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After watching Kyoko be crushed to death, there’s nothing more to do than to keep moving.
The rest of the survivors all walk to the elevator to go back up to the school, and they don’t speak at all. Byakuya makes eye contact with Makoto once, standing with his back to the wall, but the second their gazes meet, Byakuya practically wrenches his gaze away. The look in Makoto’s eyes is unlike any that he’s ever seen before. He looks startled, broken.
Haunted.
The elevator shakes on the way up, shudders threateningly. Does it always sound like that? Is it different this time or is it just Byakuya’s imagination?
He wonders, for a moment, what will happen if the chains snap. If the elevator will fall crashing down in a fraction of a second — crushing them the same way that Kyoko was crushed. Here one second and gone the next. He even goes as far as to expect it to happen — he doesn’t know when he moved, but he feels cold steel against his palm, and he realizes that his arms have automatically shot out to ground himself against the elevator walls. As though to brace himself in case of a fall.
Even when the elevator reaches the top with a bang and a shake, no one moves. They all stay standing, frozen in place. It’s only then that Byakuya hears a sharp inhale, in preparation to speak. He doesn’t need to look to know that it’s Makoto. That’s the only thing that gets Byakuya to unfreeze himself, and before he can hear the words that will come out of Makoto’s mouth, he goes stomping out of the elevator and to his room.
The door slams firmly, satisfyingly closed behind him, separating him from the rest of the school — which may as well be the rest of the world to him right now.
Before he registers what he’s doing, his feet begin to move. He paces back and forth along the length of the room, and he only stops when he feels eyes on him. The bathroom door is open; his reflection stares openly back at him.
Its eyes look the same as Makoto’s — haunted. He’s never seen that expression on his own face before. He doesn’t like it.
It’s the expression of someone who’s unsure. The expression of a coward.
His hands, automatically, find Kyoko’s room key — still in his possession, still haunting him. Byakuya doesn’t register picking it up, grabbing it, throwing it, aiming, it leaving his hand. All he knows is the moment of contact; the mirror shatters into dozens of pieces. And with it, his reflection shatters as well.
It takes Kyoko two hours and thirty-seven minutes after her execution to return. He only knows this because he’s been counting the seconds as they pass, timing and syncing them with his heartbeats.
The lights are off in his room, but by now, his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. She appears so suddenly. One second she’s gone, and the next, she’s there — just like her death, but in reverse. Byakuya keeps his eyes on the ceiling, but he notices and picks up on the sense of another presence in his room. There’s no one else it could be — his door is locked, and the key is on his bedside table.
In times like this, he knows that the most logical answer, the easiest answer, is usually the correct one.
He hears her footsteps as she walks across the room, kneels down near the bathroom by the array of mirror shards spread all across the floor.
“You should clean these up,” she says. “You could get hurt.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Byakuya retorts, not looking her way. He won’t give her the satisfaction.
But Kyoko was always a thorn in his side when she was alive. He should have known that being dead wouldn’t change that.
He tries to stay silent, to let her know in whatever way he can that she isn’t welcome here. But she always had the uncanny ability to make him feel like he was crawling in his skin with just a single glance. Even now, it works to full effect.
He wonders if that was something that was part of her unknown talent or if it’s just something that’s uniquely her — something that she’s perfected just for the sole purpose of making him want to claw his own eyes out.
“So?” he says finally when she still hasn’t said anything. “Why are you back?”
He sits up in bed to look at her. Throughout this whole killing game so far, his room has been like a sanctuary for him — a place where he can ensure that he’s always alone, a place where no one else can get in. It might have been stupid of him to trust Monokuma’s word about the fact that the room’s locks were unpickable, but the fact that no one has been able to do it so far, for either him or someone else, has him convinced.
Except that isn’t true, is it? Because Makoto said during the trial that Kyoko had Monokuma’s secret tool, the one that could open any lock in the school. It figures, then, that she’d find a way in.
“Would you rather I leave?” she asks. “That’s why you got rid of me, isn’t it?”
As though it was his choice. As the Ultimate Progeny, Byakuya’s grown up with the knowledge that all of his decisions would have a large impact. But it was also a given that those decisions were never impossible to come back from. There was no consequence that either money or connections could not erase, and his parents had both of those in spades.
But this…there’s no coming back from this.
Anger courses through him. It’s far too easy to focus on that, his anger and frustration, than anything else. It’s far too easy to make her the target of his emotions. That way, he doesn’t have to consider the alternative.
“Enough,” Byakuya snaps. “If you’re here to kill me, get on with it.”
She rises from where she’s still kneeling and looks at him. He hates the way she’s looking at him so much — her gaze is filled with pity. But that makes no sense. How dare she look at him like that, feel bad for him? She’s the one who’s dead.
“I told you,” Kyoko says, “I have no reason to kill anyone.”
If she looks at him like that for even a second longer, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. They’re both saved from that possibility when a knock sounds on the door.
Byakuya goes to open it — it’s an excuse to talk to someone, anyone that isn’t Kyoko — but before he does, he turns around with his hand on the doorknob to look back into the bathroom.
There is no one there.
He opens the door to reveal Makoto on the other side; he’d expected that, too. His first inclination is to think that Makoto is here for his sake, to offer condolences or pity or something as ridiculous as trying to find a kindred soul. If he’s here for that, he’s come to the wrong room.
“I don’t have time for—“
Makoto interrupts him. “Monokuma called a meeting,” he tells Byakuya. “The others are all waiting in the gym.”
His eyes are less haunted, though maybe Byakuya just can’t tell if they are or not because they’re red. He’s been crying, and his voice is scratchy. Byakuya nods curtly in response, and then Makoto does something very unlike him — he turns around and heads to the gym on his own, without waiting for Byakuya. It’s usually the other way around — Byakuya heading off first and leaving him behind.
Byakuya follows after him, once he’s gone back in the room to get his own room key. After a moment of contemplation, he grabs Kyoko’s as well. He hasn’t had it with him for that long, but already, he’s used to feeling it deep in his pocket. He’d rather have it with him than not — and that’s all he wants to think about the matter.
True to Makoto’s words, the others are already in the gym. No one looks his way as he slips in among the ranks. If they’re waiting for an apology or something along those lines for being late, they’re sorely out of luck: he has no intention of providing one.
Monokuma, too, wags his finger in reproach, but Byakuya can’t bring himself to care.
“What do you want?” he asks instead. “What’s your announcement?”
“So impatient!” Monokuma chides. “But fine, if you insist. Here’s the super special announcement: no new areas of the school were unlocked after the last execution.”
The last execution. It sounds so distant like that, so impersonal. If no new areas were unlocked, Byakuya can’t help but think, then what was gained from Kyoko’s death? Did she truly die for nothing?
He doesn’t realize he’s said that out loud until Monokuma turns to look right at him. “Huh? What do you mean?” Even without a real face, the bear somehow manages to look at Byakuya as though he’s an idiot. “She was killed because she was punished — those are the rules. What, just because floors were unlocked with the other executions, you think that means they all died for something? You’re happy they’re dead?”
“That’s not what he meant!” Makoto says curtly, but Byakuya pays it no mind. He doesn’t need anyone to defend him, not when the facts still remain.
This school was built with blood.
“You guys are being so mean,” says Monokuma, a pout audible in his voice. “And here I was gonna give you guys a new motive and everything.”
“Forget it,” says Hina. “We’re done playing your stupid game. None of us are going to even consider killing each other, not anymore.”
It’s a strong declaration, Byakuya has to admit, but their illustrious headmaster doesn’t even look fazed. Instead, he laughs.
“If I remember correctly, that's what you guys all said about Kyoko too! And look how that turned out!”
It would have hurt less if he had just stabbed them in the gut. Hina gasps loudly, and from the corner of his eye, Byakuya sees Makoto turn a strange shade of gray.
“Oops, did I say that out loud?” asks Monokuma. “Well, whatever! You guys say you aren’t gonna kill each other yet, then guess I’ll try asking again later. Maybe I just need to find a better motive in order to properly…entice you.”
He leaves with those as his last words, and their impact lasts even after he’s gone. Everyone else is frozen in place, and Byakuya takes the opportunity to be the first one out of the gym.
When he’s alone in the hallway, with no fear of being overheard, he calls for Monokuma.
The godforsaken bear comes out from nowhere like a ghost — like her. “You called?”
“You’re going to tell me something,” Byakuya says, standing firm. “The truth. Who was Kyoko, really?”
Monokuma giggles, a high-pitched grating noise. “Oh yeah, I do seem to remember hearing you do something like stake your family name on finding that out at the trial.” He taps a paw to his chin in a mockery of thoughtfulness. “But you have nothing to bargain with. Why should I tell you? And how do you know if what I tell you will even be the truth?”
Byakuya remains silent. His face is an inscrutable mask — to cover up the fact that he’s asked himself the same questions, and not found a single answer for them.
“You know what,” says Monokuma. “I’m a good headmaster and after all, you are my precious student! Besides, I feel kinda bad that there are no more areas of the school to unlock for you, so I’ll give you this one as a freebie. Call it a gift.”
Gifts from Monokuma are never free, but right now, Byakuya’s need for answers drowns out everything else.
“Okay, you heard it here first, folks! Kyoko Kirigiri was none other thannnnn”—he breaks off to mimic a drumroll—“the Ultimate Detective!”
Byakuya staggers back as though he’s been punched. He tries his best to take a deep breath, to remind himself that Monokuma has every reason to lie. But the more he thinks about it, the more that Ultimate talent seems to fit her.
Is it true? Is — was — Kyoko really the Ultimate Detective?
“It’s true,” she whispers in his ear, and it’s only then that he realizes his hand is in his pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around her room key.
She follows him everywhere he goes. He knows this, even when he refuses to turn around and look at her. She doesn’t say anything, which is infuriating. But he feels her eyes on him — her gaze, so piercing. It feels like a knife cutting him open, leaving his insides bare for her viewing. Which he knows now must be the eyes of a detective, always searching, always looking.
It’s an unpleasant feeling; he doesn’t like it.
Byakuya wonders why it’s him that she’s chosen to glom onto like this. If it’ll be anyone, shouldn’t it be Makoto? He was the only one who ever managed to get anything resembling an answer out of her.
He stomps down the hallway, making a beeline for Makoto — who’s in his own room. They’ve all taken to spending a lot of time in their rooms lately.
Byakuya knocks and the second Makoto opens the door, he thrusts Kyoko’s room key at him. Byakuya’s read every single book in the Hope’s Peak library cover to cover — he knows everything there is to know about everything. And everything, in this case, includes ghosts.
Maybe, he hopes, it isn’t him she’s latched on to, but her last physical belonging. If he gets rid of it, it stands to follow, he’ll get rid of her too.
That’s why you got rid of me, isn’t it? That’s what she said to him earlier, and those words play in his head again now. Getting rid of her in death, just as he did in life.
He turns around and stalks away, without even giving Makoto the time to try and answer. Let him have the key. Let the two of them spend as much time as they want talking. Byakuya wants no part in it.
She’s still following him. He can’t feel her eyes on him, but he doesn’t need to in order to know that she’s there.
Byakuya doesn’t even see her most of the time — but the smell is what gets to him. It shouldn’t be familiar, but it is. The smell of flesh and fat and blood; sour, pungent, impossibly rank. The smell of death.
The smell of desp—
NO
He needs to leave.
There’s one place that comes to mind; he’s out of options at this point, so all he can do is settle for what he thinks will work. He’d hid from Toko in the boys’ locker room before. Kyoko may be dead, but she is still a girl. The rule, he hopes, is something that she will still adhere to.
So he’s sitting on the locker room floor, and it’s true. The smell is gone; for the first time, he breathes easy.
But what is easy? He doesn’t think he’s breathed easy since the first day he woke up here. He doesn’t think he will breathe easy ever again.
He’s pulled headfirst out of his thoughts when the locker room door opens. Makoto — because of course it’s him — pokes his head in. “I thought I might find you here.”
“What do you want?” Byakuya asks roughly. Go away go away go away—
“You see her too, don’t you?”
Makoto lets the door close behind him, comes and sits beside Byakuya with his back to the wall, and Byakuya is so startled that he can’t even bring himself to tell Makoto to leave.
“Too?” he finally says when he remembers how to speak.
“I see her everywhere,” Makoto says. “All the time. It’s like…like she never left.”
“What does she say?”
Makoto turns to face him, a strange look in his eyes. “Nothing that isn’t true.”
The resignment on Makoto’s face stokes the fires of Byakuya’s rage. Because if Makoto is resigned, that’s the same as admitting that he made a mistake. And if Makoto has made a mistake, then that means Byakuya has made a mistake.
“This is her fault,” he says, so angrily that he spits the words out. “She did all of this. If she had just told us the truth—“
“She did!” Makoto retorts, and he’s just as angry. “She told us that the whole thing was a trap. She told us that if we voted for her, then the mystery of the school would remain hidden. And we didn’t listen!”
“What were we supposed to have listened to? Her non existant alibi, her clear motive? The key? And don’t forget about her trying to pin it all on you. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been you.”
By the look on his face, Makoto knows that. That thought has probably been keeping him up at night, keeping him tied to Kyoko.
“Besides,” Byakuya says, for something within him screams to comfort Makoto in whatever small way he can, “we don’t even know if she was telling the truth about the fact that she had the answers. It may have very well been a last-ditch effort for her to try to save her own life. I, for one, don’t believe it.”
His bravado shatters the moment he hears her voice.
“Whether you believe it or not,” she says, “doesn’t matter. The truth is the truth. If you refuse to believe, it’s your responsibility to uncover the truth for yourself.”
She wasn’t present when he’d said those words to Makoto. There’s no way she could know them, no way she should be able to throw them back in his face like that.
She appears, then, on his other side. He wonders how long she’s been here, how long she’s been listening. There’s no way she can be solid, but still, her presence is stifling. Trapped between her and Makoto as he is, Byakuya suffocates.
It does not occur to him to move. Doing so would not alleviate the feeling, he knows.
“What are we supposed to do now?” asks Makoto. His earlier anger is gone, and now he just sounds so very tired. He lets his head fall backward, hitting the wall with a thunk — a loud one, but he doesn’t react to the sensation of pain at all.
“The same thing we did before,” Byakuya says. “Her presence”—or lack thereof, his mind whispers—“doesn’t change anything. It’s still us against the mastermind, just like it’s always been.”
“No,” says Makoto, “that’s not what I meant.” Byakuya turns to look at him; he can’t tell if Makoto is looking back at him, or looking past him to look at Kyoko.
“Tell him what you mean, Makoto,” Kyoko says — and it’s only then that he realizes it’s almost like Makoto was looking to Kyoko for permission.
It’s almost, he muses, like nothing has changed. The two of them are still sneaking around, still sharing secrets of their own. Secrets he is not privy to.
“Byakuya,” Makoto whispers, and he looks so very young. He looks at Byakuya, desperate, as though he is reaching out for help. “I shouldn’t have pursued her lie. I should have—“
“Nothing has changed,” Byakuya repeats, hard enough to cut off Makoto’s words, hard enough to make it clear that he won’t tolerate any arguments, any denials. “Everything is the same as it was before.”
Makoto screws his eyes shut, turning away from him — turning away from Kyoko.
On his other side, Kyoko laughs lightly. It’s a sound he never once heard her make in life, but in death, it seems to suit her perfectly.
“Byakuya,” she whispers, “you made a mistake.”
He turns to her, and her face is so close to his. Her words expend no breath, nothing that he can feel on him.
No. Don’t listen. Don’t give in.
“So did you,” he tells her, unfeeling.
Kyoko pauses at that, tilts her head. “Yes,” she agrees.
For a moment, Byakuya is triumphant; finally, he’s gotten her to give in. Victories with her were never easily earned — and this one, he finds, is no exception.
“But the difference between us,” she says, “is that you’ll have to live with yours for the rest of your life.”
She vanishes, then, leaving him and Makoto alone — at least, for the moment. She’ll be back. They both know she will.
If there’s any certainty that the rest of their lives hold, it’s that.