Murder.
The word rang through Naegi's mind over and over, the echoes multiplying with every iteration until it drowned out any sounds from outside his own head. He hated the familiarity of it, the way he already knew the feel of the word in his mouth even without speaking it aloud. Why did he have to know such a horrible idea so well?
Because Junko was right. No matter how strongly he believed in the connections his friends had shared with one another in the past… he still had to recognize what had happened to them in the time since their memories had been lost. He'd thought a few moments ago that the undeniable truth of the past was a hole in her armor… but such a weakness went both ways. She couldn't erase the past… but he couldn't erase the present, either.
All the people he'd named really had been close friends. They had cared for each other deeply.
And they'd killed each other anyway.
Leon's admiration for Sayaka, both as a girl and as a performer who'd excelled in a field he appreciated, had been obvious from the start, during both of their "first" meetings. During that first year together, it had been the foundation for a friendship more genuine than either had expected… but here, in the killing game, it had become the bait that lured Leon into Sayaka's intended trap.
A shared love of fictional worlds had drawn Celeste and Hifumi together, even if their tastes had almost never overlapped. When they'd been classmates, Celeste's apparently sadistic treatment of Hifumi had been nothing more than an extension of that fiction for their own amusement, masking real affection for one another. But this time, the affection had never had a chance to develop, and Celeste's manipulation of Hifumi had been exactly as cruel as it seemed.
And Chihiro and Mondo… those two had liked and respected one another both times they'd met. Each boy had seen something in the other than they struggled to be. It had been so similar… but the endings had been so tragically different.
In a way, it almost seemed like Naegi had been right. The bonds between his friends hadn't disappeared. Even with their memories gone, enough of the foundations had remained for the killing game to twist it into darkness. And if that was the only way their friendships could have made it through the amnesia… then Naegi could almost wish that their past had been wiped away entirely. It was a terrible thought… but simple loss would have been much better than seeing something beautiful become so corrupted.
"It's a real shame, you know?" Junko said, with as little interest as if she were remarking on a gray and dismal sky. "All those people who said they cared about each other… but none of them cared enough to decide not to kill. I was kinda hoping there'd be at least one pair who could manage it, you know? It's not like I want to be right about everything. But that's just how it goes. Even among sixteen friends who promised to be loyal forever… no one could find even one example of someone who meant it."
No friends at all… not even one example? Every part of Naegi's being revolted against the thought, with a scream lodged too deep in his chest for the sound to reach his voice. It couldn't be true. He would not believe it.
There had to be something… just one pair that he and Junko had somehow overlooked, one shining example of a connection that hadn't been destroyed. He cast his mind back through the days of the killing game, forcing himself to think about horror after dark horror in his search for a single glimmer of light. Surely… surely not every pair had ended in tragedy.
Taka and Mondo had found a way to reforge the close relationship their amnesia had ruined. Remembering the morning he'd walked into the cafeteria to find them talking like brothers was almost enough to bring a smile back to Naegi's face… but not quite. He couldn't bring himself to smile for them, no matter how much he wished he could. Even if the two of them had begun to regain what they'd lost, it had barely lasted a handful of days before Chihiro's death and Mondo's execution.
But… they hadn't been the only ones. Of course they hadn't. How could he think otherwise when Hina and Sakura had clicked as quickly as ever in their second meeting? They'd truly cared for one another, with a bond that stretched across the empty gulf of their lost memories. No one could argue that their relationship hadn't been true and real, not after the fierce defense each had mounted in the other's defense. Sakura's connection to Hina had given her enough strength to defy the mastermind and abandon her role as a spy. And Hina's affection for Sakura had —
It had gotten her killed.
Naegi could still see her lying motionless in her own blood at the end of the fourth trial, murdered because she'd risked everything for the chance to apologize to her beloved friend. Yes, their relationship had been strong enough to endure beyond their lost memories… they'd found their way back to the closeness they'd shared before… and it had only dragged them both further into darkness. Hina had died… and so had the last spark of light in Sakura's eyes.
"It's impossible."
Junko's soft, empty voice spread through the room, coating it everything in a thin veil of gray. Even though her words were quiet, Naegi could hear them as clearly as if she murmured directly into his ears.
"There's no chance for any kind of friendship to survive."
Was she really right about it all? Were all the friends he cared about so much destined to end broken by despair? He didn't want to believe it… but without a way to counter her words, he didn't know how to stop them from seeping into his heart. The longer he listened, the harder it was to think of anything but the logical chain of words she was wrapping around him.
But even so… even with her words in his head… Naegi's eyes flickered away from Junko, back to the monitors around them… and back to the unchanging image of the bathhouse door. The door where he'd last seen Kyoko and Byakuya disappear… the door that hadn't opened yet.
"There's nowhere left for us to look for hope —"
"No."
It took every ounce of strength Naegi had to force that one word into the flow of Junko's whispers — but it stopped them all as sharply as a dam. She stared at him, lips still parted mid-sentence. He didn't know if she was simply startled, or if she was really listening to him… but he couldn't let this chance slip away.
"There is… one example," he said, clinging to the realization with every scrap of hope remaining in him. "There's still… one pair left. Byakuya and I… still care about each other. And even if it's bad now… nothing is over yet."
The only indication she'd heard him was a faint upward flick of one eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure death is about as over as it gets."
"But I'm not dead," Naegi countered. "And neither is he."
"Kirigiri might be."
"We don't know that!" Naegi glared at her, some measure of energy flowing back to him as he focused on the thought of Byakuya. "And until we do, you can't say that there aren't any people who care about each other."
Junko smiled, but the expression was even more hollow than her empty stare. "I guess we'll see."
