O-Positive

Summary: There's only one person available to save Sakakura's life with a matching blood type. Still facing his demons, Ryota laments that it ends up being him.

Rating: T

Notes: Juzo and Ryota both have the same blood type, so naturally, this happened off-screen! Also, it's not said whether they have O- or O+, but O+ is way more common than O-, so.

This will be a twoshot, though the second chapter might not be as long as the first. I have a whole series of "Juzo lives" oneshots on my Ao3 account, but I decided to upload this one to too because it's two parts. Also, there's passing references to self-harm in this; it's very brief, but just to be careful I'll mention it here.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dangan Ronpa, but Juzo Sakakura is definitely canonly alive.


The droll white walls, the incessant out-of-sync beeps, the screams of agony from down the hall - it all shaped such a haunting environment that Ryota would swear there were ghosts overhead. He'd never liked hospitals, of course, but ordinary childhood fears tend to grow a bit stronger when reintroduced after trauma.

And it certainly didn't help that he'd met one Enoshima Junko at a hospital; every last cell in his body remembered that moment, and chose to punish him for simply being here. Memories flew through his brain like pages in a book, showing silhouettes of a laughing, twin-pigtailed high schooler with the devil's eyes; the images were scars on his mind like those trailing up his arms.

Goosebumps trailed down his pale arms, even underneath the long sleeves of his suit, and he felt as though someone was watching him. Panicked, his breath sped up and eventually caught in his throat, causing him to hack and cough, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. He felt someone over his shoulder, someone was here to take him away, make him pay for what he'd done to them, for his anime that he'd only wanted to use for good and not the evil he'd produced…

It was judging his every move. Biding its time, weighing his sins, ready to strike once he turned around to face it. Like a shadow, he felt it trailing behind him - felt her following him, the clicks of her boots too specific to mistake for anyone else. She was always there, whispering doubts and belittling him, rendering him powerless.

Back in the Killing Game, he'd argued with her in his mind, reasoning that she was dead now, that she couldn't hurt him anymore. She'd merely snarked that she never hurt him, that she never forced him to make anime, and that was his talent that made everyone fall to despair.

She was difficult to ignore, and knew exactly what bits of him to pick apart and dissect, and where to tear into mercilessly like a lioness going for the kill. She knew exactly how to bend him to her will, even from beyond the grave.

Part of Ryota knew it was just his own insecurities that merely borrowed Enoshima's voice and mannerisms. Another part of him denied this, really believing she was still here. If she was, that meant he was a victim again, and wasn't stewing in his own guilt.

"Don't make me laugh, Mitarai-kuuun~" she had sang, "You'll never defeat despair!"

Except he tried. He really, really tried. By using his Hope video, he wanted to rid the world of the despair caused by her - and, he prayed, he would also get rid of her ghost in the process. The video compromised the viewers' free will, sure, but what was a few sacrifices to achieve peace once and for all? Ryota truly wanted to believe in his actions - until Imposter met up with him and broke through the illusion.

Before he'd made his way to the ship to leave with his classmates - the former Remnants of Despair - he'd been asked by Naegi Makoto to meet him at the hospital. Apparently, there was someone who survived the Killing Game he'd want to see.

Presently, though, he was seated in the lobby of the hospital, cringing over Enoshima's spirit behind him and trying to keep himself calm. His heart sped up too fast, pounding against his ribcage, and his world started to blur. Was he hyperventilating?

It's a panic attack. He tried to tell himself, attempting to slow his breathing down. It's just a panic attack! There's no danger here. There's no danger!

"Yeah, Mitarai-kun! Why are you freaking out? It's not like you even did anything to help anyone, y'know? Maybe you should be here instead~"

He let out a small gasp at her response, curling into himself and trying to will her away, to force her to leave. His head drooped, clutched between his knees, and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. Counting up to ten slowly, he once more grasped at a steady breathing speed, his pulse calming itself down slowly but surely.

Though these sort of attacks happened often, Ryota knew he'd never get used to them. It was a horribly helpless feeling, like he was weightless and floating in the terrifying images his mind conjured up. He blamed Enoshima, or wanted to hurl all the blame on her, but he knew it was his own weakness in the end. It was his own fault that he'd made his mistakes, and he had to live with the consequences, however much they may scare him.

"Mitarai-kuun~ Mitarai-kun, why are you freaking out? Jeez. So lame! Mitarai-kun! MITARAI-KUN~!"

"Mitarai-kun?"

Ryota's muscles tightened and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat; his mind, still half coursed in adrenaline, assumed it was Enoshima that called his name and he felt his stomach churn as though he'd be sick. His entire body felt cold and detached from his mind, like an empty vessel; he lifted his gaze to look behind him, eyes wide as saucers and sweat trickling down his forehead.

He told himself that Enoshima was dead, that she couldn't be here, that it was physically impossible for her to be here… These thoughts repeated like a mantra, over and over until he believed them even in the smallest, slightest way.

When he finally did register who he was looking at, however, the same thought patterns skittered through his brain - she couldn't be here, there was no way - but this time, it was mere disbelief and not downright horror. In fact, it went beyond sheer confusion to surprise and a strange concoction of relief and shame.

Standing before him was a spirit from the past, a girl he'd known to be dead - but not the one he feared.

"K-Kirigiri-san?"


She'd actually returned from the dead.

He didn't think it'd ever be possible, but he was glad that it was her all the same. If there was one person he'd wish back to life, it would have been her, for sure. But she didn't need his wishes - she'd managed to save herself all on her own, by her sheer cunning ability to think ahead and make use of resources she found during the game.

In all honesty, Ryota was even more impressed with her, and he'd already put her on a pedestal before she'd miraculously come back to life.

The lavender-haired woman had returned with Naegi Makoto by her side, the boy staying silent as Ryota and Kirigiri reunited and offering little more than a gentle, encouraging smile. Ryota didn't think he deserved such kindness, but he didn't press the matter.

The two sat across from him in the hospital lobby, and suddenly, Naegi's previous request made sense. Sure, Ryota would have liked to travel with his classmates, but he would've assumed Kirigiri dead the entire time without knowing.

"I… I still can't believe it," he murmured, his voice still trembling.

So many thoughts trailed through his mind as he stared at her, and he found himself anxious to apologize to her. After all, he'd followed her around like a puppy the entire Killing Game, mostly to protect himself and the video on his phone. He'd used her like a shield, and only started to really feel trapped once she was dead.

Kirigiri quirked a brow and exchanged a glance with her classmate. "Naegi-kun let me know what I… missed out on, after the time limit. I'm glad you've returned to your senses, Mitarai-kun."

Ryota flinched, his eyes meeting the floor in burning shame. She spoke so casually, as though he'd merely lost touch with himself for a moment. But no, he'd used his video for evil purposes - purposes that rivalled Enoshima's original use of his talent - and it took too long for him to snap out of it. And it wasn't even his own doing; he had to rely on another person again, had to have someone else offer him a path to redeem himself.

"Yes, I… I'm so sorry, Kirigiri-san," he replied.

"Pffft, you're not sorry. Otherwise, you wouldn't have done it~"

He mentally told Enoshima to shut up, wishing she'd leave his mind for just a second so he could talk to someone he'd known to be dead. His hands gripped around his knees as he bowed his head further, tears pooling below his eyelids.

"I didn't know what I was thinking… I…"

He felt a gloved hand on his shoulder, noting that the grip was light enough to shake off if he wished. But he didn't want her to let go; like a sponge, he wanted to greedily soak in the comfort she brought him - despite being so utterly undeserving.

"There will be time for this later, Mitarai-kun," she continued, eyes piercing and face as tight and reserved as always.

"She's right," Naegi chimed in, and Ryota realized he'd almost forgotten the other boy was in the room at all. "We'll have plenty of time later." Now that they weren't in danger, now that the world was on the path for the better - hopefully, at least - they could meet their individual traumas head on. Once the last of the Despairs were taken care of, there wouldn't be anything to fear, and they could heal in peace.

At least, Ryota prayed the world would someday end up like that.

"Yes, we will. Right now, though…" Kirigiri's purple gaze casted over to the doors of the hospital, the same ones that led to the emergency surgery rooms.

Blinking in confusion, Ryota stared at the doors with her, wondering just what she was looking for.

"I-is something the matter, Kirigiri-sa-"

The answer came seconds later, in the form of one Munakata Kyosuke.

Ryota had always known the man to be well-groomed, prestige and solemn-faced, keeping an air of dignity and almost silently demanding the respect of those around him. It went without saying that Munakata Kyosuke was a ruthless man, to be feared if one happened to be on the other end of the battlefield as him; with his katana blade, as well as his best friend packing a powerful punch, there were no misunderstandings when it came to his strength.

The Future Foundation treated him as important as he was, of course, and many feared him because of this - Ryota included. He always tried to avoid eye contact, afraid that the white-haired man would somehow find out his sins and rip them from the darkest corners of his mind.

Not once had he seen Munakata look anything less than a cold, calculating, strong leader - until now.

The man's missing eye was the least of his problems; his hair was tousled and wildly unkempt, bags under his eyelids showcasing a lack of sleep Ryota was all-too-familiar with. His clothes - which were the same that he wore during the Killing Game a few days ago - were wrinkled and shredded in some areas, the new coat he'd found already torn.

What was strange was the dried blood crusted into his suit around the arm and torso areas - it was clearly not his blood, as the fabric wasn't ripped in those areas to imply injury, and Ryota didn't recall him having any wounds when they escaped, anyway.

So where did the blood come from…?

Ryota's heart sank as he realized he'd probably soon find out.

"Ryota Mitarai," Munakata rasped, his voice hoarse and quieter than normal. He was out of breath, as though he'd been running down the hall before meeting with them here, and seemed both emotionally and physically drained.

For a moment, Ryota could only stare, his pulse hammering in his ears. What could Munakata possibly want with him? Though he hadn't been there to see Ryota first use his video, he surely saw the effects of those soldiers he'd brainwashed. Munakata knew his guilt, so why was he even bothering to speak with him?

Swallowing thickly, Ryota did the only thing he could think to do at a time like this, with his sins weighing so heavily on his shoulders. His mouth felt dry, tongue turning to ash as he tried to push any sort of sound past his cracked lips; he knew an apology wouldn't do much good, not after what he'd done, but he wanted to say it all the same.

"That 'apology' only satisfies your own guilt, Mitarai-kun."

Even still. he hissed silently to Enoshima."I- I'm…s-sorr..."

Before he could continue, he was met with the sight of Munakata Kyosuke's bowed head, his stance formal and his tone frantic as he begged, "Mitarai Ryota, there is something that requires your immediate assistance. Please. I… I need your help."

Ryota found himself unable to breathe for a few precious seconds, staring at Munakata's trembling form and realizing all at once just how desperate the man was. He had to be, after all, if he was appealing to Ryota for help.

Because clearly, the animator didn't know how to help anyone - only to destroy.


There was another phantom about, another soul that had been snatched from the jaws of death and allowed to continue breathing. Another person that hadn't been allowed to die when they should have during the Killing Game, another subtracted from the overall body count.

Beyond the glass, Juzo Sakakura lied helplessly in his hospital room,wearing a look as close to death as Ryota had ever seen on a living person. The broken body lying on the small bed was riddled with bandages, covering up the worst of the wounds he'd sustained. His left arm was missing, hacked away during the Killing Game - by choice, Naegi had reported - and his eyes looked sunken in. Though he was sleeping, the man looked almost as exhausted as Munakata; obviously, he wasn't having a pleasant sleep, fueled by anesthesia to take away the pain and force him into unconsciousness - or, rather, a light coma.

Tubes crisscrossed over him every which way, IVs poking through his arms and attached to large machines. An oxygen mask was strapped over his mouth and nose, forcing his chest to rise and fall weakly as it pumped him full of air. The beeps and whirs of the machines keeping him alive were the only sounds in the room; Ryota couldn't even hear the sound of his own heartbeat amongst the stifling, droning noises.

Anxious thoughts crept into his mind again, threatening to spill over like black ink on a white piece of paper, but he swallowed it down. This wasn't about him. Sakakura had somehow survived his wounds and was dying, and Ryota was the one almost having a panic attack.

"Kyaaa, how selfish!"

I know. His fists clenched at his sides in frustration, angry at Enoshima - at himself - for becoming that self-centered.

Taking a few deep breaths, he turned to his companions, who led him here without so much as a word. Munakata needed his help, and then brought him to this room - but why? Why show him this?

"I- I don't…" he stammered, unable to form a proper reaction to what he was witnessing. Juzo Sakakura was a powerful man, strong both physically and mentally - to see him like this, on the verge of death and frail, was unnerving. It was seeing a natural fighter out of his element, and it was borderline terrifying. "I don't know what y-you want me to…"

Munakata stepped forward, his eye flicking over towards his bedridden friend before beginning his explanation.

"When the Remnants of Despair went into the Future Foundation building to rescue us, Tsumiki Mikan found and saved the life of Kirigiri Kyoko. You know she survived by counterattacking the poison with an antidote. However, there was another she found still alive." Munakata's eye flashed over to Sakakura, his gaze clouded and unreadable. "Sakakura was barely hanging on. I thought he was dead when I found him, but… that wasn't the case. And I was careless.

Mikan saved him; she bandaged what she could, gave him CPR, and got him to a hospital in time. Only so much can be done now, however, and he's merely being kept alive. There is no doubt that he will die if he continues like this for another day or so."

Ryota's stomach churned at the reality of the situation, beads of sweat trickling down the side of his face. This truly was life-or-death, and whatever Ryota was needed for, it must be very crucial.

"What could I possibly help with?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. Munakata's stare didn't break and the man stepped further toward him, a pleading tone to his voice once he responded.

"I've checked the files of those left alive in Future Foundation - and those available on such short notice. You're the only one with blood type O+. Well, you and… Sakakura." Munakata's lips pressed into a firm line, and suddenly, Ryota understood what it was he was being asked to do.

Blood.

Ryota could never forget the blood, the disgusting shade of red-brown that was simply not something that could be captured within drawings. He remembered the bodies, all strewn about in every nook and cranny of the decaying world; for years, he couldn't go anywhere without the stench burning his nostrils and the sights making him recoil with guilt and agony. The truth hit him repeatedly, stealing his sleep and making him paranoid and ultimately seek shelter with the very organization that would throw him out if they knew the truth: this was his fault.

Did Sakakura really want a traitor's blood in his body?

Ryota felt himself trembling, eyes darting anywhere but at Munakata as his mind went to other places. He could feel the staring eyes of Kirigiri and Naegi behind him, as well as Munakata's expectant gaze, and it was suffocating. It was as though he were locked within four very tight walls, his air slowly depleting and growing staler and staler until he felt his lungs shudder and his fingers could only clutch at his throat as he tried to breathe in but he just could not-

"Please calm down, Mitarai-kun." A hand on his shoulder made him jump; he hadn't even realized that his heart had sped up again, and it seemed he'd almost leapt off the edge of his panic into an attack. Wide eyes shot to Kirigiri, who'd moved next to him and was offering the most comfort she could.

He nodded slowly, his mouth feeling like cotton as he responded, "O-okay. Sorry. But- are you sure it'll work?"

Munakata nodded without hesitation. "If you were Type O-, we'd be having an entirely different conversation - that is a universal donor, and we'd require you to give more for other victims outside. That isn't the case, but you and Sakakura are a match, so it's the only way he can have a chance."

"I know you'd be Munakata-san's hero if you did this, Mitarai-san," Naegi added with a small, saddened smile.

"A hero, huh…" Ryota muttered, his voice almost inaudible as he bit his lip. In the Killing Game, the roles of 'heroes' and 'villains' were very clear cut; those who caused conflict were villains, and those who prevented it were heroes. Despite his fears, Ryota first stepped up to the hero role, standing in front of Sakakura as he threatened Asahina with violence. Since that moment, Ryota labelled Sakakura a 'villain' - someone who lived to stir up trouble and get in the way of the heroes.

Except, in the end, Sakakura had been a hero - he'd almost died for the remaining players, shutting off the power while bleeding out from multiple wounds. Did those who gave Sakakura his wounds count as villains in that scenario? And what about Ryota, who turned around and used Sakakura's sacrifice to brainwash the others?

Their roles swapped, and Ryota dug himself into a hole he didn't even realize he had the shovel for. He'd made such critical mistakes in the blind pursuit of redemption, the desire to do good outweighing his actual good deeds in the end.

Intending to be a hero didn't make one a hero. As the saying goes, actions spoke louder than words - and the need for an action presented itself, just for Ryota.

"When do you need me to do it…?" he asked, his tone still shaky, but resolve in his heart. There was nothing to hesitate about.

"Immediately," Munakata replied, adding in another quiet, "Please."

Bobbing his head in acceptance once more, Ryota agreed, and followed Munakata into Sakakura's room. Kirigiri and Naegi decided to stay outside and keep watch, just in case they were needed elsewhere while the procedure went on. Ryota felt a bit nervous at that, but Kirigiri once more squeezed his shoulder and he felt safer, somehow.

There was already a place set up for him, alien-looking machines surrounding the two beds with the promise of at least one of them being hooked up to Ryota. Once he noticed the empty bag hanging from a pole, he was almost certain his blood would drain into that; he squirmed at the sight of the needles attached, but as he sat down, some of the anxious noise always buzzing in his mind like static seemed to dissipate.

It was only some of the anxiety that went away, but it was a noticeable and welcome change. Enoshima even seemed to have shut up for once.

A nurse entered the room, triggering his flashbacks to Mikan crawling towards him on all fours with despairing lust in her eyes; he shoved the thought away and focused on greeting the nurse politely, hesitantly flashing a tiny grin her way.

"Are you comfortable, Mitarai-san?"

Ryota nodded shakily.

"Have you ever had blood drawn before?"

He shook his head.

"Alright, well it's a fairly simple procedure - we need to get enough that will sustain Sakakura-san, so it may be a little more than the usual amount if, say, you were to go to a blood drive." She smiled faintly, eyes flicking down to the clipboard in her hands. "Blood Type O+ is usually common, but considering how things are now... We're glad you were willing to do the transfusion."

What choice did I have? How could he say no, especially after Munakata looked at him with pleading eyes, a clear picture to them both that the fate of that man's only friend left was in Ryota's hands? How could he refuse after the stunt he pulled at the end of the Killing Game?

"Some hope you turned out to be~"

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts of Enoshima, he gave the nurse another polite nod. "It's no problem at all," he murmured, studying the white walls that surrounded them.

With Sakakura deathly still, it was strange to think that there were actually three people in this room instead of the two interacting. Ryota could almost pretend he wasn't there, if not for the puffs of the oxygen mask keeping him alive.

He slipped off his jacket and shirt per the nurse's instructions, leaving him in only his undershirt. If the nurse noticed the crisscrosses of conspicuous white lines and the circular remnants of burns, she didn't comment on them. He could always prepare his usual speech, citing Monokumas giving him the marks on his arms, but he was glad she kept her mouth shut.

Still, the embarrassment made him avoid her gaze as she walked him through the procedure, telling all she would be doing and how long it should take. Once she handed him a water bottle, he clutched at it nervously and watched her wrap a band around his upper arm. His hand curled into a fist when she asked, and he watched her prepare the needle and some sort of tube.

"Alright, I'm going to administer the needle now," the nurse announced, dabbing Ryota's arm; he turned his head away once she drew closer a bit - a natural reaction given what happened, but he still cursed himself for being so cowardly.

"Did Mikan-chan fuck you up that badly, Mitarai-kuuun?"

He swallowed hard, flinching as the needle was inserted into his wrist. He watched, almost sickeningly fascinated, as the red was almost plucked from his veins, churning in a tube and filling up a bag labelled with a large 'O'. The charm of the blood extraction soon grew stale, though, once Ryota realized the world was spinning.

He sipped at the water bottle, his vision growing dizzy. The nurse assured him dizziness was normal, and that he might even feel faint - but this was an emergency procedure, so he gave his permission to continue the transfusion should he pass out.

And Ryota's consciousness really was on the edge, his world growing dimmer as though the lights were flickering above them. But the room remained the same, holding the same three people - the coward, the kind nurse, and the man on the verge of death - and Ryota found himself watching the clicks of the wall clock as the seconds dragged by.

"Will this really help him?" he asked finally, breaking the silence. He dared to take another glance at the man, almost expecting Sakakura to jump up and punch him in agitation.

But the boxer remained still, his expression lifeless and cold, as though he really was a corpse. Ryota didn't like the look on a man once so… eager.

The nurse pursed her lips, a sort of sad expression settling onto her features. "I'm afraid it's not a guarantee. But it will give him a better fighting chance. And from what his friend told me, Sakakura-san is a fighter."

Ryota couldn't help but smile at that, his words a bit slurred as his consciousness finally faded out.

"Yeah. He… sure is a fighter."