Chapter Text
Wide yellow eyes snapped open only to squeeze shut. Blinding fluorescent lights flooded Shuichi’s vision and sent dull, throbbing pains pulsating behind his eyes. The sensation was similar to a Flashback Light—except usually the pain dissipated as soon as the memory was received. This was different—the pain was prolonged and no sudden rush of information came to reduce the horrid agitation that surged in the back of Shuichi’s head.
It was the nauseating feeling of staring into a screen for too long. For some reason, it seemed all too familiar to the Detective, although he didn’t know why.
His eyes burned. His head ached.
As if moving on muscle memory alone, Shuichi blinked in rapid succession in an attempt to get used to the light. Dark bags hung under his eyes and his entire body felt heavy and numb. A sudden wave of exhaustion overtook him and he felt as though the small act of moving his arm, or even a finger, was too physically taxing.
He attempted to will his hand to block out the light, but it barely moved from his side. Try as he may, none of his limbs obeyed him; it was a symptom of some kind of sleep paralysis that plagued every inch of his body.
Through the blinding light, Shuichi could barely make out his surroundings. He was encased in a near-transparent container of some kind. It was reminiscent of a sci-fi space pod stolen directly out of a cheap TV show. He was strapped to a cushion that had melded to his form. Wires extended from his body, somehow working to keep him in place.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he was already trying to put the pieces together but he was so fatigued, he couldn’t even concentrate on the details he was picking up on. He wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, his temporarily skewed eyesight, a lapse in memory, or a combination of all three, but Shuichi even swore that he was wearing a different outfit.
Questions spun around in his head going nowhere. Observations and “clues” bounced against one another only to come up with zero solutions. Too much was going on, not enough was solvable. Shuichi just wanted it to stop.
He couldn’t trust his senses, he was too tired to move; there was no use for a useless detective like him. His mind was too foggy—too busy. He just wanted to be able to deduce and think. An itch in his brain was begging him to figure out what was going on, to sniff out a mystery and come to a concise conclusion, but the rest of him begged for rest. It hurt to try and resist the sweet temptation of blissful sleep.
Shadows danced in the corner of his vision. A more awake, more aware Shuichi would’ve recognized the silhouettes as people. They twisted in front of the light, moving about as they pleased. Voices echoed off of the walls as they conversed with one another.
“...eemed to be doing fine. That’s to be expected….”
“...keep them here until he’s a bit more lucid. Remind him to keep it eas….”
“...nsfer him to a hospital room to rest. He’ll be better in ab….”
“...m-san still hasn’t left yet. Hopefully, he’ll shut up once this one has woken u….”
Everything in Shuichi’s head began to throb in tandem with the pain in his eyes. He felt his eyelids slide closed against his will, an unfathomable weight dragging them down. He was losing his grip on lucidity as unconsciousness slowly pulled him under. Someone stronger, perhaps someone with more willpower like Momota or Harukawa, would’ve been able to resist it, but Shuichi was simply Shuichi—a worthless detective who couldn’t even figure out where he was.
Fragmented memories escaped him—he was too weary to recall his fight against Shirogane, the past six trials, his own personal growth, or even the traumatic death of his friends. The last thing he could reasonably recall was the silhouette of a person—his favorite person—someone he cared about more than anyone else in the world. He couldn’t clearly visualize them, but he knew, deep in his mind, that they were there.
Something in that comforted him. It wasn’t everything but it was enough.
And with those final, inscrutable thoughts, Shuichi surrendered to sleep.
When Shuichi awoke, he was drenched in darkness.
His headache had waned, but he could still feel dull waves of pain shoot through his head if he moved too suddenly. His eyes were dry and tired, so much so that the act of surveying his surroundings was a chore. He reached up to rub them and instantly regretted it.
Sore pain raked his entire body. Every nerve in his arms and legs screamed at him. Suffice it to say, Shuichi was going nowhere fast.
Confined to his bed, Shuichi eased himself into a sitting position. He forced himself to endure the uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation that infected every inch of his being. From there, he attempted to concentrate on his own breathing. It was all he could do to not relapse into complete panic.
He quickly deduced that he was in a hospital room. An IV stuck out of his arm and he was firmly planted in a hospital bed. No other restraints tethered him to his position. It seemed that he was only as stuck as he allowed himself to be.
Beams of light bled through the blinds, allotting Shuichi ample light to see, but not enough to assault his senses like before. A flat-screen TV dangled from the far end of the wall apparently hooked to a flexible armature. Beneath it was a small table where a vase of red dahlias and a black and white gift box sat, both primed just for Shuichi. A matching notecard rested against the box.
Even from this distance with his poor, unadjusted vision, Shuichi could still make out the shape of his name, as well as the Team Danganronpa logo neatly printed on the envelope.
All at once, the events of the last two weeks collided into him, slamming back into the forefront of his brain at full force. Bile rose out of Shuichi’s throat, and he had to force down a dry swallow to keep himself from hurling. The mere combination of the monochrome colors mixed with red was enough to make Shuichi’s stomach twist. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of literally anything else in a fruitless effort to return to blissful ignorance.
When he was unable to forget the atrocities committed by the monochrome bear and its blue-haired accomplice, Shuichi ripped his eyes open and tore the hospital sheets off of himself. He carefully examined his attire: he had been right before—he was wearing a different outfit. It was a school uniform of sorts, but it wasn’t his uniform. His double-breasted, pinstripe ensemble had been replaced with a strange informal suit and tie.
This was disconcerting information, but Shuichi refused to submit to his anxiety without all the facts. A sense of morbid curiosity lapsed over him and he found himself compelled to get to the bottom of this. After all, he couldn’t be scared out of his wits if he didn’t know what he should’ve been scared of.
Shuichi supposed there was only one way to find out.
After a moment of quiet contemplation, Shuichi forced himself to stand. It was still a painful endeavor, but one that needed to be done. He cautiously approached the table opposing him, carefully rolling his IV stand with him. He took the notecard in both hands. He tried to soothe the tremble in his grasp, but he couldn’t help it; the tremors that raked his body weren’t merely involuntary symptoms of fear—his body needed rest that he was refusing to give it.
Steeling himself, the Detective gingerly tore the flap open and withdrew the cardstock page from inside. The beautiful, handwritten calligraphy read:
Dear Shuichi Saihara,
Congratulations on winning Danganronpa Season 53!
As per agreement, you will receive your abundance of prizes shortly.
In addition to winning one hundred million yen, you will also receive certain celebrity benefits, courtesy of Team Danganronpa, all of which have been listed in your audition contract.
Because you signed off on it, you have also received the exclusive luxury of keeping your Super High School Level Talent! Extra information regarding your winnings can be accessed on the official Danganronpa website (www.Danganronpa.jp/xxxxx) or by contacting this number: xxx-xxx-xxxx.
Thank you for playing!
Sincerely,
Team Danganronpa + Mastermind Tsumugi Shirogane
Shuichi’s insides seized. The rest of it suddenly came back to him. The audition tapes, the uniforms—all of it suddenly made sense.
This was the Outside World. They had all allegedly signed up for a fictional reality TV series called Danganronpa. The four of them—Shuichi, Kiibo, Harukawa, and Yumeno—had fought against Shirogane in a bid to prove that fiction could change reality.
That they could change reality.
They’d abstained from Team Danganronpa’s demented game and brought the entire fifty-third season to a brilliant end.
The last he could remember, Yumeno, Harukawa, and himself had determined to escape the Ultimate Academy in order to claim their freedom. Shirogane had been crushed and Kiibo destroyed, which left the three survivors to clamber through the rubble remains of the prison school in search of the world beyond their domed cage.
From there, everything was blank.
This left Shuichi with a few core questions: how did he get here? Where was “here”? Was Shirogane alive? Where were his surviving friends? What had happened to the deceased? And—last but not least—was everything that happened real or simply a simulation?
Normally Shuichi wouldn’t have entertained thoughts of virtual reality or sci-fi jargon, but the Neo World Program had been a success before the unfortunate murder of Iruma, so the concept was not entirely impossible. Shuichi was also having a hard time grappling with many of the Ultimate Academy's gimmicks, including the murderous mascot Monokuma. If everything were a simulation, it could explain the monochrome bear’s ability to seemingly bend reality with his horrific executions and near omnipresence.
The alternative explanation was that everything was one-hundred percent real, and someone had—in fickle actuality—built the prison school and all of the lethal death traps that dwelled inside.
Both options were unsettling, but Shuichi found himself preferring a world where everyone was alive while the experience was fake. The only downside to that reality was that it meant Shirogane had been telling the truth.
If that were the case, Shuichi wasn’t sure if he wanted whatever prizes he had “won”. If everything had really only been some shitty reality TV program, Shuichi only hoped his friends weren’t truly dead forever. That lingering hope was the one thing that kept Shuichi’s heart from breaking in two; he just wanted to see his friends again.
Shaking off the sour taste in his mouth, Shuichi shifted his attention to the monochrome gift box. Its black and white split was cast directly down the center. Thankfully, it was absent of Monokuma’s demented, lightning-shaped eye, but Shuichi’s relief didn’t last long. Sliding the lid off, he peered inside and nearly had a heart attack.
He had suspected that the monochrome bear was hiding inside, and yet the sight still made him flinch. Instinctively he yelped and stumbled back, retreating to safety away from the sadistic thing. When it didn’t jump out at him and cackle, Shuichi stilled his racing heart and returned to investigate.
It was a mere stuffed animal; a plush doll made in the image of such a deplorable creature. This Monokuma was much smaller than the real thing, even smaller than the Monokubs. Realization dawned on Shuichi and he sucked in a breath. Right. TV show. Merch.
He hesitantly reached inside the box and carefully lifted the stuffed animal. There were seams, clear as day, sewn into it. It was machine-made, but the material hadn’t been sloppily compiled together like Shuichi would’ve expected. A tag stuck out of its back, giving washing instructions and fun facts about its fabric. A store tag was pierced into its ear, complete with the Team Danganronpa insignia as well as the emblem for the current season: V3.
Shuichi shoved it back in the box and disposed of it in a nearby trash can.
He grabbed the remote off the table and turned on the TV. He wanted to immediately confirm the state of the world before proceeding. There was still a chance Shirogane had been lying and the world was in a state of ruin. Either that or she was being honest about there being a world that was so peaceful the denizens had to create killing games for their own sick entertainment.
Shuichi just wanted to be sure.
The screen lit up with what seemed to be a stylized sports-esque program. Flashy banners appeared at the bottom of the screen and two spokespersons were seated at a shiny, glass table speculating about something or other. The broadcast came without audio, so Shuichi had to manually control the volume.
“—and WHAM! The dome shatters around Kiibo as he crashes into the metal cage! And with that, the Ultimate Academy finds its freedom in this exhilarating conclusion to the fifty-third season! Mastermind Tsumugi Shirogane’s debut season is a blast for all ages! I personally found a new Best Girl in Maki Harukawa, everyone’s new fan-favorite, female serial killer!”
“I one-hundred percent agree! Though I have my sights set on the little Mage herself, Himiko Yumeno! Moving on to our key star, how about that Shuichi Saihara? Did you think he was a weak protag or did you enjoy his ongoing development? That seems to be the hot take-debate for this season—”
Shuichi jabbed the power button. Blissful silence met his ears.
A flurry of emotions collided within his insides. A hot cocktail of rage and guilt and sadness washed over him, warring in his head. Exhaustion beat the rest of them, and Shuichi was simply left feeling empty and ill.
He stumbled back towards the hospital bed and collapsed back into its sheets. Frustration bubbled within him and he wanted to scream and cry.
He didn’t want to live in Shirogane’s world where everyone was a sadistic freak that enjoyed watching teenagers kill each other.
Before he could do anything drastic, the door flew open. Ugly fluorescent light flooded the Detective’s eyes and he curled in on himself to save himself from the brightness. Footsteps entered the room and Shuichi braced for the worst.
When nothing happened, Shuichi slowly peeled his eyes open and turned around. A young man dressed in monochrome scrubs was standing near a counter, clipboard in hand. Shuichi watched him jot something down before regarding Shuichi with a relieved smile.
“You’re awake! Fantastic!” The nurse began. He was strangely nonchalant and not nearly as freaky as Shuichi expected. He flipped through some of the documents on his clipboard and scribbled on a page. Shuichi wanted nothing more than to rummage through those files, so curious as to what information this place had on him.
Before he could ask, the nurse sat on a medical stool and rolled toward him, getting uncomfortably close.
“Alright, Saihara-san, we’re just going to go through a standard check-up so I can sign off on your release,” the nurse said. “You seem to be doing well, as to be expected from a Survivor. By the way, congratulations on winning! That must’ve been so exciting for you!”
Shuichi grimaced. He shifted into an upright position, shimming away from the nurse.
“...Can I ask a question about that?” Shuichi asked. His voice was hoarse from lack of use. His throat was horribly dry. The nurse beamed at him.
“Why of course! I can answer anything you wish, just as long as I have the answer, heh!”
“...Right,” Shuichi nodded. “Is…is everyone else okay? If this was all a game, is everyone else alive and well? Please, you have to tell me.” The nurse withdrew and regarded him with pity.
“Do you not remember?” The nurse asked. When Shuichu shook his head, the nurse appeared puzzled. The Detective watched as the other sifted through his notes, flipping through page after page until landing on something important.
The nurse’s expression changed. Shuichi’s heart dropped.
“...Ah-HA! That explains it!” The nurse suddenly exclaimed. Shuichi recoiled, hands instantly to his ears as a wild smile spread across the nurse’s face. “I’ve never met anyone who successfully accepted this prize before. Fascinating!”
“What’s ‘fascinating’?” Shuichi asked, tone considerably sharper than before. “Please, just tell me if my friends are alright. That’s all I really care about—are Harukawa-san and Yumeno-san okay? Is anyone okay?”
The nurse eventually tempered down, delight still radiating off his features. “Oh, gosh! Right, I forgot—you wouldn’t know, would you? Heh, well you see….You just won Danganronpa! And with it, you gained such a wonderful prize, you probably don’t even realize how lucky you are!” The nurse suddenly grabbed Shuichi’s arms, pinning them to his sides, his face mere inches away.
“See, Danganronpa is a virtual reality-killing game simulator!” The nurse exclaimed, crazy in his eyes. “It is thee most popular, international reality TV show in killing game entertainment! Other brands and series wish they could be as renowned as we are!”
Shuichi was stunned—baffled even. More so by the trance the nurse had seemingly entered than the rhetoric he was spilling. His eyes had glazed over and his speech felt rehearsed. Shuichi shrank away from the guy as he continued his spiel.
“—We are the defining pioneers in our craft and our studio works hard to bring each season to life by incorporating bigger and better gimmicks each year! With the fiftieth season and beyond came the ‘implementation’ feature! Heh, that’s what you got to be a part of!”
The nurse nearly shed a tear. “As Danganronpa moved to virtuality to host their seasons, it became possible to program not just avatars for our Players, but false memories, talents, and personalities as well! All of this has allowed the characters to come to life before the audience’s very eyes!” Drool began leaking out of the nurse’s mouth as his wicked grin stretched on for miles.
“O-okay?” Shuichi yelped, as the nurse leaned in closer. “What does this have to do with—”
“Just because the wounds and deaths aren’t real doesn’t mean you can’t ‘die’!” The nurse interrupted. “There’s a special little agreement that one must sign before the game that’s part of the audition contract! It gives the Player—that being you—the option to keep all of the artificial junk that Team Danganronpa stuffed into their head under the condition that they win! It’s an optional prize, but who wouldn’t want to keep their very own—very special—Super High School Level talent!?” Clasping Shuichi’s hands in his own, the nurse tugged Shuichi to his feet. “You won! You won, you won, you won!”
Finally releasing Shuichi from his grasp, the nurse furiously flipped through his clipboard until landing on a particular document. He ripped a cluster of sheets from the metal clutch and flaunted the pages in Shuichi’s face.
“You signed off on the box! You get to keep your Talent and memories and everything! It’s amazing, it’s fantastic! It’s unheard of! Congratulations Shuichi Saihara, congratulations a million times over!”
The nurse was prattling on and on, but Shuichi was no longer listening.
A mixture of relief and sickening realization suddenly overtook him. Something in Shuichi’s brain clicked.
“W...w-what?” was all he could manage. The nurse seemed to notice the onslaught of horror in Shuichi’s voice and backed off slightly.
“Right, sorry,” the nurse said, withdrawing entirely. With a newfound sense of calm, the nurse presented a document before Shuichi, the words Danganronpa and Audition Contract clearly printed at the top. “It says here that you checked off on the option to keep your in-game talent. That means you get to continue being your game character! How fun! You’re so lucky!”
“I don’t….” Shuichi found himself at a loss for words. “What does that mean? Am I not supposed to be here? Am I not ‘real’?”
“Hm. I suppose you aren’t ‘real’ in the traditional sense. You are what Mastermind Tsumugi Shirogane wrote and programmed you to be. But that doesn’t mean you have to be that way forever,” he explained with a shrug. “If you ever want your regular memories—the memories you had before the game—you’re always allowed to ask for them. Team Danganronpa cannot legally prevent you from getting them back if requested.”
Shuichi opened his mouth to ask for that option when he remembered the audition tape that Shirogane had shown him during the sixth trial. He recalled the visceral image of himself spouting nonsense about death and murder on the screen—his expression just as cruel and gleeful as the nurse had been just a moment before.
Shuichi didn’t want to be like that. He shuttered and shook his head, deciding that he didn’t want those memories back if they would render him a sadistic fanboy.
The nurse only shrugged. “That’s fine, if you ever change your mind, don’t be afraid to ask. Just call Team Danganronpa’s main number, I think it was provided to you somewhere—eh, you can’t really lose it, it’s pretty much available everywhere if you look.”
“So, then,” Shuichi tried again, trying to ignore the crack in his voice, “the ones who died—er, ‘lost’ the game...What happened to them? Are they really okay?” The nurse nodded.
“Since they lost, they don’t ever get to keep their memories of the game. That’s solely a perk for the survivors! Extra prizes like that help split the difference between Danganronpa winners and losers. But it’s also a stipulation put in place for the mental safety of all of our participants,” the nurse added. “It’s to prevent those who lost from retaining trauma from their in-game deaths.”
That kind of made sense. But what about my trauma, Shuichi wondered. Did watching his own friends kill each other before getting brutally executed not count for anything?
He suddenly remembered Momota and Akamatsu—Shirogane had broadcasted their audition tapes publicly to everyone who had been watching, Shuichi included. In their tapes their personalities had been drastically different: Momota was bombastic and brutal while Akamatsu had been coolly apathetic. Those versions of Shuichi’s friends were a far cry away from the inspirational and supportive people that Shuichi had gotten to know over the course of the killing game. Shuchi felt his heart pang with misery as tears nipped at his eyes. None of this was right.
“Awh, hey! It’s okay. Your friends are still alive, you’ll get to meet up with the other winners here soon,” the nurse said, tone oddly comforting. “Besides, there’s still someone special waiting in the lobby for you.” With that, hope swelled in Shuichi’s chest.
“Someone’s waiting for us? Who? Akamatsu-san? Momota-kun?” Shuichi asked with more energy than he had. Perhaps he was mistaken then—Akamatsu and Momota were fine. Maybe they still remembered him—or maybe they still wanted to be friends. Excitement drove him to his feet, but the nurse stopped him before he could bound out the door.
“Woah! I still need to conduct a proper check-up!” The nurse cried. “We at Team Danganronpa do truly care about our participants! I have to make sure you’re physically well-adjusted after being in the simulation for so long! You’ll get to see your friends soon enough, but this has to happen first. You’ve waited this long, what’s another hour?” Shuichi cringed at the thought of making his friends wait, but the nurse was determined and Shuichi was in no state to fight.
“Fine. But can you make it quick?” Shuichi asked, easing back onto the hospital bed. “I really need to make sure that everyone is okay.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” the nurse replied with the wave of his hand. “Most of them were discharged already and went home. Some casts can be sore losers, but I wouldn’t let that get to you. As for the other winners, they’re also going through this process, so if you just comply we can get this over and done with! Any more questions?”
The Detective considered his options and one looming inquiry floated to the forefront of his mind.
“One,” he said, holding up a finger. “Did we at least end the killing game? Did we end Danganronpa?”
The nurse regarded him with sympathy before a sharp smile slid across his face.
“Of course not,” he replied with a laugh.
The nurse’s “check-up” took a little under an hour to complete. What Shuichi had thought was going to be a few questions and a general screening had actually been a full-scale physical exam. Blood pressure, blood test, heart rate observation—the works.
He rubbed at his arm, silently cursing the black and white bandage that covered his vein.
Had Shuichi been in the care of an actual, trusted doctor the ordeal wouldn’t have mattered to him as much, but knowing that his nurse was Danganronpa obsessed had not helped calm Shuichi’s nerves at all. Every time he was under the impression that the nurse genuinely cared about his well-being, he would begin gushing about the latest season and how “cool” it had been to watch Shuichi’s friends die in an—apparently—medically accurate way.
No, Shuichi had not known that it had taken Hoshi at least two minutes to completely drown—and no, Shuichi was not happier now that he knew that.
The entire examination had been a frustrating hour that Shuichi had spent tolerating the deranged man in front of him. As soon as it was over, and the nurse—whose name Shuichi did not care enough to remember—had written down the final bit of information he needed, Shuichi had sped out of the room and down the hall.
The only good thing Shuichi’s nurse had done for him was answer his questions and give him some kind of ibuprofen to help ease the searing pain of being alive.
“Yeah, the simulation pods tend to do that to people! The IV in your arm should’ve helped, but I can give you this as well,” the nurse had said. Apparently, Team Danganronpa had developed special pills to assist with their own painful virtuality machines when IV morphine just wasn’t enough. Hurray.
Everything in Shuichi had pretty much been spent already. He just felt empty. And sad.
According to the nurse, Danganronpa’s fate was technically up in the air right now due to the controversial ending. Ever since the Supreme Leader’s meddling in the “Fifth Chapter”, Shirogane had been forced to improvise a new ending to her season. A few rules had been broken in order to reach a resolution, including but not limited to retconning a direct connection to the coveted “Hope’s Peak Arc” and having Monokuma participate in a class trial. Not to mention Kiibo’s rampage—an event that had caused the loss of audience control—and the remaining students’ refusal to participate in the last trial. With all that in mind, fans had mixed opinions on whether or not the show should continue.
Ultimately, the decision was up to Team Danganronpa who seemed confident that they would be able to green light another season. It would just depended on whether or not they received the proper endorsement—whatever that meant.
As Shuichi sped down the hallway in search of the main lobby, the Detective began pondering about who was waiting for him. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming. The nurse had been intentionally vague about their identity—playing coy just to mess with him. Shuichi hadn’t appreciated it at all, but arguing with him seemed to be a fruitless endeavor.
Curiosity poked through his anger, however, and Shuichi found himself mentally jumping between options. There were a handful of his friends he hoped had stayed to greet him, but there were others that were so unlikely they circled around to being likely again.
The interior of the Team Danganronpa building was grid-like and yet still a maze. Shuichi passed by identical corridors and hospital rooms until eventually the pristine, tile floor was replaced with carpet.
He was finally out of the hospital wing. Shuichi hoped he wasn’t keeping Harukawa and Yumeno waiting. He only slowed his gait because he heard the nurse panting after him.
“Saihara-san! Wait up!” The nurse cried, sprinting to catch up. “I still need to properly discharge you!” The nurse looked around and relaxed in posture. “Oh, we’re already near the lobby. I bet you’re excited, huh?”
“Please,” Shuichi hissed, no longer in the mood, “just escort me to my friends—the other ‘winners’ or what-have-you. I need to see them.” The nurse blinked for a moment then nodded.
“Of course, right this way.”
They navigated another series of hallways, each decorated in Monokuma’s three defining colors. Enormous posters hung along the walls, presumably showcasing Danganronpa games of seasons past.
Finally, the pair entered what appeared to be a wide, open foyer. To the right, a series of reception desks with uniformed secretaries working diligently to file away—whatever—and to the left was a sea of chairs. If anyone important was sitting there, Shuichi wasn’t able to tell from a glance.
A bombardment of flashing lights and muffled cheers erupted as he stepped into the lobby. The front wall was a single large window, interrupted by a matching set of double doors. Outside was an ungoverned horde of people. Fans and paparazzi and whoever else pushed their way to the front to get a glimpse of the people inside. Cameras pointed towards Shuichi, and he wished, just at that moment, that he had his hat to hide behind.
Sensing his reasonable amount of fear, the nurse put a hand on Shuichi’s shoulder and laughed.
“Don’t worry, they’re not allowed inside the building,” he said as if that would instantly make Shuichi feel better. “Right this way. Your fellow survivors should be waiting!”
Shuichi followed suit, his eyes not straying from the mob as if looking away for just a moment would allow them to crash through the window and come barreling in.
The nurse led him to a side area, far enough from the flashing fan fair. It was a bit more of an obscure part of the waiting room, but the Team Danganronpa building was apparently so big and so popular that it needed it. There were no large windows for paparazzi to peek through, which was enough to help settle Shuichi’s nervous introverted heart.
His nurse announced that he was leaving to finish up Shuichi’s paperwork and Shuichi let him leave without another word, his attention too focused on surveying the room for any sign of short, red hair or long, twin pigtails. Turns out he didn’t have to look very hard.
“Nyehhh! Saihara!” Yumeno sprung from a nearby seat and into Shuichi’s arms. He was barely able to catch her in time before they both collided with a short coffee table.
“Yumeno-san!” Shuichi said, his previous worry dissipating for a moment. “You’re okay!”
“Nyehhh…it was so scary, Saihara.” Yumeno said, tears running down her cheeks. “I thought both you and Harumaki were behind me when everything went white. I woke up here and the doctor began running tests on me!”
“That’s horrible,” Shuichi said, easing the shorter girl into a chair. “Are you alright now at least?” The Mage nodded fiercely.
“I was afraid, but I refused to let that get to me!” Yumeno exclaimed. “We survived a killing game!”
“That we did,” Shuichi confirmed, just happy that Yumeno was safe.
“But…now what?” Yumeno asked. Shuichi found himself slumping in his chair. That’s right. He hadn’t had a chance to consider the next few steps. “W-what do we do now Saihara? The doctor said that everyone who died isn’t dead, b-but they don’t remember anything. Does that mean it’s just going to be us three? Forever?” Shuichi wearily shook his head.
“I don’t know,” was all he could say. He truthfully didn’t know what that meant, or what the ramifications of that were going to be. “I just don’t know….Have you seen Harukawa-san? Is she here? Maybe if we regroup we can think of something.”
Yumeno shook her head. “I was the first one here. I was waiting for you two. Harumaki should be arriving soon.”
“Did they say who else was waiting for us?” Shuichi asked. Yumeno lit up with surprise.
“Neeyyhh!? Someone else is waiting for us?”
“Apparently,” Shuichi replied. “That’s what my nurse said at least.”
“There hasn’t been anyone over here. Maybe they’re still in the main lobby.” Shuichi frowned. He didn’t really want to return there just yet, but his curiosity was gnawing at him.
“I guess you’re right. Let’s go look.”
Together the two braved the lobby and began searching the grid of waiting-room chairs for anyone they recognized. Shuichi didn’t really know who he was expecting. His heart yearned for Akamatsu or Momota but he already had a feeling they had left. A part of him still burned—hoping that he was wrong.
“Nyehh...?” Yumeno’s voice brought his attention to the only possible candidate in the room.
Sequestered in the only corner of the main lobby that was protected from the onslaught of camera flashes and prying eyes, was a small boy with messy purple hair. His gaze was pointedly fixed on his phone while a hand absentmindedly toyed with strands of gravity-defying locks.
Shuichi gasped.
Kokichi Ouma’s brows were knitted in concentration. It took him a minute to notice Shuichi and Yumeno’s presence.
He startled, almost dropping his phone in alarm. He was wearing a school uniform, albeit one drastically different from both the ones Shuichi and Yumeno were wearing and the one he had worn in-game.
He was holding onto two objects: a smartphone and a familiar black cap—one that Shuichi was concerned about how he got his hands on.
Shuichi watched as Ouma calmly stood up—not hopping to his feet like he usually would—and made his way over to the duo. He looked apologetic and relieved and a bit wary. Shuichi backed away in order to give the former Supreme Leader space, but Ouma advanced quicker, managing to catch up to him in a few strides. The purple boy jumped, placing the black cap on Shuichi’s head as if he were kinging a pawn in chess.
The action sent Shuichi reeling. Ouma even made sure to shift the hat’s bill a bit to the left, just as Shuichi used to wear it.
“W-wha—?” but before Shuichi could ask, Ouma burst into tears.
“I—I-I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad!” Ouma cried. Wet dew drops slid down his face and onto the carpet, too much for his small hands to hide. Shuichi froze, his hands hovering over the Supreme Leader, unsure whether attempting to comfort him would make things better or worse.
“Ouma-kun?” Yumeno asked. She was as confused as Shuichi was and just as concerned. “Nyehh! It’s okay. We forgive you for being a big, fat jerk! We know you weren’t actually a Remnant of Despair, so it’s all okay!” Her words did nothing to ease Ouma’s sobs.
“What are you apologizing for?” Shuichi found himself asking, his hand reaching for his newly acquired hat. It sat on his head perfectly—so similar to the one he had given up just weeks ago in the killing game.
Ouma gazed up at the duo, confused. Tears streamed down his face. The former Supreme Leader’s eyes widened, before narrowing ever so slightly.
“S-Shuichi?” Ouma hiccuped. Shuichi flinched at the casual addressal. Ouma’s voice sounded so small—so genuine—it felt too real to be a lie. But even then, Shuichi’s mind was left spinning. When had he and Ouma—?
“Ouma-kun, did you just call me Shuichi?” the Detective asked. Ouma winced as if he’d been slapped.
“A—are you that mad at me?” the shorter boy wailed. He fidgeted with his phone, his welling eyes pointed toward his shoes. Wincing, Ouma said, “I-I s-skimmed the season and I’m really sorry! I really didn’t mean to do it!” Shuichi felt panic swelling in his chest as he didn’t know how to stop Ouma from crying.
He reached out to comfort the smaller boy but withdrew his hand back when he saw Ouma recoil from his touch. He tried a more diplomatic approach.
“I really don’t know what you think I’m mad about. Would you care to explain? I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. What did you do? What do you think you did?” Ouma’s brows furrowed in deep confusion as no one seemed to be on the same page.
“W-what do I mean...?” Ouma asked, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry I ruined Danganronpa!”