Chapter 36

Naegi gurgled in his sleep. Kirigiri laid awake, staring at the ceiling as he shifted and buried his face in her neck. His hair tickled her skin; his ahoge poked her in the cheek. He stirred for an instant, murmured contently, and then settled back into his deep sleep. She was glad at least one of them was getting rest, because she certainly wasn't going to. She felt sick, nauseous with worry. She just wanted to go home. She'd let Togami dock her pay if that's what it would take.

At least Naegi was here. Even asleep, even despite their quarrels, his presence was a comfort. She petted him as one would a dog and he stretched into her touch. His hair was as soft as his appearance; she could tell even through the gloves. Her fingers glided down his temple, down his chin and to his neck, where they caught for a split second. She ran her finger over that spot again.

Her glove slid off. She drove the pad of her finger into that spot. Her scars prevented her from getting a feel for the texture there, but her eyes were picking up information. A long indentation ran parallel to his neck's curve. The skin at its edge seemed like raised and when she pressed her fingers in and spread them, the skin split a little. Her breath caught; it looked like a healed cut from a knife.

She rolled over, anxiety forcing her to check the closed door again. There was no lock – why would the predators block themselves off from the chicken coop? – but after Naegi had dozed off, she'd taken the chair and wedged it under the doorknob. It was a Hollywood tactic, but one that was effective. In the worse case scenario, it might make noise as they dislodged it and wake them.

. . . Not that she expected Naegi to wake. A bit of drool poked out of his mouth. She wiped it away with the bedsheet and stroked him again. If she were a different woman, she would have succumbed to the peace his sleeping form exuded. But she was Kirigiri Kyoko, which meant having Naegi's sleeping and vulnerable form next to her only put her more on edge, had her checking that door more than necessary.

That's why she saw it.

Kirigiri had insisted on a bringing a lantern into the bedroom in case she needed to act. It was midway between her and the door, so that the edge of its halo illuminated the door's crack and half the floor at it's base. Thus, when the light waned at the door waned, she noticed.

She rose, one hand on Naegi's shoulder in case she needed to rouse him. It seemed like someone was out there.

As she limped toward the door, something moved on the ground. It was small, akin to a large bug or a mouse. Without really thinking about it, she tried to step on it. Her heel collided with wood. Missed.

But as she thought that, something squirmed under her foot. She pulled her foot back and – where was it? There was nothing there and . . .

But that was just it. There was nothing there.

Yet something was moving.

"Kyoko?"

She glanced back. A moment later, she looked at the floor again, but the moving shadows had disappeared.

"I think I'm going to get a midnight snack," Naegi said, yawning. "Do you want anything?"

"I'll come with you," she said, still staring at the ground.

Naegi was half-asleep as he carelessly left the room, flinging the door open as if there was no possibility of an ambush waiting on the other side. She stuck close to him, holding his hand in case she needed to yank him back, because he didn't seem very aware of his surroundings. He yawned again, lips drawing back, and in that flash of teeth, she saw Kamukura's fangs overlaid on his. More of Kamukura's visage seeped into his, painting his eyes the same luminous red; she nearly tore her hand away.

"Makoto?" she said as they entered the staircase. "On your neck, I noticed a mark. It looks like a cut."

"Hmm?" He raised a hand to his neck. She guided it until it brushed over the spot she had told him about. "Oh. Wow, I don't even remember what I fell into this time."

"It's very clean," she said. "It doesn't look like it's the result of an accident."

He said nothing but looked concerned as he rubbed his neck.

"Did someone threaten you?" she asked. (Is that why you wouldn't believe me?)

"Other than Komaeda's 'Ha-ha, look how evil I am' shtick? No."

It was the answer she had dreaded, and the answer she had expected. Whatever he may say though, she knew that mark on Naegi's neck was from Hope's Peak and whatever its purpose was, it was sinister. What she didn't know was how long it had been there. She held out hope that it was recent.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked. "Are you the one that cut my neck?"

"I brought you here during this storm. We wouldn't be trapped here if it wasn't for me."

"You couldn't have known it would be this bad," Naegi said. "When else have you heard of a storm this bad that lasted for so long?"

His eyes widened as his own words dawned on him. Dawned on them both. Impossible. The weather was a whim of nature. It couldn't be anything else.

And yet . . .

"I shouldn't have come back here," she said, eyes tightly closed. "Togami-kun was right."

"What do you mean?"

". . . You don't know, do you?" She hadn't thought about it much since she arrived here, but now she did, and she realized she had been wrong. Naegi had badgered Togami into taking them off the case, but Togami hadn't told him he'd done it.

"Kyoko?" His voice was quiet, high-pitched. Frightened. It made her heart ache and her ankle throb. It was once in a decade she heard him this afraid, and for one of the very few times in her life, she couldn't help him.

"Togami-kun took us off the case nearly a week ago."

". . . What?"

He no longer sounded frightened. Now he sounded disbelieving, confused, suspicious. The tone he used was one he had never directed at her before. His hand slipped away as he stepped back; the hanging distance between them sparked with electricity. Gradually, his emotions faded, leaving him wearing a mask as stoic as hers used to be.

"Kyoko, are you . . .?" He swallowed hard. "Whose side are you really on?"

The accusation was a knife in the chest. It drove all the air out of her lungs, leaving her unable to respond. Naegi interpreted that the worst way.

"Why?" he begged, eyes glistening.

"Makoto, listen to me: Togami-kun's wrong. I'm not working with them. I've never seen them before in my life." She took a step closer to him. He scooted away, bumping into the wall. "I'm not trying to help them."

"Then why do you keep doing things like this?" Naegi cried, frantic. His teeth clenched in a painful grimace.

And finally, finally, she admitted the truth to both him and herself:

"I don't know."

Before either could say anything, they heard a door open and shut in the staircase.

The two of them waited. Occasionally, a footstep would echo through the spiraling stairs, growing louder. It seemed to be coming from above, from where all the bedrooms were – god, where Komaeda, Kamukura and Enoshima were. Something like a growl spilt out of Naegi's throat.

The intruder came into view, and she relaxed a bit. Shinguji was admittingly low on her ranked list of threats. Shinguji studied them curiously, a finger on his chin, as if he had walked into a splendid art gallery.

"You are certainly up late," Shinguji said.

"We wanted something to eat," Naegi said. His spine was curved and drawn tight, like a bowstring.

Shinguji's laugh was light and mellow, and that made it creepier. "I see. Please, don't let my presence stop you."

He extended a hand, as if ordering them to descend. Naegi was only too happy to obey, positioning himself under her armpit without a word, not hearing the soft footsteps following them.

Naegi didn't notice Shinguji's presence until after they entered the kitchen, at which point he whirled around and planted himself right in front of the threshold. Shinguji observed him calmly; with the mask hiding his lower jaw, it was impossible to tell whether he found it amusing.

"I don't believe either of you know your way around the kitchen," Shinguji said.

Naegi blinked. "Uh, no? We don't really."

"Then allow me." With that word, Shinguji swooped past the bemused Naegi, who only realized what had happened a moment after. "What it is you seek? Drink? Food?"

"We don't need you to babysit us," Naegi snapped. "I can get my own food."

"If you say so. Then go ahead, find what beckons you."

He sounded amused. Naegi picked up on that and puffed up like an irritated bird. He ripped open a cabinet defiantly, only to immediately be attacked by falling cups. Despite the situation, Kirigiri smiled.

"Why don't you try here?" she deadpanned, pointing to the fridge.

"What, for more fish?" Naegi said, although he didn't sound completely opposed to the idea. "Seriously, do you guys eat anything else?"

"We do," Shinguji said, "however, that is a favourite."

Right. Fish. Plain and boring. It was fitting somehow. She opened the fridge anyways, hoping for some of that other stuff –

And reeled back at the lifeless eyes she saw there.

"Kyoko!" Naegi rushed forward, still prepared to defend her despite everything. At least until he saw what had spooked her. He laughed nervously. "Oh, that would have scared me too, if I wasn't expecting it. Is that what we've been eating? I didn't think it would be so ugly."

"Indeed, it is," Shinguji said.

"Well, at least they taste alright. Uh, Kyoko, you okay?"

Kirigiri shook her head, forcing herself to snap out her daze. This wasn't the first time she had seen these slippery, eel-like fish; once again, the memory of Kamukura biting into the neck, the sound of him snapping its spine, played through her head. That dream she had – no, not a dream. Or was it? She didn't know what she could believe anymore.

"Do you have anything else?" Naegi said when Kirigiri failed to answer.

Shinguji gave them a pitying sigh. "Sit down. I will prepare a salad."

"That sounds nice. Right, Kyoko? Doesn't a salad sound refreshing?"

He was treating her like a kid. She couldn't blame him, not after she'd frozen up after seeing a fish. She couldn't even tear her eyes away by herself, and needed him to physically yank on her.

"I'm alright," she said, more out of habit than truth. "You can sit down. I'll get us something to drink."

"You sure?" He eyed her ankle.

"I can still walk . . . Just not very well."

She hoped he caved because he knew he wouldn't win the argument, and not because of any lingering suspicion from their earlier, unfinished conversation. It felt nice, she reflected, as water filled up the glass, to be able to do something for him. To feel useful again. Shinguji was chopping vegetables next to her, and the rapid movement of the knife attracted her attention. (He seemed awfully good with them.)

"May I help you?" Shinguji said.

"No."

"You can sit down," Shinguji said, tipping the knife toward the table Naegi was at. "I don't require assistance."

They stared at each other.

"You would only get in the way," Shinguji said finally, the knife still on the cutting board.

She did retreat to the table Naegi was at, but she kept a careful eye on Shinguji's back. He didn't seem to do anything suspicious; the only time he moved away from the cutting board was when he brought the salads to them.

"You're not having any?" Naegi asked as Shinguji handed them each a bowl.

"I have no need for it," he said. "Please, enjoy."

Shinguji may be low on her list of threats, but that didn't mean she trusted him. Arms crossed, she glared at him as he waited for them to eat . . . and Naegi was already chowing down. Honestly, what was he thinking?

"Makoto!" she hissed, elbowing him. He grumbled and tucked his arm around his bowl, shuffling it out of her reach.

"What a hungry little fellow," Shinguji remarked.

. . .What did that mean? She watched him, watched that pleasant manner. This felt wrong. Pleasantry wasn't something that came without a price from them.

"Don't touch that!" she snapped at Naegi, whipping the back of his wrist with her hand. He whined in protest, but she stole the bowl away anyways.

"Kirigiri-san?" Shinguji questioned.

"You can eat, but I am going to prepare the food," Kirigiri ordered Naegi. She grabbed both of their bowls and headed for the nearest trash can.

Oddly, Shinguji didn't seem perturbed. He made a soft noise of understanding, as if Kirigiri had answered a long-held question. He trailed after her, saying, "Your protective instincts are exceptionally well-developed. I understand: that is why he chose to kennel you."

She slowly lowered the bowls onto the counter. "What does that mean?"

"It means you are overprotective to the point of counterproductivity," Shinguji explained.

She wasn't blind to the insinuation. Nor had she failed to notice that this was not the first time she had been referred to with terms that would befit a dog. It was insulting, but not that shocking, given the arrogance of those at Hope's Peak. That said, something about this attitude seemed off. Hadn't the others waxed about how Komaeda seemed to favour her? If Komaeda was in charge, shouldn't that mean the others should naturally hold a positive bias toward her as well? Why? Why didn't have a consensus?

(At the end of the day, everything came down to the same question, didn't it: What did they want from her?)

She replayed Shinguji's words in her mind.

"Makoto, I left my purse in the bedroom. Can you get it?"

Naegi took a few steps toward the door. Unfortunately –usually she'd be happy about this – he wasn't stupid. In the time it took him to take a few steps, he realized that firstly, she didn't have anything in her purse that she needed and secondly, obeying would leave her alone with Shinguji. Although she doubted Naegi loathed him the way he loathed Komaeda, Naegi didn't trust him like he did Kamukura and Yonaga.

"Makoto, go," she said firmly. "It's fine."

And of course, Naegi, in his stubbornness, became even more reluctant to leave.

Shinguji looked from Naegi to her. "You two are quite attached to each other."

She exhaled. "Makoto."

Naegi asked, "What do you want to talk to him about?"

She hesitated. Was Naegi asking that because he didn't trust Shinguji, or because he didn't trust her?

It was time to break out her ultimate weapon. She looked Naegi in the eye, lowered her voice and said, "Makoto, please."

That broke him as usual. There was a bonus, too: it meant that no matter how frail and damaged their bond may be, he still trusted her. He gave Shinguji a glare that couldn't be mistaken as anything but 'I'm watching you,' and then slunk off.

"Why did you send him away?" Shinguji asked.

"Because I'm hoping if he's not here, you'll give me a straight answer." With her ankle swollen and unable to support her full weight, it wasn't easy to her to reach her usual levels of intimidation. She did her best, however. "What do you want from him?"

"Kirigiri-san, I believe you misunderstand us."

"Then please tell me how protecting Makoto could possibly be counterproductive?"

Shinguji said, "You are a Kirigiri. Your duty to that bloodline must be your priority."

That . . . Was he serious? Was that how people thought of her?

"Listen closely." She tried to stalk forward but ended up doing a weird hobble instead. "If you think for one second that I value solving this case over his safety, that I would even consider caring about some dead woman more than him, then you know nothing about me."

"No one is questioning your devotion to that task," Shinguji said. "Is that what you fear? No, we all understand how fiercely that instinct rushes through your veins. Allow us to put your worries at ease: no one in this building has any desire to harm Naegi Makoto. We wish you two only the best."

"And just what is the best?"

"A good question. You must have listened to Angie." Shinguji turned his cap a little, and its shadow fell over his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question, however."

She growled. "Whatever game you people are trying to play with me ends with me. Touch Makoto and I'll show you how much I can bend the law."

His eyes twinkled. "I have no doubt that if I were to harm him, you would strike with all the fury of an avenging angel. But that is the point, is it not?"

"Can't you give me a straight answer for once?" She didn't mean to say that. She couldn't help it. All that frustration inside her had boiled over and dripped onto the floor.

"Very well. Kirigiri Kyoko, we are not your enemy."

Goosebumps erupted over her arms. Shinguji tipped his head at her, a motion that eerily reminded her of Komaeda. Slowly, the man walked away, leaving Kirigiri feeling even worse than when she had confronted him.