Tsumugi's sweater still smelled of floral perfume. More specifically, it still smelled of Akamatsu's floral perfume. Her tiny, nearly windowless office was too warm to justify wearing it today. The weather had brightened up over the past couple of days, and the air conditioning in this part of the building was busted, so Tsumugi had no choice but to deal with it, sweater-less.

She hugged the dark blue fabric close, burying her face in it for just a moment and inhaling. Then, a little embarrassed of her own behavior, Tsumugi glanced towards the closed door of her office and tucked the cardigan away in her backpack. Out of sight, out of mind.

(Except not really, because how could she possibly forget about the most stunning girl in school borrowing a piece of her clothing? It was almost as exciting as her job.)

After a quick scroll through her emails, just to make sure there was nothing important that needed her attention, she turned her attention to the thick, battered notebook laying open on her desk. Auditions for the upcoming season hadn't started yet, but it was never too soon to start plotting out character ideas. She'd been given the honor of playing the mastermind, so there was no way she could make any mistakes. Her writing had to be perfect.

Just as she'd started to get fully immersed in planning out a backstory for her protagonist, her phone buzzed. The number wasn't one she had in her contacts, something Tsumugi wasn't accustomed to. For work related things, nobody would text her out of the blue, and in her personal life, she wasn't the most sociable.

'Hey, Shirogane. Rumor has it that you work for Team Danganronpa. Is that true?' it read. Tsumugi frowned down at the screen, brow furrowing as she tried to work out who could have possibly sent it. As she was thinking, however, another message popped up.

'Thanks again for the sweater btw.'

Tsumugi let out a little shriek of surprise, fumbling her phone and nearly dropping it on the floor. It was Akamatsu! Akamatsu was texting her. Okay, okay, she had to act natural. Breathing deeply, she set about figuring out how to reply.

'Oh, Akamatsu-san! It was no problem at all. I was happy to help. As for your question...Yes, that's true. Why do you ask?'

She didn't have to wait long for an answer. In less than a minute, her phone chimed again, the reply short and to the point.

'I want to be in a killing game. Can you help me out?'

Tsumugi was devoted to Danganronpa more than anything else, and she really wasn't supposed to give any applicants preferential treatment. She didn't even have much influence in the audition process. Sure, she'd chat with some people undercover during the initial audition week, and perhaps her opinion would be asked once they were really narrowing it down, but she could hardly guarantee Akamatsu a spot when she hadn't even tried out yet.

That didn't stop her from saying she would.

She gave Akamatsu tips in the cafeteria, showing her preliminary sketches and talking about her ideas for the season, though her status as the mastermind was still supposed to be a secret. Akamatsu asked about what it had been like to survive season 52, and Tsumugi obliged, telling her a couple of stories here and there, and sending her selfies with Amami.

Tsumugi held the camera to film Akamatsu's audition video, watching over her shoulder as she sent it in. She promised she'd be invited to the in-person auditions.

"You're perfect," she said, and she wasn't just talking about Danganronpa anymore.

Holed away in her office, the door locked tight, Tsumugi curled strands of strawberry blonde hair around her fingers, her Enoshima wig soft and silky under her touch. Hundreds of Danganronpa hopefuls were upstairs mingling, so why was she down here instead of trying to get as much information on them as possible?

Disentangling her hand from her wig, she reached down to pick up the packet of cookies on her desk instead. There were only a couple left now, edges crumbling and leaving green crumbs at the bottom of the bag. Matcha flavored, from Akamatsu. There was a miniature sticky note still clinging to the cellophane, pink, with only 'thanks' written on it.

If she didn't know better, Tsumugi would have said she poisoned the cookies, because she'd felt lightheaded ever since she got them, unable to think of anything else.

"I'm Enoshima Junko the 53rd," she murmured to herself, the air still and uncomfortably warm. "Danganronpa is the only thing that matters. Akamatsu-san would be good for it. That's all that matters."

Akamatsu Kaede: Are these people really my competition? So many of them are just pathetic.

Shirogane Tsumugi: Exactly~ That's why you're a shoo-in. You'll be my protagonist, just like I said. You're the best one for the role.

Akamatsu Kaede: Of course. The main characters are always so trusting and naive. It gets old fast. I'd bring something fresh to the show.

Akamatsu Kaede: Are you gonna come do your recon work or what? It's getting boring dealing with these freaks without you.

Shirogane Tsumugi: I'll be right there. Meet you by the elevators?

Tsumugi loved Akamatsu's harshness, loved how she could watch even the bloodiest seasons of Danganronpa without flinching. And yet, she also loved the idea of molding her into someone softer, who'd smile at her and offer the kind of genuine, earnest affection that Tsumugi had never received from anyone.

Trying not to think about how revealing this cosplay was, she headed up to the main floor to meet with Akamatsu. They shared ice cream and joked about the people around them, and afterwards, Tsumugi emailed her boss with all the praise she could muster, nearly begging for Akamatsu to be guaranteed a call-back.

She wrote fanfiction until her wrists ached and drank glass after glass of water to get the taste of matcha cookies out of her mouth. Danganronpa was all that mattered, just like always.

In the weeks before the next round of auditions, while decisions were being made, Tsumugi barely saw Akamatsu at all. They ran into each other at school now and then, and a few texts were exchanged, but little more. None of the companionship of before. It was like she'd been transported back to when Akamatsu didn't even know she existed.

She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. After all, this had only started because Akamatsu wanted her help getting onto the show. That had been made clear from the beginning. And even before that, Tsumugi letting her borrow a sweater had been the only thing prompting Akamatsu to ask her for help in the first place. It had nothing to do with who Tsumugi was as a person. Only convenience.

On the day the finalists were instructed to come to the final auditions, Tsumugi found a shiny pink bag of matcha cookies on her desk, and knew that the higher-ups had listened to her pleas. She put the cookies in her drawer this time rather than eating them right away. Just peering at them was dangerous enough for her heart.

It wasn't until the audition day itself that she got any more acknowledgment than that. Akamatsu showed up with bruised knuckles and a cut lip, grinning at Tsumugi like her injuries were an inside joke between them.

"What happened?" Tsumugi asked, eyes widening. She knew she seemed more concerned than she wanted to.

"No big deal, relax. Some guy at school was pissed that I'm still in the running and he isn't. Got into a little fight. I think it makes me look the part for the killing game even more though, don't you?"

"Y-yeah, definitely." Without thinking, she took Akamatsu's hand, gently running her thumb over the bruises. "Not that you need the extra help. It's just like you said. You're perfect for a killing game."

Tsumugi could feel a few people staring at them. The crowd had thinned considerably from those first open auditions, perhaps only 40 contenders remaining. Competition was steeper than usual this year, with three of the sixteen spots already reserved for herself, Amami, and Kiibo, the new robot surrogate. Most people didn't interact much with the others beyond a little half-hearted small talk, so they stood out, holding hands with so little space between them. From her quick glance around the lounge, Tsumugi could spot only one other pair acting so familiar with each other.

They were leaning close to each other and talking about something, one sitting on the arm of the other's chair. Every now and then, one or both of them would laugh, clearly sharing genuine inside jokes and not the mysterious, confusing behavior Akamatsu was exhibiting. After watching them for a minute or two, Tsumugi felt confident that they were a couple. Did the others think that about her and Akamatsu?

"What are you thinking about?" Akamatsu asked eventually. Abruptly, Tsumugi realized that she'd zoned out, and even more embarrassing, that she was still holding Akamatsu's hand.

"Ah, um, nothing, sorry," she said hastily, letting go. "I didn't get much sleep last night, I guess I'm just a little out of it." She wished she could summon up Enoshima's intoxicating confidence in real life, and not just when she was in front of a camera or microphone.

"Hmm." Akamatsu didn't seem satisfied with that answer, falling silent for a moment. "You were looking at those two." She nodded towards the couple Tsumugi had been observing, lip curling in distaste. "I don't know why people like that even bother to try out. If you want to win, having someone you love in there with you is only going to be an obstacle, doesn't matter whether you remember it or not."

"That's true, but it makes for more drama, so I'm glad they do," she said. "Aren't the betrayals and grief some of the best parts?" Across the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about, the couple seemed to have given up any pretense that they weren't disgustingly in love with each other. The one who had been on the arm of the chair last time Tsumugi looked was now on the other's lap. They were exchanging kisses in the midst of their conversation, too quiet for her to make out the words.

Next to her, Akamatsu made a gagging noise.

"It makes no sense to me," she muttered, shaking her head. Soft blonde hair just barely grazed Tsumugi's neck, and the incidental contact made her skin feel like it had been set on fire. "Just stick to watching the show if you're going to act like that."

Then, Akamatsu did something that Tsumugi could never have predicted. A mixture of irritation and amusement in her eyes, she grabbed Tsumugi's wrist with her injured hand, tugging her closer. Tsumugi barely had time to prepare before soft lips pressed against her own. Akamatsu tasted faintly of blood, but was gentler than Tsumugi would have expected, despite the mocking way in which she did it.

"Can you imagine?" she muttered incredulously as she pulled back, leaving Tsumugi to wonder what, exactly, she was meant to be imagining. When Akamatsu wasn't looking, she lifted a hand to her lips, fingertips brushing over them for just a moment. The couple across the room, still snuggled together in one armchair, was observing her now. The tables had turned.

Akamatsu was one of the lucky thirteen selected, not a surprise. Tsumugi didn't have much time to consider how she felt about it. Now that the cast was finalized, she was working on character backstories and costume designs constantly.

All of her characters were charming in their own way, she liked to think, but her personal favorite was the Ultimate Pianist. Akamatsu would be wonderful. Everyone would love her. Merchandise of her would be sold out all across the country. Tsumugi could see it now. The world would love Akamatsu just as she deserved, but the real Akamatsu, the blunt, misanthropic girl who'd kissed her as a joke, was all hers.

She'd been given photos to aid in costume design, but it wasn't until the cast was gathered together in person that she realized the couple from the lounge was present too. Both of them had gotten in...what were the odds? Tsumugi could see the hints of fear in their eyes and the way they clung a little closer than before, and wished they hadn't.

She matched her lovingly constructed backstories with the people in front of her now, realizing which ones they were, and for just a second, she wondered if she was doing something wrong.

All the advertising claimed that nobody regretted participating in Danganronpa. Team Danganronpa was in the business of fulfilling everyone's dreams. Tsumugi knew it was a lie, but had never truly felt it until now.

"Akamatsu-san," she said, the clock counting down to the memory implantation procedures. "Could I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Akamatsu raised an eyebrow, like she didn't have any idea why she was being asked, but shrugged, walking over to her.

"Sure, what's up?" All fifteen participants (Kiibo had no need to be present at the moment) were gathered in the waiting room. Private conversations at this point weren't typically accommodated, nor were they usually desired. The cast consisted of strangers most of the time.

"Actually...hang on just one second, sorry." Tsumugi turned away from Akamatsu, approaching the lounge couple instead. It was easier to think of them that way. Remembering their names made her nauseous now.

She met expressionless eyes and swallowed hard past the lump in her throat.

"My office is down the hall on the left, with the Miku poster on the door. Just don't touch any of my things, and give the key back to me afterwards. You can have fifteen minutes." This was breaking so many policies Tsumugi could hardly count them all, but she dug out the key to her office, offering it out for either one of them to take.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning sharply and returning to Akamatsu.

Since she'd given her office away for the moment, Tsumugi settled on just going far enough down the hall that they wouldn't be overheard. It would do.

"So what's this about?" Akamatsu asked, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms.

"I suppose I just wanted to say that I've enjoyed spending time with you," Tsumugi began. "It's been...very nice, and I hope we'll become friends for awhile in the game." She moved closer, fingers twitching with the urge to touch Akamatsu, to remember her as she was now.

"Who said we were friends? Besides, I'm planning to win. You're the mastermind. We're not both getting out of there alive."

"Well, yes, but...nobody real has ever made me..."

"We were working together. Now we're not. Goodbye, Shirogane." Akamatsu turned to leave before she could say anything more.

Tsumugi stood there numbly, and listened to the sound of crying coming from her office. She could not cry herself, not until she saw Akamatsu Kaede, the Ultimate Pianist, too optimistic, too kind, hanging. At the sickening crush of spikes coming down, she reached into her pocket, fingers brushing over a long-stale bag of matcha cookies.

Danganronpa was the only thing that cared for her. It was as it had always been.