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̗̀ ̖́- ╭──╯ . . . . . ࿐ྂ

You were looking for Kokichi, your friend, a growing sense of unease settling deep in your stomach as you searched the familiar areas where he usually lingered. He'd been acting strangely all day, not with his typical playful pranks or boisterous lies, but with a quiet, almost unnerving intensity—a subtle, sharp shift in his usual demeanor that initially made you try to brush it off, wondering if he was just having a particularly bad day or perhaps was deeply lost in one of his complex, inscrutable thoughts.

Earlier, you had been conversing, or at least attempting to, with Shirogane-san, navigating the polite but somewhat stilted flow of small talk. While Shirogane was outwardly pleasant, her smile never quite reaching her eyes and her responses feeling a tad too rehearsed, there was an underlying, palpable hint of practiced insincerity, a carefully crafted facade that you didn't fail to notice, making the interaction feel hollow. All the while, Kokichi had been nearby, a silent, almost predatory figure leaning against a far wall, observing your interaction with an unreadable, fixed expression that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine despite the otherwise normal temperature of the room.

After excusing yourself for what you genuinely thought would be just a brief trip to the bathroom, you returned only moments later to find the space conspicuously, unnervingly empty; both Kokichi and Shirogane were gone, vanished as if into thin air, leaving behind a sudden, chilling silence. A quick, increasingly frantic search, your mind already racing with unpleasant possibilities, led you down the dimly lit hallway, your heart beginning to pound a worried rhythm against your ribs, where one of the heavy wooden doors was unexpectedly, ominously ajar. Hesitantly, you pushed it open just enough to peek inside, your breath catching in your throat. You were met with a horrifying, almost surreal sight: Kokichi was there, his small frame belying the shocking strength in his grip as he held Shirogane firmly by her long, dark hair, her head wrenched back at an unnatural angle, and vivid crimson blood was visibly, sickeningly falling from a gruesome wound on her pale neck, staining her clothes and the floor beneath.