Within minutes, the debate intensified; the conversation jumped from Kirigiri to Naegi, then to Togami and so on. From an outsiders' perspective, just establishing the facts from the Monokuma file jostled my mind as I tried to follow along. Through the endless theorizing, Hina divulged that Sayaka, besides Sakura and Hina herself, was the last one to enter the kitchen. "How do we know that you're not lying?" Toko peered in doubt.
"Because Sakura and I were together all night!"
"A guy and girl spending the night together?! That's....indecent! How is there not a rule against that?" Monokuma laughed over Ishimaru's clear discomfort.
"I'm a girl," Sakura's response spread an uncomfortable silence throughout the courtroom. I sighed, shaking my head as Ishimaru continuously apologized.
"Besides, it's not as if there aren't others sneaking around," Toko shot her glare in my direction.
"That's irrelevant information. Let's move on to the crime scene," I nodded towards Kirigiri, fiddling with my arm in hopes my embarrassment would be perceived as pain. From the murder weapon to the discarded evidence, the trial continued but became more twisted than expected. The act of switching rooms was uncovered to be a ploy; Maizono had originally intended to frame Naegi, but her plan backfired. I wasn't surprised that an idol would have her secrets, but to be wicked enough to lure her killer and frame her friend, the thought was unnerving. Ironically, the killer cleared the room of any natural indication of who they could be but managed to clear Naegi's name from the suspect list. A broken doorknob, method of disposal, and a secret message pointed us towards the only person who could have killed the pop sensation. Levers with digital screens ascended from beneath the floor tiles and we were quick to find the rogue baseball player's face.
"I didn't want to kill her! It was self-defense!" Kuwata cried pleas of self-defense as if he would escape his fate with moral reasoning to a manipulative Mastermind.
"She hid in the bathroom! You could've escaped!" I grit my teeth. "But you felt it necessary to pursue her". I was absolutely disgusted by the sight of Kuwata. I didn't agree with Sayaka's actions any more than Leon's, but I knew that both could have lived had he not let the pressure get to him.
Our expressed outrage had no effect on Kuwata's protests, but the metal chain that flew out from a secondary door rendered him speechless. Clasped around the throat, the aspiring punk artist was torn from the room and dragged down a dark corridor. We followed, watching his body being secured to the middle of a caged rink. The engine to a modified pitching machine roared, ready to launch the several baseballs loaded. I shrank back in horror; the machine began launching hundreds of baseballs at Kuwata, filling the air with dull thuds and thwaps. As the ammo continued to pummel his body, the dull thuds turned slick with blood. The sickening noise and screaming were embedded into my mind and when they finally seized, I found that the silence was more terrifying. Monokuma was saying something, but again, I couldn't hear him when I was focused on the bloody baseballs littering the floor. Why? What could be so important to take someone's life over?
I sat in front of the dryers, picking at a few granola bars, as I waited for my borrowed pajamas to finish spinning. Thankfully, the garments weren't dry clean only; I hardly understood those who slept in dry clean only clothing. That's why lounge attire exists, I rolled my eyes at the thought. I tried to open another granola bar yet had to resort to using my compromised hand. Wincing, I yelped as the wrapper finally gave and split open, jostling the muscles and nerves. A part of me wished that my leg had been injured instead; walking slowly would've been better than losing the use of my dominant hand. I tried to shift the fabric to sneak a peek at the gash, but blood had glued the makeshift gauze to my arm. 'If I don't do something, my skin will attach to the fabric'. Not bothering to fold the clothes, I tossed them over my shoulder and rushed back to my room.
Without the infirmary, I only had one option left. Locating the sewing kit in the desk, I removed the packaging and pulled a needle with a spool of black thread out. Not to boost my ego, I could sew with one hand; however, not with my left hand. If I attempted to stitch up my own wound, the process would be much slower, but I was hesitant to ask anyone else. 'Fuck it', I forced my twitching fingers to pull the thread through the needle eye. I removed the sling and bloody strips, exposing the caked-on blood and inflammation. I spun around, catching a glimpse at the clock. 9:45; I rushed into my bathroom, cranked the hot water and stuck my arm underneath the stream. Hissing obscenities, I managed to scrub the dried blood off and fill the sink for afterward. Sitting back down in front of my supplies, I grimaced, laying my arm down and stuffing the nearest piece of fabric into my mouth. With every puncture, I winced and yelped into the balled-up fabric. My fingers and arm kept twitching with every jolt of pain, which caused blood to weep onto the ivory surface. Finally reaching the other end of the wound, I pulled the thread taught and tied it off. I spat the soaked fabric out of my mouth and rushed back to the sink, dunking my arm into the now lukewarm water. I re-wrapped my wound and tucked my trembling body underneath the covers, the nighttime announcement began to play as I gave into exhaustion.
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Heir & Heiress
FanfictionKaren Billotte was surprised to receive an invitation to attend Hope's Peak Academy. But after accepting, Karen discovers that her former childhood friend, Byakuya Togami, is also attending. However, an awkward situation turns into a deadly one when...
