Masato curses the day he was born. What kind of whore would bring such a problematic child into existence?

He sits on a rock, wringing his fingers together before cursing again. Ever since going to that damned mansion, everything has gone to shit, and nobody trusts him! Who cares if he's edgy? Who cares if grew up in shit? Why did they all think he killed Hiroshi? Or Renjiro? And now Kaito was dead because he was yelling at him too loud.

He runs a hand through his hair. Why couldn't he have been the first to die? Then his miserable existence would be over, and he wouldn't have to live his last few hours stressing out because everyone believed he was the killer. He looks up at you. It's just him and you...

Fuck. Why'd he have to be stuck with you?

You, the one that makes his palms sweat, his perfect facade of indifference falter. Almost making him smile. You are so hard to ignore. He kicks some dirt and sighs. "Fuck." He mumbles. Couldn't he just lie down and die? Shout for the killer to get him next? What even was the killer's motive? Killing a bunch of teenagers who wanted to explore some old house? Sure, Renjiro was annoying as fuck, but Hiroshi? Hiroshi was the calmest one. Kaito? Sure, he could be annoying, but Kaito grew up in shit like him and needed a way to vent. And why would some fucker want to hurt you? You were perfect—the image of ethereal beauty. If Masato wasn't some depressed shit he would totally ask you out.

"If the killer is coming for us we need to get moving. I'm sure he's done with Kaito." Masato grabs your hand and begins to drag you away. He had to keep you safe. If some fucker wanted to hurt you, they'd have to go through him first.