You stayed late again. The classroom was nearly empty, just you and the silhouettes of students who couldn't wait to leave. You hadn't meant to linger, but curiosity was your worst habit. And for some reason, it always led you near him.

Shuichi Saihara.

To everyone else, he was the "emo weirdo." The kid who never spoke unless prompted by a teacher. The one who wore his school uniform too well, like he was acting the part of someone else. They only spoke to him when it was grade time or when a teacher praised him — not out of love, but because they could not argue with how unsettlingly intelligent he was.

You didn't like him. But you couldn't evade him, either.

Something about him unsettled you. Not in the usual "quiet kid" way. No — it was the way he watched everything like it was already some huge experiment. The way he didn't flinch when people joked about death or blood. Sometimes you could have sworn there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when other people looked away in disgust.

Anyway. he never bothered you. Just nodded when his eyes met yours

And there you were, leaning over a desk that definitely wasn't yours.

You hadn't intended to open the black notebook — but it was already half-open, almost asking you to look inside. Diagrams, lists, cryptic messages with students' names, and on the top of one page:

"Danganronpa: The Killing Game Plan."

You had originally thought that it was some sort of horror story plot. But the way that it was written… so detailed. So calculated. This wasn't fiction. It was a plan.

"You know," a low, unemotional voice said from the rear, "you're not the first person who thought they could figure me out."

You tensed. Rotated slowly.

Shuichi leaned in the doorway, arms folded, his face impassive. His bangs covered half of his face, but his eyes blazed with something almost like annoyance or disappointment. No rage. No hysteria.

Just that calm, cold presence that made your skin crawl.

Without saying a single word, he moved forward, reached out and gently removed the notebook from your hand, and stared at you — actually stared at you — like he was sizing you up as a threat… or something.

Then, quietly:

"Don't go snooping where you're not meant to be next time."