Chapter Text
If I told you, you'd never believe me.
If I showed you, you'd never trust me.
If I did it to you, you'd never forgive me.
If I told you so, you'd never hear me.
If society was built this way for people like me, why did I still have hope in being seen?
Nagito was walking, but he didn't know to get away from what. Because simply put, it was nothing, he was just simply walking like a normal high school student. To his classes. And maybe he was walking away from being late for classes afterall.
One thing that differenciated him from a normal highschooler, well his school had that giant label anyone could stare at all day wishing they weren't normal like him, while he would wish the polar opposite.
In the giant label school, he could be called the freak of it, the oddball, as clear as day after your first day, you'd probably come to know why.
He knows it.
But today, he'll try something he's never done before, maybe he could be useful.
He knows it.
Maybe he could be better.
He knows it.
Maybe he could make a difference.
He knows it.
Maybe it'd work.
He… doesn't know that for sure. Yet. Atleast. But he can only hope.
Everyone in his place would only be capable of hoping. Maybe strategizing, yes. Or try to think of the future possibilities of outcomes, endless but prepared. But all of them can't help but have a little hope in them, no denying it.
Nagito walks and walks, devolving into a steadfast run, before stopping abruptly.
Why?
He has not a hint.
He's been staring at the floor now, eyebrows furrowed tense, and he doesn't know why.
Frowning, at the floor like it did something it wasn't supposed to.
Frowning, although it couldn't have done that.
Frowning, just straight up. All he did.
Maybe there's a reason why, but he can't think of it.
He can't think of it.
He can't…
He can't think of it.
That's it.
He can't think. That's the reason.
He can't think, think of how to be useful. Be better, make a difference.
So how could he be sure and know anything in the first place if he doesn't even have that all down?
He doesn't know afterall. He thought. It was just moments ago and yet it went vaporized.
What did he want to do, to be of use?
But how?
And will he ever find the answer…
He probably won't.
Ever.
An easy conclusion.
One where you lose all hope on and in.
It hurts but for someone like him to have such high hopes on the topic of himself, it's stupid.
He doesn't possess anything to wield something such as that.
And that is a conclusion.
But not final, as that would be pathetic, wouldn't it?
He may not be worthy of anything. Not even a life he supposes, but he can hope.
Not for worth, but to be of use.
He can hope to be a slave for brighter hope, brighter future.
He can hope the brighterness allows him to be a stepping stone to lead to wondrous hope.
He can hope for something.
He can hope for anything
but being significant,
but being worthy.
Because it's silly on all circumstances, situations and scenarios. A fantastical daydream.
Every day, and all day.
So he'll hope.
And stop staring at the stupid ground.
And deffinetly stop making everyone even bother to look at his abhorrent form.
So he'll look straight, walk down some staircases and out to the sky’s downpour. It was almost a comical storm. And he'd walk out. As the water comically and luckily didn't even want to touch his face, his hair, anything but him.
It was comical but he strolled over to a bench under shade, knowing any moment of dry gratefulness, he could fry to the sky’s power house.
Bending down and sitting. Pondering life. Pondering about it. Pondering about his life.
Reminding himself to stop staring down as his neck was tired of it, he looked to the front. It was just the school, the giant label school. Gates taller than double of himself. Building way higher up than it.
But all the way up to it's top, he was lucky to see it, even in such wet, foggy, blurry weather, long black hair, so long. It didn't look wet, oddly enough, just like his.
He could make it out, red dots that shined through the sudden tenfold increase of violently horrific rain.
It reflected on his eyes, seeped through him. He tried to blink after staring endlessly, it was ingrained, red dots stuck in his closed off vision too.
But other than the light being ingrained, something else had seeped in aswell.
A strange feeling. An intense one that he may, might have been chasing with unhealthy obsession.
Hope. Ultimate Hope flashed into his retinas. It graced him. He felt like the luckiest to have witnessed it from afar, for even witnessing it at all.
His body felt weak, his lips partly parted at the face of hope, Hope.
He wasn't dry anymore, sweat slipped on every peck and patch of his fleshy body. Saliva dripping and dropping and flowing.
He found the one that'd save humanity, change the world for the better, make a difference. And best of all, he was sure.
Hope wasn't that far, he had some in him, that he could be useful for it.
And his life never felt any better, and worth living, as unworthy as it's always been.
Especially one day when he'd finally get on his knees and serve him at the end of the world. Certainly, he'd feel worth out of his unworth.
So unless I was wrong,
If I told you, you'd never believe me.
If I showed you, you'd never trust me.
If I couldn't do it to you, you'd scold me.
If I told you so, you'd never be against me.
If what I've seen and felt was true. For me, this is why I still have hope in being seen by the Ultimate Hope itself.