Togami strode into the ruined classroom, barely noticing the destruction around him. Despite his best efforts, all his thoughts were still centered on the boy standing pale and shaking outside the classroom doors.

He'd thought that he'd managed to put the miserable hurt of their argument that morning out of his head. Consciously dwelling on thoughts of Naegi had still been like stabbing knives straight through his chest – but if he just didn't think about it, the hurt had dulled to something almost endurable. And this wreck of a classroom had been the perfect distraction, full of interesting possibilities and potential clues. He'd thrown himself into an investigation, putting any useless feelings very nearly out of his mind.

Until the door had opened and he'd seen Naegi standing at Kirigiri's side, streaked with blood and on the verge of collapse. He'd moved on instinct, throwing himself across the room to stop Naegi from hitting the ground without actually deciding on the action.

If he'd had time to consider, he never would have done it – let Naegi deal with the consequences of his stupidity for once. Maybe a few extra bruises would have taught him to think a little harder.

But even as he formed the words to the harsh, cynical thought in his head, it felt hollow. Would he really have chosen to let Naegi be hurt if it was in his power to prevent it? Togami would have liked to say a clear, easy yes without any emotional encumbrances – but he couldn't. Then again, he couldn't say no, either. He didn't know what he would have done, or what he would have wanted to do – and that uncertainty twisted through his gut like he'd swallowed a live snake.

It was intolerable – especially given the way Naegi had spoken to him afterwards. For someone who was oh so willing to bend over backwards trying to understand the others, he couldn't be bothered to spare even a few seconds of thought for what Togami was thinking. To have the nerve to accuse Togami of not caring about him – even the memory of the words made Togami want to turn back and scream at the boy in rage. How could he say a thing like that, mere hours after Togami had laid his heart at Naegi's feet?

Naegi had argued with him, insulted him, refused to agree with his perfectly reasonable requests – everything that should have made it ridiculously easy for Togami to gouge any lingering feelings for the boy out of his heart. This should have been all the proof he needed that Naegi wasn't worthy of his love, and erased the constant hurt of his broken heart.

And yet it hadn't. All it had taken was one pitiful tear falling down the boy's face, and Togami had been no more than a breath away from surrender. His arms had ached to reach out and gather Naegi to him, so badly that he'd almost been able to feel the warmth of the other boy cradled against his chest. The words had risen up in his throat, sniveling endearments and pathetic assurances of the depth of his affection.

Knowing that he had that kind of reaction lurking in his psyche – it made his face burn with humiliation. God, Naegi really had ruined him. He couldn't even hate the brat any longer, not even with every provocation in the world. Even now, part of him still wanted to turn around and return, to take back his own actions, to pretend none of this had happened - that was how much power Naegi still held over him.

Well, that didn't mean he had to give in. He didn't. He wouldn't, not when Naegi had made his own position so plain. He might not be able to stop the prickling along the back of his neck reminding him that Naegi was right there behind him – but at least he didn't have to act on it. He could choose to focus on something else instead.

And sure enough, when he finally succeeded in returning his attention to the classroom, he found Kirigiri's behavior more than sufficient to distract him. Of course the wretched girl had seized his moment of inattention to zero in on the most suspicious place in the classroom, where several chalk outlines tangled together at the far side of the classroom, the floor around them marred brown with old blood. Kirigiri knelt just outside the bloodstains, peering down at the central place where the outlines crossed over one another – the place where a huge serrated knife gleamed from where it was embedded deep in the floor.

"Of course you'd gravitate right to the most obviously dangerous item in the room," Togami said, crossing the room in a few quick steps so that he could stay firmly at her side. "Is it giving you ideas on how to make yourself more of a menace?"

Kirigiri looked up at him with a mildly irritated frown – as if his words were nothing more than a minor distraction. "Did you put this knife here?"

Togami blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected her to say. Why would she ask if he had stuck a giant knife in the floor? Obviously the knife had to have been placed at some point after the bodies had been removed and the outlines had been drawn, but that was hardly reason to assume that he'd been the one to place it. In that cases, he would have had to have it in his possession to begin with, and he hadn't seen anywhere in the school so far where anyone could have obtained such a large, shiny –

Shiny. Togami narrowed his eyes at the blade. Yes, now that he gave it a closer look, he could see that it certainly was shiny – far more than anything else in this classroom. Even the metal of the broken desks and chairs had grown dull and smudged, overlaid with the filth of being sealed away with blood and rot for however long this room had been closed.

But the knife shone bright and new against all the rest of it – and the conclusion was inescapable. The knife couldn't have been sealed in this room from the start, not looking the way that it did. They'd only gained access to the room after yesterday's class trial – so the knife had to have been placed this morning. And since he'd been in the room before she and Naegi had arrived, the question was obvious.

And Togami didn't find himself at all inclined to answer it. He crossed his arms and scowled at down at the girl who had been the cause of his argument with Naegi. "And what would you do if I said that I did put it there?"

Kirigiri gave him a long stare, then shook her head. "I'd ask why you feel compelled to waste my time."

From her tone, Togami knew instantly that she wasn't talking about the hypothetical scenario he'd posed. She knew he was lying – had apparently been able to read the truth off him as easily as scanning a newspaper headline. Just who was Kirigiri, to be able to see through him like that?

He didn't know. There was no way he could know, not when she'd been so secretive about her past. But finding out had just rocketed much higher up on his list of questions that needed answers.