Reset and Relent the Regretful Resent | pt 3
AN: I added Tsukina and Hana's POVs into the first chapter (not prologue). Please read that first. Next chapter will be Riku and Pauline.
When Yakusuga throws open the doors of the bakery, Aeron is swallowed up in smoke. He frantically waves the air in front of him while his eyes water and sting. Yakusuga struggles to hold the door open while she coughs and lets the air filter out. Aeron tries to peer past the murky, grey smoke that twirls and dances mockingly in his vision. Did the bread burn that badly?
Yakusuga, coming to some sort of conclusion, tugs a silver table to the door and holds it open, while she hastily rushes over to the ovens and starts ripping them open individually. Each pull ripples the smoke around her, before eventually, the last one she opens erupts more smoke into the room. Yakusuga starts coughing violently, and Aeron pulls her away from the smoke and out of the room, before they both inhale too much. Aeron watches as the smoke curls above their heads and dissipates into the ocean air. It seems endless. Bread should definitely not burn to this extent, no matter how long it has been left neglected.
Yakusuga grabs his arm and starts tracing words on his palm. I think it's a faulty oven, she writes, bread doesn't smell like this, or look like that.
Now that she's pointed it out, Aeron notices that the smoke smells putrid. It leaves a tangy, unpleasant taste on his tongue and itches his throat. He nods at Yakusuga. I think you're right, he writes back, but we'll have to wait until the smoke clears.
Reaching a mutual understanding, they step far from the kitchen. Suddenly, Yakusuga turns around, and Aeron follows her movement.
TOBOE KURESHI
My God, he's crazy. He's done it now—he's really done it. He really did it. He exhales and watches as his breath darts away in a flash of grey. The cigarette between his fingers is getting hard to hold—being so small and tiny and…Toboe smothers it onto the rails and drops it into the ocean. He watches as the waves slug and bash the stub until it entirely disappears into the blue.
With his cigarette gone, he smells something different—something rancid and uncomfortably familiar. It smells like cremation. He sniffs the air again. No, that can't be right, he must be wrong. He must be wrong. However, when the same bitter, repugnant odour hits his nose again, he knows he's right. Unfortunately, he's right. This is a smell he's too familiar with to ever forget or mistake. He's right, and he's happy about that, he's always happy about being right, but this kind of happiness brings along dread, dread heavy and big enough to sink his stomach and make him want to hurl. The dread slows his feet, yet quickens his heart, and soon, he's turning towards the kitchen, pulse pounding and feet dragging towards two teenagers standing by the entrance.
"Excuse me," he requests, and taps the young lady on the shoulder.
When she turns, the boy besides her turns, too. Toboe is suddenly overwhelmed with the boy's expression. He's frowning. Is he angry? Angry at Toboe? What did he do to this boy? Obviously something bad; the boy looks like he's about to kill Toboe. No, he needs to stop. There's something more important at hand. He remembers someone telling him that he misinterprets neutral expressions. Maybe this is one.
Right, the girl and the smoke. He was concerned about the smoke.
He glances at the girl, with chocolate stains on her dress and pins holding up her blonde hair. She's obviously some sort of cook. She seems like a good person.
"Are you cooking something, Miss?" he asks politely.
The girl glances at the kitchen, then back at him. "Yes, I was making bread, but I think one of the ovens was faulty…"
While the girl trails off, Toboe takes another look into the kitchen. He's not a genius, well, he thinks he's not, but it definitely doesn't look like an issue a 'faulty oven' might cause, and definitely doesn't smell like one, either. "Did you know," he begins, and looks both of them in the eyes, "that a person can last two to ten minutes in a fire? Of course, it depends on the heat and density and a lot of other things." When they don't reply, Toboe doesn't let his anxiety deter him. "I believe I can last fifteen minutes in there, considering the fact that it looks like you're airing out the room and nothing is on fire, I hope?" He turns to the girl and finds himself struck by her purple eyes. He blinks several times. He needs to focus. He needs to give them direct answers. "I don't think the problem is a faulty oven."
The girl stuns. Well, she stops and stutters for a second. Toboe has trouble reading the emotions that flash by her face. Eventually, he watches as it settles into curiosity. "Who are you?" she asks.
Toboe feels his pulse rising. Why do people always ask this damn question? He hates it. He hates the way these words string together, how people always wait for an answer, no matter how long he stays silent. Don't they realise he's just as confused and curious as they are? He doesn't really know who he is, so why does everyone ask him like the answer should be obvious?
Toboe stops and mentally kicks himself. He's getting out of hand again. The girl seems nice—seems like a good person. He can say it. "I don't really know who I am," he answers honestly. The girl makes a face. Fearing judgement, he stammers out his next sentence. "B-But everyone calls me Toboe. Kureshi Toboe," he quickly replies. "Hope's Peak labelled me as the Ultimate Back Alley Doctor."
The girl takes his hand and shakes it feebly. "I'm Yakusuga Amai, the Ultimate Baker." She makes a stiff gesture towards the boy beside her. "This is Murasaki Aeron, the Ultimate Palaeontologist."
Toboe takes Yakusuga's hand and presses his lips lightly to the tips of her knuckles. Then, he turns to Murasaki and firmly grasps his hand while his fingers wrap around the boy's wrist. "Pleasure to meet you both." He smiles and tilts his head towards the kitchen. "I'll be right back."
Toboe pushes into the grey smog with his elbow over his mouth and nose. He briefly scans the room for the source of the smoke. He remembers Yakusuga saying one of the ovens looked faulty…
The last oven on the left slowly billows black smoke that definitely is not a resultant of burnt bread. Toboe has only lived so long, but he recognises trouble when he sees it. Feeling uneasy, he treads towards the oven and glances at it from a distance.
His pulse surges.
ISAAC GRAYSON
He's forgotten how nice it is to have someone to work with.
"That stick looks ideal for fly swatting," he says, and gestures towards a chair leg.
His companion tears his eyes away from the door hinge to look at what Isaac is pointing at. Judging by the flash of his eyes, he gets it immediately. Isaac beams. He never has to explain anything to Saito; that guy picks up on everything.
"The leg's detached," Saito observes, and crouches down scrutinise the chair. He grabs it and wobbles it a bit. It tilts dangerously and almost falls on him. Isaac gets ready to pounce and knock the chair away in the case that it does fall. However, it's unlikely, because Saito is now tilting it gently, and has most of his strength focused on his upper arm, which rests on seat, judging by his stance. Eventually, he slides the leg back. "That's odd," he states.
"But probably irrelevant," Isaac counters. The chair leg is hollow, but he's not about to bring that up. He scans the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Nothing of interest. Another plain room. "I'm so bored."
Saito suddenly glances up. "Precisely," he states. "You're bored because there's no stimulus. We're in a moderately warm room with no items of personal interest and no windows."
Isaac rolls his eyes. "Err, yeah, I noticed that when we went into the first room. This is the last one. We've been through sixteen rooms." It's painfully obvious, unless, Saito is going somewhere with this, in which Isaac is already engaged and interested.
Saito glances up, face grim. "This is practically-"
"A death cell for encouraging reckless behaviour and instigating despair!" Isaac finishes. He tries to avoid thinking of the implications of that. "Darn. Do I have to stay outside my dorm at all times? Do I have to gaze into the ocean and pretend I'm in a sad music video? Do I have to re-enact Titanic five times over, daily, just to remain stimulated?"
Saito blinks several times.
Isaac sighs. "Rhetorical question—questions. Don't answer them." He pauses. "Except for the Titanic one. Will you be my Jack?"
Saito smiles politely. "Of course."
Suddenly, the ship rocks probably twenty-three degrees more than it usually does. A normal person wouldn't notice the difference, but there's nothing normal about Isaac's sudden imploding stomach and whirling nausea. He grips onto a bench, or something with a hard, metallic corner. Probably a desk. "I hope this ship hits an iceberg," he forces out, while he clutches onto his stomach.
Saito rushes over and brushes a firm hand across Isaac's shoulders. "You'll be okay," he consoles. "Don't say that."
Isaac waves the air in front of him, as the ship tilts unsteadily. Oh boy. He's really feeling it. He grips the desk tighter. He really doesn't want to soil his brand new grey slacks. "I'm going to die, Saito."
Saito actually flinches and startles. "What? I'm pretty sure it's just motion sick-"
"Death wraps its cold, cold hands around my neck." When the other boy simply stares at him with an unfathomable expression, Isaac continues. "Oh, oh, I feel myself slipping away. You now have a moral obligation to tell my heroics to the world. Make sure it's front page, yeah? I trust you to get my good angle."
Saito chuckles modestly. "Of course." Suddenly, the boy freezes and clenches hard onto Isaac's shoulder. Isaac tries not to wince. "Do you hear that?" Saito whispers, though there's no obligation to.
"What? My pulse fading?" Isaac jokes, while he tries to steady himself. "Already ten steps ahead of you."
Saito doesn't loosen his grip. "No, it sounds like," he pauses and stares out the door, "like someone's screaming."
Isaac straightens his back and concentrates on the sound. It's faint, but he can hear startled yelps that echo along the corridor. "A young male, tall, Japanese," he says, stating off facts before he has time to register them. "Probably a student."
Saito doesn't glance back. "A student we haven't met yet."
Isaac takes off running, Saito not far behind him.
"From the kitchen!" Saito shouts, as Isaac turns the corner.
SAITO TAIRA
Ever since Saito woke up in a dark room, with his hands bound and stomach bruised, he has felt nothing short of apprehension. Saito has been trying to collect himself for the sake of stable judgement, but it's getting difficult with the eerie inactivity. He supposes he should be glad that no one is hurt, or that no one's life is currently under threat, but he feels like he's about to have the rug pulled from underneath his feet at any moment now. He's been unsure about letting his peers wander the ship, unmonitored, unsure about leaving Hana in the restaurant with strangers. He is hesitant to follow Hayashi's demands of searching the middle deck, and hesitant to have only one partner alongside him. Unfortunately, Isaac Grayson can't ease his worry, no matter how perky he is.
However, when Saito hears the screams, he finds himself discarding all of his doubts.
"From the kitchen!" he yells, but Isaac is already turning towards the sound, prior his warning. His stomach aches and reminds him of his bruises, but he knows the ache of unresolved injustice will hurt more. This is the moment he was afraid of. He sincerely hopes it's nothing—maybe a false alarm or someone messing around. He'd rather be angry and annoyed than find someone hurt.
As they run down the hallway towards the kitchen, Saito sees a young boy in a lab coat, yelling angrily to two other students, and a lot of smoke.
"What is the issue, ladies and gentlemen?" Isaac announces, as they approach the three.
"Isaac! Taira!" Yakusuga exclaims, as evident relief crosses her face. "Thank goodness you're here."
Saito quickly surveys area and the two new faces. He desperately needs to ask questions, but it looks like Yakusuga is frantic to tell him something.
"What happened?" he encourages, while Isaac moves to talk to the other two.
Yakusuga licks her lips and clasps onto her elbows. "Dr Kureshi said he saw a-a body…in the oven."
Saito wordlessly swallows. The bad feeling returns, stronger than previously. It lodges itself like a stone in the pit of his stomach. "Is Dr Kureshi sure?"
Yakusuga opens her mouth to reply, but it is overtaken by a new voice, from the boy in the lab coat. "I'm not mistaken," the boy replies.
Saito remains silent, wordlessly allowing Kureshi to continue.
"It's these two!" Kureshi accuses, pointing at the other boy and Yakusuga. "They were the last ones to enter and exit the kitchen, prior to the smoke."
Yakusuga opens her mouth wordlessly as her eyes water. The other boy stares on confusedly.
Isaac steps in between the accusing finger and the two suspects. "Now, now pretty boy," he says, and puts his palms in front of him. Saito sees irate anger flash by Kureshi's face. Isaac continues. "It's too soon to place any blame on them-"
"Don't call me pretty boy," Kureshi interrupts as his fists tremble. He stomps once, defiantly, and then visibly reels himself in. "How do you know it's not them? How can I take your word?"
Saito can see Isaac straining for a reply, so he steps in. "Look, we want to help you," he begins, and is careful to eliminate his neutral expression, replacing it with something more open. He directs his next sentence at the other two. "We want to help everyone." He turns back to Kureshi, who holds his expression guardedly. "So, we need you to calmly explain what you saw." Saito waits as Kureshi regulates his breathing, an exercise he sees practised often with people who have a history with mental health. He curbs his curiosity.
"I can't," Kureshi finally says. Saito sees Kureshi wrestling with his emotions, so he decides not to pursue.
"That's fine," he replies, as the doctor walks away.
Behind him, he hears Isaac huff. "Not asking?" he inquires, as Saito turns to face him. "Well, you're the investigative journalist—I trust you." Isaac tugs on his goggles and peers into the smoke, which has mostly dissipated, by now.
Saito, still tense, turns to Yakusuga for more questions.
Aeron watches as a boy with purple hair, tied into a small ponytail, converses with Yakusuga. To say he's confused is a massive understatement. He tries to follow along with what they're saying, but the other boy moves his lips too minimally for him to catch anything. He can understand some of Yakusuga's replies—something about the boy in the lab coat who walked off earlier.
Aeron decides to study the two newcomers before they share introductions. The boy by the kitchen door is incredibly tall, though not nearly as tall as Flynn. Despite the summer air, the boy has on a sandy brown coat, with a small flap at the back, which flutters like a short cape when he moves. He has on a deerstalker cap the same colour of his coat, which obscures some of his side swept blonde hair. His goggles are in place, but Aeron is pretty sure he had green eyes.
The boy with the purple hair has it cut in a straight fringe that hangs just above his eyebrows. It's tied into a neat, small ponytail that shifts very slightly when he turns. He has on a plain, beige cardigan over a white collared shirt. He wears dark, brown pants, and they stop at his ankles, revealing quite an appalling pair of unicorn socks. His feet are slotted into black trainers.
Eventually, the boy seems to sense eyes on him, because he stops talking and locks his gaze with Aeron. His eyes are almond shaped and dark brown, to the point where they almost look black. There's a gaping, wide scar that stretches across the bridge of his nose. Aeron tries not to stare too closely.
Yakusuga must've explained his hearing impairment, because the boy's eyes light up in understanding. Aeron hands him his book and pen.
Surprisingly, the boy refuses with a polite shake of his head, and starts signing in Japanese. Taira Satio. I'm the Ultimate Investigative Journalist, you are?
Slightly taken aback, Aeron introduces himself.
Taira nods with a compassionate smile and continues to sign, quite fluently. I'll introduce him as well, as he seems to be busy.Saito gestures towards the boy at the door. He's Isaac Grayson, the Ultimate Consulting Detective. Suddenly, both Yakusuga and Taira turn towards the door—Aeron realises that Isaac called out. Taira rushes towards the kitchen, while Yakusuga glances worriedly at Aeron.
Yakusuga beckons for the book. They're going to investigate the kitchen, she writes, on a blank page.
Aeron raises a brow. Why? he writes back. Is the bread bad?
Yakusuga gives him a look. Never.
Confused, Aeron wordlessly asks for an explanation.
Kureshi, the boy in the lab coat, said he saw a dead body in one of the ovens. Yakusuga replies, her face drained of blood.
TAIKI HINO
The wind lashes at his brown hair and mercilessly forces him to blink moisture back into his eyes. From the top deck, Taiki can see the empty captain's cabin, the soulless side-walks, and the purposeless pool. The barrenness of such an elaborate vehicle makes him feel unsteady. It's almost like he's on a ghost ship.
He shivers as a particularly cold breeze passes through him.
He immediately locks on.
It's a cold front, which usually indicates low-pressure. Cold fronts typically move from northwest to southeast. The wind hitting his back means the ship is travelling southeast. Assuming they left from Japan, it's most likely this ship is crossing the Pacific Ocean.
Having some sense of where they are in the world, Taiki feels slightly more at ease, but not put to rest entirely. He should report this newfound information back to Hayashi, as requested. He wanders back to the descending staircase, where Yamazaki waits patiently, fiddling with his three golden bangles—one of them dangles a small panda trinket. His wispy, orange hair sways delicately in the wind and displays his defined freckles, cast around the pale bridge of his nose. His white shirt whips with his hair, though his jeans cling tightly to his legs. Yamazaki holds on tightly to his blue newsboy cap, so as to not loose it to the wind.
Yamazaki glances up when he approaches, and a slow smile stretches across his face. "Anything new?"
Taiki nods and gestures for Yamazaki to descend the stairs. It's too windy to talk up here. Their feet clunk down the metal stairs and thump across the wooden floor of the middle deck. Surprisingly, Yamzaki wears orange boat shoes—a bold fashion statement, though it is probably to match his hair. However, it's not like he can judge, as he, too, has on an orange overall. They reach the middle deck. It is much more calmer here. "I think we're travelling southeast—across the Pacific Ocean," Taiki informs, while they walk leisurely down the hallway. "Thank you very much for waiting." He finishes his sentence with a small bow.
Yamazaki's amber eyes widen slightly. He tries to brush some hair away from his eye, but it falls back after some futile effort. "Oh, you didn't have to bow," he explains, flustered. "It's alright. The view was nice."
Taiki recalls the lifelessness of the ship, and how unsettled it made him. He glances away from Yamazaki and down at the floorboards. The view was not at all nice, but Taiki wasn't going to voice that.
"How did you know?" Yamazaki asks, as they resume their walk.
Taiki keeps his eyes trained on the floor. "Um. Did you feel the cold breeze earlier?" From the corner of his eye, he can see Yamazaki nod. He continues. "That's called a cold front—in summer. That's how I knew we were going southeast."
Yamazaki makes an understanding noise. "Not going to ask for specifics, but that was pretty cool."
They rapidly descend into silence. The suddenness of it hits Taiki harder than the wind. He can't find ways to pick up the conversation while they walk.
"That was a pun," Yamazaki murmurs, so quietly that Taiki almost missed it.
Taiki blinks. "It-it was?"
The comment seems to make Yamazaki shrink. "Yes."
Taiki doesn't know how to react. Should he laugh? He feels like unprompted laughter this late would make it more awkward. He settles into his default: impersonalised politeness.
"I'm sorry I didn't catch it," he apologises, and is about to bow until Yamazaki interrupts him by flailing his arms.
"No, don't." Yamazaki turns crimson. "I'm sorry for making you listen to such a failure of a joke."
Glancing at Yamazaki's expression, Taiki almost laughs. "It wasn't your fault."
Yamazaki smiles wide at their predicament. He turns to gaze at the sea. "I thought being the Ultimate Weather Forecaster just required you sniff the air, or something."
Taiki huffs a small laugh, but his mind is still stuck on the implications of a low-pressure system.
It doesn't take much consideration to realise a storm's brewing.
JUUDAI YAMAZAKI
Juudai almost feels serene—comfortable with the monochrome waves and sweet ocean air. His quiet, almost one-sided, conversation with Hino is nearly enough to push the pressure of this whole crisis to the back of his mind. Hino is a winsome boy with a vertically striped short-sleeve shirt that defines his small figure. He wears overalls, but doesn't wear them properly—the left side hangs over his shoulder, not on it. Hino doesn't make a move to fix or right them, which leads Juudai to believe it's loose on purpose. He pairs his sneakers with light socks. He completes his whole outfit with a dark wristband on his left hand.
Juudai wonders if Hino dresses as modestly as he sounds. He knows colours define a person, or at least, the surface of their personality. Does Hino wear natural colours? Or maybe something melancholic, like blue.
When they open the door to the restaurant, everyone is sitting at a round table, murmuring quietly. Chairs are gathered and clustered to ensure they all fit. The first thing Juudai notices is that everyone is not everyone. "Where are the rest?" he calls out, while scanning the corners of the room. Even Watanabe has shifted into their messy circle.
Hisakawa locks eyes with him and wordlessly demands his full attention before she's even spoken. "Still looking around," she answers, with a heavy eye roll. "Taking their time."
Hino shuffles over to Hayashi, possibly to relay information.
"They're 'taking their time' because they're investigators, and they analyse everything thoroughly," Hayashi asserts, before his attention is grabbed by Hino.
"Debateable," Hisakawa retorts with a smirk.
Surprisingly, she does not carry out with her underlying threat, which Juudai is grateful for. It would ruin the current team dynamic, which is just barely hanging steady. He can feel their tension like waves—like a thin veil that dangles above them. These waves squeeze his chest and tighten his throat when someone speaks too forcibly.
There are more than just the investigators missing, but Juudai fears asking again will re-ignite the pressure of his peers.
He pulls out a chair from between Takahiro and Watanabe. The former welcomes him with a wobbly smile, while the latter continues to scribble into his book. When Juudai glances over, he notices that Watanabe is not writing in Japanese.
"What language is that?" he inquires, while trying to not lean in too closely.
Without halting his hand, Watanabe raises a brow. "Latin. Are you interested?"
Juudai's eyes widen. Here he is, barely able to speak any language other than Japanese, and Watanabe strolls in, able to write in Latin? "I don't know what you're writing about, but yes, it does seem interesting," he agrees.
Watanabe doesn't waste a minute. "Anatomy, of course," he replies. He taps his foot—his left foot on the ground a few times. Juudai finds that there's no particular pattern—but it's slow and careful. It's a common subconscious habit, usually occurring during times of vexation or discomfort. However, since Watanabe seems to take his work very seriously, the foot tapping might be because of the sudden, subtle shift in group dynamics, or the change in having Juudai sit beside him. Suddenly, Watanabe stops writing. There's a pause, then, "stop that."
Juudai blinks rapidly. He glances around, but everyone is busy engaged in conversation. Watanabe was talking to him. "Stop what?"
He turns back just in time to see the anatomist roll his eyes very minimally. "Stop observing me." Before Juudai can reply, Watanabe continues. "Though I suppose you can't help it, being the Ultimate Sociologist. Just as I am drawn to science and anatomy, you are drawn to humans." When Juudai opens his mouth to provide input, the anatomist holds up a finger that quiets him immediately. "Be silent. I must get this done."
Juudai nods and turns around to talk to Takahiro, who's fiddling with a napkin on the table. She's making small popping noises with her mouth—a habit she possibly fixates out of boredom. "Takahiro," he says. When she turns to him, he returns her smile from earlier. "How are you faring?"
Before he can get a reply, a blaring alarm shoots off.
He immediately twists in his seat to search for the noise. His back is to the group, but he can still feel the sharp spike in tension. He locates a speaker just behind the restaurant door.
It screeches words that chill him to his bones.
"A body has been discovered! Everybody, report to the kitchen!"
For a few nerve-twisting seconds, no one does anything.
At the speaker's second warning, Hayashi stands.
"It's nothing," he announces.
Judging by everyone's expressions, no one believes him.
AMAI YAKUSUGA
Amai grew up in a busy city.
She remembered feeling almost trapped—contained in her tiny bakery, overtaken by towers of large co-operate and commercial buildings. She knew her small, little store couldn't stand any longer against everyone else around her.
She remembered painfully, tragically, just how close she and her family were to loosing everything—even when they barely had anything to begin with. She remembered being unable to shake the troubled feelings she had—remembered her determination to help her family to the best of her ability.
She remembered how she, in the little free time she had left, changed her fate.
The feeling returns now, as her classmates crowd around the kitchen, wary, anxious, and suspicious.
Isaac stands near the entry, smile waning. Taira stands beside him, trying to calmly reason with Hayashi. Amai can clearly see the stiffness in the investigator's shoulders.
"P-Please stand back," she calls to the cluster. Many ignore her, but she continues. "We need to give them room to explain."
Just as she fears that no one may be listening, Yamazaki speaks up.
"I agree with Yakusuga," he announces clearly. "It will only make the situation more stressful if we continue to be this disorganised."
"And I don't recommend inhaling too much of this," Watanabe chides, with his hand over his nose.
Immediately, the group shift from the kitchen, and stand scattered across the hallway. She holds on tightly to Aeron—a promise to explain everything later.
Suddenly, Isaac speaks up. "Where's pretty boy? The announcement said everyone had to report here."
Taira places a hand on his shoulder. "We'll have to continue without him."
Amai scans the crowd, and spots Pauline comforting Suzuki. Relief surges through her. Just as she's about to turn away, Pauline catches her gaze and smiles warmly. She melts a bit.
"So, what did the announcement mean?" Hayashi starts.
Amai sees Taira inhale slowly. Despite the pressure of many eyes, he is succinct with his explanation. "There is a folded corpse in one of the ovens. Female." He staggers with his next words. "Natsuki Tsukina."
There is a ripple of silence in the crowd; no one dares utter a word, least the reality becomes true. Amai hears her pulse pounding in her ears.
"She was first discovered by Kureshi Toboe, who is not present, followed Isaac and myself." With each word, the sky over their heads presses down harder. "We'll wait for the room to clear, and for Kureshi to return before we perform an autopsy."
Amai can almost hear it: the inevitable crack in the group's dynamic—the puncture of a wound that leaks water into the boat.
"Stop!" Hayashi suddenly yells. He holds an arm out above his head, demanding silence and rapt attention. "Collect yourselves. Don't panic." A lone man, backed up by no one, as scared and worried as everyone, fights for control and guidance over students barely holding themselves together.
Amai sees the group glancing around for Natsuki, sees the impending doom on their faces as they find her missing. She does the same—just to be sure. She double checks all individual faces, but still can't find the occupational therapist.
She offers Aeron a squeeze, just to regain some sense of stability and normality.
She sees Pauline move worriedly over to her, but can't find it in herself to be joyous. The model places a hand on her shoulder. "Amai," she consoles, voice soft and sweet. "Are you alright?"
Amai doesn't feel like lying. She blinks, and hot, sloppy tears trail down her cheek. She doesn't dare whimper or sniffle. "No," she whispers, voice trembling.
Aeron watches as Hana pushes her way towards him with tears streaked across her pale face. Her fingers tremble as she frantically tries to communicate with him. Something bad happened, she signs. Na-
She stops and inhales shakily. Aeron can see her small frame tremble with trepidation. Her agitation quickly spreads to Aeron, who, despite being unaware of the situation, feels sick to his stomach. He hesitantly reaches out and grips her hands. They're cold and feeble. When she seems somewhat stable, he releases her and tries to encourage her to continue.
She inhales, once again, though it is less shaky. There's been a murder, she starts. Aeron's blood runs cold. Natsuki is dead.
Aeron feels his blood slamming underneath his skin. Though he hasn't heard anything in years, it feels as though the ringing in his ears has come back, fraying his nerves and setting his skin alight. Before he can ask for more, Hana freezes and looks fearfully out towards the kitchen. Aeron slowly follows her gaze.
A black and white stuffed teddy bear dances across the deck. Flashing recognition hits Aeron—like a stab of deja vu, but he can't pin it back to its source. He watches in chilling distortion as it opens its mouth, possibly to speak. Aeron grapples for the rails.
He watches as Hayashi lunges towards it, only to be pulled back by Flynn, who fastens a tight grip on the bowler's arm. Aeron watches as Takahiro collapses to the floor and buries her face into her hands. Suzuki reaches down to comfort her, but her knees give and she staggers to the wooden deck. Hisakawa pinches her lips and starts to absentmindedly scratch at her skin. Isaac remains static. Taira keeps his expression empty. Watanabe gnaws at his nails.
Aeron doesn't have to hear to know that no one's talking.
Suddenly, he blinks, and the bear is gone—almost like it was a figment of his spiralling imagination. Hana is too shaky to sign, but from the glisten in her eyes, Aeron can feel her unsaid words seeping into his skin.
The killing game has begun.
AN: Thank you, everyone, for bearing with me and for leaving such encouraging reviews! :)