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Makoto stalked to his dorm, sighing underneath the red lights of the long hallway. He passed by all of his friend's dorm rooms. Over half of them are dead now.
He slowly unlocked his dormitory and went into the familiar space, closing the door behind him.
Knowing what tomorrow held kept pounds on his shoulders, and no matter how much he tried to be hopeful, the weight wouldn’t be lifted. He needed a push of hope, but it’s hard to generate any kind of hope when he and his friends could die, or they could survive and go out into a world where the chances of dying were 99.9%.
He smiled at the irony, trying to force hysteria. Anything that could be slightly humorous, he automatically faked a smile, hoping it would trick his body into thinking everything was perfectly fine. But that didn’t happen. Instead, his smile gradually fell and tears welled in his eyes.
He couldn’t let despair take over him, to let him sob his heart out into the satin blue sheets. There was a chance that after crying all of the bad thoughts would be out of his system, but there was also the chance that the sob session fills him with despair-inducing lethargy, which would infect the rest of them, effectively driving the class trial's momentum to shit, which would cause them to share Leon's, Mondo's, and Celeste's fate; a brutal execution, designed just for them.
Of course, the only one to be infected would probably be Hiro, who’d also get over it within a few minutes. Byakuya would say something about Makoto's lower status while he scoffed. Hina would be upset at Makoto, arguing that they have to avenge Sakura. Toko would bully the brakes off of him, stuttering out her insults and pointing her slender fingers at him. And Kyoko would grow a stern but caring face, instructing him to “get his act together” and that “we have to focus on the present” or something like that.
He paced around his room, seeing if there was anything that would bring his favorite mindset back, way better than his current one. He grew erratic, tearing the room apart, seeing if there was anything that could spark life back into him. He was going to give up until he opened up his drawer and saw it.
A brown, small diary that was hardly used. Didn’t have the chance to get used.
Sayaka Maizono’s personal diary.
He found it during the first investigation. Kyoko flipped through it, but she couldn’t find anything worth noting and left it in Makoto’s hands. She expected for him to flip through it more than her, to see if there was any kind of hint or clue. But Makoto wouldn’t do it. He’d be invading her privacy, dead or not. Gone or still here.
But he was desperate now. It was disgusting, he thought. Disgusting that he’d invade her personal space. But she’d understand . . . yeah, Sayaka would understand. He’s doing this for the better.
So, with a deep sigh, he opened the book and sat on the bed, flipping it open.
While Makoto was never a big reader, occasionally reading manga, he had to admit the smell of paper was somewhat comforting. Maybe it was just Sayaka’s scent. Either way, he enjoyed it.
The first page had material that wasn’t very suitable for writing. She just wrote her name on there, stating who it belonged to.
Most of the pages were drawings, sketches; Of classmates, designs, fashion, anything really. Some of the pages were accidentally skipped over, some things completely scribbled out. He looked at every piece of art with a half smile. She had a knack for drawing, that’s for sure.
But his heart started hurting once he realized that she’d never be able to draw anymore, to improve her skills, to inspire more, to bring more smiles to people’s faces. Makoto was ready to stop flipping through the small pages, to let the despair consume him because it was inevitable.
But he stopped in his tracks when he saw a page alien from the others. It was written in ink, ink that looked very similar to the pens offered here at Hope’s Peak. At the top of the page, the words, “Untitled Song,” were highlighted in pink.
She didn’t explain further, immediately beginning the lyrics.
Vintage tee, brand new phone — High heels on cobblestones — When you are young, they assume you know nothing.
Sayaka explained every line in annotation-styled notes.
I remember the constant attention and pampering I used to get. I appreciated it, of course, but I really didn’t ask for most of this. They assume girls at my age know nothing, that we don’t think. But I think about every single thing I sacrificed for this. Every single day.
Makoto remembers Sayaka vaguely mentioning that she sacrificed a lot for her career. It wasn’t something either of them wanted to think about. Obviously, Makoto was curious, but he wasn’t stupid. Sayaka would never tell him. And she’d never get the chance to, either.
The song gave him something to think about instead of his impending doom. He continued on.
Sequin smile, pink lipstick — Sensual politics — When you are young, they assume you know nothing.
He somewhat understood what this was about, but she had extra notes on the lyrics, so he didn’t have to think about it too hard.
My winning smile is what the guys liked the most about me, though the older guys commented on my lipstick shade. They liked to talk about teenage romance to me, or controversial relationships. Nothing that fifteen year old me should’ve been talking about, especially with grown men. “Sensual politics” is what I like to call it. I’ll just respond with whatever’s the least controversial at the time, backpedalling my statements if I ever got under fire. But they assume you don’t know what’s right from wrong. I do.
Makoto shuddered at the thought of being in Sayaka’s position. He could guess that being a pop star wasn’t the easiest, but this was on a different level. Grown men talking to you about romance, complimenting your lips is nausea-inducing. And not being able to tell them how you really think must be annoying too.
He saw a few more attempts at writing down another line that were messily scribbled out. After about four failed attempts, a wall of lyrics awaited him to be deciphered.
“'Cause I knew you — Steppin' on the last train — Marked me like a bloodstain, — I knew you — Tried to change the ending — Peter losing Wendy, — I knew you — Leavin' like a father — Running like water, And when you are young, they assume you know nothing.”
These lyrics were different. It was written more messily; Sayaka’s loopy cursive was replaced by what looked like messy ancient etchings. Guessing by the words, this particular part was about losing her friends to this damned Killing Game. They had lost one person while she was alive during the killing game, Junko Enoshima, who I don’t believe Sayaka was that close with. She was sympathetic, but not that sympathetic. Of course, her annotations would reveal a bit more.
"You know, I’m not exactly sure what my thought process was when I thought this. I scribbled this all down after I saw that wretched video that bear showed us. I suppose this is what I felt about the girls I had grown to know, who were presumably dead now, at the hands of Monokuma. But that’s fine. I will avenge them.”
Her handwriting was back to semi-normal, it seemed to be slightly wobbly, like the letters could collapse at any moment. Makoto could guess that her hands were shaking, and she was probably hyperventilating. There was a small wet spot that covered the word “Monokuma,” which made sense. It left a small black smudge. Makoto thought he was stupid. Why didn't he think of her bandmates, who's fates were shown in Monokuma's first motive.
There was nothing else that Makoto had to exactly think about. It was obvious. She started planning her elaborate escape; she’d kill Leon in Makoto’s room, subsequently framing Makoto for the death. It would get everyone killed, and she’d go out into what she thought was the normal world.
Makoto sighed, expecting the inevitable despair-induced lethargy at the sour memory. He waited and waited, but he stayed content. He looked down again at the untitled song, and surprisingly smiled, especially at the last sentence that was written on the page.
“I will avenge them.”
He agreed with this so much that he wanted to announce it to his empty room. “I will avenge them.” He smiled even more. “I’ll avenge your fallen bandmates, Sayaka. I’ll avenge our fallen classmates, too. I’ll avenge you.”
He flipped the page one final, checking if there was anything on the back. The page was filled with tear drops that surprisingly didn’t bleed into the previous page, and three words. They were written perfectly, like a well-written final letter.
“I’m sorry Makoto.”
He also made an audible response to this. “There’s no need to apologize. You did what you had to do. Rest easy, Sayaka.” He didn't need to check if there was anything else in the diary.
Makoto placed the book back in its drawer and shut the bedside lamp off, ridding the room of any illumination. He quickly fell into slumber’s grasp, ready to take on whatever the next day entails.