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It was 2:17 AM, and in a pot-fueled stupor, Yumeno Himiko decided to shave her head.
It had been three years since her time on Danganronpa. Three years since the bloodbaths, three years since the impossible trials, three years since the twist, and then another, and then a third, and maybe even a fourth after that? Honestly, Himiko couldn’t remember anymore, things became a blur.
Three years since she first had to confront her depression head-on. Three years since she began to question her sexuality. Three years since she watched, horrified, as that source of questioning died before her eyes without even knowing it. And three years since she found out the grandest trick of them all, everything had been a simulation, and if she’d only died sooner, she wouldn’t have gone through all the mental deterioration.
Three years since she woke up in what seemed to be a new-aged flotation chamber. Three years since, she was handed a pair of clothes a little more muted than the ones she wore on set. Three years when she was reintroduced to her mother for the first time. Three years since she started to remember, and three years since she disappointed herself all over again.
So much can happen in three years. Which is why Yumeno Himiko had to skip town.
Of the three survivors, Himiko never received the same level of paparazzi coverage as Maki and Shuichi. They were fan favorites, after all. And a lot more attractive than she’d ever been, even now without having to wear the stupid mage get up. Two-thirds of the “hero trio” she read on some online forums. The same forums she learned about the disdain to see Himiko’s character last so long.
Didn’t help that she came out totally jaded. Whatever her personality was before the Killing Game came back full-force and hit her like a goddamn truck. Apparently, the season writers interpreted her very loosely, taking what had once been a legitimate practice and reduced it to a gag. Even now, Himiko struggled to return to witchcraft. Something that once brought her clarity, and a sense of peace was weaponized against her. Her rituals had been reduced to the bare minimum, and she stopped working with deities, worried none would accept her back after abandoning them for so long.
Her online profiles have been inactive for a while. People had figured out her usernames, and she was worried about doxxing, even with her current set of VPNs. Even if they could not dox her, there was post after post about how much of a disgrace she was to the community, how she reduced her practice down to a joke. Couldn’t she tell she hated that, too? Were her public appearances not validating enough? She couldn’t post a defense because then people would REALLY know who she was. Don’t they get it? She had to skip town, someplace without the internet. Without access to comments or commentary.
When she first started making public appearances again, many were disgruntled to see the pseudo-loli-bait turn into someone who dressed in a style closer to dark academia, replacing her witch’s hat with something flat and wide-brimmed, her cloak with a shawl. During her time in recovery, Himiko had learned how to apply makeup, opting now for graphic eyeliner and under lash spikes.
She kept herself clothed. She wore long flowy skirts and chunky platforms, trying anything to conceal her body. Oh god did Himiko hate her body, hate the things she read online, the fanfiction, the body pillows, the cosplays. She hated herself before, but she couldn’t decide if she was the ugliest person alive or something to be lusted after in a fetishized way, drawn in by her wide eyes and short stature.
Himiko wanted to be pretty. Himiko always wanted to be pretty. But never, never like this. She had to go somewhere without people who knew her.
In all honesty, she had no idea what her former castmates were doing most of the time without the TV spotlights or gossip articles. Himiko fell out of touch with most of them quickly, isolating herself from the group. She was already the odd-duck out during the final chapters, which only became more apparent after Kokichi and Kaito’s deaths. Her closest friends on the show died in the four-part midseason special.
She made an effort to support all of her former castmates whenever she could, but they only ever shared brief pleasantries and stilted hugs, always promising to grab a coffee but never going through. Of the cast, Himiko only seemed to regularly speak to Rantaro. She had been friends with one of Rantaro’s sisters before joining Danganronpa, so their connection went way back. They never texted one-on-one, though, only in the shared group chat.
Shuichi was nicest of the later members, but he rarely made time for her. Whatever fucked-up personality he had going on beforehand had slowly crept back in, and he really seemed to let his popularity get to his head. They’d grab coffee every now and then, and while he was always friendly, something about being the protagonist of Danganronpa really went to his head. Himiko didn’t like it. This wasn’t him. But at the same time, it obviously was.
Tenko and Angie had grown distant after their murders, unsure how to feel about Himiko since, in their narrative, their deaths were partially her fault. The two bonded over that, actually. They could still talk. Sometimes they’d do things as a group, like shopping or a movie, a barrier was formed. It was Tenko and Angie with Himiko. Not and. It was hard at first, as Himiko was still struggling with her feelings. Eventually, she dulled them out, just like she dulled everything out.
Surprisingly, she actually reconciled with Korekiyo during her time in recovery and had developed a sort of comradery with them. Himiko was relieved to find out they were not actually in an incestuous, murder-filled relationship with their dead sister, but instead given a villainous plotline against their wishes. Apparently, the two had been friends on the set before the simulation, as proved by pictures of the two together on phones returned after filming. The disconnect was always present, tension under the surface that could not be relieved no matter how many soothing words or reassurances were exchanged, but she had grown used to it. When the anthropologist was in town, the two of them would get lunch. It was nice.
The others didn’t seem to care, but she didn’t mind. This was the nature of her friendships, at no fault of her own. But Yumeno Himiko couldn’t stay here anymore.
Three years of her life have been devoted to press tours and publicity shoots and public appearances that drained everything from her and more. Her therapist told her she needed a restart. Which is why she is shaving her head. And is why she’s leaving on the early bus tomorrow morning.
Himiko always wanted to be the one to act out, but that’s not her. Tattoos didn’t suit her. Neither did piercings or eye glitter or anything fun, anything bold, anything that took effort. She’s had the same haircut for the past five years, cut with kitchen scissors, and colored with the same type of box-dye. She even refused to get it done professionally, though she had the money. It was the one constant in her life. At times the only thing she could control, even when the rest of her existence was dictated by the wind.
But now she hated it. She hated her bob, and her stupid side bangs, and her stupid barrette given to her by her aunt for some birthday. While others in the cast got haircuts and makeovers, Team Danganronpa loved her “look” and made her keep it the exact same. “The Yumeno,” the team called it. When she transitioned back to society, circle clips and lobs were all the rage. It weirded her out, seeing so many artificial redheads on the street. Almost there but never quite right. Even now, at twenty-one, her press agent made sure that every appearance was styled the same. Her hair once brought her joy, the only thing she really put any effort into maintaining. The only thing that was her’s. Now it was just another part of her character.
Holding the clippers up to her head sent a rush of adrenaline she hadn’t felt in years, maybe since the killing game trials. Himiko sucked in her breath through her teeth, trying to steady her shaky hands. With a swipe of her thumb, the clippers whirred to life.
She forgot to breathe during her first swipe, watching a pile of her fried hair fall to the ground. That’s what you get for using the cheap stuff and excessive amounts of crimping , Himiko thought to herself, staring long and hard at the clump in the sink. Her vision trailed up to the mirror, and she jumped a little when she saw herself missing a chunk of hair. Eyes darted around, absorbing everything she saw, and then smiled.
Clippers returned to her hairline, still whirring. Restart for the both of us .
It took her nearly forty minutes to get an even cut. Himiko was pleasantly surprised to find out she had a good head shape, and for the first time maybe ever, she felt...cool. Really cool. Someone you would see on the street and be like, Woah, that’s a badass, don’t mess with her . But also like, that badass who would stand up against police brutality or animal abuse and also be super good with kids . It felt right. It felt like control.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like her.
Her roots were showing prominently now, a fuzzy black across her head. Himiko hated her natural color. It felt drab. It felt normal. There was no normalcy in her life. Why start now. She glanced at the clock. A little past 3 AM . Her bus left at 6:15, no point going to sleep now. Reaching under the sink, she pulled out coconut oil, bleach, and a box of hair dye. Can’t completely throw away her look.
I’m catching a bus, Himiko reaffirmed to herself, lathering her hands with coconut oil. The face looking back at her looked older than she remembered, dark bags and a few new lines. I’m catching a bus and will find an AirBNB and fuck off for a while. I’ll live off of Postmates and take walks outside and see if I can reconnect with any of my deities. I gotta catch a grip.
And I’ll return for Kaito and Maki’s wedding.
The invitation sat on her kitchen counter. It was to be a private event, no more than fifty, kept mostly to their closest friends and family. Instead of a gift registry, the couple asked for donations to a local orphanage in their honor. It would be the first time her “classmates” had been in the same room for years. And she’ll look like a goddamn idiot.
Good, she smiled, dragging her oily fingers across her hairline. Keep ’em on their toes.