Chapter Text
The first thing Hajime noticed was the sound of buzzing lights.
Cold tile pressed against his back, and a sterile smell filled the air. He sat up quickly, his chest tight—this wasn’t Jabberwock Island.
It was a gymnasium.
The kind every one of them had seen before.
“…No way,” Hajime muttered, gripping his head.
Around him, others stirred. He recognized them instantly—Makoto Naegi rubbing his temples, Kyoko Kirigiri already scanning the room, Byakuya Togami standing stiffly as if the floor was beneath his dignity.
And then Hajime froze.
“Chiaki…?”
The girl in the gamer hoodie yawned softly, rubbing at her eyes. “Oh… we’re… starting another game?” Her tone was hazy, as though she hadn’t realized the weight of her own presence.
His throat closed. She shouldn’t be here. He’d watched her die.
“Impossible,” Kyoko murmured, though her voice betrayed the faintest hint of surprise. Her eyes scanned the gym—Chihiro Fujisaki adjusting their glasses nervously, Gundham Tanaka dramatically pulling himself upright, Nagito Komaeda grinning with unhinged delight, Kaede Akamatsu clutching her chest as if steadying her racing heart, and Kokichi Ouma already grinning like a fox in a henhouse.
“This is… absurd,” Byakuya spat. “Resurrection? Ridiculous.”
“H-Hold on a second!” Aoi Asahina looked around frantically. “Chihiro? You’re— but—!”
“Y-Yes, I… I know,” Chihiro whispered, holding themselves tight. “I… don’t understand either…”
Nagito laughed. It was sharp, broken, and too loud. “Hope works in mysterious ways! Don’t you see? Our very existence has been granted a second chance! A miracle born from despair—!”
“Shut up before I strangle you,” Maki Harukawa said flatly.
“Pfft—ahaha!” Kokichi’s laughter cut through the room, high-pitched and obnoxious. “This is hilarious! It’s like some cheap fanfiction where the author couldn’t let go of their favorites, so—boop! Back to life! Man, if that’s not cringe, I don’t know what is!”
Himiko rubbed her eyes, mumbling, “Nyeh… this is my resurrection magic trick… everyone owes me candy now.”
“Everyone, calm down!” Makoto raised his voice, trying to sound steady. “We can’t jump to conclusions yet. Maybe—maybe this is a simulation? Or some kind of trick?”
“Tch. You’re a fool if you think this isn’t malicious,” Kyoko said. “The setting is too familiar. This is deliberate.”
And then—
THUD!
The heavy doors at the end of the gym burst open, and a voice—shrill, theatrical, grating—echoed off the walls.
“LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN! WELCOME BACK TO YOUR FAVORITE NIGHTMARE!”
A figure pranced inside, a tiny little bear, with a way too well known smile. Their movements were too fluid, too exaggerated.
“Behold!” The figure threw their arms wide. “The Ultimate Host! The Ultimate Copycat! The Ultimate Necromancer! The Ultimate Who-Cares-I’m-Better-Than-You! Call me… Monotoru!”
Gasps, groans, and one audible “are you kidding me” filled the gym.
“You’re… not Monokuma,” Byakuya said, glaring down his nose.
“Of course not!” Monotoru sang, spinning on one heel. “That old bear’s dead, retired, or canceled—whatever you like best! I’m the new star of the show! Bright! Shiny! Marketable!”
“Marketable?” Shuichi Saihara echoed cautiously.
“Yes, detective boy! Haven’t you figured it out?” Monotoru leaned in far too close to Shuichi’s face, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re not here because of fate, or hope, or despair. You’re here because… you’re popular!”
Silence.
“…Excuse me?” Kaede said, bewildered.
Monotoru twirled away again, arms spread wide. “You, the survivors! Or the fan-favorites! You, the ones people cried and whined about on forums until someone—” he coughed dramatically—“until I dragged your corpses back up for one more round of applause!”
“That’s…” Shuichi’s hands trembled. “That’s insane.”
“Insane? Insane?” Nagito beamed, stepping forward. “It’s brilliant! A resurrection not for salvation, but for entertainment! Truly, this is the apex of despair! A show of hope! A contradiction so pure it could only be divine!”
“Oh my god, shut up,” Kazuichi groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “This is a nightmare…”
“Nightmare?!” Monotoru gasped theatrically. “No, no, no, darling grease-monkey, this is prime time! A brand-new killing—” He paused. “Or maybe dating sim? Or talent show? Depends on what sells!”
“Killing… game?” Maki’s voice was low, dangerous.
“Orrrr maybe not!” Monotoru cackled. “See, I like keeping things spicy. Maybe you’ll have to kill! Maybe you’ll just… dance for me! Maybe you’ll form a band and we’ll all clap like seals! The rules…” He snapped his fingers. “Are whatever I feel like today!”
“That’s not how rules work,” Kyoko said sharply.
“That’s exactly how rules work, sweet detective!” Monotoru beamed. “Because I’m the writer, the director, the host, and the entire audience! Well—” he leaned closer, voice dropping to a sing-song whisper—“me and everyone out there watching. Hi, readers~!” He waved at empty air.
Nobody moved.
Finally, Kokichi clapped slowly, smirking. “I like him. This is gonna be fun~!”
“You’re insufferable,” Maki muttered.
“Better insufferable than boring!” Kokichi chirped.
Makoto stood tall, shaking his head. “We won’t play your game. Whatever it is, we won’t let you use us like this.”
Monotoru froze. And then he laughed. Loud, wild, unhinged laughter that filled the gym.
“Oh, Makoto Naegi! Sweet, naïve hope-boy! You say that every season! But you always play along, don’t you? Because deep down… you can’t resist!”
The doors slammed shut behind him. A lock clicked.
The game was started again, and curtain rose for the entertaiment once more.