Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A banging noise woke him up with a sharp gasp, and for several heart-stopping moments, Shuichi didn’t know where he was. Then details began to register: the dark blue duvet cover of the bed he was occupying, the early morning sunlight shining through the blinds, and the suitcase with its contents half spilled out around it. He was in his—the apartment.

The banging noise resumed, interrupting his train of thought. That couldn’t be his door, could it? He couldn’t think of anyone who would be at the door at—he checked the clock—6:17 in the morning. Surely it was one of the neighbors’ doors, and they would soon answer it and put a stop to the awful sound.

But it didn’t stop. If anything, whoever was at the door was only growing more determined. They started tapping out patterns. Shuichi recognized the tune “shave and a haircut,” before they switched to an odd, seemingly random beat.

No, he realized. It was morse code. Mentally translating, he caught the tail end of the message: C-H-I. After a brief pause, it began again.

S-H-U-I-

He got out of bed.

The sound grew louder as he exited his room. It was indeed coming from his front door, and he paused to stare warily at it. His earlier thought still stood; he couldn’t think of anyone who would visit him here. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that anyone who had managed to track him down to this apartment was probably not someone he wanted to answer the door for. Just as he came to that conclusion, however, the knocking stopped.

He stared at the wood, silently compelling it to give him answers.

…Damn it.

After waiting a few moments, he approached the door and tentatively opened it a crack.

“—but after the breakup, he wouldn’t answer my calls anymore,” an unfortunately familiar voice was explaining in a distraught tone, “and I just need to make sure he’s okay! I mean, anyone would be devastated to lose me, but I can’t stand the thought that he could be—” 

The speaker cut off when he pushed open the door fully, and Shuichi was met with the sight of one Kokichi Ouma, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded with a baffled person who was presumably Shuichi’s neighbor.

“Sorry about all the noise,” Shuichi told the neighbor with as much of an apologetic smile as he could muster. “My classmate is just overenthusiastic.”

Kokichi burst into hysterical tears. “So you’re just going to pretend like what we had meant nothing to you!? I bet you’re not even going to invite me in, you’re going to make me stand out here in the cold and die!” he wailed.

Shuichi stared at him. He glanced at his neighbor, then back at Kokichi. “Just get in,” he said, defeated.

The tears immediately stopped. “About time,” Kokichi commented airily as he moved past, dragging something behind him. With another apologetic grimace at the neighbor, Shuichi followed and shut the door behind him. 

When he turned around, Kokichi was rifling through the kitchen cabinets. A suitcase was leaned up against a wall nearby, a perfect match to the one currently in the bedroom. Kokichi finished inspecting the pantry with a disapproving tsk and moved on to the fridge. “What, have you been living on ramen for the past two weeks?”

Shuichi flushed. “I haven’t gone to the store yet,” he said defensively. “And don’t turn this on me, what are you doing here?”

“Oh you know, just stopping by,” he answered with a vague gesture as he left the kitchen in favor of investigating the living room area across from it. Shuichi trailed helplessly behind him. “You’re the only one I haven’t seen since I woke up.”

“Look, if the others put you up to this,” Shuichi began, his shoulders rising defensively.

But Kokichi waved the words away. “Don’t get your tighty whities in a twist, I don’t care about your little disappearing act. I left that 'recovery village' or whatever as soon as I could too. It was getting way too mushy over there, it was like 24/7 group therapy. Pass. He-ey, look who has a whole Danganronpa box set.” With a delighted grin, he pulled a set of DVDs off the shelf. “The past ten seasons before ours. Somebody was a fanboy.”

“I guess,” Shuichi said, giving up on any hope of steering the conversation. “I haven’t really looked at my file.”

Kokichi dropped the box set with an exaggerated gasp. It hit the ground with a plasticky clunk that was ignored by both parties. “You didn’t. You actually left without reading it?”

His delighted expression made Shuichi shift uncomfortably on his feet. “It’s not like any of that information matters anymore.”

In a blink, the wide grin was replaced by disinterest. “You’re probably right... Hey, just out of curiosity, how old are you?”

Recognizing a trap when he saw one, Shuichi fell silent.

“Because I’m twenty,” Kokichi carried on, inspecting his nails with a blank expression while he spoke. “Apparently high schoolers are more ‘tragic’ though, so when the show writers came up with my backstory, they wrote me younger.”

This time, it was realization that kept him from responding.

Kokichi didn’t need a response. He just kept talking. “Weird that a supposed high schooler like you lived in this nice apartment all by himself,” he commented. “Speaking of, how did the old Shuichi make money?”

Shuichi just shook his head.

“Don’t know?” Kokichi said, his voice dripping with syrupy-sweet sympathy. “Well, what about his friends? Surely he had people waiting for him outside the game. What were their names?” His grin reappeared, more threatening this time, as his expression darkened. He leaned forward into Shuichi’s space, asking, “What about your family?”

Thoughts raced in Shuichi’s mind while he stared down at his former classmate. After a moment, he said carefully, “If you wanted to look at my file, you could have just asked, you know.”

Just like that, the tension disappeared. “Aw, shucks,” Kokichi pouted, taking a step back as his shoulders slumped in disappointment, “am I really that transparent?”

Shuichi breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Clear as glass.” Moving towards the bedroom, he said, “So I take it you read yours already?”

“The first day I woke up,” Kokichi replied easily as if that were the only logical course of action.

“The head psychologist warned me not to push myself too fast.”

“The head psychologist also thought it was perfectly fine to put sixteen brainwashed amnesiacs in an enclosed space and make them kill each other for entertainment.”

Touché. “Fifteen,” he corrected out loud as he reentered the living room, file in hand. “Tsumugi wasn’t brainwashed.”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. Reaching out for the file with grabby hands, he said, “Yes, Mister Nitpicky, fifteen brainwashed amnesiacs and their jailor. Gimme.”

Shuichi held the file above his head. “Detective Nitpicky. First, tell me why you’re here.”

He let out a frustrated huff. “Oh, I see how it is. Using my height against me. You’re not that tall yourself, you know.” As he spoke, he scrambled on his tip-toes in an attempt to knock the file out of his hands.

“Tall enough for this,” Shuichi quipped, dodging the batting hands and the attempts to knock him off balance. “Stop—ow!” The little bastard had stepped on his toes.

“Ah-hah!” Kokichi snatched the file out of the air as Shuichi dropped it in surprise. “Better luck next time.”

Shuichi briefly considered pressing the issue, but ultimately he gave it up as a lost cause. If Kokichi was that determined not to answer, it would take a lot more than an impromptu wrestling match to make him talk. Instead, he walked back to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. If he was going to be awake and dealing with Kokichi at six in the morning, he deserved caffeine for his troubles.

Kokichi, for his part, threw himself stomach-down on the couch and began flipping through the file that contained Shuichi’s former life story. “You’re twenty-one,” Kokichi called over to him, kicking his legs back and forth in the air as he read. “Good, you can buy me alcohol.” Before Shuichi had time to consider his stance on that, he continued blithely, “You have a mom and a dad, still married. Ooh, and a sister. She’s five years younger than you though. Doubt you were very close to each other before.”

“That’s, ah, good I guess. About the parents, I mean.” He had no idea what to do with the newfound knowledge of the—his sister. “You’ll have to pay for your own alcohol,” he added after a moment. The coffee was taking too long. He turned to investigate the pantry.

Kokichi hummed. “Nothing in particular about any friends. Boring childhood. Past-you was in the middle of getting a,” he faltered, “a degree in English literature?”

“Good for him?” he responded from where he was scavenging through the cupboards. He had found a suitable pan with no trouble, but the mixing bowls were proving to be more elusive.

“Tch. You had good grades too. Now, what kind of job did you have… I bet you just mooched off your parents. Ah, here we go. You were a—”

When the pause lasted longer than a few seconds, Shuichi looked up and found Kokichi staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “What? What was I?”

He continued to stare, his eyes wide with disbelief and something like an accusation. “A ‘gaming content creator’? You were a streamer?”

Shuichi’s shoulders slumped as he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought it was going to be something horrible.”

Kokichi sprung off the couch, forgetting all about the file. “A streamer, Shuichi! How popular were you? What games did you play? We’ve been friends this whole time and you never told me! How am I supposed to move past this breach of trust between us!?”

“Well how was I supposed to know!?” Shuichi snapped. Then he paused, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s a computer setup in the spare bedroom. That’s probably where I streamed from if you want to investigate it.”

Kokichi disappeared from the room in a flash, and Shuichi was left to his own devices. For the better part of an hour, he was able to let himself fall into the soothing monotony of cooking, until he had almost forgotten about things like little sisters, unfinished English degrees, and Kokichi Ouma. He even had time to drink his coffee.

When Kokichi reappeared, Shuichi had just finished putting the used mixing bowl in the sink to be washed later. “A Danganronpa streamer. Forget fanboy, you were their biggest fan. You really,” he paused, drawn up short. “What’s that?”

“Huh?” Shuichi asked as he finished distributing the pancakes onto two plates. “Oh. Sorry it’s not as fancy as what Kirumi would have made, but like I said, I haven’t been to the store yet.” He held out one of the plates for him to take.

Kokichi took it and stared down at the plate in his hands like he was searching for the punchline. For once, he was silent.

“Are you okay?” Shuichi asked.

Kokichi blinked once before coming back to himself. “Aw, Shumai, you sure know how to treat a lady,” he simpered, fluttering his lashes. “I could just kiss you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Shuichi said as he moved past him to sit at the small kitchen table. “But you could thank me by telling me what the others have been up to.”

With a carelessness Shuichi recognized from many a mealtime during the game, Kokichi threw himself down into a chair and began digging into his pancakes. “Fiiiine. But only because I haven’t eaten yet today. So, I woke up pretty soon after you left. Thanks for the concern, by the way.” He purposefully talked with his mouth full, something Shuichi unfortunately also recognized from their time in the game; he did it whenever he wanted to be obnoxious, which was often.

“The medical team said you were fine, you just needed a bit more time to heal,” he answered defensively. Then, on a hunch, he added, “It’s not like I left to avoid you.”

Kokichi made a noise that somehow conveyed that the distinction was irrelevant, but he took the time to swallow his next mouthful before speaking. “I stayed for a week or so after that. Had to catch up on all the gossip I’d missed, you know.”

Unlikely, given that he had already said he left as soon as he could. If Shuichi were to guess, he would say that Kokichi had probably still had some healing to do after waking up. He wasn’t sure how Team Danganronpa was able to keep someone alive after something like what happened to Kokichi, but he was sure the healing process wasn’t easy.

Across from him, Kokichi took another bite. “Mostly, everyone was still recovering from, you know, the acute psychological trauma. And worrying about you, but you could have guessed that. Most people weren’t in a rush to head out into the world just yet. I know Kiyo in particular was planning to stay longer to work through his fucked up brainwashing.” He stabbed another bite of pancake with more force than was necessary. “God knows he needs the extra therapy with a backstory like that.”

Shuichi nodded along, but his heart wasn’t in it. Tentatively, he asked, “What about Kaede?”

“What about her?” Kokichi replied as he scooped the last of his breakfast into his mouth.

Shuichi grimaced. “Nevermind,” he said, standing up and collecting the dirty dishes.

Sharp eyes watched him for a long moment before glancing away, letting the topic slide. “Man,” Kokichi said with the kind of big, full-body stretch that would make a cat jealous, “I’m stuffed. I made the right decision, coming here. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Something about those words made Shuichi stop short. He was halfway back to the kitchen, standing in what was technically the entryway, and his eyes fell on the suitcase that rested innocently against the wall. The one that matched his own suitcase, which he had received when he left the post-season recovery village that the showrunners had set up for the former contestants.

Slowly, he turned back to look at Kokichi.

The nuisance in question was leaning back in his chair, grinning over at Shuichi like he could taste the dawning realization washing over him.

“So, what are our other plans for today, roomie?”

Chapter Text

They spent the rest of the day unpacking. Kokichi refused to live out of his suitcase ‘in his own home,’ and Shuichi eventually admitted to himself that it was about time he unpacked his own belongings as well. It felt weird to put his things away next to things that might as well have belonged to a stranger. But, he reminded himself, these things were his. The only stranger they belonged to was his own past self.

He did throw away the old Shuichi’s toothbrush though. Some things weren’t worth it.

He wondered how Kokichi was faring. Judging by the variety of muffled thuds and swearing coming from the other room, he didn’t seem to share Shuichi’s trepidation about moving into what was essentially a stranger’s apartment. That was… honestly pretty typical of him.

While he unpacked, Shuichi spent the time alternating between wondering how he had been suckered into letting Kokichi take over his spare bedroom and being quietly comforted by the sounds of life coming from elsewhere in the apartment. He could admit, at least to himself, that the past two weeks had been very… quiet. During the game, even when their numbers had dwindled, there had rarely been a quiet moment. Kokichi and Kaito had seen to that. Then the game had ended in a cascade of noise that Shuichi swore he could still hear ringing in his ears sometimes, and the silence that followed was cut short all too soon by the arrival of show executives coming to escort them off-set.

After that, things were a blur of movement and new faces and explanations that he already knew but still had a hard time accepting. Even at the so-called recovery village that they had eventually been escorted to, things hadn’t exactly been ‘quiet.’ Escaping to the apartment whose address he’d found easily in his file had been a relief at first. But as he listened to Kokichi rattling around in the other room, he felt tension that he hadn’t even noticed before being soothed.

Or maybe he had noticed how even two weeks alone were affecting him. Maybe that was why he hadn’t put up more than a token protest at the idea of Kokichi moving in. Hell, maybe that was why he had answered the door in the first place.

Despite the excitement of the morning, the rest of the day proceeded uneventfully. Kokichi marched into his room around lunchtime to announce that he was ordering takeout, and he demanded for Shuichi to order something as well so they could split the delivery fee. Shuichi’s reminder that neither of them had to worry about money anymore did nothing to dissuade him.

Shuichi ended up sitting on the floor, eating his food straight out of its container while he sorted through the contents of his closet. The old Shuichi’s fashion sense wasn’t too far off-base from his current preferences, but there were a few things that did raise some questions.

“Um,” he said to himself as he held up a black, pleated skirt. “I don’t… know what to do with this information.” He set it aside to be considered later.

A pair of long, almost knee-high women’s boots received the same treatment. Shuichi sat back on his haunches, just looking at them for a moment.

“Kokichi would have mentioned if I had a girlfriend, right?” he wondered aloud. “And there would have been signs before this. They must be mine. Am I… was I…?” He was well-aware of his pants situation, thank you very much, but there were people who changed their gender, right? Had the past version of himself wanted to be a girl? It felt like a leap in logic, but really, what did he know? It wasn’t like he had anything to go off of other than the clues in front of him. Was it really possible to forget something like that, even with a total personality wipe? And if so, why would past-Shuichi have signed up for something like that if…?

He was saved from that line of thought when his eyes caught on a clear bag resting on one of the shelves in the closet. Grabbing it and retrieving its contents, he let out a sigh of relief. A wig. A long, light purple wig that looked just familiar enough to jog his memory.

To confirm his suspicion, he stood up and moved towards the pile of posters in the corner of the room. Kokichi had been right to call him a fanboy; when he had arrived at the apartment, the bedroom walls had been covered in Danganronpa posters. Tearing them down in a fit of frustration had only taken a few minutes, and he’d left them untouched on the floor since then.

A moment later, he found what he was looking for. The girl was featured on a number of the posters, but this one was just her. The text overlaying part of the image read, ‘The Ultimate Detective: Kyoko Kirigiri.’

Comparing her outfit to the clothes he had found, Shuichi finally relaxed. A costume. The old Shuichi had been a huge fan of her, even going so far as to request the same Ultimate talent she’d had. It made sense that he would have cosplayed her. 

He wasn’t exactly happy to see more evidence of how thoroughly enamored he had been with the world of Danganronpa, but it was a relief to know that, if there was a gender crisis looming in his future, it at least didn’t have to happen at that exact moment.

It at least wouldn’t be prompted by finding some clothes in his past self’s closet.

Just to double-check, Shuichi went back to the closet and flicked through the neat row of tops. There: a high-collared white shirt and a dark purple blazer. If he held all the pieces near each other, he could see how the outfit would come together. And the skirt, when he held it up to his hips, looked like it would fit fine.

Unfortunately, that was when Kokichi entered the room.

“Hey,” he said as he walked in, not looking up from the phone he was typing on, “Miu and Kiiboy want me to help them move into their new place tomorrow, so you’re coming with m—oh.”

Shuichi hurriedly pulled the skirt away from himself. “It’s not…! I just, I didn’t,” he stuttered, his face flushing brilliant red. As subtly as he could, he kicked the boots behind him, out of sight.

A smile was curling at the edges of Kokichi’s mouth, but all he said was, “Uh-huh, yeah, don’t worry about it. Anyway, we’re going to help Pig-face and the Robo-wonder move into their new house tomorrow.”

Shuichi stared at him with disbelief, trying to figure out what game he was playing. He was just going to move past that without taking the opportunity to tease the life out of him? Knowing he would almost certainly regret it, Shuichi hesitantly went along with the change in subject. “Why?”

“Duh, because otherwise, I’ll have to put up with their combined idiocy by myself,” Kokichi explained, rolling his eyes.

Shuichi tried to dig in his heels. “We don’t even know if they’d be okay with me coming along,” he reasoned.

Kokichi gave him a look that said very plainly that Shuichi was the dumbest person alive. With deliberately pointed movements, Kokichi pressed a few buttons on his phone, and a dial tone rang out in the quiet room.

After a few rings, someone picked up. “What do you want, shitlips?”

“Shuichi’s coming with me tomorrow,” Kokichi announced. “That cool with you?”

Miu let out a relieved moan. “Yes, god, bring him. He’ll be way more help than you, even with his little twig arms. Make sure he wears something tight, you know how much I love looking at his ass.”

“Miu!” Shuichi exclaimed, mortified.

There was a yelp and a fumbling sound on the other end, and then the call abruptly ended. Kokichi tucked the phone back into his pocket with a pleased expression.

“We’re leaving at eight,” he said as he turned and left the room.

Shuichi was left standing in his room, flustered and confused. He looked down at the skirt still clutched in his hands. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, isn’t it?” he murmured to it.

Shuichi expected they would have to call for a ride to Miu and Kiibo’s new place, but to his surprise, Kokichi merely scoffed and produced a set of car keys. The day’s surprises were only just getting started though, and soon the pair of them were approaching the most expensive-looking car Shuichi had ever seen.

“Is this stolen?” he couldn’t help but ask. “You have to warn me if this is stolen.”

He wasn’t much of a car person, but even he could tell that this one was nice. It had the sleek curves of a racing car, and the white exterior was all but glittering. The black leather interior contrasted the white perfectly and gave it the overall impression of being something a classic, suave movie villain would drive.

“No I don’t,” Kokichi said cheerfully. He approached the driver’s side door and ran covetous hands along the frame. “Say what you will about past-Kokichi, but at least he had good taste. Isn’t it just gorgeous?” His eyes shone as he tapped his fingers across the sparkling white paint. “It makes me want to crash it.”

With that, Kokichi opened the door and got in, but Shuichi stayed where he was. “Do you know how to drive?” he asked skeptically.

“Sure I do!” Kokichi replied. “I had to have a driver’s license before I got the car, after all.” He was fiddling with the mirrors, adjusting them to and fro without much apparent care.

Shuichi rephrased the question. “Do you, currently, know how to drive?”

“Does anyone?” he replied cryptically. “And anyway, I hear it’s like riding a bike.” When Shuichi still refused to move, Kokichi rolled his eyes with an aggrieved sigh. “I managed to get myself here in one piece, didn’t I? What kind of Ultimate Supreme Leader can’t drive his own getaway car?”

Faintly reassured and sensing that he was starting to edge into dangerous territory, Shuichi gingerly got into the car. Once Kokichi had plugged in the address and they were on their way, Shuichi finally broached the topic that had been on his mind. “So, this car is yours from before?”

Knowing purple eyes flicked towards him briefly before turning back to the road. Shuichi got the impression that Kokichi could sense exactly what information he was fishing for, but he answered anyway. “Sure is. Apparently I had more money than I knew what to do with even before the Danganronpa royalty checks started rolling in.”

“That must have been a shock,” Shuichi ventured.

The stoplight they were approaching turned yellow, and Kokichi accelerated sharply so that they flew past it just after it changed to red. “Not really,” he said as they raced past other, slower cars. “My secret organization already had more money than a small country. The only difference is that the old Kokichi got his money from mooching off his parents, and I stole mine fair and square.”

Shuichi forced his fingers to uncurl from where they had clenched tightly against the armrest. It was just like the obnoxious chewing from the day before, he told himself; Kokichi was only driving like this to get a rise out of him. “I thought DICE mostly only did pranks and small crimes,” he said.

The car lurched to the side suddenly as Kokichi jerked in surprise. He swore and corrected the angle, narrowly avoiding the food truck they had come perilously close to sideswiping. When they were no longer in immediate danger, they both stared straight ahead in silence, recovering.

After a moment, Kokichi said in a passable imitation of casualness, “I almost forgot you saw that video about DICE. It’s rude to go through a guy’s room like that without permission, you know.”

Shuichi laughed, still recovering from the sudden shock of adrenaline. “I would have asked, but you were a little busy being dead at the time.”

He scoffed as if this was not only a simple excuse, but an ineffective one. “I’ll let it slide this time, Saihara," he said benevolently. "Especially since you used it to take that plain bitch Tsumugi down a few pegs. But if it happens again, I won’t need a secret organization to ruin your life.” With a devious grin, he added, “After all, I know where you live.”

They both snorted, and the conversation lapsed into silence for a while. Shuichi tried to focus on the buildings that zoomed past the window, but there was still something on his mind.

Around the tenth time he tapped his fingers idly along the armrest, Kokichi broke. “Whatever it is, spit it out,” he demanded. “I can hear you thinking from over here.”

“Oh,” Shuichi said. “I guess I was just wondering… if DICE was real? Or was it just something Team Danganronpa made up?”

Kokichi was silent for a long time. He must have been deep in thought however, as Shuichi noticed the car slowing down to something almost approaching the speed limit. Just when the detective was about to give up on his hope of getting a response, the other spoke.

“They weren’t real,” he said in a flat voice, staring straight ahead at the road. “The real Kokichi didn’t have anyone like that in his life.”

“I’m sorry,” Shuichi said, and the words felt inadequate even before they left his mouth. “They were your friends, right?”

He was silent for another moment, and after that too-long pause, he barked out a laugh. “As if. An Ultimate Supreme Leader doesn’t get attached to lowly minions and henchpeople.” Then he reached over to turn up the volume on the radio, and they spent the rest of the ride making little more than idle commentary about the scenery they passed.

Chapter Text

They arrived at their destination without further incident, other than a brief stint in which Kokichi goaded another driver into an impromptu race, only to slow down just in time to let the other car fly right past a traffic cop. His infectious laughter at the sight of the other racer being pulled over was enough to clear the air of any lingering awkwardness, and they arrived at the address in relatively good spirits.

Kokichi brought the car to a stop in the driveway, but instead of turning off the car, he turned towards Shuichi. “So I wanted to warn you before we head in there,” he said, “about Kiibo.”

Shuichi sat up straight in alarm. “What’s wrong with Kiibo?”

“Relax, he’s fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s about past-Kiibo. He told me a bit about it before I left. Apparently, before the game, he was pretty much bed-bound. Some kind of, I don’t know, degenerative muscular something or other. Choosing him was basically a PR stunt for Team Danganronpa—give the poor disabled guy a brand new robot body so he can compete in the death game with everybody else. Something heartwarming for the audience to root for.”

“That’s…,” Shuichi began before trailing off. “Wow.”

Kokichi drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah, so if you notice anything weird about the stuff from his old life, don’t make it a big deal, okay? He doesn’t need anyone making him feel weird about it.”

Shuichi was shocked at first by the display of compassion for their friend, but he mentally scolded himself for being surprised. Kokichi had proven himself again and again to be an extremely emotionally intelligent person. Maybe without the pressure of the killing game pitting them against each other, he was finally allowing himself to show genuine care for their classmates' wellbeing? “I… of course not,” Shuichi said after a moment. “I’ll try to be sensitive about it. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Seriously, don’t mention it,” he said, signaling the end of the conversation by turning off the car and stepping out. When they reached the front door, instead of knocking to announce their presence, Kokichi simply opened the door and walked right in. 

The home they found themselves in was obviously well-built but almost shocking in how normal it was. If it weren’t for the piles upon piles of boxes scattered around, Shuichi would have feared they were in the wrong house. 

When there was no one in the immediate vicinity, Kokichi cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, “Heeeeey! Did somebody order an extra-large pizza with all the toppings?”

There was the sound of metallic footsteps clunking down the stairs, and a consternated voice said, “No one ordered a pizza, it’s not even lunchtime ye—oh! You’re here!”

Kiibo’s eyes lit up at the sight of them, and Shuichi took a moment to inspect their robotic friend. He appeared largely the same as he had in the game, but what small changes there were made all the difference. His build had always been fairly short and stocky, but with the killing game imposing a constant thread of tension on all of them, especially towards the end, he had always seemed to like he was bracing himself for an incoming blow. Now, Shuichi thought he would be better described as sturdy, rather than tense. Likewise, even though his expression was harried, he seemed relaxed in a way Shuichi had rarely seen him before.

“Thank you so much for coming to help,” he was saying. “The movers brought everything inside, but there is so much to unpack. Miu has been making me do all the heavy lifting.”

“So what’s the problem?” Kokichi asked with an innocent expression. “That should be easy with your incredible robot strength.” To illustrate his point, he flexed his arms dramatically.

Kiibo huffed in exasperation. “That’s robophobic! You know my strength is comparable to that of a senior citizen!”

“Ohhhh,” Kokichi said, his eyes wide. “I thought for sure they’d have made you stronger this time. I mean, with how weak you are, it's almost like there was no point giving you a robot body in the first place!”

Shuichi’s eyes darted to him in disbelief, but Kiibo took the comment in stride. “There are many advantages to my body that make up for my lack of strength! But,” he added sheepishly, “some help with the furniture would be greatly appreciated.”

From further in the house, someone hollered, “Is that Checkers and Pooichi??” and a moment later, Miu appeared in all her pink, leather-strapped glory. “I thought I heard a little dog yapping, but it must’a just been clown boy over here!”

“And I thought I smelled a dirty skank somewhere,” Kokichi said, smiling angelically. “But I guess it was just you.”

Miu inhaled like she was about to return fire, but Shuichi interrupted before she could get going. “Morning Miu,” he said, speaking up for the first time since they’d arrived. Looking between her and Kiibo, he said, “Congratulations on the house, you guys. It looks like a nice place.”

True to form, Miu shifted gears quickly. “Isn’t it fuckin’ great?” she exclaimed. “We didn’t even have to worry about all that annoying house-buying bullshit, we just said we wanted to move out and that hot MILF got us all set up.”

Shuichi choked. “H-hot m—?” he stuttered, unable to finish the word.

Almost as if taking pity on him, Kokichi asked, “You mean our babysitter? The one in charge of getting us all settled in after the game?”

“Kanami Taketa,” Kiibo provided.

“Yeah, that’s the bitch,” Miu agreed with a snap of her fingers.

“She handled all the paperwork,” Kiibo told them. “She even scheduled the movers for us.”

“Didn’t splurge to get movers who unpack the junk for you though.” To emphasize her point, Miu gave one of the boxes a solid kick. It didn’t budge.

Shuichi cleared his throat, gladly taking the chance to direct them away from discussing the MILF status of any more Team Danganronpa members. “I was going to ask, where did all of this stuff come from?”

Miu looked up from where she had been kicking the box some more. “Oh, it’s mine. Apparently I put all of it in storage before the game. Real helpful of me, wish I’d’ve left myself a fuckin’ HOUSE though,” she grumbled.

Shuichi was taken aback. His own apartment had obviously been cleared beforehand of any foods that would have spoiled, but his past self didn’t seem to have made any other special preparations in anticipation of the game. The apartment looked like its owner had simply stepped out one day and not returned. He wondered what that said about him, but he set the thought aside for the moment.

“Wooooow,” Kokichi said, admiration sparkling in his eyes. “Past-Miu was so smart for thinking ahead like that. Kind of a downgrade if you ask me,” he added slyly.

“What the fuck did you just fucking say to me you little—!?”

“So what do you guys need help with?” Shuichi interrupted quickly.

Kiibo, bless him, was equally quick to respond. “Most of the boxes and furniture were put in the rooms they’re meant to be in, so all we really have to do is arrange furniture and unpack. If we split into teams, we should be able to get through the worst of it today.” He glanced between Miu and Kokichi, who were taking turns scowling and making faces at each other, and said hesitantly, almost questioningly, “I suppose… Kokichi and I will work together in the living room?”

That seemed to catch Miu’s attention. “Nuh uh, no way. You and Pooichi are the big strong guys here, you’re on furniture duty. Checkers and I will unpack the kitchen so we have somewhere to eat later.”

Kiibo had the self-professed strength of an elderly person, and Shuichi knew Miu had a habit of occasionally hefting large pieces of machinery around like they were nothing. But it wasn’t like Shuichi was opposed to working with Kiibo, so he stayed quiet. Miu and Kokichi could be left alone together long enough to get the kitchen in order.

…Probably.

While Shuichi made a mental note to stay within earshot of the kitchen, their little group split up and went to start on their assigned tasks. Kiibo suggested that they start with the living room, and after a brief discussion about the best arrangement of the couches, coffee table, and TV, they got to work.

They didn’t say much at first. The silence seemed to drag on, and Shuichi was excruciatingly aware of it. He had never had much trouble talking to Kiibo before, but after everything that had transpired since the end of the game (longer than that, even. They hadn’t exactly gotten to sit down and talk during those final frantic 24 hours) it felt like there was too much going unsaid between them for them to talk normally.

When he couldn’t stand it anymore, Shuichi blurted out, “So, you and Miu huh?” and had to resist the urge to hit himself.

Kiibo’s expression grew flustered, but he didn’t seem upset about the topic. “Oh, um, yes that’s… new.” Shuichi remembered a couple of events during the game that seemed to contradict that, but he let it slide. “She helped me catch up on what I’d missed when I woke up after the game, and later we worked together to make sure there was no chance of me being controlled by anyone anymore.”

“I’m glad,” Shuichi said. “I’m sure that’s a weight off your shoulders.”

He nodded. “It is. We weren’t planning to move in together, but we both needed a place to live and when Kanami showed us our options, we both wanted this one. So, since Miu had furniture and things from her old life, and I had more money from the game, we decided to pool our resources.”

As they worked together to move the table into place, Shuichi found himself asking, “Is it scary, moving in together?” 

Kiibo’s expression grew thoughtful. “A bit, I suppose. There’s always the chance that we won’t work together without the game to give us structure. But, I also think we’ll be able to connect more genuinely now that we don’t have to fear for our lives quite so much.”

“I like that,” Shuichi told him with a small smile. “I think that will be good for both of you.”

Kiibo cocked his head to the side to look at him. “Isn’t it the same as what you and Kokichi are doing?”

Shuichi jerked in surprise, and his end of the table dropped to the ground with a sharp thunk. “Oh, no, we’re not—I don’t… He just kind of showed up,” he eventually managed to get out.

Kiibo cracked a smile. “Yes, that sounds like him. I think the same still applies though, doesn’t it? Maybe without the killing game hanging over his head, Kokichi will be easier to get to know.”

They were silent for a moment, and then they both broke out into helpless laughter.

“Y-yeah,” Shuichi finally managed to get out as he caught his breath. “He’s been an open book lately. Heart on his sleeve kind of guy; real straightforward.”

“Stop,” Kiibo begged, still struggling to get himself under control, “I was being serious!”

Shuichi obligingly stayed quiet, and by the time the TV was in place, they had reigned themselves in with only occasional snickers breaking through.

As they stepped back to look at the results of their labor, Kiibo said, “With all seriousness, I’m glad Kokichi found you. It seems like it has been good for you both. I do wonder what happened between him and his parents though.”

“His parents?”

He nodded. “Yes, his file said he lived with his parents before he was chosen as a contestant, so that’s where he went when he left.”

This was news to Shuichi. “When did he leave?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

“A few days after he woke up,” Kiibo answered.

About a week after Shuichi himself left, then, at most. Shuichi had spent roughly two weeks in his apartment before Kokichi arrived. That left a week or more during which Kokichi was unaccounted for. Shuichi could have kicked himself at that moment. What, did he think Kokichi just left their little post-game community and made his way directly to Shuichi’s apartment? Of course he had investigated his own former life first.

He wondered what Kokichi had found there. What had happened in that time that led to him appearing on Shuichi’s doorstep?

Evidently done inspecting the room, Kiibo spoke up again. “We still have to do the bedrooms, but first, do you want to see why Miu and I both wanted this house?”

In another part of the house, Miu and Kokichi were hard at work unpacking the kitchen.

“The old you’s taste in flatware was disgusting,” Kokichi was saying. The plate in his hand was covered in gold filigree and delicate floral designs, and just holding it was enough to be able to tell it was embarrassingly fragile. He would test that theory against the tile floor, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t even be satisfying.

“Oh totally,” Miu replied, digging into a box of neatly bubblewrapped glasses. “My taste was complete garbage, I’ll have to throw out most of the clothes I found. But a bitch needs to eat, so I can’t get rid of all this junk until I have a chance to buy new stuff to replace it.” After struggling for several moments to unravel the layers of tape and plastic wrapped around it, she held up a stemless wineglass. “Like, can you fucking believe this shit?”

“‘Bitch a Little, Wine a Lot,’” Kokichi read slowly, having to slow down to parse the looping cursive font written on the glass. He turned to look at her with an uncharacteristically somber expression. “Miu, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad that I know you. At least you’re not her.”

She snorted. “You’re damn right. Her only good quality was being a smokin’ hot model or whatever. Now I’m even hotter and I’m, like, a super-genius inventor on top of that. What a fuckin’ loser, am I right?”

Kokichi gave an exaggerated shudder in response. “Sorry, I was just imagining an even dumber, uglier version of you.”

Miu threw a crumpled-up wad of bubblewrap in his direction. “Hey! Don’t make me kick you out of this kitchen, asshole. If you’re not gonna help in here, you can go help Dork and Dorkier move couches.”

“Maybe I will,” he retorted, calling her bluff. He had noticed something when they split up into teams, and he wanted to test his theory. With a lazy stretch, he started to make his way out of the room. Three more steps, two, and—

“Wait!” Miu yelped, scrambling up to catch the back of his shirt. “You’ll ruin it!”

“Ruin what, dearest Miu?” Kokichi said sweetly. He turned around with his best shit-eating grin. “Is there something to ruin?”

Miu dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Ughhh, you’re such a little shitbag.” Still sulking, she sat back on the floor next to the box she had been unpacking. When Kokichi mirrored her and settled down a few feet away, she said, “We still don’t know why Shuichi left like he did. And even if he’s told you, I figure getting the truth out of you would be a bitch and a half.”

“Sure would,” he agreed with a nod, giving no indication as to how much Shuichi had told him.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, exactly. So I sent him and Kiibo off to have a little one-on-one time. They’ll end up pouring their hearts out to each other because they're both big babies, and later I can get the goss’ from Keebs. If you go and interrupt them, they might not get around to the mushy stuff.”

Damn. He wished he’d thought of that. He supposed he could say it was fine and he wasn’t totally dying of curiosity to know what had spooked Shuichi into leaving the post-season recovery village without a word… but that would be a lie. Aloud, he said, “Huh. Maybe you’re not just a useless pig slut after all. Who put you up to it?”

“Wh-wh-what?” she stumbled, her face predictably flushing red at the demeaning words. “N-no one put me up to…” she tried, but she stopped when she saw nothing but flat disbelief on his face. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “...Kaede. You saw how she was while you were still there. She’s been, like, kinda fucked up about him leaving.”

Oh, he had definitely seen it. The panic that rippled through the class as they realized their trusted leader had disappeared. The reassurance, if you could call it that, from the show’s head psychologist: that Shuichi had simply packed up and left in the early morning hours. Kokichi himself had only just woken up from the extensive healing that had painstakingly reformed his body, and even he had seen how Kaede, in particular, had been distressed by Shuichi’s sudden absence.

“And did Kaede tell you to invite me here in the first place?” he asked icily.

It was as close as he could get to the question that had been haunting him since he first read the text she had sent him, asking for his help while she and Kiibo moved into their new house. Why him? She couldn’t have thought he would actually be much help. For all that he made fun of her, Miu wasn’t an idiot. Was she planning to get him alone so she could take revenge on him for what happened in the game? She had tried to kill him. He had succeeded in, if not killing her directly, at least orchestrating her death. The incidental fact that they were both still alive shouldn’t make much of a difference. Was she planning to finish what she had started?

That was why he had pressured Shuichi into coming along. His presence was an effective deterrent on its own, and even if Miu did still go through with a plan to kill Kokichi, the detective would figure her out. She would never know peace again if she killed him while Shuichi was on the scene.

Her guilty expression didn’t reassure him. “She didn’t,” she admitted, “Kaede only asked me to find out about Shuichi once I mentioned that you were bringing him along.”

Kokichi took stock of his surroundings. He was sitting down, but so was she. An equal disadvantage, and he was still closer to the door. If the boxes littered around the room really were just full of kitchenwares, there was a decent chance that there were knives nearby. A point in Miu’s favor, as she was more likely to know where they were. But Shuichi (and Kiibo, assuming he wasn’t in on it) knew exactly where he was. He was fairly certain they were within shouting distance as well, so—

“Look,” Miu said, unknowingly cutting off his train of thought, “I watched the rest of the season just like everybody else, okay? I know your whole evil mastermind thing was just an act, and you were trying to prevent any more killings and provoke the real mastermind into making a mistake.” Her face twisted with effort, and she swallowed as if the words were lodged in her throat. “So I invited you here because I wanted to say… I wanted to tell you I’m… fuck, you know what I mean, okay? I’m like, sorry. That I tried to kill you or whatever.”

The apology was spat out with great difficulty, and Kokichi stared at it like it was a hairball that had been deposited unceremoniously into his lap.

Miu looked better now that the words were out, though. “But you still got me killed, asshole, don’t think I forgot,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “So let’s just… call it even, alright?”

And she seemed so… sincere. It felt like those concepts shouldn’t exist next to each other: Miu, apology, sincere. He had a hard time fitting them together in his head.

“Alright,” he said eventually, because it wouldn’t hurt to play along for a while even if she was lying, “we’re even.” Then, because the tension was getting too thick for his taste, he added, “Is this the part where we get into the mushy stuff and pour our hearts out to each other?”

Miu smothered her laugh into an ugly snort. “Nah,” she said. “We’re not that lame. I already know you’re the only bitch in this town who can handle me, Checkers. Just come help me sort through this box.”

Chapter Text

Kiibo led the way down the hall to a heavy door that Shuichi hadn’t paid much attention to before, which opened to reveal a staircase that descended down below the first floor. Kiibo hit the lights as they made their way down, and Shuichi found himself staring around what must have been the basement in baffled wonder.

After spending time upstairs, where the walls were bare and the rooms were empty except for stacks of boxes, the basement felt like an entirely different building. The walls were cluttered with various tools, machinery, and computer screens that Shuichi wouldn’t have been able to decipher in a thousand years. The ample counter space around the room was mostly clear at the moment, but it was easy to imagine it covered in blueprints and half-finished projects. There was even an adjustable, table-like platform that looked just the right size for a human to lay on. It was a perfect, fully equipped laboratory.

No wonder Kiibo and Miu had agreed to share the house.

“And it just… had all of this?” Shuichi asked. As he spoke, he wandered over to inspect a table saw with blades that seemed sharp enough to cut through any metal someone cared to throw at them.

“Yes,” Kiibo answered, his expression almost dreamy as he ran a hand over one of the machines anchored to the wall. “The previous owner apparently had a passion for mechanical engineering. The house was on the market for a long time because no one wanted to deal with the basement renovations, but it’s perfect for us.”

“Why would the last owner leave all this stuff here?” Shuichi asked. The equipment throughout the room must have been worth as much as the house it occupied.

Kiibo’s consternated frown said that this had been bothering him as well. “We don’t know. The sale was handled by a real estate company, and they wouldn’t give us any information about who owned the house last. Miu thinks they’re probably dead.”

Looking around the room, Shuichi was inclined to agree. He doubted anyone who went to the effort of making something like this would just leave it all behind.

When he turned back around, Kiibo was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t name. “Shuichi, are you…,” he hesitated, “of course, I don’t know if ‘alright’ is a word that applies to any of us, but… I’m not trying to pry, of course, it’s just that, well.” He huffed at himself for beating around the bush, then seemed to gather up his courage to say, “Everyone is really worried about you. When you left without telling anyone, and when none of us could get in contact with you, it scared us. Until Kokichi said he was bringing you along today, we didn’t…”

“Kiibo,” Shuichi began, feeling the weight of guilt settling around his shoulders.

“We didn’t know if you were still alive,” Kiibo interrupted, meeting his eyes suddenly with a fierce expression.

Shuichi was the one who broke eye contact first. He tried to think of something to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Eventually, the only thing he managed to get out was, “I’m sorry.”

Kiibo’s expression softened. “It’s okay. Just don’t disappear on us again, alright? We have to look out for each other.”

Standing in a room so outlandish it could have been part of the game, hearing those words from a friend who had withstood all but the last moments of it with him, some of the truth poured out of Shuichi’s mouth in a jumble. “I couldn’t watch anyone leave anymore.”

Kiibo faltered at the words, his mouth falling open in a surprised ‘oh.’

“We had just gotten everyone back,” he carried on. “But everyone had lives to get back to, we couldn’t stay there forever. And then Kaede—” he broke off, shook his head, and tried again. “People were going to start leaving soon, and I just couldn’t…”

“By leaving first, you didn’t have to watch anyone else leave,” Kiibo finished once it became clear Shuichi had trailed off.

His shoulders slumped. “Yes. And then after, I couldn’t bring myself to reach out again.” He could still feel it: the guilt of knowing the others would be worried about him, the mortification that he had reacted so impulsively and would surely have to explain his actions, and the frustration that he just couldn’t take that first step no matter how furiously he struggled against himself.

Across from him, Kiibo’s expression had grown thoughtful. “It appears I owe Kokichi more than I thought I did.” At Shuichi’s questioning look, he explained with a smile, “Thanks to him, I can tell you face-to-face that I’m not going anywhere. You’re one of my dearest friends, Shuichi. That hasn’t changed now that we’re out of the killing game.”

After they emerged from the basement, they made comparatively quick work of arranging the rest of the furniture in the house. The conversation turned towards lighter topics, and by the time they wandered into the kitchen, they found Miu and Kokichi lounging at the table, where three pizza boxes sat invitingly.

“Fiiinally,” Kokichi said with a glance up at them. “We thought you two would work straight through lunch.”

“We just ordered whatever we felt like,” Miu told them as she typed something on her phone. “Two pepperoni and one cheese, since Checkers lost at rock paper scissors.”

Shuichi watched as Kokichi grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza and remembered with clarity the time Kokichi had beaten him at rock paper scissors one hundred times in a row before admitting he was cheating. Somehow, he got the feeling that Kokichi had gotten exactly the toppings he’d wanted on the pizzas. With a shrug, Shuichi took a seat and grabbed a couple of slices for himself.

“Are you texting someone?” Kiibo asked as he sat in the remaining chair.

“I’m seeing how long it takes for me to get banned off social media,” Miu said, still typing. “You wouldn’t believe how many creeps are delusional enough to think they have a right to talk to me at all, let alone tell me what a cunt I am.”

“As if you don’t already know,” Kokichi added.

“As if I don’t already know!” she agreed emphatically.

Kiibo appeared to consider prying for more details, but he evidently gave it up as a lost cause. “Have either of you attempted to look at your old online accounts?” he asked the other two at the table.

Shuichi hesitated. “I… haven’t even turned on my phone, to be honest.”

Kiibo’s eyes lit up, the LEDs in them making the phrase all the more literal. “Ah, so that is why you never responded to anyone’s attempts to contact you!”

“Wait, are we allowed to talk about that now?” Miu asked, looking up from her phone at last. “Because what the fuck, Pooichi?”

“Ah, um,” Shuichi stammered, his face reddening. “Yes. Sorry. I didn’t want to know what kind of notifications I had gotten over the past month, so I never turned it on. I didn’t realize that meant you wouldn’t be able to reach me.”

Kokichi, who never failed to alert Shuichi to the fact that he’d caught him in a lie, looked up and made pointed eye contact with him. Unexpectedly, however, he didn’t call Shuichi out. Shuichi resisted the urge to grimace, knowing that meant the next words out of his mouth would be worse than just calling him on his lie.

“You probably have a million messages from your adoring fans,” Kokichi mused, his eyes all but sparkling. “I mean, if you were famous before the killing game, I can’t imagine how popular you are now.”

Miu squawked. “What! You’re telling me you were famous already!? Then what the fuck were you doin’ signin’ up for a goddamn killing game?”

“I wasn’t—,” Shuichi began, but he was cut off.

“He used to stream old Danganronpa games online,” Kokichi told her in a conspiratorial whisper. “He was like, the biggest Danganronpa fanboy. He even,” he added in an even lower voice, “liked to dress up as some of them in bed.”

Now it was Shuichi’s turn to squawk in indignation. “I did not! First of all, it was only one character—,” Miu’s eyes began to light up with an emotion Shuichi desperately did not want to identify, “—and it was just a normal cosplay!”

“Oh yeah?” Kokichi asked, grinning devilishly. “Then why were you so embarrassed when I walked in on you?”

“Because I was practically wearing a skirt!”

“There is nothing wrong with wearing a skirt, you know,” Kiibo said with a slight frown.

With slow-building clarity, Shuichi began to understand why Kokichi had chosen to wait until this moment to use this information against him. “I-I know that. I was fine with it even before I knew it was for cosplay, I was just… startled.”

“So you found a random, sexy schoolgirl outfit in your closet and you didn’t even consider that it might be a sex thing?” Kokichi asked skeptically. “What did you think it was?”

Shuichi cursed his pale skin for undoubtedly showing exactly how hard he was blushing. “I thought maybe the old Shuichi had some, you know, gender… stuff. Going on.”

Kiibo’s head cocked to the side. “Gender… stuff?”

“He means he thought he was trans, idiot,” Miu explained with a roll of her eyes. “And now, what, you just aren’t anymore? How would that even work?”

“It was just a hypothesis,” Shuichi defended. “And it’s less likely now that I know the outfit was for a cosplay. I was just worried, I guess. I think I’ve been conditioned to assume the worst lately.”

Miu’s eyebrows rose incredulously. “If you think being trans is the worst thing that can happen to you, I’m going to have to show you a few worse options. With, like, a hammer.”

Luckily, Kokichi spoke before things could get out of hand. “You think past-Shuichi signed up for Danganronpa to intentionally memory wipe themself out of being trans. That’s what you were worried about.” The deliberate lightness of his words was belied by his expression’s uncharacteristic seriousness.

Shuichi sighed. “I thought it was a possibility. It seems more likely that they,” he tripped over the unfamiliar word, mimicking Kokichi’s phrasing, “just wanted to cosplay their favorite character. But it’s not like I can know for sure.”

Miu let out an explosive breath. “Sheesh, Pooichi. Way to dampen the mood.”

“You guys were the ones who kept giving me a hard time about the skirt!” he said indignantly.

“Only ‘cause I thought it’d be a weird sex thing!”

“You shouldn’t give people a hard time about their weird sex things either!”

“Do you feel like you want to explore your gender as you are now?” Kiibo spoke up again at last. He had spent the past minute with a thoughtful expression that made Shuichi want to hide under the table. “Regardless of what your past self felt, you are allowed to identify in whichever way makes you most comfortable.”

“Not—not right now?” The reply came out as a question, so he tried again. “I’m pretty sure I’m a man.” He cringed at his own lack of conviction, but the others just nodded.

“Teasing aside, you know it’s alright either way, right?” Kiibo said kindly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about not conforming rigidly to gender roles, regardless of which gender you settle on. There is nothing wrong with men wearing skirts.”

“Thanks,” Shuichi managed to croak out despite his mortification at having this conversation.

“And who cares if you were trans before?” Miu chimed in. “Everybody loves a chick with a dick. I know I’d kill to have one of my own. Instead I have to settle for this one’s,” she added, thumping Kiibo solidly on the chest.

A whirring sound filled the air as Kiibo’s internal fans kicked into high gear. “Th-they don’t need to hear about that!” he scolded her, his cheeks aflame.

But Miu, being Miu, continued. “I guess I can’t complain though,” she said with a loud guffaw, “his dick is customizab—mrph!”

“What Miu means,” Kiibo interrupted, acting as if he wasn’t physically covering her mouth with his hand, “is that we would support you regardless of your gender presentation. I’m sure everyone in our class would.” With that said, he looked at Miu with an unamused expression. “And you can bite all you want, it won’t make me let go.”

With a sudden burst of strength, Miu forced his hand away. “That’s-what-you-said-last-night-too,” she said in all one breath.

Kiibo buried his face in his hands, and the hum of his fans grew louder once again.

After lunch, they resumed unpacking. They had finished the hardest tasks already, so the next few hours were spent making decisions like where to put the DVDs (“Lotta romcoms, Kiibo,” Kokichi had said with a sly grin, much to the robot’s embarrassment. “You got anything to tell us?”) and how best to hang up the art and posters they wanted to keep (“Are you kidding me?” Miu had exclaimed, holding up the large, framed, nude portrait of herself. “Of course I’m keeping it!”).

When it was time to leave, Kiibo wrapped Shuichi in a crushing hug. “Thank you so much for your help today,” he said with visible relief. “And please turn on your phone when you get home so we can stay in touch from now on.”

Shuichi gave a chagrined smile. “Will do. Congratulations again on the house.”

Kokichi had been whispering something in Miu’s ear, but when Shuichi was released from Kiibo’s hug, she straightened up and walked over to him. Before he could react, she had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and was giving him a noogie.

“No more disappearing acts, ya hear me??” she said, still scrubbing her knuckles roughly across his scalp. “Or I’ll get Checkers to snitch so I can come beat your ass.”

“Alright, alright,” Shuichi laughed, swatting at her until he could escape. “I promise.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Kokichi announced from where he had just received his own bone-crushing hug from Kiibo. “I need a shower and a nap ASAP. And you all stink,” he added, wrinkling his nose in exaggerated disgust.

Miu gave him a light shove towards the car. “Yeah whatever, get outta here ya little shitweasel. You’re not so fresh yourself.”

Eventually, despite Kokichi and Miu flipping each other off the whole time, they managed to get into the car. As they drove away, Shuichi gave a weary sigh and sank further into the passenger seat. “I understand now why you wanted me to come along today,” he said, his eyes slipping closed for a moment. “It was good to spend time catching up with them, but they can be a lot.”

Kokichi smirked. “Told you so. At least Miu said she would unpack her bedroom herself. Otherwise she’d have had us organizing her vibrator collection.”

Shuichi winced, picturing it in his head all too easily. Nonetheless, when he opened his eyes again, he joked, “By size or color?”

Kokichi let out a single, barked laugh, then seemed to pause as if surprised. Turning to point an accusing finger at Shuichi, he said, “Hey, wait, that was funny. How come you never told me you know what sex is?”

“Oh, sorry,” he replied. “It must have slipped my mind when I introduced myself. ‘Ultimate Detective Shuichi Saihara: knows what sex is.’ You can thank Miu for desensitizing me to it. Look, listen to this: fuck, sixty-nine, dildo.”

Kokichi gasped. “Filth! The filth coming out of your mouth! Who are you and what have you done with Shuichi?”

The grin that had been creeping across Shuichi’s face started to falter. “I’ll let you know if I find out,” he said, aiming for a lighthearted tone, but he could tell he didn’t quite manage it.

In the driver’s seat, Kokichi’s expression slowly shuttered closed as well. Their previous laughter died a quiet death, and they drove without speaking for a while waiting for one of them to break the silence.

After a long moment, Kokichi did. “Look, we know I’m not the best at this, right?” As he spoke, his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

Not quite sure what he meant or where this was going, Shuichi nodded.

Kokichi’s eyes were glued to the road in front of them. “And I know I’m, y’know, a lot. So I’m really trying not to fuck this up.”

“Okay,” Shuichi agreed slowly.

“Ugh,” he spat, his lip curling in distaste, “I suddenly understand Miu better. The point is, I didn’t mean for the skirt thing to, like… go that far.”

Oh. “Nothing bad actually happened,” Shuichi tried to reassure. “It was just embarrassing. It’s alright.”

Kokichi made another displeased sound, still not taking his eyes off the road. “I don’t need you to reassure me, that’s not what I’m trying to do here. The point is, I shouldn’t have used that as a joke.” In a lower, grumblier voice, he added, “Out of anyone, I should know better…”

Shuichi blinked. “Out of anyone?”

He sighed. “You pick the worst moments to be imperceptive, you know that?”

It took a few more moments for the thought to click. “Oh,” Shuichi said dumbly. “Oh. You’re…”

“I’m,” Kokichi agreed. “Ding ding ding, give the detective a prize!”

Shuichi tried desperately to kick his tired brain into gear. “So should I… call you something different?” he asked.

Kokichi’s hands, which had finally begun to relax around the wheel, tensed up again. “Why would you?” he asked in a neutral voice.

Shuichi froze, not sure where he had misstepped. “Because… I don’t want to call you something that makes you uncomfortable? That’s how it works, right?”

With an expression disarmed by pure bafflement, Kokichi finally glanced over at Shuichi. Then realization dawned in his eyes, and he looked away again, choking on an incredulous laugh. The laughter only grew from there until he was practically cackling.

“Wrong direction, genius,” he said eventually, still giggling and wiping away tears of laughter. “I was early to the party, I already did all the name changing stuff way before we met. I’m flattered that that’s where your mind went though—makes me feel like a real boy,” he added, the pitch rising at the end into a Pinocchio-esque voice.

At his devious grin, Shuichi groaned and sank back into the seat with his eyes closed. His cheeks burned with embarrassment for the umpteenth time that day. “I’m just going to sit here quietly until we get back to the apartment,” he said in defeat.

“Aww, but you were being such a good ally!”

It was a long time before Kokichi’s giggles fully subsided.

Chapter Text

Sitting at the desk in his bedroom, Shuichi breathed carefully in and out once, then twice. On the third breath, he looked down at the phone in his hand. When he had turned it on after they got home from helping Kiibo and Miu move into their house, the influx of notifications had seemed unending. It had taken him until the next morning to work up the nerve to begin sorting through it all. Now, armed with coffee and the file that contained detailed information about his previous life, he got to work.

The main sources of notifications appeared to be phone calls, texts, and two unfamiliar apps. After some searching, he also found the apps for notes, photos, and banking.

He decided to prioritize the notifications for now. He could probably guess what he would find in his bank account, and the notes and photos would require a deep dive. And as his conversation with Kiibo had shown, his first order of business should be to reassure his friends that he wasn’t dead.

Someone, possibly himself, had helpfully created contacts for his classmates already. Scrolling through his missed calls, he found a large number of them from Kaito and Kiibo. He was somewhat surprised, though, to find quite a few calls from various other classmates. Kirumi, with her strong caretaking tendencies, made sense, but there were also voicemails from Tenko, Angie, Gonta, and even Ryoma. Curiosity over what message his stoic classmate had left for him led Shuichi to press play on Ryoma’s voicemail.

After a brief moment of silence, a deep voice spoke. “Hey, Saihara. ‘M sure the others have already said it all, so I’m not gonna harp on you too hard for leaving. Just wanted to say, if you could let someone know you’re alright, that’d be cool of you. Doesn’t have to be much, I get it if you need space.” There was a pause that stretched out long enough that Shuichi thought maybe that was the end, but then Ryoma spoke again. “And if you’re having a hard time, don’t hesitate to reach out. I know how it is. Anyway, I guess stay safe. Talk to you soon.”

“Wooooow,” a voice said from behind him once the message ended. Kokichi stepped into the bedroom, peering around as if to get a better look at the phone on Shuichi’s desk. “Desperate much? I guess dying really put Ryoma in touch with his feelings.”

“Watch it,” Shuichi warned.

Ignoring him, Kokichi hopped up onto the desk. “Oh sorry,” he said insincerely, “don’t mind me. I’m just here to be a silent observer. So voicemails, huh?” He pulled up his legs to sit criss-cross, settling in so he could see both the phone screen and Shuichi’s face.

Already resigned to his antics, Shuichi turned back to the phone. “Voicemails,” he agreed distantly.

He decided to set the other voicemails from his classmates aside for the moment, although his eyes lingered on the ones from Kaito. He would come back to them later, he promised himself, but he wanted to get a broad overview of everything before he started really digging into anything in particular.

Unfortunately, after skipping past those and the ones from unknown numbers, his thumb was left hovering over one missed call that he really, really didn’t want to acknowledge.

Kokichi gave a low whistle. “Yikes. You sure you don’t want to go back and hear what Angie had to say? I bet if you listen to her babble about Atua long enough, you can give yourself enough brain damage to avoid dealing with this.”

Staring down at the contact simply named, ‘Mom,’ Shuichi found himself unable to respond.

A hand waved in front of his vision. “Hellooo? Earth to Shuichi? Paging Dr. Saihara? Ding dong, anybody home?”

Shuichi distractedly swatted the hand away. “I hear you, I’m just… You remember I was raised by my uncle, right?”

“I might recall something like that,” Kokichi agreed vaguely. “Sherlock Holmes type, great detective, taught you everything you know, yadda yadda.”

“...Not the words I’d have chosen, but yeah.” Shuichi blew out a breath. “I came to live with him when I was very young. After my parents died.”

Kokichi was quiet for a moment. Then in a neutral voice, he said, “In your memories.”

Shuichi nodded. “In my memories.”

They both stared at the phone. Kokichi uncrossed his legs and let them hang off the side of the desk so he could kick them back and forth. “So you’re an orphan, except for the fact that you’re not. Any particular thoughts about that? Fantasies of running into the loving embrace of the parents you’ve always wanted?”

“...No. I don’t think so. I was young, I don’t remember them very well. And I was always happy living with my uncle.” Something at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned to regard the folder sitting innocently on the other side of the desk. Staring at his name emblazoned on the cover of the file, Shuichi asked, “Do I have an uncle?”

There was, after all, only one person in the room who would know the answer already. And it wasn’t Shuichi.

“Hmm… no,” Kokichi drawled, inspecting his nails. “At least not one important enough to include in the file. I saw a family tree somewhere in there, though.”

Shuichi swallowed past the sudden lump of grief in his throat and nodded. Okay. That was—that was what he had expected. He had already known that the people in his memories were all part of the fabricated ‘backstory’ he had been given. With a deep, grounding breath, he added it to the ever-growing pile of things he would have to sort through… eventually.

Gazing distantly at the screen, Shuichi voiced a different thought aloud, “I wonder what she wanted…”

“Well, only one way to find out!” Kokichi declared. Lightning quick, before Shuichi could stop him, he snatched the phone out of his hands and pressed play on the voicemail.

“Ah, wait—!”

“Hi Shuichi, it’s mom!” a woman's cheery voice rang out from the phone’s tiny speaker. Both boys froze, listening with rapt attention. Kokichi clicked the volume up a few notches. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you, your dad and I were on the edge of our seats all season! You did so great, hun. Now, I’m sure you’re busy with all the post-season buzz, so I won’t press too hard, but we’d love to have you over soon for dinner. We can catch you up on some of the memories you’re still missing! I’m sure I have some old photos lying around somewhere…” her voice briefly trailed off in thought.

“Some of what you’re still missing?” Kokichi mouthed in disbelief. Shuichi shushed him as the woman resumed speaking.

“Alright, dad is telling me to wrap it up soon, we don’t want to overwhelm you. Call back soon and we can pick a date! Love you Shu! Dad and Rinko are also excited to see you. Oh, we’re just so proud of you. Talk soon! Bye.”

“Well,” Kokichi declared in the silence that followed, his lip curling faintly in disdain, “she seems… nice. Pretty sure Rinko is your sister’s name, by the way.”

Shuichi wasn’t paying close attention though. “I should—have dinner with them, right?” he asked, looking at Kokichi for confirmation. “They’ve probably been worried. And it’d be good to learn more about the old Shuichi…”

Kokichi stared at him in disbelief for a long moment. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His face pinched in frustration. When he spoke again, what he said was, “Yeah. You should. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a learning experience.” With that, he hopped off the desk and made his way to the door.

The reaction made him hesitate. “What do you mean?” Shuichi asked, turning to watch the other leave.

Without looking back, Kokichi waved off the question. “You’re a smart cookie, you’ll figure it out.”

Several hours later, Shuichi tossed the phone aside and allowed himself to lay his head down on the desk. He had managed to get through what he felt was a respectable amount of notifications, but he was starting to see what a daunting task he had ahead of him.

On top of the many worried messages from his friends, there were texts from what he assumed were the old Shuichi’s acquaintances, phone calls from unknown numbers who wanted to interview him, and, most horrifyingly of all, a pile of emails from the old Shuichi’s university. One of them was a request for Shuichi to come speak at some event the university was hosting! He deleted that one before his eyes could skim any further and resolved to never tell anyone.

It seemed that everyone wanted to get ahold of him in some way or another. He had known, of course, that Danganronpa was one of the most popular shows in the world, but seeing the evidence was different. He was… famous, he supposed. Really famous, if he was understanding things correctly. People wanted to meet him, talk to him, hear his story. In the eyes of many of these people, he was an inspiration.

He wished he still had the phone in his hand so he could throw it again, harder this time.

Despite his best intentions, just sorting through things and deleting the most obvious pieces of junk had taken most of the day. Digging through what was essentially a stranger’s phone was more difficult than it looked. For the first time, he was immensely grateful for the file about his former life, as he had spent most of the day flipping through it for information.

After admitting to himself that he probably wasn’t going to be able to make any more progress for the day, Shuichi went to the kitchen to find food.

On his way there, he passed Kokichi, who was sitting in front of the shelf of DVDs in the living room. He appeared to be looking through them for something, but Shuichi had had enough of investigating for the day and moved past without comment.

He thanked his recent past self for leaving leftovers in the fridge and made quick work of heating up a bowl for himself. But when he sat down to eat, his mind inevitably wandered back to his phone.

“Is it bad that I’m relieved past-Shuichi didn’t have many friends?” Shuichi asked the room at large.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Kokichi answered blithely from his spot on the floor of the living room. “Judging by their audition tape, they were kind of intense.”

“It’s just so much,” Shuichi continued. “It’s like everyone who knew h- them wants to cash in on it by messaging me. I don’t even know these people!”

“Mmhmm,” the other agreed placidly. “Speaking of, did you decide what to do about your family stuff?”

Shuichi groaned. “I texted her back to say I’d be happy to have dinner with them. So I guess that’s what I’m doing this Thursday.” Then, almost defensive for reasons he didn’t quite understand, he added, “She seemed really happy.”

“Of course she was,” came Kokichi’s short reply, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “The prodigal son returns.”

Annoyance flared up in Shuichi’s chest. It wasn’t like he was thrilled to be picking up the pieces the old Shuichi had left behind either, but Kokichi’s attitude about it all was getting on his nerves.

“What about your parents?” Shuichi found himself asking. He set down his fork and turned towards the living room. “Kiibo said you had gone to visit them. I’m sure they were happy to see you.”

Kokichi was silent for a moment, his hand still outstretched to pluck out the next DVD case. When he spoke, his words were neutral. “They were. It didn’t last long—I made sure of it.”

Not sure what to say to that, Shuichi hesitated. He didn’t have to wait for long, though, because Kokichi stood up.

“A little advice from one brainwashed amnesiac to another? Don’t get your hopes up.”

Then, arms full of various DVD cases, he left the room, and Shuichi was left alone with his half-finished bowl of leftovers.

After Kokichi shut his bedroom door behind him and tossed the DVDs onto the desk, he wasted no time before rolling onto his bed and settling with his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the ceiling in thought.

Stupid Shuichi. Stupid Shuichi’s parents. Shuichi was smart, it wouldn’t take him more than one dinner with them to figure out what Kokichi already knew, but it still left a bad taste in his mouth.

The feeling of watching an impending train crash was not unfamiliar to Kokichi, and he let his expression twist into a grimace as he kicked his legs against the bed in frustration. Usually he was first in line to watch a good trainwreck—hell, he wasn’t above driving the train himself if the situation called for it—but this one wouldn’t even be fun. 

Stupid Shuichi.

With a sigh that toed the line towards becoming a groan, Kokichi reached down to dig through his pocket for his phone. He had deleted most of the contacts in it other than the ones for his classmates, so it was easy to find the person he intended to call.

After a few rings, the call picked up.

“Hello? Whaddaya want?” Kaito said.

“What, is that how you want to greet me?” Kokichi drawled. “And here I was calling you to offer you a deal.”

There was a long, heavy sigh. In the tone of someone who knew they were reaching into a trap, Kaito said, “Fine, what is it?”

“That’s the spirit!” Kokichi cheered. He began twirling a lock of his hair around one finger. “Sooo, you wanted the address to Shuichi’s place, right?”

Kaito spluttered. “Wh- You actually know where he is? That wasn’t one of your lies?”

“Didn’t Miu and Kiibo tell everyone?” After a moment, he tilted his head and added, “I’m staying in his spare bedroom.”

“...I just figured they were being weird. You know how Miu is.” He at least had the grace to sound embarrassed. “So, what, you didn’t want to stay at your parents’ house? That’s where you were heading when you left, right?”

Geez, what was it with these people and parents? Talk about obsessive. “I’m an orphan,” he said matter-of-factly. “My parents were killed in a car chase when I was seven.”

He could practically hear Kaito roll his eyes. “Yeah, fine, that’s what I get for asking. You had a deal for me or somethin’?”

Kokichi rolled onto his stomach so he could kick his legs in the air. “In fact I did! Come over for a few hours this Thursday evening, and I’ll give you the address to get here.” 

“...What’s the catch?” Kaito asked, his guard raised. Good boy. Apparently even stupid dogs could learn new tricks.

He smiled angelically even though Kaito couldn’t see it. “Shuichi won’t be here.”

The sound Kaito made was a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Then why the hell would I go over there?”

“Because that’s the only way you’re getting the address to come see Shuichi later,” Kokichi answered, still smiling.

Kaito groaned.

His smile turned into a grin. “Great! I’ll text you the details.” Without waiting for a response, he added, “And bring wine!” and ended the call.

There, he thought as he clicked his phone closed. That ought to solve several problems. Next his eyes fell on the haphazard pile of old Danganronpa DVDs lying innocently on the desk. Now all he had to do was keep himself occupied until Thursday.

Chapter Text

“Today I’m going to start streaming,” Kokichi announced over breakfast the next morning.

Shuichi looked up from his food in confusion. “What?”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “Your streaming setup is still in my room, genius. I’m bored, and I’ve been looking at that computer for days, and I’ve decided enough is enough! If you aren’t going to use it, I’ll just have to steal it.” With that, he planted his hands on the table across from where Shuichi was sitting and added a challenging, “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Shuichi pondered this declaration as he chewed his last bite. “There probably is something,” he said after a moment, “but I’m not going to try to stop you or anything. You’re right that I wasn’t planning to use it.” 

“Whaaat?” Kokichi pouted. “No reaction? What if I told you I’m going to be stealing your account to do it, huh? What then?”

“It’s not really mine though, is it?” Shuichi said, getting up to rinse his dishes at the sink. “So I don’t really mind.”

“Oh, so now you get it,” Kokichi muttered under his breath. He snuck his own dishes into the pile Shuichi was working on, but he then set about putting the rest of their breakfast ingredients away, so Shuichi let the dishes and the comment slide. “Fine,” Kokichi huffed, “but you at least have to come and watch the first stream.”

Shuichi hesitated.

“What, no?” Kokichi said in disbelief. In a blink, his eyes began to well up with tears. “You never support me anymore! What happened to the person I married?” he choked out past sobs.

“Kokichi,” Shuichi sighed. “Come on.”

As quickly as they had arrived, the tears were gone. “Shuichiii,” he wheedled back without missing a beat. “Pleeeease, I need someone to roll my eyes with if-slash-when your fans get annoying. Otherwise I’ll just have to hire assassins to kill them, and Maki won’t take my calls.”

Again, Shuichi hesitated. “I don’t want to be on camera,” he said after a moment. “Or, voice or mic or anything, either. As far as anyone else knows, I’m not there.” He scrubbed harder at the plate in his hands, working harder than was necessary to remove a stubborn stain.

This time it was Kokichi’s turn to pause, eyeing the tense set of the other’s shoulders. “As if I’d let you hog the spotlight to yourself,” he answered eventually, waving his hand dismissively. “You can just hang out on the bed and read or whatever. But I better not hear a peep out of you, you hear me? Zip. Nada.”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Shuichi promised, relieved.

The pair made their way to Kokichi’s room, and as he settled down on the edge of the bed, Shuichi realized he hadn’t really seen much of this room since Kokichi laid his claim on it. Although Shuichi had only seen him bring one suitcase with him, somehow Kokichi had managed to transform the bedroom almost entirely. One of the walls had been claimed as a makeshift whiteboard, complete with diagrams and notes scribbled directly on the wall. Another wall was plastered in drawings, although these were thankfully confined to papers that had merely been taped in place. Shuichi would have despaired for his security deposit on the apartment if not for the knowledge that money wasn’t an issue for either of them. Other than the walls, the room wasn’t as bad as it could have been. The bed and desk were the same as he remembered them being, although they were both currently covered with laundry, loose papers, and various writing implements.

It wasn’t quite up to the frankly astonishing amount of clutter that Shuichi had found while investigating Kokichi’s room during the game, but he supposed that made sense. They had spent around a month living out of those bedrooms, and it had only been a few days since Kokichi moved into this one.

Seeing the way Shuichi was looking around the room, Kokichi said, “It’s still a work in progress. Our babysitter—you know, the MILF?—wouldn’t let me take any of my souvenirs from the game.” He then gave an exaggerated pout, adding in a forlorn whine, “Not even wax Rantaro.”

Shuichi sent up a very heartfelt thanks to Kanami Taketa for not allowing Kokichi to bring home the life-sized wax figure of their classmate. “That’s… a shame,” he said aloud, trying to ignore the shudder that went down his spine.

While Kokichi fiddled with the computer to get things set up, Shuichi left to find a book to read. There was a bookcase full of manga in his bedroom, so he started his search there.

The top two shelves were, to his complete lack of surprise at this point, dedicated to a collection of Danganronpa manga. As he was beginning to learn, the first two… seasons? Games? Whatever form Danganronpa had originally taken, the first two instances had been adapted into various mediums over the years, nearly all of which had been collected by his past self.

Shuichi picked up the first volume to look at the cover, which depicted a boy who he thought he recognized as Makoto Naegi. During the final trial, the newly-revealed mastermind Tsumugi had taken great delight in throwing Makoto’s story in their faces, but the specifics of that first killing game were hazy in his memory.

Gazing down at the manga in his hands, Shuichi felt that familiar itch to learn, to investigate, to find answers. Information about the events that led to his own involvement in Danganronpa was, quite literally, at his fingertips, and he could think of a dozen reasons why he should study it.

But as he looked at the cute, stylized art on the cover, he just couldn’t do it.

Carefully, he slid the book back into place and directed his attention to the lower shelves.

Unfortunately, when he saw the rest of past-Shuichi’s book collection, he had to groan. Unlike the immaculate shelves above, these books were arranged in a jumbled mess without care for things like ‘organization’ or ‘series order.’ And they were romances. All romances. For a brief moment he reconsidered his decision, but he quickly grabbed the first manga he saw with a number ‘1’ on the spine and returned to Kokichi’s room.

“Finally,” Kokichi said when he reentered. “I was starting to wonder if you had gone and skipped out on me.”

“Ah, sorry. I had a hard time choosing a book,” Shuichi explained, moving to take a seat on the bed. He set the manga aside for a moment, though, in favor of asking, “So, what’s your plan here?”

From his place at the computer, Kokichi answered with only half attention. “The plan is, I need minions,” he said, still typing away, “and you just so happen to have some on hand that you aren’t using.”

Shuichi gaped at him. “You can’t be serious,” he said once he found his words.

“Yuppers, I sure am,” the other confirmed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the outside world is like, criminally boring. I need something exciting to happen. Soooo, I’m going to rebuild my secret organization, bigger and better than ever!”

“...Define ‘exciting,’” Shuichi requested slowly.

For the first time, Kokichi paused with a thoughtful expression. “Hmmm, I dunno. Maybe I’ll use your fans to organize dance mobs nationwide. Or start a new fad that involves robbing banks! Or maybe,” he said in a low voice, turning towards Shuichi with a dark grin, “I’ll spread the ideology of despair to everyone who happens to tune in. Is that what you’re so concerned about, detective?”

Admittedly—shamefully—that had been his concern.

Before Shuichi could reply, however, Kokichi blithely carried on. “But for today, I was thinking I’d start by watching and commentating over season 52 of Danganronpa.”

“Wh- Isn’t that the one Rantaro was in?” Shuichi couldn’t help but ask, thoroughly thrown off track. “The season before ours?” He cursed himself for letting Kokichi distract him with his own sense of morbid curiosity.

“It’s the season Rantaro won,” Kokichi corrected. “Or did you forget that our dear, sweet Rantaro earned his title by being the sole survivor of his first game?”

Shuichi pursed his lips to avoid rising to the bait. Of course he knew the truth about their classmate’s title as the Ultimate Survivor; he was the one who had uncovered that particular truth, after all. It had been one of Tsumugi’s nastier plot twists during that final trial, revealing that the winner’s reward would be to go on and compete in the next killing game. It was the catalyst that had led him and the others to rebel against the game entirely.

And he didn’t appreciate having all of that thrown in his face by someone who hadn’t even been there.

“Why would you even want to watch that?” he found himself asking bitterly.

Kokichi shrugged. He must have noticed that he had struck a nerve because he backed off slightly, the challenging edge in his voice falling away without comment. “Know thine enemy, I guess. I want to see what we’re dealing with here. Plus, don’t you want to see Rantaro in action? See how a pushover like him managed to win a killing game?”

“Not really,” Shuichi admitted, falling back onto the bed with a sigh.

“Well good,” Kokichi said as he turned back to the computer, “‘cause you can’t see the screen from there anyway.”

For a while, the room was quiet except for the clicking of keys while Kokichi did whatever he was doing. Shuichi passed the time by simply gazing out the window and allowing himself to zone out, not quite in the mood for reading yet.

Eventually, Kokichi sat back with a sigh of relief. “There, everything should be ready to go.” He shifted around in the chair to get comfortable, then complained, “I need a cat. How am I supposed to pose ominously for the camera without a fluffy white cat with one of those smushed-up faces in my lap?”

“Mm-hmm,” Shuichi responded absently.

Kokichi swung his chair around to face the bed. “Bzzt! That was a test, Shumai. You’re supposed to be quiet for the stream! Don’t make me kick you out.”

Shuichi opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it at Kokichi’s expectant look. Instead, he shot Kokichi a childish face and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Good,” Kokichi said with a decisive nod. He donned a pair of headphones and adjusted them slightly. “Now, the stream starts on ‘go,’ so get ready. Three-two-one-go!” Click.

Shuichi blinked at him, startled, but Kokichi’s attention was on the computer screen.

“Woooow,” Kokichi exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “That’s a lot of people willing to join Shuichi’s stream at the drop of a hat. Are you excited to see me?” There was a pause, and then he said, “Oh, he won’t be joining us today. Or ever. You see, this is my account now.”

From the bed, Shuichi rolled his eyes at the dramatics and picked up his book. The sight of the cover reminded him that it was, of all things, a trashy romance manga, but he opened it to the first page anyway. Why was he here, again?

While Shuichi tried to parse the bizarre world of ‘The Bomb Inside Her,’ Kokichi’s voice continued in the background and occasionally managed to catch his attention. He seemed to be having fun taunting the viewers by implying he had murdered Shuichi and stolen his apartment. Shuichi thought the oblique reference to living in an apartment with a rotting corpse was a little gross, but he supposed that, as the apparent corpse, he didn’t get a say.

He did, however, resent the assertion that he would be easy to kill. He liked to think he would have been able to hold his own against Kokichi, even if he had been ‘living in squalor and despair.’

His phone buzzed with a notification, and Shuichi furrowed his brows in confusion before fishing it out of his pocket. He and Kiibo had exchanged a few texts, but he wasn’t expecting anything soon.

Clicking it open, he blinked in surprise at the text notification from Himiko, of all people.

Himiko: do u know kokichi is in ur house?

Shuichi glanced over at where the home invader in question was still talking animatedly to chat. Before he could formulate a response, more texts arrived.

Himiko: apparently tenko used 2 follow ur accounts. she got a notification that u had started streaming

Himiko: anyway hes using ur  old setup

Himiko: if u need help kicking him out we can b there asap

Himiko: tenko says hi

With a smile, Shuichi typed up a response.

Shuichi: Hi Himiko, hi Tenko.

Shuichi: Thanks for the heads up. I knew he was here though.

He stared at his phone for several long moments before tentatively adding,

Shuichi: He lives here now.

There. Sent. He set the phone aside as if not looking at it would make it go away. He looked over at Kokichi, who was in the middle of regaling the viewers with an explanation of just how terrible Shuichi’s apartment was. He almost had to admire the way Kokichi danced artfully around any questions about Shuichi’s whereabouts and physical wellbeing.

“And the fridge was just straight-up depressing, honestly,” he was saying to the screen. “Clearly no one had done any grocery shopping before I got here. It was like—”

He was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing. Shuichi’s phone ringing. Shuichi fumbled to pick it up and silence it, but before he could, he caught sight of the name Himiko Yumeno and froze.

Kokichi’s voice brought him back to Earth. “Hey, I’ve got a stream going here! Go somewhere else if you’re going to take a phone call,” he admonished. Then he glanced back at his screen and said to the camera, “No, of course it’s not him. I already told you I killed him.”

With a mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ Shuichi scurried to the door.

“Yeah, go on, shoo!” Kokichi hollered after him. There was a brief pause as Shuichi left, and then as the door closed he said, “Not Shu as in Shuichi, come on, give me a little credit here!”

By the time he got to his room, the first call had gone to voicemail and Himiko was calling again. This time, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Shuichi!” came Himiko’s greeting, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Hi, Himiko,” he replied. He sat down on his bed to get comfortable while they talked.

“You really let Kokichi move in with you?” she asked, cutting right to the chase. “He hasn’t placed you under a spell, has he? I can cure you if he has; his magic is no match for mine.”

Shuichi thought about it. “I don’t think I’m under a spell. How would I know if I was?”

“Hmmm.” Himiko seemed to consider the question carefully. “Well, you would probably think he’s your favorite person, and nothing he does would bother you that much.” A thought occurred to her with a gasp, and she added urgently, “You might even feel like you’re in love with him, if he used a love potion. But you have to resist it, Shuichi! That’s the potion talking!”

With a laugh, Shuichi said, “Don’t worry, I don’t think I’ve been love potioned. And he’s calmed down a lot from before, but he has still been bothering me plenty. He’s still Kokichi.”

Himiko made a distrustful noise. “Alright,” she agreed reluctantly, “but I’m still going to give you a full magical checkup when I see you next.”

“I appreciate it,” he told her honestly. “What have you been up to lately, Himiko? Are you and Tenko together?”

“Wh-wh-what?” Himiko stammered. “M-me and Tenko? Together? I don’t, um, know what you’re talking about. Why? What have you heard?” she added in a rush.

“Living together,” Shuichi rushed to clarify, blushing for some reason. “I meant living together, not, ah…”

“Oh!” Himiko blurted out in a cracked voice. She cleared her throat, then said, “Yes, we’re, um, sharing an apartment. B-but Kaede’s here a lot too! We’re all working on a project together, so it’s strictly business! There’s nothing going on between me and Tenko at all!”

“...Of course not.”

“Nyeh!” she yelled in frustration, “Shuichi, you don’t sound convinced at all!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed. “I believe you.”

Himiko grumbled distrustfully. At length, though, she accepted the apology. “Thank you,” she said.

“...Have you checked yourself for love potions?”

“Nyeh!!” Her next words fluctuated in volume as if she was gesturing wildly with the phone in her hands. “See if I ask about your wellbeing ever again Shuichi Saihara! I’ll turn you into a frog and make you wear silly hats and then post the pictures online!!”

“Mercy!” he begged, tears of laughter gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Please, Himiko, not the silly hats!”

That seemed to appease her slightly. “Hmph. I’ll show mercy just this once, but you gotta do something for me in return. It’s a big one, but you gotta do it, okay?” Her voice had turned somewhat serious, so Shuichi tried to collect himself.

Schooling his expression into something more focused, he said, “Of course.”

There was silence for a moment. Then in the quiet, yet determined voice she had developed after Tenko’s death, she said, “You gotta promise not to forget again.”

Shuichi blinked. “Forget?”

“You forgot you have friends who would stick with you through anything!” she told him hotly. “I heard it from Kaede, who heard it from Miu who heard it from Kiibo!” Before he could parse that chain of informants, she carried on, “And it better not happen again!”

“Himiko,” he murmured quietly, the wind knocked abruptly out of his sails.

But she wasn’t quite done. “Do you know how it felt to wake up one morning and find out you were gone? When the three of us had only just escaped the game together? It was scary!” Frustrated tears were audible in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“And it must have been even scarier for you!” Himiko continued to pour out. “The rest of us got to help each other move back into the outside world, but you had to do it on your own until that little sneak Kokichi found you! Ko-ki-chi,” she repeated emphatically.

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Shuichi couldn’t stop a small smile. “Kokichi was the scariest part,” he confided when it became clear that she had reached a lull.

Himiko hiccuped a watery laugh. “You must have been pretty okay then. He’s not as scary as he wants to be.”

“I really am sorry, Himiko,” Shuichi said. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just… couldn’t stay there.”

There was a moment of quiet while Himiko sniffled. “...You know, I cried a lot during the game. After Tenko’s trial. It was like once I started, I just couldn’t stop. I cried five times a day.” There was a thump on her end of the call as if she had fallen back onto something soft, like a couch. “And it didn’t stop once we got out and everyone was alive. Heh. It actually got worse. One morning I cried because I burnt my toast; Tenko came close to smashing the toaster for making me cry.”

Shuichi remained quiet, letting her finish her thought.

“I think it was because I had worked so hard to keep it all bottled up, before. Once I let myself start crying, I had to let out all the tears that I hadn’t been able to cry earlier. And then once we were safe, I had to start crying all the tears I had been too scared to cry before, too. I’m only just starting to slow down. Yesterday, I didn’t cry once all day!” She seemed to perk up with pride. “No offense, Shuichi, but you already cry plenty.”

“...”

Himiko continued in a hurry. “But maybe that just means you needed something else! We were all counting on you to get us through the investigations, and I don’t need to use magic to know it was hard for you to step up like that. Maybe being alone is your crying. And if it is, then just know that we’re all still here for you whenever you’re done, okay?”

“...I don’t think I cry that much,” Shuichi said, through tears, when it became clear she was done.

Himiko gave a giggle that turned into a gross snort. “Whatever gets you through the days. But do you promise not to forget again?”

Shuichi used a sleeve to rub his eyes. “I promise. And… thank you, Himiko. I think I needed… all of that.”

“All in a day’s work for the Ultimate Mage,” she declared, but her voice was aglow with pride. “Okay, now tell me everything about living with Kokichi. Tenko thinks he was lying about not knowing how to do dishes, but I lived with him longer and I’ve never once seen—”

Chapter Text

The evening before he was meant to visit his family, during such late hours of night that he couldn’t be sure Thursday hadn’t already arrived, Shuichi tossed and turned in a restless daze. If he slept at all, it was in the form of brief moments of nothingness between long stretches of staring up at the ceiling in the dark, lost in his circling thoughts.

It felt, sometimes, like the killing game took place a lifetime ago. In another world, even. Like maybe those events had happened to someone else; maybe the person known as Shuichi Saihara really was just the fictional character he had been programmed to be. If he was careful about what thoughts he allowed himself to dwell upon, he could hold onto that lie tightly enough to fall asleep with only scenes from a story playing behind his eyes, not flesh and blood memories.

But he had to be careful, he thought vaguely as his eyes slipped closed at last, or he’d remember again what it was like to watch that illusion fall apart before him.

Somehow, despite everything, sunlight shone down around them. Climbing through the wreckage of what had been their home for the past few weeks, Shuichi paused to allow himself the simple pleasure of basking in warm light unobstructed by the metal dome that had kept them imprisoned. Maki turned back to help Himiko scramble up another overhang of shattered concrete and jutting rebar, and Shuichi took the moment to survey their surroundings.

“Guys,” he said in a low voice, a note of urgency creeping in. Both girls’ heads whipped toward the direction of his gaze. Maki tensed as if preparing to lunge to their defense, and Himiko planted her feet defiantly as she braced for a new threat.

Shuichi wanted to reassure them that it wasn’t that kind of threat, but the words stuck in his throat. What was he supposed to say, when a piece of the horizon seemed to shift and swing open to reveal… something else?

As the movement finished, his perception shifted, and the sight in front of him resolved into something new. It was a door. A door with some kind of display on one side that merely looked like a distant horizon. The realization was quickly followed by another: that doors usually came with walls, and if this part of the horizon was simply a display on the back of a door, then logically, the rest of it was…

It was like the moment when someone informed you that the image you were looking at was an optical illusion, and suddenly the two dogs resolved into a vase. Your perception would shift, and you were no longer looking at what you thought you were. Shuichi had always enjoyed these kinds of illusions. He would make a game of it, shifting his focus back and forth to see both versions of the image at will.

This was different, though. His vision couldn’t quite make the leap to what he now knew to be true. The realization was there, but his eyes refused to refocus and see that the landscape sprawling out endlessly around him was nothing but an image on a wall that was, in reality, no more than fifty feet away from him. His gaze drifted upwards, and despite his best efforts, he failed to identify a seam where the illusory landscape blended with real sky. Logically, therefore, there was no seam. There was no shift from illusion to reality, he realized, because even the sky above him was part of the trick.

The sunlight on his skin no longer felt quite so warm.

The doorway in front of them had revealed the interior of some kind of building. His first impression was that of a warehouse, but he was unable to look further because suddenly there were people pushing through.

“Well done!” an ecstatic man holding a clipboard congratulated them. “Really, I mean really excellent stuff! I think this was our best season yet!”

The woman next to him looked up from her phone briefly to give him a dry look. “And the last, by the looks of it.”

He merely waved her statement off. “Nonsense, you know how forgetful viewers are. Anyway, forget about that. You!” he declared, once again directing his attention to the three survivors. “I could just kiss you!”

“But he won’t,” the woman interjected, stepping around him before speaking more directly to the three. “I know this is confusing. I have to ask that you all come with us, and we’ll be able to explain things in more detail. The medics will want to get ahold of you as soon as they can, but the psych department has jurisdiction until you’ve been debriefed.” She glanced back down at her phone briefly, apparently reconfirming something. “I can tell you this very explicitly: you are safe. You are in no physical danger, and steps are being taken to minimize any further psychological harm.”

With that said, she merely looked at them expectantly. Even the man with her, who appeared to be all but bursting with enthusiasm, was restraining himself while they awaited some kind of response. Was this some kind of protocol they had to follow?

“Where do you want to take us?” Maki demanded in a flat voice. It was neither an agreement nor a refusal.

The woman was undeterred. “We’ll be going to debriefing room… three,” she answered after another look at her phone. She tsked in annoyance, apparently at nobody in particular. “Putting the survivors in room three. Embarrassing.”

“They still have, ah, you know , in room one while they debrief her,” the man said, stumbling over the words with a glance at their audience.

“And room two still has ‘so-and-so’ because of ‘et cetera,’” the woman finished. She clicked her tongue in exasperation. “I hate this part of post-filming, it’s always a mess. Please come with us,” she asked again, looking them each in the eyes, “and we will explain things so we can speak plainly with you all.”

Maki’s eyes slid over to Shuichi, silently asking his opinion. The lack of a flat denial told him that she was willing to play along for the time being. Himiko, when he looked at her, pursed her lips unhappily but said nothing. He nodded.

“Please, lead on,” he told the woman.

Stepping through the doorway was unsettlingly anticlimactic. Somehow, Shuichi had expected it to feel like opening the vault door at the end of the Death Road of Despair: earth-shattering, like all the breath had been stolen from his lungs. But in the end, it was just like any other door.

They stepped into what Shuichi had initially thought was a warehouse, but he quickly revised that theory. It was almost certainly the backstage area of some kind of media production set. Their media production set, he supposed, if he continued to trust recent revelations about the nature of Danganronpa. It reminded him of the backstage of a play, with people running back and forth on all kinds of errands. People of all ages, genders, and visible stress levels bustled past, and notably, not a single one of them paid them any mind.

Seeing Shuichi’s questioning look, the man they were walking with answered without needing to be prompted. “Nothing to worry about, it’s just that the psych department will have their heads if they so much as look at you funny before you’re debriefed. And I’m sure they’re all very busy,” he added in a much louder voice.

Several people who had been loitering nearby suddenly remembered they were needed elsewhere, and promptly made themselves scarce.

The man chuckled. “Interns,” he said as if that explained everything. “I’m the marketing director, by the way. Makoto Harada. Nice to finally meet you all.”

“Like Naegi,” Himiko said, not quite accusing. Her hands were balled up in her sleeves, and she stood close to Shuichi’s side as they walked. When the man turned his attention to her, however, she met his gaze head-on.

The newly dubbed Makoto laughed. “No relation to that one, if that’s what you’re wondering. There are lots of Makotos running around these days, I’m afraid.”

“And you, ma’am?” Shuichi asked, directing the question at the woman with the phone.

“Hmm?” she asked. “Oh. Chiho Kuroishi, head of the psych department.” She was typing something as she led their group down a smaller side hallway. People leapt out of her way as she passed, so her lack of attention didn’t cause her any trouble.

Finally, they arrived at a door marked as “Debriefing 3” and made their way inside. Shuichi glanced down the hall and confirmed that debriefing rooms one and two were there as well. Both doors were closed, but he could see light under the doorways.

The room they entered appeared to be a relatively normal conference room. The walls and trim were painted in muted shades of green and purple, and the office chairs surrounding the large, dark wood table looked comfortable. There were three such chairs on each side of the table; six total. The leftmost seat on one side was already occupied by a middle-aged woman who was currently perusing a large file.

“Kanami,” Chiho greeted as she claimed the middle seat next to her. It appeared to be her designated place, as there was a large coffee waiting there already. She picked it up and downed several gulps immediately.

“Chiho, good to see you,” the woman evidently named Kanami greeted back with a friendly smile. “And Makoto, you’re… here.” Her smile was several shades less warm when it turned to him.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he replied guilelessly as he took the seat on her other side.

Next, the new woman turned to where Shuichi and the others still hovered by the door. “Shuichi, Himiko, Maki, it’s wonderful to meet you all. I’m sure you’re exhausted—please, take a seat.”

Neither of the girls moved, but Shuichi had seen the way Himiko weaved almost drunkenly as she walked and Maki visibly tensed when anyone strayed too close. Not to mention his own bone-deep exhaustion. None of them would be able to stay standing for much longer, and with no immediate threats to be found... He took the first step into the room, then made his way to the center chair on the unoccupied side of the table and tried his best to sit down in it, rather than simply collapsing onto it. The others followed.

The woman smiled once everyone was seated, silently thanking him. “My name is Kanami Taketa, and I am responsible for helping you all adjust now that you’re out of the game. I look forward to working with you all.” Her voice was warm and genuine, and Shuichi found himself relaxing slightly despite his best efforts to remain cautious. She continued, “This is Chiho Kuroishi, the head of Team Danganronpa’s psychology department and my colleague.” There were a few moments of silence, and then Kanami cleared her throat. “Chiho.”

Chiho’s head snapped up, and she stared at them blankly for a moment before setting her phone face-down on the table, giving them her full attention for the first time. “My apologies. My department is very busy, especially today.”

“Part of our job is to inform you all about the true nature of what you just went through and help you readjust now that it’s over,” Kanami continued. “As you all have already learned, Danganronpa is a television show in which you and your classmates participated. Normally this comes as a shock, but things are…a little different this time, aren’t they?”

Chiho snorted into her coffee. Makoto just grinned at them in pride.

Kanami gave a chagrined expression. “Yes. Seeing as you already know most of it, I wanted to start by clearing up any lingering questions you may have. Do you know where you are?”

Himiko was the first to answer. “This is where you film Danganronpa,” she said flatly. “This is where all of the behind-the-scenes stuff takes place.”

“That’s right,” Kanami confirmed, nodding. “This building was built to house this season of—”

“What are you going to do with us?” Maki interrupted.

Kanami blinked in surprise at the interruption, but Chiho answered without hesitation. “After this conversation, the medical team will want to look you over. After that, we will make sure you are all fed, and then escort you to the off-site recovery village that has been set up for you all. You will each have individual cottages, with locks if you choose to use them, on the same communal grounds.”

Here, Makoto cut in. “The place is gorgeous, you’ll love it. The whole thing is modeled after the Hotel Mirai on Jabberwock Island, which is where the 77th class of Hope’s Peak—”

“It is a place for contestants to rest and recuperate when their time in the game is over,” Chiho continued firmly without acknowledging the interruption. “No one from Team Danganronpa is able to enter the grounds while you are there without your or my express permission, which I do not give out lightly. I assure you, Miss Harukawa, your safety and comfort are my top priorities.”

Maki sat back, her eyes flicking back and forth between the three people in front of them. Her expression was surprised, though she hid it well. Shuichi felt much the same. When was the last time their safety or comfort had factored into anything?

“And after that?” Himiko prompted.

“After that, it depends,” she answered. “Counseling is, of course, available to you all. In addition, we like to keep the post-game housing available for as long as any of you wish to stay. Some people want to stay for a while to get their bearings after the game. Others want to leave immediately, and we try to respect their wishes.” She looked at them each very seriously. “You all have lives outside of Danganronpa. Our overall goal is to help you return to those lives as smoothly as possible.”

Shuichi found himself at a loss for words. He had scarcely hoped to survive that last trial, let alone return to the outside world afterward. And now they were going to… let the three of them go? Just like that?

While the survivors took in that information, Kanami produced three files from somewhere under the table. “These contain information about your lives before the show. Your living situations, passwords to various accounts, former occupations: everything you should need to reintegrate with your old life.”

Before Kanami passed them across the table though, Chiho held up a hand to pause her. “I need to ask that you all treat these with caution. The two of us believe it is best to give them to you immediately because you deserve to have personal control of your lives right now, but you have also just been through a very stressful ordeal. You have time to take things slowly and let yourselves rest. Please take your time looking through these at your own pace.”

Shuichi took his file. His name was printed on the front in blue ink: Shuichi Saihara. His whole life, or at least the life he used to have, was contained in those pages. Somehow, it felt both too heavy and too light in his hands.

Maki, ever practical, took her file with hardly a glance. “You said former occupations,” she said, staring at Kanami.

She nodded. “Contestants are strongly recommended to resign from their previous jobs before the start of the season. You’ll get a large lump sum paycheck for your participation, and you’ll receive monthly royalty payments for any advertising or merchandise sold with your likeness. The financial contracts were all drawn up before the start of the show. As this season’s winners, your royalty checks will most likely be… significant.”

“Meaning, you aren’t going to need to apply for jobs anytime soon,” Makoto clarified. “Danganronpa is the single most popular show in the world, and that’s not an exaggeration. With the explosive ending of this season, I’d wager you won’t have to worry about money for a long, long time.” His eyes were all but glittering.

What was there to say to that, Shuichi wondered? ‘Thank you?’ ‘Whew! I’ll have nightmares for the rest of my life, but at least I won’t have to worry about money anymore?’

Kanami looked at them with sympathy. “If it’s alright with you all, let’s get you to medical so you can eat and rest afterward. We can have the rest of this conversation tomorrow.”

“I—” Shuichi began, but he had to pause to gather his spinning thoughts. “I did have one more question first.”

All three TDR members looked surprised, but Kanami nodded for him to continue.

He really didn’t want to push this while he and the others were still so exhausted. The thought of a meal and a bed, of any kind, was a siren’s song that threatened to make him shake his head and say nevermind, it was nothing. And yet, that detail had stuck in his mind like a burr. There was only one explanation he could think of, and he had a feeling that it, much like a horizon that resolved itself into a doorway, would change everything. So he cleared his throat and asked, “Who is in the other debriefing rooms?”

Shuichi awoke slowly, groggily, to sunlight streaming through his window to land on his face. For a few moments after he sat up, his only thoughts were about the vague impression of a dream that was quickly slipping from his mind. Then he remembered what day it was, and he fell back onto his pillow with a groan.

When he dragged himself into the kitchen, Kokichi was already there and eating a bowl of some kind of brightly colored cereal. Shuichi grumbled something that might have passed as a ‘good morning’ on his way directly to the coffee maker.

“Wow,” Kokichi commented. “Sleep well last night?”

“Define ‘sleep,’” Shuichi said. “And ‘well.’” Grabbing a mug from the cabinet at random, he started the coffee pot and stared at it in the hopes that observation would make the coffee happen faster. “...I kept dreaming about the end of the game,” he said after a few moments of silence.

Kokichi took a bite of cereal and, with his mouth still full, simply replied, “Yikes.”

Shuichi rubbed his forehead, already feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. “Forget it.” While the coffee began to bubble, he moved to start the rice cooker. In an effort to avoid killing the conversation entirely, he added, “What about you, how did you sleep?”

“With my eyes closed,” Kokichi replied instantly.

Shuichi just sent him a dull look.

Kokichi stuck his tongue out at him. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I slept like a baby, as always,” he declared. “And I’m going to spend the day streaming again. I think I’m about to get to the second murder of Rantaro’s season.”

“Great,” Shuichi replied flatly.

The other boy stared at him for a moment, his expression blank, and then continued. “I’m excited to see how the rest of the season goes. The first murder was pre-tty gruesome. Y’know, it got me thinking that maybe we got off easy, what with our first victim just getting his skull bashed in by Kae—”

“Stop,” Shuichi ordered. “Just… stop. I don’t know what you’re angling for, but I don’t want to do… whatever this is, today.”

“Huh, is there something happening today?” he asked, faux-innocence doing a bad job of covering growing annoyance. His expression flipped to a scowl in an instant. “Oh right, you’re going to see your family.”

Shuichi looked at him incredulously. “Are you actually mad that I’m going to see them?”

“I’ve never been mad in my life,” he denied. “I just think it’s dumb that you’re going out of your way to meet these people who don’t even matter, when last week you couldn’t even be bothered to let the rest of us know you hadn’t killed yourself in a ditch somewhere.”

Turning to face him fully, Shuichi snapped back, “At least I’m trying to reconnect with the world outside of the game. Can’t you think of anything better to do with your time than watching reruns of people like us dying?”

Kokichi sneered. “What, like rotting alone in my bedroom with my phone turned off?”

“Oh, because you’re doing so much better than me. How did it go with your parents, by the way? I can’t help but notice you didn’t stay long.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Saihara,” Kokichi told him venomously. “Don’t come crying to me when you realize what a fucking idiot you are.”

Without another word, he got up and left the room. A moment later, Shuichi heard the slam of the guest bedroom’s door.

In the silence that followed, there was a soft ding! as the coffee finished brewing. The fight left him abruptly, taking what little energy he’d had with it, and Shuichi slumped over until his head thunked exhaustedly onto the countertop. “Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Shuichi drifted through the medical checkup in a daze, his mind far away. A kind man in a nurse outfit dabbed isopropyl alcohol and antiseptic on his various scrapes, wrapped some gauze around his left wrist (strained, apparently), and informed him that his mild case of shock was to be expected and would disappear after a night’s sleep.

He rejoined the others outside the medical rooms when he was done. Himiko was bandaged similarly to him, but Maki was covered in significantly more gauze. She met his gaze and shrugged. She must have made sure to take the brunt of as many hits as she could to protect the other two.

Almost as one, they turned to look at Kanami, who had escorted them to the medical department as promised. Chiho and Makoto had disappeared at some point, presumably to handle other things related to the end of the season. Shuichi couldn’t say he was upset to see them go.

Their escort smiled wryly. “I suppose it’s too much to ask you all to wait until after you’ve eaten and rested?”

“Yes,” Maki answered.

“The nurse told me not to eat while I’m in shock,” Himiko said.

Finally, Shuichi added, “You said it’s time for us to have control over our lives.”

“Alright then,” she replied, beckoning for them to follow her. “On we go, then. I’m sorry you had to find out that way, for what it’s worth. We just didn’t want to heap too much on your plates all at once. I’m sorry we tried to keep you in the dark.”

Shuichi did not say it was okay. Instead, he said, “I understand.”

Kanami smiled sadly as though she heard the difference.

The drive to where they would be staying was brief, though still long enough for Himiko to nod off against Shuichi’s shoulder. The recovery village, as they called it, was nice: almost resort-like. There were rows of cottages and an outdoor pool, but Kanami led them past all of those, heading with purpose toward the building at the back of the grounds. Shuichi thought the sign on the front might have said the name of the place, but once they got close enough to hear the voices coming from inside, he, Maki, and Himiko abandoned all caution in favor of throwing themselves through the doorway into the room beyond.

The conversation came to a halt when they entered the room. A movie had been playing on a large television on the wall, but someone quickly paused it and let the silence reign. In the sudden quiet, fourteen participants of the 53rd killing game stared at each other in open-mouthed shock.

It was, naturally, Kaito who broke the silence. “Well, what took you guys so long? We’ve been waiting for you three, you know!”

The next few moments were a blur, and then Shuichi found himself surrounded in a crushing hug on all sides. He could hardly see through the wetness in his eyes, but he could smell Kaito’s cologne, he could feel the soft knit of Kaede’s sweater, and he could hear a cascade of familiar voices all talking over each other in a chorus of exclamations and laughter and tears, everyone trying to express everything they had wanted to say to each other all at once. He recognized his own voice in there somewhere, but he wouldn’t be able to recall later what he had said.

Eventually, Shuichi found himself sitting on soft carpet, leaning on Kaede’s shoulder. He was clutching her arm tightly to his chest like a beloved stuffed animal, something he would probably be embarrassed about later when he was less overwhelmed by relief, but Kaede didn’t seem to mind. The room they had all gathered in turned out to be a hotel lobby that had been retrofitted into a sort of lounge. There were several plush couches, plenty of throw blankets, a few table games, and, as Shuichi now knew firsthand, very soft carpet. His classmates (his friends) were spread out around the space, everyone safe and whole and alive.

They were alive.

“—knew you could do it, I told everyone you could do it, didn’t I?” Kaito was telling Maki, an arm thrown around her shoulders. It was a testament to how exhausted and relieved she was that Maki didn’t even make a token effort to resist. With a deep sigh and the tiniest of smiles, she merely relaxed into his side.

“No one was arguing with you,” Tenko told him with an exasperated look. She was sitting on a couch while Himiko sat curled up in her lap, hiding her face and still faintly trembling with emotion. “We all knew they would make it out.”

Miu held up her hand in a kind of ‘ehhh’ gesture. “I had my doubts. I kinda thought Keebs here would blow you losers to smithereens.” She patted Kiibo on the shoulder for emphasis, earning herself a dirty look from the robot.

“Not helpful, Miu,” he told her.

“And you’re sure you’re all,” Shuichi began, stumbling over how to put his question into words, “I mean, none of you are—?”

Rantaro took pity on him and answered.  “We’re all fine. No lingering damage whatsoever. Team Danganronpa apparently had failsafes to prevent any real deaths, no matter how bad the damage was, and medical science has progressed a lot farther here than it had in our memories. ”

Despite having heard the explanation from Chiho already, Shuichi once again found himself swallowing back protests. It was impossible, and yet here he was—surrounded by proof.

“They even had a spare body for me,” Kiibo told them. “That was… disconcerting. But I’ve been reassured that even Kokichi will be alright, once he has had time to heal and wake up.”

Korekiyo added, “This was, however, the first… ‘season’ in which the life preservation technology worked perfectly as it was meant to. It seems that in past years, it was normal to lose a few people despite the failsafes.” He was sitting at the outskirts of the group, but his words brought a sudden hush to the room.

A small voice broke the quiet. “Then why?”

“Why?” Kiyo echoed, looking in the direction of the source with a curious expression.

Himiko had lifted her head and was staring at him with a sharpness that was intimidating even to Shuichi, who was not the intended target. “Why did we sign up for this!? Why would anyone sign up for this if they knew there was a chance they could die!?”

Kiyo met her eyes for a moment before lowering his gaze. “That does appear to be the question of the hour. I’m afraid I have no more answers than you do, in that regard.”

“We still don’t have our memories from before the killing game,” Kaede said to the newcomers, speaking up for the first time. The somber expressions on the rest of their classmates’ faces were a silent affirmation. “It’s a side effect of the talent and personality augmentation they used on us. Our memories, the people we used to be, they’re all gone. And they’re not coming back.”

Kokichi lay sprawled across the couch, his limbs thrown carelessly wherever they had landed when he flopped onto the cushions about an hour ago. He had stayed in his room (not moping) until Shuichi left for his (stupid fucking) dinner, and then he had made his way into the living room to (continue moping) wait for Kaito to arrive.

“All those brains and he can’t find two brain cells to rub together to realize he should have just deleted the damn voicemail and moved on,” he complained to the purple-haired detective girl figurine tucked away on one of the shelves by the TV. She was probably only still there because Shuichi hadn’t found her yet, but Kokichi wasn’t going to be the one to rat her out. “He’s going to come home all sad and heartbroken, and he’s not going to get a bit of sympathy from me.”

He sat up abruptly to make big, sweeping gestures with his arms, mimicking the woes of the imagined Shuichi. “He’ll drag himself in, soaked from the rain, and say, ‘Oh, Kokichi, I should have listened to you! I should never have given those extras the time of day! Please, please forgive me!’” There was a brief pause for effect. “And I’ll say HA! I’ll laugh in his face! Foolish, ignorant Shuichi, who never listens when wise, benevolent Kokichi tries to warn him.”

Unprompted, he whipped his head back to the figurine on the shelf. “Shut up, it’s raining because I said so. It’s my fantasy and I get to decide if he looks like a wet dog.” The figure continued to stare ahead unresponsively. “And so what if I never actually told him outright? He’s smart enough to read between the lines.”

But his energy had already left him, so he flopped back onto the couch with a thump. “Ugh. And now I’m monologuing to some weirdo’s old waifu figure. I miss wax Rantaro, he was way less judgy.”

There was only silence in response, and he sighed. Kaito had better hurry up and arrive soon, or Kokichi was going to start climbing the walls.

When Shuichi stepped off the bus, he breathed a sigh of relief. No one had recognized him so far, but he kept his head down and his hood up regardless as he began walking in the direction his phone map indicated.

He did his best to put his argument with Kokichi out of his thoughts, but his mind kept gnawing at it like a dog with a bone. That argument was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen today when he was already stressed about meeting his family. With hindsight though, he guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The two of them had been tiptoeing around certain topics for days. He wasn’t an idiot—he knew Kokichi thought visiting his family was a mistake, but Shuichi didn’t know what else he was supposed to do in this situation.

They were his family, after all. At least, they were the only real family he had. If Shuichi was going to move past his time in Danganronpa, he should start by learning more about where he came from. Who he used to be. There were too many gaps in his knowledge of his past self. If all it took was an awkward dinner to learn more, wasn’t it worth it?

Kokichi didn’t seem to think so.

Kokichi, who had been acting for days like Shuichi was missing some critical, obvious piece of information.

Kokichi, whose stay with his parents had gone so poorly that it had ended with him appearing on Shuichi’s doorstep, suitcase in hand, after only a few days. 

Shuichi shook his head. Whatever happened there was Kokichi’s business, and it had nothing to do with Shuichi’s own situation. The Saiharas wanted to meet him, they had said as much already. He wanted to meet them too.

Even if the anxiety of it all had been eating at him ever since he heard that voicemail.

His phone chimed that he had reached his destination, and Shuichi’s steps came to an abrupt halt. The house before him was… normal, he guessed. He was still getting familiar with the city’s layout, but based on the map and his surroundings, he was in a typical, middle-class neighborhood. It was the kind of place he visited with his uncle on business more often than one might expect; these areas tended to have plenty of opportunities for a detective, if you didn’t mind an endless stream of infidelity and petty burglary cases.

From where he had paused by the gate, Shuichi found himself lingering to look at the house more closely. The small section of grass outside was well-kept, and the walkway was clear. The porch had a few potted plants in various states of health. He noticed a plaque by the gate that simply read, ‘Saihara,’ and stared at it for several moments, not sure what to call the feeling it brought up in him.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but no part of what he was seeing stirred up any lingering memories. The gate showed signs of age, well-worn from thousands of comings and goings over the years, but the sight of it didn’t spark any recollections of himself passing through. It was just a gate, no different from any of the others surrounding it except that this one bore a plaque with his name on it.

“There you are!” a cheery voice called from the porch.

Shuichi’s head whipped up to see a middle-aged woman with long, deep blue hair approaching him from the house. He hadn’t even noticed the door opening.

“You’ll catch a cold standing out here all alone,” the woman continued. She came to a stop at the fence and opened the gate for him. “Come on in, Shuichi. I know it might feel a little strange to come back home, but you’re always welcome.”

Shuichi fumbled, caught wrong-footed by this woman who looked like she could be his—because she was his… “Ah, um, hello. Thank you. I’m, I mean, I guess you already know who I am,” he laughed awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, mmMrs. Saihara,” he managed to get out, stumbling his way through the mortifying realization that he had no idea what to call her.

She chuckled and, before he could react, stepped forward to wrap him in a hug. “Nonsense sweetheart, there’s no need to be shy. Of course you can still call me mom.” 

Shuichi froze entirely, wrapped in a tight, unexpected embrace. His mind screeched to a stop before jumping back into gear, and he moved to pull out of the hug. “Actually, I, um,” he began, pulling away more firmly when at first she didn’t take the hint, “I think I’d like to stick with Mrs. Saihara for now if that’s alright? Memory stuff, you know?” He tried to play it off with a polite laugh. He hoped it didn’t come out too panicky, even as he discreetly tried to shake off the lingering feeling of the unexpected touch.

“Oh,” she said, blinking in confusion. She did take a step back though, to Shuichi’s relief. She quickly regained her bearings. “I suppose it makes sense that there will be some adjustments. Akemi then,” she stated firmly. “Mrs. Saihara is what my students call me.” The last part was added with a smile, and Shuichi relaxed slightly.

“Akemi,” he agreed, relieved.

“Well, let’s go inside, shall we?” Akemi suggested. “Your dad and—oh, I mean, Tetsuo and Rinko are waiting for us.”

The house smelled like dinner was already cooking, and the decor he could see appeared to lean more towards a Western style, almost American. He couldn’t help a twinge of disappointment; he knew this world’s style choices were more Western than the one he remembered, but he missed the way his Uncle’s home had blended traditional Japanese decor with old British oddities. Those were just memories though, and false ones at that, so he shifted his attention pointedly back to the reality around him.

There were four distinct sets of shoes in the entryway, arranged as neatly as one could expect from a busy household. “Is there anyone else joining us tonight?” he asked Akemi.

“Hmm? No, just us,” she answered, already leading the way into the rest of the house. Shuichi filed away the information before following.

Akemi led him to the kitchen, where they found a man watching over something on the stove while a girl sat nearby keeping him company. The man was broader in the shoulders than Shuichi was, and his close-cropped hair was black rather than Shuichi and Akemi's blue, but his eyes were Shuichi's same shade of light, amber yellow. The girl appeared to take after her father, with mid-length black hair and the same yellow eyes. He learned all of this very quickly, because both figures' eyes were on him from the second he stepped foot in the kitchen.

“Shuichi!” the girl exclaimed first. “I can’t believe you actually won! What happened to your big murder plans, huh? I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

His greeting died on his lips, his smile faltering as he found himself once again knocked off balance. “I, um, I didn’t…”

“Don’t give him a hard time, Rinko,” the man scolded. “I’m sure adjusting to everything is already hard enough. Glad you agreed to come for a visit,” he added to Shuichi. “We were watching the whole time, you know. You really made us proud out there, son.”

If he had been knocked off balance before, now Shuichi felt like he had been slapped. The word ‘son’ rang like a discordant note in his ears. He had never been a son, only ever a nephew, and the title felt wrong in a way that made his skin unexpectedly crawl. And they were proud of him? “I…thank you,” he said eventually, for lack of a better response. What was going on with these people? He scrambled for some, any, topic that would give him some breathing room so he could think. “What are you cooking?”

The man, who he assumed had to be Tetsuo, answered gladly. “I’m making rice pilaf, and your mother has some herbed chicken in the oven for us.”

“We thought we’d make a few of your favorites for your first night back,” Akemi said, making her way into the room.

Shuichi’s head was spinning. His chest felt tight, and he couldn’t tell what was wrong because everything was so wrong.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he managed to blurt out, and then he was all but fleeing the room. Someone might have called out directions to him, but he didn’t hear them.

A door he had noticed down the hall earlier turned out to be the bathroom, and Shuichi promptly locked it behind him and sat on the floor. His chest was still tight, so he buried his head down in an animal instinct to block out his surroundings. He fought himself, first to breathe at all, then to regain control of his breathing. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. Gradually, the breaths came easier, and he began to come back to himself.

With wide eyes, he stared down at his lap. Who were these people? He didn’t even know them, but they were acting like he was their real child. It was like they expected him to be the old Shuichi, but they had seen what happened. Did they think that kind of memory modification was something that could be shrugged off? That the new Shuichi was just something overlaying the old one?

Didn’t they realize that their Shuichi was gone?

Clearly they didn’t. Everything about their behavior led to that conclusion. The Saiharas had expected their son to come home this evening, not the stranger wearing his skin.

He gave a humorless, disbelieving laugh under his breath. He barely knew what rice pilaf was.

Chapter Text

Kokichi was brought out of his reverie by the sound of someone pounding on the front door. Finally, his entertainment had arrived. He called out that he was coming and pried himself off the couch to meander his way over to answer the door.

As soon as the door was open, a bottle of wine was shoved into his arms as Kaito similarly shoved his way into the apartment.

“I brought it, but you’re not gonna like it,” Kaito said, not bothering with a greeting. “It doesn’t taste like you think it does.”

Kokichi inspected the bottle curiously, unconcerned by the abrupt entrance. He kicked the door closed without looking and followed behind Kaito. “What makes you think I don’t know what wine tastes like? Why would I tell you to bring a bottle otherwise?”

Kaito was making himself at home by opening up every cabinet and drawer to inspect their contents. “Couple things,” he said from where he was looking through the silverware drawer. “One: people who know they like wine say things like ‘moscato’ or ‘chardonnay,’ not just ‘wine.’”

Kokichi hopped up to sit on one of the countertops and watch. “Maybe I’m just adventurous,” he suggested. “Or it was a test, to see what you would bring.”

“Two,” Kaito continued undeterred, opening the fridge now, “you think it’s funny to make people do pointless stuff.”

He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Guilty.”

Kaito nodded to himself like that was exactly what he had expected. “And three, if you had ever tried it before, you wouldn’t have told me to bring any. I’m tellin’ ya, ya won’t like it.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad, I said you wouldn’t like it. Anyway, I brought a rosé. It’s bubbly and kinda sweet—I figured if you’re ever gonna like a wine, that’ll be it. It also happens to be my favorite, so when it turns out I’m right, I can have the bottle to myself.”

Kokichi scowled and stuck his tongue out at Kaito’s back. “Well that’s too bad because rosé is also my favorite, and I’m going to drink the whole thing before you can have any. What are you doing, anyway?”

“Huh?” Kaito turned to look at him over his shoulder, still standing in front of the open fridge. “Oh, I’m making sure you two aren’t going to starve to death anytime soon. Seems like you’re pretty well-stocked, though. You got a wine opener?”

“Beats me,” Kokichi said. Pointing, he added, “Try checking that drawer. Feel free to thank me anytime for keeping your sidekick fed, by the way. I had to be the one to order groceries, or else Shuichi would have kept eating plain rice and instant ramen for every meal.”

With a proud, ‘aha!’ Kaito produced a wine opener from the drawer. While he set to work on the bottle, he mused, “Ordering groceries, huh? That’s smart. When Maki and I went to the store, some guy got real close to try to take pictures with us. We had to grab our stuff and leave as fast as we could.”

“Maki didn’t just break his hand as a warning?” Kokichi asked, watching in amusement as Kaito struggled to uncork the bottle.

“Oh, no, she tried,” Kaito clarified. “That’s why we had to leave.” As he spoke, a fond smile crept across his face.

Gross, Kokichi thought, looking at his lovestruck expression. 

With a loud pop! the bottle was open at last. Victorious, Kaito retrieved two cups from one of the cabinets he had searched earlier and poured a measure into each.

Offering one to Kokichi, he grinned. “Cheers.”

Kokichi took it with a grin of his own. “Cheers,” he replied, and they clinked the glasses before taking a deep drink.

Kaito set his cup down with a refreshed sigh. “Yeah, that’s the stuff. I think I’d get this one again. What do you think?”

Kokichi’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face caught in a grimace like a cat who had put its face into something it shouldn’t have. His cup was still in his hand, frozen in place a few inches from his mouth.

A grin crept over Kaito’s face. “I thought you said you liked wine.”

With visible effort, Kokichi swallowed. “I love it,” he insisted.

“Yeah, that seems like the face of someone having a good time,” Kaito verbally prodded at him. Then he went ahead and prodded him physically, too.

Kokichi batted away the finger poking at his cheeks and set his cup down. “I love wine and I’ve never made a funny face in my life. You just bought bad wine.”

“Maybe,” Kaito agreed easily. A moment later, he said, “You expected it to taste more like grapes, didn’t you?”

Kokichi spluttered. “It—shut up, it should taste like grapes. Once I rebuild my secret organization, we’re going to make our own, far superior wine and it’s going to be way better than this… rosé,” he sneered in contempt.

“Keep drinking,” Kaito suggested. At Kokichi’s glare, he said, “No really, you get used to it. Alcohol in general is an acquired taste.”

“You mean it’s culinary Stockholm syndrome,” Kokichi muttered, but he drank again anyway and only curled his lips in distaste a little. “How come you’re an expert, anyway? You were brainwashed back to high school age too.”

Kaito leaned against the countertop and took another drink. “All the guys in the astronaut program with me were older. They’d pass me a glass or a beer sometimes when we were all hanging out. Couple of ‘em were wine guys; I must’ve picked it up from them. Or maybe the old me just had more experience with drinking, and it’s like muscle memory or somethin’.” He sighed in aggravation. “Sheesh. All this memory stuff is still hard for me to wrap my head around.”

“Cheers,” Kokichi replied sullenly and took a large gulp of his wine.

Kaito turned his head to look at him, his eyes assessing. Kokichi didn’t remember him being particularly perceptive during the game; some of Shuichi’s detective habits must have rubbed off on him. “So, what have you been up to lately?” he probed.

Kokichi had to resist a groan, his mood souring to match the taste in his mouth. What was he ‘up to’ lately? Great question. How about figuring out how to survive in this boring shithole of a reality he found himself in? How about poking Shuichi out of the little depression cave he’d made for himself here? How about resting his stupid body, with his stupid regrown bones that still twinged sometimes in phantom memory of being crushed under 20 tons of hydraulic steel?

“I’ve been decorating my room,” he said instead of any of those things, because he’d be cold and dead (again) before he opened up about his feelings to Kaito Momota of all people. “And I started streaming on Shuichi’s old setup.”

“Huh,” Kaito said. He took a thoughtful sip, then asked, “Mind telling me what streaming is? That’s something the kids are into lately, right? I never paid much attention to all that online stuff.”

Caught off guard, Kokichi just stared at him blankly. Then, despite himself, a smile cracked through. “Yeah okay, grandpa, don’t worry. I’ll get you up to speed with modern society.”

“Oi!”

To Kokichi’s endless surprise, Kaito turned out to be an attentive audience. Once he had gotten the gist of what streaming was, he listened to Kokichi’s recounting of how his first couple of streams had gone, nodding in all the right places and even asking a few good questions. Kokichi made sure to stay vague on the details of the exact content of the streams though. Shuichi had gotten weird about it, and he really didn’t want to deal with a lecture at the moment.

Kaito had a way of keeping him talking though. Soon, Kokichi even found himself telling him about the people he had interacted with, the most interesting of whom were Shuichi’s old moderators. A few of them had quit when they found out Shuichi wouldn’t be coming back, but the ones who remained were, in Kokichi’s words, excellent minions. They were adaptable, competent, and willing to follow his lead; he liked that about them. They also banned anyone Kokichi told them to without hesitation. He liked that even more.

And good riddance to the ones who quit, he thought privately. Idiots. They didn’t even realize the Shuichi they loved so much was already long gone.

By the time Kokichi wound down, Kaito was nodding in satisfaction. “Sounds like you’ve found a good thing for yourself.”

Kokichi drew up short. Had he?

“But,” Kaito carried on, “when was the last time you went outside?”

When Shuichi reentered the kitchen, Akemi had clearly warned the other Saiharas to give him more space. Tetsuo passed him a plate to fill, and the conversation, thankfully, remained focused on the food for a while. 

The reprieve couldn’t last, however, and when they were all seated at the table, Akemi asked, “So, Shuichi, what have you been doing since the season ended?”

Shuichi hesitated, unsure what he wanted to share. “Well,” he began, deciding to start from the beginning and go from there, “after everything ended, they brought me, Maki, and Himiko to the recovery village to join everyone else. Is that—do you know that part already?”

Tetsuo nodded interestedly. “Yes, but the season ended once you left the school grounds. Nothing after that was televised, and most of the post-season proceedings are kept private.”

“Is it really a five-star resort?” Akemi asked. She sighed wistfully. “I would love to get to stay there. It looks so lovely in the pictures.”

“What was it like to see everyone alive again?” Rinko interjected, her eyes sparkling. “Was it freaky? You figured out almost everything beforehand, but that part was a surprise, wasn’t it?”

Shuichi took a deep breath to center himself. They didn’t mean anything by it. “The village was nice. It was like being at the beach, even though we weren’t near any bodies of water. And seeing everyone was,” despite his best efforts, his breath caught, “more than I ever could have hoped for.”

“Even the killers?” she asked, her gaze intent upon him.

“Rinko!” Akemi scolded.

“What?” the teenager asked, pouting. “I was just asking.”

“I don’t blame any of my classmates for what they did,” Shuichi said firmly. Somehow, the words came easily when they weren’t about himself. “We were operating under faulty memories, held captive, and forced to play Monokuma’s game. No matter how you look at it, they were acting under duress.”

“Duress would imply that you all hadn’t signed up willingly,” Tetsuo pointed out. “But you don’t have to worry about the legalities. Events that take place inside of killing games aren’t considered to be crimes on the outside.”

He said it so reasonably, so matter-of-factly, that the flare of white-hot anger caught Shuichi off guard. Words left him again, and he struggled to find any way to respond. He opened his mouth, still without a plan, but Rinko spoke first.

“What about the others?” she asked. “It must have been weird to see people like Kaito and Kokichi again so soon. Or what about Kaede? You two kind of had a thing, right?”

The whiplash was so sudden that all he could blurt out in knee-jerk bewilderment was, “We did not have a thing.”

Both Rinko and Akemi looked skeptical. Tetsuo looked exasperated by the conversation’s new direction. “You kind of did, though,” Rinko said, glancing at her mother for confirmation.

“You two were practically attached at the hip,” Akemi admitted.

“Her death is what motivated you to lead the others through everything Monokuma threw at you guys!” Rinko said impassionedly. “You two must be especially close now that the season is over.”

Shuichi felt cold. His anger was smothered out under a layer of… something. “I don’t want to talk about Kaede,” he said. Least of all with you, he didn’t add.

This garnered looks of sympathy from around the table. “That bad, huh?” Akemi asked. “It’ll be okay, Shu, she’ll come around—”

“Thank you for the meal.” Shuichi set his utensils down and stood up. “But I think I should be going now.”

She’ll come around. As if it was Kaede who had—

Kokichi was right; he never should have come here.

On his way out of the kitchen though, he caught sight of the news channel playing on the living room TV. Despite himself, his feet came to a halt in shock.

Kaito ended up dragging him out of the apartment and to the park across the street. As they left, Kokichi made sure to give the woman next door a jaunty little wave. He was pretty sure Kaito wasn’t going to kill him, but it never hurt to establish a witness just in case. He was being taken to a secondary location for unknown reasons, after all.

The park wasn’t much, just a wide lawn big enough for a casual game of some sport or other, ringed by a walking trail that was dotted here and there by trees and benches. Off to one side, there was a small playground for the children, and past that there was a little street market that Kokichi had been eyeing since the day he first arrived at Shuichi’s apartment.

Kaito quickly located an unoccupied bench and made his way toward it. When they arrived, he paused and began to do some basic stretches. “You wanna join in?” he offered as he stretched one arm across his chest, then the other. “It’s good for stress.”

“If I do, will you tell me why we’re here?” Kokichi asked. He hopped up to sit on the arm of the bench to watch, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Sheesh, relax, I’ll explain when I’m done. Is that a no on joining me?”

“I’m fine just watching, thanks,” Kokichi answered with a leering grin, pointedly eyeing the way Kaito had leaned over to stretch his hamstrings.

“Oi! Eyes off the merchandise!” Kaito barked. Finally, with a satisfied exhale, Kaito rose out of his last stretch and dusted off his hands. “Okay, start running,” he said, turning to Kokichi. “I’ll give you a fifteen second head start.”

Kokichi blinked. “What?”

Kaito cracked his knuckles. “When I catch you, I’m gonna knock you on your ass for being such a pain in mine during the game,” he said. “And you’re down to eight seconds. Seven. Six—”

Wide purple eyes flicked across Kaito’s face, then darted around the park. In a flash he was gone, sprinting towards the children’s playground. Within moments, Kaito followed, quickly gaining on him.

Thinking fast, Kokichi made a beeline for the play fort. He was lighter and smaller than Kaito, so he scrambled nimbly up the ladder. When he turned around to gloat, though, the other was already starting to climb up behind him.

“Ha! You think we didn’t climb in astronaut training?” Kaito exclaimed, quickly gaining on him.

Kokichi cursed and threw himself head-first down the slide. As he slid down the plastic tube like a shot, he could already feel a manic grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. He tumbled out onto the ground and looked up to see Kaito staring down at him with his mouth agape.

“I think you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to catch me!” he taunted before running full-tilt back the way they came.

There was a tumbling sound as Kaito tried to get down the same way Kokichi had, but the tunnel really wasn’t meant for a full-grown man of his size. Kokichi paused to watch and laugh at the sight of the bedraggled Kaito who emerged from the slide, which was worth it even if it gave Kaito a chance to start running after him.

“What will the public think!?” Kokichi shouted as he ran. “Kaito Momota, attempting to kill beloved celebrity Kokichi Oma in broad daylight??”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Kaito hollered back. Then he noticed the direction they were heading in and yelped, “Wait, not the market, man, come on—!”

The footage looped again, showing as Kokichi dodged and wove through the stalls of a street market. His grin was wild enough to make anyone nervous, and he was being doggedly pursued by an annoyed Kaito, who was continually slowed by his refusal to inconvenience various market-goers. Kokichi had no such considerations and left a wake of chaos behind him.

Shuichi quickly determined that neither of them was in any actual distress, but he seemed to be in the minority in that conclusion. The news headline displayed prominently across the footage read, “Former Danganronpa contestants wreck havoc - settling a past grudge?”

There were footsteps behind him as the Saiharas followed him into the living room. “Happens every year,” Tetsuo commented disapprovingly. “Some of these people are too dangerous to be let out into the world, I swear.”

“Aw, he’s not that bad,” Rinko protested. “He didn’t even kill anybody. Some people are already calling Kokichi this season’s Ultimate Lucky Student, you know.”

That caught Shuichi’s attention, and his eyes finally left the screen to flick toward her. “Why would they call him that?”

Rinko blinked in surprise. “Well, you know. There’s always someone who comes out luckier than the others. It’s not like, official or anything. People probably chose him this year because Team Danganronpa was able to successfully revive him.”

“They revived everyone who died,” he said flatly, glancing between the three Saiharas.

She stared at him like he was concerning her. “Well, yeah, but he got crushed. No one survives that.”

“For a long time, being crushed in something like that industrial press has been one of the few 'deaths' medical scientists have been unable to save contestants from afterward,” Tetsuo elaborated. “The damage is just too extensive; there isn’t a base left to start the healing from.”

Rinko nodded, snapping her fingers in agreement. “Yeah! It’s like, getting Junko Enoshima’d. When someone gets crushed, that’s how you know they’re, like, dead dead.”

“It was very surprising when the news came out that all sixteen contestants had survived,” Akemi told him. “Kokichi is very lucky to be alive.”

Shuichi was frozen. He stared at the TV, where a laughing Kokichi spun around another market table, narrowly avoiding Kaito’s grasping reach yet again.

“Shuichi,” Akemi began tentatively, “I know that coming back to all of this after everything is very stressful. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to do it alone. If you want it, your old bedroom is still just the same as it was when you moved out. You could stay here with us while you’re still adjusting.” She gave a tentative, hopeful smile.

Shuichi didn’t know whether to laugh in her face or break down in hysterics. “Thank you again for dinner. I really do have to go, though.”

He needed to get the hell out of this place.

Chapter Text

The journey home was easier than the journey out, and soon Shuichi was unlocking the door to the apartment and stepping inside with a sigh of relief. He toed off his shoes and flicked the lights on, an action which was met by a disgruntled groan of complaint.

Despite himself, Shuichi had to smile at the sight of Kokichi sprawled out on the couch, bedraggled and exhausted. And… damp?

“Busy evening?” he asked as he set his things on the countertop.

“Mrmph,” came the reply from the couch.

Kokichi’s head was resting on Shuichi’s favorite spot on the couch, which normally would have caused Shuichi some amount of anguish over where else to sit. It had been a long, emotionally-fraught day though, and Shuichi’s internal autopilot was nothing if not an efficient problem solver. “Pick your head up a bit,” he said as he made his way over.

Kokichi grumbled his complaints but obliged anyway, and once Shuichi had gotten settled, his head came back down to rest on Shuichi’s thigh. The couch, thankfully, had been spared from whatever had gotten Kokichi soaked. Sinking into the cushions, Shuichi gave a heavy sigh and allowed his body to relax at last.

After a while, Kokichi seemed to wake up enough for words. “How was dinner?” he asked. He gazed up at him with tired purple eyes, worn out but attentive.

“Not great,” Shuichi admitted. “Pretty bad, actually. You were right.”

Kokichi hummed and nodded. “Told you so.”

The detective’s nose wrinkled. “What is that on your breath? Is that alcohol?” The smell of it mingled unflatteringly with the damp, chlorinated scent of his hair.

“Mmhmm,” Kokichi confirmed. With a sudden burst of energy, he rolled over and grabbed something from the floor in front of the couch. “Want some?” he offered, holding the bottle of wine above himself temptingly.

Ah. Several things began to make more sense. “Who bought you—,” Shuichi began to ask before revising the question, “Why did Kaito buy you wine?”

“‘Cause I told him to,” came the simple answer. “He left it here ‘cause he didn’t like it. Limited time offer, by the way,” he added, continuing to hold the bottle up near Shuichi’s face. “Keep me waiting and I’ll have to drink it all by myself.”

“You shouldn’t drink all of that on your own, you’ll make yourself sick,” Shuichi said before finally giving in and accepting the bottle. Seeing the lack of cups nearby, he asked wryly, “Are we drinking straight from the source?”

Kokichi shrugged as well as he could from his position. “Seems fitting.”

“Fair enough.” With a shrug of his own, Shuichi took a drink from the bottle.

Kokichi watched his expression with rapt attention. “...Thoughts?” he asked after a moment.

Shuichi tried to relax his face from the grimace it had unconsciously twisted into. “It’s… fine.”

“It’s bad,” Kokichi said frankly.

Shuichi squinted down at the bottle. Sniffed it. Took another, smaller swallow. “...It could be better,” he compromised eventually.

Kokichi settled back against his leg, satisfied with the results of the test he had apparently just used Shuichi for. “It was better when it was cold,” he told him, “but not by much. Try not to breathe through your nose when you drink it.”

He took the advice and managed another gulp before passing the bottle back. “So, Kaito was here?”

“Yeah,” Kokichi answered, then squinted suspiciously up at him. “How’d you know, anyway?”

Shuichi snorted. “You made the evening news. So you made Kaito bring you alcohol, and then he chased you through the city?”

“He was so meannn,” Kokichi cried. The effect was ruined when he paused to drink more wine. “And after I was so nice and invited him over. I was so scared the whole time, and then he tackled me into a fountain.”

Ah, now more things made sense. He was holding the wine at a dangerous angle, so Shuichi took it again and drank to cover up his smile. This gulp wasn’t any worse than the previous ones, but it wasn’t much better either. “I can’t imagine why anyone would do that,” he eventually said.

Kokichi gave him a mock glare. “Now who’s the liar? Anyway, it sucked, and Kaito sucks. I got him to come over so he would be here to deal with your,” he gestured vaguely up at Shuichi’s torso, “ehhh, but all he did was chase me around and give me a lecture while we dried off. And then he left!” He gave a huff of frustration.

Shuichi blinked down at him, taken aback. “You did that for me?”

Kokichi blinked back up at him in return. He seemed to mentally rewind back through what he had said, then grimaced. “Yes. No. Shut up. Someone needed to be here to clean up the mess when you came back all sad like a wet dog.”

If anything, Kokichi was the wet dog in this situation, with his damp head in Shuichi’s lap, but Shuichi wisely kept that opinion to himself. “You’re not someone?” he asked instead.

Kokichi huffed. “Oh, yeah, because I’m great at the whole comforting people thing. Kaito’s the one who managed to snap you out of your various depression stupors during the game, I figured he’s who you would want.” His eyes narrowed into a vague glare at the ceiling. “But he just gave me a motivational speech and said I should man up and learn how to communicate, or whatever. Did you know Kaito sucks?”

“I’ve heard,” Shuichi replied. There was a small smile on his face that he couldn’t quite repress.

Kokichi’s glare meandered over to the shelves by the TV. “There’s been a lot of Kokichi-judgment tonight,” he complained.

Shuichi took another drink from the bottle. “More than you know,” he said. “On the news, they assumed you and Kaito were trying to murder each other.”

Kokichi snorted and made grabby hands for the wine, which Shuichi gave without protest. “You’ve been living under a rock,” he informed him. “That’s just what they can get away with saying on live TV. You should see some of the things people say about me in chat when I stream.”

He thought about what Tetsuo Saihara had said about some contestants being too dangerous to let out into the world. If that was the prevalent opinion… “I can imagine.” There was silence for a few moments while Kokichi drank and Shuichi got lost in thought. Eventually, he asked a question that had been lurking in the back of his mind for days. “What happened when you went home, Kokichi?”

With a grimace, Kokichi turned his head away. Blindly, he held the wine bottle up for Shuichi to take, saying, “Here, you finish it off. It’s almost empty.” He was quiet for several long moments afterward, staring out at the rest of the living room.

Finally, he began to speak.

“They’re rich, first of all. Like, too rich to be good people rich, you know? They have the kind of house DICE would have broken into just to eat all their food and leave the mess. There was room for a dozen people to live there without bumping into each other, even though the only people who actually did live there were the old Kokichi and his parents.” He spoke the words like they left a bitter taste in his mouth. “I didn’t even see them for the first couple of days. Which was fine. It gave me time to dig into the old me’s stuff.”

Shuichi held very still while the other spoke. He didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly, worried that any disruption would snap him out of this uncharacteristic bout of sharing.

He carried on. “I found his diary pretty quickly. Typical sad rich kid shit; his parents were never around, his friends only liked him for his money, the silver spoon he’d been born with was too heavy for his never-worked-for-anything hands, yadda yadda. You get it. Then he started talking about this show he was obsessed with. Care to take a guess?”

He turned back to look at Shuichi, who watched him carefully.

“Danganronpa,” he supplied quietly.

“That’s the one,” Kokichi confirmed. “He wrote all about how cool it would be to become someone completely different. No more distant parents; no parents at all. And a gang of friends to go on adventures with him. He wanted art heists and bank robberies and car chases. Have you ever been hungry, Shuichi?” he asked, switching tracks seemingly out of nowhere. “Nothing to eat all day, and nothing you could do about it?”

Shuichi shook his head.

“Neither had the old Kokichi.” He was looking up at the ceiling, but his gaze was distant and his expression blank. “I could tell just by reading the first few pages of his diary. No one who’s been that hungry would go around daydreaming about being an orphan. The foster system’s fucked; anyone who knows anything knows that. Dumbass grew up warm and fed and richer than god, and he thought it’d be fun to throw it all away. That’s what I was trying to tell you, you know,” he said, his gaze shifting to look back at Shuichi.

Not comprehending, Shuichi just tilted his head in a silent request for him to explain.

Kokichi sighed in frustration. “Do you think a happy, well-adjusted person signs up to become someone else so they can compete in a killing game? Is that person someone with a happy, loving family? Someone with plenty of friends? Chiho and Kanami and whoever else want us to go back to our old lives, but what they don’t get is that there’s nothing to go back to. There never was, or we wouldn’t have thrown it away like trash.” The words came fluidly, easily, like he had repeated them to himself often and was only now letting himself speak them aloud. “You wanna know what else I found in his room?” he asked with a grin that looked like it hurt.

“What?” Shuichi asked, unable to help himself but dreading the answer all the same.

“Prescription bottles,” he answered, still smiling like he was the butt of his own joke. “Three different kinds. Some kind of psych meds. Apparently, he hadn’t been taking them in a while. I was unmedicated, and they let me sign my life away just like that.”

Before that could sink in, he slipped into a thoughtful expression and continued, “I don’t even know if I should start taking them again. Do you still need to be medicated for a personality disorder after having your personality rewritten?” The grin reemerged once again, even sharper than before. “Hell, according to half the comments on stream, I need to be treated for an entirely different personality disorder now.”

Later, Shuichi would blame his exhaustion for what he said next. “I, um. I think they cancel out at that point.”

Kokichi blinked up at him, his mouth half-open in shock. They stared at each other for a moment in silence.

“Shuichi Saihara, did you just make a joke about my trauma and mental illness?” Kokichi said eventually.

“Um,” Shuichi replied eloquently.

“Because if you did, I have to warn you that you’ll never get rid of me now,” Kokichi finished, his face breaking into a wide, genuine grin. “I can’t believe you. Here I am pouring my heart out like a sap, and you reply with some stupid shit like that.” He brought one hand up to bat annoyingly at Shuichi’s face. “Have some respect for a guy’s tragic backstory, huh?”

Shuichi suffered through the hand swatting at his nose for a moment before using his own hand to push at Kokichi’s face. “It’s been a long night, and I don’t think I ate enough at dinner to offset the wine.”

“Excuses,” Kokichi declared, but he moved his hand back down to lay on his stomach anyway. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you never told me your own tale of woes from tonight.”

Shuichi grimaced. “Can I tell you tomorrow?” His hand came down to rest on the top of Kokichi’s head, absently brushing drying strands of hair out of his face for him. “I don’t think I have much energy left in me.”

Kokichi hummed at the motion, the last of the tension from earlier seeping from his form. “Fine. I’m also pretty tired, I guess. Kaito wore me out earlier with all that running.”

“Yeah, I remember when he made me start exercising, too,” Shuichi replied, nodding. Those nights spent doing situps with Kaito had been nice, but he remembered the aching muscles afterward all too well.

Kokichi sat up so fast he almost slammed his head into Shuichi’s, all tiredness forgotten. “That’s what that was! He’s trying to do that—that thing to me!” he exclaimed in indignation.

Blinking in amused surprise, startled by the abrupt movement, Shuichi merely echoed, “That thing?”

Kokichi’s head whipped around to look at him. “The thing he did to you and Maki to make you all,” he gestured toward all of Shuichi, “like this. The exercise thing.” He grew visibly determined. “Well, I’m not gonna let him!”

Amusement growing by the second, Shuichi clarified, “You suspect Kaito is trying to befriend you, and you’re against that?”

“Very,” Kokichi confirmed.

Shuichi kept silent for a moment, turning a thought around in his head. Eventually, he asked, “How would you describe Maki’s personality during the game? Genuinely.”

Intrigued by the change of topic, Kokichi tilted his head at him. “What, like, my real opinion? Including the bad stuff?”

“Yes.”

“And no getting mad at me for being mean?”

Shuichi rolled his eyes. “I promise.”

“Weeeell,” he began, “she was closed off and confrontational…and, frankly? A bad sport. She wanted nothing to do with anyone, and she made sure we all knew it.” He was on a roll now. Shuichi had made no move to interrupt, so he kept going. “Not to mention how she lied about her talent so we wouldn’t know there was an assassin in our midst. Which she said was so we wouldn’t keep wrongly suspecting her, but she did try to kill me in cold blood in the end. With poison-tipped arrows. Which hurt a lot, by the way. Oh, there’s a positive for you: she was a good shot. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” Shuichi answered with a nod, unphased by the unflattering description of his friend. “Thank you. Now, keeping all of that in mind, how long do you think Maki lasted when Kaito decided to befriend her?”

Kokichi’s eyes went wide as saucers. Out of everything they had talked about, this realization was evidently the most harrowing.

Shuichi stood up and stretched, several joints popping as he did. He turned back to offer the other a hand. “Ready for bed?” he asked.

Kokichi eyed the hand in suspicion for a moment before taking it and allowing Shuichi to hoist him up from the couch. “Next you’re gonna tell me you’re trying to befriend me too,” he prodded, not relinquishing Shuichi’s hand yet.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shuichi said, a hint of laughter in his voice. Sobering slightly, he squeezed the other’s hand and added quietly, “Hey. Thank you for telling me all that stuff. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t trade this Kokichi for any other.”

His face did something complicated, and he pulled his hand away. “Yeah, well, tonight was a freebie. Don’t expect me to be all mushy-gushy again in the future.” Stepping back, he gave a big stretch and said, “Man, I’m beat. Today lasted like thirty years. I think I’ll go pass out now.”

The moment, whatever it had been, was officially over. With a shrug, Shuichi followed Kokichi toward their bedrooms. He could admit that climbing into bed and bringing this day to an end was starting to sound awfully tempting.

“You should probably shower, first.”

“You should probably mind your own business.”

Chapter Text

Shuichi woke up slowly the next morning, feeling better than he had in days. With the looming specter of meeting his family having come and gone, he awoke without anxiety digging a pit in his stomach for the first time all week.

The kitchen was empty when he got up to get breakfast. He could hear the faint sound of a one-sided conversation from Kokichi’s room, so Shuichi assumed he was either streaming or on the phone with someone.

When the coffee was ready, Shuichi took his mug and went to look out the window while he savored this newfound feeling of peace. The sky outside was overcast; Shuichi mused that it might rain later in the day. Down below, people were going about their business, bundled up against the wind. It had been cold while he was out yesterday, and Shuichi abruptly remembered that it was late autumn. Strange to think about seasons again—the weather inside the game had been perpetually clear and, in hindsight, climate-controlled. He couldn’t remember what time of year it had been when, in his memories, he had been kidnapped and placed inside the game. He supposed that was the sort of detail that got left out when his artificial memories were being written.

He was nearing the end of his coffee when his phone began to ring. Despite himself, he felt his tranquil mood evaporate at the sound. Fumbling the phone out of his pocket to see that the caller was Kaito didn’t help, either. Familiar feelings rose up within him at the thought of answering the phone:

Guilt that he had left Kaito’s other messages unanswered for so long. Frustration that even now, he still hesitated. Shame that he couldn’t do something as easy as picking up the phone. And underneath it all was an instinctive fear he didn’t understand, threatening to paralyze him yet again.

‘But it’s Kaito,’ the frustrated part of himself reasoned.

‘But it’s Kaito,’ the terrified part cried in lockstep.

The call was about to go to voicemail, and he somehow managed to override his paralysis long enough to press accept. He couldn’t take it back now. “Hello?”

“Shuichi!” came Kaito’s boisterous, pleasantly surprised greeting. From his end of the call, there was the sound of wind and distant conversation. He must have been out walking somewhere. “I almost didn’t expect you to pick up. You doing alright? I heard you were gonna have a rough night, but Kokichi’s not exactly the clearest guy to get information from.”

Shuichi huffed a disbelieving laugh. Somehow, despite his fears, talking to Kaito came as easily as it always had. “You know, I think I am alright. Kokichi and I had a good conversation when I got home last night. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Did it work?” came Kaito’s enthusiastic response. Shuichi could hear his grin through the phone. “I figured if I wore him out enough, he’d be too tired to be an asshole later. He’s not half bad when he’s not purposefully trying to rile you up. But sheesh, that guy can run. If I wasn’t firing on all cylinders, I’d never have caught him.”

Leave it to Kaito to come up with a plan like that. “He thinks you’re trying to befriend him,” Shuichi told him. “He says he’s determined not to let you win.”

“Ha! I’d like to see him try. If I can wear down Makiroll, I can wear him down too.”

Shuichi smiled. “That’s what I told him.”

That got Kaito laughing again. “That’s my sidekick! You’ve got me all figured out.” For a moment, they were quiet, with only the sounds of Kaito’s walking filling the line. Then, with uncharacteristic hesitance, Kaito began, “Hey listen, while I’ve got you, I just wanted to ask… are we cool? You and me?” There was a pause in which Shuichi was too caught off guard to gather his thoughts, and then Kaito continued in a tumble of words, “It’s just ‘cause, I know I kinda blew up at you during, y’know, all that stuff with Gonta and Miu’s trial. And we didn’t exactly get to talk afterward before…,” he trailed off for a moment, “y’know, before I was gone. And I haven’t heard much from you since then, either, so I was just… checking, I guess. That we’re still cool.”

“Of course we are,” came Shuichi’s emphatic reply, surprising even him with how much he meant it. “I don’t hold any of what happened against you. I couldn’t have made it through everything without you, Kaito. You’re my friend.” He tried to find a way to put the way he felt into words. “And I’m your sidekick, remember?”

Kaito brightened up with relief. “Yeah, of course! Never doubted it for a second.”

“Good,” Shuichi said, relieved as well.

“Hey, it’s good to hear from you, Shuichi,” Kaito told him. “I missed getting to talk to you.”

Shuichi swallowed past a lump in his throat. Maybe Himiko had been right about him crying so much. “Me too. You should come over again soon; we can spend the day together.”

“Oh yeah, hey, that’s right,” Kaito realized, snapping his fingers. “That’s why I called you. Listen, class is starting soon—did you hear I’m getting re-certified as an astronaut?—but Makiroll’s on her way to your apartment.”

Shuichi blinked. “She, what?”

The sound of conversation on his end grew louder. “Yeah, she’s probably about… ten minutes away by now?” Kaito replied distractedly. “Hey, sorry Shuichi, I gotta go. Talk to ya later, sidekick!”

Shuichi barely had time to say ‘bye’ before the call clicked off. He stared at his phone for a moment, bewildered, then darted his gaze to the front door. Well. It was a good thing he didn’t have plans for the day.

Ten minutes was enough time to wolf down some actual breakfast. Shuichi hadn’t quite finished changing out of his sleep clothes, though, before there was a knock at the front door. He scrambled to finish dressing as quickly as he could, but he still wasn’t totally familiar with the layout of his closet and lost some time hunting for socks.

What kind of maniac put their socks on such a high shelf, anyway?

By the time he stumbled out into the living room, someone had already let Maki in. That person must have been Kokichi, if the silent glaring contest currently taking place in the kitchen was any indication.

“Ah,” Shuichi said lamely. “Good morning.”

Both heads turned to him with matching narrowed eyes.

“What’s she doing here?”

“You really let him live here?”

They both whipped back to glaring at each other. Despite himself, Shuichi felt a smile tugging at his lips. It was a little funny to see them so in sync.

“That’s right, I live here,” Kokichi jeered. “So why are you here?”

“I came to talk to Shuichi,” Maki said, her expression flat and stony. “Is there a problem?” Her tone implied that there had better not be.

“There’s no problem,” Shuichi interrupted before Kokichi could reply. Both glares redirected toward him once again. “You were planning to stream today, right Kokichi? Maki and I can go for a walk so we won’t bother you. Is that okay with you, Maki?”

They both held silent for a long moment, distrustful.

Maki was the first to lower her hackles. She stood up straighter, pointedly smoothing out the tension in her shoulders. “That’s fine,” she said without looking at Kokichi.

“Yeah, fine,” Kokichi allowed, playing with a few strands of his hair dismissively. “Try to bring him back in one piece, will you, murder girl?”

“He’s safer with me than with you,” she said coldly, still not looking at him.

“Remind me who in this room has a body count?” Kokichi fired back.

“I’ll get my coat,” Shuichi said, walking purposefully past them both.

Outside, he and Maki walked to the park across the street. Shuichi hadn’t been to the park before, but a gravel path looped around the outer edge for them to walk along. He was glad to have grabbed a coat; the breeze outside was colder than he had guessed.

“So what’s the deal with letting him live with you?” Maki asked, never one to beat around the bush. “I didn’t think you two got along.”

Shuichi gave a chagrined smile. “He, ah, just showed up with a suitcase one day. And we’ve been getting along better, recently.” Mostly. “I think I’ve gotten better at reading him, and being outside of the game has taken a lot of the pressure off us both.”

“Hmm,” Maki said noncommittally. “Kiibo said you both seemed to be doing better.”

Exasperated, Shuichi asked, “Is there some kind of mailing list devoted to sharing updates on me?” First Himiko, then Kaito, and now Maki. Did the others just sit around gossiping about him?

“There’s a group chat,” Maki said.

“There’s a,” Shuichi spluttered in indignation before catching sight of the tiny smirk on Maki’s face. “That was a joke,” he realized aloud.

Her smirk grew a little wider. “Maybe.”

“Ha ha,” he said flatly, which didn’t discourage her in the slightest.

“You should already know gossip travels fast,” she told him. “Especially when it comes to our missing leader. Everyone has your address now, by the way.”

Of course they did. “Kaito?” he asked.

The path had taken them near the playground equipment, and the delighted yells and shrieks of children echoed in the air. Maki kept a careful eye on the children as they walked. “Obviously.”

“And that’s why you came by today? To check on me?”

She hummed. “And to yell at you.”

Shuichi gulped. He probably should have expected that. “You haven’t yet,” he said tentatively. “Yelled, I mean.”

“I’ll get there,” she assured him. Instead, she asked, “How have you been? Kaito said Kokichi mentioned something about a hard night yesterday.”

Unbidden, Shuichi remembered sitting on the floor of the Saiharas’ bathroom, desperately trying to regain control of his breathing. “Yeah… you could say that.”

“Hmm. Anything you want to talk about?” She didn’t look at him, but she knocked her shoulder gently into his arm as they walked.

Shuichi sighed. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he said, “I went to visit my family yesterday. My real family. It… didn’t go well.”

“How so?” Maki asked neutrally.

As if he had been waiting for those words to unlock the dam of thoughts in his head, he told her everything. He started with the voicemail from Akemi Saihara inviting him to dinner, and by the time he finished, they were halfway through their second lap around the park.

“It was like they just… didn’t realize anything had happened,” Shuichi finished. Then, frustrated, he added, “But they watched all of it.”

It was quiet between them while he waited for Maki’s response. The crunch of gravel beneath their feet filled the silence. At length, she said, “The outside world is more messed up than we thought it would be. I’m surprised it took you this long to realize it.”

Inside his pockets, his hands clenched as he accepted the implied criticism. “I’m realizing it now,” he said resolutely.

Maki bumped into his side again. “Sorry. I get it. You needed some time.” Sighing, she added, “To be honest, I’m surprised you took them up on their offer. My… ‘family’ reached out, but I didn’t respond.”

Shuichi looked over at her in surprise. “Why not?”

She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Why would I?” she answered with a question. “I don’t know them. If they think they know me, they’re wrong.”

“But…,” Shuichi said, “they just miss their daughter, don’t they?”

“Their daughter is dead,” Maki said bluntly. “She died when she signed up to become me. And I’m sorry about that, but it doesn’t mean I have to go and pretend to be her. I have my own life to live.”

“I don’t know if I can fully separate my life from the old Shuichi’s like that,” he admitted. “There are just too many pieces left behind.” Inside, though, her words were echoing in his mind.

Dead. The old Shuichi was dead. It rang in his ears, simple and brutal and true. They were dead, and he was the one who had taken their place.

“Those pieces aren’t your responsibility,” Maki pointed out, not unkindly.

“Don’t we owe it to them?” he asked. Didn’t they owe something to the people who had died to become them?

She frowned at the path in front of them, stubbornly kicking a rock in the gravel path. “The old Maki was just a naive girl who didn’t value her life enough. Another victim of the game. That doesn’t make her my problem.”

“You sound like Kokichi,” he told her, bumping into her shoulder to break the tension. It was unexpected enough that she stumbled slightly to the side. He chuckled at her startled expression.

Maki huffed at him in annoyance, her fingers moving to unconsciously comb through one of her twin-tails. “Do you wanna die?” she asked him with a mock glare.

That question never got less intimidating, despite how many times she told him it was a joke. “So, what about you?” he said, redirecting the conversation. “What have you been doing lately?”

Her glare kept up for a while longer, but she let it dissipate after a few moments. “That’s actually why I came to talk to you today.” She looked him up and down, assessing. “You haven’t been keeping up with the news. Have you heard about the new season of Danganronpa?”

Shuichi’s feet came to a halt.

Maki stopped a few paces ahead of him, not turning back to meet his eyes. In a flat voice, she said, “Team Danganronpa wants to capitalize on the popularity of our season before the excitement dies down. A few of us have been working to stop production before it can gain too much traction, but it’s an uphill battle.”

A new season. His heart was beating too quickly, and his lungs didn’t seem to want to work. “But we,” he managed to say, “we ended it, didn’t we?”

It was supposed to be over.

Maki’s fingers curled into fists as she turned to face him. “We did. Now we’re making sure it stays ended. The others and I have been trying to fight Team Danganronpa’s media buildup with interviews and outreach of our own. But we’re not…” she paused, hesitating for the first time. Her eyes met his, then flicked away. “We’re not the face of our season.”

Shuichi felt like ice had been poured down his back as the implication behind her words sunk in. “Maki… I don’t think I…,” he trailed off helplessly. “Interviews, outreach, I can’t…”

He could barely answer the phone when his best friend called. He had an anxiety attack on the floor of a bathroom within five minutes of meeting his family. When his friends needed him, he ran away. And she wanted him, of all people, for this? To help take down Danganronpa, again?

Cold hands wrapped around his own, and their firm grip helped ground him back in reality. Her hands were calloused and strong, and underneath the wind-chilled skin, they were warm and undeniably alive. He squeezed them back tightly, and breathed.

Red eyes watched him with concern that shone from underneath their ever-present stoicism. “I’m not asking you to say yes. I’m asking you to consider it.” Maki kept her breathing deep and even, allowing Shuichi to match his with hers as he continued to anchor himself. “In the meantime,” she said, “we could use some help from a detective behind the scenes. It wouldn’t be public-facing. We just… I just need your help.”

Amber eyes met red as he searched her face. With difficulty, Shuichi swallowed the panic that still threatened to creep up his throat. “Okay.”

Relief flooded Maki’s expression, though she did a good job of hiding it. “You’ll help?”

Trying to be braver than he felt, Shuichi nodded. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Following Maki to an empty park bench, Shuichi sat down with a huffed laugh. The entire playground was visible from their vantage point, and as Maki scanned the scenery for any signs of trouble, Shuichi had a suspicion that he knew exactly why Maki had chosen that bench in particular. Her Ultimate Child Caregiver title may have been a ruse, but it seemed some habits were hard to break.

When it looked like she was done with her inspection, Shuichi said, “So tell me more about this detective job.”

Maki sat back, her expression serious as they got back to business. “We want you to track down the surviving contestants from past seasons,” she told him frankly. “They’re in the same situation we are, and they’ve spent more time in the outside world. They should be able to help us convince people of the harm the killing game does.”

Shuichi blinked in surprise. Somehow, he had never considered the existence of other survivors. But with 53 seasons under the show’s belt, there had to be many dozens of them at least, if not hundreds.

Where were they? What were their lives like? He tried to imagine himself years in the future, watching as yet another batch of kids signed up for Danganronpa, and promptly felt sick to his stomach. “What do you know about them so far?” he asked instead of dwelling further on that thought.

“Not all 53 seasons were like ours,” she told him as if she had heard his thoughts. “It was only in the past twenty years or so that they implemented the memory augmentation method they use now. Other than that, I don’t know much. Himiko did most of that research. I can get her to send you what she found.”

Himiko? Was this the project she had mentioned working on? “I’d appreciate that,” he said aloud. Then he asked a question that had been itching at him for a while. “Who all is working on this, anyway?”

She hummed in acknowledgment. “Himiko and I joined as soon as we heard about it, of course. Tenko, Kaito, and a few others have pitched in for a few things here and there.” Was he imagining things, or was Maki watching him closely? His confusion was answered when she continued, “But the spearhead of it all is Kaede.”

Shuichi fought to keep a neutral expression against his instinctive flinch. “Oh,” he said after a telling pause, “that’s… cool.”

Maki scowled in annoyance, crossing her arms. “I knew it. What’s wrong between you two? You seemed fine when we got reintroduced to everybody. Now you both freeze at the slightest mention of the other.”

“I…” he began, but the words dissipated before he could voice them. In truth, he didn’t want to talk about it. He had been trying his best to not even think about it. But it was Maki asking, the same Maki who had stood with him when the world fell to pieces around them, so he searched for some kind of satisfactory answer within himself. “She and I talked,” he told her, “after we joined everyone at the recovery village. I… said some things that I regret. I was lashing out at her for things that weren’t her fault, and I realized I couldn’t stay there if all I was going to do was put my own issues on her shoulders. It wouldn’t have been fair to her.”

“That was the real reason you left,” Maki stated neutrally, neither sympathetic nor judging.

“I don’t know if reason had much to do with it,” he admitted. “But yeah, I left the next morning.”

“Hmm.”

She didn’t say anything else for a long time, and Shuichi stayed quiet, waiting for… a verdict? Forgiveness? He didn’t know. In the end, he got something else.

“She’s doing alright, you know,” Maki told him. “Kaede. She’s working herself to the bone to kill this stupid game once and for all, but she’s coping better than most of us. She had a head start, I guess. She has an apartment on the east side of the city. It’s covered in paperwork and sheet music. There’s a piano by the window.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she dug around for some other detail to share. “The walls are pink,” she concluded eventually.

Shuichi had to swallow hard against the emotions that welled up in him, his heart inexplicably full. Not just with happiness and relief that Kaede was doing alright, but with overwhelming gladness that he had a friend like Maki in his life. “Thanks,” he managed to say eventually.

“Hmm.”

The pair of them fell quiet for a while after that, simply letting the sounds of the park wash over them. Shuichi was grateful for it, as the time let him get himself under control. Gradually, his attention was drawn back out to the world around him.

It must have been later in the day than he thought, because the park was growing busier with people enjoying the last rays of light before the sun began to set in earnest. On the playground, a particularly ambitious kid was trying to go as high as the swingset would let him. An older couple walked past, bundled up against the weather and chatting about work. Viewed from the park bench, it didn’t seem like the kind of world that would push a televised killing game to the top of the charts.

And yet.

To distract himself from that line of thought, Shuichi asked, “So, how are you and Kaito?”

Maki was silent, and when Shuichi glanced over, he caught sight of a faint hint of color on her cheeks. “We’re fine,” she said.

Shuichi smiled. “Yeah?”

He let the silence drag for several moments as he continued to look at her expectantly, and sure enough, Maki spoke.

“I don’t think I ever expected to… feel things. Not like this,” she said in a tumble.

“Like what?” Shuichi asked.

Her flush deepened. “You can’t tell anyone else I said this,” she told him. “Especially not Kaito. Not unless you want to die.”

“I promise,” he said, faintly surprised by her insistence.

Maki scrutinized him intently for several moments, then relented. “All of this… mushy, romantic stuff. I never thought it was for me. Then all of a sudden there was Kaito, with his eager puppy personality and his stupid charm and all of his hero talk, and…” she trailed off for a moment. “I don’t really know what changed. If I’m the one who changed, or if he’s just… special.”

Shuichi took a few moments to think through his response. He had never considered a problem like this before, but he tried to give it his full consideration. “Does it matter whether it was because of you or him?” he asked. “If you’re happy, isn’t it a good thing either way?”

“I liked being the way I was, though,” she told him with a distant expression. Her fingers carded absently through one of her twin-tails. “I knew who I was, and I only had to rely on myself. Now everything is confusing. It’s almost gross—I miss him when he’s just in a different room.” Despite her words, there was a soft smile on her lips. It faltered, though, and she continued, “But what if it’s just temporary? What if nothing changed, and I was wrong?”

This time, he didn’t need long to think. “Then you’d talk to Kaito about it,” he said.

Maki scoffed and folded her arms.

“No, really,” Shuichi defended. “You said your feelings changed. Well, Kaito knew he wanted to be friends with you long before that happened. He likes you, and if your feelings change again, he’ll still be there because it’s you he likes, not whatever things you can or can’t feel.”

Next to him, Maki was quiet.

He tried a different tactic. “If Kaito didn’t want to date anymore, would you still want to be his friend?”

She shot him a surprised look. “Of course.”

“Then what makes you think he wouldn’t feel the same way?” Shuichi asked.

This time, Shuichi gave her time to mull it over. They sat quietly for a few minutes while Maki was lost in thought. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she told him when she finally spoke again, “but I don’t think it’s that easy for most people.”

Shuichi blinked. “Is it not?”

There was a small smile on her face, and she said, “I’m still learning, but I don’t think most people can just stop liking someone romantically on command.”

That sounded more complicated than it needed to be. “I might not be an expert,” he admitted.

Her smile grew. “That’s okay.”

A different line of thought occurred to him, and he asked, “Has Himiko checked you for love potions?”

“Yes,” Maki answered with flat sincerity.

He cracked a smile. “Just checking.”

The light in the park had gone golden with the arrival of sunset, and Maki pulled out her phone to check the time. “I should probably head home soon,” she told Shuichi.

He agreed, but as they stood up to leave, they were interrupted by a small figure approaching them from the playground

Shuichi recognized him after a moment as the boy who had previously been on the swingset. He wasn’t good at guessing children’s ages, but he thought the boy was maybe around five years old. There were tears on his blotchy face as he ambled up to them, and there was a bright red scrape on his knee.

“I fell,” the boy told them without preamble.

Shuichi just blinked dumbly at the unexpected child, but Maki sighed and beckoned him closer as if this was an everyday occurrence. She motioned for him to take a seat on the bench and began rummaging through her pockets. “Swingset accident?” she asked neutrally.

He sniffled. “I tried to jump off.”

To Shuichi’s surprise, Maki produced both an antiseptic wipe and a few bandaids. She knelt in front of the bench and set about cleaning up the boy’s scraped knee. “This will sting a little. Did you learn anything?”

“To not jump off?” the kid guessed miserably.

She finished with the wipe and set it aside. “Hmm. I would recommend starting smaller next time. Learn how to do small jumps first, then try bigger ones. Do you want the blue bandaid, or the green one?” She held both out for him to inspect.

He stared at her for a moment like she had blown his mind. “Green,” he said.

“Magic word?” she asked, but she was already opening up the green bandaid.

“Please,” the boy answered automatically. “Thank you,” he added, belatedly, as if to cover all his bases.

Maki gave a hum in response, and a moment later, he was all patched up. “There,” she told him in a dry tone, standing up, “I think we’ve saved it from amputation.”

The boy stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist in a hug. Maki blinked down at him in bewilderment. He didn’t let go.

“I kind of thought the whole Ultimate Child Caregiver thing was just a cover,” Shuichi said, speaking up for the first time since the kid had arrived.

“It was.” Gently but firmly, Maki began to extricate herself from the hug.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” a voice called out, prompting Shuichi and Maki to look that way. A man in casual clothes jogged towards them with a mortified expression. “He doesn’t normally like strangers, I don’t know why he would just…” he trailed off embarrassedly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Maki said. “It happens all the time.”

She had apparently succeeded in escaping the boy’s grasp, or maybe he let go on his own when his guardian appeared, because the boy began to enthusiastically tell the newly arrived man about his new bandaid. 

“That’s great, bud,” the man said, still a little confused. He looked back up at the pair of them, and recognition flickered across his face. Shuichi braced himself. “Hey, wait, you’re Shuichi and Maki! That’s so—”

“We’ll just be on our way, now,” Maki interrupted him.

“Sure,” the man said, “but this is crazy. My wife will never believe me. Could I get your autographs? We’re such big fans of—”

“No,” she told him bluntly. She grabbed Shuichi by the arm and began to pull him away from the park. He didn’t fight it.

As he was pulled away, though, Shuichi turned back to give the pair a small wave.

With a full-body stretch, Kokichi pushed his chair away from the desk. He hadn’t intended to stream for so long, but one thing had led to another, and suddenly he was in the middle of watching the third trial of season 52. The chat and even his mods had been insistent that he watch the whole thing through, so the stream ran more than an hour longer than planned.

He didn’t really get the hype, though. The killer wasn’t particularly subtle, and Kokichi guessed the truth long before it was revealed in the class trial. It had been clear to him the entire time that the heiress girl couldn’t have been the killer. Rantaro hadn’t even had much of a role in the trial, other than serving as a witness. Lame.

Frowning, he kicked his legs so the chair would start spinning in a lazy circle. The stream had gone on longer than expected, and Shuichi was still out with Maki.

Which was fine. Kokichi was great at being by himself. He kicked again to spin faster.

On each spin, he caught sight of yellow-orange light spilling into the room from his half-open blinds. It was almost sunset. He kicked again, and again, until the light was just an intermittent blur in his vision.

Why would Shuichi want to spend so much time with Maki, anyway? What did Maki have that he didn’t? She wasn’t funnier than him. She wasn’t more clever than him. She certainly wasn’t more interesting than him.

Not nicer, either, but he supposed neither of them was exactly nice when it came down to it. Maybe Shuichi just had bad taste in friends.

“Next you’re gonna tell me you’re trying to befriend me too.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

What was his deal? He couldn’t figure out the detective’s angle. Every time Kokichi thought he had him figured out, Shuichi would do something surprising and throw him off again. He played Kokichi’s games, except for when he didn’t, and he stared at Kokichi like he was a riddle he wanted to solve. Like he wanted to understand him. Well, good luck, Mr. Detective. Many have tried; none have succeeded.

He thought about the whiteboard he’d stashed in his room during the game, and the note he had been unable to erase next to Shuichi’s portrait. ‘Trustworthy?’ He wasn’t sure if he was any closer to solving that particular mystery, although the evidence did seem to be piling up.

”For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t trade this Kokichi for any other.“

The trouble was, Kokichi might be the king of liars, but Shuichi wasn’t half-bad himself when he wanted to be.

The chair had slowed to a stop at some point while he wasn’t paying attention, which was convenient because it meant he wasn’t quite so dizzy when his phone began to ring.

Idle curiosity flared into something bigger when he saw the name attached to the call.

Kaede Akamatsu.

Now that was interesting.

Without further thought, he answered the call and put it on speaker. “Yello, Supreme Leader speaking.”

There was a small laugh from the other end of the line. “Hi Kokichi,” Kaede said. “Do you have a minute?”

He grinned, not that she could see it. “Lots of ‘em, why do you ask?”

“Mostly I just wanted to check up on you,” she said. “I saw you on TV yesterday.”

“Did you see the part where I jumped over that bench?” he asked very seriously. “Because I think I looked pretty cool doing that.”

With laughter in her voice, Kaede said, “I must have missed that part. I did see the part where you got tackled into the fountain, though.”

“Aw man,” he pouted, “they didn’t even get my good side for that.”

“It looked very dramatic,” she assured him. “But seriously, other than that, are you doing alright? Adjusting okay?”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “What are you, my MILF babysitter?”

“Not you too,” Kaede despaired. “She’s going to find out you guys call her that someday.”

“I’ll say it to her face.”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, “I’ve already got my hands full trying to convince Miu not to seduce her.”

“It’s not my fault if you’re picking up impossible tasks,” he told her. “And speaking of impossible tasks, who put you in charge of checking up on people?”

Kaede paused, caught off guard. “Oh, um, me I guess. I just thought that, since we’re all adjusting to the outside world, it would be good to stay in contact with everyone.”

“Hmm... I guess I’m just surprised to be hearing from you directly,” Kokichi said idly, picking up a pen to twirl between his fingers, “when last time, the plan was to get the gossip thirdhand through Miu and Kiibo. Which makes me wonder… if this call is really just about checking up on me, and not a certain mutual acquaintance.”

The silence stretched longer this time. “Kokichi…” she began.

“What happened between you two, anyway?” he asked before she could continue.

Kaede sighed. “I really don’t know what you want me to say. No one came out of the game without baggage, myself included. Shuichi needs space, and I’m trying to give it.”

“But there’s more to it than that,” he pressed, “or you wouldn’t both be avoiding any mention of each other like the plague.”

“It’s still that bad, huh?” she asked.

“It’s still that bad.”

She was quiet again for a long time before she finally said, “We talked. He said some things I didn’t want to hear. Some of it was right, some of it wasn’t. Then he left. That’s it.”

“But,” Kokichi began.

“That’s it,” she interrupted firmly. “I’m sorry. Thank you for being there for him, and I’m glad you’re both doing alright. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Yeah, yeah, talk to you soon.”

The line clicked to an end, and Kokichi stared down at the phone on his desk.

Damn.

The apartment was dark and quiet when Shuichi got back. Light shone from underneath Kokichi’s door as he walked back to his room, though, so he knew his roommate was home. He heard muffled conversation as he passed, but he ignored it in favor of changing into more comfortable clothes. Kokichi had been known to spend hours on the phone before, usually with Miu or Kiibo.

On his way back to the living room, however, the sound of his own name caught his attention.

“Shuichi needs space, and I’m trying to give it.”

That voice didn’t belong to either of the people he had expected. Was that…?

“But there’s more to it than that, or you wouldn’t both be avoiding any mention of each other like the plague.”

Kokichi’s words only confirmed his suspicions as to who was on the other end of the line. Why would Kokichi be on the phone with Kaede, talking about him?

“It’s still that bad, huh?”

Shuichi stood frozen in the darkened hallway, his heart beating fast. He hadn’t heard from Kaede since that disastrous conversation in her cottage, and despite his reservations about eavesdropping, he couldn’t help but strain to hear what she would say.

“We talked. He said some things I didn’t want to hear. Some of it was right, some of it wasn’t. Then he left. That’s it.”

Her words were flat, clearly discouraging further questions, but Shuichi found that he had dozens to ask. None of them could be answered though, not by an overheard phone call that was quickly coming to an end, so Shuichi turned with quiet steps and continued on his way to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Research, it turned out, wasn’t Himiko’s strong suit.

Staring down at the document full of hyperlinks to various trashy tabloid articles that ostensibly covered news on survivors of past killing games, Shuichi said, “It’s… a solid start.”

“You think it’ll help?” came her hopeful voice through the phone speaker.

“...Yes,” he hedged as he poked around the ad-covered page of the first article he clicked. He hoped the old Shuichi had installed a good antivirus program.

After thanking Himiko for her help, Shuichi made himself a fresh mug of coffee, sat down at his desk, and got to work. It was going to be a long day.

The next few hours were a blur of names, faces, and dates. There was a comforting sort of familiarity to the work, reminding him of long hours devoted to conducting similar searches for cases his uncle worked on, and before long he was flipping between multiple sheets of compiled data as he continued to dig for information.

There was a pattern emerging, one that he didn’t notice until he had gone through multiple seasons’ worth of contestants, and now he had to check back through those first groups to double-check that he wasn’t just seeing things… Just a few more names, and…

“Woah,” came a voice behind him, and Shuichi practically jumped a foot out of his chair. Kokichi was peering over his shoulder, having apparently entered without Shuichi noticing, and his keen eyes scanned across the computer screen with a curious expression. “You’re stalking people online and you didn’t invite me? That hurts, you know.”

Shuichi let out a breath, willing his heart rate to settle down. Now that he was sitting up from where he had been hunched over the computer screen, he became aware of the stiffness in his shoulders and neck. How long had he been working? “I’m trying to find some of the previous Danganronpa contestants,” he said after a moment. “I told you a little about it last night at dinner.”

To be fair, most of their dinner conversation the previous evening had been taken up by Kokichi grilling him about his meeting with the Saiharas, but Shuichi had made sure to share a little bit of what he and Maki had talked about, too.

Kokichi tilted his head. “Ohhhh. Yeah, I guess I remember that. You’re helping Team Kaede shut down production for the new season.”

Ignoring the crick in his neck that complained at the motion, Shuichi turned to look at him in exasperation. “You knew about all that stuff already?”

“Duh, it’s all anyone’s talking about. You’d have to be some kind of hermit to not know about it.” Just to make the point clearer, he poked the side of Shuichi’s head.

Ignoring the other’s prodding, he asked, “And you didn’t bother to tell me earlier?”

Kokichi shrugged and gave a little grin. “You didn’t ask.” Before Shuichi could do more than give him a flat look, he added pointedly, “You didn’t want to know.”

That… wasn’t exactly wrong.

“So, what have you found so far?” Kokichi asked as he hopped up to sit on the desk. “Any government conspiracies I should know about? I’m still getting familiar with this world’s criminal underground, you know.”

Shuichi turned back to the computer screen, his expression going thoughtful as he remembered the pattern he had been pinning down before Kokichi arrived. “Well…”

Kokichi sat up straight, instantly more interested. “What, really? Lay it on me, what have we got? Is there a secret ex-Ultimate fighting ring in Europe? How do I start placing bets?”

“Nothing that exciting, I think,” Shuichi said, pulling up the relevant spreadsheet. “It’s just… weird. The tabloids follow every survivor religiously for a few months, and then certain people seem to drop off the face of the earth. There are a few that get updates for years after their season ended, but others are just… gone. I can’t even find many articles speculating about where they might be.”

With an uncharacteristically serious expression, Kokichi skimmed over the spreadsheet Shuichi had put together. Each row had a name and several columns of information attached, but while some of them continued for quite a while, others stopped short after only a few points of data.

After a long moment, he said in a casual tone, “Have you checked for obituaries? Death certificates?”

He had hoped the other might come to a different conclusion, but that was exactly the suspicion Shuichi himself had arrived at. “Not yet,” he admitted.

Kokichi nodded, his eyes still flicking across the screen. “You should. Send these to me later, too. Do you also have notes on whether each person was a killer, victim, or survivor?”

With a few clicks, Shuichi brought up a different spreadsheet. “I do. You think there might be some correlation between that and the missing people?”

“Could be,” Kokichi muttered, now deep in thought. “Worth cross-referencing it anyway, just to be sure.”

“I’ll add it to the list.” With a sigh, Shuichi sat back in his chair. “What I really need to do is find one of these people and interview them personally. I’ll learn more from that than I ever could from these articles.”

“Is there anyone you could track down on short notice?” Kokichi asked distractedly, still lost in his own train of thought.

“There is,” he answered simply, then moved his mouse to highlight one row in particular.

That caught Kokichi’s attention. “No way,” he said, a delighted grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of the highlighted name. “Her?”

“Kanami Taketa,” Kokichi said for the fourth time, barely paying attention to the road in front of them. “The MILF!”

“Right,” Shuichi agreed, also for the fourth time, as he tried not to hold on too tightly to the passenger-side door.

“Literally the Ultimate Babysitter.”

“Seventeen years ago,” Shuichi clarified. He was starting to regret that morning’s coffee as buildings and slower cars blurred past the windows.

Another car honked as Kokichi cut them off while dodging between lanes. “And you’re sure she didn’t kill anyone?” he asked once again to confirm.

The answer hadn’t changed since the last time he asked, but Shuichi repeated it anyway. “No, she was a victim. Died of… poison, I think.”

“That’s a shame,” he said with a disappointed sigh. Shuichi would have agreed, until he continued, “She would have looked really cool murdering someone with a baseball bat or something.”

“Kokichi!”

“What? I’m right.”

Shuichi didn’t know what he had been expecting. “Just… can we talk about anything else?”

“Sure,” he replied without missing a beat. “You can tell me more about that family of yours.”

“…So a baseball bat, huh?”

Kokichi took one hand off the wheel to point a finger in his general direction. “Nuh uh, no takesies backsies. Details: spill ‘em. It’s your job as navigator to keep the driver entertained.”

“What details?” he asked, exasperated. “I told you everything that happened already.”

“Ugh, it’s like you don’t even know how this is supposed to work,” Kokichi complained. “Fine, I’ll teach you.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Is your mom hot?”

Shuichi spluttered, “Wh—no!”

He hummed sympathetically. “Ugly then?”

“Kokichi!”

Now he was grinning. “Is she a bitch?”

“No!”

He had hesitated a second too long though, and Kokichi picked up on it. He nodded sagely. “Kind of a bitch.”

“No,” Shuichi repeated, this time with more conviction. “She seemed like a perfectly lovely woman.”

“Buuuuut?” Kokichi prompted, drawing the word out in a sing-song voice.

Shuichi huffed, then relented. “But you could say she was overbearing.”

“That’s the spirit!” Kokichi cheered. “Overbearing, I like it. I would have also accepted,” he began to count the words out on his fingers, “vapid, intrusive, naive, aaand… patronizing. Now your sister, what about her?”

Shuichi blinked at him in bemusement, but he decided to go along with it for the time being. “Rinko was… excitable,” he settled on after a few moments of thought.

Kokichi just nodded and gestured for him to keep going.

His eyebrows furrowed as he dug deeper for something more to say. “She seemed really into Danganronpa? The killers in particular. She and Akemi both seemed…”

“Like they need to get a life?”

“A bit too invested,” Shuichi said, thinking about their interest in his so-called love life. “Which makes sense, I suppose, since they had a family member participating.”

“Stop,” Kokichi commanded. “Try again. No sympathy, only judgment.”

“This doesn’t seem very nice,” Shuichi pointed out.

Kokichi just looked at him like he was being intentionally obtuse, taking his eyes off the road for an alarming few seconds. “It’s not nice. They’re not nice. That’s why we’re talking shit about them.” When Shuichi remained skeptical, he sighed dramatically. “Ugh, look, you can go back to trying to see the best in everyone later. But for now, just be as pointlessly mean and petty as you can be. Really give me your worst. Now, what about your dad?”

Shuichi hesitated. His worst? He wasn’t even sure he knew what that looked like.

“I don’t want to call him my dad,” he began, deciding to start with what he knew. “I don’t really want to call any of them by those terms. And I didn’t like it when—”

“Hated,” Kokichi interrupted.

Shuichi huffed, but corrected himself. “I hated it when he called me ‘son.’ Everything he said made my skin crawl,” he said, now starting to get into the flow of whatever this was. “He said he was proud of me for, what, not dying? Not killing anyone? For winning?” He made a face. “He doesn’t even know that he doesn’t know me. And he acted like he thought my friends should be kept separate from society, like some of us are too dangerous to go outside. As if I wasn’t sitting right there. As if we weren't custom-made this way for his viewing pleasure.”

Kokichi kept his eyes on the road, eyebrows faintly raised. “Woah.”

“And Rinko was pushy,” Shuichi finished belatedly.

That cracked him up. “You’re a natural,” Kokichi told him in between snickers. “Give it some time and you’ll be hating with the best of us.”

“I still don’t get what the point of that was,” he protested.

Kokichi rolled his eyes, but his pleased mood didn’t falter. “Duh, you feel better, don’t you?”

And it was with no small surprise that he realized—he did. He felt better, lighter, as if he had gotten something off his chest that he hadn’t even noticed he was carrying. He glanced sidelong over at Kokichi, who was humming along with the radio as he drove. Had he somehow noticed? Was that why he had insisted on this little exercise?

“Okay, but you’re sure Kanami didn’t get to kill anyone?”

Maybe he was better off not thinking too hard about it.

Kanami had been enthusiastic when Shuichi texted her to ask if they could talk in person, replying almost immediately with an address for them to meet at. As he and Kokichi looked up at the large, ostentatious “Team Danganronpa” sign on the building they arrived at, though, Shuichi realized he should have asked more questions before just getting in the car and heading over.

“At least it’s a weekend?” Shuichi tried when the silence stretched out too long between them. They were somewhere downtown, and although there were a few people milling about, it was nothing compared to what the area must look like during the work week.

Kokichi blinked as if coming back into reality, then shrugged and started walking to the doors. “Well, standing out here like a pair of morons won’t solve anything. What’s her office number?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Shuichi began to follow. “Well…”

Turning around to walk backwards through the automatic doors, Kokichi tsked at him in disapproval. “I expect better from you, detective.”

“I didn’t think we would be meeting her somewhere like this,” Shuichi said defensively. Although to be fair, he didn’t know what else he had been expecting. He kept that part to himself.

As they entered the building, he glanced around for anything that might point them in the right direction. The lobby was done up in all black, red, and white, and everything from the sleek red leather couches to the glittering black granite of the front desk looked stylish and modern. The Team Danganronpa logo was emblazoned throughout the room: on the wall, on the desk, and on both of the elevators that took up the far wall.

The front desk itself, however, was curiously and unhelpfully unoccupied. The elevators were similarly unhelpful, without a map or directory to be found. There were a couple of hallways branching off from the room they were in, but without knowing where they were going, those wouldn’t be much use either.

Turning back to Kokichi, he said, “I’ll just call Kanami to ask h—hey, watch out!”

Kokichi had been wandering around the lobby, still backwards with his arms crossed behind his head, so he didn’t see the man in a smart black suit who had stepped into the lobby. Kokichi startled as he bumped into the man and whipped around to face him, only to be caught off guard as the man lit up at the sight of them.

“Kokichi! What an unexpected surprise,” he said with genuine enthusiasm and distractingly white teeth. He looked up and caught sight of the room’s other occupant. “And Shuichi! It’s great to see you again.”

Shuichi faltered. “It’s, ah, good to see you too, um…”

“Who are you?” Kokichi asked frankly, not one for social cues when they didn’t suit him.

The man’s smile didn’t dim in the slightest. He held a hand out for Kokichi to shake. “Makoto Harada, marketing director.”

Shuichi had to give it to the man, he didn’t so much as flinch when Kokichi took his hand and squeezed with visible, undoubtedly-painful force during what should have been a casual handshake. He just straightened his suit jacket and continued chatting as if nothing had happened.

“Shuichi and I got a chance to meet right after the end of the season, but I wasn’t able to meet with you before you left the recovery village. Chiho can be very strict about who she lets in there,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s a real shame; I would have liked to commend you sooner for your actions during the killing game. It was really something to see.”

Kokichi tilted his head but replied cheerfully, “Really? And here I thought I was messing up your plans for the season.”

“Ha! Yes, you almost messed up Miss Tsumugi’s script,” Makoto said with a fond expression, seemingly unaware of the way Kokichi twitched at the word ‘almost.’ “But in my department, our goal is only for the season to be a success, and in that regard, well, you were instrumental. Both of you were,” he added, offering a smile to Shuichi in turn.

Resisting the urge to shudder, Shuichi said, “Thank you,” in an impersonally polite tone that he hoped would discourage further commendations. “But we’ve got a meeting to go to, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh? Who are you meeting with?” Makoto replied instantly. “I can walk you there. It’s easy for new people to get turned around in here.”

“We wouldn’t want to interrupt your day,” Shuichi hedged. “If you point us towards Miss Taketa’s office, I’m sure we can find our own way.”

“Kanami, huh?” Makoto said, and Shuichi cursed himself for giving him something to latch onto. “Having some adjustment pains after leaving the game? Don’t worry, it happens to a lot of people, and Kanami’s an angel. She’ll get you all sorted out. Right this way,” he said, gesturing toward the elevators, “I’ll get you there in no time.”

“Really, that’s not necessary,” Shuichi tried to decline, “we can just,” he tried to turn to Kokichi for help, but his companion was nowhere to be found.

What?

When?

Makoto just laughed. “Wow, he sure is a slippery one. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll find his own way eventually. Now, let’s get you where you’re going so you aren’t late for your meeting, huh?” He put an arm behind Shuichi’s back to guide him toward the elevators. 

With no other choice and no small amount of dread, Shuichi allowed himself to be herded along.

“So, how are you, Shuichi?” Makoto asked as the elevator doors slid shut.

“I’m doing well,” he answered, noting what floor button the other pressed. He didn’t want to make the same mistake of giving him information to grab onto again, so he left it at that.

If Makoto noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. Nodding, he said, “That’s good, I’m glad. You know, Kanami is good at what she does, but if there’s anything she can’t do for you, I’d be glad to help you out with anything you need. There are some strings I can pull that she can’t,” he added with a wink.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shuichi said.

The elevator doors opened on the new floor, and Makoto led the way down the left side of the hall. As they turned a corner, Shuichi’s steps reflexively faltered at the sight of… himself.

“I didn’t realize these were still out here,” Makoto chuckled. He grabbed hold of the cardboard cutout, turning it to the side to reveal the row of similar cutouts lining the hall. All sixteen members of the 53rd season were present, all life-sized and frozen in various poses.

Shuichi fought to keep his face equally frozen in a politely detached expression, but inside he was scrambling to regain his footing. He tried, for his own sake, not to look at them too hard, but his eyes kept being drawn back. 

“Not sure what we’ll do with these,” Makoto was saying when he tuned back in. “They’ll have to go soon so we can make room for the new cast members.” He repositioned the Shuichi cutout and stood back to survey the whole lineup appraisingly. “Maybe we could auction them off…”

“Is production on the next season that far along already?” Shuichi asked, his heart beating quickly as he tried to stay casual.

Mokoto looked at him in surprise. “No, not yet. We’re a well-oiled operation here at Team Danganronpa, but even we need at least a good six months in between seasons. Last I heard, the script is still in its early stages and we aren’t even accepting applications yet. Are you interested in next season, Shuichi?”

“No,” he blurted out reflexively. “I mean,” he hurried to clarify, “I’m as interested as anyone. But I’m not interested in participating. I’m surprised, is all. I thought the show ended with the last season.”

“Ah, well,” Makoto said, gesturing for Shuichi to continue walking with him, “that’s how it looked at the time. But you know how viewers are; they never really want something to end for good. I don’t think we lasted a week before we were being flooded with questions about when the next season would begin.”

“Oh,” Shuichi said, not sure what else to say. Was that true? If it was, that would be… disheartening. He thought about those last minutes inside the game and how the viewers had rallied behind him and his remaining friends, calling for an end to Danganronpa. Had that really just been… a temporary change of heart?

Oblivious to Shuichi’s thoughts, Makoto carried on, “It’s a shame that you’re not interested in participating. We could have found you a good role to play. Maybe even the mastermind! No one would be expecting that from you.”

He came to a stop outside a door, and Shuichi noted with some surprise that they had indeed arrived at the office of Kanami Taketa. In contrast with the red and black decor throughout the rest of the building, this door featured a light blue sheet of paper with Kanami’s name on it, surrounded by multicolored origami butterflies.

“Well, this is where I leave you,” Makoto announced with regret. “But it’s been great getting to catch up with you, Shuichi.”

“Thanks,” he said, unable to match the strangely genuine warmth in Makoto’s voice. He tried again, “You too.”

Makoto winked, not at all fazed by Shuichi’s lackluster goodbye. “And remember,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket and pressing it into Shuichi’s hand, “if you need anything, just let me know.”

With that, he turned and began walking back the way they came. Shuichi looked down at the business card now in his possession, then slipped it into his pocket, unwilling to hold it for longer than necessary.

When Makoto was fully out of sight, Shuichi whipped out his phone. He selected Kokichi’s contact and sent him a series of question marks. The text was marked as read almost immediately.

Kokichi was typing for barely a second before the reply came through.

Kokichi: :P

Shuichi stared at the text blankly for several moments, but it didn’t reveal any more information. Great. Kokichi was wandering around Team Danganronpa Headquarters unattended, and Shuichi was going to interrogate their babysitter alone.

Probably nothing could go wrong with any part of the situation.

When the elevator doors closed behind him, Makoto Harada pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to leisurely scroll through his many contacts. When he found the one he wanted, he pressed call and held it up to one ear, listening as the number dialed.

When the call picked up, he said, “Hello, is this security? It’s Makoto. I’m afraid there is a former contestant unaccompanied somewhere in the building. Kokichi Ouma. Yes, he’ll need an escort back to the common areas. Alright. Thank you.”

The call clicked to an end, and Makoto slipped his phone back into his pocket with a pleased expression. Now, this, he thought. This had some potential.

Chapter Text

Standing alone outside the door to Kanami Taketa’s office, Shuichi attempted to gather himself.

Okay, he was alone in Team Danganronpa Headquarters, and that wasn’t ideal. He was there to conduct an investigation though. He had done the same in far worse situations before, with far higher stakes. He could do this. He knew he could do this. Before his resolve could slip through his fingers, he curled them closed and raised a hand to knock on the door in front of him.

“Come in,” a pleasant voice called from within.

Shuichi opened the door and stepped inside, only to blink at what appeared to be an entirely separate world to the one he had just left. Outside, the hallways were done up in the same sharp lines and red, black, white color scheme as the lobby downstairs. In here, the first word that came to mind was ‘soft.’ Soft colors, soft rugs, a soft couch with a plush blanket over one arm, and soft lighting coming through the window that took up most of the far wall. Displayed on every flat surface, parts of the walls, and even hanging from the ceiling, there were various origami creations in a multitude of colors.

Ms. Taketa sat at a desk along one wall, but she turned her chair to face him as he lingered in the doorway. Smile lines appeared on her face as she beckoned him in. “Come on in, Shuichi. Will you please close the door behind you?”

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he said as he clicked the door closed.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I’m glad you reached out. Go ahead and take a seat.” When Shuichi had settled gingerly onto the couch, she turned her chair away from her desk completely to face him. She glanced through some papers in her hands and, brushing a few strands of blonde hair behind one ear, looked up to say, “So, since this is our first time meeting like this, I wanted to make sure I’ve introduced myself properly. My name is Kanami Taketa, and I’m what’s called a case manager. My job is to work individually with you and your classmates to make sure your needs are being met now that you have left Danganronpa. For some of your classmates, that has meant helping them with things like finding housing or setting up therapy appointments with Chiho and her team. If there is anything you need help with, I will try my best to connect you with resources to help. Does that all make sense so far?”

Shuichi nodded slowly, internally weighing all of that against the unofficial ‘babysitter’ title Kokichi had given her. “Yes, that makes sense.”

She beamed. “Great! Then let’s get started.” She set her papers aside and leaned forward slightly in her chair, looking at him with an open and inquiring expression. “How are you, Shuichi? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

Somehow, despite how many times he had been asked that question lately, Shuichi found himself unprepared for it. “I’m alright,” he said by default.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said with a warm smile. “When I didn’t hear any news from you for a few weeks, I started to get worried. But because I couldn’t reach out to you, I just had to wait until one of your classmates let me know they had heard from you.”

“You couldn’t reach out to me?” Shuichi asked.

“You requested no contact from the psychology department,” she told him, tilting her head with a concerned expression. “On one of the forms you signed when you checked out of the recovery village,” she clarified when he was still confused.

Vaguely, he remembered signing a dozen forms that morning, impatient to be allowed to leave. It made sense that he would have selected ‘no’ when asked if he wanted to be contacted. “Right,” he said aloud, faintly embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kanami reassured him, as if she had heard his thoughts. “We can update that today if you’d like. It would just allow me to check in with you occasionally, but if not, you can always reach out to me like you did today.”

Shuichi searched her face for a moment. She worked for Team Danganronpa, but he couldn’t detect any of the feverish devotion to the show that he saw on the faces of so many people in the outside world. She looked like she wanted to help. “I would be okay with you contacting me,” he said eventually.

“Alright, then we’ll get that form updated before you leave,” she agreed, and he could tell she was pleased. “Now, I wanted to ask a few questions to get a better idea of how you’re doing. You’re living in your old apartment in the city, right?”

“I am,” he said. She continued to look at him expectantly though, so he tried falteringly to add more. “I like it there. It has enough room, and the apartment complex isn’t too big. There’s a park across the street that I’ve been to.” Only once, yesterday, but he didn’t clarify that. He hesitated briefly, then added, “Kokichi moved in with me last week.”

“That’s great!” she told him. “I had heard something like that from some of your classmates, but there seemed to be some confusion about whether you had let him move in or if he was just, um,” here she tried to conceal a smile, “‘living in the walls’ was the phrase they used.”

Of course. If Shuichi were a betting person, he would put money on Miu being the source of that particular rumor. “I don’t know if ‘let’ is exactly right. He came by one morning and took over the apartment’s spare bedroom. I don’t think he has gotten into the walls though.” …Yet.

“And are you two getting along?” she asked.

Shuichi thought about it. And then kept thinking about it. “I think so,” he answered slowly. “We’re definitely getting along better than we did inside the game. We’ve argued a few times, and sometimes I feel like I say the wrong thing. But I think we’re learning how to read each other better.”

“Living with someone new always has some growing pains,” Kanami agreed knowingly. “Especially when you have history with them like you have with Kokichi. I’ve found that getting out and spending time with others can help give everyone some space.”

“I’ve been spending more time with people lately,” Shuichi said, and he was surprised to find that it was true. On top of spending most of the day with Maki yesterday, he had been texting Kiibo and Himiko for the past few days as well. He had even talked to Kaito, who he had been struggling to contact. “So has Kokichi,” he added, remembering the news footage of Kaito chasing him through a street market.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “And what about other parts of caring for yourself? Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough?”

“I think so,” Shuichi answered. He was somewhat surprised by all the questions. He couldn’t think of the last time someone had shown so much interest in something as ordinary as his daily health. “I’ve had some nightmares, but I think I’m doing as well as can be expected.”

Kanami nodded and turned to jot something on one of her papers. “If that ever escalates to the point that you’re having trouble getting enough sleep, I can help you set up a doctor’s appointment to get some sleeping pills. Now, what about routine? Have you been keeping yourself occupied during the day?”

“I’m…,” Shuichi began, but hesitated. Had he?

He remembered the two weeks he spent in his apartment before Kokichi’s arrival. Or rather, he remembered some of it; that stretch of time blurred together in a haze of sleep, self-pity, and microwaved ramen interspersed with fits of rage in which he tore down every reminder he found of Danganronpa and his apparent worship of it.

There were a lot of reminders to be found.

Then Kokichi arrived and brought with him all the noise and chaos and movement that followed wherever he went. There hadn’t been many dull moments since then, even if some had been better than others.

“I’m doing better than I was,” he answered honestly.

Kanami gave him a look that was so sincerely happy that he had to look away. “I’m so glad, Shuichi. Are you—“

“Actually,” Shuichi interrupted, realization jolting through him, “I just started working on a project. Could we talk about that for a while?”

She blinked for a second before visibly switching mental tracks. “Of course,” she said, leaning forward in her chair to give him her full attention. “We can talk about anything you like. I’m here to help.”

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely, “but I was actually hoping to talk with you as Kanami Taketa the Ultimate Babysitter, not Kanami Taketa the case manager.”

Kokichi hit send on his text to Shuichi and slipped his phone back into his pocket, not intending to take it back out even if Shuichi did reply.

He had taken a picture of the directory he found behind the front desk downstairs, but the office number he sought was already held firmly in his mind. Slipping away from Shuichi and Makoto (what, like that Naegi character? These people were insane) while they distracted each other had been easy enough, and doubling back after they left was child’s play. Now he was walking down the hall on one of the upper floors, scanning the office numbers of the doors he passed.

The place was kind of a maze, but Kokichi doubted he was anywhere near the real bigwigs’ offices. If anything, the area he was in seemed like middle-management at best. The whole place reeked of empty aspirations and dead-end promotions. And coffee. Kokichi thought his and Shuichi’s apartment smelled like the stuff, but this place was on a whole other level. If he smashed open a wall, it’d probably bleed coffee.

He didn’t have to amuse himself with inane thoughts for much longer. His eyes soon alighted on the door he had been searching for, and Kokichi paused for a moment to stare at it. There was nothing remarkable about it, not even a small decoration like some of the other doors he had passed by on his way to this one.

It was as plain as the person the office belonged to.

Kokichi reached out to test the handle, already mentally estimating how easy it would be to pick open if it was locked, but to his dubious surprise, it turned easily.

Interesting, he thought, rapidly reevaluating his expectations for the next ten minutes. This might go a little differently than he had anticipated.

The door swung open, revealing a dim office. The room was rather cramped, although it was unclear whether that was due to the actual size of the space or the multiple mannequins and clothing racks that had been crammed into it. Sitting behind a cluttered desk, illuminated by a computer screen and the light that spilled in from the hallway, was a familiar face.

“Oh,” Tsumugi said, blinking owlishly across at him. “Normally I ask people to knock first, you know.”

“Hey ’Mugi,” Kokichi greeted, closing the door behind himself. Darkness, save for the glow of the computer screen, fell upon the room again. “Got time for a chat?”

Tsumugi eyed him for a moment, undoubtedly noting the now-blocked exit behind him. She reached across the desk and flicked on a lamp, which brought the room from blue-lit darkness to a yellowy twilight. “Sure, Kokichi. What did you want to talk about?”

Kokichi studied her right back. In the dim light, he couldn’t quite get a read on her. “Just catching up,” he said, leaning back against the door. “How have you been? Saw you got squished there at the end.”

“I guess that’s something we have in common, then,” she said. She pushed her keyboard out of the way so she could lean forward on her elbows. “I’ve been great, actually. It’s not often that the mastermind lives, you know.”

“What, you sell your soul and they don’t even promise to keep you safe? Sounds like a bad deal,” he said, meandering closer to take a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk, careful to remain in between her and the door.

Tsumugi gave a little laugh. “You don’t get to be the mastermind of a killing game by prioritizing your safety. That’s another thing we ought to have in common, don’t you think?”

Kokichi continued to study her as she spoke, but for the life of him, he couldn’t get a good grip on her. He tried a different tactic. “So then what does it take to become a mastermind?”

The look she gave him was amused. “Are you asking for my backstory? I’m afraid it’s not much more interesting now than it was before.”

“Humor me.”

“Alright then,” Tsumugi said. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes looking up at the ceiling as she tapped one finger against her lips. “I grew up in a world where the most extraordinary things could happen, and all of it was real. I was as ordinary as they came, of course, but I realized that with some effort, even someone as boring as me could be part of the magic. Everyone wants to be a part of the story, you know, but not many people are up to the task of writing it in the first place. So I went to college for creative writing, and I developed my magnum opus: Killing Harmony, everyone’s new killing game semester!”

She said the title with visible pleasure, even going so far as to accompany the words with little jazz hands.

Kokichi just stared flatly back.

Tsumugi shrugged. “I warned you it would be plain boring,” she told him.

“You went to college, wrote a play, and got an acting job,” Kokichi accused. “The most interesting thing about you is that you actually got a job with a creative writing degree.”

“I also had a girlfriend,” Tsumugi said, not overly concerned with his proclamation of her innate boringness. “For the record.”

“Oh, well if you had a girlfriend,” Kokichi complained. “Emphasis on the had, I notice. What, did she dump you when she realized you’re as deep as the short end of a kiddie pool?”

“No,” Tsumugi said simply, an odd expression on her face. “We stayed together up until the season started.”

Finally, something he could latch onto. Now if only he could find a way to twist it just so to make her hurt. “She didn’t want to get back with you after though, huh? Did she see something she didn’t like?”

Tsumugi’s odd expression grew, and she said, “Something like that, I guess. She’s not really… around anymore.”

Despite himself, Kokichi found himself growing intrigued. “What, did you kill her or something?”

This time, Tsumugi made a small noise, and for a moment, Kokichi thought he had finally struck gold. Then it happened again, and again, and then Tsumugi was laughing. Laughing at him like he was the butt of the funniest joke she had heard in a while.

She quickly schooled herself back into that odd expression, which he could now read clearly as one trying not to laugh at another’s expense, and said, “Not any more than I killed the Kokichi Ouma who first came to this office months ago, asking to become an Ultimate Supreme Leader.”

In the moment before Kokichi could come up with a reply to that, the phone on Tsumugi’s desk began to ring. 

“That will be security,” she said in a cheery voice and picked up the phone before he could do anything about it.

Kokichi took stock of himself, mentally cursing himself for getting caught up in a conversation. If she asked for backup now, he wouldn’t even have time to ransack her office before it was time to flee.

“Hello?” Tsumugi said lightly. “Yes, he was here.” She was quiet as the person on the other line spoke quickly. She looked up and made direct eye contact with Kokichi, who watched her warily. “No, I’m afraid he already left. Through the,” she stalled, glancing around the room, “through the ceiling. Yes, just poked out one of the tiles and climbed up in there. Mm-hmm. Yes, I’m fine, just a few things kicked over. Oh, I’m not very good with directions. He went to the… left. Right. Right, the left. No, the left. Right. Alright. Yes, thank you, I'm so glad I could help. Good luck catching him. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone, and silence fell in the room as Kokichi reassessed her under a new light. The old Tsumugi was timid, wishy-washy, a wallflower. This Tsumugi wasn’t easily moved by his little jabs. She didn’t only deny potential backup, she intentionally misled them away. She wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about being alone with him.

It made him want to make her regret it.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asked, her tone still light and airy. “Or did you finally want to get down to what brought you here today?”

Chapter Text

“I was actually hoping to talk with you as Kanami Taketa the Ultimate Babysitter, not Kanami Taketa the case manager.”

Sitting on the couch across from her, Shuichi couldn’t believe how swept away he had gotten. How could he almost forget the entire reason he came here?

“Oh,” Kanami said, taken aback by his request. “That’s not normally…” She trailed off into silence and stayed that way for several moments, considering carefully. “I’m not saying no,” she began slowly, “but could you help me understand why you’re asking? What is this project you’re working on?”

Shuichi hesitated, deciding how much he wanted to say. Better not to reveal too much too soon. “It’s… I want to speak with other former contestants, to find out what their lives have been like outside of the game. I’m… a little lost, to be honest.” He had meant it to be a little white lie, but his breath hitched oddly as he said the words. He took that observation and pushed it firmly to the back of his mind, to be dealt with… later.

It had the intended effect on Kanami though, whose expression softened noticeably. “I can understand that, but honestly, Shuichi, your experiences and mine aren’t going to have much in common. A lot has changed since my season.”

Shuichi’s attention zeroed in on her words. “Like what?” he asked.

Kanami gave him a look to say she knew what he was doing, but she answered nonetheless. “There was no Kanami or Chiho there for us, for one thing. Let alone a recovery village to stay in. A Team Danganronpa staff member was there to explain things when we woke up, but once we left the premises, we were mostly left to fend for ourselves.”

“What did you do?” Shuichi asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. He hadn’t taken advantage of the resources available to him as much as some of his other classmates, but even he had spent a couple of nights at the recovery village before he left.

“I moved in with two of my classmates,” Kanami said simply. “They were both survivors, so by the time I woke up, they already had an apartment with a spare room waiting for me.” At Shuichi’s questioning look, she clarified, “It wasn’t the same as it is now, when someone like, say, Ryoma can be up and healthy only a few days after his in-game death. It was over two weeks before I woke up. I was one of the lucky ones.”

Despite being fairly certain of the answer already, he had to ask. “Others weren’t so lucky?”

“No,” she said quietly, “they weren’t.” They were quiet for several long moments. Then Kanami seemed to shake herself out of it. “But that’s not what you wanted to hear about. You wanted to know about my life after I woke up. Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?”

“Please,” Shuichi confirmed, nodding. “Just—dealing with all of it. The memories, the public focus, being in an unfamiliar world… keeping up with classmates…,” he trailed off.

She looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “Whew. You sure have a lot on your mind, huh?”

Shuichi flushed.

“That’s okay, you know,” she told him gently. “There’s a lot going on. You’ll get your legs under you with time.” She sat back in her chair, gazing up at the ceiling in thought. “As for me… I’m sure my backstory memories were less developed than yours are, but I’ve found it helpful to focus on the gaps in those memories when I need to ground myself in reality. Names of your teachers or childhood neighbors, gifts you received on your birthdays, what you ate for lunch at school most days; those are all things that probably didn’t get programmed into your memories. If you can’t tell if a memory is real or fake, look for things like that.”

Like what time of year it was when he was ‘kidnapped’ and placed inside the game, Shuichi filled in, recalling his thoughts from the previous morning.

“Being in an unfamiliar world…,” she continued. She gave him a sad, sympathetic look. “I’m afraid I don’t have much for that. It takes time and experience, I think. Going out and being part of the world helps, but only if you go at your own pace.” Her gaze shifted to look out the window, but her attention was turned inwards, introspective. “As for the public attention, it’s hard. I was never the face of my season, so I had it a bit easier than others. I don’t get recognized very often anymore. One of those roommates I mentioned earlier, though, he could hardly go outside without someone wanting an interview or pictures.”

“What did he do?”

Kanami hesitated. “He… stopped going outside. He told our other roommate and me that it was just until things settled down, but it was years before he started leaving the apartment with any regularity. It wasn’t until he met the woman who would later become his wife that he felt able to venture out again.” She looked back at Shuichi. “I’m sorry, as your case manager I probably shouldn’t be telling you these things.”

“No, no,” Shuichi rushed to say. They were finally getting close to what he had come here in search of. “Please continue. Are you still in contact with him? What is his name?”

Kanami startled slightly. “No, I… Ryo died a few years ago. Ryo Kuroishi.” She paused and stared expectantly for a moment, only to blink in realization and offer a rueful smile. “Sorry, I—obviously we were just talking about this being an unfamiliar world to you, but I still somehow expected you to recognize the name. The media coverage for the lawsuit only started to calm down once your season was gearing up.”

The word rang like a bell in his mind, drawing all of his attention. “Lawsuit?”

This time, Kanami hesitated much longer. At length, she sighed. “Well, it does affect you,” she said almost to herself. She seemed to gather herself and sat up straighter in her chair. “Kuroishi v Team Danganronpa LLC. The lawsuit that codified post-recording provisions for all killing game participants. The reason people like Chiho and myself are here for you all.”

Shuichi leaned forward with interest, his mind firing on all cylinders. “He sued them before his death?”

“No, the plaintiff was… his wife. Ryo died by suicide shortly before the 50th season of Danganronpa.” She said the words calmly, but her hands were wrapped tightly around each other in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Shuichi said. He fought against the rising sense of guilt he felt for making her dig up the memories. This was important.

“Don’t be. Ryo was… he never fully recovered from what happened during the game. We thought he was finally starting to adjust; he came out of his shell so beautifully after the wedding… But they pulled out all the stops for the 50th season of Danganronpa. It was everywhere, it was all anyone could talk about, and the marketing team was adamant about bringing back some old favorites to do promotional work for the new season.”

“And it brought back all of the memories,” Shuichi surmised.

Kanami breathed in deeply. She exhaled it in one big sigh. “Ryo truly was a fan favorite, even after years out of the spotlight. When he died, people took notice. When the case was brought to the courts, with his wife alleging that his death was due to gross psychological negligence on the part of Team Danganronpa… everyone took notice.” Here, she gave a wry smile, almost to herself, “You should have seen that woman in court. She pulled every bit of research she could find, every scrap of evidence, every testimony she could get from every other person who had been affected. She laid it all out so there could be no question as to who was to blame. She was determined to burn this place to the ground.” She sighed. “As you can already tell, she didn’t succeed.”

Shuichi made a mental note to find those court records for his own research. “But they put new regulations in place.”

Kanami nodded. “Team Danganronpa had to create a fully-funded psychology department staffed with qualified professionals, who would have the final say-so when it came to contestants’ mental health and wellbeing post-recording. At her request and out of deference to her qualifications as a psychologist herself, Mrs. Kuroishi was made the head of the newly formed department.”

The gears in Shuichi’s mind faltered. “But that’s—”

“Chiho,” Kanami finished for him. “Chiho Kuroishi.”

“Cat got your tongue? Or did you finally want to get down to what brought you here today?”

Kokichi leaned back in his chair, careful to keep his expression aloof. “And what do you think brought me here?”

“Well…” Tsumugi hummed, adjusting her glasses thoughtfully, “I imagine you told yourself you were coming here to get back at me in some way. Trash my office, maybe steal a souvenir or two. But I think what you really wanted was to find something that would help you understand.”

Kokichi scoffed. He leaned back further until his chair was balanced on its back legs. “What’s there to understand? I think we’ve established there’s not much worth knowing about you.”

“Not me,” she said, laughing a little at the thought. “You.”

His expression turned skeptical, and he didn’t bother to hide it as his chair clattered back onto all four legs. “I came here, to your office,” he said slowly as if to a child, “to understand myself better?”

It was a shame, really. For a moment, it had almost seemed like she might have something interesting to say.

“You don’t know what to do with yourself,” Tsumugi explained, ignoring the derision in his tone. In the semi-dark, she looked at him over her glasses and said, “You weren’t meant for this boring, nonfictional world.”

Kokichi’s expression shuttered closed.

She continued casually, “I watch your streams, you know. I think it’s cute that you’re living with Shuichi now.”

He leaned forward to pluck a pen from a cup on her desk. “I think it’s cute that you assume Shuichi is still alive,” he said, twirling it between his fingers. “I’ve heard no one’s seen him in a while, and you know we never got along very well.”

The look she gave him was pitying. “Oh Kokichi. You’ll have to pick a better lie than that, I’m afraid. You don’t have it in you to actually kill anyone. Shuichi is probably in this building right now, right? He was probably the one who decided to come here, and you just tagged along.”

Kokichi was silent. The pen in his hand fell still.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about!” As she spoke, Tsumugi grew more animated. “You’re directionless. Motiveless. You’re not a pianist, or an astronaut, or even a detective. There’s no place for an Ultimate Supreme Leader in this nonfictional world. Especially not one whose title was a lie from the start, Mister Small Crimes and Petty Pranks. And the worst part,” she said, zeroing back in on him with unexpectedly fiery eyes, “is that you already know it. It’s written all over your face.”

If anything was written on his face, he was pretty sure it started with M and rhymed with urder. “Are you done?” he said flatly.

Tsumugi exhaled in one long breath. “For now,” she confirmed, smoothing herself back into her plain, unruffled demeanor.

“That was all pretty rich coming from the amateur playwright with delusions of grandeur who wrote me this way,” Kokichi sneered. “What are you, 23 and already washed up? Seems to really be working out for you, what with the cramped, windowless office and the shitty hours. Unless you actually like working weekends? It’s not like you have a girlfriend to go home to anymore.”

“I’m 22, actually,” she said placidly. “And I didn’t write you this way, you know.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. You had no hand in any part of this.”

“I should clarify. I didn’t write you to stay this way,” she corrected.

“Playing coy is only cute when I do it.”

Tsumugi sighed and drummed her fingers along her desk. It was the first sign of real annoyance she had shown since he arrived. “Why put a fake leader among the cast members?” she began rhetorically. “Why give him all the necessary skills: the boldness, the intelligence, the charisma, the desire to take charge and protect what belongs to him,” she continued, growing more heated with each word, “if not to have him step forward as the hero we needed for the grand finale? At the final hour, when all other possible sources of leadership are gone—Kaede, Rantaro, Kirumi, Kaito, even Shuichi—when no one else is left, the liar is forced to take up the responsibility, and against all odds, he succeeds. The liar is the one who exposes the mastermind among them and leads the rest to victory. He becomes a real hero, who the fans adore for years to come! It was going to be spectacular.”

She fell silent after that last outburst, fuming.

Kokichi stared, his expression blank except for his raised eyebrows. “So you mean I…,” and here a grin cracked across his face, “did ruin your script after all?”

Tsumugi shot him a dirty look. “You and Saihara both. ‘The first blackened detective,’ my left pincushion. You could have been the hero by now. Instead, you’re just clinging to his coattails like a child.”

That wiped the smile off his face. “You know, these are some awfully bold words coming from the girl alone in an empty building with a self-proclaimed villain, where no one will find her until Monday.” He stood up and planted his palms on her desk, looming threateningly.

The expression she looked up at him with was pitying again. “What did I say about choosing a better lie? You’re not going to kill me, Kokichi.” She stood as well, instantly negating his attempt to loom by virtue of her height. “Let’s see if this will help get the point across.” The clothing racks along the walls rattled as she whirled around faster than his eyes could follow, and in an instant, he was looking at a perfect copy of himself. “You don’t have it in you,” the other Kokichi mocked, his eyes glittering. “You just aren’t written that way.”

His eyes widened without his consent, and his step backwards was less of a casual lean and more of a retreat. “You can’t do that,” he said, aiming at the last second for petulance so it wouldn’t come out as startled. It ended up somewhere in the middle, and his doppelgänger smirked knowingly at him.

“That’s right,” she drawled with faux realization in his own voice. “I can only cosplay fictional characters. Wonder why I can do this, then? Not just this, either. I can also be,” she whirled again, “Kaito Momota! Luminary of the Stars!” After a beat, Kaito dropped his pose and scratched at the side of his head. “Any idea why that is?”

Thoughts rushed through his mind too quickly to catch them all, and his heart beat more quickly than he’d like. “Fictional,” he said, knowing it was correct before the word left his mouth.

“Ding ding ding!” she said, wearing his face once again. “Sixteen Shirogane originals, fresh off the presses. Things get a little iffier once you’ve all had the chance to grow as people, though.” In another whirl of movement, she wasn’t Kokichi anymore. “I’ve changed a lot,” Shuichi said quietly, looking up at him from beneath that stupid cap he used to wear. “The other Shuichi is hardly the same person as me anymore.”

“If you’re trying to do something here, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Kokichi told her, going for unimpressed. He had hardly interacted with Shuichi in the beginning, hadn’t realized at the time how interesting he could be, but seeing him like this was—unsettling. He found himself wishing Tsumugi would be anyone else.

In the blink of an eye, he got his wish, and he was looking at himself once again. “I’m getting there,” the other Kokichi complained, “don’t rush me.” The doppelgänger leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “You and I, on the other hand—we’re not very different at all, are we? I can hardly. Tell. The difference,” he finished, pleased with himself.

“Can I be honest with you, Ms. Taketa?” Shuichi asked.

“Please do,” she replied. She was visibly pulling her composure back together after telling her friend’s story, and Shucihi needed to ask before she could finish.

“I wasn’t able to find much information about the lives of former contestants, but you mentioned that other people were affected by the same neglect as your friend, Ryo.” He steeled himself and asked, “Do you know what happened to those others?”

Kanami froze for a moment, startled. Then her shoulders sank as she exhaled a breath. “You sure have a lot of difficult questions, Shuichi. Are you sure you don’t just want to apply to a degree program?” she asked. “I’m much more well-equipped for that sort of thing.”

“Sorry,” he told her, but he didn’t take back the question. “Detective,” he said by way of explanation.

She gave a rueful smile, so he guessed that explanation was enough. “The other contestants,” she began slowly. “It was before my time working here, but TDR has known for a long time that many contestants do not go on to have the best futures. A few stay in the limelight, becoming celebrities in their own right after their seasons. A few, like me, build lives for ourselves and do alright like that. Others, like Ryo, pull away from the world. Ryo… was not the only one to die by suicide, I’m afraid. And…”

“And?” Shuichi prompted.

“And some,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “are killed.” She quickly added, “I won’t make any hard accusations. But I will say, a game like Danganronpa builds grudges that last beyond the game itself. And in the real world, the culprit can’t always be found.”

Before Shuichi could reply, there was a knock at the door of the office.

“Security,” a voice called from outside. “We’re going to have to ask Mr. Saihara to exit the building.”

“If we’re so similar, why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking?” Kokichi suggested with a saccharine smile.

Tsumugi tilted her (his) head, thinking about it. “Yikes,” she said with his face, “you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“My mother is dead.”

“Your mother never existed,” she corrected, twirling back into being herself. “Although I think the original Kokichi had one you can borrow. How’s it going with that?”

Kokichi didn’t answer.

“They didn’t want you, huh?” Tsumugi guessed. “Don’t worry, it happens a lot with villain characters.”

He still did not answer.

“Wow, you look pretty mad,” Tsumugi said with faux wonderment in her eyes. “Bet you’re wishing you could do something about it. Here.” She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out something that didn’t fit with the rest of the plain, typical office space around them.

She set the rusted knife down on the desk, the handle facing Kokichi.

“It’s a replica,” she said, “but it’ll still do the trick.” She gazed across at him with no particular expression. Only a slight dare in her eyes. “Wanna prove me wrong?”

“For caution’s sake,” the security guard explained, “I have to ask you to leave. There is a situation elsewhere in the building, and we’re asking that all non-employees remove themselves from the premises.”

“You think he’s a danger to have in the building?” Kanami asked, righteously indignant on his behalf. She was standing between Shuichi and the guard, who was trying to herd both of them to the elevators.

“No, ma’am, he’s not the,” the guard began.

“Because he has a right to seek psychological services with us,” she continued over him, “and if you’re going to obstruct his check-in with me, then I’m going to have to—”

“Look, it’s not him that—,” the guard tried to explain, growing visibly frazzled. “We’re still searching the building for, I mean, and Shirogane said the ceiling, which. Look, we just need to clear the building so we can—”

“Tsumugi’s here?” Shuichi said, speaking up for the first time.

“No,” the guard blurted out at the same time that Kanami said, “Of course.” They glanced back at each other and continued arguing.

Tsumugi was in the building, and he could only assume the ‘situation’ security was dealing with had something to do with Kokichi. Because Kokichi had snuck off and had been doing who-knew what for the past… half an hour, up to an hour.

And what had Kanami said, just a few minutes ago?

“A game like Danganronpa builds grudges that last beyond the game itself.”

Shuichi looked around quickly, assessing his options. The elevators were just down the hall, but the security guard might grab him if he tried to run. He didn’t even know what floor to go to. He had no proof that there was anything to run to.

The guard had said something about the ceiling. Shuichi glanced up on the off chance that he would find anything useful, but all he saw was fluorescent lights and emergency sprinklers up and down the hall. Nothing relevant.

Wait.

Maybe.

He glanced to his left, where he found a small red box on the wall with a lever that read ‘PULL.’

He wanted to do it. He wanted to wipe that smug non-expression off her stupid, boring face. He also didn’t want to do it—didn’t want to ruin whatever he had that qualified as ‘a life’ on a stupid, pointless murder that wouldn’t do anything for him except prove her wrong prove her wrong prove her wrong it would be easy it would get a reaction and—

The fire alarm went off.

As water began to pour from the sprinkler above them, Kokichi picked up the knife and in one motion stabbed it through the keyboard still laying on the desk. With a satisfying crunch of plastic and thunk of wood, the knife lodged itself into the desk beneath it.

Equally satisfying was the knowledge that all the paper and costumes in the office would soon be soaked.

“Nice chatting with you, ‘Mugi,” he said, heading for the door as the alarms continued to blare. “See ya never.”

If she said anything, it was drowned out by alarms as the door opened and closed behind him.

He was breathing harder than he’d like as he headed down the hall at a trot. Brushing wet strands of hair out of his face, he decided to blame it on the adrenaline and kept moving. Should be easy enough to get out without being intercepted, he thought. Find the stairs, climb up a flight or two. The security cameras would see him go for the stairs, but there weren’t cameras in the stairwell and they’d assume he was going down to the ground floor. Exit on a higher floor, make a beeline for the elevators. Not supposed to use those during a fire alarm so that they’d be free for firefighters to use, which meant they would be free for him to use. He turned a corner and skidded to a stop upon catching sight of the next hallway.

“Well, hellooo,” he said to himself, delighted despite standing directly under another sprinkler. He wiped water off his face and set to work.

He’d let her have the credit for this one; Tsumugi had suggested stealing a couple souvenirs.

A sheepishly damp Shuichi was deposited outside the front door of Team Danganronpa with a stern ‘request’ that he not return. The fire alarm could be heard even from outside, so he didn’t do much more than exchange a wave with Kanami before heading down the front steps and walking back to the car.

The car was already started when he got to it, so he just climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hey, watch the upholstery,” an equally damp Kokichi reprimanded him from behind the wheel, water still dripping from his hair. He didn’t look bloodied or particularly haunted, no injuries or stiffness in his expression.

Unbidden, a relieved laugh escaped him. “Sorry,” he said, not making any move to protect said upholstery. “Guess we’re not allowed to come back here again.”

Kokichi snickered as he put the car in drive. “At least we made an impression. And I got us something to remember them by!” He jerked a thumb at the back seat.

Shuichi turned to look.

And kept looking.

“Kokichi.”

“Yeah?”

“Why are there cardboard cutouts of our classmates in the back of the car?”

Seated comfortably in the back, complete with seatbelts buckling them in, cardboard Rantaro and cardboard Kiibo stared back at him.

“Do you like them?” Kokichi asked, grinning, as he drove. “I decided to get you Kiibo instead of Kaede or Kaito or something, since your feelings are so fucking complicated.”

Shuichi turned back towards the front, ignoring the way it still felt like there were eyes on the back of his neck. He steepled his fingers in front of his chin. He exhaled deeply. “We need to talk about this weird thing you have about Rantaro,” he said eventually.

Kokichi squawked, the grin disappearing from his face in favor of offense. “I do not—!”

Chapter Text

Shuichi stared.

Kiibo stared back.

The living room was silent except for the occasional flip of pages behind him. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the window, casting shadows across both of them.

“My emotions aren’t that complicated,” Shuichi told the new 2-dimensional occupant of their living room.

Kiibo didn’t respond. This was to be expected, given that he was made of cardboard.

“They really are,” Kokichi chimed in from where he lay on the couch. He was perusing a magazine that looked like the sort of tabloid gossip rag one would normally find at a grocery store checkout line. It had been delivered with the mail that morning. Shuichi suspected he had purchased a subscription.

“My feelings are rational and straightforward,” he told Kiibo.

Kokichi snorted, still not looking up from his reading. “So if I had gotten you Kaede, you wouldn’t be having a crisis about it right now?”

“That’s different,” Shuichi denied reflexively. “That’s,” he started to say to Kiibo before deciding it was getting weird. He turned to Kokichi instead. “It would be creepy to have a life-sized cutout of any of the girls.”

“Tell you what,” Kokichi said magnanimously. “Next time, I’ll get you the Kokichi one.”

Shuichi briefly but vividly imagined a future of being repeatedly jumpscared in his own home by not one but two Kokichis. He turned back to Kiibo, looking at him with this newfound perspective. “This was probably the best choice,” he admitted.

“Thought so.”

With that settled, Shuichi moved to go sit on the couch. After only a little disgruntled kicking, Kokichi pulled his legs out of the way, and Shuchi was able to settle down and open his laptop. He was reanalyzing his earlier research in light of all he had learned from Kanami the day before, in the hope that he would find things he had missed previously.

The late afternoon passed steadily with both of them occupying themselves in their own separate activities. Just when the light was just starting to grow dim enough for Shuichi to consider getting up to turn on a light, the peaceful quiet was broken by Kokichi’s phone starting to ring.

Grumbling, he dug it out of his pocket, only to raise an eyebrow at whatever he read on the caller ID. He didn’t comment aloud, just raised the phone to his ear to say, “Ouma’s Crematorium, you kill ‘em we grill ‘em. How can I help you?” Whatever the response was, Shuichi couldn’t hear it, but Kokichi seemed to perk up. “Interesting. I’m listening.”

This had the side effect of catching Shuichi’s attention as well. He looked up from his laptop to make eye contact, but Kokichi wasn’t looking his way.

After a long pause while the caller spoke, Kokichi simply said, “Yep.” Then, “Sure.” There was another pause. “I would,” he replied, “but he’s in the room with me.”

Shuichi’s brow furrowed. He tried again to make eye contact so he could mouth a question, to no avail.

“Well, you didn’t ask,” Kokichi told his phone. “Now we’ve all learned a valuable lesson. Text me the details.” He hung up.

“Who was that?” Shuichi asked immediately.

“Wrong number,” Kokichi said, tossing his phone aside.

“...” Shuichi studied the other’s face, but all he found was thinly-veiled amusement, presumably about the blatant lie. No use trying to pry it out of him, probably. Whatever it was didn’t seem immediately dangerous… although it could be hard to tell with Kokichi. “Should I be worried?” he decided to ask.

“N-ope,” Kokichi answered easily, popping the ‘p’ sound. “Hey, speaking of diversions, take a look at this. Think it’d look good on my wall?”

A magazine was unceremoniously shoved in his face, and Shuichi had to blink a few times to bring it into focus. A large, familiar photo was splashed across the top of the page in vivid colors. Familiar, not because he had seen it before, but because he had been there just yesterday.

Shuichi took the magazine to look at it more clearly, setting aside the mysterious phone call for the moment. The picture had been taken from the street, but it was unmistakably him and Kokichi heading up the stairs to the front entrance of TDR headquarters. In a bold, attention-grabbing font, the headline read, ‘A Sneak-Peak into Season 54?’

“Reporters?” Shuichi asked incredulously. “We have to deal with reporters now?”

“Wait for it,” Kokichi said, rolling over to put his arms behind his head. He kicked his legs out to lay them on Shuichi’s lap. Despite the casual body language, he watched Shuichi intently for his reaction.

Shuichi allowed his gaze to skim across the body of the article, ignoring the warm weight now resting on his thighs. Most of it seemed to be a fluff piece regarding the upcoming season and how it would live up to the last one. But then, about halfway through:

“‘I’m as interested as anyone , said previous killing game winner Shuichi Saihara, who was seen entering TDR business offices this weekend,’” Shuichi read aloud. “‘Saihara has not confirmed what role, if any, he will play in the new season. What surprises might he and fellow contestant Kokichi Ouma, pictured above, have in store for us? Can we expect a mastermind team-up from this unexpected duo?’” He let the hand holding the magazine drop to his side, onto one of Kokichi’s legs. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Well don’t get anything on it,” Kokichi ordered, snatching the magazine away from him. “I’m going to get it framed. You didn’t even get to the part where they speculate that we’re dating, by the way,” he told him. He squinted at the page. “Or fucking. Could go either way, honestly.”

“The others are going to kill me,” Shuichi groaned. “I’m on record as supporting this!”

“You’re the one who said you’re interested.” He had laid back with his phone in his hands, idly texting. “What will Kaede think,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m going to throw up,” Shuichi repeated, burying his head in his hands.

“You’ll live, it’s just a tabloid,” Kokichi said, rolling his eyes. “Sheesh, you can handle all the murders and betrayals, but a little slander is suddenly too much.”

“If it’s in writing, it’s libel,” Shuichi mumbled reflexively. He turned his head to look at the other. “And I wouldn’t exactly say I ‘handled’ it.”

Kokichi waved his non-texting hand negligently. “Tomayto, tomahto. Somebody handled it and it sure as hell wasn’t the bunch of idiots we call classmates.”

Shuichi watched as he typed, his head still resting on his palms. “Who was that on the phone earlier?” he tried again.

“Ugh, it’s like you’re a detective or something,” Kokichi complained, throwing his hands up in a big, emphatic gesture that ended with his arms thumping back down onto the couch. He sat up on one elbow, using his other arm to point at Shuichi. “I’ll make you a deal. Beat me at cards, and I’ll tell you.”

Skeptically, Shuichi eyed the hand pointing at him. “And if I lose?”

Kokichi shrugged. “Then you’ll have to find out the hard way.”

Relatively low stakes then, and judging by the relaxed set of his shoulders, Kokichi didn’t particularly mind either result. Of course, one could never rule out the possibility of Kokichi planning to cheat, no matter the game. Still…

“You’re just bored and want to play cards,” Shuichi concluded.

Kokichi scoffed. “You’re just scared to get your ass kicked.” In a purposefully uncoordinated tumble of limbs, he rolled off the couch, narrowly avoiding kicking Shuichi somewhere unfortunate in the process. He stood up with a big stretch. “Go clear off the table while I get the cards.”

Shuichi looked at Kokichi’s empty hand, then the pile of cards at the center of the table, and finally his own remaining hand of cards.

“This was a tutorial round,” he said.

“Best two out of three, then,” Kokichi replied, smugly gathering up the cards.

“Are you cheating?” Shuichi found himself asking as he stared at Kokichi’s once again empty hand. “You have to tell me if you’re cheating.”

“No I don’t,” Kokichi answered cheerfully. This time he gestured for Shuichi to gather the cards. “But I’m not. Best three out of five.”

Grumbling, Shuichi began to set up the next round. 

“My friend Ace was the one who taught me this game,” Kokichi told him while Shuichi searched for a card to counter what he had just played. If he couldn’t find anything that worked, he would have to pick up cards. A lot of cards. It would almost certainly mean Kokichi would win again. “She actually got the nickname because of it.”

“Why’s that?” Shuichi asked, still half-absorbed in his increasingly hopeless search.

“Because no one could beat her, and she pissed everyone off.” He pointedly tapped the ace laying on top of the pile. “Now pick ‘em up.”

When the doorbell rang, it took Shuichi longer than he would like to admit for him to realize it was the sort of sound that necessitated a response. Blinking, he looked up from his cards to stare at the door.

Across the table, Kokichi looked suddenly innocent and surprised. “I wonder who that could be,” he said to no one in particular.

Shuichi narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’d better go check it,” he suggested earnestly.

The doorbell rang again.

“Hey, Shuichi!” a voice called from outside.

Shuichi’s suspicious expression disappeared as he recognized the voice, and he got up to open the door.

“Surprise!”

Kaito stood on the doorstep, grinning widely at Shuichi’s shock. There were several fabric grocery bags hanging on his arms, and positioned a half step to the side, Maki looked on in vague interest.

“Kaito?” Shuichi asked, instinctively stepping back so the two could enter.

“I decided we’re having a little party,” Kaito announced, already making himself at home by unpacking the contents of his grocery bags. Bags of chips, trays of fruit and cheese, and plates of cookies began to cover the counter with no sign of stopping. Kokichi wandered over to inspect the offerings, evidently not surprised whatsoever by this turn of events.

“I don’t know much more about this than you do,” Maki told Shuichi. She opted to lean against the wall past the entryway, where she could observe Kaito’s preparations from a distance.

“Sure you do!” Kaito said. “I explained it all while we were at the store.”

“You really didn’t.”

“Wooow,” Kokichi marveled, already tearing open a bag of chips. “You told me more than you told your girlfriend? Do you have a crush on me or something, Kaito?”

Kaito made a face. “What? No, don’t wink at me like that, man, I just needed someone to make sure Shuichi wouldn’t go out to dinner or fall asleep early or whatever it is he does while I’m not looking.”

Standing in the open doorway, Shuichi stared at the rapidly-evolving situation taking place in his kitchen and attempted to recalibrate.

The next thing Kaito pulled out was a package of tea cakes. Shuichi’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not yet eaten dinner.

…Well, nothing to do except go with it. “Is that wine?” he asked, closing and locking the front door after confirming that there were no more surprise guests lingering outside.

“Yep,” Kaito agreed, holding up a couple of bottles for him to see. “Didn’t know your preference, so I got my favorite and whatever looked cool.”

“You got that many bottles just for the four of us?” There were at least five bottles of wine on the counter and the grocery bags were not yet fully unpacked.

“Nope,” Kaito denied just as easily. “Three of us. Kokichi doesn’t get any.”

Kokichi’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “What!?”

Off to the side, Maki snorted.

“Then what am I supposed to drink?” Kokichi demanded.

“This!” Kaito said proudly, as if he had been waiting for the question. He produced from one of the remaining bags a six-pack of violently purple bottles. “It’s like grape soda, but with alcohol in it!” he announced.

Kokichi’s expression went blank with surprise, staring at the bottles. Then he squinted accusingly up at Kaito. “I think you’re lying,” he said. “I bet they’re regular sodas, and you just want to keep all the alcohol to yourself.”

“What?” Baffled, Kaito brought the six-pack up to inspect it. “No, it says right here that they’re—“

Yoink. In a flash, Kokichi had snatched a bottle out of the cardboard carrier and was using the bottom of his shirt to pop the top off. “We’ll see about that.”

“Unbelievable,” Kaito complained, setting the rest of the pack down. “You’re welcome, you little shit. Maki, Shuichi, I guess we’re pouring drinks now. Come decide what you want.”

Coming in closer, Shuichi peered at the bottles of wine standing tall among all the various snacks and goodies. “I don’t really know what I like,” he confessed.

“They pretty much all taste the same,” Maki said, selecting a bottle seemingly at random.

“I’m telling you, they don’t,” Kaito insisted, apparently not for the first time, from where he was digging through one of the kitchen drawers. “There’s different sweetness levels and flavor profiles and everything.”

“Hmm.” Maki inspected the label of the bottle she had chosen. “I can’t really tell.”

“You’re doing this to bug me,” Kaito said accusingly.

Maki took the wine opener from him with an expression that wasn’t quite a smirk. “And it’s working.”

Behind them, Kokichi pantomimed vomiting at the exchange. Shuichi fought not to laugh.

“Shuichi, you’re my only hope here,” Kaito told him seriously, hands on his hips. “If you don’t end up liking wine, I’ll have no one to talk to about it and I’ll die a closeted alcoholic.”

“I’ll try my best,” Shuichi assured him. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Thank god,” Kaito said, already retrieving three glasses. Maki passed a bottle to Shuichi and they both set to work on opening them.

While Kaito poured, Kokichi leaned over the counter to root through the remaining bags. His soda bottle was already half empty. “Sooo are we just eating and getting drunk, or…?”

For the first time, Kaito hesitated. “Well, y’see, I was thinking…”

“Dangerous habit,” Kokichi quipped. A moment later, his eyes furrowed in confusion. “Is this nail polish?” he asked incredulously, his hand still in the bag.

“I was thinking,” Kaito continued, two spots of color appearing on his cheeks, “that we could have, like, y’know. Kind of a girls’ night.”

There was silence in the apartment as the other three stared at Kaito with varying levels of baffled incredulity.

“A girls’ night?” Maki repeated slowly, skeptical.

“Can you not count past one?” Kokichi asked. “Maki’s the only girl here.”

“I just thought we could do girl stuff!” Kaito defended, uncharacteristically flustered but characteristically not backing down. “Y’know, paint our nails, eat junk food, lay around gossiping—girls’ night!”

It didn’t explain as much as he probably thought it did, and Kokichi was not going to let him off the hook for it. “You want to have, what, a teen girl slumber party? Are we going to play truth or dare, too? Have a pillow fight?”

Shuichi and Maki’s heads turned as they followed the increasingly loud back-and-forth.

Kaito took a large gulp of wine before he responded. “I don’t know! We could!”

“But why?”

Kaito clammed up, not answering, but his gaze flickered over to Shuichi.

Kokichi looked between them in disbelief. “For Shuichi??”

Shuichi’s eyes went wide as the room’s attention turned to him. “Me?”

“I, look,” Kaito started, growing ever more flustered, “I wanted to be supportive, and Miu said you might be a girl soon, and—“

“She what?” Shuichi yelped.

“What? Was that not true?”

“Why would that be true?!”

Kaito’s mortification was only surpassed by Shuichi’s. “I dunno! I mean she was telling the truth about you guys-, I mean, you two living together! How was I supposed to know!”

Kokichi’s head was in his arms on the counter, his shoulders shaking silently.

Only half to herself, Maki muttered, “Maybe he did explain the plan to me… I just assumed I heard him wrong…”

That broke whatever dam had been keeping Kokichi’s laughter contained, and the apartment filled with hysterical cackling.

Shuichi drank until his glass was empty, his face burning. Kaito did the same, and they both firmly avoided eye contact.

Eventually, Kokichi sat up, out of breath and wiping tears out of his eyes with both hands. “Oh my god. I need to send that cumbrained bitch some flowers. This is the best day of my life.”

“Look, we don’t have to do it if no one wants to,” Kaito started to say.

“Oh, we are absolutely doing it,” Kokichi countered. “Welcome to girls’ night. You may not opt out.”

Chapter Text

“It takes at least two coats, and you have to wait for the first one to dry before you start the second,” Kokichi explained to his attentive audience.

The living room, at Kokichi’s direction, had been transformed into a proper slumber party nest, and the four of them now sat around the coffee table amidst a plethora of cushions and blankets. The table itself was covered in various bottles: nail polish, wine, and grape hard soda. Cardboard Kiibo watched over the proceedings from the corner of the room.

Kaito had unscrewed the top of a blue bottle of nail polish and was inspecting the small brush it revealed. “How do we know when it’s dry enough?”

“Congrats, you have arrived at the first difficulty of nail painting,” Kokichi replied. “There will be others. Good luck.”

“But the acetone can remove it if we mess up,” Maki observed thoughtfully. Despite not having started yet, her mind was visibly working on the task at hand, determined to learn this the same way she would learn anything else.

“Nail polish remover is for quitters,” Kokichi insisted. “You really never even saw someone paint their nails as a kid?”

Maki just shrugged and picked up the red bottle. “I was busy with other things.”

“I can’t believe I was the most normal preteen girl here,” he complained, “and I was an orphaned transgender boy at the time.”

“Gee,” Maki said blandly, “orphaned. I wonder what that’s like.”

There was a moment’s pause in which they all independently realized that no one in the room had grown up with parents.

“…That’s just lazy writing,” Kokichi said. “Someone call up Tsumugi and tell her she sucks.”

“You didn’t tell her yesterday?” Shuichi asked. He would have thought the other wouldn’t hesitate to make his opinions known at the first opportunity. He had no idea what they had talked about, though, or even if they had talked. Kokichi had shrugged him off whenever he tried to ask what happened, and the curiosity was eating away at him.

“You saw Tsumugi?” Kaito asked, looking up from where he was already experimentally applying blue to his pointer finger. “She didn’t come by here, did she?”

This led to Shuichi explaining their unplanned trip to Team Danganronpa headquarters the previous day. It doubled as an opportunity to fill Maki in on his progress with finding previous contestants, and by the time the whole story had come out, both she and Kaito were looking troubled.

Maki’s eyes were stormy to match the frown on her face. “Kaede has mentioned something about a court case before, but I don’t think she knows how recent it was. Or how closely it affects us.”

“And that stuff about contestants going missing is worrying, to say the least,” Kaito said. “You really think they were killed?”

“Some of them,” Shuichi admitted, eyes downcast. “After we got home, I managed to find death records for a few of them. None of the ones I found are listed as homicides, but the causes of death are ambiguous enough that it’s possible. And if it’s true, we still don’t know if they were killed by former classmates, or over-invested fans.” Wincing, he added, “Or Team Danganronpa.”

Kokichi, who had remained quiet for most of the explanation, spoke up to ask, “Have you checked if the missing people are survivors, killers, or victims yet?”

“I… have.” This was the part he himself was most troubled by. “At least, enough to notice a pattern. Of the people whose deaths I was able to confirm, most of them were people who killed in the game. A few were survivors, and one was a blackened who managed to win.”

“Killers, huh?” Kaito muttered to himself. He cracked a flimsy smile. “Guess I’d better watch my back.”

Both Maki and Shuichi began to protest, but Kokichi beat them to it. “You’ll be fine, space cadet. Nobody’s killing the crowd favorites.” They turned to look at him, but he didn’t look up from where he was applying a vivid pink to one nail. “Obviously they’re killing people they have grudges against.”

As much as he didn’t like it, Shuichi had to agree. “That matches what I found. The linking factor I saw is that these are people who did things in the game that people didn’t like. Things that might have made someone want to settle a grudge against them even after the game ended.”

“So, Kokichi,” Maki said, verifying aloud what they were all thinking.

Unhappily, Shuichi nodded. “And Korekiyo. Tsumugi too, probably, considering how she cheated.”

“You could make a case for almost anyone, though.” Kaito’s brows were furrowed. “Angie started a cult, and Miu is the way she is. Hell, Shuichi called for all of Danganronpa to be shut down. That had to have pissed a few people off.”

“It’s just a matter of what people are willing to kill someone over,” Maki said, and by her tone, it was clear exactly how low she considered that bar to be.

They fell silent for several long moments, and then Kaito smacked a hand down on his thigh. “Alright, that’s enough of that!” He picked up his wineglass, still half-full, and gestured around with it, saying, “No more Danganronpa talk. We can all be depressed later. For now, we’re here to drink and have a good time. Look at Shuichi, he hasn’t even started his nails!”

Shuichi startled as everyone turned toward him. “I-I don’t know what color I want.”

“Well, drink more and we’ll help,” Kaito commanded. “You don’t have to pick just one, either. I’m going for a kind of galaxy color scheme,” he said for example. He showed them the nails he had already painted, which were indeed several different shades of blue, purple, and black. 

“I, ah,” Shuichi stammered, struggling to follow the sharp conversational pivot. He began to look through what had to be over a dozen colors spread out across the table.

Maki still had a disquieted look in her eyes after the previous revelations, but she seemed willing to shelve them for the moment. “I just chose the one that matches all my clothes,” she said. She had already applied her first coat of red to one hand and was slowly working on the other.

Kaito nodded approvingly and scanned the table. “I’m pretty sure there’s a navy blue here somewhere…”

“Kokichi’s using it,” Shuichi said.

“What?” Kaito’s head swiveled to look at him. “How many colors are you using?”

Kokichi flashed his left hand, where each nail color clashed wildly with the one next to it. “As many as I want.”

Kaito tsked, but he couldn’t argue with that. Not with his own multicolored nails. “Whatever floats your boat, man. Did any of that help so far, Shuichi?”

Shuichi continued staring at the selection of colors, as he had been doing for the entirety of the exchange.

“Come on, Sidekick, you have to have some idea of what you want.”

Shuichi’s eyes flicked back and forth, never settling on one for long.

Kokichi mimed snapping his fingers, though he couldn’t actually do it without jeopardizing his nails. “Top 3 colors, go.”

When that didn’t work, Maki said, “Tell us your thought process.”

He sighed. “The blue that Kokichi just used matches my hair,” he said, eyeing the bottle. “But is that too similar to what I already wear? Or there’s this… mint green? But I’m not sure about the glitter.” He passed over that one to tap on another. “I kind of like this light purple one, but… I don’t know.”

With delicate fingers, Maki moved the three bottles to one side. “Any others?” she asked.

“The pink and the yellow,” Kokichi said, not looking up from where he was now applying a layer of orange to his thumb. “He keeps staring at them.”

She nodded and moved those as well. “Anything else?”

Shuichi looked over the remaining bottles. “…No, I guess not.”

In short order, the rest were moved aside and the five he had selected were placed in front of him. If anything, though, it only made the decision harder. Frustration began to bubble up in his throat.

“I just don’t really see the point of this,” he said eventually, sitting back.

“You don’t want to do it?” Kaito asked, pausing what he was doing to look up with concern.

“It’s not,” he began before huffing out a breath. “I don’t think painting my nails is going to help me solve whatever gender… thing everyone thinks I have going on.” Which he wasn’t even sure he agreed was there at all. “I mean, it’s not like having pink nails would change anything about me.”

“It wouldn’t,” Kokichi casually agreed. He swirled his drink around in its glass, eyeing Shuichi over the table. “But you’re still hesitating.”

Shuichi sighed again. He gave up on staring at the bottles of polish for the moment and decided to drink some more, as Kaito had suggested, in hopes that it would make choosing easier.

Kaito, for his part, was looking thoughtful. “Painting your nails doesn’t change anything about how you feel inside, but it sounds like you can’t decide what direction to go with your gender presentation without dealing with the underlying confusion of your gender identity.”

There was no response as everyone stared at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Kaito?” Kokichi accused.

Kaito started to scratch the back of his head, then jolted his hand away when he remembered his nails. “I don’t know, man, it’s probably just the classes I’m taking. I’m in an intro LGBT studies class. And queer theory,” he added.

“For… astronaut training?” Shuichi tentatively asked, more than willing to set his nail polish debate aside.

Kaito waved that off. “Nah, they’re just electives while I get my degree. The school’s letting me test out of a bunch of stuff, but I needed a couple classes to fill out my schedule while I take the required stuff.” He huffed. “I mean, if I have to take easy stuff like applied astronomical physics again, I figured I should at least take something interesting too, right?”

Maki had gone back to her nails, evidently familiar with this already.

Kokichi, for his part, was leaning forward with a disbelieving expression. “But the best way you could think of to support Shuichi was girls’ night?”

“The classes only started like last week!”

“Are you learning anything interesting?” Shuichi asked, because he was curious, and not to steer the conversation back away from himself.

Kokichi narrowed his eyes at him, but Kaito said, “Oh, yeah, I’m learning a lot. It’s kinda crazy how much I didn’t know about this stuff before. Did you know gay and trans kids are something like four times more likely to be homeless at some point in their lives? Or, like, a trans person having even one person in their life who calls them by the right name and stuff decreases their chances of suicide by some crazy amount?”

‘Hence, girls' night,’ Shuichi mentally filled in the rest. Kaito rattled the facts off like they didn’t relate to anyone in particular, but he glanced at Shuichi as he did so. Worrying about Shuichi’s wellbeing; Kaito hadn’t changed at all, not really. The twisted knot inside of him relaxed, just a little.

Shuichi turned back to the five bottles in front of him.

“Not pink,” Kokichi said, noticing the shift in his attention. “You’ll give yourself an aneurism, thinking about what it means, gender-wise. And Kaede, probably.”

…It was a fair point. Shuichi pushed that bottle to the side, relieved to narrow the selection down further.

In a similar vein, Kaito assessed the remaining colors and said, “No purple. Sorry, Sidekick, I can’t have you ripping off my style.”

Kokichi reached out to grab that bottle, sticking his tongue out at Kaito. “You mean my style.” Pointedly, he unscrewed the top and began applying it to a fresh nail.

While they squabbled over who exactly had a trademark on the concept of purple, Shuichi looked to Maki next.

Her tongue was bitten between her teeth in concentration as she carefully applied red to one finger. “Not the green,” she concluded eventually. She then clarified, “The glitter isn’t really… ‘you.’”

Obediently, Shuichi moved that one away and was left with two remaining bottles. A nondescript, navy blue and a bright, sunshiney yellow. The others kindly left him to his own devices while he thought.

The blue would blend in with his hair and outfits, he reasoned. It wouldn’t be much of a change. He might not even notice it very much. But as Kokichi had so bluntly pointed out earlier, his eyes kept being drawn to the yellow. He didn’t really know why. It wasn’t a color he had ever chosen for himself; he normally gravitated towards darker, more muted colors.

Maybe that was the point. It would be easy to go with the safer, more familiar color, but then… why bother doing it at all?

If his friends were so determined to help him ‘explore,’ maybe he could be willing to branch out a little.

Who knew, maybe a little change would be nice.

Before he could second-guess it, he uncapped the yellow.

Kaito nodded approvingly. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.” Shuichi noted with embarrassment that he had taken so long that Kaito was simply sitting back and waving his hands to help them dry faster. “What do we think we want to do after this?”

“You were the one who proposed a girls’ night,” Maki said. “You tell us. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Kaito scratched his cheek with his knuckles, chagrined. “I don’t wanna force you guys to do stuff just ‘cause I thought it’d be fun.”

“It would take more than some drinks and puppy-dog eyes to force me or murder girl to do anything we don’t want to do,” Kokichi commented. “Just say what you want.”

“Don’t call me murder girl,” Maki said flatly, but she didn’t disagree.

“Why am I not included in that?” Shuichi asked.

Kokichi scoffed. “You’d do anything for Kaito’s puppy-dog eyes. It’s embarrassing.”

Kaito had gotten up to dig through a grocery bag. He tottered slightly as he walked, having already poured and mostly finished his third glass of wine, but he made it there without incident. When he found what he was looking for, he held it up for their inspection. “I bought these face masks?”

“How much stuff did you buy?” Kokichi asked incredulously. He made grabby hands for the face masks anyway, and Kaito threw one across the room for him.

“A lot,” Maki answered, holding her hands out for one as well.

“Have you seen the state of our bank accounts?” Kaito shot back as he tossed another to Maki. “‘Course I’m gonna load up at the store. Who else needs another drink? Kokichi, I got yours already.”

Both Maki and Shuichi agreed, so he just brought over another bottle of wine and filled up all three of their glasses.

They couldn’t do face masks until they finished their nails, so they spent the time chatting about everything and nothing. By the time everyone’s nail polish was dry enough that they weren’t quite as worried about smudging it, they were all several drinks in and the conversation had turned towards their other classmates.

“Himiko ‘n Tenko are staying in a loft apartment above a dojo in town,” Kaito was saying as he tore open the packet containing his face mask. “It’s not an aikido place, but I’m pretty sure Tenko’s started teaching a class there a few times a week or something. I went once, but people kept staring instead of learning. Think it pissed her off, ‘cause she flipped me on my ass like twenty times.”

“It’s probably just pent-up sexual tension from living with Himiko,” Kokichi said. He was already unfolding the sticky, paper-like mask from his own packet.

Shuichi looked up from his in surprise. “They aren’t together yet?”

Kaito looked to Maki, who sighed like the weight of the world had been put on her shoulders. “No. They’re not.”

“That bad?” Kokichi asked, delighted.

“Worse,” Maki said, and did not elaborate.

This only brought more joy to Kokichi. “I love lesbians. Everything is so complicated with them.”

“Hey, not all of them,” Kaito defended. “Miu’s as straightforward as they come.”

“Miu’s not a lesbian, numbnuts.”

“She’s not?”

“She and Kiibo have been, ah, together, for weeks. Before the game ended, even,” Shuichi said, blushing as he tried not to remember why he had firsthand knowledge of this fact. He hurriedly put his mask on to cover his flushed face. All they had to do now was sit around for a while to let the masks do… whatever they were supposed to do.

“No shit?” Kaito sat back, looking impressed. “Good for them. I thought for sure she had a thing for Kaede.”

“She does,” Kokichi said. “She has a thing for pretty much everyone.”

“Huh.” This seemed to require deep thought. “Is, uh, Kaede with anyone? I could never tell between her and Rantaro. Or, it kinda seemed like she had a thing for, uh.” He trailed off, apparently realizing he had tread into treacherous waters.

“Kaede and I do not and never did have a thing,” Shuichi firmly answered the unspoken question.

Kaito nodded emphatically. “Right, right. I knew that.”

“Shumai doesn’t have the hots for anyone,” Kokichi chimed in. “He can barely even look at a shoujo manga. He might as well be celibate.”

Shuichi spluttered, narrowly avoiding spitting out his ill-timed drink. “What??”

Kokichi only buckled down on the assertion. “It’s like you radiate an anti-horny forcefield.”

Kaito was laughing already, and Maki’s eyes glittered with amusement as she sat back to watch the argument unfold.

“Me?” Shuichi blurted out in indignation. “The only time you bring up stuff like that is as a joke!”

Kokichi scoffed. “Name one.”

“You always joke about us dating or being married!”

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause the look on your face is priceless when I do.”

Kaito sat forward in realization. “Hey wait a minute, is that why you’re always flirting with me?”

Now it was Kokichi’s turn to splutter wordlessly, and Maki narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“He what?”

Kaito pointed accusingly at him. “I knew you were just being a little shit!”

Deflecting wildly, Kokichi said, “Yeah, well, Kaito’s bisexual!”

“I told you that in confidence!!” Kaito squawked.

The next few minutes were spent in a chaotic din of accusations and deflections as everyone clamored to shout over each other. At one point, Kaito lunged around the table to put Kokichi in a headlock while Shuichi attempted, poorly, to deny ever having untoward thoughts about Kaito to an increasingly unconvinced Maki. The table and its contents jostled worryingly as the nearby wrestling match continued, and from the corner of the room, the cardboard Kiibo watched over it all with a proud, frozen grin.

When the dust settled, Kokichi had been exiled to Shuichi’s side of the table, and Maki had pulled Kaito protectively to her chest. He seemed perfectly happy with the situation.

“And anyway,” he was saying, having been telling off Kokichi for the past several uninterrupted minutes, “celibate isn’t even the right word. It’d be asexual, which isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

Kokichi took a break from making faces at him to fire back, “Yeah, but does being asexual make you allergic to romcoms?”

“They’re boring!” Shuichi insisted, flushing deeply again from both embarrassment and alcohol. He then had to dodge and defend himself as Kokichi reached a hand over to bat annoyingly at him.

Kaito was apparently deep in thought, taking Kokichi’s words seriously. “Maybe not. That sounds more like being aromantic. It’s like being asexual but for romance stuff.”

Shuichi and Kokichi’s mini slap fight ended abruptly as they both gaped at him. For a moment, the room was completely still.

At length, it was Maki who spoke. “And, is that… okay?”

Kaito craned his head to look up at her. “What? Sure. Why not?”

“Oh,” Maki said. “Just… wondering, I guess. I’ve never heard of that.”

Nodding, Kaito laid back and got comfortable again. “Yeah, I only know it ‘cause I’ve been reading ahead in my textbooks. Thought it sounded cool.”

There was a lull in the conversation, in which Kaito was blissfully unaware of the intense psychic whiplash taking place in the minds of his companions. Finally, Kokichi broke the silence, and the moment, all at once.

“Can we take these masks off already? My face itches.”

Chapter Text

A beam of sunlight was shining persistently on Shuichi’s face, and his first, half-asleep action was to grimace and pull away.

It did not work very well, as his face almost immediately ran into resistance in the form of something solid and warm. Unwilling to open his eyes, he grumbled something like a complaint and was rewarded when the warm thing begrudgingly shifted a little to the side, allowing him to escape the sunbeam by burrowing closer.

Unfortunately, this caused the blanket (and there was a blanket involved somehow, his fuzzy thoughts recognized) to pull up, which prompted a different groan of complaint from somewhere past Shuichi’s right elbow. A seeking hand patted and thumped around and eventually bumped into Shuichi, who blindly gathered up some spare folds of blanket and pushed them towards the hand. After a few more moments of shuffling, all parties involved seemed to have been appeased, and Shuichi relaxed again into the side of whatever or whoever his face was pressed against, falling back into a doze.

Sometime later, Shuichi awoke once again as his impromptu pillow shifted and rolled on top of his head. Shuichi made a startled, displeased noise and wriggled pointedly to signal he was there.

A familiar voice from above mockingly mimicked him and did not bother to move. From the sound of it, he had been resting his head against their back, which was now squishing his face.

With effort, he freed one hand from the blankets and used it to shove Kokichi.

The nuisance in question flailed and rolled further than the light shove really called for and, with a theatrical yelp, fell off the bed. He took the blankets with him, and suddenly the room was filled with the suffering groans of those now unceremoniously exposed to the cold morning air.

Shuichi’s eyes reluctantly cracked open to survey the scene. They were in his room, which was a decision he only faintly remembered being made. The bed was covered in a tangle of limbs, minus the empty spot next to him where Kokichi had been. At the foot of the bed, Maki was beginning to sit up and rub her eyes next to Kaito, who was curling in on himself in an effort to retain warmth and shield his eyes. Shuichi felt much the same.

“Dude,” Kaito groaned.

“Shuichi did it,” Kokichi said instantly, looking quite pleased with himself on the floor surrounded by stolen blankets. He had probably been awake for a while, judging by his chipper tone and lack of squinting in the morning sunlight.

“Dude,” Kaito repeated, more to himself than anything.

Halfway through a yawn, Maki said, “Baby.”

Kaito peaked an eye open. “Yeah, dear?”

She stared at him in disbelief, a flush rising on her cheeks as she folded her arms. “I’m calling you a baby. Idiot.”

“Isn’t there a rule against giving a guy a hard time so early in the morning?” he asked, rolling over in defeat. “That’s a law, right Shuichi?”

Shuichi made a noncommittal sound, still so far unconvinced that being awake was a good idea. It was so bright. And cold.

“Don’t bother with him, he won’t be a person until he’s had his coffee,” Kokichi dismissed.

Maki tilted her head at him. If she was having a hard time waking up, she didn’t show it. “There wasn’t coffee inside the game.”

“‘N I missed it every day,” Shuichi mumbled, not really listening.

Coffee sounded nice…

With that decision made, Shuichi got up and began to shuffle towards the door. The others followed shortly, maybe because they felt awkward in his room without him. Shuichi didn’t care though. It was only kind of his room, anyway.

Shuichi got the coffee maker started while Kaito and Maki began putting the living room back into something like order. He joined them after a while to help collect trash and empty drinks on autopilot.

For his part, Kokichi was putting the leftover food safely away inside the kitchen cabinets. Kaito, who had bought the food and presumably had dibs on taking it home, seemed to neither notice nor care.

Several times, Shuichi caught sight of his newly yellow nails. They were little flashes of brightness even as he went about something as boring as party cleanup, and he found himself quietly pleased with his choice. He wasn’t the only one.

“I can’t believe girls have kept this to themselves for so long,” Kaito chattered as he worked, pausing once again to admire his galaxy-themed nails. “Do you think other guys know about it?”

“Probably,” Maki said.

At the same time, Kokichi said, “It’s just you.”

They both squinted at each other.

“Rantaro does his nails,” Shuichi interjected before either of them could gripe at each other. Between the physical movement and the smell of coffee slowly filling the apartment, he was finally starting to feel more awake.

“Since when?” Kokichi asked skeptically.

“Um, since day one, I think,” Shuichi said, remembering how Kaede had excitedly told him about her meetup with Rantaro during those first few days inside the game. It was hard to recall exactly though, because something kept itching at the back of his mind when he looked at Kokichi.

“I’ll have to talk to him soon, then,” Kaito said, nodding decisively. “Maybe I’ll finally get some quality bonding in with him. That guy’s tough to actually get to know, you know?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Kokichi suggested helpfully.

The two of them squabbled back and forth about that for a while, but Shuichi stayed out of it. He was getting closer to whatever was bugging him.

Something about Kokichi…

“You can ask him when you see him this weekend,” Maki put an end to the pointless bickering. She shot an unimpressed glare towards both parties, who were equally unrepentant.

Wait, had he and Kokichi slept curled up together like that the whole night?

After making one last childish face at Kokichi, Kaito said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Redirecting himself, he stretched his arms above his head with a grunt. “Alright, it’s about time for us to head out. Makiroll, you ready?”

Maki, who had just finished stuffing the empty grocery bags into each other, nodded. “Sure.”

Shuichi rebooted sharply, caught off guard. “Wait, don’t you at least want to stay for breakfast?” he asked.

“Nah, wish I could,” Kaito shook his head.

“He has class, and I have an interview to meet Himiko and Kaede at,” Maki explained.

Kokichi leaned over the counter to better join the conversation. “Yikes. Enjoy riding the bus with that hangover,” he said, smugly amused.

At that, Maki snorted, a smirk appearing on her lips.

“We drove here,” Kaito announced proudly. “Makiroll here has a motorcycle.”

“What!” Kokichi blurted out. “What kind?”

Shuichi blinked in surprise. “The old Maki had a motorcycle?”

“No.” Her smirk grew. “I bought it.”

Kokichi quickly caught hold of himself. “I bet it’s lame,” he said dismissively.

Satisfaction was evident in every inch of her. “It’s not.”

Kokichi was clearly torn, unable to resist the prospect of a cool motorcycle but equally unwilling to show enthusiasm for anything related to Maki Harukawa. “Bet it’s not as cool as my car,” he settled for muttering.

“We’ll see.”

Kaito was looking back and forth between them with a contemplative expression. “You know,” he said, “maybe you two should hang out sometimes.”

For all their animosity, Maki and Kokichi responded to Kaito’s statement with identical expressions questioning his sanity. Even Shuichi found himself skeptical, especially when the other two glanced at each other in disgust.

“No, really,” Kaito insisted. “I think it could be good for you guys. I mean…” he scratched the side of his head, “I’m getting recertified, and Shuichi’s starting to get back into his detective thing, but it’s gotta be hard being, y’know. An assassin and a supreme leader when those aren’t really an option anymore. Maybe it’d be nice to talk to someone who gets it, sometimes.”

His explanation didn’t do much to convince them, though.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to rule out supreme leadership,” Kokichi dismissed, turning to look at his nails with an aloof expression. “I’ve already been planting some seeds in the criminal underground. Give me a few months and I’ll have this world in the palm of my hand.”

Maki rolled her eyes. “I’m busy enough already with helping Kaede put a stop to the new season,” she said, not looking at Kokichi. “Besides, I’m not the one who needs help moving on here.”

Kokichi’s eyes narrowed, and Shuichi braced himself. “Do you have something to say to me, murder girl?”

“Nothing that you don’t already know,” she replied frostily.

“Alright, alright,” Kaito said, holding his hands up, “I get it, you hate each other. You both already did a good job of playing nice all night, and I shouldn’t have pushed it. Sorry for bringing it up.” He met Shuichi’s eyes and gave an apologetic grin. “Sorry to crash and run, Sidekick. We’ll hang out again sometime soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shuichi agreed, still eyeing Maki and Kokichi’s glares warily. He looked back at Kaito and tried to ignore the lingering tension between the other two. “This was fun. I’m glad you came.”

“Same here!” Kaito grinned. “Alright, c’mon Makiroll, let’s get moving. See ya, Shuichi; see ya, Kokichi!”

Maki nodded and followed him to the door. “See you later, Shuichi. Kokichi.”

“Maki,” Kokichi returned blandly. “Kaito,” he added, blowing a kiss with this one.

“Man, stop, you’re gonna get me in trouble,” Kaito complained, but he didn’t bother to put any real force into it. On his way out, he stooped over to pick up an envelope that had apparently been delivered that morning. He glanced at it briefly before lighting up, then turned it for Maki to see. “Hey, we know what this is, don’t we, Makiroll? Looks like we’ll be seeing you two pretty soon after all.”

Shuichi took the proffered letter in confusion, but he still waited and waved to the departing pair until they were out of sight before closing the door and looking at it more closely.

The envelope was made of thick, quality paper that gave it a certain weight in his hands. An address was written in neat black ink on its face, and the sender’s name made his brows raise in surprise.

In a flash, Kokichi was at his shoulder, craning to look as well. “Why is Kirumi writing to you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Shuichi murmured, staring at the name Kirumi Tojo as if it would give him answers. Guiltily, he realized he hadn’t thought much about his maid classmate since leaving the recovery village. She had his phone number, though, just as everyone else in the class had everyone’s numbers. Why write him a letter, of all things?

“Well?” Kokichi ordered, “Open it!”

Rolling his eyes at the demand, Shuichi did as he was told. A sheet of creamy smooth paper inside unfolded to reveal a handwritten note.

The letter began:

“Dear Shuichi and Kokichi,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that you are adjusting well to our collective newfound circumstances.

I am writing to you because I have an announcement to make to everyone in our former class, and I would like to have everyone present to do so. Therefore, it would bring me great joy if the two of you would join me and the rest of our classmates at my home this weekend, from Friday through Sunday, for a small reunion. It is my intention that this weekend together will additionally serve as a time for us all to maintain the bonds we made during our shared hardships, and so I dearly hope that you will both be able to join us all.”

The writing went on to include the address, packing suggestions, and other logistical information. It ended with a reiteration that she hoped they would agree to come, before signing off with a flourishing signature.

Kokichi, who had been peering around his shoulder to read along with him, said, “Well, this has Kaede written all over it.”

Shuichi frowned and reread the letter to see if he missed anything. “What makes you think that?”

“Duh, who else has put herself in charge of keeping this ragtag group of misfits and murderers together?” He pointed at one of the paragraphs. “‘Maintain the bonds we made during our shared hardships?’ Come on, Kirumi wrote it but that’s definitely a Kaede idea.”

His brows furrowed, still unconvinced. “Kaede is in charge of keeping us all together?”

Kokichi smacked a hand on his forehead. “Right, how could I forget your weird thing about each other. She appointed herself de facto leader again and has been calling everyone to check in.”

“Oh,” Shuichi said dumbly, taken aback. Was that the explanation for that phone call he had overheard between her and Kokichi? That was… good, he thought. It wasn’t exactly like he had been fulfilling his leadership role lately. And of course he hadn’t heard about it before; he had pretty purposefully cut himself out of the loop. It was good that someone was keeping tabs on everyone.

Everyone… except him, apparently.

“Well, either it’s Kaede’s idea or Kirumi is trying to kill us,” Kokichi continued matter-of-factly, either oblivious or more likely ignoring the pit forming in Shuichi’s stomach. “Pretty sure her ‘home’ is a mansion in the middle of nowhere, if Kiibo is to be believed.”

That was enough to startle him out of his thoughts. A mansion? Just how much exactly had he missed in his classmates’ lives?

Kokichi must have been enjoying the disoriented bafflement on his face, because he also added, “She lives there with Ryoma and Korekiyo.”

Kirumi was living with who and who?

Whatever gossip line there was between them all, he needed to get onto it soon. This was getting absurd.

“Well, I guess we’ll learn more when we get there,” Shuichi said, folding the letter and slipping it back into its envelope.

Kokichi arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “What makes you think I’m going?”

That brought him up short. “Oh, um, I guess I just assumed you’d be interested. Do you… not want to go?” To be fair, between the two of them, he wouldn’t have expected Kokichi to be the one reluctant to see everyone. Maybe that was wrong of him—Kokichi hadn’t exactly gotten along with most of their classmates.

It would be a pretty long bus ride for Shuichi if Kokichi wasn’t driving, though.

“It’s lazy to make assumptions like that, detective,” Kokichi scolded him. “Buuuut, if you want me there to hold your hand so badly, I guess I can carve some time out of my busy schedule.”

Shuichi blinked. “Okay.” He didn’t really get what the point of that exchange was, in that case, but he guessed that was just Kokichi. “Great, so we’ll drive there Friday afternoon. I guess that’s what Kaito meant about seeing us soon.”

There was a faint flash of irritation in Kokichi’s eyes, but it was quickly blinked away as he reached his arms up in a big, casual stretch. “If that’s settled, I’m gonna go stream for the rest of the day. According to my mods, I’m near the end of the season, and if I don’t finish it in one go it’ll ‘ruin the effect’ or whatever.”

“Alright,” he said. He still didn’t quite know how to respond to Kokichi watching old seasons of Danganronpa. ‘Have fun,’ felt a little gauche for the subject matter. He settled for, “Good luck.”

Kokichi waved vaguely as he headed back to his room. “If you need me, don’t.”

“See you at dinner!” Shuichi called behind him before the bedroom door snapped closed.

He stared at where the other had gone. Was he imagining things, or had Kokichi been in a strange mood? It was hard to tell what was a joke and what was serious with him. He had seemed fine last night and for most of the morning, but it felt like something had shifted at some point. Was it Kirumi’s invitation? The almost-argument with Maki?

Had Shuichi done something?

It couldn’t be the way they slept, could it?

He hoped some time alone would help. Not, he noted, that he was actually alone in there. Shuichi couldn’t understand what Kokichi got out of his streams. The idea of being watched by a crowd of strangers eager to see his reactions to yet another killing game… needless to say, it didn’t appeal to him. But he supposed he wasn’t Kokichi. Shuichi didn’t have to like it.

He had been standing there lost in thought for too long, so Shuichi turned to inspect the living room and kitchen around him. Most of it had been put back into order, but there were still a few telltale signs of the previous night. For lack of something better to do, he set to work putting the couch pillows back in place and clearing off the coffee table.

Just as they had earlier, his nails kept catching his attention. He found himself thinking more about the ‘girl’ aspects of Kaito’s so-called girls’ night as he worked.

He guessed he enjoyed it. It had been fun to participate in the kind of activities he had always seen on TV and never actually done in real life. Painting his nails had been both easier and more complicated than he expected, but he had to admit he liked the little flashes of yellow as he went about normal tasks. The face mask, too, had felt a little weird but not in a bad way.

It felt nice to actually put effort into taking care of his body, rather than just mechanically keeping it clean and fed. His nails looked nice, and his face felt soft. There was a new awareness of himself this morning that he hadn’t known he was missing in the first place. For once, he was enjoying just being in his skin.

It felt good, too, to spend the night just being with his friends and having a good time together. The shadow of Danganronpa still hung over their heads, of course, but it was distant; no one was in danger last night of anything more dire than a smudged nail or a spilled drink.

If life could be like that…

If life could be like that, even only occasionally, then maybe there was a future worth building in this world.

But this world came with its own set of problems to deal with first. With a sudden sense of determination, Shuichi picked up his phone. After a brief trip to his room to dig through his file for the number he wanted, the line began to ring.

“Hello?” came a professional voice that was only slightly familiar. “This is Chiho.”

“Hi,” he said, stumbling a little over the word as nervousness welled up in his chest despite his resolve, “This is Shuichi Saihara.”

The response was a little taken aback, but also less formal. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, Shuichi. How are you?”

Shuichi chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, I, ah, wasn’t exactly reachable for a while. But I’m doing better now. I have a few questions I wanted to ask you, if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Chiho agreed without hesitation. It sounded like she physically set something aside. “Are these just general questions, or should we schedule time for something more like a therapy session?”

His immediate gut response was not therapy, and he fought to keep it internal, faintly surprised by the strength of it. “Um, kind of general questions, but it might be a long conversation. Maybe we should set a time to meet up soon to talk?”

There was a sound of paper flipping from the other end of the line. “Mm. We can do that. How does…” more paper flipping, “this Wednesday afternoon sound?”

The day after next, Shuichi noted. “That sounds good to me.” Then, having learned from his mistake with Kanami, he asked, “Where, ah, were you thinking we should meet?”

Chiho gave a wry snort. “Well, I hear you’ve been banned from the main building.”

Flushing, Shuichi began to stammer out an explanation, but Chiho dismissed it.

“Don’t worry about it, I hate it here anyway. How about instead we meet at the recovery village? Your classmates have all moved out, so it should be private.”

“The recovery village,” Shuichi repeated. “I can—yeah, I can do that.”

There was a pause as Chiho seemed to write something down. “Alright, I will see you there this Wednesday afternoon. Call me if you need anything before then, okay?”

“I will,” Shuichi promised, feeling steadier already. “Thank you.”

The call ended with little fanfare, but Shuichi felt… good. Like he had a plan for the first time in a long while. The next two days would give him plenty of time to continue his investigation of the former contestants, and interviewing Chiho would hopefully provide some answers that he wouldn’t be able to find from online articles and court records. The need to find the truth itched under his skin as his resolve grew.

He had to get answers. This went beyond ending Danganronpa; this concerned the long-term safety of his classmates.

In that vein, he grabbed his laptop from his room and settled down on the living room couch. He buried himself in the data, following leads on individual contestants and searching for broader news regarding the aftermath of various seasons. He noted obituaries and causes of death when he found them, and he cross-referenced each person’s status as a survivor, victim, or killer as Kokichi had suggested.

The documents he was using to keep track of each aspect of the investigation kept growing. A few contestants, as Kanami had said, were living in the world as either minor celebrities or seemingly normal citizens. He noted their names and what contact information he could find and forwarded them to Maki. They were mostly victims and survivors.

Most of the deaths he found were listed as accidents or suicides, and maybe that was accurate for some of them—but it didn’t account for all of them.

And that was just the people whose deaths he could confirm. Many people just disappeared without a trace. Most of them, as Kokichi had suspected, were killers and unpopular survivors.

The news coverage around it all was strange, too. He noticed it while clicking through the links Himiko sent him. They would cover the whereabouts of every revived contestant for a while, but as time went on, more and more people would be conveniently left out of the updates. The articles he found that notified the public of a contestant’s death were always slim on the details, and articles wondering about the whereabouts of various contestants were few and far between.

It all fed into a growing suspicion, but he didn’t know how he would go about getting evidence to prove—

He was cut off by his phone beginning to ring.

Shuichi jolted out of his thoughts and picked up the phone, only to be astonished to see the time. It had been several hours since he sat down. A pile of notifications had accumulated since then, including one from an unfamiliar app announcing that Kokichi’s stream had begun and, oddly, three texts from his sister.

He ignored all of that, though, in favor of staring at the name of the caller in disoriented surprise.

He answered it. “Rantaro?” he asked worriedly, forgetting to start with a greeting.

“Hey Shuichi,” came the low, even voice of Rantaro Amami. “Sorry to call you out of the blue like this. You got a minute?”

“Of course,” Shuichi said, his heartbeat slowing down as it became clear he wasn’t calling for an emergency. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s,” he paused, “well, I guess it’s not okay, really. Not really my place to say everything’s okay, you know? But it’s not an emergency, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It was, but he didn’t need to admit that. “Okay,” he said slowly as he tried to parse what the other had said. “So what’s up?”

“I heard from the others that you’re trying to find former contestants like us. Is that true?”

Shuichi glanced at his still-open computer. “That’s true.”

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. “Then I think I know someone you should talk to.”

“That’s great,” he said, sitting up. “Who is it?”

“Her name is Momo,” Rantaro said, and there was a note of reluctance in his voice despite him being the one volunteering the information. “She was in season 52 with me. Well, I don’t remember it, obviously, but…” he trailed off.

Shuichi gave him space to continue, but he remained quiet. “But?” he prompted, worry growing once again.

The line was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I killed her.” Shuichi’s eyes widened, but Rantaro continued quickly, “In the game. That’s how I won, I was the first blackened in fifteen years to actually win. I rewatched it all, and she was the leader of that season. If you’re looking for everyone else who was revived after the fact, she’ll be the one to know where they are.”

A quick search of one of his spreadsheets and there she was: Momo Kihara, season 52, victim. No death record, participated in a few post-season interviews but nothing recent.

“Have you spoken to her?” he asked.

“…Not yet. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to contact her and, you know, apologize. See that she’s okay. But I just… haven’t.” He exhaled a heavy breath.

Sympathy came easy, and he said as kindly as he knew how, “The Rantaro who killed her wasn’t you.”

His laugh was bitter. “Yeah, well. I’m the only Rantaro we’ve got. Somebody’s gotta apologize, right?”

“Somebody has to pick up the pieces.” His voice must have given away how much he understood the feeling, because Rantaro’s next words had lost some of that bitterness.

“Exactly. Killing her wasn’t even…” he began before trailing off. “Look, did you ever end up looking into how the season ended?”

“I haven’t,” Shuichi admitted. Knowing that Rantaro had won and ended up in a second killing game for his troubles was enough for him, at the time. He supposed that, once Kokichi finished his stream, he could always find out from him what happened.

“Just… let’s just say killing her wasn’t the worst of my betrayals.”

Shuichi took a fortifying breath. “Okay. Okay, I’ll see if I can find a way to contact her.”

Relief was evident as Rantaro said, “Thanks, Shu—”

“And then we’ll both go talk to her,” Shuichi finished, making no room for debate.

He was silent for a long moment. “Yeah, that’s fair. It’s a deal.”

The call ended soon after that, and Shuichi closed his laptop. He could see the sun setting through the window, which meant he was several hours overdue for a lunch break. He didn’t feel like doing research after that phone call, either.

His joints creaked as he stood up and stretched out his shoulders. “Ow.”

Kaito would probably kick him for sitting still for so long, so Shuichi decided to practice some of the stretches the other had shown him during their workouts.

It had been a long day, he reflected while stretching one arm after the other. Waking up that morning in a tangle of blankets and limbs seemed like it had taken place ages ago. He got a lot done, too. He had interacted with—he counted—four people who weren’t Kokichi. Five, if he counted Kirumi’s letter.

That was probably a new personal record since he had left the recovery village.

That was kind of depressing, but at least it was progress. He couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to going to bed after such a long day, though.

As he was finishing up stretching his hamstrings, there was a knock at the door.

Shuichi stared at it, feeling a strong sense of deja vu, but Kokichi was still in his room. He hadn’t shown any indication that he was expecting someone, not like he had while he was waiting for Kaito and Maki to arrive.

It was a bit late for a social call, too.

Probably just a neighbor with a simple question then, he reasoned. They were probably cooking dinner and needed to borrow an egg or something. He hadn’t interacted with his neighbors much, and he didn’t want to become known as the building’s celebrity recluse. With that in mind, he got up.

Shuichi opened the door with a polite greeting on his lips, and it promptly died before he could speak it.

Because the person on the doorstep was Rinko Saihara.

“Hey,” she said, shifting the overnight bag she had slung over one shoulder. “You got my texts, right?”

Chapter Text

Shuichi’s expression warred between a strained, polite smile and outright sinking horror. All he managed to say in the face of his sister standing on the welcome mat was a strangled, “No?”

No, he hadn’t gotten her texts. What texts could possibly have led up to this situation? He resisted the urge to whip out his phone to check. 

“Oh,” Rinko said, deflating slightly. She fidgeted again with the strap of her bag, not looking at his eyes. “Well, can I come in though?”

‘No,’ a hysterical part of Shuichi replied instantly, ‘absolutely not.’ Wordlessly, he stepped to the side so she could pass.

Rinko made her way into the apartment like she already knew the place. Maybe she did; he had no idea. She took a seat on the couch (Kokichi’s spot, another part of him noted unhappily) and looked around. “You redecorated,” she observed awkwardly. “I like your new… Kiibo.”

“…Thanks,” Shuichi replied. He was just standing there, unsure what to do with himself and frankly unwilling to join her on the couch. Tea, he decided firmly. He would make tea, and it would give him a few minutes to recalibrate, and then he would figure out what she was doing here. It was what his uncle did when new clients arrived at the house unannounced. “I’m going to make tea,” he said aloud. “Do you have a preference?”

“Oh, um. I’ll take whatever you’re having?” Rinko looked at him curiously. “I didn’t know you liked tea.”

He was going to have an anxiety attack by the end of the night.

Accordingly, he chose a pair of lavender mint tea bags and tried to come up with a reasonably normal response. He decided on a neutral, noncommittal reply. “I’ve started to like it more lately.”

The next few minutes were utterly devoid of conversation and so full of expectation that it made his fingers twitch, but at least he could busy himself with heating the kettle, selecting mugs, and pretending to straighten up the kitchen. Rinko, on the other hand, only had her backpack to fiddle with.

“Look,” she blurted out finally, breaking the silence the way one might rip off a bandage, “I know you probably don’t remember, but you told me I could come over whenever I needed to.”

“Did I?” Shuichi asked.

“You did,” she repeated. “And I. Mom is—you know how mom is.”

“I don’t, actually,” he said, although, if he were being completely honest, he could make some guesses. “What did she do?”

“She’s just so controlling,” burst out Rinko, who if he remembered correctly was sixteen years old. “She wants to know where I am every hour of the day, and who I’m with, and who I’m talking to—”

Shuichi let the words go over his head and focused on making the tea. Treat her like a client, he told himself. Listen to her story, find out what she wants, tell her you’ll see what you can do, and send her home. He brought both mugs over to the living room and sat down on his side of the couch. Rinko reflexively paused her rant to thank him for the tea, and he took the opportunity to say, “So you left home.”

Her fingers curled, tense, around the mug. “She knows where I am,” she said defensively, not meeting his eyes. “You said I could stay with you if I needed to get away from her for a while.”

Stay with him? “I’m not judging you,” he said without agreeing to anything. It was equally a stall for time and an attempt to avoid an outburst. “I’m just trying to get the full story.”

She wanted to stay the night?  

Whatever words had fallen out of his mouth seemed to have mollified her slightly, and she drank some of her tea before replying, less guardedly, “Mom has been on my case about grades. She wants me to be focusing on college already, but I don’t even know what I want to do. We got into this huge fight about it today when I got home from school.” She glared at the mug in her hands. “So I left.”

‘So what do you want me to do about it?’ asked the plaintive voice that seemed to have taken up residence in his internal dialogue. He tried to shush it. It hadn’t been so long ago, really, that he too had been a high schooler staring down the barrel of post-secondary school life. Somehow though, he couldn’t imagine stressing about something like grades anymore. Surviving a killing game must be pretty effective at reordering a person’s priorities. 

Rinko was still staring down at her tea, so she didn’t see the way his expression warred with itself. “I just thought maybe it would help to… You, we haven’t really…” she trailed off, then shook her head sharply. “I just needed to get away from mom. Just for a night or two. Please, Shuichi?”

There was a part of him, a large part, that wanted to say no and throw her out the door. Unfortunately, there was another, kinder, possibly stupider, part of him that looked at her and just saw a kid asking for help from her brother. A kid whose yellow-brown eyes looked just like the ones he saw in the mirror each day.

Shuichi’s sigh contained all the weariness the day deserved. He wanted to hit his head against something, but he settled for taking a gulp of too-hot lavender mint tea. “One night,” he told her, already regretting it.

Rinko slumped with relief. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I really didn’t want to go back home with my tail between my legs. And don’t worry, I can sleep on the couch! I know you gave my room to Kokichi already.”

Her room—

An image of the spare bedroom, as it had been when he moved in, appeared in his mind’s eye. The clean, tidy room occupied mainly by an impressive computer setup and… a bed.

Of course. 

The urge to hit his head against the wall seemed to be developing on its own into a headache. Would it have killed the old Shuichi to keep a journal or something?

He drank the rest of his tea in a few large gulps, and if the heat in his throat didn’t soothe his stress levels, it at least complemented them. “Have you had dinner?” he asked, businesslike, not willing to spend more time on these new revelations.

“No,” Rinko answered slowly. She was watching him like she couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing. “I snacked a little on my way home from school.”

He was already pulling out his phone. “Let’s order something, then. What do you like?”

Her face kept that expression of puzzlement, but she scooted closer to look at the meal delivery app he pulled up. “We could do soba? I like this place,” she said, pointing at the blurb for a soba noodle shop he wouldn’t have glanced twice at.

He clicked on it and glanced through their offerings. “Sure. Let me check what Kokichi wants first.” She nodded, so he opened up his texts and then paused.

Crap, he would have to explain himself, wouldn’t he? Kokichi didn’t even know Rinko had shown up at all, let alone that Shuichi had agreed to let her stay the night. He could already imagine the face Kokichi would make at him when he heard.

Tilting the screen away from any wandering eyes, he decided to start with the easy part. He typed, ‘Hey, I’m ordering soba for dinner. Do you want anything?’ Then he stared at it. How did he even begin to explain the current situation?

Maybe… maybe it would be better to explain it to him face to face. Kokichi was streaming the end of his show, and he didn’t want to distract him with this. It would be easier to do damage control in person, too.

And it was his apartment, wasn’t it? He could let someone stay the night if he wanted to. It wasn’t like he needed permission, and anyway, Kokichi had invited Kaito over without asking Shuichi just the night before.

He sent the text as it was and flipped back to the delivery app. Staring blankly at all the options, he eventually asked, “What do you normally get?”

Rinko took the phone from him and walked him through the various menu items, complete with personal preference and commentary. After some thought, he decided on some comfortably familiar, basic yakisoba. Rinko however was apparently on a mission to try every dish they offered and selected the beef curry soba.

There was no response from Kokichi, which he supposed made sense if the other was busy streaming. He didn’t want to order without him, but Kokichi probably wouldn’t want him to barge in and interrupt things… With a final glance toward the bedrooms, Shuichi added a second order of yakisoba. He chose the spicier version for this one, knowing the other’s preference from previous orders. With luck, it would arrive right as Kokichi finished streaming, and he would be able to break the news of Rinko’s presence with an offering of food.

Unfortunately, once that was settled, it left him sitting on the couch with one estranged technically-sister, thirty minutes to kill, and absolutely no idea what to talk about. It didn’t seem like Rinko had any ideas, either.

“You have school tomorrow, right?” he asked unsurely when the silence got too awkward to handle. It was, what, Monday? “Do you have any homework?”

Rinko groaned and collapsed against the arm of the couch, which was answer enough. “Isn’t it bad enough that mom’s on my case about it?”

“I won’t send you home, but you have to get your work done,” Shuichi told her firmly, mostly because it was the best way he could think of to avoid having to make conversation for the next half hour. That, and he was in no way equipped to deal with a phone call from Akemi Saihara about her daughter’s grades.

He had his limits, and they were already tap-dancing right past them as it was.

While she dug through her bag to pull out whatever homework she had for the night, Shuichi pulled out his laptop. He might as well make some progress on his various research projects.

The room was blessedly quiet for a few minutes after that. It was a relief, but Shuichi couldn’t fully relax. There was an impatient itch in his chest continuously reminding him that he was in a precarious situation. He kept glancing towards Kokichi’s room and then at his phone, where the other still had not replied. He knew how Kokichi felt about their real-world families, and he knew exactly what Kokichi’s response would have been to Rinko’s request.

But he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do in this situation.

He just wished Kokichi’s stream would end already so he could rip off the bandaid. 

He wasn’t left to his own devices and worries for long, though, before Rinko was derailing him again. “Whatcha working on?” she asked, cheerfully ignoring what appeared to be a calculus worksheet.

The screen was currently open to one of his several spreadsheets for tracking data on former contestants. He glanced at it, then at her. “A project,” he answered vaguely, hoping that would be enough to satisfy her.

It wasn’t. “What’s the project?” she asked immediately. She looked over the screen with interest, then proclaimed, “Hey, I know him! He was the Ultimate Rock Star on season 48!”

Shuichi blinked. This time, his glance between computer and girl was more considering.

He had been reading articles, watching interviews, and finding death certificates for days. It was a lot of good data, but data, he knew, could only ever provide an incomplete picture on its own. Maybe the perspective of someone who grew up in the culture would give him the insight he needed?

“Rinko,” he began slowly, testing the waters, “I’m trying to get in contact with some of the contestants from past seasons of Danganronpa. Do you know anything about where they usually end up?”

“It’s just Rin,” she told him, but she seemed happy to be asked. “You mean like what people do after the show? I mean, some contestants use it as their big break into other acting jobs or even return to later seasons as a contestant again or a new mastermind. If they still look young enough to play a teenager, that is.” She paused to think. “Other people return to their old lives I guess? I know a lot of them go into careers suited to their new Ultimate talents. Is there anyone specific you’re thinking of?”

He filed away the nickname for later reference but clicked a few buttons to pull up an article he had been looking at earlier. Turning the screen to face her better, he asked, “What about Momo Kihara? From season 52.”

“Ohhh,” the newly dubbed Rin said, looking at the girl’s picture with recognition. “I think everyone remembers her, she was that season’s Ultimate Lucky Student.”

“That was her talent?” he asked, confused. The articles had all listed her as the Ultimate School Spirit.

Rin rolled her eyes briefly. “No, she was lucky like Kokichi was lucky. There’s always an unofficial Lucky Student, remember? ‘Cause she survived.”

Shuichi narrowly avoided saying something else stupid, like, ‘But I thought Rantaro killed her.’ Instead, he managed to say, “So she died from one of those deaths that are hard to revive people from. Like Kokichi.”

Except, he was pretty sure he remembered reading that she had died from blunt force trauma. He had a hard time believing TDR’s doctors couldn’t revive someone from that.

This seemed to stump her for a moment, not because she was confused, but because she didn’t know where to start. “I mean, no? But you’re not totally off base. She’s lucky because she didn’t die like that.”

She wasn’t the only one confused. “I’m going to need you to explain that a little more,” he told her.

Rin sighed like he was being deliberately obtuse. “So you know Rantaro won, right? And that he was the blackened?”

“Yes,” he answered, feeling like a kindergartner who had proudly managed to put 2+2 together. He wasn’t going to admit he learned that second part roughly an hour ago.

“Okay, so Rantaro killed Momo, right?” she explained, clearly warming up to the topic as she got to narrate the events of the show. “It was this whole big betrayal, and they had just had this really heartwarming group bonding moment, and then bam! She’s dead, and Rantaro is framing Naoto, who, honestly, I always kind of thought he had a soft spot for her—”

“Rinko.”

“—so why would he kill her, you know? But I guess, why would Rantaro have any reason to kill her either? It was such a surprise to see him just—”

“Rin.”

“Right!” She switched tracks abruptly at the reminder, almost without pause. “Ultimate Lucky Student. So Momo’s dead, and Rantaro manages to successfully frame Naoto, and then the execution starts. And, not to spoil it too much, but the execution is this kind of giant whack-a-mole game? It was awful,” she stressed, but the gleam in her eyes didn’t dim, “and everyone including Naoto got crushed right in front of Rantaro. They really like to get vicious with it when the blackened wins; I think it helps with the ratings. People were still talking about it even when your season began, especially when they saw Rantaro had returned.”

She paused then, waiting expectantly for Shuichi’s reaction, and he found himself connecting the dots from there. “But Kokichi was the first person to ever survive a crushing death,” he muttered half to himself.

She nodded excitedly. “Yeah! So like, she may have been the victim of the final case, but because of that, she was also one of the few people who survived that season. That’s why people decided she’s the Lucky Student.”

But Shuichi was barely listening. His mind was racing ahead to connect the rest of the dots.

Season 52 ended with half a dozen people being crushed to death on screen.

A death that had been considered one of the few ‘final’ deaths on the show.

Until, that is, they revived Kokichi, whose own death had been by crushing.

Kokichi, who was currently livestreaming the end of season 52 in the other room.

Oh, shit, he concluded. He ignored Rinko and whipped out his phone. Still no response from Kokichi. He glanced between it and the bedrooms.

Did Kokichi know ahead of time? And if he didn’t, would he even want Shuichi to barge in? He hadn’t thanked him for pulling the fire alarm back at TDR headquarters, hadn’t given any hints about what had happened that day, and Shuichi still didn’t know if he had overreacted. 

Was he overreacting now? Maybe Kokichi knew and didn’t care. Maybe just because something would be too much for Shuichi, didn’t mean it was too much for Kokichi.

And he had specifically told Shuichi not to bother him.

…But what if something was wrong?

“Are you okay?” Rinko asked, unknowingly echoing his own concern.

“I’m,” Shuichi began. How could he explain what was wrong to the girl he didn’t remember as his sister, who had just described the horrific deaths of multiple real people as if she were describing the plot of a horror movie? The answer was, he didn’t. “It’s fine,” he said. “Just… realized I forgot something.”

In his lap, he typed out a second text to Kokichi, angling the phone away from Rinko.

Shuichi: Is everything okay?

If he was fine, Shuichi would feel stupid but at least everything would be okay. If he wasn’t, hopefully Kokichi would reply and Shuichi would know what to do to help.

If he didn’t reply… Shuichi hadn’t quite come up with a plan for that yet.

That, of course, was when the doorbell rang. Shuichi sprang up off the couch like he had been shocked, but it was just the food delivery. He managed to answer the door like a normal person and thank the delivery driver with a tip that was probably more than expected, if the driver’s shock was any indication. Of course, their shock might also have been due to seeing Shuichi Saihara, recent winner of the most popular killing game in the world, but he closed the door before he had to deal with anything like that.

Hopefully he had tipped enough that the driver would keep the apartment’s address to themself.

Rin joined him in the kitchen to dig to-go containers and sauce packets out of the delivery bag. She was watching him curiously the whole time, however, and eventually guessed, “You’re worried about Kokichi.”

Shuichi fumbled the box he was holding, nearly dumping noodles onto the floor.

She just continued, “Is it because he hasn’t texted you back?”

How did—who was this girl, and when had she learned how to read him like that? “Yeah,” he said when his heart stopped hammering in his ears. “He’s streaming the end of that season right now, and I don’t know how it’s going to affect him.” He didn’t know why he told her, but the words came out before he could decide if they were a good idea.

Rin took a seat at the table and separated her chopsticks with a snap and a thoughtful expression. “Other than the type of deaths, I don’t think there’s anything specific about the ending that would hit him particularly hard. Unless it would bug him to see Rantaro lying to everyone?”

It probably wasn’t the weirdest conversation he’d ever had over dinner (discussions in the dining hall back in the game had frequently gone in strange and unpredictable directions), but it still wouldn’t have been his first guess. “I think he would love to see Rantaro trick everyone,” he answered honestly as he joined her at the table.

“But you do think the deaths would get to him?” She seemed to be taking it seriously, which was baffling after her earlier enthusiasm.

“I… don’t know?” He glanced down at his food and snapped his own pair of chopsticks apart. “I don’t think I’m a good judge of that. I know I would hate it, but I wouldn’t have been able to stomach any of it from the start.”

Her brows furrowed. “But you love Danganronpa.”

With a lurch in his stomach, Shuichi remembered who he was talking to and, more importantly, who she thought she was talking to.

They stared at each other for a moment, her in confusion and him with dread, and then the door in the hall clicked open. 

In the sudden quiet, Kokichi stepped into the room, and Shuichi leapt at the chance to search him for signs of trouble.

He found them. Kokichi’s shoulders were rigid as if he was bracing himself, and his movements were tense and controlled. The entirety of him practically screamed with tension as his eyes sought Shuichi’s, and he opened his mouth to say something, only to freeze.

He saw the exact moment Kokichi noticed Rinko’s presence, because his expression went flat and guarded in an instant. His mouth snapped closed without a sound.

Before either of them could speak, Rinko gave a little wave. “Hi, Kokichi,” she greeted with a friendly smile, apparently not reading the line of tension in his frame. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Rin Saihara. Shuichi said I could spend the night.”

Kokichi looked at her blankly, then shifted his gaze to Shuichi. Stunned with horror, Shuichi could only stare back, wide-eyed and not contradicting her. Without a single shift in his flat expression, Kokichi wordlessly turned around and left. His bedroom door snapped shut behind him a moment later.

And Shuichi knew he had fucked up.

Chapter Text

The rest of the night passed in a blur.

Shuichi went through the motions of finishing dinner, putting away the leftovers—including Kokichi’s untouched portion—and getting the couch ready for Rinko to sleep on without paying much attention to any of it. He brushed off her questions about Kokichi’s reaction and simply asked about her friends and classes to get her talking about something else.

He was going to have to apologize to Kokichi.

When everything was finally done, he went back to his room and collapsed onto his bed. He could feel his mind wanting to keep him up late to analyze the entire evening from every direction, but his eyelids were heavy. He should have talked to him before letting Rinko stay the night… He needed to talk to him about what he saw on stream… His thoughts slowed and trailed off while he was thinking them, only to start over and fade out again. He blinked slowly once, and then twice. Tomorrow, he should…

The long day finally caught up with him, and Shuichi fell into a dreamless sleep.

Then something was pushing at his shoulder, and he half-woke with a confused, “Nnn?”

The room was dark, but his muzzy mind recognized Kokichi’s silhouette. “Budge over,” he said, still pushing at his shoulder.

Budge…? Blearily, Shuichi hauled up his heavy limbs and rolled a little to the side. “S’rry.”

Kokichi huffed under his breath. “Yeah, yeah.” There was a movement as something heavy joined him on the bed, pressing up against his back. An arm settled over his side to lay near his stomach, and the warm weight of it anchored him to the comfortable mattress. A heavy sigh warmed the back of his shirt as tension slowly bled out of Kokichi’s form. All was quiet then, and gradually, his eyes started to drift closed once again.

Shuichi snapped awake the next morning with his mind all in a jumble. It was early; the room was bright and cold with the morning light. He was alone, which was normal, and he reached out to feel the other side of the sheets before he quite realized why he needed to do so.

The sheets were cold, obviously. He felt silly for checking.

A dream, he decided. The deadened look in Kokichi’s eyes at dinner was the last thing he remembered thinking about last night, and his lingering worries about it must have caused the restless fit of imagination he had experienced in the night.

The bedding did smell slightly like Kokichi, on closer inspection, but it also smelled like Kaito and Maki. That made sense, given that all four of them had slept in it the night before last. Maybe it was a mix of guilt and the slow-fading scent on his pillow that had made him dream up something so out of character. Or else the other night’s almost-cuddling had gotten to his head more than he thought it had.

He shook his head and stood up to get dressed.

The mood in the apartment when he stumbled out of his room soured any of his remaining peace. Rinko was sitting up on the couch with an affronted expression, staring at the kitchen table where Kokichi sat, placidly eating a bowl of cereal with an air of neutral detachment.

“What?” Rinko said in disbelief.

“You heard me,” Kokichi said simply. Neither of them seemed to have noticed Shuichi yet.

Glaring, Rinko stood up. “No, I want you to say it again.”

“You’re a little slow, aren’t you?” Kokichi’s tone was syrupy sweet, and he still wasn’t bothering to look at her. “That’s not a surprise, you’ve been slow to pick up on everything else so far, too.”

“This can’t actually be how you act all the time,” she said disgustedly. “Don’t you ever take a break from being awful?”

Kokichi answered cheerily, “Nope! Do you ever get tired of being clueless?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond before leaning over to look pointedly down the hallway. “Care to join us, detective? Or do you just like to watch?”

Rinko’s head whipped toward him, and Shuichi took a careful step into the living room. “Is everything okay?”

It wasn’t the smoothest question, and both of them sent him looks that questioned his intelligence.

“Why do you even let him live here?” Rinko snapped.

“That’s,” Shuichi hedged, shifting on his feet and not daring to look in the table’s direction, “between me and him. Do you need to get ready for school?”

Disbelief flashed across her face again, and without a word, she snatched up her bag and stalked past him. The bathroom door snapped closed behind her a moment later.

Kokichi was silent as Shuichi moved into the kitchen. Out of long habit, Shuichi set about getting the coffee started, and Kokichi continued eating his cereal without comment.

When the silence stretched too far and there was no other busywork to distract himself with, Shuichi leaned against the countertop and looked over at the table. “Can I ask what you said to her?”

“You can ask,” Kokichi replied neutrally.

Shuichi studied his face for a few moments, but the other’s expression was flat and gave very few clues as to what he was thinking. “Are you okay?” he opted to ask instead.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked rhetorically. He lifted his bowl and loudly slurped the last of his milk.

He hadn’t expected this conversation to feel so much like painfully pulling teeth. “Look, about last night,” Shuichi began.

Kokichi stood up, empty bowl in hand. “I’m going to be in my room today.” He brushed past Shuichi on his way to the sink. “Don’t bother me.”

Shuichi found himself with no response in the face of such an abrupt dismissal, and Kokichi left without a backward glance.

Alone in the kitchen, he blamed that traitorous dream for the confused, desolate pang in his chest.

Rinko returned from the bathroom in a fresh set of clothes and with a surly glance at the spare bedroom, but she ate the breakfast Shuichi made for them both without complaint. She kept track of the time as they ate, and when it was time for her to catch her bus, she thanked him again for letting her stay the night while slipping her shoes on. The only hitch occurred when, on her way out, Rinko went for a one-armed hug goodbye, which Shuichi, panicking, managed to turn into an awkward fistbump instead.

Only when the door was closed and firmly locked behind her did Shuichi breathe a sigh of relief.

He turned back to the rest of the apartment and stood there for a long moment. Rinko’s departure meant he could finally talk to Kokichi and apologize (and maybe probe into what he had seen during his stream), but their earlier encounter didn’t bode well for how that particular conversation was going to go.

As if on cue, startlingly loud EDM began to reverberate through the walls. Kokichi had evidently decided headphones were for cowards. Bracing himself to face the music, so to speak, Shuichi walked through the living room and into the short hallway that led to their bedrooms. The door to Kokichi’s room only barely muffled the heavy bass and ear-grating synths coming from within, and he tried to summon his resolve before knocking.

There was no response. After a long hesitation, he knocked again, louder. The music only turned up in response.

Shuichi stared at the closed door in growing disbelief. Was this really what they were going to do? Against his better judgment, he tried the doorknob. It was locked.

A particularly harsh string of noise pushed him to retreat to his room. There was no point standing out there when it was clear Kokichi had no intention of letting him in anytime soon.

At first, he flopped face down onto the bed, but the lingering scent of it had him quickly turning over. He stared up at the ceiling as thoughts twisted in his chest. Around the fifth time he found them circling his dream, its possible reality, and what any of it could mean either way, he reached for his phone.

Without being quite aware of his intent until he had already done so, he pulled up his list of recent calls and scrolled through the names. He had just seen Kaito and Maki the previous day, and Kiibo wasn’t exactly an expert in human behavior…

His fingertips stopped on a different name, and with a shrug he pressed it, put the call on speaker, and let the phone drop onto the bedspread next to him.

After a few moments, the ringing was cut off by a voice. “Shuichi!”

“Hi Himiko,” he greeted, staring at the ceiling. “Are you busy?”

“It feels like I’m always busy these days,” Himiko groused. “If I’m not busy trying to convince people that killing games are bad, I’m busy resting to recover my mana.”

Ah. Shuichi could have kicked himself; of course other people would have better things to do on a Tuesday morning. “I can call you back later if you want?”

Himiko waved him off. “No, it’s okay. Talking to you can probably help me recover at least a little mana,” she mused, and his heart warmed to hear it. “So what’s up Shuichi? Are you going to be at Kirumi’s reunion this weekend?

Was it bad that he had already kind of forgotten about that? “Um, yes, I’ll be there. I might have to figure out how to get there on my own, though.”

“Kokichi isn’t going?”

“No, he is,” Shuichi said slowly. “At least I think he is. We’re just kind of…”

Himiko’s voice went flat. “What did he do?”

Shuichi scrambled to clarify, “Nothing! Or at least, I think I started it?”

Her silence was doubtful.

Shuichi sighed. “Can I get your advice, Himiko? I’m pretty confused.”

“You’re always confused,” she told him in her matter-of-fact way. “But we can talk it out together. Here, let me just…” there was a rustling sound on her end of the call, “there we go. I put on my glasses of mage’s intuition. They give me a bonus to my wisdom stat.”

“Thank you,” he told her genuinely, because it helped just to know she was giving him her full attention. He still didn’t know how to go about explaining the problem or any of his surrounding confusion, though. “I’m just feeling very turned around, I guess. I… did something that Kokichi didn’t like. And he’s mad at me about it, but it’s… weird? That’s not to say he’s overreacting—he’s right to be annoyed, but his reaction seems like more than I would have expected?” The last part came out as more of a question. That morning had been a shock; he hadn’t seen Kokichi act quite so biting and standoffish since… well, since the killing game. He hadn’t even reacted so strongly to Maki.

Either he had severely underestimated how much Kokichi would hate sharing a space with Rin Saihara, or he was missing something. He didn’t dare bring up the dream, although its possible status as not-a-dream-at-all was a very strong factor in his confusion.

Had the ending of season 52 really rattled Kokichi that badly? Maybe Shuichi’s gut reaction had been right, and the crushing deaths had hit too close to home. But if that were the case, why lock himself in his room even after Rinko was gone? Why cut Shuichi out?

Himiko hummed in consideration. “Are you sure he’s actually mad about the thing you think he’s mad about?” she asked.

He thought about the argument Kokichi had started with Rinko before breakfast and the frosty reception Shuichi had been treated to. “He seems pretty mad about it, yeah.”

“Then maybe that’s not the only thing bothering him,” Himiko suggested sagely. “Kokichi is a pretty twisty guy, he always has multiple motives for everything.”

That was… a fair point, actually. Come to think of it, Kokichi had been in a strange mood even before his stream began or Rin showed up. If there was something else at play… even multiple somethings…

Shuichi’s brow pinched unhappily. There were unknown factors before, during, and after the stream. He could make guesses, but the only event he had any real insight into was the aftermath; it was clear that whatever else was going on, Rinko’s presence had only inflamed the matter.

Guilt crept up on him, along with a growing frustration. It wasn’t like he had been having fun being forced to host his—whatever Rin was to him, all evening.

“Himiko,” he asked after a long silence, “how are you handling things with your family?”

“It’s a mess,” she told him, apparently unbothered by either his quiet or the change in topic. “If whatever you guys are arguing about has to do with family stuff, you aren’t the only ones.” There was a grimace in her voice. “Even Tenko and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to that.”

“And what’s your take on it?”

She sighed. “Nyeh, I don’t know anymore. I’ve thought about trying to reach out, but Maki and Kaede keep insisting it’s not worth it.”

“W-wait.” The word stumbled out of his mouth, and he made no effort to stop it. “Kaede said that?”

“Well not in those exact words,” Himiko said slowly, thinking. “She just thinks it’s more important to focus on Team Danganronpa for now.”

That didn’t make sense, Shuichi thought, his mind kicking into gear. That wasn’t what Kaede had said when—

“Oh no, family stuff isn’t the reason you and Kaede aren’t talking, is it?” Himiko asked, suddenly worried. “She’s really not opposed to reaching out, I promise. She just wants to focus on getting everyone settled and taking care of the Danganronpa thing first.”

“It’s, ah,” Shuichi stumbled. It’s complicated wasn’t very reassuring, was it? “It’s just surprising,” he settled on after a moment, “that’s not really what I would have expected from Kaede.”

“It’s a little surprising,” Himiko agreed, relaxing, “but not too much, I think. Kaede was the leader before you were. Makes sense she would want to step back up again now that she can.”

“Yeah,” Shuichi said, but there was a pang in his chest that felt too much like grief. That was a tangle of emotions he still didn’t feel ready to unravel, but one stray strand of it stood out and connected with something else that had been on his mind. “Hey, Himiko,” he said slowly, testing the waters, “what’s it like to be a girl?”

The line was silent long enough that he had opened his mouth to say nevermind, forget it, but Himiko cut him off short by asking, “Are you asking because you want to know, or because Miu has been bugging you about it? I told her to stop spreading gossip or I’d cast a spell to make her hair fall out.”

Of course she knew. He might have been annoyed with Miu for that, but he had known her too long to feel anything more than exasperation. She was probably just trying to clear the way for him, in her own loudmouth way. “Asking because I’m curious. No baldness spells necessary.”

He was glad that Himiko was someone who didn’t seem to notice or care when conversations took unexpected turns, because once she knew she wouldn’t need to scold Miu again, she rolled with the topic change like it was nothing. It was nice; it made Shuichi feel less like a scrambled mess of a dozen unsolved dilemmas.

“Well…,” she began thoughtfully, “it doesn’t really feel like anything. I just kind of am one. It’s like… being the desk clerk at the library of the eighth dark sorceress.”

“...Oh?” Shuichi asked in a strained voice.

Himiko didn’t pick up on his confusion. “Yeah! It’s like, I just work here, you know? Maybe some people get really into the sorceress’ infernal teachings, but I’m more of a light mage.”

“And, in this metaphor, being a light mage is…?”

“Nyeh, you can’t take the metaphor too literally,” she huffed at him, which he didn’t think was fair. He was pretty sure that was a reasonable question. “The point is that all that gender stuff is just things that you do. It doesn’t have to be an enchanted mirror that shows your greatest desires, it just has to be something cool to do to get your internship credits.”

Shuichi tried to puzzle that over. “I think you lost me,” he admitted.

Himiko sighed. “Then you leave me no choice, Shuichi; I will have to call in an expert. A true priestess of the dark sorceress.”

“Um,” said Shuichi, who was beginning to doubt that this was a metaphor at all.

In a muffled voice as she leaned away from the phone, Himiko called out, “Hey, Tenko! Shuichi wants to talk to you!”

Shuichi let out a relieved breath.

A minute later, another voice came through the call. “Huh? Shuichi?”

“Hi, Tenko,” he said, hoping that Himiko had already put him on speaker.

“Hey Shuichi,” Tenko said back, her voice coming into focus as she got closer. “You gave everyone a real scare when you disappeared a few weeks ago, you know,” she told him.

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Tenko harrumphed. “Good. Now, what does a degen—uh, what did you want to talk to me about?” Halfway through the sentence she faltered, and the familiar derision in her voice turned into an equally familiar awkwardness.

Shuichi closed his eyes in exasperation. “Miu got to you too, huh?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But Chiho is also working on getting me to have ‘empathy’ for men.”

“She has to put a dollar in the swear jar if she says degenerate,” Himiko informed him. “If she really wants to say something nasty, she needs to come up with a different word.”

“How is that going?”

“Not well.”

“Look, I’m sure you didn’t call to talk about my therapy homework,” Tenko said embarrassedly.

Himiko answered on his behalf. “Shuichi was asking me what it’s like to be a girl. I called you in, since you’re an expert in girls.”

“Ohohoh, am I ever,” Tenko declared, her voice brightening immediately. “And you want to see if it’s worth coming over to our side?”

To be honest, he didn’t think he had much of a plan for what he wanted out of this conversation. He settled for saying, “I guess I just want to compare your experiences to mine?”

Tenko was quiet as she thought, and with relief, Shuichi realized that she was going to take him just as seriously as Himiko had. “Hmm… well, being a girl is basically awesome, but there are lots of ways to be a girl. That’s what makes us so great. So we can talk about me and Himiko’s experiences, but your way of being a girl might not look anything like ours. Wait, let’s make this a video call actually. I hate not being able to see people.”

There was some technological fiddling around, and then the screen lit up to show Himiko and Tenko sitting on a couch together. Shuichi had sat up by his headboard with his phone balanced on his knee to see them. 

“Okay,” Tenko said, settling in. “What kind of girl do you want to be?”

Somehow, the question managed to blindside him. “I, ah, I don’t even know if I ‘want’ to be a girl, exactly,” he confessed. “I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

Tenko looked perplexed. Her expression asked, without words, how anyone could not want to be a girl.

Himiko came to his rescue though. “He has a point. I don’t think being a girl is something I really want. I just am one.”

This, too, seemed to be a difficult concept for Tenko, but she soldiered bravely on. “But you want to figure it out, right Shuichi? Like, if you maybe are a girl or want to be one?”

He really wished the feeling of being in over his head was something he could get used to. “I… I guess?”

Tenko nodded. That was something she could work with. “Okay, so if we assume for a second that you got a magic fairy wish and you get to be a girl now, no questions asked, what kind of girl do you want to be?”

What kind of girl? He didn’t think that was as straightforward of a question as she thought it was. What did getting to be a girl entail, anyway? Would being a girl really be his first choice if given a magic wish? He felt like there were probably more important things to wish for. And if Kaito’s tipsy lecture about gender and medical science was to be believed, he also didn’t need a fairy wish to be a girl. But that probably wasn’t the point of the exercise. “Ummm.”

Himiko chimed in, helpfully, “What are your favorite things about girls?”

That seemed more actionable. “Um. Well, I would want to be… nice?”

Himiko and Tenko nodded encouragingly, so that must have been a good start.

He continued, “And uh, well, if we’re talking about things I admire in the girls around me, then do you know what I mean when I say some girls have this kind of… quiet strength about them?”

Tenko’s gaze flickered over to Himiko, who didn’t notice. “Yeah,” she said simply, her voice tinged soft at the edges.

Shuichi saw it and felt a surge of gratitude. Grateful, as he sometimes was, for the twist of fate that had brought back what they lost: that had given Himiko the chance to grow closer with Tenko outside of the claustrophobic walls of the killing game. “I’d want something like that,” Shuichi decided. “And, uh. I don’t know if this is stupid, but girls always seem to have such soft skin?” Those face masks from the sleepover had opened his eyes to how nice having soft skin could be. “And they smell nice. Is that creepy to say?”

A pink knit sweater flashed in his mind’s eye, accompanied by a sweet, floral hint of perfume. He blinked it away.

“I’ll allow it,” Tenko said graciously, and Shuichi had to tune back into the conversation.

Himiko nodded. “I also like those things.”

“What about skirts?” Tenko asked.

Shuichi was immediately wary, remembering the skirt debacle from his visit to Kiibo and Miu’s house. Had Miu been spreading that rumor, too? “Skirts?”

Tenko didn’t seem to be poking fun at him, though. “You know, like when you twirl around in a skirt and feel it fan out around you?”

Catching on, Himiko added, “Or when you do something different with your hair and people compliment you on it.”

“Or when someone braids your hair for you,” Tenko suggested with a wistful sigh.

Himiko nodded sagely. “So relaxing.”

“I, uh. I’ve never felt any of those things?” Shuichi admitted, but his interest was piqued. Was his hair even long enough to be braided?

Tenko’s whole world seemed to be rocked by the simple admittance. She reached out to clutch Himiko’s hand, failing to notice as the other blushed almost as red as her hair. “Oh, god. I think I’m experiencing that empathy stuff Chiho talked about.” She had a stunned, horrified expression. “Does being a boy just… suck all of the time?

Shuichi didn’t think he was qualified for this conversation. “Not—not really? I mean, sometimes, yes. But not all the time.” Feeling the need to defend manhood as a concept, he said, “There are good things about being a boy.”

“Like what?” Himiko asked curiously.

“Well uh,” he stammered, oddly stumped, “it. It takes me about ten minutes to get ready in the morning?”

“That would be nice,” she mused, considering.

“I bet you and Kokichi hardly fight over the bathroom at all,” Tenko guessed.

He answered truthfully, “I don’t think we’ve ever fought over that.”

“Lucky,” the others said in unison.

Dreamily, Himiko asked, “Do you have enough countertop space in the bathroom too? Ours is always covered with stuff.”

“No, that’s occupied by, uh, dirty clothes, mostly. And empty candy wrappers from Kokichi,” he reported, chagrined.

Tenko breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’ve officially snapped out of it. Men are disgusting.”

Himiko thought about it. “I don’t think that’s better than ‘degenerate,’ but it’s probably progress anyway. Shuichi, was any of that helpful?”

“Um.” Mostly, he had learned that gender was more complicated than he thought. “Probably.”

“I’ll take it,” Tenko said, nodding decisively.

“You don’t have to figure things out quickly, you know,” Himiko told him, yawning. “You’re probably still recovering your mana, just like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, we’ll all still be here whenever you realize you want to be on the winning team,” Tenko agreed. She hesitated briefly before adding all in a rush, “And we’ll like you just the same no matter what you decide. Even if you end up staying a no-good male.”

“I… thank you,” Shuichi said, oddly touched.

“Anytime,” she told him sincerely, and Himiko nodded her agreement with a vague, tuned-out expression. “I think Himiko’s due to take a nap any second now, so we should go. You’re going to Kirumi’s reunion, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Have a good nap, I’ll see you guys soon.”

The call ended after a few more goodbyes, and Shuichi sat in his room and tried to decide if he felt any better than he had beforehand. He definitely knew more, he concluded, even if not all of it made sense yet.

Shuichi stood with a stretch and turned his mind to thinking about what he should do for the rest of the day. He still needed to talk to Kokichi, but judging by the bass still rattling the walls, he probably wouldn’t get a chance until Kokichi decided to come out for dinner.

He had that meeting with Chiho scheduled for the following day though, and he still needed to put his notes together for that. Maybe he could get that done, and he wouldn’t have to stress about it while he was getting ready tomorrow. He could even work on it in the living room; that way he would be able to catch Kokichi into a conversation as soon as he left his room.

With that decided, he brought his laptop out with him to the couch and started pulling up his research notes. While he looked at them though, his mind refused to focus. He knew he wanted to start analyzing the data to see what he could glean from it, but his thoughts were slow, uncooperative. Maybe Himiko was right about needing to recover mana, because he couldn’t suppress a yawn. The couch underneath him was comfortable and warm, and the afternoon light coming through the window reminded him just how busy he had been for the past few days.

He could afford to rest his eyes for a bit, he decided. He would work on his meeting preparations when he woke up, or after dinner. His eyes were blinking slowly and didn’t seem to want to open again each time. It wasn’t like he would be able to get any work done at the moment anyway.

He shut the laptop and laid it gently on the coffee table (and what a good coffee table it was, his meandering thoughts informed him, remembering an evening spent drinking and laughing around it with his friends), and once he was settled down across the couch cushions, he let his eyes slip closed with a sigh.

Shuichi startled awake to the sound of knocking.

For a moment, he was back in the game. He was in that bed, next to those shelves of Monokuma trophies, and someone had come to fetch him from the dormitory. Maybe it was Kaito or Maki, here to collect him for their training session, but the dread in his gut told him it was something else.

Reality flooded back around the time he tried to swing his legs over the side of his bed and wound up on the floor.

Right, he thought, using the edge of the coffee table to hoist himself into a sitting position. “Right,” he said aloud, mostly to anchor himself, while he looked around the room. Not the game. Just his apartment, where he had been taking a midday nap on the couch because he could, he wasn’t fighting for his or anyone’s life anymore. The view from the living room window corroborated this story and informed him that it was currently more like late afternoon. He must have slept longer than expected.

Another knock at the door reminded him what had woken him up in the first place. Shuichi looked at it, and this time he doubted that the dread in his gut was misplaced. There was a chance, of course, that he was wrong. But he doubted that too.

Wiser now than he had been before, Shuichi looked through the peephole before he opened the door. Upon seeing Rinko on the doorstep, he sighed heavily but failed to be surprised.

He could just not answer, part of him suggested. She would leave eventually, and maybe she would take the hint and never contact him again.

Maybe pigs would fly, too. Cursing his soft and incurably curious heart—and Tsumugi for making him that way, he opened the door. “What are you doing here, Rinko?”

He hadn’t bothered to put much politeness into the question, but Rinko seemed genuinely apologetic as she stood on the welcome mat. “I know you said just one night,” she said hurriedly, “but the friend I was going to stay with had to cancel on me last minute. She found out her girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend isn’t exactly an ex-anything anymore, and then my other friend had rehearsal so I couldn’t stay with him, and mom is still blowing up my phone because she found out I skipped school last month, and dad just says I need to be responsible for my own actions, which I don’t even see how that’s relevant when mom is so—”

“I get it,” Shuichi all but begged her to stop.

“So I just need a place to stay for one more night, Shuichi, pleeease,” she finished. “And then I’ll get out of your hair I promise.”

“I,” Shuichi started, resisting the urge to wind his hands into said hair and pull, “look, this isn’t just my apartment anymore. Kokichi lives here too, and he gets a say in who we let spend the night.”

Rinko grimaced at the reminder of Kokichi’s continued existence. “That’s fine,” she said. “Can you just ask him, then? I really don’t know where else I can go.”

“Home is always an option,” he reminded her, but he stepped aside to let her come in. “I’ll go ask. If he says no, then I’m sorry but you can’t stay.”

She reluctantly agreed, so Shuichi left her to go try to talk to Kokichi. He must have turned the volume down at some point while Shuichi was asleep, because the muffled song coming from behind the door was barely audible. Taking that as a good sign, Shuichi knocked.

There was a pause, and then Kokichi called for him to come in. “It’s unlocked.”

Gingerly, Shuichi stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room looked about the same as it had the last time he had been there, although there were more pages stuck to the wall and a different assortment of laundry on the bed. The cardboard cutout of Rantaro in the corner was also new, but it was, frankly, far more ignorable than the wax figure had been.

Kokichi sat on the bed, his back against the wall, drawing in a sketchbook on his lap without looking up at Shuichi. He looked… like he had spent all day in his room, but not like he was in a crisis. It was a mixed bag, as far as mood indicators went; not great, but not awful.

“How are you?” Shuichi ventured.

“Was that your sister at the door or not?” Kokichi asked bluntly as he continued to sketch.

Okay, so pleasantries were out the window. “It was,” he admitted. Nothing do to except be straightforward in return. “Her plans to stay the night somewhere else fell through, so she wants to stay here for one more night. I told her I’m not the only one who gets to decide that, and that I’d ask you.”

“Hm.”

The room was unbearably silent except for the faint scritch of pencil on paper. “Look, I’m sorry for last night,” he tried, just hoping the other would at least look at him. “I didn’t want her here either.”

He got his wish, and Kokichi took his eyes off the page to give him a slow look. “So you’re going to tell her to take a hike?”

“I,” Shuichi began, but he hesitated.

Kokichi’s gaze slid away in clear dismissal. “Then don’t apologize. Own up to your choices.”

“I should have at least talked to you,” Shuichi asserted, not sure why this was the part he had to fight him on.

“And I would have said you were being an idiot.” The words were flat and cold. “Which wouldn’t have changed anything, and it still won’t. So don’t insult me by acting like it would.”

That stung. “I don’t know what you want me to do here.”

Kokichi was already turning away, back to his sketchbook. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t use me as a justification or as more ammunition to beat yourself up with.”

Shuichi watched him in silence. The sounds of scratching pencil and rustling paper were the only noise in the room for a long minute. At length, he said, “I’m worried about you.”

“Worry somewhere else.”

Shuichi left the room with frustrated confusion bubbling in his chest. He hadn’t asked to be put in this position, trapped between a rock and a hard place. Was it so wrong to want to have something even a little like a family, when the only family he had was reduced to a figment of his imagination?

He didn’t know what to do with these feelings of obligation that wrapped around the very heart of him. He didn’t know how to make Kokichi talk to him, like they had talked before. Couldn’t he at least take one nap for himself without waking up to one crisis after another?

Rinko looked up as he reentered the living room, her expression hopeful.

A snap decision. “You can stay,” he told her. “For one more night.”

Chapter Text

Another to-go container of spicy yakisoba joined the first in the refrigerator. A peek inside revealed last night’s entree to be half-eaten, which at least assuaged his fear that Kokichi hadn’t left his room at all.

Shuichi closed the fridge and turned away from any thoughts about Kokichi, who had quite clearly stated he didn’t want Shuichi’s worry.

Rinko was already digging into her tom yam soba. “It’s Thai,” she had said with a shrug, adding it to the order and continuing her goal of trying every variety available at this particular soba place. She seemed willing so far to ignore her less-than-stellar welcome to her brother’s household for the evening. Shuichi’s repeat order of mildly spicy yakisoba was less appetizing than it had been the previous night, but he sat down to eat it anyway.

“How was your day?” he asked, deciding it would be a safe enough topic to chat with his not-sister about until it was late enough for him to claim tiredness and retire to his room for the night. The intervening half hour between impulsively allowing her to stay the night and the arrival of their food had cooled some of his annoyance with Kokichi, but he was, as always, stuck with the consequences of his actions.

Rinko filled him in about the latest news amongst her friends, which necessitated several minutes of explanation as to who was whose ex and who was whose maybe-sorta-something. Shuichi thought of the inherited collection of romance novels in his room and had the sudden, pervasive feeling that he was the wrong Shuichi to be having this conversation.

As if the specter of his past self was summoned by the thought, Rinko sighed mid-story and pushed some noodles around on her plate. She fell silent, clearly dwelling on something else from her day, and then said, “People keep coming up to me to ask questions about you.” When Shuichi was quiet, she continued, “Mostly, people want to know what it’s like to have an older brother who competed on Danganronpa.” Her mouth twisted unhappily. “But… I haven’t really gotten to talk to you since then. That’s why I came here first, when Mom and I had that fight. I’m not dumb, I know you didn’t want me to stay, but…”

Shuichi’s gut twisted. Maybe he and Rinko had something in common, even if she didn’t know it. He wished he could arrive at his uncle’s house unannounced for dinner, too. Even for just a night. The only difference was that Rinko didn’t know she was showing up at a ghost’s doorstep, and suddenly Shuichi didn’t know if he had ever felt like more of a scumbag.

Desperate for his family, or something close enough to pretend, but he still didn’t have the nerve to tell her he wasn’t really the brother she wanted. Or sibling, or sister, or whatever either Shuichi was to her. He didn’t even know enough to know that much, past or present.

“I don’t… remember things like you do,” he said, feeling every inch of his cowardice. “Were we… close?”

Something in Rinko’s expression crumpled a bit, but she fought it bravely. “You were too much older than me for us to ever go to the same school together,” she told him, “but Mom and Dad both worked. You walked me home from school most days, and we hung out until Mom came home. I used to watch you play video games.”

“And we bonded over Danganronpa.”

“Yes!” Rinko agreed, hope sparking to life in her eyes, and Shuichi knew he had made a mistake. She thought it was a sign of him remembering something, not the educated guess it was.

“What do you know,” he began slowly, making sure to meet her hope with something a bit more cautious, “about the memory modifications contestants receive, Rinko? Do you know how extensive they are?”

“It’s just Rin,” she reminded him, the brightness in her eyes dimming. “I said I’m not dumb, didn’t I? I know it’s a whole new personality with a whole new set of memories. I know you’re different now! Really different in some ways, but you’re still Shuichi. Who you were is still in there, mixed up and buried under the new stuff, if you’ll just keep trying to find it!”

It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. Never had he wished more that TDR had just gone ahead and given them new names to go along with everything else. It would have made this so much easier. He glanced around the room for help, but the only thing his eyes landed on was her backpack on the couch. There were two pins carefully attached to the front: an icon of Monokuma’s face and a similarly shaped, pink-and-white rabbit that he didn’t recognize.

He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t tell her, couldn’t not tell her. Probably couldn’t get through to her even if he tried.

Sick to his stomach, Shuichi stood. “I’m—I’m tired, I have to. I’m going to go to bed,” he babbled as he closed his to-go container.

Rin spoke to him as he hurried to cram the leftovers into the fridge next to Kokichi’s two identical boxes, but he just reassured her without listening, “It’s fine, I’ll see you in the morning, I left the bedding for you on the couch, sleep well, see you in the morning,” and then he was gone.

Shuichi leaned against his closed bedroom door, letting the darkness of his bedroom conceal the shameful wetness at the corners of his eyes as he slowly got his frantic breaths under control. His hand rose to click the lock on the door, and a tense, animal part of himself settled down with that concrete measure of security, no matter how small it was. He released a slow breath and, still finding the darkness soothing, got ready for bed with only the light from the lamp on the nightstand. Finally, he laid in the bed that he was slowly coming to accept as his own and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet of the apartment. He tried with every quiet rustle to guess who it came from, but neither option was exactly relaxing.

It was early in the night even for him, and he had napped that afternoon.

Sleep took a long time to claim him.

The click of the lock woke him. It startled him, but there was only one person in the apartment who knew how to pick locks, and Shuichi had had this dream just the previous night.

The door shut with a near-silent click, and barely audible footsteps approached. Shuichi was already lying on one side of the mattress, so there was no need to nudge him over this time. He wondered if Kokichi thought it was a coincidence.

He could probably turn over and grab the little nuisance before he had time to escape, if he was fast enough. Then maybe he could demand answers from him. But it was cold, and he’d probably weasel out of it somehow anyway, and Shuichi… Shuichi could really use a hug at the moment.

He kept his breaths deliberately slow, feigning sleep.

A warm weight settled behind him, slipping under the covers just like it had the previous night, and Shuichi wondered as a thin arm snaked around his belly if maybe Kokichi needed a hug too. He was sending a hell of a mixed message during the daylight, if that was the case. A breath exhaled against his back, and Shuichi allowed himself his own small sigh as they both settled into a comfortable position.

Was he supposed to feel this conflicted about his… He didn’t even know what to call Kokichi. His roommate? His friend? Former and occasionally current antagonist? Nothing he came up with seemed to adequately convey the relationship between them. He wasn’t looking for a—a boyfriend, no matter what their current position looked like. But if there was something the last few days had made abundantly clear, it was that he had no clue what he wanted and even less what Kokichi wanted.

Except that clearly he wanted to snuggle with Shuichi in secret at night for some reason, which was perfectly and precisely unhelpful.

The spiraling thoughts were exhausting though, and the comforting weight against his back and stomach was relaxing his muscles regardless of what his anxiety had to say about it. His last, lingering thought was that they should probably talk about this at some point, if it was going to be a recurring thing.

In the morning, Shuichi awoke with the acute realization that he had a meeting with Chiho Kuroishi that afternoon and had done exactly nothing to prep for it, which he felt was unfair, considering the conspicuous absence on the other side of his bed and the oddly bereft pang in his chest.

Wallowing in bed wouldn’t solve his problems though, so he hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the mattress, still blinking sleep out of his eyes.

Maybe coffee would solve his problems. It was worth a try, he was pretty sure.

There was no argument taking place in the kitchen when he arrived, which was a small blessing. Kokichi was nowhere to be seen, and Rin seemed subdued as she sat on the couch rummaging through her bag. With a quick good morning, Shuichi made a beeline for the coffee machine.

His mind gradually finished waking up while he took his first few sips a few minutes later. The wake-up process surprisingly didn’t take as long as it usually did outside of a crisis; he must have slept well, which was a conclusion he fully intended to ignore.

“Is the same breakfast okay?” he asked Rin instead, already pulling out a pan. She hadn’t complained about the plain breakfast of rice and a fried egg the previous day, although she had dug a bottle of hot sauce out of the fridge. It was what he made for himself most days, so he had found himself making it on autopilot.

“Sure,” she responded from the couch. She appeared to finish with whatever she was doing with her bag and moved to sit at the table. “Are you… alright this morning?” she asked.

“I’m…” Shuichi trailed off. He focused on getting the rice cooker started. “I’m doing better. I’m sorry I rushed off last night. I think I just… I need you to know that I’m not the same person as—the brother you remember.” Or whatever they were, he amended internally. He had practiced this while lying awake last night, but the words were still hard to pull together. “The memory modifications are very thorough. I’m not the same person I used to be.”

Rin sat at the table, staring into her hands. “I know,” she said quietly. “That’s why I came over to see you in the first place. You’re different, but I don’t want you to be a stranger.”

Hope was a tiny thing unfurling in Shuichi’s chest. Maybe this was the common ground he had been looking for, if Rin wanted him to be part of her life even if he wasn’t the person she remembered.

“You can text me, you know,” he found himself saying. “Or call. You don’t have to come over every time you want to talk to me.”

The smile he received in return was just as small and hopeful as his own.

Rin left for school with promises that she would go home to face her parents that evening, and Shuichi was left to scramble to put something together for his meeting later that day. His notes were meticulous but scattered haphazardly across multiple documents, and it took him a disconcertingly long time to even determine what information he wanted to have ready with him when he met with Chiho. He had to remind himself why he had made the appointment in the first place.

There were things about the outside world that he and his classmates didn’t know, and that in itself was dangerous. Former contestants tended to die or disappear at an alarming instance rate, and Shuichi refused to allow the same pattern to affect any of his classmates. Before he could keep them safe though, he needed to know what he was keeping them safe from.

Based on his conversation with Kanami Taketa, Chiho would be the person to tell him the straight truth about Team Danganronpa’s role in the contestants’ disappearances. Her own tumultuous past with the organization was strong evidence that she would be able to help, even if it was just to arm him with information.

With that in mind, he set about pulling the list of confirmed deaths as well as the missing persons list. He printed those out, then highlighted a few specific cases he hoped to get information on. To be thorough, he began to pull up some of the sketchier tabloid articles he had found. They had a concerning habit of glossing over certain details or suddenly avoiding any mention of certain contestants as time went on.

He was eating cold soba as a late lunch by that point, in the middle of reading an article following up on contestants from season 46, when Kokichi stepped into the living room.

Shuichi looked up with noodles hanging from his mouth and froze like a deer in headlights as Kokichi’s eyes skimmed over the various piles of paper surrounding Shuichi’s spot on the couch.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing her homework now, too," he said, arching an unimpressed brow at him. 

Shuichi hurried to swallow his mouthful of noodles. “No, it’s—it’s for a meeting with Chiho Kuroishi. The, ah, head psychologist? From Team Danganronpa?” He cursed himself for stammering and blamed the complicated knot of emotions that the sight of Kokichi brought up in him. “I’m, actually going to meet with her in a few hours, if you want to come along?”

“Pass,” Kokichi said simply. “I have better things to do with my day than drive you to therapy.”

“O-oh,” Shuichi said, equal parts relieved and disappointed. He didn’t bother to clarify that it wasn’t therapy; he would fill Kokichi in later… at some point. “Do you have plans? Are you going to stream today?”

Kokichi said sharply, “No,” and didn't elaborate. He dug into his pocket for a moment and produced a set of keys. “I’m going for a drive.” Without waiting for comment, he slipped the keys back and moved towards the door.

“Oh.” Shuichi watched him as he pulled on his shoes. “Drive safe?” he tried.

“I won’t,” Kokichi called out behind him on his way out the door.

Shuichi stared at the door, then looked back at the mess of papers surrounding him. There would be time to dwell on things later, but he couldn’t afford to get distracted until after the meeting. With a sigh, he tried to return his focus to the article in front of him.

Kokichi laid eyes on his car with something like relief. Of all the bullshit in this garbage fire reality he found himself in, the sleek white sports car that belonged just to him was, admittedly, his favorite. He slammed the driver’s side door closed behind him and listened as the engine rumbled to life, ignoring the less-welcome rumble of his stomach. It couldn’t be helped, not with Shuichi and his idiot sister guarding the living room at all times. But he had been hungry before, he told himself coldly. He could handle being hungry again.

He threw the gear shift into reverse and resolved to get acquainted with this world’s fast food offerings. Something easy, filling, and most importantly, cheap as dirt.

As he got onto the road, he squashed the instinct to glance toward the passenger seat. It was empty. Shuichi was going out to meet with that TDR therapist, of all people, and Kokichi wasn’t going with him. He had more important things to do than follow Shuichi around like a lost puppy.

The thought just conjured mental images of Shuichi’s stupid kicked-puppy expression for the past few days, so as he got onto the highway, he pressed his foot on the gas to outrun it. Fuck it; he would get lunch in the next city over. Wherever that was. If that was too far, he’d just drive to some shitty suburb on the outskirts. 

He really needed to learn more about the city he lived in now, but even the thought left a bad taste in his mouth. Learning about it would mean acknowledging it, accepting it, being part of it. Gag.

“You weren’t meant for this boring, nonfictional world.”

He was going to strangle Tsumugi with his bare hands the next time he saw her shitty, plain, smug little face. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get her words to stop pinging around in his head. 

Since when had she grown a spine, anyway? Who did she think she was, acting like she could see right through him? The last time he’d seen her, it had been in a rerun on his hospital room’s TV screen, and Shuichi had wiped the floor with her. And then she had the audacity to come at him with all that stuff about him being written to be a last-minute hero?

He laughed out loud, and the sound grated on his ears. Kokichi Ouma, hero. The words just didn’t fit next to each other.

“Clearly she doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does,” he sneered to himself. The other cars blurred as he wove between them, obstacles for him to leave in the dust.

Maki, rolling her eyes. “I’m not the one who needs help moving on here.”

His uncanny doppelganger, smiling at him in Tsumugi’s darkened office with his own grin. “You and I, on the other hand—we’re not very different at all, are we? I can hardly. Tell. The difference.”

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. So what if he hadn’t changed like Shuichi and the others? He didn’t need to grow or change. Maybe it was this world that needed a change.

“You’re directionless. Motiveless. There’s no place for an Ultimate Supreme Leader in this nonfictional world.”

“I’ll show you a motive,” he promised darkly.

Then the car in the next lane cut him off, and he had to hit the brakes with an ungraceful string of swears. He flipped the driver off as he sped into another lane to pass them and decided he would start his plans by blowing up every car except his own.

“Be grateful to be noticed by your future overlord, dipshit,” he hollered over his shoulder.

Well, that had thoroughly derailed his train of thought. He considered getting right back on where he left off, but he decided he didn’t want to.

His fingers drummed irritably on the wheel. It would be easier to ignore his thoughts if Shuichi or Miu or someone was with him. Miu would be egging him on and hurling abuse towards that guy with him. Shuichi would be mortified by all the yelling, probably holding onto the armrest for dear life.

He decided he wanted to hop off that train of thought as well.

Actually, screw it. He was going to get food at the next place he saw. When there was a gap in traffic, he veered sharply to the side so he could glide smoothly from the fast lane all the way to the far, exit lane. The person who honked at him for it was a little bitch, he hadn’t even come close to them. He rolled his eyes and then scanned for the unmistakable signs of miscellaneous fast food places, only to nearly rear-end someone as he caught sight of one in particular.

A minute later, Kokichi was turning into the sort of cheap, shitty parking lot that was deeply familiar to anyone who grew up with fuck-all. It would have been almost comforting, except for the big detail that was so eye-catching it had almost made him crash. Kokichi liked to think he’d seen the outside world sink low enough that nothing in it could surprise him anymore, but as he stared at the McDRnald’s sign, he found his convictions tested.

“Do you think if I hung myself in the kids’ playplace, they’d have to change the name?” he asked himself half in disbelief. Something to ask their MILF babysitter in the future, probably.

Regardless, he pulled into the drive-thru. He might as well see if the food was as trashy as their marketing scheme; it would be hard to properly bitch about the place later if he didn’t confirm it himself.

…Not that there was anyone in particular he wanted to bitch about it to.

(Even though the look on Shuichi’s face upon hearing the name would be objectively hilarious.)

One twelve-count MonoNugget meal with large fries and a cola later, Kokichi was back on the road. The cashier’s jaw had dropped when she saw him at the window, but he just handed her whatever cash he found in his wallet and drove off with his food before she could do something hazardous for her health like asking for his picture.

The city passed him by without him paying it much attention as he dug into his food. Unfortunately for his future bitching session, it was hot and trashy and exactly what he wanted. Kokichi licked stray ketchup off his multicolored nails and took an exit at random, aiming to get hopelessly lost in the highway system.

The longer he stayed out, the better. It was going to be a long 48 hours until they left for Kirumi’s place on Friday. It had been bad enough sticking it out the day before, and he could only drive for so long until he had to sleep. Streaming wasn’t an option, either. Not after Monday night.

It grated at him to think it, but honestly, he was lucky that Shuichi’s clueless sister had been there that night. Who knew what he would have said or done if her presence hadn’t been the record scratch that jolted him back to his senses. What had he been planning to do, run crying to Shuichi for emotional support?  

“Wahh, I’m traumatized from getting squished to death,” he mimicked to himself through a mouthful of fries. “I don’t like the sounds. Get over it, pussy.”

It hadn’t helped that literally thousands of people had tuned in for the last stream. Everybody wanted to see how he would react, and nobody, not even his mods, had bothered to give him so much as a heads-up. He would have to fire at least some of them for that; he just hadn’t gotten around to it. He hadn’t felt like turning on the computer yet.

That’s what he got for trying to find new minions in this backwards world, he supposed. DICE never would have let him walk into a trap unprepared like that.

It made his skin itch to think about how clueless he had been. And then having to strictly manage his reactions on top of that, knowing he was being watched the entire time? He might as well call up that TDR marketing jackass and enlist for the new season, if he was so eager to relive the experience of being inside a killing game.

“Idiot,” he grumbled under his breath. Even Shuichi had known it was a bad idea.

He grimaced as he drank cheap, watery cola. Shuichi was another sticking point he didn’t want to deal with, lately. Thank fuck Shuichi was such a heavy sleeper. Although, when he thought about it, that was a pretty dumb trait for a detective to have. In Kokichi’s defense, it wasn’t his fault that Kaito’s stupid girls’ night stunt had sparked memories of sleeping in a pile with the rest of DICE. It was a moment of weakness.

Two moments of weakness. Sue him.

He had honestly expected Shuichi to freak out! He would have played it off as a prank and gone back to his own bed after having a good laugh at the other’s expense.

“He didn’t even flinch,” he told his reflection in the rearview mirror, baffled as he remembered that first night. “I should stab him at breakfast someday just to keep him on his toes.”

“I’m worried about you.”

Worried about him. Something had definitely gone screwy in Shuichi’s head at some point. Worrying about what he was up to, sure; that was only reasonable. But what kind of maniac wasted time and energy worrying for Kokichi?

He just had to stay out of the other’s sight for a little while longer. By Friday, he should be able to shove all of this mixed-up mess of thoughts and feelings into a box and bury it. Then he’d be able to act convincingly normal enough that the truth couldn’t be read right off his face by that damned detective.

Kokichi made a wordless, frustrated sound. He was getting rusty; he could hardly even lie convincingly to himself, nowadays.

Shuichi was harried as he stepped out of the apartment and turned to lock the front door, his mind focused on the papers in his bag and the bus schedule on his phone. He was leaving almost a half hour later than he had planned. His mind was anywhere but the present, which is why he startled so badly when he heard;

“Shuichi?”

“Ah!” He fumbled for his keys before they could drop, then turned to the speaker with what he hoped was a suitably stern (but more likely just desperately confused) expression. “Rin?”

Because there was Rin Saihara, again, standing at his front door. Her bag was slung over her shoulders, and judging by the time, she had come straight there from school.

She did not appear even slightly chagrined as she said with a shrug, “The bus broke down.”

There was absolutely, positively, no way that was true, and it looked like they both knew it. “I’m running late already,” he pleaded.

Rin’s expression brightened. “I’ll come with!”

Despairing, Shuichi looked at the door, then his bag, his phone, and Rin. Most strongly, he thought about the time, and the foundational knowledge that he absolutely had to catch his bus because Kokichi wasn’t around to drive him there.

Fine! Fine. So Rin was going to come with him to the recovery village. That was fine.

“Fine,” he said aloud, defeated. “Come on.”

Chapter Text

The recovery village was exactly as he remembered it. Two rows of cottages, linked by wooden docks, with a straightforward path leading to a pool and the “hotel” that served as a gathering place on its first floor and dining pavillion on the second. The whole thing had a beachy, summery aesthetic that was at odds with the cold breeze currently making Shuichi glad he had grabbed a thick coat before he left home.

In contrast to Shuichi’s literally and metaphorically cold feet, Rin was beyond excited to see the place. “This is just like the actual Jabberwock Island,” she gushed, looking around at everything. The gates had admitted them after Shuichi scanned an ID card he had almost forgotten he owned, and her enthusiasm grew with every step they took. “It was the location of the second ever killing game, but luckily this one is modeled after the original instead of the remake in season 15 or the manga adaptation version, which was—”

Shuichi walked a little faster to escape both the cold and the Danganronpa history lesson.

Chiho was waiting for them at the entrance to the Hotel Mirai. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a crisp, professional blouse and slacks, typing at a truly extraordinary speed on the phone in her hands.

She didn’t look up when they apprached. Shuichi intentionally scuffed his feet on the last step or two to alert her and said, “Hello, Mrs. Kuroishi.”

The psychologist glanced up at them, then back at her phone. “One second,” she said, and typed, impossibly, even faster. With a final tap, she finished what she was doing and slipped the phone into her pocket. “Thank you. Hello, Shuichi, I hope you’re doing well. And it’s nice to meet you…” She looked curiously at his companion.

Shuichi looked at her as well, but Rin was staring at Chiho with wide eyes. “This is Rin Saihara,” he introduced her instead. “I hope it’s okay that I told her she could come along.”

“Of course. It’s nice to meet you, Rin,” Chiho greeted.

“I-it’s,” Rin stuttered, still wide-eyed, “nice to meet you t-too. Mrs. Kuroishi. Ma’am.” That was all she said, and Shuichi watched the abrupt personality change in confusion.

“Let’s head inside,” Chiho suggested, and she held the door open for them to pass through. “Just Chiho is fine, by the way.”

The hotel’s ‘lobby’ was more of a rec room than anything. He remembered the couches, blankets, and games from his first night at the recovery village, although it appeared cleaning staff had come through since then. Everything was stacked or folded away neatly, leaving the space comfortable but unlived in. A massive TV, currently turned off, took up most of one wall.

“It’s different,” Rin observed quietly to herself.

“The design was changed to give the recovering contestants a relaxed gathering space,” Chiho explained as she took a seat on one of the plush armchairs. She gestured towards the TV. “This is also where they could watch what was happening inside the game.”

Shuichi had no context for what the original lobby had looked like, but he tried to imagine the rest of his fallen classmates crowding around the screen to watch those final hours of the game. He wondered what the conversation had been like.

Chiho was pulling a laptop out from the bag he had vaguely noticed her carrying. “I wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted to talk about, Shuichi, so I tried to make sure I brought a little of everything. If you need something very specific though, I might not have it on me.”

“That’s fine,” Shuichi said, taking a seat on the couch across from her. Rin sat with him. “I hope I didn’t mislead you on the phone. I’m not actually interested in therapy right now; I wanted to talk to you about Team Danganronpa.”

Rin looked at him questioningly, but Chiho simply nodded and leaned back in her seat. “I thought it might be something like that. I got a call from Kaede a few days ago, right before yours. You want to know more about my history with the company?”

Shuichi nodded, putting that tidbit aside to examine later. “And the outcomes for contestants, both before and after you won your court case.”

Rin was looking back and forth between them with furrowed brows. Shuichi hadn’t exactly explained what his errand was on their way to the village, but she seemed willing to observe and try to figure it out herself for the time being.

“Those are all fairly linked,” Chiho said, “but I’ll try to answer them as separately as I can. My history with TDR began when I met Ryo. Kanami told you that part of things?”

“She did,” Shuichi confirmed. Chiho’s late husband had been the leader of his season, seventeen years ago. As a longstanding crowd favorite, he had been brought in for a big promotional buildup prior to season 50, and the pressure and memories it brought up had lead to his death by suicide.

“I never competed in the show,” she told him. “I met Ryo, and through him, I met several of his fellow contestants. Even then, there were already a few people who had gone radio silent. We lost contact with more throughout the years, but when it was,” she faltered for a moment, “when Ryo died, I began to suspect that something more sinister was at hand. I spoke with everyone I could still find, and what I heard made it clear that the killing game had done far more damage than anyone was willing to admit. The courts weren’t willing to abolish killing games entirely, but the post-recording rights they established were aimed at minimizing harm and promoting better outcomes for contestants. Those have only been fully implemented for the past two seasons, though. We don’t have long-term data on their effectiveness yet.”

“You mean things like the recovery village, Kanami, and you,” Shuichi listed. “The courts thought that was what the contestants needed.” He looked at her with assessing eyes. “Is that what you think, too?”

Chiho watched him steadfastly. “I think it’s a start. It’s more help than they were getting before.” If she had other opinions, she wasn’t giving them away. 

In a broad sort of way, Shuichi liked Chiho. He respected what she had done, and he thought she could be a powerful ally. Unfortunately, he was also tired of beating around the bush. “Do you really believe those were the leading causes of death amongst former contestants?”

She knew what he was asking and kept her face a neutral mask. “We are doing everything we can to prevent any unnatural deaths. But if you’re asking for what is statistically most likely, then accidents are the leading cause of death amongst former contestants.” 

“I think you know that’s not true,” he countered. “Or neither of us would be where we are now. What do you think killed them?”

Chiho hesitated but did not answer.

Shuichi thought about what he knew of Chiho Kuroishi. She was professional, straightforward, and direct. She was a busy woman who nonetheless made time to meet personally with him, Tenko, and probably at least half of their class. She wanted TDR destroyed, but she worked as their lead psychologist. She cared. She had to; she got up every day and worked alongside the people who killed her husband, just for the chance to ensure they couldn’t do the same to anyone else.

“If something is a danger to my classmates, I need to know about it,” he told her quietly. “I need to know how to keep them safe.”

Her neutral mask held up for several long moments, and then she closed her eyes in defeat. When she opened them, she said, “There are no cameras allowed in here, so I’m going to be very frank with you, Shuichi. You deserve that. If you’re suspicious that TDR is behind their deaths, then I can put that fear to rest. From what I have seen, when a former contestant dies, it is usually at the hands of a fellow contestant.”

Shuichi almost spoke, but she held up a hand to pause him.

“The killing game is like a training ground for how to get away with murder. In a closed environment, yes, most killers are found out, but in the outside world, there are simply too many factors complicating the matter. It is entirely too easy, as well, to make someone simply disappear. Some of the deaths, I have to assume, are true suicides and accidents, but far more are not. The grudges formed during the game are too deeply-held to be let go. And while TDR may not be directly responsible, they are very much complicit. They have a habit of ‘discouraging’ news outlets from looking into things too deeply. They have also never put much effort into de-escalating contestants out of the killing game mentality, especially ones like your classmates Maki and Korekiyo, whose backstories already involve killing others.”

He still remembered Tetsuo Saihara’s belief that some of Shuichi’s classmates were too dangerous to be allowed out into the world. “It’s not their fault they were given those backstories,” he said in their defense.

“No,” Chiho agreed. “It’s Team Danganronpa’s.”

On that, they were in agreement. But, “You’re still saying the people I need to protect my classmates from are each other.”

Chiho lifted one shoulder in a shrug, an uncharacteristic lapse in professionalism. She didn’t have a better answer for him. “I’m telling you what I’ve seen. I’m sure you already suspected this was a possibility.”

He had. He still didn’t like it. “Is there any point to the new protections, then?” he asked.

“Death isn’t the only possible bad outcome for contestants,” she reminded him gently. “If Kanami and I can help you all find stable housing, heal from what happened, and build a place for yourselves outside of the game, then I’ll count that as a win even if I wish it had never been necessary.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds like you’ve given up on ending the killing games.”

Chiho didn’t take the bait. “Officially, I have certain obligations to my employer. That includes not dismantling them nail by nail from the inside.”

“And unofficially?” Shuichi asked.

She didn’t respond for a moment, clearly weighing something. She must have arrived at a decision, because when she spoke, it was to say, “Team Danganronpa’s official stance is that the post-recording provisions were their idea all along, and the problem has been solved. The truth is that whether these new protections actually work or not, Team Danganronpa needs them to work.” She paused briefly to search his face. “Do you understand? Public opinion has been flagging in recent years. They lost the court case, season 51 was a disappointment, season 52 ended early with a blackened winner, and season 53 ended with a resounding call to end killing games for good. If the public were to decide TDR still hasn’t done enough… that’s something they can’t afford right now. They also can’t afford to lay low like they have in the past, or they risk losing their place as the world’s most beloved media property.”

“They need the world to believe there’s nothing wrong anymore, and they need to put out a new season, quickly,” Shuichi surmised, his mind racing. This was something he could work with. “Thank you.”

“What the hell are you two talking about!!”

Shuichi looked over at Rin, who he had almost forgotten was present for the conversation.

Rin was staring at the two of them, red-faced with anger, with her hands clenched into fists in her lap. “This is crazy,” she said, her eyes flicking between them. “It’s, it’s not that deep, okay? It’s a TV show. Our grandparents watch it. It’s something to talk about at school or on the bus or with somebody you just met.” She caught Shuichi’s gaze and held it, imploring. “It’s a game. No one takes it seriously enough to, to actually kill anyone about it!”

“Rin,” Shuichi tried, “I get that you like the show, but if you knew its history with—”

“What history!” she exclaimed, cutting him off. “The whole thing is just history! It’s in textbooks! A hundred years ago, the Tragedy happened, and Makoto Naegi stopped it, and now we have Danganronpa. And she,” Rin turned to accuse Chiho, “is a fan who didn’t make the cut and thought she could force her way into things anyway! Everyone knows that!”

Shuichi reeled.

It was—

A hundred years ago, the Tragedy—

The biggest, most awful, most tragic event in human history was—

—real?

“Please sit,” Chiho was asking Rin, who had indeed stood up with the force of her indignation. “I know it can be hard to hear things that contradict—”

“Screw you!” That seemed to be the last straw for Rin. Already on her feet, she chose to turn and storm out of the lobby rather than spend another moment looking at them.

Shuichi watched her leave, paralyzed. He looked helplessly back at Chiho.

Answering his unasked question, she said, “It’s up to you.”

Wasn’t it always. Shuichi followed Rin outside.

He caught up with her by the pool. “Look, Rinko,” he began.

“Rin,” she interrupted sharply, and she didn’t stop walking away. “It’s just Rin, only mom and dad call me Rinko. You know that.” Frustration laced every word.

It crackled through him in equal measure. “I don’t know that,” he snapped back. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“Yes you do!” Angry tears gathered in her eyes as she whipped around to face him. “You’re my brother! And if you would just think for a second instead of wallowing in the fake memories that are clearly driving you crazy—”

“I’m not your brother!” That froze her cold. Shuichi tried not to think about it. “And I only have one set of memories. I was raised by my uncle, and my parents died when I was four. I never had a sister.”

“But that’s not true,” she insisted, searching his face as if waiting for him to come to his senses. “That’s just backstory from the show. We grew up together—our uncle is a mechanic in Okinawa who drinks too much! This isn’t funny, Shuichi!”

Shuichi. Always Shuichi. His name sounded wrong in her voice, weighted down by familiarity and expectations that weren’t meant for him. Was that the worst thing Team Danganronpa had done to them all? Not even his name was his own, inseparable from the person it had once belonged to.

“He’s gone, Rin.” Any energy he had for keeping up the ruse had burned out. “Whatever bits of him you think are buried in me, they’re not there. I’m someone else.”

If that Shuichi had even been a he at all. A bitter, tired part of him decided he didn’t care. They weren’t around anymore to correct anyone.

“How can you say that?” Tears were rolling down Rin’s cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice them. “Didn’t you say you wanted to try? Haven’t, haven’t I been trying too?”

“This isn’t something either of us can fix by trying,” he told her.

The fight seemed to have gone out of her, but he didn’t approach. It wasn’t his place to comfort her, not now.

The air between them was quiet apart from Rin’s sniffling. She didn’t meet his eyes, but after a long time, she spoke very softly, as if saying it any louder would make it hurt worse. “When we were kids, if a thunderstorm woke me up in the middle of the night, I would go sit on the living room couch. You would already be there, and we would sit together and wait for it to stop. You said you were just keeping me company, but I knew you were scared too. It made me feel better to know it wasn’t just me.” More tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice cracked. “You really don’t remember?”

And in that moment, despite everything, he felt bad for her. How could he not?

Rin Saihara had lost her brother months ago, and no one—not her parents, not her friends, and not either version of Shuichi—had bothered to tell her she had anything to grieve.

“That wasn’t me,” he said, as gently and firmly as he knew how. “I’m not him.” Them, he amended silently despite the bitterness inside him.

They said nothing more than that. She stared at him, and he stared back. He didn’t know what expression he wore, but he knew hers would be fresh in his mind for a long, long time. Eventually, without a word, she turned and continued her walk towards the exit. He knew that, whether or not she chose to return to her parents’ house, there wouldn’t be another knock on his door the next day.

When Shuichi reentered the lobby, he had already swiped the frustrated tears out of his eyes, but he knew without looking that it would be obvious he had done so. He took his seat on the same couch he had been on before and tried to summon some semblance of normalcy.

Chiho was in her same armchair, waiting for him. If she had heard the conversation, and she almost certainly had, she made no comment. She only asked, calmly, “Are you alright?”

Sure, he thought flatly. It was only that his classmates might try to kill each other, again, and the Tragedy was real, and his embarrassing attempt to have any family whatsoever had blown up spectacularly, as everyone had always known it would. It was only that his insides felt like they had been scraped out and set aside to be thrown away later.

His answer must have shown on his face. She asked instead, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not,” he began to say before falling short. Trying again, he said, “There’s just a lot going on right now. That conversation was a long time coming. Honestly, that’s one problem off my plate.” He didn’t sound like himself. That was fine. He didn’t particularly feel like himself, either.

Chiho looked at him silently for a long moment, then said, “You already said you’re not interested in therapy right now, but I would be failing my profession if I didn’t say anything. If you’re struggling with something and you need to talk to someone who isn’t already involved, then I want you to know that is exactly what I’m here for. Even if it’s not today. I’m available if you ever need to talk.”

Shuichi breathed in, slowly, and then let it out even slower. “The thing with Rin really isn’t my biggest worry,” he said, admitting defeat.

Chiho inclined her head invitingly. “What is?”

“I just… it feels like I’m messing everything up, lately,” he admitted. Chiho gestured for him to continue, so with effort, he did. “Kokichi and I have been fighting, partly because of Rin, but there’s something else that I can’t figure out. And I can’t get him to talk to me about it.”

“You aren’t responsible for other people’s reactions, you know,” she told him. “You can’t control what Kokichi feels comfortable telling you.”

“But it’s not just that, is it?” The words came out sharper than he intended. “I’ve been messing up all of my relationships since the game ended. I left everyone behind and let them worry that I had died. They had to hear I was okay from Kokichi, and even after that, I can still hardly bother to answer their calls or text them back. And now Kirumi is having this reunion, and I can’t let everyone down again by not showing up, but how can I show my face there after what I put them through? They all deserved better from me, especially Himiko and Maki.”

Chiho listened to it all with her full attention. “Why those two, specifically?”

How could he explain how much he owed the two of them? “We were all we had left when the game ended. I knew how much they depended on me, and I left without a word.

“They deserved better from you because they went through everything with you,” Chiho surmised. “Your friendship is stronger because of what you survived together.”

“Yes,” Shuichi answered, relieved. “I couldn’t have survived without them.”

She nodded in thought. “Then, did your relationships with people like Kaito, Kaede, and Kokichi suffer when they died?”

The question felt like a punch to the gut. It was wrong, he wanted to say, but the words to contradict it just wouldn’t come out. Instead he felt them ricochet inside his chest before settling, heavily, in the pit of his stomach.

Chiho said nothing, watching him carefully and waiting for him to speak.

Had his relationships been damaged even then? He didn’t want to think so. He and Kokichi hadn’t always been on the greatest terms, but—he thought he valued all of them very much. Each of them had, after all, given him strength in their own ways. Strength he had desperately needed. And they had died. It wasn’t fair to blame them for it. But the question was still repeating itself in his mind, and he couldn’t silence it.

“I wonder if you would be willing to share your thoughts out loud,” Chiho prompted.

“It’s just…” Shuichi began slowly, struggling to put words to his reaction. “Why did—why did they do it?” Once the words began, the rest poured out before he could filter them. “Why did Kaede try to kill the mastermind when we agreed to catch them? Why did Kokichi make himself our enemy when he could have been our friend? And why did Kaito agree to Kokichi’s plan, knowing what it would mean for—for him, for all of us?”

“For you,” Chiho finished softly, catching on to what he had almost said.

He tried not to flinch. Instead, a fraction late, he nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

In that same soft voice, she said, “And in making those decisions, they left you.”

Hearing it rephrased that way, something inside Shuichi crumpled. He felt his lower lip wobble and he hated it, but not as much as he hated the hitch in his voice when he agreed, quietly, “…They left me.”

Chiho gave him a moment to gather himself and wipe a few tears off his face, which he was grateful for. When it seemed like he had found his center again, she said, “It seems like you feel more secure in your relationships with Himiko and Maki because they haven’t left you the way the others did.”

Yet. The word seemed to linger in the air: they hadn’t left yet.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? How could he trust anyone not to leave him again, when he knew how easy it was to lose people? And why should they stay? The game was over, but Shuichi wasn’t who he used to be, in more ways than one. He was a mess, only barely beginning to scrape himself back together. It was a miracle he and Kokichi had lasted a week before he messed it all up. Maybe things would be different in ten years or so, but surely no one would want damaged goods like him in the meantime.

He certainly wouldn’t want to spend any more time with himself than he absolutely had to, if he had a choice.

“I left first,” he said, pushing himself away from that thought to something fractionally, marginally safer. “After, I mean. I didn’t even wait for Kokichi to wake up.”

“You did,” Chiho agreed, but she didn’t comment further. She simply waited to hear where his thoughts were going.

It was nice of her, given that he himself didn’t know where he was going. “Kiibo said that by leaving first, I didn’t have to watch anyone else leave.” But then he was alone, and he still didn’t know which was worse.

“You beat them to the punch, but it meant you left your friends behind.” She said, echoing his thoughts. Then she added gently, “You also didn’t give them the chance to prove your assumption wrong.”

Shuichi fell quiet. Assumptions were, after all, the enemy of good detective work, and he had a feeling Chiho knew that when she said it.

“It doesn’t seem like you’re alone anymore,” she observed.

Because Kokichi had found him.

He was slowly getting back in contact with his various friends, but it was Kokichi who had tracked him down and shown up unannounced on his doorstep. He didn’t know where he would be if not for that.

“But they could still leave,” he said.

Chiho sat quietly with him for a long moment, and this time it seemed like she was the one thinking. Shuichi was relieved to pass the burden onto her for the time being. At length, she said, “You asked why your friends made the choice to leave you during the game. Why do you think they did so?”

It was his own question, but it felt as unfair when she spoke it aloud as it had when it was still safely hidden inside his head. “They were trying to end the killing game,” he defended resentfully, feeling some familiar fire rising in his chest. “They were trying to protect the rest of us.”

Kaede, trying to put a stop to it before it ever began. Kokichi, trying to draw the mastermind into a cat’s game of tic tac toe until neither could truly win. Kaito, playing a dual role in the trial to catch Monokuma breaking his own rules. Desperate attempts to grind the deaths to a halt.

“They failed,” Chiho pointed out reasonably.

“That wasn’t their fault!” The fire in him blazed higher, fanned by the lukewarm dismissal. “They did everything they could for us!”

Chiho leaned forward, her expression calm. “Then why would they abandon someone they worked so hard to save?”

Shuichi felt like a bucket of water had been unceremoniously dumped over his head, so quickly did his righteous anger flicker out.

In the space of his silence, she spoke. “Every single one of you wanted the deaths to stop. Every action any of you made was an effort to cope with or seize control of something impossible and horrific. You tried, every one of you, to protect yourselves. Some of you reached further and tried to protect others. And you failed, because it was designed for you to fail.” There was anger of her own in Chiho’s voice: not directed at him, but just as righteous as his had been. “Shuichi, we use terms like blackened and victim and survivor when we talk about Danganronpa, but the truth is that every single one of you is a survivor of something that should never have happened to you. You, Kokichi, and everyone else will all have your own wounds to tend to, and it will take time. But if there is one thing you have, it is each other. It was real, and you experienced it together. If you are scared that your loved ones will leave you, then I challenge you to share that with them. You may be surprised to learn you are not alone.”

Shuichi’s throat worked as he tried to find words, his eyes feeling red and scratchy in the aftermath of earlier tears.

The silence stretched, and Chiho’s gaze was unwavering as Shuichi searched it for any hint of… of anything, that he could grasp onto that wasn’t his own trembling feelings as they clawed their way along his ribcage.

Shuichi broke the stare, glancing down at the floor. “Maybe,” was all he admitted.

Another long moment, and then Chiho let out a tension-relieving sigh. Shuichi felt his shoulders relax slightly. “Well,” she said in the tone of someone aiming for something lighter, “so much for not forcing you into therapy.” She kindly didn’t attempt to force any more eye contact, which he was grateful for. “I’m sorry Shuichi, this is normally something we would do in my office or at your home, after having a conversation about informed consent and confidentiality.” That seemed to strike a sharply important note in her mind, and she said with suddenly harried professionalism, “Everything we talked about just now is extremely protected information, even from Team Danganronpa. Not even members of my department can access any of your therapy notes without my and your explicit say-so.”

“Ah,” Shuichi said dumbly, still not quite recalibrated for logistical concerns at the moment. “I… appreciate that.” Mostly, he was just thankful to have reached the end of the impromptu therapy session. If they had talked any more, he didn’t think he would have been able to recover afterwards.

Maybe the privacy talk was helpful, on further thought; it was giving him a rope with which to pull himself back to normalcy. When he looked back around the lobby, he almost felt like he could pack his emotions back into himself. Only time would tell if they were any more manageable than they had been before, but he certainly didn’t feel worse than when he had started out.

(He wasn’t sure it would be possible to feel worse than he already had.)

Chiho offered to drive him to the bus stop on their way out, which Shuichi gratefully accepted. The passenger seat of her car was clear, but he noticed the floor behind them was cluttered with old paper coffee cups. The smell of old coffee wasn’t good, exactly, but it was soothing in a familiar sort of way that helped a little more tension bleed out of his shoulders.

As he climbed out at the bus stop, Chiho leaned over to get another look at him. “For what it’s worth, Shuichi, I don’t think you’ve ruined anything. So don’t stop trying, alright?”

His heart felt wrung-out and tired, but he was already starting to feel a little lighter despite that. He managed to muster up a smile for her. “Alright,” he agreed, and he meant it.

Chapter Text

The next day came and went with no sign of Rin, and Shuichi breathed a sigh of relief. If he thought her absence would fix the problems between him and Kokichi though, he was soon disappointed. He and Kokichi spent most of the day in their own rooms, only venturing out for food when they knew the other was safely behind a closed door.

They spoke once, when Shuichi was on his way to the bathroom, to confirm that they would leave in the early afternoon the next day and drive to the address Kirumi had provided in her letter. The exchange was brief, but Shuichi was too relieved by the confirmation that he wouldn’t have to ride a bus the whole way to care about how Kokichi still wasn’t meeting his eyes.

That was what he told himself, at least.

Shuichi occupied his time by straightening up his room, researching the classmate Rantaro had told him about from season 52, sending contact info for a few more former contestants to Maki, and making another attempt at reading the trashy shoujo manga he had started ages ago. He felt jittery in a useless sort of way, like he had simultaneously everything and nothing to do. It didn’t help that his sleep the previous night had only been interrupted by the usual nightmares, and not by a familiar presence climbing onto the mattress. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He went back and forth a few times on what it might mean before giving it up as a lost cause. Unsurprisingly, the bizarre and frankly upsetting plot of ‘The Bomb Inside Her’ failed to soothe his nerves, but the day eventually passed anyway.

On Friday morning, after another night of sleeping alone in his bed, the weather was brisk and clear as they loaded the car. The tension was starting to get to Shuichi, but Kokichi showed no signs of concern. They managed alright while they were busy with tasks like eating a late breakfast and packing last-minute items into their bags, but once they were in the car and starting down the road, the lack of conversation grew stifling. It would take them almost three hours to get to their destination, and the minutes were already passing with agonizing slowness.

The silence dragged on and on until Shuichi finally braced himself to bite the bullet and said, “Rin came over again the other day. She went with me to my meeting with Chiho.”

Kokichi glanced at him. A beat passed, and then he asked neutrally, “How’d that go?”

“The meeting itself was fine,” he said truthfully. “But Rin didn’t like how we talked about Danganronpa. She stormed out, we shouted at each other, I told her I’m not her brother, and she left. I don’t think she’ll be coming back again anytime soon. Also, the Tragedy was real.”

Kokichi raised his brows in mild surprise. “Well damn,” he said. Then he reached over to blindly pat Shuichi’s shoulder. “You actually stood up for yourself!”

“You already knew about the Tragedy,” Shuichi concluded, half accusing and half resigned.

The hand that had patted his shoulder lifted up to poke him disapprovingly in the cheek. “Nuh-uh, no way, I’m not the freak here. How the hell did you miss that? Are you telling me you were literally the only person on earth who didn’t know the Tragedy was real?”

Shuichi sighed. Then he kept sighing. He held it as one long, continuous sigh until he ran entirely out of breath, and then he said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kokichi let out a short bark of a laugh.

Even though he was the butt of the joke, Shuichi couldn’t help giving a little grin. If it helped crack some of the ice between them, he’d gladly take it.

His gratitude lasted until Kokichi asked, with a deliberately light sort of aloofness, “So Rinko’s not coming back. You’re fine with that?”

“She prefers Rin,” Shuichi said slowly while he weighed his response. “I… don’t know. She seems nice enough, but I still don’t really know what I want out of, of the Saiharas. A family would be nice. I just wish they could understand that I’m not… their Shuichi. I’m sorry,” he added genuinely. “I know you and I have different opinions on how to handle our family situations. I guess I’m just trying to explain why I can’t cut off contact with them like you did with yours.”

Kokichi was quiet as he drove, his face grimly neutral. At length, he said, “It’s different, I guess. Mine weren’t even happy to see me.”

That caught him off guard. “Your,” he stumbled, “your parents?”

He nodded. He seemed unphased by Shuichi’s surprise. “They didn’t bother to greet me when I got there, but when I found them eating dinner in their fuck-huge dining room a few days later, all they had to say to me was that the wild child act was interesting in the game, but I needed to straighten up now that I was home. Then they informed me that we would be attending a gala the next night, to reintroduce me to their associates.” His face twisted up in baffled disgust. “Who the hell goes to a gala to do anything other than rob the place?”

If it was meant as a diversion, Shuichi didn’t take the bait. “You never mentioned they treated you like that,” he said, his heart feeling half-torn. He had never considered that there might be more to the story of the week Kokichi spent at home before arriving at Shuichi’s apartment.

Kokichi shrugged in dismissal. “I told you the gist of it. Do the details really matter?”

They did. They really did. “Back when we first listened to that voicemail Akemi sent me,” Shuichi said, piecing his thoughts together as he spoke, “you asked me how I felt about it. Whether I had any fantasies about running into the loving embrace of the parents I’d never had. Did… you…?” He let the words trail off.

Kokichi’s expression soured further, and he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, your family situation and mine are different. If you think there’s something in yours worth building on, then,” he tsked, “do whatever you want.”

The entire exchange left Shuichi reeling. Sure, letting Kokichi poke fun at him had thawed a bit of the tension between them, but for him to share something like this unprompted? A glimpse of vulnerability that he could easily have kept hidden? Surprise was an understatement.

Was it… meant to be some kind of olive branch?

Whatever his intentions were, Kokichi’s expression didn’t invite further prodding on the subject. Emboldened, however, Shuichi decided to press his luck somewhere else. “Tell me about your last stream,” he said, more asking than commanding. “You wanted to tell me about it that night, right? I want to listen.”

He glanced at him with sharp, observing eyes. His fingers tapped along the steering wheel, and he said, “There’s not much to say. Rantaro killed the little cheerleader girl, framed the brawler guy that nobody liked, and everyone else got executed because they fell for it.”

Those were just facts, though. Shuichi tried again, asking delicately, “And what did you think about it?”

The look Kokichi shot him was unimpressed. “Tell me what you’re really getting at,” he commanded bluntly.

There went tact. “The crushing deaths must have been hard to watch,’ he decided to clarify.

Kokichi scoffed. “You think I can’t handle a little gore?”

“I think sense memories are powerful and easily triggered,” Shuichi contradicted. “And I saw your face when you came out of your room. Something spooked you.”

“If anything spooked me, it was the poor production value. The most popular show in the world can’t afford some better camera angles?” The dismissal was easy to hear.

Shuichi pursed his lips in frustration. The uncharacteristic bout of sharing was over, it seemed, but Shuichi wouldn’t let him worm out of it that easily. “I’ve noticed something about the way you lie,” he said by way of response.

“Oh?” Kokichi asked, amused. “Enlighten me, detective.”

“There are really only two kinds of lies you tell. First, there are the ones you tell to keep people off balance. You practically advertise that you’re lying when you tell them. But the other kind… they’re important. They mean something. Those are the ones you’ll deny and deflect when anyone asks about them.” He leveled a look at him, even though the other wasn’t taking his eyes off the road. “This one is important. Why?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Kokichi snapped at him. His knuckles were tense where they clenched around the wheel, and he still didn’t turn to meet his eyes. “I’m fine, and it doesn’t fucking matter how a bunch of idiots died before any of us even existed. I chose to watch it, everyone else chose not to give me ‘spoilers,’ and the ghouls at TDR chose to make it happen in the first place. It’s just the way it is.”

“I don’t even know why you wanted to watch it in the first place!” Shuichi griped, a frustrated truth slipping out as he attempted to gain any foothold in the conversation.

Improbably, that was the last straw. Kokichi whipped around in his seat to hiss venomously, “I’m trying to understand, alright!?”

He was taken aback. “Understand what?”

“Any of it!” He threw up his hands, only to grab the wheel again when the vehicle began to swerve. “What kind of sick, broken world does this shit for fun? How can anyone stand to watch it? It’s not fun, it’s not interesting, it’s just death. Death, and claustrophobia, and desperation, over and over again until you want to throw it all up, and they just. Keep. Doing. It. You’re the detective, Shuichi—tell me what the hell they get out of that, because I don’t get it!”

Shuichi stared at him, wide-eyed and wordless.

He continued, hardly seeming to listen to the words as he said them, “And then I think, maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why they watch it. Something in them is trying to understand what it’s like to feel so wrapped up in despair that you can’t breathe, like somehow that will prepare them for it. Nothing prepares you for it. Despair,” he spit contemptuously. “No one who has felt real despair would treat it that lightly.” He glanced at Shuichi’s surprised expression and gave a bitter laugh. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Shuichi was at a loss. Without thought, two words left his mouth. “...It’s wrong.” It took him a fraction of a second to understand what they meant. “It’s wrong that they did that to us. It’s wrong that you died the way you did, and it was wrong that no one warned you about the ending.” He thought about what Chiho had said, about how they were all survivors of something awful. “It shouldn’t have happened,” he said firmly. “But I was there too. Kaito, Miu, and Kiibo: they were there too. We felt it. You… you know you can talk to us about it, right?”

Kokichi faltered momentarily. But he still sneered, when he recovered, “Yeah, I’m sure you’d all love a chance to get a look at my weaknesses.”

Somehow, that was the part that annoyed him. “I’ve seen your mangled corpse,” Shuichi told him bluntly. “And I’ve seen you laugh in the face of total world annihilation. I’ve seen you at your weakest, and I know what you’re capable of. Do you think I’d think less of you for having unresolved issues? It’d be one of the more normal things I’ve seen from you.”

It was Kokichi’s turn to fall silent.

“I still have nightmares,” Shuichi said. “A different trial every night.”

“It’s not,” he tried, but Shuichi interrupted.

“I have to remind myself that it’s over. I’m not trapped there anymore.”

“Listen—”

“I’m scared to death that I’ll wake up one day and be back in the game.”

“I get it!” Kokichi snapped. “Okay? I’ll think about it.”

Shuichi settled back against his seat. “Good.”

Kokichi gave a cartoonishly exaggerated sigh of relief when it became clear they were letting the subject drop. “Jeez. Couldn’t we have spent this whole ride in tense silence instead?”

“That would have been so much worse,” Shuichi said, although he too was grateful to feel the tension leaving him.

“We could have played passive-aggressive I Spy,” Kokichi suggested.

“If you start singing about bottles of beer on the wall, I’ll walk to Kirumi’s instead,” he warned.

Pointedly, Kokichi reached down to press a button, and the door locks audibly disengaged. The car did not slow down.

Shuichi manually re-locked his door, acknowledging the point.

“Alright, that’s enough talk about all of that,” Kokichi declared. “Let’s talk about something fun. This reunion is definitely going to end in someone getting stabbed, right?”

“Kokichi,” he sighed.

“What? This way, we can compare notes before we get there.” He sounded completely innocent, except for the note of eagerness in his voice. It was hard to tell if that was how he really felt, or if he was just playing it up so he could brush the previous conversation under the rug. “Who do you plan to keep an eye on? I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure anything like that will happen?”

“Uh, duh,” Kokichi said, looking at Shuichi like he was short a few marbles, “because even if we assume our resident gamemaster didn’t get an invite, we’re still about to put fifteen traumatized, brain-damaged maniacs in an enclosed space far from civilization for a whole weekend? Our combined kill count is in the triple digits, thanks to Maki and Korekiyo.”

“You think Tsumugi wasn’t invited?” Shuichi asked, neatly sidestepping the murder talk.

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “That’d be too easy. Kirumi is a smart cookie who probably doesn’t want blood all over her nice floors. There’s no way ‘Mugi got an invite.”

“If you’re so certain that something bad will happen, then why are you going?” Shuichi asked, not that he had much of an answer for that himself.

“To watch!” he declared emphatically. “And if you won’t fess up, I’ll go first. The obvious first guess is that any of the killers could potentially kill again. I’m including Maki in that, by the way.”

Despite his better judgment, Shuichi allowed himself to be dragged into the discussion. “All our research shows that in-game killers are the ones most likely to be targeted.”

Kokichi nodded, pleased to have succeeded. “So that’s Kirumi, Korekiyo, Gonta, and Kaito on the potential targets list. Then it’s Rantaro, Ryoma, Tenko, Angie, Miu, and me on the potential killers list if we assume they’ll want revenge against their killers.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if you hadn’t included yourself on that list,” Shuichi told him.

“Tough.”

“I think we can safely take Ryoma and Kirumi off the lists,” he continued. “He doesn’t seem like he blames her for what happened, and they must have talked about it already if they’re living together. Tenko and Angie,” he hesitated briefly, “don’t seem like the type, but I haven’t seen them around Korekiyo. Miu, I’m not sure about. You know her better; what do you think?”

His mouth twisted up in a small grimace, but he said, “Revenge against Gonta wouldn’t be Miu’s style. She’s smart enough to target the root cause, not the pawn.”

Shuichi frowned, but he mentally added Kokichi to the potential victims list. Miu hadn’t seemed to hold much of a grudge towards him when they saw her last, but… well, she wasn’t the only one who might have a score to settle with Kokichi. “I also can’t imagine Rantaro holding a grudge against Kaede,” he chose to say instead. “Especially after finding out she didn’t kill him.”

“Makes me wish Tsumugi would be there,” Kokichi mused, relishing the thought. “She’d be fighting for first place on the kill list with me and Korekiyo.”

“Then it’s a good thing she won’t be,” Shuichi said firmly. “But either way, having potential victims doesn’t count for much if no one seems particularly motivated to kill,” he pointed out.

Kokichi gave a low, disagreeing hum. “Correction: we have two people who basically anyone could reasonably prefer dead, two repeat-murderers who could be more than willing to kill again, and no concrete leads on who is most likely to snap first.” He grinned. “This is the nightmare scenario.”

Shuichi groaned, unhappy with the part of himself that agreed with that assessment. “We’ll see,” was all he said.

The other watched his expression, then shrugged. “I’m bored,” he declared, “let’s lighten up the mood. Ask me one of your weird questions.”

He wasn’t sure if he should be amused or offended. “One of my what?”

Kokichi waved a hand negligently. “You’ve always got some weird stuff floating around in that spacey detective head of yours. Lay something on me.”

Shuichi snorted, amused despite himself, but he supposed the conversation had been pretty heavy since they got in the car. “Sure,” he said, thinking about the request. Something new… something that had been stuck in his head… something lighthearted… He said the first thing that came to mind. “If you were dating someone, and they wanted to go back to being friends, what would you do?”

Kokichi’s face twisted up in bafflement, and he actually turned away from the road to look at Shuichi. “What?”

Maybe that was a bit too out of left field. Flustered, he hurried to explain, “Like, if they realized that whatever feelings they had weren’t really the dating kind, but yours were. Would you be able to go back to being friends?”

“Is this about that asexual thing Kaito talked about?” Kokichi said. “Because I demand at least a 20-minute ban on talking about any more feelings.”

“Not, not really? I mean, kind of, I guess, but it’s mostly about something Maki and I talked about before that. She said most people wouldn’t be able to go back to being friends after dating. And I mean, obviously some relationships end messily, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t otherwise work?” Belatedly, he added, “And I think this would count as aromantic, not asexual.”

Kokichi rolled his eyes at the correction, but he considered it. It was at least a break from their other conversational topics. “I wouldn’t be in that position in the first place,” he said eventually. “Obviously henchmen are better than friends or dating.”

“Okay, but what if you were? Maybe you started dating one of your henchmen.”

“That’s a conflict of interest,” he rejected instantly. “We would both be compromised, and for what? There’s no benefit to dating that you can’t get some other way.”

What? Shuichi put his original question aside for the moment, fascinated. “Really, no benefit?”

“Not one.”

“What about free dinners?” he asked shrewdly.

“I don’t need to date someone to get them to buy me food,” Kokichi answered with a haughty sneer that he must have copied from Tenko. “I make you pay for dinner all the time. Kaito brought us food and alcohol the other night, and then we slept with him. How’s that different from a date?”

Shuichi spluttered, his face turning red. “We didn’t—don’t make it sound like we had a, a,” he trailed off in embarrassment.

“A foursome,” Kokichi finished with satisfaction.

A fours—

“With Maki?” Shuichi yelped in a high voice.

“You don’t think she’d go for it?”

Shuichi was struck silent by horrified mortification. Kokichi took one look at him and burst out into hysterical cackles.

“Never,” Shuichi said through the heat still scorching his cheeks, “ever, tell Maki we had this conversation. She’ll kill you and then stab me for good measure.”

“Aw, you don’t want to have to convict Maki for murder?”

“I don’t want you to get murdered in the first place!”

That silenced Kokichi, who made a complicated expression and couldn’t seem to come up with a witty response.

Shuichi stared at him in disbelief. Really, that was what surprised him?

A moment passed without reply before Shuichi relented and, to spare Kokichi from having to confront any more feelings, said, “I’m pretty sure people date for reasons other than food and sex.”

Luckily, Kokichi followed the conversational pivot. “Name one,” he wagered.

“Connection?” Shuichi suggested. “Intimacy? Physical affection?”

Kokichi took a hand off the steering wheel to count on his fingers. “Okay first, ick. Second, gross. Third,” and here, actual frustration crossed his face, “those are still things I could get without dating, if I wanted to. There’s no rulebook that says only couples get to do that stuff. It doesn’t suddenly ‘not count’ just because you do it with friends.”

The intensity with which he said it startled Shuichi. He opened his mouth to point out that Kokichi had said friends that time, not henchmen, but he thought better of it. Instead, he tried to give the other’s words the attention they deserved, since it seemed he had chosen to speak plainly for once.

He thought about the sleepover earlier that week and how it felt to wake up with all of them the next morning. He thought about his workout sessions with Kaito and Maki inside the game. He thought about DICE and what they had meant to Kokichi.

Finally, he thought about Kokichi himself. Drinking wine on the couch after that first disastrous family dinner, with his damp, chlorine-soaked head in Shuichi’s lap. Sitting at the kitchen table, beating Shuichi at his favorite card game over and over and always shuffling the deck for another round. Nestling against Shuichi’s back after sneaking wordlessly into his bed in the middle of the night, careful to leave before the sun rose.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.

Kokichi looked at him with surprise. “Really?” Then he added, “I mean, yeah, obviously. I’m always right.”

“I don’t think it answers my question though,” he concluded.

Caught off guard, Kokichi spluttered. “I thought you agreed it’s a dumb question!”

Shuichi shrugged noncommittally.

Kokichi made an offended noise, but to his credit, he did eventually answer. “Look, it’s not a big deal. If I’m dating someone and they want to go back to being friends, who cares? Sounds like a win to me. Partners in crime are more useful than dating partners anyway. Anyone who doesn’t get that is an idiot.”

Shuichi nodded slowly. “And do you think most people feel that way?”

“Who cares?” Kokichi repeated. “But you agree with me, so that’s at least two against one. We’re right, Maki’s wrong.”

“Hm,” Shuichi said, frowning. “To be fair, I think Maki would also agree with us. She just didn’t think everyone else would feel the same way.”

“So we’re three for three,” Kokichi concluded wisely, and this time Shuichi knew he was just screwing around. “Get with the program, Shumai. Romance is a scam that the rest of us are already in on. Ask me a different question, I solved that one.”

It was Shuichi’s turn to huff in disbelief, but the demand didn’t actually take much thought. He asked, “Am I one of your henchmen?”

Kokichi scoffed. “Hell no. You’d be a shitty hench, you don’t even listen to orders.”

“What am I then?” he pressed. “A partner in crime?”

That was dismissed as well. “Detective Saihara, committing crimes? Perish the thought. I’d rob a bank and you’d catch me on tape, lecture me about being a good member of society or whatever, and make me give the money back.”

Shuichi huffed, feeling stumped and a little disappointed. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing the issue or even what sort of response he wanted. Maybe he was just hoping Kokichi had an answer where Shuichi had none.

Kokichi interrupted that line of thought by saying, “Ugh. I don’t like this one as much. New question.”

“You pick the next topic then,” Shuichi told him. “We still have at least an hour to go.”

“Ugh, fine.” Kokichi tapped his fingers along the wheel and sped up to pass another car as he contemplated. Then something outside caught his eye, and he pointed urgently out the window. “Look—look at that fast food place! Doesn’t it make you want to commit arson?”

“Which—oh, god.”

Kokichi’s grin was diabolical. “The entrees are called MonoMeals,” he shared delightedly, watching Shuichi’s horrified face. “The dipping sauces are themed after Monokuma and the Monokubs. Black spicy ketchup, yellow honey mustard, you get it.”

“But what about the blue one??”

Chapter Text

They had left civilization behind almost an hour before the map alerted them that they should turn left onto a narrow, gravel-lined driveway. Hemmed in by towering, old-growth trees and thick brush, the turn was almost invisible until they were right in front of it.

“We are definitely going to get murdered,” Kokichi said as the car rumbled down the gravel path.

There was only a narrow strip of clear sky above them, and the house wasn’t even in sight yet. It made for an eerie feeling of being completely cut off from the world.

It wasn’t long, however, before a curve in the path opened up into a wide clearing, and they got their first glimpse of where they would be spending the weekend.

“Woooow,” Kokichi said, distinctly impressed and not bothering to hide it. “Kirumi sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

Shuichi had to agree. The house was enormous, for one thing, nestled at the center of the clearing with the air of a structure that had stood proudly for many decades. It had clearly received a fresh coat of paint, and the wraparound porch was dotted all over with outdoor furniture in small groups. Parts of it—a few windows, some of the supports, the rather barren flower beds—showed signs of age and neglect, but the entire thing shone with visible, determined efforts to bring it back to its former grandeur.

The gravel lot at the front of the house already contained two vehicles. One was a plain, practical little car, and the other was a newer, larger model. He wondered who else had arrived already. Kokichi pulled in next to the older vehicle, which Shuichi suspected was a ploy to make his glittering white sports car appear even more impressive.

Kirumi stepped down from the porch, smiling with genuine pleasure to see them, and came over to greet them as they climbed out of the car. “Welcome, both of you,” she said warmly. “I trust your drive here was a good one?”

Without bothering to even close the door behind him, Kokichi scrambled out and made an immediate rush to collide with their host, wrapping his arms in a hug around her waist and crying, “Kirumiiiiiii!” There were actual tears streaming down his face, much to Shuichi’s dismay. “I missed you so muuuuuch!” he wailed.

“I, alright,” Kirumi said, utterly flummoxed. She reached down a tentative hand to pat his head. “I… missed you as well, Kokichi,” she tried, and to her credit, it only barely came out as a question.

He looked up at her, not releasing her from the hug. “Enough to make me a cake? Two cakes. One chocolate, one strawberry, at least three tiers high each, and with that frosting that—”

“Actually,” a different voice interrupted as Ryoma made his presence known, having followed a step behind Kirumi, “the dessert menu is already set. You wouldn’t want to add things to Kirumi’s plate when she’s being kind enough to host everyone, would you, Ouma?” He made pointed eyes at the nuisance in question, and Kirumi, although appearing slightly pained, did not contradict him.

Kokichi turned his head to squint and stick out his tongue at Ryoma. This seemed to be the sum total of his response.

Kirumi patted his head again, saying, “I believe you will find the culinary offerings this weekend more than satisfactory.” Gently, she began to extricate herself from his grip. “I assure you, you were kept in mind along with everyone else.”

With a hugely aggrieved sigh, Kokichi released his arms and stepped back. “Fiiine.”

Shuichi chose to speak up then. “You two look good,” he said, looking them over.

Kirumi’s wardrobe remained very similar to what he was used to seeing her in. Everything was still impeccably buttoned, starched, and pressed, but there was a certain relaxed looseness in her posture that made him smile. Ryoma had likewise kept his old leather jacket, but his hat was absent. His ginger orange buzzcut had grown out slightly, and his quiet presence had, if anything, mellowed out even further. The last time he had seen them, they had both seemed lost and tired. Some of that was still present in their eyes, but here, they looked… settled.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him, but Ryoma just smiled back and said, “Thanks, Saihara. All this fresh air must be good for us after all.”

“Let us help you bring your things into the house,” Kirumi suggested. “The others will be eager to greet you both. Then, if you wish, I can show you to your room.”

Between the four of them, they were able to gather everything easily and make their way into the house.

The front door they stepped through opened into a spacious, high ceilinged entryway. A raised balcony across from them offered a glimpse into the second floor, but a chorus of voices from their left quickly drew his attention.

“Shuichi!”

“Kokichi!”

Four more of their classmates were lounging on the couches in what must have been the living room, each craning around to look at them.

“You made it!” Kiibo was saying, delighted.

“We weren’t sure you would,” Himiko added from her place beside Tenko.

“Checkers why the fuck did you send me flowers?” Miu demanded, not bothering with a hello.

A smile grew on Shuichi’s face until it hurt, and his heart lightened at the sight of them all together. All he managed to say was, “Hi guys.”

“Because nunya, Pigface,” Kokichi said from beside him. “Miss me?”

“Miss these nuts, jizzbag.”

“Language, please,” Kirumi interjected, sighing. It was clear that this was not the first time she had said those words that day.

“Have you all been here long?” Shuichi asked.

“Five hours,” Ryoma said drily.

“One hour and eleven minutes, actually,” Kiibo reported, not detecting the sarcasm. “Himiko and Tenko carpooled with us due to not having a car.”

Himiko yawned. “Why would we? Easier to take the bus or a train.”

“Not when traveling to the country,” he pointed out in return.

“So we had to cram ourselves in between all the luggage and listen to Miu’s violent death metal for three hours,” Tenko complained, “instead of getting a couple seats to ourselves and sleeping the whole way.”

“We almost crashed four times,” Himiko added.

Miu waved it all away. “But did you die? No. Ungrateful bitches. And the driver picks the music. If you don’t like it, ask Kiibo why he refused to switch with me.”

“I still don’t understand at what point in my life you think I would have had the time or ability to learn how to—”

“Shuichi?” Kirumi prodded.

Shuichi hastily swiped his eyes, sniffling to clear his nose, and everyone paused to look at him. “Sorry,” he said, brushing more of the wetness out of his eyes, “sorry, this isn’t bad, I promise. It’s just. I’m just… really, really glad to see you all.”

When he looked back on it, Shuichi had to admit he would have expected his first night free from the killing game to be spent tossing and turning with all the new information that had been thrown at him. In reality, however, the effects of staying up for close to 48 hours took their toll, and he slept like the dead from the moment his head hit the pillow.

When he awoke, he knew exactly where he was. There was no momentary fear or confusion, only an opening of eyes and a baseline awareness that he was, supposedly, free. The room around him looked nothing like the one he had spent the last month sleeping in; the cool greys and sleek, modern style had been replaced with warm wood floors and light, airy curtains.

The game was over; they had escaped.

The room had a faint, acrid smell of smoke and dust. As he sat up, his eyes landed on the singed clothes piled carelessly where he had dropped them the night before. Not a dream, then. It was always good to check.

The clock on the bedside table informed him that it was mid-afternoon. His stomach chose that time to make it known that it objected to getting such a late start to the day, and Shuichi allowed himself one long, heartfelt groan before leveraging himself out of bed to get dressed. The aches and pains throughout his body, especially in his strained wrist, chimed in to alert him that they didn’t appreciate his efforts.

He passed a few people on his way to the building at the back of the village, but Angie was basking in the sunlight with her eyes closed, Korekiyo was wordlessly making his way back to the cottages, and Tenko was talking animatedly to Himiko in a far corner. He exchanged nods with the people who met his eyes, but they all seemed content to leave each other be.

Stepping up into the second-floor dining pavilion was disconcerting, he found. It looked nothing like the dining hall in the Academy for Gifted Juveniles, but Shuichi still had to fight the brief but powerful feeling that he was back there—that something terrible would happen at any moment.

The moment passed, though, and Shuichi found himself smiling at the small group of people who were lingering at a table despite lunchtime having passed hours ago. Rantaro appeared to be flipping through some documents while Ryoma sat drinking tea across from him. Kiibo was with them as well, although he was simply flexing and oiling a few of his joints, likely still getting settled in his new body.

“Morning,” Rantaro greeted as Shuichi took a seat across from him, next to Ryoma. “Sleep well?”

“I feel like I closed my eyes, and when I opened them it was daytime again,” Shuichi admitted.

That got a short laugh out of the other boy. “Yeah, the first night is the worst.”

From his place next to Rantaro, Kiibo hummed in what Shuichi had come to interpret as the robot’s version of clearing his throat. “I have to thank you, Shuichi,” Kiibo began with an earnest expression. “Really, I—”

“Hey, at least let the guy eat something first,” Ryoma interrupted their robotic classmate. “Let’s not bombard him with the heavy stuff first thing in the morning.”

Kiibo’s face contorted in bafflement. “It is 4:27 in the afternoon.”

“Right. Morning,” Ryoma agreed with a dry grin, producing a candy cigarette for himself from one of his pockets. “Nice to see you, Saihara.”

Shuichi huffed out a quiet laugh at Kiibo’s exasperated expression. “Nice to see you too. All of you,” he added with heart.

“Good to have you here,” Rantaro said. “Glad you kept us waiting though, all things considered.”

A plate was suddenly placed in front of Shuichi. “Your usual breakfast,” Kirumi announced with her trademark gravitas, having appeared silently beside him. “Two fried eggs, two pieces of toast with jam, and a bowl of white rice. Would you like a cup of earl grey?”

“Ah, um, yes please, thank you,” Shuichi agreed, stumbling over his words in surprise at her sudden appearance. The tea appeared next to his plate almost before he could finish speaking, and there was a rustle of skirts as she turned to leave. In an attempt to catch her before she could disappear back into the kitchen, he said quickly, “Kirumi, wait.”

The maid paused in her retreat and turned back to face him, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Yes, Shuichi? Is everything not to your liking?” she asked politely.

Now that he had a moment to look at her, he could see several things that worried him. There was a small stain on the cuff of her sleeve, for instance, and the hair held back by her headband was mussed. By Kirumi standards, she looked exhausted. “You don’t have to keep serving us, you know,” he told her gently. “You deserve to rest right now too.”

At his words, she faltered. Her clasped hands clenched tightly around each other, and her smile became brittle. “Thank you, that is very kind. But I’m afraid I… have much to make up for, with regards to my actions during the game.”

Shuichi’s heart clenched at the reminder. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but he had allowed himself to ignore the reality of their situation. There were those among his resurrected friends who were killers. Kirumi included.

Next to him, the table’s other occupants watched silently. Waiting to see how he would respond, he guessed.

Shuichi took a breath. “In that case,” he said carefully, “it would make me very happy if you would join us while I eat.”

She hesitated, quietly conflicted.

“You’d be doing us a favor,” Ryoma spoke up. He took a slow sip of his tea, then clarified, “There’s too many guys at this table. We need a little feminine energy to break up this sausage fest.”

Kirumi stared at him in open shock. “Then, I suppose I,” she said falteringly, “will join you?” She said it like a question, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it didn’t, and she settled onto the seat next to Rantaro with a look of faint bafflement.

Kiibo poured her a cup of tea, which did nothing to quell her surprise but at least gave her something to do with her hands.

“So,” Ryoma said after a moment, “when are you leaving?” He nodded slightly at the papers Rantaro had been looking through earlier.

It was Rantaro’s turn to be startled. After a moment, he gave a hesitant smile, running a finger over the corner of one of the pages. “Oh. You noticed, huh? Yeah, I’m planning to leave in the next couple of days. I, uh, apparently lived with my older brother and his wife before all of this. I’ve been talking to him lately, and now that the game is all wrapped up, I’m going to go… get to know them better, I guess. I was mostly only waiting to see that everyone was okay here before I left.” His expression was odd—half nervous, half apologetic. He continued to fidget with the papers in his hand.

Kirumi nodded in perfect understanding though. “You’ve been here the longest out of all of us. You must have been thinking about this for a while.”

He smiled faintly in thanks and nodded. “I have,” he said with more assurance. “Kaede and I talked about it a lot, and Chiho already said she thinks it’s a good idea to reconnect with my brother. I… want to meet him. I have a niece, you know?” He turned one of the papers so they could see it; it showed a young girl with wavy, light green hair just like his.

“She looks a lot like you,” Kiibo offered. Rantaro took the paper back, holding it with such care that it almost hurt to witness. The group lapsed into silence then, the only sound for a while being the occasional clink of cups.

When he spoke, Ryoma was idly stirring his tea with a candy cigarette. “I think I’ll stay here for a while,” he told them. “Whatever they did to make me feel the way I do, it’s probably not safe for me to go out into the world like this. I’d just end up… drifting, I think. Haven’t even looked through my file much, if I’m being honest. Chiho said she can help me work through some of it.”

“I… will probably stay longer as well,” Kirumi admitted. She glanced briefly at Ryoma, and some of the tension left her shoulders when he nodded his assent. “Even though I know now that it isn’t true, I still feel the burden of responsibility for this country. When I think about leaving here to go back to my old life, I just…” she trailed off. It was a horribly sad sight, to see a person like Kirumi Tojo so worn down. She looked lost. After a moment, she shook herself out of whatever train of thought she had been on. She cleared her throat and straightened up. “But enough of that. What about you two, Kiibo, Shuichi? Have you thought about how long you want to stay?”

The question was like a weight draped across his shoulders, and Shuichi felt his empathy for Kirumi’s exhaustion growing.

Kiibo met eyes with Shuichi, who didn’t have anything resembling an answer. After a moment, the robotic boy said, “I’m not sure. I haven’t had much time to think about it. I want to at least stay until Kokichi wakes up so I can see with my own eyes that he’s okay. Is anyone else leaving soon?”

A premonition dragged like ice down Shuichi’s spine.

“Not many,” Rantaro said. “From what I’ve heard, pretty much everyone wants to have a bit of a breather before they start thinking about that stuff. The only people who are really raring to go are the ones who’ve been here for a while already, like me and, ah…”

Shuichi wondered why Rantaro had trailed off mid-sentence. He also wondered why everyone was suddenly so much shorter, and why they were looking at him like that. Then it occurred to him that they hadn’t gotten shorter, he had just stood up. He had stood up without meaning to, which was odd, but he had only done it because—

“Kaede’s leaving?”

The words left his mouth without permission, but he wouldn’t have taken them back. He also didn’t need to hear the answer. The look on Rantaro’s face was confirmation enough.

“...Yeah,” the other began anyway, “but it’s not—”

“I should go,” Shuichi cut him off without thinking, already stepping away from the table. “Thanks for—,” he began to say out of habit, but he didn’t know what he was thanking them for. “Thanks.”

No one followed. In a distant way, he was grateful.

Once Shuichi managed to make the embarrassing tears stop, Kirumi escorted him and Kokichi upstairs to deposit their things in their room.

“I apologize for being unable to host everyone in individual rooms,” she said ruefully while they put their things down and investigated the rolled up futons. “I determined that having those of us who are already living together share rooms would be the least disruptive for everyone.”

“Yeah Kirumi, sheesh, next time try getting a house with more than nine measly bedrooms. Talk about being inconsiderate,” Kokichi dismissed in his own way.

“We’ll be fine,” Shuichi translated. If anything, he was more worried about the bathroom. There were two bathrooms for the six upstairs bedrooms, which meant they would be sharing theirs with their room neighbors, Rantaro, Kiibo, and Miu.

They had time to decide who would get which futon and rejoin the others in the living room before there was a rumble of an engine outside.

Just like when Shuichi and Kokichi had arrived, Kirumi asked everyone to wait inside while she and Ryoma went to greet the newcomers and help carry their bags. She looked worriedly at Kokichi, but he made no move to disobey and instead pressed his face against the window to make faces at the newly arrived Kaito and Maki.

Shuichi suspected he was also taking the opportunity to ogle at the sleek, dangerously red motorcycle they rode in on.

“Isn’t Korekiyo here?” he asked the others while they waited. “I thought he, Kirumi, and Ryoma all lived together?”

Himiko and Tenko’s expressions both darkened at the mention of the anthropologist, and it was Kiibo who answered, grimacing a little, “We haven’t seen him. Kirumi said he will join us for dinner, but I got the sense that he will most likely keep to himself for the most part.”

“He should,” Tenko snapped, her fingers tapping along her arm in agitation.

Shuichi wasn’t sure how to respond, but Kokichi beat him to it.

“Watch it, Tenko dearest,” he said sweetly. “Somebody might think you have a grudge.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Of course I do. Maybe your pea-sized boy brain can’t remember things for more than a week, but I’m not going to just forget what he did.”

Himiko didn’t add anything to agree or disagree, just pursed her lips unhappily.

“Well look who we have here!” Kaito’s boisterous voice called from the doorway, dragging all of their attention towards him. He dropped a duffle bag just to the side of the entrance and spread his arms wide. “You guys didn’t start without us, did you?”

While Kaito went around saying hi and exchanging hugs with everyone, Maki rolled her eyes and gestured for Ryoma to continue showing her to their room. She met Shuichi’s eyes to give a small nod before hoisting up Kaito’s forgotten duffle and following their smaller host away. She and Kaito must have been given one of the downstairs rooms, because he led Maki past the stairs and down a short hallway.

In the living room, Kaito gave Kiibo a celebratory pat on the back. “Congrats on the house, you two! Are you guys settling in alright?”

“We are,” Kiibo confirmed happily. “Once Shuichi and Kokichi helped us get everything laid out, the rest was easy. I am very pleased with the use we have already gotten out of the lab space as well.”

“Kiibo, that’s disgusting!” Kokichi scolded in a scandalized tone. “No one wants to hear about you two’s lab use.”

“Gross,” Himiko said.

She was looking at Kokichi, but Kiibo grew flustered regardless. “It’s not like that!”

“It’s exactly like that,” Miu contradicted with a leering grin. She threw a casual arm across his shoulders, saying, “Let me tell ya, it’s a good thing those walls are soundproof, because I—”

“Gross,” Himiko interrupted more firmly this time.

A voice from the front door said, “Umm. Hello? Is Gonta at right house?”

“Gonta??”

A chorus of surprised exclamations came from the assembled guests, and Gonta’s head peaked in beside the partially cracked door.

“Oh!” he said, smiling with relief and stepping in more fully. “Gonta is at right house after all. Friends are here! Hello!”

Kirumi appeared from the kitchen in a rustle of skirts and the blink of an eye. “Gonta,” she greeted, looking slightly flustered and just as surprised as everyone else, “welcome, I apologize for not hearing your vehicle’s arrival.”

“Oh, it okay,” he assured her. “Gonta not have vehicle. Gonta walk from train station.”

Having heard the commotion and returned with Maki in tow, Ryoma asked from across the room, “The train station that’s a twenty minute drive from here?”

Gonta nodded, confused about what the fuss was. “Sun is out today,” he clarified reassuringly. “No rain or snow at all.”

“And you guys didn’t pick him up when you passed him on your way in?” Kokichi said in disbelief, looking back and forth between Kaito and Maki.

“Or warn us?” Miu added, scooting away a fraction.

Gonta’s expression lit up as he glanced over. “Kokichi is here!”

“We didn’t see him!” Kaito yelped, holding his hands up in defense.

“I didn’t even see him,” Maki muttered to herself, looking disquieted.

“Gonta step off road to let cars pass,” he explained. This did not alleviate Maki’s alarm.

“Gonta,” Kirumi said, bringing his attention back to her, “if we had known you had no means of transportation here, we would have sent someone to pick you up from the station. In the future, will you please let one of us know if you need assistance?”

He looked away, abashed. “Gonta not want to be bother.”

Kirumi softened. “You are never a bother,” she told him warmly, then suggested, “Let’s go drop your bag in your room, shall we?”

The pair departed down the same hallway Ryoma had led Maki through. Gonta pulled behind him a suitcase that Shuichi recognized as one of the identical ones they had all received when leaving the recovery village.

The room’s remaining occupants spent another minute razzing Kaito and Maki for not noticing someone as tall as Gonta on the side of the road, but Maki’s glare quickly encouraged them to get off that topic.

“Who are we still missing?” Kaito asked, leaning into the couch cushions with a full-body stretch. “Did anyone say they aren’t coming?”

“Angie said she left a few hours ago, so she should be here any minute now,” Tenko reported.

“After that is just Rantaro and Kaede,” Ryoma finished. “He said they’d be coming up together. Not sure on the ETA, though.”

Several pairs of eyes looked to Shuichi at the mention of Kaede, but he tried to ignore them. “Do we have plans for the rest of the day?” he asked instead.

Ryoma looked at him assessingly for a moment, but he just shrugged. “By the time everyone gets here and gets settled, it’ll probably be about time for dinner. Kirumi’s saving her announcement for after dessert, then after that it’s up to you all. We sent Korekiyo to the liquor store earlier in the week, so there’s no problem on that front.”

“Thank god,” Miu moaned.

“What’s this announcement we’ve been hearing about?” Kokichi pried.

Ryoma blinked blandly at him. “Wouldn’t be much of an announcement if I spoiled it ahead of time.”

“C’mon, just a liiiittle hint?”

He considered it. “Nah.”

“Boo, whore.”

“Sure,” Ryoma agreed, unruffled. “I’d hate to take the title from Miu though.”

Miu sniffed. “You’re nowhere near my level, shortstack. Now, what kinda booze we got?”

Instead of answering, he beckoned them all to follow him to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Ryoma asked Kaito to open one of the taller cabinets and bring down the bottles. The astronaut did so, only to give an astonished, ‘Dude, what??’ as he handed bottle after bottle down for Shuichi to put on the countertop.

Everyone’s eyes were wide as they beheld the treasure trove. By Shuichi’s count, there were more individual kinds of alcohol than there were people in the room, and the total bottle count was even higher than that.

“Do you think our MILF babysitter knows how much of our reward money gets spent on alcohol?” Kokichi asked.

Kirumi, who along with Gonta had rejoined them around bottle eleven, pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t get why you guys even call her that,” Tenko said exasperatedly.

Kokichi’s face started to light up like his birthday had come early. “You don’t know what it means?”

She glowered at him without any real heat. “Of course I know what it means, you little creep.”

“Is it because she doesn’t have kids?” Himiko guessed. “Although, if you think about it,” she added philosophically, “aren’t we kind of her kids?”

Tenko groaned in despair. “That’s even worse! No! I’ve just never really understood the appeal of the whole MILF thing. Like, I get it, she’s an older woman. Why is that so important?”

There was a loud thunk as Miu put down a bottle of violently pink vodka. “You’re being so dumb right now and you don’t even know it,” she declared. “C’mere.” She grabbed Tenko by the arm and hauled her to the far corner of the kitchen to start whispering in her ear.

The others just watched, fascinated.

As the seconds ticked by, a blush began to appear on Tenko’s cheeks and spread across her whole face, and Miu showed no signs of being anywhere near done. Soon, beet red down to her collar, Tenko leapt away from her with a scream and a failing of arms. “Stop, stop! I won’t be able to look her in the eyes for a week!”

Miu smugly dusted her hands off. “You’re welcome.”

“Augh!”

“Let’s… return to the living room,” Kirumi suggested, although her eyes lingered curiously on Tenko and Miu.

There was a general agreement, and they began to file out. As they all shuffled around to find spots on the couches, Kaito glanced through the window and said, “Hey, someone’s here! Cute little car, looks like it’s Angie this time. Angie and, uh,” he faltered. He glanced back at the room. “Uh. Hey, Shuichi? You should probably, uh, go with Kirumi this time. No reason.”

That, predictably, had everyone clambering around him to get a look at whatever had prompted that reaction.

“I said ‘no reason,’” Kaito squawked as he was elbowed out of the way.

Still fighting for a spot at the window, Shuichi said, “Kaito, just tell us what you—oh.”

Oh, no.

Because climbing out of the passenger side of the cheerful little yellow car, was Tsumugi.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

“Kirumi you promised she wasn’t invited!”

“How did she even know?”

When Kirumi cleared her throat, it was loud enough to shut everyone up. Immediately, Ryoma was at her side. She straightened her skirts, fixed them all with a Look, and said, “If you will all be so kind as to wait inside, Ryoma and myself will go speak with the new arrivals and request that our uninvited guest vacate the premises. Shuichi, if you would please accompany us.”

“Of course,” Shuichi murmured.

“I’ll come too,” Maki said, already glaring daggers out the window.

“No.” The reply came from Ryoma this time. “We’ve got this handled. We’re just going to remind her that this is private property and she’s not welcome.”

Maki didn’t look happy about it, but neither of them were open to argument. She backed down. “If she tries anything, I’ll be there,” she promised instead.

Ryoma nodded.

Shuichi stood up from the couch, and the three of them made their way outside. His stomach was clenching nervously, but he tried to put on a firm, neutral expression. The others were almost certainly all piled up by the window to watch.

Angie caught sight of them and gave a big wave. “Nya-ha-ha! Hello there! What a divine day for meeting old friends, don’t you think?” She was dressed in her normal bright, flowing fabrics, and she looked genuinely delighted to see them. “Are you here to help us carry in our bags?”

“We can help you with those in a few minutes,” Kirumi said, “but first, we would like to talk about your guest.”

“Oh dear,” Tsumugi said, leaning her arms on top of the car. “I told you I wouldn’t be warmly received.”

“I don’t see why not,” Angie told her, puzzled. She turned back to the others. “This is a reunion for our class, is it not?”

“Tsumugi was never a part of our class,” Ryoma said. “And she wasn’t invited. You’ll have to leave,” he told her bluntly.

Tsumugi looked to Angie, seemingly content to follow her lead.

Angie took up the reins cheerfully. “I invited her,” she said, like it was as simple as that.

“She’s not welcome,” he told her.

“And I don’t see why not,” Angie repeated, frowning, “if people like Kokichi and Korekiyo are invited. Tsumugi only killed half as many people as Korekiyo.”

“That isn’t what the concern is about,” Shuichi said.

“Tell me what the concern is, then,” she insisted, not angry but also not budging in the slightest. “Say it, and let Atua judge if your actions are righteous in his eyes.”

Tsumugi watched the argument go back and forth, staying quiet but smiling a little to herself.

That was when a final car rumbled down the driveway.

They watched, conversation derailed, as the car pulled around, rolled to a stop, and fell silent as the engine cut off. Shuichi felt a hammering in his chest, knowing who had to be in that car.

His whole world narrowed as the doors clicked open, until he could have forgotten entirely about Angie and even Tsumugi. A blonde head of hair came into view first, followed by a familiar face. The newest arrival’s gaze slid across the group of people gathered in front of the house before zeroing in, inevitably, on Shuichi.

He was terrified. Why had he ever thought he could be ready to confront this? He stood there like a deer in headlights, all thoughts forgotten, as their eyes met.

Leaving the dining pavilion and his midday breakfast with the others, Shuichi took stock of himself. He felt curiously detached as he began to walk toward the rows of cottages. This was normal, he reasoned to himself. He was… fragile, at the moment. Anyone would be after what they had gone through. Hell, he thought to himself as the image of Kirumi’s tensely clasped hands flashed in his mind, they were all fragile at the moment. Maybe the others weren’t following because he wasn’t the first person to have a—to leave abruptly. That was fine. What he needed to do was take some time by himself to get his thoughts in order, and then he could go find Kaede later and ask her about her plans.

Her plans to…

Because she was going to…

When his feet came to a stop outside a cottage door, he tried to find it within himself to be surprised that it wasn’t his own. After not enough hesitation, he knocked.

“Coming!” a voice called from inside. A moment later, the door opened to reveal Kaede, who looked at him with a concerned expression. “Shuichi? What’s up?” she asked.

“Can I come in?” he asked instead of answering.

He wasn’t sure what expression he was wearing, but it must have been suitably pathetic because Kaede’s face softened with understanding. She stepped to the side with a murmured, “Of course.”

She ushered Shuichi over to the couch, then grabbed a blanket and a pair of water bottles before sitting down as well. When she passed the blanket and a bottle to him, Shuichi mumbled, “You’re very prepared.”

Kaede huffed out a breath with a chagrined smile. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Side effect of dying first, I guess—everyone comes to me for advice on how to cope.”

His hands clenched tightly on the blanket in his lap. When he tried to speak, the words stuck in his throat. “I… I don’t think I know how to say how, how good it is to—that you’re…,” he managed to get out before the last word broke off, unspoken.

“Alive,” Kaede finished for him, nothing but understanding and compassion in her sad, tired eyes. “Safe. And you are, too,” she added firmly.

Safe. So why did he feel like this? Why did it hurt? He hated the waver in his voice when he said, “I’m so sorry, Kaede. I tried, I really tried to grant your wish, but…”

Gentle, solid hands laid themselves over his. Her perfume was soft, floral, and straight out of his most haunting memories. “Hey, hey, none of that,” Kaede told him. “You got out, and everyone is going to be okay. My wish was granted and then some. I am so, so proud of you.”

“Then why are you leaving?” The words tore out of him before he could even try to soften them, his voice cracking at the end.

Kaede flinched back like she had been struck. “You… heard about that, huh?” she said. She picked up her water bottle but simply turned it in her hands, watching how the water moved. Then she sighed. “Have you read your file yet, Shuichi?”

He stared at her, feeling the ragged trembling of something fragile inside of himself. He shook his head.

“I’ve had… a lot of time to read over mine,” she told him. “I can’t remember much of anything in my past, really. You remember those flashback lights you guys got?”

Shuichi nodded mutely, but Kaede wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the bottle of water in her hands as she spoke.

“Rantaro and I didn’t see any of those with you all. So while the rest of you remember pieces of our fake pasts as Ultimates, I just… don’t. All I have are memories of a fake childhood, and then… nothing. My memory starts when we all woke up in the school. But I died so early. The Kaede Akamatsu I thought I was, was only around for five days. Then I died and found out she never existed.” She took a big breath and finally looked up. There were tears in the corners of her eyes as she told him, “I want to find out who I am. Not just the backstory, but where I really came from. Until I know that… how can I move forward?”

And in that moment, Shuichi realized coming here was a mistake. He knew it because as she spoke, he could feel that fragile something inside him break, and his mouth opened before he had the chance to stop it. “So you’re just going to leave us?”

Kaede’s mouth fell open in shock and horror. “Shuichi, no, I—”

But the words kept pouring out. “Didn’t what happened in there mean anything to you? Because maybe you were only there for a few days but I,” his voice broke, “I missed you Kaede. You were the one who gave me the strength to stay alive through everything, and I had to carry on without you, and now you’re back but you’re leaving, and… and what was the point of it all? It wasn’t the past version of you who gave us the hope to keep going, it was you. This you. And now you’re just… putting all of that behind you like it was nothing?”

This was about something more, he realized. Kaede was right: she had only been with them in the game for a short time. And yet her memory was what had been fueling him for so long. It was the star he had wished on at night, praying for the safety of his remaining friends even as their numbers had continued to dwindle away.

But here she was, alive and healthy and looking at him like her heart was breaking. 

And suddenly Shuichi became aware of himself again. He was sitting in the bedroom of one of his dearest friends, and she was crying. His stomach plummeted to roughly the location of the earth’s core and stayed there.

The room had been quiet for too long. Kaede seemed at a loss for words, and Shuichi was struck silent by the guilt that had lodged itself in his throat. Instead, they stared at each other with identical, stricken expressions of pain and grief.

“I… shouldn’t have come here,” Shuichi eventually managed to say. He stood up, setting the blanket and his unopened water bottle on the couch. “And I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry. Please—if leaving is what you need, please just, just do what you need to do.”

He knew, no matter what else, he couldn’t put this on her. It wasn’t her fault he had grown to lean so heavily on her memory, and it wasn’t fair now to force that weight upon the living, breathing girl who was, just like him, trying to pick up the pieces of herself after experiencing something awful beyond words.

She had died. And here he was, blaming her for wanting to move on.

As he opened the door to go, her voice stopped him. “Shuichi.”

He turned back reluctantly, his spine straightening in preparation for some kind of blow. He would deserve it. “Yes?”

Kaede was looking at him with an expression he recognized but would never be able to name; it was the same one she had worn at the turning point of her trial, when they had looked across at each other and just known. “I missed you too, you know. I was watching the whole time.”

Shuichi inhaled once, slowly. “I know,” he said, and shut the door behind him as he left.

The next morning, Shuichi woke up early. He hadn’t made any conscious plan to do so, but when his eyes flickered open before the sun had quite risen above the horizon, he found that his next course of action was already clear in his mind.

There was no hesitation in him as he opened the closet door and pulled out the suitcase he had found there the previous night. Mechanically, he went about folding the clothes he found and tucking them away inside the luggage. His strained wrist twinged in protest, and he wondered in a detached way when he had injured it during the final investigation. He remembered stumbling, confused and exhausted, through the clutter of Rantaro’s research lab, so he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened then. The nurse had assured him it would heal on its own.

He wondered what the actual Rantaro had thought, seeing his lab for the first time through the tv screen. Or maybe he hadn’t watched, already more focused on the future ahead of him than on his classmates still fumbling in the dark.

That wasn’t fair, he told himself. He needed to get a grip.

His hands were shaking as he gathered up his toothbrush and other toiletries though, and that didn’t make sense because nothing was wrong, there was no reason to overreact just because they were leaving, Kaede was leaving and he couldn’t watch her go again he just couldn’t, not after everything else—

The top pocket of the suitcase closed with a long zip that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the paper file that had been resting innocently on the bedside table the entire time, his name scrawled across the front in blue ink.

Don’t think about it.

The file was in his hands, and he flipped to the first page and allowed his eyes to skim across it until they found an address. A quick look at the phone  that apparently belonged to him told him the address wasn’t even terribly far away, and a part of him wondered distantly if that was the case for everyone, or if they would be spread out across the country, hopelessly out of reach when he had only just gotten them all back and—

He stood by the door and took one more deep breath, one hand on the suitcase handle and the other on the doorknob. It was fine. He was okay.

If there was one thing he had learned from the killing game, it was that lies had their uses. He guessed he had Kokichi to thank for that.

With his expression carefully under control, Shuichi opened the door and took the first step out.

With a nervous smile, Kaede said, “Hi, Shuichi. Long time no see.”

Chapter Text

“You look good,” Kaede said quietly.

She looked a little nervous, which was nothing compared to what Shuichi’s internal organs were doing. In a desperate attempt to be normal, he said, “Th-thanks. You… you too.”

He had known that coming to this reunion would mean coming face-to-face with Kaede at some point. He knew it, and he had convinced himself that he was ready for it.

He was not ready for it. The sight of her was like a sucker punch of guilt, shame, and dumb, wretched yearning straight to his gut. He had never been more certain that he was a complete and total idiot.

“Yoohoo,” Angie called then, leaning into their line of sight with a wave. “You don’t mind if Tsumugi joins us, do you Kaede? I know how important group unity is to you.”

Kaede shifted to take in the rest of the group. Her lips pursed unhappily at Tsumugi, but she didn’t immediately answer.

“Whose idea was it for you to come?” came Rantaro’s voice. Shuichi was startled to realize he hadn’t noticed him getting out of the same car Kaede had arrived in. If Rantaro was upset to see Tsumugi, he didn’t let it show. He spoke to her with the same cool and collected regard he had always shown.

“I invited Tsumugi,” Angie answered again. “When our paths crossed again, I knew it was a sign from Atua. Fifteen is an ugly, incomplete number compared to sixteen, don’t you think?”

“Where did you two cross paths?” Shuichi asked. He wasn’t sure he believed a coincidence like that.

Angie was puzzled. “At headquarters, of course.”

Kaede folded her arms, looking, if possible, even less pleased. “You already know how I feel about you working with them.”

This was news to Shuichi, but no one else seemed particularly surprised.

“Ye-es,” Angie agreed, drawing it out musically with a tilt of her head. “But that’s not what we’re discussing, is it? We’re discussing their,” she waved a hand at Kirumi, Ryoma, and Shuichi, “attempts to remove a classmate from our first class reunion. Is that what you want, too, Kaede?” She pinned her with a disconcertingly sharp gaze, not blinking.

Kaede met her gaze for several moments, then turned to Tsumugi. “Why do you want to be here?” she asked, all business.

The source of their argument regarded them all with a placid smile. “I want to spend time with my friends,” she answered simply.

It was Kirumi who answered, in a bitterer voice than Shuichi had ever heard from her, “We were never friends.”

Ryoma reached up to put a steadying hand on her arm.

Tsumugi watched the pair with a mix of pity and fondness in her eyes. “Maybe you don’t feel the same anymore, but you have all always been my very dear friends. If it helps,” she added to Kaede, “I promise I have no intention of hurting any of you.”

“Atua says that we must not punish one if we will not punish all,” Angie informed them serenely. “Are Tsumugi’s crimes so different from anyone else’s? Will we undermine our class unity to say so?”

Kaede closed her eyes to rub the crease between her brows like she had the beginnings of a headache. “Kirumi and Rantaro,” she said. “It’s your house and your killer. If you’re willing to let her stay, she can. If either of you says no, she has to leave. Final offer,” she told Angie and Tsumugi.

Shuichi’s eyebrows rose at the offer, but he stayed silent, observing.

The deciding pair looked at each other. “I can live with it,” Rantaro said, “but I’ll back you up either way.”

Kirumi took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment before she spoke. “It is not a kindness,” she told them, “to ask such a decision from me in the end.” To Tsumugi, she said, “I want to be quite clear that I bear no judgment for any of our classmates for their actions during the game. But you, Tsumugi, are the reason many of us have blood on our hands. You alone knew exactly what your actions truly meant.” She pinned her with a sharp, steely gaze that made the hairs on the back of Shuichi’s neck prickle. “And if you attempt to bring harm to anyone under my home’s protection, I assure you, you will live to regret it.”

It was easy to forget that underneath Kirumi’s servile composure, there hid an iron force of will. A duty to protect that went beyond what most humans could imagine. Shuichi resisted the urge to avert his eyes, remembering the last time he had seen Kirumi’s strength pitted against the mastermind.

But Tsumugi only accepted Kirumi’s words the way sand meets the ocean’s waves. Expectantly, without surprise or resistance. She nodded her understanding. “Of course.”

“You’ll have to room with Angie,” Ryoma told her, displeasure written in the fold of his arms across his chest. He looked to Kirumi for confirmation, who nodded, and that, it seemed, was that.

Between the seven of them, they managed to retrieve all of the four arrivals’ bags and began making their way back to the house. Shuichi had floundered a bit, but Rantaro caught his eye and gestured for him to take his backpack, for which he was grateful.

“Brace yourselves,” Shuichi murmured to everyone as Kirumi began to open the front door.

The door only got halfway open before Miu’s voice could be heard from inside, saying, “Hell no! We are not just going to let that two-faced slutbag stay. Y’all better turn right back around and march her ass back to that car!”

Opening the door the rest of the way revealed Miu, Maki, and Tenko in the entryway, physically barring the group from taking more than a few steps inside.

“We all saw what she did to us,” Tenko said, glaring. “I wouldn’t say this about a girl if it wasn’t important, but she’s bad news! She got Kaede killed! She caused everything.”

“You can’t seriously think it’s safe to have her here,” Maki said flatly. She looked from Shuichi to Kaede to Kirumi, her expression souring with what she saw. Her gaze fell back to Shuichi. “Really.”

Seemingly out of pure habit, all eyes fell on Shuichi. Even those who hadn’t spoken yet, those who were still scattered on the living room couches, looked to him for answers.

“Ah, um,” he stammered, unprepared for the weight of their attention. “We, I mean, Kaede, ah.”

“Tsumugi said she’d play nice, and Kirumi, Rantaro, and I agreed to let her stay,” Kaede stepped in. She held their attention like it was easy, looking at them each in turn. “If she says or does anything to intimidate you, tell one of us and she’s out.”

There was a protest of muttered displeasure, but no one spoke to contradict Kaede’s words. Seeing how swiftly she had gotten the situation in hand, Shuichi felt his heart clench with ugly emotions he couldn’t quite name.

Kirumi clasped her gloved hands together, not quite clapping but gathering their attention all the same. “If you’ll all allow us some time to get the newest arrivals settled, I believe we can sit down for an early dinner afterwards.”

Once Kirumi, Ryoma, and the newcomers left, it took approximately three seconds for everyone else to whip around to stare at Shuichi. He gulped.

“Really, Pooichi?” Miu said exasperatedly.

“I’m not happy about this either,” Shuichi told the gathered crowd of displeased faces. “Angie made the point that Tsumugi isn’t the only person here who killed people, and it wouldn’t be fair to exclude her and no one else.”

“It’s not just about killings, though.” This time, Kaito spoke up. He rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “Right? She’s not just a killer, she’s the mastermind. She’s responsible for everything.”

“Team Danganronpa is responsible for everything,” Shuichi countered, hating that he was the one having to defend a decision he wasn’t even sure he supported. “Regardless of what Tsumugi did, the killing game would have still happened.”

Maki’s expression darkened. “That doesn’t absolve her of her actions. Big organizations like that thrive by making it so the blame can’t be placed on any one individual. But Tsumugi knew exactly what she was doing. She could have stopped playing along at any point, and she didn’t.”

“If she’s here at all, doesn’t that also tell us she hasn’t changed?” Himiko pointed out.

“She clearly doesn’t care about whether we want to see her,” Tenko agreed. “What game is she playing here?”

“I don’t know,” Shuichi confessed. “She said she wanted to see her friends.” The skepticism they all leveled towards him matched his feelings exactly, but he tried to muster up whatever dregs of leadership capability still existed inside him. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what any of us expected. I don’t expect any of you to play nice with Tsumugi if you don’t want to, and if she says something to bother you, please let someone know and we’ll handle it. But let’s not let her ruin this weekend for us, okay?”

“I agree,” Kiibo said firmly, and Shuichi had never been more grateful for their robotic classmate. “Knowledge is power; Tsumugi won’t be able to pull the same tricks on us again. And I, for one, am curious to see what the real Tsumugi is like.”

The conversation fizzled out with a mix of hesitance, displeasure, and begrudging acceptance, and Shuichi couldn’t help but glance at Kokichi, who had kept unsettlingly quiet throughout the discussion. Kokichi had never told him the details of what happened when they got separated at TDR headquarters, but a suspicion continued to grow in Shuichi’s mind.

Kokichi’s expression was blank as he stared into the distance, lost in unreadable thoughts.

Dinner was strange. The food was great—Kirumi’s curry rice never failed to draw in even the pickiest eaters of the group—but the conversations veered between lively chatter and dodging unspoken emotional landmines at a dizzying speed. Shuichi found it hard to keep up at times, thanks to the sheer number of things that were a surprise for him but seemingly old news to everyone else.

The topic they kept coming back to was, somewhat expectedly, catching up on what everyone else had been doing for the past several weeks.

“So I end up being on campus for most of Monday and Wednesday, but I get Fridays off,” Kaito was telling a simultaneously fascinated and disgusted Miu from across the table.

“And you have to go there?” she demanded. “Like, in person and everything? Every week?”

From beside her, Kokichi butted in to say, “You know, some people have to go to school five days a week.”

Miu was undeterred. “Yeah, but that’s for, like, babies. No one actually does that past middle school.”

“What? You still have to go every day!” Kaito said, bewildered.

“Nuh-uh,” Miu retorted. To prove her point, she smacked the table a few times to get the attention of the other conversations. “Hey! If you actually attended high school most of the days, raise your hand.”

Around the table, only a few hands went up. With his hand raised, Shuichi looked at just Kaito, Himiko, Gonta, Kaede, and Tsumugi. Barely more than a third of the class.

Kaito spluttered, “Wh—how did—what the hell were you guys doing in high school!?”

“Work,” Maki said unapologetically beside him.

On her other side, Rantaro gave a little wave with his chopsticks. “Travel.”

From there, they seemed to collectively agree the question would go around the circle. The next person was Kaede, sitting at the end of the table with her hand up. With a chagrined smile, she said, “My school’s music program was well-funded.”

She looked at Tsumugi next to her, who also had a hand up, but Tsumugi just shrugged and said lightly, “My parents wouldn’t have let me skip school.”

For her part, Angie appeared to consider the question carefully. Eventually, she concluded, “What could I have learned from school that I couldn’t have learned directly from Atua instead?”

Next to her was Himiko, who, along with Kaede, had been the person most willing to sit next to the previous pair. Shuichi had noticed her trying several times to start up a conversation with Angie, but she didn’t seem to know where to start. With her hand still up, she said, “Magic school,” and that appeared to be the sum of her answer.

Everyone’s gazes slid over to Tenko, who was busy scooping up a piece of potato from her plate. As if expecting anything else was silly, she said, “I was inventing Neo-Aikido.”

Radiating smugness next to her, Miu made pointed eye contact with Kaito to say, “I was busy doing whatever the hell I wanted.”

“Same,” Kokichi agreed through a mouthful of curry, amused by the growing dismay on Kaito’s face. He and Miu had kicked and shoved each other the whole way to the table and proceeded to sit directly next to each other so they could continue, much to the chagrin of their respective roommates, who sat across from them.

Next to Kokichi, Ryoma grinned a little before answering. “Prison.”

“I was working, much like Maki,” was Kirumi’s answer from the head of the table, opposite Kaede and with her roommates on either side. “Although I did make sure to complete my assignments on time regardless.” At this, there was a mixed reaction of agreeing nods and amused snorts from the others.

Their collective attention shifted to Korekiyo next. He had joined them for dinner without a word; even at the recovery village, few of them had heard him say anything since his death. Shuichi found himself interested to see if he would answer at all, or just allow the question to pass him by. Finally, in a plain voice that did not invite any further comment, he stated, “My sister was ill.”

It was Shuichi’s turn next, and he felt his heart rate kick up as their eyes fell on him. “I… worked with my uncle on weekends and evenings, mostly. It, ah, didn’t tend to interfere with school much.”

Next to him, Kiibo wore a strange, considering expression. “If you had asked me, I would have thought I was the only one who didn’t get to attend school like a normal teen. Most of my education took the form of private tutoring from the man who created me. Is this sort of absenteeism… normal, for high schoolers?”

“No!” Kaito exclaimed, leaning around Gonta to look at Kiibo. “I don’t care what Miu says, most people still have to go! I was in astronaut training, and they got on my ass if I so much as turned in late work. Were your schools actually going to let you guys graduate?”

“I suppose graduation just didn’t seem like a priority,” Kirumi said reasonably. “Given the world events occurring at the time.”

At the mention of those events—the meteorites, the Gofer Project, the Ultimate Hunt—and the subsequent reminder of their fabricated existence, the mood in the room noticeably chilled. Gonta, who had opened his mouth to continue the previous conversation and explain his own school attendance record, let his words taper off unsaid.

The silence wasn’t allowed to linger for long. “That’s right,” Kokichi drawled, a deceptively cheerful undercurrent in his voice. “All that stuff is just what our memories say happened. We have no idea what our actual high school experiences were.”

Sensing danger, Shuichi kicked him under the table, but Kokichi ignored him.

“None of us except Tsumugi, of course,” Kokichi continued undeterred. “How about it, Mugi? Did you answer for your real or fictional self?”

Further back down the table, Tsumugi leaned forward to catch his eye, setting her utensils down for the moment. Everyone, Shuichi included, waited with bated breath to hear her response.

“I suppose ‘real’ is a matter of perspective, isn’t it?” she asked calmly. “But I answered for my original life, not the fictional one.”

“You remember your old life?” Shuichi found himself asking before he could stop himself. Others around the table looked alarmed by the idea. They had all been told it was impossible.

“Hm. Yes and no,” Tsumugi replied, her head tilting to one side in thought. “How should I put this… The process by which we gave each of you your talents has an unfortunate side effect on the brain’s long-term memory storage. Basically, a normal brain can’t accommodate that amount of new information without deleting something. So, we target the effect on specific areas, like where childhood memories are stored. That works in our favor actually, since it allows us to give you all much more interesting backstories while we’re at it. The seasons from before they figured out pre-written backstories were a mess. Season 26 is just plain unwatchable.”

Kaede cut in sharply, “But you can remember yours?”

It took a moment for Tsumugi, blinking in surprise, to catch up. “My…? Oh! Sort of. It’s important for the mastermind to remember at least the past year of their life, or else how would I be able to do my job? So instead of a full Kamakurian rewrite, mine was partial. Implanting my cosplay talent wiped out most of my childhood, but by memorizing my backstory instead of having it implanted, I was able to keep most of my adult memories. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I started skipping classes until college.”

She said it like it was just an interesting fact, but several of the others looked sick to their stomachs. Shuichi felt the same way, but his mind took in the new information greedily regardless of how he felt. Kamakurian rewrite, he repeated to himself, committing the term to memory.

“Cutting classes to hang out with your girlfriend?” Kokichi asked snidely before anyone else could cut in, surprising Shuichi. Where had that come from? Weren’t there more important things to worry about?

But Tsumugi took it in stride. “Sometimes,” she agreed easily, shrugging.

Kaito choked an ill-timed bite of food. “A girlfriend!?” he squawked.

He wasn’t the only one. Miu burst out, “Someone dated that psycho bitch??”

“Someone should tell her to get better standards,” Maki muttered under her breath, loud enough to be heard by everyone.

“I think we’re getting off topic,” Kaede told them all, looking flustered.

With a gasp of realization, Kokichi leapt to his feet, slamming one hand on the table and pointing with the other. “Kaede! It was you??”

Thoroughly derailed, Shuichi yelped a startled, “What?”

The table broke out into a chorus of startled shouts and demands for explanations as all sense of order was lost. Kaede, at the end of the table, just flushed a deeper and deeper red.

Amid all the voices, Kokichi’s rose above the rest, saying, “Is that the real reason she let her stay here?”

Kaede must have heard it just as clearly, because she finally said in a quiet tone, “Guys.” When this went entirely ignored, she tried again, louder, in a tone that made no room for argument. “Guys.”

The table fell silent with the grace of a marching band tripping over itself as they all turned to look at her.

Kaede wasn’t someone who got angry easily, which probably explained why everyone leaned a few inches back upon catching sight of her expression. When she had their attention, she said firmly, “Thank you. Yes, before the game, Tsumugi and the original Kaede were together. No, there isn’t anything between us now, and no, there never will be.” She leveled a look at Kokichi. “And that is not why I agreed to let her stay. If your past self did anything you don’t agree with, I’m sure you’ll understand why I didn’t bring it up.”

Kokichi made no reply, but he shot a distrustful look between her and Tsumugi, clearly unhappy. Shuichi took the opportunity to check Tsumugi’s reaction, but her face was carefully neutral. She watched Kaede without a flicker of anything that could reveal what was going on beneath the surface.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Kirumi cleared her throat. “Yes, well. I understand that some of you may wish to call this dinner to an end soon, but if you will bear with me, I do have an announcement to share with you all.”

“Finally,” Miu muttered.

Kirumi glanced at the boys sitting at her either side, getting a nod from Ryoma and a slow blink from Korekiyo in turn. Turning to the rest of them, Kirumi began, “As some of you may know, the three of us came to this house because we felt that we were not ready to stand on our own in this world we have found ourselves in. I will not speak for the others, but I, personally, could not bear to return to the life that was waiting for me. Nor did I feel able to build a life anew in this unfamiliar place, where strangers ask for autographs and what it felt like to die in the same breath. I…” Her breath hitched, and she fell silent.

“Do you need any—,” Kiibo started to ask, but Korekiyo made a small gesture for him to wait.

Kirumi breathed deeply, re-centering herself, and sent a small smile towards them both. “Thank you.” To everyone, she continued, “What I want more than anything is for none of you to ever feel that you have no choice. That you have nowhere to go. The three of us have discussed it, and I would like to extend an offer to you all.” She looked at them each in turn. When she met Shuichi’s eyes, he saw nothing but pure, determined sincerity. “If any of you, ever, for any reason, find yourselves in need of a place where you can escape from the pressures of existing as yourselves in this world, our doors are open to you. As long as you like, no questions asked.”

Speaking up, Ryoma added, “We’ll be reaching out to people from past seasons, too. And future seasons, if they happen.” He met Kaede’s eyes from across the table.

There were a few questions as people took in the information, but Shuichi caught himself mostly watching as people all around the table exchanged glances with each other. Were they considering it? He knew he wasn’t the only one with a single burning, unasked question at the forefront of his mind.

Who, if anyone, would take Kirumi up on the offer?

Chapter Text

With a few words from Kirumi, dinner came to an end as the group split up for the rest of the night.

“For those who wish to continue visiting with each other after dinner,” she told them, “you will find several furnished sitting areas in the living room and library as well as outside. The porch wraps around the entire house, so if you stay up especially late, I ask that you remain respectful regarding conversational volume near the downstairs bedrooms. There are a number of snacks and drinks available in the kitchen, and you may come to me, Ryoma, and Korekiyo at any point if you need anything.”

“There’s also cake in the kitchen,” Ryoma added. “Serve yourselves, but leave some for the rest of us.”

Kokichi squawked indignantly. “If there was already cake, then how come I got the scary eyes for asking earlier!”

“To keep you humble,” Ryoma answered, amusement rumbling in his voice.

Kokichi’s offended gasp was covered by a loud guffaw from Miu. “Good fucking luck!” she crowed, already making a bee-line for the kitchen. She was followed by Kirumi and, after a moment, Kaede. Tsumugi meandered after them, and the room gave a collective exhale of relief when she was gone.

Angie started to follow them until Himiko, still lingering by her side, spoke up, “Um, A-Angie?” Under the weight of Angie’s curious stare, she fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve. “Do you… can we um…?” She trailed off, unable to get the words out.

Tenko stepped in to spare her. “Do you want to come sit outside with us? I think I saw a porch swing wide enough for three people.”

Angie blinked in surprise.

“I h-haven’t heard from you since you left the recovery village,” Himiko managed to get out, doggedly determined. “But you’re my friend—I want to hear about how you’ve been. A-and we can tell you how we’ve been! That’s what this weekend is for, right?”

Angie stared a moment longer, then broke into a wide smile. “Yes, I think you must be right. Long nights with beloved friends are one of Atua’s most holy blessings, don’t you think?”

Himiko lit up, and the trio began to make their way out of the room.

Shuichi admired Tenko’s restraint in waiting for the other two to turn around before she rolled her eyes.

Kaito whistled lowly, apparently following the same train of thought. “Good luck to her.”

“Oh no,” Gonta said, looking around with increasing worry. “Where Kokichi go? Gonta wanted to talk to him.”

Shuichi scanned the room and indeed found no sign of him. Korekiyo was also conspicuously absent. That was… rather alarming, but not exactly surprising. His and Kokichi’s discussion from earlier flashed in his mind, and he forced himself to push it back down. There was no evidence indicating that Korekiyo and Kokichi had any reason to harm each other. They were free to wander off just like anybody else.

“He left after Miu,” Maki told Gonta, with a brief tilt of her head toward the rest of the house. 

Rantaro gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to catch up with Kokichi at some point. For now, Ryoma and I were planning to hang out in the library and swap stories, if you want to join us.”

Gonta brightened. “Of course! Three gentlemen lounging in a library… we can be a ‘gentlemen’s club’ together!”

Rantaro’s smile grew pained. “Sure.”

“I’ll get the brandy then, if we’re being gentlemen,” Ryoma said. “We might even have some of those fancy glasses you’re supposed to serve it in.”

“Snifters,” Rantaro offered.

“Gesundheit.”

He just smiled. “Thank you.” Glancing at the others remaining in the dining room, Rantaro added, “Anyone else want to come with us?”

“I was actually planning to catch up a bit with Shuichi first,” Kiibo said apologetically. “But I may join you later, if that’s alright.”

“Sure thing.” Rantaro and the others waved, and they departed.

That left just Shuichi, Kiibo, Kaito, and Maki. “Is this a private catch up session?” Kaito asked. “Or can Makiroll and I join in?”

“Oh! Of course you can join us,” Kiibo said, his expression lighting up as they all made their way to the living room. “If that’s alright with you, Shuichi?”

Shuichi nodded. “Definitely.”

“Alright!” Kaito gave him a firm pat on the back, then ruffled his hair for good measure. “I was meaning to spend some time with my favorite sidekick tonight anyway.”

While they all took seats and got comfortable, Kiibo asked, “You have more than one sidekick?”

“Nah,” Kaito said easily, reclining back against the couch cushions, “but Shuichi wins the sidekick of the month award every month anyway.”

Kiibo furrowed his brow. “There’s a sidekick of the month award?”

“He’s joking,” Maki intervened before Kaito could say anything else.

Kiibo’s expression cleared, then grew exasperated. “That’s not a joke, it’s not even funny.”

That startled barks of laughter from Shuichi and Maki, while Kaito spluttered a mock-indignant, “Hey!”

Their robotic friend seemed confused by the reaction but pleased with it nonetheless. “I wasn’t aware that was a joke, either,” he mused half to himself.

A voice, coming from approximately four inches to the left of Shuichi’s head, said, “Woooow, Miu must be teaching you new tricks!” While Shuichi flinched in surprise, Kokichi leaned his elbow on the back of the couch and grinned at them all.

“Man, where the hell did you even come from?” Kaito griped, twisting around to look at him.

Kokichi tsked disapprovingly. “That’s no way to talk to the guy holding all of these hostage.” Like a magician revealing his latest trick, he lifted up—a six-pack of vibrantly colorful soda bottles.

“Are those the same kind Kaito brought you last week?” Shuichi asked, eyeing them up. “The alcoholic ones?”

“The very same,” he confirmed gleefully. “And nobody’s gonna get any unless they’re very niceies to me~.”

Flatly, Maki said, “I’ll pass.”

“Me too,” Kiibo agreed, although probably for different reasons.

“...Can I have one?” Shuichi tried.

Kokichi squinted at him for a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Have a melon berry blast.” And he handed over a light green bottle.

“Can I have one?” Kaito asked.

He thought about it. “No.”

“Can I have one to give to Kaito?” Kiibo asked.

“Absolutely not.” Without another word, Kokichi set the drinks far out of anyone’s reach, swung a leg over the back of the couch, and clambered over to join them, using Shuichi’s shoulder for balance.

Maki rolled her eyes and got up to walk over to the kitchen, which… honestly, they probably should have thought of sooner. Kaito eyed the six-pack like he was calculating how fast he would have to be to snatch one up before Kokichi could do something dramatic about it.

“Well,” Kiibo said. Then he paused, seemingly at a loss for how to resume the conversation.

“So, you and Miu are still enjoying your new house?” Shuichi stepped in. “Have you gotten everything unpacked?”

Kiibo took the offer gratefully. “Not everything,” he admitted, chagrined, “but we’re making progress. Miu has a lot of belongings from her previous life to sort through.”

Kaito rubbed the back of his neck with a self-effacing chuckle. “Yeah, I know how that is. The other me was really into gardening for some reason, so his—my… whatever, the apartment is just covered in all these weird ass houseplants. I’ve been scrambling all month to look after ‘em, but I swear these things wilt while I’m not looking just to mess with me.”

“They left so many things behind,” Shuichi said. “It’s hard to keep up with it all.”

Kiibo and Kaito both nodded, and Shuichi’s heart lightened as he found kindred spirits for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“Not really,” Maki said, reentering the room with drinks in her hands. “Just don’t do it.”

“Finally somebody gets it,” Kokichi groaned. “It’s not your grandma’s inheritance, it’s a bunch of junk someone dumped on your porch! Throw that shit in the trash!”

Maki made a noise of agreement as she sat, and there was a moment in which they both seemed to realize they had actually agreed with the other. Shuichi smiled a little despite himself and snuck a glance at Kaito, who was hiding a grin behind a sip of his newly-arrived drink. He winked at Shuichi.

“We actually are getting rid of quite a few things,” Kiibo continued. “Miu and her old self have very different… aesthetic preferences.”

Helpfully, Kokichi summarized, “Our Miu’s a horny slutbag with a leather fetish and the other is a suburban white mom with untreated alcoholism.”

Kiibo cocked his head. “I… don’t believe she had children. She was very focused on her modeling career prior to Danganronpa.”

“Do you still have computer files from your old self to sort through?” Shuichi diverted before Kokichi could take them down a rabbit hole. “You mentioned something like that a few weeks ago.”

“Ah, yes in fact!” His expression brightened. “My media library was so extensive it took me an entire day to index it all. I have been reading some of the novels in my spare time, and Miu and I have been working our way through the movies each evening. It has been incredibly informative about this world’s cultural norms, as well as human behavior in general.”

“Wait, hold up,” Kaito said, leaning forward in fascination. “I thought you were created for the show, like, to be the audience viewpoint. But you actually existed before that?”

“Oh my god,  Kaito, you can’t just ask people when they came into existence!” Kokichi scolded, aghast.

Kaito started a stammered apology, but Kiibo waved it away with a serious expression. “It’s okay, Kokichi, I’ve had enough time now to process and accept it.” Turning to the others, he said, “My past self was diagnosed with a progressive neuromuscular disorder at a young age. Modern medicine could keep him comfortable and prevent his condition from worsening too quickly, but he would have remained bed-bound for the rest of his life. The procedure required to move a human mind into an entirely mechanical body is drastic, extremely expensive, and still being developed. When Team Danganronpa offered a way to test the procedure, and to provide it for free to one volunteer…,” he spread his hands in a helpless gesture, “well, I think you know the rest of the story.”

“That’s,” Kaito started, but he seemed at a loss for words.

“That’s horrible,” Maki finished for them both. Her brows were furrowed, deeply troubled. “The killing game is bad enough on its own, but using a contestant as a guinea pig like that… and using experimental medical care as a way to bribe volunteers…”

“It’s worse than that,” Shuichi told them grimly. He had been thinking about it off and on since Kokichi first told him about it on the day they helped Kiibo and Miu move. “They offered him the treatment, but like Tsumugi said, the Kamakurian rewrite process completely erased our old selves. He got the body he wanted, but he had to die to get it.”

Kiibo nodded; this wasn’t a revelation for him any more than it was for Shuichi or Kokichi. His eyes were sad, but they lacked the horror that was dawning in Kaito’s. “It wasn’t a cure; it was euthanasia.”

“And Team Danganronpa knew that.” When she spoke, a simmering anger, quiet and acidic, filled Maki’s voice. “Did he know that?”

There wasn’t an easy answer, and they all knew it. This was one of the many lingering, unspoken questions about their past selves. Shuichi spoke the best answer he had anyway. “Unless he left some kind of diary behind… we might never know.”

They fell into silence then, each of them stewing in the thoughts that had chased them ever since the game ended.

Finally, Kokichi had enough. He swiped all of that conversation away with a dismissive wave of his arm. “Yeah, yeah, we get it—making disabled people fight to the death in the name of medical science and heartwarming news stories, we’ve all seen it. More important question!” He sat forward and pinned Kiibo with an inquisitive look. “If you’re actually just some guy stuffed in a robot body, can you really call yourself the Ultimate Robot? Aren’t you just a cyborg at that point?”

“Kokichi!” Shuichi snapped, horrified. “That’s… Kokichi!”

But Kiibo had broken into a smile as the tension broke. “Thank you, Shuichi, but you don’t have to worry.” He turned to Kokichi. “I’m the Ultimate Robot because that’s who I remember being. Who I was in the past matters, and he deserves justice just like all our past selves, but it can’t overwrite the person I became as a result of the killing game. Even if it’s a lie, it’s a lie that made me who I am, and that can’t be dismissed so easily. I learned that from both of you,” he said, looking between him and Shuichi. “So you don’t need to worry about me.”

For a long moment, Kokichi had no response. Shuichi had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things because—yes, there was a faint blush on Kokichi’s face.

That was when Shuichi saw it: saw Kokichi’s purpose laid out like a map before him. The way he had given Kiibo an out, by scolding Kaito for bringing it up. If Kiibo had remained silent, Shuichi had no doubt Kokichi would have derailed them all so thoroughly no one would have remembered the original question. And then again: steering them away from the uncomfortable truth of Kiibo’s situation in favor of something outrageous and attention-grabbing.

Except it hadn’t been a complete non sequitur, had it? It was targeted, aimed directly at a potential insecurity. ‘Can you really call yourself the Ultimate Robot?’ They all knew how Kiibo had struggled to feel worthy of his title. Kokichi, intelligent as he was, knew exactly how that barb could land.

Kokichi was, in his own roundabout, circuitous, exasperating way, checking on Kiibo. Giving him an out in case he didn’t want to talk, diverting attention back to himself, and poking an old wound to see if it was infected.

And Kiibo had seen through all of it, Shuichi realized. He had answered accordingly, directly:

‘It’s okay, Kokichi, I’ve had enough time now to process and accept it.’

‘So you don’t need to worry about me.’

“It’s still sad though, isn’t it?” Shuichi asked, leaning forward now himself. Something in his demeanor must have changed, because Kokichi, Kaito, and Maki all sent various looks at him. He ignored them, focusing on Kiibo. “It’s sad that the old Kiibo felt his life wasn’t worth living.”

Kiibo, bless him, shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t think it’s right for us to make judgments like that. We have no idea how it felt to be our past selves, what kind of pain they were dealing with. If I met him now, I would want to tell my former self that his life has value and nothing is worth giving it up. But I haven’t lived his life, so I can’t exactly judge him for wanting out, even if I wish he’d chosen differently. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Shuichi agreed, a relieved smile making itself known on his face. “I think so, too.”

Kokichi’s expression was impenetrable, but Maki, at least, seemed to be taking the words into herself. He knew she didn’t think highly of the old Maki’s decision to audition for Danganronpa. Still, he hoped she would find a way to soften her stance. It felt… important, to give their past selves that measure of peace.

They might have continued in that vein, but the door on the other end of the living room, past the kitchen, opened. The middle of a conversation broke through, interrupting them.

“—you where the cider is,” Ryoma was saying.

“Got it! Gonta will find Kirumi and ask.”

There was a moment before Gonta became visible, and in that moment, Kokichi leapt unceremoniously from the couch and sprinted for the front door, not even slowing as he snatched up his drinks and beat a hasty retreat.

Gonta emerged and looked across the room with a hopeful expression that quickly fell. “Oh, Gonta thought maybe Kokichi would be out here.”

“…You just missed him,” Kaito offered. He glanced at the door, thoughtful and concerned, and added, “Try checking outside, maybe.”

He brightened a bit. “Good idea! Gonta will check outside before bed. But first, Gonta is on mission to try cider. Gonta did not enjoy the, um, brandy.” He said the word like it was unfamiliar on his tongue, possibly still grimacing at the taste.

Kaito seemed about to say something about Kokichi and late night traipses in the woods, but he must have decided to let it go. “Good choice,” he said instead. “Cider’s a way gentlemanly drink. Right, Shuichi?”

“Right,” confirmed Shuichi, who had never tried it. He made a mental note to drag answers out of Kokichi later about why he was avoiding Gonta, and tried to rest easy knowing Gonta was by far the most qualified person to venture into the woods at night. “Just… don’t go too far from the house, okay? We don’t want anyone getting lost or hurt this weekend.”

“Gonta will be careful,” he reassured. “Bye, friends!”

“Bye, Gonta,” they chorused back as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Things quietened again in the living room, although they could hear voices drifting in from various parts of the house. Maki swirled her drink, watching how it moved with an unreadable expression. “There’s going to be trouble this weekend,” she said quietly.

“Come on, Makiroll, we’ve talked about thi—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she told Kaito with a scowl. “I know you know it too. We all do. We’re twenty minutes by car from the nearest hospital, there’s enough alcohol here to put every single one of us out of commission, everyone is circling around the topics they’re too scared to bring up, and we have no idea who we need to be watching for them to make a wrong move.”

“It… is not ideal,” Kiibo admitted.

“I’m not sayin’ there’s no risk,” Kaito said. His expression was serious, imploring. “I’m saying I’m choosing to trust our classmates. I trust us to help each other, and to blow up and scream at each other and get all that bad stuff out in the open without anyone getting killed for it. We’re not in the killing game anymore, there’s no Monokuma here to force us to—”

He fell silent mid-sentence, and Shuichi followed his eyes to see that Tsumugi had emerged, unaccompanied, from the kitchen. Evidently clueless, she gave them a blithe little wave and continued down the hall.

“You were saying,” Maki prompted him flatly.

“Must be goin’ to the bathroom,” Kaito muttered, but his previous confidence was diminished. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against his thigh. “I know we said she could stay, but it still gives me the heebie-jeebies, seeing her.”

“Only some of us said she could stay,” Maki muttered darkly, with a glance toward the kitchen and back at Shuichi.

Shuichi… wasn’t listening. His eyes were caught, focused on where Tsumugi had disappeared from view. Acting on an agenda he hadn’t consciously been aware of, he stood from the couch. “I need to talk to her,” he told the others, still watching the hall.

“You want backup?” Kaito asked, already moving to stand up. He wasn’t alone; Maki and Kiibo, too, looked prepared to follow.

Shuichi glanced back to smile in reassurance. “No, it’s not that serious. I just need to check on something.”

Chapter Text

Shuichi hurried down the hall after Tsumugi. It wasn’t a long hallway, and he caught up to her just as she was about to slip into a room. He lunged the last step forward to catch her by the wrist. “I need to talk to you,” he told her. 

Tsumugi looked at him curiously for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Okay.” Using his grip on her wrist, she pulled them both into the room and closed the door after them.

Blinking, Shuichi found himself in a bathroom. The bathroom that Tsumugi had been going to, presumably for the normal reasons, before he intercepted her. Despite his previous focus, he felt his face start to heat up, and he dropped her wrist like it had burned him. “U-um,” he stammered, “I—sorry, I can wait outside. I didn’t actually mean to—”

But Tsumugi interrupted, “Why not? This is as good a room as any.”

Of course. Tsumugi was a professional; nothing about this situation would be odd or uncomfortable for her. Shuichi tried to take a leaf out of her book. “Alright.” He took a breath. “Tsumugi… I don’t trust you. I used to like you, I thought we were friends, but what you did was… just ‘plain’ unforgivable.”

Her eyes crinkled in amusement, but not surprise. “And you followed me into the bathroom to tell me so?” she asked.

He kept his expression serious. “I followed you because even though I don’t like you, or trust you,” he searched her eyes, urging her to listen, “I think you deserve to know that your life is in danger.”

That caught her attention. She tilted her head. Curiously, she asked, “From you?”

“From everyone,” he nearly snapped at her, frustration boiling over. “We’re a twenty minute drive from the nearest emergency room, and every single person in this house has an extremely clear motive to want you dead, not to mention the hands-on practice you gave them. I don’t know what game you’re playing by being here, but you should seriously consider whether it’s worth your life.”

For several long moments, she was silent, thoughtful. Shuichi began to hope against hope that she would listen to him, that she would take his warning and leave, or at least show an ounce of caution. His flimsy hope was washed away when, instead, she said, “I’m surprised at you, Shuichi. I thought for sure you were here to ask what Kokichi and I talked about that day at Team Danganronpa headquarters.”

It caused an unexpected lurch of hesitation in his stomach, which he viciously quashed down. “I don’t care what you two talked about! Shouldn’t you be more concerned about your own safety?”

Tsumugi gave him a fond, pitying smile. She had caught the hesitation, and he cursed himself. “Oh, Shuichi. Of course you care. You want to know so bad it tears you up inside. I know because I wrote you that way.”

He glared at her, and barely recognized the acidic vehemence in his voice when he hissed, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Let me guess,” she suggested. “Kokichi didn’t tell you he saw me, but you suspected anyway. You tried to talk to him about it, but he avoided it and shut you down any time you tried. Did I get that right?” Seeing the look on his face, she giggled. “See? I know you better than you know yourselves.”

Distantly, Shuichi considered that Kokichi might actually deserve a medal for his restraint in not murdering her that day, if this conversation was any indication of how that one had gone.

She looked him over, pleased by the reaction she had provoked. “Are you sure you don’t want to ask me anything?” she offered with a faux-pleasant smile. ”Something about Kokichi? Or Kaede?” She glanced pointedly at him through the bathroom mirror. “What about the little gender crisis I’ve been hearing about; do you want to know if I wrote that part for you too?”

The muscle in Shuichi’s jaw tightened. He breathed in, slow, and then out again. “I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe this weekend, Tsumugi,” he told her coldly. “Not because you deserve it, but because we deserve better than to have your blood on our hands. If you’d like to do me a favor, you can watch your back.”

He slammed the door behind him, ignoring the laughter that trailed after him.

With his trusty pack of drinks in hand, Kokichi hurried around the corner of the porch before slowing his pace. He didn’t hear the telltale creak of the door opening again behind him, but he knew not to take it as a sign that those chuckleheads hadn’t told Gonta exactly where he had gone. He would wait outside for a few minutes, then circle around to head inside through the back door. With any luck, he’d be able to sneak in and explore the house at his leisure while Gonta went off to search fruitlessly outside.

It was, after all, the easiest misdirection in the book: let them see you move in a certain direction, then change course as soon as you’re out of sight. He finished his drink with one last careless swig from the bottle, traded it for a new one—orange vanilla; boring but fine—and continued at a meandering pace.

The sound of voices on the back side of the porch caught his attention, and he paused short of rounding the corner.

“It’s hard, though.” That was Tenko, so he’d bet an 85% chance that she was with Himiko and Angie. “When new people sign up for my classes, it’s always a crapshoot as to whether they’re actually there to train, or just ogle at me. And it’s not even just the men! I didn’t know women could be so, so…” she grasped for words.

“Objectifying,” came the supplied answer, and, yep, that was Himiko.

“Yes!! It’s like, come on! We’re supposed to be better than that!”

Kokichi rolled his eyes and took another gulp of his drink.

“It sounds like things have gotten very complicated for you,” came a serene voice, completing the group.

Angie was an interesting one, Kokichi mused. He hadn’t heard much about her exploits after the game ended. He had originally assumed she’d been off starting a weird sex cult or something, until he saw her in one of the adverts TDR had been putting out about the upcoming season. He hadn’t taken Angie for a corporate shill, but he supposed people were full of surprises these days.

In the same lilting voice, Angie asked, “Do you ever regret leaving the game?”

“No,” Himiko answered flatly. There was a swish and a gulping sound as she presumably drank to that, and Kokichi silently raised his glass in agreement and followed suit. Cheers.

“But things were much simpler then, weren’t they?” Angie countered doggedly. 

Himiko wasn’t persuaded. “I’d take this complicated life over that one any day. That life wasn’t really living at all.”

“Ah, but Tenko understands, don’t you Tenko?”

There was an expectant pause. Kokichi’s ears perked up in interest.

“I get it, I guess,” Tenko sighed, unhappily. Ice clinked as she swished her glass. “There weren’t things like rental agreements, class schedules, or new people everywhere you looked. Paparazzi, therapy, this whole thing about our past selves… Out here, there’s a whole world we have to learn about from scratch. In there, it was just… terrifying, yeah, and awful, but things were also so clear-cut. I knew exactly what I needed to be doing. I can see why you’d miss that part, is all.”

“Tenko…”

“I agree wholeheartedly with Tenko.” Angie’s voice was firm, full of conviction, and it startled Kokichi along with her companions. “In fact, I do not accept this ‘outside world.’ I reject this talk of past selves, and I deny the idea that our pasts were a lie. I refuse.”

Himiko, it seemed, was shocked silent.

Tenko’s voice was gentle, but confused. “But Angie,” she paused, uncertain of what to say, “what other option do you have?”

“Atua has guided my hand and heart, as He always has,” Angie told them serenely. He could imagine her with her eyes closed, her hand pressed to her heart. “He has told me to build a simple, carefree life for our people. If I cannot return to my home, I will build it anew.”

O-kay… so, maybe the weird sex cult was happening after all.

Himiko’s thoughts had gone down a different path, unsurprisingly. “Angie… you’re not thinking of signing up for the new season, are you?”

A breath of a pause. Then, “No. New disciples have reached out to me, hoping to learn of Atua’s majesty and His gifts. I will teach them. If I am the last remaining vessel of Atua’s holy light, it is my duty to pour from myself until every willing cup is filled.”

Alright, that was enough for him. Kokichi stepped boldly forward, announcing, “I, for one, support you wholeheartedly.”

From where they were sitting together on the porch swing, they all whipped around at the sound of his voice. “Kokichi,” Himiko groaned in exasperation.

“How long were you eavesdropping, you horrible little creature?” Tenko snapped, disgusted.

But Kokichi didn’t move his eyes from Angie. With an easy, self-assured smile, he raised his glass to her. “From one leader of a secret shadow organization to another, good luck, and may all your enemies beg for mercy at your feet. Just don’t go stealing any of my minions.”

Angie regarded him with a patient, pitying expression. “Kokichi,” she said simply. “I do not expect you to understand things like communion and sacred belonging.”

His smile twisted into a sneer, like a baring of teeth. “Cheers. Good luck making it back to Neverland.” With another ironic tip of his glass, he made his way inside.

Oddly, the interaction left him feeling somewhat better about himself. He might be a coward and an objectively bad person, but at least he wasn’t that delusional.

Kaito, Maki, and Kiibo were all still chatting in the living room, but after assuring them that he was fine—Tsumugi was just being Tsumugi—Shuichi chose to step outside for a breath of fresh air instead of staying to chat with them.

The brisk air hitting his face felt like a relief, and he let his eyes slip shut for a moment as he exhaled.

Finally, a moment of quiet. He hadn’t realized how unaccustomed he had grown to being around so many people.

“Doing alright, Saihara?”

His eyes startled open, but it was only Ryoma leaning against the railing, with his head turned towards him. In his hand was a lit cigarette, and the ember glowed dimly under the porch lights. Shuichi must not have been the only one who had needed a bit of a break from people.

“Sorry,” Shuichi said out of habit, “I was just looking for somewhere quiet. I can go around back if you want.”

“Nah,” Ryoma said, inviting him closer with a tilt of his head. “Chabashira ‘n them are back there, they’d only shoo you away. This is where the cool cats are at.”

With a huffed laugh, Shuichi saw that Ryoma had donned his cat ear hat against the cold. Already feeling lighter than he had, he joined Ryoma in leaning against the railing.

His companion made a short gesture with the cigarette. “Want one?”

“Ah, no thank you,” Shuichi declined politely. He sighed a little as he leaned against the railing, looking across the parked cars. “But I’ll stay out here with you for a while, if that’s alright.” He wouldn’t call the smell pleasant, but it was familiar in a way that was currently working wonders on his frayed nerves. His uncle had tried off and on for many years to kick the habit, but Shuichi’s tobacco-scented memories of his uncle’s study were evidence of how that had gone. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he said.

“I try not to,” Ryoma admitted, gazing down at the glowing orange ember in the dim light. “Do me a favor though? Don’t tell Kirumi I have these.” He took a drag, relaxing minutely as he did. “I promised I‘d throw them away. She’d gut me like a fish.”

Shuichi huffed a little laugh. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

“Heh.” Ryoma grinned a little. It was a good look on him, a boyishly charming kind of expression, and his nose was pink from the cold. “You should have seen her when I first brought them home. I plan to throw the rest out once the reunion’s over. They help my nerves, but she’s right, it’s a nasty habit.”

“When did you pick it up?” Shuichi couldn’t help but ask.

He shrugged. “Prison. Or, if you think about it the other way, probably about a week ago. Not sure how that works with all the memory stuff, to be honest.”

“Let’s stick to prison,” Shuichi said, thoughts of his uncle’s study still fresh in his mind.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that one,” he commented, dryly amused. “What about you, Saihara? You picked up any new or old vices lately?”

“Self isolation?” he guessed with a grim sort of humor. But he was getting tired of rehashing that with every person he spoke to, so he tried again. “I’ve tried drinking a few times now. Wine, mostly.”

Ryoma chuckled a bit at that. “More of a beer guy, personally, but wine’s good too. Had a cellmate once who could make it himself; hardly even tasted like piss.” He glanced sidelong at Shuichi. “You been drinking alone?” he asked.

“With people,” he clarified immediately, realizing how that might have sounded. “Kokichi, Kaito, and Maki. And only a few times.”

He nodded. “That’s good. Didn’t mean to imply anything. Just gotta check in.”

“Of course.”

They stood quietly for several peaceful minutes, staring out into the darkened yard and listening to the rustling of the trees. It was getting colder, Shuichi thought. Only the most determined leaves still clung to their branches, and even they had already lost their color. If the temperature kept dropping, it might even snow soon.

Ryoma reached the end of his cigarette and looked down at it ruefully. He crouched for a moment to stub it out against the porch floorboards, then stood and pulled a carton from his pocket. This one seemed to be one of his more familiar cartons of candy cigarettes. He slipped the used butt into it and withdrew a sugar stick instead. Catching Shuichi’s eye, he said again, “Gross habit. And you can’t ever really get rid of the part of you that wants ‘em. These help, but they don’t hit the same.” He chewed thoughtfully at the candy and added, “Definitely tastes better, though. You and Ouma doing alright?”

“We’re,” Shuichi started to answer, then hesitated. “We have our ups and downs,” he settled on after a moment. “It’s a work in progress.”

He nodded and let the words hang for a bit, seeming to consider them carefully. “There’s not really a cool way to say this next piece, so I’m just gonna put it out there and you can punch me if you need to. That work for you?”

Shuichi’s brows furrowed. “Sure?”

“Right. This whole,” he gestured around them with the candy cigarette, “safe haven thing for us Ultimates. It was Kirumi’s idea, but Korekiyo and I are with her the whole way. We talked about it a lot. Your name came up.”

“Oh,” Shuichi said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I appreciate that, but I’m doing alright lately. I don’t think I need that kind of support.”

Anymore, he added silently.

“That’s good to hear, but not exactly what I meant,” Ryoma told him. “What I mean is,” he hesitated briefly, “Ouma.”

Shuichi blinked in surprise. “Kokichi?”

Ryoma sighed like he would rather not have this conversation, but he forged on nonetheless. “Look, none of us are exactly ‘normal,’ right? But a few of us are a step further than the rest. Makes it harder to adjust. ‘S why me, Kirumi, and Korekiyo all came to live out here in the first place. And we saw the news coverage a while back, when Momota was chasing him around the city. We heard the things people were saying about him. And maybe we don’t know the full situation, but if Ouma’s struggling to figure out how he fits in this whole mess… he has a place here, if he wants it. Kirumi and Korekiyo agree. He could stay here while he figures it out.”

The kitchen was warm and lively compared to the weird sapphic cult-fest on the back porch. Still pretty sapphic though, Kokichi amended to himself, all considered.

“Okay, so we tap, then cheers, then drink?”

“No, Kae-dummy, it’s cheers, then tap, then drink,” Miu scolded hotly. The island countertop in front of her was sticky with spilled alcohol, to an extent that would normally have sent Kirumi into a tizzy, but their hostess didn’t appear to mind at the moment.

“Oh, I thought we had already gone.”

“Kirumi I swear to fucking god!”

Kaede laughed, loud and bright and flushed with drink. She slung one arm over Miu’s shoulders to grin at her. “Just pourrrr her another!”

“Why do I get the sense that I’m the only one taking this seriously!” Miu complained, already unscrewing the lid to pour Kirumi another shot. She was so incensed she didn’t even seem to notice that she was living one of her most cherished wet dreams. While gesturing for Kirumi to hand over her shot glass, her eyes landed on Kokichi in the doorway. “Checkers! Get the fuck over here and help me teach these bitches how to do shots! Also, Gonta was looking for you or something,” she added as an afterthought.

“I dunno, it kinda looks like they’re already beating you,” he said, deeply amused and choosing to ignore the second half of the statement.

“Noooo, we just don’t get it,” Kaede assured him. She released Miu and leaned her elbows on the counter, cheerfully uncaring of the spills. “Right Kirumi?”

“It’s dreadfully complex,” Kirumi agreed, her cheeks pink as she smiled a secretive little smile.

Suspecting trickery now that it had been pointed out to her, Miu looked between them with narrowed eyes.

Kokichi rolled his eyes and decided to help a bitch out for once. He’d only had, what, two drinks so far? “Pour one for me, dipshit, I’ll help you show ‘em how it’s done. I think they’ll get it this time.”

“Mmmaybe,” Kaede agreed, and winked at him.

“Okay!” Miu declared once everyone had their shot. “So we cheers,” they all obediently clinked glasses with each other, trying not to spill. “Then we tap,” they all tapped their glasses down onto the countertop, and this time there were some slight spills. Triumphantly, Miu concluded, “And we drink!”

Kokichi drank his shot down in one burning gulp, knowing that any other way would be worse. Despite that, he grimaced and groaned once it was done. “God, Miu, what the hell is this?”

Miu turned the bottle to squint at the label. “Passionfruit, guava, orange, pineapple… vodka. Real shitty though.”

“Korekiyo picked it out with Miu in mind,” Kirumi told them. “He said… bottom shelf trash for the bottom shelf trash.” She blinked. “I did not mean to say that.”

Kokichi choked on a single barked laugh, then, upon seeing the wide-eyed horror on Kirumi’s face, burst into laughter. To his surprise, Kaede joined him in breathless, gasping sync. She and Kirumi must have been playing that con on Miu for a long time.

Miu was gasping in indignant offense. “Oh yeah!? Well you can tell Kiyo that he’s, stupid, and bullshit, and, and,” she spluttered, “what was he doing picking out our drinks anyway, huh?”

“Well,” Kirumi said, flushing an even deeper red, “he’s… he’s the only one of us old enough to buy alcohol.”

Oh right, Kokichi remembered. Their ‘class’ was really a mix of ages, all of them between eighteen and… He dug back through his memory to one of his first conversations with their MILF babysitter, Kanami Taketa. His mind was fuzzier than usual. At least his tipsy ramblings were keeping themselves internal so far, unlike some people.

Twenty-five? That sounded about right. He thought maybe Gonta was the twenty-five year old, and then he decided to think about other things.

Ha, and neither Kirumi nor Ryoma was old enough to buy liquor? Infants. Children. Nevermind that Kokichi himself was also too young for it. Baaabies.

There was a sharp intake of breath across the island. “Ki-rumi,” Kaede gasped in what was, to Kokichi at least, obviously fake horrified astonishment. She threw her arms across the counter like she was going to pounce at her over it. “You’re… underage drinking???”

Before their hostess could do more than splutter wordlessly, Kokichi helpfully added to the fire by saying with sincere gravitas, “We’re going to have to call the police, Kirumi. They’re already on their way.”

Kaede and Miu fell into cackling laughter, and Kirumi must have realized the joke, because she put a hand to her cheek in dismay and said, “Oh dear, and I’m already wanted for murder.”

The laughter choked off as several people’s jaws dropped, and Kirumi’s eyes widened as she realized she had once again said something she hadn’t meant to.

Until…

“Pfffft-HA-hahaha!!”

Kaede burst once again into helpless, eye-watering, abdomen-hurting laughter, taking everyone else with her.

It was into this reckless cacophony that Tsumugi arrived.

“Oh my,” she commented lightly. “Was Miu finally successful in teaching you how to take shots?”

“Boooo, be somewhere else!” Miu heckled from where she had relaxed loose-limbed into her arms on the countertop.

“I think I’ll stay,” Tsumugi said, like she was used to such receptions. “May I have another shot too?”

“Pour your own, dirtbag,” Miu told her and carelessly pushed a different bottle in that direction.

“Miu, pour me another,” Kokichi ordered. “I’ll need it, if she’s going to be here.”

“Psshaw,” she said, but she sat up to unscrew the bottle again. A thought occurred to her, and she said suddenly, “Hey! What’s the deal with you and Kae-dummy anyway?”

“Me?” Tsumugi looked surprised as she glanced up from pouring herself a drink. “Well, I got her killed, and then she said I could stay here if I—”

“The other Kae-dummy, dummy.” Miu rolled her eyes. “Was she, like, some chick you met at a bar and convinced to kill herself for your show, or…?”

“They were college roommates, and she helped Tsumugi write some of the script,” came Kaede’s unenthusiastic explanation. She seemed to have deflated some, either in response to Tsumugi’s arrival or simply because she had tired herself out from laughing. “In exchange, Tsumugi made sure she got on the show.”

Kokichi threw back his second shot, then grimaced. “Yikes. Dating you sucked so bad she decided to memory-wipe herself out of existence. Hell of a breakup, but I get it.” To get comfortable, he hopped up to sit on a non-sticky portion of countertop where he could see everyone.

“Kaede knew she wanted to be on Danganronpa long before I met her,” Tsumugi said. She had mixed herself some kind of cocktail, though Kokichi hadn’t paid enough attention to know what kind. “She helped me with my dream, and I helped her with hers. Personally, I consider it rather beautiful.”

”Ugh,” Kokichi and Miu groaned in sync.

“It must be strange, being around Kaede now,” Kirumi observed. “You must miss the version you used to know.”

“It must suck to know she’s never gonna fuck you again,” Miu added, insightfully.

“Guyyys,” Kaede grumbled.

Tsumugi looked at Kaede for a long moment, then looked away. “I’ve made my peace with losing her. And I’m not naive enough to confuse the two.” 

“Yeah,” Miu snorted, “because if there’s one thing people in this world are good at, it’s realizing we’re different people.” Turning away from Tsumugi, she said, “What about you, Rumi? House full’a boys; you gotten your hands on any of that? Little Texas two-step? Or three- step? Wouldn’t have pegged you for a devil’s threesome kinda gal, but—”

”Please,” Kirumi said. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the phrasing. “And I don’t believe that is anyone’s business but ours.”

“But there is business?” Miu pried.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed that you three are sharing a room,” Kokichi put in, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“I assure you that is a temporary—”

Over Kirumi’s protests, Miu declared suddenly, “And what about you, Checkers?”

Kokichi arched his brow at her. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she persisted, tipsily laser-focused. It was a bad combination. “What, pray tell, the fuck, is up with you and Shuichi? Huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean, dearest Miu,” he told her sweetly.

“Have you. Tapped that ass yet. Or not?” she enunciated clearly. “Because if you’re not gonna lock that shit down, I will.”

Kirumi was scandalized. “What about Kiibo?”

“Kiibo knows we have an open sort of thing,” she waved it away. “Shuichi’s welcome any day.”

“I don’t really think it’s any of your business,” Kokichi told her flatly.

“You’ve got a good thing going with your whole ‘will they, won’t they,’ detective/criminal shtick, so I swear if you fuck it up for yourself—”

“Alright,” Kaede interrupted, visibly pulling herself together, “that’s enough of that. Miu, butt out of other people’s relationships. Tsumugi, I see you about to say something; shut up. Kokichi…” She paused, looking at him. “You’re doing fine. You and Shuichi are good for each other.”

She meant it as reassurance, but instead it was like she’d held a match against the trailing end of a Molotov cocktail Kokichi hadn’t known he was holding. Good for each other? What the hell did she know? Kaede hadn’t even talked to Shuichi for weeks; for all she knew, he could be torturing Shuichi every night!

Her and Miu, acting like they knew anything about things between him and Shuichi. As if it even remotely resembled anything like a ‘relationship.’ As if sex was even on the table, and not a stupid joke that people insisted on telling each other for some godforsaken reason.

As if Kokichi even wanted anything more than their current relationship!

As if they were a pair—Shuichi and Kokichi—and not two people who could barely stand each other!

Don’t make him fucking laugh.

“Uh-oh,” Tsumugi singsonged under her breath.

“Well, this was fun,” Kokichi said with a tight grin. He grabbed another hard soda from his dwindling six-pack and hopped off the counter. “But it’s getting late. I’ll be seeing you guys… never.” The kitchen had a door leading out onto the side porch, and he took it gladly.

“Miu!” someone hissed behind him, but he ignored it.

He stepped outside, closing the door behind him with a click. Nobody followed him, fortunately. He took a few deep breaths, cursing himself for letting even that much slip, and wondered where to go next. What conversation he could immerse himself in to wipe that one from his mind. To that end, he twisted off the cap of his drink and took a gulp.

Grape: a godsend.

Maybe he would go find Rantaro. If Gonta had wandered away to look for Kokichi, that meant he would be fair game. Maybe he’d still be in the library, talking to Ryoma. They’d be talking about… foreign prisons, or rich people sports, or whatever the hell those two had in common.

Except, with the sounds from the rest of the party muffled by the closed door, he could hear voices on the front porch clear as day. Curious, Kokichi tuned in and crept closer.

“…he has a place here, if he wants it. Kirumi and Korekiyo agree. He could stay here while he figures it out.”

That was Ryoma. Didn’t know he’d left the library already. So there was someone he thought should take up Kirumi’s offer? Kokichi felt sorry for whichever poor sap it was, but not sorry enough to stop himself from eavesdropping.

“Why are you telling me, and not him?”

That was Shuichi. There he was. The slippery little bitch. Was this where he’d wandered off to?

Ryoma again. “He’ll get the offer too whenever one of us can catch him privately. I have another piece that’s just for you though. This might be the part where you punch me,” he warned.

Kokichi perked up.

Ryoma was quiet for long enough that Kokichi began to think maybe his response was simply too quiet to catch. Then, he heard: “I don’t know what your arrangement is with Ouma. Maybe he’s changed from how he was in the game, and it’s all sunshine and roses now. But if there’s any part of you that says, ‘I don’t really want this,’ or, ‘he doesn’t have anywhere else to go,’ then, well… he has options. You have options.”

There was a dull ringing growing in his ears. Kokichi stood stock-still. The taste of artificial grape in his mouth felt suddenly incongruous, out of place. The glass bottle in his hand was solid under his tightening grip.

The noise in his own head wasn’t so loud that he couldn’t hear Shuichi’s soft, “You think I should send him away?”

“It’s not a matter of what I think. All I know is, Ouma’s a handful at the best of times, and you’re the kind of guy who’ll put everyone else’s needs before your own. The three of us want you both to have choices. It’s up to you to decide what you want.”

Kokichi stood alone in the dark, straining to hear more, but it was pointless. The air was full of nothing but the rustle of wind through bare trees.

He wasn’t an idiot; he could stay there all night, and he still wouldn’t hear Shuichi say no.

Because Shuichi wasn’t saying no.

Something—a sound, or a glimpse at the corner of his eye—made Shuichi jerk to the side, pulling Ryoma with him by the sleeve. Glass shattered against the ground where they’d been standing. Shards of glass and drops of sweet-scented liquid flew from the impact, and Shuichi’s mind was a tangled jumble of confused adrenaline as he tried to find the cause.

An alarmed voice—Gonta’s?—called out from the tree line, “Kokichi?”

“Kokichi?” Shuichi echoed, his head whipping towards Gonta and back to the glass’ source, but as he rushed forward to look around the corner, all he saw was the tail end of the kitchen door closing behind him. He jerked his head back to Ryoma, saying, “I’m so sorry, do you need—?”

But Ryoma just gestured urgently at him to go. “I’ll take care of it.”

That was all the permission he needed. Shuichi ran for the door, startling the kitchen’s inhabitants as a second figure sprinted through right after the first.

“Jesus fuck—!”

“Is everything—?”

“—went upstairs!”

“Thank you!” he called to the helpful voice, already adjusting his direction.

He heard alarmed shouts from the living room as Kaito and Maki called out behind him, but he ignored them in favor of the stairs. He heard a door slam as he reached the top, flew down the hall, lunged for the door to his and Kokichi’s shared room, and—

—stared in desolate unsurprise at the unoccupied bedroom.

Easiest misdirection in the fucking book.