Togami stared at the girl in front of him in disbelief. Her words echoed through his one working ear, making no more sense now than in the moment she'd spoken them.

Naegi said that the verdict was right, and that he was guilty.

It was absurd, it couldn't possibly be true… but when he met the shadowed depths of Ogami's eyes, the angry protests fell away from his lips. He couldn't see any deceit there, no matter how hard he searched. No lies, no cruelty, no veiled claws… only a dark well of emotion he couldn't quite bring himself to consider.

He said he was guilty.

The words burned like acid, scorching their imprint onto his soul. They would have been his last words, or so close to it that it made no difference. His last words before the chains seized him, before the mastermind dragged him off into unimaginable agony… and that was what he'd chosen to say.

But… if that was what he'd said… then why? What could possibly have caused Naegi, the boy who'd spoken out against killing from the start, to confess to a murder someone else had committed?

Had he even known what he was saying? He'd already collapsed on the floor at that point, barely even able to hold up his head. Maybe exhaustion and pain and blood loss had addled his mind so badly that he'd spoken the words without understanding their meaning. Maybe it had been nothing more than hallucination-induced gibberish that the other students had mistaken for a confession.

Except… that wasn't what Ogami had said. He said the verdict was right. Those weren't the words of someone unaware of what was happening around him. And Ogami hadn't sounded as though she doubted Naegi's lucidity, despite her past experience judging the severity of head wounds. Would it really be possible for a meaningless stream of babble to match up with a conversation so perfectly that no one could tell the difference?

But then what did that leave — the possibility that Naegi had meant to say those words? That he'd deliberately prevented anyone from defending him, instead choosing to end the trial with a proclamation of his own guilt? That was just as impossible to believe. Naegi might have an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation, but he didn't have an actual death wish. He wouldn't roll over and let the mastermind win, not after fighting so hard to keep them all believing. He wouldn't just give up without even trying to escape.

Would he?

Uncertainty curdled through Togami's stomach, churning together with the acidic bite of hunger until his hands shook from the unfamiliar pains. He wanted to shove the unsettling thoughts out of his head, to reaffirm his understanding of Naegi's personality and priorities… but there was a logical, calculating part of his mind that could quite forget how short a time he'd actually known the other boy. A mere handful of days, not even a full month — was that really enough for him to say for certain how Naegi would act under those circumstances?

Maybe Naegi hadn't been the person Togami had thought he'd known. The kind, positive, hopeful boy he'd fallen so hard for could have been nothing more than an illusion born of danger and despair, a fantasy Togami projected onto an available ally to make the mastermind's nightmarish game more bearable. If that was the case, then the boy he loved wasn't just gone forever… he had never existed at all.

Red and black spots flickered across his vision, but they were so very hard to see against the horrific thoughts blazing through his head. The words rang through his brain without even passing through his ears, drowning out the distant, distorted sounds of someone struggling to catch their breath.

It's not true.

He tried to summon up words of his own, filled with all the confidence and determination that had brought him so much success in the past… but even in his own head, the words felt too hollow and desperate to trust.

That wasn't him. It wasn't. It can't have been.

Questions and refutations whirled through his head, dizzying and disorienting, until he hardly knew which way to turn. He wanted to believe in Naegi, wanted to trust that the boy had genuinely been what he'd seemed and that what they'd shared had been real — but he wanted it so much that his own desires might bias him into trusting where he shouldn't. And now that Naegi was gone, gone forever… how could he ever know for sure?

Naegi wouldn't do that. I know he wouldn't. I know him and he wouldn't. Not Naegi. Not him.

A ragged breath tore through his right ear, the sound a distant reminder of pain. His shoulders shook unsteadily somewhere far away, and the hitch of his chest as his lungs fought to draw air through the aching lump in his throat. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he couldn't understand what. The terrifying questions about Naegi took all his attention, circling round and round in his head until the room faded away around him. The world turned gray and ashen, sliding from his awareness as he fell back into the depths of fog where he'd lain all morning. No questions could reach him there… no terrors could torment him… nothing could hurt him.

Nothing could… until pain shot across his palms, sharp and electric and immediate. Togami's eyes shot down to his hands, wrapped so tightly around Naegi's room key that fresh blood streaked his fingers from dozens of reopened wounds. As he recognized the physical pain, the rest of his body began to demand his awareness as well. He felt himself shuddering as he gasped for breath, swaying on his feet so badly it was a miracle he was still upright.

That was unacceptable. No matter how upset he was, there was no excuse for so blatantly advertising the fact. One aching muscle at a time, Togami forced himself to relax his grip on the key until the pain in his hands eased. His breathing steadied as he regained some semblance of control over himself, letting his lungs expand enough to catch his breath properly. He had to be calm if he intended to search for the truth. He couldn't let the shock of a single piece of information rattle him so badly, especially not with one of his suspects there watching him.

Except that when Togami looked up again, he realized that Ogami wasn't there after all. She'd left — no, wait. He could hear the splash of water coming from the bathroom, just before she returned with a damp washcloth. She frowned as she approached him, but he sent her his fiercest glare before she could ask whatever questions she had. She blinked for a moment, then nodded to herself as some of the tension left her expression.

"You really do need to clean your hands before infection sets in." She held the washcloth out towards him while keeping herself at a safe distance, in much the same way that she might have approached a potentially dangerous wild creature.

Togami hesitated, then took the cloth gingerly in one hand while he kept the other securely on Naegi's key. Red stained the edges of the washcloth where he held it, seeping through the white fabric to mar it forever. The cool water stung his fingers, which he had to admit was probably a bad sign. He sighed and settled himself back on the edge of the bed, doing his best to clean one hand with the other while both were badly injured.

"Would you like me to assist you?" Ogami asked cautiously.

Togami stiffened, glaring up at her. "I'm perfectly capable of managing myself."

"Very well, if you're certain." She looked away from him, crossing her arms protectively in front of herself. "I… I think perhaps I should apologize to you."

Togami didn't respond, but his attention sharpened for all that he looked uninterested. If she felt guilt about something, he was certain it was well-deserved — and he knew he'd get more information from her if he let the guilt drive her words than if he tried to question her.

Sure enough, the silence didn't last long before she continued. "I should have told you sooner… about what Naegi said. You asked me for help yesterday, but I… I didn't say anything."

The moment flashed back through his mind, a blur of grief and desperation and pleading. He'd begged the girls to help him rescue Naegi, but none of them had lifted a finger. It made sense now, if he thought about it with the cold logic he could remember how to use. The mastermind had guns, exploding robots, and who knew what other kinds of weapons that they could operate from behind their cameras. Any rescue attempts had been doomed before they began, and he should have seen it immediately. He would have, if he'd been thinking at all clearly.

But logical or not, he doubted that was what Ogami meant by her apology. She didn't seem likely to have realized the impossibility of a rescue in the moment — and even if she had, it would hardly be something for her to be sorry about. Then what else was there that she could mean?

"I should have told you then," Ogami went on, oblivious to his musings. "I was afraid to say something that might make things worse… but I see now that staying silent was just as bad. If you'd known from the start, then maybe… maybe it would have been easier to handle. It might not, of course… but I shouldn't have made the decision for you as I did."

Togami narrowed his eyes at her, ignoring the instinct to object to the pitying undertones to her words. He didn't like that, or the lack of respect it implied… but he could use it. "Then you're saying you want to make it up to me?"

She met his eyes squarely. "I do. You deserved to know the truth."

"I agree." Togami weighed his plan for a moment, rapidly calculating the risks… then nodded. "I intend to investigate until I've uncovered the real truth about that trial — and you're going to help me."