Chapter Text
"Hey Ouma..." Momota looked at him as he held the boy up. He felt nauseous just looking at him.
Blood seeped through holes in the straitjacket-esque clothing the leader wore. Ouma looked like he was about keel over at any moment, looking even more deathly pale than usual.
He could feel the small boy's hands violently trembling, ichor dripping down onto the floor.
And Momota could only think of how he'd doomed him. Ouma was going to die all because of Momota Kaito, Luminary of the Stars. Ultimate Astronaut. The Hero.
He was going to kill his trembling, poisoned classmate. Because that was what Ouma willed.
This small, ill child had been plotting, violently scribbling in his red book even with his arm impaled. Both hands were put to work, not stopping as they shook. Not stopping even as Ouma's body seized up from the poison coursing through his body.
And Momota just thought of how absolutely STUPID he was. He'd hated Ouma, despised him, shot him with a crossbow and wished for him to die.
But now... as he felt the small figure spasm by his side. All he could think was how Ouma was a child like the rest of them.
A manipulative bastard.
A lying little shit.
A chaotic son of a bitch.
A killer whom had rid them of Iruma-san and Gokuhara-kun.
But a child like the rest of them.
A child who was too smart for his own good.
A child who was now throwing away his life for the rest of them.
So they could live.
Even though Harumaki had choked him and poisoned him. Even though Saihara had said plenty hurtful things to him. Even though Kiibo was always yelling at him. Even though Yumeno never passed and opportunity to scowl berate him.
Even though Momota had wished for him to die once or twice.
He really didn't want Ouma to die.
It was wrong.
He wasn't even sure if Ouma's words were the truth. It might have just been more and more lies as usual.
He would quite like to believe it was the truth. Maybe... just once he could believe in the boy who cried wolf.
As he listened to that shallow breathing. As he felt warm blood seep into his clothes and stain his unmarked skin.
He really wanted to believe.
But Momota Kaito really was an idiot no matter what. He couldn't tell if it was a lie or not.
Saihara would know.
He seemed to be able to tell by now.
"What!?" Ouma snapped, wincing as his body violently shook with a seizure.
"Do you... have any regrets?" He asked grimly, lips compressing into a thin line, "Before you die, that is. I just... I'd like to know since I am going to kill you, after all..."
"Regrets...?" Ouma stared at him for a second, his face was void of emotion. Completely blank. It was unnerving. Almost scary. The boy whom had always had expressive and exaggerated expressions on his face, now looking so empty. So lifeless. Momota would've thought him was dead if it wasn't for the slight wavering of his lip.
(If Momota saw the sheen of furious tears in his eyes, it wasn't noted.)
"Maybe... I do have one regret..." He sighed, wincing as he began peeling off the straitjacket-esque jacket, blood bonding it to his skin like glue, "I don't really see a big deal about it but maybe you can tell him for me before you die..."
Him?
"If that's what you want."
"I think my biggest regret is... actually I don't have any, I lied." Ouma giggled a little before pausing and eerily staring off into space, biting his lip hesitantly as he pressed the record button on the camera and turned on the hydraulic press at the same time.
Momota patiently lay under the press, not daring to make a noise as the metal deathtrap descended on him. He felt mortified as it slowly moved closer. What if Ouma didn't stop the press? What if he died right then and there? If it's already this terrifying, how would Ouma feel knowing it's not going to stop?
When it finally stopped, it was mere inches away from his face, it raised and Ouma was simply staring at the press, at how slowly it moved, probably thinking of his inevitable demise.
"Do you regret killing Iruma and Gonta?" Momota's voice wobbled as he spoke, getting up and helping the other.
"Maybe."
"I... don't think I expected you to answer anyways..."
"Maybe I do have one regret." Ouma somehow found the strength to scowl as he hobbled over to the hydraulic press, practically being held up by the astronaut. "I think it might be... not telling my beloved detective something."
Momota froze.
He watched as Ouma carefully lay on the jacket, shivering with cold and simply stared up into the metal.
The cold hard metal that would press against his body and end his life in a mere few minutes.
He still looked emotionless. Simply staring off.
(Momota didn't notice the small bits of salt water in the corner of his eyes. Or if he did, he didn't note it down.)
After receiving a small nod, Momota walked over to where the press would be operated.
He turned on the press and the camera at the same time, not nearly as perfect at Ouma but it would suffice.
"What did you wish you told my sidekick?" Momota murmured. It was quiet but in the empty hangar, with the only noise being the clunky machinery of the hydraulic press, Ouma heard him well enough.
"It's written i-in the... notebook. I guess I'll tell you though."
Momota didn't ignore the teartracks this time. The boy looked terrified. He could already feel the guilt welling up inside him. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to turn off the press and do something else.
He couldn't move. He was frozen as he listened for Ouma's next words. Watching as the slab of metal just got closer and closer.
"It would probably be..."
Closer.
"P-probab-bly..."
Closer.
"T-th...at... he-"
Closer.
Ouma let out a sharp giggle, not even bothering to hide the mingling horror etched onto his face..
"Probably that he was the most interesting..."
A sickening crushing noise followed.
Momota was sick. He was so sick. He froze as the blood gushed out, staining the floor around the press.
His hand trembled as he held it over his mouth. He was going to be sick.
He could feel the bile rising up, the acid burning the back of his throat as he rushed for the bathroom.
The sight of Ouma's filthy, bloodstained clothes just made it worse. He could feel the blood from his lungs begin to mingle with the raw acid he was throwing up.
But there wasn't time for that, he had to grab the book, read through it and get in the exisal. Momota had to wait and watch as his friends found what they would presume to be his body.
The thought just made him feel worse. Even after he'd done it, the noise just rung in his ears.
The splatter of blood. The bones crunching. The skin being pressed far until nothing remained. The body failing under the pressure.
The scent of the blood really got to him. He'd grown more accustomed to it over the past few weeks but that wouldn't even compare to the scene in front of him.
He could see some thin bone fragments slyly peeping out of the millimeter wide gap between the press and the floor. It was tiny, insignificant, barely visible to someone who wasn't all up close to the press like him.
It would've been insignificant, if only it wasn't for the fact that this was all because of Momota. He'd killed Ouma. He'd started the press and he'd been the one to watch as it got closer and closer to the boy who he'd wished would drop dead a few hours ago.
Maybe he would've been sick again if it wasn't for the fact he needed to open that book and start reading.
All of it was written in a mix of kanji and some english on the newer pages. English was quicker and Ouma had limited time left, of course he would write in the easier language.
It seemed he knew full well that Momota had spent some time in the Americas as a kid. It helped a little.
He flipped through the heavy book, reading and reading as every single possiblity, every single situation, they were all accounted for.
There were specific lines he should say if, perhaps, Saihara pointed out a key detail. If, perhaps, Harumaki noticed something wrong with the crime scene. If, perhaps, Kiibo said something about the facts.
Even if Yumeno made a stupid remark at some point, that was accounted for.
Holy shit, Ouma was amazing!
Momota couldn't help but be impressed. The, now deceased, boy was smarter than all of them took him for.
From the very beginning he'd been on their side, scheming, planning, manipulating them and their emotions.
He was all doing this to end the killing game. No matter the roadblock, no matter the victims or the murderer, Ouma had a backup plan for everything.
It was clear that Ouma Kokichi was a very paranoid person. That, they had all known from the start.
Gokuhara-kun was actually the one to point it out. Bringing up how, no matter how laid back and happy he seemed, "Gonta notice how Ouma is tense".
Truly and interesting day for them all.
It was the same day that Iruma was then murdered.
How ironic.
Now that Ouma was dead and the killing game continued, there was no doubt he'd lied about being the mastermind. It was interesting his motive behind that.
Momota really couldn't bring himself to care after all that's happened. This was something for Saihara, the real detective, to solve.
//\\
\\//
Ouma felt the tears slide down his cheeks as he finally admitted it.
He really liked Saihara.
Of course Momota was probably too much of a dumbass to look into the wording too much but he took joy in knowing he could still cause as much confusion as possible, even in his last moments.
It was something he'd known he couldn't pursue, Saihara surely hated him by now. But it didn't hurt to let the space idiot know. Sort of.
It's not like his beloved Saihara-chan would care anyways.
"Checkmate Shirogane."
Those were his final words, his final whispers that the idiot Momota clearly didn't hear.
He could barely hear it himself, the metal deathtrap inching closer until it touched the tip of his nose.
The agony lasted for a minute or so. Then, it all went dark.
Ouma Kokichi was alone, and he always would be.
But... atleast he wasn't boring.
That alone was the only thing he'd really cared for.
Now there was darkness and darkness only.
Kokichi wondered if this was what death really was like.
How boring.
He could feel his consciousness slip away.
And Ouma Kokichi, was no more.