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Akamatsu Kaede is not real.
Tsumugi is having a difficult time reminding herself of that fact. It’s just that Akamatsu’s so… unexpected. It’s a strange way to describe a character that Tsumugi herself had written the bulk of. She chose these traits, handpicked them to create a protagonist the audience wouldn’t be able to ignore.
Maybe, then, she shouldn’t be surprised that she keeps finding her attention drawn to the brightness that is Akamatsu.
It starts immediately with their introduction. Tsumugi plays the part of an absentminded otaku (not so far from the truth really; it’s easy to act out what you know) and makes herself as uninteresting as she can. She needs to be overlooked if this show is to run smoothly.
But, of course, Akamatusu is friendly to the point of refusing to be ignored. She even manages to rope Saihara (polite, reserved, perfectly in character) into goading a reaction out of Tsumugi.
Tsumugi gives in, reasoning that she has to introduce herself eventually, but that isn’t the end of it. Akamatsu may have pulled her hands back to herself, but that doesn’t stop her from prodding with her words. Tsumugi remains outwardly unruffled in accordance with the spacey character she is playing, but internally she’s rattled. Caught off guard. Charmed, even.
Akamatsu finally leaves, Saihara close on her heels, and Tsumugi breathes a sigh of relief. That little interaction may have been more intense than she had anticipated, but it was really no matter. She’s certain that her surprise never showed on her face. Besides, with the way the game is designed, it’s unlikely that she’ll be subjected to Akamatsu’s full attention ever again.
At first opportunity, Akamatsu asks Tsumugi if she’d like to hang out.
Tsumugi is taken a bit aback. She and the rest of Team Danganronpa had worked so hard to create interesting characters for Akamatsu to interact with, yet here she is, alone and asking for plain Tsumugi’s company instead of theirs.
Tsumugi is understandably nonplussed, but she hides it under feigned obliviousness and agrees. Akamatsu seems happy that she’d agreed, but then it was in her artificial nature to be upbeat and friendly.
The pair ended up spending most of the day together, even going to the dining hall to share lunch. Akamatsu remains bubbly and outgoing and altogether difficult to keep up with. This isn’t how Tsumugi imagined the start of the season to go, but she couldn’t say she minded all that much.
“I got this from that weird vending machine yesterday, and I thought you might like it,” Akamatsu says at a lull in the conversation. She presents a sleek black wig to Tsumugi, who takes it with the same ravenous delight she does for anything related to cosplay. She hopes her excitement hides just how flustered she feels.
Near the end of the day, they come to the topic of hobbies. Tsumugi isn’t lying when she says she’s starved for otaku content. It actually comes as a surprise to her. She thought that living in the Danganronpa universe would be enough to sate her need for fictional characters, but somehow it isn’t enough.
She’s certainly not expecting Akamatsu’s suggestion to take up baking together when they get out of here. It’s an impossible suggestion. Once again Tsumugi is struck by Akamatsu’s optimism and friendliness and drive to escape.
An impossible suggestion, yes, but one that Tsumugi can’t help but imagine.
Maybe Tsumugi underestimated just how bored she’d get before the murders started. Ideally she would be able to pass the time in her lab, but last minute set changes meant it ended up on the fifth floor and she wouldn’t have access until the game was almost over. And in that lab are, of course, her only good nail brushes.
She’s lamenting the state of her nails one morning when Akamatsu passes by. Akamatsu offers to give Tsumugi the nail brush she’d somehow collected, and once again, Tsumugi is struck by her.
She’s so happy to have something to use to repaint her nails that she doesn’t really notice until after Akamatsu has left that this is the first time Tsumugi herself has initiated a meeting between them.
It goes well in the beginning. Akamatsu is physically affectionate with all her classmates to some degree, and Tsumugi relishes the excuse to be the one to hold her hands for as long as she wants.
Tsumugi does not expect the flare of jealousy when Amami interrupts their nail-painting session. It’s sharp and insistent and so far beyond what Tsumugi is capable of dealing with. Akamatsu flushes a beautiful pink as Amami demonstrates his implanted nail art ability. Tsumugi realizes with some horror that she wants to be the one to make her blush like that.
The time limit expires tomorrow. Tsumugi lingers in the first floor classroom that Akamatsu woke up in, leaning against a chair scrolling somewhat unseeing through the options for new flashback light memories. She feels empty in a way that she can’t explain. It’s been her dream for as long as she cares to remember to be in Danganronpa. She even gets to be the mastermind and cosplay Enoshima Junko on television for the whole world to see. She should be ecstatic that the first murder of her very own season is soon to happen.
She is ecstatic to some degree, but not as much as she’d expected. Maybe she grew accustomed to the downtime of the early game and doesn’t want it to end. Maybe she wants to postpone the stress that will come with organizing the later stages of the Killing Game.
Maybe she dreads what she knows is coming, regrets the betrayal she wrote into her radiant protagonist.
Akamatsu finds her there, staring blankly at the suddenly dark chalkboard screen. She’d been glued to Saihara’s side all morning, but now she’s here, once again having sought out Tsumugi’s company, and Tsumugi doesn’t know how to feel about it.
Something just seems so final about this moment.
So Tsumugi turns around to face her, takes her head between shaking hands, and kisses her. It almost feels like she’s outside of her body, not in control. It almost feels like this is the most control she’s ever had over herself.
Akamatsu freezes, eyes wide and Tsumugi pulls back. She’s made a grave mistake. Team Danganronpa will have her head for this, after they have their fill of mocking her for it. More importantly, however-
“I’m sorry. I- I don’t know what came over me! Please forgive my mis-”
Akamatsu cuts Tsumugi off by covering her mouth with her finger. Always so physical, that Akamatsu, Tsumugi thinks distantly. Her hand is so warm.
“No, it’s fine,” Akamatsu says. Tsumugi is desperately trying to avoid her eyes. It’s difficult to move her head. Akamatsu’s hand is exerting only the barest pressure against her mouth but it feels as if it’s holding Tsumugi in place.
Slowly, Akamatsu draws her hand away. “It’s fine,” she says again, like she’s worried Tsumugi might not have heard the first time. Like she thinks Tsumugi had been ignoring her, the way she should have been.
But Tsumugi heard her. Tsumugi wasn’t ignoring her. Isn’t. Can’t.
“I don’t want you to think that I’m upset with you. I’m not.” Akamatsu sounds genuine, but of course she does. She was designed to be empathetic, supportive. A protagonist anyone would love.
Akamatsu Kaede may not be real, but neither is Shirogane Tsumugi, not really. They can exist in this fictional world together.
Tsumugi kisses her again, more insistently this time. Akamatsu responds immediately and she’s so warm and alive and Tsumugi is quickly losing her ability to think. The last thing she can remember passing through her quickly overloading brain before it is overtaken by the sensation of Akamatsu’s fingers running through her hair is that maybe this is what she had been wanting all along.