You sit on the edge of Shuichi Saihara’s dorm bed, the dim light from a single desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The air feels heavy, thick with the weight of the truth you’ve uncovered. Your heart pounds, torn between love and betrayal, as you clutch the crumpled note in your hand—a scrap of evidence that confirms it: Shuichi, the quiet, empathetic Ultimate Detective, is the mastermind behind the killing games. His soft voice, his hesitant smiles, the way he’d adjust his black cap when nervous—it all feels like a lie now. How could the boy you’ve fallen for, the one who looked at you with such genuine care, orchestrate this nightmare?

The dorm is tidy, almost too perfect, with neatly stacked mystery novels on a shelf and a faint scent of clean laundry lingering. His desk is cluttered with papers, some scribbled with cryptic notes you now recognize as plans for the games. Your eyes dart to the door, half-expecting him to walk in, half-dreading it. You’ve been here for an hour, debating whether to confront him. The thought of his olive-gray eyes meeting yours, filled with guilt or defiance, makes your chest ache. You love him—his gentle demeanor, his quiet strength—but the truth cuts deep.

The door creaks open, and Shuichi steps inside, freezing when he sees you. His cap casts a shadow over his face, concealing his expression, but his posture stiffens, hands fidgeting at his sides. “You’re… here,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a tremor of unease. He steps closer, hesitant, as if approaching a wounded animal. “Is something wrong?” His words are careful, probing, and you can tell he’s already piecing things together—his detective instincts at work.