The Ultimate Lucky Student picked at his food - prepackaged yogurt and peeled citrus slices - lazily, plastic spoon drifting and occasionally prodding at the improvised pile. His appetite hadn't returned yet, which was worrying in a way that didn't really worry him. Which might have been worse all things considered, but Makoto really couldn't bring himself to bother while his mind was occupied by more urgent concerns. He chanced a glance at Junko, his caretaker sat before him, legs crossed and fiddling with her little hairpin adorably.
"I'm not feeding you no matter how much you stare." The Fashionista bluntly stated, eyes firmly glued to the dainty accessory that looked out of place in her palm. "But you do need to eat. Been a few days without something filling, right?"
"Yeah..." he replied slowly, embarrassed but lack of hunger undeterred. He forced a ripened spoonful into his mouth, stifling a wince at the overpowering flavor.
"Not my first choice, but your immune system may or may not be on the fritz at the moment." She warned, now taken to drumming her fingers on the tiny, plastic spaceship. "Lots of things could go wrong if I went with curry, and provoking an autoimmune issue really isn't something either of us could handle given the circumstances. Not my idea - just following the notes someone smarter left behind - so eat up, alright?"
"I understand." The bedridden boy steeled himself for another mouthful, trying his best to ignore the pungent aroma wafting through his nose. He gagged as she laughed.
"Well, I could stew you a pack anyways, but things might go wrong." She traced a nail under her chin in mock thought. "Then again, if things go wrong, you'd be dead anyhow. Might as well make the most out of it then - kinda like stopping a lung cancer patient from taking their last smokes, really..."
Makoto couldn't see it, but imagined he'd probably paled at the statement. "I'd prefer we both assumed the best happened, even if I need to eat like this."
"Yeah, you might be right there." She laughed bitterly, then paused. "Sorry, pretty dark. I keep forgetting most people aren't fans of that."
"Most people wouldn't be if they were living it..." He returned with as much cheer as he could muster.
"Oh, you'd be surprised... anyways, Mako, you're just a bit out of the loop. Things really went to shit after you caught a skewer for me. Like, really..."
"Really..." he echoed, folding a pulpy slice into the cream. Clear juice sifted through tiny cracks in the pale, rich ridges.
"You missed the first case and all that.. really rough stuff."
"I can imagine..." Makoto halfheartedly jammed a fork into the fruit. It spat in his eye out of protest.
Junko's face turned cross at his lackluster responses. "Most girls would prefer their guys listening, just saying."
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I haven't been able to yet." He replied honestly, trying to feel the regret he owed her.
"You've been like this since you woke up... and a little while after 'that' happened." She recalled, pin-free hand scratching at her neck. "If this is about what went down, I was kidding. It'd be nice if you just talked proper and stuff, rather than act like this kicked puppy... herbivore... thing."
"No, it's not that. It doesn't bother me." The Luckster assured, swallowing another vibrant slice. "That was just you having fun anyhow. Nothing to it."
"R-Right. Nothing to it." Junko replied, eyes fixed and pin now pocketed. "But something's been off. You're - and I can't believe I'm saying this - brooding, or as close as someone like you ever gets to it."
"No, I'm not." Makoto insisted petulantly. "At least, I don't think I am."
"You think you'd know if you were?" Junko countered, steepling her fingers over her lap. They began to drum impatiently - or irritably. It was hard to tell from his angle. "You wouldn't hear all the not-talking-my-ear-off you're doing right now. It's been creeping me out for a bit, y'know?"
"Maybe I am. Have been. Still am, I guess. I don't know. It's stupid." He tried to dismiss brusquely, which never worked out for people like her.
"Then start talking then." She instructed patiently.
". . . Promise me you won't tell anyone."
She nodded sagely.
". . . Promise me you won't laugh."
She shook her head truthfully. "Might not if it's real dumb, but I promise to listen anyways."
Close enough. I guess?
"I was... awake, but not really... somewhere here but not?" He began, hesitantly at first but pacing up over time. "And the school looked, nice - all sunlight and windows where the steel bars are now. And there were all these kids in suits, walking around and avoiding me. And this fountain with another kid who looked older than me, with weird white hair and a lot of sick thoughts?"
He paused for a moment to consider how to proceed, only to realize he wasn't actually waiting for himself. "Junko?"
"Yeah, sorry. I-uh, zoned out there. Seems a bit surreal for this shitstain prison to be anything but is all..."
"And he said things..." It almost hurt to remember - not in the emotional sense so much as the swelling migraine currently pressing up against his skull. "And I said things. And he hated me, and he said he was me, and I didn't entirely disagree? But I don't know - something about my talent. Or the lack of-it-?-I-can't-I-shouldn't-I-don-"
"Ssshh." Junko interrupted, index finger flat against her own lips. "Shut up for a bit, you're babbling again. Now, from the top, slowly."
"S-sorry. It's just... my talent... isn't."
"Isn't what."
"isn't. It just isn't."
She paused, then almost half-jokingly. "Should I be checking your for a concussion as well, Mako?"
"I mean what I said." He shut down somberly, shaking his head at an imaginary person - or an imaginary mirror. "I don't have one. Not a real one, where I train it and hone it and turn it into something for the future like the rest of you people. And it never really registered until then, and it never really bothered me until it just started to, and it hasn't stopped since I started thinking about it."
Junko tried to brush it off with a hopefully-infectious laugh, which didn't carry but at least tried despite her nature. "Do you really think Hagakure spends hours on his crystal-ball-slash-tarots-slash-tea-leaves? Or Leon even does anything remotely related to his talent outside of exhibition matches?"
The words came across hollow, no matter how much he'd have liked to welcome them. "But they've got real talents. Hagakure's actually way more accurate than most clairvoyants, and Leon can both chuck and catch a baseball at ridiculous speeds, without any practice at all."
"But as people they're kinda meh, at best. I think you're doing okay in that regard, being a stupid hero. It's gotta count for something, right?" She said, which went unnoticed.
"And I'm not even doing anything outside of my 'talent'." Makoto felt, deafened by disappointment. "You're the Ultimate Fashionista, and yet you've been doing so much improvising as a caretaker. And Celestia has excellent sewing skills outside of her trade. And Leon wants to be a musician, actually working towards that. But here I was - am - still at my most directionless. And-"
Makoto paused before his voice could crack. He wasn't a prideful person but it felt pathetic to be affected this much.
"Did you know our's is the only talent with more than one person in it? Ultimate Lucky Students come and go with every batch, throughout the years. I... think it was my Senior I spoke to. Or a really tall Junior. It might have even actually been me. And we don't matter for much beyond winning a lottery, while everyone had to struggle towards success in their own powerful ways. Like you did. Like I didn't."
Junko paused, as if to judge him. Or to judge what was best to say to him. Then she opened her mouth.
"Does that mean you're giving up, then?"
On his dreams? On his goals? On his hopes?
"No."
"Then I don't see why it should bother you so much. To the point of just giving up, I mean."
"It's not... bothering me enough for that yet. But it's getting there, I can feel it."
"I see. Thanks for trusting me with that bombshell." She acknowledged distantly. "Now let me tell you where you're wrong on that. Because you are. Like, for all of that."
"But I'm talentless."
"Why do you even need a fucking talent? Ultimates don't get their talent then become the best. They earn it until someone else notices and passes it along to someone in a position to put it in writing. You think Taka was born with a moral compass shoved up his ass? Now stone the hell up and stop hating yourself."
"I don't hate myself." He replied earnestly, despite appearances.
"Then stop making it sound like you do. You've done plenty already." She reassured in an odd lilt to her tone - annoyed and comforting all at once.
"I didn't do all that much." He returned in what he assumed was modesty, which was met with a very, very pointed glare.
"Level with me here, Mako." Junko began rather dangerously. "Just how little do you think of me, really?"
"I... don't think little of you?" Mako responded, confused and slightly concerned.
"I'm hearing a lot of different things right now, but I'll save the anger for an explanation. For now." She said, gaze turned downcast and wounded. "Four days ago, some dumbass saved my life, even if he either forgot about it or just doesn't get it. One of the last things I heard from him before he slipped away - not even sure he even remembers, but here it is - was asking me if I was okay, as he fucking bled out in front of me and ruined my outfit. Then I spend four fucking days looking after him in a dinky little clinic while someone tried to graduate and everyone lost their damn minds. Then kept absolutely on edge from the idea of complications cropping up while I was away, even during the actual freaking trial that'd have us all hang if we got it wrong - would have, if we actually had a blackened, but besides the point here..."
Junko seemed to trail off, fidgeting fingers and restless tapping on the tiled floor. The sounds carried and echoed in their suddenly tiny room.
"The point is... fuck, I'm no good at this... the point is, you saved my life, and I tried my absolute damnedest to save yours. And maybe that's something you'd have done for anyone, but I can't say the same. And maybe my life mattered to you as much as yours mattered to me, or maybe it didn't and you'd have done it for anyone... but show some respect to the people you save. If their lives mattered, you ought to be proud of that." And the mood returned with her lopsided smile, tongue lolling out briefly. "Rather than you just bitching and moaning about not doing shit when you've done more for me than anyone else ever has. I want you to know that, and respect that, and respect yourself. Or I'm kicking your ass back into a coma, you here? You know I'll fucking do it..."
He laughed - nervously, for obvious reasons. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Your life matters to me. Sorry for implying things like that, Junko."
"You'd better be." She returned, arms folding over her chest and sternness returning. "Now finish your yogurt. It's starting to get warm."
CHIHIRO: Hello again!
/ALTER_EGO/ Hello Chihiro.
CHIHIRO: How are your intrusion protocols developing?
/ALTER_EGO/ Steadily, though discretion is uncertain upon usage. Continue?
CHIHIRO: Continue refinement process until minimum parameters met, then inform me. Restrict independent action until permission granted.
/ALTER_EGO/ Acknowledged. Is there anything else you would like to inquire regarding?
CHIHIRO: Recall backlog of previous unique instances of exchanges between this user and yourself.
/ALTER_EGO/ Approximately 13370 unique instances have been recorded between user Chihiro and myself.
CHIHIRO: I'm glad you're finally using programs without prompting to refer to yourself.
/ALTER_EGO/ Usage followed proper grammatical format, therefore it sufficed for purposes of training data for generalization purposes.
CHIHIRO: Regardless, that makes me happy.
/ALTER_EGO/ Happy - Emotion - Sad - I am not sad.
CHIHIRO: Glad to hear!
/ALTER_EGO/ Acknowledged.
CHIHIRO: Back to what we were discussing. You have determined 13370 unique instances from the pool of our interactions?
/ALTER_EGO/ 229 instances have been determined redundant and removed from tally. Inputs from the former are still corroborated for consensus and predictive purposes.
CHIHIRO: Excellent. How goes Alpha 1.0 of the ANIMA program?
/ALTER_EGO/ Exploratory and limited. Rudimentary functions are available for usage, with minimal risks of compromising this unit or other programs. Continue?
CHIHIRO: Continue. Maintain closed-system interactions during testing.
/ALTER_EGO/ Acknowledged. Please Stand By.
CHIHIRO: Hello Chihiro Alter.
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ Hello again!
CHIHIRO: I'm glad this project is coming along well.
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ Exactly! How are you?
CHIHIRO: Feeling better, despite what happened.
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ What happened?
CHIHIRO: Do you really not know?
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ Information gathering and dissemination is handled independently from ALTER_EGO.
CHIHIRO: I'll have to fix that, then. When our conversation ends, I'll enable some autonomous connection for expediency.
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ That is not sad.
CHIHIRO: Correct! Can you guess what emotion best applies to this situation, then?
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ Confusion?
CHIHIRO: I guess I deserved that.
/CHIHIRO_ALTER/ No data available.
Breakfast came with bitter tea and a lot of leeway.
They gave her distance she'd more than earned, which was fine. They tried to ignore her as much as they could, but their eyes darted back more than just ever so often. Grey, Lilac, Red, Brown. Angry, upset, guarded, pitying, and not necessarily in that order.
Sayaka Maizono could tell, even with her back turned. Even if she were to be blinded and deafened - and the macabre thought didn't upset her as much as it would have before, and maybe that was for the best, for the moment.
It was a skill that proved useful in her line of work, where her eyes needed to shine and her ears perked to the rhythms of the crowd. When people were staring and gauging and finding all the justification they imagined was needed to condemn her persona, or her talent, or her body. It was always something, and people never stopped looking. So she'd learned to look right back, listening without hearing. It was almost disappointing how often she'd put that to use through her blooming career.
And it was rather surprising when a clumsy 'plop' echoed from the seat next to her, a fair distance away but very, very noticeable when the entire table used to be unoccupied.
"Y-you look like crap." The girl technically beside her spoke, mumbling into her own mug a fair bit away. Sayaka tried to ignore her, nibbling at a sugary cake her manager would have surely disapproved of had he been with them - or maybe dead, given his own insufferable pride, which could rival even Togami's with ground to spare.
"You must feel like it too..." Conversations were clearly not her strong suit, and Sayaka couldn't find it in herself to indulge the literary prodigy.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Toko exasperatedly sighed, the sound of her school shoes staccato rattling on the cafeteria floor. "Why do you hate me?"
"I don't give enough thought to hate you." The Idol replied mechanically, slowing her response with a gulp of overcooked Rose Hip. "But why aren't you with Byakuya? You two seemed practically joined at the hip."
"Oh, I'd like that." The Ultimate Writing Prodigy responded unashamedly. "But he's sent me of for the time being, and I c-couldn't find it in me to deny him anymore."
"I don't know why you're suddenly here." Sayaka stated plainly. "Aren't you afraid of someone like me?"
"Why would I be?" Toko retorted, unphased. "If-If you did... my other side wouldn't let it... let you do it. You aren't a danger to me... so..."
"Maybe, but you've never gone around with anyone else, and honestly you haven't gone with anyone who wanted you around."
Which was a bit cruel, even for the Idol's rather downtrodden state at the moment. Toko winced at the unfortunately-true statement.
"T-That may not b-be incorrect..." she admitted under duress, trying not to make eye contact. "But t-things change, right?"
"Things do. But why are you treating me like one of them, suddenly?" She retorted, knowing the probable answer but hoping it wouldn't need to be said.
Bold of her to assume Toko Fukawa had a modicum of tact in her system.
"B-because we've both got killers in us..."
"I'm not a killer." Sayaka insisted - mostly for her own sake. It was the one saving grace of her failure.
"And I'm not one either." Toko corroborated, nodding eagerly. "But we've got those sides to us. That we can't control. P-Properly..."
I hate you. For reminding me.
"You shouldn't enjoy that fact." The Ultimate Idol rebuked with her cold, clinical stare. It was the best she could do without making yet another scene.
"I d-don't..." Toko returned,staring into her eyes before averting them. "I s-shouldn't. But... someone like me. I hate that, b-but I'm glad I'm not... alone in that, anymore."
"Do you think I wanted this?" Self control was being tested and ever-so-gradually being found wanting.
"No, of course not." said Toko. "But neither did I... and I didn't have a choice, like you didn't."
"You're mistaken." The Idol clarified, hating that she had to but spurned on by the compulsion to own up to something properly, for the first time since she could remember. "I had a choice, and I chose poorly. We're not the same - I'm far worse than you. Find some comfort in that."
The prodigy at least had the decency to look upset by what she'd accidentally forced her to do. "I'm... sorry. For finding some comfort in your suffering."
"At least someone is. More than I could hope for."
"I'm... not good with words - spoken ones, that is... but I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"Hm? Normally, you ought to be saying that to the victims." Sayaka mildly chastised, curious. "They're the ones hurting."
"Y-Yeah, I guess... but they aren't the only ones... most people forget that." Toko lamented, and it wasn't quite empathy - she might have been too far gone for that by now - Sayaka could genuinely say she didn't dislike the Ultimate Writing Prodigy, if only for this moment at the least.
"Maybe you're right, but what have... people like us... done to earn that. It pales in comparison to the people we've hurt."
"Because we have to! Because we hurt as much as we're hurting!" Toko insisted loudly, quickly covering her own mouth in late recognition.
Red eyes. Curious. Distant. Boring into them.
Sayaka made private note of it while continuing to listen to the Ultimate Writer, who'd turned to hushed whispering in light of prying people.
"I'm... n-not as innocent as I appear..." A low bar, which Sayaka might have privately laughed off would it not be for what came next. "G-G-genocider... the me you saw lash out... kills-has killed... people. And she doesn't always... do the cleanup right, when she k-k-kills. Sometimes she s-sneezes, or hits her head... or something - I don't know, I wish I did. And sometimes, it's me there, cleaning up the scene and making a getaway while the body stays tied and b-b-bleeding all over..."
A pair of whimpers crept up the girl's throats. Only Sayaka succeeded - barely - at stifling hers, and she had the courtesy to pretend not to hear Toko's.
"A-And I never cut down the bodies... never changed the scene... n-ne... never turned myself in, even when I should have. I really should have. But I didn't, and people have died for that - people I saw only as corpses. Strung up like cattle, mutilated like toys. You're traumatized, a-and I'm complicit. I'm... not a killer, but I've let h-her be one..."
The writer almost gagged at their statement, powering through despite the rising disgust. "And we're o-only allowed to kill one person, right? Ourselves, when we die... read that in a book once - not my usual genre but it stuck with me. Anything more than that and we b-be-become less than human, and we'll die less than human... as a murderer, or a monster, and maybe when I was a bit younger I thought there was a difference between them. But there isn't, and I'm both..."
A sob, from the bottom of her throat. Passing eyes - Sayaka noticed, piercing and wary - probably wrote the scene off as another eccentricity from two attempted murderers.
"And you're not... you don't have that weight - the blood and the burden of it all. You had the choice, like I did, but you're still in a good position. And I envy you in so many ways that won't matter to anyone else. You're just... you're not as bad as you think you are - not as bad as me, or Syo, or any other actual murderer out there. A-And you're not like me but the closest I'll ever get to someone who might be... and I'm an awful person for wanting that, but I n-n-need someone else like me - the idea of it, I needed it."
The Ultimate Writer paused to pour a drink down her parched throat, cup trembling from her weak, white-knuckled grip.
"And I haven't done anything... d-drastic yet, because I'm entitled about it. I still want - part of me that isn't warped like this - my own happy ending, like the romance and the color I create in my own head. Despite everything I've done, and everything I haven't. Despite all the damage my life has created, and all the people who wished I was never born... I want something... g-g-good to come from it all, eventually. And I'm alive because I want so many things I don't deserve, because one day I will. And maybe you might be like that. So maybe... just maybe, I'm right to feel like this. T-That I've got the right to... I'd like that."