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Gonta dreamed about wolves.
There were so many of them, their piercing yellow eyes casting insouciant gazes at him. Silvery fur glistened in the pale moonlight. He looked up, squinting tired eyes, and was met with the sight of vast, imposing trees that seemed to stretch for miles. The sound of gently chirping cicadas permeated the area. Cicadas laid in the dirt for seventeen years before emerging all at once to scream and shed their skins. Where had he heard that before?
The biggest wolf sat complacently, postured in a way that (while casual) sent shivers down his spine. It stared at him, eyes communicating something unknowable. A staring contest between beast and man-beast that he was locked in for god knows how long.
Maybe this was him facing judgement.
An alarm clock chirped weakly, its plastic surface cracked into a million-piece web from years of being smashed by a too-big fist. Gonta blinked once, then again, the image of the wolves and the forest retreating to a dusty far recess of his mind infrequently accessed. Dirty paint chipped off of the ceiling, and a ceiling fan wheezed as it labored to keep turning.
He sat up, fumbling in the dark for his glasses and a light switch. Unruly hair brushed his bare shoulders. The clock display was barely legible, but he knew the time. His movements sluggish, Gonta went about grabbing his school’s standard-issue gakuran and buttoning its jacket over an undershirt.
His parents were already off to work, he noted, as he ate breakfast in the kitchen. Frozen waffles. He'd glanced at a bunch of bananas in the fridge for a second, before remembering that he didn't even like them. He considered turning on the TV, but it was too early for anything to be on, anyway. A bare bulb hung above the table, a pathetic imitation of the chandelier his mother said she always wanted. The light it cast was distinctly unflattering, and it cast deep shadows onto the angular lines of his jaw.
Gonta thought about the wolves again, and shut his eyes. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up on his face. What even was that? Goddamnit, he lived in Sapporo. The only wolves around were the ones in the zoo. He was being some kind of big idiot, or something.
A skittering noise interrupted his thoughts, and he lowered his hand and did the opposite to his eyelids. A solitary cockroach sat on the table, its body long and deep brown. Its antennae twitched as if it were acknowledging Gonta. Like, “hey buddy, couldn't help but notice you were eating. Let me vomit my insides all over those waffles, Gonta,”
With a sigh, he took his thumb and laid it on the bug’s back. And in one slow motion, he crushed it before it could even make another disgusting noise.
He grabbed his bag and locked the door behind him.
They called themselves the Death’s Head Moths, though Gonta couldn't remember for the life of him why. Who even suggested that name? It definitely wasn't him.
It was him and three other boys. Delinquents, all of them. Gonta was easily the biggest one. He didn't particularly like any of the others, but they stuck together by association. Besides that, the rest of the school either feared or ignored them. But he was fine with that. Gonta wasn't interested in being nice or chivalrous, he just wanted to get by. And he would, even if it involved raucous pushing and shoving.
They were talking that morning, and as usual, he was tuning them out. He didn't care about what they were saying - it all seemed meaningless to him. He just gave them looks once in awhile, occasionally grunting to give them the impression that he was part of the conversation.
“Any of y’all see the new DanganRonpa last night?” One of them asked, startling him out of the daze he spent most of school in. The one who had spoken had a ratty face and dyed red hair that definitely violated the dress code. Gonta couldn't remember any of their names, and didn't particularly care.
Another one - a blond guy with a cowlick - chuckled. “Sure did. I can't believe that toxicologist chick bit the dust. She was hot as shit,”
The last one, who had braces and nearly-orange hair, snorted. “Of course you'd wanna fuck that one. I always knew you had shit taste.”
“Shut up!”
Gonta sighed, shutting his eyes in irritation. “Why do you watch that crap?” He muttered, shaking his head. “It's complete and total shit.”
The blond one stared at him with an air of skepticism. “‘Course it's shit. Why do you think we watch it? It ain't the fucking Sopranos. God, Gokuhara-kun, you're such a blockhead.”
Gonta didn't respond, he just fixed his gaze on the rest as they prattled on about the show. He was anything but a fan of the show - it wasn't that he was sickened by the gore (he was used to it, you had to be), it's just that he didn't like it. He thought the characters were whiny and insipid at best, most of the time.
The ratty one raised his eyebrow. “Maybe we should sign ya up, man. You gotta get out there. Think of all the girls that'd fawn over ya if you were on TV!”
He shook his head in exasperation. “What the hell about ‘it's complete and utter shit’ do you not understand?? I'm not selling out.”
The guy with the braces coughed. “Y’know, we’re totally signing you up, no matter what. Maybe the Death’s Heads will get more members if one of its members is, like, famous.”
Gonta considered his options. He absolutely did not want to audition, and really wanted no part in anything DanganRonpa related. But he knew the guys he affiliated himself with, and that their annoying tendencies would cause them to hold this above him if he didn't do it.
Besides, what other options did he have? His life was a slummy mess, and he had grown so bitter that he'd shut himself out from everyone else.
He thought about the wolves again. Maybe this was some weird prophecy.
He didn't believe in that bullshit. But what he did believe was that this bunch of flunkies would make his life a living hell if he didn't take the plunge.
So he grunted and nodded. “Okay, fine,” he grumbled, “I'll do it.”
The audition was in a couple of weeks, and time kept passing as it always did. He kept having weird dreams - not just of wolves, but of other things. He had visions of thorny branches and fish with razor-sharp teeth and grand pianos and dusty desert towns.
Man, he really needed a vacation. Or therapy. But a vacation would be more enjoyable.
But there were other strange occurrences as well - sometimes, he'd see certain people around the area. They shouldn't have stood out to him, but they did. A strange sound like television static occupied his mind during these.
There was a guy with purple hair from another school, a delinquent who often went head to head with his gang. He always shouted that he'd kill them, he'd knock them dead. Gonta had never thought much of it before, but whenever he saw him, he felt strange. Like a thread was coming out of him, connecting him to other people, and someone had yanked on it.
He tried to relieve stress. He took a baseball bat to a beehive behind his house, smashing the honeycomb to a pulpy mess. His parents didn't question the fact that his left cheek was swollen.
He still thought about the wolves, the looks they gave him, as if he were family. The dreams felt vivid, like memories that were not his own.
This sucked, man.
The fateful day finally came, and Gonta found himself crammed into a stuffy room filled with other teenagers. He kept fidgeting, feeling especially agitated by the crowd. It was too hot. His audition number was 73254.
He'd been plunked down next to 73253, a much shorter boy with black hair and purple highlights. Very gaudy. He'd had a shit-eating grin on his face the whole time, and it made Gonta feel even grumpier about the situation than before.
73253 finally spoke up after about five minutes. “Wow, you're huge!” He gasped, turning to face him. Gonta scowled, trying to cut the conversation short before it could even happen, but he seemed oblivious. “You're here to audition too, right?”
Was he even dumber than Gonta was? “What do you think?” He asked, almost incredulous.
The other boy shrugged. “Ah, sorry! I'm just so excited, y’know? I'm doing this for charity, and-” the more he prattled on, the more Gonta hated him. He was infuriating, and he wished he could wipe that smile off his face.
“-Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm Kokichi, Kokichi Ouma,” He only smiled wider. Dammit. Quickly, he stuck his hand out expectantly. “I hope we can be friends,”
Gonta reluctantly returned the gesture. “Sure. Whatever.”
For whatever reason, he had a strange vision of fire.
Ouma got called in later, leaving Gonta with several moments of peace before he himself was invited into the interview room. He had intended to keep his responses brief, so that it would go quickly and so that he’d have less of a chance of getting picked.
But it never worked out that way.
Something was strange about the room, and it made him feel almost woozy. Like he wasn’t himself.
Gonta talked and talked and talked (though he would later not be able to remember a single word he said) as the suited man across from him nodded and took notes. He frequently glanced at the mirror on the wall. Gonta was almost tempted to take his chair and smash it, revealing the room that was obviously on the other side. It felt more like a police interrogation than an interview.
He wished he could stop talking.
The phone rang a week later, sometime in the middle of the night. Gonta fished around in the dark for it, groaning to himself as he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes with his other hand. Eventually, his hand found the phone, and he picked up the call in a drowsy haze.
“H’lo?” He mumbled into the speaker. Probably a junk caller - no one ever called him. No one ever had a reason to.
The voice that responded was prim, professional, and exceptionally awake-sounding considering the time. “May I speak to Gonta Gokuhara?”
Gonta managed to get out a “You’re talkin’ to him”, but it sounded more like “Yertalkin’ tam”. Somehow, the woman on the other line seemed to understand.
“I’m a representative of Team DanganRonpa. We’re calling to update you on the status of your audition, from last week.”
Blink, blink. “Yeah? What about it?”
“You’ve been accepted,” Gonta felt his blood freeze in his veins. “Congratulations. You’re now a member of DanganRonpa’s season 53 cast.”
He sputtered, anxiety newly formed in his gut, trying to find a way out. He didn’t want this. He’d signed up at the behest of his stupid fucking “friends”, if he could even call him that. “W-wait, no. I don’t-” He began, sweat starting to trickle down his forehead.
“You, along with fifteen other teenagers, will be competing. This is the usual formula, as you should be aware,” The voice cut him off, seemingly without regard for what he had to say. “You’ve already signed the papers, so-”
“Papers? What papers? I don’t even wanna-” His heart was hammering in his chest, faster than a tiger beetle (the fastest insect in the world, but- wait, where did that thought even come from? He didn’t even like bugs).
“You’ll be contacted again in two days. Be ready.” Before he could utter another disagreement, the other line clicked off, leaving him with nothing but a beeping noise that filled him with doubt.
Gonta spent the rest of the night sleepless, acutely aware of the turning of the ceiling fan and the skittering of bugs on the wooden floor.
He didn’t need to be ready. There was nothing that could have prepared him for their coming. How could he be ready?
Gonta had heard vague rumors about “The Hunt”, but he had always assumed that it was just people being overdramatic. Stirring up fear for no reason, or just a marketing ploy to get more people interested in signing up. That was a fucking laugh. “Sign-ups for our show come with a free ‘strange suited men busting into your house and grabbing you if you can’t escape fast enough’ package!” was what the papers should have said.
For once, his physique came in handy, and he was able to wrestle out of the men’s grips and run out of the apartment before they could grab him again. He could hear their footsteps thundering behind him, and he grit his teeth as he tried his damn hardest to get the fuck out of the area. He had to keep going. He had to keep going keep going keep going keep going ke
Gonta became aware of an acute pain in his shoulder, and fell to his knees with a shaky gasp. The pavement swam before his eyes - he had been tranquilized, like a rabid dog.
The irony dawned on him the moment before he hit the ground.
Light shone through three horizontal slits in front of Gonta’s face. Squinting, he tried to regain his bearings. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was dressed in the same outfit he was wearing when he was… well, “captured” was the best way to put it. Same blue gakuran, same wire-framed glasses. He was cramped in a small, rectangular space that was anything but inviting. Was this what nerds felt like when they got shoved into lockers?
He laid one hand on the door - and it immediately swung open, sending him careening onto the floor. He grunted in discomfort, before realizing that someone was lying on the floor beside him.
They tried to push themself up, but ended up stuck balancing their weight on their elbows. Gonta realized that the other person was a guy - it was hard to tell, though, because he looked so feminine. His long, silky hair fanned out around him, and a surgical mask covered his face. He let out a wheeze.
Gonta scrambled to his feet, surveying him. He remained unmoving. Gonta, being as callous and ungentlemanly as he possibly could, kicked him in the side. “You’re awake, ain’t’cha?” He asked, a look of skepticism on his face. “So, get up.”
The other boy coughed, but slowly got up. He appeared to be exceptionally exhausted, and his eyes were ringed with bags. “S-sorry…” he scratched the back of his neck, eyes downcast.
“What’s your name?”
“Korekiyo…” (Here, he let out a hacking cough and wheezed) “Korekiyo Shinguuji. And you’re-?”
“Gonta Gokuhara. Call me ‘Gogo’ or any of that shit and you die.”
“I… I wasn’t planning to.”
Gonta noticed a piece of paper lying on one of the desks, and quickly snatched it up. Written in a childish scrawl was something about going to the gym. He scowled, snarling, and Shinguuji hesitantly took a step back.
“I suppose that we should go to the gym, then,” He said quietly, but Gonta had other ideas.
“No. No fuckin’ way. I’m getting the hell out of here, gym or no gym,” he turned back to Shinguuji, giving him a sordid look as he turned the doorknob. “Nice talkin’ to ya.”
“Gokuhara-san, w-” Shinguuji staggered towards the door, prompting the former to step out into the overgrown hallway. What he saw made his jaw drop.
A… mecha? A robot? Gonta didn't know the difference, and didn't care. It was saying something, but again, he didn't care. He balled his fists, getting ready to try and punch it, but he saw Shinguuji running away out of the corner of his eye. He had perceived the mech as a hunter, and him and Gonta as its prey.
That coward.
Muttering obscenities under his breath, he followed suit.
The gym was filled with people of all shapes and sizes (quite literally - one of them only reached Gonta’s waist), and they all seemed to be awkwardly waiting for something whose identity none of them knew. He froze when he saw the purple haired guy from back when he was a Death’s Head. What the hell was he doing here?
If he recognized Gonta, though, he didn't say much. 73253 - what was the kid’s name again? - was also there, looking exceptionally nervous. Before Gonta could demand an explanation for what was going on, a blonde girl and a guy wearing a baseball cap entered the gym.
And after that, all hell broke loose.
Gonta couldn't even parse what was happening: the robots suddenly appeared in the room, and then there were bears? He barely listened to anything they said, as he spent the time trying to comprehend the situation. There were angered shouts from the others, and he felt his fists clenching in anger.
Clothes were passed out, for whatever reason. Something compelled him to put them on, but whoever had organized the outfits had forgotten shoes from his. His toes curled in disgust as he felt the grass under his feet. Everything was moving too fast for him to grasp anything. Maybe his “friends” were right when they said he was a blockhead, and that was all he would ever be.
And then the world exploded. Gonta felt himself being pulled, as if by an unknown force. It felt like the neurons in his brain were being rearranged by some unknown force. The pain was excruciating, and Gonta clawed at his hair, as if that would bring the confusing procedure to an end and make it st
Faces appeared before his eyes that he could not put names to, and that he would not be able to until much later
There was a great and mighty rumbling, and he felt the presence of the wolves from his visions at the edge of his consciousness
The feeling that something was slowly slipping away from him no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it
Light shone through three horizontal slits in front of Gonta’s face. Squinting, the entomologist tried to regain his bearings. Looking down at himself, he saw that his feet were bare and that his familiar bug terrarium was slung around one shoulder. Still, his head felt… strange.
This certainly wasn’t the woods where he grew up (he'd lived there for years, he could clearly remember. Why would he not?), or even one of the biology labs he’d spent time in once he was returned to human society. He was cramped in a small, rectangular space that was anything but inviting. The chatter of insects and other animals that he normally welcomed was nowhere to be found.
He laid one hand on the door, and an image flooded his mind.
With a sigh, he took his thumb and laid it on the bug’s back. And in one slow motion, he crushed it before it could even make another disgusting noise.
Gonta choked back a scream.