Chapter Text
People love to say you can’t buy happiness. And while that might be true in the traditional sense, you could have all the money in the world and still be unhappy, in the non-traditional sense, the practical sense, it couldn’t be more false.
Money can’t remove your depression and anxiety, but it can absolutely pay for medication and a therapist. Money can pay for food and shelter. Money can pay for your hobbies. Money can’t buy happiness. But money can buy the ability to be happy.
Shuichi can’t use his money to buy therapy, he’s asked his parents before and they said no. So instead, he used his money to buy things that made him happy. He used it to buy merchandise.
Shuichi Saihara’s room was an interesting sight to behold. Sitting on the bed was a giant Monokuma plushie, propped up on the pillows and the Danganronpa 3 anime throw blanket, smiling its wicked grin. Proudly displayed above the bed was a Danganronpa poster, the limited edition fiftieth anniversary one, with all the protagonists on it. Shuichi had gotten it in the collector's edition box set, which sat on one of his shelves alongside his Kirigi figurine.
Some people liked to preserve the box sets, keeping their limited edition items rolled up in pristine condition. Shuichi could understand why, but he just couldn’t. How could he buy a complete collection of all the seasons of Danganronpa, plus director's commentary and exclusive interviews with some of the winners and not open it? He’d spent a solid couple of months binge-watching all of the content on the disks the moment after he bought it. It was the happiest he could recall being.
His bookshelf was filled with Danganronpa manga, light novels, and art books. The laptop on his desk was covered in Danganronpa stickers, with a Monokuma USB on the side. A mini Monomi vinyl figure kept watch of his pencils and pens, placed right in front of the cup that held them. Resting on the side of his desk was his backpack, with little Danganronpa keychains dangling off it.
Inside his closet, beside his school uniforms, were Danganronpa graphic tees and sweatshirts. His dresser held Monokuma, Hope’s Peak, and Junko Enoshima socks, as well as a Monokuma onesie. A limited-edition Kirigi wristwatch sat on top of the dresser, right next to the Primaniacs Kirigi perfume.
With that much merchandise for one franchise, some might call Shuichi obsessed. But that wasn’t true. Or, well, it didn’t give the whole picture. Shuichi wasn’t just some obsessed fanboy. Yes, he had his own blog where he posted fan analysis and talked headcanons and theories. Yes, he’d watched all the seasons, played all the games, and read all the books. Yes, he went to conventions. But it was more than just because he liked it (though he did like it very much). Danganronpa was what kept Shuichi going. Danganronpa was his reason to live.
Shuichi wasn’t exaggerating. If it wasn’t for Danganronpa, he would be dead.
For a brutal death game where tension ran like blood, Danganronpa was a surprisingly uplifting series. Its main theme, the one that transcended every season, was the battle between Hope and Despair. The Mastermind (currently a Team DR writer and costume producer named Tsumugi Shirogane) would take up the role of Junko Enoshima and do their best to plunge the participants into despair. Though wacky plot points and despair-filled motives, the participants would slowly dwindle until only two remained. And though their friends had died, and though one would be joining the next season’s roster, hope would always win at the end of the day. No matter the hardships. No matter the pain. They would always be able to overcome and triumph.
It was uplifting. It gave him courage. It made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could make it through another day. After all, he couldn’t die without knowing if Rantaro Amami would survive season fifty-two now, could he?
Shuichi needed the hope Danganronpa provided. He clung to it like a life preserver. When everything else in his life was trying to drag him down, Danganronpa kept him afloat.
Shuichi life was… well it was. It existed. He didn’t have to worry about money, which was a good thing. It meant he could fling as much cash at the show of his affection as he wanted. It was almost funny, how skewed his parent's priorities on money were. He wasn’t allowed to spend it on things like therapy or anything that might have actual long-term benefits to his mental health. He was, however, given blanket permission to plunge himself into fiction and rake up quite a receipt for his escapist fantasies.
He supposed it all came down to image. Shuichi's parents were a tad famous, though Shuichi never really thought of them that way. His mother was an actor, his father was a screenwriter, and he’d seen both of their names in enough movie credits to become desensitized to it.
Perhaps because he himself had been in some of those movie credits. It was at his parent’s insistence. Shuichi… really didn’t like acting. All the lights, the cameras flashing, it made him want to curl up into a ball and cry. But he couldn’t really disobey his parents, so he sucked it up and did what they told him to.
He hadn’t had to partake in any recently, which he was thankful for. His parents had gotten him into an elite arts school (Spring Field Academy), and Shuichi spent most of his time after school no longer in studio lots, but in the school auditorium, practicing for the play or musical. It was odd, seeing the wide array of students there. Some were so excited to perform, others were clearly there out of coercion. They were all fantastic, but there was a spark of joy in some that Shuichi and the rest just couldn’t imitate.
A mental health scandal would be bad for his parent's image. It would be bad for his image too, once he was under the limelight again, though Shuichi didn’t really care about that. He wore a hat, pulled low over his eyes, in a desperate attempt to go unnoticed and unobserved, so being unable to perform would be a joy for him. Of course, what he wanted didn’t matter. It was what his parents wanted. And acting was more important to them than his panic attacks or depressive episodes.
Buying Danganronpa merchandise couldn’t destroy their image though, so Shuichi was free to blow his and their cash on that all he wanted.
And blow it he did. In between the bitter and cold remarks from his parents, the ridiculous demands of his teachers, and the bullies that always seemed to follow Spring Field Academy students’ home, Shuichi spent his time buying all the Danganronpa merchandise he could afford. Spent his time forgetting the real world and finding solace in a hellscape where good still won in the end.
“The finale of season fifty-two is supposed to air tonight,” Angie said, sitting at her desk in their classroom, eyes on her sketchbook, “right?”
“Yeah,” Shuichi replied, “It’s airing live, like most trials and finales, but practice won’t conflict with it.”
“Well isn’t that a relief!”
“Yeah. You want to come watch?”
“Hmmm, I won’t be as excited as you are.”
“True, but I won’t mind. You don’t mind when I get overly excited or rambly about it, and that’s more than enough.”
“Of course I don’t mind!” she exclaimed, finally looking up with her usual bright smile, “You gotta live every day like it's bright, cheery, and fun! So says Atua! After all, if I wasn’t allowed to share my art with others, it wouldn’t be nearly as fun!”
As she finished her sentence, Angie turned the sketchbook towards Shuichi, revealing a beautiful picture in her own, clearly defined style.
When he’d first seen an art piece from her, he’d been confused. It was nothing like the art hung along the school walls or tastefully displayed at the galas his parents dragged him to. Angie explained that she took heavy inspiration from the traditional styles of her home, while modernizing it and adding her own spin. After a while, he slowly started to understand the nuance of it, and saw the beauty in what was once a confusing collage.
If only their teachers could do the same. Shuichi and Angie had become friends in the auditorium, talking while she painted the backdrops for their latest production. And after becoming friends, Shuichi started to notice exactly how the staff treated her.
None of her artwork got displayed in the halls. When pieces were created to be entered into competitions, they’d micromanage her and criticize every little thing she did, till the piece had lost her personal touch and ethnic inspiration and become bland and dull. The pieces were still beautiful, but there was no spark in them. Like Shuichi and the actors who genuinely cared, it was that little bit of life that was evident to anyone looking close. Her genuine pieces had it. The ones they forced her to make didn’t.
The staff and students treated her so cruelly, all because of the way she looked. All because her art had the core of something foreign. Shuichi didn’t have the same appreciation for art that Angie did. Didn’t know the significance of the details she mixed into her paintings and sculptures. Didn’t know who Atua was and how her belief in him affected her beliefs. But he knew it mattered to her. He knew that the spark in her art, when it was her art and not someone else’s made by her hands, was worthy of time and appreciation.
In Japan, Angie wasn’t allowed to share her art with others, Shuichi being the one exception. Despite the smile on her face, her sentence held a certain heaviness. She’d quickly grown accustomed to the feeling of alienation, the same one that Shuichi knew rather well. And after it had grown roots in her heart, she’d made it her goal to never let them feel alone in each other’s presence. They were friends, they raised each other up, even if they didn’t understand what made the other’s interests so special.
“It looks wonderful Angie,” Shuichi said, gesturing to the picture.
“Thank you,” she said, turning it back towards her, “I don’t know what it means to me yet, but something tells me this will be a happy piece.”
Shuichi smiled, “I’m sure. So, are you coming tonight or not?”
“Hmmm,” she said, drawing out the sound and tilting heavily to the side to the point she almost fell over, “well I don’t have anything to do, so why not? I’m sure it will be everything you desire and more! Nyahaha!”
Shuichi laughed as the bell rang and the two of them made their way to the auditorium. His life wasn’t perfect, no. But walking side by side with his friend, he could almost believe he had two reasons to live, instead of just one.
In Angie’s sketchbook, an image of three figures bled through the chaos of drawing. One with long hair in twin tails, swooping from one end of the page to the other. One with a diamond-tipped staff held high in the air. And one with piercing eyes gored their way into the viewer's mind. She didn’t know what compelled her to draw that image, nor did she know why she made figures that way. But one of them, the one with the burning eyes, reminded her of someone.
Yes. This was a happy picture. She was sure.