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Kokichi was lying in a bedroom he did not recognise. With great effort, he brought himself into a sitting position. He shivered, wrapping the blanket from the bed around himself.
He darted his eyes around, clutching his chest. The more he saw, the more convinced he became. Somehow, without his knowledge, they had put him back in. It was another simulation - another killing game.
Outside the door would be another school filled with talented, young people. They would all get along at first, but then a motive would arise, and the murders would begin. He would have to stand through trial after trial, watching people sentence themselves to horrifying executions, and what for? A shot at fame? A chance to enjoy the bloodthirst of taking an innocent person’s life?
Sure, it had all been fake, but it felt real – the fear, the pain, the post-traumatic stress. His entire personality had been altered by the game. Fiction became frighteningly real when it was all you were.
Getting to his feet, Kokichi shuffled to the exit. He did not know why it was so hard to move. Had he already been poisoned again? He glanced back nervously at the half-empty plastic cup beside the bed. He could not recall drinking from it. Maybe it had been dosed with a toxin that induced amnesia? Who would have that? Shuichi? Maki?
The door opened, and his eyes widened with fear. Although their face was a blur, the tall figure was unmistakable. It was the one who had killed him in the 53rd killing game. He backed away, his knees groaning in protest from the sudden action.
“Don’t come near me,” Kokichi growled, trying to sound more intimidating than he felt.
The killer approached him with slow steps. They were talking, but he was not paying attention. His focus was on the objects they were holding in one of their hands – arrows. Their points were brightly coloured. He was certain they were coated in some sort of substance.
Kokichi grabbed the first thing at arm’s length – a small vase. With great difficulty, he threw it at his assailant. They managed to duck out of the way just in time. The vase shattered against the wall, sending shards of glass and water scattering across the floor.
He glanced around, desperately trying to find anything to protect himself with. They were coming closer – too close.
“Kichi, it’s okay – it’s ok-”
“No!” He shouted angrily. “I don’t want to do this again!”
He attempted to grab the arrows from his would-be murderer. Kokichi managed to take hold of them, and they tore easily in his grasp. Before he could understand why, they placed a hand on his waist.
Tensing, he struck his assailant’s chest over and over, screaming. After a while, he realised that they were not moving. Instead, they stood steady, taking his beating as if it were a form of penance. Breathing heavily, Kokichi lowered his fists and gazed up at them. Now that they were so close, he could make out their features.
The first thing he noticed was the warm smile, then the grief-stricken eyes. It was an oxymoron – truth and lie bound together in some sort of unholy matrimony. The sight was so unnerving that it shocked him out of his anger.
He could see more of him now. Trailing facial hair along his jawline. Greying hair with the faintest tinge of violet. Long, dark eyelashes framed by deep lines and creases. Kokichi was hit with overwhelming confusion.
“Kaito?”
The old man’s face lit up with joy. Kokichi wished he could share in this happiness, but everything was so hazy. Why did he look like this? What was going on? He managed to choose a question and ask it out loud.
“Where am I?”
“We’re home,” Kaito replied, his smile unwavering.
“No…no, they’ve trapped us here. We have to end this. The plan. There was a plan, wasn’t there? I wrote everything down. I-I have to-”
He thought of the hydraulic press and the cool metal against his naked back; the slab coming down so excruciatingly slow. Chest heaving, he began to shake. Kaito embraced him. It was not the first time he had done that in the hangar. This hug was different though - there was a tenderness and familiarity to it that calmed him.
“It’s over.” Kaito said to him in a careful tone, “It ended years ago. You’re safe now, I promise you are. I won’t let you get hurt again.”
Kokichi felt something shift in his hand and gazed down. He was holding a bundle of torn lavender - lavender from Kaito’s garden. The purple flowers opened the floodgate. He had wanted to go with him to see them in bloom, but he had felt unwell. Kaito had gone to cut some, and everything had faded away. Everything seemed to be fading away a lot more nowadays.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“It’s so hard – I can’t-”
He trailed off, feeling the fog begin to roll in. He did not want to get lost in it. Kokichi clung to his anchor, clung to him like he had for decades. The one constant in his life since the killing game had ended held him close, kissing his forehead and rocking him gently.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kaito whispered, stroking a hand through his hair.
Kokichi lifted the bundle of lavender. Its herbal fragrance pushed the fog away and reminded him of summer days and trips to the beach and nights underneath the stars. A group of people – friends he could barely remember, but he could remember them. He was sure they had a photo album somewhere that he liked to go through. Maybe later, once Kaito had cleaned up, they could look at it again. He just hoped he would still be there enough to enjoy it.
A smile crept onto Kokichi’s face as he brushed his fingertips over the lavender.
“Y’know, it’s gonna take more than flowers if you want to seduce me.”
Kaito chuckled.
“I think I already won that game – what – fifty years ago?”
Kokichi examined his wrinkled hand and then the rest of his tired, frail body that contained his even more tired, frailer mind.
“Was it worth it for this?”
Kaito’s grip on him tightened.
“Kichi, if I could, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.”
He relaxed against him, closing his eyes.
“Yeah, me too.”