If Despair Never Ended

by Burpcycle

Fourteen students wake up in Hope's Peak Academy, confused and scared, just as a certain mastermind planned. But this time, the Ultimate Fashionista is missing. In her place is a naked, frightened girl with a host of injuries and no memories.

25. Chapter 4: A Body Has Been Discovered

Mukuro kneeled down by Sayaka's bed, gently placed a palm on her shoulder, and shook. The idol mumbled something, but her eyes stayed closed.

"Mhmmm…"

"Sayaka," Mukuro said, kindly. "It's almost 10 AM. You should get up."

There were deep bags under the sleeping girl's eyes, and she gave the weakest, most imperceptible headshaking Mukuro had ever seen.

"Later…" she murmured, again.

Mukuro sighed. She wasn't a doctor, and she had no idea if this was a delayed reaction from the drug that had robbed her friend of her memories. Perhaps the insanity of the situation had simply taken its toll on her, and this was natural? From Sayaka's perspective, her world had gone from normal to a nightmare in the space of a day. That probably had some kind of psychological effect.

Where the hell is an Ultimate Therapist when you need one…

Mukuro sighed. Whatever the problem was, the idol would not be denied her rest. The soldier stood up, rolled her head back and forth, and quietly pocketed Sayaka's dormkey to secure the room from the outside.

She hadn't even locked her door at night…

Mukuro didn't expect anything to go wrong, of course, but…

She stepped into the hallway, locked the door behind her, and tested the knob twice.

Everything's okay, she thought. Everything's going to BE okay.

She swallowed. She'd already declared that with Junko.

I need to lighten up.

Mukuro stretched her legs, then started a light half-jog toward the cafeteria. Her stomach was rumbling something fierce, and besides – she wanted to talk to someone.

As she passed the bend that led to the warehouse and second floor of the dorms, she caught a flash of brown-on-brown only a few feet away.

Mukuro halted in her tracks.

"Oh, Toko!" she said, not completely unhappily.

The dour girl was only a few feet away, but her back faced Mukuro. She seemed to have been in the middle of walking to the warehouse, but at the greeting, she tensed up and cringed away. She craned her head backward (thankfully, it actually was Toko, and not the other one), looked her over, and bit down hard on her thumb.

There were deep bags under her eyes, almost as black as Sayaka's. It looked like she hadn't gotten any sleep in days. Even her posture was a little more slouched than usual.

"Wh—what do you want?"

"Just saying hi."

Behind her glasses, Toko's eyes narrowed. She said nothing, but her body language betrayed her obvious wary suspicion.

Mukuro frowned. The Ultimate Writing Prodigy was being weirder than usual today.

Then it struck her:

Toko's only like three or four feet from me?

Toko's back had been to her, which meant that she was going to the warehouse. But Mukuro hadn't seen her enter the hallway that led to the door. That meant the writer had to have entered it before the soldier started her jog, and yet…

If Toko had entered this hallway before I left Sayaka's room, she should've already been at the warehouse, shouldn't she?

Mukuro fought hard not to suck in her lips, not to instantly give away that she knew something was wrong.

The only explanation is that Toko had already been in this hallway before I left Sayaka's room, but if that's the case, why does it look like she barely entered it?

The answer was obvious: Toko had been watching her from around the bend, and when she saw her coming, stood up and tried to make it look like she was going to the warehouse as cover.

A bead of sweat rolled down Toko's s face. She bit her thumb even harder, though she drew no blood. Dimly, Mukuro heard a weak hum rising from the girl's throat.

This was the only person in the school who could plausibly stalk Mukuro, but the question then was why? She couldn't possibly be planning a murder, and—

Ah.

Byakuya had told her to watch Mukuro's movements, then.

The amnesiac raised a hand cheerfully, waved it from side to side, and chirped: "I'm gonna grab something to eat, you want to come along?"

"Uh… N—no, thanks…"

Her would-be stalker bit down ever harder on her thumb, by this point trembling so hard that her long braids were almost dancing along the floor. In a cruel way, Mukuro found it a little amusing.

The Ultimate Soldier nodded and took off, intent on enjoying the rest of her jog. She could accept not being as smart as Kyoko or Byakuya, but she was at least smarter than Toko.

… and Jack.

… and Leon.

… and Sayaka.

… and Hina.

… and Taka.

… and definitely Hiro.

… maybe Celeste, too?

Oh god, am *I* the third smartest one of us?

A chill ran down Mukuro's spine. She didn't want that kind of responsibility.

Shaking her head, she made for the cafeteria. It would be good to pick up something to snack on along the way…

Just before she reached the door, she sensed a presence from inside. Pausing for a moment, she crept up to the frame, kneeled low, and poked her head just far enough to spy on the room.

Leon and Taka were there. Both were at a table near the entrance, but while the former was casually biting his way through an unappetizing, slightly brown apple, the latter studiously slouched over a mountain of papers and thick books stacked in neat piles. At first, Mukuro thought they might be from the library, but a closer glance revealed the names on their spines: World History, English Composition, Precalculus, and the like. Half the papers were filled with scratch marks she couldn't read from afar, and Taka busily filled the remainder as his eyes moved from book to paper to book to paper to book.

"What're you doing?" Leon asked.

"Homework, of course."

"… Dude, all of our teachers are dead." Leon blinked. "Wait, where'd you even get homework from?"

"I assigned it to myself! Right now, I need an example of a hyperbole."

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever seen."

"Excellent, thank you!"

Taka transcribed Leon's sentence onto a paper, smashed his hand onto it in triumph, and added it to one of the piles. Then he pulled out another blank page and started anew. The other boy balked for a moment, then sighed.

"Hey, Taka…"

"Yes?"

"Are you just doing this to take your mind off… stuff?"

"Ah! No, no." Taka shook his head. "I am confident that civilization still exists beyond the school's walls."

Mukuro almost snorted.

Then why did you agree to stay here forever, back when you still had your memories?

Then again, who was she to judge? She had only just recently told Junko that she'd ignore any evidence against what she herself wanted to believe.

… You go, Taka.

"That's not what I meant," Leon pressed. "I meant, y'know… Mondo."

For the first time in a while, the Ultimate Moral Compass hesitated. Very uncharacteristically, he bit down hard on his lip and looked away. He didn't answer for a long time.

"It's strange," he admitted. "Kyoko tells us that we were good friends. Friends for life, even…"

"But all you can think of is the three or four sentences you heard him say before he bit it, yeah." Leon shook his head. "I saw Toko being weirder than usual, too. Muttering about how Junko stole her relationship with Byakuya or something."

Sounds like her…

"Yes. I hate this idea of losing our memories. It seems so… antithetical to who we are, is it not?"

"How do you figure?"

"Well, after Kyoko regained her memories, she seemed like a different person. A more mature person, I suppose. Speaking to her is almost intimidating."

"Dude, I know that feeling. I always get the heebie-jeebies whenever I talk to Mukuro."

Mukuro's heart sank a little. Her fingers gripped down on the doorframe and turned red. She hadn't even realized she was grabbing it.

"In any case," Taka continued. "I wanted advice, so I asked Kyoko about what I was like. I know I couldn't have achieved my dream of becoming prime minister yet, of course, but—"

"You wanted to see if you'd had any achievements yet?"

"No! Well, yes." He crossed his arms. "But, it's more that I wanted to be sure I'd always remained on the straightest, most moral path. What is the purpose of being an Ultimate if you're not tested? And if you're tested, then you can fail."

"Makes sense…"

"What she told me shocked me…"

Leon cocked his head.

"What's that?"

"She said… that I was the person who'd changed the least!"

He waited for a response, but neither member of the audience gave him one. Eventually, when Leon started again on his gnarly, half-eaten apple, Taka scowled and went on.

"This 'eternal broship' I'd sworn with Mondo… I hate the idea of having it ripped away."

"Maybe it's not worth killing yourself over," Leon offered without swallowing, spraying chewed bits of fruit everywhere. "Mondo's dead, and that's sad, but we can move on."

"Yes, that is the voice of wisdom I expect from another of my eternal bros," Taka allowed, apparently serious. "But I disagree nonetheless. Mondo, and Makoto, Chihiro, and Hifumi, should stay with us always." He pumped a fist, and then stared right at Leon with his wide, crazy red eyes. "They were a part of us once, and we can't just ignore that."

"… why not?" Leon asked, confused.

"I will never willingly surrender a part of myself!" Taka declared. "Especially my memories, especially my connections to others. It disappoints me that anyone would."

Leon poked his tongue into his cheek, trying to decode his friend's unstated meanings. Mukuro, though, understood instantly. She seethed with anger.

"Oh!" Leon nodded, catching on more slowly. "You're talking about Sayaka, right?"

"Exactly." Taka picked at his chin, deep in thought. "She leapt at the chance to banish away her unhappy memories. She was clearly in love with Makoto! She clearly carried that with her! And yet, when the opportunity arose to sever herself from her guilt and hatred, she took it without hesitating. I still can't tell if Mukuro is evil or not, but not even she would do something so deplorable."

Stay calm, stay reasonable, stay kind…

Mukuro chanted those words to herself, silently. She felt herself shaking. Her eyes were narrow hateful slits, and a high-pitched din filled her ears. She couldn't even hear whatever Leon responded with.

How dare those two judge Sayaka? They had all lost friends, of course, but in this life, they'd barely known Mondo. Neither of them had really lost anyone, not in a way they could really feel. Sayaka hadn't just lost a boy she clearly had feelings for, she'd lost her one chance at redemption, her one chance at becoming a better pers—

Mukuro closed her eyes and looked away. It wasn't Sayaka she was thinking about.

This was the second chance. For Sayaka, and for Mukuro herself. Taka just didn't understand that.

Mukuro stood up, and before she could stop herself, jogged casually into the cafeteria. It was a strange sensation, to have no control of her own actions, to be as surprised as anyone else at how she gently raised a hand in greeting to the boys, smiled, and pretended to have not heard anything.

In a weird way, she was almost a passenger in her own body.

"Hi, guys!" she chirped, her rage and indignation flawlessly hidden. "Just grabbing a bite for Sayaka to eat."

"Oh…" Taka grunted a little awkwardly. "How is she?"

"Really good!" Mukuro came to a halt, then pivoted toward him. "I think everything's working out really well, at least so far."

She mocked being tired from her run, taking a few breaths longer than she really needed to. Hopefully, the very real anger she still felt made her skin red enough to pass for exhaustion.

"I'm very proud of her." she said, uncertain of where she was going with this.

"How's that?" Leon asked.

"Not everyone would have been strong enough to do what she did," Mukuro replied. "Everyone saw how much Makoto meant to her, but she was willing to give everything up to protect the rest of us in his honor. After all… she knew it wouldn't be long until Junko found a way to manipulate her into becoming a victim. Trying to fill her with all that despair, so that someone else would take advantage of her… Yep! Eating that amnesia grape was the only way to save us all."

It was at this point that Mukuro realized something important: she was a shitty liar. Byakuya or Kyoko would have seen through her before she even opened her mouth. Junko had to be watching this right now, laughing at how blatant and terrible this attempt at saving face for her friend was.

… But Taka and Leon weren't Byakuya, Kyoko, or Junko. The first had book smarts, but nothing else. The second had, well, nothing to begin with.

"That is an interesting perspective…" Taka conceded, nodding his head up and down.

Leon puffed out his cheeks, either from the apple bits still inside or because he was considering her words.

"Indeed, Mukuro," Taka went on. "I do recall you valiantly cowering away like a tiny child when you saw an opportunity to regain your memories. Given the fact that you could have easily overpowered us and taken it if you'd wished, your pathetic weakness in a moment of truth may be your greatest advocate!"

Mukuro sucked in her lips. She couldn't believe they'd taken that seriously. It was hard to resist the urge to say something that would only hurt her position here.

"… thanks." she said at last, in a low, throaty tone, hoping, this time not in vain, that her sarcasm would be lost.

They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, the boys chatting about how brave Sayaka actually was, and Mukuro flexing and unflexing her hands. She breathed in and out a few times, her vision still red, her face still burning. She hadn't expected the boys to so quickly relent. She hadn't expected things to go so well. She was still angry, dammit. She wanted to slap Taka, at least.

In the absence of that, she kicked over one of his towers of books, sending the individual ones flying. The boys stopped their conversation, startled, and watched everything collapse to the floor or smash into the walls.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I hate… history. Can't resist kicking it whenever I see it."

Taka scratched at his chin.

"But half this table is covered in my social studies homewo—"

Mukuro swept her other leg across the surface of the table, sending all of his carefully-arranged papers flying. Before he could respond, she hopped away.

Honestly? Could've gone worse.

(Scene)

Sayaka was still asleep, still locked safely away in her room. There was nothing to do but kill time.

The library smelled of ancient dust. Mukuro flipped another page of her mystery novel.

It wasn't bad, exactly, but she'd figured out the killer before twenty pages were up. Probably, she'd read it before, and tatters of that knowledge still clung to her mind and robbed her of enjoying it again. Even in this minor way, the old Mukuro's memories tormented her.

What she really wanted to do was exercise. Grab a pole or something and practice against an imaginary opponent. But Toko could be watching her, and the last thing in the world she wanted was to give anyone reason to be afraid of her again. She could probably outwit the writer, but Jack would have better senses for stalking, and there was no way to tell who was around right now.

She sighed, leaned her chair back to stand on two legs, and, without looking, tossed the book twenty feet backward into the shelf from whence she taken it. It landed perfectly square between its neighbors. It would have been impossible to tell it had ever been touched at all, except for its lack of dust.

I wonder if I could kill someone by throwing a book at them.

That was a lie, of course. She knew she could.

Blood was pooling in her butt. She'd sat too long, been still too long. Grunting, she returned to her feet, stretched her legs, and took off for another light jog. As she passed the hallway and made for the stairs, she pretended not to catch the Ultimate Writing Prodigy-shaped shadow from behind another corner.

That one had scissors out, she thought, vaguely. They're both following Byakuya's orders, then.

It wasn't a surprise.

She jumped up the stairs three at a time until she reached the fourth floor. Seeking to burn off some more energy, and maybe mess with her stalker a little, she ran back down to the first – a long-haired shade barely got out of the way in time for her to plausibly pretend not to have seen it. When she reached the first floor, she made for the fourth again.

She did this twenty or thirty more times, until the first workings of a sweat finally began to form. Half an hour down, and her ankles were just slightly aching. On the bright side, she didn't see Jack. Either the serial killer had gotten bored and left, or she'd gotten better at hiding.

Mukuro made it back to the fourth floor, wiped her brow on her sleeve, and took a long, deep breath. That workout tricked her body into feeling like something useful had been accomplished, to the point where she actually felt a little good.

It was a foreign feeling, contentment.

She didn't like it.

She shrugged her shoulders and tried to push it away, tried to feel cynical and loathing of herself. She disliked that she didn't dislike this, and disliked even more the realization that something was indeed wrong with her.

She didn't even realize she was walking. It wasn't toward anywhere in particular, nor for any purpose. Just one foot in front of the other, her body moving on its own.

"Well?"

Byakuya's sharp voice brought her instantly back to her senses. She ducked behind a hallway corner, sweating from more than just exertion.

She dared to poke her head out. He was there, as was Leon. It was an odd duo, one that she couldn't recall seeing together in the past. Both faced the still-locked gate that barred them all from the fifth floor. Neither gave any indication that they realized she was there.

Byakuya stood casually, arms crossed, but Leon's stance was smoother. Readier. He seemed like he—

He was in a pitcher's stance, and his right hand held a baseball. Something long and shiny was crudely tied to it, though. It took Mukuro a moment to realize it was one of the hand mirrors she'd seen him take from the warehouse, attached to the white ball with several lengths of nylon rope.

The redhead tossed the ball up into the air, perhaps to measure its weight. For a second, Mukuro saw herself reflected in the mirror. Either boy could have marked her in an instant and realized they were being spied upon, but neither seemed to notice.

Leon caught the ball, wound up, and threw it through the bars with all his might. It left his hands with meteoric speed, and even Mukuro saw it only as a blur of lightning and fire. In only a fraction of a second, it impacted the wall behind the gate, bounced off, and launched itself up the next flight of stairs. If it had hit a person, their head would have been pulp. Not even the Ultimate Soldier could have so efficiently killed with a throwing weapon.

She bit down hard on her lip. Blood was racing through her veins. This was the same type of excitement she'd felt when she'd fought Sakura.

Note to self: Leon is more of a physical threat than Jack.

He unwound and returned to a normal standing position. Without a word, Byakuya handed him another of the hand mirrors. This one had some ten feet of rope tied to its handle.

"You could at least ask me nicely," Leon said, annoyed.

"I could." Byakuya agreed.

Leon waited a few seconds for a polite request that never came. Now more annoyed, he tossed the hand mirror to where the wall behind the gate met the floor. He kept the end of the length of rope in his hand.

Mukuro stared intently at the mirror. By fortune—no, by Leon's matchless skill, it had landed just so that it was facing up the stairs. She couldn't catch much at her angle, but she did see that it reflected something else bright and shiny.

The other mirror.

Byakuya kneeled down by the gate, rubbed his chin, and studied the mirror.

"What's up there?" Leon asked.

"The same as before," came the calm, measured reply. "I don't see any changes."

"Isn't that good thing?"

"… It's a strange thing."

"What do you mean?"

Byakuya stood up, grabbed the rope from Leon's hand, and yanked the mirror back behind the gate. A moment later, there was no evidence that anything had ever happened.

"Let's go."

"Wait!" Leon complained. "What about that dust we found?" Mukuro perked up. "The orange dust."

"It's not important. Leave it."

"Not important?! How do you figure?"

"Use your brain." Byakuya said, smugly, and strolled away. Leon fumed behind his back, but eventually followed.

It was easy for Mukuro to sneak away, hide behind another door, and wait for the two to depart. Jack might've seen her, but it didn't really matter. She hadn't done anything.

The dust… Leon didn't know about it, then.

After a minute passed, when she was absolutely certain that neither of the boys were left, she crept up to the gate. She couldn't see up the stairs, but she could imagine.

"Mukuro."

She flipped around, fists raised—

Kyoko stood there, makeshift cane in hand, though she wasn't using it. She held it in roughly the center, and obviously held it only for the sake of the others' comfort. Gray, lifeless eyes stared right into Mukuro's. It would have been impossible to guess that she was blind.

Maybe she's faking it…

Mukuro shook her head, and lowered her guard.

"You're quieter than Jack," she said.

"Don't worry about her," the lavender-haired girl replied, smiling softly. "I sent her away."

"… What's up?"

"I need your help. It'll only take a second." With unerring accuracy, Kyoko pointed to where the gate met the floor. "Is something there?"

Mukuro couldn't resist checking, though she already knew what she'd find.

That strange orange dust, arranged into a line with that slight pattern etched into it. Someone was working hard on arranging these.

Mukuro almost answered, but then that slight, terrible doubt about her friend crept down her spine.

"… Should I see something here?" she answered, noncommittally.

"I see." Kyoko said, probably not intending for a joke. She closed her eyes. "I'll offer you a trade of information. You're wondering about this dust, right?" Mukuro didn't reply, which the detective took for an affirmative. "Tell me this, and I'll tell you that."

"… There's some orange dust here, with a pattern carved into it." Mukuro said. "It's the same as one I saw underneath the Monokuma door. There's no way to open the gate or the door without disturbing the dust. I don't know who's putting it here."

Kyoko nodded, unsurprised.

Of course, Mukuro puffed out her cheeks, reddening. If I noticed these things, she must've, too, before she lost her sight.

"… Wait," she said, suddenly ashamed. "Kyoko, you don't have to tell me anything. It's… not your fault you're blind. I shouldn't take advantage of that."

For a moment, the famously emotionless Ultimate Detective's mouth opened slightly in surprise. Her brow furrowed, and she seemed almost touched.

Kyoko regained herself quickly, though, and crossed her arms. She stared into Mukuro's eyes for what felt like an eternity.

Ice danced across Mukuro's skin. She hugged herself for warmth, instinctively. She didn't understand her own emotions at the best of times, but right now, she had no idea what she felt, except that it was alien and strange. She understood even less what Kyoko thought. All she knew for certain was that the Mukuro of the past had never experienced anything like this before, and that the Kyoko of the past had never given her much thought.

It was hard to face her anymore, and Mukuro didn't know why. She made to run away, but Kyoko somehow knew it and held out her hand to block her.

Mukuro sucked in her lips. She'd felt inferior to even the other, younger Kyoko. There was a gap between the two Ultimates that the former would never close, a gap not just of intelligence and skill, but of simple clarity. With the benefit of experience and age, this version of Kyoko only made Mukuro feel even lesser. The idea of bettering herself, of being better than that older, slavish Mukuro was a joke when compared to the unflappable, virtuous Ultimate Detective who'd achieved her best self from the start. It was hard to even accept her sympathy.

Kyoko's hand gripped Mukuro's shoulder. The younger girl looked away, burning with shame, and wanted to run. She surely could have, but the thought to resist didn't even enter her mind.

"I'd say that we need your help, Mukuro," said the girl with lavender hair. It was incredible how even her voice was. "But you're already giving it to us."

Mukuro grit her teeth, and realized her fists were shaking almost too much to control. Her heart ached, and she burned with shame, anger, and a flux of a dozen other emotions. But not, she later realized, with despair. Not with something that would make her feel truly, lingeringly bad, or that would set into an inescapable spiral. She didn't feel hope, exactly, but something adjacent to it. An acceptable hope-like substitute.

If everything went well from here on, she might one day be able to face the others again without hating herself.

(Scene)

Mukuro pressed the doorbell a third time.

Nothing.

She dipped a hand into her jacket's front pocket and felt for the key. It was still where she'd left it, barely even shifted after all that exercise.

There was no need to worry, of course. No one else could even access Sayaka's room, and no one had a motive any longer to hurt her. She was probably still just asleep.

And yet, the hairs on the back of Mukuro's neck stood up. She sucked in her lips. Vaguely, something about this felt wrong to her, but she couldn't define how or why.

Steadily, insisting to herself that nothing was wrong, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and saw the brightly-lit dorm room unfold in front of her. The air felt thick and warm, and no one was on the bed.

Her heart almost leapt out of her chest when she heard a voice.

"Oh!"

Sayaka casually strolled out of the bathroom. She wore only a white towel wrapped around her chest, and her hair and skin were still quite moist. Her dark blue eyes went wide with surprise, but she had never looked healthier or better-rested.

Mukuro blushed.

"Oh, uh, sorry." she forced out. Automatically, she looked away.

"Is something up?" the idol asked, innocently.

"Just wanted to ask if you wanted to get dinner. It's almost six."

"Sure! Just let me throw something on."

It conspired that 'throwing something on' would take Sayaka the better part of twenty minutes. She preened over her appearance, carefully drying and brushing her hair, then choosing between an entire closet of seemingly identical schoolgirl uniforms. She hummed excitedly as she worked, decorating her appearance with a series of small silver hairclips – Makoto's kitten one was nowhere to be seen.

When she finished, she flipped around, slipped her hands behind her waist, and assumed that coy, girlish pose.

"Ready!" she said, smiling wide and nodding.

Mukuro smiled back, but hers was very forced.

All throughout the waiting, her heart had still been beating fast. Something too subtle for her to understand was wrong. Some tiny detail imperceptible to the conscious mind was out of place, and Mukuro lacked the skills or the knowledge to see it in so many words. It reminded her of when her instinct for killing intent had flared up all those nights ago, and warned her that Sayaka was planning something.

But she looked into that other young woman's perfect eyes, saw nothing but trust and innocence, and forced the feeling down.

It's Mukuro Ikusaba who's the problem here.

She gave a thumbs up, and bid Sayaka to follow.

(Scene)

It was 6 PM.

Everyone was in the cafeteria. Mukuro and Sayaka sat at a table alone, eating without really talking, while three separate conversations went on around them.

Hiro was asking Kyoko if the mafia still existed, and if not, did that mean someone in debt to them still had to worry. She seemed to humor him. Likely, it was because Hiro was already a few years older than the rest of them, so he was, in a strange way, the one most able to relate to Kyoko as an adult.

Toko was quivering next to Byakuya in a corner. Occasionally, he allowed her to creep up next to him and whisper something into his ear. He never showed any visual reaction to it.

Lastly, Taka was lecturing an uninterested Leon about the importance of hard work and embracing one's talent. The latter boy barely heard anything he said, and scribbled music notes on a sheet, perhaps working on a masterpiece. Sayaka looked over to him occasionally, clearly distracted. The guilt and worry over actions she'd forgotten was written on her face.

Mukuro was distracted all throughout the dinner. She wasn't even certain what she was eating, just that it involved a fork that she could twirl around between her fingers and tap across a now-empty plate. It could have been labeled 'arsenic' for all it mattered to her.

Despite everyone's presence, despite all the chatter, despite Kyoko's wisdom and the stories she'd told of their happy shared past, the room lacked warmth and vigor. Part of it was the uncomfortable fact that someone here was working against them on Junko's behalf, but there was another issue: they needed Hina back. They needed her energy and spirit. Mukuro was certain that even Byakuya wouldn't complain if she reappeared.

She wanted desperately to stand up and try to inject some life into things, but she didn't have the right. Not until things were set as well as they could be to the way they should.

She sighed and glanced back to the cafeteria doorway. She'd have given her right arm for Hina to walk through it.

She choked.

A feminine figure appeared in it, limping slightly, her face concealed by distant shadows. The conversation died down as the others sensed her, and—

Celeste entered the room, wobbling a little. Mukuro's heart sank.

The Ultimate Gambler was noticeably worse for wear. Her face was even paler than usual, almost sickly, and she seemed to be a bit gaunter. She might have lost a pound or two. She had on a fresh set of her elaborate gothic clothing, but it wasn't tied and laced quite properly. The showy white bonnet in particular was slightly askew, and her clip-on ponytails were nowhere to be seen. Without them, she looked like half herself.

Celeste pushed herself forward, then leaned against the interior of the doorframe. She was clearly in some pain, and her right hand clutched at her stomach.

Half the room was on top of her in a second. Taka moved to help her, but Byakuya caught his chest. Their eyes met for a moment, he gasped, and ran out of the room without a word.

Instead, the heir motioned to Toko. She hesitated, but eventually moved forward and slipped her hands around Celeste's shoulders and led her to a table. As she did so, almost everyone was shouting questions.

"Please…" the gambler groaned, and the room quieted.

Mukuro was one of the few exceptions. She held no special grudge against Celeste, but this was not the girl she wanted to see right now. She slipped past the crowd and checked the hallway outside, hoping against hope to see a certain tan swimmer—

But there was nothing, except a slowly-disappearing Taka scurrying away in the direction of the school. She turned back around to face the crowd, and saw that only Sayaka still hung in the back. The blue-haired girl watched the scene unfold with a mix of curiosity and some other emotion Mukuro couldn't identify.

This is the first time she's seen Celeste since losing her memories again.

"It's good to see you all again," Celeste said. Her voice was weak, and her accent slipped as she forced out the words. "Though, I think I shall retire not too long from now. You shall have to forgive me this weakness."

"What happened to you?" Byakuya asked, instantly.

"After the dart?" Celeste shook her head again. Her eyes were closed, and sticky sweat rolled down her brow. "I fear I haven't much to say. I recall falling to the floor, seeing all of you look shocked, and then nothing but darkness."

"Yes, yes," said the other, irritated. "After that."

"I don't know how long passed, but I awoke on a bed in a large, open room. It was some type of dojo, and I think I saw archery targets and cherry blossom trees."

"S—sounds clichéd…" Toko sputtered.

"Indeed." Celeste nodded, though the effort obviously took a lot out of her. "It was obvious the bed wasn't really part of the room, and had been added later. I saw Aoi on another bed just like mine, but she was still asleep. There was medical equipment around us, things clearly taken from a hospital, but I don't know the words to explain or identify any of it." She raised a hand to her lips, coughed hoarsely, and shook her head. "I nodded in and out of consciousness, too weak to move, and never saw her awake. Sometimes, I saw Monokuma rummaging about, but anything more than a few feet from my bed was just a blur. Eventually, I managed to pull myself out of bed, and he instantly appeared and said that meant I was 'good to go.' He threw these clothes onto me, dragged me through the hallway, opened up the gate, and dumped me outside. I tried to yell for help, but no one heard me. Luckily, I was able to make it here regardless. Please, don't ask me about Aoi – I don't know anything, except that she was still asleep when I was ejected."

The effort of saying so much at once had taken its toll on Celeste. By the end, she was leaning against the back of her chair, wavering and barely conscious.

A chorus of questions and comments rose up in the wake of Celeste's story. Almost everyone was talking, save Mukuro, Sayaka, and Kyoko.

Mukuro was happy to have one of their number back, of course, but only in an intellectual way. She knew she should be happy, even thrilled, to be reunited with a comrade. But seeing Celeste here only made her even more acutely aware of Hina's absence.

Kyoko stared on ahead. Her lifeless eyes trained perfectly on Celeste, but she said nothing. Her expression was unreadable, but it was obvious that she was deep in thought. It was obvious that something important was on her mind. There was no point in asking her about it, though.

The last, Sayaka, still sat politely at a back table, hands folded in her lap. Mukuro supposed that the idol had almost no idea what was going on. This was her first experience with Celeste, after all, and she might have felt like she didn't deserve to be in on the excited welcome back. Celeste didn't know anything about Sayaka's new situation, either. They'd both have to be caught up on the other later.

When Mukuro turned back to check the others, she found the Ultimate Gambler already helpless and asleep in the chair in front of everyone.

(Scene)

"I can't believe they tied you up to a wheelchair."

Sayaka sat on one of the nurse's office beds, dangling her pale legs over the floor. Next to it sat the old silver wheelchair. Stray strands of rope were still on it here and there.

Mukuro leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed. She had no idea who'd even rolled the chair in here for safekeeping.

"They were worried," she said, quietly. "Worried that Junko could turn me against them again. And I told them it was alright."

"Mukuro," the idol said, and turned her eyes back to her half-friend, half-caretaker. "Sometimes I worry that no one'll ever trust me again. I know Leon doesn't like me."

"He'll get better."

"Because he knows I won't try to kill him again?"

"Because you forgot everything, so it's like a whole new you."

One side of Sayaka's lips pulled into a smile. Her eyes were shining.

Mukuro's head snapped up. Once again, she'd underestimated Sayaka.

"You were talking about me, huh?" she said.

The idol's sympathetic smile widened.

"I really did mean myself," she lied, kindly. "If you read yourself into it, then that's on you."

Mukuro's fingers twitched. She truly did like this version of Sayaka. This is how it always should have been, how it no doubt was before Junko stole their memories. This sweet, innocent girl bringing up everyone's spirits while they were trapped in the academy together.

It was almost enough for her to forget that horrible song Sayaka had sung.

We should forgive and just hold hands

She feels bad about it

So, your pity, it demands!

Then again, Mukuro could hardly expect anyone to let go of what she'd done, if she wouldn't let go of something comparatively trivial like a mean, despairful song.

"How can you know how I feel so well?" she asked.

Sayaka cocked her head.

"I could say that we're a little alike, or that you're just very bad at hiding your feelings, but neither of those is why."

"Why, then?"

She winked.

"I told you… I'm psychic."

Mukuro smiled, this time genuinely.

"… Just kidding!"

Sayaka burst out laughing, shooting the other girl a bright, beaming smile.

A chill ran down Mukuro's spine.

It was impossible for Sayaka to know this, but those were the last two words she'd said to Makoto when she first decided to kill.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" a new, airier voice chimed in from the door.

Mukuro turned to face it, already knowing who it was. Celeste stood there, hands folded daintily in front of her waist.

"Hi, Celeste."

"A pleasure, Mukuro. Sayaka."

Sayaka hefted herself from the bed, and slipped past.

"I think I can see that you two have something to talk about. I'll see you later!"

With that, she was gone, leaving the two remaining girls alone in the nurse's office.

"Hmph," Celeste hummed, and idly played with her hair. "You know, it occurs to me how much more often this room must have been used in the past few days than during the whole of our stay in the school…"

"Celeste," Mukuro started. "I know you said you don't know anything about Hina, but are you sure you didn't see anything?"

"I'm afraid not, except of what I already said. She was on a bed, very much like the one you're sitting on now, and asleep. She might have been a little pale."

"As long as she's still alive…"

"I think she was, but this isn't what I came to speak to you about." Celeste helped herself onto the same bed Sayaka had sat on. "You're easier to talk to than Byakuya and Kyoko. Both of them seemed to suspect me of wrongdoing, you know, and had endless questions about what was upstairs."

"Why?"

Celeste grinned.

"I could tell that Kyoko wanted to make sure my description matched her own memories," she said, mocking offense and laying a hand across her heart. "And as for Byakuya, he wanted me to confirm something she said about me bumping into a book of poisons and antidotes."

That's right! That was Kyoko's explanation for how she knew how to treat the poison. It still doesn't really make a lot of sense, though.

"I think his eye will always be upon anyone absent for too long," the gothic girl cooed. "Aoi will no doubt get the same treatment if she returns."

If…

"When I was up there," she continued. "Monokuma spoke to me occasionally. I don't recall it all, but I do remember him talking about what it was like for all of us to be friends, how it was agony for Junko to pretend for so long."

"Agony…"

"Regardless, that stayed with my dreams for a while. I thought… I suppose my thoughts lingered on the idea of how I had once counted everyone here my own friends, but without the pain. I think… It's speculation, but I think I might have even remembered something from before the amnesia."

"Really?!"

"I can't tell. Is it real, or just something my fever dreams stitched together?" Celeste mused. "But in my mind, I have this image of us all taking a classroom photo together, and of myself not… completely despising it." She closed her eyes. "I can see it so clearly, you understand. In the picture, I'm looking directly at Junko."

"Am I there, too?"

"Yes, to the side. Barely part of the group at all. I would say that you were always like that, but again, my recollection is too hazy. It matches what I heard from Kyoko's restored memories, though."

Mukuro clenched her teeth.

"I know what I was like," she said. "But never again. I'm not that person. That Mukuro is a different girl. She's dead."

Celeste cocked her head, and a wide smile crept across her features.

"Heehee!" she laughed, suddenly and out-of-character. "Don't forget that you're speaking to the Queen of Lies, Mukuro."

I suppose I am, Taeko Yasuhiro…

Mukuro smiled back, half genuinely and half annoyed. But if Taeko could deny herself and become Celeste with no ill effects, then Mukuro could become someone new, too. It was what she'd already decided to do, anyway, just without the change of name.

Who can't use a little lie, now and then…

"Then, why did you come to talk to me?" she asked. "Surely not about this."

Celeste slipped a hand into a fold of her dress. A moment later, she held a deck of cards, which she deftly placed on the foot of the bed.

"Choose one."

"Why?" Mukuro asked, puzzled.

"Humor me."

Mukuro hesitated, but she could think of no reason to refuse. She went to the bed and pulled the card at the top: a Five of Hearts.

"Wait," she said. "Another high card draw?"

It felt like it had been ages since that one time they played.

Celeste responded only by drawing a card of her own. She checked it before Mukuro could see it, and sighed, pretending frustration.

"C'est la vie," she said, and revealed her own Two of Clubs.

The lowest card in a deck? But it's Celeste, she can't lose…

The gambler flourished her hand, and suddenly held a folded piece of paper.

"Makoto's student profile," she said.

Mukuro's heart almost stopped. She'd forgotten all about that. The last true link to Makoto in the school, perhaps in the entire world.

"Wh—what?!"

"It's yours."

Mukuro didn't raise her hands, or couldn't. After a moment, Celeste raised an eyebrow, then courteously laid it on the sheet nearest the other girl.

"… I don't understand," Mukuro said at last. She still didn't touch the paper. "Why would you part with this?"

"Because you won the draw."

"I know I can't beat you," Mukuro protested. "And you fought me for it earlier."

"My, my," Celeste yawned, cool as ice, and ran another finger down one of her pigtails. "To think that the Ultimate Soldier can't imagine victory. I just wanted to play against you again."

Even when she gives me what I want, she still lies…

But there was one explanation that made sense: that Celeste, having regained or at least become aware of some of her old memories, wanted to honor Makoto in some small way. He was so likeable, so perfect. Even the distant Ultimate Gambler probably graced him with the title of B-rank. And now, with Sayaka having no memory of him, and Kyoko having all the memories in the world, the only person left whom he'd want to have that profile was…

Mukuro choked up for a moment. She might have been crying. Yes, that was it. Celeste's persona didn't allow her to just outright give something like that away. She had to 'lose' it.

She took the profile. Her hands were weak and trembling.

"Do you remember anything about him?"

"Nothing more than you do, I'm afraid. Nothing specific, anyway."

Mukuro wiped her eyes with her sleeve. When she looked up, Celeste was halfway out the door, tucking the cards back into a fold of her dress.

"Wait," Mukuro quivered. "What… would you have demanded if you'd won?"

Celeste grinned, in a very un-Celeste-like manner.

"For each of us to tell the other her real name, of course."

Mukuro smiled. Celeste would have called her 'Mukuro Ikusaba,' of course. And Mukuro would have called her 'Celestia Ludenberg.'

She remembered Makoto's relentless pursuit of truth during the trial… but Celeste was someone else. Here, they could each be comforted by the other's lie.

(Scene)

The next two days were hard.

Dealing with the others was easy. Byakuya was off in his own world, doing something to help combat their captor, Toko stalked around on his behalf, Kyoko explored some unknown corner of the school, and Hiro, Leon, and Taka seemed almost irrelevant. Sayaka orbited around, bopping here and there, enjoying herself but otherwise never seeming to do much of importance, and Celeste easily settled back into her normal routine, even going so far as to return to her evening visits to the bathhouse. In a way, everyone was calmer and more placid than they had ever been before.

But Hina's continued absence irked Mukuro. If Celeste was okay, why wasn't the other, healthier girl who'd been poisoned at the same time? It had to be either that Hina was already dead (an unthinkable outcome), or that Junko was planning something outrageous that required exclusive access to her.

"Monokuma!" she cried out one day in the student store, when she was alone.

But no one replied.

… She didn't need him, anyway.

Mukuro balled up her fists and grit her teeth.

Other than Hina, everything else was going well. And since Celeste had been returned to them safely, and since Junko (it was Junko) couldn't really hurt anyone without removing a player from the game, there was no further point in thinking about it.

Mukuro half-sighed, half-groaned, and absently felt for the student profile she still had folded in her jacket. She didn't want to read it again, but even thinking of that conjured up the words again in her mind.

Name: Makoto Naegi, Sex: Male, Height: 5'3", Weight: 115 lbs., Blood Type: A, Birthdate: February 5, Chest Size: 75cm. The Ultimate Lucky Student. Chosen at random by national lottery so Hope's Peak could study the 'luck' phenomenon. Luck appears to be much less dramatic and obvious than the equivalent Class 77 student. Student is otherwise completely unremarkable in all measurable ways, both in abilities and interests, but seems to bring a stabilizing influence to the others of his class by means of being the most ordinary and trustworthy. Easily succeeded in making friends with all classmates, including reticent and antagonistic ones. Only possesses one notable quality outside of abstruse luck: every female student he interacts with appears interested in him as a partner, to varying degrees. So far, he has shown reciprocity only with Maizono, with whom he had a relationship prior to high school.

There it was. Every female student, including her (and possibly even Junko?) had shown interest in Makoto, but he had eyes only for Sayaka. She almost wanted to curse Celeste for giving her this.

But in a way, it was a relief. It was a weight off her shoulders, in a way, to know that she'd never had a shot. Sayaka wasn't an enemy who could be taken down with a mere gun or a knife, and Makoto himself had died trying to save them both, and all the others (sans Chihiro and Mondo, but he'd surely have done it for them, too).

It would definitely be a mistake to give this to Sayaka, though. Mukuro knew that in an instant. Imagine learning that you had a boyfriend for two years, that you betrayed his trust multiple times, and that he still died trying to save you. Even someone like Kyoko would probably crack apart at that. No wonder that she'd also conveniently left this relationship out of her description of their years together. Like with everyone's tolerance of Celeste's aspirations to European nobility, this was something that needed to be kept buried forever.

Mukuro walked out of the store, lost in her thoughts. Automatically, her feet took her toward the dorms – right until she passed the AV room.

Hm?

The door was very slightly ajar. Confused, Mukuro peeked through the crack, and saw the familiar blue hair of a certain idol facing the other way.

Sayaka sat at one of the small modules, glued to its screen. A pair of heavy noise-canceling headphones covered her ears, and her hands pulled into fists, her nails pressing so deeply into her skin that it broke. Tiny streams of pink blood trickled out of her shaking fingers. Mukuro couldn't see her eyes, but she could spy the tears streaming down her cheeks.

On the module beside her was a DVD case labeled Sayaka Maizono.

"Dammit!" Mukuro hissed, loudly enough that someone inside of the room would have heard her easily, but for the headphones.

She'd completely forgotten about the DVDs. Of course something like that would upset Sayaka, even after being warned about it.

Carefully, Mukuro crept inside. She would wait near the door, and comfort the idol when—

The Sayaka Maizono DVD was still inside its case.

Mukuro blinked once, twice, and then a dozen times. She could clearly see the DVD sitting there, shining under the bright ceiling lights. Sayaka might have watched it before, but she clearly wasn't viewing it anymore.

Then…?

Unable to help herself, Mukuro moved to hover over the other girl's shoulder.

Monokuma was on the screen, dancing in a black background. Mukuro recognized it instantly – this was her DVD. The Mukuro Ikusaba one that offered her the chance to kill someone without being executed.

Blood froze in her veins. This recording should have been locked up in her room. There was no possible way Sayaka could have it. There wasn't even a key to access it, except the one in Mukuro's pocket.

What was this?

(Scene)

Sayaka sat in the cafeteria, alone at a table, pretending to read a fashion magazine taken from the rec room.

Mukuro sat a ways away, watching her, pretending to read a mystery novel.

Both girls were trembling, but for different reasons.

Sayaka had applied a copious amount of makeup to hide her puffy red cheeks. She was an expert at it, and almost succeeded, but knowing as much as she did, Mukuro couldn't be tricked.

What she wasn't sure about was the smile. Was it real? Was it plastic? She just couldn't tell.

Careful, Mukuro. That girl may seem innocent, but she was the first to snap two different times.

But nothing happened. The others came in, ate, talked, and seemed to enjoy themselves. Even Kyoko seemed unaware of anything being wrong, or else she kept her suspicions secret.

"Alright!" Hiro set a crystal ball in the center of a table near Mukuro's. "Leon, check this out."

"What's up?"

"With this, I can give a prediction about another student. Who do you want to know about?"

"What a waste of time…" Byakuya sneered.

"Don't listen to him." Hiro sat up, very proudly, and rubbed his own chest with two fingers. "Before we lost our memories, Byakuya asked me to advise him on a business decision once!"

The room quieted a little. Despite everything, even Mukuro was interested in this.

"… And how would you know that?" Byakuya asked, his curiosity also piqued. "I suppose you asked Kyoko?"

"No… I just did another reading."

Jack, who was sitting on Byakuya's table, kicking her legs through the air, cackled and leaned over.

"Wait a sec, Yasuzero! I thought your fake-o powers only predict the future!"

"They do!" Hiro responded. "So, I predicted that if I asked Kyoko about if I'd ever read for Byakuya in the past, she'd say yes!"

Mukuro looked over, quietly. Even Kyoko raised a disbelieving eyebrow at that. Wisely, she said nothing, and let the scene play out undisturbed.

Celeste shook her head across the room, and took another sip of tea.

"It's almost impossible to believe that you've survived this long."

"Even I agree with that," Taka said, crossing his arms. "But I suppose it can't hurt to let Hiro continue on."

"Well," Leon scratched his head. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. I don't want to hear about myself, though."

"What-what-whaaat?" Jack shook her head. "Why not, why not?"

"If I ask about my future music career, and he says it'll go well, then that means it probably won't go well! So, tell me about…" He scanned the room. For a moment, he locked eyes with Mukuro, and she was certain he'd choose her. But then he moved on, and nodded at someone else. "Tell me about Celeste!"

"What?!" Her entire face twisted into a rage. "You can't just—"

"Okay!"

Hiro waved his hands over the ball and stared into it. Mukuro prepared for an image to appear mysteriously within it, or for it to fill with fog, or for a dull light to shine out of its center… but nothing happened. Even the shadows of his fingers were ordinary.

… He doesn't even have a talent as a performer, Mukuro realized. This is completely unconvincing.

Then again, she would have been even more distrustful of someone with more showmanship, so…

She pursed her lips. Were Hiro's blunt terribleness at his job and inability to deceive anyone actually his greatest attributes?

"Hm." He scratched his head. "Weird."

"What is?" Leon asked.

Celeste angrily sipped more of her tea, but said nothing.

"It says Celeste has no future at all."

"Oh, no!" Sayaka covered her lips. "Does that mean she's going to die before this is all over?"

The gambler's red eyes somehow seemed to grow redder.

"I guess?" Hiro shrugged. "I just predict things, I don't explain 'em."

"But your predictions are only true 30% of the time…" Leon said, taking an oddly reasonable position.

"Yeah," Hiro admitted. "But they're right 30% of the time, 100% of the time!"

The room grew quiet.

Then everyone returned to unrelated conversations, and Hiro was left to stew alone in his humiliation.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Mukuro laughed.

(Scene)

They were alone in the hallways, walking slowly back to their dorms. Toko (or Jack) might have been stalking them, but Mukuro wasn't certain.

Sayaka's eyes were still reddish. Mukuro pretended not to notice.

"Mukuro," Sayaka said, eventually. "Do you ever worry that, deep down, you're a bad person?"

Mukuro looked over to the idol. She had assumed that the comment was about Mukuro, but once glance revealed that Sayaka was talking about herself.

"I don't think anyone's a bad person, innately," she lied, for she knew after that conversation with Kyoko at least that her own sister was pure evil given form.

Sayaka dragged her feet along the floor. Her eyes were anywhere but Mukuro's.

"Junko could erase all of our minds again," she whispered. "Leon and I are still around. Imagine if we were condemned to repeat the same mistakes, over and over and over…"

Well, without Makoto, you have no fall guy, so you probably wouldn't make that particular mistake a third time…

Somehow, Mukuro thought it best not to comfort her that way.

"She won't do that," Mukuro said, and it was probably the truth. "And all of us are better people than we were when we started."

"Are we?"

Mukuro sucked her lips. Truthfully, she knew she was not. Deep within herself, there still existed that mindless drone who served Junko without question, who yearned for her younger sister's attention and abuse. She could feel that Mukuro stirring inside her, or else imagined it, for the possibility that she wasn't Mukuro was infinitely worse.

She kept that evil chained within herself only by denying its existence and locking away her own memories. If she truly was a better person, then she would have eaten the strawberry that Kyoko took.

"Yes," she said, and it was another lie. She was shaking, but Sayaka was too distracted to notice. "I would give my life to save anyone else in the school."

That part was actually true.

Sayaka slowed her pace, and hugged herself for warmth. She was covered in a thick sheen of sweat.

"Is that… what it means to be a better person? I just… I feel burdened by all this guilt, Mukuro. Guilt for things I don't remember, guilt for things I can't undo."

It was like looking into a mirror.

Mukuro grabbed her by the hand. She was ice cold. Instinctively, she took the idol's shaking fingers in both hands and warmed them.

"You shouldn't feel any guilt," she said, ignoring the pang those words caused her own heart.

"I should!"

"No. You're a good person, Sayaka."

Sayaka shook her head. She was crying, and tears flew everywhere.

"How do you know?" she rasped.

"Because… Because Makoto thought you were."

"I don't even remember him!" she wheezed. "You might as well be talking about a stranger! That's not… that's not helpful…"

She collapsed into Mukuro's arms like the quivering, crying sack of a little girl she was. Here she was: the Ultimate Pop Sensation, a girl who dedicated her life to bringing hope to others, and she teetered on the edge of despair.

Mukuro wanted to save her. She had to save her.

… Was this how Hina always felt, when Mukuro occupied Sayaka's role here?

"Come on," she said, warmly. "Let's stay together tonight."

"T—together?"

"Sure. Monokuma hasn't been around for a while, but if he's still around, he definitely won't show up when we're together."

Not to mention, 'Mukuro' won't show up when there's someone else around to see her. And since Sayaka and I ate the same dinner, she can't even use the trick she used when Hina was around.

The two girls walked together to Mukuro's dorm room. A second later, Sayaka was face-down on the bed. Her face was buried in a pillow, and a pool of tears slowly expanded in all directions. She clutched at the sheets tightly enough to rip them apart, had she been stronger.

"I don't want things to be this way," she said, hoarsely.

Mukuro locked the door, sat down on the edge of the bed, and thought only one thing:

What the hell would Hina do right now?

"Everyone's done, or thought of doing, bad things," she said, channeling her inner Ultimate Swimmer. "But we can just ignore that and be better."

"We can just… ignore it?"

"Yeah," Mukuro said, trying and failing to smile. "The old Sayaka doesn't matter." Her fingers wove between the idol's. "The old anyone doesn't matter, except Kyoko, I guess. If you can't see it, then it doesn't matter."

Sayaka grew still. Her face was still invisible, but she seemed to consider it.

Mukuro rubbed her friend's back, got up, turned off the lights, and returned to the bed. She reached for Sayaka again, but she must have pricked her palm on a piece of jewelry, because something sharp and metal pierced her flesh.

A second later, she crumbled.

(Scene)

Mukuro smacked her lips. Thick strands of saliva snapped. Her chin was covered in slowly-drying drool.

Her head was swimming through molasses.

Her eyelids were almost impossibly heavy. Bricks were lighter. The pain in her neck didn't help; she was definitely sitting down, and she must have fallen asleep so that her head drooped down over her lap.

Even with her eyes closed, the world flew by in a dizzying blur.

Had she ever been this tired? Had anyone ever been this tired? She would have thrown up, but her body didn't even have the energy for that.

Minutes might have passed. Hours, maybe. She existed in a languid haze, too aware to be lost to sleep, too exhausted for conscious thought.

It was just an accidental twitch when she yanked at her right arm and found something holding it in place.

Something rough and flexible, not metal or wood or plastic, arrested her movement. It was too familiar a sensation, but she didn't know how.

Slowly, painfully, she forced one eye to open. A more heroic effort had never been spent on anything in the history of man. A painful light bleared the world before her, then settled, over the course of some seconds, into a scene she'd seen not too long before: she was tied to a wheelchair.

The shock of it sobered Mukuro a little. She was still exhausted, but the gears in her mind started turning, however slowly and reluctantly.

She forced open the other eye.

Yep, still in the wheelchair.

She tried to kick her leg. Similar ropes held it firmly in place.

Actually, not quite similar. The ropes were the same, but there were more of them than before. No one, not even Byakuya, had even restrained her with this much rope. There had to be fifty pounds of more of the stuff covering her. She was more mummy than woman. Even her fingers were wrapped up.

The ropes were right up against her shins and arms, which must have been otherwise naked, but her chest and thighs were protected by some kind of clothing.

Funny… My normal clothes cover my arms and legs just fine.

There was one exception, though. For some reason, Mukuro's toes had been left unrestrained. She could just about see her pale white flesh behind the rope over her knees when she wriggled them.

She raised her head. The effort of it sent pangs down her spine, for she'd been hunched over for too long, but it had to be done.

She was in her dorm room. No one else was here, and the door was wide open. The lights inside were off, but some illumination leaked in from the hallway.

… for some reason, the bedsheets were perfectly made, as if no one had slept on them. They had never looked fresher.

"Hello?" she coughed. Her body pushed against the ropes, and she spat something up. The dried drool on her chin felt cooler than the rest of her body.

Disgusting…

"Hello?" she said, louder. No response. She gathered her strength for a moment, and yelled out: "Hello?!"

Seconds passed. She heard nothing but her own heartbeat.

She felt stronger now, though not by much. She wasn't just going to fall asleep randomly, at least.

"Hello!?" she tried again, this time much louder. She didn't wait before screaming the word at the top of her lungs: "Hello?! Is anyone there?!"

No one and nothing answered. Even her own voice died as soon as the words left her lips. There wasn't even an echo.

The silence was even more stifling than the ropes.

Mukuro rested for a few moments, summoning up her strength. At last, she pulled her arm as much as she could against the ropes. She grit her teeth, groaned and finally screamed, but it was hopeless. Visibly, they didn't even twitch.

She'd probably feel the rope burn for days after this.

She next tried her chest and her legs, twisting them as much as she could. Again, it was useless.

She grunted, pushed against the ropes on her ankle again, and…

Her toes just barely grazed the floor. The blue tile underneath was warm to the touch. It was almost pleasant.

She snarled, and pushed her feet as low as they would go. Yes, her toes could reach. If she put all her strength into it, she could narrowly press all ten bare toes against the floor. With some effort…

She forced herself backward two or three inches.

I'm about one-hundred pounds, a wheelchair is around forty pounds, another fifty pounds of rope…

Pushing almost two-hundred pounds with just your toes was possible, but even an athlete would still find it challenging. Her toes didn't hurt yet, exactly, but…

She pushed again.

"Hello?!" she cried out, again to no avail.

She pushed again, and again, and again. The chair bumped up and down as she entered the hallway over the doorframe. The pain in her toes was just starting to get noticeable, now. She didn't want to do this any longer than she absolutely had to.

Mukuro didn't know what time it was, but unless it was night, someone should have already heard her.

She inched forward a little. By luck or fate, the handle of her chair just happened to be at the same height as the doorbells to everyone's rooms, and the one across from hers was Toko's. Mukuro grunted and hissed, and eventually managed to aim the grip directly into the button. She heard it buzz.

A minute passed. Her toes were killing her.

"Hello?!" she screamed again, at the top of her lungs.

No one responded.

Mukuro groaned, pushed with her right foot, and eventually reoriented herself toward the cafeteria and main academy.

She pushed.

And pushed.

And pushed.

It probably only took twenty minutes to reach the cafeteria, but it felt like hours. By the end, Mukuro couldn't even feel when her toes made contact with the floor. All she felt was the throbbing and the pain. She bit her bottom lip for a long while. But for the ropes, she would have spent the next hour massaging her feet.

"Hello?! Anyone?!"

She looked into the cafeteria. The lights were on, but no one was there. More importantly, though, she could see the clock: 9:45. Whether it was AM or PM, it was impossible for no one to have noticed her by now. Something was wrong.

But even the worst explanation made no sense. Discounting Hina, Junko, and herself, there was still eight people left. Only a maximum of two could be dead per trial, so there were six different people who should have rescued her by now, or at least explained what was happening.

Mukuro winced. She didn't have feet anymore, just appendages of pain embodied.

"Please, someone!" she cried.

She tried to heave for breath, but her chest was too restricted. She could only take very shallow breaths now, and it was beginning to take its toll on her. Anyone else would have already been disabled by this effort.

Whatever's happening, the others must all be in trouble.

She sucked in her lips and kept pushing, one inch at a time. The world smeared into a watery, painful haze. She'd never dreamed that pushing a wheel could burn so much.

Let this be another nightmare that I just wake up from…

She kept going.

The lighting changed from bright white to an ugly purplish color. She blinked away the tears as much as she could, and confirmed she was in the main hallway of the school. She almost laughed. She could see the exact wall she'd woken up leaning against, all those days ago.

Ding dong bing bong

Mukuro yelped out. Was Junko watching her even now?

"Mm, ahem, this is a school announcement," played a familiar recording. "It is now 10 PM. As such, it is officially nighttime. Soon the doors to the dining hall will be locked, and entry at that point is strictly prohibited. Okay then… sweet dreams, everyone! Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite…"

She snorted.

Bitch.

The voice only filled her with determination. Strength returned, Mukuro pushed on. The AV Room went by, and then the student store and the nurse's office.

At last, she saw the stairs up to the second floor. They might as well have been Mount Everest, for all the chance she had of ascending them like this.

Mukuro shook her head from side to side. What was she thinking? She'd come all this way just for a dead end. If no one came to help her, she might actually starve to death like this, or die of painful thirst over the course of three or four days.

She sat there for a long time, breathing in and out as well as she could, tears washing over her cheeks. At least the stale drool was gone, made denude by the endless salty weeping. She literally would not have known the difference if her feet were dipped in fire.

I don't feel anything, she lied to herself. Certainly not pain! I'm the Ultimate Soldier, goddammit!

(An Ultimate Soldier who never actually got hurt in battle, and so doesn't know what pain really feels like)

Shut up!

There had to be a solution somewhere here. She swept her head to the side and—

The door to the trophy room was slightly ajar.

Where it didn't burn, her skin tingled. This was even more wrong than the others all being mysteriously gone. That door definitely should have been closed.

She aimed herself for it, and pushed backward. This time, she wasn't crying.

A minute or two passed. The pain in her toes was gone now. All she felt was an awful sense of foreboding. That door was left open for her. It had to be. It had to—

The handle struck it and pushed the door wide open. Warm, calm light flooded the hallway. Fear and trepidation filled her as she rolled inside.

… nothing was wrong at all. The room looked like it always had, and the other double doors on the other side, the ones that led to the gym, were closed and impossible to open.

She huffed in and out for a while, almost as tired as she'd been when she'd woken up an hour or two or three or who-knows-how-long ago. Those beautiful, glittering, sharp trophies taunted her. They were too high to reach to rub her ropes against, and they were behind all of that glass.

Mukuro's eyes went wide.

There were two glass cases in corners of the room, each at waist-height. They had some kind of gaudy golden trophies inside, but the glass itself was what mattered.

She pushed backward as fast as she could. The handles of her wheelchair collided with the glass, and—

Bump.

Never in a thousand years was Mukuro going to build up the speed to break them that way. But then, how?

In her heart, she already knew the answer.

She pushed up as close to the glass as she could. Her heart was beating fast. She nodded a few times to build up the courage, and threw her head back as forcefully as possible.

Crack.

The world went blurry, and this time not because of the pain. She might very well have just given herself a concussion. One of her eyes twitched a few times.

Didn't realize I could headbutt backwards that fast…

Stupid "trained in all weapons" trait.

Still only half in-control of herself, Mukuro pressed her chin to her chest, and thrust her head back again.

CRACK!

Shards of glass rained all across. She felt her skin pierced in a dozen places.

Blood.

Hot, pink blood everywhere.

Searing, unbearable pain across all across her head.

That was stupid.

That was very stupid.

This would be a stupid way to die.

The world grew very dark. She fought to stay conscious.

Kyoko, Celeste, Sayaka… They need my help.

She pushed herself forward, and oriented the chair next to case. Most of the glass was still inside the frame. Sharp fragments rose up, perfectly adjacent to the ropes on the armrest. She couldn't have designed it better.

Warm, sticky liquid dripped off her brow and into her eyes. All she saw was pink.

She pushed backward a few feet. She might have heard some of the rope fray and give way. She wasn't sure what she felt anymore, except pain.

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was the old Mukuro peeking through, but something compelled her arm to move up.

The still-intact ropes weren't enough. She didn't scream, she didn't make a noise, save gurgling. The ropes simply gave way, and her hand was free.

This time, it was definitely subconscious instinct. She didn't even remember grabbing a shard of glass, or cutting the other ropes, or even falling to the floor.

When did she crawl into the nurse's office?

Where did she find these bandages?

Soldier Mukuro's first aid complete, high school girl Mukuro settled in for a nice night of sleep on the cold, bloody floor.

Taka, Hiro, Leon, Byakuya, Toko… They need my help.

She yawned. She was pretty sure some of the blood was leaking through, but it was alright. She was pretty sure these bandages would—

Hina!

She puffed out her cheeks.

She screamed as the needle pierced her thigh. Why did nurse's office even have a syringe of adrenaline, anyway?

She was on her feet. Her entire body was on fire.

Dried blood covered her face. She wiped it away, then looked to her right. There was a case of medicine there, and the doors were made of glass. The reflection of Mukuro stared back at her, wide-eyed and holding her chest in pain. Bandages covered in pink blotches were wrapped around half her head.

She looked half-dead, but that wasn't what worried her.

Right now, she had on a short-sleeved white blouse, complete with a daintily-tied red ribbon just underneath the neck. A short black ruffled skirt completely the ensemble.

These were Mukuro-of-Old's clothes. The outfit was missing her shoes and knee-high black socks, and half of it was stained freshly pink for obvious reasons, but she otherwise looked exactly like her old self. The wolf tattoo on her hand was even heavier than usual.

Someone gave her every piece of Mukuro-of-Old's clothing except the footwear, the part she needed most.

With one last angry grunt, she pulled out the syringe and tossed it to the floor.

She glanced at the camera hanging from the ceiling. If she was certain of any one thing in this world, it was that Junko was watching her from the other side.

"Fuck you." she said.

She leaned up against one of the cabinets, pulled it open, and plucked out a long metal crutch. Mukuro-of-Old had killed men with less.

… but actually, she really just needed it as a crutch.

She forced open the nurse's door with her shoulder and made for the stairs, listening to the crutch click-click-click along the floor. Whatever was happening, it was happening upstairs.

Her feet rebelled at the thought. Her soles were so sore and swollen.

But Mukuro had a mind of her own, and she pressed up and forward.

"Hah… hah…"

She wasn't even sure how she was conscious right now.

Each step was like a mountain, but slowly, she made her way. When she reached the second floor, she knew she'd been right to stay awake.

Pink blood was on the floor, and not her own. It was almost dry. Droplets of it led upstairs.

More than that, though, she found a present. It turned out that she hadn't been denied her old shoes and socks. They sat there, perfectly clean, just before the stairs to the third floor.

Nice, comfortable socks. Nice, comfortable shoes. They would blunt the pain of walking, but at the cost of looking like the old Mukuro.

She accepted the cost, and spent a minute slowly pulling them on. She hated it, but her feet were threatening to fall off as it was.

… No, she didn't even hate the look of them. In truth, she liked the simplicity. The only thing she hated was what the old her had done while wearing them.

"I'm not her," she told herself, while looking exactly like her.

The adrenaline was wearing off. A corpse would have been less tired than she was now.

I'm not tired.

She leaned against the wall for a moment, then kept going. Each step made her woozier and woozier.

Maybe I should just amputate my feet, she considered, not joking. That thought was the only cold thing about her.

A million miles away, Mukuro thought she heard music. It was too distant to identify anything about it, though.

She reached the landing of the stairwell, mostly by focusing on each drop of blood as a guide.

She gasped, and the world came back into focus. A body was there, laying face-down. Where it wasn't covered in sticky blood, it was inhumanly pale.

Mukuro rushed to its side, turned it over, and came face-to-face with Celeste.

"No!"

She grabbed at the gambler's cheek. It was still warm.

"Celeste! Celeste!" she cried.

Barely, one eyelid slid open. A single red eye rolled up into the socket. The gothic girl spat up blood onto her normally delicate clothing, but was too out of it to notice.

Part of Celeste's dress was torn. From it flowed most of the blood. Mukuro nodded to herself, then grabbed the edges of the fabric and pulled.

Celeste had definitely been stabbed in the abdomen, somewhere to the right of the stomach. Mukuro was no doctor, though, and didn't know anything about surgery.

… That said, she was pretty good at basic first aid. She ripped off most of Celeste's lacy sleeves, tied them up to turn them into a long bandage, and stemmed the flow of blood as best she could. Celeste… might live.

The gothic girl lazily rolled her head back and forth.

"Sa…" she breathed, but the word died on her lips. Mukuro had no idea what it might have been.

Whoever had stabbed Celeste had clearly thought she was dead. Perhaps the Queen of Lies had even thought to play opossum, and then just kept bleeding out? It was a miracle she was still alive at all.

That music was louder now. Mukuro strained her ears. The voice was high-pitched and energetic, and there was a lot of instrumentation, but that was all she could tell.

… She couldn't do anything more for Celeste now, not without compromising the others upstairs. Carefully, she set the girl on the landing, stood back up, and forced her way forward.

The music grew louder. Once she reached the third floor, she instantly knew it was from the fourth. Groaning and clawing at the wall and her cane for balance, Mukuro pushed.

By the time she actually reached the fourth floor, she was envying Celeste. If only Sakura could be here to do this. She could probably ignore all of this pain, no problem.

She collapsed onto the floor. The music was blaring, now. There were guitars, a piano, a base, some trumpets… Wherever it originated, it had to be deafening.

Why am I kidding myself?

It had to be from the music room. She had no evidence for it, but she knew. And though she still couldn't discern the lyrics to the song, she could hear the voice. It was a high-pitched girl's voice, very technically skilled, and bursting with infinite energy and vigor.

The air was thick with despair.

Mukuro was more sweat and blood than flesh, now. She could just stay on the floor here and fall asleep. Even the music, deafening though it may have been, would not stop her.

She pushed herself to lean up against the wall. Slowly, painfully, she forced herself to stand up, and clawed her way forward one hand at a time. For the first time, she had a piece of good luck: the music room was the closest to the stairs.

"…ll across the naaaaaation

Hey there, hey there

It's time for an invasion!"

Mukuro swallowed, hard. She was shaking, for a thousand different reasons. Every step was a dagger in her feet.

"I'm not tired," she said through gritted teeth.

"Ultimate Soldier

Ultimate Despair

Nothing's gonna stop her, I swear, I swear

She's a good person, and so am I

Real truth need not apply!

Forget me now, forget me not

We all deserve pity

We're all so distraught!"

Mukuro gripped the corner where the hallway turned, groaned, and hefted herself to round it.

The hallway fed directly into the music room. In the distance, two double doors were wide open. Mukuro made out a stage with closed red curtains, and rows and rows of seats. A thousand floodlights in a thousand neon colors swept over the room. And the voice that thundered out of the room, it could have knocked her off her feet and thrown her back just by itself. Her ears were exploding, her skin was green and wretched.

Monokuma was there. He stood on either side of the hallway, five of him side-to-side. He danced, they danced, up and down, side to side, whorled hands in the air, doing handstands, breakdancing, hopping up and down. All of his heads twisted toward her, smiling that same evil smile, welcoming and beckoning her inside. From inside, another thousand Monokumas danced and jumped on the seats, each of them differently, each with just as much excitement. Some watched the stage, and some watched Mukuro, but they were all laughing, laughing that same screeching, monstrous cackle as a chorus to the song.

It was something out of a dream.

"Hey there, hey there,

Where is hope in a world of despair

Where's the hero of lies who's caught up in its snare?

Who built this world

Carved this world

And denied what unfurled?

M-M-M-M-Mukuro

Or the other one

Both of them, when they die, going down below

No matter what she wants

Hey there, hey there

You can't escape when it haunts!"

Mukuro's body moved on its own. She was a moth to the song's flame, and she couldn't stop now, even if she tried. Somewhere, Junko was watching this, and was on the verge of an orgasm.

She stumbled and smashed into one of the Monokumas. He fell over onto his back, and then jumped back up, whirled, and returned to dancing.

"Upfufufufufufu!"

She was in the music room proper, now. The doors slammed shut behind her. The sweeping floodlights grew brighter, brighter, until they blinded her. She raised a hand to cover her eyes, but it didn't help. The room was so hot. She could feel the sweat boiling off her skin.

The music was even more overpowering now. So many speakers, hanging from the ceiling, bolted to the walls, half-buried in the floor. Each note was a shock of lightning in her mind.

"M-M-M-M-Mukuro

Don'tcha-don'tcha-don'tcha know

Hey now, hey now,

What is a girl

But a bag of lies and sorrow?

Pukuro, I wanna hurl!"

The Monokumas pivoted on their feet to face her. Only half of them were dancing, now. The rest were cheering. They raised their fists, they put their hands on their bellies and chortled. Some of them had homemade signs and banners.

TEAM MUKURO

3 GURL PWR

TEAMUKURO

BUST THAT BITCH

SISTER BLISTER

SOLDERICAN IDOL

Mukuro's legs were jelly. She wasn't even sure how she was still breathing, never mind conscious.

She screamed something until her voice died, but it was lost in the music.

"Hey there, hey there,

All across the nation

Time for Mukuro

Face-to-face

with her

creation!"

The curtains drew back. Dark, thick fog burst out from behind, and froze Mukuro to the core. A tiny handful of the floodlights, twenty or thirty or so, pulled to the stage and to the center. A hundred Monokumas jumped onto its edge, rolled their arms back and forth, and flourished to present the star of the show.

She stood there, dressed shoulder-to-knee in her ruffled idol skirt. It was perfect, flawless in every way, and completed with knee-high boots. Her midriff was bare, as were her arms, shins, and much of her cleavage. Her blue hair whipped back and forth as her arms flew through the air, and where she might have worn a bow, she had only a familiar kitten hairclip.

The sense of the outfit was that it was pure white, but the lights made it impossible to tell. One moment it was blue, and then red, green, purple, and then a kaleidoscope of hues. It was blinding just by itself. Her pale skin and her eyes, which might normally have been blue, shifted color the same way.

She raised a hand, struck one of her practiced idol poses that would delight any crowd, and brought a microphone up to her white face, which lit up with excitement. Yet there was nothing in those eyes except despair.

Behind her, Monokuma played the piano. He strummed three guitars. He played the bass, he played the trumpet (how was he blowing into it?), he danced, he giggled, he jumped up to the ceiling and down from it. Four more Monokumas dressed in identical idol costumes stood flanking her, moving their arms and legs in tandem with her. It was a cacophony of roaring, crashing noise.

And behind him, Byakuya, Taka, Kyoko, Leon, Toko, and Hiro.

They were tied to a long wall, legs and arms spread-eagle. Ropes kept them secured, such that they couldn't even move their heads. Their clothes were ruffled and torn, as if they'd been attacked, but none of them seemed too injured. They weren't gagged, and many of them tried to call out, but there was no hope of saying anything above the music.

The idol suddenly had a knife. She threw it, but inexpertly. Even injured, even exhausted, even at the edge of her life, Mukuro had no trouble in blocking it with her crutch. It rebounded harmlessly into one of the Monokuma's eyes, who giggled, jumped back and into the air, and dutifully exploded.

The music came to a lull, surely at Junko's design, and Mukuro took advantage of it.

"Let them go!"

The singer's eyes rolled back into her head, and a crazed smile spread across her face.

She was lost.

"Mukuro," she cooed into the microphone, and her voice came from all directions. "M-M-M-Mukuro…"

Each time she made the M-sound, she struck another pose. Finally, she twisted so her back was to the audience, then leaned backward. Her head was upside-down now, facing Mukuro, and her lips smiled as much as frowned.

"Mukuro…"

She threw another knife. Mukuro effortlessly deflected it. It clattered to the floor.

"It's me you want." said the soldier.

"It's you I want!" said the idol, and she nodded eagerly.

"Then let them go, and you can have me."

"I have you either way." She jumped backward on the stage, stopping near Byakuya, and giggled madly. Mukuro tried to follow, but she foundered and landed on her knees. "Ultimate Despair!" cried the madwoman, and threw her head to the side. "Ultimate Despair! I love your clothes, they're the real you!"

I can stop her, Mukuro knew.

She only needed one shot. Throw the crutch, pierce the right leg, send her tumbling to the floor. Nonlethal, so long as she got medical treatment afterward.

Her grip tightened.

The idol danced, stepped back, and laughed as she took another pose. This one pushed out her chest.

"Drink that." she said in a crazed, high-pitched cackle, one that echoed from every direction.

She nodded to one of the chairs. This one lacked a Monokuma. Three of the floodlights centered upon it, and Mukuro saw a coffee mug filled with something. Its color was impossible to describe, but she could tell it was more sludge than liquid.

"Mukuro!" Kyoko cried. "Don't!"

The laughing idol had another knife. This one, though, she didn't throw. It was special.

It looked like two kitchen knives taped together at the handles, one blade pointed either direction. It was only possible to hold it over the silver duct tape, and even that came with the danger of stabbing your own arm. No sane person would ever go near it.

She raised it to Byakuya's throat. He moved his head back as far as it would go. Though Mukuro couldn't see his eyes past the many colors shining on his glasses, she knew he was staring at her, demanding she do something.

Mukuro could still take her down, easily, but it would come at the cost of his life.

He dies, and even if I kill her afterward, she counts as the only murderer. No one else dies, and we're all safe.

She looked at the Ultimate Affluent Progeny. He was sweating, hard, and even those little droplets shone as a rainbow underneath the lights.

Our friendship was always a lie, even back then. I only tolerated him for Junko's sake.

Sweat dripped off his chin. The knife pierced his throat, but only very slightly. The smallest drop of blood slid down its edge and mixed with the salty sweat.

Mukuro took the mug.

"Don't!" Taka and Hiro screamed at once.

She drank it in one gulp. The idol's eyes went wide with surprise, and she cackled in delight.

The slimy something oozed down Mukuro's throat. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

Whatever strength she had disappeared. She crumbled to the floor on her right side, immobile and useless. Her cheek pressed on the tile, and the world went sideways. Even her tongue was too numb to move. She could just about move her left arm and hand, but that was it. She didn't even feel the rest of her body, save the monstrous and disgusting pain eking down her throat.

"Mukuro…" the voice said, from everywhere at once. "Grab that knife."

Her eyes slid to the side. She couldn't move her head. The second thrown knife was there, close enough for her to take it.

She obeyed.

"Do you want to save the others?"

She nodded, or tried to. She wasn't sure if anyone could tell.

"Would you really die for them?"

She nodded again, if she had before.

"Then die!" the idol squealed. "Kill the Ultimate Soldier."

She raised the knife even closer to Byakuya's neck.

"Take it, and stab your right arm. Each time you stab it, I'll spare one person on the stage."

Mukuro weighed the idea again of throwing the knife. But she didn't have the strength or the leverage to guarantee success.

She raised her left arm, blearily, and brought it down near her right arm's radius.

She would have screamed if she could. Even still, everyone seemed to realize it: that this was a cruel joke by the alchemist responsible for that sludgy elixir, and that both her arms could still feel just fine after all.

Blood exploded out, and she felt every drop of it. If left untreated, she'd surely die.

The idol jumped back, and then her jaw dropped.

She thought I would throw it.

The knife scraped against bone, and it made all the pain she'd felt so far feel like the softest, most comfortable pillow in the universe.

"Hah… hah!" The Ultimate Despair with blue hair laughed, disbelieving. She clapped her hands together like a little girl and bobbed her head up and down. "Again, again, again!"

She danced over to Taka and held the knife his throat.

Mukuro tugged at her own knife for a moment, finally heaved it out, and raised it again. Blood dripped from it back into the open wound.

She brought it down again, this time near the ulna. Her aim was better, and it struck only muscle. The others all still winced, except Kyoko and Toko, the latter of whom stuck her long tongue out, and who was looking from side to side, confused.

Guess we lost her at the first stab…

"Again!"

She held the knife to Kyoko's throat. The detective didn't even flinch.

Mukuro dug the knife into her upper arm this time.

"Again!"

The knife was at Leon's. He looked down at her, his face a combination of incredulousness and horror.

She obeyed. She didn't know where it went this time, just that it was painful.

"Again!"

She held it to Jack's throat. The serial killer pursed her lips, but, rather out-of-character, restrained herself from saying anything.

Mukuro stabbed herself again.

"And… again!"

This last stab was for Hiro.

The idol watched her with a gleeful expression. She nodded up and down like a mercurial child, and smiled widely.

"Are you done?" she screeched.

Mukuro's face was too numb to move, but she would have raised an eyebrow if she could.

She looked down her right arm as best she could, the knife still embedded deep inside.

It was ruined. She would never use it again. At worst, it would have to be amputated. At best, it would hang limply off her body for the rest of her life.

Kill the Ultimate Soldier, indeed.

She looked back up to the stage. The newest Ultimate Despair was still there, playing with the knife.

"Stab your right arm. Each time you stab it, I'll spare one person on the stage."

Mukuro watched her for a long while. She was too full of spunk and euphoria not to be planning something.

She doesn't know that Celeste is still alive, and she doesn't have Hina… I'm not on the stage, so she must plan to kill me afterwards no matter what I do.

She looked first to Byakuya, then Taka, then Kyoko, then Leon, then Jack—

Oh, of course.

She pulled out the knife, and thrust it one last time into her right arm for Toko.

The blue-haired girl's expression twisted into rage that her surprise was ruined.

I *was* smarter than her, after all…

Mukuro would have smiled, if she could.

"Throw the knife to the side."

Mukuro did so. The Ultimate Despair jumped down from the stage, still holding her double-sided weapon. Mukuro's eyes moved to it.

She knew every weapon that ever existed. She was certain of it. And she knew that no one in history had ever taped two knives together like that. It was beyond useless; it was actively a threat to your own life. Not even an insane person would have a use for it.

The idol kneeled down over Mukuro, drooling with ecstasy and delight. She pushed her over onto her back, then towered over her. She moved a knee to rest on Mukuro's dead arm, and then another knee to pin down her still-good one.

"Still-good" in the sense that it could move, not that it was strong enough to resist.

Mukuro's head still faced the side. She could only see the other girl in the corner of her eye.

The floodlights all swept down upon the two of them. It was a nightmare of flashing colors, each battling for supremacy. The Ultimate Despair was nothing but a murky, wavering silhouette within it. All that was clear were the weapon and the white of her teeth.

"Makoto forgave me for the attempted murder," whispered the Ultimate Despair. "What would he think of you, if he'd known what you really were?"

It was a question Mukuro had wondered a thousand times.

"You thought you could lie to yourself, to everyone, and not be Mukuro Ikusaba. Well, guess what?" She chuckled for a moment, then fell into a full-on uproarious laughter that Genocide Jack would have been proud of. "You can't escape what you are, not by running, and not with lies."

She raised the knife and cut the shoulder straps of her outfit. The already scandalous top drooped off, and left her clad in nothing but a bra. Her face was red, or at least it probably was underneath the colored lights, and then she did the same for Mukuro, exposing her own smaller chest and bra.

"Can't run from the truth, even here." She swooned. "She told me you'd be small."

Junko couldn't have come to her in her room…

She would have gasped if her body had allowed it.

The fucking TV!

Why had she never considered that Junko could appear on anyone's TV, and not just her own? She must have driven her insane over the course of days and nights. For someone this fragile, it must have been child's play.

And Mukuro had known. Deep down, she'd known all along that something was wrong. Every time the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, every time she almost did something and didn't…

Lying to herself had brought this on.

The idol's eyes flickered to Mukuro's good arm. She grinned, and held the double-bladed knife as high as she could. She brought it down on Mukuro's exposed heart, though not as quickly as she was capable.

At the last second, her knee slipped, and Mukuro's arm shot up. She grabbed the center where the knives met, pushed back to save her life—

And the idol's arms went slack. Mukuro pushed the other knife almost into her chest—

She stopped it just in time. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion, despite the poison, this time, her eyes actually did go wide.

The Ultimate Despair convulsed and giggled.

"See now?" she screeched. "You wanted lies! You'll get what you wanted!"

She hovered her chest over Mukuro's so that the blades of each knife aimed at each of their hearts. She pushed down, and Mukuro resisted. Even like this, Mukuro was still stronger with one arm than the other girl was with both… But too much strength, and she'd accidentally push the blade up too far, and kill her.

The Ultimate Despair pushed down as hard as she could, and dug her knee deep into Mukuro's ruined arm. Mukuro pushed back—

And just barely managed to avoid stabbing it into the idol's heart, when she slackened her arms on purpose. The idol pushed down, Mukuro pushed up, Mukuro slackened, and the idol pulled back, trying to stab herself. Mukuro pulled back, the idol slackened, and Mukuro narrowly avoided killing herself.

The girl with blue hair laughed like a maniac.

Mukuro managed a glance over to the others. They were far back on the stage, and the flashing lights did no one any favors. As it was, they could probably barely tell what was happening. From their perspective, it would be impossible to tell who stabbed whom.

The Ultimate Despair leaned close, and now there was no space between them, except that which was occupied by the knife. There was nothing in her eyes except despair, woeful despair, even as she laughed and threw her head back, and drool dripped down from her lips and splashed across the broken girl's cheeks.

Mukuro tried to hold the knife firmly, but her hand was too shaky, and her opponent was too hale. Any slip-up would kill one of them for certain, and she knew that neither she nor Junko cared which.

The others were howling, screaming, but she couldn't hear them over the Monokumas' laughter and taunting. They were waving their banners again. One of them even had a flag with the Fenrir logo on it.

The idol relaxed her grip, and Mukuro did the same. Then she pushed harder, and Mukuro matched her strength.

The blue-haired girl laughed, and pulled the knife to her own heart. She scarred that perfect, pale chest, and Mukuro pulled back instinctively to save her.

Then the former's grip released without fully letting go of the knife, and Mukuro nearly stabbed herself.

Relax. Push. Relax. Pull. Push. Relax. Push. Mukuro was growing weaker and weaker, less able to even stay awake.

And then—

The knife drove into the blue-haired girl's chest.

The bears' laughter died instantly, as did her own. Blood spurted over Mukuro, and it was pink, because the lights turned to bright, clearheaded white all at once.

"Hah… hah…"

She lingered on for a moment, grinning ear-to-ear and laughing at the knife deep inside her own chest, and then fell backward onto Mukuro's knees. Her head slumped to the side, and her eyes were lifeless, and her spirit was gone.

No one in the room, not Mukuro, not even the girl who had been Sayaka, knew who plunged the knife into her heart.

"A body has been discovered!" a hundred robots shrilled at once.