Mother O' Mine

It was unsettling how it only took a few days for everything to settle back to normal.

Well, there were caveats. It was normal in the sense that most people weren't waiting for the other foot to drop. Ren, of course, wasn't surprised that he himself had found his bearings; his upbringing made him very experienced with quick adaptation. The ability of others to adapt was a surprise. Then again, their last few years hadn't been exactly stable either – not with their frequent atrocities and the rapidly decaying landscape of human society.

The new normal was here and had made itself at home, and one of the more fortunate side-effects was that it drowned out their sense of loss. No one had seen Naegi in days. They caught glimpses of Saionji, but she refused to talk to them and always vacated the premises shortly after. Ren had visited her cabin to check on her once only to discover that she had boobytrapped the entrance with seashell shards. Nevermind and Tanaka were scarcely seen as well. Nevermind was allegedly engaged in a constant battle to keep a recovering Tanaka from overdoing it. From the stories that Koizumi told, it was like someone trying to get an unwilling dog in a bathtub.

Another absence was Hanamura. Kamukura had confirmed that none of the food he had made was poisoned, and then Ren and his classmates had staked out the kitchen and waited for Hanamura to succumb to exhaustion. Nidai had been tasked with bringing Hanamura to his cabin (without waking him, mind you) while the rest of them had embarked on a herculean effort to find a way to preserve all the food and making sure Hanamura couldn't find his way back inside. (For as Pekoyama warned, did they really want to let him constantly spend time in a room filled with sharp knives and boiling oil?) Hanamura had thrown a fit afterwards, but even in his despairful state, he didn't want to fight Kamukura for the key. Instead, he was sulking in the diner's kitchen. Kirigiri had been weirdly annoyed by his choice of venue, but she refused to say why.

This was the world Ren awoke in five days after the night they didn't speak about. He went through his morning routine, put on a ridiculous floral shirt he had procured from one of the tourist shops, and stepped outside. The morning glare off the ocean forced him to shield his eyes as the wind splashed the sun's heat into his face. It smelt like dirt; it was going to rain later.

That incoming rainstorm may have been why many of his classmates were sticking close to home. Mioda and Owari were in the pool – which had somehow been cleaned a couple of days ago by the Ultimate Pool Cleaner, Kamukura – although Owari already looked tried and was clinging onto the edge. Pekoyama and Kuzuryu had taken over a couple of lounge chairs. One of Kuzuryu's hands lay on his stomach, partially concealing his still raw-looking scar. His other hand hung off the lounge chair and was intertwined with Pekoyama's. Tsumiki was dangling her feet in the pool, but she was fully clothed and clearly had no intention on joining the girls for a swim.

Ren raised a hand in greeting to Mioda and Owari as he made his way to Tsumiki. His reflection appeared next to hers on the water and although her gaze was directed there, she didn't acknowledge him.

"Good morning, Tsumiki-san. You're up early. Were you intending to check on Tanaka-kun today?"

". . . They have the Ultimate Surgeon for that." It was hard to tell whether Tsumiki was disparaging Kamukura. Her words were true and not an insult in themselves, but Tsumiki's opinion of Kamukura wasn't very high.

Of course, Tsumiki didn't have a high opinion of any of them anymore. The full-hearted loyalty she had once embraced for Enoshima had switched Naegi and only now did they truly understand what it meant – and why the other class had been so wary of it. For those who had moved on from Despair, Tsumiki's behaviour was disturbing for two reasons. One was that it was disheartening to be treated by this way by someone who had been a friend – no matter how much it was deserved; and two, it was an unpleasant look in the mirror at the people they had once been.

He wanted to pry something more out of Tsumiki, but she was finished talking. In the end, he gave up and took a lounge chair, too.

Time passed. The heat lulled him into sleep. He didn't remember dozing off, but he knew what had happened when he suddenly jolted and his face felt stretched and leathery. With a groan, he pulled his discarded shirt over his face too late. That was going to be a burn.

Suddenly, Owari spoke. "Hey, that's Kirigiri, right? What's she doing here?"

Suddenly, Ren was sitting straight up. Kirigiri never showed up without a purpose. To make matters worse, there was a coiled tension in her gait, as if she wasn't happy about the reason she was here.

"Kirigiri-san." Ren rose to be the first to greet her. Better him than Kuzuryu.

She nodded at him, but otherwise ignored him. Like a cat on a tightrope, she walked tightly alongside the pool's edge until she finally reached her target and looked down.

"Naegi-kun wants to speak with you," Kirigiri told Tsumiki.

"M-me?" For a heartbeat, Tsumiki could only stare at Kirigiri in shock. "Right now? What do I wear? Do I need to bring anything?"

"I doubt he cares about any of that," Kirigiri said with a raised eyebrow. "If you have something else planned. . ."

"No! Now is fine, i-if that's what he wants."

"Let's get going then."

Tsumiki jumped to her feet so quickly that she tripped. Without a glance at any of her classmates, she scrambled after Kirigiri who true to form, was already walking away. He and his classmates watched the two disappear through the hotel's gates, then exchanged looks.

It made sense. Tsumiki had offended the Naegi the least. She had stuck with him the longest, and they had been among the closest while Naegi had stayed with Ultimate Despair.

Yet Ren couldn't help himself from expecting the worst.

Kirigiri didn't take her to the motel. Tsumiki wondered, at first, if the detective had tricked her when they walked past it. But Kirigiri didn't take her to the hospital either. Instead, Kirigiri led her to a dull, rundown building boxed in by two empty billboards. The movie theatre's headlines listed movies that Tsumiki vaguely remembered hearing about, and one incredibly gory horror movie she remembered Saionji taking her to see.

(She also remembered Saionji being oddly annoyed when Tsumiki had expressed her gratitude and enjoyment of the film afterwards.)

"I've been trying to get him out of his room," Kirigiri explained. "He seemed to enjoy exploring the new floors at Hope's Peak, so I asked him to help me look through the back rooms here. I would have preferred to take him somewhere he hadn't been at all, but I didn't want to be too far away from the motel."

"He's in there?"

Kirigiri gave the theatre a hard look. "I hope so."

Tsumiki had never been inside the movie theatre, but given the states of the rest of the island, it was surprising that the neon signs above the ticket counter and hallways to the individual theatres were brightly lit. She couldn't prove it, but she suspected that either a bored Soda or Kamukura had repaired them one day without telling anyone.

"When I left him, he was trying to answer the age-old question of what's behind a movie screen," Kirigiri said with a small smile. "If he's finished with that, then he's likely investigating the fire escape or invading an employee-only area."

Makoto, as it turned out, was in the manager's office. He had a funny hat with two empty cup holders and translucent tubs that curled below his chin as he very seriously read a two-sided.

"Are you aware that profits have decreased by 2000%?" Makoto rumbled as he picked up Kirigiri's footsteps. "How can I run a successful business like this?"

He peered over the edge of the document at them and all the air was sucked out of the room. Tsumiki shivered. She should kneel. Wait. Was that respectful enough? Maybe she should grovel, or would that be too noisy? Naegi was patient, but she couldn't push it. So many people had told her she was annoying and pushy, but not him. Never him. How would she bear it?

"You were asking me to bring her, weren't you?" Kirigiri asked, her tone a rare betrayal of uncertainty.

"I did," Makoto said, dragging the words out. He took off the cute hat. "I guess I didn't think about what it . . . Never mind."

Sweat dripped down the back of Tsumiki's neck. He didn't seem angry, but this didn't seem like a welcome. Makoto used to be so easy to read, but just as a seam grew tighter with more stiches, so had the child-like slack faded from his face. Instead, he sat like a stoic king. Like Kirigiri. He had always admired her. Always talking about her. Kirigiri wasn't even that pretty. She was cold and mean and what did everyone see in her. . . ?

"Should I stay?" Kirigiri asked.

"Should you stay?" he repeated. Tsumiki had to fight back an urge to look behind her, as those words sounded like they had been whispered into her ear. She could feel Kirigiri's stillness in the way air flowed around her. And if she listened closely, so very closely, she thought she could faintly hear – from Makoto, from Kirigiri, from herself, she didn't know – teeth grinding.

Then, never taking his eyes off Tsumiki, Makoto slowly shook his head.

Kirigiri started, "May I . . .?"

Kirigiri may have thought not finishing her sentence was smart, but Tsumiki still saw the fury in her beloved boy. However, before she could mirror it, could steal it for herself, it flickered out like a flame. The ashes remained; cold, resigned, an acceptance like a quiet hug. Tsumiki didn't know the details of their silent conversation, but she kept a close watch over Kirigiri as the detective walked behind the desk and examined it and Makoto.

Kirigiri found nothing. Served her right.

"I'll be outside," Kirigiri told – warned – them. Her footsteps stretched on forever. The click of the door was like a distant memory.

Tsumiki had Makoto's full attention now, and it wasn't like she had fantasied. Her breath was heavy; her throat, parched. Should she fall on her knees now?

Makoto opened his mouth –

"I'm sorry!" The impact of her kneecaps against the hard floor rattled her bones.

"What? Why are you apologizing?" he asked.

"For what happened with those awful bullies. They shouldn't have said those terrible things. They had no right! They should have torn Komaeda to pieces!"

Makoto flinched. He was such a sensitive boy; his heart too big for those nasty vultures. Her ribs tightened in a vice. They had betrayed him, but she had been loyal. She wanted to scream that to the heavens.

"Mikan, do you realize Komaeda was right, or do you still believe he was the culprit?"

"Why does that matter?" she asked. "He was still guilty of being a bully. People like that never get what they deserve. I try, but everyone always sides with them. I'm sorry my best wasn't good enough for you. Please don't hate me! I'll do whatever you want. You can hit me, or step on me or . . ."

"Why would I want to step on you?" Makoto asked, confused. "No, don't answer that. Why would I be mad at you for what everyone else did?"

"Because it is my fault!" The words bubbled up her throat like vomit. It brought a sense of catharsis, of hollowing herself out until there was nothing left. "If I wasn't so soft, I could have made them listen to me. Maybe if I wasn't so boring and had friends, I'd have the power to. . ."

"I know. That kind of power. . ." Makoto murmured. His fist uncurled. "It doesn't always work out the way you expect."

She gulped. "I'm sorry! If it's power you want, y-you can still step on me."

He stared at her blanky. That was one of the most unusual things about him. Makoto never really looked at her, not in the way boys were supposed to. Of course, it was presumptuous to assume she was worth looking at. . . But sometimes, even Junko had.

"What do you mean you don't have friends?" Makoto asked out of nowhere.

"Huh?" From somewhere, she thought she heard a clock tick. From somewhere, she thought she heard the world cracking in two. "Oh no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. You are so much more than a friend – if I'm allowed to call you that. I didn't mean to assume anything. Forgive me!"

He groaned. "I told you that you don't need to apologize so much. I don't understand half the things you apologize for. At least when you say you're my friend, I believe it. I wasn't talking about myself, anyways. I was talking about your classmates."

"They don't have to be my friends!" Tsumiki said. "I'll never be friends with them again, I promise."

She didn't remember Makoto standing up. Of course, he was so short that it was possible she just hadn't noticed. He paced around the side of the desk like a majestic lion, seated himself on the edge and studied her. She waited, every nerve stretched to breaking point, a trained mutt waiting for a signal.

"What is this?" He gestured wildly between them. "What am I?"

"You're the Ultimate Hope!" she said hopefully.

That was a mistake. Every single cell of his seemed to be on edge. The air was electrified; it made her calves twitch.

"That can't be it," he said. "There's something else. Mikan, what do you see when you look at me?"

"The most important person in the world?" There was another moniker on the tip of her tongue, that flittered between them like a ghost.

His hand was so warm. It scorched her skin as he raised her chin. She leaned into the touch, let her weight fall into it. He loomed above her, blotting out the light. She felt gravity pulling her forward, like she stood on the edge of a cliff. What lay beneath, she didn't know; all she could sense was a great darkness unfurling just beyond her sight.

"I really am just like her," Makoto said. His fingers pressed into her jaw. "We are the same."

As she looked up into Makoto's dead eyes, she knew she wasn't alone. Whatever ledge she perched upon, it was right across from his.

"Komaeda was right all along," Makoto whispered.

"Huh?" And gravity suddenly reserved, swinging her up and away from the ledge. "No, he isn't! Don't believe the lies that terrible person tells you."

"But he's right." He choked. Something splattered against the floor. "I'm her child."

"Don't you listen to a word he says!" she hissed. How? How was Komaeda once again ruining everything? "He doesn't do anything but lie and cause trouble."

"Don't you see it?" he cried. "She kills her friends, I kill my friends. Everything they said about me is a lie. I'm her puppet."

"How dare he say that! That. . . That monster!" Despite her volume, Makoto was starting to look past her at the door; she couldn't allow that. She grabbed his arm, pressed her weight into it like she was climbing. He needed to listen to her. He needed to stop believing that horrible liar.

"Mikan, it's true."

"Liar!" He flinched at her shout. "Those people weren't your friends. How could anyone who treated you so cruelly be a friend? Oh, I see. It's fine when the bully does it, but everyone always loses their mind if you fight back."

"That's funny. You were the one who asked me not to hurt Kuzuryu-kun."

Her skin bristled, burned with an iciness as if she had just walked out of a frozen pond. Her stomach lurched painfully and the air momentarily lit up with small white lights from the pain.

"I didn't mean it like that," Makoto said quickly. "No, don't cry! No, no. . . No. Don't you see? I hurt everyone around me. Friends, enemies, it doesn't matter."

"It's not fair," Tsumiki sobbed through her tears. "Everyone else is allowed to be terrible. Why does everyone blame you for getting mad about it? Anyone else would. Anyone else would want to give them what's coming to them. How could Komaeda say it's your fault?"

"He's not. . . Mikan, forget about your classmates for a second. I need you to understand." He was on his knees with her. She thought he was. It was hard to see through the tears. "Think about what else I've done. Kuma, Alter Ego, my own friends. . . Iwata. . ."

"He's blaming them on you, too. That wasn't your fault."

"They died because of me. They'd be alive if it wasn't for me."

"But that's not fair at all. That's like. . . like saying that the Student Council is responsible for killing the Reserve Course because the Tragedy couldn't have happened without them!"

"No. . . ! That's not the same thing. And what is the Tragedy anyways?" Makoto murmured. "Wait! Stop distracting me. Look, I nearly killed all my friends because I set a bunch of murderers loose on a ship. Don't you see? My new friends killing my old friends - that's exactly what she would do. Don't you see it? How am I any different?"

"Because. . ."

"How?"

"Y-you did it for completely different reasons," Tsumiki blurted out. "Junko hurts her friends because she likes it, but even when you hurt people, you were always trying to help someone."

Naegi stared at her. It didn't look like he understood. "If the end result's the same. . ."

"It doesn't matter!" She wiped her eyes. "That's why they all forgive you. Because you're sweet and kind and nothing like her, so don't believe what that nasty boy tells you."

"Mikan. . ."

"No, no more! I don't want to hear any more lies about you. Everyone likes you because you're not like her. That's what's real. Anything else is a lie."

He shuddered. Then, a low groan came from the depths of his core. Makoto's first sob was an ugly, snotty thing. The following ones may have been as well, but he had ducked his head and it was hard to see.

"You're crying? Oh no, I'm so sorry!" she stuttered. "I'll make Komaeda stop talking to you. I'll make sure he doesn't tell you any more lies!"

He sobbed again, and then grabbed her shirt, burying his face in her shoulder. Tsumiki hesitatingly laid her hands on his shoulder blades. While Makoto's tears had only begun, hers were ending. With that clearer, only slightly water-logged gaze, she took in the room. It looked neat, pristine, distant from the chaos that was happening, and Kirigiri was watching quietly from beside the door. . .

Tsumiki hissed.

That was Kirigiri's cue. She pushed herself off the wall. "Thank you, Tsumiki-san. You should return to your classmates."

"Don't you -!"

"Mikan," Makoto said hoarsely, "I think you should listen to her."

"Um, if you're sure," Tsumiki said. "Will I see you again?"

"Not today," Makoto said after a pause. He sniffed. "But. . . Maybe we can have dinner tomorrow."

Her smile felt like it would fly off her face. "Yes! Whatever you want!"

"I'll be right outside, huh?"

"I was," Kirigiri acknowledged. "Then I was inside. Don't pretend you didn't see me."

Naegi sniffled.

"I'm sorry if you wanted me to step in sooner, but I don't regret it." She walked over to him, lay a gentle touch on his crown as he sat there on his knees. "You needed to hear that."

"Kyoko-san, you saw her," Naegi croaked. Another sob bubbled out of his throat. "How do I fix that? Please, tell me what to do."

Kirigiri look at him steadily. "Maybe you don't."

"But -!"

She silenced him with a finger on his lips. "Maybe you fix yourself first, then come back and revisit the question. Tsumiki-san was the one who defended Kuzuryu-kun from you. She's still there. We haven't lost yet."