Makoto woke slowly, heavy sleep clinging to his eyelashes as he pried them apart. A warm, heavy weight appeared to be curled on his chest, and he blinked blearily to find a ball of cream fur inches from his nose. He laughed softly at the sight and ran a hand through the deceptively coarse fur.

"Good morning, Kofaku," he murmured. The purring grew in volume, but the ball refused to move. "Hey, come on, I gotta go to school," he urged, a traitorous smile twitching on his lips. No response. Makoto sighed and sat up as slowly as possible, watching as the blob rolled unconsciously down the blankets. An indignant grunt and a twitching of a tail later, a tortoiseshell cat sat perched on the mussed sheets, watching in undisguised annoyance as Makoto picked up his school uniform from the floor.

"I can still use this, right?" he mused. The cat's tail swung as the boy checked the uniform over and gave it a sniff before shrugging. "Should be fine," he muttered. Yellow eyes closed sleepily once more as Makoto tugged the shirt over his head before grabbing his bag. "Homework, workbook, calculator, wallet…I think that's everything." He nodded to himself, satisfied. He'd have to check again before he'd left, but he always made sure to check twice.

Makoto was always known to be clumsy. He tripped in places without anything to trip on, broken more backpacks than acceptable and tripped down more stairs than was safe. Forgetting homework, his wallet, his cellphone, they were all things Old Makoto did regularly. New Makoto was determined to make a better impression. He was, after all, a student of Hope's Peak Academy; the best of the best. He should probably act like it, or at least give his all towards that image.

Makoto jogged down the stairs, leaving behind a sleepy Kofafu, bag bouncing against his back and hand firmly on the railing. Downstairs, the smell of breakfast wafted, his mother and father already seated, as well as his sister Komaru, who blinked blearily in the bright sunshine.

"Morning!' he greeted.

"Mnfing," she replied.

"Good morning, Makoto," his mother echoed warmly. His father merely grunted, but the soft smile he wore and the flicker of his eyes said all that was needed. His plate was already set in his space, a golden omelette wonkily served off centre. He slid into place and murmured his thanks, before digging in. It was warm and soft, and the savoury flavour melted on his tongue. It was by no means perfect; the edges were dry and overcooked in areas, and it lacked that extra pizzazz, the missing flavour that moves average cooking to good or even great; but it was home cooking, and Makoto appreciated every bite.

Not everyone in his class got to experience cooking like this; in fact, most of his class lived in the apartments provided by the school, where they were mostly provided for, except food, clothes and linen. Even he, as nothing more than a lottery winner, was offered a room. He'd been tempted at first, but declined. Maybe if he'd known his classmates for even a short while, he might've accepted. But moving into an apartment complex filled with strangers, even if they were classmates; it, well…it seemed lonely. It wasn't that far from his house to his school, luckily. Much farther than the dorms, of course, but still close enough he could walk. And being here, at home, he had so much more. Unless you had special permission, pets were forbidden in the dorms, and the on campus diner was expensive. Here, he had Kofaku, home cooked meals every night and every other morning, and the company of his family. Plus, after meeting some of the students from the year above him, he's sure he probably gets more peace and quiet here.

Just the other day, he met one of the upperclassmen, a wacky and intense girl by the name of Ibuki. I'm not sure whether Ibuki is her first or last name, Makoto thought dryly as he chewed. But she sure was…enthusiastic. Ibuki's declaration that she lived in the dorms firmly and instantly dissipated any regrets Makoto had about not staying in the dorms. Speaking of Ibuki, I'm supposed to play with her today, aren't I? That'll be an experience…

Makoto rose, putting his plate on the sink and slipping on his shoes. After rifling through his bag one more time, he swung it onto his back and made for the door.

"See you tonight!" he called over his shoulder, before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Settling down at his desk, Makoto sighed in relief. Despite his early departure, he'd almost been late yet again, after being distracted by a cat stuck in a tree. Of course, it hadn't really been stuck, he cringed to himself. It had just been overly dramatic and desperate for attention. Once he'd tried, and failed at getting it down, it had had no qualms using his face as a spring board when it had leapt from the branch above. Junko would have found that hilarious, he thought mournfully. But of course, she hadn't been there. She'd ditched walking with him in the mornings a few days after they started dating in fact. And she's not here now, either! Makoto huffed.

"Makoto!" a stern, sharp voice snapped him out of his reverie. He flinched, swinging his head to meet a pair of crystal blue eyes shadowed by a pair of fragile looking spectacles. Byakyua. The scowl he wore was deeper than usual, which meant he wasn't happy either. He's going to get frown lines early if he's not careful, he thought absentmindedly.

"Where were you? Students without a role were supposed to meet here before class, at 7am sharp!" Byakuya hissed.

Makoto gaped and spluttered. "Since when?!" he demanded.

"I put up the notice after class yesterday in the dorm lobby," he stared down Makoto coldly. Makoto resisted the urge to shiver.

"I don't stay in the dorm, Byakuya," Makoto explained. "I still stay at home since it's not so far from here, so I wouldn't have seen your notice."

Byakuya's eyebrows rose for a moment as a temporary look of surprise flashed quickly across his face. It was quickly replaced by a smug look. "Hmph. I shouldn't be surprised; at least the school is wise enough at least to conserve their resources for students that actually matter. Title or not, spending resources on a lucky student would be a waste. Either way, I hope you deign yourself to actually attend the meeting that was postponed to lunchtime today." And with that, he was gone, and the teacher strode into the classroom, signalling the start of class.

Makoto just rolled his eyes and settled down for the lesson, groaning internally as the teacher began to scrawl math equations across the board.

He stretched. Two and a half hours, filled to the brim with calculus, headaches and again, a suspicious lack of Junko. At least nobody made me fetch her this time. He yawned.

"MAKOOOTTOOOOO!" A new voice, more an ear-spliting scream than a shout, echoed across the room. Makoto turned, spotting a black and purple blur hurtling towards him, leaping desks and leaving terrified students in its wake. He had only an instant to brace himself before the collision sent him tumbling off his chair.

"Hey, hey, you ready to rock with Ibuki?! You totally promised me that you'd join my band today, remember?!" Ibuki's face peered down on at his own, long, multicoloured hair brushing his face and tickling his nose. He wheezed.

"Huh? What was that? You're not making a lot of sense. C'mon, you gotta get up so we can ROCK!" she ended with a shout. She curled her arms and began an enthusiastic air guitar performance.

"Ibuki," Makoto protested weakly. "Can…can you please maybe get off? You're still sitting on me. It's making it hard to breathe."

The musician blinked and let out a loud (if somewhat exaggerated) gasp of surprise. She was indeed, still sitting on the lucky student, legs either side and firmly seated on his stomach. "Oops," she laughed. She jumped to her feet with the grace of an acrobat and moved to the side. Makoto, airways finally free, began to cough as he sat up.

I really hope she didn't break anything, he thought mournfully. She really threw herself at me! I could've really been hurt. I guess the upperclassman are even more irresponsible than my class. A voice like cold, clear cut glass broke through the atmosphere, shattering Ibuki's excited vibes instantly.

"Oh no, you don't." Byakyua stood poised, shoulders squared as he stared down the hapless pair, Makoto sat on the floor, Ibuki turning in surprise. "Makoto has a meeting today with the rest of his class. Your musical nonsense will have to wait."

"Whaaat?!" Ibuki whined. "But me and little Mako were planning this for ages!"

Little?! Wait, Mako? Where did that come from? Also, we organised this two days ago. I don't think that counts as 'ages'…

"This is more important than some morons messing with musical equipment. Find someone else to practice with. You have a whole class of your own, do you not?"

"Ehh?" Ibuki whined again. "That's not fair! Ibuki would ask her own class, but everyone's been acting weird lately, and no one will play with Ibuki! Even Hiyoko won't dance with me anymore…Makoto's my only hope!" she insisted.

"I don't care if your class has finally wizened up to your awful music," Byakuya began.

"Nah, they're actually, like, suuuper weird!" Ibuki whispered dramatically. "They're still like super crazy, but like, it doesn't feel right, ya know? Like, it's crazy, but it doesn't feel like fun crazy! And some of them have gotten so mean and weird."

Byakuya blinked at her. "Even so," he continued slowly. "Makoto has important work to do in relation to this year's school festival, and as a lucky student with no talent to showcase he's expected to work exceptionally hard."

"Fine," Ibuki sulked. "We'll have to rock together another day, Neggs." She dramatically made her way to the doorway, before turning with a huge grin. "I won't forget!" she warned him, then sidestepped out the door and disappeared.

"Thank god," Byakyua sighed. Makoto mirrored him internally. I think my kidneys are bruised.

"Now then," Byakyua continued. "It's about time to start the meeting. Everyone, gather round!" he called. Within a minute, and a dash of bickering, the majority of the class stood in a circle around the young heir. "Everyone, quiet, while I give you your parts!" he scowled.

"Hey, hang on, now!" Hiro exclaimed. "You can't just do that! This supposed to be, like, a team effort!" he insisted.

"He has a point," Hifumi pointed out.

"D-Don't you d-dare argue w-with the m-master! W-What m-makes you think you k-know b-better, huh!" Toko whirled to stare down the two boys. They each took a step back and seemed to quiver.

"You all had your chance to prove yourselves as organised and reliable individuals yesterday, and failed," Byakyua sighed, glasses glinting. "Since you're all obviously too incompetent to actually make efficient and logical decision, I figured I'd make it for you. Sayaka, you're the director," he began.

"W-Wait, hold up, didn't you and Kyoko both want to be directors yesterday?" Leon exclaimed, accusing.

"Hmph. Yes, well, I decided that the talents I possess were much more suited as a producer instead," he admitted, pushing his glasses up absently. "Kyoko, you're the lead sorceress. Your stoic personality fits the part perfectly. Hifumi, Taka, you're in charge of creating props."

"Understood!" the two boys cheered.

"Chihiro, you're in charge of programming the lighting. Mondo, Mukuro, you're the knights. Celeste is the queen, and Toko, you're the maid."

"You have good taste," smiled Celeste as Toko gasped in horror.

"Asahina, you're the Princess's best friend, Sakura, you're the Rebel leader."

"I'll try my best," Sakura smiled to herself.

"Leon, you're the Duke's son, who is also the rebel supporter and informant,"

"That's pretty sweet, I guess."

"And finally, Makoto, you can play the Prince, and Junko the Princess."

"…"

"…"

"What?!" Makoto yelped. "I-I, I can't be the Prince! I haven't even properly acted before! Can't you give the lead to someone used to the spotlight?" he begged, breathless with panic. Everyone would be watching him. Watching him fail at acting. At Hope's Peak, none the less, where everyone is supposed to be the best.

"Of course not," Byakyua replied indignantly. "I already chose the parts. Besides," he reasoned smugly. "I told you before, didn't I? You don't have a talent display, so you're expected to pull your weight even more here than anyone else."

Makoto stared at him, his soul slowly leaving his body.

"Junko requested the part of the Princess, of course." He added. "And with her acting skill, I figured she would be up to the task. The Prince doesn't have nearly as many lines, but he does have to kiss the Princess in the end. Being your girlfriend, I believed I was doing you a favour by casting you as the Prince."

Makoto nodded dumbly. He was the Prince. A very important main character, and on top of that, he was going to have to kiss Junko at the end. He felt himself going pink at the thought. It wasn't that he hadn't actually had his first kiss yet, or even that he hadn't kissed Junko yet; they'd been dating for a couple months by now, and they'd definitely covered both bases. It was, well…

When Junko had first kissed Makoto it had been sudden. Sudden and rough and forceful. It had been exhilarating, and he'd appreciated every moment (because Junko was a great kisser) but it ended in a flash. One moment, she was there, another she was moving. It was how a lot of their early relationship worked. Junko was always moving, moving on, moving to, doing, changing. Nailing her down, expecting romantic nights and hand holding and slow kisses; an impossible dream.

He had a relationship with Junko; what it was, exactly was more difficult to define. Junko had asked him out with obvious romantic implications; now, he was her babysitter, a man with a very dangerous wolf at the end of a thin chain possessing the knowledge that he was safe only at the wolf's decision. It wasn't healthy, but it certainly wasn't romantic. Even so, even so, Junko had asked him. Him, of all people, and every time he asked, she confirmed that they were dating. When he could find her, of course. She wasn't here even now, he noted with disappointment. He knew there was supposed to be romance in their relationship, and he…he wanted it. He wanted it so badly. He understood Junko better than everyone except her sister, and knowing that she was supposedly his made him want something. But talking didn't work with Junko. Exposing weakness didn't work with Junko. And she'd never willingly give what he wanted.

She didn't actually love him after all.

So he'd wait. He'd wait until she'd get bored, and she let him go, like a leaf in the wind, or a piece of rotting fruit.

That was the plan, anyway. Except now, he was supposed to kiss her; and not a peck, or a swift and cold kiss, but a romantic passionate one, if he remembered the script correctly.

Junko had his claws in him, he thought mournfully. And the play just made it so much harder to dig them out.

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Here's chapter 3. I don't have much to say this time except Makoto's really not happy anymore. See you next time? P.S Yes I gave him a cat cause cats are great and I think its like International Cat Day or something.