"They called you…'Paris the Blackened,'" Shuichi said. He watched the Hacker closely, trying to gauge what her reaction would be. He didn't think—no, he didn't want to believe—that she posed any kind of threat, but confronting someone with the truth often had a way of revealing their true nature. How would Paris' take shape?

To Shuichi's surprise, she didn't act shocked or upset. Rather, she seemed annoyed. "I was reeaaally hoping we'd get to know each other before having this talk," she said, bringing her knees to her chest. "But leave it to the Ultimate Detective to find the back route around my affection flags."

"I can understand why you…might not want to discuss it," Shuichi offered. "But I can't hide what I know from my friends. So the least I can do is get your perspective first. After all, it's not like the news sites and forums painted a particularly clear picture."

Paris sighed. "They probably just told you I killed my whole class in the name of love, right?"

"Er…something like that." Shuichi admitted.

"Hmmmm…" the Hacker pouted and spun her chair. "Well…I guess that's half-true, maybe? There's a lot they're leaving out, obvi, but my character motive was to be reunited with my lifelong crush. And, I mean…" her voice grew quiet. "They did all die 'cause of me."

Shuichi felt a chill race down his spine. A million questions leapt to his tongue, but he bit them back. Sometimes, it was best to let a witness finish their testimony before pressing them for info. Especially if, as the Detective suspected, their recollection was laced with lingering trauma.

Paris twisted a strand of her hair around her finger, the action apparently helping her collect her thoughts. "It was the 50th season Danganronpa," she finally continued. "AKA the Americas Killing Game, AKA Everyone's Deadly Summer Vacation. The story was, we were a group of students from the American branch of Hope's Peak Academy, and had just won an once-in-a-lifetime cruise on our summer break. Except, wouldn't ya know it, it turned out that Monokuma had hijacked the boat, stolen our memories, and, well…motives, murders, mysteries, you know how it goes. My character was…is…Paris, the Ultimate Hacker: a ditzy savant who was secretly in love with a girl in the Reserve Course. I had to spill that little tidbit during the third class trial though, in order to defend my innocence. It was some pretty tear-jerky stuff, apparently. Makes it into a lotta 'Top 10 Danganronpa Moments' vids, y'know?"

"You describe it as though you don't remember," Shuichi observed.

"Good catch," Paris winked. "I'll get to that part soon. Don't worry, I'm not trying to hide anything. It's just…well…it's…" her mouth hovered open, struggling to form the words.

Shuichi offered his palms in contrition. "Sorry, I didn't mean to throw you off track. Please, feel free to continue in whatever way makes you comfortable."

Paris smiled. "You're so sweet. No wonder everyone trusts you." She exhaled. "Anyway, the Killing Game was going basically as you would expect for the first couple weeks. Then, after the third trial, one of my classmates, the Ultimate Thief, came to me with an idea. He thought that if I could hack one of the Monopads, we could use it to tip the odds in our favor. The rules said we couldn't mess with any student's pad, but they didn't say anything about using those left behind by corpses. So he stole one and brought it to me, asking me to find a way for us to escape. Instead…I found something I shouldn't have."

The Hacker paused again, playing with her hair as she constructed her explanation. "Somebody screwed up," she continued. "I dunno who was programming those MonoPads, but they didn't do a great job covering their tracks. The source code was supposed to look like it was built by the Remnants of Despair, but there were bits and pieces that felt…off. Like loose ends I wasn't supposed to see. Signposts pointing to nowhere, directories that had mysteriously vanished, that kinda thing. So instead of being satisfied with what I found, I dug deeper. And that's when I started seeing stuff that didn't make any sense. References to Team Danganronpa, to past seasons, and even to our character plotlines. It was…it was…"

"Maddening," Shuichi grimaced.

Paris pointed both fingers in the affirmative. "Bingo. Trying to make sense of it all made me feel like I was going crazy. Like, the Killing Game was already making me question a whole lot, but now even that was totally up in the air." She frowned. "That's when I found the role log."

"Role log?" Shuichi repeated.

"It was a file that showed the 'roles' Team Danganronpa had given us inside their story. That's where I saw that the Ultimate Thief was labeled 'Main Lead.' Betcha you can't guess what that meant."

Shuichi grimaced. "I suppose that meant he was the so-called 'protagonist' of the game. Like I was for the 53rd season."

"Right again," the Hacker exclaimed. "Bonus points if you can guess what my title was?"

Shuichi thought for a moment. If the answer had contributed to Paris' drive to kill…there was really only one option. "You were going to be a victim, weren't you?" the Detective answered.

Paris clapped. "Three for three for the Ace Detective! You're so good at this it's almost annoying." Her expression sobered. "'Course, If I had been as smart as you back then, I might've figured out that the labels were fictional roles in the show known as Danganronpa. But at the time, I had no clue that there was an invisible writer working behind the scenes. Which meant I didn't assume that 'Main Lead' was a character description. I assumed…"

"That he was the mastermind," Shuichi finished, the pieces falling into place. "And if that was the case…"

"Then it was my job to stop him," Paris laughed ruefully. "Danganronpa characters and their savior complexes, right?"

Shuichi fell silent. He knew all too well the emotions Paris must've felt at the time. The paranoia, the desperation…the burden of feeling like the only person capable of uncovering the truth. And the hope that one bold move would solve everything.

The Hacker stretched in her chair. "I hope you don't expect me to describe all the, uh, colorful details of my crime. Long story short: I did what I thought I had to. Only instead of ending the Killing Game, I kicked off another class trial. One where the person who had been solving all the cases was now the victim. And man…" she winced. "It was like I had just punched a hole in a crowded rowboat. Things got real ugly real fast."

"And you didn't confess?"

Paris scoffed. "Gee, how'd you guess?" She then flinched and rubbed her temples. "Sorry…it's still something I'm wrestling with. But…thinking like me back then…I think I was too scared and confused to do anything but let the dominos fall. Maybe I thought that they were all in on it. Or maybe that's what I wanted to believe. I dunno. Maybe I was just a stupid coward. Maybe I still am."

Her gaze drifted into the distance, a shadow falling over her expression. "I don't suppose Mr. Deduction can solve it from there?" she asked.

Shuichi paused. Doing the math wasn't hard, but that didn't make the answers easy. "If everyone else was executed, that would make you the Ultimate Survivor by default. Which, if the rules stayed consistent between seasons, would mean wiping your memory and putting you back in the Killing Game with a Survivor Perk. Just like what happened to Rantaro."

Paris nodded. "Yep yep yep. They nuked my brain and kicked me right back into the fray. But not before I made them agree to give me this."

At that, Paris spun towards her desk and threw open a drawer. She rummaged inside for a second, then popped up over the back of her chair, displaying a miniature unicorn on a ceramic pedestal. "Ta-daaa. My Survivor Perk."

"A…music box?" Shuichi asked, noting the key inserted in the base.

"Not just any music box," the Hacker explained, winding it up. "In the fiction of Danganronpa, it was a birthday gift I received from my crush in the Reserve Course. That's why I told them I wanted to bring it into the next game. 'Cause even if my memories got wiped and they changed my backstory, I'd still have something to remember her by."

Shuichi noticed the mischievous gleam in the Hacker's eyes. "That wasn't the real reason though, was it?"

"Nope," Paris held the figure out in her palm. "Listen." Gradually, the unicorn started spinning, accompanied by a tinkling rendition of "Für Elise."

"It's Beethoven," the Detective observed.

"That's what you hear, and that's what Team Danganronpa heard. But I was focused more on what was underneath."

Shuichi frowned, puzzled. He tried to tune the music out, and that's when he realized: the faint clicking he had assumed was caused by the gears turning actually carried a distinct pattern. Like morse code.

"Hear it?" Paris asked, putting a hand to her ear. "It's binary. Ones and zeroes. Clicks and pauses." She stopped the unicorn and set it down on her desk. "Before my memories got wiped, I modified this music box so it would play a secret message. One that only the future me would pick up on."

"What did it say?"

"It told me that everything was a lie. And then it gave me a password I could use to open a backdoor the past me had left in Team Danganronpa's network."

"And that's what you used to escape," Shuichi summarized. "Did any of your classmates come with you?"

"I…" Paris' eyes fell to the floor. "I tried to tell them but…well, that's a whole other can of worms. Long story short: I left the 51st season on my own. Everyone else stayed, and the Killing Game like normal." She plopped back into her seat and crossed her arms. "The mastermind played off my disappearance like I had been murdered and then twisted it into a trial where the gimmick was a vanishing body." She shrugged. "Say what you will about Team Danganronpa, they sure know how to make lemonade outta lemons."

Shuichi tensed, the memory his first trial flashing through his mind. "That's…one way of putting it," he muttered.

"Huh?" The Hacker blinked. "Did I say something wrong?"

"It's just…" The Detective searched for the right words. "I can't help but notice: you seem to be taking this all pretty lightly."

"Oh, I'm totally not!" Paris exclaimed, almost falling out of her chair. "I know it's awful and gross, but…aggghhhh." She rubbed her head furiously, as though trying to shuffle her emotions into place. "How do I explain it? I know all these bad things happened, but I can't make myself feel the way I should. Maybe it's 'cause they wrote me to be such a goof. Or maybe it's 'cause my brain has been totally scrambled by all the conflicting memories. But thinking about what the past me did feels like remembering a childhood dream. There are so many pieces that are missing. So many moments feel like they happened in a different reality, starring a me that isn't really me."

She exhaled a frustrated breath. "I still have nightmares though. And ironically, they're the closest I get to feeling the way I should. The way I deserve to feel. Maybe."

She looked to the ceiling in thought. "Am I still guilty for what I did on that cruise? Or was that a girl who no longer exists? Once I start asking these sorts of questions, it's hard for me to stop. I just end up confused and mad. So it's easier to just go with my programming, act like my normal, carefree self, and pretend it really was all just a bad dream."

The Hacker drooped and rested her head against her folded knees. "But deep down, I know it wasn't." She turned her heavy gaze on Shuichi. "So what do you think, Ultimate Detective? Is the girl you're speaking to Paris the Blackened? Or is she innocent?"

The question lingered in the air for what felt like an eternity. Shuichi watched the holographic clouds drift around him, wondering if it was even possible to find an answer. There were too many variables, too many causal quirks. To condemn or exonerate Paris, Shuichi would have to take a stance on the very nature of free will and selfhood. Could he make such a claim?

No, he realized with a bolt of clarity. But not because it was impossible; because it was answering the wrong question.

The Detective cleared his throat. "The short answer is, 'I don't know,'" he finally admitted. "But the better answer is: I don't think it matters. The job of a detective isn't to try and judge someone's guilt or innocence; it's to reveal the truth.

"And according to the evidence I've witnessed," he continued, taking a step forward. "The Paris in front of me is brave, kind, and without her, my friends and I would probably all be erased. She's someone I think I can consider a friend. That's the truth I see."

For a while, Paris said nothing in response. Then the hint of a sad smile appeared on her lips. "That's a good answer," she murmured. "I hope it's the right one."