Chapter Text
Rough, coarse strands of rope, biting her neck and crushing her trachea.
This is all Ibuki remembers of death. That and the bitter taste of morning breath, that which lingered even after she attempted to drown it down again and again with the water Mikan so graciously put in her room. Inside she was alright, normal, even (or as normal as was normal for Ibuki Mioda, which was not very) but on the outside, she was dull. Gullible, boring, the very kind of person she hated. Dead in the head, she would’ve said, and then giggled ostentatiously, for rhymes like that had always been something she enjoyed in life.
How odd, that sentiment, when Ibuki is conscious now.
She digresses, though, that when Mikan asked her to go to her knees, her heart fluttered with unfamiliar anxiety, and even as her legs complied against her will, she found herself wondering if this was an impromptu prayer session that the Ultimate Nurse was starting up, or if the sight of the dusty floor inside the Titty Typhoon was going to be the last thing she ever saw.
Ibuki remembers nothing beyond that. She must have succumbed to oxygen deprivation. It doesn’t matter, though, because she was certainly dead soon after. Why Mikan suddenly stopped, perhaps she will never know. Or, perhaps she will, because as things are, she’s lying in a familiar bed with a rather unpleasant crick in her neck, and Heaven definitely isn’t supposed to hurt like this.
Well, maybe it does. Ibuki has never been, so she wouldn’t know. Though, maybe this is Hell? That would certainly be exciting. She might like the music better at any rate. (Is that blasphemous? Ibuki doesn’t know enough nor care to.)
For a moment she wonders why the bed is so familiar, so molded to the shape of her body, when she blinks blearily and realises that she is lying in the bed in her cottage. That’s… weird. Despite herself, she frowns, sitting up and taking in her surroundings. Bright pink and blue curtains, as well as an abundance of pillows…those she recognises. That chip bag, she should dispose of it, lies spilt on the floor, just as it was before. Sunlight streams through the curtains. It’s as though she never left.
Did she…imagine the Despair Disease? That would really be an odd development, but she’d be lying if she said she was torn up about it. Ibuki stretches her arms above her head, working out the pains in her back, and finds they disappear quickly. She could still use a good head banging, but that can wait. The morning announcement hasn’t come on yet, and she has no idea what time it is. Hajime could probably use some company. He’s awfully slow in the morning.
Swinging her feet out of bed, Ibuki slides into her shoes and wiggles her toes inside her sneakers, relishing the familiar feeling of the broken-in pair of shoes. That was a detailed nightmare, wasn’t it? Almost too detailed…she giggles into a hand, recalling how blatant of a liar Nagito became in sickness. He’s always been so annoying, but Ibuki felt bad for him, when he was like that. Of course, it was a dream, so maybe there’s nothing to feel bad about.
Too much serious talk in the morning! She needs to do at least fifteen minutes of vocal exercises before even beginning to delve into any of this. Ibuki leans forward and ties her shoes, triple knotting her left sneaker and only double knotting her right for some variety, then springs to her feet, jumping up and down a couple times to re-energise. It’s important to face the day with vigor, after all! She reaches up to the ceiling, her fingers not even coming close, before bending over at the waist and reaching for her toes.
She holds the stretch until her hamstrings beg for release and she has to straighten up again, rolling her shoulders and strolling to the door. Ibuki resolves to wake up Hajime first and foremost, then go see if Akane would like to hear about her dream. She’d tell Nagito too, but he’s so tiring to deal with, she thinks maybe she’ll pass.
Just as Ibuki opens the door and steps out, however, she finds herself coming face to face with a red-haired girl an inch taller than her. They’re close enough together for Ibuki to count her freckles, and she smells pleasantly of strawberries, but that’s not really what grips the musician’s attention.
“Oh, Ibuki, you’re awake!” Mahiru Koizumi smiles, with her one hundred percent alive face, as if that just makes sense. “I’m glad, I’ve been going around and waking everyone up, but I was worried that I’d have to go in and… anyway! How are you-”
“Uhhhh, on second thought, I’m going back to sleep, weird dream Mahiru, but-” Ibuki blurts, remembering all of a sudden that Mahiru is very pretty (and also probably very straight, disappointingly) even when she’s a dream. “It was great seeing you, Ibuki just doesn’t really want to rehash all that trauma from Peko’s execution, so-”
“Hey, hold on!” Mahiru stops her with a hand on her shoulder and Ibuki smiles to disguise the fact that she’s having a gay crisis. “I’m not a dream! I’m actually here! Togami is here too, you know!”
“Ibuki is in heaven?” Ibuki screeches, pulling away from Mahiru’s touch in shock. “Dang it! She was hoping that was a dream!”
“No! No, this isn’t- this isn’t heaven, Ibuki, just listen to me for a minute!”
“That means Mikan actually killed me! No! Why are all the cute girls murderers? Total wipeout, you-”
“Ibuki!” Mahiru cries, and maybe the use of her given name, though familiar to Ibuki who says her own name every other word, shocks some sense into her, because she falls silent. “We’re alive! Okay?”
Blinking, Ibuki mumbles, “This is a really weird dream, then.”
“I mean it,” Mahiru groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “There’s a whole big group of us on the beach, I was just coming by to wake up the stragglers. Usami’s going to explain everything, but she said that we’re all alive, and she just needs everyone to be there so she can talk about it.”
“So, just so we’re clear…” Ibuki puts up a hand. “Ibuki did not get strangled by Mikan?”
“Uhm,” Mahiru frowns. “I think maybe you did, but I can’t see why Mikan would do that…”
“Beats me. I was getting strangled, not really in the position to be hosting a survey!” Ibuki giggles. “That’s a good song title! Thanks for the inspiration, Mahiru!”
“O...Okay, uhm,” Mahiru reddens a little, and it’s quite noticeable because she is so very pale. “We should head to the beach, alright? Or, you should. I have a couple other people to check on.”
It’s quite like Mahiru to volunteer for that kind of a tedious task. Ibuki nods, eventually, because she supposes she doesn’t want to make the photographer’s job any more difficult, then closes the door behind her. Since she broke Hajime’s lock and all, it would be unfair for her to go around acting like she should keep her door locked, so she doesn’t bother with it. Besides, it’s easier that way. (Both for Ibuki to get in, and for possible murderers to get in, but that thought never really occurs to her.) Swinging her hands at her sides, Ibuki skips past all the other cottages, smiling fondly over at the one she knows to be Hajime’s before turning to head down to the beach.
There are… more cottages than Ibuki remembers, but perhaps she is imagining it. She will double check later, maybe even with Hajime! Mahiru told her to head to the beach, and considering that Mahiru isn’t dead, she figures that listening to that advice is a pretty good idea! Plus, seeing Byakuya again sounds awesome! She misses the guy, he was so cool…
When Ibuki arrives at the beach, kicking up sand, and spots the group of people Mahiru was no doubt talking about, but something is… off.
Well, Byakuya is there, as promised, looking imposing and also slightly uncomfortable in his white suit, and Nagito stands next to him with an understandably guilty expression on his face (Ibuki stops herself from grimacing at the thought of Nagito with that disease). Nekomaru and his considerable bulk stick out in the group like a sore thumb; Hiyoko is pressing close to him, perhaps subconsciously, and messing with the sleeves of her kimono, a deep frown carved into her features.
But everybody else on the beach is somebody who Ibuki has never seen before in her life.
Actually, no, Usami is there too, but she’s Usami, now, not Monomi, and where is Monokuma? Shouldn’t he be here? Ibuki counts ten other people who she doesn’t recognise, standing in two clumps in the bigger group, and furrows her brow, wondering what possible reason they could have for being here.
No need to act worried, though! There’s probably a great reason for this, and Ibuki bets she can get great song material from it! A grin easily settles on her features (she does love meeting new people) and she bounces forward, lifting her hand in a wave.
“Gooooooood nom-nom-nomming! Erm, is it morning right now?” She directs the question towards her friends, the ones she knows, and Hiyoko levels a glare at her, like she doesn’t really want to see her at all, but it is Byakuya who responds.
“Mioda, I’m glad to see you.” He smiles slightly, then drops the expression, as though it’s beneath him. (Uwaaa! So cool!) “I believe it’s around ten in the morning?”
“Yeah, that’s about right.” Nagito confirms, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was nine thirty when I got here, and we’ve been standing here for a while. Usami,” he sounds surprisingly amiable when he addresses the robot, looking at her with what almost passes for respect. “Is that a good estimate?”
Usami glows, perhaps because she has been addressed. “Thank you for asking, Komaeda, it’s certainly ten in the morning! You slept in late, Mioda! But I don’t blame you, hawawa… I didn’t give an announcement this morning, after all… I thought that would be a little traumatising…”
“Man, I thought the bear was annoying.” One of the students who Ibuki doesn’t recognise, this one rather short, gremlin-like in appearance, and with messy purple hair, speaks up, staring at his fingernails like he doesn’t care. “And his kids were worse, but I really don’t like the rabbit, either.”
“At least she’s not a male!” A girl with long, dark hair snaps, chopping the air. Ibuki raises her eyebrows, watching the blue-clad girl kick up one of her legs, her skirt fluttering around majestically. (It’s rather magical.) “That, that’s right, isn’t it, uhhhh… U...sagi?”
“Usami,” the rabbit corrects gently. “And yes, your teacher is a woman, thank you for asking!”
Ibuki is bewildered, but she doesn’t lose her smile as she slowly makes her way over to her friends. She stops next to Byakuya, because she misses him, and also because his large presence makes her feel safer. Not that she was feeling particularly unsafe, but she still finds herself submerged in comfort standing next to him. It’s familiar, and rather lovely.
“So,” Ibuki taps her index fingers together, meeting the boy’s blue eyes. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Not here, stupid,” Hiyoko grumbles. “The only people here are the ones who died.”
“What?” Ibuki gasps, putting a hand on her chest. “Nekomaru died?”
“It sucked,” Nekomaru agrees. “But at least I’m not a robot anymore! Man, that first shit I took after waking up here? The BEST!”
“...robot?” Ibuki echoes, and usually she isn’t so slow, but she still feels groggy, and the memory of a rope on her neck is starting to become more and more pressing. “So… we did die.”
“Duh! Pig barf killed us!” Hiyoko groans. “And I guess this dumbass was killed by the spy, for some reason.”
“I orchestrated my own death in the name of hope,” Nagito explains, like that’s perfectly reasonable, and Ibuki suddenly understands why Nekomaru has been inching away from him the past few minutes.
“...huh. Well, that’s…” Ibuki breaks into a smile. “Awesome! Mahiru was being honest when she said we aren’t dead, right?”
“Of course you’re not dead,” Usami fumes. “Would I lie to you?”
“Probably.” Byakuya says without hesitation.
“Uhm, I’m sorry, this is going to be rude,” another girl Ibuki doesn’t recognise, this one pale and freckled like Mahiru but grey-eyed and with dark black hair, steps forward, narrowing her eyes in Byakuya’s direction. “But Togami, why are you… fat?”
“Yikes,” a blue-haired girl who Ibuki does kind of recognise intones, holding a hand over her mouth. “Right on the nose, Enoshima.”
“Ikusaba,” the girl with black hair corrects bitterly.
“Oh, sorry!” Her name is Sayaka! Ibuki suddenly remembers. They’ve met before, performing, though Sayaka has always seemed so serious, so firmly stuck in one thing, that Ibuki’s never really been interested in chasing more than a professional relationship with her. Still, it’s nice to have another familiar face here. “Force of habit, I guess?”
“Is it a problem, my being this size?” Byakuya asks flatly, and Ibuki puts her hands on her hips, glaring over to back him up. She will gladly be the nameless henchman of someone as cool as Byakuya, all the way! Still, she doesn’t take herself very seriously, and it probably shows, because Ikusaba just chuckles a little bit with a shake of her head.
“Nah, dude, I just- last time I saw you, you had like. A lot less body fat. And that was right before I died. Not long ago.”
“Maybe long ago,” Sayaka corrects. “We don’t know how long we were dead before we were brought here.”
“Haaah,” Usami sobs, rubbing her eyes. “You’re all so negative!”
“I don’t think it really counts as negativity if it’s true.” The purple-haired gremlin (Ibuki wonders if rat is a better descriptor but decides that that is a little unfair; he’s kinda cute, in a demon kinda way) sneers. “Unless you mean to tell me I didn’t just get my guts crushed out by a press.”
“Not just…” Usami whimpers.
“Gross! Too much detail!” Ibuki squeals, shaking her head fervently. “But Mahiru said to wait for everyone to be here so we shouldn’t ask questions yet! Maybe we should just-” she pauses, wondering what to say. “Uhhh… introduce ourselves!”
Nagito smiles thinly. “I don’t know if the other Ultimates here will want to be introduced to us, considering that we are everything that they, as symbols of hope, stand against.”
“Oh, he's crusty,” the gremlin boy whispers.
“Yeah, I don’t know what your damage is,” Hiyoko frowns, crossing her arms. “You said something about Ultimate Despair, but I don’t even know what that is, so how could I be it?”
“Wait!” One of the other boys who Ibuki doesn’t recognise, this one with white hair and a large cowlick poking up from it, holds up a hand. Actually, she’s pretty sure he's a robot, not a human. “I thought you said there was no such thing as Ultimate Despair!” He turns an accusatory glare onto a girl standing next to him, this one pretty, with glasses and blue hair. She looks like Sayaka, but her vibe is more muted. Ibuki’s definitely into it!
“Ohh, I may have fudged that detail,” the girl admits. “And a couple others. Ouma isn’t one, though, that was plainly the truth.”
“...despair?” The rat boy, maybe named Ouma, repeats blankly. “Harukawa said something about despair, too, before she shot me. What are you on about?”
“Pleeeaase,” Usami moans, tears defying logic as usual and dripping from her weird robot eyes. “We don’t need to talk about despair, because we’re here to cultivate your hope!”
“Where is Saihara?” The other robot, the vaguely humanoid boy, suddenly blurts. “He put an end to the hope and despair nonsense, didn’t he? Is he okay with this?” The boy advances, stepping closer to Usami. Ibuki watches with interest, wondering where this is going. “I know what this is. I remembered it, with those Flashback Lights. This is the Neo-World Program. But we’re all dead. Right? Everyone here, except for Shirogane and myself, was one of the victims. That’s the pattern.”
“Victims?” Ouma parrots. “Wow! It’s just like a heartless robot to come to that conclusion!”
“No.” The robot shakes his head. “I know it to be true.”
“What’s going on?” Mahiru’s voice, crisp and distinct before Ibuki’s sharp ears, floats over, and the musician turns, watches the red-haired girl approach with three other people. But Ibuki pays the rest of them no mind in running over and latching onto the photographer’s arm. “Ibuki, do you know-?”
“Is that everyone?” Usami leaps into the air, twirling her stick. (Her magic stick, Ibuki thinks, the one Monokuma broke in half.) “Then we can begin!”