#thpff chapters

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 20

alright guys hit the showers. or the bathhouse. wait hold on i left my computer boy in there. guys wait don't open that

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

wow i wrote 10 pages for chapter 19 but i better take it easy so i dont burn out (writes 11 pages for chapter 20) anyway guess who's taking a break after this chapter

this is the one with togiri development but they're extremely not normal about it so it's almost blink-and-you-miss-it

@digitaldollsworld <- betapilled readmaxxer

Content warning tags: mild violence and injury description (non-graphic), description of depression symptoms and nausea, mild mention of eating disorder

< previous - from start - next >

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, only that he wakes up still-dressed and laid out across his bed, his mouth dry and head groggy, the bedroom lights still on. As he checks his handbook’s clock, he finds he’s entirely missed Monokuma’s morning announcement, which is a good thing; he had no desire to listen to that bear’s irritating voice, especially not today.

But, he doesn’t have much desire to do anything else either. The library no longer feels like the safe haven it used to be, and he had no interest in going anywhere else and running into anyone else, when the atmosphere was still thick with the deaths of two people, and pity that Byakuya didn’t want. Much less, the possibility of encountering Makoto, who was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.

He lies in bed a moment longer, unwilling to move. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater; even his head feels stuffed full with cotton and wool. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and unpleasant, too.

Grief. He thinks blearily at first, before rolling his own eyes at the thought, and pushing himself up with a grunt. Such dramatics didn’t suit him. He wasn't the kind of person to spare such theatrics, regardless of his circumstances.

He showers, brushes his teeth, and half-debates whether to try his hand at shaving before ultimately deciding against it (it didn’t feel like his stubble should be that noticeable, yet). He forgoes changing into a clean uniform in favor of his pajamas, and collapses back into bed with a sigh, hand searching immediately for his handbook - but finding nothing but empty sheets.

“Hello, there!”

He jerks upright immediately. Standing in the foot of his bed is Monokuma, rocking back and forth and looking as innocent as could be. Or, would be, if not for the handbook clutched in its paw.

Byakuya dives for it without thinking, but his perception is off, and he crashes to the carpet instead with a grunt. Monokuma sidesteps him casually with a laugh. “Whoa, there! Easy partner, don’t wanna hurt yourself!” It dances around his head, infuriatingly out of reach. “Didja miss me that bad? If you wanna hug, you can just say so!”

“Give it back,” He snarls, as he picks himself up. He’s in no mood for its jokes. “Give me back my handbook!”

“Your handbook? My my, but these were all mine first, weren’t they?” It shakes a paw disapprovingly in his face. “I just need to check it real quick, after all. I didn’t expect Mister Fujisaki to go and Macgyver anything onto here, so if it’s anything malicious, I’ll have to do a quick wipey-wipe!” Byakuya makes another lunge, and it juggles the handbook out of his reach, hopping backwards with a mad cackle. “After all, if it’s anything naughty, there’s no way I can let it fall in the hands of my precious students!”

“You miserable little-” Byakuya tries to rise to his feet quickly, but he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and a bout of dizziness crashes into him like a wave. He sways and braces himself against the mattress, one arm still reaching out clumsily to try and grab at Monokuma.

But the bear has already flipped it open, scrolling so quickly through the screens that the little automated voice can’t keep up, the words blurring together. “Schoo-Stu-App-Day-”

“Whoops, too far.” It scrolls back. “Applications, that’s what we wanna see. And, what’s this?”

Byakuya feels his blood run cold. There was only one application there, the one Chihiro had downloaded for him. Alter Ego. The app was inconspicuously named ‘Test_App’ in the interface itself, but if Monokuma opened it-

“Well well well. Let’s take a look-see!” It crows, and Byakuya’s protest is frozen in his throat. He shuts his eyes, expecting to hear Chihiro’s voice-

“Black to E5.”

He opens his eyes again. What?

Monokuma also seems confused, tilting its head as it stares at the little screen. “What’s this? A chessboard?”

“Black to E5,” Alter Ego repeats, so digitized and monotone it was nearly unrecognizable. “Would you like to review the board?”

“Is this all it is? A chess game?” Monokuma sounds almost disappointed. Byakuya, seeing his chance, surges forward, snatching the handbook back and snapping it closed. He presses it to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath it.

“Is that a problem?” He demands, and Monokuma shrugs, shaking its head.

“I guess not, but I thought it’d be something spicy, y’know? You’re a growing boy, after all!” It reaches out to pat Byakuya’s knee, and he steps backwards just in time, lip curling in disgust. “Aw, don’t act so mean to your headmaster, you’ll give me a complex!”

“Get out.” He hisses. “You got what you came here for. Leave.”

“Oh, alright…you sure know how to make a bear feel glum...” It sighs, kicking at the carpet, before it makes its way to the door. “Take care, now! Make sure you eat something, y’hear? I don’t want any hunger strikes in this house! And-”

No sooner had Monokuma crossed the threshold, had Byakuya jumped up, and sped forward to slam the door with a resounding bang. He takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall, legs suddenly weak.

How the hell did that thing get inside my room? He was sure he had locked the door - or he should have locked it, at least. Looking back, he actually can’t remember, but he double and triple-checks now, suddenly paranoid. He also flips off the light for good measure, leaving the room in complete darkness before he crawls back into bed.

Beneath the covers, he opens his handbook, and squints until he can make out the pale green shape of Alter Ego’s face on the screen.

“Is he gone?” Alter Ego asks, and Byakuya relaxes, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Yes.” He whispers back.

Alter Ego makes a sound like a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I got so scared when he grabbed me.” And its voice sounds so much like Chihiro's that Byakuya feels a strange pressure behind his eyes.

“How did you know?” He asks. “That Monokuma was there?”

“I could hear it. Through the microphone.” He reaches up and touches the tiny pinprick grid of the speaker, and feels the buzz of Alter Ego’s voice against his fingertips. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think he would’ve just deleted you as punishment for me anyway.” He sighs. And then frowns, as a thought comes to mind. “If you could eavesdrop from the microphone this whole time, then you already know…?”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to. Alter Ego makes a quiet noise like a sigh. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry.” And he’s surprised to find that he means it genuinely, and almost laughs at himself. Heartfelt apologies were rare for him, and here he was offering one to an AI, of all things.

“It’s okay. He knew it might happen,” Alter Ego replies, and he imagines it might be smiling, a sad, helpless smile. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They’re quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Byakuya can almost pretend that he’s normal - unable to see in the dark as everyone else is. But it’s also the middle of the day, and he’s too restless to sleep, too uneasy to go outside. Too tired to mourn. Too mournful to do anything else.

“Can you really play chess?” He asks instead.

“I can, along with checkers, shogi, and backgammon and more.” 

“Play a round of chess with me, then. I’m bored.”

“Okay!” Immediately, the pale blot of their face on the screen is replaced by a square. “I’ll play black. What’s your first move?”

He smiles to himself. “E2, pawn to E4.”

—

Hours pass like that. He plays chess with Alter Ego (three wins, four losses, and seven draws), and a few rounds of shogi (one win, one loss, and two draws) for good measure. And then, huddled over his desk with his back facing the camera, he pores over lines of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche until he feels too sick from staring at the letters to even hear Alter Ego’s voice, reciting the words aloud beneath a dim ringing in his ears.

By the time he’s pulled out of his concentration by the sound of a knocking at his door, he’s too nauseous to feel hungry, but his throat is stinging from lack of water and there’s a slight pulsing in his head. His immediate first reaction is to ignore it, but that proves to be impossible; whoever was on the other side was clearly, very persistent, and had nothing better to do.

Even so, he lasts a full five minutes until he finally gets up to answer, irritated beyond measure. If it was Makoto, he was going to slam it closed again, reasons be damned. He didn’t even want to think about the other boy, lest he get pointlessly enraged about it.

But instead of brown hair, he’s met with pale white. Kirigiri stands at his threshold, hand partially raised, halfway through knocking, and they stare at each for a moment in silence, as if both surprised to find the other person there.

And then he slams the door shut in her face. Or tries to - instead of the satisfying bang of wood meeting wood, there’s a sickly crunch, and then she’s wrenching the door open, heedless of the way her fingers had just been crushed in the jamb. He almost winces in sympathy, but she’s too busy pushing her way in to offer much room for condolences.

“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, trying not to be too obviously perturbed by her lack of reaction; he doesn’t think he even heard her wince. She ignores him for a moment, attention focused on her hand, as she experimentally clenches and unclenches her fingers. Apparently they’re not broken, or maybe, she just had high pain tolerance. Or she was more insane than he thought.

“We’re calling a group meeting,” She replies, without so much as a waver. “Come to the bathhouse.”

“And why should I?”

“It’s important. I can drag you there if I have to.” It doesn’t sound like an empty threat either. Somehow, she seems impatient, though he’s not sure how he can tell; and it wasn’t just because she shoved her hand into the door in order to deliver the message.

He weighs his options - on one hand, he has no desire to speak with anyone, much less Makoto, who was bound to be there. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have anything in the way of provisions in his room, and though he was still a little too light-headed to consider eating, it’d be embarrassing to collapse from dehydration at this point. That, and it seemed that Kirigiri had no intention of letting him refuse.

“...I’m going to get dressed first.” He says shortly. If he’s going to have to meet them, it will not be while he’s still in his pajamas.

“Hurry up.”

She makes no move to leave, and he realizes with no small amount of annoyance that she was making sure he wouldn’t be able to run or shut her out again. Somewhat affronted by this, and now wanting to go even less, he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes to the bathroom.

Routine carries his hands through the motions, so he manages it relatively quick, but it’s only after he’s applying the finishing touches, that he nearly pokes himself in the eye as he reaches to adjust his glasses. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the bridge of his nose and finding nothing, and even though his original prescription was low and they were more an accessory than anything, he feels a little like he’s lost a limb.

She’s still there when he emerges, though now standing over his desk, bent over the books he has open. She looks up as he approaches, one hand halfway through turning a page.

“What?” He asks, chin turned up in challenge.

“Nothing. Just looking.” She closes the book, and he realizes, scandalized, that it was the one he was reading earlier. It was going to take him ages to find that page again. “You have predictable tastes.”

“Shut up. Are we going or not?”

He follows her out, his hands twitching all the while, smoothing down his shirt, his lapels, his sleeves. Making sure his buttons were lined up, that his shirt was tucked; he hadn’t had the time to put on garters or even try a hand at his tie, and he feels underdressed.

“You’re fine.” Kirigiri says suddenly, and he freezes, one hand resting on the button of a shirt cuff. “Stop fidgeting.”

He scowls. He was walking behind her, so what would she know. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“I can hear you fidgeting. Your buttons are fine.”

“Oh, can you hear my buttons now too?”

It’s a petty, childish remark, one that he can’t stop himself from muttering before he can even reconsider it. She stops at that, halting so suddenly in the middle of the hallway that he almost walks right into her, and turns around to face him, her head moving in a slow tilt from up to down - scanning me, he realizes - before she says: “You look fine. Are you quite done?”

She was checking for me. He’s not sure if he should feel grateful for the courtesy or irritated by her lack of grace. “Did the sound bother you that much?” He asks instead, patting down the front of his shirt one last time.

“...It wasn’t the sound.” Is all she says, with a sort of finality that indicated that no other questions would be answered on the topic.

They enter the bathhouse, and find everyone else there, gathered in a sort of semi-circle around the wall of lockers. Asahina and Ogami, predictably, are huddled close together on one of the benches. Celeste and Yamada sit on another bench, one fidgeting uneasily, the other sitting regally with legs crossed and hands folded. Hagakure is standing next to Owada, who doesn’t even stir when they walk in, and who Byakuya ignores in turn, gaze sliding past him uncomfortably. Fukawa hangs near the back of the group, and twitches when she sees him, though makes no move to approach.

Makoto is leaning against the lockers with hands tucked in his pockets. He looks up as they enter, and stands up straight immediately. “Ah-”

“We’re all here?” Kirigiri cuts him off, casting a glance around the room. “Good. Can you catch him up, Hina?”

“R-right,” Asahina looks between Kirigiri and Byakuya, then at Makoto, and seems to hesitate for a moment. “Um, so…last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to get food. But on the way there, I heard something coming from the bathhouse - like, a weird, machine-y kind of sound? - and when I went in…”

She peters off. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“Uh, it’s going to sound a little ridiculous...”

“You act like nothing else is ridiculous about this situation. Get on with it.”

Her face flushes dark, embarrassed. He gets the feeling that Ogami is glaring at him, but since he can’t see it - and has no reason to act like he can see it, anyways - he ignores it easily.

“Right. I saw a ghost - I know it was a ghost,” She adds defensively, as Byakuya was preparing to scoff and roll his eyes. “It was glowing green and floating in front of the lockers, and…and it had Chihiro’s face.”

“That’s-” not a ghost, he’s about to say, but he stops, suddenly uncertain. The bathhouse had no cameras, but he wasn’t sure if Alter Ego’s existence should be revealed here, now, to everyone, especially given some of the individuals present. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket, where his handbook was. “That’s…and you’re sure it was Chihiro?”

She seems taken aback by how seriously he asks that, and nods quickly. “I know it was Chihiro! It was his face and everything!” She points in front of her, at a locker less than two meters away from her eye level. The exact locker, Byakuya thinks, where Chihiro was keeping his laptop.

He wonders if Makoto was thinking this too.

“...I highly doubt the existence of ghosts,” He sighs. There was no point trying to hide it with Kirigiri around, and better to do it now than later. “Instead of being in front of the locker, I think the thing you saw was inside it.”

He turns to the locker Asahina had indicated, and moves to unlock it - before realizing he doesn’t know how. If it was unlocked by key, he didn’t have it, and if by code it was even more impossible. But Kirigiri steps forward, nudging his arm out of the way, and the locker door clicks open under her hand.

Sitting inside is the laptop, its screen dark. After a moment, it hums to life, flickering green. A round, pale shape forms, and behind him, Byakuya hears someone gasp.

“Hello,” Alter Ego says, and their voice is clearer through the computer than through Byakuya’s handbook, and sounds so similar to Chihiro’s that it’s almost jarring. “It’s nice to meet everyone!”

Hagakure shrieks, arms thrown up in fear. “A g-g-gh-!”

“It’s not a ghost,” Byakuya cuts him off sharply. “It’s a program.”

“Yes, and it looks like something Chihiro made.” Kirigiri touches the keys lightly. “This computer was the broken one from the library. And the fact that it was placed here, out of sight of the mastermind, means that it was meant for us.”

“So, this is what I saw last night…” Asahina’s tone doesn’t sound uneasy anymore, but wondering, and she raises a tentative hand as the little Chihiro in the screen waves at her. “But, what is it?”

“You just asked, ‘what is it,’ right?” Alter Ego says, almost teasingly, making her and several others jump. “The short answer is, I’m an AI program based on as much of Chihiro Fujisaki’s personality, memories, and thoughts as he managed to transcribe into data…um, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me Alter Ego. I was made to try and break through the firewall around the school’s network and to analyze the files on this computer, but it’s been taking a long time. I’m only about 25% done.”

25%? That was already more than Byakuya expected, and he feels a thin, inexplicable strum of pride.

“Crazy…hey, isn’t this crazy?” Yamada is up from his seat, and sitting as close as he can, crouching on his heels to be eye-level with the screen. “This is so- so totally sci-fi, right? Isn’t the genre wrong?” He sounds excited, overly so, and his breath is a little fevered and fast. “Hey, Chihiro! Can you hear us?”

Alter Ego doesn’t respond. Byakuya suddenly remembers the night that Chihiro was installing the application on his handbook and how Alter Ego only ever responded after the sound of keystrokes. “You have to type what you want to say in order for it to respond.”

“Move.” Yamada scurries out of Kirigiri’s way, as she drops to a crouch in front of the open locker. There’s the sound of fingers clicking over keys, and then -

“It will take me a while longer to finish analyzing everything,” Alter Ego says aloud, a little sheepishly. “I can definitely finish it though! Actually, progress is moving faster than originally predicted, so you can leave it to me!”

“My, how dependable.” Celeste remarks. “It seems that Chihiro has left us an invaluable gift, does it not?”

“It’s…pretty crazy,” Hagakure agrees, scratching his head. “Wait, uh - can Alter Ego get online? Like can we call for help from outside?”

“Hmm, probably not.” Asahina hums in thought, crossing her arms. “We’re in a bathhouse after all.”

“Then, if we take it outside of here-”

“No.” Kirigiri says flatly. “We can’t take any risks. Taking it outside might mean that the mastermind will discover it.”

“Yeah, but, I think it’s better to get help sooner than later. You know…” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head pointedly towards Owada. Throughout this whole time, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader had been as still as a mouse, face turned downwards towards the floor. Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly. “Can’t we try it?”

There’s a sharp tap as Celeste laces her fingers, rings clicking together. “As stated earlier. We cannot take unnecessary risks. And we are not in the position to be pointlessly altruistic.” Her tone is casual, but Hagakure seems to shrink away from her, defeated.

“I…okay. Fine, sure.” He scratches at his head, then pauses. “Ah, wait a minute. Does Alter Ego, like, know…?

His question peters off, but the implication hangs over them like a heavy fog. Byakuya watches them cast uneasy glances at each other, then back to Alter Ego, as if trying to figure out who should break the news.

“It already knows.” He mutters. He’s not trying to be loud, but in the silence everyone could hear it anyways.

“...Not to say you’re lying or anything, Byakuya, but how do you…?”

Instead of answering Hagakure out loud, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the handbook, flipping it open and holding it up, screen facing them. Someone gasps.

“Yes,” Alter Ego confirms their unspoken question, and its voice echoes uncannily, doubled between the laptop and his handbook. “Master made it so I can be accessed through Byakuya’s handbook, so I could assist him with his visual impairment. I can also access the microphone function on this device, so I was able…I was able to overhear what happened”

The little, buzzing voice trails off sadly, and Byakuya suddenly feels uncomfortable, as the room grows all the more dreary. He clicks the handbook closed, suddenly irritated.

“That should explain it.“ He sighs. “Chihiro built Alter Ego to try and help find a way out of here, and at the same time gave me access so I could be self-sufficient. That’s the extent of my knowledge about it.”

He looks up and finds nearly all of them with their faces tilted towards him, and shifts, disconcerted. “What?”

“Nothing…it’s just kinda sweet that you’re, like, telling us this yourself.” Hagakure, ridiculously, sounds almost happy about this. “You never really talked to us about yourself before.”

“There’s no point in being secretive about it. Not when I was already forced to reveal it during the trial.” He sniffs. Immediately, Hagakure looks away, chagrined. From Byakuya’s periphery, he can see Makoto still facing away, his ears turning pink.

Kirigiri clears her throat. “...For the time being, it’s clear that we need to ensure Alter Ego remains a secret from the mastermind.” She says, and Byakuya watches as she types something out, a thick line of black characters. Every few keystrokes, she stops, and deletes the last word in a series of light clicks; listening closer, the sound was awkward and irregular, each press slurring into the next key. With a slight twinge of guilt, he realizes that the cause of it was her left hand - the one he had practically crushed.

After a moment’s consideration, weighing his conscience with what was at stake, he nudges her slightly with his knee. “Move. You type too slow.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can hear it.” He replies flatly. “You type like you’re all thumbs. Move over.”

He half-expects her to stay where she is, to ignore him and continue, but to his surprise she actually complies, standing up and stepping aside. He crouches into the space she had just abandoned, sliding his hands over the keyboard until his index fingers find the tiny, tell-tale grooves of the position keys. The size and dimensions are different from his computer at home, but for a moment the feeling is so familiar that he’s almost nostalgic.

“What did you want to ask again?”

“If it has any contingency measures in place for if Monokuma - or the mastermind, or anyone suspicious - happens to find it.”

His fingers skim over the keys, clicking fluidly. A thin line of black appears at the bottom of the screen in time to his movements, but he can’t confirm if the output is accurate; judging by the way Makoto gasps behind him, and the way Hagakure whistles, he can guess that it’s more or less correct.

“Impressive,” Celeste says, in an appreciative tone. “I suppose being such an esteemed heir means you have many talents.”

He can’t tell if she’s mocking him, so he decides to ignore her, though he allows himself a small amount of smugness. He finishes typing: “Is this what you wanted to ask?”

Instead of replying, Kirigiri leans over his shoulder and clicks the ‘enter’ button. After a moment’s pause:

“Hm, to be honest, so far I’ve just been trying to be reeeally careful with when I’m active…though I guess that backfired last night, with me scaring Aoi.” Alter Ego hums in thought. “But, I do have a secret plan! If anyone comes around who I don’t recognize on my webcam…I’ll scream super loud!”

“That’s so basic!” Asahina blurts out, shocked by the simple nature of it.

“Yes, and it’s not likely to work at night.” Ogami grumbles. “The bedrooms are soundproofed.”

“Maybe we can try taking turns staying up?” Makoto suggests. “I can take the first night, I don’t mind…”

“I think such a sudden change in our patterns is likely to draw suspicion from the mastermind. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Celeste says, and Makoto ducks his head immediately. “Though, your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

“Then it can’t be helped.” Kirigiri sighs. “I’ll leave my door open. I’m at the end of the hallway anyways, so if anything happens, I should be able to react the quickest.”

What a crazy woman. “You’d leave yourself vulnerable?” He scoffs. After all the precautions he’s seen her take, it’s hard to imagine her sacrificing herself to any degree.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m not so helpless. I have no intention of going down without a fight.” She pauses, mouth open like she’s about to say more, before she decides against it. “Anyways. We should avoid any mention or contact with Alter Ego as much as possible, to draw as little attention as we can.”

She claps her hands sharply, a sound that makes more than one person jump, and makes Byakuya almost flinch. “For the time being…let’s disperse.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #thpff chapters #togiri #<- bc i wrote this with togiri intent. for the togiri truthers #byakuya togami #the h in chihiro stands for. haunting the narrative!!!!! #i was writing this chapter on the plane with my computer brightness turned alllll the way down #byakuya can't really read kyoko's reaction and therefore sees it as super nonchalant. and i know that with her scars it probably didnt hurt #but i also wanna imagine her tearing up like. motherfucking ow?? #swearing under her breath and stamping her foot while he's changing and having to play it off like she was just looking at his books #both of them feeling somewhat guilty for the other person's situation and trying to help but only by way of insulting them #like 'ugh i cant believe you. fine i'll do this but only bc i dont wanna have to deal with you' as they try to compensate for each other #sorry not much naegami but theyre divorced rn and everyone's busy mourning and stuff #naegami development: they have a moment of humility and intimacy and sleep in the same bed #togiri development: he accidentally slams her hand in the door and doesnt apologize #HIROO my friend hiroo......ily hiro and how much u care sobb #anyways im taking a break after this. sob. wails.

[tokiwigiwi]

forgot to post this earlier but i made this inspired by chapter eight of @dangans-ur-ronpas's thpff fic 🥰, such close friends 🥰

#danganronpa #trigger happy havoc #byakuya togami #makoto naegi #naegami #my art #this does not happen in this fic i am not trying to spread misinformation this is from my own whismsical heart <3

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 10

Byakuya does not get to go to bed :/

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

headcanoning Chihiro as transmasc here!

Byakuya throwing up death flags

This one was so much fun to write...Chihiro you are so everything to me...

beta read by @moonlighttogami!

Content warning tags: I don't think any apply here actually?

< previous - from start - next >

There’s someone outside his door as he approaches, however.

He feels a vein beginning to jump in his temple as he registers who it is. Fujisaki, the programmer, was apparently more persistent than he originally gave credit, and is hovering at the entrance of his room. She fidgets as she notices their approach, and hesitates a moment before speaking up. “Um…”

“Didn’t I make it clear that I’m not interested?” He says flatly. She cringes at that, but surprisingly, doesn’t run off this time. It seems that she had grown a spine since they last spoke. “Listen. I don’t care for women like you, especially not ones that are as fragile as paper.”

“I-I’m not here for anything like that!” She yelps, face pinking. “That…can we talk? Please? In secret?”

“You’re really going to ask that now?” He raises an eyebrow at her, unimpressed, and she colors further. “Are you that stupid?”

“Byakuya,” Makoto nudges him with his elbow. His voice is soft, careful. “Maybe you should hear her out, okay? I don’t think she would’ve come up to you if it wasn’t important.”

“I can’t imagine what she has to say that could be important to me.” He scoffs back. But Makoto elbows him again, and he sighs. “Fine. Let’s go to the bathhouse; I’ll hear you out there.”

Fujisaki turns between him, then to Makoto, as if about to ask something, but he turns and begins walking away, and hears her footsteps hurrying after him. Makoto is walking beside her, saying something with intention to comfort.

“He’s really not that bad,” he’s saying, in a tragically awful attempt at a hushed whisper. “He just doesn’t like hanging out with people.”

“I-it’s okay,” Fujisaki murmurs back, equally terrible at moderating her volume. “I don’t mind it, it’s actually part of why I need to talk to him…”

What the hell are they talking about, he thinks. He still isn’t wholly convinced that this isn’t Fujisaki’s attempt at a misplaced high-school romance, and frankly he’s not interested in having to deal with such a thing a second time in one night. But Makoto had urged him to consider it, at least, and now here they were.

In the bathhouse, he takes a seat on one of the benches, crossing one leg over the other and waiting imperiously, for Fujisaki to explain herself. The girl trembles, shaking like a leaf, until he snaps. “Well? Or did you just call me here to waste my time.”

“N-no! It’s, well…” She hesitates, and he clicks his tongue, annoyed. At once, he can hear sniffling. “U-um…”

“If you cry, I’m leaving.”

“I’m not! M’not, just- give me a moment.” There’s another sniffle, and she scrubs hastily at her eyes. “Okay. Um, Byakuya…I think I know your secret.”

There is a pause as he digests those words. But he frowns, eyes narrowing - how had she done that? Had she managed to see the contents of his envelope when Fukawa was peeking at it? “...Explain.”

“Your secret…it’s your eyes, r-right? You can’t see.” She says it slowly, cautiously, and he simultaneously feels himself relax and tense at the same time. “I-I noticed it before the motive announcement! Um, sorry…”

He doesn’t reply for a moment. To be honest, it was a relief - so it wasn’t the contents of the envelope that she knew about, but rather, his eyes - but it was also just as much a danger. Now, it was Makoto, Kirigiri, and Fujisaki who knew of his condition. “How did you realize it?”

As if bolstered by the confirmation, she perks up. “It was when you were reading! Um, during mealtimes, you’d usually have a book or something…but it was weird how you were reading it.” She taps a finger to her chin, remembering. “It was…I pay a lot of attention to how people’s pupils move, because I was working on a program before we came here that could allow people to enter a virtual world, and part of that involved tracking eye-movement, but we don’t have any equipment that could let me continue code development so I just found myself watching people’s eyes for research-”

“Stop blathering. What’s your point.”

“R-right! Um, the point is…your eyes weren’t moving like someone else’s would when they read. Rather than reading…it was like you were trying to pretend to read? Your pupils kept moving back and forth at different intervals.” Without thinking, he reaches up to touch his eyes, but catches himself, and instead adjusts his glasses. “Like…you were forgetting that you were reading, almost? When I talked to Kirigiri, she said that she suspected it too.”

“Is that why the both of you came to see me in the library the other day?”

“Y-yeah, I…I wanted to help.” There’s a determined edge to her voice, and she straightens up, confident. “Um, I was tinkering with the e-handbooks a little before the last trial, and I found out that there’s a function that can read out the apps and settings and stuff out loud…and, since there’s a camera on the handbooks, I’m pretty sure I can rig it to read other text out loud, too. Like a text-to-voice function.”

“Really?” He stands up, and grabs her shoulders. If that was true…it meant he could read things on his own. Have some semblance of control over his surroundings that didn’t rely on anyone else.

Granted, he did have Makoto read to him nearly the whole day today as they went through files, but it wasn’t necessarily the best experience for either of them. Makoto read too slowly at some points, or had difficulty with certain words, and after only a few hours had requested a break for the sake of his throat. The progress they made was less than optimal.

“U-um…” She wobbles on her heels. “P-please…”

He suddenly realizes that he must have been shaking her, and hastily let's go. “...My apologies. I got ahead of myself.” He fixes his glasses again, his sleeve cuffs, and tries to calm the small outburst of excitement. It was unbecoming of him, but…this was possibly the best news he’d received since coming here. “But please, elaborate. How would you do this?”

“Th-that’s okay…” Her face is blazing red. “Um, it’s…with this.”

She turns to the flat wall of green tiles behind her, and he belatedly realizes that it’s actually lockers. She unlocks one, and withdraws a laptop - the same one that Kyoko had found in the library - except now, as she opens the lid, it hums quietly with life.

“Hello, Master!”

Makoto gasps as a small, tinny voice chimes from the computer’s speakers. Byakuya can’t make out anything on screen beyond a vague, green glow. “What is this?”

“I-it’s a program…specifically, it’s an AI.” She sets it down on a bench, crouching in front of it. “Um, I’ve named it Alter Ego…Kyoko asked me to see if I could hack into the school network, b-but the firewall is really complex, and it’d take me a long time. A-and, I…I don’t know how long I’ll last here, so…I thought I’d make an AI that could learn and do it without me.”

To say that it’d be easier to create a fully-functioning AI in a course of a few days than to hack into a network was something that only an Ultimate-level computer programmer could say. ”That’s insane.” Byakuya says bluntly, but he can’t help but raise a hand to hide his grin spreading across his face. “Well done.”

“E-eh! Ah, th-thank you…”

Makoto keeps looking between him, then Fujisaki, then the computer, as if in disbelief. “Wait, but…how does this relate to the handbooks?”

“R-right!” She pulls her own handbook out of her pocket. “Um, I tested with my own already, and there hasn’t been anything bad yet…but you can put your own apps onto the handbooks. I…I can put a version of Alter Ego in your handbook that can read text out loud, or describe pictures, and stuff. It wouldn’t be nearly as robust as Alter Ego in the computer, but-”

“That’s perfect.” If he were a lesser man, he might’ve hugged Fujisaki for this. As it is, he claps a hand on her shoulder, nearly knocking her over with his enthusiasm. “Then, shall we get started?”

“W-wait a moment!”

Makoto grabs his arm as he’s pulling his handbook out of his pocket, nearly causing him to drop the thing. At once, he jerks his arm back, lips curling in annoyance. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Makoto stumbles backwards, thrown off. “Sorry-I just-” His face was pink, oddly enough, and he stammers incoherently for a moment. “Um…there was a rule added recently! Where we can’t lend handbooks out to each other, so…so we should be careful, right?”

He grits his teeth, crossing his arms and looking away. But as much as he hates to admit it, Makoto is right; in his excitement, he was forgetting to practice caution. If that was all it took to sway him now, he may as well step down from heir this instant.

“...If I stay here with the handbook, it should be fine.” He says, finally. “But, that does raise a different point. Surely, you’re not doing this for free. What do you really want?”

Whatever it is, as long as it wasn’t at the cost of his life, he was sure he could provide it, or, he could have Makoto help him. Fujisaki seemed smart, and likely wouldn’t ask for anything that was impossible. The girl squirms, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“It…has to do with my secret.” She says, haltingly. “Um, you see, I…I’m not…a girl.”

There’s a quiet pause as the words hang in the air. Byakuya takes a moment to process them, but for the first time in recent memory, he finds himself at a loss for words. “...Okay?”

Apparently, that wasn’t the expected reaction. “I-I’m being serious! I’m really a boy, even though I look like this-” Fujisaki tries to stand too suddenly, and slips, crashing into the ground. “Ow!”

“Makoto, help h - Fujisaki, up.” He pulls his glasses off to rub at the bridge of his nose, suddenly exhausted. “Just…explain yourself.”

It’s a story told with stutters and the occasional sniffle, but it’s not an extraordinary one in Byakuya’s opinion. It’s pitiable, certainly, and to some degree he can understand the need to conceal one’s self for the sake of personal safety and peace. But when the story is over, he can’t help the exasperated sigh that leaves him. “So is that all?”

Fujisaki nods jerkily. During his recounting, he had come close to tears no less than three times by Byakuya’s estimate, but his fists are clenched tightly at his sides. “I don’t care if you tell the others,” He says, with about as much resolution behind his teeth as a man being threatened with torture. “I was planning to tell everyone anyway. But I’m sick of how-how weak I am, and I want to change that!”

It’s an honorable reason, he supposes. He glances at Makoto, who seems dumbfounded by the whole thing, leaning against the wall of lockers. For someone who lived an average, middle-class life without such concerns, this sort of thing must be way over his head.

“Your identity is your business.” Byakuya sighs. “I still fail to see what this has to do with your offer to me.”

“Because…because you’re so strong compared to me.” Fujisaki says this in a hushed voice, face blazing again. “You never really back down to anyone, and you’re always standing up for yourself, even in front of really scary people, and- and even though you’re blind, you don’t let it get to you at all, and it’s just- it’s so- so cool.” He shakes his head, and stands up straight, turning to Byakuya. “I…I want to be strong like you.”

For a moment Byakuya wonders if this really was just a long-winded, complex confession. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or even more bemused by the reality of it. “So, in return for putting Alter Ego on my handbook, you want me to teach you to be strong?” 

Fujisaki nods eagerly.

That’s impossible, is his automatic response. He just barely keeps it locked behind his teeth. But strength - or whatever Fujisaki was mistaking for strength from him - wasn’t something that he could teach.

If he really was strong, things would be different. He wouldn’t need to follow the whims and rules established by people below him. He wouldn’t need to have Makoto follow him around, reading for him like a child. He wouldn’t lose himself to panic, freezing up in dark hallways, or grow desperate enough to try using his own body as a bargaining chip. He was not strong, not right now; he was flawed, desperate, and terribly, constantly afraid.

“...I can’t help you.” He says at last. “What you are describing as ‘strength’ isn’t something that can be taught. I only became this way because I had to, or else everything that I was would have become meaningless.” The inheritance game for his family had been an ugly one, and one that needed him to cast away meaningless sentiments. It had been painful, but the results were clear; he was victorious, while some of his siblings had suffered fates worse than death. 

Fujisaki visibly deflates, but then perks up as he continues. “You’re already strong enough, from what I can tell. You’re smart enough to recognize someone’s fallacies and prepare an appropriate set of negotiations, and you have the willpower and resolve to confess your secret to others. Those things aren’t exactly commonplace, and can be considered strengths in and of themselves.” He pauses, considering. “The only thing you’re really lacking is confidence…and for that, I can advise you, I suppose.” 

At these words, Fujisaki makes as if to say something, before Byakuya cuts him off. “However, it will come at a price.”

“A…price?”

In lieu of a response, he lifts his handbook with a smile. “Put Alter Ego on this, first, and then we’ll talk.”

__

An hour later, he’s sitting on the bench with his handbook open on his lap, a cord running between the little device and Fujisaki’s laptop.

In the end, this was the easiest workaround they could find around Monokuma’s rule on handbook possession. Fujisaki is crouched on the gorund beside him, fingers flying over the keyboard. His eyes are wide with focus, and pressed so close to the screen that his face was tinged green.

Makoto was gone. Byakuya had sent him away, despite his protests. He doubted Fujisaki’s physical capabilities in staging a murder anyways, and the prize was worth the risk. And also because the few attempts at conversation that Makoto had made were quickly shut down by the programmer, who sternly and politely requested that any outside distractions be shut out. Now, the room was almost completely quiet, the silence broken only by the soft gurgling of pipes or the whirring of the computer’s fans.

It leaves him with time to think. To mull over the events of the day. From the reveal of the second motive, to Fukawa’s actions, and Fujisaki’s offer; overall, he had lost one thing, but gained another. All things considered, it was an acceptable outcome.

There was an issue still, however. His secret - he still did not know what it was that Monokuma enclosed in that envelope, still crumpled and tucked in his inner pocket, poking at his chest. He could use Alter Ego’s text-to-speech function, but that would mean allowing that information to become data, something that the AI itself had explained when introducing itself to Byakuya earlier, at the start of the download.

“The more you use me, the more I learn, and it’ll let me do more than just hack the firewall.” The program had Fujisaki’s voice, albeit brighter and steadier, as it explained its own terms of usage. “But if you want, I can opt out of using certain information. For anything you don’t want me to remember, please let me know beforehand.”

Alter Ego had chirped this with an oddly human tone of confidence, but he found it hard to believe its words - in an enclosed space where information sources were scarce, what was stopping it from doing so anyways?

…Maybe I’m being too paranoid. He covers his eyes with a hand. Here he was, isolated in a room with no cameras, allowing Fujisaki to tinker with his handbook. Wasn't he getting too worried about the wrong thing?

“Done!”

He jerks his head up. Fujisaki has his arms raised in triumph. “I did it! Take a look at your handbook now.”

He looks down, and it still looks the same. The brightness is turned down, so he can make out individual shapes easier, but the words were still otherwise illegible to him. He taps at one of the navigation buttons several times in quick succession -

“School Regulations. Student Profile. Settings.” A robotic voice chirrups from the speaker, and he nearly drops it in surprise. “Applications. Date and time.”

“You can use the navigation buttons to swap between the tabs…and it’ll say out loud what tab you’re on.” Fujisaki explains, as he gathers up the cord. “You can also change the volume output with those buttons on the side. If you select a tab, it’ll read out what’s in it…um, it might be easier to figure it out by working with it yourself, though.”

“Show me how to use the text-to-speech first.”

He tests the function with a poster on the wall. After a moment of held-breath silence - 

“‘Rules of the bathhouse.’”  Alter Ego’s voice, more human-like than the automatic one of the handbook, is even and monotone through the tiny speakers. “‘Do not run or horseplay. Clean up after yourselves. And most importantly, practice safety and respect!’“

Byakuya barely manages to contain the palpable elation that threatens to break his composure. As it is, he humors Fujisaki’s giddy, tentative offer of a high-five, a grin threatening to split his face.

“I don’t offer praise freely, you know.” He says, closing the handbook and tucking it, safely, preciously, into his breast pocket. “But if you happen to be in the market for a job once we’re out of here, feel free to keep me in mind.”

As if that would ever happen. Based on what he’s seen, his work was unparalleled, and there were probably countless companies falling over themselves waiting for him to graduate. But Fujisaki laughs, and nods.

“Sure, I’ll put you on the list.” He replies with a smile, and the cheekiness of his words is not lost on Byakuya. To go from timid and trembling to this in the span of evening…

It seemed that he was going to be just fine.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #thpff #byakuya togami #danganronpa fanfiction #chihiro fujisaki #is he byakuya. is he going to be 'just fine'.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 19

(blowing a lil party horn and firing confetti poppers) YIPPEEEE

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

sorry to the ishimondo fans

this is the one with an execution!!!

@digitaldollsworld my bestie my lord my homie <333

Content warning tags: descriptions of injury and mild gore, character death, canon-typical violence, guns

< previous - from start - next >

“NO!”

Owada’s shout is loud enough to startle Byakuya out of the slight torpor he had fallen into, too busy trying to fend off the migraine that was threatening to make him sick. He jerks, eyes blinking open to see Owada leaning in Ishimaru’s direction, his entire frame tense and trembling with restraint.

“It’s okay, Taka, you don’t have to say it,” He’s babbling, talking in a rush. His complexion is blanched, with fear or desperation, maybe both. “It’s okay, okay? I’ll tell them. It’s fine.”

“You really should let him-” Kirigiri starts to say, but Owada shakes his head vigorously, his hair bounces side-to-side.

“No, I’m not gonna make him cover for me any longer. I’m not gonna make him- make him lie for me.” He cuts Kirigiri off, before drawing himself up tall. “I did it. Okay? I killed him. I killed Chihiro.”

“Mondo-” Makoto starts to say, but Owada barrels through him like a steam train. His voice has the same, strained quality of a whisper, but it feels shockingly loud at the same time, the only thing audible in the entire room.

“It was - I know I was calm. Earlier. When Chihiro told me everything. And - I really was supportive. I was happy for him, so happy for him, you saw me Makoto, that was all real. But-” He pauses to take a sharp breath, and Byakuya wonders if he looks as insane as he sounds, leaning over the edge of the railing, like a seasick man over the edge of a rocking ship. Spewing words like he’s trying to empty his stomach of them. “I was thinking about it after, and I just. I just got so fucking mad, I mean - we all have secrets, and mine is - I know it’s probably not the worst one here, but it’s something I’ve been holding on to for so long, and he was just. Flaunting it around? Like it was something to be proud of?” He snorts a laugh, ugly and demeaning. “If it was that easy, then what the hell have I been doing all this time?”

His voice breaks, and for a moment his shoulders slump. But he regains his composure just as quickly, drawing himself back up with a shuddering breath. “I.. on the way back to the trophy room, I couldn’t stop feeling angry. It was like I couldn’t see anything else but red, I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. And when I got back I saw - I saw Taka, injured, and Chihiro standing over him -” He swallows. “It’s not an excuse. I know Chihiro would’ve never hurt him, never hurt anyone - but I was so angry and he was there, and there was a trophy on the floor, with blood on the corner, so I just…”

No one says a word. The implication of what he had done hangs over them all, like a fog - like a body, Byakuya thinks. Fukawa hadn’t been able to pin Chihiro as high up as Syo, but it feels like the boy was watching over them. A ghost listening silently from the rafters.

“...Then, tell us. If you did kill Chihiro, how did you do it?” Kirigiri asks at last, and Owada makes a sound crossed between a sob and a groan.

“I - I just sort of blanked out, when it happened. When I came to, he was there, and - I didn’t know what to do.” He lifts his face, and Byakuya can make out the shine of tears, the gray pallor of his skin. “So I took Taka to the nurse’s room first. And bandaged him up. And then I grabbed supplies to clean up the scene - that’s where I got a sheet to wrap Chihiro up in, and the gauze pads to soak up the blood.” He’s slowed down now. The words come tiredly, laboriously. “And then I…I was just thinking about cleaning up the room at first. That was all I could do, so I just did it. I wasn’t thinking about my survival or anything, or the fact that I might end up getting killed by this fucking bear - I just. I was planning on confessing to it all, but I didn’t want the place where he died to be so…so messed up.”

“Oh, Mondo…” Hagakure breathes quietly, grievingly. Owada’s head twitches, but he presses on.

“I went to check up on Taka, and when I came back, the body - Chihiro - he was gone. Sheet and all.” He laughs again, another twisted sound. “I thought, maybe it was all a dream? Maybe I was going crazy and Chihiro wasn’t dead, and all that blood was from Taka’s injury? I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think. But I went back to what I was doing, and then a little later, the announcement went off. And you all know what happened after that.”

The room is silent for a long moment. No one says a word, and Byakuya can only just make out the sound of breathing, the only indication of life. And, a slight, quiet rattling; Ishimaru was trembling slightly, but still not uttering a sound.

In the silence, all Byakuya can feel is a storming, pitch-dark rage; rage for Chihiro, killed over something so pointless and without warning, rage at Fukawa for framing him, and rage at Owada for hiding it all. For losing control of himself in the first place. “So afterwards, Fukawa went downstairs and found the body. If we consider the sheet around Chihiro’s corpse and the scene cleaned of blood, that also helps explain how she was able to hold off Syo for so long.” He says, disgustedly. “But, the bloodied gauze in the library. I’m assuming that you were the one who put it there? Whatever happened to confessing?”

“I was! …I was, planning to confess to all of it. But then I saw Chihiro’s body, and - and as everyone was talking about Syo, I saw you holding the file and the blood, and I thought… I thought I had a chance. I mean, you were right there, and…I knew that Makoto wouldn’t have been able to back you up. I stuffed the gauze through the gap between the library door hinges while everyone was investigating.” Owada looks up for the first time, and Byakuya can’t see what look he’s wearing. And he feels glad for that; he doesn’t want to see whatever simpering face Owada has, pleading for forgiveness, miserable and sullen. “I know it was wrong, but all the pieces just seemed to fit together so perfectly, and the more time that went on, the more believable it seemed, and- I’m sorry. I really am.”

And Byakuya wants to scream.

What use is your worthless apology, he wants to rage. It wouldn’t resolve anything - in the end, he had still been accused, and humiliated, and now utterly disgraced. He was still blind and disabled. Chihiro was still dead. “All this, because you couldn’t decide if you wanted to live or die? Did you never consider if you deserved to?” He hisses, and Owada actually flinches back.

“I know I don’t. I’m sorry.” He repeats quietly, and he sounds so hollow and drained that Byakuya finds it hard to maintain his anger, all the heat and passion dissipating in an instant like smoke. It leaves him feeling empty, bewildered, and so, so tired.

“...Well. It seems that it’s time to vote, no?” Celeste claps her hands lightly, a smile in her voice. “Monokuma, won’t you please?”

“Since you asked so politely…I was still enjoying this dee-light-ful soap drama, but for my precious student, I will oblige!” Monokuma bounces up to its feet, one arm raised high in preparation to call the vote. “Everyone-”

“Wait.” Kirigiri interrupts. She hasn’t looked away from Owada once, her pale face turned towards him this entire time like a hawk. “Something’s not right.”

“Wha- what do you mean?” Hagakure asks. “It’s pretty cut and clear by now, right?”

“It’s suspicious. Why put in so much effort trying to pin the crime on Byakuya, and then confess so suddenly now?” Kirigiri rebuts. “And we still haven’t heard Taka’s testimony.”

“Man…come on, Kiri. Just look at him. I don’t think he’s in any shape to talk.” Hagakure shakes his head. “And - I think we shouldn’t push this on any longer than it needs to be.”

“Our lives are on the line. I don’t want to move on until we’re entirely sure.”

“He’s already confessed, though…isn’t this enough?” Yamada lets out a long-suffering sigh. “And, I can’t see any indication of anyone else who might’ve done it.”

“No, but Kyoko has a point,” Asahina interjects. “We almost got tricked once already into thinking it was Byakuya, right? We should be careful.”

“Yes. We should err on the side of caution,” Ogami agrees. “I can’t see the harm in having Taka speak, and…I cannot trust Mondo’s confession entirely. No matter how logical it seems.”

“He can’t,” Owada cuts in, that desperate tinge on his voice again. “I keep telling you guys- can’t you just leave him alone? Please?” He hangs his head low. “I know - I’ve done bad by you guys, I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, but please, just…he’s been through a lot. Can’t you cut him a break?”

“Erm…Can you kids make up your mind?” Monokuma is still standing, balanced precariously on the tips of its toes with one arm still straining upwards. “My stitches are ‘bout to pop, you know!!”

During this whole time, Makoto was silent. Thinking again, Byakuya recognized, as he usually does with his chin tucked under a curled finger, his foot tapping a quiet rhythm against the floor.

“Okay, then. Taka doesn’t have to talk.” He says slowly. “But in that case - Taka, can you please take off your bandage? So we can see the wound?”

“The wound-?” Owada sputters, taken aback by the sudden request. “Wha- Makoto, what are you…?”

“Something about the whole story has been bothering me. Mondo, I know that you, uh…sometimes, you react kinda strongly, I guess, to stuff that makes you mad, but you’re also really caring. I find it hard to believe that you’d twist up on Chihiro like that so fast.” Makoto drops his hand to a fist at his side, clenched tight. “If the trophy really did hit Taka as bad as you said - where he got hit by the edge of it - then the wound should also be really bad, right?” He turns back to Ishimaru. “Taka, please. You don’t need to say anything, but- please, just show us.”

“No way, he doesn’t need to-” But Owada stops suddenly, slack-jawed as he stares.

Watching as Ishimaru slowly unwinds the stained, white strips wrapped around his head with shaky hands.

—

“As I thought,” Kyoko says, as the last bandage falls away. “There’s nothing there to constitute that amount of blood on that bandage, is there?”

And it’s true. The pile of linen that now litter the floor around Taka’s feet is stained and spotted through with blood, but there’s no sign of an injury anywhere on his head. There’s not even a bump, or a bruise.

Makoto swallows thickly, before he continues. “Taka, you never hit your head at all, did you?” And Taka flinches, face somehow blanching paler. “You’re the one that killed Chihiro.”

“No, he didn’t, it was me-!” Mondo throws out an arm in Taka’s direction, as if trying to shield him from the accusations. “I keep telling you - I was the one who did it, I killed Chihiro-”

“No you didn’t. You were covering for him.” This was the worst. Mondo - he was violent at the worst of times, but ultimately kind, and extremely loyal - and right now, Makoto was going to kill his best friend.

“Are you stupid or something? Makoto, hey-” There’s a strange grin twitching on the corner of Mondo’s mouth, like this was some joke he could laugh off. “I’m telling you - how many times do I have to tell you? It was me.”

“It wasn’t-”

“It was!”

It goes on like this for a while. Everyone else is silent - or, it feels like they’re silent. Makoto can’t really hear them, not over the rush in his own head, or Mondo’s desperate, hysteric words, denying the accusation, insulting Makoto and everyone else, cursing, pleading, screaming. It’s the same as when Leon was condemned, when all he could do at the end of it was wail, ‘stupid, stupid, stupid!’ until Makoto pointed out the toolkit, the undeniable proof that it had to be him. Or, when it was Byakuya-

And he stumbles a bit, his rebuttal stuttering as he falters. He remembers the look on Byakuya’s face as he asked about his handbook, with the knowledge that he couldn’t bring it out himself. Not without revealing it to Monokuma. And therefore forcing him to admit it by his own words, the one thing he wanted to conceal from everyone else in the room. The betrayal, the hatred - just thinking about him made Makoto want to disappear.

But there’d been no other choice. Kyoko told him as much when they were investigating; ‘There’s a likelihood that you will have to reveal his secret during the trial,’ she had said, as they inspected the still-damp floorboards of the trophy room. ‘It may be the only way to clear his name.’

He’ll hate me for it, Makoto had protested, and she had just shrugged and turned back to inspecting the trophies, one of which had small dots of blood at the corner of its marble base.

‘Would you rather live being hated or die knowing you could have prevented it? He’ll get over it if he wants to survive.’ 

Easy for her to say, he thinks, as Mondo screams something at him, an barb so ugly it made him feel equal parts furious and sick with guilt, because Mondo would probably never say such a thing otherwise if it weren’t for this. She’s never had to do this before.

“Dammit, show me the proof! If he did do it, what’s the proof!” Mondo shouts, accompanied by a loud bang as he slams his hands against the railing. “You don’t have any goddamn proof, you little shit! So don’t just stand there and say shit you don’t know!”

“That’s enough.”

For a moment, it’s hard to place who said that. The words were spoken so quietly, after all, and so raspy it was hard to discern whose voice it was. But Byakuya cocks his head, and turns to look in Taka’s direction with a frown.

Taka is still as still as ever, but one hand rests on the bannister, and he’s leaning forward. “That’s enough, Mondo,” He says again, louder, before coughing into his elbow, clearing his throat. “Please…just stop.”

Mondo looks like he was slapped across the face, mouth agape in shock. “Wh-what are you saying?” He tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a sob than anything. “Taka - bro, it’s okay, you fell and hit your head-”

“Mondo. That’s enough,” He repeats. His eyes are hollow; Makoto finds it hard to look him in the face. “I killed Chihiro.”

Kyoko is the only one who speaks up to ask: “How?”

Taka talks slowly, haltingly, as if trying to dredge the memories up. “It - it was after Mondo left with Chihiro and Makoto. To the cafeteria. I was still cleaning, alone - when I’m alone, I think. About things, my family outside the school, if they’re alive, my secret, my grandfather - and then Chihiro came back. Alone.” He sways slightly, steadied only by his hand, white-knuckled against the wood. “And - as he was talking - I was still thinking - and -”

He pauses, taking slow, deep breaths. No one says a word. Makoto’s not sure if he’s even breathing.

“It just - it wasn’t fair. Him, confessing it - it was so easy, for him. He was so happy about it. My grandfather - if you knew, you would hate me. That’s how it’s always been, everyone who’s ever known about it, hated me. But he was so happy, and he -” He takes another deep, shuddering breath. “It was an accident. I - I just pushed him, I didn’t think I pushed him hard, but he hit the shelf. And, the trophy…”

It’s not hard to figure out what happened afterward. Makoto can practically imagine it, though he doesn’t want to; Chihiro going up to Taka, and Taka, too caught up in his own trauma, backing away, combatting his own fury and dread. And Chihiro, walking up closer to check on him, only to get shoved bodily backwards, into the trophy shelf, and then-

Mondo is shaking his head, tears falling silently down his face - muttering ‘no’ under his breath, over and over, like a mantra. Taka turns to him, a sad sort of smile tugging at his mouth.

“Thank you, Mondo. For trying,” And he sounds so genuine and so incredibly sad. “But - I can’t let my family be disgraced anymore. I can’t let anyone die for my sake.”

“No, no, no,” Mondo repeats, and despite his size, he shakes like a leaf. “No, don’t, don’t, Taka,” And his voice breaks. “Don’t- Please don’t, I won’t be able to take it, I can’t take it, Taka- not again-”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, don’t you dare fucking apologize-! Just-” He breaks down fully now, and turns away, one hand raised to his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Celeste interrupts, still wearing her indecipherable smile, unnatural red eyes narrowed slightly as she addresses Taka. “But I recall you were the first to suggest sharing secrets the night Monokuma revealed the motive, no?”

Taka recoils slightly at that, bowing his head. “I…I was. I thought - I could be prepared. If it’s the right thing to do, I could do it. But-” he turns away, his brows twisted into a scowl. “I…”

“Enough.” Kyoko sighs. “There’s no point in making pointless allegations. We have our explanation. There’s nothing left to say.”

And she casts Makoto a look, which Makoto interprets immediately, and he sighs.

—

As Makoto explains, it started when he and Chihiro were walking around the first floor, planning to find and talk to everyone Chihiro had yet to disclose his secret to.

After they had spoken to Owada, Chihiro went to talk with Ishimaru alone - Ishimaru, who was so rule-abiding and careful that no one would assume him to be of any danger - and that was how he died. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, and completely by accident.

Owada was the one who found the body, and to protect his friend, who was reeling from shock, he concocted a story as he wrapped the corpse in a cloth and mopped up the blood. To claim that he killed Chihiro, that Taka was merely injured, and therefore protect his friend from harm.

It was during this time that Fukawa was in the library, making her own confession, before Byakuya’s swift rejection sent her fleeing. As she went down the first floor, she saw the body, and with the cord that was tangled around her ankle, she strung it up outside the library door in a poor likeness of Syo’s handiwork. In some twisted display of vengeance, or a demand for attention, or something; and when it was done, overwhelmed by the blood and exhausted by her own perseverance, she took the sheet to the bathroom with her and collapsed, where Kirigiri found her moments later.

Byakuya listens to him explain it through a fog, feeling distant from it all. As if he was merely observing it from behind a broken, filthy screen, the sounds tinny and the visuals shot. He watches as Owada clings to Ishimaru, screaming for mercy at Monokuma’s feet. He watches as Ishimaru is dragged ruthlessly away anyway, behind the steel doors of the execution chamber.

He watches the execution, from behind a glass window. Ishimaru standing in a gleaming white car, the sunroof pulled down, driving through a street lined with the black-and-white shapes of more Monokumas, cheering indistinctly as confetti rains around him. The Monokuma in the seat next to him is holding a sign, lifting his arm to make him wave, poking his cheek to make him smile.

There’s a loud crack, and Ishimaru seems to stumble, a bloom of blood on the shoulder of his white uniform. But he doesn’t fall; he must be held up by some kind of mechanism or another, because a moment later he’s upright again, still being forced to wave, to smile, even as the cheering turns to jeers and he starts being pelted with what looks like rotten fruit, the dark red shapes of tomatoes smashing against his head. Another gunshot, and this time it’s his leg, a large, dark spot in his thigh. Another, in his stomach, and he seems to cough a little, blood trickling from his mouth.

There must be a microphone or something pinned to Ishimaru’s collar, because Byakuya can hear his breathing, harsh and labored, pitched with fear. The whimpering he can’t quite suppress, the jumps in his throat as he tries to swallow. And, the quiet whisper, barely audible behind the shouting, the gunshots, the noise of it all -

‘I’m sorry-

The final shot is a thunderous noise accompanied by a sudden, gaping pit between his eyes. He slumps, and the scene stills at last; the crowd stops yelling, the car freezes in its tracks. The lights go off, plunging Ishimaru’s lonely form into darkness.

And through it all, Owada never stopped screaming once.

Byakuya tears his eyes away, holding onto the railing of the stand to keep from falling as he steps down. It’s a similar scene as the aftermath of the last trial, everyone either comforting each other or wallowing in their own grief, and Monokuma giggling over them.

“Oh, oh, oh! That was good! Not even ol’ John could’ve done it better!” It sings, dancing between them. “I got a little antsy earlier when you called for the vote the first time, but you all pulled through with fly-ing colors!! Amazing performance! Especially that last confession, I was so moved!” It cackles, twirling and landing right next to Owada, who was on his knees, hands plastered against the window as if praying. “Such a lovely display of friendship at the end there, or was it really friendship? Whatever the case, the bond between men sure is something! I don’t think I’ve ever seen - whoops!”

Owada had grabbed him, and now rises with the bear dangling between his hands. His arms are trembling like Monokuma’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held.

“You,” He hisses, and his voice is wet and choked through. “If it wasn’t for you- if it wasn’t for you-!”

“Puhu, do you ree-ally want to do this, Mister Owada? Didn’t you learn your lesson on the first day of school?” Monokuma swings its feet in the air. “I’d hate to punish you after that amazing show-”

“I don’t care.” He spits. As Byakuya draws closer, he can hear the quiet splat of fat tears, striking the floor. “I don’t care, you killed him- I should tear you to pieces right now-”

And he stops, as Byakuya places a hand on his elbow. “Put it down.”

He’s sure that the face Owada is giving him is positively murderous. “Why should I,” he snarls, and his words are still thick with grief. “The fucker-”

“Even if you break this one, another one will take his place. And there’s probably countless replacements.” Byakuya sighs. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure himself. “What are you planning to accomplish? Other than a very messy suicide?”

“You bastard-” He drops Monokuma, who lands with a squeak, and grabs Byakuya instead, hoisting him by the collar. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? What does it matter to you if I die?” His last words sound less like a threat and more like a genuine question.

Instead of immediately replying, Byakuya casts a glance over his shoulder. Only a few people were watching them, the rest too preoccupied by their own misery. “...Take a look. There’s only so many of us left.” Byakuya looks back to Mondo, and even through the haze, he can see his face is pinched into a look of anguish. ”Did you hear what his last words were? Because I did.”

The grip on his shirt slackens, and his feet meet stable ground again. He pushes Owada’s limp hands away. “I don’t care if you want to die. But take responsibility at least.” He glares at him, his kneeling form. “We can’t leave until everyone’s on the elevator, so stand up and walk.”

There’s a part of him that wants to berate Owada - to tell him that Ishimaru likely never wanted his help in the first place, that all he accomplished was unnecessary strife - but such a thing doesn’t sit right with him. That would be the actions of someone petty and sore, a pathetic loser who couldn’t let it go; and right now, all Byakuya wants to do is sleep.

He steps onto the elevator. Celeste is already there, poised as ever, as is Yamada, who is mumbling unhappily to himself. Kirigiri and Makoto join them shortly after.

Makoto balks slightly when he sees Byakuya, tripping at the threshold with a yelp. But he straightens up quickly, glances around, and slowly, hesitantly, walks to Byakuya’s side. “Um…”

“Be silent.” He snaps. Makoto recoils instantly. “Do not speak to me. The deal is null.”

“Byakuya-”

He turns away, focusing on the metal grates of the elevator walls. The wires are bent into some kind of honeycomb pattern, though it’s not like Byakuya could make out exactly what.

He half-expects Makoto to say something more, but the elevator ride up is silent and still.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #byakuya togami #danganronpa fanfiction #my beta reader called me sick for including that microphone in the execution but to be fair i think monokuma did that. for 'accessibility' #hiii roman btw!! <33 #this chap was soooo fun to write tbh i loved writing the execution...sorry to the fans #the execution was based of the original unused execution concepts btw! #idk what it was called originally but in my head im calling it 'motorcade in the plaza' (jfk reference) #also whoah shit an on-time upload? amazing #im so proud of myself honestly bc im also laid up in bed rn with awful awful chest and tummy pains #im ok btw its da flu + cold + weird ribcage etc etc #i might not update for a while after this i gotta focus on some irl stuff...will do my best to return soon tho!!!

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 1

Ok here we go

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

From what I know, very few blind people actually perceive their surroundings as complete darkness, and it's more common for people to still perceive changes in light.

For Byakuya, he has low vision, so he can see color and vague outlines, but finer details are more or less impossible. Get Gaussian blurred, idiot.

I'll include content warning tags before each chapter but if I miss anything please let me know.

Content warning tags: implied non-consensual body modification, ableist internal dialogue

next >

The first thing that Byakuya Togami notices when he wakes up isn't the unfamiliar classroom of his surroundings, or the uncomfortable position in which he was slumped over on the wooden desk.

Rather, the first thing he wonders is: Why are my glasses so filthy?

His surroundings are fogged around him as he blinks, squints, and tries to make out anything more distinct than a vague, fuzzy blob of color. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with a silk handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and puts them back on. And then takes them off again, places them to his mouth and fogs the surface, wipes them, and tries again. And then again, and again, until at last he sets slowly down the spectacles with a quiet 'click' against the desk, blinking slowly, deliberately.

It didn't make sense. It was one thing if his glasses were just filthy, though he couldn't imagine who he would let get close enough to dirty them up to this point, but it was another thing for him to be nearly blind without them. Even without his lenses, his vision was nearly 20/40 - and yet, here he found himself squinting his eyes to nearly shutting, and was still unable to discern even the large, colorful characters on the brochure on the desk next to him, even when held less than an inch away from his face.

Impossible, he thinks first. He must still be half-asleep, and he rubs his eyes, trying to wipe away some invisible veil, knuckling against his eyelids until stars burst in the darkness. But the fog still didn't clear.

The realization is a sick dread that settles into the pit of his stomach. He doesn't panic, because a Togami doesn't panic, but an old anxiety was beginning to grow, twining roots into his chest. He opts to ignore that and the rising beat of his pulse and begins flicking through his memories, logically and methodically, trying to think when and how this could have happened.

He woke up this morning at his usual five AM. He went through his usual morning routine until six, at which point his chauffeur drove him to Hope's Peak Academy by seven. He passed excited crowds of news reporters, fellow students, and crying parents, through the school doors...

And then...

Nothing. He rubs his thumb against the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with anything past stepping foot into the entrance hall, but all he gets is a nauseating blur, the memories turning to mush. Had he passed out? Did someone carry him here? How long had it been since then?

What time is it, he thinks, and looks up. His watch is as good as useless, the pearl hands blending in nearly perfectly with the egg-colored enamel face, so he scans the room for a wall clock, and finally locates a vague, white circle hanging above the dark expanse of the blackboard. The thin black hands aren't even visible to him, and he ends up having to stand directly below it to make out what positions they're pointing at. It was just before 8, which meant that it hadn't even been an hour since he first crossed the threshold.

It was possible that that would have been enough time to knock him out, blind him, and then leave him here, but Hope's Peak prided itself on its security, especially for its high-class students. And Byakuya had been surrounded by his bodyguards all the way until his unconsciousness. And he had made sure that the few siblings who survived his family's game of inheritance didn't have the resources or the will to try anything so petty as vengeance.

He rubs his eyes again, as if that would do anything. From what he could tell, he was in a classroom, likely still within the Academy, and it'd do him no good to stay in the room in the off-chance that his attacker returned. He needed to find someone - faculty, maybe, or one of his guards - and get his eyes fixed, first and foremost. And he wasn't so helpless that he'd let someone get the drop on him a second time, blinded or not.

But even with this plan in mind, he found his hand trembling as he set it on the doorknob, and he hesitates before he leaves the room.

The hallways are strangely empty, despite the earlier hubbub. There are no students running around trying to find their classrooms or their dorms, or exploring the facilities. There are no teachers either, offering welcomes and introductions, promoting the safety and warmth of the Academy. Rather, the place is eerily silent, and it unnerves Byakuya further.

He catches himself glancing around far too often, scanning desperately for any movement, and scolds himself for it. It was a show of fear, and one that he should have abandoned long ago, even when he was being chased by his older siblings in a wild game of power upheavals and assassinations. But between the lack of sound and the fact that his surroundings were entirely unfamiliar (and furthermore, entirely obscured), he couldn't help canting his head around like a nervous deer, trying to find even the smallest detail that could offer him anything.

He finally catches on to the low murmur of talking, however, and after a brief moment of consideration, walks towards the sound. If it was assassins, they would have to be very unprofessional ones to be speaking so casually in such an open space. And as he enters a large room, walled off on one side by a mass of steel-gray, he sees a few people standing around; none of them dressed remotely like an assassin, or acting like one, and he could even recognize the majority of them from their vague silhouettes and general colors, and the news article he had perused that morning about his fellow classmates. There was the broad frame of Sakura Ogami, the Ultimate Martial Artist, and then the wild, fluffed-up hair of Yasuhiro Hagakure, the Ultimate Clairvoyant. Even the wild pompadour of the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, Mondo Owada, didn't escape his recognition, nor did the punkish, uneducated tone of his voice.

"Who the fuck're you?" The Owada-shaped figure grunts as Byakuya approaches, and he frowns at the rudeness, though he had expected nothing less.

He doesn't bother to respond right away, instead looking between those gathered. He counts thirteen blobs, which meant they were still expecting two more to join them to complete this year's class of sixteen. Standing closer, he can just make out some facial features when he squints; Owada's face in particular, has his brow scrunched in a look of disdain, and one person - Toko Fukawa, maybe? Judging by her braided pigtails - seemed to be watching him, though she quickly looks away as he turns towards her.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you!"

"I don't talk to ruffians," Byakuya replies, not even bothering to face him and ignoring the indignant sputters as he walks away. Even if all these people were strangers to him, he felt better already, being among them. The safety of a herd was something that a Togami was usually above, but it was good to take advantage of such things during perilous times, such as now. And at the very least, it might be harder for him to get singled out.

"Excuse me," comes a different voice, though no less sharp or intense. This time from a straight-backed figure in white, and with dark, spiky hair. "My name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Please introduce yourself!"

"And why should I?"

Ishimaru wasn't as easily ruffled by Byakuya's brusque manner as Owada, though his stark eyebrows did somehow furrow even more on his pale face. "As a class, we should all work together to get along for our educational crusade! We all have already introduced ourselves to each other. Please do the same!"

He was annoying. But he had a point. If Byakuya was going to be living with these people for his high-school life, he might as well let them know how to refer to him...and he had a feeling if he didn't offer the minimal level of cooperation to Ishimaru, he would never see the end of it. "Byakuya Togami," He replies simply, and moves on before anyone can say anything else.

None of these people seem to be killers. He can't sense any killing intent, though he does get an inexplicable shiver as he walks by Fukawa, standing next to the twin, pale-pink fans of Junko Enoshima's hair, though he puts that down as the rank odor that comes off of her as he passes. He settles to stand a small distance away from all of them, and with his curt introduction over and him standing seemingly out of earshot, they resume their conversation, and Byakuya can make out a few phrases that equally reassure and unsettle him.

'Do you think he's...like us?'

'Must have. I mean, he was walking from the direction of the classrooms, right?'

'Someone should go ask him, can you go ask...?'

'Forget it. He freaks me out, glaring like that...'

It sounded like they were all in a similar state, having woken up in a classroom and found their way here. He wonders if any of them were also blind, or otherwise found themselves suddenly impaired, but it wouldn't do him any good to reveal that about himself now. No matter how much safer it was to be a part of the group, he couldn't let them know his weaknesses, not if it turned out that one of them did mean him some kind of harm.

Standing from this position, he can finally recognize where he was. It was the entrance hall of the Academy, and behind him was where the entrance should have been. But instead, as he reaches out to touch it, he's met with a sheer surface of metal, heavy and unyielding, and not the proud, hand-carved wooden doors that he had passed through not an hour earlier. Was this place not Hope's Peak, then? If so, where was it? And how did they all get transported here?

He clicks his tongue, annoyed. He'd had nothing but questions and unsolved mysteries since he woke up, and it frustrated him almost as much as his vision. He fights the urge to keep touching his eyes, settling on drumming his fingers against his elbow, and finally polishing his glasses lenses once more. At this point, the action was as good as meaningless, but the repetitiveness of the motion was calming, and he couldn't help the quiet glimmer of hope that maybe, eventually, it would clear up.

He hears the newcomer before he sees them, the quiet click of footsteps from the hall making his head jerk up. He doesn't recognize this figure, not even as they approached nearer; white hair and dark purple clothes, not matching any of the profiles he had seen. He hears the others and Ishimaru give them a similar greeting, and the figure responds, voice calm and feminine.

"My name is Kyoko Kirigiri," Is all they say. Like Byakuya, they don't offer anything more, and for some reason that puts him on edge. They're too much like him, too calculating and careful - not the same fodder as the rest of the class - and they strike him as someone who knows more than they're letting on. He hears them ask some questions, mostly in regards to the classrooms and how everyone got here, before moving to stand just a few meters away from him in silence. Not approaching him, nor letting themselves be approached by anyone else.

Dangerous, he notes. He mentally files this away, and pretends to be too focused on cleaning the nose-pads of his glasses to pay them any mind.

A few minutes later, their sixteenth class member joins them. Makoto Naegi, someone else who hadn't stood out to Byakuya on the roster, has spiky brown hair and a bumbling, wondering voice. Unlike Kirigiri, he takes his time to talk to each of his classmates, and he sounds friendly but confused. And a little dense, in Byakuya's opinion - his entire demeanor screams 'commoner'.

Byakuya doesn't bother to say anything as Naegi moves to stand before him, not even as he feels expectant eyes resting on his face. But it becomes clear that the boy had no plans of walking away until he got a name at least, so Byakuya sighs and puts on his glasses, and glares down at Naegi, his face no more visible than it had been a moment before.

"Name's Byakuya Togami," Is all he says. Naegi babbles some kind of greeting, but Byakuya is already not paying attention, gaze wandering. This one didn't seem as dangerous as Kirigiri, at least, or even particularly outstanding in any other way. That made him seem all the stranger; a seemingly unremarkable person in a school meant for remarkable people; Byakuya couldn't imagine what his special talent could be, if he had one at all.

He tries to focus his gaze on one of the banners on the wall. Royal blue and etched with gold lettering - if he tries, he might be able to find the letters that match one of his ancestors. He frowns, staring intently…

"Um, are you...are your eyes okay?"

Byakuya stiffens immediately, eyes snapping back down to Naegi's face. "What is that supposed to mean?" He hisses sharply, and Naegi startles back, surprised.

"Sorry! I didn't mean-you were just squinting, even after putting on your glasses, so I just-" he stammers, voice deceptively innocent. Byakuya feels his blood run cold, his fists clenching at his sides. "Um, I'll just....go? Sorry again?"

He doesn't relax until Naegi has scurried away, nails biting into his palms as he tries to calm himself. Had he really been squinting so obviously this whole time, or had that peasant just been absurdly observant? Whatever the case, Byakuya would have to fix that habit, or else, keep the others from finding out.

Never mind what he thought earlier about Naegi seeming harmless. That boy was probably the most dangerous one here.

next >

#thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #blind!byakuya #makoto naegi #naegami #thpff chapters

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 11

uh oh...

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

It wouldn't be Byakuya if he didn't randomly decide to start shit for no reason

Sometimes I wish Byakuya and Kyoko would just make out instead of whatever happens here

@moonlighttogami ! <3 !!!!

Content warning tags: None come to mind? But there are complex rituals

< previous - from start - next >

Despite the impending sense of dread that seems to fall over the rest of the class, Byakuya spends much of the next day with buoyed spirits.

It was hard for him to be displeased, after all. After parting ways with Fujisaki, he had spent a good portion of the rest of the night experimenting with the handbook, reading through one of the books he had brought from the library. By the time he finally decided to go to bed (at 3:27 AM, as announced by the handbook’s clock), he was completely familiar with most of the functionalities.

It wasn’t as good as having his vision back, of course, but it was leagues better than what he had before. Not just because he had a way to read, but a way to do something by his own volition; never before had he realized how much he missed being able to tell the time.

His good mood does not go unnoticed. Kirigiri approaches him at breakfast that morning, standing in front of him, arms crossed.

“You seem happy.” It doesn’t sound accusatory, rather, it’s as pointing out the weather, but she’s not the type to approach him without some kind of ulterior intentions. And remembering their last interaction, he suspects that he should be on guard now.

But, not even she can damper his mood, and he smiles politely at her anyways. “Do I? How kind of you to notice.” He hums, as he sips his second cup of coffee. If the others had noticed the strange confrontation occurring between them, they were ignoring it. Over at the group table, he can hear Fujisaki talking animatedly with Ogami and Asahina, making plans to try weight-lifting. The night before, Byakuya had suggested to him to start small in building his confidence up by confessing his secret to the others in small increments, since he was planning on coming out anyways.

“Oh, but make sure that you’re not alone in the room with just one other person. That’s a recipe for disaster.” He had added offhandedly, as they walked back to their rooms that night. “We’re still in a killing game after all. Everyone might seem friendly enough, but we’re all competition at the end of the day.”

Fujisaki had apparently taken it seriously, and was making strides in progress. He no longer seemed so quiet and hesitant, pushed to the outskirts. As he laughs along with something that Hagakure had said, Byakuya allows himself to feel a little pride in that, taking credit for the change.

Kirigiri still hovers in front of him, quiet. He raises an eyebrow at her. “Is there something that you need?”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” She stares down at him. “You don’t seem bothered that our secrets will be revealed in around twelve hours.”

It’s true. He feels oddly light, even with that knowledge. Perhaps it was the handbook, bolstering his certainty in his own capabilities. No matter what would happen, he was sure he could overcome it as he always had. Even if his secrets did get revealed here…

Well, the Togami family had methods of keeping tight lids, and not even a faceless mastermind could compare to one of the oldest, most prestigious families in history. He’d suffer reprimands later, for letting such a thing happen…but with his circumstances, he thinks he could be afforded a little bit of leeway.

It’s for this reason that he decides to try stirring things up. “Maybe I’m counting on someone to die.” He replies languidly, fingers knit together, and there’s a sudden hush that follows his words. He thought the others might be listening in, and it seems he was correct.

“W-what?” It’s Fujisaki’s voice that speaks up. He’s standing up, staring at Byakuya. There’s likely a look of horror on his face.

“Am I wrong?” He replies, looking down his nose at all of them. “We’re all in competition at the moment, and our lives are only one of the things at stake. No matter what, someone is bound to die.”

“But-but we’re friends,” Fujisaki protests. “Even with secrets, to kill each other over them…that’s just horrific!”

He stares at Fujisaki, a little irritated. “Don’t be foolish. I’m sure that our secrets all hold different weights in our eyes, so don’t go assuming that we’re all looking forward to having them be publicly revealed.” The smaller boy seems to shrink back a little at that, though Byakuya saw this as an important lesson that needed to be heard. “Even if not because of this motive, then the next one, or the one after that. The mastermind plans to see bloodshed no matter what, so you shouldn’t underestimate just how far someone might go if pushed in the wrong direction. No matter how innocent they seem beforehand.”

He stares down Celeste in particular, remembering her outburst the night the motives were revealed, when it was suggested that they confess their secrets then and there. To her credit, she doesn’t seem to shy from his gaze.

“Are you referring to yourself?” she asks in her foreign lilt, a hand lifted to her mouth in mock affront, as if such a thing was unthinkable to her.

“How can I be?” He smirks back. “I’m not the kind of person to be shaken by such things.”

“My, how admirable.” She tilts her head. “But I thought one such as yourself would demonstrate a more aggressive approach to this game.”

“You act like you’re disappointed about that.”

“Would it be an insult to claim that I am?” She replies, a smile on her voice. “With one such as yourself, I was expecting you to be more invested. Or is your life too cheap to wager?”

The words are spoken without malice, but the intentions behind them were clearly meant to provoke. To draw a reaction. He’s had enough experience dealing with her type, people who clawed their way to wealth through slapdash, dishonorable means, and then thought that enough to consider themselves on the same level as he. He imagines she’s watching him, gauging his response. Such a shame, then, that he has no intentions of rising to the bait.

“On the contrary. My life is too valuable to be put on this playing table. It’d be like putting gold next to pennies,” He smiles at her, almost pleasantly. “I’m not on the same level as anyone else here, so I consider myself more of a spectator than a participant.”

There’s no small amount of outburst at that. Owada in particular, stands up swiftly, but whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by Kirigiri: “So, similar to the mastermind?”

He tenses immediately, and he can feel the others go still as well. There had been plenty of accusations that he and Kirigiri had been throwing around at each other, but this was the first time she had said it out loud in front of others. And so blatantly, too; he can feel eyes on him, crawling on his skin like insects.

He stares cooly up at her, even as he chews the shreds of raw skin inside his cheek. “What a bold and sudden thing to say,” He responds, keeping his voice even. “I wonder what you’re trying to gain by such baseless speculation?”

The tension is palpable. He can practically feel electric sparks running between the two of them, prickling and unpleasant. The room is dead silent, and all he can really hear is the quiet roar of his own pulse.

“G-guys!”

It’s Makoto who breaks the silence, jumping up from his seat and zipping to where the two of them are staring each other down. He throws himself bodily between them, arms waving. “L-let’s not do this, okay?! We have to keep it together!” He babbles. “I-it’s not going to help anything if we just stand around and accuse each other, so can’t we just...get along, or something?”

“Say that to the one who’s praying for a murder to happen.” Kirigiri replies coldly.

“You certainly speak loudly for someone who we know nothing about.” Byakuya shoots back, just as quickly. Makoto falters between them, stammering and trying to come up with something to say, but he needn’t have wasted his breath. After another moment, Kirigiri turns, and leaves the cafeteria.

With her departure, the pressure alleviates, and the others begin their clamor again, albeit much quieter than before. His appetite was ruined, and he set down his half-finished cup.

“I’m going to the library,” He says quietly, to Makoto. Though he might have no need for someone to read things aloud for him anymore, he did not feel exactly comfortable with the idea of being alone somewhere. Especially with Monokuma’s deadline fast approaching. “Come with me.”

He’ll be damned if he lets Kirigiri get the better of him, here and now.

___

Not for the first time, he revels at having Alter Ego at his fingertips.

Now, actual progress could be made. He has Makoto look through the medical texts as he pores through the case files, delighting in being able to comprehend exactly what was in front of him. After losing something he had once taken for granted, having it at his fingertips once more was exhilarating, and he delights in taking his time, listening to Alter Ego’s methodical voice read out each file. He’s tempted to use the image description command that Fujisaki had told him about on the photos, but refrains out of consideration of the mastermind’s security cameras; Alter Ego was meant to be a secret weapon, after all, and the less that anyone saw of it, the better. Even now, he keeps the volume turned low, and stands with his back to the camera lens, leaning against the bookcase.

Some time around noon, there’s a knock on the door. Makoto jerks his head up off the desk with a grunt. Byakuya doesn’t bother even looking up from the file in his hands. “Who is it?”

“It’s Chihiro…”

What could he want? He couldn’t have already exhausted the advice given to him last night. “Come in.”

Fujisaki creaks open the door quietly. He’s changed out of his usual outfit in favor of a white t-shirt and blue tracksuit, the jacket of which is tied around his waist; he must have just finished working out with Asahina and Ogami, judging by the healthy flush on his skin. Already, he seemed to be standing taller, straighter than before…though Byakuya couldn’t say for sure.

“What is it?” He asks, attention once more turned to the papers in his hands. “I doubt you’re already done talking to everyone.”

“N-no…” Fujisaki fidgets for a moment. “Um. It’s been going really well though! I’ve already talked to Hina and Sakura, and Hifumi and Celeste…” He counts off his fingers as he lists them. “Um, and Kirigiri figured it out when she saw me in walk into the boy’s locker room, and-”

“I didn’t ask for a progress report.”

“R-right! I know that,” He says, a little defensively. “But, um, I just…wanted to let you know?”

Byakuya can’t help the sigh that leaves him. “Who do you have left.” He says, shuffling the page back into the folder and closing it with a quiet snap. It was a shame that he had to be interrupted too; the case he had been perusing had been an interesting one, about a murder that had occurred in an astronomy observatory.

“Um…Just Mondo, Hiro, and Taka...oh, and Toko.” He scratches his head. “I tried to talk to her earlier, but she just…ran away?” 

He considers this for a moment. Hagakure was flighty, but also stupid and friendly, so he wouldn’t pose much danger. Kiyotaka was always righteous and morally upright, and the first person to suggest sharing secrets, so he was also unlikely to be a threat. Fukawa was…well, Fukawa. Skittish and uninterested in most interactions, but…

He remembers the events of the previous evening, and grimaces. It’d be better to be safe than sorry with her.

Lastly, there was Owada. The Ultimate Biker Gang Leader was violent, and quick to anger, and has been so since day one. The night before, after Alter Ego was loaded onto his handbook, Fujisaki had admitted that he had been considering consulting either Byakuya or Owada on improving his strength, but the small declaration Byakuya had made against Monokuma was what helped him ultimately decide. 

Despite feeling somewhat affronted to be placed in the same rank as a vagrant of that caliber, Byakuya couldn’t help but think Fujisaki’s final choice was a wise decision; after an event characterized by high tensions, there was no telling how the gangster might react.

“I see. So you need someone to go with you?” Fujisaki nods. “Then go get someone to go with you. I’m busy.”

“Well…that’s the problem…” Fujisaki sounds sheepish. “Hina and Sakura are also, uh, busy, and Hifumi and Celeste are…hard to approach, I guess? And I can’t find Kyoko.” 

He ends his sentence with an expectant pause. Byakuya has to applaud him for showing some brazenness in his request, though he had no intention of humoring it. And though he would rather not be alone for too long, it shouldn’t take ages for Fujisaki to talk with this last handful of people.

He turns to Makoto, still sitting at the desk. “Go with him.”

“W-me?” Makoto startles upright. “Why?”

“I’m going to make some more progress on the case files. And it’s clear you’re not making any with that book.” He replies. Makoto cringes, surprisingly, as if he weren’t pointing out a simple truth - did that boy really think he wouldn’t notice that he was falling asleep at the desk? - “But make it quick. And stop at the kitchen on the way back and bring me some coffee.” 

“Okay…”

He turns his attention back to the files as they leave, the door creaking quietly closed behind him.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #thpff #byakuya togami #some complex rituals keep happening in this fic at this point they should just kiss sloppy style on screen #he is developing a fondness for chihiro. like hey this is my Computer Guy. you dont have a Computer Guy? heh. as expected of a peasant. #byakuya mentor route unlocked (he's not very good at it tbh) #kyoko novel easter egg in this chapter (i have not read the kyoko novels)

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 18

are we finally getting somewhere with the trial? please??

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

was tempted to start this chapter with toko waking up and gasping 'i think i like girls!!'

wanted to say that everything would've been resolved way earlier if people were just a little nicer to toko before remembering that aoi was literally doing that and she STILL obsessed over byakuya. can we get this girl to a therapist please

shoutout to @digitaldollsworld for reading this at ass o'clock in the morning while i was still writing it. a real hero tbh

Content warning tags: self-deprecating language, implied self-harm, canon-typical manipulation and language

< previous - from start - next >

There’s a moment of stillness. Someone shouts in alarm, and a few people nearly step away from their stands with intention to help. But just as quickly, the dark figure slumped behind the rail begins to clamber slowly upwards, hands bracing against the balusters as she totters to an upright position.

Slowly, carefully, Toko Fukawa stands up straight, trembling all the while. “I-Is this a trial? W-what’s going o-on?!”

The stammer certainly sounds like Fukawa.“...Toko? That’s really you, right?” Asahina tries tentatively. “Um, are you okay? Are you feeling alright?”

“I…” She looks around, hands fisted tight around her braids, twitching with the same nervous quality of a bird. Her eyes must have landed on Byakuya, and the venomous stare he was giving her, because she squeaks and cowers again. “I-!”

“Chihiro’s body was found today. Approximately twenty minutes after you left the library.” He says coldly, words clipped and harsh. “Kyoko says you were both in the boy’s bathroom before the body discovery alarm. Can you verify this?”

“W-what?!” She stutters. “I-I don’t know w-what’s going on, I n-never know-” She’s shaking violently, as if she’s about to faint again.

“Let’s try a different question.” Kirigiri cuts in. “Toko. What were you doing between 12:30 and 1 o’clock today?”

“Wh- A-are you accusing me of s–something?!”

“No. But everyone else has given testimony on their whereabouts during this time. Yours would help grant us a better understanding of the course of events.” Kirigiri says patiently. Fukawa sways for a moment, thinking carefully, before she answers.

“Th-the library,” She half-mumbles, hands twisting in her braids over and over again, the black coils weaving over her pale fingers like eels. “Um, I w-wanted to talk to B-Byakuya alone, so I w-went to the library, a-and we t-talked for a bit…and then-”

He suddenly realizes what she’s about to say, but it’s too late to stop it. “Then, u-um, he h-hit me…w-with a book.”

He can feel eyes turning towards him, and the air turns disapproving. He scowls back. “She’s left out the part where she tried to blackmail me with the secret that she peeked at the other night.” He explains, and at once Fukawa flushes darkly and begins stammering something out.

“I-! I wasn’t b-blackmailing you!”

“What other word should I have used then? Manipulation? Coercion?” He asks sarcastically, and she shrivels and withers at his words.

“I told you m-my secret too, s-so it’d be fair-”

“You told me you were a serial killer who targets the men you fancied. Forgive me if I wasn’t immediately won over.”

The atmosphere turns a little less hostile at that. “Okay, yeah. If it’s like that I kinda get it.” Hagakure is nodding sagely, as if he understands everything. “But, seriously. You shouldn’t hit girls, man…”

“...Are you really going to do this now?” He just needed this trial to be over, already. The adrenaline of the earlier reveal had worn off, and now he felt sick with anger and exhaustion. “The whole thing barely took ten minutes. I wasn’t interested in dragging it out any longer than I had to.”

“Still, hitting is sort of-” But Hagakure shuts up at the glare Byakuya gives him, and quickly amends. “Never mind. Gender equality. Especially in self-defense. Cool, got it, my bad.”

“So, I suppose it is safe to assume that the source of the blood on your hand, and the book from earlier, was because of this confrontation?” Celeste asks. And, without waiting for an answer: “Then, that would also mean that the reason you were holding that file on Syo was due to what Toko had revealed to you.”

She sounds all too satisfied with herself for reaching that conclusion. “And so, it seems that the most damning evidence that had been implicating you has been disproven. Is that not reassuring?”

“...Don’t patronize me.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dare.” She laughs lightly, a soft sound that perfectly conceals her shrewdness.

“Toko. Please, continue.” Kirigiri says again, and there’s a quiet rustle as Fukawa yanks at her hair, the strands scraping over her fingers.

“A-after he h-hit me, I left…u-um, I went to the bathroom t-to w-wash my face, and when I touched the faucet - I-I mean, I wiped my f-face with my hands earlier, a-and the b-blood…” She trails off and shakes her head, and shoves her face into a fistful of her hair. 

Byakuya suddenly recalls something, something that Fukawa had mentioned during their confrontation in the library in a hurried, muttered tone. “Syo comes out when you see blood.” He remembers aloud, and her incoherent words begin clicking together.

Her pale face immediately darkens to an ugly, blotchy pink. “Yeah, um. I-I’m scared of b-blood, so…a-and when she’s out, I d-don’t have any m-memory of what s-she does.” She cradles her face in her hands, swaying a little like a swooning maiden. “S-so you did remember…” She mumbles, apparently to herself, and he feels his stomach turn with disgust.

It’s not worth wasting the effort on her to think of a response, so he opts to ignore her fawning instead. “So Toko left the library and went to the boy’s bathroom, and fainted after seeing the blood on her hand.” That seems logical enough, but something about this sequence of events bothered him. 

According to Kirigiri, Syo only woke up shortly before the body discovery. If Fukawa went to the bathroom right after leaving the library, why had it taken so long? And that aside, there was something that bothered him about her story. Something that he couldn’t place a finger on.

He’s not the only one who noticed the fallacy. “Excuse me, Toko,” Makoto tries tentatively. “So…that means from around 12:40 to one, you were unconscious?”

“Y-yes? What, do you n-not believe me?” She immediately goes on the defensive, cagey and snappish. “Y-you think I’m l-lying, right? J-just because I’m l-like this, you th-think that e-everything I say is a l-lie-?! Y-you all think I s-strung Chihiro up, I kn-know it!”

“Toko…no one said that.” Asahina has her hands raised, in some attempt to calm her down. “We just want to know what happened.”

She was proving to be an impossible witness. Byakuya raises a hand to press to his temple, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips. “Kyoko. Can you verify what Toko has said?” He asks, exasperated, and Kirigiri actually seems to startle a bit, head snapping to look at him.

“...I can’t.” She says, after a pause. “Because she did not enter the bathroom at that time, or else I would have noticed it.”

She remains fixated on him for a moment longer, before turning away. Belatedly, he suddenly realizes this was the second time he’s caught her off guard. The first time was when he pointed out the fact that access to information on Genocider Syo was limited.

He doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on that though. “So, that means that either you, or Toko, is lying about their whereabouts during this time.” He sighs. “For now, we need to identify which one of you both is deceiving us.”

Both are equally suspicious. Kirigiri has been mysterious, even more so than usual, and purposefully vague about her activities. And he didn’t trust Fukawa at all to start with, but she was also clumsy and awkward. It was hard to imagine her being able to plan everything ahead to this degree, from planting the evidence, to staging the actual murder…

“Wait. Something’s not right.” Makoto says suddenly, and his voice is clear and contemplative, his chin tucked over his knuckle. “If Toko fainted before she actually washed her hands, then how come her hands are clean? Remember, when we first met Syo, she showed us that her hands were totally free of blood.”

“I-I-!” She squawks, indignant, but she can’t seem to formulate a reply for a few moments. “M-maybe Syo washed my h-hands or s-something, I don’t know! S-she’s the one that k-kills people, so o-of course she would h-hide her tracks!”

“But, again, the sinks of the boy’s bathroom were all dry.” Makoto points out, and Fukawa sputters some more. “And…”

He pauses, and his head dips for a moment, enough for a shadow to cast over his face. “Toko. How did you know that Chihiro is dead?”

Byakuya figures it out a half-step after him, and silently kicks himself for not picking up on it earlier. And the others pick up on it as well, and the atmosphere turns dark, thick with unease and suspicion. Same as the elevator ride down, but this time, directed at Fukawa.

She’s gaping like a fish. She turns left and right, shuffling slightly. The rails of the stand stand tall and straight like the bars of a cage. “I-that’s-the portraits!” She yelps, and jabs out a pale hand in Byakuya’s direction. “Ch-Chihiro’s portrait, i-it’s crossed out! Th-that means s-she’s dead, so-”

“He’s dead.” Byakuya corrects sharply, and glares so fiercely the confused question that Fukawa was preparing simply vanishes. “But the fact that you weren’t aware of that means that Chihiro never came to speak with you about it. When he already discussed the matter with the rest of us.”

“I-that doesn’t m-mean I k-killed he-him!”

“Maybe that doesn’t implicate you,” Kirigiri concedes. “But earlier, you said ‘strung Chihiro up’. How were you aware of what the crime scene looked like?”

Fukawa squeaks, and smacks her hands to her mouth, as if she can retroactively shove the words back. “Th-that- i-isn’t that like S-Syo’s habits? S-so o-of course I would a-assume-”

“Syo said the crime scene doesn’t match what she does.” Makoto interjects. “All her victims are pinned by her scissors. Like you said, Chihiro was crucified using a cord.”

“I-”

“The time period doesn’t make sense. If we assume that Kyoko is being truthful - why did it take so long for Syo to wake up, in the time between you fainting and Chihiro being found?” Byakuya stares at her icily, and she squirms and shudders beneath his gaze. “You woke up awfully quick just now. For someone accusing us of labeling you a liar, you don’t seem inclined to tell the truth about anything, do you?”

His words drip with vitriol and acid, and Fukawa digs her fingers into her scalp and stamps her foot and screams, a long, strangled noise of frustration and anger. It’s a piercing sound, sharp enough to make Byakuya flinch, and it echoes for a moment up to the high ceiling of the chamber. And then everyone is silent as she catches her breath, hands pulling slowly away from her thoroughly disheveled hair.

“Fine,” She spits, and somehow, her voice is steadier than he’s ever heard it. “I hung up Chihiro. A-and I framed Byakuya for it.”

The confession sounds almost giddy with how breathless she is, but maybe Byakuya was imagining it. After a moment’s pause for people to register what she said, there’s no small amount of shock.

“You- you did?!” Yamada, standing directly next to Fukawa, cows as far away as the stand will let him. “Wha- but you seemed so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the implication of the word ‘harmless’ hangs in the air. “Yes, I did.” She snaps back savagely. “I-it was easy. H-he’s so small, a-and I knew B-Byakuya would be l-looking for s-stuff on Syo…and, t-the extension cord…”

Byakuya suddenly remembers, then. How she had stumbled as she left the library, foot smashing through some box and getting tangled in its contents. And how he hadn’t paid any mind to it, already too preoccupied with his own survival to care.

“How did you manage it without turning into Syo?” Kirigiri asks, and Fukawa’s face twists. It's only as she turns her head, and Byakuya notices the subtle glint of her bared teeth, that he realizes that she’s grinning.

“He had been i-ignoring me f-for so long…I was w-working so hard. T-to be normal and good. S-so he would l-look at me…” It’s not hard to figure out who she was referring to by ‘he’. Byakuya feels eyes on him once more. But his attention is turned to her raised forearm, exposed by the sleeve drooping around her elbow from how her hands are clutching at her scalp, and the strip of white that is almost imperceptible against her already pale skin. “I-I thought if I could - I could g-get over it, I could prove th-that I could be normal, then…”

She trails off, energy quickly depleted. “So, you had been training to not immediately faint at the sight of blood.” Kirigiri concludes, and Fukawa nods once, jerkily.

“Wait, so you did all that just because he ignored you?” Hagakure asks, mouth agape.

“Yes!” She shrieks vehemently, so sharp and sudden that Byakuya nearly jumps. “You don’t get it! None of you g-get it! I-I can stand it i-if he was mean to me, o-or if he h-hated me, but- it’s the worst when h-he acts like I’m n-not even there!”

Her voice breaks, and for a long moment the only sound in the room is her quiet sobs. To some degree - and Byakuya is furious with himself for even thinking this - he understands why she might behave this way. Clearly, she had been abused, and likely neglected, and this manifested into the extreme, self-demeaning, aggressive behavior she displayed now. Her actions had a twisted logic. She herself was pitiable.

But just because he understood, did not mean he had to accept it.

“Well, you have my full attention now.” He says coldly. “Congratulations. Why don’t you try and keep that attention by telling us what we all want to know?”

“Yeah, how about you tell us how Chihiro died?” It takes Byakuya a moment to place that the question came from Owada, who had been mostly quiet for a while now. He’s not blazing with fury anymore, but there’s an edge in his voice now that Byakuya can’t read. “I don’t give a shit about your fucking crush. I want to know how you killed Chihiro.”

Fukawa tilts her head in thought, and the action is somehow reminiscent of Syo. “B-but, I didn’t kill Chihiro?” She says, and she sounds almost innocent. “I-I just found the b-body…I-I think if I d-did kill him th-then Syo w-would have woken up r-right away.”

As if anticipating it, Kirigiri raises her hands, as if trying to stop the rush of questions and shocked exclamations from the others. It’s no use though, as Owada bellows: “Like hell we’re believing that!”

“Guys, the time limit-!” Makoto has to shout above the din. At that, Byakuya glances at the clock hanging over Monokuma’s chair, the flashing red digits initiating a countdown. How long had it been already? How much time was left? There was no way for him to tell. He’d totally forgotten about it. “Just. Toko, can you tell us how you found the body? Please?”

“W-why should I?” Byakuya feels his jaw physically creak with how hard he’s grinding his teeth. It seemed that in the time Fukawa spent unconscious, she had absorbed the worst aspects of Syo’s personality.

“We may all perish if you don’t.” Sakura points out, a low threat in her voice.

“I-I don’t care.”

Byakuya thinks he might scream. “Why?! What else do you have left to lose?” He demands, and his voice rasps slightly, throat sore from how much he’d been talking. “We know what you’ve done already. You’ve already revealed everything about me. What else do you want?!”

And she giggles, a breathless, insane sound. “I-I don’t c-care what happens t-to me,” She sings. “I hate you. I h-hate everyone here. I kn-know I-I’m gonna get t-targeted no matter w-what I do, b-because you all th-think I’m so horrible…so I should h-hit back f-first, right?” She wobbles, hands knotted in her hair again. “B-but I hate you the most. I-I wanted y-you to know how you made me feel, even j-just a little.”

Even without seeing her face, he can sense her malice, thick and unpleasant like the smell of rot. He hasn’t been the target of such blatant contempt in years, and the complete hostility that she radiates makes him feel a little unsteady.

“Fine. We will figure out the details ourselves. You’ve given us enough clues already.” Kirigiri replies coolly. “Unfortunately for you, only one person will be dying after this trial.”

He’s not sure how she can be so confident about that. The pounding in his head is getting worse, and as his eyes slip closed, he finds he’s not even sure where to start with everything; after all this, they were still not any closer to a definite conclusion. All they had done so far was run blindly around each other, getting lured to dead-ends and circles.

Through the low throb of pain in his skull, he can just barely make out the sound of quiet muttering fromMakoto’s direction. If he opened his eyes, he might have seen the other boy tapping his foot, resting his chin in his hand as he thinks. And if he could have seen, he might have noticed how Makoto’s eyes were darting, drawing invisible lines between fixed points in his mind.

“The place where Chihiro died. And Toko found the body. That’s what we need to figure out,” He says aloud, slowly. “I don’t think Chihiro died on the second floor. There’s no place with enough blood that could justify it, or enough evidence of a clean-up to suggest that it happened there. Even in the hallway where the body was found, the only blood there was against the wall from where Chihiro was crucified. There’s no splatter to match the method of death.”

“Yeah, but there’s no place on the first floor to suggest that Chihiro died there, either.” Asahina points out.

“No, there is one room. There was no blood there, but there was evidence that it was cleaned recently.” Even as he says this, Owada is beginning to gasp, ‘Wait-’, but he continues. “And, it’s somewhere someone got injured recently, so any blood that was missed can be explained away.”

He turns to the pale, silent figure of Kiyotaka Ishimaru, as still and unobtrusive as a ghost. “Taka. Can you please tell us what happened?”

___

Of course, Mondo blocks him before Taka can even respond.

“How dare you.” His voice is a low rumble, and he somehow looks angrier than Makoto has ever seen him. He can practically hear the creak of wood where Mondo was gripping the bannister, knuckles white and bulging. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Makoto? What the fuck are you trying to say?!”

Makoto swallows, his heart feeling like it’s about to pop out of his chest. He’s seen Mondo both at his most violent moments, and at his kindest ones, his face softening with sympathy as he was listening to Chihiro, the hearty reassurance and gentle clap on the back he had offered to them both. But now Mondo looked like he might actually kill him, and would make it hurt while it happened.

But despite that, he presses on. “I know you said that a trophy fell on Taka’s head, and that’s how you found him. When I went to look at the trophy room, the floor was still wet, and it was clean - like, really clean. And I assumed it was because you went back and cleaned it up after Taka got injured, but looking back, that doesn’t make sense.” He glances briefly at Kyoko, who merely closes her eyes in silent assent. “If your friend had a concussion, wouldn’t you stay by his side?”

Mondo’s face pulls into a snarl, a vein bulging at his temple. “So what if I went back and cleaned it up? Maybe Taka wanted to rest alone. What the hell does that matter?”

“No, I think it does matter. You don’t act like it, but you’re really nice, Mondo. When you were talking with me and Chihiro, and told us about your bro-”

He cuts himself off for a moment, suddenly hesitant. He’s already revealed Byakuya’s secret. He didn’t want to have to reveal Mondo’s as well, even now. He didn’t want to betray anyone else, but-

He already hates me for what I’m doing. He thinks to himself. Whether he reveals Mondo’s secret now or not, he knows that no matter what, he was going to be hated; there was no chance at the friendly ribbing and pleasant exchanges they had in the past. But even despite that, he finds himself unwilling to form the words on his tongue.

He needn’t have bothered though. Kyoko is the one who speaks up in his stead. “There’s no point in hiding the fact that you care deeply for Taka. We all remember the display of friendship the two of you put on the other day after spending weeks at each other’s throats. And as someone who’s familiar with violence, I imagine you’re also familiar with basic first aid; so why would you abandon someone with a head injury to clean up the other room?”

Mondo glares at her furiously, but there’s sweat beading on his forehead now. “You-you meddling bitch, what the fuck are you-?!”

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.” She sighs. Makoto thinks she looks a little haggard, with dark rings of exhaustion under her eyes, and wonders when the last time she slept was. Despite that, her eyes are still sharp, and meet Mondo’s glower with a cool stare. “But, since we are missing out on Toko’s testimony, I think we should have our last witness speak for himself.”

And before she had even finished her sentence, Taka was opening his mouth.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #byakuya togami #danganronpa fanfiction #my earlobe itches. i think i got bit by a mosquito. it's right over where my piercing closed up too.... #really hoping that toko's personal reasoning makes sense here. oohh babygirl you are so full of problems.... #might make a separate post trying to analyze toko in this context. maybe. idk yet #byakuya straight up clocks out partway through this so makoto gets to narrate #both bc he's tired as hell and also bc i got worried i was making things too repetitive with his pov #i think its pretty clear by now who the culprit is. amazing team effort by the class to start figuring it out in the last stretch of things #curious if anyone else thinks they know what the full story is before it all gets revealed next chap (eyes emote) #sorry for da wait btw i was simply turning into soup. u know how it is

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 8

this was gonna be a naegami sex chapter but i got embarrassed sorry. BUT BE AWARE THAT THERE ARE SEXUAL THEMES IN THIS ONE...LOOK AT THE CONTENT WARNING TAGS!!!!

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

Was gonna make it horny but then realized. They would not fucking be like that. They would not be fucking like that.

I'm headcanoning Byakuya to have received the weirdest sex ed in the world. Procreation 101: How to Continue a Bloodline

Future sex chapter? Who knows...

Beta-read by @moonlighttogami!!

Content warning tags: initial dubious consent, explicit consent discussion, half-hearted attempt at sex, sharing a bed

< previous - from start - next >

‘You are incredibly arrogant for someone who has nothing.’

In his bedroom, Byakuya fumes silently, pacing in a circle. A lesser man might’ve gone into a rage, knocking down the furniture or screaming, but Byakuya’s anger manifested in sharp barbs and poisonous words, and when there was no target for such things, as silence, his teeth digging into the inside of his cheek. Emotional outbursts were displays of weakness, and something he could not afford.

Especially now. Even in the supposed privacy of his own room, he leaves the lights off, and ignores the vague, pale shape of the camera that extends from the ceiling. A grotesque limb of the mastermind behind it all, the surveilling eyes that occupied every space. The rules stated that they weren’t allowed to damage these, or cover them, but he does not have the luxury of displaying uncertainty.

If it weren’t for her… He thinks, for what must be the thousandth time. Fury clouds his thinking. His surroundings are dark, but in his mind’s eye all he can see is that infuriating woman - a mass of vague shapes. It was even more frustrating, that the target of his ire didn’t even have a defined appearance for him to hone in on.

If she hadn’t interfered. If she had been direct about her intentions from the beginning. If she hadn’t, for some reason, decided to aim for Naegi…

Her and Naegi. Naegi and her.

Metal bursts and covers his tongue. He’s bit down too hard, and broken the skin. He pauses in his pacing, the sharp flare of pain easing the anger muddling his thoughts.

…What does it matter? He was being ridiculous. Kirigiri’s words had some truth to them. He knew perfectly well the fragility of his position, wasn’t that why he had been putting so much effort into ensuring he’d be able to uphold his end of the deal, no matter what? He worries the open wound with his tongue.

‘You are incredibly arrogant for someone who has nothing.’  That much might be true, he couldn’t give Naegi much more than a promise. And to someone of Naegi’s standing, he might not understand the weight of a Togami’s honor. But that didn’t mean Byakuya couldn’t find something else to offer.

He worries at the wound with his tongue, feeling a gush of fresh blood. He had limited material goods, an impaired body, and no access to his wealth. But his brilliant mind was still intact. For simpletons like Naegi, all he had to do was find something that they wanted, or else, make them want it.

He grimaces to himself in the dark, a bitter attempt at a smile. If she had no intention of staying out of his affairs, then he had no obligation to do as she said.

___

��Makoto.”

It’s a reversal of that night after the first motive’s reveal. He stands at Naegi’s door, staring down, unimpressed, at the boy before him. It was quite late, past the ten PM curfew, and Naegi seems to be dressed in pajamas; or, what could pass as pajamas for commoners, Byakuya supposes. A graphic t-shirt and dark shorts, and what looks like a white towel draped over his shoulders. He smells oddly floral, and his hair seems to be noticeably wilted; he must have just showered.

“Um, Byakuya?” He sounds bemused. “What are you…?”

“Come with me.” He turns on his heel and walks quickly towards his door. He hears shuffling behind him, the fumbling jingle of a key, before he senses Naegi’s presence behind him once more.

He pushes the door to his room open. “Come in.” It’s more of an order than a greeting. As he shuts the door behind his guest, it encloses the room in near darkness, except for the light from the cracked-open bathroom door.

“Should I turn on the-?”

“Leave it.” He’d rather have the lights off for this. “Sit there.”

He points at the mattress, and as soon as he hears the creak of springs, begins to pull off his jacket and strip. There’s a sharp clap as Naegi hurriedly covers his eyes.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing!?” He squeals, and Byakuya sighs. He should’ve expected this reaction.

“Calm down. What does it look like?” He snaps, throwing his jacket in Naegi’s general direction and hearing a soft, satisfying thwap and a grunt as it meets its target. “Fold these for me, then wait here. I’m going to shower.”

He waits until he hears the rustle of cloth, before he continues. After taking the role of heir, he’d been granted a platoon of servants, all of whom were there to help him dress and undress, but before that it had been Pennyworth who drilled into him the proper etiquette of clothing oneself, enough that he could do it in his sleep. At the time he thought the lessons pointless. Now, he couldn’t be more grateful.

First the tie, carefully folded and set on the nightstand table. Then the suspenders, slid from his shoulders before being unhooked at both ends, looped around his hand to be put away. Then the belt, looped and put away in a similar fashion.

He pauses a moment with his thumbs still looped beneath the waistband of his pants. His back is facing Naegi, so he has no idea if the other boy is watching or not, but it’s not like he gave the order to turn away. And if anything, he wants Naegi to watch.

He shucks the pants down quickly, stepping out of them along with his shoes. He can’t tell where Naegi’s eyes are, but he hopes they’re on him, trailing up the length of his legs from his socked feet. Resting on the pale flesh of his thighs, squeezed by the shirt garters that he wore. He thinks he hears Naegi’s breath hitch as he hooks a finger underneath one of the leather loops, tugging on it slightly until the clasp frees itself with a small click.

That’s right, he thinks. He feels breathless, like his heart is about to pound out of his chest; he hopes that with the darkness, the heat coloring his cheeks wasn’t visible. Keep looking. Keep wanting.

This was a tactic he had been hoping to never need to use, but if it’s Naegi he can do it. He unfastens the other garter and unbuttons his shirt, fingers flying between the buttons with practiced speed. He was losing his nerve now, unable to read Naegi’s reactions, unable to gauge his interest.

By the time he’s fully nude, standing in only his slippers, the only thing he can hear is his own heart, and the sound of Naegi’s breathing. He wonders how he looks right now, pale and naked in the darkness of his room, illuminated by only the thin strip of light from the bathroom. He’d never had reason to be ashamed of his physique, but he suddenly feels self-conscious.

“B-Byakuya?”

He almost jumps out of his own skin, and whirls around, marching stiffly towards the bathroom. “Stay here when you’re done. Wait for me.” He barks, not bothering to turn around. “Understand?”

He swings the door shut before he can hear the reply.

___

When he reemerges, hair still damp and wrapped in a white bathrobe, Naegi is still sitting on his bed, occupying the farthest edge of it as if afraid to take up any space.

He jolts up as Byakuya reenters. With the light from the bathroom, shadows are thrown over his face, and some of his features are thrown into definition - and other ones, cast entirely into darkness. Byakuya can’t make out his eyes at all.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself firmly. Whatever look he was wearing, as long as it wasn’t disgust, he could work with it.

“Tell me,” He says as he approaches, voice languid and casual, not betraying the anxiety that was thrumming under his skin. “What are you thinking, Makoto?”

“W-w-w-” He stutters like a broken toy, and tilts backwards as Byakuya stands over him. “W-wait, what’s going on?!”

He barely refrains from rolling his eyes at that. As if he wasn’t making it perfectly obvious. “What does it look like,” He deadpans, as he leans forward, pushing Naegi backwards against the bed, arms caging him against the mattress. “How about you tell me?”

“I-I really don’t-” He breaks off with a squeak as Byakuya presses a hand lightly, experimentally, against his chest. His physique was slight, and nothing of particular note. He trails his hand down carefully, slowly, down the length of Naegi’s torso. “B-Byakuya-!”

He halts instantly. Hardly dares to breathe. “Do you hate it?”

“That’s not…” Naegi shuffles upwards, leaning on his elbows. “No, but-”

“So what’s the problem?” He resumes, though moving glacially slow. He tugs the hem of Naegi’s shirt upwards, places his fingertips against the thin strip of exposed skin of his abdomen; it jumps beneath his touch, warm and flexing. A living body, he thinks, a little irrationally. It feels like his heart was about to jump out of his throat.

“This sort of thing-” Naegi bites down another quiet sound, as Byakuya travels slower, hands tracing down his waist, his hips, his thighs. “I-it’s - we can’t-!”

Suddenly, there are hands on his shoulders, shoving him back. He stumbles a bit and lands on his knees with a grunt. “What was that for?!” he hisses, but he’s a little relieved. He has no real experience in this, beyond the materials he had gotten ahold of for…relief, in his more delicate pubescent years, and a cursory educational course after he’d been named heir. If things had gone on, he was worried that Naegi would have noticed the sweat collecting on his palms, the hesitation in his slow pace.

He suddenly realizes that the hands on his shoulders are trembling, and feels cold break out on the back of his neck. Had he misread it? Had he made a mistake?

“...Makoto.” He leans back, presses his hands to his lap. “Are you alright?”

He says it quietly, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it himself. But above him, Makoto’s head jerks in a nod. “Yeah, no, yeah, I’m okay. I’m just…I’m surprised, I guess.” He tries a laugh, but it hardly sounds like one. “And…this sort of thing is for, like. People who l-lo- people who like each other, right?”

…Are you serious.

“Hardly,” He huffs, a little exasperated. “Sexual acts are a means of exchange between parties. Romantic connotations are reserved for people who need the leisure of such delusions-” Like yourself, he almost adds, before remembering the delicate emotional situation they were in right now and reconsidering it. “Anyways, this was just…”

An offering. A transaction. A trade of physical pleasure, in exchange for a promise; don’t betray me. Don’t stray from my side. “...Well, I’m not a monster. If you don’t want to, just say so now. We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

Makoto doesn’t respond, and he feels a thin thread of relief run through his body, even as a deep-rooted dread sank into his gut. His plan failed, it seemed, and probably even backfired. “I’m going to count your silence as a ‘no’.” He sighs, and moves to stand-

But the hands on his shoulders tighten, and he halts. “Wait,” Makoto sounds hesitant, and a little breathless. “I…I didn’t say I hated it. I just had no idea what was going on.”

“...I thought I made it pretty clear what was going on.” He’d stripped in front of him, for god’s sake. Makoto couldn’t possibly be denser than he thought.

“That’s…well, yeah, but I didn’t know why. A-and to be honest… I still don’t know.” Byakuya frowns, but he supposes that was fair. He hadn’t exactly stated that part clearly. “I’m a little nervous, but, if you really want to…”

“No.” The word leaves his mouth before he can even second-guess. But it’s true that for as much preparation he had done, it still wasn’t enough. He hurriedly adds: “But, maybe some other time, if you give me early enough notice. And I do reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Okay. That sounds good.” In the dim light, he sees a glint as Makoto smiles. “But…are you okay?”

“...Of course I am.” He says, voice steady, not betraying his earlier anxiety. Surely, his unease hadn’t been noticed? He had been so careful, hyper-aware of his own face and gestures, trying to carry himself as confidently as he should be. “Why do you ask?”

“Just…wanted to make sure. Did you, uh…do… this, before?”

He feels his face turning warm. “What do you think?” He hadn’t.

“Wait, so that means-?”

“As if I’d tell you that.” He snorts, pinching Makoto lightly on the calf and eliciting a yelp. “Help me up.”

With the tension gone, Makoto pulls him up by the elbows, and he wobbles for a moment, unsteady. “My pajamas should be folded and on the dresser. Fetch them for me.”

“Does this mean you’re letting me work for you again?” Makoto asks, half-jokingly, as he presses the clothes into Byakuya’s waiting hands. He huffs, amused.

“Let me get dressed before I make a decision. And help me button my shirt.”

The silken lounge pants are easy enough to put on, even in darkness, but he’s too exhausted to even try fumbling for the pearled buttons. He stands still, feeling Makoto’s hands fumble up the length of his torso, his touch warm and ticklish. The anger, frustrations, and stress of the previous days were giving way to a warm, heavy fatigue, and suddenly all he can think of is crawling into the bed.

“Should I…” Makoto wavers, standing halfway between the bed and the door. 

“Turn out the bedroom light.” Byakuya hums, as he curls up beneath the covers. Then, almost as an afterthought: “It’s pretty late after curfew. You may stay if you wish.”

“R-really?!”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

The lights go out completely, and a moment later he feels the other side of the mattress sink, as Makoto crawls in. There’s a moment’s quiet, where all he can hear is the beat of his own heart, the soft whoosh of Makoto’s breath.

“Byakuya?” He asks, a bare whisper.

“What?”

“Why did you do all that?”

It’s spoken hesitantly, carefully. Byakuya shuffles a little deeper into his pillow, debating whether or not to give a clear answer. 

Ultimately, he decides not to. It would be a blow to his pride to admit such a thing out loud. But leaving it undefined may lead to misunderstandings down the line, and he would rather not have to deal with an unnecessary schism a second time.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think,” He decides. “I’ll tell you if you’re right or wrong.”

There’s a quiet creak of springs, as Makoto shifts. As he speaks up again, he sounds closer, the soft puff of his breath tickling against Byakuya’s neck.

“Were you…I guess, doing that to…make up to me? For what you said?” His voice grows smaller with every word, as if realizing how embarrassing it was to say such a thing out loud. “Sorry, that’s probably not-”

“Why do you think that?” He finds himself asking.

“Because...Kyoko said that you might.” Kyoko. For a moment, Byakuya half-considers kicking Makoto out. As if sensing this, he adds quickly: “She-she didn’t say that it’d be ‘making up’, or that you’d be doing, uh, this, specifically, just that you wanted my help again-”

“Alright, enough.” That damn woman and her meddling. But he supposed that she did give him an easier explanation for his actions. It’d be harder to admit his actual reasoning. “I have nothing to apologize for. Everything I said was, frankly, for your own benefit, and I’m still rather disappointed that you failed to understand that.”

He pauses, then continues. “But, I suppose…I could have phrased my words better,” He turns his face into his pillow somewhat, as if Makoto might see the warmth crawling up it. “I’d rather not have someone in my employ be led astray, after all.”

He swears he can hear Makoto smiling, and, suddenly annoyed, yanks the covers up further. There’s a small grunt as the shorter boy is suddenly completely covered. “Now go to sleep. I’m not interested in continuing this conversation.”

“Okay, okay.” Makoto shifts upwards, out from the confines of the blanket. Even with eyes open, Byakuya can’t see anything, not even the other boy’s face that must be just a few inches from his own. His world is submerged in darkness.

Somehow, that isn’t as frightening as it should be. He lets his eyes close.

“Good night, Byakuya.” He hears Makoto say quietly.

He feels himself drift.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #naegami #sure i'll tag it with that #byakuya guy with the worst sex ed in the world vs makoto guy who thought he was straight until thirty minutes ago #deadass this was going to be. a bj scene. but i got really embarassed before i could even get to that part #i think it turns out better this way tbh. this is a slow burn after all

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #byakuya mentally filing for a second naegami divorce #sorry this one took so long.....my frontal lobe. it is soup #combination filing taxes + applying for classes + applying for jobs + etc etc. it'll do it to ya #going to really really really try to get 18 up by sunday but if its delayed do u prommy not to be too mad at me. do you. pls pls pls #i jest tho. thank u to everyone who has been reading thus far i hope you continue to enjoy it or move on to other things #just knowing you were here even if just for a moment even if for the whole ride is enough for me #i hope this chapter is legible i cranked out the last half of it at 2 am on a half bottle of soju #also had to mentally go over everything twice bc ive been listening to His Dark Materials audiobooks and my writing was turning british #byakuya frothing furious angry defeated at the stand while kyoko is just. o<-< are we done yet. can we please talk about the murder #theyre both toxic here and making everyone bear witness to it #alright folks lets take bets now on who you think the killer is!!!

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 12

UH OH

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

trying to move away from writing toko like chunsoft and adding more to her character (she's traumatized she wants to be loved but she's going about it in the worst way) but in the end none of her actions are condoned. she's fucked up still sorry but written in a more sympathetic light i hope?

syo WILL be in this fic but i do my best to make her hand-wavy explanation ambiguous (fuck whatever canon says about 'textbook split personality' btw)

@moonlighttogami and @tokiwigiwi :)

Content warning tags: implication of stalking/blackmail, Toko-expected creepiness, use of violence, character death

< previous - from start - next >

He’s not sure how much time passes when the door opens again.

“Finally,” He huffs, not bothering to turn. “Took you long enough. Honestly, how long does it take-”

He halts, as the intruder steps into the room, and quickly clicks his handbook shut. These weren’t Makoto’s footsteps. And - he surreptitiously covers his nose - that wasn’t Makoto’s smell. But he knows whose it was.

“...Toko. What do you want.” He turns and glares at the girl who has intruded on his space. She fidgets where she stands, a thin shadow of dark purple. The smell of her has grown stronger over the past few weeks, and hangs around her like a miasma.

“M-master Byakuya…”

He feels a full-bodied shiver of disgust run over his skin. “Don’t call me that.”

She ignores him, and carries on. “A-about last night…”

Right. To be completely honest, he was hoping that he had scared her enough the night before to make her leave him alone entirely. But he’s not surprised either; if she had the nerve to blatantly try and look at his secret, it wasn’t surprising that she had the boldness to try and confront him like this.

“What about last night.” He says stiffly, and she jumps as if shocked.

“I-I know about your eyes!” She blurts at last. “A-and, I know Ch-Chihiro knows it too…I, I heard you t-talking about it i-in the b-bathhouse last night…”

He feels his lip curling, revolted. Of course she had eavesdropped; she was quickly proving to be one of the more annoying stalkers he’d ever had the displeasure of dealing with. The number of people who were aware of his condition was also rapidly increasing against his will. At this point he might as well do the same as Fujisaki and announce it out loud.

Fukawa continues in her irritating stutter. “A-and…y-your envelope…” He freezes immediately, suddenly latching on to her every word.

“What did it say?” He demands, and she flinches - shivers? - arms crossing over her torso.

“I-if I t-tell you, y-you won’t w-want anything to d-do with m-me anymore…” She mutters, seemingly to herself, and he feels another wave of revulsion roll over him.

“Out with it. I already want nothing to do with you, but if you don’t speak up now-” 

What will he do? He tries to come up with a threat that can hold actual weight, but they all sound pathetic, even to himself. If only Makoto were here, he could at least get him to chase her away…how long does it take to talk to three people, anyways?

Ironically, it’s Fukawa who saves him from having to think of something. “I-I know you’re r-really mad at m-me for r-reading your secret last night,” She continues, and she’s swaying slightly, as if drunk. “U-um, I-I promise n-not to t-tell anyone! About your eyes, o-or your envelope…a-and, I’ll t-tell you mine, t-too.”

“I’m not interested.” He says flatly. “Tell me what was written in my envelope. Now.”

She shakes her head instead. “I-I know th-there’s no way for you t-to have r-read yours yet, right? S-so only I know!” The light catches on her spectacles, and it gives the illusion of two, illuminated orbs on her face. “W-which makes me m-more special than M-Makoto, or Chihiro, right?”

She sounds deranged. Her voice is pitched with desperation, and she’s breathing heavily. She takes a step closer. “I-I know all your s-secrets, and once y-you know mine…s-so you can r-rely on me, m-more than Makoto, o-or Chihiro?” Another step, and the floorboard creaks. “I-I’ll do better than th-them! And, and I can accept you f-for all your secrets, s-so, you don’t n-need them, I promise!”

“Stay back.” He snaps, shifting backwards. The revulsion was curdling, mixing with fear, and crawling down his back like something physical, like the vile, unwanted sensation of fingernails, tickling over his skin. He hates this irrational panic - she was just a girl, and a pathetic one at that - but here he was, shying away anyways, unable to discern her next move, her intentions. “I’m warning you-”

She lurches forward, and he takes an inadvertent step back. His back meets the bookshelf; he was trapped. “S-so don’t get scared,” She says, though these words really only have the opposite effect on him. “D-do you remember the news, a few y-years back? A-about Genocider S-Syo?”

Genocider Syo? The name sounds familiar, but it takes him a moment to place where he’s heard it before. It was a few years before he enrolled at Hope’s Peak, while in transit to some social gathering or another; Pennyworth had left the car radio tuned to the local news. 

“The serial killer?” He asks aloud, as he subtly searches the shelves behind him, trying to find something to use as a weapon. The tip of his index finger catches on the spine of a large, plastic-bound copy of some textbook or another, and he leverages it slowly out of the shelf, feeling sweat beginning to slicken its cover.

She nods eagerly, her braids bouncing. “I-I knew you’d kn-know about it,” She sounds relieved, somehow, voice breathless. “Y-you know, th-the first place Syo turned up was the town w-where I was b-born…i-it was my f-first crush that was the f-first victim, y’know?”

It clicks together quickly for him. The radio announcer had described bloody and ugly scenes of murder, the displayed corpses of young men and boys, all attributed to a mysterious killer with a penchant for stabbing their victims. And now standing before him was a clearly-deranged, unwell girl, well-known for her romance novels, and apparently obsessed with him.

“I-it’s okay!” She says hurriedly, as he presses himself closer to the shelf. “Sh-she only c-comes out when I-I’m really t-tired, o-or if I see b-blood…b-but, I c-can control her! I am controlling her, I promise!” She steps forward again, and this close, he can see the sickly flush on her face, the shine of sweat - tears? - down her cheeks. “I’ve b-been working s-so hard, s-so she won’t h-hurt anyone again…so it’s o-okay! I c-can be good! See?” She hiccups slightly, she must be crying. He can’t imagine why. “S-so now we can be equal, r-right?!”

She staggers towards him again, and he reacts before he can even think twice about it, yanking the book from its shelf and swinging blindly. The edge catches her across the face, whipping it sharply to the side with a sickly crack and a squeal - there’s a crest of blood, splattering up the length of the book, he can feel a few warm drops splash his hand, the skin crawling where it landed - and she crashes against the shelves with a shriek, stumbling.

“Why?!” She wails, hands shooting to her face. She sounds genuinely distraught, and she shakes as she scrubs at her nose with her palms. “I-I told you m-my biggest secret, a-and I kn-know yours…w-why won’t you tr-trust me?!”

“Trust you?!” He laughs, mirthless and a little frenzied, pitched wildly with his thudding heart. “You repulse me.” He steps forward now, book still clutched in his shaking hand. “Why would I ever trust a murderer in a killing game?”

She flinches as if his words were more physical blows, stumbling away from him and knocking against the shelf. A few books rain down, thudding open on the floor. “I-It’s not me,” She babbles, clutching at her head. “S-Syo - she’s j-just s-someone else, she’s in m-me, b-but I can c-control her, I p-promise - sh-she’s not me, she’s not me, she’s not!”

It sounds vaguely like some dramatized description of a split personality, though Byakuya had never heard of any such disorder that matched Fukawa’s apparently extreme case. Whatever the girl had going on would probably warrant its own DSM volume, but he wasn’t particularly interested in that. “I don’t care if she’s a ghost that’s possessing you or a secret twin taking your place. I want nothing to do with either of you.”

“B-but-”

“Get out.” He snarls, chest heaving. “If I hear anything - anything - on my condition, I will make you wish you were dead.” She doesn’t move, and he feels his teeth clench enough to creak. “I said, OUT.”

She darts, stumbling and stepping through one of the piles of boxes on the floor, completely breaking through the lid. Whatever was inside it stays looped around her ankle as she kicks the lid off, and clicks against the floor as she sprints away, her sobs fading as she goes.

___

For safety, he blocks off the door to the library with the chair, jamming it beneath the handles.

Then, he waits for Makoto, pacing, agitated. Really, how long could it take to accompany one person to talk to three people? His clock in his handbook stated that hardly an hour had passed since Makoto first left, and ten minutes since he sent Fukawa away. Surely, he had to be coming back eventually?

Not that there was anything keeping Byakuya in the library, other than his own uncertainty regarding his safety. Considering that he knew Fukawa’s alternate identity, and her apparent infatuation with him, it would be foolish to make the trek back to his room alone.

He stops pacing, frustration and restlessness boiling over. And returns to the files, shuffling through them, handbook held aloft to read the names printed on the edge of each folder, ignoring the ones that clatter to the ground after he shoves them haphazardly back. Finally, he comes across the one he's looking for, and slides it out of the shelf.

The front of it is stamped with the title in silver: ‘The Murder Cases of Genocider Syo: Top Secret’. He flips it open.

The text is interspersed with images of the victims before and after their unfortunate encounters with Fukawa. He can’t make much out about them, other than the fact that all the murder scenes seemed similar enough; photos of pale bodies, stretched out as if crucified, splattered with blood. Their faces, which must have been twisted with agony, are merely dark smudges.

“...As with the other cases, at the scene of the crime the word ‘BLOODLUST’ was written with the victim’s blood,” Alter Ego reads aloud. “The scissors used in the murder were apparently custom-made, with every pair left at each murder scene seeming to be of the same material and construction…”

How vile. He flips through the pages (one of which is annoyingly wrinkled, and furthermore, smudged with dirt), reading through the victim's descriptions. There was a sort of morbid curiosity that drew him to read further, even as his stomach turned with the knowledge that he could end up like one of these men; pinned like a butterfly for the killer to admire and laud over.

He snaps the file shut at last, feeling nauseous, and sinks down with his back against the shelf, suddenly exhausted - the adrenaline from Fukawa’s confrontation is gone, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue. Sluggishly, he categorizes what he knows:

One: Fukawa was also Genocider Syo, a notorious serial killer who targeted young men.

Two: Fukawa both knew he was blind, and the contents of his envelope. He reaches into his pocket and feels for it, the paper now crinkled and warped. He still can’t bring himself to try and use Alter Ego to read its contents, but so long as Fukawa knew…there was little he could do about it.

That brought him to three: Fukawa was apparently obsessed with him. That was clear from the start, but he underestimated how dangerous her infatuation was. What she wanted from him was, apparently, some kind of romanticized relationship, if her mutterings about mutually sharing secrets and calling him ‘master’ was anything to go by, but nothing that could possibly be built on equal footing. Not if she was trying to leverage the envelope’s contents and his blindness against him.

He pauses at that. Did Fukawa know he was capable of using Alter Ego through his handbook to read? If she did, then there was no point in her trying to hold it over him. But then that meant she might try to manipulate him in other ways, the most simplest being blackmail. For that, he’d need to silence her…

And to do that, I would need to kill.

He drums his fingers against the hardwood floor. It’d be hard, but he could do it. She was already fixated on him, it should be easy enough to lure her somewhere and take care of her, either with a blunt-force weapon or strangulation - stabbing was too messy with the blood splatter - but the real difficulty then was how to conceal his tracks. 

He thinks for a moment of Maizono, and how she had swapped rooms with Makoto solely for this intention. He thought her foolish then, but in hindsight, it really was an impressive display of quick thinking…though, it wasn’t one that he could copy.

What if he did it in a shared space? In one of the empty classrooms? People hardly went into these rooms, and it’d be harder to pin down the culprit. But he’d have to be fast about it, and careful; anyone who sees him or Fukawa entering that space, or leaving it, could easily identify him as the suspect. It’d have to happen at night.

But, she’s also smarter than she looks… He rubs at his temples now, frowning. She might see the similarities between this and Maizono’s attempt, and realize it’s a trap. I can’t risk that. It’d be easier if I could easily pin it on someone, but the amount of people who might be stupid or willing enough to let themselves be used…

The list was very short. Makoto, who was already a non-option. Yamada, who was too closely allied with Celeste to be trusted. Hagakure, who was too paranoid to be easily led into anything anyways...

And Chihiro.

He’s suddenly struck with the realization that if he succeeds, the others die. It would not be just one person’s blood on his hands, it would be multiple, including those he chooses not to directly involve. He hesitates, for an instant - and then lowers his hands slowly, a sense of defeat settling over him.

He’s already failed before he even started. This game could only have one winner, and if he could not fully commit himself to that role and accept the consequences of it, then he was never a real competitor to begin with. Circles within circles. He was back to the start.

Frustration isn’t something he’s unfamiliar with, but it’s been a long time since he’s felt so overwhelmed with it, as he tilts his head back, knocking it against the shelf as he stares blankly at the brown fog of the ceiling. And then slams a fist against the floor, hissing venomous, ugly curses under his breath. If only he had his eyes, again - he wouldn’t need to be so concerned with such things, wouldn’t need to waver - and yet.

Where the hell is Makoto? He thinks numbly, exhausted with it all. He was sick of being left with nothing but his nerves, and how long did it take to talk to just three people anyways?

Thump, thump, thump.

A rhythmic banging snaps him out of his thoughts. For a moment, he thinks it’s coming from the door, and clumsily pushes himself up, while fumbling for something, anything, to use as a weapon - his hands find the hard, stiff cover of a case file, still on the floor - and stares down the door, waiting for someone to break through it-

But nothing. The chair that’s stuck under the doorknob hasn’t even budged, from what he can tell. The banging continues, and he realizes it sounds more like hammering than knocking. It wasn’t even against the library door.

Construction? Hagakure did mention hearing construction sounds earlier. Was Monokuma building something again?

The sound ends, replaced by footsteps approaching his door. He tenses, taking a step back, but a moment later, the footsteps patter down the hall and away, fading out of earshot. 

He stays where he is for a long moment, caught between terror and curiosity. Curiosity wins out, and he steps slowly to the door, hesitating once more with one hand on the chair.

But before he can even do anything, the air is pierced by a blood-curdling scream, and he throws the chair away, yanking the door open-

Only to be met with the sight of Chihiro Fujisaki’s corpse.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #hi....sorry for the delay... #in my defense i was waffling a while about posting this bc once i do it means im locked into my trial 2 case and scene etc #and im still writing the trial 2 scene WHOOPS.... #also was feeling very bleh this past week. whatever im fine now #byakuya full on plotting a murder before realizing. wait a minute. i care about people now. #and then having a mild crisis about it. prince zuko style except instead of getting a fever he starts swearing in french #hitting a girl? not cool byakuya #im so sorry chihiro i love you tho #the scene were toko gets makoto to go with her to talk to byakuya doesnt happen here #and also toko has been watching byakuya hang out exclusively with makoto #and hearing the rumors that they were having a scandalous drauma-fraught romance #so she ended figuring that the best thing she could do was corner him herself. hence the gathering of blackmail material etc etc #not necessarily the most romantic thing but she sees it as creating a level playing field where he's forced to acknowledge her at all

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 16

this is byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

just a note that i probably won't be updating chapter 17 until two weeks out (doctor stuff next week). apologies in advance for the cliffhanger

byakuya is kind of a shit defendant ngl. like buddy you have to get the jury to believe in you? if you dont want the guilty verdict??

makoto is doing his best here

@digitaldollsworld sjdfkdsjflkd

Content warning tags: not sure. but byakuya spirals into anguish if that's something you're not into, slight suicide mention?

< previous - from start - next >

Makoto’s voice echoes through the chamber, cracking through the air like a gunshot. It stuns Owada into silence; it draws all eyes to him.

Byakuya can’t even turn his own gaze away. Makoto has his fists clenched at his side, and stands tall and determined. Commanding the trial once more.

“Byakuya wouldn’t have killed Chihiro.” He says firmly. “And, Byakuya wouldn’t have been able to replicate Syo’s crime either.” He says it with such conviction that Byakuya can’t help to feel that irrational relief again, that comfort he could take in Makoto’s support.

“Can you explain?” Celeste asks, and Makoto nods stiffly.

“First…there’s the matter of location. It just doesn’t make sense, considering what we know.” He says his words steadily, carefully - laying out a careful foundation. “Me and Chihiro left the library at around noon, and went around the first floor, right? We found Hiro in the laundry room first.”

Hagakure nods, finger rasping along his chin. “Yeah, and we talked for…what, ten minutes? Maybe fifteen?”

“Right. And then we went looking for Mondo and Taka…we found them cleaning up in the trophy room.” Makoto's face turns to Owada and Ishimaru, seeking affirmation. “Chihiro wanted to talk to you guys one at a time, so Mondo, you came with us to the cafeteria, because you wanted to get something to eat.”

The only response that Owada gives is a grunt, but it’s not outright denial. So Makoto continues:

“I don’t remember exactly how long Chihiro spent there, but I know he left before one. We already knew where Taka was, and we knew that Chihiro wanted to go talk to him next. So there wouldn’t have been any reason for him to go to the second floor!”

“Ah, but.” Celeste cuts in. “What is the proof that Byakuya did not go downstairs? It’s hard to justify the library as the place of death, but is it not possible that Chihiro was killed on the first floor?”

“That would have been difficult. There were only so many places he could go where no one else would have noticed, or that he had access to.” Kyoko points out. “If Kiyotaka was in the trophy room, he would have had a direct line of sight of the stairs. Kiyotaka, did you notice Byakuya going downstairs at any time?”

She turns towards Ishimaru now. The Ultimate Moral Compass, their apparent de-facto leader and head of class, is dead silent. But his head turns in a slow shake-

“Don’t use my bro as an excuse!” Owada interrupts, again, and Byakuya finds himself with a mouthful of fresh blood, as he bites down on his inner cheek in frustration. “He’s injured, see? You expect him to give a testimony after he took a trophy to the head?”

Just how injured is he? Ishimaru seems to be standing steadily. In fact, other than his uncharacteristic silence and the bandage on his head, it was hard for Byakuya to discern if there was any difference in him at all. But there’s some slight awkward shuffling around him, as the others react with sympathy.

“...You okay, Taka?” Hagakure asks, gently. Ishimaru is still, before nodding once, jerkily. “Um. Okay, then…”

“E-even so!” Makoto’s stutters a bit, thrown off for a moment. “We can’t confirm that Byakuya did go downstairs at all!”

“But it’s not like we can confirm that he didn’t?” Yamada points out, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, I don’t mean any disrespect, Mister Togami - but I did take note of where everyone was around the time the body was discovered, and everyone else has alibis - so is there anyone who can vouch and say that you were in the library the whole time?”

Byakuya can only click his tongue sharply, turning away. Of all the people to want to get a dig at him, and suddenly try to be useful… ”Toko was with me. Twenty minutes before the body was found.”

He stares expectantly at Syo, who crosses her arms, tilts her head, and then shrugs. “Sorry, she’s really zonked out. Down for the count and all that, y’know?”

The one time he needed her! He scowls, but he can’t be bothered to waste time on her anymore. He turns back to Makoto. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking from here, but Byakuya can hear a soft tapping, the slight bounce of his leg against the floor. 

“Putting location aside, we also have to consider motive, right?” Makoto says. The confident edge in his voice is almost gone. “The interaction he had with Chihiro isn’t necessarily enough to implicate him. If anything, that would have made it harder for him to get Chihiro alone…he wasn’t exactly, um, nice when he said all that stuff…”

Byakuya almost rolls his eyes. He had been plenty nice at that time; but that was not important at the moment.

“It’s true, Chihiro was…kind of a scaredy-cat, right? I mean, before today!” Hagakure says hurriedly. “And no offense Togami, you’re kinda the loner type…except for with Makoto.”

“Shut up and make your point.” He growls, and Hagakure throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m just saying you’re not the easiest guy to talk to, man!”

“I don’t try to be.” But Hagakure had brought up a good point. “I’m not interested in being friendly with any of you. That included Chihiro.” That wasn’t a lie, technically. Up until this point, his relations with Makoto and Chihiro were made out of necessity and mutual gain. “He did tell me his secret earlier, but Makoto was present during that time. Other than that, we have had no other interactions.” 

That was more of a lie. He was purposefully omitting mention of their conversation in the bathhouse the other night. But it was fine, since he doubted Makoto would betray him now, and the one person who was aware of it - Toko - was apparently too caught up in her own head to disprove it.

“And that was also when you told him to try confessing his secret to the rest of us?” Celeste asks.

Why was she doubting him? He scowls at her. He needs the rabble to leave him alone already. “Yes.”

“How interesting.” She has her hand pressed to her lips again, an action that reminds him oddly of a self-satisfied cat. “Pray tell, at what time did you speak with Chihiro today?”

By the sound of her voice alone, Byakuya has the distinct sense that he’s being toyed with. Being lured to a trap. Even without ever being able to see Celeste’s face, he had always been aware that she was someone to tread carefully around, simply by the way she used words alone. Like laying mines in a field.

But there’s no way for him to answer this question without drawing suspicion. Silence would be even more damning. “Why do you ask?” He replies, carefully. He can’t tell, but he thinks Celeste might be smiling.

“You said earlier that you and Chihiro had no other interactions,” She sounds almost amused, despite the gravity of the situation. “I have a confession of my own to make. Even though it violates our ten-PM rule, I sometimes like to take walks after hours. I quite like the ambiance of the reduced lighting, and the feeling of being entirely alone.”

The sudden tangent catches him off guard. Apparently, he’s not alone in that aspect. “Um…Celeste?” Makoto’s voice is hesitant, confused. “What does this have to do with the trial…?”

“Well, as it happens, there are certain things that get revealed in the night-time that are otherwise unseen during the day.” She tilts her head playfully, and he feels a sudden sense of foreboding. “And late last night, perhaps after midnight, I do happen to remember seeing Byakuya and Chihiro leave the bathhouse together.”

The reaction is instantaneous. All around him is a clamor of shock, but he can barely make out individual words. His own ears are ringing slightly, as he tries to parse what Celeste just said.

“T-t-t-together?!” Yamada gasps, almost comical in his surprise. “B-but, I thought, with Mister Naegi-!”

“Boy-on-boy?!” Syo shrieks, practically jumping at her stand. “How obscene!! And such an unexpected pairing-?!”

“Scandal? In my school?!” Monokuma wails, thumping at its head with its paws “Oh, I knew I should have pushed abstinence harder! Where did I go wrong?!”

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” Owada snaps. There’s a catch in his voice; he seems thrown-off too, his previous attitude shaken by the sudden reveal. “You bastard…you better have a good explanation!”

Byakuya stays silent. His head is a buzz of meaningless sound.

“Wait, wait! Stop!” Makoto is waving his arms, trying to settle the noise. “That - Celeste, do you have any proof to back this claim?”

And she, the Ultimate Gambler, hums in amusement. “What proof can I offer? I did not take a picture. And it’d be pointless to describe what they were wearing.”

The absurdity of that statement draws him out of his shock. “Then why mention it at all?!” He snaps, and she giggles, infuriatingly.

“The two of you seemed to be on friendly terms last night. Why do you assume that I am not trying to assist you?” There’s a soft clack as she sets her hand against the railing, her nails tapping against the wood. “I hope you will forgive me for accidentally eavesdropping, but I did hear you suggest to Chihiro some advice regarding strength, no? It was surprising at the time, but it’s reassuring to know that you have a heart of flesh.”

She sounds like she’s smiling at him. He can only glare. Queen of Liars, indeed - he’s underestimated her. It feels like he’d been misjudging many people recently.

“...When you say ‘advice’, do you mean that was when Byakuya told Chihiro to talk to us individually?” Ogami asks, and Celeste just nods.

“Then, he did that with the intention of killing Chihiro from the start!” Owada spits venomously. “When has that guy ever been nice? And why else would he lie about this to begin with!”

“Mondo, seriously! This is just circumstantial!” Makoto tries to say, but he’s lost his assertiveness. He’s overwhelmed quickly, as the others begin their own speculation.

“It’s…really hard to say it’s Syo, huh?” Asahina wonders aloud to herself, almost regretfully. “It’s also hard to say it’s Byakuya, but…”

Shut up. His head hurts. He needs to think. He presses the ball of his palm to his temple, and finds his hand slick with sweat.

“There’s no one else who seems suspicious,” Yamada agrees. “If we consider all the evidence, and the, ah, love triangle…maybe, it was a crime of desperation? To frame Miss Fukawa so she would leave him alone…?”

Shut up. It was loud. They were so loud. He needs to think, he can hardly hear himself, his own thoughts. He couldn’t rely on Makoto anymore, but without him he had nothing left but himself.

“Maybe we should just ask him directly!” Hagakure shouts with bravado, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Hey, Byakuya-”

“Shut up!” He screams back.

The room falls silent. All he can hear is his own breathing, labored and harsh. His head is pounding, ringing in time to his beating pulse; he keeps his gaze fixed on the wooden beam beneath his hands, a flat strip of brown. He’s not sure what looks they’re staring at them with, but he doesn’t want to know.

A few pieces of weak, awkward, circumstantial evidence, and a reputation of being unsocial - was that really all it took? Had he fallen so far that this was all it took?

“It’s not me,” His voice is distant and unfamiliar, shrill with fury. “I wasn’t the only one aware of Syo’s murders. I wasn’t the only one on the second floor. All the evidence is weak at best, and clearly placed to frame me. Are you all stupid? Or just suicidal?” He casts his gaze around at each of their faces, as blank and empty as ever. “Isn’t there one other person here without an alibi? One other person who would know about Syo, other than me?”

“Byakuya-” Makoto says, but it’s so soft he ignores it. He points at Kyoko, who doesn’t even flinch. A statue of lilac marble.

“When the body was found. You were there.” He sounds insane, even to himself. The last, desperate floundering of a doomed man. “ ‘It’s reminiscent of that serial killer,’ but how would you have known that? Explain yourself, Kyoko Kirigiri!”

Kyoko doesn’t move. He can’t tell if she’s shaken at all, or if his words have had any effect. “I read the case file for it in the library a while ago,” is all she says, simply. “As for my whereabouts during the time of the murder, I was also on the second floor. I was investigating the bathrooms.”

“Alone, I’m presuming? And do you have any proof?

“I have no alibi that can be supported by another person.” She admits easily, as if he weren’t accusing her of murder. “As I said earlier, at the time of death, I was investigating in the boy’s bathroom. The only one who might be able to confirm that I had ever been in that room at all, is Toko-”

“And me!” Syo interrupts, sounding genuinely offended. “Gloomy might’ve been the one who collapsed on you, but I was the one who woke up to your mug staring me in the face!”

“-Furthermore, Makoto investigated the bathroom separately.” She continues. “I will let him describe what was found there himself.”

Byakuya turns to Makoto. This was a prime opportunity - surely, Makoto had found something, anything at all - 

“...The sinks and taps in the second-floor bathrooms were all dry.” He starts, slowly, hesitantly. “And- there wasn’t anything that could have been the murder weapon. There was also a lot of dust, so it wasn’t a place that was recently cleaned, and considering the time period in which Chihiro could have died…it’s just not likely.”

And that was it. Byakuya clutches the railing to keep himself upright.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Owada’s direction. A breath of triumph, maybe, before he asks Monokuma to start the vote - or a gasp of surprise, at how easy it must have been. How defenseless Byakuya is, hardly amounting to anything.

The thought makes him lean a little more against the railing, his arms trembling. He thinks he might puke.

“But,” Makoto raises his voice again, and Byakuya clings to it, like a drowning man to a buoy. “There’s one more reason why it can’t be Byakuya. The way the word ‘bloodlust’ was written is…it’s too perfect. It matches up too much with Syo’s handwriting from previous cases.”

“It’s not that hard to copy someone’s handwriting?” Asahina starts to say, but Makoto shakes his head.

“It…it’s not something that Byakuya could have done.” He sounds…strained, somehow. Uneasy, hesitant - If Byakuya didn’t know better, he’d think that Makoto sounded guilty - “It’s impossible for him to have done this, because…he’s blind.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #looved writing celeste here she's the worst ever #i did mock trial in high school and i really do not envy makoto here byakuya would be the woorst person to defend for #guy that needs to avoid a wrongful accusation and the death penalty: hey jury. you're all fucking morons and should be dead #also was not planning on making the trial this long its gonna be another 2 chapters at least #but. in my plan to write this fic with a blind protagonist. i neglected to consider the fact that he would be an unreliable narrator #physically incapable of providing all the details. so. ofc the trial would be long af #thpff

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 9

oh god oh fuck he's back

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

Hey Byakuya I'm glad you had your little reconciliation moment. We're still in a killing game though so don't forget

There is not as much of a focus on the other chars...trying to change that for the future because they're just as fun to write

Toko, girl...I do love Toko as a character but as a person she does some questionable stuff. This hasn't changed for this fic

@moonlighttogami betaread this!!

Content warning tags: Monokuma shows up to move the plot. I'm not sure what to tag this one with to be honest...canon compliance stressful events I guess?

< previous - from start - next >

“So you guys are…like, better now?”

It’s Asahina who asks this, walking boldly up to where he’s sitting at breakfast the next morning. He raises an eyebrow at her, setting down the piece of toast that Makoto had delivered him.

“What on earth do you mean?” He asks right back. He has the feeling of eyes, following his every movement. It’s annoying, but he supposes it makes sense; being locked up in a building with no new information meant the common masses would be slavering for entertainment. Relationship drama, or gossip thereof, was one way to sate that need.

“Oh, you know…you guys seemed like you were arguing before,” She says casually, rocking on her heels. “Like, you would leave any time he was in the same room, you wouldn’t talk to him, and he stopped bringing you breakfast…” She trails off, voice ending in a pointed lilt.

“I don’t know what assumptions you’re making, but I’m not interested in feeding your delusions.” He replies coolly. Let them draw their own conclusions. “Why not bother Makoto about this?”

“What do you think they’re doing?” She jerks her chin behind her. Makoto is surrounded on all sides by Yasuhiro, Owada…and Ishimaru, who for some reason seemed oddly friendly, especially with Owada. The weight of three, overbearing personalities seemed to be physically crushing the boy, as he tries to avoid Mondo’s belting, burlish questions by ducking into his cereal.

He wonders if Makoto was looking at him, probably making pleading eyes for assistance, and purposely looks away. He quietly congratulates himself for his forward thinking; after waking up some time before seven (warm and tangled up in sheets and limbs, and with his internal clock thrown entirely off-course), he immediately kicked Makoto out, shoving the groggy boy bodily out of his room, specifically to avoid drawing this kind of unnecessary speculation.

(He worried, afterwards, about whether he had inadvertently ruined their recently repaired deal. But then Makoto said ‘good morning’ when he entered the cafeteria, and then brought him breakfast as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. And suddenly, it felt somewhat foolish of him to have been concerned in the first place.)

“Like I said. Draw your own conclusions.” He hums, lifting up his mug for a sip of coffee. It was bitter and watery, but there’s some slight improvement from before; his constant hassling of Ishimaru must have yielded results. “Is that all? Can you leave now?”

Asahina wanders off, apparently annoyed that he won’t reveal anything more. With her absence, he suddenly becomes aware of a presence behind him, and as he sets down his mug, he manages to identify the person by smell. 

In the time since becoming blind, it seemed that his nose had sharpened, though that wasn’t necessarily a pleasant adjustment. He sighs, “What, Fukawa.”

The shuffling footsteps that had been inching steadily closer to him stop, then scurry off. What a strange one. He suspected that she was of the same crowd as Fujisaki, an admirer that has confused expected appreciation of superiority for romantic infatuation. For the time being, she was still relatively harmless, and somewhat useful in how attentive she was, cleaning up after him at mealtimes. He could have Makoto chase her off later…somehow or another.

Breakfast was drawing to a close. People began putting away their dishes, meandering towards the exit. Byakuya stands up and begins walking towards the library, and not long after he enters the hallway does he hear the sound of footsteps, sneakers squeaking to catch up to him, and allows himself a small smile.

___

Ding dong, bing bong.

He pauses outside of his room door, looking up in the direction of the sound. How odd, but he didn’t think it was ten PM already…he’d been very careful to have Makoto pay attention to the time on his wristwatch, so that they would leave the library with ample time to spare. He glances over his shoulder, and sees Makoto standing in the middle of the hallway, staring confusedly at the nearest speaker.

“Ahem! School announcement, school announcement.” Monokuma’s voice grates from the speakerphone. “Nighttime is quickly approaching, but before it arrives... All students, please gather in the gym immediately. Emergency! Emergency!”

This…could only spell trouble.

Around them, their peers were beginning to peek out of their rooms. Some of them seemed to be trembling. A clamor of anxiety was beginning to build, people voicing their worry for what could be coming next.

“I-It’s not a b-b-body, right?” He hears someone stutter behind him, along with the sound of audible counting.

“No. We’re all accounted for.” Kirigiri's voice cuts through the hubbub. “But we better get moving. It’s not a good idea to defy him here and now.”

Her words help snap people into action. He walks on ahead, ignoring Makoto, who had begun to drift over to him. He still needed to maintain some semblance of normality, after all, and having the other boy hover over him too much would grow too annoying. That conversation from breakfast was still on his mind.

The gymnasium is the same as he last remembers it, save for the removal of Enoshima’s body. From what he can tell, even the floorboards that had been pierced through have been replaced. How meticulous. He wonders if it was Monokuma that took care of the repair, and is struck by the sudden ridiculous image of the bear toddling around with a box of tools and some wooden blanks before wondering if there was something wrong with his head beyond his eyesight.

Speaking of Monokuma, the insufferable toy wasn’t here yet. The others murmur among each other, uneasy and on edge.

“What could he possibly want?” Ishimaru wonders aloud. His unusually relaxed, easygoing demeanor from earlier today was gone, replaced with the stiff, high-energy nervousness that he usually displayed around Monokuma.

“Indeed. What might await us this time?” Celeste hums, calm as ever.

Nothing good, I’m sure. He thinks to himself. But really, there was only one possibility that was in his mind.

“It’s likely a new motive.” He says, and at that, a hush falls over the group. They all knew what that meant.

“A-a-a-” Yamada trembles where he stands. “A new motive?!”

“Nooo…not again!” Yasuhiro moans, hands fisting in his own hair. “And not after the earthquakes last night!”

The ripple of anxiety that had been running through the group is interrupted by confusion. “...Earthquakes?” Makoto asks.

“Yeah! There was, like, a lot of rumbling last night.” The clairvoyant nods emphatically, hair bouncing like the branches of a tree. “I was sitting around in the main hall last night, meditating, when I suddenly heard a lot of, like, loud booms and stuff. I totally thought it was construction or something at first.”

“Construction…?” Asahina tilts her head. “Would it be the mastermind trying to build something?”

“I mean, I don’t know if it was construction for sure. It was just, like, kinda loud, you know?” He waves his hands, as if trying to support just how ‘loud’ it was by movement alone. “Like, I’m surprised no one else heard it!”

“The rooms are all soundproof.” Kirigiri interjects now. “Most of the rest of us were in our rooms by ten o’clock.”

“Y-yeah, I know, but- wait, does this make me seem suspicious? But no one’s even dead!” The few shreds of interesting information he had to offer were gone, and now all he spewed were inane words again. “I just lost track of time and was staring off into space! Serious!”

They continue to prattle on, and Byakuya tunes them out. Construction noises…he’s not sure what it could imply. Nothing good, surely, if there’s been no sign of the rescue that Asahina had talked about earlier, then that meant the mastermind’s domain extended past the mere limits of the school - the noises Yasuhiro heard were also supportive of that.

“Hey hey heyy, everyone!! What’s everyone talkin’ about?”

A voice pierces the air, and they turn just in time to see Monokuma vaulting onto the podium. It’s a cartoonish sight, but Byakuya feels tense, an uneasy chill building at the base of his neck. And judging by the sudden stilling of the others around him, it seemed that he wasn’t alone in this reaction.

“What Hiro heard wasn't the sound of construction...but it could have been an explosion!” The thing laughs. “Or maybe a machine gun! Puhuhu...That can kinda sound like construction in a way!”

“What are you talking about…?” Makoto asks, and Monokuma rolls over in another fit of giggles.

“Ah-ah-ah! You won’t get that out of me so easily! You might as well try gutting me for stuffing first!” It wags a paw at them. “It’s a secret little secret, y’hear?? And speaking of secrets…”

It digs behind its back for a moment, and seemingly out of nowhere, produces a stack of what looks like large, blank, white cards, fanned out in its paws like a blackjack hand. “Ta-dah!!”

Byakuya fights the urge to squint. Subtly, he steps quietly over to Makoto’s side. “What’s it holding,” He hisses quietly.

“Envelopes…with our names on them?” As Makoto responds in a whisper, Monokuma tosses the envelopes, and they scatter over the floor.

“Everyone pick up yours!” The headmaster orders, and a few people hesitantly obey. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it~!”

Damn. Byakuya stares at the mess of papers scattered around them. He could crawl on hands and knees for a million years, and never find it… “Why should we?” He snarks, glaring at Monokuma. “What’s this all about, anyways?”

“Ohh, good question, little heir!” The bear nods, like a pleased teacher contemplating an enthusiastic student’s question. “Well, if you don’t want to hurry and grab your envelope just yet, I suppose I’ll give you an explanation. You see, I’m a bit bored these days…every single day is so blah and humbug, you know? I’m suuuree you understand!” It waddles, kicking at a few of the envelopes at its feet. “Gosh, it’s got me so frustrated, I’m about to start tugging all my threads out…that’s how bad I want some stimulation, y’hear?! Something rife with danger and intrigue!!”

With those words, Byakuya feels that dread, cold and dripping, crawling down his back. Somewhere behind him, Owada snarls. “The fuck’re you getting at? Spit it out!”

“Patient, be paa-tient! Goodness, it’s not good to be so angry all the time!” Monokuma shakes its head. “But I’m a good headmaster, so I suppose I’ll just go ahead and be frank for my eager lil’ students. Y’see, it’s taking too long for another blackened to show up, and I’m getting so, so, sosososo bored…so, I’ve come up with a new way to motivate you all!” It twirls, and gestures once more towards the envelopes. “This time, I’ve collected up some of everyone’s most embarrassing memories and secrets! And I wrote them up and put them into pretty little envelopes for you all to read through!”

The chill in his back turns icy, and his gaze flicks down to the envelopes scattered on the hardwood floor. Around him, he can hear others diving for their envelopes, snatching them up hurriedly - but he can’t move. Even if he tries, he won’t find it - he can only hope that Makoto had found his, and wouldn’t betray him by reading it. Or else…

And others have started reading already. He hears gasps, terror, disbelief, the crumpling of paper. Before him, Monokuma looks up, tilting its face in an impression of curiosity.

“Oh? What’s this? Not moving?” It reaches out and pats at his knee, and he takes an involuntary step back, disgusted. “What, are you Jesus or something? Free of sin? You think you have no dark or dirty secrets to hide?”

Ironically, it was this stupid taunt that brought him back from his growing panic. Calm down, he snaps at himself. He’d do himself no favors making a fool of himself here.

He forces his face into a sneer. “I’m not the kind of person to be moved to kill by such a pathetic motive.” He says loudly, so everyone else could hear. “You’ll have to do better to make me participate in such a miserable excuse for a game.”

“Still not impressed, I see? Such a shame…” Monokuma looks down, apparently unhappy by this declaration. “And I worked so hard on these too…oh well. Whether or not you look at it matters, if you don’t mind someone else reading it…right, Miss Fukawa?” 

There’s a squeak. Byakuya’s head jerks to the right, where he remembers seeing Fukawa last. Sure enough, the girl is hastily shoving something back into an envelope - one of two envelopes, that she has clutched in her hands-

He’s crossed the space between them before he’s even aware of what’s happening, and grabs the envelope out of her hands, fingers crumpling the paper. Before him, Fukawa flinches and cows, shrinking down. “U-um, I didn’t-I was just…”

He glares, and her words die out. Behind him, Monokuma cackles. “Puhuhu! Oh, that’s too good!” It rolls on the floor with laughter, feet kicking merrily. “This is just like a reality drama! …But, it’s not what I’m after.”

The toy wiggles its legs for a moment, then toddles back onto its feet. “Everyone! You have twenty-four hours! If no one is blackened by then, I’ll reveal everyone’s secret to the whole, wide world! Wouldn’t that be so embarrassing??”

“We’d never kill over something like this!” Makoto’s voice pipes up. He’s standing there, hands clenched at his sides. “Sure, this is something I’d rather not want people to know, but…it’s not something to take someone else’s life over!”

There’s a brief pause, and then a small chorus of agreement. “He’s right!” Ishimaru shouts. “Your plan is doomed from the start! No one’s going to murder someone for this kind of thing!”

“Oh, is that what you really think?” The air in the room seems to chill by several degrees. Monokuma’s voice, previously playful and lighthearted, suddenly takes a sinister tone. “Well…whatever! If that’s the case, I’ll be revealing anyone’s secrets in twenty-four hours anyways, to make myself feel a little better. Everyone…farenotwell!”

And he turns, waddles off, and disappears into the depths of the gym.

__

In the end, they decide to simply ignore it.

Perhaps ‘ignore’ is the wrong turn of phrase here. Byakuya thinks bitterly, as he watches the other begin walking out. In truth, they had hesitantly tried suggesting sharing secrets now, to eliminate the motive, but several (including himself) were strongly opposed to the idea.

In the end, Ishimaru sent them off with a hesitant, awkward suggestion to ‘not act too hastily’, which was about as much as he could offer in this situation. Byakuya grabs Fukawa’s shoulder as she begins to leave, feeling his skin crawl at the very touch of her.

“Ah- huh?! Um…” Her head jerks, between him and the door, and begins squirming in her shoes. “M-mister Byakuya…”

“Give me your envelope.” He says coldly, and she freezes. “Well?”

“U-um…I can’t…” He grabs it from her hand, and she squeals. “W-wait-! L-let me prepare my h-heart-”

“Makoto.” He turns to the boy standing a ways behind him. “Come here.”

Makoto trots over, and Byakuya thrusts both envelopes in his face. “Which one?”

“Uh…” He hesitates for a moment, then points to the one that Byakuya had already been holding.

Byakuya shoves Fukawa’s envelope back towards her, and she fumbles for it a little too late. It flutters to the ground. “Stay away from me.” He spits. “And if I hear any whisper about the contents of this envelope, I’ll make you regret ever being born. Do you understand?”

He turns before she can respond, marching towards the door. Makoto’s footsteps dog after him.

“H-hey, wasn’t that a little…harsh?” He asks, quietly. Byakuya shakes his head.

“Hardly.” He grits out. If anything, he should have been harsher. His hand is still clenched tight around the envelope, the edges digging into his palm. The fury from earlier simmers; he could hardly believe the audacity that girl had dared to have.

He doesn’t even know what was written in his own envelope, and he doesn’t think he’s interested in reading it either. At the very surface level, it would be something about the blood competition that his family had held for the title of heir, and the lengths he had gone through to win it. If the mastermind had been really scouring for something embarrassing, he supposes it could detail about how he once spent a period of his life disguised as Polaris, though that was hard information to come by. Either one would be annoying to deal with once revealed, but it wouldn’t kill him. It was hardly the worst thing a Togami has done in the course of history, and as heir, any such information would be suppressed before it could reach any important ears.

But, it would be considered a blunder on my part. A blot on his perfect record. He chews at the inside of his cheek, feeling the raw and bloody flesh from the other day run over the grooves of his teeth. To allow such a thing to happen would reflect poorly upon him, draw doubt onto his position.

It’s not like killing was the better option, however.

He sighs, and stuffs the paper into his pocket. Better to put it out of his mind for now; if time runs out and it gets revealed, he’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with it then. He’s gotten out of tighter spots. And no matter how much he and Makoto had smoothed things over, he still couldn’t trust the boy to the degree of having him read it out to him, especially if it was a secret that could affect the family name.

For the time being, it was time to go to bed, and mull it over in his sleep.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #trial 1 went similar to canon but don't expect the same for trial 2!!!!! #makoto spent his days without byakuya doing free time events but noticeably bummed the whole time #everyone thinks they're dating or something. or that byakuya's stringing him along. so on and so forth #some of them are rootingn for him to forget byakuya and move on (to kyoko most likely) #others are rooting for them to get back together #others are just observing for the hot goss and drama #toko has also noticed these rumors. hence her weird creepiness. she's trying to be more forward here

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 5

kyoko time kyoko time

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

Byakuya and Kyoko immediate antagonism GO

They just keep walking circles around each other going. 'Suspicious...' "You're suspicious. I'm normal."

Istg I'm gonna figure out how to work Togiri into this. I swear for my Tonaegiri heart I will

Content warning tags: non-graphic description of death and bodies, canon deaths (sorry Sayaka and Leon)

< previous - from start - next >

Sayaka Maizono is dead.

Byakuya finds he's not incredibly surprised. She was the most desperate, after all, and incredibly resourceful and cunning. It made sense that she would try escaping first, at the expense of everyone else's lives. It was the sort of thing he might respect in a rival, the will to put everything on the line for the sake of an ambition.

But there was very little respect now that she was gone. Her body, slumped in the shower and dyed with the brightness of blood, was nothing more than an ugly smear against the gray tile. The sickly, metallic tang of her blood turned his stomach. She had died in Naegi’s dorm, of all places, and it left the boy shocked, and he had apparently fainted dead away at the sight. Hagakure had carried him away to the gymnasium, and now Enoshima was stiffly herding all the others in the same direction.

He leaves the room, breathing shallowly to avoid the smell, and nearly collides with Kirigiri. The mystery student. 

“Excuse me.” Her voice was nigh emotionless, and he suspected her face was the same. She tries to sidestep him, and he refuses to move.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He had stopped by the room after Naegi had taken a ridiculous amount of time to return, and found the door ajar and the boy slumped, and the body. Ishimondo had joined him shortly, and after a short bout of terrified screams, general panic, and one extremely-pleased-sounding announcement over the intercoms, they were now being urged into one place. Kirigiri was no exception to this.

“I want to take a look at the scene,” She replies bluntly. “Before anyone can tamper with it.”

“I doubt that the Mastermind would let that happen.” He counters. “From what we can tell, he’s established this as a game, and I doubt he’d go so far as to purposely interfere with the rules of it just yet.” No matter how deranged or despicable their circumstances were, the one behind this all was clearly a lunatic. And lunatics, especially capable ones, tended to follow their own set of rules strictly, even while disregarding everything else.

“You sound quite certain of that.” Her voice is as neutral as ever, but the words sound almost accusatory. He fixes her with a glare.

“And you sound quite certain that you will be unscathed after disobeying the Mastermind’s clear orders.” He retorts dryly. If she plans to implicate him in anything, he can do the same to her. “Shall we go?”

He holds his arm out in a mockery of a polite gesture, offering to lead her away. She ignores it, as he expects, and instead turns around on her heel and walks out, following the others. He closes the front door quietly as he leaves, and stays a foot behind them, eyes fixed on the swaying white blot of her hair.

Everything proceeds roughly how he could expect it to.

Upon waking up, Naegi was bombarded with questions and accusations, all of which he fumbled through desperately. He sounded distraught, and at some points, close to tears; even when Byakuya calmly pointed out that it would be a stupid decision for a killer to commit a murder in his own room, and then do nothing about clearly visible evidence afterwards, he was still despondent, and others were still suspicious.

What Byakuya hadn’t expected was the death of Junko Enoshima. Apparently, the world-famous gyaru couldn’t stand one more second being told what to do, and was then impaled by Monokuma’s order. Her body was left in the center of the room, covered by a tarp that Monokuma tossed carelessly over her. From what he could tell, she had seemed so in control before, piercing voice loud and brazen, but always trying to get along with the others. The sudden outburst wasn’t entirely out of character, but was surprising.

Whatever the case, there were more pressing matters at hand. As Monokuma so helpfully reminded them, they needed to discover the real culprit behind the murder, so as to avoid a mass execution. Ogami and Owada volunteered to guard the scene, and some of the others were currently wandering, scouring the halls for evidence and clues. Naegi stops Byakuya before heading to his room, catching him alone in the hallway.

“I’m going to go investigate,” He says immediately, his fingers pinching on the edge of Byakuya’s jacket sleeve.

“...And?” Byakuya jerks his arm away, irritated. “So go.”

“I just thought, I should let you know, since I won’t be able to-”

“I wasn’t expecting you to do anything for me. Not when you’re currently suspect number one.” He glances around, for any bystanders who might notice. “I won’t be able to help you anyways, so there’s no point in sticking near me. Go do what you need to.”

“But-”

Byakuya just barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Stop clinging to me. It’s annoying.” He snaps. “You won’t be of any use if you die, and our deal will be forfeit. Is that what you want?”

That seems to do the trick. Naegi shrinks away. “I was just-never mind. Thanks, Byakuya.” And he scurries off.

As odd as ever. But he did make for a surprisingly courteous servant, thanking Byakuya for permission to tend to other matters. Byakuya debates for a moment on what to do with his time; he didn’t feel entirely at ease leaving the case entirely in the hands of others, but there was also little he could do, realistically.

Byakuya turns the corner, with the intention of getting some food at least, before he suddenly finds himself face to face with Kirigiri again.

“...What do you want.” He glares at her, to no response, as expected. Kirigiri put him off, even more so than Naegi. Her intentions were entirely unclear.

“Are you going to investigate?” She asks instead. He blinks, surprised. He’d been expecting her to call him out on the strange, hurried interaction he’d just had with Naegi; he wouldn’t put it past her to eavesdrop.

“No.” He responds before he can rethink the answer, but then decides it would be better this way. Better not to lie and then have to try and save face during the trial, when he didn’t have any real input to share. “If you’ll excuse me-”

He moves to step around her, only to find her blocking his way again. He fights down a flare of irritation. “What.”

“Why?” Her voice gives away nothing, but her head tilts slightly. He frowns, and she clarifies. “Why aren’t you going to investigate?”

“Why should I?”

“I thought you would be more interested,” She turns, scanning the hallways. A few people are in the hallway of the dorm rooms, though none seem particularly interested in them. Her voice drops anyways. “After all, it involves Makoto.”

He feels a cold chill run up his back, and he grits his teeth. “Why should that matter to me?” He crosses his arms. “We have no relation.”

“Don’t you? You were quick to defend him earlier.” How did she notice that? He hadn’t been intending to appear as Naegi’s supporter, only as someone laying down logic and rationale amidst a crowd of fools. “And a little earlier. When the two of you were alone-”

“Enough.” He says sharply. Thankfully, none of the others around seemed to notice nor care. “Whatever you are assuming, I assure you, you are entirely wrong. I have my own reasons not to involve myself with this trial.”

“Hm. I see.” He moves to step around her, and she lets him, finally. He makes it a full meter away before he hears: “I didn’t realize the Togami heir would be uninterested in such things.”

It sounds like a challenge, and for a moment Byakuya almost snaps at it. There was nothing he, a Togami, could not do - and anything that he could not do meant that he was not a Togami.

But he bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to calm, turning to face her. He was too on edge, getting too easily riled up by such petty words. “My interests are above your understanding,” He replies, words clipped and cold. “And solving such a petty murder is below me.”

“You act like you’ve already solved it.” Kirigiri muses. The implications of her words ring silently.

“I don’t need to solve it. It’s clear it was done out of desperation. The culprit was bound to have left enough evidence to implicate themself, even without my assistance.” He raises a challenging eyebrow. “Is there a reason why you would rather waste my time, rather than assisting with the investigation? I thought you were so eager to begin earlier, but here you are now.”

If she was going to make baseless allegations towards him, then he could do the same. Blind or not, he would not be unmatched in a verbal spar. He can’t hear anyone around them, and wonders if they had all cleared off, or were watching silently.

Kirigiri doesn’t respond, and instead steps towards him. For a moment he wonders if she’s about to lunge, and belatedly realizes he can’t see her face, or read her expressions at all. He has no idea if she was angry or not, or if she was the kind of person to be easily set off by that anger - he would assume not, but he had already been surprised earlier that day by Enoshima’s sudden and tragic outburst - and he takes a step back, suddenly wary.

But all she does is brush past him in the direction of Naegi’s room. And he watches her until the door closes behind her. Only then, does he let himself breathe.

The trial finds Leon Kuwata, Ultimate Baseball Player, guilty of the murder.

Byakuya watches the screaming boy be dragged off, and listens to the desperate scratch of his nails against the collar on his neck and the squeak of his sneakers against the floor as he’s pulled away. He watches a blur of white projectiles fly around Kuwata’s body like a blizzard, the haphazard sprays of blood, and then the limp, broken corpse that’s left behind after the onslaught, dangling limply from the pole.

He won’t ever say he’s grateful for the appalling state of his vision. But at this moment, he does feel somewhat relieved to have been spared the uglier details. Kuwata’s screams had been so visceral and loud.

Naegi is frenzied with rage and grief. He had lunged at Monokuma, only narrowly held back by Kirigiri, and the bear had only laughed hysterically at it all. The other students were in various states of shock and horror, and more than one of them was sobbing from fear. Byakuya stood amidst it all, observing quietly.

“It seems like Mr. Affluent wasn’t impressed!” Monokuma hums, seemingly materializing next to him. “Are my executions not to your level, hmm?”

“I can’t imagine anyone would be impressed by such vulgar displays.” He replies stiffly. He watches Kirigiri pull Naegi to the side, talking to him. One hand placed on the boy’s shoulder, as if in comfort. Were they discussing Maizono? The execution? Byakuya himself?

“Hm? Not paying attention to your Headmaster? That’s noooo good!” Monokuma wheedles, and Byakuya scoffs. It wasn’t like there was a rule against it, and there wasn’t any point in acknowledging the stupid bear. “Hey, hey, heeyy! Blech, you’re no fun. What are you looking at that’s so interesting?”

“...Nothing.” He turns away, and begins walking towards the exit. “The execution is over. Can we leave?”

“Puhuhu, in quite the rush, aren’t you? Doesn’t your heart stir just a bit for your lost comrades?” Monokuma snickers, and though Byakuya had first thought Owada and Enoshima foolish for trying to physically provoke the little robot, he now found himself tempted to punt the thing. “Fiiine, then! Go ahead and wait for your classmates in the elevator, if you’re in such a hurry. But it won’t start moving until everyone’s on! …Well, almost everyone, puhu!”

He walks past a few of the others. Fujisaki is particularly distraught, being comforted by Asahina and Ogami. Owada is uttering a stream of curses under his breath, and Ishimondo, for once, isn’t reprimanding him for it, instead standing in rapt horror. Fukawa - he scans the courtroom, and then spies a dark purple shape in the edge of his periphery - is behind him, plodding along almost silently, and she jerks to attention when she sees him noticing her. “Um, I…”

He turns back around and continues walking, ignoring her. Kirigiri was guiding Naegi back to the elevator. The other man seemed to still be stunned by everything that had just happened.

“...You seem unaffected.” Kirigiri says, and it takes a moment to realize she’s addressing him. Byakuya scoffs.

“How funny of you to notice. Monokuma said the same thing.” He deadpans. Their other classmates are still straggling over, helping each other towards the elevator. “I’ve seen worse things. I’m not sure what your excuse is.”��

“It’s probably similar to yours.” His eyes dart to her, but she is as indecipherable as ever to him. He wonders if she was more articulate than she sounds.

He doesn’t bother uttering another word, as the rest of the class files in and the elevator shakes to a start.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #kyoko kirigiri #thpff chapters

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 7

this was sooo fun to write :)) i love kyoko

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

More Byakuya and Kyoko antagonism. I think they should kiss

I tried reading a book with my dad's old glasses that are super-strong prescription and made myself so light-headed I had to lie down. Byakuya how and why the hell did you power through this

Implied Naegiri (blink and you'll miss it). It's just the barest shred of Naegiri. The softest suggested whisper of Naegiri

Beta-read by @moonlighttogami :))))

Content warning tags: Byakuya and Kyoko argue at each other. A lot of pettiness being thrown around.

< previous - from start - next >

The next few days, he staunchly avoids Naegi.

It’s not an easy task. Despite now having two floors worth of space to occupy, he keeps crossing paths with the other boy; who, usually, was just a few steps behind Kirigiri. Each time, Byakuya would ignore them, head raised high and eyes fixed straight ahead.

It annoys him. It seemed that no matter how careful he was, luck just wasn’t on his side. Several times he would carefully, casually, scan a room before entering, confirming the absence of a brown mop of hair and green jacket, and walk in only to realize that Naegi had been just out of his periphery. Or, not a few moments later, Naegi would walk in anyways.

A few times, the boy even dared to try and come up to him, making awkward, stilted attempts at conversation. Each time, Byakuya stood up and left without a word.

The library became his base of operations, where he could reside undisturbed. A few days ago, he was pleased with this room, and its wide selection of classic literature and academic essays, proving itself to be a mine of information. Now, however, it was a frustrating place to be.

It was a bit of a blatant observation to make, but it doesn’t make a difference to a blind man whether he’s in a desert or the Library of Alexandria. If anything, all it served was to irritate him, as Byakuya wavers between holding a book a full arm’s length away, then so close it nearly brushed his nose, before giving up entirely and setting it down on the table with a sigh.

It’s no use, he thinks, eyes sliding shut as his head begins to pound with the now-familiar tells of a migraine. The medical textbook he’d been struggling with sits before him, as blank to him as fresh-fallen snow. After a few hours of squinting, he’d managed to find a page that could have a round, circular diagram, possibly representing an eye, but it still meant nothing to him if he couldn’t read the damn thing; the exact remedy that he needed could be right under his nose and he’d be none the wiser.

It was Naegi’s fault. Byakuya had misjudged him, had thought him half-capable based on his remarkable observation skills and performance during the first trial, and mistakenly believed he could handle learning some painful truths. But instead, the insolent brat stormed off, emotional and hurt, leaving Byakuya - his benefactor - in favor of some cryptic woman who was about as trustworthy as a spider. Doing the one thing Byakuya warned him against.

The whole thing was ridiculous to the point of being laughable. He thunks his head into the open book, tired of it all. His glasses dig into the bridge of his nose, but he ignores it in favor of reaching into his inner jacket pocket, rummaging until he comes up with a folded handkerchief.

He unfolds it slowly in his lap, careful not to spill its contents. It was too loud and annoying to carry around a bottle of pills, so instead he wrapped a few tablets of ibuprofen in cloth. He picks out two of the little chalky pills, then fumbles clumsily over his desk for the cup of tea he’d left there earlier.

He’s only just swallowed them down when there’s a knock on his door. He lowers the cup slowly. “What is it?”

“It’s Kyoko.” He scowls, and sets the cup down with a quiet click. She was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.

“And what do you want.”

In lieu of a reply, he hears the creak of the heavy library door, and then footsteps. Two sets of them, and for a moment he wonders if Naegi was here as well. For a moment he thinks so, based on the slight, green-dressed figure hovering near the door, but then they speak up, voice wavering and high.

“U-um…” Chihiro Fujisaki’s voice is a trembling, nervous squeak. She seems to be vibrating where she stood, somehow blurring even more in his deteriorated vision. “H-Hello…”

He turns to Kirigiri, ignoring the other girl completely. “Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to walk in without permission?” He asks scathingly, while discretely folding up the cloth in his lap and tucking it back into his pocket. No need for her to think he was being troubled by anything.

“I doubt you would’ve given it even if I asked.” She replies. She was already walking around, eyes scanning the shelves. ”You and Makoto had a dispute. Why?”

Straight to the point. He’s not surprised that she’s asking about Makoto, considering how often he saw the two of them together. “You’re unexpectedly direct. If only you had displayed such a drive during the trial.”

“I had my reasons.” She turns to him. “But you are the one avoiding the topic now. Please answer my question.”

How demanding. Of course, she would know of his dismissal of Naegi. He wonders if it was because that miserable fool blabbed, by words or by mere sullenness. “I had my own reasons as well.” He parrots back, offering a vapid smile. “Is there something else you need?”

She turns away and continues inspecting the shelf of case files. Apparently irritated by his uncooperativeness, or at least, he hopes so. He turns to Fujisaki.

“Why are you here?” He asks bluntly, and she jumps.

“U-um-! I, that is-” She wavers. “Uh…”

“You can speak up, Chihiro.” Kirigiri says, attention still focused on the shelf. “Don’t you have a question to ask him?”

“Th-that’s-!”

A question? Immediately, his mind jumps to his previous school years, spent being dogged by simpering, pathetic admirers. Some of the more memorable ones were persistent to the point of needing to be dealt with by force; he was not interested in repeating such an experience.

“I’m not interested in hearing it.” He deadpans. Better to shut it down now rather than later. Fujisaki seems to droop, and after another moment, turns around and flees.

“Cold, aren’t you?” Kirigiri observes, after the door shuts.

“Hardly. I could have been much harsher just then.” He actually had been prepared to say more, but he hadn’t been expecting the girl to run so quickly. No matter. “What are you still doing here? Isn’t your business done?”

Secretly, he would rather she stay. Between languishing over migraines and unreadable texts, to suffering long stretches of boredom, any company would be welcome.

“It’s not. You haven’t answered my question.” She pulls out a folder and begins rifling through its contents. “Makoto is very despondent that you won’t respond to him.”

“Is he now?” Byakuya actually wasn’t aware of that. “That’s not my problem.”

“Perhaps not, but it is a problem that he is no longer by your side, no?”

It takes a moment to absorb the meaning of her words. He straightens and turns to look at her, but she seems, to him, to be fully absorbed in the contents of the file. “...What are you implying?”

“You should take better care of the materials here.” Is what she says instead of an actual answer. She lifts a page from the file. “There’s tea all over this.”

He squints. “That page is fine. I don’t see any-” He begins, before halting. But it was too late.

Kirigiri lowers the page. “There’s no need for us to beat around the bush, is there?” She sounds almost smug. He glares, furious.

What an impertinent little... But she got him. He silently berates himself for letting his guard down, even with a headache he had no excuse. “Fine.” He sighs, lifting his hands in defeat. “You got me.”

“What did I get?”

“Do you really want me to say it out loud?”

“In that case, please confirm or deny what I’m about to say.” She slides the folder shut again, and she steps forward, voice lowered. “From what I understand, you are currently blind, or at least, your vision is impaired. You previously had employed Makoto to assist you, but due to some disagreement, you are no longer accepting his assistance.” He wonders at the sudden show of secrecy, before remembering the cameras that were present in every room. How thoughtful of her. “Am I correct in assuming so?”

“Oh, well done, detective.” He claps slowly, mockingly. “Do you want a medal?”

“I’m just making observations.” She walks closer, sets the folder on the desk. From her, she stands above him, her face dark from the dim lamp behind her. It unnerves him, more than he’d care to admit. “Byakuya Togami. What did you say to Makoto Naegi?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised that you care so much for him. Does he draw your interest that much?” He drawls, letting the insinuation hang clearly.

“He is intriguing, isn’t he?” She nods solemnly, and for a moment he wonders if she missed the sarcasm of his tone. “But that’s beside the point. Apparently, what you said to him has affected his morale. To be frank, it’s been depressing some of the rest of the class as well.”

He allows himself to feel a bit self-satisfied at that. I hope he’s moping. It would serve the stupid idiot right. “Again, that’s not my problem.”

“It will become your problem soon. Surely you didn’t forget his performance during the last trial?” How could he? As clumsy and stuttering as it was, Naegi delivered an impressive demonstration of skill, threading logic and evidence together to the right conclusion. He hadn’t been able to suppress the pang of envy as he witnessed it, the drawing of clear lines where there had previously been none.

The thought of that sours his mood. “You say as if everything hinges on him. Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” He sneers.

“Don’t you have any other comebacks? This one’s getting old.” She retorts swiftly. “We can accuse each other as much as we want during a trial. But answer my question, now.” She slams her hand against the open book on the desk with a muffled thump, leaning over him. From this position, she is a dark shadow, looming above.

Not for the first time, he feels a surge of anxiety. Some people had strong features and expressions that even he could read, such as Ishimaru or Naegi. But Kirigiri was not one of those people; in fact, she was the opposite.

To him, she is as faceless as a specter.

He tries to discreetly swallow the lump of unease. “...Fine. But get off me.” She backs off, suddenly obedient; had that sudden aggression just been a show? “You wanted to know what I said to Makoto Naegi? All I did was tell him to be careful.” He smiles, and even on his own face, it feels more like an ugly baring of teeth. “After all, there’s no telling if he’ll survive being a hapless lackey twice.”

It’s essentially a declaration of war. I won’t let you have your way. He didn’t trust Kyoko, and likely wouldn’t even if he could see her face.

He was planning on forgiving Naegi eventually, anyways. He was too useful a pawn to throw away now.

“...How hypocritical.” Kirigiri says after a moment. “Accusing me of trying to take control over him, as if you haven’t tried doing so yourself?”

“You know my reasons for doing so. And he’s been promised sufficient reparations.”

“Reparations he might not survive to see?”

Ah. That was right. He’d been so wrapped up in his own situation, that he nearly forgot about the greater problem at hand. So far he had been lucky with the killing game, imposing enough to not be victimized and unobtrusive enough to not be targeted, and had been dedicating his time and ability to trying to find information to heal his sight or identifying the mastermind. But, sighted or not, it’d make no difference if he was dead.

This game could only have one victor, after all. And Byakuya was no longer confident that he would be able to win.

“A Togami keeps his word. Somehow or another, I will uphold my end.” He’s already prepared some of his own personal stationary, and his signet ring, and had been planning on having Naegi help him put the details of their agreement to paper. If something had gone wrong during a trial, he would’ve passed off these things to the survivor to take outside.

Kirigiri hums, hand raised to her chin as she thinks. “It’s hardly a solid promise.” She muses.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply.”

“I think that you do. This agreement is based on mutual benefits, and yet it seems like you’re the only one benefitting.” She shakes her head as he opens her mouth to correct her. “What you are offering is based on a promise that you have now way of proving you can uphold. Isn’t it no wonder that he left your side so easily?”

He feels his eyes narrowing. “Again. What are you trying to imply?”

“You are incredibly arrogant for someone who has nothing.” She says bluntly. The words strike him like a physical blow, and for a moment it feels as though the wind was knocked out of him. “You know there’s nothing you can offer in these circumstances, so stay out of the way and stop interfering.”

He gapes at her, stunned, as she turns and walks towards the door. She pauses, one foot past the threshold, and turns.

“And take better care of the documents here. The one I held up earlier had a footprint on it.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #thpff #byakuya togami #danganronpa fanfic #danganronpa fanfiction

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 6

ooh...drama.....

also happy 2024. im posting this on new year's eve in my time-zone tho so consider this the last update of 2023

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

lovingly named this chapter 'the naegami pre-divorce fight' in my head

was incredibly worried about how the characterization would work out here. shoutout to @moonlighttogami for beta-reading this one!

Byakuya is an asshole here. But it's in-line with how he is in canon anyways

Reminder that this fic is a slow-burn. For both naegami AND togiri. Which includes conflicts abound

Content warning tags: canon-typical assholery from Byakuya, mention of previous character deaths

< previous - from start - next >

Things are quite tense after that.

It doesn’t help that Monokuma has no intentions of taking any of it seriously. He toys with them openly, seemingly delighting in the collective misery. But he at least opens up the next floor and some other facilities, which offers a wide new variety of options to them.

The first floor warehouse and bathhouse are now unlocked. On the newly available second floor, there’s a pool, some more classrooms, and most importantly, a library, though no kind of technology that could access the internet or the outside world. Even despite all that, it’s a welcome change; Byakuya was beginning to grow bored with the routine of the first floor, and the limited spaces he could occupy to eavesdrop on people.

He found painkillers and nausea medication in the first floor warehouse, which was a veritable boon to him. It’s cheap over-the-counter stuff, but he recognizes the obvious branding labels and has Naegi confirm it for him before he takes some bottles for his own use. Naegi also recovers a bottle of eyedrops, which he accepts, though they prove to have no effect whatsoever; at the very least, they made him feel like some progress was being made.

The real treasure trove, however, was the second floor library. 

It’s nothing compared to the library in the Togami residence, of course, but it seems that whoever was librarian here at least had good taste. He runs his fingers over smooth leather spines and finds titles that he recognizes, old favorites that he once tore through with eagerness and newer ones that he had always been planning on reading, and even ones that he had never heard of before. He felt almost pleased by it, though it was quickly accompanied by a note of bitterness.

Not like I can read these myself, however. He thinks, clicking his tongue and making Naegi jump besides him. And listening to someone else read was always irritating, especially when he could usually read faster by sight than they could speak. But he has little choice now, as he pulls Naegi to his side.

“Come to my room tonight,” He says in a low voice, with no uncertain terms. Naegi’s face flushes, and he begins to stammer out something ridiculous before Byakuya smacks him lightly over the head with a copy of Tolstoy.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” He scoffs, pushing a sizable stack into Naegi’s hands. “Go take these to my room. Then come back.”

“Oh, o-okay…” He walks off, tottering a little underneath the weight. He was listless after the trial, gloomy and less responsive, but he still followed orders well enough.

Byakuya watches him go, before turning his attention back to the shelves. Much as he’d hate to admit it, he was loath to be out of Naegi’s company nowadays. The atmosphere after the first death was palpable, thick with tension. Plus, it didn’t help that some certain, purple individuals, had taken up a new interest in stalking him.

One of whom was Fukawa. He’d noticed Ultimate Writer had taken up some kind of habit of following him around, as told by the slightly harrowed sound of her breathing in his general vicinity, and the general smell. And the other of which was Kirigiri, of whose presence he became uncomfortably aware of recently.

Maybe it was their few, clipped conversations with thinly concealed aggression. Or maybe it was simply her actions during the trial, which now put her at the forefront of attention - she had gone from being someone who the others were prone to forgetting, to a sort of secondary leader. Someone whose advice was asked for, though she was rarely around to give it. But regardless, he now found himself looking for white as soon as he entered a room, tensed as if ready to right. Though, after their first few, hostile interactions, all other conversations were relatively civil.

At the moment, neither of the two girls were posing any real danger. Fukawa, while off-putting, was more importantly boring and therefore relatively harmless (and furthermore, currently involved in some inane argument with Yamada). And Kirigiri was too involved in exploring their surroundings to pay him any real note; he turns just in time to see her pulling something flat, gray and rectangular out of a desk.

“What’s that?”

She shakes the thing, hard enough for him to almost be worried that it’d fly from her hands and smack against the floor, and a cloud of dust flies off. “A computer.”

“Oh?” Now this was interesting. He approached nearer, curious. “Does it work?”

In lieu of answering, she sets the device on the central desk and flips open the lid. After clicking and holding a few buttons, she shakes her head. “Doesn’t look like it. That would’ve been too easy.”

A shame. But she was right; it would have been too easy, considering all the mastermind’s attempts to cut them off from the outside world. “Send it to Fujisaki. She should be able to figure something out from it.”

“I was already planning on that.” She sounds mildly miffed at the suggestion, as if affronted that he would think she wouldn’t come to that conclusion.

“Good. I’m glad you have half a modicum of common sense, then.” He sniffs. It was more than just about anyone else here, at least.

She faces him for a moment, long enough for him to wonder if she was glaring at him, before turning away. “Did you find anything of note?”

“Not particularly. Some interesting volumes to pass the time with, but nothing obviously relevant to our situation as of yet.” From what he could tell, and what he had Naegi explain, the shelves held more than just good books. There were also case files for crimes that never reached the public eye, documents of incriminating evidence and then some regarding some of the most powerful names in the world. He would have to pore through those individually later. And some medical textbooks - he made a mental note of their location, and a reminder to go back for them.

Kirigiri steps past him to run a hand across the surface of a low shelf, sending up a cloud of dust. He wrinkles his nose and steps back. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry. I was just reaching for this.” And she holds up a thin rectangle of parchment, sealed by red wax.

___

The letter creates some interesting revelations.

For starters, the school had supposedly been closed down for nearly a year by now. And secondly, it was due to some circumstance outside of anyone’s predictions or control, that the school shut down in the first place.

There was no other elaboration, and nothing could really be gleaned from it other than the mastermind possibly having more control than they originally thought, provided that the letter was real. It was a frustrating loop back to where they first started; nothing was gained from the loss in morale.

If circumstances were different, he would’ve chosen this moment to break off from the group. He found a new source of entertainment and information with which to use, and with Maizono breaking some unspoken promise, there was now no telling who might strike next. If circumstances were different, he would take this opportunity to try playing a more active role in the game, to see how much he could push his limits, to prove the value and right of his blood.

But with his current situation, he had no choice but to continue to participate in the inane routine that everyone agreed to partake in. Waking up at six AM sharp to dress and clean himself accordingly, taking extreme care to ensure nothing was out of place, and then walking to the dining hall to enjoy breakfast. Ishimaru was usually there at this time, as timely as ever and preparing breakfast alongside whoever’s turn it was to handle the meals that day, and could usually be coerced into making a half-palatable cup of coffee. Then was the usual waiting around as the others made their slow, meandering ways in, exchanging yawned greetings and calls for food.

He sat apart from everyone else, as usual. Sometime around seven, Naegi would show up, and bring over a plate of buttered toast and some cut fruit for Byakuya and move on without another word. At first, the others had exchanged curious, barely concealed whispers, wondering at the nature of their dynamic - now, they hardly paid any mind.

“Today, we should split up and look for clues!” Ishimaru declared, after they had eaten.

“Isn’t that what we do every day, anyways?” Asahina muttered under her breath. Her head was resting in her arms, sprawled on the table. “I wanna go to the pool…”

“Yes, I don’t see why we can’t take a day to enjoy the new facilities.” Celeste interjected, hands folded primly over her lap. “I doubt any of it is going anywhere. And we have endured quite a lot, have we not?”

“Yeah, we should take a break! For like, morale and stuff!” Yasuhiro agreed heartily, nodding emphatically.

As Ishimaru tried to regain control over the table, Byakuya silently agreed right along with them. By his calculations, it would take at least twice as long for him to read anything if Naegi was helping him. Any free time was valuable.

“Well- it’s better to get work done before leisure, you know!” Ishimaru tried again, voice raised. “Otherwise, how will we be dedicated students!”

“We’re hardly students at all though?” Naegi’s quiet voice piped up. “I mean, considering why we're here...”

The previously light-hearted atmosphere vanished instantly. Over the course of just a few days, they’d witnessed the deaths of three of their peers. As much as Byakuya respected the entirely logical reasoning that Naegi had offered, he also felt that it was rather mistimed.

He debated whether or not to offer his own input, before Kirigiri beat him to the punch. “Why don’t we do both?” Her tone was calm and clear as always. “I imagine we will all be in different locations anyways. If every person just makes note of something that’s interesting and worth remembering where they are, we can come together later and combine that information. Everyone who wants to investigate on their own is welcome to do so.”

There’s a chorus of agreement to that suggestion. Ishimaru seemed relieved by Kirigiri’s attempt to boost the group’s cohesion, though Byakuya doubted whether that was her real intention. Bit by bit, people began to split off; predictably, Asahina half-dragged, more-led Ogami away in the direction of the pool, and Celeste began demanding Yamada to make her some tea. Byakuya stood up, watched as Fukawa swooped in and took his empty cutlery, and beelined towards Naegi.

He reaches him just at the same time as Kirigiri, both of them placing a hand on the young man’s shoulders at the time. Byakuya locks eyes (presumably) with the girl, frowning. “Is there something that you need?”

“...No.” She releases him, and walks away. It takes both of them by surprise; Byakuya had been expecting a bigger fight.

“...What was that all about?” Makoto asks, bemused. Byakuya had no good answer to that question.

“You’d do better to stay away from her.” Is all he says instead, before dragging Naegi off.

He had a selection of books he wanted to read for his leisure in his room, but had left anything potentially case-relevant in the library. It is for this reason that he pulls Naegi into the room and positions him directly in front of a shelf of all case files, and points to the one on the right. “Start from there. If there’s anything in there mentioning ‘Hope’s Peak’ or crimes of passion, or killing games like this one, tell me, and we’ll go from there.”

“...Wait, for all of these?!” His voice is a little reedy still, presumably from last night - while he was slow at reading, he was decent at it, and not unpleasant to listen to - Byakuya had made him read aloud nearly half of a translated copy of Atlas Shrugged.

“Is there a problem?” He looks down on the other boy. “You said you’d be my eyes. This is part of what I need my eyes to do. Get started.”

He watches as Naegi wobbles for a moment, turning between him, the shelf, and the door, before reaching for the first file on the far right of the shelf and starting to skim through it. He’s slow, taking a good few moments to look through each page, so Byakuya sits down in the large leather chair by the desk, sinking comfortably into it.

It’s quiet in the library, silent if not for the distant hum of the building’s internal machinery and the occasional flip and shuffle of Naegi going through a folder. Not for the first time, Byakuya wishes for a radio, or a music player. Boredom was a dangerous thing - as Pennyworth had taught him, it dulled the brain and made for delayed, clumsy reactions - and Byakuya had already exhausted the few tricks and games he knew to combat it on his own.

Maybe, it’s for this reason that he decides to initiate conversation. With Naegi, of all people.

“What do you think of her?”

The commoner takes a little moment to respond, and when he registers the question, he predictably begins to sputter, fumbling with the papers in his hands. “I-I-! …Um, w-who…?”

Byakuya rolls his eyes. “Kyoko Kirigiri. Who else?”

Kyoko Kirigiri. He was hoping that, if this school was the Hope’s Peak Academy they were meant to enroll in, that there would be more information eventually revealed about her as well. But for the time being, she was a wild card, and a mystery. These were two things that made her dangerous, and a possible threat.

“Sh-she’s…well, she’s nice…I think?” Naegi tilts his head to the side, unsure about his own answer. “I mean…she helped me out a lot with the trial. I don’t think I would’ve been able to get through it without her help.”

Interesting. That was true from what Byakuya could tell, but it also seemed that Naegi had been doing most of the talking, with occasional interjections from Kirigiri to help push him in the right direction. It was a demonstration of clever manipulation, and one that irked him. If Naegi was going to be working for him, he needed to be free of outside influence.

“Keep looking through the files.” He nods at the shelf, and Naegi fumbles with the folder with his hands, flipping it closed and sliding it away. “I saw you and her talking the other day after the trial. What were you discussing?” He asks, voice casual and almost bored.

“Oh, that? That…” He trails off. He seems to almost visibly deflate, his form drooping over like an unwatered plant. “That was…about Sayaka. She wanted to reassure me that Sayaka still cared about me, at the end.”

Still cared about you? The notion was so preposterous that Byakuya couldn’t help stifling a laugh, instead snorting at the thought.

“...What’s so funny?”

“Sorry. I simply find the idea of it ridiculous, is all.” Sayaka Maizono, caring for him? Perhaps, but the entire plan that she had prepared was, albeit hastily executed, commendable in its elaborate design, considering the short time period in which it was concocted. Trying to derive small comfort from such an assumption was like trying to squeeze water from a stone; a pointless, frivolous task.

“Why?” Naegi’s voice is raised now, and he sounds angry. “It’s not ridiculous. We really were good friends-”

“Oh, please. Were you friends back in middle school? Or did you only watch her from afar?” Naegi shrinks back at the words, which meant that Byakuya had been spot-on. “And she only reached out to you after we found ourselves trapped here, and said all the right things to get you to follow after her like a starving dog.”

“Shut up.” Naegi says, voice so quiet he almost missed it.

“She could’ve used any of the half-witted fools in this class, but she used you because she knew you were unlikely to betray her.”

“Shut up.”

“Did you happen to make a promise to ‘help her no matter what?’”

“I said, shut UP!”

The sudden shout is accompanied by the rustle of papers hitting the ground, as Naegi drops whatever was in his hands to the floor. Byakuya remains carefully composed, though he suddenly feels incredibly wary.

“I’m only telling the truth.” He keeps his voice level, calm. Naegi was standing up, and somehow seemed bigger than before; though that was perhaps due to how Byakuya was sitting down. “It was obvious that she was trying to pin you under her thumb. She was going to betray you eventually, so it’s better to forget about her and move on.”

“You don’t get to say that stuff about her.”

“And why can’t I? Everything I say is simply meant as advice. Advice that you clearly need.” He continues anyways, trying to hide the unease creeping at the edges of his voice. Why did he feel so threatened? The only one here was Naegi. “You know it’s happening again, right? That Kyoko woman. She’ll do the exact same thing as Sayaka and you’ll be none the wiser.”

“She’s not like that.” His words are a low whisper now, barely audible. It seems to fill up the entire room.

“And how do you know? What do you know about her that no one else does?”

At last, he’s met with silence. A question that can’t be answered. He watches the realization sink into Naegi, watches his demeanor change, shrinking back to being small and meek again, and without realizing it he lets out a breath he’d been holding.

“...I don’t know.” Naegi says aloud, at last, and his voice is so small again. “I…I don’t know anything about her.”

“Right.” Byakuya nods, while feeling an inexplicable rush of relief. “So-”

“But I also don’t know anything about you.”

“...Excuse me?”

Not for the first time, he wishes he could discern facial features. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on them before; how telling they were to a person’s character, their emotions, their whims and ideals. Even Naegi, someone who should’ve been inconsequential to him, was capable of becoming dangerous. A treacherous link in a chain. 

But Byakuya had no choice but to rely on him anyway.

Naegi turns around, and Byakuya suddenly realizes he was about to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sorry, I…can’t really think straight right now. I probably won’t be able to help you for a little bit.” There’s a tremor in his voice. Anger? Grief? “But I don’t know anything about you either. Yes, I know your talent,” He adds, as Byakuya opens his mouth to correct him. “And your secret, but…that’s still not enough, right?”

“This-This is different, though.” We’re built on more stable footing, he thinks. Naegi knew his secret and would help him navigate as needed. In return, he would use his authority to ensure the lives of Naegi’s family. That was their deal.

“Maybe, but still. There’s a lot I don’t know about you. And you’re right - I don’t know if I can trust Kyoko’s words, because she could just be trying to use me. Just like Sayaka did…” His voice trails, and he shakes his head. “But I also don’t know if I can trust you. Aren’t you just using me, like you say Kyoko wants to?”

Was he stupid? “Like I said, this is different.” He stands up, steps forward - and hears the crunch of papers beneath his feet, but there’s no time to worry about that now - “I’ve already sworn on my family’s name - there’s nothing else in the world that means more to me, not even my own life - and look at me. Do you really think I’m capable of anything when I’m like this?” He holds his hands out, gestures towards himself. This wasn’t turning out the way he wanted - all he had wanted was respite from boredom, and reassurance that Naegi wouldn’t betray him, and to get some sense into the damn peasant - “Makoto.”

Naegi turns away again. “...I’m sorry.” Byakuya can hear his hand on the doorknob, trembling slightly. “I promise, I’ll keep up my part of the deal still, but…please, let me off for now. To think for a bit.”

He still doesn’t move, however, and Byakuya belatedly realizes that he was waiting for permission. He hears the papers beneath his shoes crumple, as his heels dig into the carpet.

“...Fine, then.” He spits. “Get out. Go play with Kyoko, or whoever you want, and get your pathetic heart broken and betrayed all over again.” He watches Naegi cringe under these words, shying away as if they were physical blows. “Don’t come back to me until I say so.”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff chapters #thpff #danganronpa #danganronpa fanfic #byakuya togami #makoto naegi

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 15

alexa bring me my popped corn and a drink. im about to watch a white boy get annihilated

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

may go back and edit some things for the final cut bc im STILL not all the way satisfied with how the trial is working out

the one where byakuya has only the vaguest idea what the hell is going on

syo is so fun to write. sorry im syo apologizer now

betaread byy @digitaldollsworld :)))

Content warning tags: mild descriptions/mentions of blood/gore

< previous - from start - next >

The ride down to the courtroom is tense as usual, but with a new, palpable level of hostility in the air. He feels gazes, laden with suspicion and wariness, but there’s no whispers, at the very least. Aside from the rumble of the elevator (and the occasional grunt and insult from Syo, who was picking a fight with anyone who ‘looked at her funny’), the air is dead silent.

He ignores them, arms crossed and staring resolutely ahead. The animosity isn’t unfamiliar to him; he’s experienced such things countless times already, from his siblings who wanted him gone, to adults who thought him young and impertinent and an obstacle. And he’s not one to care for the opinions of the lower class either, but it irks him that he needs to take them into consideration for this trial. 

If he lets them decide based on their naive pathos alone, they’ll all be doomed. No matter how much he disliked having to cooperate with the rest of them, as foolish as they were, it would be necessary to ensure his own survival. As a child, Pennyworth once reprimanded him for criticizing the democratic structure of the various national governments, saying ‘the greatest asset is people.’ Byakuya had grown to understand the truth of those words, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it.

There’s a quiet shuffling sound at his side, that startles him out of his thoughts. He glances over, and sees Makoto, surreptitiously edging near.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, and when Byakuya raises an eyebrow at him, he taps the side of his face. “You know…”

Ah, right. “Yes. I’m fine.” He reaches to touch the side of his face - the swelling has reduced noticeably already, though it still feels soft and tender under his fingers. Like an overripe fruit. “Don’t worry about pointless things.”

“It’s not-” He starts, before sighing. “Okay.” Makoto’s head twists, glancing around them for any onlookers. “About my investigation-”

“Save it.” There were bound to be eyes and ears on them, most noticeably, Kirigiri’s. He can see the girl standing out of the corner of his periphery, a pillar of pale violet. He’d prefer not to draw unnecessary suspicion now. “I’ll hear about it during the trial anyways.”

Makoto falls silent. For a few moments, the only sound is the rumble of the elevator, the occasional shifting of restless bodies. Then Makoto leans closer until their arms graze, a sudden, shifting press of warmth.

“I promise, I’m going to prove you’re innocent.” There’s an unexpected fierceness to his tone, a determination that Byakuya only heard once before, during the last trial. “No matter what.”

He blinks, taken aback somewhat. He hadn’t expected this display of loyalty, but - well - maybe it was to make up for their previous falling-out. Whatever the case, Byakuya finds himself strangely reassured.

“Hmph. You better.” He crosses his arms and surveys their surroundings. “If you don’t, we’re all dead.”

So Makoto was certain of his innocence. That was some comfort, though Byakuya couldn’t put his entire faith in the other boy alone. At the end of the day, he could only rely on his own strength to get him through this.

It will be fine. The elevator shudders to a stop, and the metal grate of the doors rattle as they slide open. Everyone files silently to their stands, at this point already familiar with what being in this room meant. No matter what the outcome was, at least one of them would die.

From his stand, he looks around. Everyone seems somber, and even Syo is quieted down for once, currently consumed with picking at her nails. Ogami has her arms crossed, face turned downwards. Hagakure keeps fidgeting, head nervously turning this way and that. Kiyotaka seems as stiff as ever, posed as rigidly as a statue and staring silently ahead. Something white  is wrapped around his head, stark against his dark hair; a bandage, most likely, and Byakuya wonders for a moment if he’s concussed.

“Welcome, welcome!!” Monokuma springs up, twirling on its chair like a clown. “What do you guys think of my redecorating? Pretty nice, right?”

Byakuya has no idea what the bear is talking about, until he looks around again and notices that there were more plaques, standing in each of the unoccupied podiums. Even with his vision, he can identify what the dark-framed rectangles are supposed to be, and why each of them had red paint splattered across it in an ‘x’.

Last time, it had been Maizono and Enoshima. This time, it was Kuwata, and Chihiro.

How tasteless. No one bothers to say a thing in response.

“Gosh, what’s with the silent treatment? Cats got your tongues?” Monokuma hums, apparently put off by the lack of reaction. “What a bunch of downers! Where’s your youth?”

“Enough with this.” Owada growls darkly. His hands are fisted tightly on the railing. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Well, aren’t you rip-raring to go! Didn’t expect that from you, Mister Owada!” Monokuma cackles excitedly. “But I don’t hate it! Alright, let’s get this show on the road!!”

So it begins. Byakuya readjusts his stance, lifting his head to stand tall and straight. He cannot afford to show weakness here. He cannot afford himself any more leniency, any reason for failure.

It was time to start the trial.

___

“Because we have a newcomer, let’s go over the rules one more time.” Monokuma says, as it climbs onto its chair. “At the conclusion of this trial, you will all vote for who you think committed the crime, and your vote will determine the results. If you can figure out ‘whodunnit’ then only they will receive punishment. But if you pick the wrong one…” It grunts slightly as it finally clambers into its seat, settling in with a bounce. “Then, I'll punish everyone besides the blackened, and the one that deceived everyone else will graduate!...Does that make sense, Miss Syo?”

“A death game, huh?” Syo hums, tilting her head. “No wonder y’all are so tense. It’s a real battle royale in here!”

“How dare you? My game is way more sophisticated than that government-organized waste of tax dollars!” Monokuma sounds genuinely affronted, somehow. “But- well, I could talk forever about that, but I don’t wanna cut into everyone’s time. To start, why don’t we go over some details from the case? I’m dying to know what you guys are thinking~!”

The response is more quiet, some awkward shuffles. Considering the events of the last trial, everyone was treating this one like a minefield, and each person was afraid to venture out first. 

Finally, someone speaks up. “Let’s start with the scene itself.”

Kyoko’s voice is calm and steady, and cuts through the tense air. Silently, Byakuya appreciates her initiative, the careful drawing of the reins, the call for a preamble. If he came out and began throwing accusations outright, it would only damage his credibility; he needs a base to stand on.

“R-right.” Makoto follows up quickly. “Um, so. At around…one-fifteen today, Chihiro’s body was discovered by Byakuya, Hina, and Kyoko in the hallway outside the library. The body announcement went off shortly after.

“The body…was leaning against the wall, and apparently crucified,” His voice wavers slightly, but he presses on. “The presumed cause of death was…was a blow to the head. The Monokuma file says the death was instant.”

A blow to the head? He almost asks aloud, surprised. Though it hadn’t exactly been clear with the amount of blood on Chihiro’s body, he thought the cause of death would have been stab wounds, given Syo’s modus operandi.

If it was someone with the same cleverness as Kyoko, they wouldn’t have missed such an obvious detail, and if it were Syo herself I doubt she would have strayed from her pattern… He casts a glance at Syo, now picking at her teeth. Though, it is difficult to kill someone cleanly with sharp objects alone. 

Somewhere to the side, Asahina shudders. “How horrible…”

Makoto only nods once, jerkily, in agreement. “The word ‘bloodlust’ was written on the wall besides the corpse, presumably with blood from- from the crime itself.” There’s the quiet sound of him swallowing drily. “The scene also mimics the signature of a serial killer that was pretty prolific a short while ago-”

“That’s ri-ight~!”

He’s interrupted by a giggle. All heads turned towards the source.

Syo is twirling in her stand, pointing at herself with the same glee as an audience member who was picked out of a game show. “It’s yo-ours truly! Call and I shall appear!!” She strikes some kind of ridiculous pose, hip cocked out and arms raised. “Genocider Syo is here!”

Even though they had all been present for her initial self-introduction, the declaration still draws some disbelief. “Wait, so…you’re serious?” Hagakure asks, with an air of incredulousness. “Lil’ Toko, the bookworm, a serial killer? You sure this isn’t, like, a late-case of middle-schooler syndrome?”

“Bah! Don’t compare me to those posers, Grasshead!” She snaps, pointing at him, and he yelps, flinging his arms up as if she was threatening him with an actual weapon. “I’m the real deal!! Ask me about any of the victims, and I can tell you everything ‘bout ‘em, from their favorite foods to their shitty tastes in girls!”

“...Anyways, Toko - in this case, known as Syo - was also carrying these.” Kirigiri withdraws a brown pouch from her jacket, the contents of it jingling. “Inside are scissors matching the unique make and model of the murder weapons found at Syo’s crime scenes. Between these and  the…dramatic change in personality, I think we can confidently assume that Toko is Syo, and vice versa.”

“Hmph. Gloomy wishes she could be me.” Syo harrumphs. “But yeah, sure, you got me detective! Me n’ Gloomy are like twins in one body, but only one person can drive at a time, yakkno? And she always hogs the wheel.”

There’s a murmur, as people take in this new revelation. “So…like a split personality?” Yamada asks.

“Not quite.” Kirigiri replies immediately. “It’s not clear how her affliction might be classified, but it does explain how she was able to avoid detection for so long.”

I see…” Celeste’s fingernails tap lightly against the railing. “But with this, does it not appear as if this case is already solved?”

“No…it’s not that simple.” Makoto says, a frown in his voice. “All of Syo’s previous victims died by stab wounds, but this time around, Chihiro’s cause of death was from blunt force to the skull…plus, nothing sharp was used in the crime at all.”

This time, Byakuya can’t hide his surprise. “Really?”

He immediately shuts his mouth, at once disgusted with himself for losing his control like that, but it’s too late. Attention turns to him. “What is it, Byakuya?”

He grits his teeth, now with no choice but to move forward. “I didn’t get a close look at the body earlier,” He explains, which is something like the truth. “But - given the blood and the nature of Syo’s crimes - I assumed that there would have been use of stabbing to at least mimic the scene, if only just to suspend the corpse?”

It’s a plausible enough explanation. He can only hope no one noticed the hesitancy in his voice. Kirigiri is the one that responds. “It is strange,” She nods. “I noticed that as well. But no, there are no stab wounds whatsoever on the body, and Syo’s scissors are completely clean. The body itself is suspended with an extension cord looped around the wrists, and hammered into the wall.”

This was more unexpected information, but useful information nonetheless. But it was frustrating that he couldn’t have seen it for himself to confirm, and all he could do now was rely on Kirigiri’s claim. But no one else was speaking up to disprove her, and so he had no choice.

“Couldn’t she have chosen a different weapon and method of crucifixion to keep suspicion off of herself?” Celeste asks again, curiously. “Given the enclosed nature of our surroundings, would it not make sense for her to try and create a scene where we could not ascertain her role in it?”

“Right! Couldn’t it be that Syo - er, Miss Syo -” Yamada corrects himself quickly. “- was trying to cover her tracks? I mean, I’ve seen it all the time in mystery mangas, where the killer changes up their style to throw the dogs off their tail…”

“No way!” Syo confirms aloud, sounding genuinely affronted by the suggestion. “I take pride in my works, yakkno? Any shmuck can make sushi, but it takes a real master to make the real thing. And what happened with Chihiro is some cheap convenience-store trash you can buy for a kid’s allowance!”

Ugly metaphor aside, it made sense. After reading so many case files, he had an understanding of how hedonistic killers operate, and it seemed that Syo was certainly not out of the norm in this case. She and the mastermind were similar in this regard. No matter how irrational, they always adhered to their own twisted sense of pride, and by extension, followed their own set of guidelines strictly.

But, then that meant it was unlikely for Syo to have committed the deed. Out of three possible suspects in his mind, he knew it was not himself, and if it wasn’t her, then the last one left was…

“That’s a possibility, but it’s not likely here,” Kirigiri speaks as if Syo had never said anything in the first place. “Syo was far too eager to reveal her identity, so it’s unlikely that she had intentions of hiding herself...and furthermore, with someone with as extensive a streak as her, it strikes me as odd that she would break her habits now.” She voices out the exact thoughts he was having himself, and that both reassures and irritates him at the same time. “Rather, the obvious way the body was displayed, plus the small differences with the actual killing method and the mounting, makes me think that this is a red herring.”

“Quite right,” Byakuya says now, and he can feel eyes turning onto him. “But many details on Syo’s killing methods and habits were concealed from the public, including the fact that the victims were crucified. Which means there is only a limited number of people here who could have copied her M.O to this extent. Am I correct?”

There’s a moment’s pause. He’s taken them by surprise, by pointing out the very thing that would otherwise suggest his involvement. Everyone had seen Owada confront him on the second floor hallway, had heard his messy accusation, though given how Kirigiri was quick to have the suspects isolated and Owada occupied by the menial task of overseeing the scene, they likely weren’t aware of any real explanation for his suspect status beyond Owada’s initial, hasty claims.

That was what he needed to take advantage of now, if he was going to keep suspicion off of him and survive.

Kirigiri nods slowly, likely also taken aback by his sudden interjection. “That’s true…the details of the Syo’s victims were kept confidential to only high-level police and investigators-”

“But that doesn’t mean jack here,” Owada cuts in sharply. He had been quiet this entire time, but now he leans forward, hands clutched against the wooden rail. The tip of his pompadour is facing Byakuya, as if staring him down. “There was that folder thing, right? The one that had all the details on Toko or Syo or whatever, I don’t give a shit.” He drawls out his cusses with a snarl, trembling with rage. “And the only guy who’s spent enough time in the library to be reading about that kinda stuff is right in front of me.”

Byakuya suppresses a sigh. Of course, Owada would jump to such conclusions, easily thrown into a blind fury by mere provocation. The bruise still throbbing on his face is evidence of that. “As I was beginning to explain, yes, I did have access to this knowledge. However, I alone can’t be classified as the killer-.”

Owada cuts him off again. “But there’s more evidence, ain’t there? You were the only one closest to the body when it was found. You were the only one with blood on you-”

“Oh, please. Everything you’re describing is circumstantial at best.” He scoffs. “It’s not like I’m locking the library doors or living in there, anyone could have read that file. I don’t have access to anything that could’ve been used to stage such a crime. And the blood on me isn’t enough to justify a murder.”

“You could’ve cleaned it off then!” Owada spits, and Byakuya simply rolls his eyes.

“And what’s your proof? Beyond your own, half-baked opinions based on some coincidences?” He snarks. He can’t waste too much time on this. He needs to move on, and quickly. If too much attention lingers on him, he’ll lose credibility. “Tell him, Makoto.”

Gazes turn towards Makoto. Byakuya waits, expecting him to say something, to point out the blatant lack of proof, or offer some counterargument to break down Owada’s logic. But Makoto is silent, his face cast downwards. After a pause that feels entirely too long, Byakuya finally understands why.

The realization completely derails him, and his fragile, haphazard plan of attack shatters. “Don’t tell me…” he says incredulously under his breath, mostly to himself.

“There is proof.” Kirigiri confirms his suspicions. She holds something up - rectangular and maybe the size of a small book, and maybe white once, but stained so thoroughly with blood it was hard to tell - “There was a mess in the library suggesting a struggle had occurred, and there was a textbook that had some bloodstains along the spine found near the far shelf. There were also two of these gauze pads found behind the door.” There’s a dry crackle as she sets the bloodied gauze down against the railing. “Furthermore, the cord that was used to crucify Chihiro was also confirmed to have come from the library. We found an empty box with a broken lid, with a dust imprint that suggests that it was used to hold the cord.” She pauses for a moment, as if gauging reactions. “There was also a white sheet found in the boy’s bathroom on the second floor, with a large spot of blood near the middle of it.”

It feels like the floor is tilting under his feet, and he leans his weight forward into his arms, his hands still clutching the rail. The cord, the bloodied gauze? The sheet?

I’m being framed. That much was clear, but - he has no idea by who. It couldn’t have been Toko, or Syo. Had someone snuck into the library after Chihiro’s body was found, during all the confusion? Planted evidence to doom him?

“That’s impossible,” He hears himself saying, voice strangely distant. It takes an effort to drag himself back, out of his racing thoughts. He can still salvage this; I just need to stay calm.

“I’ve never touched that cord, and I have no idea where that gauze came from.” His own words sound pathetic and baseless, floundering attempts with no substance. “And- there’s not enough blood on the book to justify that kind of killing blow-”

“So it was used to hit someone?” Celeste asks, an amused note in her voice. Immediately, he snaps his mouth shut, cursing at himself silently. “Won’t you please elaborate for us?”

“That was-” It’s hard to explain the real reason. That he had struck Fukawa, in a moment of panic; no matter how much he hated that girl, to admit such a thing was humiliating, the act of someone lesser than him. “-from something else.”

His eyes dart towards Syo, half-expecting her to come forward and call him out on his avoidance of the topic. But all she does is…wiggle, her hands clutching her face. 

“Gosh, I’m jealous of whoever got to feel those hands on ‘em!” She swoons, and he realizes that she didn’t remember. Either that, or she had no intention of bringing it up, and the latter seemed unlikely.

Kirigiri leans forward a bit, pale face turned towards him. “The gauze pad I held up was soaked through, but it’s strange how clumsily it was hidden. Additionally, just the two of them wouldn’t have been nearly enough to justify the cleanup of an entire scene, especially given the tendency of head wounds to bleed.” She pauses, apparently waiting for any protest, before continuing. “And the book, too. To match the shape and dimensions of the wound, you would have had to use the corner of the book and apply a heavy amount of force, and there aren’t any deep stains or large splatters against the edges that would suggest such a thing.”

The relief he feels is nearly palpable, Kirigiri’s methodical words like a balm. He’d be almost grateful for it, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was suspecting her as well. Was she trying to get his guard down? To ensure his support if she were accused? He can see others nodding, following her logic.

“And what about the sheet?” Ogami asks.

“The stain on it doesn’t suggest it was used to wipe anything up. And there are no clear splatter marks to suggest that it was laid down prior to doing the deed, to reduce cleanup time.” An inadvertent breath of relief leaves him, a quiet sigh, and he swears for a moment that he feels her gaze flick towards him, a near-imperceptible turn of her head. “The boy’s bathroom is also not as strictly regulated as the locker rooms, so to claim that Byakuya was the only one on the second floor who could have put that there is untrue.”

He refuses to let himself show gratitude for her aid. He looks away as she turns to him fully, pretends like he doesn’t see it. “So…does that mean it wasn’t Byakuya?” Asahina asks, bewildered. Byakuya opens his mouth to confirm-

“The hell it isn’t.”

Owada’s voice is a low rumble. Byakuya has heard him yell and rage before, but there’s something different now. An unidentifiable emotion beneath the anger. But it creates the same sensation as the thunder before a storm.

“That fucker was in the library the entire fucking time. Chihiro got strung up right across from him.” The room is silent, everyone terrified to interrupt. Byakuya can hear the creak of wood as Owada fists tighten on the rail. “There’s too many things that make him suspicious, don’t fucking tell me that all of you are just gonna write it off as fucking coincidental? Chihiro’s DEAD!” 

“That’s-” Makoto speaks up, but his voice is drowned out almost immediately.

“The gauze. The case file. The sheet, the fucking extension cord.” Owada continues, turning slowly to cast his gaze at every person in the courtroom. “There’s no one else in this room who could’ve known about how Syo does her murders. There’s no one else with access to all the pieces to set this shit up. There’s no one else who would’ve had a motive-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He manages to keep his voice halfway steady, unshaken despite the sudden onslaught, but the beds of his fingernails are beginning to ache from where he digs his nails into the grains of the wood. The inside of his mouth tastes of metal and salt, accompanied by a raw, bleeding pain in his cheek.

“A motive. You, during breakfast - didn’t you say all that shit about ‘waiting for someone to die’?” Owada sounds just as hysterical as himself. “And then, Chihiro said you were the one who told him to tell everyone his secret - were you trying to get his guard down? To make him vulnerable, like you said?!”

“You’re insane. Do you even hear yourself?” Byakuya spits back. His head spins, and he feels sick. “I would never kill Chihiro, I-”

I owe him a debt.

He can’t say that. The words freeze on his tongue before he even comprehends what he’s about to say, as if pure instinct has held it back. But his mind feels unfamiliarly, frustratingly blank, filled with the static of rushing thoughts and a haze of panic.

If he tries to explain, he reveals his blindness, and makes himself vulnerable. If he doesn’t, he risks letting himself be identified as the culprit. His options were torn between his honor and his life, and either choice would ruin him.

He hasn’t felt this cornered in years. Not since the competition for heir.

“See? See?!” Owada is still screaming, but he sounds so far away. It sounds almost frenzied, as if with triumph. “He can’t even explain himself! He tricked Chihiro, and then murdered him!”

“No, that’s wrong!”

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #had to throw in a 'tell em makoto' in here somewhere bc. he's so extra #this would go a lot smoother if he just admitted he hit toko (hitting a girl...not cool byakuya) #to summarize the evidence at this point: the mess in the library + the bloody book #the bloodied gauze pads behind the door #the sheet with a large spot of blood found in the boy's bathroom #the electrical cord used to hang chihiro came from the library