Chapter Text
Kazuo Tengan is a brilliantly shrewd man.
He hides well behind the veneer of an old man, far too old to do anything other than putter and meddle about. Anyone unfamiliar with his tactics or history would simply assume he’s received the titles and accolades long in the past. He effectively masquerades as a figurehead, constantly and consistently surrounded by protégé younger and, seemingly, more talented and equipped for the Future Foundation.
A founder brushed to the side by the ever-forward march of progress.
Kirigiri sees right through him.
He sits across from her now, fingers in a temple before him upon the desk standing between the two, his mouth a deep, unwavering line. Even as he appraises her she can see the glimmer of intelligence in his pale eyes. Grandfatherly, to some, but as she sits in the quiet office she feels as if she is a target and he is raising a bow and arrow.
She knows why she’s been called. There have been far too many coincidences recently across the Foundation. Too many questions asked for seemingly no reason; running into someone she had just seen in a different place. Interrogations that masquerade as friendly meetings. It feels like a class trial once more. Here she is, once again collecting evidence, tentatively awaiting the scratchy taunt of their captor, calling them to their doom.
“So,” Tengan says matter-of-factly, after a long, heavy silence. “Why have I called you here?”
He asks it as if he can hear her own internal monologue. Kirigiri looks down at her own clasped hands over her knee. A part of it has slipped up, exposing the charred skin at the base of her wrist. The small metal upon the back of her glove glints in the warm, yellow light. “You believe there is a traitor amongst the six of us,” She declares, and is a little shocked to hear how breezily it comes from out of her mouth.
Tengan’s thick eyebrows shoot upwards. It’s a feigned surprise–the look in his eyes doesn’t change, and the severe line of his mouth does not even twitch. “And however did you come up with that notion?” He asks. Someone less acquainted with the discovery of the truth would perhaps fall for his tone here. It is almost chiding, as if he is indulging a childish whim of hers.
She reaches down and adjusts the hem of her glove. The blackened skin disappears under the smart plum fabric once more. “There is no other reason that you’d have us this heavily monitored. Especially considering that we have all returned recently from missions outside of headquarters that have risked us all falling to despair.”
Six missions, in the past few months since they joined. One for each student. Hers had been with Makoto, but there were plenty of times where she was alone and could not get through to the other. Too much time without him in her sights, and vice versa. Who’s to say what had really happened out there? The streets still teemed with despairing life. Children in helmets, adults with weapons, and everything in between.
There was the dark possibility that the members of Ultimate Despair had stolen one of them in those moments alone and re-written their mind to serve a different moral code. It really could happen to anyone. Those infected had snapped, and underwent extensive therapy to fix their broken minds.
A weak psyche is unable to process the forcible changes to their ideals and desires.
Tengan’s eyes twinkle almost merrily. “An assumption befitting an ultimate detective. Well done, my dear. You are correct. Humor me once more–why do you think I’m asking you?”
Kirigiri evenly returns his gaze. It feels ridiculously indulgent; the same misdemeanors her father would get up to when she was young, constantly impressed by things that seemed so menial, so obvious. “You’re interested in keeping your hands clean,” she tells him, and ignores the genuine spark of surprise that lights up his face, “and you haven’t exonerated me of suspicion. I am being personally shadowed by Juzo. I cannot pinpoint the first day you asked him but he’s been following me.”
A firework rather than a man–-a silhouette so prone to quick snaps of anger that people scurried out of his way whenever he was anywhere close. Ryota had been the first to officially notify her, but she had noticed long before his tentative warning. Of course he hadn’t known why; he just had seen a dangerous member of their foundation stalking another through their halls.
And before that, too, the general suspicion and fear that followed them as they integrated themselves into the Foundation post-killing game. As if they were to snap at any given moment and flip a switch for despair. It had taken the Foundation a very long time to let them out of their proverbial cages, to actually go out into the world and make a difference once again. Many of the younger members seemed set on keeping them barred from more sensitive material. It took the practical forcing of both Tengan and Chisa Yukizome for them to begin to be treated as equals and not as dead weight.
Possibly due to their association with Enoshima, but most likely due to Naegi's unfaltering faith in those enticed by despair. To the Foundation, it was easier just to put rabid dogs down.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Tengan replies, a sheepish tone coloring his words, “Believe it or not, he has previously excelled in these types of missions. I had assumed he would approach this with the same care, but I fear Juzo has all but decided your guilt." He nods to himself as he speaks, assuring himself of his own words. "Add a bit of personal bias into the mix and I’ve created quite the problem for you.”
“He’s decided my guilt, personally? Or the six of us as a whole?”
The former headmaster smiles, the severe indent of his mouth cracking upwards, and says nothing.
Kirigiri feels her eyebrow quirk downwards. Interesting. “I was incorrect. I am the only one being followed this closely.” She waits a moment, before he nods once, confirming her suspicion. “You suspect me the most.”
Tengan’s sympathetic smile turns almost apologetic.
Kirigiri huffs out a sigh. How inconvenient. “Due to…?”
The man across from her gives a little half shrug. He stands and hobbles over to the far end of the room, opening a filing cabinet and beginning to rummage through a menagerie of papers. “Your father was a very intelligent man,” he calls over his shoulder as he rustles away. “And he spoke very highly of you, as well. He often said you were the smartest of them all. Of course, I have seen that first hand, both in your deductions throughout the killing game, and your intelligence during your tenure with the Foundation.”
He withdraws a few files in beige folders, examining the contents quickly. Seemingly satisfied, Tengan shuffles back over towards his desk and re-takes his seat, placing the myriad of files upon the desk before her. There are six–the topmost one is adorned with Naegi’s full name, along with a neatly stamped date in wide, square letters. “You are extremely shrewd. Although you have proven yourself time and again, I believe you are one of the only people that could manage to fly under our radar for any period of time if you were under the influence of despair.”
It makes sense. She is coldly pragmatic; of this she is aware. There is very little time for matters of the heart, and very little use for the complications that arise in tandem with them. Naegi is well-suited to be the emotional core of the survivors. She will stand by him and answer his wayward questions and finish his thoughts, but she is decidedly not the ultimate hope.
According to that line of thinking, that leaves only around three of them as prime suspects; herself, Togami, and Fukawa (excluding the Genocider). And yet personality is not the founding of their accusations, as they are still all considered for the role of quisling. Tengan would not get involved if there was fully no merit, so he must have undeniable evidence that there is a traitor in his midst.
No matter. They may have decided her guilt, but it is not guilt she feels.
“If I really am now a member of Ultimate Despair, what do you hope to gain from casting me as the detective here?” Kirigiri leans forward and flips open Naegi’s file. There is a class photo of the sixteen of them, long before the end of the world. She looks much younger; there are no deep indents framing her eyes, and she even smiles, a little color to her face and life in her eyes. “Other than self-implication.”
Tengan sighs heavily and suddenly looks every year of his age. He leans back and runs a withered hand through the remaining white hair upon his head. “Despair has…many forms,” he supplies, pausing here and there, evidently deep in thought. “But those who are influenced by it are very…self-serving. Of course, it depends on their personalities, and their allegiances, but…”
He trails off, reaching up and stroking his chin.
Very interesting. “You’re hoping that, based on my personality, I will be more eager to implicate a former classmate with little evidence and out myself.”
Tengan nods, still gazing out into the middle distance. “Or uncover the traitor regardless, to keep suspicion off.”
It’s quite the gamble. She’s entirely certain he has others looking into the traitors as well but she does not voice it. Perhaps it’s simply another way to keep her under their thumb, considering that she is the primary suspect at this point. Kazuo Tengan had never seemed a gambling man…there had to be some circumstances that were affecting his decisions now. Paranoia? Despair? "You believe me pragmatic enough to throw someone I owe my life to under the bus to save myself?" She asks, and cannot help the sudden bite of coldness that seeps into her own tone.
"If you are serving despair I certainly wouldn't put it past you." Tengan's eyes narrow slightly. "Remember, I'm going off of the data we've seen. We do have quite a bit to learn about despair and all it's facets, but you'd be sowing seeds of despair in any way you could." His head inclines slightly, jutting his chin towards the files before her. "Who's to say that wouldn't extend towards your former friends? What better despair than to implicate them in a crime you've committed? What better despair for yourself, to have done that to them in the first place?"
It would make sense if she were a veritable stranger. It sounds like nonsense, coming from someone who allegedly knew her father well and had seen herself upon the screen at Hope's Peak. They have such a poor grasp on despair and what it can really be. How it can change someone inside out, rewrite their way of thinking while still retaining such a chokehold on their previous self. How the feeling envelops someone's personality and take over their body without anyone the wiser.
How it can take a desire and twist it into something much darker.
She takes the files and leaves through them. They are chock full of information she already knows. Heights, weights, dates of birth, known families. “If you really wanted me to hit the ground running you’d grant me access to their field reports,” she retorts, fingers paging sightlessly through the amalgamation of information. “I already know all of these things already. It’s a waste of time to read through them again.”
“Perhaps an unbiased viewpoint will illuminate some new information about the usual suspects.” Tengan smiles, and taps a file with his finger. It’s Asahina’s–her youthful smile and chubby cheeks peeking out from a small photo paperclipped to a droning page containing her life story. “These aren’t the files from Hope’s Peak, Kirigiri-san. These were amassed by the Future Foundation immediately after we recovered the six of you.”
She suppresses a sigh and gathers up the files. Even less useful, then. It feels like he is actively impeding her while he asks for her help. “Very well, Tengan-san.” Rising from her chair, she tucks the files underneath her arm. “I will accept this mission." As if she has any other choice. "But I have two more questions.”
“Certainly.” Tengan rises as well and bows slightly. “What are they?”
"What will you do if the traitor is found out to be another member of the organization?"
He smiles almost indulgently. "If that is the case, we will address it with any factual findings you can bring us."
Kirigiri’s jaw twitches. “What will happen to the traitor if it's one of us? If it's me?"
Tengan’s tone is smooth and even, but there is an unsettling darkness underneath when he says, “We will take care of that. There will be extensive cognitive behavioral therapy, and we are fortunate enough to have some technology we’ve reverse-engineered to help heal them.”
It’s a perfectly rehearsed answer and it does nothing to settle the newfound trepidation that knots quickly into the pit of her stomach. It illuminates a morbid truth; they are on worse terms than previously assumed. If the traitor is amongst their six, the best-case scenario is becoming imprisoned for the rest of their natural life.
She does not give words to the worst. Bowing her head slightly, she turns primly on her heel and leaves his office, leaving him standing there with the door thudding loudly behind her. It would be best to start her work now. If she’s correct and he has assigned this to other members of the Foundation, she has to be the first one to come to the logical conclusion.
Anyone else and their lives may be forfeit.