Archive of Our Own ^beta

The “execution failed” sign flickered up as Kaito took his last breath within the confines of his metal cage. The screen in the trial room lit up, and as he saw Kaito’s smile, Shuichi couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory. He didn't die through Monokuma's execution; he didn't lose, but then, when he thought the worst was over, the rocket started to let out a horrid screech.

Shuichi’s breath caught, and his chest tightened as he saw the trajectory falter and plummet to the ground.

“Momota-kun…!”

His voice cracked, but it was swallowed by the deafening crash that followed. The rocket struck the ground right in front of them, the force rattling the platform beneath their feet. The impact thundered through the room, and for one awful moment the world dissolved into chaos.

Metal tore apart. The cockpit shattered on impact, scattering jagged shards of steel across the courtroom like a storm of knives. Smoke erupted, curling thick and acrid into the air, stinging Shuichi’s eyes. He flung his arms up over his face, stumbling back as fragments skittered and clanged around them.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. The others were shouting, coughing, their voices muffled in the haze. For a few terrifying seconds, Shuichi had no idea what had happened—only the choking sting of burning oil and the weight of dread pressing on his lungs.

And then, as the smoke thinned, the sight that greeted him clawed at his mind.

It wasn’t only the rocket that had been shattered.

Kaito's form was twisted, fragmented, and broken. The body—or what was left of it—lay at the center of the wreckage, the impact having obliterated any buffer the cockpit might have given it. Chunks of metal and splintered glass were buried in what remained. Flesh and blood mingled with the scorched debris, almost indistinguishable from one another, as the smell of burned steel and flesh invaded his senses.

Shuichi’s chest heaved. He wanted—needed—to look away, but his eyes wouldn’t obey. They stayed locked on the horror, on the grotesque parody of a man who had stood beside him only minutes ago, giving him encouragement despite his own dwindling health.

If not for the torn scraps of the starry-skyed fabric or his previous knowledge of the procession of the trial, Shuichi might not have known it was him at all.

Around him, silence reigned. The others were frozen, stunned in shock, as if unable to process what their eyes were seeing. Himiko made a gagging sound, retching as she doubled over. Tsumugi clutched her dress with both hands, her face drained of all color. Maki stood rigid, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. From where he was standing, her expression was unreadable, but her body was tense, barely holding itself up.

His own hands pressed to his stomach as bile crept up his throat. No. He had to hold it together. He had to—

Laughter pierced the silence.

A shrill, grating sound that broke through the smoke, dragging Shuichi back into the present.

“Puhuhuhu! Ohhh, this is hilarious!”

Shuichi blinked against the haze, only then registering Monokuma trudging closer, stubby arms swinging in mock delight.

“This is what happens when you try to act like a big shot!” Monokuma’s voice sing-songed. “If he’d just died like he should've, at least his body would've stayed in one piece. But nooo—he had to act all big and mighty, going out in a blaze of glory!”

The bear turned his head toward the wreckage, paws spread wide, as though he were putting the carnage on display.

“Look at this mess! He’s barely recognizable!” Monokuma cackled. “Actually, that’s kind of ironic, don’tcha think? Ouma, too, got squished into an unrecognizable pile of meat, didn't he?”

Something inside Shuichi cracked, but he couldn’t find the voice to argue. The stench, the blood, the sight—it was all too much.

“Not that it matters!” Monokuma continued, hopping from paw to paw. “Who cares what they've looked like, considering where their bodies are going next!”

The sound of Himiko's hurling grew sharper. Shuichi’s vision blurred at the edges. He dug his nails into his sleeve, trying not to pass out.

Then, abruptly, the sharp crackle of electricity filled the air.

Shuichi whipped his head toward the sound. K1-B0 was trembling, arcs of static leaping across his frame. His expression twisted as though in pain.

“Kiibo!” Tsumugi dropped her grip on her dress, rushing to his side. She reached out hesitantly, her voice pitched with slight panic. “I–I think we should leave. Maybe this sight… is too much for him.”

Monokuma bobbed his head, grinning. “Good idea! You bastards better make off. After all, my kids have plenty of cleaning to do.”

The Monokubs groaned but obliged his demands. When Monophanie took one look at the wreckage, she started to vomit, shrieks muffled by her retching.

Shuichi’s body jolted when something grabbed his arm. He nearly tore away, heart racing, before realizing who it was.

Maki's grip was tight. Her face was pale, but her expression carried a grim determination. Faint streaks of tears were still visible on her cheeks.

“We should go,” she said firmly. Her other hand supporting Himiko, who had her head bowed, hat clouding her face in shadows. She swayed as though moments from collapse.

Shuichi swallowed hard, nodding. His legs trembled as he followed them, step by step, to the elevator.

When the doors finally opened, the night air hit him like a flood. He stumbled out, breaking away from the others until he collapsed on the floor.

It was the training spot. The place he’d spent countless hours with Kaito and Maki, working out through the night, talking about whatever came to mind. The memories stabbed at him now, sharper than any shard of glass. He wrung his arms around his body, slightly shaking, unable to hold himself together.

Suddenly, a weight shifted beside him. He raised his head just enough to see Maki lowering herself onto the ground. She didn’t look at him at first; her gaze was fixed straight ahead.

“You should try to erase that image out of your head,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Remember him for who he was...”

Shuichi tried. He really tried. He recalled Kaito’s bright laugh, his determined grin. The way he had helped him, brought him out of his shell. But no matter what memory surfaced, the grotesque sight from the trial shoved its way back in, staining everything red.

Maki’s hands tightened. “I can’t stop thinking about it too. But I don’t think Momota would've wanted this. He’d want us to... cherish the times we've spent together... and keep moving forward.”

Her words settled over him, heavy but true. Shuichi’s throat burned. Slowly, he nodded in agreement. 

And yet, strangely enough, another thought took a hold of his mind.

Kokichi.

He wondered what he would have wanted. But no matter how much he thought about it, turning statement for statement over in his head, he couldn’t figure it out. To him, Kokichi was an enigma, full of lies and contradictions. And now that he’s dead, he will never know.

Hopelessness seeped into his bones. His body sagged against the ground, the events of the day pushing him to his limits.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He’d thought they would save Kaito. He'd thought they would stop Kokichi. He'd thought they could find common ground. A compromise. Anything. But instead, both of them were gone. Images of them getting replaced by their mangled remains, haunting him to his core.

Beside him, Maki tilted her head. She stared at the sky, brows faintly furrowed.

Where her thoughts wandered, he didn’t know.

All he knew was that the night had never felt darker.