Shadow and Smoke

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MUKURO'S POV

Dawn crept through the barred windows. No wig. No makeup. Just the real her—hair damp from the shower, Hope's Peak uniform clinging to skin still scarred from battles Junko orchestrated.

'Pathetic. Even here, I'm her puppet.'

The hallway was silent. Too silent.

Then—footsteps.

Lilac hair flashed around the corner. Kirigiri.

Muscle memory took over. Her breathing stilled. Her footsteps dissolved into nothing. Soldier's training. Killer's instinct.

The detective paused, gloved fingers brushing the wall where Mukuro had stood seconds prior.

'She's hunting. But not for me—not yet.'

Back in her room, Mukuro studied the Junko disguise crumpled on the bed.  The sickly sweet smell of Junko's perfume drowned out the clothing, after all. She couldn't be perfect in every way, Junko Enoshima, if she's the 'stinky sister.' 

'A soldier masters camouflage. But for how long?'

KIRIGIRI'S POV


The air tasted wrong.

Someone else was awake. Someone light on their feet—too light for a civilian.

A door clicked shut. Kirigiri turned the corner.

No blonde pigtails. No frills. Just the ghost of a figure slipping into a room.

'Not Junko. But who?'

She lingered, tracing the scuff marks near the doorframe. Boot prints, not heels.

'A fighter. A liar. Or both.'

The dining hall would wait. First, she needed leverage.

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