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hey-heigo · 10 days ago

Text

Chapter 30

happy early new year.....new years eve eve.....eve squared......

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this is probably obvious but whenever i write hifumi using 'mister' or 'miss' it's like. an english localized variation of how he uses honorifics in the japanese version

i'm trying to elaborate more on toko and syo's dynamic more. like as two individuals occupying the same body, one of them constantly trying to suppress the other - i can't imagine that they regard each other highly

@digitaldollsworld mvp bc i kept adding on to this one lol

Content warning tags: threats, description of drowning/aquaphobia

< previous - from start - next >

They walk slowly. Mostly for the sake of Hifumi, who seems to be insistent on lagging, huffing under Fukawa’s weight draped across his back, but also with regard to the persisting sting in Byakuya’s ankles, as he tries not to do anything as demeaning as hobble. As it is, he tries to maintain a distance of at least two meters away from the two social outliers, for the sake of his nose; though surprisingly enough, the only offensive odor was Fukawa’s, though being too near to the strange, sugary aroma that he detected in close proximity to Hifumi was also off-putting for a different reason.

Despite her earlier emphasis of time, Kyoko doesn’t make any comment on their speed, instead silently matching Byakuya’s pace. Though, surely, not out of mere goodwill; and unsurprisingly, it’s not long before she asks: “How long were you in the water?”

It’s a complete reversal of her earlier displays of unexpected sympathy, and so matched his expectations of her that it’s almost refreshing. As it is, he can’t help but snort. “You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing. You see, I was a little too preoccupied with self-preservation to be counting seconds.”

“Given how you can still snark, it’s clear you weren’t in there long enough to warrant any major brian damage.” She replies without skipping a beat, unmoved by his vitriol. “So not including the time it took us to drag you out and resuscitate you, maybe around two to three minutes at the most.”

Again; so brisk and clinical and matching exactly to his predictions, that he could laugh with the relief of it. He clicks his tongue instead. “You should be a little more considerate to near-murder victims.”

“And offend your mental faculties?” He shoots a sidelong glance, trying to see if he could catch the shadow of her lips curving into a smile. Nothing doing - the halls are too dimly lit. “It seems that you owe Toko your thanks. She found you quickly.”

At the mention of her name, his mood sours instantly. That was right. Aoi had mentioned as much back in the nurse’s office, though the idea of having to owe Fukawa anything put a bad taste in his mouth. He doesn’t bother turning to look at the dark pile of loose limbs and swinging braids that Hifumi was currently struggling with, his breathing loud and strained. “What’s the order of events so far?” He asks instead. “I left my room a little after nine, and was ambushed immediately after.”

“That would imply that you were unconscious for about twenty minutes before being submerged,” She has her chin tucked over a knuckle, thinking deeply. “Did the attacker concuss you?”

“No. And we’re not having Sakura check me for that either.” He really didn’t want to be subjected to that humiliating examination again. “I think it was some kind of anesthetic. I vaguely remember being assaulted with something against my face.”

“I see. There were some local inhalants in the nurse’s office.” She hums contemplatively. “You’re very lucky. I doubt anyone here knows how to administer anesthetic precisely, and your attacker could have easily overdosed and killed you.”

“Yes, how comforting to know,” He mutters sardonically, as Hifumi makes some kind of nearly-indistinct whimpering mumble behind them. “...That aside, I doubt I was actually unconscious for that long a stretch.”

“How so?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, as they reach the stairs. He grips the handrail, trying not to lean too obviously on it as he places weight down on one foot, biting back a hiss with his teeth in his cheek. “The bag.” He says instead, covering his wince. “It was secured tightly over my head, and contained enough air to keep me from immediately drowning. I tried to maximize my time with it.”

As much of a hidden blessing it had been, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience in the slightest. Straining against his bonds and the chair keeping him pinned do the bottom of the pool, craning his neck to stretch his face as far upwards as he can, trying to take slow, controlled breaths from the air pocket. Fighting panic as cold water creeped up his neck, a slow, relentless march; blinking furiously, irrationally, to try and keep tears from falling as if someone would notice, while above him, all he could see was the flickering of light passing through water, casting dim shadows over the white backdrop of the bag.

When he’d realized that the air was streaming out - bubbling out through the tiny seams, the water level rising and sloshing over his ears, the underside of his chin, the back of his head - terror had seized him, and he’d screamed, once, a short, desperate sound that was insulated to just himself.

He saves those details, though. “I can’t even hazard a guess as to how long I spent underwater. But if Fukawa had found me any later, it’s entirely possible you would have been handling three bodies instead.”

There’s another quiet sound from Hifumi, an oddly high-pitched, hiccuping gasp. Kyoko is quiet for a moment. “That must have been difficult.”

“I survived. That’s all that matters. But it does complicate the timeline, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. As well as the suspect pool - I was hoping that, since the suspect would have only had a short amount of time, it would have made them easier to identify. But since that window between your attack and discovery has been lengthened, it’s harder to pin down.” She sighs. “I wish we had the proper resources to go about this. With so many victims involved, it’d be more efficient to bait out the killer.”

Byakuya blinks, turning to stare intently at her again. There was something off about that statement; he’d never pinned Kyoko to be the kind to openly complain about her circumstances. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a tactic commonly employed in detective fiction, but it’s quite effective in real life. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes, I am. But-”

“It’s not used in most investigations due to legalities or logistics, but it’s been sensationalized especially in Western media. I believe they have television shows dedicated to it; have you ever heard of ‘To Catch a Predator?’ It’s quite popular there,” She rambles on, the stream of flat words interrupted only briefly by the sudden (and impressively fluent) English. “There’s a wide range of diversity in their criminals as well - aiming to contest the typical expectations of a pervert being overweight and antisocial, though they do tend to be obsessive and easily infatuated.”

Byakuya can only gape. Has Kyoko finally snapped? Was she the one possibly concussed? “What are you-?”

A hand closes over his arm, grip tight for a moment, and he flinches with the prick of her index and pointer finger, driving painfully into the sensitive outer divot of his elbow even through his clothes and her glove. “Be careful.” She hisses quietly, with firm emphasis, and he frowns, one foot halfway to the next step, before-

Ah.

“I’m not sure about American television shows. I never had time for such things.” He says, carefully. “But I’m familiar with what you’re speaking of. Sherlock Holmes used misdirection frequently, some that even involved Watson - though many of those stories are trite fiction, there is an allure to it, especially when it came to outmaneuvering the least suspicious culprits. But you’re quite right that to employ such a thing in real life is reckless without proper preparation, or at the very least, certainty.”

“Yes. I suppose it’s a good thing we’re only lacking in one of those.”

As they reach the second-floor landing, she turns back to Hifumi. “Isn’t that right?”

Hifumi jumps, trembling comically. “I- eh, wha-?”

“Enough of this farce.” Byakuya mimics her, levelling a glare at the boy standing a few steps behind and above them. “Fukawa. You’re awake, aren’t you?”

For a moment, there’s no response. And then:

“Aw, when’d ya figure it out?” Whines the body, slithering off of Hifumi’s back to stand beside him, a flash of white teeth and a red, lolling tongue. “ ‘nd here I thought I coulda put my honorary Juilliard degree to use!”

“I noticed back at the art room. When I revealed the scissors, you twitched.” Kyoko replies, voice low and careful.

“Whaat, f’real? You got some crazy eyes!” Syo whines, crossing her arms. “And you, Squinty?”

“I heard you laughing to yourself as I was describing my near-death experience.” He snarls. He keeps one hand on the bannister, the other balled into a tight fist. “I thought it was Hifumi going into cardiac arrest at first, but then I realized the two of you were actually whispering to each other. Isn’t that right?”

The sound had been so soft and indistinct behind the boy’s gasping that he might have missed it, if not for the quiet giggle he noticed while he was describing how he mitigated the effects of being submerged. A giggle that very much did not match Hifumi’s voice or character.

Syo laughs at that, this time wholly unsubdued, the sound echoing up and down the stairwell. “Damn, you got us!” She hoots, slapping Hifumi across the back, eliciting a yelp. “We’d make a shit pair o’ spies, Huffy! Told ya we shoulda gone slower!”

“Enough. What’s your motive?” He snaps, at the same time edging subtly backwards. He’s not sure why Kyoko chose to confront the two of them now, while they had the high ground. Hifumi, he wasn’t worried as much about, but Syo was likely armed, though how she got her scissors back from Kyoko he had no idea. Kyoko on the other hand, still had her left hand incapacitated, and he certainly was in no shape for a physical confrontation.

“Motive? What, are you accusin’ me of somethin’?” She jabs a finger at him, one hand tugging up the edge of her skirt, revealing something dark strapped against her leg. Silver glints against the dark band, an obvious threat. “You wanna say that louder, pretty boy?”

“We’re not making any accusations.” Kyoko replies sharply, with enough firmness to make Byakuya wonder if she was also armed, to take on a clearly dangerous individual in confined quarters. “We’re wondering why you were pretending to be unconscious. And why the two of you were apparently trying to converse without us knowing.”

Hifumi shakes his head vigorously. This whole time, he had been creeping sideways, trying to put distance between himself and Syo. “I-it’s not what you think!” He yelps. “I-She started whispering to me, I just went along with it-I was trying to figure out what she was up to!”

And to Byakuya’s surprise, Syo nods, arms crossed. “Yep. I got b-o-r-d bored, and if I’m gonna be lugged around, I’d want to be princess-carried! It’s every maiden’s dream to get swept away by a hunk!” She cackles at that, cracking up at her own joke. “Unfortunately, Hamster-Mi here doesn’t have the chops for that. I was just complainin’ to him about how he was breaking my heart!”

Byakuya frowns a little deeper at that. Were the two of them that close? Remembering Hifumi’s unease around Syo previously, the sudden initiative to engage with her was surprising; though then again, it wasn’t like he had reason or desire to pay either of them any particular attention.

“Why pretend to be unconscious?” Kyoko presses on.

“Pushy, ain’t ya? I woke up when Gloomy walked in on the art room and saw that big fella cosplaying a fountain, and I wanted a first-class seat to the drama.” She shrugs. “Little Miss Morose’d been really putting in the elbow grease to, ah…’get normal’, I guess. Not that that was gonna happen in a million years, but she got pretty good at handling blood n’ water n’, like, other stuff...” She tilts her head a bit, almost contemplatively. “But, I guess it’s still a no-go if you shock her with it - I mean, she walked into that room and got jumpscared by a B-grade splatter scene. Poof, out like a light!”

“That’s not a solid excuse,” Byakuya remembers how Fukawa had managed to fight off her own phobia for long enough to manipulate Chihiro’s body, going so far as to mimic the signature of her body’s other occupant. “A pair of your bloody scissors was found at the scene. Can you explain that? Or should we ask the other one?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one walking around with those scissors!” She presses a hand to her chest, as if genuinely affronted by the mere suggestion.

“Your case file said they were unique and custom-made-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But remember - Sherlock over here took my scissors during the last case, right? And left me diggin’ up my back-ups!” And she points at Kyoko this time, a pale hand outstretched accusingly. “Who’s to say she didn’t plant my snippers there? Or did the crime herself!”

And…she has a point. Logically, even if Kyoko hadn’t been the one to throw him into the water, there was nothing to say that the two incidents - his attempted murder and the two deaths in the art room - had to be related. But it wouldn’t make sense, and as irrational a thought it was, he felt that attempting to murder someone by stabbing simply didn’t suit her.

“...She was having breakfast with the others. She has an alibi.” He says, slowly. “Even if she managed to commit the crime of somehow stabbing someone a full foot taller than her and get away without a drop of blood on her, then that means Mondo would have had to be fighting for his life from before she joined the others - and frankly, I don’t think he had that kind of health in him.”

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have planted the scissors. She had been the one to examine Celeste - but that wasn’t logical either, with how she also pointed out the contradiction, how those scissors couldn’t have been the murder weapon -

“Then why drag me out of the room? If she knew I was already awake, what’s the point?” Syo’s voice had changed suddenly, no longer so frivolous and playful, instead softer, chillingly serious. “Who’s to say we weren’t working together?”

Kyoko doesn’t reply at first, quiet for a brief, tense moment. “...I wanted to see what your intentions were.”

“Wow…I’ve heard better excuses from kiddies with their hands stuck in cookie jars.” Syo jeers.

“It’s not an excuse. I understand more of you now - your motivations, your thoughts, and your personality.” Kyoko stares Syo down, chin raised. “Now, come on. We need to go to the pool-”

“ ‘We’? “ Syo throws her head back and laughs, hands clutching her stomach. “Who’s ‘we’?! I got better stuff to do!”

“If we don’t resolve the murder, we all die,” Byakuya starts angrily, and she cuts him off, with a series of gobbling sounds in a mockery of his intonation.

“Blah, blah, blah, whatever! I wanna stretch my legs, and I ain’t doin’ that getting dragged around like a whipped dog,” She sneers, and in a flash, she leaps down the last few steps to land just in front of him. He nearly topples backwards, saved only by his grip on the railing, as she jabs a finger painfully into his sternum. “Listen, she might still be soft on ya, but she’s all twisted up right now, and it’s ‘cuz of you. The only thing you are to me is a sexy piece ‘a meat, so don’t tell me what to care about.”

Byakuya feels his face paling at the threat, frozen in place as she sidesteps him and Kyoko, breezing past him with a lingering whiff of metal and dust, before hopping onto the railing to slide the rest of the way down towards the first floor, her cackles echoing into the distance.

___

The pool is even more warmer and humid than he remembered, the air thick and damp.

Without the distractions of hacking water out of lungs or shivering to death, Byakuya can take in what he’d missed. There’s the chair he’d been bound to, a simple black folding-metal frame, lying next to a flat, white square plastered on the floor - the bag that had been used as a hood, he surmised - though, there’s nothing else that’s particularly incriminating.

He watches as Kyoko peels the bag off the floor, shaking it out and handing it to him. It’s a completely featureless white drawstring thing, made of a durable, tightly-woven canvas, and the kind of thing used for gym clothes. The quality and accessorized appearance of it makes him think that it’s a staple from the supply room. He runs his hands along the seam, finding the whole of it cold and damp, and smelling just like everything else - chlorine and stale water.

He passes it back wordlessly. There was nothing he could observe from it.

Hifumi hovers by the doorway to the boy’s exercise room, fidgeting slightly as Kyoko walks along the edge of the pool, no doubt carefully observing all that she could. Byakuya sits on a bench against the wall and watches her, arms crossed and feeling distinctly useless.

How strange, he thinks, watching her stop, crouch down, and press her hand contemplatively to the floor before continuing on her way. What Syo had said had made sense - how was he sure that Kyoko wasn’t involved in any of these murders, attempts or otherwise? There were no real attempts at trust built between them, not like him and Makoto. All their casual interactions so far had been fraught with antagonizing and sarcasm, and threaded with - and he scowls now with the bitter realization of it - envy, on his part. Why was he so certain of her innocence, beyond just a gut feeling?

His fingers curl, nails biting into his arms. How ironic that he used to scorn such things, but there was only so much information available to him now. All that was left were vague impressions, and…

Blind faith. And he snorts derisively at the very thought of it.

“M-Mister Togami…”

There was also the issue with Fukawa - Syo - either of the two were insufferably irritating on the best of days, but - and he shudders again, remembering the sheer malice that both had approached him with - though, it seemed they had different motivations. Fukawa still had some delusions regarding him, though remembering their last near-interaction, the nature of her fantasies had flipped the dynamic she had previously envisioned. At the very least, he was glad that she didn’t seem to want him dead just yet.

Syo, on the other hand…

“Mister Togami?”

He doesn’t move from his seat. From beside him, Hifumi stutteringly clears his throat, and repeats himself. “Mister Togami-”

“I heard you the first time.” He snaps. “What?”

Hifumi flinches in the corner of his vision, the gray curve of his sweater flickering in and out. “I, ehm…you…you don’t have to stay, if you don’t want…?”

The glare Byakuya directs at him is enough to make him trail off, turning quickly away. “And why shouldn’t I stay?” He asks, cold and chipped. “Am I interfering with something?”

“N-No! I, ehm, it’s just-” His voice squeaks, and breaks, and he clears his throat again, loud and hacking. “Ehem, um, I just thought since someone tried to, eh…do away with you, here, maybe you’d rather be somewhere else?”

His scowl deepens at that, as he scrapes his foot across the floor. His sneakers have the stiffness of being new, and slide a bit too quickly across the damp tile. Certainly he didn’t look that fragile, did he? “I’m fine.” He snaps. “And don’t hover around me. Why don’t you make yourself useful?”

He’s greeted with nothing but the background hum and churn of water and machinery, so he thinks that he’s succeeded in shutting Hifumi down. But then he hears a shuffle, the crinkle of paper and cellophane, and -

Something stretching in from his periphery. He jerks away from it, but it’s just - round and a pale golden-brown - a piece of packaged bread, sitting in Hifumi’s hand.

Hifumi flinches too, the motion accompanied by more plastic rustling. “S-sorry. But you didn’t eat breakfast, right?” And he re-extends his hand, unexpectedly stubborn. “Um. I don’t have much on me, but you can have this. I-I’ve also got chips if you want something salty, but you seem too uptight-” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat again. “I mean, you don’t seem like you’d, uh. Like. Non-breakfast foods for breakfast…”

He makes no move to take the offering, wrinkling his nose instead. Not only at the paltry offering, but also, the few small, dark streaks across Hifumi’s palm and up his sleeves. Hifumi must notice his staring, because he stammers out: “Um, i-it’s from when I found…Mondo…”

“I didn’t know you were so fearless around bodies.”

“N-no, I- um, w-when I found Mondo - in the art room - I tried to help, but…I’m no good at that stuff, and…” He trails off, his voice beginning to shake with a different quality that promised sobbing, and Byakuya suddenly realizes that as much as he dislikes interacting with Hifumi regularly, he wants to interact with a sobbing, traumatized Hifumi even less.

“Fine, I get it. I don’t need to hear the rest.” He takes the bread before Hifumi can say anymore and rips open the seal, tearing into it without ceremony. It’s common fare, carrying the slight, sour odor of preservatives and sweetness of over-processed wheat, and the texture is dense and doughy, flattened from the time spent in Hifumi’s bag. It tastes somewhat like the air around him - chlorine - and would be enough to make him gag, if he didn’t suddenly realize how ravenous he was; as a result, he somehow manages to inhale half of it before he almost chokes on how dry it is.

As he thumps his chest, forcing out the squishy, half-chewed, intrusion from his esophagus, Hifumi thrusts an open bottle of water at him, a little too forcefully, and Byakuya jolts with the splash of cold liquid against his thigh. He jerks out of his seat, glaring furiously, and Hifumi sheepishly, more gingerly this time, offers the water bottle again.

“S-sorry…” He stammers, and there’s the plip, plip plip of droplets sloshing over the bottle’s lip, as his hands shake slightly. “Um, maybe you should walk around? It’ll dry it off faster…”

“Don’t be stupid. This is the most humid place in the school.” He snaps. Thankfully, the spill isn’t large, and he tugs the damp spot away from his skin. “Ugh. And the bench is wet too.”

“Did - did you want me to clean it up for you?” He sounds reluctant, as if the thought of having to do this for someone who wasn’t an over-exaggerated caricature of some subculture - or a girl - was undesirable to say the least.

“Forget it. Just stay here.” Barely five minutes, and he’s suffered pathetically sympathetic conversation, subpar bread, and another dousing. He’s had enough of Hifumi’s company for a while.

Kyoko was watching them from beside the lifeguard’s seat, and face fixed in his direction like a lighthouse beacon. She turns back towards the pool as he steps to stand next to her.

“You could stand to be a bit nicer.” Is the first thing she says after a moment’s pause. “This isn’t the place to make enemies.”

Do you think no one’s more aware of that than me? He feels his lip twitching into a sneer. “Respect should only be given to those who deserve it.”

“If that were true-” She pauses. “No, never mind.”

“No, say it.” He’s never heard Kyoko fully redact herself before. “What is it?”

“It’s not important. Anyways-”

“It must have been important if you thought to mention it out loud in the first place.” She looks away from him, and he quickly circles around, stepping into her direct view. “Well?”

Even this close, he can barely make out anything on her face at all. Behind her, he can see the large, gray shape of Hifumi’s back bobbing as he kneels in front of the bench, presumably wiping it dry.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you today,” He starts, voice raised slightly, firm and disproportionately amplified. “First the meaningless tangent about your television shows, now this pointless waffling. Are you insane? Did something finally crack?”

“I’m fine.” She raises her chin, acting the part of a petulant child. “You’re the one getting hung up on something meaningless.”

“Me? Hung up on - are you serious?” He laughs, humorously. “I’m just trying to make sure you haven’t lost your rationality. Did you forget that we’re all hinging our trust on you?”

“Of course not. But now you’re the one being irrational; are you sure you’re not just worried over your own ego?” And now, her voice is firm, exasperated, as she even starts toying with her hair, the white strands stark against her glove. “I assure you, it’s nothing I’m sure you don’t already know.”

The smile he feels cracking his face is more like a baring of teeth. “So that’s it. I wasn’t aware that my manners were important enough to you to be commented on.”

“Of course not. There’s very little of you that I feel the need to comment on.”

“Clever. Could you be clever now and continue investigating? Or do you plan to continue wasting our precious time?”

“Me? You’re the one who decided to argue about this point. I already dropped it from the start-”

“Enough.” He says suddenly, sharply. Hifumi has apparently dropped something under the bench, body shaking as he reaches for it, leaning nearly parallel to the floor.

And as if on cue, Kyoko snaps her mouth shut and spins, turning sharply on her heel, away from him. But she hasn’t taken so much a step when-

Ding dong, bing bong.

Monokuma’s voice, amplified and uncanny off the water’s surface and far-reaching walls, is positively ecstatic. “Are you excited? Are you pumped!?” It cheers, and Hifumi falls backwards in surprise just as Kyoko reaches him. “It’s time for the class trial to begin! Like the bright burst of fireworks, like the flash of a soul clashing with life and death…!”

The spiel continues, but Byakuya has already tuned it out, moving quickly to stand over Hifumi’s struggling form. “We need to move,” He says sharply, fumbling for Hifumi’s arm and yanking upwards. “Now.”

The other boy’s face is pale, and he doesn’t budge from where he sits on the floor. “W-what - already?!” He gasps. “But-it’s so soon-!”

“The two of you go first,” Kyoko orders. She’s standing at one end of the bench, looking down at them. “I haven’t checked this area yet.”

“W-wait, but-”

“Let’s go,” Byakuya snaps, tugging again. “She can catch up on her own, but right now, we’re the two slowest individuals here. We need to leave first.”

“That’s-”

“-and without further ado - I’ll see you all soon! Puhuhu~” Monokuma finishes, accompanied by the buzz and click of the audio cutting out. Kyoko grabs Hifumi under the other arm, and together, the two of them drag him upright.

“Come on,” Byakuya repeats, not relinquishing his grip. “Or do you want to find out what happens when we’re late?”

That does it. Reluctantly, Hifumi lets him lead him towards the boys’ locker room door. As they make their exit, Byakuya catches a glimpse of Kyoko watching them leave, before the door slips shut, obscuring her entirely.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #byakuya togami #syooo i missed u syooooo. u r so fun to wriiiite #byakuya can you be fucking nice.#next chapter starts the trial... :) curious to know what ppl think is happening so far... :)c pls let me know... ;)c #this chap was hard i decided to throw in some extra stuff to try and make the trial progression more logical and. well. danganronpa esque #i think it's def possible to figure out the exact murders and case from what's been said already. like there's a lot less crazy jumps #than the last trial...both bc our pov character is more involved #and bc the last trial was hard af to write and im still not satisfied with it #and i mean. more apparent cases seems to be the trend of third chapter trials #danganronpa fanfic

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