Chapter Text
Ding, dong. Bing bong.
When Izuru wakes up the next morning, he blinks his eyes open and takes a brief glance around the room. He promptly tunes out Monokuma’s blabbering in the background. Surviving during what was essentially the apocalypse has taught him to be aware of potential threats at all times, but fortunately for him there seem to be none in his immediate vicinity, despite the fact that he knows that some of the Remnants are likely currently running amok outside. Not that they’d ever really pose a threat to him. He does hold infinite power over them, after all.
He glances over at his roommate, who seems to have woken up before him, and gives a brief nod of acknowledgement. Otherwise, he pays the fanboy little mind. He moves to the nearest dresser and opens the drawer, examining its contents. Unlike the outfit he found himself wearing when he first came to awareness yesterday, the clothes in the drawer are much more familiar. A crisp white shirt, black suit, black pants, and matching black tie, all carefully pressed and perfectly clean, almost unnaturally so. With only a slight hum of acknowledgment, he grabs a set of clothes, and moves to change. However, he is briefly interrupted by the sudden sensation of an equally familiar weight hanging around him. A quick glance confirms that, in fact, his hair is back to the extensive length and style he is familiar with, rather than the spikiness he’d had yesterday. It’s odd, and should be impossible, but he’s already witnessed a number of instances that many would consider to be impossible. And with technology and science being advanced enough to create him in the first place, and then later bring him back to awareness here, it’s not a long shot to say that it would be well within their captors’ abilities to do such a thing to him. If he cared about details as trivial as his appearance, he might’ve been thankful for the familiarity, but instead he just accepts it as it is and continues in his task of getting changed.
When he’s done, he looks back to his roommate to find that Shuichi has also been given a different change of clothes.
His roommate’s new uniform is similar in style to his previous one to some degree, albeit lacking many of the more striking details and features it had before. Instead it is a simple, black school uniform with little to no accentuation aside from a striped navy tie and a hat. He assumes it must also have something to do with his roommate’s strange behavior… and his own appearance and uniform. It seems whatever affected him to bring him back must have also affected his roommate. Izuru decides it’s probably safe to say that his roommate doesn’t normally act this way, then. Notable, but not currently pressing enough to worry about. Rather, he remembers what he was told last night.
“Nagito informed me that we should head to the dining hall this morning. I assume most of the group will be gathering there, so it’s best that we proceed there as well,” he says, offering no greeting to precede his sudden speaking or his directness in stating their next objective. He speaks as though there’s little other option than to do as he described, yet makes no indication that the direction is an order. He simply stated a fact.
Not waiting for a reply, he makes his way out of the room. He hears the frantic footsteps of his roommate trying to catch up behind him as he heads down to the dining hall.
A few people eye Kamukura when he first steps into the dining hall behind Shuichi. Of course, there are a few eyes on Shuichi, as well, but Izuru had the bigger transformation by far.
Izuru proceeds to the kitchen to attain some semblance of sustenance. It appears that the others are dining already, so he concludes that the food is safe. Kamukura retrieves a piece of fruit, and soon returns to the dining hall to observe the others. His sharp gaze is like that of a hawk’s—always attentive, always discerning.
It isn’t until someone walks up to him and wraps a hand around one of his long strands of flowing hair before Izuru cares to spare said person a gaze. It is Nagito, who proceeds to lift and lightly tug the bit of hair he picked from the greater mass that is Kamukura’s mane. Nagito raises his eyebrows—a reaction which Izuru cares little to address, so he merely removes the luckster’s hand from his hair and proceeds as he had originally. While Izuru’s gaze is turned away, however, he can feel Nagito’s eyes scanning him.
“Your hair changed,” Nagito says at first, as if Kamukura’s change in appearance is something that needed to be spelled out. “Did Monokuma supply the suit?” He shakes his head as he mentions the bear. “He must have. You wouldn’t have stomached anything like this if… you…” Komaeda’s words trail off as his gaze meets with Kamukura’s laser focus. With a smile and a wave, he brushes the topic to the side. “But that doesn’t matter much anymore, I know. you’ll have to pardon my… reminiscing. My mind has been a bit of a mess since yesterday evening.” Without missing a beat, Nagito beckons for Izuru to follow behind him. They walk into the kitchen where Nagito grabs a small breakfast that he’ll eat on the way to Izuru’s surprise.
After he grabs an apple for himself, he tosses one toward Kamukura, whose reflexes allow him to catch the fruit without hesitation. “I’ve been up so long that it never crossed my mind that I missed breakfast. But when I saw you, I thought ‘Hajime would kill me if I wasn’t eating well while he was gone!’ So here we are.” He chuckles at first, but that soon falls to the wayside. Kamukura’s analysis of the luckster’s expression is inconclusive. He appears forlorn, yet reminiscent, but the expression is the most that Izuru is able to gleam. Whatever lies deeper beyond that is lost to him, but everything there is lost in an instant as Nagito takes a bite of his apple. With a short tilt of his head, he leads Izuru outside.
As Izuru follows, his eyes nearly bore into the back of Nagito’s head, as though trying to see through that mess of white hair and decipher what could possibly be going on in that brain of his. It’s puzzling, and…endlessly fascinating, how someone he’d originally found boring and perhaps even bothersome, is now unreadable, unpredictable, to him.
Despite the fact that his gaze is focused on Nagito, he never misses a single step, never fumbles as they walk. He keeps pace behind the lucky student, caring little for where they’re going. On the contrary, he’s more interested in what Nagito has planned. Whatever it is, it’s something that he thinks will actually interest Izuru, and given the recent amount of actual intrigue this former Remnant has caused him to feel… it might actually be worth his time to investigate. And regardless of the outcome, it’s not like he has anything more important to be doing at the moment.
Nagito is baffling, to say the least, which is something Izuru is very unaccustomed to. Despite this, Izuru’s face remains seemingly indifferent, save for those analytical eyes still nearly burning a hole in the back of Nagito’s head.
Nagito walks the finely dressed Ultimate around the perimeter of the resort and to the dumpster. Nary a word passes between them as Nagito has his gaze focused ahead of them.
Once Nagito finally stops them both, his attention lands on the dumpster situated around the backside of the resort. From where the two of them are standing now, they can hear some commotion in the distant funfair. Now that the wall around that portion of the resort is down, the scenery is a lot less oppressive, but the sight of friends inducing despair for the fun of the sport is… far from desirable. Nagito exhales a grim sigh.
With one hand in his pocket, Nagito gestures with the other toward the dumpster. “If you would…?” He requests, intending for Izuru to push aside the heavy dumpster with ease. Once he’s completed this task, Komaeda brings his other hand free of his jacket’s pocket, revealing a lockpicking multi-tool he received from the gift shop. Without a word, he hands the tool to Kamukura. The direction is clear: pick this trapdoor’s lock and go inside. This is Nagito’s mysterious thanks—his gift to Izuru for aiding in his recovery a few days prior. It’s the gift of intrigue. He knows him well.
Izuru raises an eyebrow at Nagito, but otherwise says nothing, taking the tool with a silent nod of acknowledgement before crouching in front of the hatch below him. It takes him minimal time and effort to pick the lock, naturally, and within a matter of a minute, he stands, passing the tool back to Nagito before opening up the trapdoor and peering down into the space below. The old ladder leading down into the dim expanse below catches his eye, and he briefly looks for potential dangers, but, finding none, he glances over his shoulder at Nagito before moving to climb down the ladder.
Thus far, he's still yet to figure out where this is going, what Nagito has planned with this little "surprise" of his, but that alone has been a… pleasant change of pace for Izuru. Not knowing what all this is about is certainly intriguing him to say the least, so he'll play along. He's yet to get bored of it yet, after all.
Nagito climbs down the hatch after Izuru, and once he finishes scanning what little is visible through the darkness, Komaeda reaches into an inner pocket and retrieves a small device. With it in hand, he turns and disappears into the darkness. Before Izuru cares to follow him, the room illuminates.
String lights line the ceiling and walls, stretching forward to the edges of the large, rectangular hull Nagito has taken Izuru into. The lights are dim, but bright enough to still make the room visible. Komaeda walks forward, still, with the remote to the lights in his hand. With the press of a button, he could change the string lights to any color under the rainbow, but, on a whim, he leaves it on a pleasant yellow. The golden beams make the room feel warm—even touching Komaeda’s stark white hair and turning it yellow to the eye. The scene is beautiful and serene—almost romantic, but that last bit is lost in the haze of illuminated dust. Nagito sneezes.
“Would you believe that this room used to be much more cluttered? Boxes from wall to wall…” Komaeda details the layout of the room with a weak grin across his lips. His hand trails around the space, setting the scene. “Junk, old food—expired, strangely. No rodents, though. Don’t worry. I took the liberty of… giving myself cleaning duty.” His smile turns sly—into a smirk, as if he knows something that Kamukura doesn’t. He laughs off his little reference.
“I’m sure the purpose of these tunnels is more than clear to you now, which is rather boring, I know, but it’s their contents that plague me. A boiler kept in a room many times longer than it is wide? And filled with a web of rusted pipes? It’s… odd. So I did some investigating while I was cleaning up around here.” He laughs wryly, “Trust me, this labyrinth is enough of a puzzle in and of itself. It should suffice in holding your attention. At least for some time.” However, by the time his sentence reaches its conclusion, his gaze hangs in the air—off toward a darkened patch he must have missed. He shakes his head, then turns toward Izuru. “It’s an unfinished puzzle,” Nagito says, his hand gesturing toward a few of the locked doors off of the main area in which they reside. “It will be added to in time, I imagine. We… You should be around long enough to see this through to its conclusion.” He declares, omitting himself from the statement. It seems as though he expects himself to perish in the killing game, which doesn’t strike Izuru as very unlikely, given his medical history, but it is still rather grim. “For now, though…” Nagito raises his mismatched hands, then holds them, palms up, toward Izuru. He is handing the underground mystery over to him. “Might you find some interest in these rusted pipes, the grated floor. Compared to everything above, this place sticks out like a sore thumb… ah. But I won’t ruin your fun…”
Nagito smiles, then waves his two hands before he returns them to his side. Before he turns away, he spares one last warning: “Puzzles are difficult without all the pieces, but not impossible.” He raises a finger, then wags it, which turns his informatory tone into a reprimanding one. “Keep your eyes peeled. There was more activity down here than we realized…” At that, he turns away.
Izuru stares at him as he explains, taking in his words with a vested curiosity. An unfamiliar sensation for him, to be sure, but not one he minds. Something in his gut twists at the remark about cleaning duty, much to his confusion. Why does that feel familiar? And why does it make him feel… uneasy? He glances around at the tunnels, examining every detail he can at first glance. Nagito's cleaning efforts have certainly made a difference- that much he can tell right away.
But Nagito does have a point. This place is rather unusual. At first glance, it appears to simply be a network of utility tunnels under the resort, presumably to connect all the different areas and ensure their proper operation. All the while, keeping important utilities out of the sight of the guests in order to make things look nicer and run smoothly. But something's off. The area does seem rather excessively expansive–even for what is presumably a massive theme park, and the tunnels are hardly laid out in the most space-efficient manner. That is all in addition to the fact that their age and the previous contents Nagito mentioned indicates that nobody has been down here in a very long time... something doesn't add up. It's definitely unusual, compared to the rest of the environment they're in. Had this place in fact at one point been an operational amusem*nt park? If so, what happened to it? Why was it abandoned, these tunnels left to decay, until eventually it became the setting for a killing game? An intriguing mystery, indeed. He can see why Nagito brought him down here.
Speaking of Nagito, when the Lucky Student in question turns away and begins to walk down the hall, Izuru follows close behind. Despite Nagito's head start, it takes Izuru no time at all to catch up, despite the fact he appears to be walking at no more than a leisurely place. His eyes continue to analyze and pick out details in the tunnel around him as he walks, managing to keep pace with ease.
Nagito makes it about halfway down the hallway before noticing Izuru behind him. “A simple puzzle wasn’t enough then, was it?” He reacts without looking back. “I expected as much… I’m afraid I must have blown the issue out of proportion… after all, what am I in comparison to you and your perfection?” He turns back to Izuru now, a shadow cast over the majority of his expression—the light hitting Nagito from behind is not assisting in Izuru’s assessment of his facial movements. It seems it’s always difficult with him, then. Kamukura will have to rely on other methods of reading him.
“I’m sure you have an understanding that I don’t grasp, then? Go ahead, I’d love to hear it.” Nagito’s voice is hoarse—sharp at first, but soft by the end. Izuru gets the sense that he is smiling at him through the darkness. What a strange combination.
Nagito stalls for a moment, watching the ultimate opposite of him search for his face through the curtain of shadow between them. Before they speak anymore, Nagito grabs Izuru by the wrist, then walks them both into the light. “All you had to do was ask.” Nagito says quietly. Now that Izuru can see his face in full, he can see the pleased look in his eyes. What it means, he is unsure, but Nagito seems concerned with other matters at the moment.
“You’re struggling to understand me,” Nagito says in that same soft tone, as if reading Izuru like a book. “My apologies,” he laughs tiredly. “I’ve been told I sometimes speak in riddles…” While he thinks for a moment, Nagito’s attention turns away, then back. “Might I offer some assistance? To help you understand…” Komaeda’s attention falters from his companion as he says this, as if he is searching for something within the darkness around them. “…that I’m really no one special at all…” His eyes divert again, this time with an upward tilt. Once his eyes meet with Izuru’s again, though, he is forced to turn away to hide his expression.
Izuru tugs his hand where Nagito is holding his wrist to get his attention, but the force of it due to Izuru's strength ends up pulling Nagito closer, causing the two to wind up standing less than a foot or so apart. He levels Nagito with that sharp gaze, as though attempting to pierce right through him with his eyes. "While I must admit my initial opinions of you back when we met during the Tragedy were rather unimpressive, I have since changed my assessment of you."
He makes no move to try and remove his hand from Nagito's grasp as he speaks. "There have been very few people ever in this world to surprise me. And somehow, ever since encountering you again here, I have found you alone to be of interest among the numerous people here." His gaze never falters from Nagito's face, despite the fact that the prolonged eye contact is probably unsettling for the other Ultimate. "And to interest me is a very rare thing indeed." He leans back a bit, giving Nagito a little bit more space, before adding: "Despite my initial assessment of you, you have proven yourself to be rather 'special' indeed, Komaeda. Particularly to me."
Izuru pays no mind to the potential implications in that statement...or he just doesn't care to phrase it differently to avoid said implications. He gives little time to process that statement though, as he soon adds, "That aside. You asked for my thoughts?" He gestures vaguely with his free hand to the space around them. "You're correct in that it is rather unusual. It suggests this park may have at one point been a normal, operational park, once upon a time. What could have happened to it in order for it to end up abandoned eludes me–as well as when that may have occurred. Additionally, all signs of human interaction with this area are extremely recent. Yet the utilities are well-maintained. And there seems to be little to no purpose in making these tunnels so expansive and labrythine, so the reason for that is another point of curiosity."
Nagito shakes his head after he peers down from his sudden surprise. With a hand on his forehead, Nagito just continues to sigh. “So you still feel the same…” He says that as if it’s troublesome.
“Well, you’ve uncovered as much as I would have expected you to in such a short time. I’m sure hands-on work is unnecessary,” he teases. “No, secret entrances are out of the question. It isn’t as if we entered through one or anything…” At that, he smirks, and then turns to continue his exit. This time, he waves Izuru along.
“I suppose if I can’t convince you of my triviality with words alone, then I’ll be forced to resort to harsher tactics.” Nagito warns. He stops, halting in his tracks. Once Izuru continues a few steps ahead of him, they both make eye contact, and Nagito smiles, waving jovially. “Hello, Kamukura. Lovely Weather We’re Having. Wow, Is That A New Tie? How Was Your Weekend?” He could go on.
Izuru stops and glances at him with a slight tilt of his head. Is Nagito...attempting to bore him on purpose now? To prove some kind of point about himself? Strange. And ineffective, given that it just serves to make Izuru more curious as to why Nagito would feel the need to do such a thing. Something does catch his attention, though, in what Nagito said. 'The same'? Had Izuru...said something similar before, perhaps? Or...rather, he supposes, had Hajime? Interesting.
He sighs and turns to give Nagito a look. "Why are you talking like that?" There's no annoyance present in his tone, just his usual neutral tone with...the slightest hint of confusion.
Nagito can’t help but break character and laugh a bit at Izuru’s befuddlement. Once he’s dropped the act in full, he draws a line over his lips, like a zipper. “It might be best if you stayed in the dark.” As he says this, he steps toward the illuminated metal door at the end of the hallway. “You like a good mystery, don’t you?”
The lucky student stops by the door once he runs out of room to speak. When his left hand meets the handle with a clink, he is finally able to turn around and face the other ultimate. “You look vexed,” Nagito says with a mirrored expression. “Believe me… I only want what is best for you. For all of us…” Once he says this, Komaeda peels his eyes away and reels back the door. He proceeds to the tall ladder just ahead of them and then he begins to climb it. He only calls back to Kamukura once he’s made it to the top. “As an apology for this disappointing conversation, I’m happy to announce that I’ve prepared something of a backup plan in case my first gift for you… went awry.” Nagito is smiling slightly when Izuru makes it to the top of the ladder. However, once he surfaces, their location is plainly obvious. This hatch lets out into the mirror maze, and the Komaeda he sees just before him is reflected in a handful of directions. When Izuru proceeds toward the luckster ahead of him, he is forced to stop, having noticed a few fingerprints on the glass where his image stands. This isn’t Nagito, and neither are any of the ones all around him. Komaeda is somewhere deeper into the maze—toying with Kamukura’s sense of direction. Just as soon as Izuru decides to wait for the direction of his voice, Nagito gestures him towards him with the pull of his finger. Having thought that far ahead already, Nagito mouths the words: come and find me.
Izuru’s eyes dart around at the reflections, the slight glints of light and minor distortions caused by the different angles of all the mirrors. It would probably be very disorienting for the average person. Izuru thinks for a moment, tries to map out in his head the sort of route Nagito would take.
However, despite his attempts, he comes up short. Every strategy he thinks of that Nagito could have possibly used to maneuver through the maze doesn’t seem to feel quite right for some reason. It’s like he can’t narrow down the exact sort of choices, the exact twists and turns Nagito would make.
Izuru’s only option, it seems, is to assume that Nagito made his way towards the exit. Thus, Izuru sets out, walking through the maze with practiced ease and nonchalance as though he’s navigated it a hundred times. Every now and then he catches glimpses–a green jacket, white hair–of Nagito, presumably also moving throughout the maze, but not in any discernible pattern that Izuru can pick out. His movements, glimpsed only through quick reflections of him in the mirror, are unpredictable. It’s curious. Intriguing.
Perhaps even thrilling.
When Izuru finally does make his way to the exit of the mirror maze, however, there is no sign of Nagito. Izuru glances around, but nevertheless, the Ultimate Lucky Student is nowhere to be seen.
Standing alone in the empty space between the maze’s exit and the hall of mirrors is Chiaki, someone that Izuru never expected to see on her own two feet again—the backup gift.
Chiaki stares up from her handheld console once she hears someone walking by. Her eyes widen with surprise. “Izuru,” she says, unable to break her gaze from him. “I was worried…” As she says this, she lowers her device, then raises a hand to her heart. “I’m glad you’re okay…” Chiaki then glances around the other ultimate, surveying the space behind him. “Where is Nagito?”
Izuru stops abruptly in his tracks as soon as he sees the girl in front of him. Nanami? But…she should be dead. Long dead, by now. This…shouldn’t be possible. Izuru had seen her death first hand, after all.
A few memories flash through his head: a shaking figure drenched in blood and reaching towards him–the sensation of something wet running down his face–and a strange sense of familiarity he could never seem to place. He blinks to clear his thoughts, his eyes examining the figure of the student before him, looking for anything, any evidence of her prior death, any explanation for how she could be here. He finds none.
How to describe what he’s experiencing right now? Perhaps frustration? Confusion? Relief? It’s hard to place. Izuru isn’t even entirely sure why he’s feeling anything. It seems there was much more to Nagito’s “gift” than meets the eye, indeed. Another sensation makes itself known at that thought, a strange warmth, centered somewhere in his chest. That… is very strange indeed. An impossibility. And yet, happening to him here and now. Just like the impossibility of Chiaki Nanami standing before him.
Nagito…
Despite his wandering thoughts, he snaps his focus back to the question he was asked. “Nagito appears to have evaded me, somehow. He was with me earlier, but slipped away in the mirror maze. I attempted to locate him, but found no success.” He states matter-of-factly, though there is the faintest hint of what could perhaps be frustration at the end of his statement.
He meets Chiaki’s eyes. “More pressingly, I was… not expecting to see you.” He pauses for a minute, briefly debating whether to elaborate, before adding: “I was not expecting to find you… well.”
Hopefully that will be a sufficient enough explanation. Izuru keeps his eyes on Chiaki as he speaks, analyzing, searching, trying to make sense of how this could have come to be. He can still remember the sensation of a small weight in his pocket—now unexpectedly gone—where a hairpin once rested. A hairpin that now rests back where it originated, pinned into Chiaki’s hair.
The gamer smiles a tad as her hands work to zip her portable console back into her backpack. She thinks of what to say as she moves, but her absentmindedness causes her zipping to slow down to a crawl as her mind focuses on other things.
Eventually, she speaks. “We didn’t hear from you for quite some time…” Chiaki says, now able to zip her backpack up and return it to her shoulders. “Everyone will be happy to know that you are alright, at least… I sorta had the feeling that this happened to you too. You must be confused… well, to some degree, at least.” She considers that for a while. In time, she looks back down to Izuru. “Oh, Nagito!” She recalls. “Mmh… I guess he never said he would stay…” Chiaki’s eyes trail the room. “…Only that he thought we should meet up here… Now I can see why he wanted that…” At her realization, she shakes her head. “He seemed so frantic when we last spoke… I just hope… this motive hasn’t gotten him riled up.” Chiaki says ‘motive,’ but it is clear to Izuru what she is referring to him. For the most part, Hajime’s departure is likely to cause Komaeda the most strain. That, and the regression of the rest of his classmates. Chiaki’s eyes are enough to tell the story. Izuru might not know how she is here, but he knows that the care she has for her friends is being burdened by their warping minds.
She exhales. After some time, she has found her words. “Izuru, would you… come with me?” Chiaki offers with a warm smile. “Let’s go look for Nagito. Together.”
Izuru gives a brief nod, pushing aside a stray strand of his hair as he steps forward. If nothing else, having two people to do this search with would increase the chances of spotting their missing person. Plus, it gives Izuru time to try and solve the mystery of Chiaki’s return.
Together, they set off, walking around the surrounding fairgrounds for a bit. Izuru briefly spots someone in the distance, but when it turns out to just be Sonia and Mikan getting up to the Remnants’ usual sort of activities. Izuru rolls his eyes at their nonsense, and manages to avoid having to interact with them, carefully steering Chiaki away from the potential threat.
Eventually, after their search at the fairground turns up nothing, they start making their way back to the resort proper and to the outdoor dining area.
Chiaki and Izuru wander around to the resort from the side. There, they see a begrudged Kokichi sitting grumpily near a standing Shuichi. Shuichi is paying him no mind at all. Instead, he has his face pressed up to the glass and is looking into the dining hall. There are a few people eating inside that he is watching like a hawk. Chiaki and Izuru approach around the time that Shuichi begins to get into the depths of his commentating.
“Fuyuhiko, Akane, Hina. Peko doesn’t look like she got any sleep. Obsessive despair, probably. Guarding her ‘young master.’” Shuichi describes. “Oh! Here comes Mikan. Is that a needle she’s got? She’s—ooh, that’s got to hurt.”
Chiaki trots up to the glass, then peers in, just the same as Shuichi. She reacts with quiet shock, then moves inside to help her peers. After she’s gone, Shuichi steps away from the glass, his interest diminished. Since his entertainment is gone, he turns around to see Kokichi, then promptly ignores him for Izuru. “Ah, Izuru’s here!” Shuichi adjusts his plain suit, then his hat, and then bounds over to Izuru as if he’s his biggest fan. “So you found Chiaki, huh? I’ve gotta say, that seems like a weird inclusion, right? It’s probably a sign though.” Shuichi nudges his hat down a smidge, then turns back to peer an eye towards Izuru. “Don’t you think?”
Izuru glances at the student addressing him, blankly. “I suppose. I suspect I could have something to do with it. I was a first-hand eyewitness to her original demise.” He says plainly. He can still recall the scene as if it was yesterday— and the strange surge of unfamiliar emotion that had welled up in him during the moment. It still puzzles him, how despite all the death and tragedy he’s witnessed, the only one that seemed to stir any of his long-suppressed and possibly eradicated emotions was the death of a girl he barely remembered.
Pushing those memories aside, he glances at the scene through the window. More of the Remnants have begun to gather–and despite Chiaki’s efforts, the tension in the room has only increased. Perhaps it is best if he were to talk to the Remnants. Besides, maybe he might actually be able to make some use of their presence–and possibly get them to leave the others be, at least for a little while. He sighs, pushing a strand of hair out of his face, as he turns to look at Shuichi again. “Excuse me. I’ll handle them.” He says, turning to follow in the same direction Chiaki went. He doesn’t wait to hear a response, simply turns on the spot and strides into the building.
“Ah…!” Shuichi follows Izuru’s exit with his head. “Uh, goodbye…!” Izuru is gone before Shuichi has a chance to say another word. “Augh…” Shuichi rubs at the back of his neck with a hand. Now that it’s just him and Kokichi again, he feels awkward. This guy has been staring him down since this morning. He’s been following him around too, trying to make conversation. It’s stifling, and it makes Shuichi shiver.
“So… um. Do you have something you wanted to talk about? Ah, Koichi, was it?” Shuichi finally manages to ask. He rubs his nose halfway through his question, clearly not deeply invested in the conversation. “You’ve been staring at me like I’m some sort of wild animal… What’s your problem?”
Kokichi shoots a look at him in frustration, leaning towards Shuichi with a pouty expression on his face. "That right there! That's exactly my problem!" He says, irritated, and pointing an accusing finger at Shuichi. "And it's Kokichi." He huffs, folding his arms and looking aside. "Ever since that stupid motive, you've been acting all weird–even by my standards–and I don't get it!"
He stands, crossing over to the other student, and jabs a finger into the middle of Shuichi's chest to emphasize his point. "You're acting like a completely different person. You don't remember me at all, or any of the bullsh*t we went through, and you seem thrilled to be in this situation. That's not the Shuichi Saihara I know." He folds his arms, looking up at him. All of his usual childish playfulness is gone, a cold and accusatory look in his eyes. "The others acting weird, I get. It's just them from before their killing games–and some of them used to be Remnants, so no surprise there. And they all kept their talents, too. But you were always this clever, albeit socially awkward detective who wanted out of this sh*t just as much as anyone else, from the start. I remember that. So something doesn't add up here."
Kokichi stares at him, waiting for an answer. This whole debacle has been on his mind a lot the past few days. Why is Shuichi the odd one out? What's with this weird persona of his that seems so different? And why does it put me on edge, especially around the detective I dropped all of my pretenses in front of before? His hands ball into fists, gripping his sleeves. Whoever his friend has become...it's not Shuichi. Not right now. But the fact that Kokichi can't put together where on earth this persona could have come from is twisting his nerves into an anxious ball in his stomach, like he's missing some very important information, like there's something he should know or remember but just doesn't.
Shuichi looks aside when Kokichi accuses him. His eyes land on a camera. “So you don’t get it, do you? Okay, whatever.” He smacks away Ouma’s accusatory point. “Come with me,” he says as he turns and begins his exit. “If you want to talk, then we’ll need to go somewhere else.” Without explanation, Shuichi departs with Kokichi close behind. If it’s answers he wants, then…
Kokichi stares at him, hurt, then hides it behind a facade of annoyance. He gives another frustrated huff and follows after Shuichi, sulkingly sticking his hands in his pockets as the two of them walk off.
Shuichi leads them into the men’s restroom on the first floor of the resort.
After Shuichi and Kokichi enter the bathroom, Shuichi takes a look around. He checks the stalls by pushing them in—no people. After that, he glances around the high corners of the room—no cameras. “All right,” he says, moving forward. Kokichi eyes the exit wearily. After poking around throughout a couple of the stalls, Shuichi finds the bathroom’s storage closet. He pushes past the brooms and mops that stand lopsided around the tiny enclosure, and they respond by knocking aimlessly into Kokichi, who follows closely behind.
Shuichi places his hands upon the tiling on the back of the closet, then pushes it in. Without an explanation, Shuichi snatches Kokichi’s wrist and yanks him into the hidden room. Everything happens so quickly that Kokichi doesn’t have a moment to even make a peep. By the time he’s realized what has happened, the two of them are already covered in a thick, inky darkness.
Kokichi can still feel Shuichi’s hand on his wrist until a small light reveals his face and a bit of the room. Shuichi has retrieved his Monopad, and is using that as a light source. Good thinking. Kokichi grabs his as well. “There’s probably a light switch around here somewhere,” Shuichi murmurs, his pace quickly escaping Kokichi’s typical jaunt. “Might be a green room if we’re lucky. Hah. Kidding, of course…” Shuichi moves his Monopad around in front of him. They’re next to a wall. There’s a desk. Chair, papers, folders, a computer. This almost looks like an office, but they can’t quite tell yet. “Returning villain, perhaps?” Shuichi ponders aloud. “Junko, probably. It’s always Junko.” Further inspection reveals that the computers seem to be high-performance PCs. Shuichi studies it with his eyes, but doesn’t touch it. Kokichi gets the impression that he shouldn’t either. Like that ever stopped him.
Just in time to stop Kokichi’s hand from reaching over, Shuichi grabs him by the wrist. It’s a stern exchange, cold and authoritative. “Don’t.” The once-detective says. “That’s for the protagonists.”
Kokichi glares up at Shuichi, yanking his wrist out from the other's hand and pivoting on the spot to face him. "You're not making any damn sense. Did the light fry your brain or something? The hell do you mean protagonists." Some part of Kokichi is still clawing at his guts, insisting that there's something he's forgetting, something important, but he can't place what. He doesn't like it.
Kokichi steps closer towards Shuichi, but not in his usual teasing manner of crowding the other's space to embarrass him. No, this is more aggressive, more...tense. Kokichi won't show it, not in front of anyone else, and most certainly not in front of this person who is so bluntly no-longer-Shuichi. It is driven home to him again, now more than ever, that the former detective is not his usual self. Kokichi barely knows him like this. And therefore, he cannot afford to trust him enough right now to show his actual emotions. Far too dangerous.
"None of what you've said so far makes any sense! Is there something else I missed after I got flattened, or have you just finally lost it?" He says, almost mockingly, tilting his head from side to side. He's upset, and were he talking to the Shuichi he knows, the detective would probably be able to see his aggression for the defense mechanism it really was. He has no idea if this version of his friend shares that level of perception. I kind of doubt it, he thinks almost sadly.
“After you got flattened?” Shuichi responds with a sigh as he takes a seat in the swivel chair in front of the computer. His expression is unserious, as though everything Kokichi is saying to him means nothing at all. “Hey, can we be done with this? It’s not like anyone’s watching. Save it for out there.” He motions toward the light of the restroom—the gap in the wall through which they snuck. “Or,” he raises his other hand, weighing the other option. “If you wanna chat in character, then I guess we can do that.” He narrows his eyes as he stares up at Kokichi. “—Is what I would say if I had a script. Unfortunately, I’ve been let loose. No pointers, no direction. He said to just do whatever I want, so I guess I can just make up my own character, can’t I? Hmm… I’ve always wanted to be an ultimate detective…”
Kokichi groans in frustration, slamming his hands down on the table and leaning towards Shuichi. "You're still not making sense!" There's confusion and annoyance all over his face, genuine this time, as he stares at Shuichi. In character? The hell does he mean by that? "I don't know what you mean by script, or any bullsh*t like that. Are you just screwing with me?" He tries not to let his hurt show. After all the things he said about Kokichi being able to let his walls down around him...does he genuinely want him to put them back up? Is that what this is?
He scoffs. "And you can't even remember your own talent? You are the Ultimate Detective. Or, you were, before that Flashback light hit you. I'm not even sure I know who you are now." He turns away, sitting on the edge of the desk and looking over his shoulder at Not-Quite-Shuichi. "So I guess, who even are you, anyways? You're not the Shuichi I know."
Annoyed, Shuichi sighs into his hand. “It took you this long to ask? My name is…” Shuichi stops, like his last word was caught in a rut. He has to think—why does he have to think about this? His mouth hangs agape—just like his words. “My name…” There’s nothing. “The only name that comes to mind is Shuichi, but that isn’t it. My name isn’t Shuichi.” He’s lost filing through thoughts, like he’s searching for a document that isn’t where it’s supposed to be. “I…I can’t…” He shakes his head. “I can’t remember. Ah, but that doesn’t matter—I think you’re the one who’s forgetting something bigger.”
Shuichi leans forward to bridge the gap between them. “Kokichi, we’re actors. We all are. We auditioned together. We made it into the cast, and now we’re here. Method acting is one thing, but you’ve got to know when to stop. It’s immature.” He tilts his head away. “Although, I guess you always came off like that, didn’t you?”
Kokichi stumbles back, as though he's just been physically struck. Actors...? What the hell does he mean? "I–what?!" He stares at the former detective, confused, scared, and hurt. "You–" he hesitates, not sure what to say. The moment from before, the hug they'd shared in private, plays back in his mind and further twists his stomach into knots. Immature? So, we're really back to square one, huh? That hurt turns into anger, into fear. He watches the person who had comforted him before, who had seemed so intent on seeing him, the person behind all of his facades and making him feel safe, sneer at him with disgust and annoyance, and Kokichi turns his back on him.
Kokichi's entire body tenses up for one, silent, moment. Fine. If Shuichi can't be trusted right now, then there's nothing he can do about it. Immature? He'll get immature. After all, if they are back to square one, he might as well play the part, too, if nothing else than just to make himself feel safer by hiding how he feels about all this. With practiced ease, he turns on his heel to face Shuichi again. When Shuichi can see the other's face, a wide, dark grin spreads across it, a long-unused look with malice in his eyes and a childish grin so sickeningly wide it almost looks like it hurts. "Oh? Is that what you think of me, then? I suppose it's only natural. I am the Ultimate Supreme Leader, after all." He giggles, leaning towards the other. "Immature? That's rich, coming from how you're acting right now! Was everything you said before a lie, then? Mr. Shuichi Saihara, finally coming down to my level? Never thought I'd see the day!" He cackles, rocking back on his feet. He very carefully ignores the nearly stabbing pain in his heart as he practically spits the words out, falling back on old mannerisms, old defenses. "The others would be so disappointed." He tsks, throwing his hands up behind his head casually.
"Besides, you don't remember everything, do you? Maybe I have always been like this." He shrugs. "Or maybe that's a lie! I've always been good at that, you know. After all, I am a liar!" His expression turns dark again, hands spreading out wide on either side of him. "The best." He stands upright then, dropping the malice to something more casual, more childish. "But whatevs. You're not going to give me a straight answer, so I don't see what the point in me being here right now is." He makes a show of yawning. "This is getting boring, anyways. I'm out of here."
Kokichi turns and starts to walk away, but stops when he reaches the entrance they came through, looking over his shoulder at Shuichi. For that brief glance, he drops the facade entirely, a brief sorrow showing in his eyes. "I guess that's what I get for trying to be honest for once." He turns his back again, and steps through into the bathroom proper, hands balling into fists as he tries to hide the hurt and confusion threatening to bleed through and show on his face. Just who is this person Shuichi's turned into? And what was he talking about? What information is Kokichi missing? Did Shuichi not tell him something? He sighs. He has no way of knowing right now.
Kokichi storms out of the restroom in frustration. His chest hurts, and more than anything right now, he just wants his Shuichi back. But there's no way of knowing if that will happen anytime soon. Best to just get out of that conversation for now.
“What are you—? I told you, I’m not that character. Hey, Kokichi!” Shuichi’s voice follows the supreme leader as he pushes his way past the secret door to the bathroom. “Calm down, I’m not trying to start beef with other actors! Kokichi! Hey, Kokichi—!” But Ouma doesn’t give him the light of day. He’s gone before anything else can reach his ears.
Izuru waits over a plate of food inside the dining hall. He’s been sitting here since Chiaki and the remnants left. At one point, an ultimate served him this meal, but he hasn’t touched it—his mind is elsewhere. Komaeda. He’s still missing. Kamukura used his resources to seek him out, seeing as his solo missions have so far been unsuccessful. It’s impossible how he has invaded him… and therefore he’s been the only thing on Izuru’s mind.
Ding, dong. Bing bong.
The 10 p.m. announcement. Izuru stands. His resources should have come up with some results by now. Finally. He heads toward the fairground’s amphitheater.
. . .
When Izruru finally comes across Nagito, he is in a far sorrier state than the one he last saw him in. His resources—the Remnants have brought him to the amphitheater in the funfair, and they’re holding him down against the concrete floor of the stage. He has one person on either side of him. On one side is a mightier-than-thou Remnant Sonia, who is dressed in an immaculate gown and restricts Nagito’s right wrist by the pad of her stiletto. The other is a darky leering Remnant Ultimate Imposter, who has smashed his heel into the palm of Nagito’s mechanical hand with enough fervor to flatten it into a measly couple of scraps. They restrict that wrist with one foot, and his left foot with the other. Komaeda can do nothing to escape while the last of the three remnants leans down upon his chest. It’s Mikan, who has kneeled just beside his waist so she can reach a sharply manicured set of nails toward his face. When her hand crosses his torso, though, he flinches ahead of schedule.
“Aaah…eehehehehah!” She notices his twitch and responds with an uneven laugh. Her hand works to pull a large syringe out from a pocket on her apron. “What do we have here…!?” With one quick movement, the nurse has moved to straddle her small body across Komaeda’s waist. Then, with one drawn out push, she drives his white shirt up higher onto his chest. “Oh my! Would you look at all this?” Tsumiki giggles Maliciously, her nail drawing one of the bandages on his midsection back so that she can peer beneath it. “Is all of this for me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
Nagito turns his head to the side—a gesture of non-compliance to the remnants’ games. He hasn’t talked back thus far, and it is beginning to stir Mikan to her boiling point. “Say. Something!” She draws him up and toward herself by his collar. “What happened to you, huh? Why so quiet? You must be angry at me, right? At us!” She whines. “We broke your hand…”
Her majesty sneers down from her regal nail file. “As if he cares about such a thing.”
Mikan seethes. “What about hope, then? Think about aaall the precious hope that will faaall down the drain now that we’re here. Aha! We’re going to make this game unsalvageable! Not a single soul spared…!” The nurse grins wickedly down at Nagito, but there’s nothing. No reaction. At least, nothing they were looking for.
Mikan’s growl turns into an enraged shriek, and, with no progress still, she drops Nagito to the ground. “Aaugh, dammit!” Tsumiki lugs her syringe off of the stage so she can pull on the ends of her hair in frustration. The syringe shatters a little ways away. “We can’t just give him over to Kamukura like this!” She seethes. “Such despair… I can feel his wrath… aaahh…!”
Nagito cringes. At last, a reaction. “…Stop that.” Mikan looks down toward her prisoner. He speaks again: “Kamukura put you up to this?”
“That’s right,” she responds at once. “Thought you were easy pickings, I suppose. Doesn’t that just break your heart?”
Nagito hesitates before he can respond. “He… Kamukura wouldn’t do that.”
“You don’t sound so sure,” Sonia chimes in with a regal laugh. “Perhaps you angered him in some way. It is a leader’s role to punish their underlings when they step out of line. A temper is the only state I have seen him in other than nothing at all,” she recounts. “If it can be called that.”
“How about we just kill him?” Mikan coos, giggling madly. “I can take the fall for the boss… so I can be with my beloved! Think of the despair…! Killing an old friend…”
“Although I hate to mingle with the rabble, might I suggest you speed his along, Tsumiki?” Sonia inquires with a powerful tone, which makes her suggestion sound more like a command. She looks to the fair’s pathway and at the young man who approaches. “It appears we have company.”
Mikan and Nagito look over at their approaching visitor at the same time—Mikan the usual way, and Nagito upside down. Their company’s silhouette is obscured by the shine of a light just behind him, but as his form draws closer, the person is plain to see.
“Kamukuraaa,” Mikan purrs as she releases Nagito’s shirt. Instead, she’s now opted to lean across him to come closer to their leader. “I got what you wanted, Kamukura. Now, you’ll love me, won’t you… me and me alone?”
Nagito can’t help but exhale a short laugh that is drenched in disgust. “You don’t get him at all, do—?” The nurse’s sharp nails press his lips closed.
Mikan’s head remains affixed toward Izuru, but her seething glare finds its way down to Nagito. “Excuse me?” Her head twists until she’s leering down at him again. “Did all that time in the dorms make you miss the taste of mud?” She waits for a rebuttal, but Nagito thinks better of responding and instead turns away. Mikan’s sweet face contorts into a wretched smile as soon as she sees Nagito defeated. “That’s right…” she smirks, lowering Komaeda’s shirt back over his bandages. “Pitiful and worthless just like I remember… almost as low as me…” Her grin grows disturbingly, as though going any further would cause it to escape the bounds of her face. She leans in close to the luckster’s ear and purrs one last addition: “…Almost. You’re not even the best at being the worst…”
Izuru's eyes scan the scene beforehand, landing on each of the Remnants with a cold, unimpressed stare. He'd enlisted them to find Nagito, yes, given his authority over them, but that had been the extent of his instructions for them. In hindsight, it's unsurprising that the Remnants have chosen to treat him this way in their efforts to complete the task he gave them, but there's little to be done about that. He knows that regardless of instruction, they most likely would have behaved this way anyways.
As his eyes land on Nagito, however, and the state he's in, something strange twinges in his chest. Especially when his gaze lands on the crushed prosthetic hand. It's an unfamiliar sensation, similar to the bored annoyance he often feels for the Remnants, but...much more intense. His gaze darkens, the shadow cast by his hair as he levels his gaze on the Remnants once more. There's almost an unearthly spark in his gaze, eyes razor-sharp and blazing scarlet as his displeasure at the Remnants' behavior grows with each second, with each remark Mikan makes.
As Mikan leans down to him, Izuru almost seems to vanish. There's barely even time for a clock to tick before Izuru is suddenly looming behind the Remnants up on the stage, and in one smooth movement, he grabs Mikan by the back of her shirt collar, his strength halting her movements entirely. Effortlessly, he pulls her off of Nagito, causing her to land on the stage behind the Ultimate Hope as he shoots her an ice-cold stare over his shoulder, a single crimson eye bearing down on her. He's angry, angrier than the Remnants have likely ever seen, but it only shows in his eyes–the rest of his expression remains as blank and emotionless as ever. It's menacing, and the very presence he exudes is almost oppressive in its pressure and intensity.
"He's mine."
Despite his monotone, the words carry almost as much intensity as his gaze. He shoots quick, sharp looks at both of the other two Remnants, who back up, freeing Nagito's limbs. As Mikan makes some trembling noise behind him that he can't be bothered to acknowledge, he turns his focus away from the Remnants and back down to the luckster below him. His eyes scan Nagito over rapidly, taking in the state of him and the extent of his injuries. His wrist is red from the pressure the other two Remnants put on his limbs, and he's willing to suspect that Nagito's foot is in a similar state, if not worse. The mechanical hand is crushed, a few wires sparking uselessly among the hand's remains, and it makes something in Izuru churn with inexplicably more fury, though he can't place as to why. The wound on Nagito's torso is of the greatest concern, and the bandages will need to be changed. A few other bruises can be seen from where the Remnants had manhandled him.
Tch. Typical. He shoots another icy glare at the Remnants. "I recall asking you to simply locate him," he says with the closest thing his voice has ever come to genuine rage. His dark hair almost seems to flare out behind him as he narrows his eyes at them. "Make yourselves scarce." It's a threat, really, hidden behind a simple instruction, but one he knows will be heard nonetheless. A threat of what will happen if further harm from the Remnants comes to the luckster lying prone before him, and a threat of Izuru taking matters into his own hands should the Remnants linger.
The remnants quickly look at each other, then scatter like a pack of frightened dogs. Once they’re gone, Nagito slowly sits up and glances over himself. The next thing he does is look up at Izuru. “Quite the show they had,” he remarks casually, brushing down dusty dirt from his sleeve. “They dragged me over here, you know? Like a fresh kill.” Nagito’s eyes turn in the direction of Mikan’s shattered syringe. His eyes narrow until he sees it.
“Of course, to be tortured by agents of despair wearing the faces of my old friends is punishment enough before death… but I hardly anticipated such an order to come from you, Kamukura…” He chuckles grimly as his wandering eyes return to his decimated prosthetic hand. “In retrospect, I suppose it makes sense. They certainly did not hold back,” he murmurs. Carefully, he turns his broken hand by the remains of its wrist. Metal screeches against metal. It’s a painful sound, like that of nails on a chalkboard. Komaeda grits his teeth from the phantom pain. “I must have annoyed you greatly to incur such retaliation…” He says that like it’s an accomplishment. Despite the gravity of what he is working up to, Nagito sighs with disappointment where his fear should be. “So… what now? Are you here to finish the job?”
Izuru turns his gaze to Nagito, absent of that same strange glimmer of fury that had been in his eyes when he looked at the Remnants. Something is still present in that gaze, though what it is remains to be seen. It seems to stir a little, like the embers of a fire being stoked, when he hears Nagito's description of the Remnants' treatment of him.
"Incorrect," he finally answers plainly, as though he didn't just put the fear of...well, Kamukura into three Remnants of Despair. "I simply employed their assistance to locate you, in order to expedite my search for you after you vanished. I did not instruct them to injure you. And I have no intention of doing you any harm. Or allowing them to do so."
He glances in the direction the Remnants fled. "It is fortunate that I arrived when I did. They could have done much worse." He looks back to Nagito. "They will most likely not be a problem for you now." He reaches out his hand, offering it to the downed Lucky Student.
Nagito stares at his hand, then through his brow at Izuru. “Why seek me out?”
Izuru gives Nagito a strange look, as though processing the question. He thinks for a moment. Why, indeed? Since suddenly being snapped to awareness in this strange place, he's been experiencing many unusual things. The most prominent of these being, of course, the strange sensations that being around Nagito seems to have stirred in him. Nagito is entirely unpredictable, a complete enigma, a truly rare thing for Izuru, indeed, and it intrigues him. The realization dawns on him, then, that for the first time since his creation, he had wanted something. Specifically, he had wanted to find Nagito. Wanted to be around him. Wanted to experience more of that unpredictability he found so fascinating. He had been drawn to the Lucky Student, and found himself wanting to find him once he had vanished. It was an alien sensation to him, to desire something of his own accord. To think it was stirred in him by a former Remnant, and more specifically Nagito Komaeda…
Truly remarkable. He finds that this realization only seems to intensify his apparent fascination with the Ultimate Lucky Student. As a vessel for the world's hope, Izuru was not meant–not designed–to have any desires of his own. Nagito managing to change that should have been impossible, yet here they stand, with that very impossibility happening here and now. Izuru briefly ponders if it has something to do with the time he must have spent as Hajime prior to a few days ago. Or perhaps there's something more to this strange fascination he feels for Nagito, some strange impossibility the luckster seems to stir in him whenever Izuru encounters him. Izuru has no idea what to expect, his analytical talents turning up nothing but mysteries when he attempts to read the other, and it is thrilling. It's such a stark contrast to everything he's used to...to the empty boredom that plagues him constantly, and the relief from that sensation he dislikes so much is palpable.
His eyes meet Nagito's as he finally responds. "I wanted to find you. To...spend time with you." There's a strange inflection to his usual monotone, as though the words feel foreign to say. "It is...a new sensation for me." He then levels Nagito with a sharp, assertive confidence in his eyes. "And I did not wish for any harm to come to you while you were out of my sight."
Nagito’s expression softens at Izuru’s admission. “Thanks.” At last, he takes the hand that Izuru offered to help himself up. Although simple, their touch removes the space that’s come between them—both literally and metaphorically. Someway, somehow, Izuru’s hand writhes with a tingling sensation that works its way up into his chest. It isn’t an unpleasant feeling, however. Rather, it’s quite the opposite. Kamukura feels an overwhelming sense of security now that he is holding Komaeda’s hand in his. In fact, it’s flooding through him—that pleasant peace of mind is with him as long as he knows that this exhilarating man is alongside him.
Once he’s on his feet, Nagito pulls him close and holds him in his arms. Like this, the comforting sensation that he feels from Nagito’s touch is all around him. Nagito’s presence clears Izuru of all the pent up anger, sadness, and pain that he hardly cared to acknowledge until now. By merely existing, Nagito has helped him see beyond the darkness. His existence alone is the light at the end of the tunnel.
The only thing Nagito does is hold him closer, but that sensation stagnates all of Izuru’s other senses. It only makes him want Komaeda to never leave his side. If he had known that this was the result of his touch, then Kamukura would have never handed his search over to those reckless remnants. If such a thing were to happen again, then he would not rest until Nagito—his reason to live was found.
“Is this as cathartic for you… as it is for me?” Nagito finally murmurs, his words like a choir’s song in Izuru’s perfect mind. Of course, the answer could not be anything besides a resounding yes. “Mmh,” Komaeda proceeds as if reading his mind, “I thought so.”
In a moment, though, he laughs a bit. “I suppose… if a murder does occur, then you’ll forget about all of this...” Nagito shakes his head back and forth as he begins to reel himself back from their embrace. Although, as he lingers nearby, Izuru senses Nagito’s hesitancy, so in turn, he reveals his own. Before he can part from him completely, Izuru’s hands catch Nagito by his elbows. This leaves Komaeda’s arms just on top of his, with his hand left to grasp his biceps. Like this, Nagito just laughs some more. “Perhaps the catharsis is reason enough. It’s as if I’ve given you the support you never received at this point in your life. Actually, I suppose if you’re never able to uncover the memories of your future, then it wouldn’t be ’as if,’ at all. It would just be.” He would go on, but his expression has cracked into an embarrassed smile. “Look at me—making no sense at all. You’ll have to forgive my ramblings…”
Izuru looks at him for a moment, something resembling fondness creeping into his otherwise blank expression. "I do not mind." He then pauses in consideration. "It is a possibility that should a murder occur, myself and the others affected by the motive would likely return to whatever state we were in previous to it. Whether or not we retain any memory of the experience will likely be up to Monokuma's whims, so it will remain to be seen." He shakes his head, focusing back on Nagito, on the comforting sensation the other's presence is bringing him.
"Regardless, this is..." he pauses, trying to decide how to best describe his current feelings, which still feel so out of the ordinary to him. "...pleasant." He thinks back to earlier, to what he'd said as he'd thrown Mikan off of Nagito. "I do not intend to let the Remnants harm you again."
His gaze flicks over Nagito's roughed up form again, and his eyes land squarely on the damaged mechanical hand. He takes hold of Nagito's wrist, carefully, examining the remains of the prosthetic. "This will need heavy repairs as soon as possible." He looks back up at Nagito. "I will fix it." Some part of Izuru is very insistent about this, so he decides this is what he must do. He still doesn't fully understand the surge of emotion that looking at the damaged hand makes him feel, but it brings back faint embers of that earlier fury–anger at the Remnants for having harmed him. His gaze indicates that he gives little room for argument on this matter.
Nagito’s gaze follows to his metal wrist, as well. “Yes, that would be helpful.” He says, meeting Izuru’s eyes. “Look there. There’s a building beyond the resort that has rooms for every talent.” His attention points Kamukura to the large structure between the resort and the fair—the ultimate labs. “You can find materials there. This hand though,” he looks down to the bent wires blooming from his jacket sleeve, “it’s a bit high-tech. It’s not just something I can take off…”
Izuru glances towards the labs, then back at Nagito with a nod. "We can gather materials and bring them back to my room. With sufficient resources, I should be able to repair it easily, with it still attached to you." He pauses, for a moment, considering. "If there are labs for every Ultimate here, then Soda's room should provide the necessary materials, and if not, mine most likely would." Izuru says this matter-of-factly. If the labs are meant to account for their respective talents, then Izuru's should be able to provide anything they can't find elsewhere, after all.
Once he’s certain that the Remnants have well and truly vacated the area, Izuru leads Nagito to the labs, keeping an eye out for potential threats as they go. He keeps Nagito close, and when they enter the labs, the Lucky Student tells him where to find Kazuichi’s lab. With Izuru searching, it takes little time at all to dig up the parts and tools they need from the boxes and storage lockers in Kazuichi’s messy workshop of a lab. Izuru looks over the materials to quickly confirm they have everything they need, and once that’s said and done, shifts the box of supplies he’s gathered to one hand and returns with Nagito to his and Shuichi’s room.
Shuichi is hanging over the end of his bed whenever Izuru lets himself in. One of Shuichi’s arms dangle haphazardly. The other one is beside him on the bed, grasping a controller. He’s got a headset on—one that looks high-tech. He’s frowning to himself whenever he hears Kamukura walk in. “Izuru…” he groans through the sound of bit-crunched music. “Am I boring?” He waves his dangling hand around before the ultimate can respond. “No, no—I don’t want to hear a yes. Ugh… for the record, I think I’d make a pretty good ultimate detective…”
“Ah…” Nagito and Izuru exchange a glance. Is this some kind of… amnesia-induced depression? “That you, um…do, Shuichi,” Komaeda offers as he shrugs at Kamukura.
“No, I’m no ultimate detective… that’s something you’re made into, not something you are…” Nagito and Izuru exchange another glance. Shouldn’t that be the other way around? Aside from, like, Izuru, of course. “They’ve got to make me into that. Right now, I’m just… I’m just me! Ugh. whoever I am.” Shuichi hangs his head and hand back down, defeated. The force of that motion causes his virtual reality helmet to slide off of his head and hit the ground. The game sounds out a pitiful tune that catches Shuichi’s attention. “Damnit… oh, Nagito! Whoa, hey!” At once, the super-fan sits up and faces him. “What’s going on? Why the two of you?”
“I require his talents,” Nagito replies simply. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on taking up too much of your time.”
“No, no! Please!” Shuichi hops off of his bed and gathers up his game stuff. “Stay. You can spend the night! Just use Izuru’s bed.” He offers up the other bed without even an attempt to ask for permission. “He hardly slept the other night, anyway.”
Nagito turns a worried look over to Izuru. “You need to sleep. I don’t want to take that from him.”
Izuru shakes his head. “He has a point, though. It would be safer for you to stay the night, as then I would be able to ensure your safety.” Not to mention allow him more time to spend around Nagito.
He moves to the side of the room with his bed and sets the box of supplies down on the floor beside it. “It is no inconvenience to me.” He doesn’t mention that it may in fact be a reassurance to him, and that it would mean he’d get to spend more time with Nagito. After what happened, and the realization he’s come to, he doesn’t want to let Nagito out of his sight if he can help it.
Komaeda looks aside to the finely pressed bed. Where Shuichi’s is slightly untucked and wrinkled from all his rolling around upon it, Izuru’s is untouched. It truly looks as though it hasn’t been used since he arrived. To be fair, their beds here are the same size as the one bed that Nagito has in his room—they’re all queen-sized. Therefore, it wouldn’t be impossible to share the bed, but…
Nagito perishes the thought. “I’m not sure,” he waves the idea away further with his hand. “I don’t want to keep you up again, like in the clinic. You said the remnants wouldn’t cause any more trouble for me, so I’ll be fine.” His words carry some confidence. “And there’s the matter of Kokichi, as well. I should check on him tonight.”
Shuichi’s expression drops at the mention of Kokichi. “Him?” Nagito halts his progression before he can say anything more.
“Yes. He’s my roommate and a friend that I need to support. I’m sorry, Izuru.” Nagito places his hand on Kamukura’s padded shoulder.
Izuru nods. "If you'd like, you can go check on him after I repair your hand, and if you still wish to stay the night afterwards, you are welcome to." He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to rummage through the box for tools and supplies, setting them out beside him. He feels a sense of...he supposes it would be called disappointment, at the idea of Nagito rejecting his offer. A feeling as foreign as the rest of those he's been experiencing, so there is some novelty in it, but not a feeling he particularly finds pleasant. Once again, despite all the odds and impossibilities of it all, he finds himself wanting. More specifically, wanting Nagito to stay by him.
Despite the complicated and unexpected feelings he is experiencing, Izuru's face is as blank and inexpressive as ever, looking up plainly at Nagito from his place on the bed.
Nagito nods then, and sets a hand on his hip. “Right. We’ll see.” An open-ended response—that’s good. It’s better than a no. “Well, let’s get this fixed.” Nagito raises his broken wrist and peels his sleeve down off of it as if he’s undressing a wound. Shuichi reels at the sight.
“Your hand! What happened!?”
“Ah, it’s nothing to worry about, really. I would have died a long time ago if hostage situations were able to take me down,” he insists. “Izuru? The desk.” Nagito motions with his hand toward the other side of the room: Hajime’s desk. It’s clean—much cleaner than Shuichi’s desk, where the VR headset and all of its wires are now residing. Izuru can work there, at his desk. “Shuichi, would you mind if I borrowed your chair?”
The fanboy gestures welcomingly for Nagito to take it. “Yeah! Yeah… sure.”
Izuru nods and brings the equipment over to his desk. He glances briefly at Nagito as he crosses the room. He's been referring to me by my first name ever since the embrace...he only referred to me as Kamukura before then. Interesting. Though not unpleasant. He sets the equipment down on the desk, lays it out, and gestures for Nagito to join him.
Komaeda brings the second chair over and takes a seat near the edge of the desk. Eyes on Kamukura, he sets his left elbow on the tabletop. “Is there any way I could help?”
Izuru takes hold of Nagito’s damaged wrist with one hand, bringing it towards him. “You could use your free hand to pass me tools and materials as needed, if you wish. Other than that, I simply need you to keep your arm as steady as possible.”
Izuru gets to work quickly, without another word on the matter. His analytical gaze scans over Nagito’s broken hand for a mere moment before he reaches for the tools, soldering damaged but salvageable parts whole and removing parts too damaged to use. He’s swift and precise as he works, hands completely steady.
He continues in silence like this for a few moments before his eyes briefly flick up to look at Nagito’s face as he asks: “You were avoiding me, I noticed. Why is that?”
Nagito’s eyes turn up from the mechanical wreckage as he asks that. “I didn’t want you to be manipulated. Don’t, still. Not because of me, but…” His gaze turns toward the room’s camera—no need to go on. “It’s been difficult for me, but your life is the most precious commodity here. If you die or kill, then this game will unravel into madness.” His eyes turn back. “That’s the idea, anyway. The mastermind’s plan.”
Nagito lowers his voice as he continues. “You shouldn’t be here. The motive shouldn’t have affected you.”
Izuru looks back up from his work, a screwdriver in one hand. “I see. I was aware that my being here was a substantial threat, given my abilities and status,” he says, setting the screwdriver down to grab a pair of pliers. He matches Nagito’s lowered volume as he continues, “However…I fail to understand what you mean by how I shouldn’t have been affected, outside of perhaps my talent.”
Nagito points at Izuru with his free hand once he mentions talent. Bingo. “The motive was given to us inside the hall of mirrors,” he explains. “You and me…we’d arrived together. Shuichi shouted for us to shield our eyes from the oncoming light, and that is how some have amnesia, and others don’t.” He rests his spare hand on the bend of his other arm, leaning in still. “Except for me. Izuru, I didn’t cover my eyes. Lady Luck closed them for me.”
Izuru angles his head slightly at him. “I see. You were fortunate enough to close your eyes at precisely the right moment. I assume your statement earlier, then, is wondering why the same–or something similar–did not happen to myself.” He taps the screwdriver on the table for a second, idly, before returning to the task at hand. “It is possible the mastermind may have manipulated the situation in order to ensure I would be affected.”
“My thought exactly,” Nagito concurs. “After all, we have no idea how those lights work. And eyelids only cover so much of a bright flash.” Nagito looks aside and thinks into his off hand. “We’re on our own here, so our best assets are ourselves. Our experiences, our memories. Shuichi seemed knowledgeable about these things. They came from his killing game, as far as I am aware.” He spares a glance at Shuichi, who is listening intently. “But those memories are lost, I’m afraid. The point remains.” He looks ahead. “The amnesia appears targeted. It would have been much better to lose me than it was Hajime, after all. You provided a lot of support, you see,” he explains. “A de-facto leader of sorts. But you’re used to that already. Hajime is different, he’s…” Nagito’s expression is different—it’s changing into something Izuru can’t quite place. It’s nearly the look he has when yearning for hope, but not quite. Kamukura isn’t skilled enough in this field to identify it precisely. In a moment, Komaeda covers it with a duller face. “—but you don’t want to hear any of that. Please,” he gestures to his broken hand. “Don’t let me waste anymore of your time.”
Izuru watches Nagito’s change in expression with rapt attention. “I see.” He looks back down at Nagito’s hand and resumes his task.
It’s a little strange, still, to hear other people talk about…well, him, technically. Nagito in particular. Izuru, himself, has essentially no memory of being Hajime in the first place, though he knows, logically, he was. More than once, based on the information he’s acquired. To think someone who had signed their life away to become him would grow to become this confident, reassuring leader…it’s odd to picture, though not improbable.
The way Nagito talks about him is of particular interest. The Ultimate Lucky Student’s feelings for Hajime is unlike anything he’s observed from Nagito otherwise. He can’t quite deduce what it is–just another enigmatic feature of Nagito that Izuru finds fascinating as always–but he sees small hints of it reflected in how Nagito looks at him, albeit not quite the same.
Izuru finds he doesn’t mind, though. Instead, he focuses on repairing Nagito’s hand. He’s still not sure why the Remnants breaking it caused such an intense emotional reaction from him. Glancing over what remains of it, he finds it feels…familiar, somehow. The craftsmanship is recognizable, though he can’t place where to. Hajime, perhaps? It would explain why he feels so strongly about it.
Izuru is mostly silent as he continues to work, only speaking up occasionally to ask Nagito to move or to hand him something. Shuichi tries to make small talk here and there to fill the silence, but Izuru pays him little mind, prioritizing Nagito and his work. He’s never cared much for awkward small talk anyways. Boring.
Izuru takes extra care as he works, regularly checking to make sure that Nagito feels as little discomfort as possible, though he figures the luckster will likely experience some phantom pain. Then again, perhaps not—Nagito is always unpredictable, after all.
By the time Kamukura is done, the hand looks good as new—and strikingly identical to how it had looked originally, as well.
“You’re finished?” Nagito feels the new hand with his dominant one. Sleek and smooth, just like before. With ease, it flexes and extends as he wants it to. “Perfect. Many thanks, Izuru. You’ve done a remarkable job.”
“You can hardly tell he lost it,” Shuichi comments, looking on.
“Precisely as I wanted it. No need to stir up any more commotion with a broken limb.” Nagito takes Izuru by the hand and thanks him again. “I should get going—although I hate to disappoint. Come find me tomorrow. I’ll give you my undivided attention then.”
Izuru nods, giving Nagito a look that seems as neutral as always, but has a faint hint of something almost… pleased, in his eyes. “Get some rest. It should help.” He releases Nagito’s hand and stands up. After putting the tools and supplies back in a box, he turns back to the luckster. “Have a good night, Nagito.”
“Goodnight to both of you.” Nagito heads for the door. Despite Shuichi’s desperate silent cries for Izuru to keep him over, Nagito has stepped across the hall to his room just as soon as Izuru notices the fanboy’s gestures. Izuru just exhales and turns in for the night. He’ll have to settle with Nagito being the one who got away.
In his room, Kokichi lies on the bed with his arms and legs outstretched. He’s pondering the ceiling above him when Nagito walks through the door. “Hey, what…?” Pillows and blankets lay astray on the cheap carpet around the bed. The room is a mess. Paper has been torn into scraps and lies scattered. Nagito finds his flower book in pieces by the door. Nearby is Kokichi’s battered bouquet. He picks the book up with remorse as he places its mangled pages atop his chest of drawers. “You had a falling out with Shuichi?” Nagito guesses.
Kokichi groans, turning and burying his face into the singular pillow under his head. "No," he lies, intentionally poorly. He knows it's obvious. But that doesn't mean he's just going to outright say it. He lifts his head to continue talking. "I just felt like destroying the room on a whim. You know how it is, Supreme Leader of Evil, yadda yadda–" he remarks with bitter sarcasm. He continues to try to burrow into the pillow as though it'll somehow let him hide away from the entire debacle. Eventually, he gives up with a sigh and flips around onto his back again.
"This motive suuuucks. It was kinda exciting at first, but now I'm just annoyed." Kokichi doesn't elaborate–he figures the states both he and the room are in will speak for themselves. He looks over at Nagito–his roommate is sporting some new bruises, and they catch his eye. "You're looking kind of rough, yourself. Something happen?" He says, hoping to deflect from his own ongoing issues.
Nagito sports a tired yet chipper smile for Kokichi’s sake. “Nothing I haven’t experienced in the past. I’ll be fine,” he replies with a chuckle. “You’re right. This motive is certainly unique. We’ll just have to hold onto the hope that it won’t get much worse than this.” Nagito walks around the room in an attempt to de-clutter the place. He arrives back at the end of the bed with a plastic laundry basket under his arm—that’s the one their room came with. “Would you be interested to know that Shuichi was sulking, just the same as you are now? Mostly nonsense—things he is unsure about. This version of him is certainly very different.”
Kokichi props himself up on his elbows, pouting. “I’m not sulking,” he says, definitely sulking, “but I’m surprised. I thought he didn’t care. Huh.”
He looks aside for a moment, thinking. “He’s been weird, that’s for sure. I don’t know this version of him, and I can’t make heads or tails of half the things he says.” Kokichi sits up fully on the bed, bringing his knees up in front of his chest. “Oh. And he’s being a real asshole. Especially to me. I don’t know why I bother, honestly. He’s no fun right now.” Kokichi huffs, as though that’s the thing that upsets him most about all this—that Shuichi isn’t reacting to Kokichi’s lying and shenanigans the same way as usual, not that he isn’t making any sense or that he’s treating Kokichi the way he is.
“He’s not even any fun to lie to. Ugh. And after all the trouble I went through for him—” he gestures vaguely to the destroyed decor. He falls back onto the bed again, rolling back onto his stomach. His next words are slightly muffled by the bedding underneath him, barely audible: “and after I thought I could trust him.” It feels a little weird to be saying all this, but Kokichi needed to get it out. After all, it’s not like he could talk to Shuichi about how he feels about all this. So he supposes his roommate is the next best option. Besides, Nagito’s been a pretty good friend to him so far. Kokichi can probably vent a bit.
Nagito frowns as Kokichi goes on, so before he leaves to do laundry, he sets the basket down and offers Kokichi a hand to pull him up. “You remember the first day we were here? When I walked you around and you met everybody else? Do you remember how Komaru Naegi reacted…when she first saw me? She was mortified, like a nightmare had come true. When I first met her I was… well, someone who warranted a reaction like that. I was a disciple of Junko and despair. Disposable. However, at the beginning of our killing game…I had no memory of it. None of us did. That Nagito Komaeda is the unrecognizable version of me. The same goes for Hajime and the others. And the same must go for Shuichi.” Nagito considers his monologue for a moment as he feels the palm of his metal hand. “This motive was made to manipulate your emotions, just like any other. We can’t let it get to us.” He clenches his metal hand into a fist. “Why don’t you wait and ask the Shuichi you know about this once the time comes?”
Kokichi takes Nagito’s offered hand and sits up, looking up at him. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that his roommate has a complicated and rather dark past, especially given the way he acts so friendly towards Kokichi all the time. “I guess you’ve got a point,” he admits with a sigh. “God, I hate dealing with it, though.” He glances around at the room, a pout on his face that’s only half an exaggeration, this time. “It’s really weird, though. If what I know lines up, then the things Shuichi’s been saying lately have to be lies, but then…ugh, I don’t know. It hurts my head to try and process. I’m gonna be really pissed if it turns out normal Shuichi’s been lying to me about the stuff he’s been saying. That’s supposed to be my job.” He huffs, carefully not mentioning that he worries that what not-quite-Shuichi is saying might actually have some truth to it—or at least, that there’s something important about it. He still doesn’t like that he can’t quite place where this version of Shuichi could have come from—what time in Shuichi’s life he could have acted like this. It doesn’t make sense. “But whatever!” He deflects, trying to seem unaffected.
“How’s Hajime—oh, wait, it’s Izuru, right? Is that the name? How’s he doing? Anything change? Still tall, dark, and bored all the time?” He says, tilting his head to the side. Hopefully, this change of subject will steer the conversation away from him and his issues with Shuichi—so he can try not to think about how much the situation there is bothering him. Plus, this version of Hajime is a strange character, and Nagito cares about him, so Kokichi can’t deny that he’s curious what the Ultimate Hope has been up to since he disappeared into the dining hall earlier that day. So it’s not a completely disingenuous question, at least.
Nagito steps back and takes his laundry under an arm again. “Oh, that’s Izuru for you. He’s always like that. Finds interest in the strangest of places.” Nagito seems to realize that he needs to wash his jacket, so he sets the basket down again and shrugs the coat off of his shoulders. “I was a torture victim today.” He says that like he’s bragging. Clearly, it’s an attempt to make light of it. “Very rough. They pulled my hair. Poked my wound.” He laughs and pats his stomach. “And broke my hand, too.” Nagito presents said hand. “You have Izuru to thank for my rescue, however. And my dual-handedness.” He retrieves the laundry basket again. “He looks at me like a robber perusing a swath of rare jewels. I just hope this motive doesn’t get the better of him.” Nagito steps around the tattered flower book and turns the door’s handle. “I’ll be back. Do you need me to get you anything?”
Kokichi blinks, then jumps to his feet, an idea suddenly crossing his mind. “Actually, how about I come with you? It’ll be faster if we work together—and we can continue our conversation,” and I can show you something carefully goes unsaid. He’ll bring it up when the moment is right. After all, if there’s anyone who he would want to tell about Kokichi’s—or perhaps Shuichi’s—recent discovery, it’s Nagito.
Crossing the room to follow after the Ultimate Lucky Student, Kokichi smiles casually as the two of them head out into the hallway.
“You know, Kokichi… I’ve wondered before why all the clothes they give us are the same. Have you wondered that?” Nagito stares down into his laundry basket with a puzzled look. The inside of it bounces as he walks: green, and white, and red, and white some more. He thumbs through the familiar fabrics, then he pulls something out from one of the pockets. “It’s encouraging… something. An urging of personas?” He looks down at Kokichi. “Facades?”
He focuses ahead again once they reach the door to the laundry room. “Appearances aren’t all bad though. They serve a purpose. And I always liked this green jacket…”
Nagito ponders over the outfit as his sentence trails away. Nothing more comes to mind, so he dumps it and the rest of the laundry into the washing machine. He steps aside with the empty basket to pick a detergent. So many choices… he’ll pick something discreet.
“Would you like to throw your jacket in?” Nagito reaches for a light orange bottle as he asks this. He examines the label. “Orange blossom? Hm…” Is this discreet? It doesn’t smell discreet, it smells… like chemicals. Nagito wheezes out a short cough from his sudden inhale. “Ah, strong stuff…” They both know the reason for that—death via chemicals is one thing, but death via detergent? There’s original.
Kokichi pulls off his jacket and tosses it unceremoniously into the washing machine. This leaves him standing there in a plain white tank top while he watches Nagito go about the task of getting the laundry started.
Nagito pours only enough detergent to cover the bottom of the bottle’s cap. Kokichi leans his head down into the mouth of the machine, but when he looks back up, his head meets with the bottom of the bottle in Nagito’s hands. Bad luck. The mass of liquid sloshes to the top and glugs out of the bottle and onto their laundry. So much for discretion.
Beep, beep, beep, and the wash cycle begins. Nagito sits at the table nearby. The basket waits by the washer-dryer.
Kokichi ponders the facade question for a moment. “It’s possible, and I wouldn’t put it past Monokuma,” he agrees as he hops up to sit on the dryer. “We only had the one outfit back in my killing game too.” He kicks his feet as he talks. “Maybe it’s to keep up appearances or something? Or maybe it’s for old times’ sake. Who knows! That bear could have any number of reasons for anything he does.”
He suddenly stops kicking his legs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Speaking of, actually, I came across a secret earlier~.” He carefully doesn’t mention that it was technically Shuichi who found it—though the detective had acted like he'd known about it all along, which was odd. Kokichi tries not to think about it too much.
“There’s a room that’s not marked on our maps. I don’t think anyone else knows about it yet—and I didn’t get much of a chance to look around before. I wasn’t sure if I should tell anybody, cause it could be dangerous, especially with the motive, buuuut… I figured I could trust my bestest-coolest-funnest-most-super-reliable roommate!” He smiles and throws his arms out wide. “I can show you when we get done here, if you want.”
“Oh? A strange room… if we’re the first to explore it, then who knows what we’ll find…hmhmhm…haha!” Nagito stands up and clasps his hands together. “This is great! A mystery, how wonderful. Take me to it.”
It’s decided; to the bathroom they go! Kokichi makes haste to retrace Shuichi’s steps, and Nagito is giddy the whole way there. Information is a necessity in killing games, but the only way to get enough is to search for it. Yes, he’s thankful for Kokichi coming forward. Kokichi has been remarkably helpful throughout their stay here over the past—what is it?—week. Nagito is happy to assist his friend. The added knowledge of their situation is merely a bonus.
Kokichi brings them both into a stall near the back of the men’s restroom. There, he feels along the tiled wall of the stall, and after a breath, he pushes.
The wall parts to reveal a veil of shadows, just as Kokichi anticipated. So this is the hidden treasure: a room that is yet unmarked on their maps. Nagito retrieves his e-Handbook from his pants’ pocket and pulls up the map system just to be sure. Just beside the public restrooms on the first floor of the resort is an empty space. Nagito hadn’t thought to consider that a room could be hidden here; after all, if he recalls correctly, the front desk of the resort should be right where this room would exit into the lobby. But there’s no door there on the outside. Nagito is sure of it. He went through the whole resort unlocking random doors with his Monokuma key days ago—he would have noticed a door behind the front desk.
While Nagito stares into the darkness, Kokichi readies his lantern. Luckily, Kokichi remembered to have them pick up something to light their way from the gift shop before they got here. Although it takes him a nudge and a rummage, Nagito brandishes his flashlight quickly, as well. “Well, then… we better not waste any more time,” Nagito murmurs beside his short friend. His flashlight’s beam wanders into the room alongside his stride. He points the lights along the walls and across the ceiling. The room they are in is not the empty chasm that Kokichi felt like it was when he first walked inside with Shuichi. It’s a beige room with a few meager computers upon some desks. Each desk has supplies common for an office, although the setup is less than orderly. Along the walls are bookshelves of binders. A quick glance through a random selection reveals blank paperwork, finances, and handouts. It’s all typical of a resort—an actual resort—and Nagito finds nothing suspicious upon first glance. He does notice something interesting, though: the name “Poruka Suītsu”—Polka Suites. Is that the resort’s real name? Or maybe the parent company? Nagito will have to keep an eye out for that name.
Kokichi follows along the wall, eyes skimming over the files and supplies. With more light and a friendlier face accompanying him, the area is certainly less ominous. He pushes the recent memory of Shuichi’s leering face out of his mind.
“It doesn’t look like Mr. Manager Bear’s done much to alter this place,” he remarks, noting the distinct lack of the usual black white and red theming the mascot seems to enjoy so much.
Continuing along the edge of the room, he eyes up the other door. According to the resort’s layout, this door should open into the front lobby, behind the reception desk. Maybe it’s a secret entrance, like the bookcase from his killing game?
Kokichi tries the handle, and finds the door unlocked. Weird, considering the fact that this room was most likely meant to be a complete secret. However, once he opens the door, he understands why—beyond the door is nothing but a brick wall. At some point, someone filled in this entrance— he supposes that would explain the lack of an entrance on the lobby side. He still pushes against a few of the bricks, though, just in case. Especially considering how Shuichi opened this room in the first place.
Nagito watches from nearby, but nothing comes from Kokichi’s efforts. That exit is long past usable.
Looking back to one of the desks, Nagito shuffles through some office supplies within its top drawer. He’s lucky enough to come back with something—a crumpled slip of paper that fits into his hand with ease, as if it was waiting all along to find him.
“Kokichi…come take a look at this…” Nagito takes a step toward his roommate as he unfolds the paper ball. It’s a map. It’s the layout of the resort that they’ve known since they first got here, except this map includes the room they’re standing within. But there’s more—other sheets to this floor plan. There’s a layout of the second floor alongside the first. There’s also a map labeled ‘ventilation’—Nagito wonders how that could come into play, if at all. And finally, there’s a map of the tunnels beneath the resort.
Nagito takes a knee and places these papers out on the floor in front of him. He does this so he can study them all at once. “We should take these.” He murmurs this suggestion into a hand, as if simply proposing the idea to himself. “They’ll be useful, no doubt.” Nagito’s gaze turns to meet Kokichi’s. “What do you think?”
Kokichi walks up and looks over the maps. While he remembers hearing something about a ventilation system, he hadn’t really thought about it much until now, but it makes sense. And knowing the layout of the entire resort could prove to be especially valuable knowledge (especially if he wants to do some sneaking around).
“Oooh, yeah! These’ll be good information to have. Might as well nab ‘em while we’re here,” he agrees. Part of him wonders if he’s small enough to fit into one of the ventilation shafts…but there’s plenty of time to test that later.
“Got it.” Nagito folds the maps and then slips them into one of his pockets as he stands back to his full height. “I was leaving this for last.” As Nagito says this, he gestures to the operable computer in the center of the room. There are a few other desks around that also have computers, but none of them have the wires necessary to make their setups work. It seems those ones are just for show. Nagito takes a seat before the working computer and monitor. “It looks important, so…leave this to me. You could say I know a thing or two about computers… Let’s see…” He turns on the power, and the computer audibly groans back to life. It takes a quiet moment, but he is eventually booted to a log-in screen.
Nagito doesn’t have a clue yet about what he should enter. “Username and Password… Any ideas?” He looks to Kokichi, who stands over his shoulder.
See, Shuichi? He can use whatever computer he likes. Kokichi makes a show of thinking about it, bringing his free hand up to his chin. "Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm..." he tilts his head back and forth. Suddenly, he snaps his fingers. "Ooh! Try this. Username: Username. Password: Password.....2." He giggles to himself, setting the lantern down on the desk and throwing his hands up behind his head. He's sure the password isn't anything nearly that simple, but it's worth a try. Maybe one of the folders in here has it...? He spares a glance towards them, then shakes his head. No, that'd take a while to do. And it'd be so booooring to look through all of them. He supposes he'll have to save the investigation for when his favorite detective is back.
Or maybe they'll just figure it out later. He looks at Nagito, and gives a casual shrug.
Nagito types Kokichi’s username and password into the keyboard. Enter. It loads…but the attempt is unsuccessful.
With that failure, Nagito sighs and leans back into the desk’s swivel chair. Before giving up in full, he leans forward and attempts another quick password, but it doesn’t work either. “Terrible… how dreadfully terrible… to be cut off at a time like this…” Nagito scoots back from the table and stands. He places his hands on either side of the desk so he can stew over it with his thoughts. “You brought me here to assist you, Kokichi, I can tell that much. Why you didn’t go to someone more qualified, I can only guess…” Nagito finally steps back. “If something truly dangerous resides in this room, then showing this to the others will only open undesirable pathways…”
His gaze points around the room. “There.” Nagito places one hand on Kokichi’s shoulder to steer him in the direction of the bookcases. “There’s bound to be something that can help us—some sort of a hint in there.” He turns back down to him. “But we don’t want to draw the mastermind’s attention by staying in here for too long… That would be far from desirable.”
Kokichi nods. "Yeah, yeah, as much as I love ruining the mastermind's day–" he remarks as he picks up the lantern, not elaborating on what he means by that, "probably best not to make a scene for now. Guess it's our little secret for now, huh?" He says with a wink, co*cking his head to the side and bringing a finger up to his lips. Nagito gets me so well.
Kokichi moves for the door. "Besides. We have all the time in the world to check this out later. Well. In theory." Despite the grimness of his point, his expression remains as casual and unaffected as ever. "Just figured I'd let you in on this juicy little nugget of information. Anyways, let's go get our clothes and head back, it's getting pretty late, and I'd just hate to be out after curfew! How very suspicious of us to be out this late. Have we no regard for self-imposed rules?" Kokichi declares with a scoff and a flourish of his hand, before laughing as he leads Nagito back out to the restroom proper.
Once they close up the door behind them, the two of them return for their laundry. As Kokichi pulls his usual outfit out of the dryer, he notes with some curiosity that it smells strongly of oranges. He spares a glance at Nagito. Huh. Weird choice. Never took him for the fruity sort. He stares at the Lucky Student another moment. ...Actually, on second thought, yes he did.
With their laundry done, the two head back to their room. Kokichi unceremoniously stuffs his clothes into the dresser with the rest of the identical white fabric, and assumes his usual spot at the end of the bed. Not long after, the two drift off into sleep.
