This I Promise Chapter 1, a dangan ronpa kibou no gakuen to zetsubou no koukousei fanfic

THIS I PROMISE

The thick, musky scent of rain and wet concrete hung in the air, completely still and oppressive. The bright shadows of nearby neon signs glistened across the street's tarmac in a smudgy soup of garish pinks, blues, yellows, and reds. The bright lights of the city reflected up into the thick, ominous rainclouds that covered every square inch of sky, bouncing back, and creating an otherworldly brightness that had no business being there at such an hour. The low mumbling of indistinct chatter, the scratchy pops of walkie-talkies being switched on and off, and the thick, saran wrap peeling of cars driving past, their tires rolling over and sloshing through the soaked streets.

The rain fell as a light, steady sprinkle. It's droplets splashing down upon the earth, exploding into a brief dance of water, before becoming one with the pavement. Flashes of red and blue monotonously alighted the dark recesses of the alleyway that had been blocked off by squad cars, yellow tape, and officers. And standing at the maw of this particular section of the concrete jungle stood a young man, no older than 19 and draped in a trench coat blacker than the night around them. His sharp, piercing eyes were trained down towards the ground.

A figure, facedown, half of its face obscured by a deep crimson puddle. Those sharp eyes scanned across both the body and its immediate surrounding area like the head of a printer, not missing a single detail.

There was no struggle.

No scuffs on the body's shoes, no bruising on his knuckles, not so much as one thread on his expensive looking suit was out of place. The man had not even seemed to have reached into his coat for the gun that was sitting, unused, safely clasped in his shoulder holster. He had been dead before he even knew something was happening. Through the streams of water that fell from the tips of his umbrella's ribs, the Ultimate Detective was looking at what, on the surface, appeared to be a nearly perfect murder.

"What do you got, Saihara?" Shuichi Saihara turned his head back to the owner of the grizzled voice that sounded the way tree park felt. An older man, around 57 or so to be accurate, approached him. With his bushy, silver moustache and crew cut, slightly waning but still broad physique and brown duster flapping about his legs as a gusty breeze flew through the alley with a blunt whistle, the man seemed to exemplify every stereotype of the quintessential gritty, experienced cop.

"Chief, what are you doing here?" Shuichi inquired, bewildered about seeing his commanding officer out in the field.

"Well, the DA wants a little extra assurance that this case goes in the direction he wants it to. Major pain in my ass." He motioned towards the corpse with a curt nod of his head.

"That poor son of a bitch taking that long drink just so happens to be one of the Kuzuryu's most prolific liaisons, a Mr. Ryota Shirakawa. We'd had him under surveillance for the past few days, hoping he'd lead us to wherever it is they have their caches of weapons and narcotics stashed away. Or at the very least, be a promising starting point on our little treasure hunt through the underworld. Unfortunately, looks like some overzealous third party decided to come in and dump a huge bag of 'fuck you' right on top of us." Muttering something under his breath to the effect of missed baseball games, more paperwork, district attorneys being on so and so's asses, and the need for a strong, neat drink, the older man came in line with Shuichi, taking a cursory look at the scene laid out in front of him. "So? What have you got so far, Detective Prince?"

Shuichi scoffed before turning his attention back to the cadaver.

"Well, even without inspecting the body, I think the scenario is pretty cut and dry." Approaching the remains formerly known as Ryota Shirakawa, Shuichi knelt down next to him. Grabbing his shoulder with a gloved hand, he pulled back, causing the corpse's face to emerge from its bloody bath, until the body was laying nearly on its side.

"Just as I thought." Shuichi exclaimed.

"What's just as you thought?" The Chief questioned.

"There's no injuries on his front side either. Everything about this man's appearance is completely in order, apart from being dead, of course. Absolutely no signs of a struggle, not even one second of resistance was exhibited. He died nearly instantly. And the culprit—" Releasing the man and placing him back down in his original position, Shuichi pointed to the back of his neck, where a single, red slit sat like a bloody trench in his flesh. "Is this. One single stab to the medulla. Nearly, if not, instant shut down of both respiratory and cardiovascular functionality." Shuichi rose from his crouched position and walked back to his original position next to the chief, but facing out toward the street.

"Whoever the culprit was, they knew exactly what it took to ensure Mr. Shirakawa would be silenced quickly and permanently." The chief heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh, his breath emitted from his mouth as vapor when it met the cold, wet night air. Reaching into his inside pocket, he withdrew a pack of cigarettes, popped one out and took it between his lips, all with a single hand. Pocketing the pack, he pulled a worn zippo that had clearly seen its fair share of use from his side pocket, flipped the latch open, flicked the spark wheel and brought the gentle flame to the end of his cigarette. The warm glow of the flame, surrounded by cold, wet darkness, made it feel almost like a tiny campfire in the middle of a huge, expansive rainforest. With no way out in sight, and the terrors night brought along with it, it felt like a tiny oasis of hope and safety.

The chief snapped the latch shut, extinguishing it instantly.

After taking a long drag, he exhaled. A stream of smoke flowed from his mouth before branching out and dancing in a dance of swirls and spirals that became lost in the rain.

"Well, sestlovvie, I suppose."

Shuichi blinked a few times... before turning his head slightly towards the chief, one eyebrow cocked upwards, "You mean, 'c'est la vie', sir?"

"Whatever. Damn Italian never did come in much use anyway." Shuichi decided to just let that one go with an exasperated sigh.

"So, you'd like for me to find out who's responsible for your lead going cold, am I right?" The chief snickered under his breath.

"Well, that is kind of your job, isn't it?" Shuichi closed his eyes and allowed an amused smirk to grace his lips.

"Yes. I suppose it is, isn't it." The chief turned around and gave Shuichi a good few 'pats' on the shoulder that felt more akin to plates falling onto it to the young detective.

"Good to see those prodigious detective skills are still as sharp as ever!" Shuichi let out a bemused chuckle as he rubbed a hand over his now sore shoulder and snapped his neck to the opposite side, feeling an audible and satisfying 'pop'.

"Right... well I guess I'll get right on it then. Even though the scene looks pretty simple and clean, I'm going to give it a more thorough combing, just to make sure." The chief nodded his silent agreement. Looking at the young man in front of him, he couldn't help a smirk from slowly blooming beneath his moustache. Noting this, Shuichi pulled himself back a bit, slightly disturbed as to what the chief might be smiling about. "What...?" The chief shook his head mirthfully.

"Looking at you now, I just find it so hilarious to think about how you used to be in diapers not that long ago."

"I think 18 years could more than qualify as, 'that long ago'." Shuichi exclaimed with a slight huff, a light pink coloring spreading across his face as ink upon a sheet of washi paper. The chief finally laughed out loud at his indignation while Shuichi stewed in his chagrin. "It's moments like this that make me wish I were still just helping out around uncle's agency." Suddenly, they were both broken from their brief moment of levity when a voice called out.

"Chief Hosoda!" Turning both their attention towards the source of the voice, they saw a young man, no older than 27 at the most, coming towards them with a phone in his hand. The dark brown hair beneath his officer's cap was shaved short. He was moderately muscled, but seemed to give more attention to some muscles over others, making him look slightly top heavy. He approached Hosoda, holding out the phone to him. "It's the district attorney sir. He wants a progress re—" He stopped short however, peering around Hosoda's still impressive frame to where Shuichi was glaring at him. "Oh, I'm sorry sir. I didn't realize you were in the middle of babysitting. Should I tell him to call back at another time?" The man spewed with a tone so condescending it could make paint peel.

"Knock it off, Honda. Give it here." He swiped the phone from the young officer's hand and gave him a cautionary glare as he raised it to his ear and began speaking into the mouthpiece. "This is Hosoda... not entirely, no... it seems whoever our mutual friend is, they're irritatingly thorough... Sir, I don't really think that will—…... Yes sir... Very well. I'm heading there now." With that terse exchange over and done with, Hosoda beeped the phone off. "Well, looks like I need to go bring the cinnamon roll his cookies and milk so he'll calm down. Saihara, the scene is yours. The medical examiner is on his way. Once he shows up and you're finished, just let him know and he'll go ahead and handle the cleanup. It looks like the crowd has thinned out, so I'll let the other officers know they can head out. That includes you Honda." The burly police chief gave the young officer a sharp look. "Let Saihara work. The last thing I need is for you to be getting in the way of an on-duty detective. Understood?" Honda went through the motions of saluting his affirmative, but his words were hollow.

"Yes sir, of course." Not entirely convinced, but not having the luxury of waiting around, Hosoda took his leave, heading through the black curtain of rain back towards his car. Shuichi could hear the faint shouting of Hosoda instructing the remaining officers to clear out. As soon as he was out of earshot, Honda's salute came down as he turned toward Shuichi with a smug smirk adorning his face.

"Here we go..." Shuichi sighed internally as Honda sauntered his way over to where he was standing, which Suichi thought made him look absolutely ridiculous as he did it under his umbrella. As usual, he invited himself right into Shuichi's personal space, standing a good 3 inches above him. A tactic Shuichi knew was him trying to 'dominate' him.

"Well, well, little Chuuichi. Playing detective again, huh? Where's your hat and pipe though! I mean, a big, strong detective's gotta have his hat and pipe, right?" Every word that slithered past his teeth made Shuichi's eye twitch. He could feel the dull drumming of a vein in his temple as he struggled to maintain his composure. Shuichi is not a boastful person, but even he felt he ought to be commended for not having 'accidentally' misplaced a few drops of poison into one of Honda's many cups of coffee. The sulfuric fumes that he has the gall to call breath would be enough to put a polar bear in a coma. And unfortunately for Shuichi, Honda was directing that lethal weapon squarely in his direction. Taking shallow, measured breaths, Shuichi steeled himself against the man standing awkwardly too close to him.

"Do you need something Honda? If not, I'd really appreciate it if you would let me get back to my work." Honda took another step towards Shuichi, necessitating Shuichi to take a step back, unless he wanted to be standing chest to chest. Which he did not. Still wearing that condescending grin on his face, Honda continued to advance onto Shuichi, forcing him to retreat until the foot he took his last step with came up against the graffitied and gum covered brick wall of the building that made up the alleyway's left side. Honda once again brought himself right up against Shuichi, but Shuichi refused to be pushed that last little bit. If for no other reason, then to just irritate Honda, knowing he couldn't complete his pogona beard flaring. Honda's smirk finally wavered as he brought his face in close to Shuichi's.

"You know, that high and mighty attitude of yours is exactly the reason you piss me off so much. You think just because your uncle has connections, that means you can just waltz in here like you're the king of hot shit, don't you." It wasn't a question. Not that he really wanted Shuichi to answer anyway. His voice was low, and he was pushing it out from deep within his diaphragm, lacing it with hoarseness and also, unfortunately, even more of his noxious breath.

"Are you going to give me the old "if it wasn't for you swooping in, I would have gotten that detective slot" story? I've got it memorized by now, so you can save your breath." Honda's smirk finally dropped completely, replaced instantly with a toothy snarl. Suddenly, Shuichi couldn't breathe, and there was a dull pressure in his gut. Everything was frozen for about two seconds, two seconds that felt as if they lasted 10x as long as they actually did. Then the pressure was gone. Shuichi struggled to inhale and a low, dull pain with a sharp center began radiating throughout his torso, like lightning striking and setting off a clap of thunder rumbling through the clouds.

He fell to his knees, his umbrella dropping to the side. He curled over like a turtle, holding his gut with his forearms, protecting it. He gasped and gagged and coughed, his lips coyly kissing the puddles of water beneath him. The feel of the rain soaking his back and hair, combined with his knees and calves being partially submerged in a large puddle that had formed in a pool where a significant chunk of pavement had become cracked and gaping, almost felt therapeutic. Their cool embrace and gentle patting, almost trying to comfort him. This small reprieve was of course brought to a crashing end with the sound of Honda's voice, tinged with aggressive indignation.

"You think you're special, pretty boy? You think you got some sort of natural gift that makes you so much better than someone with years of actual experience at catching the bad guys? Do you even know what it sounds like to hear a bullet go whizzing past your head, tearing off a chunk of the corner you're hiding behind? Do you know what the kickback of a pistol feels like as you're firing it back at some mother fucker who's trying to take your damn head off?" Shuichi turned his head as Honda continued on with his raving. All the other officers had cleared out long ago, back when Hosoda had given them the green light. The medical examiner doesn't seem to have arrived yet either.

"You don't know anything about what it takes to be an actual detective! You're just some brat who got a free pass because your uncle and the chief happen to be butt-buddies! An inexperienced, little twerp who's never even seen a dead body before today!" Shuichi stiffened at that notion, but clenched his teeth. "You think you can skate by, by impressing people with your fancy vocabulary, bullshit deductions and batting your faggoty eyelashes at the top brass? What the hell are you even here for? Huh? You just get your rocks off on completely fucking over other people's aspirations!? Here's an idea, boy, run back home and play with your magnifying glass and leave the adult work to the adults."

To punctuate the end of his tirade, Honda took his foot and swept it through the puddle Shuichi's face was in, kicking water into his face, before turning heel back towards his squad car.

"Little shit." Shuichi barely heard his departing words over the rain as it danced around his face in a sloshing rave. He laid there, listening to the engine of Honda's car grow fainter and fainter.

Enjoying the quiet.

Enjoying the return of the gentle rain on his back and the comfort of the puddle soaking his calves.

Somewhere, in the far recesses of his mind... the image of a blonde woman patting his back and a grinning man holding him steady flashed through his consciousness, like the single flick of a strobe light... before it was gone.

The sharp throbbing in his solar plexus had dulled and his breathing was somewhat back to normal. He finally pulled himself up from his turtle position, onto his knees.

Where he sat.

He sat there. Head down. Hair obscuring his eyes. Breathing through his mouth.

In truth, he only sat for about four minutes, but for Shuichi Saihara, it felt more akin to an hour. Honda had always been openly hostile towards him, but this was the first time it had ever escalated to becoming physical. "Figured it would eventually happen sooner or later."

Honda's words continued to pester him though. Like an angry hornet buzzing around inside a glass jar, they shot erratically this way and that way, slamming into the sides of his mind. They weren't any of the personal attacks against him. He had become accustomed to those. They weren't even Honda's assumption that Shuichi had never encountered death before in his life, which did still irk him.

No, the words he could not cease hearing ring throughout his head, his psyche, his very being, was the relatively simple question, "What the hell are you even here for?"

Each repetition of that question was as a hammer falling upon a red-hot length of steel, smashing it into form, strengthening it.