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Chihiro Fujisaki, the Ultimate Programmer, awoke in an empty classroom. It was familiar, a memory on the tip of his tongue, but there was nothing to recall, no emotions or feelings to access. He looked around; there were no signs of the room having been used recently. The sense of unease kept growing until it disappeared in a flash when he saw a note on his desk.
Hey there new kid! The next semester is about to start. Starting today, this school will be your entire world.
Right, Hope’s Peak. This must be my first day. But it still didn’t explain why the room was empty, did class end and no one bothered to wake him? All the possible solutions were worrying, but he knew he’d find no answers here.
He slid off his seat and stumbled. His balance was off, body not feeling as it should. Was he sick? Maybe that’s why he fell asleep in class. The nurse’s office would be the best place to go. He paused before opening the door to the hallway. He was wearing his familiar sweater and skirt, but it didn’t look quite right. He smoothed the pleats and fiddled with his sleeves before he felt his appearance was acceptable.
It was the first day of the rest of his life and, unfortunately, he had to present himself like this. But he’d already done that for 15 years. He could make it through another day.
Even in his locked room, he didn’t feel safe. They were trapped in here, forever, unless you killed someone else. He was the shortest person, and several students were athletes. The Ultimate Martial Artist could probably break him over her knee without a second thought. He couldn’t imagine himself killing another person, but he could already imagine the ways the others could end his life.
Though it still felt dreadful, Chihiro forced himself into the bathroom to take a shower. If he did his normal routine, focusing purely on the mechanical actions and thinking about his programming projects, he wouldn’t give his mind the opportunity to wander and think of his situation. If he kept that up, kept his mind occupied every waking moment, then he could manage this, like how he managed everything else…Maybe there was a way past the door, a way to disable Monokuma, if he tried hard enough he could—
“W-what?” The shirt dropped from his hand, he moved closer to the mirror. His hands moved across his chest, skin sending back unfamiliar signals.
Flat. His chest was flat, just as he had always wanted it to be. The scars were smooth, almost meeting in the middle. He lifted his arms and turned, still unbeliving of what he was seeing.
“W-when did this happen?”
“That’s a good question!”
Chihiro screamed at the sudden appearance of Monokuma. The bear titled his head and brought a paw to his chin.
“That’s no way to say hello.”
“What are you doing here? Get out!” Chihiro was covering his chest, taking a step back, but Monokuma didn’t move.
“I was just trying to help.” He dejectedly looked at the floor and kicked at some imaginary object. “Lots of my students have questions, and I’ve been answering them, and they’re soooo greatful for it. I thought maybe—”
“Did you do this?”Chihiro gestured at his chest. “To me?”
The robot(?) giggled. “Of course not! Everyone knows you can’t get your medical license if you’re a bear.”
Chihiro glanced at the mirror. He could spot the place where one of the drains had to have been, but it was barely there. If he hadn’t spent countless hours researching the surgery and pictures of results, he never would have known to look.
“These scars are old.” The realization hit him. “Years old.” He turned back to Monokuma. “What happened to me?”
Monochromatic shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know. You probably paid someone to do that to you. I don’t pay attention to what you do in your free time.”
“No, that’s not….” He had all the pieces, they only meant one thing, but Chihiro still didn’t know what it all meant. What the truth was. “I-I didn’t have these when I came to Hope’s Peak. I know that.” The memory of packing his binders, fretting about how many to bring, how he could wash them without others noticing, if people would even notice, understand…The idea of finding them in his closet and showing them to Monokuma was entertained for a moment before being tossed out. A robot/bear wouldn’t understand something like that.
Again Monokuma tilted his head. “Do you?”
“Yes! It’s been…,” he took a quick glance at himself in the mirror. He looked the same…if there had been hormones, he would look completely different. But his face, unfortuantely, was still the face he had before. He turned back to the bear. “It’s been 2 years, maybe.” He paused. “Or just a year, I don’t know. These didn’t happen yesterday.”
There was a pause, an unsettling moment of silence. Monokuma was thinking and that was terrifying. Was I not supposed to guess that…?
The quiet was broken with more giggling, bouncing off the shower tile. “You are right about one thing,” the bear said, paws doing a poor job covering his smile, “you don’t know!” He laughed to himself for some moments more before his arms fell to his sides. “Anyways, I can’t sit here and chat all day. I have important bear things to do.” Monokuma disappeared, which took Chihiro a moment to process. That…wasn’t something a robot could do. Something anything could do.
But there would be time to worry about that later. He locked the bathroom door and finished undressing himself and looked himself over before stepping into the shower. There were no other scars or marks…though it was impossible to tell what, if any, organs were still inside him. If there was nothing, he would find out soon, once he started getting sick or Monokuma handed him something. Or maybe the bear didn’t care enough to keep him in good working order. If they were supposed to kill each other, osteoperosis really wouldn’t matter.
The rest of the night his mind couldn’t stop working. Everyone healed differently, and he never had surgeries before, so there was no way to know when he got those scars. He did stretches, paid attention to how his body felt, and it would have been the most hope he’d ever felt in his entire life…but it was all tainted by that shadow of lost time. Minimum, it was several months, as everything had fully healed, but it could have been several years, too.
But would the others…. He let the thought die. Asking might force him to reveal how he’d figured out that info, and he didn’t want to explain himself, he didn’t need another reason to make himself a target.
But, even in this sea of despair, he had one less thing to worry about.