A Good Heart's Quiet Death

When Ren had bounced up and told him about his unwanted appointment, Komaeda had silently braced himself. He wasn't a stranger to therapy. Ever since the Ultimate Therapist had graduated from Hope's Peak, it had been mandatory for each active student to attend at least one session a year with her for the purpose of researching the Ultimate mentality. In fact, Komaeda and his classmates had been asked to attend more appointments beyond the annual one, a deviation that had only made sense with the revelation that Hope's Peak had been working on Kamukura at the same time.

Naturally, then, Komaeda remembered Gekkogahara Miaya. She had that colourful, lively rabbit that distracted from the beetle-like eyes of the mind behind it. She was a frustratingly difficult opponent in a verbal spar, not because she was an exemplary debater, but because it was difficult to goad her into an argument in the first place. While Komaeda had certainly enjoyed explaining his worldviews in the past, it had still been disconcerting for her to simply listen without fighting back.

Thus, when Ren had pulled him to the abandoned diner for an impromptu introductory session, Komaeda hadn't expected it to end well. Gekkogahara had expressed concerns about his activities in the past, and they had only gone unheeded because he had been too valuable to the Steering Committee. That wasn't so anymore. Not only was she free to revive those old grievances, but everyone on Jabberwock knew she had regular session with Naegi.

But Naegi's name hadn't come up once during their session. Neither had Ultimate Despair's, for that matter. To Komaeda's confusion, they didn't discuss any real issues. Instead, it had played out like a game of twenty question on a blind date. And now it was over and he wasn't sure what had happened. Although if she had been trying to unbalance him, it had worked.

The sky was grumpy when he left the diner alone. It wasn't raining, but the air felt damp and heavy like fog had overcome the island. As he trudged back to the hotel, he half-expected (hoped?) to see Ren waiting for him. But Ren was nowhere to be found. Komaeda passed through the gate alone.

If there was anything that had gone his way lately, it was the consistent emptiness of the hotel's grounds whenever he was around. It was possible they were avoiding him, but it was hard to believe that everyone would be willing to let him be. No, this had to be good luck and that terrified him. For he didn't know if this was part of the balancing act in response to Genocider's attack on him, or the beginning of a new cycle. Just like he didn't know if Naegi's letter and Tsumiki's response was bad luck, or ultimately good luck because of what it led to with Ren. All he knew was that his recent good luck was piling up, building up towards something and he didn't know what.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and pushed his way into his cabin. He put his back against the door and dug his heels in. The sight before him was the only comfort he could find in these times, because what he saw had to be bad luck.

Someone had been in here while he had been hospitalized, and they didn't like him. His clothes had been thrown on the floor, his bed overturned. He gathered up most of his clothing in the time between his first return and Ren taking him to therapy, and they waited for him in the closet. But the mattress. . . It wasn't light, but it wasn't heavy either. It was large and awkward to carry, putting pressure on his wounded hands no matter how he held it. His stitched wounds burned like someone was driving a thumbtack into his palms. When he glanced down and saw a hint of red seeping through the bandages, he had to give up.

So, he sighed and let the mattress fall. He wasn't going to bother Ren for this. He didn't see the point in hastening the day Ren finally lost patience with him.

(And maybe if he left it like this, if he let the sign of his bad luck linger, it would stave off whatever was coming.)

But he still had options. He parted the curtains for a second, checking his target. There were two extra cabins in Hotel Mirai, and he knew where the keys were.

He waited until night to lessen the chances of running into anyone. Thankfully – or perhaps not - his unsettling string of good luck continued. Inside the hotel, he found an empty lobby. He cast his eyes beyond the front desk to where the keys were stored.

His heart quickened. The cubby were the keys should be was empty. Finally. Was his good luck coming to an end?

But as he shuffled toward the cubby, his shoe brushed against something metallic. There, between his feet, was one of the keys.

How lucky.

Key in hand, he left the hotel and walked up to the first empty cabin. He stuck the key in the lock. It stopped halfway down its length, not fitting. . .

And the door opened anyways.

He stood there, confused. He had turned the doorknob automatically while his conscious mind hadn't yet realized that this was the wrong key. It wasn't supposed to open.

He tucked the key into his pocket and slowly opened the door. All the cabin layouts were supposed to be the same, so immediately recognized the object out of place: the bed was against the wall underneath one of the windows. Additionally, the canopy was still bolted in place, so now it was surrounding nothing and looked awful. So why bother moving the bed? The only reason he could come up with was the view, for the bed by the window reminded him of his hospital room.

He experimentally lowered himself onto the mattress, where his knee brushed against something solid. It was small, rectangular; it was a grey box with a big switch in the center.

It looked like a detonator.

A chill swept down his spine. He remembered how the door opened without a key. And as he gazed into the distance, thinking, he realized the window gave him a perfect view of Kamukura's cabin.

Something was very wrong here.

Raindrops as sharp and cold as ice peppered his cheeks as he burst outside. He blinked water out of his eyes and stumbled toward the dark form of Kamukura's cabin. His plan was to knock on the door, but there was a hole in the foundation and an orange light coming from that hole that begged to be investigated.

The crawlspace wasn't big. If he wanted to stand, he had to slouch over until his upper body was nearly parallel with the ground. There was one benefit to the cramp space: the orange light – a kerosene lantern –illuminated more than it normally would have. The glow reached far enough for him to pick out a heap, and a shape like a flat-top pyramid.

Both shapes came into focus at the same time. Neither was a welcome sight. He flinched away from the pyramidal shape and studied the heap.

". . . Fireworks?" Komaeda whispered.

The pyramidal shape moved at the sound of Komaeda's voice. Its face turned away from where it had been reverently staring at the floorboards – or between them. Cross-legged, palms resting on his knees, Naegi had only one thing to say.

"Komaeda?"

Komaeda's breath turned to ice in his lungs. It didn't matter that the question was asked with no real emotion. It was that voice, this person. He wasn't ready.

"What are you doing here?" Naegi growled at him. Or tried to. His voice was high-pitched and sharp, like a small dog yipping in hopes that it would drive the big, scary Pitbull away. "You're supposed to be in the hospital. What are you doing here?"

Komaeda's lips moved, but it felt like he was a daze. Words tumbled out of his mouth. "I was released today. I don't remember Kamukura's cabin having a break in it. Why would anyone store fireworks here?"

His question sounded dumb when he rewound it in his head. It was, a little. For there were several more important questions he needed to ask.

He said carefully, "Naegi, what are you doing here?"

"What does that mean? I can be here," Naegi said tersely. "You can't tell me what to do. You don't control me!"

Every movement Naegi made was too twitchy. Everything he said was too loud. He was puffed up, shoulders flared, feet planted; the stiffness there made just looking at him exhausting.

"At least you were smart enough to leave this all the way over here," Komaeda said. He shook the latern for emphasis. "This is dangerous and. . ."

He trailed off. He didn't need to explain. If Naegi set these up here, it was because he knew how dangerous this was. It meant that Naegi was trying to. . . Naegi wanted to. . .

He tensed every muscle in his body, forcing himself to remain strong, to keep his voice steady. "I'm guessing you tricked Soda-kun into making that detonator."

"I didn't trick anyone," Naegi said hotly. "He's the one who thought we would need one if we had fireworks at the party –"

"A party you obviously made up. What I don't understand is how you got this past Kirigiri-san and the others?"

"It helps that she and the others disappeared for a while," Naegi said. "They were busy clearing out the other caches. And it's not like Tanaka-kun would tell anyone that he helped me move these out of the cache I found."

Naegi didn't look so scared anymore. He looked proud of himself, and the way Naegi stared at him earnestly. . . Was Naegi still trying to impress him after everything? Or was he rubbing in how much trust he had to burn?

Komaeda let that last thought form, and then let it pass with a shrug. Mere days ago, that would have been enough to send him into a rage. Now, it didn't really bother him. His blood wasn't simmering with the quiet rage he had hidden before his last blowout with Naegi. No, that had been spent. To loathe Naegi right now would require a conscious effort, and that required energy he didn't have.

"Do you think this will work?" Komaeda asked. "It's Kamukura."

"I don't know, but I have to try." Naegi clenched his fist over his heart. "Hope isn't about absolutes. It's about striving for the best possible outcome, no matter the odds."

That sounded like Naegi, all right. This. . . It felt like whiplash with the way Naegi bounced between outright hostility and a weird kind of earnest desire for a mutual understanding. Komaeda lowered himself into a squat, finding it easier on a body which felt like it was rapidly being drained of strength. It brought him to eye level with Naegi, something the Ultimate Hope seemed to enjoy.

"Hopes blooms in the ashes of Despair," Naegi said. He turned upward and reached for the distant heavens they couldn't see. "Imagine what we can be once he is gone."

"I doubt anyone but you would feel hope after this," Komaeda scoffed. He knew his classmates didn't like Kamukura. Naegi's classmates were fairly neutral toward him. But he also knew none of them prayed for Kamukura's death. At most they simply hoped they never ran into him, especially since Kamukura had shown up for Nanami's pyre and had expressed true regret.

And somewhere within, Naegi must have known that, too. Because he didn't try to fight Komaeda's statement with words; his reaction was physical, and it was angry. If the low ceiling of the crawlspace didn't hamper their movements, Naegi would have lunged at him. As it was, Naegi lurched forward enough that even though he was still sitting, he had to catch himself with his arms.

"Shut up! He's a monster," Naegi snarled. "Maybe they're too stupid to see that, but I'm not. Besides, what do they know? Half of them thought trying to kill each other at Hope's Peak was a good idea."

A wiser, less impulsive person might have kept their lips tightly shut, but Komaeda said, "You're trying to kill now."

"That's different."

"How it is -?"

"BECAUSE HE DESERVES IT!"

Naegi breathed heavily. His fingers curled into the ground like claws. Because of Naegi's small frame and general passiveness, Komaeda had never felt intimidated by him before. Then again, he had never felt trapped in a cramped space with him, nor had he ever interrupted Naegi in the middle of a murder plot.

Then Naegi blinked. The snarl dropped from his lips. Naegi cocked his head, seeming confused at why Komaeda had gone still with prey-like fright.

"What's wrong?" Naegi asked. "Are you upset? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you out, but I didn't want to bother you in the hospital. I know you deserved to be a part of this, too."

The ground was uneven. Komaeda nearly tripped when he shuffled back and with this disturbing Naegi so close to him, that was a close enough call that he didn't dare move back anymore.

"What are you taking about?" Komaeda shook the lantern and their shadows danced wildly on the walls. "You hate me. You said in your letter that . . ."

"My letter? What are you talking about?" Naegi asked. "I never wrote you a letter."

He. . . what? Naegi wasn't remembering correctly. He had to be mistaken because Komaeda had read that letter thoroughly and it had sounded like Naegi, had come alive in his head wth Naegi's voice.

"Komaeda-kun, what are you talking about?" Naegi pressed. "What letter?"

"I got a letter from you. It was about everything I did to you and . . ."

"No, that wasn't me." Naegi bit his lip. "You do have a lot of enemies. Maybe they wanted to hurt you."

"No. That can't be it. There were things in there only we knew about."

". . . Are you sure?" And with that, Naegi looked up again. Slowly, Komaeda did, too.

Kamukura?

There were gaps in the floorboard, but it was too dark to see anything let alone determine if Kamukura was up there. It was possible that their pseudo-omniscient resident knew everything that had happened between Naegi and him.

"He was always jealous whenever we got close," Naegi murmured. "I wouldn't put it past him to do something like this. He always tries to blame you for his actions."

Komaeda felt like he was two steps behind in the conversation. It wasn't just him. If the patient, borderline patronizing look Naegi was giving him meant anything, Naegi had come to the same conclusion.

"Komaeda-kun, you know what I'm talking about, right? Everything that happened was his fault – part of his grand plan," Naegi said. "He's the one who started all of this by taking me away from my class."

"Are you. . . ? What are you talking about? Going after you was my idea. I –"

"No," Naegi snapped. "Kamukura needed me. So what would he have done if you hadn't come for me? He needed you to. He goaded you into it and then pretended it was always your idea."

"That's not –"

"It's not your fault," Naegi said firmly. Suddenly, Komaeda realized that Naegi was gently holding his hand. He looked at Naegi's face in shock and something about the eyes. . . They seemed to draw him in, in. . . "He tricked both of us. He's been toying with us for his own amusement. He's even worse than Enoshima because he isn't doing it for despair; he's doing it because he can. We deserve a chance to get back at him."

Komaeda tensed his hand involuntary, squeezing Naegi's thumb. Get back at him? But. . . He didn't know what to say, let alone what to think. His feelings about Kamukura had always been complicated at best. Unlike Naegi where there was a clear before and after, his relationship with Kamukura was muddled. Their relationship before and after Nanami blended into each other, and it didn't help that he still didn't know how much of their one-time friendship had been real.

"It's okay, Komaeda-kun," Naegi said. "It's not a crime to fight back."

His throat tightened. He was keenly aware of the warmth laying over his knuckles. It reminded him of another touch, of another face. Of Ren smiling down at him in the hospital with sunlight in his face, in stark contrast to the swirling shadows upon Naegi's.

"Naegi-kun. . ."

Naegi smiled at him. "Yes?"

His throat tightened even further. He didn't want to say it. It would be easy just to play along with him. To agree in the name of all times Kamukura had insulted him and pushed him aside.

But something in him resisted. Something in him needed to tell Naegi the truth.

"You aren't Kamukura-kun's toy," Komaeda said. "You were his friend."

His throat loosened. Even as he felt sick to his stomach with bitterness, the rest of his body felt relief.

"No. No, no, no!" Naegi stressed. His grip tightened like a vice. "Komaeda-kun, you're letting him trick you again."

"He cared about you," Komaeda said. For while he didn't know if he and Kamukura had been friends, he knew Kamukura and Nanami had been. He knew what it looked like when Kamukura cared.

"Komaeda-kun, listen to yourself!" Naegi's free hand found its way to Komeada's cheek. It was an unfamiliar touch that had his heart pounding in his chest and his legs jerking with a need to flee. "Don't you remember what he is? He doesn't have friends. He doesn't care about anyone. He's a machine made in a lab. He can't feel anything."

Komaeda let Naegi's words echo in his head. That. . .That was. . .

The complete opposite of what Naegi would say.

He wouldn't say that. Not the Naegi who had planted himself in front of the Ultimate Yakuza and proclaimed Pekoyama was more than a tool; not the Naegi who had seen into Kamukura's heart and bound it to his own; not the Naegi who had achieved the impossible and guided Ultimate Despair into the light.

(Not the Naegi, who amid Komaeda's attempt to end it all, had still reached out.)

This wasn't the Naegi he remembered. It seemed so obvious now with the way Naegi's teeth showed in that Cheshire-like grin and the strange way his eyes reflected the lantern – like his pupils were somehow moving. And as Komaeda met the gaze of this stranger, he had one question:

Who are you?

A great fog lifted from his mind. He had loathed Naegi, pined after him, pinned him up on a board to dissect piece by piece. He had envied Naegi so much that it had taken over his world; but the Naegi he had imagined and the Naegi that existed weren't the same. The Naegi in his mind was an illusion born from his fevered mind. This jealously, this hate, it had all been directed at someone who didn't exist.

No, maybe he had existed once: as the lone soul who stood up to the Ultimate Despair when all seemed lost; as the captive who heard Komaeda was sleeping in a closet and demanded to share a bed. But that Naegi was long gone. In his place was an entirely new person.

And there was nothing about this person worth envying.

"Komaeda-kun?"

He had watched Pekoyama trail after him like a mother hen. He had seen Kirigiri rearrange her life to center around him. While that fake image of Naegi had clouded his mind, he had assumed they behaved that way because of the same obsessive adoration he had once held towards Ultimates. He understood better now. Pekoyama and Kirigiri simply expressed grief in a different form.

Komaeda had thought he had hated that old Naegi. But if he had, then how could he explain his great ache in his heart? Like a dream had been torn away and nothing existed to fill in the void.

This isn't what I wanted.

"Komaeda-kun, are you crying?"

"I'm sorry."

Naegi went still.

"I don't know if you wrote that letter or not, but it's right," Komaeda said. "I did all of that to you. I told myself that you deserved it because you had everything I ever wanted. I hated you for being who I wished I was, but I. . . I loved you for it, too. You were my idol. You were everything I wanted to be, but I didn't just want to be like you. I wanted to take it from you. I wanted to hurt you. And I did."

"What are you -?"

"I don't expect you to forgive me, and I don't think you should. I'm sorry. For everything."

"I don't . . . What. . .?" Naegi muttered. He twitched like a malfunctioning robot and shook himself like a dog. There was something funny going on with his eyes, like they kept snapping between two different forms. It kept going until Naegi finally hit himself in the head.

And suddenly, Naegi was no longer smiling. The lantern highlighted the underside of Naegi's neck and. . . Wait. Wait! When had Naegi had taken the lantern from him?

"You're so useless," Naegi said. "But that's okay. You know, I thought it was bad luck when none of the flashlights worked. You'd think that I had learned not to guess by now."

And with that, Naegi casually tossed the lantern at the fireworks.

The fuselage shattered. Flames flickered on the split fuel and flashed in midair as its vapors caught. Komaeda stood stock-still as Naegi bolted past him on all fours. A second passed. Another half-second. Then reality caught up with him and Komaeda took off.

Naegi was there, partially blocking the way out, pulling at a piece of protruding wood in the broken foundation. There wasn't enough space to get past, so Komaeda barreled into him. There was a big crack as the wood cracked off in Naegi's hands. They went tumbling across the grass in a whirlwind of color that made Komaeda momentarily fear that the fireworks had caught. The second he could disentangled himself, Komaeda scrambled to his feet. He looked at Kamukura's cabin, still deceptively quiet, then at Naegi –

Naegi was also on his feet. He had the wooden shard in hand and it looked very sharp.

"Naegi-kun. . ." Komaeda's body braced itself for pain once more.

Naegi brought the shard up.

And then brought it down on his own arm.

Komaeda watched in shock as Naegi carved into his arm. He struck into his arm again and again. . . It was instinct to lunge forward, to wrestle it away from him. It came easily into Komaeda's possession (too easily given his injuries). Naegi accepted his loss with grace. He stepped back, eyes closed. Yet his expression was one of absolute triumph.

That was when the fireworks went off. Komaeda dove to the ground and shielded his head.

The cabin didn't explode like he had expected. He thought he heard wood cracking and flames burning between the sharp pops of the fireworks cylinders, but the roof remained in place, as did the walls. Naegi's mouth dropped open in disappointment.

Then there was a second round, and it was much, much bigger.

It was over quickly. When ten seconds passed without any more popping, he stopped burying his facein the ground. Smoke rose from the cabin. Firelight played on the grass from flames he couldn't see –

"Komaeda-kun, why?!"

That hysterical voice belonged to Naegi. He turned, wondering what he was trying to pull now –

Naegi laid on his side, teary-eyed. Tsumiki was right next to him, pressing her hands against the deep slashes in his arms. Komaeda abruptly became very, very aware that he was still holding the bloody piece of wood.

And that the rest of his classmates were staring at him.