Danganronpa: Until Proven Guilty

Chapter Three - 8: A Trial for Two

Kaso's head is the only thing I can pay attention to as we all linger on the sidewalk. 17 became 15, then down to 12. And then there were 10, huddled together on the side of a dusky old street, waiting to be escorted to our potential deaths.
The air is cold and thin and I feel a spot of rain on my head, dreary grey clouds hanging overhead. All I hear are the quiet little whispers of the others.
Haruka eyes me uneasily, reaching for my hand again, "I-I'm sorry, Kihona."
I don't look at her, eyes fixed on the road, "What for? Did you do anything wrong?"
She shakes her head, her grip on my hand tightening, "N-No. Well, sorta. I just feel like I haven't spoken to you much, is all. You're okay with that, right?"
"You don't need to worry about that," I say, swallowing the huge lump in my throat.
Seems a little weird she would bring that up. Is she okay?
Another quick glance at Kaso, who's likely paying more attention to Daiki than himself. It seems so sudden that he's warm to Daiki now. Or perhaps it was there all along, I just wasn't looking. And now it's all clear that Daiki spoke to me.
The idea of him latching onto someone is so alien. Has he found a friend?
I can't think about Daiki. I can't think about their relationship. Kaso thinks I did this, that I killed Amai and Mamo.
I want to find Mitsuharu, to look into his eyes and be reassured he'll be okay. But he's nowhere. His presence is missing, like a room without a light bulb.

"Where's Shiro?" Kohi's eyes shift around the group, clutching his satchel tight. He's right - Shiro is gone too. Though it doesn't seem surprising given his state.
Kaso scoffs, "Probs dyin' because I broke his shoulder."
"You're a dick, you know that?" Haruka puffs her cheeks, her hands balling into fists, "You really hurt Shiro, he was just trying to see Mamo."
"What, you mean embrace his dead fuckin' body?" Kaso wheezes, "Man, you're fucked up."
"Can we not just drop this?" Ayana sighs, arms folded tightly, "This is ridiculous."
"Yeah, sure," Kaso grins, "Besides, we got bigger problems. Like how Kihona's the killer."

My heart starts to race and I feel those embers of rage creeping up again, "For god's sake, you have no proof!"
"Stop the fighting!" Kuroko wails.

In the midst of all the commotion, two figures shrouded by the light of the building come striding through the game room doors, one delicately holding the other. They approach, their faces coming into clearer view as the light dies down.

Shiro and Mitsuharu.
"Yo," Daiki nods, "You good there, bro?"
Shiro doesnt answer, staring straight ahead of him. His once glistening eyes are now dead in the water, his golden aura gone. Anything that ever shined about him; gone. Even his overpowering scent is gone, the odour of sandalwood and flowers so distant. There's a sling wrapped around the arm of his crisp white tailcoat, holding his damaged shoulder secure.
"I wouldn't call this 'good'," Mitsuharu sighs, shuffling to the front of the group beside me and Haruka.

He looks to us, weary, "He's acting weirdly. He won't talk, he won't eat. He's not responding to anything I do. I swear, it's like someone took his CPU out or something."
I bite my lip, "I'm not surprised, Mamo was so dear to him."
"But why?" Haruka tilts her head, "He seemed like such an emotional soul. Why would he just suddenly go silent?"
"Love does a lot of things to you," Ayana's smooth voice causes me to flinch in my spot. She glares at us, her arms crossed so tight her chest must be wheezing under the pressure.
She puckers her painted lips, "When you lose the one you love, it feels like your whole world is collapsing. I doubt you've ever experienced that pain, have you? I don't think Shiro has time to keep up an act."
Haruka sighs - a deep, contemplative sigh, "I feel so awful. They were so close. And Kuroko too, she seemed like she was friends with Amai."

'Friends', yet they so obviously weren't. It seemed more like Amai charging around the school while Kuroko scurried along behind her, completely blind to every sour remark, every cold-blooded insult.