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Sitting on her bed, Tsumugi Shirogane was fuming.
She discovered something she didn’t want to know.
An obstacle popped up and threatened the fair progress of the game.
Was it a hacker attack? Somebody throwing tomatoes against the giant cage surrounding Saishū Gakuen? A rat infestation?
Nothing. She knew nothing about it. Everything seemed fine, but she just knew it wasn’t.
How the hell was she supposed to fix that? It was something she didn’t foresee, an unexpected twist on her so well-crafted fanfiction of death.
She absolutely hated hunches, yet she was cursed with being right in situations like this.
In her anger she got up, got a hold of her bedside lamp and threw it against the wall. The poor thing got smashed to pieces.
Well you bozo, standing here and roaring to the sky against this injustice won’t save your sorry life. Haul your ass and try to be productive instead of moping around like an emo bitch.
Calm down. Breathe. Gather your thoughts.
Okay, so what could she do to discern between the myriad of possibilities reality offered?
Her gaze casually shifted to the nightstand, where a framed picture of Mukuro Ikusaba stood. Right next to the late lamp.
Mukuro Ikusaba.
Ultimate Soldier.
Ultimate Despair.
The destroyer of the old order.
Her role model.
Around thirty years ago, she got enrolled at Kibougamine Gakuen (the place for all extraordinary teenage people) after fighting all across the world under the fierce banner of the Fenrir Brigade, the most fearsome mercenary unity in the history of modern warfare.
At seventeen she had drew blood from all kinds of enemies, from Kosovo to Indochina to the bowels of the Amazon jungle. Never getting injured, not once.
An amazing feat in itself. But her magnificence didn’t stop there.
She had a wondrous ideal for the world: drown it in despair.
Shirogane envied the people who had the honor to fight for her dream alongside her, the people who killed for her and died for her.
She put her plan in motion at that young age, organizing two consecutive Killing Games. One for her own class and the other for her senpais of the 77th class. Although the second one was hers only by proxy, since she was already dead.
A bunch of those dumbasses survived. It wasn’t a big deal, because while they were busy killing one another the world crumbled all around them. People everywhere started rioting for the fun of it, killing and maiming and destroying without rhyme or reason.
It was her victory.
Except it wasn’t.
Humanity got on the brink of devouring itself. But some hopeful fools managed to drag it back from the verge and restore a semblance of order. As the weeks and months passed, that semblance started to look like how things were before.
Luckily her idol hadn’t to see how her grandiose view came to an end. She got killed in a duel that surely shook the heavens, because nothing less than a demigod could slay her.
Kyosuke Munakata, vice-chief of the despicable Future Foundation. He was the one who put the final nail on her coffin.
Oh, how Shirogane wanted to be there to witness that painful event. She always had a fixation with the death of great people. She wished to be present on the bridge where, the legend says, the bloody clash between Hope and Despair reached its climax.
Just to witness. And then to skewer him in the back, slowly twisting the blade while reminding him of the horrible sin he had just committed.
In his dying moments she would ask him where he learned to fight so well. As far as she knew, student council presidents don’t know how to handle a katana.
Okay, that didn’t help her. She was the sole person responsible for the New School Life of Mutual Killing, so thankfully there weren’t other people she had to defer to (in her worst nightmares she imagined a group of fat, obnoxious TV producers driven only by ratings. She would kill them all personally rather than submit to their orders). But that meant one thing: she was the only one who could figure out the problem and resolve it.
Still looking at the photo, she wistfully thought that Ikusaba-sama would probably take up her machine gun, scour the academy, find the issue and gun it down. Whatever it was. Or, if she felt particularly sadistic, use a machete.
Logically that course of action was out of the picture, unless she wanted every inhabitant of her little playground to see her as the psycho mastermind. Not that they would be wrong, mind you.
She mulled over this for quite a long time, not finding a satisfactory answer.
Then, when her frustration was approaching the boiling point…
“Huh? What’s this?” she exclaimed, noticing a strange strand of hair on her sleeve. It wasn’t one of her own, that was for sure.
How could she be so certain? Simple. It was green.
Only one person, among the sixteen participants of the game, had green hair.
But that person…
That person should have been dead.
She shot her head upward, looking at the ceiling. In her loitering around the room she randomly stopped exactly below the air vent.
What? Did she just catch… a movement?
Maybe she was wrong.
But the strands she was observing told her another story.
“So that’s the problem I felt…”
Very well.
I know the malady. I just have to find the right medicine.
“Tsumugi Shirogane, I hereby indict you for the unwarranted killing of Kaede Akamatsu. And for your role as the mastermind.”
Okay Shirogane, you’re a failure. Not only you allowed Amami to expose you, you weren’t even able to kill him. It was a simple task and you busted it so miserably I don’t even have words for it.
But… but… Ikusaba-sama, I…
Spare me your excuses, you useless piece of trash. You’re not worthy of continuing my glorious work. You have never been.
I tried my best…
It seems your best is not nearly enough for the cause. And you manage to disappoint me even more now, because you’re feeling guilt and not despair. How could I have possibly thought to leave my legacy in your undeserving hands?
Please, stop… you’re…
Whatever I’m doing to you, be sure you deserve it. You deserve this and much worse. Junko, you’re making me think Junko had a reason to exist. The worst, most idiotic, most despair-inducing sister in the history of sisters… and you’re making her look like she had some merit.
“Are you there, Shirogane? Did you hear what I just said?”
Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP.
Oh please, at least face your end with dignity. I did. When that bastard Munakata killed me I was wielding my trusty war knife. I fought. I wasn’t an offering to some weird deity, dragged to the altar while whimpering pleas. And just for your information: it happened among the ruins of Towa City, not on a bridge.
“Y-Yeah, I did… I heard… and I r-r-reject... your charges…”
“I expected more conviction in her defense from a cornered mastermind, you know. It’s a bit of a letdown.”
You see? You disgust even your enemies. I had many imitators in the past thirty years, but no one left such a bad impression. That little idiot brat, the one with green hair… she did better than you. And now I have an announcement to make.
Wait, don’t tell me…
I renounce you, Tsumugi Shirogane. You are not my successor.
No, don’t! Please don’t! It’s a blow too low for me to survive!
Not my problem. I’m dead and I don’t care for the self-esteem issues of a screw-up. This is the last you hear from me, Shirogane. Deal with it. Farewell, failure.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no…
“Well then. Since you’re not willing to speak allow me to start listing the proof I collected during my time as a not-dead victim, like Harukawa called me.”
“I’m with you, Amami-kun! Akamatsu-san is itching for revenge!”
“What? She’s dead, Saihara. And unfortunately she won’t come back like I did…”
“Who cares! She wants her head on a pike!”
People, guess what? I don’t fucking care too.
Ikusaba-sama has abandoned me.
My life has no value anymore. If it ever had value.
Go ahead. Behead me, dismember me, spit on my corpse, kick it, have sex with it, use it for a menial task.
Desecrate me as you prefer.
I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.