#hello I got bit by the merch bug again ANYWAYS

[neonlaynes]

✨🥤🍦They're up!! You can get your own mini Steve and Billy in cute mint diner uniforms with matching milkshake charms! 🍦🥤✨

 >> go to etsy.com/shop/koruhime to grab em!! <<

All orders with these will come with a doodle, leave a prompt if you want or it'll be a surprise!

[dccomicsimagines]

Spilled Coffee - Wally West x Reader

Requested by Anon -  Impulse accidentally knocks a girl over while running only for Wally to fall for her when he stops and helps her up and then tries his hardest to find her when he's not in uniform?

***

You shuffled out your front door and down the driveway. A warm cup of fresh coffee in your hand, filling your nose with it’s lovely, wide wake scent. Your overnight Amazon order had just been delivered, but the deliveryman left it at the end of the driveway. Personally, you didn’t see why they couldn’t at least leave it by the front door. 

Taking a long sip from your cup, you bent down to pick up the package. You straightened before a car honk shattered the peaceful quiet of the day. A bright yellow and blue car sped down the street. “Come get me, Flash Boys,” a man in an orange and blue costume and a mask shouted out the window. The car skid into the turn, running into a few garbage cans on the way. 

You jumped slightly before carefully steady your coffee. “Maniac.” You tucked your package under your arm and turned to go back to your house. However, after your first step, a gust of wind hit you. It was so powerful, you lost your balance and crashed hard onto the pavement. 

Your coffee splashed onto you, burning your skin. “Shit.” You checked the package, which you landed on. It didn’t look damaged. 

“Sorry about him. He never looks where he’s going,” a voice said. You looked up, wide eyed at the hand offered out to you. “Did that coffee burn you?” 

“A bit.” You took the hand and got to your feet. “I didn’t break the cup at least.” Your body ached from the impact. You’ll have bruises tonight for sure. It took a moment before you noticed the red and yellow suit on the owner of the hand. “Is it Halloween?” 

The red headed man chuckled. “No, I’m Kid Flash.” You stared at him blankly. “A superhero.” 

“Oh, that’s why you’re wearing that?” You shook your head. “Well, thanks for helping me up.” You started toward your house with a limp. “Better go stop that guy.” 

Kid Flash was still standing where you left him when you reached your front door. You raised an eyebrow at him. Suddenly, he shifted before disappearing in a flash. You sighed. “What a crazy day,” you mumbled, going inside to change out of your coffee stained clothes. 

***

“Where were you?”  Bart asked as he finished deconstructing Trickster's car, leaving Trickster in a state of shock. He sat on his car seat with a loose steering wheel in his hand.  He threw the steering wheel with a scream of frustration. 

“You knocked over a civilian.” Wally zoomed to tie up Trickster with a piece of extension cord. “I stopped to help.” 

Bart shrugged. “Oops. Were they feeling the mode?” 

“Yeah, but then they didn’t know who I was.” Wally stopped next to Bart. 

Trickster laughed. “Not everybody knows you, Flash Boy. They only know the Flash.” 

The cops pulled up. “Let’s go.” Bart elbowed Wally before dashing off. Wally sighed, following him. They both rushed out of their suits and into civvies. “Do you think we missed the surprise part of the party?” 

“No, Uncle Barry is supposed to pick her up from work at five. He’s always late, so we should be good,” Wally chuckled as they both zoomed through the backdoor. Joan jumped, almost dropping the cake in surprise. Wally quickly caught it. “Sorry.” 

“Boys.” Joan shook her head. “You almost missed it. Barry just texted that they were on their way home.” She took the cake back and glared at Bart in warning when he tried to steal some frosting. “Bartholomew, snack on something else.” 

Bart blushed and zoomed off into the living room to find snacks. “Do you think it’s weird that someone doesn’t know who Kid Flash is?” Wally asked, crossing his arms. It bugged him. He used to hate it when he got called Speedy or Mini-Flash, but for someone to not even recognize him. You lived in Central City. How could you not know who he was?

“No.” Joan took the cake into the living room. Wally trailed behind her. “Not everyone is so into superheroes to know all your names.” 

“But she lives in Central City? It’s our city,” Wally exclaimed. Mary came over and started to smooth out Wally’s hair. “Mom, stop it.” 

“I don’t know why you can’t run a comb through your hair once and a while.” Mary shook her head. 

Rudy clapped a hand on Wally’s shoulder. “Listen to your mother.” 

Wally sighed. “But the entirety of Central City knows the Flash, thus they know Kid Flash. I mean it makes sense if no one knows who Bart is.” 

“Ouch.” Bart pouted, eating a bag of Chicken Whizees. “I’m so crash they don’t have to know my name is Impulse.”  

“They’re here, everyone quiet and hide,” Jay said, turning off the lights. Wally got pushed down by his dad. He grumbled, still obsessed with the idea you didn’t know who Kid Flash was. 

***

“How does someone who lives in Central City not know who Kid Flash is?!” Wally said for the hundredth time that week. Dick rolled his eyes. 

“Can you give it a rest? Who cares if she doesn’t know who Kid Flash was?” Dick landed a punch on a robber. Wally and Dick were having guys’ night out only to find robbery in progress.  

Wally zoomed around another robber so fast that he got disoriented enough to back up and fall into the nearby trash can. “I care.” Wally stopped beside Dick once all the robbers were down. 

“Cops are on their way. Let’s go.” Dick climbed out the window and landed on the street below. Wally dashed down the stairs and out the front door to join him. They both walked down the street, heading toward the new club they decided to check out. “You need to get turbed, dude. I mean we’re on a covert ops team. No one is supposed to know who we are.” 

“People know who Robin is.” Wally threw his arms in the air. “There was even posters made of us. Remember Gar had them in his room.” 

Dick stared at him blankly. “Walls, not everyone is obsessed with superheroes.” 

“So? I mean it’s like not knowing who the president is.” Wally kicked a beer can down the sidewalk before picking it up and tossing it in a garbage can. 

“There are a lot of people who prefer not to know who the president is.” Dick laughed. They joined the line into the club. 

“What is this place anyway?” Wally tapped his foot, eyeing the bouncer somewhat nervously. 

Dick shrugged. “It’s a new club. Plays live music every night.” He bumped Wally’s arm. “I heard the band playing tonight is awesome. Barbara recommended it.” 

“Oh, Barbara recommended it?” Wally raised an eyebrow. “So is that working out for you two now?” 

Dick bit his lips to hold back a smirk. “We’re not feeling the aster yet, but it’s getting close. I think she’s going to give me a chance.” 

“Good for you, dude.” Wally smiled, bumping Dick’s arm back as they reached the front of the line. They showed their IDs to the bouncer and were let inside. The club was crowded. Dick led the way to the bar, getting two sober colas for himself and Wally. Wally took a sip of his drink and turned to look at the band as they warmed up.

Wally spit out his cola all over a few passing women. They gasped, glaring at him in disgust. “Walls, what the hell?” Dick exclaimed, flashing a smile at the women. They instantly didn’t seem so upset anymore. However, Wally’s eyes were on the stage. His heart pounding so hard, it threatened to burst from his chest.

“It’s her,” he whispered to Dick. His hand shook so bad, his cola was spilling on the floor. Dick took it from him and set it back on the bar. The bartender stared at the mess on the floor.

“Who?” Dick followed Wally’s gaze to the stage. “Which one?” 

The singer took the mike. “Hello music lovers, are you ready for Laugh Track?” they shouted. The crowd screamed in response. Wally’s eyes stayed on you as you beat the tempo of the song on your drum set before the rest of the band joined in.

“She’s the drummer.” Wally raised his voice, not taking his eyes off you. Dick chuckled, shaking his head. Wally saw how skillful you were on the drums. He moved closer to the stage. Dick followed him, wanting a closer look himself. 

Your face was a mask of intense concentration. Wally loved how confidently you played. The little smirk you got when you did your drum solo. Wally’s knees shook. He almost crumbled at the sight. In that instant, he knew you would rarely leave his thoughts again. 

“Dude, you’re drooling.” Dick pulled Wally over to sit down at an empty table. Most of the crowd was on their feet, dancing and cheering for the band. Wally still didn’t take his eyes off you. You glanced up and met his eyes for a second. Time froze, the last note of the sound hung in the air. A real smile pulled at your lips. Wally grinned back at you.

Suddenly, time sped back up. The crowd was cheering loudly as you looked away from Wally. Wally moved to go to you, but Dick grabbed his arm. “Walls, you can’t go up there.” The band started their next song.

“But...” Wally looked back at you to find you focused back on the music, drumming away expertly. “Oh my god, she looked me! She smiled at me!”

Dick shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he sighed as Wally focused back on you. However, Dick sensed he wasn’t done hearing about you for a long time.

***

“This sucks,” Wally groaned, collapsing on the floor of Roy Harper’s new house. The original team had come by to help him move in. Artemis stepped over him. 

“You aren’t even doing anything.” Artemis rolled her eyes at him, box in hand. 

Roy set baby Lian on Wally’s chest. “Hold the baby if you aren’t going to help.” He went back out to grab more boxes. 

Kaldur and Conner came in with an armchair. “Wallace, we will step on you,” Kaldur warned . Wally sighed, scooting out of the way. Lian giggled happily, thinking it was a game. 

“I haven’t been able to find her.” Wally looked at Lian who smiled at him sweetly. “I’ve looked up her band, Laugh Track, and all I found was a website for merch.” 

“Oh, that’s why you’re wearing that.” Conner snorted, nodding at Wally’s bright colored shirt with Laugh Track spray painted across the front. 

Wally glared at him. “I think it’s romantic,” M’gann said as she floated some boxes down the hallway toward the bedrooms. 

“Or it’s creepy. You realize she’s probably going to think you’re a stalker or something.” Artemis smiled when Wally turned his glare onto her. Lian reached up to grab Wally’s bottom lip. 

Dick and Roy came in with a coffee table. “I didn’t expect Ollie to buy me so much furniture for a housewarming gift,” Roy said as they set it down against the wall so it would be out of the way. Lian saw Roy and got excited enough to wet her diaper. 

“Roy, she needs you.” Wally held her out, wrinkling his nose. 

“You’re useless,” Roy said, coming over to take Lian and going to the bathroom to change her. 

Wally groaned, bringing his knees to his chest. “I found the house where I first saw her this morning, but she’s not there anymore. I think they were renting it.” 

Dick laughed, sitting down on the armchair Conner and Kaldur just brought in. “You know I could help you find her?” Dick jumped when Wally suddenly appeared beside him.

“Really? You will?!” His body vibrated in excitement. “Because that would be crash, dude!” 

“Impulse rubbing off on him,” Conner grumbled to M’gann. M’gann kissed Conner’s cheek.

Kaldur chuckled. “Why did you wait until now to offer your assistance?” He sat down on the coffee table. Artemis came up to offer him a water bottle.

Dick snorted. “I wanted to see how long it would take him to ask.” 

“Oh, thanks for waiting, Dick, so we could all hear Wally whine and complain,” Artemis said, rolling her eyes. 

“You’re welcome.” Dick smirked at her, earning a sharp punch in the arm from Artemis. Wally sat back on the floor, lost in his excitement at finally being able to meet you as Wally West. Who cared if you didn’t know who Kid Flash was? It wasn’t like you couldn’t learn. 

“What the hell is this? I go change Lian’s diaper and you all stop.” Roy came out of the bathroom with blazing eyes. Lian laughed. Her cuteness threw off his threatening appearance. “We’re renting that moving truck by the hour.” 

“I thought Green Arrow was paying for it,” Conner said. 

Roy froze as if he suddenly remembered that little fact. “Well, in that case.” He sat down next to Kaldur and handed Lian over to M’gann. “What’s the gossip? Is Wally going bald?” 

“Hey!” Wally grabbed a throw pillow from one of the boxes and threw it at Roy’s head. “I have all my hair, thank you very much. It’s you that getting a dad bod.” More pillows were thrown, and for a day, it was almost like old times back during the first year of the team.

*** 

You sighed, picking up your book as you sat on your stool behind the drum set. The singer and the bassist were arguing again. The bassist had written a new song, and the singer was adding their own flare to it. It was a mess as usual. The keyboardist laid down to take a nap on the floor while the guitarist went outside for a smoke break.  

About a chapter or two later, they finally came to an agreement. You put your bookmark in, and picked up your drumsticks. The new song was interesting to say the least.

The club wasn’t open yet. Only the bartender and the manager were there, preparing for the night. The band decided to practice while you could since you were all playing this club for the week. It was a chance to try something new and see how the crowd responds, your manager said.

Speaking of your manager, they burst through the stage door like their pants were on fire. “Hold the practice. You need to save your energy for tonight. We got some record companies coming to listen.” 

You sighed as the band stopped mid song. “Oh my god, I have to go get my hair done,” the singer cried, knocking over their mike and going on their phone to find the closest hair salon. The keyboardist just laid back down on the floor, while the guitarist went back out for another smoke break. The bassist ran up to your manager, chatting away. 

Putting your book and drumsticks in your bag, you got up to leave. A cup of coffee would be good. You didn’t get a lot of sleep last night due to sharing a room with the guitarist who snored like a fog horn. 

You left out of the club’s back door and used your phone to find the nearest coffee shop. “Where are you going?” the guitarist asked, blowing smoke into your path. You wrinkled your nose, walking through it.

“I’m going for some coffee. Want some?” You stopped a little ways away to avoid breathing in the cigarette smoke. 

“Yeah, you know what I like.” They took out their wallet and handed you a ten. “Bring me a snack too, will ya?” 

“Sure.” You took the ten and stuffed it in your pocket. “Don’t tell everyone else. I don’t want to get five coffees again.” 

They snorted. “Yeah, I still haven’t gotten the coffee stain off my shirt yet.” The blood rushed to your face, but you laughed it off and walked out of the alley to the street.

Luckily, you found a coffee shop two blocks away. You ordered your drink first and sat down to read your book in one of the cozy armchairs. Your drink sat on the table next to you. Time slipped away from you before you heard the table fall. You jumped, protecting your book as your coffee crashed to the floor. It splashed everything. “What the hell?” 

“Sorry.” A familiar looking red headed man quickly grabbed napkins to mop up some of the mess. “I’m such a klutz.” 

“It’s okay.” A employee came over with a mop and a wash cloth. The man turned to you. Your eyes went to his t-shirt, remembering the design your band had picked out for it. “Oh, are you a fan of Laugh Track?” 

He blushed. “Yeah, I heard them play a few weeks ago, and I couldn’t get their music out of my head.” He held out his hand. “My name is Wally.” 

“(Y/N).” You gave him a tight smile and shook his hand. It felt familiar, but you didn’t know how.  “I guess I better get another coffee.”

“Oh no, I’ll buy it for you. It’s my fault.” Wally smiled and suddenly you lost yourself in his green eyes for a moment. “What’s your poison?”

You laughed, getting up with your book and bag in hand. “How about I order it while you pay?” The two of you went to the counter, chatting away like you knew each other for your entire lives. 

Meanwhile, Dick and Barbara watched from a small table in the corner. “I can’t believe he purposely spilled her coffee. That’s a sin,” Barbara whispered, giggling away.

“I know, but it broke the ice didn’t it?” Dick took a sip of Barbara’s coffee. She glared at him, but he flashed her a charming smile and the glare faded away.

“At least she didn’t think he was a stalker.” Barbara snorted, stealing a sip of Dick’s coffee in retaliation. 

“Artemis will be upset about that. She bet me twenty that Wally would get punched in the face.” Dick and Barbara watched as you and Wally sat back down with fresh coffee. Wally looked happier than he had been in a long time. Dick smiled before he turned his full attention to Barbara.

[ndrv3winterexchange]

Gift from Mistropolis to idaate

Hello @idaate!! Your long time question is finally answered… I’m your Secret Santa!! Remember you said you literally just asked for angst??? Big mistake, because you enabled me to write this. Enjoy eating your heart out.

“Ouma, did you do the laundry yet?”

Ouma taps down on the ‘grab’ button on the screen, watching as the virtual claw plunges down into the piles of toys lying inside. Amidst the cluster of normal-rated toy-carrying eggs, the claw establishes a tight grip on the Rare egg. Ouma heaves a big sigh.

“Hey, small dick! Uglyrumi asked you a question!”

“Oh, they are in, somewhere over the rainbow!” Ouma replies without once moving his eyes away from the screen of his phone. The egg has a soft vibration to it as the timer goes down, 13 minutes to 12 minutes to 11 minutes.

Toujou neither sighs nor carries out any action expressing dissatisfaction. Or if she is, Ouma can’t see it, for his eyes remain glued to the slight bouncing motion of the egg. The timer is clocked at 9 minutes now.

“Dickichi, you ever thought of doing anything productive around the house or what?” Iruma shoots Ouma a death glare from across the couch. Unlike Ouma’s small phone, Iruma carries a pretty big laptop on which she is apparently trying to crack a code on.

“Doing anything productive like you talking with Kiibaby twenty-four seven?”

Iruma’s instantly rouge-tinted cheeks give Ouma a chuckle. “Kiibo is our only connection with Team Danganronpa, remember? It’s going to the infirmary ourselves, or asking Kiibo to tell us.”

“Oh, since you are so invested in our fake classmates’ health status, I guess you’re just lazing around instead of being productive too, aren’t you?”

“Say that all you like, Dickichi,” Iruma scrolls through something on the pad, lips tugged downwards and even more impossibly furious. “we all know you are worried for Stupidhara and your worry is oh-so-thinly veiled.”

The egg on the screen is now bouncing up and down, waiting to hatch as soon as Ouma taps on it.

Ouma turns off the phone and throws it across the room.

“Tch, Idiotma, there’s no need to get that pissy now…” Iruma closes the laptop and clutches it tight to her chest. If Kiibo can have an audio outlet in that laptop, he might have protested about the situation. “I mean… It’s not like he won’t—”

“Of course I know that you, stupid bitch! Iruma-chan continues to be as dumb as ever even after the simulation. I’m so sorry for your parents!” Ouma springs up from the couch and retrieves the phone. He turns it on again. Apparently, there are no bugs or other issues, but the egg is already open and the pop-up gone.

“Wow! I got a really shitty toy this time. It looks so ugly that I had to throw my phone away on impulse!” Ouma mashes the phone to Iruma’s cheeks, and Iruma swats him away. Ouma giggles. “Hey! Come to think about it, it looks just as ugly as you!”

“Hey! I’m just pointing out a fact, fucker. At least stop pestering me about it!”

Ouma blanches, eyes turning dull as they focus on Iruma’s. “Then why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone too?”

Then Ouma resumes his toy-hunting back on his couch, and Iruma leaves the room hurriedly.

Ouma opens the collection and looks for the new toy. It is a chessboard with a lazily-painted smile on it.

Ouma throws his phone into the rubbish bin properly this time.

⁕

Iruma stops hogging the laptop to herself and plugs up an audio program to let Kiibo vocalize his thoughts. That’s about the only two good things Iruma have done for everyone so far.

To be fair, Ouma has done none. And never will.

“Hello guys! It’s been such a long time since we have convened!” Kiibo’s floating head, or more precisely-speaking, the pixelated image of it, flies around the screen against a blue backdrop.

Ouma scoops another spoonful of cookie and cream ice cream into his mouth. “Last you have convened with us is with Iruma-chan here though, isn’t it?”

“But this is the first time I can talk to you guys instead of just Iruma-san! It is, after all, rather difficult to establish contact in the first place when they have tight surveillance and can cut me if they… Well, but that’s beside the point!” A task window opens in the corner and starts loading, until it divides into four sections, each a birds-eye-view of a locked, private patient room.

All of the walls contain the bloodless white of a regular plain wall, but you could almost imagine the pink bloodstains the walls would have when you saw the patients’—classmates’—violent struggles against their personally hired caretakers.

(your blood is red, like a real human’s)

“Um, Kiibo, I didn’t tell you to show us… Them?” Iruma closes the window. Ouma swears he can hear a peal of laughter before it closes completely. The kind of maniacal laughter that precedes regretful wails.

Kiibo immediately blanches (as much as a robot’s avatar can). “M—my apologies. It is rather hard to remember everyone’s requests. Even not taking that into accounts… No one would have wanted to see that. I truly am sorry for doing so.”

“Oh Kiibaby, if your so-called apologies drill on and on mushrooms will start growing in my ears before we know anything! How horrible of you to want mushrooms to attach to my body!” To add to the punch of his statement, Ouma starts digging his nails into his ears and gasping out (rather dramatically) at the pain.

“That’s a lie! But please if you keep doing that your ears will… Anyway, let me search up the feeds.” Kiibo opens a different task window that has runs through hundreds of items rapidly. Gradually the list stops scrolling and an arrow appears, pointing at one specific item, underlined in red.

survivor-saiharashuuichi

“Kiibo-san, if you don’t mind me asking, how do we know for sure that this is a live feed and not a version that the Team plugged up in order to fool us? Or a past version and such?” Toujou’s equivocal eyes are not doing any favour for Ouma’s stomach and neither is her finger poised to click down on the ‘confirmation’ button.

“It is. I am very sure of it since my network is no longer connected to them, this is definitely live from where it comes from.”

“Okay… Then.” Toujou presses down on the button.

Ouma reaches for his phone. Before remembering that his phone is now in the rubbish bin. He gets off the sofa and walks towards the bin to retrieve it.

“Hey… It’s okay if you don’t really want to—”

“I don’t know what Mama is talking about! Of course I am!”

Ouma launches his face right into the screen of the laptop, expecting animalistic screams to assault his ears and making them bleed.

Only to be met with silence.

Ouma steps back and takes a real look at the screen.

There Saihara is, still asleep, face still attached to the oxygen mask and arms still having IV drips into them.

(still locked in the glass coffin he doesn’t deserve to be in)

“So. He’s still not awake?” Toujou shoves Ouma aside to look at the screen closer herself. “Didn’t the Team’s medical team said that most survivors only need a few weeks to recover at most? What is the meaning of this?”

“Well, obviously that means they are still full of chickenshit and Dickichi’s precious prince isn’t waking up anytime soon!” Iruma slams down the laptop—as Ouma had guessed, Kiibo did let out a sound of protest—and shoves it back into the carrying bag. “Get on with your stupid lives now bitches! Kiibo will meetcha in, like, two weeks’ time.”

“Iruma-san, do you mean that Kiibo-san can’t talk to us anytime we like? Or is there any other technical reason?”

“Take it as both, Slutjou. Kiibo and I don’t have the whole fucking day even when we are roommates.” Iruma takes up the bag and rushes for the door, disappearing in no time.

Ouma boots up the phone and opens the toy-collecting game.

Toujou moves back to the laundry she was tending to. “Ouma-kun?”

“There there, Mama, I already know what to expect, there’s absolutely no need to console me or anything! I know that’s gonna happen and it’s not like I really care or anything, y’know?” Ouma puts down the phone on the table and gets into the pantry for a bag of chips. He takes the garlic flavour, and Toujou, predictably, frowns in an obviously unsubtle manner.

Getting Toujou to frown in contrast to her in-game ability to disagree while agreeing would have been satisfying, if not for the fact that Toujou no longer possesses the full arsenal of the Super High School Level Maid’s tactful proficiency. Doing so doesn’t warrant much effort at all, but seeing Toujou ticked-off by his own hand carries a deeply rewarding sensation.

“Anyway, Ouma-kun, I hope what you said it’s true. For now, I have to head out for the day. Please don’t eat all of the chips.”

“Most certainly, Toujou-chan!”

Toujou strolls out of the room, out of the house, and out of Ouma’s mind. Ouma brings the bag of chips and phone with him to his bedroom, where he lies down and stuffs himself more while waiting for yet another egg to hatch.

Bits of chips fall down and adorn the floor in a pattern that would most certainly tick both Iruma and Toujou off to no end. Getting bored of the game, Ouma opens up an Internet browser.

He turns off the filter function and opens up a search engine.

It only takes the letter ‘s’ to bring up a menu of pain to him.

saihara shuuichi alive? — saihara shuuichi is actually dead conspiracy — saihara shuuichi cheats — saihara shuuichi hat merch

Ouma chances clicking on one that is just ‘saihara shuuichi” and millions of search results sprout from the ground, like a dodder that just found its prey, where Ouma is the healthy tree that it wraps around with. Is he even healthy in the first place? Backtrack; more like the dying tree that the dodders are dead set to consume to the fullest.

Ouma snickerrs at that thought.

He presses down onto the fan forum he had an account in and looks into the ‘Daily Saihara Shuuichi Love Thread’.

Day 389 – I still really really love Saihara Shuuichi! Have you seen that boy’s smile? It can cure depression! At least it definitely can for me!

Ouma presses his lips into a tight fault line and down the checker-patterned keyboard.

oh u again??? don’t u ever get bored of this???

A reply pops back up immediately.

Why does doing that bother you??? Everyone in the game gets a thread like that! I feel like making one for the protag, in particular, shouldn’t be weird!

Ouma continues the game and advances onto the chessboard upon typing a few more black keys.

it is weird dood. cmon think abt it saihara is the only one still not awake why would u still maintain this thread it’s not like he’ll wake up and suck ur dick lol

The anonymous, non-existent opponent of his stands his ground with his white pieces.

Get back into your own cave you fucking troll!!! And whether or not I treat Saihara as my dearly beloved is not your business lmao are you jealous of what I have with him???

lmao ofc i won’t be interested in whatever imaginary thing u have w/ him!!!! i’m just sad that ur this pathetic

Ouma bites back expletives and curses that would poison even the clearest well of water, forcing himself to breathe and keep calm properly.

The chain of replies suddenly break.

i mean whatev ur thinking they are fake dood!! the thread is lit made 10 days ago i watched u make it and start on day 289!! why the fuck u lyin why u always lyin

As the moderator of the thread, Ouma reserves the right to delete messages when he needs to. Usually, he challenges himself to just dissuade trolls like he had just now, but it looks like even the Internet folks don’t approve of his love, after all.

Ouma deletes all the messages back up to “Day 389” and contents himself that this small space still exists, and whether this exists in the void or not it still brings him small relief.

⁕

“Slutjou, is bringing him out with us really a good idea?” Iruma scrunches up her nose and holds back a sneeze. “I mean, God why the fuck would he wear so much fucking perfume! We have enough camouflage materials that are not stupid like perfumes!”

“Hey, Hyena-chan, you do realize I have ears and can hear you, right?” Ouma circles back to Iruma’s side and fake-pounds onto her chest. Iruma lets out a shrill scream, not unlike that of a fire siren. “Nyaaa, Hyena-chan is so loud and rude to me! Mama, what should I do?”

“Ouma-kun, we shouldn’t be making too much noise out here.” Toujou looks forward with remotely no changes in her expression at all. She almost resembles a bit of her older maid self. “Today we are going to have some kind of fun without the burden of our classmates still on our backs.”

“Clever of you to immediately bring them up, Kill-me-san,” Iruma takes out her phone and scrolls up the searches she has done prior to coming out. “There’s a flea market around the corner. Anyone interested?”

Ouma unwraps the end of his scarf and mock slaps Iruma with them. “Why would you bring it up if you weren’t thinking of going?”

“Your astute observations are duly noted and absolutely with no fuck given on it.” Iruma struggles to swat the heavily perfumed scarf away from her face and soldiers into the sea of faceless people. “I’m heading in myself, see ya fucks later.”

Toujou and Ouma, by contrast, are keeping themselves to the sidewalk, where fewer people amble on. The flea market might have more confections and delicacies anyone could obtain if they so desire, but the sidewalk is the only passageway with a more reasonable amount of flow of people.

“Ouma-kun, is there any particular candy you are eyeing for?”

“Candy? How old am I, Toujou-chan? You think some candies can appease my demons and all that? Hmm?” Ouma opens the doors into the small shopping mall nonchalantly, greeting the somewhat festive interior with a bright smile. In the time Toujou has spent with Ouma, it is already obvious that this is not a genuine smile.

“Then is there anything in particular that you want to get?”

“Hmm, these mistletoes look really torn… Must be old ones just being recycled yet again!”

“Contrary to popular belief, we don’t really have much time to be out for that long—”

“Annnnd that doll just looks so ugly! Why did they even put it out—”

“Ouma.”

Toujou stops walking with a telltale clink onto the ground with her heel. Ouma comes to a halt.

“I know you’re heading for the boutique around the corner and I advise strongly against that idea.”

The silence hangs heavy with a palpable tension, one that is not too disparate to that of when Ouma had first woken up. The faux cheerful background music of the mall drones on and on about the miracle of love.

“It’s just one visit, Toujou. It’s not a big deal.”

(The only other occasion to when Ouma dropped his cutesy honorifics for everyone is when he woke up to a tangle of wires, liquid that he will come to repulse at the very sight of dribbling from his mouth and Toujou appearing in front of him helping him to get up)

“Ouma-kun… Despite everything you believe here, I still get to let you know, you can’t keep holding on forever. You still have a life to live.”

Ouma chuckles. His lips seal in a poisonous excursus. “I know that Toujou-chan, and that is the precise reason for why I’m going to get into that boutique and buy the cutest clothes I can find there!”

Toujou’s shoulders tense, a veneer superimposing her exasperation and anger. It must be anger. Ouma sees it too many times to not know the shape of anger and its shadow behind people’s eyes. He prepares himself as well, small frame coiling into a snake ready to bite and tear.

And that’s why Toujou acquiescing with a respire switches off Ouma’s flight-or-flight mode. “Alright, Ouma. Let’s head to that store and gets you some nice and comfy clothes.”

Ouma resists the urge to dissolve right there and bounces up on his heels. “Yes! Let’s go!”

The store greets the two of them with a nice chime completely deviating from the jingle the mall itself uses. The interior is encased in a candy-like decor that embellishes the soft-colored clothes it contains, in hues of purple and pink mostly. Toujou can understand why Ouma seems to dig the aesthetics.

But instead of settling for the rows of soft dresses and sweaters at the front of the store, Ouma instantly scurries to the leftmost corner of the store, a section that is rather invisible to the eye of a mere passer-by.

Toujou follows Ouma deep into the rabbit hole and finds herself in front of a row of velvety black dresses she had once worn with pride.

“There! Aren’t these clothes just wicked, Toujou-chan?” Ouma all but bounces around and touches every single piece of clothing there. “It’s all the Danganronpa Season 53 merchandise! Or you could say, pieces of our pasts!”

“I know that Ouma-kun, why else do you think I will want to…” Toujou’s thoughts are lost in translation as she too, establishes contact with one of the dresses. She contemplates the fact that no one is yelling for them to stop or offers faux-enthusiastic attempts at selling the products, then surmises that it is best not to come up with theory as to why.

“Hey Toujou-chan, are you gonna buy one of these?”

“I. I don’t think I have brought enough for that.” Toujou takes out her wallet and counts two one-thousand notes. “I only have five hundred dollars.”

Ouma narrows his eyes at Toujou then, something almost resembling joy radiating from him. Aureate, but stilted joy. “That’s up to you then! But for me, I’m going to buy a set myself!”

Ouma takes a set of pre-packed clothes (pre-packed? Huh?) and pays for it, promptly walking towards the fitting room.

Toujou swallows involuntarily. The so-called cozy atmosphere of the store is not helping.

A few minutes later, Ouma emerges,

in Saihara’s detective wear and hat.

“Toujou-chan! Do I look good in my beloved’s clothes?”

Toujou surveys this Ouma. She knows the Ouma in front of her has not changed in the slightest. And yet. And yet.

“You… Do look nice.” Toujou dances with the idea of praising Ouma’s new look and resisting gravitation towards the plan of tearing the clothes off him. The latter is coquettish and Toujou feels liable to capitulate to it, but she stands her ground. “They have a pretty good grasp on how to make the clothes, huh?”

“You think so, Toujou-chan? That I really look good in that?” Ouma ruffles the sleeves and plays with the hat, cavalier but almost with a latent astriction waiting to be released.

Toujou wonders why and gambles with a “yes?”

Ouma’s small frame folds in and releases in a strike.

“Well, it shouldn’t!”

Ouma’s fingers enclose seams along the fabric and apply pressure to them, and after a short respite, the fabric starts tearing into nothing. He rapidly tears off the buttons on the shirt and takes it off, along with the hat and the shorts. Before Toujou can gauge Ouma’s reactions further, the clothes are already semi-torn, pieces of the black fabric falling off and with Ouma turning on a lighter and—

“Ouma! No!”

Toujou wrestles the lighter away from Ouma quick enough, toppling Ouma headfirst onto the ground, into the suffocating clothes instead, and Toujou blows off the lighter.

Ouma lies on the heap, torso completely limb, face unidentifiable from being smashed into the clothes.

“Ouma-kun?”

Silence save for the sound of clothes ruffling and the boutique’s chime.

Then Ouma slowly gets himself back up again.

(Only physically and not metaphorically)

“Toujou-chan, now you’ve ruined my master plan of destroying the store!” Ouma kicks the clothes around, in a manner almost like a child throwing tantrums at the parents for not getting their favorite gifts. Or a circus tiger charging at its cage. “Now what am I supposed to do to look normal and walk out of the store alive and free!”

Toujou watches Ouma burying his face in his hands, tears streaming out from behind the gaps of his fingers. Fake crying. Real crying. That’s not something Toujou is in the position of understanding.

“… Hey, Ouma-kun? How about I buy you other clothes?”

Ouma ceases his kicking movements gradually upon hearing that, and he turns around, peeling his own hands off his face finger by finger. “Really?” He asks in the most thespian manner.

“Of course! I have five hundred on me, we can definitely buy something much nicer.” Toujou takes out the banknotes and flaunts them, and Ouma’s renewed smile solidifies. “Go pick what you want!”

“Yay! I know Mama is always the best and I was never wrong about that!” Ouma all but plucks the notes from Toujou’s fingers and runs off to the opposite side of the boutique.

Even when Ouma walks out afterward in the softest and most warmly-colored skirt and stockings and boots, Toujou knows all too well that the latent tautness of the thread linking his conscience and tenacity is slowly threatening to fracture, and this is one knowledge she is in a position to be sure of.

⁕

Iruma slurps up the instant noodles she bought from the flea market—Ouma heard that it’s flavored with something rare and unavailable in any other place, but who is he to know that—in an utterly swine-like and ravenous manner. Bits of the soup keep flying out of her mouth and Ouma tamps down the desire to outright beat the noodles out of her. “What are we watching on Christmas’ Eve?”

“That movie I watched back when I was a kid with the train to Santa Claus’ base of operations.” Iruma takes the remote control as she elucidates, the oil stains from the noodles spilling onto the remote control. Ouma recoils in horror. “It’s a fucking timeless classic and the only movie that yours truly can admit is good despite the utter lack of interesting action!”

“I wonder about your definitions of interesting, but I suppose I will keep quiet!” Ouma wrestles the remote control to him and switches the audio to Polish.

“None of us here know Polish!”

“You will understand it in time Iruma-chan! Even a dust-gathering brain like yours are capable of something eventually!”

“Knock it off now, let’s change it back.” Toujou effortlessly takes back the remote control and switches it back to Japanese. Ouma’s pout springs up on his face instantly. “Can’t we have some fun in this night at all!”

“You’re already having fun with those toy trains I gave you earlier, remember?” Iruma puts down the noodles and moves onto the bag of chips, pulling open it with chips flying everywhere and Toujou’s immediate scowl. “Sorry for that, Slutjou!”

“You will be sorry about that soon enough, Iruma-san,” Toujou comminates gently with the promise, then turns her focus back to the television. The hero boy is now standing hesitantly in front of the train conductor, who is quite ready and eager to leave him shall he not get up onto the train himself.

“Is this how you feel every time a boy tries to date you, abortion?”

“Tch, Iruma-chan underestimated my capacity of shame! I would do so much more! Like—”

“Um nope! Nobody here wants to hear about your nonexistent romantic life here.” Iruma grabs the remote and speeds to a different scene. Now the scene has shifted to when hero boy has to get hero girl’s ticket back to prove her innocence and right to board the train.

“And this is Iruma-chan as she hunts for an opportunity to be even more outrageously disgusting! Look at you go!”

“It is not and it sucks as a metaphor so it doesn’t coun—hey give back the chips!” Iruma makes a wild snatch for the bag while Ouma all but shoves every piece directly into his mouth. Iruma screams and gets up onto the table to obtain a better vantage point to grab back at Ouma. Ouma dodges at the last second with a giggle and the table slides off with a squealing Iruma falling onto the floor.

Toujou gets up and pauses the movie, a capitulator in a war that doesn’t involve her. “Do you ever think twice before deciding on an action?”

“Nope!” They singsong synchronously. Toujou sighs in an almost affectionate manner and starts sweeping away the bits of chips on the floor. “When I come back, at least be done with not killing each other, alright?”

“Maybe!” Ouma aims a bit onto Iruma’s face, and Iruma retaliates without missing a beat. They get bored by it quite quickly, however, so soon they settle back onto the sofa with something else for snacks, and into a rare, agreeable silence.

The silence lasts for some time before Iruma speaks up again. “This is my favorite part when I was a child, and it still is. Look at them!” She points at the hero boy who’s bequeathed with the bell from Santa Claus’ sleigh. “This is the kind of magic that you believe in.”

“Magic? Iruma-chan, I thought you aren’t Yumeno-chan! Are you taking over her role?”

“Jeez, Ouma, don’t you ever take anything seriously at all? Is nothing sacred to you?”

Ouma gives that a hard and good thought. Then he shakes his head.

“Tch. But then again, when you have lived through some bullshit like us, I guess it’s pretty hard to think of anything still as sacred, right?” Iruma redirects her attention to the screen, and now the hero boy is boarding the train back to his home when he found out that his bell is missing.

“So. What really happened to you when you found out this movie isn’t a reality?”

Iruma is silent for once. Ouma waits for a response that he knows very well won’t really come. Toujou, on the other hand, is tempted to break the metaphorical ice the question creates when Iruma suddenly bursts into tears.

“I know it isn’t real… Why else would I do something as stupid as joining Dan—” She grabs a tissue instead of finishing her sentence, harsh breaths expelled in snowflakes that taste of sorrow and penitence. Balls of tissue papers ornate the floor. “I have never… Look. Look I know the truth. I have never even watched this wretched movie. It isn’t me, it was the me in Danganronpa.”

The soft music of the credits underscores the roiling emotions of everyone present. Suddenly the movie is a much more preferable alternative to talking.

But an unspoken moxie takes roots in Ouma, and keeping on talking he must. “And is the you from Danganronpa worthless and means nothing to you?”

Iruma wipes her face harder, as if desperately wiping the smirk the SHSL Inventor wears on a daily basis would yield anything good for the situation. “Funny of you to say that, Ouma. Out of all of us, you have absolutely no change. Zero. Nil. Even Toujou over here loses her super capabilities in doing everything and yet you stay being the liar you always have been in the game.”

Iruma’s words aim a precise laceration on the surface of Ouma’s heart, and it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds more lies. “Iruma-chan, you’d be naive if you think all of me is still here with you.”

“Huh?”

“Because… The truth is… I came back with powers unbeknownst to mortals like you!” Ouma springs up onto the table and dives into Iruma with his hands outwards, and Iruma freezes on impulse and amplifies her whimpers. “I now possess the power of controlling your emotions! And I will use this power for evil! Be sad, you imbecilic temptress!”

“Ouma-kun, what even are you talking about at this poi—” Toujou gets up to interfere, but Ouma pauses right there, hands going limp and staring down at Iruma.

“Why do you have to hang onto me like a lifeline? What did I ever do?”

“What, what are you even talking about?” Iruma attempts to slither out of Ouma’s weight, her features increasingly contorted in confusion.

Ouma, on the other hand, gets up voluntarily and walks back to his room upstairs.

⁕

when ouma’s eyes fluttered open to the bleached white wall of the infirmary, paparazzi were surrounding him in every direction.

― ouma kokichi! you finally wake up! share with us how you feel?

ouma’s throat unfettered a few unintelligible notes into their mics, and the doctors on duty circumscribe him, blocking the paparazzi and stopping them from invading his space. ouma attempts again to talk, and it ends with throwing up onto the floor. at least the paparazzi recede at the sight of that.

― hey team danganronpa were you taking proper care with ouma ― is ouma kokichi-san going to be okay after all ― will they be present for the conference?

gradually security guards entered the scene and herded the thirsty news-hunters out of the infirmary, and a few doctors left with hushed instructions to one another. only one person remained after the tide of people abates from the room and ouma’s consciousness.

― alright, i’m here to gauge your necessity for a memory re-transfer.

shirogane, the blue devil herself, was standing over him, clutching a board with a passive look in her eyes. if not for the obvious eyebags she had and her moribund complexion, ouma would doubt that the game has any ramification on her.

― it’s really quite simple. all i need you to do here is to give me some responses to this survey i’m taking that will determine whether or not you want to get back your memories.

― my memories?

― trust me, this will only take a few minutes. question one, are you capable of thinking about the last seconds of your death?

― i do. but what does that have to do with—

― that’s good. question two, can you describe to details your personality during the game?

― tch… merciless, driven, cruel…

― yeah, that’s enough there to go for. question three, if you have the chance to choose…

shirogane finished asking her questions soon enough and promised to get back to him when the team had determined whether he get his memories back or not. before she could take her departure, however, ouma yelled for her to stop.

― wait! did you have your memories back?

― i don’t have any memories beyond being part of danganronpa, but thanks, the concern is touching.

― no i mean like—do you remember what happened in the game? are you, like, coping at all?

shirogane let out a cold chuckle.

― people like me don’t have any need to remember mundane things like that when i have more i need to do up ahead.

that was when ouma realized that he hasn’t been playing by the rules that shirogane established.

― nishishi, perhaps it’s just that shirogane-chan is too inane to understand my question!

― perhaps that is so! i am but a cosplayer, what do i know about the arts of lies?

― so! shirogane-chan, i think you’re doing just fine because you don’t remember anything about yourself just like the idiot you are! you stink as well! but is that a lie?

― i’m really flattered that you think so, ouma-kun! a mere intern like me needs to do so much more in order to advance in this industry, so it’s only natural that i have to give up my whole self for that! it’s just my passions! so, i do think you state something that is and is not a lie! i don’t remember anything, but i also remember everything! that was nice talking to you, but i gotta go now!

ouma struggled to get up before pain shot through his sternum and ribcage, a paroxysm throwing him into begrudging oscitancy. before shirogane truly leave, however, ouma managed to choke out words he intended to say.

― do i have a say in whether i want this or not?

shirogane pauses.

― are you this desperate to go back to your old self? then why did you join the show to begin wi—

― no. i don’t want any of my memories back. keep them or delete them, i don’t care. i don’t want to go back to my past.

shirogane does a double take.

― why not?

― just respect my wishes. let me keep this me intact.

shirogane blanches, but then a borderline cruel smile adorns her face.

― i see what it is! you’re afraid of going out of money and popularity, so you want to literally keep being this cash cow! very respectful wishes! i will pass them on!

then she truly leaves, taking ouma’s uncertain regrets with her.

⁕

Today is not going to be a good Christmas Day, Ouma surmises.

He is still in his pajamas at the current hour of twelve, when he realizes that he does not even feel like getting up or moving his limbs. Maybe he should stay in this bed forever until even his bones wither into dust. At least Iruma and Toujou will have one less person to worry about, if they ever worried about him.

Before this reverie relatively becomes true, however, Iruma barges in. “Ouma? You awake?”

“Yes, I’m awake, Iruma-chan, doesn’t erase the fact that my soul is still deep asleep in somewhere else!” Ouma reluctantly rolls off the bed and grabs his usual wear of sweater, expecting a crude smile and lewd words barraging from her mouth.

Iruma’s face is not painted with a smile. Rather, there is a vacant look with a latent sense of dread. “Follow me downstairs. Now.”

“What, I can’t even go brush my tee—” Ouma yelps as Iruma establishes an iron grip on his wrist, roughly dragging him with her. “We’re going downstairs right this fucking second, you shit.”

Ouma gulps down his renewed vexation and lets himself be dragged down, right into the hall where the television is located. Loud music blares from it, but that is the only precursor to the pivotal moment of this chapter of his short, nugatory life.

“Saihara Shuuichi is awake.”

⁕

They take slots for everyone who wants to visit Saihara, but Iruma and Toujou take the courtesy of visiting together so that one less slot is placed in front of Ouma.

“Iruma-chan, it is unwise of doing that when you definitely have so many raunchy and oh-so-romantic promises you have to make to the protagonist, right? Why don’t you go take back your slot?” Ouma unwraps one of the gift boxes below their Christmas tree and takes out a generic notebook. “Ha! Even though I have spent so much to buy you guys a gold-generating machine, this is how you guys treated me?”

“Ouma-kun, today is Christmas Day, let’s have the decency to be more honest and open.” Toujou chuckles, and Ouma hates that look in her eyes as if she is a mother watching her child grow up and find a partner. “We know you just bought a roomba for me, and a shampoo for Iruma-san. And the notebook has its crucial functions, trust us. We intend for you to take this to when you see Saihara-kun.”

“And then we make drawings and chat like some nine-year-old boys or something? And what makes you guys think I’m going?”

“Why won’t you go? Do you really not miss Stupidhara even once?”

The question pierces more than Ouma’s usual armor, so he pouts and stays quiet.

“That’s what I’m thinking. Now go prepare for a bit, our session should sometime after one thirty, so be sure you’re there at two.”

With that, Ouma is left alone in the house, feeling like the biggest idiot and asshole in the world.

“Tch… This is so fucking annoying.” Ouma takes one more bite of his toast and shoves everything into the fridge for later. Come to think about it, hasn’t it been some time since Toujou feels happy enough to make them breakfast? Is it just the charity spirit of Christmas Day, or is Saihara Shuuichi’s charm truly that powerful?

Ouma wishes he has requested Shirogane to fracture every single neuron in his head that contains memories of Saihara but well, life won’t ever go the way you want, huh?

You went to forget yourself.

I know.

Or at least, that’s what I’m going to assume, even into the graves.

Ouma takes a water bottle, a small gift, and packs them all into his backpack before gorging out on more rubbish instant noodles and gets on his way.

⁕

When he arrived at the hospital, the influx of reporters and more paparazzi has only calmed down for a bit. After all, the whole world is waiting for him to wake up, but that does not ameliorate that fact at all.

When he passed by, though, the distant sense of claustrophobia only becomes much worse.

“We have more private visitors, so we would appreciate it if you could please take your departure until we notify you of further details regarding this.” A doctor, almost laughably identical to the one that had briefly tended to Ouma, waves the reporters away. They persist, so the doctor called for security backup, and they reluctantly disperse.

Ouma lets out a subtle enough sigh that he hopes will not give away his presence, then he crashes right into a stray reporter with a feverish look in their eyes.

“Oh my… What good fortune! Aren’t you Ouma Kokichi?”

Ouma recalls his irritating perfume and scarf and chastises himself mentally on the fact that he didn’t take them. “I am not—”

“There’s no need to hide! You’re safe here with me! I just need one interview done with you, then I’ll leave!” They whip out a pen and notepad in no time. “So. If you don’t mind, I will also record this interview to serve as audio evidence. As a responsible reporter, I will inform you so as to give you a chance to think about whether you want that. So are you okay with that?”

“I am not—”

“Alright! Good to know you are okay with that, Ouma-san, it really means a lot. My first question is, what do you ultimately think about the entire Danganronpa Season 53? Like were they good with all the preparations and character settings and plots?”

“Why aren’t you listening to me I said I don’t want thi—”

“I suppose that as the supreme leader, you must be rather satisfied with it! Let’s move onto the next question then! My next question as to whether or not you have enjoyed your role as a secondary antagonist right after the mastermind? After all, it is in your script to be the main villain other than the mastermind by the virtue of being a Remnant of Despair following Enoshima Junko. So, is the role enjoyable? Anything you found interesting and memorable in particular?”

“I do not find anything memorable or interesting,” my only thought process was that i want to die, Ouma barely bites back the bullets. “the only thing I found interesting is—”

The reporter closes the notepad all of a sudden and turns to look Ouma into the eyes for the first time in this conversation. “I see how it is! I have wrongly judged your disposition. Your focus is more on the romantic side, right! Let me change my questions then.”

“I never even agreed to—”

“Question one then! Is your love towards Saihara Shuuichi written into the script, or merely improvised? Better yet,” The reporter nigh-pushed themself right onto Ouma’s face. “could it be you fall in love with him on-set?”

Every phantom inside of Ouma, threatening to spill out at any given opportunity, has scooped in for the kill. “What the fuck makes you think you can just keep giving me shit like that? Do everyone a favour, shut the fuck up and take your pathetic excuse for a functional being to nowheresville of asshat-land!”

Taken aback by Ouma’s sudden furor, the reporter stutters a few steps back. “Um, I’m, I mean, I don’t mean any harm and I just want a—”

“Like hell you fucking do! Fuck right off and never appear in front of me ever again!”

The look of admiration behind the reporter’s thick spectacles slowly turns into that of belligerence. “Alright. Alright! I see how it is! You fucking attention-seeking kids just want to be all secretive to keep being celebrities, right? Or is it because you think I’m not a good enough reporter to sell you? Guess what, Ouma Kokichi, I’m exactly going to write an article about how bad your behavior is and how much of a threat you are to society! Let’s see who the world believes in!”

“Don’t, don’t you fucking dare—”

“You’d honestly think any desperate reporter running on only one news article every week is not going to dare to do tha—”

“Hey.”

The duo pauses and turns towards the source of the voice, and Ouma wishes he has just dodged into the room rather than doing whatever he had done to lead to this.

Momota himself is staring down the reporter, an uncharacteristically tired look in his eyes.

“Hey. Leave my friend alone, a’ight?”

Friend? Ouma wisely keeps his mouth shut and panics internally as the reporter stands his ground. “Easy for someone like you to say, when you no longer need to worry about a job or anything! I just need to hand in one article! Why is it so hard for you fucking kids to—”

“There,” Momota stuffs a few notes into the reporter’s outstretched hand. “That should be enough for a whole month for you, right?”

“But…” They grind their teeth together and stares daggers once again at Ouma, then huffs and walks off.

“So, here to visit Shuuichi?”

The unprompted question tingles Ouma’s self-preservation instincts, and they are telling him to run out of the hospital and into a place no one will ever find him in. “W—What if I am, does that matter to you in any way?”

“Well, it’s still gonna be some more time before your slot begins, right?” Momota looks up from his watch and gestures towards a bench. “Wanna catch up a bit?”

The trap tightens up Ouma’s entire body and his lungs collapse.

⁕

Or at least that’s what Ouma feels like. His lungs have not collapsed, but if that really had happened and he is spared from talking to anyone other than Momota, he is looking for a way to punch a hole into his chest right this second.

“I’ve heard from Harumaki that you’re rooming with Toujou and Iruma… So how are you guys doing so far? Gotten into any trouble with them?”

For whatever ungodly reasons, Ouma feels a smirk not truly belonging to him consolidates on his face. “They have been living just nicely with me, Momota-chan. I mean, they are now living with a supreme leader without any other bothersome people attached! Under my glorious leadership, there is no way their lives could go awry!”

Momota looks at him with the same tired look he casts at the reporter. “What is the truth, Ouma?”

Ouma strains himself to mollify, to change into a him that is more palatable for everyone involved in the game, but then he remembers he is never intended for entertainment consumption anyway. “What does it bother you how we are doing anyway?”

“Because I care about you guys and Shuuichi would’ve done the same?”

Ouma bites back more bullets deep back inside of him, which would eventually scorch his insides, he is sure. “Fine. We are doing fucking excellent. End of the story.”

Momota heaves something of an agreeable sigh. “That’s good. Harumaki and Amami have been terrific roommates too, and if Himiko’s condition gets better she may live with us as well. Always good to gain more company if you ask me.”

Ouma keeps his mouth shut and waits, staring across into the infirmary room opposite where they are sitting at. Let this silence commence.

Momota, however, did not get the mental memo. “Are you really doing good yourself?”

“Why does that matter to you? And bringing up Saihara-chan again does not count.”

“Well, then I told you already that I do care about you guys, what more excuse can I use?” Momota puts the plastic bag he has been carrying around onto the seat between them. Then he looks down at it and Ouma can tell from the sparks in his eyes that this tribulation is far from over. “Oh, right. Are you developing a habit or anything? I mean, having no jobs must make everything boring after awhile. I personally have started taking care of potted plants. It’s calming, y’know? Just watering plants and getting rid of bugs occasionally.”

“Nice. I heard those plants are very interesting and challenging to take care of. But then again! Nothing is too challenging for the luminary of the stars, right?” Ouma turns around and plops his head on his hand and elbow on the bench, in the most overt way possible. If he has turned around, he bets he could see Momota glaring daggers at him, probably imagining Ouma with his usual smug face. Two o’clock has never been that far away.

Momota’s voice remains surprisingly calm, or surprisingly enervated, Ouma supposes. “Sarcasm and lies like that aren’t exactly going to get you far, Ouma. It’s fine if you want to say that in front of me, but I’m not discounting the fact that people in the outside world are going to hate you for that.”

The fuse burns in an instant. “And what makes you think you’re particularly good for the outside world right now, Momota-chan? Your indistinct persona? Your ability to indulge in some ultimately meaningless habits that yield nothing? The fact that you have remembered everything about your past and you can just go and give everything you’ve earned in Danganronpa up? Just fucking like that?”

“Then have you considered how much you have fucking done and how little you have done for literally anyone yourself!” Ouma flinches from the screech and balls himself up upon the sound of a pot breaking onto the floor. In the periphery of his vision,  a little bit of dirt is visible, along with the shadow of a raised fist. Ouma hugs himself tighter.

Momota freezes in motion, looking dumbfounded and petrified at his own fist. He slowly puts it down to the side, sitting back down on the bench heavily. “Hey? You okay?”

Ouma’s mouth is sealed with self-administered thorns. “No.”

“Fuck. That’s another thing I fucked up here. Look,” Momota reaches across the empty seat between the two of them, and Ouma flinches away further. “that’s understandable. Wait where was I? Oh, right, I was about to, like, apologize for that.”

“Please don’t apologize for a minor fuck-up that you don’t think yourself wrong for.” Ouma’s voice is raspier than he himself thought, like a blade being dragged across a stone. A senseless act of violence.

“This might surprise you, but I do know what I have done is completely unsolicited and—”

“Unsolicited? Momota-chan knows big words like that?” Ouma tries to bring his leader’s charming smile back on his face, but it takes too much of him. And he is so tired.

“You may not see that coming but anyway,” Momota scratches the back of his neck and looks up at the ceiling. Looking anywhere other than Ouma. “it is a completely horrible move on my part, I apologize to you. That being said, I do think my point still stands.”

“What point did you make at all? That I should get a habit like taking care of potted plants like you?”

“Nah. My point is, you have to learn to move on and stop being the you from the game.” Momota pauses the scratching and digs into his pocket, fishing his phone out. He takes one close look at the screen and promptly turns it off. “Like, seriously, I just talked to you like for two seconds and you are already back to your lying ways and being your supreme leader self like no man’s business. It would actually be fair to say that you have not changed even one bit if I have to be absolutely honest. Except being a bit more rightfully rude, I guess. Scratch the rightfully part, more like unnecessarily.”

“For all you know, I’m already incorrigible, or I have already tried too many times to want to try again.” The refutation can be shattered by even the most bullheaded Danganronpa contestant, but Ouma spits it out regardless. “I’m just a washed-up Danganronpa competitor who has lost the spotlight. And of course, I love that. Nothing wrong with it. But of course! That could be just my trademark lies!”

Momota starts looking at Ouma with something almost like sympathy. Sympathy from a bystander who has never fallen and is now looking down at him comfortably from the top. “I guess I have overestimated your ability to change then. Like, I understand being defensive and aggressive, but. You are still not opening up.”

“Let me open up to you right this instant then?” Ouma redirects his blank stare towards Momota and forces his mouth open. “I’m done. I have shrivelled up completely into a poor replica of both versions of my former self. I’m too tired. I don’t want to do anything again, save for daily routines and finally going in to see Saihara-chan. Is that satisfying enough for you?”

“Ouma, look, I know all the wrong I have inflicted on you, but if you keep yourself closed up like that—”

“I’ll be just safe and sound because nobody can hurt me and I can’t hurt anybody. Right?” Ouma gets up abruptly, takes his backpack and finally walks into the patient room.

⁕

Saihara is reading a book when Ouma walks in. The cover is blank save for the title, almost reminiscent of the kind of classics that you will find in an English bookstore. The sentiment does not last, however, as Ouma gets closer and realizes that the title says “Saihara’s ideas”. Whatever that means, it has nothing to do with a classic novel.

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara pokes his head out of the book and stares right at Ouma. Unlike everyone’s gazes, Saihara’s always feels soft but firm, without feeling like a piercing glare. It’s crazy that Saihara could pull that off.

“Hello there, Saihara-chan,” Ouma just remembers that he has brought instant noodles here and is tempted to punch himself. “are you doing any better? Feeling any maggot still drilling into your brain?”

“Ouma-kun, you know technically there couldn’t be anything like that in any of our heads…” Saihara puts down the book entirely and sits up. That must have induced some pains onto him, but he still maintains his smile when he looks back at Ouma. “I’m really glad to see you here. I was starting to think nobody would come here after all.”

“Nobody? How could anyone resist the charms of the great Saihara Shuuichi though?” This comes out much more sarcastic and sincere a question, but Ouma asks it anyway. Saihara merely chuckles in his old good-natured manner. “I don’t exactly mean anyone in particular. I was just worried that you wouldn’t come.”

“… Huh?”

“I know what you want to ask, how you matter and all that.” Saihara scratches the back of his left hand, eyes cast down in this opportune moments. Does Saihara fear to look at him? “I start remembering a lot about my past before joining Danganronpa and realize quite a lot of things, I suppose. And looking back at everything that had happened, I think it’s not unfair to come to the conclusion that you are nowhere near as evil as you like to project yourself as.”

“That’s foolish of you to say, Saihara-chan. Do you have any evidence at all that would point to that?”

“Did you watch the in-universe Chapter Six of the game? Wait. That is a terribly awful thing to say, who would want to do that?” Saihara raises his head back up to look Ouma in the eye, unaverted but still with a note of hesitancy. “We found out all that you’ve done to stop the killing game. We know you’re not pure evil because of that.”

“Heh, that doesn’t matter now though, right?” Ouma takes out the instant noodles from the backpack and places them on Saihara’s lap. “We are supposed to move on and forget all these happened and all that.”

“That is absolutely not true.” Saihara picks up the noodles and places them on the counter next to the bed. In the gentle and serious way he puts them down, Ouma almost feels that Saihara does cherish his ‘gifts’. “We all went through this. Just because all our fates vary from one another doesn’t mean we haven’t been victims of this cruel game in our own ways. It is important for us to connect with one another still, and to find a way to heal ourselves by doing that.”

Good luck dragging me into group therapy then. “So, Saihara-chan, do you intend to start anytime soon? Our great protagonist leading us to a peaceful road to healing seems to make a lot of sense if I have to be honest. Or this could lead to us burning and crashing into nowhere, all these could be a lie.”

“It doesn’t have to start that soon. Whenever we are all ready, I hope I still command some sort of respect for you guys.” Saihara takes up the notebook again and opens to a particular page. Ouma takes that as his cue to leave.

“Oh! Right here.” Saihara gestures for Ouma to come closer to the bedside, eyes still glued to the page for no palpable reason. Ouma obeys, moving his own eyes to look into the notebook.

“What exactly are all these?”

“I used to be a writer before joining the game. At least I think so.” Saihara points to a line near the middle of the left-hand page, but Ouma detains himself from reading in too deep into old Saihara’s utterly unintelligible writing. “This used to be one of my ideas. I figured I could use it someday if I want to be a writer again.”

“So what is it about?”

“It’s about a suicidal kid who hires a biographer to write down the story of their life, so when the day they decided to die they could read this biography and feel how deeply worthless and meaningless their life had been. This progresses as a more hopeful story as it goes, however, and in the end, the kid realizes they are not worthless and feeling like living again.”

Ouma frowns. “Why exactly do you feel the compelling need to tell me that?”

Saihara redirects his innocent gaze at Ouma, a harmless smile with knives hidden tugging his lips into a curve. “I reserve myself to share an idea with everyone who has visited me. I thought that could be a fun way for us to connect instead of going directly into the heavy stuff if that makes sense.”

Ouma nods, his head filling up with nothing but dark waters. “That is nice of you, Saihara-chan. I hope that story didn’t turn out bad.”

Saihara smiles again and Ouma feels the knife plunged into him, twisted and turned. “Of course it didn’t.”

⁕

Ouma takes one bite out of the pizza slice Iruma stuffs him with. The pizza is nearly cold with pieces of pineapple on it, creased with the touch of a human being he still despises. All crimes against humanity, if Ouma can count as a human.

Soon enough, however, the cold pizza becomes too much, and Ouma gives up on munching it and opts to survey the room instead. There’s the fourteen of them here. Shirogane and Akamatsu are out of commission for whatever unknown reasons. Let’s hope their declines to this offer doesn’t sting Saihara in any way. If Saihara’s vaguely detached countenance is anything to go by, it does sting.

Once he is done with a cursory glance, however, the smell of bullets overwhelms him again, the latent tension he feels whenever he is around with anyone is at a full time high again, so Ouma goes back to munching on the pizza to alleviate it.

“I do not see how assembling all of us will assist us in any way, shape or form.” Shinguuji raises his voice slightly louder than the volume of a rusty piano choking out its last notes. “… I mean, by all means, don’t let me be a spoilsport, I should not have spoken, I should—”

“It’s alright, Shinguuji-kun,” Saihara stops sipping his fruit punch. “We are here to check on each other and speak our minds after all. Or if you don’t feel like doing so, that’s up to you.”

Silence occupies the room instantly with a side dollop of tension. And nobody feels that it is their responsibility to defuse it.

Except for the ever immobile Kiibo. “So! Perhaps we can start with how everyone is doing? Do you guys have any sort of routine or just doing anything fun in general?”

“I’m rooming with Hoshi and Angie,” Everyone stares across the table towards Tenko, who fumbles around uncomfortably and is leaning towards Toujou next to her as she seeks more words to fill the gap and farther away from the trembling Shinguuji. “Angie and I tried to find some fun for Hoshi, but he is a hard one to please. We tried volleyball and nearly killed him.”

“‘Tis ain’t no fun for me, but at least they have their own fun, I guess.” Hoshi speaks in the most resigned tone Ouma has ever heard, and yet there is an undeniable smile there and everyone is laughing. Everyone. Except him.

“Angie loves volleyball though! She is no expert in sports, but volleyball is just like ‘don’t let the balloon touch the ground’ as a more intense version, and Angie loves games like those!” Angie bounces around wildly, occasionally tripping herself onto the various baggages Saihara has taken into the house. “You keep your hands lower to the ground and punt the ball when it rushes to your direction!”

“That does sound really fun! Is daily life alright with you guys then?”

“Angie is taking Hoshi to therapy sessions and he’s making good progress to quit smoking! Tenko does her best to look for volunteer week outside, and soon Angie would love to join them as well!”

Ouma observes the minute details of everyone’s countenances. They are all changing every time he lays eyes on them, but not once do they look remotely sad or anything resembling brokenness.

“… Anyone else wanna share? Ouma-kun?”

Kiibo’s robotically cheerful inflection brings Ouma’s consciousness back onto the surface. Now everyone’s faithless eyes rubberneck him.

What do they see? Something they hate? Something they could tolerate?

“Of course I have everything to share, unlike you heathens who have nothing better to do in your life other than wasting out the rest of your lives!” Ouma does a fancy pirouette and musters up the most humane gait he could to get to Saihara. “The supreme leader is not just a rusty title! I do everything with gusto and the moxie only someone like me has!”

“If that’s so, Idiotma, you wanna tell everyone about how courageously you go and collect your toys from the ever-dangerous gacha machine?” Iruma’s cackle precedes what might be the most embarrassing moment in Ouma’s short life; with the click of a remote, the room darkens and a screen lights up, with said gacha game showing up in full view for everyone.

Ouma makes a mental memo to tighten up Iruma’s choker and makes the choker actually do its job in the not-too-distant future.

“Oh, so Kokichi does have some sort of gusto and moxie to collect things like that!” Angie instantly rolls with Iruma’s action, hands clasped together like a worshipper who had first witnessed a miracle done by God. Or in this case, by an all-around horrible person. What’s worst, Angie actually goes up and surveys the toys shown on the screen, and some of the others follow suit.

“You… Iruma-chan! Have you considered that while you have my collection in your grips, I also have your collection of erotica in my grips!” The mask slips comfortably onto Ouma’s chassis. “You really think none of us could see those gross books you have on your table all the time? Too bad, while you were setting my phone up, I studied your gross books and took them away!”

Iruma’s face falls faster than a drop tower going awry with no speed restraint. “Hey! What do you mean I own lewd stupid stuff like that! That’s just a lie of yours, right!”

“I am not! A good boy like me never lies! I have leverage against you now, so I’ll suggest handing my phone back!”

“Never! I cannot just stand here and let you slander my name! Now listen, you little twink—”

“Knock it off, both of you.” Toujou gently pushes both away from one another. It feels almost just like any other day in their household, if not for the uproarious laughter going off in the background like fireworks. His lungs getting just a bit easier to breathe, Ouma smiles. A smile he cannot hide and does not want to hide.

“Tch, Twinkma, here’s your stupid phone back.” Iruma pulls Ouma’s violet-shelled phone and hands it back to him. Ouma immediately opens the game and scrolls through his entire catalog of toys before remembering that toys cannot be sold or deleted in any way, and heaves a sigh of relief.

The fireworks gradually ebb into sparkles, and Saihara takes the lead again. “Hm, so, Ouma-kun, you wanna share anything else? Out of your own volition, of course.”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Ouma points at Iruma yet again. “Iruma-chan loves baying like a hyena every day before breakfast, and it is really really annoying!”

“Hey! I gave you your phone back already, stop slandering me like that!”

“I’m not lying though, you’d know that, Iruma-chan! Sometimes the baying sounds a bit lower, and I think that means it’s mating season to attract better—”

Iruma slams a hand up to Ouma’s face desperately, but Ouma dodges out of the way before Iruma could get anywhere close. Toujou sighs deeply again upon realizing the two are at their throats once again. “Please. I believe you two have a better mode of interactions. Both of you can do better. Otherwise, either of you would be dead already.”

“Toujou-chan, you did forget to remark on the fact that you, me and Hyena-chan have died before though.”

Angie stops jouncing around. Iruma’s eyes ashen and widen. Everyone puts shocked cups down.

The sights are so much more than a verbal declaration of detestation, so much more deafening.

Even Kiibo needs to take this comment in for a few seconds before he could say anything. “So. Does anyone else want to?…”

“Well, not me.” Iruma pushes herself away from Ouma. “Preferably, I’ll go find a pillow to bay like hyena into. It’s mating season.” With that said, she quickly disappears up the ladders, but everyone could see stray tears spilling from the crevices between her eyes and arm.

Toujou looks back at Ouma, then to the staircase creaking with Iruma’s pounding steps, and quietly excuses herself as well.

“Well,” Ouma chokes back the scalding sobs threatening to erupt inside him (those are not sobs, obviously, they are only crocodile’s tears, you can only cry those tears), and along with those all the lies, lies, lies. “I think it really is best if we can just disappear off the face of this Earth and never come back.”

“You know, if you don’t have anything good and comforting to say, Tenko—I think you should shut it, Ouma.”

“Tenko-chan, you know, your lies are very very easy to detect. You could just say it out loud.”

Tenko’s face flushes up. “Ten—I just don’t think you should say anything more when your brain is empty and can’t find any emotion to stuff in there.”

“That’s fair. I never want to speak to any of you anyway—or is that a lie?” There is a crack in the smile, and Ouma imagines it is not pretty to look at.

“Nah, I bet that isn’t a lie, and I don’t need my magic to know that.” Himiko says, then adds air quote gestures just to drive in the point that she is no longer the magician in Danganronpa.

“It could be just that Yumeno-chan is as dense as ever! Anyway, I think it’s pretty unfair that I have to share more when most of you didn’t say anything at all? Anyone else wanna share and make Saihara-chan and Kiiboy happy?”

Nary a susurrus or shift can be detected, until Maki stands up. “I have enough. I don’t want to do this fake-ass group therapy thing anymore.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to disappoint Saihara-chan like that, Harukawa-chan?”

When Maki looks back at her, the flames in her eyes have long cooled into embers. And yet, Ouma can’t imagine a universe where Maki is not staring at him with murder in her eyes. “I’m just tired of all this. I’m tired of everything any of you try to concoct, and especially you, Ouma. So yeah, I’m going to just leave. Momota, if you try to follow me I’ll beat your pathetic ass up. My bat-swinging skills haven’t gotten that rusty.”

“Tch, Harumaki, can’t you just?…” Momota casts another frustrated look towards Ouma, then follows Maki out of the house. The resounding thud of the closing door kills the suspense altogether and Saihara coughs to clear his throat.

“Well then,” He stands up, his fruit punch forgotten on the table. “let’s meet another time when everyone feels up to it again. Or if they don’t ever want to talk, just meeting up is good enough too, I suppose. Thank you for coming, guys.”

⁕

“I’m glad I get to move in with you guys,” Saihara is unpacking a box of novels, putting them all onto a black bookshelf while Ouma is lying on the bed with his phone. His fingers vacillate between the web browser with the forum tab and the gacha machine game. “it’s always a pleasure to see you guys more instead of moving out on my own. That would be really bad.”

“It can’t be any worse with us, Saihara-chan, I mean I’m here to take care of you! So your decision is absolutely right.” Ouma presses on the browser and watches as hundreds of slandering comments pop up below the thread after he forgot to update for a week. He moves to delete all of them.

“That’s true. I don’t mind moving in with anyone in particular, but Toujou-san is really reliable and Iruma-san does bring this house some joy in her own ways, not to mention Kiibo-kun is mainly with us too.”

Ouma throws down the phone with a pout ready. “Saihara-chan! It’s great to hear that apparently, my presence doesn’t mean anything at all! As the supreme leader, I request you to get out until you recognize my reign, which is the only thing that is holding us all together!”

“Yes, you are absolutely right too, Ouma-kun.” Saihara steps away from the bookshelf and sits down on the bed next to Ouma. Ouma consciously moves a few inches further away. “Having you here feels nice too, especially because…”

“Because…”

Saihara looks out towards the window, seemingly at a loss for words. “To be honest, I can’t really pinpoint a particular reason why I think your company is comforting and something I prefer. But I just do. Having you here really feels nice, almost like home in some ways.”

“That’s flattery you reserve for girls and boys outside of the killing game, Saihara-chan. No such thing as feeling like home with us.”

Saihara lies down. “No such thing as feeling like home with you guys? Ouma-kun, the sixteen of us survived a mutual killing game. I think that’s about as bonding as it gets. Fire-forged friends, if you will.”

“As if! Saihara-chan, you aren’t blind, you can definitely see that everyone currently hates my guts, and Shirogane-chan is still so hated that she has to decline coming today. And let’s not even start with Akamatsu-chan.”

Ouma waits for Saihara’s fuse to burn and snap into a million splinters in the form of libels and tirades and leaving this house forever, but the fuse holds tight with a smile. “I think it’s unfair to assume so simply that they cannot change though, Ouma-kun. We all have more capacity for change in us if we just try. I’m sure someday they will turn around.”

Ouma opens his mouth to argue, only to realize all the words about to slip off his tongue are traitors to his mind and heart. So he shuts it, lies down just a little bit closer to Saihara, feeling up the little warmth he gives off in the close distance.

“Hey, Saihara-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think we can recover from this? Who will we be in the future? The we from the game, or the we from before? Or somebody in-between?”

Saihara tilts his head towards Ouma. “Ouma-kun… Does it matter, really, who we will be right now? There’s no real clear line between who we are. I know this whole memory retrieval procedures still carry fuzzy effects on you, but—”

“Saihara-chan,” Ouma will lose himself after this. “I did not get my old memories back.”

The fuse melts off slowly; so this is what becomes of it instead of the explosive end Ouma predicted. “You don’t. You don’t remember?”

“Yeah, I’m not getting them back, those rusty useless memories. Everyone prefers me as I am now, right? So why bother?” (Now you’re just telling lies for the sake of telling lies) “Why remember the obsolete me?”

Watching that radiance and smile freeze into paralysis is more painful than Ouma has thought, not that he would mind (of course you don’t mind, please keep up the lies we are all thrilled to hear them) “Obsolete? You think your past is obsolete?”

“That’s only a fact here, Saihara-chan.”

“Do you remember all the stories I have told you?”

A part of Ouma nearly switches on. “Stories?”

“All the stories I used to tell you before I gave up on being a writer, do you remember them?”

At that, Saihara starts peddling off congeries after congeries of his story ideas, but Ouma remains static, both his mind and heart and takes in all of them without a second thought, without any input of his own.

Saihara is gradually reduced to tears. “You… Don’t remember anything?”

“Saihara-cha—Saihara,” Ouma gets up and draws himself further away from him, further away from Saihara. “tell me, tell me yourself. Why should I get them back? Because everyone else is? Because this would magically make me more agreeable?” He grits his teeth then, as if that would make these words true. “I’m sorry for making this decision, but there isn’t a version of me that’s agreeable or good for anyone. So this is how I have remained. Better to be what everyone already knows than somebody else entirely.”

“There is a universe where you are agreeable and that’s the you from before.”

“And do you really think I can just abandon everything I have done in the game to be that me again?” Ouma gets up in a fit, looking down at Saihara’s petrified expression. “I can’t. I’m sorry I’m not that me from before or want to be that me anymore, because there’s only the me now. There’s no going back and there’s no returning from.”

Saihara remains silent. Ouma takes that as his cue to exit.

⁕

Ouma is filling up the forms when Shirogane appears in front of him.

“Oh, Ouma-kun? Why are you here?”

“What I am here doesn’t seem to be your business.”

Shirogane narrows her eyes, surveying Ouma in all his checkers-patterned attire glory again. “Perhaps I really have misjudged your disposition. You want your memories back just like everyone else, right? That’s understandable, you aren’t some intern like me who have to go through more and therefore can’t—”

“I’m not here to get back any more memories.” (what have they done for me anyway? what are memories? proof that i exist?) Ouma fills in his name, then moves onto the home address section. It just occurs to him that he doesn’t remember where his “home” really is. “And for the last time, stop pestering me.”

Shirogane fake-pouts (Ouma of all people would recognize that) and walks off mock-casually out of the waiting room.

Ouma’s eyes unintentionally gaze up at the header of the form yet again. Memory Erasure Procedures for Traumatized Participants. It seems hilarious, as if the form indicates that only some participants are traumatized enough to want to forget. As if not all of them are traumatized.

“478. Ouma Kokichi. Ouma Kokichi. Please head to room 14 for your appointment .”

Ouma heads in and is promptly faced with a thickly-spectacled nondescript doctor, one that is just like any other in this bloody headquarters of the producers.

“So, before we can proceed with this series of procedures, it is necessary for you to fill in this questionnaire before we can decide if the procedures fit you.”

Ouma takes the questionnaire and reads.

Can you provide a valid reason why you must go through these procedures?

Is there a possibility of abuse? Will you regret this ultimately?

Ouma skims through the entire thing and tears the paper into pieces.

“Hey, that doesn’t fit our pro—”

“I cannot and will not give two flying fucks about your procedures, mister.” Ouma produces more than twenty banknotes out of his pockets and places them right in front of the doctor. “Either you get me into those erasure head gears and finally wipe all these bullshit memories out of me, or I’m just going to leave this wretched place.”

The doctor casts a skeptical look at him, but they don’t argue any further and pockets the cash. “Do you have a preferred time to carry out the procedures?”

⁕

Ouma pockets the confirmation slip and walks back home. Around this time, Toujou would have been finished with her barista job, and Iruma should be somewhere upstairs carrying out whatever weird experiments she had in mind. Saihara could be in any corner of the house.

Ouma opens the door and Saihara pulls him in.

“Wait wh—” Before Ouma can properly process what is happening, Saihara digs deep into his pockets and scoops out the one thing he never wants Saihara to take possession of.

“Are you going to explain this?”

Ouma forcefully puts on his mask. “Oh, that’s just my backbone surgery paper, Saihara-chan may not know but my back has been hurting like—”

“This is your memory erasure surgery papers, right?”

Ouma does a double take. He didn’t use the house’s landline for the appointment. He didn’t use the computer to send any consultation email.

“I know because Kiibo-kun watches you looking for the Team’s hotline and calling them while everyone else’s out.”

“Well, well, well, Saihara-chan has once again become such a good detective, I’m impressed! And—”

“Ouma, be honest with me once.” Saihara takes a broad step towards Ouma, and Ouma instinctually takes a step back closer to the wall. Upon seeing that, Saihara takes a step back. “What were you trying to do?”

“Nothing! I just realized that taking all these memories along with me while I try to dominate the world will only create obstacles, so I’m making a move to—”

“Your real reasons. Not more lies.” Saihara detaches himself from the wall, leaving a convenient opening for Ouma to run. “Please. I trust you. Please.”

“Trust me? Saihara-chan, you trust a liar like me?”

Saihara swallows hard, but his eyes are not filled with uncertainty. In fact, they have definitely softened somewhat. “I trust you no matter what.”

Ouma takes in his surroundings; the dark house obviously not holding Iruma or Toujou, who might be on his side on a good day, and while Saihara did not do anything more, he is still in front of him and demanding an answer, a truth.

wanting to know an answer, a truth.

“… Once upon a time, I didn’t live in this world.”

Ouma expects another accusation of him lying, but Saihara stays silent, the haze of sadness in his eyes clearing a bit.

“Once upon a time, I am not a supreme leader or live in a TV show to entertain everyone.” Ouma continues. “Once upon a time, I was nothing. Then I came to Danganronpa as a villain.

“A villain of lies who challenges everyone and is rightfully punished at every turn for it. But then it turns out I am not the proper villain and then I am easily vanquished and returned to reality.

“I wonder about my purpose… Everyone else is informed the option to become the nothing they used to be, but I abandoned the choice. I was nothing and so the villain inside of me is all that I still have. I cannot lose it.

“The us now… I am surrounded by the everyone that wants to forget this has happened, despite their promises to stay friends with one another. I cannot tolerate that, but I have no power to overturn it. So, I will remain the one crux of remembrance towards this game. By doing that, I must not fear everyone, I must not continue indulging everyone in their routine of forgetting.

“But I failed. Don’t you see? You may argue it is a one-off occurrence… But it is not that simple. I know that in my bones. I know that as clearly as I know everyone carries a burning hatred towards me except you. My existence no longer carries any meaning beyond as an object of hatred for everyone else and a burden for you and Iruma-chan and Toujou-chan and Kiiboy.

“And thus, I must erase myself, and once again return genuine balance to these people. To this whole world.

“There’s no moral to this story,” Ouma sputters out from loose lips, his frisson increasingly violent and frequent. “it’s just my sto―story and I hope I haven’t wasted too much of your time.”

Saihara takes up Ouma’s hand unwarned, gently dragging him to the sofa in the hall. “Does it make the fact that we are still alive any less impressive though?”

“Anyone else being alive is impressive,” except me, Ouma keeps in those words. But his power of will is not any more powerful than the need to speak them out, so Ouma buries his face into his hands, clawing into the delicate skin that barely keeps in every phantom inside his body. “anyone has a chance to walk a path they believe in. That’s a lie of course. W―Were you, you expecting,” the words splinter and disintegrate into dust before they could come out. “some―something,”

Saihara places his right hand on Ouma’s shoulders, then gradually drags Ouma into an embrace. Ouma starts bawling then, hot tears scorching every inch of his skin, threatening to spill and drag tracks onto the ground.

“Ouma… We all have a story, I believe, and yours is no less important than the rest of us. And the story is far from over.” Saihara tentatively pats on Ouma’s head, reaching for a tissue paper and hands it to Ouma.

“Every story has to have dark chapters before a good ending can be reached. The villain gets the hero’s loved ones, someone the hero considered a friend betrays them… But after the hero gets their loved ones back, and the friend sacrifices themself for the hero and is redeemed, the good ending comes. Or a good interlude. That’s nice too.”

“Then,” Ouma starts wiping his eyes, all raw red from crying too much and being rubbed too much. “what is the moral? Sometimes the hero is the villain?”

“There’s no need for a moral to make a story worth reading and hearing, right?” Saihara softly presses a kiss onto Ouma’s forehead. “What it means to the storyteller and the audience differ, and it’s up to us to give meaning. But if you ask me the moral of this particular story,” Saihara, at last, grips Ouma’s right hand tightly. “I think it’s that everyone deserves a second chance and a chance to be happy.”

[ibythetidepromotions]

An interview with Wormhole

Thank you for your time, Could you introduce yourselves to the readers?

Noni: Thank you so much for having us! I am Sanil Kumar, but everyone calls me Noni. I play guitar in Wormhole. 

Ansh : Hello, you FILTHY readers, I'm Ansh, I've been the vocalist for Wormhole for about two years now, as well as guitar for Noisays, Codex Orhova and Perihelion.

Sanjay : I am Sanjay, I play guitar in Wormhole as well as Equipoise and Greylotus

How did Wormhole come to be?

Noni : Wormhole started sometime in 2015 between Sanjay and I, but really this band has been together for a lot longer than that. We’d known each other and been playing music together for a while but stopped for a bit in 2015. At that time Sanjay and I just write and release some music of our own. We saw how other slam bands at the time were making music in their homes and were able to cultivate a cult following through social media and Slam Worldwide and we thought if we could get a small following like that it would have been really cool if we could manage to get a couple people into our music.

So Sanjay and I had some doodles from our old band(s) that we more or less put together for an album and released it under the name Wormhole. Since it was just the two of us at that time, we needed to find a vocalist. We ended up having Duncan Bentley from Vulvodynia do most of the vocals. This must have been right after he finished recording his parts for their album Psychosadistic Design. That resulted in Genesis which was released in 2016.

Ansh: Back in the day we had a comedy slam band called Rotting Phallus that we all left except the vocalist. Later, Sanjay and Sanil used some of their Rotting Phallus tracks, wrote some new tracks, and released Genesis under the name Wormhole. Matt and I joined the band again and we started to really find our sound. New and improved, now with ugly-ol' BASIL, all has been smooth sailing!

Sanjay: Technically Wormhole was originally a ‘comedy slam band’ in 2014 called Rotting Phallus.  Noni, Ansh, Matt and I were all a part of this.  The band kind of died and we stopped being a band because we had a toxic asshole vocalist who we all hate now.  When the band died noni and I got duncan and recorded all the OG Rotting Phallus tunes under the name Wormhole.

On the start of 2020 you guys released ‘The Weakest Among Us’ the cover art reminds me of a boss fight about to happen in some Doom/Halo-esque battle, what is the story behind the cover art?

Noni: You’re kinda close haha. The cover was inspired by the Metroid Prime series. We are super inspired by those games in more ways than one. There is a cut scene before a boss battle in one of the games that we based the cover art off of. We’ve been really inspired by the soundtrack too. It sets such a cool vibe.Sanjay and I grew up playing those games, and we’ve played them over and over. The universe, atmosphere, character design, everything about those games is so cool to us. Pretty metal. If it weren’t for those games I don’t know what I would make this band about.

Ansh: Sanjay and Sanil are BIG and STUPID nerds who like SPACE and other SILLY THINGS like METROID PRIME and ANIME.

Sanjay: Metroid Prime is the main source of visual and lyrical inspiration, but I love Doom (especially Doom 3) and you can tell I think Mancubus looks brutal as fuck.

Since the world is at a standstill for the foreseeable future and you released  ‘The Weakest Among Us’ on the top of 2020 how hard has it been to get the word out about the album since no one can tour currently?

Noni: It has been really shitty having tours cancelled and not being able to promote the album properly, but we also know that we are not the only ones in this boat so there is no sense in complaining I feel. Social media is our friend though and people still seem to be pretty responsive to the album anyway.  

It seems like going forward, bands are going to have to figure out how to do this anyway. So, if Wormhole (or any band) isn’t really working out because we can’t tour, then we have to figure something out.

Ansh: In general I've been happy with the online support but not being able to tour is beyond frustrating. As tough as it can be at times, touring is kinda like the celebration of your music and all the hard work you put into it, so not being able to get that live show release is truly devastating. Compounded with the potential fans we could have made and merch we could have sold, it's more than a bummer. But all the love and support the record has gotten online has also been one of the only things keeping me sane whilst I'm stuck in my house.

Sanjay: It’s definitely not as easy since touring is one of the main ways to reach new audiences but it’s not as hard when you have some dedicated fans who genuinely love spreading some Wormhole gospel.  Those fans are the realest MVPs in these trying times.

I always find it fascinating when the band's cover art describes what the album is going to sound like, when talking to the artist how do you project your ideas out of your head coherent enough to be understood?

Sanjay: We kind of got lucky with Lordigan (the artist of both covers) on Genesis.  We were kind of winging it and knew we just wanted a slam monster album cover.  We had some help from my bud Ryan Wolanski on getting the colors we wanted as well.  With TWAU I had a general idea of the color scheme and setting we wanted.  Lordigan was very aware of the Doom/Space Marine aesthetic so it was not hard to communicate.  Our album cover is not really a reflection of the music I would say because we kind of just pick what we want because it’s cool and we’ve seen similar things work for other bands.

Ansh: I usually just get an artist I really love and ask them to listen to the music and draw whatever comes to them, but maybe that's why I'm not allowed to do merch for Wormhole. 

Noni: We just tried to be specific and nit-picky. The most important thing for our artwork was to have a center focus, the classic slam monster, with a few other things to look at in the background/foreground. The album’s production wasn’t going to be super futuristic and modern, so the color scheme kind of reflected that. We wanted more browns to dominate the image, to give a bleak and miserable vibe. We went to Lordigan Pedro Sana for both of our albums and he was super responsive to every change we wanted to make. The best thing for them is a reference in my experience, especially if you can find something in artwork they made to use as a reference.

I see the album artwork as just as big a part of the album as any of the songs or riffs. The way I see it, both the music and the artwork and song titles all work together to create a vibe and atmosphere. They need to feed into each other. Not only that, they need to somehow stand out from the other million extreme metal records being released everywhere. It’s really important and one of the places I see newer/local bands cutting corners or not going all in, and maybe settling for something that isn’t stellar.

Crowdkill Apparel has some of the most unique merch options I've seen from car seat cover to a shower curtain, when given the opportunity what would be the weirdest merch you guys would like to release?

Noni: I would love to see the Wormhole logo on a cereal box. I imagine our cereal would have marshmallows.

Ansh: A bong??? A worm shaped bong??? Like from the first album??? Or maybe a big spikey worm dildo/butt plug??? Done tastefully OBVIOUSLY.

Sanjay: Wormhole weed called “The Dankest Among Us”.  Any weed paraphernalia honestly like rolling papers and some Wormhole glass.  We did a small run of grinders before which was cool.

With the state of the world that it is currently, touring as you would of guessed is a no go, Suicide Silence they have the right idea about having a virtual “world tour” where the show is streamed has the touring bug been bad enough to where you’ve considered this?

Noni: I think rather than trying to make “touring” work, we are going to try to put out content that is a little more practical for people to enjoy. Music analysis, lessons, playthroughs, stuff like that. Comedic or podcasty type stuff where people get to know the band members and develop some kind of a personal relationship with them despite not being able to meet with any of our fans in person. Not everyone who listens to this stuff plays an instrument or makes music, so we want to put something out that engages with that group as well.I’m sure we’ll do some full band stuff too, but not everything will just be us playing the songs. I think in this current era, and consequently the future, bands will have to do much more than just play their music to get out there. It was already kind of like that but now I think the big emphasis isn’t really on the music anymore. I think it will be kind of analogous to how gaming consoles used to be all about gaming. But now your Xbox or Playstation has to be able to have Netflix and YouTube and still regularly release and develop games over time.

Ansh: My other band Noisays was recently part of Mathcore Index Fest, the fest raised a reasonably sizeable donation for the Justice for George Floyed and Breonna Taylor Relief Fund, and it was sick to hang in a chatroom with a bunch of homies that i would be chilling with at the show. It was sick to do something good, share music and connect with friends and fans but virtual life is never going to be the same as real life to me. Whether it's teaching online, hanging out with people on video chat, or attending a virtual show, it's always just gonna be virtual and it'll never be a replacement for real life, to me at least. So please do everything you possibly can to make sure WE CAN COME PLAY FOR YOU ASAP.

Sanjay: I don’t think we can compare ourselves to Suicide Silence because our fanbases are vastly different.  I would hope we could do something like that but i definitely don’t think we are at a point where it would make sense.  Would be fun though.

Dream tour with Wormhole on the bill?

Noni: For the band obviously we just want to go out with the big boys like Obscura or The Black Dahlia Murder or Thy Art for our egos. But for my satisfaction I would want Wormhole to play with Dethklok just because Sanjay and I worship Brendon Small. Dude is a fucking genius and clearly has something figured out that neither of us do. Defeated Sanity would be on there too. If we’re talking defunct bands as well, I would want Necrophagist and/or Death in there somewhere too. But the real dream would for us to tour with Metallica and just play in Metallica and it’s also 1991.

Ansh: Warped Tour and we play right before All Time Low or some shit like that, Old Town Road guy opens right before us and does all the remixes. Miles Davis joins Limp Bizkit for the headlining set.

Sanjay: I would want to be direct support for Gojira.  That’s all really.  I think a bunch of bands (including Wormhole) have a lot to learn about the energy they project live and I would love to be a part of their show.

Anything else you would like to tell the readers before we go?

Noni: If there is some crazy guitar player or musician out there that you really admire and put on a pedestal you should understand that you are capable of literally anything that person is. That guy may have some special X factor but that is really only like 10% of it. The other 90% is the hardwork. Also thanks for reading and supporting and all that. It is really sick and cool and makes us feel good.

Ansh: Play and listen to lots of music, work stupid hard, and do whatever the fuck you want, the only people that'll say you can't do it are lazy as FUCK. Fuck'em.-ANSH OUT.

Sanjay: tech-slam

Wormhole Social Media:

Facebook

Instagram

Bandcamp

Merch

[hammerraptor]

Have less than one year before Microsoft cuts off Windows 7

When Windows 10 launched in 2015, PC users were confronted with a dilemma. Microsoft had in many enthusiasts eyes been making blunder after blunder in their efforts to turn what we all thought was a perfectly functional operating system into some kind of idiot, friendly, touchscreen fisher-price. Looking nonsense and on top of trying to fix what ain't broke, Microsoft wanted unprecedented access to their users, data and resolved to just force system updates when you're right in the middle of something and all for what DirectX 12. So many power users ended up sticking with Windows 7 and are still using it today, but they have a problem. If you're one of these individuals, you now have less than one year before Microsoft, cuts off Windows 7. 

You may not want to risk an upgrade, but, as Aragorn said, to fit in in the Great Hall of EDS upgrading is upon you whether you would risk it or not. Wait. I don't think that's quite what he said. You know what else is close. I can almost smell it. So close, that's our sponsor! It won't help you with your Windows, 7 problem, but they still G skills. Trident II royal series, ddr4 memory, features a polished, aluminium heat spreader, that's available in both gold or silver and a crystalline light bar that radiates beautiful RGB check it out at the link below [ Music ]. 

Now you might not realize this, but in spite of Microsoft, practically giving away Windows 10 even to those with pirated installations, most users stuck with Windows 7, rather than upgrading, either to eight or ten something that only finally changed late last year in December, net market share Reported that Windows 10 installations rose above Windows 7 for the first time and now account for nearly 41 percent of the user base compared to Windows 7 37 percent. Now, hopefully, that number is going to continue to go down as we get closer to January 14. 2020. 

The day that Windows 7 dies because otherwise we are gon na - have some serious problems because, yes, yes, ok, Windows, 7, it's not gon na die. It'S not like you just turn on your computer and it doesn't turn on anymore. It'S just going to stop receiving feature, updates, bug, fixes and, most importantly, security updates, which are very important if you want to, I don't know, continue Oh safe using the Internet. Now, as it did for previous versions of Windows, Microsoft is offering extended security updates, or, yes, you, ECU for Windows, 7 enterprise and pro additions up until January 2023. But this extended the update service won't come cheap and adding insult to injury. The price will double each year, so three years of support is gon na cost. 

A hundred and seventy-five bucks for enterprise licenses and three hundred and fifty for windows 7 pro og, also, if you're a mega ball or PC gamer thinking, yeah no problem. 350 bucks looks like what mid tier graphics card. Sorry, I've got some bad news for you, too. Esu is only available for volume license subscriptions which are usually held by companies or schools. So business is running Windows, 7 machines on Microsoft's, Azure cloud as part of the Windows virtual desktop program, those folks get ESU for free, but again baller gamers. I would imagine that scenario doesn't apply to you. So then, if you're just a regular Windows, 7 user with a personal license, what can you do well before we get too deep into your options? 

Let'S take a look at why people want to hold on to Windows 7, like that grudge against their brother for stealing the last piece of their birthday cake, even though they told them that they were saving it for later and hid it away way in the back Of the fridge - so you wouldn't know it was there Windows 7 was, is kind of fantastic. It'S mature, stable and reliable and offers a great amount of control over the way it behaves. Its interface is functional, familiar and extremely customizable, and it's got all your settings just the way that you like them. I mean. Furthermore, I wouldn't be surprised if anyone upgrading now has a program or two that would either require a new, not to mention costly license to run on Windows 10 or that isn't available for it at all and there's other little creature comforts typing in the search bar Retrieves results that make sense instead of a Windows setting you weren't, looking for or a web result from big windows, 7. 

Doesn'T incessantly ask you to send more of your personal information to Microsoft or decide on its own when it's time to update whether you like it or not, updates are available? Sorry, you know what I'm actually kind of in the middle of something kind of Roger that updating now, but as awesome as Windows 7 is. There are quite a few cons to staying with it past the end date for extended support. Besides lacking the latest antivirus protections, Windows 7 won't have Windows, 10 features like device guard, UEFI, secure boot and Windows, hello, which offer higher overall security for your system, and while gaming performance is about the same, some things like system boot times are slower in Windows 7. 

Compared to Windows 10, so it turns out Microsoft, software engineers weren't sitting around playing beer pong for the last 78 years. Also, if you're worried about future proofing at all, which you should be at least a little bit. Windows, 7 is not a great bet, as software and even hardware makers eventually do stop providing support for legacy operating systems. So, even if you pay for es, you support only lasts for three years and costs more than a Windows 10 license and you might be able to upgrade for free anyway, yep, even though Microsoft officially ended their offer for a free upgrade to Windows. 10 from Windows. 7 or 8 many users have reported successful, fully activated upgrades by using Microsoft's official upgrade utility, and even if you have to pay bare with me for a moment here, Windows 10 might not be as bad as you think. There are a lot of happy users out there who appreciate its combination of the efficiency and customization of Windows 7 and the modern design of Windows 8 and despite Microsoft's best efforts. 

There is actually a fair bit that you can do to minimize their data collection and postpone system updates until absolutely necessary, or at least until it's convenient, so we're gon na have some resources for you guys for this linked in the video description. But let's say you drop a line at Windows: 10. Fine, you say I'll! Stop using Windows 7, but hashtag, never Windows, 10 whoo tell you guys are serious cuz that hashtag there well, for you guys. There are other options. First up, there's Windows. 8.1. I mean I doubt that you guys have stuck with Windows 7 for this long, just to get into the OS that Gabe Newell called a catastrophe, and it's data, collection and update system are kind of similar to Windows 10, but at least it'll be getting security updates, 

Though, realistically now that Microsoft has learned from their mistake of supporting Windows, XP for like ever that'll, probably only buy you a couple of years. So maybe that's not a great option. So then, what how about Oh Mac OS, while Apple's desktop OS, has come a long way and is obviously used by many tech enthusiasts? The thing is, I don't see many windows, 7 diehards willingly affecting to apples Camp Plus. You would need to either buy a totally new computer or begin the long, arduous process of trying to turn your existing PC into a hackintosh. Now it might be doable, but even most hackintosh enthusiasts are pretty open about what a finicky experience that is leaving Linux. Now, a couple of years ago, 

I would have said that that's madness, but Linux is a more viable option than ever before, even for gamers. Now we're planning another follow-up, video on Valve's proton compatibility software, but for now the main thing you need to know about it is that it makes an ever growing list of Windows. Games run flawlessly on Linux and community reports indicate that thousands more run pretty well. As for the non-gamers popular Linux, distros like Ubuntu work great for productivity, focused views, especially if the majority of your work is done on the web, and there are even distros that borrow heavily from Windows for their interface, like Linux Mint. So your homesickness will at least be saved a little and then, of course, there's the last option. Stick with Windows 7 hold fast as your destruction edges ever closer. 

So you goodbye to hardware or software upgrades and just well just don't browse the internet after January 14th. 2012, with regards to that option, I mean you know what Godspeed you brave bastard, but, needless to say, we don't actually recommend doing that. What we do recommend, though, if you need to build a beautiful website without the hassle, is Squarespace with Squarespace is all in one platform, you just pick a template and turn your text throw in your pictures, design a logo they've got all kinds of amazing tools and Boom, you have a website, it might not be a very good website. It might not have a lot of important information on it, but that's on you, sir or ma'am. It'S not on Squarespace, because they have tons of amazing help that you can leverage they offer webinars. Full series of help guides and you can contact their 24/7 customer support via live chat and email. 

If you're ever having trouble, and if you already have a third party domain, you don't have to give it up, you can just transfer it to Squarespace plus with Squarespace. You get tons of e-commerce features to help you sell merch or services online and easily manage your inventory and orders so head over to Squarespace comm /l tt and get 10 % off your first purchase. We'Re gon na have that linked below. So thanks for watching guys, we just like this video. You can hit that button. I'M sorry! It'S a really bad news. I get it, but if you liked it hit like get subscribed or maybe consider checking out where to buy the stuff, we featured Windows 10. I guess at the link in the video description also down, there is our merch store, which has cool shirts like this one and our community forum, which you should totally join. We should have where you can now buy it, a bunch of CD canonical we'll ship. You one if you pay like a couple bucks, I think you can yeah but and don't pay for Linux either way. It'S free. It'S kind of the point.