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hey-heigo · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 32

second chapter of da year...like a full month later

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

sorry this took so long! what i thought was carpal tunnel turned out to be frostbite and also the world ended in my head

i can't promise a proper posting schedule for the next few months but i'll try to find the time to write

@digitaldollsworld heart emotes forever

Content warning tags: descriptions of blood (typical Danganronpa trial stuff), nonlinear pacing (there will be flashbacks between the trial and Makoto's side of the investigation)

< previous - from start - next >

Makoto stares intently at Kyoko, trying to catch her reaction to his words, every minute detail. It’s not easy, not with how his sweaty hands slip where they clutch to the wooden rail, or the way his pulse roars in his ears.

For just a flicker of an instant, she looks surprised. Eyes widening, the corners of her mouth tightening and turning down in a brief, contemplative frown. But it’s gone just as quickly, face resettling into neutrality with, maybe, just a little bit of anger, in how her eyes are narrowed just a little more than usual.

“Explain.” She says, and was her voice sharper than normal? He can’t tell, and glancing at Hina, Sakura, and Hiro also doesn’t yield any clues. Each of them are watching Kyoko with a singular, anxious focus, the tension palpable.

Makoto coughs to clear the nervous knot in his throat. There was a weird energy in this trial, different from the ones previous. The first trial, he’d been caught up in grief in shock, clumsily fumbling through the evidence he’d picked up, following Kyoko’s cues. The second trial, he had a better handle on things - still nervous, but with a clear goal keeping him alert and concentrated - though that had quickly given away to guilt and remorse.

This time, the guilt was here from the start, sitting like a knife stabbed in his belly. Kyoko was going to be pissed at him, and there wasn’t anything he could do to avoid that - if anything, everything he was going to do was going to make her angry, if not outright hate him. He wouldn’t be able to blame her for that, but…

But, he also had a right to know. Everyone had a right to know. And if this was going to clear the air for the future, then he was going to have to do it now.

“We…we have the basic facts of the case to start off with, right?” He starts, haltingly. “We know the murder weapon that was used on Celeste was a hammer, found next to where Mondo was lying. We also know Mondo was stabbed by a sharp object, and a pair of bloodied scissors were found in Celeste’s hand-”

“But I believe I said that it was improbable for those scissors to have been used to kill Mondo?” She says, and he winces at how she sounds way harsher than normal.

He’s saved by Sakura. “Improbable, but not impossible.” The fighter says bluntly, arms crossed over her chest. “You pointed out the blood smeared on the entire length of the blade wasn’t consistent with the depth of the stab wounds, but that assumes that the blood was only on the blade due to entering the body. Blood splatter, or the way it was then hidden in her sleeve, could have also smeared the blood to reach that point.”

The brief flash of irritation that crosses Kyoko’s face was enough to dig the knife a little deeper into his gut, so he continues quickly. “Um, anyways - assuming that the scissors are the murder weapon, it's…pretty easy to assume that Celeste and Mondo killed each other, really.”

“Really? With their corpses on opposite sides of the room?”

“Hey, it’s totally possible that Mondo crawled over to the other side!” Hiro speaks up, chest puffing before withering immediately under the scowl Kyoko sends his way. “I-I mean…he wasn’t dead when we found him at first, right? So…”

“The blood smear from his body does imply that he crawled some distance, but it wasn’t very far, and it wouldn’t have nearly been enough to justify Celeste being found leaning against the opposite wall.”

“Then maybe she moved there herself!” Hina interjects, fists clenched. She matches Kyoko’s stare with a glare of her own, fierce and determined. “We don’t know for sure if she died instantly, right? So it’s totally possible that she walked over there before dying!”

“With the amount of blood found pooled on her body, it seems hard to believe that she didn’t leave any kind of clear blood trail between where she and Mondo were found.”

“Th-that doesn’t mean it’s impossible!”

There’s a sharp click, and Makoto jumps a bit at the sound - but it’s Byakuya, arms crossed. “So much of this seems to be relying on speculation.” He says coldly. His face is pinched into a contemplative frown, his hand reaching up to tap against his temple before just as suddenly dropping back down. “Surely this isn’t all the evidence you’ve gathered?”

There’s an unspoken insult implied in that question, a silent ‘is this all you managed, in the time since we left?’ Makoto glances quickly at the others, but thankfully, none of them had noticed it - or they were ignoring it, which was just as fine.

“We…did find this.” And he reaches into his pocket for the audio recorder.

When they’d first found the recorder that had been tucked into Mondo’s pocket, they were silent for a long moment after listening to its contents.

It wasn’t just out of shock, though Hiro did look pretty queasy, and Makoto was dealing with some kind of weird, internal vertigo after feeling his heart drop to his stomach like a sack of bricks. But also because the recorder hadn’t been hidden particularly well - in Mondo’s back pocket, on his right side - and it had practically fallen into Hiro’s hand the moment he went to shift him, intending to try and wrap a sheet around his body.

Even though no one said anything, Makoto knew their thoughts were unanimous. Something this incriminating, this obvious, and Kyoko hadn’t found it?

Sakura had slowly unclenched her hands, taking a long, slow breath. “Makoto.” She said, and he’d flinched, already having an inkling of what she was going to say. “We can’t ignore this any longer.”

He’d braced himself for it, but Sakura’s words still hit like a punch to the chest, making it dizzyingly hard to breathe for a moment. His hand tightened on the recorder enough for the plastic edge to dig into his skin.

“It’s probably not what it looks like,” He said, but the words sounded pretty pathetic, even to himself. “Maybe she really did just…miss it, or something. By accident.”

“Even so, that’s still…” Hiro’s foot jiggled a nervous pattern against the floor. “Kyoko has been acting weird, right? Like it’s not just me?”

“It was pretty weird when she took Byakuya, Hifumi and Toko with her,” Hina agreed. She looked furious, though Makoto wasn’t totally sure why - just that the look had come over her when Kyoko was investigating, and hadn’t fully left since. “I mean, for all she was talking about efficiency, I can’t see how it’s more efficient to drag Byakuya back and forth! His ankles were all messed up!”

So Makoto hadn’t been imagining the limp Byakuya had been walking with, the glimpse of a white bandage under his pants leg, the way he couldn’t seem to keep weight on either foot for too long. He tamped down the little flare of anger at that realization - right now, he was supposed to be defending Kyoko, not getting pointlessly angry. And Byakuya could take care of himself.

(Could he? A voice asked in his head, which Makoto pointedly ignored.)

“Right?” Hiro nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her actually do anything for someone, much less volunteer to take someone to the nurse’s office.” And his words were another blow. “Though, I guess she didn’t volunteer, it was more like making Hifumi do it, which…”

He trailed off. They were all thinking the same thing, regarding Hifumi being in that close proximity to a girl. They all knew how he acted around Celeste, after all.

Makoto didn’t want to suspect Kyoko. But she was also the one who told him to think objectively, to look at evidence and fact instead of sentiments while he was still grieving over Sayaka’s murder. To focus only on what was in front of him instead of clinging to the idea that he could trust anyone here.

How ironic, he thought bitterly, as he closed his eyes and dug his knuckles against his brow, the recorder tapping against his forehead. Too many things are adding up.

He must have been quiet for too long, because there was a sudden, gentle hand on his back, and he glanced up to see Hina crouched next to him. “Sorry, man,” She said quietly. “This is…probably harder on you than the rest of us, huh.”

“...It’s fine.” He tucked the recorder into his pocket, before he could break it with how much he was fidgeting. But having his hands empty also felt wrong, so he picked at a sliver of skin that’s beginning to curl up, at the corner of his thumb.

He had a feeling about it since Kyoko left them, but now her absence was stark and unavoidable. Without her, he felt - untethered, and not in a good way. Directionless. A balloon let go by a careless kid.

He glanced at the others, still standing around him, watching with varying looks of concern and sympathy. But it wasn’t enough to cover up the expectation, the tense, waiting air for their next move. Like he was the leader, or something, and that had put an even worse taste in his mouth.

I’m not Kyoko. He didn’t know how to split his emotions and rationality like she did. Even right now, he was still grappling with Mondo’s and Celeste’s death, Byakuya’s near-murder, and the revelations of the audio recording they had just uncovered. He couldn’t give direction like she could - he wasn’t sure he even wanted to try.

So instead, he’d stood up, turned to face the others fully, and asked: “What should we do?”

“Shut up.”

Mondo’s voice, a low, hollow growl, crackles and buzzes out of the audio recorder. Twisted with the grief he hadn’t been able to shake since Taka’s death, but unmistakable.

“I’m surprised,” Byakuya’s voice follows after a pause, clearer than Mondo’s, enough so that Makoto could discern how it was stilted with fear, even with the slight undercurrent of static. “I didn’t think you still had it in you-”

His voice is cut off by a sharp, sudden gasp, and then a deafening splash - a roaring explosion, gunshot loud in comparison - and then, nothing by heavy, labored breathing, before it clicks into silence.

Kyoko looks stunned, eyes wide and staring at the little device in Makoto’s hand. And then she catches him staring, and composes herself in an instant.

“I see. So that’s the basis for your verdict.” She says smoothly, settling a hand against her chin as she thinks. Makoto scans her face, desperately searching for anything, a sign of nervousness, a flicker of relief - but nothing.

“Yeah. It is.” Hina says, and she sounds almost accusatory. “It’s kind of surprising that you didn’t find it before us, actually.”

“I didn’t have time to search the room very thoroughly.” She replies, and it doesn’t escape Makoto that the way she said that left no clear suggestion that she did know about the audio recorder in the first place.

“It was found on Mondo’s body, actually.” The glare Hina is wearing could set houses on fire, but Kyoko doesn’t even flinch. “It wasn’t even hidden or anything. So it’s kinda weird you missed it entirely, you know?”

That gets a reaction. Her brow furrows, her left hand twitching almost imperceptibly. Almost.

The tiny, flinching motion digs into Makoto’s brain, making him frown. He has the feeling he’s forgotten something, but whatever it is rests on the tip of his tongue and refuses to make itself clear.

“...I’m not perfect,” Is what she finally says, as noncommittal and generic an answer as she could have hoped to give. “And I was rushing. Though judging from how you presented this, I’m assuming that this simple explanation won’t cut it?”

“It doesn’t.” Sakura replies frostily. Makoto really hopes he’s imagining the quiet hostility radiating off of her - no, Kyoko has blinked and glanced away, so probably not - “If you have any protests against what we’ve found, you’re welcome to speak up and counter it.”

And Makoto silently begs, prays that Kyoko does do that, that she lays out exactly what evidence they missed and what evidence she found and creates a timeline that perfectly maps who the killer is, and they can all stop suspecting each other and things can - not fix themselves, but get better, start moving more towards group collaboration rather than this ‘every man for themself’ attitude that Byakuya and Kyoko are so intent on following, to their own detriments.

Instead, her eyes turn to him, pale and narrow and snakelike, and she says: “This isn’t everything you found, is it.” It’s not a question.

He doesn’t even try to lie. He thinks about it though, but it’d probably be futile. Kyoko was always uncannily good at seeing through people, especially him - or maybe just him, as he focuses his gaze on a particularly interesting whorl in the wood flooring in front of her. “It’s…not.”

“Then?” Byakuya says, clipped and irritated. “Is there a reason behind this tangent?”

There’s a grimace on his face, like this is the same level as an unexpectedly bad cup of coffee in terms of annoying things to him, but Makoto doesn’t miss the nervous edge creeping into his voice, the way his fingers twitch against his elbow.

“Even disregarding the fact that you’ve been withholding evidence,” And Makoto does his best not to cringe too noticeably, that knife of guilt doing an especially vicious twist at that. “Everything feels far too convenient to be wrapped up so cleanly. Furthermore, it seems that despite what everyone has been saying, they’ve been thinking something else.” This time, Hiro is the one who flinches, perpetually bad at keeping a poker face as Byakuya hits the bullseye. “It’s not Mondo you’re all suspicious of, but Kyoko, isn’t it?”

As he says that, all pomp and snark, he shifts his weight onto the opposite leg, leaning his hip gingerly against the railing. Bracing his hands against the wood surface, the sleeves of his ill-fitting jacket riding up for just a moment, revealing a flash of white-

Makoto registers the sight of it, and feels some last, thinning thread of control stretch, pull, and break.

“So what if it is!” He hears himself snap before he can even think it, and the knife does some kind of weird corkscrew maneuver as both Kyoko and Byakuya look to him, one with eyes very sharp, the other with eyes…just as sharp, actually, but it’s kind of hard to tell with how he’s usually squinting. And this is really the worst way to go about this, and he feels regret already settling in him, making him break in a cold sweat, making his breath come in short, stuttered breaths, painful and dizzying - but he’s already started talking, so - “Kyoko, you’re clearly smart enough to know that we don’t really believe in this idea that Mondo was responsible for everything! You’re always dragging me around and making me look at things that you’ve already found! So why can’t you start talking first for once?!”

For once, she looks genuinely stunned. Dumbstruck, staring at him like he’s grown two heads. He’d find it more intriguing if he didn't also feel like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

(“Ooh, dramaa!” Monokuma sings in the background, which really, really was not helping with Makoto’s urge to puke at all.)

“He’s right!” Hina shouts, taking over for him, and he can’t decide if he’s grateful for that or not - “Every trial so far, it’s always been you making Makoto talk for you - don’t think we haven’t noticed it!”

“That is-” Kyoko hesitates, blinking. For a moment she’s almost unrecognizable, not stalwart or calm but - just like the rest of them - unsure and maybe, just a little afraid, or at least Makoto thinks so. “I…have my own reasons-”

“You’ve also been acting strangely during this investigation,” Sakura says, words calm and simmering with the promise of a threat. “Despite the emphasis placed on investigation, you made Makoto take over investigating the art room - a crucial place in this crime - while you insisted that Toko go to the nurse’s office, and then made Hifumi carry her. I can’t imagine that would factor well into your need for efficiency.”

“Listen-”

“You-! I also thought it was pretty weird that you made Byakuya go with you!” Hiro jumps in, pointing an accusatory finger. “I mean, there’s no way you didn’t know he was injured! Even I could tell!”

“I’m not an invalid,” Byakuya replies sharply, and Hiro closes his mouth with a snap. “And she only took me along because she wanted to hear my testimony before the trial began. I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t think it wasn’t going to be important.” His glare turns to Makoto, vicious and accusatory, and Makoto looks hurriedly away. “Is there a reason why you want to waste our time here?”

“It’s not wasting time, we- I mean-” He swallows, earlier bravado totally drained. “That is…I, think, if we’re going to - to keep working together, we need to…lay everything out. No more secrets.” He avoids looking at Kyoko too, though he can feel her staring bullet holes into him.

“And you thought this was important enough to bring up now, during a trial-”

“Yes, I do! Because at the rate we’re going, this isn’t going to be the last trial!” Byakuya flinches back a little at that, and, whoops, Makoto must have been yelling and he hadn’t even noticed; he quickly reels back. “I…I know it’s going to be hard, but…” God, he hates this. But he can’t leave it up to the others, not when he was the one who knows her best. “Kyoko, we don’t know anything about you. Not your talent, not what you’re doing every day…We don’t even know what you were doing before breakfast this morning.”

Understanding clicks on her face, and she resettles into her usual, neutral look. “I see. So in terms of alibi and possible motive, you’ve identified me.” And she looks at Byakuya. “Which one do you think I am responsible for? Mondo’s death? Celeste’s murder? Or maybe, it was the failed attempt to drown Byakuya?” She turns her gaze back on the rest of them. “Or maybe, it was all three?”

She says it all so casually, like this was just another thing for her to pick apart and analyze. No spite, no sarcasm - with how her hand taps against her chin, she could just be thinking out loud to herself. It’s kind of off-putting, and Makoto can see some of the others looking especially disturbed, Hina taking a step away, Hiro’s fidgeting getting more noticeable. Hifumi flinches so hard his glasses nearly fall off.

After a moment, Kyoko looks up again, eyes centering on him like a target. And he feels a shiver, icy and electric, run down his spine in response, at all the rage that she wasn’t putting into her words or gestures, darting between them like a static shock.

“All I have to do is explain why I’m not guilty, right?” She leans forward, one hand resting against the bannister, the other sitting on her hip. “Fine, then. Where should I start?”

Byakuya feels a now-familiar pang of jealousy, watching Kyoko settle into her role as the defendant with a grace he couldn’t hope to match. A complete sureness that he wishes he had, back during the last trial when it had been him who was being accused.

There are a lot of things that he’s envious of, actually, as he takes stock of the situation. The atmosphere is…not calmer, per se, but more controlled, less lost to emotion, and Kyoko had actually been afforded the opportunity to investigate on her own. Already, several major points working towards her favor.

On top of that, it didn’t seem that anyone believed she was truly the culprit. Or at least, the only evidence they had was circumstantial at best, and they were all aware of it. It seemed that they had learned from the last trial as well, which was - a good thing, he supposes, though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I will say right now, I will only discuss the information that is relevant to this trial.” She starts, clipped and cold and leaving no room for argument, and he’s almost certain this is directed mostly at Makoto. “I won’t answer any questions that won’t make us any progress. I’ll only consider answering those after the trial, and only if I think I can answer them at all.”

“How cryptic of you.” Byakuya mutters under his breath, even as Makoto stutters out a flustered “O-okay.” The others make similar sounds of agreement.

“In that case, I’ll start with my alibi. This morning, before breakfast, I’d woken up an hour prior, and was investigating the A/V room on the first floor. However, this cannot be verified by anyone here, and so I doubt this alone will be a satisfying enough testament to my innocence.”

“Noo, not every-one!” Monokuma chimes in. “I’ve got eyes everywhere, baby! I’m like corn but with cameras!”

“Then, will you verify my testimony?”

“Hmm…” The bear crosses its arms and rocks side-to-side, thinking. “Nope! A teacher shouldn’t get in the way of their students’ growth! And if I make a habit out of freebies, I’ll lose my reputation! After all-”

“As I thought,” Kyoko continues, cutting Monokuma off completely and leaving the bear to sputter indignantly in the background. “When I left the A/V room. breakfast had already started for the rest of you, and I joined Makoto, Hiro, and Hina in the cafeteria. There was no one in the hallway who I noticed who might be able to support this claim.

“However, I’m not the only one. Hifumi has yet been unaccounted for during this time, no? As was Sakura and Toko.”

Several of the named parties splutter and shout, and Byakuya winces at the cacophony, the irritating baying. “H-How dare you! A-aren’t you just shh-shifting attention off of yourself!?” Toko is shrieking, while Hifumi stammers out: “I-I was i-in my room! Working! Honest!”

Hina, surprisingly, is the loudest of all: “Sakura was in the girls’ exercise room - which you’d know if you weren’t so secretive!” She snarls, with surprising vehemence. “She works out every morning, and I walked with her over there before going to breakfast.”

“But you didn’t go swimming this morning?” Kyoko tilts her head, as if surprised. “Or were you aware that the pool was going to be…occupied?”

“You-!”

Byakuya’s not sure what she’s trying to achieve with this. Tempers were being needlessly riled, and he can tell Hiro was leaning over desperately to keep Hina from jumping over Mondo’s empty stand at the other girl. On Kyoko’s other side, Sakura seemingly hasn’t moved a muscle, and Byakuya sincerely hopes that she really was as calm as she appeared to him.

“...Neither me nor Hina went to the pool this morning. The only evidence we have for that is our own testimonies, which may not be considered reliable.” Sakura says, and Byakuya sighs in relief that she sounds the same as ever. “Though, I see how a lack of a working alibi implicates more than half of us.”

“I imagine in my case, however, the lack of a clear alibi is especially concerning. ‘Guilty until proven innocent’ is the norm in this justice system, isn’t it?”

“Hm. I would appreciate it if you didn’t purposefully stir things up, though.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

Even with the edge of a threat in Sakura’s voice, Kyoko still seems level-headed, composed and in control in a way Byakuya hadn’t been, and he tamps down that flare of envy again.

“U-um…” Hifumi’s quavering voice speaks up. “I…was in my room. I was working on storyboarding my anime, y’know. I-I only went to the art room afterwards to use some supplies I didn’t have on me.”

“Why not just work on it in the art room?” Hiro asks.

“Th-the art room doesn’t have good acoustics! And I wanted to listen to my recorded voice lines in their best quality!”

“Alright, enough.” Byakuya waves him off, irritated. “Then, I suppose that only leaves one person left. Toko?”

The way Fukawa’s head snaps up to him at the sound of her name is revolting. This is probably the first time he’s addressed her directly since the last trial - all too soon, in his opinion, but dire times called for dire measures. “Well? Your alibi.”

She mumbles something unintelligible, punctuated with something far too breathy and excited before saying: “I-I was looking for you…”

Of course she was. He’s not sure what he should’ve been expecting - can’t this girl do anything productive besides haunt him? “Be specific. You can do that much, can’t you?”

“Hmm, I guess?” She giggles in a sing-song. Her hands reach up to paw at her braids - no, he belatedly realizes that she doesn’t have her braids anymore - instead, her pale fingers sink into dark hair, cropped short and uneven and fraying around her head. An inverted, half-formed halo. “Y-you re-eally wanna know?”

“Out with it already.” He grits through his teeth. “Or are we supposed to assume that you were the one responsible in this trial?”

Her hands drop from her hair, moving down to fist in her skirt instead. “F-fine,” She spits, irritated and unhappy. “I-I went to wait outside your door a-a little before breakfast, but y-you never showed, and you w-weren’t in the cafeteria or on the first floor. So I went t-to check the l-library and saw your k-key outside the boys’ exercise room, and from there w-went into the pool.”

So that was how she’d gotten hands on his room key. He supposes he should be grateful it was her who found it and not anyone else - other than Makoto, she was the only one who probably would’ve taken the key as a sign to seek him out immediately. Though it was disturbing to know that she’d gone to wait for him before breakfast - he’d actually gotten up much earlier than usual with the sole intent of avoiding her, and the fact that they probably missed each other by minutes was…not comforting.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it, however. “And it seems there’s no one who can confirm or deny this.” Kyoko says, less a question than just a statement.

“N-no, of course not.” She lets out an ugly snort. “I-it’s fine though. I d-don’t want to k-kill you, or d-die, or anything anymore…t-there can only be one b-blackened, after all.”

So her obsession hasn’t died. He clicks his tongue audibly at that, loud enough that he’s sure she’s heard, though there’s no indication if she did. It would’ve been nice if, after almost being done in and reduced to what he is now, Toko could have lost some interest. A foolish hope, but it would’ve been preferable to whatever her obsession had developed into instead.

He wants to tell her she’s insane if she thinks that he wants anything to do with her, regardless of if she was responsible for saving him, but Kyoko was speaking again. “Toko. How many pairs of scissors does Syo usually carry?”

“W-what?!” She jerks so hard that Byakuya swears he can hear threads snap from where her hands are wrapped in her skirt. “I-I don’t know! W-why are you a-asking about h-her?!”

“From previous cases, it seems that each victim was pinned with the same number of scissors. Given the repetition of a perfect pattern, it seems that Syo tries to maintain consistency for each of her crimes - it’s not unlikely that that extends to the tools she uses. Would you happen to know if she carries the same number at all times?”

Each word is chosen carefully, creating a clear separation between Fukawa and Syo. A distinction that makes Fukawa visibly relax, shoulders slumping. “I think so? I mean, sh-she o-only uses th-the same number i-in all her…killings…a-and the case can only hold s-so many at a t-time.”

“I see, that’s a good point. Thank you.” And Fukawa flushes a little at the small bit of praise, her usual pallor blotching unevenly. “Can I ask you to check how many are in her carrying case right now?” Kyoko continues on, patiently.

There’s something off-putting about this whole thing. The way Kyoko, despite being forced into this position by Makoto’s insistence and the others’ suspicion, had so easily assumed control. She was no less exonerated, but - she was handling things well, she was communicating clearly, and everything she did felt - calculated. Premeditated. Even the parts where she seemed to have been purposefully provoking tempers, which only further begged the question:

If she could do all this, why leave everything up to Makoto?

“U-um…four. Four of them.” Fukawa says, after a moment of rustling and clinking metal. She’d been so mollified that she’d forgotten to even complain, which was a miracle in and of itself. “A-and the case is almost f-full, so…”

“Then that goes to show that I was not the one who placed Syo’s scissors on Celeste’s body.” And she reaches into her jacket to pull out a dark brown pouch, its silver contents clacking against each other as she lays it out in front of her. “This is the pouch I confiscated from Syo last time, and it contains five pairs. In combination with the fact that it would be a logical fallacy if I had placed those there, and then immediately found them and identified them as not being the murder weapon, is this enough to clear me?”

The response is…chaotic. Mostly due to Fukawa, shrieking with rage - “Y-you tricked me!”, pointing a pale, trembling hand in Kyoko’s direction - but also the shock from the other onlookers. Monokuma is squealing with delight, Hina is shouting, “Why - you couldn’t say this earlier?!” And Hifumi is whimpering fast enough to almost be considered hyperventilating.

Through it all, Makoto is staring at her. Probably dumbstruck, probably betrayed; even though he’s never truly seen it, Byakuya could almost imagine it, the slack, wide-eyed look of anguish on his face.

The rush of envy that makes his heart clench is familiar now, but he nearly topples over with the unexpected force of it, the frustration of it all. He doesn’t like wishing for pointless things - better to take action and achieve it than to daydream aimlessly - but at this moment, he wants nothing more than to swap his and Kyoko’s places.

“...Okay. Okay, yeah.” Makoto says at last, quiet, but - not quite defeated, to Byakuya’s surprise. “If that’s the case. Then what’s your take on the art room? What evidence are you hiding from us?”

“I’ve never purposefully hid evidence from any of you. I’ve delayed revealing them to ensure a cleaner progression of the trials, but I’ve always revealed my hand in the end.” She replies, and she sounds like she’s smiling. “After all this, you still want me to continue?” “Please,” And Byakuya feels something in his chest twist again, feels that irrational want rear its head - he’s not sure how he knows, but somehow, Makoto sounds like he’s smiling too. “I’ll leave it all up to you.”

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#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #i got a gnarled witchy hand now that ive been pointing menacingly at ppl with #anyways. sorry long time no update. i had this chapter done for a while but didnt want to post until i finished chapter 33 #but then i couldn't write chapter 33 bc of the witch hand and also my brain. so. here #sorry for the bit of a cliffhanger..actually the phrase 'leave it up to you' is a rehash of what kyoko says to makoto before the first tria #it might seem awkward here if ure not insane about this game like me and have the dialogue script open for rereading at all times

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