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Her name was Akamatsu Kaede, and she should’ve been excelling as the Super High School Level Pianist attending the prestigious Hope’s Peak Academy.
However, an upperclassman had far different plans for the billions already struggling to survive on Earth. What should have been semesters filled with intrigue shifted dramatically, becoming a fight for her life each day. She wasn’t in classes; she was on the desolate streets, surrounded by chaos and carnage. Fires broke out, seemingly at random, on overturned automobiles or buildings. The city, and subsequently, the entire world, was engulfed in manmade wars without an end in sight. Even with the promises of the Future Foundation vying to restore order, Akamatsu was cradling the pipe to her chest and fending off waves of despair.
She wasn’t alone, mercifully. She had located others who were supposed to have been in her class. The Super High School Supreme Leader was an expert at setting devious traps as he searched for the members of his elite organization. The Super High School Level Astronaut, like herself, was a natural leader, who often planned with her on their next move to help average civilians. And the Super High School Level Child Caregiver was shockingly skilled with an array of dangerous weapons, which was a feat she never explained.
But now, they were surrounded. No amount of coordination could’ve prevented the onslaught. There were far too many. Their enemies, proudly donning Monokuma helmets, came from cramped alleyways or dragged themselves up through manholes. It was as if everyone collectively decided to kill the students who bore the next generation of hope.
Their backs were pressed together. Ouma cracked a joke, and no one reprimanded him. He promptly fell silent, clutching the electric hammer created by the former Super High School Level Inventor.
“We’ve got no choice,” Momota growled. “Get ready to move.”
As is reading his mind, Harukawa stated, “The only way is through them.”
Ouma smirked. “I could’ve told you that.”
Swallowing hard, Akamatsu readied her weapon. Their escape was a stretch of road in front of her, their heads turning in her direction. Twisting the rusted, unwashed pipe, its end jagged, she shouted, “Then, let’s not waste another second! Here we go!”
Everything was a blur as they ran. Harukawa moved like scarlet lightning. Blood spurted around her, followed by a hail of bullets. Akamatsu ran, legs pounding on the cracked concrete. Ouma pivoted next to her, swinging his hammer square into the jaw of an enemy who nearly snatched a fistful of her hair. She gasped out her gratitude just as she rammed her pipe into a woman’s shoulder, the crack echoing in her ears.
“We’re gonna make it!” Momota bellowed from the rear. “Keep going, keep going, keep - in front!”
His wail ached. It happened far too quickly for Akamatsu to comprehend. Tires squealed, burning rubber. A limousine was careening toward them. The driver hardly slowed, battering into poor fools unlucky enough to stand in their path. Their bodies were dragged under the tires, leaving them mangled messes. Ouma and Harukawa parted for the side, the latter snapping at her to hurry, but no one reached Akamatsu in time.
Her eyes widened. There were two young women in the car. She caught the gaze of the one sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat. Her steel-blue eyes were a color she’d never forget. They were in magazines and screens everywhere, both before and after the world went to hell.
The mastermind stared at her in the split second it took for Akamatsu to jump onto the roof of the car. Pain shot through her legs, her muscles crying as she was jolted. She caught the windshield wiper, the wind beating at her back. The driver, her sister, whatever her name was, frantically swerved to the right, but Akamatsu moved on instinct, blind to her actions. Her arm thrust forward, emboldened by the rage searing through her body.
Akamatsu’s life was in shambles; the entire planet had fallen to her despairing regime. The future she wanted hadn’t come to pass.
And it was all the fault of Enoshima Junko, who, as glass erupted, gasped.
Squelch.
Hot blood splashed on Akamatsu’s face.
The car spun out of control.
She was flung like trash. She slammed into the uprooted sidewalk, shoulder cracking, the bones grinding. Akamatsu rolled, sharp discomfort shooting through her arm. Her hand flexed, but she was no longer carrying her pipe.
No one attacked her; all eyes were on the car that smashed into an apartment building, shattering the front door.
As her friends rushed to her side, Akamatsu moaned through gritted teeth. Momota demanded to know if she was crazy or okay. Ouma insisted it was the former. Harukawa agreed as she examined the extent of Akamatsu’s injuries. Akamatsu, shock coursing through her, couldn’t hear them over the static shrieking in her brain.
She couldn’t work her jaw, pulsing pangs in their joints. She pointed at the passenger door opening. They followed her finger, and any of their reprimands died in their throats.
Akamatsu was unable to look away from the woman she impaled, and the entire world stood still on its axis.
Rich, dark blood gushed from Enoshima’s smiling mouth. It seeped like oil down her blazer. She stumbled toward Akamatsu, her pipe jammed square through her heart. She groped her chest, giggling and groaning, tears dribbling down her rouged, smeared cheeks.
One hesitant step at a time, Enoshima dragged herself to Akamatsu. Her friends were already gripping their weapons, as dumbstruck as the legion that loyally served Enoshima’s wiles. Even her sister, who scrambled out of the car, hadn’t moved when Enoshima raised her hands.
Twitching fingers curved inward. Slowly, she brought them together. Her knuckles rested on each other as the tips of her thumbs pressed.
Enoshima gave Akamatsu her heart with a chipper gurgle, a facsimile of a laugh.
Her eyes rolled to the top of her head. Her knees buckled, and arms drooped.
Without a single word, Enoshima dropped dead.
What happened afterward was a bloody blur, of Harukawa and Enoshima’s sister clashing, of Future Foundation soldiers storming the city, of Akamatsu being recognized as a true symbol of hope.
The world hailed Akamatsu as their hero. But Akamatsu twinged at every possibility Enoshima ripped from her, for she had the final say.
Enoshima planted the notion of what could’ve been them in Akamatsu’s own heart.