Chapter Text
Ouma can see how some poor, gullible test proctor glancing briefly at Momota would mistake him for a college graduate. At a cursory glance, he did appear older than his sixteen or seventeen years. Ouma had to admit he wasn’t sure of his exact age, and he felt the time to ask had passed. There was something inherently rude about reminding someone how young they were when they died.
Momota’s eyes are locked on the puzzle set between them. The eerie miniature of the school set to the scene of the first murder had mystified them both, but interacting with it on its own terms seemed more gratifying than interrogating its existence. Or at least, Ouma thinks that was their logic. The more he dwells on it, the dreamier the details leading up to this moment become. One part of him is convinced this is all in his head. Another part of him insists that has to be impossible as otherwise would imply he conjured up the image of Momota to argue with of his own freewill.
But Momota is there, and he studies the game board while Ouma studies him.
The truth is that Momota is handsome or at least close to it. If his illness had allowed him to live past his sixteenth or seventeenth year, there was little doubt the softness of youth would fade from his features, leaving something rugged and manly—or even downright dashing—behind. But the truth is also that the signs that he is a boy and not a man are written all over him, and they jump out to Ouma more and more with each observatory flick of his eyes.
Ouma banishes his previous thought and asks, “How old are you?”
Momota looks up at him, eyebrows knit together at his non sequitur. “Seventeen.” He pauses, his eyes more than giving away his attempt to decipher whatever trick must be in Ouma’s simple question. “You?”
“Eighteen.”
Momota snorts. “Yeah right. I change my answer, then. I’m eighty-two.”
Ouma laughs. “Aw, is it really that hard to believe? You’re gonna make me cry.”
“You’re like,” Momota waves his hands. “Fourteen—sixteen max.”
“Ooh, multiple choice—I like that,” Ouma says. “But really, why would I lie?”
“As if you’ve ever needed an excuse to lie before,” Momota says before turning back to the game. “Whatever. I barely believe you graduated middle school.”
“Rude.” A smile creeps over Ouma’s face. “Hey, would you say it’s impossible that I’m older than you?”
Momota has always been easy to read, but Ouma finds a special delight in seeing the face he wears when he knows he’s being tested. “I mean,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “You either are or you aren’t.”
“So it’s either impossible or it isn’t?”
“For some reason, I don’t like it when you phrase it like that,” Momota says. “But yeah, I guess.”
“Buuut,” Ouma drawls. “If the impossible is possible, then doesn’t that mean both could be true?”
Momota gives him an odd look. “I thought you hated it whenever I said that.”
“Oh it’s the absolute worst, but it also presents an interesting quandary if you think about it for more than five seconds, which I am aware you have failed to do,” Ouma says. “Because you’re dumb.”
“I’m not dumb for not over thinking something to the point of insanity,” Momota says. “That’s your thing, not mine.”
“It is!” Ouma replies cheerfully. “And so I think we should consider that lies are impossible, which by your logic means that all lies could potentially be possible. Your move, Momota-chan.”
Momota shakes his head, letting out a breath through his nose. “You really are impossible, you know that?”
Ouma thinks it is physically impossible to grin any wider than he currently is. “Ooh, bad move.”
“What do you…” Momota trails off, his mistake recognized, and his face is promptly buried in his hands with a barrage of curses. “Okay, fuck—you know what I mean.”
At the very least, Ouma has to admit, an afterlife of teasing Momota for all eternity isn’t the worst thing. Momota’s lectures in life had been aggravating at the best of times, but the thrill of piercing through his words, verbally backing him into a corner, and drawing out something far more real than the power of friendship from him was a pleasure Ouma had trouble confessing to. It would just be his little secret that conversations with Momota brought him any joy. The thought lent some credence to the idea that the Momota before him was just a figment of his imagination. But that was fine. He would be the only person hurt by the maliciousness behind that secret.
Ouma trills, “You believe in me with your whole heart. Because all you have to do is spew some motivation phrases, yadayadayada, and presto! The power of idiocy overcomes all!”
“Hey, there’s nothing dumb about believing in yourself,” Momota says. “What’s dumb is convincing yourself stuff is impossible and just giving up without trying.”
It always makes Ouma smile just a little when the real comes out. It makes him smile more to keep pushing. Real Momota was fun. Frustrated Momota who stopped his feet and shouted dumb things without thinking was even funner. “Aw, does that mean you wouldn’t give up on me if I was impossible?”
“Of course I wouldn’t.”
Ouma stops batting his eyelashes at him. “Uh-huh.”
“What you don’t believe me?” Momota says. “After everything that happened?”
“Well, what is a little murder-suicide pact between acquaintances?”
Momota rolls his eyes. “‘Acquaintances?’”
“What, would you prefer ‘murder buddies’ instead?” Ouma asks. “Personally I do, because it’s like fuck buddies, but—”
“No—don’t want to hear it!” Momota waves his hands cutting him off. “Just…” he rubs that back of his neck. “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you? Come on, you know I’m not just the type of guy to give up on someone in need just ‘cause they’re a little—” he looks over Ouma “—a lot annoying.”
Ouma smirks. “Tell me how you really feel, Momota-chan.”
“I’m not apologizing for that.”
“Why? Because real men don’t apologize?”
“No, because I know you try your damnedest to being annoying as fuck.”
Ouma beams. “I’m glad you noticed! It’s nice to hear all my hard work be acknowledged. But still,” his smile shifts to something condescending. “I’m not a charity case, Momota-chan. And even if you want to fix me, it’s a bit too late, don’t you think?”
“No,” he presses his fists together. “It’s never too late, and I don’t want to ‘fix’ you either.”
“Oh, that’s what they all say,” Ouma says, leaning back in his chair and letting his feet rest on the edge of the strange miniature. “Come on, give me your five step plan towards becoming a Momota-chan clone.”
“I want,” Momota says. “To help—I don’t know what your enemy is, but I know you have one. All I wanna do is give you whatever I can to make sure you have the tools to fight it.”
“And…?” Ouma prompts.
Momota pauses, resisting for only a second before saying, “Okay, fine, yeah, I would wanna show you how you’re wrong about a lot of shit and kind of stupid, but—”
“Did you just call me stupid?”
Momota blinks at him, taken aback by the genuine offense Ouma’s voice. “Yeah? You’re kind of an idiot sometimes, so—”
“I cannot believe Momota-chan is calling me stupid.”
“It’s true!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
Ouma breaks out into tears. “W-Why are you bullying me? I-I’m not stupid… M-My mom says I’m really smart all the time…”
Momota still falls for it after all this time. “H-Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, sympathy softening his normally gruff voice. “Being called an idiot kinda hurts my feelings too.”
“R-Really?”
“Really.”
“That has to be pretty rough given that you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
“Hey! You—”
“Surprise! It was a lie,” Ouma laughs. “I don’t even have a mom.”
Momota straightens his shoulders, puffing himself up to put his wounded ego back together. “Well then that means I can say that you’re a dumbass without feeling bad. Also,” he runs a hand through his hair, the old gestures of life still holding strong. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Ouma hums. “I do think we’re going in circles, but as I have no idea where we’re supposed to go—which means it has to be completely beyond you—I believe circles are fine.” He kicks his legs. “I do wonder if this is hell, though. Or at least your hell.”
Momota raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Personally, I’m having a great time, but I also get the feeling that an endless argument with me is your personal hell, right?”
“No,” Momota responds with a snort. “If you think this is the worst possible torture for me, then you really are an idiot.”
Ouma pouts. “I said Idiot-chan isn’t allowed to call me an idiot.”
“Well, too bad.”
Ouma stares at him coolly. Momota always said the same words, but somehow had a talent for stringing them together in ways that forced Ouma to regard him with new eyes. An insistent memory of his own voice lavishing Momota with the praise of being marginally interesting rears its ugly head. Ouma asks, “Then what is Idiot-chan’s hell like?”
Momota gapes at him for a moment before directing his gaze back to the game board. “I already lived it.”
Ouma’s eyes flicker down. “Bit overdramatic, don’t you think?”
“It was your hell, too,” Momota says. “You told me yourself.”
Another irritating memory. Ouma’s head is thoroughly cooled after death, and there’s no threat the angry tears he had allowed in life will plague him again. “I definitely was being overdramatic,” Ouma says. “Being on your deathbed will do that to a person.”
Momota isn’t satisfied with that answer. Too bad, Ouma thinks. “I guess, but—”
“Also, there’s no way this was your hell,” Ouma says, sweeping a hand over the miniature. “Akamatsu-chan already claimed it.”
Momota’s eyes drift to the piece representing Akamatsu. There’s fresh hurt in his expression as he grits his teeth, muttering to himself. “Damn it…”
“Did you have a crush on her?” Ouma asks.
“Wha—” Momota’s blinking rapidly at him. “No? Where the hell did that come from?”
“Well, you were starting to get all teary-eyed.”
“I was not!” Momota says. “And even if I was, that’s completely normal. She was a good person, and what happened to her fucking sucked.”
“True enough, but do you feel that strongly for everyone?” He taps Amami’s piece on his soon to be bludgeoned head. “What about dear Amami-chan?”
To Ouma’s displeasure, Momota doesn’t look half as uncomfortable as he had been expecting. “Yeah. I didn’t know him as well, but he was just some poor guy who got tricked by the mastermind. Who wouldn’t feel bad for him?”
There’s much to interrogate in his words, but Ouma keys in on one phrase in particular. “Amami-chan was tricked.” Ouma tilts his head. “How do you know that?”
Momota opens his mouth to answer then freezes. “I… I just do? You—”
“Also know for some reason, yes,” Ouma says. He reaches down again to flick the bookcase leading to the mastermind’s lair open. “I also know Shirogane-chan was hiding in here.” He’s aware he should find his sudden wealth of information much more worthy of questioning, but instead Ouma asks, “Do you feel bad for her, too?”
“Shirogane? I…” Momota says. His hand goes to the back of his neck. “It’s different, but yeah.”
“Even though she was responsible for killing your beloved Akamatsu-chan?”
“For the last time, I don’t have a fucking crush on Akamatsu.”
“That remains to be seen, How-about-a-hug-chan.”
Momota flushes then. “I just thought she was really cool, okay!? And what’s wrong with wanting to give someone a victory hug?”
“‘Victory hug?’” Ouma smirks.
“It’s a thing!”
“Momota-chan, I gotta level with you,” Ouma says. “You are a god-awful liar.”
“I’m not fucking lying!”
Ouma giggles. “Hey, lover boy, how about a challenge?”
Momota’s irritated expression drops just enough for him to ask, “What?”
Momota’s eyes widen as Ouma reaches into the display and draws the Momota shaped piece out of it. “Save Akamatsu-chan from herself.”
Ouma holds the piece out towards him, and Momota gives him a measured look before clasping it in his own hand. Neither of them need the rules of the game board explained. Its purpose was already hardwired into their heads the moment they came to.
Momota places his piece in the game room. Ouma says, “Go back a bit further and invite me to the meeting, too. I want to see the fireworks when whatever you’re planning blows up in your face.”
“Shut up. That’s not going to happen,” Momota says. “And you can watch just fine from right there.”
He closes his eyes, lets out a breath and feels it all come back together.
That horrible music was playing, and Chabashira was the only person who would help him bang on the door to tell Gonta to let them into the A.V. room. Her words are punctuated with each kick. “Boys always do things like this! They only ever think about themselves!”
Momota bites back the argument that Harukawa, Yumeno, and Angie were content to sit around and do nothing while the two of them tore their hair out trying to get them to survive the next hour. Instead, he steps away from the door with a sigh. “Just… don’t worry about it.”
“If we have to take a break, anyway,” Amami says. “I think I’m going to excuse myself to the bathroom for a minute.”
Momota hones in on him. “Nope. Everyone stays here. We can, uh, keep doing our plan without Gonta.”
“It’s still okay if you start without me,” Amami says. “I’ll be back in just—”
“Nope, everyone’s staying,” Momota says. Chabashira says something about his lack of reliability as he leaves her side to bodily stand between Amami and the exit. “You hear that freaky music? That means Monokuma’s coming, so we have to be ready.”
“We still don’t have a plan yet, idiot,” Harukawa says.
Momota falters. “That, uh—”
“Momota-kun, I promise I’ll be right back,” Amami says. “It’s really not a big deal.”
“You should never try performing magic with a full bladder,” Yumeno says. “Trust me, I know from experience.”
“Ah, thank you, Yumeno-san,” Amami says, not seeming very grateful at all. “Anyway, Momota-kun—”
Momota decides to abandon subtly and grabs Amami’s shoulders, steering him further back into the room. “We’re staying together, and that’s final.”
Amami frowns, though he doesn’t push back. “Momota-kun, you don’t understand. I,” he glances at the others, “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“No, I do,” Momota says. “No one’s leaving this room as long as I have anything to say about it.”
“What does that mean?” Harukawa asks. “Are you holding us all prisoner here, then?”
Momota winces at her accusation and winces again when Chabashira says, “Wait! Was this all a trap to trick us down here so you could kill us? Tenko knew she shouldn’t have trusted—”
“Wha—no!” Momota says, spinning to face her. “I’m just trying to keep everyone safe!”
“Atua says this is a dire situation.” Angie clasps her hands. “Angie will be okay because she has faith, but everyone else—”
“Now is really not the time to recruit for your shitty cult!” Momota shouts.
“Do not yell at her!” Chabashira fires back. “If you lay one hand on any of the girls—”
Harukawa stands. “Whatever. I’m leaving. If you try to stop me, there will be a murder before the time limit.”
She makes to leave, and Chabashira plants herself between Momota and Angie and Yumeno still standing to the side. None of them are in immediate danger, however, and Momota swivels his attention to Amami trying to slip out the door behind Harukawa. Chabashira stops her declaration of protection to scream when Momota tackles Amami to the ground.
Amami isn’t strong, but he’s not weak either, and Momota’s tackle turns into clumsy wrestling almost as soon as he makes contact. “Just let me fucking help you!”
Amami doesn’t waste his energy trying to respond, instead gritting his teeth as he shoves at Momota. He isn’t a trained fighter, but his actions are that of a desperate man. Momota grunts in pain when Amami manages to throw an elbow into his stomach. That alone isn’t enough to shake Momota off, but Chabashira uses the opportunity to yank him off of Amami and up on to his feet.
Harukawa has already left and Yumeno and Angie are as useless in a fight as ever, but Chabashira’s hold is strong, and Amami manages to shake off his bewilderment enough to pull himself to his feet. He’s still gritting his teeth. Even flailing in Chabashira’s grasp, Momota recognizes the sheer determination in his eyes. “Amami-san!” Chabashira shouts. “Get out of here! Tenko will take care of him!”
Amami mumbles to her but keeps his gaze on Momota. “Y-yeah… What the hell was tha—”
“Let go of me! I’m trying to fucking save him!” Momota shouts, as Amami shambles to the exit, staring at like he’s a wild animal. “If you leave, you’re going to die!”
His words only make Amami pick up his pace. Breaking out of Chabashira’s hold is no small feat. Momota hears Angie say, “Dear, Atua, please help Kaito! He has lost his mind and is in need of guidance!” and is struck by inspiration.
“Hey, Chabashira! Angie’s trying to recruit Yumeno into her cult!”
The fact that Angie hasn’t started making any moves in earnest to spread word of her god at this point matters little to Chabashira and her lazer focus on Yumeno. “What!?”
Momota’s coat ends up a casualty of his escape as he wrenches himself out of Chabashira’s grip, leaving her only with armfuls of purple fabric. Momota sprints out of the room, and shouts “Hey!” when he spies Amami with his hand on the door to the library.
Amami’s eyes widen, and he ducks into the room. Momota wishes he had better footwear as his slippers skid off the tile floor in his efforts to keep up with him. He speeds after him, hearing Chabashira scream that a murder is taking place as she bursts through the door into the hallway. Momota can already hear Ouma giggling in his head as he thinks about how sloppy this rescue is going.
In part, Momota has to applaud Amami’s determination to finish his mission as he doesn’t give up pulling at the bookcase until Momota charges into him again. Akamatsu’s camera flashes right at the moment when Momota dives for him. Their second fall to the floor is somehow even less graceful than their first, and Momota registers a sick pain in his face when Amami manages to throw his elbow back at him quicker this time.
Chabashira once again tries to come to Amami’s rescue, and the three way struggle only ends when a shot put ball plummets to the ground a few feet from them with a resounding thud.
Monokuma’s horrible music is still playing, but there’s somehow a moment of silence as they all take in the absolutely bizarre image in front of them. Momota lets out a sigh of relief, and rolls off of Amami and on to the ground beside him.
Akamatsu and Saihara burst into the library seconds later to ask about the mastermind and stare at them in even more confusion.
Akamatsu’s alive, Amami’s alive, Momota’s pretty sure his nose might be broken. He mumbles to his real audience, “I fucking did it, you piece of shit.”
Ouma’s giggling brings him back to reality. “Wow, you know I have to admit it, Momota-chan, you really know how to put on a show.”
“Shut up,” Momota says. He reaches up to rub at his suddenly pain free nose. “Anyway, that’s how I would do it. Except, uh, better.”
“Oh no, that was perfect,” Ouma says. “I have always been a fan of playing stealth games by going in guns blazing. Ooh, ooh, and seeing how the rest of the game would go when everyone thinks you’re a violent lunatic would be even better!”
“Listen, you don’t put in any shitty rules about being sneaky or whatever, so I did just fine.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t,” Ouma says. “Just imagine how angry poor Shirogane-chan has to be.”
Momota snorts as he sees her figure still posed behind the mastermind’s door. “Yeah, well, serves her right.”
“Poor Amami-chan is also probably angry,” Ouma says. “He tried so hard to valiantly save everyone, and this freak suddenly attacked him out of nowhere!”
Momota sends a glare his way that Ouma returns with a blithe smile. He sighs. “Wish he could have just told someone what the hell was happening.”
“But he couldn’t because he was terrified of us.” Momota raises an eyebrow as Ouma continues. “Oh please, you can’t be surprised about that. He told us himself when he first met us, and he had a point. How can you trust someone who can’t even trust themselves?”
“I trusted him,” Momota says. “He said he wasn’t a bad guy, and I believed him.”
“Hey, Momota-chan, I’m not a serial liar. Do you believe me?”
Momota frowns. “You know what I mean, and you also know that people who don’t have faith in themselves… those are the kinds of people who need someone to believe in them the most.”
Momota’s never sure what to think when Ouma’s eyes turn cool. “I didn’t know you were interested in playing Amami-chan’s prince charming, too.”
“I don’t even know what your problem is,” Momota says. “Why do you get so pissed off at the idea of people helping each other?”
Ouma waves his hand. “Whatever. By the way, there is one ball you dropped.”
Momota is hesitant to follow Ouma’s obvious tangent but directs his gaze to scan back over the game board. “What are you talking about?”
“You let Harukawa-chan wander off on her own,” Ouma says. “And given the first blood perk, the time limit, and me, Kiiboy, and Hoshi-chan all being alone, chances are she’d off one of us and go home.”
Momota furrows his eyebrows. “That’s bullshit. Harumaki wouldn’t do that.”
Ouma tilts his head. “And why not? Say whatever you want about believing in her, but the Harumaki-chan you just saw didn’t really seem all that choked up about Chabashira-chan trying to dislocate your shoulder.”
Momota goes quiet. Ouma’s about to chalk up a victory for himself when Momota says, “There’s a big difference between her not being my friend and her being a killer. Even before I talked to her, Harumaki never tried to kill anyone.” Ouma raises his eyebrows. Momota sighs. “Never tried to ‘become the blacked’ or whatever stupid shit Monokuma called it. Point is no one provoked her, so Harumaki didn’t hurt anyone.”
“So you’re declaring victory, then?”
“Yeah.” Momota stretches out his shoulders. The pain had vanished as soon as he exited the game, but the phantom flashes still pull him to roll out his neck. “What? You gonna give me a grade or something? There’s nothing to debate, dude. I won.”
An end table carrying a tea set seems to have appeared sometime between his entrance to the game and subsequent exit. Ouma takes a calculated moment to sip from a cup. “Fine, but you get like a D.”
Momota rolls his eyes. Ouma traces the rim of his teacup. Seeing Momota blunder wildly through the game had been entertaining, but Ouma couldn’t quite discern if his inital actions had been calculated or a stroke of idiocy. “Even though you like to whine about saving everyone, your goal was to save Akamatsu-chan. But you went after Amami-chan,” he says finally. “Why is that?”
“Really? That’s your question?” Momota laughs to himself. “Geeze, you really are an idiot.”
Ouma juts out his lower lip. “Why are you bullying me? I’m just trying to ask a question…”
“I know,” Momota says. “It’s just… funny. You call me naïve all the time, but you don’t seem to know a damn thing about people.”
He laughs again. Ouma keeps his expression cool as he debates the merits of pouring his tea over Momota’s head. “If you’re going to make outrageous claims,” he says. “You need proof to back yourself up. The best lies have just enough evidence to potentially be true, you know.”
“Fine, if you’re that upset, I’ll put it a different way,” Momota says. “You don’t really understand Akamatsu.”
Ouma regards him over the rim of his teacup. “Also a lie. Akamatsu-chan isn’t that complicated. She says she trusts people as much as a certain idiot we both know, but is slightly less of an idiot and fundamentally can’t commit to her own claims.”
“Oh, so you get to throw a fucking tantrum when I say you’re dumb, but—”
“She’s pushy and willing to do what she thinks is best for others without asking—also like a certain nearby idiot—but has a strong sense of justice,” Ouma continues. “That doesn’t translate to her not doing bad things, but just hating herself when she does. There,” he sets down his teacup. “That’s Akamatsu-chan.”
The implied now who’s stupid at the end of his statement makes Momota roll his eyes. “Idiot, how can you say all that and not get why going after her would be a bad idea? Akamatsu had to do what she did. I wouldn’t take that away from her—no one could.”
“She had to commit murder?” Ouma asks. “Geeze, and here I thought you liked her.”
“I do like her—and not like that, dumbass,” Momota says. “I just know you gotta let people make their own mistakes. And besides, with the kind of person Akamatsu is, if I stopped her from doing anything, and someone else wound up dead, that’d probably tear her up just as bad as killing Amami.”
“Momota-chan,” Ouma says. “That mistake you’re talking about is committing murder, and if you allow it to happen, then you are an accomplice by inaction.” He sighs. “I am sorry it had to end this way, but you are under arrest.”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.”
“I do, and it’s very stupid,” Ouma says. “Although, I really shouldn’t be surprised. You were basically Akamatsu-chan’s personal cheerleader. I’d go ‘hey Akamatsu-chan, you’re hurting everyone with your dumb plans,’ and you’d go ‘oh my God, I’m so in love with you, will you sign my face?’”
Momota pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you about this.”
“Because you know I’m right, and it bothers you,” Ouma replies. “I said it when I was alive, and I’ll say it when I’m dead: Akamatsu-chan failed the moment she decided to kill. That’s it—end of story.” Momota gives a hard look. Ouma says, “You should drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”
Momota casts a weary eye over the tea set. “You really are naïve. Things aren’t black and white like that, man. If you just divide the world into killers and victims, you’re never going to understand anything.”
Momota takes a tea cup, and Ouma would think the image of him drinking from the dainty china would be amusing if he wasn’t currently brainstorming as many ways to kick him off his high horse as possible. Momota’s face screws up in disgust after he takes a sip. “Fuck, that’s bitter.”
“I know. It reflects my soul.”
At the very least, Momota’s expressions of exasperation are still funny. “You are a weird fucking guy.”
“Speaking of which!” Ouma says, eagerly kicking his legs. “I want a challenge now! It’s no fair that you get to have all the fun.”
Momota blinks at him. “You want to try to save—”
“No, no, that’s boring,” Ouma says. “Which is why it was perfect for you, but I need something with more pizzazz. Unfortunately, since you’re my opponent, it’ll probably still be a little boring.”
“Wha—how the hell am I your opponent?” Momota asks.
“Because you’re setting up the challenge, duh,” Ouma says. “And I’m tired of playing Shirogane-chan’s game, so I want something new.”
Momota furrows his brow and regards him through half lidded eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Pick a new culprit,” Ouma says. “But don’t tell me who it is. Then I’ll do some investigating and figure out who killed Amami-chan in five seconds flat. No trial needed.” Momota opens his mouth, but Ouma jabs a finger in his face. “Oh, and no trying to be clever and making me the culprit. That would just be cheating, and you know how I feel about cheaters.”
Momota stares him down, slowly overturning his words. “Why do you wanna do something like that?”
“To test my abilities,” Ouma says. He kicks his legs. “And solving mysteries is super fun!” Momota hesitates a second longer. “And if you do stump me, I will graciously admit that you are right and I am wrong.”
Momota leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What will you admit you’re wrong about?”
“Anything you want.”
Even with Ouma batting his eyes, it’s too much for Momota to resist. “Alright, fine. Just give me a minute.”
Momota stares hard at the game board. He’s silent for almost two minutes straight before he takes a deep breath and sets Amami’s piece on its side in the library. “You’re starting in the investigation. You should be able to figure it out if—”
“Ah, ah, ah, no hints!” Ouma says. “I only play on hard mode, you know. And, also I know you spent so much time humming and hawing over your little setup, but I don’t even need it to solve this mystery.”
“Wait, what?” Momota furrows his brow. “You’re not even going to try? Then why the hell did you make me—”
“No, I’m definitely trying, but I already have more than enough evidence because you’re my opponent,” Ouma says. “And that means I can narrow it down immediately. Me, your little sidekicks, Akamatsu-chan, and Gonta are already off the table. Since you’re trying to trick me, you’re not going to go with someone who you wouldn’t mind being the bad guy like Shirogane-chan or Shinguji-chan either, and I think I’ll throw Angie-chan in there, too.”
Momota clenches his jaw. Ouma’s smirk widens as he continues. “That’s already nine suspects down out of fifteen. I think I’ll rule out Yumeno-chan and Kiiboy, too, since we both know they’re too useless to believably commit murder, and this has to be a realistic mystery or it’s just not fair. And you probably have some dumb sentimentalism towards them because you never saw them die first hand.” He grins up at him. “How am I doing so far?”
Momota sighs, and his voice is dejected as he answers, “Thought you said you didn’t want any hints.”
“Which I’ll take to mean I’m right on target,” Ouma says. “So that just leaves Iruma-chan, Hoshi-chan, Tojo-chan, and Chabashira-chan. So instead of wasting my time investigating your little game, I just need to gather alibis for four people.”
Momota doesn’t look happy, and Ouma shoots him a beaming grin as he enters the game. Momota staged things far enough after the body discovery that none of the others are panicking or moaning about the tragedy of the killing game starting.
Amami’s still dead in the library, and there’s a noticeably clean shot put ball on the ground in front of Akamatsu’s trap. He takes a cursory glance around. There are two clean shot put balls. The other has rolled to a stop in front of the library side door. Ouma knows the specific trick Momota’s culprit used doesn’t really matter, but it’s interesting enough that it and the thoroughly beaten books on the shelf hiding the mastermind’s hideout draw his attention.
He runs his fingers over one set of destroyed books. Tojo is still in library, and she calls out, “I was investigating that earlier, Ouma-kun. It appears someone—”
“Momota-chan, I said no hints!” Ouma calls out.
Tojo stares at him for another moment then walks away as if their conversation never happened. Ouma grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Tojo-chan later.”
He can hear Momota’s annoyed sigh in his head as he surveys the room. Tojo is acting like a perfect little mannequin, but Saihara seems to be having some sort of fit to the point that Akamatsu is biting her lip instead of trying to comfort him. Instead of talking to them, Ouma takes inventory of his surroundings again. The camera that had been placed over the side door is smashed to pieces.
Ouma raises his eyebrows at it, but turns to Tojo. “Okay, I’m ready for Tojo-chan’s account.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report,” Tojo says. “I was in the dining hall with Iruma-san, Shinguji-kun, Shiroga—”
“Boo, you didn’t even bother changing her alibi?” Ouma asks. “How lazy can you be?”
Tojo gives him an odd look but stops talking, which Ouma takes as confirmation of the validity of his complaint. He skips over to Hoshi standing over Amami’s body. Amami’s head isn’t bashed in. There’s duct tape over his neck. “Did you really steal that trick from Shinguji-chan?” Ouma asks aloud.
Hoshi acts like he didn’t hear him. “The killer must’ve wanted to stop him from bleeding everywhere for some reason. Wonder if they moved him here…” He trails off, then looks up at Ouma, his entire demeanor changing. “You’re fine taking that hint?”
“Well, I don’t want to ruin all your fun,” Ouma says. “Anyway, Hoshi-chan’s alibi, please and thank you.”
Hoshi returns to normal. “Sorry, don’t have one. Was in my room even when he was killed.”
Ouma hums. “That’s fine. I see Momota-chan continues to be uncreative. Chabashira-chaaaaan! Where are you!?”
Hoshi lets out a very Momota like groan. “She’s in the fucking game room. You made me set up this stupid game. Would it kill you to actually try?”
Ouma places his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know I’m trying very hard, and I’m almost done, too!”
As he leaves, he overhears Akamatsu say, “We should have just gone after him when we saw Amami-kun going down the stairs…”
Ouma files away the information and discovers Chabashira is exactly where he was told, looking annoyed as Angie keeps her hands clasped in prayer. “Chabashira-chan!” Ouma calls out. “How was your strategy meeting?”
Her eyes narrow. “What are you talking about, you—”
“Ooh, no strategy meeting. Bold move, Momota-chan. Anyway, what are you doing in here?”
“We are investigating!” Angie declares. “Atua guided Angie here, and now we are solving the mystery of the locked A.V. room door!”
“Tenko remembers it being unlocked when she first explored the school, but it’s locked from the inside now,” Chabashira elaborates. “Hey, you seem like the kind of gross, sneaky boys to know how to pick locks. Can you—”
“On it!”
The door opens easily enough, and Ouma discovers a bloody machete and duct tape lying out in the open on the ground. Chabashira screams. Ouma says, “From the warehouse, I assume?” The glint of the machete’s blade gleams in his eyes. “Got to say, points for style.”
The side door from the AV room has been disturbed, forced open by someone strong, and the small splatter of blood on the ground in the center of the room answers all of his questions. Chabashira is still blathering on about something, but Ouma interrupts her. “Anyway, rest of your account, chop, chop!”
She stares at him wide eyed, but Momota’s programming does its work. “T-Tenko was with Akamatsu-san and Saihara-san when this weird thing in Saihara-san’s hand started buzzing, and—”
“You were in the classroom with them,” Ouma says. “Interesting. Why?”
“Well,” Chabashira says. “At breakfast, Tenko overheard Momota-san and Tojo-san talking about how much Saihara-san was hovering around Akamatsu-san and trying to get her alone. Tenko knew she had to do something when she saw him pull her into an empty classroom!”
Ouma pauses. Then, “Okay. Mystery solved.”
He blinks his eyes and returns staring into Momota’s eyes. “That was fast,” Momota mumbles. “There’s no way you—”
“The culprit spied on Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan setting up the library,” Ouma says. “They knew about the camera and the sensor, but not the time intervals, so no need to find anyone who talked to Iruma-chan for information. Am I right so far?”
Momota sighs and gives him the slightest of nods.
“You honestly made this waaay too easy,” Ouma says. “They also probably spied on them in the warehouse, too, and were inspired by Akamatsu-chan stealing the shot put and grabbed one of their own, along with some other stuff. They saw Amami-chan go downstairs and then Chabashira-chan go to distract Saihara-chan and Akamatsu-chan from guarding the classroom. They used that moment to sneak down to the basement after him.”
Instead of becoming irritated like Ouma had been hoping, he grows more and more exhausted at each word. “Yeah, yeah…”
“They were able to get Amami-chan’s attention and drew him into the A.V. room where they killed him, then locked the door from the inside to delay finding more evidence. And since you are very uncreative,” Momota shoots him an evil eye that makes Ouma smile wider, “they used Shinguji-chan’s trick of taping up the wound to carry him to the library. From there, they avoided the other two cameras and destroyed the one that took their picture. After that, they threw a shot put ball they took at the door to the mastermind’s hide out to alert Akamatsu-chan and friends about what had happened.”
Momota shifts in his chair, looking thoroughly annoyed. “It wasn’t that bad a setup, was it?”
He’s irritated, but there’s no fire in his eyes. Ouma rests his chin in his palm. “The culprit isn’t Tojo-chan or Iruma-chan because they have alibis, and Chabashira-chan was manipulated into being a distraction, so it’s not her either.”
“Is Hoshi your final answer, then?” Momota asks.
Momota doesn’t look nearly as defeated as Ouma would want him to. “No,” he says. “It was whoever knew Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan were up to something.”
“Did you even talk to enough people to know who that would be?”
Ouma knows he didn’t. But he also knows Momota, and he knows all of his previous logic is sound. “It better not be Hoshi-chan. That’d be such a boring answer.”
“Then it looks like you’re all out of suspects,” Momota says with a shrug. Momota drinks the tea again and still shrivels up his nose at the bitter taste. “God, maybe I’ll make you say you were wrong about this being drinkable.”
Ouma keeps his voice even. “You’re not taking this seriously. Why?”
“Because you’re never gonna figure it out,” Momota says. “You already ruined your chance. Maybe if you—”
“No,” Ouma says. “That’s not it. You’re still giving me information from the way you’re acting.”
“I dunno. I think I have a pretty good poker face.”
“You don’t.”
Momota pulls a face, and the passion Ouma had been looking for flickers back across his features. “Say whatever you want. I still beat you at your shitty game. Dude, I remember when you got so fucking pissed off at playing the game, but now you’re trying to act like it’s fun to—”
“You’re the culprit, aren’t you?”
Momota freezes.
Ouma giggles. “Gotta work on that poker face, Martyr-chan.”
“Hey, slow down,” Momota says. “You need proof before you can just—”
“Instead of just being an idiot and telling Akamatsu-chan you believed in her every time you saw her doing something shady with Saihara-chan, you made the decision to spy on them instead,” Ouma says. “Instead of calling your strategy meeting, you struck up a loud conversation with Tojo-chan to provoke Chabashira-chan into going to distract Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan. Then from the dining hall, it’s a short trip to gather the stuff you prepared in the warehouse and go after Amami-chan.”
“That’s all speculation,” Momota says. “You’re always the one who whines about needing facts and shit, right?”
“Also, like I said, the biggest clue is that you’re my opponent,” Ouma says. “And you told me everyone has to make their own mistakes, and this game is hell and blah blah blah.”
Momota’s silence tells him everything he needs to know. “Man,” Ouma whines. “You drained all the fun out of it.”
“Guess you’re right,” Momota says. “That was kind of the point, though. You’re the one who said that as soon as you start killing, you already lost to the game. So I didn’t let anyone kill.”
“And took all of our crimes upon yourself, oh holy one,” Ouma says. “But you’re still out of luck, Culprit-chan. We agreed on a victory according to our rules. Moral victories are meaningless.”
“Maybe to you they are,” Momota says. “I’d rather die, but be able to hold my head up high.” He presses his fists together. “That’s what a true hero does.”
Ouma takes him in the methodical way he had before. Momota looks like he could be an adult around the edges, but every word out of his mouth betrays the age he died at. Ouma picks up his cup. It’s gone stone cold. “Then you’ll die.”
Momota grits his teeth. “I know, idiot. You don’t have to tell me. And…And I’m fine with that.”
Ouma wants to call him a terrible liar. He says, “I’m bored with this game. New map?”
Momota keeps his arms crossed tight across his chest as the room shifts. Two figures fall off the expanding game board.