Note: Hey there everyone! After almost a year and a half since this fic first came out, I finally posted the last chapter to this Kokichi Interaction installment. Let me just say that I had Kaito and Maki's sections completed for a while, but I rewrote them over and over again, and I had no idea what to do for Shuuichi, of all people. I know, Shuuichi, the number one person that people write for when it comes to Kokichi interactions. That's the curse of being a popular pair, I guess.

That being said, I finally realized that constant re-editing isn't getting me anywhere, so I just wrote freely and decided to post what came as a result of it. Kaito and Maki's chapters are proofread to the best of my abilities, but I will admit that Shuuichi's is a little...unedited in the regard that most of it was written in a passionate flurry of creative inspiration. So take that as you will.

Thank you all for being so patient with me. I can finally put this fic behind me, and focus on my dozens of WIPs and ideas that have yet to come to fruition. I'll bring back that little header just to give you a heads up about the timeline, here.

KAITO MOMOTA: this part takes place during chapter five. If you already know about V3 then you know what a frenzy that is, ahaha. Needless to say it was probably the most emotional I've been since writing Himiko's chapter.

MAKI HARUKAWA: this part takes place any time between the end of chapter two and the end of chapter four. To be quite honest, Maki was the hardest to come up with a scenario for (since she Kokichi hate each other's guts, y'know. No big deal.) so I just. Bent the rules a little bit.

SHUUICHI SAIHARA: this part takes place during the chapter four investigation, so clearly there are spoilers for who dies, etc. Just a little bit of a "what-if" scenario, not too different from canon itself (as is the case with all of these little sections).

Thanks again and enjoy the final part of Ephemeral!

Kaito Momota

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever done."

"Actually, not really, because one time I was eating a cookie, and then I dropped it into the gutter of a street. It was raining so hard that the cookie got soaked. It flowed down the stream of the curb and got stuck on some leaves. And then I—"

"Don't tell me you ate the damn thing!" Momota groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me, Ouma…"

"I was hungry," he defended. "What was I supposed to do, starve?"

"That's what I would've done. Or I would've bought another cookie, at least."

"Hey, you sound smart for once! Did you get replaced by Monokuma or something when I wasn't looking?"

"Fuck you and everything you stand for."

"Good thing I'm sitting, then."

"Fuck you."

Their banter continued as usual, and it didn't feel out of place. In fact, it felt as if everything was meant to be that simple from the very beginning. Momota Kaito and Ouma Kokichi were two opposite ends of a magnet, perfectly so. One was bursting from head to toe with boundless positive energy, going through life with a determination so pure and strong that it was infectious. Wherever he saw negativity, he did his best to rectify it, even if it meant taking in strays or putting his life on the line.

The other was quite the opposite. He was negatively charged, to the point where he stole the life and energy of other people as his own. He devoured everything in his path, and knocked down obstacles in his way. If he saw something wondrous and positive, he had no other instinct than to tamper with it, and show them all the polar reality that existed in front of their eyes—but that they ignored like their lives depended on it.

They never got along. They went so far as to physically hit each other at times, punching and kicking wherever words couldn't fit: because Momota was honest and earnest, smart where it counted, but pretty-fucking-dumb otherwise. And Ouma was deceptive and cunning, wonderfully brilliant, but an absolute-pain-in-the-ass at every other instance. They were very alike but very different—complete opposites, but complementary individuals.

It made sense that they didn't understand each other, and when they finally did see eye-to-eye, it was too late.

The poison surging through their veins deemed it so.

But the banter picked up like nothing, and it was an electric current that pulsed through their bodies and minds, reminding them of the dwindling minutes. It acted as a morbid counter held over their heads, constantly preserving the seconds that winded down until the numbers read zero. Once they reached that point, one of them would give out, and they'd lose to the murder game like almost everyone else before them.

Ouma made sure that theirs would be a case unsolvable, however. He waited for a development like this to happen. In his notebook, well-worn and pressed for space anywhere he could get it—in the margins, in the corners of the pages, on the backside of the front cover—there existed hundreds and hundreds of different scenarios, lines, plans, and schematics. Everything from potential trial outcomes and murders, to criminalistic profiles of every person that participated in the game thus far.

When Momota read through it all, he felt a sick mixture of admiration and disgust all at once. While the exact scenario of Ouma kidnaps Momota, Harukawa intervenes, Harukawa dooms both Ouma and Momota to die, now Ouma and Momota have to scramble to come up with a good plan before they both die in vain isn't inside, a plan that almost matches it (instead of them both dying, Ouma writes inside that Harukawa kills him and Momota protects her during the trial—something that could very well happen if Momota wasn't so righteous in those few seconds in time) is there, so they go by those guidelines if anything else.

"Fuck you, Ouma," Momota repeats himself. It's a soft admonishment, despite the severity of the words spoken. The Ultimate Astronaut blames the haze drifting in his head, floating like ice but burning like fire. Even though he took the antidote earlier, he's sick as he's always been, before and after this game started. He grunts and leans against the wall, holding his arm painfully to his side. "I can't believe you planned for something like this. Who the hell does something like this?"

"I do," Ouma answers calmly. He's also breaking apart at the seams, because each word sounds heavier than the last, and his hands tremble as they switch between covering the different wounds on his body (Thanks again for that, Harukawa-chan, you goddamn idiot), feebly trying to stay the blood even though that won't do anything for the toxins swirling inside of him.

He focuses on the question asked, for now. "I planned everything from the start, obviously. Someone's gotta do the thinking around here."

"Uh-huh. So what should we do, then? Just talk each other's ears off 'til we die? The hidden cameras will come back online and we'll be dead and Monokuma will just laugh at our corpses or somethin'. Not exactly my ideal situation."

"Since Iruma-chan's inventions worked, we have some time before the system goes back online. We gotta work fast." He pauses, and looks around their surroundings. Of all places to die, he doesn't expect the Exisal hangar to be the one. While he hates every slimy inch of this forsaken academy, he secretly hoped that he would get to die in the courtyard, or on the rooftop where he can watch the artificial stars in his last moments, at the very least.

What bad luck it is to be here, instead.

"You drank the antidote, Momota-chan, so you should be okay soon. But we can't wait for that to take full effect. We have to set things up, y'know."

"...Right," Momota says quietly. The escapade from before doesn't quite register with him yet: Ouma's flashy display of pretending to drink the antidote, Harukawa's tears as she screams for him to stop, Momota's helpless face throughout it all. The most unexpected part of it all is definitely the part where Ouma actually didn't drink the antidote, instead opting to give it to Momota—one of his most hated enemies thus far.

Momota's head hurts simply thinking about it. The poisonous haze starts to clear, though, and that newfound lucidity makes him feel guilty. Because if he's getting better, then it just means that Ouma is getting worse.

There's no good way out of this, is there?

"Flip to page one-forty. There are instructions there. We'll use the hydraulic press," Ouma struggles to say. He nearly chokes on the pain he feels, which is to be expected, all things considered. The type of poison that Harukawa chose earlier was meant to be a slow, painful one, because she wanted to interrogate him before he died, or something.

What would her reaction be, if she could see him now? How would she feel in knowing that Momota is the one interrogating Ouma, instead? Would she be happy? Would she say he deserved it?

Would she be kind enough to put him out of his misery, already?

"Momota-chan," Ouma says. "Please get your damn head in the game. I'm literally dying so I can't do this by myself, like, at all."

"Shit, sorry," he mutters. "Page one-forty, page one-forty...here it is!" The page is less worn out than the others (guess he didn't expect things to happen this way) but still just as thought-out and complex. Everything in it details a perfect stage for them to act on, but Momota's mind is scattered, so he can only understand their script in fragments. Set up a confusing video. Use the hydraulic press. Get in the Exisal robot. Distract and detract from the trial. Make it impossible for Monokuma to do anything about it. Break the game as we know it.

The words are well-written, but the shape of the letters and the weight of their meaning make him dumbstruck. This is their reality, but he's having a hard time believing it. Is this how the other murders went before them? Is this the same level of planning that Akamatsu, Toujou, Shinguuji, Iruma, and Gonta used when they decided that they wanted to kill someone? Is this the same feeling of harrowing disgust, excitement, and anxiety coming together all at once?

Is this the same?

Probably not, Momota answers himself internally, because he's orchestrating something more complicated than just a hit-and-run. He's thinking far past the simple idea of getting away with murder, or advancing the group survival another day. He's working with the soon-to-be victim, hoping to cause the longest lasting effect in this game thus far, and in doing so, he would be deflecting the blame of Ouma's soon-to-be death from his beloved Harumaki (his chest tightens at her nickname reverberating in his mind) and unto himself. He is doing everything that no one else has ever dared to do before.

And yet, there lies some measure of uncertainty within him.

Even when he looks back at Ouma, who rots away by the second, his resolve isn't firm enough yet. He feels lost. His heart is unsure. He wonders if things could have been different, if Ouma was as honest as he is right now. If things had turned out differently, if maybe Momota tried to talk to him a little more, or if Ouma didn't easily defy his attempts at peace before, then they wouldn't be stuck in a cold, steely hangar, with nothing but their laborious breaths to fill the air around them. They might even be outside, hanging out together, annoying the shit out of each other but not inciting genuine anger or pain.

That thought itself hurts more than the arrow wound in his arm. Momota is sure of it.

"Let's start with the camera setup," Ouma orders. "We need an ambiguous angle to work from. But where?" His eyes flicker in his direction, and they look dimmer than usual. Momota averts his eyes from staring endlessly at the wall just a second too late for the other's liking. "Heeeey, I said to get your head in the game, dummy. I know you're an astronaut-in-training or whatever, but can you please stop spacing out?"

"Seriously, I don't know how you're doing this right now," Momota admits in disbelief. "Do you understand what we're doing, Ouma? We're planning your death."

"I understand that perfectly," he insists. "You're the one that doesn't understand. Of course, you were an idiot from the beginning, so something like this is probably confusing the hell out of you, huh?"

"Listen, I don't think I'll ever understand you. But I don't want our last conversation to be this," Momota waves vaguely at the entirety of the hangar, everything from the hydraulic press to the shutters to the dormant Exisals. "And it would help if you could just admit that you're scared, too. We're literally setting up a death trap for you, Ouma. That shit's scary."

Ouma is quiet, and rightfully so. Of course, Momota figures that he's smart enough to know the consequences of his actions beforehand (or that he's brave enough to go through whatever impossibly wild schemes are running through his head like rabid animals), and that the finality of death isn't a new idea for him. But Ouma is poisoned in every sense of the word, and his body and mind take the full force of it all.

He leans against some metal, and closes his eyes, completely unmoving except for soft and nearly unnoticeable breaths. Momota panics for a moment, wondering if Ouma actually died just now, but breathes a sigh of relief as the other opens his eyes again—the look of which is colored in a bright new shade of introspection and understanding.

Momota feels foolish for worrying in the first place.

"I know it's scary. I'm not lying when I say that I'm scared out of my mind right now. But there's nothing we can do about me dying. That was decided since I-I—" he stops short of finishing his sentences, because his body heaves as he coughs violently into his hands. Momota rushes over to him, but hesitates in making any show of comfort due to the unspoken animosity and confusion between them that's lasted so long up until now. When Ouma finally stops coughing, his hands retract from his mouth, slender fingers coated in an ugly mix of saliva and blood.

Momota's anxiety is palpable as he unwittingly swallows the hesitation in his throat, body trembling at the gruesome (but familiar) sight before him. "Fuck, fuck. Okay, Ouma, we—"

"Shut up," he snaps. "Shut up, shut up! We're wasting time talking about this. I'm gonna die, there's no changing that. But what we can change is the course of this game, Momota-chan. We can do it, I know we can. Just listen to me for once." Ouma breaks out into another coughing fit, and this time Momota rubs circles into his back.

He feels for himself how small and fragile the other boy is.

His chest thumps hollowly.

"Fine, fine. You're right, we gotta move. We only got an hour, tops, right? So tell me what to do, Ouma. I'm ready to listen." He sounds so cavalier when he says that, but it takes a lot of willpower on his end. Every fiber of his being is screeching and unrelenting, not ready to give into his enemy's desires.

But part of his heart and soul start to realize that, maybe, Ouma isn't the real enemy at all. Compared to Monokuma and the other sick bastards that are apparently watching their struggles like some sort of game (an idea that Ouma brought up earlier and Momota still fails to understand entirely), Ouma is an angel because he never wanted or orchestrated this mass carnage like everyone thinks he has.

Sure, what he did with Gonta and Iruma was super fucked up (Momota will never change his mind about this, not even a little bit), but there's no escaping death in a killing game like theirs. Ouma even saved Momota and Harukawa in his own odd, lethal way, and now the only possible reward for his efforts would come in the form of his imminent death.

This truth is much harder to swallow than the antidote was, Momota distantly thinks.

.

.

"So I'll press this button, pause the video, and stop the press right before you get crushed," Ouma declares. His hands hover over the mechanisms at the control panel, and his bare chest shivers at the exposure around him. Despite the desperation in his eyes, there is something about him that signals his displeasure with the situation. There is something that seems to be crying out for help from the unbearable pain his body breaks and bends underneath—there is something weak and vulnerable that is rising up through the cracks in his facade, now.

Yet, both of them know that there's no use in fretting over it. It would all be over soon enough.

"Then I'll give you my jacket, and we'll switch places. The video will resume and you'll get—"

"Actually crushed."

"Yeah," Momota croaks out, surprised at how crestfallen and defeated his own voice sounds. He brings up a hand to steady the quivering sensation in his lips, cheeks, and overall face before he gathers the strength to stare at Ouma again. "And it'll be like nothing that the others have ever seen."

"Yes," Ouma agrees. He grunts lowly as a thicker trail of blood escapes out of the side of his mouth. It doesn't help that he's totally drenched in sweat, dripping as his body shivers in what is most definitely the last moments of his life. His bruise-like eyes contract in painful realization, and they turn up cloudy and dark—from what Momota can see, anyway.

He won't judge Ouma for anything he does right now. Ouma's earned that much, at least.

Momota affirms his resolve as he goes down to the hydraulic press, and lies on the slate surface beneath the top half. His trademark jacket lies beneath him, and his visage is clearly seen from the camera's awkward angle. As he adjusts himself to the best of his ability, he thinks that this position is nothing short of suffocating. Even though there is free space to the sides of him, there exists only a few feet of leeway between him and certain death. He can feel sweat build up on his forehead, the back of his neck, and in the palms of his hands as he lies down and rests.

He hates thinking about it, but there is a slight possibility that Ouma could snap and kill him like this, anyway. If that happens, then Momota would know a second too late before everything blacked out, or whited out, or whatever happened to someone as they died. The thought burns him and freezes him all at once, with his mind ablaze and his limbs glued in place. Now, he mulls over his actions thoughtfully, as if doing so will calm him down, somehow. Has he angered Ouma enough to make him act irregularly at this time? Is he a fool for trusting him at all, even in his dying moments? Is Momota about to die right now?

"Pressing it," Ouma squeaks out. His words are getting shorter, slurrier, and harder to form. Momota can hear saliva muffle out the clarity of his sentences, as well as laborious breaths escape from his lips in frantic measures. He tries to remember how eloquent and well-spoken Ouma was just a few hours prior. Even when he faced Harukawa unarmed, he had complete composure.

It's all falling apart, now.

He tries not to think about the fraying wires that are holding the supreme leader together, those that are mere minutes away from snapping in half. "Okay," Momota calls out feebly, barely audible over his thundering fear. A true hero is courageous to a point, but perhaps it's more heroic to be honest and vulnerable, in some ways. Regardless, the hangar is so quiet that his words will not go unnoticed. What sounds like another squeak from Ouma resounds, and within seconds, the press starts up.

With the electronic signals jammed from Iruma's electro-bombs that Ouma used earlier, the safety mechanism on the press is disabled. Before, it would stop automatically when it senses the presence of organic life. But now, with the safety measure taken out, there's nothing stopping the press from turning either of the boys into mince meat.

The only issue now is which one of the boys will perish first. The harrowing possibility of Ouma blindsiding Momota still exists, and the Ultimate Astronaut feels sickened just thinking about it. He also feels that time is passing by too slowly, because the press inches downward towards him, closer and closer still—so close that Momota wants to squirm his way out. So close that he's starting to regret trusting Ouma in the first place, and that he should have just died in the bathroom like he thought he was going to. So close that he's thinking about everything that's happened to him thus far: his grandparents, his friends, his aspirations to become a real astronaut. He thinks about the first class trial, then the second, the third, and recently, the fourth. He thinks about Monokuma and those stupid Monokids of his. He thinks about Harumaki, and her cute face when she pouts or looks off to the side, flustered. He thinks about Saihara, and how far he's come from being the bumbling sidekick to becoming the strongest detective—person—he knows. He thinks about Ouma, and how Ouma's a step away from dying and maybe so is Momota, and maybe he's on the wrong side of the press, after all, and maybe he's about to die and become the victim of the fifth trial and—

It stops.

Of course, it stops barely an inch away from Momota's body, but it stops and leaves him completely unharmed. His breath exhales after having been kept inside for the longest time, and the sweat keeps rolling off his fully intact body.

Momota sighs again, and squirms his way out of the press. As he stands, he can see Ouma hobbling over from his place at the control panel. He's top-naked, clutching his wounded arm and sniveling drool and blood all over himself. His eyes are murky, dazed, and wide like they might burst into tears at any given second. His usual smile is completely gone, with only an unsteady expression taking its place.

Ouma's jacket is removed, he sees, and it reveals the boy for his thin physique and fragility. He would have benefitted from the late-night training that Momota, Saihara, and Harukawa partook in earlier. He would have fit right in with their motley crew, if he hadn't been so insufferable and monstrous, first.

Momota thinks about all the "would have, could have, should have" scenarios as he takes the bloody, sodden, and damaged jacket from Ouma. The fabric is soiled and torn, and it makes him wonder how this singular piece of clothing could have completed the "Supreme Leader" image in the way that it did.

"H-How do I look?" Ouma struggles to say. There is a remnant of a smirk on his face, but the poison in his body makes the motion harder to form in completion, so it reads as a lopsided smile, at best. "Super hot, right?"

"The hottest," Momota agrees. He reaches forward, and removes a stray black-and-white thread from the other's shoulder with gentle movements. His fingers barely brush against Ouma's soft skin, and his fingertips wistfully graze Ouma's errant strands of purple hair.

There's something like hiraeth in him, now, and Momota feels flustered. He pulls his hand back, and tries not to look bothered by his own sentiment as he talks. "Do you need help getting into the, uh, press?"

"I think I can get into my own deathbed just fine, Momota-chan," Ouma insists softly. He walks towards the gap in the metal slabs, and squeezes in. Although it's still a tight fit, Ouma seems to have an inch or two more of space that Momota didn't. This makes all the difference as Ouma tries to lay down on the jacket beneath him, now, carefully moving so the sleeve would still be visible to the camera, but not so noticeably displaced, as far as any future viewers of the video may be concerned.

Momota walks back to the control panel with slow, deliberate steps. Then, he talks casually into the air. "What's your favorite kind of cookie, Ouma?"

"Raisin oatmeal," he answers proudly. "I love it when people mistake them for chocolate chip."

"Of course you do. I bet you also like natto, too."

"Yuck, no way," he admits. "But if it bothers you so much, I'd eat three whole bowls full of it."

"If you did that, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Then I won't do it," he says quietly, voice growing faint as the distance between them increases. "I...w-want to surprise you, Momo-chan."

Momota ascends the stairs to the elevated control panel, each step ringing dully in his ears. But he ignores the clatter of his own footsteps, and focuses on Ouma's last and dying words, instead. "You're always surprising me, Ouma. I'd never think of doing something like this all by myself. I wouldn't think of hiding in an Exisal or reading your handwritten script at the trial. Not at all."

"If you did, then you wouldn't be you, Momo-chan."

He usually hates it when people call him Momo. Today, he doesn't mind so much, and Momota's fingers hesitate over the two switches. One to start up the video again, another to end a life. He gulps down some of the unending hesitation in his throat. "Guess not. Alright, I'm at the panel, Ouma. Anything else you wanna say before I do it?"

"Do I have time?"

"It's an hour or two that we have in total, right?"

"Right."

"I'd say you got a few good minutes left."

"Hmm." He remains silent for less than a minute before talking. "I hate this killing game. I never wanted this, Momo-chan."

"Yeah."

"I'm tired of seeing people die. I'm scared of dying, too."

"I—"

"I didn't want any of this to happen. Harukawa-chan is an idiot for barging in like that. I wouldn't have done anything to you, Momo-chan. I s-swear."

"..."

"I want to see Saihara-chan and the others, too. I want this stupid game to end. I want to rub it in Monokuma's face. Can we do that, huh? Can we rub it in his face? Can you get some blood on his robotic little cheek for me?"

"Probably not, but I can try."

"Scratch that, he'd kill you for coming near him."

"Damn, you're right."

"I'm right about most things. Except this."

"I'll take your word for it." Momota glances at a nearby clock. The second hand keeps ticking down, and in all honesty, he's forgotten how much time has passed. His hands are reluctant to move, however.

He doesn't want to do this.

But he has to.

"I wish things would have turned out differently," Momota cuts into the conversation with a thought of his own. "We wouldn't be doing this right now if it did."

"Someone else would have died, though. I'm not the intruder or the mastermind or anything, but whoever is the mastermind has t-their goddamned work cut out for them…"

"Exactly."

"Momo-chan, I'm scared of dying."

"Me too, Ouma. I don't act it, but I'm terrified of the thought."

"Think about how I feel, then. I'm literally about to die."

"I know. But don't be too sad about it. I'll be joining you at the end of this day, I think."

"Oh? You think they'll…" He pauses as another coughing fit overtakes him. Then he's quiet for a long time, and Momota's worried that he's missed the opportunity to kill him in place of Harukawa. But Ouma starts up again with heavy breaths, as if nothing happened.

Maybe nothing did, but time's running out, regardless.

"You think they'll figure this out?"

"Saihara's on their side, so of course they will."

"Saihara-chan...hmm…"

"Don't think too hard about it. Listen, Ouma...I'm gonna start it soon."

"Okay."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Okay."

"I'm going to kill us both."

"Yes."

Momota clenches his hands into fists, and closes his eyes. "Here we go. This is it. Are you ready?"

"No," Ouma says truthfully. "Do it anyway."

"Alright. Goodbye, Ouma."

"Goodbye, Momo-chan. Momota-chan. Bye."

He slams his hand down on both buttons. The camera flickers on, and continues filming from its wondrously strange angle.

The hydraulic press hums back to life, as well, and starts moving down, down, down, down, down, until—

"Goodbye," Momota says a few seconds after he successfully shuts off the video camera. The press is completely closed, and there is a wide radius of blood surrounding it. Everything is quiet, and the only noise that he can hear is that of his own ragged breathing, and the air conditioner running discreetly in the back of the room.

He drags himself out of his stupor, and stares with dreary, magenta eyes at the carnage before him. Before, his mind raced with all sorts of wild thoughts, but now everything is as silent and peaceful as it's ever been. He doesn't need to think about what will happen, because everything has been planned out in the worn-out notebook that Ouma left behind for him. He doesn't need to worry about hiding, because there is a dormant Exisal robot lying in the wings for him. He doesn't need to lament over his loss, because there's been too many occasions where the others have mourned for him.

Momota picks up the book, and strides down the stairs. He gives one last glance to the hydraulic press—eyes flickering to the gruesome scene of bloody nothingness that is a new level of disturbing—before discarding Ouma's jacket (going into the toilet, which is a fitting end for the piece of shit that he is—was). Then he turns his attention to the Exisals, instead. He picks the nearest one, and climbs into the chamber before safely securing himself. No longer hindered by poison, his limbs move freely and easily, and he can only imagine what it must have been like for Ouma, whose body very nearly turned into lead before his death.

The hatch closes above him, and he starts up the Exisal. Knowing that the hidden camera system will start up again, Momota gets to moving, and the robot body follows his commands as he does so. He jumps out of the pit where the other Exisals lay, and heads for the designated area, where he'll wait until the next day, hiding until he can sneak into the class trial at night—hiding when the others inevitably investigate the hangar, and discover that murder is still possible, even when it feels like they should have been doomed to live out the last of their living days in this floating death machine without further incident.

The talks have ended and the deed has been done. All that's left for Momota is the most excruciating process of it all—something that ranks second only to Ouma's actual death just now.

Because all Momota could do was sit there, and wait for the end to come.

And so he waits.

Maki Harukawa

He shouldn't have wandered into the Ultimate Robot Lab. Sometimes, Kokichi lets his curiosity get the best of him, and this time it's really worked against him.

Of course, he only thinks those things because he's currently trapped in there. The sensors must have gone off at the wrong time, or Kiibo somehow tampered with the controls (unlikely, Ouma thinks, considering he hates the typical sci-fi nature of his own lab) to make this trap activate. He doesn't even have time to protest when the doors and windows are locked down, and the lights in the room dim to something dark and anxiety-inducing.

If that wasn't bad enough, Ouma Kokichi isn't alone in his temporary imprisonment. He turns on his heels to see someone else standing there—someone who looks just as shocked and confused as he does—until they look at his face and their confusion is replaced by resentment as their face draws to a frown and their eyes burn with hellish rage.

It's Harukawa Maki, of course.

Why wouldn't it be her?

"Oh shit," he whispers under his breath. "Of course it had to be you."

"Ouma…" she sounds neutral at first, but her voice reeks of hatred as she hisses out: "What the hell did you just do?"

"Huh?"

"The lab is locked and we're trapped inside. Did you plan this?"

He laughs loudly. "Of course I planned this! Why wouldn't I want to trap myself with the most dangerous person in this killing game? Why wouldn't I want to be stuck with the Ultimate Assassin, of all people?"

She blinks, then says: "You're being sarcastic, aren't you."

"Harukawa-chan, you're as dumb as you are red."

At that point, he doesn't expect himself to live beyond that insult. He's dealing with a short-tempered assassin, after all. One that has killed many people before this killing game started and whose hesitance in killing another Ultimate (except for him) does not and will never excuse such a fact. How the others are so smitten with her—that idiot Momota and the naive Saihara, especially—is something he'll never know. They'll paint him all sorts of evil colors, but when it comes to Harukawa, she's as saintly as they can possibly make her out to be.

Are all saints covered in blood like she is? Do their eyes bleed as red as their victims' bodies like hers do? In that case, then yes, she is very saintly.

His embittered thoughts reverberate with his panicked heartbeat. This is the worst case scenario come true—Ouma being locked in a secluded room with Harukawa—and although there aren't any weapons in the Ultimate Robot Lab, she is sure to have a multitude of daggers or knives on her person. He glances to her black stockings, and vaguely wonders how many thin blades she has hidden in there, or if there's one resting in the soles of her shoes. Will she beat him to death first, or make the process slow and torturous, so his death is something rapturous and forthcoming?

His questions remain hanging in his mind. She takes a step forward, and Ouma tries to take one back. He expects that she'll rush up to him like she did at the end of the second trial, and grab his thin body by the scruff of his neck. He imagines that she'll close the distance between them with an ungodly amount of agility, breaking him in half before he can even scream.

When she raises a brow at him, and simply remains irritated but unmotivated to make any dangerous moves, he feels more than just confused.

He almost feels wronged.

"You're the dumb one, Ouma. You think I'm gonna kill you right now?"

"Uh, yes? Isn't that literally what an assassin does? And we're not exactly besties, although that's because of your disagreeable personality more than anything."

"Shut up. Even if I did kill you, I'd be trapped in here until Kiibo or someone else deactivated the trap. And when they see your corpse next to me, it won't be hard to figure out what happened."

He blinks once, twice, then gasps. "Harukawa-chan! You're totally not being an idiot right now! Well, it looks like even the murderous maniac has thoughts of her own—"

"I would have killed you in seconds flat otherwise," she cuts in. "Don't mistake this for mercy, Ouma. You're just lucky."

The budding feelings of hope and change deflate in his chest, but he isn't too sad about it. Why should he be, when this is the epitome of her egregious behavior? He expects something like this from her, so when she proves his theories to be correct, he's not even mad about it. Instead, he throws his arms behind his head, and arches back in a callous, sweeping motion.

"Well, lucky me, then!"

.

.

She hates him. She absolutely, definitely, and irreversibly hates him. Even when the small part of her that isn't just cold steel and spattered blood tries to redeem him, she comes up with nothing because Ouma is a big, fat, irredeemable piece of shit. Yes, even more so than her, there's very little of him worth saving. If she killed him, then the group would definitely benefit from it all. They'd be spared his riddles, jokes, and games alike—they'd be saved from his impossible logic and heartless insults. They might even have a chance of truly coming together as a group, like what Akamatsu wanted them to do all those days ago.

All of that would be possible if he'd only just die. The fact that an opportunity to kill him has arisen and the fact that she can't take that opportunity excites her and disappoints her all at once. Of course, she could disregard the easy trial that would come out of killing him now, and just do it for the hell of it. She could take one for the team and snip the most poisonous flower at its base, cutting off any chance from spreading its infectious pollen and digging its rotten roots any further. Although she would be tightening her own life to suffocation with the plant's vines, if she could stop it from growing further, it might be worth it.

Then again, it might not be. That idiot, Momota, is still on her case, spouting nonsense about workout nights with the reedy Saihara in tow. The three of them are some sort of trio, now, and disappointing them seems like a bad thing to do. Not that she would allow them to heavily affect her judgement or behavior, but going against their (annoyingly) good intentions and bringing them sadness through senseless murder...it just seems like more trouble than she should put herself through.

Which brings her to the present world, where she faces none other than Ouma Kokichi. What a pain, she thinks. What an unbearable pain that for once, she can't remedy her troubles by killing someone. Of all people to be trapped in a locked lab with, it just has to be him. She wonders if this is all a setup on his end, but his incessant denials are proof that this situation is out of his hands, too.

So the robotics lab is so high-tech that it malfunctioned? What a joke, Harukawa bitterly thinks.

"Inconvenient," she mutters. "I'm going to figure all this out. But until then, don't mess around with me. Stay away from me if you want to live."

"Like you could fix this mechanism by yourself," Ouma counters. "But, if you want to be oh-so cool and stoic, be my guest! After all, the only thing worse than this is dying of starvation or thirst." He leans forward, eyes leering with something playful even though the deadliest person in the game stands in front of him. She returns his intense stare with one of her own, crimson eyes alight with dreadful indignation.

Does he have a death wish, or what?

"If you're suggesting that I work with you, you're an even bigger fool than I thought," she snaps. "Go away."

"I can't go anywhere, y'know. We're trapped in here together."

"Shut up."

"It's true."

"Seriously, be quiet. You don't always have to talk."

"Au contraire, Harukawa-chan! Talking over you is the only way that I can even tolerate your presence! I really hate killers, after all."

There's no annoyed rebuttal on her end, and she simply glares at him with that hardened expression she's known for having. It's the gaze of someone who has lived day and night, spattered with blood and hiding in the shadows. It's the look of someone who has seen terrible things that no other human being should have to see. As much as it irks Ouma to know, she has the same look that he does—the same look that everyone else in this killing game has adopted since Akamatsu died.

It's a look of defeat and victory all at once.

It's a look of desperation.

.

.

Hours pass, and nothing progresses. They investigate every holographic screen they can find, and test out all the various panels and hatches. There are several machines that they have no idea the use for—something that looks like a shuttle car, right next to a circular rise in the floor that looks like a teleportation pad but most certainly isn't. While interesting at first, the Ultimate Robot Lab is disappointing and monotonous shortly thereafter. The monochromatic scheme of bright blues, violets, and greens doesn't help, either, and both Ouma and Harukawa are getting tired of staring at the neon atmosphere around them.

Ouma's really thirsty, too, and he's sure that he can hear growling noises coming from Harukawa. She doesn't need to conceal the fact that she's hungry, but she clearly feels the need to do so since every time he glances at her, she makes it a point to turn her back on him. Then they continue their fidgeting in silence, hoping that either of them will press the "DISARM" button somewhere, and their predicament will end sooner than later.

Dying of thirst or hunger is starting to look like a halfway realistic option now.

"Dammit," Harukawa curses. She slams the palms of her hands against the cold, cylindrical, metallic chamber where nothing but blue light filters through. "Where the hell's the switch? Or the damn exit? There's gotta be a way…"

Yet every time she glances up, her burning red eyes lose a bit of their flames as she sees nothing but locked doors, laser security lines, and a brightly flashing red light at the main entrance. Clearly, Ouma's claim about Kiibo's infrequent appearances is true. Hours have gone by and the Ultimate Robot hasn't popped up once. What could he be doing at a time like this?

"Honestly, he's probably getting reamed by Iruma-chan," Ouma comments offhandedly. "Well, they'd call it 'maintenance'—" he curls his fingers into air quotes and rolls his eyes— "but we all know what they're really doing."

"I can't believe we might die because that idiot would rather hang out with Iruma," Harukawa adds in an annoyed voice. "I can't believe I've been stuck in the same room with you for over five hours. Maybe even six."

"There's an atomic clock on this control panel, here. It's been five hours, thirty four minutes, seventeen seconds, seven milliseconds—"

"Shut up," she snaps at him, for what must have been the umpteenth time that day. "Just shut. Up."

"Make me, you coward," he says in a low, taunting voice. "As long as I have breath in these lungs, I'll talk as much as I want to."

"You're insufferable."

"Says you."

"Says everyone, actually."

"Ah, yes, because everyone's proven themselves to be the brightest bunch there is! Like I care what anyone here thinks of me! What bothers me is what they think of you. I don't know what they could possibly see in you!"

"I don't know who you're talking about and I don't care."

"I mean Momota-chan and Saihara-chan, of course!"

"Don't you dare say anything about them. They're not even involved in this mess right now."

"Which is so strange, because you're at the core of this problem! They revere you oh-so-much, that I'm surprised they're not busting down the walls to try and find you."

She leans against the wall, completely silent except for the shifting fabric of her clothes here and there. Her face is focused, her brows are drawn, and her mouth twitches before remaining locked in their usual appearance. All of this is detected as he observes like an onlooker to a fireworks show.

He's waiting for her to blow up. She really wants to, but perhaps it would be better to not give into his curiosity.

Ouma continues to say: "Even if you kill me, they'd probably take your side."

"That says more about you than it does me."

"It says about the same for both of us."

"Stop talking already."

"No."

Their banter goes on like that for some time. He would never once think about the dangers that lie in conversing with someone like Harukawa, just as she would never think to be having a casual conversation with someone like Ouma. Since the beginning, she never wanted to be close to anyone, because she knows that her murderous nature and background will make her a target. She even went as far as to craft a second identity of being the Ultimate Child Caregiver, which didn't last long because of Ouma's persistence. Why is he so insistent on opposing her, anyway? Why does he continue to antagonize her, when he knows very well the limitations of her patience?

Maybe he actually has a death wish, but Harukawa is in no position to be carrying out favors for him.

She reaffirms this resolve as she stares at him, shooting down every stupid comment of his with her bluntness. When will he learn that she doesn't care about him? She doesn't care about anyone else in this game, although she can't speak for Saihara and Momota, who are as chivalrous and understanding as Ouma makes them out to be. His concerns from earlier bring up a good point, too. Why haven't they found her, by now? Isn't it getting late? Around this time is when they go out and exercise together, so what's going on?

Not that she needs the physical training, in the first place, since she's stronger than both Momota and Saihara combined, but it is their nightly routine. And besides, it's the thought that counts.

Her stomach growls again, and she draws her knees close to her chest to stifle their hungry whines.

Ouma notices this and gives her a hard time, as always. "I told you we'd die by starvation. Well, starvation happens after a few days of not eating, right? So we should be fine for now."

"...I haven't eaten since before yesterday," she admits. There is no tone of pity or guilt in her voice, however. She simply recites a true statement about her life at the moment. "So I'm well on my way."

"Wait, why?"

"None of your business. But if you haven't drinken water all day, you'll probably die before I do."

He doesn't respond to her comments, as he's seemingly lost in thought. He frowns ever-so-slightly, and his brows draw together in tiny movements. Most noticeable are his eyes, and the way they change from airy and empty to something deep and introspective, like the ocean glowing underneath a sunset.

They shine more brightly when he comes to a realization. "Harukawa-chan, you never show up to dinner when we're supposed to. You only go to breakfast, or so I've noticed."

"Whatever."

"It's because Toujou-chan was executed, huh? She used to bring you food since you guarded your lab all day and night before everyone knew you were an assassin."

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, you haven't eaten since almost two, maybe even three days ago? You're still not guarding your lab, right?"

"Not as intensely, but it doesn't matter."

"You realize that everyone's too scared of you to try and kill you, right? You can eat dinner with the rest of us just fine."

"Why are you suddenly concerned about me?"

"It's because I'm concerned about me, too. I'm thirsty as hell." He doesn't sound like someone that's in desperate need of water, but there is an underlying scratchiness to his voice that must be a result of thirst. He claws at his neck thoughtlessly, although Harukawa is sure that the action is to satiate whatever urge is hidden beneath the skin. "I didn't think we'd be in here this long. I didn't drink anything since yesterday, either. I planned on scoping this place out and grabbing some juice, and that's it."

"Then, at this rate…"

"We'd probably die of natural starvation and thirst at the same time. That is, if Kiibaby doesn't rear his ugly face in here soon enough."

"..."

She goes silent for a moment. Of all situations Harukawa thought herself to be in, trapped in the Ultimate Robot Lab with Ouma is the last of them she'd expect. Trapped anywhere with him has always been improbable, given the fact that she avoids him whenever she can—a feeling which appears to be mutual between the two of them.

Mutual feelings? Between her and Ouma? She hates the thought, but it's a reality come true before her eyes. They're sitting across from each other now, her against a wall and him curled up by one of the large mechanisms. The glow of neon lights drown them in shine, but the looks on their faces are cast in shadows.

Perhaps this is punishment for her crimes, after all. The starvation is merely a side-punishment to the main one, which is to suffer indefinitely in a close proximity to Ouma himself. Feeling a bit lightheaded, she buries her face and wraps her arms around her legs. Then she closes her eyes, and finds relief in the darkness—or just in anything that isn't the techno-glow of their surroundings. Ouma is a faraway worry in her mind, now, because even in her sleep, she knows he can't beat her.

Even in defeat, he'll never win over her.

Never.

.

.

She awakens to find herself in the same place as before. Sitting upright is a pain and her back aches dully. Harukawa moves to rectify the awkward position, grunting lowly as noisy cracks resound through her spine and joints—her entire body chorusing with physical reminders that she slept for too long.

And to top it all off, her annoying companion is nowhere in sight. At first she wonders if he had escaped somehow, but then it occurs to her that their inspections from before were too thorough for them to have overlooked anything. There isn't a single aspect in the Ultimate Robot Lab that Ouma knows more than Harukawa knows, and vice versa, so there's no way he left this place before she did.

Still, it's too quiet, for once, and Harukawa feels unsettled. She moves quickly, glancing around for the nasty boy in question.

She sees the stairs that lead to the second story of the lab, although they checked before and found nothing but several high-rise walkways and a few supply rooms. Although the word "supply" is a questionable descriptor, at best, since there's nothing like food or water in there. All they found was a single bathroom, and multiple rooms filled with computers, wires, control boxes, and more wires, after that. There was a keypad in one of the rooms, and they tried cracking the code but came up with nothing, so it's meaningless to them now as it was before.

Where's Ouma, though? Her steps start to sound repetitive as she hurriedly searches for him. Kiibo's domain isn't large enough to get lost in, so what gives? Did he really leave, or is he in hiding, for whatever odd reason? Maybe it's the bright lights blinding her, but it seems so hard to navigate the space suddenly, she wonders if he someone did something to her whilst asleep. Even though she's a light sleeper and has great reflexes, she isn't perfect so there's still some chance that she could be tampered with in such a vulnerable position.

Those worries leave her mind, however, as Harukawa enters the last supply room, and sees Ouma standing there. He's still alive, and clearly moving, but his back is turned against her. Immediately, her instincts tell her to be cautious, and she readies herself in case a fight breaks out between them.

Oh, what an amazingly short fight that would be.

"Ouma," she says cautiously, hesitant in saying his name any more than she has to. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to find us food or water," he merely answers. He looks back at her, and his face has an exasperated expression but he doesn't look worse for wear—yet. He must be really thirsty now, though. "Look."

She glances around. This room is more bare than the others, with a few cabinets that have already been opened. There is no sign of food or water, but there is something that's marginally more interesting than anything else has been before.

One of the cabinets seems to have moved since they last saw it, and behind it on the wall is a large, red button in a glass case. There is only one word plastered on top of it for an explanation, and it stares Ouma and Harukawa starkly in the face.

Emergency.

"What kind of emergency?" Harukawa mumbles beneath her breath. "And why is this hidden back here?"

"I don't know," Ouma admits. "But I think we should press it. This is pretty much an emergency on its own."

"We don't even know what this thing does."

"So? If Kiibaby doesn't show up anytime soon, we're as good as dead, anyway."

"..."

She's thinking that she should just shut him down now, because nothing good can come out of his schemes. Even if they're both in a tight spot right now, messing around with things beyond their understanding would only hinder this situation, rather than help it. They would be better off leaving the "Emergency" button alone, and just idly waiting for Kiibo to return—or, if he didn't come back soon enough for their liking, they would try looking over the lab a second time for their escape route.

The third option would be to remain here and die, but she would sooner take her own life than let something as embarrassing as that happen to her.

Before she can say anything, though, Ouma presses the button. It must have been the undeniable hunger settling over her, but she's a few seconds too slow to react as he finalizes their fates with a single motion. A clicking noise resounds, and for a few seconds, nothing happens. The anger that builds up in her chest vaporizes all at once, and she is glad that his stupid little plot didn't work out.

Or that's what seemed to happen, anyway. A few seconds after that feeling subsides, the entire lab starts shaking. The floor beneath them, the walls around them, the objects laid against the walls and built into the floors—everything starts to tremble and move before their very eyes. One of the shelves topples over, and the sound of endless cables, metals, and devices toppling over sounds very reminiscent of glass breaking.

Of their world breaking.

Ouma and Harukawa don't exchange any more glances or words. They're both very quick to dodge the falling objects, and dash out of the supply room as fast as they can. Harukawa nearly slams into the second story railing outside their door, but Ouma slams into her, panicked, and makes that imagined collision a reality.

She just has time to make out the trembling scene of the Ultimate Robot Lab: black, green, blue, and red all over, as hazard lights flash and a loud voice echoes "WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!" over and over again. She just has time to see the shaking panels and flickering screen, the tumbling noises of supplies being knocked off of cabinets and cables unplugging from various sockets and walls. She has time to see all of this, before the force of Ouma's unintentional (or did he mean it, after all?) impact sends her scrambling over the second floor railing.

Everything is a blur of colors as she falls (she hears a shout of "Harukawa-chan!" above her, so maybe it wasn't intentional after all), but after the initial shock wears off, she quickly reaches out, and grabs a metal fixture sticking out from the underside of the platform.

It turns out that it's an emergency ladder (but under the stairs, she thinks to herself, why?) and it extends as she grabs onto it, click-click-clicking with each rung that's revealed from its hidden compartment. She plants her feet on the bottom rung, and clings onto the sides as it unfolds.

The bottom half of the ladder reaches the ground, and Harukawa can see Ouma dashing down the stairs, right in time to see her dismount the ladder without a scratch. "Whoa! Talk about reflexes! I guess that's why—"

"Countdown until self-destruction: activated," the overhead voice announces in a deadpan. "One minute. Fifty nine-seconds. Fifty-eight seconds. Fifty seven seconds..."

"You're a goddamn idiot," Harukawa snaps. "First, you cause all this, then you run into me? You really did wanna die."

"No I didn't!" Ouma insists. "You're the one that was too slow and too scared to even do anything. Sleeping on the job, Harumaki? That's unlike you!"

"Do not call me 'Harumaki'," she sneers. "Now look, we're about to blow up 'cause of you. Any last words?"

"Thirty-nine seconds, thirty-eight seconds, thirty-seven seconds…"

"Let's head to the front. If we die, we can at least die by the exit in case it decides to malfunction in our last seconds of life."

"Hurry up, then."

They make a mad dash towards the locked up entrance. The shutters are still closed, and the red lights are only more intense as a siren flashes sporadically above their heads. Both of them can make out a message on one of the monitors, which reads out: Disable self-destruction mode? Voiced activated answers: YES or NO.

Their reactions are equally hopeful as they are disparate. They glance at each other for a second—a mere second—before bringing their attention back to the monitor, and shouting at the top of their lungs.

"YES!"

And in the background, drowned out in their cacophony, is the countdown. Twenty-three seconds, twenty-two seconds, twenty-one seconds…

"Dammit, it probably only works for Kiibaby."

"Well, so much for that."

"Bye Harumaki. I'll see you on the other side."

"You're an idiot if you think we're going to the same place."

Ouma laughs as he throws his back against the closed shutters, body slumped downwards in defeat. "People like you and me belong in the same place."

"Ten seconds, nine seconds, eight seconds…"

Harukawa closes her eyes, and leans against the shutters with a sigh. She doesn't look angry, for once.

"We belong in hell."

"Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds…"

She doesn't say anything; he takes a deep breath and holds it.

Two. One.

Everything goes white.

.

.

Ouma opens his eyes. He doesn't do anything else. Normally, even the most trivial actions are accompanied by his tendency to overthink and analyze the situation around him. On any other day, Ouma would open his eyes and joke to himself Aw, I'm still alive? or Which layer of the Matrix is this? Only this time, there's nothing remotely close to any of those thoughts.

In fact, there are no thoughts at all.

His head rings, and the sound resonates and remains, like a gong or a bell that doesn't disappear even after it stops vibrating. Like a school routine, a few notes on a metal surface is all it takes for the students to move like clockwork. For them to be rounded up in classrooms like they're cattle, or to be whipped and shaped into desirable forms like an artist's marble.

All Ouma can see is a blinding whiteness, and a hazy outline above him. Inky and dark, like someone's fingers that smear lead pencil on their paper after erasing mistaken lines. Smudged, bleak, weary—he blinks at least a dozen times as his eyes start to adjust.

It's Kiibo.

"Ouma-kun! Ouma-kun!"

"Leave him," another voice scolds. "Let him die."

"H-Harukawa-san, you can't say things like that! Ouma is our classmate, too, right? So we have to—"

"Kiibaby...is that really Harukawa-chan I hear?"

"Ouma-kun!" Kiibo almost cries out of relief, and he throws himself onto his side like a homemaker in denial. "You're okay! Yes, yes, it's true! You and Harukawa-san are fine now. My lab is too technical that sometimes, it goes into self-destruct mode. I deactivated from the outside, but the explosion still went off. Thank goodness that the two of you came out of it okay, though, I don't know what I'd do if—"

"So, long story short, I'm alive?"

"Uh, yes."

"And Harukawa-chan is alive, too?"

"She is. She's standing right here, uh, glaring at you."

"Kiibo."

"Yes?"

Ouma's chest (and pride) deflates as he sinks further into the grass, and covers his face with one arm alongside a melodramatic sigh.

"You should have let us blow up."

"Ouma-kun!"

"I agree."

"Harukawa-san, not you too! Listen, you guys shouldn't be like this...we should all be friends…"

The words around Ouma melt into each other, and when he closes his eyes against the world, he can barely differentiate between the annoying, soulless machine and Kiibo. But as the sounds continue to cadence around him, he can't help but smile at the thought of it all.

She doesn't sound too angry, for once in her life.

Shuuichi Saihara

"Hey, Saihara-chan. Do you want to team up with me this time around?" Ouma asks. Of course, his insufferable grin is half as annoying than usual, since he currently looks like a cute pixelated version of his usual self. Leave it to him to confront Saihara at the end of their virtual world escapades, cornering the detective right as he's about to leave. That's the least of his antics, but Saihara feels incredibly annoyed, nonetheless.

His mind works in odd ways. That's a statement that could apply to the both of them, actually. For Saihara, everything is a bit like clockwork. Everything has a reason and a function, both of which happen simultaneously and within the same time frame from each other. People are like minutes on the clock: they are the same every time, yet they change invariably, and the difference between them is so tiny yet so important all the same. A lot can happen in two minutes in the same way that nothing can happen for hours on end. And when he notices these patterns—when he sees the details that everyone else tend to overlook—he can't help but feel burdened.

Also, Ouma is super annoying. Although that much is a given.

"...You know what, Ouma-kun?" Saihara puts down the phone, and lays to rest the receiver in the main room that's used to log everyone out and in. The sound the phone makes as it goes back into the cradle is sharp and sudden, enough to make chills run up Ouma's spine.

His pixels are visually unaffected by it, thankfully enough. Saihara steps closer to him.

"If it makes you stop bothering the others, then yes, you can help me this time."

"Oh, Saihara-chan!" Ouma gasps as he places a blocky hand on his chest. "Do you adore me that much? I was expecting that you'd put up some resistance, but to see that you agreed so easily! Why, I could just—"

"—let me ask this." Saihara's eyes narrow, but not to the point of hatred. He's analyzing Ouma, just as he does anything (and everything) else in his life. "Why are you assuming that someone is dead?"

The smile on the supreme leader's face is unwavering. Saihara wills it to fall while he adds, "All we know is that Iruma-san and the others are experiencing weird things from this virtual world. So why do you want to go with me like it's an investigation? Nothing's happened yet, as far as I can tell. What do you know, Ouma-kun?"

The Saihara from before wouldn't be this brave. If anything, he would have asked "What do you know that I don't?" or "Do you want to tell me something about this?" He would have hesitated to cross barriers, to go beyond boundaries that were restricted for the likes of him. But time has passed since then, and that boy from before—the one that couldn't hold onto anything: his pride, his appearance, the hand of his dearest friend as she was ripped away from them like a feather plucked from a plume—would never be able to look at the Ultimate Supreme Leader in the eye and question him as he did just now.

He would never stand up against what seemed to be an equally intelligent and inquisitive mind, in fear of losing or getting hurt. But Saihara has grown since then. He's not the same boy as he was before. And Ouma must have noticed this, too, because as much as loathes it, his smile dampens ever-so-slightly.

Saihara has to resist the urge to smirk.

"Well, well, well...I never thought that you'd be the forceful type, too, Saihara-chan."

"O-Ouma-kun?" Old habits die hard as Saihara's natural nervousness rises up from within. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, I'm just impressed by your keen observation skills, as usual!" Ouma jumps cheerfully, which is an action utterly amplified in cuteness due to this virtual world. If Saihara didn't see the charm in Iruma's invention before, he could certainly get behind it now.

The embarrassing thought is smothered and laid to rest as soon as it rises in his mind.

"The others are waiting for us," Saihara reminds him. "My answer is 'yes', so let's not waste any more time than we need to."

"Gotcha! This is Ouma Kokichi, signing off!" Ever the obedient servant, Ouma hops over to the telephone, picks up the cradle, presses it to his ear, and takes a deep breath.

"OUMA KOKICHI, BITCH!"

His voice waves are almost visible as he shouts into the phone, and for a moment, Saihara doesn't think that anything will happen. Then, within seconds, Ouma's pixelated form lights up, and disappears into tiny specks of dust and color before Saihara's very eyes.

When the boy is out of sight, Saihara sighs to himself, and walks over to the telephone. His hand clutches the phone, but he doesn't pick it up. Not yet. He closes his eyes, and thinks about Iruma. He knows that Kiibo and Harukawa saw her for most of the day. He knows that he himself was with Shirogane and Momota (the latter who disappeared ahead of time, another matter that Saihara had to look into if his dark suspicion was right) up to now. He knows that Ouma and Gonta were off doing their own thing, too.

He knows all of this, yet even without witnessing anything, he knows that someone is dead.

Someone is dead, Ouma knows more about this than he lets on, and Saihara has to be the one to separate everything into their rightful place. The world is clockwork, and he is but a time interpreter, watching the seconds tick away, watching the minutes fall down, watching everything dwindle into nothing and fall into their predestined slots.

Teaming up with Ouma would be a new experience; it would be another obstacle blocking the grand scheme of things. Yet, if they are to get any closer to the truth of this killing game and their circumstances—if they are to avenge their fallen friends and prevent further tragedy—then they would have to plow through as they have always done.

With this resolve reaffirming itself in Saihara's mind, he takes another deep breath, and picks up the phone in a swift movement. "Saihara Shuuichi," he announces into the receiver. Even though no one is around to hear it, it's the smoothest and steadiest his voice has ever been, and it's the first time he's said his own name with such vigor and life.

As the world fades away from Saihara's view, he thinks it's just as well.

Nothing good ever comes out of being around him.

Not yet, anyway.

.

.

When Saihara logs out of the virtual world and clocks back into the real one, his worst fears have come to life before him. It takes a while for him to realize this, because the helmet is bulky and the wires are difficult to set aside. He remembers the importance of having the correct wires connected in the right spots, and double checks his own to make sure his virtual experience wasn't corrupted in any way.

After confirming his setup is correct, Saihara looks ahead and takes in the scene.

Iruma Miu, the Ultimate Inventor, is dead. And just as she was in life, she appears bright and expressive. The way her eyes bug out slightly, the way her mouth hangs open in horror, the way her hands are clawed at her neck for relief but have none—all of it amounts to a singular, prevalent word that resounds throughout Saihara's head.

Dead, dead, dead.

Iruma Miu is dead.

It looks like asphyxiation, but I should check the Monokuma File just to make sure.

As he thinks all of this, he can hear the screams and the terror of those around him. His own sympathy matches theirs in perfect tandem.

"Iruma! Iruma's dead!"

"What the fuck?! What happened to her?"

"Gonta doesn't understand...we were in the virtual world, yes? So why is Iruma-san dead?"

"One of you actually killed her, huh…?"

"B-But we were just with her! I know her model stopped moving and everything, but I didn't think that—"

"Sigh. Looks like you and I are the only ones with our heads on straight, huh, Saihara-chan?"

He looks away from Iruma's body and the others to make eye contact with Ouma. That is to say, even though Saihara towers over the supreme leader in height, he still feels uneasy when staring at him head-on. It's as if there are no weaknesses in Ouma's world, nothing that can truly break him down. It feels as if he is the one towering over Saihara.

The detective gulps his anxiety down his throat like unwilling medicine before responding to the equally bitter words. "Speak for yourself. Iruma-san didn't deserve to die like that."

"Uh, don't assume things." Ouma rolls his eyes, and gestures wildly to the corpse seated upright in the chair. "Maybe if she wasn't such a bitch, she'd still be alive, huh?"

"Ouma-kun!" Saihara snaps. "If you're going to talk badly about her, or anything regarding this situation, then I'll be perfectly fine working on my own."

"Pfft, that's all you got, Saihara-chan? Empty threats? Oh, please, I know you need my testimony, too! Plus there's a lot of decoding in this case, literally and figuratively. Still think you can do it alone?"

Annoyed, Saihara glances away from Ouma, and finds himself staring at Momota and Harukawa, who are talking to each other. When they notice Saihara and his new unsavory partner, they look extremely worried. There is an unspoken message between the three of them. It's as if the two of them are chaperones who want to make sure their little boy's prom night goes well. Saihara fights the urge to roll his eyes, and sighs deeply, for what feels like the umpteenth time that day.

This is going to be difficult.

.

.

"Is Ouma bothering you?" Momota asks. "I'll tell that little shit to get lost if he is."

"Why are you even working with Ouma, anyway?" Harukawa adds on. "He won't be helpful in a situation like this."

"It's complicated," Saihara reassures them. "But I have everything under control. Besides, it might be better this way, since I can keep an eye on Ouma-kun in case anything bad happens…"

"Well, I trust you, so you can go ahead and do what you want." Momota places one hand on his hip, and averts his gaze from one of his most trusted friends, out of awkwardness more than out of caution. "Since you're here, I guess I should tell you what I know, huh?"

"Right," Saihara agrees. "You logged out early, Momota-san. I checked the log entry, and you left before anyone else did. What happened?"

"That's the thing," he mumbles. "I don't know what happened. One minute I'm exploring the rooftop, the next, I'm being logged out. I didn't have control of it, either."

"So what did you do after you logged out?"

"..."

"Momota-san?"

"I went to my room and I took a nap," Momota says, deadpanned. "Iruma was still alive then, I promise."

"Hmm…"

"That makes you look suspicious, idiot." Harukawa runs nervous hands through a twin-tail of hair, before looking up back at the suspect in question. "You should have just stayed put. You could have stopped Iruma from dying, or something."

"As if," he murmurs. "If I could have done that, well, she'd still be alive, wouldn't she?"

"Saihara-chan!" Ouma's voice calls out for him. He's waiting by the core machine, alongside a dejected Monotaro, who is in disbelief that his precious "mother" is now dead. "We've got a situation over here! Stop messing around and be helpful for once, yeah?"

"I'm going to kill him," Harukawa growled. She stepped forward, right into the arms of Momota and Saihara, who both seem to be against such a thing. "What are you doing? Get out of my way."

"Just ignore Ouma-kun for now," Saihara advises. He laughs quietly, and takes a step back from his friends. "I'll handle him during this investigation, okay? Don't worry about it."

"Fine," Harukawa mumbles. "C'mon, Momota. Let's look over here."

"Gotcha."

At once, the three of them seperate, leaving Saihara to himself in the middle of a crowded room. Well, actually, it's less crowded than usual. Metallic eyes scan the surroundings, and the mind behind them quickly remembers past scenes. The escape route with Kaede taking charge, the dangerous traps that awaited them at every step. The cafeteria the morning after the first execution, the moment Saihara found the strength to look people in the eye again. The Insect Meet & Greet, a swarm of flies and beetles and a chorus of half-hearted, half-happy screams. Then there was the courtyard outside, always housing late-night talks and training sessions. The expansive second world that Iruma used all her might and intellect towards, the same place she inevitably met her end.

As time went on, these crowded places lost their bustle and hustle, and one-by-one the Ultimate Students lost their lives. Escape was almost in their grasp, yet just like everything else up to now, it was taken away from them, ripped to shreds before their very eyes. Amami, Akamatsu, Hoshi, Toujou, Angie, Chabashira, Shinguuji, and now Iruma...how many of them needed to die until they could finally escape this madness?

And why did Ouma never seem bothered by it all? Saihara could be a bit moody, himself, and it didn't help that he was depressed and anxious to high degrees. But even so, he noticed that ever since the beginning, Ouma was always a negative force. He never spoke out against him before, but the supreme leader gave Akamatsu-san a troubling time when she was still alive, and if there was anyone that hated the idea of banding together to end the killing game, it was Ouma.

Why was he like that? And why did he find such joy in the disparity the students faced? Although he offered, in some odd way, to make amends with Saihara by being his "sidekick" during this investigation, the fact of the matter was that Ouma Kokichi was a dangerous person, and he didn't do things just for fun.

Or, not all things, anyway. Even as they talked, played games, or discussed the next move, Saihara couldn't get a read on him. Was everything a lie, as Ouma said, or was he disarmingly honest in ways that no one could anticipate? In Iruma's case in particular, he seemed to know more than he was letting on, so why bother playing the role of helper when he could just divulge everything he knew?

Why put up with such formalities?

The more Saihara thought about it, the more his head hurt. Although he would be lying if he said he wasn't interested in Ouma in the least. As a detective and as a person, Saihara was naturally curious and thoughtful, but when enigmas like the gremlin Kokichi came along, he couldn't help wanting to figure out every little thing about him.

"Saihara-chan, looks like Monotaro wants to talk to us," Ouma pointed out. The little red bear was downcast, still, and lacking the usual cheer that these Monokubs tended to have. Saihara wished he felt bad for it, but he cared more about bringing Iruma's murderer to justice than anything else. "Should we hear what he has to say?"

"Yes," Saihara agreed. "Having one of them on our side, even temporarily, is important." He glanced from the bear to the supreme leader, and hefted out a sigh. "Although, I think hearing your testimony is more important in this case."

"Saihara-chan, Saihara-chan," Ouma scolded. "C'mon, don't you know me better by now? Good things come to those who wait, y'know."

"C-Can I tell you about Mommy now? Or at least her program? I miss her so much…" Monotaro wailed. "Monodam and the others are also…will I be next?"

Playing therapist to a robotic killing machine wasn't on Saihara's list of things to do today, but neither was teaming up with Ouma, of all people, either. He ran a hand through his hair (still remembering the weight of a hat that used to sit on his head), and thought through it all.

He could handle Ouma, surely enough. It was the bear that proved itself to be an obstacle.

Baby steps, he reminded himself. Take things in stride.

"Tell us more about Iruma's virtual world, Monotaro-kun." Saihara smiled gently. "I'm sure she won't mind you spilling the beans."

.

.

"Soooo...she messed up with the logout times? And it looks like she might have manipulated Momota-chan's avatar in some way," Ouma hummed. "And me, too! Gasp! How could she be so nefarious, Saihara-chan? Why, it's almost like—"

"—she had plans of her own," Saihara finished suddenly. "Her actions and behavior didn't align with someone that was simply a victim. Iruma-san was more than just a helpless damsel in distress, too. So there's no way she could've…"

"See? It's all starting to come together, right? Aren't you just so glad that I'm here to help you?" He sat cross-legged on the counter of one of the machines, face plastered with a smile so bright that it hurt to look at.

Saihara used every ounce of willpower to not show his disdain. The result was a frown that was a little too pronounced for his liking.

Ouma smirked. "Of course, you're the Ultimate Detective, so you probably didn't even need my help to begin with, huh?"

The expected answer was of course. Because, of course the Ultimate Detective could solve a case on his own. In fact, that's exactly what he did to earn the title in the first place (no matter how much he denied such a thing), so having the assistance of someone else was a formality put in place by the circumstances of the killing game. Not to mention that Ouma Kokichi, Ultimate Supreme Leader, was too unhinged to be left unchecked.

The answer was simple, expected.

Saihara always had a way to disprove that. "Not really," he insisted. "No, I think having you around was rather helpful, after all."

Ouma smiled widely, and it was almost a perfect representation of his true feelings at the moment. "Really? You mean that?"

"I'm not the type to just say things with no meaning," Saihara mumbled. "Surely you agree."

"Well, yeah, but I just didn't think you'd give in so easily." He clasped his hands together, and fluttered his eyelashes way too many times for Saihara's liking. "Aw, did Saihara-chan fall in love with me? Is that why he agreed so easily? I didn't think you were so romantic, y'know."

"You wish," he muttered. "No, it's just...you're obviously involved in all of this. Even though you were with Gonta-kun, he doesn't seem to remember anything that happened in the virtual world."

"Or he's just feigning innocence," Ouma countered. "But everyone is involved in one way or another. Even your precious friends, Harukawa-chan and Momota-chan are suspicious. I guess one is more suspicious than the other, but I digress." He shrugged, and brought his hands back to his sides. Then he leaned forward, hand rested beneath his chin, violet eyes alive and pulsating with reckless thoughts that could tear a weaker heart in two.

Saihara felt his own heartbeat thrum in discordance.

Ouma spoke. "I'll be honest, for once, Saihara-chan. You really don't need those two idiots. If you wanted, you and I could make a perma-team together, and we'd stop the killing game in its tracks. 'Sides, you're way more fun than the rest of these idiots are, even if you're a kilogram too naive where it counts."

"..."

"Just be my friend, Saihara-chan, and no one else's. I promise it'll be good for you."

"Ouma-kun…"

Silence. Ouma was so close to Saihara, now, leering down at him with such an intense gaze that Saihara felt his willpower crumbling to bits. He was momentarily taller than Saihara, but the height difference was always prevalent, even if the detective overshadowed the supreme leader any day of the week. There was a great difference between the two, and it was palpable as Kokichi's aura was strong and unwavering, oozing forth like a violent miasma that wanted to devour everything in sight.

Saihara almost whimpered. "Ouma-kun, I—"

"Just kidding!" Ouma cheered. He laughed loudly as he kicked back, arms spread behind his back, smile so wide that Saihara felt his own cheeks ache in sorrow. "I was clearly lying, Saihara-chan. If you like being idiot friends with idiot Momota and murderer Harukawa, well, I can't stop you now, can I? Even if I beg or whine, Saihara-chan does what he wants at the end of the day."

"That's…"

"And how nice of you to even consider that. Although if the answer was going to be 'no', I wish you didn't humor me in the first place." He sounded sad, but Saihara knew better than to take Ouma's sadness at face value. The way he could produce tears at a moment's notice was unnatural and overly practiced.

Still, his chest felt hollow as if it were real. How unfair.

"Sorry, Ouma-kun," Saihara muttered. "I agreed to let you help, but don't be mistaken. I'm going to end the killing game in my own way. I don't need your twisted schemes to do that."

"...Is that so?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Well, well, well. Looks like you lost a hat and grew a spine: who knew?" Ouma laughed bitterly, and threw himself off of the counter with a fluid motion. Back at his original height, he was nothing but a child compared to the tall and spindly Saihara, even though his wit and intelligence were equally matched.

He glared up at Saihara, with acrid eyes and a vengeful smile that could have stopped a weaker person.

But Saihara wasn't so feeble. Not anymore, at least.

"You'll regret that. You and everyone else will realize what it means to be blind this whole time."

"Don't throw a tantrum just 'cause you didn't get what you wanted," Saihara scolded. "It's your fault that things turned out this way."

"No, it's actually your fault."

"H-Huh?"

"You've made your choice, Saihara-chan. And the investigation time is almost over, so our partnership has come to an end. But let me make myself clear." He walked forward with a passion, and gripped the collar of Saihara's shirt so tightly, that the detective almost squealed at the motion. With a firm hand, he brought down the collar—and Saihara along with it—until they were eye-level, and Saihara could see the darkness in Ouma's purple eyes.

He saw the vitriol swirling within like poison.

He inhaled reluctantly.

"I'll take all the fun away from you. All the guesswork, all the thoughts, all the possibilities...I'm going to show you the truth, and you're just going to accept it because I'm tired of you stealing the show. I'm tired of you acting like you know what this game is all about, when you and the others don't know anything at all. And when I'm done, you're going to regret not being by my side."

"If this is me being against you, I don't want to know what being beside you is like, either," Saihara whispered. His lips curled up into a pathetic smile. "Sorry, Ouma-kun. I guess in the end we're just not compatible."

His grip loosened, and Kokichi withdrew his hands in a flurry. Shuuichi reached up, and tried to fix the wrinkles that formed from the clutched fabric. Before he could do that, though, Kokichi stood on his tip toes again, and whispered into his ear.

"I'll miss you, Saihara-chan. I'll miss this kind of interaction we had."

"What do you—"

"See you on the other side."

Then, as if on cue, Monokuma announced that the time for investigation was over, and everyone had to assemble in the courtyard to carry out the trial. There were tears and uncertainty amidst the students—Gonta swearing that he'll find Iruma's killer, Harukawa and Momota whispering among themselves—as no one was satisfied with the current outcome. They were steps away from obtaining a virtual world, and now they were down a student and a friend, and were forced to pit against each other in a cruel courtroom.

But Saihara was ready for all of it. It was his talent, his job, his obligation to see this through. And if anything, the conflict already started: Kokichi Ouma threw down the gauntlet, and the challenge sat right in front of his face. It was clear that the two of them could never agree, but was he wrong about their potential partnership being a missed opportunity? Was it still possible to make amends, even when Saihara felt that Ouma was beyond reconciliation?

Those thoughts swirled in Saihara's head like fog, and as he descended into the elevator, only one thing was for sure.

Ouma Kokichi was a mystery that refused to be unraveled.

Saihara Shuuichi wanted nothing more than for him to fall apart.