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Sayaka can’t tell what’s louder: the sound of her heart pounding out of her chest, or the sound of Kuwata throwing himself against the door outside the bathroom.
There’s nowhere to run. She’s so stupid, she’s trapped herself in Naegi’s bathroom with no way out but the way she came in. One of her hands is clamped around her wrist, searing with pain from that sword on display in the dorm. Any chance at her wielding a weapon is completely down the drain, given that Kuwata has knocked out her dominant hand. Even if he didn’t break her wrist, there’s nothing in here to defend herself with. Not against a knife or a sword or whatever Kuwata might be holding.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She can hear him outside, yelling her name and cursing it. It’s a string of words she’s all too familiar with—Maizono, you bitch, get back out here, let me in, you’re going to pay for this—you’re a fuckin’ bitch, Maizono! lying piece of shit!—and it wouldn’t phase her much if not for the looming fact that she knows she is going to be killed.
It’s not like the various men she’s had the displeasure of crossing paths with, who plan to hurt her but don’t intend to take her life. No, this is different. Kuwata has every right to kill her. She attacked him first. She flirted with him, then swung her knife, and now this is her comeuppance. If she didn’t believe in karma before, she did now. It’s arriving in the form of an angered teenage boy that’s trying to break down the bathroom door.
She’s backed up with her body pressed against the wall as she wonders if Monokuma considers this some kind of rule violation, or if these doors were made to be taken advantage of in a situation exactly like this. A horrible game like this isn’t made without special consideration of loopholes and technicalities. If this is a rule violation, how long will it be until he intervenes? Will she be able to hear the sound of the bomb beeping over Kuwata’s yelling?
Will the bomb blow her up, too?
Her breaths are shallow. Again and again does she realize there is nowhere for her to go. The deeper the realization settles in, the more frazzled she finds herself, her lungs gasping for air and her legs trembling underneath her. The door shakes and rattles. It’s going to break. He’s going to get in and Sayaka will never get out.
She will die in this bathroom.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Bang.
Sayaka still hears her racing heartbeat. Thump thump thump thump thump. Like a rabbit stomping its foot on the ground, except its her heart against her ribcage, a fearful tremor nesting deep in her torso and vibrating her whole body.
Where did Kuwata go?
She stands there for two minutes maybe. Trying to gather herself. Find her bearings. Then, something in her clicks.
Kuwata Leon is gone.
That, or he’s taking a break, and he’s waiting right outside to strike. She can wait in here all night, wait for him to try busting down the door again. Sayaka can wait here like a hamster on its little wheel, waiting for something different to happen.
Or she can take her chances and run.
Her mind flicks between her options quickly, but there’s an obvious winner. Sayaka has never once waited around for something to happen to her. She’s always on her feet, always moving, always running and always chasing.
Tonight will be no different. She’s survived an awful man before. She can do it again.
(She has to. Sayaka can’t afford to die here. She can’t perish and let the world forget about her.)
Right now, her mind isn’t focused on her failed murder attempt. Instead, she’s focused on her survival. She has to get out of here if she wants to get out of here.
Sayaka hisses as she walks towards the door, opening it with the same trick Naegi showed her earlier that night. Shaking, she pokes her head out first, ready to shut the door if she sees Kuwata—but he’s not there.
He’s… not there.
Naegi’s room is a mess. Her feet slowly carry her towards the middle of the room, taking in the damage that she’s caused. A feeling of guilt settles deep into her stomach at the state of his room. The slash marks on the walls, on the floor. The few drops of blood that were spilled in the struggle.
Her eyes dart across the room. She has to find it, has to find her knife—but it’s gone.
Which means Kuwata has it.
Sayaka bites back a cry of pain as she settles for the golden sword on the ground, the sheath damaged from her knife. She can’t wield it well with just one hand, but it’s going to have to do. If she sees Kuwata, she needs to be able to defend herself. To the best of her ability. (Except she doesn’t know if it’d count as defense. She started this.)
She shakes the thought away. She needs to survive. She needs to get out of here.
As she turns to the door, she realizes it’s been left wide open. Adrenaline pushing her forward, she races out of Naegi’s dorm, sparing only a glance at her own nameplate on the door as she enters into the hallway. The bright lights of the dorm room are a contrast from the dim red lighting outside, but her eyes adjust quickly as she checks both ways—and down the hall and just around the corner, she can see another door wide open, light spilling out into the hallway all the same.
Kuwata.
And so, her instincts take flight, and she runs in the opposite direction. She doesn’t have enough time to run down the hallways of the school, not that there’s anyone out there to get help from, anyway. The dining hall is closed too.
She turns right, and when she spots the bathrooms, something goes off in her head. A light bulb, maybe. She almost laughs with relief—she’s going to hide in the girls’ bathroom!—but she doesn’t make any noise. Just the silent sound of her erratic breathing joined by her heart pounding in her chest at rapid rates.
As she approaches the shared restroom, she swings the door open quietly with her shoulder, lifting the sword so it doesn’t bang into anything. She maneuvers the door with her foot so it shuts just as quietly, and then for good measure, she hides away in a stall. She locks it, with her elbow, hissing again when she jerks her wrist too roughly to get the motion done.
Her heart is still pounding. She’s heaving, trying to catch her breath. Her whole body is shaking. She shouldn’t have survived this. Part of her wonders if she’s already dead and she’s hallucinating as a ghost in denial. She’s always joked about spirits and psychics, but she’s never truly believed in them. If she’s already dead, is there any way someone like her will be forgiven?
Her non-injured hand peels off from the sword, and she settles it between her legs as she sits on the bathroom floor. There’s part of her that’s so grossed out by what she’s doing right now, already counting out however many germs are now crawling up her skirt—but she also can’t care. She feels like she’s going to collapse. (But she needs to stay awake. She thinks about Monokuma’s sleeping in class rule, and she refuses to be blown up.)
She examines her hand. There’s a gold coating all over her finger tips. It doesn’t disappear when she tries to rub it off. And it’s all over her sleeves, glimmering in the white light of the restroom. Weird sword with cheap paint on it—but she can’t complain. This thing might just save her life.
Sayaka tries to wonder what the scene outside of the restroom looks like right now. If Naegi’s door was open, and so was Kuwata’s, that meant he must have been on his way back. She wonders what he’s going to think when he finds her gone. Is he going to panic? Is she going to hear him outside in the hallway? These restrooms aren’t soundproof, so if he starts yelling her name to search for her, she’ll hear.
Thinking about that possibility makes her heart race again. She shuts her eyes momentarily, scrunching her face together as she tries to think of something—anything to soothe her.
— Ah, ah. Deep breaths, Maizono-chan.
(That’s one of the girls in her group, Yuina.)
— Deep breathing isn’t going to help me!
— Well, you’re not doing what I’m telling you to do. (She laughs, and Sayaka remembers how warm her laugh is, like she’s not annoyed by this at all.) Inhale, then exhale. Slowly.
Sayaka holds her breath, pressing her wrist against the cold tile floor. It doesn’t help the pain much, but there’s a different sensation for her to focus on. That helps.
— Do you feel any better?
God, she misses Yuina.
She misses all of the girls in her group. She needs to get back to them soon.
Sayaka doesn’t hear Kuwata outside, but she still doesn’t feel safe. She’s half-decided to stay here for the rest of the night and just stay awake when—
“Hey, hey!”
Somewhere deeper into the restroom, the sound of Monokuma’s voice echoes. Sayaka is sitting in the stall closest to the door, so she’s really confused when she hears him—but she’s also used to him popping out of nowhere already. (She also half-thinks it gross that he’s in the girls’ bathroom, but it doesn’t seem like he has morals anyway.)
What else is odd, though, is the sound of heels clicking from further down the bathroom too. They pull to a stop at Monokuma’s voice.
“…Yes?”
Enoshima?
What is she doing up so late?
“Oh, don’t look at me with those eyes!” says Monokuma, ever so disappointed. “I’m just warning my faaaavorite useless player that there’s a total warzone going on outside! But hey, you’re used to that, right?”
“What?” Enoshima sounds confused.
(Sayaka has already noticed something weird. Enoshima sounds… different. More monotonous. But it’s undoubtedly her.)
“Juuust saying! Oh, well, that’s all from me. Toodles!”
And she assumes Monokuma has disappeared.
Enoshima is quiet for a long time, standing exactly where she is. Sayaka doesn’t move an inch. Even when her wrist begins to throb with pain again, she bites down hard on her tongue to keep herself from making any sounds.
She’s not sure why she’s hiding from Enoshima—but something is telling her to stay quiet. Sayaka always trusts her intuition.
But even so, she hears the sound of heels clacking against tile again, and they head closer to the door. She’s waiting to hear the door swing open as she leaves, but it never does.
Sayaka holds her breath.
“Who’s there?” says Enoshima, her voice low. Almost threatening. Not aggressive and loud, like Kuwata, but Sayaka feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her heart can’t take anymore of this.
There’s a beat of silence. Enoshima is right in front of Sayaka’s stall—the only door that’s closed shut in here, she realizes—but it’s impossible to tell who’s inside because of the way the doors are set up. Suddenly, she’s grateful she didn’t get kidnapped during some international trip to the United States. The restroom stalls there are horrendous.
Enoshima speaks again. “Junko?”
And that’s when Sayaka’s mind explodes with questions, her eyebrows furrowing. What in the world?
She whips her head around so quickly at Enoshima saying her own name that her forehead hits the stall door. Without a second to process, she winces, and out slips a small ow!—a dead giveaway.
Immediately, Enoshima sputters with surprise—but this time, she sounds more like herself when she says, “Maizono?”
Shit. Shit! She didn’t think about what she was going to do after getting caught. She hasn’t even started to think about what her cover story is. What can she even say? Hi Enoshima-san, please don’t worry about me, I just slammed my wrist into the stall door as I was closing it! Oh, and I have a sword. Doesn’t it look cool?
Right, yeah, because she’s completely lost it.
“Um,” she starts, speaking a little louder—and she finds herself speaking with a slightly higher pitch, so it’d disguise the tremble in her voice. “Enoshima-san! I wasn’t… expecting anyone up this late.”
“Why aren’t you like, in your room?” Enoshima asks, getting straight to the point. “Sleeping late is totally bad for your complexion, y’know! Figured that’s something you care about.”
“That’s… ironic, isn’t it?” Sayaka laughs a little. It’s not funny. “Given you’re a fashionista… I can’t imagine someone like you wouldn’t take it serious yourself.”
They can play this game, the both of them. Sayaka’s already played too many dangerous games for one night. How much worse can it get?
“Well,” and then Enoshima pauses briefly, as if she’s also trying to come up with some kind of cover story, although Sayaka can’t even begin to comprehend for what, “I was trying to badger that stupid bear for answers. He’s full of it.”
And that… sounds plausible. Somewhat. The more Sayaka thinks about it, the more she feels like something is wrong. It’s partially because of her intuition—the deep-seated feeling in her gut that says she’s missing something vital to the situation. Maybe she’s clouded by her fear and paranoia.
Maybe, but she still needs to get out of here alive. She has nothing but a sword she can’t use, a broken wrist, and her intuition. The only thing working right is her intuition. Her instincts. It’s the only reason she can feel the soreness of her throat from gasping for air, and not sitting in the corner of a shower, potentially dead.
So, she acts on her intuition. “In the restroom?” she presses on, raising an eyebrow, although she can’t see Enoshima’s face. Her voice is expertly dipped in honey, disguising the underlying suspicion that she’s now directing towards the fashionista. “Weird place for an interrogation.”
“It happens,” she says, and no further explanation follows. “Are you… good?”
Sayaka stares at her own wrist. “Yup!”
Then silence settles again. She’s sort of waiting quietly for the sound of the door swinging open, signalling Enoshima’s exit, but it never comes. Why is she just standing there?
Awkwardly, Sayaka asks, “Can I… help you?”
To which Enoshima swiftly replies, “Oh, I was just waiting for you. It’s dangerous to leave anybody alone these nights, yeah? If we’re breakin’ that hall monitor’s rules, we might as well be safe about it.”
Something about that feels strange. Sayaka can’t wrap her head around what’s bugging her. “Th-That’s not,” she starts, intending to finish with necessary or needed or whatever word would assure Enoshima that she doesn’t need a chaperone back to the hell-in-waiting that is the hallway.
“I was… kind of thinking I just stay here. Maybe it’s safer?” A nervous laugh follows her sentence, but it’s still not funny. Nothing about this is funny.
“Safer? What are you—”
Then the sound of running outside in the hallway sounds, speeding just past the restrooms. Enoshima immediately falls quiet, and Sayaka slaps her gold-covered hand over her mouth. Just as she’s mostly calmed her trembling down, she’s started shaking all over again.
They wait until the footsteps trail away before Enoshima speaks again.
“The warzone,” she mumbles quietly, likely quoting the nonsense Monokuma was spewing earlier, and then she speaks a little louder. “Maizono, are you hurt?”
Sayaka shushes Enoshima from inside the stall. “Please stay quiet,” she whispers, unable to disguise her panic this time. “He— Kuwata doesn’t know I’m here.”
And there it is. The whole story is going to come out now. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen now. If there was any chance of providing some cover story that hides all of the events of tonight, it’s out the window now. She or Kuwata is going to take the fall for this—and Sayaka has too much pride riding on her shoulders to let that be her.
Outside the stall, she hears Enoshima’s heels clacking again back and forth throughout the restroom. She sounds like she’s looking for something, but she can’t figure out what.
Her secret’s already out. If Enoshima were planning to sell her out to Kuwata outside, she would have done so, wouldn’t she? Not that she knows why she’d do that, not when it doesn’t benefit her in any way at all.
Sayaka carefully stands to her feet, gritting her teeth as her wrist shifts uncomfortably. Tears prick at her eyes, but she wipes them away with her sleeve. Enoshima is still walking back and forth outside when she clicks the door open.
Her body almost stumbles forward, her legs almost too shaky to support her weight. She wraps her arm around the sword protectively, keeping it from clattering as she steps into full view of the light.
Enoshima is digging through the storage closet in the back when she looks over at Sayaka. There’s something unreadable on her face, but then she spots the sword in her grasp. “Where’d you get that?” she asks.
Sayaka feels almost ashamed when she says, “Naegi gave it to me.”
(Naegi. Poor, sweet Naegi, who she tried to set up tonight. He never gave her that sword. She pushed him to take it so he could defend himself.)
She can’t think about it right now. Not now, not now.
Enoshima pulls away from the closet, approaching her with haste. “We can use that. Give it here.”
And without waiting for Sayaka’s approval, she practically rips it out of her hands—and she’s quietly thinking that’s mine, that’s all I have, but she says nothing. Enoshima examines it in her own hands, long designer nails tapping against the damaged sheath as she mulls over its presence.
Then, she presses herself against the door of the girls’ restroom, maneuvering the sword until it’s lodged between the knob and the corner of the room. As she does so, Sayaka realizes that they’re now both locked in here.
And Kuwata is locked out there.
“What are you doing?” Sayaka asks, her voice shaking—but she knows. She just wants to hear it from Enoshima.
The fashionista examines the sword for a few moments longer, then she looks down at her hands, now covered in gold paint. She looks up at Sayaka, quiet. It’s an expression she hasn’t seen on her before. Something serious, but not like the special pout that models wear for magazines and photoshoots, the one that older men say looks sexy and mature on young women like them. No, this one feels more… analytical.
Sayaka feels that chill run down her spine again. This feels like a side of Enoshima that she deliberately hides from everyone else. Is the situation so grave that she’s had to drop her act?
(Well, Sayaka almost died. That’s pretty grave.)
Enoshima clears her throat, trying to rub the paint off her skin. “Don’t think either of us can go back to our rooms if he’s parading the hallways like crazy,” she says simply. She doesn’t ask Why is Kuwata trying to kill you? or What did you do?—she just takes initiative for both of their survivals. “So, we’ll stay here ‘til morning. We’ve got a few hours.”
They’re really going to stay here. Sayaka can’t parse how she feels about that.
If nothing else, it doesn’t seem like Enoshima is going to kill her. Maybe she shouldn’t press too hard about what she heard earlier—if she’s on her side, she’s not going to do anything to tip the scales. Especially while injured.
Enoshima walks a little closer to her, offering her hand out. “Let me see your wrist. I know a bit about injuries—I was a rowdy kid when I was little,” she says, and looks up at Sayaka. “And like, can you fill me in on what the hell’s going on?”
Sayaka swallows dryly as she offers her wrist out for examination. It hurts. “It’s a long story.”
She looks to the side and stares at her reflection in the mirror. It’s only now that she realizes what a mess she is; her hair is tangled and completely out of place, clothes are all messy, and streaks of makeup run down her face, even though she can’t remember crying at any point during this whole thing. She doesn’t look like the picture perfect idol that she’s supposed to be. She just looks like a desperate, injured girl.
“We’ve got all night,” Enoshima says with a shrug. “And whatever happened, you’re going to have to tell everyone else tomorrow. Unless you wanna wait until Kuwata gets you alone again?”
Sayaka’s heart almost stops at the very suggestion. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you. Promise me you won’t judge.”
(Not that being judged is the biggest of her issues—but she doesn’t want Enoshima to decide she wants nothing to do with her either for being no better of an attempted murderer.)
Enoshima snorts at the very suggestion. It’s not the kind of thing she expects from a model. “Hit me,” she dares.