Work Text:
Kaede’s never been one to keep track of time, allowing hers to waste away while spending it coaxing melodies from monochrome tiles for the most part. It isn’t until her life and the others she had sworn to herself that she’d preserve were numbered to forty eight hours that she becomes painfully aware of its presence.
.
It’s not the face of Saihara peering at her from underneath the brim of his hat or Amami’s lax smile as he swipes the paint brush across her cuticles that she thinks of as she chucks the metal sphere into the vent that would hopefully find its mark. Nor is it the blushing face of Chabashira as Kaede teasingly compliments her, nor the stammering of Gonta’s voice as he thanks her for having the courage to approach him or even Ouma’s impish grin that he wears as he proudly tells her of his organisations far-stretching reach. It isn’t Momota’s booming encouragements or Harukawa’s fingers clenched around her hair as she denies having anything but hatred towards children. The image of Shirogane’s features twisting in excitement as she happily rambles on about her favourite characters or Yumeno’s sleepy gaze as she tiredly explains her magic doesn’t once enter her mind. It isn’t Toujou’s attentive hands tilting a teapot to allow a steady stream of liquid to exit or Shinguuji’s somewhat disturbing, but still flattering, appraisement nor Hoshi’s baritone telling her that association with a murderer isn’t in her best interest. It’s not Angie’s odd bloodlust on behalf of her god, nor is it Iruma’s mocking of her bust size or Kiibo’s abnormally formal dialect. It most definitely is not the gaping crimson eye of a manic teddy bear.
No, it’s time that plagues her mind. The time that she feels slipping through her fingers as she fails to identify and eliminate the true mastermind.
.
Though time itself is in theory more fluid than any mass of liquid, it still seems to have the habit of following a pattern of its own, as it's time that’s stapled to her conscious as oxygen finally completely refuses to enter her lungs and that laces her thoughts as she wakes on the bed in her dorm room.
Exiting the room, she is met with the familiar faces of her supposedly lost classmates in exactly the same positions as the mourning before everything went to hell.
She can’t bring herself to return any of the other’s greetings as she slumps down into a chair. She can’t bring herself to worry too much when Hoshi is found with a knife thrust by his own arm plunged into his chest mid-afternoon. She can’t bring herself to look up as Hoshi’s corpse is dragged across an oversized tennis court.
She doesn’t even bother opening the motive video when she finds it propped up in her room. And in the end she can’t bring herself to care as much as she should when Toujou deems her to have the least will to live and it’s her body that becomes an unexpected prop in Yumeno’s magic show.
(“Ah, so you woke up. I see… Well, I am most apologetic, Akamatsu-san. Both for the crime I about to commit and that you will be conscious to experience your own death.”
Kaede can barely make out Toujou’s voice through the throbbing in her head and the frightful panic gripping at her heart when she realises that her hands are shackled together behind her. Her instincts yell for her to struggle, all her confusion and lack of drive be damned.
“I truly am,” Toujou continues, “I would have preferred to have escaped here with everyone, if possible, and to have fulfilled your initial wish by doing so. But circumstances have changed. Time is running out, and sacrifices must be made. And you… You are the most logical choice, since after Hoshi-kun’s passing you have shown a distinct lack of will to live. It is most regrettable that I must extinguish what little remains of the light I once saw burning in your eyes, but it is what must be done in order for me to fulfill my duty.”
Toujou’s words hit Kaede in a jumbled rush, but she can’t help but take notice of how formal she sounds still. Even as she committed murder, Toujou keeps her composure. It’s admirable in one way, and sad in another considering that even now, with a person who wouldn’t even be alive to judge fairly soon, Toujou could never quite be open with anyone.
“I… get it,” Kaede slurs, because she does. Murder is murder and unforgivable, but she doesn’t doubt that Toujou has her motives, as had she. “You gotta do what you gotta do in this game. Glad no one else had to die instead of me at least. Still hope you’re caught.”
“Akamatsu-san…” Toujou wavers, then seems to get ahold of herself again, and dunks Kaede’s head into the filled sink.
Maybe it’s nothing more than animalistic survival instinct, but Kaede can’t stop her body from writhing under Toujou’s grip until the water drowns out the last of her life and any of the doubt that Kaede had suddenly experienced that her revival is anything more than hell taunting her with her failures.)
After all, dead people shouldn’t have a will to live, and she most certainly recalls the life ripped straight out of her throat by the noose from which she hung before.
.
It’s the same when she wakes up the next time. Same bed. Same faces. Same walking corpse.
But it’s not, because there’s never been a funk, even death, that Kaede couldn’t pull herself out of before and she won’t start now. She’ll fight once again.
And fight she does. She fights when she finds Saihara’s mangled corpse. She fights after Iruma attempts to cave Kaede’s own skull in with a wrench, only to be killed herself by Momota’s heroic intervention. She fights as corpses pile up one after the other and she fights to condemn Shirogane to the fate she shackled herself to. And finally she fights to keep the bile from rising in her throat as she exits the broken dome that’d appeared as their cage for the longest time with Harukawa’s hand clasped in her own.
They choose hope, and Kaede does her best to convince herself it’s fine, despite leaving an adamant Hoshi to rot in the next round of this sick game they’d all apparently so eagerly signed away their lives to. She does her best to push down the nagging feeling that she’s playing directly into Team DanganRonpa’s hands with every step she takes away from the set.
(“Where do we go from here, Harukawa-san?” Kaede asks, defying her every nerve’s tingling with the urge to put as much distance as possible between them and the set by hesitating to question Harukawa.
“We live, I guess…” Harukawa pauses. “Also you can… You can call me Harumaki if you want. We’re close enough for that, right?”
Kaede smiles and indulges her, knowing full well that she can’t fill the role of the tragically flat hero that the nickname originates from, even if she and Momota Kaito were intended to be equally as doomed and vapid at the start of it all.)
.
It’s not enough though, as she startles awake in the same bed, in the exact same position as she has thrice before. It seems that even her best efforts will never be enough. She still refuses to accept her damned fate so easily.
The next time she wakes she doesn’t hesitate to end things before they even start and as soon as she enters the same room as Shirogane she flings somewhat poorly phrased accusations at her. It takes a distraught Gonta holding her in a vice grip to keep her away from the startled cosplayer, though it only lasts until she bites through the flesh of his forearm and he loses control over his strength and leaves her with a snapped neck. And, well, that puts an end to that chapter.
.
The fourth time, she bashes Shirogane’s head against the wall until her blood coats the entirety of the patterned wallpaper.
“I don’t hate you,” Kaede says while Shirogane looks up at her with glassy doll eyes. And it’s true to some extent. She doesn’t. This is only an end to a means, the same as her own death had likely been to Shirogane.
Then, in the moment that her enraged grip on Shirogane’s skull slackens to something akin to gentleness as the actor in question’s breath lulls to a strained heave after Kaede speaks, Shirogane shows the faintest flicker of emotion. Kaede can only call it disappointment, really. Kaede can’t help but wonder if in Shirogane’s heart of hearts she didn’t wish that in some way she would be able to evoke some sort of emotion directed towards her from any party that spiked beyond the bounds of her despairing mundanity.
Though the mastermind is dead a trial is still held. The trial lasts all of twenty minutes and then Kaede’s dragged off to a slightly altered punishment.
Only as Kaede’s breath is wrenched from her lungs does she truly begin to consider that perhaps Shirogane is as much a plastic figurehead as herself - a pawn beneath the control of a higher collective power; a puppet imitating plucking at its own strings.
.
She isn’t entirely sure what good she thinks it’ll do when she weightedly hints to Saihara that everything would end rather quickly if someone just ended the mastermind’s existence, but she does it all the same. Her slip of tongue naturally comes with guilt, and she waves off the thought as soon as she brings up the possibility to Saihara. A worried glint remains in his gaze even after she shifts the conversation to lighter topics, though he says nothing.
It’s a last moment decision bred from uncharacteristic procrastination and desperation to just throw it all away again and chuck the shot put ball into the vents, simultaneously sacrificing both Amami’s life and her own because she’s proven to be too much of a coward to live with the knowledge that she stood by and let the majority of her fellow participants die when it could be prevented. But her shouldering the familiar role of martyr yet again is put to a halt as Saihara unexpectedly smacks the metal orb out of her hand clumsily with the broom she’d frustratedly swept at the floor with mere seconds ago.
“I-I had a bad feeling that you’d try something drastic. I’m sorry…” Saihara says, voice strained.
Kaede is only half listening, Saihara’s words muffled by the panic swelling in her breast and her eyes focusing on where the ball rests at his feet. “Why would you do that?! Do you really want everyone else to die?”
Saihara says nothing, then bends down to take the shot put ball into his hands, and finally pushes passed her somehow despite his poor athleticism and rolling it into the vent that would surely lead it to causing Amami’s death.
(“You idiot,” Kaede says, slumping against the closest desk and resting her face in her hands. “You absolute idiot. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”
“I… have a vague idea, yes. But it’s fine, or better than the alternative, at least. You’ll do more good in this killing game than I could ever anyway… And in the end, I’m not really sure if I’d be able to make it out here alive without you, or… Or if I would even want to,” Saihara murmurs. He won’t look at her, and honestly Kaede can’t blame him.
Part of her begs to tell him off. The rash corner of self indulgence tucked away somewhere in her conscience whispers for her to voice the thoughts that rattle through her mind in a barely decipherable stream of fragmented conceptions that she refuses to solidify in conversation.
Kaede clears her throat. “You should live. Your life means as much as mine, and honestly I think you might be able to do more good than someone who’s murdered again and again like me. So, please, don’t look at me like some saviour when I’ve done unforgivable things. Hold your chin up and stand on your own, because maybe I don’t entirely believe in you, but I might very well trust you more than I do a filthy murderer like me at this point,” she doesn’t say. “Just… If Monokuma gives you any chance whatsoever to escape, you take it. Take it and get out of here. Even if it means leaving everyone behind, take it,” she does, thinking of the first blood perk Monokuma would never come to offer in this timeline.
Saihara nods shakily, and they spend the rest of the time leading up to the body discovery announcement in silence tainted with Kaede’s smothering regrets.)
Their roles are reversed and it's him who is dragged off to his execution, but unlike Saihara who had stared at her throughout the entire duration of her execution, she doesn’t manage to observe anything but the result of her misleading guidance on the screen she couldn’t help but select her own icon on when it’d come down to voting.
Kaede makes it to the third murder and the motive is the same as always - a sham motive that’s never actually taken a supernatural turn. She supposes it’s only fair though, with her current predicament being more than abnormal enough.
Before the trial it becomes clear to her that Shinguuji killed Kiibo as he appeared to have tainted his vision of human beauty. The thought of Monokuma’s surprise announcement from a previous loop rings in her mind. It’s a terrifying thought, having a murderer walk away unscathed simply because of a loophole solidified last minute, but she supposes it’s worth the reassurance that if nothing else she’ll be able to spare Shinguuji the hell brought about by his execution. Even if in every walkthrough that Kaede has had of the game Shinguuji has proven himself to be far from a decent human being, no one deserves an execution at the hands of Monokuma, so she slits his throat before the trial can even begin. She tells herself she’s been merciful again and again and again until the worst of the nausea building in her churning stomach subsides.
(“Humanity is truly beautiful in the most fascinating ways, yes,” Shinguuji gurgles through the excess crimson liquid staining the front of his mask, his words as muffled by the material as always.
Kaede says nothing, because throughout the duration of this game stuck on repeat, she’s learnt that there’s nothing beautiful about desperation or the mercy that it breeds as a byproduct to attempt to set one’s heart at ease. She wipes her sullied palms against the cloth of her pale sweater, uncaring of the stains left blemishing the pale pink fabric, and then joins the others in the waiting elevator.)
The murder is nullified and there’s no execution, but it leaves everyone else rightfully horrified. The only one even willing to speak to Kaede is Harukawa, who has seemed to gain some warped sense of respect towards her, but it doesn’t really matter either way, because by the time the fourth motive comes up, Iruma has decided that she’s the largest threat to them all and she’s stuck in a state of limbo within the virtual reality world Iruma has deciphered.
(“Why not just kill me? You have every right to want to, and I know you want to get out here. Go aid the outside world. Let something decent come out of my death, this time around,” Kaede says tiredly.
“Wh-what the fuck are you on about? Who’re you to act like you know shit about me. Tch, cooky bitch. Fuck you anyway. I’ll leave you here until we can get out of here. Maybe I do want to get out of here more than anything, but I might as well pick up the mantle of hero you clearly couldn’t keep up. The world definitely needs me, but so do these useless limp-dicks in here - they’ll all need me and bow at my fucking feet when I get us outta here. Oh, and I’ll let your crazy ass out of here just before we get out.”
Kaede smiles softly, ignoring the unsaid please let someone need me behind Iruma’s words out of respect for her somewhat unorthodox resolve, and hopefully waits for a release from a pixelated world that never comes while her fleshed body wastes away despite herself.)
.
The sixth time she repeats her actions from her first time participating perfectly, hoping to learn something. Her time is wasted and the only thing she learns is that she should work on the trajectory of her contraption if she decides to try again, as she decides to check on her supposed victim afterwards, only to see Shirogane bludgeoning Amami to death with an object that mirrors the image of the shot put ball she had just thrown and now lies discarded on the carpeted floor.
The only difference is that she joins Amami on the bloodied floor.
(“Sh-shirogane-san? How could you?!” Kaede shouts, as if she’s at all surprised by this turn of events, because really she knows by now that Shirogane’s more than willing to set aside whatever little grasp on humanity she seems to have in order to fill in the gaps the killing game requires bridged.
“I’m sorry,” Shirogane says, and oddly enough Kaede believes that she is. “I really do wish we could’ve spent more time together. You see, even before your role and design were finalised, you were a favourite of mine. Pity that for all its accomplishments, Team DR management is plainly left up to predictable cowards.” Shirogane tuts at the thought.
Kaede locks her jaw, and wearily waits in silence for Shirogane to crack her skull and damage the altered brain matter plucked into character by Team DanganRonpa with a shot put ball she herself had once weighed in her hands. And Shirogane does, watching the physical body of the fictional entity she’d apparently so lovingly crafted slump to the marred floor.)
.
She’s tired, but the newest loop isn’t. Every single aspect still attempts to act fresh, but it simply can no longer appear so through the lens of her blood-soaked vision. Everything feels stale.
At this stage she’s both directly and indirectly caused the death of all of her fellow participants, and the guilt is palpable. At night, her breathing barely shallows into that of a restless sleep, and even then, nightmares of memories of past and soon to be present again etch themselves into the back of her eyelids.
Sometime ago, between the gaps in the constantly whirring film reel her memories play on loop in her mind, the nagging thought that her efforts remain in vain plague her consciousness. Her thoughts drift to stained glass regrets and sacrifices and remembrances of her repeated deaths. She pushes what images she can beneath the surface of her immediate concerns - leaves them to fester.
Her motivation is a tired and worn thing as of late, but it remains. Resolute as the surety of her heartbeat and blood in her veins, she’ll continue until the end of it all.
.
She keeps on trying.
(She keeps on failing.)
.
The loops blur into one another at this point, and she loses her grasp on a solid recollection of events. Some broken memories never quite leave her mind, though. The scattered remembrances stick in the matter like fragmented glass shards - shards of hope oftentimes shaded over with the darkest of despair.
.
Saihara tells her that he loves her, at some point, strangely kissing her softly and firmly all at once with a sort of bravery that’s near uncharacteristic. Kaede wishes that she could blame pulling away so quickly on the shock of it, already tasting the bitterness of the apology Saihara’s sure to spew while sincerely fumbling as she does so. But she’s known of his feelings for the longest time, always leaving it to linger in the background, the very least of her priorities.
Kaede swallows the knot in her throat and says, “I’m sorry, Saihara-kun, but I just don’t like you like that. I can’t love someone who only loves the idea of me. Especially not in a place like this. Please just focus on living for yourself instead of for the image of me you made up in your head.”
She watches Saihara’s face crack before he hastens to give her an apology as one of his most relied upon crutches crumbles.
.
She looks forward to this scene in every loop she follows, because even if on good days she can only just meet Amami’s eyes, the moment is one she cherishes, finding peace in Amami’s not quite carefree laugh and casual demeanour. Amami answers her eager questions about nail art easily and patiently, and Kaede feels genuinely at ease for a rare moment. In another life, Kaede thinks guiltily, they could’ve been best friends.
“I’m so sorry,” Kaede can’t help but let slip as Amami carefully paints her nails a baby blue.
“Hm?” Amami looks up to meet Kaede’s eyes, his gaze too calm and mild to be anything but soothing. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but it’s okay? Are you the one who ate the last bagel after all? Either way, it’s fine. Worse has happened in this place.”
Kaede lets out a hiccuped sob, burying her face in his shoulder and wishing she could believe him.
.
“Y’know…” Kaede starts idly as she and a begrudgingly present Harukawa sit together in the synthetic sunlight, “Who you are as a person… Whether you’re good or bad, it’s all up to you. Your humanity isn’t dependent on anyone but yourself.”
Harukawa looks at her as if she’s grown a second head. “I know.”
Kaede watches Harukawa’s eyes fixate on Momota’s back as he passes by with Saihara in tow, fully aware that she really doesn’t.
.
“Akamatsu-san, please rest! You’ve been searching the school the whole day without stopping, regardless of your sprained ankle. If you don’t Tenko will feel obligated to take drastic measures.”
“Drastic measures?” Kaede inquires distractedly as she continues to clamber up the stairs with her crutches clacking, barely stopping to wipe the sweat from her forehead.
Chabashira says nothing, opting rather to scoop Kaede into her arms with next to no effort and turning in the general direction of the dorms. Kaede sighs, glancing resignedly at her fallen crutches before resting her head against Chabashira’s solid chest, letting herself rely fully on someone for a rare moment and allowing Chabashira to be the pillar of strength she so yearned to be.
.
Toujou keeps her air of general stoicism about her even as she sweeps the floor after hours of work. Kaede’s brow furrows, and she settles her hands on her hips before clearing her throat. “Toujou-san, please. You’re overworking yourself.”
Toujou regards her coolly despite the light blush dusting her cheeks. “I apologise if my saying so is impolite, but that is rather hypocritical coming someone who is known for being as relentlessly hardworking as yourself, Akamatsu-san.”
Kaede giggles bashfully, almost easily, having forgotten how perceptive Toujou herself is. “Well… Us workaholics have to stick together, y’know?” Kaede says as she grabs the broom she’d brought with her from the doorway, determined to assist Toujou in what little ways she can, even if the memory of cold, cold water and drowned lungs sticks.
.
“Truthfully, I think you’re the least likely to murder me out of anyone here, besides Gonta-kun maybe. You show genuine remorse when you speak of taking someone’s life. And, honestly, it’s not my place to judge your actions when I don’t know anything about them other than some summary a murder bear apparently set up.”
Hoshi shakes his head, baritone chuckle humming from his lips as he does so. “Alright. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life either, as questionable as I find your choice in companionship in this case.”
Kaede nods, waiting for Hoshi to correct her grip on the tennis racket held in her hands as he has the past three times she vaguely remembers reliving this scene.
.
“Saihara-kun was wrong. When he said no one would ever be on your side, he was wrong,” she says, leaning her head against the hangar door. “I’m on your side.”
“Man, I knew you were a liar, Akamatsu-chan, but going as far as using my beloved Saihara-chan’s own words against me? You’ve reached a new low. Or, wait, is he your beloved Saihara-chan, sorry, I forget.”
Kaede sighs to hide her grimace. “Ouma-kun, please. Don’t make me smack you in your dying moments. We don’t have time for your theatrics right now.”
“Boo, you’re no fun, Akamatsu-chan.” Ouma pouts.
“Somehow I feel like the gaping wound below your ribs tells me that you wouldn’t be having fun anyways - and really you should’ve seen that coming, with how you were taunting Harukawa-san when you came stomping in there with an exisal in tow,” Kaede chides. “But anyway, I’m not an idiot and you’re not the mastermind, far from it in fact, so we’re going to put an end to this horrid game.”
“Oh?” Ouma cocks his head, trying for a trademark grin but fairing quite poorly as a result of the poison slowing his movements. “And why would that be? If you’re really that observant, surely you’d know that I love a good, challenging game.”
“Because,” Kaede says knowingly, a hint of irony threaded through her voice, “you more than anyone know that a successful leader doesn’t like being forced into doing anything at all, let alone into a position where they’re most vulnerable and likely to fall victim to their own lies.”
She doesn’t give Ouma a chance to answer, already clambering to her feet and offering Ouma the same firm hand up that she’ll soon use to push the machinery into gear that’d crush his body into a bloody paste. “Now, let’s end this game.”
.
Kaede stares at Gonta in awe from where she stands in the library, the door to the mastermind’s secret room pried open. “You-you’re amazing.”
Gonta shakes his head. “Gonta is only doing his duty as gentleman.”
Kaede leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. “You live up to the title of a gentleman more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
.
“Hm, you really are an admirable person, Akamatsu-san. I would be delighted to introduce you to my sister one day.”
Kaede lets out a stream of nervous laughter and starts gesturing wildly with her hands in an attempt to signal what she hopes to be perceived as a negative response. “No, no. I’d rather not be, Shinguuji-kun.”
.
Yumeno snores lightly from where she’s sprawled behind the makeshift stage for the magic show that had surprisingly gone off without a hitch. Kaede does her best to keep her mind clear of memories of previous disasters that had taken place as a result of the show and instead tries to focus on a job well done as an assistant.
“Geez, I can’t believe she fell asleep just like that,” Kaede murmurs softly while tucking her backpack underneath Yumeno’s head as a temporary pillow and pulling a misplaced tarp over her bunched form. She takes a moment to watch her peacefully slumber - the rise and fall of her chest so blatantly attesting to life in comparison to the states wherein Kaede’s seen her body in - before sitting down beside her, keeping watch.
.
“I can’t thank you enough, Iruma-san,” Kaede says after safely depositing the collapsible electrohammer in her pack.
“Damn right you can’t. You know how much something like that is worth? ‘Course a bimbo like you doesn’t, Bakamatsu. Let’s just say you’d be pretty fucking swamped with debt if this god damn pigpen didn’t leave money useless here.”
Kaede’s features tighten and her shoulders tense in mild irritation that can easily spiral into anger if she’s not cautious. Her fuse seems to be growing shorter and shorter by the day - by the loop - and she can’t help but worry that she’ll lose her grasp on her emotions altogether one of these days.
But Iruma’s grease-smudged face is staring down at her expectantly, and she doesn’t have time to worry over the thought for too long. “Really, thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says, her voice dripping honeyed reassurance that tastes gratingly saccharine on her own tongue.
Kaede shifts to press a light kiss to Iruma’s forehead, wiping at the grime streaking her cheeks with the pad of her thumb. She thinks she’s probably done this before, because the rate at which Iruma is reduced to a blushing and stuttering mess is too quick for her actions to be anything but well-practiced. Kaede smiles despite the bitter taste in her mouth, blaming it on the motor oil smudged onto her lips rather than how easily Iruma turns to putty beneath her hands with the simple prompting of a few kind words and display of gratitude.
.
Angie paints with an air of severity her usual cheerful demeanour masks. The strokes she uses to colour the white expanse of the canvas are precise despite Angie’s best attempts to make her practiced movements appear naturally flowing.
Kaede feels as if she’s intruding on something too personally meaningful for her to witness. This isn’t an act of Angie’s god or even his will enacted through the hand of a hollowed vessel. The writhing motion of the brush against blank canvas is a product of Angie’s resolve, not a god’s. It’s too human in nature when Angie’s blank face cracks into a frown as her hand wavers. The work is that of an expert, certainly, but the process is Angie’s and Angie’s alone.
Kaede bites her tongue, far be it from her place to decide upon what does or doesn’t classify as divinity, but the urge to break the silence and force an interaction between herself and Angie is nearly enough to storm its way through what slight a barrier her patience forms. But if she’s learnt anything from being stuck in time for this long, it’s that there’s no merit in rushing things.
“Kaede should be grateful. God doesn’t allow just anyone to be present while He creates through Angie’s hand,” Angie compliments in her own
roundabout way.
Kaede nods, smile clipped, but thankful for Angie’s display of trust anyway, however odd. It’s unfortunate that she can never quite return the sentiment.
.
“Akamatsu!” Momota exclaims with a voice not unlike that of a child caught with their hand knuckle deep in a cookie jar. “I was just, uh, checkin’ out the passage. Makin’ sure nobody got any ideas and decided to try and escape.”
Momota looks bashful in the lowlight of the dim setting, rubbing at his neck restlessly, but Kaede doesn’t let it ease her raised guard. “You don’t have to bother making up a bad excuse, Momota-kun. We’re probably here for similar reasons anyway. In fact, it’ll probably even make our goal a lot more obtainable if we helped each other out.”
“I… You’re really cool with tryin’ again? I mean, you’d be breakin’ your promise and all. And I don’t want you gettin’ hurt or anythin’.”
Kaede hums thoughtfully. “You would be doing the same. So, I guess I’ll be counting on you, Momota-kun.”
This won’t be the first time Kaede’s entered the death road of despair while most of the rest of the participants are safely in their dorms, (her mind cycles through memories of bruises and broken bones suffered in solitude and stubborn determination and guilt and failure, time and time again) but it is the first that Momota makes an appearance as well and really she isn’t too surprised that it’s him out of everyone that appears. From all her time catching glimpses of her own reflection in the despairing eyes of others, she’s learnt to recognise a martyr.
Admittedly, she’s hesitant to put her faith in him, and can’t entirely say she trusts him. But if nothing else, Momota’s always been fairly solid support despite his hidden fragility. They approach the entrance together, doing their best to lift each other’s spirits.
Kaede almost lets a wry smile slips. Perhaps she’ll give Momota that hug after they clear the way and reach the exit.
.
Kiibo nervously stutters, “A-ah! Akamatsu-san, my apologies but I’m not entirely familiar with human contact, so I ask of you to excuse any misconduct I may potentially fall victim to, but if I may be as bold as to ask… How exactly does one go about initiating contact?”
Kaede cocks her head curiously. “Huh? Are you asking about, like, romantic touching, because I’m not too comfortable with that. Maybe ask Iruma-san?”
Kiibo shakes his head violently. “No! Nothing of the sort! I wasn’t referring to anything s-so inappropriate! I was inquiring with purely platonic intent!”
“Hm, I see, I see,” Kaede says, “Well, I’ve been told a few times that I tend to be a little over affectionate, but let’s start off small.”
Kiibo nods in agreement.
“Mmm…” Kaede taps her chin thoughtfully, then extends the same towards Kiibo, “May I hold your hand?”
Kiibo wavers, then shuffles forward. He cranks his arm outwards in her direction mechanically, no, Kaede corrects herself, nervously - humanely. He stares at her outstretched hand cautiously, and then finally takes it in his own. He entwines their fingers carefully, albeit jerkily, treating her flesh as if it were characterised by the fragility of porcelain. She finds it almost insulting being treated so gently, as if after all she’s been through, she’d shatter at the fumbling touch of an inexperienced hand grasping her own. She chokes down her frustration, though, because there’s no mistaking Kiibo’s intentions for anything but decent at core, and really, she should be thankful for whatever tenderness she’s shown. A filthy murderer such as herself shouldn’t even be given the luxury of having someone place enough trust in her to reach out and grasp her offered hand, no matter how fumblingly they do so.
.
Kaede approaches Shirogane’s unmoving form with purpose driving her every step, eventually coming to a halt with her hands placed firmly on her hips and standing an estimated half an arm’s length too close to the breathing mannequin to be socially acceptable. She wastes a moment studying Shirogane’s plain features. She searches for something more beyond her vacant stare and blank face. She doesn’t find anything. It isn’t surprising though, because a face as forgettable as Shirogane Tsumugi’s is suspicious in and of itself if Kaede takes everything her repeated participation in the same, tired game allows her to to know into account.
There’s nothing polite about how Kaede waves her hand insistently just before the slope of Shirogane’s nose, nor is there anything gentle about the way she jabs her fingers into her Shirogane’s side, but it isn’t her intention to come across as either anyway. Shirogane jerks back to complete consciousness, frowning at the sight of Kaede so intrusively close before letting most of the tautness in her brow slacken to mild disapproval. Too severe a spike in an emotion may threaten to crack away at the consistently relative blankness her character maintains before unmasked, Kaede notes.
“Akamatsu-san? Don’t you know it’s just plain rude to interrupt someone’s train of thought like that, especially if they’re clearly focusing so hard,” Shirogane chides.
“I don’t know, you looked more like you’d drifted away from your body than anything to me. Call it what you like, but that’s some focus you have there if you didn’t react to me calling your name like five times,” Kaede huffs.
“Mmm…” Shirogane hums, and Kaede might think that the sound is thoughtful if she isn’t already more than halfway convinced that Shirogane’s too empty a vessel to be capable of thought beyond that which concerns viewer satisfaction. It’s a cruel thought, but it isn’t unwarranted, and Kaede’s accepted that in this game, something key to their humanity has been stripped from them all a long time ago.
“Anyway,” Shirogane continues, tilting her head curiously, “Did you need anything?”
“Mhm! This isn’t the best time for it, I know, but, despite how I’ve been trying to come across as calm, the stress of things has really been getting to me. And, well, I always play better with an audience, so I was wondering if you’ll sit in on me practicing? It’ll be like your own private concert!” Kaede says, trying her best to keep her tone light, and even going as far as to punctuate her words with a forced, playful wink.
Shirogane regards her with a baffled tilt to her head. There’s doubt and something akin to a mangled fusion between confusion and apprehension swirling around in the murky depths of her gaze, and Kaede instinctively fixates on the rare presence of something lurking in the hollowed orbits. It’s a rare sight, made even rarer by Shirogane’s absolute vulnerability in the moment. Kaede’s request is entirely unscripted, and therefore an unknown entity altogether.
Kaede pushes on, taking Shirogane’s hand in her own. Her hand is neither hot nor cold, but at the perfect temperature to avoid being concretely characterised by either. Kaede’s hardly surprised at the finding, but something still stirs in her to heat the slack fingers loosely laced through her own. She gives Shirogane’s hand a light, but still firm, squeeze. “Don’t you trust me?”
Shirogane lets out a meek trill of giggles. “This isn’t really the place for trusting people, and you choosing to spend time with someone as plain as me is weird in its own way, but…” her eyes flit to where her hand is locked in a fleshy knot, “I suppose you haven’t given me any reason not to trust you.”
Kaede smiles, and then swivels her head away from Shirogane. The same can hardly be said in her case. She can trust neither Shirogane, nor herself fully at this point.
The walk up to her talent lab is slightly too fast paced to be called leisurely, but it’s a relatively pleasant experience nevertheless. Shirogane’s hand is a comfortable weight at her side throughout the duration of their amicable ambling. Kaede can almost fool herself into misinterpreting their interactions for companionship, but she’s made the mistake before - misplaced what little trust the cynicism ingrained in her by both repeated betrayal and inherent distrust allowed in people who squandered it again and again.
The talent lab’s door scrapes against the floor as she pushes it open. Some of the stray pages of sheet music scatter at the sudden movement churning through the room’s otherwise stagnant air. Kaede makes her way to slightly raised platform where the piano is placed in swift, wide strides. Shirogane remains stiffly standing in the doorway even as Kaede settles on the chair positioned in front of the piano.
“C’mon. I won’t bite,” Kaede encourages, mildly.
Shirogane shuffles into the room, hesitancy and caution apparent in her steps. She perches primly on one of the stools and shifts to an angle where she’s facing Kaede directly. “Do you have any specific pieces planned? I mean, I assume you do, considering that you took the time to invite me.”
“I do, yeah. It’s a pretty easy tune, so I won’t have to warm up or anything,” Kaede says, injecting as much cheer into her voice as possible.
Kaede exhales a wavering breath of stuffy air, and then positions her fingers over the piano tiles, tension coiling in her fingers and waiting to be released. And then she plays. The room fills with sound and Shirogane’s face remains perceptibly blank.
Kaede plays Der Flohwalzer’s initial notes with practiced ease, doing her best to blink away whatever stray memories seethe beneath the very surface of her vision. It’s only past the first few notes that the rhythm picks up into a rapid flurry of keys. Kaede had feared that she might waver when the time to replicate the chaotic melody drilled into her dead as the life was choked out of her on numerous occasions, but now, actually playing the wretched tune, she finds that the chaos isn’t difficult to replicate at all. It might be worrying how perfectly she imitates the off key sound, but Kaede’s grown quite adept at shelving away excess concerns.
“You’ll probably deny everything I say from here on, but I’ll just start by saying that that’d be useless and there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me doubt that what I know your true role to be. So,” Kaede begins after playing a final, lingering note, “When you first wrote my character, was I intended to be a hero or a tragedy? Or both?”
Shirogane remains silent for long enough that Kaede assumes she’s planning on killing her then and there, but finally after several seconds filled with palpably tense silence, she says, “A hero, at least to begin with.”
“And what made you decide to a hero should become a would-be murderer instead?”
“Would-be? I don’t know about a would-be murderer, but a murderer with pure intent can be a hero in their own way,” Shirogane tries, voice vague.
“Not in the way you planned me to be. Maybe to someone else I’d still be a hero, but I’d never be able to look at myself without hating what I see afterwards,” Kaede says, unwavering.
“I wrote characters, Akamatsu-san, not people. I wrote faces to fill a script with bodies legally signed away, not people to act it out. I’m not responsible for how you feel. Frankly, it’s an unfortunate defect that you all feel to begin with, though the audience is drawn to the realism of it, despite how many problems come up because of it,” Shirogane mechanically says.
“It’s a shame then,” Kaede says, slipping down from the platform and placing her hand on Shirogane’s shoulder, “that I’m definitely a person. I think and feel and if you didn’t want any of that, you shouldn’t have chosen to use human bodies as puppets.”
“That was never my choice to make. This isn’t the first killing game to take place with ‘real’ people, and unfortunately I can’t take the credit for coming up with the idea either.”
Kaede continues to stare down at Shirogane. “I see. You’re aware that you’re as vulnerable as all of us then. Team DanganRonpa is the true mastermind of this game, and you? You’re just the vessel that gets to take all their blame. Doesn’t that make you feel anything at all?”
Shirogane shakes her head. “You give me too much credit. Maybe you’re a person in your own right, but don’t project that onto me. My only goal is to write the best season of DanganRonpa yet and make way for an even better 54th season.”
Kaede considers telling her that her goal has a good chance of failing, or that she shouldn’t give her life to something that clearly has no interest in her own existence, but Kaede’s learnt that there’s no definite way of saving anyone, let alone someone who has no interest in salvation. “You’ll die trying. That’s a promise,” she manages to grit out to Shirogane before striding away from her.
Kaede leaves the talent lab with her humanity’s chains constricting around her chest and the phantom touch of Shirogane’s plastic fingers tangled through her own lingering on her skin.
Der Flohwalzer rings in her ears all the while, its familiar notes mockingly retracing one of the most common outcomes reached by her many missteps. Its chaotic melody whistles of fragmented memories shifting like broken glass pieces sliding across skin and opening up old and new wounds alike.
.
The flaw within each timeline has become blatantly visible already after playing a quick game of spot-the-difference oh so long ago that she’s tempted to allow her weak grip on the remaining few strands of her pride slip completely after all this time.
But, Kaede is nothing if not persistent and she’ll end this personalised hell before it ended her.
Or, at least that’s the sentiment she’d thought she would carry up until the very end, then, before she’d been broken and beaten and driven to her knees so many times that the sting of defeat not only broke through her stubbornly heroic heart but brought it to a point of near cracking. Yes, Kaede thinks bitterly, it appears that human fragility may have won out over her steely determination after all.
It’s hard to remember sometimes that the pedestal she’s placed upon supposedly grants her ascendancy in comparison to the other participants, when in reality it feels like all it’s done is heighten the distance she has to fall as she tumbles to the lowest depths reachable. The pedestal doesn’t serve much purpose anymore now that she’s tumbled so far down the rabbit hole, perhaps only offering its meagre services to prop up the tattered remainders of her pride.
Kaede breathes in deeply, and then calmly exhales, repeating the process until her racing pulse slows to a steady trot. Finally, she thinks it’s high time to release her ironclad grip on the last of her pride and end her role in the game once and for all.
.
She follows the steps of her plan from her first ever playthrough almost exactly once more, but she rights the aim of her trap beforehand and this time the sound of the splintering of Amami’s skull resounds throughout the library with a satisfied crack.
She barely considers the larger ramifications of it all, or the lack of clues she leaves behind to find the supposed mastermind. She’s simply too tired to allow the whispers of guilt calling her disgustingly selfish to sway her off course from fulfilling her current goal.
The trial goes as planned and she greedily sucks in lungfuls of tense air while she still can, knowing that time’s quota has likely been filled this time around. Maybe now these events that have all insisted on clinging to her presence for some unknown reason might just play out for the last time.
And for once in the span of her scripted life, Akamatsu Kaede completely sets aside her mistrustful heroics, and puts her own interests before anyone else’s with no delusions of selflessness to hide behind, and dies a final, cowardly death.