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you can’t do this you have to do this you shouldn’t do this you need to do this you don’t want to kill but you want to live don’t they understand that you
You--well, you honestly have no choice anymore, do you? You sent the note, you switched the names. You’ve got the ball rolling, now you just need to finish what you started. Cold anticipation creeps up the nape of your neck, and your fist clenches around the unyielding handle of the knife you’d taken from the kitchen.
You suppose you really do have to do this, after all. If you don’t, you’re never going to get out of here. Terrible things will happen to your bandmates, your friends. Your fans will mourn your disappearance at first, but eventually they will find some other idol to put on their pedestal. You will die, useless and irrelevant, inside this prison of a school. It’ll be like everything you worked for was for nothing. Like you never existed at all.
The doorknob turns. Every muscle in your body’s gone tense. Unwilling. Waiting. The hand holding the knife goes behind your back, as subtle as you can manage. You force a flawlessly practiced smile on your face, one you’ve had to wear many times before.
(You’ve had to do some pretty unsavory things for the sake of your career before. How was this any different?)
Leon Kuwata’s standing in the entryway, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. There’s an expectant look on his face, which would be a little adorable if not for the irony. Of what he’s expecting you to do, and what you’re actually going to do.
“So, uh.” He scratches the back of his head. The grin on his face teeters between awkward and insufferably cocky. (Like so many of the arrogant pricks in the entertainment business you’ve met. The world would be better off without a strutting jerk like him...right?) “You called me here for something, yeah? What’s that about?”
It’s shocking how saccharine you can sound, when on the inside you want to scream. “You’ll find out soon enough. Do you mind shutting the door behind you? So we can talk in privacy?”
Leon complies, and just as you hear the muted thud of the door, you rush forward and stab him with cold, easy efficiency.
--At least, that’s what you meant to do. In reality, Leon dodges at the last second; the blade meant for his heart nearly burying itself in the door.
“The hell, Maizono?!” He’s standing a few feet to your right now, his hands raised defensively. The confusion on his face quickly gives way to terrified comprehension. “Hey, man, look, just--”
“Shut up!”, you yell, sounding far more desperate than you wanted to. You pivot sharply, swinging the knife with an almost feverish vigor. He stumbles backwards just as the blade’s about to make contact with his throat. His talent must have granted him good reflexes; you curse yourself for singling out such a difficult target.
Before you can ready yourself for another go, Leon lunges forward and grabs your forearm. The two of you grapple briefly, and then--
A sharp snapping sound. Your wrist, you think it’s broken. Your hand is suddenly as empty as you feel. Leon’s the one with the knife in his grip now, making you unarmed. Vulnerable. A horrible primal fear courses through you. You bolt before your would-be victim can make a move.
You stumble into the shower room, and close the door after you. Naegi's door gets jammed, which would give a hard time to anybody trying to get in. You’re safe now. Safe. Which gives you time to panic.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was bad. Now you had to try again. You probably won’t even be able to do that much! He’d tell the whole group; everyone would know what you tried to do. That you were going to kill a person and shift the blame onto someone else. That you were willing to disregard all of these people just to escape. Having the reputation of a coward and a murderer was probably worse than dying.
You stand right in the center of the shower, breathing in gasps and sobs. Your injured wrist is cradled to your heaving chest. There’s nothing to do, except try to calm yourself down. Maybe, you can convince Leon to stay quiet about this. Maybe Naegi will never find out how you tried to use him. Maybe you could just live in this school. That wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, maybe---
You hear something. Rattling, banging, cursing...the door. Oh, god.
Somebody’s trying to break down the door.
You know you should be doing something, perhaps blockading the door with whatever you could find. And yet, your feet stay rooted to the ground, your fingertips hovering just above the shiny-soaked skin under your eyes. You did not realize that you were crying.
The door slams open to reveal Leon, his lips pulled back into a livid snarl. There’s a toolbox by his foot, your knife in his hand.
You barely choke out a syllable of his name before he lunges towards you, hollering in blind rage, and buries the knife hilt-deep into your abdomen.
There’s a gut-wrenching squelching sound, and then silence. The vengeful fury drains from Leon’s face, replaced with the pale, open-mouthed shock you’re undoubtedly displaying right now. Perfect mirrors of each other. How fitting.
Your lips work, but no sound comes out other than a wet gurgle. Clumsily, you stagger backwards until your back hits the wall. Then, you start crumpling to the ground, almost moving in slow motion. You’re struck wordless with a pain you’d never experienced before.
The boy before you is steadily blurring out of your vision, distorting into black and white and a smudge of fire-bright red. You can barely make out his movements, but you can tell he’s shaking his head and backing away. Away from you. Away from what he’s just done.
“Shit. Shit, oh shit, how am I going to---what am I going to do?!”, he screams, presumably at you. You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to.
With a panicked, high-pitched noise, Leon turns heel and runs away. Leaving you with your own shallowing breaths as your only companion.
So this is how it pays out. Sayaka Maizono, the starlet adored by millions, dying alone in a shower. Nothing but a particularly attractive corpse, in the end. But--perhaps you can do one last thing. One last little act that will make your life a bit more worthwhile.
Naegi. You were going to frame him, going to shift the blame for killing someone into his clueless hands. Obviously, that did not go as planned. Perhaps if you could not condemn him, you could save him. Him and all the other students whose lives you were going to ignore for the sake of your freedom.
You cannot feel your fingers anymore, but you manage to dip them in the spreading pool of your blood. Your life.
Slowly, shakily, you drag the senseless tips onto the wall behind you, making a crude letter. A last message.
L
Please don’t judge us too harshly. Honestly, what that monster pulled with those videos--what was I supposed to do?
E
My friends, I wonder if they’ll miss me. I wonder if Naegi will.
O
...I suppose I really am sorry, though. It’s not like I know any of these people, but does that make it any better?
N
“Whatever happens, please always be my friend.”
How much of that was a lie?