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It’s a game… it’s all a game and someone is watching.
It’s such a bizarrely easy conclusion to come to, yet no one is picking up the clues. He had thought the detective at least would catch on, but Saihara remains bafflingly obtuse, no matter how many arrows he carefully drops to point in the right direction. At this rate, he’s going to have to ditch any pretense at subtlety and outright tell the idiots what’s going on.
Kokichi scoffs to himself and shoves his hands in his pockets. Right, as though anyone would believe the answer if it came from him; he may as well change his name to Cassandra. No, they have to puzzle it out themselves, or all his effort will be worthless. He’s burned too much goodwill building this persona to discard it like an old hat - besides, if the rest of the class can’t see what’s right in front of them, then perhaps they don’t deserve the benefits of his intelligence.
That’s a lie of course - he’ll help however he can. But it will always be on his own terms; Kokichi has a lot of cards in his arsenal, and the horse is already nestled deep into the heart of Troy. Already, they’ve lost two pawns, a bishop, and a rook to the Mastermind, and not one of them a tactical sacrifice.
Kirumi and Ryoma - pleasant company, but neither terribly powerful upon the board. Pawns, the both of them. Kaede, direct, facing the game head-on, a Rook moving in straight lines. Rantaro, who knew more than the rest of them and moved in secret; a Bishop.
And one of their own, working against the uncoordinated coterie towards an aim he is not yet sure of - there’s only one rule in chess that actually matters, and it’s to never leave the King unguarded. What is the equivalent in such an outlandish situation? He is playing upon a board with strategically placed landmines against shrouded pieces, his own lineup likely to blunder into every obvious trap as they’ve already done twice before.
Is it engaging for this nameless, faceless audience, watching such ineptitude? Kokichi certainly can’t imagine entertaining even a chuckle over such a poorly-played game, but perhaps he’s biased in this regard, currently being one of the pieces and all. He kicks at a loose piece of gravel and smirks, needle-sharp, wondering what the audience will read into his expression.
He hopes it’s something interesting.
It’s Kiyo who pulls him aside shortly before the trial, his voice sounding far away as he asks what happened, why is his head bleeding? He tilts his chin and scrunches his nose in Kiyo’s direction when the other attempts to pull him away, but ultimately complies and enters the lab.
Kokichi is pretty sure he knows how this trial will play out, but he’s safe for the moment; another move at this juncture would be far too risky for the culprit. He allows Kiyo to patch the wound on his head with exaggerated patience.
“A moment more of your time, Oma,” Kiyo snips the length of the bandage and ties it off deftly. “What on earth happened?”
“T-Tenko…” Kokichi opens his eyes wide as the tears spring forth. “Her spirit… tried to murder me!”
Kiyo sighs and looks like he’s trying to not pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Must you always play the part of the jester? Even when you’re bleeding from the head?”
“What?” The fake tears dry up and Kokichi adopts a look of mock offense instead, clenching his fists up to his chest. “You don’t believe me? That’s so mean Kiyo! I thought you of all people would believe in vengeful spirits!”
“Are you saying Tenko would have reason for vengeance?” Kiyo’s eyes narrow. “Are you perhaps her murderer, Oma?”
He nearly laughs; being accused of murder, by the likely murderer? How cliche. He places a hand on his chest as the other dramatically grazes the side of his head.
“Oh, that I had killed beloved Tenko, that I might see her charming visage once again! If only for a moment - before she killed me herself of course.” Kiyo observes his one-act play in silence.
“You are… quite the character, Oma.” Kiyo looks at him levelly, and Kokichi wonders if he can spin this to his advantage. He drops the act immediately, shifting closer to the other boy in a conspiratorial manner.
“I mean it though! I think I saw her ghost!” He lowers his voice. “Tenko probably killed herself after she realized how much of a bitch she was in life - or maybe someone killed her to save everyone else the trouble? Doesn’t matter,” he flicks a hand dismissively.
“Either way, I bet she would totally come back and haunt us all! Well… maybe not Himiko,” he taps a finger against his lips. “You know, since they were friends and all. But definitely me! And you, too, Kiyo, hm?”
Kiyo takes a step back as Kokichi nears his personal space. The latter pouts after him mockingly.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you were the one who murdered our lovely Tenko - that would be boring after all.”
There's a long, loud silence, weighted down with implication, unspoken words, and when Kiyo speaks again, he neither confirms nor denies the accusation.
"You really are something else, Oma." He steps away and Kokichi allows him space, pretending to be hurt by the lack of trust. "A true trickster archetype... I've run across many in my travels, but none quite so," he falters a moment, searching for the right word.
"None quite so... brazen, I think, as you." He studies Kokichi for a long moment. "You no doubt would make an excellent court jester."
"What can I say? “ Kokichi shrugs, as though he hasn’t been gifted an immense compliment from a murderer. “It's a gift."
Kiyo nods slowly, as if coming to a decision. "Very well then, Oma. I will humor you.”
He takes a step closer, and Kokichi's heart quickens in anticipation. He’s safe, he’s safe - there’s no way Kiyo would risk anything right now, not while so many of their classmates are within shouting distance. He forces his shoulders to relax, rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet.
"I will believe that you saw Tenko's ghost, for the time being." He extends a hand. "But I must ask for your help in solving this case."
Kokichi tilts his head consideringly, as though actually considering the offer. Just before the quiet stretches too long, he takes his hand and shakes it firmly, flashing his brightest, fakest smile. "Of course! Anything for the cause!"
He doesn't miss the way Kiyo's eyes narrow at his words, but pretends not to notice. If he can keep the other boy off balance, it will only work in his favor.
He isn’t sorry to see Kiyo gone - putting aside the boy's personal depravity, Kokichi is equally offended by the fact that he wasn’t even trying. The others may be running around like headless chickens, but at least they have the decency to be playing the game, even if he finds their methodology to be an exercise in stupidity. Kokichi plays only enough not to be blindsided during the trials.
Some small part of him feels sorry for Saihara, stumbling around in the dark, but that part is largely overshadowed by annoyance at having to lead the third-rate detective by the nose to every answer. It’s a waste of his time, but the mold was cast long before anyone fell out of a locker; the others will only accept the facts if they come from the one they’ve chosen as an excavator of truth. None of them are ready to hear that, if they continue as they have, they are but checkers on a chessboard.
He can’t complain too much, frustrating as it is. So long as the others keep the audience entertained by playing the game as intended, Kokichi is free to play the metagame at his leisure. He has more important things to do than waste time with dullards; down now to eight pieces, half the original number, they are all rapidly approaching the inevitable endgame.
Despite how easily the proud front she puts up crumbles every time he pokes at it, Kokichi didn’t actually think Miu would get on her knees and beg for the opportunity to kill him. It’s in this moment that his decision to take her out of commission solidifies; Miu is too far gone now for him to save. Even if he backs out now, she will only choose another target, or find a different opportunity.
At least this time, it won’t be meaningless. This time, he can begin to lay the trap. It’s annoying to lose a Knight like Miu, someone who can make unexpected moves, but he isn’t going to lose any tears over it.
It’s the Pawn that’s the problem.
No one expects it of Gonta, and that’s exactly why he’s perfect. Naive, trusting Gonta will kill Miu on his behalf and no one will suspect, because how could a lowly Pawn take out anyone?
The play reminds him that every piece on the board is a soldier, willingly or otherwise. Miu is a liability, and Gonta an acceptable sacrifice; only one rule of chess actually matters. The board is thinning out, and his path to the King is steadily becoming clear.
“Kokichi.”
It’s Shirogane calling his name; usually, he wouldn’t bother to give her the time of day - a Pawn, and not a very useful Pawn at that - but today he pauses without quite knowing why. It’s late - so late that it’s actually very early. Has she been in her lab all night?
“Shirogane,” he lets the disdain ooze into his tone, leaves it to simmer on high, deliberately uses her last name as a reminder that she has no right to use his own.
"Aren't you up past your bedtime?" he crosses his arms over his chest. “Lights out at ten PM sharp every night, for a plain person like you, right? Did you need a midnight snack?” His head nods in the direction of the kitchen.
Shirogane ignores his probing half-insults: she has become accustomed to them over time. And self-depreciation has always been in her nature.
His eyes narrow at the stray thought, catching on a jagged protrusion built of suspicion and paranoia. He is a liar, he is a trickster, he is an actor, but Shirogane is an actor of sorts too, and some misalignment in the set of her shoulders pulls at his subconscious, insisting that all is not well. The reflection of moonlight upon her glasses hides her eyes; the back of his neck prickles.
Kokichi refuses to let his unease show - he casually folds his arms behind his head, sways on the balls of his feet.
"What do you want, Shirogane? Did you finally decide it was high time to confess your undying love for me?" he jokes, grinning mischievously, as though the sight of her still form in the half-dark hall during the witching hour wasn’t giving him the creeps.
Tsumugi only rolls her eyes, chuckles a little under her breath. Kokichi can't be sure between the glasses' glare and shadowed corridor, but he thinks she might be smiling.
"I'm not so desperate as that," she retorts, a bland joke to his bold one. She pushes up her glasses and the moon disappears, revealing her eyes.. "I was just surprised… It's late; I didn’t think anyone else would be up."
“Forgive me for not wanting to be as boring as you,” he tosses the insult distractedly, busy with the mental reshuffling of his chessboard. His instincts are screaming that he has missed something obvious and is dangerously close to being put into check.
"You're forgiven," Shirogane replies without venom, a sliver of teasing in her tone. Her smile is sharper now, more pronounced - but it fades as quickly as it appears. He hums and sways, dropping his arms back down to his sides.
"What are you doing out here all alone?"
Shirogane tilts her head, and the moonlight once again obscures her gaze.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Kokichi laughs; it's high and fake, the kind of laugh he uses to deflect questions he doesn't want to answer.
"Being the Mastermind is a full-time job, Shirogane. Evil doesn't sleep," the corners of his mouth turn up into what he knows is a wicked smile. Shirogane steps back when he steps forward and it feels like a dance - like a move they have both rehearsed before. Kokichi suddenly has the strangest feeling that he’s been talking to a doll this whole time, a mannequin fitted with a pleated skirt and smart school blazer.
"Apparently not," Shirogane responds, trying to sound nervous, but it comes across as vaguely amused to his ears. Yet, underneath the veneer of falsehood, something strains. He can't quite put his finger on it, but the foreboding stirs in his gut. The board tilts and shifts under his scrutiny, pieces sliding into new positions.
"If you're here for something," she speaks again, disrupting his calculations. "I won't stop you."
Kokichi regards her silently for a moment, then chuckles and wags his finger at her.
"Oh Shirogane," he sighs dramatically. “Always so dully compliant. But I'm not here 'for something'. Just passing by," he says, sounding as carefree as possible. Anything to direct suspicion away from the growing disquiet inside him. Shirogane tilts her head.
“Hm? But that;s a lie, isn’t it,” her finger taps against her lips. “You’re always up to something, Oma.”
He laughs again, almost genuine this time.
“You got me! The great Kokichi Oma,” he lifts his arms into the air, twisting and striking a pose as his tone deepens. “Contemplating the vast mysteries of the universe on a sleepless night. Stalking the halls, setting the tripwires… keeping to the shadows,” he cuts his gaze to Shirogane, her hands folded over her pleated skirt.
“Good thing we evil Masterminds aren’t scared of the dark, don’t you think?” His voice lightens again toward the end, as though it were all a grand joke only the two of them are privy to.
Shirogane doesn’t flinch, only eyes him eyeing her as if from across a great chasm, one royal to another upon opposing sides of a battlefield. The hall is dead and silent, all strewn rubble and stubborn grass forcing its way underfoot.
“You’re right,” she says at last. “Evil flourishes in the dark. Which makes it rather kind of you I suppose, to have grabbed the spotlight so vigorously,” Shirogane smiles again and this version feels like poison in his veins, feels like an arrow in his back, feels like something honest at last in this checkered hall of mirrors. Kokichi is a liar a thousand times over, but Tsumugi Shirogane is a wholesale falsehood. He wonders if she is a doll after all.
She laughs gently, the sound eerie and discordant in his ears.
“You think quite highly of yourself, don’t you Oma?”
“Well, I am the Mastermind. I can’t afford to be anything less than completely self-assured,” his stomach churns under the facade of nonchalance. It occurs to him that this must be how the others feel around him all the time. Shirogane looks at him, the question in her countenance clear, but he waits for her to ask anyway.
“That’s it then? You’re not going to say anything?”
“Why would I? No one would believe me. Our little secret,” he presses a finger to his lips with a smile.
“Besides,” his arms once again come to rest behind his head as he turns on his heel. He presents his back to Tsumugi Shirogane, wide open to attack and utterly unconcerned despite the rabbit-fast beating in his chest.
“You aren’t my real opponent.”
Kaito isn’t the most ideal partner in crime, but his time on the board has a defined end which makes him the next logical sacrifice - he can’t avoid losing this particular Pawn, but perhaps he can give the loss meaning. Maki stumbling in to fuck everything up wasn’t a possibility he accounted for, but Kokichi is nothing if not adaptable. The course of the game's trajectory will have to be readjusted, but the King will be wide open - so long as Kaito cooperates.
The antidote weighs impossibly heavy in his hand and he wants to use it - wants desperately to live - but he wants to win even more. Kaito doesn’t seem to grasp what’s happening until it’s already over - he stares dumbly at the empty bottle in his hands, glancing at Kokichi briefly before turning back to the bottle. He can all but see the gears in his head trying to turn, trying to work out what the supposed Mastermind has to gain from such an altruistic move.
"K-Kokichi... I don't understand. Why...?" Kaito stammers out, his breath no longer ragged from being poisoned, but now from uncertainty instead.
“It’s a killing game, Kaito,” Kokichi sighs, letting some small part of the mask slip to reveal the bone-deep exhaustion that has settled into his being. “Everyone here has been too focused on the killing part to realize that they should have been worried about the game .” He leaves the bathroom, his steps echoing faintly in the empty hangar. The hydraulic press looms large on the other side like a great, steel anglerfish, waiting for someone to climb into its gaping maw. He hears Kaito shuffle up behind him.
“Do you like to play games, Kaito?”
"I... I don't... What do you mean? This isn't a game, Kokichi! Peopleare dead , real people, not... not pieces in some fucked-up tournament."
"Exactly," Kokichi hisses and Kaito steps back as he whips around, startled by the fierce hostility now on full display. Kokichi presses his advantage.
"But we can turn it into one, can't we? If we twist this fucking mess into something controlled by us - if we can force the narrative to play by our rules…" His voice trails off, waiting to see if Kaito will reach the correct conclusion. The other looks rattled, but not entirely overcome, clumsily trying to find his footing in the maze.
“Kokichi…” Kaito swallows nervously, but forces himself to soldier on. “You’re dying.”
“Newsflash, spaceman!” Kokichi throws his arms in the air. “We’re all dying! All of us are completely fucked, but especially you and me. And that’s exactly why we’re the only ones who can make a move. Congratulations, Pawn,” his tone moves from acerbic to sardonic.
“You’ve made it across the board and have now been promoted to Knight - now stop dithering and help me set up the endgame.”
"This is insane, Kokichi," Kaito breathes out moments later, reeling as Kokichi lays out the details of his plan, his gruesome, horrible, brilliant plan. But his skepticism doesn't deter the other: Kokichi only doubles down, playfully waving the arrow Kaito has removed from his back.
"If we take charge of the killings," Kokichi leans forward intently, drawing Kaito's eye away from the blood dripping off the arrowhead in his hand. "If we decide who dies and when…"
"We can control who survives…" Kaito finishes for him, his voice barely above a whisper. The realization seems to dawn on him then, deepening the lines on his face in both fear and understanding.
A smile tips at the corners of Kokichi's mouth as he replies: "That's right." He tosses the arrow aside; it clatters on the floor in a way that sounds louder than it should be.
“You - you’re really okay with this?” Kaito’s face keeps changing, like he can’t decide whether to be afraid of the inevitable or determined to see it through or awestruck at the machinations Kokichi set into motion ages ago that are now paying off with dividends. The first breadcrumbs are already waiting for the others in his room, and Shirogane can’t move without drawing suspicion to herself right now; the board is set, and Kokichi only has one play left.
“You’re not very good at chess, are you? Think about it, Kaito,” Kokichi's voice fades slightly as he moves further away.
"What does... what does chess have to do with anything?!" Kaito calls out after him, his feet rooted to the spot as confusion keeps his stare focused again on the discarded antidote bottle that remains clenched tightly in his hands.
"All pieces matter in the endgame, Kaito," Kokichi stares at the press, feels the weight of its presence looming over him. His hands shake and he tells himself it’s the poison.
“What happens when you lose your King?”
"The game is over..." Kaito frowns, wrapping his mind around Kokichi's metaphor. He remains silent for a moment before speaking again. "You're the... King... in this scenario, aren't you?"
“No,” Kokichi steps away and turns back to Kaito, shaking his head. “The King is the least powerful piece, and I think I’ve made it plain that I’m the most powerful player around here,” his smirk feels like a knife in his mouth. Kaito furrows his brow.
“But you’re not the Mastermind…”
“That Mastermind is my counterweight,” Kokichi holds up a finger. “But not my opponent.”
Kaito stares blankly at him, furiously trying to work his way through the trail of half-truths and false leads and eventually comes to some kind of revelation. His shoulders square up and he meets Kokichi’s gaze levelly.
“You know who the Mastermind is.” Kokichi sighs and swipes a hand over his face, rubbing the corners of his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter who the Mastermind is,” his voice comes out harsh, but the edges are softened by exhaustion and frustration. “Who’s on the other side of the board is irrelevant if you flip the entire table.
Kaito has that look, the one he gets right before he jumps into something and makes it a fight, and Kokichi doesn’t have enough time left for distractions.
"Kaito... Listen to me," Kokichi pleads, his voice shaking with urgency and the gravity of the truth. "This game - it's all a setup. The rules weren’t written to allow any of us to live. We can’t beat anyone at this game, not in a fair fight. But you know what? Screw fair fights," his fists clench at his sides.
“Death games are meant to be watched - well, I’ve taken away their cameras. Monokuma wants us to be entertaining - I’m about to take the last two movers and shakers off the board,” he smiles humorlessly. “You think Himiko or Tsumugi have the actionable personalities to keep ratings up? No,” he scoffs.
"They need us, Kaito, you and me - they need the conflict, the drama we bring to the game. And that gives us power over them."
Kaito listens, hands jammed in his pockets, scowling at the ground, and Kokichi knows that he’s going to win this battle; Kaito will cooperate. He doesn’t have to like it - he only needs to follow through. The silence closes in around them like a coffin.
"But..." Kaito knows he’s lost but tries to object anyway, struggling against his conscience and the cold, hard logic of Kokichi's gambit.
“But nothing,” Kokichi cuts him off sharply, holding his stare in icy silence. “We have a chance now, a real chance, to upset the game. All you have to do is work with me.”
Immediately, he can see he has made a misstep; Kaito’s face contorts in anger and he snaps back.
“Now you want to work together? After everything? We could have all worked together at the beginning! You were the one that was against that!” Unthinkingly, he grabs the checkered scarf around the other boy's neck and pulls him up.
“Because it was never going to work! The game has been stacked against us the whole time, Kaito, don’t you get that yet?!” Kokichi pushes away, but Kaito’s grip remains firm.
“That makes it okay then?! The game is rigged, so it doesn’t matter if we hurt each other?! That’s not logical,” Kaito’s hand trembles. “That’s just selfish! How many of our classmates would be alive if it weren’t for you?”
He thought Kokichi was cold before, but the face across from him now could be carved from marble. Kaito can no longer tell if the fine tremors in his limbs are from poison or rage; the ice settles into his bones when the boy speaks at last.
“You’re asking the wrong question, Momota-chan - you should be asking how many would be dead if not for me. And I can answer that,” he brings his hand up and rests it a moment on Kaito’s wrist before abruptly gripping and twisting his way out of the hold. Kaito gasps, more out of shock than pain, before Kokichi puts a knee in his stomach and he falls with a grunt.
“All of you,” Kokichi does not let up his assault, bending over Kaito to whisper in his ear. “All of you would be dead four times over if not for me - I’ve saved your asses in every single trial and if there were an ounce of intelligence between those ears of yours, you would already know that,” he shoves Kaito away and he falls on his backside in shock.
“You think it was your belief that pushed Saihara to finish every trial? You all could barely manage to accuse anyone when it was to save your own lives,” his voice rises to a shout.
“How could I trust any of you to make an actually difficult choice? To make a sacrifice? You claim to have everyone’s well being in mind, but that’s not it at all, is it?” He leans in again, and Kaito has nowhere else to back away to.
“You just didn’t want the blood on your hands. Well, that’s fine,” he steps back and Kaito feels like he can breathe again.
“You’ll press the button, but it will be on my hands, okay? Is that enough of a compromise for you? Will that soothe your conscience enough to do what has to be done?”
There is a long silence as Kaito laces his fingers together, wrestling with the weight of everything Kokichi has placed on his shoulders before finally - reluctantly - offering up a quiet response:
"Alright... I'll do it. For everyone else... For Maki..."
“Good,” Kokichi slips back into false cheer and indifference. “Then let's get this show on the road.”
The dread pools in his stomach as he takes his place on the chillingly cold steel plate. Kaito’s star-dusted jacket against his back is small comfort, but if it’s the last he’ll ever have, then he’s willing to accept it.
“Hey,” Kaito calls from the control panel, hands hovering over the buttons that will seal both their fates.
“Before we do this… can you tell me one thing?”
Kokichi tilts his head, silently waiting for Kaito to ask whatever it is on his mind. The taller boy scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Just… can you give me one real thing about yourself? Something… anything you want, I don’t care. Tell me something true, for once.”
Kokichi swallows, his throat dry. His mind races through a million truths and lies, personal, vulnerable, irreverent, sarcastic. He settles on one that is simple, yet unbearably real.
"I'm scared," he replies, his voice wavering despite the valiant attempt to keep it steady. "I don't want to die."
Kaito inhales sharply, taken aback by the honest vulnerability. He swallows back his own fear as he glances at the console.
"Me neither," he admits quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. It isn’t what he wants to say - he wants to say something better, more heroic, optimistic - he wants to reassure Kokichi, promise that his part of the plan will be carried out with no mistakes and the last of their classmates will come out the other side alive.
"I...I'll try my best to pull this off," Kaito says finally, his voice faltering slightly. It’s the best he can give.
Kokichi nods, resigned yet clinging to a shred of hope he won’t be around to see. He offers Kaito a slight smile - not his usual mischievous one, but something more genuine.
"Thanks," he murmurs softly before shutting his eyes. The inevitable was upon them; he can sense the fall of the press, coming for him sure as the blade of a guillotine. The hum of the machinery fills his chest, deafening, inexorable, devouring all other sensation.
King or Pawn, sacrifice or exchange - all pieces were valuable in the hands of someone who knew how to play.
It’s only a game, he thinks to himself in the last moments before the metal swallows him whole.
And I will end this with a beautiful problem.