Archive of Our Own

Iruma wakes violently, suffocating on a nightmare that feels more like a memory.

Where is she? Who is she? No, she knows who she is, she’s Iruma fuckin’ Miu, genius inventor and – and why is it so damn stuffy in here?

“Breathe, Iruma-san,” a woman in a white coat offers from her right, and goddammit, she wants to shriek, she’s trying as hard as she can, but the air isn’t coming and her throat is tightening with each passing second. Just breathe, she needs to breathe, she knows she needs to breathe, so why does she feel like she’s choking on life itself?

It’s like someone’s plunged her head underwater, leaving her clawing at her neck and gasping frantically for air to fill her burning lungs but they won’t take it in. She heaves and she heaves, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes as she tries to salvage even a single breath, but…  nothing.  

“She’s not breathing,” she hears distantly, and she can feel a swirl of nausea building in her chest, panic flooding into her veins as the rustle of strange people move ever closer. Nothing makes sense, she’s supposed to be on a virtual roof with virtual snow melting on her pretty little virtual head so what the hell is this supposed to be?  

Scuffle. “What do we do?”

“Get her an oxygen mask, and get her hands away from her neck. Hold her down if you have to. It might take two or three of you. Don’t hurt her.” White coat directs, arms aflutter, “Talk to her, try and calm her down. Let her know that it’s all going to be alright.”

“Iruma-san, please listen to me, you’re okay now.”

“Everything is going to be okay, Iruma-san! The season’s over.”

“You made it. You’re alive. Do you understand?”

She doesn’t. The voices are overwhelming, and she can’t fucking breathe, and she needs help badly but doesn’t trust anyone in the room with her right now to call for it.

Her head is spinning and she sputters and thrashes as these people grab onto her, the last of her energy sapped in her attempt to get the fuck away. She’s overpowered easily, limbs pinned to the bed as she cries, and the last thing she sees is latex gloves pressing down before her vision sways and she falls limp.

Gonta killed her.

She’s dead.

That’s the truth.

But at the same time, it isn’t.

It can’t be, because she’s right here, watching all too familiar faces duke it out on a screen that’s much smaller than it feels.

It’s insane. It’s fucking insane. She’s right there on the screen, in a portrait marked with a triple X, looming in the space between Kiibo and Saihara – and she remembers being there! She was in that exact spot mere days ago, so how is it that she’s watching this trial now, when she’s supposed to be dead?!

She is in dire need of answers so she doesn’t stop watching, even if it makes her feel ill to the bone.

Sicker and sicker she falls, cold enveloping her but the world outside the screen affects her little; she needs to know what happens. She needs to know how she’s still here.

The staff dropped the tablet into her lap a good many hours ago and she watches Danganronpa V3 in shell-shocked silence as she learns about everything.

She’s Iruma Miu, gorgeous girl genius with a perfect body and a golden brain. Nobody else. She’s going to change the world. She’s going to invent the future.

… isn’t she? She’s not so sure anymore.

It’s unclear how long she spends in a dazed state after the credits roll, but she snaps out of it when Shirogane of all people peers into the doorway.

Iruma wants to strangle her on sight. She’s horrified, appalled by the audacity of her own thoughts, but doesn’t Plain Jane fuckin’ deserve it? Hasn’t she done enough?

“How do you feel, Iruma-san?” She asks, glasses partially obscuring her eyes, and it’s so classic anime villain that Iruma would laugh hysterically if she wasn’t already crying – and when did she start crying again? She has no idea.

“How… do… you think… I feel, you braindead bitch?” Iruma grits out.

“I don’t know. That is why I am asking you.”

Anger spikes through her, but her body is too weak to get her out of bed so instead she screeches, “After all that utter bullshit, how the fuckin’ hell do you think I feel?!”

“Well, it seems to me that you’re just fine.” Shirogane says. “Much better than some of the others I’ve seen.”

When she leaves, Iruma wonders who could possibly have it worse.

Five minutes later (or maybe five hours, who’s counting), she hears Ouma screaming “kill me, kill me, kill me” as they drag him down the hall outside and she stamps down the voice in her head that says he deserves it.

When the lights go off, there’s a moment where she briefly wonders if everything that happened really was just a long, bad, awful dream. Maybe she stayed up for too many days coming up with blueprints for her latest design, or maybe some greasy old dirtbag got so jealous of her that they hacked into her genius brain and forced her into a hallucinative state – and if so, fuck ‘em, she’s still here! The blonde bombshell Iruma Miu lives!

And so she laughs, raises her middle fingers as high as she can, until she feels a stutter in her throat and the satisfaction of survival melts away as quick as it came.

It wasn’t a dream. She’s not that fuckin’ stupid.   

Her fingers reach for the tablet resting by her pillow; its cold, flat surface serving as her only comfort. Machines. She likes machines. Building gadgets is her lifestyle. There’s no questioning that.

The screen comes to life, proudly displaying the “Team Danganronpa” logo. She traces it hesitantly.

Numb and unable to catch a wisp of sleep, she watches Danganronpa V3 again, skipping over the fourth chapter completely. It’s better the second time. She watches it again. It’s worse.

She doesn’t know when she fell asleep but she feels like choking again when she opens her eyes.

Annoyed, upset and in a clambering state of agony, she reaches for her neck and rakes her nails down in repetitive streaks, leaving angry red lines trailing down towards her chest until her breaths even out again.

“Do you want to remember why you signed up for Danganronpa? Do you want the memories of your past returned to you?”

Is that a trick question, Iruma wonders.

“Of fuckin’ course I do.”

When she remembers, all she feels is numb.

“It may take time to adjust,” the woman in the white coat tells her. “But your memories have been restored. If there are gaps, feel free to alert us, but it’s more likely that your mind has suppressed the worst of them and you’ll have to do the digging yourself.”

Truth is, Iruma Miu is a nobody. A worthless, filthy nobody.

“We’re going to be moving you now,” she continues, but the quasi-inventor feels worlds away. “You’re going to live with the others while we shoot the last of the promotional material. During this time, we will also be doing all that we can to stabilize your physical and mental condition to ensure you’re fit to head out on your own, alright?”

Iruma nods vacantly.

How cruel they were. To inject the skill of a goddess into the broken shell of a nobody and then to strip that away from her, expecting her to rise again with the same magnitudinous grace – it leaves her hollow. Empty.

“It’s for your own benefit, Iruma-san, so please make sure to follow instructions and don't do anything reckless.”

Just shut up already, she wraps her arms around herself, trying to balance the pieces of her inventor self and her real, no-name self as they make a war zone out of her mind.

Her whole inner being resembles a doll being ripped apart at the seams, threads snapping and fraying as she tries in vain to hold her two halves together.

“We will be monitoring you, and if you attempt any dangerous behaviour, the appropriate procedures will come into play – whether that be isolating you or erasing your memories again, which are both options I am sure you don’t want.”

The pain from that night she inked her name onto the application form comes rushing in, and she begins to shake in her own embrace. It was the first time she had ever done anything for herself, and it was the brainless move of a brainless girl with nothing left to lose.

She screams at the memory, wipe that damn look off your face, Miu, you don’t know what you’re agreeing to, but she cannot change the past and she’s wrenched back to reality by the weight of a jacket falling on her head.

“Put this on, it’s cold outside.” The woman has the gall to smile at her as she hurriedly shucks into the garment and hugs herself again.

“Now, everything you brought with you before entering the V3 simulation will be in the room with your name on it. My staff will transport you there, and if you need anything or have any questions, there is a button located in your room which you can use to call for assistance.”

A familiar device is dropped into her lap and she clutches it to her chest.

“Your schedule is on this tablet we gave you and will remain up to date as much as possible. It will remind you when and where you are required to be, so please do not lose or break it. I understand this is a lot to take in, but is everything making sense so far?”

It all goes in one ear and out the other, but Iruma nods and nods and nods until they pick her up and she’s driven away, the scenery blurring past if she had cared at all to look.

When they arrive, she’s forced to walk under watchful eyes, trekking into a building where she sees the first familiar face she doesn’t want to immediately tear to shreds.

“Ah, Iruma-san, you made it.” Saihara greets her at the top of the stairs with a bow of his head. Seeing him should be comforting somehow, but then she suddenly remembers the Saihara from auditions, maniacal and sadistic; cold eyes that promised they would die by his hand.

Which one is he, she wonders. Even though he’s all soft and tired edges, she wonders.

Saihara gestures meekly down the hallway, reaching up to tip his nonexistent hat. “Everyone else should be arriving soon, so if there’s anyone you wanted to talk to, you can wait for them over there in the common –”

She shoves past him into the room with her name on it and buries her face in her hands.  

The schedule on her tablet chains Iruma to a new routine, and she falls into it alarmingly quickly, busying herself with all she can to forget, forget, forget.

Photoshoot, interview, smile, wave, smile. Shove every ounce of emotion aside, talk to none of her castmates unless absolutely necessary, let unsavory words pierce people so they can’t pierce her first. If she doesn’t think too hard, it’s a cinch.

“You’re doing perfect,” gushes one of her makeup artists.

“Right!” chimes another, patting her face with powder. “It’s like you’re still Iruma Miu through and through. Sure you got your old memories back? I can’t even tell. There you go. You look good, girl.”

She flicks them off of her like flies on a sticky summer evening. “Yeah, I’m a damn catch! Get in line!”

Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just be.

“Iruma!” Director calls. “We need you here stat, Harukawa just walked off the set and she needs a quick replacement.”

“Wait, before that, I need Iruma over here!” The costume designer chimes in.

She groans, dragging her fingers down her freshly powdered face. “Hold your fuckin’ horses, I know you all want me but geez…! I can’t be everywhere at once!”

None of her words feel like her own, but she doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. This is how she’s supposed to act, so she’ll fake it ‘til she makes it — and eventually she’ll feel good doing it.

Akamatsu reaches out for her as they prepare for the camera, eyes kind. “Iruma-san, let me know if you need a break okay? You’ve been here for a long time already.”

“Not long enough.” She mutters, pulling the quasi-pianist’s plush body against her own. “Look at the damn camera, Bakamatsu.”

“I’m worried about you.” Akamatsu insists. “We all are.”

Iruma doesn’t say anything after that.

She considers this her job, sort of. It’s the only way she can look at it without feeling something is off – the only way she can stand winking beside a replica of Kiibo without feeling much of anything, and the only way she can even spare Ouma a glance as Momota helps the staff carry him onto the stage. His body is the weakest of them all, the horrid memory of being crushed contained in his deathly pale form, yet she feels no sympathy whatsoever.

And in the entire breadth of the studio, there’s not a sliver of sympathy left for Shirogane when she walks in – everybody creates a wide berth around her like she’s some sort of monster – and Toujou only bows her head to be polite, ghosted by Angie waving from far back behind Gonta.

“It’s been a while since we all came together like this, huh? I have to plainly thank you all for an unforgettable show,” Shirogane tells them with a chilling smile, and this is how Iruma quietly surmises the true nature of Danganronpa.

Danganronpa doesn’t give a shit about them, it’s all about the show and it always has been.

Entertainment is the core, the driving force, the pure energy that keeps Danganronpa alive. People live to be entertained, to be distracted from the monotony of their lives by the thrill of fiction, and the killing games never fail to provide.

Iruma has accepted this, and she had accepted it a long time ago, but back then, she was too blind to see the true nature of this shitshow – too naïve to notice just how far she would have to go for a little time in the spotlight.

“Smile, Iruma! Don’t touch your chokers, they’re not going anywhere — ah, that’s perfect, hold that position.”

She gets paid well. Fuck, with all the promotion, she gets paid even more to slut it up on camera, but it’s not like it makes her feel any better about it.

Crisp white flashes in her eyes, skeevy directions from all angles, catcalls and whistles, yells of “that’s our fanservice girl!” – none of it is ideal, but she feels nothing as the numbers rack up the way she’d always used to dream.

She wanted this life. She signed up for this. She should be enjoying this. She should be basking in all this attention.

Instead, she’s smiling until her jaw aches, bending herself like clay in Danganronpa’s filthy hands, and trying desperately to find a semblance of an emotion to call her own.  

She’s forgotten what it feels like to truly be alive.

As the gorgeous girl genius, she’s gotta make the most of what she has — perfect body, golden brain, the whole flawless package — that’s what she convinces herself.

As the lonely ass nobody that signed up for Danganronpa swearing that she’d be rich and famous, she’s got to get a fucking grip. Even if she feels shitty as all hell living this life, she’s gotta keep it in. Keep going.

She threw her old life away when she answered the casting call back then. Back when she had stars in her eyes and dreams of making it big as the best damn Danganronpa survivor there ever was.

This is all she has left.

Iruma doesn’t believe there’s a higher power looking out for her.

She’s always been toughing this world out alone, and even if she wanted so many times for it to be over already, she’s still here, feeling worn and decrepit, except now she’s worn and decrepit and rich and famous and wishing she could have just died in the simulation and saved herself the trouble of existing.

So maybe she’s a little fucked in the head, but who can blame her? She’s a tool, a pawn, a pretty little figurine on bedroom bookshelves, another tiny face on rubber straps and acrylic standees – hell, she’s been printed on shirts to keep countless bodies warm and she’s one sexy motherfucker that’ll do just that without the shirts too, but she was constantly humiliated, objectified, then choked to death by toilet paper and it was broadcasted to millions.

People don’t just get over things like that.

The Danganronpa therapists suspect she has something, like her mental condition could catch a fucking cold to be whisked away by some magic ass miracle cure, but she’s too goddamn tired to give a single fuck.

And whoop-de-fucking-doo, she has depression.

“I talked to the psychiatrist and we’re going to put you on these pills, okay? They’re to help regulate your moods, essentially, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” Her therapist is some eye-roll pretty woman that Iruma didn’t bother learning the name of; Danganronpa staff don’t deserve the luxury. “Iruma-san, look me in the eyes when I’m speaking. Are you even listening to me?”

She groans, gaze flickering to the clock without processing any time at all. “Sure, whatever.”  

“You have to take this at least once a day, preferably in the morning before you’ve eaten, alright?”

“Yep,” She answers, already knowing full well she isn’t going anywhere near the medication.

Anything like that down her throat? Fuckin’ na-da. No way. Her gag reflex is crazy sensitive now, all spitting and swallowing jokes aside, and it’s not like she has any reason to take care of her body anyway. Not when there’s people in every direction shoving stuff at her like she’s some child that can’t take care of herself.

Hot fucking mess.

“You know, spending more time with your friends might help,” therapist lady tells her, in that syrupy tone reserved for babies. Fuck you, Iruma thinks. “The entire V3 cast are going through a similar situation, believe it or not, so if you talk to them about it, maybe you can help each other. I just want you to know you’re not alone.”

“M’kay.”

Friends. Right.

None of them really care about her anyway. Why bother talking to them? They won’t listen. They don’t miss her — she watched her own fucking trial, she knows how they feel. She knows they didn’t give a rat’s ass about her and probably never would.

And of course the only person who cared to appreciate her just that little bit is the only one that isn’t here anymore.

Fuck the replica, she misses Kiibo. The real Kiibo.  

She tries not to think about him any more. It makes her irrationally upset, every tiny movement and noise that reminds her of him prompting all the sorry memories of their time together and how she sorely regrets not spending more of it more meaningfully with him. If only she could tell him how much it meant to her to have someone that actually gave her the time of day –

“What’s wrong, Iruma-san?”

“N-nothing,” She sniffles. “Can I go now?”

“I can let you off early,” The therapist sighs, scribbling something onto a slip and handing it to her. “But don’t keep it all inside, okay? You’re only going to stress yourself out.”

She nods, and emerges in the hallway with her fingers splayed over her face, hurrying past worried calls of her name. Like they care. Nobody cares. She’s just a moneymaker, a total washout of a bangin’ beauty that exists as crude comic relief – and now that she’s without her talent, she’s got nothing left to be respected for.

Nobody would care about what happened to her. She’s only here because she makes money. She’s not stupid. She knows where she stands.

A Danganronpa attendant plucks the prescription from her hands and tells her it will be delivered to her as soon as possible. He smiles, and she wants nothing more than to punch his face in. She smiles back. All her energy leaves her in that one smile.

One smile. What a pathetic fuckin’ limit. She tries to smile again as she stumbles into her room, but it feels more out of place than ever.  

Still, she has to keep going. She has to.

Isn’t this her dream? Isn’t this what she signed up for? Isn’t this everything she wanted? People would do anything for this much easy money, to be fawned over and adored by quivering lowlifes, to be this beautiful, this intelligent, this famous, this successful.

So why isn’t she happy?

She curls up in a ball on the floor, pulling her hair tight over her ears. She’s being selfish, and stupid, because she has everything she needs. She has everything she came here for.

Why is none of it enough to make her happy?

Every day, a bunch of gifts make their way to her door.

Sometimes they’re from fans, which she usually tosses out – one can only read so much fan mail about their tits, she reasons – and sometimes they’re from the other cast members, which she leaves unopened on her desk.

Sometimes they’re from Danganronpa, and that’s usually never a good sign. She’s gotten a lot of her own merchandise gifted to her from them, like she’d actually enjoy another phone charm of herself, and she usually dumps those too.

Today, she gets her meds.

She examines the box in her hands. The thought of any of it going down her throat already has her breaking out in sweat, and she briefly considers swallowing it with food but psychologically, she knows she won’t be able to.

She’s terrified a pill will get stuck in her windpipe and she won’t be able to breathe, and it’ll be like Danganfuckinronpa all over again. The metallic seal breaks easily under her nails, and she pulls out one capsule, and then another. They’re so tiny, so innocent, and so damn easy to choke on.

She keeps pulling them out, until they’re all scattered on her bathroom countertop. She looks back at the package. Then at the smattering of pills. Then back again.

“Ah, shit.” Iruma smacks her palm to her forehead. “Ugh, why did I do that?”

She doesn’t want to be a problem. She doesn’t want to have this problem. She just wants to stop existing for a bit, and come back when all this shit blows over and she can live a normal life again.

Fuck depression, she thinks, washing the meds down the bathroom sink. It’s got nothing on the great Iruma Miu anyway.

Amidst the chaos of their next photoshoot – themed ‘killers and victims’ because some higher up must hate them with a burning passion – Gonta musters up the courage to speak to her, approaching her with a quiet, “Iruma-san… how have you been?”

She ignores the hurt look on his face as she immediately trots off, pretending to be distracted by Chabashira and Angie, before beelining for the bathroom where she locks herself in; waiting for the day to end or for her heart to stop hammering so fearfully in her chest.

Angie comes to find her, beaded anklet catching Iruma’s eye as she stops in front of her stall.

“Showtime, Miu!”

“Can’t a girl shit in peace?” She snarls. “Go away. I’m busy.”

“Don’t lie, God hates liars.” Angie huffs discontentedly, before her voice takes on a deceptively soothing quality. “But if you come out of there, He might just forgive you.”

“I don’t think your fuckin’ god cares what I do in the bathroom!”

Disgruntled as she is, however, Iruma unlocks the door. As a counter to whatever smug reply might greet her, she readies a glare so fierce it could probably ward off demons but Angie just blinks owlishly.

“Tsk tsk, Miu. Knowing you, it surely can’t be that important.” She has the nerve to grin, piece of shit that she is, extending a hand as she does so.

Iruma grabs onto it, squeezing as tight as she can out of pure spite. “Hey, fuck you! What if I invented a way to shit gold? Then who’d be laughing?”

“Nobody needs your strange inventions.” She giggles, and Iruma can only think of how much she fucking hates Angie, the sound grating on her nerves – which prickle even more when Angie squeezes her hand back. Hard.

“Oi! Tryna pull my fuckin’ fingers off, you bitch?”

“Hmm, well, it’s true that Angie hasn’t made any offerings in a while… but ehh, Miu wouldn’t do.”  

“W-what do you mean I wouldn’t do, what kind of double standards – wait, offerings?!” She tightens her grip on Angie’s hand even more and smirks when the other girl winces. Take that. “You mean some creepy-ass blood sacrifice, right? You still up to that kooky shit?”

“Kidding, kidding,” Angie’s smile widens cheekily, and she suddenly tugs Iruma to her feet so hard the blonde almost stumbles on top of her. “That’s illegal here!”

“The fuck do you mean ‘here’?!”

All innocent blue eyes and oversized yellow coat, she turns and drags Iruma clumsily out of the bathroom, skipping merrily all the way.

Fucking Angie, she thinks.

The rest of the photoshoot goes just as well as one might think, and Iruma is glad to have skipped most of the drama for once as she watches Toujou help Shinguuji walk out, the latter nursing a bloody nose.

Chabashira doesn’t admit to it but Angie gives her an oddly disappointed look as they pass her, and Amami bids them a polite farewell as he saunters after the other two, ignoring Shirogane’s attempt to stop him.

“Well, that was a great idea.” Iruma comments sarcastically, finally pulling herself free from Angie’s grasp.

Angie frowns. “Where’s Gonta? And Ryouma?”

“Ah, they left earlier,” Momota informs them, steadying Ouma on his feet. “I don’t think this shoot is happening, guys. It’d be best if you just go.”

“That’s what you get,” Ouma mutters darkly, directing his words at Shirogane.

She sends him an icy look. “Not everything that happens is my fault, you know.”

“Who else do we have to blame?” Angie tosses it out as a rhetorical question, room dropping several degrees as Shirogane’s gaze falls on her.

She shrugs out of her coat, removing her jewellery and freeing her hair from the pigtails and throwing it all on the ground like a big ‘fuck you’. Then she smiles coldly at the mastermind and Iruma feels nothing for either of them.

In that honey-like tone, sickeningly sweet, Angie tells Shirogane, “It’d be best if you just go.”

Iruma tries not to read into it but it’s fuckin’ hilarious how the number of photoshoots begin to dwindle in the coming weeks, all with much safer themes and demands; often solo shoots centred on their talents for a V3 photobook set to be released in the upcoming fall.

After that failure, she hopes Shirogane has learnt her lesson, but she knows that’s wishful thinking.

As for herself, she finally gets time to breathe, and it feels good until she remembers why she worked so hard in the first place. Bitter thoughts and memories pick at her brain, trying to dissolve her facade bit by bit.

It’s easy enough to push away at first, but then her breaks get longer, and the intrusive spiral of self-doubt and loathing gets more time to fester.

Something akin to dread pools in Iruma’s stomach when she sees blocks of time in her schedule she doesn’t know how to fill anymore – the empty spaces reminding her of just how alone she’ll be when even her work leaves her behind.

“Iruma-san, I’m giving you another prescription, and this time, please do not dispose of them in the sink.” Her therapist eyes her knowingly. “Is there a problem with the medication you want to tell me?”

“It’s a fuckin’ hassle,” she answers moodily, kicking her feet up onto the table.

“How so? Are you having trouble swallowing them?”

“Kinda.” She offers the truth flippantly, if only because it’s less exhausting than having to maintain a lie she’ll forget as soon as she gets outta here.

The therapist crosses her legs, tapping her pen against her chin. “... well, in that case, I’ll help you find an alternative, okay? I want to help you get better, and I will make sure to do anything in my ability to do so. Are you willing to work with me to find a solution?”

“The hell are you gonna make me do?”

“Nothing you don’t want to.” She answers. “Again, I only want to help you get better so you can experience the world without such a heavy burden. You’re barely an adult — you have a whole life ahead of you, and yet…”

Iruma twists uncomfortably in her seat.

“... you made a fatal mistake signing up for Danganronpa.” The therapist confesses. “I am going to help you remedy that mistake.”

“What?” She spits, not quite believing what she’s just heard. “What the fuck!? You work for Danganronpa!”

“Because I want to help people like you.” Her eyes are earnest but Iruma only scoffs.

“Please, Iruma-san. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Will you let me help you? Can we work together to get you out of here to live a better life again?”

She’s just trying to sell you shit, Iruma reminds herself. She doesn’t care. She’s just like the rest of them. You place your trust in her, and she’s going to fuck you over.

“Fine.” She says.

As her schedule starts easing up and her free time catches up to her, she lets the hours slip by under the pretense that she’s ‘letting herself rest’.

It’s like living in a slow haze, where her exhaustion makes a home out of her, opening the door to let terrible thoughts come and go as they please, and she can do nothing to stop them.

She’s lazy. Messy. A waste of space. The works.

If she feels up to it, she scrolls through comment threads, and even through vivacious cries of “Iruma Miu is best girl!”, she can’t find it in herself to smile. The quotes they pull from the season are embarrassing, and after flipping through a compilation of her ‘best lines’ and meeting her own bedazzled moan, she flicks the screen off and throws it across the room.

When she thinks she can’t go on anymore, she finally lets herself think about Kiibo without turning away.

Kiibo doesn’t belong here, in this world outside of Danganronpa V3, but she wishes more than anything that he did. She rewatches V3 late into the night – never past chapter 3 nowadays, she doesn’t need her own damn trial to remind her how little everyone cared – and reaches out for him through the screen.

“Can you hear me, Kiibo…?” She asks quietly. “Can you save me?”

Her words always go unheard.    

“P-please, just once more...” She begs. “Is it because I can’t do maintenance on you anymore? Because I’m not useful to you… you won’t talk to me…” his voice is a low hum as he paces through the third trial right beside V3 Iruma, but that’s not the Iruma that needs him right now.

“I’ll learn again. I’ll know each and every damn part of you off by heart. I’ll become an inventor on my own terms, I’ll study robotics until my fuckin’ hands bleed, just please, Kiibo,” she rests her forehead on the screen, and wills herself not to tremble like the pathetic mess that she is. “Please come back to me.”

He doesn’t reply.

It’s fuck o’clock in the night-slash-morning when Iruma decides to routinely complain to staff about how it’s so goddamn boring around here.

Without much on their plates, the months of rehab are achingly slow and doing fuck-all for them in terms of recovery — she feels like she’s wasting her life away in these walls and it’s not because she’s making no effort to talk to the others.

She doesn’t need them and they don’t need her.

“You pressed the help button, Iruma-san?” One of the Danganronpa attendants enters her room, clipboard in hand. “What do you need?”

“I wanna get the fuck outta here, that’s what!”

The attendant frowns. “I’m afraid I cannot assist you with that.”

“Then what are you good for, huh? Brainwashing us? Can you brainwash me into another dimension?” Iruma tries not to think of the Virtual World but it seeps into her mind anyway. Swirling and sickening. She swallows thickly, willing the feeling down.

“No,” they clip, mouth pressing into a thin line. “Did you actually need anything or did you call me in just to bother me?”

Bother you, Iruma muses, cowering under the stern stare. She’s a nuisance. It’s all she’s good for. It’s all she’ll ever be good for.

“H-hee… I-I’m sorry…”

“Goodbye, Iruma-san. Please don’t waste my time.”

She nods, up and down in a mechanical fashion, and watches the attendant exit.

Complaint failed. Maybe she can lie motionless and stare at the off-white ceiling for another few hours, and bore her eyes dry instead. But she already spends a good part of her days doing that and she has to get up now, or she feels like her head is gonna explode.

She could go get food, she thinks. Whip up something quick, or steal some cookies from the kitchen. She’s clearly not going to sleep, either way.

Sliding out of bed, she yelps as she almost steps on the tablet she was watching V3 on the night before. She drops it gingerly onto her pillow and scrambles into a pair of Hello Kitty slippers; prepared to make the slow and cautious trek towards the kitchen downstairs.

The dormitory — if it can be called that — is awfully creepy at night. Iruma doesn’t sleep much (or at all, really) so she always hears the anguished sobs in the later hours; hears her fellow castmates having the occasional breakdown alone in their rooms. Sometimes she hears them seek each other out, and the crying is eased by gross stupid comforting words, and no, Iruma isn’t goddamn fuckin’ bitter.

The common room at the end of the hall is to be avoided during the night, because Harukawa is always in there, and Iruma doesn’t want to talk to Harukawa at all. Instead, she listens out from time to time as Saihara or Momota or Yumeno or Akamatsu saunter in for a lovely midnight chat. It must be nice to have someone that cares.

The kitchen, more often than not, is left alone. No-one’s busting their ass coming down here, probably too afraid of falling down the stairs or something. Usually.

“Iruma-san!” Ah. Fucking fantastic. Of course fucking Gonta is in the kitchen at right this fucking moment when Iruma finally left her fucking room. She’d been avoiding him for good reason, but now he’s looking at her like a kicked puppy, and she doesn’t have the strength to tell him to fuck off.

“What,” she says flatly.

“Um, Gonta knows he said it lots of times already, but Gonta is so, so, so sorry,” He blubbers. “For what – for what happened in the simulation, Gonta really didn’t want to hurt you, honest, he just –”  

“Save it for someone who cares, Big Dick.” Iruma scoffs, turning on her heel. Food isn’t worth it. It’s not worth the memory that rises sour in her throat, not worth the humiliation that is bursting into tears and making for the door the moment Gonta takes a hesitant step towards her. It isn’t worth it. It isn’t worth it.

God, and now he’s crying too? What a lameass, fucking loser, moron, virgin, caveman, tall fucking killer, killer, killer –

She runs, locks herself in her room and tries not to throw up as she cries.

He deserves this treatment. Really, he does.

Nobody in their right mind would forgive their killer, Iruma tells herself, counting the unopened gifts on her desk and finding that over half of them were from Gonta. She finds extra pleasure in smashing them, then tossing the remnants into the trash can. Serves him right. Fucking murderer.

He could crush her at any moment, like a bug beneath his feet.

He could kill her again, and nobody would care.

It’s not like she’s the only one with a grudge, she ain’t fuckin’ special. It’s true, beyond that shit-for-brains ‘killers and victims’ shoot, she’s never seen Hoshi and Toujou interact either. Chabashira and Shinguuji, god, after that bloody nose debacle – it’s clear all they’d do is tear each other apart.

Ouma and Momota don’t count because there was mutual consent, she reasons. Amami and Akamatsu don’t count either. She’d rather not dwell on Shirogane.

But for some inexplicable reason, Angie and Shinguuji get along just fine.

She first notices when she sees them tapping away at a device through the common room window. It must be a weirdo thing, she thinks. Shitguuji the creepshow and Honaga the cult bitch, what a quaint fuckin’ friendship.

She’s tempted to just write it off at that, leave the scene before they spot her behind the glass, but she feels herself lingering.

Something doesn’t settle right with her about this situation, and it’s not the surreal memory of Angie’s limp form slamming into her mind – she’s horrified she’s even thinking about it when the girl is sitting right there. Right in the room beyond the glass. Alive.

She stares a little longer. Traces the flow of white curls cascading down Angie’s back, and the stupid way she waves her arms while talking to the crazy son of a bitch that murdered her.

Then Shinguuji stands and turns to grab something from the shelf maybe – she doesn’t fucking know, and doesn’t care – and she watches as Angie doesn’t take her wide blue eyes off of him, holding the back of her neck until he’s facing her again.

Her hands fall quickly and she’s smiling when he sits back down, like nothing happened at all, and they resume their idle chatter, but Iruma knows. Nobody in their right mind would forgive their killer, not (cult bitch, fuckin’ cult bitch) infuriating, airheaded little Angie, and definitely not (the gorgeous girl genius) bitter, cold, empty Iruma Miu.

“Why do you hang out with the guy that killed you?” She storms Angie’s room when she knows she’s alone, and Angie blinks in surprise at her sudden appearance.

“Ah, Miu, what a surprise!” She clasps her hands together, beaming brightly as she sidelines Iruma’s question. “Angie hasn’t seen you in quite some time! What have you been up to? Still sitting around feeling sorry for yourself?”

Iruma sweeps the pleasantries away, grabbing hold of Angie’s fluffy blue jacket and hoisting the girl off her feet. “Shut the fuck up and tell me why!”

“Huuuh? Do you want Angie to shut up or tell you? You gotta be more specific.”

“Don’t play dumb with me…! How can you even tolerate being near him?!”

Angie tips her head to the side, pursing her lips. “Aww, do you really hate Korekiyo that much?”

“This isn’t about Shitguuji,” Iruma hisses, throwing her onto the bed then jabbing a finger at her chest. “This is about you. How can you stand it? Doesn’t he make you feel sick? He fuckin’ murdered you! He didn’t even have a good reason for it!”

“Oh no, Angie doesn’t care about that.” Angie answers much too breezily, pushing her hand away. “It is God’s will to forgive, don’t you think? Angie is alive, so she must be grateful for this gift of life, because God says so. And besides, Korekiyo really isn’t that bad of a person if you talk to him, no?”

“Is that really it? You can’t be that fuckin’ dumb, right?”

“Is it dumb to forgive?” She ponders. “Isn’t it better to just let bygones be bygones?”

“You – you’re – what the fuck, he killed you!”

“That’s true, that’s true. And? Are you just going to keep stating the obvious?”

Iruma throws her arms up in frustration. “How are you okay with this?!”

“Those who believe have nothing to worry about,” Angie replies, brushing hair out of her eyes. “That’s all I’ve been telling you. Just believe. A merciful God will save you.”

Iruma stares down at her, looking for a crack – even the tiniest crevice – in Angie’s unyielding mask, but she finds nothing. Escapism, Shirogane had called it. She doesn’t want to acknowledge anything Shirogane has ever said. Her gaze falls on the hair that surrounds Angie’s head in a halo, a white flare against her pale blue bed sheets.

“… fine. You’re stubborn and delusional. I get it. Lemme ask you this then. Why don’t you tie your hair up anymore?”

“Hm?” Angie cocks her head curiously, prompting her to elaborate.

“It’s always out and covering the back of your neck when I see you, and that’s where, y’know…” she trails off, feeling her chest constrict, and she has to remind herself that she isn’t talking to a dead girl. She’s fine. They’re both fine.

“Does it look bad? Is it a bad look? Miu doesn’t like it?” Angie sits up in her bed and sways to the side, left, right, left, right. Fuckin’ bobblehead. “To be honest, Angie was thinking of cutting her hair, but Danganronpa says we can’t until we finish shooting all the photos! Rantarou already promised Angie he would help, and he said he’s happy to cut anyone’s hair if they want! Oooh, do you want a haircut too, Miu? God says you would look so cute with short hair!”

With the sudden overload of information she didn’t ask for, Iruma twirls a strand of her own hair around her finger nervously.

“He really said that?! I mean, o-of course, I’d look good with anything! And it’s fine, I guess. Whatever!” She huffs out, strangely flustered but resigning herself to not getting a straight answer from the other girl today.

“How short are you planning on cutting it?” Iruma asks, a grin tugging at her lips. “I think you’re growing a few white hairs, anyway.”

Angie levels her with a look, pointedly ignoring the comment. She holds her hand at her collarbone, and Iruma’s gaze falls there to note that her typical pearl necklace is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m cutting it just up to here! You should join us! If you want to cut your hair, there’s no better time than to do it with friends, right? Maybe it will feel like a weight has lifted off of your shoulders too!”

“I’ll think about it,” she decides to say, not sure why her skin tingles at the mention of ‘friends’. She probably didn’t mean it, because it’s Angie for god’s sake and Angie says all kinds of things she doesn’t mean, but still. “No promises.”

“Okaaay!” Angie suddenly grabs Iruma’s face, squishing her cheeks between her palms. “You gotta come hang out with the rest of us some more, Miu-miu! You are sorely missed, you know? Sometimes, we still hear your voice in the wind, whispering to us…”

“Fuck off, egghead!”

“... just like that…”

“Quit it!”

“... the most beautiful voice of them all…”

“You are so goddamn annoying,” Iruma lets out a muffled groan, and plucks Angie’s hands off of her. “I don’t wanna hang out with you guys, okay? Drop it. Just leave it the fuck alone and get all up into someone else’s business if you’re so fuckin’ desperate!”

Angie tuts, loosely moving the blonde’s head back and forth between her palms again. “Is it because of what you said earlier? If you’re that worried about Gonta, don’t be, God sends His blessings! Or is it Korekiyo, after all? In that case, it would be easy to just tell him to stay away! Will that make Miu feel better?”

“It’s not fuckin’ Shitguuji, I already told you that,” Iruma laughs hollowly, breaking free from Angie’s hold. “I-I just… I can’t. With Gonta. I can’t be around Gonta, okay? He can play nice guy all he wants, but in my eyes, all he’s ever gonna be is my killer, and that’s something I can’t forgive.”

“Oh? Even though Gonta forgot that he did it in the end?”

“That’s somehow even worse,” she touches her throat gingerly and Angie’s eyes trace the movement. “He watched back. He knows what he did now.” She smiles humorlessly. “He was a fuckin’ idiot to forget in the first place.”

“Hmmm… okay, then what about Kokichi? Didn’t Kokichi set it all up?”

“Fuck, don’t even get me started on him,” Iruma sighs, hands rising to rub at her eyes. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t apologize to me every time he sees me. I can deal with never seeing him or thinking about him, it’s not like he leaves his room much either.”

“Angie thinks that Kokichi is very sad, you know.”

“Don’t care. Everyone’s probably sad here, in some way, shape or form. Tell him to get over it.”

“Angie isn’t sad!” The wave of her arm that punctuates the claim almost hits Iruma in the face. “Angie wants everybody to be friends, just like we said we would be! Isn’t that a nice thought, Miu?”

“It really isn’t,” she lies, not thinking about how she’s never had a friend in her life. And to think, Angie’s the frivolous kind to throw that term around like it’s nothing.

“I see, I see. Angie still thinks that maybe you should try talking to Gonta properly though,” Angie says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “He’d do anything to make it up to you, you know?”

“I know.”

“Say... does Miu hate Gonta?”

“He killed me,” Iruma whispers. “No matter what the reason, he still did it. He was still the one who choked me. He knew what he was doing and he still did it!”

“But do you hate him?”

She doesn’t, she realizes. She doesn’t hate Gonta at all. Because if she were in his position, she would have done the same. She’s insufferable. She deserved it. And enough of V3 simulation Iruma is still inside of her to deserve it again.

The thought is nauseating.

“Miu,” Angie ventures gently, hands resting on top of hers and pulling them into her lap. “Are you scared of Gonta?”

“N-no… why would I be?!”

“Nyahaha, you don’t have to pretend for Angie. God tells Angie the truth.”

“Then your damn god should know that I have a good fuckin’ reason to be scared!”

“There is nothing to be afraid of anymore,” Angie tells her, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I know Miu has the courage in here somewhere,” she brings Iruma’s hand to her chest, just above her heart. “When the time comes, please hear him out, and maybe tell him how you feel, so that there’s no more misunderstandings, okay?”

“W-what are you? My fuckin’ therapist? A-and if you wanted me to touch your –”

“Angie doesn’t want Miu to be stuck in the fictional world anymore,” she cuts in, eyes bright and expression oddly serious. “God gave us this chance to be real again. To change again. Won’t you take it? Won’t you try and change with everyone else?”

“M-maybe I didn’t want to be real again!” Iruma shrieks, wrenching her hands away. “Maybe I wanted to fuckin’ s-stay there, and just not die! It’d be better than t-this…!”

“That’s not true. Miu wouldn’t have done what she did if she wanted to stay. You wanted to leave more than anyone.” Angie shoots her a wide smile unfitting of her words. “You were willing to kill to get out. Isn’t that just the worst?”  

“Well, you were starting a damn cult and creepin’ the hell out of all of us!”

“Angie was only trying to work together with everyone for a peaceful school life!”

“You were working on your own terms!” She accuses. “You wanted full control of the situation so you could carry out one of Monokuma’s shady ass motives, like a total moron!”  

Angie’s smile doesn’t falter. “Uh-uh, I did not do it though.”

“Because you fuckin’ died, dumbass!”  

“Buuuut, I don’t recall you surviving, either!”

“S-so…!? Why do you like it here so much anyway?! At least – at least people out here don’t hate me as much as they hate you!” Iruma clenches her teeth, drenched in her own damn bitterness. “They fuckin’ hate you, you know that?! You’ve read the comments, right?! People were happy when you died! You’re just creepy cult bitch Angie who never shuts the fuck up, who guilt trips people to get what she wants and uses people for her own damn selfish needs and pretends she can talk to God so she can force people to respect her … and… and…!”

“Are you done?”

“E-eh… um…” Iruma shrinks into herself, immediately regretting the outburst but not enough to apologize for it. She’s only telling the truth.

“Haaah… so that’s how Miu feels,” Angie rolls her shoulders, looking thoughtful. “I told you already, I don’t want you to be stuck in that fictional world anymore. You’ll get left behind that way, which would be such a shame, you know?”

“W-what do you mean by that…?”

“I’m saying that Miu is scared of changing.”

“Do you just think I’m scared of fuckin’ everything, bitch?!”

“Angie didn’t say that. But things always change eventually, Miu,” She smiles sweetly but there’s a dark glimmer in her eyes. “If you want to be caged in Danganronpa’s lies forever, thinking it will make you happy and solve all your problems, then you’re not only lying to yourself but you’re just as bad as they are.”

Then she bounces back to her previous cheer. “Yah-hah! If not Gonta, then at least talk to some of the others if you can?” Angie suggests, hands clasped together. “Everyone is worried that Miu never comes out of her room except for when we all have to…”

“Mind your own damn business.”

Iruma starts towards the door. She’s had enough of this conversation. She’s had enough of all of this. Nothing she does is good enough. She should never have come here. It’s not like she actually cares. It’s not like Angie is any different from anybody else.

You’re just as bad as they are.

She hates this life. She hates Danganronpa. She hates this broken cycle she’s found herself in, but this is what she’s stuck with, and she can’t see an end in sight. She doesn’t even know who she is anymore – she stares at the hand that has pulled the door open like it’s moved on its own accord.

Who is she really? What does she hope to achieve? Is there any reason for her to be here at all?

“Angie just wants Miu to be okay! To feel better!” Angie calls after her, voice rising in pitch. “Isn’t it only natural for friends to get through hard times together? How can we help you if you won’t let us in? C’mooon, Miu, let’s all work together!”

“Bye, Angie.” Iruma whispers, and slams the door shut behind her.

“She was just trying to help you,” Yumeno murmurs as they pass each other in the hallway.

“Get outta my sight,” she hisses.

Iruma falls face-first into her bed and tries to drown her conversation with Angie into the far recesses of her mind. She doesn’t need her help or whatever, she doesn’t need to talk to Gonta, she doesn’t need to talk to anyone.  

Still. Something tugs at her to try, telling her to take advantage of Angie’s words to conjure a convenient excuse – “Oh, that kooky bitch Angie sent me to talk to you! Hah-haha! Like I’d actually want to!” – and as much as she tries to shoo it away, it stays. The feeling settles uncomfortably in her stomach, weighing heavy in her mind, and she shifts on the mattress, grumbling irritably.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that, curled up and frustrated, but is startled by a knock outside, before Chabashira rudely invites herself in.

“Iruma-san. Tenko wants to talk to you.”

A pillow is thrown. “Fuck off, Miss Andry!”

“I will not leave until you hear me out.” Annoyingly enough, Chabashira catches the pillow and throws it back at Iruma with enough force to almost knock her off the bed.

“Keh!” Iruma glares at her. “Why don’tcha save that kinda strength for your own bedroom, bitch?”

Even more annoyingly, Chabashira opts to ignore her, mouth pulled into a tight frown. “Tenko heard you yelling at Angie-san earlier.”

“And what of it?”

“Angie-san didn’t deserve that.” She says. “You were being very rude to her.”

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy, huh?! Sure, it’s always gotta be me who gets fucked!” Iruma snaps, nails digging into her thighs.

“What? What are you saying?”

“Everything’s always my fault, isn’t it?! You don’t give a shit about me all this time we’ve been here and then I talk to Angie once and you’re straight up coming for my ass? Is that how it is?”

“That’s not what Tenko means…!”

“I-I don’t care what you mean! If you’re just here to bitch about something I said, then you’re wasting my precious time,” she crosses her arms and turns away. “Just go.”

“But Iruma-san–”

“She said go.” Both of their heads swivel to face the door, where Angie is standing, expression blank.

“Did I say you could come in?” Iruma grouches, only to be spoken over by Chabashira, who dashes to Angie’s side.

“Aaah, Angie-san! Didn’t Yumeno-san come to talk to you?”

“Yep, I talked to her. But Himiko and Tenko don’t have to worry, Angie isn’t hurt by anything that Miu said at all!” She smiles, presenting the open doorway with her arms as though she were offering it to Chabashira. “It’s okay. You can go now.”

“Wait, you don’t have to deal with this, Tenko can try talking some sense into her–”

“Go, go,” Angie grabs hold of her and ushers her out the door, “We shouldn’t fight amongst each other! Because we’re friends!” She shuts Chabashira out and twirls around, far too cheerily asking, “Isn’t that right, Miu?”

Iruma regards her suspiciously. So fucking fake. It makes her sick. “Are you just suckin’ up to me so you can backstab me later?”

“Of course not, silly!” Angie advances a little further into the room, stopping to toe the pile of clothes on the floor. “Geez, Miu, what is this? It’s so dirty in here!”

“I like it better that way.” She grumbles. “Why did you come? My patience has a limit and you’re standing on it.”

“Hmm, well, Miu looked upset when she left earlier. That’s not a good note to end a conversation on, you know?”

“So what? I don’t need your pity.”

“Huh, pity? What pity? Angie doesn’t pity you at all,” She takes a leaping jump and falls onto the mattress beside Iruma. Rolling over, she starts to poke at Iruma’s thigh. “Miu is full of worries and bad thoughts… it is God who pities.”

Iruma swats at her. “Knock it off. Don’t act like you understand how I feel.”

“Aren’t you lonely?”

Her knee-jerk reaction is to fire off a snarky retort but something in Angie’s tone brings her pause. Something she can’t put her finger on, but she feels like it’s important. She drops it after a moment of scrutiny though – it’s not like she gives enough shits to want to know that badly.

“There are millions of people in the world who would beg to be with me,” Iruma replies.

“I guess so.” Angie blinks. “Does that make you happy?”

Iruma scowls at her. “Are you a dumbass? Of course it does.”

Angie smiles as though she knows something Iruma doesn’t but it only serves to piss the blonde off even more, and she’s about to use the last of her energy to shove Angie out of her room when the quasi-artist takes the hint and rocks to her feet in one smooth motion.

“Welp, God says Angie has overstayed her welcome,” She concludes, patting invisible dust off of her ruffled skirt. “Tenko probably wants to talk to me, so I shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“Ughh, tell her to fuck off.”

“Angie will tell her what we talked about, okay? So there’s no need to worry,” She presses her palms to her cheeks. “Please don’t hate Tenko. She is just doing her best to look out for Angie, because when Angie and Tenko get along with each other, it makes Himiko happy.”

“What? That’s so… complicated.”

“Huh? You think so?”

“Y-you’re like, goin’ to a whole lotta trouble just to make one person happy, aren’t you? Why even bother? It’s not like she’ll die if you two don’t get along.”  

“Because we’re friends.” Angie replies, echoing the same damn sentiment since they started talking to each other in this hellhole. “And because we’re friends, we do our best to work together. For better days, and happy memories together!”

She pats Iruma on the head before sauntering to exit. “Come talk to us more often, okay? Your friends miss you very much!”

“Yeah, I don’t blame ‘em,” she says, falling back onto her bed with a sigh. “I’m a real fuckin’ joy to be around.”

She wonders if Kiibo would be proud of her, the way she is now.

He wouldn’t. It isn’t a comforting thought.

His face stares back at her through the tablet screen, and she pokes him in the cheek despondently.

She’ll try harder for him starting tomorrow, she promises herself. She won’t let him be disappointed with the person she’s become.

It’s not because of Angie (like she’d do anything for Yonaga fucking Angie) that she drags her feet into the common room the next day – the first time she’s physically entered outside of odd hours – but the surprise that crosses Saihara’s face makes her wish she could turn back.

“Oh, Iruma-san, it’s been a while.” He stands to greet her, almost knocking Yumeno over in the process. “How have you been?”

She looks him up and down. He’s still Saihara, from the black socks up to that stupid flick of hair that sticks up from his head, and if she pushed hard enough he’d probably fall over. She’s not scared of who he might be, anymore.  

“What’s it to you?”

Saihara frowns a little, but pushes on, not content to leave her alone just yet. “Why did you decide to come out today? When I said it’s been a while, I mean it. I haven’t seen you since… since our last photoshoot, I think? Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

“Bwah-hahaha! Who, me? I’ve never felt better! I just didn’t think you guys would be able to handle my amazing presence on a daily basis!”

“Nyeeeh… she’s acting like normal,” Yumeno points out. “Stop being a worrywart, Shuuichi.”

“I’m trying,” Saihara sighs.

“Try harder, Cryhara,” Iruma snorts.

“I will. But really, Iruma-san, I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he claps her gently on the shoulder and she flinches, not expecting him to accept her jest so easily. “We do want to respect your privacy, but get some fresh air every now and then. It’ll make you feel better.”

The words are so genuine she’s almost disgusted, but she nods anyway, reminding herself that he was just repeating something he probably said to everyone.

With a crash, Chabashira enters the common room behind an armful of boxes. “Yumeno-san! Saihara-san!” She greets, then hesitates as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “And Iruma-san! You came out!”

“I’m about to go back though,” She tells her. “The more of you losers I hang out with, the stupider I get!”

“I guess it’s time you became an idiot like the rest of us then!” Angie chimes in, popping out from behind Chabashira wearing a lion mask and making Iruma recoil in shock.

“Oi, what – what is that thing?!”

Saihara blinks, and reiterates, “Angie-san, what’s with the mask?”

“Yumeno-san asked for one,” Chabashira answers for her.

“Yep.” Yumeno affirms. “I’m gonna put on a show with that. It’ll be the best magic show you’ll ever see.”

“You ain’t even a fuckin’ magician anymore,” Iruma says.

“Mage,” Yumeno corrects grumpily. “And I can be whatever I wanna be. Magic comes to all those who believe.”

Angie nods in the mask. “Well-spoken, Himiko! Wow us with your cool tricks!”

“Magic…” She sighs. “Never mind. You’ll get it eventually.”

Iruma crosses her arms, eyeing Chabashira as she takes her time putting down the boxes. “That’s great and all, but can I leave now? Miss Andry, you’re blocking the way.”

“Now that you’re here, Iruma-san, you might as well help out,” Chabashira tells her, standing up and hooking their arms together. Iruma swears she doesn’t jump at the proximity.

“Let go of me! Y-you think I don’t have anything better to do? Why do I have to help with your stupid circus act?”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Chabashira drags her further into the room, ignoring the way Angie and Yumeno scare the everloving shit out of Momota at the door, leaving Saihara to chase after them as they burst into a fit of giggles. “We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

When it comes time to do the show, Yumeno is shaking in her boots but they’ve gathered up most of the others bar Hoshi, Toujou and Gonta and Iruma doesn’t blame them. Shirogane doesn’t show up either, but that’s a given by this point. It’s better off that way.

So here Iruma sits, sprawled on the couch beside Harukawa and Akamatsu, watching an elementary trick she’s seen at least fifty times since this morning.

Yumeno is clearly trying her best, and everyone is applauding their hearts out after every act. They clap even though her mistakes are clear as day, and even when she sometimes forgets to do a step and the illusion crumbles. She doesn’t give up though, and when Saihara is called up to be her assistant, he pats her on the back and says, “You’re doing a good job. Keep it up.”

There’s something about Yumeno putting in so much effort, Iruma decides, that is sort of precious, and judging by the hollering from Chabashira and Angie – at least she’s got a cheer squad to back her up no matter what goes wrong.

All in all, it’s an alright show, she supposes, and being with a bunch of people gets her out of her head for a bit, so it isn’t that bad.

She does cringe at Momota’s far too exaggerated, “Oh shit! Where did that come from!? What kind of amazing magic is this?!” when Yumeno pulls the lion mask out of her hat, but the tiny giggle he gets in return makes Iruma crack a smile instead, and she curses herself for being way too weak for her own good.

“That was so cool, Yumeno-san!” Chabashira gushes, jumping up and down.  

“That’s our Himiko!” Akamatsu shouts, almost knocking Harukawa off the couch in her excitement to stand and whoop. To heck with it, Iruma thinks.  

“Fuck yeah!” She gets to her feet and crows, ignoring the surprised look Angie shoots her way. “Do the card one again, Yumeno! That was awesome!”

“Sit down, both of you.” Harukawa grimaces, tugging them back onto the couch by their shirts.

“Why? Can’t appreciate a good ass when you see one?” Iruma teases. “You’re sandwiched between two gorgeous blonde babes and all you do is complain. It’s not a chance everyone gets, y’know!”

Akamatsu laughs despite herself. “I mean, she’s not wrong…”

Harukawa scowls, folding her pigtails over her mouth and mumbling, “I’m just trying to watch the show.”

“Is this your card?” Yumeno is asking Saihara in a grave tone, and he gasps so dramatically he could give Momota a run for his money. Yumeno cups a hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

“Yes.” He replies reverently.

“It’s not his card!” Ouma shouts from the audience. “He’s lying! Booooo!”

Saihara’s look of utter indignance at the statement makes Yumeno’s smile widen, and she drops the cards to put both hands over her mouth. He stares at her.

“What?” Her voice is muffled. “I’m not laughing…”

The quasi-detective sighs. “Okay, yeah, it wasn’t my card.”

Chabashira is the one who looks offended this time, but before she can act, Yumeno relents and lets a peal of laughter wash over her and the way Chabashira melts is so damn sweet Iruma thinks she might have cavities.

On the way back to her room, Iruma reflects on this peculiar sense of normalcy she feels.

Had the day already passed by so quickly? Did she momentarily enter a realm where all of her worries dissolved and she just had a mad fuckin’ time watching mundane party tricks and – and there’s someone behind her.

She stops.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” She asks Angie, because who else could it be. “Your room is that way.”

“Nyahaha! I know.” Angie beams. “I’m just walking you home.”

“Kh…! What kinda wimp do you take me for?! You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“You know, it was nice of you to support Himiko today,” she says, stretching her arms out in front of her. “Angie thinks she was really touched by it.”

“Don’t think she gives a flying fuck about what I do,” Iruma shrugs.

“It’s true she won’t say it, because she’s shy about these things.” Angie assures her. “But God knows. Miu did well today.”

“Hahaha! Is that your way of complimenting me?!”

Angie falters, and purses her lips. “Well, you didn’t do anything that spectacular. It’s just a word of thanks. From Himiko to God to Miu.”

Iruma can’t help but smirk like a wiseass at that. “Too big to thank me yourself, huh?”

“Angie has nothing to thank you for,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Oho! Well then, you can start by thanking me for blessing you with my glorious existence, my one-of-a-kind golden brain, being incredibly attractive, looking great in a swimsuit…” She begins to list on her fingers.

“Mm, nope! Not this time. No thank you.” Angie’s pace quickens considerably, an annoying spring in her step as she goes on ahead to open Iruma’s door for her. “In you go. Goodnight, Miu.”

“Hey! I haven’t told you the other hundred reasons why you should thank me!”

“Goodnight,” Angie laughs, spinning off towards her own room.

“Bad night.” Iruma shakes her fist at her. “I hope bedbugs bite you all night! Unless you’re into that! Then I hope they don’t!”

“Oh. Bad night to you, too then. I hope you have boring dreams and bad hair days!”

Iruma rolls her eyes and swears she doesn’t smile when she falls into bed. Fucking Angie.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

“Like you care.” Iruma snaps.

Her therapist sighs. “Alright, Iruma-san, we’ve had this conversation before and you look like you’ve been holding up better so I won’t push it. Though you do want to leave, don’t you?”

She nods defeatedly. That should be easy enough to understand.

“Then have you been trying to talk to the others a little more at least? I heard you put on a magic show the other day.” She puts her papers aside, leaning forward to address Iruma as though they were actually friends. Iruma supposes they might be at this point, but she’d never admit it aloud.

“Iruma-san,” she goads. “You’re not spending your days all alone in your room staring at the ceiling, are you?”

“L-like I’d do something so lame!” Iruma curses herself for stammering.

“It’s alright. I’m mostly joking. I heard you’ve been out and about a lot more lately, and it really makes me happy, you know. You’re making progress, and I’m proud of you.”

“If you start getting sappy with me, I’m leaving,” Iruma grumbles. “I don’t want you to see me doing normal things like talking to people and shit as ‘progress’, aight? I see it more like… I’m being repaired into a functional human being, y’know? Come back when I do something really amazing, and then you can call it progress.”

“I understand.” The therapist smiles. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

Trips to the common room come more frequently nowadays, as Iruma shakes off her ridiculous fears like a snake shedding its skin and starts trying to reclaim her life again.

“Yahhaa!” Angie greets, ever the common room goblin. The others there wave with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and she’s glad that nobody is revving to point out that ‘wow! Iruma’s out of her room again!’ because that schtick was getting real old.

She pours herself a cup of water from the water cooler, and is about to join Akamatsu on the couch when something else catches her eye.

“Oi Angie, what happened to your hands?”

Angie blinks from her spot at the table with Chabashira, Saihara and Yumeno, raising her colorful bandaid-covered fingers. “Hmmm? You mean this?”

“Yes that, you dingus,” Iruma strides over to takes hold of one of her hands and squint down at it. She pays the stares of the others no heed, smacking her water onto the table as she counts the number of bandaids littering this troublemaker’s fingers. “Geez, look at what you’ve done to yourself. What the hell kind of kinky shit are you into?”

“Oh no, Angie was just doing some arts and crafts,” she giggles, flailing in Iruma’s hold. “It’s okay, it’s okay! God makes sure that Angie never gets hurt.”

Iruma pinches her finger.

“Aaahh!”

“Hah! Felt that, didn’t ya?!”

“Iruma-san…” Saihara sighs, hiding a weak half-smile behind his book. “Please don’t bully her.”

“Aren’t you glad Iruma’s been coming to chat more often now?” Yumeno chirps from beside him. Chabashira hands her a cookie, which she nibbles on happily.

“I am, but…”

“But nothin’,” Iruma tells him. “You should be grateful that I’ve finally decided to give you guys the time of day!”

“Angie is grateful,” the quasi-artist offers sweetly, in an evident attempt to flatter Iruma into letting her wriggle her hand free.

Iruma pinches her again.

“Aaaahh!”

“Punishment for hurting yourself,” she says. “Seriously, you’ve banged up every single finger in like five different places, there’s no good explanation for that.”

“She has a point. You should be more careful, Angie-san,” Chabashira chimes in as she reaches out to offer Iruma a cookie. The quasi-inventor grabs it with her mouth. “And Iruma-san, you need to learn some manners.”

“Hands are full,” she says mid-chew.

“You could just let go,” Angie suggests, still trying to pull herself out of Iruma’s grasp.

“I could separate you with my magic.” Yumeno yawns, “But it’s not like you’re really stuck, so I won’t bother.”

“Ah, Iruma-san is here today?” a new voice enters, and everyone on the table waves except for Iruma herself.

“Ooh, good morning, Gonta!”

The quasi-inventor stiffens and drops Angie’s hand, her own fingers clenching into fists by her side. She was doing so well, she was reclaiming her goddamn life but the moment Gonta shows his face, she feels the panic erupting in her chest, throat constricting as she mutters, “I have to go.”

“Wait, Miu?! Miu, come back!”

She can’t even look at Gonta when she brushes past, but judging by the gentle coos that ring in his direction seconds before she’s out the door, she’s sure he’ll be just fine.

She runs into Ouma on the way to her room.

It’s the first time she’s encountered him alone since the time he fainted at her door, and she almost wants to laugh and pick on him for old times’ sake, but his usual smile is nowhere to be seen – he looks like he’s seen a ghost. She knows eyes like that. He must have been thinking about the simulation, and it frustrates her because she remembers from the magic show that he was doing so well, too. Not that she’s one to talk.

They both stand frozen in the hallway, staring at each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Eventually, he goes first, maneuvering around her with a quiet ‘excuse me’, and then dashing down the stairs like he couldn’t bear to be around her any longer. He trips, and Momota’s surprised yelp echoes up the staircase.

“Dude, what the fuck? Are you okay?”

“Yep! I’m at full capacity, Momota-chan!”

“Nope, you don’t look okay. What happened? Here, grab onto me and tell me on the way…”

Their voices trail off, and there’s a foreign tug of worry that Iruma swallows. She suddenly feels sick, and clutches both hands to her chest.

“It’s quite a shame you haven’t made up with him yet,” she hears someone utter behind her, and a chill shoots through her veins. Shirogane. “Ah… so you don’t want to talk to me either, I can see it in your eyes. That’s okay. I was just about to leave.”

“I didn’t even notice you were there,” Iruma mutters.

Even though she wasn’t supposed to hear it, Shirogane laughs anyway. “Well, that makes sense. I am plain, after all.”

Uneasy with being alone with one of the orchestrators of her misery, Iruma slips into her room without another word and rests her head against the door.

She feels like she’s choking and sinks to her knees. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

There must be a reason this keeps happening to her, she thinks. Bad things happen to people for a reason, right?

She desperately fights to ignore the fog that engulfs her mind, telling her the only reason why bad things happen to her is because she’s a bad person.

There’s a whole week she spends in her room trying to avoid people, because she’s too scared that she’ll have another run-in with someone that will remind her of her death, but it comes as no comfort as the dread of her potential relapse consumes her anyway.

The unopened gifts pile higher and higher on her desk.

Amami drops by with tea when she’s feeling particularly low, and all she can wonder is who could have sent him – because there’s no way he came on his own accord. He doesn’t offer anything as a way of explanation, merely leans against the wall as she sips at the mug and avoids his worried gaze.

“It’s kind of weird that we’re so scared of something that wasn’t even real.” He says eventually.

“It was real to us. Just ‘cause we’re not living those lives anymore doesn’t mean it never happened.” She grunts, placing the empty mug in his hands when she’s done. “Also, I fuckin’ hate tea.”

“Coffee was an option, but I didn’t know how awake you wanted to be,” he shrugs.

“Always coffee!” She tells him. “What better feelin’ is there than bein’ woken the fuck up by a piping cup of bean juice!?”

He nods, offering a placating smile as if he doesn’t know how else to reply. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Oddly enough, it just so happens that the next day, Angie brings her coffee, one hand pinched over her nose.

“Geez! How can Miu like this stuff? It’s bitter and gross and smells weird,” she complains as Iruma immediately snatches the cup off of her.

“Get outta here! This is the stuff of gods!” She ignores the way it burns her tongue as she takes a long swig of it, not about to show any weakness to the other girl and not because she’s an idiot or anything like that.

“God hates coffee,” Angie protests.

“Hah! Now that’s a lie when I see one!” Iruma sets the cup down, throat burning. “Didn’t you say that God hates liars?”

“No, no, it’s not a lie,” She puffs out her cheeks. “He told Angie just now.”

“Sure, honey. And I’m the fuckin’ emperor of Japan!”

“Mmmmhh, no,” Angie makes a noise of discontentment, and Iruma can’t help but laugh at her.

Something flickers in Angie’s expression – surprise, or horror maybe, Iruma wouldn’t put it past her – but it’s gone in a flash.

“Angie’s bringing you tea tomorrow.” She declares.

“Feh… I’ll pour it on your head if you do!” Iruma replies, shaking a finger at her.

Angie does, in fact, bring tea.

Iruma blames sleep-deprivation for not kicking her out immediately.

Actually, for some reason or another, she keeps coming back, morning after morning, and it’s not like Iruma even wants her there that badly but it’s better than being alone. At least when Angie's there, she can't scream at herself or try and tear her own hair out over trivial things. At least when Angie's there, she has to make a conscious effort to actually seem okay, and then that conscious effort makes her feel a little bit less like a failure, so it's good. Mostly.

She’d never admit it but it’s almost nice that someone still wants to hang around her when she doesn’t even want to hang around herself.

Angie’s really weird, Iruma thinks. 

Relapsing fucking sucks. It just does. 

It’s like everything now exists for the sole purpose of making her mad, and if she’s not mad then she’s too busy hating herself to do anything, and even if her brain is screaming “can we not fucking do this today”, she can’t give it enough reasons not to.

Suddenly, looking the lights piss her off. She squints out at the sunlight.

The windows and their ugly curtains piss her off. She directs her gaze to the floor.

The mess of her clothes strewn everywhere pisses her off. She picks up her tablet.

The Team Danganronpa logo pisses her off. She frowns deeply. Everything really is out to make her mad. She hates everything.

With a sigh, she changes the background of her tablet to a picture of herself that she pulls off the internet, but the more she looks at it, the more she hates it too.

She changes it again to a picture of Kiibo, which sets her heart at ease, until she remembers he’s fucking dead and he’s not coming back.

Her voice trembles. “Kiibo… tell me, what am I doing wrong?”

“One talk,” Angie says one morning, appearing in Iruma’s doorway before she can even think to shut her out. “God says that today Miu should have one talk with Gonta because today is a lucky day.”

“F-fuckin’ how!? H-how is today d-different from any other day?!”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry!”

“Well shit, now I’m worrying even more!”

“It’s okay,” Angie steps up to her, practically drowning in the patterned purple hoodie she’s wearing. “Miu is ready.”

“No, I fuckin’ ain’t!”

“You are, you are,” she reassures her, backing it up with no evidence but somehow Iruma finds herself believing her anyway.

She narrows her eyes. “You… better not be brainwashing me into thinking that right now.”

“Angie can’t do that. Miu is her own person, she’s just being a weak person, but that’s okay! Everybody is weak sometimes!”

She panics. “W-weak… I’ll show you weak! You think I’m a fuckin’ sub, is that it?! Sure, humiliation is one of my kinks, but I can be a dom if I gotta be! Don’t you dare underestimate me!”

Angie squints at her. “Uh, huh?”

“N-never mind! Go fuck yourself!” Iruma hurriedly smacks the words away, cheeks burning. “Two minutes! I’ll talk to him for two minutes if it’ll get you off my ass.” She’s sure she could avoid death for that amount of time.

“Hmm, five.”

“That’s more than twice as long…!” She exclaims.

“You will be fine,” Angie takes her by the hand. “You have God’s word.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s real fuckin’ helpful!”

“Miu, you’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“I ain’t blowing nothing!” She lets Angie pull her down the stairs against her better judgement.

“One talk is all Angie is asking. If you never talk again, then fine, but this is holding Miu and Gonta back. You wanna live a fulfilling life, don’t you? Get over it.”

“You’re makin’ me mad,” Iruma declares. “Treatin’ me like a little bitch.”

“Then maybe you should stop acting like one.”

Okay, Iruma thinks. This is a really inappropriate time to be turned on.

She sobers up when they reach the end of the staircase though, fully aware of what she’s about to do. She won’t run away, if only to prove to Angie that she’s not some wimpy bitchnugget who can’t fend for herself — she’s no coward, she’s no snivelling weakling — she’s Iruma Miu and she’s going to do this for her own sake.

They halt by the kitchen doorway, and Angie pats her on the shoulder. Iruma walks in.

“Iruma-san, please, let Gonta talk!” He cries as soon as she enters the kitchen and she stiffens.

Clinging to the countertop, she’s not surprised that she’s shaking, and she madly reminds herself to toughen up. She hears the patter of Angie’s footsteps fade away.

“Y-you’re already runnin’ yer mouth, so at least make it worth my while,” she stammers, straightening against the bench. Get a grip.

“Gonta is sorry.”

“Damn right you are,” Iruma scoffs, crossing her arms. “Did I come all this way to hear the same old drivel from you? At least try to be creative.”

“That’s not all. Gonta knows… he did a very bad thing.” He shuffles his feet. “He cannot apologize enough. Iruma-san… can hate Gonta all she wants, but… please. Know that Gonta will never hurt Iruma-san ever ever again. Never ever ever. Promise.”

“Look. It only takes one move.” Iruma answers tiredly. “One… one action can change your entire fucking life, you know that? One big, irredeemable action can change everything.”

“Gonta knows…” His bottom lip trembles. “Because the old Gonta was not good person. But now, Gonta wants to change. To become true gentleman. That is Gonta’s goal.”

She exhales through her nose. Breathe. “Old Gonta, huh? What was he like? Did he have worms for a brain like you?”

“No, that’s gross. And he’s bad.” Gonta says. “What was old Iruma-san like?”

“Bad, too,” she echoes with a shaky laugh. “Maybe they could have been friends.”

“No.” Gonta replies firmly. “They should not be friends.”

“Why? Would he have killed her too?”

Gonta stiffens, and picks at the end of his sleeves, clearly uncomfortable with the question.

“...maybe.” He replies despondently, sounding so utterly miserable that Iruma almost feels sorry for him.

“Well, shit.” She says. “He really was a bad dude. You fightin’ him for dominance in that big ol’ head of yours?”

He wrings his hands, looking upset as he admits, “Gonta tries. All the time.”

“You can do it,” she offers, oddly encouraging despite her every rising desire to get the fuck out of here. He could kill her again. He’s larger, stronger, and realer here than he ever was. He could smash her head in at any time. She’s tired. So tired. “Punch him in the dick. That might work.”

Gonta sighs. “That won’t work.”

She hears him, a bit. The old Gonta, the loveless bastard that signed up for Danganronpa, because she remembers meeting him before their memory wipe and thinking ‘this guy’s gonna murder someone’.

She grimaces. Even if Danganronpa Gonta ended up killing her, she’d much prefer it if he stuck around instead of that guy.

“Seriously though, fuck him up. I might actually be impressed if you do.”

He blinks, as if suddenly coming up with a revelation. “If Gonta… can defeat bad Gonta, will Iruma-san…”

“Hell, if you can defeat bad Gonta, I’ll,” She racks her brain for something tangible to offer that won’t give off the wrong impression. “I’ll buy you candy? You like sweets, right?”

Gonta manages to smile at that, looking relieved. “Well, it would be impolite for a gentleman to decline. Okay. Gonta will try harder.”

“See to it that you do, big guy.”

“Ah, and Iruma-san… if – if you ever need it,” His hand hovers over his chest, and he looks her straight in the eye. “Gonta will protect you, okay?”

She snorts. It’d be a nicer sentiment if he hadn’t murdered her, but, “Whatever.” She’s sick of being scared of him. She’s sick of letting Danganronpa control her thoughts, her memories, her whole fucking life. She’s sick of all of this. She wants to be free. “Yeah, sure.”

Gonta looks surprised, but he quickly pulls himself together, scratching his cheek nervously. “Um, also… if you’ll hear it, Gonta wants to ask one more thing.”

“Hm? Spit it out.”  

“Can… Gonta talk to Iruma-san again? Is that okay?”

Her fingers creep towards her neck. Fuck it. Fuck Danganronpa. Fuck all of them, she’s not going to live like this anymore.

“Fine.” She breathes. “As long as you respect that I won’t always want to talk to ya, but I’m willing to try.”

Tears well up in his eyes. “Th-thank you, Iruma-san… Gonta is… so happy…”

She stands there awkwardly, rubbing her arm. “You good, man? Do you need some time to yourself?”

“Ah... yes… um, Gonta will… see you around?”

“Uh huh, see ya round, bug-ass.” She agrees, throwing up a lazy wave.

“Goodbye, Iruma-san… Gonta wishes you well.”

“Me too, big guy,” she swivels out of the kitchen. “Me too.”

It’s a much better exit than running and crying, she thinks, and she almost feels proud of herself for hanging in there until she bumps into Shinguuji in the hallway outside.

“Eek–! What the hell?! Were you eavesdropping, you creep?” She accuses, immediately on the defensive.

“Though I am sure your conversation with Gokuhara-kun was riveting, I was not,” he shakes his head, pointer finger raised. “Angie-san told me to check on you because she was worried you were taking so long.”

He starts to walk, and Iruma follows, if only because she thinks he’s probably heading back to Angie now, and she’s come to the stark realization that… she actually hasn’t spoken to Shinguuji all that much in the months after they woke from the simulation.

The last time they spoke was at a photoshoot, and even then, Iruma had only been helping fix his complicated ass uniform because he was having some existential crisis and wouldn’t move. Total pain in the neck, this guy.

“I’m fine, ya fuckin’ numbnuts.” She huffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Not dead, which is a bonus.”

“Well… did you honestly believe he would kill you again?”

“Bitch, he could snap you and me like twigs if you’re not careful. One in each hand,” she mimes a slash of her throat. “Crrk! We fuckin’ dead, man.”

“... delightful,” he says.

“I sure am, Shitguuji,” she grins. “What’ve you been up to lately? Still kissing yourself in the mirror?”

He sends her a disgusted look. “Do not ask me that ever again, or I will most definitely tear out your nerves, end to end.”

She recoils quickly, bringing her hands to her chest. “E-eek! I-I was just joking around! Honest! Why do you still say that?! That’s scary shit, dude...!”

He rolls his eyes. “Old habits die hard, as the saying goes. Also I most certainly do not appreciate those sorts of jokes.”

“You kinda deserve them though,” she remarks flippantly. “You were a fuckin’ whack job in the simulation, you know that?”

“As were you.” He stops in front of Angie’s door, rapping at it twice. “Though from what I’ve observed, nothing has changed.”

“Low fuckin’ blow!” Iruma gasps, but she’s more amused than she lets on. What an asshole. “Eat a bag of dicks, Shitguuji.”

“Now, now, there is to be no dick-eating here please,” Angie interrupts primly as she opens the door. “Did everything go well, Miu?”

She shrugs, “I ain’t dead yet.”

“Lucky day!” Angie cheers, and yanks them both inside her room before either of them can protest.

As Iruma has found, it’s pointless to question Angie, and much easier just to accept her whim of the day and move on.

So today, on this apparently ‘lucky day’, Angie has decided she will hold a tea party in her room, and Iruma is one of its four unfortunate attendees. She actually doesn’t notice that there’s a fourth person there until it strikes her that the one dark object in the corner is sorely out of place in Angie’s all too colourful abode.

“Yeesh, you scared me, Hoshit! Thought you were a ghost for a second,” she tells him, squatting down beside him as the quasi-tennis player smiles wryly.

“I was aiming for piece of furniture, but ghost works too.”

“How’d you end up here?” She asks. “Don’t see you to be the type to hang out with these two weirdos.”

“I was bribed.” He says, raising his mug. “Look at this thing. It has cats all over it. She went straight for the heart.”

Iruma snorts. “You’re a man with simple needs, aren’t ya?”

“Simple is good. Can’t mess up if it’s simple.”

“Heh, you’d be surprised – wauugh!” she squeals as she’s suddenly tackled from behind. “A-Angie, what the fuck?!”

“You two are banned from the loner corner,” Angie answers cheerfully, tugging Iruma backwards with all her strength — which is admittedly not very much. Iruma lets her though, leaning her entire weight on Angie as the quasi-artist struggles to carry her towards the centre of the room.

“You have the weakest fuckin’ arms,” she cackles.

“Maybe … Miu… is…. just… too… big...” Angie lugs her in bursts between words, which only makes Iruma laugh harder.

“Before you think about making that into an innuendo, please remember that I’m holding hot coffee.” Hoshi pipes up.

“Oh, man! You could tie me up and drip that all over my body, and I’d still finish with extra pleasure!” Iruma snickers as his face darkens into a vicious death glare.

“Iruma-san, please do us a favor and be silent forever.” Shinguuji says on his behalf.

“Hah! Why? Does it turn you – Angie, what the hell are you doing?”

“Nyahahaha! Princess carry!” Angie is kneeling and has somehow managed to pull Iruma into her lap, as though she’s actually considering carrying her this way. She hooks an arm under Iruma’s knees, and rests another on her back.

“You’re gonna drop me.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Let me make myself clear. You are going to absolutely fuckin’ drop me.”

“No way, no way! Angie is not going to drop her princess!” She declares, vigorously hefting her upwards in one fell swoop.

Iruma is so embarrassed by the unexpected term of endearment that she doesn’t even have time to scream when she rolls onto the floor, but Angie’s high-pitched squeal is more than enough to make up for it.

“A body has been discovered,” Hoshi drawls, taking a long tired sip from his mug.

“I truly wonder who could have possibly killed her.” Shinguuji adds in the same dry tone.

“Fuck you guys,” Iruma wheezes as Angie slumps on top of her and fakes mourning over her fallen form, full theatrics in play. “Seriously, fuck all of you.”

Yet despite her words, she can’t wipe the stupid grin off her face.

It’s even weirder, she thinks when Angie’s dragging her down the hall on another spontaneous escapade — that she feels lighter these days, like she’s floating on air. There's no explanation for it, she just is.

“Romance or action?” Angie asks, showing her a screen of movie thumbnails on her own tablet.

“Action.” Iruma replies immediately. “Fuck, sci-fi? That’s the good shit.”

“Mhm, I’m glad you think so!” Angie’s eyes are shining. “Let’s watch things explode.”

Iruma snorts. “Ang, you’re a fuckin’ psychopath.”

Angie leans against her shoulder and starts up the movie. “Miu is the one who gets off on robots.”

“Do you think I could legally change my name to RobotFucker69?”

“... no. God would come down to strike you and you would die immediately. Guaranteed.”

“It would be worth it though!”

“No,” Angie replies nonchalantly. “I like you better when you’re alive.”

Iruma rests her head on top of Angie’s, watching a spaceship enter the screen. “You’re right. The world would miss me too much if I died.”

“Hey, is that whistling I hear? From Iruma-san, of all people?”

Iruma stops, pulling the spoon out of her mouth and swerving to meet Amami’s eyes. “Oh shit, Rantaho! I haven’t seen you in ages! Where’ve you been?”

“I’ve been around.” He shrugs.

“Been around, have you?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Amami laughs. “Ha, you better not be implying what I think you’re implying. You know I’m not that sort of guy.”

“Bleh, you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, I’m really not.”

“Okay, no, wait, you're not supposed to agree with me. That’s quitter’s talk, and you ain’t a fuckin’ quitter! You’re doing just fine, I’d say,” she beams, a beacon of all that is good and holy.

Amami looks mildly unsettled.

“Wow, you’re, uh… in a really good mood today. Something happen?”

“Can’t I just be happy about having the beauty and brains of a goddess? I mean, sometimes you just gotta appreciate yourself, y’know? Treat yourself. I’m doing that.” She raises the tub of ice cream in her hands. “You can get your own.”

Amami snorts. “I might do just that.”

“Good! Follow my example and you’ll be top of the pack in no time,” she talks through a spoonful of ice cream.

“Ha,” his hand meets the back of his neck. “I’m glad you seem to be doing well though. It really lifts my spirits.”

“Aww, you down in the dumps? You do look a little pent up.”

“Oh no, I’m fine, just…” Amami smiles. “Surprised? You seem different. Like you’re happier, I guess?”

“Of course I am! When you’re as gifted as I am, there’s no time to be wasted feeling sad!” She grins.

“Right…” he nods at her. “It’s a good change. I’m glad you’re moving forward.”

“Thanks,” She replies, and her words are genuine. “I’m glad, too.”

You’ll never be worth anything when you leave this place. Her conscience pleasantly reminds her in the blanket of the night. You only matter because you’re a Danganronpa hotshot. Without them, you’ll be a nobody again.

“Shut up,” she says, and falls asleep to the thoughts desperately trying to rattle her. She won’t give in to them this time.

“Miu! Miu! Guess what?”

“Can you stop coming in so damn early all the time? Don’t you have anything better to do?” Iruma grouses as her blinds are yanked open, flooding the room with light. She groans, burying herself under the covers in a sorry attempt to escape the brightness.

Angie ignores her words as she skips around the room. “You sure have a lot of presents on your table,” she observes. “Why don’t you open them?”

“Can’t be fucked.” Iruma mumbles into her mattress. “Why are you here?”

“Guess!”

“To annoy the shit outta me?”

“Good guess, but no!”

“Then why.”

“Because! It’s a very special day today!” She flings herself onto Iruma’s cocooned form, and the quasi-inventor squeaks in surprise. “It’s Kiibo’s birthday!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Iruma launches upward, forcing Angie to cling to her to stop herself from falling onto the floor. “It’s Kiibo’s birthday!?”

“Nyahaha! That’s what I said!”

“Holy shit, I don’t – I don’t have anything prepared, I didn’t even think –”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Angie brushes the blonde strands from Iruma’s face. “He won’t mind. We were just going to throw a party, and do all the things that he would have wanted us to do, and I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to be there, y’know?”

Her eyes are wide as she nods. “H-he – I never –”

“No crying, Miu.” Angie bops her on the nose “He wouldn’t want to see crying on his special day.”

“But he’s, he’s not here,” She whispers. “He’s not going to know.”

“Oh, he’ll know.” The quasi-artist reassures her. “So smile for him. Our friend who died so that we could be alive.”

Kiibo’s birthday party is a raucous affair.

The first thing Iruma notices is that someone managed to smuggle the Kiibo replica in from their photoshoots and he stands at the centre of the common room proudly sporting a sparkling paper crown. He’s surrounded by origami flowers – a quick glance to her right tells her these are mostly Yumeno and Harukawa’s doing – and there’s a light from somewhere behind him that wraps him in this ethereal glow.

“Iruma!” Momota yells, and she casts a skeptical look at the paper cups he and Ouma have lined up on the table. “Come watch our drinking contest!”

She skids over, stifling a snicker as she spots Amami struggling to carry the entire water cooler over towards them.

“Are you sure it’s safe to drink so much?” Saihara inquires, sounding nervous.

“It’s all soda,” Ouma waves his hands dismissively. “You can never have too much soda!”

“I, ah, think you’ll find that you can, actually…”

Poor Saihara’s voice gets drowned out by Akamatsu, who suddenly yells, “I’m gonna play ‘happy birthday’ for Kiibo and you can’t stop me!”

Toujou yanks her away from the piano. “You don’t even know the notes.”

“It’s fine, I’ll wing it!”

“What’s goin’ on over there?” Yumeno asks tiredly.

“We have a ‘no pianos for Kaede’ rule and she’s breaking it.” Chabashira explains, holding onto Akamatsu (“For Kiibo!” she’s protesting) as Toujou hands her over and smooths out her skirt.

“Well, why don’t you simply move the piano away,” Shinguuji suggests from the corner.

Hoshi looks at him. “How on earth would we move that thing?”

Gonta raises his hand excitedly. “I could do it!”

“... right.” Hoshi says. “Anyway. Let’s not do that.”

“Hey!” Ouma chimes in over the sound of Chabashira and Akamatsu’s struggle. “We’re starting now! Pay attention!”

All eyes fall back onto the drink table, where Ouma starts counting down.

Saihara lifts the tablecloth to reveal the soda bottles they had hidden earlier, and starts pulling them out, much to Momota’s displeasure.

“Hey! Dammit, Shuuichi! We need those for refills!”

“...okay! Start drinking, Momota-chan!” Ouma announces, bringing a cup to his lips.  

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Angie chants as Saihara ropes Amami into taking the soda bottles away, and Momota tries to seize them with one hand while simultaneously chugging as much as he can. Ouma kicks his legs happily and watches the show, looking far too innocent as he takes his time to savor his drink, not in a hurry at all.

Iruma snakes around to hang an arm over the Kiibo replica’s shoulder.

“Bunch’a losers, aren’t they?” She asks jokingly.

“You’re the one talking to a replica.” Hoshi points out.

“Ack…!” Iruma clutches onto the Kiibo for balance. “You scared me, Hoshit!”

He smirks. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Ouma ends up winning despite only drinking one cup, and Iruma’s about to call him out on his bullshit when Akamatsu clambers onto a chair and claps her hands. “Okay, here’s the plan now! Make a circle around Kiibo, and we’ll sing for him because I’m not allowed near the piano, which, by the way, is completely unfair.”

“Get down from there, it’s dangerous,” Toujou says, and Akamatsu pouts but obeys.   

They look like a bunch of idiots gathering around the fake Kiibo, but Iruma will gladly be one of those idiots, and she’s not even sure why.

“Happy birthday,” Angie begins over Yumeno’s “When are we starting?” and the rest of them scramble to keep up with her, voices rising as they try and outdo each other in enthusiasm.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday Kiibo!” Iruma shrieks, elbowing Momota who thinks he has the right to sing louder than her. He elbows her back.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIIBO!” Everyone concludes with a cheer, and the only thing that would make it better would be if Kiibo was right here with them.

Late into the evening, Iruma replays Danganronpa V3 for the final time on her tablet and falls into a restless sleep to the sound of Kiibo’s voice.

She still misses him a lot.

In the morning, she will start letting him go. She would never dare to forget, but she already swore she could not live like this — a slave to the world that Danganronpa built them.

She will not live like this.

Kiibo didn’t die so that she’d live regretting ever being Iruma Miu, inventor extraordinaire. Whether he was ever truly aware or not, he died for her freedom.

For all of their freedoms.

She’s going to damn well honor that wish.

“You look much happier lately.” Her therapist points out. “That’s really nice to see. Do you feel better since the last time we spoke?”

Iruma shrugs, but doesn’t bite back her bashful smile. “Maybe.”

“Yo, Big Dick.” Iruma slides onto the kitchen bench, one of the few times she’s greeted Gonta on her own accord since V3 ended. She’s actually… okay. She’s doing okay. It feels nice.

Gonta blinks at her, lowering the heat on the stove. “Hello Iruma-san!”

“You look like you wanna say something else. Shoot.”

“Ah.” He laughs hesitantly. “Well, not to be rude but… could you… stop, with the name calling, please?”

“Eh,” Iruma shrugs but doesn’t push it. “Your loss. What are you making?”

“Soup.”

“Cool. You cook much at all?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Gonta learn.”

“Want me to teach you a few tricks?”

“You… you would do that?”

“Hah-hahaha! Only if you bow down and beg for it!” He starts getting to his knees and Iruma flies into a panic. “W-what the hell?! I was just joking…!”

He stands again, looming over her and she takes a step back, but doesn’t falter. She’s got this. He’s just a big ol’ teddy bear, good guy Gonta; just a giant, earnest idiot. No more bad blood.

“Alright! We’re gonna cook a monster!” She announces, hands on her hips. “Are you with me or are you with me?!”

“Huh? Where are we getting the monster from?”

“Just roll with it, you big lug!” Iruma guides him over to the counter. “I get you the ingredients, and you get to choppin’, okay? Go fish that carrot out of the pot, it’s going to take forever like that.”

They continue on in much of the same fashion, Iruma directing and Gonta following her instructions without hesitation, and by the time they’ve perfected the recipe, Iruma thinks she was stupid to ever have been scared of Gonta in the first place.

There’s a disparity between the memories of Gonta she has – and she thinks this rendition of him is her favorite.

“Oh, it smells so nice in here,” Amami suddenly makes his presence known with the slaps of his slippers on the tile. “What are you guys up to?”

“We’re making soup so damn hot you’ll instantly–”

“Iruma-san is teaching Gonta cooking,” Gonta interrupts, and she sends him a sour look.  

“You know how to cook, Iruma?”

“O-oi, don’t act so surprised…! My genius brain can whip up anything you can possibly imagine!”  

“Well, it’s a good skill to have. You guys sure made a lot of soup, though. Are you sure you can finish it all?” Amami inquires, and Iruma gulps as she abruptly notices the numerous pots they had filled without realizing it.

Of course, being Iruma, she immediately points at Gonta. “Hey, idiot, why’d you make so much?!”  

“Gonta just did what you told him to!”

“Whose army are we feeding!? Don’t just keep crankin’ it whenever I close my eyes to blink, now we’ve ended up with overpopulation!”

“Overpopulation of soup?!”

“Guys.” Amami tries to interject.

“Why is it so noisy in here?” Akamatsu peeps in through the doorway. “Oh wow, that is a lot of soup. You planning on bathing in it or something?”

“G-go away, Bakamatsu!”

Amami laughs, hand coming down to rest on Iruma’s unruly hair, effectively shutting her up. “Hey Akamatsu-san, you should call down anyone who might be hungry, see if we can get through all of this before it gets cold.”

“Will do,” Akamatsu shrugs and vanishes up the stairs.

It’s weird. Again. Things seem to be weird a lot, she's starting to find.

Not a bad weird, just an unusual sort of weird, sitting around the kitchen table with so many people. Sure they’ve had group hangouts before, and there was the whole party business that somehow came to be, but sitting around a table and eating together feels … odd.

It’s as though they’ve been called downstairs for a family dinner, but none of them are actually family – only a circle of strangers that were gathered by circumstance. Though, on that note, Iruma thinks she might be doing them a disservice for calling them strangers after everything they’ve been through.

Friends? They’re friends, right?  

As her eyes scan the table, she wonders if they were all really that hungry or if they were just missing the company. Apart from Shirogane, Kiibo and Ouma, everyone is here.

She almost asks about Ouma too – but Momota is there to provide his excuse without any prompting.

“He said he just doesn’t like soup,” he says, fishing out a cube of tofu to put in Saihara’s bowl.

“What a brat.” Iruma replies.

“If you’re up for making something sweet…”

“I ain’t bending backwards doin’ anything for that guy, thank you very much.”

“I can try making something,” Toujou offers. “Though I do not possess the culinary prowess I did before.”

“I can help?” Amami adds.

“I can, too,” chimes Akamatsu. “Believe it or not, I’m a pretty good cook.”

Toujou moves to stand. “Then shall we…”

“Sit your ass down,” Iruma commands, sliding a bowl towards her. “He can wait.”

There’s an idle buzz of conversation as Iruma continues to hand out the soup, and Gonta helps the process by tipping it into the bowls for her. She’s making another round of the table when she’s distracted by a tapping noise, and of fucking course, it’s none other than Angie.

Angie has her tongue sticking out of her mouth, shaking a jar of chili powder into her soup at an alarming rate while Shinguuji just watches her, unblinking.

“Hey… why aren’t you stopping her?” Yumeno asks him, eyebrows raised as a visible layer of the powder starts forming on top of Angie’s soup.

“I thought it would be interesting to see what happens.” He refuses the bowl offered to him and Iruma sighs.

“Why are you here if you’re not gonna eat anything?”

“Ah, don’t misunderstand, I simply came to observe…”

“Observe this, twig man!” Iruma leans forward to mess up his hair.

Amami bats Iruma’s hand away from him. “Leave him alone, you should be more worried that Angie’s going to set her bowl on fire at this point.”

“Aahh, this is too slow, I’m just going to open it up and pour it all in!” Angie decides, as if on cue.

“Angie, no,” Amami warns.

Angie dumps the rest of the chili powder into her soup, bowl erupting in a cloud of bright red.

“Angie!”

“Oooh, that’s gonna be really hot,” Iruma winces as Angie lifts the bowl to down her concoction. She re-emerges with a satisfied sigh, a ring of crimson around her lips.

“Perfect!” She declares, as though she didn’t just pour the equivalent of liquid fire into her mouth. Amami shakes his head, and from across the table, Hoshi is staring at Angie like he’s seen something he shouldn’t have.

Iruma reaches for a tissue, smacking it up against Angie’s mouth, “Honestly. What the hell are we gonna do with you?”

“Miu, good morning!” Angie pops into her doorway out of habit now, tablet in hand. Iruma suppresses a groan and rubs at her eyes instead, squinting up at the quasi-artist, who is dressed in pink from head to toe.

“I see you’ve stolen my color scheme,” Iruma comments without malice. “What’re ya here for, sunshine?”

“Angie’s just doing some rounds,” she answers, waving her tablet. “The most recent popularity poll results came out, so she’s here to deliver the news!”

“Let me guess, you ranked with Shitguuji and Shittygane at the bottom again, right?”

“Yep, that’s right! That’s right!” Angie beams. “That’s exactly how it is!”

Iruma blinks owlishly. “You’re happy about that?”

“Angie is always happy, silly,” she waggles her finger then pokes Iruma’s nose. “How’s Miu? Still hoping to sleep in today?”

“Yeah, until someone decided to wake me up.”

“Aww, how mean! Who could that be?” She throws the tablet and jumps onto the bed excitedly, lying her petite form over the quasi-inventor, ignoring Iruma’s surprised yelp. “Angie is going to take a nap right here!”

“Get yer ass off of me!” Iruma bumps her.

“Hmmm, nope!”

Reaching up, Iruma digs her fingers into Angie’s sides, snickering when the girl squeals. Angie starts flailing as she’s tickled, trying in vain to pull herself away but her struggling is futile.

“Heeey!” She shrieks through a fit of giggles. “God won’t forgive you for this!”

“Oh yeah?!”

Angie rolls over and they wrestle with each other a bit, and despite being the stronger of the two, Iruma finds herself losing as Angie traps her, pinning her to the bed with a victorious smile.

“Aha! You lose!” Angie exclaims.

“I’m under a blanket, you had a clear advantage,” Iruma protests.

“Nyahaha! It is what it is.”

“No, it fuckin’ ain’t, I demand a rematch!”

Angie yanks the blanket over Iruma’s face. “There. I win again.”

“Fuck!” Iruma resurfaces with a glare. “You didn’t even give me any warning!”

She shrugs. “You didn’t tell Angie you wanted a warning.”

“U-ugh…!”

“Ah, Miu, you make it too easy.” Tired out, Angie flops against Iruma, resting her head on her shoulder. “Angie is going to take a nap right here,” she echoes a previous sentiment, and promptly falls asleep.

“What the fuck,” Iruma snorts, poking her. “Get off me. There’s no way you can sleep so easily.”

Angie makes no response, chest rising and falling in a steady pace.

“Oh, come on. Really? Out like a light. You can’t do this. Now I can’t get up, and it’s all your fault.” She turns to face Angie as best she can, keeping mind the close proximity as she does, being careful not to smack their faces together as her gaze washes over Angie’s peaceful expression.  

She isn’t sure how long she stays like that, lost in her thoughts and vision locked on this rare visage of serenity, but when she falls into her dreams, the smile that touches her lips is entirely effortless and warm.  

When she wakes, she feels like she’s choking – a nasty, horrid feeling that she longed to never feel again – and yet her panic is directed elsewhere as she grasps the arms Angie’s wrapped around her; the distressed heaving of her chest unmistakable with the way their bodies are pressed together.

“H-hey, calm down, it’s okay, I’m here,” She murmurs, hurriedly returning the hug before Angie slips away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Angie bursts from the embrace with her typical smile, pressing Iruma’s cheeks between her palms. Iruma tries to find a crack, the tiniest crevice in her mask that she’s worn for god knows how long, but she comes up empty handed again. It sets off an upset in her stomach, worry twisting her gut.

“How long?” She wants to ask. “How long have you been suppressing everything? How long are you going to keep trying to suppress everything?”

Instead, she says nothing and holds Angie against her chest, their breaths mingling together in silence.   

Iruma doesn’t think she knows relief until Danganronpa announce that they’re done with the last of the V3 content. For good.

Finally cleared of all the promotional material they were shooting for, Iruma no longer feels like her body isn’t hers, and she embraces it. Not all of Danganronpa Iruma has left her — she’s not sure that’s even possible at this point — but it’s an inch closer to freedom and she’ll take any opportunity she can get.

And with the announcement, comes the resurface of another offer; one much more familiar and welcome.

“Miu! The time to decide has come!”

In perhaps a dramatic overload of her characteristic peppiness, Angie grabs onto Iruma’s hands and swings her around in circles.

“Will you cut your hair? Will you cut your hair?” She sings. “Snip, snip, away they go, little locks without a care!”

Iruma thinks she’s ready for a change. “Hell yeah. Let’s do it. When do we start?”

Angie lets go of her to cup her hands over her mouth.

“Rantarou! Hey, Rantarou!” She shouts. “Duty calls!”

Amami comes jogging up to them, and Iruma scrutinizes him, annoyed that he only looks better every time she sees him and hopes Danganronpa had mercy on his poor soul.

“Alright, I’m here. I’m ready.” He says, hand reaching up to readjust the beanie on his head. Angie jumps up to hug him so suddenly he almost falls over, and he grins as he steadies her on her feet. “Haha, you’re so excited that I’m getting a little nervous though. Are you sure that you trust me with cutting your hair?”

“Oh, absolutely! Rantarou is blessed! Premium membership for his troubles,” Angie says, seizing his arm with her left hand and then grabbing hold of Iruma’s with her right. “To the bathroom we go! Hei-ho! Hei-ho! Off to work we go!”

“Hey, Rantaho.” Iruma greets under Angie’s cheerful singing as they’re being dragged down the hallway. “Fancy seein’ you around here.”

Amami rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Hello to you too. You’re also getting a haircut today, yeah?”

“You better not fuck it up, grass head.”

Amami laughs. “I’ll be extra careful, don’t you worry.”

“You better be.” She tips her head towards Angie. “By the way, who fed her sugar this morning?”

He laughs again, “Shinguuji introduced her to konpeito. She hasn’t stopped bouncing off the walls since then, I think we’re all a little scared.”

“She didn’t know about konpeito?” Iruma recalls the colorful sugar candy shaped like tiny stars. Achingly sweet, nice to suck on for a quick burst of sugar, fun to roll around in your mouth. She used to be obsessed with them.

“She’s not Japanese,” he reminds her. “But the uh, konpeito was a mistake.”

“No more candy.” Iruma agrees.

“No more gossiping!” Angie calls over her shoulder. “Oh Miu, wait, God just gave Angie an epiphany!” She gasps suddenly, coming to a screeching halt. “Do you want to get matching haircuts?!”

Iruma doesn’t tell her how lame that sounds. “Sure, why the fuck not.”

“Symmetry, Rantarou! Symmetry!”

Amami nods. “I got you, don’t worry. I used to cut my sisters’ hair all the time.”

“Ah,” Iruma suddenly realizes. “So that’s why she went for you! I thought hairstyling was like… your secret talent or somethin’.”

“Ha, sorry to disappoint,” he’s yanked forward by Angie.

“Come oonnn! Slowpokes!”

They enter Angie’s room – as she’s offered her own bathroom for their hairstyling endeavors – and the tools are already waiting in there, all strewn over the vanity.

“And here I thought I’d have to bring my own stuff,” Amami says, picking up a thin pair of scissors and twirling them around his finger.

“Angie is prepared for anything!” She tells him cheerfully, plopping down on the chair and swaying from side to side. “Hurry, hurry!”

“Alright. Don’t move so much when I’m cutting your hair, okay? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

Angie beams. “Mmmh, It’s okay. You won’t! God says so!”

“Well, I’m flattered to have God’s approval,” Amami spritzes her with a spray bottle and she squeals. “Calm down. I’m going to start now, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Watch the neck, she’s sensitive there.” Iruma reminds him.

He smiles. “Sure thing.”

She watches him part Angie’s hair, meticulously cutting away at the soft white waves until they rest just above her shoulders. It’s mesmerizing how the strands flutter to the ground, and Iruma unofficially takes clean up duty as she sweeps the hair to the side, marvelling at how it blends right in with the tiles below.

Angie sits patiently, humming a little tune as Amami works his way around her head.

It’s over far quicker than Iruma expects, and before long, Angie springs up from her chair to get a closer look at herself in the mirror. Amami leans back to admire his handiwork.

“Turn around for us,” he tells her, and Angie does, white hair framing her face delicately and fluffing out a little at the sides.

“Sooo? How is it?”

Fuck if it isn’t the cutest thing, Iruma thinks, suppressing the urge to just cup Angie’s face and shake the adorableness out of her. It’s a growing urge.

“It suits you.” Amami answers, blissfully unaware of how emotional Iruma is getting over this damn haircut. “Different. But a good different.”

“It looks fuckin’ stupid,” Iruma says, sticking out her tongue.

Angie rolls her eyes, and reflects the gesture. “Thank you, Miu.”

“Now, now, play nice.” Amami twirls the scissors again. Showoff. “Iruma still needs a haircut, right? Swap places.”

“Yes! Sit, Miu, sit, sit,” Angie pats the chair and Iruma shakily makes her way over.

As she sits, Amami smiles openly in the mirror. “Are you okay with me touching your hair now?”

“Um. Yeah,” she replies, suddenly feeling nervous.

“And you’re sure you want it cut as short as Angie’s?” He asks her, gently pulling out the knots in her hair.

“Yeah.” She exhales.  

Her rivulets of hair fall to the floor gracelessly, pooling by the feet of her chair as Amami snips away, softly slicing through her long silky locks.

Angie watches from the door, looking far too innocent with her new haircut, and Iruma thinks that if she can pull it off half as well as Angie can, she’d be over the fuckin’ moon.

“Close your eyes,” Amami tells her, “I’m cutting them a little shorter but I’m mostly going to keep your bangs as they are, alright?”

“M’kay, you’re the one doing the scissoring here.”

Angie giggles. “I like Miu’s bangs. They’re cute.”

“They are,” Amami agrees, clipping the ends of her hair evenly.

Iruma flushes red at the compliments. “O-of course they are!”

He snips in comfortable silence after that, the quasi-inventor’s hair making a desert out of Angie’s bathroom floor.

“Alright. All done.” Amami says, stepping back to give her a moment to take it in.

“D-do I look okay…?” She ventures, eyeing her reflection with uncertainty. No matter how she tilts her head, she’s not sure what to think. It’s definitely lighter, and she has a bit of fun shaking her head back and forth and watching the wilder strands fly around her face.

“Mhm. The cutest and the most beautiful,” Angie says, coming in to wrap her arms around Iruma’s waist, completely unaware that she’s just short-circuited Iruma’s otherwise unfazeable genius brain. “Yah-hah! We match now!” She beams, then waves to Amami in the mirror. “Thank you Rantarou!”

Amami chuckles, tucking all the equipment back where he found them. “It was nothing, really. I found it pretty relaxing myself, so I’d say it worked out well for everyone, don’t you think?”

“Ah! Before Angie forgets!” Angie pulls away from Iruma to rustle through her pockets. “Angie has a gift for you, Rantarou!” She pulls out a barrette, a braided teal and blue combo with a spattering of rhinestones and a bright, perky blue flower glued to the end. “God sends blessings!”  

It’s flashy as all hell for a hair accessory, but Iruma knows that Amami probably adores it. His eyes have lit up at the very sight.

“Oh, wow,” He takes it gently, turns it in his hands once and then looks back at Angie. “Did you make this yourself?”

Angie giggles, “Is it that obvious? God couldn’t help Angie with that one, but she did her best to make it pretty for Rantarou.”

He smiles warmly, and clips it onto his beanie. “It’s beautiful, thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”

Iruma watches them chatter in the mirror and smiles to herself. What a peaceful fuckin’ day.

“I like your new hair.” Her therapist comments.

“Yeah, thanks,” Iruma mumbles, fiddling with the loose strands framing her face. “Amami cut it.”

“Getting along well with him?” She smiles.

“More or less,” she huffs. “He’s so damn easy-going that I feel like I have to hate him a bit just to balance it out.”

“Same as always with you, isn’t it?”

“Can’t help it, you wrote me this way.”

“You’re not as crass or as angry as when you first woke up,” the woman points out. “I think you’re becoming more confident with who you are. You’ve changed, and you may very well keep changing as time goes on. In a good way, of course."

“You think I’ll grow out of this? Like it’s some… fuckin’ phase?”

“Well, that’s a question you’re going to have to answer yourself. It’s different for everyone. But what’s so bad about the way you are now?”

Iruma blinks. “I… I mean…”

“You don’t have to have an answer for that. Just think about it. You’ve come this far, and you can only keep going — the past can’t be changed so it’s up to you to make what you can from it.”

“You’re soundin’ all preachy again…”

She smiles, leaning forward in her chair. “I only want to see you grow from here, Iruma-san.”

Iruma assesses her face — the gentle fan of lashes behind glasses and the peppering of freckles across her cheeks.

“... say, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but you remind me of someone. Like, you look really familiar.” Iruma says. “Is that weird? Am I just imagining things?”

The therapist laughs awkwardly, pulling short black hair behind her ear. “Not at all. It probably doesn’t comfort you at all, but I’ll tell you the truth. I played Enoshima Junko a long, long time ago.”

“Enoshima,” Iruma echoes distantly.

“Call me Ikusaba,” She smiles. “Those days are behind me.”

“Does it get easier?” Iruma asks. “Do you ever have days when you – think about being fucking Junko and like she’s taken over your life?”

“It gets easier,” Ikusaba tells her. “It doesn’t ever go away, unfortunately, but you learn to deal with it. One day you’ll see a box set or a poster for Danganronpa V3 and it won’t mean anything to you anymore.”

“Wish that were fuckin’ now.”

“It hasn’t even been a year yet, I’d say you’re doing as well as you can,” she smiles, much more sincerely than she has in their sessions before. “The haircut is a plus — the less you look like Inventor Iruma, the less you’ll feel like her, you know?”

She sinks into her sheets, completely exhausted, and dreams about Kiibo for the first and last time.

“Ah, Iruma-san,” his eyes glow in the darkness, and the hands that grace her shoulders are cold and hard, but she isn’t afraid. “How is it in the real world?”

“It’s boring, ugly as shit, and not worth my fuckin’ time.” She sighs, resting her head on his metallic shoulder. “And you’re not there.”

“I don’t think that’s how you really feel.” He says. “Though the last part is true. I am not made up of human components in the first place, so I could not wake up like everyone else.”

“They should’ve made like… a VR where your consciousness could’ve been installed into someone’s brain or somethin’.”

“That sounds highly dangerous. I would not like to partake in such an endeavour, even if it were possible.” Kiibo comments.

“Even if you could come out here?”

“The cost is too high. I’d have to replace a human soul and I don’t think I’d be happy living with that kind of knowledge.”

“I…”

“Don’t tell me you would be, either. You may be a little extreme sometimes, but you’re not a bad person, Iruma-san.”

“Yeah, yeah… I just wish… you could be here with everyone else.”

“I do too. I am only glad that you all remember me… that is more than I could have hoped for.”

“We’d never forget!” She argues.

“I am happy to hear that. You know, I hope that you continue to get along well with everyone after I’m gone.”

“Why are you talking like that? Where are you goin’?”

“Where I am meant to be. I cannot talk to you much longer.” He shoots her a solid smile. “But you will be alright, won’t you?”

Iruma grabs onto his arm. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to. My duty is finished.”

“B-but I finally got to talk to you again,” she whimpers. “A-a-and now you’re going to leave…?”

“The fact of the matter is that you can’t go back to the past, and I think it’s time you stopped looking back and faced forward.” Kiibo nods at her. “And if I am keeping you from doing that, I will choose to leave for you to move ahead. Besides, even if I’m not here, you will be fine. You’re Iruma Miu, aren’t you?”

“The best damn Iruma Miu you’ll ever know,” she traces the metal plate of his shoulder before pulling her hands back towards herself. “But I gotta ask — are, are you really okay with this? Letting us go on without you? Isn’t that…” she trails off, thinking of an unshakable loneliness that nobody could ever hope to fix. She doesn’t want him to feel that way. She doesn’t want him to be alone.

“Iruma-san, I’m fictional.” He tells her, slicing through her thoughts with his claim in confidence. “I never belonged in your world, and that is a truth I am now willing to accept.”

She sniffles.

“Do not worry about me.” Kiibo says. “I will be just fine.”

”You — you better be!”

“I will be.” His palm hovers over his chest. “Is there anything you’d like to know before I go?”

Millions of questions buzz in her mind, every facet of Kiibo’s personality and form piquing her insatiable curiosity, but in the end, she shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”

“Well, while we are here, I do have one final question for you.”

“Wh-what is it?”

“Did you… ever see me as human? Even just once?”

Iruma nods frantically, engulfing him in her arms as she feels the tendrils of sleep start to escape her, dragging her back to reality. “You were the most human of them all, Kiibo.”  

She wakes to the coldness of tears on her face and smears them onto her pillow.

Surprisingly, despite her night-wrought anguish, she’s woken feeling refreshed, and she’s genuinely ready to get up and do something big. She hasn’t felt like this in a long while. Motivation feels good. She even starts singing a little, shucking off her sleeping shirt to slip on a powder pink halter dress with a lace skirt and finishing it off with a belt.

A quick glance at her tablet tells her she’s woken even earlier than the time Angie usually bursts in to act as her walking alarm, which is an accomplishment she’s sort of proud of. She may not be a morning person but it’s turning out to feel like a good fuckin’ morning to be alive —

Her thoughts halt when she notices a letter that must have been slipped under her door last night. It’s signed by Ikusaba, but beyond the giant spew of words, all Iruma can make out is “approval for leave” and she sinks to the floor, trembling in disbelief.

She reads it over and over, tracing each line for the catch. There’s no way.

But there it is, in stiff black font – “approval for leave.”

“Iruma Miu now has approval for leave.”

She can leave? She can fucking leave?

Holy shit. She presses the paper to her face, eyes snapping shut as she takes deep breaths to try and calm herself. When she pulls it out to read it again, she can feel relief and happiness hit her like a freight train. She’s finally getting out of here.

It’s the best news she thinks she’s ever heard, and suddenly she’s screaming out of utter giddiness, shoving down the convenient memory of how she had reacted in almost the exact same way when she was to be accepted by Danganronpa before any of this shit went down.

She’s so ecstatic she wants to tell the world, and when she yanks open her door, she hears the clacks of multiple doors opening at once.

“Holy fuck!” Momota yells from his end of the hall, raising a sheet of paper in his hand. “You guys, too!?”

Chabashira is already bawling, she’s so goddamn happy, nodding frantically as she waves her own paper. “We’re getting out of here! We’re finally going to leave!”

Yumeno cracks open the door beside hers. “Hooray.” She offers in her usual enthusiasm, but her eyes are shining.

Angie cheers, pumping her fist in the air. “Freedom! Freedom! Freedom for the people!”

Saihara is crying too, exhibiting an extreme case of waterworks in the door opposite Momota. Amami holds out a box of tissues beside him with a grin.

Iruma spots Ouma peering shyly out of his room but he shuts the door as soon as he sees her watching. Not before she saw the same letter in his hands though. Good for him, she thinks.

“Alright! Listen up!” Akamatsu hollers, emerging last from her room but the first to lug a giant bag with her as she makes her way towards the stairs. “Nobody go until we finish breakfast!” She shouts over her shoulder. “We’re having our last meal together, and if you skimp out, you’ll regret it!”

“Don’t make threats you can’t follow through with,” Harukawa sighs, following after her with her own little backpack strapped to her back. “In case anyone is thinking of sneaking away, just know that she might not make you regret it, but I will.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Momota salutes, then goes back into his room with a loud whoop. His enthusiastic hollering can still be heard all the way down the hall, and Iruma can’t help but laugh, even prompting Toujou to snicker before the quasi-maid covers her mouth in embarrassment and ducks into her room as well.

One by one, everyone falls back into their rooms, buzzing with excitement, and Iruma watches them, feeling on top of the fuckin’ world.

If she has any regret at all, it would be that Kiibo isn’t here.

But she knows already, he’s not coming back and she has to accept that.

She turns on her tablet and stares at the picture of him that she set as her background. She hopes that wherever he is, he is happy.

Everyone shows up at breakfast except for Shirogane.

Nobody mentions the two empty seats, though Iruma giggles when Angie sticks a poorly drawn picture of Kiibo on the seat beside the quasi-inventor, and she blows the little Kiibo drawing a kiss.

“You look great today, Kiibo,” Iruma says teasingly, ignoring the odd pang in her chest. It’s been a while since she’s seen him in the presence of other people — his birthday party aside, it often seemed like his memory existed only to her. It’s good to know he really hasn’t been forgotten.  

“Kiibo thinks you look great today too,” Angie tells her, plopping down into the seat on her other side. “Miss him?”

“Always.” Iruma replies, stabbing at the rolled omelet on her plate. Something wet slips down her cheek. Uuugh. She drops her chopsticks and wipes at her eyes. “S-sorry… I don’t know why I…”  

“Angie understands.” She whispers, pressing some napkins into Iruma’s hands. “Kiibo is very thrilled that Miu is still thinking about him, I’m sure of it! Let him see you smiling!”

She smiles. She feels alright.

“Iruma-san,” Gonta calls. “Do you want more egg?”

“Slow the fuck down, ya lug,” she laughs. “I haven’t even eaten the last six you piled onto my plate.”

He throws his head back and laughs as well, “Sorry, Gonta not thinking.”

“Sweetheart, go feed Kaito, he eats like a fucking horse,” Akamatsu orders him, tapping him on the shoulder with her spatula. She turns to bop Harukawa on the head with it. “Maki, go sit down, I can handle it. Kirumi, please stop looking guilty, I’ll let you clean up afterwards if that makes you feel better. Tenko, please stop Himiko from falling asleep in her food. Oi Kokichi, put that radish back into your bowl.”

“So bossy,” Ouma murmurs. He relocates the radish to Amami’s bowl instead, just as Gonta sweeps a bunch of rolled eggs onto his plate. “Wha – hey, Gonta, how much do you think I’m going to eat?”  

“Gonta saw Ouma-kun unrolling eggs,” he shrugs. “Thought you liked them so he’s giving you more.”

“It would take me a week to eat all of this,” Ouma complains, poking at the omelets with his chopsticks. Saihara steals one, and Hoshi steals one of Saihara’s with a wink. Bunch of sneaky bastards starting an omelet black market over there, Iruma thinks.

Ouma starts unrolling the omelets again, and for some reason, it pisses her off more than before.

“Just eat your fuckin’ eggs, Kokichi.” Iruma tells him, stuffing her cheeks with the food and ignoring the way he looks at her; in shock at being addressed by her incredible presence, probably. “What? Fuck off, they’re really good. I mean I could do better, of course, but Bakamatsu really outdid herself this time, and ha, you know me, I know when to give credit where credit is due–”

“Chicken splat!” From her left, Angie smashes her spoon on top of her omelet, then picks up the plate and slides it into her mouth.

Iruma swallows quickly, finger in the air until she’s able to blurt, “Quick question. What the fuck?!”

“Cultural differences?” Shinguuji offers in way of explanation.

“No, no, no,” Angie corrects, taking one from Akamatsu’s books and bonking him on the head. “It just tastes better this way.”

“Psh, no way! All you did was smoosh ‘em!” Iruma says, stealing Angie’s spoon as she does so, “Let me try.”

“If you guys keep playing with your omelets, I’m just going to stop rolling them altogether,” Akamatsu groans, and Iruma snickers, hi-fiving Angie and caught up in the moment, reaching across the table to hi-five Ouma. He stares, wide-eyed at her hand, like it’s some foreign object he’s never seen before.

“Oh come on. Going soft on me now?” She grins. “You’re not gonna get pregnant from touching a girl’s hand, you five year old. Go on. Hit me. Hard as you can.”

“You… absolute masochist.” He rolls his eyes at her and slaps her palm with a shaky smile of his own, leaving her cackling as she falls back into her seat.  

Yeah. She feels alright.

She doesn’t have a lot to pack, but she’s got a lot of money to spend on whatever she wants when she gets outta here so that’s a comforting thought.

She’ll buy figurines of herself, and of Kiibo, and of any of the others if she feels like it. (She’s a completionist though, so she’s definitely gonna buy them all.)

She’ll treat herself to those amazing looking donuts she saw online, and maybe she’ll go club hopping, buy herself the most expensive and extravagant cocktails she can find – oh, and she’s definitely got to take a trip to get herself a whole new wardrobe too. The clothes Danganronpa kept for her hold nothing but memories of the unsavory past. She plays with the edge of her skirt. This dress is kinda cute, though. Maybe she’ll donate it.

“Hey, hey Miu,” Angie knocks in her open doorway. “Angie’s catching the 9:30 train. Will you come with her to say goodbye?”

“Of course, no biggie,” she answers, stuffing the last of her belongings into her striped pink tote bag. “If you want me so badly!”

“Okay! You have ten minutes! I’ll be waiting!” Angie giggles and skips back into the hallway, voice fluttering in the high tones of a foreign song. Iruma hears her cheery singing peter away as she trundles down the stairs, and wonders why it puts her in an even better mood than before.

She surveys her room one last time. She isn’t going to miss this one bit, and she’s glad to leave her memories of Danganronpa with Danganronpa. Outside, she’ll start a new career, a new life – and she’ll make sure to rebrand the name Iruma Miu into one she is proud of bearing.

The last of the gifts she never opened sit idly on her desk, and she reaches out for them, sweeping them into the front pocket of her bag. There’s a weirdly-shaped one that falls in last – it’s bright yellow and covered in flowers – and finding herself drawn to it, she picks that one back out.

She tears at the paper, not expecting much. Socks, maybe. It’s kind of stuffed for socks, though, and weirdly lumpy in areas, but they could very well just be gaudy knitted socks or socks with tassels, or other horrific abominations she’s seen some of the others wearing.

To her surprise, the last bit of paper falls off to reveal a round face.

In her hands sits a handmade plush toy of Kiibo.

He’s made of felt, a little sloppy looking, with two big bead eyes sewn on. It’s not even that good of a Kiibo, it’s like some kid with no sewing experience was given a needle and thread and told to slap felt pieces together, and that same kid had the guts to give Iruma such a crappy looking thing, hell he’s got a little thread coming out of his head, and she’d almost wonder who on earth gave her such a thing if it wasn’t already so damn obvious.

Angie.

She recalls that one week Angie had laughed off the bandaids on her fingers, “arts and crafts”, she had said. Arts and crafts – plush Kiibo stares up at Iruma in all his inaccurate glory, his smile crooked and his arms floppy.

Angie, without any artistic talent left at all, made her this.

She sinks to her knees and cradles him to her chest.

“Iruma-san,” there’s another polite knock at her door. “I am making my final rounds and… are… you alright?”

“Moment of weakness, Shitguuji,” she grins, waving a dismissive hand and hiding the plushie under her skirt. “Happens to the best of us.”

“How interesting it is that you see it that way.”

“Uh huh. Where’re ya headin’ after this?” She hauls herself to her feet. “Gonna go camping in a graveyard?”

“You seem to have an incredibly skewed opinion about how and where I choose to spend my time.”

“Hah-hahaha! Serves you right! But seriously, where’re you goin’? I’ll send you creepy shit in the mail.”

“Please do not.”

“Then I’ll buy you something nice to occupy your time with! You can thank me later!”

“I would really rather you didn’t.” He sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “Go downstairs already. Everyone is starting to say their farewells. You don’t have any business left here, do you?”

Iruma raises her pointer finger. “Where’s Gonta? I wanna talk to him real quick.”

“Kitchen. Can’t miss him.”

“Thanks.” She hops out of her room. “Hey, uh, Shinguuji? One more thing?”

“What?”

“Eat a bag of dicks!” She snickers wildly as she flees down the stairs after the exclamation, hoping that he understands, if even just a little — it wasn’t really that bad having you around, in the end.

“Iruma-san! Are you leaving soon?” Gonta greets from the kitchen.

“Yep yep! I gotta see Angie off and then I should be goin’ down! How about you? Where’re you headed?”

“Gonta…” he scratches his cheek, looking sheepish. “...is gonna try living in the forest.”

“You what now?!”

“Ah, not like wild forest!” Gonta waves his hands. “Found cottage nearby forest for sale. Maybe being with nature will be good for Gonta. That’s why he choose this path.”

“Good for you,” Iruma says, and she means it. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? Come back to civilization and say hi sometime, tarzan.”

“Gonta will!” He grins at her, and she returns it. “Take care, Iruma-san! When you visit, I will make you soup, just like you taught me.”

“You too, buddy, and you better make me damn proud,” She points two fingers at him as she backs out of the kitchen and he laughs.

“Gonta won’t disappoint,” he promises.

“That’s the spirit!” Emerging into the hallway, she almost runs Hoshi over, before he clears his throat.

“Hoshit!” She yelps. “Again with the sneak attacks!”

“You’re the one always getting scared,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “I think you could do well with a little more self-awareness.”

“I am aware that I’m fuckin’ awesome,” Iruma says, tossing the plush Kiibo into her bag and zipping it up.

“Alright,” Hoshi shrugs. “That’s debatable, but I’m sure that kind of confidence will get you somewhere.”

“Aww, you believe in me?”

“Never said that.”

“You do!”

He starts walking away.

“What?” She asks. “You’re not even gonna say goodbye?”

“Seeya.” Hoshi tosses coolly over his shoulder.

“See you!” She waves after him, leaving him to his own devices as she turns towards the entrance, but she doesn’t make it any further before she’s interrupted by someone else.  

“Bye, Iruma!” comes a voice from the stairway, followed by the smack of plastic slippers as Amami takes a leap off of the last few steps.

“Bye, Rantaho!” She grabs him for a hug, which he returns, ruffling her blonde hair and making her squawk.

“Hands off, wasabi brain,” she grins, reaching up to pull his beanie over his eyes. “Stay in touch.”

“Sure thing. Want me to send you souvenirs?”

“Bitch, do you even have to ask?”

He laughs, pushing his hat back up so he can see again. “Guess not. I’ll message when I’ve posted stuff, see you guys later,” he makes his way towards the entryway, waving to everyone he passes. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“Honestly,” Akamatsu huffs, hopping down the stairs two at a time. “The moment he gets out, he’s already off to another country.”

“Let him live a little,” Iruma adjusts her bag strap with a shit-eating grin. “He likes to get around.”

“Stop, you know he hates that joke,” she replies sternly, but the amusement in her tone is clear. Akamatsu even cracks her own sly smile as she continues with, “Anyway, missy, you better hurry up before your girlfriend ditches you.”

Iruma sputters when Akamatsu winks at her, before the quasi-pianist disappears into the kitchen with a cheerful “Hey Gonta!”

After her, Harukawa, Saihara and Momota make their way to the kitchen in a line, and Iruma waves at all three of them — Harukawa mutters her goodbye, Saihara smiles and Momota shakes her hand vigorously, all in high spirits as they raid the fridge for the last time.

With a content sigh, Iruma makes her way towards the entryway, blowing an exaggerated kiss to Chabashira which understandably doesn’t get returned. Yumeno waves and Toujou nods at her as she skips past.

She finishes the last of her farewells by the door, even slipping Ouma another high-five which leaves her hand stinging — the damn brat! — before zipping up her boots and stomping twice before she deems herself ready to go.

“Yo Angie, sorry to leave you hangin’,” Iruma saunters up to the quasi-artist, who is leaning against a lamppost outside. “Had some last minute things to take care of.”

“I heard you telling Korekiyo to eat a bag of dicks again,” she laughs, gesturing for Iruma to walk with her.

“... he’s not gonna fuckin’ cry about it!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, Angie thinks he is happy to be treated normally! He doesn’t know this yet but Tenko is going to try talking to him before he leaves.” She shrugs, “Could go either way at this point.”

“She’s gonna punch him, isn’t she?”

Angie shrugs again. “Hopefully not?”

Iruma snorts. “You don’t sound very concerned.”

“Well, Tenko’s in a good mood, so I don’t think she’s going to hurt him!”

“That’s true. That would be one hell of a farewell gift.”

“And speaking of farewell gifts… Angie is surprised none of the staff showed up to say goodbye!”

“They probably don’t wanna rain on our parade. Wise choice, too.”

“I guess. We’re being thrown out, after all!”

“Yep, throwing us out after using us.” She muses. “We’re like disposable tissues, floating into the fuckin’ abyss.”

“Aha, very charming thought,” Angie comments, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But didn’t Miu want to get out, anyway?”

She did. Desperately so. It’s the only motivation she had, the only reason she did all those gigs for the money, to live comfortable and free outside of Danganronpa’s clutches forever.

But her excitement is melting into uncertainty. Falling, desolate uncertainty. It sucks — she hates that her high from earlier has plunged again so quickly, and now she feels indecisive and restless.

She’s not going back, that much she knows. But beyond a massive shopping spree, where she’s heading is a blur; maybe she’ll start up a hobby of inventing things, maybe she’ll apply for university, maybe she’ll lie low for a while and just give herself time to adjust. Time to breathe.

“Didn’t you?”

“Angie wants to go wherever her friends go,” she smiles, fluffing her hair. “Now that everybody is going their separate ways, she’s not sure where she wants to go from here but she’ll figure something out. God has great plans for Angie.”

“We’re not all living that far apart, are we?” Iruma racks her brain for the address list she didn’t bother memorizing. “I’m pretty sure Bakamatsu is living a few doors down from me at least.”

“Yep, yep, and Tenko and Himiko are living a few doors down from Angie! We all have someone close by just in case anything happens, so you don’t have to worry, okay? Miu is finally allowed to follow her dreams,” Angie does something of a half twirl, swaying from side to side, hands clasped in prayer. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Um. Yeah. I’m happy for you, too.” She wraps her arms around herself, not quite sure how to properly part with someone who had been so well integrated into her life. “So… this is goodbye... I guess…?”

Angie rocks on her sparkly pink sneakers. “Suppose so! Thank you Miu, for all these months together!”

“Hya hya hya! Damn right! You better be grateful!”

Angie beams at her, and Iruma doesn’t think about kissing her goodbye or anything dumb like that. She doesn’t think about how much she’ll miss having her tired mornings interrupted, or how much she’ll miss the surprise hugs and the carefree singing. She’s not gonna miss ocean blue eyes and snowy white hair. She’s not.

“You know, Angie had fun being with Miu! It was fun for you too, right?”

Iruma smiles with every inch of her being, proud of herself for enduring those many months to end up with the strength to confidently say, “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I… I guess I’ll see you again soon?”

“Yep, yep. See you later, alligator.” For a split-second, Angie’s smile wavers, but Iruma can’t say a single thing before Angie buries her face into her chest and hugs her tight. “Don’t forget to call!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Iruma tells her, hugging her back with the same amount of vigor. “You stay safe out there, alright?”

“I will be just fine! God is always looking out for Angie!” She breaks free to hook onto Iruma’s shoulders and hoist herself into the air, pressing her lips against Iruma’s cheek. Warm, soft as a rose petal brushing her skin, and then she’s gone.

“Bye-bye, Miu-miu!”

“Seeya, sunshine!”

Iruma breaks off too, swivelling on her heel so she doesn’t have to watch Angie walk away.

Honestly? She’ll be fine on her own. She’s always been just fine, toughing it out in the world, and even if she’s wanted it to be over so many times, she’s still fighting.

She cups her hand to the cheek Angie kissed.

It’s nothing, she thinks, as she treks aimlessly into a nearby corner shop and emerges with a giant sun hat and pink reflective sunglasses.

She doesn’t need someone in her life to make her happy, to make her feel glad to be alive – she can do all that on her own, she’s more than capable. She’s stronger than she’s ever been! She’s risen from the dead, made friends with her enemies, and she may not be the world’s best inventor anymore but she’s gorgeous and wild and free from the last of her chains – no, she doesn’t need anyone else and she definitely doesn’t need Angie, with her stupid round face and her annoyingly airy voice–  

But maybe she wants to keep her around.

Maybe she wants Angie to be her sunrise — the first thing she sees every morning bringing the warmth of every new day. Maybe she wants to feel her arms around her waist when she least expects it, take her stupid looking handmade gifts and get dragged into her whims ceaselessly.

She wants to be around Angie whenever she can be, laugh about dumb shit together and snuggle in bed with her, kiss her cute little nose, hold her when things get rough, ask her how she can stand being so happy all the time, and maybe if she can make Iruma just as happy by being there – just being there.  

More than anything, Iruma realizes, she just wants to exist around her.

She wants to be where Angie is, caught in her blue eyes like the sun in the sky, and recklessly, hopelessly in love with her.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She inhales and exhales deeply, tugging harshly at the brim of her hat to cast her face in shadow. She doesn’t deserve to love Angie, she doesn’t deserve to love at all, but she does, and she loves hard and furiously, and she can’t believe she didn’t notice it before because it’s now consuming her. Like a wave washing over her, she’s been hit by just how much she fuckin’ loves the girl that never gave up on her even when she gave up on herself.    

Even if just once – she wants Angie to know.

The romance movies she never watches would tell her to wait, wait until the perfect moment arrives, but she’ll be damned if she’s gonna wait any longer.

She thinks about Angie, petite and tiny and stupidly cute, and wonders how hard she’d swoon if Iruma dipped her in her arms and professed her undying love for her. She hopes Angie leans up to smooch her until she’s breathless and addicted to the feeling, telling her she’s all she’d ever dreamed of.

Yeah, right.

More realistically, she has to find Angie now and kiss her at least once with permission and also tell her that she’s maybe possibly in love with her, preferable in the reverse order but she can’t really control what happens with her mouth when she gets excited, and that’s not even the worst of her problems.

She doesn’t know Angie’s new address.

It’s some fucking dumbass street kind of far away, and requires taking the train somewhere – she doesn’t know, she doesn’t remember shit, but by sheer luck, she spots Chabashira entering the station, short hair, baseball cap and big bag, and runs after her.

“Chaba– Ten– Chabaten–!” She calls, smart and tactful enough to know that Chabashira doesn’t want to be recognized in public. Honestly, Iruma doesn’t want to be recognized either. “Oi! Hold up! Pinwheel motherfucker!”

“Gwaaah?!” Chabashira almost drops her bag. Her voice falls into a frantic whisper when Iruma reaches her. “Iruma-san, what are you doing here!?”

“I need, I need to go where you’re going,” she wheezes, grabbing hold of the quasi-aikido master to catch her breath. “I need to talk to Angie.”

“Tenko can pass on a message for you if you like?”

Ah. “Great,” Iruma flashes her a grin and pats her on the shoulder. “You can go tell her that I’m a goddamn moron that just realized that I’m madly fuckin’ in love with her, then. That’s all, bye.”

The stunned look on Chabashira’s face is priceless, and it almost makes up for the heat that floods into her cheeks as she starts away, knowing full well that Chabashira isn’t going to let her off just like that.

As predicted, Chabashira yanks her back by the collar.

“Iruma-san!” She hisses. “Tenko can’t tell her that!”

“Huh? Why the fuck not?”

“You can’t play with a maiden’s heart so carelessly. Angie-san doesn’t need to be hurt anymore. Especially not for a mere joke.”

“You think I’m joking?” Iruma giggles, and suddenly she can’t stop giggling for some reason – which doesn’t help her case at all. “Y’know, that makes sense! I can’t stand being around her sometimes, she drives me fuckin’ nuts. She’s so goddamn happy, it’s like nothing fazes her, and every moment we’ve been out of that simulation? She’s just been trying to make everyone get along and feel better. What the fuck, am I right? People hated her. People still hate her. And she just fucking smiles like she’s fine with it, and I just –”

“W-wait, Iruma-san, slow down…”

Her laughter falls apart, melting into frustration. “You know –  I just want her to know that she doesn’t need to fucking pretend to be okay all the time. I’ve seen everyone cry, but she never shed a single tear. You noticed too, right? Not in the simulation, not out. She never cries. She never looks sad. How is she even real?! What’s her fuckin’ problem?! Is she really that stupid or is she just…”

Chabashira’s eyes are glassy as she clutches onto her bag strap tightly, looking far too emotionally touched for Iruma to be comfortable with. “Iruma-san, you really… noticed… all of that…”

“E-eh…” Iruma fiddles with the edge of her skirt, shrinking back. “I-I mean…”

“Angie-san is a happy person, please don’t get me wrong.” Chabashira says, blinking away unshed tears. “It’s just that. So many times, I’ve told her that it’s okay to show her emotions, y’know? And she just keeps smiling and smiling, and telling Tenko and Himiko that everything will be okay! We’re all going to be fine! We’re all saved! It’s… it’s so…”

“It’s fuckin’ insane, that’s what it is. And I want to be there for her.” Iruma claims. “Even if she never breaks, I don’t want her to be alone. I want to do what she did for me. You get what I mean?”

Chabashira nods tearfully. “Tenko will take you to her.”

Iruma lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Hey, uh, thanks… Chabashira. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it!” She smiles, punching a fist into the air. “I’m really happy to help.”

Yumeno looks surprised to see Iruma leaving the train with Chabashira, but inclines her head in greeting. “Why are you here?”

Chabashira hops giddily towards her, steering her away from Iruma, “Don’t worry, Himiko! It’s nothing to worry about!”

Iruma grins. “Tenho had a moment of weakness and needed yours truly to get off. And who can blame her! Hahaha!”

“Get off the train,” Chabashira corrects with a glare. “And that’s wrong anyway. We got off the train together because Iruma-san needed Tenko to take her somewhere.”

“Okay.” Yumeno shrugs. “I only have enough mana to lead you home though, so if you need to go somewhere else first…” she yawns, covering her mouth with her sleeve. “... I can just wait here until you come back.”

“That’s okay!” Chabashira exclaims with an excited wave of her arms. “She’s going to Angie-san’s apartment. That’s close to ours, right?”

Yumeno blinks slowly. “Nyeeeh… Angie is 306. We’re 309. So yes. I can probably take you to Angie’s place…”

“Ooh, that’s perfect then!” Chabashira hoists her bag higher, and throws Yumeno’s backpack over her shoulder. “Lead the way!”

The two of them break into idle chatter – more like Chabashira rambling and Yumeno nodding every now and then – while Iruma starts to sweat nervously, trekking after them with swift clacks, wearing heels higher than her confidence.

She has no idea what she’s going to say when she sees Angie. She has no idea where she’ll put her hands, how she’ll pose up against the wall… does she need to pose up against a wall?  

She doesn’t realize the two of them are staring at her until they’re inside an elevator and it’s eerily silent.

“What? Somethin’ on my face? Am I just too beautiful for you to handle?”

“Iruma-san,” Chabashira says far too seriously. “Good luck.”

Yumeno nods. “I’ll cast a good luck charm on you, so don’t waste it.”

She pushes down the nerves and huffs. “Like I’m gonna need it.”

The time she gets to arrange her thoughts is minimal, as Angie opens the door when she hears them, greeting already on her tongue, “Welcome home, Himiko and Tenko –” and then she looks up, “– wait, Miu?”

Iruma freezes.

“H-hey Angie-san! It’s good to be home! Love you, gotta go, catch up later!” Chabashira squeaks out and, frantically shoving her keys at a neighboring door, hauls Yumeno into their apartment as quick as she can physically manage. The door snaps shut with a loud bang, the telltale clicks of locks sliding in their wake. Angie blinks.

“Real fuckin’ subtle!” Iruma calls after them, and she can hear Yumeno’s deadpan “thanks” echo through the vent.

“Miu, what are you doing here?” Angie steps out of her doorway barefoot, and Iruma immediately shies away from her, all thoughts of seducing her by striking a sexy pose against the wall fleeing from her mind.

“E-er… I, um… y’know, I…! Hey!” She points. “You should be happier to see me!”

“It’s rude to point.” Angie leans forward, pushing her finger down. “Would you like to come in?”

“P-please…”

Angie takes her gently by the arm and leads her in.

“Angie got too excited and already unpacked everything so be careful not to slip on those,” she tells her, gesturing to the flattened boxes in the entryway. “Wouldn’t want Miu’s pretty head to split open!”

Iruma nods, peeling off her hat and bag and dropping them off with her shoes, letting them sit on the cardboard. “You got a pretty big place and not a lot of stuff. Gonna fill it up soon?”

Angie beams. “That’s the plan! There will be paintings over there,” she gestures, “Sculptures over there, not for any particular reason, just because art is cool. It will be simply divine!”

“You’re gonna make such a giant mess.” Iruma says.

“Nyahahaha! It is as God wishes!"

Maybe Iruma should just grab her and pin her up against a wall. That ought to do it. Angie looks at her and she completely loses her resolve. Fuck.

“U-uh, anyway, aren’t you gonna ask how I ended up here…?”

Angie blinks. “Eh? Did you get on the wrong train?”

“What kind of idiot do you take me for?!” Iruma challenges, and Angie opens her mouth. “Don’t answer that!” She cuts in. “I don’t need to hear it from you!”

“Then Angie won’t answer,” her tone is smooth as honey. “Why did you come here?”

It’s now or never, she thinks, and in she dives.

“I really fuckin’ adore you,” Iruma blurts out. “You piss me the hell off but I love every stupid part of you and – and I needed you to know, because even though you act like you’ve got the entire world figured out sometimes, you’re only human, and – and you’re a complete fuckin’ idiot but you –”     

She can feel her face burning but the words keep tumbling out, cascading like a waterfall while Angie stands grounded and still.  

“You are – the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and – I hate you for it, don’t get me wrong! I fuckin’ hate you for it, but I love you just the same. I didn’t realize it earlier, but I do.”

Her eyes fall as she takes an embarrassed stance, only hoping the words reached their target because if lips are for communication then she’s spilled all that she can with them, and she hasn’t any of the means to take them back.

For once, Angie is stunned into silence, mouth parting slightly as she processes what’s been said to her.  

“... huh?”

“Wh – that’s all you can say?”

“Oh my, oh my,” she clasps her hands together, expression full of wonder. “That’s … loaded. Totally loaded.”

Iruma winces. “Is… is that bad…?”

Curiously enough, Angie presses a finger to her lips and turns on her heel. “One moment please.”

She disappears into the kitchen mumbling to herself and re-enters with a chair in tow, setting it down right in front of Iruma. The blonde glances hesitantly at it, not quite comprehending why it’s there.

Angie clears her throat to grab her attention again. “If Angie wanted to kiss you, what would you say?”

Iruma flushes red and self-consciously tugs at her hair. “I, uh, yeah? That’d be, uh, cool, I guess? Th-this is just a hypothetical question, right?”

“Nope!” Angie leaps onto the chair and flings her arms out to reel Iruma in, seizing her with an enveloping kiss that leaves her weak in the knees.

All her tension evaporates as Iruma melts into the kiss with a breathless laugh – she’s definitely going to make some smartass comment about the chair later, because god, Angie is fuckin’ tiny – and pulls back only to admire the lipstick stains she leaves smeared around the other girl’s mouth, a strange giddiness bubbling in her chest.   

“Angie loves Miu too,” she confesses belatedly. She squishes Iruma’s face between her palms, as she often does. “There’s no helping it. You are crazy. Crazy and beautiful and strong.”

“And perfect.” Iruma adds teasingly.

“No.” Angie replies, before she presses their noses together. “Buuut I love you anyway. Because Miu is Miu. And Angie loves Miu the most.”

Any protest Iruma had falls short, and she can only nod dumbly in response, hands falling to rest on Angie’s hips. They stay like that for a while, eyes closed and breathing in each other’s presence, cementing this memory in reality.

Angie breaks the silence with a whisper of, “You should stay the night.”

“Fine,” Iruma agrees all too readily. “I was plannin’ on freeloading anyway.”

“Aha! Then it all works out!” Angie cheers, then she pauses and looks around. “Okay, it’s weird being taller than you, Angie needs to get down now.”

“Yeah, you’d make a weird tall person. Probably a scary one, too,” Iruma laughs, catching her as she leaps down, and setting her gently on her feet. She’s so fuckin’ tiny, it’s so cute.

“Angie was made this way for a reason,” she declares.

“I’m sure you were,” Iruma says, pinching her cheeks and relishing the whine she gets in response. “I’m sure you were.”

The only dinner they manage to have is convenience store chicken and strawberry pancakes, because apparently that’s what Angie had been planning to eat on her first night out of Danganronpa’s clutches for ages and ages and Iruma lets it happen because she can’t think of a good enough reason to stop her.

They draw faces on their food and argue way too much over the bottles of cheap coffee and tasteless tea – “You should’ve just bought water, Angie!”, “It’s not the same!” – and it’s like nothing changed between them but the air feels different somehow. Charged, maybe.

Maybe it’s because realizing she’s in love doesn’t make a goddess out of Angie. She is still just Yonaga fucking Angie with the evidently broken taste buds, no sense of personal space, passive aggressive streak and infuriatingly cheerful, but Iruma loves her all the same.

“Anyway,” Angie is saying, waving half a strawberry at her. “You will like tea one day! Angie will find one that you like, and Miu will have to admit defeat. There is no room for negotiation here, you hear me?”

If the air is charged, then she’ll put some of that energy to use, she decides.

“Because Miu, you –”

Iruma grabs her and kisses her across the table and Angie’s fork clinks as it falls to her plate.

The rest of the cutlery is a minor casualty, as Angie shoves them aside to kiss her harder, and Iruma feels her heart cheer (fuck yeah) as she manages to hoist Angie off the table completely, the gasp against her lips feeling like a goddamn victory.

“Here! Let’s sleep!”

Iruma tries not to think too hard about anything at all as she rolls onto the mattress on the floor and settles under the covers. In the barren bedroom, a little night light sits in the corner as its sole piece of decoration, and it reveals itself as all the other lights are flicked off, flooding the room with a soft pink glow.

“Is that a mushroom?” Iruma asks, squinting at it curiously.

“Yes it is,” Angie giggles, patting the little mushroom light.   

“It’s staring at me.”

“No, it’s not, don’t be silly!”

“It has a face!” Iruma protests.  

“Fine, Angie will turn it around.”

“Good! I don’t want some trippy-ass mushroom watching me sleep! And close the door, will you? The shadows are creepin’ me out.”

“My my,” Angie sounds amused as she kicks the door closed. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“An absolute masterpiece,” Iruma corrects with a grin.

She only gets another giggle in response, but it fills her with immeasurable joy.

“Oof,” Angie says, nudging her. “Scoot over.”

Iruma rolls. “Just keepin’ your bed warm.”

“Well, at least you’re good for something,” she teases.

“H-hey! Fuck you too!”

Angie falls back onto the pillow with a happy sigh, hair splaying out beneath her head like a halo. She’s gorgeous, and it’s only amplified when her eyes catch Iruma’s and crinkle at the corners, a sweet looking smile gracing her as she reaches out with the murmur, “Hey, can Angie hug you?”

“A-ah, of course…”

She opens her arms and Angie slips easily into her embrace. “Nyahaha. I caught Miu.”

“Oh yeah, that was real fuckin’ hard. Do you want a medal for that? Some kinda participation trophy?”

“No, no, Angie has everything she needs right here.” She nuzzles her face into the crook of the blonde’s neck, ignoring the fact she’s just short-circuited Iruma’s brain again, and she really needs to stop doing that.  

After a few moments of lying frozen, Iruma eases up again, and starts tracing shapes on the other girl’s back. It’s not fair that Angie fits in her arms so damn perfectly, tiny and snug under her chin and warm against her chest. It’s giving her emotions she’s not sure she has names for.

“Goodnight, sunshine,” she murmurs, kissing her on top of her snowy head.

Angie smiles sleepily against her neck, “Goodnight, angel.”

Iruma is hit with the urge to scream, because that’s so fucking cute, what the fuck, but she’s exhausted and so is Angie, so she refrains just this once. There would be plenty more opportunities to scream in the future, she muses.

“You’re my angel,” she mumbles instead, hugging her tight.

Angie laughs, eyes fluttering shut as she presses a dainty kiss on Iruma’s collarbone. “God blesses you.”

And for the first time in her life, Iruma believes it.