Shinsuke Seki was not a member of Ultimate Despair. He was one of those lower ranking troublemakers who saw themselves as Ultimate Despair in all but name. One of the Junko fanclub spreading around the world, the kind of people who didn’t need to be brainwashed to cause problems and hurt others.
Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, the Servant mused. It was a complex situation involving several psychological and sociological variables, for the most part. Some people needed Junko Enoshima to fill the hole in their life that despair had already carved out, some just went along for the trend and sense of belonging.
Seki, however, was just cruel and vain.
“So, when is Kamukura showing up?” he asked, running a finger across his blade. He’d taken residence in a chair at the far end of the table, throwing his feet up and letting his posse gather around him to give off what they must have thought was an air of menace. The Servant was not impressed.
“Izuru Kamukura is a busy man,” he said simply.
“Well, I’m an impatient man.” Seki stabbed his knife into the table. “Tell him to get in here.”
The Servant couldn’t think of anything less interesting to him than following this man’s orders, but that was the role he was supposed to fill. Still, there turned out to be no need, as “Izuru Kamukura” entered just then, giving a carefree grin and narrowing his gray-green eyes.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with a slight bow that made the Servant raise an eyebrow at him.
“You bet you’re sorry,” Seki said, rocking the blade back and forth in the table to splinter the wood. “You know, I’m being considered to join your ranks, you should show me a little respect. Least you could do is show up to our meetings on time.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Izuru aside, taking his seat and leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “My deepest apologies.”
The Servant ran a hand over the collar on his neck, it was irritating against his skin.
“So, now that you’re here,” Seki yanked the knife out of the table and started spinning it in his fingers. “I guess we can get started.”
He threw the knife with deadly precision, intending to kill this Kamukura bastard and make a name for himself riding on the glory.
What actually happened was a gloved hand snatched it out of midair, and Seki found himself stunned as the Servant spun around and threw the knife right back into his chest. He choked on his own blood and stared down at the knife in horror. Then he looked over to Kamukura, who was loosening the tie around his neck and looking somewhere between amused and uncomfortable.
“Hey!” one of Seki’s bodyguard’s ran at the Servant, only for her face to become acquainted with the floor. The other two decided to wait and see where things went before trying that.
“… this is more boring than I thought it would be…” The Servant sighed.
“I’m sorry, I could never step into your shoes, I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about the gall of it,” Izuru said, wrapping his arms around himself and laughing nervously.
“You did it because I ordered you to,” the Servant reminded him, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a long self loathing speech.
“T-the… hell’s going on here?” Seki asked, choking as his life started to drain away. The Servant had purposefully struck him somewhere that would let him die slowly, with the intention of the ruse killing his boredom. However, he had already found it to be too much effort for too little reward. He unlatched the collar around his neck and dropped it to the floor.
“I heard you were coming to kill me,” he said, dropping the pretense. “I thought it might be fun to surprise you. It was not.”
The true Servant scrambled for his collar, swapping it for the tie which he reverently placed on the table.
“Y-you mean…. That guy’s not Kamukura?” one of the bodyguards asked.
“No.” Izuru’s eyes narrowed.
“I can’t believe they ever thought I was you,” the Servant laughed. “I’m embarrassed on their behalf.”
“Just go,” Izuru sighed. “Unless you prefer I kill you.”
He illustrated his point by raising a foot and slamming it hard into the knife in Seki’s chest, driving it home and sending corpse and chair alike toppling backwards. The bodyguards made a break for it, and Nagito shook his head.
“They really didn’t have a taste for despair, don’t you think?” he said.
“I don’t like this,” Izuru said, ignoring him and eyeing up his borrowed clothes with distaste. “It’s… scratchy…”
“Let’s change back, I really wasn’t made for suits,” the Servant chuckled. “Oh, I meant to ask! Why did you stop that knife? Wouldn’t it have been far more interesting if he’d killed me only to discover Izuru Kamukura was still alive?”
“Stop talking,” Izuru replied, as affectionately as he was capable of being.
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