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Korekiyo, immersed in their book, don’t notice as the door to the library opens and closes, nor do they hear the light padding noises as somebody scampers across the library and peers over their shoulder. As they are unaware of any other presences, Korekiyo continues to read without interruption, their eyes half-lidded. This book is a transcript of old, oral folk legends from some of the indigenous communities inhabiting the Pacific Islands. Or at least, Korekiyo assumes so; there have been countless cases of stories being made up and passed to anthropologists in order to keep their real legends private and sacred.
Regardless of the truth in these tales, though, they make for interesting brain fodder, and Korekiyo has little else to do at the Ultimate Academy for Gifted Juveniles. They hardly think it would be appropriate to be outside, attempting to swoon one of their fellow prisoners, even if it is the only way they’re apparently going to be allowed to escape. Korekiyo would rather spend their first days here getting accustomed to their surroundings, and working to sharpen their brain, lest Monokuma reveal some deeper, more sinister motive than what is apparently a reality TV show premise at the moment, and they be caught unawares.
The transcripts are written in the original languages of the tellers, as well. Accordingly, Korekiyo can’t understand all of them, but they are able to read a good chunk from pieces of the languages they’ve picked up during their studies. Reading these stories helps them to attune their skills. Hopefully, someday after Korekiyo has left this place, they will be presented with the opportunity to travel to the islands in question and get hands-on experience speaking the languages; that, truly, will be the most valuable. Much more than learning about the cultures from Japanese anthropologists.
At the end of the current story, Korekiyo places the book flat on the table and stretches. When they straighten their back however, they bump into something light and warm. It’s only when they turn, an eyebrow raised, that they realise the obstacle is in fact Yonaga Angie, the Ultimate Artist, and not a living version of the back of their chair.
“Ah,” Korekiyo says.
“Hello, Korekiyo!” Angie greets. A cheerful smile adorns her features. She is bright and innocent, all sunshine in her glowing blue eyes and music dancing in her fingertips, as opposed to… guilty, or perhaps embarrassed, for being caught looking. Korekiyo supposes they don’t mind having an audience, but they aren’t sure how long Angie has been here. She must have been bored. “What are you reading?”
Obligingly, Korekiyo lifts the book and holds it out for Angie to examine. As the artist does so, her head tilted to the side with thought, Korekiyo prompts, “Have you been here long, Angie-san? I did not mean to ignore you.”
“No, no! Only for about fifteen minutes!” Angie chirps. Korekiyo’s brow knits. Angie hardly seems bothered, but fifteen minutes is quite a long time to stand watching somebody read. They open their mouth to say as much, but Angie interrupts them. Korekiyo decides not to hold it against her; they are wearing a mask, after all. “God created the Heaven and Earth in six days! Fifteen minutes is nothing! Nyahaha!”
A biblical reference… how fascinating. “Do you worship the Catholic God, Angie-san? I had assumed the figure which you described was a deity from your island.”
“Angie worships the only God, silly Korekiyo,” Angie giggles. She reaches over and twigs Korekiyo’s nose through their mask. Korekiyo frowns. “But that is not incorrect! God does watch over Angie’s island, just as He watches over everyone else! How divine!”
“I see.” Korekiyo supposes it had been foolish—and perhaps disrespectful—of them in the first place to speak objectively about Angie’s religion. Somebody as pious as her likely would not view her own God from a purely anthropological viewpoint. “I apologise for my presumptuousness, in that case.”
“Hmhmhm, all is forgiven!” Angie smiles. Korekiyo waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Rather, she continues to gaze at them with that bright smile, one of her white twintails swinging back and forth at her side. Korekiyo can’t figure out if she needs something, or if she just wanted company. They wouldn’t mind reading with her here to watch, if that’s all she needs, but leaving the matter unspoken…
“Did you need something from me, Angie-san? A lecture, perhaps?” Korekiyo laces their fingers together in their lap. “I am well-versed in a number of subjects, specifically those pertaining to Japanese culture, though I am familiar with the cultures of neighbouring countries and territories as well. If you need help adjusting to life here, I would be happy to assist. Or was it something else?”
Angie tilts her body to the other side, the book still clutched delicately in her hand. The folds of her yellow jacket crinkle with the movement, and her eyes do as well, bunched up at the edges with her blinding smile. “No! Well, if Korekiyo wanted to tell Angie about Japan, she wouldn’t mind that. Angie would be delighted to learn! But Angie is merely here on God’s instruction!”
“God’s?”
“Yes, yes!” Angie nods. “He has told Angie to seek out Korekiyo for company! And so, here I am!”
Fascinating. She can’t really mean that, can she? If Angie’s god were truly whispering instructions in her ear, pointing her in the direction of the most decent individuals at this academy, Korekiyo imagines she’d be directed to Gonta, or perhaps Kaede. Certainly, Korekiyo is biased, but even from an objective viewpoint; Korekiyo can’t imagine that they are the first person a god would think to send their vessel to speak with. And for what reason? To cure her boredom? To aid in her escape? If it’s the latter, Korekiyo can’t help feeling even less like they’re the person suited to such a task, which must mean…
“Pardon my bluntness, Angie-san. I am, of course, flattered, if it truly is your—ah, rather, God, who urged you to seek me out, but…” Korekiyo tilts their head to the side. “Was that truly so, or was it you, Angie-san, who was interested in my company?”
Though Angie’s smile doesn’t waver, Korekiyo senses a shift in her disposition. It’s subtle, but they can see something sparking in her blue eyes. Interest, perhaps, though it doesn’t last enough for them to truly make it out. Angie speaks before they can think on it further.
“Who indeed?” Angie leans in Korekiyo’s face, one hand holding the book behind her back, the other tilting up the brim of their cap. They’re barely four inches apart. “Korekiyo always asks the most interesting of questions, do they not? If God wanted to see you, why does it matter if Angie did, hmmmm?”
Another intriguing question. Angie’s smile betrays nothing, but Korekiyo can’t help wondering if the question stems from a place of greater insecurity. After all, if Angie has been a “vessel” for her god all her life… can she really know if any of her relationships are based in reality? Does she know for certain whether those around her care about her, or about her god?
Korekiyo holds her gaze. “It is not God who is here to see me, is it?”
“God and Angie are one,” Angie returns. “God’s desires are Angie’s desires. If Angie is here to see you, God is here to see you—and thus, if God wanted to see Korekiyo, Angie did too.”
“Then,” Korekiyo pauses, searching her expression, “you admit you wanted to see me?”
The shift in Angie’s expression is, again, minute. The slightest of wrinkles appears in her brow, and she gazes at Korekiyo softly, as though she doesn’t understand them. Her smile doesn’t so much as twitch, but it seems less genuine, somehow, faker, not dissimilar to Korekiyo’s own cloth mask. Perhaps it isn’t so much that Angie’s smile changed as it is that Korekiyo is now seeing it for what it is. Or perhaps Korekiyo is reaching, searching for a depth in Angie that isn’t truly there.
Still, she fascinates them, fake smiles and hidden intentions and all. Korekiyo smiles at her, and hopes she can see it through the crinkling of their own eyes.
“I am nonetheless happy for the company,” Korekiyo says, “regardless of who it is that sought me out. Would you prefer conversation, Angie-san, or quiet? I can provide either, but I must request that you give me back my book either way. I haven’t finished with it yet.”
Angie passes it back over without complaint, any discontent gone from her face in an instant. “Of course, of course! Angie would like to spend time with Korekiyo however they would like to. Although…” she trails off momentarily. “This book of yours, it is full of stories from islands just like Angie’s, is it not? The story Korekiyo was reading, it is written in the language of my people.”
“Is that so?” Korekiyo glances at the page, then back up at Angie. “I thought I recognised your accent. You can read all of it, then, I assume?”
Giggling, Angie nods. “Can Korekiyo? Angie did not think another one of her dear new friends would understand the words of her people! How divine!”
“Not in its entirety, unfortunately, and my pronunciation would likely be quite the thing to laugh at to a native such as yourself,” Korekiyo prefaces. “But yes, I can read almost all of it. Would you be interested in helping me understand the rest, Angie-san? I cannot promise perfection, but it would be foolish of me to pass up the opportunity to learn from one such as yourself.”
Korekiyo worries—albeit briefly—that they’re overstepping, or perhaps making out like their interest in Angie is purely academic. They wouldn’t worry about it at all, if not for the odd look that appears on Angie’s face, the slight crook in her smile, as though she’s having trouble putting something together. Angie is difficult to read in the best of times, but seeing her wear an expression that isn’t either carefree happiness or religious intensity is foreign to Korekiyo, even if it isn’t entirely unwelcome.
Her smile warms, however, a moment later. It’s somehow smaller, less sparkly, her eyes round and soft rather than wrinkled into upside down crescents, and she reaches for the chair next to Korekiyo, plopping herself down into it and propping her face up with her elbows. She leans close enough that Korekiyo can feel the heat radiating off of her, can smell papaya and mango, and it’s a dizzying sensation, almost distracting.
They clear their throat and flip to the beginning of the chapter.
“I should… read out loud, yes?” Korekiyo asks. Their voice lilts with uncertainty. It’s unlike them. Angie’s particular brand of peculiarity is making them feel a bit strange themself.
“Yes,” Angie echoes. She doesn’t repeat the sentiment, doesn’t say anything about God. She merely rests her head against Korekiyo’s arm, a light but persistent warmth through their jacket. “Angie has missed the language of her home. Hearing it in Korekiyo’s voice… will be delightful.” She pauses, eyes flitting up towards Korekiyo’s face, a clear, earnest blue, and then adds, “Go, and I will correct you where needed.”
Korekiyo gazes down at her, simply hoping to memorise the sincerity in her face, and then returns their eyes to the yellowed pages, clearing their throat before they start to read. True to her word, Angie chimes in with a couple corrections, or steps in whenever they don’t understand a term or phrase, but otherwise, she remains quiet, chest rising and falling with even breaths as she listens.
They’ve never seen her so relaxed before. She must be remarkably homesick, more so than any of the others here, given that Angie is not just trapped in a dome out in the middle of nowhere, but overseas—far, far away from her home, and everyone she knows and loves.
It isn’t much, Korekiyo is aware of this, but if by reading this story, they can remind her a little bit of what that home feels like… they’re more than happy to do it.