Matsuda's heart pounded rapidly in his chest as he ran all over the campus looking for Ryouko, almost blinded by panic. He could find no trace of her anywhere. No crinkled notebook pages covered in messy writing, no strands of bright red hair.
It was as if she'd vanished completely.
He'd checked all her classrooms, her dorm, and everyplace in between. He couldn't think of where she could've gone that he hadn't already checked. He'd even stopped by some of the places he knew Junko used to frequent before she'd lost her memories. Part of him was relieved that he hadn't found her there, but that also increased his frustration because where the hell else could she be?
Keeping Ryouko out of trouble felt like catching smoke in his bare hands—not only was it impossible, but he was bound to get hurt trying.
Yet there was something about that smoke that always lured him back. Perhaps it was because the dark clouds covered up his faults and vulnerabilities. And even if he'd get burned if he got too close, being just close enough gave him the warmth he needed to stay strong through the chill of all his doubts and regrets.
Junko had been the only constant in his life ever since his mother had gotten sick and the world he'd always known had crumbled to ashes around him. He'd reached out desperately for something steady to hold onto, and that something—or someone—had turned out to be Junko. Even Matsuda had cracked under the pressure, feeling as if he would fall apart, but she'd held him tight until he'd been able to slowly put the pieces back together. Ever since then, she'd always been right by his side.
No matter what she'd done to him since, he could never forget how she'd kept him from shattering. He could never let go of the feeling of her arms around him, how warm she'd been on the outside even though her heart was as cold as ice. He could never deny that after his mother died, she'd become his whole world.
They did almost everything together. In the aftermath of his mother's death, it had hurt to think, to feel, even to breathe. But being with Junko eased that pain.
She understood Matsuda better than anyone. She always knew exactly what he was thinking at any given time, exactly how to make him smile, how to make him angry, how to make him cry, how to make him feel better when he was sad. And as annoying as she could be when she wanted to, even annoyance was better than emptiness.
But thinking of her as a distraction from his pain wasn't right either. He was always thinking about her, always wanting to be with her, even after he'd hardened his heart and had stopped mourning his mother's death. The only explanation he could possibly think of was that he must be in love with her.
Years later, Junko's sister had run away to join Fenrir, leaving her all alone the same way his mother's death had left him all alone. And Matsuda had held onto her the way she'd once held onto him, as Junko buried her face in his shoulder and cried tears that weren't real, but he knew she wished were, because if she couldn't really cry even when her only sister was half the world away, then she probably never would.
I don't understand, she'd whispered, and her tone had seemed strange to Matsuda because had never heard her sound confused before. I'm supposed to be sad, right? I'm supposed to feel horrible inside. But I don't feel horrible… This feeling… It can only be despair, but… I've never felt anything so good.
He tried to keep his heart from lurching with dread at the longing tone in her voice. He'd always known that she didn't feel things the way other people did. Junko had known nothing but emptiness until she had discovered despair. It was only natural that once she could finally feel something, even something horrible, she would begin to crave it. After all, anything was better than complete numbness, right?
Despair… that's the only thing I can feel, isn't it? A sorrow so deep and powerful that even someone like me, who doesn't have emotions, can feel it.
Matsuda had felt her heart beating close to his own and had wished that he could share his own heart with her, so she could feel something, anything, besides that sorrow.
The two of them had always been seen as the problematic students, the ones who weren't normal. Both of them had been irreparably damaged by the lives, the identities, that they had been born into. The biggest difference between them was that Matsuda still hoped that he could fix them both.
He hadn't known until he'd wiped her memory that it was Junko's analytical talent that made her so unfeeling. Unlike Junko, Ryouko Otonashi laughed and cried and could be surprised. Unlike Junko, Ryouko wanted happiness, not despair.
He cherished every moment he saw Ryouko feel something. He loved the way her face lit up whenever she saw him, the way she could be surprised by reading something she'd written not even two hours ago, the way she'd become indignant and furious when he'd told her she'd almost been expelled because her grades had inevitably dropped once she'd lost her ability to form any long-term memories.
Her emotions were so vivid, so vibrant. Matsuda couldn't help but feel amazed as he watched her react, really react, to things that happened to her and things that he said. At the same time, he couldn't help the regret that began to poison his heart, because he knew this was how Junko could've been all along, in another life.
Ryouko was much sweeter than he'd ever known Junko to be—innocent, gentle, and even empathetic. Of course, she had none of Junko's intelligence either, nothing but air inside that ditzy head of hers, but there was something endearing about her complete trust in whatever he told her. He couldn't help feeling protective of her.
More than anything, he wanted to shield her from her own analytical talent, the talent that had stripped away all her emotions, leaving behind only unchanging, hollow certainty. A void so deep that it sucked in everything around it, like a black hole. Junko would keep pulling everything in, destroying everything around her, until she could fill the void inside her heart. Matsuda knew she would keep doing it until the day she died because that void was impossible to fill.
But Ryouko was untouched by Junko's addiction to despair, and that gave him the hope and determination that he'd been lacking for a very, very long time.
At the same time, he knew she wasn't entirely real. She was still Junko Enoshima, the girl he loved, but there were important, irreplaceable pieces missing. Matsuda could accept that the childhood they'd shared no longer existed in her mind, but he also missed the parts of her personality that had disappeared with her memories. He missed her eerie perceptiveness, her complete understanding of him. He missed the way she looked at him and saw not only someone she loved, but also him, exactly as he was.
He loved Ryouko Otonashi because of everything she wasn't, but at the same time he couldn't completely love her because he missed the real Junko.
It wasn't fair that he had to lose things he loved about her to have a version of her who could feel some kind of happiness. And since Ryouko wasn't really Junko, how could any happiness she felt be any realer? Was it fair for Matsuda to withhold her memories just to maintain what was basically an illusion?
Even if he somehow kept up this precarious cycle, if he somehow made Junko stay Ryouko forever, could even he be truly happy with that? He feared that he'd always be wishing, deep down, that Ryouko was Junko instead.
He was an idiot. He should just accept Ryouko the way she was. Even if she wasn't entirely Junko, she was still mostly Junko, and it was far better than being without her at all. As much as he loved her and as much as she loved him, Junko had never been kind. Ryouko was a much better person, and much better for Matsuda.
At least she probably would be if I didn't need to tear the world apart to find her.
Where was Ryouko? He wasn't even sure whether he should be more worried for her now, considering she could be wandering around somewhere completely lost, or for whoever crossed her path if he didn't find her soon. The amnesiac effects of his "treatment" didn't last very long—three days, give or take—before she started retaining memories. And once she did… Matsuda didn't share her analytical skills, but he still knew it could only end badly. Junko was too smart, too perceptive, to not remember everything as soon as she figured out what her talent was.
He tried to focus on what he was doing. Maybe he should go back to his lab for just a few minutes. It was easier to think there than anywhere else. It was the only place he could forget about all the terrible choices he'd made, the web of bad decisions he'd woven himself into, and focus solely on his talent.
His talent. The one part of him that could still accomplish something useful. The one part that hadn't been warped by his mother's death or the company he kept.
Speaking of that company…
Matsuda opened the door to his lab and stopped dead in his tracks.
Ryouko was fast asleep on the bed. The sunlight streaming in through the window fell across her slumbering form like an unhelpful spotlight.
You've got to be kidding me.
She looked as comfortable as if she slept there every day of her life. Her long red hair had spilled out across his pillow, as thick and dark as blood. She snored softly with a blissful expression on her face, completely oblivious to the frantic search that Matsuda was painfully aware had probably chopped a few years from his lifespan.
Slowly, his shock ebbed, replaced by increasing annoyance.
"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed.
Part of him wanted to wake her up and yell at her, but that wouldn't do any good. She would only give him a bewildered, hurt look, wondering why he was so cruel to her when all she wanted was for him to love her—or all she thought she wanted, anyway. He couldn't look at her sometimes without seeing Junko Enoshima and her ever-increasing desire for despair beneath the surface. He hated himself for how horribly he treated her, but he hated himself even more for loving her.
Why am I protecting her? he asked himself furiously, the words so familiar in his mind that he felt as if they'd been engraved there. Why am I risking everything for her? Junko Enoshima didn't deserve protection. If her identity and her plot for bringing the world into despair were discovered, that was exactly what she deserved.
She's not the same person she was when we were children. Back then, the extent of her wicked amusement had been pulling pranks on their classmates. She'd been cruel, even then, but no one had gotten seriously hurt. No one had died.
Matsuda was constantly stressed out nowadays, wiping her memory over and over whenever he saw a hint that the clouds of amnesia were being blown away. He was always on edge, afraid for her sake and for everyone else's. Matsuda had no choice but to lie to everyone, including Junko… or Ryouko—he didn't know what to call her anymore. By this point, he'd lied to so many people that he'd lost count.
And he'd done much worse than lie. Matsuda was afraid that he might always see blood on his hands. He hadn't killed anyone himself—he pushed away the tiny voice in the back of his mind that always added not yet—but he'd hidden the evidence of Junko's murders, and that was almost just as awful.
But deep down, he felt complete certainty that it was worth all the pain and anxiety. Junko was safely hidden, and that meant that everyone else was safe from her too. No one else besides Mukuro Ikusaba knew Ryouko's true identity, not even Ryouko herself.
Forgetting had been her idea. She'd meant for it to be temporary, just so she could hide while everyone tried to figure out who had caused the Tragedy. Once the incident had blown over, she would come back and cause even greater despair, or so she intended. Matsuda had vowed to never let her remember. Everyone would be better off that way, even Junko herself. Maybe even especially Junko. But how long would he have to keep this up? Months? Years? A lifetime?
He should never have gotten himself involved in this in the first place.
Then again, he'd already been involved in this. He always had been.
From the moment his mother died, he'd had no one left in this world besides Junko. No matter what she did to him or to anyone, he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
As they'd grown up, her relatively harmless pranks had turned into cruel, vicious attacks. Junko was no longer satisfied with the small snatches of despair she got making her classmates cry on the playground. She'd started analyzing them more deeply, learning how to manipulate their emotions and slowly but systematically tear down everything of value: their self-confidence, their dreams, and their hope. She'd learned how to fill them with despair, despair so strong she could taste it herself. Taste that elusive emotion she worked so hard to fill the void in her heart with.
The moment he'd learned how much she craved that despair, how utterly insane she was, he'd looked into her eyes and realized that loving her would only cause him pain. At the same moment, he realized that it was too late. He already loved her.
Some part of him still hoped that he could find out what part of her mind had been twisted from humanity into monstrosity. Once he did, he could fix it, right? If anyone could, it would be him, the Ultimate Neurologist. He had to cling to that desperate hope, because what was the point of having his talent if he couldn't save anyone he loved?
He knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on Ryouko. He knew better than anyone that memory shaped personality, that if she didn't remember the awful things she'd done, it was like she was a completely different person.
At the same time, he hated her too much to care.
At first, he couldn't help but suspect that she was merely acting, pretending to have lost all her memories. He feared that as soon as he let himself relax, let his guard down, she'd smash the life he'd worked so hard to build for them to pieces.
But over time, he'd realized that his childhood friend—his only friend—genuinely couldn't remember anything that happened to her, or anything that had ever happened to her. All her memories of the lives they'd lived together were gone, but somehow, she still recognized Matsuda anyway. She still remembered that she loved him.
That finally convinced him that she really did. He'd never fully believed it before, considering all she'd put him through in the name of despair.
He didn't know what love felt like in her twisted heart. He doubted it was anything like what he felt for her, a warm soothing feeling that came from being close to her, a feeling that quieted the resentment and worries constantly echoing in the back of his mind. He doubted she'd be satisfied to stay in his arms forever the way he would hers.
But a small part of him was happy enough to know that she loved him in whatever way she was capable of loving another person.
It shouldn't matter, he told himself. Her feelings towards you make no difference. She'd still enjoy seeing you suffer. In fact, being loved by Junko Enoshima was probably worse, in a way, than being hated by her. Mukuro Ikusaba, the only other person who she even remotely cared about, was living proof of that.
He hadn't actually seen Junko's sister in a while, which made him uneasy. Mukuro barely left Junko's side most of the time. Obviously, Junko must've told her to stay away while she was disguised as Ryouko Otonashi, but that made him wonder exactly what else Junko had instructed her sister to do in her absence.
His attention was drawn back to the present by sleepy mumbling from Ryouko.
Without her memories, she looked perfectly peaceful. Matsuda supposed that did make sense; with no recollection of all the horrors she'd seen (and caused) in her lifetime, she couldn't really have troubled dreams, could she?
At least that makes one of us.
Wearily, he sat down on the floor next to the bed.
"…Matsuda-kun…" she murmured.
He glanced at Ryouko, wondering if she'd woken up, but she only sighed happily and snuggled deeper into his pillow with her eyes closed. She was probably just dreaming about him, then, and not actually responding to his presence.
"Yeah," he sighed in reply anyway. "I'm here… like always."
He'd always thought she was beautiful, even before she'd dyed her hair blonde and started wearing blue contacts and put on lots of makeup. Before she'd been labeled as the Ultimate Fashionista and was forced to keep that image, she'd changed her appearance about seven times. She'd gotten bored of first the one she'd been born with and then one by one the styles she'd created for herself. Matsuda had quickly learned to recognize her no matter what her hair and eye color happened to be at any given time.
He'd always insulted her and snapped at her, but Junko had never minded. In fact, she probably even relished in the despair of being called "ugly" and worse by the boy she loved. Matsuda was so used to interacting with Junko that way that he never knew how to treat Ryouko, who seemed genuinely hurt by his insults. He still hadn't fully realized how thin-skinned she was, how seriously she would take his insults when to him, they obviously weren't true. She'd never been ugly, at least not on the outside. The talent she'd been accepted to Hope's Peak for was Ultimate Fashionista, of all things.
But it wasn't her appearance that made Matusda love her. It wasn't her personality either, really. He sometimes felt as if he was going mad because he was so devoted to her, who was so clearly cruel and manipulative, and he didn't even know why.
But every day that she stayed by his side, every day that they spent as each other's only friend, every day they leaned on each other, only strengthened that inexplicable bond.
He supposed it had started the day he'd first cried in front of her. He'd entrusted his heart completely to her in that moment. She hadn't broken it like he feared she would, but rather treated it with a gentleness he hadn't known she was capable of.
She treated his heart like it was worth something, maybe even worth everything to her. She'd kept every promise she made that day.
Even if I forget everything else, I won't forget you.
Had she known, even then, that things would turn out this way? Could she really have predicted all the actions they'd take that many years ago? Had she known that it would all eventually lead to this, his desperate struggle to keep her from remembering? If so, he could understand why she craved the unexpected, things she didn't know.
Maybe that's why she had let it happen. Maybe she'd known that he'd try to keep her from becoming Junko Enoshima ever again, and maybe she'd decided that she'd be willing to give away her talent and her memories for the sake of experiencing life the way she should've been living it all along. The thought was comforting. Too comforting. That couldn't possibly be the truth. Junko would never show him that kindness.
Matsuda was the one person who never bored her, somehow. Something about him had captured her interest all those years ago, and nothing lessened that interest. Now that he thought about it, maybe it was the darkness inside of him, that tendency towards cynicism and depression and despair.
Maybe she thought that in a way, he was like her.
Deep down, maybe she wanted someone to understand her, someone to see that she was all messed up on the inside and think that was okay. Someone who could see how much was wrong with her and still love her anyway.
Matsuda did love her anyway.
But he couldn't just love her. When he thought about all the terrible things she'd done, his veins boiled with frustration and anger and even hatred because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he loved her so much when loving her also made him feel so guilty. It wasn't fair that he loved her so much that he'd do anything for her. He knew that if she asked him to kill for her to keep her safe, he'd do it.
He knew her so well by now that he could guess how she expected him to react to anything she said or did and try to respond differently than she thought he would. He never stopped trying to surprise her. And while she was still almost impossible to startle, and she ridiculed him each time he failed to do so, he knew that she still appreciated his futile efforts to make her life interesting.
Her heart was black, as dark and hopeless as he imagined the universe would be billions of years in the future, after the sun died and took half the solar system with it. But Matsuda treasured that heart anyway. She had given him her heart as he had given her his, and that love, that trust, couldn't be broken.
Yes, Matsuda still trusted Junko Enoshima. Despite everything. Despite all the horrible things she'd done. Despite all the things he'd had to do to protect her.
Erasing her memories had changed her personality completely. She couldn't even remember her talent, nor the predictions she had made with it. Everything surprised her, so she hadn't fallen back into her emotional emptiness and longing for despair.
Still, sometimes it felt like she only ever made his already painful life more difficult, yet almost everything he did was for her. Because he was afraid of being all alone.
No, even more than being alone, he was afraid of being in a world without Junko in it. Even if he'd had anyone else, he couldn't replace her. There was no way anyone else could ever be as important to him as she was.
Not for the first time, he tried to imagine his life without her. He wouldn't have to continuously try to get inside her twisted head and understand her addiction to despair. He wouldn't have to desperately try to outwit the Ultimate Analyst to figure out what horrible thing she was planning next and do everything he could (knowing that it would almost never be enough) to stop her. He wouldn't have to deal with this guilt of loving a murderer, of trying to protect her even though he knew he shouldn't.
But he wouldn't have anyone left to turn to if she was gone.
Junko was the only person he'd ever let himself get close to. No matter how crazy she was, he couldn't forget that she had also been there for him when no one else had. She'd never judged him for the way he pushed other people away after his mother's death. She never urged him to be friendlier. She never dismissed his feelings. She wasn't fazed no matter how viciously he insulted her.
The truth was that she loved him unconditionally.
He couldn't do the same for her. But he couldn't stop loving her either.
The thought of being without her, of never hearing her voice again, of never seeing her smile again (even though he knew by now that her smile was never real), terrified him. He could barely remember what his life had been like before he'd met her. He feared that if he lost her, there would always be an aching gap in his heart.
Matsuda reached out and took a lock of her soft red hair between his fingers. He felt like he had to touch her to chase his fears away, to reassure himself that she was still there. Sometimes she seemed as elusive and transient as fog, especially now that she didn't have a single memory left. Nothing that happened to her had any lasting effect on her. She couldn't even remember her own name.
Yet even in her sleep, she melted at his slightest touch, the way she always did.
The time he'd spent with Ryouko had convinced him that there was a part of Junko, deep down, that could feel things other than despair. He'd never seen Ryouko look happy about other people's suffering. She seemed content just to be close to him.
So why can't Junko?
That was the question he always came back to.
Why couldn't Junko be happy?
And if she had realized a long time ago that she never would be, some selfish part of Matsuda (or maybe the only part of him that wasn't masochistic) wondered why, if she loved him so much, she wouldn't at least let him be happy?
The answer came to him then, and he wondered why he'd never realized it before, when it was so simple and straightforward.
Because no matter how much she loves me, she'll always love despair more.
The realization strengthened his resolve to never let her remember that love for despair. Right now, he was her first and only priority, but if she got her memories back, she would quickly become addicted to despair all over again. There was nothing he could do to make himself more important in her eyes than satiating that lust.
His only option was to keep her trapped in this loop of constant forgetting, trying to make it last when he knew deep down that he couldn't keep doing this forever. But he'd made the decision to start, and there was no turning back now.
Now he had to clean up the mess she'd made in the Tragedy and at the same time prevent her from running around causing even more chaos because she'd forgotten that the whole point of forgetting in the first place was to stay under the radar.
Along with the guilt, it was too much to deal with. It was all too much.
Matsuda couldn't even tell exactly what he was feeling anymore. In the torrent of overwhelming emotions, the only thing he could find a name for was despair.
And anger. Seething, festering anger.
Getting up and walking to his closet, he grabbed the thickest rope he could find. If Junko was going to make him go through all this stress, it was only fair that he be allowed to do whatever was necessary to keep her out of trouble.
She didn't wake up or stir at all, even as he pressed the rope tightly against her skin to make sure she couldn't possibly wriggle free. After tying as many knots as he could, he sat back, looking at his handiwork with grim satisfaction.
There's no way she'll be able to escape from this.
He felt a tiny pang of guilt.
Maybe tying her up wasn't quite necessary. Ryouko's actions were never intended to hurt him or anyone else. But if she wouldn't listen to him when he asked her to do one simple thing to make his life a little easier, then she couldn't blame him for this.
No one can blame me for any of this, he thought. All of the lies and all of the death and all of the bloodshed could be traced back to Junko. It's all her fault, not mine.
But even he couldn't believe that anymore.