The windows were barred shut, thick metal plates welded into the framework. The hallways overlapped and looped, feeding hapless wanderers back into its awaiting maw. Cameras panned around, sweeping their fields, diverging only to observe motion with their unblinking lenses.

Prison, essentially. In spite of the gaudy colours, or the whimsical music blaring from the intercom, or the multiple allegations, bordering on confirmations, in fact, that this was a school: Hope's Peak Academy.

The name brought no comfort to the boy. It should have, he felt. He'd woken up that morning with that name clinging to his lips. He'd felt excited, of all things, and that was gone now, replaced by morbid confusion and an ominous feeling of apprehension. Inquisitive Hazel eyes found themselves tracing circles across the ceiling, their owner lost to wonder.

Makoto Naegi wondered a lot. There was a lot to wonder about in his, all things considered. Why he was here sprung to mind. Why was he here?

Luck. Lottery. He remembered.

Out of millions of other students across the nation, and thousands of Reserve Course Students stumbling and stomping over on another just for a chance of a chance to be where he was right now, or rather, what he was: An Ultimate. The Ultimate Luck.

He paused, fingers lightly drumming on the varnished flooring. Idle thoughts floundered about ceaselessly, with no answers in sight.

Luck wasn't a talent, at least to him. He refused to see it as such. Talents could be trained, and improved, not ridden as an easy gateway to excellence. He'd been born in a relatively well-off family, in a country with a booming, self-sustaining economy, during the most peaceful period of human existence.

He'd won a lottery to set his future in stone, going beyond excellence. It didn't quite feel right, to refer to it as a talent. He couldn't improve it, bolster it. He couldn't exactly train himself to call more coin flips correctly or improve his talent in any reasonable way.

And right now, staring into his doppelganger in the steel barricade, he couldn't bring himself to care about that.

He rapped a knuckle against the plate, accomplishing nothing but leave his hand throbbing. They were trapped, robbed of the outside world.

Makoto pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

At least the problem has been identified. Soon, so will the solution.

Hopefully.

The school was gorgeous, a castle of shimmering glass and stone. It was a beacon of hope, and a promise of a future. He'd remembered seeing it, once, before his vision warped and he'd sputtered out of conscious.

It was wreathed in wrought iron gates, sheltering it from the outside world and its "mediocrity".

The last part always went unsaid by the staff, though it had been blatantly obvious from the attitudes he'd observed even before setting foot on campus.

Talent meant everything to those people, and I had none.

Luck was just occasionally-favourable dice rolls and negligible conveniences. It wasn't a talent he could improve, and it was never one he felt he'd earned.

As the distance between his companion's capabilities and his own grew, Makoto knew he'd be left behind. The only thing he could improve were his weaknesses. That wouldn't be enough, but it was something. More importantly, it would be a start.

The rules had been set. A monochrome, one-eyed bear had seen to it.

The previous sentence had ended on a rather strange note, but that's where life had lead to at this point of time.

The bear called itself Monokuma and had explained the terms of its sick game to all of them. The price of freedom would be blood: first a victim's, then everyone else's should their killer escape notice. Ground rules were established, promptly broken, and the automaton had exploded.

In a literal sense. Debris swept through his air, and "students", as Monokuma lovingly referred to them as, took care not to aggravate the sadistic "headmaster". Presumably sated with its display of power, the bear waddled off, laughing it's strange, maniacal laugh the entire way.

Surreal would have been an appropriate word, if they hadn't already passed far beyond that point.

There was a button in his hand. It hadn't been there before.

Makoto had won it off a strange machine, using even stranger currency.

It was bright red, connected onto some sort of panel that had an antenna jutting out, not unlike those found in old-timey cartoons his grandparents used too watch with him. In fact, it may have actually been modelled on that exact template.

The words "Escape Switch" were hastily-scrawled onto the device.

Schmuck bait.

It would have been comical, had the situation been even slightly better. It reminded him of those old ACME knickknacks that would blow up in their ill-intentioned user's faces.

Unfortunately, the parallels were probably intentional, Knowing the bear, he'd be far more surprised if it didn't blow up.

But… what if?

His thumb traced a line down the device, stopping just short of the vivid red trigger.

If he hadn't done the things he did, he wouldn't be who he was.

If he hadn't put his name in the lottery, he wouldn't have been an Ultimate.

He wouldn't be here right now…

...

. . .

Well, the prospect was beginning to sound more appealing than it had back then, but that wasn't the point!

Makoto gripped the device determinately, steeling his nerves as best he could. Then he sighed, shoving the blasted thing in his pocket.

One could argue Makoto was a lot of things, but idiot wasn't an image he lived as, nor wanted to propagate. Pressing the button now, with no witnesses, and having no idea not only the if but where of the device, not to mention the assorted when's, why's, and how's likely to reveal themselves entirely in hindsight, would presumably pave the road of regrets and missing fingers.

Junko Enoshima's calculating gaze tracked her former classmates.

Some of them stared back, unnerved at her frankness.

That wouldn't have been out of character for her, now, would it? She wasn't that blatant, but her sister most definitely was, in spite of the fact her sister never needed to. Her sister, the real Junko, was a master of obfuscating her cunning, hiding it behind a persona… personas, rather, to pass her boredom.

That was what she was doing now, in fact, though for far different reasons. "Junko" twisted a pale pink pigtail around her index finger, a nearly imperceptible grimace contorting her firm features.

The bear had come and gone, delivering her sister's instructions with its trademark theatrics. People had panicked, naturally, and lashed out, and for the first time in many, many years found herself only as an impassioned observer of conflict. A non-combatant.

That wouldn't remain for long. It simply wasn't an option. Tensions would surge, given enough time. Someone would make a mistake, and everyone else would pay the price.

Her role was to create that, a primer of sorts. Her sister had reassured her that was all she needed to do, and her own peers would take care of themselves.

Junko -the real one- had said it to her with a smile, overblown and uncommitted to her actual feelings. Still, the memory brought her comfort. Pink blush dusted "Junko's" cheeks.

The intercom blared to life, static grating even her controlled nerves. Monokuma's shrill falsetto followed shortly.

"Attention all students…" A pause… four or five counts, perhaps. Then tapping onto the microphone, the distortion reverberating through the school.

"This thing on!?" A shrill screech blared, far longer than it should have been. Junko-the real one- had to be messing with them on purpose.

"All-righty then-!" A hacking, exaggerated cough interrupted. "Good evening, germs and gems. I bet you're all famished, huh? dining hall in ten. attendance, mandatory! don't test me on that yet, puh-lease?"

She could practically hear her sister's rictus grin spreading through the speaker.

"For now… upupupupahahaha-!" Another exaggerated hacking fit, the bear lost to its own laughter, followed by the audio systems mercifully shutting off.

The Ultimate Soldier made her way to the gymnasium, spotting the black jacket and ruffled brown hair belonging to her 2nd favourite person in the world. The taut line on her face turned up into a smile out of habit, before settling into a more neutrally dazed smirk. That was what they would expect from her, right?

I remember you.

Dark blue eyes widened in recognition before hiding seeking shelter behind perfect eyelids. A serene small graced the girl's face.

Maizono… His thoughts trailed off, leaving the boy staring blankly at the only presence remaining of his previous life.

The same soft features, drawn into a familiar face he'd come to remember from his year's in Elementary. Long blue hair that had framed her once round face cascaded down to her skirt. It had been no more than a few years, but the memories of Maizono flooded back, vivid and comforting.

How could I ever forget her?!

Almost involuntarily, his body had moved to grasp her in an abrupt hug, only realising somewhere along the way that it may not have been the most appropriate of things to do. He stopped himself just as abruptly, tucking his hands into his jacket pocket, a sheepish smile appearing on his face.

don'tnoticedon'tnoticepleasedon'tnoticedon'tnotice

"Are you alright, Naegi?" The Pop Idol asked, head tilted curiously.

she's so close she's so close she'ssoclose

"Y-Yes, of course."

Makoto took a deep breath, using the moment to compose his thoughts.

Ummmmmmmmmm….

"It's nice to see you again, Maizono." The boy greeted, hoping with all his strength that his words didn't catch in his throat.

The Pop Idol replied with a saccharine smile. "Hello, Naegi."

What do we talk about? Crap…

Wait… have we actually talked?

Like, ever?

"Errrmmm…" The ahoged-boy in question so eloquently began, soon met by an inquisitive look, then a strange sort of silence settled between them.

He glanced around the dining hall again, finding it just as devoid of other people as it had been moments ago. His brain racked itself for questions, answers, facts- anything, really- before giving up entirely.

His thoughts, or the act of scrambling to find them, were interrupted by Maizono coughing into her fist. "I guess we never really talked much back then, did we?"

We never really talked at all…

"Yeah, not really…" he rubbed the back of his neck, uncertain.

Thoughts. Find them.

"I'd always wanted to. You know, talk to you." She shared, eyes not quite meeting his.

Wha-

"I never could, I guess. Too many people, and too little time…" she trailed off, muttering gradually softening in volume.

"You never looked at me then…-"

"You were a celebrity, Maizono. I couldn't just go around staring at you-"

Wait…

"How did you know I never looked at you?"

"Because I looked at you all the time."

Huh?

"Huh?" Heat rushed into his cheeks. Unbelievable.

"Why, though? Why me?" Makoto questioned, earnestly confused at that. "I'm no one special."

She giggled. "But you are, Naegi."

Am I? No… but I won't argue yet.

"Do you remember the bird that wandered into the pond?"

The bird…

The choice was one of three at the moment.

"The Heron-?" he responded sheepishly, the answer feeling wrong the moment it left his mouth.

A light fist swatted at his shoulder. "Noooo, silly! The crane…"

Comprehension and recollection dawned on the boy. "The school, right? Then it walked into the pond, and sat there or something like that?"

"Yes," the Pop Idol confirmed. "And you led it back home to the forest."

The memory returned to Makoto in full clarity, details sharpening in his mind. "Anyone would have done that, Maizono. It just so happened to be on my day on the job."

"But it wasn't anyone, Makoto. It was you." She brought a hand up to hide her own face. Part of him wished she was just as embarrassed as he was, though he highly doubted that. She was used to the attention… she had to be. "And I thought I'd never get to see you again."

"Well, here I am!" He reassured, loudly, glad his hands were tucked in his jacket lest his fingers be seen fidgeting impulsively.

Maizono laughed again, and the world seemed simpler, for that one short, glorious moment.

"Kind of a shame we'd meet under these circumstances. I was hoping something more… dramatic. I'm glad you're here with me-"

She cupped her own mouth shut, eyes widening in shock. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean- I never meant- Ugh, I'm so selfish, and-"

Before she could continue, Makoto settled a firm hand on her shoulder. "It's Ok, I promise. I'm with you."

Then he blushed, pulled his hand off, and chuckled nervously at his own display. "While I'd rather not be here myself, I'm glad I can help bring you some semblance of comfort, Maizono."

It wasn't much. It wasn't enough. But it was something.

In a place like this, that meant everything.

Lithe arms found themselves wrapped around his shoulders, then pulling away just as abruptly.

"Thank you, Makoto." The Pop Idol added, firmly refusing to make eye contact with the boy's equally flushed face.

"Ne-Never a problem, Maizono. D-Don't sweat it…"

Silence settled, far more comfortable than it had ever been, it seemed.

Then the bear pranced onto the stage.

Pompadour. Leather Jacket. Crazy Diamonds insignia. Shaken by previous events, but maintaining a confident facade. Barely. Partly out of obligation, but possible for coping?

Dirty Blond hair. Black frame glasses. Cold, but not stoic. Prefers solitude to company. Dislikes being proven wrong. Confident. Distrusting. Cynical. Dangerous.

Long, pale hair. Thick, sinewy musculature speaks of great degree of personal training. Eyes closed often, confident in capabilities. Intimidating.

Why are these the type of thoughts I have?

Kiyoko Kirigiri pondered on that note for a moment.

Irrelevant to current situation why. Useful, though, for the time being.

Bear on table, making garish, theatrical display. Eccentric… would be gross understatement.

She craned her neck to the left.

Couple conversing. Blue and brown hair. Sayaka and Naegi, likely. Conversing with one another. Pair seem nervous, though not tense, as if probing for boundaries to be avoided.. Blushing, awkward. No, not awkward. Comfortable, strangely. Experimental, likely.

A small smile crept up her lips, so minute she barely even noticed herself.

Why am I smiling? Save for their names, I don't know them.

She paused her inspection, deep in thought. A gloved hand, her own, ran through her lilac strands, stopping at something. She paused again.

Braid. Why is there a braid?

Cautiously, she ran her hands across her body.

Arms, more defined. Legs, sleeker. Figure, more…

She took a few controlled paces forward.

Balance, acceptable. Posture, different. Somehow. Back straighter, chest heavier.

Interesting…

She moved to take note of it on her Monopad before stopping herself.

Find notepad and pen later.

She made a mental note of it for the moment. Hopefully, she wouldn't need too for long.

Monokuma mentioning AV room. Relevant, somehow. To be investigated.

Bear leaves, and everyone relaxes.

Mondo begins yelling at Naegi, then pleading, suddenly. Strange.

Naegi leaves room. Sayaka follows.

AV room. Naegi is tense, shaking. Unsettling, honestly.

Kirigiri moved towards the boy.

Ahoge, drooping. Fist twitching. No, Hand swelling. Desk dented.

"Naegi…" she paused, searching for the appropriate words. "Are you unwell?"

Naegi is shaking. Breaths are quickening. Knees, trembling. Fearful. Of what?

Everyone is standing by, doing nothing but stare at him. anxiety and confusion permeate the air.

"Naegi." She stated, mustering all the softness her voice could carry. "What happened?"

He pointed at a box wordlessly.

Plain, brown cardboard. Fifteen video messages, each with different names.

Makoto had returned his. He seems to want nothing to do with it.

Wordlessly, she picked out her own from the pile, seeking the farthest corner of the room to avoid unwanted observers.

The video was shot in grainy, black-and-white film, audio blank. It was a morbid attempt at humor on their captor's part.

The video began on a still shot of her grandfather's office, Mahogany desk and aged, elegant furnishings speaking of their proud legacy.

Her grandfather sat behind it, pale cirrus hair and sharp features standing out. In spite of herself, she smiled. She missed the old man.

It fell of her face the moment she remembered who took the video.

A man walked into the office, charcoal grey suit and head hidden from frame, taking a seat on the worn table. Her grandfather's kindly features morphed into a grimace, anger radiating. He was calmly warning the intruder.

"Get of my desk. Before I remove you from it."

She could read lips. Since when could she do that?

The suited man laughed, or so it seemed. What parts of his suit remained in frame seemed to shudder. Her grandfather seethed, hand reaching below his desk. Likely to grab the cane he'd long since retired and beat the man senseless with it.

That would have been a preferable outcome, though not one she was expecting. The fact the video was sent here made the conclusion foregone.

The suited man's hand slipped of frame just as her grandfather showed a curious expression: confusion. She'd never seen him unsure in her whole life.

Off-frame, a baton struck her beloved grandfather's forehead, knocking him out of shot, behind the desk he'd come to spend most of his life with.

The audio suddenly cut in, without warning. From the silence she'd learned to expect and adjust to, it was positively deafening.

The suited man swept a leg over the desk, landing boots-first onto something. She hoped it wasn't her grandfather but hoping didn't make it any less painful to imagine. Another set of vicious strikes had her hands clenching shut.

The suited man stopped, mercifully. He turned to face the camera. A monochrome mask smirked at her from the television screen. Her fingers tightened around her palm.

"KYOKO KIRIGIRI," The bear's voice interrupted, startling her already rattled nerves. "GRANDAUGHTER OF THE FAMED FUHITO KIRIGIRI, IN THE FIELD OF WHATEVER THE HELL HE'S FAMOUS FOR!"

Her mask of stoicism reformed, eyes forward in a firm glare at the screen.

"TRULY, OPPORTUNITY STRIKES IN THE HARSHEST OF PLACES."

The screen faded to black, a gaudy FIN sign overlaying a blank grey screen.

More vicious sounds. Sounds she could likely identify but chose not to for her own sake. She could the bile rising, bubbling in her throat, tasting the acidic tang on her tongue.

[LOOK FOR THE ANSWERS AFTER GRADUATION]

Her breathing was level, surprisingly. No shakes, or tremors. Other than her clenched fists, nothing outwardly indicated any sort of real distress.

She glanced about. Owada was losing it, seemingly, pompadour slicing currents through the air. Ishimaru was currently banging his head into the acoustic wall panels, for all the good it did. Chihiro was on the floor, back propped up against said wall, weeping openly. Celeste was shaking in outrage, lips pursed into a snarl, taloned finger tracing circles into the air.

And yet, here she was, unaffected. It must have seemed that way to them.

How am I doing this?

A question for another time. Answered sooner, hopefully, rather than later.

Maizono was the first to start cracking, her bubbly persona giving way to the dark possibilities lurking in her thoughts. She was the first to leave, sprinting away from the AV room with a complicated expression.

Kirigiri was shaken, though she hid it well. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible if one didn't look for it, but blatant if one did. Her cheeks were drawn in a taut line, posture so rigid it bordered fragile.

Fukawa began yanking at her pigtails, mouth curled into a silent scream, the most restraint Junko had seen her display. Of course, it was over just over a damn bug. That was tragic, even for someone accustomed to it.

She'd seen the videos. Helped make some of them, in fact. She knew for a fact that some of these people had nothing to look forward to if they left.

Her eyes were drawn to the camera's sweeping the room. Her Sis was probably up there in her little hidey-hole, greedily taking in the bleak atmosphere of despair she'd cultivated.

"Junko" didn't touch her tape. What it could reveal had equal chance to compromise her or her cover, and she'd planned to take it to her room and stuff it somewhere deep within her sister's overloaded closets.

The choking cloud of fear and desperation she'd long learned to breath through was suffocating everyone else. She left them to their despair.

It wasn't something she worked towards; it just shadowed her, like an old, unwelcome friend. One she'd grown to tolerate.

AN: Hello! I originally wrote this fic on Ao3 nearly two whole years ago, and dropped it until lock-down escalated and my interest in the story warmed again.

While I liked the premise of Danganronpa IF, how it was handled was something I found personally lacking. Lackluster phrasing, ham-fisted integration of Mukuro's free-time events, and jarringly-abrupt storyline turned me off from the delivery. I'll be the first to admit that was could just as easily be due to translation issues, but the issues stands, and I believe I'd enjoy going for an adaptation expansion with the premise.

Characterization-wise, I'm attempting a more subdued and grounded approach for the cast, making them generally more competent by downplaying their larger-than-life eccentricities while emphasizing the sheer emotional attrition of their situation. I don't believe I can write comedic anime-esque exchanges well due to personal preferences and lack of experience. I'm aiming for a more nuanced and psychological interaction between the cast, with flitting POVs and interactions between unexpected pairs. Sincerely hoping this comes across well, because this is frankly the first fanfiction I've written with a cohesive plot. Hope you enjoy the show.

PS: Reviews are a goldmine for me, because I love feedback and constructive criticism. Ao3 is pretty starved in that regard, which is partly why I'm doing a cross-post to garner as much from the active fandom as I can use.

Also, apparently line breaks don't transfer directly upon reformatting, which is a bummer. Should be fixed now, and thanks to everyone who chose to overlook this big blunder on my part.