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Rantaro wakes up to a burning pain on the inside of his head, right at the back. It’s the kind of pain he’d always imagined when he read the myth of the birth of Athena: an axe directly to the skull, splitting it in two.
He rolls his lips between his teeth to suppress any pained sounds, both hands coming up to curl in his hair. His arms move against fabric, and something warm resting right against his chest, and the feeling is almost as startling as the pain, such that Rantaro’s eyes fly open and he jerks back a little, almost to the edge of his bed.
It takes a moment for Rantaro’s vision to clear, but he is not, he realises, in his room back at the Ultimate Resort. In fact, he’s not in the Ultimate Resort at all, but a cosier looking bedroom with a large bed, a space-print rug, and sunlight streaming in through the drawn curtains. It’s a lovely view, but Rantaro flinches away from it, feeling the light sting against his eyes, and it takes him a moment to recover enough to peer out again, squinting at the cars and the street lamps, the people he can see making their way down the sidewalk through the foggy glass.
…Huh. Rantaro slowly lowers his arms to his sides, looking down and seeing that there is not just one person on the bed in front of him but two; a beautiful blonde woman wearing an oversized JAXA sweatshirt, and a slightly smaller—and equally as lovely—brunette with much longer hair that pools over her shoulders, falling into her long lashes. They’re both fast asleep, arms curled around each other, and breathing peacefully, though the blonde stirs a little every time Rantaro moves, as though she’s being disturbed.
Rantaro had been sleeping very closer to her, curled up against her back. The weirdest thing about it is that if he looks at her long enough, hard enough, her soft features almost start to become a bit familiar… if he reached out and threaded his hand through her hair, he thinks he’d know the feeling, the soothing sensation of glossy blonde locks slipping through his fingers. His heart begins to beat a bit harder, and Rantaro almost reaches out and does so, but flinches back the moment before he can make contact.
As his hand retreats, so does the rest of him, his heels hitting the carpet with a loud thunk as he stumbles back from the bed. The brunette’s eyes snap open at that, and she lifts her head, but before she can say anything Rantaro feels his heart leap into his throat, and he turns and starts for the door, wincing as his headache intensifies now that he’s upright.
Before Rantaro can get there, though, the door swings open, revealing a handsome man who is a bit taller than Rantaro, with magenta hair and eyes and a soft smile on his face. The look quickly becomes a bit bewildered, and then concerned, and he shifts onto his heels, turning to put down the tray of food he was carrying.
“‘Taro, what’s the matter?” the man says. His voice is low and raspy, and somewhere in Rantaro, the sound of it is almost soothing—but the involuntary reaction isn’t reassuring, and Rantaro finds that his pulse only quickens as he takes a step backwards, looking around the room for escape routes.
There aren’t any other than the door, and from the window, they’re too high off the ground to jump. Besides, though Rantaro can feel his muscles engaging with every passing moment, though his temples only continue to throb, a part of him feels… guilty, for reacting like this. As though he’s troubling them with his panic, even though he doesn’t know who they are or where he is—even though when Rantaro fell asleep, he was surely in a killing game… despite not remembering what had happened when he first drifted off.
His head gives another twinge, and Rantaro hisses, reaching for it. At the same time, the man in front of him takes a step forward and reaches out, so Rantaro moves back again.
“D-Don’t—” Rantaro says, a bit too quickly, feeling his shoulders tense as the man’s fingertips brush his wrist. “Don’t, I don’t—who are you? Where am I?”
The man blinks. Then lowers his arm and says, “Oh.”
“Another episode?” A woman’s voice sounds from behind him, soft but steady, and Rantaro blinks as the brunette from before comes out to stand in front of him. Her eyes are a vibrant scarlet, and she has a readiness to her, as though she could spring out and attack at any moment. Her expression is more gentle than anything, though, her brow creased with concern.
“Looks like it,” the man agrees, nodding, before his gaze darts back to Rantaro. There’s something clearly pained in it, but he offers a smile, rubbing the side of his neck. “That’s on me, man, I didn’t realise… my bad. Where do you remember being last?”
Where do you remember being last. What a weird question. And the thing the brunette had said was weird too, about an episode… Rantaro keeps rubbing his forehead, slowly leaning against the dresser as he feels his knees start to wobble. His strength is going to give out in a moment, but he can’t actually sit until he knows what’s going on, or who these people are, or how they know his name—or how every part of him feels like he knows them, even though his head only hurts worse the more he tries to remember.
“Th—” Rantaro clears his throat and closes his eyes. “The killing game. I was in the killing game.”
There’s a pause. Then the woman’s voice asks, “Which one?”
“There were multiple?”
That gets a hum from the man. “Yeah, two. But… you’ll remember that in a second. Uh, I’m Kaito, this is Maki—on the bed over there’s Kaede, I think she’s waking up. We’re… your partners, ‘Taro.”
Partners… “In what capacity?” Though even as Rantaro asks, he recalls the way his arms had been curled around the one Kaito called Kaede, holding her against his chest like she was someone precious to him. His heart starts beating a little harder again at the thought, his throat aching with the beginnings of a lump. Kaito doesn’t even have to say it for him to understand.
Still, he clarifies regardless, “Romantic. Uh… you wanna sit down?”
“You don’t have to,” Maki adds. “It’s fine if you want to stand.”
Rantaro hears the floor creaking and opens his eyes, watching as Kaito steps past him towards the bed, noting that Kaito’s gaze doesn’t leave him the entire time. Maki moves too, but her footsteps don’t make a sound as she pads across the carpet to stand in front of Rantaro, both of her hands exposed, her gaze intent but not sharp.
“It’s okay,” Maki repeats. She sounds almost… awkward. “You… usually remember eventually. How much do you want to know?”
“Everything?” Rantaro tries. “I-I mean, I don’t—I believe you, both of you, I just—” He’s having a hard time wrapping his head around it. Rantaro closes his eyes and tries to concentrate again, searching his memories for the names Kaito, Maki, and Kaede. The only thing he can bring up is a vague feeling of warmth. His thoughts feel cluttered and out of order right now, difficult to parse—was he truly at the resort before this? How did he manage to survive and escape the killing game though? Where are his friends, his si—
Rantaro’s eyes snap open.
“My sisters.”
“Oh.” Maki frowns, turning her head away. “Kaito.”
“What?”
“I mean, Kaito, explain this.” Maki’s cheeks puff out, and she curls her arms around her elbows. “He’s usually the one who does it.”
So it’s happened before. Rantaro frowns at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. Sheesh. This… could be some kind of trick, right? Nostalgia aside, Rantaro… could have just been lifted from the killing game and put here to mess with him. But why go to all the trouble to torment Rantaro specifically? Are the others going through something similar? This doesn’t really seem like Monokuma’s style, could it be someone else?
He’s taken from his thoughts once again by Kaito, who stops at his side, a hand hovering over Rantaro’s shoulder like he’d like to rest it. Rantaro swallows, then nods his permission. Kaito’s hand is large and warm and steadying, and the touch feels unbelievably good, to the point where shivers run down Rantaro’s back. He wants to lean into it, but he suppresses the urge, swallowing a second time and looking up at Kaito’s face.
Kaito’s brow is creased. He murmurs, “Everything you’re remembering right now… is over. The killing game was a simulation, which you got through before going onto the next one, where you met us.” While Kaito talks, there’s some shifting on the bed, so Maki slips past them, though like Kaito’s had earlier, her gaze lingers on Rantaro as she goes. “That one was a simulation too, nobody actually died… though you might remember dying if you try to think about it.”
That’s an absolutely absurd statement, and Rantaro almost opens his mouth to say as much, but the second before he can, he feels another stronger twinge from the back of his skull, as though in memory. This time, Rantaro is unable to stop from gasping, screwing his eyes tight while he waits for the pain to subside. Kaito’s grip tightens on his shoulder, and it’s grounding, but not enough to distract completely from the pain.
Graciously, Kaito waits for him to be recovered. He waits even after Rantaro has recovered, until Rantaro lifts his head and nods for him to continue.
“The thing was, with the killing games…” Kaito speaks the words carefully, as though he’s said them a thousand times. The way Maki was talking, he probably has. “They, uh… the people who ran them, they gave us… these fake identities. Fake talents and memories of our lives. You remember yours?”
Rantaro blinks. “M-My fake life? I don’t remember anything like that, just… my sisters, and the talent I received from the…” He trails off, watching Kaito’s gaze sadden, and swallows. His chest slowly starts to turn cold. “You… come on. There’s no way that…”
Kaito closes his eyes. Swallows. When he opens them again, they’re a bit wet, but his voice is still steady when he says, “Everything you remember right now was fabricated. Your sisters were never missing, because they don’t exist. You have two real sisters who live just outside the city limits, but they’re not the ones from your memories.”
“You’re lying,” Rantaro retorts at once. Kaito doesn’t respond, so Rantaro scoffs, raising his voice a little and repeating, “No, stop it. You’re lying. My sisters are real. My—”
There’s no way. How would Kaito even know about them? Rantaro never tells anyone—he never told anyone in the game, or outside of it—the only person who could know was his father, and his father was a selfish, cowardly bastard, but he’d never pull something like this. Never. But nobody else knows. How the hell could Kaito know?
Kaito doesn’t offer any kind of explanation for this, or even speak at all, his expression twisting. It makes something in Rantaro’s stomach twist too, but he doesn’t back down, pushing the man’s hand off his shoulder and stumbling back a few steps until his shoulder hits the open door and he falls. Kaito rushes forward to help, but Rantaro lifts his hands to ward him off, even as he hits the ground hard, his head knocking against the wall.
Funnily enough, he barely even feels the pain this time, his shoulders starting to tremble.
“Fuck you,” Rantaro gasps out, “h-how could you—how dare you say that? My sisters are—”
Why would he lie? Rantaro doesn’t understand. Why would he lie about something like that? How could he know, and how could he lie when he knows? That’s so cruel.
“My sisters are—” Rantaro chokes as he tries to force the words out again, his vision blurring with tears. “Y-You have to understand, they’re all I—I owe it all to—”
He’s going to be sick. Or maybe he is already—maybe this is all just some big, sick, twisted joke his mind is playing on him. Rantaro tries to shout something else, but the words crumble in his throat. All he can do is curl his arms around himself and shudder, screwing his eyes shut and burying his head in his knees. He doesn’t understand why Kaito would lie about that, looking so sad and worried, as if he cares about Rantaro—if he cares about Rantaro, he would never dream of telling such an evil, twisted lie, which means—
It… probably isn’t a lie. But if it isn’t, then what is Rantaro supposed to do?
The floor creaks again with someone’s footsteps, but the person who drops to their knees beside him is not Kaito, Rantaro can tell by the smell of honeysuckle that wafts past his nose. Softer, smaller hands move to ghost against Rantaro’s shoulders, his jaw, and a gentle voice asks him to lift his head.
He does, eyes squinted against the light, but even through his tears and eyelashes he can still make out Kaede’s worried expression.
“There you are,” Kaede says gently, moving her palms to cup Rantaro’s cheeks, her thumbs sweeping under his eyes. “I’m sorry, Rantaro… it was so, so cruel of them to do that to you.”
Rantaro shudders. The words hit somewhere deep—somewhere that knows it wasn’t Kaito or Maki or Kaede, that the cruelty and injustice come from somewhere else. Somewhere beyond their control. Still, he doesn’t know what to do with that, can’t even speak to voice his upset. All he can do is lean further into Kaede’s hands, lips closed to stifle a sob.
“Just try and breathe, okay? You need to feel whatever you’re feeling right now… it won’t get any better until you’ve completely processed it. But I want you to breathe, because it’ll only feel worse if you start having a panic attack too.” Like Kaito, Kaede speaks in a practised, soothing tone, as though she’s done this before. Something about that is comforting, though, like Rantaro’s been placed in competent hands. At the same time, it makes his stomach twist with guilt, and he can’t help but force his lips to part.
“I’m—sorry,” Rantaro rasps. “I’m making trouble for—for all of—”
“You are not,” Kaede insists, with a little huff. The way her cheeks puff out is kind of cute. “This isn’t trouble. Trouble would be if I went and tried to cook something and burned down the kitchen… and even then I’m sure you’d forgive me.” She lets out a giggle. “This is just feeling… I want you to do that.”
Something in Rantaro kind of objects to that idea. Maybe it’s the lingering feeling of danger, leftover from when he woke up not knowing where he is. He still doesn’t really, though more and more he’s starting to get accustomed to his surroundings, like the feeling you get as the shivers from a bad nightmare wear off. It’s kind of funny, because in all other respects the nightmare hasn’t ended at all; he went through two killing games. His sisters were never real. There are at least three people in the world who care about him who who apparently troubles so much that they have a contingency plan.
This time, Rantaro’s unable to stop from sobbing, but he has to uncurl his arms from around himself, dropping his knees and lifting one shaking hand, starting to reach for Kaede. It’s all he can manage before he curls his hand into a fist, repulsion spreading through him at the selfish act, but Kaede must have seen it already, because she swoops in and curls her arms around his neck, pulling him in close.
The honeysuckle smell must be her shampoo, because Rantaro’s suddenly engulfed with it, along with a bit of a rosemary scent from the sweatshirt. The combination of the two makes something twinge in his chest, and in his head, and Rantaro muffles a sob into the fabric, fisting his hands in the back of the sweatshirt.
“I—” Rantaro’s words come out barely coherent, between his sobs and the position. He flexes one of his hands, wanting to reach for Kaito and Maki too, barely even knowing why. He turns his head to free his lips, managing, “Can they—”
Someone—probably Kaito—hits the carpet beside Rantaro with a heavy thud, a strong, warm arm wrapping around his back without even pausing to let him finish. It’s probably for the better, because Rantaro doesn’t think that he could anyhow, and the feeling of safety that envelopes him as Kaito ducks in close is almost overwhelmingly potent. Maki moves silently again, but she’s soon to join on Rantaro’s other shoulder, her hands moving up to slip through his hair, fingertips gently rubbing the place where he hit his head.
“Try not to hyperventilate,” Maki’s voice suggests. “It would be annoyi—uh, difficult, for you to breathe.”
Rantaro snickers. “Th-That’s not what you were, going to say.”
“Shut up.” Maki sounds embarrassed, but her retort is largely without bite, and Rantaro finds himself smiling at it. “Just forget I said it.”
Rantaro turns his head to try and look at her, though it’s admittedly immensely difficult from this position. He can only make out a little bit of the pink from her shirt, but he takes one of his hands off of Kaede to reach for her, eventually just patting her hip out of a lack of other places to touch.
“Already forgetting.” The words come out a bit dry, maybe because it’s ironic. Maki must think so too, because she shifts closer, her arms slipping around his chest instead, right over his ribs. She ducks down, chin hooking over his shoulder, and Rantaro feels her murmuring an apology into his skin.
It only makes more tears well in his eyes, though. Rantaro… really doesn’t think any of these three should be apologising to him.
“So, uh,” Rantaro sniffles, turning his head again to speak. “How’d I end up with uh… three? N-No offence, you’re all really attractive and nice and all, I just uh—” A little laugh escapes him. “Never even thought I’d end up with one…”
“Don’t be stupid,” Maki scoffs, lips still pressed against his neck.
“Just happened, I guess,” Kaito says, a bit more seriously, his low voice buzzing against Rantaro’s shoulder. “Me and you fell in love, then you and Harumaki—er, Maki—and Harumaki was dating Kaede, who got together with you… and then me and Maki got together, and I-I always kinda liked Kaede, so…”
He sounds bashful. A heady, affectionate feeling fills Rantaro as he turns his head and peers out at him, a little easier since Kaito’s more to his front than Maki is. Predictably, Kaito is blushing, his gaze averted, but he looks back when he notices Rantaro’s eyes, a softer smile coming onto his face. His free hand lifts, cupping Rantaro’s forehead, sweeping tears and hair out of his eyes.
“Sorry, it’s kinda convoluted, huh?” Kaito’s brows quirk.
“Actually, I was… just thinking about how endearing it is that you’re still flustered over this, if the four of us are living together now.”
Kaito’s blush darkens. “H-Hey, you can’t pull that shit when you don’t even remember me! That’s not fair!”
Rantaro laugh, and Kaede follows suit, bell-like giggles filling the room. Maki doesn’t laugh quite as loudly, but Rantaro can feel her snickering against his neck, little puffs of air tickling his jaw. Kaito makes a noise of complaint before ducking his head, burrowing it into Rantaro’s shoulder, and Rantaro hums, adjusting to support him better. It’s kind of an odd position, with the back of Rantaro’s arm pressed into Kaito’s chest, but he tries to make it work. He’s too comfortable with all three of them wrapped around him not to.
“Are you getting anything back, Rantaro?” Kaede asks, gently. “It’s okay if not. Usually it takes a little while if nothing happens to trigger it right away… we’ll just go through the day as normal if nothing returns to you, or sometimes you go back to sleep.”
It’s hard to say. Rantaro doesn’t have concrete memories, but he’s starting to remember flashes—Kaito’s lips pressed against his, Maki tucked against his chest and shivering, Kaede swaying against him in the kitchen. He’s getting there, he thinks… he could probably go to sleep and remember faster, but he doesn’t really want to, right now. His headache has already begun to recede, leaving only the sorrow in his chest and the strong affection for his partners behind.
“I might… want to wash my face before I decide anything,” Rantaro admits. “If that’s okay… I know Kaito made breakfast, so maybe you all should eat while I freshen up.”
Kaede hums her agreement. “Okay! I hope the food didn’t get cold, I hate cold eggs…”
“I’ll make a new batch if they did,” Kaito offers quickly, still sounding a little embarrassed from when Rantaro had complimented him earlier. Kaede makes another hum, this one more pleased, and leans over to kiss him on the temple. Rantaro is smiling as he delicately extricates himself from the pile, resting one hand on Maki’s hair as he gets to his feet and steps over them.
When he enters the bathroom and turns the light on, Rantaro catches sight of himself in the mirror, blinking a little at his reflection. No piercings, a spattering of freckles, white streaks in his hair… Rantaro looks a bit different than he remembered. He leans forward slightly, touching the bags under his eyes. He’s older… a bit of a surreal feeling, to wake up and suddenly be older than you remember being last, but…
Strangely, he’s not as perturbed as he was a moment ago, though thinking about his sisters still makes him want to cry. Maybe there’s a part of him that knows already that it’s going to be alright, even if that feeling is largely subconscious.
After washing the tears and gunk from his face, Rantaro returns to the bedroom to find that Kaito and Kaede have stepped out, leaving Maki seated on the foot of the bed. She looks up when Rantaro enters, and Rantaro offers her a lopsided smile as he approaches.
“Hey, you didn’t have to wait up.”
Maki frowns at him. Then fidgets with a piece of her hair. It’s long enough to trail off the edge of the mattress, falling into her eyes every time she shifts. Rantaro reaches out on blind impulse to tuck some behind her ear, and Maki’s gaze darts up to his face. Slowly, she leans into his palm.
“I wanted to,” Maki says, quite frankly. “Are you okay? You’re good at pretending to be fine when you aren’t. I know you don’t want to worry us, but Kaito and Kaede won’t care if you’re not ready to act normal yet. You can cry for longer… or go back to sleep, or take time alone, or whatever.” She shrugs. “Just… as long as it makes you feel better.”
Warmth fills Rantaro’s chest. He can tell just from how stilted and unpractised Maki’s words are that unlike Kaede and Kaito, she’s not quite as used to doing this as they are. Maybe it’s because she often takes the backseat during those situations, or maybe she’s just awkward with emotions in general. Regardless of the reason, though, that she even said it makes Rantaro feel… good.
“I do feel better,” Rantaro tells her, honestly. “I… feel a lot better, actually. Where I came from, I…” He trails off, looking away.
Maki hesitates. Then supplies, “You didn’t have anyone who cared for you like this… right?”
Rantaro blinks. Then nods. “Yeah.”
Nodding back, Maki gets to her feet. She’s quite a bit shorter than him, but she reaches up with confidence, cupping Rantaro’s face and bringing him down to eye level. Rantaro follows without complaint, leaning his forehead against Maki’s when indicated, staring into her red eyes. They’re very pretty… Rantaro’s heartbeat speeds up a little again. How did he end up even just dating Maki, much less the other two as well?
“Me too,” Maki says, and it takes Rantaro a moment to remember what they were talking about, his face flushing. “And… Kaito and Kaede, too. None of us had anyone who cared for us… until each other. So don’t feel guilty about taking the affection we give, because… you might not remember it right now, but you give it too. Maybe even more than we do.”
Her eyes skitter back away. Rantaro clears his throat, and waits for Maki’s gaze to meet his again before he speaks.
“I have a hard time imagining that,” he admits, curling his arms around her waist.
“You do?” Maki’s lip curls. “Sounds like you don’t really know yourself then… maybe that’s what we can do over breakfast, tell you about the you we know until you start to remember again.”
Rantaro laughs. “You’d do that for me? Doesn’t it ever get tiring?”
Maki’s eyes close. She shakes her head and tilts her chin, just enough for their lips to brush, waiting. Rantaro impulsively closes the rest of the distance in a kiss, then draws back to let her speak, his face warming further.
“No. And I would, over and over again, for as long as you needed it.”
That’s absurd. Almost as absurd as his entire past being fake—or maybe even more so. But… if something so ridiculous as fabricated memories of his sisters can be true, then…
Rantaro kisses Maki again. Sighs into her. Then draws back, wanting to do the same to Kaito and Kaede.
“In that case, I’d better be one hell of a partner, to have gotten this lucky,” Rantaro murmurs. It gets a snort out of Maki, which he’s going to call a win for now. Later, when his memories have come back completely… he’ll say all sorts of other sappy things, just to see if he can get a full laugh out of her. Seems like the kind of thing he’d do.