danganronpama

[danganronpama]

Theory: The Original Owner of Makoto Naegi’s Dorm Room Was Junko Enoshima

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the dorm layout in Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc...

There’s a mystery that’s always stuck with me:

Why are there only 15 dorm rooms when there were originally 16 students? There had to have been a 16th dorm at some point. So what happened to it and who occupied it? It must have been Mukuro right?

Then there's this oddly specific detail: Makoto Naegi’s bathroom door doesn’t fit the frame properly. Monokuma even comments on it, he tells Makoto he has to lift the door to get it open. It’s the only dorm with this problem.

The game brushes it off as Makoto’s “bad luck,” but come on, would Hope’s Peak really leave a dorm defect like that unfixed for three years?

It doesn’t add up.

And that’s where my theory begins.

What if Makoto’s current dorm room… used to belong to none other than herself Junko Enoshima?

And what if Makoto’s actual original room was the missing 16th dorm. The one next to the trash room and Hifumi?

We know Junko (and Mukuro) had full control of the school layout during the memory-wiping and setup phase. They had the time, authority, and motivation to swap rooms or erase evidence of a dorm entirely.

If a dorm had to be erased, Makoto makes the most sense as the one to lose his.

That hallway where Hifumi, Hiro, and Leon are located, is all boys. Placing Makoto there would maintain the gender logic used in the rest of the dorm assignments. It wouldn't make sense if that was Junko or Mukuro's room. And narratively? Of course the Ultimate Lucky Student would get the worst room: isolated, far from others, and right next to the garbage incinerator.

Why was Makoto's room originally Junko’s Room?

The order of the dorms never really seemed to have a consistent pattern. It is kinda weird that Makoto and Chihiro are the only people there are seated between those of the opposite gender. Then consider that Chihiro was largely assumed to be a girl and Makoto his placement stands out even more.

Now look at the bottom-left dorm row:

Kyoko, ???, Sayaka, Toko, Chihiro, Hina

Let’s assume that ??? is Junko.

Once you remove Makoto from that row and slot Junko in, a pattern emerges: Every person in that row is a celebrity, public figure, or otherwise strategically important—and many are perceived as more "frail" or in need of protection. With the most important ones being the closest to the stairs to the 2nd floor which leads to the faculty:

Kyoko – Headmaster’s daughter

Junko – Supermodel and media icon

Sayaka – National pop idol

Toko – Prodigy author

Chihiro – Famed programmer

Hina – Olympic-tier athlete

This starts to look deliberately organized: a row for Hope’s Peak’s most "valuable" and visible female students.

Makoto, a random lottery pick, doesn’t belong in that row.

Unless... it wasn’t his room to begin with.

The Bathroom Door Mystery

Makoto’s room has a bathroom door that doesn’t fit.

Lets break it down:

Female dorms have bathroom locks

Male dorms do not

Makoto’s door doesn’t lock, but also doesn’t fit the frame

What if Junko (and Mukuro) swapped out the bathroom door to make Junko’s room look like a boy’s room before the killing game began?

They would’ve had to replace the door entirely and installing Makoto's original door from his old room. But since the boys’ bathroom doors were slightly different in size… it didn’t fit quite right. They forced it in anyway, creating the janky, misaligned door we see in-game.

And that explains why Monokuma knows about the issue: Junko caused it herself.

It would also explain why she was able to enter his room in chapter 5 despite Kyoko having the master key.

TL;DR – Was Makoto living in Junko’s room?

There are only 15 dorm rooms shown, but 16 students—one room is missing.

The space next to the trash room fits a hidden 16th dorm perfectly. That was likely Makoto’s original room.

Junko’s original room was likely the one Makoto wakes up in—it’s in a row full of high-profile, “celebrity” girls.

Junko and Mukuro had full access during the memory wipe. They could swap rooms, nameplates, and UI freely.

The reason Makoto’s bathroom door doesn’t fit? It was originally a girl’s room. Junko/Mukuro likely swapped in a boy’s bathroom door, but the size difference made it misaligned.

Monokuma knowing about the door supports this theory—Junko made the swap herself.

Meanwhile, Mukuro’s room never changed, it was always hers. Only her name was replaced with Junko’s in the UI and nameplate to sell the disguise.

[danganronpama]

The Mastermind and Her Shadow

Junko Enoshima had been alone for weeks.

Real, gut-wrenching, mind-dissolving alone.

Not the fun kind of alone, where you sulk dramatically like a tortured artist and let your mascara run for aesthetic purposes.

This was boring alone. Suffocating alone. The kind that made her bones itch, made her thoughts loop, made the walls feel like they were getting closer.

She sat in her hideout, hunched over the monitors, watching her masterpiece unfold.

Her perfect killing game.

Hope breaking. Despair blooming. Bodies piling up.

And yet…

Something didn’t feel right.

She tried to laugh it off.

It came out wrong.

Too flat. Too hollow. Like someone else had done it for her. She clicked her tongue, annoyed, like her body had betrayed the bit.

Her long, fake red fingernails tapped against the desk—slow, rhythmless beats.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

She grabbed a protein bar from the pile on her desk, ripped the wrapper open with her teeth, and bit down.

It tasted like nothing.

Then again, what did taste like anything anymore?

She could barely tell if she was hungry. She ate because she had to. Drank because she had to. Like mindlessly fueling a machine.

The caffeine didn’t work anymore. The thrill didn’t work anymore.

She reached for her energy drink, cracked it open, barely noticing how her fingers trembled around the can.

Tap.

Tap.

Her nails drummed against the aluminum.

There had been a time—ugh, when was that?—when things had been more… manageable? Less boring? When someone would just hand her food instead of her having to get it herself—

Junko blinked.

Oh.

Right.

Mukuro.

"Ugh, seriously? This is what my brain decides to throw at me? What a total snoozefest."

She snorted, tossing the can aside. "Well. That's lame."

Silence.

Of course, silence.

There was no one here to respond.

But she could almost hear it.

That deadpan voice. That tiny, tired sigh. That stupid look Mukuro used to give her when she did something reckless.

Junko let out a breathy chuckle. “I bet you’d say something dumb right now. Something all moral and lame, like, ‘You didn’t have to do this, Junko.’”

She smirked.

But then—

“You didn’t have to do this, Junko.”

Her body locked up.

Her breath caught.

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head—

And there she was.

Mukuro.

Standing in the corner, arms crossed, staring.

Junko blinked. Rubbed her eyes.

Nope. Still there.

“…Okay. That’s new.”

Mukuro sighed. “You look awful.”

Junko scoffed, snapping out of it. “Yeah, no duh. You try living off expired protein bars and despair alone for a month.”

Mukuro’s eyes flicked to the empty food wrappers, the untouched water bottles, the pile of dirty clothes in the corner.

Junko forced a grin. "Tch. Don't give me that look. You're not even real, Muku. You don’t get to judge me."

Mukuro tilted her head. "You’re the one who made me talk."

Junko stilled.

Oh.

Oh, this is bad.

She groaned, running a hand through her oily, unwashed hair.

“Ugh. Great. I finally lose my mind and all I get is my dead sister nagging me.”

She let out a forced laugh, kicking her feet up on the desk.

"You know what really sucks? If I was gonna hallucinate someone, I should’ve at least gotten, like, an imaginary boyfriend. But nooo, I get you."

She waved a hand lazily, voice slipping into mock seriousness.

"Not even a hyper-intelligent, emotionally detached type? Y'know, the kind who overanalyzes everything, probably condescending, definitely has unresolved mommy issues—"

She paused.

"...Wait."

Mukuro stared.

Junko scoffed. "Pfft, whatever. He’d just lecture me about my 'self-destructive compulsions' or some crap. Like, duh."

She rolled her eyes, snapping her fingers. "C’mon, Muku, at least pretend to get the reference."

Nothing.

Mukuro didn’t react.

Junko’s grin twitched—just slightly.

She clicked her tongue, shifting in her seat. “…Ugh. Whatever.”

Still nothing.

Not blinking. Not moving.

Just staring.

Junko’s nails drummed against the desk.

Tap.

Tap.

She shifted, stretching her legs out, forcing a smirk.

She turned back to the monitors, but she could feel it now.

The weight of Mukuro’s gaze, pressing into her skull.

A shiver ran down her spine.

"You’re slipping," Mukuro murmured.

Junko gasped, clutching her chest. "Tch! Excuse me?!"

"You know what I mean," Mukuro said. "You haven't been sleeping. You're not even enjoying the game anymore."

Junko scowled. "Pfft. I enjoy it plenty. You think I don’t love watching them suffer? I literally designed this whole thing for maximum despair. It’s like, my dream come true."

Mukuro tilted her head. “Then why do you look miserable?”

Junko opened her mouth—

But nothing came out.

Her throat felt dry.

Her limbs felt heavy.

Her fingers twitched against the desk.

She glanced at the monitors again.

At her little killing game.

This was supposed to be fun.

She gave up everything for this.

The hopelessly naive, endlessly predictable classmates—that had at least their petty little struggles keeping things interesting.

The hopelessly over-loyal lapdog of a sister—always there, always obeying, never asking for anything in return.

All tossed aside in favor of the one thing that truly mattered—

Despair.

Her gaze drifted.

A Monokuma plush sat on the desk beside her monitors, the same size as the real thing.

Staring. Grinning. Always there.

She clicked her tongue. Figures.

And yet…

It still wasn’t enough.

Then, with a flourish of her wrist, she straightened her posture, placing her hands on her hips with regal precision. Her chin rose ever so slightly, her gaze cold and superior, as if she were addressing an inferior subject.

With a voice laced with aristocratic disdain, she purred—

“Even this! The emptiness, the creeping loss, the despair of not having despair—!”

She let the words hang, like she was savoring them.

Her fingers stilled. Her shoulders slumped.

In a flat, emotionless voice, she muttered—

“…Is still not fun.”

Her fingers curled into her palm.

Mukuro was silent.

Junko let out a breathless, almost delirious laugh—then threw up her hands, fingers forming devil horns.

"Like, I should be thriving right now! This was supposed to be the sickest despair of all! The greatest moment of my fucking life!"

She stuck out her tongue, grinning like a maniac.

Then—

The grin vanished.

She exhaled sharply, straightening up, adjusting glasses that weren’t there.

With a smooth, calculated motion, she pulled an invisible pen from an invisible pocket, clicking it against her palm.

"Fascinating."

She tapped the "pen" against her temple, gaze sharpening like she was conducting a psychological evaluation.

"Total emotional flatlining. No excitement, no satisfaction, not even residual thrill from the spectacle. Interesting."

Her tone was clinical now, measured. Detached.

"In theory, self-inflicted despair should still activate a dopamine response. Even a negative outcome should yield some level of stimulation, provided it aligns with the subject’s intended objectives."

She leaned forward slightly, tilting her head.

"And yet, the expected neurochemical reward is absent. The system has failed to produce the anticipated emotional output."

For a moment, Junko’s hand faltered.

Her fingers twitched, grasping at nothing. The pen she hadn’t been holding slipped from her grasp.

Her eyes dropped, a faint heaviness settling in her chest.

Mukuro’s gaze softened.

Junko squeezed her eyes shut.

God, she was tired.

She let out a slow breath, her voice quieter now, almost casual.

“…Guess I should go out with a bang, huh?”

Mukuro frowned.

Junko forced a grin. A manic one.

"Like, y'know! One last despair! The biggest, most shocking twist of them all!"

Mukuro wasn’t smiling.

Junko reached for a button on the console.

And for the first time in a while, her fingers didn’t tremble.

Mukuro’s voice was quiet. “…You don’t have to do this, Junko.”

Junko smiled.

She turned to Mukuro one last time.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”

She pressed the button.

A loud beep.

Metal groaned. The sealed door to her hideout unlocked.

The air felt heavier.

Mukuro was gone.

The monitors flickered, displaying the trial room. The final students were waiting.

Junko stood up. Stretched.

Her arms hung limply at her sides, fingers twitching like they were searching for something to do.

She was alone.

Actually alone.

She swallowed.

Then, without thinking, she grabbed the Monokuma plush.

The weight of it settled into her hands. Warm. Familiar.

Better.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders, some of the tension easing as she turned the plush in her grip.

In one smooth motion, she lifted it in front of her face, arms crossed over its midsection.

Then, shifting onto her heels, she began to sway back and forth, slow and rhythmic, as if rocking herself.

Her voice pitched up, exaggerated, dripping with false cheer—

She gave the plush a little shake.

“Puhuhuhu~! You’re never alone with me around, Junko!”

The sound echoed.

Too long.

Bouncing off the walls, clinging to the air, like the room itself was unwilling to let it die.

Her grip on the plush tightened—just slightly.

She smirked, and for the first time in a while, it felt real.

Still clutching the plush, she turned toward the door.

Monokuma was coming with her.

Stepping through the open door, her high-heeled boots clicked against the cold floor, sharp and deliberate, each step ringing through the empty space.

Click. Click. Click.

Like the ticking of a clock.

Junko Enoshima, with a renewed sense of unwavering determination, walked toward her Final Grand Performance.

The weight of the moment pressing down on her with every step.

[danganronpama]

Junko & Mukuro Pick Their Fake Names

The Branding Crisis

The orphanage room is small and dim, the only light coming from the hallway slipping through a crack in the door. Mukuro and Junko sit cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a stolen notebook.

They are not yet the Ultimate Soldier and the Ultimate Fashionista.

But they will be.

Junko, already obsessed with branding, taps her pencil against the page.

"Okay, listen, we need names. Cool names. Future-legendary names. You can’t just be some random loser if you wanna be the best at something."

Mukuro, twelve seconds into deep thought, nods like this makes perfect sense.

Junko scribbles furiously in the notebook. “Okay, so I already designed our mascot.”

Mukuro blinks. “…Our what?”

Mukuro leans over and sees a crude black-and-white bear sketch, one half cute, the other half… not.

She squints. “…Why does it look like a half black bear, half polar bear?”

Junko gives her the most disgusted look humanly possible.

“Are you DUMB? It represents despair.”

Mukuro tilts her head. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Polar bears are the ones going extinct. Black bears are thriving. If anything, the black half should be normal and the white half should be miserable.”

Junko throws the pencil at her forehead so hard it bounces off.

“OH MY GOD, SHUT UP ABOUT BEAR SPECIES. THIS ISN’T A NATURE DOCUMENTARY.”

Mukuro rubs her forehead. “I’m just saying, if despair means suffering—”

“NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR BEAR SCIENCE, OKAY? WE ARE NOT MAKING A CLIMATE CHANGE MASCOT."

Mukuro exhales. “…Alright.”

Junko ignores her and keeps talking.

"ANYWAY! Back to what actually matters—our names. We need a duo name. Something iconic. Something that screams, ‘We’re a big deal.’"

She dramatically scribbles something in huge, jagged letters.

Mukuro leans in.

"The… Despair Sisters?"

Junko grins, showing all her teeth. "Cool, right?"

Mukuro nods slowly.

"That sounds kinda…" She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "…like a bad pro-wrestling tag team."

Junko immediately throws the notebook at her.

"STOP RUINING OUR ORIGIN STORY!"

Junko: The Birth of a Future Icon

Junko stares at the list of common names she scrawled in the notebook.

She already knows she’s going to be the Ultimate Fashionista. That means she needs a name that is:

Marketable

Memorable

Aesthetic as hell

After five minutes of aggressive scribbling, she circles two names:

Junko (純子) – Pure, child

Enoshima (江ノ島) – A literal beach town

She leans back, admiring her work like she just filed a patent on perfection.

"Boom. Junko Enoshima. Sounds like a designer brand, sounds like a pop star, sounds like someone important."

She suddenly grins wider, eyes gleaming.

"And just imagine—when everyone realizes it, when they all totally lose their minds over the fact that a Pure Child is the one bringing the ultimate, all-consuming—DESP—"

"Junko? Isn’t that… a name for grannies? Or, like, middle-aged office ladies?"

Junko freezes mid-word.

For a second, her whole world slows down.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she snatches a crumpled sock off the floor and whips it straight at Mukuro’s face.

"You are SO STUPID, OH MY GOD. Do you even understand timeless aesthetics?!"

Mukuro calmly peels the sock off her forehead.

"I just think it sounds like something you’d hear at a neighbourhood book club."

Junko gasps like Mukuro just slapped her across the face.

"WHAT?! IT SOUNDS LIKE A GLOBAL ICON. LIKE A FRAGRANCE LINE. LIKE THE MAIN CHARACTER OF AN EXPENSIVE SHOUJO ANIME."

Mukuro shrugs. "It sounds like you run a calligraphy workshop at the community center."

Junko screams into her hands.

Mukuro: The Original Edgelord

Meanwhile, Mukuro is taking this WAY too seriously.

She’s going to be a soldier. A warrior. A ghost of the battlefield. She needs a name that will strike fear into the hearts of men.

A name so cool that people will whisper it in terror.

So, after five minutes of thinking way too hard, she carefully writes:

Mukuro (躯) – Corpse

Ikusaba (戦場) – Battlefield

She turns the notebook to Junko, proud.

Junko leans in to read it.

Junko leans back.

Junko slowly looks up at Mukuro like she just watched a child name their pet hamster "Bloodfang the Destroyer."

"Mukuro… Ikusaba."

Junko stares at the notebook for a long moment, then slams it shut with both hands.

"THIS IS THE STUPIDEST FAKE NAME I HAVE EVER SEEN."

Mukuro tilts her head. "Why? It sounds cool."

Junko’s eye twitches.

Mukuro crosses her arms. "People will fear me."

Junko leans in, deadly serious.

"People will think you made this name in a Sonic the Hedgehog OC generator."

Mukuro blinks. "You just designed a bear with two-tone fur and an evil grin."

She gestures at the notebook. "That’s the real Sonic OC."

Junko recoils, deeply offended. "EXCUSE ME?! MONOKUMA IS A SYMBOL OF DESPAIR—"

Mukuro puts a finger to her chin. "It looks like it comes with a tragic backstory."

Junko collapses onto the floor, defeated.

“I literally cannot believe we’re related. I refuse to accept that we shared a womb."

______________________________________________________________

Authors note

"Junko" is a normal name in Japan, however it’s often associated with an older generation, similar to names like Mildred or Ethel in the West.

[danganronpama]

The Ultimate Soldier Becomes... an NPC?

Junko Enoshima never really gave Mukuro “missions” before—at least, not in the way normal people would understand them. Everything was always about Despair, plans, destruction, and ruining the world.

But this time?

This time, the order was simple.

"Go away."

Mukuro had blinked. “…What?”

Junko sighed dramatically. “Go. Awaaaay~” she repeated, slower, exaggerated, like she was speaking to an idiot. "Like, get outta here. Shoo. Go be a normie. Get a boring job, do boring things, and just—do absolutely nothing."

Mukuro stared at her. This was a joke, right?

But no.

Junko was completely serious.

She leaned back, twirling a strand of her strawberry blonde hair around one manicured finger. "I mean, let’s be real, Muku~ You’re, like, too dull to even be interesting to me anymore. If you’re gonna be all boring and lame throughout my masterplan, then ugh, just go become an NPC or something."

She waved dismissively. "Like, idk, become a cashier. Or a janitor. Or—OH! A middle school teacher!" (She burst into laughter at her own joke.) "Could you imagine?! The Ultimate Soldier stuck grading little brats’ math quizzes! PFFFFT—"

Mukuro said nothing.

She just stood there, completely frozen.

“…You don’t want me around anymore,” she said, slowly.

Junko rolled her eyes. "Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Oh my GOD, it took you this long to figure that out?! Why do you think I keep trying to kill you?!

Mukuro’s shoulders trembled.

“…I thought that’s how you showed affection,” she muttered, her voice quiet and unsteady.

Junko leans forward, gripping Mukuro’s face between her hands.

"Ohhhh, Muku, that’s—HAHAHAHAHAHA!—that’s SO FUCKED UP."

Her nails dig in.

"You thought that’s how I showed affection?! That’s fucking hysterical!"

Mukuro felt something cold in her chest.

This was worse than any battlefield. Worse than any mission she had ever taken. Worse than dying.

Junko was discarding her.

She wasn’t being sent to kill. She wasn’t being given a role in some new grand scheme of despair.

She was being told to… fade into the background.

To leave.

To disappear.

To become something Junko would never think about again.

And for the first time in her entire life—Mukuro Ikusaba didn’t know what to do.

Scenario 1: Mukuro Actually Becomes a Cashier

(Because she has no idea what else to do.)

A few months later, somewhere in a tiny convenience store in the middle of nowhere, a tired, slightly miserable Mukuro Ikusaba scans groceries behind the register.

Customer: (smiling) "Oh wow, you’re so fast at bagging! Have you worked here long?"

Mukuro: (dead inside) "...Yes."

Customer: (cheerfully) "That’s so cool! You must be super dedicated!"

Mukuro hands them their receipt.

Mukuro: (monotone) "Thank you for your purchase. Please leave."

She stares blankly at the automatic doors as they slide shut.

This is her life now.

Scenario 2: Mukuro Ignores Junko’s Order & Comes Back Anyway

(Because she refuses to be thrown away like this.)

Months pass.

Junko doesn’t hear from Mukuro. Doesn’t think about Mukuro. Doesn’t even wonder where she went.

Until—

One day—

She wakes up in her luxurious hideout, stretches, and—

Mukuro Ikusaba is standing at the foot of her bed.

Watching her.

Silently.

Junko blinks.

“…Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Mukuro tilts her head slightly.

"I’m not an NPC," she says, voice quiet, steady.

Junko groans. "UGH, GOD, why?! Why are you like this?!"

Mukuro doesn’t move.

She doesn’t blink.

And for the first time ever—

Junko feels uneasy.

Alternate Ending: What If Mukuro Just… Liked Being a Cashier?

(Bonus crack ending where Mukuro just vibes in retail and actually enjoys it.)

Mukuro, now a full-time cashier, genuinely enjoys her life.

She loves the structure of scanning items.

She becomes a legend among cashiers for never needing to call a manager.

She scares Karen customers with her deadpan stare.

She defuses robberies just by staring at them until they leave.

One day, Junko accidentally walks into her store and freezes.

Mukuro casually scans her snacks.

Mukuro: (deadpan) "That’ll be $9.75."

Junko stares.

Junko blinks.

Junko walks out without paying.

Mukuro watches her leave. Then sighs, grabbing the store mic.

Mukuro: (monotone) "Manager, we have another shoplifter."

The end.

[danganronpama]

MIU IRUMA’S TOTALLY FUCKING REAL INTERVIEW

🎥 A Self-Produced Documentary by Miu Iruma, Starring Miu Iruma, Directed by Miu Iruma, and Written by The Supreme Queen of Brains and Booty, Miu Iruma 🎬✨

[Setting: Classroom, Everyone is Forced to Watch]

The lights dim, and the projector screen flickers on.

The words "The Iruma Experience™" flash across the screen in bright neon letters, followed by a dramatic slow-motion montage of Miu posing with her inventions—all while a very obvious, over-the-top heavy metal track plays in the background.

The camera zooms in on Miu, sitting on a chair, goggles on, arms crossed, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Then—

A DEEP, MANLY VOICE BEGINS SPEAKING

Interviewer: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TODAY WE HAVE A HISTORIC FUCKING INTERVIEW WITH THE GREATEST GENIUS KNOWN TO MANKIND, THE ULTIMATE INVENTOR, THE GODDESS OF INTELLIGENCE, OWNER OF THE WORLD’S FINEST RACK, AND BEST IN THE SACK—MIU IRUMA!"

Miu dramatically nods, adjusting her goggles.

QUESTION 1

Interviewer: "Miu, what is it like to be so much more intelligent than your classmates, who, let’s be honest, are barely functioning organisms?"

Miu Iruma: "OH-HO-HO! FANTASTIC FUCKIN’ QUESTION, MR. TOTALLY HUNK INTERVIEWER! I swear, I’m basically a once-in-a-generation supergenius trapped in a world of slack-jawed idiots!, lemme tell ya! Every morning, I wake up, look in the mirror, and think, ‘Wow, these dumbass plebs would literally be drowning in their own drool without me around!’ It’s a tough job being this smart AND this hot, but SOMEONE’S gotta do it!"

[Classroom Reactions]:

[Kaede]: "Oh god, this is going to last an hour, isn’t it?"

[Shuichi]: "I can’t believe we’re being forced to watch this."

[Kokichi]: "PFFT—This is the best thing I’ve ever seen! Miu, you should do interviews every day!"

QUESTION 2

Interviewer: "Miu, everyone in this school is obviously madly in love with you. Tell us, what is it like being a beacon of beauty and brains, the whole package rolled into one… some might even say, the Ultimate Bombshell?"

Miu tilts her head dramatically, sighing like a burdened goddess.

Miu Iruma: "Ohhh, interviewer, ya get me! FINALLY, someone acknowledges my daily struggles! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DAMN HARD IT IS BEING THIS PERFECT?! Almost as HARD as these horny little shits I catch staring at me CONSTANTLY!"

Interviewer: "Even Shuichi Saihara?"

Miu Iruma: "E—FUCKING—SPECIALLY Shuichi Saihara! I’ve seen the way he looks at me—ALL LONGING AND FULL OF FUCKING DESIRE."

[Shuichi (offscreen)]: "WHAT?! NO, I DON’T!"

[Miu (pauses video, points at Shuichi]: "DENIAL IS THE FIRST FUCKING STAGE, SAIHARA! JUST CONFESS ALREADY!"

[Kaede]: "Miu, get back to the video!"

[Miu]: "TCH. FINE. BUT WE'RE NOT DROPPIN' THIS CONVERSATION, DETECTIVE SIMP-HARA!"

She presses play, and the video continues.

QUESTION 3

Interviewer: "Miu, as the most intelligent being on the planet, who would you say is the DUMBEST dipshit among your class?"

Miu taps her chin, dramatically pondering.

Miu Iruma: "Hmmm… SO MANY OPTIONS. There’s Kaito ‘LAME-INARY OF THE STARS’, who thinks you can punch your way out of a physics problem."

[Kaito]:"Hey?! The hell kinda title is that?!"

Miu Iruma: "There’s TENCROTCH, who acts like touching a guy would set her on fucking fire."

[Tenko]:"WELL, CAN YOU BLAME ME?! SETTING PEOPLE ON FIRE SOUNDS LIKE EXACTLY THE KIND OF THING A DEGENERATE MALE WOULD DO!"

Miu Iruma: "But if I had to pick the TRUE, UNDISPUTED KING OF DUMBASSES…"

She leans forward, grinning.

Miu Iruma: "KAEEEDE! OR SHOULD I SAY—BAKAMATSU! AND YOU WANNA KNOW WHY THAT'S HER NAME?! CUZ SHE'S A FUCKING DUMBASS!"

[Kaede (offscreen)]: "…Excuse me?!"

Interviewer: "Miu, please, do enlighten us. Hearing Kaediot get roasted is just too damn entertaining."

Miu Iruma: "OH-HO-HO, HAPPILY! BAKAMATSU’S WHOLE THING IS ‘I PLAY THE PIANO’—LIKE, WHOOP-DEE-FUCKIN’-DOO! BUT WHAT DOES THAT DO IN A REAL CRISIS?! HUH?! YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA POUND OUT A CHOPIN PIECE AND MAGICALLY FIX EVERYTHING?!"

[Kaede]: "W-WHAT THE HELL, MIU?! MUSIC CAN BE REALLY POWERFUL!"

[Miu]: "OH YEAH?! WHEN SHIT HITS THE FAN, YOU THINK BUSTING OUT A SONATA’S GONNA SAVE YOUR ASS?! ‘OH NO, A DISASTER! QUICK, SOMEONE PLAY ME A LITTLE FUCKIN’ MOZART!’"

[Kaede]: "I—IT CAN BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER!"

[Miu]: "SO CAN FREE FOOD, BUT YOU DON’T SEE ME HAULIN’ AROUND A BUFFET TABLE LIKE IT’S A PERSONALITY TRAIT!"

[Kaede]: "THAT’S NOT THE SAME THING AT ALL!"

[Miu]: "YOU CAN’T EAT A GODDAMN SONATA, BAKAMATSU!"

[Kaede]: "WHY DO YOU KEEP BRINGING UP FOOD?! THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!"

[Miu]: "CUZ I’M SMARTER THAN YOU, THAT’S WHY!"

[Kaede]: "I—I HATE THAT I CAN’T ARGUE WITH THAT!"

[Miu]: "DAMN RIGHT, BAKAMATSU! YOU EARNED THAT NAME FOR A FUCKIN’ REASON!"

QUESTION 4

Interviewer: "Miu, your greatness is undeniable, and surely this is the best damn interview of all time—"

[Rantaro (offscreen)]: "Okay, wait. Pause." [Miu]: "THE HELL DO YOU WANT GREEN BEAN, THIS IS THE BEST PART?!"

[Rantaro]: "Nobody talks like that. There is absolutely no way a real person interviewed you."

[Shuichi]: "Yeah, I was thinking that for a while too. Who would actually sit down and ask Miu this many questions?"

[Kaito]: "Wait a second… Miu, is that YOU doing the voice?!"

[Miu]: "WHAT?! NO, SHUT UP!"

[Himiko]: "Nyeh… that's pretty low, Miu. Even for you."

[Miu]: "I—I—I HAVE A DEEP-VOICED INTERVIEWER FRIEND, OKAY?! Y-YOU JUST DON’T KNOW THEM! THEY GO TO ANOTHER FUCKING SCHOOL!"

[Kokichi]: "Ooooh, Miu, did your ‘interviewer friend’ just happen to have the exact same insufferable, delusional, attention-starved energy as you? What are the odds?!"

[Kaede]: "So, I’m the DUMBEST one here because I play the piano, and YOU are the GENIUS who made up an ENTIRE FAKE INTERVIEWER?!"

[Miu]: "TCH! FINE! BUT WHEN I’M RICH, FAMOUS, AND GETTING MY TITS 3D-PRINTED ONTO A STATUE, DON’T COME CRAWLING TO ME, YOU TALENTLESS FUCKS!"

[danganronpama]

Junko Enoshima gets a 'Pro tip' from Twitch chat.

💬 [Chat]: "Pro tip: If you time your dodge better, you won’t get hit as much."

For a second, just a second, Junko pauses mid-game.

Her character gets bodied immediately—sent flying across the screen in a way that would normally send her into a fit of laughter.

But she’s not laughing.

She’s staring.

And then—

"OHHHHH MY F*ING GOD, CHAT."**

She slams her controller onto her desk, fingers threading into her hair as she dramatically pulls at her twin tails.

"WOW. WOW, GUYS. HOLD UP. HOLD. THE F*. UP. WE HAVE A PRO GAMER IN THE CHAT! OOOOOOH, EVERYONE CLAP! EVERYONE SHOW RESPECT! THEY JUST DROPPED A PRO TIP!"**

She leans forward, eyes wide, voice dripping with condescending awe.

"Oh, wow, dude. THANK YOU SO MUCH. THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH. I literally NEVER would have thought of that. TIME MY DODGE BETTER?! OH MY GOD, REVOLUTIONARY. GROUNDBREAKING. SOMEONE GET THIS GUY A NOBEL PRIZE."

She fake wipes away a tear.

"Chat, do you realize how LUCKY we are? Like, seriously. This person, this gaming genius, this living tutorial pop-up of a human being, just blessed us with their INFINITE WISDOM."

Her voice shifts—mocking, high-pitched, exaggerated.

"P-P-Pro tip, Junko! D-d-did you know if you don’t get hit, you, like, don’t lose HP? A-a-and if you attack the enemy, they take damage! Also, p-p-pro tip: If you press the jump button, you go UP! And if you move forward, you—GET THIS, JUNKO—WALK FORWARD!"

She throws herself back in her chair, letting out a long, suffering sigh.

"Chat, I’m gonna be real with you. I’m struggling right now. I’m in PHYSICAL PAIN. Do you know why? Because I just got absolutely SONNED by someone who thinks 'pro tip' is a personality trait. Just absolutely DISMANTLED by someone who saw a flashing loading screen hint once and decided they were GOD'S GIFT TO GAMING."

She leans forward again, voice lower now, eyes narrowing.

"Hey. Hey, bud. Since you’re out here dropping ‘pro tips,’ let me give you one."

She tilts her head, smiling sweetly—except it’s the kind of sweet that makes flowers wilt and small animals run for cover.

"Pro tip: SHUT. THE. F*. UP."**

She leans back, cracks her knuckles, and unpauses the game.

"ANYWAY, back to ACTUAL gaming, unlike chat over here trying to backseat me like they’re my deadbeat gaming coach father who left for cigarettes and never came back."

She takes a deep breath, then suddenly perks up.

"OOH! LOOK, CHAT! WOW! A PRO TIP FROM ME TO YOU! Watch closely, kids—I’m about to win this entire match without dodging even ONCE just to spite them."

[danganronpama]

Junko Enoshima makes a mistake.

Junko is lounging across the couch, tossing insults as casually as someone flipping through a fashion magazine.

"Mukuro, seriously, I just—ugh. Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m suffering from some terminally uncool disease. Like, how is it possible to have negative fashion sense? Like, not even neutral—negative. It’s like… if a bag of military rations somehow gained sentience and started walking around pretending to be a girl. I mean, your whole vibe is just—"

She waves a hand vaguely, rolling her eyes.

"—It’s tragic, really. I take it for granite at this point."

Silence.

Mukuro blinks.

"...Granite?"

Junko sighs, looking at her sister like she just asked if the sky was real. "Yeah, granite. Like, obviously."

Another pause.

Mukuro shifts slightly in her seat.

"...You mean granted?"

A single beat of silence passes.

And then—

"OH MY F*ING GOD, MUKURO!"**

Junko EXPLODES, launching forward so aggressively that the entire couch jerks an inch across the floor.

"DID YOU JUST—DID YOU JUST, LIKE, CORRECT ME?! LIKE, ME?! ME, OF ALL PEOPLE?!"**

Her eyes are wide, frantic, borderline feral, and Mukuro barely has time to process before Junko lunges across the couch, grabbing her sister’s face with both hands and shaking her lightly, manic energy crackling off of her like static electricity.

"OH WOW, OH WOW, THIS IS SO CUTE. OH MY GOD, MUKURO THINKS SHE KNOWS SOMETHING I DON’T! AWWWW, ADORABLE! YOU MUST BE SO PROUD OF YOURSELF! YAAAAAAY, MUKURO KNOWS WORDS! GOOD FOR YOU!"

Mukuro says nothing. She just watches.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Junko immediately lets go and stands up, dramatically pacing.

"You know what? You know what, actually? I DID THAT ON PURPOSE. YEAH. YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT. Ever heard of a little thing called ‘Linguistic Rebellion,’ Mukuro? No, of course you haven’t, because you have the vocabulary of a sentient brick."

Mukuro just stares, impassive.

Junko spins, pointing aggressively.

"GRANITE. GRANTED. SAME THING. WHO EVEN CARES? WHO?! IT’S A REGIONAL DIALECT THING. SUPER HIGH-LEVEL! SOMETHING ONLY BIG BRAIN, 4D CHESS THINKERS LIKE ME UNDERSTAND. YOU'RE JUST TOO UNCULTURED TO GET IT."

Mukuro just sits there.

Junko seethes.

"Oh my god, you’re LOVING this, aren’t you?! You’re just sitting there, all smug and silent like ‘Ooooh, I finally got one over on Junko! My entire personality is just being a human weapon but now I have THE POWER OF GRAMMAR!’"

She mockingly mimics Mukuro's voice, arms crossed, face deadpan.

"‘Heh. You mean granted?’ OOOH, LOOK AT YOU, SHAKESPEARE! MUKURO F*ING IKUSABA, LITERARY GODDESS. WOW. SOMEONE CALL A PUBLISHER."**

Junko turns, dramatically collapsing onto the couch.

"This is honestly the most humiliating moment of my life."

Mukuro does not respond.

Junko’s eye twitches.

"You’re not even gonna say anything, huh?"

Silence.

"OH MY GOD, YOU’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE."

Junko sits back up, gripping her own hair, looking like she’s about to tear her extensions out.

"Fine. FINE. I hope you enjoy your tiny, microscopic, insignificant little ‘win’ here, Mukuro. I REALLY hope you’re satisfied. I hope it keeps you warm at night. I hope this moment plays on loop in your tiny, underdeveloped, ‘I let my little sister do all my thinking for me’ brain until the end of time."

Silence.

Junko glances sideways.

Mukuro is still sitting there. Still quiet.

Junko lets out a slow, rattling exhale.

Then—suddenly, dramatically, she flings herself backwards off the couch.

"I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS! I CAN'T LET THIS STAND! I REFUSE!"

There is a loud thud as she crashes onto the floor, rolling onto her stomach like a dying fish.

"MUKURO. SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING."

Silence.

[danganronpama]

Junko sending hatemail to Mukuro over losing in quick match.

ARE YOU ACTUALLY SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Tell me, Mukuro—did you actually enjoy that? Did you actually think you accomplished something? Because I need you to know, from the very core of my soul, that whatever microscopic drop of satisfaction you felt was completely undeserved.

Like, holy hell. HOW did I let you win? HOW? This isn’t even about the game anymore, Mukuro. It’s about you. It’s about the fact that you, my supposedly loyal little failure of a sister, actually had the audacity to think you could beat me at ANYTHING.

Oh, I bet you’re feeling so proud of yourself right now. I bet you’re sitting there, all quiet, all smug, thinking, "Wow, I actually won! Maybe I really am good at something!" Well, let me crush that dream right now.

You didn’t win because of skill. You didn’t win because you’re good. You won because I let you. Because I got bored. Because I spent half the match trying to land trick shots and laughing at how you move around like a lost NPC who just discovered WASD for the first time.

And yet, you still had the nerve to take the win seriously. THE AUDACITY.

I mean, Mukuro, come on. Be so for real right now. You are literally incapable of being better than me at anything. At LIFE, at GAMES, at HAVING A PERSONALITY—you don’t win, Mukuro. That’s not how this works.

And honestly? The fact that you thought this time was different is just... sad. Pathetic, even. Like, imagine training your whole life, being some super soldier assassin, only to think that winning one game against me suddenly makes you special.

IT DOESN’T.

YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL.

YOU’RE A TOOL. MY TOOL.

And now I have to sit here, knowing that my own little disappointment of a sister thinks she actually had a moment of victory against me. And I hate that. I HATE that so much.

You know what? Rematch. Right now. And this time? I’m making sure you don’t get so much as a SINGLE KILL. No mercy. No "Junko being nice." Just pure, calculated destruction.

And when I obliterate you? I’m going to make you say it out loud—that I am better. That you were stupid for even thinking otherwise.

Because you know what the real despair is, Mukuro?

Thinking you actually had a chance.

Now queue up, loser.

P.S. – If you don’t accept this rematch, I’m changing your contact name to "Pathetic NPC #016" in my phone.

[danganronpama]

Title: Like, the Perfect Accessory?

(The resort’s shopping district is calm, the sound of waves in the distance blending with the chatter of students moving between stores. Near a boutique, Kyoko Kirigiri browses a shelf of sunglasses, her posture relaxed but focused. Just as she reaches for a pair, a familiar, energetic voice interrupts her.)

Junko Enoshima (Mukuro Ikusaba): "Ooooh, Kirigiri! What a totally unexpected surprise! Are we, like, shopping buddies now?"

Kyoko Kirigiri: "I wouldn’t call it that."

Junko (Mukuro): "Ugh, okay, cold as ever. But like, c’mon, this is so out of character for you! You’re just, like, casually browsing? Not looking for secret clues or a hidden mystery?”

Kyoko: "Not everything needs to be a mystery. Sometimes things are just practical."

Junko (Mukuro): "Ooooh, practical, huh? That’s why you’re staring at, like, the most boring sunglasses on the rack? Kirigiri, c’mon. You’re better than this."

(Kyoko picks up a simple pair of black sunglasses but doesn’t respond.)

Junko (Mukuro): "Okay, okay, hold up, I gotcha. You need, like, a statement piece! Something that totally screams ‘Kyoko Kirigiri: Ultimate Detective Extraordinaire!’"

(Before Kyoko can protest, "Junko" grabs a pair of oversized, round sunglasses with bright pink rims and slips them onto Kyoko’s face.)

Junko (Mukuro): "Oh. My. God. You look amazing. This is, like, mysterious but fabulous. Very ‘undercover celebrity avoiding the paparazzi’ energy!"

Kyoko: "...I look ridiculous."

Junko (Mukuro): "Okay, yeah, maybe, but in, like, a super chic way! You’re totally missing the vibe."

(Kyoko sighs, takes them off, and places them back on the rack.)

Kyoko: "I’ll stick to something simple."

Junko (Mukuro): "Booo. Zero fun. But fine, fine, I won’t push it. Much."

(Despite her words, "Junko" still lingers, casually picking up different accessories and glancing at Kyoko between selections.)

Junko (Mukuro): "Y’know, I kinda get it, though. You’re, like, way into efficiency, right? No distractions, no extras, just what you need. Bet you don’t even own, like, a single thing that’s just for fun."

Kyoko: "That’s not true."

Junko (Mukuro): "Mmmm, really? Name one thing you own that’s totally impractical but you love anyway."

(Kyoko pauses, then looks away slightly.)

Kyoko: "That’s none of your business."

Junko (Mukuro): "Ooooh, suspicious! What could it be? A secret plushie? Some super rare book? Or—oh!—a totally cute hair accessory you’d never actually wear?!"

Kyoko: "I’m leaving."

(She turns to walk away, but "Junko" casually falls into step beside her, grinning.)

Junko (Mukuro): "Alright, alright, I’ll drop it. But for real, Kirigiri, sometimes you gotta just have things ‘cause they make you happy, not ‘cause they’re useful. Like, what if you found something perfect but didn’t buy it just ‘cause it wasn’t practical? That’s, like, a tragedy, y’know?"

(Kyoko doesn’t respond immediately, but something in her expression shifts slightly. "Junko," for all her dramatic energy, isn’t completely wrong. But instead of acknowledging it, she just shakes her head.)

Kyoko: "I’ll keep that in mind."

Junko (Mukuro): "See? I knew I could totally expand your horizons! I’m, like, so inspirational sometimes."

Kyoko: "I wouldn’t go that far."

(They continue walking, Kyoko keeping her usual calm demeanor while "Junko" chatters about the "perfect detective aesthetic." And though Kyoko would never admit it, she finds the conversation… oddly tolerable.)