Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I

Hajime Hinata wakes up on the beach.

“Hey, are you alright?” A familiar voice is speaking to him, and he opens his eyes slowly. There’s a terrible fogginess surrounding him, and the nagging sense that something is very, very wrong. When his (red) green eyes meet an all-too-familiar pair of gray ones, a series of unpleasant memories begin to come back. The island, the murders, the class trials, Komaeda-and-Chiaki. And then, the vaguest knowledge that something’s missing. Did he die? If he died, how could he come back? 

There’s no real answer to any of these questions, but Hajime tries anyway. The first thought is that it was all just a bad dream- and wouldn’t that be nice? But no, Hajime’s never been a vivid dreamer and there’s no way he could think up murder plots and classmates and a robotic teddybear hellbent on murder. The second thought is maybe a little more rational. Maybe those memories are scrambled from something and he’s mixing horror movie plots with anime and the real memories of his classmates.

Classmates. Hope’s Peak. Ultimates. Those memories are maybe a little less unclear. He remembers falling asleep in a classroom. He doesn’t remember what his talent was. He remembers not remembering and isn’t that weird? Something about the memories of Hope’s Peak feel older than they should. Like they happened a small lifetime ago. 

None of this explains why Hajime is waking up face-first on the beach with the strongest case of deja-vu. Maybe that’s his talent? Or seeing the future? No, Hajime decides, he doesn’t think he believes in anything as wishy-washy as fortune telling and besides, neither of those feel right either. 

And then it hits him. He doesn’t have a talent. Something tells him he shouldn’t say that, though. Dream or not, there’s nothing wrong with playing things safe, and if he’s stuck on an island with the incredibly talented he’d rather they think he belonged. (He doesn’t quite know why he’s so sure of these memories but just like being completely ordinary it rings with a sort of rightness, so he goes with it.)

“...Hey are you listening?” Komaeda asks again, and Hajime shakes his head to try and make the memories go away. Well, he can only assume they’re memories, because how else would he already know that there’s 14 other people on this island and that the boy standing in front of them is going to be responsible for at least three people dying? 

“I… Just… Leave me alone,” Hajime says impulsively. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows that’s not the right answer. Not because Komaeda is going to be upset (he’s already reassuring Hajime he won’t be leaving), but because there must be some reason why there are impossible memories floating around in his head. He doesn’t remember what happened, exactly, but he can only assume that Komaeda and his impossible luck are somehow responsible for all of this.

(Komaeda, who loved all the Ultimates. Komaeda, who hated Hajime when he realized the truth. Komaeda, who prompted Teruteru to kill. Komaeda, with a spear and a knife and a burning warehouse. Komaeda Komaeda Komaeda.)

“Sorry,” Hajime says when he realizes Komaeda’s been staring at him for a little too long. “I don’t mean to be rude. My name is Hajime Hinata.”

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Nagito Komaeda, Super High School Level Good Luck. What’s your ultimate talent, Hinata-kun?”

“I can’t really remember,” Hajime lies awkwardly. “Maybe I’m a lucky student like you are.” How do you tell someone obsessed with talent that you have none?

“Oh, I doubt that! I’m sure there’s no one else with such a lousy talent like mine. Your talent must be very special, Hinata-kun. I’m going to feel out of place surrounded by so many special people. Oh, but I don’t mean to be negative.”

Hajime bites his tongue to avoid saying anything he shouldn’t. He wants to call Komaeda out, wants to ask about hope and being a stepping stone. 

But then he remembers: Monokuma hasn’t ruined everything yet. As of right now, this is just a class field trip. A weird one yes, being run by a sentient stuffed animal, but not a game of life or death. There’s a moment of relief with that realization, followed by a flood of dread. No one had been able to do anything the first time, and Hajime suspects that won’t be easily changed. Even with a second chance, he’ll still be helpless. (Monomi) Usami is unlikely to take him seriously if he tries to warn her. Not to mention, she might not even know who Monokuma is before he shows up. And besides, Hajime tries to rationalize, what would there be to gain if he calls that to attention?

Still, there’s no need to die for hope when everyone can live and go home. Right now, Komaeda is harmless. He might as well wait and see how things play out.

Hajime meets his classmates while he explores the island. They’re all exactly as he remembers them, and yet, somehow, they’re completely different. Their names and faces and talents, yes, those are all identical. But the other things? The edge of fear and suspicion? The haunted look that only witnessing a murder could create? None of that is there because—Hajime reminds himself—none of it has happened yet.

And then they go to the beach and Monokuma appears and the killing game begins, again, and any hope that those memories might have been a bad dream vanishes.

(Komaeda, Hajime decides, must have something to do with all of this. Somehow.)

Hajime goes searching for Komaeda as soon as he has a moment of free time. The first time through, he hadn’t paid the white-haired boy much mind until after (the Imposter) Togami was dead and Teruteru was fried in lava. Now, he decides the best course of action is to get to know Komaeda before anyone ends up dead.

Hajime invites Komaeda over and, to his surprise, he accepts immediately. “If someone as wonderful as Hinata-kun wants to hang out with me, who am I to refuse?” Is all the other boy says when asked why he accepted the somewhat suden offer.

(Maybe, Hajime thinks, Komaeda is hoping that he wants to remember what happened before the island badly enough to kill someone.)

They start to talk and, surprisingly enough, it’s not as awkward as Hajime expected. As long as he pretends he doesn’t know what the future holds, it’s remarkably easy to shoot down ridiculous talent suggestion after talent suggestion. There’s still that nagging guilt in his stomach as he maintains he doesn’t remember, but he can’t imagine that someone as… dedicated to hope as Komaeda will listen to the advice of a Reserve Course student.

The afternoon passes pleasantly enough, and when Komaeda leaves, Hajime can’t help but feel like they’ve gotten a little closer, and maybe with that he’s a little closer to figuring out what exactly is going on.

They draw straws for who has to clean the Old Building, and Komaeda picks the shortest stick (again). There’s a moment of surprise that flickers inside Hajime. How lucky could the SHSL Good Luck be if he managed to draw the same stick twice? He knows this is the outcome Komaeda wanted, so how strong is his talent that it allows him to manipulate probability so easily? Or maybe he’s just cheating. This time, though, Hajime volunteers to help. Or, to be more accurate, he tries to volunteer.

“Oh, don’t worry, Hinata-kun. I’m very good at cleaning. It won’t take long at all!” Komaeda insists. And so, with some reluctance, Hajime leaves the restaurant. He considers, briefly, confronting Komaeda; saying he knows what’s going to happen. But he has no proof and he doesn’t think anyone else would believe him. There’s still a chance (slim, yes, but present) that all of these memories had been some sort of dream, or somehow connected to Monokuma’s meddling. Maybe this is just one more motive to drive them to murder.

The Imposter (Togami) is stabbed, just like before. The investigation happens, the trial happens, Komaeda snaps. Hajime watches it all unfold, all of his interjections and corrections coming out without conscious thought. It’s not identical to the first time by any means, but it’s similar enough that he knows which inconsistencies to challenge first. It takes less time to get Hanamura to his breaking point this time, now that he knows which buttons to push.

When Monokuma begins the execution, a strange feeling washes over Hajime. It’s not the frozen horror of the first time he watched this scene, but the same icy dread crawls down his back. Even given a second chance he couldn’t manage to stop Komaeda. Not, he thinks bitterly, like he really tried that hard anyway.

If he had another try, Hajime thinks, maybe then he’d be able to do it.

II 

Hajime wakes up on the beach (again) with Komaeda looming overhead (again).  

This time, Hajime doesn’t waste time on thinking about the impossibility of the situation. Clearly, fate or some cruel God has decided he’s doomed to live this killing game over and over again. The best he can do is roll with it. Maybe he’ll get out of this if he can keep Komaeda from being… himself. It’s the best theory he has at the moment, anyway.

“I can’t exactly remember my talent right now,” Hajime lies when the question comes up again. “But I’m pretty good at figuring out homicide cases.”

Komaeda’s smile doesn’t waver. “That’s amazing, Hinata-kun,” he gushes. “Maybe you’re an Ultimate Detective!”

“Maybe,” Hajime says noncommittally. “I don’t think it matters much, though. Seeing as we’re not in school right now and all, maybe we should look more at who we are as people.”

Komaeda, unsurprisingly, is not convinced.

When they have some free time, Hajime finds Komaeda sitting along the shoreline, watching the sun dip low over the ocean. He sits on the sand beside his classmate and doesn’t say anything for a few long moments.

“How does it work?” He asks when it’s clear Komaeda has no plans to start the conversation. “Your luck, I mean.”

“It’s not a very interesting talent,” Komaeda deflects. “I’d much rather try to figure out what your talent is than talk about something as boring as being lucky.”

“Well, how do you even get scouted for luck?” Hajime knows the answer, but he asks anyway. 

“I won a lottery,” Komaeda says, and Hajime wants to kick himself for not noticing the fact that winning a lottery is clearly not the whole story the first time they had this conversation.

“A lottery doesn’t seem like the best way to find someone lucky, though. You might find someone who’s the ultimate hacker who rigged the whole thing. Or the ultimate gambler. You might just get someone who has no talent at all.”

Komaeda laughs. It’s not a nice laugh, Hajime thinks. “Trust me Hinata-kun, my talent is luck.”

“Well, how about you tell me about how your luck works, and in exchange you can suggest talents and I’ll tell you if they seem right.” Hajime pauses, weighing his words. Komaeda doesn’t look convinced.

“I think with your luck you’ll figure it out. In fact, I’m pretty hopeful about this in general.”

Komaeda smiles, a nicer one this time, and Hajime returns the gesture. Hook, line and sinker.

After their conversation on the shore, Hajime tries to find Komaeda during their next piece of free time. But the white-haired boy is nowhere to be found, and Hajime gives up when it’s clear he’s running in circles and annoying their classmates. No one else seems to notice anything weird about Komaeda. At least, nothing weirder than the rest of them. 

The more Hajime thinks about it, the more he’s sure that Komaeda is the key to all of this. Everyone else on the island is far too reasonable to kill without a push from their local hope-obsessed classmate. And maybe, maybe, it’s just another piece of Komaeda’s luck, finding someone willing to kill on the first try. 

If Hajime can stop Komaeda, stop him at least once, maybe nothing bad will happen and they’ll be able to work together and escape.

“I want to help clean with you,” Hajime declares. “I’m thinking I might have a talent related to it, you know? Maybe Ultimate Maid or Classroom Cleanup Committee Member, like how Tsumiki belongs to the Health Committee.”

It’s the best lie Hajime can think of that would explain why he absolutely must be part of the party set up. Unfortunately, it’s not enough. “You don’t seem like the type to be a maid, Hinata-kun. Besides, fair is fair. If you really want to clean, you can show your talent off after the party is over.”

It’s so reasonable Hajime wants to scream. But he can’t exactly come out and say “I think you’re planning a murder”, not when Komaeda is just their nice, kinda weird but mostly harmless classmate. If anything that will just paint Hajime as the weird one. So he agrees, gritting his teeth, and Komaeda goes to clean while Hanamura cooks up a murder plan.

The body is a little different this time- thicker holes, more like what the knife taped under the table would have left. As he breaks down every piece of evidence in the case, Hajime wonders if this is the result of hinting to Komaeda that he’s some sort of detective. It’s a much cleaner kill than it was the first (and the second) time around, that’s for sure.

But Hajime is nothing if not persistent, especially when he knows exactly who commited the crime and why and how and every other detail. It’s only a matter of time before he has Komaeda cornered.

It’s almost worse the third time to watch the breakdown of his classmate’s sanity. The first time it was out of the blue, a shock to all of them equally. The second was more proof of Hajime’s latent psychic abilities (or reincarnation curse) than an actual event in an actual class trial. This… this is far more disturbing.

“I love you all, from the bottom of my heart I truly do!” Komaeda declares, eyes swirling with madness. “Each of you holds so much hope, a lowly creature like me would be honored to be your stepping stone! Use me to make your hope shine!”

“I guess you really are good at solving murder cases, Hinata-kun” Komaeda says after the trial. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you waste time trying out a cleaning talent?”

III 

“Third time’s the charm” is what Hajime tells himself when he wakes up lying on the sand (again). Clearly, playing by the rules with a side of “being nicer to Komaeda” isn’t going to stop his classmate from going absolutely off the rails. 

Komaeda is right there though, and Hajime decides that any alterations can be made once he’s had time to think things through. Komaeda greets him, introduces himself, and Hajime leaves to track down the rest of their classmates. In the back of his mind, he’s running through every detail he can possibly change.

Keeping Komaeda off cleaning duty seems to be a lost cause, and there’s no way he can keep Hanamura from cooking. Likewise, it seems like no amount of friendship and happy feelings will keep Komaeda from obsessing over hope. What, then, is left? Togami- or, rather, the person posing as Togami- will probably insist on some sort of group bonding event. Maybe, maybe Hajime can keep it from being that same party. 

“The old lodge might not be structurally sound,” Hajime says when the idea is brought up by Komaeda. “Even if the planned reconstruction was only cosmetic, there’s no guarantee wood rot from the ocean breeze wouldn’t make the entire place unsafe.”

There are a few heads nodding, so Hajime takes a deep breath and presses on. “Even though the lobby is open, I think it’s much safer overall. Plus, just because Monomi is giving us permission, Monokuma might revoke it, and then we’d be left without a venue.”

“Hajime is right… I think. The headmaster would have more authority than a teacher,” Chiaki points out thoughtfully. “And if we have it here no one has to clean.”

“And,” Hajime continues after a thankful look in Chiaki’s direction, “Monokuma can’t execute any of us so long as we don’t break a rule. If we ask Monomi to distract him, and set up guard shifts, shouldn’t the restaurant be safe?”

“Very well,” Togami agrees. “Your point is well taken. However, as your leader I insist that guard shifts will be taken in groups of three, randomly selected on the spot. There will be no prior collaboration under my watch.”

Hajime finds Komaeda after the breakfast meeting. The white-haired boy is smiling oddly, and Hajime has to swallow back his disgust when he realizes the reason why. Still, it’s what Hajime wants. It’s what he has to do.

“Ah, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda greets cheerfully. “Would you mind accompanying me to the market? It seems my luck didn’t stop me from, ah, misplacing some personal items.”

They’ve only just gotten out of earshot when Komaeda opens up his mouth again. “I suppose knowing that Monomi took all of our memories must be especially difficult for you, Hinata-kun. After all, you don’t even remember your Ultimate talent.”

“That’s true,” Hajime agrees. “If I had all of my memories I’d know exactly why I got accepted into Hope’s Peak. But you said you’d help me remember, didn’t you?”

Komaeda’s grin grows, his eyes swirling ominously. It’s so close to the bone-chilling look he got during the class trial that Hajime has to fight off a shiver. “Of course, Hinata-kun! I’d do anything to help my classmates. But I don’t think my luck will be very useful in a guessing game, you know. It’s a bit of a useless talent.”

“But it would be useful for something like getting a specific set of people together for a guard shift, wouldn’t it? If having… the right people in the right place at the right time would help with my memories?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Hinata-kun~” Komaeda’s voice is low and lilting, far too pleasant for the conversation they’re having. But this is what he has to do to keep his classmates safe, so Hajime leans close, so close Komaeda can surely feel his breath against his exposed neck.

“I want to do it with you,” Hajime confesses. “I want to commit a murder. Won’t you be my victim, Nagito?”

Having Komaeda (Nagito, Hajime reminds himself) in his cabin is… disturbingly intimate. His lanky classmate and would-be victim looks so incredibly right in Haime’s barren room. Or maybe that’s just the impression lounging in Hajime’s bed gives off.

“I didn’t think it would be you,” Komaeda admits. “I’m glad it is, of course. I’m sure your hope will shine beautifully once you use me as a stepping stone. Brighter than our classmates’ hope. It has to, doesn’t it?”

It feels so wrong to use Nagito like this, but Hajime doesn’t know how else he’s going to make this plan work. “You’re more than a stepping stone to my hope, Nagito,” he coos, reaching out to run a finger along Nagito’s jawline. “I wouldn’t want to kill any of the others. It has to be you.”

Nagito shivers and Hajime doesn’t know if it’s a good shiver. “You’re too nice to trash like me, Hinata-kun,” he says weakly. “I’m honored to let you use me.”

“Hajime,” Hajime corrects. “If you’re willing to give me your precious life, the least I can give you in return is use of my name.”

Maybe it has never occured to Nagito, the intimacy of a name. It certainly never did to Hanamura, who referred to them all by their given names from the start. To Sonia, with her hard to pronounce, foreign name, the formality of names to her Japanese classmates had never quite clicked. Even in his first lifetime, Hinata couldn’t ever remember using anything other than “Komaeda-san” and now, here he was, dropping all honorifics.

“Hajime… kun,” Nagito stutters out, tasting the name like fine wine. “Out of all our classmates… death by your hand will be the sweetest.”

Hajime wonders if his name will become far more sour and unsavory once the truth of his deception comes out.

The party that night is- tense. Kuzuryu, once again, has foregone making an appearance. Hanamura has cooked up a feast befitting royalty, Koizumi is snapping photos, Akane is gouging herself on the offerings. Togami looks approvingly at Hajime’s vigilance when he sees the first-aid kit Hajime has brought (just in case Hanamura is cooking up more than meat on the bone, even without Nagito’s influence). 

Hajime had refused to provide too many details, no matter how much Nagito begged. The only details Hajime had provided were the location (the balcony) and the third member of their group- Nekomaru Nidai. The rest of the afternoon had been spent with less murder and more attempts to bolster Nagito’s self-worth on the table.

The glass of orange juice Hajime grabbed upon entry tastes too sweet when he takes a sip. The words of his classmates are no more decipherable than the buzz of the summer cicadas. The air is hot and thick and Hajime can’t breathe he can’t even think and it’s like the trial for Nagito’s murder (suicide) all over again except this time no one else knows they should be afraid.

“You’re okay,” a calm voice says. “It’ll be over soon, Hinata-kun. Just take a deep breath.” Chiaki’s face is oddly solemn as she speaks, without the fatigue Hajime is used to. He listens, and it helps. “I’ll ask Togami to send you for your guard shift. The air will help. I think.” There’s something about Chiaki in that moment, something so achingly familiar and different all at once. But just as soon as it’s there it’s gone again.

Togami pulls two names and Hajime would laugh if he thought he could breathe. Nagito’s luck really is something, after all.

Nidai leaves for the bathroom twenty minutes into their shift, a byproduct of Nagito’s luck or maybe just a part of Nidai’s unconventional character. Then, it’s the two of them alone on the balcony and Nagito’s eyes are gleaming in the moonlight.

“It’s just us now, Hajime-kun,” Nagito says. “Will you tell me your plan now? The anticipation is… killing me.”

“I don’t have one,” Hajime admits. “I’m not going to kill you, Nagito. I just…” Hajime pauses. He wanted so many things. “I didn’t want you convincing someone else to kill. I didn’t want you to throw your life away. I didn’t want you to be a- a stepping stone. You’re worth more than that.”

Betrayal flickers in Nagito’s eyes. “So you lied to me.” It’s flat, hollow. “I didn’t know you hated me so much, Hajime. To refuse to kill me… you must think me so terribly beneath you.”

“Nagito that’s not-”

“Isn’t it?” Nagito cuts Hajime off roughly. “Admit it, you think I’m trash. You used me and now you’re throwing me away. Let me fulfill my purpose, Hajime. Let me be useful or I’ll die from the agony- the despair of it all.”

Nagito is scratching at his arms wildly and Hajime wants to reach out, wants to grab him and hold him still. But he doesn’t. He stands, and he watches, and he waits. And when an eerily calm grin crosses Nagito’s crazed face, he still doesn’t move. “If you won’t kill me, Hajime,” Nagito declares, stepping back until his back is pressed against the restaurant railing, “I guess I’ll just have to

                   Do

                         It

                             My

                                   Self.”

Nagito Komaeda’s body hits the ground.

IV 

Hajime wakes up on the beach and wants to scream. Nothing is working, no matter what Hajime tries there’s always a body at the end of it and he’s helpless/useless/out of ideas. And scared. If he can’t figure this out, will he be stuck here forever? Living the same loop, over and over and over, with each failure bringing him back to the beach like some cheesy j-rpg that Chiaki would like where the power of friendship conquers all?

Is this what despair is? He was Ultimate Despair before, after all. Could this all be a way to make him feel despair again? Or is this hell? Will Hajime live out his failures for the rest of eternity, doomed from the start? Whatever god saw fit to make him suffer like this is a cruel one. 

If this endless loop is his life now, then Hajime sees no reason to play by the rules. Why live through party after party, each ending with a body and a trial? Why pretend any of this is new? If this is punishment for his crimes, Hajime will break the unspoken rules of this place in a heartbeat.

It takes a while for Hajime to find the time to corner Nagito. He considered asking someone else- Chiaki, maybe, or Sonia or even Kuzuryu. But in the end it came back to Nagito. It all came back to him because he was the beginning and the end of it all. If Nagito Komaeda orchestrated a murder, Hajime Hinata paid the price.

“Would you believe me if I told you I knew the future?” Is the question Hajime asks as they sit in what has become ‘their spot’ in Hajime’s mind.

“Is that your talent, Hinata-kun? Fortune-telling?” Nagito sounds as interested as he always does, but Hajime knows it must be a bit of a let down, to have a mystery be so… mundane, as far as talents go. “You don’t seem like the type, don’t you think?”

“Not like an Ultimate Psychic,” Hajime corrects. “Like I had lived through the same time over and over, until I knew every detail.”

“Like that foreign film? That American one where a man repeats the same day over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly. Except… longer than a day.”

Nagito pauses, considering. “That doesn’t seem like much of a talent,” he says slowly. “More like a story.”

“And if- if I could prove it?” Hajome asks. He had thought, of all of them, that Nagito would be the one who believed it first.

“Then I’d believe you,” is all Nagito says. But it’s all Hajime needs.

“When you were in middle school, you were kidnapped and won the lottery on the same day,” Hajime starts. They’re in his cabin again- the first time this Nagito has been here, but a scene not entirely unfamiliar to Hajime. “Your parents died in a plane crash and you inherited their fortune. When you were a child, your pet dog was hit by a truck.”
“Those are all examples of my luck,” Nagito says, not quite disbelieving. “You could have learned them in a variety of ways. I’m sure they’re all in my file at Hope’s Peak.”

“Before you were accepted to Hope’s Peak via the lottery, you were diagnosed with cancer and given six months to live. You have frontotemporal dementia and lymphoma. And you’re planning on letting one of us kill you. You'll say it’s to make our hope shine, but that’s not really it, is it? You want to die. You think your luck only causes suffering, that it’s not a real talent and that you’re as useless as any normal person on the street. You want to die and suicide via Ultimate is the only way you think will beat your luck.”

“You really must know the future, Hinata-kun! I knew your talent would be amazing. But,” Nagito’s eyes grow colder than the arctic. “If you think those are my motives… Clearly you don’t know me at all.”

Hajime tells Nagito the whole story of that very first loop, the loop before the resets. He goes through every murder as best he can remember, every motivation. And Nagito watches, eyes wide. It’s when Hajime reaches the last two deaths that he falters. “You… came across some information that wasn’t exactly true, and tried to kill us all. It didn’t work, though, and you died in the process.”

“And you found out your talent,” Nagito finishes. “That’s why you don’t seem worried about not remembering it.”

“Yes,” Hajime admits slowly. “But it’s… it’s complicated. In the eyes of Hope’s Peak, Hajime Hinata is just a reserve course student.”

Later, Hajime will realize that was the moment everything fell apart.

There are two glasses on the table in front of them, both filled with unknown liquid. Nagito has that… look in his eyes. The look that’s one part madness and one part terrifying genius. It’s a look that fits the gamble Nagito has put into place- a gable as risky as his own suicide was.

“There are two glasses,” Nagito says, hands clasped. “One contains deadly poison from Rocketpunch Market. The other contains nothing but soda. I pour, and you choose. If you drink the poison, you die and I’ll be executed for your murder and the killing game will start. The true Ultimates- the ones with real, valuable hope- will shine brighter for our deaths. If you drink the soda, I die a suicide and you no longer have to worry about my plans. You can even lie about why I did it, if you like.”

“What if I don’t want to play?” Hajime asks, even though it doesn’t matter. He’ll play because he has no choice.

“Then I kill you some other way,” Nagito says with a shrug. “It’s not as if you’re worth anything. It’s more like exterminating a pest, really.”

And that stings, cuts deep in a way Hajime didn’t expect. But it’s nothing he shouldn’t have expected. “Okay,” he agrees simply. 

There are two glasses on the table. Hajime takes the glass on the left, and together they drink.

Hajime doesn’t know what poison tastes like, but judging by the hysterical laughter Nagito breaks out in, he’s pretty sure he chose wrong. It was, to some degree, inconceivable that anything else would happen but, well, it wasn’t like Hajime had any other choice.

“How long until… Until I die?” Hajime asks. His voice doesn’t wobble, and maybe that’s enough of a victory for now. Nagito stops laughing and looks, consideringly.

“I suppose we’ll be feeling it in the next few minutes. Death, though? That I’m not sure about. Does it matter, though?”

It’s the use of ‘we’ that throws Hajime off course. He looks, again, at the two cups (empty now, no proof left to be discovered), and then back to Nagito. “There’s something- a trick. What am I missing?”

“Oh, you’re clever, for a Reserve Course student. Is that what made you think you’re good enough to inflict your presence on your betters? Of course there was a trick. Maybe,” Nagito smiles cruelly, “if you beg I’ll tell you what it is.”

“Please,” Hajime grits out through clenched teeth.

“You didn’t drink the poisoned cup, Hinata-kun,” Nagito says slowly. “We both did.”

“What you said? About us being Despair? It got me thinking. If my fellow Ultimates have fallen so far, they need to be culled in the name of Hope. And how better to do that than to use Monokuma’s rules against them all? Two bodies, both poisoned. Who could have done it?

“And, even if they figure it was one of us, how will they figure out which one? How will Monokuma? I poured the poison but you picked your cup, Hinata-kun. And with my luck? They’ll guess wrong.”

“But what about the traitor?” Hajime asks desperately. “They’ll die alongside everyone else.”

“Sacrifices must be made, Hinata-kun. It’s all in the name of hope, after all.” Nagito doesn’t look the least bit remorseful.

“Wait-” Realization dawns on Hajime slowly. “How did you know? About them being Despair?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I remember too.”

When Hajime was accepted to the Reserve Course, his family flew to Okinawa to celebrate. Hajime had sat by the window and watched as the land below shrank and vanished. Over the ocean, it was if he was above the sky, looking down upon it. As they descended for landing, the ocean below looked like thick blue paint, brush strokes visible against the monotony of color. 

And then they had hit the turbulence: rough, jarring shakes like an unexpected (unwelcome) roller coaster ride. Hajime had thought they were going to crash.

He feels that same feeling now: the stomach-dropping weightlessness, as if his personal gravity has changed, as if the carpet has been ripped from under him and he’s free-falling into that vast, blue canvas.

“I didn’t until you told me,” Komaeda admits cheerfully. (And he’s Komaeda again, Hajime will not grant his killer the familiarity of a first name). “But then it came back: my plan, with its ability to stump even the greatest detectives. And I thought: why not do it again, but earlier this time?”

“All this because I belong to a different course than you?” Hajime asks, scornfully. “If I was an Ultimate, would you still have done this?”

“I don’t know,” Komaeda says slowly. “You were against Hope, so I would want you to die. But maybe not with my own hands. No, I think I would have repeated my prior plans, if you hadn’t told me.”

Hajime swallows heavily as the magnitude of his actions come crashing down. “Hajime Hinata was enrolled as a Reserve Course student. But there was… more to it than that. A talent development project. A way to create talent in an untalented individual.”

“Did it work?” Komaeda asks.

Hajime shrugs. “I don’t remember. Hajime Hinata was a reserve course student. When they… remade me they gave me a new name. Izuru Kamukura.”

“And the talent that- Kamukura-san had?”

“All of them.”

There’s regret in Komaeda’s eyes when he connects the dots, when he realizes what exactly he’s done, but it’s too late because they’re both doubling over in pain. Poison, it turns out, is not a painless death. It hurts and that’s more than the feeling of betrayal. It’s an intimate, visceral experience.

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda says. 

“You’re only sorry because you killed someone with talent,” Hajime says and it’s not angry, it’s just tired. They’re dying, together, and what’s done is done.

“Maybe,” Komaeda admits softly. “Normal people… normal people aren’t strong enough. They’re weak, their hope is weak. And they’re influenced by my luck. Ultimates… their hope is brighter than mine, and so my luck doesn’t hurt them. It won’t kill them like it kills the ordinary.”

It would be sad, if Hajime wasn’t dying. “That doesn’t mean you get to kill them. You can’t control your luck, Nagito. But you can control the poison you pour into their cups.”

There’s silence, of a sort, after that. Hajime is gasping in pain, curled on the floor. His vision is blurring and, desperately, he reaches out for the only other person in the room. Was this how Nagito felt? Dying alone, in pain, with only the comfort of knowing he will not be alone in death for long?

Their hands meet. “I’m sorry I killed you,” Nagito says. “But I’m not sorry to die by your side.”

V

 (Izuru) Hajime (Kamukura) Hinata wakes up on the beach, with Nagito as close as ever. The last four times this happened, he had let this introduction play out the way it always had. Now though, after dying, after four attempts to keep the white-haired boy out of trouble, he’s ready to try something a little more drastic.

“Hello,” he says when his eyes meet Nagito’s. “My name is Izuru Kamukura, the Super High School Level Hope.”

The world blurs, static filling the air. Colors dance across his vision and he hears voices (whose voices? When has he heard them before? There’s something there, like a memory long forgotten, but he can’t place it amid the white noise). And then everything goes black around him.

Chapter Text

I

Teruteru Hanamura wakes up on the beach feeling like he’s got the world’s worst sunburn. 

The sun is bright on his face and he can hear the groans of his classmates all around him, but he doesn’t open his eyes- not yet. He still feels too hot under the collar, and not the fun kind of hot, either. Not the “cute girls in too-short school skirts” hot. Not the “handsome classmates with intense eyes, utterly focused on their talents” hot. Hell, not even the “oh no I went too far and now I’m being scolded for public indecency but ohoho U̷̘̣͚͊o̷̩͖̽͆e̶̗̣̜͒̇͘ÿ̶̲͎́͘z̸̺̱̀i̶̡̲͆̾͠ķ̵̛͖͓̓m̷̭̫͒ ̵̹̩̔̾s̸͈̞̩̆̑s̸̩͖̫̽í̵̳̭̜̏e̶͕̟͌ĕ̴͈̅͠ņ̵̙̊͝ looks hot when she’s all fired up” sort of hot.

Teruteru feels hot like he’s been burned alive. But no, that’s not quite right either. He feels pummeled (and not pummeled in a fun way either, unfortunately). He feels grimy/slimy/thyme-y. And he feels like he’s just seen the inside of a deep fryer. 

He opens his eyes and it’s the sight of Jabberwock Island that makes everything click into place. Well- not everything. There’s gaps, bits of static, but it’s a familiar amnesia. It’s an amnesia he’s lived through before. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s real, either. For one, he’s never been to the beach before. Momma couldn’t exactly close the restaurant down to take them all to the seaside, even if they had the money. But he still can picture exactly what the view from the beach is like. 

And if his brain was going to dream up something as delicious as a beach retreat surrounded by his oh-so-very attractive classmates he can’t imagine he ever would have created something as awful as Hiyoko Saionji. Gap moe be damned, there was nothing cute about that foul-mouthed gremlin.

The next few hours pass slower the second time around. Everyone is- for better or worse- the same as Teruteru remembers them. It’s hard to keep his cool, but Teruteru does well under pressure. So maybe he pushes a little harder this time around but, hey, if they’re all going to die in a few days, he might as well live it up while he can. Given a little more time, he’s sure he’ll be able to convince Sonia that co-ed bathhouses are not only accepted but encouraged among Japan’s youth. And if Sonia is willing to strip down, he’s sure Kazuichi will too. Two out of fifteen is nothing to sneeze at.

He’s going to have to work fast if he wants to get that little appetizer out before the main course, though. If he’s been given a second chance at this whole kebob, there has to be a reason. And what could that reason be if not a chance to redeem himself? A chance to go home to Momma, save the family restaurant. Sure, graduation comes at a pretty high price, but all the best meals do. And you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette. Teruteru has a second shot and this time he’s going to make it stick. Or skewer, as the case may be. He’s just gotta make sure he gets the tasting notes right this time.

It’s a little weird, seeing Hinata again when he finally wakes up. It’s weirder still seeing him with Nagito, knowing what he does about his lanky classmate. Hinata seems a little more on edge than Teruteru remembers, but last time he had been a little preoccupied by the fantasy of a late night swim with one or- better yet- both of them. This time, Teruteru knows Hinata is too tough a nut to crack, and way too much of a headache to deal with. Meat on the bone indeed! No, Teruteru will stick to greener pastures than his classmate who must be some sort of Ultimate Detective.

Ultimate Detective sounds familiar enough, Teruteru thinks. How else could someone piece together an earring and the size of a stab wound and come up with one extra crispy Hanamura? No matter, Teruteru knows what to do this time. If meat on the bone was too obvious, he’ll just find another way to hide something sharp. How hard can it be?

The answer, Teruteru finds, is very hard indeed. In the end, he decides Hajime can’t be that smart after all, Ultimate Detective or not. If the stab wounds are the right size then there’s no reason for anyone to look further than Nagito’s secret knife. If he hollows out the bone a little further, pries the handle off a- heh- boning knife and tapes it to the skewer, he’s as good as golden. And then it’s just a matter of disposing of the knife handle and viola, his plan goes from half-baked to well done.

Talking to Nagito is no less creepy the second time around, but Teruteru is no stranger to sacrifice. He’s not going to let his least attractive classmate deter him from doing what’s necessary to get off this island and rejoin the world of the culinary elite. He’s also not going to lower himself to asking Nagito for a “hope-inducing blowjob”. It seems a little pathetic to ask your sacrifice for more than just their life, after all.

Cooking for the party brings all the joy and anticipation it did the first time. None of his classmates have been exposed to true culinary delight, and the least Teruteru can do is grant them that much on their last couple days. Sonia and Fuyuhiko, absent though he may be, (and, oddly enough, Peko) all know quality when they taste it, and everyone else knows his skills are second to none.

Teruteru woos his classmates as they feast, waiting for the right moment to slip back and activate his plan. Old buildings have such poor electrical wiring, even a meathead like Akane would have figured out how to use it eventually. It’s easy enough not to give in to temptation and cry out when he’s under the floorboards. It’s one less clue for Hinata, not that anyone could unravel his new, improved plan.

He gets Byakuya again, instead of Nagito, but that’s fine. The investigation plays out, the clues are gathered, and Teruteru tries very hard not to think about the repercussions of his actions. He’s just doing what has to be done, after all. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and Teruteru refuses to spend the rest of his life making omelettes on a dead-end island.

And then Hajime brings out the knife handle and everything goes downhill from there. Not even Nagito’s delusions of hope are enough to sway Hinata from the truth and all too soon they’re voting, Teruteru is screaming, and he’s suddenly feeling like maybe the egg that had to be broken was him.

And then he’s becoming deep fried Hanamura and he doesn’t think about anything else.

II

Teruteru Hanamura wakes up on the beach, again, with that angry itch he’s associated with a dish that’s not quite right for as long as he’s remembered. He’s a fantastic chef- truly, he thinks to himself, a cut above the rest. But he’s worked hard, too, harder than he’d ever let on. For one, he’s the ultimate chef not the ultimate chocolatier or patissiere or confectionary genius. He’d rather cook in the dingiest kitchen in the smallest town in all of Japan for the rest of his life than let that on, though. So he practiced, he worked his hands to the bones, and he learned those skills.

This is just another puzzle, Teruteru thinks. Another obstacle to overcome before he claims his place at the top of the food world. He has the recipe, he has the ingredients, now he just has to master the technique. And master it he will. Failure is fuel to improve, motivation the secret ingredient to make his dishes just that extra bit special. 

None of his classmates would ever dedicate themselves to their talent the way he has, Teruteru knows. Maybe he can’t remember it, but he knows these people. He’s watched them under pressure, he’s watched them use their talents. Nagito is absolutely off his rocker, but he has a point about hope, Teruteru thinks. Except it’s not hope, really. It’s talent. Teruteru is more dedicated to making his talent shine, no matter the work he has to put in. And that’s why he’s going to get out of this trip from hell and go back to being the star he was born to be.

Eggs, meet omelette. 

Teruteru takes the opportunity he’s been given as a time to test out some new dishes. Some of his classmates (Akane) wouldn’t know quality if he force fed it to them on a silver platter- and he has, before. But that’s no reason to slack on effort. He’s the ultimate chef for a reason, and that reason is he makes every meal an experience.

Cooking at the restaurant beats crying in his cabin or stressing out over getting off the island. He already knows how he’s getting off. And his classmates aren’t going to turn down the best food they’ve ever tasted. Cooking for sixteen might be a bit of a chore, but there’s some truly refined palettes among the room.

Byakuya and Sonia are, as expected, refined enough to appreciate the nuance behind every dish. Surprisingly, Nagito matches their palette bite for bite. The three of them make it all worth it, Teruteru thinks. The first day after Monokuma announces the killing game, he cooks up a Western style breakfast for them all. Maybe it’s a last meal. Maybe he just wants the practice.

“These pancakes are sublime, Hanamura-san!” Sonia compliments. “Japanese pancakes are very different from what we make in Novoselic, you know. Yours are so light and fluffy, like souffle.”

“Why thank you, Miss Sonia,” Teruteru bows. It’s a compliment only a foreigner would think to pay, but that’s okay. She’s smiling- they’re all smiling. 

“Your technique on the omelettes is flawless,” Nagito adds. It’s another compliment he’s heard a million times, but that doesn’t wipe the smug smile of his face. It is flawless. He’s the ultimate chef, after all.

One more recipe to pull off.

Teruteru spends most of his free time in the kitchen. It’s more habit than necessity, in all honesty, but it’s a comforting habit. Unfortunately, it’s also a habit that draws a card- not that Teruteru blames them. If his ability to flip an omelette is a fun party trick, watching him full immersed in a dish is mesmerizing.

Akane- without fail- is drawn in by the smell of roasting, frying, sizzling meat. She’s got a nose better than a bloodhound, even if her decorum is a lot less than desired. The fact that she’d rather climb up the side of the building than take the stairs alone says a lot about her understanding of the finer points of etiquette. But when she pokes her head in and says “What’s cookin’ chef? Smells good” Teruteru can’t help but welcome her in as a taste tester.

Not that he’s going to pass an opportunity to let his superior knowledge shine. “Now that right there is a cut of prime bone in rib-eye steak,” he boasts, gesturing with his wooden spoon towards the slab of meat marinating. “Highest grade of marbling, best age of slaughter, the very peak of meat performance, and believe me, I know about high-performing meat.”

“Neat. Why’s there still a bone in it?” Akane asks and it’s all Teruteru can do to avoid screaming.

“It’s about presentation! A true dish is only half-complete without proper plating. It’s about impact- you want to stun your audience! Knock their panties off with the sheer decadence of your offering. I- the Ultimate Chef- refuse to serve a dish I would not proudly place in front of the gods themselves!”

“So… the meat is on the bone because it looks cooler?” Akane sounds a little skeptical, but at least she’s getting it.

“Precisely!” 

“So if it’s on more bones does that mean it’s fancier?” Akane asks. “Like American-style ribs?”

It might be the stupidest thing someone’s ever said to him, Teruteru thinks, but something about Akane’s question sparks an idea in his head. More bones, huh?

Byakuya’s party suggestion is accepted, as it has been in the past, but this time things will be different. Nagito is still willing to play the sacrificial lamb, but this time no classmate- Ultimate Detective or otherwise- will stand in their way. And, oddly enough, it’s all thanks to Akane.

Oh, yes, Teruteru thinks as he prepares for the most extravagant meal yet. Meat on the bone? Obvious, cliched, a hackneyed trope that even the most inexperienced sleuth could see through. But this, though? This will be not only the crowning dish of Teruteru’s illustrious career, it will be the final nail- or skewer- in the coffin of his less impressive classmates. And what creation will blow them all away?

A crown roast, complete with the most delicate French trimmings, surrounding a ground lamb stuffing. 

It’s ambitious, especially to make alongside an entire banquet, but Teruteru is the ultimate chef for a reason. There’s no dish too complicated, no star too far for him to shoot for. It will be a meal to die for.

Nagito isn’t stabbed which is- it would be fine, Teruteru thinks. One body over another it’s that hard to deal with, and he’s got someone all lined up to take the fall. So, yeah, it’s fine. Except for Akane Owari.

“Hey, Hanamura,” she says around a mouthful of food. “I think you got a bad cut of meat for your special dish. One of the bones is actually a knife.”

And okay, maybe yelling “Frank Sinatra” is not the most poised response but in two bites every carefully laid plan is coming unraveled and Teruteru is tired. How hard can it be to kill one suicidal classmate and get away with it?

Monokuma skewers him with twenty-four sharpened bone spears this time, and it’s almost better than another round in the deep fryer.

III

The beach is beautiful when Teruteru opens his eyes. It’s an ironic sort of beauty, though, because he’s just died for a third time now and no matter how nice the scenery is he’d give just about anything to be somewhere else. Monokuma’s last execution was brutal, too- normally Teruteru would love being poked in front of an audience. The blood and excruciating pain, however? Not exactly his kink.

At least the kitchen is still nice, the ingredients still of premier quality. He locks himself in the kitchen while everyone else is introducing themselves and whips up handmade ravioli and a small platter of traditional cannoli. If anyone asks, he's decided to say it was to make Sonia feel more welcome.

And, well, that’s not even much of a lie. Her eyes light up that night over dinner and everyone else- even the less cultured plebeians, admit it’s delicious. Sure, Monokuma’s arrival absolutely destroys the atmosphere, but the impact is made. Teruteru Hanamura, Ultimate Chef has established himself as suave, debonair, and incredibly talented. He is, in a word, irreplaceable.

The next morning, Teruteru finds himself in the kitchen just as the sun starts to rise. It’s a traditional Japanese recipe sort of day, he thinks. Comfort food taken to the logical extreme of quality. There’s the rice, of course, and pan-grilled fish (salmon and horse mackerel, superb specimens of each) and fresh-made miso (none of the instant garbage, this is made with classic Hanamura family dashi). For side dishes there’s tamagoyaki- and yes, the hotel even has the proper rectangular pans- with tsukemono and even (much to teruteru’s revulsion) a small dish of natto.

“Whatcha cookin’ chef?” A voice asks, interrupting his musing. It’s like hearing a ghost, but Akane Owari doesn’t pick up on the slight stiffening. And it is slight- Teruteru is the picture of poise.

“I’m preparing the yakizakana,” he replies absentmindedly. “It seems fitting to enjoy a traditional breakfast.”

Akane watches, fascinated. “Wow, you even got natto! You really went all in on this one, chef.”

“You like natto?” It’s an impulsive question, but Teruteru can’t help it. He’s never been a fan (and that’s odd to say about food) and somehow he thought even Akane would turn her nose up at it.

“Yeah, sure. When I was a kid it was the easiest thing to get my hands on, cause it’s not that popular where I’m from. And the lil’uns wouldn’t eat it so I didn’t feel bad about having it all for myself.”

Akane has a bit of a rural dialect- not the same as Teruteru’s own unfortunate accent, but slightly perceptible. It’s- odd to hear. Odder is the confession. Teruteru is used to not having much money. He’s not used to not having much food. “Well, you’re among the elite now,” he says uncomfortably. “You should learn to appreciate quality.”

“Hey, food’s food. You eat it or ya die and being picky just means you die,” Akane says. “Besides, none of that fancy stuff makes sense to me. Sure, your food is great Hanamura but I don’t get how making your miso from scratch is any better than the instant stuff.”

It’s the most insulting compliment Teruteru has ever recieved and right then and there he decides he’s going to show Akane exactly how good a quality meal can be.

The afternoon is dedicated to preparing the most elaborate kaiseki teruteru has ever created. He refuses to settle for less than the imperial fourteen dishes, of course, and each element (when eaten in order) must perfectly compliment the next. To this order, he enlisted the classmates whose taste he deemed most acceptable: Sonia, Nagito, and Byakuya. All three show up with- oddly enough- Fuyuhiko in tow.

“Ah, Hanamura-san!” Sonia greets, smiling widely. “I have brought Kuzuryu-san, since you requested my presence for help with traditional tea-ceremony food!”

Fuyuhiko blushes angrily. “It’s not that I wanted to help you,” he snaps defensively. “I just haven’t had good kaiseki in ages and since breakfast wasn’t awful I thought you should listen to a professional.”

“It is absolutely splendid to have you all in my kitchen today,” Teruteru welcomes. He’s not even going to try and unravel the implications of Fuyuhiko’s presence. No, what matters most is creating the most elaborate and perfect meal any of them have ever seen.

The first dish in a proper kaiseki is the sakizuke, similar to the French amuse-bouche. It’s purpose is to introduce the audience to the chef’s style, to excite the palate for the courses to come. Teruteru decides he will open with something exciting, something exotic: hamachi, salmon row, and basil. Japanese Amberjack might not be the most expensive fish but it’s a favorite, and Teruteru knows how to please his customers.

The second dish- hassun- is meant to set the seasonal theme. Teruteru assumes it must be April, still (although, on an island it’s hard to tell, and without their memories it’s hard to say for sure). Thankfully- or perhaps unluckily, there seems to be no seasonal restriction on supplies. 

“It should be winter,” Fuyuhiko says. It might be vanity on his part, but it’s a suggestion well-taken. And so they agree to make Ehomaki with hirame- it might not be Setsubon, but they can use all the luck they can get. Besides, the engawa frills on the flounder are visually stunning amidst the six other ingredients.

The third dish, mukozuke, is seasonal sashimi and there’s really only one option: bluefin tuna, the most expensive fish in the world. Likewise, the fourth dish, takiawase, is easy enough. It’s primarily a vegetable dish, after all, and there are plenty of options for winter vegetables. Lotus root and sweet shrimp and daikon radish are all accepted, and they move on.

Dish five is futamono- a “lidded dish” that offers far more leeway than the other, more rigid options. It is, usually, a soup. And Teruteru is dedicated to preparing a perfect soup, proving once and for all that from scratch will far exceed any instant option. “What about ushiojiru?” Nagito suggests. It’s traditional for girl’s day- in fact, Teruteru thinks he’s only ever had it then, but perhaps that makes it a good option for tonight. Hinamatsuri is all about health for daughters, after all, and the delicate flavors of a clear-broth clam soup will soothe Akane’s battered soul.

The yakimono will be a traditional flame-grilled fish- red snapper, this time, over a charcoal flame to fully bring out the flavor. The su-zakana will be a traditional gari- a nice, pink pickled ginger that will cleanse the palette. Since their meal is winter themed, there will be no hiyashi-bachi.

They bicker about the ideal naka-choko- it’s hard to put one palate cleanser after another. Sonia wants o-zoni even though it’s not New Year’s. Nagito pushes for pickled plum (a bizarre option that horrifies Teruteru’s artistic sensibilities). Finally, it’s Fuyuhiko who ends the argument. “Kaiseki is at the chef’s discretion, dumbasses. Just leave it out. It’s not like you need another palate refresher, yeah?”

It’s that point that sits with Teruteru as they plan the shiizakana. Deciding they’d opt for the traditional hotpot was easy, but picking what to put into it was not. “Why not allow our classmates to select their own ingredients, as if we were doing a traditional hotpot?” He suggests. Sonia looks delighted at the prospect.

Teruteru promises his family’s own recipe for perfect rice seasoning for the rice dish. The ko no mono will be more seasonal pickled vegetables-  with the addition of bamboo shoots, taro root, and a selection of mushrooms by popular demand. And, for the final savory dish, the tome-wan will be the traditional miso, the same recipe Teruteru used before.

And then- finally- the final dish: the mizumono, a seasonal dessert. Sweets weren’t exactly Teruteru’s specialty, but this is his moment to shine, and all the hours of practice will finally pay off. Mikan, apple, and strawberry are the seasonal fruits that Teruteru will turn into the show-stopping finale: a selection of three fruit-flavored raindrop cakes, mimicking the traditional konnyaku jelly dessert but with a fresh, modern take, echoing back to the first, fresh and modern twist of the meal, bringing harmony and delight to all who taste it.

Dinner that night is a smashing success. Maybe it’s having everyone there that does it, or the sheer elegance of the plated sets. Teruteru isn’t sure, but as each dish (helpfully numbered for the less cultured) is sampled and enjoyed, he finds himself glowing with pride.

It’s fun to watch them eat and talk and laugh. Making the hotpot together is fun too, in a way he hadn’t expected. Food was a family pastime, an artform. Not- not something done with friends, not something as carefree as they make it. It’s nice.

“You’re gonna make me more of these gummies,” Saionji declares when she reaches the final course. “These are way better than the ones from Rocketpunch. Guess you’re good for something after all.”

It’s rude but it’s also a compliment and Teruteru considers, briefly, inviting her next time he needs an opinion on traditional Japanese sweets. And then he watches her pour a glass of water onto Mikan’s head and he quickly revises that opinion to “never get within knife range of Saionji” because she seems like the sort of person who would slit his throat given the chance.

“Hey, chef,” Akane says. “This is probably the best food I’ve ever had, so maybe you were right about your whole ‘quality food being better’ thing. Thanks!”

It’s exactly the victory Teruteru wanted.

He still conspires with Nagito to get off the island. There’s a little regret, but it has to be done. He decides to go with the less-conspicuous knife-rib technique, and just keep Akane away from it during the investigation.

In fact, he even teams up with her once the lights are back on. They look in the kitchen together and, when he sees the way she eyes the food hungrily, an idea sparks. “I can cut you a piece,” he offers. “Since we’re all working together, I think we can probably spare the time, no?”

It’s a risky move, but it works. Akane eats his masterpiece and when the possibility of it being him comes up in the trial, she’s the first to defend him.

“Nah, Hanamura and I had some of the ribs while we were looking around the kitchen. No way he hid anything in that.”

It’s enough to get a few heads nodding and with Nagito’s hope-fueled craze (and the goodwill his dinner earned him) Hinata’s doubts slowly fade away. They vote- unanimously- for Nagito and Monokuma laughs.

The last thing he sees is the betrayed expression of his classmates, and then everything goes dark.

IV

Teruteru wakes up on the beach confused. He did it- didn’t he? He graduated. He should be off the island. And yet, here he is, sitting in the sand under a bright sun, living through a horrifically familiar series of events. It’s not fair! It doesn’t even make sense (not that the situation ever made sense).

Killing Byakuya and getting away with it wasn’t the answer to escaping whatever god-given ability to repeat his first three days on the island. That much was clear. So if Graduation wasn’t his exit ticket, what was? The only thing he can think is that he has to not only get away with it, but get away with the murder he’s intended: killing Nagito.

And that presents a whole new set of problems because Teruteru has been trying to do that all along and Byakuya has continuously gotten in the way. Even with Nagito on his side, their self-appointed leader managed to throw off the plan. This is going to be one tough nut to crack, that much is clear. It’s a good thing he’s Teruteru Hanamura- Ultimate Chef, Ultimate Lover, and soon-to-be Ultimate Killer.

He doesn’t waste time winning over his classmates this time around. There’s not much point to it (if he fails, he’ll just wake up on the beach and if he succeeds they’ll all be dead) and Teruteru has bigger fish to fry. He’ll still cook for them to keep up appearances, but beyond that? It’s pointless.

It’s hard not to find the entire situation a little, well, hopeless at times. Teruteru knows he has what it takes to succeed at anything he puts his mind to- hasn’t his acceptance into Hope’s Peak and near-perfect track record with the ladies and the men alike proven that? But even when he did succeed, even when he pulled off the perfect murder on an island with limited resources and some of the smartest cookies this side of twenty, he still found himself back where he started. 

Honestly, after all this Teruteru doesn’t think he’ll be going to the beach any time soon. He’s gotten sick of the sand and the ocean breeze. 

Togami suggests a party. Komaeda draws the shortest straw. Teruteru plots a murder. Tanaka loses an earring. Teruteru finds an earring and returns it. Teruteru makes a show of blocking off the crawlspace. Teruteru buys the Rocketpunch night vision goggles and hides them in his cabin. Teruteru hides a knife blade in a hollow bone and keeps the handle on his person. 

It all feels so incredibly pointless.

The party starts and it’s just like every other iteration of the damn thing Teruteru has endured so far. Koizumi takes pictures, Togami frisks the incoming guests, Tsumiki falls an impressive four times (and Teruteru can’t even enjoy it). Kuzuryu shows up, for some reason. The power goes off, Teruteru grabs his weapon, and keeps his mouth shut.

When the lights come back on, Nagito Komaeda is dead and Togami is holding the knife.

The investigation drags on and Teruteru tries to figure out what was different this time, what made Komaeda actually die. Was it Kuzuryu’s presence? The absence of the night vision goggles (and without those goggles how did Togami even end up under that table in the first place?)

Hinata is as impressive as always during the trial. Apparently, Togami noticed Komaeda acting suspiciously right before the power went out- when Teruteru left the room. When the fuse blew out, Togami moved on instinct, rightfully assuming that something was wrong. He didn’t stab Komaeda, he was merely trying to get the knife out of his hands.

No one really believes him, even though it’s all the truth.

Tsumiki’s fifth encounter with indecency is brought up but Teruteru brushes it off- she fell four other times that evening and he barely cared, for one, and for two it gets kinda old by the fifth time. It’s not like Tsumiki was changing her panties between each fall, after all. It probably helps that Teruteru’s been way less flirty this time around, too. It’s a lot less suspicious that he wasn’t putting the moves on Tsumiki when he hasn’t been putting the moves on anyone.

Monokuma calls the vote and there’s a couple hold-outs who think it’s him (Saionji, Hinata, Togami) but the majority all vote for Togami. Monokuma cackles as he tells them they got it wrong, and Teruteru graduates.

The sound of his classmates screaming won’t leave his head.

V

The beach is becoming a familiar, beloathed site to Teruteru. Maybe, he thinks for a moment, this is his hell: a tropical island filled with the classmates he condemned to death for his own selfish reasons. A tropical island where he repeats the same three days, over and over and over again. A tropical island where his actions don’t have consequences (and isn’t that a thought he would have lusted after at one point) but, because of that lack of consequences they also have no meaning.

Around him, his classmates are waking up. He opens his eyes and turns, sees Chiaki sitting in the sand, rubbing her eyes as she adjusts to the brightness. Further down the beach, he sees Akane stretching her hands to the tips of her toes. There is a moment, then, where the feelings of regret threaten to swallow Teruteru whole. 

It’s this moment- now, not at any other point in these last few hellish days- that Teruteru Hanamura thinks about his mother. He thinks about her face, looking thinner and paler every day as she worked herself to the bone for the sake of their family restaurant. He thinks of the sound of sizzling oil in a pan, thinks of the crunch of tempura and fluffy pillows of omelet folded lovingly over rice. He thinks of his younger siblings and their talents- talents he used to begrudge them for, because what was the point in being good at dancing or conversation when there were customers to serve and a loving mother wasting away for their sake.

Here is a secret: Teruteru Hanamura is not good with people. Not like Hitohide, who was always their most popular server, able to cheer a customer up and restore their confidence with just a few words. Not like Maimi, who’s beauty and skill in dance was enough to draw customers in just for a chance to see her smile. No, Teruteru Hanamura was born without the charm his younger siblings got in spades. And oh how he’s tried to make up for this natural deficiency, how he’s tried to recreate the awkward, bumbling country bumpkin who was good in the kitchen but not on the restaurant floor into a suave cityslicker always ready with a saucy innuendo and a charming wink.

Somewhere between the attempted murders and subsequent executions, though, Teruteru has come to realize that, well, maybe the “ultimate chef” identity he so carefully crafted for himself was holding him back. His classmates don’t want a flirtatious horndog. They want to eat good food in good company.

Sitting in the sand by the sea, Teruteru ponders this fact. He still desperately wants to leave and yet…

And yet the next day he wakes up before everyone else to prepare a traditional Japanese breakfast (again). There’s the rice, of course, and his signature miso. There’s grilled fish and fluffy tamagoyaki, tsukemono, and even a dish of natto. There’s no accounting for taste, after all.

Akane is the first to arrive again, peeking her head into the kitchen with a horribly familiar “what’s cookin’ chef?” It’s almost enough to make Teruteru burst into tears, but he’s made of sterner stuff than that.

“Wachoushoku. I thought on account of the… unsettling revelations of last night, we could all do with a bit of homely comfort. Care for a taste?” 

“Don’t mind if I do!” Akane cheers, snatching a slice of tamagoyaki with her- Teruteru winces- bare hands and popping it into her mouth. “ Man, that ultimate cook stuff is no joke! This is way better than the stuff from the konbini.”

“Well I would certainly hope so! Say, Akane, do you think I should prepare some more Western-style options?”

“What? For Sonia-san? Nah, she loves Japanese stuff. And besides, you heard her, she wants to be treated like a typical Japanese schoolgirl.”

Akane’s analysis of Sonia proves correct, because when she shows up (after Peko, Byakuya, Nekomaru, and Hiyoko) she’s beyond thrilled to see a proper, traditional meal waiting for her. It’s almost sad, Teruteru thinks, how excited she is to see something so mundane. 

“This is quite delicious,” she tells him between bites of rice. “My greatest compliments to the chef! Did you know that American breakfast foods are some of the sweetest in the world? Or that many countries use some sort of legume as a base protein in the absence of meat or fish?”

“If you really want to try a proper Japanese breakfast, you better eat natto too. That’s what real Japanese people like- only stupid uncultured foreigners stick to the fish and veggies.” Hiyoko declares with a derisive glance at Sonia. Teruteru takes a quick glance at the plates of the other students and notes that, contrary to Hiyoko’s statement, she appears to be the only one who served herself any of the frankly repulsive dish.

For a moment, Teruteru considers speaking up to contradict the foul-mouthed gremlin. He’s certain this is all a setup- Sonia will, predictably, dislike what might be the most controversial dish in all of Japan, and Hiyoko will burst into crocodile tears and hurl insults. There is, in fact, no way this will end in anything other than an utter mess. But Sonia is already taking a bite before he can figure out what to say.

“Thank you Saionji-san! This is indeed quite delicious and I’m fortunate to have such a lovely friend to teach me about the true intricacies of proper breakfast!” And then, to the horror of both Teruteru and Hiyoko, Sonia goes in for another spoonful. 

The rest of the day, Teruteru spends, predictably,  in the kitchen. Once again, he’s decided to treat his classmates to an elaborate kaiseki for dinner. He knows that tonight is the night Monokuma will host his comedy routine, throwing them all into uncertainty and mistrust. He’s still not sure what to do- surely Nagito will plan a murder with or without his involvement- but at least he wants one good night of memories before he’s forced to do it all over again.

Once again, he invites Byakuya, Nagito and Sonia to come help. This time, however, he also asks Akane and Fuyuhiko and, recalling the events of breakfast, Hiyoko to join him. They all accept, much to his surprise. In fact, when he thinks about it, Teruteru can’t help but feel like his classmates are ever so slightly different, compared to how they were the first time he lived these days. Sonia, despite her continued desire to be treated normally, seems more comfortable putting herself forward as a leader. Fuyuhiko is less prickly, Hiyoko no less prickly but somewhat less cruel- more mischievous than anything. Maybe, Teruteru thinks, this comes from knowing them all better now. Or maybe they were always like this but he was too wrapped up in being flirtatious to notice.

There’s something about being in a kitchen with friends that’s so unlike cooking alone. There’s laughter, for one, and easy conversation that never seems to stop, only pause for a moment before they’re moving on to the next topic, punctuated by Teruteru’s expert direction.

Somewhere in this mess of food and friendship, Teruteru lets a comment about “my little siblings” slip out.

“You have younger siblings too, huh Teruteru?” Akane asks curiously. “I got a whole bunch of lil’uns waiting for me if- if we figure out a way to get off this island.”

Teruteru freezes for a minute. He had never, not once in all these loops, thought about the fact that his classmates might have families waiting for them too. “Yeah, a younger brother and sister,” he replies distantly. “We don’t get along much, but they were being considered for Hope’s Peak too. Maimi does Baroque-era Ballroom dancing and Hirohiko was noticed for his skill at hosting.”

“Huh, neat! I wonder who else has siblings in our class,” Akane ponders. “Maybe Koizumi? She’s got that dependable older sister kinda vibe, don’t you think?”

“I have a twin,” Fuyuhiko offers, much to Teruteru’s surprise. “She’s kinda a needy brat- kept petitioning the board to let her in as the ultimate little sister of all things so we could be in the same class.”

“Wow, the baby-faced gangster has a little sister? Didn’t think you were the type to be a sister-loving freak.” Hiyoko snips. 

“Aw hell no!” Fuyuhiko looks disgusted by the very thought. “Natsumi is- ugh that’s disgusting. Besides,” his cheeks go slightly pink, “there’s someone else I-” and then his mouth shuts tight like a clam and all of Hiyoko’s badgering won’t get him to finish his sentence.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Nagio asks quietly from Teruteru's side. “Seeing them all getting along… it inspires hope, don’t you think?” And he sounds so horribly earnest that Teruteru can’t quite reconcile this Nagito with the killer he really is.

After Monokuma’s stand up routine, Akane grabs his arm to hold him back. “Hey,” she says, voice far duller than Teruteru is used to. “I just thought… well, you’ve got a family waiting for you too, yeah? You must be- you must be worried about them. About what happened in those years we forgot.”

Teruteru freezes for a moment. “Yeah,” he admits quietly, “I guess I- my ma was real sick before I left. She was- she told me she would be able to handle running our restaurant until I was done with school but she used to collapse sometimes, from working too hard.”

Akane pulls him in for a sudden hug and he’s so surprised he doesn’t even think about where his face is relative to her chest, doesn’t even bother savoring it. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Yeah that’s… that’s what I thought too. Where I’m from, it’s hard to get food most days. Lotta dead bodies. Lotta real creeps. I didn’t want to go to Hope’s Peak, cause the lil’uns would be alone. If it’s been two years-”

Akane doesn’t have to finish her sentence, because it’s what Teruteru’s been thinking too. If it’s been two years, who knows what’s waiting for them off of this island.

When Byakuya plans their party, Nagito still pulls the shortest straw. And when they’re setting up, Teruteru still takes him up on his offer of a willing victim. But there’s doubts curling inside Teruteru’s heart, this time. He’s not sure is he wants to take the plunge and commit a murder this time. But if he doesn’t kill Nagito, Nagito will just kill someone else instead. 

He doesn’t want to die, Teruteru thinks. He doesn’t want to kill either. He doesn’t want to wake up on the beach and have to meet his friends over and over again before watching their faces as they die. 

But he doesn’t know what to do, either.

The party starts, the same as he remembers. He’s going through the motions, counting down the minutes until the clock strikes 11:30 and the power cuts off. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. Maybe he’ll be able to decide in the moment. Maybe no matter what he picks won’t matter and he’ll just wake up on the beach tomorrow and every choice he made will have been meaningless.

The air conditioner beeps. Teruteru’s hands shake as he makes his way into the crawlspace below the building by the light of a portable stove. He pauses, weapon held aloft. Between the slits in the floorboards he can see the glow of the tape and nothing else. It would be easy, so easy, to repeat the motion he's done a hundred times already, to plunge his weapon into Nagito's willing, beating heart and yet- and yet he pauses, hands shaking, and thinks for a moment of the look on his classmates' faces during his graduation. 

There is no hope here, Teruteru realizes. There is no life outside this island that is worth the lives of everyone else. There are no memories more meaningful than the ones he has the opportunity to make now. He's been given chance after chance, and for what? To kill and be killed in turn? So he pauses, just for a moment, and turns away from the false hope that Monokuma has provided.

When the lights turn back on there is a body and it’s Nagito’s, but this time it isn’t Teruteru who’s hand is responsible. It isn’t Byakuya either, they deduce in the trial. No, this time there is no blackened at all, only a horrible suicide meant to jumpstart a life of mutual killing. 

Monokuma seems disappointed that they figured it out and that he’s been deprived of an execution. In retaliation- or maybe just because he can- he exposes Teruteru’s preparations for maybe, possibly killing someone at the party.

Even so, there’s no greater relief than waking up somewhere other than the beach the next morning. Even if he is hogtied and left in the abandoned building just in case he tries to kill someone (again). Even if it takes four whole days and a murder for him to be untied again.

At least, Teruteru thinks as he stretches out stiff limbs, that’s four days he hasn’t lived before.

The second class trial is- interesting. Having never lived this long before, and having been tied up since the last trial, Teruteru has no idea what exactly is going on for most of the conversation. He does, however, remember that Fuyuhiko has a younger sister and brings it up when they discuss the game Monokuma left in the park.

Things go downhill from there. When Peko talks about her childhood as Fuyuhiko’s bodyguard, Teruteru thinks of their day in the kitchen, of Fuyuhiko blushing as he mentioned already having feelings for someone. And so when Peko insists that she’s nothing more than a tool, Teruteru already knows that that argument will fall apart the moment Fuyuhiko opens his mouth.

The days following the second class trial are- odd. Hiyoko builds a shrine. Monokuma forces them to watch a truly horrible movie. Fuyuhiko remains in the hospital. Teruteru makes classic festival food and they gather on the beach in yukata to watch fireworks. Ibuki puts on a concert that only Hiyoko seems to actually enjoy. 

Akane picks a fight with Monokuma and for one horrible moment Teruteru thinks the only person who might actually be his friend on this island is going to die too. And then she doesn’t but Nidai is in the hospital too.

It’s worlds better than repeating the same three days over and over again, but Teruteru can’t help but wonder what horrors the future has in store for them. Dead friends and dead siblings are all their lost memories have to offer, and his classmates are dropping like flies. Dread and despair lurk around every corner, and Teruteru doesn’t know what to do. 

He wants to be better, wants to do better for his classmates- his friends. But even if he doesn’t kill, that doesn’t stop others from doing it.

The next day, Teruteru wakes up feeling… unwell. Akane Owari, on the other hand, wakes up feeling perfectly fine.

Chapter Text

I

Hiyoko Saionji wakes up freezing. She shouldn’t be, (the soft warmth of the sun and the sand should permeate the cold) but she is. She remembers everything with crystal clarity- the island, that filthy pig Tsumiki with a scalpel to her throat, Big Sis Mahiru… She remembers it but none of it’s happened yet because her classmates are sitting around her looking confused but not as dead as they should be.

She’s not exactly thrilled to see Hanamura alive and breathing, and even less thrilled to see Pekoyama and her baby-faced Yakuza boss seemingly no worse for wear. But all of that goes out the window when she sees Mahiru, still asleep, but very much alive. 

“U-um, are- are you feeling okay?” A familiar, stuttering voice asks, interrupting Hiyoko’s elation. She turns and sees Tsumiki’s barf-ugly face and it takes every bit of poise Hiyoko has not to jump, snarling, onto the murderous bitch and rip her teeth out.

Instead, she turns her nose up and sniffs haughtily. “What’s it to you?” She asks instead. “And geez, can’t you speak without stuttering? You sound like a crappy toy.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry please forgive me!” Tsumiki babbles, just as pathetic as she had been (up until she killed Ibuki, Hiyoko remembers).

“Whatever, pig barf. Just shut up so I don’t have to hear your ugly voice and look at your disgusting face.” 

Ignoring whatever pathetic apologies Tsumiki starts blubbering, Hiyoko gets up, brushes herself off, and starts walking towards the cabins. She has better things to do than hang out with their class’s most pathetic serial killer.

Things like figuring out how to keep Mahiru from dying in a beach house all alone.

“Meeting” her beloved big sis again is harder than Hiyoko thought it would be. The relief is gone, but the anxiety remains and this Mahiru doesn’t even know that she should be scared, might not even realize that they had helped kill someone, more or less. But Hiyoko isn’t a little bitch like Tsumiki so she’s not going to cry about it. Instead, she walks right up to (Big Sis) Mahiru, sticks out her hand, and introduces herself.

“I don’t dance for just anyone, but I guess I could perform for you. You know, if you wanted to take pictures or something,” she finishes, bowing deeper than she would to anyone else.

Mahiru’s eyes light up in something that’s not quite amusement but also not exactly the excitement of a new project. “It would be an honour” is all she says though, and Hiyoko tries to keep herself from smiling in smug satisfaction.

The party happens just like it did the first time, spare the fact that Hiyoko bullies everyone into more pictures. Maybe it’s paranoia talking, but if there’s another trial Hiyoko wants all the evidence they can get. And, if not, it’s a good way for her big sis to show off how amazing her talent is.

Mahiru helps her redo her hair and fix her kimono after a bath. It’s nice to feel clean (and avoid the rude comments of her less cultured classmates). It’s even better to be able to mock Tsumiki for the way she smells without being a hypocrite. It’s less nice to see Mahiru’s slight frown whenever Hiyoko decides to remind her classmates of their place but, well, Mahiru doesn’t remember what these people are capable of. 

When that Hanamura creep makes a pass at her, Hiyoko finds herself hoping he still has the guts to stab their fearless leader, if only so she can watch him suffer and die again. This time, Mahiru comes to her defense immediately, though, and Hiyoko would be lying if she said it didn’t feel nice to have someone else stand up for her for once.

If things go the way they did before, Hiyoko decides she’s not going to sit back and let her big sis get her head bashed in again.

Twilight Syndrome Murder Case is a pretty big name for something that, really, wasn’t that big of a deal at all. Kuzuryuu Natsumi would have killed (probably had killed) for less. Satou was just protecting her friends. So maybe Mahiru knew who the killer was. So maybe they didn’t report a body. So maybe-maybe Hiyoko knew that Mahiru knew and didn’t care, didn’t press her friend about the details. Maybe they should have done something but it’s too late now and Hiyoko refuses to let the only decent person on this island die over ancient history.

She tries to catch Mahiru before she leaves for the beach house but Monokuma appears before she gets there, babbling nonsense, and by the time Hiyoko gets to Mahiru’s cabin she’s gone. Her geta aren’t suited to running, so she kicks them off and sprints (as fast as her kimono allows) towards the beach house. Gravel tears at her feet as she moves and she cries real tears because it hurts and she’s scared and what if she’s too late? What if Mahiru dies again and she’s left alone to be murdered by fucking pig bitch Tsumiki?

By the time the beach house comes into view, Hiyoko is panting, the sun is hot on her skin, and her feet are bleeding, leaving a bloody pathway to the sand. But it doesn’t matter because she’s throwing the door open and Mahiru is there, hands on her hips, yelling at baby Yakuza and his faithful servant.

Mahiru’s “Hiyoko?” is echoed by a disbelieving “Saionji?” from the killer duo. “What are you doing here?”

So Mahiru knows the note was faked. That’s good to know. “I came to stop these dumbasses from murdering you,” she snips out. “Not that I think the boss baby here has the guts to do it. Way more likely he’d push it off on his contract killer.”

“Young Master…” Pekoyama starts, only to be cut off by Kuzuryu.

“Are you fucking with me? Were you in on it too, Saionji? Did you help that Sato bitch kill my sister too?”
“I didn’t touch your skanky sister,” Hiyoko snapped. “And neither did Big Sis Mahiru. It’s not our fault Natsumi was so unlikeable someone decided to take out the trash.”

In the back of her mind, Hiyoko thinks that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the time to pick a fight, but she can’t stop herself. “So do you make Pekoyama call you ‘master’ when you’re fucking-”

Kuzuryu cuts her off with a right hook to the face. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know shit about me and Peko.”

“Yeah? Well I know one of you killed Sato so who knows what kind of depraved shit you do in your free time?”

“Wait,” Mahiru says slowly, drawing heads back to her. “You killed Sato?”

When Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko picks up the bat to knock a killer out of the picture, Pekoyama doesn’t stop him. She’s a little busy holding Hiyoko back. Hiyoko for her part is foaming at the mouth, screaming obscenities that cut out at the sickening crack of a metal bat against a skull.

When Hiyoko was a child she went to the beach with her parents and broke a watermelon with a bat. It made the same sound.

“Shit,” Kuzuryu says, staring at the body. “Shit shit shit. Peko what do we do? I just- I killed her.”

Pekoyama releases her grip on Hiyoko and she slumps to the floor. She could try to run but Pekoyama would catch her easily and what does it matter anyway? She made everything worse. She deserves whatever’s coming.

“Young Master,” Pekoyama says softly. “I’ll fix this for you.”

Hiyoko Saionji joins her big sister on the beach house floor.

II

Hiyoko Saoinji wakes up on the beach with a splitting headache. The memories come back faster this time and it takes everything she has not to burst out crying. Mahiru, dead, on the beach house floor. Pekoyama with a bat in hand. The dull pain and then- nothing. Nothing but waking up covered in sand.

That’s what she gets for trying to be a hero, Hiyoko thinks bitterly to herself. It’s not like her (stupid) talent is good for solving murders or protecting her friends. It’s not like she’s good for anything at all. She made it worse, didn’t she? Just like always.

Tsumiki, Hiyoko thinks half hysterically, is less pathetic than she is. At least she contributes something, as pathetic as she is. At least she was able to put together a plan and stick to it. Maybe if Hiyoko had the guts to kill Pekoyama none of this would have happened.

She’s quieter this time, less… snippy. Seeing Mahiru is just as painful and Hiyoko decides the best thing she can do is stay away from her big sis. Who knows, maybe it was being her friend that made the whole set up possible in the first place. Maybe they’d all be better off without her.

She bites her tongue when her stupid classmates talk about that stupid party, and says she doesn’t want to go. Says she’s scared. And she is just… not for that reason. Togami tries to convince her but she doesn’t budge. She doesn’t insult him either. She just looks at him, wondering if her eyes are as empty as she is.

“I can’t tie my own kimono,” she says flatly. “And I need a bath. So unless you’re secretly the Ultimate Tailor, I’ll be staying in my room figuring out how to tie a stupid obi, thanks.”

Togami looks like he wants to suggest something, but doesn’t. It’s Chiaki who speaks up first, instead.

“You could probably buy a simpler kimono at the store, I think.” She doesn’t say “one that ties in the front” but Hiyoko feels herself bristling all the same. “Or I could help you after the party.”

It’s this second part that makes Hiyoko pause. Chiaki is trying to be a… friend, she guesses. Just like Mahiru did. “If I can’t get it myself, you can come over after the party,” she says graciously. And then, smaller, more vulnerably, she adds, “I’d like that.”

Chiaki doesn’t come over after the party because the party ends with a body, again. Hiyoko, for her part, gave up on tying her special obori obi- the one she’s been wearing for dance competitions since her grandmother gave her the whole set to celebrate her acceptance to Golden Light Girl’s Institute. The kimono itself is a beautiful furisode kimono, one far more valuable than any of her classmates have probably ever worn.

(Except for Natsumi Kuzuryu, her brain supplies. Or she would have if she made it to twenty.)

Instead, it’s with a much cheaper hanhabi obi (also green) that Hiyoko ties her kimono with. Her grandmother would be horrified but, well, she’s not here and Hiyoko is and the alternative is risking someone else dying because they got too close to Hiyoko. And anyway, Chiaki is nice and all but Hiyoko doesn’t want drool on her clothes, thanks.

The trial goes much like it did the first two times, with the added diversion of Hiyoko proving she didn’t stick Togami full of holes. Monomi hands over a transaction log from Rocketpunch that puts Hiyoko firmly on the other side of the island just before the murder, meaning there’s no way she could have done it.

Teruteru is executed, again, but Hiyoko can’t even dredge up joy at the creep being out of the picture. She’s too sick with anxiety over what’s coming next. And, just like her worst fears predicted, Twilight Syndrome Murder Case appears in the park.

It’s Ibuki who finds Mahiru first this time but, unlike Hiyoko, she doesn’t run away. Instead she cries and everyone comes running from the diner. It’s horrible familiar and that’s when it hits Hiyoko: without her as a confidant, Mahiru turned to one of the other girls involved. Without her, she was still lured to the beach house. Without her she still died, alone and angry and Hiyoko did nothing about it.

The trial passes in a blur. This time she’s the one who points out all the empty water bottles, the one who drives a nail into Pekoyama’s coffin. It’s not quite justice but it helps. Kuzuryu is injured again but it’s not fun this time. None of this is fun anymore. (Not that it ever was).

“"I got something I wanna say! Whatever I say after this point... I apologize in advance if I make a mistake! My last name is Kuzuryu! My first name is pronounced, "Fu-yu-hi-ko"! I'm still an inexperienced member of my family's business! From this point forward, I hope we get along so we can get to know each other better!"

Hiyoko moves before she can think twice about it, pulling Kuzuryu out of his (absurdly) low bow. “Don’t be a stupid yakuza goon,” she snaps. “You’re just going to hurt yourself worse and what good will that do, huh? If you’re really sorry you’ll work together with us to find a way out of here instead of acting like a stupid overgrown turkey.”

“She-she’s right,” Tsumiki says timidly. “Please be careful… I th-think you ripped some of y-your sti-stitches.”

Tsumiki pulls Fuyuhiko back towards the hospital. Hiyoko goes back to her cabin and looks at the shrine she made for Mahiru in the corner of her room, and cries.

When Despair Fever breaks out on the island, Hiyoko quarantines herself in the motel again. With her new obi she has no reason to leave, either, and therefore no reason for Tsumiki to slit her throat. Maybe she can’t save Mahiru, Hiyoko thinks grimly, but she can save herself this time. 

Only, it doesn’t quite work that way because when Ibuki’s body is found there’s a second one in the music venue. Kuzuryu, throat slashed open, is tied to a pillar. There’s a dull feeling of shock when she sees the body, the creeping dread that comes with knowing that this was her, this could have been her again.

The trial is strange to watch because it makes so many parts of Hiyoko’s first life make more sense. As much as she hates to admit it, Tsumiki thought things through with her plan. She might have even gotten away with it- because no one would believe Hiyoko if she just accused her out of nowhere- if Kuzuryu hadn’t seen her leaving the hospital and followed. 

‘So this is because of me’ is not the precise thought that crosses Hiyoko’s mind, but it’s there. She had stopped Fuyuhiko from bowing so deeply that all of his stitches ripped, so he was strong enough to follow Tsumiki. And he died for it. 

Hiyoko wonders if he’s with Pekoyama now. She hopes (surprisingly) that they’re happy.

III

Hiyoko- after the absolute disaster of her last lifetime- has decided she’s not going to keep her distance from the only actually decent person on the island if she’s still doomed to die alone. Hiyoko is the only one here who can stop it, apparently, and stop it she will. She’ll stop Kuzuryu and Pekoyama, and she’ll keep that big bitch Mikan from killing anyone. And she’ll get them off the island so they can all go home and have their lives go back to normal.

When she sees Fuyuhiko, though, there’s not that same hatred. Maybe it was finding his body, Hiyoko thinks. Maybe it was seeing him be the victim instead of her. Maybe it was- and here, Hiyoko shudders- realizing he might not be as intentionally horrible as she wants him to be.

It’s easy to hate the person who killed her best friend. It’s a lot harder to hate someone who’s as scared as she is.

Hiyoko doesn’t bother wasting time after their first introductions are out of the way. She’s lived through the first three days on this island enough times that she’s not exactly invested in Hanamura’s murder plot, Komaeda’s hope obsession, or Togami’s party planning. She buys herself new clothes at Rocketpunch, asks if Big Sis Mahiru wants to explore the island with her, and squashes down anything resembling regrets when it comes to Fuyuhiko.

On the night of the party- in a rare, rare show of generosity- Hiyoko deigns to offer her services as a performer for the evening. “All parties need entertainment,” she informs Togami, chin tilted up. “All I need is a stage, and some music of course.”

“Saionji’s dancing would be a nice addition,” Chiaki adds thoughtfully and, wow, Hiyoko hadn’t even noticed her there. “Since the location isn’t all that classy, adding live entertainment should boost our elegance stats and raise our prestige…”

The only problem with the whole “spontaneous performance” decision, Hiyoko thinks, is that she has to ask someone for help with her kimono because she’d rather be skewered by Hanamura than perform in cheap, trashy clothing. Luckily Mahiru-chan is more than willing to help her get ready, and even offers to take photos of her performance.

“Have you ever considered doing something else with your hair?” Mahiru asks from her place in the large bath. Hiyoko cracks an eye open and tilts her head, confused.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, your usual style is nice, of course, but I was thinking about the best angles for taking pictures and your face will be blocked a lot if you style it like that.” Mahiru pauses, frowns, then continues. “You have a really nice face shape, and your hair is long enough that you could do quite a lot with it.”

“Would you help me? I’m- I’m not good with that kinda thing,” Hiyoko blushes and slouches further under the water. 

Mahiru’s hand drifts towards her own hair, seemingly unconsciously. “I don’t know, Saionji-san,” she mumbles. “I don't have much experience with hair styles. Mine’s always been short.”

“You should call me Hiyoko-chan. And how hard can it be?” 

“Well, I suppose I can do my best, Hiyoko-chan.” Mahiru sounds hesitant, but Hiyoko counts it as a win.

“Thanks Big Sis!” She replies, the nickname slipping out unconsciously. “I mean, um,”

“You can call me that if you want,” Mahiru says. Hiyoko feels hope blossom inside her chest and promises that this will be the last time she watches Mahiru die.

The stage is set up where Hiyoko remembers the two long, rectangular tables being located originally. Togami was stabbed under one of them, and she wonders how this new layout will change things.

Her hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, pinned with an orange and gold kanzashi. They had started with a simple ponytail, but something about her reflection felt wrong and off-putting (like the ghost of something that hadn’t happened yet) and Hiyoko demanded they change it. So, instead, Mahiru had braided the ponytail, then coiled the braid into a bun shape, fixing it in place with a traditional hairpin. Hiyoko touched the flowers- kinmokusei- and swallowed her nerves.

Hiyoko dances and the world stops to watch. 

When her performance ends the sound of applause fills her ears and she can’t help the pleased smile that stretches its way across her face. There’s something about the utter silence that fills a room when she performs, something about the unity of dancer and music and the floor, solid against her feet. 

Hiyoko knows that traditional dance is boring to most people her age. She knows, acutely, that her performances have lulled more than one audience member to sleep. Her most loyal fans are old geezers who despair about the state of kids these days, and creepy lolicons who like the way she looks. She knows this and she hates it, hates that one of the most beautiful parts of her culture is dying out. And she hates everyone around her who throws out tradition for the conveniences of modernity.

And yet- and yet, when she’s surrounded by her classmates, surrounded by their applause and admiration, there’s something warm and fuzzy that beats inside her heart. She can’t remember ever hearing Ibuki play folk music before, but she plays it as well as light music, and with as much skill as her metal music, just without the passion. In the audience, Mahiru’s camera flashes with the regularity only a skilled photographer can manage. 

As her gaze sweeps over the crowd, her eyes meet Sonia’s and there’s another flash of that gross, fuzzy feeling. Hiyoko doesn’t like Sonia. In fact, Hiyoko would go as far as saying she hates Sonia- hates the way the stupid foreigner looks down on them all with her oh-so proper Japanese and her patronizing fetishization of Japanese school life and her utterly perfect life at home. Ultimate fucking Princess Sonia Nevermind is just like every other gaijin that waters down Japanese culture for their own consumption.

Except. Except Sonia is beaming at her, eyes full of genuine admiration as she applauds. And there’s something about that look that makes Hiyoko’s stomach curl unpleasantly in a way that a lesser mortal might call guilt. The feeling wars with the disgusting glow of happiness that comes with being (rightfully) admired.

Hiyoko smashes down those feelings as the lights go out around them.

Class trials have become shockingly mundane after all the iterations Hiyoko’s gone through. She barely winces as Hanamura is executed, more interested in getting on with her life than in watching Monokuma delight in brutality. Why does one pervert dying matter when the most important person on the island is slated to die next? Although, Hiyoko thinks, Hanamura seems to be way less of a creep this time around. If she cared more, she might wonder why.

As it is, Hiyoko leaves the class trial full of dread at the thought of the next motive. The dread only worsens the next morning when Monomi announces that the second island has opened up and the class sets off to explore it. 

On the fifth day on the island- before Monokuma introduces their next motive- Hiyoko finds herself seeking out Sonia. She’s not exactly sure why; it’s not like befriending her will do anything to stop the impending murder, but there’s still a weird feeling in Hiyoko’s stomach whenever she thinks about that dance performance and the way Sonia looked at her, and she wants to do something about it, even if she doesn’t know what that something is.

“Ah, Saionji-san! Are you feeling well on this fine afternoon?” Sonia asks when Hiyoko knocks on her cottage door. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing fine.” Hiyoko brushes the overly polite greeting off. “Hey, you like Japanese stuff, right?”

“Well, yes. I have a great admiration for Japanese culture.” Sonia doesn’t sound anything as lowly as confused but Hiyoko is smart enough to recognize the currents under the words.

“Great. So, what do you like best about it? Tea ceremony? Dance? Flower arrangement? Fashion? Architecture? Festivals? Street food? Or are you one of those freaks who only likes us for anime and samurai?” 

“I- well, I must confess I have a deep love of Japanese drama. Particularly, the ones aimed at women between the ages of twenty and thirty-four, produced just before Japan’s economic bubble burst. No other drama can compare in terms of quality, trendiness, and energy! Truly, no other era of entertainment can compare! You cannot comprehend how many times I’ve watched ‘I Will Arrest Your Eyes’.”

No matter what Hiyoko had expected or prepared for, finding out that Sonia’s interest in Japanese culture started and ended with dramas of all things could not possibly have been one of them. She almost thinks she would have preferred one of those Bushido weirdos, actually. 

“You’re pathetic. What kind of loser thinks dramas are the best example of Japanese culture, huh? No wonder you’;re so crappy at making friends or talking like a normal person if dramas are your base for how the world works.” Hiyoko gives her best condescending look- the one that says “you are no better than an ant under my foot” and sniffs derisively. “I suppose I have no choice but to introduce you to the real parts of our culture.”

Sonia smiles, despite Hiyoko’s rude tone, and it takes every ounce of cruelty Hiyoko has not to smile back. Whatever, it’s not like she actually likes or cares about Sonia. She just wants someone to buy her candy from Rocketpunch. 

If she was maybe 10% better at video games and didn’t want to upset Big Sis Mahiru, Hiyoko would just play the stupid game herself and get rid of the stupid pictures before that stupid gangster baby ever got the chance. Unfortunately, breaking the promise everyone made immediately after making it seems like the kind of stupid decision that would make everyone mad. And Monokuma would probably just cheat and give other people the photos anyway, the little rat bastard. 

The second option would be to try and stop anyone else from playing, but that seems like a really good way to make everyone a lot more suspicious of her since they all already agreed not to play. And she can’t suggest a mandatory buddy system or a rotating guard on the game because no one else knows about Pekoyama. 

She could agree to meet Mahiru somewhere else, maybe, and not insist on sending secret notes and avoiding being seen together. Maybe the diner? Big Sis might not like having a stupid boy around, but an extra witness- one who isn’t involved- that might be enough.

It’ll have to be enough, because Hiyoko doesn’t know what else she can do.

Just like the first time, Big Sis Mahiru approaches her and asks if they can meet up and talk about the motive, and just like the first time, Hiyoko agrees. But this time, she suggests that they meet up at the diner. Before, they hadn’t agreed on any specific location, so there was no reason to doubt the beach house suggestion from the fake letters. She also sets the time- 3:30 PM.

Hiyoko doesn’t even bother reading the letter that gets dropped off in her mailbox. She already knows what it will say, after all. And she knows what Mahiru’s letter will say too, so it’s just a matter of arriving at the diner at 2:30 instead of 3:30. That stupid loser mechanic will be there, so fugly ass Pekoyama and her dipshit baby gangster boyfriend will have to either kill him (no big loss) or give up on the plan.

There’s a spring in her step when she leaves her cabin, and Hiyoko thinks maybe things will finally go her way.

In hindsight, Hiyoko thinks, she really should have read the letter to make sure nothing was different. 

Mahiru’s body is still found at the beach house, but this time it’s that dumbass mechanic getting set up to take the fall. Hiyoko can’t even be angry about her Big Sis’s death, because she’s too busy being angry with herself. Maybe that’s why she takes to participating in the trial with a vengeance. 

She presents the letter she never opened as evidence and bites her tongue until it bleeds when she sees the line that would have made her rethink her plan- “let’s change the meeting place to the beach house so no one hears what we talk about, okay?”

She never noticed it before, but really they have Sonia to thank for catching Pekoyama’s skanky ass in such a stupid lie. A serial killer for justice- yeah right. Pekoyama’s just a stupid attack dog with no thoughts beyond how to best suck off her asshole master. Who the fuck speaks Spanish besides prissy miss princess, though, so points to the gaijin tourist or whatever.

Hiyoko hates herself. She hates herself for getting so caught up in thinking she had a good idea, thinking she might have figured out a solution to the problem when she knows full well she’s not that smart. She’s never been that smart. She’s just a foul-mouthed little bitch who can’t do anything for herself.

The trial ends. Pekoyama is executed. Hiyoko spits out a mouth full of blood from biting back all the things she’d like to say about that.

IV

It’s a relief to wake up on the beach with the taste of iron in her mouth, Hiyoko thinks. Three extra chances, and she hasn’t gotten things right even once. Well, she might not be smart, but Hiyoko is nothing if not stubborn. Fourth time’s the charm- she won’t let her Big Sis die again.

The first order of business is to buy herself a new obi. Second order of business is to make herself a new friend.

“Ah, Saionji-san! How are you holding up in this most unexpected situation?” Sonia Nevermind is polite, overly formal, and very obviously confused when Hiyoko seeks her out before anyone else. Hiyoko’s working on a tight timeline here- Monokuma is going to show up and announce the killing game as soon as they relax. Befriending Sonia is essential to making sure Big Sis Mahiru doesn’t die again.

“Well, I thought you probably wouldn’t know much about normal school life, since you’re not Japanese,” she starts. Maybe she should have thought this through a little more, Hiyoko thinks distantly. Well, too late now, her mouth is moving before she can think any better of it. “And you know I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you and thinking you only wanted to go to school here cause you watched a bunch of J dramas and thought actual Japanese people were going to be like that or something. Not that I think you’re like that, just that, you know, there’s a lot of foreigners who watch anime and ignore all the actual culture, and I thought that if we were friends I could tell you when you got things wrong, and then you’d be able to have an actual normal school life. Instead of being a total weirdo people were only nice to because you’re a princess and being rude would probably be an international diplomacy issue.”

“... Thank you, Saionji-san.” Sonia says after a very long pause. Well, it’s not every day someone makes an offer that generous, Hiyoko thinks.

“You can call me Hiyoko,” Hiyoko says as magnanimously as she can. Wow, she’s really nailing this whole “being nice” thing.

Now that she’s friends with Sonia, Hiyoko just has to avoid insulting any of her other stupid classmates (to their faces at least). Big Sis Mahiru doesn’t like it when she puts those idiots in their place, and it’s honestly getting a little boring anyway. Maybe it’s just her imagination, but the little cockroaches seem a little less annoying this time around.

She doesn’t have any real hope of preventing Togami’s murder, but she offers to dance as entertainment at the party anyway. She wants everyone to appreciate Big Sis Mahiru’s talent, and she can show her new friend some actual Japanese culture while she’s at it.

“I’m not going to dance unless everyone comes to watch, though,” she insists and stares down Kuzuryu while she says it. “If even one person doesn’t show up, I’m going to assume it’s cause they’re a nasty little rat who doesn’t care about supporting the arts and is probably just trying to ruin things for everyone else.”

Hiyoko’s new friend proves herself very useful by following up that proclamation with “oh, I would love the chance to see such an esteemed artform. It would be most disappointing if one person spoiled it for the rest of us.”

“It would be a good bonding activity for all of us… I think,” Chiaki adds. 

This is the point where Hiyoko expects Kuzuryu to loudly insist that he doesn’t plan on getting along with anyone (again) and storm off. Then, Hiyoko will kindly agree to dance anyway, and everyone will think she’s being the bigger person. And then they’ll start to hate the stupid baby ganger so when she reveals his plot to murder Big Sis Mahiru everyone will believe her and hate him even more.

Except, that doesn’t work because for some reason, Kuzuryu chooses to speak up with a completely different comment.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll come to your stupid get-along party you wimpy-ass motherfuckers.”

So there are two differences to the party. The first is that Hiyoko dances, and the second is that Kuzuryu shows up. Neither of these things changes the fact that Togami ends up skewered at the end of the night, though.

Hiyoko has to bite back a few really good insults when Komaeda slips into his weird hope delusions in the middle of the trial, but she’s made it this long without saying anything mean to pig barf Tsumiki and she’s not going to tank her reputation over someone as pathetic as him. It’s just like being in an interview, Hiyoko thinks to herself. You have to hold your tongue and behave yourself, otherwise you’ll get ripped to shreds.

Monokuma rolls out his second motive, and Hiyoko has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Part of her wants to just lay out the whole story about what happened and who did what- just rip the stupid bandaid off. The talentless Kuzuryu bullied her Big Sis, so Sato killed her. Baby Gangster Kuzuryu killed Sato to get revenge. End of story, eye for an eye, case closed. Whatever.

Everyone agrees to ignore the game, just like before. What a bunch of two-faced liars, Hiyoko thinks to herself. She’s never played the stupid game, not in any life, but she’s pretty sure every single one of her stupid classmates has at some point. Keeping them from playing the game isn’t what’s important anyway, it’s just making sure what happens after goes differently that matters.

“Hiyoko-san! Did you want to go to the market together? I can purchase your gummies for you, if you’d like.” 

Hiyoko turns to face Sonia, who must have ran to catch up to her after breakfast. She doesn’t look out of breath, or like she’s been exerting herself at all- part of being a princess, Hiyoko supposed.

“Hmm… well, if you’re buying me gummies, I can’t really say no.” Hiyoko tilts her head slightly. “Did you want something?”

They start walking together, Sonia shortening her steps to match Hiyoko’s pace. It’s annoyingly considerate of her.

“I wanted to compliment you on your performance. It’s unfortunate that the party ended on such a tragic note, and we had to participate in a trial. I would have liked to compliment your skill sooner. It is truly impressive.”

Hiyoko shrugs, uncomfortable. “I have to be good. It’s what I was scouted for, right? If I was any less skilled, I wouldn’t be here. I’d just be a stupid reserve course student or something.” Like Natsumi Kuzuryu, she thinks. But she doesn’t say that part out loud, because she’s not supposed to know who Natsumi Kuzuryu is.

“Do you agree with Komaeda-san, then? That ‘talent’ is what matters most?”

Hiyoko makes a face, disgusted. “Ew, no? I don’t believe anything that creep thinks. He’s just a weirdo who says he’s worthless because he wants everyone to disagree. I hate pathetic people like that. If you really think you’re trash, you should either get better or just shut up about it and stop making it everyone else’s problem.”

“Hm,” Sonia contemplates, “so it’s not talent or a lack of that determines someone’s worth? You believe that inferiority is not a natural state of being, but rather something that can be overcome? And if it can’t be overcome, it should be hidden?”

“I don’t know about dumb stuff like that. I just don’t like people who are jealous and act like they’re the victim because they aren’t as good as someone else. Either get better or just shut up about it. Someone has to be on the bottom of the hierarchy, you know?”

“And you’ve made sure that you aren’t on the bottom?”

Hiyoko smiles brightly. “Yeah, exactly! See, I knew you were smart, Big Sis Sonia!”

When Big Sis Mahiru stops her and asks if they can meet up to discuss the motive, Hiyoko agrees without hesitation.

“Is there a reason we can’t just talk about it now, Big Sis?” Hiyoko asks when Mahiru suggests splitting up and avoiding being seen with each other for a while.

“Um,” Mahiru begins, “I just don’t want to cause problems or stir up concerns with our classmates, and I wanted to ask a couple other people to meet up too. It might create a misunderstanding if we’re all seen talking to each other so…”

“I don’t get it,” Hiyoko says flatly. “What’s wrong with us hanging out together? I want to help you out if you’re feeling upset, since you’ve helped me out so much before.” Except, Hiyoko realizes, most of the times Mahiru helped her out were in past lives, not this one. “I mean, the girl’s only gathering was a lot of fun. And you took such pretty photos of my dancing, and helped solve Mister Ham Hands’s murder. So if I can help my suuuuuper reliable Big Sis, I wanna do that.”

Some of the anxiety seems to fade from Mahiru’s face as she gives Hiyoko a small smile. “Well, do you want to come to my cabin, then?”

Big Sis Mahiru’s cabin is decorated with photos of their smiling classmates. It makes the set of photos inside the envelope Mahiru pulls out stand out even more- Natsumi Kuzuryu’s lifeless corpse a stark contrast to everyone else’s lively expressions. She might have been a bully, Hiyoko thinks uncomfortably, but she probably deserved to keep smiling like everyone else. Mahiru wouldn’t have wanted her to die.

“I received these photos, with a note saying they were the reward for playing Monokuma’s game and asking if I knew anything about them,” Mahiru explains. “They look like real photographs, not staged or manipulated images. So I went and played the game myself and I’m worried we did something awful back in our school days.”

Mahiru explains the plot of the came, and her theories on who was which girl in the game, even though Hiyoko already knows. “Except,” Mahiru finishes, “it doesn’t really sound like us? I’ve never heard you say anything so awful to Mikan-chan like the girl in the game did. So I’m not really sure… if it really happened, what caused you to treat other people so awfully? It just feels like some sort of dirty trick Monokuma is playing, but if I really helped someone cover up a crime, I’d like to make amends.”

Ah, that’s right. In this life, Hiyoko hasn’t expressed her opinions on trashy Tsumiki so of course Big Sis Mahiru is even more confused about the game.

“If the game is real, it’s probably a trick like you said. Cause Monokuma isn’t going to show us anything that would make us look good, right? Only the stuff that looks really bad or mean, since he wants us to go and commit a murder. So maybe you already made amends but we just all forgot about that part and Monokuma isn’t telling us.”

“If none of us remember it though, shouldn’t I at least apologize again? I don’t want to be the kind of person who hides behind excuses like ‘I don’t remember’ or ‘I probably already apologized’.”

“I mean, you could if you wanted to. But I think that will probably just make everyone a lot more mad, cause then it looks like you’re trying to be a goody two shoes. Besides, if this Sato killed the blonde Kuzuryu girl, and then she also died, isn’t that just karma? Maybe you did something wrong by covering it up, but it’s not like Sato got away with it because of what you did.”

Mahiru frowns, clearly not convinced. “Revenge is just wrong, though. No one person has the right to judge others for their crimes, that’s for the legal system to decide. If we all take turns taking revenge, then no one will be left eventually!”

“Well,” Hiyoko says, not very nicely, “if these photos are true, you’re the one who made using the legal system not an option. So if there’s no way to get justice the right way, maybe revenge is the only thing you can do.”

Hiyoko isn’t exactly sure why, but the eighth day on the island arrives with no additional bodies. She isn’t really sure what happened with Kuzuryu, Pekoyama, or the file of photos, so she waits anxiously for the other shoe to drop. But the ninth and tenth days pass just as peacefully, up until Akane tries to attack Monokuma.

On the eleventh day, Akane and Komaeda come down with the despair disease (again). This time, though, the third patient is her beloved Big Sis. It’s like the entire universe is conspiring to kill her, Hiyoko despairs. If it’s not the beach house and that nasty four-eyed troll, it’ll be Tsumiki’s skanky whore ass. And there’s no way Hiyoko can even warn them all, because who would believe her?

So Hiyoko does the only thing she can do, and volunteers to help take care of their sick classmates before Hinata can. If that stupid piece of pig shit tries to hurt her big sis, well, Hiyoko will sooner die via execution than let that happen. 

It’s a good thing she’s been behaving herself, Hiyoko thinks, otherwise there’s no way anyone would have agreed.

Hiyoko takes care of Mahiru and hopes that creepy ass Komaeda will just kick the bucket this time and save them all the trouble. Unlike Akane, who cries all the time and reminds Hiyoko of Mikan more and more with every passing minute, Mahiru isn’t a particularly difficult patient. She’s quiet, mostly, but when she speaks it’s cruel and apathetic, instead of her usual responsible and practical tone.

With Pekoyama still alive, Kuzuryu had no reason to cut his stomach open, so there’s one less patient in the hospital. Since Ibuki isn’t sick, Tsumiki won’t be able to kill her. As long as Hiyoko sticks close to Big Sis Mahiru, Tsumiki will either kill Akane (sucks to be her) or Komaeda (good riddance). Or maybe Komaeda will just die of the disease. Do they still have to have a trial if someone dies from an accident? Maybe Monokuma will hear her out if she argues it was medical malpractice.

Really, it doesn’t matter one bit to Hiyoko who dies, as long as it’s not her beloved Big Sis.

Clearly, Hiyoko thinks as she looks at the scene in front of her in dismay, she should have been more specific in her mental monologue.

There is a body, of course, and just like she wanted, the body is not Mahiru’s. Actually, in almost any other circumstance she would be pretty happy with this outcome because the body belongs to Mikan Tsumiki, which means that the skanky whore who killed Hiyoko finally got what was coming to her. The problem, of course, is the other person in the room.

“Oh. I didn’t think you’d wake up so quickly,” says the apathetic voice of Tsumiki’s killer. Their hands drop the length of rope still wrapped round Tsumiki’s lifeless neck as they turn to face Hiyoko, head tilting to the side with cold indifference. “Are you going to tell on me?”

Hiyoko takes a step back, then turns and runs as fast as she can away from the lifeless gaze of Mahiru Koizumi.

The class trial for the murder of Mikan Tsumiki is nothing like any trial Hiyoko has been involved in before. For one, there was no attempt to cover up the crime or create a scapegoat. Mahiru had simply sat next to Tsumiki’s corpse until Hiyoko returned with the rest of their classmates. 

She had confessed too, when everyone arrived and again when Monokuma commenced the trial. The crappy little robot seemed irritated at how quickly Mahiru confessed, in fact. Hiyoko guessed he probably wanted a little more drama, a little more controversy. Not much excitement when your killer doesn’t even try to get away with it, right?

“Why’d you do it, though?” Hinata asks, clearly frustrated.

“Why not?” Mahiru responds. “She kept smiling at me, and it irritated me. I hate smiling faces the most. So I strangled her until her smile went away.”

That’s not right, and Hiyoko knows it’s not right. Big Sis Mahiru loved to see everyone smile- the photos in her cabin were proof of that. It’s just the stupid despair disease, making everyone act unlike themselves. Big Sis Mahiru never would have killed anyone if she wasn’t sick.

But none of that matters, because they still have to vote. And when it’s Hiyoko’s turn, she selects the portrait of her beloved Big Sis before she can change her mind. She wants Mahiru to live, but she wants to survive more.

“Iiiiiiiit’s punishment time,” Monokuma declares, and before Hiyoko can blink, a metal collar is wrapped around Mahiru’s throat and pulling her away. The screen that tallied up their votes switches to a live feed of what looks like some sort of circus tent.

There’s three vats filled with sinister, bubbling liquid on the ground, and a tightrope stretched above them. Mahiru is deposited on one end of the platform, and when the camera zooms in on her face, Hiyoko can see the emptiness that indicated her infection is gone, replaced with fear and confusion. Mahiru will not have the luxury of dying in apathy.

A glowing exit sign awaits Mahiru, as long as she can cross the tightrope without falling. With nowhere else to turn, Mahiru takes the first step and Hiyoko holds her breath. Maybe- maybe if she gets across, Monokuma will change his mind. Maybe Big Sis Mahiru can still-

Hiyoko’s hopes are dashed almost immediately though, because the second Mahiru steps fully onto the rope, the flash of cameras fills the arena. Mahiru wobbles, closes her eyes, and tries to keep her balance as she steps forward. A hundred Monokumas, all with cameras flashing, crowd around the tightrope, swarming Mahiru like flies. Or, Hiyoko thinks queasily, like paparazzi photographers.

“Smile! Smile for us Mahiru!” One of the Monokumas chants. The camera flashes again, and that’s when Mahiru falls.

Before she hits the chemicals below, a rope wraps itself around her ankle and swings her around the ring. Hiyoko feels sick to her stomach, but she can’t look away. Mahiru’s body circles once, twice, and then plunges into the first vat, helpfully labeled “developer”. Then into the second, “stop bath”, and finally the third, “fixer”. 

When the rope pulls back again, Mahiru’s body is unrecognizable.

V

Hiyoko wakes up on the beach, turns onto her side, and immediately vomits. She can’t get the memory of Big Sis Mahiru’s execution out of her head. It was bad enough seeing the aftermath of her meeting Kuzuryu in the beach house, but a baseball bat to the head paled in comparison to the senseless cruelty of Monokuma’s executions.

Hiyoko is a cruel person (and she knows she’s a cruel person, she’s never denied that). She hadn’t cared one bit about Hanamura’s execution, and she felt like Pekoyama deserved every moment of her own. But this? This is different, because Big Sis Mahiru had been doing everyone a favor killing that stupid skank and what did she get in return? 

Hiyoko swallows a mouthful of bile and sits up. She isn’t going to let this happen again. Big Sis Mahiru isn’t going to die in the beach house, and she isn’t going to become a killer either. 

Playing nice with everyone seemed to have worked out pretty well the last time, so Hiyoko does her best to repeat it again. She doesn’t make any rude comments about pig barf Tsumiki, she doesn’t bully Souda even when he’s especially incompetent. She doesn’t even give Pekoyama a dirty look or call Kuzuryu a foul-mouthed shit stain.

It’s just like a performance, Hiyoko tells herself. She’s been nicer to worse people than her classmates- creepy middle aged men who loved her face and body more than her skills, who wanted signed photo cards like she was some sort of teenage idol. Hiyoko isn’t a wimp, and if this is the price she pays to keep her Big Sis alive, well, she’s done worse things for smaller rewards.

The second day on the island in Hiyoko’s sixth life does not begin exactly like every other second day has. When she walks into the hotel to meet up with everyone, a traditional Japanese breakfast is waiting for her. Or, not for “her” specifically, but it’s laid out on the table and disgusting Hanamura is looking smug beyond words as Akane scarfs down a bowl of rice and chases it with miso soup. She’s not even using chopsticks, Hiyoko notices, disgusted.

“Oh! How delightful, a traditional Japanese breakfast!” Sonia Nevermind claps her hands together and beams. Hiyoko braces herself for some disgusting comment from Hanamura.

But it doesn’t come. Something is really wrong, Hiyoko thinks. She tries to remember the last time Hanamura made a pass at someone, but she’s coming up blank. Is pretending to be a cute and innocent classmate really having this big of an impact on everyone? Somehow, that doesn’t feel right.

“If you really want a traditional Japanese experience, you have to try natto,” Hiyoko suggests. Maybe that was a bit nastier than it should have been- no one actually likes natto after all.

“I would be delighted! Chef Hanamura, may I trouble you for some natto to have with this meal?”

“For you, mademoiselle, it is no trouble at all.” Hanamura winks and retreats to the kitchen.

“Um, you know you don’t really have to eat natto. I mean, most foreigners don’t like it, so if you don’t try it, no one is going to think you’re just a stupid tourist or anything,” Hiyoko tries to backtrack. 

Sonia just smiles blandly. “I’m more than delighted to experience all parts of normal Japanese school life, Saionji-san. After all, this is a part of ‘real’ Japanese culture, is it not?”

“You can just call me Hiyoko,” Hiyoko responds numbly. She feels like she’s heard those words before. She feels like she’s said those words before- but not in this life. Something is very wrong here. Or maybe living through the same two weeks over and over again is driving her crazy.

Hanamura comes back and Hiyoko watches in fascinated horror as Sonia eats a bowl of natto without flinching and asks for seconds.

Hiyoko runs into Sonia again the next day, while she’s on her way to Rocketpunch for gummies and a new obi.

“Ah, Hiyoko-san! Thank you again for your recommendations on traditional Japanese cuisine.”

Fucking hell, Hiyoko thinks. Is this what happens when people think you’re nice? They just come up to you and try to talk to you? She should make it clear that Hiyoko Saionji isn’t a weakling who does things for free. 

“Well, you must have a pretty refined palette if you can appreciate the flavor. If you want to show your appreciation, I suppose you can buy me some gummies at Rocketpunch. But not the lemon ones- I hate sour things.”

“I must confess,” Sonia admits gravely, “that I am not overly fond of sour plums myself. I would be more than happy to express my gratitude in this manner.”

They walk quietly until they reach the market. Hiyoko walks to where the selection of clothing is and briefly looks at the more simple yukata. She’s never been, but she knows her classmates will watch fireworks on the beach in yukata, after Big Sis Mahiru is already dead. If they make it past Twilight Syndrome Murder Case, Hiyoko promises herself, she’ll make an effort to attend this time.

Hiyoko grabs two items from off the shelf and walks to the checkout.

That night, Hiyoko dances at the party again, but this time she’s wearing a simple pink kimono tied with a red obi. When she pulls her hair up, it’s in a single ponytail. She remembers doing her hair like this once before, with Big Sis Mahiru, and feeling like she was looking at a ghost. Well, she’s plenty used to seeing ghosts by now. Childish and awful Hiyoko just got Big Sis Mahiru killed. Maybe it’s time to grow up.

Fuyuhiko shows up and watches her dance. Hanamura stabs Togami under the table during the blackout, but this time the knife is hidden in a bunch of ribs instead of meat on the bone. For some reason, Akane is the one who finds the weapon when she treats herself to a little mid-investigation snack.

Whetever. Hiyoko is done trying to piece together how exactly things have gotten so twisted. She’ll take it as a good sign for the future.

Hanamura is executed after another predictable class trial. Komaeda has his little breakdown and everyone finds out what a total weirdo freak he is. At least these things are predictable- Hiyoko thinks the world might end if they ever made it through a trial without Komaeda spiraling into incoherent rambling about hope and despair. 

The fifth day on the island rolls around and Monokuma introduces the next motive. Everyone agrees not to play, but Hiyoko knows that promise isn’t going to last for long. This time though, she’’s going to get ahead of the game and she knows exactly how to do it.

“Hey, Big Sis Chiaki,” Hiyoko says slyly, “do you think you could help me play a game?”

Hiyoko isn’t really sure why the hell Chiaki agreed to play Twilight Syndrome Murder Case for her, but she’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, she stares at the file of photos and tries to decide what she should do with them. 

She could throw them into the ocean, but that would probably get her executed for littering. She could rip them up and throw them away in the kitchen trash, or bury them under her mattress and never show another soul. If no one else sees the photos, there’s no reason for Big Sis Mahiru to die. 

But then again, there’s no way to know if Monokuma will just give anyone who plays the game the same prize. He’s not exactly shy when it comes to breaking the rules, after all, and if it seems like Hiyoko isn’t going to commit a murder, he’ll probably do whatever he can to mess things up for everyone.

So if hiding the photos isn’t an option, she can do one of two things. The first is just to show Big Sis Mahiru and hope things pan out differently when there’s no reason to set up any sort of meeting to discuss them. And the second-

Well. Hiyoko isn’t exactly a fan of the second option, but she’s not a bitch-ass coward either, and she knows that the second option is the only real choice she has if she wants to make sure Big Sis Mahiru doesn’t get mixed up in things this time.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu’s cabin is nothing special. It has the same sort of impersonal, traditional art that Hiyoko’s has- framed calligraphy, a wooden model, a painted divider screen. The most personality Hiyoko can find is in the mountain of snacks on his end table.

“Hmph. The fuck did you want to meet me about, huh? You know nothing good can come of meeting up with someone one on one in this sort of situation.” Kuzuryu crosses his arms and glares at Hiyoko.

“Huuuh? Do you have a reason to kill me, Kuzuryu?” For a moment, panic floods Hiyoko’s entire being. Is she too late? Did he already play the game and get the photos? Is she going to die here? But no, that’s not right because Kuzuryu just looks uncomfortable.

“Look, I’m just saying. You’re a fucking idiot for asking someone to meet you alone. If you pull stupid shit like this, someone is just gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, but this is important, cause if I didn’t meet you alone then someone else is probably gonna die.” Hiyoko pauses, before just laying it all out there. “I played the second motive.”

“And you think it’s enough for someone to get killed over? It’s just a game. You so stupid you mix up games and reality? Besides, I thought you fuckers all agreed not to play as part of your stupid get along club.”

“Yeah, like anyone was actually gonna do that. They just said that cause otherwise they’ll be the first suspect if someone gets killed.” Hiyoko snorts. If only ‘everyone promised’ actually meant anything. “Anyway, I wish it was just a game, but Monokuma gave me these pictures when I cleared it.”

Hiyoko passes the file to Kuzuryu, who pulls the photos out one by one. When he reaches the final photo of Natsumi Kuzuryu, his knuckles go white from how hard he grips the edge of the page.

“Hey Saionji,” Kuzuryu says, voice deceptively calm. “Why the fuck is there a photo of my sister in here?”

“So let me get this straight,” Kuzuryu says after Hiyoko explains the plot of the game. “Some bitch named Sato killed my sister, except I don’t remember it because of our missing memories. And one of our classmates helped cover it up by getting rid of evidence, but I found out anyway and killed that stupid bitch.”

“Yup,” Hiyoko confirms. 

“And so you showed me this… why?”

Well, that’s a good question. Hiyoko decides she’s going to ignore it. “You’re the kinda guy who gets even, right?”

“I’m the heir to the Kuzuryu Clan. To accept any slight is a disgrace to my family and my name. That’s how I was raised, not that any of you fucking normal-ass civilians could understand it.”

“Well duh, if you let people get away with that kinda thing, they’re gonna walk all over you. You’re not the only one from a traditional family. When you’re the best, people get jealous, and when they’re jealous they try to drag you down. So you gotta step on them before they step on you. Show them you aren’t some stupid weakling.” Hiyoko rolls her eyes.

“... Right,” Fuyuhiko agrees, looking confused.

“So you gotta get even, but in this situation, do you think that’s still true?”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Hiyoko sets her shoulders back, “do you think you need to get even over what happened to your sister?”

Fuyuhiko takes a long time to answer Hiyoko’s question. “You said that according to the game, the bitch who killed my sister is dead now?”

“Yeees,” Hiyoko agrees, for probably the hundredth time.

“So I avenged my sister. My sister who was fucking murdered, except I don’t remember it.”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t punish the bitch who helped cover up Natsumi’s death.”

“The game doesn’t show if you got even or not,” Hiyoko corrects.

“Right. So I got even with Sato, but I might not be even with whoever else was involved. And since you’re here, I’m assuming that whoever that was is one of our classmates, so you’re trying to figure out if I’m going to kill that person.”

Was it really that obvious? “Pretty much.”

“Did Sonia Nevermind help kill my fucking sister?”

“... what?” Hiyoko snaps her jaw shut. “Why would you- no, ignore that. Sonia wasn’t involved at all.”

Kuzuryu sighs and rubs his head. “Fucking Monokuma. No way I’m getting a straight answer out of that thing if I ask directly. Look, I was raised to settle the score no matter what it takes. But I don’t trust that fucking teddy bear to not set shit up to get one of us to commit a murder for no reason. So assuming these photos are even real, any revenge I need to get is going to have to wait until we’re off this damn island and I can get the facts straight.”

Explaining the whole situation to Big Sis Mahiru is a lot easier and a lot harder. They play the game together, and Hiyoko shows her the photos. Mahiru is understandably distraught, both by the situation as a whole and her involvement. There’s not a lot of time to deal with all that though, because Hiyoko has a murder to prevent.

“It’s gonna be okay, Big Sis. I already talked to Kuzuryu and you two are going to work things out so we can work together to get off this island.” Hiyoko almost gags at the cringy line, but it works. Mahiru takes a deep breath and pulls herself together.

“So we’re going to apologize and admit our wrongdoing so we can move forward? I mean, what happened to his sister… it’s awful, but he shouldn’t have-”

“Nah,” Hiyoko cuts Mahiru off before she can say something about revenge being wrong. “You’re gonna do Sakazuki Goto.”

Kuzuryu already has two cups waiting for them when Hiyoko returns to his cabin with Mahiru. Pekoyama is there too, which would be interesting if Hiyoko didn’t already know about their whole sordid romance thing. 

Hiyoko made sure to dress Mahiru appropriately in an elaborate kimono, and she’s glad she did because Kuzuryu is also in traditional clothing instead of his usual suit. She guides Mahiru to a kneeling position on one side of the table before taking a step behind her and folding her hands nervously.

“Hey, Kuzuryu, do you have sake too?” Hiyoko asks before Mahiru can ask any stupid questions.

“Listen up! Underage drinking isn’t allowed under any circumstances!” Kuzuryo looks horrified that she would even suggest it, like some kind of wuss. 

“The young master has prepared water to use instead,” Pekoyama clarifies. “The Teuchi Sakazuki will otherwise proceed normally.”

Hiyoko, as their mediator, pours the water into the two cups. If she pours Big Sis Mahiru’s a little bit less full, well, it’s not like she’s familiar enough with the ceremony to understand what it means. Pekoyama notices, though, and looks pleased.

“Once you two drink,” she explains for Mahiru’s benefit, “you’re going back to the way things were before the conflict began. In this case, you’ll be going back to how things were before Natsumi Kuzuryu was murdered.”

Mahiru nods nervously, and together, the two parties lift their cups and drink. Just like she was instructed, Mahiru reaches out a hand. Kuzuryu extends his own, and they meet in the middle. Hiyoko meets Pekoyama’s gaze, and smiles.