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Reijirou Saiki walked into his office to find the door ajar. This was odd; after all, he had closed it before checking on Gorou, Shiori, Rika, and the other kids, and the walk to the mess hall to get some food wasn’t that far. Was this Monokuma’s doing…?
He wouldn’t have put it past the bear-bot-thing, the worst “boss” ever. Monokuma did want to “shake things up” for the sake of making this death game interesting, as if having a bunch of second-rate prodigies in an American-style summer camp wasn’t enough for that blasted bear. Since Saiki clearly wasn’t going to torture these kids, and since he wasn’t a piece of garbage (or so he liked to think), it seemed as if Monokuma had taken up the task, taking a large ladle of “motives” to stir the murderous pot.
Monokuma had visited before unannounced, and the last thing that the 20-something-who-just-wanted-a-goddamn- break extraordinaire needed was for him to make mischief today, of all days. Especially after he’d just forcefully outed one of the campers in front of the entire student body. Even thinking about it was enough to send Reijirou into a furious rage. These kids weren’t his children--if anything, they were old enough to be younger siblings--but even so, no matter how “distant” he was supposed to be as Camp Counselor, he cared, and cared deeply. Reijirou had talked to the kid--or at least, attempted to--but he hadn’t seemed receptive. Still, teens were like cats; they’d come to him on their own time, on their own terms.
Bracing himself, the counselor took a deep breath, and walked into the room, to instead be greeted by one of his “campers” - Kenji Ikeda, Penultimate Gardener. Since Reijirou and the boy had had to remove the copious amounts of rat poison from the storehouse that Monokuma kept stock like a frat house’s fridge with beer, the hazardous substances took up a large portion of the room, stacked into towers, sitting on his bed, and even arranged into a sort of table.
It appeared that Kenji had arranged some of it into a lounge chair of sorts, reclining atop a structure resting against the wall, which appeared to be something loosely akin to a chaise-longue. Reijirou, meanwhile, preferred to not think about how his student was resting atop a chair made of literal poison. But, Kenji seemed to be comfy enough, considering.
“Uh…” Reijirou, closing the door behind him, asked, “...How did you get here?”
“Door was unlocked.” Kenji shrugged, shuffling his weight a bit by crossing his legs atop his makeshift poison chair. Reijirou, meanwhile, took this as a good cue to actually lock the door. He knew he’d forgotten something…
“Figured I’d invite myself in, since… well. Mr. Saiki--”
“Wait.” Reijirou moved forward, cutting him off, and gestured for him to join in his actual office. It was a modest abode, but considering they were in the middle of nowhere, it sufficed quite well for a counseling area. “Before you say anything else, let’s move to the office, since… well, I’d prefer you don’t sit atop rat poison.”
“It’s kinda comfy, honestly.”
“It’s literal poison . We may be stuck in a death game, but I will not let you die from something easily avoided, like not sitting on top of boxes of rat poison. ”
“I mean, there weren’t any chairs,” Kenji replied, having moved to sitting on the edge of one of the poison-boxes and dangling his legs, kicking them absentmindedly. “What else do you expect me to do?”
“If that happens again, then please sit in my office. I don’t care if it’s technically trespassing; I give you permission. After all, it’s better than this. ” He pointed to the boxes stacked around the room. There the teacher voice was, even if he hadn’t ever been formally trained. While it was an act, he did wear the mask of an authority figure better than he’d expected. Stern, yet caring. At least, he hoped it came across that way.
Kenji shrugged, but did as the Camp Counselor asked. With that, the two moved into the counseling office, and, taking a seat, Reijirou gestured to the open chair across his desk. “So, Kenji. What would you like to talk about?”
With a short gulp, Kenji said, “Well… I just wanted to apologize for, uh…” The teen trained his eyes, glistening a gentle brown in the sunlight, to the ground. “Well. I wanted to say ‘sorry’ for being a dick to you earlier. In the garden.”
That was far more frank than Saiki had been expecting. Genuinely taken off-guard, he cleared his throat a bit. “Uh--well. Thanks, Kenji. That’s very kind of you. Still, I wasn’t terribly offended; considering your experience in the past few days, I don’t blame you for being a bit rough around the edges.” Still, internally, Reijirou was beaming. He’s making progress! He’s growing emotionally!! “So, what prompted this…” The counselor searched for the right phrase; he wanted to say character development, or realizing you were a little shitlord back there , but eventually chose: “...Change in outlook?” One thing that Reijirou had mastered in his time as a teen advice columnist was the art of euphemisms.
The boy blushed a bit before managing, after what seemed like a bit of deep thought, “...You were right. Remy wouldn’t want me to, uh… Close myself off. I know that.” Upon saying his late best friend’s name, there was a slight crack in his voice. Poor kid… “Still, I, uh. I still don’t wanna talk about it, but wanted to, uh, like, give you this.”
Before Reijirou could ask what ‘this’ entailed, he pulled out a small sprout. It was small, yet quite pretty. There were small buds, appearing to be just on the edge of flowering, as tiny bits of petals began to peek out, bursting from the bud’s seams. Next to it were watering and care instructions on a small wooden spike, scrawled out in semi-neat handwriting, with small icons of a sun and a water drop to indicate light and watering recommendations.
Kenji scooted the plant toward the counselor, face still painted with a bit of red, and said, “I know you like cooking. So. I figured you may like some cherry tomatoes. They’re easy to not-kill, and it’s easy to tell when they’re ripe, so I figured you wouldn’t mess it up.”
Ignoring the sassiness of that comment, the counselor eyed the plant with reverence, and, after fully blazoning its adorable leaves, tiny stem, and small fuzzy layer atop its gentle green body, he turned to the teen, absolutely beaming. “...Wow. T-Thank you, Kenji.”
“It’s no problem, Mr. Saiki.” While it was clear he didn’t want to show any kind of vulnerability, since he was a teen, and feelings were for losers, he did let slip the smallest hint of a smile. “I’ll, uh… be back tomorrow or something. Maybe I’ll be ready then.”
“No rush; you’re free to just sit in my office, and talk with me about plants, honestly. Whatever works best for you.” Reijirou, gave the leaves of the tomato plant an affectionate pat, and moved it out of the way, so that he was looking directly into the teen’s eyes. Gentle curls fell over his forehead, and as the two made eye contact, for the first time in a long while, Kenji didn’t look away. “Kenji, just know that I’m glad to help, okay? I know the whole… situation we’re in in this camp isn’t ideal. But, I mean it when I say that I will gladly listen once you’re ready. Take it on your own terms, right? That’s what Remy would have wanted.”
“...It is.” Kenji conceded, a slight sadness in his words. Still, with that, he got up, and, snapping himself out of whatever emotion had overtaken him, shook his head. “A-Anyway. Mr. Saiki, don’t kill the plant. I’ll be back tomorrow to make sure you didn’t murder it.” He made an I’m watching you gesture, pointing to himself, then to the teacher. “Bye.”
“Thanks for dropping by, Kenji. I’ll see you then.” As the teen shut the door behind him, Reijirou was left alone with the plant and with his thoughts. The light filtering through the window made the tomato’s leaves shimmer, partially-translucent, leaving a light, chartreuse light like stained glass upon his standard-issue wooden desk.
He brought the plant to his room, and, rearranging the poison boxes (which were, in fact, surprisingly heavy, considering), made a makeshift table beside his bed. Placing the plant there, he collapsed onto his bed with a thunk. Being a counselor was tiring work, but in moments like these, it was clear that it was also incredibly rewarding. Pondering what he’d make with the tomatoes this plant would eventually produce, he began to drift off to sleep, dozing in the soft, shimmering light of the summer afternoon drifting through his window.