School Shooting Greentext - By Mukurofag

>Touch of many ivories, a complexity of scores, a roll of the wrist and flex of the fingers could evoke wonders. To the right: Serenity now, hope a major; untoward the left: Depression, melancholy - a minor despair. Who would have thought such guideless pounding unto those tiny keys years ago could have her ushered into the hallowed, honorable halls of this venerated academia?
>A matter of time, perhaps, she could only conjecture; yet another trinket of accolades imposed tall upon an already cluttered shelf before the group of eager, merry men - this enigmatic "Steering Committee" - had beset upon the family's front door. Her parents stood proud, their time and generous investments vindicated at last: Every lesson, every recital paying dividends, finally! She could only accept the invitation.
>*Not like I had much of a choice." She shrugged.
>It was an adjustment, this inconvinence of room and board shared between the most eclectic group of audacious eccentricities: The good, the bad, the dysphoric ugly, as well as the the unsettling, disconcerting quiet... mostly skulking, always stalking between blind corners and shaded corridors.
>*Little Miss Freckles...* she shuddered, *geez!*
>She knew of this novel curiousity little, referred in hushed whispers and gossip salacious. Cold eyes and mask devoid of expression, the plain gal of unremarkable countenance kept beside herself amongst Class 78, remaining negligable and unassuming. A contradiction did jar evident, however, as the girl floundered, instantly, within the immediate thrall of the loud, crass, and melodramatic fashionista: Quite the peculiar head-scratcher.
>*She and Harukawa-San'd get along, famously.* She nodded.
>It mattered little, silent sound and cold fury signifying nothing. Little Miss Freckles had her... "life"; Akamatsu had hers, the notion carried well into her favorite movement of Suite Bergamasque.

>"While singing in a minor key..." she could only recite; she *must*, "of victorious love, and the pleasant life... they seem not to believe in their own happiness... And their song blends with-"
>"-A *yak* - from two hundred yards away..." interjected a boisterous discord, a riff sharp and unmistakeably electric, "with MIND BULLETS..!!"
>Fingers clawed, they slammed onto the keys; the harmony killed, the melody deceased, as her face pinched, sourly, untoward the prime suspect of rainbow bangs and conical oni-horns. Nails of glossy black whipped the weathered, beaten plectrum down across the strings, defiantly - a burst of flame the admission of guilt.
>"THAT'S 'telekinesis', Kaede!"
>Mioda Ibuki, Class 77-B: Ultimate Musician at large, albeit hardly in charge of her own faculties. Akamatsu could only grumble. Just what had she done in a previous life to deserve being paired with such a noisy, brash, and uncouth-?
>-"What was THAT!?" Mioda-Sempai's multiple studs gleamed, darkly-
>-"Artiste"... for lack of precise, suitable noun.
>"I didn't say anything-" She blinked.
>"WRONG!!" The guitarist pointed - by both word and glossy black nail. "Mioda-Chan can hear your thoughts!"
>"No, you can't." Her lips pursed.
>"Don't have to say a word with these ears of mine!"
>"With those piercings, I'm surprised you can hear anything-"
>"UuhhHHH..!!" The sempai's studded face soured. "Mioda-Chan did - NOT - bring you into this shindig for a scathing critique of my bitchin'-fresh, musical stylings - bitchin'-fresh, musical STYLINGS!!"
>"If you *call* that 'musical'-" She attempted to smirk.
>"ENOUGH!!" The lunatic denied her, frothing... quite literally. "*YOU* - are here - to assist Mioda-Chan in her epic quest to honor the great Dennis DeYoung!"
>"...Who?"
>"Progenitor and mastermind behind the Eighties' super-group, Styx!" Mioda-Sempai exclaimed. "Hotei-shittin'-BUDAI - we're you born under a rock!?"

>"Of course, not - I-!" She upheld her palms, peaceably.
>"Therefore," once more, the sempai strummed a single chord, "Mioda-Chan requires assistance to compose a track to tribute and evoke the glory days of his arena-rock anthems."
>"...Like Meat Loaf-?"
>"Blasphemy!" This curious specimen exclaimed - yet another ball of flame bellowing at the slap of the tremolo arm. "BLASPHEMY - the cardinal sin! How DARE you mock the infallible, undeniable - Wagnerian-rockin' MIRACLE - of Michael Lee Aday!"
>"I didn't do that-!"
>"But," the manic guitarist grinned; it unnerved her, "would you do anything... for *love*, though?"
>Her eyes boggled, a twinge of pain throbbing amidst the cross.
>"WHAT??"
>"HA... Mioda-Chan KNEW it!"
>"I... need to use the facilities, now." She sighed, pushing away from the simple baby-grand.
>"Got to shit?"
>"None of your damn business-" she huffed, *geez!*"
>"Mioda-Chan hears," the guitarist's eyes glazed, starry and blankly bulging, "Mioda-Chan knows...! Mioda-Chan... senses the makings of a track in here, somehow - some*how* - and she's going to FIND IT!!"
>Litte mind paid, cares neither given nor offered, Akamatsu took her impatient leave, warm palms and gnawing joints relieved at the cool touch of the broad double-doors - a wide berth granted at a shove. Obliviously, the guitarist had loosed another riff across the scuffed, battered pick-ups - or so had drummed into her tender ears, ringing tinnitus premature: A crude, obnoxious chorus chanting bellowing at the top of raw, coarse lungs.
>"I had a shit - on your mom!" Ibuki-Sempai thundered, proudly. "Musician" a misnomer, could the girl actually hear herself!? "I had a shit - on your MOM!! I had a shit - on your mom. And, she rather LIKED IT..!!"
>To wit, the denouement felt rather bemoaned.
>"God... freakin'... help me."

>Legs hurried her for the simple plaque of feminine gestalt. Her bowels bloated, hardly, nor did her loins urgently tingle; she just needed to step away - an hour preferred, but highly unlikely. The knob rattled amidst a sharp twist, as she leaned her effort into the solid weight.
>*Hit the sink...* she thought, rhythmically, a hasty itinerary forming, *splash some water on your face - do the dirty - just... calm down and let Mioda-Sempai tire herself out.*
>The stubborn portal yielded, making way... sealing her. Suddenly, she found herself entombed within faux-linoleum and travertine, the confines claustrophobic - at the arresting sight of an instrument of blackened ill-repute. It gazed untoward her, vacantly, glaring through her... readied, by the look, to discharge at any sudden-
>-"Geez-" she could only shriek, "GEEZ!!"
>-*POP!!*

>Darkness now and for a time: Unsettling blackness pervasive, all consuming, and she could only gaze into the void whilst only pinging *beep* bleated from the abyss. It was... constant, intermittent - tempo a three-forths measure depsite the monotony.
>It sounded... rather clinical.
>"Uhh..." Akamatsu uttered, barely, "uhh...?"
>Strength mustered, feeble and sorely weakened, agency returned into her eyes, batting her lashes - blinded by the overwhelming beam of fluorescence overhead. She twisted her neck left... slowly right thereafter, tender skull comforted by the soft pillow under-head. Generic cabinets foggy at the right; a monitor unit hazy to her left, an IV stand carried the burden of a fat, translucent bag just beside it, dangling by a hook. A single strand of incandescent sheen led down from the nozzle, a sizeable length trailing deep... into the crook of her arm.
>*The... the restroom-* she recalled, instantaneously; the basic display of oversimplified lines spiking, *the gun!*
>"Ak-Akamatsu-San!" Breathed and shrilled a voice familiar, a nuisance casually curt annoying her, already. "You're... you're ALIVE!!"
>Timbre flat and somewhat nasal, Akamatsu never needed to struggle up a glance - the touch of that bust well-endowed, smothering across her sore, gnawing trunk sufficed; crossed straps of soft leather and that cold, thick ring only confirmed it.
>"Ow..." she grunted against the weight, "ow - OW!!"
>"Gomen - GOMEN!!" Thin heels clacked away, slightly, upon the hard tile. "Fuck - you don't have to YELL at me!"
>Iruma Miu, Ultimate Inventor: Swollen head and overinflated ego undeniable despite of other unusual... questionable, unmentionable disqualifications and proclivities. A form rare for the girl, Akamatsu noted; fingerless gloves clasped together, blue eyes glistening in genuine... concern?
>*This is new.* She noted.

>"You can't die, just yet, Akamatsu-San." Iruma-San coached... or the approximation thereof. "You can't *die*! We're... w-we're supposed to have sex with Saihara-San TOGETHER!!"
>Touching moment forever lost, her face fell into exasperation.
>*I get shot... and she's thinking with her 'muff'.* She sighed, inwardly. *...That's what I get out of this.*
>"We're going to have a welcome-back *ménage à trois*, you hear me!" Iruma-San proclaimed, boisterously, ever oblivious to the lowered tone and needless crescendo. "We'll drag 'em in the love shack and go to town! I'll drop on his face while - *YOU* - get the honor of drawing first-blood-!"
>"GEEZ!!" She tried to yell; her gnawing, smoldering gut burned otherwise. "*Aw...!*"
>"Don't yell-" the classmate yelled, ironically, "you'll disturb the PATIENTS!!"
>Akamatsu said nothing; she couldn't say anything. Short breaths drew, sharply, through clenched teeth, composure struggling against the pain deep within her gut, dully throbbing - *burning*. It was unbearable!
>"Uhh...!" She hissed. "UUHH..!!"
>"Need a hit?" Iruma-San asked, a fingerless glove snaking into a pocket stretched. "I've got 'tabs'-"
>"Absolute - LAST - thing I need!" She winced, sorely. "G-Geez... this *hurts*!"
>"You're burning through the morphine."
>She could swear this voice had tickled her ears throughout her daily goings at the academy. If not for the gnawing pain, she could better place it. A lavender whip tautly braided, a studded glove pinched at the toggle of her IV... her arm soon swelling with sweet, blessed relief.
>"Tch - I could do that..." Iruma-San balked, "if I - *felt* - like it!"
>"Breathe deep and let it out, slowly." The newcomer ignored the taunt, wisely, ever the professional. "In... and out."
>She complied, a basic repetition until her rippling vision steadied, clearing for those fuchsia eyes, squarely gazing.
>"Kir..." she said, "Kirigiri-Sempai."
>"Relax." The detective reassured... just. "You're safe, now."

>"HA!!" Iruma-San laughed. "That's rich, coming from *you*! Get a horse-bit, Akamatsu-San, 'cause she going to bend you over, grease it up, and aim for penetration! At this point, the path to redemption'll lead your ass through the glory-hole in lockdown!"
>Kirigiri-Sempai never twitched, a gloved finger instead touching onto her pointed chin.
>"Is that what you were doing at the time of the incident?" The pale girl inquired.
>"H-Hey - HEY!!" Iruma flinched, reactively. "Don't you fuckin' turn this around - I'm *not* a suspect, and you know it!"
>"Indeed." Kirigiri nodded. "Ogami Sakura testifies that you clambered up her back in a panicked attempt to shield yourself, screaming like a little girl-"
>"I did NOT-!!"
>"Asahina Aoi confirms it," Kirigiri-Sempai continued, professionalism maintained, "as does everyone else in Class 78... *and* 77-B."
>"You got nothin' on me, flatfoot!" The manic gal challenged a pointed finger untoward. "PROVE it! ...Are your feet flat, though?"
>"Koizumi Mahiru." The detective stated, simply. "That's all I need to say. I'm certain you'll enjoy a copy of the yearbook, as will everybody else."
>"AwwWWAAHH!!" The classmate whined, dramatically, cringing into herself. "How could you - DO - this to me, sempai..!? No one's EVER going to appreciate my brain, now - my big... beautiful brain."
>Akamatsu restrained a grin.
>*Not your brains they're looking at.*
>"Only you can solve that particular case." Kirigiri dismissed. "Now, if you don't mind, I've to ask you to take your leave and give a full statement to the officer outside."
>"Oh - I'll give a 'statement', alright!" Iruma-San balked.
>"Perjury is a crime." The sempai retorted, simply.
>"FUCK!!"
>"Now, Akamatsu Kaede-" the detective continued, "*not* Iruma Miu - if you wouldn't mind, I would like to ask you a few questions...."

>Saihara Shuichi folded his pinstripe sleeves, firmly; squeezing reassurance, although he leaned against the cool drywall uncertain. Platonic hugs, wringing hands, and hollow words consoled him little, platitudes droned from an exhausted, predetermined script, the gestures mere blocking. This incident would haunt him, a testament standing in the back of his mind always: A ruinous cairn unto his own inadequacy... how it almost had flattened into a headstone.
>"Akamatsu Kaede", the chisels would have struck into the granite, if the bullet had veered another millimeter.
>She survived, thankfully; the sempai of lavender ensured it - a detective like he, but he stood highly unworthy to consider her a fellow. Quick thought and swift action had seen her through unto the sirens' wail while he had... stood there, stupidity frozen below the bill of his cap, as he was too scared to think! The pink; the trickling, dribbling blood - *her* blood... watching her shiver - hearing her shriek at the tending of the wound, it...
>...It was too much... and he remembered little else.
>Kirigiri-Sempai was in there, now, becoming her case, as she assumed the role of "primary". Who was he to contest it?
>*Remain impartial.* He nodded to himself. *No assumptions 'til all evidence's collected and reviewed, and do what she asks. Not your circus - not your monkeys, after all....*
>...Despite Iruma-San's wildest impersonations. He envied the officer, transcribing her statement (language peppered and fouled of many "colors"), hardly.
>*Like a sailor on shore-leave!* He noted.
>Clack of the door, purple boots clicked the true Ultimate Detective his way, tucking her lavender braid behind her ear, as she pulled those studded gloves tight.
>"How is she?"
>"Stable and conscious," the sempai - his superior - stated, "but she's in pain - on a morphine drip, currently. GSW to the abdomen's excruciating, by my understanding. She needs rest."

>"That's good, I guess." He sighed.
>"I, too, must thank you for allowing me to take the lead." She continued. "I know it's hard, but we must maintain objectivity."
>"Avoid conflicts of interest." He followed. "Give the witnesses no reason to lie."
>"I know how you feel about her, Saihara-San." Her gaze square and steady, yet it narrowed ever so slightly. "And... I would be remiss, if I didn't level with you."
>His brow furrowed, slightly-
>-"I *saw* that."-
>-Only to smooth.
>"What're you talking about?"
>"In the restroom," just a twinkle, a trick of the light, but he swore - he saw - that her gaze faltered, twitching away for a split-second, "treating her wound, I... I had to unroll her socks for bandages."
>He blinked.
>"...So-?"
>The "issue" so-called pressed, civilly, the sempai then pressured her own: The palm of her glove unto the pinstripes at his inseam, fingers curling around his natural shapes. Never before had he known that his spine could straighten so fast!
>"N-NaNI!?"
>"*WHOA..!!*" Ever shrill and nasal, Iruma-San just *had* to groan - eyes wide and expression gormless at a glance. "This... this three-some just became an *ORGY!!*"
>"I've taken possession of your leverage." The sempai stated. "I can feel your reaction - this... swell of compromise. I caught it the moment I mentioned socks."
>She squeezed him, gently. How could she miss his reaction, possibly; what did she expect!?
>"Ki..." her name fumbled in his mouth, "Kirigiri-Sempai-!?"
>"She just had her nails done, you see." The upper-classmate continued, porcelain complexion an expressionless mask, fuchsia eyes simply... staring! "French tips, as well - compliments her French slant, nicely. She knows you watch her, and I've seen it myself. Everytime she's at the keyboard, you're completely entranced."

>"Holy SHIT!!" Iruma-San cackled. "And, you fucks think - *I'M* - overcharged! Seriously... more pent-up energy in that velvet than a *rabbit* at full-WAP!!"
>"She does have that event with Mioda-Sempai scheduled, of course." The sempai continued unfazed. "She'll be in formal-evening wear, sitting at that baby-grand. It would be rather interesting to note your expressions when her fingers fly, and she puts the dampener down-"
>"Wait 'til she gets her license-" Iruma-San mocked, "she'll really *crank* your engine, then!"
>To wit, the infuriating classmate just had to tap her heel.
>"Vroom, VROOM - HA!!"
>"You would do anything for her, Saihara-San." Kirigiri-Sempai pressed, as well as her glove. "Anything to get close... just to feel her fingers take my place. Perhaps, misplaced evidence here... and a procedural error there?"
>"I... I - I wouldn't, I-!"
>"This physical admission of guilt shows otherwise."
>The point contrived: A conjecture circuitous, circumstantial, highly irrelevant, and coerced - completely inadmissible - but nonetheless made. Finally, she released her grip, the prosecution resting at a stretch of her fingers.
>"I, therefore, must insist that you keep your distance from Akamatsu-San until the investigation concludes and the case is resolved." Kirigiri-Sempai said, formality regained... questionably. "We'll meet back at the academy, of course, a more... professional setting preferred."
>"Aw - what's wrong, pet *defective*?" Iruma-San teased yet again. "Why so glum - she pitch a *TENT* in your pinstripes?"
>The bill of his tight cap tugged, sorely. Iruma Miu, ever loud and crude... stood quiet, for once, a curious eye cast upon him intrigued.
>"So... what's it like?"

>Seat of pinstripes drawn taut, discomfort pressed hard into Saihara, humbling himself before the keys of Akamatsu-San's proud baby-grand. He loosened his fingers, curling his knuckles and flexing out the stiffness. Just the tips, he recalled, his ear warming with brief encouragement - a faint wisp of her breath, her hips nudged beside his own; never had he known just how soft those slender, dainty fingers felt, guiding his hands all those nights ago.
>*Don't try to control it.* He nodded to himself. *All you can do is guide it. Breath deep, relax... and just let the music flow, naturally.*
>He complied....
>"...Chopsticks and chopsticks," he recited, his fingers begrudging him, stubbornly, "and chopsticks and chopsticks - and chopsticks and chopsticks - and chopsticks - chop, *chop!*"
>*...Better than nothing.* He shrugged. *Now, if I only knew, which pedal did what.*
>One thing remained certain, however: Akamatsu working the trio in a pair of shapely court-heels would be rather... fetching!
>"Oh, *God...*" he decried, "I'm turning into Iruma-San!"
>"I should hope not," that familiar voice remarked, flatly, "or this case has 'mistrial' stamped all over it."
>Kirigiri-Sempai clacked her purple boots his way at a glance, velvet sleeves folded - mask of stoicism fair and expressionless, as ever. She looked down upon him, squarely, a demeanor arguably condescending.
>"Not bad, I must say." She noted. "Although, I did notice your fingers punched the keys rather than tapped."
>"I'm not a pianist." He sighed.
>"It shows me you're preoccupied." She said. "Considering the circumstances, I can see where you're coming from."
>He sighed.
>"What's the situation?" She inquired, ever the professional; after a time, it became... rather annoying. "You've completed your interviews, I take it."
>"...Yeah." He nodded. "Exercise in futility, but we need it for the record, anyway."

>"Exasperation duly noted, Saihara-San," Kirigiri stared, "but the frustration's clouding your focus. That's when basic oversights occur - and the *wrong* person can end up in prison while the perpetrator walks."
>"Don't you think I know that-?" He tried to frown.
>"I *saw* that, Saihara-San." She denied him, instantly. "A savvy sociopath can - and *will* - exploit that."
>He groaned.
>"Your feelings are understandable, given the situation." She noted, redundantly... as though she *could* feel. "I'm trying to spare you needless aggravation. Moreover... I apologize."
>His brow kinked.
>"For... what?"
>"The *scene* back in the hospital." She glanced away; perhaps, she stood more susceptible than he had classified. "It was... unprofessional, I admit. I felt-"
>"Lonely?" He smirked.
>Her face pinched, sourly... barely.
>"That is - *not* - how you address your superior, Saihara-San." She retorted, coldly. "That can earn you a notice of admonishment, easily."
>"Oh-*kay*...!" Drawling, he dismissed. "Moving right along-"
>"We'll move *on* when your superior is satisfied, domo arigato." Ever so slightly, her stony mask cracked but the tiniest of fissures. "Now, have you quite finished?"
>"...Yes, ma'am." He resigned.
>"Good." She replied. "I'll make a true ultimate out of you, yet. Now... what have you to report?"
>"Nothing of substance." He shrugged. "People in the immediate vicinity saw no one enter or leave in a hurry - just heard the shots and ducked for cover. However, they did state the shots sounded more like cracks or claps. They actually *did* mistake them for fireworks, at first."
>"That's a common assumption." She replied. "Unfortunately, Akamatsu-San had little else to offer. No physical description or dominant hand - just how fat and wide the muzzle looked before she hit the tile."
>"No suspect information or other eye-witnesses." He stated. "Not entirely sure what we can do with that."

>"Not necessarily." To wit, a pair of velvet fingers fished into a pocket of her jacket - a sheen of grungy brass glinting dull within a plastic coinbag.
>"Wait..." he batted his lashes, "is that-?"
>"Indeed." She confirmed by a nod. "Recovered from the scene."
>"I thought the technicians collected them all, though."
>"I managed to bag one, as I tended to Akamatsu-San." She said. "We're in an academy full of ultimates - one of whom could help us, immeasurably. Otherwise, we'd have to wait on the crime lab, and that could take a fortnight, at least."
>"That's... improper protocol." He noted.
>"Don't worry." She said, coolly. "I'm operating in official capacity - DSC919 - and the headmaster's given me full clearance to investigate, as necessary. Keishichō are slow to move and take their sweet time, after all."
>Neither a meaningful choice nor a logical alternative, he could only nod. The sempai then tossed the weighty baggie his way underhanded; he caught it, easily enough.
>"Take that to Iruma-San and have her hold onto it." She said. "I've other casings - from a previous incident - I'd like to compare, just in case. Pull aside Koizumi Mahiru, firstly, and get a print-out of Iruma-San's panic - dangle it in front of Iruma-San's face, if she's stubborn."
>"Alright." He acknowledged. "What about you? What're you going to do?"
>"Before the next move proper," she said, "I need to pull aside Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko - ask for a favor."
>"The Ultimate Yakuza!?" His head shook, furiously. "The hell're you trying to do!?"
>"Need something to even the playing field, so to speak." She said. "I've a... 'person of interest' in mind, already - and if she's in a mood, we're going to need all the help we can get."
>His brow furrowed, deeply.
>"Oh, shit - you don't mean...!"
>Kirigiri-Sempai nodded once.
>"Indeed." She said. "Ikusaba Mukuro."

>"Blessed be this glorious day - *Pooichi*!" Iruma-San cackled a greeting, her approximation a formality backhanded. "For I, the big, beautiful - *bold* - Iruma Miu - gorgeous, voluptuous genius extraordinaire - *esquire* - shall endow your puny, primative brain with the ouvre of my KNOWLEDGE... and then some!"
>Her knee-high boots flexed, inwardly, standing pigeon-toed, as she recoiled into herself, yet again.
>"I - I mean..." the blonde stammered, shyly, "if you'd like me to. ...Would you like me to?"
>Saihara said nothing, gestured nothing, paying his volatile classmate little mind, as an eye apprehensive wandered across this... deranged parlor, which the gal claimed for a study. A syringe both fat and long; a trio of saws circular, chained, and reciprocating, respectively, mechanical limbs dangled them, precariously, over a unenviable subject bathing in a flood of operating halogens, laying supine. Clad... ensconced in armor cumbersome, practically impossible, the... mannequin of ghastly pallor - looked better suited for a video game: A pastiche of Japanese, role-playing fantasy and a classic, side-scrolling shooter.
>"Who is *that*?" His brow furrowed, suspiciously.
>"*That*..." her boots flexed in outward pride, arms jauntily akimbo, "my pedigree chum - is 'Kilo-One; Bravo-Zero' - Idabashi-Kyōju's latest, greatest creation, if I do say so myself... which I *DO!!*"
>"So..." he put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully, "should you call him-?"
>"'Dong-Bot'!" Iruma-San screeched, a stomp of her thin heel an exclamation. "His name is 'DONG-BOT'!!"
>"Uhh!" He held out his palms, peaceably. "W-Well... don't you think that name's a little-?"
>"Brilliant?" Iruma-San posed, rhetorically, haughtily laughing. "Yes, indeed - that moniker's an auspicious choice, as he's re-designed to be a sensitive, caring girl's best friend!"

>Pink sleeves pressed against each other, as she held herself, closely.
>"This side..." Iruma-San seemed to breathe, her shiver inexplicable, "of Mommy's special *friend* that she keeps under the bed. The one you show your friends when she's on a Friday night bar-crawl - and you consider trying it yourself - but you're just not sure, if you want to *GO* there, yet!"
>Saihara's fingers... scratched at his ahoge, curiously.
>"...What?" He blinked.
>"FUCK you!" She snapped, violently. "Don't act like you're some patron saint of... whatever! Maybe... maybe, I should swap out these boots for a pair of Steve Maddens - five-*INCH*, too! We'll see just how *chaste* you are, then!"
>"The hell're you-!?"
>"Oh-HO... I'm going to take you on a Sunday cruise, alright, *Pooichi*!" She grinned, sharply. "You're going to be riding shotgun, and you'll get to watch my cute, little feet in action! Ooh, you'll *WANT* me to play with your 'stick', then-!"
>"The hell-!?"
>"I would..." her face then fell, "if I knew how to drive-"
>"God's sake-" He frowned, "can we just get *off* this, already!?"
>"Okay, okay!" She yelped. "M-Maybe... maybe, my feet aren't little, but they're not flippers, either-!"
>"Iruma-San...." His arms folded, crossly.
>"Tch - fuckin' *virgin*!" She huffed, glaring untoward a middle distance, sorely. "Don't know what you've got 'til it's shoved in someone else's mouth!"
>"*UGH!!*"
>"Alright, douche canoe!" She threw up her fingerless gloves. "Whether it's companionship or *bare-back* - my time ain't cheap, just so you know. Now, what's this thing that's so fuckin' important?"

>The nickelbag of evidence replied for him, glinting her way by an underhand toss. She snatched it from the lazy arc, impatiently.
>"The fuck's this?" Her face softened.
>"Evidence from the crime scene." He said. "Kirigiri-Sempai would like you to examine it alongside other items."
>"The hell's to examine?" Plastic crinkled, softly, as she rolled it in her hands. ".32S&W, manufactured by Remmington."
>He blinked.
>"How'd you figure *that*?"
>"I can *read* it, dip-shit-" her eyes rolled, dramatically, "says so right on the head-stamp! You learn to read, or did you fail yochien right off the bat?"
>"Oh."
>"HA - what's next on the pet defective's agenda," she mocked, true to form, "'story time' or basic addition-?"
>"Compare and contrast, Iruma-San."
>A quick glance over his shoulder stolen, Kirigiri-Sempai interjected her presence, standing firm before the slowly closing door. Another nickelbag in studded glove, it hardly compared to the... *otterbox* - dangling from the other by the carry handle. The plastic film flapped through the chilly air at an angle obtuse; Iruma-San barely had the time to react.
>"WAHH!!" The classmate squawked; God as his witness, the inventor actually *squawked*!
>"We need your expertise, regarding these two pieces of spent brass." Kirigiri-Sempai stated, flatly. "Are there similarities-?"
>"The FUCK!?" Iruma-San fumed, glaring a heated dagger untoward the baggie newfound. "You *trying* to piss me OFF!? This part and parcel of standard procedure, or are you two just fuckin' *retarded!?*"

>"How's that?" The detective pressed, gently.
>"The HEAD-stamps, special-*needs* agent!" Iruma-San snarled, impatiently. "Learn to fuckin' *read*! Saihara-San's stamped '.32S&W' - this one's stamped '.45ACP', manufactured by Cor-Bon!"
>"Which means-?" Incredibly, Kirigiri-Sempai continued.
>"These came from two - *DIFFERENT* - guns, genius!" Iruma-San snarled. "Don't need to shove 'em under a comparison scope to tell me *that* - forget 'bout the extractor scratches and primer strikes!"
>"Uh... the *what*?" He blinked.
>"UuuUUHHH..!!" Iruma-San frothed. "Go fuckin' ask the sempais, already - Ikusaba or even ditzy Nevermind! Don't waste my damn time... un*less...!*"
>"Unless... what?" He inquired-
>-An action amateur, inexperienced - outrightly foolish - he scolded himself at the sight of Iruma-San's broadening, toothy smile, her pupils wide and gleamingly earnest.
>"Pants... *off.*" The classmate breathed.
>The proper detective just had to voice her disappointment: The crowning touch.
>"Saihara-San..." the sempai groaned, "I warned you about that-"
>"Get them *OFF!!*"

>"Just like this, Chihiro..." she said, a slender foreleg taken into her curling fingers, "take it and draw it all the way up to your knee."
>Fujisaki-San... Chihiro held his tongue, wisely. A wary gaze cast onto her; he shifted, uncomfortably upon the bath's hard bench - a breath sharply drawn, as the basic, simple razor touched onto his lathered ankle. Careful and conscientious, the broad head swept up the foam - a creamy, frothy wake of thin streaks and fat ribbons all the way up to his smooth kneecap. He shuddered just at the process' repeat: Alongside the shin this time, the blades hinging along the curvature of the bone.
>Lather, rinse, and repeat: Never before had Ikusaba thought that her life would lead to this!
>*All things considered....* She frowned.
>"See?" The thought banished, as she feathered reassurance in through his stringy Achilles. "Not so bad, is it?"
>"It... feels weird, though." He noted.
>"It will the first couple of times," she agreed, "and you'll have to get used to the itching later. It's not so bad after a while, and it'll just be another day at the office."
>"Ikusaba-San-" he tried to speak, formally, ever the gentleman.
>Her narrowed gaze and pressed lips, however, had him reconsider.
>"M-Mukuro, I mean."
>"That's better." She nodded to relent. "Safe to say, I think we're a little *more* than friends, now."
>"Y-Yeah!" He laughed. "But, I... I mean to say is-"
>"Just say it, Chihiro." She pressed. "Not much of an orator myself."
>"W-Well..." he sighed, "I... I know you said I shouldn't be near you, anymore... after that night."
>"I..." she sighed, "I regret that, you know. ...Not our time, that is - just... I was just trying to keep you from all my bullshit."
>"I know." He replied. "I just don't know how to shave my legs right - and I don't know who else I could talk to."
>"I'm... kind of glad you did." She blushed. "You... you've been on my mind a lot since then."

>"You, too." He smiled, brightly. "I think about you all the time!"
>Her face cooled, quickly.
>"We're not 'going steady', Chihiro." She stated, firmly.
>"I know - I *know*!" He whipped up his outward palms, the thought waving away. "B-But, can't... can't we just spend time together - like before?"
>"I'd..." she replied, "I'd like that - really - but I just don't know. I just don't want you to drag you into my mess."
>"We don't *have* to spend it at school, you know." He replied. "We - *um...* we could always... you *know*-"
>"Go out?" She grinned.
>"...Y-Yeah." The head of girlish mop bobbed once. "Why not?"
>"Ooh..." her grin sharpened, playfully, "going to take me out, eh? Better find you a dress, then, and take the razor up to your bikini line-"
>"Bikini line!?" His hazels bugged, instantaneously.
>"Yep-" she sniggered, "you'd make such a cute, little girl! Going to find you a nice halter top and skirt - maybe some kitten-heels, too. No way you're rockin' a fuka for a night on the town."
>"B-But..." he protested, feebly, "I - I don't know how to walk in heels!"
>"Like I do?" She asked, rhetorically. "Regardless, we'd have a bit of fun, stumbling around Shinjuku together. Besides, they'd make your legs look slimmer."
>"I don't really like dressing up, you know." He noted.
>"Solid copy, usagi-" her eyes took a wide lap around their orbits, "I am *aware.* ...Thought it'd be fun, though-"
>"Fun as it may be," bellowed a voice from shortly afar, one all too familiar to her immediate disdain, "girls' night out's going to be delayed."
>*Oh, shit.*

>Kirigiri Kyoko, Ultimate Detective and daddy's girl, standing firm upon slick tile within the bath's broad doorway at a begrudging glance: Exfil denied by the presence of her ball-capped protege. Cold stare of intent fuchsia belied the girl's unflinching mask of professional conduct; the hefty piece of blued steel taking point just before them exacerbated it, exponentially!
>"Whoa-" Chihiro yelped, "WHOA!!"
>"The hell's this *shit-!?*" She dared to contest.
>"Ikusaba Mukuro," Kirigiri-San called over the claw-hammer's demanding staccato, "I need you to put your hands behind your back - palms *up!*"

>"Apologies for the treatment," Kirigiri-San parroted, flatly, mere platitudes vacant and shallow, as that tacky, studded glove secured the karambit and straight edge inside an available locker, "but the precautions are for your safety."
>Flex-cuffs biting into her wrists; a zip-tie binding it onto the bench and another pressing her ankle against the nearest steel leg, Ikusaba never would have guessed. Prudently, Chihiro recused himself, Mary Janes hurrying him out through the doorway - ever the clever boy. Waxen wood dug into her rump, as she wrenched her body into a posture more comfortable: "Stress position", if she had ever felt it.
>*I'm usually not tied in the crazy chair.* She noted.
>"Can't spell 'your' without 'our', after all." She quipped, blithely.
>"You're not exactly 'Ms. Congeniality', Ikusaba-San." Kirigiri-San remarked. "What's to stop you from pulling a knife on us?"
>"Uh..." her brow kinked, gently, "the fact you pulled a fuckin' *six-iron* on me - hair-trigger, no less."
>"I'd rather wouldn't," the classmate said, "but I can't take the risk."
>"We had a COMSIT-" her face pinched, "active shooter - and you pull a gun on me. Those optics suck, Kirigiri-San."
>"Maybe..." Kirigiri-San replied, "but that's why we're having this conversation."
>Ikusaba could only pull a face.
>"You're accusing *ME!?*" She exclaimed.
>"Well, you are 'Ultimate Soldier'-" The ball-capped protege noted.
>"Oh - fuck you, page-*boy!*" She spat her dismissal. "Like I'm the only one here who knows her way around a gun."
>"Be that as it may," the classmate continued regardless, "there's still the related, outstanding issue, regarding the headmaster's personal vehicle."
>"Oh, for God's SAKE!!" She decried, loudly. "Told you and the goon squad before - I had nothing to fuckin' do with that!"

>Kirigiri-San was fishing, she knew; unfortuately for her, this fish refused to bite. Yet, a studded glove dipped into a pocket of her jacket, slipping out a dull, dingy piece of bait, a certain sinker of dread dangling, disconcertingly, within a cheap, disposable coinbag.
>"The perp may have scooped up the brass," the detective stated, "but he - or *she* - missed one, jammed against the tire. If not for the odd glint, I would've missed it."
>*...Shit.* She would have cursed.
>".45ACP, manufactured by Cor-Bon." The classmate recited. Did the girl deduce that all by herself, or did she need some cheap sake for aid? "The selfsame manufacturer of 'safety slugs', which would explain the pepper-shot punctures throughout the bodywork. But - for sake of argument - let's go one further."
>Suspicion furrowed her brow.
>"...What do you mean?" She pressed.
>"We've recovered similiar casings before, you know." Kirigiri-San replied, in kind. "Same caliber, same manufacturer... *same* scratches and primer dimples when placed beneath a comparison scope, too. Same casings, same *gun*... one of which was utilized amidst the absolute mess that became of the Student Council."
>Her pulse quickened, heart upping its pace, as she felt it throb its panicked way up her tightening throat. If not for her classmate, she would have swallowed... *hard*.
>*Oh... FUCK!!*
>"What're the chances that the autopsy will find a salvo of pellets lodged in Ikuta Kotomi's cranium?"
>"The fuck should *I* know!?" She challenged, feebly.
>"But, wait-" the detective continued, "if you order, now-"
>"Oh, *God...!*" She moaned.
>"You may or may not have something to do with any of this, of course." Kirigiri-San sighed. "That said, when compared alongside all of the other strange, weird occurrences - missing personnel, security breach in a restricted area, amongst other questionable events - all of which transpired since *your* arrival... the deck is well-stacked against you. *Both* of you."

>"Unless..." her lip curled, "unless you've hard evidence putting me at the scenes, you've got *NOTHING!!*"
>"Indeed." Those sleeves of tacky velvet folded. "Otherwise, we'd have this conversation at the station under guard - heavily armed with standing orders for kill-shots upon physical resistance."
>"Pff-" she scoffed, defiantly, "they can *try!*"
>"I just said 'guard', Ikusaba-San." Kirigiri noted. "Didn't say they'd be the police. Should word of your suspected antics reach the *company*, I'm sure the mangy, scandal-ridden wolf would be all too willing to put a rabid welp down. Liabilities, after all. "
>"You wouldn't *dare!*" She challenged, both the girl and the crude restraints.
>"Well, the ICC does frown on child soldiers-" The ballcap tried to remark.
>"The fuck asked you!?" She denied him, immediately.
>"*I'm* asking you." The infuriating classmate interjected. "Now that you're apprised of your... precarious situation, I strongly suggest that you answer my questions."
>"And, if I *don't!?*"
>"If I don't get straight answers, it's going to be put on *you* - or - Enoshima-San!" Kirigiri dared, loudly, the ultimatium as cold as that chilly stare. "I won't care which one of you goes down for it, if that happens. I want this case resolved and all other occurrences to stop, period!"
>"Leave onii-chan out of this-!"
>"You're in *no* position to demand anything." The detective replied, coolly. "This isn't intimidation or 'color of law' nonsense - I just reiterated the facts, as they stand. Choose wisely or I see an arraignment in your immediate future."
>*And, I see a mechanical pile-driver in yours...!* She could only seethe.
>"Fuck." She cursed.
>"Pleasantries out of the way," gloved palms upon the bare knees, Kirigiri-San loomed superiority over her by a condescending lean, "let's begin. Where were you at the time of the incident...?"

>Stepping aside, a wide berth offered, freely, the soldier had taken it, begrudgingly, surly and furious - a hot dagger glaring untoward him, searingly. Nearly had she sliced open his palm when she had reclaimed her sharp affects; she had thought nothing of it, caring little as those penny loafers stormed her out of the bath and well away.
>"That... could've been worse." Saihara remarked.
>Kirigiri-Sempai stood unimpressed (as usual).
>"Your needless remarks served little purpose, Saihara-San." She, too, remarked, a studded glove drawn down the wrist, refitting tight. "Petrol on a bonfire."
>"So, I've gathered." He said.
>"Then, why?" She inquired.
>"Just..." he said, "just trying to get her to appreciate the situation."
>"She is *well* aware of the circumstances." The sempai stated. "She's over a barrel in all but the physical position, but pin-sticking grants you little favor. All she'd do is button-up... or *worse*, if the restraints didn't hold."
>"That's highly unlikely." He argued. "She's in over her head, but attacking us? The heck would she say? We fell down the stairs, or something?"
>"You're... willing to risk a knife to the gut?" She posed, rhetorically.
>"Well, no-" his head shook, swiftly, the notion dismissed - yet his innards winced, slightly, "but you're the headmaster's daughter. There's no way she can fumble a way out of that!"
>"You're admitting you'd risk my life to test a hypothesis?" She frowned; he could swear that her mouth pulled, sternly. "Family ties are irrelevant. Should something happen, we'd both be dead - and, you *know* it."
>"You're the one goading information out of her, if I'm not mistaken." He shot - *gently*, as a matter of course.
>"I know how - and *when* - to turn the heat up and cool her down." She emphasized. "I'm her classmate. I know her better - you *don't*. Petrol on a bonfire, I just said. Wouldn't be surprised, if I see you with a black eye one of these days."
>"Geez!"

>"Would you prefer a throat-punch?" She firmly pressed. "I've seen her spar, you know. She doesn't hesitate to take it to the gutter."
>"So - what *is* she like, then?" His lips pursed.
>"Tch..." she balked, "pretty much what you saw. Ground-pounder, grim-faced - follows orders without question or conscience when she's not floundering over Enoshima-San."
>"...Why do they have different surnames, anyway?"
>"Same mother, different fathers is my guess." She shrugged. "Can't really say, as Enoshima-San's a yarn-spinner and embellishes all the time. Still, I do notice a bit of a... personality shift in regards to Ikusaba-San."
>"How so?"
>"She's... more content, I'd say." She noted, a thoughtful digit of velvet touching upon the pointed chin. "Certainly more chatty, as we can both testify. Usually, she's quiet and aloof, but recently, she's smiling more - a bit more engaging. Fujisaki-San, on the other hand, is becoming more withdrawn and cold... just like Ikusaba-San first was."
>"Wait." His brow furrowed. "You don't think-?"
>"I've noticed those two've been spending more time together." She remarked. "What they do behind closed doors is their business, but that's beside the point. Because of which - if you could - see, if you can pull Fujisaki-San aside for a word. Ikusaba-San may've mentioned something in passing."
>"Of course." By a nod, he agreed. "Beats the 'tip' she gave us, if it wasn't just a bogus deflection, in the first place."
>"Not, necessarily." She replied. "Keishichō's Organized Crime Control Bureau does have a fairly thick folder on the Holy Salvation Society amongst other questionable 'charities'. If possible, I'll see, if I can get my hands on it. It'll take some serious string-pulling, however."
>"You'd be risking your badge, though." He noted.
>"Yep." She replied, simply.
>His eyes met her cool, steady gaze with a quizzical, incredulous stare... before he shied them away-

>-"I saw that, Saihara-San." She just had to say.
>*How does she DO that!?*
>"Oh-*kay...!*" He dismissed. "But until then, what'll you do?"
>"We'll discuss details in private, of course-" she said, "a time and place of my choosing. Not here, for obvious reasons. That said, pull Fujisaki-San aside for a couple of questions. In the meanwhile, I need to have a word with the Ultimate Child-Caregiver."
>"Seriously!?"
>To wit, she confirmed with but a single nod.
>"Indeed..." she replied, "Harukawa Maki."

>A basic question, simple and innocuous:
>"Apologies for my bluntness," the girl had bowed, deeply - yet another nameless, faceless number amongst the herded chattel of the Reserve Course, "but... when was your last confession?"
>She held her tongue; Harukawa Maki's ears had warmed with all that she needed to hear. Another word unspoken, the nameless student had taken her leave, disappearing into the crowds. Harukawa had to bide her time, however, waiting for the bell's dismissal, cleaning her section of the classroom to occupy her hands. Free time came; students left, and she hailed for a taxi, a fistful of Ichiyō Higuchi's portraits crisp off the printing press and folded ready.
>Katedoraru Sei Maria Daiseidō: A modernist carbuncle of stainless steel beside a minarette of concrete brutalism - sleek, "sexy", and soulless, as had become of the once Holy Mother Church.
>*As if you can complain.* She sighed at the cynical thought, one of many.
>Boots carried her inside with purpose, a touch of stagnant water upon her index, as a flippant hand crossed the Sign across her figure. "Tormenting the Host", the bishop would decry should he know of her tainted soil. Catechism, dogma, and sigils meant little, mere formalities of a faith devoid, works long since dead. She moved for the confessional, reliquary and Stations of the Cross ignored. One thing remained certain, even to a sinner unrepentant like her: Jesus deserved better!
>Shoe rubber on deck, her knees took to their humbled place upon the kneeler; elbows bent and fingers interlaced, as her beaten brow touched upon her knuckles.
>"Forgive me, father," she recited, flatly, annoyed at yet more monotony, "for I have sinned. It's been thirty-three days since my last... *indulgence.*"

>The small partition slid ajar... just, suiting her well. He needn't see her; she needn't see him.
>"Psalm 143, verse twelve." She breathed. "'And of thy mercy, cut off mine enemies, and destroy all them that afflict my soul - for I am thy servant.'"
>The padre said nothing, replying only by a slip of glossy paper through the small window. Vanity of vanities, sayeth the preacher, vanity of vanities, for there is nothing new under the sun: Par for the course. She took it into a pinch, glancing over the paragon of her new "penance". She gasped; eyes widening, as that selfsame stare gazed back at her, blankly - a cheap katana clutched tight at the breast whilst several cameras encroached upon the overexposure.
>"NaNI!?" She exclaimed. "The hell... the hell *IS* this!?"
>The partition opened, fully - condescending fuchsia glaring through the window, coldly.
>Kirigiri Kyoko.
>"Jesus!"
>"Taking the Lord's name in vain, are you?" The sempai's flawless brow kinked. "Seven 'Hail Marys' and five 'Our Fathers' for you... and flagellate yourself."
>"..!?"

>Suspicions, valid and many, Harukawa Maki's way came: Kirigiri Kyoko at large - in charge, immediately, at a flick of the badge case; inspector's shield, ID card, and the official capacity it carried.
>She acceeded to the request; the sempai offered her little choice, either a questionare outside of the cathedral or an inquistion secure within the nigh-inescapable confines of the station house. A police car idling at the curb, an unknown amount standing by "in the wings", she could take no risks.
>"What's this all about?" She demanded.
>"You made quite a splash at the last convention." The sempai quipped at the photo, a preamble typical before the gutting punchline. "This look on your face - it's priceless."
>"Cut to the chase, Kirigiri-Sempai." She frowned. "You're not here about manga or anime."
>"Neither were you, at the time." The detective nodded, simply, as though it truly were. "You still aren't, but a certain *someone* at that event was. If I recall, correctly, he's cooling off... on the *slab* and under the ME's scalpel."
>"...So?"
>"This photo puts you at the venue with the victim." Prying stare of fuchsia narrowed, accusingly. "Time and geographical location just beams 'opportunity'. Doesn't reflect on you very well, Harukawa-San."
>"What're you talking about?" She deflected, her fingers curling - combing through the knots of her closest ponytail. "I'm a child-caregiver experienced in social work. The hell do I get out it?"
>"Verbal parroting-" Kirigiri-Sempai pressured, ever an inspector adroit, "defensive micro-expression, and nervous reaction - combing at your hair."
>"What does *that* have to do with anything!?"
>"You're hiding something!" The upperclassman declared, pointedly.
>"Like you don't-!?"
>"Deflecting *again*-" the irritating girl exclaimed, "changing the subject! Now, do you want to do this here - *or* - at the station?"

>"Doesn't matter." She glowered. "Everything you mentioned's circumstantial - not enough to string me. Without motive or solid evidence, you're pissing in the wind! Therefore - pray-*tell* - what reason did I have to move against the departed?"
>"Orders from your handler or printed on a 'cut-out'." Those velvet sleeves folded, confidently. "A *button-man* doesn't get to ask why-"
>For the first time in a long, forgotten while, Harukawa actually gasped. The scene of her failure fluttered onto the pavement by a toss backhanded, settling at the toes of her boots, as the gloss gleamed back at her with that selfsame empty, panicked gawk.
>"Get... the *picture?*" The smug detective just had to smirk. "Once again, here or the station? Nowadays, warrants are signed by auto-pen - and, I can assure you there's one pending for your study at the academy. Informants suggest you've enough hardware to outfit an entire *company.*"
>She may have trained to resist interogation, close resistance scratched and lashed - lectured by a hose-pipe - but never once had the trainer considered the vulnerabilities of the mind, inevitability delegated unto the crass grains of potassium cyanide.
>*Of all days to forget my fuckin' PILL..!!* She cursed.
>"...What do you want?" She could only resign.
>"Information, naturally..." Kirigiri-Sempai relented... barely, "regarding your classmate, Akamatsu Kaede-"
>"*Bitch-*" she snapped, "you put me to the question, already, and swabbed my hands for residue. You did that with *everyone!* You yourself nodded I had nothing to do with it."
>"That was before I read into the Holy Salvation Society," the sempai replied, "with which you're still an acolyte, at last report."
>"Circumstantial!" She challenged. "If I really did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
>"Indeed." The detective shrugged. "You would've skipped town or popped your last tablet, by now."

>"Then, isn't there someone a little more suited for this?" She asked. "Like your fellow, 'Laughing Loki's Misguided Pupper'?"
>"One would think." Kirigiri-Sempai nodded. "She pointed us to you."
>*That dumbass mother-fucker-* she fumed, silently, *that's ten demerits!*
>"Even her band of violent, overzealous misfits knows all about HSS." The lavender gal noted, needlessly. "Much like Ikusaba-San, the facts bode well for neither of you."
>"Sure she's not feeding you a line?" She insisted. "Last I heard, she could barely string a coherent sentence together. Enoshima-San even laughed she couldn't speak 'til she was *five!*"
>"Irrelevant." Kirigiri-Sempai dismissed. "Now, are you going to tell me what I need to know, or do I've to call 'Junsa Friendly' over with his favorite pair of friendship bracelets?"
>"You haven't - *told* - me what you want."
>"Information, I *said,*" ever so slightly, the stare of fuchsia narrowed, "regarding your most recent *mark*...."

>22:00
>Kirigiri-Semapi had said nothing, gestured little - if *anything* - unto him bequeathing a ragged square of toilet roll before she had taken leave. Onto which, she had jotted an address and time in hiragana-cum-kanji chicken-scratch, instructions stenciled in the corner to destroy upon understanding. Need for neither a shredder nor a cheap BiC; he swallowed it dry.
>Saihara had little idea, as to what his superior planned, but he stood certain that he would uncover it, shortly.
>A building nondescript tucked away within Tokyo's crammed city blocks. His taxi driver had only grinned upon word of the address.
>Tsurekomi yado.
>Pride swallowed, embarassment flush in his cheeks, he begrudged the cabbie his fare, swiftly clambering out of the vehicle. The driver had the gall to flash him a V-sign, a double-tap of the horn, as the portly man gleefully sped into the bright, city night. Past the tall partitions, in through the automatic door, he needn't ask the faceless receptionist behind the frosted glass; he remembered the room number, clearly.
>Up the elevator, he fingered the button... floor accessed within a lingering minute. Sneakers carried him for the room, reticently, a lump in his throat wriggling down whilst his knuckles tapped a rhythm upon the simple door:
>*Shave and a haircut...* he recalled, *two bits.*
>-A shuffle inbound; deadbolt rattling, chain clattering, and the handle dipped in a lazy arc, gradually. A suspicious glare of fuchsia eyed him, sternly.
>"Yes...?" Kirigiri-Semapi *greeted*, flatly.
>"I'm here," he replied, "just like you asked."
>"Were you followed?" She pressed.
>"No," his ball-cap denied with a shake, "I took a cab here."
>"You're five minutes late." She noted.
>"Have you tried getting a cab in this town-" his eyes could only roll, "at *this* time of night?"

>To wit, she finally relented, opening the door wide for him, as she backed away by a large stride - blue-steel revolver tight in her glove, aiming well away from him. Carefully, her thumb eased the claw hammer down to rest inside the frame.
>"Geez!" He almost yelped.
>"Gomen, Saihara-San." She said. "But, I had to be sure-"
>"Sure of what!?" His eyes boggled. "That it's real, or you know it works?"
>"Your attitude is rather unbecoming." He could have sworn that she frowned. "Remember whom you're addressing-"
>"You're *not* the one who nearly caught a chest-full of lead!" He dared, brazenly.
>"You wouldn't have."
>"And, why's that?"
>Canting the piece, a velvet thumb worked the release - gravity pulling out the cylinder. Greased cocoons glimmered before him, vacantly, for a moment before the opposite glove snapped the metal hive back home.
>"Empty!?" He blinked.
>"Of... of course." She sighed, braid of lavender tucking behind a reddened ear. "I... don't want to shoot anyone - but I still have a moon-clip of cartridges ready."
>"Then, why bring it?" He asked. "Introducing a weapon, you'd only escalate the situation."
>"Because, we're meeting someone here." She replied. "They're due, momentarily, and I do need to return it."
>"That's..." his eyes boggled, "that's not a department *gun!?*"
>"I *don't* have firearm authority, Saihara-San." The sempai retorted, firmly. "I'm not even of-age to apply. Our persons of interest are right handfuls - dangerous - and I had to roll the dice."
>"Geez!" He exclaimed. "Are you *trying* to throw your badge away-!?"
>"*Don't*..." she almost snapped, "don't take that tone with me, Saihara-San. I am *well* aware of the consequences."
>She quickly relented, a breath deep drawn... blowing it out, gradually.
>"Somedays, however..." she said, "that may not be a bad thing."
>His lashes batted, quizzically.
>"...Kirigiri-Sempai?"
>"Just... leave it at that." She said.

>"Sumimasen," interjected a voice unfamiliar, formally - speaking fromst his immediate backside, "but am I... interrupting something?"
>The sempai glanced past him with a wearied eye. He could only look - at a loss somewhat, standing uncertain, as a rather red stare, steady and firm, met his own through small traces of squared silver. Shinai fast upon the back, snuggly wrapped in turqoise folds, it never meant that it dangled secure.
>Pekoyama Peko: Ultimate Kendoka, Class 77B.
>*What... the HELL!?*

>Promptly, Saihara backed away, a wide berth offered - taken, graciously, as Pekoyama-Sempai made a proper entrance. He stumbled. Kirigiri's trademark boots had obstructed his blind retreat, toppling empty against the closet door at a glance; never had he thought that he would ever see her knee-high socks!
>-Thought banished: He quietly scolded himself, as he recused himself into the rear-most corner, immediately, rump and backside covered by the cheap, simple armchair... just in case.
>Pekoyama-Sempai folded her tight sleeves, firmly, a stare equally steady shared between the two upperclassmen.
>"Konbanwa, Kirigiri-San." Pekoyama greeted, formally. "Genki, desu ka?"
>"...Just." Kirigiri-San replied, simply.
>"Gomen for the late hour," Pekoyama said, "but Kuzuryu-Masutā respectfully requests immediate return of his property."
>Kirigiri-Semapi said nothing, taut socks walking her for the otterbox opened wide upon the tabletop of faux-laminate. Carefully - *respectfully* - she angled the revolver upside-down, pinched fingers gliding down the thick barrel before she laid the piece to rest within the shaped foam. She spun the box around for the kendoka's inspection.
>"As agreed." The detective said. "Fresh oil - patch down the barrel and never-once discharged."
>"Arigato gozaimasu." Pekoyama-Semapi nodded; thin digits sickly pale closing the lid, snapping it secure. "Your attempt at 'chiburui' is appreciated."
>"Well, I'm not a swordswoman." Velvet shoulders shrugged, barely.
>"However," the pale girl replied, as she took the otterbox into her grip, "I must remind you that your agreement with Kuzuryu-Masutā still applies."
>*What the hell's going on, here?* His brow could only kink. *The hell's she on about...?*

>"I may've withdrawn the weapon," the detective argued, gently, "but I didn't use it."
>"Appreciated." The kendoka noted. "But use - or *lack* thereof - is irrelevant."
>"However," Kirigiri-Sempai pressed, "I can't drop everything to fulfill it, right now-"
>"*Irrelvant.*" Pekoyama frowned, sternly. "Kuzuryu-Masutā still requires your... *discretion.*"
>An eye fasticulation, Saihara could swear that the detective twitched.
>"Right... *now?*" The lavender girl grumbled.
>"Of course, not." Dutch braids of gray swayed amidst a single shake of the head. "The arrangement shall be repaid, however, at a time of Kuzuryu-Masutā's choosing - not *here.*"
>By the heel-cup of her white loafer, the kendoka then tapped at the sword-wrap; he felt himself flinch at the clattering rattle.
>"Be warned, that said." The pale girl warned, flatly. "Failure to repay shall be treated, as non-compliance."
>"The most I can do is recuse myself and allow another to take the lead." The detective stated, equably. "That is *it.*"
>"That's between you and your superiors." The kendoka replied, in kind. "That is hardly Kuzuryu-Masutā's problem."
>"I can't repay, if I'm suspended from duty."
>"As before-" the kendoka dismissed by a shrug, "*your* problem, *not* his."
>Kirigiri-Sempai said nothing, gestured nothing: Ever the stoic despite this strange, sudden turn of events. The swordswoman turned on her flat heel, as she moved for the simple doorway, otterbox swaying in hand and wrap fast across her back... *thankfully*.
>"I shall leave you to it..." Pekoyama-Sempai remarked, "whatever it is you're doing here. Mata-ne, and... we'll be in touch."
>Pekoyama-Sempai left, turning the corner immediate and disappearing into the plain corridor, well into the night, leaving Kirigiri Kyoko, the Ultimate Detective of Class 78...
>...*Is she... shaking?* He blinked-
>-To shudder... *once.*

>A round of drinks: Seriously mature and deceptively simple.
>Pekoyama-Sempai had taken her leave, cool and collected; Kirigiri-Sempai had stood uncertain, however. Neither a word spoken nor a gesture signaled, tautly pulled socks carried her for the miniature fridge - door smacking against the basic cupboards with a sizeable bottle of cheap zinfandel fast in clutched glove. She then had fetched a pair of flutes and set them down upon the simple table, pouring for him a slight amount unsolicited... as she took a few generous fingers for herself.
>So here, he sat nursing his first glass; a tingle of bubbles across his tongue, as the girl took for herself a second, pouring over her fat casebook with an open glove for a headrest.
>*This... isn't like her.* He noted.
>"So..." he began, carefully, "any new deductions?"
>Braid of lavender swayed, gently.
>"...No." She replied, her eyes never wandering. "As you remarked before - fat lot of nothing."
>"What about Harukawa-San?" He shrugged.
>"Went to the cathedral." She said, flatly. "I put her to the question. She stated that she hadn't an 'indulgence' for over a month."
>"And..." he said, softly, "you believe her?"
>"Not a word." She remarked. "Although, Akamatsu-San would have stated, immediately, if Harukawa-San pulled the trigger, and the latter wouldn't stick around. Besides, the technicians did report they found long, dark hairs, but nowhere near *that* long."
>Her eyes met his, gradually, fuschia once steeled now loose, near overwhelmed by the sore, fattening veins. If not for the drink, one would think she had just cried.
>"What..." she drew in a long, slow breath, blowing it out in exasperation, "what about Fujisaki-San? Did she mention anything?"
>"Gomen, but no." He sighed. "She says that she was with Ikusaba-Sempai at the time of the incident... on the roof."
>"And - *you* - believe her?" She shot.
>He could only blink.
>*What is going on with her?*

>"She's not a very good liar." He noted. "Too timid and nervous to pull a fast one. She's adamant that she was with Ikusaba-Sempai at the time, asking her about a good way to shave her legs."
>"Just like Ikusaba-San told us in the bath." She groaned; God as his witness, the stoic actually *groaned!* "...God."
>"Well, I think the pieces are there." He tried for reassurance. "They're not ready to be put together, just yet."
>"Tch-" she scoffed, reactively - surprisingly, "did you deduce that all by yourself, or did you have to phone a friend-?"
>Glove in a fist, it slammed unto the tabletop - pink drink churning and casebook jumping at the *BANG!*
>"*Damn* it!" She cursed. "I... I apologize, Saihara-San - that was unprofessional. I'm just... I'm not very proficient, managing my emotions."
>"The drink certainly doesn't help." He remarked.
>To wit, she just had to shove the brim against her pursed lips - the frothy pink gone at an instant.
>"...Agreed." She breathed.
>"Never knew you drink, Kirigiri-Sempai." He said.
>"You're... the first person I've shared one with, actually." She said. "It's not something I'm proud of. And yet... with all the nonsense I've seen, I can see why Otō-San sinks into a tumbler."
>A velvet index stretched untoward him, pointedly.
>"Don't you *dare* tell him." She frowned.
>His pinched fingers drew across his pressed lips, flicking away, symbolically.
>"I have no recollection of that, your honor." He recited with a smile.
>A snort stifled; a breath lodged in her throat behind the A-line puffed - she failed. She... laughed; she actually *laughed*: Long and loud with abandon irreverent.
>"You're... incorrigible, Saihara-San." She smiled... genuinely.
>*Good Lord,* everything within him wanted to cringe, *you - are - drunk.*
>Her form slid upon her basic chair, unexpectedly, a lazy slouch - wrigling upright, semblance of agency restored the moment her sock brushed against his resting ankle.

>"Ooh!" He flinched.
>"I... *saw* that, Saihara-San." She smirked.
>"G-Gomenasai, sempai." Rigidly, he righted himself upon the uncomfortable seat. "A bit surprised, though-"
>"Oh?"
>"It's... stupid, really." His rump shifted. "But... I never thought I'd see you without your boots."
>"Tch-" she scoffed, "you're really *looking.*"
>"Well, I didn't mean to-"
>"I need to relax my ankles sometime." She shrugged.
>"Figured, as much-" He tried to deflect-
>-A shift upon the matted carpet, the sight of her cotton heels firm upon the vacant patch of his chair denied him, instantaneously.
>"They're not tall," she said, "but... given the remaining space... it'd be... uncomfortable for you. About... two inches too close."
>He swallowed... *hard*.
>"...Yeah." He admitted.
>Her smaller toes curled the clinging cotton, slowly.
>"I..." tease faltering, the corners of her lips stabilized, evenly, "I think you're holding back."
>Her right sock flexed toward his inseam, precariously: Two inches too close, indeed!
>"Must I..." she almost pressed, "feather pressure on your leverage?"
>He looked at her, squarely, holding steady... gaze of fuschia wearied, glazed and vacant.
>*Can't believe I'm tempting this.*
>"Do..." he resigned with his breath, "do you want to-?"
>-*WHA..!?*
>She answered: The ball of her taut sock firm upon his inseam... and *him* through the fabric.
>"Na-" he gasped, "naNI-!?"
>"I'm feathering pressure on your leverage." Fuschia bloodshot gazed at him, pryingly. "This... swell of compromise."
>"Kir..." he gasped, "K-Kirigiri-Sempai-!?"
>"How does it feel?" She pressed regardless, both the issue as well as the torque. "What stirs... seeing me on you like this?"
>"Wh-What're you-!?"
>A frown upon her face - he recoiled at her flex.
>"You don't have to answer, Saihara-San." She noted. "I can feel it, already. You're... hardening against my pressure. If you need to readjust yourself - then... by all means-"

>-A digital MIDI, melody well known within the public domain, Saihara could see the sudden frustration crack across her porcelain mask, fuschia glaring aimless daggers whilst a studded glove punched into her jacket - smartphone wrenched and jammed against a reddened ear with a huff.
>*Saved by the bell.* He mused.
>"Mushi-*mushi!*" She begrudged a sore greeting, lurid task forgotten underfoot. "Kirigiri...."
>Her face softened upon murmured words indecipherable.
>"Really?" Sore fuchsias batted, quickly. "*Really...?* Suteki desu. ...HDMI three, was it? ...Okay, then. Arigato gozaimasu."
>Gloved thumb tapped the button displayed, as she shifted in her seat - taut socks reclaimed, platonically resting flat upon the matted carpet once more.
>"Tch - done, already?" He tried to smirk.
>Her face pinched.
>"*That...*" she grumbled restrained, "that was front desk. Ikusaba-San's bank card just cleared through the point-of-sale."
>He blinked.
>"Wait-" he felt his ahoge sway amidst a bewildered shake, "*WHAT!?*"
>She drew in a long, slow breath.
>"It means..." she stated, earnestly, "this stakeout's gone *live.*"

>"A stakeout." Saihara remarked, incredulously. "You're telling me this entire scene... is a stakeout."
>"Gomen, Saihara-San." Kirigiri-Sempai replied, mask of porcelain devoid of expression despite the warm, flushed color and pink eyes, sorely glistening. "I... admit - I play things a little too close to the chest, but I couldn't take the risk."
>His lashes batted, quizically.
>"Risk of what?" He blanked.
>"Compromise." She said, simply.
>"Well..." he tried to smile - failing, barely, as he... *readjusted* himself through the pinstripes, "I think we're a little late for that-"
>"Not *that* kind of compromise." Fuchsia eyes rolled once. "I couldn't risk Ikusaba-San getting wise - she'd wave-off, immediately."
>He grumbled.
>"Hmm... okay." He could only relent. "Not like I'd spill, or anything."
>"Classic 'Art of War'." She stated. "Dazzle your officers - keep them in the dark to the overarching, strategic objective."
>"So, *that's* why you're shelling out for an overnight stay." He nodded.
>"Indeed." She, too, nodded.
>"Just tell me it's not billed on your bank-card."
>"Cash, of course." She smirked. "I'd rather go without - *that* - earful from Oto-San."
>"I can imagine." He replied. "But... just how the heck did you know she'd be here, in the first place?"
>"This yado's popular with the academy," she explained, "students and faculty alike... *respectfully*, of course - though sometimes, betwixt the two shall meet for... 'extra credit'."
>Corners of her lips pulled, sternly.
>"You didn't hear that from me." She pointed.
>"I don't know what you're talking about, sempai." He smiled.
>"Suteki."
>"That doesn't explain how you knew Ikusaba-Sempai would be here, though-" he pressed, insistently, "tonight, of all nights."
>"I may've had... Fujisaki-San *peppered* with the notion." She said, conscientiously, lavender braid tucking behind her ear. "Not from me, naturally - rather Maizono-San."

>"Why her?"
>To which, shoulders of velvet shrugged once.
>"She's a regular."
>He gazed at her, incredulously. The detective ignored him, excusing herself from the table. Taut socks walked her for the broad flat-screen mounted on the wall across from the queen-size bedspread. Remote in glove, she thumbed for the power... tapping at "Input", scrolling through the drop-down menu for "HDMI3".
>A new show premered tonight, it appeared, soon to become a new, binge-watching favorite: "Two Gals, a Bed, and a Living Space"... or "Coyote Ugly". He sat uncertain, as to which.
>"These places are supposed to be private." He remarked.
>"A flash of the badge an air of authority opens many doors, Saihara-San." She replied, the feed eyed unwavering. "Earlier, I had reception persuade her into this specific room - others not even mentioned."
>"I assume a warrant's been signed."
>"No, in actuality."
>"Then, we're obtaining this footage, illegally." He argued, gently. "The court'll call it inadmissible and throw it out."
>"Indeed." She nodded. "Just *hints*, Saihara-San - something to push us in the right direction. That's all we're after tonight-"
>Another MIDI bleat, the sempai pressed the smudgy glass against her reddened ear.
>"Mushi-mushi." She greeted, formally - *politely* this time. "Kirigiri. ...Nani? What're you...? ...A *third?*"
>*Third!?* He blinked.
>"I... I see." She continued. "Arigato gozaimasu. Yes... mata ne."
>The red button thumbed, she slipped it into an available pocket.
>"Front desk again." She said, focus still square upon the flat-screen, perpetually refreshing. "Ikusaba-San has a party of *three*, it appears - latter just showed up."
>"NaNI!?"

>Movement sudden, deliberate, and broadcasted in 1080-interlaced: The once dark, vacant room now occupied and bright by the swing of the heavy door. The student of the month staggered inside upon heels modestly high, simple court shoes belying her utter lack of fashion sensibility. She kicked them off, aimlessly, stability regained, whilst her petite consort teetered inside... shuffling those open-toed sling-backs, practically.
>"Ikusaba Mukuro and Fujisaki Chihiro." Kirigiri-Sempai stated, needlessly. "Let's see who's contestant number three-"
>She needn't wait. The mystery person soon strolled into the live feed with confidence upon thin, tall heels, as the two ladies took a load off upon the bed-
>He blinked; his eyes boggling, pain throbbing, subtly, within his brow, as he moved himself for a closer look. That leather-work - those broad rings of brass, novelty goggles, and those tacky, studded gogo boots supporting her with such haughty, unjustified swagger! Even Kirigiri shook her head in disbelief.
>Iruma Miu: Ultimate Inventor, classmate, and borderline stalker.
>*What... the HELL!?*


>"Got to say, 'Fuck-Mook'-" Iruma-San... "greeted", curtly: A true to form cackle, or so had Ikusaba frequently caught, "and 'Honey-Nut Cheerio' - this was the *last* thing I expected when I rolled out of bed this morning!"
>The underclassman struck a pose, elbows jaunting with a force of smug condescension.
>"Never fear," she exclaimed, proudly, "for I - the insatiable, undeniable Iruma Miu - first of her name, breaker of virgins - shall impart unto you fuckin' morons this fine evening the greatness of these enormous *tatas* and ginormous brains... which, they ARE!!"
>Ikusaba said nothing, replying nothing while seated unimpressed - *underwhelmed...* the silence growing, conveying unto the pretentious blonde all that anyone needed to hear. Studded boots squelched, as the blonde shifted pigeon-toed, reeling into herself - gradually unnerved.
>"Wh-What...?" Iruma-San uttered, meekly.
>Ikusaba allowed her eyes to roll once; Chihiro just blinked.
>"FUCK you!" The blonde snarled, defensively. "What kind of weird, monkey-lovin' debauchery - *IS* - this shit!?"
>Steeled eyes soon softened.
>"Is... this some kind of new fetish?" Iruma-San inquired. "Never saw this genre on any of the clip stores."
>The posture stiffened, instantaneously; the three-inch heels helped, most certainly, as well as that peculiar netting of leather and brass.
>"I *GOT* it!" The inventor declared, confidently....
>***
>"Is she always like this?" Kirigiri-Sempai breathed, the spectacle bemoaned by a rhetoric whisper.
>"Just let her finish." Saihara's chest tightened at the groan. "She's got to tire out sometime."
>***
>"We need to get a ye-ol'-ancient, old-timey camera!" Iruma-San continued, her toothy smile bright and sharpened. "One of us can turn the crank while the others can hop on the good foot and do the *bad* thing! We can hash out the speech cards later - and, *maybe* - we can rope in Akamatsu-San to play some ragtime Joplin once she's discharged!"

>To wit, Chihiro just *had* to speak, fate tempted at an instant.
>"Is... that a 'double entendre'?" He blinked.
>"OooOOHH!!" The blonde shivered, socked knees knocking. "'Discharged'...! Uuuhh... boy, do you've a filthy, little mind! This... this isn't bad-!"
>Ikusaba felt her eyelid twitch.
>"EnOUGH!!" She found her voice, finally. "E-*fuckin'*-NOUGH!!"
>"WAAHH..!!" The stringy blonde recolied. "Wha... what'd I *do?*"
>"IRUMA-San-" she barked, "this isn't a threesome! We're *NOT* going to munch your carpet - and we sure-as-*SHIT* aren't making a silent-film SEX tape!"
>"The fuck do you MEAN!?" Iruma-San recovered, swiftly. "It's a completely untapped market!"
>"I don't give a shit!" She snapped.
>"Damn it, 'Fuck-MOOK'-" The blonde challenged, bravely - *foolishly*, "you're sitting on a fuckin' GOLD mine...!"
>***
>"...This is new." Saihara remarked, flatly.
>"Never a dull moment." Kirigiri-Semapi nodded.
>***
>"The only *shaft* you're going to get's on Gunkanjima, at THIS fuckin' rate!" She huffed.
>"Then, why - the *FUCK* - am I here, then!?" Iruma-San demanded.
>"*I...*", cooly, she drew in a slow breath, an attempt to relax - deescalate, "I need you to do something for me."
>"Tch - fuckin' *virgin!*" The blonde scoffed. "Drop your skirt and spread 'em, already - Okā-San's special *helper'll* make it right for you-"
>"*Not* that."
>Before another word uttered, needlessly, Ikusaba turned to her side - a dress shield long and black hooked by the cheap, brass hanger. Gravity unfurled it; a brush of polyester across her bare toes - a shiver tingling up her spine, as she lifted it, as high as her arm could stretch.
>*Onii-Chan's going to pitch a fit, alright.* She resigned with a sigh.
>"First..." she said, "hit the bathroom and put these on-"
>"WHAT??" Blue eyes boggled. "The fuck's *wrong* with my ensemble - you *trying* to tell me somethin'!?"
>"I'll explain in a bit." She ignored it. "Now, hop to it - runnin' late, as it is...."

>Butterflies in her stomach, her heart aflutter, she took for herself a breath shaken - nerves cooling little, as she touched the sliver of acrylic onto the outstretched index awaiting. Blue eyes pierced through her; the scrutiny glaring whilst she held it fast, and those soft, supple lips curled into an impatient snarl, pearly whites bared, angrily.
>The face of a girl she would never forget: One for whom she often wished and prayed would come home someday, Quixotic quest forsaken and abandoned, returning to honest modesty and life's simple yet enriching-
>-"Take a money-shot for KiK-" the softened face of faux-blush pinched, "it'll fuckin' last you!"-
>-*Pleasures....*
>Ikusaba's face fell. An impossible dream, it appeared, unreachable and unattainable, as that special part of her had raced after the proverbial beast long ago, devoted unto the bitter end - thrall suckered well into the grinding embrace of the windmill blades. Recently, she stood uncertain whether to give chase, rescuing one who never once desired saving - unquestionable fealty demanded by a jab of a handy ice pick.
>The doppelganger newfound rolled the ankles of those red-lace boots, gingerly, pointy canines sharply baring.
>"Of all gyarus in the fuckin' country," Iruma Miu groaned, irritably, over the patent-leather's squelch, "she has to have feet smaller than Yumeno-San!"
>Ikusaba's lips pressed together, sternly, the acrylic press-on forgotten, as the blonde wrenched her bare hand away.
>"Onii-Chan's feet aren't small-" She tried to contest.
>"Bull... SHIT-" Iruma-San denied her, "I'm standing in the imprints! Not even five minutes in and my toes are *throbbing!* God, I'm going to get *bunions* from this shit!"
>"Then, you'd hate her block-heel d'Orsays-"
>"The fact I'm even *WEARING* another gal's boots is torture enough-" Iruma-shima-San yelled, "fuckin' disgusting! God, the clammy feeling...! Would it kill her to wear SOCKS in these!?"

>"Iruma-San!" She snapped.
>The doppelganger winced back a plodding, precarious step.
>"Wh-What...?" The blonde whimpered, reticently.
>"You're - *NOT* - here to whine 'bout shoe size," she frowned, "and I sure-as-shit don't want to hear 'bout her hygiene!"
>"You're not the one risking a fungus-!"
>"Iruma MIU!!" She barked.
>Phony-Chan reeled, inwardly.
>"St-Stop it...!" The blonde sniveled.
>"Then, pull your-fuckin'-self together and get a grip!"
>"I... I don't know." The blonde shuddered. "You... you haven't said *why* I'm dressed like this."
>"I need your help with something, I *said...!*" Her lips pursed. "Now, this is what you're going to do-!"
>Blue eyes then widened, brightly glistening in a realization that Ikusaba could only describe as wondrously strange.
>"*Oh...*" Phony-Chan droned, "I get it!"
>*Can't wait to hear this....*
>***
>"Geez." Saihara stood aghast. "She's... packaged *tight!*"
>"One errant sneeze," Kirigiri quipped, "and watch the brassiere *snap.*"
>"Along those lines..." Saihara remarked, "where *is* Enoshima-Semapi, anyway?"
>"Your speculation's as good as mine." Leather shoulders of velvet shrugged once. "No one's seen her in days, properly. Unexcused absences are piling up, and - naturally - Ikusaba-San's not talking."
>"The night is still young, though." He stated.
>"Indeed." She nodded once. "Let's keep on it."
>***

>"I've seen the way you look at her, sempai-" Phony-Chan continued unsolicited, "your own sister! One'd think you've certain... *feelings* for her."
>Ikusaba felt her eyes roll; Chihiro's curled index scratched through his girlish mop, quizically, sitting stupified.
>"OooOOOHH!!" The blonde shuddered. "Yes - you secretly wish you two're identical! That way... it wouldn't be weird - for it wouldn't be taboo, forbidden lust, at all - let alone homosexual!"
>"Then, what the hell - *would* - it be?" She just had to press.
>"Displaced, mutual..." Iruma-San breathed, blush deepening in a hue rather lurid, "masturbation!"
>She scowled, face souring; Chihiro pulled a face, grimacing disgust.
>"Never fear," the blonde proclaimed, needlessly, "for I - the great Iruma Miu, genius extraordinaire - mistress of all things erogenous - shall indulge your secret proclivity with an open mind and earnest passion! It'd, too, be my... guilty pleasure."
>Phony-Chan shuddered once more, bare knees knocking amidst a clenching writhe.
>"AahhHAA..!!"
>She snapped her fingers.
>"That's a *sploosh*-free ensemble!" She pointed.
>"Ooohh..." Iruma-San just had to coo, "don't I *know* it-?"
>"*Look-*" she huffed, tersely, "a cab's due here any moment. That's your ride! It'll take you to the venue."
>Blue eyes batted, swiftly.
>"Wh-WHAT!?" Iruma-San exclaimed. "Venue - what... what fuckin' *venue!?*"
>"Onii-Chan's..." she began, carefully, "out of town for a photoshoot - agent double-booked her, accidentally. She's got to make an appearance, or she'd be in breach of contract."
>"B-But..." Iruma-San stuttered a protest, "I'm not a cover model. I don't know 'bout fox-walks or runways."
>"It's just an industry gathering." She explained. "No modeling, whatsoever - just shake some babies, kiss hands-"
>"Um..." Chihiro just had to interject, "isn't that the other way around-?"

>"Whatever!" She dismissed, curtly. "Sip some bubbly, smile, and pose for a few vanity shots - that's *it.* No improv and - by *God* - try not to speak! Throw your voice and say you've a sore throat, if it comes up."
>"Tch - fuckin' *moron!*" Iruma-San scoffed. "This ain't my first rodeo, you know-"
>A pair of bleating honks, insistent and impatient, blared from a near distance - a sharp *ping* from her cheap burner phone highlighted it, vividly.
>"I don't give two shits in a coffee pot!" She glared. "Your ride's here. Keep to yourself and get the lead out-"
>"AlRIGHT, 'Fuck-Mook'-" Phony-Chan snapped, "I'm *going!* Say it - don't fuckin' *spray* it!"
>Phony-Chan turned on a heel embittered, teetering her precarious way out of the simple room - pain bemoaned: A steady, intermittent series of "Ow!" yelping after her, gently, and well out of earshot. Ikusaba rubbed at her crown, gingerly.
>"I need a drink." She groaned.
>"S-Save a shot for me." Chihiro agreed.

>Silence from the corridor; the mere, vacant bellowing of central heating and nothing more, bare soles slapped Ikusaba's way for the weighty door ajar. Privacy shared yet solitary became ensured by the rattling chain and clattering deadbolt: Only Chihiro and she, just the way she desired it.
>"I... I don't get it." Chihiro's dainty fingers teased through his mop, curiously. "Why'd Iruma-San show up, in the first place?"
>"Wax in your ears much?" She retorted. "Should've heard it. Onii-Chan's double-booked tonight, and she can't be in two places at once."
>"But... why her, though?"
>"Negligible height and size difference." She said. "Few times I caught her passing in the hallways, she could be a dead-ringer, easily... with a bit of makeup - help soften and round-out the jawline."
>"You've seen what she's like, though." Chihiro argued, needlessly. "What... what's to stop her from going off the rails?"
>She shrugged.
>"Nothing." She said.
>"Then..." his smooth, flawless brow creased, "you *know* she's going to make a scene-"
>"Affirmative, usagi-" her groan interjected, "I am *aware...!* It's a risk - *yes*, but... it's one I'm willing to take."
>The lad looked at her, quizically, uncertainty gleaming. Her slow, creeping smile appeared to ease him, those glistening hazels deceptively deep... beckoning her. Even now, she could lose herself in them, and... she did, drawing her close, one foot rolling down before the other, squarely - *slowly* - the slightest of rolls angling her rocking hips. Eyes of apprehension soon loomed over her, precariously, as she took a knee before him, his bare... creamy thighs, smoothed knees and shins - all the way down to the cheap, basic peep-toe sling-backs upon his gently angled feet.

>"M-Mukuro...." He breathed.
>"You were so *good* tonight, Chihiro." Her lids fell, leering half-mast, as her fingers curled around the tiny stack-heel. "Know it's hard, but you didn't whine once. Though, you were shuffling more than walking."
>"It's... it's new to me." His cherubic face warmed. "I'm just not used to it."
>"Takes time and practice." She nodded. "Still... let's get these dreadful things off."
>Strap stretched down around his heel, relief flowed through his stretching toes, breathing free with a flex - as soon did ones of his other.
>"I..." he sighed, deeply, "I can see why you like loafers so much."
>"Hurts, don't they?" She grinned, as she took his dainty, shapely foot into her lax grip. "Pinching your toes, putting all your weight on the ball."
>A feeling rather cheeky, she squeezed his tiny pads, gingerly, daring her fingers around his small... fragile ankles.
>"Grinding your ankles into dust." She grinned.
>"M-Mukuro...?" His lashes batted.
>Her fingers ignored him, palms smoothing over and around those knobby knees. Her grin could only sharpen.
>"Burning up your knees...!"
>A shudder shared between them, her hands braved higher.
>"Ex..." breath bated, she pressed onward, "exhausting your quads...!"
>The task at hand and before her unmistakable, swelling with carnal impatience, she freed it - the gusset of his taut, constricting restraint tugged shaprly aside. Her heart leapt, chest tingling at his sharp gasp.
>Her eyes could only glaze, gazing starry at the sheer sight of him, watching him twitch... flinch, as her breath - suddenly heaving - wisped over him.
>"M-*Mukuro-!*"
>"Resulting..." she breathed, "in a rather... *large...* tension knot."
>"You... y-you don't have to-!"
>"Let's..." she whispered, "l-let's just see what I can do...!"
>***

>"*Let's...*" Ikusaba-Sempai breathed near indecipherable, raven locks enclosing upon the smaller girl's loins, "*l-let's just see what I can do...!*"
>What she did, Saihara stood confident yet uncertain, scene of lucid debauchery fading into black behind digital bars, equalizing both "brightness" and "contrast". The velvet sempai at his side insisted upon it, demanding thumb hammering at the plump minus sign, incessantly - porcelain face warmed and flush, thin lips pressing together the moment Ikusaba-Sempai's fingers touched upon those tiny toes.
>"*Oh...*" Ikusaba-Sempai whispered, coarsely, "*my God, Chihiro...!*"
>Quite audibly, Kirigiri-Sempai cleared a bit of stubborn phlegm from a tensed throat.
>*Lady doth protest too much.* He noted to himself.
>"Aww...!" He feigned a humourous whine. "It was just getting good-"
>"This..." she drew in a quick breath, "this is a *stakeout*, Saihara-San - not a peep-show or 'after hours'."
>The sempai could have him fooled, as Dolby Digital breathed and heaved, sharply gasping and droning groans ever still!
>"Somehow," he remarked, "I don't think we're going to learn much tonight."
>"Let's not call it, just yet." She replied. "Ikusaba-San's paid for an overnight stay. Let them have their... *fun*, for now - they can't be *at it* all night. Something still might come up during pillow-talk."
>*Something's coming up, alright." His lips pulled for a guilty grin-
>-"I - *saw* - that, Saihara-San." She retorted-
>-For naught...!
>"So, you're telling me you're... *comfortable*, listening to this?"
>"Tch-" she dismissed at a scoff, "I've heard worse-"
>"*B-Bolt's open-*" Ikusaba-Sempai heaved, breathlessly, "*breach's clear! S-Slam it home-!*"
>"*Told - you - 'bout - gun - meta-phors!*" Fujisaki-Sempai grunted, intermittently.
>*Boy - does Iruma-San have a mixtape for you, then.* He mused, dryly.

>"You did it again." The upperclassman gazed at him, disparagingly. "Get your mind out of the gutter, or I'll unroll your socks."
>To wit... he could only blink. How could he not?
>"You sure think about socks a *lot*, I've noticed."
>She flinched.
>"Ah-*HA!*" He laughed, jovially. "Got you this time-!"
>"*Just...!*" Her cleft frown interjected. "Just get a bit of sleep. We'll rotate in two or three hours."
>"If you insist." He shrugged.
>"I - *do* - in fact." She said, tersely. "Now, get a few winks."
>"Okay, then." He resigned. "Just wake me, if something comes up."
>"You'll be first to know." She affirmed by a nod.
>"If nothing else," he replied, "you got the booby prize. Iruma-San really is wrong."
>Her brow kinked.
>"How... do you mean?"
>"Your feet...." he dared to grin again; he *must*, "really aren't flat. I found that out... the *hard* way."
>Velvet sleeves wrinkled amidst a crossed folding.
>"Saihara-*San...!*" Untoward, eyes glared a fuschia dagger.
>"Okay," he relented, "okay...."

>Button thumbed through the eyelet, she smoothed the folds of her casual blouse down her figure - parigi pumps ignored, dismissed into the dress shield, in favor of her common knee-highs and loafers.
>Day was long since done, fading well into the crowded hustle and noisy bustle of the city nightlife; for Ikusaba, however, her day had only just started.
>Chihiro laid sprawled across the mattress still, decency a thin veneer draped across his naked chest, just as he once was - upon that fiery night of carnal passion when she was all his... and he was all hers!
>History fairly recent: It rarely repeats, but it echoes, most certainly!
>Fingers gliding up his feet, tracing up his calves... his knees and thighs - wrenching him free - by her bated breath, she had knelt truly humbled, as she braved her own maw to do the rest.
>*I...* she shivered, guiltily, *I think my jaw clicked.*
>His expressions, a shallow gasp through parting lips below his hazels, rolling back behind closing lids - so captivating, so entrancing that she had to try her best... accommodating him, as she tried to coax him further. Her chest tingled at the curling of his fingers, clenching through her hair.
>"Uuhh...." She shuddered, quietly.
>He had withdrawn before too long, taking her larger hand into his smaller own, gently: Never the brute, always the gentleman. Lost in those warm, gentle hazels, he had somehow guided her onto the comforter before she had even realized... as he had taken her place upon the matted carpet.
>"*Uuhh...!*" She breathed, quietly, the sensation recalled, immediately.

>A gentle lick: The warm, damp glance of the tip of his tongue upon the pad of her toe - a chill had tingled up her leg, swelling in her core. He had restrained himself, considerably, faint wisps unto her toe... gliding along the curve of her arch - ankle suckled into an eager mouth - tender, honest passion peppering up the length of her leg, risking himself where not even Naegi Makoto had thought-
>-"*UUHH..!!*" She struggled against a rising squeal-
>-To tread.
>Chihiro... had tasted her. God as her witness, Chihiro... this incredible young man - had actually *tasted* her! Her hands had clapped onto his head, drawing him impossibly close - sensations newfound, head swimming, *drowning*, as she let him relish.
>Darkness for a time unspecified, as she could recall the events, barely... a touch lingering; a weight pressing unto her, pushing apart hiked knees, and feeling her hips pry apart. It was... *filling*, a void growing in the wake... only to refill, slowly - steady and rhythmical, again and again... until either of them could endure no more.
>Rarely had she pulled anyone so close; rarely had she *felt* them - that... crash of sheer warmth flooding.
>*For...* she breathed, *forget one-night stands. I want this every WEEK!*
>Thoughts wandered for the basic shower and a frantic twist of the cold tap. She refrained. She had squandered too much time, already, as the night grew ever shorter. Quietly, she turned on her heel - thankfully flat - feet rolling toe down to heel, one before the other on her silent way for the-
>-"Mukuro..." she flinched at a moan yawning, "come back to bed."-
>-Door.
>*We've spent way too much time together.* Her eyes rolled.
>"You've... really got to stop doing that." She sighed.
>"Learned from the best." He retorted.
>"Smart-ass." She scoffed.
>"It's dead of night, though." He pulled himself into a gradual sit. "We're not in the dorms - you don't have to worry about being seen."
>"It's not like that." She replied.

>"S-So..." his shaded, girlish mop turned her way, "where are you going this time?"
>"Something I got to do."
>"Can't it just wait until morning?"
>"We've both to keep appearances tomorrow." She explained. "This is the only time I can do it without raising eyebrows."
>"Wait a minute!" The mop shook, vigorously, in exclamation. "Were we followed!?"
>"We took the long, circuitous *scenic route* for a reason," she replied, "so no. We wouldn't be here, if I pinged a tail."
>"Then, why all the cloak-and-dagger?" He pressed.
>"That's my business, Chihiro." She frowned.
>"Oh, *no...!*" He gasped. "Please... *p-please* tell me you're not going to hurt anybody!"
>"See my knives or interceptor vest on me tonight?"
>"Well... no - *but-!*"
>"Then, I'm not."
>"W-Well..." bravely, he continued, "let me come with you-"
>"Negative." She interjected, curtly. "Someone's got to be here and ensure all our stuff's collected. Checkout's at six. We both leave, the room's forfeit."
>"But, Mukuro-"
>"But *nothing*, usagi." She said, sternly. "Just stay here and hold down the fort. If I'm not back by first light, grab all our things and head back to the dorms. I'll pick 'em up later. Okay?"
>Chihiro appeared to slouch in a pout; her fingers snapped.
>"Look - *at* - me...."
>"Uugh... al*right!*" He huffed at her, sorely. "Just... just hurry back."
>"Good." She nodded. "And, Chihiro...?"
>"...Y-Yeah?"
>"Don't have *too* much fun with my pumps." She smirked.
>Cutely, he decried with a whine.
>"Mukuro..." he whinged, "*eww...!*"

>"*And, Chihiro...?*" Ikusaba-Sempai poised.
>"*...Y-Yeah?*" Fujisaki-Sempai replied, meekly.
>"*Don't have too much fun with my pumps.*" She said.
>The pad of Saihara's index teased at his ahoge, quizically.
>"*Mukuro...*" Fujisaki-Sempai whined, "*eww...!*"
>*Just what the heck did I miss?* He blinked.
>He knew little; the scene enlightened by a tacit thumb upon the plus button, as equalizers digitized slid unto tolerable levels. Disipline maintained, he nodded; their... *quality time* together remaining private until haggard breaths and strained groans heaved well unto the silent afterglow.
>Moody Ikusaba spun upon the flat heel of her penny loafer, walking off-screen behind the opened door. Fujisaki fell back onto the wrinkled, fitted sheet exasparated.
>He saw enough, turning for solitary occupant comfortable within the sheets. Her watch concluded, the sempai had roused him from his slumber, as she had moved to take his place - and there, she remained, velvet gloves peeking from the hemline.
>*Does she ever take those things off?*
>Thought dismissed, his palm curled atop her shoulder, her... *bare* shoulder, soft and creamy, smooth as silk. Pair of fuchsias batted at him, lazily, sense of agency blinking back into a groggy mind.
>"Wha'... *wha'?*" Tumbled locks of lavender shifted amidst a gentle shake.
>"Kirigiri-Sempai," he said, "wake up. It's Ikusaba!"
>Instantaneously, she wrenched herself out from the cascading sheets - mystery laid quite *bare* for anyone to see! Mask of porcelain cracked, fresh color blooming upon tensed cheekbones, as studded gloves did little to reclaim a shred of decency.
>"*Uh...?*" He could only drone.
>"*...!*" She huffed, sorely, gloved fingers squeezing tighter.
>"G-G-Gomenasai, sempai!" Wisely, he flashed her the pinstripes of his backside. "I... I didn't know-!"

>"Contrary to popular belief, Saihara-San," her sigh interjected through a shuffle of fabrics, "I *don't* sleep in my clothes. Now, what's the situation?"
>"It's Ikusaba-Sempai." He replied... to the flat-screen, apparently. "She's dressed and on the move."
>"At this time of night?"
>"Yeah." He nodded. "Fujisaki-Sempai called her out on it. If not for her, I would've missed it."
>"Interesting." She noted. "Could you grab me my boots?"
>He complied, crew socks carrying him for the pair, as he took the opportunity to shove himself back into his sneakers. Hooked by the straps, he carried them the sempai's way, setting them down for her. Thankfully, she already had the monarch knot of her tie in a pinch, sliding it up to her zippered collar.
>"What's our next move?"
>"There is no move," she replied, wriggling taut knee-highs into the loosened boots, "if we don't know where she's going."
>She buckled her pair fast around her cotton shins, singlehandedly, as her smart-phone seemed to slide into an open glove. Flick of the wrist; a fingered two-step upon the glass, the sliver of a speaker warmed an already flushed ear.
>"...Konbanwa." She greeted, formally. "Kirigiri Kyoko, DSC919. Tell me, did a teenage girl just leave the premises... 'bout five-seven, dark hair - *thin...?* ...I know you can't see through the glass - that's beside the point. Did anyone - or did anyone *not* - just leave the building?"
>Her head bowed, gently.
>"She did...?" She continued. "Did she have you call for a taxi, or anything? ...She did, now? Didn't give a destination - okay, then. Which company? ...Suteki - have its dispatch call me at this number, as soon as possible - exigent circumstance. ...Yes, arigato gozaimasu - mata-ne."
>She looked at him, earnestly, as she shoved onto her angled feet.
>"Ikusaba-San just left."
>"So, I heard." He replied. "Should we tail her?"

>"Indeed." She affirmed. "It may very well be the break we need. Ensure you've all your affects - we have to move it."
>Another word needless and redundant, remaining unspoken, the sempai snatched the casebook off the table, tucking it under a flexed arm, as heels hammered her hurried way for the door. He could only follow suit, nothing else of note to collect, shifting past the detective through the door.
>Kirigiri-Sempai had the smeared, smudged glass firm against an ear, as a velvet finger jabbed at the elevator's call button.
>"Mushi-mushi," she called, loudly, over heavy, shifting doors, "Kirigiri.... ...Yes, I'm expecting you. Do you've the cab number just dispatched to this yado? ...Excellent - what's the destination? Should be logged on your end, by now."
>Fuchsias batted wide upon murmured static.
>"It *is..!?*" She asked, voice a slight crescendo. "Damn it - should've figured. ...Alright - arigato gozaimasu."
>Velvet thumb tapped the screen, hastily, personal device dismissed into a pocket available of her jacket. Her index jabbed at a floor button; the "G" ignored, however, but rather... the first level of parking, curiously enough.
>"Uh..." he found his voice, "what was that?"
>"The cab company." She replied, serious tone well noted. "Ikusaba-San... she's headed for St. Luke's Hospital."
>A sharp gasp; his pulse quickened, as he felt his heart throb its way up a tightening throat.
>"The hospital-" he breathed, "oh, God... *AKAMATSU-San!*"
>"Exactly." She nodded once.
>The doors drew open, slowly, his impatience spited. The sempai offered little solace, if any, head of lavender shifting side to side, horizontally sweeping - stopping mid-sweep, abruptly, ceasing - focused upon the key-box affixed upon the nearest wall. Permission neither granted nor sought, as she flinged open the flimsy cover and took a stainless ring for herself.
>*Oh... shit.* He blinked.

>A pair of lights flickered for her at her thumb's insistent prodding. What choice had he but to follow those heels clacking hollow across the pavement, down the rows... and into the passenger's side of a hapless tenant's coupe? The sempai seized her place upon the driver's seat - a faint hum droning, as she shifted the molded chair forward.
>"You *know* you're risking 'vehicular theft', right?" He warned.
>Pointless rhetoric, ringing hollow, she jabbed the key into the ignition regardless.
>"As before," she replied, simply, "exigency."
>Twist of the wrist and clicks of the tumbler, the vehicle... remained ever still: Compact dashboard alight, Radio Japan 5 blaring, clearly, over the engine, strangely silent.
>The lone knob of a simplified map stood between them, mockingly.
>"Saihara-San." She looked at him, evenly.
>"...Yeah?" He could only reply.
>"Do you..." fuchsia gaze narrowed, intently, "know how to operate a standard?"
>...He looked at her, blankly.
>"*Uh..!?*"

>Twilight faded across the sky, or so had filtered through thin, generic slats. Nurses came; doctors went, caught betwixt coming and going from hourly rounds to the on-call rooms, the lucky few of whom retiring to personal residences for the evening. Yet here, Akamatsu still bathed between the guardrails below the safety light's soft fluorescence, the steady bleat of the nearby EKG a persistent metronome.
>Her lids had grown heavy. She soon closed her eyes; she must, yearning for that solitary light to become a star, wishing her back before her prized baby grand and well away from this sterile, clinical mediocrity.
>Mioda-Sempai's tribute would never compose itself, after all.
>The styling erratic; the melody manic, a flurry of notes circled and dashed across the bars in random panic - better scored by Schoenberg with a conductor's rod, suffering through palsy. Akamatsu's favored era and genre remained incompatable: Baroque, maybe, but it still appeared doubtful-
>*Wait.* Her head shifted at the thought intrusive. *That... that's it!*
>Baroque music, a genre of music of antiquity: Nearly forgotten and melody intermittent, upper and lower notes juxtaposed, and deceptively rapid - complementary and conducive to metal players! If not for that bygone era, metal would never exist, as it does, presently. Certainly, it would be a stretch, serious revision and cooperation, but Mioda-Sempai could warm to it.
>A problem rather sizeable remained, however. Would the academy's comptroller invest in a proper harpsichord?
>*...Do they even still exist?* She thought to blink, refraining. *I've only seen them in books or emulated on an electronic keyboard.*
>Perhaps, a keyboard would be the better (and cost effective) option. She swore she had seen one stand dusty and useless near the music hall somewhere-

>A *clack* of the push-handle, the door squealed to open - a pair of shoes tapping for her closer, seeming to veer astray... to where the IV towered. A nurse or an assistant, most likely, coming to replenish her drip of saline... though it hardly explained, as to why that steady, monotonous bleat faded into silence, rather quickly.
>*Well, it's been a few days.* She thought. *I'm due to discharge, imminently, but... isn't that during business hours?*
>"Black tea or coffee?" The faceless, nameless nurse inquired, flatly - feminine and soft spoken - tone more akin to a statement.
>"Wha'... wha'?" She mustered a groan-
>-blaring into a yelp, instantaneously. The sudden pressure unto her wound, pointed and digging, the *pain...* burning through her body, nerves smoldering. She wanted to cry, to shriek afoul - denied by a large wad of cotton jammed between her teeth.
>"*Uuhh-*" she nearly coughed, "*UUHH..!!*"
>"One more *time.*" Voice unfamiliar pressed the issue - as well as a finger, her jaw relieved of the gauze. "Black tea or coffee?"
>"W-Who are *you-!?*"
>Inquiry denied, as pain scorched through her stomach again - protest baffled by the cotton.
>"*UUHH..!!*"
>"Black... *tea...*" the voice demanded, quietly, "or... *coffee...?*"
>"...T-Tea." She breathed. "*Tea..!!*"
>"What - *kind* - of tea-?"
>"B-Black tea-" she stammered, "black *tea!*"
>"Good girl." The petulant nurse replied, coldly. "Now, wake up."

>She thought to keep her eyes closed; the touch upon her dressed stitches had her reconsider. Slowly inward, the safety lamp filtered, silhouette looming over her, darkly... remarkably thin - exquisitely toned - hunching within the shade-
>-*A... girl?*
>Her eyes could only trail along the bared skin, heart along racing. Smooth and taut; pallor fair, it glowed, ghastly, in the soft, haunting light - spots of a darkened soul deeply blackened, underscoring the cresting terror of those cold eyes gleaming dull.
>"Clair de Lune" crossly fading into "Toccata and Fugue in D-Minor", Akamatsu's symphonic despair:
>"Little Miss Freckles" conducting.
>*Oh - GEEZ..!!* She blanked.
>"Konbanwa..." Ikusaba-Sempai greeted, "'Piano-Baka'."


>"I'd like to play a game."
>Ikusaba leaned her weight onto the wheel-bed's guardrail; peppered freckles a mask, expression devoid unto the helpless prey's twisting, fearful grimace - just like she wanted, just as the big, bad wolf itself had reared unto its embittered, belligerent strays. She partook no pleasure from it, revelling never, although she stood neither below this dark work... nor above it: Yet another day at the proverbial office.
>"...Y-You don't seem the playful type." The quarry replied.
>Remark noted: A feeble, pitiful attempt to wrest back a debatable sense of control. A finger onto the wound, pointedly, Ikusaba conveyed just how much she appreciated it - the slimy wad of chewed gauze shoved between the clenched incisors for good measure.
>"*Uhh-*", the prey struggled against her stern reprimand, "*UUHH..!!*"
>"*Thin* ice, Piano-Baka." Her lips pressed into a thin, grim line. "You - *don't* - want to fall through. Now, let's try this again."
>"*UuhhHHH-!" The blonde dared to protest-
>Grievance denied, as her index shoved into the sticky patch of once-sterile dressing deeper.
>"I... want... to... play a game, I *said.*" The corners of her lips tugged downward. "And, *tag...* you're it."
>Gag removed - wrenched from the jaws, the quarry heaved, haggardly: Message received, or so it appeared... for now.
>"Wh-Why're you doing this!?" Violet eyes glistened a plea. "I... I didn't do *anything* to you-!"
>"Slow your rollout, Piano-Baka-" her lips pursed, "*I'm* the... the... that fuckin' *guy* in charge of proceedings - *not* you."
>The violet stare broke by a couple of blinks.
>"Y-You mean..." the prey dared, "the 'mastermind'!?"

>Message refused: Sticky cotton into the smarmy maw and index unto the wound soon rectified the issue.
>"*UUHHH-!!*"
>"If that helps you." Her huff interjected, tersely. "Rule one - *don't* antagonize me! Rule two - you will answer my questions. All you have to do during game-time is answer... honestly - *and* - completely. Do you understand?"
>A gamble - a bet unworthy, highly, of Ludenberg-San (and that annoying accent), but one she had to risk. Once more, she removed the soggy gag to her subject's immediate relief, deep and throaty.
>"You..." the prey breathed, deeply, "y-you haven't - *told* - me what we're playing-!"
>"It's called, 'Who Knows the Biggest Secret'...!" She just had to smirk; she must. "If you win, you'll get to finger the ivories again and share your feelings-"
>"*Tickle* the ivories-" The prey huffed, sorely.
>Correction noted: She appreciated it by the stifling gauze and unkind finger once more.
>"*UUHH-!!*"
>"Strike *one!*" She snapped. "What did I just say 'bout contradiction? Since we're on the subject, I think I should show you the penalty for refusal to abide."
>To wit, her loafer stepped her aside by a large stride. The prey's lifeline stood tall beside the silenced EKG: A modest tab of diobolical translucency, gleaming idle, readied, and jabbed into the intake of the IV.
>"N-N-NaNI..!?" The quarry gasped, violets wide affright. "Wh-What's that - what did you *do-!?*"
>"Potassium chloride," she replied, simply, "four hundred milligrams. First, you'll feel a pain in your arm... the *left* one - and then, it'll go numb. Next thing you know, you'll have such a tightness in your chest that you just can't take it."
>"Wh-What does that mean-?"
>"*Heart* attack-" she frowned, "just an unforseen complication from your injury. *That's* what's pending in your IV drip, right now."

>"Oh, my God-" the pitiful prey cried, "you're *inSANE-!!*"
>"I'm just a gal who doesn't appreciate being accussed and given the third degree." She dismissed, coldly. "So, if you'd like to sit in front of that stupid piano again, you're going to answer my questions... right *now.*"
>"Th-Then what - *are* - they, already!?"
>"You - *know* - what!" Her glare sharpened. "Now - *who* - was it...?"

>Saihara's eyes fluttered open, arms sore and legs numb - tenderized, as it were - as he clambered over the deflating airbag, shoving himself against the passenger door. It creaked away by great effort, as the pavement - hard, unmovable, and precious concrete - rushed up to meet his gnawing cheek and dusty pinstripes, collapsing onto the sidewalk in a heap.
>Cold of the night felt quite refreshing, as he sucked in a fresh breath of sweet relief.
>"*LAND..!!*" Rejoice extolled, he found himself pulling to greet a control break with a tender peck. "Thank *GOD!*"
>A second thought withheld, dismissed, his lips fell short of the intentional crack - his lips peppered by bland flakes of chilled stone honeycombed.
>"You're being ridiculous, Saihara-San." Kirigiri-Sempai called, firmly.
>Over the heap of creased panels and crumpled bodywork, the stern voice of reputed reason remained ever authoritative. Heels clacked her way around the vehicle - the *remains* of it, rather - cool, steady gaze of fuchsia peering through the choking, smoldering fumes of churning, bellowing oil.
>One matter remained empirically certain: The poor tenant's tenants commandeered car had rolled along far better commutes, now but a smoking jalopy fit for the salvage yard. For a detective so precise, a professional beyond her formative years, her driving had proved absolutely atrocious and amateur, a travesty, best left to an arcade's novelty cabinet.
>*"Stop staring at my feet!"* He recalled her barked reprimand, easily, boots a frantic, stomping jig in the foot-well.
>*"Then - use the damn clutch, already!"* He had countered, sharply - logically!
>She then had looked at him, squarely.
>*"...What's a clutch-?"*
>*"Oh - God DAMN it..!!"*

>He thanked God that someone had parked a hapless Nissan in front of St. Luke's, or she never would have stopped; the owner of the now-ruined Leaf, however, would curse his newfound misfortune, certainly.
>"'Ridiculous..??'" His dusty lips pursed, sourly. "*I'm* being 'ridiculous'!?"
>"Your response is disproportional," she replied, remark well oversimplified, "*emotional.* Understandable, considering the circumstances, but we have to keep focused-"
>Eyelid twitching, a fasticulation for a detective most unbecoming, but-
>-"I *saw* that." She just *had* to note aloud...
>...but, he could help himself no longer.
>"I..." he struggled, valiantly, miserably failing, "I *know* you saw that, sempai. I *know* you're seeing me flap like a headless chicken, but even your junior knows to maintain control of the *damn CAR* - not turn a drive into a banned episode of 'Speed Racer'! Does that thing look like the Mach 5 to you!?"
>"I did the best I could, Saihara-San." Steady gaze of fuchsia sharpened.
>"Even a kid can use the brake!" He argued - rather loudly. "Did you even *try* to slow down-!?"
>"I... *did* - Saihara-San." Lip of porcelain curled, slightly, a crack upon her flawless mask of stoic porcelain. "Not *my* fault the foot-lever tapped the floor, repeatedly."
>"And, how do you know that!?" He frowned.
>To wit, a studded glove upheld the key, velvet fingers spinning it within the pinch - narrow loops ovoid and contained within a ring flashed before him and for all of the curious, head-scratching bystanders to see.
>"Because, Saihara-San..." she nodded, confidently, "*Toyota.*"
>*Face locked in a yell...* he grumbled to himself, *splash page of motion lines - 'counter' emblazoned in big, black, and streaked kanji.*
>Truth kernel: Never once had Kirigiri's boot lifted from the thin accelerator, completely; her left one randomly pumped at the far left pad, leaving the center one's texture completely unscathed.

>Prudently, he drew in a crisp breath, feeling it swell, and allowed it to cool him.
>"That..." he groaned resigned, "was the *clutch,* semapi."
>The sempai's face relaxed to neutral. Neither focused nor gormless, her fuchsias gleamed rather... blank, realization settling although barely dawning.
>"*...Oh.*" She drawled, flatly.
>*This is getting nowhere.* He noted.
>"If you're quite finished, Saihara-San," the sempai said, formally, "we're still on the clock - time's ticking."
>"Well," he retorted, snidely, "I was just about to *say-!*"
>"Save it for the daily report." She dismissed. "Come on - let's move it."
>Angled feet carried her onto the pavement, precariously, hurrying for the wide, sliding glass. What choice had he but to follow? Wisely, he kept his distance behind those rolling hips by a couple of strides - vindicated at the nameless, faceless employee's loud protest, colored scrubs swishing at each step, moving to intercept.
>"Ma'am..." the man called, "ma'am - *HEY!!* You can't just leave a smoking heap like that - it's a hazard!"
>"Call parking enforcement and have it towed-" she responded, blindly, the man ignored, "and get Keishichō down here, while you're at it!"
>The pair of scrubs stood stupified; left to paw at his own shorn head, attention divided, torn betwixed the smoldering wreckage and the closing glass behind them. Never had Saihara heard her boots *clack* so loudly, purpose echoing, storming her across the tile for the wide, blank-eyed woman seated behind the reception desk.
>"*Eh...*" the woman blinked, "dō nasaimashita-?"
>"Akamatsu Kaede," Kirigiri-Sempai said, breathlessly, "did the caring physician have her moved, recently?"
>"Th-The concert pianist?" The woman uttered, feebly. "N-No, I-!"
>"Has *anyone* been through here in the past ninety minutes?"
>"It's a *hospital*, ma'am-" the woman protested, "St. Luke's! Everyone and his *mother's* been through here every hour-!"

>"A *girl...*" the sempai pressed hard, "five-seven, black hair, freckled - *thin...* border-line anaemic?"
>"You just described *Tokyo-!*"
>The detective frowned, discontent rumbling through a tensed throat.
>"*Look!*" The woman asserted. "I just clocked in ten minutes ago - I've *no* idea. Now, you either let me get back to work - check in - or I'm calling the police."
>"They're on their way, already." She said. "Send them up to Akamatsu Kaede's room when they arrive - we'll meet them there-"
>"Young lady, visiting hours are *over.*"
>Kirigiri said nothing: A prying flick of her badge case proved quite persuasive in of itself.
>"*...!*" Those dark, almond eyes boggled.
>"This - *is* - a police matter, ma'am." The sempai nodded. "You've your job - I've *mine,* so let's just leave it, as such."
>"Sōdesu ka...." The receptionist relented, deep eyes rolling down onto the bright screen before her, manicured nails pecking at the keyboard, absentmindedly. "Fine, let's see... *there.* Yeah, Akamatsu Kaede - still in recovery, discharge impending - same bed, same room. Visitors logged... Iruma Miu, inventor... Kirigiri Kyoko, detective - that's *you* - Saihara Shuichi, detective - whom I assume is standing right next to you - and... Ikusaba Mukuro, defense contractor-"
>He found his voice, finally; Kirigiri-Sempai's fuchsias widened, ever so slightly.
>"*NaNI!?*" He yelped.
>"Seventeen?" The woman asked, rhetorically. "Pretty young for a contractor, I say. Bōei Daigakkō cadet, however, I'd believe that."
>"Oh, my God-" he breathed, "she's *here!*"
>"Quick!" The true detective exclaimed, velvet palms slapping unto the countertop. "Call security and put this entire place on lockdown - code *white*, maybe *purple* - emergency situation! Get Keishichō on the phone, too, and call for a response unit!"
>"*Whoa...!*" The lady's eyes batted. "What *kind* of response are we talking about?"
>The sempai's jaw clenched, tightly.
>"Armed."

>A dead girl could hear nothing, cries falling unto cold, deafened ears: The cruelest taunts of a dying dream, fading well away into this inescapable nightmare of oblivion.
>Yet through the darkness, a voice persisted.
>"Akamatsu-San..." familiarity called after her, beckoning, "Akamatsu-San - *please...!*"
>Strange, it was: Alto tone, timbre masculine yet juvenile - tempo increasing, more imperative with each passing measure. Faint, passing thoughts must have drifted her astray, mere perceptive vagaries, enticingly alluring, yet nonetheless misleading. Strings of her heart felt plucked, however, a warm and pleasant tingle within her being, tickling her breast-
>-Her ears... *heating!*
>*I'm-* she pulled to breathe - cold rushing into her chest, refreshing and crisp - clean and sterile - burning icy hot, *I'm alive...! I'm actually ALIVE!!*
>Eyes peered through the darkness, sorely - tingling, stinging - *light...* sweet, blessed light overwhelmed everything. So warm and bright, it would consume her, surely, and she would lose herself unto it, gratefully.
>Eternity inviting her, personally, as it were, into the greatest of all orchestras; meticulously renewing, destructively moving, and harmoniously flowing in perfect synchronicity until the end of time: Creation's symphony everlasting!
>An invitation delayed, regrettably, the impressive Bösendorfer of flawless ivories standing lonely, for now, well out of reach until it truly was her time, as a humble cuff of modest pinstripes reached out to her.
>Who was she to refuse it?
>Her hand outstretched pawed for it, clumsily; the pinstripes laid claim, as light all consuming faded into blurry focus... a boyish face sharpening into the fore just beneath the baseball cap.
>"S-Sai..." sweet relief, she gratefully heaved, "Saihara-San. Saihara-*SAN!!*"

>She wrenched herself into a sit. An effort quite valiant, though her wound throbbed contrarian - hissing at the lingering burn - keeping her supine between the guardrails. Her classmate had taken the hint, thumbing the appropriate button of her remote, as the bed itself whirred to take the lead.
>She wanted to hug him, hold him tight, relinquishing never; the pain within her gut, however, stayed her selfish hands.
>"Akamatsu-San!" The classmate said, breathlessly. "My *God*, are you alright-!?"
>"S-Saihara-San!" Her chest winced, uttering a whimper pitiable. "Oh, my *God* - it was terrible! P-Please... please tell me that... *BITCH's* in custody!"
>"Unfortunately, no." Interjected a voice feminine, steady and cold; the vacant click of heels echoing that gaze of emotionless fuchsia into view. "No one else's present when we ran up here-"
>Akamatsu's eyes batted wide.
>"Sh-She's still on the *LOOSE!?*" She exclaimed.
>"Don't worry." Kirigiri-Senpai upheld a studded glove. "The hospital's on lockdown, right now, and Keishichō's armed response's sweeping the premises. Thorough search, as well - every nook, cranny, trash can, and laundry cart. If she's still here, they'll find her."
>"I..." bed-hair swept before her eyes amidst a wearied shake, "I don't think she is, though."
>"How so?" Saihara-San blinked.
>"N-Not sure what happened." She said. "She was leaning on me, heard a crash outside - *looked...* cursed and ran. Slapped the needle in my IV 'fore taking off."
>Gaze of fuchsia narrowed, intently.
>"Akamatsu Kaede," Kirigiri-Senpai began, "are you willing to testify that Ikusaba Mukuro had both menaced and assaulted your person?"
>*'Little Miss Freckles' has a name?* She blinked.
>"Y-Yes!" She replied, sorely. "Geez, she threatened to *kill* me, for God's sake - poking at my wound for good measure! When the plunger dropped, I thought I was good as dead!"
>She sighed.
>"Next thing I knew..." she muttered, "I woke up to you."

>Her eyelashes batted, feverishly.
>"I'm... not dead, *right?*"
>"Not, at all." Kirigiri-Senpai replied. "In fact, I was wondering what *this* was doing in the trash can."
>To wit, a velvet glove slipped into a plump pocket of her jacket - a sandwich bag withdrawn; fat with an incandescent vial sloshing with doses unused, glimmering with violent, diabolical meaning.
>"Is... is that the-?"
>"Flunitrazepam," the true detective stated, fuchsia eyes peering for the label, "benzodiazepine group. It's a sedative."
>"That explains why she was knocked for six." Saihara-San remarked.
>"Also suggests that she didn't want to kill you, after all-" the senpai agreed, "just made you... *believe* she would. Knowing her, she easily could've - duly true, if she drew the wrong amount."
>*Is that supposed to make me feel better?* She thought, rhetorically.
>"This doesn't make sense, senpai." Saihara-San scratched at his brow. "She's under suspicion, already, and then she goes and pulls this stunt. What the hell's she thinking?"
>"Either the ground's shrinking beneath her feet," the senpai noted, "or petty retaliation - show how much she doesn't appreciate a pointed finger. I'm not going to delve into speculation, however, until evidence shows otherwise."
>"Leaning toward the former myself." Saihara-San said. "After this, she *knows* the campus and half the city'll be after her."
>"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." The lavendar girl dismissed, the sandwich bag pocketed once more. "*Soon,* I assure both of you. Forensics will be here, imminently. I'll have a technician collect the sharps-box amongst other samples. Has to be trace evidence somewhere, and counter-tracking's not her strong-suit. In any case...."
>The senpai turned for her, formally - *finally!*
>*Geez...* she snorted, tersely, *not like I'm here, or anything.*

>"I'll see, if I can post a uniform at your door until your discharge." The detective stated. "Moreover, I've to ask you to give a full statement and sign a criminal complaint, as well."
>"Will that even work?" She asked.
>"Felony menacing and assault-" the lavendar braid acknowledged by a forward sway, "'shall arrest' clause, not 'may'. Gives us a chance to investigate her alongside other incidents around the academy, too - put her away for a long time, if confirmed."
>*'Other incidents'..!?* Her eyes boggled, nearly overwhelmed. *The hell's - WRONG - with this school!?*
>"Agreed." The ballcap nodded, simply.
>"That's not what I meant." Her head shook once. "Even if you arrest her, it won't solve anything."
>"An eight-by-ten in solitary states otherwise." Saihara-San mused aloud.
>Her eyes lapped around their orbits, rolling his way unimpressed.
>*My hero...* she could have groaned; she should, *not!*
>"That's an aside." The senpai said, pointlessly. "Ikusaba-San's dangerous, and now, she knows she's cornered. We can't have someone like that prowling around the school, anymore."
>"It won't - *solve* - anything, I *said.*" Lines of her brow creased.
>"And, how is that?"
>"Because, I remember a little bit more." She replied.
>"'Intimidation of a witness'-" Kirigiri-Senpai dismissed, annoyingly, "that's another charge. If she forced you into this, then tell us-"
>"I'm telling you, *now-*" her frown sharpened, "just like I told her, repeatedly. I don't remember much about the restroom, but those eyes... just above that thick barrel. I just know... I know for a *fact!*"
>"Know *what?*" The detective pressed, sternly.
>To wit, she drew in a cool breath, breathing it slow.
>"It..." she exhaled, "wasn't... *her.* She... *didn't...* do it."

>A vibration in her pocket, ringtone generic and muffling through the fabric, Ikusaba recused herself into the nearest restroom - plaques of recognizable gestalt ignored. A dirty look untoward an interloper could rectify the situation, rumors immediately quashed (or else)... despite her curious presence in front of the closest urinal.
>*People'll wonder what I'm really packing.* She mused.
>Perish the thought: She banished it, as her fingers slipped into her pocket, questing for her cheap burner phone - "Shiranai" emblazoned, brightly, across the display kanji-cum-hirigana. Onii-Chan took pride of mandatory place within the address book, a pinned contact - one who had earlier drafted quite the tirade; illegible, borderline unreadable - and no one else knew her number, neither Makoto nor Chihiro.
>"'Nother robo-call." She muttered, eyes rolling.
>Always annoying, yet it hardly explained the caller's... insistence along the call-log, basic icons of "missed" every five or some-odd minutes.
>"Ugh - can't wait to *hear* this." She groaned, the green icon tapped whilst the thin speaker further warmed an already flushed ear. "Mushi-mushi?"
>"*Kon-fuckin'-ICHIWA..!?*" The caller just had to blare.
>"Slow your damn roll-out!" She spat a response. "If this' 'bout upgrading my plan or changing my long-distance service-!"
>"*The fuck're you ON!?*" The caller exclaimed - feminine; coarse, shrill, and nasal quite telltale, borderline trademarked. "*Reduce the dosage... and save me a toke. It's ME!!*"
>A smile stretched across her face, sharply.
>"Mario?" She grinned.
>"*Very fuckin' funny, 'Fuck-Mook'!*" The caller yelled. "*Least, I'm not the one risking copyright infringement! Tellin' you, that zaibatsu's a golden horde of money-grubbin' psychos-*"
>"Iruma-San-!"
>"*Shit-*" Iruma Miu herself yelped, "*don't YELL at me! My head's been pounding all morning - feels like it's swarming with giant fuckin' hornets!*"

>"Funny you should mention it." Her smile flattened.
>...Static through the line and little more, the mere huffing of Iruma-San's breaths battering against her drums.
>"*Wh-What...?*" The underclassman squeaked, pitifully.
>"Can you explain to me - *why* - Onii-Chan burned through my text messages this morning?"
>"*Th-The FUCK should I know!?*" Iruma-San yelled - loudly deflecting, as usual. "Hungover like me, sweating out the booze and semen - blaming a nemesis, some baka somewhere who's probably knocked her up-!"
>"*IRUMA!!*"
>"*WWAAAHHH!!*" The pitiful girl squealed.
>"*Answer* me!" She demanded. "Why'd Onii-Chan rip me a new one this morning!? Why'd her *agent* blow up her phone, too - why's he scrambling to ward off the press!? What - the fuck - *HAPPENED* last night!?"
>Iruma-San replied nothing - a discomforting, incriminating squelch upon what Ikusaba perceived to be a seat.
>"*I... I don't know.*" The accused replied, feebly. "*Everything... everything spun around like Tokyu Hands after huffing a four-pack of Kansai sample jars!*"
>"Anything else you'd like to mention?" She pressed.
>"*I've...*" the accused drawled, "*been in a drunk tank all night. Does that count?*"
>Defense noted: "Not guilty by reason of insanity" entered into the proverbial record. It failed, miserably. The court martial finds the defendant, Iruma Miu, guilty of any and all charges, as Ikusaba thumbed through her mobile storage for the crucial piece of damning evidence: Peoples' exhibit A. A tap of her finger conveyed it.
>Onii-Chan herself was "kind" enough to present it, courtesy of *Bubka Max* and *Friday* magazines.
>["Studio Trigger'd: Manic Kogyaru Steals Show"]

>"*HHIIIIII..!!*" Iruma-San shrieked; wincing a reel, Ikusaba could swear that she felt her ear pop.
>A picture worth a thousand words, and did Phony-Chan's cover-spread speak volumes! Floored atop a hapless attendee astride; eyes bleary, watery, and wide, leering over her prey, as would a starved dog, the nameless, faceless man fared little chance.
>"*It... it, it - it...*" the guilty stammered, stuttering an appeal, "*it's not what it LOOKS like-!*"
>"'Not enough GRAMS!!', storms Enoshima Junko." She read aloud, appeal rejected.
>"*That 'Special K' was SHIT!*" Iruma-San denounced, loudly: Admission of guilt. "*That dick's lucky this rack slipped some borrachero along!*"
>*My God, Mukuro-* she coached herself, seething a hiss stifled, *don't get fuckin' MAD...!*
>"Let's..." she could barely breathe, "*recap* this after-action review. More of a battle-damage assessment, now, but never you fuckin' mind!
>"You went to the gathering in place of Onii-Chan. You were supposed to smile, wave, and look pretty. Instead, you decided to deviate *way* off-script - improvised and overcame a nameless 'bravo' on a whim. Am I... getting this right-?"
>"*He fuckin' STARTED it," Iruma-San argued, heatedly, "offered me a cham-PAIN glass - but, little did that K-popper know he was trying on Iruma fuckin' Miu - private partier, 'party favor' sommelier - known the world over!"
>Blood seemed to bubble within her eyelid, feeling it twitch, furiously.
>"What...?" She croaked.
>"*I could drink that fuckin' virgin under the table and straight into the ground,*" the underclassman continued, obliviously, "*fuckin' feather-weight-!*"
>"IRUMA!!"
>"*Told you 'bout my fuckin' head, already-*" Iruma-San retorted, "*DAMN!!*"
>"What... do you mean by 'K-popper'?" Her lips pursed, sourly.

>"*Korean boy-band member-*" Iruma-San replied, indifferently, "*the fuck you think I meant!? Thought he could win one over - clip this pretty, little 'nip' in her ripe buds - but I know ketamine when I taste it! So, I flipped the script when he wasn't looking - didn't know what hit 'em... or me, come to think. ...Shit - must've caught a whiff when I slipped the mick-!*"
>To wit, Ikusaba could only take a breath: A short, curt snort of indignation, as her loafers stormed her around the confines, aimlessly. It was all she could do... lest she herself exacerbate matters. Perhaps, however, the janitorial staff required more work today, as everything within her burned to lash out at the urinal... a stall door; sink, hand dryer, or trash can - the very mask of ugly, suppressed fury twisting back at her across the broad mirror - something, *anything!*
>"Con..." she breathed, quietly, "congratulations, Iruma-San - you just turned salacious gossip into an international incident. I could've sworn Onii-Chan dumped chlorine into my dorm's AC this morning, and now... I know why."
>"*Makings of a sisterly 'tiff', if you ask me-*" Iruma-San tried to scoff, indifferently.
>"I didn't *fuckin' ASK* you!" She denied her, immediately.
>"*That's 'cause you're too LOUD-*" Iruma-San snapped, too, "*FUCK!! Always have somethin' to fuckin' say, don't you-?*"
>"This debrief's OVER!!" She declared, coarsely, her throat long past dried. "Get your fat, cottage-cheese - *ass* - back here, double-time-!"
>"*I don't have fuckin' cellulite!*"
>"IRUMA MIU!!"
>"*WWAAAHHH..!!*"
>"Just..." her fingers curled into a tight fist; clenching, trembling, as her knuckles clicked a staccato, "get back here... have a shower, and sleep it off. Call in sick, if you have to, and - by *God* - those clothes had better be pristine!"

>Iruma-San replied little, fidgeting nothing, as Ikusaba's ear warmed with honest, innocuous words: A basic question that felt to burn the gnarled flesh into the proverbial third degree - a smolder quickly rivaling the white-hot flash chewing through her hand, as her knuckles smashed against the tile. If not for gloves hard-backed, she would have had to pull Tsumiki-Senpai aside, immediately.
>She eyed her handiwork unto the tile, sorely: A deep, cratered pockmark across a square of travertine, as large as her fist was wide.
>"WHAT - do you fuckin' - *MEAN* - 'CAB fare'!?" She snarled.
>"*I-*" the pathetic girl stammered, "*I, I - I... I left my wallet back at the venue, ALRIGHT!? Flat fuckin' broke, here - destitute!"
>"Even with the awe-inspiring, breathtaking sight of those precious *yams* you keep yammering about?"
>"*Oh - FUCK - you...!*"
>"Tch-" she huffed, "looks like you're sleeping your way back."
>"*I'm not on an 'out-call'-!*"
>"Could've fooled me." She replied, curtly. "Don't like it, then hoof it!"
>"*In these torture vices!?*"
>"Roger." She affirmed. "Kick 'em off, if you have to - but, I want 'em back spit-shined and spotless! Be grateful that's *all* you get!"
>"*B-B-But...*" Iruma-San protested, weakly, "*the streets! Th-They're filthy!*"
>"You rigged it," she stated, "you ride it, genius. This conversation's over."
>"*W-Wait a minute, here-!*"
>"*DENIED!*" She exclaimed. "RTB in six-zero mikes - get it *done!*"
>"*ALRIGHT, 'Fuck-Mook'-*" the underclassman conceded by a yell, "*SHIT!! ...What's a 'mike'?"
>Conversation over, debrief... "complete", the gloved pad of her thumb slapped onto the red icon - burner phone dismissed back into her pocket lest she, too, found it cracked and shattered at her loafers. She would handle Iruma later, of course, show her the err of careless ways, roughly - very unkindly - ensure the underclassman's sincerity to abstain; the swelling within her throbbing joints did require attention, however.

>*This has the makings of a very shitty week.* She surmised, wearily.
>"Going to have to burn that damn outfit." She sighed.
>"Unfortunately," thought banished, directive belayed at the all too authoritative tone of that intrusive, irritating voice: Nails on chalkboard, driving her mad, blood-red glowering, "your academy privileges have just been revoked!"
>*God... DAMN it-* she could curse; she should, *why'd I have to THINK it!?*
>She turned on her flat heel, slowly, though she had no need. She knew who it was, already, standing firm in stack-heel boots, sleves of velvet folded, crossly, as though the gal were serious.
>Kirigiri Kyoko: Professional busybody, fuchsia-eyed devil, maliciously prosecuting into matters far beyond her purview yet again - whipping flash of the badge-case typical. She ignored it, gladly.
>"The hell do you want - *this* - time!?" She growled.
>"You damn-well *know!*" Daddy's girl declared, boldly, an unkind, untoward finger the mark of personal exclamation, pointedly accusing. "Ikusaba Mukuro, I'm placing you under arrest!"

>"*ARREST!?*" Ikusaba scowled through the deep bite of pain, gnawing through her shivering glove, fingers twitching - surprisingly damp. "What the fuck *for!?*"
>The irritating girl of lavender braid upheld a tacky, studded glove, velvet digits out-stretching one by one in condescension.
>"Conspiracy, for one-" super-sleuth extrodinare counted, sanctimoniously, "felony menacing, assault, weapons possession - *every* crime under the sun, at this rate!"
>"You're bull-shitting!" She countered. "You have *nothing* - and, you - *KNOW* it!"
>"Wouldn't be standing here, if I didn't." Kirigiri-San, this entitled brat, dared to press. "Would you care to recount your itinerary last night, or should your pending transactions list it for you?"
>Snarl coarse, she cursed... her muscles tensing, heart hammering - adrenaline a furious wonder, unbridled power burning raw throughout her hunching body whilst her loafers shifted apart.
>"Akamatsu Kaede, Class 79, was assaulted last night!" Daddy's girl declared, boldly. "She told us herself - first-hand testimony puts *you* at the scene!"
>"You've to do better than that!" Her brow furrowed.
>Clarity faded into blurs abstract, pinched mask of infuriating porcelain soon but a creamy smudge atop a humanoid bodice of velvet - movements gross-motor caught, easily: Just the way she liked it - the way this wet work of her dark trade required.
>"Of course." The silhouette appeared to agree, dots of fuchsia never deviating. "We both know you're not dumb enough to be caught on camera, but you should've really left the damn *guestbook* blank!"
>She gasped, sharply, the figurine in sight sharpening... *just.*
>"That was DAYS ago-" she challenged, "day-*OF!* Didn't you or your page-boy check the fuckin' TIMEstamps-!?"
>"Doesn't matter-" daddy's girl, this... hostile foot-mobile - ignored, "tell it to the defense! I'm taking you in!"

>*Something's... wrong, here.* She could barely think. *This... this isn't right.*
>"Sounds like the case's gone cold..." she dared a seethe, "Oto-San's getting inpatient - and, you're getting *lazy-!*"
>"Rationalize however you want!" Kirigiri-San yelled. "Doesn't dismiss the criminal complaint and restraining order filed against you! Now, I've to ask you to put your hands behind your back - palms *up*, fingers spread!"
>*No choice, now...!* Her lip curled, fiercely.
>"Be advised...!" She warned, sternly. "You had the drop. Should've *pulled* on me, right then and there!"
>*Speed...!* She coached herself, the thought slowly intrusive... all consuming, having been drummed into her beaten brow, as would a religious mantra.
>Objective clear, decision made, and directive finalized, she knew what she had to do... what she *must!* Enemy personnel had just left her without a choice; may chips, pieces - and *heads* - fall where they may.
>"'Threatening an officer'," the enemy barked, rattling off charges real and probable, construed or even imagined, "'resisting arrest' - *two* more for an already impressive rap-sheet. Keep going!"
>*Aggression...!* The thought continued unabated.
>"Don't *TOUCH* what you can't grab, daddy's girl!"
>"'Detective Kirigiri' to you, *INU!*"
>*You...* untoward the soft silhouette, her glare sharpened into a dagger, *just made this too - EASY - for me, NOW!!*
>"Shh..." she quivered, heaving a hiss familiarly slow, "sh-should've taken the shot when you had the chance..."
>...As everything around swiftly faded into white-
>-"'Cause a kunoichi..."
>...Hot-
>-"You're *NOT-!!*"
>-Light!

>Saihara's feet hurt, knees knocking - aching - joints grinding, as his sneakers slapped the floor, hurrying him closer. He knew little of what had just happened; rumors and heresay ignored, dismissed, and quashed along with matted hair - ballcap refitted and secure by a hard tug of the bill.
>Trampled under wandering feet almost, as he angled his pinstripes in and around, twisting through the swelling crowd: Hope's Peak Academy herding for the scene, wisdom debatable.
>A sort of commotion in the mens' room, or so his hot ears had caught, sharp rebukes and reprimands exclaimed solitary. Yet, however, it had somehow escalated into an altercation, wills betwixt a live, sudden challenger warring vocal... intensity bursting forth in great, violent anger.
>Murmurs rumored, now, and little more... fingers curling up his chest, clawing for his heart whilst eyes widdened unto the sight of the lone gurney beneath the placard of a simple male shape, draped with an ever-enshrouding-
>-*Oh, God...!* He gasped. *Not AGAIN..!!*-
>-White sheet.
>Onlookers gawking helped nothing, useless conjectures and speculation: "Chinese Whispers", if he had ever heard them. Curiously, however, several nameless boys held themselves, tightly, crossing their legs when their hands weren't squeezing at their loins.
>"Wh-What...?" His quivering throat had him stutter. "What the hell happened, *now!?*"
>"H-Hell, if I know." The nameless, faceless boy closest strained. "Went to relieve myself just to find a gal at the damn urinal, snarling into a phone!"
>His lashes batted, incredulously.
>"*What?*"
>"Heard it first." The student nodded. "Thought she mistook it for the girls' room, but she gave me this nasty look."
>"Seriously?" He asked.
>"*Dead* serious-" the boy affirmed, gravely, "like she was going to cut my *bits* off with something rusty! What I've heard about her - wouldn't surprise me, if she kept an old reed knife up her skirt."
>His gaze narrowed, intently.

>"Who's *she...?*" He pressed.
>"One of the ultimates." The student shrugged. "Hard to believe you hadn't heard something, by now. Come on! You've *had* to have seen her, now and again - black hair, cold eyes, freckled - chip on her shoulder the size of Hokkaido."
>"Oh, shit-" he blanked, "*Ikusaba!*"
>"That's the one." The boy's average head bobbed once - proudly, as it were. "See? Told you knew her-"
>"Not... the *point*, right now." His teeth pressed together. "Is... is there anything else you can tell me?"
>"N-Not really." The student's thighs and knees squeezed together, tightly. "I split 'fore I nearly drained in my pants. Tried to race for the next bathroom, but freckles' classmate - I think - stopped me in the hall and asked me, if I seen her... *freckles*, that is. You know... the super-cop one."
>"Kirigiri-Senpai!" He exclaimed.
>"Think that's right, yeah." The boy shrugged. "Told her to follow the shouting. She did... then more shouting, yelling - then... I don't know what - sounded like a Mioda Ibuki-temper tantrum!"
>Despair a heavy wad in his throat, he swallowed it hard; hope draining, as his eyes wandered for the tragedy sprawled and draped in clincial white. He held his bravest face, struggling, feeling himself just... fall.
>*Try...* he coached himself, *try to remember what she taught you.*
>"How..." he said, quietly, "how bad was it-?"
>"Cranked all the way to *eleven.*"
>Voice feminine and familiar, tone firmly emotionless and professional, Saihara should have known, by now. He craned his head around a neatly pressed shoulder. Relief swelled in his lungs at the sight of that lavender braid, dangling still beside that fair mask of flawless porcelain. Kirigiri Kyoko stood on the scene and atop of matters, as always; one of the academy's finest in dress blues stood before her, scratching hiragana and kanji in a small notepad.
>*...Typical-* He exhaled.
>-"I know I *told* you about that, Saihara-San." She remarked, predictably.

>Velvet shoulder comfortably pressed against the wall, yet a... utility belt of woven nylon hanged by a loose glove - pair of *knives* sheathed, swaying by the taut frogs.
>"Yes, senpai." His face pinched, curious sight dismissed yet remembered and noted. "I'm sure I'll hear *all* about it in my performance review."
>"*Save* it." Fuschia eyes narrowed, ever so slightly.
>He felt, as though he should retort something. To wit... he declined, refraining whilst his sneakers negotiated him between a pair of jutting shoulders and into the clearing. He should know: There was nothing he could say that she had yet to suspect, by now.
>"Alright," the senpai raised her voice, as he made his approach, "this is hereby a crime scene, as of now. Unless anyone else here was directly involved, I've to ask all of you to clear out - return to your classes or study hall."
>"P-Please...!" Yet another nameless, faceless boy of crossed legs and pinched loins winced. "Just let us use the damn *bathroom!*"
>"Going to catch an infection from this shit!" Whined another.
>"There are *other* facilities throughout the campus." She replied, curtly. "I suggest you find them. Now, move it!"
>A whine throughout, shared and sweeping, the spectators dispersed. Fingers of the girls scratched through their own respective hair perplexed, as those of boys pawed at their own groins, teetering their toddling way down the corridor, out of sight and well away. The senpai took for herself a moment, breathing deep and blowing slow; tips of the knife sheathes clacked together amidst the movement.
>"Hate public speaking." She grumbled. "A PIO, I'm not."
>"Never thought you were." He shrugged a reply.
>The campus dress-blues clicked his ballpoint, flipping over the notepad's cover - both it and pen tucked away in a chest pocket. The man straightened his cover atop his head, clearing his throat, as those average eyes rolled for the covered gurney parked below the restroom placard.

>Saihara's eyes had to follow.
>"Who's the vic?" He inquired.
>Velvet sleeves shrugged once.
>"See for yourself." She replied.
>He complied; sneakers carrying him closer, as his hand took the lead, fingers out-stretching for the sheet.
>*Feel like I know the answer,* he thought, grimly, hem of thick cotton taken into his grasp, *but I'll have it for the record, anyway.*
>A ruffle of pulled fabric, he looked - a subtle pain within his brow, just behind his crossing, boggled eyes. Raven bangs limp upon the rubbery mat downswept, caressing closed, narrow eyes, never before had he noticed those high cheekbones or pointed jaw, deceptively soft and warm in spite of a cold, hardened, and callused personality.
>Freckles were often a focal point, after all.
>Ikusaba Mukuro, Class 78: Ultimate Soldier - down for the count, incredibly - *IMPOSSIBLY* - limp although hardly lifeless, fears assuaged by the faint, subtle rising and falling of her modest breast.
>"*N-NaNI..!?*" He stood bewildered, completely overwhelmed. "Just, how... how in the *WORLD-!?*"
>Neck thick and curiously bare - just as those broader shoulders and pencil-thin collarbones, his thoughtless hand pulled for a better look-
>-"Ah-*AH..!!*" The senpai denied him, immediately, gloved, wagging finger chiding. "Don't even think about it!"
>Swiftly, he acknowledged with a prudent nod.
>"Gomen." Habbitually, he bobbed. "I... I just don't understand this. Just how... how is this even possible?"
>Braid of lavender, the senpai tucked it behind her ear, casually.
>"Explanation's forthcoming." She replied.
>The faceless man in dress-blues snapped to attention at her sudden turn - dumbfounded suddenly, as the utility belt lept into his fumbling hands unwitting.

>"Have this bagged into evidence, as soon as possible." She stated, firmly, turning herself for the bedridden, sprawled helpless across the gurney, index finger pointed unto the lead. "In the meanwhile, take - *her* - and wheel her into the restricted area - the most secured room in the section available."
>Eyes of fuschia sharpened into a glare.
>"Have detail down there check in, frequently - ten-to-fifteen minutes." She huffed. "One fails, send down the entire force. Do - *NOT* - let her escape!"
>The dress-blues did nothing, neither an indifferent eyeroll nor a terse rebuke. He slipped an arm through the belt and steadied it upon his shoulder whilst he moved for the gurney. Bare Ikusaba had no clue, as to what awaits her when the nameless man took grip upon the handles - noisy squeak of dried wheels a sentence unenviable, fate all but sealed.
>...The two of them were out of sight before he knew it.
>"Oh... *kay.*" He uttered; it was all he could think to do, professionality maintained - *just.* "Now, that - *that's* - out of the way, you would mind telling me what the hell's going on...?"

>The upperclassman shrugged, indifferently.
>"Gomen, Saihara-San." She replied, simply, as though it really was - the *nerve!* "But, the calculus adjusted-"
>"Thirteen pigeon holes-" he scoffed, irritably, "twelve pigeons. Would it behoove you to - *enlighten* - me what goes in this empty hole, or do I've to start pinking bird nests?"
>"I don't appreciate your tone-" She tried to reprimand, fuchsias narrowing.
>"NO - senpai!" He denied her - quite loudly, in fact. "You are - *NOT* - pulling rank, right now!"
>A loud *SHINK*, rough iron glancing across stainless into crystal, Saihara could swear that he heard it somehow, deep in the back of his mind; Kirigiri herself appeared to recoil by a small step, taken aback.
>"What..." she appeared to contest, "wh-what're you on about-?"
>"You could've been *killed!*" He berated, disparagingly. "I thought you - *were* - dead when I got here. Seeing that gurney, hearing what I just heard - what the hell was I supposed to think!?"
>Corners of her perfect lips appeared to tug into the slightest of frowning flaws.
>"I'm growing tired of seeing you flap like this, Saihara-San-"
>"*NO!!*" He dared to yell, caring little. "I don't give a damn, if you're tired, right now! After St. Luke's, you took off without a word - *again!*"
>"Saihara-San, I-"
>"The shooter's still on the loose-" he fumed, "we're no closer to cracking this thing. Kaede's been assaulted-"
>"'Kaede' now," the senpai retorted, coolly - infuriatingly petty, "is it?"
>"*Deflecting* much?" He countered, swiftly.
>The senpai said nothing, her cutting tongue of razor sharpness withheld, sheathed within thin, pressed lips. She just stood there, as velvet sleeves folded across her chest. The slightest of pride felt to swell inside of him: A mild sense of accomplishment. Under other circumstances, he would savor it, gladly.

>"You're being irrational-"
>"And - *you're* - changing the subject," he interjected, "wresting for control. Write me up, if you want - it won't change anything!"
>"Saihara-San, you don't-"
>"No, senpai-" he nearly yelled, "listen to *me,* for once! I'm *not* being irrational. Keeping me in the dark, going *solo* - after *Ikusaba-San*, of all people! *You're* the one expressing poor judgment! What if it turned sour - what if *you're* the one with a knife in the gut!? What the hell am I supposed to do, then!?"
>Stare of fuchsia rolled once melodramatic, his indignation invalidated, seemingly.
>*UGH..!!*
>"You're - *supposed* - to trust your senior, Saihara-San." She replied, coolly - *annoyingly*. "I wasn't born yesterday-"
>"And - *I* was born two days before, at least!" He quipped, sorely.
>"And, that pithy retort's going in my personal notebook." She noted, musingly, gloved knuckle curled against her chin. "Why didn't I think of that?"
>"Ego-stroking, now?" He shot.
>"Tch..." corners of her lips uplifted, slightly, "very good. You're learning."
>Exasperated, he groaned.
>"God *damn* it." He sighed. "*Fine....* You win, senpai. How 'bout the next time I've a thought, I shouldn't?"
>"Forget it, Saihara-San." She replied.
>"I could bang my head against the nearest wall, if you'd rather." Pads of his fingers rubbed across his brow, gingerly. "It seems more productive."
>"You're *done*, Saihara-San." She pressed.
>"Only, if you *answer* me." He frowned. "Is that too much to ask, or should I start reading tea leaves and consult the magic eight-ball?"
>"Saihara-San-" Her lips pressed, sternly.
>"I hear this 'Atua' being's pretty good." He replied. "A shame its oracle's a few berries short of a fruit salad-"
>God... Atua, Allah - whomever loomed, as witness omnipresent, the senpai actually growled.
>"*SaiHARA!!*" Gloves clenched, her leg wrenched a small stomp.
>"Okay, okay...." He relented. "Got to get a lick in sometime."

>"And - *this* - is going in your performance review." She warned, sternly.
>A girl of idle threats, Kirigiri Kyoko was never the one, after all.
>"Sodesu-ka." He bowed, formally. "But *please*, senpai - I'd like to be filled in. Just what exactly happened? I've to file a daily report, too, you know."
>"That's better." She nodded. "I surmise that you're making an effort to maintain confluence?"
>"Well, yes-" he replied, "whatever's going to keep Sakakura-Taicho off our case. He's none too thrilled about the academy's state of affairs, as it is... when he's not beating up Reserve Course students."
>"He's ancillary." Velvet shoulders dismissed by a shrug. "He's nothing to do with us, but the thought's appreciated."
>"Of course." He said. "But, what happened here?"
>"Should've figured it, by now." The senpai replied. "Ikusaba-San and I had it out, and *I* won-"
>"*Exactly!*" He exclaimed. "Just... *how* - did you do that? I don't know anyone - *period* - who could outfight her. Ogami-Senpai... Owari-Senpai maybe, but I doubt it."
>"I'm not an idiot, Saihara-San." Her brow furrowed, gently. "I *know* I can't, but you're on the right track-"
>"Please..." he drawled, gravely, a dreadful wad working down his tightened throat, "please tell me you didn't ask Pekoyama-Senpai!"
>To wit, the upperclassmen of lavender hair tucked her braid behind her ear.
>"It's easier, if I just show you." She said, jacket of velvet swishing toward the plaque of feminine gestalt. A blind, curling wave above the shoulder-pad, she beckoned him. "Follow me."
>He could only comply. What choice did he have?
>*Can't wait to see this.* He muttered, inwardly.

>Across the hall and through the weighty portal, he braved forward his best sneaker onto forbidden territory: Sacred ground of spotless tile and marbled travertine, ornate linoleum bold and grand, and affixed with the best faucets that reserve tuition and government grants could afford. Soft, warm lights, immaculate privacy, it was... *magical.*
>*I feel gypped.*
>Two was company; three was a crowd, and four was too many. Saihara stood outnumbered.
>His immediate superior propped her shoulders against the nearest space of vacant wall; two other ladies kept beside themselves, one focused upon the task in probing hands and laid across the counter-top. Penny loafers stood atop a neatly folded, button-up blouse, knee-high socks stuffed in between the heel cups and tongues while the slender gal busied herself with a modest skirt, gaze of red peering earnest, as the hemline slid, slowly, through methodical thumbs. Intermittently, she broke contact to shoo one of her long, wayward twin-tails behind her head by the fat scrunchie. Another young lady of an hourglass figure tended to her, standing to precarious attention - pigeon toed, bandaged knees knocking - hesitantly, nervously dabbing a soggy cotton-ball onto a cheek by a pair of angled tweezers-
>-A slight hiss of the slender girl, the shapely one leapt affright - toe of a white loafer hooked against the instep of an ankle boot - the tweezers flying out of a trembling pinch, and the girl fell tumbling, rolling-
>-"NaNI!?" He yelped-
>-To a stop against his loins, her mouth open - lips... cupping around his natural shapes. Through the fabric, he heard her whinge, pathetically, her breath... quite *warming*.
>"Can..." he cringed, "can't I buy you a drink *first?*"
>The girl whined again, looking up at him scared, doe-eyes welling; he felt *every* vibration. The senpai and his classmate just scowled.
>*Harukawa Maki and Tsumiki Mikan...* he acknowledged, *can this day get any 'better'?*

>"As Ikusaba-San herself shouted," the upperclassmen noted aloud, a velvet index curled upon the pointed chin at the foreknuckle, "a kunoichi I'm not."
>Index curled still, the gloved thumb angled her way by a steady twist of the wrist.
>"Harukawa-San, on the other hand, *is.*"
>"Kunoichi": The corners of Harukawa's lips tugged into the slightest of frowns, inwardly scowling - standing beside herself, eyes squarely focused upon the task sprawled across the linoleum. Fingers of one hand drew the hemline of the skirt from the firm pinch of the other, gradually, centimeter by centimeter - a rough imperfection sensed, coarse and scratchy. She thumbed the swatch up and inside out, eyes peering earnest: A thin strip of Velcro, if she ever knew it. Fingernails pried short work of it - a rice-grain sliver of metal, as long as basmati, clattering onto the counter-top with a length of sewing thread cascading, trailing just behind it.
>*An apropos description, I suppose.* She thought.
>Well trained as a samurai without a shred nor sense of honor, such wet work of this dark, black trade canonized saints of no one; excommunicated well unto damnation, eaten away by the iniquitous desires of covetous others too self-righteous to soil and sully their greedy, manicured hands. If not for the orphanage, she would shove the dagger, the Strike-9, and suppressed guns back at the clients, gladly, if not eagerly *in* through those gaudy, blemished fleeces.
>"If she hadn't banged her hand," she replied, "it could've been a different story."
>Her classmate, Saihara-San, pulled an incredulous face; whether or not Tsumiki-Senpai, wriggling against his lower pinstripes, evoked such a reaction had yet to be known.
>"I'll bet!" He remarked, predictably.
>"*Could've* been," her retort stressed, "not *would've* been, Saihara-San."
>"*Uh...?*" He droned.
>"Just leave it."

>She dismissed him, as well as the skirt. Neatly, she folded it, tucking it beneath the button-up blouse. Secretive affects of Ikusaba's stripped person soon rearranged across the linoleum for the detectives' review: Bobby pins, razor blades, a lockpick set, a stuffed compact mirror, and a makeshift compass amongst other items of professional identia.
>"Is that what you found?" Kirigiri-Senpai inquired.
>"What is all that stuff?" Saihara-San blinked, as usual.
>"'Escape-custody' kit-" she stated, her hand sweeping over the items, broadly, "dispersed throughout her clothing. Handcuff keys and lockpicks, obviously - bobby pins, failing those, and a compact mirror retooled into a 'key clam'. Razor blades for emergency cuts or last-ditch slashes. A compass made of rare-earth magnets stashed in her skirt, and a hand-drawn map of the campus hidden underneath an insole. The hip-flask is just for a stiff shot of self-medication, though it could be for an accelerant, just as easy."
>Her classmate's eyes boggled amidst what appeared to be a painful cross.
>"Wha'-" he uttered, "*how...?* How'd you know all of that!?"
>An average, honest question: It was pertinent albeit highly irrelevant. Of course, Harukawa knew of common objects and their repurposed uses; she, too, had secreted away similar items (and others) across her attire. She, however, would never admit it, openly.
>"*Leave* it, Saihara-San." She pressed.
>"Agreed." The senpai nodded. "A girl has to have *some* secrets."
>"But, I know about *the-*" The boy attempted, foolishly.
>"Another time, Saihara-San-" The senpai denied him, sagaciously, "not here. Now... could you kindly remove yourself from my partner, Tsumiki-Senpai?"
>The hopeless nurse floundered, wrenching herself off his person with quite a *POP* - a bleary, aimless stare well past the middle distance, doe eyes glazing back into her head, plastered face a leering mask, lips agape in a wide, amorous smile. It was... *concerning.*

>"Uhuhuhuh...!" The nurse breathed, deeply, seemingly relishing. "Sss... *s-s-smegma.*"
>Kirigiri-Senpai winced, throat tense and suppressing a wretch; Harukawa scowled, and Saihara-San stood... nonplussed, as it were.
>"I... think I threw up in my mouth a little." Kirigiri-Senpai coughed once.
>"Agreed." She nodded.
>"Hey-" Saihara-San exclaimed a needless protest, "I *wash-!*"
>*...I could go the rest of my life without knowing that.* She could groan, her eyes rolling.
>"Saihara-San...." The detective chided disapproval.
>"Okay, okay." He conceded. "But, it doesn't explain just how either of you managed to best Ikusaba-San."
>"Surprised each other, equally." She replied. "She hit me, as much as I hit her before we took it to the floor in a grapple fight. Should've expected it, as our hand-to-hand and knife skills are near-identical. Didn't think a girl as weedy as her could strike *that* hard, however."
>"I... I-" Tsumiki-Senpai stammered, needlessly, shuddering up to her shaky feet, "I treated her hand the best I could, I *swear* - a-astringent and bandages. It... it, it - *it's...* a miracle she didn't break her metacarpals! Sh-She looks just so drained all the time - she shouldn't even be *walking!*"
>"May be supplements to make up for malnutrition," the junior detective surmised aloud - pointless, as usual, "or she may've the metabolism of a hummingbird. Won't know 'til her dorm's searched."
>"Request is pending." Kirigiri-Senpai noted. "As it's academy property, no warrant's needed. Ikusaba-San and her loudmouth sister should have really read the tenancy agreement."
>"Fine print's a bitch." Saihara-San nodded. "Regardless, this doesn't explain just *how* you did it. She's completely *out*, and I didn't see any bruising around her head-"
>"'Contusion'!" Tsumiki-Senpai snapped reactive, fists clutched and aggressively hunched. "It's called a 'contusion' or 'ecchymosis'!"

>Kirigiri-Senpai and she ignored her; Saihara-San upheld peaceable palms outward.
>"Okay - *okay!*" He winced back a sharp stride.
>"For a walking *stick*, she's surprisingly thick-skinned." She shrugged.
>"I may have..." the senior detective spoke, thoughtfully, "*thumbed* the scales in our favor."
>"And, how's that?" He blinked.
>To wit, a studded glove slipped into a velvet pocket - a sudden glint bright and sharp in the light, gleaming soon dull and dingy - a tiny amount of incandescent translucence shimmering within the plastic just below the thinnest syringe. Plunger depressed, fully, the tiniest drop of fresh scarlet trapped by black rubber - "*blood in the nub*" - a certain someone had put it to recent work.
>Harukawa had seen it all.
>"Wait." Saihara-San blinked. "Isn't that the-?"
>"Indeed." Lavender hair shifted amidst a single nod. "Flunitrazepam - the selfsame compound recovered from St. Luke's."
>"You *drugged* her..." he exclaimed, "with *evidence!?*"
>"Don't be ridiculous, Saihara-San." She scoffed, dismissively. "That one's logged into evidence, already. This particular vial, however, I did commandeer from the infirmary-"
>"*W-W-WAIT* a minute, here!" The nurse yelled, fingers curled - clawing at her long, messy hair. "Th-That... that, that - *that's...* from *MY infirmary!?*"
>"From the sound of it back there," Kirigiri-Senpai shrugged once, "Saionji Hiyoko found you quite compromised and *intimate* atop of Koizumi Mahiru-"
>"B-B-But, I *TRIPPED!!*" The nurse appeared to fume through that persistent stutter.
>"So you had pleaded when Saionji-Senpai wringed your joints again."
>"B-But, th-th-that doesn't excuse you from sneaking into my infirmary." The Ultimate Nurse cringed into herself, refuge sought within the comforts of her own neurosis... as usual. "Y-You took a controlled substance during my rounds. I... I - I could be expelled, if administration finds out!"

>"It's a risk," the senior detective replied, simply, "but one I had no choice but to take."
>The nurse drawled a long, loud whine, nearly crying (*again*); Harukawa felt her eyes recede into a glare-
>-"I *saw* that, Harukawa-San." Kirigiri-Senpai just *had* to remark.
>*Of course, you would...* she huffed, *self-important bitch.*
>"P-Please..." the nurse sniffed, pathetically, bowing deep, "please tell me you've had basic instruction, at least."
>"Actually, no-"
>"N-N-NaNI!?" The feeble senpai gasped, dramatically. "Y-You - you must *never* use a syringe without instruction - it's very dangerous! Y-You could tear a wall and rupture an artery!"
>"As before," the detective shrugged, "no choice."
>Tsumiki-Senpai decried with yet another whine. Typical Kirigiri Kyoko of Class 78, Harukawa sorely huffed; so irreverent, so casually indifferent, standing proud in condescending arrogance with little, brief authority: An ensemble of questionable officialdom a size far too big without a lingering stain of second thought.
>*Should've slapped the needle clear and walked away-* she snorted, bitterly, *let Ikusaba-Senpai and she hash out the nitty-gritty.*

>"Alright, that's enough." The cold senpai asserted, firmly. "...*Enough*, I said."
>The beleaguered senpai of twitchy, wary disposition snapped herself steady and rigid, doe eyes wide, weariness of shimmering glisten. If the girl had halted faster, that wobbly, bandaged knee could snap well into severe hyper-extension. Harukawa could quickly abate such unfounded fears; she *should...* if not for an impending reprimand - cracked by the whip of that tacky braid of taut lavender.
>*Keep it up, senpai.* Her scowl deepened. *You're going to make it all too easy for someone, one of these days-*
>"I saw *that*, Harukawa-San." The detective remarked, habitually. "Do I sense some... *hostility* - in your current posture?"
>*Make that hours, at this rate.*
>She huffed: It was all she could do... for *now.*
>"I'll take that as a 'yes', then." The detective quipped, dismissively.
>"Well..." her classmate immediate noted, mind loose and aloud: Annoying, as always, "her shoulders did just lurch forward, slightly, and her boots shuffled apart to shoulder-width. Fists are balled, too."
>Glare dropped onto her hands... knuckles pressing the subtle creases smooth, as her nails had dug into her palms just above the heels.
>*You're slipping, Harukawa.* She scolded herself.
>"Good." The velvet girl affirmed with the slightest of nods. "Although, you should have caught it when the soles of her boots squelched upon the tile, abruptly. If she'd laid a plan, she would have hatched it on you seconds ago."
>"Are..." her face pinched amidst a slow, heated breath, "you - *trying* - to get under my skin, senpai?"
>The senpai of lavender hair turned a stack-heel her way, intently, stare of cold fuchsia gleaming squarely earnest.
>"And, are you attempting to - *intimidate* - an officer, Harukawa-San?"

>"And," she dared to challenge, "would you've preferred to arrest Ikusaba-Senpai on your - *own* - if I ignored your little, heavy-handed 'request'?"
>The bandaged senpai of long, unkempt hair drawled yet another whine; her classmate dared one of his sneakers forward.
>"*Uh...* guys?" Saihara-San interjected. "Can we take a step back, for a moment."
>"Word travels fast around here, senpai." She ignored him. "Without a six-shooter, you're *nothing*, and a badge-case makes for a flimsy shield."
>"And, you'd know *all* about shields, wouldn't you?" The detective pressed, sternly. "What would you say is the failure point of a piece of nickel-on-copper, charted on a ballistics table?"
>"*Tch-*" she scoffed, immediately, "nice try, detective. I'm not falling for that."
>The velvet senpai touched the wrinkles of a gloved index to her pointed chin with the softest of smirks.
>"Heh... well played, Harukawa-San." Kirigiri-Senpai noted.
>Tsumiki-Senpai's eyes crossed, sorely, completely bewildered; even Saihara-San scratched at the bill of that stupid baseball cap, quizzically.
>"Wha'... what is going *ON..!?*" The nurse cried melodramatic.
>"I think..." Saihara-San blinked, "I think that the senpai tried to goad my classmate into incriminating herself – by way of rhetorical, *loaded* question. At least... I think she did."
>"Well spotted, Saihara-San." The senior detective affirmed. "A cheap tactic – borderline cliche, nowadays - but given the ebb and flow of any situation, it can be quite effective."
>"You *do* know the defense would cry foul about that, right?" The junior detective noted, pointlessly.
>"*Res gestae*, Saihara-San-" the velvet senpai countered, "'things done'. It's admissible in court and doesn't even meet the criteria of 'malicious prosecution'. Any judge worth his salt would overrule the objection, immediately, on its face, but that's an aside."

>Stack-heel boots turned for the pigeon-toes of those white loafers, which recoiled away by a sharp, defensive stride.
>"*Uh..??*" The unnerved senpai droned an apprehensive whine.
>"Tsumiki-Senpai," Kirigiri-Senpai said, "your efforts are appreciated. However, I need you to proceed to the restricted area and report to the sergeant on-site. He should be in area-monitoring-"
>"N-N-*NaNI..!?*" The nurse yelped. "W-W-Why? Wha'... what did I do *wrong-!?*"
>"Nothing, senpai." The detective reassured... arguably. "You did nothing wrong. However, I need you to oversee - if not - fit Ikusaba-San for an IV."
>"An *IV!?*" Tsumiki-Senpai exclaimed. "W-W-What for - what're you thinking 'bout-?"
>"Saline laced with reduced amounts of sedative, I'm thinking." The detective stated. "Keep her hydrated yet drugged, thereby controllable-"
>Harukawa felt her brow crease, deeply, lips suddenly soured and pursing.
>*Who the hell does she think she is-!?*
>"Tipping your hand - *again* - Harukawa-San." The cold detective just *had* to remark: The sheer temerity of it!
>*Tch... like I even need to ask.*
>"N-N-*No..!!*" The nurse refused, loudly. "I – I *won't.*"
>"And, why is that?"
>"Senpai," Saihara-San interjected, "I don't want to contradict you, but I've got to protest. You're going a step too far, here - *way* too far."
>"Appreciated, Saihara-San," the velvet senpai replied, casually - *patronizing,* as it were, "but we've the welfare of the student body to consider. We don't have the luxury of complacency around Ikusaba-San. One slip and we could have a *real* situation on our hands. We can't afford any mistakes-"

>"*Exactly!*" The junior detective pressed, confidently. "Ikusaba-Senpai may be in custody, but she's still afforded the usual protections - legal counsel, and all. Not if - but *when* - she conveys her treatment to the defense, and her bloodwork pops *hot* - it's grounds for mistrial and immediate dismissal. She'll *walk*, and we'll all be under an electron microscope of legal, bureaucratic shit - you, me - administration - *everybody!* Small-claims court and a lawsuit'll be the least of our worries, then... if we're not indicted first."
>The velvet senpai touched her curled index onto her pointed chin again, pensively, standing silent.
>*No retort?* Harukawa would have sneered. *No quip or pithy comeback? Tch – that's a first.*
>"I..." Tsumiki-Senpai breathed, "I don't want you to feel like we're ganging-up, b-b-but I agree... f-for a *different* reason – that's *ALL..!!*"
>Kirigiri-Senpai rolled the nurse's way a narrowed, peering eye.
>"...Yes?"
>"I..." the nurse took for herself a shallow breath, heaving, "I don't want to bore you with the minute, bodily chemistry, but what you're considering doesn't *work* that way."
>"And, how's that?"
>"You..." Tsumiki-Senpai continued, bravely; Harukawa would feel proud, if she felt such things, anymore, "you inoculated her with a large dosage of sedative, already - a CC too much for her BMI. By continuously pumping her with sedative, you could induce respiratory failure, if not cardiac or even renal!"
>"Even, if moderated through a Plum-A machine-?" The detective attempted to persist.
>"Y-You're..." the nurse denied it, *surprisingly*, "you're more likely to - *KILL* - her like that!"
>The unkempt senpai recoiled into herself, timidly, arms tense and fast, clutching her shivering figure.
>"A-And, if th-that happens..." the nurse shuddered, severely, "then her sister... her sister *will-*"

>"Enoshima-San's a 'character witness', for all it matters..." Kirigiri-Senpai interjected, sharply, "provided she actually turns up again."
>"B-B-*But...*" Tsumiki-Senpai stammered, "sh-she's on a photo-shoot - she told me before she left!"
>"Curious, as to - *why* - she failed to file that with administration," Cold gaze of steeled fuchsia just barely narrowed, "let alone even mention it in passing. I certainly heard nothing about it, and - as usual - Ikusaba-San's not talking, bringing us back to the matter at hand-"
>"I am - *NOT* - drugging her more!" The nurse exclaimed, boldly. "I won't do it – I *refuse!*"
>"We can't allow her to escape," the detective pressed, firmly, "and I'm not putting security at further risk."
>"They don't even get hazard pay." Her classmate remarked, pointlessly; Harukawa felt her eyes roll.
>"Th-The gurney's fitted with thick Velcro restraints-" Tsumiki-Senpai retorted, "heavy-duty nylon. You had her wrists cuffed and ankles shackled to the guardrails, already. The... th-the most I can do is fit the straps and draw them snug - that is *it!* Don't... don't ask me to do more than that - you can't *make* me!"
>Velvet shoulders flexed; jacketed chest swelled, as the stern upperclassman breathed slow and deep, appearing to... relent with a rather vocal sigh.
>"...Very well." Kirigiri-Senpai yielded. "You're probably right."
>*She – is – right,* Her tense throat loosened, dense wad stuck in her craw dissolving, finally clearing, *you arrogant bitch.*
>"Ah..." the rattled nurse heaved sweet relief, posture lax and bowing deep - practically bobbing, "arigato. A-Arigato gozaimasu!"
>"Be that, as it may," the thin braid of lavender tucked behind a slightly flushed ear, "I still need you to proceed to the restricted area and get it done before she comes around. Send for me when you're clear, as she and I still need to have quite a chat."

>"Oh... okay, then." The nurse pulled herself upright, white loafers flat upon the tile albeit ankles twisting unsteady: Typical Tsumiki Mikan. "I'll... I'll get it done."
>"If you could," the detective continued, "you may want to consider a clinical search of her person."
>"Wha'...?" Tsumiki-Senpai's doe eyes batted. "Wh-What do you mean? What *kind* of search?"
>Kirigiri-Senpai looked at her, squarely.
>"Full cavity."
>Harukawa felt herself tug into a dry heave. Those doe eyes widened, rolling upward and glazing over in streaming, watery glisten once more. A trickle of runny pink teased down alongside the dimple, as those soft lips tensed, stretching agape in a wide smile most wondrous, deliriously strange. Shaky fingers clasped together into a sharp, rigid interlace at her bosom.
>*Oh, God...!* She wanted to moan.
>"C-C-Ca..." the nurse breathed wistful, "*cavity* search... on *her!*"
>Saihara-San face reeled sour, wincing back with the most peculiar grimace; it was quite the spectacle! She wished that she had a camera on her person, equivalent to the one dangling by Koizumi-Senpai's lanyard. A phone's simple lens could suffice, however.
>*This does remind me....*
>"*UhuhuhuHUH..!!*" Tsumiki-Senpai shuddered - reveling, as it were.
>"*Senpai....*" The senior detective stressed.
>"G-Gomen - *gomen!*" The nurse bobbed a couple of dramatic apologies. "I, I - *I...* I'll consider it, but no promises."
>The bedraggled nurse then angled herself into a deep bow; scuffed loafers taking turns, one behind the other, backing her well away before flat heels spun her for the door-
>-*Thump.*
>The door imposed itself quite hard. A hand cupped onto her pinched face, pained moan muffling through loose fingers, whilst the other gripped onto the handle and wrenched open the hefty portal. No one else stood certain, but Harukawa could hear a bit of sore grumbling, murmuring down the hall and well into sweet, blessed-

>-"*UuhhHHH..!?*" The distant senpai yelped through an abrupt, sudden clatter-
>-"*Baka!*" A nondescript other barked, sharply, sounding male. "*Do your legs - EVER - stay shut-!?*"
>-"*WwaaAAAHHH..!!*"
>...*Silence,* more or less.
>"Typical." Her classmate sighed.
>"Doesn't matter." Shoulders of velvet shrugged once before the pads angled her way. "We've still a job to do. Tsumiki-Senpai has hers - we've ours. Now - *Harukawa-San* - as far as I'm concerned, this *didn't* happen. I'll have an officer collect Ikusaba-San's affects, momentarily, so I strongly suggest that you be somewhere else."
>"So..." her brow kinked, obviously: Inspector adroit be damned, "we're even, now?"
>"Indeed." The detective nodded. "Unless, of course... you've something to add?"
>Dominant palm peaceable, arm outwardly stretched, fingers of her other snaked into a pocket unseen slowly, moves untoward neither implied nor meant to be expressed. The partners stepped away by a stride, bodies "bladed" out of regardless habit. It slipped into her pinch with easy, thick paper of waxen sheen folded once; a corner curled dog-eared, as she slowly slipped it free.
>"Easy - *easy,* there." She pressed with reassurance somewhat feigned. "Not going to try anything. Since you're both here, I just wanted to say I... *had* - to attend 'services' last night... at the cathedral."
>Their bodies appeared to relax just a little. Saihara-San's sneakers carried him at ease, but the senpai's boots kept her angled and on-guard; the stack-heels helped little.
>"And, you're telling us this... *why?*" Stare of fuchsia narrowed, suspiciously. "Is there something you'd like to confess?"
>Lips pursed, she flicked the paper the detectives' way, flippantly. Predictably, her classmate scooped it up whilst the senpai held fast. She must give Saihara-San credit, however, as his eyes never once veered from her form.
>*He – is – learning, after all.*

>"Received a summons last night by cut-out." She continued. "I went to cathedral just after cleaning time here. A... 'benefactor' - had come in for certain *solace*, earlier - way before all this happened. The *tithe* cleared yesterday just before market-close."
>"Is it safe to assume that this so-called - 'indulgence' - of yours is related to the Academy?" The senpai inquired – akin more to a statement.
>"Why else would she tell us?" Her classmate replied. "In fact, she may believe it's related."
>*He just now deduced that?* She could have blinked.
>Her classmate pried open the glossy fold for the senpai; lids of both pairs of eyes parted even wider at the sight creased at an angle down the approximate middle. Harukawa had no need for further review; she had seen all that she needed through the permeating shade of the dark confessional.
>"Kirigiri-Senpai...?" Her classmate whispered, nearly.
>"This..." the senpai breathed an utterance, "this *is-*"
>To wit, she could only gesture a single nod of confirmation.
>"Yes..." she said, "Koizumi Mahiru."

>Ikusaba's head... *hurt.*
>Mind heavy, weightiness peculiar and pronounced, swimming... submerged, waterlogged - *drowning,* she found herself without a coherent thought. The simplest of phrases, a single word somehow struggled to surface. Rarely before had she ever felt, as such; never before had she felt so... lifeless.
>*Am...* the mere word present in the forefront of her mind: Murky, near illegible through blackness ever-shifting, *am I... dead?*
>She recalled little of what happened, the scene but a blur of shapes and streaks of solid, smudgy colors... gone at the flash of dreaded light, all consuming white. There was... noise, distant and mute; there was... conflict, unbridled fury and violence unleashed – and then... there was...
>...*D-Diz...* she strained, *dizziness?*
>Rather quickly had blinding light eased into bright, abstract colors, the palate dulling, fading dim... wavering, wobbling, and *rippling* before her, as her own brain had somehow lost all of its weight and heft. She... she just remembered the solid strikes of her own glove against her temple, the vigorous... lazy... limp swaying of her skull thrice-fold too heavy, gravity pulling whilst sheer lethargy had fast taken her. The ground – the tiled *floor...* had rushed up to meet her crashing spine, yet she had felt herself only melting.
>Fuchsia glared down unto her, boring cold – but the faintest slivers of steel pricked upon velvet mitt – before blackness... had spirited her away.
>*G-Giri...* she felt her lips press, miraculously, *K-Kiri... fuckin'... GIRI!!*
>Clearer now did she recall the scene, the stimuli – the stab of sharp pain deep betwixt her neck and shoulder, flesh inflating while the vacant, empty stare of violent red had drawn her immediate ire.
>*Har... Harukawa...* steadily, thoughts came through the calming, clearing murk, *Harukawa Maki. ...Should've fuckin' known."

>Yet, only Ikusaba herself stood - rather... *laid* - at fault. A trap: The entire altercation... was a *trap,* and she only had charged straight into it, blindly. Drawn knives akin to bayonets, she hadn't considered to affix them, properly.
>*Why...* finally, her chest drew a sigh, *why don't you just yell 'banzai' next time, while you're at it?*
>She pulled herself into a sit – instantly failing, the clatter of... *chains* - rattling against her; holding fast, cold clasp of hard steel bit into her wrists and just above her ankles. Pain gnawed at her wrist, knuckles swelling, and fingers throbbing against what felt to be tight cotton.
>"Oh..." she hissed through clenched teeth, "oh, *God...!* ...F-Fuck - why'd I have to bash my fuckin' hand!?"
>*Fuckin' Iruma.* She scowled. *Should've just asked Tsumugi... allergies or not.*
>Strength channeled into her core; her abdomen burned amidst the slow crunch, simple sheet cascading off her figure and wrinkling at her waist – her *bare* waist... stomach, plexus, chest, breasts – collar, shoulders, neck!
>Rarely before had she noticed just how soft cotton felt against the skin: Remarkably pleasant despite the cheap weave and minimal thread count – better appreciated in better circumstances.
>"Oh... God - *damn* it!" She cursed-
>-Saving her breath, a semblance of agency batted back in through eyes refocusing, rolling across the curiously dark room-
>-*..!?*-
>-A confine all too familiar.
>Her heart pulsed its quickened way up her closing throat, swallowing hard. Squares... simple, basic stonework tiled the room unremarkable: The walls, the ceiling, the floor - *everywhere.* Her neck craned atop a shoulder, eyes peering for the back of the room-
>-"..!?" A short breath drew sharp.
>A cheap, metallic frame against the wall carried a single twin-size mattress, sheets untouched and neatly folded with hospital corners... and *empty.*
>"Oh, *no...!* She breathed. "No, no - *NO* - not *here!*"

>Kamakura Izuru's holding cell, the namesake but a ghost, nowhere to be seen - and here, she sat as a dishonored guest in the worst seat, imaginable: Front row, center.
>*Of course, that... thing - isn't here.* She cursed again. *You let it OUT, genius!*
>It mattered little, for nothing changed. A miracle barring, she was *trapped.*
>"So..." rhetorically, she muttered aloud, "what the hell am I going to do, now?"
>She could... lower her expectations, perhaps, further sink an already cratered self-worth by conduct quite unbecoming, unmentionable, and crude. The warm bodies in dress-blues do appear quite *lonely*, she had often noticed – oblivious, certainly - but given the suspicions, even the most frustrated would never risk himself inside of her willing mouth.
>*I can get a bit... bitey, after all-*
>Footsteps incoming, falling heavy and deliberate, encroaching with a purpose all too certain. She laid at the center of it. Her ears barely caught it; she barely recognized it through the lifting mind-fog. Her legs mustered what little strength remained, knees bending and thighs hiked, shifting down her rump, as far as the cuffs allowed. Hem of the sheet bit between her teeth, she pushed herself back supine – a faint sense of dignity returning, as the loose cotton draped across her chest.
>A *bleat* at the door, her eyes clammed shut.
>*You're asleep, Mukuro...* she coached herself at the portal's opening whir, *let 'em think you're still out for the count.*

>Footsteps her way walked, cautiously, falling with trepidation, a crescendo of uncertainty echoing throughout the confine before they ceased at the foot of the bed. Fabric flapped upward, gently - cool air a wisp across her insteps, flowing through her toes. It felt quite refreshing... before her stomach churned at the touch of the stranger, smooth... *soft* palm curling around her heel just below the shackle. Her lips felt to press reactive - heart sinking at the scratchy touch of broad nylon, circling around her shin.
>*Oh, great-* she cursed, inwardly, *they're reinforcing it.*
>"G-Gomen, Ikusaba-San.* A voice feminine uttered, timidly, through a rip of Velcro: Reticent and all too telltale. "I... I know it's not my place, b-but I must say... you've really shapely feet."
>Her stomach churned, sourly.
>*Oh, God-* she almost winced, *not HER!!*
>Tsumiki Mikan, "Ultimate Nurse" of Class 77-B: Who else would it be?
>*God must really hate me today!*
>Still, she held her tongue, her bravest face as lax as possible whilst the rather... lecherous senpai dared her shaky, greedy hands past her knees. Ikusaba wanted to shudder; rarely before had she wanted scream - those skittering fingers trembling with selfish excitement upon her quadriceps.
>"Your legs..." the nurse breathed, quietly, "so *toned...!*"
>*I'm in Hell-* she yearned to heave, *I'm in HELL!!*
>"Your abs..." the senpai continued, a shred of formality maintained by flimsy cotton – pressing firm unto her belly, "I... I can *feel* the definition. So... s-so *strong...!*"
>*Get... the fuck – OFF me!*
>"B-But..." breath of certain heat, exposed skin felt to warm, ever so slightly, *I... I must say you exercise a bit too much. You've very little fat, almost no reserves. It's... and, gomen for me saying this, b-but... it's why you're an A-cup."

>*Oh, I'll make – YOU – an A-cup, alright!*
>"Gomenasai about your hand." Ikusaba felt her achy wrist lift into a shaky hand - pain gnawing at the snug wrap of nylon. "At least... your gloves are hard-backed. Y-You could've easily broken your knuckles. You should really... look after yourself better."
>All too soon did she feel such hot air billow across her cheek, breaths short and increasingly raspy. Yet, still she braved through it, teeth pressed behind lips relaxed... grinding at the touch of those fingers, stroking her cheek.
>"It... it's okay, though." The senpai spoke, words whispering. "I'm here. It... it's a shame Enoshima-San doesn't appreciate you. I watch you two together. Sh-She takes you for granted, but... but I don't. You deserve better - you... y-you deserve *more.*"
>*...Can't argue with that.*
>"If... if you're willing," the nurse breathed, "I... I – I, I - I want... to *show* you."
>*...Aw – HELL no-!*

>A... *kiss,* of all affectionate displays.
>Lips touched and compressed together, passion harbored and thwarted expressed in a single moment. Her heart - her very heart - felt to skip... flutter, even. A chill trailed an icicle down her spine icy-hot, warmth tingling from her chest down to her toes, curling slightly. It felt... odd; it felt... actually *nice-*
>-And, this strange gal craved more, pecking at her lips, greedily, hunger but raspy breaths – a covetous hand along a dangerous quest southbound and uphill, summit pinched betwixt two kneading fingers.
>Her toes curled, tightly. Her fingers clawed deep into the cheap cotton, as her body tingled betrayal. She wanted to flee; she wanted to scream, yet still she held her bravest, most placid face. She must – even as those digits slipped off the peak and ever southward, gliding down across the undulated plains, index and middle taking point for...
>*...NaNI-!?*
>-The *gulch.*
>*Oh - no, you fuckin' DON'T!!*
>"*MmmPH-!?*"
>She saw it. Lids half-mast, peering through lashes interlaced, she saw it: Doe eyes timid, wide and affright, watery glisten streaming down flushed cheeks, as the cheeky gal attempted to wrench herself away.
>Ikusaba hardly allowed it - incisors clenched unto the supple lower lip denying escape, immediately, tasting the wet copper. Tsumiki Mikan thought she could wrest herself free, straining whimpers...
>...She had only imparted unto Ikusaba a generous taste of fresh pink, tugging her body up into an obtuse crunch.
>"*M-M-Mmm-*" the helpless nurse uttered, "*MMMPH..!?*"
>She glared unto her a pointed dagger.
>"*A'kh...* um - *auf...*" the demand fumed through bared, clenched, and freshly slick teeth, "*'ow.*"
>"*Uuh-!?*"
>"A'kh um *auf...*" grumbling insistent, she pressed the issue through gritted teeth, leaning back slow and firm, "oh Ah 'if - *OOH* - auf!*"

>"U-Uh Ah... o-on a'ph uh *eeeEEE..!!*"
>The nurse's cry a crescendo, it had only fallen upon deafened ears. She powered through it, a sudden bit of slack felt at the senpai's struggled, muffled shriek-
>-A howling wail; the nurse breaking free at an angled, arced glob of pink airborne – a shuddering, shivering chill tingling through her rattling body – purchase upon bloody lip lost at an instant! Her head crashed onto the pillow. Something just touched her foot; something firm deep unto her bare arch, dragging sharply upward to the ball. Her own nerves worked the rest. Never had she a fighting chance.
>*G-God... damn - FEET!! Just... why, God!?*
>Once again did God prove Himself unaccountable, her question unanswered, as a sticky, clingy glove clapped onto her crown. Glint of studs telltale, God had abandoned her, casting her into the thrall of her personal devil, fuchsia boring cold into her skull through sharp rips of Velcro.
>A crown of thick nylon across her weary head, two sizes too small, and as scratchy as briars: "Queen of Fools", someone should scribble in permanent marker.
>*I am an idiot...* she bemoaned, audibly, *being taken like this.*
>"'Aggravated Assault'-" Kirigiri-San recited, coldly, questionable authority looming overhead and upside-down, "twice in one day. Aren't you just the overachiever?"
>Ikusaba said nothing, swallowing bitter. One thing remained certain, however: Tsumiki-Senpai should reconsider her daily value of iron.
>*A gal could get sick on this shit.* She noted.
>"Never knew a plantar reflex got you *that* excited." The detective frowned. "Consider yourself gifted with a bite-mask."
>"I didn't get you anything." She muttered, dismissively.
>"That's okay, Ikusaba-San." Daddy's girl leaned closer. "Sharing is caring, and caring's its own reward – and *boy* - do I've a special something for you."

>Her classmate then produced a sheet of paper, seemingly from nowhere, 8.5x11 and printed with Keishicho's letterhead, crest and all of the official trappings. She needn't read it, for she already knew what the kanji-cum-hiragana entailed: "Arrest Report" emblazoned in bold font proved quite the hint.
>"*This...*" the aggravating girl began, "is the report of your arrest today, regarding the assault of Akamatsu Kaede, and subsequent charges that followed. These are what you're charged with, and – as the report's submitted - you *will* be formally arraigned. A form-letter of confession is waiting for your signature."
>"Lucky me." Her eyes rolled.
>"But, *wait-*" her nemesis feigned exclamation... or her approximation thereof, fuchsia slightly widening, "if you call, right now-!"
>"Oh, *God-*" she groaned, "not this shtick again-!"
>The document banished from view, the spiteful bitch of lavender produced yet another one complete with Keishicho's crest-
>-"Arrest Warrant", however. Her brow could only kink.
>"*This...*" gloved fingers snapped the paper taut, "is a drafted warrant for your arrest. Listed here is each and every single charge, of which *you're* suspected, incurred since 'student orientation'. Multiple counts, as well – and don't get me started about the explosions along the freeway."
>*Ugh-* she groaned again, *why the hell'd Onii-Chan try to frag me, anyway... again?*
>Because, Junko-Chan was Junko-Chan: Fratricidal despair was all the reason the eccentric girl required. Who was she to question it (concerns and reservations notwithstanding)?
>"As before, however," the nemesis remarked, "this is merely a draft – neither sworn nor signed, let alone submitted to the magistrate. It's still awaiting even *more* charges for me to list, pending the search-"
>She could only croak.
>"Na... *ni?*"

>"*Your* dorm's being searched, right now-" the detective whipped untoward her a rigid, pointed index, "every nook, cranny, drawer – vent, outlet housing, and curtain rod! Everything's being *tossed* - and what the officers don't find, the sniffer dog will rout!"
>*Like I'm stupid enough to stash hot items on-site.* Her eyes rolled.
>"As it stands, currently," Kirigiri-San declared, "you're facing a ten-year stint. If evidence uncovered leans toward what's listed on this warrant, you'll be looking at *life.* Be grateful you're seventeen. If you were eighteen, you'd take the 'long walk' to the hangman's noose, and *no one* will bat an eye. 'Good riddance to bad rubbish', they'd shrug - 'she was a *nasty* piece of work-'"
>"*If...*" her sticky lip curled, sorely, "if you expect a bedside sob-story, you're fuckin' up the wrong tree-!*"
>"While it would save us a lot of time and paperwork, if you just fessed up," the inquisitor just had to smirk, smugly, "I expect nothing but your continued... *appreciation* of the situation. Admission of guilt or not, should evidence appear, this warrant - *will* - be filed.
>"Be that, as it may, I must warn you."
>"Warn me of fuckin' *what?*" She scoffed. "You laid your cards out, already!"
>"Not the trump card, I'm afraid-" Her classmate frowned-
>-Unto Ikusaba's boggling eyes.
>"The *fuck!?*"
>"'Dead-man switch.'" Kirigiri-San stated, expressionlessly. "I'm sure you've heard of the concept. In your instance, however, if your beloved onii-chan get any bright ideas... should my health - or that of my junior - suddenly fail, then it's triggered."
>She blinked.
>"...You're going to blow me up?"
>"The warrant will be immediately submitted..." the infuriating girl replied. "to the magistrate, as well as carbon copies emailed to each - and *every* - board member of Aesir Holdings."
>"...Who-?"

>"Fenrir's *parent company-*" Kirigiri-San snapped, "each and every member of the board. By my readings, Fenrir's chair currently holds the Western equivalent of the 'window seat'. As the beleaguered suit would rather not explain to the shareholders *why* he's an underage minor on-file, I'm sure he'd like to assuage fears, quietly, and well out of court."
>"No... fuckin' *WAY-!!*"
>"What're the chances we'll come across this... 'Gungnir' unit - if that happens?"
>First time in a brief eternity, she gasped.
>"Gungnir", Fenrir's rumored unit of infamous *cleaners*: Secretive, paranoid, and hair-trigger violent. It compiled a motley crew of *bona fide* Keyser Söze's, whose exploits that Platoon Daddy regaled akin to cautionary tales, keeping her and fellow whelps in-line. Few could strike into her such a fearful dagger as could that unit, if not leaving her... rather envious.
>Platoon Daddy would know, after all; the company had once counted him among its ranks.
>*Lucky bastards...!*
>"Now that you're better apprised of the situation," the detective said, "is there anything you wish to say in your defense."
>She should say something, yet she held her tongue.
>"You probably don't," shoulders of padded velvet bobbed once amidst a dismissive shrug, "but I'll have it for the record, anyway."
>Corners of her lips dragged into a frown.
>"...You like Elton John?"
>Brow of flawless porcelain perked, ever so slightly.
>"And, that has... *what* - to do with this?"
>"Because... 'Rocketman', Kirigiri-San." She retorted. "It's your Oto-San."
>"I'm... not sure I follow."
>"Your Oto-San..." she huffed, "he's going to be the *Rocketman...* soon enough."

>Daddy's girl loomed overhead unmoved. Here, Ikusaba lie helpless, involuntarily hopeless, mysteries of her physical person lying bare for any and all to witness whilst biting steel and scratchy nylon held her fast. Antagonizing her captor further seemed appropriate, a cheeky surge of selfish glee stolen at the subtle roll of that pair of fuchsia.
>"You're delusional." The classmate muttered. "We're done here. Keishicho's taking you into official custody tomorrow morning. Enjoy your stay, in the meanwhile. Get used to the view, as it'll be a *long* time 'fore you see daylight again."
>"A pithy quip's not going to make your *rack* any bigger." Her eyes rolled, too.
>"Doesn't matter." The pair of fuchsia snapped away from her, finally, staring for who had to be the senpai. Still, Ikusaba can hear the whimpering from shortly afar. "Senpai, she is to be restrained at *all* times. Do - *NOT* - remove them under any circumstances, and fit her for a bite-mask."
>"B-B-But..." Tsumiki sniveled, pathetically, as usual, "h-how will she eat? How... how will she... *relieve* - herself."
>"You've plenty of bedpans in the infirmary-" Kirigiri-San retorted, "I suggest you fetch one. Since she can't be trusted around *any* utensils, fit her with a feeding tube - intranasal."
>*Gross.*
>"And now, Ikusaba-San," the pair of fuchsias rolled down untoward her again, "be a good girl - for *once* - and just relax. You'll be free of me before you know it, and when that happens tomorrow... Tokyo Kochisho will have you reconsider, eagerly."
>*I'm wondering how I can shove you into a fuckin' CAR crusher!* She glowered.
>"Sayonara, Ikusaba-San." The infuriating girl said, flippantly. "Can't say I'll miss you, but it really didn't have to come to this. So, have a nice rest, for what it's worth."
>The detective's stare narrowed.
>"You'll need it."

>"Koizumi-Senpai." Saihara greeted, warmly, bill of his cap firm in his pinch. Formally, he whipped it from off his head, ahoge springing forth whilst he tucked the hat into the crook of his pinstripes. "Arigato for meeting me here on short notice."
>Before him within this hushed hall of towering shelves and dense, cloistered references, the upperclassman sat herself at the table: Koizumi Mahiru, "Ultimate Photographer" of Class 77-B. Gray eyes rolled him the once-over, gazing unimpressed, annoyance blinking - gentlemanly gesture of drawing out a chair ignored, curtly. Bisque arms folded across her checkered tie, as she laid her prized possession, carefully, beside an elbow.
>"Nice camera." He nodded. "Is that a Nikon?"
>"Canon." The senpai confirmed, flatly.
>"If I remember right," he said, "I think these tables are equipped with an integral power-strip. Might be a good time for a charge, if you need it-"
>"Why – domo arigato, kind kohai." The auburn quipped, snidely, gray eyes rolling once more. "I never would've thought to keep... you know – a *spare* battery on my person, just in case. I do have this thingy called a 'USB 2' cable, too, you know. Is that important?"
>"Alright," he would groan, if it weren't for the stifled setting, "I get it-"
>"I don't know, though." The freckles appeared to wrinkle. "I think... I think if I push this button on the top, I could actually take a *picture-!*"
>"I didn't mean to-"
>"No one likes to be patronized, Saihara." She frowned. "Your gestures are last century. Did you consider for a single minute that I'm a big girl – your *senpai* - and I can pull out my own chair? Did you even think to ask me?"
>*If she goes into a Chabashira tirade,* the thought flashed, sorely, *I swear I'm going to-!*
>"...Gomenasai, senpai." He bowed... a little.
>"Deeper than *that,* Saihara." She chided.


>He acceded, compliance begrudged.
>"That's better." He could just about see her nod.
>"Of course, senpai." He replied, formally.
>"Just..." Koizumi-Senpai sighed, "drop the kid gloves and talk to me like a normal person, already."
>*Well, I've been trying...!*
>"Of... okay, okay." He, too, sighed. "How's your ota-san?"
>"Green zone out of Aleppo, whatever that means-" she shrugged, "covering skirmishes between al-Assad and the Caliphate. It'd be a miracle, if she isn't captured... not that Oto-San would blink an eye."
>"Sodesu-ka."
>"You're not here for small talk, Saihara." Her lips pressed thin. "So, what's this all about? I've photos to develop for Yearbook, and I need to hit the darkroom 'fore cleaning time. That broom closet of a lab fills up fast."
>"Actually, it's-"
>"Yeah, yeah-" inconvenience bemoaned, as slender fingers fished into a pocket, "I've your classmate's freak-out, right here. ...Iruma Miu, right?"
>A glossy slip of waxy sheen caught in a delicate pinch, the auburn slid it his way down the rich, rosy tabletop. His eyes rolled down for it - a laugh lodged in his tensed throat, choking with grim, selfish delight. Iruma Miu - gorgeous, girl genius of beauty unmatched and elegant, graceful composure... frozen forever in a clamped-eyed, wide-mouthed panic - trapped atop a rugged figure of statuesque proportion and robust physique, clenching for dear life!
>Ogami Sakura stood unmoved, scarred arms folded and eyes closed placid; Asahina Aoi appeared to have choked on yet another doughnut.
>"That's not funny, Saihara." Koizumi-Senpai scolded.
>"It is a little bit-"
>"Your classmate nearly died that afternoon!" Backs of her wrists must have met her hips. "My understanding, Kirigiri-San took charge while you just stood there like an idiot."
>"I was *there,* senpai." He frowned. "I know-"
>"*Geez...* men!" She decried with a huff. "You're just a bunch of helpless babies-!"


>"Aren't you being just a bit harsh, here-?" He tried to reason.
>"Then - *why,* pray tell - is she taking the lead on the case?" She denied him, demanding. "Akamatsu-San's your girlfriend, practically - *you* should be leading the charge-"
>"Kirigiri-Senpai has prior experience with violent crime." His brow creased, sternly. "Mine's only in infidelity and credit fraud - a missing pet, if it's a slow day."
>"Tch-" she just had to scoff, "takes a scamming two-timer to catch a dog, right?"
>*Oh – why you little-!*
>"Kirigiri-San wanted to speak with me, too, correct?" Her lip curled, peculiarly. "So, what's taking her – picking up your slack?"
>"I..." he breathed deep; it was all he could, "don't appreciate your tone, right now, senpai. She's handling a delicate matter."
>"She with the headmaster?"
>"Not at liberty to say, at the moment."
>A poor response indeed, but it would suffice, if it maintained even a semblance of control.
>"Well, he's looking for her, just so you know." She shrugged. "Don't really know why, but everyone's probably heard the calls over the PA, by now. I don't dream much, but I know I'm going to be hearing *that* in my sleep."
>*Must've blanked it.*
>"If she's going to be a while," she sighed, "can I please get to the lab, already? I don't want to hear the club leader gripe, and don't even get me started on Kuzuryu-San!"
>He blinked.
>*What's Fuyuhiko have to do with anything-?*
>"Unfortunately," called the young senpai of the hour herself, "you're going to have to reschedule your visit."
>Kirigiri Kyoko clicked her stack-heels their way; sleeves of velvet folded across her lapels, and studded gloves curled around the tautly drawn elbows: Standing stoic and unmoved, as always.
>"*Geez...!*" The auburn groaned, loudly, mutual silence be damned. "That's going to put me a week behind!"


>"I'll see, if I can have a word with the club leader." Braid of lavender tucked behind the ear. "That's beside the point, however. The matter took longer than I'd thought - should've expected it. Since you're still here, that said, I've to ask. Just how well did Saihara-San conduct himself?"
>*Aw...* he, too, would have groaned; the librarian's stern glare, however, had him think otherwise, *don't tell me this was an assessment-*
>"I - *saw* - that, Saihara-San." The detective frowned. "How many times do we've to have this conversation?"
>"Well, I thought I was getting better at it." He shrugged.
>"Well..." Koizumi-Senpai's eyes turned away in thought, upward and angled to her right, "I may've laid on a bit heavy, but he kept his cool. It's clear, though, I was getting under his skin - not an *open book*, per se, but the dust cover started to slip."
>"Strange..." eyes of fuchsia rolled once, "could swear I'm experiencing deja vu. Was he about to blow his top?"
>"No, but he was getting there."
>"And-" fuchsia then darted his way, "Saihara-San – do you believe she's telling the truth?"
>"Well, Koizumi-Senpai's eyes did roll up and to her right – sign of recollection, if I'm not mistaken. Up and to her left, though, it's a sign she's fabricating."
>"*Hey!*" The auburn shot. "I didn't lie-!"
>"*SSSHHH..!!*" The librarian glowered from afar, hissing displeasure. The thumps of hurried footsteps just outside, falling heavy, alleviated matters, hardly.
>*Someone's sure in a rush.* He noted. *Cleaning time's not for another ninety minutes.*
>"That's actually a misconception." Kirigiri-Senpai stated. "Rarely does it work like that, but one would have to be well inundated in body language."
>*Great,* he signed, *that helps-*
>"*Saihara....*" His senior frowned.
>"...Yes, senpai." His posture straightened.

>"Well, if all's well and good," Koizumi-Senpai pushed herself onto her penny loafers, "I'm going to see, if I can squeeze into the darkroom 'fore the final bell."
>Braid of taut lavender swayed amidst the single shake of his superior's head.
>"You're going to have to reschedule, I said." Kirigiri-Senpai stated. "I just told you I'd put a word in with the club leader."
>"Well, I didn't agree to babysit your apprentice," the auburn huffed, "so what's the big idea?"
>"Unfortunately, senpai," the true detective replied, calmly, "during our investigation, we've come across some rather concerning information about your person."
>Gray eyes snapped wide.
>"Who-" the auburn batted her lashes, "*me?*"
>"Indeed." Kirigiri-Senpai nodded once, gloved fingers slipping into a flat pocket of her jacket only to wrench from the velvet – a creased fold of waxy paper pinched between the index and middle:
>The printed paragon of Harukawa Maki's latest indulgence.
>Discipline maintained, still Saihara swallowed hard. Up the table, his superior slipped it Koizumi-Senpai's way. The auburn plucked it from the wood, thumbing open the crease – brow perking, gray eyes further widening at the overexposure, running across the motion lines.
>"This..." the short bangs swayed, "this is *me!*"
>"Indeed." Kirigiri-Senpai replied. "We've reason to believe your life's in immediate danger."
>"NaNI!?" The auburn exclaimed. "*Me..!?* But... but, *why-!?*"
>"Both Saihara-San and I've a mutual, confidential informant." His superior replied. "They're the reason they brought this to our attention."
>"*'They..!?'*" Koizumi-Senpai's lips pursed. "Who's 'they-?'"
>"*They* wouldn't be confidential, if we disclosed the source, senpai." The detective interjected, firmly. "Just trust us - they've no reason to lie about this, and their organization's well documented in Keishicho's archives."

>"That *doesn't* answer my question, Kirigiri-San." The auburn retorted, tersely. "Just... *why?* Why would anyone try to do me in!?"
>"Well," Saihara tried, "we are hoping you can provide an answer to that-"
>"I wasn't asking you," once again did the auburn's wrists meet the pleated hips, chiding him, "*was* I? Now, do you mind? Your senpais are talking-!"
>"Unfortunately," he frowned, "*both* of us are asking you, at the moment."
>"Saihara...." Eyes of fuchsia rolled disapproval.
>To wit, sleeves of pinstripes folded across his chest, brusquely, emphasis grumbled.
>"Another demerit in the performance review-" he balked, "I *know* - but, it doesn't shed any more light on this."
>"'Good Cop, Bad Cop' is just a trope, Saihara-San." His senior argued, gently. "This is an *interview*, not an interrogation. It's often better to let the subject talk and work off of it."
>"*Geez...!*" The auburn groaned, disgustedly. "Do *I* - at least – get a *say* in this?"
>"Indeed." The detective agreed. "Forgive my junior, senpai-"
>"Yeah, yeah-" the auburn sighed, "he's a just a boy, and all."
>Saihara's ears warmed, heatedly.
>*I... just can't win.*
>"Well, he's still learning." Kirigiri-Senpai replied, simply. "That may be an aside, but he does have a point. The pertinent question remains, however."
>"I don't - *KNOW* - alright!?" Koizumi-Senpai retorted, sharply. "I just don't know! I've been nice and willing to help, if I can - Saionji-San, Pekoyama-San, Nevermind-Hime - Nidai, Tanaka, Souda - even that weirdo, Komaeda. I don't... I just don't know why anyone would want to... *do* that to me, you know?"
>"Unfortunately," his senior said, "our source isn't one to lie about such matters. They're professionals."
>"But..." bangs of auburn, "*why?*"
>"Do you have any enemies or had any heated altercations within the previous fortnight?"

>Gray eyes fell upon Harukawa's printed paragon once more, bob-cut shifting amidst a slow, solemn shake.
>"No..." Koizumi-Senpai answered, "not that I know of, but...!"
>Koizumi-Senpai's eyes narrowed upon the waxen, folded crease before her.
>"Wait..." the auburn said, "wait – this picture."
>Saihara could only investigate further.
>"What about it?" His brow kinked. "Something... *specific-?*"
>"You're supposed to - *listen* - Saihara-San," the true detective frowned gentle disapproval, "not *coach.*"
>"Saihara's not coaching me," Koizumi-Senpai replied, immediately... much to his relief, "but this photo... the composition – the framing and what has to be the shutter speed."
>"Well," he remarked, "it does look like it was snapped in a hurry."
>"No *duh.*" Gray eyes rolled, dismissively. "But, I've seen plenty of photos like these before - they're plastered almost *everywhere* in the photography club-!"
>Koizumi-Senpai's gray eyes widened once more, freckles drained of color from once a rather bisque complexion.
>"Oh, *God...*" the auburn breathed, "it *has* to be!"
>"Who?" He pressed, gently.
>"Ku..." the senpai then drew in a quick breath, breathing deep, "*Kuzuryu-San* - I... I know these aesthetics anywhere!"
>"Kuzuryu-San?" Brow of porcelain wrinkled with but the slightest of furrows.
>"I guess." Knuckle of his index curled against his chin. "But, why? What would Fuyuhiko have to gain from it-?"
>"Not my *classmate,* you dummy!" Koizumi-Senpai scowled. "His *sister!*"
>"So..." his senior replied, "you actually mean-?"
>"God's sake - *yes...!*" The auburn exclaimed. "His 'nii-san... Kuzuryu *Natsumi!* It's got to be her!"
>"Koizumi-Senpai," fuchsia eyes narrowed, peering, "are you insinuating that Kuzuryu Natsumi is the one soliciting for an attempt on your life?"

>"*Geez...!*" The auburn breathed exasperation. "*Yes,* already! It *has* to be her! She's been trying to have me ejected from the Primary Course since... since... since *EVER* - scheming to take my place!"
>"But, she's yakuza." Saihara argued. "Why outsource a hit when she's plenty of soldiers on speed-dial."
>"Because," his superior replied, "it would take Organized Crime Control Bureau an entire five-minutes to discover who ordered the hit. Yakuza, in general, have been on a decline since the Eighties, and the last thing a clan on the down-slope needs is more dishonor. The fact that two aspiring members are currently enrolled here helps little."
>"Kuzuryu-San..." Koizumi-Senpai sighed, "I... I can't believe she'd stoop this low."
>"Her blind ambition is renowned." Kirigiri-Senpai noted. "We can't put it past her."
>"No *duh*" The auburn huffed, blithely. "What're you going to do about it?"
>"File a protective order against Kuzuryu-San, for starters," a gloved index touched upon the pointed chin of porcelain, "as well as draft a warrant for her financial statements."
>"That's just *PAPER,* Kirigiri-San-" Koizumi-Senpai almost yelled-
>-The librarian's glowering scowl had her think, differently – immediately!
>"What I - *mean* - to say..." the auburn's voice reactively lowered, "that's not good enough. It's the Kuzuryu Clan, for God's sake – official letterhead won't stop them!"
>"I wasn't born yesterday, senpai-" the detective frowned, "merely two days before, at least."
>*Hey,* Saihara could decry with a whine, *that's my line-!*
>"In addition," Kirigiri-Senpai continued, "I'm going to pull aside Sakakura-Taicho to see, if he can afford you some plain-clothes protection. In the meanwhile, stick to crowds, as much as possible, and have someone walk with you to, from, and on-campus."

>Forearms of bare, bisque complexion folded across the picnic-checkered tie, crossly.
>"*Geez...* fine." The auburn relented. "I'll see, if I can ask Sato-San about it. She could use the company, anyway - she just doesn't seem right."
>"How..." brow of flawless porcelain kinked, gently, "do you mean?"
>"I don't really know." Crisp, white shoulders shrugged once. "Something's rubbed her the wrong way, recently, but she just brushes me off. Kuzuryu-San's constant goading doesn't help, either. Well... whatever. It's her business, and I don't like to pry."
>His superior replied nothing, gesticulated nothing, gloved index curled still upon the pointed chin.
>"...Interesting."
>*What the heck does she see that I don't?* He blinked.
>"And, that means... *what* - for me, exactly?" Koizumi-Senpai pressed.
>"Nothing, yet." The detective dismissed. "If you've nothing more to add, right now, we'll be off. I strongly advise you reschedule the darkroom for another time and head straight for the dorm. Stay there until I've a word with Sakakura-Taicho. Of course, I'll push to have your absence excused."
>"Great..." gray eyes rolled again, dramatically, "lucky me. Before you go, Kirigiri-San, you should know the headmaster wants a word with you."
>"With me?" Fuchsia eyes blinked once. "For what?"
>"Didn't you hear the PA?" The auburn asked. "It's been blaring for a good chunk of the afternoon – something to do with a hospital and... 'impounds' - whatever that means."
>As God as his witness, his superior actually twitched!
>"...Sodesu-ka." The detective replied, flatly. "Arigato. I'll see him before cleaning time-"
>"He wants to see you, *now.*" Koizumi-Senpai pressed, firmly. "You should've heard Kizakura-Sensei on the horn - he actually sounded *sober.*"
>*Great,* Saihara could only note, *she's really in the doghouse, then.*