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“It could only be… Hiroaki.”
Hiroaki stood, frozen in disbelief.
“Me!? Are you out of your mind!?!?” He whipped his head around, most of the others unable to look at him.
“U-um, well, your a-alibi is shaky at best,” Hasegawa pointed out, “A-and you have grown pretty a-attached to Ojima.”
“Wh- Huh-” Hiroaki stumbled over his words, unable to put together something comprehensible.
“He’s not stupid enough to have fallen for the motive,” Ojima argued, “...Honestly, that was a pretty quick conclusion you came to, Hasegawa.”
Everyone turned to Hasegawa, who was perpetually shaking behind his podium. He opened his mouth, shaking. Surprisingly calmly, almost solemnly even, he spoke. “We were convinced it was Yanagi for a majority of the trial, but his alibi proves him innocent; even though it would make sense for him to have killed for the motive, and to attack Wada of all people, who he already had an encounter with before… so…
Maybe the killer wanted us to think it was Yanagi .”
A wave of silence fell over the students as they turned their attention back to the fashion designer.
Hiroaki began to shake, desperately looking out at everyone. “You- you think it’s me because I’d pin it on Yanagi !? I-I would never stoop down to his level, not again! I- it’s not me!”
“Why Wada..” Tsuno choked out, staring down Hiroaki. “Why’d you have to take him…?”
“I’M TELLING YOU, I DIDN’T FUCKING DO IT! Does NO ONE believe me?!” he cried out desperately.
“Do you have any evidence it’s not you?” Kamimura asked pointedly.
“W- Of course I don’t! The killer made it absolutely impossible for me to say anything! It wasn’t me!” Hiroaki spoke indignantly.
Everything began to fade into the background, Hasegawa completely out of focus on the yelling going on. He trembled, unable to comprehend how far he’d made it. Everything was too much. The trial was almost over. It was almost over.
He didn’t know how long it had been, until he felt a nudge next to him. He looked up at Kamimura, a look of concern on his face. “Ken? It’s time to vote,” he whispered quietly, a stark contrast to the screaming and sobbing from Hiroaki across the circle. Everything was fuzzy as Hasegawa’s shaky hand hit the button, cementing the vote for Hiroaki.
I’m so, so sorry.
“Your votes are currently being tallied and will be shared with the class shortly.”
Monomoko’s announcement shamefully gave Hasegawa a sigh of relief. Immediately after, a spike of fear shot up his spine. Ojima was looking up at him, his face contorting to pure fear as he seemed to have realized something.
“Oh my god, stop the votes! Stop counting the votes! We’re wrong!” Ojima cried out, his tears no longer falling, replaced by sheer panic. “The weapon… the only one who could’ve…. oh my god, it was Hasegawa.”
Everyone stopped. Hasegawa couldn’t bear to look up, feeling the weight of all those eyes on him, like he was Atlas carrying the heavens. He sniffled, shaking profusely and doing his best to take deep breaths.
“Hase….gawa….” Hiroaki repeated slowly.
“Holy shit..” Hayashi breathed under her breath, “Oh holy shit!”
“Monomoko, let us redo the votes!” Ojima begged. Monomoko ignored the cries for a redo, as the rest of the students joined in, realizing their error.
“You all voted for Hiroaki Nakamigawa; that was incorrect. The actual culprit was Hasegawa Ken.”
More crying and screaming sounded out, each a further stab to Hasegawa’s heart. What he feared most was the expression on Kamimura’s face. With hesitation, he looked up, focused on the face he’d lovingly stared at for weeks, back in that state of fear and despair.
“You……wh…why…?” Kamimura tried to speak, his eyes unfocused and glossy.
“Please proceed to choose the participant you’d like to save,” Monomoko said, robotic and lifeless.
Hasegawa tried to pull himself together, barely holding back his tears. “Kazutoshi Kamimura.”
“That makes more sense in hindsight…” Okazaki mumbled.
“So this is it…” Watari said to no one in particular, unable to fight the overwhelming urge to cry. Hama closed his eyes, “It’s time to see them again.”
Kamimura had said nothing else, staring out hopelessly at the circle of people about to die– for their own escape.
“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Hiroaki yelled. “We-we’re- we’re-... fuck… FUCK !” Hiroaki broke down, Ojima was shaking beside him.
Monomoko seemed to be nothing but a bit disappointed. “It appears our game is ending earlier than we intended. However, as per the rules, Student fourteen has successfully killed and gotten away with it. Exempt students fourteen and four from execution.”
“I-it’s time to go home, Kazutoshi,” Hasegawa said through tears and shaky breaths. The terror of the rest of the class became white noise. He vaguely registered people being dragged away, whispering apologies under his breath at each voice moving further and further away.
He was almost completely zoned out when he processed Kamimura’s face. Kamimura, staring out in shock at the executions beginning to commence. With pure instinct, he ran, hugging the shorter boy to his chest tightly.
“It’ll be over soon, Kazutoshi. Soon,” he whispered. Kamimura held onto him like his life depended on it, shaking and trembling. It was an almost welcome (if you could even call it welcome) distraction from the sounds of people, oh dammit it all, his friends being ripped apart, burned, drowned, and contorted. Hasegawa made sure to keep Kamimura’s face hidden away from the gruesome sights before him.
“Fuck… I…” Kamimura burst into tears, nails digging into Hasegawa’s back. Hasegawa made eye contact with Hiroaki one last time before he forced himself to look away. He couldn’t look anyone in the eye. He’d saved Kamimura– but at the cost of ten other precious lives.
The sound of Tamba screaming made Kamimura sob even harder, bringing the two to the floor. Hasegawa couldn’t feel his body, almost from an outside perspective watched himself hold on tighter to Kamimura and whisper reassurances into his ear. His fragile voice, so soft and delicate, ready to break at any moment.
As everything seems to fall apart around them, Hasegawa was not spared from the difficulties of holding the heavens. His crime would be forever cemented into stone, mountainous and unable to be forgotten, its presence saying enough for himself.
But as he held onto, frankly, the love of his life , he was reminded why. The man he adored so much was safe.
He held the heavens in his arms.