Danganronpa: Neo Killing Game (By Starrshard) (Not Mine)

by DeathlyJazzHands55

-This Story is written by Starrshard on Ao3/Wattpad, I am merely uploading it with permission- The villains have finally won, and the star students of U.A. have been captured. The League decides to throw their hostages into a Danganronpa Killing Game. As the game begins, the new villain-run society gets to watch the great Class 1-A and company tear themselves apart

52. Epilogue - Dawn & Dusk, Part 1

-This is made by Starrshard on Ao3 and Wattpad, please check them out. I have been given permission to upload this to , as they do not have an account on this website-

When Yaomomo came to, she was lying in a bed.

"Ngh..." She blinked open her iron-heavy eyelids, only to find herself staring up at a sterile, white ceiling. Bars of golden sunlight danced across the plaster, teasing her unaccustomed vision like pesky fairies. "Where..?"

She rubbed her silver eyes open and sat up. She was lying in a bed, within a warm, whitewashed room. A few feet from the foot of her bed, against the wall, there was a desk, a sofa, and a cabinet. The massive windows to her right were covered in curtains that failed to block out the sun outside.

"What is this place..? It's not in the school..."

Then it hit her.

Right.

Denki destroying Monokuma and getting blown up. Getting attacked by Dancing Death. Being escorted by Peregrine and Pix, and then Syo and Serpent- and Dabi, capturing her in a wall of flame. It was so vivid, so raw in the forefront of her brain, that she had to lay back down and run through her thoughts, figure out all the facts before the photos fell out of the album in a jumbled mess.

Considering the plain room, she was likely in the hospital. She reached up and ran her fingers down her face; there were bandages over her cheek, where Dancing had cut her. Otherwise, she was unscathed. "Shouto..." The sight of him jumping in front of her and taking Dabi's attack, of his corpse being carried away on a stretcher, returned to her mind. They took him from me. "I have to find him... I have to stop them..."

She quickly got up and slipped out of the sheets, ignoring how her vision blurred at the sudden motion. The sunlight in the room wasn't exactly helping either. What time is it? She tugged back to the corner of the curtains to see a surprisingly pale sky, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon. It cast a flower of radiance over the cityscape around her, slicing through the dull blue of the dome above. It's too bright... She tugged the curtains back again and set her bare feet onto the ground. "Ah... it's cold... Where are my shoes?"

Her entire outfit had changed while she was asleep, it seemed. Instead of the blouse, skirt, leggings, and boots she donned throughout the entire Game, she was now clad in a plain, blue hospital gown. "They took my clothes... Oh well. I'll find them later."

Ignoring how the slick, cold tiles shot jolts of ice up her legs with every step she took, Yaomomo began to make her way around the bed and to the door. She exited into the hallway, where the floor changed color to a pleasant pastel teal and the walls a warm beige. Shutting the door behind her with a soft click, she found herself staring at a profile within a clear, plastic pocket.

'Patient 10-A: Momo Yaoyorozu
Diagnosis:
Admitted 20xx 年 4月 7日
Notes: '

Both of the lines for the diagnosis and notes were blank. "It's April already, huh?" Yaomomo tore her gaze away from her patient summary. "Last I checked, it was December."

She began to slowly walk down the hall on her toes, her gait steadying as her feet grew used to the freezing cold and her steps grew smaller and quicker. "Shouto... and Nejire, and Hitoshi and Tsu... where are you?" she mumbled. She didn't have to look very far to find one of them, though; the next door over from Yaomomo's, just a few full strides to her left, was Nejire's.

She'd only placed her hand on the doorknob when a second set of footsteps, much more solid and precise, made her jump. She whirled around to see a young woman wearing a loose, silver blouse and a black skirt and tights. She had short, black hair and a freckled face. Most curious, though, was that her hands were like gauntlets. They were slender, plated with metal. Her fingertips looked like caps; her right index finger's was flicked up, revealing what seemed to be a gun barrel within. "Ah. A patient." The silver-eyed guard capped her metal finger, releasing her battle-ready stance. "Momo Yaoyorozu, isn't it?"

"...yes." Yaomomo was on edge; who was this lady? How did she know her name? What was she doing here, in this hero-run hospital, where everyone was supposed to be safe?

The ravenette's dazed eyes then landed on a golden badge on the unknown woman's chest. Guard 1-A. Mukuro Ikusaba. "What do you want... Ms. Ikusaba?"

"..." Mukuro's steely eyes softened; she looked more approachable now, almost shy, tucking her metal hands behind her back. "I was told that the new patients were to stay in their rooms until further notice from the doctors. If you need something, you need not hesitate to ask."

"I have to see my friends," Yaomomo explained. "I have to make sure they're okay... and I have to find Shouto. Shouto Todoroki, do you know where he is?" she inquired. "They took him from me, they took his dead body. I have to find him."

Mukuro sighed, deflating slightly. "I'm sorry, but you're not permitted to see them yet. Doctor's orders." She stepped forward, tugging a pair of black gloves from her belt and sliding them over her metal hands. She offered one open palm to Yaomomo. "Come along. I will escort you back to your room."

"No..." Yaomomo scurried back from Mukuro's hand, on edge once again. The guard was unfazed; she pulled her arm back and didn't advance. "I have to find Shouto, I have to find my friends, to make sure they're okay!" she repeated.

"I'm sorry, Yaoyorozu, but you cannot do that." Mukuro took a slow step forward, as if approaching a fearful animal. "Not until the doctors get your diagnosis and make sure you're stable. Then you can see them again. Rest assured, they're all safe and well, and likely asleep. It's only seven."

"No, please! I have to see them! I have to-!" Yaomomo felt tears welling in her eyes, her vision blurring. She stumbled back another foot. "H-How do I know you're not lying?" she sobbed. "What if- What if they're all dead..? I..."

I don't deserve to live, she was about to say, when she suddenly felt something pricking her in the collar. Yaomomo's eyes shot down to see a small, white dart embedded in her skin. She looked back up to see the guard standing there, her left hand supporting her right forearm. Her index finger was uncapped. Her silver stare regarded Yaomomo sadly.

"Y-You... shot me..."

"Please, do not worry. It's just a simple sedative- it'll wear off in just an hour, and I fired it as gently as I could without altering the trajectory," Mukuro said softly, lowering her arm. Yaomomo's vision was beginning to flicker, and it wasn't because of the tears anymore. "I'm sorry I had to do this."

She didn't have a chance to protest any longer. As the ex-Detective crumpled to the ground, her eyelids heavy as lead, she felt a warm pair of arms catching her and scooping her up.

When Yaomomo awoke for the second time that morning, she was in her hospital bed again.

"Shouto..." She jolted up, ignoring how her head throbbed in protest, only to find herself recoiling as her eyes were met with a blinding light. It was even brighter in the room now; the curtains had been pulled back, and it was clearly well past dawn. The full force of the sun was blasting in through the window. She tugged the sheets over her head, rubbing her eyes. "Ugh..."

"Oh, my apologies." There was a voice, a voice she didn't recognize in her room. Yaomomo froze and went stiff, tucking the blanket tighter over her curled-up figure. She heard a muffled set of footsteps and the rustling of curtains. The light, through her sheets, grew dim. "So you're awake, Yaoyorozu."

Yaomomo cautiously peeked out from under the covers, blinking a few times as her eyes accustomed to the brightness. There was a man with spiky brown hair and olive eyes wearing a white coat standing by the windows, tucking the curtains shut. "Mukuro told me you had tried to leave earlier."

"So you're here to stop me?" Yaomomo rasped, propping her pillow against the headboard and sitting up. Her collarbone throbbed, but when she looked down, the dart was gone and a band-aid was plastered in its place.

"Well, partially, yeah." The man walked over to her desk, grabbed the rolling chair, and brought it to the bed. "Would you prefer I sit next to you or over here?"

"Stay where you are." Yaomomo didn't trust the man fully; she couldn't see a badge or nametag anywhere on him, and the fact that he'd just appeared in the room while she was asleep wasn't exactly trust-invoking.

"Of course." The man sat down at the foot of the bed and faced her. "While they did tell me to stay in here to stop you from leaving again, I'm mostly here to explain to you what happened. I'm sure there's doctors talking to your friends, as well. They're all awake by now."

"They're okay?"

"Yes, they're all fine. Everyone is safe and sound here," the doctor said with a smile. "Ah, right, you don't know who I am, do you? Nobody's told you where 'here' is, either, right?"

Yaomomo shook her head. "No."

"Well, I'm Makoto Naegi. You can just call me Makoto, or Dr. Naegi, whatever you'd like," the brunette said. "I'm one of the doctors here at Tokyo Gold. I do research and diagnoses; I'll probably be doing yours in a few days, but please don't worry about that," he added, offering Yaomomo a warm smile. "All of you were brought here from U.A., although Mister Todoroki is in another building. Our campus is pretty big, but I promise, he's only a few minutes away at walking distance, so don't fret."

"..." Yaomomo observed him. He didn't look like he was lying, but if he was, he must've been mighty good at it to slip under her radar. "Does this place have a morgue?"

"Well, yes... why do you ask?" Makoto tilted his head.

"Nothing." Yaomomo continued without pausing. "What building are we in right now?"

"The psychology ward," he replied. "I like to call it that, but really, this is a mental ward. Branch A, to be exact."

"Oh." She fell quiet. Makoto took it as a sign to continue his explanation.

"Yesterday, an urgent SoS call was sent at about nine A.M. from your classmate Mei's communicator, stating that the hero Suneater was dead and that the villains would be busy for a while dealing with a 'class trial,'" he continued. "It was signed off by a certain Mister Kaminari."

Yaomomo stared at him blankly, showing no reaction. Denki... sent an SoS message..? He... he must've done it during investigation... but why?

"We received a second urgent message along with that one, stating that the prisoners the League took must be rescued as soon as possible, lest they be executed," Makoto said. "An emergency rescue team was created, and in a few hours they broke in and saved you. The messages were all correct; the defense was compromised. As you already know, once they got inside, the League released its Nomu army, but we still successfully rescued all of you from the battle."

"...Denki's dead."

"I know." His voice softened. "But he saved you all in the end."

"He... he should've lived." Yaomomo stared at her hands, at her filthy, bloody skin. Even if she washed them a thousand times, the stains would never come out, even if they were as clean and pristine as the sheets enveloping her fragile body in the moment. A mirage of purity.

"He should've." Makoto sighed. "But that's the way it is. He died, but he spared the six of you, plus the League's prisoners."

"Six? And... prisoners?"

"Ah, right. Yuga Aoyama, your classmate who managed to escape months ago. He's here, too, in this hallway. He's been silent; refuses to speak to anyone, not even his family," the doctor murmured. "Do you think there's any chance you could get him to talk to us?"

"No, I don't think so." Yaomomo paused, still gazing listlessly at her laced fingers. She decided not to remind him there was no reason to lie any longer about Shouto's death. If everyone really wished so dearly to avoid the truth, then she'd let them, if that made them hurt less. She'd had her fair share of hurting people already. "Please, um, don't let Tsu see him. He did something bad to her... I don't think they should even know of each other's existence in this hospital," she said instead.

"Of course." Makoto's eyes were warm. "As for the prisoners, they saved the ones who remained. Some were missing, so a search party's still looking for them. There seems to be no trace of them."

"They were killed."

"Huh?"

"Executed. The League executed some of them the first time we tried to use Mei's device after she died." She watched her vision blur once more with tears. "Cynthia died. She died because of me. And Eri... Eri was taken back by Overhaul. I don't know what he did to her."

She fell silent after that, wiping the crystal droplets out of her eyes. Makoto was still for a second before he got up, sighed, and began to push the chair back to her desk. "I'm sorry for everything. If only we'd broken in sooner, less people could've died." He turned to watch her, but she didn't lift her head. He's right, that's why. "I'll be going now, leave you alone for a short while. Mukuro's outside, and a nurse should be coming in a few minutes with breakfast."

Yaomomo didn't want food; how could anyone bear an appetite when all of your friends were dead, dead because you didn't do enough to protect them even though they all trusted you with their lives, dead because the heroes were simply a few days too late? But she allowed him to humor her. "Okay. Goodbye, Dr. Naegi."

After a few days, Makoto returned. He asked her an array of questions; she could barely remember any of them when it was all over.

A few hours after that, a nurse came back to inform her of her diagnosis. According to the doctors' analysis of her shallow, one-word answers to Makoto's questions, she had depression and anorexia. There was a pill with her food this time; apparently it was an antidepressant. The nurse stayed in her room until she'd forced herself to shove the disgusting, sandpaper-like rice and fish into her mouth.

She'd throw it up later if she could, if only she had the bravery to.

But she was just pathetic. She had failed Shouto; she had killed him, someone who had trusted her and only her with his entire life after his world crumbled into dust. She had gone for so long, pretending she was in control- in control of the trials, of the verdicts, of their lives in that room with a chandelier, a throne, and 24 podiums.

But she wasn't, and she never was. She wasn't even in control of her own hand, nor her brain.

And now she was out of control in even choosing whether or not to force food into her wretched shell of a body, out of control as nurses dissected her battle-worn brain, out of control while heroes were praised for ripping her out of all sense of reality, no matter how horrid that reality was.

She was a lone leaf in the wind, and she was being torn apart in a hurricane.

After a week, he took her to see the others.

"Yaomomo!" The moment she shuffled into the therapy room, she was met by a blue blur and a weight colliding with her midsection. Nejire nearly barreled her over with the force she was now clinging onto her with. "Oh, thank god, you're okay! You're really here!" she sobbed.

"You're going to choke me," Yaomomo chuckled, patting her on the back. Nejire's long, periwinkle hair was silky and brushed; perhaps a nurse had done it. The last time she was this well-kempt was before Mirio died, when Tamaki would get her to take care of herself.

Tamaki.

She tried not to think about him and his sad, navy eyes, tried to focus on the crying girl in front of her instead.

Nejire pulled back. She was donning a blue gown and slippers identical to the ravenette's, and her skin was as pale as Yaomomo's in the lamplight of the small room. The curtains were drawn as to not blind the students' unaccustomed eyes, and as she looked around, she found that the two walls to her left and right were blackout glass. There are probably nurses out there, watching our every interaction like lab rats. Makoto had shut the door behind her and left; it was a perfectly transparent illusion of privacy: just the four of them in a tiny room.

"I'm glad to see we're all okay," Hitoshi mumbled. He was wearing a blue shirt and baggy pants instead of the gowns the girls were wearing. He was standing behind Tsuyu, two hands laid protectively on her shoulders. Meanwhile, Tsuyu herself was watching Nejire, who hurried back to her side, dragging Yaomomo with her by her limp wrist.

"It's... nice to see you again." Hitoshi released Tsuyu and slipped off of the table, awkwardly bringing the ravenette into a hug. "I'm glad you didn't die," he muttered into her shoulder.

"It's okay. I'm fine," Yaomomo soothed, rubbing his back. "I'm glad you're alive, too."

She had no need to wear a mask now, no need to lie or be strong.

She really was happy. Even if she had messed up, even if she had sentenced so many to death and suffering, she had saved these three. Even if they were broken, they were alive, and that was enough for the time being.

"Yaomomo?" She stiffened, looking up from her desk. "It's Dr. Naegi. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

It had been a few days since she was permitted to see her friends, and she had begun to explore her room, thus discovering a notebook and pen on the table. When she asked a nurse about it, they told her that she could use it as she wished, so she started a collection of doodles and poems in it. Images of Tamaki, covered in blood and flowers, as well as Cynthia and Kyouka, with their eyes gouged out and their heads attached to shadowy bodies, appeared seamlessly on the bone-white papers. It was easy to lose herself when she was clutching the ballpoint, she found; one moment she'd be staring at an empty sheet of paper, and the next time she was conscious of her actions, there was a picture staring up at her.

Makoto entered the room, wearing his usual white coat and semi-casual dress clothes. He was carrying a clipboard. "I was thinking about taking you to see Yuga, if you don't mind. I tried having Hitoshi see him earlier, but Hitoshi didn't even try to interact with him, so I was thinking that maybe you could try."

"Hm... Yuga." Yaomomo set down her pen, shut the notepad, and got up. "I could try."

"Of course. Thank you." Makoto led her down the hall. As she passed her friends' doors, Yaomomo found her eyes drawn to the papers on their doors.

'Patient 9-A: Nejire Hadou
Diagnosis: Clinical Depression
Admitted 20xx 年 4月 7日
Notes: Severe suicidal ideation'

'Patient 8-A: Tsuyu Asui
Diagnosis: Schizoaffective Disorder
Admitted 20xx 年 4月 7日
Notes: Depressive type, on direct watch'

'Patient 7-A: Hitoshi Shinsou
Diagnosis: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Compulsive Hoarding Disorder
Admitted 20xx 年 4月 7日
Notes: Given boxes of objects to sort and hoard for coping, do not remove or touch'

Despite having probably studied criminal psychology and mental hospital records out of the U.A. library, the words swam meaninglessly before her. She walked by without stopping, and they turned around the corner and stopped at a door, one that looked identical to all of the ones before it. Yaomomo scanned over the nametag.

'Patient 2-A: Yuga Aoyama
Diagnosis: Clinical Depression
Admitted 20xx 年 1月 4日
Notes: Under close surveillance; lack of communication.'

"Well, here we go. You ready?" Yaomomo nodded, and the brunette returned his attention to the door. He gently rapped his knuckles against it. "Yuga! It's Makoto. You have a visitor. I'm coming in!"

Silence followed. There was no response from the formerly bright and dramatic boy that Yaomomo thought she knew. Apparently, this was old news for the doctor, as Makoto slowly opened the door and beckoned for her to enter.

Yuga was sitting in bed. His blonde hair, once brilliant and styled in light curls, was drooping and tangled. It brushed his shoulders; he obviously hadn't bothered getting it cut, either. His curtains were pulled back, and he was gazing over the city and its gray cement maze. He listlessly turned, and a pair of hazy, violet eyes landed on her, not quite seeing her but recognizing her existence nonetheless.

She shuddered, unable to meet his dead stare, but cautiously walked into the room. Makoto hovered in the doorway, holding the door open. "I'm going to leave you two alone, but you'll be on watch and there's guards on hand, so there's no need to feel in danger," he reassured.

We're traumatized and depressed, not criminally insane, Yaomomo thought. Well, maybe they're the same thing. Still, she gave him a slight nod, and with a smile he gently shut the door, leaving the ravenette alone with the ever-silent Yuga.

"Um... hey." She didn't know what to say, standing there and locked in a staring contest with the other. She wrung her hands and broke eye contact, resigning herself to turn to the floor instead. "Well, uh, a lot has happened since we last saw each other, huh?"

She shuffled over to the desk, glossing over the surface. Unused. In her peripheral, Yuga was still watching her, but he didn't protest -or make any sound at all- when she pulled up the rolling chair. "So, um, have they been treating you well here?" She attempted to prompt him to talk, but to no avail. He simply averted his gaze and stared at his hands instead, quietly frowning. "I take it that you won't be talking to me, huh?"

She sat and paused, mirroring the blonde's posture. "Well, I'd also assume they haven't told you anything about what happened after you left, right?" she murmured. He had no obvious reaction, but the way his head lifted, even if just half a centimeter, spoke volumes. He's listening now. "I'll tell you what happened in the end, how we got out. Digging up every death that- that occurred after you left... that would be pointless."

She also didn't want to reawaken the ghosts in her head, the bodiless voices of the two girls she had maybe, in another age, loved so dearly, and now hated with a dark, blistering passion. It was only luck that they'd shut up for a few days already; snapping into hospital life outside of the school was too new to her body for it to fixate on the past over the present quite yet. "Umm... long story short, Mei had built this device that sent out distress calls to radio receivers outside of the school. We used it to send distress messages with intel on who was still alive and what villains were to be expected on guard, and a group of heroes broke in. Four of us survived- Hitoshi you know about, and then there's me, as well as Nejire and... well, and Tsu."

At the mention of the green-haired girl, Yuga's head snapped up, and Yaomomo found herself fixated with another stare, except this time, it was conscious. His violet irises were intense, like pieces of a swirling, spinning cauldron of poison condensed into tiny candies, bitter, foul droplets positively melting into hers as he pierced her with his gaze. She started. "Uh, um... Tsu? You want to know about her, don't you?"

Yuga held his fiery, unblinking stare, and she sighed, turning away. "Well, she was hit pretty hard by your little episode, dragging her through the vents. Her mental health seemed to deteriorate; mentioning fire would trigger her into having panic attacks. Nejire had to act as her caretaker for the second half of the game, after the fourth or fifth trial, I think." She couldn't meet his eyes; she didn't want to.

In the lapse of silence that followed, Yaomomo glanced up to see tears rolling down his face- clear, crystalline droplets slipping down his skin, still pale as paper despite having been free months longer than the others. "Hm? Yuga, are you-"

"It's all my fault, isn't it?" His voice rasped; it was small. Weak. Sad. Yaomomo watched the miniature diamonds splattering and shattering on the covers before him. "I messed up everything. Why am I here, when everyone else was hurting and dying within the game?"

"I- Yuga, it would have made no difference if you never left," Yaomomo tried to soothe. "Um, it's okay, really. All of us are hurt. There's no avoiding that."

She wasn't sure if her words ever got through, though, as Yuga had turned back to the window, listless once more as he gazed out at the dead, gray buildings, ignoring the tears that caught on his fluttering eyelashes and cascaded down his cheeks. "I'll leave you be, then," Yaomomo murmured, getting up and returning the chair. "Thank you for speaking."

And then she was gone, and Yuga was alone again.

A week later, Makoto took her on a walk through the campus.

"Oh... the sakura are done falling." Yaomomo stared, mesmerized, at the many trees along the walkway. Pink petals covered the brick path, and some were still falling, tumbling through the air; they were the corpses of beauty lying in heaps on the floor. It reminded her vaguely of the hazy image of a boy with pink running down his face, a perfectly inked sketch of him covered in blotchy flowers. She shook the thought away, twirling the stray lock of hair in front of her face around her finger.

She'd been permitted to hang out with the others the past few days, ever since she visited Yuga. Nejire had painted her nails pastel blue; Tsuyu had a nurse with her at all times for some reason; Hitoshi carried around a small, silver cat with black stripes and folded ears. Yuki, he explained. Mashirao's cat, rescued from its cage in the League's prison.

"Today would be... April twenty-seventh, I believe," Makoto presently said, turning back to glance at her. "When you were first admitted here, they were in peak blossom."

"Wish I could've seen it," she murmured. She tugged on her long, translucent bell sleeves; a nurse had given her a casual outfit for her outings outside of the ward. The dress was a pastel yellow, simple yet elegant. The collar, shoulder, and arms were made out of transparent cloth. She was given peach tights and a pair of white Mary Jeans to match. Her black hair was down, wavy and cascading just past her shoulders. Tsuyu had brushed it for her earlier.

"Maybe next year," the doctor remarked in reply. They walked along in silence for a minute, before he turned and led her into another building. She looked up and read the sign over the entrance- LICU.

"This is the Long-term Intensive Care Unit," Makoto said as they entered. He went up to the receptionist's desk and said something to them; Yaomomo trailed behind him like a lost puppy. A few seconds later, he turned around and beckoned for her to follow.

They made their way up the stairs and down a hallway, one with hazy, light green walls and white flooring. The lights were slightly dimmed; they halted at a door labeled 3-A. "Here we are." Makoto reached out and took the doorknob; why isn't he knocking? Isn't that impolite? "You ready?"

"Yes, why?" Instantly she felt on edge; the entire situation was odd. What's behind the door?

He didn't respond. Instead, he merely entered the room, and Yaomomo resigned herself to following him within.

There wasn't much in the space. Just a bed and a large amount of machinery surrounding it. The buzzing devices, the IV drip and blood pack, and the heartbeat monitor -one that steadily pulsed, however slight, every few seconds- all dwarfed the seemingly tiny, bandaged figure under the sheets.

"Shouto?"

It was unmistakably him. Who else could have such pristine, half-red half-white hair? Who else had that burn scar covering the left side of his face?

Who else could look so perfect even in death?

Maybe the dead were supposed to look like this, and she just didn't know, what with the brutality of the Game.

Is he dead at all? The heartbeat monitor continued to beep. "What... is he doing here?"

"Shouto isn't dead, Yaomomo." Makoto gently placed a hand on her back. "It's what I've been trying to tell you for a while now."

"But... I saw him die." Her voice was meek in the face of the comatose boy in front of her. "He jumped in front of me. Got burned. He slipped away- I watched his eyes shut."

"Well, he was just unconscious," Makoto retorted gently. "He may have been badly burned, but his body naturally has a resistance to high-temperature substances, like Dabi's fire, because of his lineage as a Todoroki. He survived, even if just barely. He'll be okay, though, I think. He's finally stable."

Yaomomo hesitantly approached the bedside, as if she were approaching a sleeping killer. "He's... not moving," she whimpered, staring at his pale, motionless face. His eyes were shut; he made no notice to her presence. Not even his heartbeat perked up.

"I know. He's in a coma."

"He looks dead."

"I know." Makoto paused. "Most comatose patients look like that."

"He may as well be dead," she muttered. Her vision blurred; how could life be so cruel? Giving back Shouto to her, yet not, all at the same time- it was worse than just killing him and putting both him and her to rest. "That's not... This isn't the Shouto I knew."

And as the tears ran down her face, she turned and bolted out of the room, shoving past a startled Makoto in the process as she aimlessly dashed down the hall. She didn't care about a destination; she just wanted to get away from him.

...

Of course, she didn't know the layout of the building, so she got lost pretty quickly.

"Stairway... where are the stairs?" She looked left and right down another T-crossing of hallways. "Can't find them..." She opted to just sit down and curl up in a ball against the wall instead, waiting for Makoto to find her. I want to go back to my room.

Alone, in both mind and body, the image of Shouto's alive yet lifeless face, like a picture framed in unforgiving steel, flickered in her head.

He's dead. Half alive and half dead, cruelly stuck in purgatory for all of eternity, trapped between two states.

In that case, he might as well be dead.

Why can't he just be properly dead, like everyone else?

You did this to him, Momo. You trapped him like this, killed him but wracked him with eternal suffering instead of the cold comfort of death.

I... did. I did this to him, yes, that's right.

Sorry, Shouto. Sorry you're suffering right now.

I wish it were me, instead, really, if only you'd let me take up your place.

You wouldn't, though, right? You're too selfless for your own good...

Maybe he would, if he knew how horribly you've hurt him.

"Yaomomo?" She looked up, and everything cut to silence again. Makoto was kneeling beside her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just lost." She stretched out her legs and got up. "Let's go back home."

She didn't know what was home anymore. She figured her room in the mental ward was the closest she'd get to home at this point- it was somewhere safe, somewhere she felt cared for. She followed Makoto as he took her back, easily navigating through the halls and back to the stairs.

"I think they're starting therapy with you next week, on Monday," he suddenly said once they'd made it outside. Overhead, the sky was only half blue; wispy clouds were coming in like plumes of white smoke. "I won't be your therapist, but I know in general who's taking up the group of you, and you're all in good hands no matter which person you get."

"What are the options?" Therapy? Why have us dig up old experiences in an attempt to rid ourselves of them? It doesn't do that- it only makes us more miserable. Wouldn't it make more sense to just squash them in the backs of our heads until they're hidden in the shadowed corners, forgotten until we die? Regardless, Yaomomo allowed him to humor her.

"Well, first, there's Mrs. Yukizome. She has orange hair, and you've probably seen her around since she's been trying to talk to Yuga. Second is Ms. Akamatsu, right out of the top of her class in college. She has a way with getting people to open up. Third, there's Ms. Gekkogahara. She's very kind and generally comforting to be around. Finally, there's Mr. Mitarai. He's good at calming people down." Makoto glanced back at Yaomomo. "I know they're matching you guys up with same-gender therapists, so I only know that Hitoshi will be with Mr. Mitarai."

"Ah." Yukizome, Akamatsu, Gekkogahara. The names meant nothing to her; she hadn't seen the first of the three, actually, considering she hadn't tried to visit Yuga again and she was generally always alone or with one of the fellow survivors. She was usually the one going to their rooms; Nejire would sometimes voluntarily visit Tsuyu, but otherwise, it seemed like Yaomomo was the one given the most freedom of movement. Maybe because she was the most stable, which said a lot about the others.

"You don't have to worry much about it, though," Makoto added quickly. They were almost to the mental ward's building now- a long, two-story building. "Therapy isn't as scary as most people think. Nobody's going to force you to speak; if that were the case, Yuga would've talked by now."

Still, his words did little to comfort her.

Describing my experiences to a stranger? How could I do that?

How could I possibly tell them I killed someone?

As promised, Yaomomo's first therapy session was four days later, on the first of May.

"Here we are." The nurse halted before yet another door in an unfamiliar section of the mental ward building. "Are you ready?"

Yaomomo tugged anxiously at her sleeve. She had been given a t-shirt and loose, casual pants under a long, white cardigan, which she was now wearing. Her jet-black hair, newly washed, was tied back in a loose ponytail. She pushed the drooping ahoge out of her face, only for it to fly right back into her eye again. "Yeah," she murmured, as easily as lying, and the nurse opened the door, showing her inside.

"Ah, you must be Momo Yaoyorozu! Come in, come in." Instantly, Yaomomo felt as if she'd been transported into a bubble of another world. The walls of the rectangular room were painted a pastel, sakura pink, a shade gentle enough to not remind her of blood. She stepped tentatively onto the vinyl flooring, made to look like wood. In front of her was a table with a chair on her side and a young woman on the other.

She had blonde hair that curled at the tips and cascaded to her shoulders. A set of silver music note hairclips held back her bangs, and a thin strand of hair stuck up from the top of her head. She was wearing a pink vest over a white, long-sleeved shirt, all under a white jacket like Makoto's. Her pale violet eyes met Yaomomo's, and she offered her a warm smile. "Please, sit down." She gestured to the chair across from her, and the ravenette hurried to oblige.

Yaomomo took the chance to survey the rest of the room. A couch sat against the window, behind the blonde therapist. The simple, white curtains were drawn. To their left, most curiously, was a grand piano. Next to it, among other furniture, was a drawer painted in pastel blues and white music notes and clefs.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Yaoyorozu," the therapist said. "My name is Kaede Akamatsu. I play the piano, as you can see over there," she said, chuckling and gesturing to the large instrument on the other side of the room. "I'm excited to get to know you. Is there anything you want me to call you by?"

"Yaomomo is fine," the ravenette replied. "The 'Miss' makes me feel a little old," she said in a weak attempt at a joke.

"Alright." Kaede smiled. "Well, Yaomomo..." The ravenette stiffened, ready for the woman to shower her with the usual intrusive therapy questions, only for her to say, "How's the hospital life been treating you?"

"Huh?" Yaomomo tilted her head. Is she trying to get me to lower my guard? It's not like I've had therapy before, so maybe this is normal practice... starting with intrusive questions seems like a bad strategy, anyway. I'll humor her. "Well... it's okay, I guess."

"I'll assume you haven't been allowed to meet any other patients, other than your friends, right?" Yaomomo nodded again. "What have you been doing with your free time here? I understand you have a lot of it."

"Well, uh..." She thought back to the notebook on her desk. "I doodle and write weird poems. I've also been allowed to visit my friends a lot, so I hang out with Tsu or Hitoshi, or let Nejire paint my nails." She placed one hand on the table; Kaede leaned forward to inspect the careful handiwork, baby blue with glittery white stars on her ring finger and thumb exclusively. "She seems very lonely. I think it calms her down."

"Ooh, Nejire must have a very steady hand."

"She does. She was the Ultimate Beauty Pageant Star." Only after the words left her mouth did Yaomomo realize that it probably made no sense to Kaede. Should I explain? She was so unused to interaction with strangers after the Game that she wasn't too sure how to act.

"A Beauty Pageant Star, hm? I'll have to ask Chisa about her," Kaede said instead, a finger to her cheek, not probing for details. She met Yaomomo's confused stare and smiled. "Right, you haven't been introduced to her yet. Chisa Yukizome is Nejire's therapist. She's good; you won't have to worry about them. But back to what you said..." She paused, clasping her hands again. "Can I ask about your friends?"

"Sure. Isn't it a therapist's job to ask questions?"

"Well, maybe. But you can't be too intrusive. I don't want to scare you away," Kaede's expression was warm. "But you said earlier that Nejire seemed lonely. Why is that? Isn't she tied to Tsuyu?"

"Tsu's... well, Tsu isn't exactly conscious company, no offense," Yaomomo said slowly. "She's... traumatized and hurt from the game. Even if she's with Nejire, their relationship feels like a guardian and their child over a friendship." Briefly, she wondered how it was so easy for her to talk about people other than herself. Maybe because it's only my idea of them- I don't truly know anyone, except for maybe Cynthia, but Cynthia's over there now, somewhere. She gestured to some vague corner of her obsolete mind, stuck in limbo since a month ago.

"Mmh, I see." Kaede regarded her with a soft gaze. "You care a lot for your friends, to the point of being selfless, don't you?"

"Hm? I suppose." Yaomomo shrugged. I've accidentally said too much, haven't I?

"What do you miss from before... all this happened?" she continued.

"Not much." A pause. "My family. My friends who died in the game. Being a student hero."

"Of course." Kaede shifted the subject, picking up what Yaomomo said and prodding at it. "What was your goal as a hero? Why did you pick that career?"

"I wanted to help people, to save them. I had to get stronger in order to do that." And Cynthia encouraged me to follow my dream, she wanted to add, but she couldn't. "That's all. Why did you pick psychology?" She tried to turn the questions away from herself.

"Ah, well... like you, I wanted to help people and make friends with those who were lonely. Being a personal therapist seemed like a good idea." The blonde chuckled. "I was always observant and could read people, like you. In a way, we're quite similar."

"We are. But why didn't you choose to be a hero?"

"Truth be told... I was a little lazy as a child," Kaede confessed sheepishly. "I can alter sound waves with my quirk, although I can't alter my own voice. It required a lot of control to master, and as a kid, I decided it was too difficult and wanted to find a job where I wouldn't have to use it. I only really cared about my social life and piano. Of course, now that I've graduated and all, I realize it could actually be very helpful to a hero, for stunning and deafening your enemies, but it's a bit too late to change my career."

"Is it too late for me to change my career, too? It's not like I have my quirk anymore..." Yaomomo muttered.

"No, you shouldn't have to look far. You're already an exemplary hero," Kaede said. "You worked to protect your friends in the Game and wished only to save people as a U.A. student. And- that reminds me." She grinned. "Did you know they rescued Eri a few days ago? The little girl with the rewind quirk?"

"Huh?"

"Yup! Another band of heroes went out and saved her from Overhaul. There were many more casualties this time around than last time, but Eri's safe now, on the other side of the campus. I went to visit her yesterday; she's quite shaken up, having that relapse into abuse, but we've already had Aizawa talk to her, so I think she'll be fine." Kaede smiled, awaiting Yaomomo's response. "You've saved many."

"No, I didn't do anything." I only sentenced countless to death, under the disguise of selflessly saving the innocent. That's all I am, right? A killer.

Right, Tamaki? Is that what you were trying to tell me?

A flicker of a lost memory, of a boy trying to speak to her from the shower flower, a knife clenched in her fist. She pushed it away.

"Denki was the one who saved us all," she continued. "I... I just did the trials. Figured out the killers."

"Ah, humble, aren't you?"

"Humble or just honest?" Yaomomo couldn't help but say in reply.

Kaede paused, considering her words. "I don't need you to share everything that happened in that place right off the bat," she said. "But I'm glad you're able to talk about it."

"How do you heroes and doctors know so much about how the Game worked anyway?" the ravenette prompted. "None of us have been questioned yet. And when the heroes came in to rescue us, it was as if they knew that we'd been forced to kill each other already." Ryuukyuu stepping out and declaring how cruel it was to be hosting such a Game came to mind.

"Ah, we questioned Yuga's family," the older explained. "The hostages were all shown video footage of the Game. They gave us a rundown of how it worked, but we had no intel on what villains were present and who else died after Yuga left."

The two of them continued to shoot questions back and forth; they were all mundane topics like what their favorite animal was, or their favorite hero, or hobbies. The way Kaede, despite her friendly nature, had dug her way into the core of Yaomomo's head was off-putting, but her charisma was contagious. Yaomomo was doing her best to avoid talking about her friends, and tucking the details of the Game itself into the back of her mind was easy, but the last subject made her perk up.

"Hobbies, huh?" She glanced over Kaede's shoulder. "Other than reading, sketching, and making tea, I can play piano."

"Ooh, you can?!" The blonde grinned; there were stars in her eyes as she leaned over the table. "How long have you been playing? Do you have any pieces memorized? Can you sightread? I have some easier music books over there, I'm sure. Do you want to play?"

Yaomomo couldn't help but chuckle at her sudden, enthusiastic onslaught of questions. "I've been playing since I was a little girl, because I came from a wealthier family and I had to learn to play. I have some pieces memorized, and I can improv a little. I'm probably a little rusty, but I could play, if you'd like me to."

"Of course!" Kaede smiled and got up, leading Yaomomo across the gentle, pastel room and patting the wooden bench. "Please, go ahead."

And that was how she found herself staring at a familiar set of glossy black and white keys, paired with the sharp, welcoming scent of hardwood. She gently laid her fingers on them and experimentally played a scale; the sound was clear as a crystal. This is a nice piano.

She recalled a piece in the back of her head- Poem, she thought it was called. It wasn't long, but the melody was haunting, a lingering, hushed kind of longing. Before she knew it, her skin was against the keys, and the gentle beginning of the tune was weaved from the notes by her fingertips.

She stared, in a trance, at the keys, at her fingers dancing across them in a slow waltz. Everything was fading around her; it was just the keys, the notes, and her.

Her and her thoughts.

A ritardando into a leading tone, paired with a crescendo, before the notes fell into a soft sequence of chords.

Yaomomo could see Tamaki hovering in the back of her eyes, hiding just out of sight, a cerulean gaze dull with death trying to find her, hunt her down. What does he want? she wondered idly, watching her fingers move. He was reaching out for her, only to be swallowed by shadow whenever he tried. He's unreadable.

A rolled chord, a crescendo, the notes rising higher, before gently loping back down.

The piece reminded her of the Game; a haunting loop of sad finality at every turn but always starting up, again and again. It was like the neverending death that fell upon the students in the school.

Kyouka, lying on the ground with her innards on the floor around her.

Kyouka, giggling over a cup of bloody tea.

Kyouka, tossing polaroids depicting a boy with a knife in his head over her shoulder.

You can try all you want to run, but you can't. You can't run from your sins forever.

A series of chords, a crescendo- there was supposed to be a subito piano at the highest chord, but Yaomomo didn't care, she kept smashing her fingers into the keys- a desperate scream, louder and louder and louder with each beat.

Cynthia, her body torn apart by the spears shattering her corpse like a doll.

Cynthia, picking flowers with petals stained magenta.

Cynthia, smiling as she slipped a photo into an empty album.

You killed them all. Don't go off and smile and laugh like you didn't take their futures away from them.

The piece was growing more intense, more manic as Yaomomo's hands began to shake and she started missing notes. She was going faster and faster, maintaining the tune but watching it grow more and more out of control, a dark indigo spiral that dragged her down, Kyouka and Cynthia dropping with her, grabbing at her, drowning her.

Tamaki was falling, too, holding onto her for dear life- or was it death? His eyes were hollow, boring into her empty, impure shell of a body. His hands cupped her face, frighteningly cold but gentle, in a way. His lips were moving, but Yaomomo couldn't hear anything.

I'm sorry, Tamaki, she wanted to say, but couldn't. I'm sorry for killing you, for everything.

I'm sorry, Cynthia, Mezou, Izuku, Fumikage.

Sorry I killed you all.

"Yaomomo?"

And then there was a hand on her shoulder, and she snapped back into reality. Tamaki and Cynthia and Kyouka all turned into fog, and she found herself hitting the ground. She blinked, and suddenly she was staring at the shiny, monochrome keys again. Kaede was sitting on the bench next to her. "It's okay. I'm here."

"Hm?" The ravenette removed her hands from the piano and looked up. It was only then that she realized her vision was blurring; she was crying. Kaede's concerned gaze fell upon her, and she hastily wiped the tears away. "Ah. Sorry. I got caught up in my head."

"I see." Kaede offered her a sad smile. "You've got a lot on your mind, huh? I understand you don't want to spill. That's alright."

I wish I could, if that meant the guilt would go away.

"I'll try my best to offer support," the blonde continued. She reached for Yaomomo's hand; the younger silently took it. "Let's go back to your room. You're probably tired."

She didn't protest and allowed Kaede to lead her away, down the neverending maze of hallways and back to the comfort of a fake home.

She couldn't help but wonder about what Tamaki had to say.

The most dreaded funeral came a month later.

Yaomomo had been attending therapy with Kaede three times a week, strolling through the campus while softly chatting or sitting in her office. She wasn't allowed to play the piano again, and it was for the better. Maybe Kaede decided that playing allowed her to drown too deep in unwanted memories, which would be true.

However, Yaomomo couldn't help but trust the woman. She was kind and patient; even when the younger said things that likely didn't make sense, like Ultimate titles and vague descriptions of her fellow survivors back in the Game, Kaede didn't probe. She only took what she knew and fit the pieces in, in the hopes that one day she would complete the puzzle and look at the big picture with Yaomomo.

Now, she was in the ravenette's room, helping her get ready for the procession.

"It's just a private ceremony for the group of you," Kaede said while brushing Yaomomo's hair. "The public ceremony is later, and you won't be in it. Anyway, first, it'll be just you and Yuga, since he can't see Tsu and you're the only one who's gotten him to talk so far. It's an open casket ceremony, so you can see all of your friends and say your goodbyes. After that, he'll be taken away and Hitoshi, Nejire, and Tsu will come in, and the process repeats before all of you are taken back here."

"Okay." She fell quiet, allowing Kaede to brush out her midnight locks. It seemed that she had to stay double time, for the sake of being there for both Yuga and the other survivors. She didn't mind, really; whatever made them happy, she supposed.

Although, the idea of standing next to Kyouka and Tamaki for so long was off-putting. She didn't want to hear their voices.

"Are the prisoners who died going to be there?" she asked in a hushed voice, trying not to think too deep into it and reawaken Cynthia's pitiful gaze.

"Unfortunately, no. They never found their bodies; the League probably only preserved your classmates. They'll be mourned later on, in smaller funerals. You can go to Cynthia's." Kaede's voice softened on that last word, and she drew the brush back in one final stroke. "There, done. Let's go, now. I'm sure the car is outside."

Kaede led her through the halls and downstairs. Yaomomo was donning a simple black dress, black tights, and boots. It was growing to be a warm June, but the long, translucent, cinched sleeves of her top garment were appreciated nonetheless. Kaede wore a similar outfit, but without the sleeves; she donned a cardigan instead.

They entered the black limousine awaiting them; it was divided into booths, with the seats facing each other in each one. Kaede shut the door behind them, and they idly conversed for a few minutes before the blonde glanced outside the tinted window and spotted a certain duo.

"Ah, there's Yuga," she said, and Yaomomo turned to peer outside. Yuga was wearing a black dress shirt and matching pants. Chisa led him along; she was clad in a dark suit with long sleeves and black pants. The therapist had done well styling his appearance so that he looked a bit more presentable- his golden hair was neatly combed, and while it didn't have the bouncy curl it did before, it looked more lively than the last time Yaomomo had seen him.

They loaded onto the limousine, in the booth closer to the front of the vehicle, and soon they were in motion. Yaomomo couldn't help but stare outside; she hadn't seen the streets in a millennium, it seemed. It was morning, and the sky was a dainty blue, not a cloud to be seen as summer began to make its appearance. Even if villains occupied society, the streets were alive; people went about on their day-to-day business, walking down the sidewalks and entering stores and office buildings. Yaomomo wasn't sure what she'd expected of the outside world; it wasn't like the apocalypse had befallen the entire country, rather than just U.A..

"It's livelier than expected, hm?" Kaede's voice was gentle, tugging her companion's attention back to the inside of the car. "When All Might was defeated and the villains began their takeover, you were still in school, right?"

"Yeah." Yaomomo absently twirled the stray lock of hair beside her eye. "It was quite scary. Crime increased, and the heroes worked double time to try and ensure safety in the cities for the common folk." She vaguely recalled Endeavor's rise to the role of a symbol- granted, not one like All Might, but a symbol nonetheless. He was someone who fought his hardest, even if he would only ever amount to a tenth, maybe even just a twentieth, of the light All Might radiated.

Selfishly, she wished he fought harder for her, for her classmates who were now dead.

Hawks had visited her earlier in the month; she had apologized profusely to him for nearly taking out his face when he first rescued her. "Oh, don't worry about that," he'd said. "I should've expected the fighting, honestly, considering what you kids went through in there."

She'd also taken the chance to ask him why the heroes took so long to break in. He had explained to her how the villains' security was extremely strong, and every time they tried another attack the League had new members with new quirks. "The first time we actually got into the building, you were all taken away before we could save any of you, even with the intel from Mei's device," he explained. "It was only the time Denki distracted everyone that we successfully broke in for a proper rescue."

He had also given her a feather, one that now laid on her nightstand. It was pretty small; only slightly larger than an arrowhead. It was pliable when handled gently, like if she wore it around her neck as a necklace, but could be used as a hard object, almost like a small dagger, if she were in trouble. It was comforting, in a way, even if the thought of wielding it made her queasy. Holding a blade to anyone only brought Tamaki's sad, ocean eyes back to mind.

Besides, the feather and Hawks both reminded her of Fumikage, of both his final words as he pleaded for forgiveness and asked Tsu to remember him as a friend in place of a killer, as well as the guilt that came with his death. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Are you sure you want to give me this?" She had gingerly held the red feather by the end of the quill. "I've never heard of Hawks handing out feathers."

"I'll regrow it. I don't usually do people favors like this, but you guys are a major exception, for me and many other heroes." He sighed. "So many strong, promising students, some of which we pros knew and personally worked with- and only six of you came out alive. To be honest, I feel bad about not having been able to save more of your friends, if only just one, so please... take it."

"We all miss the old days, when people could afford to dream and live easily," Kaede suddenly said, cutting into Yaomomo's thoughts. She was resting her chin on her hand, also staring out the window at the nameless people moving by them as the limousine continued on its way to the memorial site. "It seems like so long ago."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for the rest of the ride, watching the city just beyond the glass. Finally, the vehicle slowed to a stop outside a black building. Kaede opened the door and led Yaomomo inside, where two people in black greeted them and began to take them inside. She was dimly aware of Yuga and Chisa following them.

They emerged into a large room with a high ceiling. There were flowers all over the room, covering the walls in pristine, white blossoms. As they stepped inside, Kaede hung back by the door, and an attendant came over and handed Yaomomo a wooden box of flowers. Lilies and roses and wisteria stared up at her. In her peripheral, she noted that Yuga was given a similar box by another man.

"Because this is a private ceremony specifically for the students who had a personal connection to the deceased in the Game, it will consist only of an open casket arrangement. Please place flowers in the coffins of those who were close to you and say your farewells." The attendants bowed to both of them and stepped aside, leaving the room empty, spare for Yaomomo and Yuga, their therapists, and a long, far too long row of open coffins under a sky of white petals.

"Go ahead," Kaede murmured, her voice just barely grazing the younger's ears. Yaomomo obliged without looking back, already entranced as she stared at the many wooden caskets. I wonder what their faces look like...

Portraits of the deceased were mounted above each coffin. Yaomomo cycled around, glancing at the photos as she silently strode by. She halted before one, meeting the bright, brown-eyed gaze in the golden frame. Ochako.

She stepped forward, cautiously, and peered over the edge of the coffin. She gasped slightly, a sharp intake of breath; the very first killer herself laid inside atop a bed of dry ice, wearing a white kimono decorated with pink flowers. Her hair was neatly brushed, mocha locks framing her delicate face. Her makeup was light; it made her face seem less deathly pale. A few pieces of mochi were set around her- fitting for her talent, for her sweet personality, for the guise she had invited her victim to her blade under.

Carefully, Yaomomo picked a white chrysanthemum out of her box and tucked it beside her ear. Her skin was hauntingly cold, deader than a lake in a blizzard. "Rest well, Ochako," she murmured. The brunette continued to doze, peacefully, her hands resting over her still stomach and clutching a small, pastel pink ball with a darker pink ring around it. That's part of her hero outfit, Yaomomo realized. Her wrist weight.

She turned away and looked to the coffin next to hers. Tenya. His sacrifice at the beginning of the Game, trying to stand up to the villains... did it matter at all? She wondered, staring at his face. He was relaxed, lips parted in a slight frown, dressed in a black suit with his glasses folded next to him. She smiled, ever so slightly. I'm glad he never went through the horrors of the Game, never had to kill anyone or die by a friend's hand.

She placed a yellow daffodil in the crook of his neck. "Thank you, Tenya."

She walked away from them, scanning the portraits. Yuga was standing before Kouji's; of course. The boy he killed. She walked to his side, as softly as she could, eyeing the flower arrangement he was creating around the vase that held the burnt body's ashes. I guess the villains cremated him to prevent having to store such a... ruined... body. She shook away the memories she'd just brought up, the bitter scent of burning flesh, the image of the gentle Animal Tamer lying face down, skin burned to a blackened, cracking, blood-oozing crisp.

"I hope he isn't mad at me." She jumped; Yuga was mumbling something to her, however soft and raspy. He carefully- lovingly, even- adjusted one of the strands of wisteria wreathed around the ceramic. "What I did..."

"Kouji is kind." Yaomomo murmured, standing back and watching the blonde as he adjusted the arrangement. "He'd understand, I'm sure of it."

Yuga was silent once more, but his eyes were warm as he adjusted the flowers. Yaomomo turned away and kept walking. Her eyes landed on his portrait quickly enough. "Fumikage," she murmured, a brush of her lips. She hurried over to him.

They'd dressed him up pretty well, his torn insides likely tied up in gauze under his black cloak, reminiscent of his hero outfit. His eyes were bandaged over, hiding the horrible wounds that had seared them away.

His little half-smirk, one that had once graced his beak, one that Yaomomo found herself wishing for, was gone. Staring at the corpse, she realized that she missed him and his calm demeanor, his voice, his unfazed expression as he did the autopsies instead of her. He was the boy who'd taken care of the dirty work for her while she lived like a princess detective, rich enough to afford to feel for the corpses being dug through, and when he was gone, she was thrown to the wolves.

She remembered his slight, sad smile as he asked for her to forgive him, as he left for Monokuma's trap and handed the torch off to her. She remembered seeing him tied to the cold, stone ground by his guts, bleeding out of his stomach, ripped open for surgery without anesthesia or any sense of purpose.

A chill went down her spine. She swallowed, unable to blink for fear of the images emblazoned in the darkness, and shakily placed a red camellia in his coffin. She hurried to walk away, only for another nearby to catch her attention instantly.

It was Mezou's portrait, hanging over a closed casket. She cautiously approached it. Right. His body was crushed in the execution... fitting, for a wretch like him, to have this dishonorable, empty coffin.

And yet, staring at the portrait and the wooden shell, she couldn't help but remember him and Fumikage sitting together, sharing dinner and idle talk. She couldn't help but think of him as a hero, a student, calm and patient, good-natured to all except his foes. The Game had changed him so much that she'd begun to forget the real him; he was still forgotten, even now, as she placed a single daffodil next to the picture. Rest well with Fumikage, I guess. He liked you quite a lot, you know. You really didn't have to go off and disrespect his final wishes by killing Mirio.

As she looked up, Yaomomo realized Yuga was gone. Eh..? Chisa was, too, once she glanced over to the entryway. Kaede, who was leaning against the wall, caught her eye and tilted her head towards the door. Ah. He must've left while I was with Fumikage and Mezou. Maybe Nejire, Tsu, and Hitoshi will be here soon.

She was just glancing over Katsuki and Eijirou's bodies, eyes idly scanning the Bomber's young, eerily gentle face and the Bodybuilder's eyepatch when her friends arrived. Nejire was walking with Tsu at her hand; both of them wore black dress shirts and pants, similar to Chisa's attire earlier. Makoto and Miaya Gekkogahara, a short woman with light blue hair in a wheelchair, tailed them.

Following the group of four was Hitoshi and Ryouta Mitarai. The brown-haired man gently pushed the former, wearing a traditional black suit, forward, urging him to join his fellow survivors. He obliged and entered the room. All three students took the boxes of flowers presented to them, listened to the explanation with weary eyes, and entered the chamber.

Yaomomo turned away from them, her focus reserved for staring at Katsuki's corpse and wondering how they managed to make him look so innocent. She didn't even notice the presence of another person at her side until they spoke. "Yaomomo?" Tsuyu was hovering next to her, staring at the coffin on the other side of Katsuki. "Why are there wisteria around Izuku?"

Yaomomo looked down. Izuku, his skin given a little more color by the makeup, was lying next to the blonde. He looked as if he were sleeping, lips parted slightly. He was delicate, pale as an angel, as the first snowfall. An All Might keychain rested in his hands over his chest; how fitting. Yaomomo couldn't help but smile, before her eyes drew upwards and spotted what Tsuyu was talking about.

Two strands of wisteria were looped against Izuku's cheekbones, cupping his face like a pair of divine hands. Yuga. Yuga put these here.

But she doesn't know about his existence, does she? The fact that he lives in the same ward as us is shielded from her.

"I put them there," she said instead. Tsuyu seemed to accept her reply, moving to place one of her own blossoms in the coffin- a crimson spider lily, its long stamens fanning out, tickling Izuku's suit-clad body. Yaomomo turned away and walked along the line.

There was something eerie about this place, about all of her classmates reunited once again, all within the same bubble of air. Even if most of them were asleep- dead-, it didn't matter; she was glad to see them again, truly.

She was making her way to Denki's portrait when she ran into Hitoshi, hovering over Mashirao's coffin. She stopped a few feet away from him and followed his hollow gaze, down to the closed casket.

"I'm sorry, Mashirao," Hitoshi murmured, his voice hushed as he began to shakily place flowers around the coffin, under the gold-framed portrait of the tailed ex-hero. "I wish I'd stayed by your side. Maybe we could've escaped together, then."

Yaomomo watched him for a heartbeat before turning away. It seemed too intimate a moment to watch, two lovers conversing; it didn't matter if one was dead, having lost his head -literally- weeks ago. She couldn't bear to be an observer, even if she was stuck as one, to their story, one doomed for failure from the start.

Instead, she walked past him to approach her original goal. As to be expected, Denki was residing within the box, idly napping. The makeup covered the burn wounds on his face; his eyes were peacefully shut. It really does look like he's only sleeping... like he could wake up at any given moment.

But no, he was dead, dead as a doornail within a cushioned casket. She moved to set a handful of white plum blossoms, like snowy cherry blossoms, around him; he should've lived, should've seen the sky and the falling sakura with us. Her heart twisted, and she looked away, only to find her eyes caught on another portrait. It was a never-ending chain of death, of past allies dressed up like dolls in their eternal rest, and Yaomomo couldn't catch a break, it seemed.

Kyouka. Her stomach flipped. She's... here.

She frantically rushed to the portrait of the dark-haired girl, and upon looking down, found the silent girl resting in a bed of oak. "Kyouka..." she muttered. Gazing upon her, the real her, clad in a kimono whose fabric was cut from the midnight sky itself, was like staring at a demon straight in the eye. Her hands were shaking; why are they shaking? She's your friend...

Missing me?

My friend... is the voice in my head, her voice in my head, my friend? Is she my friend?

Is the voice her at all? Or is it just Tamaki playing tricks with me, tugging at the red strings over my head?

I don't know, I don't know..!

Her vision blurred, and Yaomomo stepped back to wipe the tears out of her eyes. Kyouka's face looked far too sweet in death for her own liking, far too lively for something so dead. Lively... a musician, this joyful creature... She was about to walk away to some other corner of this cage of hell when the voice returned.

But no matter what, whether this voice is me or whether it's your friend, Kyouka was your friend, wasn't she? The good-natured girl who liked music, who fought her hardest for her friends, who cared for you so- she was your friend, wasn't she?

...

Yaomomo turned back to the coffin, clutching the wooden tray of flowers so tightly that her knuckles were growing white.

She was... Of course she was, how could I forget?

She stared at the body with red triangles painted under her closed eyes.

Kyouka was never cruel, right?

I'm not Kyouka. I'm just the voice your pitiful head created.

Kyouka would never say such things to you, right? You yourself are your greatest enemy. She would've only ever wanted to make you happy.

Funny, the things the human brain does.

"Rest well... Kyouka." Yaomomo plucked a strand of pale purple flowers from her tray and placed it in the coffin, curling it so that the violet petals cupped her face, much like how Yuga had wreathed his around Izuku, the wisteria whose hand Tsuyu was blind to. It was the same wisteria that Yaomomo now laid Kyouka to rest with, laid to rest the corpse, whose voice she had perceived and haunted herself with, who had blinded her from that beautiful mirage of a happy girl for far too long. "Sorry for everything. I'll miss you."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and for once, they were of grief. Grief for a girl whose life was cut short, grief for the friend she'd lost and never given the opportunity to truly cry over. Grieve later, she'd said when she stepped off the bronze elevator to Fumikage's trial. She'd never found a later in the Game.

Why, Kyouka..? She stared at the girl's meek face and allowed the tears to flow down her face as she quietly cried into her fist. Why did you have to try to kill? Why did you fight the despair alone?

She wished the girl were here. Maybe everything would be different, then; maybe Denki wouldn't have been so depressed, maybe Yaomomo wouldn't have killed Tamaki. But then again, couldn't the same be said for any of the dead? What if Tenya hadn't died, what if Rikidou hadn't been killed in the first place? How would the story have played out, then? There was nothing she could do about it; thinking about an alternate future would do nothing to change her reality.

Still, she wanted to imagine Kyouka alive, as fictitious as it was.

She wanted to hear her laugh and have tea with her, wanted to play guitar with her, wanted to train with her.

She wanted her friend back, in place of the false voice uttering lies in her ears, but nothing could ever bring that wish to fruition.

She dried her tears on her sleeve and took a shaky breath. "Goodbye. I'll see you again, someday," she murmured to the coffin. Kyouka was unmoving within, a doll frozen in time and dressed her best for nobody to see. Yaomomo turned and stepped away from her. Her mind was still; silent.

She glanced around the room. Hitoshi was adorning Denki's body with flowers, white chrysanthemums and light purple lilies. He was muttering something, ever so softly, the tears slipping down his face. She tore her gaze away; it felt wrong to watch. On the other side of the room, Tsuyu was staring at Ochako. Yaomomo thought she could see her lips moving; she's talking to her.

I hope they can find their way, too.

There was one last person Yaomomo wanted to see, one person she wanted to apologize to. She turned around, searching for that familiar head of blue hair, because where else would she be but at his side?

"Ah... Yaomomo." Nejire looked up with bleak, teary eyes as Yaomomo made her way over. They were hovering over Tamaki's coffin; she was clutching her box of flowers. Crimson camellias and spider lilies surrounded him; he looks at peace, at last, Yaomomo thought, staring at his makeup-costumed body. There was a taxidermy butterfly sitting on his chest. "You're here to say your goodbyes, too... right?"

"Yeah." She couldn't take her eyes off of his perfect face. He looks so... angelic. He's a picture of eternal youth, of innocence... I wish bodies reflected the person they once were.

"I'll... I'll give you a moment, then." Nejire's voice was weak as she took her box and backed away, moving across the room to where Tsuyu had since shuffled to Fumikage's side, tucking flowers into his feathers. That left Yaomomo alone, standing before a coffin bearing red petals and a person frozen in time.

"H-Hey, Tamaki." A sad smile edged her lips. Her palms were sweaty, her hands shaking; she gingerly removed her hands in turn from the box to wipe them on her skirt. "I... don't really know what to say. Just... sorry about everything."

She could still remember driving the knife into his head, him writing the note, him beckoning her to help him in the empty hallway; she'd always remember all of that. But that was all she knew of him; she didn't know a hero, a friend, a teenager with a promising future. She never knew any Tamaki other than the one who'd told her to kill him, who sat there with tears and a smile on his face while she held a blade to his hair, flicking it back as she prepared to strike.

But even then, despite the fear and guilt and grief that came with that singular memory, Yaomomo could remember something else, too, now that she was looking at his real face once more. A muffled voice, telling her she's done well, telling her that it was time for someone else to help her for a change.

A sad smile and tired eyes had met her own when she brought that knife down.

Wordlessly, she removed a white chrysanthemum and a bundle of yellow daffodils in turn from her box and set them around Tamaki's head, before taking a couple of plum blossoms, delicate petals whiter than his death-kissed skin, and tucking them into his hair. She pulled back and set her empty tray down on the floor, leaning forward to see her handiwork.

He truly looked beautiful, she decided, her messenger from the heavens sleeping upon a bed of flowers.

"Rest well, Tamaki." Her expression was warm as she stepped away, picking up her box. Nejire must have been watching her, because it was then that she made her way over.

A lapse of silence. Nejire hovered by Yaomomo's side, gazing over Tamaki's flowery body. "He was a great hero, you know?" she murmured without looking up. "He... always looked out for everybody." She bit her lip and looked down. "I like to believe that maybe... he only pushed me away because he cared for me. It's wishful thinking, and kind of selfish, but... I can't see him in any other way. I can't see him as a cold person."

Yaomomo glanced to her face, to her regret-filled expression. His last words rang in her ears like a siren, and she couldn't help but speak out. "I think you're right," she said.

"Hm?"

"Tamaki... Tamaki was a selfless person." Yaomomo's eyes glazed over as she looked back to him, to the light she didn't deserve and barely knew, but reached for her through her prison of leaves and thorns anyway. "He only ever did anything to help others. He loved you, you know, like the way you loved him."

Nejire looked up at her, tears like shattered diamonds cascading from her eyes, eyes bluer than the sky that she, out of the Three, had been gifted the chance to see once again at the expense of the others. "I... I'd love to believe you, but..."

"I may not have known him all that well, but truly, I only say this because I knew him too well in the end." Yaomomo stared at the beautiful petals wreathing his body on a stage of the divine, petals that would wilt far too soon as he did. Nejire fell quiet, silently crying as she gazed upon the blossoms.

Her words, even left unsaid, hung bright in the air between them.

Thank you.

They left shortly after, once everyone had said their final goodbyes.

Yaomomo left the bodies behind her, while Nejire wept as she adjusted her flowers in Tamaki's and Mirio's coffins. Tsuyu spoke to Ochako once more before Miaya took her away by the hand. Hitoshi spared Mashirao one last guilty glance before leaving as well.

Yaomomo looked back to the line of caskets a final time as Kaede led her away. I wish Shouto could've seen Izuku again. It would've made him happy, I think.

"Shouto..." she muttered under her breath, turning away as the door shut behind her. The group walked quietly down the hall and out into the open air.

It was a perfect late spring day, with summer's arrival hanging over the fluffy clouds. Squinting up at the perfect, crystal-clear sky, Yaomomo felt at ease, for once after so many days of suffering and riot within her brain. It's a beautiful day. I wonder what tomorrow will look like.

In a way, though, it doesn't matter, right?

As long as we can see a sky and clouds, no matter how bleak and hopelessly gray, it should be enough.

They loaded onto another black limousine; Makoto, Miaya, Tsuyu, and Nejire got into one booth, Ryouta and Hitoshi boarded the second, and Kaede and Yaomomo entered the third. The vehicle started up, and Yaomomo leaned against the window, staring through the tinted glass at the blurry buildings and normal people having a normal day.

"Are you okay, Yaomomo?" Kaede's voice was gentle. Yaomomo turned to meet her violet eyes with a small smile on her face, something she thought she'd lost forever when Kyouka was found dead, when Cynthia stumbled, when Tamaki cried as metal pierced his head.

"Yeah. I'm okay."

It'll be okay.

The Game is over, and the dead will stay dead.

Did we win it, or did we lose?

It doesn't make a difference in the end, does it?

All that matters now is that I'm alive, Nejire's alive, and Tsu and Hitoshi and Yuga and Shouto- they're all alive and breathing, and that's something akin to a miracle.

Even if we're never out of the battlefield, even if we're just fighting another battle right after the last... it's okay.

The wounds would take a while to heal, and some would never go away.

But that's alright, because at least they were all alive, and they could fight side-by-side at last.