Jewel of the Desert

Congrats, guys! The mastermind has been correctly identified and we are now in endgame mode! It’s been a long journey, but we’re so happy to have made it, and we thank every one of you. So, what now?

A hiatus will be taken while we make preparations for endgame - as it will be interactive, your characters can make optional (but preferred) contributions to the big finale. We’ll keep you posted as we set up the necessary details and finalize everything, so if you’re interested, keep an eye on the main chat/blog. 

Now, on to our next announcement... We are going to be undertaking a third round! We are still finalizing details, so we will be posting announcements about details such as the mod team and application changes. Once endgame is finished, you will have at least a week to finish up your applications - so there is still plenty of time! As with the last round, any changes to the form will be minor, so you can get started on applications immediately if you want to. 

As for the setting, it’s literally up in the air...

We won’t give out too much about it quite yet, so keep an eye out on the main blog if you’re interested! We’re working hard to make SoD2 endgame the best it can be, and to make SoD3 as enjoyable as possible. And we hope you stay tuned for SoD2′s wrap-up... with perhaps a surprise or two along the way. 

Nyk Archress: 11

And the winner is...

I should have done nothing from the beginning.

The thing about Jinzaemon Hasekura was that it really didn’t matter whether he died in this place or not.

Look at it this way: He was the kid in the class that everyone knew had no future. That was even something a counselor had told him once, that if he kept hanging out with a certain crowd, that if he kept on with the bad grades and foul language and crass behavior that he’d never get anywhere.  He let himself become the scum of the earth anyway.

It was obvious in the way people looked at him. Obvious in the way they treated him. There was no hope for people like him, so why bother extending kindness? Why bother paying any attention at all to someone like him?

Maybe that’s why he’s been so ... uncharacteristically quiet. Because these people are no different from the ones that would hurry past him in the halls. 

They don’t care what he has to say. They don’t care that he’s about to die. They don’t care about any of that -- because for so long he’s been expendable, his worth equaling exactly zero in a place filled with liars and murderers.

But he still listens, even though he doesn’t understand all of it. Perhaps he should just sit, quietly and even when the urge strikes him to yell ---

--- He doesn’t. When he speaks next, he doesn’t yell at all. And maybe he’s grateful for the ringing in his ears, because maybe he doesn’t want to hear what he himself is saying.

“Pretending like ... you actually give a shit about what happened to any of us... ... ...”

He looks like he wants to say more, but he’s stopped himself.

“...You’ll be able to cope with it better, if you recognize that you didn’t care very much at all. Lying to other people isn’t going to make you feel better, especially if we all know that you’re... that it doesn’t matter what you say or how sorry you are. It’s... fine, isn’t it? We know already. You don’t have to tell us you felt bad because those feelings didn’t stop you from making the choice you did. It doesn’t... make... anyone feel better... if you pretend like you’re sorry. ...Nobody cares how guilty you feel about ...any of this.”

Who were his words directed to? The obvious assumption would be Chiyo, of course. But then, he refuses to make eye contact with her, refuses, even to look at anyone else, his voice so soft it’s almost like this is something he’s saying to himself.

And maybe he could’ve afforded to look more hopeful. Maybe he should’ve said something to Haruka specifically who’d spoken up on his behalf.

-- But for some reason, none of this feels right. If he dies, he knows he had it coming, hell, even their mayor knew he had it coming; you can only postpone your fate for so long, can only tell yourself that the person that caused all that pain, the person that sparked fear -- that that person wasn’t you.

If he doesn’t die, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change the fact that he was living a life he didn’t deserve.

Jinzaemon Hasekura was allowed to live, and breathe, and maybe smile every once in awhile.  Despite what the Cobalt King had done.  Despite what the M͎̖̺̬̜̥̩͎͛i̢͙̥̩ͨͥd̠̖̹̮̦̞̆͂̓ͬ͛ͩͫͬ͋̕n͒̑̄͞͏̸͙̰i͆̔ͨ͏̣̤̦̦͈g͉͎̈́ͦͨ͒̂͜͝ͅh̗͕̹̠̯̣͇͔̏ͫͨ͊̉͐͠͠ṭ̱ͩͣͩ͂̏͆̆͞ ͑̆̑ͧ͐̈́҉̸̻͓̹͎̖M̷̞̼͙͉̣͓̦ͨ̇̈̈́̽a̸̾҉͔ǹ̝͇̤̗͍̂͗ͦ had done.

He’s still waiting to die. Whether his death comes within the next few moments or whether it comes along if he’s allowed to leave this place. It’s just the universe doing some clean up, getting rid of its filth. He supposes it was only thanks to his ability to fool fate into thinking he was someone he wasn’t that he’s gotten this far.

“.......I, er.”

The silence, perhaps, speaks volumes.

“.....No comment.”

For all his recent talk about that kind of thing, it was the first time that Isamu had actually invited someone to come and beat him up. 

Every other time it had been faster, unnoticed by him until his attackers were literally on top of him, absolutely no chance to brace for anything save for the split seconds between their rapid unplanned kicks or hits. Just them trying to score any hits they could, what, come to try burn us to death again?, him doing nothing except trying to ride it out, no, y'don't get it-! on and on until someone else came to break it up.

While he sat there at his podium, hand only dropping once to put in a vote in anticipation of not getting the chance to soon enough, Isamu actually decided he preferred the other kind. Much less sick anticipation, no matter what he'd said beforehand. Though his upper body seemed fairly calm one of his legs was nervously bouncing, as though trying to encourage him to spring away, getting faster with every second that passed without-- 

'She’s not hurting you on my watch. You haven’t done jack shit wrong.'

"H-huh?"

Eloquent. But Isamu was truly dumbfounded, even given everything, blankly staring over at Michiyo to meet their intense stare with a blank one.

('Jack shit wrong'? Alright, he still hadn't managed to explain everything to them, he didn't know if they wanted to know, but... well, to sum up a turbulant train of thought, it was a miracle that the relieved sob hitched in his chest rather than anywhere more obvious.)

Michiyo's words were... flattering, truthfully, but they... didn't get it, did they? The reasoning his mind had just thrown together to explain his rushing in? If Chiyo was rightly focused on him- then she wasn't there to try skew anything more or distract the rest of them- if they just kept talking and he just dealt with his--

'“I’m not going to hit you, Nakanino.'

He couldn't help himself: Isamu's shoulders sagged a little and whatever his next words had been were reduced into a sigh, the boy slowly moving to sheepishly rub the back of his neck as he so often did. 

(Besides, it... probably hadn't been fair to do that, had it? Isamu Nakano's only crime was trying to help. Blowing something open that could have gotten far nasty. Putting a friend's work to good use. Nothing like Ryuu, even if ignorance and following had been major players for him.)

(God. If he made it out of here, he had to stop thinking of them- himself as two different people. He was Ryuu Hamasaki, and he was Isamu Nakano, and maybe neither of them nor both of them together were made for this still but whatever because what mattered right now was him here and still alive and trying to help end this-!) 

"Kyeheh, I- well, uh... aight then. 'S... surprisin', not gonna lie..."

He met Chiyo's tearful gaze with an apologetic one, the smile that broke out in response to her wink being lazier and sadder than amused. 

"I... I still ain't gonna buy that though. You got... you got no idea who the mastermind is, do you? 'S obvious from all... that stuff. But... call me a paranoid guy here - heh, though I think I got a right to be, how long we fuckin' been here? - but you sayin' to keep goin' ahead, votin' for Nyk, implyin' that it's wrong and that you'd... gain another victory, with us doin' that... I ain't good at this theory stuff at all, but that just makes me feel you think it's Nyk too."

Haruka started screaming just as Isamu's softer tone dropped back into silence, the boy tearing his eyes away from Chiyo and staring back down at his podium. Knocked the lighter he'd left there round the surface a bit, much like a cat would. Thought a bit, in a rare action of his. 

Then he looked back up, somehow mustering that usual lazy smile of his. The look in his eyes didn't quite match the expression, but compared to other moments he'd had?

It was something. 

"...I guess if we are fuckin' this up, there's still one more, right? There ain't... many of us left, but we're... not outta the game yet, yeah?"

And with his feelings still something of a mess he slunk back from the proceedings and retreated, gently closing his eyes for a moment or two just to listen to whatever came next. He debated heading over to Michiyo, giving them some company over there for whatever the hell might come next. But ultimately, his body nudged him back into doing what he was best known for after everything: riding it out. Going with the flow, for now anyway.

God.

After weeks of being trapped in Meridian; after days of being stuck in a murder game; after endless hours of being confined in her own head, Haruka felt confident in the few things she knew and the few things she did not. They were small, and few in number, and likely were not particularly ground breaking or life altering by any means, but there was something reassuring in at least having a handful of simple truths to be sure of.

1. Haruka Oshiro was not cut out to be someone who was calm, cool, and collected regardless of how hard she tried to be.

“Chiyo Chono don’t you fucking dare tell me the things I would or wouldn’t do!” 

The calm had been paper thin. It crinkled and crunched with each passing second, crumbling away with the momentary relief she’d found when Kayoko was saved, when they were told they got the right person for killer, when the mastermind trial went through.

It tore into itty bitty shreds with each new words spoken, and she knew there was only one thing to really replace it.

(She was tired. She was tired. She didn’t want this anymore, but what the hell else was she supposed to do?!)

The paper in her pocket crinkled when Haruka pulled Kayoko closer to her as a means of - what, exactly? Protecting her? Defending her? Or else, maybe, to solicit the same kind of comfort one gets from squeezing a stuffed animal when the night was particularly dark and everything was terrible in a very specific kind of way?

The paper in her pocket crinkled when Haruka pulled Kayoko closer to her, and if she were to bare her teeth and spit and hiss at the same time, it would certainly fit the picture nicely.

“And don’t you dare try and play some kind of messed up mind games, because I don’t buy it, because, like-!”

2. Haruka Oshiro had very little intention of ever going home again, but she refused to participant in a game of murder for another day.

When she looked towards Nyk, she released Kayoko from her arms only to put her hands gently over the shorter girl’s ears. Not for fear of Kayoko hearing anything she had to say, but she certainly didn’t deserve to have Haruka practically yelling in her ear.

“What’s the point of doing that?! Like, it’s a hidden room! And the computer had a password or something, didn’t it? Behind aaaaall that someone is going to pretend to be someone else?! And, and like! If they were pretending to be you, they super figured out how the hell to do that fast!How long have we been here? How long?! Because those logs went back weeks and we couldn’t, there’s no goddamn way we’ve been here any longer than those logs existed!”

A pause to consider before her hands slowly lowered, her arms wrapping around Kayoko again before she made an amendment to her previous point.

“I guess we could have been here longer, but those logs didn’t start before Monobear showed up, so it’s however long that’s been going on. And even if we were here before that, none of us remember any of that except for the mastermind and Chono anyways so that doesn’t matter!”

A shake of her head and she snapped her gum, her focus still on Nyk.

“And as for Sukimi being dead or not - if someone is a good enough shot, they can make sure they don’t kill someone too, yeah?”

A huff and she was done, turning her head to the side to blow a bubble and let it pop.

There is, of course, one other type of woman who exists in the opera, although she never fares any better than the first type. Carmen, Nedda, Elektra and Salome all die, and scholars spend hundreds of years arguing about whether the text is sympathetic to them or whether they deserved what they got. Audiences, though, tend to fall heavily on the side of well, fuck her. There’s not as much innate tragedy in the death of a person who’s actually taken action to get ahead in life.

Her classmates responded, and Chiyo’s head hurt. Her heart hurt. She wanted to screw her eyes shut and tap her heels together and wake up at home before any of this had happened. She would go downstairs and kiss her father on the cheek and let Cherubino out into the yard; she would dress and have coffee at the shop down the street. (With a big piece of pie, she decided, even if it was early in the morning.) She would finish rereading Picnic at Hanging Rock. She would be okay. 

Even now, she could still be okay. 

Her tears had died down as Isamu kyehehe’d (a sound with approximately all the endearing qualities of Spanish water torture) and then Michiyo scolded her. Her first instinct was to lash out again — Go bleach your roots, idiot or You’d only be a threat to me if I had some kind of deadly weakness to short-shorts — but instead she let her face settle back into stone. Let her voice become gentle again and her breathing even out.

She could still be okay.

“I’m not going to hit you, Nakanino. I didn’t want to hurt any of you just to hurt you, and I’m not —" her brow furrowed briefly "—it’s not as if I don’t understand wanting to live. But I made a choice. Everything comes at a price, and I decided I was willing to pay it. And I can’t look back. None of you can make me feel bad about that, and none of you can make me change my mind.”

Her hands came to rest, one on top of the other, on her podium. She smiled winsomely at Isamu, although the effect was probably marred by the tears still shining on her cheeks. Winked.

She could still be okay.

“Well...that is assuming you get it right, isn’t it?”

Michiyo Kurono didn’t really need to exist.

That wasn’t a thought they had created themselves, and in fact they hated to have it, but it was ultimately a fact about them. It was a fact almost consistently enforced throughout their life, consistently reminded that they weren’t the favorite, they weren’t the good one, no, they were the unfortunate extra who always seemed unable to behave and always seemed to make a mess of things, no matter how much they tried to prove otherwise.

But even though they’d been given up on so early on, they never felt quite alone, quite so disliked or cast aside. Sure, they always felt inferior, they still did, because he was always so much more composed and charismatic and socially skilled, but--

(Their cheek stung, burning from the force at which it’d been struck. They looked up at him with watering eyes, saw his intense glare and the hand with which he’d slapped them still hanging in the air, and they let their gaze fall back to the floor.

“I-I, I’m r-really--”

They hadn’t even finished their words before he’d stepped closer, and for a brief second they feared he was going to hit them again for their stupidity. Instead, they were pulled tightly into an embrace, tight enough that they almost felt they couldn’t breathe--or maybe that was just the shock at the gesture.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, Michi.”)

--but he was still their older brother, and they were still his younger sibling.

(And he wouldn’t let them forget that if he could help it.)

And when they heard his voice for the first time in so many weeks, saw his face--a more serious mirror image of their own--all that could be heard from them was a quiet voice mumbling his name, while a hand reached up to their face to wipe away the tears rapidly building up and beginning to overflow.

They wanted to be home again. They wanted nothing more to sit in his living room, doodling ideas for different stories they wanted to make in the future. They wanted to listen to him play the piano, in that fast-paced style he’d become so known for in his career. They wanted to grab his sleeve and urge him to watch one of the horror movies they loved, while he groaned and asked them if that could wait until morning, because no offense Michi, but he didn’t feel like staying up all night worrying that a serial killer was going to stab his neck.

They didn’t want to think about if Mei--or rather, Izumi Meiki--had been having similar thoughts about a similar loved one before her death. Yet as they looked at the corpse that was once a girl, a girl they wished they would have told at least once how they admired her, that she was smarter than she gave herself credit for, and at least she’d done so much more than they had--

--they really couldn’t help but wonder how desperately she may have wanted to go home to.

(She had said last trial she wasn’t afraid to die here, but they couldn’t help doubting that.)

------------------------

“Oh, will you shut up.”

They’d wanted to be quiet for all of this, and… they were, for most of it. They hadn’t searched for much, they hadn’t done much, so they felt it was only proper that they don’t try to fuck shit up by giving myopic suggestions. As the mastermind trial started, they tried putting together their thoughts based on what they were hearing to provide anything decent to the discussion.

But they… they needed to express at least a little of their frustration.

“If we can’t blame you because you’re just trying to survive and do what’s best for you, you can’t act all attacked when we expose you being a traitor. What, is that term too harsh? Because it’s accurate. And you know what? I’d kinda like to know the person who’s using anything I confide in them as a possible friend as some Hot Deets for the mastermind. I’d rather know the person who’s trying to waste our fucking mastermind votes so they can throw us under the bus. That’s my survival, Chiyo Chono. That’s our survival.”

Their hands balled into fists, teeth clenched while they stared right at her, but they tried not to let their anger, their feeling of betrayal, get the better of them.

“At least I can thank you for reminding me why I don’t trust anyone here.”

Surely the exception went without saying, but they felt like adding that addendum would take away from their point. They brought their face across their eyes, hopefully quick enough to hide why exactly they’d done so, before looking in no particular direction.

“Now, can we focus on the actual relevant shit? I… I just wanna go home. I’ll bet you understand that."

Well that was a burning bridge alright. Next... turning to Isamu. Very intense stare.

“She’s not hurting you on my watch. You haven't done jack shit wrong.”

That came out a lot more like a growl than they’d intended. But now that they were through that, they tried to think of anything proper to address. They wanted to help, they needed to, they didn’t want to be stuck in this place any longer, and they didn’t want to feel like they didn’t fight even a little bit to get out.

“I’m gonna agree. Even if the speech pattern’s just a coincidence or whatever, the rest of the evidence kinda lines up? Which you say you can refute, but don't? Because you don't care? I mean, okay, you not caring if you die because of our mistakes is kind of one of our points. And kinda related, but... doesn't one of the AI implants shut down if the host... "showed extremely strong emotions"? Or some shit. Also another about scrubbing the coding for pain response? I... don't fully get that one, so someone else can talk about that, but anyway.”

Small shrug.

“I’ll be fair that you don’t gotta show it to be feeling really strong emotions, and I don’t think the mastermind’s a stoic either, because it... did specify "extremely strong". And hey, I’ll even give that you’re not the only person who’s kinda kept level-headed all these days. But with everything else, it just… kinda makes me more suspicious?”

They let their shoulders fall. Why is this post so long. Why is half of it just emo and salt.

“I'm willing to give benefit of the doubt that we're wrong, and that a lot of this is somehow coincidence, but unless I see something to make me reconsider, you're at least a good shot."

For a moment, just for Isamu, everything was just 

still. 

It felt like his words had rushed out and disappeared in one straight instant shot, yet also like they were all still hanging in the air around him. Like letting several cats shoot out of the bag, but of course, they'd decided to stick around him. 

He would have preferred the situation of that simile over the trial room, to be honest. Here and now, it was just the waiting game. Letting everything he'd said sink in, desperately trying to throw together another point underneath the static starting to crackle through his mind and take up all space in there, stand firm at his podium when everything was telling him to 

just

run away. 

(It was the same kind of stomach-churning feeling as before: when it only just started to dawn on him as they were tugged out of school in the spotlight that this could maybe actually be bad, when he noticed Yukiko subtly yet desperately playing with the lock on the back of the car, when he learnt just what he'd been doing as it came from someone else's mouth--) 

Kayoko spoke. Similar points to him. Only just registered. 

Nyk spoke. A little more attention, thanks to suspicions. But still nothing. 

Chiyo opened her mouth, and Isamu's hands gripped his legs as though to hold them in place to stop him bolting.

...

But.

Actually, he was okay. Stomach churning in nerves and sickness, yes, but... a strange kind of calm washed over him. Acceptance, almost.

Or maybe he was just being a bit of an ignorant idiot again. Whatever. He'd take it.

"...Y'know what, Chiyo? Yeah. Maybe y'were right on that one. The... everyone has somethin' they'd kill for thing. I kinda... got my shit resolved in the past week, yeah, but... I ain't gonna fight that." 

A deep breath, and Isamu held up his hands in surrender.

"Come 'n hit me if you want for all that. I'll take it. If it'll save more shit goin' down, and wouldn't be near the first time someone's beaten me up for shit I've wound up doin', kyehehe... ain't gonna change the fact that there's everyone else here who me 'n Mei spread this to to keep talkin', or what's happened, but y'can't... you can't blame 'em. They... didn't want this to happen either, y'know?"

Even disregarding the fact that, for a good few weeks now, Meridian had felt like the only safe space Ryuu Hamasaki had left. 

"Though I... I don't like hatin' on people just for the situation they wound up in. 'N what they did in it."

But they weren't here to debate Chiyo's actions, per se. 

"Maybe the file is a bad lead, seein' as the... mastermind wasn't even sure on it themselves. Coulda just been a goose chase even for Chiyo to hide 'em? But guess it couldn't hurt just in case, y'know?"

Isamu tipped his head to look at Nyk next. 

"See, you're sayin' that people could do this... online roleplay kinda thing, or whatever the hell y'talkin' about, but... y'just went usin' the very same speech pattern that we've been describin'? Chono-chan and Red-kun. I mean, you... can't deny that it fits, really..."

A low groan, and he ran a hand through his hair in such exasperation that it was mussed up the worst yet. 

"Buuuuut I... ain't gonna go try accusin' someone on speech patterns, so... guess we do have everythin' else, but..."

[♪♪♪]

The truth about opera is that it’s not really very sophisticated.

Beneath the elaborate costumes and in between the bars on the staff, once one has chipped away the gold filigree on names like Mozart and Berlioz, it’s nearly all the same story.

And the function of a beautiful young woman in this story is similar to the function of Iphigenia at Aulis is similar to the function of a clay pigeon at a shooting range. She’s created so that she can be destroyed — lovingly festooned with soaring arias and wrapped in embroidered silk, haloed by the golden glow of the stage lights from above, and then, over the course of an act or two or five, stripped of everything. Seduced, abandoned, betrayed, disgraced. Her lover kills her or she kills herself. Because her responsibility is the same as that of all the similarly virtuous, doomed girls who become saints: suffer beautifully, then lie down and die.

And she’s reincarnated a hundred, hundred times for her trouble, as Marguerite and Manon and Juliette and Lucia and Cio-Cio and Euridice and Mimi and Isolde and all the other idiot ingenues who die beautiful and tragic and sanctified, too weak to be resentful and too delusional to realize their own stupidity.

Even in her better lives, when she’s a Mabel or a Sophie or a Susanna, she remains an object to be acted upon. Not a thing that acts for itself.

Chiyo wasn’t that kind of girl. Had been, maybe, but wasn’t anymore. She knew that, lying awake in Takayama

(naoto breathing beside her and she thought in those moments she might hate him more than anyone in the world)

and then in Meridian

(she’d drug herself to sleep most of the time to avoid thinking about it but there were still those nights when it didn’t come fast enough)

feeling an ache deep inside like new teeth trying to break skin.

And she felt it again as her classmates slowly began to pick at the threads she hadn’t been able to tuck away neatly enough and unravel the secret she’d been trying to keep for months.

(Forty days in the desert and temptation whispering in her ear the whole time. She knew she’d made a rather different decision than the last person to be in this situation.)

She would not be that kind of girl, she told herself. She would hit stupid, stuttering Isamu Nakano until he was gulping down mouthfuls of his own blood, she would do whatever it fucking took to go home and she wouldn’t regret it for a second, because what she had written on that stupid computer was true: there was no point in her living if she couldn’t have what she’d been promised.

But then Nyk, maybe the one she’d spoken to least of anyone here, addressed her directly and she froze.

She would not—

You’re the traitor, right?

She would not—

“I’m — you <fucking> —“ her breath was seizing in her chest; her shoulders were jolting with the effort of speech “— you can’t call me a traitor when you’d — you, Nyk, and all of the rest of you would do the same thing—“

She took several large breaths, her hands shaking as she reached up to adjust her butterfly clip slightly. There were tears beading in her eyes and running hot down her face; she stared up at the ceiling and bit the inside of her cheek, chin thrust defiantly forward, not wanting to look any of these people in the eye.

(There were times when she’d felt more tenderly about all of them and more guilty about the fate to which they’d been consigned. But now was not one of those times. Now, she thought Suzume Yamaguchi was maybe the stupidest, most obnoxious person she’d ever met in her life — maybe because Izumi Meiki, apparently capable of little apart from crying and acknowledging out loud how useless she was, had been a close runner up. And she couldn’t stand Isamu Nakano, laughing and kyehehe-ing as though he weren’t ruining everything, or Toshio Todoroki, or — or any of them.)

The tears kept coming. Her voice cracked as she tried to speak through them.

Maybe she was that kind of girl after all.

“It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t ask for any of this to happen! I was part of Project Love because I thought they could help me, and then everything turned bad and all I could do was try to hide until it was over, and if you saw what happened there, Archress, you wouldn’t blame me for anything.”

The smell of blood had been overpowering — not sweet, the way stage blood smelled, but thick and sour. Her memories of what happened were still broken, but she thought she remembered a moment that seemed to last forever: blood in the air, footsteps on the floor, and her under a desk, knees drawn up to her chin, a hand clapped over her mouth so the owner of those footsteps wouldn’t hear her breathing.

Chiyo was a professional. She could hold her breath for a very long time, even now. She could play dying and then dead well enough to bring the theatre critic from Il Giorno to tears. But it hadn’t done her any good. 

She squeezed her eyes shut and held her fists against the side of her head, breath still coming in gulps and gasps, words coming out almost faster than she could think about them, hating all of her classmates, hating herself, hating—

“And then she — I was still scared of her, but I found out who she was and thought she understood me because we were so much like each other. And then he ruined everything and she left me here all by myself. She said she didn’t care, but she was so scared when it really happened, and I’ve just been trying to do what she told me because I don’t — I’ve never known what else to— she told me Goro and Suzuki would help after she died, because they were part of Project Love, too, and they’re still here, but they haven’t—”

She hadn’t understood the word substitution in Kayoko’s note, but it sounded like they’d switched it from something to do with swords to something to do with — guns? Annie Get Your Gun. A Western musical, the kind she’d liked. It might have made sense to make that particular correction, given the place they were in. 

Chiyo braced herself against her podium. Attempting to suck in air between sobs was making her light-headed, and all she could think of right now was someone who had died nearly two months before.

He’d needed to go. She knew that. Between Haku, Rover and Naoya, there was only one she’d considered smart or strong enough to be an imminent threat, and when the randomizer landed on his name, it had been the best possible outcome of that trial. Fuck, she’d suggested it to the rest of the town guard. But the things that made him dangerous had also been the things that made her wish she could talk to him again, had been the things that made him right and a damned sight more tolerable than nearly anyone else here.

She didn’t write back when the fake thing in the forest wrote to her, but she’d thought about him a hell of a lot since then. 

And about what he’d said to her that morning by the laundry spring.