City Roulette Ep 4 Part 2 : This doesn't feel like the Holiday's *Class Trial*

The lights flicker uneasily across the courtroom floor, painting everyone in swirls of red and green. The roulette beneath their feet spins lazily, humming like a heartbeat muffled under snow. Everyone’s quiet — thinking, or pretending to. Then— Mariah City slams her hand on the podium so hard the echo reverberates through the room. Mariah (furious, her voice trembling): “This is going nowhere! Nowhere! We’ve been talking about snakes, bears, and barricades for what— hours? And we still have no damn clue who actually killed him!” Her words slice through the silence. Everyone freezes. Heather Metal blinks, startled by the outburst. “Mariah, take it easy—” Mariah (snapping): “No! I won’t! Because we’re spinning in circles while some psycho gets away with murder!” She grips the podium, knuckles white. Her breathing quickens, eyes flicking between everyone. “Robert’s gone. We’re wasting time talking about furniture and doors and— and nothing that matters!” Jackie Yamata steps forward from her podium, voice gentle. Jackie (softly): “Hey, hey— it’s okay. You’ve been under pressure like all of us. Let’s just— breathe for a second.” Mariah (cutting her off): “Don’t tell me to breathe, Jackie! You didn’t see what I saw— the body, the blood, the look on his face!” (her voice cracks) “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to keep it together but nobody’s saying anything that helps!” Jackie moves a little closer, keeping her tone calm, maternal almost. “Mariah… we are getting somewhere. Every small thing connects to something else. We just have to keep pulling the threads.” Mariah shakes her head, trembling with frustration. “It’s not enough! We’re still blind!” A long silence falls — only the faint hum of Harold’s throne platform fills the air. Even Harold Yamaki doesn’t interrupt this time; his tail sways slowly, watching the humans unravel like tinsel. Then, softly— Paulie Mae speaks up from across the circle. Paulie Mae (quiet, careful): “The gift shop didn’t have windows, you know.” The statement hangs oddly in the air. Everyone turns toward her. Paulie Mae (continuing): “There weren’t any windows in there. But… we did hear something. A strange, loud noise — like something heavy snapping or cracking outside.” Austin Sobriquet (curious): “A structural collapse, maybe? Or an animal breaking something?” Paulie Mae: “Could be. But it sounded like it came from the direction of the plaza… near the trees.” The moment she says it, Paris Ross’s catlike eyes light up — he straightens, a spark of thought behind them. Paris Ross (softly at first): “...Wait. The trees.” Neely Pearl (leaning in dramatically): “Oh? We’ve got a thought bubble brewing! Give it to us, pretty boy.” Paris ignores the tease, his voice gaining confidence. Paris: “When we were investigating near Robert’s body, I noticed something odd. There was a broken tree branch — thick, heavy, and lying at an angle. Like it fell from above recently.” Kayegama Yoshe (blinking): “You mean that one near the bench?” Paris: “Exactly. The one by the bench. And the bark was torn where the branch snapped — like something slammed into it.” Mariah City rubs her temples, exasperated. Mariah (snapping): “What does that have to do with anything?! We’re talking about a murder, not landscaping!” Paris (firmly, not backing down): “Just listen! What if that sound Paulie Mae heard — that loud crack — wasn’t an animal or something collapsing inside? What if it was the tree branch breaking?” Mariah (shaking her head): “So what? Trees break. It’s winter.” Paris (continuing): “But the timing lines up. Think about it — the noise happens during the chaos, and Robert’s body ends up beaten and bruised. There was no sign of claw marks or bites, right? Just blunt-force trauma. That branch was huge. If something — or someone — made it fall, it could’ve hit him before he collapsed onto the bench.” Seth Norway (nodding slowly): “He’s not wrong. The body report said the injuries were consistent with impact, not laceration. A fall like that could’ve crushed him.” Riko Hoyomisha (thinking aloud): “Then maybe the branch didn’t just fall. Maybe it was pushed.” A ripple of realization moves through the room. Heather Metal: “Pushed… from where? The town hall roof? The second-floor balcony?” Austin Sobriquet (analyzing): “The angle of the branch would have to match the direction of the fall. That branch was hanging right above the town square bench where Robert’s body was found.” Paris Ross (nodding): “Exactly. The impact spot was right beside the bench. And if you look at where Robert was lying, his body was tilted slightly to the side — like he rolled off something, not just collapsed.” Mariah City bites her lip, clearly thinking but not ready to yield. Mariah: “Okay, fine. It could explain the sound. But Robert was on the bench, not under the tree. If he fell, or got hit by the branch, he’d be on the ground, not neatly sitting there!” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers, enjoying the debate): “Ooh, contradiction! The diva makes a valid point!” Paris (patiently): “Right — and that’s what’s weird. The bench was a few inches away from the tree trunk. Someone could’ve moved him. Maybe even propped him up there after the fact.” The temperature in the room seems to drop a degree. Jackie Yamata (hesitant): “You’re saying someone staged the scene?” Paris (nodding): “Yes. Whoever killed him didn’t just leave him where he fell. They made it look peaceful — or at least… deliberate.” Mariah (shaking her head in disbelief): “So what, we’re saying someone killed him and played decorator afterward? This isn’t a damn art exhibit!” Neely Pearl (mock gasp): “Holiday staging! The tragic aesthetic of crime! I love it!” Heather Metal (snapping at Neely): “Neely, for once, please!” Harold Yamaki, who’s been quiet, suddenly claps his hands once — the sharp sound echoing through the chamber like a judge’s gavel. Harold (grinning): “My, my~! A fallen tree, a bruised technician, and a neatly seated body! I do love a touch of seasonal symmetry. You’re all so delightfully dramatic.” He leans forward, chin resting on his paw. Harold (continuing): “But now the question becomes…” (his grin widens) “Was that tree branch a happy accident of nature — or someone’s carefully wrapped murder weapon?” The citizens exchange wary looks. Even Mariah, breathing hard, can’t find words. The roulette begins spinning again — faster this time, colors flashing violently across their faces. Austin Sobriquet (murmuring): “If the branch was used… then someone had to be near the plaza when it fell.” Riko Hoyomisha (grimly): “And Robert was the only one found outside.” Paulie Louis (quietly): “Which means whoever did this… led him there.” The lights flicker once — then dim, leaving everyone illuminated by the pulsing roulette glow beneath them. Mariah City (softly, exhausted): “I just… want to know why.” Harold Yamaki (purring): “Oh, darling, you’ll get your answer soon enough. The truth always finds its way under the tree~” His laughter echoes — eerie, mechanical, playful — as the scene slowly fades to darkness. The trial chamber has gone quiet again. Frost creeps farther up the podiums. The roulette wheel has slowed to a tired hum, as if even it is getting dizzy from the back-and-forth. The civilians look drained — tired eyes, slouched shoulders, more sighs than words. It’s been hours of theories, contradictions, and bickering. Will King rubs his face. “Okay, I’ll say it — I’m lost. Completely. My brain’s doing Windows updates.” Neely Pearl (fanning themselves): “Same, sweetie. If confusion were calories, I’d fit in my pageant gown again.” Heather Metal sighs, glaring at the glowing snowflake floor. “So many theories, so many holes. We’re like a block of Swiss cheese with trauma.” Mariah City lets out a groan loud enough to echo. Mariah: “Ughhhhhh! I can’t do this anymore! My brain is melting faster than a snowman in a sauna!” She grabs her hair dramatically. “Nothing makes sense! Bears, snakes, ropes, branches — what is this, National Geographic: Despair Edition?!” Jackie Yamata (trying to soothe her): “Mariah, just breathe—” Mariah (interrupting): “No! Don’t tell me to breathe! Last time you said that, someone died! We’re cursed!” Neely Pearl (grinning, stage-whisper): “Iconic meltdown, 10/10, would stream live if we had Wi-Fi.” Mariah points at them, wild-eyed. “You shut your glitter-covered mouth, Neely! You’re enjoying this like it’s a drag brunch with a body count!” Neely (hand on chest): “Guilty and gorgeous!” Mariah starts pacing in frantic little circles, muttering. “I swear, if one more person says ‘maybe it was the snakes,’ I’m feeding myself to them!” Austin Sobriquet (deadpan): “Noted for the transcript.” The laughter that ripples through the group is strained but real. Even Harold Yamaki chuckles softly from his throne. Harold Yamaki (purring): “Oh, the despair, the drama! It’s like watching a snow globe crack in slow motion.” Mariah glares upward. “Glad we could entertain your nine lives, Mayor Menace!” Harold wiggles his paw in mock applause. “Me-ow-velous performance~.” Before Mariah can throw her podium, Chase Hallow clears his throat quietly. The sound slices through the chaos like paper against glass. Chase Hallow (calmly): “…Actually, maybe we’re missing something small. Something… that’s been dangling right in front of us.” The others look up. Heather Metal: “If this is a pun about the rope, I swear—” Chase (smirking faintly): “Exactly that.” A flicker of attention snaps back into the room. Chase (continuing): “We’ve been treating the missing rope like it was only connected to the snake attack. But think about it — when we investigated the guy’s house, we found the empty box, not the rope. There wasn’t a single strand left behind.” Neely Pearl (nodding, intrigued): “Ooh, you’re right. No rope residue, no cuts, no fibers. Just the sad little box of nope.” Chase: “Exactly. So that means the killer didn’t use the rope for the snakes — otherwise it would’ve stayed in the house, or gotten tangled, or at least been visible. Which means…” Jake Belle raises an eyebrow. “Which means the rope got used for something else.” Chase: “Right. Something outside.” Jake (thinking): “Like… the tree branch?” Chase (snapping his fingers): “Bingo.” The roulette flickers bright white, reacting to the shift in tone. Heather Metal (leaning forward): “You’re saying the rope connects to the branch?” Chase (nodding): “Yes. When I checked the plaza during the investigation, I noticed something small — blood spatter near the base of the tree. Not just random drops. A small trail leading from the bench to the trunk, and one long smear under the lowest branch.” Riko Hoyomisha (serious): “You think the rope and blood connect somehow?” Chase: “Exactly. My theory — Robert wasn’t hit by the branch from above. He was already on it. Either sitting or lying across it.” A few gasps ripple through the group. Mariah City (baffled): “Hold on, hold on. You’re saying Robert climbed a tree? What is this, ‘Technician Tarzan’?” Neely Pearl (snickering): “I’d watch that movie.” Chase (ignoring them, continuing): “The killer could’ve used the rope to pull down the branch while Robert was on it — adding pressure until it cracked. The moment it snapped, Robert fell and hit the ground hard. That explains the blunt trauma.” Austin Sobriquet (adjusting his glasses): “And the blood on the snow beneath the tree.” Chase: “Right. The killer then could’ve dragged or moved his body onto the bench afterward to stage it — make it look peaceful.” Heather Metal (thinking aloud): “So… the rope was used like a lever. Pressure from below until the branch broke.” Chase (nodding): “Yes. The killer didn’t need to climb or get close. They just had to pull.” Paris Ross (snapping his fingers): “That would match the marks near the tree trunk! There were small grooves in the bark — something tight pressed against it. Rope could’ve done that.” Kayegama Yoshe (eyes wide): “And if the rope snapped after the branch fell, that explains why it’s missing — the killer took it back or burned it to hide evidence.” Neely Pearl (raising a hand dramatically): “Or maybe they used it for festive holiday bondage. Who can say?” Heather Metal (deadpan): “Neely, I swear—” Neely: “What? I’m just exploring possibilities, darling!” The group groans collectively. Mariah City (still half-panicked, half-sarcastic): “So now the theory is that someone lassoed a tree to kill Robert? Great. We’re one step away from blaming Frosty the Snowman for tax fraud.” Jackie Yamata (calmly): “It sounds ridiculous, but… it fits the evidence. The rope’s missing, the branch broke under pressure, and the blood trail matches a fall.” Riko Hoyomisha (nodding): “And that also means Robert was alive when the rope was used — he might’ve been forced up there.” Austin Sobriquet (quietly): “Which adds intent. Not an accident — deliberate setup.” Heather Metal (grim): “Someone tied the knot, literally.” Harold Yamaki (clapping slowly, amused): “Ohhh, magnificent! A tree, a rope, a drop of blood — so simple, so sinister, so seasonally tragic! You’ve outdone yourselves, my little detectives.” He stretches like a lazy cat on his throne, tail flicking in delight. Harold: “But I must say… if someone truly went through all that trouble, then this killer has the flair of a decorator and the precision of a puppeteer~.” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “Puppet show murder! Love it. Horrifying, fabulous, I’m obsessed.” Mariah City (exasperated but starting to laugh): “Oh my god, Neely, you’d ‘love’ a paper cut if it had good lighting.” Neely (winking): “Details matter, sweetheart.” Chase Hallow (serious again): “So the key now is figuring out who could’ve done it — who had the strength, the timing, and the access to both the rope and the plaza before anyone else got there.” The room quiets, the levity fading into unease again. The roulette wheel starts spinning once more, its glow deepening to crimson. Harold Yamaki (grinning): “And so, the noose tightens~! What a charming metaphor, don’t you think?” Heather Metal (gritting her teeth): “Enough wordplay, furball. We’ve got a killer to find.” Harold (purring): “Oh, but wordplay is my guilty pleasure.” (beat) “Speaking of which… one of you must be feeling very guilty right about now.” The lights dim to blood-red, the hum swelling like a heartbeat as the camera pans slowly across every face — suspicion, fatigue, dread, and faint, morbid amusement all at once. The roulette glows faintly red beneath their feet. The mood is tense — everyone’s on edge after Chase’s rope theory. The air feels heavy, but Chase’s quiet focus cuts through it. He flips open his digital notepad again, his voice steady but carrying a hint of anticipation. Chase Hallow: “There’s… one more thing I didn’t mention earlier.” Everyone looks at him. Heather Metal: “Oh, what now? Don’t tell me you found Santa’s sleigh key in the guy’s mouth.” Chase doesn’t react. He reaches into his coat pocket and takes out a small, sealed plastic evidence baggie. Something fuzzy and brightly colored sits inside. He holds it up to the light. Chase: “During the investigation, I found this— dangling from Robert’s mouth.” He sets it gently on the podium. Inside the bag… is a scrunchie. Pink, soft, and glittery. There’s dead silence. Hue Trinity squints. “...Is that a scrunchie?” Chase (calmly): “Yes.” Heather Metal (blinking, then snorting): “I— I’m sorry— did you just say this man died with a scrunchie in his mouth?!” Chase: “Correct.” A pause. Then— Heather bursts out laughing. Heather (laughing uncontrollably): “Oh my God! This is the most unserious murder in history! What— was the killer accessorizing him postmortem?!” Mariah City (staring, deadpan): “What the hell—” Hue Trinity (genuinely baffled): “Is this… a joke? Are we getting pranked right now?” Riko Hoyomisha (pinching the bridge of his nose): “This is not funny.” Heather is on the floor at this point, tears in her eyes. Heather (through laughter): “I can’t— he went out fashionably! Like— ‘Forget the will, I die fabulous!’” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Honestly? Camp.” Jessie Kowalski buries her face in her hands, groaning. “Oh my God, what are we even doing anymore…” Mark Traverse (rubbing his temples): “Okay but— a scrunchie? Out of everything?” Will King (deadpan): “I dropped out of college for this.” Harold Yamaki looks absolutely delighted, tail swishing like a metronome. Harold (gleefully): “A scrunchie of despair! Oh, how delightfully petty! Nothing says festive homicide like fashion-based evidence!” Nicholas Sour stands quietly in his corner, sucking a lollipop, completely unfazed by the chaos. Nicholas (flatly): “Tastes like strawberry.” Heather (still wheezing): “You can’t just— put a scrunchie in a man’s mouth and call it a clue!” Chase (calm, unamused): “I didn’t put it there. I found it there.” Riko Hoyomisha (serious): “Does it have any blood or saliva on it?” Chase: “Both. It was lodged between his teeth. Which means it was placed there before his death was staged on the bench.” The laughter dies down. Slowly, the absurdity fades into realization. Heather (catching her breath): “...Wait, you’re serious?” Chase (nodding): “I’m dead serious.” Austin Sobriquet (tapping his chin): “Then that means it’s not random. It’s deliberate.” Chase: “Yes. And it’s not just any scrunchie — it’s a type only found in the girls’ dorm supply boxes. The same kind given to the women in the town group when we arrived.” Paulie Mae (frowning): “You mean from the girl’s house?” Chase: “Exactly. Which means whoever put it there had access to that house — and to Robert after he was killed.” Heather Metal (wiping her eyes, still chuckling a bit): “So you’re saying… our killer is fashionable and organized. Got it.” Neely Pearl (smirking): “Honestly, if I ever die, I hope someone shoves a scrunchie in my mouth. At least I’d leave a statement.” Mariah City (glaring): “Neely, please!” Neely: “What? I’m serious! It’s avant-garde!” Will King (muttering): “I’m gonna lose brain cells before we finish this trial.” Harold Yamaki (purring contentedly): “Oh, don’t say that, my little gamer elf. You’ll need every brain cell you can spare — after all, we’ve still got to find out who owns that fabulous accessory.” He gestures at the scrunchie bag like he’s presenting a trophy. Harold (dramatically): “So~! Whose style statement turned into a silent scream?” Heather (snickering again): “I swear, if it’s Neely’s, I’m gonna die.” Neely Pearl (mock gasp): “Sweetheart, please. I only wear silk, not murder evidence.” Chase (ignoring them all, focused): “The scrunchie might look ridiculous, but it could be the most important clue we’ve found yet. It ties Robert’s death to someone who had access to the girls’ house — meaning we can finally narrow down suspects.” The camera zooms slowly on the scrunchie as it sparkles faintly under the trial lights — a ridiculous, glittery symbol of tension and absurdity. Heather (softly, finally calming): “Can’t believe it. A scrunchie might actually solve a murder.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “The true meaning of Christmas.” Harold Yamaki (smiling wide): “Oh-ho-ho~! Now that’s the spirit!” Nicholas (still sucking on his lollipop, deadpan): “Peppermint flavor.” Everyone groans in unison. The glowing roulette spins lazily again, casting soft reflections across the floor. The once ridiculous energy of the “scrunchie reveal” lingers in the air — half laughter, half tension. Chase still stands at his podium, the glittery scrunchie sealed in its plastic baggie under the spotlight. Jake Belle leans forward, resting his elbow on his podium, eyes sharp and calculating. He smirks faintly, his voice casual but deliberate. Jake: “Alright, if we’re talking suspects based on who owns scrunchies, then we can narrow this down a little.” Heather Metal (raising an eyebrow): “Oh boy, the fashion police are on the case.” Jake (ignoring her): “From what I’ve seen around town, there are six people who wear scrunchies regularly.” (he counts on his fingers) “Myrtle, Mariah, and Heather — the obvious ones. But also Julian, Arthur Smith, and Neely.” A few surprised looks ripple around the circle. Arthur Smith (offended): “Excuse me? I wear hair ties, not scrunchies.” Jake (grinning): “Yeah, but last week you were using a pink one with rhinestones. Don’t try me, model boy.” Arthur Smith (defensive): “It was functional! My hair needed volume!” Neely Pearl raises a manicured finger dramatically. Neely (gasps, offended): “Hold up, me? Sweetheart, if that basic elastic tragedy was mine, I’d resign from the queer community immediately!” Mariah City crosses her arms, smirking despite herself. “Oh, so we’re too unstylish for you now?” Neely (snapping their fingers): “Facts are facts, darling. If I owned that scrunchie, it would sparkle so hard you’d need sunglasses. Look at it! No shimmer, no personality, no drama. I’d never.” Heather Metal (snickering): “Neely’s right. That thing looks like it came from the dollar bin at a gas station.” Harold Yamaki (mock gasp): “Oh no! Not the budget accessory shade!” Neely (smiling smugly): “Mayor Meow-Meow, please — I have standards.” Chase Hallow finally steps back into the discussion, cutting through the laughter with his calm, even tone. Chase: “Actually, Neely’s telling the truth.” Heather (mock gasp): “What, you checked the ‘glitter-to-mouth’ ratio?” Chase (flat): “Yes. And there wasn’t a single trace of glitter residue around Robert’s lips or teeth. No shimmer, no particles.” Neely Pearl (dramatically flicking their hair): “See? Exonerated by my own fabulousness.” Austin Sobriquet (muttering): “First time a fashion statement’s been used as a legal defense.” Chase: “So Neely’s out. Which means the scrunchie belonged to someone else.” (He looks across the room, steady and methodical.) “Myrtle, Mariah, and Neely were all trapped in the café and gift shop area during the chaos. They couldn’t have interacted with Robert at all.” Paulie Louis (nodding): “That’s true. They were sealed in with us — barricades and all.” Chase: “Then that leaves three.” (He clicks the notepad, pulling up the names on a glowing list projected into the air.) “Heather Metal. Julian Merwin. Arthur Smith.” The air thickens. The three names hover in glowing red letters above the roulette floor. Heather Metal (mock offended): “Of course I’m on the list. Because I laughed at the evidence. That’s how it always goes.” Julian Merwin smirks, his tone teasing but cautious. “Hey, don’t look at me. I wear scrunchies, yeah, but mostly on stage. Plus, mine are silk — not whatever that glitterless horror is.” Arthur Smith (folding his arms): “And mine was rhinestone-studded, not… that.” Neely Pearl (sassy whisper): “Oh, now everyone’s a material expert.” Heather (rolling her eyes): “You all keep saying ‘mine’s too fancy, mine’s too stylish.’ It’s literally a piece of elastic, people. No one’s winning Project Runway: Crime Scene Edition.” Mariah City (snapping): “Yeah, but it is proof, Heather. You said it yourself — only certain people even had scrunchies.” Heather (sarcastic): “Oh great. I’m being framed by a hair accessory. This is what rock bottom looks like.” Chase (unbothered): “Actually, it’s not ridiculous. The killer could’ve dropped it accidentally while staging the body — or Robert bit it trying to fight back.” Riko Hoyomisha (cool and calm): “Then it’s physical contact. Whoever owned it was there when Robert died.” Julian Merwin (quietly): “Damn…” Heather Metal (defensive): “I didn’t even see Robert that night! I was helping secure the instruments near the town hall when everything went to hell!” Arthur Smith: “I was with the same group — the ones near the hall entrance. If anyone saw me, speak up.” Aruha: “You were. You helped shut one of the side gates.” Heather: “Thank you! See? I wasn’t even near that bench.” Chase Hallow taps his pad again, crossing out Neely, Mariah, and Myrtle’s names, the holographic list shrinking to three. Chase: “So for now, the circle narrows. Heather Metal, Julian Merwin, and Arthur Smith are the most likely to have dropped or placed the scrunchie.” Neely Pearl (mock serious): “Oooh, the tension! The suspects are stylish, the stakes are high, and the accessories are cheap!” Heather (snapping): “Neely, I swear—!” Harold Yamaki (delighted, tail swishing): “Oh, I adore this energy! It’s like a holiday soap opera meets a thrift store commercial! Keep going~!” Riko Hoyomisha (flat): “Mayor, please.” Harold (mock offense): “What? I’m invested!” The roulette pulses red, illuminating the three highlighted names still floating midair — Heather, Julian, Arthur. Chase (quietly): “The scrunchie might look ridiculous, but it’s a lead that connects the victim to one of them. And we all know what that means…” Heather Metal (crossing her arms, glaring): “Yeah. One of us needs better taste in hair accessories.” Neely Pearl (dramatically): “And the award for ‘Best Supporting Scrunchie in a Tragic Holiday Murder’ goes to—” Harold Yamaki (interrupting, grinning): “Don’t spoil it yet! We still have to unwrap the finale~!” The camera pans upward as laughter, tension, and suspicion mingle in the air — the faint chime of sleigh bells echoing under the growing unease. The holographic projection of the scrunchie still spins lazily above the roulette floor — absurdly glittery, softly pink, and now the single strangest piece of evidence in the entire trial. The air buzzes with murmurs, half disbelief, half curiosity. Chase Hallow stands with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the bagged scrunchie under the spotlight. The faint hum of the courtroom dies down as he speaks. Chase (calmly): “When I examined this… scrunchie, I noticed something else. It wasn’t just in his mouth — it was soaked. Completely.” The crowd murmurs. Heather Metal (raising a brow): “Soaked in what? Don’t say eggnog.” Chase (ignoring her): “It was wet — with saliva, and a trace of blood. Which means it wasn’t simply dropped in his mouth.” (He looks up, meeting everyone’s eyes.) “What if the killer didn’t drop it at all? What if they… shoved it down his throat?” The room falls dead silent. Mariah City (blinking): “…I’m sorry, what?” Chase (steady): “If the killer used the scrunchie to choke him, that would explain both the position it was found in and the moisture. It wasn’t decoration — it was the weapon.” There’s a long pause — then Mariah bursts out laughing so loud it echoes through the entire chamber. Mariah (gasping for air): “Oh my God! You’re telling me the big, scary murder we’ve been losing sleep over — wasn’t a bear, wasn’t a branch, wasn’t a snake — it was a scrunchie strangling?” She doubles over laughing, hitting her podium for balance. Mariah (through tears): “Death by fashion accessory! He died choking on a hair tie! Someone call Vogue, we’ve got a new trend!” Heather Metal starts snickering again. “Oh no — not the killer couture!” Neely Pearl (dramatic): “I can’t. This is too iconic. Imagine being killed by something that costs $1.25 at Dollar Tree.” Riko Hoyomisha lets out a long, weary sigh, rubbing his temples. “This is not funny. A man died.” Neely (snapping their fingers): “And he died fabulous!” Jackie Yamata groans softly. “Please, Neely—” Mariah (still laughing): “No, you don’t get it! Imagine the killer’s face! Just— ‘TAKE THAT!’ shoves scrunchie!” She dissolves into another laughing fit, practically crying now. Harold Yamaki leans back on his throne, absolutely glowing with amusement. His tail swishes like a metronome, his grin wide. Harold (purring): “Oh, this is divine~! Tragedy and comedy wrapped in one pastel bow! Truly, the gift that keeps on giving!” Heather Metal (snorting): “Literally! He choked on the gift!” Austin Sobriquet (deadpan): “We’ve officially crossed from trial to circus.” Nicholas Sour, calm as ever, continues to suck on his lollipop while the chaos unfolds. He waits for the laughter to fade — or at least mostly fade — before speaking quietly, but firmly. Nicholas (flatly): “If that’s true… then the killer doesn’t have any upper body strength.” Everyone turns toward him. Heather Metal (half laughing, half curious): “What?” Nicholas (shrugs): “Think about it. If they had to choke him with a scrunchie, that means they couldn’t overpower him physically. Robert was strong — muscular arms, heavy build. You don’t take someone like that down with brute force unless you can actually fight.” Austin Sobriquet (nodding): “He’s right. Robert’s autopsy showed blunt trauma but no restraint marks. If the scrunchie was used to suffocate him instead, then maybe the killer relied on surprise — or caught him while he was already weak.” Chase (quietly, impressed): “Good catch, Nicholas.” Nicholas (still sucking his lollipop): “Not hard to figure out. The candy helps me think.” Neely Pearl (grinning): “Sweetie, if you solve this with sugar, I’m buying you a whole candy store.” Heather Metal (smirking): “So we’re looking for someone with noodle arms?” Mariah (wheezing): “I can’t breathe— not from the scrunchie, from the laughter—” Riko Hoyomisha (stern): “Focus, please.” Chase (continuing): “So, following Nicholas’s logic, that rules out anyone known for physical strength — Robert would’ve fought back. Which means the killer’s method was control, not confrontation. A distraction, followed by suffocation.” Arthur Present (grimly): “And since the scrunchie came from the girls’ house, that means whoever did it used both opportunity and subtlety.” Heather Metal: “Or someone who just panicked and grabbed whatever was nearby.” Neely Pearl (snapping their fingers): “A panic choke! Fashion and fear in one breath!” Harold Yamaki (laughing): “Brilliant! The holidays are full of surprises, aren’t they? Sometimes the presents bite back~!” Mariah City (still half laughing, half serious): “So, let me get this straight — Robert might’ve been choked out by a scrunchie from the girls’ house, by someone too weak to fight him head-on?” Chase (nodding): “Yes. That’s the working theory.” Mariah (snorting): “God, this city’s going to make me lose it.” Heather Metal (still giggling): “Gonna?” Neely Pearl (dramatic flourish): “Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone beyond, we have ourselves a fashion felony!” Harold Yamaki (purring with delight): “And so the plot tightens~ just like that poor scrunchie around dear Robert’s throat!” Austin Sobriquet (under his breath): “I miss the part of my life when things made sense.” Nicholas Sour (deadpan, still licking his lollipop): “Peppermint helps.” The camera pans out as the laughter and mutters mix again — the absurdity and horror swirling together in a bizarre symphony of chaos. The scrunchie glints faintly under the lights — harmless, ridiculous, and now deadly. Civilians: Heather Metal/ Ultimate VSCO Girl Kayegama Yoshe/Ultimate Freestyle rollerblader times_places Riko Hoyomisha/Ultimate Fencer paul Johnathan Coffee/Ultimate Barista Joshua Aruha Suguyama/ Ultimate violinist blue Arthur Smith/Ultimate male model Imprincearthur Jessie Kowalski/Ultimate Tarot Card reader Jessiekowalski Jake Belle/ Ultimate Scam Artist Will King/Ultimate Gamer Icebeast Mark Traverse/Ultimate Influencer Bagel Mariah City/ Ultimate Livestreamer Myrtle Chang/Ultimate Swimmer stuartlittle16 Neely Pearl/ Ultimate Drag Queen Julian Merwin/ Ultimate male stripper Austin Sobriquet/Ultimate professor Sobriquet Chase Hallow/ Ultimate Mangaka Jackie Yamata/ Ultimate Pop Idol Emma Violet/ Ultimate Skateboarder Paulie Mae/ Ultimate Pottery Maker Seth Norway/ Ultimate Occultist Arthur Present/ Ultimate Knight Hue Trinity/ Ultimate Yo-yo Pro Paris Ross/ Ultimate Cat Lover Nicholas Sour/ Ultimate Candy Lover Paulie Louis/ Ultimate Seamstress Reader's Tag: Spinfur (as punishment) Previous: https://kovaze.com/blog/18488 Continue: https://kovaze.com/blog/18500