All was dark even when Kirie opened his eyes. Immediately he moved to stand, to flee, but he felt his arms and legs bound in a metallic grip. With a booming clap, the spotlight spilled down onto the stage, illuminating Kirie and the throne he was strapped into. The chair dwarfed the boy, white and gold with a tall, decorated back. It was a beautiful centrepiece, but still Kirie struggled to escape it.
The white light bore down on him with such force that he found himself growing hot. Beads of sweat prickled at the back of his neck as he sweltered in his clothes, skin growing feverish as the spotlight burned brighter.
It was not long before the heat had grown scorching. Eyes wild with panic, Kirie looked out into the blackness as if searching for someone to help him; in fact, his face demanded that someone help him, and for every second that passed without a savior, it grew more twisted with rage. He looked at Enou, at Izaya, at Saeko, all useless faces in the crowd. Kirie could not let it end this way, not here, not so early. The low hum of the light shook him down to the bones, and just as Kirie feared he might ignite from the heat, the spotlight clapped off.
Another took its place in front of him, this time with a wider scope. It did not burn; instead it brightened the stage. Kirie could see a red carpet unfurling at his feet, stretching out into the dark. With everything so dimly lit, Kirie could make out the suggestion of curtains at either side of the room, from which he could hear a distant, rhythmic rumble.
Clink clink, clink clink. It grew louder, closer, until a row of humanoid figures marched out onto the stage with thunderous steps. It was only when they met the light that Kirie noticed their armour, golden and shimmering. A regal melody trumpeted out, and in perfect succession they lined each side of the carpet in front of the throne, halting with a final stomp. The two closest to Kirie raised their spears, and it was almost comical the way they thwacked them against the iron that bound Kirieâs wrists and ankles. The spears pinged against the restraints, a seemingly useless effort until the metal crumbled apart like stone.
Bewildered, Kirie found his footing and stood up from the throne, and in that moment, one final spotlight lit up the object at the end of the red carpet; a podium. With a row of helmed knights flanking him at either side, the small student wandered down the path laid before him. Ringing out from the blackness ahead, he could hear it; applause. Cheers and claps resounded from every direction. From the immense weight of the noise, the room must have been as big as a theatre, perhaps bigger. Flashes of white flickered from every direction like twinkling stars.
The joy and relief in Kirieâs eyes was unmistakable as he approached the podium, facing the audience with a charming smile. Beneath all the uproar, the sound of a shrill beeping could be heard, but he paid it no mind, enraptured by the applause. With a straight back, Kirie placed his hands upon the podium, opened his mouth, and drew a breath to speak.
The explosion incinerated him on the spot. Plumes of smoke and chunks of burnt wood branched out from the spot Kirie had once stood, and high up above, fireworks cracked in the air. They blossomed in magnificent colours, screeching into the sky and fizzling to make way for more. One even took the shape of a certain familiar bear, and the show went on.
[ Kirie, SHSL Philanthropist, has been executed.]
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