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“I’m Keiko Ouma, The Ultimate Supreme Leader!” He introduced himself, trying to sound as optimistic as possible, knowing he had to introduce himself with the name of someone who didn’t exist.
He cursed the fact that he had woken up in that prison of a school wearing a skirt.
-
“Ouma-san! We all have to collaborate!” Akamatsu scolded him lightly, the reason why doesn’t matter, it was the honorific: “Ouma-san, Ouma-san” who was that?!
“Don’t think that for being a girl we won’t be mad at you for being such an insufferable ass!” He didn’t even remember who had said that, possibly Momota.
“C’mon flatty! You wish you had big boobs like me, so stop mocking me!” Iruma had no idea.
-
“Say, Ouma-san, do you know about the symbolism of names?” He was drinking tea with Shinguji, at the dining hall. The sudden question surprised him.
“A little, why, Shinguji-chan? Are you going to tell me another cool fact?” His eyes glew in excitement, looking at the anthropologist with excitement. He loved to hear him talk, to hear everything he learned.
“I was mostly wondering about your name, ‘Keiko’... It means ‘blessed or happy child’,” Korekiyo explained, “Usually, parents choose their child’s name based on what they want for their future, or based on an experience. Do you know about your case?”
“I don’t know nor I care.” He looked the other way in annoyment.
“Hm… Do you, perhaps, dislike your name? You seemed to be excited for what I had to say, until I mentioned yours.” Kokichi’s eyes widened slightly. “Am I correct?”
“Hm, maybe. Or maybe I just don’t care a lot about my name’s origins, you’re looking too deep into this, Shinguji-chan.” He giggled, then they continued to speak. The matter was never discussed again.
-
He was sitting outside, on the grass. It was way past midnight, the moon shining from the outside world, being slightly opaqued by the bars that covered their prison at the Academy.
He sighed, how many nights had he needed to go out for a walk already? He couldn’t stand it. Hearing people call him something he wasn’t, and being unable to correct them. It was funny, how people saw a non-existent woman in the place of a real man.
He sighed, his legs were cold, he hated that damned skirt. He went out to get some air, and now he felt like crying, and he couldn’t do that, he was risking being seen.
But still; fat, silent tears fell down his cheeks, as he looked at the few small daisies growing on the grass he sat on.
Judging from the motive videos provided days prior, which had caused yet another class trial, it was obvious that Monokuma knew everything about everyone in the killing game. He was glad to have gotten his own video to prove it, as the rest were mixed up, but it made everything feel like a cruel prank. Why would Monokuma, knowing he’s male, give him a girls uniform and use his deadname on his ‘official’ profile? What was his problem?!
Nights like those made him feel more motivated to end the killing game, not only to save his classmates, but to also get out of that hell.
-
Minutes had passed, hours perhaps. He was still crying silently, the only noise being his breathing and the light breeze of the night. It was comforting to be alone, but it hurt so much.
“Ouma-san, are you alright?” Kokichi audibly gasped in surprise upon hearing the anthropologist’s voice.
The taller man kneeled down next to him, when did he even get there? Kokichi refused to look at him directly.
“Is something wrong?”
“N… Nothing. It’s a lie! You were fooled by the supreme leader of evil.” He laughed weakly, cursing himself for stuttering.
“That doesn’t seem like a lie, you’re avoiding the subject, yes?” Korekiyo’s hand rested on top of Kokichi’s shoulder, trying to comfort him but without overstepping.
He didn’t answer, his tears were still falling down as if his eyes were a broken faucet.
Korekiyo waited for him patiently, and somehow Kokichi didn’t want to push him away despite finally starting to cry audibly. Korekiyo pulled him into a gentle hug, rubbing his back, patiently.
He didn’t know how or why, but he found himself sobbing against Korekiyo’s chest. What was wrong with him?
“Do you wish to talk about what troubles you, Ouma-san?”
There it is again.
Kokichi’s sobbing became sadder, louder. He felt like he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop calling me that!” He managed to let out, without thinking.
“Oh?” Korekiyo looked at him surprised, curious.
‘Shit’, he thought. But there was no returning.
“Does the honorific ‘san’ bother you? If so, my apologies.” Kokichi nodded. “Which would you prefer me using on you, then?” Kokichi felt bandaged hands run through his hair, and he took a deep breath.
“I… I like ‘kun’.”
“Alright, Ouma-kun,” That… felt nice. “Do you want to talk about what troubles you?”
“I…” He made a long pause. “I’m just… done. I… I don’t know how to even explain it… I just… hate a lot of things and… It makes me feel like shit.” He mumbled.
Korekiyo just nodded, waiting for him to finish, patiently. He was still running his hand through Kokichi’s hair.
“I… You were right about me hating my name.”
Korekiyo hummed.
“I hate it so fucking much and I-” His voice broke. “I hate how I look, I-...I hate the clothes in my closet, I hate the way people talk to me- I… I… I hate the way they see me, the way they treat me… I’m just- I’m done with it!” He took a deep breath, he knew what he was saying, he knew he was saying it out loud and risking his safety and mask, but he felt relief. It was all out.
He parted from the hug, Korekiyo let go of him, and he tried to calm himself down. Breathing in and out, deep breaths…
“I’m a boy.”
He waited, for the laughs, anything. It never came. He looked at Korekiyo’s eyes, they didn’t have a hint of malice.
“Thank you for telling me, Ouma-kun. It must be very difficult to be treated as someone you are not, and I apologize if I ever made you upset or uncomfortable.” That was… new. “Do you go by a different name?”
“Kokichi. It’s Kokichi. But don’t tell anyone, please.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Kokichi.” Even if Korekiyo’s mask was in the way, he had a feeling that the taller man had a genuine, gentle smile on his lips. It felt… warm. “Hm… ‘Kokichi’... ‘Small luck’, yes?”
“Mhm… I like that meaning.” Kokichi smiled. “Yours means ‘just and pure’, right?” Korekiyo nodded. “That’s… a really pretty meaning.”
-
The next morning, his closet was full of pants and shirts, there was no trace of a skirt or a dress.
He knew he had to be honest for at least once in his life, and maybe he had someone by his side to help him this time. It felt warm, and he knew it meant something beautiful.