#usodanee

“Huh… what a boring response”

“... Um, Ouma-kun--”

For a split second, Saihara thought to entertain this -- but passed on it quickly. Because Ouma was the kind of person who would use any occasion, any holiday, regardless of how big or small or culturally irrelevant to spin it into... Well, this sort of thing. It all depended on the state of their relationship, really. In the past, it was all somehow related to the horrible crimes that he, as the Ultimate Supreme Leader, would apparently perpetuate in “celebration”. Nowadays, though? Since reaching a better personal understanding of Ouma’s “truth” -- since the results of said personal understanding brought them closer in ways not even the Ultimate Detective himself could have predicted -- the ways Ouma liked to mess with him were typically less dramatic and considerably more... flirtatious. No, even outright sexual. With Ouma, it really was all or nothing. And Saihara didn’t hate that. He simply... didn’t outright encourage or discourage it, either. It was just embarrassing!

She drums her fingers on her thigh to the whir of the hospital machines as she steps down the corridor, and quietly her voice trails the anthem that played to the spectacle of dying children.

Well-- artificial death, that is. But what was the difference?

She’s far from the first to wake up, but nearly the first to recover. Screams rattle in her head like flies; Akamatsu. Tenko. Iruma. Gonta. Saihara. So many more. And she swats them away just so. Her fingers and her feet burn a blood red, crackle at the pain, like she’s dashed over a floor of hot plates-- but her soles and fingertips are calloused, gnarled, ugly, took nothing but it. 

She’s used to it, by now. Found a beauty in it, even. After all-- what was art without sacrifice? Everything came at a price-- that was simply how life worked. She’s simply willing to take those lengths: and not everyone understood that.

Yes-- not everyone did.

She quirks an eyebrow at him-- curiously, expression betraying nothing. Under her skin, however, she feels the barest prickle of annoyance, a flash of anger, boiling in her blood, soothed over by a deep and vindictive satisfaction. 

Ah. Their little villain, hm? The child who thought he could take the big, bad mastermind down? How adorable.

She strings her amusement into pleasantries, offers him a small smile as she steps delicately into his room, faintly surprised to see the detective nowhere in sight. How perfectly coincidental.

“Ouma-kun,” she says, her teeth as bright as her sheets. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

A lie, as blatant as any other. But he liked those, didn’t he?

“Just some people, you know? Can you get rid of them for me?”

Tsumugi personally knows that Kokichi is a threat and knows how to avoid him suspecting her that she is the mastermind which is by making herself boring and plain as humanly possible to him.

So that the boredom will turn him away.

Send me a ‘🎨’ for an aesthetic or mood collage for our muses. | accepting

The sounds echoed up from the ground below, the yelling, screaming, sounds of people clashing, fighting for their very lives. All it took was one spark, and all of them had easily fallen to despair. One misplaced thought, and everything became chaos. The weak feeding on the weak, bloodlust and blind rage crossing together in a symphony of mayhem... and all he did was watch.

A dark figure standing on high and looking at the chaos below, some would claim he had been the very one to throw the spark into the mix when it was all said and done, when there was nothing left but carnage and death. He had done nothing of the sort, it had been an outside variable, not his own. That did not mean he would not watch it, and he knew he was not alone in his vantage point either. 

If you could see him, the Ultimate Despair, Kamukura Izuru, then he already knew you were there, and it was too late to do anything about it.

“…”