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◈» The cherry blossoms are tainted with something that Saihara could not identify; Saihara has no knowledge in the areas of gardening, but the tarnish on it is crystal clear. A patch of black ink spreads across the petals down to the stigma; truly a dreadful sight to behold.
(a dreadful sight, just like him―)
"Who did this to you?” Saihara caresses the petals tenderly, frowning. He crosses this street everyday, so it is quite disheartening to see something almost a constant in his life, something so full of life, being intentionally destroyed. If, of course, it is done by someone and not a natural phenomenon that he had never heard of.
"It's not like I can help you though,” Saihara lets go of the flower. "I have taints of my own.”
And one of the ways to deal with it is not to think about it, which is exactly what Saihara aims to do by plunging himself into further detective work. His old stories where a younger, more innocent him is the hero are coming true via a warped device; the entire corruption of his own personality. Who knows winning a killing game as a made-up detective would make people want you to actually work as a detective for them?
(yeah that's right you let yourself become someone else so you don't need to live so you can stop but not really so you can deny all your wrongdoings―)
Saihara takes a glance of his wristwatch. It's 9:46 a.m., fast approaching the opening of business. He has to hurry.
Turning out of this corner would bring him right back to the bustling metropolis screaming for mindless consumption and greed and complacency and Danganronpa―
―hey so i'm here to announce your victory! you are winners of season fifty-three―
―where are they? where are our frien―
―oh, they are waiting in the lounge, still recovering from the little injuries sustained from the show―
Saihara forcefully slaps himself, to remind himself that failure of convincing his old classmates to meet up is not absolute and that there are still friends he can turn to.
(That this is the true way to remove the taints) «◈
◈» "They still won't listen to us?”
Maki chuckles darkly, her eyes still glued to her phone screen. Saihara leans in a bit and sees their winners' portrait.
―if you guys don't mind, can you smile a bit? you are winners after all―
―we are no winners! we are the products of your twisted―
―alright that's the spirit! let yourself rejoice!―
"I'm going to deface it, in case you are wondering. Post slander against our winner status and all that.” Maki picks the text box function and starts typing.
e-m-o-t-i-o-n-l-e-s-s-k-i-l-l-e-r-g-o-o-d-f-o-r-n-o-t-h-i-n-g
"Well, I do doubt if that would do anything at all. Their PR person is better than a few trollish posts.” Saihara watches Maki paste the box in and slides the phone his direction. "Type in shit yourself.”
"… Is it alright if Yumeno-san does it first?”
"You are speaking out of turn, Saihara,” Himiko’s sleepy yet firm voice rings out from behind her meticulously-designed laptop screen. "especially considering that I do have more important matters to discuss here.”
"Which is?…”
"For example, the matters of your birthday, Saihara.”
Saihara blinks. Once, twice. Maki has a faint smile. "It… It is?”
"It is, and I'm bringing my best tricks with it.” Yumeno stands up and opens the large suitcase next to her. A small chest pops up. "I demand thee, contractor of my power, to bring me!―”
A paper model of a cake pops up.
"… Oh.”
"Hey! Show me some enthusiasm!” Yumeno whips out a wand which she uses to tap at the model twice, before it becomes an actual cream-covered cake.
"… Oh!”
"There, we know you worked hard all day.” Maki hands him the cutlery. "You deserve it.”
(you know what i also deserve? i also deserve―)
"Thank you so much.” Saihara wipes away the tears that are starting to stream down his cheeks.
He ignores Yumeno behind his back writing into the phone and weeping while doing so. ◈«
◈» Saihara follows the streetlights back to the small apartment he rented. Actually, he was resident of that apartment from a long time ago. It is a surprise that the landlord still lets him live there after being gone for so long.
(it is a surprise that nobody treats you like a―)
Saihara consciously looks towards the cherry blossoms again. In the darkness, the cherry blossoms no longer radiate the saccharine, brilliant shine of pink, instead deepening into pure black, which surely would make the black patches invisible too, come to think about it―
"… Nobody will ever notice it, huh?”
Saihara freezes, a deer in an imaginary headlight. Up ahead, at the corner where the cherry blossoms adorn, the source of the voice is standing there, observing the blossoms.
With the streetlight being the only illumination, Saihara can only make out a traditional Japanese high school boys uniform, and black or violet hair?
Is that
(have you forgotten, shuuichi, that they are all merely―)
Propelled by an unknown force, Saihara strides ahead in jittery but determined steps, until he is right in front of that boy.
Now the boy is the deer in the headlights.
"You are… the person who I have thought about. And who I've always missed.”
The boy musters up a quiet "huh?”
"Ouma Kokichi.” «◈
◈» They find a nearby convenience store at Saihara’s insistence. It's a losing battle for Ouma regarding on whether or not to do that―if that's who they are―in the first place, being their former, somewhat timid and soft-spoken self.
(not that he himself is of any discretion to―)
"Coffee?”
"Huh?” Ouma’s eyes dodge to here and there amongst the shelves, before refocusing back onto Saihara. "Um, thanks?”
Saihara can't reconcile this boy with the evil supreme leader he once knows. "Are you feeling unwell? Need me to fetch you anything?”
"No… Do as what you must, please.”
"You don't actually have to―”
"Do you want me to pay for them instead? I, I can if that's what you prefer!”
Saihara stares into the flinching, directionless eyes oscillating between flight-and-flight mode, and sighs. "I'll get it. Please don't get yourself so worried.”
Ouma’s jitters gradually settle down at last. "O, Okay.”
Saihara brings back two coffees, and Ouma very tentatively reaches out for one of them, taking a small sip while keeping their eyes on him.
"So, you know that I am,” am what? Winner of the recent Danganronpa? Bearer of pain that an amnesiac victim of the show can barely understand? "part of Danganronpa Season fifty-three as you, right?”
Ouma stops and promptly coughs. Violently, for thrice, before speaking again. "Yes, I know I am. Was, more like. And, ehh, what about it?”
"Do you―”
―remember anything? we were all part of the―
―i told you i don't! losers don't have the privilege to relive the experience like you filthy winners, don't you bitches know that?
"I don't.” Ouma fidgets with the buttons on their uniform. "Remember, I mean. You know what they said about erasing our memories of the game?”
"I do.” But it doesn't mean I'll stop trying anytime soon. "But, I… I still want to keep contacts with anyone I can find.”
"I don't really understand your motivation, but I do suppose we can be friends.”
"Thank you.” Saihara downs the entire cup of coffee. And then silence fills the space. Ouma looks down with hints of a blush on their cheeks, while Saihara takes out his phone. "Can I have your contact info?”
"Ehh, sure?” Ouma taps in their number, still gazing at him with fearful eyes. With suspicious eyes.
"I'm, glad that you are willing to befriend me.” Saihara wants to smack himself over the head for the vaguely vain proclamation. "Will you be free to hang out anytime?”
"Oh, that depends on my part time work schedule.” Ouma shuffles through their backpack, pulling out a notepad which they flip through quickly. "I do have like, two in order to sustain myself.”
"That must be a lot of stress.”
"Not really. They are both just repetitive, brainless manual labor.” Ouma’s curled lips curve upwards at that, as if reminiscing a fond memory. It's a mystery as to what kind of fond memory can be produced from manual labor, but Saihara supposes, again, he is in no discretion to say anything.
Nonetheless, this can be treated as an opportunity to expand the conversation before it lulls. "So, what exactly is so fun about these work that you are, like…?”
"It's not really a lot, it's really just that I get to meet my friends. Like Tama, Momo, and that I can put my stand-up comedian abilities to good use.”
"That does sound nice. I go to a detective agency instead, since, you know my fake talent.”
"That suits you.” Ouma walks towards the door without preamble. "I suppose, I'll see you around?”
"Yeah. Good luck.”
"You too.”
It is only after Ouma has already crossed the street and quickly disappearing into the night when Saihara realizes that stand-up comedy is no manual labor work. «◈
◈» Saihara watches Ouma juggle. It's not any superior than the rest of the other clowns, but the way Ouma smiles speaks of a sincerity that Saihara believes in.
After the work, Ouma can finally hang out with him. "So, what do you wanna do today?”
"Hmm, I think maybe just walking through this park?”
"I work here.”
"I, I know, but please indulge me a bit, Ouma-kun?” Saihara mocks a imploring gesture.
Ouma shakes their head exasperatedly. "Alright, but I'll be the guide here.”
Saihara chuckles. "Whatever you say, Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty? I haven’t been the supreme ruler for a long time, y’know?”
Saihara’s metaphorical butterfly in the stomach aims a substantial strike against his innards. "You do… Remember how your talent?...”
“Nah, I’m just making a joke out of it.”
Saihara pauses unthinkingly, even as Ouma continues to skip ahead. There is a strangely cheerful spring in their gait, and it takes some time for Ouma’s cheerful beam to gradually fade as they take stock of their own words and the person behind them. “Oh. I’m, I’m sorry about doing that. I thought every winner does like the game, right?”
The imagery of his own boundless lachrymose and sorrowful goodbyes manifest in Saihara’s mind unbidden, the soft barely-a-touch of Kaede’s hand on his, the exploding carcass of their robotic savior―their friends, all of them―
“No. We. Don’t.”
Ouma stares at him for another moment and, as if realizing they have set off a landmine, takes a few strides away from Saihara.
“Wait, where are you―”
“I’m a bad friend for being that insensitive,” Ouma quickens their pace, their breath cutting out in rapid shots. “Allow me to just disappear. Please.”
“You aren’t, it’s not,” Saihara’s tongue scalds at the jumble of words he churns out. Words that say nothing. Words that do nothing but make them feel worse. “please, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”
Ouma pauses in their track. Their face is not turned to him, giving nothing away. “Are we?... Do you forgive me then?”
“Of, of course, it’s just…” The catalogue of comforting, friendly words in Saihara’s vocabulary are all replaced by anxious, guilt-ridden ones. “Let’s not talk so much about the game for now, okay?”
“But isn’t that the exact reason why you approach me in the first place?”
“Well, we can still… Be normal friends, if you would like to?”
(good job saying all the words you don’t mean, shuuichi, when have you become so addicted to malicious lies, huh? do you have no shame ―)
“If you still think so, then,” Ouma slowly ambles back, their eyes, again, elusive of any real direction. “thank you for, forgiving me, I suppose.”
“No problem.” Saihara knows he has to keep talking before silence smothers them once again. “So, do you have any recommendation as to which facilities of this park are the best?”
“Hmm, what about the, circus performance?”
“You literally just left from working there.”
“I know. But I have told you that I love my work there very much too, right?” A genuine simper blossoms on Ouma’s face. “Come on! I can show you the best act around town!”
“Does that include your friends? Tama and Momo?”
“Of course! They have their own brand of tricks too!” Ouma pulls onto Saihara’s sleeves, not too dissimilar to that of a child pulling onto their parent. “I promise you we will have a great time!”
“Alright alright, as soon as you stop pulling on my sleeves.” Saihara himself cannot restrain a smile from forming on his own face. “You wanna get some snacks while we are at it?”
“Sure!”
The circus show, as Ouma has promised, is indeed phenomenal in its own way, even if the popcorn they brought to go with the show is over-priced. Still, the show is unforgettable, and Tama and Momo, as Ouma excitedly points out, are all unique in their own ways.
“What is this last act?”
“I think it’s gonna be an escape act?” Ouma nonchalantly pops up another popcorn into their mouth. “By the looks of the set-up, it doesn’t look like the usual small water tank one. It’s quite exciting to know what they will put up!”
A tangle of knots gather in Saihara’s stomach; not that Saihara is reluctant to watch a performance that could get Ouma so lively, but seeing Ouma almost like vibrating in their seat with a feverish, expectant gaze at the stage… It’s almost like seeing―
(they don’t exist anymore remember? )
“Is that a platform?” Saihara decides questions are best applied now to divert his own attention.
“Yeah! I do wonder what will they do? What will they put up there? A guillotine? An iron maiden?”
“Well, I personally don’t know anything about escape acts, but, Ouma-kun, you speak as if you are familiar with those.”
“Not really, I work as a clown here after all, buuut, once you work here long enough, you’ll see stuff.” Ouma sticks out their tongue at that. “They don’t have much space to keep in everything, so we use the same storage room! Though I have to be honest, they could still bring in their own stuff impromptu, so―”
“Can they really sneak that in though?”
At Saihara’s words, Ouma looks back to the stage. Up there, there is now a bed full of sharp needles.
But apparently that is only the icing on top; because right afterwards they have finished inspecting the needles, they move the entire needle bed to something akin to a hydraulic press.
Hydraulic press?
Saihara watches as Ouma melts in panic.
“Is that a―a―a?” Ouma freezes, movements locked, their countenance sickened. ‘I’m n―n―not seeing it?”
“Ouma-kun? Can you hear me?”
“I’m, I’m not seeing something like―like―like―”
“Can you talk to me? What do you need me to―”
Ouma’s eyelids slowly, but surely pours with tears. “No no no no no no no―”
Instincts tell Saihara to cover Ouma’s eyes, and Ouma starts flailing almost immediately. “What are you doing! Why is it all dark now what did I do this time―”
“We should get out of here.” Saihara does his best to carry Ouma up, Ouma’s heaving but tiny body up away from the performance. Away from the escape act. «◈
◈» Ouma refuses to talk afterwards.
“Are you?...” “No. Never okay.”
Ouma curls in themself further into the bus seat. The silence is smothering him.
“I’m not sure how visceral the experience of watching the videos of your performance in the game is, but I suppose… It can’t be better than ours.”
“Yeah.” And that was the period of the conversation.
Ouma gets off, and Saihara still hadn’t figured out why Ouma’s friends sound familiar. «◈
◈» “Hello. Just wanna say that I’m sorry about last time. I… Shouldn’t have lost it like that.”
“Don’t worry, that was perfectly understandable. I figure watching yourself, or doppleganger I guess, die in that brutal fashion must be horrible.”
“Yeah, that video really shook me… Sorry I can’t stay in the line anymore, got to go for work.”
“Okay, take care.”
Saihara had finally figured out the lies. «◈
◈» Tearing apart lies require grace and tact, not absolute brutal honesty. Brutal honesty has costed Saihara his friends. Brutal honesty wrecked him.
Gentle lies, gentle honesty… If they are employed properly, they must reveal some semblance of a reality all parties must accept.
Saihara lets his mind unravel in that comforting mindset as he waits for Ouma to meet up with him.
“Sorry! I guess I’m late!” Saihara watches in delight as Ouma runs up towards him, taking a few deep breaths. Then they take in the view around them. “Oh? It’s that cherry blossom tree?”
“Yeah, that’s where we first met.”
Ouma lets out something of an embarrassed laugh. “It, it really is funny that something so mundane leads to fateful encounters like that, huh?”
“That’s true. Anyway,” here comes the hard part again. “I’m wondering if you are up to meeting my friends too?”
“Oh, I suppose so?”
“Great.” Saihara gestures for an unsuspecting Ouma to follow, right into the cafe closest to the cherry blossom corner (further away from the convenience store, but that’s the price you pay for actual coffee).
Maki and Himiko are faithfully waiting for Saihara in their usual seats, but the sight of Ouma has both of them raising suspicious glances immediately. “Saihara, what is the meaning of this?”
Saihara does his best not to flinch at Maki’s untrusting voice. “Oh, just wanna tell you guys that I finally did find a fellow contestant for us to do our little monthly meet-ups! This is Ouma, but I thinks you all know them already.”
“Of course.” Himiko doesn’t bother to hide her revulsion at all.
Ouma is abashed for all of a second. “Oh, you guys must be the winners of Season fifty-three along with Saihara-kun, right?”
“Yes, and do you know we actually hate your guts?”
The disconcerted laugh returns in full force. “Right… Considering all the lies and schemes I made up back there, I am indeed a really hateable person.”
Time to soften the tension somewhat. “Well, but I trust that the Ouma-kun right now can be a friend for us though! They do know that what they did back there is horrible, but they did acknowledge that and apologized to me.”
“So, I guess it’s our turn?” Himiko doesn’t let up her contempt.
“To be fair… It’s really more just to you, Yumeno.” Maki fiddles with the rose pin on her shirt, an accessory that she had never been seen without. “Ouma had been unjustly mean to you… But for me, I do understand in some ways, that what I have done is also unforgivable and can’t be justified. All the times I tried to outright murder you, the time when I tried to drag everyone down with me in the trial―”
“You… Tried to drag everyone with you during the trials?”
Maki casts a suspicious glance at Ouma. “You… Should remember that from watching your copies of the videos, right?”
Ouma quickly regains their composure. “Yeah. I just have pretty bad memories, that’s all.”
“And also, this marks it. I’m sorry for what I have done to you, Ouma Kokichi.”
“Likewise, I am, too.”
“Are we going to keep being sappy like this, or are we going to bring up the birthday cake?”
Ouma blinks. Once, twice. Saihara attempts to hide his smile to no avail. “What is it now?”
“We checked the student profiles on the Danganronpa website, and today is your birthday, Ouma.”
Ouma stares out to nowhere, face blank, as Himiko replicates her birthday magic trick and looks towards the cake.
Then, as predicted for once, Ouma flees.
“Is doing this really alright?”
Maki shrugs. “We can’t know for sure. Let’s just hope that Saihara does know what he’s doing. And now that I have done my own shares of apologies, I can rest better too.”
Himiko pouts. “Well, Ouma still owes me that apology.”
Maki only shrugs again at that. «◈
◈» “Ouma-kun! Wait!”
Ouma runs out of breaths and gradually slows down. They also gradually run out of lies.
Neutral, worthless lies.
“Did… Did you know all along?”
Saihara chooses his next words carefully. The catalogue of anxious, guilt-ridden words won’t work well anymore. “I guess… I did know from the very beginning.
“I know somebody shouldn’t be in the street in the middle of the night with a barely-hidden paintbrush, one that’s obviously still dripping ink. I can see those splotches on your skin and uniform, you know? And dare I say, that was a good DiCE logo replication on the plastic blossom.
“And Tama and Momo… I found your motive pad that gives away your status as DiCE’s leader. I’d be lying if I said I remembered that’s who they are right off the bat, since it does take quite some time to memorize all of their names.
“And probably the most important one… You said you watched a video of your own death. That just can’t be, because you did use the bomb Iruma-san invented which had stopped stop all machines at that time, which would include all CCTVs and even the Monochichis. You couldn’t possibly watch that non-existent video. That reaction can only come from real memories about the event.”
The volume of Ouma’s tears could rival with the Atlantic Ocean at this point. “Good observation, detective… My dearly beloved Saihara-chan, shall I say?”
“If that’s what you want to.”
Ouma wipes the tears off their face slowly. “I guess… No, in actuality I know, that all along I want to do that. Drop hints that I still remembered, and wanting to, in some ways, reconcile with you all. I just didn’t thought it’s the three of you who survive… I guess I should’ve known that though, huh?”
“But… How could you have―”
“You might not know this, Saihara-chan, but they let contestants with an interesting characters in-game retain their memories if that’s why they prefer. Speaking of which, it does shock me that Momota-chan didn’t go for that option too―”
“But why do you let yourself remember?”
“You do know I will answer this with a lie, right Saihara-chan?”
Saihara gulps down the accompanying enquiries. “Ouma-kun, why did you lie to us?”
“Which lie?” Ouma’s eyes aren’t so shifty anymore.
“About not remembering. Even when you just said you have dropped hints, you still didn’t just come clean exactly.”
Ouma turns away from him again. “Isn’t that obvious? For everything I have done, how am I forgivable? Do you have any idea how much pain you were putting me through with that little act you put up with Harukawa and Yumeno… Too much, way too much.”
“We, we were trying to be nice.”
“There’s no being nice to an evil supreme ruler like me.”
“There is .” Saihara holds onto Ouma’ left hand. Surprisingly, they didn’t protest against that. “We all learnt of the truth of you ultimately, that you aren’t really pure evil in any sense of the word. And not even in just that technical sense… I want you, Ouma Kokichi, to know that I wholeheartedly mean it when I said I want to befriend you. Or even something more.”
A violent blush creeps onto Ouma’s cheeks. “I, I don’t know what you are talking about!”
Saihara chuckles. “But you do, right? Both you and I have already abandoned that chance once, do you really want to do that again?”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Ouma trembles. “I don’t know much things anymore, Saihara-chan, I’m just a human being. Human beings don’t know everything, and that’s not a lie.”
“And that’s why we stick together. Harukawa-san, Yumeno-san and I stick with each other to deal with the pain of Danganronpa. You can, too. You can navigate this aftermath with us, and most importantly, you can learn to forgive yourself, and I bet my life that's what is most important for you right now, Ouma-kun.”
Ouma doesn't speak.
For nearly a worrying period of time, until they squeeze Saihara’s hand back. “Saihara-chan, I, I…”
Saihara knows the period of the sentence, and opts to write it himself with a kiss.