The rest of the students are utterly in shambles, and in spite of her outwardly cool demeanor, Celeste is equally shaken. No amount of even shady underground gambling prepares one for the realization that, in effect, they'll have to kill to survive. Celeste, to her own credit, is quick to stabilize herself - part of a skilled gambler's repertoire is improvisation, after all. And to the end of improvisation, where others seem at a loss, she sees a possible opportunity. As the eccentric bear-bot disappears, she casts an eye around the room, observing the vibrant spectrum of anger, disbelief, and despair.
Owada Mondo's response needs no further analysis, she muses. She already knows everything she needs to know - impulsive, violent, and stupid - yet he remains a difficult proposition. In a killing game, such unpredictability makes for a dangerous opponent, but an unreliable ally as well.
And now, of course, he has punched the curious boy. Some luck, Celeste thinks to herself as the Ultimate Lucky Student slumps to the ground like a sack of potatoes. She angles away from his collapsed body and flinches inwardly at the piercing shriek that emanates from the bottomless lungs of Maizono Sayaka. The Pop Sensation chews at her obscenely perfect fingernails as Ogami Sakura effortlessly hoists the boy onto her shoulder, carting him off to somewhere. The incorrigible bluenette shuffles after them like an obedient puppy. Owada stalks off as well; Ishimaru Kiyotaka - the boy in white - shouts after him but is squarely ignored.
Celeste pauses to savor the implications of the scene. Whether the boy is lucky aside, tactful he is not; his provoking a thug like Owada is proof of that much. The first to die in this killing game, she understands, are the foolish and the naive. Her eyes follow the fading backs of the pair of fighters. They each have an air of power about them, an aura that makes them undeniably dangerous, but she does not fear them. Owada is headstrong and unadaptable; if her caring for the boy is any indication, Ogami is too compassionate to pose any sort of threat. Strong they may be, but fit to win this killing game they are not.
Finally, Celeste's gaze washes over the frigid stares of Kirigiri and Togami, before finally settling on her own obsidian skirt. If gambling has taught her anything, it isn't the strong that survive; it is the tactful and the lucky.
Celeste knows that Monokuma isn't to be taken lightly, and she understands that there is no way out of the school. Any effort to find one is a waste of valuable time and energy - she tells herself as much while, one by one, the rest of her peers file out in their respective groups.
Celeste hangs back as the students separate. It isn't lost on her that Kirigiri slips away immediately, as does Togami, the affluent progeny. Ishimaru had chased Owada out of the room, so he's already gone too. On the other side of the gym, Kuwata and the alleged clairvoyant, Hagakure, have already made nice - they seem to be salivating over the retreating figure of the blue-haired idol. It figures, she snorts, given that they seem equally airheaded; it's little surprise when the buxom swimmer joins them and they wander off in trio.
Celeste can't help but smile contentedly at her luck: one potential person of interest is left behind. By the back wall of the gymnasium, the timid computer genius Fujisaki is still reeling from the events of the prior fifteen minutes - weak, malleable, and ultimately useful. Celeste whips around, her helical extensions slicing through the air, and makes for the helpless girl- only to be cut off by Enoshima Junko. The bubbly fashionista calls out to the smaller girl, slings a slender arm around her shoulders, and strokes her hair, and off they go on what is undeniably a wild goose chase.
Instantly, the fire rages again. How DARE she, the empty-headed whore? Celeste's ears turn white hot and the red in her vision grows deeper as her blood begins to boil. Enoshima Junko - an inveterate scatterbrain, an insignificant worm that dares to threaten, to steal from, to humiliate Celestia Ludenberg!
And humiliate Celestia Ludenberg she certainly has! It isn't quite the same as getting picked last for a team in physical education, but the mortification rings in her head all the same. Enoshima Junko has boldly swept her aside like a minor inconvenience, if even that. She has stolen her prey, ruined her plans, and left her in the gym with the repulsive sweaty boy and the grotesque bespectacled girl. The overweight manchild tries to make conversation; the feral bitch all but growls in response.
A fanfiction writer and romance novelist, Celeste fumes. An ugly, uncouth scream bubbles in the back of her throat, and once again, she pushes it down with a prick from her gunmetal ring.
The lucky boy has woken up, Celeste notes. Everyone has gathered in the dining hall, sharing fruitless findings from ill-advised expeditions, but she finds himself oddly enthralled with his exaggerated reactions. He nods emphatically at simple revelations: there's a room for each of them, Ishimaru bellows, and the boy bobs his head like it's a mandate from the prime minister; the school has truly been cut off from the outside world, Fujisaki stutters, and the boy's eyes widen like he's seen a ghost.
She laughs; she can't help herself. She feels herself warm as confused, desperate, angry eyes turn towards her. Why is she laughing? How can she laugh? At a time like this? She's laughing at the boy, of course, but she feels her instinct and cunning kick into high gear. For the first time, she has a truly captive audience; just her luck, the others are playing right into her hand.
"I am just happy, that is all," she says. "It seems like splitting up to investigate was a good idea after all." Looks of doubt fly across the dining hall; Fukawa grumbles a nasty complaint under her breath.
"Is it not crystal clear to you what is going on?" Celeste continues as fourteen pairs of eyes, including the boy's wide brown saucers, return to her. "It is perfectly obvious that we have been imprisoned in some secret location, with no way out." The tension in the air seems to thicken as the words leave her mouth - a truth that everyone understands, but that nobody had wanted to vocalize.
The tension reaches a breaking point as her peers explode into a frenzy, talks of murder filling the room. As Maizono helplessly begs the rest to remain calm, Celeste steels her resolve to deliver the first nail in the coffin - all is going according to plan. Students shout over each other, and the atmosphere is fraught with desperation, despair, and ultimate opportunity.
"All we can do is adapt. Adapt to living our lives here from now on." Celeste's voice cuts through the rest, clear as day and sharp as the glinting tip of her gunmetal ring. "Survival is not based on who is the strongest or the smartest. It comes down to who can adapt." She feels the flames in chest leap, licking the back of her throat with their scalding, addictive heat. Everyone is watching her, listening to her; she goes on.
"As someone who has come out on top more than once, I have a suggestion. Regarding nighttime… school regulations do not actually tell us not to go out at night; I would like to make it official." She repeats her statement, firmly and incorruptibly: "Going out at nighttime should be prohibited altogether." Inane questions greet her, questions about why or how; she brushes them aside with ease. She holds her head high as pointed glances shoot from student to student; she knows her seeds have been sown. "Then, if you will excuse me… it is almost nighttime. I would quite like to take a shower before it arrives."
Her immovable poker face remains unchanged, but her heart pounds in her chest as she glides away from the group; even as she crosses the threshold to the dining hall, she casts an eye and ear behind her, pleading with whatever ambiguous deity that they follow her in stride. It soars into her throat when she begins to hear murmurs of agreement over the clicking of her heels, and it threatens to explode as she senses them turning to follow her to the dormitories.
Before retreating fully into her room, Celeste pauses and lends an ear to the shuffling footsteps that fill the hallway. The everpresent fire in her gut burns steady and low; it warms her heart as all of the doors close with a satisfying click.