichi found himself sighing with relief. It had been a while since he was in a place with a large, silent group. Everyone was in their own bubble. Shuichi was more than joyful to finally step into his own.

He approached one of the long aisles, glancing around. Each one had numbers listed, mainly in the thousands. He glanced up, finding a tapestry reading, ‘non-fiction.’

“Can I help you?”

Shuichi jumped, his body racing with chills at the sudden disappearance of silence. He turned around, finding an older woman behind him. She was a bit shorter than him, with raven black hair, slowly graying with a few silver streaks. Her face had the beginnings of wrinkles underneath her eyes and the edges of her cheeks. A pair of round glasses were perched on her nose, her gray-brown eyes on the other side of the glass.

She smiled, the set of dimples on her cheeks deepening. She wore a yellow cardigan, a white button-up, and black pants. She had clasped Mary Janes on her feet and a lanyard was around her neck. She held a stack of books in her arms, cradling them like they were a baby.

“Oh, I’m—I’m good,” Shuichi said. His face heated up with embarrassment. 

“Are you sure?” the woman asked. “You seem quite lost.” She held no malice in her tone. Just genuine kind curiosity.

“Well, it’s my first time being here…” Shuichi murmured. 

“Oh! I see.” Her smile grew. “Are you new to this part of Tokyo?”

“Yeah, I rarely come here.” 

“Not many people do, I will admit.” She laughed. “What brings you here?”

"Uh—Just a recommendation from a friend." It wasn't a lie, just a half-truth.

The woman nodded and tilted her head. "You look young. Are you still in school?" she asked.

He pieced together she was wondering about his school library and why he chose to come here and not there. "Yeah, I am. I just don't like the library we have on campus; it's really crowded and noisy."

"Ah, okay then. Well, I'm glad you came here. Welcome! What school do you go to?"

Great. Shuichi became awkward at the question. Telling her would only cause a scene, and he didn’t want to heighten her expectations to an astronomical level. He simply wanted to be another student from a random school, not the school that she definitely knew of. He let out a sigh, keenly aware of the silence that was overtaking their conversation. “Well, um…I’m from Hope’s Peak,” he coughed up. 

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise. Shuichi looked down at the floor. “Hope’s Peak!?” she exclaimed in a loud whisper. “Really!?”

“Yeah…” 

She shook her head. “A Hope’s Peak student. My brother went to Hope’s Peak all those years ago.”

“He did?” Shuichi said, raising his eyebrows. “What is his name? Uh, well also, what’s your name?”

She chuckled. “I’m not as interesting as him, but his name is Hirose Minoru. He was the ultimate writer. He loves writing all sorts of things; books, poems, haikus. He even liked writing essays in school. He went on to become a famous author, he writes for the press, all that. As for me, I’m nothing as special as him. My name is Hirose Lyn. I am the owner of this library.” 

“Even that’s impressive,” Shuichi said, trying to give Lyn credit.

“You don’t have to pretend.” She laughed. “I can tell you’re more interested in Minoru.”

“Well, you both did remarkable things. And I mean this is a beautiful library. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you to keep in pristine condition.”

“Why, thank you. You're quite nice for a young man. I was the one who pushed for this library to be built. With the bland buildings that were popping up, I wanted something different. Something unique,” Lyn explained, glancing up at the shelves. A smile spread across her face, a deep sense of pride in her eyes. 

“That’s incredible,” Shuichi said. He followed her gaze to the shelves. 

“What’s your title in Hope’s Peak?” Lyn asked. 

“It’s nothing special. I’m the ultimate detective.” Shuichi scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s my first year at the school, so I’m really only learning the basics at the moment.” 

“Wow! So young? That’s a tough job. I can’t imagine having to see so many awful things every day.”

He disliked that she immediately assumed he was a homicide detective. Everyone always thought of detectives solving murders when they did so much more, too. The specializations ranged from robbery, kidnapping, terrorism, and also in cybersecurity relating to hacking groups. Different skills require different talents. All couldn't be done by the same person, making homicide detectives just one of the bunch.

However, even with her just assuming… she wasn't wrong. He did specialize in homicide. Or more like, he wanted to specialize in homicide because his uncle did. Additionally, the only other detective his age he knew, Kyoko, also specialized in homicide. So it's not like he and she were breaking any stereotypes.

“Yeah, it can be really hard sometimes.” Shuichi chewed on the inside of his mouth.

“They teach you how to deal with that crap, don't they? Seeing all those things?” 

“Yeah, thankfully,” Shuichi said. 

“That’s good. I’m sure you’ll be great at that job; every kid who goes to Hope’s Peak ends up doing some incredible things.”

We'll see about that.

Shuichi didn’t argue; he didn't want to start a pity party for himself. Instead, he simply smiled at her and nodded. 

“Well, I need to put away these books." She nodded down to the stack of books she held. "If you have any questions, please let me know. And— Oh! I forgot to ask. Silly me. What’s your name?”

"Saihara. Shuichi Saihara," Shuichi introduced himself. 

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Saihara.” She clutched her books and bowed. Shuichi quickly mimiced, peeking from his hat to make sure he had gone lower than her. 

They both raised to stand straight again. Shuichi’s head was swimming, the blood rushing through his skull. He remembered that he had not eaten today yet.

Lyn smiled one more time before she turned around, and began walking away, holding her books. Shuichi watched her go, realizing that was the first conversation he had without remembering the incident. It was nice.

Shuichi looked up at the non-fiction sign above his head. He wanted to read something else, something less real. Though he didn’t have a library card, and if he were to get one to check out a book, he didn't have a bag to protect the book from the rain.

Before he could decide his next course of action, his stomach painfully curled in on itself, growling. He sighed. Eating was something he had to do first. 

The place across the street rang in his mind. His nose wrinkled at the prospect of eating there, yet his stomach had already clung to the thought. He craved a cheeseburger. And maybe fries. Shuichi wanted fries. 

With that, he turned around and headed toward the exit. He was sad to see the silence go, yearning to curl up in one of the many chairs with a book and read for hours.

He would enjoy coming here to study. The library was the first new experience he enjoyed since arriving. It made him wish he didn’t have to choose to leave or remain. Though, he supposed, it was always best not to get attached before it was ripped from his hands. He needed to not think about it as hard.

Shuichi pushed open the door, his face was immediately hit with a light gust of wind, drops of water hitting his hat. The concrete was wet and the dull sound of water hitting the ground now surrounded him. The air was a bit cooler. He heard a rumble of thunder from the dark gray skies. People had opened umbrellas or walked quickly with their heads down. He pulled the hoodie of his sweatshirt over his cap.

On the city road, the car’s windshield wipers clacked back and forth, combating the rain. Their tires splashed puddles onto the sidewalks as they drove by.

Shuichi crept to the edge of the road, carefully looking both ways at the oncoming cars. When he saw a clearing, he ran across the drenched road. His sneakers skidding, causing him to momentarily stumble on the pavement and losing his footing for a second before becoming upright. He prayed no cars were coming toward him and about to plow him over.

Reaching the other side, he stepped onto the sidewalks and looked up at the McDonald's. He was thankful only a few people were inside, forming a small line.

Once inside, he was greeted by warmth, contrasting the sharp cold rain outside. Shuichi sighed, taking off his hood. Raindrops littering the top.

He stepped into line and didn't bother with the menu. He already knew what he already wanted. Bored, he looked around the restaurant. Tables were half-filled with people, television screens on the walls, and an employee sweeping the dining room.

One of the TVs broadcasting the news caught his attention. His eye was drawn in by a picture of his school on the corner of the screen as a woman spoke.

“Hope’s Peak is taking extra precautions to fortify safety measures in response to what took place early in the night on October 3rd,” the anchor said. “Watanabe Benjiro was a janitor who worked at the school. He was a father of two children, married to his wife of five years,” she said. The image of Hope's Peak changed to a picture of Watanabe's faculty photo.

Shuichi’s heart twisted. He had been out with Kokichi right before, during, or after he was killed. It made him sick.

“Watanabe was found dead on school grounds by night patrol. He had been fixing some lights on the ceiling of the school’s music hall before tragically falling to his demise.”

That made Shuichi pause. It was an accident? 

“Hope’s Peak had all of their students evacuated that night in case any foul play was involved. Just recently they were allowed back onto the campus, thanks to the police advising case-closed due to accident.” 

Shuichi blinked. His mind swarmed with confusion. Watanabe had fallen? He wasn't killed?

He had seen the music hall, the tape along the entrance. If it were an accident, surely they would let the students back in, right? There was no need for evidence. And why were they all given the opportunity to go to remote learning immediately? If the case wasn't that serious why was the school still treating it as such?

"Hope’s Peak is reviewing its safety policy, apologizing to the public for their negligence to properly equip their staff,” the host said. "Investigators said the fall was caused after the ladder lost balance due to Watanabe leaning too far. Average for a common ladder, but Hope's Peak has promised to do better by providing higher quality equipment for their janitorial staff."

Shuichi's eyebrows furrowed further. Hope's Peak sounded so noble. The narrative presented showed it wasn't their fault, but they were still taking responsibility and making an effort to fix it anyway. It gave them instant credibility.

“In this message,” the anchor began as her face disappeared from the screen, now showing the letter Hope’s Peak had released. “They state they will do everything in their power to ensure an accident like this will never happen again. And they are sending their grievances as well as financial compensation to the Watanabe family.” 

Shuichi found himself ever the more confused. Hope’s Peak would never blatantly lie about something, right? So maybe they were right? It really was just an accident…?

No. Shuichi shook his head. He remembered the night. How frantic the staff were. Surely, they had seen the body and realized what had happened right off the bat. So why the delay? Did they want to be sure? Why were they so panicked? Especially when it was highly likely it would be an accident? And why didn't they tell the student body right away after determined it was an accident??? Why are they still acting cautiously?

This wasn’t adding up. It made his blood boil. Was the school that motivated by maintaining its reputation to sweep something under the rug? To cover up a potential crime by lying?

He questioned those things and more as the line moved forward. Finally, he tore his eyes away from the TV screen bitterly. It took a lot to make him angry. And even more to display it on his face. But he was conflicted, upset, and confused with the school he thought so highly of and showed constant praise.

He ordered his food, paying the cashier before he moved over, looking for a place. He located an unoccupied table in the corner that wasn’t around anyone. Deciding on that one, he turned back to the counter, watching as an employee placed a red tray with his burger and fries, and called his name. 

Grabbing his food, he made his way into the corner to sit down and eat. He slid his tray onto the table and sat down at the table made for two, the cool metal pressing against his back as he leaned into it. He shivered and leaned forward away from it.

His eyes rested on the opposing chair in front of him, completely empty. Shuichi couldn’t imagine how pathetic he appeared to everyone else. 

He unwrapped his burger, the wrapper warm in his hands. He began to eat silently while scanning the rest of the restaurant. Behind him, he heard the front door open, the sound of rain outside amplifying before it closed again.

His table was placed against a window, giving him a view of the city outside. Countless raindrops tapped against the window and raced down the glass. People were hurriedly walking outside, trying to reach somewhere warm and dry. 

From inside the restaurant, he heard a door open, one with obnoxiously squeaky hinges. He turned his attention to the source of the noise and saw someone walking out of the men's bathroom. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the face.

What is Kokichi doing here? 

He froze and quickly became nervous from embarrassment. He was stuck in the corner of a McDonald’s with no friends around him. Completely alone, and most likely appearing pathetic. Kokichi noticed him staring and his eyes landed on his. Shuichi's eyes widened, surprised from getting caught staring and his face going paler than it already was. 

Kokichi smiled widely at him and quickly began approaching his table. Shuichi sank lower in his chair, regretting every single circumstance that led him up to that moment. He wasn't ready to hold a conversation without making himself sound stupid.

The last time Shuichi had seen Kokichi was during the evacuation, though only for a brief moment. The night had been such a blur that Shuichi could barely remember if they had exchanged words, the only recollection in his mind being a still image of Kokichi heading out of his room, tired and in his pajamas. 

“Hey, Shuichi!” Kokichi said rather loudly. A few people turned their heads to stare at them. Shuichi waved at him awkwardly.

Kokichi plopped himself into the chair opposite from him, resting his elbows on the table. He cupped his face with his hands, leaning closer to Shuichi. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone playful.

“Um…eating?” Shuichi said, lifting up his burger. 

“No shit, Sherlock. Why are you in a McDonald’s? Shouldn’t you be smoking a cigar in a fancy coffee shop?” Kokichi squinted his eyes at him.

There was his second detective stereotype of the day.

“Well, um… I got hungry, and I was right by here. So I just stopped in,” Shuichi weakly explained. He stared down at his red tray, staring into the eyes of a Japanese kid on a piece of paper on the tray, promoting some ad for a children’s foster care program. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just planted a bomb in the bathroom. I would recommend leaving as soon as possible.” Kokichi tilted his head back, crossing his arms as if he didn’t say the wildest shit possible. 

“I—I’m sorry?” Shuichi asked, wrinkling his nose as his expression twisted in confusion. 

“You heard me.”

“No, I don’t think I heard you that clearly.”

Kokichi let out a sigh. “Bomb. Bathroom. Explode. You. Out.” 

Shuichi rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but he couldn't help but smile. Kokichi laughed. “I’m not that stupid," Shuichi murmured. 

“Really? Because you’re playing dumb with me.” Kokichi leaned back in his chair, the two legs coming off from the ground. Shuichi took a bite of his burger for an excuse to think over his next words, chewing over his options. 

“You didn’t really put a bomb in there, right?” Shuichi finally asked. 

“Hm?” 

“The bomb you were talking about. Oh, I’m sorry. Bomb. You. Bathroom. Explode.” 

Kokichi laughed rather loudly. He fell forward, slamming the chair back down on the floor. His laughter died down as giggles spilled past his lips and he caught his breath. “Damn it.”

Shuichi was right. Kokichi was a troublemaker by all means, yet there was a slim to no chance that he had any access to bombs. And if for some reason he did, he wouldn't go placing them for no reason.

“I thought you fucked off from the school?” Kokichi changed topics, suddenly curious.

“Oh, no,” Shuichi said. "Not yet at least. Still here."

“Jeez, I thought you would be the first to leave.” Kokichi put his hands behind his head, clasping his fingers together.

“So did my uncle…” he muttered. 

“What about your parents?” 

“I don’t live with them. I live with my uncle.” 

“Oh, makes sense. Is he pissed off at you?”

“No, not really. But I wanted to see who else was leaving first before deciding.” Like Kaito, and Kaede, and Maki, and Makoto, and all his other friends he made at Hope's Peak…

“It’s half of the fucking school, that’s your answer.”

“Are you leaving?” Shuichi asked.

Kokichi paused. Shuichi took the last bite of his burger, chewing as he waited for Kokichi’s answer. “Hm, no,” he said, turning his head. He stared out the window, watching as the rain hit against the glass. 

“Why is that?”

“Eh, what’s the use? I think I'll choose getting fucking murdered than go home early.”

Shuichi was nearly taken aback. He stopped himself from eating a fry, the radioactive potato hanging in the air by his hand. Kokichi had said it so nonchalantly and aggressively that Shuichi had to replay each word in his mind, telling himself that it had actually happened.

“… Why is that?” he asked.

“I want to know what it's like! Getting murdered sounds fun!” Kokichi turned his head towards Shuichi. His smile was plastered on his face. It looked fake.

“What?” Shuichi’s mind felt fried, unable to keep up with Kokichi and his switching moods. 

“Besides,” Kokichi went on, “My parents are like, super rich. Going home would just be a pain. They practically watch my every move! What teenager wants that?” He rolled his eyes. “So, if there’s a murderer on the campus, it would be much more exciting to see them! Not my crusty family with sticks up their asses.” 

“I mean, it seems like they really care about you,” Shuichi said. He shrugged. “Would you want a fry?” 

“Fuck yeah, dude,” Kokichi exclaimed, twisting the box of fries toward himself. He took out a handful, shoving them in his mouth. He quickly chewed, staring out the window. Shuichi watched, tapping his feet against the tiled floor. Kokichi’s reasoning for staying sounded… weird and his shift in tone wasn't selling his point. There was something else he wasn’t telling him. 

Kokichi opened his mouth, though nothing else came out. He promptly closed it, taking another fry. “Why didn’t you get any ketchup?” he asked, completely switching the topic. 

“Oh, I don’t like ketchup,” Shuichi said. 

“Huh?”

“Especially on fries.”

Kokichi's eyes widened. “That’s fucking psychopathic, Shuichi.” 

“Sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to make an apology. You get to bask in your sins.” 

Shuichi smiled. “I see.” 

Kokichi rolled his eyes, shoving another handful of fries in his mouth. At that rate, Shuichi wasn't going to get them back from Kokichi.

“What do your parents do for a living?” Shuichi asked, attempting to get them on the previous topic. No one should be excited about the prospect of being murdered, and he hoped Kokichi was making a joke. 

“Oh, they’re real estate agents,” Kokichi answered, turning back to look at Shuichi. 

“That’s cool,” Shuichi said, reaching toward his box of fries. Kokichi wasn’t making any move to eat more of them. 

“You said your uncle is a detective, right?” Kokichi asked. Shuichi was surprised he had remembered. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s cool. He could solve the murder on the campus, right?”

“Well no, he doesn’t work in this part of Tokyo. And besides, it seems like Hope’s Peak is trying to cover it up, anyways.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the news reporter said that it was an accident.”

“Weird.” Kokichi shrugged. He didn’t seem to care. “Either way, I wonder who the murderer will get next.”

Shuichi's gaze hardened. “Hopefully no one…” 

“That’s lame.”

“It’s the safest option," Shuichi argued. "I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”

Kokichi yawned. “Fair.”

He veered them off track, Shuichi realized. He didn't want to talk about himself; he wanted to talk about Kokichi and the weird mess that made up his personality. Shuichi could see some of his attitude that resembled a spoiled rich kid. However, Kokichi usually went with much dirtier measures to handle his problems. He was cunning and street-smart, not wise and privileged.

“I wish my uncle could work on the case. That'd mean we'd live much closer to Hope's Peak. Then, I could just sleep at my house and attend school regularly,” Shuichi stumbled through, attempting to lead into his questions without making it too obvious he wanted answers.

Kokichi raised his eyebrows, though he didn’t say anything.

Shuichi wasn’t going to lead with his question, though. He remained quiet, eating what was left of his fries. Kokichi watched, his eyes flickering all around Shuichi’s face. It was clear he was trying to figure out what his motives were. Shuichi took a breath, making sure he ate his fries quickly so that Kokichi couldn’t see his hands nervously shaking. 

“Would they even allow that?” Kokichi finally asked. Shuichi shrugged. 

“Would you want to do that?” 

Kokichi looked up at the ceiling as he thought about his answer. He leaned back in his chair, pondering Shuichi’s question. Shuichi waited. “Nah, sounds like too much traveling. I would rather just stay in one place.” 

“Fair enough,” Shuichi said. 

“Do you live in Tokyo?” Kokichi asked. Bingo. 

“On the other side of it. What about you?” Shuichi couldn’t help but smile. He had successfully walked Kokichi into being questioned. Unfortunately, it seemed as though Kokichi knew right away what had happened. He sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“I live in Paris. My parents are actually world-renowned fashion experts. Did you know I was European?” Kokichi said. His tone was dripping with sarcasm. 

“Nope. Not at all.”

Kokichi slammed his chair onto the ground. “What is this, an interrogation?”

“I’m not trying—"

“Then what are you trying to do?” Kokichi asked, his deep purple eyes bore a hole into Shuichi’s skull. 

“I’m trying to have a conversation? I don’t know you well enough, so I want to know more about you,” Shuichi explained. 

Kokichi scoffed, resting his head on the palm of his hand and looking out the window.

“Sorry,” Shuichi mumbled. 

His eyes met Shuichi’s. For once, there were no traces of over-saturated joy. Instead, it was as if a dullness had gone over them. As if Shuichi were looking at a blank slate with nothing painted on it.

Shuichi knew Kokichi was human, and yet, seeing him look anything but happy or angry made him realize the boy wasn’t made of machinery but rather of flesh. 

Though it was only for a moment. Almost immediately, Kokichi sprang back up as if he were a float in a parade, the wide smile across his face appearing once again. The plastic mask had gone back up. Shuichi’s mind was turning; he hated how much dopamine he was getting by simply trying to figure one guy out. 

“Whatever. Fine, fine, fine. I live in Kyoto,” Kokichi said, waving his hand around. 

“That’s pretty far from here,” Shuichi said. 

“Yeah, Tokyo is far better. There’s actually people here.” Kokichi laughed. 

“I suppose.” Shuichi smiled. 

“Why would I ever want to go back there? It's great here.” It was a comment that Shuichi assumed would be filled with genuine compassion, yet with Kokichi, there was nothing. Only a hollow heart with pretty wrapping on the outside.

“I’ve never been to Kyoto. Maybe I should visit.” Shuichi finished his fries, placing his empty container near his burger wrapper. 

“It’s nothing special.” Kokichi glanced down at his red tray. “Oh, finally. You’re done.” He pushed his chair out from the table. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, you’re coming with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We're both gonna head back to campus, right?” Kokichi smiled. Shuichi’s heart skipped another beat.

"I mean… You aren't wrong." Shuichi stood up. Something about the class nuisance made him smile back. He was so confident, nothing like what Shuichi was.

As he pushed his chair in, he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. Pulling out the device, he saw a message from Kaede displayed on the screen.

Kaede: Sorry, Shuichi. But for now I’m going to be staying home. It was nice being able to hang out while we could! Let’s call sometime! :) 

A bit of his heart sank. Two out of his three friends were leaving, and even so, he didn’t know Maki as well as the other two. Yet, when he looked at Kokichi, he felt like he was chasing himself in circles wondering what was going on in the other’s mind.

"What's the hold-up?"

Shuichi looked up from his phone and saw Kokichi looking at him over his shoulder expectantly. "Uh, nothing." Shuichi shoved his phone back into his pocket and began walking.

His story with his parents sounded weird, his motive for staying sounded weird, his whole being was weird. And yet it fascinated him and also worried him. 

Because why would someone hide that much about themselves? Unfortunately, Shuichi discovered something new to look into and was already hooked on it. He didn’t want to leave and dismantle the already loose relationship he had with Kokichi. They had just started talking. Shuichi wasn’t going to suddenly stop it now. 

He was going to stay. There were too many odd things going on for him to shut out. Hope’s Peak seemingly covering up what happened, and Kokichi. Knowing his decision would usually give him a sense of relief, and yet, a whole new wave of guilt hit him across the face. 

What would Haru think?  

His mouth became dry as the boys exited the restaurant and stepped out into the rain.

He’s going to be so disappointed…

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

06/10/23

18:27

There are very few moments in time worth underlining between the passages of passing normalcy found in the buzz and drone of common everydayness. If only this moment could be embroidered into some compartment of the brain to store line by line to memory. Sense by sense would be remembered, from smell to touch, taste to sound.

It was impossible, Kyoko knew, to fully retain an event down to every detail. Not when the majority of what happens in a day is forgotten by the next. About sixty percent is lost, to be exact. But she entertained the idea as she walked down the cobblestone path lined with cherry blossoms and the chirps of birds.

The hippocampus would be her best bet, perhaps. It's responsible for memory. Then again, the amygdala is involved in memory relating to emotion, fitting this setting better. She recalled learning about how fear memories work, relating to how the amygdala functions.

There's also the cerebellum that controls implicit memory like habits and muscle memory. Then there's the prefrontal cortex. That part is responsible for planning and reasoning. And there's the neurotransmitters that create memories. Although, how it does it is still being studied. Either that or Kyoko forgot. Ironically.

"There are four different parts of the brain that influence how we retain memory," Kyoko broke the silence.

Celestia had been looking out at the lake, most likely in her thoughts. She was smiling.

"That sounds about right," she answered.

Celestia led them through one of their favorite parks in the city for an evening walk. The sky was a faded purple in the center, and a bright orange around the edges, half of the sun still visible. A few people were enjoying the scenery as well, sitting at benches and wandering across the trails. However, they were far away enough that Kyoko and Celestia were in their own space.

"You know… the part of the brain relating to emotional memory has been proven to be similar between straight women and gay men."

Celestia turned her head to look at her with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk. Her eyes crinkled in the corner from her smile. "Okay?"

Kyoko shook her head. "I'm just getting ahead of myself." She acted like her murmurings were unintentional in nature, and partially, they were; her mind was still ever-running. But the truth was she loved that expression Celestia made when Kyoko confused her.

Celestia squeezed her hand. "You usually do. But it's always interesting."

Despite Kyoko agreeing to find time later in the week to have a get-together with their friends (mostly to feed their desire to celebrate her birthday), Celestia wouldn't accept not doing anything for the day of. So after Kyoko's plans with her cousin, she humored Celestia by doing something small with her.

And if she was being honest, despite her protests, it wasn't forced on her or a strain on her schedule, and she was not ungrateful for it. It was endearing to have someone who cared so much about the small things about her. Kyoko was always charmed by the temperate but offended responses from Celestia when she tried to refuse her flattery.

Where Kyoko came from, the environment around her didn't see the things that Celestia valued as anything important. So for the longest time, Kyoko also thought things like birthdays and caring for non-urgent injuries weren't important, at least, not when they related to herself. However, Celestia's anxious and tedious attention toward her had been working to prove her wrong since day one.

Not like Celeste would admit it, though. It was occasionally humorous to watch the futile ways Celestia had attempted to write off her intuitive considerateness as nothing more than lucky guesses and bare minimums. Kyoko always saw through it.

But as time went on, there was less hiding and lying about the attentive fondness she had for Kyoko. Lying both to Kyoko through avoidant attachments and downplaying her kindness, and lying to herself.

Part of Celestia's growth in the last two years had been opening her heart in areas she didn't realize she had closed. And the payoff was lovely.

Even in quiet simplicity, there was a charm that not even the big, loud, boisterous, and daring escapades of bustling city living or the thrill of a bid could reanimate.

Because there they walked, hand in hand, commonly in silence, and this was enough. There was no need for anything larger or grander. To be by one another's side in a place as peaceful as this was all they needed.

Celestia traced the studs on Kyoko's leather glove with her fingers. As she often did. She liked fidgeting with the metal pieces. And Kyoko had come to enjoy the patterns and figure eights Celestia would outline onto the back of her hand.

However, Celestia dropped her hand suddenly, and Kyoko exited her thoughts and looked at her, confused. Celestia's eyes widened in excitement, and she picked up her pace and walked ahead of Kyoko, her high heels clicking across the cobblestone.

"What are you doing?" Kyoko called after her, speed-walking to catch up.

"I love this bridge," Celestia responded over her shoulder as she ushered them to a small, arched stone bridge path above a calm river.

Kyoko smiled to herself as she chased after her. Celestia lifted the ends of her dress as she rushed up the cobblestone and to the center of the bridge. She slowed to a halt when she reached her destination, looking out to the water surrounded by greenery and the sun setting in the sky.

Kyoko slowed her pace as she caught up. "I haven't seen you that excited in a while." She brushed her hair out of her face.

"Shut up," Celestia mumbled, even though she knew it wasn't malicious. Her eyes trailed from the sky to meet Kyoko's, and she smiled. "Happy birthday."

Kyoko let out an airy laugh under her breath. Celestia had said it multiple times today already, seemingly determined to make sure Kyoko didn't forget what day it was and that Celestia was celebrating her. But she still replied, "Thank you," and she meant it.

Celestia put an arm around her. Her hand settled on her waist as she looked back out at the pond. "I wish we could make it better," she commented, a bitter tone creeping into her voice. "Without someone getting… killed a few days prior."

Her expression shifted to something that looked like disgust, but Kyoko knew it was more a displacement, another recall of a memory better left forgotten.

Kyoko grimly agreed. "Although…" she began. Celestia looked up at her, and Kyoko trailed off, not wanting to upset her. "Very morbidly, it does kind of fit me."

Fortunately, Celestia laughed. She rolled her eyes. "You're right, but you shouldn't be."

It took a few seconds, but Celestia's smile faded again. Her stare became blank, empty in a way that reminded Kyoko of her own resting face, as she stared out into the scenery, or perhaps at nothing in particular.

Kyoko almost joined her in the brooding. She did not need to ask to know what was wrong. What was bothering Celestia was bothering her, too. No matter how many homicide cases Kyoko may have worked on, none of those would soften the impact of a death so close to home.

The only thing Kyoko had as a shield for comfort was that this case wouldn't be the most personal a murder had been to her. Nor would it even be Celestia's number one. They've both seen family dead.

Murder, Kyoko realized. She referred to it as a murder. She was well-trained to not label anything until it was definitively proven. However, when Celestia told Kyoko what happened that night, what she had seen, murder was the word Celestia labeled it as, certain there was foul play, and Kyoko had saved it as such in her mind. She didn't know how to feel about that.

Shaking herself out of thoughts, she enclosed herself back to reality, reminding herself that she needed to do the same for Celestia.

“Has any news come out about what’s happened yet?” Kyoko asked. For the past few days, it had been eerily quiet in news outlets about what happened at the academy.

"Not that I know of. I keep checking.” So neither of them knew. Kyoko was sure something had to be out soon. 

"It's…" Kyoko began to speak. She sighed and shook her head. "I don't have any idea what the station is doing with the case." She opted for the truth, knowing she couldn't provide answers or clarifications to ease the mystery of unknown questions behind the trauma.

Celestia nodded, having expected that. Even as good of a trainee as Kyoko was, they would not assign an unofficial detective to be a part of a case that she had personal connections with. They often didn't do that with official detectives either.

"But something will happen with it," Kyoko assured. "It'll get resolved. The proper actions will be taken." She said that with confidence, knowing the procedures of her higher-ups and the conduct the bureau operated under, having worked with them. She knew they would handle it well. "They'll correct what happened."

"They have to," Celestia mumbled, her voice near a whisper.

And Kyoko nodded, understanding why. It wasn't so much Celestia having a personal connection to Benjiro Watanabe, but rather the connection to the sudden vicissitude the death had brought to Hope's Peak Academy.

As Kyoko recalled from their conversation early that morning, none of what happened the night Celestia found that man's body was to ever happen. It was too similar to a life Celestia had long abandoned in place to the high, fierce, and domineering life in the city and in gambling that she wanted.

In order to protect that, she needed this to vanish. Kyoko knew that. And she wished it didn't have to be that. She wished it never happened in the first place. She wished her intuition wasn't right that day she asked Celestia to check around campus for anything suspicious.

Or maybe, she wished she had done it herself, splitting half the burden with Celestia by bearing the sight of the body.

But so, for now, all they could do was wait. And see what the police would do. There was nothing else they could do aside from that. Celestia's witness interviews were finished. The investigation of the crime scene was wrapped up, and the police and forensic investigators were off their campus. All they could do was wait for an outcome they didn't have any control over.

"Are you going to tell your friends?" 

The question came unsuspectedly from Celestia, and it confused Kyoko.

"Tell them what?" She doubted she was referring to the murder. Everybody on campus knew. They all lived it.

Celestia shook her head, realizing her error. "I was just thinking about how almost everyone is leaving campus and switching to online, and you still haven't told anyone that we're together."

"Oh. Well…" She hadn't thought about it. So much had transpired that the matters of her personal life, more specifically her romantic life, were deemed unimportant and put on the back burner.

But looking at Celestia's facial expression, her frown, the downturn of her eyebrows, and the subtle raise of her lower eyelids, Kyoko knew it was wrong of her to label their relationship as unimportant. It was clearly not to Celestia.

"I haven't thought about it, no," Kyoko admitted, choosing honesty, but not an explanation.

"But you're going to?" Celestia asked, and it wasn't phrased as an inquiry for assurance, but rather, her tone had an implication that she doubted Kyoko would. It made Kyoko scowl.

"I'm going to," she answered, strengthening the depth in her tone to sound more sure, harder to disprove.

"Okay." Celestia nodded and her expression returned to bleak and mindless as she returned her gaze to the scenery.

It dug sharp metallic wounds into Kyoko's chest as Celestia's final sentence on the matter still sounded like she didn't believe her. Most likely because Celestia could tell that Kyoko didn't believe herself. And she didn't know why.

She wanted this. She knew that. She wanted to tell them. But she didn't believe herself when she said she would do it. And Celestia could tell. Because when could they not both see right through each other?

But with the gentle consideration Celestia had, Kyoko knew that she wouldn’t address it. She would not push Kyoko unless she gave her a reason to. So they returned to silence; nothing else important left to talk about.

But still, Kyoko murmured, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

II

Tokyo, Japan

07/10/23

20:47

  "You saw the news today, right?"

Kyoko nodded her head. Of course, the answer to that question would be yes. For the past four days, the entire academy kept a close eye on news outlets for an announcment to the rest of the world what happened at Hope's Peak. It was all that those still remaining would talk about, if they even spoke at all. Most kept to themselves, avoided each other and made the campus a ghost town.

Part of it was paranoia. Another part was there was nothing much else to talk about. There was too heavy of an atmosphere blanketing the entire academy. Everyone felt it no matter where they went on campus. It was impossible to ignore, and so, most pretended. They kept to themselves and pretended they were fine until they believed it. They tried to act undisturbed and carry on with their daily rituals. 

At least, that was what Kyoko observed. When she went out across campus, all she saw were thinly disguised weary looks, glances over shoulders, and stiffened postures. It seemed the best way to carry on was to tug along an abdication of trust. Weaponizing silent suspicion was better than voiced animosity, Kyoko supposed. However, she felt the steady attrition upon everyone on campus. Clenched fists eventually weaken.

It was chilly out. The sun barely poked over the horizon, lacking warmth to combat the wind. Kyoko did not mind, though. Even sitting there in only her button-up and skirt, she wasn't cold. She didn't mind lending her leather jacket to Celestia to keep her warm.

"An accident. They said it was an accident." Celestia paced behind Kyoko, but she could still hear the bitterness in her voice. "Just one of those tragedies, you know. That terrible shit that just happens sometimes, and we all just gotta move on. That's what they said it was. With fake sympathy and everything." Her accent was gone, and so was her mask. She was raw, unfiltered resentment with clenched teeth and poised fists.

Suddenly Celeste halted her pacing. Kyoko listened to her fumble for something in a pocket before hearing the distinctive click of a lighter. Curious, Kyoko turned around to look up at her. Celestia was delicately holding a small flame to a cigarette between her teeth. Once lit, she took a slow inhale, and exhaled, gray smoke taken away by the wind.

"Since when did you do that?" Kyoko asked. 

  "I'm just stressed," was all the explanation Celestia provided. 

Kyoko already knew that Celestia had smoked before. She first tried it when she was a young teenager. Celestia had told her that drugs and alcohol were easy to access in her hometown. Somebody offered a cigarette to her once when she was thirteen, and she accepted.

“I haven't done it since then,” Celestia once told her. “I never intend to do it again.”

But yet, Celestia stood and took another drag off her cigarette before holding it out in front of her with her pointer and middle finger in a clearly practice manner. Her other arm wrapped around her torso for warmth.

They overlooked the athletics field. They liked to come to that spot to sneak away from class before it became their spot. Unfortunately, Celestia underestimated the cold outside when she asked to see Kyoko there. Were she not smoking, Kyoko would beckon Celestia over to her, put an arm around her, and keep her warm.

"Do you think it was malpractice? That they didn't look closely enough into it?" Kyoko asked. She kept her eyes on the smoke slowly dancing off the lit cigarette.

Celestia shook her head. She stared straight forward into the distance. "No. They had to have known. There is no way you could have seen what I saw and thought anything else."

"You think they covered it up…?"

Celestia turned to look at her and met eyes. There was an inviolable solemness in her stare, so hardened and concrete. Kyoko had seen that look before. She had seen it when Celestia opened up about her past. When she told Kyoko her real name—Taeko Yasuhiro. But Kyoko had never seen Celestia look so chipped away. There was a vacantness to her sobriety that wasn't there before.

Celestia began slowly and sped up as she spoke. "I saw the crime scene. Not some fucking staff or employee like they lied about. First glance and even I knew he didn't just trip and fall or some shit. There was so much blood… The glass display was fucking shattered. He was deliberately put in there. They said he fell off a ladder. Kyoko, there was no fucking ladder!"

"What if you didn't see it?" Kyoko offered calmly, in stark contrast to her girlfriend. "I'm sure you didn't stay in that area for very long."

Now Celestia looked upset. Her face grimaced, and she answered with offense. "There wasn't a ladder," she repeated, slow and icy. She took a deep breath and let it out before taking another huff of the cigarette to calm herself. "There was a struggle. I know I saw that. It was messy and disheveled. Somebody else was in there. And there is no way the authorities don't know that."

Celestia went quiet again and stared off into nothing, back to her chipped-away, vacant silence. It was as if something had been taken from her. Perhaps, it was her peace of mind.

Kyoko turned back around to face forward. Her eyes flickered rapidly across the sport's field as she thought about what Celestia said.

Hope's Peak was the biggest private high school in the globe. It was known internationally. It was intended to be a unifying factor across the world—that no matter where a kid was from, if they were the best at what they did for their age group, they would be accepted.

All big reputations have to look out for the tiniest seams where an outsider could peek inside, don't they? Corruption and fraud were stories that sold quickly. When so many eyes are all in one place, they wait for it to fall. They wait for it to fail. Hope’s Peak needed to stay above the wolves waiting for them to trip off the tightrope. They could not allow their reputation to be fed to waiting pitchforks prepared to rip them to shreds.

And truthfully, Kyoko shouldn't doubt Celestia's knowledge of what does and doesn't a murder scene looks like. As much as Kyoko hated it, Celestia had nearly enough experience as her at seeing bodies—murders and accidental deaths. She would know the difference, even in shock. Celestia wouldn't be that convinced a murder took place—nor that startled by it—if the scene were simply an accident.

Kyoko shifted where she was sitting to make her body face Celestia. Celeste looked down at her.

"I believe you," Kyoko told her. "I do."

Numbly, Celestia’s eyes met hers again. A small beat passed as if Celestia had to process the words. Once she did, she slowly nodded her head and closed her eyes, relieved. "Thank you," she mumbled. 

Kyoko watched her visibly relax. She saw her shoulders loosen, and her poised expression became a little calmer. And that confirmed to Kyoko that, whether Celestia knew or not, she needed to be believed.  

Seeing the comfort wash over someone when they realized another person believed them was one of the reasons Kyoko became a detective. She put dangerous people behind bars. She held up a legacy that meant everything to her family. But above all, there was no rush like the one she got when she picked up a case where a witness was wrongfully disregarded.

Even before she was handcrafted by her grandfather and her family legacy to seek justice, she had always been drawn to by listening to the overlooked. 

Celestia was extensively interviewed as the witness who found the body. Kyoko did not doubt that she told the police what she had told Kyoko. After all, when Celestia and Kyoko frantically made a report to the campus that night, that’s what Celestia said it was—a murder. And then, everybody believed it to be a homicide as well. The rest of them were woken up in the middle of the night and evacuated off campus because the assailant might still be present.

But Celestia’s original statement was disregarded. After all that panic, it was deemed an overreaction. She was most likely seen as a teenage girl who was all strung nerves at seeing a body. The kind of girl depicted in Hollywood horror movies, clutching at their boyfriend’s arm and sharp, shrilling screams.

Or perhaps, they knew her reputation. They wrote her off because they saw her as nothing more than a liar. She was the illegal gambler they couldn’t prove guilty. An attention-seeker looking for applause. A drama queen getting off on stirring the pot because girls like Celestia loved nothing more than making others' lives harder. The kind of girl depicted as calculating and manipulative. A femme fatale of a delicious poison to men. The kind of girl that would accuse an innocent young man with a bright future of a crime. That kind of girl. There’s no need to listen to a girl like that.

Perhaps, that’s what made Celestia so fascinating to Kyoko. Knowing there was someone so much more alive and real underneath what others wrote off as a sadist of a pretty girl. The kind of girl who relished in embittering others in her wake. In truth, Celestia, Taeko, whoever she was—perhaps both—was more of a human being than she herself wished she was.

So, Kyoko knew what was to be done next.

III

The matt black of the night sky caused Miu's dorm room window to look like a portal to a black hole, void of anything and anyone, like a glitch in reality. Kokichi stared out it as he set his drink on the window sill, leaning against the wall beside it.

He and Miu sat on her unmade bed with a greasy pizza box between them. She didn't have any plates, so they shared the box between them to eat over. Half of the pizza was his preferred olives, onions, and sausage. The other half was fucking Canadian bacon and nothing else. He had made fun of Miu hard for that when she ordered the pizza.

Miu had done most of the talking, ranting about whatever crossed her mind, waving her energy drink around with her large hand gestures, leaving Kokichi little room to offer any input.

He didn't mind, though. It allowed him to eat his pizza in peace while he only half listened to Miu. Most of her stories sounded the same. About all of them began with her and a guy who graduated three years ago.

It had been a few minutes since Miu finished her last story about some fling with a summer guy who pissed her off or something like that, and the two of them fell into a casual silence. Miu laid on her back, her blonde hair displayed around her frame, as she scrolled through her phone with a bright pink casing.

A ding came from her phone as she suddenly got a notification.

"Fuck!" Miu exclaimed. She sat up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! No!"

Kokichi raised his eyebrows at her. "What???"

"Kaede just fucking texting me!" Miu answered. But instead of looking giddy or excited, her expression was laced with despair, unlike how she usually reacted to a mention of Kaede. Kokichi thought she was head over heels for the girl.

"Isn't that a good thing?" he questioned, not getting it.

"No! It's not that she texted me, it's what she texted me. Look!" Miu shot her arm toward him, making him flinch, showing him her phone screen. Her message app was open, displaying Kaede's contact with heart emojis around her name.

Before he could start reading what Kaede sent, Miu began to explain it to him despite showing him the text. "She's fucking leaving, too." She brought her phone back to herself and reread the message. "Why is everyone losing their shit? The news literally said that it was like, an accident. Everything's fine!"

Kokichi shrugged. “Probably because they don't believe it,” he said nonchalantly. He didn't believe either. That janitor was definitely murdered, he knew it for sure. He didn't say that aloud, though. Miu would ask questions about how he knew, and he could tell Miu wasn’t smart enough to get it, so he let it be.

"Oh, come on. That's the literal fucking news. What's there not to believe??" Miu naively questioned exacerbated and rolling her eyes.  

"Fox News for one," Kokichi mumbled.

Miu didn't seem to hear him and continued. "People these fucking days. I swear some tech ass, taped glasses losers launched the internet and now everyone's a keyboard warrior, online detective, only believing themselves over literally anyone else qualified."

"Jesus, you sound like a fucking boomer. What are you, sixty? Feeling more red these days? Quick, gotta stop the Liberals spreading their news-denying gay agenda." Kokichi laughed.

“Shut the fuck up, you twink.” Miu took a sip of her energy drink. She let out a breath, lowering the brightly colored can. “I just wanted to go on at least one more date with her before she left. It's not the same if it's not in person."

"Did you guys even go on a date in the first place? She just wanted to watch a movie with you. That's not really anything special." Kokichi grinned at her. Though, he was confused by Miu's perception of what is and isn't a date.

Miu frowned. “We watched the fucking Love Note. If that doesn't scream romance, I don't know what fucking does."

"The Love Note? You're joking right?" Kokichi looked with an unserious solemn stare. "How old is that movie?"

"You don't get it. You weren't even there. Kaede’s totally into me," Miu defended.

“I mean… I hate to break it to you but she could just want to be friends with you.” Kokichi said it like he was delivering her terrible news, continuing to rile her up.

“Don’t act like you know how this shit goes! Sapphics work differently.” Miu looked at him in disgust.

He doubled down on playing devil's advocate. “How do you know she’s gay?”

“She has a bi-pin on her backpack. Did you ever look?”

“Why would I give a shit about some girl’s backpack?” Kokichi furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Miu in utter confusion. Miu seemed equally confused. She grabbed a slice of her Canadian bacon pizza and took a bite.

“I dunno, to know more about her? You have to start somewhere. Chicks love it when you notice shit about them; it makes them feel special or whatever. First I'm like, 'Hey, love that band on your T-shirt. You ever seen them in concert?' Then I get her number and send her links to different albums. Next, she's sending me personally made playlists and she wants me.”

“That sounds so fucking stupid.” Kokichi looked at her like she was dumb.

"How much head do you get an hour?"

He rolled his eyes. "Excuse you. I know how to get bitches, too."

"Oh yeah? What do you do when you try and court someone? Stare at them creepily?" Miu challenged.

Kokichi shrugged. "No, but I have my ways. Girls are always throwing themselves at me. I'm kinda a really big fucking deal at this school. Got a few with purity rains even. It's hard being in high demand." His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

He was attempting to withdraw. He was beginning to not like the direction the conversation was going. He grabbed his drink from the windowsill and took a sip as a distraction from Miu.

“Do you even like girls?” Miu asked. The question shot Kokichi back into reality. He tried to rack his brain with possible answers, explanations, anything to justify the lack he had with such a topic. 

“Of course I do! What the fuck are you talking about?” Kokichi laughed. “Do you think I’m fruity?”

"A little!” Miu defended. "I mean, look at you!"

"Look at what?"

She gestured to his outfit. "It's like, the way you dress. You don't look like a straight guy in that."

Kokichi looked down at his pastel purple polo over his checkered long-sleeve undershirt and his white ripped skinny jeans.

“Just because I dress like a gay man doesn’t mean I am one. C'mon, it's 2023,” Kokichi huffed. He crossed his arms as if that would cease the quickening of his heart, how it pounded against his rib cage, how it tightened his lungs. 

“Alright, fine. Give me one girl you had a crush on.” Miu leaned closer to him, her electric blue eyes staring intensely as if he were a bug under a microscope. 

A girl he liked? He was fucked. “Uh— Do celebrity crushes count?"

Miu shrugged one shoulder and nodded her head to the side. "Yeah, sure."

"Um… Then, like… Grace Jones?” Instead of coming out more confident and fluent, his voice sounded more hesitant than he liked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?" Miu deadpanned.

“What? She's hot!" Kokichi got defensive at her judgment. He wasn’t even lying, too.

"No, like she is, but she literally looks like a gay man. She doesn't count."

"How does she not count? Masculine-looking or not, she's a woman and I find her attractive, so why can't that count?"

"I already said why. Just name someone else," Miu demanded.

Kokichi racked his mind for a lie. At least with Grace Jones, he was telling the truth. But with how little time he had and how flustered he was, he couldn't think of a lie he could successfully make Miu buy. “I don’t fucking know! You’re putting me on the spot! You’re being an ass," he deflected.

“Okay, let's try a different approach. If you were a girl, what guy would you fuck?”

“Like Johhny Depp in the 80s,” he answered too quickly. He felt his pulse pump quickly in his chest, a small lurch in its beat when he caught his mistake. He fidgeted his fingers, rubbing against his palm in his clenched fists. His skin was sweaty. He was uncomfortable and cornered and caught.

Miu looked at him with a smile so shit-eating that she didn't have to say anything. “I’m just saying…”

Kokichi glared at her. "This isn't fair," he grumbled, refusing to look at her. Anything to check out of the conversation, to prevent it from going any further.

“Maybe think about it sometime.” Miu shrugged.

He didn't respond, sticking to looking down at her bed. He felt hot shame heating up in his face. He thought about his outfit and the way he loved to dress. It was so uniquely him and unlike anyone else. That's why he loved his style. What did it matter or say about him if he liked painting his nails or wearing unique colors and pieces? Straight guys are shit at fashion with their unwashed basketball shorts and stained T-shirts and navy hoodies, so Kokichi took inspiration from gay guys since they're better at it.

He thought about his life and his lack of romance. Never looking at the girls in his class, never talking with the other guys about chasing the popular girl in school, he never did or wanted any of that.

And that was him. And it had always been him. It was him when he changed in the locker room stalls rather than out in the open like the other guys. It was him when he shied at his guy friends' touch. It was him when his girl friends would get changed in front of him and he didn't bat an eye nor had an interest.

He refused to think about it later. He refused to continue to think about it now. None of those details mattered. He knew who he was better than anyone else. And he wasn't gay. He wasn't. None of the details of his life correlated to his sexuality because all of that is bullshit. The standard for men, especially straight guys, was one he always rejected. So what? It didn't say anything about him.

Miu opened her mouth once again, though, thankfully, she switched the conversation to some dick-shaped confetti she had bought from Amazon. Whether it was an intentional act of mercy or not, Kokichi would never know. But he was thankful anyway.

He raised his head and focused on what she was talking about. Not thinking about the previous topic would help clear his mind.

IV

Illuminated underneath the street lights of campus, Kyoko walked through the barren sidewalks with masked urgency. The rest of the world around her was basked in black. 

Nobody was out except for her. Why would anyone go out at night after what had happened less than a week ago? She was aware it was something only she’d do. Not out of juvenile defiance; she didn’t exactly get any charging thrill sneaking away into danger like she did when she was younger, desperate for something stimulating. 

She was out here prioritizing efficiency in her goals rather than fixating on anxiety. Or maybe it was just plain stupid. Maybe Kyoko wasn’t thinking at all when she came out here even if she thought she was.

As Celestia said, lightning does not strike twice. But sometimes, it can, and it's happened before. Either way, she'd be fine. She had been confident of that her whole life. Taking calculated risks was just what she did. She had only ever been fine her entire life. She always survived.

Hanging from a strap around her shoulder was a black satchel she used to carry case files. After walking Celestia back to her dorm, Kyoko stopped by her dorm to grab it, knowing her next destination was the Tokyo Police Department. She had been doing apprentice work for them for two years by then. And they had heard murmurs and brief stories of her grandfather before she arrived. 

She had built a long, steady history of being trustworthy; never stepping out of place, never digging her heels into policy or code, or refusing to uphold the office's values. On top of that, she was well aware she was the best apprentice they'd ever had. As graduation steadily approached Kyoko's class, the head chief of the department had been clamoring and tripping over his feet giving her offers and places within the bureau to work for him. 

Unfortunately, being an apprentice, she had many areas within the departments that were classified and unallowed for her to have access. But they trusted her to follow orders like the moon followed the sun. She had only ever given them reasons to believe that through her work.

However, her loyalties were more like an eclipse, inconsistent and decided by how the factors aligned. She was not blinded nor overshadowed by authority. That was what her grandfather had taught her. Respect higher-ups but do not easily fall in line. Never constantly follow someone else's path. Never make your mission someone else's. Block them out if you have to.

She considered all the pieces and stakes before she chose what she would follow. She had to because she would not allow others to tell her what to do. So she calculated, she deduced, and she traced from root origin to outcome, intertwining fact and detail with philosophy and moral debating. Sometimes a feeling could be a fact and vice versa. From there, she picked her side. That time, she picked Celestia's. 

All files related to a case Kyoko was not assigned were deemed classified to her, so she did what she could. She stole the case files on the death at Hope’s Peak from the bureau. She was to have them back before the night ended to remain undetected, but for the time being, she needed them as a reference.

The music hall, her next destination, was still roped off from anyone entering. The body had long since been removed, but the building was still a crime scene. The school had assured the authorities that as long as the music hall remained locked, no one would have access to it except the higher-up, well-trained professionals who ran the academy, like Jin.  

Kyoko felt her skeleton key in her jacket pocket, bumping her side as she walked. The one Jin forgot she had. She knew the new rounds the campus security made well enough to know which time would be the best to enter and exit the music hall. That information came thanks to her father, whom she managed to convince she wanted to know for curiosity and safety reasons after the 'accident.'

She could see the distant shadow of the music hall's structure loom as she grew closer.

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

07/10/23

23:48

A stone launched across the sidewalk, skidding against the pavement. When it landed, it continued to roll a few inches before its motion came to a halt. After kicking the stone, Shuichi continued onward as he dully strolled through the campus.

This was dangerous—walking through campus at night. This was exactly what Haru wouldn't want. Haru wanted him to be home, to be safe.

Somebody died. Somebody was killed. Not an accident. His uncle knew that. Shuichi knew that. 

And yet, he was still there. And for what? A stupid boy and his Godforsaken curiosity that compelled him to sink his teeth into anything he couldn't immediately understand, anything that had more to it below surface level, anything to fuel and fulfill his desire to solve, to understand, to unravel, decode, and decrypt. 

Shuichi figured taking a night walk to clear his mind wouldn't be much more on top of his decision to stay after what had happened. One day, he was going to get himself killed; he knew that. Haru would be so disappointed when he does. How couldn't he be for raising an idiot, despite everything he had given for Shuichi to be better than that?

Shuichi couldn't even begin to imagine what telling Haru his decision would be like. It would drive Haru crazy with worry. How could he do that to his uncle after everything he had done for him? Giving him a home when his parents no longer wanted him, raising him as if he were his son, and staying by his side even when he no longer wanted to live anymore.

Shuichi wouldn't be here if it weren't for Haru—both alive and at the academy. When Shuichi first came here, all he could believe was that he shouldn't be here, that he was undeserving of this, that he didn't belong here. And now, here he was, staying at this school despite everything telling him to run. How ironic, he bitterly thought.

At least he could be provided solace by the night sky and streetlight-lit paths across campus. He came out here for those things and because no one would be out with him. He knew only he was delusional enough to come out here at night. He was desperate enough, craving the abstinence of being surrounded by faces and preconceived notions that weren’t the cramped, isolated space of his dorm room, so small and boxed in he could feel his ribcage compacting with each breath he took lying face up on his bed. The air in there was stale. It was slow and too tight. It smothered him. He needed to get out and be in the open.

But even out here, he was surrounded by the same invisible compressing walls. In the distance, he saw the shadow of the music hall loom amongst the other buildings. Just the sight of it made his stomach churn. Thank god the pool was far across campus from the music hall, but it still made him abhor to think that someone might have died at the same time he and Kokichi were so casually hanging out together in the open.

He should just turn around and walk somewhere else so he wouldn't have to see it, not continue to walk toward it. He should just go back to his dorm and stay there. Go back to his dorm and force himself to pack up, to go home, to see Haru. He would force himself even though he would go home with claw marks etched into him, desperately pulling at him to stay. Every aspiration he had let go of was that same way—covered in claw marks. His intuition tricked him and made him focus on things that were not worthwhile. Always, he was a kid lost in daydreams in the clouds.

This time, he had to tell himself no. This time he had to be smart and responsible. He was sick of everyone having to drag him out of his stupidity planted in the origin of the unknown from the seed of curiosity. Like a dog that escaped and got out.

He would take care of himself now. He would go home. But first, he’ll go back to his dorm. He would turn around and go back to his dorm. And he would have… if he didn't see another silhouette in the distance, not yet illuminated under a streetlamp and obscured in darkness. 

He froze, halting his momentum to stand still and taking his hands out of his pants pockets, prepared for defense.

This would be it. This was how he got himself killed. The killer came back to get some stupid, easy-to-catch kid who was dumb enough to walk around at night. He was going to die. It was too late to learn how to protect himself. And this time, no one was around to protect him. Haru wasn't here. His luck ran out.

But then his rationality caught back up to him. It could easily be another student as crazy as him to come out here—non-murderous and just delusional like him. The figure approached closer and he hoped and prayed that was the case. He begged the universe for a normal student, for someone harmless. He promised that if he walked away unscathed, he would better himself and be better prepared for when he finally has to confront danger.

When the figure stepped under the illumination of a street light, Shuichi's prayer was met. Twenty-five yards away stood his upperclassman, Kyoko, who looked just as confused to see him.

In between the distance between them stood a few buildings for student relations that were closed for the night. A small beat passed as they both awkwardly looked at one another. 

A silent transaction attempted to take place. Both sides were unable to receive transmission. Inquiries and speculation were sent with no delivery. One could not read down to their entirety without the use of verbalizing it, so finally, the silence was broken. 

"What are you doing out here?" Kyoko called out to him. "It’s late, isn’t it?" Her voice traveled across the large gap between them.

Shuichi's eyes flickered around his surroundings as if she could somehow possibly be talking to someone else before answering, "I was going to ask you the same thing… I was just taking a walk. What about you?" he asked, curious.

He figured Kyoko was far more level-headed and refined to be out here for the same reason as him. Kaede suggested the idea of them being close friends, but that couldn’t happen. He was wildly poignant compared to her. He was sure she was out there for far more important reasons than his lost, wandering ones.

To his surprise, Kyoko did not answer right away. Instead, she paused and looked down at her satchel hanging on her side. Shuichi had never seen it with her before. Granted, he hadn't known her for long, but he could at least assume it wasn't a part of her daily necessities but rather equipped on her now for a different, more specific task.

Shuichi clenched his jaw as he debated repeating his question when Kyoko prolonged the silence. But then, she looked back up at him. She was unreadable as ever, but that time, there was a revelation in her ambiance. 

"You're… a homicide detective," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Part of a realization. "You wouldn't be required to take forensic science or anatomy unless you specialize in homicide." 

Shuichi realized he had never told her what cases he did as a detective. He knew that she worked on homicide, but he never got the chance to tell her that similarity. Instead, she had figured it out on her own. 

Even though Kyoko had once taken those courses too, Shuichi was still surprised she remembered that he, too, was taking them currently; it had been a week since Makoto introduced him to Kyoko and his other friends, but after all that had happened, it felt much longer. Recalling those memories felt like watching them through water or static; they were so distant and out of touch with current life.

Shuichi nodded his head, confirming her statements. He had no idea where she was going with this, but he kept quiet and bit the tip of his tongue. Somehow, he felt it was important. He could see it in her face. He could see it in her person. This wasn’t for nothing.

"I need your help with something." 

She began to cross the distance between them swiftly. At first, he tensed as if she would hurt him; he was still uptight and had no clue what she wanted. She cut so sharply through the calmly built space between them. It felt disturbing watching her topple through, deconstructing that barrier of comfort. But he forced himself to relax as she got closer, wanting to keep his cool.

She pulled open her satchel, grabbed a folder, and handed it to him. Shuichi buffered at what he was supposed to do, unsure if he should open it. Kyoko began to explain as she latched her satchel close.

"You don't believe what happened was an accident, do you?" she asked. He shook his head. "Good. Walk with me." She started forward, her pace fast guiding them to an undisclosed location. Shuichi rushed to keep up, folder in hand.

"I need you to stay with me then,” she explained slowly but with some sense of urgency, emphasizing the significance. “But… I have a feeling you’ll understand easily."

Shuichi nodded. His lips felt plastered shut to give all control to Kyoko to take the floor, but he found the will to unseal them and give her further affirmation. “I can do that,” he promised. He felt a small surge. His curiosity was kindled. It was clear Kyoko knew something he didn’t. He wanted to know what.

"It wasn't simply a miscalculation. They knew he was killed. Go ahead, open the folder," she instructed. He did. Having seen them many times, he quickly recognized the papers inside as case files. The subject of them was the name he had heard on the news yesterday. 

Watanabe Benjiro, 38 years old, 165 cm, brown eyes, time of death— Shuichi's eyes scanned across the autopsy report. "Look at the cause of death," Kyoko told him. So he did. Cause of death: Sharp mechanical trauma from a supposed knife in the superior cervical spine. Or a stab wound to the neck. "The coroner's report is in there, too—the one they made public. In the private autopsy report, the stab wound was identified to be from a knife. But the coroner's report said it was a shard of glass."

Shuichi flipped through the pages in the folder to find the coroner's report, highly focused on not letting any of the many unstapled pages fall out as he walked with her. As she told him, the coroner's report described a shard of glass being the object that killed him.

He looked up from the folder and at her. She met his gaze with a common unreadable expression while he wore an expression of amazement. “Where did you get all of this?” he asked, wonderstruck.

Kyoko shook her head. “That isn’t important.” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a suspicious look, one she swiftly read as him communicating, ‘Yes, it is.’ She sighed and broke their stare to glance to the side, looking conflicted. “I'll tell you that later. I just need to ask you one more thing.”

She didn’t add, ‘Okay?’ or, ‘Is that alright?’ to the end of her sentence, but when she turned her face to look back at him, her expression read it to him. She was silently asking for some patience and to have an understanding of something he didn’t quite know yet. Shuichi gave her a single nod to approve of her ultimatum. 

Kyoko took a small breath in preparation. It was subtle but he saw it. "They knew there was foul play,” she began. “So it was a cover-up. That's definitively confirmed. We were right. But why do you think they would do that?" she asked.

Shuichi looked down at the file, tensed from being put on the spot. He did not have any expectations for the question she’d ask due to not knowing what to expect or predict. Yet somehow it was the opposite of his phantom expectations.

Maybe because it asked for his personal take and thoughts rather than a stated fact. He was used to and confident with handling established facts and evidence. But he always seemed to buffer when he had to supply his own contribution, worried he would ruin it.

"Um, well…” he forced himself to start speaking, not wanting to keep Kyoko waiting in fear there was an unknown time limit. He would have to think while he spoke. “I suppose it would have to be due to the school.” Kyoko seemed inclined by that sentence, so he continued down that path with more confidence. “My first immediate thought when I found out was it had to be a press issue. Hope’s Peak has never had issues with violence or crime."

He continued, “They’ve been prided on that, for being safe and strategic by not letting in people who are morally corrupt and with having top security. So they wouldn’t want that reputation, their mantra that they create hope and peace, to be sabotaged by a violent crime. It contradicts what they want to be.”

Halfway through, Shuichi felt as though he was over-explaining, but he believed it was important. He wanted Kyoko to know he understood this as much as she did, and if he didn’t, he was capable of learning.

Kyoko didn't add on, but she nodded to herself, confirming to him that was the right thing to say. When she didn't have anything else to tack on (at least that he immediately knew of), he mustered up the courage to finally ask her a question. 

"Can I ask what it is that you know? I mean, where are you going with this? What’s this all led up to? And why do you have the case files?”

Born a little out of frustration (he had no resentment toward her, but his mind was swimming, and Kyoko's unclear and uneasy exterior was impossible to solve), he pleaded for a little more information. He intended to come out here to walk, to clear his mind, not work. Especially, not on something so close to home, like a recent just-now-confirmed murder on campus. He had no idea what was going on. Or where Kyoko came from. Or what she was doing. 

Luckily, Kyoko seemed to pick up on his desperation. She was obscure as ever, but she did answer his questions. "Everything I just told you is all I know. I glanced at the files first to confirm what we both thought—that they covered it up—before I came back here. I was simply getting you caught up with what I had found. So the next part comes easier."

"What next part??" Shuichi pleaded. He was overwhelmed, confused, feeling selfish for getting more involved than just leaving like his uncle would want, and a little mad with all these things combined. He was mad at himself. He was mad that the universe could never make itself clearer or provide definitive, explicit answers. Albeit, he liked uncovering obscurities, he hardly had the energy now. He was too busy thinking about his guilt, and self-loathing, and what Haru would eventually say when he found out Shuichi was going to stay. 

But most importantly, he was mad at Hope's Peak. He was still reeling from how quickly Kyoko confirmed his suspicions to him after appearing from nowhere in the dark on campus. But he was forcing himself to process and swallow it down. The information marinated inside him, and it made his chest burn. Somebody was murdered at the school that was to offer unity, offer hope. And all they did about it was brush it under the rug and hope everyone was too stupid to realize.

How could they be treated like that? How could the school continue to be put up on a pedestal after that? He left like he and all the other students were just tools to keep the school stocked and production shining. He loathed it more than anything.

Shuichi's fingernails dug into his fists, creating indents that would last for a while in his skin. His exhales came out a little heavier, and his disdain must have shown on his face because Kyoko seemed to notice. 

Mercifully, and maybe, too, with a little patience, Kyoko slowed down with her vigilantism. "Shuichi," she addressed him, and he tensed up at the closeness of it. She paused in her tracks, and like a shadow, he paused with her. She backtracked. "Sorry—I've gotten accustomed to addressing by first name. It's a habit."

"Oh, th—that's fine. Do you prefer to be called Kyoko?" he asked, a little flustered at the idea but understanding it.

"I do. But I assume Saihara works best for you?"

Shuichi scratched at the back of his head. He was used to formalities being the way to go, but he didn't want to, somehow, be rude—if it would even be considered rude to Kyoko. He had no idea but didn't want to risk anything with her. "You can call me whatever, I guess. It doesn't bother me. I mean, I guess I'm used to tradition, but change doesn't hurt," he assured.

"If that's so, then Shuichi, I started this by telling you I need your help." He nodded. "So I need you to hear me out." She spoke slowly and with importance. Shuichi couldn't help but bite his tongue as he listened.

She continued, "This case was covered up, most likely by Hope's Peak's will. And we don't even know if the authorities plan to continue to investigate and arrest a suspect behind closed doors. I couldn't find anything on the case being closed definitively or not." Kyoko reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. Not a card key like the ones they had for their dorms, but a common, metal key.

"What is that?"

"It's a skeleton key. I got it from the headmaster. It's supposed to be for higher-up staff and janitors. I'm the only exception."

"Are you allowed to have that?" Shuichi asked, amazed by the amount of power and freedom Kyoko held in her hand with just a small piece of metal.

"The headmaster wouldn't have given it to me if he didn't want me to have it. I've had it for a year. It's never caused problems." Kyoko transitioned back to the original topic. "With this, I want to use it… so we can access the music hall."

Shuichi furrowed his eyebrows. He recognized the path Kyoko led them through before they stopped to be the one that had the theater and music hall up ahead. He was sure he knew why, but he wanted to prove he understood before he assumed, so he asked, "For what…?" regarding her with suspicion.

"For a miniscule investigation."

She was going to continue speaking, but Shuichi waved his hands, disallowing her from saying anything else. He took a few steps back, startled. "Woah, that's—that's way beyond—We can't—What could we possibly do? What if we got caught? That's tampering with a crime scene! That's serious. And what would that help if we got involved, too? We can't prove anything, and it's not like we'd make a difference in what's already happened."

"But that's where you're wrong." Kyoko took a step toward him. "Look at the case file." He looked down at the folder still in his hands with weariness. "That alone is enough to prove malpractice. We just can't use it because we'd be charged with theft."

Shuichi slapped the folder shut. "What???"

Kyoko bit her inner lip, forgetting that Shuichi didn't know that. "I borrowed it from the bureau. It's not mine. I'll return it before anyone besides you and me knows, but that isn't the point." 

Shuichi continued to stare at her like she was crazy, making it known he disapproved of what she'd done. And she stared back at him with a solemn stare and furrowed brows as she tried to see through him. She knew she was losing him from being on her side, so she attempted a different approach.

She took a breath before continuing slowly, "Do you remember when I asked you why you chose to be a detective out of all things?"

Shuichi tilted his head and looked at her confused, lost.

"It was when I was showing you around campus," Kyoko elaborated. "I never really got an answer, but… I would hope a part of it to you is bringing light to injustice. We are not a positive or negative force. Our job is to stay indifferent to everything and find truth without bias because that is the least we can do."

Kyoko's point was compelling and it drew Shuichi in as he listened, curious to where she was going with this.

"Watanabe's family doesn't even know; one of the files in there says that," Kyoko stated. "I can't tell you what we'll find, but I can tell you that we have an opportunity to right a wrong and expose the truth. … Don't you want to know what happened? Who killed Wantanbe, and why before they kill someone else? Don't you think the world, Tokyo, and everybody who goes to Hope's Peak deserves to know what happened, too? Even if it's minor… we can do something."

A large, expanding, dry pit formed in Shuichi's stomach and throat as he listened. He created indents along the sides of the folders where he gripped them tightly from his hands sweating. His nerves flared, and bouts of anxiety shot up and down his spine and through his ribcage and torso as the idea of the world crushing on his shoulders materialized. 

Bugs chirped in the grass around them. Shuichi tried to focus on their sound to ground himself. 

He was supposed to be safe. That's what his uncle wanted. He was supposed to go home and run away from all of this. But now Kyoko stood in front of him and provided him with a daunting task. And he hated it so much that he believed in everything she was saying. How could he just turn and walk away when everyone else was oblivious to the violence that occurred four days ago on campus? Didn't he owe it to his friends, classmates, and everyone else to shed light when they had been unknowingly put in the dark? He had the chance to possibly right a wrong, to use his skills to finally do some good after he had only used them to cause more ruin. 

And there was another part of him, too. Another part that was deeply curious and hungry to know who killed Watanabe. He did want to know what happened. And he could tell Kyoko had that same curiosity inside her—a shared quality between detectives.

It was interesting that they were standing across from one another. It was almost like looking into a reversed mirror. They were not professionals, but they were the best at what the two of them did. Granted, Shuichi could not at all believe he was as good as Kyoko, or even close. It was a mistake that he was here, an overestimation on Hope's Peak's part. But they both were fueled by the desire to solve, weren't they? They were similar. They shared something despite being so different. But Shuichi was not as good as Kyoko. He was nothing like her.

Kyoko stood with her head held tall with stolen case files and a mission. She told him things he did not know, and she was nowhere close to as scared and overwhelmed as him. She was so sure of herself. She was so confident and unafraid. Shuichi could not be more opposite to her. He could not be more useless compared to her. She would not need him. 

"Why me?" he finally asked. "Why do you want my help?"

Kyoko looked confused at his question. "What do you mean? We're the only two detectives on campus. Who else would I go to?"

"No, I mean," he stumbled, flustered that she didn't get it. "Why do you want my help? Because you could just do this by yourself. And if I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure before you ran into me, you were about to. So why change that?"

Kyoko paused as she understood what he had meant. He figured she would realize she had never really considered why she asked him to join her, and she'd realize it was a mistake. 

But she didn't say that. For a moment, she didn't say anything. He wondered if she didn't know the answer and simply gave him silence to piece it together instead of just admitting it, but finally, after a moment, she spoke. 

"This is bigger than I am." She nodded at the folder that Shuichi still anxiously held onto. "I understood that the moment I snuck the files out of the bureau. It wasn't until I ran into you that I understood that I shouldn't do this by myself. You do not have to join me if you don't want to. I manage well by myself. But when I saw you earlier… I just saw an opportunity to not have to do this alone."

Kyoko didn’t look him in the eyes as she gave him her explanation. Most likely to avoid vulnerability. Shuichi grimaced. This was bigger than he was, too. And he was terrified of it. But it also made him feel like he had a responsibility. He felt guilt ease into his veins at the idea of what felt like abandoning Kyoko.

"But I'm not any better than you. What if I just held you back? I'm sorry, but I'm not as good as you might think I am. I'm not as good as anybody thinks I am," he argued. And he whined. God, he knew he was whining, and he hated it so fucking much. 

He hated how useless he felt. He hated how pathetic he felt. He hated how overwhelmed he was. And he hated how meek and soft his voice was compared to Kyoko's when they spoke to each other. Why couldn't he just be stronger? Why did he have to be so weak? Why did he only ever hold people back? Why couldn't he help when he was needed?

Kyoko calmly shook her head dismissively to Shuichi's grievances, writing them off. "That's not how that works."

He was admittedly starting to get a little tired of Kyoko's general obscurity. He was panicked. He felt like he could cry. He felt like he could collapse in his dorm and have a panic attack. And on top of that, Kyoko made herself difficult to comprehend. Frustrated, but hiding it as best he could, he asked with a begging tone, "That's not how what works?"

"Being a detective," Kyoko bit back. She said it like it was the truest thing. It made him back down. "You cannot generalize intelligence. You cannot be better than me. And I am not better than you. Not as we currently are, at least."

Not as we currently are? Shuichi bit his lip as he didn't know what that meant. He shook it off and tried to focus on calming his rapid breathing and listening to her voice.

"Being a detective is about the limits of your mind. What things you may overlook or in what ways you hold yourself back. To be good, whatever that entails, you can't limit yourself. You can't stand in the way of yourself. You need to uncover what is not currently known. You have to allow yourself to branch off to multiple different stems until you find the truth," Kyoko spoke softly but firmly.

Shuichi tried to swallow his unease with her words as she continued to speak.

"The perfect detective could brainstorm any result with any given logic at any given time. Which just isn’t possible. The human brain cannot comprehend that many possibilities. What we can do, however, is logically apply any reality we see fit and narrow down what is the truth by using the evidence we have. You and I are two very different people with our own strengths and weaknesses. I do not know you, and yet, I can already tell you can do things I can't. So please, I need your help."

He balked. He was reminded of when he first met Kyoko. He didn't want to come off as desperate, but in some way—with her being his upperclassman with the same talent—he wanted to impress her. He wanted someone above him to make him feel worthy of being there. And now he couldn't help but feel a little foolish because the crux of the matter to Kyoko is that he couldn't be below her, and she couldn't be above him. 

The crickets chirped around them, the breeze brushed past them, and the warm glow of the streetlights engulfed them; the world breathed as it slept. 

Silence passed between them. Kyoko looked into his eyes awaiting an answer. Shuichi spaced out into her gaze. Her eyes were a shade of magenta, he observed, the color made with purple and red. He could see the origin of both colors within her irises. She had a thin ring of dark purple surrounding the iris and flecks of small red that reflected off the light deep inside the melanin of her eye. He observed all of that underneath the lighting of the dim streetlight they stood under.

He looked into her eyes like an agnostic finally uncoating an answer. He felt like an atheist finally believing. He felt like a dreamer finally seeing. He pictured the two of them were an allegory of some sort—like each detail of their surroundings had its own meaning etched into its skin. 

Maybe the trees were the ladders to rising above. Maybe the wind was the strength needed to come back from the blow. Maybe his heart pumped tragedy into his veins because he had learned from his father who injected substances to feel. Maybe his mind obscured his brain because his mother was blind to his struggle. 

He had only ever encased sorrow. Just like the case folder he held only encased death. And perhaps, Kyoko encased opportunity. She embodied the preparation before charging in like a battalion ready for war. She looked at him like a saint praying for their sins, waiting to see if the gates would open. So he swallowed his fear.

"I'm afraid," he confessed first.

"I don't know how to make that go away,” Kyoko told him. "But try… counting to ten. Then make your decision. I understand it's not as black and white as it may seem."

She's right. He should count to ten. His therapist always told him to do that to calm himself down, along with some breathing exercises to help him, too. They usually worked a little bit…

Breathe in. Ten.

The first time he met Kyoko one-on-one, he remembered doing that exact breathing exercise before leaving his dorm as he tied his shoelaces. He remembered being so anxious. He remembered being only concerned with smaller things than he was now.

Hold for four. Nine. 

Kyoko was easy to envy. She was only a year older and yet it felt like she had multiple years on him. She was so sure of herself. She was his antithesis. She was the embodiment of the qualities he wanted as a detective. But she was strange, too. She wasn't shy like he was, but she was awkward. She wasn't good at talking. It made him feel a little better.

Breathe out for four. Eight.

What would his uncle do? Haru was an incredible detective. He was also an incredible teacher. He was so patient in honing what he always called Shuichi's natural skills. He congratulated Shuichi for things he didn't feel he deserved honor for. He told him he was incredible. Shuichi would kill to see himself how his uncle saw him. He could never find what it was that Haru saw in him.

Take another breath in. Seven.

Shuichi was used to causing more harm than good. Like when he accidentally spoiled his own surprise birthday by getting one of his friends in on it to confess. Or when within the first month he had met Kaede, he caught her having an anxious breakdown before a semi-large recital. She had done much bigger performances, but what made it different was that it was for Hope's Peak. He was her friend and yet, all he could think to say were things that made her more anxious. Or like when the first time he solved a case, all he did was bring rot and ruin to the peaceful tranquility that his home once had. And all he did was ruin everything.

Hold for four. Six.

He immediately knew that the murder four days ago was not an accident despite what the news said. He could credit himself for that. He knew he was good at deciphering. He knew that. He assured himself of that. He was just scared of the ripple effect he could cause by spreading what he had found. What would he and Kyoko find if he went in on this with her?

Breathe out for four. Five.

What would happen if he said no? What if she actually found something? He knew it was easy to envy Kyoko a little, but truly, he was humble enough to let that boil down to mainly admiration. But that did feel like a step beyond. He pictured a reality where Kyoko became famous and iconic for solving such a large, hidden case. She would become the ultimate detective on campus. And then he'd be the other one who ran away. A part of him had a fear of missing out, of failing his peers.

Breathe in again. Four. 

Shuichi was out around the time Watanabe was murdered or already dead. Shuichi imagined him and Kokichi closing the pool door to go home being in sync with the knife plunging into the janitor's throat. What if it was Shuichi and Kokichi? What if Kokichi had knocked on Shuichi's door that day, found out they were both down, and told him that his favorite self-loathing spot was the music hall and not the pool? Two young boys killed in a double homicide covered up as rebels breaking into restricted areas and paying the price in a lethal accident. How close were they to living in that timeline? What decision could Shuichi have unknowingly made that would have put them in that universe?

Hold for four. Three.

Shuichi never believed himself to be a bad person. He didn't think he was that good, but he didn't believe himself to be actively bad. He never had much of a religious point of view, but he was always curious. He had always wondered about life after death and what morals and things he owed. How could he know what he was meant to do when nothing was an obvious yes or no? Did he owe it to the world to do this case if he was to be a good person? Would it be morally wrong if he said no?

Breathe out for four. Two.

Did Shuichi have karma to pay off? Part of his everyday guilt involved the amount of resources he consumed and could never make up for. What were the chances that he could be the one to change the world? So many people took up space and resources and could never give back for it. He was one of them. He was subconsciously looking for an opportunity to make up for all he's taken so far. He wanted to deserve what he's taken. Maybe he can do something good.

He holds his breath. One.

What does it mean to be a good person? Beyond just the simple stuff like being kind. When presented with a situation like this, what is a good person supposed to do? Shuichi figured that good people sacrifice their well-being for others. He remembered his fear of being caught, of failing, of not knowing what he was supposed to say or do. A good person risks everything to do the right thing. Shuichi was sure that letting injustice fade away into the background would make him no better. 

He got mad at himself sometimes. For being weak, for not being good enough, and for letting others walk over him. Staying quiet and doing nothing about that janitor's death was the kind of compliance the people who orchestrated the cover-up wanted. It was the kind of weak will they would hope for him to have. He was tired of never being brave. He was tired of being nothing like his uncle and Kyoko. He was tired of never doing the right thing. He was tired of running away before even trying. He had already chosen to stay after what had happened. He had the strength to do one more thing.

He summoned what he had of bravado to present to Kyoko. Before he spoke, she seemed to have already known what he was going to say. She raised her chin in triumph as he told her, "Okay, I'm with you."

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan

07/10/23

24:13

"I'm still worried," Shuichi murmured.

He and Kyoko stood in silent, bitter ataraxia before the music hall. Not because they were at peace but because it was finally calm. A calm made heavier from the brash intensity of the conversation earlier. Now, there was a stillness. More so an understanding and an acceptance of what came next.

The sun had long parted before Shuichi's walk. However, considering the size of the task before them, Shuichi was sure he wouldn't be home until far later, and he certainly wouldn't be in bed by a good time. So much for a good sleep schedule. Well, he never had one anyway…

At least it was a Saturday night. Although, it's not like it would actually matter if it were earlier in the week, considering classes were called off until the following Monday.

"If we… If someone found out what we're…" His lips tightened in reluctance, and his throat dried before he could be more than vague about what they were about to do. 

He couldn't bring himself to say it. It felt like if he murmured it aloud, it would expose the secret out from beneath them, almost like wind carrying wanted posters down city blocks. If he dared to murmur the notion into the air, it would whisper what it heard to waiting eyes and ears and devour them whole. 

Kyoko stood beside him as they took a minute to stare up at the massive building, crime scene tape weaved around the entrance. The tape was subtle, confined to the shadows of the entrance. One wouldn't notice the dark yellow across the doors at the top of the stairs unless they went out of their way to look for it. But everyone had noticed it. It was a universal reminder to the remaining student body: Make sure to look over your shoulder.  

After the two of them had walked the rest of the way to the music hall, they took a moment to stop and observe the front before entering. Maybe they were both looking for something. Maybe they were bracing themselves. Maybe they were waiting for some type of epiphany to roll off the tongue of the front entrance. Perhaps, a written-up testament from the very walls of the building to tell them what happened four nights ago. 

They knew there was nothing to observe on the outside of the building. It was an unspoken agreement that there was not anything to see, but that did not make it pointless to them. They needed a breath to abdicate from their skin, to become only their minds. They had to deprive themselves of indulgence, become the brain and not the person—that was the axiom to their titles. That's what it took to bear death like they did.

Shuichi was not successful in leaving behind his exterior emotions. His anxiety rolled off his aura in waves. Kyoko could feel it from where she stood beside him. He was tensed shoulders and unsteady knees. But right now he was to be a detective. And he was a good one. One good enough to get into the best school in the globe. He was simply doubtful. Kyoko spared him a glance, could not find anything to say, and proceeded forward without a word. 

It took Shuichi a moment to break out of his trace, but when he did, he stumbled forward to keep up with Kyoko as they ascended the stairs. 

While Kyoko fiddled with the lock and key to the door, Shuichi stood behind and kept watch behind them. He knew no one would walk by, but nerves flared in the back of his head. He crammed them back as far as he could, but he felt like prey in the open. He was skittish, ready to flood with adrenaline and run away. What if he got himself expelled? What if he ruined everything for himself with this one decision? What then?

Kyoko did not seem to share the same perturbed struggle. And if she did, she sure did a hell of a good job disguising it. 

"I hope you're ready," she commented as she twisted the key, unlocking the door. 

When a beat passed and he didn't make a move to step forward and head inside, she turned to look over her shoulder where he stood still behind her. "Are you ready?"

"… No…" Shuichi muttered.

Kyoko shrugged with one shoulder and nodded her head to the side. "That's the spirit," she muttered sarcastically with a hint of bitterness before opening the door and heading inside.

Watching her pass through the doorway was maddening to him. His muscles screwed tight in defiance to following her, but he forced himself, anyway. He envisioned coils and rope tied and stabbed into his skin like a puppet, tugging to hold him back as he stepped from the outside to the inside. When he passed through the doorway, he swore he could almost feel the sharp snap of flesh underneath the skin of his arms as if there was actually rope stitched inside. Warmth trickled through his body that he almost mistook as fresh blood seeping out of wounds.

Just calm down. He needed to calm down.

After a small moment of grounding, he realized Kyoko was kindly holding the door open for him as a backward act of chivalry. 

He could kick himself. Even in such high-stake, important, larger-than-him matters, he was still an idiot and made himself clumsy around her. Clumsy and pitiful enough that while she easily cut through obstacles, she had to stop, turn around, and wait for him to catch up. He was that weak, that much of a coward. He hung his head low as he stepped further into the building.

Kyoko didn't let go of the door to let it close itself. Instead, she manually and gently guided the door back to its hinges. She turned the knob so the door wouldn't click as it slid into place. 

For the first time, Shuichi had a small clue as to what she may be feeling. In some muted way, she was cautious, too. It was subtle and easy to miss, but Shuichi managed to spy the way she was a little more articulate than usual, a little more drawn back and aware. Her spine was just a little more rigid. And her footsteps were just a little lighter. It was the tiniest difference in comparison to her usual apathy, but Shuichi could see it. That gave him some ease for himself.

Kyoko turned around, and together, they both looked down the pitch-black corridor of the building's interior. With the door closed, it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The windows above the front doors offered some illumination, the dim yellow streetlights passing through and traveling over the tops of Kyoko's and Shuichi's heads.

But despite that, it was still too dark to work with. Kyoko turned her attention to her satchel, opening the lid, and searching through it for something. Shuichi watched as she pulled out a heavy-duty flashlight and switched it on, illuminating the hallway before them. Its beam was bright and powerful, with long range. He wasn't surprised that's something she'd own.

Kyoko shined the light around their surroundings, revealing the interior of the building to them. Shuichi pulled his phone out of his back pocket and switched on its flashlight to further light up the room. Their lights together exposed most of the corridor to them.

It gave Shuichi the creeps, seeing a place meant for large groups of people to gather so barren and lifeless. He had never been inside the music hall before, but it was similar enough to other places he had seen to make it feel vaguely familiar. Like he had been there before. He could piece together what it was supposed to be. And it was certainly not this.

  The lack of noise was disturbing. It was far too eerily silent for a place he would expect to be filled with sound. It was desolate. The whole place seemed more somber than what Shuichi could only guess it was before. Almost like the interior was facing its own grim sorrow from having witnessed what happened inside its wall. Like the death had seeped its way into its framework, engraving itself to be unrecoverable like every other tragedy—A stain that couldn't wash out. Another reminder, Shuichi supposed.

He traced his light along the walls, observing the seating for guests waiting for show doors to open. To the left were the large, grand doors to the auditorium for performances. Ahead of them, down the hallway, were places for students and staff like soundproof practice and storage rooms. 

The floor beneath them was carpeted to diminish the echo of noise spilling out into the hallway. It was lavish and gold with patterns etched into it. Nothing less for the high-quality teer of a music performance in the globe's finest private school. 

Moving away from his quick observations, his eyes drifted to where Kyoko's light held still. Her flashlight was on the far end of the hallway where display cases held trophies, awards, and music-related accomplishments of students and staff. She was illuminating a display case on the far end of the hallway, her light's range barely being long enough to illuminate it. The case was shattered to pieces and had nothing inside it. Not anymore.

Wordlessly, she moved toward it, Shuichi behind her, and began to pull out the case file folders she had put back inside her satchel. Shuichi stood beside her and carefully examined the broken glass as she flipped through files and reports.

There was no shattered glass on the ground, just the remaining shards that were still intact with the case. Clearly, a cleaning crew came through here. There was no blood, no sign of a struggle, no body. Just a broken display case. 

Kyoko delicately pulled out a sheet of stapled papers from the folder and read it aloud in a murmur, "Benjiro Watanabe, 38 years of age, five foot five, brown eyes, dark blond—We already know this." She scanned further down the text before flipping it over to the next page. 

"What evidence do they have, if any?" Shuichi asked. He was surprised at how stable his tone sounded. He was now focused in, strapped into the analysis. He felt within his element. He had read countless autopsy reports. He finally had a sense of familiarity that allowed him to—if only a little—ignore the anxiety of having never trespassed. 

"That's what I'm looking for," she answered. Her eyes rapidly and quickly darted over the large block of text on the page. Shuichi wondered if she could actually be reading that fast and still processing it, but to his astonishment, she proved herself to be. "They looked for fingerprints. They found Celeste's on the door, which makes sense. And there was one fingerprint they couldn't identify on the display case because it was smudged."

Shuichi nodded his head once in confirmation as Kyoko looked up from the packet and at him, as she continued, "The smudged one could be Watanabe's, but it could be someone else's, too."

"Do you know if… Celeste… touched the display case when she came in here?" Shuichi asked. He said Celestia's name slowly and awkwardly, balancing his tongue unsteadily around the syllables. He had never said her name aloud before and felt uncertain about pronouncing it. 

Kyoko nodded. "She didn't approach the body. She came in, saw it, and left pretty quickly after that. She didn't touch anything else."

After she finished speaking, she put the case files away in her satchel, stepped forward, and kneeled in front of the glass display. The case was far from being repaired; it would have to be replaced, but the shattered glass was cleared, making it safe to approach. Kyoko started rapidly inspecting the display, looking for abnormalities that may still be left behind. Her gloved hands ran over the grooves of the wooden base as she searched the inside, glancing around the shattered glass still intact, and the sides of the display.

They both knew she'd most likely find nothing, but it was still worth something. So while Kyoko looked over the physical details, Shuichi mulled over the facts in his brain as she investigated.

Eventually, she stood up and looked around the floor beneath them, her eyes following the path she shone her light around. "There was definitely a struggle…"

Shuichi looked at her and she continued. "Celeste was sure what she saw was the aftermath of a murder rather than an accident. She described seeing a struggle. Look at those scuff marks."

Shuichi looked down at the floor where Kyoko's light shone. The fancy golden patterns on the white carpet looked disheveled. By the front, the gold flakes attached to the carpet's ends were well-kept and intact. Over here, the patterns were messy and some of the gold flakes were torn off from the ends of the carpet.

It didn't look like something caused by the many investigators, detectives, police officers, and forensic teams going through here. It reminded Shuichi of the kind of scuff marks he'd see in a school gymnasium, just on carpet rather than tile. The kind of streaks caused by shoes running and sliding across the tile. That wouldn't be recreated here by professionals calmly and thoroughly taking evidence and cleaning up the debris.

And the scuff marks couldn't have been there before the murder. There was no way. This was a music hall. A well-off one at that. It was prestigious and well-kept. Nobody in here would be acting like teenagers playing kickball in gym class. And even then, the scuffs on gymnasium floors were few and far between within the large gym. The floor in here was messy and disorganized all in one place: Before the display case. Something else had happened here.

Shuichi's head swarmed with information as Celestia's account of a struggle was added to the roster, but it wasn't overwhelming; he had complete control over his mind. He identified gaps and pieces missing within their case, and new questions to ask to fill in fragments. One became prominent to him.

He turned his attention away from the floor and looked up at the remains of the glass trophy case. "What shattered the glass?" he asked.

"Hm?" Kyoko looked at him.

"So if we're going with that he didn't fall off the ladder, and there was another party then—what shattered the glass?" Kyoko paused to consider that, and Shuichi scrambled to add, "I mean, I guess that's assuming that he wasn't just pushed, happened to not die right away, and was stabbed to finish the job, but that wouldn't explain the signs of struggle on the carpet."

"You have a point." She lifted her arm and dug the folder out of her bag, opened it, and started flipping through the pages in search of an answer to his question. "Celestia said she didn't even see a ladder when she was in here. So he couldn't have been pushed off one."

"Is there a chance she just missed it?" Shuichi questioned.

She paused flicking through the pages and looked up at nothing in particular to think but remained unphased. Just as quickly as she stopped, she began paging through again. "I thought that too at first, but I believe her. She was startled, I'm sure, but Celeste doesn't miss details like that."

Shuichi noticed she spoke so confidently about Celestia. He couldn't help but be a little curious about their dynamic. They seemed close. He remembered meeting the two of them together at Harleenie's with Makoto and their other friends. 

The two girls didn't seem too similar based on first impressions, but he saw how Celestia leaned in close and whispered things to Kyoko that no one else could hear. He noticed how Kyoko would crack a smile and Celestia would giggle before leaning away. He noticed stolen glances, inside jokes, and a strong familiarity between one another.

He also remembered thinking they were laughing at him and his friends sometimes, and they could have, but still, they were close. He could tell that. He didn't know Celeste beyond meeting her once, but he knew how intelligent Kyoko was and that she was far smarter than him. He knew, even with a few meetings with her, that her interpretations of people could be trusted. So he trusted Celeste because Kyoko trusted Celeste.

"You were right," Kyoko said, snapping Shuichi out of his thoughts. He hadn't realized how long the two of them stayed in silence as Kyoko looked through the case files; he got so deeply lost in his thoughts. Again. "There was a rock inside the display case, underneath the body." She looked up at him.

"A—?" He quickly cut himself off when he sped back to reality. A rock was found in the shattered display case. That answered his question about what broke the glass.

"And additionally," Kyoko continued, "there was something written on it."

Shuichi's eyebrows raised in surprise. Kyoko angled the folder toward him so he could see what she was looking at. On the page, there were pictures the crime scene photographers had taken of the rock. One photo was of it face down which Shuichi assumed was its original position when they found it. And the second picture was of the rock face up.

In un-neat handwriting and written black sharpie, the words on the rock read,

This world is mine.

And just underneath the text was a name signed at the bottom.

Kokichi Oma

His heart stopped. His chest tightened. And his face dropped. That couldn't be right. But it was there. It was there right in front of him. He reread the messy handwriting once, twice, then three times wondering if he mistook the lettering and his brain filled the gap with a name he was familiar with. But no. It really said that. It really said his name.

When Shuichi quickly looked up at Kyoko, he found her already staring at him. He was sure the shocked look on his face was enough for her to pick up his revelation before he said anything.

"Do you recognize this?" she asked with a solemn scowl.

"Yeah, but… It's not… It can’t…" he sputtered, disturbed. Kyoko's eyebrows furrowed further as Shuichi struggled to get his bearings, which only put more pressure on him. "I need a second to think."

He really did need a moment; this was far too overwhelming of a revelation. How could he— Kokichi be involved in this? Shuichi didn't know much about him, but he had spent time with him. And he wasn't normal, but he was funny, and he was interesting, and he wasn't… He's a harmless teenage boy. One Shuichi liked being around in healthy doses.

That boy was unhinged, but not crazy. Just a class-clown type. Boasting about being a part of a murder was in his alley, but it wasn't something that would be the truth. Just another stupid lie. Something he wouldn't actually do. None of the insane things he said for shock value were ever true; he was just looking for attention and trying to disturb others.

But then, Shuichi double-guessed himself. What if even that was a lie? What if he didn't know Kokichi at all? He already believed that before this, but he at least thought he knew that boy was just a stupid, shit-eating, annoying prankster. He had to be. Shuichi couldn't believe he would go beyond that. That he would actually hurt someone. That he was that messed up and troubled. He gave no signs of that before.

He wouldn't kill someone. It didn't mean anything that the rock had his name on it, right? But why would his name be there? Why would he be involved?

Kokichi couldn't be guilty of anything relating to this. He was just a kid. Then again, while Shuichi hadn't been doing this for long, he did know that people within his and Kokichi's age range were capable of murder.

Getting nowhere with speculating on Kokichi's character and motives, he tried to think about what the boy's alibi could be. He was with Kokichi the same day Watanabe was killed. He was completely normal then. Kokichi showed up at his dorm, they went to the pool and talked, and he was normal. He wasn't antsy, acting off, or suspicious like anyone involved in a murder would be unless they had experience, but Kokichi was young, so that didn't add up either.

He recalled when Kokichi was leading Shuichi to the pool (Although, Shuichi had no idea where they were going at the time). He tried to remember Kokichi's behavior or any off-signs he may have shown that he didn't notice at the time. And while he did, he remembered something he had forgotten.

On the way, he threw a small fit over what he saw. Or more accurately, what he didn't see. 

“Where the fuck did it go?” Shuichi remembered Kokichi exclaiming.

“What are you looking for?” He had asked, confused.

“My rock is gone! My proclamation!"

"Your rock…?" At the time it was bizarre. He hadn't heard anything about a rock from Kokichi before then.

"Ugh, and I marked it and everything. This school has to know who runs this horrid world. Oh, well.”

I marked it and everything.

"Wait!" Shuichi exclaimed. Kyoko looked at him with blank anticipation. "I know what that is. It's, uh—It's— … I have this friend." Was he a friend? That didn't matter. "He goes here. His name is Kokichi Oma. I know it sounds dumb but he was saying that he labeled some rock on campus, and it was missing when he went to check on it the day of the murder. I was hanging out with him the day it happened."

Kyoko was, as always, unreadable but Shuichi felt like he saw confusion on her face, so he added, "It's dumb, but yeah, that's Kokichi's rock, and it's large. Large enough to shatter that display. And it was placed near like, between the gym and the lecture halls, which aren't too far away… So someone must have seen it and decided to use it."

"… I saw someone acting suspicious around the lecture hall a few hours before the murder," Kyoko added, trailing off as she thought about the likelihood.

"Suspicious how?"

"Partially, it's intuitive. They were out of place. Something was off. But their behavior was telling, too. They hid behind the lecture hall buildings and avoided people passing by. Like they didn't want to be spotted."

"Kokichi was looking for the rock right around there. We were out around six. What time did you see that person?"

Kyoko sighed. "Five…" There was a brief pause as both of their testimonies aligned well together and made the chances of what they were both thinking seem likely. After a moment, Kyoko spoke again, "Hm. Assuming your friend isn't a killer—"

"He isn't." Shuichi instantly blurted out without meaning to, accidentally cutting Kyoko off. The words spilled past his lips before he could chase and grab onto them before they escaped.

His face quickly heated to an uncomfortably hot temperature in embarrassment while Kyoko stared at him for a moment before continuing. "… Then that means the writing has nothing to do with the killer or the crime. Anyway though," Kyoko put away the pictures of the rock and dug for something else. "That confirms your idea. He was murdered and he wasn't just pushed off a non-existent ladder. That and your friend's pet rock didn't just happen to be in the building on its own. And it seems like someone else was on campus who may be involved with this, disproving that there was no third party like the public report said."

Shuichi nodded slowly. "Right, so… What we've got so far is evidence of a third party through your account of seeing someone right around the area where the rock with my… friend's name on it went missing. There's also signs of a struggle in here. Celeste, you, and I all agree on that. Watanabe had no reason to take a rock across campus, come here, fight with himself, and then shatter a glass display he'd later be found dead in. So someone else had to be involved. There's no other explanation."

"You and I as well as Celeste agreed there's a struggle, but she saw the scene in a different state than we are." Kyoko started looking through the case files. "I want to see what she saw."

Kyoko kneeled down and spread printed-out crime scene photos on the floor, shining her flashlight above them. Shuichi kneeled on the opposite of the pile from her and looked over them. In the photos, the place they currently stood in looked much worse. Blood and glass hadn't been cleared and the corpse in the case.

Shuichi pointed to a photo of a shot facing the floor that had a close-up of the shattered glass littered across the carpet. "Look at the glass there," he told Kyoko and she followed his line of sight. He traced circles along a few shards of glass in the photo. "Those pieces don't look like the other's. They're more cracked and took on more damage, like a heavier force." Shuichi withdrew his hand and set it on his knee. "Someone stepped on them."

Kyoko nodded. "If he fell on the case and died instantly…"

"He wouldn't get up on his feet before laying back down in the display," Shuichi finished.

Kyoko pulled out her phone from her pants pocket and opened the camera app, taking a picture of the crime scene photo.

Shuichi looked at her in concern. "That's kinda risky, isn't it?"

"Legally, the police cannot confiscate your belongings without solidified reason to. It's part of citizens rights to privacy. So, no."

"What if they get legal reason to search our stuff?"

"We won't give them a reason to," Kyoko asserted confidently before putting her phone down and looking through the rest of the crime scene photos.

She picked up one of the photos and held it closer to them, hovering her flashlight over it. The picture was a shot of the trophy case, the body inside, and a blood trail leading up to it. "That looks like the kind of trail you get from dragging a body to me." Kyoko handed it to Shuichi.

He agreed that the trail of blood was familiar to him as one created by dragging a bloody body. It was thick and smeared, not just a trickle of blood coming from the body.

In the picture, the corpse was still in the display case. The man's neck hung over the side of the case. His mouth was morbidly hung open. And his wide eyes were grayed over. Dark red blood was dried from the large hole in his neck and along the side of his face that it pooled down. 

Shuichi noticed some pieces of glass that he was lying on dug inside his shoulders and back, creating more wounds. He was used to seeing grotesque pictures of bodies, but still, this one went on his list of far more eerie ones.

Shuichi looked up from the photo, and for a brief second, wondered where Kyoko went when he didn't immediately see her in front of him. He quickly realized she was beside him, extremely close and looking over his shoulder to observe the photo. He flinched hard but didn't back away. She didn't seem to notice, either that or she didn't care. Maybe the ladder. 

Even though she was already in his personal space, he awkwardly held the photo a little closer to her so she could see it better. He figured that would be… polite…? And it would be impolite to back away even though sometimes she really freaked him out.

Satisfied with staring at the morbid picture, she leaned back and took a step away. Much to Shuichi's relief. But that calm didn't last. Because it was Kyoko and she always found a way to top the last absurd idea she told him.

"We should go to the mortuary next." She began gathering up the crime scene photos on the floor and putting them back into their respective folders.

"Huh?"

"To see the body," she clarified. That hardly cleared up Shuichi's confusion.

"How do you expect to be able to do that??"

"Sneak in." Shuichi looked at her like she was crazy. "It's not impossible. I've done it before."

"You—!"

Kyoko cut him off. "We want to get to the bottom of this, right? Isn't that the next logical step? We're already at a disadvantage when looking at the crime scene after it was cleaned. We also don't know if there's anything missing from here." She held up the folder after she put the pictures away and stood up. 

Shuichi stood up with her. "I mean, yeah, when you put it like that. But is…" He paused to think how he'd phrase the next part, cautious about Kyoko's perception of him. Luckily, she was patient. "What if we…” he began cautiously. “What if we're going too far?"

"Too far how?" Her reply came much swifter than his and her voice was much more assertive. It made him want to bash his head into the wall.

"Like, is this our place to research this? We're only students."

"Sure but what do you suggest we do? Who can we hand this off to?" She was right. It was supposed to be the cops' job, but they now knew what they did with that. 

"We'll be in and out," Kyoko assured. "It's not a problem for us to go into the mortuary, anyway. Nobody will know that we took a peek. Besides, if it makes you feel a little better, to lower the severity of all this, all we've done is trespassing. We haven't actually interfered with police investigation. This is minor."

Despite his best intentions, he couldn't help but snicker at the irony of the situation. Anxiety still pulsed through his veins, but the thought was funny, so he had to ask. "Do you often break the law like this despite studying to enforce it?"

To Shuichi's great and very large surprise, Kyoko's solemnity broke into a small smile for a few seconds. But as quickly as it happened, her face returned to blankness before she told him something that reconstructed his foundation of critique of themselves.

"The Tokyo Police Department covered up a murder to keep the press good on the school. We trespassed to expose malpractice and injustice. Who's more in the wrong?"

Kyoko sensed that Shuichi being able to crack a small joke must have meant that he was mostly convinced. She turned around and started toward the exit with Shuichi following.

It was a fair argument. And as Shuichi paced forward ahead of Kyoko, so he could beat her to the door and hold it open for her, he had a greater sense of righteousness. He had more trust that he was doing the right thing. He could assume Kyoko wasn't good with pep talks; she was more distant, logic-based, and didn’t lead with enough emotion to coddle another’s feelings. But she was good at solving dilemmas from a moral standpoint.

As Kyoko passed through the doorway Shuichi held open, he murmured, "To do what’s considered wrong for a good cause is better than doing what’s good for a wrong cause." 

He said it with some form of whimsy. Or like he was reciting a line of a poem. He said it with a tone like it was a revelation deduced to truth—Like he found meaning in speculation or like he answered an unspoken rhetorical question with the right answer. He was almost proud of himself for it.

Kyoko, less of the artistic type, answered, "Sure. Like that." 

She turned around to wait for him as he passed through the doorway. "The mortuary should be easy. Just in and out." 

She turned around and the two began down the stairs. Kyoko held her bag closely to her side and Shuichi bit the inside of his bottom lip, trying to will himself into making the silence between them comfortable. He whisked himself to his thoughts and to the next mission.

Chapter Text

As Shuichi could have predicted, Kyoko had a car. In the school's parking lot, he asked her how they planned to get there, wondering if buses ran that late at night. He ended up discovering the large, imposing black Chevrolet Tahoe Kyoko drove. It reminded him of a car provided for the use of government officials. Intimidating and with efficiency.  

The car ride was spent quietly staring out the window at the city nightlife, observing the bustle of people on foot or the road. They passed by in a blur, all with places to be. Car tires splashed over puddles framing the curb. Street merchants stood to the side of the road, calling out things Shuichi could not hear. People in coats and heads down passed by quietly. Some people were louder, throwing their heads back in cackles with a can of beer in hand underneath streetlights. Neon signs lit up Japanese characters along brick walls, displaying store names and advertisements.

Inside the car, the two of them filled the silence between them with a random, static-prone radio station that played songs Shuichi partially recognized from hearing them play overhead in stores and in Instagram reels. 

The car's windshield wipers moved rhythmically in a slow tempo to combat the drizzle sprinkling Tokyo that night. Inside, Kyoko's car was spotless, smelled like nothing, and had nothing but the two of them in it. The black leather interior was smooth and polished, giving the impression of untouched. Shuichi could only assume it must have been new or that she didn't use it much. 

He fiddled with the window button against the car door with his pointer finger in minuscule movements, careful not to roll down the window. The side of his forehead leaned against the window. The glass was cool against his skin. He observed small raindrops sprinkle against the window and slowly run down to the bottom in streaks.

It was typically common for first-years not to have cars. Shuichi had gotten into the routine of taking public transport, like the metro, with his friends or walking to places he needed to go. There was always Kaito and his truck, but Shuichi tried to avoid driving with Kaito in that car until it was absolutely necessary. He wasn't a terrible driver, but while Shuichi liked Kaito's rowdy personality, his alacrity coupled with being on the road overwhelmed Shuichi. That plus the mess in the back seat drove him crazy.

Aside from Kaito, Shuichi supposed he had gotten too used to his grade level and the way talked about taking the metro or walking to restaurants or parks together. It was nice having more older friends to drive him places.

Then again, he wasn't sure if he could refer to Kyoko as a friend. He didn't know her well enough, and she didn't seem like the type to want friends, boldly independent and capable on her own merits. 

He knew it was strange reasoning, but he couldn't see her with friends, despite that he met her with her friends. It both made sense and didn't make sense to him. His impressionistic, ambiance-based persona of her in his head contradicted what he actually knew of her. His idea of a person wrestled with his facts about them. It was a common occurrence with him. 

The mortuary was in a random corner of Tokyo. Over the halfway point of the drive, Shuichi recognized less and less of the city. Eventually, he noticed the building up ahead. It was a very small, dull, brick building with older architecture, surrounded by buildings with similar designs. Kyoko seemed to have noticed Shuichi's curious hyperawareness of their surroundings.

"Have you been here before?" she asked while making a left turn into the parking lot. He found it trivial how she made it sound like she was talking about a local gas station.

"I've never had a reason to be," he replied. 

Aside from the mortuary, when he looked around the block, he found he didn't have any reason to be in the general area. The only things the street had to offer were gas stations and convenience stores that he could find much closer to campus. Some hole-in-the-wall restaurants were sprinkled in here and there. But nothing of importance.

Kyoko pulled the car into a parking spot and asked, "Do you not do any apprentice work or shadowing programs?"

"Um, no, not right now. Yet." He felt a little embarrassed admitting it as if a lack of mentorship blocked him from being true to his aspiration. A feud especially made awkward when they shared the same title at school. He was more on edge, worried about her calling him out. "I've shadowed my uncle before, but I wanted to wait before starting to do work with other professionals."

Kyoko put the car in park, took the key out of the ignition, and unbuckled her seatbelt but didn't get out right away. "Do you plan to stay here?" She turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a blank, expecting stare. It unnerved him.

He paused in confusion and tried to process. Did she mean stay in Hope's Peak, on campus, or…?

"In Tokyo," she clarified in his delay. 

Oh— "Yeah — ! Yeah. I think so, at least." He stumbled over his recovery.

She tucked her keys into her jacket pocket before glancing back at her satchel in the backseat, obscured and out of view from the windows.

"Then I'd recommend it. It builds up credit between you and existing chiefs. Whether that be for making it easier to apply for a job there or a letter of recommendation, it'll make settling down after school much smoother. But do with that as you will."

After that, Kyoko opened the car door and stepped out. Shuichi followed and, as he did, thought about the notion Kyoko introduced.

He knew he had low self-esteem; that much was discovered in therapy. However, beyond that, from a logical standpoint, he could spot the contrast between him and Kyoko when it came to their practices that were beyond personality differences. Shuichi only had coursework and a brief history of being on cases. Kyoko had all of that too, but additionally, she had experience working with a variety of professionals. It put her a few steps ahead of him.

He could benefit from that, too, couldn't he? When he first came to Hope's Peak, he feared moving too fast and things beginning to feel too real. But he wanted to overcome that. If his uncle aided him, he was sure he could see something working out for him. He made a mental note to look into that later.

The two met around the back of the car and silently led themselves to the front entrance of the building. Their shoulders and the top of their heads collecting raindrops as they walked. There were no other cars in the lot except for Kyoko's in the back and an older model of a light brown Sedan parked in the front, a few spots from the door.

On either side of the old-fashioned doors, yellow lighting shone through the dusted windows and onto the pavement outside. The building's brick walls were worn with weather and age. Shuichi speculated that the mortuary and the buildings around it were built around the '60s to '70s. They were a bit older, rundown, and semi-outdated.

Shuichi noted their lack of a stated plan as they crossed the parking lot. He wondered how they'd bypass authority in this scenario. It wouldn't be as easy as trespassing into the music hall. There would be someone inside this time. He was aware, though, that Kyoko was vigilant enough to know what she was doing. She had proven that earlier tonight.

The roofing sloped over the front entrance, blanketing them under its shadow as they approached the doors. The soles of Shuichi's shoes and Kyoko's boots tapped against the gray pavement almost in unison. The bushes on the side of the building were overgrown, and the chirp of crickets croaked from the greenery. There were cracks in the pavement leading up to the older building's entrance. However, they were hard to spot under the night sky, basking him and Kyoko in a brush of deep navy blue.

"Go with what I say," Kyoko told him before they went through the doors. "I know the doctor working right now." 

It was a vague plan, but right, yeah. Go with what she says. It's the only thing he can do anyway.

Kyoko and Shuichi each pulled open one of the doors. Both were unlocked, signifying the mortician hadn't closed for the night. Hopefully, Shuichi thought, that meant they wouldn't be too bothered by visitors—Or as caught rogues messing with classified casefiles and a carcass. 

Shuichi crumpled that thought out of his head. 

The two stepped inside and were met with a cozy room-temperature warmth that was welcomed after having been in the night's cold. 

The lobby was made with pale lime green colors, soft, warm, and inviting. The front desk was against the wall to the two's left. On the wall to their right was a warm brown leather sofa. The sitting table in front of it had tissues atop it and a vase of flowers. On the opposite wall from the sofa, there was a painting depicting calm scenery with a yellow-green field and blue sky.

Shuichi recognized it as a room made for comfort. He had seen rooms like it. Hospitals, care units, and places associated with ongoing investigations when lawyers or officers had to work with families. Rooms like these were designed to bring as much peace and solace to grieving families in places where tragedy was known to be. Predicted, planned, and following a rubric.

Despite the studied psychological elements that go into making these types of rooms comforting, the environment made Shuichi's abdomen twist and knot. He had associated the fluorescent rooms with flower vases and pastel wall colors to be omens. Something bad. Something tragic. He pushed it down, away, out of mind to stay focused. 

But a little bit of it hung there like a lingering smell of smoke after a fire or like shrubbery changing colors after a body was buried nearby. Cataclysms found a way of embedding themselves into secret grooves and crevices.

Shuichi experienced this confined remembrance not of a place or time but of a feeling inspired by unpleasant nostalgia, and Kyoko approached the front desk, looking to get someone's attention. She knocked her first knuckle against it twice.

"Dr. Goro, do you have a second?" she called, projecting her voice toward a double set of gray doors by the desk. Shuichi guessed that was where the morgue was.

They heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the doors until they opened, revealing the mortician. He was a middle-aged man with brown-red hair balding on the top and pale blue eyes. Dr. Goro wore a white shirt and khaki pants covered by a white medical apron. 

"Hello, Kirigiri," he greeted passively but with no hint of frustration or confusion in his tone. Shuichi sensed he wasn't suspicious or concerned with their presence. 

"Can I help you and your friend?" the doctor asked while he adjusted his blue medical gloves at the wrist, untucking them from underneath his watch. He asked them with a smile and made direct eye contact. He was friendly.

"Yes, if you don't mind," Kyoko answered. "This is Saihara Shuichi. He's a new intern. We were sent to pick up the autopsy reports on the bodies related to the Miyazaki case. Are you still in possession of those?" Kyoko asked with fluency and ease.

Shuichi picked up a small inkling (maybe a tense or message from her aura or person, he wasn't sure) that she knew the answer would be yes.

"Definitely," the doctor answered. "They're kept with other reports of importance. We keep them in chronological order, so just look for the folders around the… hm, I would say the 80s. Your higher-ups aren't looking to reopen the case, are they?" the doctor asked with some humor, signifying he denied the possibility.

"No, we've just had some more recruits lately. They wanted us to use the case as a study. We finished going over the crime reports last week."

"Ah, so the autopsy report comes next?" the doctor asked. Kyoko nodded. 

Shuichi admired how she played her cards just correctly to allow the mortician to fill in the last piece, making the lie more believable. It was a small tip, but he wondered how she knew to do that or if it was unintentional.

"I'm afraid I can't let you take the reports out of the file room, but you're free to take pictures as you may. Is this sustainable for your case study?"

Kyoko nodded in agreement. "That should work." She turned her head to Shuichi, who stood behind her. "Would you mind doing that?"

Her face was expressionless, but there was a glint in her eye. One that the doctor couldn't see without her facing him. It was a message she was exchanging with him. He couldn't read it, but he could feel it. And somehow, that was enough.

"Of course." He turned to address the mortician. "Where can I find the file room?" He successfully kept his voice smooth and level with a polite, trustworthy kindness.

"Just through those doors." The doctor pointed to the double doors he came from.

Kyoko added, "It's the door left of the embalming room."

It was subtle, so light that it could barely be picked up without context. But Shuichi heard it. He somehow saw it, too. There was a little more emphasis on the last two words. Kyoko's dialect annunciated the vowels and syllables with a hidden purpose.

He nodded. "I'll try and be quick." 

Turning with a disguised stiffness ingrained into his shoulder blades and wounded into tense muscles, he headed toward the door and pushed past them. 

"Oh, and Shuichi?" Kyoko called after him. He paused in the doorway and turned around to face her. "Make sure to look at the body."

Everything froze. His blood ran cold. Why would she say that in front of the doctor? His lower stomach cramped, and hot, burning, electrocuting heat traveled through his chest. His throat dried, and he gaped, unsure what to do. He didn't know how to save their cover. They were screwed.

Time moved much slower than what Shuichi perceived. He felt all those things at once before the doctor could even finish processing Kyoko's statement. Once he did, he started chuckling lightheartedly. He put a hand against his sternum, ceasing his laughter.

The look on Shuichi's face stayed the same. He was confused. Did the mortician find them out? Was he laughing at them? The doctor looked over and took notice of Shuichi's expression. He smiled at him with fondness.

"Lighten up. She's joking. Those bodies have been buried a long time now. She's not going to make you look at carcasses just yet," the mortician said with kind amusement.

A tidal wave of realization and explanation crashed over Shuichi's roused nerves. The mortician was still thinking of the bodies from the Miyazaki case. Even though Kyoko didn't refer to the body in plural, it didn't matter. He didn't piece it together. He still didn't know. He thought Shuichi's reaction to be nervousness from the idea of working with a corpse so soon since Kyoko introduced him as a new trainee.

Taking a quick glance over at Kyoko, he found she was calm, deliberate, in control, elbows resting against the desk, and posture relaxed. It wasn't a slip of the tongue that she got lucky with. It was intentional. 

"Are you not used to her sense of humor yet?" the mortician asked, sticking a thumb toward Kyoko. The real crux of the matter was Shuichi was not used to a lot of Kyoko's unique characteristics.

"Haha." The laugh that came out of him was awkward and a little strained. He was caught off guard and anxiety stricken, but the laugh easily passed off as being staggered from not catching Kyoko's joke. "Guess not."

Kyoko nodded to him and with that, he slowly stepped backward, allowing the large door he was holding open with his shoulder to swing close and leaving Kyoko and the mortician on the other side. Once they couldn't see him, he quickly spun around and scanned around the small hallway. Kyoko would buy him time, but he needed to be swift.

He spotted a wooden door to his left that he presumed led to the archive he was supposed to be in. Across from the doorway was a unisex bathroom. And at the end of the hall was a double set of doors that looked like they belonged in a hospital or somewhere medicine was practiced. The mortuary. 

He took a small peak over his shoulder to verify he was alone before he paced himself down the short hallway. He placed both of his palms on the cool metal and pushed the door open, entering the empty room.

The smell of bleach and cleaning products was strong inside the room. There was an attempt to make the room smell like lavender. It was pleasant but it wasn't so charming when he thought about the reason why—What smell they would try to cover up in the first place with air fresheners. He didn't like the memory it sparked. He forced it back.

First the lobby, now this. He needed to get a grip. The past was the past. It did not matter right now. He forced his attention to other details of the room.

There was a window on the wall across from him. The thin, cheap-looking pastel blue curtain hung loosely to the sides. Shuichi imagined it drawn closed when the mortician was working. 

In the center of the room was a gray, metal table for bodies. Toward the top was a brace that could be lifted from the table to hold a cadaver's head up. At the bottom of the slightly angled table was a drain for blood. 

The surrounding walls had counters with cabinets above attached to them. A plethora of medical equipment he couldn't name was scattered across the counters in an organized fashion, but he recognized some of them, even if he couldn't recall their exact name. Embalming fluid, rib cutters, and a tool used for stapling the jaw shut were just a few of everything he spotted.

On his right was a desk with a computer, cabinets, and papers strewn about. Moving to the other side of the desk, he found the screen still on. The mortician was working on logging an unknown patient before Kyoko and Shuichi interrupted him.

Shuichi turned his attention to the wall behind the desk. Six metal rectangles with handlebars and name tags were placed three by three. It seemed only three residents were in for the night.

He hurried over and quickly scanned over the names handwritten on each tag. Sato Akato, Biden Jo, and Watanabe Benjiro.

Shuichi breathed a sigh of relief when he found Watanabe on the left lower shelf. He was concerned with a suspicion that his family may have already buried or cremated him. But alas, he was still here, being prepped for his funeral. 

Shuichi wrapped his fingers around the handlebar, preparing to pull Watanabe out. The metal was a sharp pierce of cold against his skin. It made him hesitate. He stood in that position for a moment, hands gripping the bar, bent at the waist to reach the lower shelf. He was stalling, he realized.

He willed himself to just pull the shelf open and quickly do a scan over of an autopsy. However, he was met with phantom resistance. Nothing was stopping him, but nothing was happening either. He felt trapped within his skin. Unable to move but able to watch.

Pull it open, he commanded himself. Nothing happened. It's simple. It shouldn't matter. Just pull it open, he tried again. Again, nothing happened. He cursed himself for his resistance. Just pull it open!

Finally, he yanked the shelf out with more force than needed. The wheels squeaked, and the metal against metal groaned as it was brought out. Petrified, Shuichi realized that might have been too loud. 

He quickly stood up straight. The extended table pressed against his knees. He stared at the door for a few moments, waiting to hear quick footsteps coming down the hall. But nothing happened. He stood so still and so quietly that he could hear the faint murmur of the mortician and Kyoko talking down the hall.

Deciding he was safe, he looked down at the person before him covered by a white cloth. Or what was once a person before having life stripped away.

He saw the outline of the man's feet from underneath the cloth. They were close to touching Shuichi's legs. He took a few steps back and rushed to the side of the table. 

The thought made him sick, but he had to hurry, he had to. He had no time to hesitate. Shuichi pulled the cloth away from the corpse's face, exposing him down to his waist. 

Shuichi's arms tensed as he looked down at the deceased man. His eyes were shut, his hair was thin, and his skin looked loose and unnaturally pale. He looked older than thirty-eight. Maybe he just looked that way before, but Shuichi wondered if that was an aftereffect of his death. 

A twist tied itself around Shuichi's gut, smothering and pulling tighter and harder. The smell wasn't bad. The body didn't smell like it was rotting. It smelt too clean. It was artificial. He looked artificial. The stained, disgusting wrap around Shuichi's stomach pulled tighter, infesting his bloodstream. 

Achly and with shaky movements, Shuichi moved his abdomen forward to view the other side of the body's neck. He noted light and subtle stitching on the left side of his neck, closing the wound that killed him. It seemed like the mortician had already begun work on him.

There was something eerily off-putting about the body. He looked sickly, but he could almost pass as just being asleep. He looked alive, but he was not. He looked human, but he was just the shell that once inhabited a human being. Then his life was taken away.

Shuichi felt chills activate and spurge through his body like a warning sign. He wanted to leave now. He felt like he had to get out. It was a primal instinct. If there was a body, then what killed them may still be around; get away before you're next.  

Shuichi knew he was far from where the man was killed. But stomaching the urge was hard. He had seen this before. Watanabe's body was cleaned and managed, not at all gruesome. Shuichi had seen photos of mangled corpses. He saw them online and he saw real-life case files through his uncle's bureau. 

He did not expect being in person to be so different. He should not have been this disturbed. But he was, and his subconscious knew he would be. He knew he would struggle to adjust. There was something so oddly freakish about it. 

He stared down at the man's pale face as he leaned over him, his shadow hanging over the body. He was so close he could see all the details on the man's face. A map of life was etched onto his face like stone carvings. 

Shuichi could see the tiny details of acne scars and pores across his cheeks and nose. He saw his thin eyelashes, some dandruff dusting them. He observed a thin scar above his upper lip, just beneath his nose. He could see each strand of hair in light eyebrows connected to his skin. He could see the creases in his eyelids. He saw indented wrinkles on his forehead and smile lines that hung over the side of his face, drooping his mouth into a frown. None of the muscles in his face were at use; all his features hung loose, lifeless.

He had looked at many photos of bodies just like this. But what made it different was he could reach out and touch the man's dead rough cheek—

The thought made him physically repulsed. He leaned back to get space and resisted the urge to gag. He closed his eyes and took two deep breaths before he focused himself again. He tried to shake off the disgusting mulch on his skin that wasn't actually there.

Returning his sight to the body, he did a scan over. He needed to strap in and analyze, look for any abnormalities, and report back to Kyoko. 

Nothing seemed off about the man. Everything was aligned with the case files. Shuichi reached out and touched the body's arm. He hated it. He did it anyway. He lightly grazed his fingers against the skin. It did not feel odd. 

He applied more pressure, feeling his flesh and bone. Once again, normal. Shuichi moved further down to his wrist. That time, he noticed something different. The flesh was more swollen. He kneeled, bringing himself closer. There was a lump on Watanabe's wrist. It stood out. It didn't look natural.

Shuichi stood up and leaned over to look at the other man's wrist. It wasn't swollen like the other, but he noticed similar damage along his forearm. It was thin and miniscule, but it was there. And it reminded him of one thing. Self-defense.

A raised arm, blocking the face from an attack, leading to a forearm getting struck. A swung fist missing and the wrist taking the impact.

He pictured the scenario in his mind. The man was revenant into his imagination. He fought for his life. Shuichi knew he would lose. His attacker was a blurred, grayed-out, shadowed entity.

Watanabe fought against somebody.

From down the hallway, he suddenly heard the first set of double doors open and close rapidly and footsteps take off down the hallway. A multitude of conceptions shot through Shuichi rapidly as he fell backward, stumbled, forced himself up, and scrambled until he was in position in front of Watanabe's feet. He pressed his hands against the cold metal handlebar and began to push the man back inside the wall.

The doors to the room flew open, and Shuichi flew as he stood up, Watanabe still on full display, a myriad of vowels and syllables trying to spill past his lips, but no sound came out. 

Kyoko, and only Kyoko, stood there before she quickly cut through the room and toward him. "I told the doctor I was checking on you. Find anything?" She leaned over to examine the body.

Shuichi swallowed the lump in his throat. Kyoko managed to give him a hell of a scare, but he should've recognized the heavy, fast footsteps coming down the hall to be hers. He had noticed her intense gait when she toured him around campus.

"W—Well, not, um, not much, but there's some swelling to his right wrist and left forearm. I think it's from blunt-force trauma. What do you think?" He stood over the body, looking over the spots he mentioned.

Kyoko checked both spots to observe it for herself. She nodded. "I agree with you on that." She looked up at him. "I'd think from self-defense."

"I thought the same thing."

Kyoko looked further down the cadaver and paused at the white sheet still covering the lower half of the man's body. Before Shuichi could explain that he wanted to take things one step at a time, she stood up straight, grabbed the edge of the cloth, and whipped it off the body, exposing the man.

Shuichi's face became hot, and he kept his gaze on Kyoko and not the body below her. Doing what he couldn't, she swiftly, efficiently, and professionally ran her hands over the man's body from the upper torso to the lower legs. In his defense, she was wearing gloves, and he wasn't. Her movements reminded Shuichi of security searching for weapons on somebody's person.

She stood up once more and reported, "Nothing aside from the swelling on his arms. We should get pictures of that." She pulled her phone from her pocket and angled herself to get photos of the man's forearm. Shuichi did the same, taking pictures of Watanabe's wrist.

Once they finished, Kyoko collected the sheet from off the floor, and lifted it high into the air, straightening it out, and laying it over the man. She moved to his head to make sure it covered him properly. "Could you handle his feet?" Shuichi aided her in covering the man entirely, making it look like he was never disturbed by outsiders.

Shuichi bent over to push the man back inside the wall, returning Watanabe to his temporary resting place. He shifted his weight back to a proper stance on his feet and turned his head to where Kyoko had moved to stand behind him.

"Wanted to be a part of the action, huh?" He smiled at her with amusement.

She raised her eyebrow and broke away from his gaze, looking off to the side. Shuichi bit his lip for the stupid attempt at trying to mess with her. They weren't supposed to be buddy-buddy. He was being dumb again. He seriously could use a good kicking.

His playful smile was replaced by an awkward expression. Kyoko's gaze returned to meet his, and he paused his self-ridicule momentarily.

"You got me," she said in a flat tone with a shrug before turning on her heel and heading toward the exit. She motioned her arm for him to follow.

As they exited the room and headed down the hallway, Shuichi surmised he could most likely take that as a good sign. She was hard to read, but he at least picked up that she responded to situations a little differently than others. That made it difficult to pick up whether a certain response was negative or positive in Kyoko's book, but he strangely had a feeling that was a positive one. She played along with the joke even if it was half-assed and dead inside.

He smiled to himself a little.

They re-entered the lobby where the mortician waited. "Was he struggling to find the right file?" he asked Kyoko. It must have been the excuse she fed to him.

"He had just found it by the time I walked in. I didn't really help. He figured it out on his own."

Was that a compliment? Was she referring to what we were actually doing in the morgue?

"Good, good. I'm glad you kids found what you needed. Now you should get back home. It's late, and I need to lock up for the night." The doctor offered them a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

Shuichi and Kyoko shared a glance. "Ready to get out of here?" she asked him.

"Definitely." Shuichi noticed the doctor's smile turn into an amused smirk at Shuichi's hastiness. "It's been… a long night." Shuichi smiled bashfully.

"Then I won't keep you any longer. Have a good night, you two."

They offered goodbyes to the mortician before heading out into the parking lot. The cool night chilling them. They traveled over the cracked pavement, passed the overgrown bushes, and across the parking lot. 

They got into Kyoko's car. Shuichi put on his seatbelt and turned to Kyoko. "What now?" he asked.

Kyoko put the keys into the ignition. The car started to life. "We'll find out."

He had adjusted to Kyoko's simplistic responses and learned how to process them. The next part would have to come to them, not the other way around. They'd have to wait. Although, he had no idea what they were waiting for.

He wondered what it could be throughout the car ride, the cautious walk back to his dorm, and as he lay in bed before he fell asleep. 

What was coming?

Chapter Text

Tokyo, Japan  

13/9/20

19:02

Shuichi lay in his bed, squinting his eyes to read the characters in his book. The blue LED lights hung along his bedroom walls made it difficult to decipher the writing on the page. His wired earbuds were tucked in his ears, its cord plugged into his phone laying face down next to his head. The gentle guitar strummed melodically with the singer's voice—it was some song from one of his many playlists.

On the walls surrounding him were posters hung from different bands, album covers, TV shows, and movies he liked. His favorite poster hung above his bed, Gerard Way screaming into a microphone tightly gripped in one of his hands, a skull painted on his face, and his hair bleached white.

Shuichi's childhood bedroom was decorated with the things he loved. His bookshelf had all his favorite books on the top shelves and his CDs on the bottom. Along the sides were souvenirs bought from old trips, and he kept his retro speaker beside the sheet music he printed from the internet.

On his desk laid his iPad, with a pack of guitar picks beside it, and a forensics kit his uncle got him for his birthday.

His guitars were in the corner of his room. He only had one guitar stand for the two he owned. He kept his electric on it with its amp close by. His acoustic was balanced against the wall.

He played his electric more often, but his uncle wanted him to play the acoustic like he did, so he got Shuichi one for Christmas. In turn, Shuichi made sure to be grateful and play it every once in a while. When he did, it reminded him of being a little kid, sitting on the porch at dusk while his uncle plucked away at his six-string.

His room was familiar, made by him, and designed to be what he needed. It was cozy and defined by all the eras of his life spent in his uncle's house—from early childhood to his edgy middle school years, and now at fifteen during the pandemic, confined to his home all day.

His pillow beneath him was damp from his wet hair. He had taken a shower a half hour ago before getting into his pajamas and settling in for the night. The hair against his face felt soft and oddly foreign. He couldn't remember the last time he showered before then. His school moved to online learning and the only person who saw him was his uncle, so what did it matter to stay hygienic?

The floor of his room lightly shook before a dull grinding noise emitted beneath him. Shuichi heard the garage grating open over his music.

Switching to hold his book in one hand, he used his free hand to pat around the surface of his bed until he found his phone. He turned his volume up a few notches.

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. Footsteps moved around the house, going from place to place in a routine before heading up the stairs. There was a light knock on his bedroom door, but the sound was masked by Shuichi's music.

The door slowly creaked open. The yellow lighting from the hallway lamps flooded into his deep blue room. Shuichi looked up at the doorway where Haru stood, his figure basked in a mixture of shadow and dull light. He was in his work clothes, a black blazer over a white button-up with gray dress pants, and a navy blue tie.

"Hey, Shuichi," he greeted softly. His voice was quiet and husky. He looked tired.

Shuichi switched off his music, put his book aside, and sat up to face Haru, leaning his back against his bedframe.

"Hi," he greeted back.

Haru placed a hand on the doorframe, a watch framing his wrist. "How can you read with these on?" He looked around the ceiling at the LED lights. His brows furrowed. "It’s stuffy in here too. Maybe keep this door open.” 

His hand left the doorframe and grabbed the doorknob to open the door wider. In his other hand kept loosely at his side, he held an envelope. Shuichi guessed he must have gotten the mail before coming in.

"What've you been up to? Just reading?" Haru asked.

Shuichi shrugged, looking off to the side. "Pretty much. How was work?”

“It was fine.” Haru ran a hand through the black stubble framing his jaw and leaned against the doorframe. "We've been backed up a lot recently. A lotta business going on around this time."

"That sucks," Shuichi murmured. "What's the envelope for?" He nodded toward Haru, his eyes on the letter in his hand.

Haru looked down at the envelope, realizing it was still there. “Oh. Heh, how dumb of me, I forgot I was still holding this. Meant to set it on the counter.” He looked behind him down the hall in the general direction of the kitchen. "It's uh, been a long day."

“Who's it from?”

“It’s for work," he answered vaguely. Haru held it up before setting it on the dresser next to the door. "Have you had any dinner yet?"

“No.” Shuichi flipped over his phone, checking the time. It was 7 PM. He forgot to eat again.

Since the pandemic spread to Japan, Shuichi's school had switched to at-home learning. He used to like it, but he began to find himself lying in his bed for hours on end every day. He would stare up at his ceiling, counting how long he could hold his eyes open until it hurt too bad. He had gotten up to two minutes. It was a distraction that never lasted long.

“I'll make you something,” Haru offered. "Does anything sound good?"

“Uh, do we still have some of the yakitori left over?" Shuichi asked.

Haru paused for a beat to think. "I believe so. I can heat 'em up."

"Sounds good to me."

"Alright." Haru nodded. He stood there for a moment, thinking about something Shuichi couldn't decipher. "Alright," he repeated before he turned around and left, leaving the door open.

Shuichi let out a sigh and slowly slid off his bed to close the door. His knees popped as he shifted his weight to his feet. He winced, a dull pain running through his legs that faded as he took a few steps forward. He crossed the room and shut his bedroom door.

The door clicked as he softly closed it, the gray handle turning back to its resting place as Shuichi's grip loosened. He rested his head against the door, closing his eyes. It had been a long day for him, too. Zoom meetings and silence accompanied by loneliness. He missed Haru when he was gone. The house was so barren and lifeless when only Shuichi was in it.

He sighed through his nose and opened his eyes. As his vision focused, the stark white of the envelope on his dresser stood out in his peripherals. He turned his head to look at it. Haru's name was written in neat pen with their address underneath it. His eyes curiously looked to the top left corner where the return address was written. Mizuno Yuki was the name written above it.

His eyes widened and he lifted his head off the door swiftly. Mizuno???  

He had heard that name before. The Mizunos were a family in the rich upper class in Tokyo. Yuki was the daughter of a family that ran a fashion and makeup company, who went on to start a business in perfume. The Mizuno name was written in luscious pink cursive on advertisements and store signs around the city.

He took a step toward his dresser and picked up the letter, staring down at it.

What could Yuki Mizuno have to do with work? Shuichi wondered to himself. He and Haru were middle-class and never had any reason to get intertwined with a designer brand. Haru didn't focus on robbery cases, and as far as Shuichi knew, Mizuno Perfume hadn't been robbed anyway. And yet, Mizuno had personally written the letter in black ballpoint pen with delicate care in cursive handwriting.

He should head downstairs and return this to Haru. He took a step backward, ready to turn around and open the door. Before he lifted his head to take his eyes off the envelope and exit his room, something in him made him pause. He stopped in place and continued to stare at the characters atop the sealed envelope.

The ink looked bolder and darker, the writing looking more stark across the paper as if it were wet, freshly written from pen. Shuichi ran his thumb across the edge of one of the words, wondering if it would smear, but it didn't.

He tended to tear apart and get into things he shouldn’t, prodding his way into things that were not meant for him. Always in an investigation, always in a search for answers.

Haru liked this trait about him. He enjoyed listening to Shuichi's theories about the books he read and the shows he watched, he liked being told by Shuichi's teachers that while his nephew was quiet in class, he dug into their research projects more than anyone else, and he loved answering the questions Shuichi asked about his work.

However, he was weary of Shuichi going too far. He was nervous about what Shuichi could put into his head and the things he could get into online. He worried about the way Shuichi intensely analyzed others and saw friendships as something to decode.

He wanted him to live in the moment, and to value things on the surface, not only on their core for the sake of not driving himself crazy, trying to force things to go deeper than they extended.

"Shuichi," Haru would tell him. "If you keep trying to expose the other side of something that's one-sided, you'll hit a dead end every time. You can't find the truth in an answer that's already right. It doesn't make sense. Some things are what they are; at face value."

Shuichi knew that. He did. He understood that. But accepting it…

That part didn't matter. He didn't know what his uncle was so scared of anyway, or why it was wrong.

This was a letter from Mizuno Yuki. It wasn't one of those things that felt larger than it was. This was large. So he had the right to be intrigued, didn't he?

He hated it when his uncle got mad at him, and he never wanted to disappoint him, but his interest outweighed any other emotion or thoughts in his head.

With his curiosity overtaking his fear, he flipped the envelope over and carefully broke the seal. He would be quick about it and reseal it after. Haru wouldn't know.

He pulled the letter out. His heart was pounding against his rib cage. He unfolded the paper and ran his eyes over the words written in ink.

Dear Mr. Saihara, 

I don't see it necessary to introduce myself, but I'm not one to skip over formalities. My name is Mizuno Yuki and I am the co-owner of Mizuno Perfume. I have been made aware that you are the new detective on a case I am involved in. I am writing to you to inform you of my position in this ordeal.

Routinely I do check-ups on each of my stores in the city to ensure they're run without problems. On August 22nd, I was in my store located at Center-gai, Shibuya, which happened to be the establishment Mai came into the night she disappeared. I was busy so I came in later, closer to closing, so I was in when she swung by. In the back, a few employees were fulfilling an order requesting a large bouquet for a wedding. I was told they were struggling with organizing the arrangements, so I sent the others on shift to aid them while I managed the front counter. When Mai came in, I was the only one in the front, which is why I'm the only one who saw her as the security camera footage I willingly gave over demonstrates.

I've been told by my employees that Mai is a frequent customer, and is known for being kind, however, I had never met her before then. She made small talk with me, but it was nothing that stood out.

That is my entire story with the case. Nothing more than that. I am sure you know I am a suspect, though. I have gone through extensive interviewing, I adhered to closing the store Mai came into for multiple business days for a police search, and I did all of this willingly. The only thing I denied was a search of my residence as I did not see it necessary for there was no warrant to search my home.

I understand the stakes of this case. I understand how crucial it is for this young woman to be found as soon as possible, and my greatest condolences are to her family at this difficult time. However, because of this, I see it was necessary to intervene in this investigation of me; it is wasting vital time in the wrong place. Additionally, it has gotten to the point that this is affecting my business and family.

I am disappointed by the ignorance displayed by your office that despite no confirmation or evidence of me being guilty, my status as a suspect was leaked to the public. My sales have gone down vastly and my family and I have received numerous death threats.

I will continue to work with you as best I can. Know this. I will do anything to be cleared in a case I had no fault in getting intertwined with. And because of this, I strongly request that you allow me to; I don't want to repeat my last interaction with your office. The last detective was tactless and aggressively accusatory. I was elated when she was dropped as the lead for this case. Hopefully, you have some compassion, Saihara. 

I wish you the best of luck in finding and returning this woman to her home.

Sincerely, 

Yuki Mizuno

Suddenly, and without warning, Shuichi's door opened faster than he could he could stop it or hide the letter. He whipped around, startled and trying to shield the paper with his hands.

Haru's eyes quickly caught sight of the letter, and just as swiftly, he noticed the open envelope on his dresser. His eyes narrowed in disappointment and his lips formed into a grimace.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" he asked. "Please give me that." He held out his hand expectantly and Shuichi meekly obeyed. He swiftly tucked the letter back into its envelope. "Shuichi," he sighed, "you cannot look through my personal work letters. That is a part of privacy. I respect yours; I expect you to do the same."

Shuichi looked down, guilt easing into him. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have. It was dumb of me. I don't know why— It was there and I meant to give it back to you, I just…" Shuichi trailed off, failing to find the explanation as to why he read it.

Haru sighed in frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his elbow bumping the doorframe. Unable to look him in the eyes, Shuichi stared at a small scar on Haru's nose that his thumb and index finger framed.

Haru dropped his hand from his face and took the letter back out of the envelope. His eyes began to scan across the page. "Hm…" he hummed when he finished it. He lowered the letter from his face and looked off down the hallway.

“… How long has…” Shuichi nervously asked. "How long has she been missing?"

Maybe it was wrong for him to ask and maybe he should've kept the question to himself. But pretending he knew nothing about what was in the letter wouldn't make him any less guilty.

Haru's head turned to look at him. There was a brief pause where silence hung between them. His uncle looked far away, detached and removed. Shuichi wondered if he would leave his question unanswered, but Haru made up his mind.

"It's been a week now," he confessed solemnly, his eyes drifting to the floor.

Shuichi's expression shifted to surprise. "A week?" He looked off the side to think, knowing what that meant. "Are you sure you're going to find her… alive?” 

Haru took in a deep breath and put a hand to his chin. His fingers ran over his stubble as he thought to himself. “I wish there was a greater chance that we could. By some blessing, she might be alive. But there’s little to no evidence pointing to where to find her, dead or not."

“I feel bad for her family,” Shuichi sighed. "I mean, to not even know if… if you even can still hope…"

Haru looked down at Shuichi. "Yeah…"

Another silence passed over them for a beat. It was somber and heavy. At that moment, Mai could either be suffering or rotting while they stood there.

Breaking the silence, Shuichi smiled lightly and looked at the letter in Haru's hand. "Does Mizuno know she's only making herself look more suspicious by begging to be taken off the suspect list?"

Haru scoffed and smiled. "I thought the same thing. She's the last known person to have seen Mai. That doesn't solidify her as guilty to me; circumfical evidence isn't enough to prove anything. But she's been bothering the office for a while. She wasn't lying when she said she's been complacent with the investigation, but in the notes taken on her it's said she's had an attitude and took a lot of convincing."

"That sounds like a lot." Shuichi looked off to the side, trying to piece together the puzzle as if he had enough to solve it. "And she's the only person you got right now?"

"Pretty much. We've been in contact with those who know her, and it's about what you wouldn't want in a missing case. Anyone who might've done it has air-tight alibis. Those who could've done it have no motive. And the evidence we have doesn't point to where she is. Our lead suspect only happened to see her last…"

"So you're at a dead end."

"Pretty much."

His answer was dull, lifeless, lacking hope. He had become accustomed to the cases that went cold after doing his work for so long. It tore at his humanity, his hope for it. It withered in his eyes— eyes that were so distant and far away as if they saw something else and not his young nephew before him. It was like an image was permanently branded over his vision.

Within the back confines of Shuichi's inner mind, an idea planted itself, creating a figure based on a vision. The seed grew from a ground nourished by hope to be something more. Born with scarcity and almost nothing to it, it configured itself into a form he plotted. It stirred through his mind as if fully brewed into an intention.

He couldn't solve everything. He couldn't fix everything. But he couldn't abandon his hope. He was a kid still looking for a purpose—and that was the closest thing he had to one.

He wanted to help. He wanted to do whatever he could because it meant more if he tried than if he walked away. There was a woman out there, maybe alive, maybe dead, with a family worried sick and most likely someone heinous not brought to justice. How could he walk away from that? How could he turn his back and pretend it wasn't there?

"It's… It's not the same, and I know this is bigger, but… you know how your boss allows me to help with divorce cases?" he began.

Haru's face dropped. His voice took a stern, icy edge. "Shuichi—”

Shuichi raised his hands, pleading for Haru to hear him out. “I know it’s way above my skill level and I'm still young, but please, give me a chance. I can handle it, I promise."

Haru took a step back, shaking his head and not looking his nephew in the eye. "No. No, you're fifteen. You're not ready for something like this." He pointed to the envelope.

"But I've already started training," Shuichi insisted. "I'm shadowing you. This can be a part of that. I'll work behind the scenes so I don't get in the way."

"This isn't about you getting in the way, it's about your safety," Haru argued. Anger crept into his tone. He was shut away, resistant to changing his mind.

"But I'll be fine if I'm not the head of the case. I'm not asking for any credit or to do my own independent work. I'll go at your pace. Everything will be under your control."

Haru shook his head again. He took a step back and stared off down the hallway. His voice was steely. "I can't afford you getting hurt."

"But I can help," Shuichi insisted.

"I don't need your help. I have the research of the previous lead detective."

"But it's been a week and you don't have anything. That research isn't enough." Shuichi took a step forward and put his hands on his chest. "And think about what I could gain from this. I've been doing all this training and work, but now when I really want to get into this, I can't. How else am I supposed to grow?"

"This is different, Shuichi," Haru insisted, his brows furrowed and shoulders tense. "This is too much for you."

"If it is… If I'm not ready now then… when will I ever be ready? Do I keep doing divorce cases until one day I can do something else?"

"Yes," Haru growled. "Then you become an adult, go to school, then we can talk. You can't skip vital steps."

The answer made Shuichi confused because it wasn't true. "But I'm shadowing you now and I officially have credit for resolved cases, don't I? I think I've skipped multiple steps already, and you supported all of them until now."

Haru grimaced and closed his eyes. His hands balled tightly into fists. "Look…" His voice was gravelly and low in a murmur. "I know what you think you're trying to say. And it might seem unfair. But I'm the only damn adult looking out for you, okay? So I get to make decisions like that." A desperate, almost fearful edge crawled into his tone. "You are not ready for this. End of discussion. I refuse to have it on my conscience if it affects you, too."

Shuichi's voice became light, receiving the final rejection while making sense of his phrasing. "What do you mean affects me, too?"

Haru paused. A solemn look spread over his face. "This case… is disturbing. You haven't seen what I've seen. I'm supposed to keep you safe, so I can't get you involved."

"I just…"

"Shuichi." His voice was made of steel. "Don't. No more of this." As he spoke, the sentence faded into a murmur.

Shuichi shifted his gaze to the side, looking at his doorframe. He didn't know what it was like to be his uncle, what it was like to do his profession full time. He couldn't imagine half of what Haru experienced. But he supposed whatever it was, it convinced him that safety meant zero risk. And there was risk in exploration.

So with no will to argue, Shuichi didn't say anything back. He had to trust that Haru knew best. Even if it prohibited him from a dream.

Haru cleared his throat. His gaze strictly hardened on the carpeted ground beneath them. "There's dinner on the table. I'm gonna take a shower, alright?"

Shuichi nodded. His lips were sealed shut.

"Okay," Haru mumbled.

A beat. Then he turned around and walked away, leaving Shuichi bereft and still in place.

The opened envelope lay on his dresser.