The instant Ouma awoke, all he could register was the pain. Blinding, searing agony that enveloped the lower half of his body. He leapt out of bed in pained confusion, but one glance down at his bare, bruised form brought everything rushing back.

Immediately he sprinted- by which I mean stumbled whilst crying piteously- into his bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet. Minutes felt like hours as his stomach's contents were expelled from his body, the boy continuing to heave long after nothing was left. He was covered in a cold sweat, his stomach joined the list of things causing him pain, and his face was dripping with tears, snot, and drool.

In summary, he was broken.

Ouma rose to unsteady feet and turned on his shower, stepping beneath the water without waiting for it to warm. When the temperature did rise, however, the heat made him nauseous, so he quickly turned the setting as cold as it would go. He collapsed in a heap within the icy-cold torrent, shuddering and sobbing pathetically, scrubbing his skin until it was red and sore in a desperate attempt to rid his body of Momota. His thoughts were disjointed, running a mile a minute yet never really moving.

How? How could I have been so weak? What kind of leader goes and gets a dick shoved up his ass? Pathetic. DICE is gonna need a new leader cause hell if I deserve that title anymore. God I wish that was just a nightmare. It won't be easy to laugh this one off. Fuck, everything hurts.

Fingers numb from the freezing water, the dictator reached up and yanked on his aubergine locks, pulling several strands out in the process. The aching in his scalp and burning in his skin provided a momentary distraction from the sting of emotion.

Slowly he stood, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and turned off the shower. The towel he dried off with and the clothes he then put on felt like knives against his tender skin, but no amount of pain could compare to his inner turmoil. The Ultimate Supreme Leader struggled not to burst into tears as he tied his scarf with fumbling fingers.

He'd have to bury these emotions deep in his soul, keeping the indifferent mask on.

Just like always.

...

Wait, how did I get back to my room?

By the time Ouma entered the dining room, he had become accustomed to being set on fire with every step. He figured out how to balance his weight and how much he could use the wall as support to both relieve the pain but also keep the other students from noticing his change in behavior. Those students, astronaut included, acknowledged him with little more than a sparing glance as he trotted over to his seat at the end of the table. The barely visible wince he made when sitting down went unnoticed by all save Toujou.

"Ouma-san," she began, "what would you like for breakfast? At Chabashira-san's request, I have already prepared-" she was cut off by a loud groan from Ouma.

"No thanks, Toujou-chan. Whatever gross food you made is probably poisoned anyway, so I'll just-"

Momota snorted, "shut the fuck up, Ouma."

The dictator rolled his eyes to hide the way his expression faltered. "You shut up, idiot-chan! I'll just have tea today, mom."

Toujou seemed ready to lecture him on nutrition, or his nickname choices, or perhaps the fact that tea is as easy to poison as food is, but she simply nodded and turned to walk towards the kitchen. "Very well."

Ignoring the agitated whispers of Momota to Harukawa, Ouma propped his elbow up on the table and rested his head on his palm, looking incredibly bored. He drummed his fingers against the table in an effort to calm the nervous energy brought on from just being around Momota. He just wanted to go back to his room, lock the door, and lay in bed until he could no longer see or hear or smell or taste or feel Kaito fucking Momota.

He drank his tea without milk, repressing the urge to gag at how warm it was. It tasted different, too. Toujou knew his favorite tea, he pondered, so why did she…?

The label read "pain-relieving."

He finished, thanked Toujou with a silent nod, and slipped out of the room, one pair of lilac-hued eyes burning holes in his back. Every step he took was calculated to exude confidence, strutting along like he owned the place. He laced his hands behind his head and plastered a smile onto his face, looking for all the world like he was in complete control. He dug his nails into his scalp to keep from expressing his pain in any way, setting his course to the dormitories.

Shuichi Saihara was nothing if not observant, and his current target was none other than one Kokichi Ouma. For all his prowess as the Ultimate Detective, Saihara knew next to nothing about the small boy. He was an enigma wrapped in a mystery covered in a puzzle soaked in lies, multiplied by 666 times the complexity.

He was confusing, and frustrating, and absolutely fascinating.

Observation #1: Ouma was somewhat quiet today, not making one of his typically grand entrances into the dining hall. His movements were cautious and stiff, and he kept his gaze directly on his tea as he drank it.

Observation #2: Ouma did not put milk in his tea today, which was odd considering his idea of tea always involved more milk and sugar than actual tea. It was one of the only consistent things about him.

Observation #3: Ouma avoided looking in Kaito's direction, and seemed uncomfortable when the astronaut told him to shut up. He spoke even less after that.

Observation #4: Ouma's wrist(s?) had angry red scars circling them, scabbed over and just barely visible when he propped up his elbow, sleeve slipping down ever so slightly. They reminded Saihara of wounds produced by… handcuffs? Ouma had claimed to be a criminal, but these wounds looked recent, very recent.

Observation #5: Ouma was incredible at feigning confidence.