CHAPTER ELEVEN – OF TALENT, HOPE AND SECOND CHANCES
The man kept running through the dark corridor, looking back with his face and eyes white with fear. His right arm seemed to dangle uselessly by his side, flopping like a fish with every bound he made. Blood marred the black suit he wore, dyeing the white shirt beneath with dark, grisly splotches that clung to his skin. The carnage lay around him—shattered glass windows, holes damaged with dents and cracks, bodies that had their skulls caved in so grotesquely that they were unrecognizable. Some of them had guns and batons with them, not that it did them any good when a well-placed shot from afar could kill them in an instant.
He tripped against a lifeless, wayward leg and fell to the floor, crying out as he landed on his injured arm. There was no time to waste in bemoaning his injury, however, and he looked up fearfully as the footsteps drew nearer. Defensively, futilely, he held out his uninjured hand towards his pursuer, his face contorting with both pain and terror.
"W-Wait, please! I'm just a guard here!" he implored. "I don't know anything ab—!"
But his words were cut off as something shot forth in a blur, smashing right between his eyes with a sickening thud. Immediately, he was thrown backwards on the floor, twitching and spluttering in agony as blood trickled freely down his broken nose and face. He writhed against his surroundings, as if still trying to escape from certain death as quickly as his limbs could take him, his instinct going against the debilitated faculties of his body. Meanwhile, the object of his agony—the bloodstained iron ball that had just rebounded off his skull—rolled ominously on the floor.
The dying man's movements soon began to fade. In the darkness of the corridor, his left eye seemed to bulge right out of its socket, a harrowing sight sure to give any onlooker nightmares. He reached out feebly, his fingers contorting with the effort as his brain started to give out.
". . . P-Pl . . . ea . . . se . . ." he choked one last time.
Ryoma awoke with a start, his body overcome by a surge of dread for a wild moment. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, however, he soon saw that he was still in bed inside his dorm room at Hope's Peak Academy. He sat up gingerly, his eyes stinging from the act of waking up so abruptly, and felt a dull ache in his head that seemed to remind him ever so subtly about what he had just seen in his sleep. He breathed deeply to calm himself, the sound of his exhalations almost deafening amidst the silence of his room.
Again, he told himself, shaking his head slowly. The movement made him feel woozy, as if he had just woken up with a hangover reminiscent of his first and only time drinking alcohol. Goose pimples formed on the skin of his arms, triggered by the chill on his spine and the coldness of his own room. Very little light seeped through the curtains on the nearby windows, casting faint tendrils across the darkness.
Feeling too upset to go back to sleep, Ryoma sat up straighter and rubbed his face with his hands, trying to ward off any more sleepiness from his being. Malaise was forming within him, making his body feel heavier than it should. Try as he might to close his eyes, all he could see were the death throes of the fleeing man, and the iron ball that had been used to end his life. Involuntarily, his left fingers twitched. Ryoma let out a long and tired sigh as he balled his left hand into a fist, not intending to let it recall just how cold and unforgiving that iron ball had felt against his fingertips.
Willfully ignoring his thoughts, he stood up and went to the bathroom, his bare feet stabbed with icy sensations as they meandered over the tiled floor. When he had reached the sink, he climbed up on the small stepping stool in front of the counter, turned on the faucet, and bent over to wash his face. The cold water felt incredibly refreshing, chasing away the last vestiges of drowsiness that still gripped him. When he was done, he straightened up slowly until he could see himself in the mirror above the sink. Water trailed down his face and onto his bare, scarred chest, and for a second Ryoma was reminded horribly of the murdered man's ruined, bloody visage. Quickly, he reached for his towel on the nearby wall rack and began to dry his face.
Again, he repeated in his mind. It did not take too long for him to know exactly why he had the same nightmare again. His time with Kirumi earlier that night had gone rather well, and his recollections of Isabella had made him feel wistful but otherwise okay; but things had taken a rather startling turn when they were accosted by a murderous interloper. In between Genocide Jack's ramblings, threats and wicked-looking scissors, it was her strange intuition regarding Ryoma's past that had gotten to him the most. Even Kirumi had not been spared, as the self-proclaimed Ultimate Murderous Fiend seemed to know about the more dangerous and rigorous aspect of Kirumi's experiences as the Ultimate Maid.
But she's no murderer, Ryoma knew. That's what I am. Naturally, Kirumi's own instincts helped her pick up on his melancholy regarding Genocide Jack's jabs, but Ryoma had no intention of burdening her any further, especially after such a hectic evening on her part. He had gone back to his dorms and resigned himself to sleep dejectedly, caught between the feeling of emptiness Genocide Jack's words had given him and the fact that his story about Isabella had been cut short so suddenly.
And of course, there was the other part of it that he had almost let slip. Ever vigilant, Kirumi was likely to pick up on it as well, though Ryoma was adamant to let her stay in the dark for as long as he could afford. But there was no denying the creeping feelings that were starting to take over him whenever he spent time with her, the same creeping feelings that ostensibly compelled him to ask her out on a short walk. He grunted and closed his eyes, bracing the countertop with his hands. It's too early for all this. Shaking his head, he turned off the faucet and went back to his bed, throwing his towel on it. He wanted to distract himself in any way, but there were so many thoughts racing inside his head that it was a futile effort to try and think of something. Instead, he could only sit down at the foot of his bed, his muscles tensing against the chill around him.
How many of the dead and dying did he remember? Even now, it seemed, Ryoma could still recall the faces and words of some of the victims of his murderous, vindictive wrath years ago—an aging man seated in front of a typewriter, a young man pouring himself a drink inside his den, and the middle-aged guard who had the misfortune of being on duty that fateful night, the same one who had died another death in his dream earlier. Some, like the old man, had died instantly as soon as his head was bludgeoned by the iron ball; the guard and the young man had not been as fortunate.
They deserved it, Ryoma had tried to tell himself many times before, when he languished in his cell for the first few months of his incarceration, and even more so when he had been punished for reasons both unknown and asinine in solitary confinement. They deserved it after what happened to my family, to Isabella. They deserved to die. But even so, he was forced to acknowledge that he had killed human beings—fathers, brothers, husbands no less. The lawyers working against him at his one-sided trial made sure that the jury remembered such points. Even though they milked the deaths for all they were worth to ensure that he would never again live as a free man, the blood on Ryoma's hands on that hellish year was something no lie or defense could ever cover up and disprove. Knowing that there was no way for him to go back to sleep, Ryoma decided to ease his heaviness by taking a shower.
By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, dawn was breaking across Hope's Peak. Ryoma got himself dressed and stepped out into the empty corridor of the Ultimates' quarter. Kirumi should be going on her morning jog by now, he remembered. For a moment, he was seized by a desire to meet her out on the school grounds, but his melancholy held him back. On his ankle, his chains rattled like bells tinkling on a rope, echoing against the walls in the bare hallways of the main building. Outside, he could see distant figures jogging along the open field, though the pre-dawn haze made it difficult for him to see where Kirumi might be among them. Instead, he decided to preoccupy himself by visiting certain spots in the main building that he passed by rarely.
When he had gone full circle and returned to his dorm room, he was surprised to see a small white envelope waiting for him on the floor as soon as he had opened the door. Frowning, Ryoma bent down to pick it up. The school's crest was imprinted onto it in maroon ink, with his name stenciled out just below it in black. He moved over to his bed and sat down, tearing the envelope open and taking out the letter within. The words were typewritten and signed with the school's crest, also in black ink.
"Greetings, Mr. Ryoma Hoshi.
We wish to inform you that your presence is requested at the Headmaster's Office this morning at nine o'clock. This is regarding an incident at approximately eight o'clock the previous evening involving Ms. Toko Fukawa and a number of Ultimate Students. Some of your schoolmates had attested that you may have run into Ms. Fukawa then. Headmaster Kirigiri wishes to question anyone who may have been involved in the incident, at the behest of the Steering Committee.
We hope that this notice finds you in good health. The Headmaster's Office is at the main building's fourth floor. Please inform the headmaster's secretary of your presence first at the outer office before entering.
Thank you."
Ryoma went through the letter a few more times, a feeling of comprehension dawning on him. It seemed obvious why the school would want to interrogate anyone who may have run into Genocide Jack last night. After all, if a self-professed killer was out and about, it was only natural that Hope's Peak would step in, assess the situation and act accordingly. It was proof of Kirumi's words weeks ago, of how the school was ready to act in case of any untoward incidents, whether they involved students with serial killers for split personalities or those who had a gruesome rap sheet like he did. Even so, Ryoma grunted darkly. The irony that the headmaster would have to speak to a murderer face to face regarding an incident involving another murderer was not lost on him.
Breakfast went by with little to no hiccups later that morning. Only Kokichi seemed aware of the rumor that a serial killer was on the loose, and for a moment Ryoma tensed, wondering if attention would come his way from those who knew of his grisly crime. Thankfully, Kaito and Tenko were there to unwittingly distract everyone else from that by disputing the Ultimate Supreme Leader's words as more lies, even though they were perfectly true. Kirumi showed up to tend to them a little later than usual, and Ryoma had to wonder if she had been summoned at the Headmaster's Office a lot earlier than he was.
Their first homeroom class had just gotten finished when he was called up. A member of the morals committee appeared at their classroom door, asking for him. Kokichi and Miu hollered about the idea of someone getting in trouble, while Kaede expressed her concern about the call-up. Kirumi, on the other hand, had a knowing look in her eyes as Ryoma glanced fleetingly at her. He could feel the stares of his classmates boring into him as he left the room, looking diminished in his dark attire compared to the resplendent white uniform worn by the morals committee student. Even so, the young man seemed reluctant to reprimand him for not wearing an Ultimate's uniform. Somewhere in the school, Kiyotaka Ishimaru would be shaking his head in disapproval.
When they had reached the fourth floor, the student pointed him in the right direction and took his leave. Ryoma walked down the empty corridor feeling smaller than usual, his chains scraping and tinkling as he went. Because classes were still being held everywhere else, there were no students about, and not even a janitor could be espied at any point down the corridor. At the nearby windows, the sun's rays shot through like radiant swords, making the floors sparkle and proving that no janitor was needed at the moment.
The headmaster's office was marked by a pair of polished double doors at the end of another short corridor, giving off a small sense of foreboding. Right next to it was a small window, which Ryoma guessed was part of the outer office where the headmaster's secretary would be. He ambled towards it, reached out his hand and tapped on the glass, thankful that it was low enough for him to reach. In no time at all, a stern-looking lady with square-shaped eyeglasses and grey-streaked hair peeked out from behind, looking a little surprised as she cast her gaze downwards and saw him for the first time.
"Name, class and business?" she asked curtly.
"Ryoma Hoshi, from Class 80-A. I received a summons earlier this morning," said Ryoma.
"Ah, yes," said the secretary, showing no sign of whether she recognized his name or if she deemed his attire improper. She reached to her side and shifted through a small stack of folders, stopping on one and reading it with narrowed eyes. "Yes, everything appears to be in order. Go right ahead, I'll ring you in for Headmaster Kirigiri. Don't forget to knock before you enter!"
Ryoma touched the brim of his beanie in return and walked towards the double doors, rapping his knuckles smartly against the wood before opening one. As he did so, a male voice called out.
"Come in."
The interior of the headmaster's office looked like any other rich man's study. Bookshelves lined the walls on one side, with a myriad of titles displayed behind their framed glass doors. Across on the other side, a display case stood with gleaming trophies, plaques and even a golden katana replica inside. Right above it, looking down at the office like sentinels, were the black-and-white portraits of various old men in suits, each with names beneath their faces, too small to read from where Ryoma was. Two brown leather couches sat face to face in the middle of the office, with a polished coffee table right in between. At the opposite end facing the doors, Headmaster Kirigiri sat on a black office chair behind a large wooden desk flanked by two end tables with potted plants on top, giving the office a more relaxed feel. Various folders and papers were strewn atop it, along with a plaque bearing the words "Jin Kirigiri, Headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy" in gold.
Jin Kirigiri sat up straighter as Ryoma drew closer to his desk. "Good morning, Mr. Hoshi," he said. "Please, have a seat over there."
Ryoma obeyed, taking a seat on the couch to his right. The headmaster began to arrange some of the paperwork on his desk, as if preparing to do business. Like his secretary, he seemed unabashed at the sight of his apparel.
"I trust that the summons explained precisely why you were requested to come here?" he asked Ryoma.
"Yes, sir," said Ryoma in reply, feeling a little thankful that he had not forgotten his manners at least. He could not help but notice how younger the headmaster was compared to the elderly men on the portraits, who could only be his predecessors. Handsome, with short, dark purple hair and matching eyes, Jin Kirigiri looked to be only in his late thirties, with a voice that sounded rather light instead of stern. Compared to the uncompromising prison officials he had faced before, the headmaster was indeed a welcome person to meet.
It did not take long for the headmaster to get down to brass tacks. "Before we begin, let me just say that whatever we will discuss here and now, and what happened yesterday as well, please keep it confidential, Mr. Hoshi. I know that rumors are already starting to float around among the students, but it'd be best if we just let them stay as rumors for now. It'll help us handle things better, you see?"
"Yes, sir. I understand."
"Very good. Now, about last night. When Miss Fukawa had her . . . episode, you were with a classmate of yours, correct? Miss Kirumi Tojo, to be exact."
So she did come here before I did. "Yes. I was with her," said Ryoma.
Headmaster Kirigiri nodded. "She told me quite a bit already earlier, but for the sake of corroboration, I will ask for your account now. When Miss Fukawa accosted the two of you, did she try to harm you or anyone else around?"
"It was mostly verbal," Ryoma replied. "Threats, ramblings, that kind of stuff."
"Threats to attack?"
"Yes. She had these scissors with her when she was threatening us."
"But she never attacked anyone regardless?"
"No, sir. Though I think she did want to try. She tried to at the end, before . . ."
Ryoma paused, pondering if he should mention the bizarre transformation that occurred right before Genocide Jack attacked. But the headmaster moved on to another question. "Did she mention attacking anyone else before she ran into you and Miss Tojo?"
"No. She did mention that she was looking for someone, though." At that moment, Ryoma wondered if he should mention the term "Master" that Genocide Jack had used, as awkward as it would sound, but again Headmaster Kirigiri cut across him.
"Yes, apparently she was looking for her classmate, Mr. Byakuya Togami. She ran into three other students from another class and a group from the Reserve Course who also said the same thing. Now, what made the incident a bit more intriguing are two things. One involves an incident that morning on the same day, when Miss Fukawa knocked herself unconscious in a small incident at her class. Miss Tojo and some from Class 78 tell me that after Miss Fukawa was brought to the clinic, she just . . . disappeared. I spoke to our resident nurse, Miss Mikan Tsumiki, and she assures me that she never gave Miss Fukawa any sort of medicine that may cause her to just up and vanish. Her classmate Miss Asahina suggested that she might've been sleepwalking."
"She didn't seem like she was sleepwalking when we ran into her," Ryoma noted. "Intoxicated or drugged, maybe, but I'm not sure."
The headmaster nodded once. "I see. What happened afterwards? You mentioned that she tried to attack, yes? But your schoolmates said that she fled instead."
"Yes, that's what happened."
"Very well. And now that brings us to the other intriguing part of all this: Genocide Jack," Headmaster Kirigiri said gravely, making Ryoma feel startled that he already knew. Then again, he's the headmaster. He should know.
"From what Miss Fukawa herself had chosen to confide, it was a case of split personalities," the headmaster went on, pausing to give a grimace. "I wouldn't pretend to know a lot about psychology and all, but judging from the incident that morning and the one last night, it fits. Oddly, yes, but it fits all the same, especially now that I've heard from Miss Fukawa and the rest of you. Naturally, having split personalities wouldn't be too much of a problem if the other personality in question wasn't a notorious serial killer who's wanted in several prefectures for the murders of young men. Lots of speculation and rumors floated around about that, though I don't think anyone had any way of guessing that Genocide Jack was actually someone hiding inside a young woman's body—a young woman currently enrolled in Hope's Peak Academy, no less—nor would they have any idea of what Genocide Jack actually looks like. The authorities back then could only piece together clues, not a composite sketch.
"Back to the matter at hand, of course I wish to have this situation under control as soon as possible. Miss Fukawa may be Genocide Jack, but she is also a student of this school. I want to smooth things out before making any decisions, but the Steering Committee has . . . other plans."
A brief, tense silence hung in the air momentarily. "What happened to Toko Fukawa?" Ryoma found himself asking.
"Nothing yet, and I want to keep it that way," said the headmaster. "As of now, she's been given permission to return to class under observation from the teachers, and to her credit, she seems keen on keeping her predicament under control. She was scared to death of being expelled, even though she kept saying that she might deserve it." He sighed, shaking his head. "Of course, having an issue like Miss Fukawa's in the school might do more than raise a few eyebrows, and the Steering Committee feels that it should put the school's welfare and reputation above all else. They wish to have her quietly expelled before word gets out about her unfortunate dilemma."
Ryoma looked upon the headmaster, remembering the nervous, sullen girl that had stood before him and Kirumi last night. "Is that what's going to happen?"
"If it were up to me, no," said Headmaster Kirigiri straightforwardly. "After all, Genocide Jack is the infamous murderer here, not Miss Fukawa. Big difference there, one that my colleagues seem likely to ignore. That's why I'm gathering what testimonies I can from you and the others who ran into her yesterday. To prove that in spite of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding her, she hasn't harmed anyone in the school, meaning she doesn't deserve to be immediately expelled for what may very well be an isolated case—and one that could be prevented in the future. Obviously, addressing things in the long run will be more complex, but I believe the school will be able to handle that. After all, we do scout our students closely, and ensure that they are fit to study and keep studying."
"Is that also how I ended up here to begin with?"
The question was out before Ryoma could stop himself. Headmaster Kirigiri looked a little surprised by it as well as he gazed upon him. "I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn here, sir," Ryoma added quietly. "It's just a matter that crossed my mind a few times before."
The headmaster nodded to show that he had understood. "You must be referring to your own delinquency, yes?"
"With all due respect, sir, if you know my profile—and I'm sure you do—I think calling it 'delinquency' is a bit of an understatement," Ryoma proffered.
Jin Kirigiri sighed. "I'm sorry. Yes, all the higher-ups of Hope's Peak do know of that, from me to the Steering Committee itself. Your case, Mr. Hoshi, was a difficult one, I'll admit. The committee was adamant that you don't get admitted, and the prison system also had its complaints about letting you walk free for three years to study here. For those of us who thought otherwise, we needed to write a lot of letters to secure your temporary release and finalize your admission here. I'm glad to see that it worked in the end."
"Yes, I had a feeling that the system might've wanted to block me ever coming here," Ryoma mused. "Does that mean you also talked to my former school?"
"Ah, of course." The headmaster opened a nearby folder and traced a finger across it, his eyes following the lines. "Fog Heights High School, right? Yes, we managed to get written testimonies from your former coaches and professors there."
Ryoma raised his eyebrows. "I figured that Fog Heights wanted nothing to do with me after what happened."
"We made sure that it wouldn't reflect on their institution, to soothe any reservations they might have. They did have quite a few things to say about you, though."
"I'm guessing that not all of them are good things."
"On the contrary, Mr. Hoshi, they spoke glowingly of your record. Of course, your criminal record is an entirely different matter for them, but your tennis record still stands as one of the best—if not the best—in their school. It takes exceptional talent to stand out amidst a batch of highly gifted players, regardless of how you might have turned out in the end. That is why our talent scouts knew you were the one we needed to enroll."
That surprised Ryoma somewhat. Playing tennis had been an engaging but nonetheless hectic climb back in his former school, especially with how fiercely competitive and incredibly skilled his schoolmates had been. Ryoma could even name a few of them that he imagined to be fully capable of beating him in a number of matches, though he did not expect to hear that none of them had come close to his status even after he had been incarcerated and thus expelled from Fog Heights.
As glowing as this was, however, there was also the other side of it. "And the part about hope?" he asked the headmaster quietly. "I'm hardly a paragon after the things I did, sir. I might be able to turn back into an ace player, but people who know will look at me as the murderer I am. Crimes like mine don't exactly vanish from memory that easily. Even if I walk free, people will remember, and judge."
Jin Kirigiri stared at him for a moment, like he was thinking of a response to his points. Ryoma waited, wondering if he was going too far with his own self-doubt by forcing the headmaster to give in to his musings. Still, he had come this far, and the chance to speak to the man who was instrumental in securing his momentary release so he could start playing tennis again was something he was willing to seize, if only to alleviate some of his concerns.
The headmaster leaned forward, clasping his hands together as they lay atop his desk. "My answer might be a bit too unrealistic for you, Mr. Hoshi, but if you will, permit me to explain it like this. You see, in the world as we know it today, there is much despair around already—hardship, conflict, the kinds of things that stop society from being its very best. It's the same kind of adversity that prevails in your story, or Miss Fukawa's. Here at Hope's Peak Academy, we wish to change that. We want to create a future built around the idea of hope, the hope that there is something better for all of us waiting amidst the difficulties and despair we endure, and who better to do that than you, the members of the current generation? We want you to pave the way to a brighter tomorrow and inspire future generations to follow in your footsteps. And for that, it is talent that we look to, talent that will serve to show society what it is capable of achieving and teaching in spite of the difficulties of today. The Steering Committee and I have that much in common at least, though I'm not afraid to admit that we do have our differences in how and where talent must be cultivated.
"You see, Mr. Hoshi, I want students to be scouted for their talents and capabilities, not for their past records or reputations," the headmaster went on solemnly. "My colleagues may think that a student's repute will affect their standing as a symbol of hope in society, but for me, I say otherwise. Call me ignorant or highly trusting, but I believe firmly that a student's shortcomings do not define what he or she is capable of becoming. And as hard as it may be to believe, and as idealistic as it sounds, that resonates with many people today. To see others overcome their burdens, their dark pasts and even their crimes, to see them become these role models that will in turn inspire them to live for the same ideals. People need that, you see? They need something to believe in, to help them realize that there is a bright spot in the problems that prevail everywhere today. That's why I believe in individuals like you, Mr. Hoshi, or even in the likes of Miss Fukawa. My colleagues—and a great many other people besides—will surely think I'm mad for putting my faith in something as possibly foolish like that, but this is what I believe, and what I want the school to display in turn."
Ryoma found nothing else to say, even as a myriad of reactions welled up in him—surprise, cynicism, understanding, and the idea that perhaps beneath his kind words and proper appearance, Jin Kirigiri was mad. But the headmaster spoke with so much resolve and sincerity that Ryoma found it disarming in spite of the skepticism he was feeling. That he was also willing to accept the idea that he may be too idealistic alluded to a humanizing sense of doubt on his part, and not merely blind faith or ignorant optimism.
"There are still things that I'm not so sure about," Ryoma managed to say after a while, "but it's good that I now understand how and why exactly I ended up here, and what's expected of me. It's better than believing I was just sent here as part of some cruel joke."
The headmaster smiled. "I hope that reassures you in some way, Mr. Hoshi. Your experiences put you above many of your peers regarding many things, but the last thing we want is to make you feel like an outcast. You were scouted her for a reason, and it is up to you if you wish to do that justice during your stay here."
Ryoma grunted. "I'll see if I can, sir. I'm not really optimistic about what's waiting for me after I graduate—if I even make it that far. But with some help, I might be able to make the most out of my stay here nonetheless. At least that'll help me rest easier when I go back to prison."
"The future is still a long road away," said the headmaster. "So many things can happen until then, and life is full of second chances. Who knows what's in store?"
The tone of his voice had a mentor-like tone to it, but there was also a sense of optimism, like he himself was also clinging on the sort of hope that he was preaching about and assuring himself of the same thing that he was assuring Ryoma.
"I guess you're right about that, sir," was all Ryoma could say. "Thank you."
"You're quite welcome, Mr. Hoshi," said the headmaster cordially. "Now, I don't want to take up too much of your time anymore. Is there anything else that you have to say regarding the incident last night? Anything else that you might remember?"
"I think that's all of it, sir," said Ryoma.
The headmaster nodded. "Very well. Thank you, Mr. Hoshi, you may go back to class now. Have a good day."
"Yes. Good day to you too, sir."
With that, Ryoma stood up, inclined his head and took his leave. As he made his way back to class, he kept thinking about the hope that the headmaster spoke of, and whether Jin Kirigiri had said something similar to Kirumi as well when he had been mentioned.
If Genocide Jack's presence in the school was starting to become a known fact, it showed very little indication of it when lunchtime rolled around. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary as the student body converged at the cafeteria to eat lunch. Even so, it was the last place that Ryoma wanted to be right now; instead of being able to retreat to his room for his customary meal with Kirumi, Kaede had asked him if he could eat with the rest of the class. Ryoma already expected to be hounded by his classmates in some way if he went along, though he felt loath to refuse for some reason.
As soon as he sat down, Tsumugi fired off the first question. "So what happened earlier, Ryoma? Did you get in trouble?" she asked concernedly.
"Not really," Ryoma replied quietly, wondering how many more queries will be made. "I was just asked a few questions about something that happened."
"Come to think of it, there are rumors of some kind of trouble happening yesterday," said Shuichi. "The other classes were talking about it too. M-Maybe it's related to that?"
"I've heard of similar things too," Keebo added. "It feels like an odd coincidence after what we heard earlier."
"If you mean the stuff that Kokichi's been spitting out, forget it," Kaito remarked before Ryoma could answer. "Yakking on and on about some serial killer walking around here like it's nobody's business. I mean, a serial killer? Really? Who'd be dumb enough to believe that?!"
Maki shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Things like that aren't as farfetched as you'd think, Momota. Not in a place like this, at least."
"I have to agree with Maki," Tenko cut in, looking conflicted. "Even though we know a degenerate little male like Kokichi is nothing but a no-good, full-blown liar, my senses of justice have been tingling for a while now. As painful as it is for me to say this, it makes me wonder if there's truth in what he's saying."
Miu scoffed loudly. "If you believe what the lying clown twink says, Miss Andry, then you may as well say that my tits are as bad as Bakamatsu's over there!" she snapped, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder to where Kaede was sitting and causing Kaede to shoot her a resentful look. "Besides, that 'tingling' you're talking about is just pleb code for being drier than a desert. If you wanna fix that, I've got some fan-fucking-tastic machines that can help you twenty-four-seven! Maybe it'll help you change your opinion about dicks for once!"
Tenko drew back with an affronted look. "But I don't need my senses fixed, because they're always right!" she insisted. "My master has trained me to sense trouble so that I can act on it immediately! From an old lady needing to cross the street or a cat being stuck in a tree, my instincts haven't led me astray yet!"
Kaede stepped in now. "Alright, alright, things are starting to become a little too much here," she said admonishingly. "Regarding all this, I haven't really heard about anything serious from the other classes or our professors just yet. Maybe it's just another kind of rumor gone wrong thanks to Kokichi's lies."
"Then if I'm wrong, why don't you ask Mommy and Daddy what exactly they were interrogated about?" came Kokichi's voice suddenly. He appeared next to Tenko's seat, carrying with him a bottle of grape soda, a mischievous grin already plastered on his face. Ryoma bristled, more at his continued usage of the terms "Mommy" and "Daddy" than anything else.
Tenko shifted backwards, glaring angrily. "How dare you come so close to me like that, you degenerate male?!" she hissed at Kokichi, her hands waving as she readied her Neo-Aikido stance. "I ought to slam you across this table right here, right now!"
"Hey, there's no need for that!" Kaede cried out, leaning forward to forestall the brewing tension. "Alright, as interesting as it is for someone to get called upon by the headmaster, I didn't invite Ryoma here just for him to get badgered, alright? Whatever the reason is, it's none of our business."
"Are you sure about that?" asked Kokichi as he took a seat across her, ignoring Tenko's death stares. "Would you still think it's none of our business if that serial killer starts stalking all of us one at a time?"
"Again with that serial killer crap," Kaito snapped. "Would you cut it out already?!"
"Hey, Mr. Astro-nut, it's not my fault that your head's full of hot gas like the stars you keep looking up to," Kokichi quipped as Kaito fumed; next to him, Maki had the faintest of smirks flit across her face. "Besides, what're you getting mad at me for? You're gonna shoot the messenger like the mean bullies you all are, is that it?" he added, his lip quivering in an overdramatic manner.
"Only because you're the most casual liar we know," Tsumugi remarked candidly.
"Hey, I take that as an insult!" Kokichi snapped petulantly. "My super-secret evil organization's got over ten thousand members working hard 'round the clock to make sure the world's running on schedule, so you can be sure that the information we gather is all verified! From the next world leaders that'll get elected to the day of the next world war, if you wanna know, you come to us!"
"I wouldn't even trust you to tell me the time," Kaito muttered mulishly.
"Please, no quarrels within the dining hall's premises," Kirumi's formal voice cut in, ringing through the exchange. Ryoma turned to see her standing behind Kaede, ready to take their orders. When her eyes found him, she smiled at him, her composure and formal façade as impeccable as ever in spite of last night.
Thankfully, no more conflict started after Kirumi's arrival, though Kokichi took this time to subtly poke more jabs at Kaito and Miu, who were keen to disparage what they firmly believed to be lies. Gonta, ever the innocent giant, was having explanations fed to him by Tsumugi as he asked what everyone else seemed to be preoccupied with. On their side, Korekiyo was soon engaged in a discussion of his own with Angie when the morals of murder were brought up, though the snippets Ryoma heard told him that both agreed in a morbid sense on the beauty and even necessity of spilled blood. The rest only listened in, humoring the discussions being made or seemingly keeping their thoughts to themselves. Ryoma was thankful that the small debates around him distracted the others from asking questions as to why he was summoned to the headmaster's office in the first place. But as time passed, his mind wandered back to his dilemma earlier that morning. The topic of serial killers was one that would undoubtedly prevail for the better part of the day and even the week, but Ryoma did not want to think how long the discussion would be if it was his own criminal past that was laid bare for his classmates to pick apart. He found himself wishing that he had spent lunchtime with Kirumi instead, though that felt like a distant option when he saw how busy she was.
Later that afternoon, as he walked down the corridors and back to the Ultimates' quarter, Ryoma soon ran into a familiar face that he had not been expecting to see so soon: Toko Fukawa, who looked apprehensive as she walked along, a stack of papers in her arms. Ryoma observed her subtly, not wishing to let her notice that he was staring, but Toko's gaze soon fell upon him when she drew closer. The two of them locked eyes for a moment, and a flicker of recognition passed across Toko's pale face before she ran down the hallway hastily, her head bowed and her strides long. Ryoma found himself pitying her as he watched her go, wondering just what kind of ordeal she might be enduring after last night—and like him, how many victims she felt guilty about.
When he arrived at the gym entrance, Kirumi was already there. She smiled when she saw him. "Hello," she greeted. "I apologize if we didn't get to speak much earlier. The kitchen staff was short a few hands."
"It's fine," said Ryoma. "Not exactly the right time to talk about last night with everyone else around, right?"
"Yes, I understand," said Kirumi as the two of them went inside the gymnasium. "How was your trip to the headmaster's office?"
Ryoma grunted, briefly remembering the headmaster's talk about hope. "It was interesting, I'll give it that. And speaking of the incident, I ran into Toko Fukawa on my way here. We didn't talk or anything. We just passed each other by."
"I see." Kirumi sighed. "I do hope she comes out of this just fine. I tried to speak to her earlier about her laundry, but she just shooed me away."
"Hopefully things will come around," Ryoma muttered, though whether he also meant that for himself, he could not say. The headmaster's words were optimistic enough, but against the backdrop of his own bloody past, those second chances he meant may be a long way off still. Perhaps Jin Kirigiri was mad after all; then again, certain thoughts and ideals never come to fruition without a stubborn touch of madness.
A/N: Oof. Oof. And another oof. The past month was anything but good where my writing was concerned. So much writer's block that I could literally feel my brain straining as it tried to think of something. I'm so sorry, everyone. I didn't expect things to just go downhill like that and delay everything that long. I can only hope that the chapter I turned out is up to par. So exhausting.
With the holidays approaching, I don't know what things are in store, and whether I'll slow down as badly as that again. I don't want to think that I'm burning out already, and I'm gonna try to keep going at it when I get new ideas that I can actually turn into pages instead of single lines. As always, you guys are the ones I live for when it comes to this fic. Thank you so much for staying with it. I'll see you in the next one, whenever it may be. Stay safe!