Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My name is Hajime Hinata, and I shouldn't be here.

I'm on the main grounds. I tell myself it's curiosity; just passing through on the one day of the year we're allowed to wander, before this section of the school is locked off for the main course's studies.

That's a lie. I want to be one of them. I want it so bad it hurts.

Hope's Peak isn't just a school. It's a government-sanctioned institution built to raise the best of the best; the "Ultimates". It was founded by Izuru Kamukura, some genius prodigy who believed that if you took the most talented kids in the country and put them together, you could shape the future. Create something better.

There were no entrance exams, no standardized tests; just scouting. If they thought you were the best, they found you. Artists, scientists, athletes, hackers, chefs, if you were the best at something, Hope's Peak knew your name before you knew theirs. Graduating meant more than just a diploma. It meant power, status; a guaranteed future. Hope's Peak grads ended up in boardrooms, labs, government offices, and really just... anywhere they want to be. They ran things.

But me? I paid to be here. I'm part of the Reserve Course.

Hope's Peak built a whole second facility to fund its talent program. Students like me, who took entrance exams and paid absurd tuition fees just to say we come here. We were the ones bankrolling the future. We were sold a dream of getting to go to Hope's Peak, and I bought it at first, but its hard not to see through the theatrics. It’s like going to Disneyland and being told you’re part of the magic because you bought a ticket, when if you really think about it, that just sorta makes you an ATM.

I stand in front of the main building like it's holy ground. Students will start pouring in soon, the real students, and then this whole area will be sealed again. We're not supposed to mix.

I should leave, but I don’t.

Because despite everything, despite knowing the odds, despite knowing exactly how this system works, some tiny part of me still believes if I just stand here long enough, I’ll get pulled in. That maybe someone will notice me. That I’ll wake up with a talent so undeniable they have to let me in. But that’s not how the world works. I’m not an Ultimate. I’m a guy with a full course load, a pile of debt, and no special skills. The only thing I’m “best” at is lying to myself.

My thoughts are spinning so fast that I barely register it when something bumps into my chest.

I look down... and see there’s a girl standing in front of me. Short, with pale hair in a bob hoodie draped over her uniform. Her eyes were glued to a handheld console, barely even registering the world around her. So much so that she walked right into me and didn’t even flinch. Seriously?

I stare, waiting for a reaction. But I find myself waiting a while; she just... keeps playing, like I don't exist. It's sort of bizarre. It doesn't even feel rude so much as entirely oblivious.

Eventually she looked up, and her eyes met mine. We stared at each other, but neither of us said anything. I don't even know what I could say. Do I apologize? But what I even be apologizing for when she walked into me? But then, without a word, she stepped past me and started walking toward the main course building.

Of course she's one of them. She must have gotten here early. I watch her walk away and that familiar pressure starts building in my chest again. I should head back to the dorms. I don’t belong here.

Then I hear it; a chime from her game that's way too familiar. “...That’s Gala Omega, right?” The words come out before I even think.

She stopped walking. She glanced back over her shoulder at me. "You know it?" she said. Her voice was soft. Barely above the wind.

I nod. "Yeah, I guess."

She spins around like I just said something revolutionary. “You do know it?!”

She’s suddenly right in front of me, eyes wide, console held up in front of my face. “No one else I've seen here’s even heard of it! They all talk about Sky Blazer or Crimson Souls, but Gala Omega has way more depth! The encounter system, the progression breaks, the way you can corrupt the field code—”

“Yeah,” I cut in, feeling a little overwhelmed. Where the Hell did this energy come from? “I know. I new game plussed it five times.”

Her jaw drops. “Five?! That’s awesome! I’ve done ten. I can show you—” She catches herself, backing up a bit. “...Oh. Sorry. I don’t usually meet people who’ve played it that much. Or at all.”

There’s a pause. Then she looks up at me again. “Want to play co-op?”

I blink. “What?”

“Co-op. I've get a second controller in my bag. I want to see how you play.”

Okay. That’s unexpected. Most people would’ve just nodded and moved on. “…Sure,” I say eventually. It's not like I have anything better going on right now.

She turned and plopped down onto the nearest bench, pulling her hoodie up slightly as she stared down at her console again, legs swinging slightly off the ground. I just stand there for a second, trying to make sense of the last minute, but eventually, I sit down next to her. She hands me a second controller (side note, who carries a second controller around?), and soon enough we’re in challenge mode.

We play for a while... and she’s incredible. I can keep up, barely, but she’s three moves ahead at all times.

“Nice,” she says, after I land a crit on the boss. Coming from anyone else, I’d roll my eyes.

From her, it actually feels… good. And I can't pin down why for the life of me. Why do I care if this girl thinks I'm playing alright? Sure, she's clearly really good, and she's probably an ultimate if she was heading toward the main school, but it's not like...

Wait a minute.

“Hey… what’s your name?”

“Chiaki Nanami.”

And in an instant it hits me, and suddenly I get why I was getting that vibe off of her. I know that name; the school publishes a list of new Ultimates every year like it's a red carpet reveal. Everyone's always watching as they're rolled out, and you'll usually get an idea of whose attending a week before classes start. And she’s on it.

Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer. Which... okay, maybe not the most impressive talent, but it's something. Better than me at least... a lot better than me based on our gameplay.

I glance at the controller in my hand. “That… explains a lot,” I mutter.

She tilts her head. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Just… You’re really good. I can’t really keep up.”

She looks at me, then she says, “You’re still good.”

I snort. “Sure. But there’s a gap between ‘good’ and ‘Ultimate Gamer.’" As if on cue, I find myself getting overwhelmed and dying to basic grunts, as if I needed an example. "...I’m not exactly making the shortlist.”

She shrugs. “Most games don’t care how good you are. You either know how to play, or you don’t. You win, or you lose.”

She says it like it’s obvious.... the worst part is that, for some reason, that helped.

We played for a while not saying much. She was focused, almost eerily so; she barely even blinked. Only thing that moved were her thumbs and the slight tilt of her head when she was scanning an enemy’s pattern.

I caught myself watching her more than the screen a few times. Not in a weird way. Just... trying to figure her out. She wasn’t like the others I'd seen in interviews or online; no posing, no smug look that said, Yeah, I’m better than you, and I know it. She didn't even seem to care much that she was going to be attending the best school in the country. She kinda just... was. Like she didn’t care about proving anything.

Eventually we hit a save point and she paused the game. “I didn’t expect to meet anyone here who actually knew how to play this,” she said, stretching a little. “Most people just button mash or look up a guide.”

“Yeah, well... most people are lazy.”

She nodded, like that made sense. Then, out of nowhere, “You play other games?”

I glanced at her. “Obviously.”

“What kind?”

I shrugged. “Whatever I can afford. Turn-based stuff, mostly, that way I can take my time and not get crushed by someone with better reflexes.”

She made a small sound. Approval? Interest? Hard to tell. “I like strategy too,” she said. “I used to run challenge maps in Core Collapse. Played every version of Engine Hearts.”

I blinked. “You played Engine Hearts?”

She looked at me, confused. “Yeah?”

“I thought I was the only one who actually liked that game!”

She smiled. “The third expansion was kind of a mess. But the battle system in version 1.5? Perfect.”

A pause. Then she asked: “Why aren’t you in the main course?”

I froze for a second. “What?”

“I don't recognize you from the roster they sent me... You’re good. Really good. Why didn’t they scout you?”

The way she asked it, which miraculously sounded more blunt than insulting, still managed to hit like a punch to the ribs. “I don’t have a talent,” I said eventually. “That’s how it works. You don’t get in unless you’re the best at something. And considering you're here, I’m clearly not that.”

“Oh.” She didn’t say anything after that. Just looked at the screen for a moment like she was thinking through a puzzle. Then, quietly, “You’re still better than some of the people I’ve played with.”

I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was just... absurd. “You really don’t get how weird this is, do you?” She tilted her head. “You’re an Ultimate. You’re basically a celebrity; you don’t have to hang out with Reserve Course nobodies and hype me up more than I deserve.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not how this school works.”

Another shrug. “That’s dumb.” I stared at her. “That’s just how they want it to work. Doesn’t mean we have to follow it.”

I... didn’t have a comeback for that. Mostly because I didn’t believe it, but also... because part of me wanted to.

We sat in silence for a bit.

Then she said, “Do you wanna play again?”

I hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got time.”

By the time I get up from the bench, the sky’s burning orange. Nanami mumbles something that might be “bye” and gives a lazy wave without looking. I think I nod, I might’ve even smiled. Not sure.

The dorms aren’t far, but something feels off. As I turn the corner, I see a cluster of students gathered around the common room TV, packed shoulder to shoulder, standing still. A few were whispering, most were just watching.

“What’s going on?” I ask one of the taller guys near the back.

He doesn’t even glance at me. “The Program just ended.”

My gut tightens. I don’t want to look, but I do anyway. I can't help it.

The footage is grainy, but I can make out a car rolling down a street, barely moving through a mob of people. Reporters, civilians, and hordes of military. Then the camera zooms in. A little girl sits in the backseat, no older than fourteen. Her school uniform is torn, soaked in blood. Some of it hers, most of it probably not.

Someone near the TV mutters, "She's the winner."

My stomach turns. The car stops for a second, and reporters shove mics through the open window, shouting questions. The girl's eyes roll toward the camera.

"She said she didn't want to kill her friend," one of the boys near me says. "But she did it anyway. Bashed her in the head with a brick."

No one reacts. Like that detail's just… background noise. I stare at the screen, at the girl's face. The blood crusted under her nose, her eerily white teeth. And her laughter, its echoing in my ears.

I can't move. She's just a kid… and she won. She won. And if it ever happens to us... I don't even finish the thought. I just turn and walk away. The sound of the laughter follows me down the hall like a shadow.

I barely make it to my room. I throw my shoes off, and I sit on the edge of the bed, hunched over like my spine's about to snap. The image of that girl is still burned into the backs of my eyes. Every time I blink, she's there.

I breathe in, and force myself to think…

"Under the Republic of Greater East Asia, things are strict but manageable. You go to the rallies, repeat the slogans, and don't draw attention. That's how most people get by."

"School is still school. Homework, classes, tests; same as anywhere else. Some stuff's good, some bad. You learn to live with it."

"But none of that compares to the Program."

The battlefield was quiet. Bodies lay scattered across the muddy ground, still and lifeless. Insects and vermin moved among them, feeding. Many corpses were difficult to identify, their features damaged beyond recognition. Rain began to fall, mixing with the blood and drawing it deeper into the disturbed soil.

"It's a government-run experiment shown on national TV and edited like entertainment. It's almost like a game show; I know a few people who have even bet on it before. But… The contestants? Well… They're students."

At the top of a small rise, one person let out brief, strained cries as he repeatedly brought his hand down. His hair was matted with decaying tissue, bits of which clung to his skin or dropped to the ground. His clothing was torn, revealing much of his body; in another context, he might have drawn attention for his handsome details. But here, he seemed more feral than human.

"Every so often, a class gets picked at random from anywhere in the country. Doesn't matter who you are; your grades, your behavior, none of it helps."

He gripped a rusted, blunted hatchet. Despite its condition, it still tore through flesh with ease, sending fragments into the air with each imprecise strike. Beneath him lay a body that contrasted sharply with the rest of the scene: pale skin, light hair, delicate features… But as the blade struck her head, any remaining beauty was erased.

"One day, you're heading out on a school trip. Next thing you know, you're on an island with a map, a weapon, and one rule: only one person gets to go home."

Over time, his attacks slowed. Eventually, he stopped and looked down at the body. The extent of the damage resembled the aftermath of an animal attack rather than that of a human…

"Some say it's about military research. Others think it's just to keep us scared and obedient. Maybe it's both."

He stood there, staring. Then his mouth twisted into an uneven smile. He began to laugh, each burst of sound more strained than the last. Tears streamed down his face, and his facial muscles contorted from the effort, as his legs finally gave way and he hit the ground.

"All you can really do is hope your class isn't next, and try to act like life's still normal."

It won't happen here.

This place, it's different. For all my issues with how I got here, this is still Hope's Peak. And Hope's Peak Academy has never been selected for the Program. Not once. Not once in the sixty plus years the game has existed, has it ever been selected.

It’s protected, far too valuable. The government practically worships this place, they’re not going to throw their Ultimates into a televised bloodbath. Hell, they probably wouldn’t risk their precious Reserve Course donors either, we're the checkbook for the future. Either way, we’re off-limits.

I close my eyes and try to steady my breath. I'll be fine. We'll all be fine.

I lie back on the bed, arms behind my head, staring up at the ceiling. The girl’s laughter is still somewhere in the back of my mind. I force it down, bury it under something else.

I think about Nanami. An actual Ultimate, the real deal. And yet… she talked to me like that didn't even matter. Like we were equals. She didn’t care about the invisible wall between us that the school won’t shut up about. She just saw me like any other kid going here.

I shift under the covers. Something in my chest unknots, just a bit. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything, maybe I’m reading too much into it.

Still… I’d like to talk to her again.

The sun's warm, and there's a breeze pushing through the trees just hard enough to rustle the leaves. One of those perfect days you don’t notice slipping by until it’s already gone.

Nanami’s slouched next to me on the bench, eyes half-lidded as she mashes through another run of Final Dead Blaster DX. I’m holding my own controller, but mostly I’m just watching pixels move. We’re quiet, like usual.

It’s been like this for months now; same bench, same games. Despite our schedules, we’ve managed to keep this going somehow. She’s gotten more relaxed around me lately; when she shifts, her knee taps mine. When she leans over to show me a glitch or a shortcut, she doesn’t always lean back. It’s not a big deal.

Today, she lets her console slide slightly in her hands, eyes drooping shut. And without warning, she slumps sideways, head resting against my shoulder.

I freeze; she’s out cold, yet still gripping her console like it’s part of her. I find myself staring forward, not bothering to say or do anything about it.

It’s not weird, she's probably just tired. She works harder than she lets on; between classes and whatever the school asks from the Ultimates, I’d be wiped too. So I stay still and let her rest for a second, even if I get distracted by the mild smell of lavender. Not bad.

A few minutes pass, and her watch chimes. She stirs with a groan, rubbing her eyes and lifting her head. “Mmm… Sorry,” she mutters, yawning. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You’re fine,” I say a bit too fast, but whatever.

She stretches. “This was fun.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’ve gotta go,” she says, standing up and brushing off her skirt. “Class trip or something. All the Ultimates are doing some end-of-year getaway, it's mandatory."

“You don’t want to go?”

She shrugs. “Too many people.” She pauses, glancing at me. “But I’ll manage.”

I nod. “Guess I’ll see you when you’re back.”

Weirdly though, she hesitates for a second. “Yeah... I’ll miss this,” she says. “I’ll miss you.”

Then she turns and walks off. I stay there, staring at the empty spot beside me, listening to the wind roll through the trees. My shoulder’s a little stiff where she leaned. I don’t move for a while.

I’ll miss this too, I think. But I keep it to myself.

The dorm is quiet when I get back. Most of the other Reserve kids already left for break. My room's half-packed, boxes stacked near the door. Just a few things left to throw in my bag: notebooks, a charger, and my school ID badge.

I sit on the mattress and stare at the wall; it's scuffed where the desk used to be. It's strange, this year felt long while I was in it, but now that it's over, it feels like it barely existed at all.

I think about that first day. About how weird it felt to walk onto a campus I wasn't really supposed to be part of. I think about Nanami. Her voice. Her eyes. Her…

A soft clunk pulls me out of it. It wasn't loud; it sounded like plastic hitting tile. Then I see something small rolls into the room across the floor: a canister, round and metal. It hits the leg of the bed and spins once before settling. Then it hisses, and gas shoots from the nozzle in a thick white plume.

I stumble back, dragging my sleeve over my mouth. My eyes star to burn burn. I can feel my lungs seize. "What the hell!" My knees give, and the muscles in my arms stop responding. I hit the ground hard, vision spinning, ears ringing.

The door crashes open. Men in military gear storm in, without hesitation. One of them lifts his weapon to point it at my head, and others quickly follow. They're saying something, but I can't quite make it out.

Soon the room tilts sideways and everything turns dark.

My name is Makoto Naegi, and I still can't believe I'm here.

I keep expecting someone to tap my shoulder and say there's been a mistake; that the raffle was a joke, that I misread the letter, that there's no way a kid like me actually got into Hope's Peak Academy.

But here I am. On the bus. Surrounded by the best of the best.

I glance around at the other students, all chatting, laughing; these are the Ultimates. People who have already done more in high school than most people manage in a lifetime. Athletes, prodigies, artists, scientists. Every single one of them has a title, a name the school gave them, proof of their worth.

Me?

I'm the Ultimate Lucky Student… One of three, in fact. Because I won a lottery to earn attending the school. That's it. That's all.

I try not to dwell on it too much, but it creeps in around the edges. The feeling that I don't belong. That I'm just the outsider they let in to show how fair they are. A novelty.

Still, I'm on the bus. The "end-of-year class trip," or whatever they're calling it. Some reward for a successful year. A way to let everyone relax and blow off steam before the next term.

No one seems to know exactly where we're going. We were told to pack light, bring our school IDs, and be ready to stay overnight. That's all. I turn and look out the window. The city's already behind us, and trees blur past. Somewhere out there, I guess, is our destination.

Up at the front, there's a lively cluster gathered around our chaperone, Chisa Yukizome. She's a former Hope's Peak student herself; once the Super High School-Level Housekeeper, now Class 77's teacher. She talks to everyone with a kind of casual energy that feels more like a camp counselor than a government-appointed supervisor. It's hard not to like her. Even harder not to trust her. Beside her in the cluster, Mahiru Koizumi is taking pictures, Ibuki Mioda is miming guitar to music through her headphones...

And then there was Sayaka Maizono.

We'd been classmates in middle school, but never more than that. Just familiar faces. But after I won the raffle… we started talking. Small stuff at first. Joking between classes, sharing notes, the usual… But that changed a bit ago.

I don't realize how long I've been staring until Maizono turns and catches me. Our eyes meet for half a second, just long enough for me to panic and snap my head away.

I pretend to be very interested in the seat in front of me, but then, out of the corner of my eye… I see movement. She's getting up. And before I can think of a reason to escape, Maizono drops into the empty seat beside me, all smiles and casual energy like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey, Naegi," she says. "You looked kind of lonely over here."

"I… no, I'm not lonely. Just… thinking."

"Dangerous," she grins. "You might hurt yourself."

I laugh. "Yeah, well… I'm used to that." For all intents, I wasn't joking. On my way to the bus I nearly got run over by a bike.

She leans back slightly, arms folded behind her head, turning to look at me with that sideways smile. "You excited for the trip?" she asks. "Or are you already missing everyone?"

"Missing them? We haven't even left."

She shrugs. "Still. Summer's almost here. Some of us won't see each other again for a while. Everyone says they'll stay in touch, but… you know how that goes."

"Yeah," I say, quieter. "I guess it's harder when… especially when you're not part of the main group."

Maizono tilts her head. "You are, though." Her knee bumps mine. It could be an accident… could be.

I glance at her. She's still looking at me. "You have any plans for the break?" she asks, voice lighter again.

"Not really. Probably just hang out at home. Maybe find a part-time job if I can."

"You should come see a show sometime; we're doing a couple performances in the city. I could get you in; VIP." She leans a little closer. "I know people."

I try to joke it off, but my face is burning. "I'll… think about it."

"You'd better," she says with a wink. "Or I'll come find you."

And just like that, I forget how to speak.

Then, click—a sound cuts through the moment. I flinch.

Koizumi's standing a few seats away, camera already half-raised. "Sorry to interrupt the lovebirds," she says, "but I'm collecting trip pics. You two wanna be in one?"

Maizono's already beaming. "Absolutely."

Before I can even adjust, a handful of students notice and start shouting.

"Picture?"

"Wait, scoot!"

Suddenly I'm surrounded. Mioda leaps over two rows and throws up a hand sign, and beside her Akamatsu shoots the camera a wave, and someone, I think Kuwata, throws an arm over my shoulder like we've been best friends for years. Maizono ends up beside me, close enough that her arm brushes mine.

Koizumi snaps the photo. And for just one second, I feel like… I'm supposed to be here. Maizono looks over, just once more, and says quietly as the photo starts to settle…

"I'm really glad you came, Makoto."

I open my mouth to respond… But then a low thunk echoes through the floor of the bus. Everyone around me is laughing. Talking. It's loud, then, slowly… it starts to quiet down.

At first, I don't think anything of it. Nanami's headphones slip off. Momota starts nodding off mid-sentence. Maizono stretches and leans her head back, eyes fluttering closed. One by one, the voices taper off. Conversations trail into silence.

I look around, and then I feel it too. A heaviness pressing down on me like gravity just kicked up a notch. My limbs go slow, and my eyes blur. I blink hard, once, twice, and that's when I catch it.

In the rearview mirror was the driver... he's wearing a mask. Why the hell is the driver wearing a mask?

My breath comes quicker now, shallow and fast. I try to speak, but my throat feels thick, and my chest feels—

Clunk.

A sound to my right. I turn, sluggish, just in time to see Rantaro Amami standing at the side window.

He's trying to open it, then he starts slamming against it. Hands braced, face tight with something I don't recognize on him. Fear.

He glances toward the front of the bus, eyes wide. He starts pounding on the glass. His knuckles hit again and again, but the window doesn't budge. His body stumbles, strength draining, fists going slack. He grips the edge of the seat, sways, and looks right at me. Eyes locked, and then his legs give out, and he slumps out of view.

My hands tremble as I try to stand. Try to say something. Anything. But the weight pulls me down. The last thing I hear is the soft hiss of air, and the whisper of Maizono's voice in my head:

I'm really glad you came, Makoto.

And then… nothing.

My name is Shuichi Saihara, and I'm not supposed to be here.

For a second, I think I'm back at school. I'm in a classroom, seated at a desks and staring toward a chalkboard.

But something's wrong. The windows are sealed with dark metal plates. The overhead lights buzz too loud. There's no sunlight, just the stale, still air of a room I don't recognize.

My classmates are here, all of them, till asleep. Heads resting on arms, bodies slouched against chairs, faces calm in a way that feels... wrong.

I reach up instinctively, and feel it. A metallic ring around my neck.

I twist it in my grip, and try to tug if off. Nothing.

Then I see the others. Akamatsu, Momota, every single one of them. All wearing the same collar.

Panic stirs in my gut, but before it can rise… the classroom door slides open. And a man steps inside.

He walks slowly, leaning slightly on a cane, but with a presence that commands attention. Older, with deep lines carved into his face and sharp, assessing eyes that don't miss a thing. A black suit hangs loose on his thin frame, and his gray hair is pulled back, neatly tied.

It takes me a second to recognize him. But once I do, everything feels all the stranger.

Kazuo Tengan. The retired director of Hope's Peak Academy.

I've seen him in archived footage, speeches and interviews mostly. He was the face of the school, the one who made Hope's Peak into what it was before our generation arrived. A national symbol of talent…

Most students here never met him; he had stepped down before we enrolled. But everyone knows the name.

Tengan steps up to the teacher's podium and rests both hands on the wood. For a moment, he just looks at us. At me, the only one awake. His eyes linger, then he nods, as if confirming something to himself.

Around the room, students begin to stir, and voices start to rise.

"What the hell…"

"Where are we?"

"Did we crash?"

"What is this place!?"

"Why can't I get this off!?"

I glance over at Akamatsu, who's blinking, trying to wake up. Momota's swearing under his breath, his fingers brushing at the metal collar with growing alarm.

And then, Tengan speaks.

"Good morning, students." His voice is calm, almost grandfatherly. But it carries too much weight to sound kind. "I'm Kazuo Tengan; former Director of Hope's Peak Academy." That silences even the rowdiest students. "I know many of you don't recognize me. That's fine, my work was complete long before your names were on any list."

He steps down from the podium, cane tapping once against the floor. "What matters is this: You've been brought here for a very special lesson. You were chosen."

I feel my heart seize.

"Chosen... for the Program."

DECISION POINT: WHO SHALL WE BEGIN AS?

Boy #1 — Kiyotaka Ishimaru | Girl #1 — Tsumugi Shirogane

Boy #2 — Mondo Owada | Girl #2 — Aoi Asahina

Boy #3 — Kaito Momota | Girl #3 — Chiaki Nanami

Boy #4 — Kiibo Idabashia | Girl #4 — Miu Iruma

Boy #5 — Yasuhiro Hagakure | Girl #5 — Mahiru Koizumi

Boy #6 — Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu | Girl #6 — Toko Fukawa

Boy #7 — Rantaro Amami | Girl #7 — Kaede Akamatsu

Boy #8 — Ryoma Hoshi | Girl #8 — Peko Pekoyama

Boy #9 — Kazuichi Soda | Girl #9 — Himiko Yumeno

Boy #10 — Shuichi Saihara | Girl #10 — Junko Enoshima

Boy #11 — Ryota Mitarai | Girl #11 — Mikan Tsumiki

Boy #12 — Teruteru Hanamura | Girl #12 — Tenko Chabashira

Boy #13 — Chihiro Fujisaki | Girl #13 — Sakura Ogami

Boy #14 — Kokichi Oma | Girl #14 — Sonia Nevermind

Boy #15 — Leon Kuwata | Girl #15 — Kirumi Tojo

Boy #16 — Byakuya Togami | Girl #16 — Angie Yonaga

Boy #17 — Nagito Komaeda | Girl #17 — Hiyoko Saionji

Boy #18 — Makoto Naegi | Girl #18 — Kyoko Kirigiri

Boy #19 — Nekomaru Nidai | Girl #19 — Ibuki Mioda

Boy #20 — Korekiyo Shinguji | Girl #20 — Taeko Yasuhiro

Boy #21 — Gonta Gokuhara | Girl #21 — Akane Owari

Boy #22 — Hifumi Yamada | Girl #22 — Maki Harukawa

Boy #23 — Gundham Tanaka | Girl #23 — Sayaka Maizono

Boy #24 — Hajime Hinata  | Girl #24 — Mukuro Ikusaba

You are allowed to pick up to THREE CHARACTERS in your comment for who you'd like the starting POV to be. Please supply reasonings; in the event of a tie, the most compelling statement for the stated preference shall take priority.

Chapter Text

My name is Byakuya Togami, and I am surrounded by idiots.

Around me, the classroom descends into chaos; a perverted chorus of raised voices and hysterics. It's embarrassing. These are the so-called Ultimates? Flailing like peasants at the first hint of adversity?

I meanwhile don't move, nor do I shout. I just stare, because standing at the front of the room, calm and unhurried with all the confidence of a man holding a loaded gun, is Kazuo Tengan. And he's just declared that I, Byakuya Togami, heir to the Togami Conglomerate and scion of the most powerful corporate dynasty in the nation, have been "selected" for a blood sport masquerading as a civic experiment.

The gall. The sheer, unfiltered audacity. He doesn't even look my way in this mess of self-pitying garbage; that might be the only thing saving him.

I feel the weight of the collar around my neck, like a leash wrapped around a stray that needed to be put down. I raise a hand to touch it, not in fear, but in insult. "Impossible," I mutter.

And it is. This is impossible. No one touches the Togami family. We're not bound by the rules of the Republic, we write them. We fund their war machines, buy their politicians like candy, install their leaders then discard them when they outlive their usefulness. We are not subjects of the Program, we are its benefactors. And yet that collar is very real. I can feel the magnetic locks, the same tech we sold to the military four years ago. This model was never supposed to leave R&D, let alone be strapped to my throat.

There's a shriek to my right; Miu Iruma has just realized how real this is. A few others have started banging on the windows now, and Mondo's yelling something unintelligible. Saihara looks like he's trying to make sense of it all. The girls are clustering together. All the while, Tengan waits. He's not rushing to explain himself. He's letting them spin out, burn their panic into the walls. I recognize the tactic; exhaust the crowd before asserting control. It's a page out of the crisis playbook. It won't work on me.

It's only after he's gotten his fill of their ludicrous display does Tengan raise a single hand. The noise soon falters. He doesn't raise his voice, as frankly he doesn't need to.  "As I said," he begins, "you have been chosen. In a few minutes, this classroom will open. You will each be given your assigned packs, and you will step outside. And over the course of the next seventy-two hours, you will play your part in the Program until only one of you remain. That is the rule, and that is the law. I trust you all know the stakes."

For a moment, no one speaks, then Kiyotaka Ishimaru stands, because f course he does.

"Sir!" His voice is steady but strained, eyes blazing with some misguided sense of duty. "There must be some kind of mistake!"

Tengan turns toward him slowly.

Ishimaru continues. "My class, we aren't delinquents, we aren't criminals! We've had incidents, yes, and some of my classmates struggle with authority and order!" He glances toward Mondo, then clearly debates going down the full list. "But no one deserves this! The Program was created for wayward students, wasn't it? For bad kids? This is… this is completely out of line!" He takes a shaky breath, shoulders rising. "And as class representative, I—"

Tengan's voice cuts clean through the plea. "Mr. Ishimaru," he says, gently. "What you're doing is very rude."

Ishimaru freezes.

Tengan tilts his head slightly, his tone still warm. "You stand there and accuse me of making a mistake. You question the legitimacy of a government-sanctioned operation. You, a student, presume to tell me what the Program is for?" He steps forward just once, cane tapping lightly. "I suggest you sit down, before I'm forced to take disciplinary action."

For a moment, Ishimaru stands frozen, lips parted in disbelief. Then, a gentle tug at his sleeve. He looked down to see it was Chihiro Fujisaki.

"Please," the smaller boy whispers. And slowly, shakily… Ishimaru sits.

Pathetic. If he's not going to do anything useful, then I will. And so, before Tengan can say another word, I rise. But I don't just stand, I move. Heads turn, and every pathetic whimper in the room dies as I stomp forward across the floor with the full weight of my name in every step. I stop directly in front of him, inches from his withering face.

And I look him dead in the eye. "My name is Byakuya Togami," I say, deliberate with my prose, "and I will not be part of this."

I hear a breath somewhere behind me. Good. Let them learn what it sounds like when someone with actual power speaks.

"I am the heir to the Togami family," I continue, "a family that owns the largest multinational conglomerate in the Republic, whose assets subsidize more than thirty-seven percent of the government's operational budget. Your salary, Director Tengan, comes from my trust fund."

I jab a finger toward his chest, not touching, but close enough that he knows I could. "Do not mistake me having listened to your useless declaration as interest. You have no authority over me. You have no right to dictate my future. This entire situation is a farce, a mistake, and if you know what's good for you, you'll correct it. Now."

His eyes don't blink, and for a second, he's still. Then, he laughs. Not a chuckle or a wheeze, a full, hearty laugh that echoes off the steel-plated walls like gunfire.

And then actual gunfire follows, as a single crack snaps through the air. I spin on instinct from the noise, and as far as I could be sure, that action may have just saved my life.

At the door stands a soldier in full body armor, rifle drawn with the barrel is pointed directly at me. Then another enters. Then another. And another. In seconds, the classroom is full of them. Weapons raised, sights locked all on me. I don't flinch, but I'm hardly so inobservant not to notice the thin bead of sweat sliding down the back of my neck. I glance at Tengan out of the corner of my eye.

"Mr. Togami," he says, "it's unwise to mistake wealth for immunity."

The muzzle of a rifle shifts slightly. I grit my teeth. I don't step back. I won't. But every muscle in my legs is coiled tight, ready to move, just in case. Tengan steps forward. The guards don't move, but I feel their eyes on me behind the glass visors, behind the fingers resting far too comfortably on their triggers.

"On the outside, Mr. Togami," Tengan says, "you are quite important. But in here? You're the same as the rest of them."

The words hang in the air, and my instinct is to throttle the old bag for this thin-veiled assumption of my worth. But to act on that now would hardly do much more than ensure a bullet to the cranium.

He turns slightly, addressing the rest of the room now. "That collar around your neck doesn't care how many shares of Togami Industries you control. It doesn't know who your father is. It doesn't listen to bank accounts or board votes." He looks back to me. "In here, you are not an heir, you are not executive, you are not anything but a player." He gestures toward the steel door behind him. "And if you're truly the best, as you so claim, then prove it. Win."

I want to burn a hole through him with my eyes alone. I want to rip that smirk off his face and make him kneel for even thinking he could address me this way. He is a relic, a tired old ghost with a god complex and a death wish. But I don't say that, because I don't have to. Instead I turn slowly, gaze sweeping the room. The others are watching now. They think this is where I break?

No, this is where I commit, for if this is truly a game I must play than I will play it right.

And so I straighten my cuffs, and recenter my glasses. "Fine," I say. "Waste all our time. Demand I play by your farcical little rules, it means nothing to me." I meet his eyes. "I will win your 'game.' And when I do… I will make you pay for this transgression."

"Take a seat, Togami." Tengan's voice is final.

I stare at him for a moment longer, then turn without a word and walk back to my desk. I'm not going to waste my breath on further theatrics, not when I've made myself perfectly clear, though the guards don't lower their weapons until I reach my seat. I sit, and the metal chair creaks slightly under me. My hands rest calmly on the desk, and around me, the eyes are everywhere.

Fine. Let them look and let them tremble. Let them whisper and hiss behind their hands about how monstrous I must be. Their stares don't matter. I had no plans to die here, not on some insignificant island in the middle of nowhere, beneath a government's eye that I shall doubtlessly gut once this is all over.

I am not prey, I am not cannon fodder. I am Byakuya Togami. And when that door opens, this ceases to be their game, it becomes mine.

My name is Nagito Komaeda, and I'm the last person who should be here.

It's the honest truth. I don't have a talent, not like the rest of them. I didn't train for years, or win awards that brought officials to my door. I was selected by chance, a number drawn from a system I'll never understand, in a country that prefers things neat and categorized. One of only three students this year who has truly nothing to add to this roster. I really did just get lucky.

But somehow, despite everything, I ended up among them. The Ultimates. Even now, sitting in this classroom, I can't help but feel a little awed. Just being near them is something I could've never imagined merely a year year prior. The way they carry themselves, the way their names mean something… it's inspiring.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru was the first to speak up to Tengan as he began his explanation, and that didn't surprise me in the least. He's always been so steadfast, standing up for what he thinks is right. Then, of course, there was Togami, who walked straight up to Tengan and made himself known. I won't pretend I wasn't intimidated, how could I not be? Byakuya Togami has more presence in a single stare than most people manage in their entire lives. He's always been unwavering, and today was no exception. Even with guns aimed at him, he didn't so much as blink.

Watching him was… something. The kind of something you feel in your soul. If anyone can survive this, surely it's someone like him. As for me… I don't know. I'm not strong like Harukawa, or clever like Saihara, or brave like Akamatsu. I don't have anything to lean on but chance. And chance isn't a strategy.

Though, I keep asking myself: why is this even happening? Not in the hopeless, desperate way. The Program has always existed. It's happened to schools before without fanfare, tucked behind classified reports and censored news segments. It's not new. But this? There's something strange about it. Even if you set Togami aside, and that's no small "if", there are still so many people in this room who matter. People with real-world connections, incredible reach beyond anything I could imagine.

Sonia Nevermind, for one. She's a princess of a country that signs trade deals and shares intelligence with the Republic. That alone should've been a diplomatic nightmare. Then there's Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu. His family isn't royalty, but they're a different kind of power. People don't say it openly, of course, but everyone knows who the Kuzuryu clan really are. How many strings they can pull with one phone call. And what about Mondo Owada? Say what you want about his grades, but his gang is enormous. Not just some punk club, but thousands of loyal members, willing to ride out at his word.

Even the celebrities, Maizono, Enoshima, Kuwata; they might not be diplomats or mob heirs, but their fans? That kind of devotion doesn't just go away. Their faces are on billboards, their voices are on every screen. And… well… if even half of what Kokichi Oma says is true, and he really does have a private network of spies and dissidents and radicals under his control, then…

I don't know. I suppose what I'm saying is… it feels risky. For the country. For the world, even. Putting us here, all of us, it's not just unorthodox. It's bold.

Eventually, someone asked the question aloud. Kaito's voice echoed out and said, "Why are you here?" he asked, standing despite the tremor in his voice. "Why are you doing this? You… you ran Hope's Peak Academy once! How can you be so happy seeing… knowing that we'll have to kill each other!"

Tengan paused. He turned slowly and looked over the entire class.

"Because I love you kids," he said.

That brought everyone to a stunned silence. Kaito's eyes went wide with a sort of sincere horror I never could have imagined… though, I found myself leaning forward.

"I've spent my life watching generations pass through Hope's Peak," he continued, folding his hands behind his back. "Brilliant minds, ones with so much potential." He stepped forward. "But lately… I've seen what Hope's Peak creates. Not just excellence, but arrogance. Entitlement."

His voice dropped lower. "You were supposed to be the future. But I've watched the way the world bends around you. The way people worship you, even fear you. And I realized something." He smiled. "To remind the world what it means to be human, I had to remind you first." He let the words hang in the air. "If the world sees its 'Ultimates' bleed… perhaps the hope of one of your survival will inspire those who lived in your shadow."

The room didn't take Tengan's words well. I hear shouts of defense, gasps and tears. Disgust, confusion, outright horror; everyone responded, but no one responded well. Meanwhile, I just kept sitting there, hands neatly folded in my lap, trying to understand… Why were they reacting like this?

I thought everything he was explaining made sense. Not emotionally, of course; it hurts to think of anyone here bleeding, or suffering, maybe even dying. I loved my classmates, I never could wish this sort of pain upon them. But logically… wasn't he right? If hope can still shine through that kind of darkness… isn't that something worth witnessing?

My thoughts swirl, but they stop the second I hear someone whisper: "…Wait. Who is that?"

A few heads turn, and that's when I notice it, too. Someone's sitting in the very back row, alone. He hadn't made a sound since we woke up, hadn't said a word during the announcement. Just sat there like furniture, like he didn't want to be noticed. But now he is. He's wearing a black uniform, not brown like the rest of us. His tie's different, too; off-color, and there's no pin or crest.

Reserve Course. Whispers ripple across the room, but I just stare. I can't stop staring. What is he doing here?

Tengan answers before anyone can demand it. "Ah, right," he says, as casually as someone introducing a guest lecturer. "You may be wondering about our late addition."

He gestures toward the boy, who stiffens visibly but doesn't speak. "This is Hajime Hinata," Tengan says. "He'll be joining you as a transfer student for the duration of this trip." He smiles that same calm, gentle way. "I expect you to treat him as an equal."

The silence in the room is deafening. I feel something tighten in my chest, something I don't recognize at first.

That boy isn't an Ultimate. He's not even close. He's a pay-to-attend backup plan with no talent, no standing, and no reason to be in this room. And now he's expected to stand alongside people like Aoi Asahina? Teruteru Hanamura? Himiko Yumeno? No… no, something about that feels wrong. Not that I blame him; I'm sure he's trying his best. I can only imagine what it must feel like, waking up in this room surrounded by giants, as I live that life every day.

But still… I can't treat him as of equal measure to my beloved classmates. I just can't. And for the first time in this whole twisted situation, I feel something I haven't let myself feel in a very long time; jealousy. Because I know what it's like to be nothing, to be tolerated out of pity. To be close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, but never be invited into the light.

But at least I had luck. What does he have? Nothing. So why is he here? Why does he get to breathe the same air as the rest of them?

My name is Junko Enoshima, and I'm so bored I could scream.

Not because I'm scared or whatever. Please. The whole "shock collars and death islands and moral collapse" scene is tired and Hell and played out. Course nobody else is seeing this shit. Everyone's losing their fucking minds.

Tengan's standing at the front of the room like he's about to read us a bedtime story, and boy, do the kids not like that plot twist. Ishimaru's crying about fairness and Togami's throwing around his net worth like it's gonna stop a bullet. Dumbasses, at least do something new. Shit feels like watching a rerun in 4K; the resolution's better, but the script's the same.

Then Akamatsu, maybe asks the golden question: Why us? And that's when Mr. Tengan hits us with the line. "Because I love you kids." He said we'd forgotten what it means to be human. No clue what he meant by that; then again, I never really did understand the whole idea of acting like a person. Feels like that shit would get old real quick, and with all this complaining I might be right.

And then the big reveal; there's another kid in the room. Hajime Hinata. Tengan calls him a "transfer student." Says we should treat him like an equal. Gag me at that; even Komaeda looked like someone rearranged his bones. Poor guy probably thought he was the bottom of the barrel until Hinata crawled out from under it.

But hey. Maybe this is the shakeup this needed; let's see what happens when you toss a nobody into a pit of shittin' gods and dare him to not die. Open the door, Mr. Tengan, let in the wolves to maul the poor sap, I'm bored as Hell.

Nah, instead Tengan claps his hands, pulling attention back toward his dumbass face. "One more thing," he says. "Your families, mentors, handlers, sponsors—whoever's important to you, have all been informed of your participation in the program. I encourage you all to give it your all, for them at least."

I don't have "people." No one's waiting for me, no one's going to cry when my tracker goes cold. I've got one person left in the world, and she's in this room.

Mukuro Ikusaba. God. Just saying her name in my head makes me want to vomit. She's probably already mapping escape routes, drawing diagrams in her head like anyone cares. You think I don't see it, Mukuro? That twitchy thing you do with your hand? Please. I know you better than you think I do, big sis. And guess what?

You're boring.

Honestly, if I die in this game and she wins, I hope the footage is too corrupted to broadcast.

Then someone speaks up. "Where's Yukizome?" The voice is small, from Chiaki Nanami, not that it matters. But oh yeah, that's right; Chisa Yukizome. She was on the bus with them, playing camp counselor with all her perfect little pupils. Hope's Peak's favorite big sister.

Damn though, Tengan? Something in him changes. His posture doesn't shift, but his face sure does. The smile goes away and the warmth freezes over. And suddenly, there's a shadow behind his eyes that wasn't there before.

Tengan paused. "Ah," he said. "Yes. Miss Yukizome. She objected to your class' selection, begging that you were good students. She attempted to interfere with the Program's protocol." A few students froze. Chiaki's hands slowly dropped from her chair. Tengan nodded toward the door. "Bring her in."

And then the door opened. Two soldiers dragged something in. Something wrapped in black plastic. They rolled it across the desk; the shape inside shifted with the motion, nearly folding in on itself. The air tastes a bit different. I pick up the subtlest taste of copper.

One of the soldiers crouched down, grabbed the zipper of the bag… and pulled. Something… Or someone flopped forward with a meaty thunk against the corner of the desk, bits of brain spilling out from the cratered hole at the side of her skull.

Chisa Yukizome.

Her face is slack, eyes half-open, like she was in the middle of a sentence when it happened. The wound in her temple is clean. The back of her head was anything but; it wasn't even there anymore.

That's when I notice I ain't got nothing to state. Usually I got more to say, but instead I'm just staring at the corpse of some whore I couldn't care less about, and yet feeling a lot towards. And I'm thinking, what the hell is this? It's not sadness, or fear. More like some conglomerate of both and yet neither at the same time. It felt older than that… Weirdly familiar, like it got locked in the attic and I forgot I even had an attic. It's a memory of a feeling, and it settles under my skin like static. It manifest in the form of tightness around my throat and my stomach churning. It feels gross, and annoying…

And addicting.

Course the moment the body's fully revealed, everyone freaks the fuck out. Someone screams, then another, and then the whole classroom erupts. Fists slam against walls and windows, others throw themselves at the steel panels like they think sheer panic will be enough to melt them open, tearing and grabbing at them and trying to pry them off. They're all running, but there's nowhere to run.

"LET US OUT!"

"I CAN'T BREATHE!"

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

The soldiers move fast. They raise their weapons, and in an instant—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Shots fired into the ceiling, and plaster rains over the class. "Back against the wall!"

They're not even trying to be gentle. They grab arms, shove shoulders, and bark out their commands. Guns flash under the fluorescents, and for a moment, it's hard to tell which screams are fear and which ones are pain.

It's pure chaos, a symphony of collapse, and I'm standing right in the middle of it. Watching, eyes wide… Mouth slowly curling.

At first… it's just a grin. Then comes a chuckle…

Hhhahh… haahhhahahh… hahahahahaa!

No one hears me, I think. Don't know if anyone saw me either. They're all too busy losing their minds. And me? I'm finding mine. Because this is what I've been missing.

Not the petty stress of a makeup smudge before a magazine shoot. Not the forced tension of school scandals or family drama. This is raw. Total. Beautiful. It's…

"Despair…" I whisper it. Just to myself, just to feel how the word lands on my tongue.

And it feels perfect.

My name is Sonia Nevermind, and I am trying my best to stay calm.

The air reeks of gunpowder; shots are still echoing in my ears, each one like a whip across the skin. Those men are shouting, forcing everyone back with the barrels of their rifles. And all I can think is: Stay composed. Stay upright. Stay in control. That is what I was taught. In every lesson whispered by advisors: in moments of crisis, the people look to you, so do not break, do not shake, and do not run.

But then Hiyoko Saionji trips; her foot catches on the edge of her kimono, and she goes down hard, knees slapping the tile. She lets out a tiny, stunned yelp. And in that moment, I don't think; I run. I reach her in two strides and drop to my knees, pulling her close to try and get her to the wall.

And I see that a soldier pivots. Within moments, his gun presses against the side of my head. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around Saionji, trying to block her body from whatever consequences may yet come. For a split second, I think this is it. I feel the shot burst through the back of my head, and my corpse will hit the ground without ceremony.

"Return to your seats." Tengan's voice cuts through the noise, and everyone goes still.

The soldiers hesitate, like dogs mid-lunge. But one by one, they back off, and eventually I feel the end of the rifle pull back from the back of my head. Students stumble back to their desks; some of them are crying. But I don't move. Hiyoko clutches the front of my uniform, her fingers trembling, and I barely notice. My mind is far too busy replaying what just happened over and over across my mind.

"M-Miss Sonia!" A voice cracks across the room.

I look up. Kazuichi Soda is still at his desk, half-standing, both hands gripping the edge like it's the only thing anchoring him. Of course its him.

"Please…" he says. "Please sit down. I-I don't want them to hurt you."

My chest tightens. For a moment, I think what to do, until I nod, carefully untangling Saionji's hands from my blouse. I grab her hand, and standing up, lead her toward the last empty desks in the room. My legs feel stiff, and my heartbeat is pounding in my ears. I don't even notice Saionji leave my grip, distancing herself to a desk by the window. I find my own seat toward the back.

Soda stares at me for a second longer before finally collapsing into his own chair. And I just sit there, eyes forward, trying not to lose the shape of my breath.

I keep my hands folded in my lap tightly. So tightly. If I loosen them, I think I might shake again. I focus on breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth, just like I was taught. I look down at my knees; I did what I believed was right.

Saionji had fallen. She was unarmed, exposed, and terrified. She could have been shot, so I moved to protect her… But… But if Tengan had spoken one second later, if that soldier had decided to ignore the order… Then I would be lying on the floor right now. Just like Miss Yukizome.

That thought… it hits harder than I want to admit, and I hate it. I hate that I'm thinking that way.

Because Saionji is my friend. We've shared meals, classes, festivals… She's made me laugh, even if it was sometimes at someone else's expense. I was closer to Koizumi, yes. Mioda too. But still… Saionji matters to me. They all do. Even Soda. I glance over at him. He's still watching me, worried eyes flicking between me and the soldiers. He's… persistent. Uncomfortably so, at times. Always hovering, overly eager. But I know he means well. He's never once shown malice. Just… misguided affection.

But does that make what I did wise?

I am the princess of Novoselic. The only daughter of the royal family, the heir to a nation. I left my country with a promise; to study, to learn, to grow into the kind of leader my people could be proud of. To one day return home with knowledge worthy of the crown. If I had died… If a bullet had ended everything on that floor, what then? What would my parents do? What would my country do? I was supposed to be their future, and I nearly threw it away.

...For a friend.

My fingers tremble slightly. Was what I did wrong? Surely not, it's wise to act with morality. But am I allowed to be human in that manner? Or… is that a luxury I forfeited the moment I was born?

The door opened again, and a ripple of tension passed through the room. No one breathed until they saw what the soldiers were pushing in; not a body this time, thankfully. Just… a television. A large monitor, bolted to a wheeled stand, cables trailing behind it like mechanical intestines. The cord fed into a generator that buzzed low and steady, that horrible hum radiating low over the room.

Tengan stepped forward, a remote in his hand. "Now then," he said, as if nothing had happened. "Let's get into a brief orientation."

The screen snapped on with a hiss of static. And then… A cartoon bear appeared onscreen. Half white, half black. One side a soft, cutesy mascot you might find on a child's backpack. The other, gnarled in permanent sneer, its red eye glowing.

"Puhuhuhuhu!" It giggled. "Hellooooo, students of Hope's Peak!" the bear squealed. Its voice was high and sugary. "And congratulations on being selected for this special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" It bounced in place, paws flying up in celebration. "Welcome, welcome, welcome to the Program! I'm so happy for all of you that you'll get a chance to compete today!"

"Oh God," Sayaka Maizono whispered.

"You've all been relocated to a very special location!" it continued. "A 10-kilometer private island just off the coast of the Republic! The previous inhabitants were graciously evacuated, so you can go absolutely nuts! No laws, no rules, just pure, uncut mayhem!"

A new screen flickered behind it, a map of the island, gridded and color-coded green in bright, blocky shapes. "There's plenty of space to explore, hide, or bash each other's brains in!"

I heard someone sob quietly to my left, and my fingers pressed against my skirt. This can't be real. And yet… it is.

"Now, don't forget, students!" the bear chirped, voice cracking like sugar glass. "Every day at twelve and six, morning and night, Grandpa Tengan over there will make his lovely little announcements!" He spun in place like a demented ballerina and threw glitter across the screen. "At those four times a day, we'll announce two important things! First—" Smack. He slammed a pointer against the map. "Which zones on this island are now Danger Zones! And second—" The pointer became a marker. It drew a big X over a stick figure's face. "Whooooo died!"

The screen cut to a digital timer. Next Danger Zone Rotation: 06:00 AM.

Monokuma tapped the collar on his neck, identical to the one around mine. "Now pay close attention, kiddos! If you're still inside a Danger Zone when the clock strikes…"

He paused. The collar beeped once. Then twice. Then came a chorus of them, over and over. And then… its head exploded.

A few students screamed. I felt my breath catch.

"And, if that didn't convey the seriousness of the topic..." Tengan stepped forward again; he hadn't spoken since the bear took over. But now from his coat pocket, he pulled out an object; his own collar.

He walked to the teacher's desk, laid the collar gently on its surface, then took several careful steps back. He raised the remote again, and pressed a button. Beep. A single chirp. And then…

BOOM.

The front of the desk vanished in a sudden, violent burst of black smoke and fire. Shards of wood cracked against the floor, and a thick scorch mark spread out in a perfect circle. My ears rang as I stared at the blackened stump that used to be a desk.

I… couldn't look away. My fingers lifted on their own, trembling as they reached for my own collar. It was ice cold. The explosion hadn't even been that large, but around a neck? Around my neck? I can only imagine the thought of it going off, of the remains that'd slide down my body from my mauled frame.

Tengan's voice sliced through the smoke. "The collars are unable to be tampered with," he said. "Waterproof, shockproof, and pulse-monitored. They broadcast your location and vitals in real-time, so we'll know who is alive, and where you are at all times." He looked across the classroom, still not making eye contact with any of us. "And… they can be accessed by us remotely. If you cause trouble… try to escape… or threaten the integrity of the Program… actions have consequences."

I looked at the scorched circle again, and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever leave here alive.

My name is Peko Pekoyama, and my survival is irrelevant.

It has been since we first woke up in this room.

I have no illusions about the Program. I understand what it is and what it requires. Prior to our official acceptance into Hope's Peak Academy, the young master and I had many such conversations discussing potential plans were out induction ever to become a problem. He'd always suggested I was being paranoid; the odds were one in a hundred he said. The truth is they were closer to one in eight hundred, but that seemed needlessly petty to discuss in the moment. Regardless, it appears my worries had proven true.

I watched the demonstration, and furthermore I watched the desk explode. I know what the collar around my neck is capable of, but none of that matters. Only one thing does; the safety of my young master—Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu.

My purpose is, and always has been, to protect him. If that means killing, I will kill. If that means dying, I will die. None of that frightens me. What concerns me is how to keep him alive.

I glance at him now, seated two rows ahead, hands clenched tight on the desk. His jaw is locked, and I can see how his eyes flick between the soldiers, the map, and the clock. He's furious, but quiet about it. Good. He knows this isn't the place to lash out. Not yet, he can save that for once he's off this island. Still, I can see it, boiling under the surface. Resentment. Restraint. The desperate urge to do something. But he's holding back.

That's what makes him worthy of the title. That's what makes him someone I would follow into fire.

I start taking mental notes. There are forty-eight students total. Forty-seven, if you remove Hinata. He doesn't count, and I expect he'll be dead by morning. I don't enjoy thinking like this, but to not be ruthlessly practical in a situation such as this is to remove my dedications to our continued existence. I hardly believe this Hajime Hinata deserves this fate, but I haven't the time to care either.

Of the remaining students, several are dangerous.

Mondo Owada; physically strong, unpredictable temper.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru; law-obsessed, easily manipulated.

Mukuro Ikusaba; former soldier, certainly trained in combat.

And Junko Enoshima. No. I don't trust her. Her silence during the panic was too still. I saw her smile. She enjoyed it. She is the most dangerous person in this room.

I continue calculating where I must; I know escape is not an option. Across every program ever held, not once has an escape been successful. The island is sealed and patrols are organized. Even if we get off the island, the collars will make short work of us.

I find myself wondering if my bamboo sword was left in my bag, or if it was confiscated. It's hardly as effective as a true blade, but a well-placed blow to the back of the neck will get the job done.

The smoke from the detonated collar hadn't even cleared when the screen flickered again. The bear reappeared, now waving a tiny checkered flag.

"Now, now, students!" it sang, bouncing from foot to foot. "I know things feel a teensy bit tense, but don't worry! You've got plenty of time!" It paused. "…Well, kinda."

It spun in place and struck a dramatic pose, one paw raised high. "You've got three days to crown a winner! That's 72 whole hours of stabbing and plotting ahead for all of you!"

The screen behind him shifted; a giant timer ticked down over the image of a bomb, counting the seconds away.

72:00:00

"If no one wins by the end of the third day, ALL your collars go kaboom! Same goes for if there's no kill in a space of twenty-four hours, though I know you won't let it come to that." It clapped it's paws together. "Soooo! Fight hard, kill smart, and remember: second place is just first place's mulch!"

I strangely concurred with the cartoon bear, no matter how ridiculous that may sound; there is no such thing as second place here. Only one person gets to leave, it's that simple. Three days, that's all we have. That means no hiding, no running out the clock, and no negotiating peace. Everyone else must die.

I look back at Fuyuhiko. His knuckles are white on the desk. None of my planning will matter if he hesitates, and I fear he may. If he tries to play honorably, he will die, which I won't allow to happen.

The bear vanished as the screen went black again, leaving only the ticking of the countdown clock overhead. Then the voice of an old man cut through the silence.

"Open your desks," said Tengan. "Inside you'll find a slip of paper and a pencil. Take them out." The rustle of paper echoed across the room, and I complied. Tengan stood at the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Now. Write this sentence across the page: If I don't kill, I'll be killed. Write it three times."

A few students hesitated. I did not. But I didn't write what he told us to.

Instead, I wrote: I will protect the young master.

Then I wrote it again. And again.

I will protect the young master.
 I will protect the young master.
  I will protect the young master.

That is the only truth that matters. I do not fear death, because I do not live. Peko Pekoyama does not win. Peko Pekoyama is not a person. Peko Pekoyama is a sword, unsheathed, unfeeling, and pointed only in one direction; toward those that threaten the fate of the Kuzuryu clan.

Tengan walked the aisles now, glancing at papers without stopping. He didn't read mine, or if he did, he said nothing. Maybe he knew. Maybe he didn't care. I pressed the pencil to the desk again, flipped the page over, and wrote a new line in the corner: Three days. Eliminate forty-six. Ensure survival of one.

I underlined it. I watched Fuyuhiko out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't written anything yet. His fingers were curled tightly around the pencil, unmoving. His expression was unreadable, carved from the same stone I'd seen on his father's face once.

He is the future of the Kuzuryu family, and I am the blade that will carve him a path forward.

DAY ONE, 12:02 AM.

My name is Hiyoko Saionji, and I don't belong here!

I'm not like these assholes; I didn't do anything wrong!

Okay, maybe I'm not the nicest person. Maybe I talk a little too loud. Maybe I call people names or make fun of their gross shoes or their stupid hair or their… whatever! But that's because they deserve it! They're annoying! They stare at me! They talk like they're better than me! They act like I'm some brat that needs babysitting!

So I get mean. So what? That doesn't mean I should be here!

Not in some creepy, locked-down classroom with a DEAD TEACHER on the floor and a COLLAR strapped to my neck and that freakshow bear giggling like we're all on some game show!

This isn't a joke! I don't want to be mulch! I don't want to explode like that desk! I don't want to DIE!

My legs are still shaking. I keep thinking about… that moment. Slipping on my stupid kimono. Hitting the floor and that soldier lifting his gun.

And then… Sonia. She ran to me, and she shielded me…

I still don't get it. Why'd she do that?

I've been awful to her. I call her names! I roll my eyes every time she talks about her "country" or whatever royal nerd stuff she's into! She's a freak who can't read a room to save her stupid life and know way too much about serial killers! I hate her. But… she didn't hesitate.

She could've died. For me. And now? Now I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to play their game. But… What if I have to? What if it's me or them? What if I have to pick up something heavy, like a brick or a knife, and hit someone first?

What if they're about to hit me? What if… what if it's someone I know?

What if it's Mahiru?

...

No. No no no. I can't do that.

She's my best friend. She's the only one who talks to me like a real person. Like I'm not some dumb little kid. And if she ends up in front of me, scared and shaking like I was just now, and it's my hand holding the weapon…

I'll hate myself.

But what if it's her or me? What if she hesitates and I don't?

I rub my eyes hard, so nobody sees the tears. I don't want to cry in front of them.

I have to figure something out. I have to be smart. I have to be ready.

Even if there's a little voice screaming in the back of my head that says, "If you kill someone, you'll never be the same again."

...I try to ignore it. But it's still there.

They started rolling in the bags; big blue duffel bags, row after row of them. Zipped up tight, and each one had a little tag with a letter (either an M or an F), and a number on them. Our student numbers.

That stupid bear popped back on the screen, now wearing a dumb army helmet that sagged over its beady red eye.

"Alright, my bloodthirsty brats!" it squealed. "It's about that tiiiime! Each of you will be leaving the room one by one in two-minute increments! Don't cut the line, or we cut you!"

It laughed at that, like we were the punchline to its favorite joke. I hate it. I hate it so much.

"Before you go, you'll be handed a standard-issue survival bag! Inside, you'll find everything a growing killer needs! Stuff like dried rations, a couple bottles of water, a flashlight, a map with a compass, and… a weapon."

My stomach twisted.

The bear unzipped a bag onscreen with a loud zipppp and leaned inside. "What's inside? Let's see, let's see… OH!" He popped out holding a machine gun. "YIPPEE!"

And just opened fire. The screen crackled, and it spun like a maniac while bullets tore everything around it apart. The screen went black. When the image came back, the bear was upside down in a smoking crater, still grinning.

"Puhuhu… okay, maybe that was a bit much," it wheezed. "But yeah! Weapons will be randomly assigned! Could be a gun! Could be a sword! Could be poison! Could be a fork! That's the thrill! Just like life, no do-overs!"

No do-overs. I hugged my knees to my chest and buried my face in them for a second. A weapon. They're handing me a weapon, like I'm supposed to use it.

I'm not strong. I'm not sneaky. I'm not even tall enough to reach the top shelf in the kitchen. What am I supposed to do with a bomb? What if they give me something sharp? What if I open that bag and just… stare at it?

And worse… What if I use it?

What if I'm out there and I see someone, someone who looks scared, or cornered, or alone, and I think, "Now's my chance."

What if I move? What if I win?

I don't want to think about that. I don't want to see Mahiru's face in that scenario. I don't want to see anyone's.

"Good luck," Tengan said from the front of the room.

I whispered something into my arms. "I don't want to do this." No one heard me.

"Alrighty, kiddos!" the bear sang. "Time to kick this thing off!" He threw a salute like we were going off to war. "When I call your name, I want to hear a BIG 'here!' None of that shy crap! We'll be going in class roster order!"

A drumroll kicked in from the TV, dumb and loud. "Boy #1! Kiyotaka Ishimaru!"

Everyone turned. Ishimaru just… sat there. His mouth ajar and his face blank. Then suddenly—"HERE!"

His arm snapped up like a robot. He stood, fast. Too fast. His chair screamed back across the floor.

He grabbed the bag the soldier tossed him and nearly dropped it, then threw it over his shoulder.. And just for a second, he looked back at us.

I think… he just wanted to see us one more time. Wanted to remember. Then he turned and bolted out the door.

"Two minutes," Tengan said. And the clock started ticking.

He was Boy #1, I'm Girl #18. I know that. It's not a lot of time, but it's enough. Enough to figure out what the hell I'm going to do once I step outside that door.

Because right now, I have no clue. I hug my arms around my knees again, tighter this time.

Okay, okay. THINK. You're not strong, you're not fast. You're not gonna win in a fight, so forget that. But you're small; you're quiet when you need to be. You're good at getting into places other people can't.

So maybe... hide? But where?

The island looked big, but with zones rotating every six hours, I can't just crawl into a hole and wait. The map shows forests, buildings, maybe caves—

Wait. Buildings! I could find somewhere and lock myself in, try to barricade the door. No, that's dumb. Someone'll find me. Or worse, the zone shifts, and I blow up in a closet.

Okay. Backup plan. Stick close to someone. Not Soda, he's too pathetic. Not Gundham, he's too loud. Not Mikan, she'll trip and take me with her.

Mahiru. If I can find Mahiru, if we can team up, maybe… maybe I don't have to do this alone.

But what if she doesn't trust me? What if she thinks I'll kill her?

What if… I do?

No. No no no. Stop it. Stop thinking like that. You're not gonna hurt her. You're not.

...But what if it's her or me?

I hate this. I hate this I hate this I hate this.

"Girl #1, Tsumugi Shirogane!"

The voice jolts me back to reality.

Tsumugi stands slowly. Her pale blue hair shifts with the motion, light catching on her glasses as she adjusts them with trembling fingers. "I… I'm here," she says, barely above a whisper.

She doesn't cry. Just… clutches the bag when it's thrown to her like it's the last thing she'll ever touch. She turns toward us before she leaves, and for a second it looks like she wants to say something. Like she's about to tell us it'll be okay.

But she doesn't. Her mouth opens… Nothing. Then she's gone.

I glance around the room again, heart pounding.

Still Girl #18. Still time. Still gotta think.

And then, I see her. Behind me. Mahiru.

I turn just enough to see her, and our eyes meet. She's looking at me like she's trying to figure out if I'm okay. She's right there. We could do this together. Once we're out that door, we'll run, we'll hide. She's smart! She'll have a plan! She always has a plan! Maybe if we just—

"No whispering!" A piece of chalk whips through the air and cracks against someone's head. Leon Kuwata yelps, hand flying to his scalp.

"Final warning," Tengan says, lowering his arm like it's no big deal. "To all of you."

I freeze, and Mahiru looks away. I grip the edge of my seat so tight my fingers hurt.

"Boy #2, Mondo Owada!"

His name hadn't even finished echoing before his chair slammed to the ground. "Shit," he muttered, hand in his hair. Didn't fix the chair; just snatched the bag out of the air like it weighed nothing and stomped out the door.

Just like that. Gone. And it hit me.

It's going so much faster than I thought. I was counting names, right? I was keeping track. But it's all melting together. People standing, vanishing, numbers ticking down. Two minutes. That's all it takes, over and over.

It's getting closer, I'm not ready. I don't have a real plan and my brain's already spinning like I'm gonna puke.

But I have to do something. My eyes flick back toward her, Mahiru. Girl #5. I know that. I checked. She's got time, but nowhere as much as me.

I can ask her. I'll just tell her that when she gets outside to wait for me. We'll team up, she'll listen. She has to. She's the only person who ever—

I stop. Tengan. What if he sees? What if I lean too close, whisper too loud?

What if I say the wrong thing and he chucks a piece of chalk at my face or worse, what if he thinks it's "conspiring" or "cheating" or some twisted "rule violation?"

What if he kills her? WHAT IF HE KILLS ME?! What if I ruin everything? I feel my heart hammering in my throat.

"Girl #2, Aoi Asahina!"

Hina jolted up like she'd been shocked. "N-No! I mean…" she tripped over the words, then caught herself. "I'm here!" She grabbed the bag like it might knock her over and clutched it to her chest.

But she didn't leave right away. Her eyes darted around and then landed on Sakura Ogami, the Ogre. Sakura didn't say anything, she just nodded. Hina wiped a tear from her cheek and ran.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Think. It's almost Mahiru's turn. I have to say something.

I can't risk talking, not with Tengan glaring like a hawk. But… I could write it! I-I could fold this stupid paper and hand it over!

Just a few words: Wait for me, we'll go together.

I've got paper. I've got a pencil. I just need to pass it back… W-Wait, no! If I reach that far back, Tengan will notice.

…M-Maybe I can pass it to my right, have them do it! I-If they get in trouble, I'll be okay! T-They'll be fine, it's fine!

And then I freeze. Because the person sitting directly to my right… Is Tsumiki. Mikan Tsumiki.

She's already wringing her hands, her knees bouncing under the desk. She keeps muttering to herself when she thinks no one's listening. Even looking at her makes her flinch.

If I hand her a note… if I so much as breathe in her direction, she'll probably scream. Or drop it. Or panic and throw it. God, why did she have to be the one next to me?!

Okay, okay. Maybe I could drop the note? Like, just let it fall and maybe Mahiru sees it. Maybe she picks it up on instinct…

No. That's dumb. It'd blow away or someone else might grab it or—

My foot taps frantically under the desk. I'm running out of time.

"Boy #3, Kaito Momota!"

Kaito was already moving before his name hit the air. "Yeah!" he shouted, like he was proud of it. "I'm here, dammit!" He caught the bag one-handed and grinned, but it looked fake. "Three days, huh?" he muttered, mostly to himself. "That's all I need."

He gave some sloppy salute to no one in particular and walked out. I barely noticed because I'm still panicking.

If I can't get a message to Mahiru, then I need a backup. I pull up the list in my head. Who's after me?

…Mioda! Ibuki Mioda!

My stomach turns. Okay, okay, so we're not like besties, but she's Mahiru's friend and we've hung out, like, twice, and she always acts like she likes me even when I call her a freak.

So maybe she'd listen! Maybe if I wait outside after I leave, I can catch her when she comes out. Eight minutes is enough. I'll just hide nearby, say, "Let's team up!" She'll probably shout something stupid like "HECK YEAH LET'S BE BUDDIES" or whatever, but then I'll tell her shut up, and we'll move.

She's dumb, and loud, and talks like her mouth's on fire but she wouldn't kill me.

…Probably. She's not Mahiru, but she'll do.

I hate this. I hate that I might have to trust someone like Ibuki Mioda with my actual life. Can I really do that?!

I'm almost out of time. I need to make a DECISION, and NOW!

DECISION POINT: WHAT WILL HIYOKO DO?

A. Calm down! When you're outside, run from the school, then make a plan there, when you're safe.

B. Whisper to Mahiru! You'll be quick, and all Kuwata dealt with was chalk!

C. Pass the note! Tsumiki can handle something as simple as this, right?

D. Drop the note! Try to kick it back to Mahiru and hope she picks it up, and not someone else.

E. Wait for Mioda! Ibuki will totally team up with you, it's just 8 minutes!

Chapter Text

MEMORIES OF HOPE'S PEAK

Hiyoko Saionji stood in front of a full-length mirror, arms twisted awkwardly behind her as she fumbled with the obi. It had started to slip, so she tugged at it, before letting it fall slack with an audible sigh. The knot was crooked, too tight in one place and sagging in another.

"Stupid thing…" A soft knock came at the door. "What now?" she snapped.

"It's just me." Of course.

The door creaked open slightly. Mahiru Koizumi stepped in, balancing a small tray in one hand. Saionji scoffed and turned her back to the door, glaring at her own reflection.

"Unless you need anything, I'm fine. So go away."

"You don't sound fine." Koizumi shut the door behind her, setting the tray aside. Her eyes flicked to the rumpled fabric around Saionji's waist. "You're wearing it backwards again."

Saionji stiffened. "No I'm not."

"You are," Koizumi said. She walked over, brushing her hair behind one ear. "Let me help."

"I didn't ask for help."

"You don't have to." Koizumi was already reaching forward, undoing the loose wrap with quiet precision. "Hold still."

Saionji scowled, but didn't move, and for a moment, the room was quiet. Saionji peeked down; Koizumi's brow was knit in concentration. She finished the knot a moment later and stepped back, brushing her hands off.

"There," she said. "That's how it's supposed to look."

Saionji turned toward the mirror again, where she saw the obi sat perfectly centered. Her throat tightened, and she hated that she felt relieved.

Koizumi gave the faintest smile. "Not so bad, right?"

"Only because you did it," Saionji muttered.

Koizumi just shrugged. "That's what friends are for."

Saionji didn't respond.

DAY ONE; 12:13 AM.

I grit my teeth, fists clenched around the scrap of notebook paper I tore from the bottom of my inventory sheet. I scribble it fast, barely readable in my handwriting.

Wait for me, we'll go together.

Then the voice cuts in again. "Girl #3… Chiaki Nanami!"

My chest jerks like someone kicked it from the inside. It's time. As Nanami walks past me, I let the paper drop. One beat, two, then I twist my heel and kick it with the back of my foot. It doesn't go far, stopping only a foot from Mahiru's shoe.

I don't look at her, but I know her well enough to picture the way her eyes would narrow once she notices. I stare straight ahead. If anyone saw anything, let them prove it.

Chiaki's gone now, another name off the list. I shift in my seat, and lower my gaze.

Come on, Mahiru. Come on. Just read it. Please.

I can't help it, I look back.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

My stomach drops like someone shoved a knife under my ribs and twisted, cause Nagito Komaeda picked up the note.

I don't know how; maybe I kicked it wrong, maybe Mahiru didn't see it, but it's in his hand now, and he's reading it. Reading it? Why is he reading it?!

His eyes skim the words and I feel like my skin is about to catch fire. My brain's screaming at me to do something, anything, but I can't move. If I draw attention now, it's over. That old creep will know and who knows what he'll do to me!

Then Komaeda looks up and locks eyes with me. I awful little smile that never reaches his eyes. He tilts his head, like he's thinking about something funny. Like he knows something I don't.

I brace myself for the worst. But then… He leans over, reaches under his desk, and taps Koizumi on the knee. She flinches, startled, then turns toward him, eyes wary. Komaeda doesn't say a word, just holds the folded note out and points at me.

I stop breathing. Mahiru takes the paper and she reads it fast. And then she looks up at me and smiles.

I almost collapse right there in my chair. Relief hits so hard it makes my eyes sting. My throat feels tight, and I want to laugh and cry and throw something all at once.

In an instant, the names start flying.

"Boy #4… Kiibo Idabashi."

"Girl #4… Miu Iruma."

"Boy #5… Yasuhiro Hagakure."

One after another, they vanish. I barely register it. Then I hear it.

"Girl #5… Mahiru Koizumi!"

I snap out of it when Mahiru stands. I watch her fingers curl around the strap of her issued bag as it gets tossed to her. She slings it over her shoulder, then she turns and looks right at me. Her eyes meet mine…

And there's no fear in them. She smiles, and then, without a word, she jogs toward the door.

DAY ONE; 01:07 AM.

I don't know how long it's been. Minutes? Hours? My legs are numb and my back feels like it's molded to the chair. There's only sixteen of us now; everyone else is already out there, scattered across the island, probably running or hiding or… worse.

I fight the weight in my eyelids. Every time I blink, they stay shut a little too long. I can't fall asleep. Not I'm so close to leaving. Just stay up, Hiyoko. You can sleep when you're dead. Which, depending how this goes, might be sooner than you'd like.

"Boy #17… Nagito Komaeda!"

Komaeda stands. He moves with that usual clumsiness, like he's always on the edge of tripping, but never quite does. His fingers brush against his bag like he's forgotten it already.

Then, before he leaves, he does something even weirder. He turns to the rest of us, and says, "Good luck, everyone."

The room stays quiet in response, and then, his eyes flick toward me. His gaze holds. He doesn't say anything else. Just turns and walks out, like he didn't just do something completely creepy and cryptic.

What the hell was that? Why look at me?

I shake it off. Then it happens.

"Girl #17… Hiyoko Saionji."

I stand, slowly. My legs feel stiff, like they've forgotten how to move. I grab my bag as it's thrown at me, and in spite of my size I manage to grip it well enough to avoid toppling over. The strap digs into my shoulder heavier than I thought it would.

The door's waiting. This is it. No more time for planning, no more waiting. I just have to move.

I take a breath, and then I walk out. The hallway is empty.

Every step I take feels too loud, the sound echoing down the hall, and this stupid bag keeps bumping against my side. I can't tell if it's the weight or my nerves that's making me shake.

My head won't stop racing as I get closer to the exit. Is Mahiru okay? Has she found shelter? And her weapon, did she get lucky? Do I even want her to have gotten lucky? Or is she already…

No. No, don't think like that, just focus on what's next.

The door creaks when I push it open. I'm met with the sight of black top going for a quarter mile, concrete paths and a handful of classrooms scattered across the sight.

"Saionji!"

My head snaps up, and there by the courtyard gate, half-shadowed behind an old vending machine, was Mahiru.

"Mahiru!" I yell, and sprint across the cracked pavement.

I don't stop until I crash into her, arms flinging around her shoulders like I'll break if I let go. She grabs me back just as hard. I feel her hands in my hair, at my back, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I won't cry. I won't.

But my voice comes out thin, "You're okay. I was so scared, I thought…"

"I'm okay," she says, voice muffled in my shoulder. And I just nod, over and over. Mahiru pulls back first. Her eyes are scanning the buildings, "Another kid's coming out soon, I can't remember who but we know it's a guy." Her mouth tightens. "In a game like this? I'm not taking any chances that he could be playing."

I don't argue; I trust her. She grabs my hand and tugs me gently, and we start moving past the edge of the school. I glance back once, just to make sure no one's watching.

Then we slip into the trees.

DAY ONE; 01:20 AM.

The forest is quiet. Too quiet, the kind of quiet that doesn't feel real. My fingers are wrapped around Mahiru's like my life depends on it.

Neither of us say anything as we walk, side by side through the underbrush. I can't stop glancing at her, making sure she's still there, still okay, still real. Part of me is still hoping this is a nightmare, and I'll wake up to see I'm not in a game like this, fighting for my life.

We find a clearing tucked just past a dense wall of undergrowth, half-hidden by brambles and ringed with old roots. In the center, a large boulder juts out like natural cover.

Mahiru stops first. "This'll do for now." I let go of her hand reluctantly; the air feels colder without it.

She pulls her issued pack off her back and drops it onto the rock. I do the same, though I hesitate. Something about opening it makes everything feel too final, like crossing some line I can't uncross.

Mahiru doesn't flinch; she's always been the braver one. She rips hers open and starts going through it quickly.

I took a moment to breathe, and leaned down, unzipping the bag slowly. The sound felt too loud out here in the trees. The first thing I saw was a bottle of water. Next to that, two granola bars, and beside them, a flashlight. A crumpled map. A roll of gauze. A compass. And then…

I-I see… a barrel… o-of a gun?! D-Did I… Did I get assigned a…

W-What do I do about this? I don't know how to fire a gun! Hell, the only one of these freaks that probably does know is maybe Ikusaba, or Kuzuryu. Not me! And… a-and what if when Mahiru sees what I have, she… s-she freaks out! I'd freak out! Should I even show it?

That's when Mahiru finally unsheathes her own tool from the bag. I stare for a long time, and for a moment I see something sturdy, something glistening under its dark form. For a second I think it's a gun too…

But no; instead, she pulls out a pair of matte black binoculars, sturdy and high-grade. Military issue, maybe.

She blinks. "…Huh." She turns them over in her hands, inspecting the lenses and dials. "Kind of a stretch to call this a weapon," she mutters. She lifts them to her eyes and scans the tree line, adjusting the focus

For a second, I think she might be disappointed. But then she exhales, slow and relieved. "This is good," she says quietly. "I can't hurt anyone with these."

Then she glances over at me. "You next."

I grit my teeth and reach into my own bag; I can't ignore it anymore. I just need to breathe, and understand that Mahiru knows it's random. She won't assume I'm going to hurt her just because of what they gave me…

And then, I realize, instead of gripping down onto something metal… it feels kinda hollow. Almost like… plastic?

I pull it out and stare. This… this isn't a normal gun.

It's a paintball gun. From the right angle, it looks almost identical to a rifle with how its painted. There's a small ammo canister clipped into the top, and I can feel a pressurized hiss when I twist the safety off.

I blink down at it. "…Are they serious?"

But honestly? Under the frustration, I'm relieved. So relieved. Because this thing? It's not going to kill anyone. Maybe it'll leave a bruise, but that's it. I grip it tighter. The weight's not much, even for me.

Mahiru finishes scanning the clearing and drops the binoculars to her chest. "This could work," she says, like she's convincing herself. "We'll use the forest. Stay hidden and keep moving. All we gotta do is find somewhere to camp out for the night, then hopefully we can figure something out in the morning."

I nod.

Snap.

A branch breaks, just close enough to send ice down my spine. Both our heads whip toward the sound at the same time. I freeze, paintball gun trembling in my hands; my fingers are too slick to grip it right.

Mahiru grabs me by the wrist and yanks me down behind the boulder. She pulls me close, one arm over my shoulders, the other holding the binoculars against her chest to keep them from making noise.

Crunch. Footsteps. Someone's out there, and they're getting closer.

I bury my face in Mahiru's shoulder. My breath stutters. I feel her fingers tighten around my arm, tight enough to hurt, but I don't care.

Please pass. Please don't see us. Please.

Mahiru's breathing is shallow, frantic. I can feel her chest rise and fall against mine. I don't think I've ever seen her scared like this. I don't even realize I've been crying until I feel a tear slip down my chin.

A shadow passes between the trees. My fingers clench around the paintball gun like it might actually do something, and Mahiru shifts, her grip ready to yank me down flat if needed.

A figure steps through the treeline, and then I see the hair. White and unruly, wind-tossed like a kid who just rolled out of bed. His posture is relaxed, hands tucked loosely in his pockets like this is just a stroll through a park.

Nagito Komaeda.

He spots us almost instantly and doesn't even flinch. "Oh," he calls softly, voice too casual for this place. "There you are."

I don't move. Mahiru doesn't either.

"W-What the hell are you doing?" I blurt before I can stop myself. Mahiru stays silent, eyes narrowed. She's tense as hell, and now that he's talking, I can tell she's just as freaked out as I am.

Komaeda tilts his head. "Huh? Oh, sorry," he says, letting out a laugh. "I saw a bit of your kimono from the trees, and wanted to check on you two. It's good to know you're safe."

Safe. That word makes my stomach twist. I hate how calm he is. I hate that smile.

But still… I bite my tongue and say, "…Thanks. For the note. You didn't have to pass it to Koizumi."

His smile softens just a little. "Of course. I was happy to help. I was just worried I wouldn't find you."

Mahiru steps in front of me instinctively. "What?"

Komaeda doesn't seem to notice how off that sounds. "Oh, yeah. When I read your note, I thought it might be a good idea to come with," He shrugs, like it's nothing, "so I was hoping to run into you two when I got out. Guess I got lucky running into you both so quickly, huh?"

The blood drains from my face. I look at Mahiru, and her jaw is locked. She's gripping the binoculars like she's debating if she can club someone with them.

Komaeda, meanwhile, just smiles again. "You're lucky I caught up. There are some… unpredictable people out here." Then he laughs, softly. "I'm sure you understand."

I nod slowly, forcing my face to stay still. But inside? Every alarm in my head is screaming.

Komaeda shifts his weight, one foot propped lazily against a tree root. "So," he says, with a breezy lilt, "what's the plan?"

Mahiru's jaw tightens. "Not telling you." Her voice is firm with no room for discussion.

Komaeda seems confused at first, then just nods, completely unfazed. "That's fair. I wouldn't trust a worthless, talentless fool like me either." He says it with a smile. "Probably was dumb to think I could just show up and things would be great, especially when you've got such good options."

He nods toward me, and I flinch. He's so weird.

Mahiru doesn't respond. She just stares down at her binoculars, eyes distant, thinking. And then like lightning we both realize it at the same time… where's his weapon?

My blood runs cold. I clutch the paintball gun tighter.

Mahiru straightens, suddenly stiff. "Komaeda," she says slowly. "What did they give you?"

He tilts his head again. "Oh, it's nothing much," he says, voice lilting—

BANG!

A gunshot cracks through the air. The echo rattles through the clearing, through my ribs. I drop to a crouch without thinking. Mahiru yanks me down by instinct, both of us flat against the ground, breathing ragged.

Komaeda doesn't even flinch.

He just smiles a little wider. "Huh," he says, glancing toward the treeline. "Looks like someone else has joined us."

CRACK!

Komaeda's smile doesn't even have time to fade. The bullet slams into his chest, dead center. He flies back, crashes against the base of the tree and crumples like a dropped marionette.

"Komaeda!" I scream, not even realizing I said it.

Mahiru shouts too, but it's not at him. "GO!" She grabs my wrist and yanks me hard enough to tear the breath from my lungs.

POP! POP! POP!

Bullets slice through the air, whipping past tree trunks, kicking up dirt and leaves around us like angry hornets. One rips through the brush just inches from my head. I scream again, legs scrambling beneath me.

Mahiru doesn't stop, dragging me forward, and I run as fast and as hard as my little legs can carry me.

We tear through the undergrowth, tripping over roots, brushing past branches that claw at our skin. I don't know where we're going, only that we can't slow down.

"Don't look back!" Mahiru screams. And I listen. I don't look back, not at the clearing. Not at Komaeda.

We just run, faster than we ever have before.

DAY ONE; 01:30 AM.

I don't know how long we run for. It feels like forever, like our legs will give out before the bullets stop chasing us. But eventually, the gunfire fades and the sound of footsteps vanish. Eventually all we have is just the sound of our own breathing and the wind through the leaves.

We collapse beside a twisted old tree, lungs burning, arms scraped raw. Mahiru keeps glancing over her shoulder, just to be sure no one's behind us.

That's when it hits me. My knees buckle and I fall forward, palms slapping the dirt. My breath turns into shudders, then gasps, then full-on sobs.

"We're gonna die," I choke. "We're gonna die, we're gonna die out here, Mahiru!"

She turns to me immediately. "Saionji…"

"We can't win this, we can't fight them! What if they shoot you, what if they already—"

"Hiyoko!"

She grabs me. Her hands lock onto my shoulders and she pulls me up, and makes me look at her. "As long as I'm alive," she says, voice trembling but steady, "I will keep you safe. You hear me?"

I'm shaking. I don't answer. So she grabs me again and pulls me into her arms. She holds me like she's trying to shield me from the whole damn world.

And I break. I bury my face in her shoulder and sob until I can't breathe. Her arms stay around me, tight and warm and shaking too. She's crying. I can feel it.

We sit there in the dirt, curled up like we're the last two people left. Clinging to the only thing we have left: each other.

DAY ONE; 01:35 AM.

My name is Nagito Komaeda , and I'm still alive.

For a moment, I thought I wasn't. Everything went white, then hot, then nothing, and honestly? I assumed that was it. That I'd finally reached the end of my luck. That the bullet had done what it was meant to do and punched through my chest like paper.

But no, I'm still here. Still breathing.

I open my eyes slowly, the forest above me swaying gently in the wind. There's a sharp ache where the shot landed, deep and pulsing, but not unbearable. Definitely not fatal.

With some effort, I sit up and pull open my jacket. And there it is: my bulletproof vest. I can't help but thank my good fortune; I really thought when I first saw it in here that it'd be worthless. Who'd waste a bullet on me after all. Guess that shows just how daft I really am.

The impact left a nasty dent, a dark bruise already forming underneath, but the vest did its job. My shirt's torn, and I'll probably be sore for a few hours, but nothing's broken.

I chuckle under my breath. What a strange feeling; relief. It's nice.

I look in the direction Saionji and Koizumi ran. They really thought I died. I don't blame them.

If there were anyone in this class I thought I could trust, even for a little while, it was them. Koizumi, so determined and capable, grounded in something steady. Saionji, volatile but honest, fiercely protective in her own way. I thought… maybe there was a chance we could stick together.

Maybe I scared them. I suppose I do that. But I didn't follow them to hurt them. I just didn't want them to be alone. I thought, if I could stay close it might matter. But now? That chance is probably gone.

I don't blame the person who pulled the trigger either. They were doing what they thought they had to. After all, what's easier than taking out a nobody? I am pretty expendable, an easy enough way to see if they had the guts for this kind of game without much of a loss to weigh on their shoulders.

But I'm not dead. And that's good to know.

DAY ONE; 01:40 AM.

My name is Teruteru Hanamura , and I can't believe this is happening!

People like me? We don't end up out here. That's what my mama always said. That's what I believed.

I had dreams, dammit. Plans. Big ones.

I was gonna be a culinary legend. Not just some fry cook with grease under his nails, I mean the guy. The face on the magazine covers, the host of the top-rated gourmet show on every streaming service from here to the moon. I was gonna have cookbooks in every bookstore, a signature truffle oil line. I was gonna teach the world how to make the perfect roux while wearing a double-breasted chef's jacket custom-tailored for my sparkling personality.

Mama said, "You've got magic in those hands, boy. You don't belong in the trenches, you belong in the spotlight."

And I believed her. I could already see it: a sleek, open-air restaurant overlooking the Tokyo skyline, critics crying over my duck confit, lines out the door, and me strutting out from the kitchen, grinning like a goddamn star.

People loved me. I made 'em laugh. I made 'em feel. I had a future that tasted like garlic butter and champagne.

And then one day I'm cracking a joke with Akane, throwing a wink at Sonia, talking about a spicy little secret ingredient in my risotto…

The next? I wake up strapped to a desk, arms numb, my mouth dry, my head spinning… And there's this collar on my neck.

This isn't the dish I ordered. I wasn't supposed to be here. I had everything in front of me. People knew who I was! Teachers said I was a prodigy with a palate like velvet. My tempura could make grown men cry. Even the stuck-up elites from Tōtsuki whispered about me.

And Mama… God, she was gonna be so proud. She worked her fingers raw so I could cook. Always said, "My little Teruteru's gonna be on TV someday. Gonna have rich folks payin' thousands just to smell his soup."

And she wasn't wrong! I had bookings lined up. Showcases. Tastings. I even got an invite to that national chef's summit where they let you cook on live air. You know how rare that is?! I made it! Or I was gonna.

And now I'm out here, crouched in the mud, alone, thinking I just shot someone in the chest because I got scared of silhouettes in the trees. I didn't even look at their faces. I don't know who it was. I just fired.

And now they're running from me. Not just me, the idea of me. Like I'm some monster.

Is that what I am now?

I press my sleeve to my face, trying to stop shaking. It all changed so fast. So damn fast.

I try to breathe. Deep, slow, like I read in those stress books Mama used to keep by the register. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

It doesn't work. My chest tightens more. Feels like something's sitting on it, something big. My hands won't stop shaking. The pistol still in them, slick with sweat, dirt smudged along the grip. I set it down beside me, like maybe if I don't touch it, none of this'll be real anymore. But it is. It is real. So real I'd used up a whole magazine trying to confirm as much. I've already had to reload, and I only one more of them in the bag... G-God, am... am I rationing these? A-Am I at that point already? No... No!

I didn't think I'd ever be out here. Not in a million damn years. Me? Me? In the Program? I was supposed to be special. That's what Mama said. That's what I believed.

I worked too hard for this. Sacrificed too much. I burned my fingers learning to flambé by twelve. Memorized flavor wheels before most kids learned how to ride a bike. I built my life dish by dish, one customer at a time. I earned everything. Every compliment. Every nod from some bitter old chef who thought I was too loud or too small or too country.

And Mama… Oh God. Mama.

She's sick. She was already hanging on by a thread when I left for Hope's Peak. She smiled, sure, but I saw the strain in her hands. The dark under her eyes. The way she kept the oven going all day 'cause we couldn't afford to heat the building.

She said she'd be fine. Said she'd hold the restaurant together while I went and made a name for myself. "You go shine, baby. I'll be waitin' right here."

What happens if she finds out I'm gone? What happens if I die out here and they tell her? What if her heart just gives out on the spot? I can't let that happen. I won't.

I gotta make it back to her. I gotta walk through that door, apron in hand, and hug her till she tells me I'm squashing her lungs. I gotta take over the kitchen. Rebuild the place and make her proud. Make it all worth something.

I'm not gonna die in some no-name woods, choking on my own snot. No. I'm going home.

Even if that means doing things I never wanted to. Even if the others hate me for it. I didn't want this. I didn't ask for it. But I have to survive.

Please… please just understand. This isn't personal.

It's the only way.

A rustle. I jolt upright, my hand already flying to the pistol. I squeeze the trigger and its sound punches the air. My ears ring real bad, I think it was too close to my head.

"Stop shooting!"

High-pitched. A girl's voice. I freeze, and my breath catches in my throat.

A girl. My head swims. My thoughts, already scrambled, twist. A girl. Out here. Running from me.

My fingers twitch. What if she's cute? What if she's scared and needs someone?

What if—

I snap my eyes shut and grit my teeth. "NO." Not now. Not now.

This is the Program. Not a dumb teenage fantasy. Not some late-night dream after watching too many risqué dramas in the back room of Mama's place. I haven't even… I mean, I've never… God.

My cheeks burn, and not from shame. From the way my brain short-circuits under stress, pulling me toward any escape it can find. Even this. I haven't had a real moment with a girl in my life and now I'm in a damn kill zone pointing a gun at one.

I grip the pistol tighter. Focus, Hanamura. Focus. This ain't the time for those thoughts. Ain't the time for your hormones to be playing lead violin in your head. You gotta live. You have to live.

Don't let her tempt you. Don't let her distract you.

I shake my head, eyes darting around the woods, trying to see her. Is she a threat? Is she playing me? A voice tells me to not let a pretty voice be the last thing you ever hear, at least not today.

"I'm coming out," the voice calls again.

My whole body locks up. No. No, no, no, what the hell am I supposed to do?!

I can hear her footsteps, slow and careful, like she's trying not to spook a wild animal. I guess that's what I am now.

My finger hovers near the trigger. My heart's pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else.

What if she's armed? What if she's not? What if she's crying? What if she's beautiful?

My brain's on fire, racing through a thousand cracked, tangled thoughts. I feel like I'm gonna puke. Or scream. Or shoot again.

DECISION POINT: WHAT WILL TERUTERU HANAMURA DO?

A. Lower the gun! Let her talk. Maybe she’s scared too, maybe… this doesn’t have to end in blood.

B. Keep aiming! Don’t trust a damn thing. People lie, pretty voices lie harder. Stay smart or die.

C. Fire a warning shot! Show you mean business. If she’s playing you, you’ll find out real fast.

D. Run! Get out of there, this isn't a showdown. You need space to think before you do something you can’t undo.

Chapter Text

DAY ONE; 01:43 AM.

My finger's still floating by the trigger. Another step forward, and a twig cracks. My spine stiffens like it's made of sugar glass.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," the voice says again. Softer now. Like maybe if she speaks gently enough, I'll forget I'm pointing a loaded gun at her chest. But I don't forget. I can't forget. Every nerve in my body is screaming, telling me to run or fire or something. Anything but this awful in-between.

"Stop moving," I rasp. My throat's dry. It hurts to talk.

Her hands appear first, pale and weaponless. The second thing I notice is her slim frame, and how easily she blends into the shadows of the forest. "I'm not here to fight," she says.

Then I see her face, and my guts tie themselves in a knot. Peko Pekoyama.

My fingers clench tight around the grip of the pistol. I don't pull the trigger yet, but I'm aiming square at her chest before she even fully clears the shadows. I can't breathe. I can't think. Of all people, it had to be her?

"S-Stop right there!" I shout, voice cracking. "Don't come any closer! I swear, I'll shoot!"

She stops instantly without protest. Her eyes lock onto mine. I find myself unable to read her expression at all, and… t-that terrifies me. I feel my arms shaking.

"I mean it!" I snap. "Y-You stay right where you are, y-hear me?!"

She says nothing, her expression doesn't even change. That's what freaks me out the most. I don't trust still water, and I don't trust people who don't flinch.

She's dangerous, everybody knows that. She's always trailing behind Kuzuryu like some silent specter, sword never more than a twitch away. The way she swung that thing during exams, she looked like a killer… And she's just standing there. Menacingly!

"I'm not gonna warn you again," I say, my voice coming out thinner this time. My legs want to run. My hands want to fire. My brain wants to disappear.

"Hanamura," she starts.

I flinch. "D-Don't say my name!"

"Calm down," she says.

"I am calm!" I shout, though the tremble in my voice betrays every syllable. "Y-You just stay right there, alright?! I swear, I'm not scared to use this thing!"

"I'm not here to hurt you," she says. "As long as you don't make me."

"No! No, you don't get to say that!" I yell, backing up a step without meaning to. My heel catches a root and I stumble a bit, gun jerking in my hands. "Don't pretend you're not dangerous! I know who you are! You're with him, I bet! You'd slice me open before I could even scream, and don't you dare act like you wouldn't!"

She exhales through her nose, slow. "If I wanted to kill you," she says, flat as the edge of her blade, "you'd already be dead."

Everything inside me goes rigid. There's no threat in her voice, but… that confidence… she's not bluffing, she's just stating a fact.

My mouth stays open for a second, though nothing comes out. I don't drop the gun. Hell no. I don't even lower it. But I do stop talking.

"I'm looking for Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu," she says. "Have you seen him?"

My brain takes a second to catch up. "…What?"

"Kuzuryu. Have you seen him?"

I stare at her. She's asking me if I've seen him? Which means… he's not here. He's not with her. Oh thank god.

My knees almost give out right then and there. She's alone, it's not a setup. No two-on-one ambush, no Kuzuryu walking out behind her with a piece already drawn. Just her. I can feel safe…

…Then I start to feel too safe. Because that's when I notice the way her uniform clings to her arms, how the fabric around her collar dips just enough to show a sliver of skin. The way she stands like every inch of her's sharp enough to draw blood. God, why does she have to look like that?

I shake my head, hard. No. No no no. Don't do this, don't you dare! I'm supposed to be on guard. She could be a cold-blooded killer in this kinda game, I should be terrified. I am terrified.

So why the hell am I sweating for a completely different reason now?

It's her fault. It's her fault for standing like that, looking like that. For showing up here and saying things like some kinda… disciplined death goddess. One I'd let…

Dammit!

I force myself to look up at her face. "Are you okay?" she asks.

I jolt upright like I've been slapped. "Y-Yeah! Yes. Fine. I'm fine."

Her eyes narrow the tiniest bit, and for a second, I'm terrified she read my thoughts straight off my face.

"I haven't seen him," I say quickly. "Kuzuryu, I mean. N-Not once."

She hums at that, then she nods. "Makes sense. Still disappointing."

Then she looks past me, assessing the forest.

And I… I can't stop looking at her again. This is bad.

She starts to turn. Just a shift of her shoulder, a flicker of motion like she's about to head back into the woods.

"H-Hold up there, missy!" It bursts out of me louder than I meant, my voice cracking mid-word. She stops, and I level the gun higher. "You don't just get to leave. I didn't say you could go!"

Her head turns slowly, just enough for me to see the slight twitch at the edge of her mouth. She pivots back around, but there's a tightness in her jaw that wasn't there before. She's getting impatient.

Good. Let her wait.

"I'm in charge here," I say, too fast. "I'm the one with the gun. You don't make the rules."

She doesn't respond.

I swallow hard, and try to sound tough. "What'd you get?"

"What?"

"In your bag," I say, nodding at the pack slung at her side. "What's your weapon? What did you get?!"

She looks down at the strap. Her lips press together.

"You wouldn't like it."

Oh no. Oh hell no. I take a step back and raise the gun higher. "T-That sounds like a threat! Is that a threat?! Throw it over! Now! L-Last warning!"

Pekoyama exhales through her nose. But she unzips the side pouch of her pack and pulls something out. She looks at it for a second then tosses it, underhanded, across the clearing. It hits the dirt with a pathetic little plop.

I keep the pistol trained on her the whole time, my body inching toward it. I crouch down, free hand reaching out. I grab it.

It's… light. Shockingly so even. It's…

It's a fork. Just a regular, sad, slightly bent plastic fork. Not a gun. Not even a knife. Not a garrote or some poison-tipped shiv. Just a fork.

There's a beat of silence, and then it happens; I start laughing. "A fork," I wheeze, clutching my side. "A s-stupid, useless fork!" I hold it up like a trophy, like some kind of divine joke. "And I've got a gun!"

My knees buckle as I double over, still wheezing.

She clears her throat. "Can I go now?"

The laughter dies in my throat. My head snaps up, and I'm already lifting the gun again. "N-No!" I bark. "I-I mean, not yet! I ain't finished talking!"

She doesn't flinch. But I press on, desperation sliding into my voice. "Listen, listen… I've got a gun, alright? You've got… well, a fork. That ain't fair, right? So… how about we team up, huh?" I try to smile, but it feels more like a twitch. "Yeah. You and me. I protect you, you help me watch my back. Just us. Makes sense, don't it?"

Her and me. Me and her. Wandering the island, just the two of us. Huddling by campfires. Sharing food. Maybe... maybe even sleeping close. God, just thinking about it; her clothes clinging tighter with sweat, those sharp eyes softening just for me, that voice saying my name with something other than judgment for once…

I swallow hard, my gaze drifting again, just for a second, to the curve of her hips, the smooth lines of her legs, the way her shirt hugs her chest. It's killing me. It's actually killing me. It ain't fair.

I snap out of it when I realize she's already shaking her head.

"No."

My heart skips. "…Wh-what?"

"No," she says again, firm. "I work better alone."

I blink. Then I laugh. "What? C'mon, you serious? I have a gun. You saw what I just did! I ain't afraid to shoot. Y-You should want to stick close to someone like me!"

She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to. The look in her eyes says enough: she's already made up her mind.

I feel something twist in my chest. Something ugly.

"Why not, huh?" I snap, stepping closer, hand still tight on the trigger. "What, you think I ain't good enough for you?! I've got a real weapon! You've got a glorified toothpick, and you still think you're too good for me?!"

Now the thoughts are racing. Not just about her, but about him; Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu. That little bastard with his slick suit and cold stare. The one everyone knows she follows around like a lapdog. Like she'd die for him.

And suddenly, I'm boiling. "H-He yours or somethin'?!" I bark. "Is that it?! You'd stick with him if it was him askin', huh?! Bet you would! Bet you wouldn't even hesitate! What's he got, huh? What's he got that I don't?!"

My eyes keep bouncing between her and the gun. Her. The gun. Her. The gun.

I can feel it building in my throat; something hot and bitter and wrong. If she ain't gonna help me... if she's gonna keep acting like I'm nothing... like I'm not even worth talking to… Then why the hell should I let her walk away?

I got the gun. She's just standing there, tossing around cold words and colder looks like they mean something. Like she's in charge. She ain't.

Only one of us is getting off this island. That's the rule, right? Just one. And it sure as hell ain't gonna be some samurai wannabe who thinks she's too good to team up with the guy who actually has firepower.

I clench my jaw. My finger twitches. This has to happen eventually, right? Eventually we're all gonna have to do something real bad. Maybe I just got my chance early.

Her eyes shift and I see it; she knows what I'm thinking.

"Don't do this, Hanamura." Her voice is lower now.

But I don't budge. I can't. I feel like if I hesitate now, I'll never be able to pull the trigger when it counts.

"I-I gotta get home," I whisper. "You don't understand. My mama's waitin'. I can't… I won't die out here!"

I do it… I pull the trigger. The shot cracks through the trees like thunder.

But she's not there. She moved fast, like she knew it was coming before I did.

By the time I blink, she's already inside my reach. The butt of her palm slams into my wrist, and the pistol jerks up, another shot going wild into the canopy above. My hand screams in pain. I try to yank it back, but she's already twisting, turning my weight against me.

I stumble. She doesn't. Her leg sweeps mine out from under me, and I hit the ground hard, dirt in my mouth, breath punched from my lungs. The gun's already gone; she wrenched it from my grip like it was nothing.

I reach for her out of desperation, but she kicks my hand away. The bones in my fingers scream.

My heart's going a million miles an hour, and all I can do is stare up at her as she steps back, gun now level in her grip, pointed straight at me. My mouth opens. Maybe to beg, or to apologize. But she pulls the trigger before I get the chance.

No. No no no, please! Mama. I don't wanna… This hurts. Not the shot, not yet. But the look in her eyes. Like I'm nothing, like pulling that trigger meant less than swatting a bug. I was scared! That's all it was, I was scared. I didn't mean, I didn't think… Why'd I have to be the one? Why couldn't someone else go down like this? Why did it have to be me?! I just wanted to live!

…Mama, I'm sorry.

DAY ONE; 01:47 AM.

I pull the trigger.

The bullet finds his forehead just above the brow. I see it hit; see the shock freeze onto his face for all eternity. There's no time for him to scream, just that instant of wide-eyed disbelief as his brain refused to process what was already done.

Then the back of his head ruptures, a burst of red and white spraying behind him, scattered into the undergrowth. His head snaps back, then crumples to the forest floor, limp and graceless.

I lower the gun. He doesn't move. His eyes stay open, fixed on something that isn't there. His mouth's parted slightly, like he was still trying to speak.

I wait a beat. Two. Nothing.

BOY #12: Hanamura, Teruteru—DEAD.
47 left to go!

I exhale through my nose and close the distance. I check his pulse, not because I need to, but just to be sure. You can never give too much leeway…

As expected, no heartbeat. He's gone. I stare at him for a moment longer. He was loud. Scared. Dangerous in the way cornered animals are. And stupid… so stupid.

…My name is Peko Pekoyama, and I didn't want to do that.

But he forced my hand. He pointed a gun at me, and then he pulled the trigger. When someone makes the decision to kill, you feel it. I saw it in his eyes, watched his panic curdle into certainty.

I moved before he could finish the thought. Because if I hadn't, I'd be dead. And now he's gone, sprawled in the dirt like any other body I've seen.

I stand over him a moment longer than I should. My grip on the gun is firm, but my fingers are aching.

I don't feel bad. Not really.

Hanamura was a pig of a man; crude, invasive, always wagging his tongue at anyone in a skirt. The kind of guy who thought a wink and a disgusting innuendo were worthy of affection. He made people uncomfortable and didn't care. Or maybe he did and just liked it. I've never forgotten the way he talked to the girls in class. Or how he'd look at them when he thought no one was watching. I always saw. I remembered. I remember everything.

I never liked him. But that didn't mean I wanted to kill him.

He never did anything to the clan. Never tried to hurt Fuyuhiko. He was annoying, sure. Frustrating. But harmless. Or… he had been. Until this.

This was a fight that never needed to happen; I didn't provoke it. I didn't threaten him, I didn't so much as raise my voice. And yet there I was, standing in the forest, watching him spiral into delusion. Thinking a gun made him strong. Thinking that waving it around would make someone like me afraid. He was wrong.

I check the magazine; four bullets left. I look through his bag, scattered across the floor now, and look inside. Sure enough, I find an additional magazine, meaning I've got twelve in total. I'll need to make them count.

I rise again and look at him one last time. As much as I don't feel guilt, something about what he said keeps echoing in the back of my mind.

"I gotta get home… My mama's waitin'…"

He wasn't just trying to live for himself, he was playing for someone too. But then again, everyone is.

Maybe it was a blessing to deal with him so early; I would've had to get to him eventually regardless. That's how this works. Everyone here has to die so my young master can live. That's the only outcome I'll accept. That's my purpose.

So perhaps… this was just cutting out the wait. Sparing him the slow descent of madness, sparing me the illusion of choice.

Because being honest, he'd already cracked. The game got to him faster than most. It broke something in his brain, turned his fear into violence. Even if I'd walked away, even if I'd left him there in that patch of dirt, it wouldn't have ended quietly. Someone else would've found him, and they might not have been ready.

If he'd seen Fuyuhiko first? I don't want to imagine that. It wasn't worth the risk.

I straighten, adjust the strap of the newly claimed bag across my shoulder, and tuck the pistol away where I can reach it fast if I need to.

I don't look back; I step into the woods, the trees swallowing me whole.

I will find my young master.

DAY ONE; 01:51 AM.

My name is Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, and I've been doing a damn good job of not getting seen.

I've been hugging tree lines, sticking low and moving fast ever since I got out of that creepy-ass classroom. And yeah, I'll say it; being small finally came in handy for once. I'm not about to brag or nothing, but it turns out staying outta sight gets a lot easier when your head doesn't poke above every bush you crawl through.

Not that I'm saying that out loud.

Still. It's been, what, an hour? Maybe a little more? The sun hasn't moved much, and my watch was taken, so I'm eyeballing it. Could be less, doesn't matter. Point is: I haven't seen anyone yet, and I'm trying real hard to keep it that way.

I wanted to wait for her. Part of me thought if I stuck close to the edge of the school, maybe Peko'd pop out, probably with some kind of plan already brewing. She's good like that, always thinking three moves ahead.

But then Fukawa happened. Jesus Christ. One minute she's crying walking out of that fucking school, next she's saying someone's gonna 'get her'. Then she sees some shit, along the other edge of my sightline, and straight up passed out cold.

But then, she jumps right back up like it's nothing. She's screeching like a banshee and clawing at the walls like she's possessed. Eyes rolling back, foaming at the mouth. I don't know what the hell was going on with her, and I wasn't sticking around to find out. That was my cue to dip.

I didn't wait, didn't even look back. Still, part of me worries… Not for me, for Peko.

I mean, no way she'd let someone like Fukawa get the drop on her. She's the scariest person I know, and I've met real killers. She moves like steel and cuts like it too. Cool head, steady hands, eyes like razors… Nah, she's fine. Hell, if anything I hope Fukawa didn't try anything stupid. That'd be a quick one-way trip to the dirt. Wouldn't even be a real fight.

Still… I keep thinking about her, and every minute she doesn't show up is starting to piss me off more than I want to admit.

No… no, stop it! He can't let her get in his head. Not now. Peko's fine, she has to be. She's not some helpless little schoolgirl stumbling through the woods. She's not gonna lose to some twitchy idiot with a sharp stick. She's fine.

"Fuck..." I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my hair. "Just focus on the now."

And in the now? I've gotten damn lucky. Because sitting at my side right now, tucked in its sheath and barely rattling as I move, is a goddamn katana.

That's right. A katana. Full-sized, real steel, sharp as hell, no foam tip or wood handle bullshit. The real fucking deal. And yeah, I'd take a gun over this any day, who the hell wouldn't? But this? This is Peko's game. She's the one who made me take those stupid sparring drills seriously. Taught me how to stop swinging like I was in some anime and actually hold my stance. Made me repeat every movement 'til I could draw and cut in the same breath.

I wasn't her level, not by a long shot, but I guarantee I'm better than most of the punks in this class. A lot better.

I run a hand along the hilt, still sheathed. Shit's got a good grip. Good balance too. Ain't even that heavy, musta had it altered for my sake or something. There's probably a short joke in there somewhere, but fuck it, he'll give these dickheads running this thing for that later.

Right now though, just let someone try something. Let some bitch come out of the brush with their bare-ass hands. I'll cut them down. I'll…

…

I stop walking. No. I don't want that. I don't want to kill any of these assholes.

Yeah, most of 'em got on my nerves. Loud and fake, always acting like they knew me. Half of 'em probably thought I was just some mob brat with a temper… and they weren't wrong. But they were still… good people. Some of them. Maybe most of them.

Even when they were pissing me off, they were still human.

But them's the breaks, probably. Out here? It's not about what I want. If someone tries something, I'm not holding bac, simple as that. I'm not gonna die out here just to keep my conscience clean. So if it comes to that? Then they better be ready. Still, if he can, he'd rather keep this shit easy for a while. He doesn't wanna risk having to pick a fight with someone with better shit than what he's got.

The trees thin out all at once, and there's a clearing ahead. And sitting dead in the middle of it is a house. Thing is two stories tall, but still pretty freaking small, and old, and shitty. Thing looks right out of an old horror manga. Paint peeling off the siding in long gray strips. A lone shutter hangs crooked beside a window coated in grime. The front door's slightly ajar, swaying in the breeze like it's breathing. Damn thing's creepy as Hell…

I crouch behind a bush, eyes scanning the windows, the roof, the treeline around it… Fucking thing could be a trap. Could be someone already posted up inside. But it's shelter, and right now, I could really use a second to compose myself.

I draw the katana from my side, just enough to remind myself it's there. The smooth whisper of steel gives me focus. And then I move.

Low and fast, up to the porch. I press myself against the frame of the house and inch the door open with two fingers, heart hammering against my ribs. A loud creak splits the air, echoing through the woods.

I grit my teeth and slide inside, into the first floor…

Room's pretty open on first look, with furniture equally as beat up as the building itself. There's a couch with stuffing leaking out one side, a rickety table that looks like it'd lose a fight with a strong breeze, and a kitchen nook with empty cabinets hanging open like gaping mouths.

But hey, there ain't no people. Don't see any footsteps engrained into the dust littering the floor, don't see any bags or bodies or shit either. It's fucking something, at least.

Still holding the katana tight in one hand, I creep up the staircase, each step groaning under my weight. But halfway up, I pause; there's a mirror at the landing. And for a split second, I swear I see someone move.

My grip tightens, and I step forward, pulse pounding in my ears… But it's just me. Just my reflection. Just my fucking paranoia playing tricks. Dumbass…

When I get to the stop of the stairs, I push into the bathroom and twist the sink handle on. The water flows, and though the shit is coated with rust and gunk at first, after a minute it manages to clear out and look reasonably clean.

I splash it on my face in one sharp motion. Shit's fucking ice cold, stinging at the corners of my face… Good. I stare into the cracked mirror. My eyes are fucking bloodshot… God, I look like Hell.

"Lock in, Kuzuryu," I growl. "Lock the fuck in."

This is no time to get soft. Sooner or later, someone's gonna find me, and when they do, I better be ready.

I reach back, re-sheathing the katana. The motion is muscle memory at this point. Smooth as Hell and practiced to goddamn perfection if I could say so myself. Just like how Peko drilled into me over and over again.

Peko…

Just as I step out of the bathroom, I hear the front door creak. My whole body snaps still and my blood runs cold. I drop low, pressing my back to the wall just outside the doorframe, hand already wrapped around the hilt of the katana. I hold my breath and listen.

Shit. I didn't hear the door, didn't hear anything until that board. Whoever's down there, if there's anyone down there, either got in quiet, or was already here. Shitting fuck, I thought I scoped out this fucking place! Did I miss a room? Did I forget a closet? Either way now I'm cornered.

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. This is exactly what I didn't want. One hour in, one goddamn hour in and I've already got someone sniffing around my shit.

No way to tell who it is. Could be someone scared, like me. Could be someone looking for a place to crash. Could be someone ready to put a knife in my neck the second I peek over the stairs.

FUCK!

I press my ear against the wall, listening again. Still nothing. No. I can't do this. I can't go down there blind. I'm not walking into a killbox with a knife when for all I know that fucker's got a gun propped up and aiming that shit up the stairs where I am to take my fucking head off! I am in a real shit position where I am right now and I ain't letting that take me out.

I turn back to the bathroom, and that's when my eyes lock onto the window. Left side of the room, slightly ajar. And just outside? The slope of the first-floor roof.

I move fast. I push the window open further, slowly, making sure it doesn't creak. Cool air rushes in, and I slip one leg out, then the other, my body flattening low as I slide out onto the roof shingles. The whole structure groans a little under my weight, but it holds.

Another sound, this one's a bit closer now. Something's coming up the fucking stairs!

Shitshitshitshit. No way I'm taking a fight if I don't have to. Not on night fucking one. I slide across the roof, keeping low till I reach the edge and press myself flat against the shingles. My fingers grip the gutter.

Alright, Kuzuryu. You got one shot.

I lower myself down, slow, inch by inch, feet searching for anything solid to land on that won't snap my fucking neck, but there's nothing. I'm dangling now, arms straining under my weight Fingers slipping.

And then they do.

"FUCK—!"

I hit the ground hard. Pain rockets up my spine, bursts through my shoulder and into my ribs. I roll to break the fall but it still knocks the wind out of me. My breath leaves in a grunt, and for a second, the world spins.

But I'm not dead!

I hear the click of a light turning on upstairs. That bastard's looking out now, mighta already spotted me.

Fuck it, I bolt straight into the woods. My whole body is screaming, but I don't give it the satisfaction. I ain't dying here. Not in some busted up house that ain't even all that, not on some shit island in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

Fuck that, and fuck that asshole, and fuck this whole goddamn situation! Fuck it to Hell, fuck it! And fuck whoever's watching this crap while I'm at it…

DAY ONE; 01:56 AM.

My name is Ryota Mitarai, or at least, that's what everyone thinks.

I watch Kuzuryu sprint into the woods from the second-story window, his short frame moving fast. He's hurting, probably fell. I don't move, just stand there, watching him just in case he looks back and sees it's me. Better safe than sorry, may as well keep the act up where I can.

Ryota Mitarai isn't brave. He isn't aggressive or curious or dangerous. He's the Ultimate Animator; an anxious recluse with a soft voice. He's forgettable in every way that matters. That's the mask I wear, that's the role I've been playing long before we ended up on this island. And like all my performances, it's been flawless.

The truth is simple: I'm not Ryota. I never was. I'm the Ultimate Imposter.

I've worn many faces, but this one was handed to me. Mitarai didn't want the attention, and certainly didn't want the pressure of Hope's Peak or the social expectations of our classmates. What he wanted was time alone in his dorm, animating in peace uninterrupted. He approached me quietly and asked if I would "attend classes" in his place.

I didn't hesitate. If I kept it up for a year, I'd almost certainly be guaranteed a passing grade. What better way to prove how good I was at performing my duties than my masquerading as a classmate for as long as any of them knew me? It'd certainly leave an impression on the staff, that much I'm sure of.

And sure enough, I kept to the role. Memorized his posture, his voice, his expressions. Took his exams. Spoke when spoken to, but not too much. Fidgeted just enough to keep the illusion airtight. People saw what they wanted to see; a boy too fragile to fake anything.

Now here I am, still wearing his skin, still smiling meekly, still holding my arms close to my chest and maintaining the slightest twitch. And I'm watching Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu run into the trees, sword on his hip, adrenaline in his step.

That one's dangerous, even more so if she's alive. Peko Pekoyama. The name alone complicates things. But that's fine. Complications are part of the game.

I step back from the window. I don't need to chase him. Truth is, I have no interest in hurting him. Not yet at least, maybe not ever.

That's the part I didn't expect; the thing no one ever talks about when you're wearing someone else's face for too long is you start to absorb the life that comes with it. You stop pretending, and you start... being.

Ryota Mitarai was a cover. A fairly safe one. He let me blend into the backdrop, and for once, I didn't have to steal the spotlight to survive, unlike with my hired rounds as Togami when he didn't feel like making small talk with the common wealth. I didn't have to become someone brash or commanding or larger-than-life. I could just be overlooked. Approachable, even.

And strangely enough, that was... nice. I made friends, I think. Mikan Tsumiki, constantly trembling, but always trying to help. Leon Kuwata, loud and impulsive, but somehow kind under it all. Akane Owari, all hunger and anger, but weirdly protective. And more beyond that. I didn't seek them out, but they found me anyway. Maybe because Ryota was an easy person to talk to. Maybe because I finally let them.

They're good people, or at least, they were. Something tells me that's about to fly out the window. It always does when blood enters the equation.

Still, I won't be the one to draw it first; doubt I even would have had I intended to play. I know what I am, and I know what I'm capable of. If it comes to it, I'll do what needs to be done, but only when the situation demands it. There's no glory to be found in a game like this, in indulging in senseless violence just for the sake of it.

So for now? I'll wait.

This house is quiet now with Kuzuryu gone. I sit down on the warped floor, cross-legged, back against the wall, and reach into my bag. A protein bar. Not ideal, I'd certainly have asked for something a bit more filling, but its enough. I down it before I even think about it much.

After a few quiet minutes, I reach back into my bag and finally pull out my assigned "weapon."

I had expected something simple when I had first checked. A knife, maybe. But instead? I got a book. Not even a thick one, its about the size of a paperback novel, but bound tight in dark leather.

Well, if I'm going to be stuck here for some time, reading material doesn't hurt I suppose. And so I flip it open to a random page…

And what I find makes me pause.

MALE STUDENT NUMBER TWELVE
TERUTERU HANAMURA

His name's bolded at the top. Beneath it: lines of analysis.

I scan quickly.

Designated Weapon:  P08 Luger pistol.
Game Prognosis:  Poor. Despite a unique skill set and genuine talent, Hanamura's liabilities far outweigh his assets.
Other Notes:  My personal bet for who'll be the first student to crack under the pressure of the game.

I read it twice.

The details are specific, too specific. This is compiled, deliberate data, built from surveillance and psychological breakdowns. The phrasing is clinical, and terrifyingly accurate.

I flip forward… Makoto Naegi. Celestia Ludenberg. Kirumi Tojo. Gundham Tanaka. Each entry just as thorough. Designated weapons, personality assessments, survival odds, weaknesses…

All of them laid bare.

My stomach tightens with the weight of what this is. This isn't a book, it's a blueprint. It's not power in the traditional sense, but if knowledge is power, then this is a tactical nuke.

So... this is my weapon.

Interesting.

I flip to a random page. Near the front.

FEMALE STUDENT NUMBER ONE
TSUMUGI SHIROGANE

DAY ONE; 02:00 AM.

My name is Tsumugi Shirogane, and I'm going to win.

I don't just think that, I know it with every fiber of my being. With every heartbeat that drums like a theme song in my ears, I know I'm not here by chance. This is fate, carefully designed and finally delivered.

I've been ready for this game since before I even had my Hope's Peak acceptance letter. Most of them? They're scared right now. Hiding and crying, waiting to die. They don't understand what this is. But I do. What I have that they don't is devotion.

I've watched every Program since I was small. Every grainy re-air, every scrubbed internet mirror, every illegally patched fan stream. I know every name, every winner, every weapon, every moment. The heartbreaks, the betrayals, I studied them the way priests study scripture. Because this isn't just a show; it's the pinnacle of human theater!

Emotion, violence, desperation, and triumph, it's all here, raw and unfiltered. The kind of truth you can't fake, not even on a soundstage. You get one shot to show the world who you are, and if you win? They never forget you. Ever.

I've submitted my classes to the official volunteer intake system every quarter for years. Different essays, same usual idea. I know I wasn't the only one, but I guarantee no one sent in more entries than I did. No one campaigned like me, no one begged and screamed through fiberoptic lines like I did, over and over again.

They had to hear me. Had to. And now? Now they've given me the stage I deserve. They saw something in me. I'm not here to be some tragic side note or an early body for shock value. I'm going to be the name they remember. I'm going to craft this season's narrative myself. I'll build drama, pace the arcs, set the beats. I know how it works. I know the formula. Hell, I practically know the camera angles by heart!

And when the final broadcast ends? It'll be my face on the screen.

Tsumugi Shirogane, the girl who knew how the game was played before she ever stepped into the arena. The rest of them are just here to decorate my story.

It certainly helps that I loathe everyone in my class. I smiled when they talked to me, laughed when it was appropriate. But inside? I hated them. All of them.

Hope's Peak is full of caricatures, walking tropes wrapped in expensive outfits and defined by their own self-importance. The loud ones, the pretty ones, the tough ones, the sweet-but-secretly-broken ones, it's exhausting. None of them ever felt real to me.

But that's fine, because they were going to die. That's what the script says, anyway! It's not personal, it's just the Game.

And yeah, objectively, I know I'm not the most... formidable contestant. I'm not tall. I'm not fast. I'm not some magnetic class rep. I don't even really have a heartwarming backstory to milk. I'm just Tsumugi. Mid-tier grades, passably fit, barely even a blip in the social food chain.

But I've seen what wins; it's not muscle, it's narrative, and I know narrative better than anyone.

Besides, the draw was kind to me. Very kind.

I reach into my bag and curl my fingers around it again. It was heavy and slick with the moonlight's shine, silver and black and oh so beautiful… I got the Desert Eagle. The last person who got this in the draw was nearly ten-years ago.

They won, by the way.

I can imagine it; standing in the middle of a clearing, arm outstretched, wind just barely tugging at my hair. A classmate across from me, eyes wide and confused, maybe even crying. I whisper something cool, something that'll make the editors swoon, and then I pull the trigger.

God, the image made me feel so good. I could see the ratings spike. Because it's not just about violence, it's about presentation.

And with this gun? I can write my name into the annals of the Program with each bullet, one kill at a time. I'm going to break all the records! I can already hear the thinkpieces…

Still, I had to be careful. The other players, my "classmates", they didn't see Tsumugi Shirogane as anything threatening. Maybe a little odd, sure, but also a sweet, quiet girl who'd never so much as raised her voice, let alone a gun.

That image is precious in a game like this, and I can't go ruining it out in public unless I know I can seal the deal. For now I'll play my part as shy little Shirogane. It makes me want to hurl but when the time comes? When I turn, and they see who I really am?

Oh, the cameras are gonna love it.

I felt it first in my calves; a slow incline, subtle at first, then steeper with every step. My breathing hitched slightly, more out of anticipation than exertion. I was going uphill, that much was obvious now. The grass thinned beneath my boots, patches of stone poking through the dirt path like bones just under the skin.

When I reached the crest, I stopped and smiled.

Perched atop the hill like a prop waiting for its cue was a building unlike anything else I'd seen on the island so far. Towering, symmetrical, and absurdly ornate, with arched window and a weathered cross at the top.

A church.

DAY ONE; 02:03 AM.

My name is Angie Yonaga, and God is with us.

Isn't that nice to hear? He's not far away, not above us in clouds or buried in old books. He's here. He's in the trees. He's in every heartbeat echoing through this island. You can feel Him too, can't you?

You must. Because look at all of this. He's painting right now, with us.

I sit in the center of the church, hands folded. The floor beneath me is cold, smooth stone, clean like an empty canvas. I like being part of His work. I like being placed and positioned and framed.

You can see it too, can't you? You don't have to be afraid. Not if you understand the bigger picture. It's divine. We all have our part to play, even you. Even I. I know he'll show me my purpose soon enough.

The doors creak open behind me; how lovely. Of course He would send someone. Of course He would send her. Quiet little Tsumugi Shirogane, trembling footsteps and glassy eyes and threads of potential trailing behind her like the hem of a gown.

She's the first. My first.

My voice is low when I speak, almost a whisper. "Ahhh... so wise, so generous. You send her to me first, don't You?" I murmur. "The first of my council, a designer's touch. One thread, two hands…"

I rise from my knees like I'm being lifted by strings, turning slowly. Shirogane stands in the doorway like a lost stagehand, her hands are fidgeting near the hem of her skirt. Her eyes dart over the stained glass, the pews, the altar, and finally… me.

I clasp my hands in front of my chest and tilt my head. "Welcome," I say sweetly. "You came at the perfect moment."

Because of course she did. He sent her. And now? Now we begin.

DAY ONE; 02:05 AM.

My name is Tsumugi Shirogane, and I've walked into a scene straight out of a movie.

She's standing there like a priestess from some forgotten faith, glowing with conviction and hands pressed gently. And then there's the thing in her hand.

A trident. Three barbed, gleaming points held in absolute. Not slung over her shoulder or stuffed into a bag, but rather, s cradles it like a brushstroke. It's the most unholy, brilliant contrast I've ever seen.

"You came at the perfect moment," she tells me, and I let myself smile.I step into the church as though her words carried some kind of gravity I couldn't resist. In reality I'm just looking for the angles.

She thinks I'm something holy. A gift at the beginning of her story. Let her think its her story for a moment… If a moment presents itself, I'll be ready.

I take a trembling breath, press my hands together near my chest like I'm praying too, and say in the softest voice I can manage, "I'm so glad I found you, Angie… I-I was so scared out there. All alone. I didn't know where to go…"

I let my words trail off, just enough to make my voice catch, just enough to seem real.

Her face lights up like a sunrise. I know her game; she wants to be needed. So I give her that.

"I was worried someone would find me," I add, voice shaking just slightly. "Someone… someone who wanted to hurt me. But then I saw this place, and I thought… if anyone's here, maybe it'll be someone good. Maybe it'll be you."

I glance down, like I'm bashful. I do not look at the trident again.

She's watching me now. And I don't know if she's buying it, or if she just wants it so badly that it doesn't matter.

"Ohhh… of course you were scared," Angie says, voice soft as silk, like she's comforting a child. "But you're not alone anymore, are you?"

She steps forward, bare feet silent against the cold stone, the trident gleaming like stained glass caught fire.

"I knew He would send someone to me," she continues, smiling so wide it almost looks painted on. "Someone pure and of the faith. Someone who would understand that fear is just the first step toward truth."

…Oh crap. Her eyes sparkle with something beyond kindness; conviction. That's worse. Shit, that's so much worse.

She reaches out with her free hand and touches my arm lightly, her fingers cool and reverent. "You're part of it now, Tsumugi. Part of the piece. And we're going to make something so, so beautiful together."

There's no hesitation in her voice. To Angie Yonaga, I've already said yes. And maybe… that's exactly what I needed her to believe for a moment…

DECISION POINT: WHAT WILL ANGIE YONAGA DO?

A. Ask for confession! Everyone has a sin they carry; ask what hers is. Let her reveal something she didn’t mean to share.

B. Mark her in grace! A fingertip dipped across her forehead, a blessing and a claim. You want others to see it later and understand: this one is part of the vision.

AND

DECISION POINT: WHAT WILL TSUMUGI SHIROGANE DO?

A. Smile and stay close! Let her talk, lead, and trust you. If she’s building a fantasy, then you’ll be the main character in it until it’s time to rewrite the ending.

B. Cry, right then and there! Squeeze the emotion out, make her hold you, then see how close you can get the barrel to her ribs.

Chapter Text

Yes… yes I can see it clearly now. I have just found my arc.

I don't even have to write it; she's doing it for me. The way Angie looks at me, you'd think I fell from the heavens. Her whole face is lit with a kind of beatific glow. It's… perfect. Almost too perfect. If this were a script, I'd call it heavy-handed. But this is real, and sometimes real is messy and obvious.

I can work with this.

I've watched enough Programs to know what makes it into the highlight reels. Fleeting shock value is nice, sure. But longevity? That's gold. You need tension, you need shifting loyalties. And this? This is juicy. The creepy messiah wannnabe meets trembling convert with a hidden gun? Oh, the edits practically write themselves.

She thinks I'm trembling because I'm scared. I'm trembling because this could work.

"I'm honored," I say quietly, my voice breathless like I'm trying not to cry. I fold my hands like she does, like I'm mirroring something sacred. "I don't know if I'm strong enough, but… if He brought me to you, then… I'll try."

God, I deserve an award for that delivery. Even I almost believed it.

Angie's smile stretches impossibly wide. "Aaaah! I knew you were a chosen one!" she hums. "You've felt Him too, haven't you? Even before now?"

I nod, eyes wide. "Sometimes, I think… I hear Him in the silence. Like there's something bigger. Like we're part of something, even if we don't know what yet."

Angie gasps, delighted. "Yeees! Yes yes yes! That's exactly it! You're already so attuned!"

She spins in place, trident in hand, twirling like a dancer. I resist the urge to stare too hard at the weapon. I know its weight, I know how fast it could punch through someone's ribs. But she's not going to use it, not on me. Not when she sees me as some holy initiate.

She claps her hands, eyes shining. "We should consecrate the space and prepare for the others! Ohhh, I can see it already; our chapel of the new world! Our sanctuary!"

I step beside her and look up at the stained glass, where fractured moonlight filters down onto our faces. I think about how we must look from the outside: two girls framed by a cross, weapons hidden and hearts "open." A priestess and her chosen.

It's almost too poetic. But you know what? It works.

I can ride this out. Play the slow corruption arc of the faithful turning skeptical, the holy voice losing grip and the gentle lamb becoming the wolf. Audiences eat that shit up, you don't waste that in the first few acts.

And if she tries anything before then? I have a gun.

DAY ONE; 02:10 AM

My name is Mahiru Koizumi, and I'm not taking any chances.

Not after what I saw.

He just wanted to check on us; that's what keeps echoing in my head. He wasn't even holding anything. Just stepped out into the open, just wanted to talk to us.

And then they shot him.

I didn't scream. I didn't have time. I just grabbed Hiyoko and ran like Hell. I didn't stop to check if he was breathing. I didn't stop to check if the shooter followed us. We just ran. And now we're here, somewhere near the tree line, on a narrow dirt path.

And I can't think about him. I can't think about Komaeda's face when he saw us, how he looked almost relieved, like he was glad it was us. I can't think about the way he hit the ground when the shot hit, or how his body didn't move when we ran.

Because if I do… I won't move either. And I have to move. We both do.

I glance back; Hiyoko's still behind me, close enough that I can hear the hitch in her breath every few steps. She hasn't said anything since we left the clearing. I think she's in shock. Honestly? I might be too.

Komaeda didn't deserve that.

Even if I didn't trust him, even if he made me nervous, its not like he tried to hurt us. He didn't deserve to die just for wanting some friends out here.

"Bastard," I mutter under my breath. I don't even know who I mean; the shooter, the system, the entire goddamn Program. I'm too tired to be precise.

All I know is that we aren't safe, and I'm done pretending anyone's going to fix it.

I tighten the grip on the strap of the binoculars I'm carrying. It's not a weapon, not really. But it's mine, and right now, having anything in my hands feels better than nothing.

I heard a small groan behind me. Any other day I'd be happy to let Hiyoko stop and catch her breath…

"We're not stopping," I say instead. "Not until we find the others."

She doesn't answer, but I see her nod.

I don't trust most of our class. Especially not the boys. There's too many tempers and not enough sense. If someone's already playing to win, I'm not betting on anyone who could find their mind wrapped up in toxic masculinity.

I just need to find the girls I trust.

Asahina. Akamatsu. Tsumiki, Mioda. Maybe even Kirigiri; cold as she is, she's not stupid. If we can group up, watch each other's backs, we've got a chance. That's all we need. Just one real chance, and then we can get out of here.

Then maybe… then I'll let myself think about Komaeda again. For all the things I don't understand about what he wanted, or who he really was. But not now.

We're halfway down a slope, the leaves crunching beneath our shoes, when I hear it.

Hiyoko's looking at the ground, lips pressed into a line. She doesn't meet my eyes. Then, barely loud enough for me to hear, "...Do you think anyone else is teaming up?"

The words hang there. And I… I don't answer. Not at first. Because I don't know.

But also because the truth is? I hope so. And I hope not.

Because if they are? That means someone out there still believes in people. In working together, even with a countdown over their head.

But it also means they could get betrayed. It means someone's making plans they might not keep. That someone is nodding and smiling right now, already deciding who they can afford to lose later. And I can't stop picturing my friend's faces. I want to believe they're okay, and that they found people who care about them. That they're planning to make it out together.

But I also know what this game is. So I just stand there for a second too long, looking at Hiyoko, and feeling that hesitation drill deeper into my brain…

"I… I don't know."

DAY ONE; 02:13 AM

My name is Hifumi Yamada, and this is what poetic cruelty looks like.

No, seriously. I'm going to die. Like, full-stop, no exaggeration, not in the "ugh, I forgot my sketchbook and I'm so dead" kind of way. I mean like actually, literally, blood-sprayed-across-the-daisies die.

And I'm not ready! I haven't finished my latest doujin. I never even got a chance to pitch my Epic Magical Vampire Idol Harem Rebellion concept to a studio. And worst of all, I never got to kiss a girl!

Is this what they mean when they say you see your life flash before your eyes?! Because all I can see is the last time I ate microwave yakisoba. I didn't even enjoy it! It was mushy!

Thump. Thump. Thump.

That's me. That's the sound of my noble, rotund body stomping through the forest at a speed that's simultaneously miraculous and terrifying. I can't breathe; my throat is on fire and my glasses are fogging up so badly I can't tell if I'm running away from danger or deeper into it.

Leaves whip across my face, something snaps against my ankle. I trip, then catch myself on a tree trunk, panting like a dying Pokémon.

I'm not cut out for this! I'm a lover, not a fighter. A world-builder, a visionary! You don't send someone like me into a survival game! I don't even play FPSs unless I can mod them with catgirl skin packs!

And yet… here I am. I was one of the last ones out of the classroom. Everyone else sprinted out like it was the final round of Gacha Bash Royale. But I panicked! Froze! I tried to talk to the guards, ask for clarification, like, was there a rulebook? Were alliances allowed? They just shoved a bag into my arms and shoved me out the door.

I didn't even check what weapon I got, I was too busy screaming. Because eventually, someone's going to see me. And they're going to think: Easy target. I know how these games work, I write these games. I'm the background death they use to show the stakes are real. The "comic relief" who gets offed in act one to show it's serious business now.

Well guess what, you sick government producers. Hifumi Yamada's not dying in act one. Not today!

I slap a bug off my neck with a whimper. "C-cursed forest," I mutter. "Surely I must be in the jungle zone. Probably 20% chance of player encounters, but 60% chance of poison status effects from the foliage alone..."

I'm losing it, I know I am. But I keep running. Because panic is better than standing still, because standing still means getting found.

And getting found? That means getting written out of the story.

"NOOO!" I scream to no one in particular, tripping over a root and flopping down onto a patch of moss like a half-deflated beanbag.

I lie there for a second, gasping. My heart is beating like a taiko drum solo and my throat feels like it's been sandpapered by a thousand angry cats. My legs are trembling. I think I might be crying. Or sweating. Or both.

"Merciful gods of doujinshi, take me now…" No response.

Finally, I manage to sit up. My backpack digs into my spine, and that's when I remember. My supplies. My life-saving supplies.

I yank the pack in front of me and tear it open. The first thing I see is my map. Then two energy bars, which are… fine, though I'd have preferred them to be mint rather than honey. Next a bottle of water, one which within moments is reduced down to half. Turns out running burns calories…

Eventually I find something else, and I feel my blood go cold. Nestled at the bottom of the bag, partially wrapped in cloth…

Is a hammer. A basic, metal-headed, hardware-store, do-it-yourself hammer.

I blink. Then I blink again. Then I scream.

"WHAT IS THIS, A SYMBOLIC METAPHOR?!" I pick it up with both hands, holding it like I'm presenting it to a jury. "This is my weapon?! My protection in this lawless hellscape is something you can get from the clearance bin at Ikea?!"

I give it an experimental swing and nearly topple sideways. It's not even a cool hammer. No spikes, no chain, not even a dramatic name.

"This is how they see me," I whisper, voice cracking. "I'm the joke, and this is the punchline!" I clutch it to my chest, sweat pouring down my forehead. "But I won't let them write me off."

I crawl over to the nearest tree and sit with my back against it, hammer resting across my lap. "No," I mutter. "Not today!" I lift the hammer again. It's stupid, and it's heavy, but it's mine.

"My name is Hifumi Yamada," I say aloud, to the trees, to the birds, to the cameras I know are watching. "And this is not my final episode."

I close my eyes, and that's when I hear it.

Plap.

…What?

Plap-plap. Plap-plap-plap.

My eyes open slowly.

No. No no no—

SPLAT.

The sky opens up, and rain hits me in the face like a thrown bucket.

"OF COURSE!" I yell, flailing my arms as water pours down in droves. "Of course! Why not! Of course it starts raining now! Right when I was having a cool moment!"

My glasses fog and smear with droplets. I yank them off to wipe, but my sleeves are also soaked, so now they're just wetter and blinder.

I stand up too fast and slip, nearly falling backward into the mud. "Y-You won't make an ass of me! No sir! You think this is funny?! Is this funny to you?! The rain? The mud?!"

I jab a finger at the sky. "This is harassment!"

I wrestle my soaked backpack open again, water pooling at the bottom, and snatch out the half-empty bottle. I drink what's left out of spite. Take that! Now I'm hydrated and miserable!

I flop back down against the tree trunk, soaked through, breathing hard, my hammer lying sadly at my side. "...It's supposed to be the pervert that dies first," I mutter. "Not the tragic, misunderstood fan-favorite."

The rain just keeps falling.

"Fine. FINE. You can throw weather at me. But I'm still here. I'm still on the show. I've watched enough anime to know that even the background characters get development if they live long enough."

I pull the hammer into my lap again and stare at it. Still not cool. "…But maybe," I whisper, "maybe it's like… a cursed relic. Perhaps I need only apply my will to give it power…"

The thunder rumbles again.

"Shut up," I mumble.

The thunder gets quieter, and my stomach lets out a low, dangerous grumble. So I sigh, gather my things, and get to my feet. My knees wobble, and my socks squelch, but I start walking.

The path climbs a bit, and the forest gets thicker. My legs are jelly, every step is a crime against my dignity, and my glasses are doing that wonderful thing where the water clings to the bottom edge oh so cruelly.

I need a sign. Something to hold onto, some kind of hope.

Then I found her. There, up the hill, standing in the rain, high above me, silhouetted against the misty treetops…

Long hair, soaked by the downpour. Arms slightly raised. One leg posed just so. They're motionless, still, framed by the trees like a statue on the mountain path.

A shiver rolls down my back that isn't from the cold. I wipe my glasses on the driest corner of my shirt I can find and squint upward.

Is that a… a maiden? A beautiful, rain-kissed angelic form sent from the heavens themselves to answer my call? A mysterious forest shrine girl who appears only in times of great narrative despair?!

I stumble forward a few steps, almost slipping on a rock. "E-Excuse me?" I croak, then immediately cringe. That's what I lead with?! Not even a "Hark!" or "Fair spirit!"?! Amateur mistake!

They don't move. I stop again, blinking rapidly through the fog on my lenses, trying to see, who is she? A classmate? An apparition? Whoever they are, they're not running.

My heart stutters. My breath catches in my throat. I don't know who it is, but I can't look away. Not yet.

I stumble forward, dragging my bag behind me and wiping at my fogged-up lenses with the back of my hand. My fingers are numb, and my feet feel like they're about to revolt and secede from the rest of me. I scramble over a slick patch of ground…

My foot slips. And then—

SPLAT.

Face first into a puddle, and my hammer thuds beside me. For a long moment, I just lay there, arms spread like some tragic sacrifice, water pooling under my cheek and mixing with whatever's leaking out of my nose.

Truly, this is my lowest point. This is rock bottom. This is the scene they'll replay in the recap episode, right before my tragic demise.

I groan, roll over, and push myself to my knees. I can finally get a good look at her through the blur of water and muck.

A shape, descending toward me. One carrying a black lace parasol. One with jet-black curls that fall in perfect waves past red eyes. Crimson ribbons, pressed pleats, Victorian poise and elegance that defies this horrid game.

Celestia Ludenberg. My mistress.

She is divine. She is wrath and beauty, wrapped in velvet and lace. I gasp because I can't breathe. Because it's her. She hasn't seen me yet. Or if she has, she's choosing not to acknowledge my form, like an uninitiated NPC.

I lower my head slowly, one trembling, mud-caked hand placed over my heart. I can't believe it.

"You're rather late, Yamada."

My heart nearly stops. She knows I'm here, and she expected me.

"I had assumed," she continues, tapping one finger against the handle of her umbrella, "that someone so devoted would have arrived much sooner. But I suppose delays are inevitable in such… trying conditions."

I open my mouth to apologize, but all that comes out is a weak, wheezing cough. She waves her hand, "No matter. What's important is that you are here now. Now be useful."

"U-Useful, m-mistress…?"

She tilts her head slightly, the lace on her sleeves drooping with elegance that shouldn't even be possible in this weather. "It will be dark soon, and I have no intention of standing in the rain all night. Find us shelter, if you would."

"Y-Yes! Of course!" I stagger to my feet so fast I nearly slip again. "A place to stay, somewhere dry, l-luxurious, if possible! Y-You deserve nothing less, my mistress! I-I'll find it! I swear it!"

She hums in acknowledgment, barely reacting as I nearly drop my hammer again in my flailing enthusiasm.

And just like that, I'm off, marching in tune to a nonexistent beat. My hammer slaps against my hip, my bag thuds against my back, and the rain pelts me with every step, but I feel no pain. No exhaustion. No shame.

Because I have purpose. My mistress awaits, and I would do anything for her.

DAY ONE; 02:20 AM

My name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, and I will not allow this to become what they want it to be.

I was the first one out of the classroom. And two hours later, here I am, soaked from collar to cuffs, boots squelching through the mud, water dripping from my bangs into my eyes as the storm soaks through my uniform.

And yet I walk tall and with pride, because I will not entertain the idea that my classmates would turn on each other. I will not. This game, this horrible thing, relies on the belief that we are selfish, desperate animals. That we would kill to save ourselves.

I refuse to believe that. We are better than this, we must be. And if they've forgotten that, then I will remind them, just as I did in class. I will ensure order holds firm against this chaos. This storm may batter us, but it will not break us.

I pass beneath a soaked tree branch and lift my hand to wipe the water from my eyes. My map is tucked safely inside my coat, and my weapon, poetic thing that it is, is a police baton. A folding one, telescopic and heavy. I've practiced with one before, enough to defend myself, if I must.

But I won't need to, because none of them will attack me. Because they know me, and they know better.

I stop at the crest of a small rise, rain rolling off my shoulders like waves crashing against a cliff, and I look out into the island. Somewhere out there are my classmates. Frightened, confused, and alone.

I pause beneath the drooping branches of a rain-heavy tree, just long enough to pull the map from inside my coat. It's damp, folded in on itself, and curling at the corners. I unfold it as carefully as I can, though even with care the creases threaten to tear.

I soon find trying to read such a thing is like trying to read ancient scrolls. The layout is ridiculous. The contour lines are uneven, the landmarks vague, the legend barely legible. If I'd been given this during my time in the Scouts as a child, there'd have been Hell to pay. Who designed this travesty?! This is a navigation aid, not a pirate treasure map! Where are the trail markers? Where's the scale? Where's the compass rose?!

If I had five minutes with the Program's cartographic department, I'd issue a formal complaint, with footnotes.

Still… with enough patience, and a bit of guesswork, I make out a shape: a large rectangle near the crest of a hill, not too far from where I've been walking. A structure, larger than anything else marked. Maybe a storage facility. Or a communications tower. Or…

I step through a curtain of hanging branches and stop in my tracks. There it is.

Rising above the treetops, distant but distinct, is a building that doesn't belong here. Something stately, old and massive built on weathered stone, with tall windows and wrought-iron fencing barely visible through the vines. The roof is tiled, sloped and elegant even through the rain, and water streams off the eaves like a broken fountain.

It's a manor.

I feel something flicker in my chest. This could be the foundation of my aid. Shelter for those who are scared, and a base from which to organize and rebuild. I could already see it in my mind, assigning duties and setting rules to get this game on track. No one needs to be lost out here, not anymore.

The front doors groan as I push them open. They resist at first, but I plant my feet, grit my teeth, and press until they finally part with a dull, scraping moan that echoes through the vast chamber beyond.

Inside, it's cold. Dust and damp air greet me in equal measure, though it's clear this place was once pristine. A great foyer stretches out before me, the floor tiled in cracked marble, the high ceiling vaulted and laced with intricate molding. Two sweeping staircases curve up along either side of the room, meeting at a landing with faded red carpet. Old paintings line the walls, their colors dulled, their subjects staring down at me with timeless disapproval.

I step forward, and my boots leave muddy prints across a mosaic that once might have been beautiful. My breath clouds in front of me; it's colder in here than it was outside.

I let the doors close behind me. The rain muffles into background noise, distant now. I draw the baton from my belt, though not out of fear. I don't believe anyone here would harm me. But it is better to be safe than sorry as father always told me.

I move further inside and down the hall. Each step feels louder than it should as the floor creaks beneath my weight. I glance up the staircase, to the balcony level. Shadows stretch along the edges of the landing, broken only by faint, fractured moonlight through stained glass windows.

I tighten my grip on the baton, and I move deeper into the manor. Each room I pass through is colder than the last, with bare walls and broken furnishings.

And then, behind a heavy door near the back of the west wing, I find him. Slouched in a rotting, red velvet chair, arms crossed tight, soaked sleeves clinging to his jacket…

Mondo Owada.

Of course it's Owada… He's leaning back like this is his damn castle, like he owns the rain-soaked ruin. What I believe to be his weapon is laying neatly on the table beside him; something large and sturdy, and hefty as well. A particularly large hammer to be quaint, one that makes me rather uncomfortable.

My throat tightens. Not out of fear, truly; Mondo's a brute, yes, but not a killer. He's never been.

But… we didn't get along. That's putting it mildly. Every week, every week, it was something. Swearing during lectures, picking fights, cutting corners, sneaking out of cleanup duty. If there was order to be disrupted, Mondo found it. He made it a habit.

And I enforced the rules over and over. Like Sisyphus, pushing that same disciplinary boulder back up the same hill, just for Mondo to knock it back down.

I take a step into the room. "You found this place too," I say, quietly.

He doesn't reply at first. His eyes flick over me, taking in the soaked uniform, the drawn shoulders, the baton in my hand.

As strange as it is to say… I see Owada's form tense. Owada has never been intimidated of me before, his frequency to scream in my face said as much. And yet now, he looked positively taken aback in alarm.

Did… did Owada… did he believe I was going to hurt him? Me? That's… that's absurd! Perish the though he could hurt anyone, its… its absolute nonsense! How dare he makes such an insinuation!

Still, I place the hammer at my side, allowing it to sink into the pocket of my jacket. I raise my hands. "I come in peace, Owada!"

He stares at me a moment longer… then scoffs, rounding his shoulders. "Fucking obviously, dumbass." He lurched forward, letting out a breath and running a hand through his hair. "Everybody knows you ain't entertaining a shit show like this."

I further can't help but notice how relieved he sounds, in spite of his denial of such. I like to believe my words have taken off the edge, though I struggle to believe how there was any edge to begin with!

Eventually, he opens his mouth again. "Guess you ain't dead yet," he mutters.

"No thanks to this storm," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady; an attempt at a joke. I know those tend to calm the nerves. "Or the map. Or the people who put us here."

I don't believe my humorous remark mattered much to Owada. There was a long pause after I spoke.

"You… alone?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer. "Are you?"

He doesn't answer, just shifts his jaw a little. "Nah… I stayed a little while, y'know. See if I could grab Kuzuryu or Kuwata before I took off. But then Iruma came out, and she was blabbing all loud and shit, so I dipped before someone came back to shoot her and get me too."

I tighten my grip, then force myself to let go again. I don't want trouble. Not with him. "Pardon my manners, Owada, but such paranoia is absurd."

"Yeah, yeah, fucking… whatever man." Owada growled out a sigh.

I manage something of a glare, but I pull it back. "I intend to use this place as a safehouse," I say stiffly. "If we find others, we can organize a means of escape for us."

That gets a reaction. He leans forward in his chair, and his eyes narrow. "Yeah? What, you think this is a damn group project?"

I frown. "If we work together—"

"If? Listen, hall monitor," he growls, sitting up from his seat. "I found this place. Me. So don't walk in here actin' like it's your new clubhouse."

"I'm not claiming ownership," I say, carefully. "But it's large enough to hold most of the class—"

"Yeah, and how long d'you think that'll last?" His voice rises, sharp now. "You gonna open the door for anyone who asks? Let 'em all in like some after-school welcome committee? The fuck you gonna do when one of 'em slits your throat in your sleep, huh?!"

"I trust our classmates," I snap. "I refuse to believe they would do anything to me."

"Well I don't." His voice echoes in the room, rough and final.

We glare at each other. We've fought before; in classrooms, in detention, in front of half the school. This is different.

At school, Owada's actions rarely crossed a line beyond personal annoyance and minor unrest. It was always quite frustrating, and his inability to take responsibility for his actions even more so. But that was for the fun of getting under my skin, of defying my expectations.

This fight felt more territorial, like he refused to budge on the little bit of control he had. Like a caged tiger…

And to think I believed my class could never become so wild and unruly. Its been mere hours, and already, I am seeing an animal in him, and not a person. Perhaps that's my fault for stressing such expectation, but its disappointing regardless.

"...I see." I straighten myself out. "That's… unfortunate." I breathe in. "Very well. As much as I must disparage your approach to this game, I suppose I can't blame it."

I adjust the strap over my shoulder, and brace myself, for I likely must leave this building, and face the storm outside once more. As much as I know I can handle it, I know the likelihood is it'll batter me around quite a bit in the process. Its worse yet if I manage to fall ill… then how could I spur my companions to life?

I must've been shaking as I began to exit the room, cause Owada's voice cut through.

"Christ, stop with all the fucking wobbling, would 'ya?" He growled out, then sighed. "Look, I ain't just gonna kick you out when everything's going to shit outsidde. Not yet." He slumped back in his chair. "You can stay till the rain clears up, alright?"

I find myself at a loss for words. "...Are you quite sure, Owada?"

"Damn sure, now get the fuck over yourself and sit down," he grunted, "but don't talk too much, alright? I wanna take a damn nap."

"...Very well. I appreciate it, Owada."

"Yeah, yeah…" He lays his head back against the chair and closes his eyes.

I move across the room, slumping down onto a couch against the wall. Its admittedly quite soft… but I can't rest. If Owada allowed me to stay, the least I can do is offer up a sense of safety to him.

"I'll act as lookout then," I said aloud. Such a thing is, of course, absurd… but with Owada's nerves so high, I'm fine making such a sacrifice in the name of temporary trust.

"Cool."

Silence permiates a moment. I feel such strangluation prying on the back of my neck…

"...Just to be clear, Owada," I mutter, hearing him groan somewhat, "my intent hadn't been to take up your space, or to commondere your place of rest. I promise that much." I lay my head against the wall. "I had merely wished to ensure order for our class."

"Yeah, well, order's got a price now," he says, and shuffles in position.

Those words stick with me a moment… and I start to wonder about the point he has made.

DAY ONE; 02:30 AM

My name is Kazuichi Soda, and I am not built for this.

I'm a mechanic, not some wilderness survivalist! You want me to build a working generator out of spare car parts and duct tape? Sure, no problem. You want me to stalk through a forest while people I kind of know are being handed weapons and told to kill each other?

Y-Yeah, I think I'll pass.

I've been out here for… what? An hour? Two? I dunno. Time feels fake now, especially when everything's wet and dark and loud. And the rain, God, the rain. My hair's been flat for the past twenty minutes, and if I step in one more puddle I'm gonna scream.

I've been talking to myself this whole time. Just little muttering stuff; encouraging, you know? Like, "Okay Kazuichi, just breathe. You're gonna be fine. You're good under pressure. You're super resourceful. You've seen like, every season of Survival Circuit, remember?!"

Except none of that helps when you hear a noise in the bushes and your first instinct is to shriek and chuck your bag into a tree. I had to climb up to get it back. Slipped twice, sraped my elbow. I'm bleeding a little now, which feels very on-brand for how today's been going.

The worst part? I don't even know where I'm going. I've been following this slope for a while, trying to keep near the coast, hoping maybe there's a dock, or a boat, or a helicopter that forgot to take off or something. Or maybe even just an abandoned one; I could that working. I know, I know it's a long shot, but if I just keep moving maybe—

Snap. I freeze.

No. Nope. Nope nope nope. That was not just a stick. That was a stick being stepped on. I crouch behind a tree and I hold my breath. I try not to shake. I reach for my weapon from the bag. I didn't look when I first got it. Didn't wanna know, but now I have to.

My hand brushes against cold metal. I pull it out slowly.

It's… a sword. A really big knife. One that's a little rusty, and heavy. One that doesn't look very good in a fight so much as like… gardening work. It's a machete.

Okay. That's… actually not bad. I could work with this. Maybe. If I don't die of a heart attack first.

I crouch lower. The rain keeps falling. The wind keeps blowing. And somewhere, not far off… Something is moving.

Crunch. There it is again, moving between the trees. Tallish. Kinda hunched. I press my back tighter against the bark, clutching the machete like it's the last friend I've got.

Then I see his face, and that brown hair. That awkward way he moves. And that face. I've seen it before, but not much. Just once or twice in the public quad, never in class.

He's the new kid. The one from the Reserve Course. S-Something… Hinata? Hajime Hinata?

My grip on the blade tightens. What the hell is he even doing here? He wasn't part of our class! We've been together for months, some of us even longer. And now they've just thrown in some rando we barely know? That's insane. That's messed up. That's—

I swallow hard… that's suspicious.

Why would the Program do that? Why drop a kid like him in with us? We're Ultimates. Every single one of us. Even the weird ones. Even the useless ones. We belong here. The Program has never just… thrown someone who wasn't in the class into the game, that ruins the whole fucking point! That's not fair!

Unless… unless this whole thing isn't fair. Unless they wanted him here. Maybe as a plant.

I crouch lower, barely breathing, watching him pick his way through the mud. His head's down, hair dripping. Doesn't even look armed.

Or maybe that's the point. Maybe he's playing dumb. Playing scared. Waiting for someone like me to let their guard down.

My fingers ache from how tight I'm holding the wrench now.

No, no, no. I don't want to hurt anybody. I don't. That's not me. But what if I don't do anything? What if I let him get too close and he…

He stops, then he looks around. His eyes pass over where I'm hiding. He didn't see me… Or he wants me to think he didn't.

Oh god. Oh god, what do I do? Do I run? Do I follow him? Do I—

A gust of wind blows through the trees, and he keeps walking. And I'm left alone with a racing heart and a hundred screaming thoughts in my head.

I can't trust him. Not here. Not now. Not when every step might be the one that gets me killed.

DECISION POINT: WHAT WILL KAZUICHI SODA DO?

A. Call out to him! Be brave and demand answers before you lose your mind. If he’s innocent, you’ll know. If he’s not, at least you’ll see it coming.

B. Keep hiding! Don’t make a sound, let him pass. It’s too risky, too soon, your best chance is staying quiet and staying out of sight.

C. Follow him! Learn where he’s going and what he’s really doing here. If he’s a plant, you’ll catch him before he catches you.

D. Attack first! It’s awful, but what if this is your only shot? Hit him before he gets the chance to hit you. You don’t want to die because you hesitated.