Disclaimer: Heads I don't own Dangan Ronpa, tails I do. No, no, I'm just kidding.
This is a little character study I wrote, because I love Kirigiri's character so much. I tried to capture her character well. Hope you enjoy~
Please note that "mukashimukashi" means "once upon a time" in Japanese.
Again and again she tells the story, and listens for his key in the door.
Mukashimukashi. Mukashimukashi there were two detectives, because some people live their lives in secrets and others live in order to expose them. The detectives crafted a weapon: a child sleuth, point-precise and obedient, and trained her to chase keys (golden ones, ticking ones, ones that walk and breathe) because she was their daughter. Isn't that how it's meant to be?
Tell more, tell more. The weapon malfunctions sometimes, because it's human. It suffers lies and fire and the shock of neglect. Tracks names, ransacks houses, keys stolen and sold; she watches, she waits.
("But you're amazing, Kyouko-san.")
Erase it, erase. A headmaster's daughter. She knows each name in each book, writes down their motives and keeps the list close. She reappears into the world and when Jin comes to see her she tells him what she is. There is no place in this school for you, Kyouko; but she stays until her father sighs into his hands and says yes.
Erase it. There is a boy. There is a boy whose parents left him also, but he calls himself a son. Mukashimukashi, she trusted. She loved, too, and followed the boy underground, down into dark and dirt until the tunnels stopped.
I can't tell you my name. She invents one.
Tell more, tell more. You haven't the face for lying, the boy laughs. Wolf's eyes. You haven't got that kind of face.
You've got a different sort of face, he'd said, and that's when he threw the fire, but she covered with her hands and turned ugly. Mukashimukashi he held her, when her mother turned the key too late and her father didn't write. You steal secrets, don't you and now she gathers them close to her chest, every truth she's ever deduced: fraud, murder, death and all too much to remember — keep waiting.
("No, you're beautiful, Kyouko-san. You are.")
She is not weapon or wolf or woman walking round the pods — there past the Despair who wears a witch's hand, and one who sees with one pale eye. She is not the keys or the secrets she keeps, but hopes they'll serve her well.
("Kyouko-san…?")
Erase, once more. There is a boy. There is a boy who speaks soft but soundly, who has an ordinary face and an extraordinary heart. A boy who leads them all to hope. Mukashimukashi, she trusted; now she loves, too, and waits for the boy underground. She's no princess in an ivory tower, but still she prays each night to see him well. Come home.
("Kyouko-san. Kyouko-san, I'm —")
The key turns; the door opens. Makoto is back.