The Funeral (Part 2)
Despair funerals were weird. Shortly after he had finished his speech, Kuzuryu had stood up and announced that it was time for a break. Then he, Koizumi and Nevermind had ran off – cackling. Naegi had stayed in his seat, half-convinced this was some kind of prank. But the church doors swung shut behind the three and didn't open again, and several of the Despairs had started talking (well, crying in a lot of cases) to each other.
"Do funerals usually have breaks like this?" he asked.
"Not usually, but those three need to make sure everything went smoothly," Komaeda said. "Nobody's watching right now anyways; they're all a little emotional at the moment. We might get some of those viewers back if we give them time to calm down."
He didn't understand. Were the Monokuma soldiers capable of getting that emotional? He was about to question Komaeda further when a warm nose pressed against the back of his neck. He turned his head to see Kuma sadly looking down at his growling stomach.
"It can't be lunch already," Naegi muttered. He turned to Komaeda. "Komaeda-kun, what time is it?"
"Quarter to eleven. Why?"
"Kuma's hungry."
Komaeda's fingers tapped on his knee. Though he faced Naegi, his eyes moved sideways to glance at the two coffins on the altar. "Well, it's not like they would start without you. We probably have time to grab a quick snack."
Naegi smiled. "Mikan, are you coming, too?"
The Nurse didn't look at him. Her eyes were trained on her lap; her hands looked clammy and were curled into fists.
"Mikan?" He raised his arm, and it hovered there. Part of him wanted to touch her, to get her attention; but a more cautious part of him was afraid of triggering something.
Komaeda, however, had no such concerns. He snapped his fingers in front of the Nurse's nose, making her flinch back so badly that she nearly bashed her skull against the pew.
"H-huh?" She looked from Komaeda to Naegi like a deer that had just realized it was surrounded by wolves. "Sorry! What's going on?"
"Kuzuryu-kun, Nevermind-san and Koizumi-san are checking how everything went, so we're on break. Naegi-kun wanted to head down to the kitchen for a snack."
"Oh. Umm, I'll pass." She gave them a shaky smile, the kind that could be ripped off like a bandage.
"You'll pass?" Naegi echoed, confused. He would have understood if they were in the middle of the service. But they weren't, and she had turned down accompanying him. That was just . . . that was just wrong somehow!
"Guess it's just us," Komaeda said. He stood and extended his hand to Naegi. "Let's go!"
Kuma seemed to understand where they were going, and surged ahead. He reared up and bashed his paws against the exit impatiently; it took him a little while to understand that they could not open it while his chest was flush against the handles. When they did, the bear fell forwards, thankfully landing on his feet, and charged in the kitchen's direction, leaving them behind.
"I'm pretty sure he ate this morning," Komaeda said, looking puzzled.
"Maybe something happened and not enough food was weighed out?" Naegi said.
Komaeda laughed. "I guess that's our bad luck for the day!"
Halfway there, they found Kuma walking back towards them, huffing with annoyance. Every second Kuma failed to convince them that they needed to run, not walk, to the kitchen was another point of frustration for the poor bear. By the time they reached their destination, Kuma's ears were flat against his head, and he was refusing to look at them.
Naegi sighed. "Kuma, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened this morning. I mean, I'm sure I watched you eat something. Though, maybe I'm just remembering yesterday. But we're here now, and there's going to be plenty of food inside! So, you don't need to be so upset."
Kuma grumbled.
The door opened and Naegi pointed straight inside. "There you go, Kuma! Go get it!"
While Kuma may have been angry at him, he wasn't about to let that stand in the way of him and food. He followed Naegi's finger and threw himself into the kitchen, launching at the closest cabinet he saw . . .
Oh, dear. Hanamura was going to throw a fit when he saw the mess. (Maybe he could play it off as something to get despair from?)
"I'm not very hungry," Komaeda said. "But there's snacks in the cabinets in the fifth row if you want them."
Sure, why not? He could bring some back with him, too, in case Kuma got hungry again later.
Unlike usual, the kitchens were empty today. He'd been told earlier that Ultimate Despair's various servants, brainwashed or not, were either watching the funeral on television in designated areas, or on patrol (Nevermind had been very concerned about the Future Foundation attacking during the service). It made the kitchen eerie; Naegi associated it with noises like sizzling, frying, and chopping. This time, all he could hear was Kuma destroying everything in his quest for subsistence.
Yet, somehow, he didn't hear the person walking up behind him.
A hand slapped over his mouth.
Before he could twitch, before he could kick or punch or fight and make noise, he was lifted off his feet. His attacker quickly pulled him towards the back, leaving Naegi's to squirm and struggle uselessly for Komaeda who should have been right there. An arm was wrapped around his chest, and only tightened as the attacker leaned down and lips came close to his ear –
"Don't say anything."
Naegi blinked. The syllables of that familiar voice rolled through his body, ironing out the shivers that had taken over his skin.
Once the attacker sensed Naegi had calmed and was no longer fighting back, he was lowered to his feet. Naegi took a step forward to put some space between them, and then turned.
Kamukura stared back at him.
You're back, he wanted to say, but Kamukura said to be quiet, so he was. He wondered at first if Kamukura had returned for the funeral. But if that were the case, why hadn't he been in there with the rest of them? Why did he apparently not want Komaeda to see him? Why was he sneaking around at all, to begin with?
"The funeral is today, correct?"
He nodded.
"Once it resumes, I need you leave midway. Alone."
What? Naegi opened his mouth –
"Naegi, I need you to do this."
He hesitated.
(But in the end, how could he say no?)
He ran back to Komaeda. He wasn't sure how he managed to keep enough composure so that the Luckster didn't realize anything was wrong. They lured Kuma out of the kitchen with tasty, tasty marshmallows (Kuma was never going to decide he was full on his own). Although Kuma looked back several times, complementing whether to return to the site of plentiful food, they managed to convince him to return to the chapel.
The other three had already returned. Kuzuryu flashed him a rather frightening grin that he didn't understand. He'd liked the speech, hadn't he? Shortly after, the Yakuza started snickering to himself, and Naegi wisely turned his head away and ignored it.
One by one, the lingering members of Ultimate Despair sat down.
A hush fell over the room.
The funeral resumed.
Naegi had been informed that the others would make their speeches, but there would also be extravagant tributes. He'd expected one of the Despairs to take the stand, but then Nevermind's people rose as one in the back row, and marched to the front of the room. The people of Novoselic lined up before the coffins. The man in the centre, Phillip, raised a saber and shouted in a language he didn't understand. Occasionally, the soldiers around him would all speak in unison. It sounded like a military chant.
All eyes were on those golden-white uniforms.
Without saying a word, Naegi slipped out of his seat. The chanting covered his footsteps as he ran for the exit.
Outside, Kamukura was waiting for him.
"What it is?" Naegi asked breathlessly.
Kamukura was silent for a long time.
"Come," the older teen ordered.
He strode past Naegi. Naegi followed but after a few steps, he stuttered out and he stopped moving. He had a strong urge to lift his arm, to place his palm against the church doors as if that would anchor him to it.
"Kamukura-kun, can this wait?" he asked. "I don't think anyone would be pleased if they realized I missed a big part of her funeral on purpose."
"No." Kamukura glanced over his shoulder at him. "Come."
"I c-can't." He took a step backwards, curling into himself as Kamukura went dangerously still. "I know that Enoshima doesn't mean a lot to you, but she does to them and they're going to be really mad if I don't go back in there –"
An iron grip closed around his upper arm.
Half-way in the process of turning back towards the church, Naegi froze. He stared at Kamukura, too shocked to be frightened by the other's action. If Kamukura was surprised by his own behaviour, his face did not show it. Though Naegi thought he took just a fraction of a second too long to say what he did next.
"Naegi, come."
Kamukura led him away. He gave no indication where they were headed, answered no questions; he seemed only to care if Naegi was at his heels. Yet despite the lack of clues, it didn't take long for Naegi to figure out where they were going, for it was a path he had tread many times before . . .
Kamukura had taken him to the prison.
He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to find. Something horrible, he supposed. There was none of that. The prison door opened and . . . and he saw the same things he had before. He checked again to be sure; yep, everyone he remembered was present. Nobody was dead.
Kamukura took him further into the prison. Right to Iwata's cell. The grey-haired man looked just as surprised as Naegi felt. And that wonder only grew when Kamukura reached into his pocket and took up something shiny and silver –
With a click, the cell unlocked.
A moment later, Naegi found himself shoved inside.
"Crawl under the bed," Kamukura ordered.
". . . What?"
"What's going on here?" Iwata rasped. The older man pushed himself to his feet, wedging his way between them. Naegi had rarely Iwata stand before. When he saw how Iwata had to lean against the cell bars to support himself, he understood why.
Kamukura spoke again. "Naegi, crawl under the bed."
Naegi glanced at the floor there. It didn't look very clean.
"Naegi, listen to me."
He stared at Kamukura, not understanding. He didn't understand why Kamukura wanted him to do this, or what that thing – like a ghost of a facial expression –that twitched in and out of existence was. Kamukura did not falter under his scrutiny. Instead, the opposite happened. His presence swelled, his eyes burned and Naegi suddenly found himself obeying and crawling under that bed.
Kamukura stepped forward. He grabbed one corner of the smelly, threadbare blanket.
"Reveal yourself to no one until I retrieve you. Do not come out no matter what happens."
"I don't –"
Kamukura put a finger to his lips. Naegi fell silent.
Kamukura turned to Iwata. "Make sure no one finds him."
With that, he tugged the blanket so that it fell over the side of the bed, and hid everything underneath – hid him – from view.
He heard Iwata's knees crack as the man seated himself next to the bed. Naegi poked the blanket a little, making it wave. Near the floor, the outline of Iwata's knuckles appeared. Naegi grabbed that hand as best as he could, needing the comfort.
"Do you know what's going on?" Iwata asked.
"No," he said.
". . . Can we trust him?"
"I think so."
They fell silent.
He wasn't sure how long he laid there. Long enough for his legs to cramp. The stone floor was dirty and cold and Kuzuryu was going to kill him for dirtying his suit! Rats scurried nearby. Naegi wasn't scared of rodents, but he didn't want to see a feral rat up close and personal either. Thankfully, the rats seemed to think the same about him, and his cramped quarters were left alone.
"So, anything new?" Naegi asked, trying to inject a little humour or something into the silence.
"No. You?"
"They're holding a funeral for Enoshima," he said. "They're going to be really upset when they realize I was missing."
"Why would they care . . .?" Though he could not see Iwata, he could tell by the vibrations that echoed through his hand that the man had jerked sharply. "Never mind. Don't answer that."
"My life is just full of weirdness," Naegi said. "It's a side-product of my luck."
"I suppose the jury is out on whether that is a good thing . . . Naegi-kun, don't speak."
Naegi shrunk into himself, almost thinking that Iwata was upset with him. But then he heard it: distant footfalls. He wouldn't have recognized those as someone approaching, but he supposed Iwata and the prisoners would know after spending so long here.
He heard the door handle turn. Heard the hinges squeak as it creaked open.
Heard the shouts as someone was dragged in.
"– why the hell are you making this so hard?" Kuzuryu was snarling. "Just tell us where you stashed him this time!"
There was nothing. Then a sound like flesh hitting flesh.
"Careful!" Kuzuryu snapped. "You trying to give him a concussion or something?"
"Not on purpose. I was just going to wail on him until he spills," Owari said.
A high-pitched laughter echoed through the prison. Each laugh was sharp, piercing, like the warning beeps of a bomb about to explode. Naegi could hear more scuffling, and a syllable that distinctly sounded like 'ow'. That simple word shouldn't have meant much to him, but it did. Because Naegi knew that laughter and voice, heard it in his dreams and nightmares. His spine began to tingle. Komaeda was here. Komaeda had no idea Naegi was here.
"Ah, Owari-san. Forgive me, but I can't help but be . . . disappointed in you. Really, I know I'm an embarrassment to you Ultimates, but I would expect you to think enough of me to know I wouldn't do that."
"I don't get it," Owari said.
"He's saying he's not going to talk," Kuzuryu said. "Fuck this. Look, Komaeda, I have no idea how you managed to knock out every single goddamn security camera for those ten minutes, but guess what – you messed up. The outside cameras were fine. We know he didn't get outside, and we're going to hunt him down!"
. . . It was probably just a figure of speech, but Naegi didn't feel very good about that.
"Maybe you should give up, Kuzuryu-kun. I mean for Naegi-kun to suddenly disappear like that . . . maybe it's a sign."
It was a curious tone Komaeda used; one devoid of all inflection and emotion. Most people would have heard it, and chalked it down as odd. But Naegi was not most people. Naegi, who had spent hours upon hours in Komaeda's presence and had seen the Luckster at his best and worse, placed that tone instantly.
It was a warning of imminent danger.
Komaeda did not know Naegi was here, but Naegi still inched backwards until he hit the wall.
"Put a fucking sock in it," Kuzuryu said. "We're going to find where you hid him, then we're going back to the church so he can get his part and –"
The sudden flash of tension, of stress, of terror and outrage was so powerful that Naegi felt Komaeda lunge before he heard the Luckster's animalistic snarl. There was scrabbling and rough voices and –
A thump as something hit the ground.
"Good hit!" Owari shouted.
"Young Master, are you injured?"
"I'm fine. Why are you just standing there like an idiot? Hurry up and lock him up so he stops getting in our way!"
Naegi couldn't see, but the thrashing and grunting made it obvious that Komaeda wasn't playing along. A frenzied whirlwind of emotions saturated the small area, and each word Komaeda spoke made it spin that much faster.
"No, no! I'm not letting you . . . You can't do this!"
"I can do whatever the hell I want," Kuzuryu said. "Lock him up."
"You can't do this to him! I'm not going to let you touch him!"
Click.
"It's done," Pekoyama said.
"Stay away from him!
Kuzuryu said, "Let's go. We got a Naegi to catch."
Komaeda shrieked after them as they departed; it was a never-ending note of horror and despair. Only when the prison's door shut did his voice break. He began speaking to himself in a frantic low voice, and Naegi could picture him pacing in front of the locked door. Whatever Komaeda was fighting with the others about was obviously serious. To think they had gone and thrown Komaeda in a cell . . . and hurt him! Naegi could hear it plainly in the other's breathing. Komaeda was hurt. He wriggled forward. Komaeda was hurt and he needed to check –
His nose hit the blanket. He stopped.
Komaeda was hurt.
But Kamukura had told him to hide.
Komaeda was hurt.
But Kamukura told him to stay hidden no matter what.
His breathing quickened. He had to stay hidden. He had to see if Komaeda was alright. They were two equally necessary, but utterly incompatible objectives. He could see the imprint of Iwata's back as he leaned against the bed, further sheltering him. That should have been it, should have been a sign he was meant to stay put, but then Komaeda started up with that laughter that grew and grew in pitch until it became a hiccup-like wheeze and that was despair he heard and he needed to help . . .
Which commandment was he to obey: Kamukura's, or his own?
He pulled at his hair. He was curled up on the floor, legs kicking out, flexing, drawing in closer – he thrashed silently like a dying animal. Everything inside was wound too tight in a single cord on the verge of snapping. Komaeda. Kamukura. Friendship. Trust. Too many things clashed and vied for his attention. Which to listen to? Which to obey?
How had he not started screaming yet?
His lungs burned. That was the only thing that told him he wasn't breathing. So he did, and he coughed it up, and Iwata shifted and positioned himself right in front of where Naegi was; he was probably pretending to cough, too. His friend, Iwata, always so keen to help . . . not knowing that Naegi needed a very different kind of help.
To obey, or not obey?
Obey?
Don't obey?
Obey?
Don't Obey?
Obey?
Obey.
He pressed his hand against his mouth to stay silent. He wanted . . . he had a strange urge to sit up and bash his skull against a wall or something. He didn't know why he wanted to do that, didn't know if it was the pain, the impact or the distraction he was craving. Still, even obeying that urge could end up violating Kamukura's instructions. He bit down on his arm instead.
Time passed in an instant. His back ached as if he'd spent it stretched out on a rack. Sharp steps echoed throughout the prison. Naegi thrashed and squirmed towards it, a silent keen coating the back of his throat.
The cell unlocked.
Kamukura stepped inside.
"You can leave now," the red-eyed teen said.
Naegi took too long to roll out from underneath the bed. He rose on shaky legs. Kamukura watched, unmoved. Iwata was trying to question Kamukura, trying to act as though he had a chance to take on the Ultimate Everything. Kamukura brushed him off, and locked him back inside.
Naegi tried to peer around Kamukura to check on Komaeda.
"He's fine," Kamukura said.
Still, Naegi stopped when he reached Komaeda's cell.
Komaeda was on his side in the center of the cell. His wheezy breathing trembled with a quiet whistle; it sounded painful. In the low light, it was hard to tell what state the Luckster was in, though Naegi was pretty sure there was a mottled bruise on the other's temple. Komaeda didn't seem to register he was looking at Naegi right away, but when he did, his entire body twitched.
"Naegi-kun?" he said quietly. "Where –?"
Komaeda trailed off when he saw Kamukura next to him.
"Kamukura-kun? When did you get back?"
"Naegi, let's go," Kamukura said. Naegi turned towards him, opened his mouth –
And Komaeda's fists came down on the bars.
"What are you doing?" he shrieked at Kamukura. "You can't take him out there!"
"It's under control," Kamukura said.
"No, no . . . Don't you know what they're doing out there? You can't take him out into that!" Komaeda grabbed fistfuls of his hair, and pulled. "Kuzuryu-kun's trying to . . . You can't let them find him!"
"He'll be fine," Kamukura said.
Naegi cowered behind Kamukura. He had seen many, many types of expressions on Komaeda's face before, but none like this. It was some wild, cornered look, like a rapid animal stuck in the hardened aftermath of a mudslide. The whites of Komaeda's eyes were exposed; Naegi could see the veins in them. His teeth grinded against each other. It was too much to look at. He grabbed the back of Kamukura's shirt and hid his face in that.
With Naegi attached to him, Kamukura kept walking. There was no choice but to follow –
Komaeda snarled. "Naegi, go back and hide right now!"
And he froze as Komaeda's rage slammed into him, ripped through his skin and burned. And he was stumbling backwards, back towards that cell and the spot under the bed –
Kamukura grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and pulled him away.
He dropped Naegi outside the prison. Literally. Naegi fell onto his shins and curled up. The memory of Komaeda's rage was poison, making each cell it touched prickle and constrict. He coughed, almost wishing he could puke.
"Do I have to carry you?" Kamukura asked.
Naegi shook his head.
He took a little while to recover. Afterwards, Kamukura led him straight to Kuzuryu, Pekoyama and Soda. The Yakuza starting swearing in relief when he saw Naegi, shooed off Soda to go find something, and then approached with Pekoyama on his heels.
"Naegi, where the hell were you?"
"Uh . . ." He glanced at Kamukura.
"Did Komaeda tie you up and throw you in a closet somewhere?"
"Why would he do that?" Naegi asked.
"I dunno. To make sure you stayed hidden." Kuzuryu scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "He's not impressed with what we're trying to do here. Whatever. We'll deal with it later."
"Oh."
Naegi bit his lip, and then addressed the elephant in the room.
"Kuzuryu-kun, why do you have an eyepatch?"
Kuzuryu grinned.
"Don't you worry, Naegi. You're about to find out . . ."
Soda burst into the room. He shouted, "Hey guys, it's gone!"
Kuzuryu whipped around. "What do you mean it's gone?"
"Like it's not there anymore. It's vanished."
"The fuck . . .? Well, who moved it? It's not alive. It couldn't have walked off by itself!"
"I don't know," Soda said. "All I know is that it's not there anymore."
Kuzuryu swore. "Naegi, stay here. I'm going to look."
The three ran off, leaving Naegi alone with Kamukura. He looked up at the older teen, and asked, "What are they talking about?"
Kamukura looked at him.
". . . Are you sure you want to know?"
It was quiet outside. Although honestly, most days it was. The ruins around Ultimate Despair's headquarters were abandoned long ago. The only people who lingered there now were spies desperately looking for a way to get inside that massive building, and those who wished to die – often horribly.
But today, there was one other. Someone not far from headquarters. Dirt stained her knees and arms. Sweat dotted her forehead. There was a small hole in front of her and a trowel in her hand. And she was talking, saying the same two words over and over and over . . .
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
Tsumiki sobbed loudly, and tossed another handful of dirt aside. She looked to her other side at the piece of cloth she had taken with her. It was wrapped around something small and round.
"I'm sorry! I . . . I don't know what to do! I know I'm ruining everything and everyone's going to hate me. . . B-but they want Makoto to. . . They're going to –!"
Tsumiki fell forwards, her forehead nearly touching the ground as she wailed.
"I'm sorry!"
Every cell in her body seemed to be rebelling. They were shrieking and moaning and it burned and it burned –
"It's bad! It's not good for him."
Yet the screaming in her head said otherwise. Said this was right, the perfect gift for her beloved; a piece of her in him forever and ever and ever and eve r
"N-no, I can't! It's not . . ."
And she was such a stupid girl because couldn't she see how brilliant this was? The perfect despair was sitting right in front of her wrapped with a bow and she would be stupid not to take it and god, it hurt ithurtithurtithurt she could feel it pushing forward and god, wouldn't it be wonderful? Wouldn't it be so despairful? Because despair was good, despair was life, and wouldn't it be wonderful?
"I . . ."
His despair would be delicious. It would be such a relief to finally see him fall, to finally see him despair –
"N-no."
No?
"Th-that's not what I want. I don't want him to . . ."
What are you saying?
"I don't want to hurt him."
What are you talking about? Despair is good. He'll love it –
"N-no. It'll hurt him. It's not good for him. It's . . . it's not right."
Despair is good. Despair is life
"I don't want him to be like them!" she sobbed. "I don't want to see him starve himself, or hurt himself, or hate everyone because it hurts him to hate them. That. . . that isn't Makoto! That's isn't right.
"Despair . . . it isn't right."
It hurt.
Her screams rang through the air, but no one was there to hear them. Red-hot chains lashed against her flesh, tearing into her mind with the frenzy of a starved animal. Everything was tightening around her and hurting and hurting and it wasn't going to stop until she gave in. A murky tide darkened her vision and she was falling again, drowning as the despair rose and she started to giggle
No.
She couldn't stop the laughter. She could see her glowing swirls reflected in the blade of the trowel –
NO!
And everything stopped.
Mikan blinked. Shakily, she moved her hands under her, and pushed herself up to her elbows. The trowel was impaled in the dirt in front of her, splitting down the center of Enoshima's eye. She didn't even notice. She was too busy trying to adjust to the daylight, and shake the cobwebs from her mind. Her brain felt fuzzy and she felt like . . .
She felt . . .
Like she had finally woken from a very long sleep.
Review Response:
Malorn Fairytale: Hope is fine.
Hola: It is an arc climax! (Your english is fine)
