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If nothing else, Kaito is grateful he got to see space before he died.
People have mocked his optimism in the past, but he finds that he needs to cling to it now, in his bleakest moment. It may seem laughable, childish even to find some good to focus on when he is dying, but it is a light protecting him from the encroaching darkness, it is what allows him to maintain his dignity in the face of defeat. It is what keeps him from falling, from crumbling, from banging at the walls until his knuckles bleed and screaming until his voice is hoarse and pleading to be set free, for this pointless and cruel game to be over.
He knows that it makes no difference how composed he remains, how magnanimous he stays even in his final seconds; he knows that nobody can see or hear him, that nobody will ever know the minutiae, the precise details of his demise. It is for his own sake, in preservation of his own frail pride, that he forces himself to be optimistic, or at least not to show weakness. He will not permit himself to give the sick freaks who orchestrated this gruesome charade the satisfaction of seeing him come undone, of breaking him. He will not attempt to run, to hide from fate, to beg and sob like a pathetic child; he will greet death with grace.
And anyway, he gets to see the stars up close. And he truly is appreciative. He can think of nothing worse than dying somewhere enclosed, somewhere claustrophobic and cold, trapped beneath the earth, buried in a coffin alive, unable to see the moon one last time, unable to see the sky. He honestly believes it is a nice touch, personalising his execution in such a manner; some may see it as cruel, getting the opportunity of a perverted and warped version of his greatest dreams, living his lifelong fantasy of becoming part of the universe, but there is no point in dwelling on bitterness and resentment. He will have plenty of time to wallow in such negativity when all of this is over, as he knows it will swiftly be.
No, he has no time to waste with such despair. He has been given a brief moment to live, and he will seize it, he will soak in the beauty of outer space one final time, file it away somewhere safe, somewhere that even death can’t erase, learn it in its entirety so that he has at least one positive memory to cling to when he has been reduced to nothing more than dust drifting among the planets. For this short second, Kaito is still alive, and he knows he cannot squander this chance to fulfill his destiny, the one he thought any chance of ever meeting had been destroyed when he first awoke as part of a killing game. After this, he will go quietly, but only after he has fully experienced the miracle of the galaxy.
Kaito is just happy to see the stars again.
And this time, they are so close he could touch them. What have always been distant presences, twinkling down benevolently on him from light years away, suddenly seem so real, so physical. They are not just an aspiration, a future to vaguely anticipate, and they are not just a comforting sign, a beacon of light and warmth he could turn to whenever he felt the dark creeping in. These stars are unlike the ones stitched into the far-off canvas of the solar system, they are not the flashing lamps illuminating the night, they are not the bedtime stories that he eagerly devoured as a wide-eyed child, they are not the incomprehensible celestial bodies that have absorbed his every thought since he first paid attention to the wonders and the mysteries that lay above his head.
They are stars, and they are beautiful. They are great, glowing balls of fire, and he is so close to them. He can feel tears stinging his eyes, and he is unsure whether they are due to the disbelief that such awe-inspiring sublimity could be real, the pressing reminder that he is mere moments away from meeting his inevitably gory death, or simply the force exerted by the sheer altitude he is flying at. Regardless, he is once again glad that nobody can see him cry, that nobody is there to witness the dumbstruck smile on his face and the tears that twinkle, hanging in his eyelashes like meteors caught and slowed by the atmosphere on their descent to earth. He is glad that Shuichi is not here to watch, glad he is spared of the embarrassment of appearing weak in front of his sidekick.
And, like the flipping of a switch, all Kaito can think about is Shuichi. About betraying him, abandoning him, leaving him all alone, failing him by not being strong enough. He had always sworn to himself that after what Shuichi had suffered by losing Kaede, Kaito would stay by his side to ensure he was never hurt like that again, that he always had someone to lean on. And he’d been so good at playing that character, at filling Kaede’s role (even when he knew he would never be as brave as Kaede had been), motivating Shuichi, convincing him to believe in himself, watching proudly as he became more confident, almost to the point where he didn’t really need Kaito’s self-sacrificing hero act any longer. And Kaito had grown used to their routine, the familiarity and comfort; he had grown used to Shuichi.
Somewhere along the way, Kaito had fallen. Despite all his best interests, he found himself drawn to Shuichi. And to leave him under these circumstances is heartbreaking, stars or no stars. But there is still a part of him that is pleased he can keep up this persona of invincibility and arrogance until the very end, that Shuichi’s perception of him doesn’t have to be damaged, that the illusion of the powerful and self-assured person Kaito tried to present doesn’t have to shatter so unceremoniously. He is glad to go out as a hero, someone who Shuichi would be proud to say he was a sidekick to. Because if Shuichi saw his vulnerability, saw the way his eyes well up as he takes one last longing look across the universe, he would never have respected him to begin with, would never have listened to any of his motivational words or well-intentioned speeches.
He isn’t ready to die, but he doesn’t have a choice. He isn’t ready to leave Shuichi, but he knows that Shuichi is capable of looking after himself, that he has the determination and the skills to end this entire game. He knows that Shuichi has grown, that he doesn’t need Kaito anymore, that he has surpassed anything either Kaede or Kaito taught him, that he was never really his sidekick to begin with, but that the nickname was purely something that both of them needed at the time. He knows that Shuichi will be okay, that he will save everyone who is left, but that doesn’t stop Kaito from wishing things could be different, that there could be an ending in which he and Shuichi escape together.
And besides, Kaito supposes that he, too, has won in his own way. He has bested the game, thrown a spanner in the works. He feels the omnipresent ache in his lungs, listens to the dull rasping of his own breath, and he knows that he has managed some small victory. And while not enough to ease the breaking of his heart as he pictures Shuichi, it is a source of satisfaction. He feels blood rising in his throat, briefly seeing Shuichi’s horrified expression flash before his eyes (the deep, intense fear he had shown when Kaito first coughed in front of him), and instead of panicking, instead of attempting to swallow all proof of his progressing illness like he has been previously, Kaito lets his body do what it needs. He coughs, his throat burning, his lungs collapsing into themselves, and he finds a second thing to be grateful for.
He is grateful not to be executed. He is grateful to die on his own terms, without being tortured, without letting himself crumble like Monokuma so desperately desires. He is grateful to die among the stars, one final lingering look at the sight he loves more than anything else, content to close his eyes after fulfilling the one dream he has chased after for his entire life. And instead of being killed mercilessly, he simply takes his last breath with a sigh of relief, only a second spared in hesitation when his unravelling mind wanders in the direction of Shuichi, before letting himself be taken by his sickness, the most natural and painless death he could have imagined in such an unnatural and painful environment.
Kaito dies smiling, with warmth in his chest, both from the blood that gushes from his mouth and from the pleasure of knowing he made it to space.