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The light flickers through the moving curtains, unsure of whether it wants to wake them just yet. There’s nothing sweet about this summer, only the oppressive heat and thick air outside that threaten to choke them with the knowledge of what today brings. Ten years ago, Momota and Harukawa were discharged from the Danganronpa 53 simulation facility, the contracts that they signed when they were different people still looming over their heads. For the first year after the killing game, there wasn’t much change to how it was living inside the Ultimate Academy - constantly being watched by an audience, fear of getting attacked anywhere they went; their lives were steeped in the terror that comes with getting famous off the back of murdering their friends. Or not, in some of their cases, but Team Danganronpa never discriminated. They were all treated as expendable.
The lies that they were told to spew for the on-camera interviews are second nature to both of them by now. It’s written in the terms of their contract, and Team Danganronpa has a lot to hold over their heads; the money that is sent to them each month could easily be cut off, as could the access to the world’s best therapists and doctors. People tried, of course - Ouma was first, and he paid the price for it. Now, the closest anyone will get to finding him is looking under the driest bridge in whatever town he might end up in. Once Team Danganronpa had no more use for him, he wasn’t just discarded, he was made into waste. Capitalism at its ugliest; life as a mere commercial product.
But Momota and Harukawa learned to play the game. The lies that they have to tell the cameras aren’t so much lies as they are eventually something truthful and genuine. Sure, they weren’t married in the week after waking up from the simulation, as the narrative constructed for them would have the audience believe. In fact, they barely saw each other in that first year. Momota took off and tried to run, but Team Danganronpa merely assisted him - telling him that there was no point ‘finding himself’ when they could simply hand him a dossier with his entire personality if he so wished. Instead, they gave him disguises, expendable money, and told him that as long as he laid low and complied with the story on camera, he could have relative freedom for the next twelve months. Harukawa was different - she wanted to fight the establishment, revel in that same passion that caused Saihara and Kiibo to push themselves to self-sacrifice at the end of the game, one unsuccessfully and one successfully. She shudders to think of the many ways that Saihara must have now paid for broadcasting his free speech.
She wouldn’t know. They haven’t talked in years.
But things aren’t necessarily bad. At least, not for her. She hates herself for it, most of the days, thinking of how selfish she’s become, how little she can bring herself to expend the mental energy of caring so much about everything. It’s hard to convince herself that the price she’s paid for being able to wake up next to Momota is worth it. What about the oaths she swore to better Gods?
It’s just one interview. One last interview, for the ‘Ten Years Ahead’ feature, and then she’s free. Or, as free as she can be when she’s still relying on Team Danganronpa for her continued existence. Underneath the covers of their bed, she slips her hand into Momota’s, trying to feel if he’s shaking as much as she is. He’s still asleep, and she can’t wake him, not into this world, not into this day. Even if it’s a finality, a closure of some sorts, it’s never enough. Not for the price they’ve already paid.
They talk about it over breakfast. About what they’ve been told to say, about what’s been planned for them, and what they’ve planned in return. It’s all a bit spontaneous, but that’s the way it should be - the antithesis of the meticulous plans laid bare and to waste by Team Danganronpa.
So, when they stand in front of the cameras, their complicit and willing façade leaking mascara-tears underneath the makeup that’s been carefully applied by a team of dozens, there’s never been a better time to speak. To exist. To be.
“We’re coming at you live from outside the loving family home of Momota Kaito and Harukawa Maki, key participants in season 53 of Danganronpa,” the interviewer says into a microphone, “and now we’ll hear from the happy couple themselves on our special Ten Years Ahead feature!”
She hands the microphone to Harukawa. She pulls the pre-written cue cards out of her pocket; they’re neatly typed and printed with the Team Danganronpa logo in the corner, detailing how happy she is and how blessed she is to have a new lease of life with Momota.
She throws them to the ground.
“I had a friend,” she says, “and her name was Akamatsu. We don’t talk any more, because Team Danganronpa cut off our contact. They said it would be bad for the press if anything distracted from my relationship with Momota. It’s a relationship they orchestrated. It’s true that without Team Danganronpa, I wouldn’t even know him, but they’re trying to take credit for all the camera-worthy parts of our relationship.”
Momota takes the microphone from her; she nods at him.
“There’s stuff they won’t show you,” he continues, “like how we go weeks without talking because the sight of each other makes us feel like we’re dying. They won’t show you the harrowing codependence and the silence of feeling like we hate each other sometimes. They won’t show you that we’re fucked up, and it’s their fault. Even saying this now - we’re going to lose our house, our income, our access to medical care. They want us to lose our lives for being genuine.”
“But they can’t take credit for us,” Harukawa takes over, “because they won’t accept that there’s anything authentic left in us. We do love each other. Of course we do. But that’s not because of Team Danganronpa - it’s despite them. And instead of remembering us, ten years after the killing game, think about everyone else, the ones they won’t show you, because they won’t bow to their will.”
“Think about Chabashira. Think about how she refused to read off cue cards for her interviews. And then think about how she was mysteriously found dead in a supposed random attack.”
“Think about Ouma. About how he tried to rework his own narrative around the truth. We can’t say for certain if he’s alive or not.”
“Think about Saihara. That revolutionary speech he gave ten years ago was true. It was all true! And they took him away and won’t even release a statement about whether he’s alive. God knows what he’s been going through, but it’s all because he’d rather die than live a lie.”
“We’ve been complicit in living our own false narratives for too long. So here’s our statement. Our official statement, the one and only testament of Momota and Harukawa that’s genuine, that’s true, that’s not fed to us in a fucking earpiece by Team Danganronpa. Here it is: fuck this shit!”
They say the last three words in unison. And then, they’re running, hand in hand away from their house. They’re not even sure if the cameras were on and broadcasting for the latter half of their speech, or if what they did was too little, too late. Is it worth losing their stability for the sake of one, last lie? Or was this their last chance at redemption, at grasping onto the truth and pulling it apart like meat off a bone?
Either way, they’re running. They’ll be running for a very long time. But they’re running free.