Uso dayo!

Something was very, very wrong, but Kokichi couldn't really place what it was.

The dining hall was overtaken with idle chitchat as the "strangers" around him—his supposed classmates—discussed their plans for the day. He sat at the end of the table, with his back to the wall, all three doors in and out of the room and every occupant in clear view. Was there a reason to be this vigilant? Everyone was here. Kokichi had counted. Twice.

Make that three times. Everyone was here.

That he knew of.

He shifted his seat uncomfortably to better see the barricaded door to the deck on his right.

The breakfast Toujou had made sat in front of him, a traditional Japanese breakfast of grilled fish, miso soup, rice, and steamed vegetables, as he'd requested. A cup of tea steamed to the side, also per his request. Kokichi stared at it. Jasmine tea, per his request, brewed fresh by Toujou, which he'd requested. He picked up the cup and gazed into it, a pretty, mild green color that made up for the aroma that was lost on him.

Kokichi swallowed thickly.

His heart stuttered in his chest, and he looked across the room at everyone else. They were happily digging in to their own meals, all made by Toujou, all presented by Toujou, without a care in the world. Two chairs down, Amami caught his eye for a brief moment, and Kokichi anxiously dropped his gaze back to his tea.

"This is amazing, Toujou-san, thank you," Akamatsu said warmly, and a chill ran up Kokichi's spine.

What was going on? There was something, something wrong that Kokichi couldn't for the life of him place. A strange sense of familiarity? A skewed sense of knowledge he felt should be there, but wasn't. It was more than the kidnapping itself. Everything about this place, the faces, the words being spoken were—

"Is the tea not to your liking, Ouma-san?"

Kokichi's head snapped back up to find everyone was staring at him. His blood ran cold as he smiled innocently. "No, it's perfect!"

And then he took a sip to prove his point.

And then suddenly glass was clawing its way down his throat.

Amami, Toujou, and several others jumped to their feet in concern as Kokichi doubled over, choking and sputtering. He could feel it, tearing through his throat, ripping into his lungs and stomach, fine granules of something—

And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

His grasp on the cup trembled as he heaved, trying to collect himself. Everyone was watching. Staring. Expecting him to keel over. Expecting the killing game to start right there at breakfast in front of them all. Slowly, he stood on shaky legs, plastering on a wobbly grin.

"Whoops, I lied!" he rasped. "It's terrible, Toujou-chan! I've never had tea this bad before!"

"How rude! Her tea is great!" Chabashira scoffed, and everyone settled down. "Typical behavior of a degenerate male."

The whole world felt like it was tilted sideways.

"If it was truly not to your liking, I would be happy to brew another pot," Toujou offered. Kokichi's hackles raised.

"No need!" Kokichi quipped. His throat felt like sandpaper. "I wasn't really that thirsty anyway. I'm gonna go clean up."

Most everyone dismissed him after that, and he breezed past them all, cup in hand. Only Amami's gaze continued to burn a hole in Kokichi's back as he disappeared into the kitchen.

He thought it would feel safer there, a moment of respite without everyone's eyes on him, but the moment he entered it was like Death himself had followed him inside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—it was your average industrial kitchen, seen in most any school. Despite Toujou's recent use of it, the counters were spotless. The industrial refrigerators hummed and whirred in the background, and something about that noise in particular constricted around Kokichi's lungs like a vice.

Kokichi quickly made his way to the sink with what remained of his cup of tea.

He peered inside of it.

Again, nothing seemed suspicious. And yet, the idea, the memory of it had felt so viscerally real—countless razor-sharp tiny grains ripping and gouging their way down through his insides. He looked into the cup again. If it was crushed finely enough, you still might not notice it in liquid, right?

Kokichi's hand shook as he poured it into the sink.

The whirring of the fridges behind him filled the room. Someone was behind him in the empty kitchen, a target painted on his back.

The tea evenly and innocently ran down the drain without a speck of glass in sight.