The elevator is more spacious than I imagined. I'm used to the small kind in hotels that can barely fit five people with their bags. There's more than enough room in here for the sixteen- fifteen- of us. Before anyone can press one of the nonexistent buttons, the doors slide shut, leaving us in near darkness. Once it starts moving, it's easy to tell that the rest of the ride will be anything but smooth, shaking and sending some of us into each other every time it jerks. We're deadly silent. I can almost hear our collective heartbeat.

It's weird to see everyone's faces in the darkness as I look, in a very unsettling way. Shadows gather in each ridge, every wrinkle within their visages. If I didn't know it was them I'd be running in the opposite direction. Everyone looks more menacing than I've known them to be. To them, I'm sure I'm no exception.

Miyuki grabs my shoulder gently to keep me from falling as the elevator lurches to a stop. The doors shudder open, finally shedding light into the elevator. Not one of us moves. As soon as we step out, we'll be in enemy territory. Anything could happen, especially because there's no comfort in the room. No comfort means more agitation.

She hooks her pinkie around mine, just subtle enough that if anyone was paying attention, they wouldn't notice. I look up at her, hoping to see some of the confidence behind her eyes, but she's not looking at me. Her eyes are directed at the trial room. She's the first to step out of the elevator; I'm a close second. No delay to the inevitable.

There's a strange ambiance to the room. Everything is in dark, muted colors, save for the black and white checkerboard floor. Most of the tapestry hanging down from the walls is the same, in the red of dried blood. The room is arranged in a circle: sixteen worn wooden podiums all face the center, with Monokuma already sitting, waiting, in a judge's chair behind two of them. He beams at us, baring his fangs. "Welcome, welcome! Please find the podium with your name on it and stand behind it. Then we can get started!"

Miyuki and I are forced to separate here. At least my podium is across from hers, so I can still see her easily. That's comforting, at least. Yasu gives me a nervous smile from my left. On my right, Fujimoto stares straight ahead into the center of the room. I grip the front of my podium, making sure that my grip is tight. I'm in that stage beyond nervous, but not quite scared. Ironically, I'm not sure how to describe it.

Something I realize quicky about the way the room is set up: it's easy to push the blame onto someone else. There's always someone to your side, right in front of you. Someone could look at you wrong and suddenly have the blame pushed solely on them. If tension builds and spills over, I'm afraid of what will happen.

Once we're settled in, if that's what it can be called, Monokuma clears his throat. "Before we begin, let's go over the rules again. After a discussion of the evidence, y'all will vote on the identity of the blackened. If you vote correctly, only the blackened will be punished. If you don't, only the blackened will live. You chumps got that?" He reclines in his chair, relaxed like he's on vacation. We don't give him any response, not even a single nod. "Alrighty, then, get started! Go on!"

"How do we even start?" Sasaki asks, the first one of us to break the silence. Her eyes flit around nervously to the rest of us. "Do we even have enough evidence to catch the killer?"

"What I'd like to know first is why there's...that." As soon as Rikimaru points it out, I realize that the portrait is there. As tall as Matsumoto, bearing a black-and-white framed photo of his kind smile. Smeared over it is a brilliant red X in what I desperately hope isn't blood. It's more vulgar than anything else, not much of a tribute if that's what it's meant to be.

Monokuma glances at it only passively. "Well, why should he have to miss out on all the fun, just cuz he's dead?" He shrugs. "Plus, the podiums are bolted into the ground. It'd be a pain to move them any time one of you twerps kicked it."

Maeda shakes his head, his eyes averted from the portrait. He looks like he's going to throw up. "Whatever, man. Back to what Sasaki was saying, all we really know is what the Monokuma File told us. No way can we get enough from that alone!"

Miyuki sighs, looking up towards the ceiling. "That's why the rest of us actually bothered to investigate more than one things. If our lives depend on it, we shouldn't just stand off to the side once our portion is done. Don't think I didn't notice." I hide my grin behind my hand as he flinches back at her words. She can be pretty savage when she wants to be. "And we can confirm what the file and the scene already tell us and go from there, right?"

"Exactly. Let's start with that." Abe takes control of the conversation easily, looking as confident but relaxed as ever. Does he already know who did it? "There are a few things the file tells us, but I want to focus on one thing first: the cause of death."

Wait, that's all? But there's so much more from that file that needs explanation. That part is blatantly stated. It couldn't be more obvious. "The stab wound?" Aoyama scoffs, crossing his arms. "I thought Ueda was the only blind one here. Anyone with eyes could see that."

Miyuki's cheeks color at his offhand comment. I didn't realize before that she's the only one of us with glasses. "Hey! I can see just fine without my glasses! ...Mostly."

Yoshida snickers a bit, but Abe continues on, ignoring her. "What I was going to say was that we should focus on the cause and the weapon used. If you had let me finish, you would've known that."

"Well, there's not much to review there," Ikeda says, looking over at him. "Maeda and I checked the body. The knife used came from the set in the kitchen."

"Okay. That's what I was getting at, since that begs the question of when the knife was removed from the kitchen." Abe uncrosses his arms and looks at all of us. "Who wants to own up as the last one to be in the kitchen and dining hall?"

A couple beats of uncomfortable silence later, Hamasaki lifts her head. "I was. There weren't any knives missing from the kitchen when I left."

Rikimaru throws her hand in the air. "Well, there we go! She was the last one there, so she took the knife and killed Matsumoto. That's all there is to it."

Hamasaki's cheeks grow an angry red. "I swear, I didn't take any knives from the set! They were all still completely intact when the dining hall was locked for the night."

"That's something we can't check, so we have to take your word on it." Abe gives her a nod and continues. "What we can think about in the meantime is whether or not the knife was the only weapon used in this murder."

"There was only one knife sticking out of Matsumoto's body," Maeda says, unconvinced. "That's the only one, right?"

Oshiro hums under her breath before speaking up. "Well, what about the dent in his head? We all saw it, and the file said it's blunt force trauma. That can't just be caused by a fist."

"The size of it doesn't fit with the knife handle, either." Ikeda shakes his head, casting an apologetic glance to Maeda. "I think Abe is right, and more than one weapon was used."

"So whatever else was used must've been disposed of," Yasu sums up. "Was there anything found that would match that description?"

Right, she doesn't know. She wasn't there for the investigation. "Nothing," I tell her. The small amount of hope in her eyes dims, but doesn't completely diminish. At least she has that to comfort her through this. "Should we move onto a different topic, or…?"

Nakamura jumps in next. "How about the other injuries listed in the file? I doubt they're not relevant to the case."

"That might be true, but the bruising and broken nose can be consequences of him falling after being stabbed in the back," Ikeda analyzes. "That's a simple conclusion."

Simple, sure. But is it right? It seems too easy. "Are you sure about the bruises?" Hamasaki asks, leaning half over her podium. "I thought the file said they went to his upper arm. You wouldn't get that much from a fall, especially not bruises that light."

"That's true," Miyuki says, half-raising her hand. "I've fallen enough times onto ice, and if there's any bruising, it's much darker and will be concentrated to a few spots, not littered all over. These bruises are much too light."

"That's just one person's experience, though. Is that trustworthy enough to use?" Rikimaru argues, rolling her eyes. She and Aoyama are almost birds of a feather.

I nod. "Yes, it is! And besides, Saito found evidence that proves that the bruises were from a fight."

"That's right. Half a meter from Matsumoto's body, the floor was covered in scuff marks from shoes," Saito says, her voice steady and calm.

The courtroom is silent for a moment. "Couldn't that just be from us?" Yasu asks, glancing at the soles of her shoes. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Or just Maeda and his running," Rikimaru says, throwing him a quick glare.

"I wouldn't be surprised either, but there were no scuff marks anywhere else in the room. This is where the bruises, blunt force trauma, and broken nose all came from: a fight, or at the very least, a struggle. Unless one of us is a medical expert, though, I'm afraid there's no way to concretely tell the order they occurred in." Saito fingers her charm again as she turns to Monokuma. "Would you care to divulge this information?"

He tilts his head, deliberately taking his time in amusement. "Hmm… Nah. The trial's fair without me tellin' ya!"

Of course. Not like I expected to actually learn anything from him. He doesn't seem like the type of demonic overlord to give his captives any information. Not willingly, at least, but there's not much I can do about that unless I want to be killed. Which, of course, I do not.

"Okay, so that's where the other injuries came from, I guess." Honestly, I wasn't expecting to hear Fujimoto at all this entire time. His shyness apparently is overpowered by our need to stay alive. Good to know. "Are there any fingerprints on the knife?"

That kind of damning evidence would make this an open-and-shut case. Disappointment sweeps through everyone as Maeda shakes his head. "It was completely clean."

Nobody ever said this was going to be easy, I suppose. The entire point of the murder was to get away with it. Whoever committed it had to have thought ahead in this case- which means that this was likely premeditated. It wasn't a crime of passion.

That makes this so much worse.

Sasaki puts a hand to her chin in thought. "So whoever did this must've wiped it after, or worn gloves. And since we can't really tell which… Does anyone here have gloves?"

I shake my head; so does everyone else. Everyone...except Miyuki. "There are some knit gloves in my closet, with practice clothes." Everyone's eyes drift to her. Slowly, realization dawns on her. Her eyes grow wide. "Wait, you don't think-"

"That's what it looks like! Now we know, Ueda's the killer!" Contrary to her voice, Oshiro's mouth is set in a line, her normally wide eyes somewhat narrowed. "All the stars are aligned."

"Wait, no!" She frantically waves her hands in front of her face. "I didn't kill Matsumoto!"

"Isn't it irresponsible to assume without giving the accused a chance to defend herself?" Even though he's technically helping, I can't help but scowl at Aoyama. He sounds too amused for my liking. His eyes bore through her, taunting. "Well, Ueda? Any rebuttal?"

She swallows hard, her knuckles turning white from gripping the podium in front of her. "I…"

She's drawing a blank. That's what Aoyama was going for. "Nothing to say? Is that an admission of guilt?" Maeda asks. Pressure builds in my stomach. I can't just tell them she's innocent, can I? I have to have-

Evidence! That's right! "You don't have any evidence, do you?" Rikimaru asks with a haughty smile. "Caught you!"

"No, that's wrong! We have evidence!" I'm probably a bit too enthusiastic, but at least I get everyone's attention. "Miyuki, Nakamura, and I went to the trash room to see if there was anything there. We found gloves with bloodstains on them. I'm sure they were used in the murder. I don't know why else they would have blood on them."

"They were regular rubber gloves, too, not ones a person would wear to keep their hands warm," Nakamura adds. I smile at him in thanks before checking on Miyuki again. Thank goodness, she seems to be calming down. "Also, first name basis already? You two must be close."

Whoops. The two of us must look like we want to hide, because Fujimoto speaks up. "I remember seeing some gloves in the storeroom before, when I was looking for a notebook."

Miyuki takes a breath and faces her accusers, looking them in the eye. "There's your evidence. I didn't do it."

Abe regards her for a moment before looking away. Just like I noticed before, something indistinguishable crosses his face. "All that proves is that anyone could've gotten the gloves from the storeroom, yourself included. Nobody is cleared from that circumstance."

Right. I forgot about that part. "And everyone's alibis were the same. Everyone was sleeping in their rooms at the time of the murder," I realize. This just keeps getting harder and harder. "So nobody's alibi can be corroborated for the entire night."

Yoshida chuckles nervously, drawing our attention to her. "Well, about that-"

"Yoshida and I spent the night together." Oshiro says it so offhand that for a moment, I think I heard her wrong. "About an hour after the nighttime announcement, I had a nightmare, so I went to her room and asked if I could stay over with her."

Miyuki looks the same way I feel- exhausted and a few seconds away from facepalming. "And neither of you mentioned this while we were collecting alibis?"

Oshiro shrugs, looking between us with a faux-innocent look on her face. "You never asked where we were, just what we were doing. General, not specific."

...I should probably remember that if there's ever a next time. "And the two of you spend the entire night together after that?"

"Yep. And I'm a light sleeper, so you can bet I would've woken up if Oshiro did." Yoshida crosses her arms, daring anyone to contradict her. Nobody does.

"And I'm a sleep hugger. Yoshida wouldn't have been able to go anywhere anyway."

"They're the only two fully accounted for, then." Yasu bites her thumbnail- a nervous habit, I guess.

Rikimaru scoffs, playing with a lock of her hair. "Unless they were accomplices. Naturally they'd cover each others' butts. Make it seem like they did nothing wrong, leaving the rest of us talking in circles."

I'm unconvinced. About half of us are. "Would an accomplice have anything to gain?" Saito muses. "I can't see why they would."

Monokuma's laugh interrupts us. "Well, no! Only the blackened graduates! Accomplices have nothing to gain. If you read into the rules well enough, you would've known that."

Aoyama shifts his stance. "But we didn't know about the specifications to that rule until just now, so isn't it possible that-"

"Look, asshole, we said we didn't do it! Who would want to aid in a murder anyway?" Yoshida shouts, slamming a fist on her podium. I wince; I've seen enough trial-based shows to know that getting angry only serves to degrade credibility.

And, unfortunately for her and Oshiro, Aoyama latches onto that, talking over the rest of us. "Getting defensive, are we? Basically admitting your involvement."

Oshiro's eyes darken, her pupils and irises nearly indistinguishable from each other from this distance. She speaks calmly and clearly, though the room seems to drop several degrees. It's like a storm is brewing around her, covering my arms in goosebumps as she talks. "Yoshida and I did not murder Matsumoto. Got it?"

"Besides, it's not like there was actually an accomplice this time." We all go silent. Monokuma looks up lazily as fifteen pairs of eyes land on him. "Did I say that out loud? Whoopsie."

All of the anger dissipates from Yoshida's visage, replaced with a mix of cautious relief and annoyance. "See? Told you. Prick."

Abe clears his throat before Aoyama can fight her. "Alibis got us next to nowhere. Where should we turn next? We'll need much more than two people ruled not guilty to figure out who is."

"There was something about what we were talking about earlier that was bothering me," Sasaki says, raising a hand slightly even though we're not in a school setting. "The knife just...showed up? I choose to believe that Hamasaki didn't take it when she left, and there was so little time left between that and the nighttime announcement."

Something's spinning in Abe's mind, I can see it. He remains silent, watching. Has he already figured out who did this? Did he move on to trying to find the mastermind again?

"So nobody took the knife beforehand, and then it just shows up." Ikeda shakes his head. "Should we try stepping back and going over everything we know again?"

"Here's what we know: the murder weapon was a kitchen knife, there was a struggle, and everyone is a suspect except for Yoshida and Oshiro." Rikimaru rolls her eyes. "We're getting nowhere."

"There's still the gloves themselves," Nakamura suggests. "After all, the blood spatter on them will tell how the knife was held." I didn't even think of that before. "If you look at it, both of the gloves have an equal amount of blood on them. While it's not much, most of it is concentrated on the sides, and none on the thumb and fingertips."

...I don't get it. "What, exactly, does that tells us?" Aoyama sighs, gazing towards the ceiling like he wants some deity to strike him down where he stands.

"It tells us that whoever killed Matsumoto used both hands." Abe crosses his arms, drumming his fingers against his jacket sleeve. "Likely from a downward strike, where you can get more momentum. Anyone of any strength would be able to do it."

Should I be worried that he knows so much about that?

"How does the rest fit into that?" Saito muses, continuing on to answer her own question. "The bruises, as we've seen, are light; surely that means that whoever did this was not of the same strength, or even near the same strength, of Matsumoto. If anyone of any strength could drive the knife in, matching the two together must mean that the person did not have much upper body or physical strength. I think that means we can cross off anyone with relatively high strength off of the list."

Immediately, the room goes up in commotion. "You're just saying that because you're included in that group!" Yoshida complains, the loudest of all. "Saving your own ass and leaving everyone else's on the line."

"But she's right," Aoyama agrees, earning the glares of many people in the room. "Maybe if you all used your brains you'd realize that what she said checks out. Otherwise, the bruises would've been darker, and there might've been more of them."

I guess that seems right. Especially with what Ikeda said before, about them being more concentrated towards the bottom and lighter as they go up. Someone with more strength likely would've had the same force all the way up. "So that takes out Saito, Ueda, Maeda, and Ikeda," Sasaki sums up. "And Yoshida and Oshiro are out from before, leaving nine of us. At least we're whittling it down."

That's true. "Where do we go next?"

Nobody says anything for a moment, but then Miyuki reels back; she looks like she just had an epiphany. "Wait. The time of death was around one-thirty in the morning, right? The Monokuma File said that. So whoever did this had to get into a restricted area, and isn't that against the rules?" She turns to Monokuma for confirmation.

If the rules were infringed, the person who broke them would be punished. That's what Monokuma said before. His paw seesaws. "See, the dining hall and gym are technically just locked, not restricted. Real gray area there, but whatever."

Barely helpful, of course. "The rules are just subject to his discretion," I mumble, garnering a sympathetic glance from Yasu.

"Well couldn't he just have been moved there?" Yoshida asks, one of her feet tapping against the floor. I can understand why she wants to get out of here, but really?

"No," Abe says immediately. "If you looked carefully at the crime scene, there was no blood apart from directly under him. No blood streaks to show movement. And since it's impossible to move blood in pools like that, it's safe to say that he wasn't moved at all."

"Hold on." Oshiro puts a hand to her head, thinking. "There are blood transfusion packets in the nurse's office. Would've it be possible for the blackened to kill him somewhere else, then clean up and move the body, using the transfusion packets to make it look like he was killed there?"

Damn. She makes a really good point. She was paying more attention this entire time than I thought. And it's a bit odd that she was so thorough with that explanation- she must have thought about it a lot.

"That's right," Maeda realizes, looking around at us. "Since the dining hall was restricted anyway, then the blackened probably offed him somewhere else and moved him, which means that whoever the blackened is had to be strong enough to do so." He makes a not-so-subtle glance at Saito, despite her not being a suspect anymore.

That would be what the means, though, except- "Miyuki, Saito, Abe and I arrived just after the morning announcement played. There was no way for someone to get there before the four of us and somehow deposit his body, let alone put the scuff marks on the floor."

Saito nods, returning his stare with one of her own. "And besides, as the others can attest, the dining hall was still locked when we arrived. It should've been unlocked, since it was after the morning announcement played."

Fujimoto tilts his head. "What, so do we have a locked room mystery on our hands?"

"I think so. There are four major types of a locked room mystery." Abe counts them off on his fingers. "One: it was created from the outside after the crime was committed. The culprit would create a trick to seal the room from the outside. There are endless possibilities as to how. Two: it already existed prior to the murder. The culprit would target the victim from outside the locked room. This case likely doesn't fit there. The doors don't have a wide enough space for that to happen. Three: the culprit was still in the room when the lock was broken. Meaning, they hid, and then slipped into the crowd like they just showed up. Four: it wasn't a locked room to begin with. The room has a secret passage or a way for the culprit to escape. This one is highly improbable in real life, though it shows up a lot in novels."

I think I understand all of that. "You really know a lot about murder, don't you?" Aoyama asks, looking both impressed and highly suspicious. Mostly the latter. "Doesn't seem to have a lot to do with history, wouldn't you say?"

Something in Abe's eyes darkens. He shifts his gaze down, no longer looking at us. "I'm just reciting what I've read before. And besides, that's not our problem right now."

"Our problem is that this is a locked room mystery, and it's either the first or third kind, right?" Miyuki asks, picking right up where Abe left off. "So what we should figure out is which one of those we can cross off the list."

"The four of us were the first to discover the body," I recount, trying to think back. I didn't see the order everyone came in, but… "The only place to hide would've been the kitchen. Miyuki and I were facing the crime scene the entire time people were showing up. We would've noticed if someone tried slipping out of the kitchen as we were looking."

Nakamura nods along with this. "So the only one that stands to the test is the first kind. The culprit somehow managed to lock the door from the outside. I checked the door myself; there wasn't any adhesive or glue holding the doors together.

Yasu wrinkles her nose. "But you didn't check the lock, so that just leaves lock-picking, right?"

Sasaki's brow scrunches slightly. "I know you can pick locks open, but shut, too? Isn't that a bit out there?"

"Not if you know what you're doing. Our blackened definitely knew what they were doing." He glances around at all of us. "Though I doubt any of us would be willing to admit they know how to pick locks."

Well, he's right about that. Nobody owns up to it, and our talents are so niche that I can't even begin to predict who would know how to pick locks. "Camila and I checked the lock, though," Miyuki adds. "We found black flakes on it. They probably came from what was used to pick the lock."

"That's right," Rikimaru confirms. "It's likely that it came from a black bobby pin. I'd say we should look to who has black bobby pins, but there are probably some in the storeroom."

Sasaki looks up sharply. "Hold on. I went to look in the storeroom for hair ties, since I only have the one I have in now, and I did notice that there were bobby pins. But the only bobby pins they had were silver."

Now that's a helpful clue. "And as Rikimaru said earlier, a lot of people with brown hair round up to black bobby pins, so that'll help us narrow it down," I say eagerly, bouncing a bit on the balls of my feet. We could crack this soon! "So, who has black bobby pins?"

Rikimaru and Miyuki raise their hands immediately. Oshiro, Hamasaki, and Saito raise theirs after. "Where does this take us, though?" Oshiro asks, brushing her own pinned hair back with a hand. The bobby pins she's wearing alternate black and metallic purple. "We don't know which one of us knows how to pick locks."

We don't. But I do have a suspicion. "Nothing," Fujimoto sighs, looking defeated. Nobody speaks for another minute. Are they lost now? Did we lose?

"Well, how about why Matsumoto was in the dining hall in the first place?" Ikeda suggests. "Did anyone find anything about that?"

"Just a note with messy handwriting in his room," Miyuki says. "We couldn't read any of it, but I guess we can assume that whoever sent it to him somehow convinced him to go there."

We can't get anything out of that, either. Silence consumes us again. Hamasaki gasps a little before speaking, straightening a bit. "I don't know how important it is, but I found a small rubber plug at the crime scene. It doesn't fit anything in the dining hall, I checked."

"Is that really all we have?" Maeda asks, rolling his eyes. "That was probably left there before the crime on accident. Nothing special."

Miyuki's eyes light up. "No, I remember that! It looked really familiar, so I thought about it for a while. If you look carefully and think hard about it, doesn't it kind of look like it came from the bottom of a shoe? See, it's kinda worn on the bottom side."

"What, like cleats?" Maeda asks, shaking his head. "None of us have those, and a lot of them have screw-in ones anyway."

"To have such a small piece, it must've come from high heels." Aoyama, I really wish I could tackle you off of your high horse. "Well, ladies, who left it?"

I look at my own feet- flats. Saito, Miyuki, and Hamasaki wear flats as well. Oshiro, Yoshida, Sasaki, and Yasu all wear sneakers. That only leaves-

"You can't seriously suspect me because of that," Rikimaru whines, a storm brewing in her eyes. "Do you see anything wrong with my heels? I don't think so!"

She shows her shoes off to us; not a scratch on them. They look like she shined them, too. I would believe her, but, well, all of us have a solid way to fight that claim. "Don't you have extra shoes in your room?" I ask tentatively. "Along with extra clothes. We all have them."

Her nostrils flare; her breathing comes heavier. She rubs at her arms again. I must be onto something. "Look, I don't know where you get off on-"

"That's not a no," Abe interrupts. Surprisingly, he looks at me. "And it would explain the blunt force trauma, given the small indent on the back of his head. I expect that if we were to compare them, the size of the plug would match. I believe we found our second weapon: a high heel shoe." His gaze becomes more serious, but doesn't stray from me. "There wouldn't happen to be any more evidence that could prove it was her?"

But why is he- wait. That's right! Nakamura told him about what we found. "But wasn't it em-" I stop myself before I can finish, a plan fully forming in my head. Who cares if it was empty? In the end, it doesn't really matter. "Rikimaru, what if I told you I have proof of your guilt in this case?"

"I'd say you were lying." But her eyes dart around, her fingers curl and uncurl around her podium. "You're lying!" Her already shrill tone turns into a screech. All of her fury is directed at me. It's almost evidence enough of her guilt. I take a half step back. Miyuki nods at me, encouraging, from across the room. I have to do this- right?

"In the trash room-"

"You don't have any evidence!" Her voice is loud, overlapping my own.

"Along with the gloves, we found-"

She clamps her hands over her ears, messing up her hair. "I won't listen to your lies!"

I exhale through my nose, raising my voice over hers. "An empty concealer bottle. I know they can be found in the storeroom-"

She stomps her foot. "Just stop lying! I'm telling you, it wasn't me!"

"It was empty, but there's a way to prove that you were the one who used it!"

Everyone around us is silent, positively raptured. "Just give up already!" Rikimaru shrieks.

But I don't back down. "There was a struggle, we know that! If Matsumoto had bruises on him from it-"

"No!"

"Then so must the blackened!"

"No!"

I take a breath before shouting over her. "Concealer covers bruises!" She falls silent, instead shaking her head again and again. I lower my voice. "Rikimaru, I noticed you kept rubbing at your arms. If you washed them, concealer would come off to reveal bruising, wouldn't it?"

Out of the corner of my eye, Abe gives me an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Everyone else looks grim. Rikimaru stares at the ground, her face still red from shouting. "Perhaps it would be best to summarize the case from the beginning, make sure we didn't miss anything?" Saito suggests. To me, of all people. Why me? Miyuki's our leader, not me.

Still, I nod. I can't back down, not when everyone is looking at me. "Okay. Here we go.

"It was around one-thirty this morning. The blackened, having thought for some time on this, had slipped a note into Matsumoto's room perhaps hours before. This was what made him come to the dining hall to begin with. At that hour, it was locked, but the blackened always had bobby pins on their person. With one of those, they picked the lock, letting them both inside. Not long after, the fight broke out, hence the bruising on both Matsumoto and the blackened.

"What likely happened was that the blackened realized they wouldn't be able to overpower him, and hit him on the back of the head with their shoe the first chance they got. That was when the plug popped off and bounced away from where the fight was taking place. The force was enough to knock him over, and his nose broke when he fell. If he wasn't unconscious before, he was then. If the blackened had stopped there and left, there was no doubt that Matsumoto would tell us about it the following morning. However, this was premeditated; the blackened came prepared with rubber gloves from the storeroom. Before Matsumoto could regain consciousness, they put on the gloves, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and stabbed Matsumoto in the back using both hands to make sure they had enough force to kill him.

"Their shoe was broken, and they already had bruises forming. So what they did was leave, stowing the gloves in their pocket for the moment and picking the lock shut again, leaving the black flakes. However, the lock was still flimsy enough that it caved under the pressure we put on it this morning. They made a quick stop to the storeroom to get a bottle of concealer before going back to their room to apply it. They could've discarded the evidence in their own room after covering their bruises with enough concealer to last the entire day. But if Nakamura was collecting trash from everyone's rooms, he would've seen it eventually. And besides, if he was going to incinerate all of the trash, why not throw the evidence in the trash room?

"Except, the space between the gate and trash collecter was too long for them to throw the gloves and bottle into. With the gate there, they'd need precision accuracy in order to activate the incinerator. Instead of trying that, they aimed for the trash collector. They didn't even land inside the collecter, but rather, between it and the wall. There wouldn't be any harm in leaving it if nobody every checked back there, right? So they left it and returned to their room until this morning. There was no evidence that could point to them- at least, until I found that very evidence. Matching up the bobby pins, plug, concealer, and bruising, it's evident that the culprit is Rikimaru Kirika, Super High-School Level Hairstylist!"

Stunned silence stretches across the room. Nobody moves a muscle. My heart beats so loud that I'm sure everyone else can hear it.

Rikimaru's shoulders tremble ever-so-slightly as she looks up, defeated. One of her hands drifts up to fix her hair. "Well, you got almost all of it right. Can't exactly expect perfection from someone who keeps their hair in that condition."

"No hung jury this time. That was as good an admittance as any." He doesn't ask, as I've come to expect from Aoyama. Nevertheless, he's right. She admitted her crime.

"So it is, and so time is up! Voting time, chumps!" Damn, I forgot about Monokuma! Buttons push out from a compartment in our podiums that I didn't notice before. There's one for each of us, little pixelated versions of us. Matsumoto's is the only one that's unlit. "Just push the button for the blackened and we're good as gold!"

Yasu studies the buttons. "What happens if we don't vote?" she asks, nerves obvious in her voice. I know why she wouldn't want to. We're condemning someone we consider a friend to death.

"Simple." Monokuma's red eye flashes briefly. "You die."

She gulps and nods, reluctantly pressing the button with Rikimaru on it. I do the same, and in no time, we all have, Rikimaru included.

"Not for nothin', but you got it right! The killer is indeed Hair Chick!" Monokuma laughs at his own joke. I ignore him.

I cross my arms protectively and start at her, studying her. "So? What didn't we get right?"

She checks her nails, pretending to be disinterested. "Smaller details. For the record, the note you found in his room? That was a rough copy of the one he gave me." She takes a folded piece of paper out of her apron pocket. It's the same handwriting, but it's clearly addressed to her. "I was planning on taking his life either way. Maybe he thought he could stop me or something." She waves a hand in the air, dismissing it. Her nonchalance coupled with her silent anger is strange to watch. "I just went for it. I need the money."

It all connects back to the motive. Of course it does. I'm sure Monokuma is sitting pretty, knowing he was right. "What for?"

She snorts, crossing her arms. "Like you really want to know." She shifts her gaze away and sighs. "But it's for my own salon. I'd already have one if it weren't for the stupid compulsory education, and I want it to be as big as possible."

I wait for her to say more. She doesn't. "That's it?"

"That's it. Something about me is that I get my dreams no matter what the challenge is." She doesn't seem at all bothered by it- by what she did. That's- that's wrong. My stomach turns at the thought of it. I lean a little more heavily on my podium, worrying that my legs are going to give out from under me.

"Ahem! Not that this is particularly heartwarming, but I'm gonna stop this right here. I hope you all didn't forget what's coming next!" Rikimaru catches on before the rest of us, backing up towards the elevator and shaking her head. "Iiiiiiiit's PUNISHMENT TIME!"

"No!" she shrieks, but before she can do anything, Monokuma produces a gavel and swings it down on a red button.

Rikimaru looks at us frantically. We're all in a mass around her, our podiums abandoned. She doesn't reach out, but it's obvious that she wants to be saved. She wants us to save her. None of us can do anything but look on before a doorway opens in the far wall. A chain shoots out, a metal collar wrapping around her neck. She tugs at it, but can't get it loose. We watch in shock as it slackens for just a moment, then pulls back, fast. I hear her choke out a breath once it drags her into a new room, binding her to a wooden pole- stake?- with the excess chain wrapping around her body, holding her in place.

Execution of the Super High-School Level Hairstylist

~Just a Trim~

The room's floor is like a conveyor belt, I think. Monokuma shows up on one end of it, a comical moustache plastered onto his face. I think he's supposed to be a barber. He pushes a button, and the stake lurches to the side before gaining a steady speed. On either side of her are decoy Monokumas. Monokuma lifts his paws, barber scissors at the ready.

As each decoy passes, he whizzes around them, creating elaborate hairstyles. I don't really know the technical names for them. A fluffed, feather look. A spiked hairdo. A pompadour. A bowl-cut, with one spike sticking up. Extra feathery, like a lion's mane. He does the same thing as Rikimaru passes, all on her and quicker in succession. Drills. A ponytail. Pigtails, with little hair ornaments. Braids. He's working so hard he's sweating.

The decoys that passed through before her start to turn an angry red. Abe's eyes widen. "Look away!"

We do as he says. How can we not? He sound so horrified, so desperate. I didn't think I'd ever hear him like that. I shield my eyes just in time, my muscles tensing as a blast blows my hair back. It's hot, making my clothes stick to my skin. By the time I open my eyes again, there's nothing left but a few meager flames and Monokuma with a wide broom, brushing hairs into a little pile.

Yasu cries out in shock, nearly doubled over, with tears streaming down her face. Sasaki holds her close, her arms protectively around her waist. Fujimoto's eyes are wide and watering. Hamasaki hides her face in the crook of his neck. Nobody moves, as much as I want to go find Miyuki and hold her just like I did this morning. God, was it only this morning? I don't even know what time it is now.

Monokuma hangs his head as he faces us. "Such a tragedy. Lives taken in their prime." He takes a moment before looking up, his familiar grin in place. "Well, what can ya do! That's life for ya."

A deep growl settles in the back of Maeda's throat. "You bastard! This is your fault!" He lunges forward, but Saito grabs the back of his jacket. "Wh-! Let me go!"

"Remember the rules. We don't need to witness another death today." Once she's sure her words have reached him, she lets go. He mellows out, kicking the floor instead with his hands shoved in his pockets. Still, Saito glares at Monokuma herself, the glare that could nearly shoot literal daggers.

Hamasaki lifts her head from Fujimoto and stops. "Did you hear that?" she asks, her voice thick and weary. She slowly tilts her face towards the ceiling. Her eyes search every bit of it, every tile. "There it is again!"

"I don't know what you're-" Yoshida cuts herself off as the noise grows louder, staticky. The PA system crackles to life, just audio this time. "Huh?"

If Monokuma is down here with us, who's operating the PA system?

I get my answer soon. "-ello?" a loud voice calls. With so much static, I can't tell if the person speaking is male or female. Actually, I can't tell much, especially not what they're trying to say. "We- to h- try to- calm!" The person speaking mumbles then, nearly indistinguishable, before trying again. "We- back- more!"

That's when the transmission, if that's what it can be called, cuts off.

I steal a glance at Monokuma. He's so pissed, literal steam pours out of his ears. Is that a side effect of being a robot? "Everyone, go take the elevator back to the main building," he snarls, sounding much meaner than before. His claws gleam under the artificial lights, claws I somehow didn't notice before.

He doesn't need to tell us twice. We file into the elevator, now one person lighter. That doesn't make it shake any less. I look around; everyone's quiet, in mourning. Yasu braces herself against one of the walls, her face twisted. One of her hands presses against her chest. "Are you feeling okay?" Fujimoto asks her in a muted voice. It carries easily across the elevator. I can't help but listen in; none of us can.

She forces a smile, speaking through gritted teeth. "Fine, thanks." She doesn't say more on the topic. None of us push any further, though I can't help but check in on her every so often. That's the extent of our conversation on the ride up. Nobody's in the mood to talk much.

It's around noon by the time we get back. I'm not hungry, and I'd rather not go back to the dining hall today if I can help it. Everyone passes right by it, not sparing a glance in it's direction. "I'm going back to my room," I mutter to Miyuki, though I'm sure we all are. "Let me know if you need anything."

Her melancholic figure disappears as I shut my door. The first thing I do after locking it behind me is head to my bathroom and throw up. This whole time, I've been playing the part of someone unafraid, put together. Clearly, I'm not. None of us are, except maybe Abe and Saito. But I'm quickly proving to myself that all I can really do is talk. I'm good with words; that's it.

I sit back on my heels, count backwards from ten in Spanish, Japanese, English, ten different languages until I've reached one hundred and my stomach feels normal again. Funny; before this, I couldn't recall the last time I'd thrown up. It was so long ago.

I freshen up as soon as I feel like I can stand again, brushing my teeth and changing into my much more comfortable pajamas. I'm ready to settle in for the next few hours, maybe just sleep or read, when my doorbell rings. I open it cautiously, Matsumoto still on my mind, to reveal Miyuki. She hasn't changed clothes, just ditched her skirt for the comfort of her leggings. "I'm sorry, I just- I can't be alone right now." She doesn't look at me. Instead, she stares at her hands, studying them as though they're covered in Matsumoto and Rikimaru's blood.

"Don't apologize. Come on in." I step to the side, giving her some space. She takes a tired look around, but already she seems more relaxed. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

She shakes her head, looking at my piles of books. I'm kind of glad she said no. I don't want to, either. I just thought I would offer. "You can really read all of those languages?"

"I can." I run my fingertips over a couple of the titles, reading them to myself.

"Can you read one to me?"

I pause, looking up at her. She's still not looking at me, though. I'm surprised at her request, but I nod. "I can't promise you'll be able to understand it, though, unless you want me to translate."

"No, just read it like it is. I just need the distraction." She selects one from the top of a pile; Spanish, my native language. A copy of Don Quijote. Classic.

I settle in on my bed, beckoning for her to come with me. I'm braced against the headboard, kind of, slipping down slowly. She lays next to me, her head resting on my shoulder. As I start reading aloud, she follows along as best as she can. "En un lugar de La Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordarme…"

X-X-X

"..."

"...Are you there?"

"Have you been watching? Listening?"

"..."

"It's harder than I thought."

"I didn't think anyone would die."

"..."

"I'll just have to do better. I have to."

"Nobody else needs to die."

SURVIVING STUDENTS: 14

And that's that on that! Shoutout to the poll guesses (1 for Saito) and a friend's guess (Maeda), though neither were correct in this instance. Thanks for playing this round!

I know my trial chapters are a bit on the short side, but they get everything done that they need to. And what could that strange transmission be?

I'm having a lot of fun with this. Please don't forget to let me know who you want to see have FTEs in Chapter Two so I can start writing those!