Chapter Text
“You…” Darkness. It was pitch black, and everything was so, so despairing . Ouma shivered at the voice, eyes scrambling.
“are being held” The voice was feminine, of a little girl, though it was gentle, mysterious, but had no word that could quite describe it. It felt like a hidden garden, stuffed inside an ancient kingdom long forgotten and long lost, but nevertheless beautiful, disappearing slowly but never leaving. “captive.”
Ouma gasped as he saw light flickering around, splishing and splashing around, jumping up and down in the breathless black air, a blue butterfly fluttering around, up and down and up and down. Ouma’s eyes wandered curiously around it, relieved that it wasn’t anything bad. He always slightly feared the dark or small places. Something about them made him feel cornered.
When he tried to speak to the strange voice, he felt something lodged in his throat, stuck in a way Ouma felt he couldn’t bother to stick his hand in his mouth all the way down to the esophagus. Not like he would ever do that, not in this lifetime, no way. Ouma reached for his neck, wrapping his small, pale hand around it after finding his way underneath his long black and white bandana- Which one could argue was a scarf. A checkered scarf. A white straightjacket, strapping him to an invisible chair.
The voice continued through it, soothingly so and fading, “A prisoner of fate to a future that has been sealed in advance,” Ouma tightened his grip, unfeeling of pain. Just discomfort.
“This is truly an unjust game… Your chances of winning are almost known, but…” But? What was this voice talking about? A prisoner of fate? And when did he start playing a game?
“If my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you… I beg you! please overcome this game and save the world…
“The key of victory lies within the memory of your bonds, the lies you told to get to death- The truth that your friends grasped! It began a year ago, the game, you must remember…” The voice starts fading again. What was she saying? The lies you told to get to death, the truth that your friends grasped, A game that began a year ago.
“For the sake of this world’s future… as well as your own… please, please remember…” The blue butterfly stopped, the glowing dust around it spreading. Then it begins to shift, distort- It turns into a red butterfly, uncomfortably getting as big as my face, it flickers its wing, making Ouma’s breath hitch and though he would never say this out loud, it made him feel despair, and then-
Ouma saw nothing. No.
Darkness. No!
Pitch black. Stop!
Ouma jolted with a start, eyes going wide and purple pupils decreasing, his glasses jolting up in a cartoon fashion. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he was in an uncomfortable position to sleep in already. Did I have a dream? He couldn’t remember, but that would be the only cause for his sudden outburst with fear. He decided to take in where he was while his heart decided to stop hyperventilating.
A modern train, not the first one he’s ever seen one. It was stacked with all different types of Japanese people sitting and standing, some looking at him funny, highschoolers worried parents left a child on the train, and none bothered at all. The train was boring, the same safety, the same rubbery stick-up bench, and metal poles and brighter colors flooding through the large windows.
His heart calmed down.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for riding with us today. We will be arriving at Shibuya shortly,” A loudspeaker said in a generic, commercial voice, “This is the last stop for this line. Please transfer here for all subway lines.” Huh , Ouma thought to himself, I guess trains and subways are different. He peeked up, trying my best not to sore his neck when he did. Boldly colored words with plain commercial backgrounds were splayed around.
“The doors on your left will proceed to open,” A loud, too loud honking noise made Ouma’s face sour up, wincing when he stretched. That loud sound…
Ouma remembered now.
“Please help!” His mother, the same purple eyes and hair and fakeness that was meant to betray. A man stumbling back when Ouma stole that man’s wallet and phone after making sure to hit their head really hard with the bat Ouma held in his hand that time, not new but not too old. It had a nice feel to it, light but heavy enough to scare people.
It was just the usual steal and give ordeal. His mother would pretend to be something she was once, and Ouma would steal the jewelry and wallets. It was always that way after his neighbors left. They were good neighbors. A bit too good, he would tell her. Maybe they were the ones that ratted him out, or maybe it was that bald man he stole the wallet from. He probably has a tracker on his phone, but that wouldn’t explain why he still had it or why he wasn’t going to juvie.
A wallet. A phone. An injured skull. A car, flashing red and blue. A loud honking sound.
Ouma stared at his hand, devoid of any familiar bat. His mother probably sent it over. She would do that to help him protect himself. Though the school this time probably wouldn’t allow it. Ouma wondered if they would if he acted like a delinquent. They probably wouldn’t, according to his far from perfect record. What if I aced A+ on every single test I did and answered all questions without fail? Well, experiments are there for a reason!
“What? Are you for real- Omg, I think I just used Ryuji’s favorite line unconsciously!” A girl asked another high schooler, sitting next to him. Gawd, generic teenagers! Disgusting , “Anyway, mental shutdown?” They shuffled, giving Ouma a chance to look at their phone.
A bloodbath is the correct word to describe it. I love those so much, I’d kill to be in one! That was a clear lie, but one could judge for themself.
“It’s true,” The other one eagerly smiled, ear to ear. Ouma knew how to do those as well, as well as make it look creepy, so he couldn’t understand why she looked so proud. She looked more foreign than the other one, and her hair was a white, long yellow jacket with her simple school uniform splattered with paint.
“To a person though? That’s gotta be a joke, Yonaga-san!” The other one says, “You really like your occult stuff.” The other one wasn’t smiling. In fact, it looked a bit like they were less than friends.
Ouma pushed his glasses up to that, his stare a bit too obvious. That’s what you get for showing others how you truly are.
“Atua can plead that!” The foreign one, Yonaga seemed to be her name, argued. What the fuck is an Atua , Ouma thought as he calmly gave out a yawn, not like I care . She gave out a small giggle, which sounded like, “Nyahaha!” Ouma wasn’t about to judge one though.
“This is why nobody’s friends with you-” Ouma stopped listening, stuffing those memories back out of his head.
When Ouma got off, he made his way out, phone out in hand and praying nobody would bump into him. Looking up, his glasses reflected grey metal buildings stacking higher than what he originally thought, commercials sprinkled on the walls, huge crowded streets, people walking through minding their own business. It was Ouma’s first time seeing stuff as large as that, which shocked him.
A notification sound rings in his ear through the loud crowd. On his maps appeared an app, a blood red eye, a star stuck in the middle. Black paint was splashed- Or appeared to be- in the background, no dimension. It widened on his screen suddenly.
Now, it reminded the confused Ouma more of a city instead of paint, and the background looked more distorted. Ouma tried pulling it off the screen so he could read the directions, deciding his crew, DICE decided to break into his phone and screw with it. It wouldn’t be the first time either. But it just wouldn’t come off, no matter how much the purple-headed boy pressed.
Then the star decreased.
It was as if time stopped, nobody was moving, nobody was talking, it was like they were all dead, wide eyes, walking, no sound or anything. A curse of Medusa, long and slowly crumbling apart, was something it reminded Ouma of. Ouma looked around, trying to find anything on what was happening, and then he saw it.
“Woah...” Ouma said, shocked. A fire growing on the opposite side of the street. It was a burning red and large and Ouma worried for a second for the others close to the fire. But then again, he didn’t care about them. The red fire burned into a shape, a weird type of person’s shape, black forms blooming through like eyes. It was engulfing the people it was on, and it looked human-like but not quite that, as well as an eerie smile-
Upupupupupup! Cuz’ I’m a bear!
Ouma can swear he grows a headache at god’s speed and disappears just as quickly without notice.
Everything shifts back, moving, somebody doesn’t notice Ouma and pushes him a little. The flame went as fast as it came. Ouma sighed, dragging that strange red-eye app out of the trash, where he wished to never see it again. Ouma didn’t want to see him, the leader, being replaced. He didn’t want to see anything on it.
“Ugh…” He groans, wishing that Gokuhara was here with him. Gokuhara would never replace him. Gokuhara… He should text him before Ouma goes to sleep. If Gokuhara could work the phone Ouma’s mother gave him.
The subway station made something in Ouma shiver, almost shiver, to be accurate . Dark, crowded, and it had that weird smell Ouma couldn’t quite figure out.
Ouma rushes up the escalator like a kid, happy to get out of that dark, tight space, walking to the backstreets. It was darker than usual, the day being another cloudy Saturday. To be exact, it was April the 9th, afternoon according to the sun from high above.
The backstreets were somewhat clustered with shops that seemed useful, ranging from Grocery stores to Baseball places, to laundry places, saunas, and recycling places, to even more. Maybe I’ll visit them, maybe I won’t . Ouma will be staying here for one year after all.
Starting today, Nagito… Komaeda, Komaeda? Is that how I pronounced it? Will be taking care of- Wait is there a Panta in the grocery store!? After buying that familiar drink from the unfamiliar grocery store, he continued his way. The sugary grape drink tastes awful on his taste buds, and it froze his pale hands. Now, to find his house. It should be somewhere around here! Time to go on an adventure and probably get lost and maybe get kidnapped.
A policeman eyed him every now and then, a worried look on his face as if Ouma was a child. Ouma approached him, looking him straight in the eye. “Yes? What do you want?” The policeman asked.
“Hey, do I know you? I feel like I know you.” Ouma said, nodding to himself.
“What?” The police officer asked, “No, I don’t remember ever meeting you. Why?”
“Alright, good! Because I’m the Ultimate Supreme leader of-” Ouma decided not to say that. “I’m lost.”
The police officer stared at Ouma as if evaluating him, “I have the address here,” Ouma added, “Please don’t arrest me, I just wanna find the place- But that’s a lie! My actual thing is to break from the window for free coffee and then go worship Lovecraft, obviously.” Ouma scoffed.
“Oh? You must be the kid… Ouma-kun. Nagito-chan actually wants you to go to his shop.” The police officer said, “Do you want me to take you there? my shifts almost over and I’ll be going there in a few minutes anyway.” Nagito-chan? He didn’t seem fazed by any of Ouma, or the fact he looked like a kid, or that his arm had a wound- It actually has been there for a while, and the police officer just didn’t seem to notice it. It seemed he got it when he went to sleep on the train, but Ouma wasn’t going to argue if he was marked by the Yakuza- He could ask them if he could borrow money.
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Ouma listlessly nods, “How do you know Komaeda-san?” The police officer, Ouma noted, had spiky brown hair, a sharp one longer than the others jutting out on the top of his head, thin eyebrows and red eyes. He looked thin for a police officer, but Ouma wasn’t about to ask the man to undress so he could see his muscles.
“Well, my name is Hajime Hinata, and I’ve known that man since high school. Nagito-chan’s a rather special case with the police, pretty well-known in this area actually.”
“So he does drugs?” Ouma asked.
“Wait- No! And don’t ask a police officer that. Nagito-chan… just did some bizarre things and went undercover somewhere in a case, and he often visits the police to ask if he can have a gun. Or a knife. Or anything that can kill him.” Hinata said casually, “Or anything he could use to get him in prison. He’s a bit of a hero around here if you didn’t get that- Oh Sorry, you must not be used to hearing that." Ouma didn't reply to that.
“By the way, prepare to see the worst when you enter, okay?” Hinata gave Ouma a warm smile before checking his phone, red eyes dilating. “Haha… Guess he’s wondering where I am. He wanted me to meet you, funnily enough.”
Ouma silently watched as the man’s face stretched into a smile. He wondered why he looked so happy, he’s seen people look that happy before, but never felt it. It made an empty feeling grow in his heart as he told lie after lie on their way there. Ouma wished he had a bat so he could swing it at something.
The place, Komaeda’s shop, was a small brick shop on the side, neatly hidden. Leaves blown into the cafe, a gentle breeze surrounding us. Plants were stacked outside, all growing lively, a curtain thing Ouma never bothered to remember what was read Coffee+Curry , LaChance. It looked… How would you describe it? Like a home with no place to go, lost forever but always giving warmth. It reminded Ouma to pray that his mom had enough money to keep affording the house.
Coffee and curry.
“A public transit bus was driven down as opposing lane with its customers still in it!” Flashed a Tabloid Show Host, though he hid it well, Ouma saw through his disguise, looking desperate for information. Ouma wasn’t about to judge him though, after all, he didn’t know his situation. “The citizens can’t live in peace if this keeps up.”
This place was definitely an aesthetic.
The lights were slightly dimmed, the light of the TV in the corner being brighter than needed to be. Three booths with beige cushions, white, crystal clean tables, few people peacefully talking. Some looked at the two coming in, some didn’t. Hints of blue and green showed through on boards and signs and fridges in the back. Coffee beans stacked and stacked behind the bar table. A yellow old phone rested in a corner.
The cafe- if this was a cafe, had fewer people than Ouma thought. Five , he counted. To old people, presumably a couple, peacefully drinking their coffee. Two teenagers, one dressed in a buttoned-up shirt, a black cap on his head, and the other wearing full red clothes and black shorts whispering to each other. The last one had white hair, quite handsome, and seemed like he was working here. He didn’t seem like he noticed the two come in.
Where’s Komaeda-san? Ouma wondered, looking for an old man.
The elderly man in the booth spoke up, “How frightening.”
“What could be going on? Didn’t something like this occur the other day?" Asked the other.
“I swear, Momota-kun is driving me insane!” Whispered the twin-tailed, red-eye girl in the other booth, “He’s been out of school for an entire week.”
“Maybe his leg is in pain again?” The navy head boy across from her whispered back, pulling his hat down so Ouma couldn't see his face.
“Dangan is… the word, “bullet“ in Japanese…” Muttered the guy near the counter. He looked up and gave a pleasing smile, his wavy hair moving as he put the newspaper he was reading away. His skin was pale, sickly as if starved from the sun lighting away outside, unusual white hair with red marks on the edge, jutting out in a curly mess in a short ponytail. He was one inch taller than Hinata, wearing a green apron and white shirt. He was skinny, almost too skinny for his height with eyes that Ouma couldn’t clarify as a pale green or ghostly blue, red marks at the end. The man had something about him, the aura, that made Ouma shiver. He reminded Ouma of somebody Ouma couldn't quite place his finger on.
His voice was wispy and reminding him of a quiet whisper, a bright strong breath.
“Ah! Hello, Hinata-kun! You came with somebody this time I see,” The zombie said, grinning, he turned his attention to Ouma, giving him an icy stare, a smile, and a mental note for Ouma to remind himself to stare this guy in the eye with a smile. Ouma smiled back, shutting his eyes and curling his mouth into a face that his team often said made him look, “As creepy as fuck.” “Oh! I know that smile.”
“Ugh!” Hinata jumped back when his eyes came across Ouma’s face. “Don’t have a- a- I don’t even know what that smile was, god… I think I’m traumatized.” Ouma didn’t take Hinata to be this dramatic.
“Ah! Are you alright, Hinata-kun?” The wavy hair guy asked, taking a step forward but nothing else. “Do you need water, or me to grab a bucket. I can make you some-”
“No, I’m ok. It’s just… I’m not surprised you chose somebody that matches your personality so much with your luck.” Hinata awkwardly laughed off, glancing at Ouma’s face again. He seemed relieved that Ouma’s face was back to normal. I don’t know how to react to that.
“Hm?” The white hair guy tilted his head, those empty eyes and a smile still on his face.
“Do you want to introduce yourself, Ouma-kun?” Hinata asked, trying to get out the way. He seemed a little uncomfortable now, causing that racket. Ouma felt a little less obliged to introduce himself after somebody screamed about his face.
“No!” Ouma shouted, “If I say my name, the Future Foundation will come and hunt me down! I must hide, so I don’t die.” He dramatically fell to the floor, “Oh, woe is me!”
“Pardon?” Asked the white-haired guy.
“Uh- He’s the Ouma kid.” Hinata betrayed him. The teenagers in the booth seemed a bit bothered by Ouma. Not like he could care, he would never meet them again. Unless they were regulars.
“How dare you, Hinata-kun! I thought you were my partner in crime!” Ouma whined, immediately sitting up, “Well, it can’t be helped that you want to betray me. After all, I killed your wife and stole your son’s heart!” The navy blue hair teenager in the booth stared at me.
Hinata stared at Ouma. “Ah, that lie is a bit touchy, don’t you think?” said the white-haired guy.
Ouma put on a carefree smile and a shrug. “Doooon’t worry, my dad joked a lot about killing me in his earlier years- Until he actually tried. So I’m most definitely lying about everything I say. I don’t even think you have a wife anymore!”
“Ah-”
“Anyway, I’m bored. The name’s Kokichi Ouma, a brother, a father, a lover, a killer, and a supreme leader of an evil secret organization with over 10,000 people.” Ouma said boredly, staring at his nails. His nails were a bit chipped, and his hand was covered in a bit of blood. His hand was pale and small, and also excessively dirty. I should wash my hands after I’m done pissing people off.
“Ah? Excuse me,” Said the navy head, “But I’ve never heard of such an organization.”
“Because it’s a secret organization!” Ouma explained, eyes wide and feeling inclined to stop. He was tired from the events today, the goodbyes, the new people, and the feelings that something was going on around him. Ouma sipped the Panta he almost forgot was in his other hand.
“Oh, Saihara-kun,” Waved Hinata, “Didn’t see you.” The guy in the booth- Saihara nods, fidgeting with the cap on his head, deciding he didn’t want to bother with talking anymore.
Why does everyone know each other? I thought this was a big city.
“Well, I’m Nagito Komaeda.” Said the white-haired guy, smile pasted on his features. “The owner of this shop and your future guardian this year.” Komaeda’s younger than Ouma thought he would be and Ouma started to ignore the strange aura around him. He holds out his hand for a handshake.
“I think our first meeting went well, don’t you think so, guardian?” Ouma said, forcing a smile and spreading his fingers, “Scissors. I win.” Hinata-kun seemed tired of me now , Ouma noted down, quickly putting his hand away and taking another sip of his drink.
“Pardon? Um- Anyways, Ouma-kun, I’ll make you some food, since you’re probably tired, and then I’ll get to show you around-”
“We’ll be leaving now since you young’ ems seem so busy.” The elderly couple said, “The payments on the table, and thanks for the coffee again, Nagito-chan.” Nagito-chan.
“No problem, Unmei-sama!” Komaeda nods, bowing. “Sorry about the mess, I should be more organized, I know I’m bad-”
“Don’t worry. I don’t even see a mess, Nagito-chan.” Says the elderly lady. They leave and Ouma doesn’t know what to expect when Komaeda looks like he doesn’t know what to do. The door rings, a soft jingle, shutting loudly. Ouma heard them talking about a subway incident as they did.
Oh , Ouma breathes when Komaeda goes to go grab a sharp kitchen knife in the back and goes to-
“Don’t even think about it, Nagito-chan. You need to make food for Ouma-kun and then show him the gist and rules- Unless you want me too, but you can’t stab yourself.” Am I hearing this correctly? The teenagers looked less than bothered by that fact and Ouma watches as Hinata steals the knife away.
“Aww, but I need it to cook, I wasn’t doing anything with it,” Komaeda explains himself. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
“One could argue so.” Grunted Hinata as he sat down. Ouma didn’t bother to speak up as he sat down on the stool next to Hinata. “I guess I’ll be explaining the rules to not waste time.” Ouma glances at the teenagers in the booth, deciding he doesn’t want to think about why that one’s works in the police station or how they seem so casual about the owner lining the knife up with his skin.
“Don’t worry. That stuff about suicide happens in Inaba as well.”
“Really?”
“No. That’s a lie! I thought you would be able to tell by now.”
“Why are there so many things going on around me,” Sighed Hinata,”Oh right. Nagito-chan’s here.” Huh?
“You’re oddly silent now,” Observed the spiky head cop, trying to pull out that one piece of hair out his face, “Anyway, there are some rules about this place, since you’re on prohibition for your case. And then I’ll be explaining the rules for this place. And then Nagito-chan will show you upstairs after you ask any questions.”
When Ouma doesn’t respond, finishing his drink, Hinata continues. “There aren’t really a lot of rules, but I’ll be going over a few. One is that Nagito-chan will be keeping watch over you, as well as having you write in a diary to have you write what you did that day. You aren’t allowed to stay out after midnight. This rule was made by your school, that you have fewer tries to come late and must get grades above B’s, which will be easy for you considering your grade.”
“Why do you know my grade?”
“Because Nagito-chan let me look at your papers.” Ouma didn’t enjoy hearing that a stranger knew about his grades. “Good job on them, I’m surprised you got-”
“What are you feeding us today, Komaeda-chan?”
“I think…” Komaeda thought out loud, “I don’t think I’m worthy to decide, what do you want, Hinata-kun?”
“The usual. Extra chili on the curry and milk with the coffee.” Hinata said, scratching the back of his neck. Ouma turned side to side with his purple eyes flickering for any sort of board or thing that read what he could get.
“I’ll have chocolate stuffed pancakes, extra whip cream, chocolate sauce drizzled on the side, grapes spread on top, and a few marshmallows on it as well. And black coffee as dark as my soul!” Ouma told Komaeda, knowing well that pancakes weren't on the menu.
“We don’t serve pancakes, unfortunately, though I can make it for you if you want, and I’m not exactly what the color of your soul is,” Komaeda explained with a calm smile while he cut up apples for some reason. I’m pretty sure nobody asked for apples .
“Just get me… curry and coffee.”
“Pardon? Can you be more specific?”
Ouma glanced at the menu again, with no change in expression. Hinata seemed to be noting him down, and he felt like confusing him. Because he seemed like a regular at this store, he was bound to see Ouma a lot. And become more curious about him.
Everyone was like that way back in Inaba too. They were all trying to figure him out, why he seemed so obsessed with lying, why he carried around a bat but never used it, why he was so annoying, why he had no friends but had the entire town under his control. They all wanted to get rid of him, to become who he was, to replace him. After all, many people wanted to know him, they all wanted to figure out the mystery boy, why the father was there, but they acted like they didn’t know each other, why the mother of the family always grinned ear to ear. They all wanted to solve a puzzle that was a human.
But that was a lie.
“Are you even listening? Ouma-kun?” A hand, a tan hand moving like a swing, swing up and down, up and down, up and down… Ouma wondered if he was already being forgotten, just like those strange mysteries that started a few years ago and ended weirdly. His neighbor, one of the people in it, told him about wild and Wonderland-like adventures through the TV dimension, flying breezily around and being able to run without a care in the world.
Ouma pulled out his phone and stared at the missed calls, notifications, texts he’s gotten. It was a whopping amount of one. It was from his mom. His mom. She must be lonely right now.
I bet you have a can of Panta in your hand rn .
1:05 pm
She was right.
Ouma wishes she stays safe in his head. He’ll make sure to get a lot of jobs here and send her money. He’ll make sure his father, who he rarely mentions in his thoughts, is happy. Ouma hopes DICE is laughing right now, being as wild as bizarre, planning their next prank on the world. He hopes his little brother is well. He wishes Gokuhara doesn’t force himself to be a gentleman because of his stupid family and does what he wants. He hopes that the next time they meet…
It will never be. Because he’s planning on going on a long trip after this. That’ll be fun, and then maybe he’ll stay in a house where he gets mugged easily so he can capture them and make them give their money to charity…
But that’s a lie! He plans on dying soon, not living, after all. Gosh, which idiot would believe his lie? He never cared about anybody, and that was the full truth. He swears on his fate, his broken, swept-up fate! But then again, it could be neither. He’s a liar after all. He could just be a whole big lie himself.
Then he remembers. A small flashback, leaving no room for him to hear anything, feel anything other than despair.
“You are being held captive.”
A butterfly. A bear?
A fate. A game?
A killing game?- A persona.
Kokichi Ouma, Ultimate Supreme Leader- Ouma stops breathing, glasses falling off.
__________________________________________________________
Hinata said Ouma had some sort of hyperventilation, some sort of panic after not noticing them for a few minutes. Like a nightmare in the day, surrounded by people but never being able to escape a cage he trapped himself in. It was like a whispery shadow, lurking in the dark, but always being the dark, always there but never realized, staring him down like watchful eyes in the murky waters ready to pounce.
Ouma doesn’t respond to Hinata when he goes to a small bathroom in the cafe, deciding to finally wash his hands and maybe look at the person staring back at him in the mirror. It isn’t me , Ouma tells himself, That’s such a bad lie, Ouma.
His face can barely reach the mirror, and he can only see the face of a liar.
Purple lengthy hair curled in an exaggerated way, curling up from countless years of man-handling his hair and the lack of thereof for his case, brushing against his nose as he pushed it out. Awfully pale skin, almost a clean slate white, and less than an ideal child’s build from having not eaten enough, is what some say. But then I would be skinny too, but I’m at least slightly less than average in that account. There were neat purple marks coating around his eyes that weren’t even there with his black glasses, fake of course.
Ouma forced a smile on his face, fake of course.
He checks his phone. No new messages. That was fine because it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to send any. He shoved his phone into his pocket and went out.
When he comes back, he eats his food and notices his empty Pants bottle is gone.
Hinata went over the rules again, in a very tired, antsy voice. Ouma apologized after, though Hinata said it didn’t sound very sincere and started to go home straight after that. “I’ll come back tomorrow in the morning, Nagito-chan and Ouma-kun.” He said, “It’s my break tomorrow.”
Seemingly, Ouma’s room was an attic. An attic with the same atmosphere from downstairs, off-white walls with wood beams. It wasn’t necessarily dirty or crowded, but it still needed to be cleaned. Stacks of what smelled like coffee beans on a large wooden bookshelves, another one with actual books, an old coffee maker on top. A small plant growing sufficiently. Wide windows, a small twin bed with familiar pillows and blankets. Boxes were organized in the corner, a table with a journal. More boxes in the middle, looking like Ouma’s. An antique sofa. Chairs and tables. A desk.
Komaeda apologized for some mess only he could see and explained the rules of his place again to him, in case Ouma forgot Hinata’s explanation. He went up and left, leaving him to search the quiet, unfamiliar place more. They didn’t seem to acknowledge Ouma’s lies a lot unless he hit certain points- And Ouma got all he needed.
Slowly, very slowly, he opened all four of his boxes, filled with missing treasures and memories he wanted to burn and burn himself in. It sent a pleasant smell through the room, and over sugary one with coconut shampoo, somehow blending with the strong smell of overbearing coffee beans.
Memories, ah memories. Time to reminisce about the past and procrastinate.
Boxes unraveled to reveal unique things he's kept over the years.
A bat that he often used, photographs of people wearing clown masks and checkered scarves, smiling like they were enjoying life. A group picture without Ouma, because he was sick that day. But that was a lie, he just wanted to leave everything, to go to that secret place in the woods only he and Gokuhara knew of. A horse mask he bought to hide his face or to do pranks. Whichever one fits your perspective of me more , he thought in a bittersweet way. Toiletry like his toothbrush and toothpaste and lotion is stuffed inside as well, laying there with a red comb Ouma never remembers using. Ever.
Ouma pushes up his glasses.
Purple and white and black clothes filling up two boxes, extra checkered bandanas, and drawing utensils stacked up with notebooks and notebooks he used. It felt a bit like his mom was trying to get rid of everything he owns, but he discarded that strange feeling and filled it with curiosity of what could be in the next box.
The last box held gifts. Gifts for a departure. More gifts than Ouma thought he would get. It seemed to be a gift from all the people that considered his friend, their leader, that questionable little teenager that lied and lied and whined until he got what he wanted and couldn’t be a leader, a friend, a good, quiet student like all the other nerds even if he tried for a lifetime. Nine. There were nine gifts that he could recognize instantly. Nine with the same pattern, from the same people. From DICE. Ouma stared at the gifts. Three small little sewn dolls of familiar little girls from different ages. Clown masks and dark capes and hats and recognizable cross-stitched patterns. There were also other gifts he didn’t find as recognizable. Small pens and keychains you can get from knick-knack stores and a book 800 pages long telling Ouma how to commit a crime with a “K”. There was even a hand-drawn poster with DICE’s. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. After going deep into his box, he found something. Something from the tenth person DICE, and it was a fucking bikini. That brother of his is in the hospital and he got Ouma a fucking bikini. This isn’t even… I give up on him.
Envelopes topped all of them. 15 envelopes. More than he expected for a one-year departure. He shifted through all the notes: Love letters of girls he once tried to convince into his- the group DICE, two letters from his parents, letters from DICE. He stuffed all of them into the bottom of his gift box.
He sorted and lazily organized all his items out of the boxes, then putting the boxes aside. Ouma felt a bit weird as he hung the poster, organized the books on the shelves, sorted the boxes by the side. It was an attic, but a very clean attic, Ouma noticed. Komaeda must’ve cleared it before he came.
When he was done with clearing and cleaning and taking items from items into different places, he finally organized the attic enough. He was pretty proud, with the clear walls to the somewhat organized floor to the devoid boxes. It reminded him back to the rare times he would help the old people clean their houses because they would always give him a lot of money, unlike those teenagers who would stuff his locker with bread. To this day, he still doesn’t know why they would do that, with specifically bread. He was surprisingly good at cleaning, despite his childish looks and constant teasing. Surprisingly, his town was quite fond of him as well. Quite fond of his lies and stories and accusations.
The poster of DICE was hung up on top, the three handcrafted dolls resting on his windowsill, the horse mask taunting Ouma from the antique couch, His clothes piled up on one of the tables with the masks and capes. Books from genres to genres that were originally there were neatly stacked. The room was bigger than Ouma’s bedroom, and the gifts and his stuff he originally had barely filled it up.
Ouma stared at his hand as he rested on the- his new bed with pale pink and white blankets and sheets. Did Komaeda like pink or did he have a daughter? He found small child pink dresses around and a doll bear Ouma put back into some boxes. Not like Ouma was going to stick his nose into it, he could care less about how he found those strange things around. That reminded Ouma of his little brother and what he gave him, a fucking bikini… As sick as he was, that little brother of his was rather cocky. The bikini even has my measurements, how’d he do that?
“Oh, it’s late,” Ouma muttered, staring out the two windows, shining in dim lights and the feeling there could be a handprint of blood out there any second. “I must’ve been cleaning for a while.” It was late. Too late.
Ouma sighs, taking off his black glasses and stuffing them next to the dolls.
Ouma pulled out his phone. No notifications. He went to Gokuhara’s messages and began to type something. He paused a second, then quickly deleted the message and began working on a new one. Before that, something appears on his phone, popping up all of a sudden and Ouma swears if it’s-
It’s that eye app again, paint still splattered and the eye still staring back at him, almost like it’s expecting him to do something. Didn’t I delete this earlier? Ouma tried to delete it again, dragging it back into the trash. What’s up with it?
Ouma goes back to working on his message.
Gooooooonta, I think I broke my wrist on the bench.
6:32 pm
He doubts Gokuhara would respond because he was probably busy. Maybe he forgot how Ouma’s mom kept telling him how to use it, or just couldn’t comprehend it. But to his surprise, it went read. It took Gokuhara five minutes and twenty-seven counting to type a sentence.
Bench? Wrist? Okay?
6:38 pm
Ouma seemed to realize Gokuahar was asking if his wrist was okay. And what bench he was talking about.
I was lying.
6:38 pm
Ouma quickly put his phone away, stretching as the bat next to his bed fell. He picked it up, feeling its grip and fondness. It was oddly heavier than most bats he’s carried before and was smaller. It had the initials, K.O. He originally found it in one of the presents DICE gave him as well as something that read “Motive Video”. Apparently, none of the DICE or his family or Gokuhara gave it to him and the motive video seemed to be a prank, as the video had nothing in it anyway, breaking right after he pulled it out of the TV. Nevertheless, the present was very nice.
“Whoa,” Ouma glanced over at the non-existent door swing open, revealing Komaeda, that eerie smile, and his hands on his hips. “I thought I heard some noise but I didn’t think you were cleaning all this time. Sorry for not coming up to try and help you.” Ouma silently nodded, watching his expression change slightly. A glance, stiffening, and a look at his hands. Komaeda seemed pretty weird, Ouma finally noted down. Like he’s… Not sure how to put it, even if he seems pretty nice, I can’t- I won’t trust him.
“It may seem wrong of me not to have you in my actual house, but that’s because something weird goes on in there, and it would be better if you weren’t involved.” He said, noticing Ouma’s empty glare.
Ouma doesn’t respond.
“Well, why don’t you go to bed now? There’s nothing better to do, right?” Komaeda said, looking around the place. “I think I’ll close up shop and leave myself. Try not to get sick if you stay up too late because unfortunately, I have a case of being known for bad luck.” Komaeda tells Ouma, smiling even wider.
Ouma simply nods as the man turns his back, heading back.
He hears the door ring, closing it behind him. That’s… weird. Ouma doesn’t remember hearing that door ring earlier. He doesn’t remember hearing those teenagers leave. Ouma peeks his head downstairs, purple hair popping out before him.
Ah. Ouma thought calmly, They’re still here.
Mutters, echoing a bit. Their voices were peaceful. And so very quiet as well. They didn’t seem to realize Ouma was down, creeping into their conversation. He used to do this to his parents when his father was still in the same house.
“Why do you like this cafe so much, Saihara-kun,” The girl, with red eyes and brown ponytails said, “Sure, it has an aesthetic and nobody seems to care about you here, but the owner… He has that creepy mystery to him and you’ve heard of the stuff he’s done. He’s killed before, and with that smile on as well! We’ve both seen it. The guy’s son rigged the shop and that new kid Nagito told you about is so… He knows something.” Do I really?
“I-I like the food, though.” Weakly argued the navy head. Ouma couldn’t remember if he ate the food.
“That isn’t solid enough. I know you feel guilty about Nanami-san, but that doesn’t mean you should daily visit this cafe.” Daily? Ouma noted down that he would regularly see the teenager and walked up to them, casually sitting down next to him.
“It isn’t very healthy to have coffee every day, you know.” Ouma agreed, “It makes you go whack in the head!” The navy head flinches, and red eyes glower at him. Ouma doesn’t mind though.
“A-ah… Hello there.” Replies the guy, covering his face with a flimsy-looking cap, speaking louder. Ouma didn’t say anything more than that. Neither did the others. Ouma sighed as he rested his face on the white table. It was almost too white, like somebody was replacing it every day. There was nothing in their mugs and the way they were reminded Ouma of dolls. Still dolls, not quite, but still… The haunting night sky behind them was quite a sight.
I’m bored.
“Aren’t you going to leave, kid?” Asked the girl, impatiently breaking her doll-like self and clicking her fingers on the pristine white table. The boy moved, looking out the window. The girl glared at Ouma like he was invading her privacy. She thinks I’m a kid.
Ouma didn’t reply. He stared into his hand instead, hiding it underneath the table. He tightly shut his eyes and remembered something. He worries about his glasses for a second and remembers that he left them on the windowsill. This… That girl reminds me of something. She reminds me of...
“...Are you okay?” The boy asked.
Ouma didn’t reply.
She reminds me of…
“I-Is he… asleep?”
“His eyes are shut, but he just shut them.”
...
“I- He had s-something like this earlier today, right?”
“Yeah, but it looks more like he’s fading this time.”
Of...
“...”
Voices fading. Voices are fading in Ouma’s head as distant splashes come into his mine, dripping in as Ouma hesitates to reach out his hand. Something red. Something pink.
Blood. Pink blood.
A hanger. Poison. Strike-9 poison. An arrow.
Something pushing down on him against his will. It’s cold and solid and then everything turns pitch black. It feels like… Chains?
Chains shackled, making the slightest of sounds, like the drop of water he could hear in the background. The air smells weird and reminds Ouma of something unsettling. There was something… weird going on.
Wasn’t I just in LeChance, that cafe?
The air was dark, a bit too dark. Ouma turned around, trying to get a view on what was going on. Then he saw something he felt like he shouldn’t have seen. His head feels like it’s tearing apart into smaller pieces.
It looked like a cave. A cove, but not exactly. Like a secret hideout. Like a villain’s secret hideout. A dark throne, stacked onto stairs. Wigs and guns and masks were set aside with weapons Ouma wouldn’t ever use. A car, a car as a bedroom. Masks set aside with boxes. A sign of DICE. Ouma wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it looked… It all looked familiar. Too, too familiar.
Huh.
He was chained. Chained to the dark throne stacked upon stairs. Chained in this disturbing room that’s almost too familiar, like a dog . A straight jacket, this straight jacket again? He remembers this, from his other dream. From… that red butterfly.
Child buttons, ripped at the hem and neck, white cloth wrapping tightly around his arms and legs. The straight jacket wasn’t even being used, and a random checkered scarf stuck to his neck as he swung around, trying to escape the throne.
Then Ouma shut his eyes, calming down. His head was only getting worse and worse, the pain becoming the only feeling in his head as he wrapped his arms around it. His glasses. His glasses weren’t here either.
A giggle, and then a laugh. Louder… Ouma opened his eyes, glancing down.
Somebody was there, staring at him with sharp yellow eyes, like a predator for prey. A small girl, standing in front of the throne as if she was the one looking down on me. She looked like… a doll. Everything seems so cold, so still. Everything hurt his head, and everybody was like dolls. Calm dolls programmed to do something… My head hurts.
The doll was dressed up like a police officer… kinda, at least. Blue shirt and black shorts, an eyepatch on her eye with a distinct V. Pale hair tied up in two buns, a blue cap on her head. Glowing yellow, her one eye shone like a wolf.
Suffocating silence followed that. And then there were two. Two eye patches, a V and a 3. One with braids and the other with two firm buns. Ouma noticed the desk in the center of the room and the velvet coating his throne.
When Ouma tried to stand up, he couldn’t. The chains didn’t allow him. He just had to say neatly onto the throne with chains wrapped around him, dangling his arms around.
Then he noticed the quiet old man sitting neatly on the chair. A lamp, a feather, and a stack of papers. The man was quite old, resembling a man older than Ouma’s grandfather. Ancient is the peculiar word thrown in Ouma’s head. He reminded Ouma of somebody- something ancient. The man sat symmetric with his long nose, wide eyes, long eyebrows uncombed and a creepy smile plastered on its face. Pointy ears, Ouma noted, the man looked as if he wasn’t human. A plastic little bear sat next to the man, and Ouma’s head shook with frustration. The bear was quiet, but there was a presence. Half white and half black, a red wing-like eye. A smile, creepier than anything Ouma can remember.
It all felt… so familiar.
The man moved, holding out his hand. Ouma couldn't take the hand. The bear, much to Ouma’s surprise, didn’t. That’s… why do I keep thinking that the bear will move?
“Welcome, trickster. ” The man’s smile didn’t shift, and those wide eyes stared unblinking. “ Welcome to your velvet room.”
That dark voice wasn't familiar.