This chapter has been rewritten and edited as of 19th October, 2018. The author's notes remain unchanged, however.

Note: Hey there! Sorry that this update is so long-in-coming, college is so so busying and life is even busier than that. I had Kiibo's part written out for the longest time, but the other two were harder to create. Unfortunately, my writing comes across as inconsistent throughout this whole thing, and I felt really poetic during these segments? I dunno, just forgive me for that!

And without further ado, here is the guide for this chapter.

K1-B0 (Kiibo): this part takes place during the investigation for chapter three, so there are major spoilers there. Also, there are semi-vivid descriptions of injury, so be careful with that.

RANTARO AMAMI: this part takes place during chapter one, after the (bullshit) time limit is given at the beginning. There are spoilers for the first investigation period (I mean, is there any point at mentioning spoilers? This game's been out for over a year, now.) so there's that.

KAEDE AKAMATSU: this part takes place during the investigation for chapter one, so there are major spoilers there. Also, there is semi-vivid imagery of death.

K1-B0 (Kiibo)

Kiibo thinks that it's been a long day. Angie—his beloved student council president, but more importantly his friend—has already been killed earlier, and now Tenko's body lies in a murdered heap on the floor in the same fashion. Two deaths have occurred in a singular instance in the killing game, and Kiibo thinks that that horrible truth makes today more tiring than usual. He's not necessarily exhausted himself, but he can see hesitation and fatigue pooling in the weary eyes of the others. He can see downcast stares and distraught mouths, all lowering into sadly disappointed shapes before him.

He sees it all, and sometimes wishes that he didn't. But it's okay, the helpful voice inside of him says. We'll be okay if we do this together! Let's assist them with this investigation!

It's the same helpful voice that has lead him on the right path for the most part, so he doesn't think it's wise to go against it for now. With a content smile on his face, Kiibo lends his hands towards the investigation. He talks to others and begins to corroborate alibis, but more importantly he shows off his functionality with his newly installed flashlight eyes and a photographic printer via his mouth.

Per Shuuichi's request, Kiibo provides a printed picture of the seance circle, one drawn with purified salt and crafted by Korekiyo's steady hand. Once the evidence is in place, Kiibo hums proudly because he has been an integral part of this whole process. What Shuuichi plans to do with the photo, he's not entirely sure, but if there is anyone who is good at putting puzzles together, it's the Ultimate Detective himself.

The Ultimate Robot, on the other hand, can only give so much of his functionality before he becomes useless. So to prevent overextending himself at this time, he takes a moment to leave the crime scene behind entirely. Shuuichi, Maki, and some others are already gone, and he assures Gonta (who asks so sweetly if he'll be back) that he'll return, soon enough. He exits the crowded seance room, and welcomes the cold, stagnant air that greets him in the hallway.

Kiibo thinks nothing of the third floor except for all the horrors that it has housed for his friends. Not one, but two members of the council have died here. Not one, but two of his dearly beloved friends have been ripped from his grasp. A pit of anxiety swells in his chest, blooming at a dangerous rate that threatens to burst from the pressure of it all. Yet he keeps his calmness in place, and maintains his cool. Of all the students, he has grounds to be the most calculated and level-headed in any given situation, but that doesn't stop him from exuding warmth and emotion like he really is another human.

Just as he reminds himself of this fact, he sees something that sends him into a nearly metallic shock. The very sight of it twists and turns his mind in different directions, like broken scraps in a factory compressor. His eyes are bright, neon, and wide within seconds. He feels his system screaming out warning and prevention signs of every manner, only for the voice in his head to call out protests against doing anything at all.

Because, the voice says, that's Kokichi over there. Kokichi is there, bleeding and crying for some reason. But that's okay! Just leave him there! He's so mean and nasty, and no matter what happened, it's clear that he definitely deserves this!

Normally, Kiibo would feel inclined to agree and listen. The voice in his head always helps him, and always gives him guidance in times where he feels lost. It comforts him whenever he feels dour, and it encourages him whenever he lacks strength. But for the voice to condemn Kokichi—as it always does—just seems too cruel right now, especially given the situation.

Kokichi looks even more pathetic than he already does once he realizes that Kiibo is watching him. But as he scrambles up from his place on the wooden floors—only to stumble and groan as he feebly clings to the wall for support—Kiibo thinks that in this short moment in time, the one before him actually isn't the Ultimate Supreme Leader. The person before him isn't this awfully clever, cleverley awful boy that manages to get on everyone's nerves in new, personal ways. He isn't this guy that's made himself out to be the wittiest and craftiest person there, things that can mitigate the sheer difference in physical strength and size he has in comparison with the other students. He isn't this scheming, conniving, unconforming figure that thinks and moves in unpredictable patterns.

Right now, he is nothing but an injured, scared, and confused little boy. He is nothing more than a vulnerable husk of his former self, one that seems aware of this weakness but is unable to do anything to change it as he hobbles and quivers like a flag in the wind. Kokichi is nothing as he has made himself out to be, and while Kiibo cannot discern more than that, he decides that for once, the voice in his head has to be ignored.

Against all protests echoing in his mind, Kiibo approaches the other.

"Get away, you stinky robot," Kokichi mutters in a voice that is only half of his usual cheer. "I don't wanna choke on your exhaust fumes, or somethin'..."

"Ouma-kun," Kiibo says to him carefully, hoping to discard any further taunts on the other's end. "Please, don't mess around right now. I'm no medical expert—in fact, my medical knowledge is as good as a someone shadowing a nurse, at best—but even then, I can tell that you're seriously injured."

"You can tell that? Are you sure that your X-ray eyes aren't malfunctioning again?" For a few seconds, he almost sounds and seems as lucid as he usually is. But then Kokichi's eyes blink slowly, and turn up again with a cloudy, unfocused sheen. His gaze shoots at the ground next to Kiibo, rather than on Kiibo himself, which really tells the robot everything he needs to know.

Kokichi is still Kokichi, and even in life-threatening situations, he holds onto his jokes and pride with utter desperation. He cries out in a strangely sedate voice. "A-Ah, just go away already...you're makin' my head bleed more…"

"You know that's not true," Kiibo insists. He takes a step forward, while Kokichi tries to take one back. As one of Kiibo's sturdy arm reaches out, one of Kokichi's skinny limbs grasps at his own side in a desperate attempt to still the uncouth stuttering and shaking that his body has taken to. Then Kokichi goes as far as to shield his body away at an angle, as if he is a frightened animal caught in the unmistakable lurch of an encroaching predator.

Kiibo is far from predatory, however, and he hopes this shows in the sincerity of the smile on his face. He hopes that the brightness in his countenance belies the screaming in his head (Stop it, stop it, stop it—we don't want to see this, Kiibo! Stop it already, just listen to us, this is mutiny, where's the democracy in all this? Kiibo, listen) He brings his hand closer, closer, and closer still—then sighs out in relief as Kokichi finally relents underneath his touch, letting Kiibo's cold fingers brush the wayward strands of flippant hair away in gentle movements.

As violet streaks of hair are displaced, Kiibo senses something equally bruise-like and venomous in color stir in his insides. He feels something the equivalent of a cold sweat form on his face, and the flash of worry that momentarily crosses Kokichi's visage in response is proof that the robot is making such a sour expression without knowing it.

But can he be blamed? There is a deep, swelling cut underneath the mess of purple hair, which pulsates forth blood and misery in tandem. Crimson colored in its entirety, each drop of blood seems like it's screaming out of pain and discomfort—squelching and squirming as it leaks through the damage surface of the skin. Each drop of red reflects a dark gleam of wonder, round and luminous until it peters out and becomes flat, monotonous liquid in a matter of seconds.

Each drop stains Kiibo's fingers in its carnal shades, but he doesn't mind it as much as he should. Instead of panicking or giving into the situation, he rationalizes a plan in his head, and nods to himself when he agrees with its inner workings.

"Come on, Ouma-kun," Kiibo says. He uses his clean hand to grab one of Kokichi's stuttering limbs, and coaxes it into relaxation as he runs his cool fingers over the bony surface of his knuckles in a shared embrace. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"...Why…?" Kokichi drones on, voice becoming tired and sodden. "Why are you even bothering yourself…?"

"Bother? I don't understand. It's not a bother to help someone, Ouma-kun."

"Not unless that someone's me," he murmurs against the chilly air, shivering as he lets himself be guided by the other's steady hands. The blood trickles downward, still, and Kiibo desperately hopes he can find some gauze in the warehouse. Either that, or anything else capable of staying the life that drains out of him by the second. Kokichi continues to say: "I'm definitely bothersome…"

"I would never imagine that you thought that of yourself," Kiibo admits. He does surmise that some of this personal oddity comes from the concussion that Kokichi is sure to have, but he doesn't voice this idea out into the open. He won't hold anything against Kokichi right now, given his injured status. He adds on: "Well, putting your usually colorful personality aside, I firmly believe that no one deserves to suffer like this. It's bad enough that Angie-san and Chabashira-san have died today. Your injury isn't looking too good, either."

"Kiiboy, you big dummy," Kokichi laments. "You can't be so nice to people like this! This is exactly how Angie got you and everyone else to join her stupid, stupid book club." A pause, a blink, a wonder—then his voice grates awkwardly as he tries to catch up with the fleeting current of his damaged thoughts. "Shit, it was a council, right? Point is, you should have just let me like, I dunno, die just now."

"No, I shouldn't have," Kiibo counters. "You need help. Someone could actually kill you in this state." The thought sours his throat and makes his tongue go dry, and Kiibo swallows the hesitation forming deep inside him. "I-I don't want that to happen, Ouma-kun."

"...Ugh, I can't deal with you right now. I'm just gonna lean on you. Not 'cause I'm hurt or anything, but 'cause your stinky robot fumes are making me lightheaded." He scrunches his nose, blinks some of the stray blood out of his eyes, and leans on Kiibo's shoulder like he promised he would. His head is heavy against him, but mostly damp because of the leaking blood coming through. Each little movement or shift only works to displace more of that blood, and Kiibo bites back on another worried comment that wants to escape from his lips.

Instead, he decides to humor him, for once in his life. "Well maybe," Kiibo says, "there will be perfume in the warehouse that I can use to cover up the bad smell."

Kokichi doesn't outright laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. Yet at the very least, he seems slightly amused at the thought of it, as his breath sputters out to be something close to a chuckle, and the curves of his lips move into something that Kiibo can only imagine as a smile, since he can't quite see the entirety of Kokichi's face from his current angle.

But he quickly decides to himself that it's okay, because he really doesn't have to see anything to feel as pleased as he does now.

.

.

"How did this happen?" Kiibo quietly asks as he gently wipes more of the blood away with a damp cloth. Time has passed and while the other students busy themselves with the latter end of the investigation, Kiibo and Kokichi sit on one of the benches inside the warehouse as the former fixes up the latter's injury. "Is it possible that someone attacked you in between the body discovery announcements?"

"Maybe," Kokichi answers. His eyes are still bleary and distant, not to mention that his body trembles and moves in strange ways. But his voice sounds closer to its normal strength and lucidity, so that, at least, is a good sign. "I wouldn't be surprised if this was all a set up to get a triple-kill in a single day, actually. Like bowling, right? What's the word for a triple strike? One of those poultry birds or something? Was it turkey, duck, or chicken? Mmm, chicken doesn't sound so bad right now, actually..."

"Please be serious," Kiibo reminds him, as he switches out the wash cloth with a dry one, patting down the treated skin only seconds later. Then he pulls out some even dryer gauze, and hesitates momentarily before covering up the gash on Kokichi's forehead—all while imagining what he should do about the blood and injury that remains on the back of his head, too. "What happened to you, Ouma-kun? Can you remember?"

"Hmm," he hums contently, closing his eyes against tired eyelids and smiling softly into the darkness he sees (or doesn't see) there. "I wonder~ Well, since you're so boring I'll skip the lies and go straight for the truth. I fell in."

"Fell in? Fell in what?"

"I was investigating the room next to the one that the seance was held in. Just as I was walking, bam." He claps his hands together a few beats too early, but Kiibo still flinches at the suddenness of the noise. "I fall in. All the floorboards are loose, or somethin'. Sucks."

"That sounds awful," Kiibo concedes. "It's quite a bit of a fall you must have had. It explains all the blood, at least. Unfortunately, it could also mean that this injury goes farther than it seems."

Kokichi scoffs before asking. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's just a possibility, but you seem like you're concussed. The way you're acting and talking could be a result of it, too. It makes sense, especially since you admitted that you hit your head really hard just earlier…"

"Concussion…? What? That's not…"

"I'm afraid that's the case, if your confused state is any sign of it. I can also double check my databases but I'm pretty sure I have a pamphlet downloaded on basic injuries, concussions included." A thoughtful pause ensues, and Kiibo amends his words with a quiet tone of reassurance. "But it's okay, Ouma-kun. I...I won't tell anyone else what happened to you."

"Doesn't matter," he says. "Saihara-chan and Harukawa-chan saw me like this already. But they just brushed me off."

"What?" Kiibo asks, clearly appalled by his classmates' lack of concern for such a pressing matter. "H-How can that be? Harukawa-san is abrasive, yes, but Saihara-kun? Why would they just ignore you if you're bleeding and hurting like this?"

"I dunno," Kokichi answers. He sounds slightly offended, for one. A little bit too truthful, for another. "Your guest is as good as mine. Whoops, I slipped up in English, there. Um, I mean 'guess'. Unless you're actually conspiring with someone and I'm like, being watched right now. Not by Monokuma but by another student. So then 'guest' is...actually...correct. Or something."

"I promise that's not the case. It's just you and I, Ouma-kun. Well, it's actually you, me, and Monokuma's cameras that are probably hidden somewhere. B-But don't worry about all that right now!" Kiibo quickly insists, embarrassed by something that Kokichi cannot hope to know. "I'll do my best to keep helping you, then. Would you turn around for me, please?" Kiibo asks as he pulls his hands away, finished with the gauze for now. But that was just the front of Kokichi's head. He's still not entirely sure about the back.

In lieu of the ongoing silence that follows his question, Kiibo gently murmurs: "Ouma-kun?"

If Kokichi is aware of what Kiibo is saying, he doesn't show it, because his eyes get lost in some murky haze again, and he's staring peaceful death into the flatness of the floor and the softness of the gauze. His limbs remain still and obediently placed at his side, with no intention of kicking or thrashing or any of those wild body gestures he's sometimes known for doing. No, he's completely unmoving for now, except to breathe in a wayward manner every few seconds.

The tranquility is lost on the Ultimate Robot in its entirety. Kiibo panics as loudly as he shouts. "Ouma-kun!" He repeats the name feverishly. "Ouma-kun!"

Kokichi moves without emotion and without thought. In this instant in time, he has unknowingly switched his role with Kiibo's, becoming nothing short of the Ultimate Robot himself. He looks just as blank as he stares upward, gaze flitting over the monochrome of Kiibo's body. "Yeah?"

"Ouma-kun, did you hear anything I said just now?"

"No, not at all. What were we talking about?"

"Oh, forget it." Kiibo sighs, and gets up to go around Kokichi and inspect the back of his head himself. There's less blood than there was in the front, that's for sure. But beyond that there seems to be another laceration, and Kiibo gets to work in disinfecting and cleaning it up, too. "I'm sorry for confusing you. You worried me, but it's fine now. I hope this doesn't hurt too badly."

"Hurts a lot," Kokichi says with half-hearted amusement in his voice. "But whatever. I don't care. Promise that I don't. 'M gonna sleep soon, though. Tired." His words start melding together, and all the previous semblances of lucidity fade away into the air without so much as a protest on his end. His eyes flutter unsteadily, lashes casting exhausted shadows over the dim curves of his face before they close together completely. "Very tired, Kiiboy."

"I can imagine. But unfortunately, the trial will start soon, so that means you won't be able to skip out on it, even if you have a good reason for doing so." Kiibo thinks for a minute, and brightens up at a possible compromise. "Ah, but maybe if you fall asleep during a slow segment in the trial, no one will think too badly of you. They're all exhausted, too."

"Hah...sleeping during a trial? That's a new one. Even for me." His eyes open momentarily, and he looks in Kiibo's general direction with a languid glance. "...Now I owe you one, though. Is that your endgame, Kiibo? You want me to owe you for this so you can get my guard down? So you can kiiiiiill me later on?"

"Not at all," Kiibo calmly refuses the idea, although his chest hammers with electric pulsations of fear and anxiety. "I don't have an endgame, so to speak. If at the end of all this, we can just live safely in the memory of our friends, then that's enough for me." Images of the fallen students flash by in his mind, although his fond smile goes sadly nostalgic and soft at the thought of Angie and Tenko, in particular.

He swallows the hesitation in his throat like a bitter pill, before looking at Kokichi and deciding that his injuries are well taken care of. At least, it shouldn't get worse with the treatment he's received. Satisfied with his work, Kiibo helps him stand, and guides him to the courtyard where the others have to gather at the inevitable end of the investigation. And just like before, Kokichi leans on Kiibo for support as they walk through the paved roads together.

Unlike before, though, Kiibo doesn't have to convince or ask Ouma to do anything. This time, Ouma moves on his own volition, without the need of sleek fingers running over his bony knuckles, and without a cool and resourceful voice cajoling him into safety. This time, Ouma chooses to be in Kiibo's company.

The voices in his head have gone silent with displeasure, but Kiibo figures that for once, they can just deal with it.

He wouldn't trade this hour away for anything else in the world right now.

Rantarou Amami

"My beloved Amami-chan looks so hot when he's lost in thought," Kokichi murmurs dreamily into the air, sighing out as whimsically as he can. "What is he thinking about, though? Is he dreaming about the sea? The sky? Moi? Maybe so!"

"Ouma-kun," Rantarou says as he turns on his heels to face Kokichi, looking less annoyed than he sounds. "Don't you have better things to do than follow me, maybe? They announced that there's a time limit now, y'know? Doesn't that worry you even a little bit?"

"Of course it does! I'm scared to death!" Kokichi smiles and says this with utmost cheer, relishing in the surprised look in Rantarou's eyes. He goes on to say: "But, like, wouldn't it suck if we all died stressed out like this? So in our final days, we should just calm down and relax. Or something like that."

"Ouma-kun…"

"I'm lying, of course." One of many utterances of not-truths he's sure to have, but nevertheless, he clears his throat and starts up again in a newly bothered tone. "Obviously, this is the worst thing to happen in my short-but-infinitely-long life so far. But what can we do? Unless one of us murders the other, then there's no way that we can make it past the deadline that Monokuma-chan set up for us." His face darkens considerably, although Rantarou is too busy staring into space to notice the pure death that crosses Kokichi's visage.

It's for the better, really.

He replies with an equally dazed tone in his voice, glancing back at the other after a moment or two of necessary silence. "I know, Ouma-kun, believe me, I know. And it all seems impossible now, but I have a feeling that I can do something about this. Something that'll change everything, for better or worse..."

"You're planning to kill someone? What a bold move that is, 'cause I really I didn't think you had it in you!" An over exaggerated gasp resounds, and Kokichi grabs at Rantarou's wrists so as to affirm his touch and garner his attention—matching Rantarou's exasperated expression with his own electric jubilee. Sparks practically fly out from him as he cries out: "Am I the guest of honor on this fine day? Are you gonna kill me, Amami-chan? Slowly and intimately, I hope? Oh, how exciting!"

"Please don't joke around like that," Rantarou denies. While he smiles kindly at Kokichi in return, there is something off-putting in the curves of his lips and the greens of his eyes. Without warning, the air around Rantarou has become menacing, and Kokichi relents his hold on the other's wrists without further protest.

Rantarou wrings his hands several times before continuing, only slightly relieved that Kokichi finally seems to be listening to him. "Ouma-kun, I could never think of killing anyone. Not even strangers. While that's hard to believe, especially given our current situation, I have a plan in mind. One where maybe, just maybe, I can end this game before it even starts. Or before it has to start, anyway."

Curiosity spikes in exponential levels, and Kokichi decides to contain the worst of it by siphoning off the energy into a tame, lucid expression on his face. He blinks up at Rantarou again, and holds the other's spring-green gaze with his own violet stare. They would be such a sick combination, really, if Rantarou didn't look at him with such watered-down emotion.

Amami remains silent, although he is admittingly enthralled by Kokichi and his attempt to hold down the situation. Ouma sighs. "Care to elaborate? Or is this where you go off on your own, pretending like you're some super cool hero that can save us all?" Although that archetype is quickly being filled by the idiot Momota-chan, he thinks to himself afterward.

"I'm not sure about that hero part, but I hate to say that this is where I go off on my own." Rantarou chuckles, sounding much too placid for someone that claims to be worried about the killing game. He looks much too assured for someone that should be just as confused and scared as the rest of them. Yet, Kokichi senses something more about Rantarou—something bright and wondrous, lurking beneath his darkened gaze and flexible surface, much like a treasure hidden behind a tempting veil.

If only Kokichi could know the secrets, too, or even think of a way to weedle them out of Rantarou so he could know them. But in the short time he has known him, he can already tell that in some regards, he is no match for the boy in front of him. While he gave off such a flirtatious and laidback air the first time anyone met him, all it takes is a second encounter with him to know that such a first impression is wrong. Everyone else runs around the campus like headless chickens, turning themselves into nervous coils of fear, drilling thoughts of hopes and wishes into their head but leaving holes for their common sense and logic to fall out of—none of them seem like they have a solid plan in mind. Not even the Ultimate Detective or the Ultimate Inventor, who should be the most prevalent in a time like this.

Instead, the one silently taking charge of the situation is someone that Kokichi would never even consider at first. Rantarou Amami, he whose talent remains unknown, has a determination within him that he can end this game single handedly. Or, at the very least, that he can go on ahead without Kokichi's assistance. Not that Kokichi would ever want to play second fiddle to someone else—play Watson to someone's Sherlock—but there is strength in numbers.

So why does he feel like Amami's number is stacking up against his? Why does he feel like he's lost control of the situation, all of a sudden? He blinks the hesitation away, and speaks clearly despite the hazy uncertainty that floods into his chest like water. "Are you sure about that, Amami-chan? What if I went with you for totally different reasons, then? I've officially made you one of my beloveds, after all. I'll accompany you and whisper French in your ear, all while you go and make a show of yourself by saving the day with your unexpected grace and wit."

Rantarou laughs, and it's the only genuine sound from him that Kokichi has heard thus far. At least, he thinks it is. What else could describe the airiness of the noise, surpassed only by the pure gentle tones that hide within? "How kind of you to think of me, Ouma-kun. But really, I'm fine by myself. Maybe after I'm done, and maybe once this game is over, I'll take you up on that offer. French whispers, and all." His tone is completely light and facetious, now, but utterly genuine, still. Kokichi stays quiet and Rantarou continues in lieu of his silence. "For now, though, I'm gonna go check something out. See you around."

He heads in another direction, although the exact place is uncertain. Kokichi watches Rantarou's tall and lanky figure disappear in a mesh of shadows cast by the afternoon sunlight. He watches and counts the seconds that go by in tandem, numbers spiraling in his head without reason. He watches as the green melds into the off whites and light blues of the main building, until the only green left in sight is the one that lies in the fake grass on the pavement side.

He watches Rantarou, and once his figure disappears, Kokichi has the vague feeling that he's never really seen him, to begin with.

.

.

The music is madness in his ears, and his face is buried into pillows with the futile hopes that the plush surface can block out the blaring cacophony from nearby. Kokichi groans at the thought of it all—death, failure, massacre—but most importantly, he despairs at the the dizzying noise that will surely be the last thing he hears before he dies. He has to die, after all. This countdown playing on all the television screens is a warning from Monokuma. It's a flashing, colorful, ugly montage of the soon-to-be eradication of the sixteen students trapped there. What other fate awaits them, when all the students are too decent to kill each other, but too scared to fight against the system in place? What else could happen, in the little time that they have left?

Kokichi doesn't know, and he's too scared to admit it. He's too scared to confront anyone right now, because the thought that someone could kill him at the last second (Please, no, that's actually the worst thing ever) or that he'll get gunned down by one of those Exisals isn't the most pleasant thing in the world. But he would rather avoid the presence of others, anyway, since his walls are coming down after careful construction and he's beside himself with wracked sobs and stuttering breaths. No one needs to see his snot-nose right now, especially not the people he has been doomed to die with in conjoined misery.

He counts the seconds and minutes in his head, often losing count because the music doesn't stop even when he wants it to. Unfortunately, there is no respite to be found anywhere in this cursed academy, for television screens are planted in every room, hallway, and corner of the campus. There is no silence in this overwhelming racket—there is no peace in this undulating chaos.

Kokichi hates it.

When he's down to the final minutes—when the screens flicker out epileptic images of death and finality—he gives out one last pathetic wish to the universe. He recites one last useless prayer, despite his non-religious ways, to whatever deity or force can hear him.

I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die!

Don't let me die.

When it all comes true, and when the noise suddenly stops, he thinks that he's already dead and this is respite in heavenly form. Then he gets up from his place on the bed, straightens out his clothes, and wipes at the tear-stained mess on his face. He makes a list in his head to assess the situation. Still alive? Check. Buttons still mismatching? Check. Hair still closer to a nest than anything else? Check. Scarf still on? Check (white) and check (black).

He's still alive. So what gives?

"A body has been discovered~ About time, too!" Monokuma announces after a moment of silence has passed. Or maybe he doesn't, because Kokichi barely registers the sound of the bear's inflated voice over the thunderous blood rushing in his own ears. "Everyone, please gather in the library. Thank you."

His heart drops, his mind reels. They did it, those mad bastards. They absolutely did it. One of them snapped. One of them broke. He is relieved that he lives to tell the tale, but is grieved in the same motion, as there is a tale to tell. There is a body lying in the library, somewhere, and fourteen other students are now gathering to go there. Kokichi is getting up to go there, leaving his dorm with shaky hands and unsteady feet, and wiping the remnants of snot and tears away into tissues that he discards on his way out.

He sees Ryoma Hoshi for sure, also running out of his dorm—and someone else that he's too frazzled to remember right now. After a wordless exchange between them all, they run out of the building, and dash towards the library in shared silence. The weight of the words "a body has been discovered" hangs heavily on them, and Kokichi is sure that the same questions resound through everyone's head at this time.

Who? Why? When? How come? What happens to us now? None of which can be immediately answered, since the library feels like a lifetime away. Finally, Kokichi and the others file into the spacious room, where all surviving students stand to see the horror of their reality with their own eyes.

Kokichi's breath halts. The tears from before well up in his eyes again, and it's not long before he puts up a (half) facade of being extremely angry and devastated at the murderous sight before him. But as the salty tears fall over in fat streams, and as the other students cry and scream along with him, he can only think about one thing.

Oh, Amami-chan, he laments to himself. It looks like I should have gone with you, after all.

Kaede Akamatsu

When Kaede remains positive (as positive as someone can be in a situation like theirs, anyway) in the face of actual death, Kokichi figures that he ought to give her some credit. Although he's shot down her hearty, friendship-filled speeches before, she acts unaffected by his previous actions. No, she's rather proactive during the investigation, working with that weakling of a detective—Shuuichi Saihara, he thinks his name is—the entire time. And while they're just as despondent and confused as everyone else, they have a sort of drive that puts them at the forefront of the investigation. Even as they shake with fear (Shuuichi more so than Kaede) and gaze upon every bit of evidence with doubt, they're already so much better than the rest of the students, who are almost useless in the process of the initial investigation like this.

At the very least, Kokichi can recount his alibi to them, although the fact that he was in his dorm prior to the murder doesn't really help his innocence, especially since no one can account for his actions since he actively avoided everyone since the beginning. Although the thought of being accused as the guilty party doesn't scare him. No, in this situation, it's best to stay level-headed, and refute all accusations with the same cheery gait that he's been holding himself with up to now.

That's the plan that Kokichi decides on, and he sticks to it. The rest of the procedure appears unremarkably easy, since all he has to do is go around and make sure that no one's goofing off, destroying evidence, or doing anything that would otherwise impede the investigation.

At some point, however, Kokichi finds himself absorbed in people watching, and focuses on the events unfolding around him, rather than the corpse in the library. The investigation period probably won't last long at all, but at the rate that Kaede and Shuuichi are going at, it's only a matter of time before everything falls into place.

When the Ultimate Pianist herself stops to take a break—without the Ultimate Detective in tow for once, who the others had figured to be her "shadow"—the Ultimate Supreme Leader capitalizes on the idea. The hallway is lit with the afterglow of the evening sun, and Kaede looks like gold and pale fire because of it. Kokichi admits this sight to be rather opportune and beautiful, but he has more important things to do than to gawk at Kaede's objective attractiveness.

"Akamatsu-chan," he greets her. "Surprised to see you taking a break~ I thought you and Saihara-chan were gonna catch on fire at this rate!"

"Ouma-kun," she replies in a weary voice. "Funny seeing you here. But of course, I'm only human, so even I need a break!"

"So only humans need breaks, huh? You better be careful with your robot discrimination around these parts, Akamatsu-chan! Kiiboy can hear them from a mile away, since he has radars for ears." The joke enlivens the situation knowingly, and he feels a bit brighter as the sunlight envelops him, too. "I'm serious, though. I didn't think you'd try to take the lead with the investigation, of all things. I guess trying to wear everyone out with childish ideas of escape from the sewers earlier wasn't enough for you, huh?"

Her eyes narrow with rising, simmering indignation, and suddenly the earlier image of pale fire doesn't seem so far off the mark, now. "What are you saying, Ouma-kun? I don't have any ulterior motives for wanting to help out. This investigation is important, after all, and we need to take it seriously. For Amami-kun's sake, if no one else's."

"All I'm saying is that your goodwill won't get you anywhere," he points this out, like it should be exceedingly obvious and Kaede is a fool for even asking. Maybe she is. "You keep taking the lead out, and while that's fine, don't you realize that just makes you more suspicious? Not to mention that you and Saihara-chan are so close that you're definitely up to something. Whatever that something is, well, only you two really know about it, right?"

"Saihara-kun and I aren't doing anything like that," Kaede insists. "We just get along well. And I appreciate your concern, Ouma-kun, but I said this before and I'll have to say it again: I'll never understand why you try to purposely hurt people like this! And your lies are just...too much. I don't understand them, so please don't annoy me like this." She heaves a great sigh, although the irritated exasperation stays at that and doesn't go on to full blown anger.

Kokichi wishes it would, because it would give him a better reason to hate her. There's nothing wrong with genuine kindness and compassion, really, there isn't! But in a killing game that has inevitably started beneath their heels? And during an investigation where Rantarou's murderer runs freely among the innocent?

She's dead meat. He laughs at this immediate thought as he throws his hands behind his back in lazy glee. "Alright, relax, relax. I was just testing your mettle. But, like, it wouldn't be so bad if after all this killing is over, you'd join my organization! We really need people like you! People with spunk and gusto, y'know?"

"That's…"

"A complete lie!" he cheers. "My organization has thousands of members, so there's no real reason for someone like you to join it. But I wasn't lying about testing you. I mean, think about it from my perspective, Akamatsu-chan. You're this girl that's putting herself out there to lead others and comfort them, while also forgiving them for saying some nasty shit to you. So, like, doesn't that make you super dangerous? And when you take the lead in the investigation like this, no one can really defy you while you're going around putting clues together. Isn't that just too convenient?"

The light pouring down on them turns warmer now, becoming an impossibly orange shade that starts to hurt his eyes. He takes a step back from the blinding atmosphere, if nothing else.

She doesn't hesitate, however, and takes a step forward, in turn. "I understand where you're coming from, Ouma-kun, I really do. But I'm not like that at all. If anything, I just want to get to the bottom of this—I just want the truth to come out." Her voice is sturdy, righteous, and light, which makes him feel like there should be pearly white wings spreading out from her back.

They never form, although he swears he feels a feather-light touch against his skin as she speaks. Maybe it's the air. He hums in accordance, nevertheless. She goes on to say: "I'm not gonna lie, but you're really difficult to talk to. But that doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you. So maybe, once we figure out the cause of all this, we can, like, start over?" She seems hopeful now, and less assured than before as a goofy smile appears on her face. "I dunno, I want to escape with the remaining students here. And I want to do justice to Amami-kun. I don't think it's such a bad thing to want, is it?"

"Not at all," Ouma quickly agrees. "Well, we'll have to survive the trial before we can start making any promises. But if you're true to your word, then maybe I'll tell my subordinates that you can be spared. Then after that you can come visit me in my base in Cancun. Or Thailand, whichever one suits your fancy~" a giggle and a smile is all she sees of his face before he turns on his heels. Then he talks mostly to the air as he waves dismissively at her from behind. "Okay, okay. I'll stop bothering the Second Ultimate Detective now so she can finish her work. See ya 'round!"

"See ya!" she calls out after him. His steps aren't rushed, but his strides are long and they separate the two of them into the opposites ends of the hall before they even know it. Kaede smiles to herself, rushes forward a bit, and yells out at his fleeting figure with one last cadence.

"And Thailand, for sure! I've always wanted to go there~"

.

.

She is an angel, one would say. All angels are uniform in their goodness, wholeness, and holiness like no other. But that iridescently white uniform they wear is so constrictive, binding, and misleading all at once. Like an angel, she is lead by her nature to be pure and sacrificial, not even caring that her individuality is stepped on in the process.

She is an angel, swaying back on forth on broken wings and tightened ropes that twist her neck into ugly purple rings. The rest of them are the humans she swore to protect and guard, but she has failed them in more ways than one. She is their shepherd, leading them astray without realizing the path she walks on is just as narrow and uneven as they once believed it to be.

She is dead, and Kokichi hates her for it. He hates her for this moment in time, because she is everything he admires. She is strong, kind, and unwavering. But more importantly, she is an expert liar that escaped even the best self-proclaimed liar around. Although everyone was suspicious of her at some point—whether during the trial or before it—the only person that could see through her fabrications was the "shadow" following her around all this time.

Kokichi will remember his name later, but for now he dwells on the one named Kaede Akamatsu. For less than a minute, she hangs asphyxiated before them, like a rag doll dangling from a thread in the too-rough hands of a child. And once that minute passes, she is enveloped by the hungry fangs of a spiked piano—drowned underneath the pressure and blood of this sadistic game and her own misgivings.

She is an angel, but heaven has swallowed her up without remorse. Kokichi bites on his tongue, and quickly decides that kindness is useless in a game like theirs. He turns his back on her, with the resolve to be cruel, in order to alleviate all the burden that the one of kindness has left behind. If he must be cruel and calculative in order to survive, then so be it. If he must scathe at her name and regret the compassion she once showed everyone, then so be it.

Heaven is a conformity that he wants no part of. Kindness is a cruelty he wants no indulgence from. He is sure that she weeps over him now, but eventually she will learn to forgive him in the time it will take for him to undo the fastenings she has placed on them all. Quickly but surely, he will unravel this cruel game—one that she started and left behind for them to finish—and unravel the workings of this horrible world around him. He will do his best to prevent future killings, but as long as the murderous intent exists among them, he will try his hardest to curb that desire, and to weed out the animosity that lies beneath the surface.

Kokichi walks ahead of the others as they all leave the courtroom, defeated, filing out one-by-one like little toy soldiers wound up on their backs again. It's a fitting metaphor, he believes. They really are soldiers, now.

They're thrust into a battle out of their control, and they're part of a nightmare with no chance of waking up.

They're angels fallen out of heaven, with their guardian nowhere in sight.

They're fucked beyond belief, passing the line of severity and extremity long ago. They're doomed, and he doesn't know it yet, because he is, unfortunately, a part of them. A part of her.

It's just as well.