By Death United (A Saimatsu story)

Chapter 8

''You know, I was thinking, Shuichi and. . .'' Kaede fidgeted in her seat; gazing at the maestro for inspiration to overcome her hesitation. ''When w-we were with Chiaki. . . I mean, when we were together. . .''

''Yes, I remember that. What about it? I'm sorry if I said something awkward back then. . .'' Shuichi said regrettably, itching to lower his hat, when instead, he took it off completely, and held it in near astonishment after realising; but kept it off in respect of etiquette; Kaede not yet aware of his blunder.

''You haven't said anything a-awkward, it was just sort of mysterious,'' she explained. ''You said it was nothing, but I heard it. . .''

Shuichi took a secretive look around: brief reconnoitring; his gaze passing over the multitude of heads; snapping back thereafter to his group of friends: a seemingly odd enclave when compared to other listeners; and out of them, all, besides him and Kaede, were transfixed by the music: indecisive triumphalism padded by parental jubilation, until the parental aspect permitted the growing excitement to emerge out of its subterranean denial – and to erupt in unquestioned supremacy: that being an imperfect outline of what they heard. Mahiru disrupted her focus by stubborn photographing; nor was Sakura moved from her pensive vigilance, or Kirumi from the duty of listening; Nagito much more unclear, though without a doubt considering the symphony's hope aspects; no one paid attention to the sensitive contents of the conversation right next to them. 

''Heard what?'' He met her gaze: she pleasantly surprised about the missing hat, though melancholy was speedy to retake her. 

''T-That you'll find them. . .''

''That,'' what it was: was his question – not the answer, for he was uncertain about his intention. He considered his role in the investigation to be minor, and probably unnecessary for its success – and that was a shadow of Mahiru's sanguine discouraging – so what he said back there was inappropriate and had to be amended: the police will be responsible for bringing down the culprit, not him. ''It really was nothing. . . You don't have to worry about it.''

''I believe in you, Shuichi,'' Kaede whispered; her voice surpassed by the ecstatic violining, and audible only to him. ''I believe that you'll find whoever murdered my mum. . .''

''Kaede, you don't have to-'' He fell silent and slipped his hand into hers. ''I guarantee you that whoever did it will be brought to justice; the police are capable, my uncle especially, whether I'm there to help them out or not. . . But let's leave that for later, and enjoy the concert.''

''Stop doubting yourself. When I say that I believe in you, I mean it, and I think that my mum would have been of the same opinion. . .''

''You really don't have to say that, I understand.'' He shut his eyes in grief; feeling the symphony's anticipatory character fuse with his thoughts: the grand finale soon, yet doubt retaliating against him with tripartite force. Was he in the wrong?

''I do have to say it because you don't seem to want to accept it,'' she held his hand firmly; adamant to prove her point, though emotionally exhausted; wishing that Shuichi wasn't as stubborn as she was – but this stubbornness likely brought them to their current closeness, so her only option was to overcome it. ''I know that you can do it, but if you keep telling yourself the opposite, then you might end up wrongly accepting it. . . And if that happens, others might start believing it, too.''