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She had a name once.
They all did – and still do, if asked – but they haven’t needed them in a while now.
Not here. Not in this space.
Her parents never ask her where she’s going anymore. She told them it was some sort of after school get-together for other members of the Reserve Course, and strictly speaking, that’s true, although not in the manner they think. She’s certain they imagine friends and studying and the building of bonds that their daughter thinks will never be broken, but honestly, how many people keep in contact with their high school friends? Not very many these days, even though everyone thinks they’ll be different. They’ll matter.
Well, she knows she won’t matter, in the grand scheme of things, but the upcoming revolution WILL.
They won’t remember her name – they won’t remember her – but when all is said and done, they’ll remember her mark on history.
Their mark on history.
The Tragedy looms, borne aloft by the building Parade and its very vocal unrest.
She remembers the first time she put on the maid outfit.
At the time, their leader had no name, no face, but she had a pleasant voice. Firm. Decisive. Alluring. Seductive. But most of all, she’d commiserated with her. She understood the unspoken anxieties, the bubbling rage that she hadn’t even known she had – so much under the surface that had always been there, that she just needed to let out.
And, most of all, the despair.
That was all-consuming.
But it was easier, after she gave in. How could she be anxious of failing if she accepted that she already had? How could she be angry if that’s just the way the world treats people? Treats everyone? If the only way to make a so-called Ultimate Hope is to tear apart everyone else, then—
Isn’t the world just a wonderfully despairful place to be?
She’d found the maid outfit in her locker the next day with a note pinned to it:
Thought this would be just your type!
Let’s party as we bring about the greatest Tragedy the world has ever seen!
It was a little tight, but that was how maid outfits were supposed to be, right? A little tight? So that they can properly show off, well, everything? She’d never worn one before, not even as a fun costume, but when she put that one on and looked at herself in the mirror, she’d looked…beautiful.
Not that it mattered.
Beauty is fleeting, and no one would want someone so desperate to attach Hope Peak’s name to her resume that they’d pay to join their Reserve Course. She was just a bootlicker. Even if she wanted to stop, her parents wouldn’t let her, so they were forcing her to be a bootlicker, too.
She put her hair into two high ponytails – just like Enoshima Junko’s, since she was everyone’s it girl – and flashed herself a smile and a peace sign. In the mirror, she looked sad. Tired.
But at least the maid outfit made her look fun.
The mask came later.
The first time she saw it, she ran her fingers along the shape – the bear nose, the two halves of its smile, the sharp teeth, the red slash of an eye that reminded her strongly of Hope’s Peak’s logo. She’d seen the bear before – Monokuma, their mascot, because everything needs a mascot, even the upcoming Tragedy – but she’d never thought….
By then, she didn’t need to think about it. Her finger traced the inner rim, and she smiled. Then she put the mask on.
It felt…right. Just like she hadn’t had to think to put the mask on, she didn’t need to think at all now. She could just wear the mask and the uniform and do as she was told, just like she’d been doing all her life, only this time knowing that was all she was good for. Following orders. Tearing the world apart.
Better, in her opinion, to wear the mask of Monokuma and be something than to be nothing at all.
When she pulls herself out of her memories and stares at herself in the mirror one last time, she doesn’t smile. What would be the point?
But Monokuma smiles at her.
That’s all right, then.
That’s all right.