The Body

Enoshima's corpse was more intact than it had any right to be. Last Naegi had seen of her, a giant block had dropped on her head and smashed her to pieces. She should have been a pancake, or a smear on the ground. But this corpse was mostly whole. There were wounds here and there, gaping holes that looked like someone had plunged a jagged knife in and twisted it, but she was still recognisable as herself. If Naegi hadn't seen Ikusaba's body explode, he would have wondered if he was looking at Enoshima's twin.

What really struck him though was the lack of decay.(Maybe her despair was so inhuman that even bacteria rejected her). He had no idea how long it had taken Ultimate Despair to find her, or to put this portable icebox together, but he hadn't expected her to look so . . . so much like she had died yesterday. Even the frost clinging to her clothes and hair and the greyish tint to her skin couldn't shake the fear he had that she would suddenly poof back to life and jump out at him.

"I don't understand," he murmured. "She . . . I saw her . . ."

"It was a trick," Soda said. "The guillotine didn't kill her. Right before it dropped, there was a trapdoor that opened beneath her so she didn't get squashed. She died when the spears impaled her under there."

"But why?" he stressed. "If she was going to die either way, why would she bother?"

"To give us a body," Komaeda said quietly. He stared intensely at Enoshima's corpse. What was that emotion Naegi saw there?

He asked again. "Why?"

Next to him, Tsumiki sniffed loudly. "For the funeral."

Funeral? It had never even occurred to him that Enoshima would have one. He supposed she would have wanted one –how could a room full of people crying over her body not excite her? He supposed too, that he couldn't protest or deny this. Enoshima had been alive once. Everyone deserved a funeral, didn't they?

Naegi nodded. "Okay."

He hadn't spoken with much emotion, because his emotions weren't sure how to react to this body. However, Tsumiki took his quietness as grief and wailed loudly as she suddenly hugged him from the side.

"Oh, sweetie. I know it's hard. Some of the best despair always comes when your mommy dies."

He inhaled deeply and turned into her a little, hiding his non-teary eyes. He was ready to go back to his room now. Or the infirmary. Just away from here.

Kuzuryu suddenly said, "Well, it's about time you got her body here. Weren't you supposed to get here a week ago?"

"Ibuki tried," Mioda said, shuffling her feet. Unlike the cheery persona Naegi had seen before, this Mioda lacked expression, speaking almost monotonously. "She and Hiyoko-chan had trouble following the blueprints."

"It's Soda's fault!" Saionji snapped. "If he didn't write like a blind guy we would have put it together a lot faster. You guys should have sent that greasy monkey instead!"

"Ack!" Soda reeled, arms covering his head as if Saionji's words were real weapons. "It's not fault! I told you guys I was working on the Big Bang project. I didn't have time!"

"I bet that thing doesn't even exist. You probably made it up so that –"

"That's enough." To Naegi's surprise, Tsumiki said that. Nobody else seemed to bat an eye. Even weirder was that Saionji snapped her mouth shut. Naegi didn't know her that well, but from the impression he had gotten, he hadn't expected that to work.

"You're being very mean," Tsumiki said. "And I . . ."

She suddenly looked down at him, and her face softened.

". . . I'm going to f-forgive you because Makoto doesn't need to see this."

Saionji's jaw worked. With a crooked, not-at-all-genuine smile on her face, she said, "Thank you, Tsumiki-san. You really are the nicest person I know. I appreciate your generosity."

It was a nice sentiment. Despite that smile, it didn't seem to be said mockingly.

. . . So why were there despair swirls in Saionji's eyes?

"We shouldn't fight here," Nidai said. "Not while her body is lying before us."

That too, was a nice sentiment –

"No, we all need to show our despair. Everybody, START CRYING!"

. . . Well, it was the thought that counted.

Nidai's encouragement was all that was needed. Tsumiki and Owari both burst into tears and fell to their knees before Enoshima's coffin. Back in the aisle, Soda and Saionji started wailing too. (Meanwhile, Nidai kept up a steady cheer of 'Grieve! Grieve!' in the background). Ibuki didn't move; it seemed like she was in a trance of some kind. The Imposter had turned away, shoulders shaking just the barest amount. Hanamura hadn't started crying yet, but he was suspiciously stuffy as he stood there, watching. Kuzuryu was stone-faced, but when he walked up to the coffin, he placed his hand on the glass directly above Enoshima's face and bowed his head. Pekoyama lurked behind him. Her face was cold, and unlike her master, Naegi knew that was exactly what she felt.

Next to him, Komaeda made a sound almost like a scoff.

"Ultimate Despair," he said. He dragged his hand along the edge of the coffin. "Such a black hole . . . She really was remarkable, wasn't she?"

"She was . . . different," Naegi allowed. "I didn't understand her. I still don't."

"I'm glad," Komaeda said. He suddenly ducked down and whispered into his ear, "Naegi-kun, you need to start pretending now."

Naegi swallowed and looked around. Apart from him, Pekoyama and Komaeda, everyone else was visibly mourning. Yes, he had to act in a way that wouldn't draw attention to him. The problem though was that . . . he couldn't. Enoshima's death saddened him, but it didn't drive him to tears. He simply didn't possess the sorrow needed to fit in.

Still, it was bad to stand out. So, he pressed into Tsumiki's side, all small and curled up, like a frightened child unsure of what to do. She reacted exactly as he knew she would: she grabbed him, and let him nestle into her shoulder as she rubbed circles into his back. It was the most he could give, so it would have to do.

"Oh, Makoto!" She was half-sobbing, half-whispering. He was not surprised to see the despair eyes. "You hardly knew her. You spent so little time with her. You never even touched her."

"I know," he said. He didn't mention that he preferred it that way.

Once again, Tsumiki misinterpreted his response as grief. "She loved you, Makoto. You were such a good boy. You brought her despair that nobody else – even me – could. You were the perfect child. I'm sure she's watching you right now."

He stiffened. He almost – almost – looked up just to make sure that Enoshima's ghost wasn't indeed hovering over him.

Tsumiki buried her face in his hair. "I know I can't replace her. I will never be anything like my beloved. But I'm . . . I'm going to try my best, okay! I promise!"

Naegi was only half-paying attention. He was totally not still checking for Enoshima's spirit. That's why he said reflexively. "You don't need to do that, Mikan. Just be yourself. That's all I want."

Tsumiki's breath hitched. Her expression began to tilt into one of confusion and – oh no. No, no, no. Not now. Not here in front of everyone. He did not want all of Ultimate Despair to figure out what he was trying to do with her.

Luckily, Tsumiki was a person who was easy to distract. Naegi pressed closer to her and whimpered. Immediately, she was back in full-despair mode , collapsing around him so that her arms encircled his small frame and her body seemed to shield him off from the world. She was warm. It was nice in the big, cool space of the chapel.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder. It was much, much too big to be Tsumiki's.

"That's right. Let it out," the Ultimate Coach said. "No need to be embarrassed. Look at me! My face is covered with manly tears. Hahahahahaha, they won't stop!"

It seemed true enough, the Coach was laughing heartily like he was having a beer with his friends, even though his eyes shone with tears.

"Yeah," Owari said, wiping her eyes. "You gotta embrace it. Embrace the despair she gave us."

"Thoughtful until the end." Hanamura sighed. "What a wonderful woman."

"There'll never be anyone like her again," Mioda said.

Naegi thought, I hope not.

He stayed there burrowed into Tsumiki's side. It seemed to be the safest option. Despite how close she remained to him, she was too busy – or had projected too strongly – to notice that Naegi had maintained the same semi-blank slate. No one else noticed anything wrong either.

Time passed, and he passed the test. Ultimate Despair finally calmed down and the swirls began to dim. Kuzuryu and Pekoyama left first, the Yakuza with his fedora tipped over his face and his face frighteningly fierce. Tsumiki, he imagined, normally wouldn't be the second to go (and would probably come back), but apparently the need to get some space between him and the corpse of his 'mother' overrode her need to mourn. Komaeda followed them out – of course – and once she had wheeled Naegi safety out of the chapel, the Luckster began to speak.

"Tsumiki-san, were you taking him back to the infirmary?"

"No," the Nurse said. "I don't think he needs to go back. B-but maybe I should just to be safe . . ."

"If you don't think he needs to go back, then I'm sure he doesn't," Komaeda said. "I don't doubt your talent. It's just that if you don't need to take him back there, I can take over from here and you can spend more time with Enoshima-san."

That . . . Naegi struggled to breathe. That didn't mean anything, right? Komaeda hadn't seemed angry while they had been inside, and . . . and he had done a pretty good job at pretending, hadn't he? He'd listened. Nobody seemed to have thought anything was wrong.

"I don't know." The wheelchair slowed to a stop. "That must have been hard on him. I don't want to leave him yet . . ."

Naegi stopped listening. For at the end of the hall, where the chapel lay, the double-doors had opened and a very familiar figure stepped out. His jaw set. The Imposter. That was the whole reason he'd wanted to get out of the infirmary in the first place.

The Imposter was coming their way. Each footstep boomed, like it was a countdown.

Once the Imposter was within earshot, Naegi growled, "You're not Togami Byakuya."

The Imposter blinked. "What was that?"

"You're not Togami!" Naegi repeated. Tsumiki and Komaeda were watching him with something like concern, but he paid them no mind.

"At this moment, I am," the Imposter claimed.

"No, that's wrong! You're just an Imposter. You're not really him. You never were!"

A tense silence followed.

The Imposter raised an eyebrow. "Obviously."

. . . That was it? He had expected something a little more. Yet the Imposter continued to stare at him, appearing confused. So did Tsumiki and Komaeda for that matter, as if everything he had had been common knowledge –

Which, okay, it technically was to Ultimate Despair. But he wasn't Ultimate Despair and he hadn't known, so they should give him a bit of slack here!

"Is there anything else?" the Imposter asked.

Naegi deflated. ". . . No."

The Imposter stared a moment more and then left, seeming a bit uncomfortable. In the lapse that followed, Tsumiki and Komaeda concluded their argument, and Naegi found himself being wheeled through the halls by Komaeda.

"Naegi-kun . . ."

Naegi swallowed. This was it. This was the moment where –

"You did a good job in there."

. . . Oh.

"Not that I doubted you," Komaeda said, "but you've been acting so contrary lately. I'm so glad everything worked out!"

"Yeah," Naegi said breathlessly. "Me, too."

Komaeda reached forward and ruffled his hair. "You've earned your present, Naegi-kun! I need to coordinate things, so I can give it to you in a couple of hours. I'll take you back to your room until then."

"That would be nice," he said carefully.

The moment he was back in his room, Naegi walked over to his bed and crawled underneath the covers. The springs creaked as he shifted, wrapping the blankets protectively around himself like a shell. He peered out from the little hole he had left at the top.

It was quiet out there. Too quiet. He poked his head out. Kamukura was present, as always. He was still on his bed, looking at some sort of book and . . . hold on. That meant Kamukura hadn't been at the chapel. He never saw Enoshima's body.

"Kamukura-kun, do you know –?"

"Yes," he said. He flipped the page. "I am aware of what lays in the chapel. It does not interest me."

"Not even a little bit? I mean you . . ."

You're living with Ultimate Despair.

"My reasons for being here never had anything to do with Enoshima Junko. She was rather interesting, but that wasn't enough." Kamukura set the book – ah, it seemed to be some sort of album or scrap book – down on his chest.

"Then why are you here?" Naegi asked.

Kamukura just stared at him.

". . . Kamukura-kun, why didn't you go back to your family?"

The former Hope shrugged almost carelessly, "They were not present when I returned, nor was I able to find them. My parents either perished or disappeared during the initial disaster. Perhaps Enoshima arranged it that way."

Naegi flinched. It seemed that every time he pried, he ended up feeling sorry for Kamukura.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" Kamukura asked. "You had nothing to do with those events. Regardless, it's not that important Even Haijime had a weak relationship with them."

"Haijime?"

Once again, Kamukura fell silent.

" . . . Who are you, Naegi Makoto?" the older teen suddenly asked. "Why is it that you insist on asking these questions?"

"I'm . . . curious, I guess." He squinted at Kamukura, heart buzzing in his chest as he tried to figure out what exactly the other teen was looking for. "I want to get to know you."

Kamukura turned his head sharply. "Why is hoarding secrets so important to you?"

"H-hoarding secrets?" Naegi would have sat up in shock, but the blankets tightly wrapped around him prevented that. "That's not what I do! I mean, that's not what I try to do. It just happens."

Kamukura's red eyes bore into him. "Do you understand the power behind what you just said, or does your talent render you incapable?"

"I . . ."

"I see. The latter, then."

Naegi lay there, confused and a little nervous. Whatever Kamukura was talking about, he seemed to be over it. That was good, he guessed. Kamukura's last question seemed to be loaded, if not outright dangerous. He was glad he didn't have to answer that.

He laid there in his blanket cocoon, not really thinking about anything in particular (if at some point, he teared up and his fists started to shake, he wasn't telling). It was warm enough inside the cocoon to be uncomfortable, but he didn't really have the energy or will to unravel himself. He stared mindlessly at the ceiling, eventually shifting his gaze downwards over the cabinet, then downwards even further to pan over –

"Is that . . . ? Is that Komaeda-kun's poem on my pillowcase?"

"Yes. He stitched it in last night after I refused to paint it on the ceiling."

. . . He was never going to escape that poem.

Komaeda showed up sometime later, bright-eyed, unnaturally still as if holding himself back from vibrating out of pure excitement. Naegi's heart dropped, his stomach folded in on itself, but he followed nonetheless. Komaeda took him down a route that wasn't familiar to him and when he opened the door to their destination, it was nothing more than an office with an open laptop on the desk.

(Why then, as he took in the sight, was his throat suddenly tightening?)

Komaeda walked inside first. Naegi followed closely behind him. Closely. There was hardly anything in here but the desk, its chair, and a couple of other chairs. It was probably a room meant for meetings. Yet the room's colours just seemed off. The lighting wasn't right, and –

(The air was impossibly stale and tasted of blood –)

Komaeda pulled the chair out from the desk. "Naegi-kun, sit down here."

"S-sit . . . sit down?" His tongue seemed to have swelled, making it hard to get anything out.

" . . . Yes?"

Naegi couldn't move. His legs were shaking. The wall, too, felt like they were vibrating.

( – vibrating with a scream the knife slowly slid under the skin and up the arm)

Komaeda's hands were suddenly on him. He made no conscious decision to resist, but he did. He didn't know it, but he was pushing back and digging his heels in. But his uncoordinated struggles made him easy to out-manoeuvre and next thing he knew, Komaeda had shoved into the chair.

It was easier in the chair. The vantage point was quite different than it had been from the doorway, and that sour, coppery scent wasn't quite so strong. He took a few deeps breaths in succession, each one a little cleaner.

"You okay now, Naegi-kun?" Komaeda asked. He was rubbing Naegi's shoulders.

Naegi did not respond. Komaeda's question bounced off his brain. The Luckster sighed, and reached past Naegi to use the laptop there. He clicked a few buttons, and then withdrew, moving to the front of the desk.

The laptop's screen lit up. Something on it moved as noise came out of the speakers. Naegi stared blankly, unresponsive. However, as the noise suddenly grew in pitch and volume, his eyes began to light up. Slowly, jerkily, like a rusted machine coming to life, Naegi began to move. He blinked furiously, mouth opening and closing as his mind struggled to grasp what lay on the screen before him.

Finally, one word escaped him.

"K-Komaru?"