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“Kokichi?” Kaede says reluctantly through the door. Kokichi lays still in his bed, the thick blankets weighing him down to the soft mattress. He doesn’t bother looking up towards the sound of her voice. “We’d all really like it if you could come join us in the dining room. Gonta and Kirumi made a cake for you.”
He doesn’t answer. Hearing Gonta’s name makes his brain choke up and sputter with visions of brick rooftops and toilet paper before he can construct a good response. He can only think of alter egos and robotic wasps and giant mantises with swords for hands.
“That’s what I thought… But I wish you’d come out and talk to us. You might not believe it, but things aren’t the same without you. It’s… too quiet.” More silence, as if she’d given up and retreated away from his door and back to safety where the stress didn’t hang low like black smoke. He’s surprised to hear a quiet, lingering afterthought. “Gonta misses you, y’know? He keeps asking us why you won’t come out of your room. He hoped making you a birthday cake would cheer you up a little.”
He pulls the blankets up to his ears.
“Still no answer, huh? Okay, I can’t force you. But please, remember that we’re all trying to heal together. We can’t do that without you.” The world goes quiet again, and he thinks she’s really gone for good before she whispers, “Happy Birthday, Kokichi,” her words punctuated by her shoes clacking against vinyl.
If today was actually his birthday, maybe her words would’ve pulled on his strings and walked him over to the others, and maybe he would’ve conceded with a tearful smile and showed them his hand— the looming, dark thoughts that keep him chained to his bedframe. But what do birthdays matter when you don’t know who birthed you, let alone when or where you were born? What does it matter that Gonta misses him? The caricature he misses isn’t even real, created from implanted memories and constructed with villainous smiles and false promises. There isn’t anything to miss about an archetype crafted to have nothing and gain nothing.
Despite that, Gonta will still be upset over his absence. And that shouldn’t upset him, but even he can’t deny the pressure building up in his chest. He wonders if it’s hard for Gonta, too— knowing that none of them amount to anything other than what they did in Danganronpa. Does he, ignorant of the world as he is, keep himself awake at night with such hopeless thoughts, too?
He curses Team Danganronpa for writing him this way, for making him so cognizant of everything. He doesn’t want to think anymore.
Someone knocks on his door. He doesn’t call out and ask who.
“Kokichi? …Can we talk?”
He thinks his heart might give out; he still doesn’t know how to handle hearing Shuichi speak. He can only hear the words that convinced him to lock himself away in his room until his mind withers from disuse after he woke up from the simulation: ‘You’re alone, Kokichi. And you always will be.’
And Shuichi was right. Those nights he spent locked up in his dorm room watching his motive video, pressing play over and over again as a reminder of his place in this world, of his place as a leader, of his place as someone that was loved, once: they were all for nothing.
He’d reached into his chest and handed his still-beating heart to a bunch of smiling devils in black who greedily took it and crushed it under their palms— he gags at the grotesque, familiar mental image his brain supplies him with, at the thought— and he’ll never know the reason why. Maybe he was always alone and he had nothing to live for but his devotion to Danganronpa. Maybe a life of lies was the only way he could feel fulfilled on this hell of an earth.
But it’s no good to reflect on it now. That person, whatever his name was, isn’t alive anymore, sentenced to his execution by his own hand. The Kokichi Ouma in the present— the old, abandoned childhood doll that lost its purpose as soon as its owner grew up and became bored with it— is all that remains. He was a creature designed to thrive in the heart of conflict and nowhere else, and now that the killing game is over and the world has turned its back on him, he’ll forever sit alone on the forgotten toy shelf, left behind to collect dust.
He doesn’t expect the detective to sound so sorrowful. “We know everything, Kokichi. We know what you were trying to do to stop the killing game. I know you probably feel like you can’t face us after… everything you’ve done, but no one deserves to be alone on their birthday.” He hears the detective sigh shakily, even if it’s faint from all the way across the room. “Even if you don’t say anything, at least let me in for a minute?”
Kokichi’s so taken aback that he can’t help but break his silence with a somber chuckle. “Did Kaede put you up to this?”
“She told me she tried to talk to you, but she didn’t ask me to do this. This might be a little bit selfish, but… I still have questions I want to ask you.”
And because Kokichi can’t ever stop himself when he’s curious about something, he pulls himself out of bed and wordlessly opens the door. Shuichi’s eyes widen when he sees Kokichi’s disheveled state: his tangled hair that has grown out a little since the game ended, the ratty, black t-shirt that he’s worn for the past two days, and the pallid, sunken-in cheekbones that indicate a lacking diet. When Kokichi doesn’t say anything in response to the staring, Shuichi flushes and looks down at the vinyl floor as he shuffles towards the visitor’s chair positioned near the bed.
Shuichi folds his hands together in his lap, staring down and twiddling his fingers. Kokichi knows there’s brewing resentment under the nervous, non-confrontational guise Shuichi’s wrapped himself in; he wonders how long it will take for his patience to run out and snap the olive branch.
“If you’re just going to sit there, you might as well leave.”
“S-sorry. I just… don’t know where to start.”
Kokichi doesn’t answer, instead turning to look out towards the window while the detective-by-design collects his thoughts. His mind wanders and he fixates onto the bee flying near the window. He’s not used to seeing bugs flying around freely anymore. Only cameras. Millions upon millions of cameras— one for each pair of eyes that attentively watched them kill each other over bowls of popcorn and slurps of soda.
“…Why did you never ask for help?” Shuichi finally asks. Kokichi doesn’t turn back to gauge his expression; he can hear the desperation in his voice clearly enough. “If you’d told us about your plan, we could’ve done something to assist you.”
“You really are an idiot if you think that. I expected better from you of all people.”
“What?”
Kokichi finally turns to look at him. Shuichi’s eyes shift straight towards his, as if he’s trying to analyze a deeper meaning in his body language— ever the detective, even after his shelf life has expired.
“The mastermind…” He bites his tongue. “Tsumugi was still hiding within the group. What do you think would’ve happened if she’d heard that I was trying to invalidate her killing game?”
Shuichi raises a hand up to his mouth, a telltale sign that he’s thinking hard about something. “She’d interfere with your plans, no doubt. She would’ve found some way to stop us, and she might’ve gone as far as killing you like she did Rantaro. But,” Shuichi looks hesitant to voice out his next thought. “Did you really have to orchestrate everything by yourself? I saw the whiteboard in your room.”
Kokichi reflexively tenses. He knows Shuichi and Maki had looked through his room, hell, he’d watched it happen on TV, but the invasion of privacy and the exposure of his secrets and half-baked plans still sends a sickly shiver down his spine.
“You… trusted me, right? So why didn’t you at least ask me for help?”
“You still could’ve been the mastermind,” he says simply. “We trusted Kaede back at the start, and look how that turned out. Nobody’s your friend in a game of deception. Your trust in Kaede allowed her to kill right behind your back.” Kokichi smiles humorlessly. “And I wasn’t about to turn my back for you.”
Shuichi looks pained, and Kokichi can’t understand why. He never gave a shit about him during the killing game, even after he was dead, so what’s with the sudden disappointment?
“I have another question, then.”
Kokichi shrugs in response, looking at him expectantly.
“I’ve been wondering this for a while. It was when Gonta was about to be executed,” he says slowly. “That outburst about wanting to be punished alongside him— was that really a lie?”
“Of course it was,” he sneers. “I just wanted to appease the idiot before his death so he didn’t die in total despair. I’m not entirely heartless, you know.”
“No,” Shuichi says firmly, and Kokichi can feel something in his chest twinge. “Pretending to cry for Gonta wouldn’t have done you any good in deceiving us into thinking you were the mastermind. It would’ve been far more convincing for you to send him off with no remorse.” Shuichi swallows, like he’s nervous for what he’s going to say next. “You overcompensated with the evil charade to make us think you didn’t care— that you didn’t feel guilty for what you did. I didn’t notice it at the time, but, when I thought back on it, I realized that your words and actions didn’t line up.”
Kokichi stares at him blankly. “Okay, so you got me; maybe I felt bad about sending someone as innocent as Gonta to his death. What of it? What’s the point of all this, Shuichi?”
Shuichi looks down at his hands again. “My point is… You’re not some monster that deserves to be locked up in a cage forever to rot. You did some bad things, and I’m not saying you even deserve to be forgiven, but you aren’t heartless like you pretend to be. You deserve another chance, like the rest of us.”
“Yeah? Well what if I don’t want another chance?”
“I… don’t know what you mean.”
“I staked everything— my morals, my sanity, and even my own life— on ending a killing game that wasn’t even real,” he says, internally berating himself for opening up to the detective, but the unexpected catharsis that suddenly makes him feel ten pounds lighter keeps him talking. “That was the only reason the person known as Kokichi Ouma was written into this world. My purpose has ended; there’s nothing left for me now. You all at least have each other to lean on, but I believe you said it best, Shuichi: I’m alone, and I always will be. And I think it’s for the best if it stays that way.”
“That’s not true!” Shuichi yells, standing up out of his chair, his hands clenched at his sides. He thinks he sees a faint shimmer of something peeking from the corners of his eyes, but it’s probably a trick of the light. “It’s not too late to reconvene with the others, and you aren’t just some plot device. We may not be the same people we used to be, and maybe we don’t have families or old friends to turn back to, but we’re still people! You still have dreams, even if they were created for you.”
Well, if living a life of pranks and crime with DICE is considered a dream, then yeah, maybe he did have one. But what good is a dream that’s impossible to reach?
“DICE was all I had,” he says candidly, hopelessly. “And they aren’t real.”
The glimmering he’d thought he’d seen in Shuichi’s eyes starts to gather around his lower lids, tears threatening to fall. “Then start over and create a future for yourself. There’s more to you than chaos and lies, Kokichi. Why do you think I tried to learn more about you? Yes, your organization of 10,000 members wasn’t real. But that wasn’t the real reason I kept coming back to talk to you.”
Shuichi sits down with his legs crossed at the foot of the bed, and Kokichi’s almost impressed that the shy detective has the confidence to invade his personal bubble like this. If it were anyone else, he’d probably kick them until they moved off, but he humors the situation and lets Shuichi stay. The detective blinks a few times to hold back his tears.
“I… I was curious about your organization, yes, but, more than that, I was curious about you. There were so many things I wanted— and still do want— to learn about you. Which parts of you are lies, and which parts of you are hidden truths buried under the lies? Why do you lie so much in the first place?” Shuichi’s face turns slightly red. “I’ve never been so… intrigued about a person before. And I can’t deny that, when we hung out, I had fun with you. I had fun playing games with you. I had fun trying to understand what was on your mind, seeing what made you tick. And… I’d like to keep trying to understand you better.”
His words mean a lot more than he’d ever like to admit to himself, but still, he pushes away. “I’m not some Rubik’s Cube for you to twist and turn until you figure me out, y’know.”
“Yes, I know that,” Shuichi says, his eyes flickering oddly to Kokichi’s hands, which are seated delicately in his lap. “But I don’t want to fully figure you out. Uh, I don’t know how to say this without it sounding awkward, but…”
He reaches over and grabs one of Kokichi’s hands, and though Kokichi kind of expected it, he still gasps under his breath. “I want you in my life to keep me on my toes. I may not have ever really wanted to be a detective—or, at least, I wasn’t written to— but I have a legal battle to fight now. Team Danganronpa isn’t exactly happy with us for tanking their ratings, and apparently they’re preparing a lawsuit against us. I can’t think of anyone I want to help me bring them down more than you.”
“You can’t get your best buddy Kaito to help you?”
“Kaito is, well…” Shuichi trails off awkwardly. “I’m sure he would be a big help, but he isn’t wickedly smart and cunning like you. And, after all this is said and done, I’m going to become a private investigator. I owe it to my friends— no, to everyone that’s ever gone through what we did— to make sure nothing like Danganronpa ever reaches the media again. And, well, this might be presumptuous of me, but,” he rubs the back of his head as he flushes. “I want you to be my partner.”
Kokichi’s eyes widen; he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Does he not realize the implication of that sentence?
Shuichi must’ve caught onto his surprise, because his face goes bright red and he immediately lets go of Kokichi’s hand and turns away. “A-ah, I mean… Well, I don’t mean my partner in that way. I meant as my investigative partner.”
Kokichi feels like he’s finally starting to see colors as vividly as he did in the killing game again. He smirks at the detective-in-training. “Oh-ho-ho, is that really what you meant? Because that kiiiinda sounded like a confession to me.” He bares his teeth in a big grin. “But too bad! I really can’t stand you, you know, so not interested!”
Shuichi sputters, his mouth agape. “W-wait, which part are you talking about?!”
Kokichi hums to himself, thoroughly amused. “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out! You’re a detective, aren’t ya?” He looks away from Shuichi. “But I guess I can think about your offer. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
His heart flutters when Shuichi’s eyes soften and a warm, beautiful spreads across his face, his gaze almost loving, though Kokichi thinks he imagined that part.
“Thank you, thank you so much, Kokichi. You won’t regret this, I promise.”
Kokichi doesn’t mention that neither of them actually clarified which part they agreed on.
“So…” Shuichi starts, suddenly getting awkward again. “That birthday cake is still out there if you’re interested. Can I bring you out to see everyone? I think… Gonta especially wants to see you.”
Kokichi bites his lip, looking away in thought. He still doesn’t think showing himself to everyone would go well at all; Kaito would probably try to take a shot at him, and who knows what Maki would do. He feels a phantom grip tighten around his neck at the thought.
But he can’t keep hiding forever, not anymore. He’s going to take the leap off that dusty toy shelf on his own accord, because now, he thinks he’s found something— someone, he thinks greedily, reluctantly— to live for.
“I guess I can come out this one time. I can’t pass up a cake with my name on it!”
Shuichi wordlessly wraps his arms around him in a tight hug and gently rests his chin on his shoulder. Kokichi’s so relieved that he can’t see the way his face heats up at the intimate contact.
“Thank you, Kokichi,” he whispers into his neck, rubbing his hand up and down his back reassuringly. “Happy birthday.”
Kokichi lets his barriers come down once and for all, melting into his embrace and wrapping his arms around him. For the first time since he woke up from the Virtual World, he feels tears sting his eyes. He lets them fall.