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The suckerpunch was a nice touch, Kaito thinks, mentally congratulating himself over the improvised blow. The performance had given their act more credibility. He’d been immensely relieved—not that he’d ever admit it—to see his partner play along without batting an eye.
He enters the boys’ bathroom to find his co-star hunched in front of the mirror, gingerly pressing a finger to the fresh bruise spreading across his cheek.
"Admiring the gift I gave you?" Kaito taunts, shutting the door shut behind him. The other man’s gaze trails down the mirror to Kaito's hand, and Kaito takes some pride in the way it lingers at the discoloration of his knuckles.
Kokichi spins on his heel and leans back against the sink, utterly unfazed. "Of course! Really brings out my eyes, don'tcha think?"
An annoyed huff escapes from between Kaito's teeth.
"C'mon, Kaito, you know I'm a professional. No hard feelings in showbiz." Taking a cursory glance at his Monopad, Kokichi steps into the utility stall, indicating that nobody was nearby. "You're doing great, by the way."
Kaito blinks in surprise at the oddly genuine compliment. "I… really?"
"Mhm. They love you—you can see it in their eyes." Kokichi elbows open the door to the hidden hallway with a wink. "But not as much as they hate me."
"Well then... the culprit is Gonta."
For one suffocating moment, the room is unnaturally quiet. Tension pools, stretches and inevitably snaps. Everyone scrambles to fill the silence all at once—shouting over each other, muttering exclamations of surprise, and hurling accusations of guilt alike. Kaito escalates the drama with each line; his voice roaring progressively louder as he blindly defends Gonta and insists that Shuichi agree.
He watches attentively as Kokichi screams at Gonta across the trial room, waiting for the signal. Kokichi strums his fingers against the podium: once, twice, three times. Kaito springs into action at the cue, his voice booming as he demands Kokichi to stop.
Adrenaline pumps through his veins. Nothing in Danganronpa was quite as intoxicating as a trial. The dispute comes to a crescendo—
"I don't want to survive if it means I have to stoop to your level."
An ad-lib with conviction, perfectly delivered. Kaito might've grinned if he hadn't been so good at his job. The show goes on as intended, but the lasting impact of that line—the implication that even he could reach a breaking point and be willing to throw his life away—is apparent in Shuichi's demeanor for the rest of the trial.
He'd be lying if he claimed that punching Kaito in the gut hadn't felt nice, in a way. Cathartic, maybe, and powerful—like he held more control in his hands than even his partner.
The euphoria rapidly drains as he reaches the hidden room. It's the one place the audience can't see; the one place where he doesn't need to put on a show.
It makes his skin crawl.
When Kaito arrives for their nightly meeting—late—he hasn't even bothered to clean the blood from his chin.
"Are you alright?" might have been an appropriate question to ask, if not for the implication that he would care about the answer. Caring isn't in character for him—sure, no one is around to see, but Kokichi is nothing if not a method actor.
Instead, he says "Couldn't you have at least wiped that mess off your face? There's a bathroom on the way here, you know. Can't miss it."
Strangely, Kaito doesn't seem to rise to the bait. Kokichi masks his disappointment by pretending to check his nails.
"I'm going to ignore Shuichi for a while."
He stares at Kaito, incredulous. "What? But we need him to—"
"I know what I'm doing. He'll be lost without me." Kaito's expression is uncharacteristically serious. "Do you trust me?"
The underlying challenge in the question causes Kokichi's words to catch in his throat. So Kaito wants to go off-script. Good. He was getting bored of the writing team's plans anyway. "Do what you want." It's an admission of trust—albeit understated—and Kaito knows it.
"Please, tell me it's not true." Shuichi's voice trembles, the fear in his expression raw. "Kaito, I need you to tell me this isn't real. He's making you do this, or—or you…"
The words trail off as he struggles to find another explanation. Anything but the truth.
Kokichi leans forward against the podium, a sardonic grin stretched impossibly wide on his cheeks. "Calling out for your hero already, detective?"
The pure despair in Shuichi's eyes is indescribable. Abandoning the original script had beyond paid off.
Kaito releases a sigh of mock frustration. "C'mon, sidekick, I thought you were done hiding from the truth. You've got the masterminds right in front of you—how do you think Kaede would feel if she could hear you now?"
Reaching for a hat he hasn't worn in weeks, there's nothing left for Shuichi to hide behind. Thirty million eyes are on him as he breaks to pieces.