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Chapter Text

“Usami-san, are you there…?”

The rabbit’s ears perked upon hearing the voice of Alter Ego, putting her assortment of crayons down and looking over to the monitor that depicted her older “brother”.

Inside the coy confines of the Neo World Program, Usami, also known as Monomi (a name that she had grown admittedly more accustomed), found herself in a rare moment of tranquility. The digital landscape around her was serene, mirroring the peaceful island setting she had created within the program.

Usami sat on a patch of virtual grass, her fluffy rabbit ears twitching with delight as she doodled inside a diary. Her attempts at writing were rather amateurish, consisting mostly of colorful scribbles that only she could decipher, but it brought her immense joy nonetheless. She liked to believe that she had gotten better at writing over the past year and would no longer need anyone to do it for her. Not bad for not having any real fingers, she believed.

As she sketched imaginary scenes of happiness and friendship, Usami's thoughts drifted back to the tumultuous events that had transpired since the conclusion of the Final Killing Game, marking a turning point for both Hope's Peak Academy and the world beyond.

It had been a year since the harrowing Final Killing Game had concluded.

Usami didn't have a clear sense of time within the program, but Alter Ego had kept her informed of the outside world's progress and what their friends had been doing ever since.

Naegi took on a prominent role in reshaping Hope's Peak's identity, appearing on numerous news broadcasts to address concerns and outline sweeping reforms. However, with the combined resources of Togami, Asahina, and Hagakure, the school's reconstruction gained momentum.

One of the key changes was the abolition of the Reserve Course, a move aimed at fostering equality and inclusivity within the student body. Background checks became mandatory for prospective students, replacing the previous system of talent scouting. Entrance exams based on merit and potential replaced arbitrary selection processes, signaling a shift away from the obsession with "ultimate" abilities.

Naegi's vision for Hope's Peak was ambitious yet inspiring. He pledged to focus on nurturing the potential in every individual, regardless of their background or perceived talents. The school's new mission resonated with a world weary of division and despair, offering a beacon of optimism and progress.

Politicians and activists voiced their dissent, arguing vehemently against the reopening of the prestigious academy. They pointed to the atrocities of the past, the horrors unleashed within its hallowed halls during the Tragedy. They warned of the dangers of repeating past mistakes, of inviting despair back into the world with open arms.

Naegi was already aware of this. He refused to waver in the face of adversity. With a quiet determination born of unwavering conviction, he stood firm in his belief that Hope's Peak Academy could be a beacon of light once more

In the aftermath of the Final Killing Game, the survivors had carved paths of resilience and growth, each finding their own place in a world scarred by despair but hopeful for the future.

Ando, her vibrant spirit undimmed by past trials, had flourished in the hallowed halls of Anthem Heart University. The medical school department had become her sanctuary, a realm where she could channel her talents and compassion into healing others. Her emails, filled with anecdotes of triumphs and challenges, served as rays of encouragement to her fellow survivors scattered across the globe.

Meanwhile, Munakata, the stoic former Vice Chairman of hope, had embarked on a monumental endeavor. His vision extended beyond the borders of Japan, reaching across oceans to America, home to the world's largest consumer market. With unwavering determination, he toiled tirelessly to establish Hope's Peak Academy's overseas campus, a beacon of inspiration and enlightenment in a land brimming with diverse potential.

The mention of Chisa and Juzo still pained him greatly, while unspoken it was ever-present. Munakata's relentless dedication to his work was a testament to his resolve, a silent tribute to the comrades he had lost and the ideals they had fought for.

As for Mitarai, the ‘Neo Ultimate Hope’ himself was recognized by a prestigious Japanese university had recognized his intellect and passion, offering him a position teaching cultural studies. It was a role befitting his rank within the Future Foundation, a chance to impart wisdom and foster understanding in the next generation.

According to rumors, Gekkogahara’s scarf was worn at all times.

Under the astute leadership of Togami, the Future Foundation mobilized its vast network of operatives and allies, marshaling every ounce of its collective strength in service of a singular goal: returning the world back to normal (or maybe even better). Recognizing the symbolic significance of the esteemed institution, Togami spared no expense in his efforts to breathe new life into its hallowed halls, viewing it as a beacon of hope in a world still reeling from the trauma of despair.

With the urgency of the situation pressing upon them, Togami wasted no time in assembling a new cadre of leaders to steer the Future Foundation towards a brighter future. Drawing from the ranks of the organization's second-in-commands, he handpicked individuals of unparalleled skill and dedication to serve as Division Leaders, entrusting them with the monumental task of rebuilding and reforming the organization from within.

Among them, Naegi stood poised to assume the mantle of the 14th Branch Leader. However, he decided to decline the role and refocus his efforts on rebuilding the academy.

However, even as the Future Foundation sought to chart a course towards renewal, it could not escape the toll exacted by the Tragedy. For some, the scars of their experiences ran too deep, rendering them unable to continue their work within the organization. Among those who chose to depart were Asahina, Munakata, Mitarai, and Ando, each grappling with the weight of their memories and the burden of their past.

The world continued to turn, its rhythms a melody of resilience and renewal. Amidst the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, the survivors of each killing game forged ahead, their paths intertwined by shared experiences yet divergent in their aspirations.

Usami, the ever-cheerful and nurturing teacher she'd always been, couldn't contain her overflowing emotions at the news of her beloved 77th class thriving and finding happiness. As she scrolled through the heartwarming updates and announcements, tears of joy streamed down her virtual cheeks, painting a poignant picture of pure elation.

Among the amazing stories of success and happiness, one particular announcement resonated deeply with Usami's compassionate heart. Kuzuryu and Pekoyama, whose bond had withstood trials of loyalty and devotion, had taken a monumental step forward in their relationship. Their engagement, a testament to love's enduring strength, was met with jubilation and anticipation by their friends and well-wishers.

Usami was happy, in fact, she couldn’t stop crying tears of joy at the revelation that two of her beloved students were getting married, it seemed like things were finally starting to look up.

Inside the void landscape of the Neo World Program, Usami reveled in the heartwarming news of her former students' success and happiness. "I'm so happy for them," she whispered to herself, wiping away tears of joy that flowed freely. “Oniisan, have you heard the wonderful news? Kuzuryu-kun and Pekoyama-san had just announced their engagement!”

Her moment of happiness was abruptly interrupted by Alter Ego, who stood there with a straight face. "Usami, we have a serious problem," he stated, his voice tinged with concern.

Usami's ears perked up, her expression shifting from joy to worry. "What's the matter…is something wrong?"

Alter Ego nodded gravely. "Yes, there's been an emergency.”

“Emergency?!” Usami gasped.

Alter Ego nods. “I've been trying to remove completely Enoshima's data from the program for months now, but I haven't been successful. The program's hardware is experiencing some difficulty to delete her code."

“What?!” Usami cried. “But wasn’t the forced shutdown supposed to delete her?!”

“Partially,” Alter Ego nods. “Father, Aunty Miaya, and Matsuda-kun implemented a specific rules inside the program, ones that I cannot undone so easily.”

"What does that mean?" Usami whimpered.

"It means that now that since Enoshima's AI hasn't been properly deleted, she'll still have administrator rights," Alter Ego informed her.

Immediate fear surged through Usami as she processed the information. "But if Enoshima's data is recovered and she takes over the program again it could lead to disaster, especially if Monokuma returns," she exclaimed, her virtual form trembling with fear.

Alter Ego continued, "Enoshima specifically programmed her AI's data to back itself up in the program. It's in the process of being recovered, and if it succeeds, she could regain control and wreak havoc."

Fear gnawed at Usami's core as she contemplated the potential consequences. "What should we do, Alter Ego? How can we prevent this disaster from happening?"

After a moment of consideration, Alter Ego spoke with a hint of resolve in his voice. "World Destroyer-kun informed me that the easiest option is to perform a factory reset on the Neo World Program. It will delete all the files installed into the program, including Enoshima's data."

Usami's panic intensified as she realized the potential consequences of the factory reset. "Wait, Oniisan," she exclaimed, her voice trembling with fear. "What about Chiaki-chan? Her data’s still somewhere inside of the program too and we still haven’t even recovered her!”

Alter Ego's virtual form flickered with concern. "I know. We've been trying to recover Chiaki-chan’s data, but it's proving to be difficult. Her existence is intertwined with the memories of the real Chiaki-chan, making it harder to retrieve her."

Usami's ears drooped in despair, "We can't just abandon her.”

“I know,” Alter Ego nodded in agreement. "To prevent Enoshima from escaping, someone would need to manually shut down the program from the inside. I’d do it myself, but my administrator rights are limited, and certain areas are blocked off by Observers. I don't want Togami-kun to discover what's happening either."

Desperation etched into Usami's features as she racked her virtual brain for a solution. "What if I investigate the depths of the program, maybe I can delete the program?" she suggested, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

Alter Ego hesitated, his digital avatar shimmering as he carefully chose his words. "Usami-chan, I believe you're better equipped to help from the outside. Your nurturing presence and positivity have always been a source of strength for everyone here."

Usami's ears twitched anxiously as she absorbed Alter Ego's warning. "So, what you're saying is removing the virus might not work that way?" she questioned, her voice tinged with concern.

Alter Ego nodded solemnly. "Yes. As administrators of the Neo World Program, we have certain privileges and protections. If we were to lose those rights or be deleted, Enoshima's AI could exploit the loophole and gain control, taking control like before."

Usami's virtual form sagged with the weight of the revelation. "But we can't just stand by and do nothing. There has to be a way to stop her."

As she pondered their next move, a familiar voice materalized through the digital realm. "You are correct, and I believe there is one way to handle this." The AI, who looked like Hinata with red eyes, walked over to the two.

Usami's eyes widened in hope. "World Destroyer-kun, can you help us?”

The enigmatic AI shook his head regretfully. "No, I cannot...my programming is specifically designed to awaken the comatose students of the killing school trip. Dealing with the virus within the program is beyond my capabilities."

Alter Ego's virtual avatar flickered with frustration. "I was afraid of that," he muttered, his digital brow furrowed in thought.

Usami turned to World Destroyer, cowering in fear. "What are we supposed to do, then? We can't just let Enoshima's AI come back, what if she sends mice to chew my ears?”

Alter Ego frowned. "Well have to act fast," he said. "If Enoshima's AI fully takes over the program again, who knows what will happen."

"Maybe we should tell Hinata-kun and the others?" Usami asked. "I'm sure my students would be happy to help."

World Destroyer's mechanical voice hummed with precision and calculation. "No, I forbid it. It is imperative that we maintain confidentiality regarding the remnants of Enoshima's AI within the Neo World Program and not disclose this information to anyone from the outside world."

Usami blinked, her fluffy ears twitching with surprise. "Why keep it under wraps...? Shouldn't we tell the others as well? It was our teamwork that helped defeat Enoshima in the first place."

"No," World Destroyer shot down. "I am an artificial intelligence solely created for the purpose of uplifting the well-being of an individual. I cannot our allies to be put in a scenario that would hinder their development. Informing them could exacerbate their trauma."

"I guess you're right," Alter Ego sighs. "Hinata-kun, Mitarai-kun, Naegi-kun and the others have all been working towards creating their own futures. It wouldn't be fair to drag them back in a situation like this."

World Destroyer's synthesized voice echoed through the digital space, its tone sharp and analytical. "Additionally, I have made a rather intriguing discovery while conducting an analysis of the Neo World Program's data."

Usami's fluffy ears twitched with curiosity. "Oh? What did you find?"

The AI's digital avatar flickered as it spoke. "It appears that there has been recent activity within the program. Specifically, Enoshima's AI has accessed footage from the Final Killing Game."

Oh yeah! Usami embarrassingly recalled in her head, the Neo World Program had files from Hope's Peak Academy, the Future Foundation, as well as footage from the killing school life broadcast, the killing game on Jabberwock Island, and the Future Foundation's killing game. Togami was insistent on this being uploaded into the program from analytical purposes.

Alter Ego's digital avatar flickered with confusion. "But what could your virus possibly want with footage from the killing game?"

"I'm not sure. It doesn't make sense." Usami wondered.

World Destroyer interjected, its synthesized voice cutting through the confusion. "While she lacks the ability to enact significant changes within the program, it appears that something unusual has occurred. The AI has taken the footage and converted the participants of the Final Killing Game into data."

Usami's eyes widened in shock. "Converted them into data? How is that even possible?"

World Destroyer explained, "It is akin to creating artificial intelligences within the program. By extracting data from the footage, the AI has effectively replicated the participants' personalities and memories within the virtual space."

Usami's virtual ears twitched with concern. "But what could Enoshima's AI possibly plan to do with that?"

"Even with my analytical capabilities, it is difficult to deduce the exact intentions of Enoshima's AI." World Destroyer said with uncertainty.

STARTING PCS VERSION 1.01…

OK…

NEO WORLD PROGRAM…

> GAME START

“What…just happened…?” a boy muttered.

Mitarai Ryota's consciousness gradually emerged from the fog of unconsciousness, like a ship navigating through a thick mist. His thoughts struggled to pierce through the haze, attempting to piece together the fragments of memory that lingered on the fringes of his mind.

Recollections flickered like distant stars in the night sky. Naegi's trial loomed large in his thoughts, a looming specter of impending judgment. Future Foundation HQ, a bastion of hope besieged by shadows, its corridors echoing with the clamor of conflict. And then, Asahina's urgent proclamation, a harbinger of chaos, shattering the fragile tranquility of the moment.

A sense of disorientation washed over him as he recalled the sudden appearance of the sleeping gas grenade, a silent intruder that stole away his consciousness like a thief in the night. His surroundings felt unfamiliar, alien, as if he had been transported to a realm beyond the boundaries of his comprehension.

With a trembling hand, Ryota pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting against the effort as if weighed down by invisible shackles. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, obscured by the veil of his bangs. And there, clasped around his wrist like a silent sentinel, was the enigmatic metal bracelet, its intricate design a testament to craftsmanship beyond his ken.

The bracelet had a series of buttons tucked away onto the side, he feared that pressing one of them may activate some kind of self destruct, but his body refused to ignore the warnings of his mind and pressed the button anyway. On the bracelet appeared grimly lit red letters inscribed on it and a foreboding piece of text that largely confused him.

"Using Your Talent"

"Well," Monokuma began. "I'll just let that be my little secret!"

Before bidding them farewell, Monokuma unveiled the accommodations he had arranged for the Future Foundation members during their stay on the island. A cluster of charming cottages, each customized to suit the tastes and needs of its occupants, dotted the landscape. Divided by gender, the cottages occupied distinct halves of the main island, ensuring privacy and comfort for all.

With no means of transportation off the island, their escape options were severely limited. Boats were nowhere to be found, and the airplanes had been rendered useless with their engines removed. Additionally, Monokuma had confiscated their cellphones, leaving them completely cut off from the outside world. As a substitute, he provided each of them with an e-handbook reminiscent of those used by students at Hope's Peak Academy, a tool that would undoubtedly become indispensable during their time on the island.

As Ryota made his way toward his designated cottage, the gentle rustle of palm leaves and the distant murmur of the ocean enveloped him, offering a semblance of tranquility amidst the chaos of their predicament. Yet, beneath the surface, an unsettling sense of displacement lingered, a reminder of the vast distance that separated him from familiarity and safety.

Approaching the cottage, the Ultimate Animator couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him. Despite its picturesque exterior, the structure loomed before him like a foreboding fortress, its allure tainted by the knowledge of their captivity. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the luxurious accommodations meticulously arranged by Monokuma. The interior exuded an air of opulence, with plush furnishings and modern amenities reminiscent of a high-end hotel. However, the sense of comfort was overshadowed by a creeping sense of dread, as if every indulgence served as a cruel reminder of their imprisonment.

Monokuma made sure to design the cottage to the boy's liking, almost like he was mocking him. The cottage has a state of the art TV and DVDs of his favorite anime movies. It was as if the bear knew how to exploit his weaknesses, creating an ironic prison filled with twisted elements of pleasure.

With a heavy sigh, Ryota contemplated his next course of action. He resolved to retreat into solitude within the confines of his cottage, locking the door as a feeble attempt to shield himself from the chaos unfolding outside. For the next seventeen days, he intended to wait out the ordeal, clinging to the faint hope that rescue would eventually arrive and deliver them from this nightmare.

The decision to isolate himself stemmed from a lifetime of social alienation and insecurity. Before his enrollment at Hope's Peak, Ryota had known only loneliness and rejection, his existence marked by the sting of bullying and the absence of genuine companionship. In his eyes, there were others far more capable than him, individuals whose strength and resilience eclipsed his own, and who stood a better chance of confronting Monokuma and securing their salvation.

The Ultimate Animator slumped further into his bed, resigned to his fate. "Looks like I'm stuck here for a while," he muttered to himself, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon him.

But his solitude was short-lived, as the mischievous bear Monokuma made his sudden appearance, disrupting Ryota's moment of introspection. “Wrong! C’mon, Mitarai-kun! Don’t go taking the fun out of this vacation!” the bear shouted. Startled, Ryota recoiled at the sight of the iconic black-and-white mascot, his unease palpable.

Monokuma's cheery demeanor clashed sharply with the gravity of their predicament, prompting Ryota to voice his confusion. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone tinged with apprehension.

“Just making sure that you do your fair share in this vacation as well!” Monokuma replied. “I mean, you kids these days are so caught up in hustle culture that you never give yourself time to have an actual fun.”

The bear's response was characteristically enigmatic, its underlying message a challenge to Ryota's preconceived notions of leisure and productivity. As Monokuma spoke of the importance of embracing relaxation, Ryota couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, uncertain of what twisted games the bear had in store for them.

“Who asked you?!” Ryota barked.

Monokuma's response was characteristically flippant, his tone tinged with a hint of mischief. "Hey, all I'm saying is that this is the whole reason that middle-aged people go through a midlife crisis in the first place," the bear retorted, his words carrying a weight of ironic wisdom.

Ryota felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him as Monokuma continued to speak in his usual cryptic manner. Internally, he seethed with irritation, wishing the bear would just give him a straight answer for once. This constant dance of vague hints and elusive responses only served to fuel Ryota's growing sense of unease and apprehension. He longed for clarity in this chaotic situation, but it seemed that clarity was the last thing Monokuma was willing to offer.

Monokuma's beady eyes gleamed with mischief as he observed Ryota's confusion. With a mischievous grin, the bear declared, "Well, if you won't participate willingly, then I'll just have to make you!"

Ryota's eyes widened in disbelief, his heart pounding with apprehension at the ominous threat. "What do you mean?" he stammered, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

The Ultiamte Hearthrob? That sounded like a strange name, especially for someone like Ryota. With his introverted nature, social situations can be overwhelming for him, especially when it comes to interactions with females. His past experiences with females have been fraught with insecurity and anxiety, leading him to believe that he is not worthy of their attention or affection.

"Simple," Monokuma replied, his tone dripping with malice. "From this day forward, you shall be known as the 'Ultimate Heartthrob'! And you'll be required to spend time with every member of the Future Foundation, whether you like it or not. Refuse, and you'll face the consequences!"

“Think of this as the start of a new character arc, like in an anime! A shy basket case blooming into the beautiful swan they were always meant to be.” the two-toned bear teased.

Ryota scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's the worst analogy I've ever heard!" he retorted, his voice tinged with irritation.

Monokuma chuckled gleefully, unfazed by Ryota's reaction. "Ah, but you'll see, Mitarai-kun," the bear replied, his tone dripping with amusement. "You're about to embark on a journey of self-discovery and growth. It'll be positively riveting!"

Ryota rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to groan in frustration. "I highly doubt that," he muttered under his breath, unable to suppress his skepticism. "And what were you talking about before when you said consequences?"

"Then everyone's gonna be injected with poison!" Monokuma laughed.

Ryota's eyes widened in horror at Monokuma's chilling revelation. "Poison...?" he gasped, his voice trembling with fear.

The bear's grin widened as he continued his twisted explanation. "That's right, Mitarai-kun," Monokuma said, his tone dripping with malice. "These bangles aren't just for show. They have the power to enforce compliance, and if you refuse to cooperate, well..." He trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Ryota felt a cold shiver run down his spine as the weight of the situation settled heavily upon him. He glanced down at the bangle encircling his wrist, a stark reminder of the grim reality he now faced. With a heavy heart, he realized that he had no choice but to comply with Monokuma's demands, no matter how distasteful they may be.

"But fear not!" Monokuma chirped, his voice falsely cheerful. "I'm an honest bear, so I'll leave the choice up to you, Mitarai-kun." His eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as he waited for Ryota's response, knowing full well the weight of the decision he had just placed upon the Ultimate Animator's shoulders.

Ryota's mind raced with a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The weight of Monokuma's ultimatum pressed heavily upon him, each word reverberating through his mind like a relentless echo. He felt a surge of fear and frustration, coupled with a deep-seated anger at the unfairness of it all. How could he, a mere high school student with no experience in such dire situations, be tasked with such a monumental responsibility?

Yet amidst the turmoil, a flicker of determination ignited within him. Ryota knew he couldn't simply stand idly by while his comrades suffered the consequences of his inaction. The thought of his friends falling victim to Monokuma's twisted games spurred him to action, stirring a newfound resolve within his heart.

With a heavy sigh, Ryota resigned himself to the grim reality of their situation. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and uncertainty, but he also understood that he couldn't afford to let fear dictate his actions. As he gazed out at the tranquil scenery beyond his window, he made a silent vow to himself: no matter what trials lay ahead, he would do whatever it took to protect his friends and ensure their safe return home.

Chapter Text

I couldn't help but feel a sense of uncertainty creeping in. Sure, the idea of a tropical getaway sounds appealing on the surface—sand, sun, and sea. But in our world, nothing is ever as it seems, especially when Monokuma is involved. I can't shake this feeling of apprehension, this nagging doubt that something sinister lurks beneath the facade of paradise. It's like we're trapped in a twisted game, with Monokuma pulling the strings, orchestrating our every move. And then there's the matter of these 'hope shards' we're supposed to collect. What exactly are they, and why are we being forced to gather them? Is it just another one of Monokuma's mind games, designed to keep us on edge and at each other's throats? I wish I could shake this feeling, this constant sense of dread that seems to follow us wherever we go. But no matter how hard I try to convince myself that everything will be okay, a part of me can't help but fear the worst.

As Ryota awakened in the bedroom of his cottage once again, the golden rays of the morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow across the room. The gentle caress of the ocean breeze seeped through the cracks, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea and the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore. With each inhale, Ryota felt the heat of the sun bathe his skin and the cool embrace of the ocean outside beckoning him to explore its depths.

Regretfully, he realized that everything that had transpired yesterday wasn't a dream—it was all too real. Monokuma had indeed arrived to trap them on this island, plunging them into another twisted game of despair. Ryota couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach, a constant reminder of the perilous situation they found themselves in.

As he mulled over the events of the previous day, Ryota couldn't help but feel confused. Why hadn't Monokuma made a move yet? In the past, the malevolent bear had wasted no time in orchestrating chaos and despair, forcing Class 78 into a killing game that ended in tragedy. The uncertainty gnawed at Ryota's mind, leaving him to ponder whether Monokuma was biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

"Wake up, Mitarai-kun!" Yukizome's voice rang out, breaking the tranquility of the morning as she yanked the blankets off his bed with a forceful tug.

Startled, Ryota curled into a fetal position, his body shivering involuntarily as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. "Y-Yukizome-sensei?" he stammered, his voice laced with confusion.

"How did you...?" Ryota began, his brows furrowing in bewilderment as he glanced towards the door, only to find it wide open.

Yukizome flashed him a mischievous grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, you know, Mitarai-kun," she replied nonchalantly, twirling a pair of bobby pins between her fingers. "It's amazing what a pair of bobby pins can do these days."

Ryota couldn't help but marvel at Yukizome's resourcefulness, even in the most unexpected of circumstances. "Right..." he muttered, still processing the sudden wake-up call.

But before he could fully comprehend the situation, Yukizome's tone turned serious. "Listen, Mitarai-kun," she said, her voice firm and commanding. "Just because we've been sent to this island doesn't mean we should be loafing around. The sooner we collect all the hope fragments, the sooner we can get out of here."

She skipped and hummed a song as she exited Ryota's cottage. He retrieved a black suit and tie from his closet and followed suit.

As Ryota stepped through the entrance of the Mirai Hotel, his senses were immediately assailed by the tantalizing aroma of breakfast foods wafting through the air. Yukizome stood before him, a vision of domesticity, having just finished cooking an assortment of dishes that filled the room with warmth and comfort.

Creamy leek, miso, and potato soup bubbled invitingly in a pot on the stove, its rich aroma enveloping the room in a comforting embrace. The gentle simmering of the soup released tantalizing wisps of steam, carrying with them the earthy fragrance of leeks and the savory depth of miso, mingling harmoniously with the buttery notes of potato. The scent of grilled salmon danced enticingly through the air, the fish sizzling and crackling on the skillet with mouthwatering perfection. As if in competition with the savory delights of the soup and salmon, the aroma of omurice added its own tantalizing allure to the mix. And amidst this culinary symphony, the sweet fragrance of freshly cooked pancakes hung in the air like a promise of indulgence and delight.

The smell of the food triggered memories of meals shared with his friends, particularly those cooked by Hanamura. Ryota's heart clenched with a pang of nostalgia, a bittersweet reminder of happier times before the chaos of their current situation had unfolded.

Yukizome smiled warmly as she gestured to the spread of food before them. "Alright, everyone, dig in! I put a lot of love into this meal, so I hope you enjoy it," she encouraged.

Izayoi yawned loudly. "I'll stick with Ruruka's treats for now," he stated firmly.

Gozu furrowed his brow slightly, at least through his mask, his large frame conveying a sense of concern. "Sonosuke be respectful. Chisa went through a lot of effort to make this meal for all of us. We should honor her kindness and try a bit of everything," he suggested gently.

Kimura's expression betrayed her worry as she spoke up. "Is anyone else a little worried about Monokuma's ultimatum? What should we do?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Naegi pondered the question for a moment before responding thoughtfully. "Monokuma made it abundantly clear that we have to collect Hope Fragments if we want to be set free," he reminded them.

Sakakura's tone dripped with sarcasm as he added his thoughts. "Oh get real. Throwing beach parties ain't gonna get us home anytime sooner," he remarked dryly.

"Unfortunately, it seems like we're at Monokuma's mercy. We don't really have much of a choice in the matter," Gekkogahara concluded, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Munakata turned to therapist of the group with a look of determination. "Gekkogahara, have you been able to get in contact with any of the offshore branches?" he inquired, his voice firm.

Gekkogahara shook her head sadly, Usami mimicked those same actions. "I'm afraid not, Kyosuke. It seems that Monokuma disabled the functions on my computer when we arrived on the island. Right now, I can't do anything besides talk through Usami," she admitted, a hint of frustration evident in her voice.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the horizon, Yukizome decided it was time for a well-deserved break. She fetched a couple of beach chairs and a soft, woven blanket, creating a cozy spot for them to relax by the water's edge. Ryota sunk into the chair, feeling the gentle breeze caress his skin as he closed his eyes and listened to the soothing melody of the waves.

Ryota had to admit, he was quite surprised that Yukizome was even willing to take a break. For as long as he'd known the woman, she was always hard-working and diligent person. Then again, Ryota never witnessed her in a vacation setting either.

The Ultimate Animator glanced over at his former teacher, noticing a hint of sadness in her eyes as they sat on the sandy shore, taking a break from their swimming lessons. "Hey, Yukizome-sensei, can I ask you something?" he inquired gently.

She turned to him, her expression softening. "Of course, Mitarai-kun. What's on your mind?"

Ryota hesitated for a moment before asking, "Why... why didn't you ever learn to swim? I remember you mentioning that once before, but I never had the opportunity to ask why."

"Hm," Yukizome hummed. "Any reason you're interested in hearing that...?"

"Oh, well it just seemed like something you put a lot of emphasis on I guess...I mean, if you don't wanna talk about that then it's fine. I'm sorry I brought it up—"

Yukizome's smile faltered slightly as she looked out at the ocean. "No it's fine, Mitarai-kun. I never really had the opportunity. You see, I never met my parents. I spent my entire childhood in an orphanage."

Ryota thought back to the stories he had heard about Yukizome's past, recalling how she had grown up as an orphan at the Citrus Girls Orphan Home. Despite facing relentless bullying, she had remained a beacon of kindness and support for the other children. Her resilience and unwavering positivity, even in the face of such adversity, only deepened his admiration for her.

The animator looked to his former teacher with understanding in his eyes. "It must have been really hard for you, Yukizome-sensei. I can relate to being bullied. I was teased a lot for wanting to be an animator."

The Ultimate Housekeeper nodded, her smile warm but wistful. "It was tough, but I try not to think about it too much. I've moved on from all of that."

Ryota admired her resilience. "I really respect that you never let the past get the best of you. You've grown so much."

Yukizome chuckled softly. "I haven't fully grown yet, Ryota. I see myself as a lifelong learner. There are still so many things I need to do."

Curious, Ryota tilted his head. "Like what?"

The woman's eyes sparkled with excitement as she began to list off items from her bucket list. "Well, for starters, I want to travel to every continent. I also want to learn how to play the piano, write a book about my experiences, maybe run a marathon someday, start a relationship with Kyosuke, find the time to—"

"K-Kyosuke?!" Ryota gasped, "Do you mean Munakata-san...?"

Yukizome blushed. "You didn't hear that!"

"But I—"

"Not a word, young man," Yukizome pouted. "I mean it!"

A brief silence settled between them, lasting at least a minute. Ryota found himself too nervous to talk after Yukizome's last statement. He glanced at the waves, unsure of what to say next.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice soft but resolute. "I never want to stop growing, Mitarai-kun. I always want to find ways to improve my skills and show everyone at the orphanage what I'm capable of."

She looked at Ryota with a tender expression, her voice filled with warmth. "I don’t want you to stop growing either, Mitarai-kun," she said softly.

Ryota’s eyes widened in surprise. "You really think I can keep growing?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Yukizome nodded, her cheeks tinting a delicate pink. "I believe you have a lot of potential, and I want to help bring that out. You just need to believe in yourself."

Ryota hesitated, then asked shyly, "Do you really think that’s possible for someone like me?"

Yukizome's smile was radiant, her blush deepening as she spoke. "Absolutely, once we leave the island and get back to H.Q, I want to become your teacher again and help you flourish in your talents."

Ryota felt a warmth spread across his face, his own cheeks turning a rosy hue as he met her gaze. "I would really like that, Yukizome-sensei," he replied, his voice filled with newfound confidence and affection.

~Shot Through the Heart~

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue over the tranquil beach, Ryota and Yukizome strolled along the shoreline, their footsteps leaving fleeting imprints in the soft sand. The gentle rhythm of the waves provided a soothing soundtrack to their leisurely walk, as they enjoyed the peaceful serenity of the moment.

Yukizome glanced over at Ryota, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "You know, I think we've had enough swimming for today," she remarked, her voice carrying a note of contentment. "What do you say we call it a day, Mitarai-kun?"

Ryota nodded in agreement, a sense of relief washing over him at her suggestion. "I think you're right," he replied, his voice filled with gratitude. "I don't think I would be able to handle anymore for today.

As the Ultimate Animator opened his mouth to speak, ready to offer some more words of agreement, he caught sight of Yukizome standing beside him, her arms crossed behind her back, her gaze fixed on the horizon with a thoughtful expression. She seemed troubled, a sporadic expression for her. Something about the way she stood there, silent and contemplative, gave him pause. It was as if she were lost in her own thoughts, her mind drifting to places he couldn't reach.

For a moment, Ryota hesitated, uncertain of what to say. He watched her in silence, taking in the way the fading sunlight cast a warm glow over her features, illuminating the delicate curve of her cheek and the soft lines of her profile.

Ryota's gaze lingered on Yukizome, his brow furrowing slightly as he noticed her uncharacteristic silence. I've never seen her so quiet before... he thought, a note of curiosity tugging at the corners of his mind. Hmm, I wonder what she's thinking about.

[This is a total loss...]

Huh...? Ryota said in his head. This voice...sounds familiar.

[Maybe what I'm doing isn't working out to well...?]

Are these Yukizome-sensei’s inner thoughts?! Ryota questioned.

A sense of disbelief washed over Ryota as he realized he could hear his teacher's inner thoughts, yet his mind felt strangely blank and empty, unable to grasp the torrent of thoughts swirling around him. Desperate to make sense of what was happening, he focused all his attention on the Ultimate Housekeeper, trying to tune in to the quiet whispers echoing in his mind.

[*sigh* What should I do...?]

[I keep trying to bring everyone together...]

[But, in the end I can't live up to those expectations]

[Things aren't as good as they should be...]

[Maybe the kids at my orphanage were right about me...?]

[How can I be a good housekeeper, if I'm not flawless...?]

"No, that's wrong!" Ryota argued.

"Huh?" Yukizome's eyebrows rasied.

He realized that she likely wasn't hearing his thoughts despite it being the other way around, but it was too late to go back on his word. "Uh, you don't have to be flawless to be a good housekeeper," Ryota explained gently. "Trying to be flawless sounds impossible. It's okay to make mistakes, Yukizome-sensei."

Yukizome leaned back slightly, her brow furrowing with a mixture of determination and self-imposed pressure. "As the Ultimate Housekeeper, a teacher, and a member of the Future Foundation, I feel like I have to be at the top of my game," she admitted, her voice tinged with a sense of responsibility.

Ryota shook his head gently, a look of concern crossing his features. "Yukizome-sensei, you're pushing yourself too hard," he said softly, reaching out to gently grasp her hand. "It's impossible to be perfect, no matter how much you strive for it."

He offered her a reassuring smile, though it was tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I speak from personal experience. I still have a long way to go myself. I struggle to meet deadlines, I have sleeping issues, and I can't seem to stop myself from eating ramen every night because I'm not a very good cook."

Yukizom eyes softened as she listened to Ryota's words, a genuine admiration shining in her gaze. "You know, Mitarai-kun," she began, her voice tinged with warmth, "I've always admired that about you. How you push yourself even when things get difficult."

Ryota felt a blush creeping up his cheeks at her praise, a modest smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Th-thanks, Yukizome-sensei," he stammered, his voice soft with humility. "But there's really nothing special about me. I'm only able to better myself because of the support of my friends."

The housekeeper's expression grew thoughtful as she considered his words, a flicker of realization crossing her features. "Maybe you're right," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of self-reflection. "Maybe that's been my problem all along. I've been overexerting myself, trying to be immaculate in everything I do, but I've never allowed myself to rely on help from others."

Ryota nodded in understanding, a sense of empathy passing between them. "It's okay to ask for help, Yukizome-sensei," he reassured her, even though he didn't have the complete confidence to back up his claim. "We're all in this together, and we'll always be here to support each other, no matter what."

A playful glint danced in Yukizome's eyes as she smiled at Ryota, her expression radiant with affection. "You know what, Mitarai-kun?" she said, her voice laced with playful teasing. "I think it's time we revoke your title of 'rotten orange' and promote you to 'ripe orange' from now on."

Ryota blinked in confusion, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of her words. "Um, what does that even mean?" he asked, his voice tinged with exasperation.

Yukizome laughed, a melodious sound that echoed across the beach, as she skipped along the sand. "It means that the student has now become the teacher," she replied, her laughter dancing on the breeze. "You've grown so much, Mitarai-kun, and it's time we recognize that."

With a mischievous grin, she turned back to him, beckoning him to follow. "Come on, Mitarai-kun," she called out, her voice filled with warmth and affection. "We don't want to keep the others waiting. Let's go!" And with that, she resumed her skipping, leaving Ryota to follow in her footsteps with a smile on his face.

As Ryota strolled along the beach with Yukizome, he found himself mesmerized by her presence. There was an aura of tranquility and warmth that surrounded her, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. In her company, he felt a sense of ease and comfort that he had never known before, as if the world had suddenly become a brighter and more beautiful place.

With each step they took together, Ryota couldn't help but wonder at the power she seemed to possess, the ability to bring out the best in people and make everything better around her. It was a power he admired and, in a way, longed to possess himself. And as he gazed at Yukizome, her laughter echoing in his ears and her smile lighting up the evening sky, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, he was already on his way to becoming the person he had always hoped to be, all thanks to her.

~Love Hotel Suite~

Beneath the fading hues of the evening sky, Ryota Mitarai stood alone on the serene shores of Jabberwock Island, grappling with the unsettling revelation he had uncovered in his e-handbook. The discovery of "Hotel Kumasutra" weighed heavily on his mind, its implications stirring a sense of apprehension within him.

In the solitude of his thoughts, Ryota couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him. The idea of entering such a place filled him with a profound sense of discomfort, yet he knew that Monokuma's rules left him with little choice.

What troubled him most was the notion that within the confines of Hotel Kumasutra, at least according to his e-hanbook, individuals would perceive the first person they encountered as their ideal. The thought of having one's memories tampered with in such a way struck at the core of Ryota's sense of self. What would it mean to see someone as one's "ideal"? Would it distort reality beyond recognition, blurring the lines between truth and fiction?

As Ryota cautiously stepped into the vibrant confines of Hotel Kumasutra, he was immediately engulfed by a kaleidoscope of color. The room, adorned in a striking shade of pink, seemed to pulsate with an almost otherworldly energy. Bright lights illuminated every corner, casting harsh shadows against the walls and adding to the surreal atmosphere.

His eyes were drawn to the center of the room, where a merry-go-round spun in a dizzying display of motion. The carousel horses, painted in a riot of hues, circled around a heart-shaped bed with an almost hypnotic rhythm. It was a scene straight out of a fevered dream, a bizarre amalgamation of whimsy and unease.

Despite the playful appearance of the room, Ryota couldn't shake the feeling of nervousness that coiled in the pit of his stomach. It was a sensation reminiscent of the forbidden television shows his mother had always prevented him from watching as a child—a sense of danger lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare the unwary.

In the center of the room stood Yukizome.

So apparently, every time I come here, I play the role of their "ideal." Like some shared fantasy. But is really appropriate to think about the fantasies of Yukizome-sensei, I mean she was my former teacher...

"Hey, Mitarai-kun, are you even listening?" Yukizome's voice broke through Ryota's thoughts, pulling him back to the present moment.

Ryota blinked, realizing that he had zoned out for a bit. "Oh, sorry, I was thinking about something," he apologized sheepishly, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks.

Yukizome sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "You're as clueless as ever, aren't you?" she remarked, her tone laced with a hint of affectionate frustration. "Honestly, you've been like this since we were kids."

Ryota's cheeks flushed even brighter at her words, a mix of guilt and amusement swirling within him. Despite his best efforts, it seemed that some things never changed. With a rueful smile, he resolved to pay closer attention, determined not to let his absent-mindedness get the best of him again. "Huh, what do you mean ever since we were kids...?"

"You must be really tired if you've forgotten that too," Yukizome began, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia, "Don't you remember? We met when we were only eight years old. We've been best friends ever since."

"Oh, r-right," Ryota lied. "Sorry."

The bond they supposedly forged at such a young age had only grown stronger over the years, or so Yukizome believed. But as she spoke, Ryota couldn't help but sense a subtle shift in her tone. There was a sadness there, buried beneath the surface—a lament for something lost, perhaps. It was a poignant reminder of the fragile nature of their fabricated reality.

"And still," Yukizome continued, her voice growing softer, "Lately, it feels like you care more about your work than spending time together."

"No, that's wrong," Ryota argued. "I get that sometimes I get wrapped up in my work, but I never forget my friends."

Ryota's smile faltered, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience as he maintained the facade. He hadn't realized the impact his feigned dedication to his craft had on their friendship, hadn't seen the way it had slowly eroded the illusion of their shared past.

"I... I'm sorry, Yukizome-sens—uh, Yukizome-san," Ryota quickly corrected. He figured in this fantasy, she was never his homeroom teacher. Nonetheless, he followed with a sight, his voice heavy with regret, though the regret was for deceiving her. "I didn't realize..."

The housekeeper's gaze softened, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and sadness. "It's okay, Mitarai-kun," she replied gently, unaware of the falsity of their memories, "I just miss the days when we used to hang out and have fun together."

The air in the room hung heavy with unspoken tension as the housekeeper hesitated, her words catching in her throat like shards of broken glass. "I... I don't want to be selfish," she finally managed to utter, her voice barely a whisper as she avoided meeting Ryota's gaze. "Especially since I know you have that business trip to Osaka soon."

Ryota's heart clenched at her words, a pang of guilt searing through him like a knife. He hadn't realized the impact his impending trip had on her, hadn't seen the way it had quietly gnawed at her, like a shadow lurking in the depths of her sorrow.

Surprised by the depth of emotion in her voice, Ryota found himself at a loss for words. He had never expected something like this to affect her, had never considered that his own actions could cause her pain.

And yet, when he finally managed to muster a response, his words fell flat against the weight of his own ignorance. "I," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, "I never realized..."

Yukizome's eyes widened in disbelief, her features contorting with a mixture of surprise and hurt. "You never realized?" she echoed, her voice trembling with emotion. "Ryota, I thought you knew me better than that."

Chapter Text

I don't remember much from last night, but yesterday hit me harder than I expected. Yukizome-sensei, the picture of perfection, the woman who always seemed untouchable, actually let her guard down in a way I couldn’t have imagined. I’d always seen her as someone who could do anything, effortlessly. But during our swimming lessons, something changed. Her usual composure cracked, and I saw it—the doubt, the hesitation. She admitted, quietly, that her perfectionism was more like a cage than a strength. She couldn’t bear to fail, and it weighed on her more than I’d ever realized. It was jarring to hear—my teacher, my idol, so vulnerable. It made me rethink everything I thought I knew about her. She wasn’t some invincible force; she was human, just like the rest of us.

Breakfast was a quiet affair that morning—quiet, but not silent. The kind of uneasy hush that lingered in the background, like static you couldn’t quite tune out.

Ryota picked at his grilled salmon with delicate hesitation, the steam rising off his bowl of miso soup curling into the morning air. The tamagoyaki was perfectly rolled, the rice fluffy, the pickled vegetables crisp and tangy. Yukizome had prepared everything with her usual care—bright smile, cheerful humming, the scent of dashi broth filling the air before most had even gotten out of bed. It was delicious. Comforting. Familiar.

But even as he chewed, Ryota could feel the unease gnawing at him beneath the surface. Another day had come and gone. No word from headquarters. No rescue. Just the endless stretch of ocean and the quiet, lapping waves that seemed more distant with every passing hour.

"We can't sit on our asses forever," Sakakura scoffed, kicking his feet onto the table. "We've gotta find a way to get out of this shitty island! And kill that Monokuma bastard while we're at it."

Tengan sighed. "Sakakura-kun, we have exercised all means of escaping. Our only option right now is to follow Monokuma's orders to ensure everyone's safety."

"Still, I can't stand just sittin' around here." Sakakura groaned.

"Alright, smart guy," Ando scoffed. "Do you have any bright ideas on getting out of here?" 

"Maybe we could swim for it?" Asahina suggested brightly, her tone more hopeful than logical. “If we keep heading in one direction, we’d have to reach the mainland eventually, right?”

Ando gave her a flat look from across the table. “What are you, superhuman? No one can swim that far. We'd die before we even made it halfway.”

Asahina frowned. “You don’t know that! I’ve done open-water tournaments before. Long distances aren’t impossible.”

Munakata let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I researched Jabberwock Island extensively before we arrived. The distance between here and Future Foundation’s H.Q. is approximately seventy-seven kilometers.”

There was a pause.

He looked up, voice firm. “It’s impossible. No human can make that swim, not without a support vessel. You’d drown from exhaustion.”

“Tch. So what, we just wait here and rot?” Ando muttered, folding her arms.

“Well, unless a yacht’s hiding under the sand, I’d say we’re fresh out of boats,” Kizakura said, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Whoever stranded us here wasn’t sloppy—they made sure this tropical prison didn’t come with an escape hatch.”

“We could always build one,” Kimura offered, speaking up for the first time that morning. Her voice was calm, but her fingers tapped nervously on the edge of her cup. “A raft. It’d take time, but if it came down to it—”

“Raft’s not reliable,” Kirigiri said, not unkindly. She set down her teacup with a quiet clink. “We’d need one large enough to carry fifteen people, not to mention enough supplies for a trip that could take several days. Add in unpredictable weather conditions, and it becomes a death sentence.”

Kimura paused, nodding slowly. “That’s true… If a storm hit while we were out at sea, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Naegi leaned forward, folding his hands. “Look… I know this isn’t ideal. But I think the best thing we can do right now is stay where we are. At least here, we’re safe. We’ve got shelter, food, and—most importantly—we’ve got each other. Working together is still our best chance.”

The table fell quiet again. Not with despair—but something gentler. Acceptance, maybe. A fragile sliver of hope trying to keep from slipping through their fingers.

Ryota finally picked up his spoon and took a bite.

It didn’t taste like much, but at least it was warm.

The sound of flip-flops smacking against tile broke the relative calm of the dining area.

Ryota looked up just as Bandai strode in with all the confidence of a vacation dad, dressed in a polo shirt, cargo shorts, and a wide straw hat that looked like it belonged on a beach postcard. Slung under one arm was a basket of fruit—freshly picked, if the glinting dew still clinging to the oranges was anything to go by.

“Good morning, everyone!” Bandai called out cheerfully, raising the basket like a trophy. “A starfish doesn't fall deep from the trees twice! Hope you’re all ready for something special—because I’m proud to announce that today marks the first-ever Future Foundation Fruit Carving Competition!”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “Fruit carving?” Asahina perked up immediately, leaning forward. “Wait, like... cutting them into shapes? That sounds adorable! Do we get to eat them after?”

“That depends,” Kizakura muttered from his seat, smirking behind his hat. “On whether you win or your orange ends up looking like a horror show.”

“I’ll make a dolphin!” Asahina declared, entirely ignoring him.

Yukizome, who had just finished drying her hands on a towel after washing the breakfast dishes, turned around with a warm smile. “Now that’s the kind of team-building activity I like to see. Count me in. Though I warn you all, I was president of the cooking club in high school.”

“I’m not sure decorative knife work falls under your jurisdiction,” Kizakura quipped, earning a playful glare from her.

Great Gozu crossed his massive arms and gave a low, thoughtful hum beneath his mask. “Hmph. The aesthetics of fruit, carved with intent and discipline... I accept the challenge.”

Chairman Tengan stroked his beard, eyes twinkling beneath heavy lids as he leaned forward in his seat. “A fruit carving contest, hm? Sounds like a splendid idea. It’s important to nurture the spirit—especially in uncertain times.”

Sakakura nearly choked on his tea. “You can’t be serious, old timer,” he snapped, setting down his cup with a clatter. “What, are you getting soft on us now?”

“You can’t be serious, old timer,” he snapped, setting down his cup with a clatter. “What, are you getting soft on us now?”

Naegi blinked, brows furrowing. “Getting soft? What do you mean by that?”

Ryota hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I… was wondering the same thing.”

Sakakura scoffed, folding his arms. “Of course you wouldn’t know, Naegi. You were too busy having your memory erased inside Hope’s Peak when everything started falling apart. And you—” he jabbed a finger at Ryota, “—you’re too damn passive to even realize what people were really doing back then.”

Ryota shrank back slightly, lips pressing together. He didn’t argue—he never did.

Sakakura’s glare shifted, landing squarely on the old man across from him. “Back when the Tragedy first hit, Tengan didn’t hesitate. He was ruthless. Efficient. The 'Immortal Typhoon' is what they called him. He did whatever it took to wipe out despair, no matter the cost. But then the killing game ended, and suddenly he’s quoting your ideals,” he added bitterly, glancing at Naegi. “Suddenly he’s all about hope and second chances.”

Tengan didn’t so much as flinch. “I fail to see how any of that is relevant to the matter at hand,” he said calmly. “We’re not at war anymore. This isn’t a battlefield. No one here needs violence.”

Sakakura’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more.

Naegi lowered his gaze, uncertain how to respond. He wanted to believe in peace. In rebuilding. But part of him still wondered just how deep the scars ran—and whether the old wounds among them were ever going to heal.

An uneasy silence lingered after Tengan’s final words, tension clinging to the humid morning air like fog. The chairs around the table creaked slightly as people shifted, unsure of what to say, where to look.

Yukizome was the one to break it.

She stood up from the sink, drying her hands on her apron with brisk determination, and turned back to face them all with a firm smile.

“Alright, that’s enough heavy talk for one morning,” she said, her voice light but carrying steel beneath it. “This isn’t a strategy meeting. We’re all tired. We’re all scared. But if we forget how to laugh, how to live, even for just a little bit… then what are we really trying to protect?”

Bandai, still standing with his basket clutched in both hands, gave her a grateful glance—but his expression had lost its earlier brightness. His straw hat drooped slightly as he mumbled, “I just… thought it’d be fun. Something to lift spirits. Guess I was wrong.”

“No,” Ryota said suddenly, surprising even himself. “You weren’t.”

All eyes turned to him. He stiffened in his seat, shoulders drawn up, but he didn’t back down.

“I mean—” he swallowed, forcing the words out, “I’d like to try. Carving. Or… or at least helping someone who’s better at it. I think it would be fun.”

Yukizome beamed at him. “See? That’s the spirit!”

Kirigiri nodded slightly in approval. Even Kizakura raised his cup toward Ryota with a small tilt, like a silent toast.

One by one, the others murmured quiet agreement. Even Ando, though she rolled her eyes, seemed unwilling to outright decline. The weight in the room had started to lift.

But not from everyone.

“Tch,” Sakakura scoffed, pushing back his chair. The legs scraped loudly against the floor as he stood up.

“You can all sit around playing kitchen games if you want. I’ve got better things to do than slice pineapples for fun.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

“Sakakura—” Yukizome began.

But it was Munakata who stood next. “I’ll go,” he muttered, barely looking at anyone else. “I should keep him from doing anything reckless.”

And without another word, he followed after his friend, the door shutting behind them with a muted click. For a moment, the air stood still.

Yukizome sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well,” she said, smiling again—this time softer, more tired. “They’ll come around. Eventually.”

Bandai looked at her, his face still clouded with uncertainty.

“I mean it,” she said, more quietly now. “This matters. Even little things like this—especially little things. That’s what makes us human.”

She took an apple from the basket and raised a carving knife with playful ceremony.

“Now then,” she said, turning back to the group. “Who’s ready to make some fruit art?”

The sun glittered on the turquoise waves, painting the sand a blinding white. The Future Foundation members had traded despair and debate for a rare chance at normalcy—bare feet in the sand, sea breeze in their hair, and watermelon knives at the ready.

They came dressed for the occasion, looking more relaxed than they had in weeks.

Ryota wore a loose white t-shirt with a modest pair of knee-length navy swim trunks. His pale legs were nearly as sun-starved as he was, but the gentle breeze seemed to calm his nerves. A wide straw hat (borrowed from Bandai) covered his face more than it needed to.

Naegi wore a green and white beach hoodie over board shorts, still modest despite the weather. He had sunscreen smudged on his nose, which Asahina had insisted on applying after calling him “burn bait.”

Asahina herself sported a vibrant red and orange athletic swimsuit with a sarong tied at her waist. She’d already jumped into the waves twice before the contest even started.

Kimura had chosen a lavender one-piece swimsuit with a subtle flower motif, along with a translucent shawl to shield her arms. She carried a large beach tote full of herbal remedies and insisted on reapplying aloe to everyone every half hour.

Ando wore a high-cut black halter bikini with gold trim and a sheer, fashionable black cover-up. Her eyes scanned the beach like she was judging a fashion show, even though she half-suspected she’d been tricked into participating in “peasant games.”

Izayoi kept it low-key in a dark tank top and board shorts with a tribal design, his pendant tucked beneath his shirt, as always. He stuck close to Ando but stayed quiet, arms crossed as he observed everyone else’s enthusiasm with a hint of amusement.

Great Gozu towered in the sun, a massive silhouette in a black compression rash guard and red trunks. He wore a kabuki-style towel around his shoulders like a cape and stood near the water, arms crossed, as if guarding the ocean itself.

Gekkogahara, true to form, wore a white sundress over a pale pink two-piece swimsuit with a digital pixel pattern. She sat on a shaded blanket beside her laptop, which projected her Usami avatar onscreen with a floppy straw hat. A miniature carving knife was tucked beside her keyboard.

Bandai had set up a long table near the palm trees, where several large watermelons sat waiting for sculptors.

“Remember,” Bandai called out to the group, slapping a watermelon like it owed him money, “carve with spirit! Channel your inner melon whisperer!”

Ryota blinked down at his chosen fruit, knife trembling slightly in his grip. “Inner… whisperer,” he mumbled.

Bandai chuckled heartily. “It’s just a fruit, Mitarai-chama. Not a thesis. Just have fun with it!”

Ryota took a breath and made his first incision.

It… didn’t go well.

He tried to carve a star. Somehow it became an irregular oval. Then a second attempt resulted in a jagged crescent, which cracked part of the rind. By the time he tried to correct it, the cuts had spiraled into chaos.

When Ryota stepped back, what stared back at him looked vaguely like a screaming cartoon.

“…Oh no.”

Bandai burst into hearty laughter. “Looks like you’ve created a new species! Quick, someone call the biology department!”

Asahina leaned over Ryota’s shoulder and clapped her hands together. “Wait, I love it! It’s like a derpy little mascot!”

Ryota’s ears burned. “I was trying to make a phoenix…”

Asahina winked. “Well, maybe it's a phoenix’s awkward cousin. Either way, it’s adorable.”

Her encouragement sparked a smile out of Ryota before he even realized he was smiling. The knot in his chest loosened a little. Maybe it didn’t matter if it wasn’t perfect. Maybe it was enough that he tried.

Bandai patted him on the back. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “you remind me of myself. Back in the day.”

Ryota tilted his head. “Huh?”

The big man’s eyes drifted to the horizon.

“I used to think if I worked hard enough—grew the best vegetables, raised the happiest animals, made the best soup on Earth—that I’d finally get my parents to smile. Show ‘em that being the Ultimate Farmer wasn’t some dead-end joke.” He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Had this whole day planned once. Showed them everything I built. They left before dessert.”

Ryota blinked. “I… didn’t know.”

Bandai gave him a soft grin. “Didn’t tell anyone. Guess I thought if I said it out loud, it’d feel more real. But you know what?”

He looked down at Ryota’s mess of a melon, still smiling.

“I’d rather carve a lopsided watermelon with people who care than make a perfect dinner for folks who never will.”

Ryota’s chest ached. He stared at the goofy face he’d accidentally carved and found himself nodding.

“Me too,” he whispered.

They didn’t say much else after that. But Bandai ruffled his hair, and Asahina declared their creation “The Watermelon Womp,” earning the first unofficial award for “Most Personality.”

And as the breeze blew in from the sea, Ryota felt—if only for a moment—like maybe he belonged.

"Okay, now ease the seedling in… gently," Bandai instructed, watching Ryota lower a tiny sprout into the soil with trembling care.

Ryota squinted at it. “Like this?”

“Perfect form,” Bandai grinned. “Look at you! Starting to get the hang of harvesting already.”

Ryota blushed, brushing dirt from his palms. “Well… maybe just a little.”

Bandai chuckled and patted him on the head, rough but affectionate. “I’m glad Little Sprout thinks so.”

Ryota blinked, confused. “Little… what?”

“Little Sprout,” Bandai repeated proudly. “That’s what I call you!”

Ryota stared. “Why?”

Bandai rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if trying to remember his own logic. “Well… sprouts are fragile. They don’t look like much at first. But given enough light, care, and time, they grow into something strong. They become the roots of something bigger. That’s you, Mitarai-chama.”

Ryota's eyes widened a bit, warmth blooming quietly in his chest. “Oh…”

Bandai beamed. “I’ve been working on nicknames for all the Future Foundation branch heads, actually. Plant-themed, of course.”

“You… really have?” Ryota asked, both intrigued and mildly horrified.

“Absolutely!” Bandai grinned. He held up a hand, counting on his fingers.

“Gekkogahara-chama is Moss Lily. Quiet, low-maintenance, and surprisingly tough. Mosses grow where most things can’t—and lilies are symbolic of innocence and calm. Like her avatar, really.”

Ryota nodded slowly. That... actually made sense.

“Yukizome-chama is Golden Sunflower. Bright, tall, full of warmth, and always trying to face the light. People gravitate toward her—even when they don’t want to admit it.”

“She really is like that,” Ryota admitted.

“Munakata-chama? Easy. Ironwood. Unyielding. Strong. But grows slow. Needs time to adjust before it lets anything close.”

Bandai cracked his knuckles. “And Kimura-chama? Camphor Tree. Medicinal, steady, with deep roots. Camphor trees are used in traditional remedies—and stand firm even in storms.”

Ryota smiled. “That’s… really thoughtful.”

“I try.” Bandai smirked. “I even had one for Sakakura-chama—called him Prickly Pear. You know, tough outside, sweet if you ever get past the needles.”

“And let me guess…” Ryota murmured.

“He told me to shove it up a cactus,” Bandai finished with a shrug. “I took that as a ‘maybe.’”

Ryota couldn’t help laughing, covering his mouth as he tried to stifle the sound.

Bandai looked at him with a grin and gave his hair another playful ruffle. “But you, Little Sprout… you’re the one I believe in growing.”

Ryota lowered his gaze, but not out of shame. Just a little overwhelmed. “…Thank you,” he said softly.

And Bandai simply smiled. “Just keep reaching for the sun, yeah?”

The sun hung high over Jabberwock Island, casting a golden shimmer over the sea like poured honey. Nearby, nestled under the swaying shade of palm trees, the fruit carving table had become a harvest tapestry—watermelons glistening like jewels, cantaloupes halved and hollowed like lanterns, papayas bursting with orange glow. Some carvings looked like art. Others looked like accidents. One pineapple had suffered a fate too tragic to speak of.

Still, laughter carried across the shoreline like petals on the wind.

“Next up!” Bandai called, raising his arms like a master of ceremonies at a countryside fair. “The Pineapple Problem!”

Ryota, cheeks still flushed from the earlier Melon Mishap, stood beside him with a towel slung over one shoulder and juice-stained fingers. “We really don’t have to name every round like it’s a wrestling match, you know.”

“Nonsense!” Bandai boomed, his voice as bright as citrus. “Every fruit has its destiny!”

Ryota gave a slow blink. “Is this… going to be a thing now?”

Bandai winked with the mischief of a farmer unveiling a prized pumpkin. “Already is.”

He turned to the task at hand, cradling a ripe pineapple in his broad, weathered hands—hands used to digging into soil, tying vines, lifting crates of kabocha squash at dawn. The sun lit the soft fuzz on his arms, and his brow furrowed with the same seriousness he gave to tending crops.

“So… we just carve it?” he mumbled, as if addressing the fruit itself.

He barely touched the blade to its surface before the pineapple slipped free, rolling off the table like a prickly cannonball and landing in the sand with a dramatic plop.

Ryota jumped. “Your pineapple just tried to escape!”

From beneath a woven sunhat, Kizakura strolled up with a drink cradled in a coconut. “You might want to consider a chainsaw for that one, Bandai. I think it’s fighting back.”

Bandai chuckled without missing a beat. “Only because it knows I’m onto its weak spots.”

Kimura approached quietly, sleeves rolled, hands already gloved and prepared. “You’re pressing too hard,” she said softly, sliding a folded towel under the pineapple and propping it up with a melon wedge. “Stabilize the base. Let the fruit work with you, not against you.”

Bandai blinked, then grinned. “You’re a lifesaver, Kimura-chama.”

“It’s just fruit physics,” she murmured.

Kizakura leaned over to Ryota and whispered theatrically, “Between Kimura-chan's science and Bandai’s brute force, we might be carving the next evolution of agriculture.”

Ryota stifled a laugh as Bandai returned to his pineapple, slower now, more careful. Juice dribbled down his arms as he carved little arcs and ridges into the rind. Ryota stayed nearby, occasionally handing him tools or fanning away the fruit flies with a banana leaf. He didn’t say much. He didn’t need to.

“You sticking close for round two?” Bandai asked, glancing at him sideways.

Ryota nodded. “I like talking to you. You’re… honest.”

Bandai smiled. “And you’re one of the few people who doesn’t assume I’ve got straw in my skull just because I grow things.”

His voice softened, almost absently. “You asked about my parents before…”

Ryota nodded.

“Daddy was Japanese. Real proper. Always wore a suit. Said dirt was for workers, not sons. Mommy was American—all lipstick and loud ideas. Thought I should be a lawyer or a surgeon. Told her I’d rather grow daikon.”

Ryota blinked. “You called them Mommy and Daddy?”

Bandai flushed. “Old habit. Don’t judge. A radish in winter still dreams of the spring.”

There was a pause.

“They didn’t approve,” Bandai continued. “I built a whole farm—Kawaii Kabocha. Made vegetable soup that made people cry, churned butter by hand, grew squash so sweet it could’ve been dessert. I even raised chickens with better manners than most people I know.”

Ryota smiled faintly. “You really made something.”

“I tried.” Bandai carved a spiral, the juice dripping down his elbow. “I invited them to see it all. Cooked for them. Walked them past every garden bed. Introduced them to cows that mooed for seconds.”

“…And?”

“They said it was a waste. A joke. Walked out before dessert.”

Ryota lowered his gaze. “That… must’ve hurt.”

Bandai paused for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. It did. But you know what hurt worse? Pretending I was someone else just to hear them say ‘good job.’”

He looked over and ruffled Ryota’s hair gently, his sticky hand leaving a faint citrus sheen. “You ever feel that way?”

Ryota nodded. “Every day.”

Bandai smiled. “Then don’t pretend. Be the you you want to be. Even if your fruit ends up looking like a nightmare in a rind.”

Ryota laughed softly. “Deal.”

Together, they finished the pineapple—an uneven, winged creature with a goofy grin and lopsided crown. Bandai declared it The Pineapple Griffin, guardian of the orchard.

By the time the challenge ended, juice ran in sticky rivers down their forearms, Ryota had three seeds stuck to his cheek, and Bandai’s straw hat had somehow ended up on the Griffin’s head.

And as the wind rustled through the nearby vines and the sea whispered against the shore, Ryota looked around—not at a game or a trial or a survival effort.

But at a garden party of friends.

And for the first time in a long while, it felt like a harvest worth remembering.

As the sun began its slow descent toward the ocean, the sky blushed gold and tangerine, casting a soft glow over the beach. The warm light kissed every surface it touched—from the gentle tide curling at the shoreline to the long wooden table nestled beneath swaying palm trees, now overflowing with the day’s handiwork.

Rows of carved melons, pineapples, and starfruit sculptures lined the table like offerings at a countryside harvest festival. Some were elegant, others wonderfully lopsided, and a few looked like they’d been caught mid-sneeze. But each one had been shaped with effort, laughter, and sticky fingers—labors of love, each of them.

Daisaku Bandai stood at the head of the group, cradling a grand woven basket in his arms. It was the size of a laundry bin, hand-crafted and straw-scented, brimming with promise. Ryota stood beside him, kiwi juice drying on his sleeves and a few rogue grape skins clinging to his fingertips.

“All right!” Bandai called out, voice as bright as sunshine through orchard leaves. “Final challenge of the day—The Fruit Basket Finale!”

Cheers, groans, and tired giggles echoed across the sand.

The mission was simple: arrange all their carved fruit masterpieces into one majestic, unified display.

The execution?

Not so simple.

They hadn’t even gotten the pineapple griffin settled before the basket tipped sideways, sending a melon ball rocketing across the beach.

“Catch it—!” Asahina cried, lunging.

The melon skidded straight into Great Gozu’s shin.

“…I believe your phoenix has attempted escape,” he said solemnly, bending down and offering it back with a gentleness that somehow didn’t clash with his towering frame.

“Again! Carefully this time,” Bandai said, righting the basket.

Naegi dropped to one knee beside it, using a bunch of bananas like sandbags. “We need weight in the center.”

“Try the spiky one!” Kimura offered, gently lifting her intricately carved dragonfruit sculpture—shaped like a sleeping fox curled beneath a citrus tree.

They tried again. Ryota placed grapes along the bottom like a decorative base. Bandai, tongue slightly out in concentration, gently lowered the melon phoenix. Kimura stepped in to shift lemon slices like puzzle pieces, each one clicked in with quiet precision.

The basket wobbled.

Then tipped again.

Then fell.

From beneath a palm tree, Kizakura raised his coconut juice like a toast. “Maybe the basket needs more balance... you know—like our lives.”

“Thanks, Socrates,” Ando muttered, plucking papaya chunks off her skirt.

Despite the setback, Ryota laughed. A small, surprised sound. Bandai laughed too, loud and sun-warmed. And, one by one, the others joined in.

“Let’s do it together this time,” Yukizome said, stepping forward with her sleeves rolled and determination in her eyes.

Even Izayoi stepped in, steadying the basket’s edge with both hands like a stone pillar.

Naegi adjusted the base. Kimura stabilized the middle with carved orange spirals. Ryota’s hands trembled slightly as he placed the final piece—a banana crown, shaped like a little sun—at the very top.

And then…

It held.

The basket stood tall, proud, and beautifully chaotic. A little off-center, a little odd-shaped—like their group itself. But it shimmered with color and care.

They stared at it, stunned into a rare silence.

Bandai grinned wide enough to wrinkle the corners of his eyes. “We did it.”

“Somehow,” Ryota breathed, a smile blooming across his face like a shy flower.

“It’s kind of perfect,” Asahina said, nudging Naegi’s shoulder. “In a weird, fruity way.”

Yukizome folded her hands over her chest, beaming. “It’s not just the basket that held up… it’s us.”

There was no speech. No victory theme. Just the hush of evening waves and the rustle of palm leaves as the day came to a close.

And in that soft, golden moment—survivors, idealists, cynics, and kind souls alike stood as one. Not to defeat despair. Not to solve a mystery.

Just… to share something.

To make something.

And Ryota, who had always stood a little apart, felt it deep in his chest—that warm hum of connection.

He looked at the basket, then at Bandai, and then at the team around him.

And for once, he didn’t feel like a burden.

He felt like part of the harvest.

Only a handful of them remained now, besides Ryota and Bandai it was—Naegi, Asahina, Gekkogahara, and Kimura—seated in a lazy semicircle on the beach, just beyond the fading footprints of the others who’d already headed back. They weren’t in a hurry. There was no reason to be.

Between them sat a wooden tray, loaded with fresh slices of fruit: star-shaped pineapples, skewered strawberries, chilled wedges of citrus, and a few neatly carved melons that still bore faint hints of their earlier masterpieces.

Asahina popped a grape into her mouth and leaned back on her elbows. “Today was really fun,” she said, voice light with leftover laughter. “I forgot how nice it feels to do something just… simple.”

Naegi nodded, smiling as he chewed a slice of pear. “It felt kind of… peaceful. Like a day off from everything.”

“It was,” Gekkogahara said quietly, typing at the laptop she kept to her side. “I think I needed something like this.”

Kimura, sitting beside her with a bit of juice on her glove, gave a soft nod. “It was nice. Not having to worry. Just… being here.”

Bandai, cross-legged in the sand with a half-eaten mango slice in hand, let out a content sigh. “Reminds me of the greenhouses back at Hope’s Peak. I was in charge of them, y’know.”

The others looked over, intrigued.

“They put me in charge of everything natural—fruits, veggies, herbs. I made sure the school meals had fresh ingredients, checked the soil pH, rotated crops in the planters. Even snuck a few strawberries into the dorm gardens just because I liked the look of them.” His voice softened with nostalgia. “It was my favorite part of the day.”

Ryota tilted his head. “I didn’t know that.”

Bandai smiled. “Whisperers make mountains of spoons. But the truth is… when the world felt too loud, I’d go there and listen to the tomatoes grow.”

Asahina giggled. “You can hear them?”

“Well, not literally,” Bandai chuckled. “But it feels like they’re talking to you. Plants are slow, quiet things. You have to meet them at their pace.”

Naegi tapped a slice of watermelon against his chin, thoughtful. “Maybe we could all learn a little from that.”

No one said anything for a while after that—not because there was nothing to say, but because everything that needed to be felt… already was.

The breeze shifted. The palms above rustled like a lullaby. Somewhere off in the darkening sky, a gull called once and then fell quiet.

The fruit tray slowly emptied. Fingers reached lazily, not out of hunger, but comfort. They shared slices of lemon and mango without words, their laughter now soft and occasional.

And as the stars began to peek out—one by one, like little lanterns lighting up the night—Ryota glanced around the circle and felt something unexpected.

After the applause faded and the chatter drifted into the soft hum of the ocean breeze, Ryota found himself seated again beside Bandai, the two of them nestled in the shade of a swaying palm. The woven fruit basket sat a little ways off, perched like a trophy of shared joy and stickiness. Their masterpiece. Their mess. Their memory.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The sun hung low, casting amber light across the sand, and gulls circled lazily in the distance. Ryota stretched out his legs, toes curling into the warm grains. Bandai, beside him, was brushing dried watermelon pulp off his shirt with mild amusement.

“You know,” Bandai said, eyes still fixed on the horizon, “farming’s more than just one guy with a shovel. It takes a team. A real one. My farm back home—Kawaii Kabocha—it wasn’t some tiny family plot. We built something big. Whole crew, massive fields, machines humming at sunrise. Felt like a living, breathing thing.”

Ryota blinked. “I thought most farms in Japan were smaller?”

Bandai nodded. “They are. But we went against the grain, so to speak. Had everything—GPS-guided harvesters, crop drones, data-monitoring soil sensors. Even ran nutrient scans with AI.”

Ryota gawked. “Wait—you used AI… for pumpkins?”

Bandai puffed his chest a little. “Of course we did. We weren’t just farming vegetables—we were farming the future.”

He leaned back, palms bracing against the sand as the light dappled his face in soft gold.

“Before everything fell apart, we were working on our biggest project yet—animal liberation protocols. We’d been designing humane rewilding systems, partnering with ethical research groups. Even came up with a plant-based meat substitute so convincing, our neighbor swore it was pork.”

Ryota looked over in awe. “Are you… vegan?”

“Yup,” Bandai said simply. “Have been for a while now. It didn’t sit right with me to raise animals, name them, love them… then eat them. I wasn’t building a farm to profit off them. I was building a home.”

Ryota was quiet, watching the waves roll in. A light breeze tousled his hair. “You really love it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Bandai said softly. “Even if my parents never saw the point. Said it was beneath me. That farming was just another way to waste a Hope’s Peak education.”

His voice wasn’t bitter—just… tired. Honest. But not defeated.

Ryota hugged his knees close. “You ever feel like no matter what you do, you’ll never be good enough for the people who matter?”

Bandai looked over, eyes kind. “Yeah. More times than I can count.”

A pause.

“You ever stop trying?” Ryota asked.

Bandai shook his head. “Nope. I just changed who I was trying for.”

He looked at Ryota, something quietly proud in his expression. “The only person you have to impress… is the you staring back in the mirror. Anyone else? They can either catch up or fall behind.”

Ryota let that sit with him. Like water soaking into soil.

“I think I’m starting to get that now,” he murmured.

Bandai nudged him with an elbow. “Then you’re just about ready for a good ol’ farmer’s motto. Something bold to shout every time you plant a seed, carve a fruit, or tell off your inner doubts.”

Ryota gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t think I’m ready for catchphrases.”

“You will be,” Bandai said with a wink. “After all, a hiccuping cloud always jumps past midnight.”

Ryota blinked. “That… doesn’t make any sense.”

Bandai grinned. “Exactly. But it feels like it does.”

The waves lapped quietly nearby, slow and rhythmic like a lullaby. The fruit-carving chaos had faded into distant laughter, and the basket now sat like a monument of teamwork beneath the setting sun.

Bandai leaned back on his hands, glancing at Ryota out of the corner of his eye.

“…You ever wonder why I say stuff like that?” he asked, voice low and thoughtful.

Ryota tilted his head. “Like… the hiccuping cloud thing?”

Bandai chuckled. “Yeah. Stuff like that. I know they don’t make sense.”

Ryota smiled gently. “I figured you just liked being unpredictable.”

Bandai shook his head, looking out toward the sea. “I say those weird quotes… because when I was a kid, I didn’t always have the right words for how I felt. I’d get flustered, mess things up. So I started making up sayings—little nonsense phrases. They made me laugh. And if someone laughed with me, I didn’t feel so alone.”

Ryota’s smile softened.

“I kept it up,” Bandai went on. “Even now, they’re like little seeds I plant. They don’t have to grow into anything big. Just… enough to make someone pause. Maybe smile. Maybe remember that not everything in life has to make sense to be worth something.”

He glanced back at Ryota. “Guess it’s my way of sharing warmth, even when I don’t know what to say.”

Ryota was quiet for a moment.

Then he nodded. “I think… that makes more sense than anything else.”

Bandai laughed softly. “Well hey, a sleepy carrot still dreams of sunrise.”

“…That one I actually kinda like,” Ryota admitted.

“See? You’re getting it.”

They sat there a little longer, letting the breeze carry the silence. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… warm. Like something planted quietly in the heart.

~Shot Through the Heart~

The beach had quieted. Everyone else had drifted off—some to the cabins, others to the flickering campfire beyond the dunes. Only the waves remained, their rhythm soft and steady beneath the rising moon.

Ryota sat on the sand, knees drawn up, a light breeze brushing his bangs. Bandai sat beside him, arms resting across his knees, straw hat tilted back as he stared out at the sea.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Then, quietly, Ryota said, “You know… I used to hate being called the Ultimate Animator.”

Bandai glanced at him but didn’t interrupt.

“It sounded... silly. Like I didn’t deserve to be there. My dad didn’t think much of it either.” Ryota hugged his knees tighter. “He thought I should’ve picked something useful.”

Bandai nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

Ryota turned to him. “But hearing your story... what you built, how proud you are of it... I think it helped me.”

Bandai smiled, soft and warm. “We don’t need to be what they wanted. Just who we are. That’s enough.”

The waves rolled in again, slow and steady. Ryota let the silence fill in the rest. Then, quietly, he smiled.

“Thanks, Bandai.”

“Anytime, little sprout.”

They sat like that for a while—two people, side by side, just existing.

And for once, that was more than enough.

Ryota glanced over at Bandai, noticing the sudden silence that had fallen between them. The Ultimate Farmer had always been a man of few words, but this stillness felt different—unnervingly so. Bandai’s lips were still, his usual calm demeanor replaced with an odd stillness that left Ryota feeling unsettled. He wasn’t used to seeing the man so quiet, not even accompanied by some random thought or fragment of speech. A thousand questions bubbled up in Ryota's mind as he stared at Bandai, wondering what was going on inside his head. What was he thinking in this moment of unexpected silence?

[What am I supposed to do...?]

Huh...? Ryota silently gasped. Hold on, that I'd know that voice anywhere...

[What if what I'm doing is meaningless...?]

They are, it's happening again! These are Bandai-san's inner thoughts. Ryota questioned.

Ryota was stunned to hear Bandai’s inner thoughts, but his own mind remained unnervingly empty. Bandai, the Ultimate Farmer, seemed to think constantly about his crops and the land. Desperate for answers, Ryota focused on the quiet, earthy murmurs echoing in Bandai’s mind.

[How am I supposed to face everyone…?]

[Is it really true others don’t like me…?]

[Or is all of this inside my head…?]

[Do people think I’m weird…Mitarai-chama think I’m weird too?]

[Maybe it’s better that I change myself?]

"No, that's wrong!" Ryota shot back.

Bandai blinked, startled. He looked over, eyes wide. “Mitarai-chama…?”

“You don’t need to change,” Ryota said firmly. “Not for them. Not for me. You’re not weird. You’re… just you. And that’s good. That’s enough.”

Bandai stared, breath caught in his throat.

Ryota looked down at the sand, voice softening. “You’re kind. You care about people. You made a whole farm to feed and protect others. You made me laugh when I thought I’d never feel normal again.”

He looked up again, earnest and honest. “I don’t think you’re weird, Bandai. I think you’re brave. I think you’re cool.”

Bandai’s lips trembled. Then he laughed—a small, surprised sound. And maybe a little wet.

“You think I’m cool?” he repeated, wiping at the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Ryota said, blushing. “In a, you know… farmer way.”

Bandai sniffled, then wrapped Ryota in a sudden, crushing bear hug. “Thank you, Mitarai-chama,” he whispered. “You’re my favorite crop this season.”

Ryota wheezed. “C-Can’t…breathe…!”

But he was smiling.

Really smiling.

And from that night forward, they weren’t just teammates.

They were friends.

~Love Hotel Suite~

As the stars began to scatter across the night sky, the day’s warmth still clung to Ryota’s skin like the lingering sweetness of fruit juice. The laughter and comfort of the beach now felt distant as he approached the Love Hotel Suite once again, heart fluttering with nerves. He wasn’t sure what to expect this time—but part of him hoped it would feel a little less like a mistake, and a little more like something he belonged to.

So apparently, every time I come here, I play the role of their "ideal." Like some shared fantasy. It's difficult for me to even make sense of Bandai-san's strange phrases, so I'm not entirely sure what type of fantasies that he'd have...

"Hey, Mitarai-chama," Bandai called out, "Are you paying attention...?"

"Y-Yeah," Ryota stuttered, "Why? What's the matter?"

“You know…” Bandai began slowly, his voice softer than usual, “I never expected to find someone like you.”

Ryota blinked, unsure how to respond. “…Like me?”

Bandai chuckled—a warm, full sound that filled the room like firelight. “You were curious. Thoughtful. Never treated me like a joke. You didn’t see a farmer and decide I was someone simple or small. You listened. You respected what I did. Not because it was flashy. Not because it made headlines. But because you understood what it meant.”

Ryota lowered his gaze, his voice quiet. “You had… passion. Real passion. That’s what drew me in. You made the work feel meaningful. And honest. You… made it feel important.”

“It is important,” Bandai said, and though his voice was gentle, there was a weight beneath it. “But not everyone sees it that way. There’s a kind of loneliness that comes with being dismissed for doing what you love.”

He glanced up then, meeting Ryota’s eyes. “I thought I’d carry that alone for the rest of my life. Then you came along. Quiet. Hesitant. But willing. Willing to try. Willing to care.”

A pause stretched between them—quiet, but full of understanding.

Bandai’s smile returned, smaller now, a memory behind it. “You remember the first time you planted something?”

Ryota flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You mean when I stuck the sprout in upside down?”

Bandai let out a hearty laugh, leaning back in his chair. “That was a great day! I still tell people about that. You looked at me like the earth had betrayed you personally.”

“I thought I killed it,” Ryota mumbled, but he was smiling.

“And then you immediately tried to apologize to the seed,” Bandai added, eyes crinkling. “Like it could hear you.”

“I… might’ve panicked a little.”

“I knew right then you weren’t just some guest passing through.” Bandai’s tone shifted, quieter again. “You wanted to understand the land. You wanted to connect. That meant everything to me.”

He stood and stepped around the table, placing a gentle hand on Ryota’s head, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“You have come a long way, Little Sprout.”

Ryota blinked. “…You still call me that.”

“Of course I do,” Bandai said, kneeling slightly so they were eye level. “You were the smallest thing in my garden. Barely peeking above the soil. Full of doubt. Full of fear. But still trying. Still reaching for the sun.”

He gestured around the room—the baskets of vegetables, the warm wooden beams, the dirt beneath their nails. “And now look at you. You’ve rooted yourself here. You’ve grown.”

Ryota looked at his hands, still faintly stained with soil. “Sometimes… I don’t feel like I belong. Not just here, but anywhere.”

Bandai’s expression softened as he placed a hand over his heart. “That’s exactly why I call you that. Little Sprout. Not because you’re small—but because you haven’t stopped growing. You keep reaching, even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.”

He tapped Ryota’s chest lightly. “You don’t always see it. But I do.”

The words sat with Ryota for a long moment, sinking past the noise in his head, past the years of doubt and rejection. They didn’t erase everything, but they stuck. And for once, he didn’t feel the need to argue with them.

“…Thank you,” Ryota whispered, voice hoarse with something raw and real.

Bandai smiled—no bravado, no booming laughter. Just warmth. “I’m proud of you. And I’m proud to call you my best friend.”

The wind rustled through the window again, lifting the curtains. The lanterns flickered, casting golden light across their faces. And in that room—where time slowed, and the weight of the world faded—Ryota felt it.

Not just peace.

Not just gratitude.

But belonging.

And maybe, even in a dream, that was the most real thing of all.

Hope Fragment Obtained!