#I just find her very interesting as the woman who made Byakuya break the law the first time

[firebirdsdaughter]

Actually…

… Anyone else around here who's watched/read BLEACH… The one thing I could never figure out… When exactly did Urahara put the magic hollow orb inside Rukia???

I can't seem to remember that ever getting explained… Was it while she was still in the Rukongai? Now that I say that, actually, that might actually make sense, since I think they say the west area was where he hid/did most of his operations, and that's where Hisana and therefore Rukia was from. Certainly would make more sense than him somehow doing it more recently.

But if that's true I'm amazed we never got Aizen claiming he was responsible for Byakuya and Hisana meeting, lol.

[recurring-polynya]

Oh boy!!! Polynya I have a sudden ferocious hankering for Byakuya and Aizen being viciously passive aggressive to each other. Most of the time you write B he is in the company of his family or his loved ones. So clearly the ultimate way to bring out the knives is an AU in which all the captains are in the same Homeowner's Association. I have no preference for ships; I crave only drama, the pettier the better.

Alopex. Alopex. Why. Why u do this 2 me. You’re my favorite, tho, I cannot refuse you. I hope this is petty enough. I almost made this whole thing an epistolary fanfic that took place over NextDoor, the worst “social media”, but I think it worked better with everyone in person.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🏠     🏠     🏠

“Gosh darnit, the only K-cups left are apple cider and pumpkin spice!”

“Oh, that can’t be right, I know I filled up the carousel just before the meeting! Retsu! Retsu, honey, we’re out of K-cups, and I bought a whole carton at Costco and I just don’t understand--”

Kuchiki Byakuya glanced up from the presentation materials he was reviewing for the six hundredth time. For starters, Byakuya wasn’t really sure anyone should be letting Hitsugaya Toushirou have coffee in the first place. It was 8p.m., and the child couldn’t be more than twelve. Byakuya had never been very clear on a) why the Seireitei Estates Homeowners’ Association let the child attend the meetings in lieu of his father (or possibly step-father?), a doctor who worked late hours, and b) why a young child would want to attend a Homeowners’ Association meeting anyway, but he had more sense than most of the other board members, so Byakuya didn’t ask questions.

Byakuya also wasn’t sure why they had to have “refreshment breaks.” Breaks were for quitters, in Byakuya’s opinion. Granted, the meeting was being held at Unohana’s house this month, which meant that the baked goods were impeccable, but Unohana’s high-strung wife tended to radiate so much nervous energy that Byakuya worried the woman was going to spontaneously combust.

“Oh, sunflower, I’m sure they just got pushed behind the croquembouche,” Unohana purred reassuringly. “I’ll help you look-- oh, excuse me, Mr. Ichimaru.”

As Unohana pushed past that weaselly shyster Ichimaru Gin, she swung her hips, knocking into him. Approximately thirty K-cups tumbled out of the pockets of Gin’s couture tracksuit.

“Oh, there they are!” Unohana sang innocently.

“How did those get in there?” Gin gasped, as though he were genuinely puzzled.

Byakuya shuddered. Ichimaru worked for the second biggest law firm in town, after, of course, Kuchiki and Sons. Byakuya dreaded the day he might find himself across a negotiation table from the man. Not that harbored any doubts about annihilating that idiot in a contest of the law, he just didn’t like being in the same room with him.

“Here you go, dear,” Unohana said, popping a K-cup into the machine and patting little Toushirou on the head. Toushirou was too busy glaring at Gin to notice.

“That looks like some presentation you’re givin' after the break, eh, Kuchiki?” Ichimaru drawled, selecting a bearclaw from the pastry tray. “Or didja bring home the paperwork from the Tsunayashiro merger?”

Byakuya sniffed and shuffled his papers back into their portfolio. “I approach all areas of my life with the same diligence as I do my professional work.”

“What a coinky-dink! I do, too-- I don’t work hard at anything.”

Byakuya had no interest in frittering away his preparation time to small talk with a moron. “I am going to set up,” he said coolly.

“Good luck!” Ichimaru trilled, giving a saucy little finger wave.

Byakuya returned to Unohana’s sitting room, where he had left his easel and poster board near the hideous faux fireplace with its tacky LED candles.

Aizen was sitting at the cardtable he’d set up at the front of the room, fiddling with his chintzy little gavel. “You look very prepared,” he said, in a tone of voice that was almost as insipid as the oatmeal-marl turtleneck sweater he wore. “Do try not to run too long, though. I’m only the substitute president, you know! I want to run a tight ship, ha ha!”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. He was still slightly salty that President Yamamoto had felt the need to take a last minute trip on a “Single Seniors Cruise.” Something something about a flash sale and when you’re old you have to take advantage of the time you have left, etcetera, etcetera, but if there were anyone that Byakuya could count on take his side in the matter, it was that antediluvian rule-enforcer. For that matter, Byakuya wasn’t actually sure whether Yamamoto even cared about clipped hedges and shoveled sidewalks or if he just liked yelling at people and slapping them with fines.

Aizen was also a bit of a stickler for the finer points of home maintenance, but the man had no substance to him, with his floppy hair and his chunky knitwear and his horn-rimmed glasses.

“All right, everyone!” Aizen called in his stupid simpering voice. Byakuya had no idea what the man actually did, but Byakuya figured he was a preschool teacher or an art therapist or something equally touchy-feely. “Please take your seats! The next item on our agenda is a presentation on, uh, ‘A Secret But Important Topic, from our neighbor over at number six, let’s give a big hand for...Byakuya!”

“Hold the applause,” Byakuya said sternly, holding up a hand. “I come to you today to call for-- nay, demand the expulsion of one Zaraki Kenpachi from the Board of this Homeowners Association, and possibly also the entire neighborhood, if that’s possible.”

“We can’t kick people out of the neighborhood,” Aizen stage-whispered to him.

“Is he actually a member of the HOA Board?” Kyouraku asked, scratching his shaggy mane. “I’ve never seen him at one of these meetings.”

Byakuya turned to Tousen, the Board treasurer, who had taken his seat at the front table with Aizen and Ichimaru. “Mr. Tousen, did you happen to look into the dues records, as I requested?”

“I did, yes,” Tousen replied. “It turns out that Mr. Zaraki is excused from paying dues. There was a post-it note in President Yamamoto’s handwriting that said,” Tousen made finger quotes, “‘Zaraki fixed my car, excused from dues.’”

Byakuya scowled. “That doesn’t seem… sufficient… it is of no matter.” He grabbed the bed sheet covering his posterboard, and dramatically swept it away. It would have been more dramatic if the bedsheet weren’t covered in Chappy rabbits, but there was no way he was bringing one of his own 800-thread counts into a house that contained cats.

“I have been closely watching Mr. Zaraki’s residence for the last few months, as his rear yard backs to mine, and I believe he may be operating a fight club in his garden on weekends. They do move into the garage if the weather is unpleasant.”

A hush fell over the room, except for Isane and Ukitake Juushirou, who were discussing the merits of blind-baking pie crusts.

“Er, sorry, did I miss something?” Juushirou asked apologetically, after realizing he was the only person talking.

“Kenpachi seems to be running some sort of fight club,” his scruffy husband supplied, looking deeply confused, as usual.

“Goodness!” Juushirou exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

Byakuya cleared his throat. “Allow me to present the evidence I have gathered.” He picked up two large binders, and handed one to Soi Fon in the front row, and the other to Aizen, who immediately passed his, unopened, to Ichimaru. “There are about two dozen disreputable personages who are frequently found loitering about the premises. The first page of the binder indexes each of them by a descriptive nickname, including times I have seen them. Photographic evidence follows.”

“They seem to be washing cars in most of these photos,” Soi Fon pointed out, flipping a page back and forth. Or are they fixing the cars? I can’t tell.”

Komamura craned his head over, curiously. “Wow, is that a ‘73 Stingray? Nice.”

“Yes, they also like to get together to maintain and detail their vehicles,” Byakuya snapped. “Usually at ungodly hours of the morning. I am almost positive that many of those cars do not employ catalytic converters. In any case, it is easier to take pictures of them during the day.”

“Looks like they like to spray each other with hoses, too,” Gin noted, waggling his eyebrows. “Why are there so many pictures of this one guy with the red hair and tattoos? He sure doesn’t like to wear a shirt, does he?” Aizen appeared to be leaning to the side, trying to look at the book out of the corner of his eye.

“My dutiful sister did the photographic surveillance! She is very thorough, and I appreciated the help!” All these questions were knocking Byakuya off his game. He smacked his pointer against the poster. “May I direct your attention to Figure A, a bar chart of traffic on his street vs. hours of the day.”

“Tell us more about the fight club,” Soi Fon interrupted, shoving her binder over to Komamura. “Are there weapons involved, blunted or otherwise? How many people usually show up? Is it held regularly, or do you suspect there’s, say, an email list or something?”

“I think it’s some sort of mixed martial arts,” Byakuya said, rubbing his forehead. “There are often up to a dozen of them, but sometimes it’s as few as three or four.”

“You know, I’m looking through the bylaws,” Aizen said, turning pages in the bylaw binder without actually looking at them, “and I’m not exactly clear on whether fight clubs are actually… you know, forbidden.”

“They’re illegal,” Byakuya bit off.

“Per-haaaps,” Aizen drew out. “But what really constitutes… a ‘fight club,’ am I right? I mean, Dr. Unohana teaches kickboxing classes in her basement studio, is that a fight club?”

“No,” Byakuya replied.

“Exactly, and we wouldn’t want her to be painted with the same brush for just trying to teach other women the arts of self-defense, now would we?”

“It’s not for self-defense,” Unohana clarified.

“Or what about having a bunch of friends over and hitting each other with foam swords while you pretend to be werewolves?” Ichimaru broke in cheerfully. “That’s just our rights as citizens, to pretend to be werewolves in our basements with our friends.”

“It’s a tabletop RPG,” Komamura growled. “I am not a LARPer. There are no weapons. Also, you really do not need to bring it up every single board meeting. It is a perfectly normal adult hobby that I do to spend quality time with my friends.”

“Speaking of which,” Gin turned his binder of pictures around, “isn’t this guy in your group? With the sunglasses?”

“Hmm?” Komamura flipped a few pages. “Oh, huh, yeah, that’s Iba.”

“Surely a good friend of yours wouldn’t have anything to do with an illegal fight club, eh, Mr. Komamura?” Aizen suggested.

Komamura made a non-commital grumble. “I mean, I could ask him if it’s a fight club, if you want me to.”

“I have yet to hear any evidence that supports the existence of this so-called ‘fight club,” Tousen broke in.

“That’s because I keep getting interrupted, I have an audio recording and also some several emergency room admission records--”

“Mr. Zaraki is an upstanding citizen of our town and a devoted father,” Tousen continued. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Zaraki is not a responsible parent?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Byakuya mused.

“Juushirou, you and Shunsui babysit for little Yachiru all the time, don’t you?” Aizen asked sweetly. “Have you ever seen any evidence that she isn’t the sweetest little girl in the entire world?”

Toushirou raised his hand. “Excuse me? She is a menace, actually?”

“Oh, no, Yachiru is always a ray of sunshine!” Juushirou beamed. “Very active child.”

“Eats a lot,” Kyouraku added.

The edges of Byakuya’s vision were beginning to bleed into red. “We are not talking about the Zaraki child--who, by the way, buried an entire ham in my prize tulip bed--”

“It sounds like you have a grudge against the entire family, Kuchiki,” Aizen replied mildly. “These board meetings are not a venue for airing your petty grievances.”

“You are not even listening! If you would just turn to page--”

“I think you’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time.” Aizen turned his doe eyes to the audience. “Is there anyone here who wants to invest any more energy listening to Byakuya’s vitriol?”

Byakuya looked out over his audience, looking for an ally. Komamura shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The Kyouraku-Ukitakes refused to make eye contact. Unohana was reading a magazine about decorative wreaths. Toushirou raised his hand again with a helpful smile, but no one actually ever cared what he thought.

“Soi Fon, you’re an actual police officer!” he begged.

“It’s just a fight club,” Soi Fon shrugged.

Byakuya was desperate. “Dr. Kurotsuchi?”

Kurotsuchi looked up from his phone. “Eh?”

“Have you been paying attention to any of this?”

“Of course not, I only come for the snacks.”

Byakuya gritted his teeth. “Zaraki is running a fight club and these fools wish us to turn our heads and look the other way.”

“Well, it’s not a very good fight club,” Kurotsuchi agreed. “I’ve been. They don’t allow poisoned weapons and the beverage selection is quotidian at best.”

“You see! You see, right there, Kurotsuchi has even attended! That’s proof that a) it exists and b) it defames the character of the neighborhood!”

“I’m declaring this issue closed,” Aizen replied breezily. “And Kuchiki, I really think you should try to get along better with Kenpachi. You are neighbors, after all.” He brightened. “Oh, I know! We’ve got the community yard sale coming up in June. Why don’t you go ask him if he wants to join the planning committee?”

“Byakuya… will...ask....Zaraki...to chair…the yard sale planning committee,” Gin read aloud as he wrote it into the minutes.

“I agreed to no such thing!” Byakuya howled.

“Onto the next topic!” Aizen chirped. “Trash pickup happens every Friday at 7am and a few of our neighbors have been leaving their bins out as late as noon.”

Later, after the meeting, as Byakuya was packing up his binders and his posterboard, Aizen walked up to him, munching on a rhubarb scone. “Really nice presentation, Byakuya. Good fonts, well cited, you obviously put a ton of work into it. Also, that Zaraki is a blight on the neighborhood. Ideally, he would be thrown in prison.”

Byakuya stared at Vice-Presiden Aizen, mouth agape. “Then why did you and your cronies ruin my presentation and shut me down at every turn?”

Aizen’s eyes narrowed. His mouth curved into a cold smile. Light glinted off his glasses. “You dared to usurp my rightful place as the winner of the Spring Spirit Most Beautiful Yard competition.”

Byakuya blinked at him blankly. “You cared about that? A man’s lawn is his pride. I keep my yard beautiful as a matter of principle, not for some silly competition.”

“You pay for a lawn service. You shouldn’t have even been eligible.”

Byakuya didn’t even recall entering, he’d just received a letter that he’d won, and a festive yard sign appeared next to his front walk, which he had immediately removed and thrown in the garbage. “The prize was a gift certificate to a miserable chain restaurant. I would give it to you, except that I already gave it to my sister to go out with her hooligan friends. They are perpetually short on funds. I could get you another one, I suppose. The amount was paltry enough, although I was given to understand that the place offers ‘unlimited breadsticks’.”

“It’s too late for that,” Aizen declared. “You have made a powerful enemy. You will feel my revenge in a thousand cuts.”

Byakuya wondered how much of a hassle it would be to just move. He’d heard there were some nice houses over in Karakura Acres.

~end

Shinigami’s Cup: GOLDEN!

“Do you think it would help if I infiltrated the fight club?”

“I appreciate your zeal, Sister, but, no, I do not think it would help.”

“Because I think I might have an in. I feel like I would be really good at going undercover. I could wear a body mic.”

“Rukia, you know I have the utmost faith in you, but are not even five feet tall. I do not, in any way, see how you could realistically ingratiate yourself to an organization populated by large, lumpy men whose raison d’etre is to clobber each other in the face.”

“I have cat-like reflexes! I am really good at dodging and weaving!”

“Rukia.”

“And I’ve been watching a lot of YouTube videos about muscle cars. Go on, ask me something about Dodge Chargers!”

“Rukia.”

“I even ripped the sleeves of an old t-shirt, I look super tough in it. Please, Byakuya, please can I?”

“All right, fine. But do not drink any alcoholic beverages that have ‘light’ or ‘ice’ in the title. It is against our pride as Kuchiki.”

“Thank you Brother, you’re the best!!”

[zenonaa]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya, Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya/Kirigiri Kyouko, Fukawa Touko/Kirigiri Kyouko, Kirigiri Kyouko/Togami Byakuya (Dangan Ronpa) Characters: Togami Byakuya, Fukawa Touko, Kirigiri Kyouko Additional Tags: Togami Kijou, Togami Shinobu - Freeform, Naegi Makoto - Freeform, Yukizome Chisa - Freeform, past Maizono Sayaka/Kirigiri Kyouko, Later chapters are e-rated, mentions of csa, au where despair didn't happen and junko was content, with leaving the fridge open and moving things slightly everyday Summary: Togami hires Kirigiri to solve a mass murder that occurred at his wedding anniversary party. One hitman was apprehended, but he refuses to say a single word, while the other got away. The mastermind could be anyone, but list of suspects is getting shorter, and Kirigiri finds herself learning more about the Togamis than she anticipated.

“Did you sleep well?” asked Kyouko, lifting her gaze from the cup of green tea cradled in her hands. Touko and Byakuya sat opposite her, eating identical breakfasts consisting of egg omelette, salmon, leek and potato miso soup, and salad.

Staff darted about like fireflies. They didn’t seem to be actively watching those at the table, but as soon as anyone indicated that they needed something or had finished eating, somebody would pop up beside them, ready. Currently, Kyouko had barely eaten her breakfast, with only part of her omelette missing and her salmon fillets in the process of being consumed. She intended to eat more, but that could wait. For now, she chewed slowly, focused on Byakuya, waiting for an answer from him.

He swallowed some omelette. Touko blinked blearily and wrinkled her nose, like imitating a bunny rabbit.

“I don’t have any interest in platitudes,” he replied, and with barely a pause to say that, he continued eating.

Kyouko quirked her brow. “It’s a genuine question, Togami-kun. After the shooting, you haven’t wavered in your work... I would understand if the stress had a negative impact on your health.”

Byakuya almost smirked.

“Hmph... A lot of other people would require some kind of recovery period. If you really wish to know, I slept well,” he said with shadows under his eyes at least a month old.

His eyes flitted to one of the four bowls surrounding Kyouko’s plate of salmon fillets. Specifically, the bowl with her omelette, one small slice cut out of it. He trained his gaze on her.

“Is there something wrong with the omelette?” he asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she replied. “Though, it does taste quite strongly of fish.”

“I noticed that as well. The chef must have used more katsuobushi than usual, but that doesn’t make it inedible,” he said.

Kyouko set down her cup of tea and tackled her soup. This breakfast was a lot bigger than the French style ones, and bigger than she would have liked, but she needed Byakuya in a good mood if she wanted him to consider her invitation for a get-together, so after she finished the soup, she ate all of the omelette.

If she wanted to begin the arduous process of convincing Byakuya to join her for a drink, as per Makoto’s suggestion last night, she needed to get started as soon as possible.

“Togami-kun,” she said. She could do this.

“Hm?” he went, about to take in a forkful of salad.

“I was wondering if you and Touko-san would be interested in joining me for one evening,” she said.

Touko hesitated, then narrowed her eyes.

“Why?” asked Byakuya, studying Kyouko.

“Just for a get-together,” said Kyouko, idly swaying her fork.

“Fine,” said Byakuya, and he picked up his cup of coffee.

“It would be...” Kyouko was midway through stroking her hair with her free hand and froze. “You will?”

She had mentally prepared herself for a week of attempting to persuade Byakuya and Touko, fearing that she might have to resort to bribes or worse, sweet talk, but she seemed to have obtained his approval on the very first morning after her conversation on the phone with Makoto.

“I hate repeating myself,” Byakuya replied. He set down his cup. “Yes. We will join you for a ‘get-together’ at some point. If you ask me again, I will change my answer.”

He lowered his gaze, seeming thoughtful.

“Yes, why not...? It might be pleasant to have some respite,” he added, mostly to himself.

Of everyone in their class back at Hope’s Peak, Byakuya and Touko were definitely in the top five for most asocial. Kyouko would even have gone as far to say that they were in the top two, but she couldn’t have been trailing far behind them. She should have been grateful that she won Byakuya over so easily, and she supposed that part of her was, but her victory was made as bitter as fruit from a terminalia chebula tree by the idea that he might have his own agenda for accepting her request that she didn’t know about yet.

Her grip on her fork stayed firm and her guard stayed up.

“But you will have to wait until the end of the week, as I don’t have any time to fritter away on little get-togethers before then. I’ll be away from the manor entirely until the weekend,” he said.

Though she probably knew about this already, Touko wilted beside him. His hand drifted over to his croissant.

“Tell me, though, how do you plan to entertain us?” he asked Kyouko. He picked up the croissant.

Touko, her hair unrestrained from any braids, fidgeted with a strand of it, also looking at Kyouko.

“... Talk?” suggested Kyouko. “And drink?”

Byakuya rolled his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“You drink, don’t you, Togami-kun? Wine, at least,” she said with a frown.

And they were all over twenty, so they wouldn’t be breaking any laws.

“... I do drink, but sitting around just doing that is rather dull, wouldn’t you agree?” he said. A grin tugged at his lips. “Come to our room on Saturday at six. I have something in mind.”

Ah. He did have his own agenda after all.

After breakfast, Kyouko left the other two to their own devices and set up camp at one of the tables in the Togami Manor Library. Whoever was responsible for the upkeep of this room was as diligent as the hands on a wrist watch. The varnished furnishing and leather armchairs all showed off a sheen of light, and so far, she hadn’t seen any dust on either of the two floors, the spiraling stair rail and not on any of the bookshelves with their compact innards.

She rummaged through the storage room at the back of the Togami Manor Library for the photo albums that Byakuya told her would be there the day before. Her intention with the photographs wasn’t to find anything that would immediately solve the case, but to give her some insight on the victims. See if they appeared with anyone a lot. See if they stopped appearing with anyone a lot. The perpetrators must have had some kind of connection to the Togami Conglomerate or were hired by someone who did. Besides, other than wait for interviews with witnesses, she currently didn’t have much else to do for the case.

Hope’s Peak also had a storage room attached to its library, but it hadn’t had anything worth her attention. One might have expected a place as powerful and influential as Hope’s Peak to have access to top secret files never released to the public, but it didn’t. Well, nothing too secret, like information about a president’s assassination that would only be published thirty years after the event. Kyouko supposed that the school would have to be run by a mastermind who had enveloped the world in despair to get their hands on anything life-changing.

Byakuya’s storage room succeeded Hope’s Peak’s in size and wealth, with shelves stuffed full of files and more boxes littering the floor. After twenty minutes of rummaging, she found a box of photo albums near the back wall. In the album at the top of the pile in the box, on the first page, was a young girl who looked to be related to Byakuya. She shut the album and carried the box over to her table to investigate them in better lighting.

Four albums resided in the box, all black with a bumpy texture. Kyouko took out the album on top of the pile and opened it to the first page again.

The girl stared up at her, wearing a waistcoat and shorts, approximately eleven years old.

On the next double spread of pages, four photographs of the same girl had been tucked into the cellophane, two on each side. Kyouko examined them closer and wondered if she was Shinobu before Shinobu got into an undisclosed accident that cost her an arm and an eye. In one, she sat on a motionless swing. For another, she posed with a violin, and in the third, she was seated on an armchair. Then, with much shorter hair, she stood between a man and a woman that Kyouko recognised to be Byakuya’s parents.

That couldn’t be right. Kyouko narrowed her eyes. Why would Shinobu be in a photograph with Byakuya’s parents? Shinobu and Byakuya didn’t have the same mother. She looked at them again and realised that it was because she mistook the girl for someone else. It wasn’t a young Shinobu, but a young Byakuya. His hair, which passed his shoulders in three of the photographs, was tied back in a ponytail, while in the photograph with his parents, most of it had been cut off.

With his parents, with shorter hair, he seemed fourteen or fifteen.

Kyouko continued through the album, which didn’t take very long. There were a number of gaps, like someone removed photographs for whatever reason, and some contained just empty space on entire pages. By the back page, she concluded that all of these photographs had been taken by a professional. None were candid. She opened her case file and spread out face shots of the victims. This time when she went through the album, she matched the faces together. Ikari and Shiba appeared in a group photo with Byakuya and his father. There were a lot of men that Kyouko didn’t recognise. The other victims didn’t appear at all, which Kyouko didn’t deem too odd, but Osamu had apparently been an old friend of Byakuya’s father, yet he didn’t appear at all.

Before she progressed onto the next album, she got out her phone and snapped a photograph of Ikari and Shiba with Byakuya and his father. Then she set the album aside and continued her investigation.

It soon became clear that all of these albums contained professional photographs or clippings from newspapers, even the few images of a baby who must have been Byakuya. Kyouko wanted to say that they were sent out en masse, hence why they were all so serious, but she couldn’t think who they would go to. As far as she was aware, Byakuya didn’t have any cousins. The photographs of Byakuya printed onto newspaper were easy enough to understand the existence of. They were accompanied by articles detailing one of Byakuya’s achievements.

Like here, he won a chess tournament, and here, he solved a case that had been cold for fifteen years.

After some thought, she figured that the other photographs might have been taken to show off to business partners at dinner parties. Kyouko had the feeling that they weren’t taken with the intention of looking back on cosily as a family unit.

She tapped her fingers against the table. There weren’t nearly as many photographs as she would have liked.

These couldn’t be the only photographs. The only people that Kyouko could think might have more were Byakuya’s mother, Byakuya himself, Touko or Aloysius. Carefully, she piled the albums into their box and returned it to the same spot she got it from. For a while, she stood by the box, her hand tucked under her chin. At least once, all the victims appeared in a photograph with Byakuya. All except Osamu, who didn’t appear at all.

Kyouko eventually left the room.

***

Neither Touko nor Byakuya attended lunch, but Kyouko wasn’t surprised. During breakfast, Byakuya mentioned that he wouldn’t be in the manor until Saturday, and Touko didn’t attend every meal. As Kyouko ate pieces of korokke, which contained carrots and shiitake mushrooms, she went through her options again, still determined to acquire more photographs and insight. With Aloysius and Byakuya absent for the time being, she eliminated them as options, leaving the staff, Touko and Byakuya’s mother.

To call Byakuya’s mother, Kyouko would need to obtain her phone number. His mother didn’t live in the manor, but unlike Aloysius, she wasn’t ill to the best of Kyouko’s knowledge. Or anywhere near as old. Kyouko had his mother’s email address, but Kyouko had so far received no reply other than a brief witness statement.

She ate her korokke quickly and if there had been more on her plate, she would have eaten them too in her distracted haste. Before she tried to get hold of Byakuya’s mother, Kyouko decided to check with Touko in case she had or at least knew where Kyouko could locate other photographs or any personal information about the victims. The latter was unlikely, as Touko mentioned near the beginning of Kyouko’s visit that she didn’t know them particularly well, but it was worth a shot.

Assuming Touko was in her bedroom, Kyouko headed there. However, a knock on the door elicited no response. Neither did a round of them, or another.

Her brow furrowed. She opened the door and poked her head into the room.

There was no one there. Kyouko stayed in the doorway and surveyed the room. A stout, glass bottle caught her attention on the bedside table. It was rust-coloured and marked with a large, white label. It looked like the kind of bottle that medicine came in. She thought back to the conversation that she overheard the previous night.

They might have been sleeping tablets.

Kyouko lingered for a little longer but at the sound of footsteps, which her sensitive hearing let her perceive earlier than most other people, she stepped back and closed the door.

“Are you trying to steal my job?” asked a voice from behind Kyouko.

She widened her eyes and spun around, instinctively positioning her arms into a fighting stance.

A woman with bright orange hair stared at her, armed with a feather duster. More eye catching than her hair was the sky blue dress and pristine apron she wore that screamed ‘housewife’.

“Pardon?” said Kyouko, who hadn’t expected the culprit to arrive so quickly.

The woman lowered the duster and pressed her fists against her hips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were about to go nosey around Togami-sama’s bedroom.”

Kyouko averted her gaze and scratched behind her ear.

“I was looking for Touko-san,” said Kyouko.

“Oh, do you need her for something?” asked the woman, looking less like she intended to attack Kyouko with her duster. Not much less though.

“You might be able to help me, actually,” said Kyouko. The woman tilted her head to one side. “Do you know where I might find some photo albums? Togami-kun directed me to some in the library’s storage room, but he must have more.”

“What do you want photos of?” asked the woman, shooting an odd look at Kyouko.

“Togami-kun and the victims at the party,” explained Kyouko. “I’m investigating the murders.”

“Oh, I knew that much. Otherwise, I’d have chased you out of the manor.” The woman scrunched her face. “Hm... I haven’t worked here for as long as some other people here, but I would think...”

She looked up at the ceiling and tapped herself on the cheek.

“... Pennyworth,” she then said, fixing her gaze onto Kyouko, and she followed up with a nod of conviction. “He might have some in his room. He’s Togami-sama’s head butler and was assigned to him all the way back when the guy was a baby. But he hasn’t been here since Togami-sama’s anniversary party, and his room is all locked up. Apparently, the whole ordeal brought on some heart problems.”

Her features clouded like a grey morning.

“I can’t blame him after all that happened,” the woman said softly. “Togami-sama’s been worried about him, but he’s too stubborn to admit it. Poor guy has so much on his plate right now.”

Never did Kyouko think that someone would refer to Byakuya as ‘poor’, even if they meant it by a different definition. But still. Kyouko retained this information for later.

The woman’s face hardened and she wagged her duster. “Togami-sama’s mother will probably have some photos. She helped raise Togami-sama. Ask nicely and she might send you what she has.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have her telephone number, would you?” asked Kyouko. “I’d like to talk to her too.”

“I don’t have her number on me, but I could nab it for you,” offered the woman, and then she paused. Her eyes narrowed. “Hey... why do you even need photos anyway? What have they got to do with your investigation?”

Kyouko folded her arms over her chest.

“They might enlighten me on certain things. Please understand that I can’t say much else except Togami-kun has given me permission to see them,” said Kyouko.

Well, he had given permission for the albums in the storage room.

The woman fell for Kyouko’s poker face. “In that case, give me until after dinner, okay? I should come up with something by then. Now...”

She brandished her duster.

“... scat, you!”

And she chased Kyouko down the corridor.

***

Fortunately, the woman spared Kyouko in the next corridor, and they walked off in opposite directions. Unexpectedly helpful though the meeting with the maid was, Kyouko still hadn’t found Touko. Finding her wasn’t so important now that she had the prospect of talking to Byakuya’s mother, but after some hesitation in an empty corridor, she decided that she may as well locate her anyway.

Touko wasn’t in her bedroom, so Kyouko set off to investigate other areas that she knew Touko to spend time in. She checked the dining room and the kitchen, but Touko was nowhere in sight. None of the chefs had seen her either.

Next, she visited the manor library, in case Touko slipped in after Kyouko left.

“Are you here, Touko-san?” Kyouko called out.

Her voice echoed. The only response.

Kyouko searched some more until a different maid gave her directions to Touko’s writing room. She knocked and waited.

Seconds later, the door opened, and a familiar face popped into view with a glare.

“Touko-san,” greeted Kyouko with cool professionalism.

The face in front of her darkened more.

“Bzzt! Wrong answer!” was hissed at Kyouko.

She tensed, noting the long tongue hanging out.

“Ah. It’s you,” said Kyouko. Her chest became a tight cage. With the maid, she had taken on an offensive stance, but here, she went on the defensive. “Genocider Syo.”

“Great deduction skills there, Kirichoo,” said Syo, grinning for a moment. She flicked her tongue, keeping her narrowed eyes on Kyouko. “What the hell are you doing here? No, no. Let me guess.”

Kyouko really would have rather that Syo didn’t. Syo bent over and hitched up her skirt, revealing more of the leg that Kyouko knew she wore a holster of sharp scissors on, which prompted Kyouko to lift her heels off the floor in case she needed to dodge.

Before the holster would come into view, Syo let her skirt fall without showing even a glimpse of leather.

“Ah... That’s right,” mumbled Syo. “I gave them to him.”

“Pardon?” Kyouko’s brow creased.

Syo’s head snapped up, but she didn’t straighten up.

“You shut your face!” Syo snarled. Now she straightened up. She pointed at Kyouko, who nearly crossed her eyes to look at Syo’s finger. “Listen, Sherlock Whore, if you’re here sleeping with our darling behind our backs, I’ll slice up your throat, cut out your uterus and disembowel you and use your intestines for piñata filling.”

Kyouko grimaced.

“None of that will be necessary. I’m here on work-related matters,” said Kyouko, which did nothing to relax Syo’s posture. She paused. “Actually, while you’re here, I would like to speak with you.”

“Huh?” Syo tipped her head to one side and showed her palms. “You turnin’ me in? Where’s my white knight? Did you already shove him into the back of your police car?”

“No. Togami-kun is away on business for a few days. I’m here investigating some murders that occurred at a party.”

“Oh!” Syo jerked her head back. “That! I didn’t do nothing!”

“I’m not ruling out suspects yet, but you are very low on my list,” said Kyouko. “You fronted while most of it happened. I want to ask you a few questions to try to piece together what happened.”

Syo brightened and poked herself in the cheeks with her index fingers. She tossed her head from side to side. “I never thought I’d be questioned as a witness! Why not? It could be fun!”

“Can we go inside?” asked Kyouko, referring to Touko’s writing room.

“It’ll be almost like the real thing!” Syo gushed, grinning widely.

Kyouko slipped past and heard Syo’s loud breathing behind her. Inside Touko’s writing room, bookcases lined up against one of the walls, and stacks of folders and more books made a model city across the floor and on two desks. Touko had mentioned needing a quiet place to write, permitting only Byakuya’s snoring as acceptable noise, so Kyouko gathered that Touko didn’t always write in the one room. A burst of ripe fruit mixed with floral scents entered Kyouko’s nose, too strong to not be artificial.

In total, the room homed three chairs. One was appointed to each desk, and the third, its wooden frame painted white, not varnished like the other two, resided in the opposite corner of the room to which the two desks were either side of. Syo danced around the books and as ungainly as she swerved, she didn’t knock anything over, and she slumped back onto the white chair. Kyouko strode over to one of the chairs by a desk in an unremarkable fashion, turned the chair around and sat down, facing Syo.

“Let’s start with what happened,” said Kyouko. She retrieved a small notepad from the breast pocket of her blouse and pulled a pen out from the spiral rings bounding the pages together. “What’s the first thing that you remember?”

“It was dark,” said Syo, kicking her legs, hands on her lap. “One of the bitches had locked us in a closet and my throat felt rough. I think our body was four years old, but I leave the counting and all that boring maths stuff to Gloomy.”

Kyouko frowned. “I don’t mean your life story. I mean about your anniversary party.”

“You mean their anniversary party,” said Syo, sobering. Her legs became still. “Me and my darling have our own anniversary. Lucky bastard... He gets two sets of presents. Well, he would if I spent any yen on him!”

She held her stomach and laughed that awful witch-laugh of hers.

“So you and Togami-kun...?” said Kyouko, adjusting her hold on her pen.

Syo folded her arms over her chest, uncharacteristically tight-lipped all of a sudden.

“Oi, oi. I thought this was about the murders,” said Syo.

“It was just a question,” replied Kyouko with a shrug. “Usually, you’re more than happy to discuss yourself in relation to Togami-kun.”

“Listen, Kirititty, sex is one thing, but feelings...” Syo pulled a face and slapped on a hostile front. “Listen, you ain’t my type at all! I only care about my white knight, so don’t try and see if I’m available!”

In an anime, a bead of sweat would have sprung onto the back of Kyouko’s head.

“We’re getting sidetracked,” Kyouko said, and she didn’t know why she had let herself get distracted when usually she stayed focused on the task at hand. Whatever. Not every conversation was with a serial killer. “Please describe what happened at the party.”

Syo lolled her head back.

“Everyone was running about and screaming,” she recalled. “There was a dead guy near me. Like, not dying, but like, actually dead. Irreversibly dead. And I was like, what the hell? You know? I searched for my dearest Byakuya-sama but couldn’t find him, though I saw Omaru - ”

Makoto Naegi’s younger sister.

“ - and she was panicking. I grabbed her and lugged her toward an exit, only they’d blocked off all the exits, right? But then we got security up our asses because Gloomy’s married to Byakuya-sama, and we got escorted out. If I was on death row walking to the chamber, it’s exactly how I’d picture it.”

Kyouko jotted this all down. Well, not the comparison at the end, but the rest.

“Is it possible anyone could have escaped during this?” asked Kyouko.

Syo tilted her head to one side and scrunched her face in shrewd thought.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But security kicked in pretty fast, ya know. And all I could think about was seeing my white knight again. I didn’t see him for a few hours, and I was ready to kill someone! People! A whole fucking room! When I pounced on him later, I could have had sex right there and then on the table. If only he hadn’t been so mopey, right?”

“He mentioned being evacuated by his butler,” said Kyouko, nose wrinkled.

“Whatever you say.” Syo gave her nose a quick pick. “I didn’t see them until much later, but it was a big ass hall. My darling is top priority so he’d have been out in seconds, probably.”

Kyouko wrote this down.

“We done now?” asked Syo.

“For now,” said Kyouko.

Syo rocked forward and jumped to her feet. She stretched up her arms and kept them straight as she lowered them.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” said Syo, and once her arms had come all the way down, she relaxed them. “This room is a total dry zone! Seriously, stale bread has more moisture. I need my darling to rejuvenate me!”

She pressed her hands against her cheeks with almost childlike glee and skipped toward the door.

Kyouko lifted a hand. “Togami-kun is away until Saturday.”

That brought Syo to an abrupt stop at the door. Syo slowly turned her head, squinting.

“You serious?” she said. “Your face rarely changes, so I can’t tell if you’re shitting with me or not.”

“I am serious,” said Kyouko. “I even told you this earlier.”

After a few seconds of scrutinising Kyouko’s face, Syo hissed and slapped herself on the thigh.

“Rats! I’ll have to leave a memento in case Gloomy takes over before he returns,” she said, and she bounded out of the room.

When Syo’s footsteps faded out of Kyouko’s hearing, Kyouko heaved out a sigh.