#i think its pretty clear by now who the culprit is. amazing team effort by the class to start figuring it out in the last stretch of things

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 18

are we finally getting somewhere with the trial? please??

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

was tempted to start this chapter with toko waking up and gasping 'i think i like girls!!'

wanted to say that everything would've been resolved way earlier if people were just a little nicer to toko before remembering that aoi was literally doing that and she STILL obsessed over byakuya. can we get this girl to a therapist please

shoutout to @digitaldollsworld for reading this at ass o'clock in the morning while i was still writing it. a real hero tbh

Content warning tags: self-deprecating language, implied self-harm, canon-typical manipulation and language

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There’s a moment of stillness. Someone shouts in alarm, and a few people nearly step away from their stands with intention to help. But just as quickly, the dark figure slumped behind the rail begins to clamber slowly upwards, hands bracing against the balusters as she totters to an upright position.

Slowly, carefully, Toko Fukawa stands up straight, trembling all the while. “I-Is this a trial? W-what’s going o-on?!”

The stammer certainly sounds like Fukawa.“...Toko? That’s really you, right?” Asahina tries tentatively. “Um, are you okay? Are you feeling alright?”

“I…” She looks around, hands fisted tight around her braids, twitching with the same nervous quality of a bird. Her eyes must have landed on Byakuya, and the venomous stare he was giving her, because she squeaks and cowers again. “I-!”

“Chihiro’s body was found today. Approximately twenty minutes after you left the library.” He says coldly, words clipped and harsh. “Kyoko says you were both in the boy’s bathroom before the body discovery alarm. Can you verify this?”

“W-what?!” She stutters. “I-I don’t know w-what’s going on, I n-never know-” She’s shaking violently, as if she’s about to faint again.

“Let’s try a different question.” Kirigiri cuts in. “Toko. What were you doing between 12:30 and 1 o’clock today?”

“Wh- A-are you accusing me of s–something?!”

“No. But everyone else has given testimony on their whereabouts during this time. Yours would help grant us a better understanding of the course of events.” Kirigiri says patiently. Fukawa sways for a moment, thinking carefully, before she answers.

“Th-the library,” She half-mumbles, hands twisting in her braids over and over again, the black coils weaving over her pale fingers like eels. “Um, I w-wanted to talk to B-Byakuya alone, so I w-went to the library, a-and we t-talked for a bit…and then-”

He suddenly realizes what she’s about to say, but it’s too late to stop it. “Then, u-um, he h-hit me…w-with a book.”

He can feel eyes turning towards him, and the air turns disapproving. He scowls back. “She’s left out the part where she tried to blackmail me with the secret that she peeked at the other night.” He explains, and at once Fukawa flushes darkly and begins stammering something out.

“I-! I wasn’t b-blackmailing you!”

“What other word should I have used then? Manipulation? Coercion?” He asks sarcastically, and she shrivels and withers at his words.

“I told you m-my secret too, s-so it’d be fair-”

“You told me you were a serial killer who targets the men you fancied. Forgive me if I wasn’t immediately won over.”

The atmosphere turns a little less hostile at that. “Okay, yeah. If it’s like that I kinda get it.” Hagakure is nodding sagely, as if he understands everything. “But, seriously. You shouldn’t hit girls, man…”

“...Are you really going to do this now?” He just needed this trial to be over, already. The adrenaline of the earlier reveal had worn off, and now he felt sick with anger and exhaustion. “The whole thing barely took ten minutes. I wasn’t interested in dragging it out any longer than I had to.”

“Still, hitting is sort of-” But Hagakure shuts up at the glare Byakuya gives him, and quickly amends. “Never mind. Gender equality. Especially in self-defense. Cool, got it, my bad.”

“So, I suppose it is safe to assume that the source of the blood on your hand, and the book from earlier, was because of this confrontation?” Celeste asks. And, without waiting for an answer: “Then, that would also mean that the reason you were holding that file on Syo was due to what Toko had revealed to you.”

She sounds all too satisfied with herself for reaching that conclusion. “And so, it seems that the most damning evidence that had been implicating you has been disproven. Is that not reassuring?”

“...Don’t patronize me.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dare.” She laughs lightly, a soft sound that perfectly conceals her shrewdness.

“Toko. Please, continue.” Kirigiri says again, and there’s a quiet rustle as Fukawa yanks at her hair, the strands scraping over her fingers.

“A-after he h-hit me, I left…u-um, I went to the bathroom t-to w-wash my face, and when I touched the faucet - I-I mean, I wiped my f-face with my hands earlier, a-and the b-blood…” She trails off and shakes her head, and shoves her face into a fistful of her hair. 

Byakuya suddenly recalls something, something that Fukawa had mentioned during their confrontation in the library in a hurried, muttered tone. “Syo comes out when you see blood.” He remembers aloud, and her incoherent words begin clicking together.

Her pale face immediately darkens to an ugly, blotchy pink. “Yeah, um. I-I’m scared of b-blood, so…a-and when she’s out, I d-don’t have any m-memory of what s-she does.” She cradles her face in her hands, swaying a little like a swooning maiden. “S-so you did remember…” She mumbles, apparently to herself, and he feels his stomach turn with disgust.

It’s not worth wasting the effort on her to think of a response, so he opts to ignore her fawning instead. “So Toko left the library and went to the boy’s bathroom, and fainted after seeing the blood on her hand.” That seems logical enough, but something about this sequence of events bothered him. 

According to Kirigiri, Syo only woke up shortly before the body discovery. If Fukawa went to the bathroom right after leaving the library, why had it taken so long? And that aside, there was something that bothered him about her story. Something that he couldn’t place a finger on.

He’s not the only one who noticed the fallacy. “Excuse me, Toko,” Makoto tries tentatively. “So…that means from around 12:40 to one, you were unconscious?”

“Y-yes? What, do you n-not believe me?” She immediately goes on the defensive, cagey and snappish. “Y-you think I’m l-lying, right? J-just because I’m l-like this, you th-think that e-everything I say is a l-lie-?! Y-you all think I s-strung Chihiro up, I kn-know it!”

“Toko…no one said that.” Asahina has her hands raised, in some attempt to calm her down. “We just want to know what happened.”

She was proving to be an impossible witness. Byakuya raises a hand to press to his temple, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips. “Kyoko. Can you verify what Toko has said?” He asks, exasperated, and Kirigiri actually seems to startle a bit, head snapping to look at him.

“...I can’t.” She says, after a pause. “Because she did not enter the bathroom at that time, or else I would have noticed it.”

She remains fixated on him for a moment longer, before turning away. Belatedly, he suddenly realizes this was the second time he’s caught her off guard. The first time was when he pointed out the fact that access to information on Genocider Syo was limited.

He doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on that though. “So, that means that either you, or Toko, is lying about their whereabouts during this time.” He sighs. “For now, we need to identify which one of you both is deceiving us.”

Both are equally suspicious. Kirigiri has been mysterious, even more so than usual, and purposefully vague about her activities. And he didn’t trust Fukawa at all to start with, but she was also clumsy and awkward. It was hard to imagine her being able to plan everything ahead to this degree, from planting the evidence, to staging the actual murder…

“Wait. Something’s not right.” Makoto says suddenly, and his voice is clear and contemplative, his chin tucked over his knuckle. “If Toko fainted before she actually washed her hands, then how come her hands are clean? Remember, when we first met Syo, she showed us that her hands were totally free of blood.”

“I-I-!” She squawks, indignant, but she can’t seem to formulate a reply for a few moments. “M-maybe Syo washed my h-hands or s-something, I don’t know! S-she’s the one that k-kills people, so o-of course she would h-hide her tracks!”

“But, again, the sinks of the boy’s bathroom were all dry.” Makoto points out, and Fukawa sputters some more. “And…”

He pauses, and his head dips for a moment, enough for a shadow to cast over his face. “Toko. How did you know that Chihiro is dead?”

Byakuya figures it out a half-step after him, and silently kicks himself for not picking up on it earlier. And the others pick up on it as well, and the atmosphere turns dark, thick with unease and suspicion. Same as the elevator ride down, but this time, directed at Fukawa.

She’s gaping like a fish. She turns left and right, shuffling slightly. The rails of the stand stand tall and straight like the bars of a cage. “I-that’s-the portraits!” She yelps, and jabs out a pale hand in Byakuya’s direction. “Ch-Chihiro’s portrait, i-it’s crossed out! Th-that means s-she’s dead, so-”

“He’s dead.” Byakuya corrects sharply, and glares so fiercely the confused question that Fukawa was preparing simply vanishes. “But the fact that you weren’t aware of that means that Chihiro never came to speak with you about it. When he already discussed the matter with the rest of us.”

“I-that doesn’t m-mean I k-killed he-him!”

“Maybe that doesn’t implicate you,” Kirigiri concedes. “But earlier, you said ‘strung Chihiro up’. How were you aware of what the crime scene looked like?”

Fukawa squeaks, and smacks her hands to her mouth, as if she can retroactively shove the words back. “Th-that- i-isn’t that like S-Syo’s habits? S-so o-of course I would a-assume-”

“Syo said the crime scene doesn’t match what she does.” Makoto interjects. “All her victims are pinned by her scissors. Like you said, Chihiro was crucified using a cord.”

“I-”

“The time period doesn’t make sense. If we assume that Kyoko is being truthful - why did it take so long for Syo to wake up, in the time between you fainting and Chihiro being found?” Byakuya stares at her icily, and she squirms and shudders beneath his gaze. “You woke up awfully quick just now. For someone accusing us of labeling you a liar, you don’t seem inclined to tell the truth about anything, do you?”

His words drip with vitriol and acid, and Fukawa digs her fingers into her scalp and stamps her foot and screams, a long, strangled noise of frustration and anger. It’s a piercing sound, sharp enough to make Byakuya flinch, and it echoes for a moment up to the high ceiling of the chamber. And then everyone is silent as she catches her breath, hands pulling slowly away from her thoroughly disheveled hair.

“Fine,” She spits, and somehow, her voice is steadier than he’s ever heard it. “I hung up Chihiro. A-and I framed Byakuya for it.”

The confession sounds almost giddy with how breathless she is, but maybe Byakuya was imagining it. After a moment’s pause for people to register what she said, there’s no small amount of shock.

“You- you did?!” Yamada, standing directly next to Fukawa, cows as far away as the stand will let him. “Wha- but you seemed so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the implication of the word ‘harmless’ hangs in the air. “Yes, I did.” She snaps back savagely. “I-it was easy. H-he’s so small, a-and I knew B-Byakuya would be l-looking for s-stuff on Syo…and, t-the extension cord…”

Byakuya suddenly remembers, then. How she had stumbled as she left the library, foot smashing through some box and getting tangled in its contents. And how he hadn’t paid any mind to it, already too preoccupied with his own survival to care.

“How did you manage it without turning into Syo?” Kirigiri asks, and Fukawa’s face twists. It's only as she turns her head, and Byakuya notices the subtle glint of her bared teeth, that he realizes that she’s grinning.

“He had been i-ignoring me f-for so long…I was w-working so hard. T-to be normal and good. S-so he would l-look at me…” It’s not hard to figure out who she was referring to by ‘he’. Byakuya feels eyes on him once more. But his attention is turned to her raised forearm, exposed by the sleeve drooping around her elbow from how her hands are clutching at her scalp, and the strip of white that is almost imperceptible against her already pale skin. “I-I thought if I could - I could g-get over it, I could prove th-that I could be normal, then…”

She trails off, energy quickly depleted. “So, you had been training to not immediately faint at the sight of blood.” Kirigiri concludes, and Fukawa nods once, jerkily.

“Wait, so you did all that just because he ignored you?” Hagakure asks, mouth agape.

“Yes!” She shrieks vehemently, so sharp and sudden that Byakuya nearly jumps. “You don’t get it! None of you g-get it! I-I can stand it i-if he was mean to me, o-or if he h-hated me, but- it’s the worst when h-he acts like I’m n-not even there!”

Her voice breaks, and for a long moment the only sound in the room is her quiet sobs. To some degree - and Byakuya is furious with himself for even thinking this - he understands why she might behave this way. Clearly, she had been abused, and likely neglected, and this manifested into the extreme, self-demeaning, aggressive behavior she displayed now. Her actions had a twisted logic. She herself was pitiable.

But just because he understood, did not mean he had to accept it.

“Well, you have my full attention now.” He says coldly. “Congratulations. Why don’t you try and keep that attention by telling us what we all want to know?”

“Yeah, how about you tell us how Chihiro died?” It takes Byakuya a moment to place that the question came from Owada, who had been mostly quiet for a while now. He’s not blazing with fury anymore, but there’s an edge in his voice now that Byakuya can’t read. “I don’t give a shit about your fucking crush. I want to know how you killed Chihiro.”

Fukawa tilts her head in thought, and the action is somehow reminiscent of Syo. “B-but, I didn’t kill Chihiro?” She says, and she sounds almost innocent. “I-I just found the b-body…I-I think if I d-did kill him th-then Syo w-would have woken up r-right away.”

As if anticipating it, Kirigiri raises her hands, as if trying to stop the rush of questions and shocked exclamations from the others. It’s no use though, as Owada bellows: “Like hell we’re believing that!”

“Guys, the time limit-!” Makoto has to shout above the din. At that, Byakuya glances at the clock hanging over Monokuma’s chair, the flashing red digits initiating a countdown. How long had it been already? How much time was left? There was no way for him to tell. He’d totally forgotten about it. “Just. Toko, can you tell us how you found the body? Please?”

“W-why should I?” Byakuya feels his jaw physically creak with how hard he’s grinding his teeth. It seemed that in the time Fukawa spent unconscious, she had absorbed the worst aspects of Syo’s personality.

“We may all perish if you don’t.” Sakura points out, a low threat in her voice.

“I-I don’t care.”

Byakuya thinks he might scream. “Why?! What else do you have left to lose?” He demands, and his voice rasps slightly, throat sore from how much he’d been talking. “We know what you’ve done already. You’ve already revealed everything about me. What else do you want?!”

And she giggles, a breathless, insane sound. “I-I don’t c-care what happens t-to me,” She sings. “I hate you. I h-hate everyone here. I kn-know I-I’m gonna get t-targeted no matter w-what I do, b-because you all th-think I’m so horrible…so I should h-hit back f-first, right?” She wobbles, hands knotted in her hair again. “B-but I hate you the most. I-I wanted y-you to know how you made me feel, even j-just a little.”

Even without seeing her face, he can sense her malice, thick and unpleasant like the smell of rot. He hasn’t been the target of such blatant contempt in years, and the complete hostility that she radiates makes him feel a little unsteady.

“Fine. We will figure out the details ourselves. You’ve given us enough clues already.” Kirigiri replies coolly. “Unfortunately for you, only one person will be dying after this trial.”

He’s not sure how she can be so confident about that. The pounding in his head is getting worse, and as his eyes slip closed, he finds he’s not even sure where to start with everything; after all this, they were still not any closer to a definite conclusion. All they had done so far was run blindly around each other, getting lured to dead-ends and circles.

Through the low throb of pain in his skull, he can just barely make out the sound of quiet muttering fromMakoto’s direction. If he opened his eyes, he might have seen the other boy tapping his foot, resting his chin in his hand as he thinks. And if he could have seen, he might have noticed how Makoto’s eyes were darting, drawing invisible lines between fixed points in his mind.

“The place where Chihiro died. And Toko found the body. That’s what we need to figure out,” He says aloud, slowly. “I don’t think Chihiro died on the second floor. There’s no place with enough blood that could justify it, or enough evidence of a clean-up to suggest that it happened there. Even in the hallway where the body was found, the only blood there was against the wall from where Chihiro was crucified. There’s no splatter to match the method of death.”

“Yeah, but there’s no place on the first floor to suggest that Chihiro died there, either.” Asahina points out.

“No, there is one room. There was no blood there, but there was evidence that it was cleaned recently.” Even as he says this, Owada is beginning to gasp, ‘Wait-’, but he continues. “And, it’s somewhere someone got injured recently, so any blood that was missed can be explained away.”

He turns to the pale, silent figure of Kiyotaka Ishimaru, as still and unobtrusive as a ghost. “Taka. Can you please tell us what happened?”

___

Of course, Mondo blocks him before Taka can even respond.

“How dare you.” His voice is a low rumble, and he somehow looks angrier than Makoto has ever seen him. He can practically hear the creak of wood where Mondo was gripping the bannister, knuckles white and bulging. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Makoto? What the fuck are you trying to say?!”

Makoto swallows, his heart feeling like it’s about to pop out of his chest. He’s seen Mondo both at his most violent moments, and at his kindest ones, his face softening with sympathy as he was listening to Chihiro, the hearty reassurance and gentle clap on the back he had offered to them both. But now Mondo looked like he might actually kill him, and would make it hurt while it happened.

But despite that, he presses on. “I know you said that a trophy fell on Taka’s head, and that’s how you found him. When I went to look at the trophy room, the floor was still wet, and it was clean - like, really clean. And I assumed it was because you went back and cleaned it up after Taka got injured, but looking back, that doesn’t make sense.” He glances briefly at Kyoko, who merely closes her eyes in silent assent. “If your friend had a concussion, wouldn’t you stay by his side?”

Mondo’s face pulls into a snarl, a vein bulging at his temple. “So what if I went back and cleaned it up? Maybe Taka wanted to rest alone. What the hell does that matter?”

“No, I think it does matter. You don’t act like it, but you’re really nice, Mondo. When you were talking with me and Chihiro, and told us about your bro-”

He cuts himself off for a moment, suddenly hesitant. He’s already revealed Byakuya’s secret. He didn’t want to have to reveal Mondo’s as well, even now. He didn’t want to betray anyone else, but-

He already hates me for what I’m doing. He thinks to himself. Whether he reveals Mondo’s secret now or not, he knows that no matter what, he was going to be hated; there was no chance at the friendly ribbing and pleasant exchanges they had in the past. But even despite that, he finds himself unwilling to form the words on his tongue.

He needn’t have bothered though. Kyoko is the one who speaks up in his stead. “There’s no point in hiding the fact that you care deeply for Taka. We all remember the display of friendship the two of you put on the other day after spending weeks at each other’s throats. And as someone who’s familiar with violence, I imagine you’re also familiar with basic first aid; so why would you abandon someone with a head injury to clean up the other room?”

Mondo glares at her furiously, but there’s sweat beading on his forehead now. “You-you meddling bitch, what the fuck are you-?!”

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.” She sighs. Makoto thinks she looks a little haggard, with dark rings of exhaustion under her eyes, and wonders when the last time she slept was. Despite that, her eyes are still sharp, and meet Mondo’s glower with a cool stare. “But, since we are missing out on Toko’s testimony, I think we should have our last witness speak for himself.”

And before she had even finished her sentence, Taka was opening his mouth.

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[junker-town]

Who’s won Week 1 of the NFL preseason so far?

Photo by Kirk Irwin/Getty Images

Tom Brady’s realtor, Daniel by-god Jones, and the legend of Adam Gase all got major boosts.

The NFL returned last week. Kind of.

The Hall of Fame Game was technically football, just like the cardboard rectangle of Ragu and shredded mozzarella-ish cheese you got in elementary school was technically pizza.

This week, the league countered the preseason’s ongoing lack of quality with a major uptick in quantity. Thursday night unveiled an 11-game slate that could rival what you’ll see on Sundays this fall, assuming you squint really hard or drink until Garrett Gilbert looked like a stretched-out Baker Mayfield. Some games came down to the wire. Ones involving the Lions and Jaguars did not.

We’ll have more winners once Week 1 concludes. Assuming there are winners. But so far, who has won the first true week of the preseason slate?

It certainly was not this first name:

Not considered: David Fales, who lost exactly as many yards as he gained

Fales entered a Patriots-Lions game that was somehow out of reach in the first quarter and walked a sturdy tightrope of awfulness for Detroit. He completed only five of his 14 passes, gaining 62 yards in the process. Impressively, he was also sacked six times — 30 percent of his dropbacks! — for a loss of ... 62 yards.

He wasn’t entirely neutral, however; Fales did manage to throw an interception to defensive end John Simon. It was just as bad as it sounds:

Simon says: #Patriots ball .@johnesimon51 | #NEvsDET pic.twitter.com/wp0ye8r8yK

— New England Patriots (@Patriots) August 9, 2019

Fales was responsible for Detroit’s only three points of the night. His interception led to a Patriots touchdown, however, leaving his impact at a negative-four points.

Now, on to the actual winners of the NFL preseason’s premiere week:

8. Whichever Sotheby’s realtor handles Boston’s high-profile clients

Tom Brady put his Boston-area five-bedroom, seven bathroom estate — which features a 2,400-square-foot guest house and a driveway that parks 20 cars — up for sale this week. Any money he’s left on the table in negotiations with the Patriots will be made up from the bids of too-rich Massholes.

It’ll cost you $39.5 million to cook in a kitchen once stocked with avocado ice cream, or do yoga in the same room where Alex Guerrero once regularly prescribed stretching and hugs to prolong a Hall of Fame career. This is a tremendous Brady-bump — a similar five-bedroom, 8,800-square foot house in the same neighborhood sold for only $5.6 million back in May.

Assuming a six percent commission split between two realtors, the two primary sellers of this estate would clear more than $1 million for making the king of the finance bros’ dream come true. And if multiple Bravo reality shows have taught us anything, it’s that elite realtors are wonderful people who truly deserve this money.

Not considered for this list: Other Chestnut Hill-area realtors

Pitching the opportunity to live in the same neighborhood as Brady and Gisele is easily worth a 10 percent bump in asking price. Now that the neighbors who respectfully declined to attend every neighborhood pot luck are leaving, sellers may have to settle for a mere $1.8 million for their 3,000-square-foot home.

7. Antonio Callaway, who absolutely made this catch

I don’t care what the refs (incorrectly) ruled. This was awesome.

Didn't count but INSANE effort by Callaway pic.twitter.com/pRgqnInqHW

— The Checkdown (@thecheckdown) August 9, 2019

6. Alpine doctors

One of medicine’s more forgotten specialties got a boost this week when Antonio Brown posted a picture of his gnarly feet and invited the world to ask: arrrggggh why?

What could have caused Brown’s feet to develop a rind like a poorly stored wedge of Montgomery cheddar? ESPN analyst Chris Simms originally landed on fungal infection before correcting the culprit to frostbite from a cryotherapy session gone wrong. The Raiders have neither confirmed nor denied this — while the feet were a sticking point on Hard Knocks, though there was no real insight into the cause — but yeah, given the grossness of those feet I’m inclined to believe the most outlandish possible cause for these symptoms.

The question now is when Oakland can expect its superstar acquisition to return to the field.

What makes frostbite diagnosis tricky is that no two cases are identical. However, the photo tends to support the idea that Brown has Stage 2 frostbite, which is characterized with either blistering, or hardened skin — which cracks and peels off. The real risk here is that Brown has done damage to the blood vessels in his feet, which, according to the Summit Medical Group, can take up to six weeks to be revealed.

Hopefully the damage is minor and Brown will be back on the field soon.

Until then, Brown will be working closely with Dr. Bubba. He is a St. Bernard’s with cask of brandy around his neck and, sadly, fictional.

5. The kid whose bike was destroyed by J.J. Watt

Watt returned to his home state when his Texans bunkered down in Green Bay in advance of their preseason opener against the Packers. This afforded him the chance to take part in one of the league’s finest August traditions: riding the bikes of local children who’ve come to watch training camp sessions. Players pick out a waiting child, hand over their helmets, then make the trip down the DreamDrive from the locker room to the field before practice begins.

Watt, the human embodiment of a Great Dane loose at a dog park, promptly crushed his loaner bike.

(video courtesy of @ClintStoerner)

“It was pretty awesome until I broke the bike,” Watt told reporters afterward. “The bike that I was using was not equipped for a 290-pound man. The seat broke off. We have purchased a new bike for the boy, so I apologize for that.”

Watt makes nearly $17 million annually, so the aggrieved child likely came out of this deal with a solid upgrade. Plus he gets to tell his friends about the time a Hall of Famer came to town and ruined his bike for the rest of his life. A nice little Tuesday for him.

4. The ongoing legend of Adam Gase’s, uh, peculiarness

We knew about the eyes — that Gase’s face existed in an atmosphere solely made of whispers informing him his exact time of death. This week we got some insight as to why. The Athletic’s Dan Pompei took a deep dive to explore the foundation of Gase, only to find it’s built from caffeine, coaching cliches, and the self-care of an unattended minor.

“You would get these texts from him until 4 in the morning on a regular basis,” says Tannenbaum, now an ESPN analyst. “I don’t think he sleeps a lot.”

Fueled by five or six 20-ounce cups a day from the Kuerig coffee maker that is an arm’s length from his desk, and maybe a Red Bull here or there, Gase has energy like a power plant. And it doesn’t wane in the wee hours.

There’s also the fact Kevin McCallister had a more responsible diet while left unsupervised in the hit movies Home Alone and Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.

Well, and pizza. With pepperoni. When Gase was with the Dolphins, his office often was filled with the aroma of a pie from Pizza Loft in Davie. When the owner of the restaurant sold the business, he put a clause in the contract that required the new owner to deliver pizza to Gase every night for one year. So Gase ate pizza every night.

Gase is not likely to prepare a meal on his own. When Jennifer recently left him home alone to dog sit for a day, he texted and asked her to order him lunch from Uber Eats.

This revelation of late-night annoyances and childlike disdain for utensils was quickly swept aside by the fact Gase and his wife scheduled their second child’s Caesarian section around his football schedule. His son Wyatt was born at 10 a.m. in the middle of the 2013 NFL season. Gase was back at the Broncos’ facilities — where he was an assistant coach — to greet Peyton Manning for their weekly sit-down by 2 p.m.

This is all, of course, bonkers. But this? For a preseason game?

Did Adam Gase just take smelling salts before a preseason game? pic.twitter.com/gVINzrkcjW

— Andrew Perloff (@andrewperloff) August 8, 2019

These are not the actions of a successful NFL head coach. They are the actions of a man in a wedding dress attempting to blow a car to smithereens.

3. Former Phoenix College star Damon Sheehy-Guiseppi, who will somehow be played by Mark Wahlberg in the film version of his life

Sheehy-Guiseppi went from sleeping on the grass in Miami to a tryout with the Browns this summer. The former junior college All-American had the slimmest of NFL prospects, but found a landing spot in Cleveland after effectively hustling his way into a workout this summer. His 4.38-second 40 speed earned him the chance to put on a Browns uniform Thursday night, and he once again burst through a door that had only been cracked a sliver.

WHAT A MOMENT Damon Sheehy-Guiseppi returns a punt 86 yards for a TD — and the whole bench clears to celebrate pic.twitter.com/anLZ3EEgAT

— Cleveland Browns (@Browns) August 9, 2019

Everyone on the Cleveland bench went completely apeshit for this return. It turns out they had a pretty good reason.

2. The Patriots’ passing offense without Tom Brady or Rob Gronkowski, somehow

New England got its long-awaited revenge on Matt Patricia Thursday, breaking a months-long losing streak against the Lions by absolutely thrashing Detroit’s second team to start the preseason. That in itself isn’t amazing, but the way the Patriots did it is. Brian Hoyer and Jarrett Stidham combined for 326 passing yards and three touchdowns. Two of those went to undrafted free agent Jakobi Meyers, who sure as hell looks like the latest college-quarterback-turned-receiver to turn Bill Belichicks frown ... into a slightly more neutral frown.

.@jkbmyrs5 for six.#NEvsDET | #GoPats pic.twitter.com/IUm9fkIY7s

— New England Patriots (@Patriots) August 9, 2019

New England needs a big target who can unstick himself from opposing defenders now that Gronk’s gone into the party bus business full time. Meyers looks like he could fit that bill.

1. Giants general manager Dave Gettleman, who may have been right all along

We all had a nice laugh when the Giants selected zero-time All-ACC selection Daniel Jones with the sixth overall pick of the 2019 NFL Draft. We reveled in Gettleman’s long, strange list of justifications for drafting a passer who may have been available at the team’s second first-round pick, or maybe even on Day 2. We marveled when the Giants inadvertently recreated the pointing Spidermen meme in offseason camp.

But it turns out Jones may have been the right pick after all (I am certain I won’t regret writing this in September, of course).

Drive 1: Every single Daniel Jones pass -5/5, 67 yds and a TD Say goodbye, Eli pic.twitter.com/MURmdOceVD

— Warren Sharp (@SharpFootball) August 8, 2019

It’s Week 1 of the preseason and it was against a Jets team without the best players in its budding secondary, so maybe Eli Manning shouldn’t retreat into retirement just yet. Still, Jones’ solid debut gives at least some hope there’s balm in Gilead for a suffering Giants team that still may not have found the bedrock of its bottoming out.

Jones finished his night as SB Nation’s top-rated rookie passer, though he wasn’t the only young New York quarterback to turn heads Thursday night. Both Sam Darnold and Jones finished their 2019 debuts with perfect passer ratings. That’s literally the best they could have hoped for.

Maybe MetLife Stadium won’t be a swirling vortex of depression this season after all.