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He’s not home very often.
This doesn’t necessarily come with the territory. Just because he is the singular brother in a family of fifteen doesn’t mean he has a fire in his gut to avoid his sisters at every opportunity. He loves his sisters. He would do anything for his sisters. They are not the reason he’s gone so often. It’s just…wanderlust.
And maybe a bit of insomnia.
Rantaro wakes early in the morning, stares at the popcorn ceiling, and tries to count the nits in an attempt to fall back asleep. On the odd occasion, this helps. It’s better than counting sheep, anyway. Today, though, it doesn’t do anything at all, other than make him question if he missed a nit or if he double-counted one of them. Someone else might re-count at that point, someone else might start over, but he knows well enough that defeats the purpose. He’s getting too focused on something that’s supposed to get him back to sleep, which means he’s wide awake.
If he was at home, Rantaro would leave the house and explore the neighborhood. He knows the paths well enough, despite not being there often, but he doesn’t need them to be new. More than anything, he needs the room to explore and prowl. Even in familiar places, sometimes you find something new. Sometimes one of his sisters hears him and goes on a walk with him. The conversation can be the new thing.
But he isn’t home.
At least, he isn’t somewhere he would consider home.
Rantaro twists one of the rings about his finger and resists the urge to leave his room. Monokuma didn’t institute a Don’t Leave Your Room Between X Hours rule, but his classmates thought it would be best to have one, like that would actually prevent a murder. But murder isn’t like that. It isn’t something that happens shifty under the cover of darkness; it’s something that happens in the open, where people see and just don’t care. Murders are impulsive. They’re hot blood in your hands and dried blood caked under your fingernails. They’re the gritting of your teeth and the heat flushing your cheeks.
None of his classmates will plan a murder thoroughly enough to get away with it. They’ll make a mistake. This isn’t a game; it’s a slaughter.
He can’t stay here.
He feels like a tiger in its cage, pacing, pacing, pacing, tail lashing back and forth, lips curled back, teeth curved into a snarl—
Except that sounds like he’s on the attack, and he’s not.
Maybe there’s not a good description for an animal that simply wants out and not to murder and eat something.
Rantaro stays in his room until he can’t stay in his room anymore. Then he shifts out of bed, shoves his shirt on (he doesn’t want to be indecent, although in many countries, this wouldn’t be an issue), and, after another few seconds, leaves the room.
And runs directly into Ryoko Ikusaba.
Ryoko carries a cup of hot chocolate with her as she roams the halls. Every now and again, she takes a sip from it, but mostly, it’s to keep her hands warm. Hope’s Peak is frigid after dark, like their dear headmaster turned off the heat in every part of the building but their rooms. Keeping up a patrol as one person isn’t the best idea; she can’t cover the entire school without missing someone or something. But if everyone goes to their rooms at the same time, it’s less of an issue. She can patrol here and make sure they all stay in their rooms, and then everyone will be safe.
Of course, Ryoko’s mind runs through so many scenarios at once that she knows this isn’t really feasible. There are a million and one reasons why her classmates might wake up and decide to leave their rooms, and not all of them have to do with murder. In fact, most of them don’t. Rantaro Amami, for instance, who currently stands in front of her, is most likely awake due to insomnia and an innate sense of wanderlust, and not because he wants to murder her or anyone else.
But she can’t be sure of that.
(And standing here, talking with him, could be a distraction while someone else leaves their room to do a murder – or to try and neutralize her so that either of them can do…something else. It’s hard to shut her mind off. Right now, it’s running through the different scenarios of how Rantaro or one of her other classmates might attack her – taking what she knows of them and translating it into the most likely fight style and stopping them before they can do anything to her – before anything even happens. It’s not a judgment call. It just happens.)
“Amami-san.”
“Don’t be so formal, Ryo-chan.” The surprise on Rantaro’s face flickers away, replaced with a much more relaxed expression. He crosses his arms and leans back against his doorframe. “It’s just us. We can pretend to know each other.”
Ryoko hums. “We wouldn’t be pretending, Taro-kun.” She steps back and gestures with her head for him to join her. “The insomnia again?”
As he joins her in the hall, Rantaro gives a nod of admission. “It’s not my fault we weren’t around,” he says. “Our companies have locations all over the world, and—”
“You wanted to explore the world.”
“I wanted to keep an eye on my sisters.”
“Mmhm. Same thing.” Ryoko glances down the hall, and in the silence between them, she hears nothing. No one else moving in their rooms, although she wouldn’t hear that. No doors opening or closing, no creaking of the wood underfoot. She starts out again. “It’s lucky that you found them.”
“Some luck.” Rantaro nods at their surroundings, his arms still crossed.
Ryoko lifts one shoulder in a simple shrug. “Maybe you’re just paying off all that good luck with this bad luck.”
“I guess.”
They walk down the hall in silence.
This is one of the few good things about Rantaro Amami: He doesn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with ceaseless chatter. As much as Ryoko likes chatter on the odd occasion (they can distract her brain from thinking too much, although they never quiet her down), she doesn’t want it now. She needs to pay attention. She needs to make sure that everyone is—
“You’re patrolling.”
“Yep.” Ryoko lifts her mug of hot cocoa – well, less hot now than it was when she started – and takes a sip of what is now lukewarm cocoa. “I’m the Ultimate Soldier. It’s what I do.”
“I thought soldiers killed people.”
“They do.”
“I thought soldiers were part of an army.”
“Mercenary group, in my case, but close enough.”
“I thought soldiers followed a very clear hierarchy—”
Ryoko grits her teeth and tunes him out. This is one of the many bad things about Rantaro Amami: He likes to nitpick. Yes, he’s right, there are things wrong with soldiers – or can be wrong with soldiers, especially when you focus in on the hierarchy and the blind following and the killing people, because all of those combined can be very detrimental to the health of a community.
But that’s not the kind of solider Ryoko is, and she’s already tired of this conversation.
“Do you want to walk with me, or do you want to go back to your room?”
Rantaro chuckles. “Those aren’t the only two options, Ryo-chan.”
Ryoko’s hand tightens on the handle of her mug. “They’re the only safe options, Taro-kun.” She snorts. “Like you care about what’s safe.”
It takes a moment. Rantaro presses his lips together. He twists one of his rings around his finger. Then, finally, he says, “I care.”
“Then you should—”
“Do you think Peko’s safe?” Rantaro asks, cutting her off. He isn’t looking at Ryoko when she turns to him, and he doesn’t look at her as he says, “Or Natsumi?” He glances down and focuses on his ring as he twists it again. There’s a struggle of something behind his eyes, but he doesn’t put words to it.
Ryoko knows what he means, though. He doesn’t need to say it.
“If this is your bad luck,” she says, gesturing to their surroundings, “then I’m sure your good luck is keeping them safe out there.” That was the price of his luck, wasn’t it? His sisters were found safe and sound, but Rantaro himself was beaten bloody. (And they never found who kept trying to kidnap them.)
Rantaro shakes his head. “It doesn’t feel like bad luck if it doesn’t hurt.”
“Mm.” Ryoko pats his shoulder. She pauses for a second, then says, “Let’s wake Mukie. She can patrol while we get you some tea.”
“Tea?” Rantaro looks up at Ryoko and raises an eyebrow.
“Chamomile. It helps with anxiety, and it’ll help you sleep.” Ryoko waves a hand back and forth in the air. “Maybe.”
“Maybe.” Rantaro grins. “You sure you won’t poison me?” His eyes twinkle. “Win this killing game all on your—”
“Taro-kun, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.” Ryoko meets his eyes with her own stern one. The longer she holds his gaze, the more he fights it, until finally he relaxes into that calm certainty. He nods once, then walks down the hall towards Mukuro’s room, and she stares after him, still listening to the rooms around her. She can’t hear anything that happens within them. That’s well enough. But….
Something overhead kicks in with a hum, and she’s certain it’s the air conditioning.
She shivers.
(Ryoko hasn’t told anyone this, but she’s certain all of these contraptions weren’t placed to keep them in. She’s certain they were there to keep something out.)