Archive of Our Own

Day One

“Sure. Why not?” Shuri Chuza pours himself another cup of tea. 

He can tell Oshinari—Mare, the younger one—wasn’t expecting to get this far, but he’s in a good mood. Everyone is, considering that Quartz just secured their place at Univeil for the foreseeable future. Even Amber’s underclassmen seem to have regained some semblance of humanity after realizing they’re not unbeatable. 

“Really?” 

“Really. It’s the end of the year. The only thing happening at this point is getting volunteers for auditions and final grades, and I imagine most classes will have spotty attendance this week.” He takes a long draw from his cup. They’re all responsible kids. Maybe too responsible; they deserve a chance to cut loose. “If it’s all in good fun, go for it.” 

Oshinari beams, thanks him quickly but sincerely, and dashes out of his office, presumably to spread the word. 

Kisa hasn’t slept this well in weeks, if she’s being honest. Sleeping in on a weekend was perhaps the only luxury of her life back home she had to leave behind, so she has to temper her irritation when she’s woken by a knock on her door.

“Tachibana!” calls the voice from the other side. One of her fellow students in the 78th. She opens the door to see three of them smiling. “Hey, morning!” 

“Good morning,” she says, her voice coming out gravelly. “What’s going on?” 

“Oh, we just wanted to warn you,” says one of them, holding out a water gun. “There’s a game of Assassin going on right now. It’d be a shame if our best got taken out so quick.” 

“W-what?” 

“Yeah. Target assignments got sent out this morning from an anonymous address, but it seems like people are taking it pretty seriously.”

“Ah. Gotcha. Thanks.” She takes the proffered weapon and shuts her door, still half-asleep. She supposes her bed will still be waiting for her tonight, and she’s killed enough of the day already. She might as well see what all of this is about. She opens her student inbox, and sure enough, a new message is waiting for her, timestamped at a minute past midnight.  

Univeil End-of-Year Assassin! 

Rules: No assassinations during active classes, group rehearsals, or within 20 meters of Univeil Theatre. If engaged by their would-be assassin, targets may eliminate them by beating them in combat. Alliances permitted, backstabbing encouraged. Performance, entertainment, and drama required. 

Prize: Bragging rights. Pride. Honor. The admiration and/or scorn of your peers, if you don't already have it.

Betting: Reply to this message for odds.

Your Target: See attached. Assassins who fail to eliminate their targets by the end of each round will be disqualified. This round ends at midnight. 

At the bottom is a document with her name on it. She clicks it open, and it opens in a new tab. Typed in Comic Sans is a single name, one that convinces Kisa that whoever’s behind this has a sick sense of humor. 

Chui Tanakamigi. 

It takes her the rest of the day to track him down, but once she does, he's easy to spot sitting under a tree. She’s not sure what to say to him, not that she ever is. 

I’m here to assassinate you. No. That’s too direct, she thinks to herself as she approaches.

Thank you? No, he’d probably be confused as to what exactly she’s thanking him for. I’m sorry? No, she’s not. 

Instead, she lands on, “Uh, hello.” 

His eyes drift to the water gun in her hand. “You’re here to assassinate me for the game.” 

Okay, maybe the first option would’ve worked. 

“Well, yeah.” She shifts on her feet. “Are you going to fight back?” 

“No. You and I both know that we have far more important contests ahead of us.” 

“Yeah, but this is just for fun, you know?” 

Sounding as tired as he looks, he says, “Then have your fun.” 

She can feel her mouth turning down at that. She can’t blame him for having a lot to think about, but he’s still just a teenager, just like the rest of them. “What, am I not interesting enough for you offstage?” she complains with an air of haughtiness, trying to bait him into playing along. After all, he did give her permission to have her fun. The least she can do is try to make sure he does, too. 

He seems to respond a bit as he looks her up and down. He seems to get the idea, sitting up straighter, eyes narrowing from his initial display of interest to something more aloof. “I’m enthralled by you, truthfully. But you’re trying to turn me into something I’m not.” 

What are they, right now, she wonders? The leads in a romcom having a spat behind the scenes? Friends turned bitter rivals over artistic differences? Is this a breakthrough or a breakup? 

“No, that's not it at all.” She sits on her knees beside him. “I just know how much hiding hurts, even if it's necessary. But it helps to have someone to confide in.” 

“You say that quite easily.” It sounds like a genuine criticism, a clear sign to Kisa that no matter what their roles are right now, they’re still having this conversation as themselves. 

“It’s because you did the same for me.” It's true, after all. He hasn't said a word about her secret even though he’s definitely aware, and he told her more about himself at the shrine than she could ever fathom knowing. 

I Am Death was probably one of the most impressive performances Kisa’s ever seen, but Tanakamigi seems to be hellbent on outdoing himself at every turn—the gentle smile that crosses his face looks so genuine, so real, that she finds herself momentarily breathless. “Alright. You win,” he says. “Just for now.” 

She recovers quickly, though, raising the water gun to his chest. Focus, she tells herself. Even though this is a victory, she still has a prize to win. She smiles right back. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

His dimples disappear when his face returns to its normal placid expression, but his brows are newly drawn with some awkwardness. “I couldn’t care less. This is asinine.” 

She pulls the trigger, leaving a dark spot that spreads across his shirt. She stares for a few moments longer. “Um, Tanakamigi?” 

“Yes?” 

“Are we… okay?” 

He seems to think about the question for a second, like he’s choosing his answer carefully. “I don’t see why we wouldn’t be.” He stands up—to his full height, towering over her—and starts walking off. He stops only to turn around and say, much softer, “Enjoy yourself, Tachibana.” 

Kisa, perhaps a bit naive in her optimism, nods with a smile as the sun sets over Mount Oodate. 

Day Two

When a hand claps over Kyoji’s mouth in an empty hallway and he’s dragged into the nearby music room, he can’t help but think that nothing like this would've happened yesterday, in the halcyon past where everything was all in childish fun and decent sportsmanship. But this morning’s email changed things. 

Yawn. I’m bored. Let's make this a bit more interesting!

No more bets, no more assigned targets. The last man standing will take the existing pot. 15000 yen. Your pride—and your class’—is obviously still at stake, too.

Good luck.

It’s only been a few hours since the message went out, but it's already been a bloodbath, with several people already drenched and more than a few friendships likely compromised. 

And Kyoji’s about to be the latest victim—at least, that’s what he thinks until he sees that he and his captor aren’t alone.

“Alright, score!” Oshinari cheers as he closes the door behind him. “Tsukasa, I got us a spy!” 

“I’m disappointed, Mare,” his brother tuts. “Our parents raised us better than this.” Notably, he’s got a smirk on his face suggesting that he himself is actually rather pleased. 

Kyoji finally thrashes his way out of Oshinari’s surprisingly strong grasp. “What the hell was that?” 

“That was us saving you,” he says, crossing his arms. “You didn’t see who was tailing you?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Momonashi was like, right behind you.” 

Kyoji feels his blood run cold, and his fear forms a lump in his throat that he can't swallow down. He knows talent comes with its quirks, but something about Momonashi doesn’t sit right with him, and he knows that he’s not the only one who feels that way. “H-he was?” 

“Yeah. Smiling all creepy and everything.” 

“Um… is it true?” he finds himself asking. “That rumor that he… strangled someone?” 

“No,” Minorikawa pipes up from the corner. He’s sitting next to one of Tachibana’s other friends: Ichinomae, he remembers. “But I wouldn’t put it past him, to be completely honest.” 

“He would,” confirms another voice. Kamiya is sitting next to Torimaki, the two of them passing a nail file back and forth. “I mean, I would, too, but at least I’d have a good reason.” Torimaki elbows him and he noticeably backs off, but not before meeting Kyoji’s eyes, grinning like a shark, and throwing out a snide, “Morning.” 

“You’re all being quite rude,” Oshinari—the older one—mutters, his disappointment seeming more real this time. Turning to Kyoji and laying down a loose thread on the shoulder of his uniform, he asks, “First off, how are you?” 

“Um, confused. And a little frightened.” 

“You can blame Gouki for that one,” Minorikawa says. 

“It’s Mare, dipshit! And I didn’t know it would get this out of hand!” 

“You turned this into a free-for-all and expected things to stay normal?” 

“Oh, like anything about you is normal!” 

“Both of you, knock it off.” Oshinari’s smile is delicate but laced with a thin thread of venom that shuts them both up immediately. “Kiito, if I ever hear that name from your mouth again, you won’t have a tongue to sing with. Mare, use that tone or that language again, and I’m calling home to tell mom exactly what you just said.”  

“Sorry,” they both wince in unison, looking equally frightened. 

“Enough. Conduct yourselves appropriately, please.” Addressing Kyoji again, his expression melts into something regretful. “I’m really sorry you had to see that. Tensions are running a bit high, and some of us are clearly forgetting this is a game. Tea?”

“Sure. Thank you.” It’s then that Kyoji realizes that the room is set up with more than just an out-of-place electric kettle. There’s a stockpile of water guns in the corner, snacks placed on empty chairs, and even the projector is playing some old, so-bad-it’s-good blockbuster… it’s like they’ve been holed up here with the intention of camping out. 

Oshinari seems to notice Kyoji looking around. “We’re a bit of a ragtag group, but since Mare started all this, we had time to make sure we were well-prepared, as you’ve no doubt put together.” Setting down the cup, he says, “We’d like to propose an alliance.” 

“Who’s we?” Kamiya snarls. 

“Information on Quartz,” Oshinari continues, completely ignoring the interjection, “in exchange for shelter.” 

Kyoji weighs his options carefully. On one hand, he’s reluctant to sell out his own class. They fought hard to stay together, and he’s glad their shared efforts paid off; he cares about them more than he’d ever admit. But the opportunity to finally beat Tachibana and his entourage calls to him like a siren’s song. Or perhaps it’s just Oshinari’s sweet tone. Minorikawa puts his face in his hands like he’s heard all of this before, and Kamiya chuckles to Torimaki at his distress. 

“Say less,” Kyoji finally says, hand on his hip. “What do you need to know?” 

“Statuses on the remaining students, if you would be so kind. I have a feeling that it’s time for us to make our move.” 

Dante feels the water sopping into the back of his jacket at the same time he hears a laugh from behind him. His hair, the lower half of which is now also soaked, almost smacks him in the face as his head snaps to Toichi to see that he’s been hit much worse. 

“Sorry, guys,” Ataru says, the gun in his hands completely emptied of water. “Nothing personal. I can take those off your hands, now, though, since you won’t be needing them anymore.” 

Dante hands over his two water pistols, albeit reluctantly. “You are astonishingly cutthroat.” 

“I heard everyone who’s out is in the library,” he says, confidence spilling from his earnest, toothy smile. 

Toichi takes his gun off, sling and all, and holds it out with a shivering, “You better win, Kasai!” He turns to Dante after Ataru takes it, and they share an understanding on their next course of action: exit the game with grace. 

“I won’t lose!” Ataru shouts after them, and while Toichi seems to still be too cold to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other, Dante waves back. Not as a goodbye, but just as a see you on the other side. He knows that someone will take him out, sooner or later. He’s good, but not invincible. 

Unlike Toichi’s blazer, Dante’s jacket dries off fairly quickly with the late afternoon sun hitting it, so he lends him the extra layer as they head to the library. When they arrive, there’s a good number of people there already, but not nearly as many as he expected to see. Chui is absorbed in a book in one of the more comfortable chairs, like he would’ve been there even if he hadn’t been eliminated. Mitsuki and Kai are sitting in a companionable silence by the window, and some of the Amber third years mutter to each other near one of the shorter bookcases, one of them throwing him and Toichi a nasty look. 

Ah. That was the one from earlier. From before Ataru turned on them. 

“Well,” Dante says. “I suppose we should grab a table, while there's still a few open.” 

“Yo!” calls a high-pitched voice, and Yuki Ushiro appears in front of them, dress swishing. “I was wondering if anyone from Onyx was ever going to show up.” 

“Are we the first?” Dante asks. 

“Yup. You guys are doing pretty well, all things considered.” He adds, “Suzu got me this morning when I was going to turn in a paper to Enishi. That’s what I get for caring about my academics.” 

Dante doesn't remind him that the paper in question, if he’s thinking of the same one, was due last Friday.

“Kasai,” Toichi grits out between still chattering teeth. 

It looks like it takes Yuki a minute to figure out what he’s trying to say, but when he does, his frown deepens. “Dang, that’s cold.” 

“So am I,” Toichi practically whimpers. “Freezing.” 

Dante sees his own look of sympathy reflected in pink lenses as Yuki reassures Toichi with a pat on the back, a comical sight given their difference in build. “Don’t worry, big guy. We’ve got towels and blankets.” 

Suzu’s never been light on his feet—it’s hard to step silently when he’s as big as he is, and he doesn’t consider that bragging, just how he’s always been—but Tachibana, acting as their scout, moves ahead of him with all of Charles’ lithe finesse, making barely a sound. He imagines this is probably what it would've been like if Jean Jose actually made it on stage. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispers from behind him.

“Probably not,” Tachibana says, trying to smile through clear worry, but he's been a bit too twitchy these past couple hours to really sell it. “But it’s worth a shot, right?” 

Suzu jogs a bit to catch up, joining him to his left. “I don’t know. Nobody’s seen him since Sunday night.” 

“A quarter of the student body’s been missing. That just means we have to find Sou before the rest of them do. If we don’t find him by midnight, we just go back to our rooms and regroup tomorrow morning.” 

“That’s quite smart of you, but I think you really ought to worry more about yourself,” a voice croons. Suzu jumps back just in time to see Tsukasa Oshinari holding a water gun aimed right at Tachibana. “You know, Kisa, if you’d transferred to Rhodonite, you’d be safe right now.” He moves to where Suzu was standing just moments before, now holding it right up next to Tachibana’s head.

“Suzu,” Tachibana says slowly, his directive written all over his face. Run. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he says, raising his gun to take aim at Oshinari. A clear shot. Thank god for video games. He knows if he pulls the trigger, it’ll hit. 

“I really am sorry,” Oshinari says, “but my graduation is coming up. I’ll buy myself something nice with the prize money in your honor.” 

Suzu isn’t sure who shoots first, but seconds later, Oshinari is on the ground wiping the water off his face, and Tachibana is trying to knock it out of his ear. 

In the moments that follow, he thinks he should coin a saying: you can take a guy out of kendo, but you can’t take kendo out of a guy. The hair on the back of his neck sticks up, but unfortunately, his instincts advise him too late. He feels a plastic nozzle at the small of his back before he has a window to react.

“Hey, Orimaki!” Minorikawa chirps, oddly sunny. “Heard you took out Ushiro. And you just took out my partner.” 

“Uh…” 

“Aw, c’mon, I’ve heard you’re good at improv! Give me a good reason to restrain myself.”

“I’ve got one,” a new voice calls. “You’re a dead man either way.” 

“Fumi!” Tachibana calls out, elation flooding his face. “You’re still in!” 

“Well, obviously,” he says, mouth curling up into a thin smirk. “I was going to let you guys handle things, but I figured I’d keep an eye out just in case you two needed backup. Glad I did.” 

Suzu takes the opportunity to create some distance, joining Oshinari and Tachibana further down the hallway. Minorikawa’s hands are in the air now, Fumi pointing a water pistol right at the back of his neck. Suzu can’t help but wonder out loud, “And you didn’t think to shoot before Tachibana got taken out?” 

“Tsukasa wouldn’t show up alone,” Fumi explains. “There’d need to be a survivor to report back, so I wanted to draw them out.” He addresses Oshinari. “Interesting choice to make it your second-in-command, but I’m not going to complain about two for the price of one. I think it's a fair trade for assassinating Quartz’s Jack Jeanne.” 

Oshinari smiles regretfully. “I was hoping my gambit would work as well as yours have. Clearly, I miscalculated.” 

“Alright, let’s just get this over with,” Minorikawa says, his gleefully sinister tone from earlier now whittled down to exasperation. 

“Already?” Fumi purrs like a femme fatale, obviously milking this. “You were so eager just a few moments ago.” 

“Yeah, before you showed up. I know when to cut my losses.” 

Fumi shrugs. “Makes it easier, I guess.” To Tachibana, he says, “Sorry, I couldn't protect you, Kisa. Hope revenge is okay instead.” 

“Go for it,” he responds. Fumi obliges.

Minorikawa visibly recoils as the water hits him. “Damn it,” he mutters, wiping his neck and walking back over to help Oshinari up. “You okay?” 

He accepts the hand offered to him with a giggle. “That was fun.”  

“If that's what you want to call it.”

“Prince Charming, aren’t you?” 

His lips quirk up at that. “Yep. I’ll be your chaperone for the evening. Off to the losers’ club we go.” 

Suzu smiles, turning his attention back to Tachibana. “Can I have your gun?” 

“Sure,” he says, beaming with a deep sigh of relief. The stress of being both hunter and hunted seems to have affected him even more than he let on. “It’s borrowed, anyway.” 

Oshinari and Minorikawa both walk over to them, Oshinari taking the lead. “Shall we, Kisa? The least we can do after such a brutal slaughter is join you on the walk of shame.” Tachibana nods, and the three of them start towards the exit.

Suzu looks to Fumi, who only jerks his head towards the end of the hallway that he came from, a silent pact made as they both slip into the dark.

Day Three

It’s a quarter past midnight, and Soshiro is on hour god-knows-what of hiding in the supply closet of the prop storage room. His leg is starting to cramp, but he doesn’t want to risk making too much noise to move, just in case someone on campus is hiding a secret talent for supernatural hearing and manages to track him down after catching the softest of shuffles. 

It wouldn’t surprise him, at this point. It would be tame compared to finding out that his classmates are soccer stars, national chess contenders, heirs to dynasties of all sorts, and however someone would describe the rest of the Univeil student body and their madness—even if they are geniuses. 

Soshiro supposes he can't really talk about madness as long as he's in this closet, though.

His leg is really starting to hurt. At this rate, he’ll be doing lasting damage for no reason. Taking a deep breath in and holding it, he stretches it just enough to get the blood flowing again. His knee knocks into something, and he stifles his own scream as it falls into his lap.

Relief. It’s just a broom—the chambermaid’s from almost a year ago, he realizes on closer inspection. It’s dark in here, and the only light coming in is through the door louvers, but Soshiro remembers the feeling of the smooth handle with one splintered piece towards the bristles. 

It's like meeting an old friend, a comfort in his solitude. What's become of his old friend outside, he wonders? Is Kisa alright?

Sure she is, the broom would tell him, if it could talk. Everyone likes her. They’ll keep her safe.

“Not everyone,” Soshiro mutters. He's sure Kamiya and Momonashi are probably hunting her right now. And here he is, hiding like a coward.

No, not a coward. A winner!

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

She sells seashells by the seashore. 

What? 

He snaps out of his trance, eyeing the broom that definitely can't talk. Great. He’s starting to hear voices. Surely this is a good sign. 

The shells she sells are seashells, I’m sure. 

He turns the broom over in his hands. 

“So if she sells seashells on the seashore, then I’m sure she sells seashore shells!”

Soshiro can feel his soul leaving his body at the much louder shout when he realizes it’s coming from a voice outside. Too terrified to even react, he freezes in place as the source cycles through a rolodex of various tongue twisters, some in Spanish, a few in… what is that, German? before returning to Japanese, when he finally recognizes the voice.

Neji. Of course. 

Soshiro opens his mouth to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. He creeps up to look through the venting slats, and sure enough, Neji is rummaging around the room like he’s looking for something. He seems to find it in a box on one of the second shelves. 

“So, that’s why you made me chase you all the way here.” Clicking footsteps. Kaido’s voice, Soshiro’s pretty sure, but he’s put a stage-ready flourish on it. “Are you prepared to die like a man?” 

“Indeed I am!” Neji says brightly, donning a wide-brimmed hat that curls at the edges. He reaches back into the box and pulls out another, then holds it out. “Are you?” 

Kaido nods. He steps forward, takes it, and puts it on his head. “How long has it been since you and I have gone head to head like this? All out?” 

Soshiro can’t see it happen, but he can tell Neji is simpering by the way his voice drops a bit lower. “We’ve never been on equal ground.” 

Kaido’s tone mirrors the shift. “Are you trying to provoke me?” 

Neji lets out a single laugh, one that sounds like something halfway between a bird call and a yelp of panic. “Is provocation not what sparks a duel?” 

“If this were a real duel, we’d have seconds.” 

“Ah! A shame your partner isn’t here, then. Perhaps he’d be able to talk us down.” 

Kaido pulls a small water pistol from his pocket, like he’s checking it. Like it’s real. “A shame you don’t have one.” 

“Ouch!” Neji seems to find it funny, but Soshiro’s picked up on a couple of his tics; his back stiffens out of its canted relaxation, his posture now poised, more serious. He pulls down the brim of his hat to hide his face. “À l'outrance, then.” 

Kaido nods with a hum of agreement. Just like a movie, they stand in the center of the room, back to back.

“Seven paces,” Neji says. 

“Will you be satisfied if we both miss?” 

“You should already know the answer to that.” 

Kaido chuckles. “I’m sorry I asked.” 

A pause, as both of them take a breath. On Kaido’s count, they start taking steps towards their inevitable deaths, and Soshiro can feel every muscle in his body tensing as the air does. 

They’re at five by the time the blood stops pulsing in his ears. 

“Six,” Neji says solemnly. 

“Seven.” 

No sooner has the last syllable passed Kaido’s lips that Neji pulls his gun from his belt, aiming and shooting immediately. His apparent victory is short-lived, though. Water hits his shoulder, likely shot at the exact same time.

Kaido looks down—probably at his own wet shirt—then back up. “You fought honorably.” 

“As did you! Take a bow,” Neji says, dipping into one himself. “I’m sure our audience enjoyed the show.”

“What?” 

“Oh, someone’s in the closet. But that’s none of our business anymore, is it?” Neji says airily, gently pushing Kaido towards the door. “Come on! To the library!” 

Kaido acquiesces, and Neji follows him out, but not before throwing a wink directly at Soshiro through the vents. 

The library-turned-loser’s-lounge is now effectively also a lock-in, complete with a concession table with a selection sourced from… well, Mitsuki’s not sure, actually.

The instructors must have their hands full with Tagane’s exit, or maybe their hands-off approach to teaching is worsening with the end of the year right around the corner. But nobody’s dropped by to remind them of curfew. Mitsuki and a few others tried to leave for bed two hours ago at the regular time, only for several people to insist that nobody was to interrupt the “sanctity” of the game for the remaining players. 

What about the sanctity of his sleep? 

“Good evening, good evening, good evening!” Neji shouts, announcing his and Kaido’s arrival as he strolls through the doors. “Or is it morning, now?”

A few people groan at the sight, and Mitsuki isn’t sure whether it’s because they’re too tired for Neji’s antics or because they had money on him. The increasing frustration when Ushiro crosses his name off the chalkboard he’s using as a makeshift odds board, though, makes it clear it's the latter.

Mitsuki gives up on any hope of sleep or peace. He turns to Kai, who exhales deeply through his nose. Tachibana, who arrived a few minutes prior with Minorikawa and Oshinari—to even more commotion from everyone else—seems to be taking things much better. She's sat with the other first years, who are gathered around a table near Ushiro and on their second hour of ghost stories.

“It was back when my brother was still a student here,” Nagayama says, phone flashlight under his chin. “It was a cold, clear winter night, one where you could hear the wind howling against the hills.” For all his insistence on returning to his room earlier, he seems to have accepted and embraced his circumstances quite easily. He also seems to have a knack for the creepy: Tachibana’s visibly rattled already, hugging her knees. 

“Mikki!” Neji hollers, startling Mitsuki into a jump and taking a seat next to him. “And Kai!” He looks a few feet past them. “And Chui!” 

Tanakamigi looks up from his book, eyes no more or less sunken than usual. “Yes?” 

Mitsuki pities Tanakamigi, who didn’t have enough time with Neji to learn that you never respond to him if you want peace and quiet. 

“Who do you think is going to win?” 

Kai’s the first to speak up. “Fumi.” 

“Ah, our mountain man with enough faith to move one! What a good partner you are!” Neji’s crosshairs lock in on Tanakamigi next, but he’s already returned to his book. No—on closer inspection, he’s just pretending to read. His eyes aren’t moving. He’s a good actor though; he wouldn’t forget a small detail like that. Which means he’s deliberately ignoring Neji, and he wants him to know it. 

Neji isn’t backing down, though. He keeps staring, and it’s turning into a contest. Mitsuki looks to Kai, who just closes his eyes and shakes his head. 

“Don’t,” he mouths. 

Mitsuki decides it’s sound advice. He flips the figurative channel on his people-watching, gaze flicking around the room. Kaido is pacing a bit by the shorter bookcases, pausing by the main doors every once in a while. Minorikawa is getting some sleep—or is at least trying to, by the looks of it. His face twitches, disturbed every time someone is frightened by Nagayama’s story. 

Tachibana lets out a short scream, one that Mitsuki worries would give away her secret if Ushiro wasn’t letting one out at an even higher pitch. They both grab each other in fear, Nagayama’s face twisting up in guilt as Dante admonishes him for scaring them. 

“Sorry,” he says, hanging his head. “I didn’t think it was that bad!” 

Ushiro perks up instantly. “Oh, no, it wasn’t. I was just leaning into it.” 

“I don’t think poor Kisa was,” Dante says sternly. 

“Ah, no, I’m fine!” she says. “J-just a little creeped out, is all!” 

The performance of nonchalance is so poor Mitsuki can hardly believe she stood on stage as Sissia just last week. She looks thoroughly shaken up, though. He looks to Kai, who’s already looking at him, as if to say you’re up. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he says. He locks his gaze on Tachibana. That’s always the best way to get her attention; she seems to have developed a sense for when someone’s looking at her a little too closely for a little too long. After a few moments, her gaze, darting around, meets his. 

He points at an empty chair next to Kai. She says a few words to the small circle, then walks over to him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re looking a bit pale.” 

“Oh, yeah! Nagayama’s story was just… really convincing.” She sits down, already looking relieved to be away from whatever horrors Nagayama was spinning into anything remotely realistic. “I think I’m still coming off the paranoia from the game, to be honest.” She slumps down into her own arms, her exhaustion even clearer up close. “Hope Suzu and Sou are okay. And Fumi, and all the others.” 

“Rest, Tachibana,” Kai says. “You’ll feel better.”  

Tachibana responds with a mumble, already half-asleep.

“What’s taking them so long?” Oshinari asks with a yawn. “It’s been almost eight hours.” 

“Maybe they just made a detour for supplies? Or went to sleep for the night?” Ichinomae suggests. He walks over and sits next to Oshinari, who's hugging his knees on the risers. “I’m sure your brother’s okay, Mare. He and Kiito have always taken good care of each other.”

“They got picked off,” Utsuri says, nonplussed. He doesn’t want to enable delusion any further, not when paranoia and sleep deprivation already have them strung up like puppets. 

“Can you stuff it?” Oshinari growls. “You’re such a pessimist!”  

“No, I’m not. I had the common sense to bring a phone charger, and your friend is running a whole forum thread with updates. Apparently, a second betting pool’s opened up.” He snickers a bit, showing the screen. “You and Ichinomae are the new long shots after the Rhodonite Slaughter—their name, by the way, not mine,” he says, feeling Eita’s glare boring into him. 

They should all be thankful that he’s not reading the comments out loud. He resists the urge to laugh more thinking of his favorites over the last hour or so.

“rhodonite slaughter is also what i called almost every award ceremony this year”

“Do you guys think Orimaki runs away faster from a water gun or morning lectures?” 

“TACHIBANA DOWN”

“I don’t know why you’ve got that smug smile on your face,” Otori grits out bitterly. “We’re trapped in a room with them. That makes us targets by association.” 

“You’re absolutely right, Otori,” Utsuri says, making a point to crack teeth through his persisting smirk. He respects him more than most of the Quartz first years, which, granted, isn’t really a high bar to clear, but he seems to have a decent head on his shoulders. “And we’re running out of food. Maybe this is where our alliance ends.” 

“L-let’s not lose our heads!” Ichinomae says, practically falling over his own feet to stand between Utsuri and Otori. “We still have strength in numbers, right? Let’s focus on the supply issue first.” 

That’s a shockingly reasonable reaction, actually. How Ichinomae is relegated to a shadow of his own class when he’s got talent and base intelligence just proves how ass-backwards Rhodonite’s priorities are. 

Oshinari sighs, standing up. “You’re right. But we can’t all leave.” He looks down, then meets everyone’s eyes again. “I’ll go, once the sun’s up. I need to avenge my brother if I get the chance. And Minorikawa, too.” He cringes. “Ugh, who am I?” 

Utsuri scoffs, knowing that a freak with a brother complex probably isn’t the most productive answer right now, even if it might be true. “Good luck with that. Orimaki was the one who took him out, and Takashina’s apparently with him. If you want to be their one-person trash mob, go right ahead.”

Oshinari looks him up and down, and his jaw tightens and relaxes. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Come with me.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Come with me.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Think about it. They’re both big guys, but that makes them easy to hit. Besides,” Oshinari says, stretching his arms, “wouldn’t it be a huge win to take out Quartz’s Al Jeanne?” 

Hell must be freezing over, because that’s actually three cogent arguments in a row now from these people. 

“That… that could work, actually,” Otori says. “The rest of us can stay here. If the numbers are dwindling, it’s only a matter of time before they start hunting us down. We might as well bolster our defenses while we still can.” 

Utsuri looks at Eita, who blinks as if to say, why not? 

He looks back at Oshinari and concedes. “Fine. But if we die, I’m gonna kill you.” 

Ion’s smart enough to know that between the three of them left in the music room, he and Eita are dead weight. He only becomes more aware of it as they struggle to build a wall with chairs, while Otori picks them up by himself with ease.

Otori’s awfully strong for someone so lithe, and while Ion knows this isn’t a good train of thought to entertain, his eyes can’t help but follow him as he keeps moving furniture, huffing a bit as he lifts a heavier piano bench to bar the door. 

It’s not until their gazes meet that Ion realizes he’s been staring, though. Otori glances away quickly, soft blonde bangs bristling with the turn of his head that follows. Ion’s not sure why; it’s not like he was the one caught watching. 

“Can you two get the risers over to the barricade, too?” asks Otori after jamming the bench under the door handle. “I think we can lock the wheels on those.” 

Eita doesn’t respond, but Ion starts walking over to oblige, doing his best to push it alone. In just two gallant strides, Otori walks over to help, his added strength making it much easier. 

“Thanks,” Ion says sheepishly, a little embarrassed but glad for the help. 

“Sure.” 

They both push the risers to the middle of the room. It’s probably not entirely necessary, but Ion’s noticed that Otori’s overkill seems to be rooted in some sort of dark inkling. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“Yeah. Just…” He pauses, like he’s not sure whether he should be saying this. “A little nervous. Momonashi’s still in, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Do you think he’ll be after us?” 

Thinking on it a bit, Ion’s not sure. He tells Otori as much. 

They finish building their fortress, and it’s only then that Otori freezes in his tracks and says, “Wait. I hear something.”

“Uh, are you sure?” Ion looks to Eita, who’s already looking at him. He shrugs, just like he has at almost every question since Kamiya left. 

“Probably just the window.” Ion knows that voice. His head whips around to see Takashina perched at the window in question, one leg dangling into the room, the other bent on the sill itself. “Hey, guys.” 

A laugh—not Takashina’s, but one that Ion’s still gotten to recognize over the past year. Orimaki pops up from a bush. The smug grin on his face, though, falls the second he lays eyes on Otori. 

“Traitor!” he yells, pointing his water gun. “You’re the reason Tachibana got taken out!” 

Takashina seems equally angry, but he’s changed over the past year. He doesn't yell or leer at the people who draw his ire anymore. No, now, when he’s upset, he smiles with a pinch of irritation at his brow. With a lilt that suggests his question is rhetorical, he asks, “Oh, is he now?” 

Orimaki and Takashina open fire with no hesitation, and god, it’s messy. Eita takes the first hit for him and Otori, but it’s not enough to give them time to get to the weapons supply in the corner or their makeshift barricade. Seconds later, they’re all drenched head to toe. 

Orimaki makes it a point to blow off the end of his gun, but he does smile sadly at Eita. “It’s good to know at least one of you had some loyalty.” 

Eita offers a nod, which is as good as his seal of complete approval. 

“I don't suppose you’d be willing to sell anyone else out, Kyoji?” Takashina asks. 

“Kamiya and Oshinari went to hunt you two down, actually.”

“Otori!” Ion pleads, stopping himself just short of tugging his arm. “You're supposed to be on our side!” 

“There's no more sides anymore. We’ve lost.” He says it like an action star, or perhaps like the forlorn love interest in one of the movies they were watching earlier. 

“We’ll, uh, leave you to your moping, I guess,” starts Orimaki. “Fumi, you ready—?” 

Takashina does the unthinkable. He shoots Orimaki square in the chest with a smile and absolutely no ceremony whatsoever. 

“Wh—what!? Seriously!?” 

“Nothing personal, Su,” Takashina says. “But this isn’t a team sport.” For a moment, Ion sees the old Takashina again, only to realize he never left—he was always just simmering beneath that smile, not unlike Tsukasa. “Tell everyone in the library I said hi.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Orimaki brushes off the platitude with a huff, then turns to him, Otori, and Eita. “You guys comin’?” Eita wordlessly starts after Orimaki, and Takashina offers a two-fingered salute before hopping back out the window. 

Ion takes a step forward, only for the front of his shoe to hydroplane across the now wet floor. He loses his balance, braces his eyes closed, and expects that to be it, for his head to hit the floor and plunge him into unconsciousness, or to feel the air punch out of his lungs as he lands on his back and blacks out, but the landing is surprisingly… soft. A bit muscled, as well. He’s landed right in Otori’s arms, like some sort of damsel in distress. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, syrupy warm eyes wide with so much concern that Ion doesn’t blame himself for the blush that follows. He knows that Tachibana has his well-corroborated grievances with him—Ion’s heard many of them firsthand after weekend practice sessions—but right now, he’s finding it difficult to believe. 

“Yes!” he stammers out, scrambling to get his feet flat on the ground so he can stand again. “Completely fine! Onward!” 

Like a lamb to slaughter. 

Kakuto can’t help but admire his handiwork. The bucket is precariously positioned right over the hallway door. The second Utsuri walks underneath and trips that wire—and he will eventually; Kakuto’s been watching—he’s done.

He dashes outside to hide under the window. He’s content to wait. He’s always been patient. 

It’s about an hour or so later that he hears the telltale squeaking and shuffling of shoes in the hallway. He peeks over the windowsill, just enough to get a view of the confrontation unfolding in front of him.

“Hey, princess,” Kasai chuckles, resting his water gun on his shoulder. “Kamiya,” he greets with a curt nod. Kakuto stifles a smile at the way Utsuri narrows his eyes at the comparatively icy acknowledgement. 

Oshinari doesn’t seem to be taking his nickname much better, though. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says, crossing his arms. “You run out of other Jeannes to pick on?” 

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that.” His eyes are still gentle, but his smile drops in temperature. “I only took out one or two.” 

Oshinari’s fingers jerk in the direction of his boot, where Kakuto sees something tucked in. Then, a low, “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“Are you two done flirting?” Utsuri cuts in, eyes bulging in irritation. Kakuto swears he can see one lid twitching. How like him, to let a single slight sour an entire conversation—ah, that commonality must be the foundation of his alliance with Oshinari. 

Casually, Kasai says, “Not flirting. Not with you guys, at least. No offense.” 

Oshinari’s face changes completely, eyes widening like he's been shot with pure adrenaline and mouth splitting in a toothy grin. It’s as if he’s forgotten the game entirely, if only for a moment. “No way. You gotta tell me who it is!” 

“I maintain my right to silence. Besides, I don’t think you’d like my answer,” he laughs coolly. He points his water gun straight at Oshinari, and pulls a smaller pistol with his other hand to train on Utsuri. “But that’s not what this is about, is it?” 

“It’s two against one,” Utsuri says, hand inching towards his hip. “You really want to take your chances?” 

“Fortune favors the bold, you know.” 

“The bold, not the stupid.” 

What happens next actually surprises Kakuto—Utsuri and Oshinari look at each other for a few seconds, and from this angle, he can see understanding in Utsuri’s furtive glance towards the other end of the hall. They seem to agree on a course of action even without words. How strange. 

It doesn’t matter, though. Everything is still going according to plan. 

Both of them turn and run. Utsuri is fast, and for all his feigned lack of stamina, Oshinari is keeping up. Kasai shoots after them with little success. 

They start nearing the end of the hallway where the buckets are rigged, and Kakuto realizes as Kasai continues to close the distance that he might be able to add another to the tally. He slips back in through a door further down, then starts after Kasai just as he sees Utsuri and Oshinari trip the wire at the exact same time.

The bucket of water falls on both of them, landing next to Utsuri, who kicks it away immediately. He whirls around to Kasai, finger inches from his face. 

“Watch your back,” he threatens while Mare screeches.

And people say Kakuto’s the scary one. He’ll never understand that, really. 

Kasai drops his gun, taking a step back. Rookie mistake. “Woah, woah. That wasn’t me.” 

“Bullshit!” 

Kakuto sighs from his hiding spot behind the next door. He supposes it’s time to set the record straight. It’d be a shame if Onyx lost their new Jack Ace before next season. 

He takes aim at Kasai’s back and shoots, the stream soaking the pink tips of his hair. It must be fresh dye—some of the water that drips down is tinted. Kasai whirls around, and he glares when their eyes meet. “Momonashi.” 

Ignoring him completely, Kakuto says, “He’s telling the truth, Utsuri.” 

“I should’ve known,” Utsuri replies with disgust. “It was a little too clever.” 

“You do know I’m not just some dumb j—”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” 

“Ugh, you would, wouldn’t you?” 

“Are you two done flirting?” Oshinari cuts in, smirking. 

Kasai, who seemed to be offended earlier at being interrupted, snorts out a laugh at that. “Hey, be nice,” he says, trying to control the chortling that follows. 

“Pricks,” Utsuri hisses. His makeup might be water-resistant, but his hairspray is giving out, the style going flat. Wringing out the now-bedraggled longer strands, he asks, “Where’s everyone else?” 

“Oh, the losers?” Kakuto says, feigning vapidity. “I have no idea.” 

“Whatever. I’m finding Eita.” 

“Oh, first name basis now? Congratulations.” 

“Fuck. You.” 

His eyebrows relax. “You know, I am happy for you.” He does mean it, underneath his placid provocation. “Assuming you can make it work, of course.” 

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Maybe you can find someone to make you nicer, too,” says Oshinari, back to glaring at him with all the bite of a slug. Utsuri seems to be a bit surprised—perhaps even impressed—by that, raising a quick eyebrow. 

Kakuto offers a blank smile in return. “Or I could just make them worse.” 

“Yeah, that sounds a lot more like you,” Utsuri says, turning on his heel to leave. “See you in rehearsal, asshole.”

Kasai and Oshinari exchange looks. Kasai shrugs. “They're in the library.” 

“Should we go after him?”

“Hm… nah. Let him blow off some steam. I’m sure he’ll get there eventually.” He glances at Kakuto, who senses he’s being asked for input.

“He will,” he confirms. They all stand in awkward silence for a bit longer before he adds primly, “I get the feeling I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

The other two don't say anything, which tells him everything. 

“Well, I’ll be on my way,” he says, ignoring the eyes he can feel on his back as he walks away. 

When Kai wakes up an hour to noon, it’s to slats of sunshine hitting his cheek and the sound of much more noise than he fell asleep to. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and the seats next to him are empty. Mitsuki is perusing a nearby row of books, probably picking out a new title, if the stack of two nearby is any indication. Closer to him, Otori now sits at the table bundled up in a blanket, sharing headphones plugged into one of the desktops with Ichinomae and pointing something on the screen out to him. Kokuto is still sound asleep, if not doing a good job at pretending to be, his waistcoat draped across the back of his chair. 

It’s not that Kai cares about this game—really, he had no problem letting Minorikawa take him out back when the game was still civilized enough to have rules and designated targets—but he bristles a bit, seeing how many Quartz students have now tasted defeat, even if losing builds character. 

Tachibana’s awake, too, and looking much better as he speaks to Yonaga and Orimaki by the door, as animated and enthusiastic as usual. Kai smiles. It’s good, seeing him returning to his normal self by the day. Those three aren’t the source of the noise either, though. 

It’s coming from Oshinari’s younger brother, who’s sitting with his friends. They must’ve arrived recently, too—they’re all drenched, hair slick and clumpy. So is Kamiya, who stands on the fringes of the group picking at his nails. Rounding out the new arrivals is Kasai, who’s talking to Ushiro and sliding over a few notes, the latter accepting with a smile and a handshake. 

Sleep pulls his consciousness into the undertow again, and sitting in the warm sunlight casting through the window isn’t making things any better. He finds himself dozing off, only to be roused again by the sound of Orimaki’s voice, getting louder as he and the other first years get closer. 

Kai acknowledges them with a tired nod, only for Tachibana to fully wake him once and for all with a stern, “If you sleep now, you won’t be able to later.” 

“Mm. I suppose you’re right.” He stretches just as Mitsuki returns. 

“Oh, you two are out now?” he asks. “I didn’t see you guys come in.”  

“Yeah,” Yonaga says, slouching. “I didn’t even see who did it. They shot me through the door to one of the supply closets and scared me so bad I didn't even take my supplies. I’d put money on it being Momonashi, though. I’ve heard that guy’s on a killing spree.” 

“So is Fumi,” Orimaki says, sounding a bit irritated, and Kai can’t tell if the moisture on his face is dripping sweat or water. “Ask me how I know.” 

Kai feels bad. He knows that turning on Orimaki probably wasn’t on the list of things Fumi wanted to do, but it’s coming down to the wire, and it’s only a matter of time before they’d be forced to duke it out anyway. And between the two of them, both stocky, Fumi definitely had the upper hand with a mind just as sharp as his crimson eyes. 

He doesn’t say it out loud; he doesn’t want to be discouraging. But it was never going to be a contest. 

Not for the first time, Fumi muses to himself that it’s a bit lonely at the top. It’s coming down to the wire, and he knows for a fact he’s the only Quartz student remaining after what he had to do to Su. 

He looks over the railing of the dorm rooftop over the empty campus, the remaining survivors holed up in god knows where and the losers probably having way more fun in the library betting, hopefully on him. Seeing the winding sidewalks and lawns empty at high noon on a nice day like this strikes a profoundly mournful chord in his chest. 

He’s going to miss this place. He sees the gate, where he first saw Tsuki on audition day without knowing they’d be partners. He sees the path outside of the classroom building, where he yelled at the interim Jack Ace, and the tree under which he apologized months later. He sees the flowerbed, where he and Kuro stealthily snipped blooms for Domina’s hat the night before the winter performance. Further out, the sprawling town of Tamasaka, where he dragged Kai on errands and showed Kisa all his favorite after-class haunts so someone else could find solace there after his graduation. 

He’ll still be here in a few months; the Tamasaka Troupe is nearby, at least. But something will inevitably change. The so many memories he has here: victories, losses, triumphs, heartbreaks—they’re never going to feel like this again. He knows it’s for the best—nobody great ever peaked in high school—but that doesn’t mean leaving doesn’t hurt. 

“I do think it’s rather unfair that Quartz is the only dorm with a proper rooftop.” 

“The railings were added later. I’m sure you can guess why.” Fumi turns around to face Momonashi. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.” 

“Really? I heard you were quite temperamental during your first two years.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see you snap worse than I did. I’m talking about the fact that you know how to get under people’s skin. You’re an instigator.” 

“Utsuri just calls me a prick.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m a bit nicer, nowadays. Aren’t you lucky?” He turns to face the view again. “So, how do you want to do this?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“If it has to end for one of us here, we’ve both earned the right to closure.” 

“That seems rather pointless, doesn’t it?” 

“Nah. Saying goodbye means you had something worthwhile.” A pause. “Can I give you some advice?” 

“I get the feeling my answer doesn’t matter.” 

“Find something you want to contribute to, until it’s so complete that it lives on even after you’re gone. It’ll complete you in turn.” A sly smile as he turns back around. “Hell, you might even start feeling like your answers do matter. Less hollow.” 

Momonashi's expression twitches, from something empty into something real. Finally. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.” 

“Ha! Clearly not.” Fumi pulls his pistol, freshly loaded from the water fountain. “So, what’s it gonna be?” 

“If Takashina doesn’t win, he’s gonna owe me the money I lost betting on him,” grumbles one third year. “He can’t just embarrass the 76th like that.” 

Chui tunes out of the conversation and returns to his book. 

That’s the question he can’t answer, just as he can’t say exactly what he feels for her, or what future they may have together, and he thinks with a sudden weariness that he doesn’t love her enough, and probably never will, and that later they’ll both have to pay for this fault of his…

Chui’s always loved books—plays that are already complete, wellsprings of inspiration that only require a willing reader to drink full of its perspectives. A new development, though, is his affinity for the simple that runs as deep as his longtime love for the unorthodox and messy. The stories of men who just want a second chance. Stories of women who just want a better world for the women who come after them. Tragedy, trimmed of the fat to its core elements of grief and love. 

“Ah, I don’t think I’ve read that one.” Tsukasa Oshinari’s sat himself on the arm of the neighboring chair. “What’s it about?” 

“Regret. What it feels like to be haunted by a future you will never see because of your past. Things out of your control, and the poor choices you make because of them.” 

His giggle, though closed-mouth, rings as clear as a bell. “You know, Chui, when someone asks you what a book is about, they’re typically asking for a synopsis of the plot.” 

“There’s no need for one if you plan on reading the book.” 

“I usually use it to decide whether or not I’m going to.” 

“What would you like to know?” 

“Is there romance? I enjoy a good love story, but I’m sure that’s not a secret.” 

“Yes. But it ends poorly. Anything else?” 

Oshinari seems to consider the question, biting his lip in thought. “Hm. Just one more, I think. Anything that brought on this reading kick of yours in particular? Or should I say anyone?”

Chui realizes that he was probably already in Oshinari’s crosshairs the moment he sat on that chair. He adds another mark to the running tally in his head of times he’s recently underestimated the level of interest people seem to have in his personal affairs. “Did Neji put you up to this?” 

“He didn’t need to. My word, you have it bad. We all see it.” He plays with the hem of his cardigan. “When you were watching Sissia, do you know how profoundly sad you looked?” 

“A testament to Tachibana’s talent.” 

A perfectly shaped eyebrow arches up in disbelief. “It was never just his talent, though, was it?” 

Chui’s about to start really squirming when he’s saved by the creaking of the library doors as every head turns to see who walks through.

And—to his genuine surprise—it’s Sarafumi Takashina. 

“Fumi!” Mutsumi calls, striding over. “What happened?” 

Takashina’s eyes flick up, everyone else hanging on to his every movement with bated breath. “Momonashi.” 

“Shit,” Minorikawa mutters, probably louder than he meant to. 

The rest of Quartz seems just as stunned. Shirota is scowling in a way Chui’s only ever seen directed at himself and Neji. Tachibana, Yonaga, and Orimaki look between each other with worry. 

“So that’s it, then?” one of Amber’s third years asks, voice threaded with tentative excitement. “Momonashi won? Amber won?” 

“No,” Chui says, and several people quiet and face him. He used to resent it, how people would turn their heads to watch him talk like some sort of circus freak—he’s just talking, damn it—but he doesn’t really care anymore. He meets Kaido’s eyes across the room, and he can tell that he—nor the rest of Onyx and the second years, by the way they’re quietly snickering to themselves—hasn’t forgotten. Not that Chui expected them to. He didn’t, after all.

“Alright!” Ushiro yells over the commotion. He walks over to the board and crosses out Takashina’s name, to even more of an uproar. “Two left!” 

Only one person’s still paying attention to him at this point. Neji raises his eyebrows. “I take it this is your answer to my earlier question?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’d bet against your own kids?” 

“I don’t bet. Too much to lose. But I imagine Onyx is about to realize their dream of a win.” 

Kiyoharu ducks every time he hears a squelch from behind him, dodging just as each stream of water whizzes over his head, by his shoulder, right at his feet. 

There were no words exchanged before he and Momonashi started this chase; there was no point. This is a battle of endurance, where conserving energy is everything. Neither of them want to waste it on taunts, not when they’ll be ineffective against their opponent. 

They loop through the classroom building, and at one point, Kiyoharu himself becomes the pursuer, keeping a brisk jog to keep his aim steady as he tries to aim for a leg, his chest, anything that’ll hit. 

Momonashi looks back, then stops, loafers squeaking and sliding across the floors, the wax from the beginning of the year now worn down to dullness. He shoots a couple times, and they both close in. It’s a game of chicken, and Kiyoharu has no intention of yielding, even as both their shots get closer and closer. Suddenly, like a bat out of hell, Momonashi dodges and runs right past, dashing out the door at what’s probably his top speed. 

When Kiyoharu finally catches up with him, he knows why he came here. The library’s entryway windows face the lawn. 

They both lock eyes, and that’s the trigger. They start shooting again. Momonashi seems off, and while Kiyoharu knows that’s a common assessment, something seems even more off now, like something’s unnerved him. It’s then that Kiyoharu realizes—Takashina must’ve softened him up first, whether intentionally or not. 

If even Takashina couldn’t beat him in an aggravated state, what shot does Kiyoharu have? The doubt creeps up his spine, chilling him almost as much as Momonashi’s knife-sharp, razor-thin smile. Sweat drips down his scalp, flattening his quiff at the roots. Through the hair that falls into his face, Momonashi’s practically a blur, but a blur he keeps trying to shoot at, even as he starts to lose momentum.

He sees the crowd gathering nearby. Everyone’s spilling out through the choke point at the doors to get a glimpse of the final showdown. 

There’s some cheering, some jeering, but a few in particular stick out as the shootout continues. Someone tells Momonashi to stop playing with his food. Another person yells that Kiyoharu better not fuck this up; there’s money on him. He’s pretty sure the latter is Ushiro, actually. 

None of that matters though, not compared to the absolute cliche that follows. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a cluster of dark jackets. His classmates, his friends, and… 

His search is interrupted as Momonashi closes in again. He shoots until the water gun in his hand runs dry, then pulls another—surely a war trophy—and resumes his barrage. The assault is unrelenting, and his vision starts fading at the edges not from obstruction, but from dehydration, his consequence for running this long under the sun in his full uniform. 

It’s then that he finally catches sight of who he’s been looking for. No, not Momonashi, he might not ever catch that guy at this rate. Kaido, who stands next to Kasai—did he miss him earlier?—isn’t wearing his usual smile of confidence like the one that graces his face when they rehearse. The expression he sports is one of worry, one he’s done everything to keep off his face since summer of last year. 

Kiyoharu can’t bear it. It can't end here, not like this. He has to win this, for himself, for Onyx, for Kaido. 

He gets an idea when he hears the contents of the gun in his hand swish about, halfway depleted. It was Yonaga’s, abandoned after he shot him in the shadows. He’s smart: he would’ve filled it from a potable source. He puts some distance between himself and Momonashi, and pops the cap at the top open to give it a sniff. 

A telltale musty smell that reminds him of summer. Yeah, definitely hose water. He practically grew up drinking the stuff in the backyard with Kasumi. He takes a swig, and the lukewarm sip makes its way down his throat, smoothing out the painful dryness when he breathes and providing enough of a sensation other than fatigue to help him refocus his vision. 

Momonashi closes in for what Kiyoharu senses is supposed to be the final blow, but he’s clearly also at his limit, and Kiyoharu’s ready. Cap still open, he tosses the contents of the water gun. Most of it misses, but enough of it hits the mark to darken Momonashi’s jacket, some of it beading on the gold detailing. 

He drops the gun, and he feels his knees about to drop him, too, but damn it, he’s going to keep standing. He’s finally won. His and Kaido’s dream, fulfilled. 

Day Four

“Here you go!” Oshinari hands over the last payout envelope, the thickest one besides a recovering Sugachi’s prize, to a grinning Kokuto. 

“Thank you very much!” He counts the notes inside, then lowers his glasses with concern. “Chuza wasn’t too hard on you, was he?” 

“To be honest, I was terrified. I’m no narc, and I wasn’t gonna sell anyone out, but… expulsion was obviously on the table.” 

“And?” he asks, genuinely curious. Enough floors were wet to cause a concerning number of building violations, more than one student ended up in the nurse’s office, and the state of the library when all was said and done could honestly have given Kokuto’s office a run for its money. It probably did, considering Enishi’s eased up on the email reminders to clear it out for the past couple days. 

“Chuza basically said he shouldn’t have approved any of it, and Enishi said they should’ve stepped in to stop it before it got out of hand.” 

“Mhm, mhm, and then?” 

“Nagayama pointed out that I didn’t exactly ask about removing the rules, and that that was the real problem, but then he was like, kind of shaken up? Said they’re already busy trying to fill Tagane’s position and that they really don’t have time to interrogate and expel everyone involved. And that they didn’t want more rumors.” 

Ah, Univeil staff and their politics. Oshinari should thank his lucky stars that what happens backstage has so much influence. “So? What’s your punishment?” 

“Instructor Midori had me mop up the bad spills, and I gotta clean the library this weekend. And if there’s any water damage, the repairs are gonna come out of my performance stipends next year. I got off really easy, actually,” he tells Kokuto, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Honestly, I’m surprised nobody else is too mad at me.” 

“Because if they were, they’d have to admit they went too far, too!” Kokuto explains—Oshinari seems confused as to why nobody’s giving him flack. “Can you imagine Minorikawa trying to lecture you after what he did? Or any of Onyx saying anything when they had those confetti poppers ready to go?” 

“Ha, I guess you’re right,” he chirps. “Good thing we all stay in line the rest of the year, right?” 

Kokuto agrees and smiles, holding his laughter in until he's back in his room with the door closed.