Chapter Text
That particular morning had been more than average for Shuichi. He hadn’t awoken to anything strange, his breakfast hadn’t been poisoned and he’d met nothing out of the ordinary on the walk from the dorms to his classroom. And as he waited for registration to commence, his nose in a book, the rest of the class was milling about the way they did every morning. That included a too loud conversation, snide gossip and the scheduled yelling about something or other.
Everything was perfectly normal.
At least it had been until Kaede had strode in, Kirumi on her tail, both late. She then, in an unusual turn of events, spoke out to the class. With no one quite knowing what was going on, Kaede managed to hold their undivided attention.
“I told you guys two weeks ago that we needed something planned for the cultural festival. And still no one has suggested anything,” she explained, looking disappointed, not that the majority of the class cared. “And Munakata-sensei has been hounding me about it ever since I mentioned it. So I had to come up with something myself. I’ve been discussing it with Kirumi, and we’ve come to the conclusion that we should put on a class play.”
An outcry of upset erupted from the class.
“And by what logic do you consider that a good idea?” Maki asked, baffled.
“Yeah, most of us hate each other anyway!” Kaito pitched in, standing up behind his desk, chair screeching across the linoleum floor.
“While it would be wonderful to witness the cooperation of youths with potential such as ours,” Kiyo contributed, “it is an inevitability that such a project would crumble after a day or so.” While some were either confused or creeped out by Kiyo’s phrasing, most of them agreed in one form or another.
Kaede had expected this kind of reaction and merely rolled her eyes. “Would you at least hear me out?” she pleaded, clenching her fist tighter around the strap of her bag. “I’m not only saying this because no other class had taken the idea yet. Although that is a factor. Both me and Kirumi believe that our collective talents are perfect for such a thing!”
“How exactly?” Rantarou asked, not so much bitter as he was confused. “There are no actors in our class. Or singers. Or directors or producers or composers.”
“Well,” Kaede retorted, pouting. “I thought that I would compose the music. It wouldn’t be a 'musical' or anything, just ambience. I can do that sort of thing. And Kirumi has agreed to be director and producer.”
Beside her, Kirumi nodded in agreement. “It won’t be the first time I’ve directed a stage show.”
“Exactly!” Kaede stood up straight, clapping her hands together. “And most of the class have fitting talents too! Like Angie, you could make props! And Miu could handle lighting and mechanical stage direction. That should be easy for people like you!”
“You’re fucking right it would be easy!” Miu boasted. “I could do that shit in my sleep! I could make something that could do that shit for me while I sleep!”
Angie nodded too, rocking side to side in her chair. “An easy feat for Atua as well.”
Kaede realised that she was starting to convey her point and was growing excited. “And Tsumugi could handle costumes!”
“As long as the play’s about fictional people!” Tsumugi interjected. “It would be fun to make costumes for everyone, though.”
“And Himiko!” Kaede turned to address the shorter girl. “As a magician, you work with the stage. Your show last Christmas was great!”
“I’m not a magician!” Himiko protested, ignoring the rest of Kaede’s point. “I’m a mage! I do real magic, not tricks for audiences!”
“Well, okay.” Kaede faltered but remained determined. “But you still put on shows. That kind of professional knowledge about stagecraft would be invaluable!” Himiko didn’t say anything in response but still looked flattered, shrugging non-committedly. “And while everyone else’s talents may not be so relevant, we’ll need stage hands and promoters. And I’m sure Angie, Miu and Tsumugi would appreciate help with supplies and models and so on. And then we’ll need actors too. I thought Kokichi would be well suited to that.”
The excited murmur that had begun to pick up throughout the room was immediately extinguished. Everyone stared at Kaede for a moment before turning to Kokichi, who looked as incredulous as everyone else.
Now with all attention on him, Kokichi leant forward on his desk. “Would you be so kind as to elaborate?” he requested, too taken aback to make any kind of snarky remark.
“W-well…” Kaede began, gulping. “I thought… well you’re such a convincing liar, and you’re always bragging about it. And lying’s a hop, skip and a jump away from acting! R-right?” she explained with a hesitant smile.
Kokichi, though, had finally found something he could overreact to. “How could you, Kaede!” he cried out in what Shuichi could only assume was mock outrage. “Lying is more than acting. Do you know how offensive that is to me?!”
“Oh, come off it,” Kaito interrupted him, nose wrinkled in a sneer. “You know Kaede’s right.”
“Not you too, Kaito!” he whined, voice quivering. “And I thought th-that you of all people would understand!”
Kaede, desperate to diffuse the situation before Kokichi broke into loud crocodile tears, burst back into the conversation. “I was being completely serious though!” The rooms attention moved back onto her. “I really do think you’ll be brilliant at acting. If you’re headlining, Kokichi, this will be way better than regular school plays! Please. Give it a go.”
Now everyone was watching him again, only this time the air was no longer charged with confusion and animosity.
Kokichi stared at her, gaze suspicious and scrutinising, before he huffed and sat back. “Okay, say for a second I’ll agree to do this; answer me something first.” When Kaede nodded, inviting him to go ahead, his expression turned smug. “Do you even have a script?”
This didn’t seem to be a question Kaede had wanted anyone to ask before they agreed, as she stood dumbly searching for words. After a good ten seconds of her failing to conjure an answer, Kirumi stepped forward in her stead. “Not yet. However, we both felt it presumptuous to pick a story without the class' consent.”
“So let me get this right,” Kokichi said, smirk splitting his face. “You’re asking we do something like this when you haven't given the most crucial aspect of the proposal any thought. Right? I mean, it’s not a full-blown play, is it? It’ll have to be about half an hour or so, and there aren’t many scripts out that quite that short. Writing one would be out of the question, only a professional could write something halfway decent in the two months we have. And besides, who in here could write a decent script in the first place? Unless someone’s hiding a secret talent.”
The room was split on this issue. Some people didn’t care, agreeing with Kirumi’s logic, while others followed Kokichi’s line of reasoning. Why should they be expected to commit to this when it hadn’t been given nearly enough thought?
But that was when Shuichi realised something and, after a moment of consideration, raised his hand.
“Oh, Shuichi!” Kaede exclaimed, overjoyed at the prospect of someone she trusted speaking up. “What is it?”
“I was just thinking that… well if we don’t have an appropriate script I could always, um… I could ask my mother if we could use one of her rejected drafts and work from that?”
“I don’t follow,” she said, voicing what everyone else was thinking.
Shuichi sighed and let his shoulders drop. “My mother’s a television screenwriter. Not only would it be professionally written, but also an appropriate length. At least after adaptation,” he explained, staring at the wood grain on his desk. “It was only a suggestion though.”
“Oh, that would be fantastic!” Kaede exclaimed, back with full gusto. “It’s… well, it’s perfect!”
And like that, all tension dropped from the room.
“Does that mean you guys will do it?” Kaede asked hopefully.
The excited chatter buzzing through the room spoke for itself.