Hey guys. I'm back for a moment to bring to you this story! It's a beta test for me learning how to write angst. I think it's pretty good...
Well, it's Danganronpa, so if you're not actually into the knowledge of the stuff, you may not understand. Check it out, hm? Please. It's really good, promise! Well, anyway, I know the story is jumpy here and there, I'm trying to learn to smooth it out, so, yeah. I guess, enjoy the story?
*******************************Hope************************************
Makoto Naegi had always found his classmates intriguing, considering he had no particular skill in any craft. He was quite the average joe, the simple wave in a torrent of talent. His study skills weren't fantastic, but nor did they suck, he was always right on the middle, the regular within a group of overachievers. He never really engaged in talk with anyone, nobody was worth it. Celestia was too busy off cheating students out of their allowances, Hina was hoarding donuts from the canteen and swimming off the weight, etcetera, etcetera. But, if anyone really interested our protagonist, it was Kyoko Kirigiri. Her face was always like a metal mask, completely impossible to comprehend. Makoto had always expressed a curiosity in her attitude, her ways of facading every action she made. She was mysterious as it was, that was for sure, but her title as Ultimate Detective only made her more of a point of interested. For this reason, boys who loved the element of mysteriousness were swooning at her feet, though most of them still favoured Sayaka as a pop idol.
It all changed after the incident.
Not only were those memories stolen forever.
Sayaka was dead.
Leon was dead.
Chihiro was dead.
Mondo was dead.
Hifume was dead.
Celeste was dead.
Kiyotaka was dead.
Sakura was dead.
Alter-Ego was dead.
And as a party of six, featuring Asahina, Byakuya, Touko, Kyoko, the forgettable Hagakure, and himself, they had started the Future Foundation. While the Refugees of Despair were undergoing the therapy, which had undoubtedly been hijacked to the knowledge of the team, they were learning how to dispose of it. Though it was utterly impossible as of the moment, they were each too unaware of Hope, and still too far into Despair to be able to fix the situation as of now.
Makoto sighed, his hands in his pockets as he looked over the bodies of the Remnants of Despair. He reached the end of the line of machines, where his eyes focused on the figure obscured beneath the fogged glass— the form of Izuru Kamakura. The Despair practically radiated off him, sending a shiver down Makoto's spine. Right now, his true persona known as Hajime Hinata was trapped in a simulation, which was at the same time, all too real. The Ultimate Imposter, who was completely unseeable beneath the sheet of fog, was undoubtedly dead, alongside The Ultimate Chef, Teruteru Hanamura. Peko Pekoyama had died many days ago, and Mahiru Koizumi, even longer. The empty corpses were a symbol of Despair. Of course, their bodies were all still active, yet they did not truly function. With another heavy breath, he strode to the computer, asking Alter-Ego for the status of his A.I, and the program had replied 'active' as a substitution for alive. Makoto raised himself from bending over the computer, shaking his head as he headed for the door of the room.
"Makoto."
At the familiar voice, Makoto raised his head with a grim look on his face to see the petite form of Kyoko Kirigiri. She seemed so still, so calm, that he almost thought she was dead, too.
"You should know fully well that I have undertaken the job to review the status of the participants." She spoke smoothly, quietly, emotionlessly.
Makoto couldn't manage his words very well, but he knew it secretly stung her whenever she saw him like this. After all, her betrayal of him during The Incident had still hit her hard.
"They're not just participants." He mused, wringing his hands around his head as he did so as if to grip his own point. "They're minds were twisted and warped, and are people too you know."
Kyoko was silent, and Makoto swore for a moment that he detected a hint of sadness in her eyes.
"Kyoko?" He muttered quietly, reaching out with a hand to touch her shoulder.
She refused to accept his offer for comfort, and quickly pushed past to go survey those who were meant to be undergoing therapy, instead of experiencing a life-like murder game. It was true that the Ultimate Detective was slowly learning to put down the mask that she had naturally worn for so many years, but the steps were so minuscule and impossible to recognise, unless you truly knew her. Makoto was the only one of the group who had truly taken the time to learn about her, to observe her and to try and befriend her. He thought he was close to becoming a companion, but it seemed that he was hectares away. She had rejected herself as a friend of his when she had hastily preserved herself instead of trying to display the innocence of both of them, and it was obvious to Makoto that it was affecting their companionship. It hadn't even crossed her mind during The Tragedy, and during the creation of Future Foundation, but seeing these children were in an exact same situation appeared to have returned to her darker and deeper thoughts. The small notebook, the one fished from a locker hidden within forever deleted memories, was her most prized possession, though the page with hasty scrawls had been torn out viciously and ripped to shreds. Her small book was now a document of discoveries and knowledge as well as investigations.
Makoto traced her steps back into the room. Her silver hair cascading over her shoulders, flicking as she examined each of the humans in stasis. She was quick about it, as if it meant nothing to her, like watching a stranger fire off a gun on the news and only cringe at the sight of innocents falling to the ground.
"Makoto."
Her voice was the same. Poised, attentive, cold, and seemingly emotionless. She was facing him, but her platinum orbs were travelling over the pods that held the last Remnants of Despair. She took a deep breath, her gloved hands clenching and unclenching, and her finger's twitched with the burden of stress. Even after all of this, Kyoko was also still struggling to handle how Junko had destroyed the lives of so many people, and her A.I was continuing to do so. The difficulty of the situation was getting to her, and she refused to admit she needed some form of support.
"Are…"
Makoto just watched her with a worried expression, as if ready to reach out and pull her into a hug if she needed it. It wasn't like either of them to do that, though.
"We're allies, right?"
Makoto smiled dimly at Kyoko's sorry attempt of reassurance.
"If you mean friends, of course we are."
Unlike a minute ago, his voice was steady, certain, and full of confidence.
Full of…
Hope.
She relaxed, closing her eyes as if to reprimand herself for being so foolish. But they snapped open again, with a certain sturdiness that chilled Makoto to his spine, "I never asked you before. Why do you still think of me as a friend?"
Makoto paused, confusion spreading across his face, "We've been through a lot together." He drifted off in thought for a second, "I mean… longer than we can remember."
A slight whisper drifted through the air, a silent knowing between the pair.
Two years…
"Hmph," She huffed, though out of confused relief, she didn't seem to yearn for an answer however… "Makoto, it's hard to say but… I'm… glad."
He smiled in reserved encouragement, the same way he looked at everyone when they were falling into Junko's trap, a pitfall of Despair.
His smile…
It was a beacon of Hope.