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The air was charged. There was an energy in the air that Kirigiri Kyoko couldn’t quite describe.
“Togami-san,” she said softly, “how could I get into my room if you have my key?”
Byakuya froze.
“I couldn’t get into my room to put the locker key there,” said Kyoko, lying through her teeth. It wasn’t true; she had the headmaster’s skeleton key. But nobody, not even Makoto, knew about it. “But you know who could’ve easily placed the locker key there?”
“Who?” Asahina asked worriedly, her hands fisted in her jacket sleeves.
Kyoko didn’t answer immediately, but she still went through the list of her classmates.
It was none of the others. Hina, Hiro, Byakuya, and Toko all had a completely solid alibi. She turned her face towards the only other person in the room.
I’m sorry, Makoto. But I can’t die here. The secrets of the Academy will die with me.
She knew he didn’t do it; he couldn’t have. Not kind little Naegi Makoto, the same boy who she doubted could hurt a fly.
It was the Mastermind who had killed Junko Enoshima.
But she said it anyways. Because right now, it was kill or be killed.
“I couldn’t have killed Junko Enoshima, the body in the gardens,” Kyoko said, heart pounding. “Because I didn’t have the key to my room, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Byakuya said, “Naegi found the locker key in your room. The same locker which contained the murder weapon. Are you implying—?”
“Yes,” Kyoko’s heart thumped uncomfortably. “I’m implying that it was Makoto,” Kyoko choked past the lump in her throat.
Makoto, the same boy who she admired so much for his inspiring tenacity and optimism. Makoto, the same boy who she wanted to… she shook the thought forcefully from her mind.
“What?” Makoto squeaked, his entire face dropping. “I don’t…? What?”
“I had no access to my room, and therefore, no access to the Dojo locker key. Makoto is the only person here who might’ve done it; the only person here who could’ve done it. The rest of you have completely solid alibis, and I have no access to the murder weapon.”
“No,” Makoto said. His face was very pale now, like he was still sick, “No, that’s wrong! That’s impossible!”
“Y-you’re kidding!” Toko sputtered, “M-Makoto did it?”
“No, no, I didn’t! I swear!”
I know, Makoto. “No one else could have,” Kyoko said. “You’re the only one who could have killed her.”
Makoto’s face dropped.
“Tell us what you were doing last night, then,” said Byakuya, “Maybe that will clear you.” She heard the undertone in his voice. Togami was actually saying, Please prove her wrong, Naegi.
“I…” Makoto stammered, “I… I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” Hiro asked bewilderedly.
“I don’t know what happened last night.”
His confession made the room feel charged again. It made Kyoko’s hair stand on end.
“I have no idea what happened last night!” Makoto shouted. “I’m sorry, I don’t know!”
“How d-don’t you know?” Toko accused, waving a singular finger.
“I was sick,” Makoto stumbled over the words. “I thought I was just dreaming, but…”
“What did you dream?” Kyoko asked. She wondered if he remembered seeing her in his sickly haze.
“I…” Makoto didn’t answer. “I…!”
You what? She wanted to ask.
“I killed her.”
The room falls silent at the confession.
Kyoko feels the world stop on its axis.
No, no… he couldn’t have. The Mastermind killed Enoshima-chan.
“How?” Byakuya barks, his face pale.
“I don’t know,” Makoto trembles. He’s crying now; with big fat tears running down his face. “I was trying to sleep but… I was sick. I could hardly stand. I saw her… Enoshima-chan… with the knife in her hand. I don’t really know what happened after that,” his voice is husky now. “I got up and…!”
He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “I had blood all over my hands and my fingers… I dragged her to the gardens and put the tarp over her body… I hid the arrows in the locker and then pretended to find the key in Kyoko’s room, because she didn’t have an alibi…” Makoto hiccups.
His sobs are loud, and sickening. They make the room spin.
“I’m so sorry,” he wails, “I don’t want to die here…! I need to find my sister… I need to find my mom…!”
“It’s not your fault,” whispers Kyoko. Makoto’s head snaps up. “I should’ve saved you last night. I’m sorry. It’s my fault,” she hopes he can read in between the lines. I’m sorry that I sacrificed your life for mine. “It was self defense, Makoto. Please don’t die with regrets.”
“Yeah,” Asahina says, voice soft and determined. “It’s not your fault, Makoto. We don’t think any worse of you, understand?”
“We still love you, bro,” Hagakure says, a little teary, “Don’t forget that, okay?!”
“Naegi,” Byakuya pauses. He looks hesitant, unsure. It’s so shocking that Makoto wipes his eyes to get a better look. Or, Kyoko assumes, anyway. “I’m sorry that it’s going to end this way.”
“Thank you, Togami-san,” Makoto smiles, finally. Kyoko loves that smile; the kind that lights up the room. Her chest feels heavier; she sentenced him to death for a lie.
“Naegi,” says Toko, her voice slightly steadier than usual. “I w-want to say thank you, for n-never giving up on m-me.”
“Aww, Mako-chi,” Monokuma says tearfully, and Makoto flinches, “we’re all gonna miss you!”
“Makoto,” Kyoko says, extending one of her gloved hands to the boy across from her, “I… I lo—”
“Okay, everybody!” Monokuma giggles, cutting off her confession, “Use the lever in front of you to cast your vote! If you refuse to vote, you’ll be executed right alongside your blackened classmate! Cast your votes! Will you make the correct choice? Or the dreadfully wrong one?”
It takes a few moments, but when everyone is done voting, no one is surprised when Makoto’s been found guilty.
“Looks like you guys got it correct!” Monokuma lies. “The Blackened responsible for killing Enoshima Junko is Naegi Makoto, Ultimate Lucky Student!”
Liar… Liar… Kyoko’s mind hisses.
A beat of silence passes, and then Makoto is speaking.
“Kyoko,” says Makoto. “I understand. I forgive you.”
Her heart breaks.
“Let’s give it everything we’ve got!” Monokuma laughs. “It’s punishment time!”
She doesn’t get to say anything else before a collar shoots from the wall and drags him to his execution.
-
When Kirigiri Kyoko imagined her time at Hope’s Peak, she mostly pictured seeing her father.
In some scenes, she was crying. In others, she was angry. In some, she runs over and jumps into Kirigiri Jin’s arms.
In others, she imagines slapping him across the face.
Anyway, in every fantasy she has, something remains consistent. She sees her father.
His face was cloudy in her mind’s eye, considering she hadn’t seen him in such a long time, but she could still picture him. Dark hair, light eyes. Kirigiri Jin had photos all over the internet; the Headmaster of Hope’s Peak.
She had seen his face only once since becoming trapped in the Academy. It was the same day she stole the skeleton key and read Enoshima Junko’s student file.
There was a picture of him on the walls of his office.
When she made her way in, she stood there and looked at him for a moment.
He looked old. Older than she had ever seen him.
When she blinked herself back to the present, she remembered her thought process, and where she was going with this mental tangent.
When she imagined attending Hope’s Peak, she had never thought anything like this would ever happen.
She hadn’t imagined seeing her only friend strapped to a chair, moving down a treadmill towards his imminent death.
His face was sweaty, hair more disheveled than usual. He still looked sick.
Every time the press slammed down, Makoto flinched.
His face twitched.
And then he laughed. He laughed for so long that Kyoko was surprised he hadn’t stopped to take a breath. He mumbled something under his breath, and then he laughed again, louder this time.
He laughed. He laughed for a long, long time, and then when he was finished and gasped for air, he smiled and laughed some more.
“What’s… wrong with him?” Hina asked, sounding scared.
Sometimes, when faced with imminent danger, people’s emotional responses are unpredictable, her logical brain supplied. But she couldn’t even open her mouth to say it, not when his cheeks were flushed a cute shade of pink and he laughed, longer and longer.
She had killed him.
She blinked, trying desperately to stop that thought in its tracks.
“Mukuro!” Makoto wheezed, “Mukuro-chan!” His giggles didn’t slow in their intensity. “Hahahah!”
“Ikusaba?” Toko asked in a hushed whisper, “She’s d-dead.”
Makoto brought his arms closer to his body, hugging his sides. He was crying now. “Muku—”
The press came down with a final, wet sounding squish.
There was blood.
There was blood everywhere.
Kyoko closed her eyes, squeezing them shut, letting out a breath of air.
I’m sorry, Makoto.
Kyoko, I understand. He had said. I forgive you.
How…? How could he forgive her? She killed him.
She killed Naegi Makoto, the same boy who tripped over nothing every time he ran somewhere. The same boy who always forgot to tie his shoelaces. The same boy who wore his blazer over his hoodie, trying to maintain some semblance of a uniform, when in reality, he just looked silly.
It made a lump rise in her throat.
She wrenched her face away from the bloody mess that used to be her friend. No, he was more than that. He was her—
Her nothing, now.
Monokuma went still. Kyoko knelt down by his side, remembering what the others said about how he stopped moving last night. She wanted to get a better look at him.
“Are his mechanics bad, do you think?” Hiro asked, bringing a hand to his chin in contemplation. “Do you think he shuts down because of like… lag or something?”
“That’s a surprisingly good question, for someone like you,” Togami insulted. His face was faintly green. She knew why; Makoto wasn’t just her weakness, he was Byakuya’s weakness too.
She brought a hand to Monokuma’s body, a thrill shooting up her fingers when she touched him. Her glove dulled the sensation, but she felt it all the same. “He’s soft,” Kyoko said, surprised. “His fur is soft.”
The thought made her sad for a reason she couldn’t describe. The softness of his fur against the callousness of his actions… she blinked rapidly, dispelling the tears that gathered up in the corner of her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered aloud, finally daring a glance at what was left of Makoto’s body. “I’m so sorry.”
“You did what you had to do, Kirigiri-san,” Monokuma assured. His voice went theatrical and booming: “It was a tragedy, but Kyoko-chan saved the day, once more.”
She jumped, standing up. She didn’t want to appear vulnerable in front of him; he was the most dangerous thing in this Academy.
“What happened?” Hina asked, looking down at Monokuma. “Where did you go?”
“Oh, there was a bit of a mess down in the garbage chute,” he chuckled. “That body was just filled with so much blood and guts and gooey entrails—!”
Hina heaved, holding a hand to her mouth. “Sorry,” she squeaked, “But we don’t need to know about that.”
“Well, poor poor Mako-chan! He killed somebody in self defense and he couldn’t even remember it!” Monokuma stood up, brushing his fur with clawed paws, as if there was any dust on him.
“Because of his fever?” Kyoko asked, feeling numb once more.
“Oh yeah. His fever was so bad that he didn’t even seem coherent. It’s a wonder how he managed to win that fight.”
“It’s not a wonder to you though, is it? You watched the whole thing on the security cameras, didn’t you?” Byakuya asked.
“Well of course!” He said cheerily, “It wouldn’t be a fair trial otherwise.”
It wasn’t a fair trial. You did it. You killed Enoshima Junko.
“Poor little Naegi. Calling for his dead girlfriend before he was killed. What a loser!”
An ugly emotion swelled in Kyoko’s chest. Jealousy.
Monokuma looked at her with that glowing eye of his. “What’s wrong? Didn’t think Naegi-chi had a girlfriend? He might’ve been a pathetic loser, but he was super popular with the girls, for some reason.” Monokuma put a plush paw on his chin. “Why is that? He’s not even cute.”
“Don’t talk about him like that!” Hina shouted, face swelling with indignation. “He was a great guy, and you killed him!”
Monokuma groaned loudly. “You guys are such buzzkills! He killed somebody, and he got executed for it. Those are the rules, remember?”
“You said it yourself,” Byakuya glowered. “It was self defense. If this wasn’t a kangaroo court, Makoto would have been completely innocent in the eyes of the law.”
“Well, so was Kuwata-kun but you guys didn’t throw a fit about his ruling, remember?” Monokuma’s smile somehow got wider. “Weird how that happened.”
“Shut up…” Toko said quietly. “S-shut up! Makoto was k-kind, and o-optimistic!”
Monokuma laughed. “Optimistic? Really?”
“Really,” said Kyoko, and then she turned and walked towards the elevator. “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of you.”
Monokuma didn’t even look offended. He simply held his paws up to his face, giggling.
-
The hall was silent as she made her way to her room. She locked the door behind her with her newly reacquired key. Togami had seemed stiff and nervous when he handed it back.
Maybe he felt guilty.
He shouldn’t. Not really.
Kyoko took off her boots silently. She pulled off her gloves, the chilly air making her shiver. She undid the ribbon in her hair, setting it down on the nightstand.
As she brought her fingers to her braid, undoing it, she found her thoughts begin to wander.
Monokuma’s words rang through her head.
Calling for his dead girlfriend before he was killed.
She had no right to be upset, of course, but… she still was. Because she was in love with Naegi Makoto, and the idea of him being with someone else made her stomach turn.
And Ikusaba, really? The two of them had hardly spent any time together. In fact, Kyoko had noticed that Makoto tried his best to stay away from Ikusaba when they first became trapped inside the school. He would flinch away from her. His face would drop. He would sit completely opposite from her, if he could manage it.
Why was he so nervous around his ‘girlfriend’? Was it because of a breakup, or something?
Kyoko had always assumed that the ‘Ultimate Solider,’ talent was what made Makoto nervous; it made Kyoko nervous, too.
There was that tattoo on Ikusaba’s hand, the mark of mercenaries, which was undeniable proof of what Ikusaba was.
But perhaps, Makoto’s skittishness had less to do with her being a soldier, and more to do with the fact that she was a really scary ex-girlfriend.
But how would Ikusaba and Makoto even know each other before this point? Obviously, the two of them hadn’t gone to the same Junior High, or Maizono would’ve known Ikusaba too.
Perplexed, and perhaps a little disturbed, Kyoko laid her head down on her pillow.
-
The accusation wasn’t unfounded, but that was what was so amusing.
I would never, never ever, kill Junko-chan!
It almost made him want to laugh.
Because Mukuro would’ve never betrayed her sister on her own. Because even Makoto had a hard time sending out those spears, and he wasn’t even related to the Ultimate Despair.
His thoughts are interrupted when the collar yanks him, and he gags, choking on the air and his own spit.
He’s beginning to feel lightheaded.
He finds himself in the execution designed for Kyoko. The press, treadmill, and chalkboard are all the same.
But it feels distinctly different.
Maybe it was because he could hear every time the press slams into the ground below it. How terrible was this execution that he designed?
It was ironic, almost, and that thought made him smile.
He understood now. Finally, at the end, he understood.
I get it, he thought. I finally get it. I finally get her.
He chuckled.
“The Despair,” he mumbled, before bursting into laughter.
I understand you, Junko-sama!
“It feels…!”
It feels like sharp nails carving his back open. It feels like a sharp blade sinking in between his ribs…
It feels like her.
He laughs again, loud and clear.
I’m going to die.
The thought makes his head spin. Makes his stomach swoop in something that could have been arousal.
His face heats up at the embarrassment and depravity, but it made him feel even worse. Or perhaps… better?
I get it!
He finally understood that look in Junko’s eyes now.
Unless Mukuro pulled something, he was going to die. She must have been panicking at this moment.
“Mukuro!” He cackles, unsure of what he was trying to say.
I want to die.
“Mukuro-chan!”
I want to live.
“Muku—!”
He flinches when the press comes down, but he’s suddenly free falling; the chair below him smashes on the tarp he had suddenly landed on. He gasps for air, clawing desperately at his throat as he feels the wind knocked out of him.
A pair of calloused hands wrap around him, and he melts.
“Mukuro,” he whispers as he sits up. His hands immediately go for her face. He touches her freckles, and cradles her lower jaw in his palms. Her cheeks delightfully pinken.
He pulls her towards him, smashing her lips with his own; he lets out a sound that might be a sigh and might be a groan, and she brings up her right hand to her face, not quite holding his hand, but resting her palm on his.
“I love you,” she whispered when he pulled away for air, “I was so scared.”
“I know,” Makoto sighed. “I love you too.”
They sat in silence for a second.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d let me die,” said Makoto. I wish you would have.
“Without Junko, all I have is you,” Mukuro said. I need you.
There wasn't much talking as they exited the garbage pit. Makoto kept his hands on Mukuro. Her soft, silky hair. Her warm, plush thighs.
It was surreal to see her. Over the weeks when the killing game had been in full effect, it had been hellish without her.
She was his one respite from Junko.
Or… she had been, when Junko was alive.
The staircases were loud and echo-y as they made their way up to the data center.
The control room was silent, minus the slight buzz that always accompanied so many monitors.
“I missed you. A lot,” Makoto tried.
“I missed you too, Makoto.”
That was one thing that he always appreciated about Mukuro. She never called him nicknames, unless she was acting as Monokuma.
He didn’t like nicknames.
He walks over to the monitors, sitting down in one of the chairs in subdued silence. His dick was still uncomfortably hard in his slacks.
“Makoto, I…”
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes trained on the monitors and his classmates talking amongst themselves. Kyoko was crying.
“What for?” Mukuro asked softly, placing her hands on his shoulders.
“I’m sorry about Junko-sama.”
Mukuro froze.
“I had a hard time killing her. The original plan wasn’t to make an example out of her, but… in that moment, I wanted her dead more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.”
Mukuro didn’t respond, but he could feel her fists clench on his shoulders. When she spoke, her voice was shaking.
“You’re valid for feeling that way,” Mukuro said softly. “She hurt you more than anyone else.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” he said, thinking about her soft blue eyes and her Remnants waiting outside.
Tsumiki would kill him.
“I wish you hadn’t, too.”
“I’m sorry, Mukuro-chan.” He paused, and then looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Junko-sama.”
She would just be happy you feel bad about it, he thought. The idea made him smile wryly.
He finally turned and looked up at his girlfriend. That word wasn't strong enough when confronted with how much he loved Mukuro.
He finally stood, stretching his arms, and then walking to the Monokuma control room. He sat in the chair, cleared his throat, and pasted a smile on his face.
The show must go on.
He caught the latter half of what Kyoko was saying.
“—so sorry,” Kyoko whispered. She was kneeling by Monokuma’s side, her hand extended towards the bear. Her face was splotchy. For anyone who didn’t know her as well as Makoto knew her, they would’ve thought she wasn’t upset at all.
The sight of her sadness shot a thrill up his spine.
“You did what you had to do, Kirigiri-san,” Makoto made his voice more slightly high-pitched than usual. It took him a moment for him to get into character, “It was a tragedy, but Kyoko-chan saved the day, once more.”
Kyoko visibly jumped. How amusing. She stood up quickly, crossing her arms like she usually did.
“What happened?” Hina asked, looking straight into Makoto’s eyes. Obviously, she wasn’t looking at him, but it felt like she was. It was an intense expression, one he didn’t like. “Where did you go?”
“Oh, there was a bit of a mess down in the garbage chute,” Makoto chuckled. Obviously, there wasn’t. Mukuro must’ve used a blood bag instead of a real body, because the bloody press was just too dirty for anything else. “That body was just filled with so much blood and guts and gooey entrails—!”
Hina heaved. “Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled due to the hand on her mouth, “But we don’t need to know about that.”
“Well, poor poor Mako-chan!” It was weird to speak in third person. “He killed somebody in self defense and he couldn’t even remember it!” Was that true? Did he end up killing Junko in self defense?
He wasn’t in any imminent danger when he sent those spears.
But was it not revenge?
“Because of his fever?” Kyoko asked skeptically. He forgot what she was even talking about, until he remembered his supposed murder.
“Oh yeah. His fever was so bad that he didn’t even seem coherent. It’s a wonder how he managed to win that fight.” There was no fight. And he knew that he would always, always, lose to Junko.
“It’s not a wonder to you though, is it? You watched the whole thing on the security cameras, didn’t you?” asked Byakuya.
There was nothing to watch. Except, perhaps, him setting up the crime scene. What did Mukuro think when she saw him reusing her sister’s body?
He looked at her, and she pointed down at his aching cock in his pants. A thrill shot up his spine, and he nodded briefly.
Her cold hands reached for his zipper, and pulled him out of his boxers. Her tongue touched him and he jumped.
“W-well of course!” Makoto said cheerfully, stumbling over his words due to Mukuro’s actions, “It wouldn’t be a fair trial otherwise.”
Makoto muffled his laughter as he said his next line. “Poor little Naegi,” he said, faking sadness. “Calling for his dead girlfriend before he was killed. What a loser!”
Kyoko’s face fell.
“What’s wrong?” Makoto asked. He wanted to glare at her. “Didn’t think Naegi-chi—” that was a nickname she would call him, and so he paused briefly. “—had a girlfriend? He might’ve been a pathetic loser, but he was super popular with the girls, for some reason.” Was he actually popular with the girls? Or was he just stroking his own ego? “Why is that? He’s not even cute.”
“Don’t talk about him like that!” Hina shouted, her face turning red with anger, “He was a great guy, and you killed him!”
Mukuro’s tongue swirled around, and Makoto jumped in surprise, whimpering into the microphone. Fuck. He tried to play it off like it was intentional. “You guys are such buzzkills!” Makoto said, trying to ignore his weakening voice and trembling hands, thanks to Mukuro’s ministrations. “He killed somebody, and he got executed for it. Those are the rules, remember?”
“You said it yourself,” Byakuya glared at Makoto. It really was a scary look. No wonder Togami’s subordinates hated him. “It was self defense. If this wasn’t a kangaroo court, Makoto would have been completely innocent in the eyes of the law.”
Awe, his classmates really did like him, as referenced by their vehement defense of him. The thought sobered his amusement.
They actually liked him, and he was going to ruin it.
“Well, so was Kuwata-kun—” none of them even cared about Leon, did they? “—but you guys didn’t throw a fit about his ruling, remember? Weird how that happened.”
“Shut up…” Toko whispered. Her voice strengthened as she continued speaking. “S-shut up! Makoto was k-kind, and o-optimistic!”
Makoto laughed out loud. But then he stopped abruptly when he noticed that tears were beginning to stream down his face.
Sadness? Was he mourning the boy he used to be? Or was he crying over the bitter irony of hearing her defend him?
Optimistic Naegi. That might’ve been true, years ago, before Junko sunk her manicured claws into his psyche. “Optimistic? Really?”
“Really,” Kyoko said tonelessly, “I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of you.” She turned on her heel, and Makoto could see through the trembling of her shoulders that she felt bad.
Well, tough luck. She sentenced him to death, when it was originally supposed to be the other way around.
He chuckled. When he was sure he heard the elevator door, he whispered to the congregation of his classmates theatrically, “Don’t tell this to anybody, but she’s actually going to go back to her room and cry about it. Poor girl.”
“How d-do you know that?” Toko stammered.
“Uh duh… I’ve been watching you guys for like 3 weeks, day in and day out.” The real reason was that they were his best friends, and had been for years. “I think I know exactly how Miss Kirigiri would react when she sentenced her only friend and humongous crush to death.”
There was a pause.
“How embarrassing! I just exposed her crush to everybody! It’s like we’re back in middle school all over again. Don’t forget, kids can be… ruthless!”
“You need to get a life, Monokuma,” Byakuya scoffed. “You could never understand the type of person Makoto was. He was smart, and hopeful, and you’ll never be like him.”
“Hopeful?” Makoto said before he could stop himself. He grit his teeth. “Hopeful, really? I have a feeling that you bastards will change your fucking tune.”
“Woah, Monokuma, what’s with the new vibe?” Hiro took a step back.
“New vibe?” Makoto asked happily. He had to remind himself that he was playing a character. “What do you mean? I don’t have a new vibe.”
“Dude…” Hiro sounded bewildered.
“Anyways, I think that’s enough of flattering Mr. Naegi. He’s dead. He won’t care about how hard you’re defending him.”
At that, all four of them seemed to wilt.
“Or do. I don’t care.”
“You should just…” Hina said tearfully, “Not speak ill of the dead.”
“I’m Monokuma! That’s my whole thing! Does it only bother you when it’s someone you like?” Like Sakura, he didn’t say. Hina would punch him, and then he would be forced to murder her, just like he murdered Junko-chan.
I’m sorry for altering her suicide note.
“I’m just…” Hina stopped, and then she wiped her eyes with her palm. “I’m just gonna miss him.”
“Haha, me too!” Makoto chuckled. He wasn’t lying.
I miss that boy, every day.
Mukuro’s hand twisted at an obscene angle, and Makoto jumped, letting out a hiss through his lips. Climax took him by surprise, and he clenched his fist on the control panel, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm.
“You don’t miss him,” Byakuya scoffed. “You enjoy this game.”
“Oh, but in fact, I am gonna miss him,” Makoto’s voice was weak, but he hoped that the voice filter would mask it. “Makoto was my favorite. A talentless loser who has a heart of gold…! How interesting!”
“You bastard!” Hiro shouted. “He wasn’t just some character! He was my friend!”
“Hiro-kun,” Makoto said, feeling touched. But then he realized that Naegi Makoto was supposed to be dead, and so he said, “That was so lame.”
He giggled once more, unclenching his fist and feeling hot blood begin to rush down his wrist. He hadn’t meant to clench his hand so hard. “I can’t wait for you guys to get a reality check!”
He pushed a button, making Monokuma leave the courtroom, letting out a trembling breath. He touched Mukuro’s cheek again, caressing her freckles with his thumb, hoping to convey with actions what he couldn’t say with words.
He stood up on shaky legs, and then walked back into the Data Center.
-
Makoto rapped his knuckles on the dorm room door, rocking back and forth on his heels.
It opened, and a full set of blonde pigtails filled his view.
“Naegi-chi!” Junko said happily, grinning widely, “Come on in!”
“Hey, you can call me Makoto, if you’d like. I’m dating your sister now. No need to be so formal.”
“Do you prefer that over Naegi?” Junko asked, her eyes shining with an emotion Makoto couldn’t recognize.
“I don’t really care. You can call me whatever!” Makoto tried to smile, but his heart pounded with nervousness, although he couldn’t pinpoint why.
Junko’s smile vanished.
“I’m dropping this act, Naegi-chi,” she snarled. “I don’t like you. I don’t think you’re worthy to date Mukuro. She’s the Ultimate Soldier, and what are you? Ultimate Bed-Wetter?”
Makoto’s cheeks heated up. How did she…? “I understand how you might think that, Ju-”
“I don’t think that,” Junko hissed. “I know it. You’re pathetic, Naegi. You go to a school of Ultimates. How did you even get in, huh? It was just luck, and you’re lucky you haven’t been expelled.”
Makoto stepped back. Where did this animosity come from? Junko was always his friend, or he thought she was. He thought the feeling was mutual.
“I don’t understand,” Makoto choked out finally, immediate embarrassment when he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He wasn’t even sad, just mortified. Junko’s grin widened.
“What, you thought I would be happy that someone finally gave the dumb bitch a chance?” Junko said, and Makoto was confused before he realized that Junko was talking about Mukuro. His blood ran cold. No wonder Mukuro was always so hard on herself.
“I-I-” Makoto stammered. How could you say that about your only family?
“‘I-I -’ you what?” Junko mocked. “Spit it out, Naegi.”
“Why?” Makoto trembled. Why are you doing this to me? To her?
“Despair. That’s all,” Junko said, the expression on her face completely disgusting.
Her smile made Makoto sick. All soft and sweet, warm around the edges… her eyes filled with madness.
“The hell is wrong with you?” Makoto shouted. His hands were shaking. “Do you want me and your sister to be miserable?”
“The better question is what isn’t wrong with me,” Junko snickered. “I want you to be miserable, Naegi, because it makes me miserable too. Is there anything better than that feeling? Horrible, crippling Despair?”
“Yes!” Makoto shouted, “Hope! Hope will always overcome Despair!”
Junko’s face turned to a scowl, and Makoto immediately began to regret what he said.
“I told Mukuro that I wouldn’t touch you, but I think I lied.” Her voice wasn’t ditzy and accented anymore. It was deep and intelligent, and it scared him.
“Don’t you dare!” Makoto shouted. “If you touch me I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” Junko mocked as she backed Makoto into a corner. “Call the cops? Tell your mommy? Tell Mukuro her sister is insane?”
The words died in his throat. Her height towered over him, with those high boots, and her hand boxed him into the wall. He opened his mouth to respond.
But his brain wasn’t working. He couldn’t find any words, and he couldn’t get an answer out.
She smelled like hairspray and makeup. It made him feel lightheaded.
Her eyes twinkled, and she raised her other hand. He flinched, afraid that she was going to hit him.
She didn’t. She reached for the hem of his shirt.
Her hand was cold. It slid beneath his shirt and he felt her nails dig into his back. She held her fingers there for a moment, before they sunk in even further, and she yanked down.
As she pulled her hands down, Makoto yelped. It wasn’t so painful that he couldn’t function, but there was still hot sticky blood welding his shirt to his back.
“If you tell anyone about this, even Mukuro, or you leave her because of this, I’ll kill myself,” Junko whispered as she dug her nails in again. “I’ll kill her too. I’ll hunt down your little sister.”
And immediately, Makoto realized there was nothing he could do. He didn’t doubt Junko’s assertion, and he couldn’t doom the girl he loved for his own self preservation.
And little Komaru… he could deal with a few scratches if it meant keeping Junko ‘sane.’
“Doesn’t it feel good?” Junko whispered in his ear as she dug her nails in again. “The Despair?”
“N-no,” Makoto wept. His voice broke.
“I said, ‘Doesn’t it feel good?’” Junko threatened, and Makoto felt his hair stand up. “I expect a proper answer, Maky-bo.”
He thought about refusing again, but that thought was expelled as quickly as he thought it. “Y-yes.”
“‘Yes,’ what?” Junko hummed.
“Yes,” Makoto said, his voice shaking. “T-the Despair f-feels good.”
“Perfect,” Junko said as she withdrew her bloody hands from his white shirt. He was sure it was already pink on the back. His blazer would cover it, luckily.
Her hand was crimson, the underside of her nails dripping with his blood.
“Open your mouth, Maky-bo,” Junko crooned.
No, oh god…
With incredible difficulty, he wrenched his jaw open, and Junko stuck her fingers in his mouth. His blood tasted like iron, metallic and warm.
“You expect me to walk around with my nails looking like this?” Junko teased. She sounded like his friend. “Clean my hand.”
Makoto was humiliated. He had to do this. For Mukuro and Komaru. He licked and sucked his own blood, shuddering. He was crying now, salty tears on his face.
Junko took her fingers out with a pleased smirk. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good work, Maky,” she whispered, patting his cheek with her wet hand. “How does Despair feel, huh?”
He wanted to refuse again. When he opened his mouth to firmly refute her, the words died in his throat. “G-good,” his voice rang out, even though that was the opposite of what he was trying to say.
“Don’t tell Mukuro,” Junko whispered. She smiled again, a cute and happy grin, and then she shoved him to the door on uncooperative feet.
She slammed the door shut behind him, and he fell to his knees.
-
Kyoko set her chopsticks on the plate, hands trembling. She grabbed her wrist, trying to mitigate the shaking.
“Monokuma,” she said finally, gathering her courage.
Monokuma appeared quickly, but not at all quietly. His sudden appearance made Kyoko jump.
“Hey, hi, hello! Didja call for me?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Everyone else in the dining hall was staring at her as if she had grown another head.
Would you agree with what I’m doing?
“Oh, of course! What do you need, Kyoko-chan?”
She shuddered at his tone.
“Why did you execute Makoto for a crime he didn’t commit?”
She could feel everyone’s gazes on her back now.
“P-pardon?” Monokuma asked, sounding offended. “I would never do that! That’s against the rules!”
“Really?” Kyoko asked skeptically.
“He confessed, remember?” Monokuma snickered, loud and clear. “Naegi Makoto confessed to murdering Enoshima Junko! Do you remember that, Kirigiri-san?”
“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” Hina said. “Do you… maybe think you’re just holding on too hard?”
“I’m not!” Kyoko said firmly. “I… I’m not. I know he didn’t do it, because there was that faded black mark on Enoshima’s hand. I know he didn’t do it because of those scars all over Enoshima's body.”
“What do you mean?” Monokuma’s red eye flashed dangerously. “Say it in clearer terms, Kyoko-chan.”
“It was you,” Kyoko’s voice trembled. “You killed Enoshima and then blamed it on Makoto.”
Monokuma laughed. “Any proof, Kirigiri-san?”
“I read Enoshima’s student file,” her heart was pounding now. “And in that same file, it talked about how she didn’t have any identifying scars on her body; she was a model, after all. And then when I checked the Monokuma file, you mentioned how she had several scars that looked ‘rather old.’”
“Why’d Makoto-chan confess then?” Monokuma asked.
“To save my life,” it was true, and it made Kyoko’s eyes burn. “If it wasn’t him, it was me, because none of us thought you would break your precious rules and stage a crime scene to look like one of us did it. He lied to save my life, because we both knew you were responsible for the murder.”
“Wait, wait! You’re telling me Monokuma killed Enoshima?” Hiro asked bewilderedly.
“Not Monokuma; the Mastermind pulling his strings. I didn’t kill Enoshima. It wasn’t me, because I didn’t have access to my room. It wasn’t Makoto, because he could hardly stand due to that fever. Everyone else has an alibi.”
Monokuma laughed again. “How clever, Kyoko-sama!” She flinched. “So? What do you want?”
“I’m exposing your lies in front of the viewers,” Kyoko nodded to the security camera. “You’re all about following the rules, because someone is watching. I demand a retrial.”
“A retrial? Really?” Monokuma sounded unimpressed. “If you want a retrial so bad, you’ll have to take the consequences that come with it. And I don’t just mean you, Kyoko. I mean everyone in this room.”
“C-consequences?” Toko’s face drained of all color. “Y-you don’t mean…?”
“Yes! If you guys don’t solve the mysteries, every single one in this school, I will execute every single one you. If you somehow find me guilty, I’ll take the punishment for real!”
Kyoko looked at her classmates. Could she damn them to a fate they didn’t deserve?
“You’ve got a deal, Monokuma,” Byakuya finally said, “I speak on everyone’s behalf when I say that we will not lose!”
Monokuma stumbled back, as if he hadn't expected that response. “Uh. Really? What do you think about that, Yasuhiro-kun? Asahina-san?”
Kyoko noticed that Toko’s name was missing from that list. Obviously, Monokuma knew that where Byakuya went, Toko followed.
“I won’t do it if even one of you is unwilling,” Monokuma’s smile seemed off, somehow. “You two have to agree.”
Kyoko folded her arms, and then looked over at the two undecided students.
“My guy Naegi didn’t deserve to die,” said Hiro, “even if Kyoko is wrong, he shouldn’t have been executed when he was just defending herself.” Hiro paused. “I’m with you, Kyoko.”
Something strange welled up in her chest; an emotion that was hard to identify. Gratitude, she thought.
“Sakura died because she was trying to keep us together,” Hina said softly. “Sakura died because we didn’t trust each other, and because we didn’t work like a team. All that being said…” Hina took a deep breath. “I’ll follow you guys. We’ll solve the secrets of the school together.”
Monokuma looked up at them, paws covering his mouth as he giggled. “Alright, just to make it fair, I’ll unlock every door in the school. After a certain amount of time, the class trial will begin.
I’ll see you all there.”
-
“What’s wrong, Makoto?” Mukuro asked. They were headed towards Junko’s dorm. “You see her twice a week. I don’t know why you’re so antsy.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Makoto smiled, rubbing his side delicately. Last time, Junko had cut into his skin. The long gash was beginning to finally stop bleeding, and rubbing it hurt.
It was good that it hurt.
It reminded him of where he was, and who he was going to see.
Usually he would go visit her alone. Mukuro being here made him unbelievably nervous, and he didn’t know why.
Maybe he just didn’t want Mukuro to see him hurt and pathetic.
The door to the dorm room opened. “Maky-bo!” Junko crooned. “Mukuro! What a surprise!”
Makoto grimaced as he stepped into the room. He dug his nails into his palm.
“I’m glad you guys are getting along,” Mukuro smiled.
“Y-yeah!” Makoto stammered. “Just great.”
A second of silence passed. “Mukuro, would you go lock the door for me?” Junko asked thoughtfully.
Makoto’s heart pounded wildly. Surely she didn’t intend to harm him while Mukuro was in the room?
“Makoto,” Junko teased. “Come here.”
Makoto’s feet felt like they couldn’t move, but he eventually took a large step forward. And before he could even react, Junko’s lips were pressed on his own. He didn’t kiss back, instead trying to push her away, but Junko persisted.
She laughed when she pulled away, as if she had just heard the funniest joke ever told. She giggled behind her manicured hands, smiling and chuckling.
“What the hell, Junko?” Makoto shouted. His voice shook; she would get payback for this, somehow. “Is it not enough that you make me bleed twice a week? Do you have to make Mukuro hate me, too?”
“Oh, no, Maky-bo!” Junko tittered. She punched him in his side, and the breath was sucked out of him.
He fell to his knees, clutching his side that was beginning to bleed again. He could feel it under the bandage.
“Junko!” Mukuro cried. “What have you done to him?”
Junko snorted. “Not enough, I think. How does it feel, Makoto?”
He closed his eyes, trying not to think, but his mouth opened when Junko stepped even closer. He felt his whole body shudder. “G-good,” he agonized.
“What feels good, huh?”
He didn’t want to say it. He really really didn’t want to say it. “T-the Despair,” he choked out.
“Not so bad for 2 months, wouldn’t you say, Mukuro? Not such a hopeful loser anymore!”
Makoto looked up through his lashes. Mukuro looked completely disgusted. At him? The thought made his heart hurt. Was she disappointed he was so pathetic?
“How are you feeling, Makoto?” Junko giggled. “Not good, I hope.” She laughed at the choice of words.
He didn’t answer, just nursed his hurt side. His shirt was finally beginning to stain, the sight of his own blood making him feel a little loopy.
“I asked you a question,” Junko hissed as she grabbed his chin.
Her nails didn’t scratch, but even the feeling of them sent him into a worried panic. “Bad,” he said immediately, cursing his compliance.
“Bad?” She cooed. “Bad in what way?”
He was crying now. The blood loss was beginning to get to him, it seemed. “I feel… scared,” he admitted. “I’m scared, and my head hurts, and I don’t want to see the b-blood…”
“See!” Junko said loudly, and Makoto flinched. For a moment, he was confused about who she was talking to, and then he remembered Mukuro was in the room with them. “Look at that progress, Mukuro. He’ll be suited to really date you soon!”
“J-Junko,” Mukuro stammered, and the sound of her voice radiated such safety that Makoto felt himself relax, even though he was bleeding through his shirt.
“Yeah?” Junko smiled. “What?”
“Can you not see what you’re doing is wrong?” Mukuro seemed scared, too. Standing up to her sister like this must’ve taken a lot out of her. “I like him for who he is, not what you’re trying to make him into!”
And if that didn’t feel like a stab to his heart. He wasn’t going to be the same Makoto, not ever again, not when the Despair felt so… good…?
Junko was manipulating him into thinking it was a good thing. Something that made his chest burn in such a good way…
But it didn’t, he reminded himself. It didn’t. It couldn’t. Because if he thought it felt good, it would mean admitting that Junko had won.
Every week, he dreaded these meetings more than he had ever dreaded anything in his life, and when he would visit his parents on the weekends, he would feel hopeful. He was not around Junko, and she couldn’t hurt him when he wasn’t around her.
Her fingernails dug into his hurt side, and he yelped in agony. The coarseness of his shirt hurt so very badly, every minute movement killing him.
“I was thinking,” Junko said conversationally as Makoto sobbed. Her mouth curled up in a smile. She pulled out some sort of object, one that he couldn’t immediately identify. “We could try something new today.”
He heard the door open and slam closed. He found it hard to breathe through his tears, and it immediately got worse when Junko started talking.
“Aww, Mukuro left. It’s just me and you, Naegi!”
He didn’t respond to her. But she continued talking, as if she didn’t need a response.
“The Despair feels good, doesn’t it? Oh, Mukuro’s expression as she stormed out of here, it hurt me so deeply!”
He was still crying, but now he was looking into Junko’s blue eyes. She really did look upset, so upset that unwilling pity rose up in his chest. He screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t afford to humanize Junko.
“I asked if the Despair feels good,” Junko said as she adjusted the metal tool. Her hands carded through his hair, her nails scratching his scalp.
“Y-yes, t-the Despair feels good,” Makoto whimpered. And it did. That was the worst part: she was right.
Everything seemed to blur together after that, even after she went for his fingernails with what he could now recognize as a corkscrew.
When she finally sent him off with a happy, “See you next week, Maaakoto-chan!” he crumbled against the wall, Despair in every vein. Junko had won.
She won, and she had beaten him.
Two months after their first encounter, she had finally beaten him down. She had finally made her point.
The Despair…
He nursed his side as he stumbled to his own dorm, fingers numb and legs shaking from blood loss. He reached for the key in his blazer, but his shaky hands couldn’t put the key in the lock. It made him want to sob.
But as he continued struggling with the key, blood soaking through his shirt’s side, he heard another door creak open.
Kirigiri Kyoko’s lavender eyes widened in surprise when she saw Makoto. Her irises flickered over to his side and the blood soaking through his shirt.
“H-hey, Kyoko-sama,” he drawled as he ran his shaking fingers through his hair.
“What the hell happened?” Kyoko asked, and he was surprised at the genuine concern in her voice.
“A-ah, nothing,” Makoto smiled. He clutched his side, trying to hide the extent of the bleeding, but Kyoko noticed. Of course she did.
Finally, the key slipped in the lock, and he almost let out a sob of relief. He opened his dorm and tried to shut the door, but Kyoko’s boot stopped him. He hadn’t even heard her move.
“Let me in, Makoto.”
The authority in her voice made him falter long enough for her to wrench open the door.
“What happened?” She asked calmly as she shut the door behind her. “I can already tell that you’re bleeding. Let me see.”
Makoto crumpled to his knees, the lack of blood making him woozy. “C-could you get me some water?” Makoto whispered, pointing a shaking finger towards his nightstand, where a cup full of water sat. Kyoko handed it to him. He immediately took a long gulp, and Kyoko tapped her foot impatiently.
“What happened, Makoto?” She said again.
“Nothing,” Makoto whispered.
He hobbled over to his desk, dropping into his chair and pulling out the first aid kid from his drawer. He set the cup on the desk.
He prodded delicately at his side through his shirt. He hadn’t remembered putting it back on, but he unbuttoned it.
“I’m sure it wasn’t nothing,” Kyoko said impatiently. She walked a little closer and undid a few of the buttons with resolute hands, peeling back Makoto’s shirt.
The bandage was covered in blood again. The sight of it made him sick. Makoto hissed when she pressed with gloved hands. She recoiled, taking a step back.
“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I should’ve asked. Are you okay? What happened?”
He reached for the bandage himself. His hands shook.
“It was… nothing…” Makoto trailed off as he undid the bandage. He took off the top layers of gauze, setting the bloodstained dressings on the desk.
“Tell me what happened, Makoto,” Kyoko pressed. Her voice sounded softer than usual. “Obviously, something is wrong.”
He paused, pressing new gauze into his cut. It seemed she hadn’t even noticed his fingers yet, and he didn’t want to point them out.
His vision fogged, throat tightened, and then warm tears were streaming down his cheeks. He held the gauze where it was, but he couldn’t find the strength to wrap it.
“Makoto,” Kyoko said quietly, gently. She took the wrapping from inside the first aid kit and began to wrap for him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I… she… she… tortured me,” he whispered. He couldn’t even hear himself talking over the ringing in his ears, so he was surprised when Kyoko’s brows shot to her forehead.
“Torture?” She asked bluntly, slightly nervously, as she finished wrapping his side. “Who? What about the cut? When did you get it? It doesn’t look new…” Kyoko wondered, and Makoto felt himself laugh dryly.
“That was from before.”
“Before?” Kyoko probed.
“S-she sees me twice a week a-and-!” He cut himself off as the door opened.
He turned his head towards the door and nearly sobbed in relief when he saw who was stepping into his room. “Mukuro!” He wailed.
She ran in and grabbed his cheeks, turning his face side to side, examining his features intently. “Are you okay?” She asked insistently. She didn’t even acknowledge Kyoko.
“I’m okay,” Makoto sniffled, smiling as he looked into her eyes. “I’m okay now.”
“Did she hurt you?” Mukuro pressured, now wrapping him tightly in her arms. “Did she hurt you?”
“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “I thought you would be mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad?” She asked, bewildered.
“I-I dunno,” Makoto said, laughing through his tears. Mukuro smiled, kissing his cheek gently.
“You should’ve said something,” she whispered, and immediate guilt rose to the forefront of his mind.
“I know,” he mumbled. “She told me she would hurt you.”
Kyoko cleared her throat. “Forgive me, but who? Who is ‘she’?”
Makoto’s face went white. It wasn’t that he had forgotten Kyoko was there, but he wasn’t thinking about her. “Um, no one.”
“Makoto, if she tortures you and cuts you open, I think you should tell someone about it,” Kyoko sighed, bringing her hand to her face. “The cops, my dad?”
“No!” Makoto shouted. “I can’t, she’s going to hurt other people!” Not Komaru.
“Mukuro, surely you see sense?” Kyoko sounded like she was begging, which shocked him even more than Souda-san’s unfinished work. The robotic bear came to mind, and the unlucky ways in which most of its features had been tested on Makoto.
But Kyoko’s words came back to his mind. Mukuro would be even less likely to tell on Junko. No matter how much she loved Makoto, Junko’s iron grip was keeping her from talking, just as much as it was Makoto.
There was a pause.
“Get out,” Mukuro snarled. The genuine venom in her voice made Makoto pause.
Kyoko didn’t move. “This is a serious risk for all students’ safety,” she pleaded. “I need to know who hurt you, Makoto.”
“Get. Out!” Mukuro shouted. “You don’t know anything about her, or me, or Makoto, dammit! Get out!”
The surprise slipped through Kyoko’s facade. Clearly, she hadn’t expected such a response.
“Makoto,” Kyoko murmured.
He looked Kyoko in the eye, and he felt himself smile. The Despair on her face, in her tone of voice! The moment passed, and a second later, disgust for himself permeated every cell in his body.
“Please leave, Kirigiri-san,” Makoto frowned. “Please.”
“Makoto!” Kyoko said loudly. “I’m not leaving, not when I don’t know who did this to you!”
“‘Oh no!’” Makoto mocked, his voice darkening. “‘Kirigiri… cut my side open! Mukuro can testify!’”
Kyoko’s face went slack with shock, and her expression made Makoto’s skin feel hot.
“I don’t want to do that, Kyoko,” Makoto apologized, and he really meant it. “But I need you to drop it. It’s for the good of everyone, okay? She said she’d hurt—” my little sister, Komaru, “—others, and I can’t let that happen. Any means necessary.”
“Makoto, this isn’t helping any of us, least of all you!” Kyoko cried, tears now freely flowing down her cheeks.
Seeing Kyoko in the throes of Despair was remarkable. If only he could take a picture. He almost wanted to smile again.
“I know she’ll hurt someone,” Makoto said dreamily, thinking about her and her Despair, “She won’t hesitate.” He blinked himself back to reality, and then realized that he probably shouldn’t praise Junko in front of Kyoko. “Just…” Makoto sighed as he tried to stand. He immediately collapsed back into the chair, still feeling dizzy. “Don’t go putting your nose in places it doesn’t belong. Let it go, please. Pretend you don’t know what happened. I fell and cut my side, you know.”
“Makoto, I can’t let you—!” Kyoko’s voice cracked.
“Why? She’s not hurting anyone.”
“She’s hurting you!” Kyoko cried.
“Anyone important, I meant,” Makoto sighed. “Why do you care? Let me take this weight.”
“Because I love you!”
The room went silent. Kyoko covered her mouth like she hadn’t meant to say that. Her eyes looked over at Mukuro. When Makoto turned her face up towards his girlfriend, her expression was surprisingly soft and forgiving.
“Just let me help you,” Kyoko said quietly, now knowing Mukuro wasn’t going to hurt her. “I only want to help.”
“Please leave, Kyoko,” Makoto whispered.
Kyoko turned to leave the room, tears shining in her eyes. “Makoto,” she murmured at the door. “My intentions are good. Just know that.”
“I do,” Makoto replied. “I know.”
Kyoko shut the door behind her.
When he heard the door click shut, he laughed.
He laughed, reaching for Mukuro’s hand, and then he began to cry.
-
The photo was full of smiling faces.
15, actually.
Enoshima was standing with her back to the camera, beginning to write, or maybe draw, something on a chalkboard. Kyoko could pick out the beginnings of a circle, while everyone else was shouting over each other.
Makoto was smiling. He was beaming at Enoshima, as if she had hung the stars in the sky, raising his hand politely. Ikusaba, next to him, had her arms crossed, a soft smile on her face.
Byakuya was almost smiling, too, as he leaned against the classroom wall. His eyes crinkled below his glasses.
Yasuhiro was asleep at his desk, Maizono standing over him and patting his shoulder with her finger. Fujisaki was standing on their desk, trying to gain extra height, trying to peer over Enoshima’s shoulder to see what she was drawing.
Yamada was holding his index finger out, obviously making some sort of reference she didn’t understand, as Owada stood beside him, rolling his eyes. Taka had his hand on Owada’s shoulder.
Toko had her hands on her head, perhaps overwhelmed by all of the shouting that was obviously going on when this photo was taken.
Kuwata was sitting at his desk too, hand in his hair as if trying to make the style even fluffier.
Hina and Ogami were crowding behind the board, trying to get a clearer look, while Celeste, or Kyoko supposed, Taeko, sat primly in her chair.
Were they playing Pictionary, perhaps?
It didn’t matter, because there was one obvious detail that the Mastermind wanted her to notice: Kyoko was missing from the photo.
The thought made her pause. Had everyone known each other before they began this game, and were all playing her?
No, no, that was stupid, especially when presented with the other evidence she had. Including the DVD she still had in her hands.
Monokuma was trying to throw her off; it’s why she didn’t even want to take the photo in the first place.
“You’re all in this against me,” Hina said, hands trembling on her podium. “You guys are all doing this to… to hurt me, and…!”
“That’s funny, because I could say the same thing!” Hiro shouted. “You guys are all in it against me!”
“Take a deep breath and think.” Kyoko said, sighing. “We all got a photo with one person missing: themselves. Why would that be?”
“T-the mastermind is trying to trick us…?” Toko asked softly.
“Wha—?” Monokuma asked, sounding offended. “Why would I do that? I would never try to trick you! Those photos are 100% real, I assure you!”
“I don’t remember taking any of those photos!” Hiro shouted.
“That’s because we have amnesia,” Kyoko said, the words coming to her. “I couldn’t even remember my talent; how much else did the Mastermind take? If none of us remember taking the photos, and they’re unedited, the only logical explanation is amnesia.”
“That’s stupid!” Hiro said. “Just ridiculous!” Kyoko, and Monokuma, it seemed, ignored him.
“Well, you don’t exactly have any proof, do you?” Said Monokuma. “It’s all speculation.”
“If the photos are real, as you claim, then obviously, we have some sort of collective amnesia. I do not remember taking any of those pictures,” she gestured to everyone else’s photos on their podiums, “and I’m sure they don’t remember taking any of these.”
“But I could be lying!” Monokuma said. “The pictures might be edited, yeah?”
“You’re not,” Kyoko’s mouth got a little bit dry now, “Because I have evidence that proves that, at least some of us, have amnesia.”
She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the Interview DVD.
Monokuma laughed, like he had expected this from her. Like he was leaving breadcrumbs for her to follow, and was pleased when she reached the correct conclusion.
“This DVD proves that we have at least some missing memories. It shows all of us speaking to the headmaster about continuing to spend our lives in this school. Even Maizono.”
“Well, maybe she did agree to live here! It’s not like she can tell us!” Hiro shouted.
“I see a flaw in that logic,” Byakuya said, fortunately understanding what Kyoko had been trying to say, “Maizono was so desperate to escape that she tried to murder Kuwata, remember? If she agreed to live here, why would she resort to a murder plan?”
“I’m sure you don’t remember agreeing to live your life here, right Asahina-san? Or you, Togami-san?” Kyoko tapped her fingers together, grounding herself. “The fact is, it’s much harder to fake a video like this than it is to fake a few photos. Without a shadow of a doubt, I believe that we all have amnesia.”
“Is that possible?” Toko asked. “I-I don’t know about anything like that! It doesn’t seem r-real, to me!”
“Well, keep in mind that we’re at Hope’s Peak…” Monokuma chuckled. “This place isn’t just a school, it’s also a research facility. They do so much with the human brain that you couldn’t even imagine!”
“So you’re telling me that you experimented with our brains?” Hina’s face blanched.
“I dunno, maybe?” Monokuma tilted his head. “I could’ve hit you super hard, or done surgery, or something. I don’t know, actually. Does it really matter how I did it?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so!” Hiro interjected.
“Well, all that medical jargon would just go over your messy head,” Monokuma snickered.
“Anyway, bottom line,” Kyoko interrupted. “We’re suffering from collective amnesia.”
“That’s terrible… how much did we lose?” Hina wondered sadly.
“Eh, does it really matter?” Monokuma asked again. Kyoko didn’t bother gracing him with a response to that. “Don’t you guys wanna solve all the mysteries?”
The next mystery is the…
“What’s wrong with the morgue?” Kyoko blurted out. “Why are there only nine lights? There are eleven dead students. Maizono, Ikusaba, Kuwata, Fujisaki, Owada, Ishimaru, Yamada, Celeste, Sakura, Enoshima, and Makoto.” Her voice trembled on the last name, but she hoped no one noticed. “Why are there only nine bodies in the morgue? What did you do with the other two?”
“Eh, I completely liquified Mondo-kun, remember? I don’t really have to put him in the morgue, just a regular ol’ fridge will do. And Makoto-chan was completely squished, right?”
“That directly contradicts what you said earlier, remember?” Kyoko said firmly.
That body was just filled with so much blood and guts and gooey entrails—!
“Do you remember that, Monokuma?” Kyoko asked. “You said ‘body,’ and based on the rest of your words, Makoto wasn’t completely squished. Do you have a rebuttal for that?”
“Oh yeah, of course! I was just lying about Maky-bo’s guts. I thought your reaction would be funny.”
It’s not funny. You killed the only boy who I…
“You’re a monster, Monokuma,” Hina’s face was teary now. “You’re a cold blooded monster who likes to see us suffer.”
“Oh! You flatter me!”
“Could someone have been killed twice?” Kyoko asked, her heart pounding.
“What do y-you mean?” Toko stuttered.
“That’s ridiculous!” Monokuma immediately went on the defensive. You just proved me correct. “That’s a stupid idea. You can only die once, Kyoko!”
“I mentioned that mark on Enoshima’s hand earlier,” Kyoko said, “and the scars all over her body. It got me thinking… you know who else had something black on their hand, with matching wounds to what Enoshima’s body looked like?”
When no one responded, Kyoko took the initiative. “Ikusaba Mukuro. If you remember, Ikusaba-san was killed with spears. When she was killed, she also said something very… interesting, if you’ll recall.”
-
“You’re ridiculous,” said Ikusaba softly. “If you think we are going to play your dumb game, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Fast as lighting, the Ultimate Soldier shot forward like a bullet, a single, tattooed hand clasped around Monokuma’s plush throat.
Monokuma didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound.
And then, after a few seconds of tense silence, he finally said something.
“You’re defying the headmaster, Ikusaba-chan,” Monokuma said, voice deadly sadistic, unlike anything Kyoko had heard him say before, “Do you want to do this to me? Really?”
“Damn right I do,” Ikusaba growled. “I’ve had enough of you playing with my life like a pawn.”
Monokuma burst into laughter. It wasn’t like his (arguably) cute, signature laugh. It was dark, and evil, and despite herself, Kyoko felt a shiver run down her spine.
Monokuma continued to laugh, even as sharp spears shot from the ground below them. It pierced Monokuma’s plush body, but the robot bear continued to howl with laughter.
Ikusaba screamed in agony.
There was blood everywhere. Ikusaba choked, her hand slackening on the bear’s body. “M—” she tried, gagging, “Y-you… are…” Ikusaba went silent for a second, as the spears withdrew from her body. She crumpled to the floor. Her body made a sickening splash as she collapsed into a pool of her own blood. “You… are… something else… t-thank… y…”
Ikusaba never talked again. Her black hair was slightly askew on her head, eyes wide and unseeing, soft freckles covered in dark blood.
Kyoko didn’t look at anyone else, as she simply stared at the body in subdued silence. “I’ll go wake up Makoto,” she said, remembering that he had passed out earlier, and Mondo picked Makoto up and placed him in his bed. “He needs to see this.”
-
“When Ikusaba was killed, she was killed with the protruding spears from the ground. The scars on Enoshima’s body match that exactly, from the diameter to how old those scars would reasonably be. The same size… the same shape… several weeks old.”
Monokuma went quiet again.
“For some reason, Enoshima disguised herself as Ikusaba. She had a fake tattoo on her hand. You made her wear makeup to create freckles; you made her wear a black wig, and then you killed her, didn’t you? Didn’t you, Ikusaba Mukuro?”
“You mean…?” Hiro pleaded, “Ikusaba is the Mastermind?”
“Why else would she fake her own death?” Byakuya barked, “Kyoko is right. Those scars match the spears exactly. But we have already proven that the body in the gardens belonged to Enoshima-chan, and is the same person who was stabbed with those spears in front of all of us. Which in turn, tells us that Enoshima was pretending to be Ikusaba.”
“So then… she’s alive?” Hina wondered. “Ikusaba is still alive, and she killed Enoshima in her place?”
“Is that your final answer?” Monokuma said, sounding bored. “Ikusaba Mukuro is the Mastermind?”
“There’s no one else it could be,” Byakuya maintained confidently.
But there was still one missing body. If what Monokuma said was true about Makoto or Mondo, that could explain it. But was it so simple?
A bad feeling of foreboding hit her.
“Oh my god…!” Hiro sounded like he just came to a realization. “Did Makoto figure it out?”
“W-what do you mean?” Toko asked. “What are you t-talking about?”
“His last words,” Hiro breathed, “do you remember that? He was saying Ikusaba’s name, over and over again.”
Makoto figured it out before I did. It was an emotion Kyoko was familiar with. She was the youngest in a family full of detectives, after all, but every time it still felt like a punch to the gut. He solved it before I could.
“I agree,” Togami folded his arms. “I believe that is why Makoto was saying her name.”
“We’ve figured you out, Ikusaba,” Kyoko said. “It’s over.”
“Come on out!” Byakuya shouted. “Stop hiding like a coward!”
The lights flickered, before plunging the room into total darkness. Kyoko coughed, the smell of fog invading her nose. The lights turned back on, and Monokuma was back on his throne.
And in his place was Ikusaba Mukuro.
The real Ikusaba Mukuro.
Her dark hair was cropped to her chin. Her face was dotted with freckles. Her eyes were narrower than Enoshima’s, more soft lavender than Junko’s icy blue. On her right hand was the mark of Fenrir.
“Surprise,” said Mukuro. Her voice was softer than Enoshima’s. “Ikusaba Mukuro, Ultimate Despair.”
There wasn’t any noise for a moment. The world went completely still.
Byakuya broke the silence first. “How did you convince Enoshima to take your place?”
“Junko and I are… were… twins,” Ikusaba’s face didn’t betray any emotion. “And we were, together, the Ultimate Despair.”
“You killed your own s-sister?” Toko asked, aghast.
“It was… terrible,” Mukuro’s face twitched. “It was just terrible.”
“Then why did you do it?” Kyoko asked sharply. Ikusaba’s eyes flickered over to Monokuma, slumped over in his chair.
“I did it…” Ikusaba spoke slowly. She said it again: “I did it, because…”
“Answer her question!” Hina held up a fist. “Why did you kill your twin sister?”
Ikusaba sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “Junko and I grew up on the streets,” she said softly. “Junko was the only thing I had as a child… the only person who would even look my way when I would go out and beg for food and money. She was the only person I thought I would ever love. I did everything that Junko-sama would ask me to… including helping her set up this game.
When everything had been prepared, and we had wiped everyone’s school memories, I…” Mukuro paused, and then her eyes welled up with tears. She balled up her fists. “I told her to participate. Originally, she was going to be the person watching the cameras, controlling Monokuma, and I would take her place. I would disguise myself as my twin sister, not the other way around. I told her that she would have so much fun watching the action from the frontlines. It wouldn’t be as boring, and I could get her out of the game at any point safely.”
Mukuro inhaled a deep breath, and then continued speaking. “But that moment, when she wrapped her hand around Monokuma’s neck…!”
“Mukuro-san,” Monokuma’s voice said softly. “You don’t have to lie to them to keep me safe.”
Kyoko whipped her head around over at the bear, at the same time Mukuro snapped her mouth shut.
“She didn’t kill Junko-chan,” said Monokuma, “I did.”
“Who are you?” The words spilled out of Kyoko’s mouth before she could stop them.
“You don’t have to d-do this, Ma-Monokuma,” Mukuro stammered. “Please, I just want you to live… I want you to…!”
“They’ll find out eventually,” Monokuma shrugged. “I know that Kyoko would figure out who was actually responsible for Enoshima Junko’s death.”
Kyoko’s brain caught up to her thoughts at that moment, and she felt a chill go down her spine. She felt her face pale, her heart begin to race…
“It can’t be,” she choked, leaning on her podium, because she was scared she would collapse without it. “You…?”
Monokuma laughed sweetly. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Who?” Byakuya asked hurriedly. “Who is it, Kyoko?”
“There was only one person missing from the gym when Iku-Enoshima was killed.” Kyoko wanted to rip her hair out. “The headmaster is dead, so it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be the real Ikusaba, because obviously she isn’t in the control room. Monokuma is still moving, meaning someone else is in there. And again, there was only one person missing when Enoshima was killed besides Ikusaba—!”
She saw the moment the realization dawned on Togami’s face.
“Naegi Makoto,” Kyoko said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You are responsible for the murder of Enoshima Junko.”
Hiro and Hina absolutely exploded with noise, perhaps trying to defend their friend. Toko covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut.
“You got it in one, Kirigiri-san,” Makoto said softly, talking through Monokuma’s mouth.
“Excuse me?” Asahina shouted, her face reddening. “No, no this is some sick joke! Mako-chan is dead!”
The lights flickered, and then came back on.
“Don’t fucking call me that!” The real Makoto shouted, striding into the court room to go stand in front of Ikusaba; he snatched Monokuma from the throne, and squeezed so tightly Kyoko was surprised she didn’t see any stuffing escape. “Don’t you dare call me that!”
He looked different than he had before. It wasn’t only his changed clothes, it was also the way he held himself. Naegi Makoto was a soft spoken kind of person. He was short, taking care to not get in anyone’s way, but also with a presence that lit up any room he was in. He made friends as easy as breathing.
But now, this Makoto had dark bags under his eyes. A sort of madness in the quirk of his mouth; messy hair that wasn’t effortlessly cute anymore, now greasy and flat. Except for that one piece on the back of his skull that stuck up, which she doubted would ever sit down.
His hoodie was red now, with Monokuma ears on the hood. His blazer was alternating black and white, just like the said bear, who he clenched in his arms for comfort.
His shoes were still untied, and that felt like a punch to the gut.
“Where’d you get that hoodie?” Mukuro asked softly. Makoto paused, leaning into her arms.
“Junko-chan made it for me,” said Makoto, and then a moment later he burst into tears. Ikusaba didn’t even flinch, as if this was a normal occurrence.
He wept as if he had seen his whole family murdered in front of him, as if he saw his entire world collapse.
And then he was laughing. There wasn’t even a second break between the two opposing emotions; he was crying, and the next second, cackling sardonically.
“Makoto?” Hina asked softly, obviously not using the nickname this time, “Are you okay?”
Makoto stopped, mid laugh. “I’m alright,” he said, wiping his eyes and clutching Monokuma closer. “I’m fine. I’m fine, I just…
I miss her.”
“Enoshima?” Toko asked skeptically. “If you m-miss her, why did you kill h-her?”
“Junko-chan doesn’t do teammates,” said Makoto.
When it was obvious he wouldn’t say anything more, Hiro broke the silence. “Why did you do this to us?” He asked gently. “I thought we were friends. You were my bro, Makoto.”
“We are friends,” Makoto faltered, “That’s… that’s exactly why I didn’t stop the Killing Game after Junko was dead.”
“I don’t understand,” Hina whispered. “I don’t understand at all.”
“Of course you don’t,” Makoto snorted. “I don’t even get it myself.”
“Then… then why…?” Togami was out of things to say for once in his life.
“Despair. That’s all.”
Kyoko was abruptly reminded of when Monokuma said the same thing… right before Sayaka tried to kill someone.
Despair. That’s all.
“Makoto, I—” Kyoko began.
Makoto interrupted her. “Is there anything more Despairing than watching your best friends kill each other?” Makoto giggled. “How do I find the word to describe it? Enticing? Delicious?”
“What…? Are you just… a creep?” Hina asked. “I can’t believe I—!”
“Every time somebody would die, my chest would be crushed with this intense feeling of mourning. I was already alone, without my mother and my father, and my sister was missing, and the only people I had left were…!” Makoto laughed again, chuckling loudly. “Murdering each other in cold blood!”
He sobered up quickly, as if remembering the subject matter he was discussing. The smile slipped from his face. Monokuma fell out of his arms, and his expression became carefully blank.
Kyoko looked back at the girl standing behind him.
“Why are you going along with this, Ikusaba-san?” Kyoko asked.
Mukuro jumped, as if she didn’t expect anyone to address her.
“Because I love him,” she said gently. She reached down, and clasped his hand. “I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Kyoko?”
Kyoko’s cheeks flamed. Yes… she did understand. Even seeing him like this… she did love him.
“I love you too, Mukuro,” Makoto said softly. “You’ve been with me through everything, stuck by my side even through a Killing Game… there are no words to convey exactly how grateful I am to you, Mukuro-sama.”
Makoto reached his hand into his pocket. Mukuro’s eyes widened.
Like it was in slow motion, he picked up that same combat knife from his pocket. The knife that he had stabbed Enoshima’s dead body with. He flipped it around his hand with practiced ease, and then sunk the blade forward into Mukuro’s chest.
No one said anything for a second. Toko screamed, falling to her knees, springing up a second later with a gruff, “What’s happening?”
No one responded to her.
Everyone was transfixed on the scene unfolding in front of them. Mukuro’s hands clenched together, and her eyes widened. “Mako…to…”
“I know,” Makoto said softly, using one of his hands to cradle her cheek in his hand. It was an uncomfortably intimate gesture. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” She choked. Makoto withdrew the knife again, and then tilted his head as if looking for a better angle. He plunged it in again, and Mukuro let out a sharp gasp of agony.
“Because I’m not gonna keep my best friends locked in this shit-hole, and they’re not gonna let you live, my love.”
Mukuro finally stumbled to the floor, and Makoto smiled at her softly. He dropped to his knees harshly, using that same knife to slit Ikusaba’s throat.
It was terrible, and gory, and everyone stayed frozen in their podiums.
Minus Jill, because she was craning her head for a better look.
“What the hell?” Byakuya found the words before Kyoko, yet again.
“Hey, Togami-san?” Makoto’s mouth curled into a snarl, “Would you just shut the fuck up for once in your goddamned life?”
Makoto closed one eye, adjusted his grip on the knife, and let go. It went sailing, embedding itself right between Byakuya’s fingers on the wooden podium.
Byakuya yelped in surprise, shaking out his hands, as Jill gasped furiously.
Finally, Makoto turned those beautiful, soft hazel eyes towards Kyoko.
Neither of them said anything. Makoto wiped his bloody hands on his black and white blazer.
“Why did you kill her?” Kyoko asked.
“Who? Mukuro or Junko?”
Kyoko didn’t want to look down at the body. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Ikusaba.”
“Because I love her. That’s all. She doesn’t deserve what’s waiting for her.”
“What’s waiting for her?” Hina asked. “What’s outside that you didn’t want her to see?” Makoto didn’t respond.
“And Enoshima?” Hiro wondered.
Makoto’s expression darkened.
“She doesn’t like teammates,” Makoto reiterated. “If things had gone according to her plan, Mukuro and I would both be dead right now. When I became one of the Ultimate Despairs along with those two, I knew. She was planning for me and Mukuro to die. I didn’t know how to stop her. I just knew how to do what I always did… follow along. We convinced her to play the game instead of being a spectator, and when I finally had the excuse to kill her…” Makoto shuddered from head to toe. “I had to take it.”
“And… you reused her body?” Hiro asked, disgusted. “That’s sick, man.”
“I needed an excuse to get rid of Kyoko.”
She felt her heart stop.
“Kyoko was the only person who could solve the secrets of the Academy. She would be the only person to expose Mukuro, and I couldn’t let that happen. I waited, set up the murder to look like Kyoko had done it… but I made a fatal oversight.
I knew I was going to die for that mistake. I was going to be executed. In that moment…” Makoto looked up at the ceiling, and reached a bloody hand towards it. “I understood. I understood exactly what Enoshima was talking about when she mentioned spreading Despair. I had never felt like that in my life, never ever… I knew that there were only two ways the world could’ve gone in that moment. I was going to die in an execution of my own design, or I would finally see Mukuro again.”
“Y-you’re sick,” Hina shuddered. “I… I can’t believe you…”
“I know. I can’t believe it either. If you had told me all those years ago that I was going to be the Ultimate Despair, I would’ve never believed you.”
“Then… why? Why did you become the Ultimate Despair?” Hiro urged.
Makoto paused. “When I started dating Mukuro, Junko…”
“Stop,” Kyoko begged, her voice coming out like a whimper. “Stop… please…” We don’t need to know.
Makoto looked in her eyes. “Junko introduced to me how I’d always be an Average in a school of Ultimates. A nobody with nothing for myself. A talentless shell of a person. Junko would always be superior to me. She would always be better than me. I knew that.”
Makoto looked down at his fingernails, and then picked at them with another, like he was trying to get the blood out from underneath. His face whitened.
“I knew that I couldn’t do anything to stop her plan regarding this Killing Game, but I went along with it anyway. I continued it after her death. I don’t even know why, I just… I couldn’t seem to forsake her. After she spent so much time trying to help me, how could I ruin it for her?”
Makoto took a breath. “But it was really nice. To pretend to be your friends, again.”
“Were you?” Kyoko asked. “Acting, I mean.” No. You didn’t pretend once.
“No,” Makoto chuckled softly. “No, I wasn’t pretending at all.”
Just like before, his emotions switched so quickly that Kyoko couldn’t even pinpoint it.
Makoto choked on a wail, and then he was crying again. “How sick is that?” He sobbed. “That the only time I was happy was when you were all killing each other.”
“It’s not too late, Makoto,” Hina said softly. “We can all tell that you didn’t do this on your own… please. We can be friends again. It’s not too late!”
“Yeah,” Makoto sniffed. “It’s definitely too late. Speaking of, I have something for you guys.” He reached into his pocket. There was a red button with a plastic covering. “This is for the door,” he said, tossing it to Kyoko. She caught it.
“What the hell did Enoshima do to you?” Kyoko asked finally, vaguely ill at the sight of Makoto covered in blood.
Makoto froze. “It’s hard to answer that,” he said.
“Just… give us a rundown,” Togami asked.
“Junko would go to hardware stores and buy the most obscure, random item there and try to see what she could do with it. Like one time, she stapled my mouth shut so that she couldn’t hear me scream!” Makoto laughed, and then brought a shaky hand up to his mouth, tracing a line of scars Kyoko hadn’t noticed. “And one time, Junko-sama locked Mukuro in the room and—!” He cut himself off. “And then one time, right before we were supposed to be locked in here, she brought my Mom to my room and then made me listen as one of Tanaka-san’s snakes poisoned her alive! She would’ve held my eyes open, but I threatened to gouge them out, and she couldn’t deal with an even more useless Naegi!” He heaved a breath.
“I can still feel her hands all over me,” he said softly. “I can still taste my own blood and vomit.”
No one knew what to say, but Kyoko was sure that all of their thoughts were the same.
This is terrible.
“Makoto,” Kyoko tried.
Makoto cut her off. “I was hoping for something a bit more elaborate. But, hey. What's one more little blight on the Naegi Makoto legacy?”
Makoto reached into his blazer for the second time, and Kyoko recognized this object even quicker than the blade.
A glinting silver barrel met the air. Everyone was shouting, but she couldn’t distinguish a single voice in the haze of her mind.
“I can’t even get what I want in death, it seems,” Makoto said, cocking the hammer on the revolver. “But… thanks for watching, everyone.”
The room exploded with sound, and Kyoko closed her eyes reflexively. Someone screamed. It might’ve been her.
I don’t want to open my eyes. I can’t open my eyes, because then…
She did it anyways.
She barely cracked her eyes open, but she saw enough. The image had burned itself into her brain. There he was, sure enough, limply leaning over his podium with a hole in the back of his head, his cute little piece of hair finally weighed down with his blood…
She gagged, turning her face from him. When was the last time she had been so disgusted to see a dead body?
She held the button with delicate care not to break it.
It was the last thing he touched, besides the gun that was still in his slack hands.
Makoto…
I’m sorry.