#magi fics

“Hinata-kun?” His voice is uncomfortably loud, echoing all around. His pace picks up, and just as he maneuvers his way around the scattered wreckage and rubble, he finds Hinata, faced away from him, tearing apart the wiring of a siren Monokuma. Other Monokuma units are spread about, each one more destroyed than the last, and Hinata hardly looks satisfied as he practically rips the metal into pieces. He’s roughened up, scrapped and bleeding in places that should be treated. Komaeda is already approaching him; mind blank but hearing himself say the other’s name and go on. “Hinata-kun... Hinata-kun, let’s go back...”

“Ah. Right.” The response has him still, but he’s close enough to reach for Hinata if need be. Hinata speaks in such a low, neutral tone. One he recognizes and hadn’t expected until only a moment prior. Hinata sighs. “I suspected your reactions would remain so dull.”

“Hinata-kun needs treatment,” Komaeda says simply. At this point, he normally would have reached for the other, his hand would be on Hinata’s shoulder, squeezing before offering itself to help him up. But he remains rooted in place, arms solid by his sides with only a clenching hand around his weapon. “By proxy, that applies to you as well.”

“I’m aware.” His fingers are stained with oil as he shoves the mechanic heap off of him and stands. He turns to Komaeda slowly, meeting his cold gaze with vivid scarlet.  He stands straight, posture seamless and impeccable in every sense, and Komaeda is only mildly annoyed with yet another reminder that Hinata has grown more than him, is a lot stronger than he’ll ever dream. Hinata could crush his skull in a heartbeat, and the idea of that happening now after everything is enough for him to crack a smile.

“Well, then,” Komaeda gestures for him to follow, cheerily turning back to head in the direction he came. “Let’s get going, shall we? Or do you know any shortcuts out and back to the others?”

The other doesn’t respond in any sense of the word. He remains there, standing and staring fixedly on his presence with enough force that anyone would feel intimidated. Threatened. He could crush his skull in a heartbeat. Komaeda would only have time to pity Hinata in the aftermath for having to deal with his loathsome pieces.

Silence and stillness drags on, and maybe he’ll have time to wonder other things after all. Like if his death is going to be fast enough that it’s painless. Painless. After everything, he wondered if he was even deserving of anything painless.

“Komaeda.” Hinata’s voice creates a pang in his chest, especially since it’s his family name rather than his given one. He does flinch when Hinata draws close to him, finally, and then cold, oil-stained fingers are running along his jaw before tracing the curve of his lower lip as a nail dipped into the seam.

He doesn’t have the time to think between that and when he’s pulled into a kiss.

It’s cold. These lips are cold against his own when Hinata’s had normally been so warm. But that was in the comfort of their room, the comfort of his embrace. He’s not being held here, he’s only being steadied with hands squeezing his shoulders tight. There is a push—Hinata’s mouth is moving against his, coaxing and making him flinch with the flicker of a tongue. Komaeda pushes him off. Nearly attempts to defend himself.

But before he’s even aware of it, his wrist is gripped tight enough to break. He feels like he’s paralyzed, unable to even tell the other to let go.

“You remember, don’t you, Komaeda,” Kamukura’s whisper is low yet heavy in the air. His grip loosens, making Komaeda stumble back. Kamukura looks like a shadow, all obscured save for that red, red, red—so much red despite that shadow being reflected back in Komaeda’s slowly widening pools of gray green. “You remember everything.”

--

Their first encounter had been one where Komaeda was the easiest to overlook. In the crowd of SHSL Despair, Komaeda drifted by as unremarkably as seeds in the wind. He was quiet, calm compared to his more cackling associates, but while passing him by, Kamukura never would have missed the brief pat Enoshima Junko had given to Komaeda’s cheek. That the smile on that wretched girl’s face was at its smuggest and most superior when meeting Komaeda’s dull gaze, even compared to her cooing at some of her other subjects.

She grinned like that at Kamukura as well, but never had she so much as laid a finger on him in such a manner. He was content to keeping it that way.

He had no curiosity when it came to the white-haired boy that already looked as though he were simply waiting to waste away. It was only coincidence that they ended up speaking to one another, with lame comment after comment in a truly contemptible excuse of a conversation. Kamukura even couldn’t be bothered to remember how it all started—what Komaeda’s first true words to him were. Komaeda introduced himself, but Kamukura never gave his name.

He had no interest whatsoever in forming relationships with anyone, especially not SHSL Despair. Komaeda must have understood at least the first portion of that much. In the beginning, it would not have been exaggeration if he claimed that he despised each and every one of them to their core.

By the end, Komaeda would be absolutely sincere in saying he hated Kamukura in return, but also far more.

--

They were both under heavy watch upon returning. Some of the reasons why it had to be both overlapped. Some didn’t. But indiscriminately, their wounds were properly treated and bandaged with nary a word from either of them. He did nod and shake his head at any questions, but that was the extent of his communication. It hardly mattered. There were few outside of detached doctors and nurses that spoke to Komaeda.

For Hinata, it was different. Souda in particular, seemed aggravated with the lack of discussion though it was quickly if not easily chalked up to the stress of the situation. That Hinata had reverted back to Kamukura was either unnoticed or too unimportant to be noticeably acknowledged, and Komaeda found it hard to believe the latter was the case. He could almost laugh at the whole thing, but it still feels like he’s stuck in that cold stage of paralysis.

You remember, don’t you, Komaeda?

Maybe it’s because if he’s anything other than unresponsive then he’ll have to react to what happened and what Kamukura asked, when he now knew the other person standing in front of him. In the back of his largely dead mind, there were stirrings of wonder if Hinata now knew.

The spark of panic that flashes through is enough to kick the gears back into turning and everything into overdrive.

He needs to regulate his breathing. He needs to get it together. He needs to not think.

Not about Kamukura, about how it felt to run his fingers through those long, silky black strands. Not how hostile and needy their kisses had been, how much he wanted to drown in Kamukura’s unyielding presence. Not how Kamukura had felt both over and under him, his legs wrapped so tightly around the other’s waist that his thighs threatened to shatter.

He shouldn’t think. He can’t think.

Everything goes black and all that’s on his mind is a blazing, unforgiving crimson glowing from under cruel, shadowy tendrils.

--

He wakes up in bed, and Hinata is sitting beside him as always. Ah, Hinata really is so kind to him and so very wonderful. Hinata is his first friend, his dearest friend, although Komaeda loved him, too.

But with one blink, the Hinata he loved was replaced with the Kamukura that he...

Do I still hate him? Komaeda wonders blearily. Do I have it in me to keep hating him? So long as he’s here and Hinata-kun isn’t, I suppose it’s possible.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“Hinata Hajime would wait,” is the answer. “As boring as that is, I have no reason to act otherwise.”

“I see.”

Silence dragged on between them, overbearing and wretched.

Komaeda decided then that he still hated Kamukura a little. He wanted to just shut his eyes and fall back into slumber. He’d like to at least meet Hinata again in his dreams, but his luck was rarely so kind to him. He’s usually not allowed such mercies, so it would be more realistic to expect a nightmare where Kamukura was still there.

“I do remember,” Komaeda says, directing those cold words to the ceiling. “There are some things that cannot be taken away, even by rot.”

“Memories are not such things,” Kamukura retaliates. Komaeda can only huff.

“What a childish reduction. Even if I were to forget the events, my body would still recognize you. That’s more what I mean... It’s called muscle memory. You should know about this, Kamukura Izuru.”

“What an inane argument.” Kamukura’s tone remains flat and devoid of charm as well as humanity. “That, too, can be taken away if you strip away the right nerves.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Komaeda inhales. The air smells stale but he can still pick up traces of Hinata’s scent. His eyes burn and he dares not to think about what the cause of that burn might be. “But... It’s not in this case. I do remember. I wish I didn’t.”

“You wish there was only Hinata Hajime, then.”

Kamukura says it like it’s a simple fact of life. Flowers always bloom and wither. The sun will rise and set. Komaeda wishes there was only Hinata Hajime.

Komaeda opens his mouth but no words come out. Neither affirmation or denial. He just lets that statement hang in the air, the sentiment like sandpaper taken to his flesh.

I miss him, Komaeda thinks. I missed him.

How despairing. How exhausting. He says nothing even as Kamukura leans over him, taking his mechanical hand. Komaeda hears the metal protest under his squeeze. He doesn’t tell Kamukura to stop. In truth, he can’t bring himself to care if it breaks.

Kamukura touches his face, running his thumb over his puffy lower lip. Komaeda remembers this. He remembers this with Hinata, too.

--

He barely remembers the first time he woke up—only that there was a lot of shouting, to his distaste, but he couldn’t cover his ears, and he couldn’t do anything. It was too shaky—too jumbled for him to function and it only took seconds for him to be knocked out of commission once again amidst all the chaos.

He’s aware though, the frightening familiarity of what he’s going through, and he almost wants to laugh at himself for forgetting—just because it had been well over fifty days since such a thing last occurred but... It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because he couldn’t do anything. He was completely helpless, and all he could do for himself was just shut down and come back to when everything was functioning normally for the time being.

It’s not a surprise, at first, that when he wakes up again, flexing his fingers at first—and, oh, it feels like something’s missing there, but his head is too bogged down to figure it out immediately—he’s in a bed. Of a hospital room, it seems, just as sanitized and sterile as he’s used to when it comes to them, but then it occurs to him that this situation is really quite strange—was he still on the island?

The sky outside the window, he notes, is the same deep blue. The air that blows in is the same fresh scent, and the warmth from the filtering sunlight is also...the same. It’s the same. All the same.

So then... I had a seizure when I was back with Hinata-kun?

...no. I don’t remember the shouting being in Hinata-kun’s voice. I vaguely recognized it but—it definitely wasn’t Hinata-kun. I...I don’t think the shouting belonged to anyone in my class. But who else was there?

His head was starting to hurt. Badly. He needed to take some pills for that, surely Tsumiki set something out for him when he awoke—but why did he think that sounded wrong—and when he pushes himself up, presses his hand to his face, he...

His hand isn’t there.

Huh?

He stares, wide-eyed, at the bandaged stump where his hand should be. The bandages are new, too, clean and fresh—recent, what—but then he sees, for a moment, a girl’s hand, one with elongated, elegant fingers and fake, perfectly painted red nails but reeking and grotesque, suffocating before it even has the chance to shoot forward and strangle him—

He’s shaking again, wracked with tremors that force his body to contort into a paralyzing paroxysm as he curls up, hyperventilating as he tries to pry it off—and his face feels so damp, is that sweat? Tears? Blood—?

He’s vaguely aware of the stinging pain that comes with yanking at his arms—and there’s also machines whirling and then there’s this incessant beeping and he’s ready to break that forsaken thing once he just gets her off, off, off—

“KOMAEDA-KUN?!”

He flinches at the yell, and then there’s someone grabbing at his wrists, even as he gasps, protests and squirms, and that voice continues, urgent and so, so, loud—“Komaeda-kun, STOP! Calm down! K-Kirigiri-san—Togami-kun, please, help me restrain him before he hurts himself any further!!”

Togami-kun? Wait... Wait...

“Naegi, stop being an idiot.” That’s definitely Togami’s voice. But angrier, more forceful and ordering than he’d ever heard it before and, yet, there was also something different about the tone, about the quality, something that wasn’t quite right—“When he’s in a condition like that, the best course of action is to sedate him. Kirigiri, you have the needle, don’t you? Naegi can’t hold him down all day.”

“Naegi-kun.” Another voice, softer than other and Togami’s. Firm, feminine—and wait... “You have to remain calm yourself in these situations. Now, hold Komaeda-kun still. Togami-kun, don’t handle him so roughly—”

...come to think about it... Naegi-kun... Kirigiri-san... Those names also sound familiar, don’t they? But where did I hear...

“K-Komaeda?!”

Is...that...Hinata-kun...?

And then there’s a sharp stinging pain—brief and shocking him enough that he stills, eyes widened and pupils dilated and... Two strong grips are holding him steady as his body goes limp, and he sees, briefly, blurred out colors of brown, yellow, lilac and...black? Red?

No...no...

“N-No...” It comes out as a choked little whisper before everything abruptly shuts down and he falls right back into that darkness. But he could have sworn, in that split second before he did, he heard Hinata yelling his name one last time.

--

Surely, he’d have better luck on the third time. Surely. There was too much wrong—his hand, Togami-kun, her hand, Hinata-kun—what was going on? Surely not a cruel prank on Usami’s part now that the field-trip had come to an end? None of this was like Usami—nor anyone, for that matter, except perhaps Saionji, but this seemed to be too much for that, and...

His head hurt. It really hurt.

But he was finally starting to wake again. Hopefully this time, it...

“...ey...n...ou...”

It wouldn’t be so disastrous... Please, just give me a break...

“H-Hey, can you hear me?”

...Ah.

His eyes flickered open, vision blurrily focusing above him as someone leaned over him, and that voice, softer, but still so concerned, continuing, “Are you alright...? Komaeda...kun?”

That face came into focus was a round one, a brunet with softer shade of brown than Hinata’s dark shade of chestnut, with eyes that were hazel as well, but also lighter. So strange, so strange, but there was a familiarity to this soft face with such a gentle gaze, one that he feels as though he knows—almost dearly, and it’s almost frightening—

“That’s right, you must be really disoriented, Komaeda-kun!” the other gasps, backing off and holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. Komaeda blinked blearily at him, and the other tensed as he pushed himself up, dully noting that yes, his left hand was still gone. And his wrist was indeed, still freshly bandaged...though not as fresh as before, obviously, since some time must have passed.

It’s troubling. His handwriting will be near indecipherable. But there are more important things to note such as...

“It’s understandable,” the other was babbling on, even though Komaeda was only half-dutifully listening. “Everyone else is in a similar state after all, and yours was especially precarious, and... I’m sorry, Komaeda-kun, I should have considered that even if everything was a success that she’d still have—”

She? His curiosity was, curiously, crushed by a contempt that he couldn’t quite comprehend. No. No. I don’t want to hear this.

“Who are you?” he asked to cut him off, making him flinch and look...surprised? Then guilty, it seemed. Komaeda’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing and...

If I had to guess, this is most likely...

“I...forgot. Sorry, Komaeda-kun, that was er, rude of me. I’m... Naegi. Naegi Makoto.”

“Naegi-kun,” he returns, to which Naegi nodded with a small, sad smile. “Did I suffer an accident when I met you for the first time?”

That took Naegi off guard, and he almost exclaimed in surprised. “W-What?!” Then, softer, in a tighter more uncomfortable tone. “N-No... No, but...”

“Trauma, then, that resulted in me not remembering?” Naegi seized up, almost like he was scared and wasn’t that strange, and Komaeda couldn’t stop himself, “Or—oh dear—don’t tell me you’re some stalker...”

“No, that’s wrong!” Immediately an outburst. Naegi looked flustered too, and he was even stammering. “N-No, I... I’m sorry, that’s not it at all... I... I didn’t mean to come off like that at all...”

He didn’t really, at all. Even without that strange, deep-seated recognition, Komaeda knows a kind and considerate soul when he sees one. Even if he isn’t particularly interesting—well, Hinata-kun wasn’t either, and he never did figure out what his talent was—Komaeda can’t say he dislikes him or is even neutral to him. He can’t help but smile, and he wants to laugh good naturedly to let him know he was just teasing but...

...But. Things are still all wrong.

“You’re really confused, right?” Naegi’s sudden, quiet question had him perk up and meet Naegi’s gaze, fully taking him in and finally noting the suit. Komaeda blinked, though Naegi didn’t seem nervous as his eyes swept up and down—Naegi-kun...couldn’t be that much older and yet he seemed mature, and...

No, that’s wrong. He’s younger.

...Huh?

Komaeda looked down at himself—fully, disregarding the hand issue for now and noting that he...felt physically different. Though subtly so. His height may not have changed but his body felt...thinner.  And he might have somehow gotten even paler. And moving felt awkward too, like his limbs had gotten unused to it, and when he tentatively reached up, pulling at his hair so that he could see—it had gotten longer. It certainly felt so, and from what he could tell... The pinkish tips were gone, all replaced with that sickening, stark white. Some of the strands were pulled out as he raked his fingers through, and Naegi sounded so concerned.

“Komaeda-kun...?”

“Was I...in a coma?” he managed, voice taut and stiff as his hand lowered to tighten into a fist in the sheets. “A coma that somehow resulted in amnesia? Does such a thing happen?”

“Komaeda-kun, I’ll explain,” Naegi told him, gently taking his shoulder and squeezing. Komaeda regarded the gesture coldly but that hand did not move and if he were truly being honest, he’s not sure if he truly wanted it to. “There’s...a lot to take in. But don’t worry, if you need any clarifying, I’ll try to be of an assistance to the best of my abilities... Just...stay calm, alright? I don’t want you to undergo any more stress after everything you’ve been through.”

You say such things like you know more than I myself do. It’s patronizing.

“Naegi-kun has a lot to explain.” he muttered darkly, turning away with a sharp huff. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? You can even write up a checklist to make sure you don’t forget anything.”

“That might help,” Naegi laughs a bit. It’s a weak sound, clearly an attempt at lightening up the mood, but it dies once he realizes how worthless that attempt was. Admirable effort though. Naegi sighs. “When you said beginning, Komaeda-kun, do you mean...?”

“Hope’s Peak Academy.” Komaeda clarifies cuttingly, digging his fingers into the sheets until that good hand was in a taut fist with the skin pulled tightly over thin sinew and bone. “The breeding ground of hope—” ah, for some reason there was a bitter taste in his mouth with the citing of the motto, “Let’s start there.”

Naegi nods and begins. “I... First I need to admit, I... I hadn’t been there your first year of Hope’s Peak Academy... You were in the 77th class...”

He knows this.

“I...was in the 78th class... But we did know each other. You were the first upperclassman to approach me because you heard about my, er, ‘talent’...” For some reason, he chuckles at the memory but there’s a sad, nostalgic quality to it. Komaeda feels a tinge of emptiness at his inability to share the feeling. But Naegi goes on. “I... I was the SHSL Lucky of my class, in case you’re curious. That doesn’t really have much if anything to do with what happened, but still...”

“What happened?” Komaeda asks, simple and to the point. Naegi ruefully shakes his head, repeating himself.

“I don’t know what happened that first year of the 77th class... I do know one of your classmates went missing a little before my class got enrolled. The SHSL Imposter, I think?” The title strikes a chord of recognition and he can already imagine the pieces falling into place but this part of his mind’s working too fast for the rest to keep up with. He just shuts his eyes and listens to the hitch in Naegi’s breathing before he forces himself to resume. “W-What happened...maybe it’s a gross oversimplification of the events but I’m still sure everything was kicked into motion...

“...with my classmate, the SHSL Gyaru, Enoshima Junko.”

It’s funny.

Hilarious.

Even without his memories, just the very name of this girl is enough to bring him complete despair.

He should laugh.

Laugh until his voice breaks and he suffocates in the sorrow.

--

Though the island was unexpectedly filled with many memorable moments and bright days, the day where everyone helped him build a sandcastle was one he held onto especially tightly.

Hinata in particular had been the brightest part of the memory; almost like wherever he stood, he reflected the sun’s beams with his determination and comforting grins. Hinata’s hand as it gripped his own had been warm from the sun and the sand, but somehow, he felt light and at ease holding that hand, even if it was a bit clammy.

In the end, all that good luck of everyone working together was washed away quite literally by one of the largest waves to date. Sand had been everywhere after that, and in those moments there were before the others managed to uncover themselves, he was left with the darkest, deepest sort of emptiness in the face of their possible deaths.

But Hinata had grabbed his hand to pull himself out, and with everyone safe after all, he felt nothing short of the kind of overwhelming relief that could overshadow even the sharpest pain. On the last day when he had been holding Hinata’s hand again, he might have identified that feeling that followed, where he decided to look forward to more moments with Hinata and the others, as something that could have very well been hope.

As long as he could be with the others, with Hinata, someone who could finally be called a friend—then wouldn’t everything turn out fine even if they didn’t outright succeed in those goals they set out for themselves? As long as they were together, he’d be happy even with failure after failure.

As long as they were together, everything would turn out fine.

...It’s funny. He really believed that was the case. Hilarious.

Back then, it might have actually been better if everyone just drowned after all.

--

By the time Naegi’s explained everything, he had to request a trash bin to throw up in. Naegi had held his hair back as he did, and even steadied his trembling grip on the bin, with a saintly sort of patience that he’d never, ever deserve. He’s still shaking as he spits the last bit of bile, and Naegi takes the bin away with a careful shush.

“Komaeda-kun...” Gently. Carefully. As if he was handling something that needed to be treated delicately. The nausea returned in full force as he groaned. Naegi was pleading, “Komaeda-kun, just lie back down. I’ll get medicine or something—maybe a nurse??”

Naegi should really let him die. He really shouldn’t care so much. Trash like him—worse than trash, more like pure unadulterated filth—

“I...” His words were barely audible, muffled by the hand he kept pressed to his mouth. “I feel sick...”

Filth—rancid—disgusting—so wretched—

“Breathe.” Naegi squeezed his shoulder as he shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself before he broke down into uncontrollable quaking. “Komaeda-kun, you can get through this. Just take it easy. Breathe.”

He wheezes but Naegi keeps speaking to him gently, keeps squeezing his shoulder, and there’s a point where he registers the brush of Naegi’s thumb against his cheek. Without realizing it, he’s grips Naegi’s hand and pulls it down without another word. But Naegi doesn’t miss a beat in continuing those soft, meant to be comforting sentiments. He doesn’t even pause. Just keeps murmuring to him, those words swirling around in his head, soft yet piling up until they suffocated everything else.

Until the moment where he was breathing, his heart slowing down to a steady beat after beat, Naegi seemed to have enough of that saintly patience to last for what felt like a long, long time. It was something else, to be sure.

It should have been terrifying rather than calming. Perhaps it would have been if not for that strong disconnect between his memories and everything else.

--

Even after deeming him “stable”, Naegi still checked on him every now and then. He wasn’t the only one—Komaeda had gotten to know Kirigiri Kyouko rather well in those times, and though she didn’t talk about herself like Naegi did, he did eventually remember where he recognized her name. He didn’t comment on it though, and somehow, he learned to be content with their visits all the same.

When Hinata visited him, he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. There were too many ways to feel. Happy. Angry. Relieved. Betrayed. Expectant. Despairing.

He almost didn’t recognize him at first. With that long black hair messily pinned up, the suit that was far too classy for someone like Hinata, those red eyes that were piercing when directed towards him but kept flickering about, fidgety and restless. As bright as Hinata could look in some situations, Komaeda had known that Hinata was also so easily prone to anxiety.

But as Hinata really looked at him for an extended amount of time, it was as though that apprehension dissipated in favor of relief and the smile that came across this strange person’s face couldn’t have belonged to anyone but Hinata-kun.

“Komaeda,” he says, and he almost rushes to approach him rather than standing so uncertainly in the doorway. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Alright?

“W-When you woke up, you were unstable,” Hinata reminds him, stammering a bit as a flush overcame his features. He was paler. His hair was so much darker. “A lot of us were really out of it... Tsumiki... Toga—ah... Right...”

He hesitates quite a bit, clearly thinking of what to call that guy now that the truth came to be. Apparently just his former title at HPA wouldn’t cut it. Figures Hinata would worry over something like this—it was so like him. Maybe he understood the feeling of inadequate identification to some lesser degree from having not remembered his talent—

Naegi-kun explained a lot of things to me. Many of them I didn’t fully understand. But when it came to Hinata-kun, it felt like there had been more holes than usual...

“Hey...”

I was told his appearance was, outside of that person and Saionji-san, the most dramatic change from how I knew him in the...simulation. Apparently, Hinata-kun had also been another person, but that begs the question...

“Hinata-kun...”

If the Togami-kun I knew was really the SHSL Imposter... The same excuse wouldn’t work for Hinata-kun... So...

“Who are you?”

Hinata’s mouth shuts tight, red pools widening until he jerks his gaze downward. His voice is low. “Didn’t they tell you everything?”

“I thought Naegi-kun had but I realized there were some holes left unfilled...quite a few of them surrounding the topic of you, the mysterious SHSL, for instance.” Except the words didn’t feel right as he explained—in fact, they tasted all wrong. Thus, Komaeda began to wonder. “Hey... You had another name, didn’t you, ‘Hinata-kun’? What was it?”

Hinata doesn’t answer him at first. He doesn’t answer him for a long time. Komaeda would have gotten impatient but there was heaviness in that silence, one that seemingly weighed them both down, and just as Komaeda contemplated pulling the rug and taking the question back, Hinata finally responded.

“Kamukura... Izuru. That’s the name I was given of that...other person.”

It was a name that sounded vaguely familiar. But there were other things that bothered him.

What’s with that wording...? Komaeda hummed before asking, “Should I call you Kamukura-kun then?”

This time, the answer’s immediate.

“No!! That’s not me!” Hinata’s head is shaking both furiously and desperately and the way he looks at Komaeda is so pained that there’s no doubting that question was a mistake. It’s startling because Hinata’s never yelled at him before—he’s never yelled like that ever, even when screaming someone’s name in worry. Hinata’s even shuddering, fists clenched and stricken gaze trapped on the ground like it was about to swallow up on a moment’s notice and there was nothing to do about it. An expression like that, it had to be—

Despair, right?

Yes. It’s despair. The Hinata-kun I cared so deeply for has fallen into despair. How long has he been like this? Years? How...

...disappointing...

“I was never SHSL by the way.” The statement is sudden, snapping him from his thoughts and making his own eyes widen as he turns to him. Hinata still looks troubled and disturbed—but there’s ruefulness in those features as well now along with shame. “I was part of some division known as the Reserve Course—a preparatory school for Hope’s Peak.”

Oh, Naegi-kun had talked about that. And come to think about it, Hinata being part of that didn’t surprise him as much as it should have. There was always that doubt, always that suspicion that Hinata Hajime did not belong—

Kind, wonderful Hinata-kun.

Worthless, talentless Hinata-kun.

“Oh.”

“...is that it?” Hinata met his blank gaze warily, raising a brow, swallowing. “That’s all you have to say about everything, Komaeda?”

“Hmm.” He pondered it, cupping his thin in a thoughtful expression. Then, shrugging his shoulders with a quirk of his lips, he went on, “Thank you for worrying, but you really shouldn’t have had to. See, waste like myself isn’t worth of such things such as...”

“K...Komaeda.” Komaeda pauses, innocently smiling up at him as Hinata stared back, disbelieving and tense. “Komaeda, please say something.”

“I...did? Were you even listening?” he laughs lightly, waving his hand. “As I was saying, I’m grateful for your concern as unnecessary as it was. It was kind of you to worry about me when there were more pressing, personal matters you had to deal with. I appreciated it. I really did. But those feelings are worthless.”

There was a tremor that went through Hinata. He seemed to struggle with his answer. “That... That’s not what I...”

“You should focus on our classmates instead,” Komaeda states, sudden enough that even he himself is surprised despite the coolness of his tone. “Some of us are bound to be more broken by the revelations than others. Some have even most likely lost people they cared for and are grieving. Those are the people you should be extending your worry to rather than me, Hinata-kun.”

“You’re... You’re right...” At least Hinata concedes that much. But he still looked like he was in the mood to argue. “But still—!”

“Hinata-kun, the thing is...” Quietly, almost carefully. “I don’t want to speak to you anymore.”

There’s shock flashing through those red eyes before hurt filters through raw and unencumbered on that face. It felt wrong in all sorts of ways and not all of them entirely due to the fact that it was Hinata displaying it. There was something else. Something that pulled at the holes in his memories that still hadn’t been completely filled by all those explanations.

But, honestly, if it had been Hinata’s face as he had known it... It wouldn’t have exactly felt right either. He’s sure his chest would still twist the same way at being looked at by hazels rather than these reds. All the same, he keeps silent, stares back expectantly and indifferently, and those feelings are suffocated in that silence.

Hinata was still, but there must have been a million things running through his mind. There was conflict in that hurt expression and Komaeda did wonder what he might have been pondering. Perhaps he wanted to cry. Perhaps he wished to scream. Maybe he was angry—maybe Hinata in this moment, really, truly, from the bottom of his heart, hated him.

Komaeda dropped his stare, feeling himself tremble as he looked down at his hand, the thin fingers tracing the tip of his bandaged wrist. Whatever expression he made was enough for Hinata to move, to speak again,

“It’s...been rough on everyone.” His voice was surprisingly blank, low, and calm despite everything. “Komaeda, I’ll... I’ll check up on you later. If you don’t want to speak, that’s fine. Just... Just take care of yourself, alright? And, ah...”

Hinata does laugh. Komaeda doesn’t glance to see his expression, but the melancholy and remorse in the sound is still heard all too well. And then Hinata asks,

“Komaeda... We are still friends, right?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even move. Hinata sighs.

“At least...” he mutters. “I still see you as my friend, for what it’s worth.”

Komaeda does flinch when a hand lands on his shoulder, and just as quickly, Hinata pulls that hand away with a quick apology, wishes him well, says he see him later, and leaves. There’s little time to react, but it’s not as though he had any plans to respond to such gestures and sentiments.

Once Hinata’s gone, it’s like those emotions he wrapped up in a tight coil snapped undone and he buried his face into his hand, shaking from it all.

But a couple thoughts do become clear.

One of the few things Komaeda was sure about even without a clear recollection to back it up was that he must have hated Enoshima Junko—that wretched, hateful girl, his mind supplies for him as though simply her name was too obscene to said be it aloud or assumed.  Considering what she stood for and what she was capable of, not hating her seemed like an inconceivable notion.

Of course the world loved her, if what Naegi-kun said was true. Perhaps Naegi-kun wanted to punish us after all, saving us in a world like that... But I don’t really believe that.

But he could believe hating that girl would be a destined fate. He must have hated her to the point where it seemed instinctive, like he was engineered for that purpose to hate yet still follow a person that crushed the world once she held it in her hands. The hatred must have come so easily to the point where even if he somehow wanted to also adore her... There was just no turning back something so natural.

...that said. It’s...funny.

He couldn’t have imagined he’d be in this position of wanting to hate someone else so badly.

--

He’s in a bad mood for what feels like a while afterwards, and it isn’t helped by the tediousness of therapy.

His joints are stiff as he tries to move, and sometimes he tries to steady himself on the wrong side—it’s quite a few times he ends up a heap on the floor, and it’s humiliating how often he has to take the hand of a serenely smiling nurse to help himself up.

He ended up with more bruises this way, new marks to join the other mars scattered across his frame. Several he, of course, doesn’t recognize while he tentatively ran his fingers over each one. A few suspiciously resembled burns but many were cuts, some so thin they’d be difficult to notice. Several of them looked deliberate, masterfully so, like the twin gashes across with thighs that despite being made by a clearly thicker blade, were clean and precise slices.

He doesn’t mind the cuts so much, though the scarred tissue under his fingertips is anything but a pleasure to feel. Sometimes he feels a twinge of pain, maybe a memory from having receiving these marks. He can’t help but wonder what sort of marks his former classmates had—somehow, he suspected they weren’t as lucky. His scars were numerous and the bruises bloomed hideously against his skin but even the cuts that looked like they had dug the furthest into his skin hadn’t looked that deep. And given the despicableness of his body already, it was hardly a shame.

The doctors and nurses aren’t affected in the slightest by the sight of them, but he does recall Naegi’s face twisting in pained sympathy when the robes had carelessly exposed a particularly nasty splotch of purple and red over his boney hip. But he really blames the hospital robes for that.

At some point, he wants to wear his old outfit again—as filthy as the clothes might have been—it’d make the circumstances at least a little more comfortable compared to now. For now like with all other things in recovery, he just has to wait until he gets to that point.

He’s a patient person in the very least. It’s not too cumbersome. World’s already ended after all, is already at its lowest point, and it can only go up from here. In some ways, it would have been a perfect opportunity for the ultimate hope to rise above all else.

If he thought of it that way, it seemed much easier to deal with this situation. He almost found himself smiling a bit wider, those grins noted cheerily by the nurses even as he hastily brushed them off. It was almost exciting to think about it that way—that excitement was certainly a welcomed distraction.

But still, so many things bugged him.

--

“Look through what you need, but nothing else,” Kirigiri tells him but she lets him rifle through so many files that surely someone would voice a concern or a complaint. She does watch him intently, her gaze sharp against his back as he gathers anything and everything that seems promising.

She doesn’t say anything as he reads through them. But that’s because she must know already what’s in them—confirmations on Naegi’s explanations from before but with extra tidbits Komaeda hadn’t known. Mostly about sections of Hope’s Peak Academy beyond the elite class—the “reserve course” and primary schools covered by HPA’s funding. There were numerous accounts of cover ups and foul play beyond what Naegi had mentioned in vague detail, and when he couldn’t help but glance towards Kirigiri, her expression was unreadable.

“Ah...” He hadn’t meant to make that sound, but Kirigiri sighed all the same.

“My father was a fool, wasn’t he?” Her voice was calm, but quiet, deft fingers brushing back those lilac locks as she met his curious gaze evenly. “I’ve known that for years now.” A small smile tugged at her lips as she nodded simply. “You needn’t be concerned about me, Komaeda-kun.”

“How direct of you...” I hadn’t meant to imply anything. I was just curious. “Don’t...mind me, Kirigiri-san.”

She hummed as he went back to flipping through the pages. Silence dragged as he read through them, and then read through a few of them again. One page detailing HPA’s roots from the very beginning caught his eye, especially with the peculiar name captioned under the image of the school’s founder. It was hard to read, a bit odd, and it was a wonder why he was so fixated...

...Ka...mu... Then the syllables fell into place as he realized one way to read this name. Kamukura Izuru.

And that felt right. He had recognized the name earlier, and somehow it just clicked with the portrait of the aged man and his serious stare. It didn’t feel all wrong.

A coincidence? With a name this peculiar?

He looked through more of the files—blank, blank, blank, except he came across what happened to the rest of the reserve course that Hinata admitted to being a part of. All 2,357 had committed mass suicide following their initial revolts—

All of them?

“Komaeda-kun,” He had almost forgotten Kirigiri. She was closer than he realized, pulling the file from his hands with a sigh. “You’re going to tear the pages. These are the only files we have on the island—anything else is with the rest of the Future Foundation. I’d appreciate you being more careful.”

“Excuse me...” Komaeda ducked his head in apology, his face hot. “I’ll be careful.”

Kamukura Izuru. No wonder he recognized the name. In the very least, that portrait of the aged man with the name didn’t bother him as much as the other person he met. It didn’t feel all wrong.

But at the same time why...

Several more files later and he’s utterly frustrated with the complete lack of information on the other Kamukura Izuru.

“Oh, Komaeda-san. Kirigiri-san. Greetings.”

He doesn’t even flinch as he looks up blankly, eyes landing on Sonia smiling down at him as regal as ever.

Except not like before.

Her hair had been chopped short, her skin had gotten paler to a point where it was worrying, her eyes weren’t as bright nor her smile—in fact, there was a distinct tiredness written all over her face from her lolling head, the darkness under her gaze, and how her shoulders were slumped, the posture a bit stiff. Almost as though just one reach and push and she’d shatter into pieces once she hit the floor. But she was doing her best in trying to act her usual brand of formal.

It’s a shame such efforts were being wasted on him, but Kirigiri did give a polite nod towards her.

“Sonia-san, it’s good to see you doing well.”

Sonia giggles, just a little.

“Thank you, Kirigiri-san, I appreciate your concern and I once again thank you most graciously for the assistance you and the others provided.”

“You don’t need to keep thanking me,” Kirigiri said.

“Oh, but I simply must!” Sonia exclaims.

Komaeda ducks his head, saying nothing, blurring this exchange out until—

“Komaeda-san. Komaeda-san,” she said again, a bit louder like she was concerned he hadn’t heard her. Her smile faltered a bit—maybe it was the stare he was giving her. “How are you? Better, I hope?”

“Better...”

This time, Kirigiri was the one saying nothing, only observing the scene with intent interest. Komaeda almost didn’t pay her any mind at all, focused as he was on Sonia.

“Out of all of us, you had the most difficult time ah, waking,” Sonia had gotten a bit more animated, messing with her hands. But the motions were still clumsy, not fluid elegant gestures like before. “Hinata-san did mention some...difficulties that he saw himself. He was very worried about you as was myself... So it’s good to see you’re up and about after all that.”

I had heard his voice then... Even though he shouldn’t have, he did wonder what Hinata had thought about the sight. He must have been scared. He must have worried.

And he may not have been the only one... Sonia’s stare is expectant, searching, almost like she’s still fretting that he’ll fall back into that frightening state. Even though she’s tired and must have a lot of things on her mind—she is, no, was the SHSL Princess, though he doesn’t know everything about her particular situation, the stress of it all is clear enough—yet that stare is intent, attentive, like she needs to act quickly just in case something happens. It’s admirable.

Aggravating.

“I think I’m done here,” he says, shutting the file and sorting them back into place. “I’ve already read all that I could—and I can’t just be sitting around for too long. Productivity is important in a place like this, isn’t it? Far more so than in that simulation anyway.”

“Yes, that is true,” Sonia agrees with a sigh. Still on edge, though he suspected there were different reasons for now compared to before. In the corner of his gaze, he sees Kirigiri silently nod. “So you are doing well now, Komaeda-san?”

“As well as I’ll ever be,” Komaeda finally answered, voice low and distant. “But in this situation, that’s hardly saying anything.”

“I... I see.” She nods agreeably. “This situation has certainly taken us all for a whirl, hasn’t it? I still can’t wrap my head around it. And I still don’t fully know what happened to everyone else back home... If there’s a home to go back to...”

Sonia would have the most to worry about in regards to that common concern. An entire country, in fact. Komaeda wondered if she suffered the most crushing guilt, even when everyone else was suffering so much already. They should be, at least.

It was good, then, that Komaeda hadn’t much to lose in the first place. There’s nothing to mourn save for the SHSLs, for HPA. So there’s nothing to mourn at all. Nothing at all.

“It’s rough on everyone,” Komaeda finds himself saying, and it isn’t as striking as it should be that he’s quoting Hinata from before. But it’s a generic comment to make. Hinata may be generic but he doesn’t own it. “Well, it can’t be helped regardless. There’s little to do but to recover and move on. We could just end it, of course, but—”

“But that won’t do any good at all.” Sonia cuts in immediately, stern enough that it was like she regained a bit of herself from the simulation after all. “We’d really do the world an injustice, especially to Naegi-san and the others who risked so much in helping us despite what we did. So don’t think that way, Komaeda-san.”

Her hands were curled into taut fists, shaking even as she kept them down by her sides. Still, Komaeda wouldn’t have to look at her face to know her expression would match the severity of her tone, with zero room for compromise. And yet, that wall still crumbled, that exhaustion creeping back ad she sighed heavily with a hitch in her breath, shaking as she rubbed her temple.

“We mustn’t think that way,” she repeats, and despite the returned tiredness, that tone doesn’t waver. “Do you understand, Komaeda-san?”

“I do.” He’s not lying. He puts the files back in place without another word, but before he leaves, he nods towards her, “Best regards, Sonia-san.”

Something pained does flicker through her expression before morphing into surprise. Thankfully, she doesn’t call for him as he exits. She stays silent. It’s easier that way for both of them.

“...Sonia-san... As I had said...”

Ah, Kirigiri-san stayed behind to talk with her.

...it really is better this way.

--

He behaves for the doctors and nurses. He retains his experience with that, keeping his mouth shut tight when having his blood drawn, and reluctantly taking the crutches they offer to help him move. But at some point he gives them back when he feels like walking isn’t too much of an issue anymore—and he still doesn’t know what the others are going through.

He does know there are limited resources to go around. He’s always been content to using the bare minimum and passing on the recommended but unnecessary. It isn’t too difficult, though those doctors and nurses do pester him on taking medication as recommended. Naegi insists as well as Kirigiri—he doesn’t know about the actual Togami, but he’s not too bothered about that one.

One day, Naegi visits him with a laptop.

The only classmate he’s interested in speaking to at this point is Nanami, and it helps that he has many things he wants to ask her. Wording them might be difficult, and he’s not entirely sure on how to approach this situation because who would have imagined—

Naegi-kun seems to not think so much about it though. He mentioned what he went through with the other AI... But at the same time I was at one point able to touch Nanami-san with what felt like my own hands so...

Only being able to communicate through a screen is a bit mystifying to say the least. Especially when she’s still rubbing at her eye prior to smiling sleepily and greeting him. Poking the screen isn’t going to be the same as before as when he prodded her cheek and chided her for staying up too late playing games.

But that wouldn’t have been the situation anyway.

“Komaeda-kun, how’s it been going?”

Her voice doesn’t even sound the same as before... More filtered... Not so clear... Loud compared to when she was just standing in front of me... But none of that was real.

“I’m disoriented. Everything’s so dizzying to think about.” He admits it honestly; it’s the first time he’s managed to be so direct right off the bat. He still has trouble discussing this to the doctors, the nurses, to Naegi... He wouldn’t dare mention it to Hinata but he still retains a lack of desire to discuss anything to Hinata really. “Nanami-san being a program is a bit difficult to take in too... But I guess it’s not too far out of left field... Technology really has gotten to be incredible...”

Still it all felt so real. It’s troubling.

“I’m sorry, Komaeda-kun,” Nanami says and there’s a surprisingly serious expression on her face. He had so rarely seen her make that look before. “It must been hard on you. You aren’t the only one—everyone else, I think, feels the same way about me...”

And what kind of comments did they make? Some of them wouldn’t have been so open about their feelings—others would say far too much...

But he shouldn’t be so concerned about such things in regards to them. So he shakes his head and manages a wry smile. “Well, it’s not Nanami-san’s fault... She was just responding in regards to her programming... Why blame for behaving as designed?”

“Komaeda-kun...” She frowned deeply, and he could imagine her wide pink eyes shimmering as they had before. Screen now or no, he still felt that pang at making her make such a face. “Komaeda-kun, we’re all still friends, you know...”

...Ah... That pang burrowed in deeper, his hand curling as his chin rested upon his palm, the nails scratching against skin. This again... Even if it’s Nanami-san...

“The bonds everyone made on the island were still real,” she states, and even though her tone of voice makes it clear she believes this, her eyes are pleading him. Still. “Even if it was all a simulation, that doesn’t mean our experiences were all...”

I don’t wish to hear this.

He closes the laptop in one swift motion. She went immediately silent. Just like that.

“...h...” His shoulders shook, just the slightest bit, his hand going to muffle the ugly sound from his mouth. But the second he did that, it just burst from his throat in a high, screechy chortle that gave way to giggling that had him shaking like a leave caught up in the wind. His hand went and covered his face, unable to stop, but the second he accidentally jabbed himself with the bandaged stub of his wrist, he went dead silent, pulling both it and his hand back, staring at the two blankly.

His hand was still trembling, but the stub looked to be still. Without another word or sound, his hand closed as he pushed himself out of the bed, leaving the laptop on the covers. He should return it—even though Naegi insisted he keep it. Use for his own leisure.

Have someone there who wasn’t his nurse but an actual friend. He’ll apologize to Nanami later but for now he’d rather make his way to the library. There are many things he’d like to read.

He does make eye-contact with the security camera watching him go, and he does have it in him to wonder if Nanami is sadly watching him as well. She probably is.

Komaeda waves goodbye with a sad smile of his own.

--

It’s been rough on everyone. He knows that for certain. But he’s still not sure to what degree—oh he can guess, draw up theories and assumptions that’d be likely knowing how well acquainted he is with those former classmates of his, how he had gotten to know them during that ‘field trip’—he’d never know for sure if he didn’t speak to them on his own.

But he’s still reluctant taking Naegi’s optimistic advice in checking up with the others. Talking to them more. He shouldn’t be in his room all the time when not partaking in isolated therapy, especially when he’s having meals taken to his room by the nurses as opposed to making his way to the cafeteria of the building where some of the others might be.

He’s just troubling the nurses with his pettiness. So he does go in the end. But he does so early when the chances of the others being there is low—he’d done the same for the longest time on the island though there’d always still be at least someone there like Hanamura, Owari, and who he knew as Togami but wasn’t.

Hanamura and that person are nowhere in sight. But Owari wolfs down that food like it had done the world wrong. She’s thinner than he remembers. Skeletal like himself to the point he wonders if this is a nightmare—this shouldn’t be Owari-san...

Even with everything stuffed down her throat, she swallows and stumbles to get more and that’s when Komaeda can’t help but call out, “Aah, Owari-san, you’ll most definitely get sick.”

She belched, rubbing at her mouth with a groan and steadying herself on the table before turning to Komaeda with a glare. One that falters almost instantly as she rubs at her arm with that same exhaustion he’d seen in Sonia. “Too late for that, Komaeda. I woke up sick and starving.”

She holds up her hand when he approaches her, shaking her head. “Don’t get too close. I’ve already thrown up on two nurses and Naoki.”

“Eh... You mean Naegi-kun?” Owari shrugs but nods distantly. Komaeda can’t help but smile, chuckling. “Well, you were close, Owari-san.”

“Mmgh.” He’s not sure if he heard it, but he saw the twist in her expression, the way her arm pressed to her stomach and it’s then he noticed the bandages on her arm, how haphazardly done they were as though they were wrapped by someone inexperienced and impatient. Giving the circumstances, he understands immediately.

“Owari-san... You’re supposed to be in your room. With an IV to recover from what happened.” Komaeda clicked his tongue, calm tone hardening with a harsh edge. “You’re endangering yourself greatly with these stunts. You could die—”

“I was hungry.” She growled, looking away from him stubbornly. “It’s just not enough. People don’t get that—even old man Nidai got angry but I can’t just... I can’t...” Owari let out a retching sound, slapping her hand over her mouth and shaking, groaning. “Aw, fuck. Dammit. Not now. Not in front of this fucking guy, of all people—”

It’s been rough on everyone. Some of us are bound to be more broken than the others.

Owari used to always insist he eat more. Was forceful about it, in fact. Even if she hit him too hard in trying to cajole him, he always appreciated that aspect of her. But he always had his suspicions about it as well—Hinata had probably known more to it, but he never asked—

...well. It wasn’t something he was meant to know either way. Owari-san was a dear classmate like the others, and even she was utterly crushed by the aftereffects of what they had done not just to the world but to themselves. His bandaged wrist itched. It itched badly.

“I’m going to get someone,” he says blankly, and Owari snapped to him with a vicious glare.

“Don’t,” she snarled. “Don’t you dare, Komaeda, I’ll kill you—”

“Will you?” he asks plainly, shaking his head. “I don’t really believe that you’re capable, Owari-san. Certainly not in that state.”

With that infuriated look on her face—how she seemed ready to lurch for his throat in a moment’s notice—there was a ferocity  in her glare that almost shook him to his core, that extinguished all doubt that even someone like Owari-san could be—

Then she faltered, slipping to her knees and digging her palms into her face, groaning loudly and mournfully. Her shoulders shook, and he wondered but tossed that thought aside when she slammed her fist to the floor, staring straight at the floor.

“Damn it.” Her whisper was low enough he almost didn’t hear her. “Damn it—we shouldn’t fucking deserve this—”

There’s nothing Komaeda can say to that. Like Owari, he doesn’t have the energy to lash out now. If he did, it’d just be a waste of time when she’s in this state. She might just fall into despair again—

He left that room before she could look up. In the very least, he did alert the first nurse he saw of her state. They didn’t even look surprised, just sympathetic. He’d never been fond of sympathy—he’s sure someone like Owari wouldn’t appreciate it much if at all either.

When that nurse thanked him and nodded sweetly towards him, he felt nothing but cold emptiness. Like there was a void surrounding him that swallowed up such sentiments that already meant so little. He almost didn’t feel anything but sick but—he was sick still, surely—but compared to Owari, to the possible states of others, he wondered if he deserved to be a concern even now.

For not the first time, he really wondered about the others. But he couldn’t say for sure if it was curiosity or concern.

But under these despairing conditions, it’s ideal for hope—

“...ehe...” Komaeda chuckled to himself, shoulders quaking as he kept his fist close to his lips. With the nurse on their way to attend to Owari, there wasn’t any use for him anymore but perhaps—

It wouldn’t be redemption for us, but it could overcome—

He wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed.

--

Right. That’s right. Darkness came before light. Despair came before hope. Even if it wasn’t redemption, even if it could never be redemption, it could still be, it was still always going to be—

“Komaeda?”

Ah.

Bad luck always came before good luck. In this case, the bad luck was so potent that when Komaeda tried to twist away, he ended up twisting his ankle a bit too hard and instead met the floor with his face.

“Komaeda!”

The fall hurt. The humiliation of it hurt much worse.

And of course, Hinata was there to help him up without a word. Komaeda bit down hard on his lip, but even he wasn’t so stubborn as to fight Hinata off while his foot was throbbing. Actually, he didn’t think he had it in him to fight from the moment he heard Hinata’s voice.

Darkness came before light. Despair came before hope. Bad luck always came before good luck.

“Uh, do you need me to bring you back to your room, or...?”

And Komaeda...didn’t really want to talk to Hinata but... But...

“Even an ending can be another beginning,” he mumbles deliriously.

“What?”

Komaeda leans into Hinata, far too tired to explain, hoping like an idiot that Hinata would come to understand on his own. Hoping that someday, everyone would come to explain and everything wouldn’t be so...

“Komaeda?”

...so...

“K-Komaeda, are you...”

...so very...

“Are you crying?”

Komaeda said nothing, simply letting it be. Let the world turn. Let his body tremble and break so that it could be rebuilt later. Being with Hinata like this left him too exhausted to function, and yet...

Even the ending is another beginning, he forces himself to think. Hinata-kun and I may not have been destined to be friends, but... We’re bound to one another all the same.

“Alright,” Hinata sighs then. “I’m taking you back to your place. Sorry. I... I know you’d prefer to be alone right now. I’ll leave as soon as I help you lay down. I’ll... I’ll let Naegi know what happened. So that someone can...look at your foot.”

–

There were other girls with noticeable style, of course. The Black Cherry girls were a strong example with the guitarist especially standing out. That guitarist, Mioda Ibuki, had a personal style that was as bold and brazen as her music.

Sayaka admired that commitment to individuality, but when she looked at herself, the difference between her and Mioda-senpai was as stark as peacocks and sparrows. No, Mioda-senpai knew herself better than anyone, but Sayaka didn’t think that she’d be understood at all.

But someone like Enoshima-san might be different. Enoshima was similarly bold and outspoken, but her interviews also depicted her as someone with a keen perception and a knack for understanding not just people but people at their deepest and basest.

When she finally met Enoshima, she had been on edge.

…but Enoshima-san wasn’t what she expected.

–

“Enoshima-san, can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Uh, why?”

What caught Sayaka’s attention first was that Enoshima was always on edge around her.

“It’s nothing serious! I just want to talk!”

“O-Oh, that’s, fine, I-I guess?”

Enoshima would cross her arms defensively and not at all like the powerful young woman who was predicted to take Japan by storm. Almost as if that person had been nothing more than an illusion.

But the Enoshima-san in the magazines absolutely isn’t a person that the press could fake.

There must be something that Sayaka is missing.

“Have I done something to offend you in some way?” she asked innocently, taking in the twitch in Enoshima’s eye. How Enoshima just barely manages to disguise her grimace as a grin. “I’ve actually come to you for advice, Enoshima-san.”

“Oh. Oh!” Enoshima does perk up at that, but she still seemed strangely flustered. “L-Like about…boys?”

Oh. Oh.

“It’s not about Naegi-kun at all.”

“I-I didn’t say–!” Enoshima balked, face a now brighter shade that rivaled her red nails. “W-What even gave you the impression?!”

“It’s a joke,” Sayaka chirped with a laugh. “I know there are rumors about Naegi-kun and me, but an idol is nothing without her fans. I’d never do anything to break so many hearts.” She does pause, switching to a more serious mode. “It actually is about my fans. More specifically, the image I present for them.”

The sky was unbearably bright. A more blinding blue than the shade of Enoshima’s widening eyes. Enoshima was no doubt taken aback.

“How am I supposed to…?” Enoshima stopped herself, flushing again. “Wait, so you’re looking to change…your look?”

Sayaka felt her smile strain. A shameful slip that had her want to dig in her nails and heels.

“In a manner of speaking, Enoshima-san. I’m glad you understand.”

It’s supposed to be Enoshima’s talent. Enoshima should understand fashion and image better than anything, from the matter of boys to the matter of her own heart.

Enoshima’s shoulders hunch in the most pitiful way. She worries on her lower lip extensively. Her bright blue eyes go downcast. Her mouth works to speak, but hardly a sound comes out. The bright red of her cheeks really does bring out those homely freckles.

“If you don’t have the time,” Sayaka said, with a pang of sympathy overriding any disappointment. “That’s fi…”

“It’s fine!” Enoshima exclaimed, finally bursting. “I-It’s absolutely fine, Maizono!” Tilting her head back, she forces a hearty laugh. “I’m just surprised! Didn’t think you’d go out of your way to ask me about something like that!”

She’s being honest.

Enoshima clears her throat.

“S-Say,” she says, quirking an eyebrow in a way that only slightly distracted from the sweat dripping down her cheek and the clamminess of her clenched hands. “How about a shopping trip? J-Just us two girly girls.”

She’s uncertain, but she’s earnest.

Sayaka doesn’t have to force her smile in the slightest.

“I would love that, Enoshima-san.”

–

There’s a shopping district nearby Hope’s Peak Academy. Since a lot of Ultimates flock there, it’s always bustling especially in the afternoon. To call it a cornerstone of trends would be an exaggeration. It’s a perfectly ordinary distinct, it’s just in a convenient spot.

Not that Sayaka would know for sure. Enoshima was wetting her lips in a clear sign of nerves rather than offering any judgment on the matter. When Enoshima noticed her curious stare, she forced a grin and snatched up her arm.

“Let’s do this, Maizono!”

Her voice cracked at the honorific. Likely also nerves.

Sayaka had already put on her best-disarming smile, but Enoshima was already tugging her into the first clothing store, closest to the entrance.

Was it convenience, or…?

It wasn’t her place to assume.

–

“This is cute, isn’t it?”

She had picked out a soft blue dress. Rather plain but the kind of thing worn in movies going for a rural charm. It’s the kind of unassuming but lovely thing that Sayaka would usually go for.

She can’t help but think that the Ultimate Fashionista would call it drab, but Enoshima is terribly tense as her gaze flickers from Sayaka’s innocent face to the cloth.

“It’s, uh, fine, yeah.” Enoshima finally forced a grin and a thumbs-up. “Is it what you’re looking for?”

…so that you can hurry up and leave?

“I’m not sure,” Sayaka said, and it was a nugget of truth despite everything. “Can we keep looking?”

Enoshima looked like she might be sick, but kept up that grin.

“S-Sure!”

The next outfit that Sayaka entertains is a poofy blouse. Enoshima simply nods along, agreeing that it’s cute. She even points out that the mannequin was wearing it so it must be popular.

Shouldn’t she know based on her own intuition?

She did notice. Enoshima looked over clothes as well, but idly like she had never been clothes shopping before. Enoshima did seem partial to some colors and designs, but they largely seemed more suited for blending in with the bushes over dazzling a crowd.

Just to test her, Sayaka did pick up a dress that was patterned with earthy tones of green and brown. She knew who it’d remind Enoshima of, and she saw how Enoshima’s eyes brightened when she brought it over.

“How about this, Enoshima-san?”

It’s a dress that even Sayaka knows she wouldn’t be able to wear, regardless of how charming it was. It’s too unassuming. Even her plainest clothes needed to have some level of flashiness. The Ultimate Fashionista would also say as much.

“Uh…” Enoshima-san hesitates, cheeks pink. “Is that…what you’re into?”

Sayaka just smiled as she always did. Smiled, smiled, smiled.

“Why? Do you think it’d look good on me?”

“Well,” Enoshima stutters. “I don’t want to recommend something you don’t want to wear. And I’ll be real, I don’t even know what you want to wear.”

“I’m not picky.” Her smile wouldn’t twitch. “This is for the fans as much as it’s for myself.”

Enoshima just frowned at her.

“Are you sure? Are you sure it’s for yourself as much as it’s for your fans?”

Ah. Enoshima-san is making herself into a problem now.

“Sure I’m sure!” A cute laugh here. Smile, smile, smile. Turn up the CHARM! “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

Rather than at her, Enoshima looked up at the store lights.

It smarts a little.

“Do you like the dress or not?” She finally cut straight to the point. “Do you think it’s cute? Unassuming but so very charming? Because I’ll trust your opinion on anything, Enoshima-san. You’re the Ultimate Fashionista, so this is your talent, right?”

Enoshima looked at her shoes next. Her cheeks are flushed, and it’s likely not because of the dress.

I feel like I’m bullying her. That’s not how an idol is supposed to act at all. What’s wrong with me?

Enoshima doesn’t even assert herself. She just shrugs before sullenly nodding. Sayaka had once thought that the Enoshima-san she read about would tear someone apart if they dared to cross her. She had envied that idea to an almost sickening degree.

I’m already twisted, but…

“Do you think I should just forget about my fans?”

Still, I…

“That I shouldn’t consider them at all?”

Enoshima’s shoulders hunch.

“...m-maybe?”

She sounded so unsure.

“I-I mean.” She’s stuttering. “Isn’t this about you and what image you want to put out?”

“In a sense.” Sayaka is calm. “But idols aren’t anything without their fans. Not considering them at all would be cruel. I exist for their sake, so…”

“So you’re going to restrict yourself based on what you think they want?” Enoshima’s frown deepened. “I don’t think that’s what self-expression is about. It, uh, sounds like the opposite, actually.”

The thing is that Enoshima’s sentiment was sincere. She still wasn’t confident at all, but it was still a belief from her heart.

And it was ridiculous. Cliché and cheesy, but Sayaka had begun to suspect…

Maybe Enoshima-san has a secret twin or something.

That should’ve been the end of it. If this Enoshima wasn’t actually the Enoshima-san that she read about, then what actual good was she? This trip was a waste of time. A total waste, but she supposed it made for a pleasant enough detour.

And this Enoshima-san isn’t a bad person. She’s cute much the same way that Naegi-kun is. But my fans always come first.

“It can’t be helped,” Sayaka found herself saying. “I’m an idol, so that’s the way that things need to be. I can’t be like Enoshima-san.”

Enoshima warily regards her. That’s her first cue.

“I had a great time.” She made a move to put the dress back on the rack. “And I really do appreciate your help. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“You’re just going to cut things off here?” Enoshima’s voice rose. “Seriously?! You haven’t even tried on any of the clothes you showed me!”

Just like how unassuming Naegi could be full of surprises, it was a shock when Enoshima reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“So what if it’s not what the fans want? The fans aren’t even here, Maizono-san! If you want to wear these outfits, you should! I won’t judge!”

“A-Ah…”

Enoshima’s grip was stronger than she could’ve imagined. Enoshima realized that too when she winced, hurriedly retracting her hand.

“S-Sorry, I just…” Enoshima scratched the back of her neck. She dug in her nails like it itched terribly.  “I’ve just been thinking… I want to see what you want to wear. Even if it’s not what others want; if it’s what you want… What’s the harm in dressing up? That’s…what I wanted to say.”

Her wrist wasn’t swollen, and she really should leave. She really should.

Instead, she says. “It might be underwhelming or disappointing. I’m…afraid I’m not as sparkly on my own as I am on the stage.”

“That’s fine,” Enoshima almost replied too quickly. “I still want to know more about you. Despite our, uh, differences, I think we could get along.” Then, quieter, she mumbled. “You kind of remind me of someone I really like and admire, so I do want to help you…”

“Ah. Hm.” Sayaka tilted her head, genuinely curious because that person couldn’t be Naegi. “Who?”

“N-Not important!” Enoshima squealed. “Do you have to try and distract me instead of just answering the question?!” She’s whining, too. It’s so childish. “You always do that!”

She’s the one that’s like Naegi-kun. I can’t help but tease her.

She can’t help but laugh.

I can’t help but like her.

She takes the dress back and holds it close.

“Alright!” She exclaims like it’s easy. Like it’s simple. Like her heart really is light. “I’ve actually always wanted to wear green. I like green more than pink if you can believe it.”

“I don’t,” Enoshima said bluntly. “But I understand it.”

His question wasn’t answered at first, no, the mirror image was instead explaining, “If the others see that there are two of us; it may cause panic.”

Admittedly, that sounded reasonable, but when it was his own voice saying that even when he wasn’t the one... It sounded different than normal because the sound was through air, after all, so it was higher in pitch, more grating. It was no wonder his classmates always looked so irritated whenever he started talking.

Komaeda hummed to himself and slipped out of bed, in just the shirt and boxers he wore to sleep in, wondering if his doppelganger came with the jacket and jeans he was wearing and didn’t just steal—oh, no, there they were. Hung up in the same place he put them. But if he did glance back at the other, he’d be able to make out the mended tear that Komaeda remembered sewing shut a few days ago after he took a tumble. Even their clothes looked exactly the same.

Is this good luck or bad luck?

It must be bad luck, Komaeda initially thinks in response, because that the world would be afflicted with two of him—two worthless, despicable, and cursed beings—it’s easy to think it’s terrible bad luck.

But...on the other hand, so much more could be done with two of them. More stepping stones to lift those potential symbols of hope, more obstacles for the others to overcome and thus shine brighter, and he’d get cleaning and errands done so much easier and quicker with another pair of hands, provided more mistakes didn’t happen due to bad luck. Which, admittedly, would most likely be prone to happening if the two of them had the same fortune...

…Oh, but there can only be one SHSL Lucky though, right? Could their luck possibly be the same or could this duplicate just be a lowlier copy of an already lowly being? Komaeda really wondered about that. He could test it, of course. But if the other him died as a result, it’d be troubling if he got executed for the ‘murder’. Monokuma would certainly be all for something so ridiculous, and Komaeda wondered if the bear knew about this situation already.

He stared at the security camera, glaring at them both, and was sure that Monokuma did know. Why he wasn’t appearing right then and there to commentate on it, with the ridiculous jokes he’d probably make... That Komaeda wasn’t so sure about. Maybe the bear was just letting the situation settle first?

How strange.

“It’s nearly eight.” Ah, his doppelganger was speaking again, in that high-pitched grating voice. Komaeda perked up, glancing blankly at the other, watching him pause in thought. “Oh, should we both call each other ‘Komaeda-kun’?”

He laughed even though there was nothing particularly amusing about the situation. But that was normal behavior, so it wasn’t that strange if the two of them really were copies of one another. But nearly eight?

Right. This was the time his classmates usually met up at the hotel’s restaurant. But he wondered...could he really go there considering this situation...

“Should I go to the meeting? And come right back?” The other asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was being given this expectant look and also a curious one, with the other’s head tilted and his eyes wide and did he really look like that...? “Or would you rather go and I stay here? You have to come back quickly if you do—otherwise I’ll get suspicious.”

Oh. “Shouldn’t I be suspicious right now? You’re the one who appeared so suddenly, you know. But if neither of us go to the meeting, the others may get anxious and get the wrong impression. Hinata-kun might even take it upon himself to check...” Would Hinata know what to do if he knew about this? Perhaps his talent had something to do with people getting inexplicably duplicated... But somehow, that sounded less likely than SHSL Tsun-Tsun Hair. Komaeda wanted to laugh too, thinking that, and it wasn’t that funny. “Oh, I should go though. I’ll come back immediately though. If you become troublesome, don’t think I won’t immediately tell the others and prove your existence if I have to. I will.”

His reflection blinks, but smiles like this isn’t a surprise—and it shouldn’t be. “Alright then. Have fun, Komaeda-kun.”

What kind of strange comment is that? Komaeda’s stare narrowed, his suspicious glare not leaving the other as he fetched the rest of his clothes. The other stared back with a calm smile, unaffected and simply gesturing for him to get going once he dressed himself.

Komaeda doesn’t need to be told twice to leave when he does.

--

One possible reason for this is that it’s a setup by Monokuma. A motive, perhaps? Maybe his classmates would be more driven to kill him if there were two of him. They barely tolerated him alone. The only reason why he wasn’t barred from the daily, usual full-class meetings is because they needed to keep an eye on him...and they couldn’t just keep him tied up in that lodge forever.

Though a few of them certainly tried to.

There were still glares and suspicious stares thrown his direction whenever he entered, and Komaeda met each one politely, while simultaneously searching for a particular sort of unease. Perhaps something to suggest he wasn’t the only one with the duplicate problem. But the mood and anxiety seemed unchanged from before.

And the topic of finding a mysterious double never came up in the usual conversation. Komaeda kept quiet as the other students reported the usual thing—and Monokuma introducing a new motive didn’t happen either. Perhaps this was just Komaeda’s issue then.

Perhaps he should inform them. Just in case.

Maybe to rouse them—to hopefully encourage them and just as he opened his mouth—

“No one wants to fucking hear it, Komaeda,” Kuzuryuu snapped, to which he shut his mouth and just looked down. He vaguely noticed Hinata giving him a look, and he weakly smiled in his direction. Hinata just looked away and he faltered.

The meeting went on as usual, and Komaeda would have just left immediately as usual, but he found himself pausing, thinking. On the matter of his double—is this really something he should just keep to himself? It’s just as likely to earn him more ire than any influence, and at least one of them could just end up tied up in that lodge again after all. That’d just be troubling.

Maybe it was all in his head after all. Though Komaeda certainly doesn’t remember this as part of any symptoms to any of his sicknesses—a new one, perhaps? But for what, exactly? What good luck would he get from—?

“Komaeda.”

Ah. Hinata.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda said cheerily, turning to the frowning person in question. Hinata was eyeing him warily but at least he was looking at him, and that was more than Komaeda could ask for. “Can I...help you?”

“You’re not coming up with another murder scheme, are you?” Hinata asked, glare narrowing, to which Komaeda could only laugh.

“No—do you perhaps need one, Hinata-kun?”

“No.” A cold, clipped response, then a surprisingly curious question. “What’s been on your mind lately?”

“You care?” He can’t help but smile widely and hopelessly adoringly. “Hinata-kun, you really are such a kind person!”

“It’s because I can’t trust you.” Hinata scowled, but there was still a tinge of hurt in those words. There was also a strain in those features that had Komaeda faltering and had his chest do an odd sort of clench. “If you’re planning something—or if you’re aware of something that no one else knows, then we’re all at risk. You’re a liability, Komaeda.”

“Hinata-kun, I don’t mean to be...”

“Komaeda.” He’s stopped before he can explain as Hinata’s impatient and irritated. “So what was it? What were you about to say before Kuzuryuu cut you off? Please don’t tell me you were about to spew some of that hope-bullshit on us again.”

“...Hmm.” Komaeda shrugged. “Hinata-kun, what would you do if there were two of me?”

“What kind of question is that?” He shrugs again and though Hinata’s clearly annoyed, he does answer. “Scream. What do you think I’d do?”

“Would the sight of there being two be so skin-crawling that you’d have to take drastic measures?” Komaeda asks, eyes wide and expectant as Hinata backed away a bit. “Hinata-kun, let’s plan to kill the other me together. It’s the perfect opportunity!”

“W-What the hell are you—?!” Hinata’s eyes were wide with panic before he hurriedly regained himself. “There being two of you is impossible, right? U-Unless you mean to tell me you have a secret twin or something?!”

“Nope, only child,” Komaeda said. “My birth was a miracle, actually, my parents had been trying to months... Isn’t it so unlucky that they ended up with a worthless person as myself? Well, that among other things.” Komaeda laughed that off. “But, Hinata-kun, I did want an actual answer...”

“Forget it!” Hinata exclaimed, waving his hand and turning on his heel. “Why the hell do I even bother with a nutjob like you?! Just forget I said anything!”

And after working himself up so needlessly, Hinata stormed off in a horrible mood. Komaeda stood there, slightly stunned and a little dismayed.

It wasn’t like this was a surprising result, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed with himself. Someone like Nanami could motivate Hinata to action so easily, meanwhile all Komaeda seemed capable of was aggravating and confusing him.

It hurt a little. After all, if there was anyone Komaeda liked most (not that someone as wretched as him had opinions that mattered when it came to SHSLs, but), it was unquestionably Hinata. When he thought about trying to cajole the other students, he wondered if it was too much of a gamble. He didn’t want to end up tied up in the old building again, especially when Souda was threatening to gag him and Kuzuryuu threatened to cut his tongue out.

Even if good luck would come from such a thing later, it...didn’t seem worth it. He’ll just have to figure something else out.

--

“Komaeda-kun. Welcome back.”

His doppelganger greeted him cheerfully as soon as he entered the cottage. An unsightly bright smile was on his twin’s face and if this was how Komaeda looked, it was no wonder he drew so much ire. It was no wonder others hated him so much.

Already, Komaeda wanted him gone but he couldn’t risk being executed over something that wouldn’t bring the others any hope at all.

(In the back of his mind, he thought of Hinata. “You’re a liability,” Hinata had said. “Why do I even bother with a nutjob like you?”

...Hinata would likely be relieved if Komaeda disappeared. That thought ached a little even as Komaeda convinced himself that short-term relief was no good with long-term complacency.)

“You’re still here.”

Regardless, the doppelganger was a problem. Perhaps Komaeda could knock him out and tie him up in the old building. A quaint idea but not feasible on his own.

The other kept on smiling, sitting innocently on the bed, murky gray eyes at half-mast.

“You came back,” the other said. “Good, good. I was getting lonely.”

Ridiculous. Komaeda knew loneliness was a constant. It was a necessary misfortune and one that it was worthless to complain about, especially to himself.

“Such disdain,” the other cooed. “Isn’t your self-loathing a little exaggerated, aha? It seems extreme to wear an expression that suggests you’d be keen on wringing my throat if you could.”

“What are you getting at, I wonder?” Komaeda asked, forcing cheer and keeping both his back and hands pressed to the door. “Was I always this infuriating or are you really a conjuring courtesy of Monokuma?”

“I’m more the result of a miracle, I suppose,” the doppelganger said. “You need not worry. I have no intention of interfering. See, I lack the stomach to see the others.”

Komaeda knew better than to trust himself, especially at a delicate time like this. It was why he needed to hurry up and get someone, anyone off this island before he spiraled into true incoherence and uselessness. But something about that statement rang as odd. This doppelganger seemed lucid, although Komaeda was uncertain, so what was it?

“Hm.”

Maybe good luck would see the doppelganger killed at the hands of the SHSLs after all.

“What do you plan to do?” Komaeda asked.

The other shrugged. “Remain here, I suppose? As I said, I don’t wish to see anyone else. Even my own face is quite unpleasant.” His gaze lifted just slightly. “Do you want me dead? Have you already approached someone about it? Oh, you don’t need to make that face. We’re the same, so I know. You’re a coward so you had to let Hinata-kun approach you, and even then you were too incompetent to persuade him so you let him storm off!” His own laughter, when not vibrating through his bones, sounded scratchy and shrill. “You really can’t do anything right, can you?”

Komaeda stared. The other just kept smiling like nothing was amiss.

Something was off. More so than he already thought.

His doppelganger shouldn’t be this antagonistic. Even if they mutually despised one another, that should’ve resulted in them ignoring each other, not this goading. Provocation of himself like this wouldn’t result in hope. It was simply acting immature for the sake of it.

“Who are you?”

“Komaeda Nagito.”

“Are you really myself?”

“I’m Komaeda Nagito,” the other repeated, smile tightening at the corners for only a moment.

“Avoiding the question,” Komaeda said quietly. “There’s something wrong about you after all.”

That smile never disappeared, only becoming more twisted and grotesque. It was sickening to the point of almost mesmerizing, and Komaeda was almost taken aback when the doppelganger stood and strolled up to him. The doppelganger leaned in until they were close.

(Komaeda recalled how their fingers entwined and quickly smothered the memory.)

“Komaeda-kun,” the other asked. “Do you know yourself?”

Well enough to tell that something’s different, Komaeda thought. So, what is it? Is he just a fragment? A distortion? Or...is there something that he knows that I don’t?

That last possibility sat with him. The doppelganger was close enough that they could breathe one another’s air. It was disquieting, especially with the way the doppelganger’s gaze flickered to his mouth.

The other smiled.

“No one else will be close to you like this, especially not Hinata-kun. Does that make you feel relief? Or a misery that’s deeper than despair?”

Had Komaeda underestimated his potential for depravity? If time went on, would this be what he’d become? What fortune could come from such a wretched existence?

No, he was getting distracted. As long as he could bring about the greatest hope, nothing else—

“That’s no good. You need to look at me.” A cold, almost skeletal hand cups his cheek, tilts him back to the doppelganger. Komaeda stared at his reflection, both the tangible thing and within those murky depths that grew darker ever darker. “Let me ask you a question. Who am I?”

Komaeda opened his mouth and closed it. In a rare moment of hesitance that he hated himself more for, he couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“If you can’t figure it out, you’ll lose yourself forever,” the other said, caressing his cheek now. “Poor, poor Komaeda-kun. You can’t count on another’s kindness.”

The other’s touch was still so cold. Komaeda felt the flutter of a familiar pulse in that spindly wrist, brushing against his jaw.

Was this good luck or bad luck?