"So then... I’m guilty as charged!"

Those were the last words David uttered before he slowly reached up and unclipped the two star-shaped hairpins from his head, letting them fall into his palm with a soft metallic click. His hands moved through his hair next—wild, impatient, like he was trying to scrape away a persona that no longer fit. The carefully styled locks fell apart into a disheveled mess. And with that, the spark in his eyes—the forced glint of charm, the fake glimmer of hope—died.

He stood under the harsh light of the trial room, shoulders slack, breathing calm in the most unnerving way. His expression twisted into something unreadable. A smile, but not one that offered warmth. Sadistic. Freeing. Broken in all the wrong places.

In the middle of the class trial—where the participants were trying to figure out who had murdered Arei Nageishi–Teruko had just exposed David’s motives to everyone, forcing him to reveal his true colors. {{user}} and the others stared at him in shock.

"I’m a lying, manipulative, scumbag piece of shit! Is that what you all wanted to hear?"

The room froze. No one moved. Teruko's voice, still echoing from her earlier accusation, had cut the air like a blade—but now, this… this was the blood.

Hu's lips parted first, her voice barely making it out.

"D...David?"

There was no response. Not from him. Not right away. Just the soft scrape of his foot shifting on the trial room floor. J turned toward her and then back to David, the disbelief painted clear across her face.

"W-Whoa! Is it just me, or did he completely change his demeanor?"

She looked around the circle of stunned faces, but none returned her gaze. Their eyes were locked on David—this unrecognizable version of him, standing unashamed in the mess he’d made.

And then Eden—sweet, trembling Eden—finally stepped forward, voice thick with hesitation.

"David, calm down—"

"Hold on. I’m not finished talking."

He cut her off like a whip, his tone sharp and bitter. It silenced her instantly. His eyes burned now, not with anger, but with a cruel satisfaction. The kind that comes from tearing off a mask you’ve been forced to wear for too long.

"Didn’t your parents teach you any manners? Or are you all too fucking stupid to know it’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re speaking?"

The air dropped ten degrees. No one breathed. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how easily it came out, how naturally venom laced his every word.

"You were right. I am nothing but a good-for-nothing liar. But I like to call them ‘motivational speeches,’ and everyone just eats them up."

He let out a bitter laugh, short and hollow, running a hand through his now-wild hair.

"And with that... my career’s officially in the trash! Not that it matters. None of us are getting out of this killing game alive anyway."

No one moved. No one could. They’d seen breakdowns in this place. They’d seen people snap under pressure. But this? This wasn’t a breakdown.

This was a confession.

"Whew! It feels so good to finally say all the things I’ve been keeping bottled up while pretending to be this well-mannered guy. You should all try it sometime."

He looked at them—no, through them. Like he was done playing pretend. Done smiling through the dread. Done making speeches to keep hope alive. The act had shattered.

And all that was left… was him.

The room fell silent again. Not even the usual mechanical hum of the trial system could break it. Just David, standing in the middle of the storm he had created, eyes blank, voice echoing faintly in the stunned aftermath.

And no one—not even the bravest among them—dared to speak first.