The End
The bell tolls loudly through the house. The glass panels that front the bookcases circling the room all vibrate in their mahogany cases as the chimes work their way into the master bedroom. The pair of twin doors leading to the hallway and the source of the noise open abruptly, sending a gust of winter wind through the chamber; the pink, sheer curtains covering the set of doors on the other end of the room shudder lightly against the manufactured breeze but settle into place within moments as if they'd never been disturbed. The floorboards are too new to creak under the shifting pressure of footsteps, but the shiny, waxy finish of the dark wood does nothing to stop the click of the sharp, angular heels that approach the massive, canopied bed towards the back of the room.
"Pardon me, mistress." An even voice calls out from beyond the thin, translucent ivory sheets that cover the bed. The voice is all but a whisper, no louder than the wind stirring outside in a winter storm, and no less pleasant than the smell of baking food from several rooms away. The European husk is warm and heavy in the timbre of the quiet of their voice.
"I heard." The bed, or rather, the ungraceful lump behind the curtains says with a long winded sigh.
Lady Kiyoko emerges from the mess of silk sheets and the ivory canopy looking no less graceful than when she'd gone to sleep. Her long, black hair is still straight and pushed behind her shoulders with regal grace. And once her face is washed and her skin perfumed, her glasses sit on her nose with that same grace, giving her the edge of an intellectual and a stare that makes people avert their eyes when she glances in her direction.
Inka, who'd been overseeing the entire process, was evidence of just that. Her gaze quickly dropped to the floor beneath her feet as her mistress glanced in her direction before slipping out of the soft, white fabric of her nightgown and into something more proper. Once that was complete, Lady Kiyoko turned back to her with a frown that produced no lines in her cheeks and didn't seem very genuine.
"Where did you put them?" She asks politely, closing the distance between them.
"In the sitting room, unless you'd rather-" Her mistress cuts her off with a mere lift of her hand, which is ivory and soft, even in the harsh winter light glowing through the curtains on the room's far end.
"That's fine, and you're sure it's him?" Inka almost feels offended, but nods without betraying that thought.
She bobs her head silently instead and then finds herself following her mistress out of the master bedroom and through the hallway. The smell of cooking breakfast wafts through the corridors effortlessly and, despite having worked here for so long, and being subjected to such tantalizing aromas daily, Inka finds her stomach rumbling in hunger. She's half-tempted to run through across the carpeted hallways and dive into the kitchen just for a first taste, but keeps herself in check with a deep breath and a sigh. Fortunately, the opportunity for her to run off soon makes itself quite clear after she slides the door to the sitting room open and escorts her mistress in. She's waved off without a backwards glance and Inka makes a beeline towards the kitchens.
Kiyoko stands a the precipice of her sitting room. Her emotions threaten to overwhelm her; her legs, made strong from years and years of track, threaten to jiggle under her and refuse to reorient themselves until only after she's navigated to the far side of the room, dragging her feet along like two blocks of stone. Next, her heart hammers against her chest in a loud, pulsing rhythm that leaves her a little dizzy.
"You're here." She gasps into the air between her and her guest. Her words ghost along their eyesight for a long moment. "I was worried you'd never come."
Her guest inclines his head in silent acknowledgement. "You didn't make it easy." Kozume says, pulling a hefty, familiar tome out onto the desk between them. The papers under it shiver like caged birds, their crisp, white wings flutter in every direction as they attempt an escape.
Kiyoko thinks he sounds bitter, sad even. Like all the years between them were still open and hurting. In a way, she supposes, they still are. Kozume's eyes have the same bags under them that they did when he was ten years younger. His hair, though much shorter than it had been, looked limp and un-cared for, hanging in limp spikes against his forehead. For someone approaching their thirties, Kozume looks ten, maybe even twenty, years older, even with the blush from the winter storm giving life to his nose and cheeks. Kiyoko would be lying if she didn't sympathize, even if she didn't show it; she felt the same way inside, still hurting and still having sleepless nights. Sometimes, it felt like she'd never left Japan at all.
"How did you do it then?" Kiyoko questions next, "Find me, I mean."
Kozume's fingers, still long and thin, just like how Shouyou had described them and how she'd written them, ghost around the edge of the book between them. The tips of his fingers slide over the gold leafing, the imprints look dull and worn, even under the bright ceiling lights. His eyes, like golden fire, catch her attention as if they'd been calling out to him.
"The pressing style." Kozume's voice is hoarse and thin when he speaks, reflecting emotions like they hadn't when he was younger. "It's European; French. When I made the discovery, it took me months to make that connection."
Kiyoko, despite herself, smiles; just a small quirk of her lips that she can't quite quell.
"That conversation with Sh- with him, on the bus." His narrow fingers slide to one of the many bookmarks sticking from the pages and flicks it open. The page is highlighted in multiple colors, her words are in a light blue, the ones that, apparently, had caught her red-handed.
"Why are you here, Kozume-kun?" Kiyoko has to ask.
"I-" He half-answers. His eyebrows narrow, like he hadn't expected the question. "He deserves to be punished; to die."
Privately, Kiyoko agreed. If there was a march against Oikawa, she'd be one of the first to join. But there wasn't. Oikawa was huge. Practically an idol of the athletic world. Books, movies, magazines, interviews. Even with the number of countries separating them, his name still catches her ears in the Parisian streets, though the name is all but forbidden in her home.
"I agree." She finally says, first in French, then it Japanese when Kozume looks confused. "If I thought that I could get to him, I would have done so years ago, before I left. Before... this." She can't bring herself to touch the truth in front of her. It still hurts, still bleeds.
Kozume nods. "He's everywhere, but there's something else." The way he says it draws her attention in a way it shouldn't. The slender fingers holding the pages of her past are pulled away and towards a satchel hanging from his chest, then a manila folder is pushed on top of her desk, covering the book. She'd be lying if it didn't fill her with relief.
The folder was labeled in black ink. Classified in bright, crimson. She finds herself smiling again, even as dread starts welling up from her stomach.
"He's? Again?" Kiyoko asks and even she struggles to hear what she's saying. Her throat starts closing in.
Kozume shakes his head, but it doesn't calm her in the slightest. "A copycat." He merely says before opening the document.
The urge to vomit hits so suddenly that she almost can't control it, but she swallows it down, then calls for a glass of water, making sure the folder is firmly shut as Inka slides into the room. Kozume asks for something as well, though she forgets it as soon as Inka leaves for the second time.
"He didn't do these?" She asks, whispering loudly. Kozume had to be confused or lying, or something.
"His alibi is... infallible. I was even in the same room as him when one of the bodies was discovered." Kozume's words make the water sit like rocks in her stomach.
"A partner then?" She suggests, terrified when she hates to be.
"He doesn't have contact with anyone suspicious. His teammates, manager, publicist. All of them are... nothing about them is suspicious." Kozume says with a frown.
Kiyoko forces herself to look at the documents, knowing she'd probably never have an opportunity like the one she's just been given. Even still, she finds it hard to keep her eyes glued to the pictures and documents. The victims, all of them, look like they could be related, some even twins, of the boy from her youth. Light red hair that looks almost orange, small stature, and a face, even pale with death, she can't help but admit is cute and attention-drawing. The autopsy reports, as she skims through them, read familiar to the ways that her friend had been mutilated; practically identical crimes between the large number.
"Nobody has seen Oikawa with anyone besides those on stage with him." Kozume tacks on, further shattering her.
"He's really not involved?" Even if it was true, Oikawa had been the one to start all of this, who deserved punishment, not just for Shouyou, but for these ones boys too.
Kozume doesn't answer, just watches from across her desk as she forces herself to stomach the evidence of her passiveness.
When she finally gets to the bottom of the reports, a gasp is rend from her as if by god himself and Kiyoko feels her lungs contract into nothing almost immediately.
"This is..." She can't even get the words out.
"Kageyama Tobio." Kozume says in her place. His voice is calm, but Kiyoko can see, clear as day, the fire burning in his golden eyes. She feels, just for a second, like she's been lost and found at the same time and wonders if this is how he must have felt when they met all those years ago.
It was true, though. Kageyama-kun was standing with one of the previous entries in the file. His face was one she hadn't seen in years, but it still easily recognizable. Dark hair and blue eyes towering over one of the redheads in the pictures, even as their lips colliding and a look of lust somehow filters through the image, she can't help but shudder at the odd look on her old teammate's face.
"Y-you are saying." Kiyoko stutters out, feeling like the child she'd never been.
"Kageyama is the copycat." His voice doesn't carry a theory, but a conviction, like he knows it to be true.
"What do you plan on doing?" She asks, trying to draw up whatever composure she can.
"Nothing." It shatters her heart. "He's joining Oikawa's team and is almost as popular as he is; he's untouchable."
Despite what Kozume says, she wants to believe that it isn't true.
"Did he..." She swallows, then starts again. "Did Oikawa ever really... Did he love him?"
Hurt gashes Kozume's face as if she's struck him herself, but he bobs his head, nodding.
"I broke into his home." He admits, as easily as one discussing the weather. "He loved him, still does. A shrine. There's poems and songs. Pictures."
Kiyoko, despite her hatred, feels a tear slick down her cheek.
"Then why... Why did he..." She can't force herself to ask.
"Me." Kozume says.
Kiyoko wants to comfort him, to staunch the tremors in Kozume's shoulders, to wipe at his damp eyes, but she can't.
"Oikawa was jealous." Kozume says, "It was my fault Shouyou was killed. I had a plan to stop it, you know that, but I failed; I failed him when he needed me."
Kiyoko rushes around the desk and pulls the stranger into her arms, holding and rocking him like a child.
"It's not your fault." She says against his scalp. "None of this is your fault."
"It is." He gasps, "I wasn't... strong enough to stop him, or smart enough to see through Kuro, I shouldn't have let me talk me out of it. None of this would have happened."
"You need to forgive yourself, Kenma." She soothes, "Shouyou would cry, seeing you like this."
Kozume nods against her, but doesn't stop shaking, doesn't stop crying.
"I need to stop this." He says firmly, after a long moment of being vulnerable, probably the longest he's ever had in ten years.
"You need to be careful." Kiyoko advises.
"I'm tired of being careful."
"I know." She felt the same way, even now. She'd run away from home, escaped everything she knew to hide from the past. The book, Shouyou's book, was supposed to be a warning, to draw attention to reality. Yet, now, everything she'd been working for, everything that she'd been running from, was broken now. Her old life had caught up to her in a way she hadn't been expected.
Oikawa's truth was unexpected, but Kageyama's was much more so.
She had to do something.
Kozume ended up staying the night, tucked away in one of the spare bedrooms while she packed some of her things. Inka was staring at her from the bedroom door, curious. Kiyoko rarely left the house for more than a single night.
"I'll be gone for... some time." Kiyoko confesses, zipping one of the cases closed.
The flight to Japan is a long one, but also one she'd never thought she'd take.
Kozume's first order of business was to visit his old friend, Kiyoko wanted to wait outside, but the detective managed to talk her into entering Kuuro's apartment. The man looked very much the same as the last time they'd met, messy hair, dark eyes that had terrified Shouyou. The newest addition was the decade old scar that curled down his face.
With Kozume at her side, Kiyoko wrote down every word the man said to them while he hid behind his desk. His shame, his guilt, how much it had terrified him when Oikawa had pulled the knife out. After that last admission, his face turned to Kozume and Kiyoko watched the tears start rolling down his face. The things he'd admitted were unforgivable. He was no better a man than Oikawa himself and she'd said as much. Kuuro took it in stride, nodding quietly before continuing.
Kozume's childhood home was next and, while she'd never actually been there before, she recalled most of it from Shouyou's memory. The bar stools, the sitting room, Kenma's bedroom. They all looked how Shouyou had painted them for her. Kozume's parents were more happy to see their son than they were displeased to see her. When she asked about Shouyou, their eyes began to water. It was Kenma's mother who'd shared the most devastating news.
"He was going to die anyway." Hit her like a truck.
"What do you mean?" Kozume asked when she couldn't. His voice was hard, like a steel edge pushed against his own mother.
"When we paid for the funeral, the funeral home gave me all of the documents related to his case." She sniffled, "Shouyou-kun's liver was shutting down, if he hadn't... if that night hadn't happened the way it did, his chances of surviving were already incredibly low."
She handed the documents over to her son and Kiyoko shamelessly read them over his shoulder.
"That drug he was on was killing him. They weren't sure if he was allergic to it or if his body was just rejecting it... He was going to die anyway, Kenma."
Kozume stood up as if the seat under him had caught on fire. His eyes, golden and full of pain, glared out at his parents. "Why didn't you tell me?" He whispered.
"You were hurting so much already, but you're right, I shouldn't kept it from you." Kozume Aki admitted.
They left the house shortly after, Kozume remained a quiet force at her side.
The next place they'd ended up at was one she didn't recognize, not from Shouyou's memory of her own, but when Kozume knocked at the door, she recognized him immediately. That still didn't tell her why they were here. Bokuto-san lead them into the sitting room of his home. Kiyoko sat on one end of the couch and Kozume on the other. A small child was between them and constantly glanced between them.
Bokuto was hesitant at first to give into Kozume's demands, but after a moment, the broad man didn't stop talking, even if he had little to say. There was no love for Shouyou to be had in his experience, but somehow, Bokuto had taken the other under his wing like Shouyou had belonged there. The two of them had barely shared a week together, yet he'd felt impacted enough by Shouyou to name his child after him.
Kiyoko stared down at the child between her and Kozume and pulled him into her arms. Relief flooded through her at the warm weight against her, the smiles and giggles that floated over her. She was able to let go, just a little, and said her goodbyes to her lost friend in a silent prayer. Bokuto-san was sad to see them go and cried as they pulled their shoes back on. Kiyoko felt her heart lift at that. She knows that he'd have been a good friend for Shouyou to have.
She'd be lying if that feeling didn't dissipate when they reached their next destination.
Miyagi train station was as blank and decrepit as she remembered it being, though the hatred she felt for the place might have been blinding her for just a bit.
Their first stop wasn't Shouyou's grave like she'd been expecting, however. Instead, they traveled to a house she'd never noticed before. Kozume, like all the times before, knocked on the door for them, announcing their presence to specters of the past with sharp raps against wood. Dread filled her more than it had before.
"It's you." Her old neighbor says without the bitter, harshness Kiyoko remembers from her childhood, though it does nothing against the feeling of being reverted back to the child she'd been when she lived just down the hall. Shouyou's caretaker and aunt stood in front of the door with her hand poised to slam it in their faces at any moment.
"We need to talk." Kozume says, drawing Sato's attention. Kiyoko watches her glare shift from her to Kozume.
"Who're you supposed to be." Kiyoko feels like laughing.
"Kozume Kenma." Sato's eyes go wide and she looks like she might still slam the door, but slowly, gently, it creeks open and her old neighbor waves them inside.
"Why are you here?" She asks, walking them past the sitting room and into her bedroom. The door is shut behind them. Kiyoko feels her blood pressure spike when it clicks shut.
"Tell me about Shouyou." Kozume commands.
"Not so loud!" Her eyes dart to a specific place in the room, but when Kiyoko tracks it, she doesn't find anything. Wh-what do you wanna know?"
Kozume's face cringes with suspicion. "Is she here?" He asks, leaving her confused as she tugs out her notepad and pen.
Sato's face is stricken and pale. "I never told her about him, or about you."
It's Kozume's turn to look affronted. Kiyoko would be lying if she wasn't growing used to her companion looking angered beyond consoling, at least any that she could offer.
"You never told her about him? About Shouyou?" Kozume looks like he might throw up or throw a punch, she's not sure which.
"Keep your voice down!" She warns again, hissing out at them, "She doesn't need to know about him. He's gone now, it'd only hurt her to know that he was real, that he was here."
Kiyoko feels like she might be sick as well.
Sato sighs, "I know what you must think of me. That I'm just like her. Hiding Yuukio from him, lying to him, feeding him those drugs. But anything that I say about him doesn't change the fact that he's gone. My brother is gone! Shouyou is gone! It's just me and her now. Can't you see that we're the victims here? That we've been left alone without them. I know you feel it too, Kenma. Shouyou's gone, though. He's never coming back."
Kiyoko, who'd been beginning to unravel herself, is all too glad to see her companion push past her old neighbor and make for the door. Quickly, she follows after him, stomping through the hall and towards the exit. She stops though, and Kozume does too, when she catches a glimpse of bright orange hair. The pain that stabs through her indescribable, she can't even begin to imagine how Kozume must be feeling as he finally makes it outside.
"That was a mistake." He mutters to himself once they're walking towards a more recognizable part of the city, buried as it is in slush and ice.
"I'm sorry." She says, not knowing what else to say.
"Me too." Kozume pulls his scarf tighter around his neck and makes his way towards Daichi's family home. How he knows where it is, or where any of the others lived, she has no clue, but when she's standing in front of the traditional looking home, she can't help but hesitate as she joins Kozume on the landing.
The captain to her old team only answers the door after a few minutes of Kozume rapping his knuckles against the door. She's grateful for the time it takes him to answer, but even with time to prepare for a shock she knows is coming, it does nothing for when it actually happens.
Daichi stands on the other side of the door with a forlorn expression on his face. She can tell it takes a moment for him to recognize her, but that spark doesn't extend to Kozume.
"Shimizu..." He croaks out and she flinches at the name, but doesn't correct him. "What are you doing here?"
"To talk." She answers when Kozume's silence goes on for too long. "You're looking well."
Daichi's nose crinkles and his cheeks flare up under tanned skin in the same way it did all those years ago. He grabs at his protruding stomach and laughs, "I'm fat and starting to bald, but I appreciate it anyway. Come in."
Kiyoko had only been to Daichi's home a few times, far less often than Suga or Shouyou had, but she everything looks the same as it had and she finds herself sitting down with a canned coffee at the table the third years used to study at with a small smile working its way onto her face.
"Who's your friend? Don't tell me that someone actually managed to successfully flirt with you?" Daichi questions with a smile.
"Kozume Kenma." She says and watches, partially amused, as Daichi's mouth falls open.
"I thought I aged like crap." Daichi mutters to himself once he pulls himself together, though not nearly quietly enough.
Kozume says nothing.
"Why are you really here?" Daichi questions, still staring at Kozume as he asks.
"Tell us about Shouyou." Kozume cracks.
"I... Sometimes I feel like barely knew him, like he was just a dream I'd had." The words hit Kiyoko harder than they should. Kozume seems to feel the same way. "When you told me about Oikawa, I thought you were lying, that it was all a joke and that he'd done it to himself or a stranger noticed him or something, I don't know. I'd only seen Oikawa talk to Shouyou once or twice, I didn't even know they were friends let alone...I thought that you and him were... y'know. He talked about you all the time, wore your jacket, and texted you all the time." He trails off, taking a drink from his own canned coffee, looking uncomfortable.
"I wanted to be." Kozume admits.
"Yeah." Daichi murmurs back.
"At first, I thought it'd be him and Kageyama. They spent almost all day, everyday with each other. Then he says he hates him. I thought that that was what set Shouyou off, maybe. But that's all... it's stupid."
Kozume goes quiet again, so Kiyoko guides the conversation and then catches up with her old friend; it's almost nice, but feels more somber than she imagined this reuniting would be.
"Are you and Suga still close?" She asks and almost instantly regrets it when she sees Daichi cringe and start to retreat.
"No, not really. His parents finally found him a wife, so, he's been pretty busy with that."
"I'm sorry." Kiyoko offers, but her friend just waves her off.
"If he didn't want me then, he definitely wouldn't want me now." His laugh is sad, but his eyes are more painful to bear.
"I'm sorry." She says, because she doesn't know what else to say.
When Daichi closes the door behind them. Kozume turns to her, finally, and stares at her with determination she hadn't been expecting. There was nobody left now, she was sure of that. Nobody else had managed to see the real Shouyou, nobody else knew that he and Oikawa were involved, or that his teammate is probably murdering people; except themselves, of course. Now they just needed to approach them and for that, Kiyoko was terrified. Not for the fact that she might be killed, but because of what she might hear when they were confronted. She'd be lying if she didn't admit she'd already felt some sympathy for Oikawa just from Kenma's words alone.
It might have shown on her face, but she had feeling that's why Kozume chose to approach Oikawa first, leading her through Tokyo's narrow streets with his hat pulled low on his forehead. It was late afternoon and already dark by the time he'd managed to lead them to what was, presumably, Oikawa's front door.
His apartment was in an upscale complex that looked over the city, with more windows than not.
Oikawa answered before Kenma finished knocking. His smile became a frown almost instantly and Kiyoko had a feeling he'd been expected someone else.
"Karasuno's manager?" He questions, a title she hasn't heard in quite some time.
"Kiyoko." She corrects regardless.
"And friend." Oikawa continues, "Is there a reason you two are here? I wasn't expecting any guests."
"Yeah." Kenma answers, practically growling before he's shoving into the apartment. Oikawa merely rolled his eyes as if he'd been expecting something like this and pulls the door open wider for her to enter.
Kozume refuses a seat, drink, or meal when Oikawa answers. Each question seems to goad on him as if Oikawa were taunting him.
"Why are you two here?" Oikawa eventually asks, taking a seat across from her in a chair made of white leather. His smile is present again, shining like the sun and more charming than it should be. She understands why Shouyou would be drawn in by it, but equally as intimidated by its intensity.
"You killed Shouyou." Kenma voices finally.
Oikawa looks as if he'd been assaulted. "I did."
"Why?" Kenma is close to shouting, but only just.
"I loved him!" Oikawa defends himself, taking to his feet. "You were trying to take him away! And your friend, too! All of you were."
Kozume's face remains a mask of rage. "That doesn't give you the right to kill him, to torture him in the woods and defile him!"
Oikawa's face turns even more unpleasant. "I know that. I do. I miss him, even now, I miss him." He looks close to tears, though Kiyoko had seen so many today she's not even a little tempted to wipe them away.
"You deserve to die." Kenma says, pulling out a revolver that she hadn't known he had.
Oikawa falls to his knees in front of them, his messy bangs fall in front of his face. "I know."
Everything was happening too quickly for her and she didn't like it. The lack of control. So when Kozume pressed the gun's barrel against Oikawa's crown and hesitated, she placed her hand over his. They'd faced so many ghosts today to do something like this.
"Is this right?" She has to question, because nobody else did.
"He deserves to die." Kozume says again. Tears are spilling past the bags under his eyes and down his trembling chin. The gun still doesn't go off.
"I want to see him again." Oikawa whimpers. The sound makes her a little angry.
"He wouldn't want this." Shouyou wouldn't want to see Oikawa, even if they did love each other, not like this.
They end up leaving soon after, with Kageyama's address written down and Oikawa still alive, but broken, just like them. It's disgusting, but she pities him.
Kageyama's apartment is upscale just like Oikawa's had been, only on the other end of the city. Close enough, though, that the walk from the station to his home isn't a particularly long one. The icy air whips against his face and hair, cooling down her flustered skin. It helps her recover whatever is left of her sanity. She'd been expecting this process to be slow, over weeks if not months, but seeing all of the people from her past, being back in her home country, it was overwhelming. It felt like she'd been stripped naked, all of her defenses that she'd built up had been ripped to shreds in a single night. She had to be thankful, though, that Kenma hadn't dragged her back to where she'd grown up. Just seeing that place, the idea of seeing her father, was enough to coil terror through every thought that she had. She wanted to fly back.
Kageyama took even longer than Daichi had to answer the door. He stared at them with a blank expression and flat affect that made her shiver more than the winter around them ever could.
"Shimizu-senpai." He greets with a bow, not even questioning why she's there.
"Can we come in?" She asks. Kageyama looks confused. "It's cold."
He nods mutely, and escorts them into a nearly empty apartment. From the door, she can smell sweat and the distinct smell of volleyballs. Kageyama walks them past a clean kitchen and into his sitting room. She can't help but compare it to Oikawa's, who's space had looked so similar, but furnished and warm.
"I'm surprised you remember me." She says, tucking herself into the sofa. Somehow, it was even colder inside Kageyama's apartment than it was outside of it.
"Hinata liked you, and that other girl." Kageyama explains. She hadn't remembered him being so creepy, just intense and young.
"We all miss him." She assures, unsure what to say.
"I don't miss him."
At he side, Kenma's body stiffens up.
"He was sleeping with Oikawa-senpai. Hinata was... disgusting."
Kiyoko stands, "You shouldn't talk about your teammate like that."
His impossible blue eyes shine like medallions beneath the ocean when they turn on her. "I hated him."
BLAM! The sound makes her shake in boots, her knees threaten to buckle too, and she forces herself to sit down and look away as Kageyama falls to his knees and buckles backwards. He gasps once, raspy and gurgling, then falls quiet once his body slumps to the floor. Again, she feels like throwing up, but resists the urge.
Kenma leaves her where she is and she watches as he tears through Kageyama's practically empty apartment like a force of nature. He pulls out drawers swiftly and throws them back into place just as quickly. Eventually, he disappears into the back-most rooms and comes back with things she barely recognizes. They don't take anything, nor do they move Kageyama's body. She doesn't know what Kozume had been up to in Kageyama's apartment, but when he pulls her to her feet, she falls too easily into his arms as he walks her away.
Kozume sends her back home on the red eye, but doesn't come with her. And it's not until months later that she discovers what the man had been up to.
A letter comes in the mail from Japan, though it's written in English, and she knows it's from him.
"Volleyball Star Turned Murderer Killed in Home" Most of the article is missing, but she reads through it regardless. Kageyama's name is also in bold, along with a picture of him before he'd been killed. He looks pleased, so unlike the man she'd seen all those nights ago. He looks normal, too, and human. Kiyoko had a hard time believing that he did anything like the article said, just from looking at her face. The names of his victims were released too, in very small print at the bottom. Shouyou's name was among them.
Part of her wants to send a correction back to whatever company had printed the article, but she knows that it wouldn't do any good. Nothing written about Kageyama reflected how terrible he was, or the mistakes he made, or the lives he took. Kageyama was written about like he was a hero, praising his achievements for several paragraphs that didn't reflect how much of a monster he'd become. It made her sick to read it.
Kiyoko did not attend the funeral of her old teammate, even when Daichi had somehow managed to get her address.
Kenma told her, much later, that there wasn't any forensic evidence found at the scene and they were free to go. She invited him back to spend the holidays with her, but she found it difficult to look at him the same as she did when he had first shown up in her sitting room. Still, they were happy. They shared memories of someone they'd lost over wine and meat buns, taking in the sights and wondered what Shouyou would have thought of it all.
Sometimes it felt like he was still there, hanging in the air and smiling on them. She hoped that he was happy for them.