PROLOGUE
AN: This is a fic about a couple of OCs me and my friends' came up with a bit over a year ago, revolving around Dangan Ronpa, which were originally intended to be part of something entirely different than this weird fan fiction I'm writing about them, but, despite our heavy investment in it for a while, it just never came to be. So instead, I decided to write this little diddy about them. It's my first foray into real fan fiction writing (as in, the only fan fiction I've ever written with the intent to publish it online), so I hope it all goes well! For timeline reasons, this whole fiction takes place a vague period of time before The Worst, Most Despair-Inducing Incident in the History of Mankind.
Gakishi Shitasuri picks themselves up from the soaked ground, mud caking the back of their jeans. They pulled up their sleeves and raised their fists to the assaulters they could barely see, their vision still fuzzy from being knocked on their ass just a moment ago. Whoever these people were, they were saying some awful shit to themselves, their forms hunching and ducking as they seemed to mock Gakishi's own movements. This shit always happened, these days - everybody at this place felt some kind of desperate need to kick the shit out of them, to see if they could "get that ugly fucker to crack" - Gakishi had heard it from behind their back for years now.
"What?" scoffed one of Gakishi's assailants, "you think you can take all four of us on, you little shit? Don't make me laugh!"
Gakishi spit out to their side - the punch that had sent them reeling on their back wasn't enough to fill their mouth with blood, but it certainly managed to do a number to their senses. Carefully, they tried to back away from the group of kids, bent on making Gakishi their personal punching bag for the afternoon this cold, rainy day. Honestly, Gakishi wanted nothing more than to go all out on these assailants, even if they knew they couldn't win, just to get out the frustration that was all stocked up inside them, but it wouldn't do any good. It'd just be another problem they'd have to deal with - just another distraction from the work they were trying so hard to do, these days.
"I think it's trying to get away, Kaima-kun," remarked another, "look at it, it's gotten all backed into a corner! How cute…"
Dammit - they had only just wanted to get to the library, they didn't want to be dealing with the orphanage's newest excuse for a gang. Like all the others, this one was just another group of abandoned kids, reduced to another slot in a shelf after some tragic fate befell their family or their lives. A whole, ragtag crew of pathetic assholes, in Gakishi's eyes, and an obstacle best avoided or endured - but they didn't need any new bruises, either.
"Heh, d'you think we can just throw it in the bush's later?" started one of the one's near the front of the group, turning back to his fellow assailants, as if to make a show of it. "Maybe we can just get rid of it once and for a-"
Just around then was when Gakishi made their move - pushing the one off-guard into the other three, they used the momentum to dash to the side, clutching their bag as it swung from the movement. As the four would-be troublemakers scrambled to regain their bearings, Gakishi made off in the direction of the library, rain sharply crashing against their face as they tried their hardest to get the fuck out of the sights of those jerks from before. This is way too intense for a little trip to the library, they thought to themselves, but then, when isn't it? It was always this way for them, after all - the ugly orphan who showed up after their father's murder - a murder that wasn't exactly the least suspicious thing about their past life, it seemed.
Still, they managed to make it to the sliding doors of the public library they had been so intent on getting to. They smiled as they neared the entrance, slowing their frantic run to a relieved walk. At least there'd be witness if anyone were to see the gang from before harassing them here - heck, then, maybe, it'd be an interesting experience. Certainly one they could use… but as they entered the lobby and wheeled around to peer out the raindrop-covered automatic doors they'd entered from, it didn't look like any ominous presence was making it's way closer to the library. Disappointing, but not a setback in any way, so they accepted it, sighed, and turned back to the plethora of shelves that sprawled out across the library itself.
Still, they weren't really here to do any sightseeing. They had particular things to do here, and particular reasons for doing them. They loosened their grip on their messenger bag and let it slip comfortably down their shoulder, and walked over to the second counter to the dreary-eyed and impatient-looking clerk waiting there. His eyes lit up when he saw the orphan walking up to his counter, and his slouched position shifted to a hunched over huddle over his counter, arms supporting him as he looked over the kid in front of him expectantly.
"Hey there, Shitasuri-san," said the young man, smiling coyly. He was a roughly featured, somewhat disheveled looking man of about 21, with pallid dark skin that complemented his dark-brown eyes through his half-lidded gaze. He eased his posture and crossed his arms underneath him, resting his forearms on the counter and blinking. "Here for the delivery, huh? I keep telling you, man, I can't just be doing this for you," he said, scratching at the peach-fuzz on his squat chin, "I mean, I support you and stuff, but this is where I work - if they find out that I'm tampering with their mail like this…"
"Calm down, Machida-san," Gakishi chided, reaching into their bag and taking out a number of magazines tied up in black velcro, "I've got your payment, like always. You wouldn't expect me to come up short after all these times, would you…?" Gakishi leaned in and gave the man a wide grin, resting their forearm on the counter as they laid the package down in front of him. The man reeled up in discomfort, before grabbing the bundle from the velcro strap closer to him. Gakishi lifted their arm from the package and loosened their smile, backing off smugly. "So, I can assume you have my mail here, then?"
The man named Machida cringed slightly and sighed, nodding his head. He placed the package somewhere underneath the counter, and retrieved a single letter stamped in red wax in its place, holding it up to affirm it. "It's the fanciest one you've gotten. What have you been sending this place, anyway?" he asked, curious, "I've seen it around before… it's that Hope academy everyone's been talking about, right?"
Without answering, Gakishi reached over the counter and snatched it from his hand, their smile having retreated to a stern look, their lips pursed. "Yes, it is," they said, matter-of-factly, "and it would seem that my letters must be really getting through now… Good to see they've taken notice." Hopefully, they've taken exceptional notice, Gakishi thought; they'd been sending letters of acclaim from various high-ranking officials in public office locally to inspire the university to notice their efforts, using the library as an efficient resource to mask their identity from the school itself. Despite the fact that the acclaim Gakishi was forging was based in true achievement, they doubted the school would notice them for their talent in any particular way, due to the lack of public awareness of the field in general.
They had hoped they'd be able to garner interest from the school, but up until today, their letters had been unnoticed - at least, Gakishi had yet to receive any contact from Hope's Peak Academy officials recently, and they'd hoped they would never receive such contact sent to the library itself, and yet… here it was. Addressed to their name and everything… even though it was sent to the library's address. They were more intrigued than anxious of being in any trouble - they walked calmly away from the counter, the man blankly staring as they walked away, rolling their eyes and averting their attention elsewhere.
They sat down at a table near the back of the library, next to a window that faced south - on a nice day, they liked it best, as it shown the least light and gave them a cozy reading experience. Today, it just served as a large picture frame into a stormy evening day, black and smeared with rain. Fitting, they figured, and the situational relevance was a coincidence that wasn't lost on them - they chose to ignore dwelling on it, however, and ripped open the top of the envelope roughly, ignoring the wax seal embedded with the logo of the academy in question.
They chuckled as they began to read the letter. We here at Hope's Peak Academy are well aware of the achievements and stupendous brilliance displayed by one Shitasuri Gakishi, as we have been incessantly reminded of over the past few months. Gakishi chuckled even louder - so this academy has a sense of humor, does it? They read on: Despite the act of forgery being abused to influence this awareness, the awareness is, in fact, wholesome - all the information praised checks out, and it is, in fact, a great deal of what we at Hope's Peak Academy are looking for in our selection process to find suitable Super High School Level students.
The letter went on. From admonishing Gakishi to using a library to forge letters from members of high-ranking public office, to reminding the young orphan that they were quite capable of tracking where their mail arrived from, and ultimately, who it truly came from. Then it went on to commend them - something they found highly amusing - for their ambition and persistence in getting the academy's attention, as well as commending them for their extraordinary success in their field. Until it finally came to fruition in a way they never could've expected.
We would like to formally invite you, Shitasuri Gakishi, to attend Hope's Peak Academy as our representative as Super High School Level Physiognomist.
They laughed out loud. Then they started crying - tears of relief they didn't think they'd ever cry. They were finally free. It was positively blissful. Even when their four peers entered the library and dragged them outside into the wet garden on the side of the building, their happiness did not wain. Even when being beaten, kicked, and smashed with the end of boots and sticks, their excitement kept them wide-eyed and cheerful. When they woke up, washed with bruises and sticky with blood and sweat, next to a tooth that had been knocked from their mouth in the brutal beating they were dealt, they still felt absolutely enraptured.
They were finally free.