Danganronpa SYOC Chapter 1
Amai took a shuddering breath. Her throat bubbled with hot blood.
"Please, please, no…" she gurgled. She wiped her mouth with a trembling red hand. "Please."
Her vision wavered with tears and haggard illusions. Standing above her, Hisakawa wordlessly eyed her with unconcealed relentlessness.
"Do it," the Ultimate Debater demanded.
Fear snaked along the floor and choked her along with the blood in her throat. "God, no! Please, no!" With a heaving wheeze, Amai startled away from Hisakawa on her elbows. Her head spun with the taste of blood and cold tears. "D-Don't," she croaked, throat rippling and stomach squeezing. "Don't do it."
Hino held a knife dripping with blood. Her blood. Several times, he swapped the knife and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. "I-I…" he gagged and choked on the lump in his throat. "I-"
Amai backed into the wall. She jerked and clumsily staggered onto her side. Exploding pain riveted in her stomach. Startled, she coughed into the carpet, her throat sticky and wet. Blood splattered across the floor of the room. Her vision turned the world bleak, and her ears muffled the sound of the sea for a few frightening seconds. Every small inhale and exhale brought upon an onslaught of vicious fluid that dragged its way despairingly down her throat. She stopped trying to breathe through her mouth.
She gripped tightly onto the red carpet. Her nails clenched her blood resentfully.
"You're absolutely amazing, Amai!" her mother cried, as she wrapped her warm, warm arms around Amai's shoulders.
"I don't really think so…but thank you, Mum," she replied back, her heart full and thumping.
"The line says otherwise," her father added from the kitchen, his big hands caked with flour and cinnamon. "My baby girl's a genius!"
Amai glanced outside their modest bakery, watching as the queue snaked into the parking lot. The air twirled the morning scent of baking pastries and city hustle. It was loud, hot, and stuffy, but absolutely perfect.
"You're horrible." Amai hissed, as she clenched the carpet. She curled into a ball and clutched at her bleeding stomach. "Die alone!"
There was a flash of anger, and Hisakawa ripped the knife from Hino's hands. Immediately, the unnerved boy tried to take it back.
"No! Hanako, if you kill Yakusuga, you'll become blackened!" he protested.
Hisakawa shoved him aside and gripped the knife until her knuckles whitened. "I can come up with a million counters for that argument," she said easily, and pointed the blade in Amai's direction.
The Ultimate Baker stared down the blade in Hisakawa's hands. In vague satisfaction, she didn't flinch. Threateningly, a wave of black rolled over her, blocking her vision and faltering her breaths. Amai pressed her fingers deeper into her stomach. Pain reared its ugly face into the picture. She grimaced. That was good. Pain meant that she wasn't dead – yet.
"Y-Your hands," she laughed breathily. "Your hands are shaking."
Hisakawa, determined, did not look down. "Well played, Miss Baker."
It was too much. The pain crashed over her in relentless waves. She was being dragged under and under, blood filling her lungs, thick and coarse like seawater. Her hands quaked and clasped numbly. Distantly, she recalled the feeling of the morning sun glazed over her face and the squish of damp dough under her fingers. Her body shook as she sobbed loudly.
She remembered waking up to the smell of strawberries and waffles. She remembered, just yesterday, the chocolate mess spilled over the kitchen counter. She remembered promising to clean it up after she got back from school – there'd be ants otherwise.
Now she was here, the cold descending onto her body and normality slipping from her fingers. There, but intangible.
Dragging the loosening pieces of her mind together, Amai tried to imagine the orange walls of her bakery and the warm, loving hands of her family.
I'll miss you, Mother, Father.
The rocking sea slowly flattened, and the hot, sweaty air started to cool.
I love you both.
Her fingers loosened and her eyes blurred out.
A girl with short, dark blonde hair throws herself into the room. Aeron jumps and slams into the wall. His heart thumps wildly in his chest.
Purple eyes blown wide, the girl holds her hands out and says something. Aeron thrashes with the sheets gripping securely onto his wrists.
The girl flounders and panics. She says another thing.
Aeron stops moving. He rushes through words floating in his head.
I can't hear, he thinks he says. His throat constricts and itches.
The girl freezes.
Then she nods understandingly. She steps further into the room and starts pulling out several drawers hastily. Aeron watches as she rifles through each one, coming up either empty handed or with a pen clutched between her lavender-nailed fingers.
Finally, she pulls out a grey journal from a wooden cabinet and brandishes it victoriously in his face. She tells him something and starts testing out the many pens on the cover.
Aeron stands, trapped, his knees and arms shaking. There's a girl on this ship – a teenager like him, yet…
She wears a neat, floral white apron dress, translucent black tights, and grey flats, all touched up with a chocolate-stained purple apron tied firmly to her slim waist. Her pale, porcelain skin is untouched and unblemished. She walks around with certainty and determination. There are no marks of struggle on her hands.
Aeron looks at his arms, at his knees, dotted and flowered with purple bruises. His wrists are red and glint angrily in the white light. Panic and doubt creeps up his spine like a long-legged spider.
The girl finally finds a pen that leaves behind ink trails instead of engraved lines. She flips open the tattered journal and scribbles cursive onto the first yellowed page.
I'm Yakusuga Amai. I'm going to set you free.
Aeron looks up and stares into the girl's determined gaze.
She continues writing.
However, I'm going to be using a knife to cut the sheet, is that alright with you?
Fear slides down his throat. He takes the journal and pen and backs away from her. With shaky fingers, he writes jaggedly: I don't trust you.
The girl, Yakusuga, gives him a patient, compassionate look and gently pries the writing materials away from his hands. I won't hurt you. I'm just as scared as you. They meet each other's gaze. Her eyes churn with unbridled kindness and warmth. However, underneath her swirly gaze, Aeron undoubtedly sees the prickles of fear etching itself into her irises.
Tense and riddled with exhaustion, Aeron presses his forehead against the cold pole, feeling the iciness of the metal sink into his overworking brain.
Yakusuga shoves the pen and journal into his hands and pulls a long, thick knife from the pocket of her apron. She begins to saw easily at the sheets holding his wrists together, keeping the blade distant from his skin.
Aeron attempts to write with the pole obscuring his vision.
Where did you get the knife?
Yakusuga stops for a split second to the read the page, then pockets her knife as she answers. In my room. Everyone has one. She gestures to the far wall. You have one, too, in that drawer.
She hands him back the pen and starts to vigorously attack the sheets.
Aeron mulls over the new information. Everyone has a knife? His eyes dart to the metal drawer Yakusuga pointed to. He can't see from where he's standing, but the drawer's open, so she must've seen it. However, what stands out most is the word 'everyone'. Does that mean that there are more people here? Are they tied up as well?
Everyone? Aeron scribbles on the book.
Yakusuga stops, knife poised halfway through the sheets. She peers at him through her layered hair. Yeah, people from Hope's Peak.
Hope's Peak.
The name rips through his mind and unzips a flood of memories. He remembers the clean printed acceptance letter, approaching the large irons gates, walking into his classroom filled with unidentifiable faces-
I'm from Hope's Peak as well! he fills in hastily. He waves the book in her face to get her attention.
Yakusuga patiently puts her activities on hold again and skims over his messy writing. A smile slowly grows on her face. That's great! So am I! After a second of hesitance, she writes again, slowly. Do you remember your Ultimate?
Aeron pauses. Yes, yes, he remembers. Fossilised jaws in museums, imprinted footprints the size of his arm, the proud smile of his father. I'm the Ultimate Palaeontologist.
He sends her a questioning look once she finishes reading. Immediately, Yakusuga understands what he's trying to say. Ultimate Baker :)
Finally, she cuts through the last, stubborn string and cheers in triumph. With a shake, he is free. Aeron watches as she smiles with an open mouth. She must be laughing. He imagines that its soft and vibrant – one filled with bubbles and blooming flowers – one that makes a rise in your chest. Unfortunately, he only looks as she smiles radiantly and clasps his hands in hers. Her silver bracelet digs into his skin. It's rough, but human. He notices that it dangles a pink cupcake and a blue paper cup. He finds this strangely fitting.
She takes the pen and writes with the smile still stuck on her face. I need to take you to see everyone! She snaps the book closed and smacks it against his chest. Without waiting, she tugs him on his strained, raw wrist, dragging him out the door and onto the steps of the wooden deck.
The boat rocks and sways, but Yakusuga's grip is firm and warm.
When Aeron steps outside, the sun engulfs him.
The white light spreads and dissipates around the corners of his eyes. Past the veil, he sees the ocean's blue body, undulating with heavy heaves. Seagulls cry out soundlessly, beaks agape and wings spread like beach falcons. Beyond their gliding forms, Aeron sees the touch of horizon and sea, the sky a cloudless, weightless blanket hanging over them. Salt punctuates the smell of the rusty rails. His bare arms are scooped up gently by the soft sun-dipped wind. It's absolutely beautiful.
He glances over. Yakusuga stands with her back against the sun. Outside, he notices her faint orange freckles and the light, pink and yellow flowers gardened across her dress. On even ground, she stands taller than him. She smiles, and her florid cheeks lift as she does. Most of us are gathered in the restaurant. Her hand manoeuvres delicately on the worn page. She grabs a black and white strawberry pin from her pocket and clips it to the left of her hair, holding back several messy strands.
She points down the deck and starts pacing. Aeron follows, his feet uneven and weak.
Yakusuga opens the door to stagnancy. Aeron peers from behind her shoulders at the stillness of the air inside the restaurant. Their presence interrupts whatever delicate tranquillity the room held. Without open expressions of welcome, eyes trace them as they step inside. Aeron feels someone's gaze violently scrutinise his form. When he glances back, he sees that the door is shut, letting in mild sunlight through rounded windows. It's harder to breathe inside. The air trembles with the precarious balance of cautiousness and hostility.
From a table with two girls, one of them stands abruptly. Aeron watches as she adjusts her red bangs and straightens her short-sleeved, white jacket before she starts treading their direction.
Yakusuga gently touches Aeron's elbow to grab his attention. I'm going to the kitchen to make everyone bread. Anything you prefer?
Before he can reply, the redheaded girl mouths a 'hello', and Yakusuga's out the door.
TSUKINA NATSUKI
Tsukina wants to help. She wants to help in all the ways she possibly can. She wants to lift the pressure from everyone's shoulders and watch as the seriousness in their faces—seriousness that is too cynical and mature for teenagers—disappear and fade into optimistic smiles.
However, confined to the restaurant, she can't do much but smile and insist that she can help; that she'll be there—morally or physically—for everyone whenever they need her. She sits across Sasaki, the Ultimate Linguist, who's skimming through a book on traditional Chinese. Sasaki writes down notes in French with an unoccupied hand.
"Sasaki," Tsukina tries. She desperately wants a companion to talk to. Pauline intimidates her—mainly because she has not seen someone more beautiful in her life, and Watanabe tells her to leave him be, before the thought of even wanting to talk to him comes.
Without glancing up, Sasaki hums in acknowledgement.
"Did you eat well this morning?"
Yakusuga made them crumpets and cinnamon buns, despite the limited resources in the kitchen. They were wonderful and warm—Tsukina's first bite into a bun made her eyes water. She's extremely grateful for the baker's kindness that stretches without halt, even in the dire situation.
"Yes," Sasaki replies, though it sounds non-committal.
Testing the waters, Tsukina asks another question. "How are you feeling?"
"Sure," Sasaki replies, without a pause.
Tsukina blinks. She pushes her glasses up her nose. "If your body aches, I can walk you through some exercises!"
Sasaki makes a wry noise. Tsukina is unsure if it is a noise of confirmation or agitation. Sasaki's hands scribble restlessly onto the paper, and Tsukina gives up, realising that she can't start a conversation with the linguist, either. She huffs and starts playing with her fingers. Sasaki is a sweet girl with two, coral-coloured ribbons holding her purple plaits together. Her hair is very long, and reaches her waist. She keeps her fringe side swept, and there are several occasions where she has to brush it out of the way when she's writing. She has many scars and burn marks—faded long ago—that twist around her legs, right arm, and hands. Tsukina wonders about how painful it must've been. She wonders about how many more are hidden underneath her pastel pink dress. She assures herself that there can't be much more, because the dress is shoulder length and cuts at her knees. Tsukina notices a white cardigan wrapped tightly around Sasaki's waist. The linguist has knee-high white, lacy socks, and pairs them with red Mary-Janes. Sasaki wears simplistic pearl bracelets and necklace. On her right hand, however, is a plastic strap.
Tsukina recognises the strap as something medical. She squints to see it, without making it obvious that she's (only slightly) spying. In print is Sasaki's full name, date of birth, home-phone number, and medical jargon. She surprises herself for being able to understand it. Though her Ultimate requires some background medical knowledge, most of her work is practical. The strap implies that Sasaki has some sort of pain insensitivity, but that's all she can catch before the linguist moves her hand to flip a page.
Tsukina sighs and sinks back down into her seat. She feels restless—having no knowledge of who needs her help, or if she can even be of service. Just as she is about to stand and exit the restaurant, the doors are thrown open.
HANA SASAKI
Hana watches as Yakusuga exits the room, but not before a cold breeze slips through and envelopes the room with its chill. The boy glances back worriedly, almost absentminded at Natsuki's approach.
"Hello!" Natsuki chimes. The boy's eyes flicker across her face and around the room, as if he's unsure where to look. Hana fiddles with the coral-coloured ribbons in her hair. She has a hunch, but is uncertain about acting on it. She does not want to be wrong and offend the boy because of her mistake.
"You have bruises," Natsuki observes. Hana perks up from her chair and observes the boy. It's true—he has faint, purple blemishes that bloom on his arms and shins. She remembers Saito pulling her into a room and showing the bruises on his stomach. She tries to correlate the reasoning behind the markings, but comes up empty. What do the boy and Saito have in common? She draws her attention back as Natsuki places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are you still in pain?"
The boy makes a confused sound, and it's sudden enough to make even Natsuki falter. However, for Hana, it's like the final snap of a clog being fit into place.
"Natsuki," she calls, as she stands from her seat. Natsuki whirls around, apprehension stretched across her pretty features. "He has a hearing impairment."
Natsuki gapes and her expression sinks. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"
The boy, still confused, glances around for an explanation. When they lock eyes, Hana starts signing to him. Hello, I'm Sasaki Hana; I'm the Ultimate Linguist. Who are you? She fixes him her warmest smile. She can understand the perturbation that he must be feeling. She wants to bring as much ease to him as possible.
The boy rushes to reply. I'm Aeron Murasaki, Ultimate Palaeontologist.
Hana voices his introduction to Natsuki, who smiles in understanding.
"I see!" she chirps. "I'm sorry if I was too forward."
Hana relays this to Murasaki, who nods affirmatively. Please come to me if you need any help, Hana offers. I'll try my best to aid you.
Murasaki nods again. Thank you, he signs, before he pulls out a book and writes something in it that he shows to Natsuki.
Hana wants to get up and translate his conversations, and feels a slight sting in her chest about Murasaki not asking her for help despite her offer. However, she remains seated and waits patiently for Saito to return.
The girl in front of him blinks owlishly behind her bifocal glasses. She points to the book in his hands. Aeron hands her the tattered journal and watches as she takes it carefully.
Sorry, I didn't know, she writes elegantly, her characters large and filling up the lines. I'm Natsuki Tsukina, pleased to meet you! I'm the Ultimate Occupational Therapist! Are you experiencing any form of discomfort? When she writes this, she does a little flourishing jog, and her black gym tights stretch along with her legs.
Aeron wants to say he feels like dying, but doesn't want her to worry again. Instead, he declines with a smile.
Natsuki frowns. Her eyes dart to the bruises on his legs for a noticeable second, but she doesn't bring it up, thankfully.
That draws Aeron's attention to her light olive skin. Like Yakusuga, she seems untouched of blemishes and forms of struggle. Was it just him who was tied up? Why only him?
As if the questions floated above his head, Natsuki answers in the book: When I woke, the seams on the sheet were already fraying. I tore through them with my teeth! She finishes with a smile, proud.
Aeron simply nods.
Natsuki adjusts her glasses with a quick hand. Her diamond studs catch the light as she does so. Shall I introduce you to everyone?
Aeron glances at the two other girls in the room, one inspecting her nails and another hunched over the table with her back to them. He's not really feeling it. Wanting to decline without looking rude, he shrugs.
Fantastic! I'll show you to Pauline first, she's super pretty! Natsuki writes enthusiastically, while Aeron dies inside. The Ultimate Occupational Therapist does the thing girls do where they throw their hair over their shoulder, and she gently slides the book back into his hands. Aeron holds it tightly and tries not to sweat at the notion of meeting people. Natsuki sweeps her bangs to the right and brushes off non-existent dust off her black shirt. When she turns around, Aeron notices that her hood has two cat ears.
Natsuki dodges past the tables and stops at the furthest wall from the door. Aeron follows, and sees a long-legged, slender girl sitting in one of the chairs, poised elegantly. She's wrapping her hair into a high ponytail and is securing it with a white ribbon. When she sees him, she perks up. She stands and extends a hand. Aeron takes it hesitantly. Her shake is warm and modest. She gestures politely to the book tucked under his arm.
So she heard, Aeron thinks. He gives her the book and pen.
Hello, my name is Pauline Celeste, Ultimate Runway Model, she marks neatly. It's a shame that we have to meet under these weird circumstances. Something in her green eyes glints as she writes this. That's a very nice shirt.
Aeron glances down. It's a dark green polo with hints of dirt scattered across the collar. He remembered picking it off the end of his bed.
He looks at her shirt. It's a light pink crop-top, flawlessly ironed and paired with short jeans. She also wears noticeable red boots with deadly looking heels.
Thank you, he writes, because it's easier. I like your face. Models like having their faces and figures complimented, right? Or were they tired of it?
Pauline flashes him a camera-worthy smile, and it shines along with her heart-shaped diamond earrings. Okay, good, he didn't mess this one up. I'm Aeron Murakami, Ultimate Palaeontologist.
The model's jaw drops. She takes the pen and writes excitedly, black hair bobbing as she does so. That sounds cool! Tell me about it?
Aeron panics. I dig up dinosaurs.
He's not used to elaborating his Ultimate. Most people say, 'cool' and move on, but Pauline is of a species he has not ever encountered before: the I-extend-conversations-because-I-like-humans kind.
Oh, Pauline writes. That's it. She doesn't continue. Aeron closes the book and gives her a tight-lipped nod. She nods back.
Natsuki taps his shoulder and gestures to the last girl sitting in the corner. Glad to leave, he trails after her.
Aeron sees the girl twitch at the sounds of approaching footsteps, but she doesn't turn around. She doesn't flinch when Natsuki places a hand on her shoulder. The two must be talking, because to Aeron's eyes, nothing is progressing.
Eventually, the girl turns, her wavy, low-hanging, honey-brown ponytail flying in its own desolate rage. Aeron does a double take. He starts doubting his own intuition. She has pale, tight skin that wraps around her oval shaped face, almond eyes printed with dark brown irises, and thick-rimmed glasses that hang low on her pointed nose bridge. Just as he takes note of it, she pushes it up with a quick motion of her finger.
Is she really a female, though?
Her light blue, short sleeved blouse hangs on her thin frame, topped with a navy and red tie. The top button is undone, but not messily. She adorns brown knee-length shorts, held together with a belt that has a skull-shaped buckle. With the clothes, she looks androgynous.
Natsuki ends the conversation, and the subject in question holds their palm out, making a sharp, beckoning motion.
Thoroughly confused, Aeron hands them the journal.
Since there is time, if I must, I'm Watanabe Riku. I am the Ultimate Anatomist. After a short pause, they continue. You must have read some of my works?
Aeron has no idea who this is. He nods anyways.
Delighted, they write with thinly pressed lips. I'll be going back to work now.
Aeron glances behind Watanabe. There's a textbook about the size of his head on the table, its thick contents opened about three-quarters through. Just before they turn around, though, Aeron grabs their shoulder and writes furiously.
Sorry if I'm being rude, but are you a boy or girl?
An awkward, unmoving density fills the corner. Watanabe's lips twitch derisively. Male, he writes succinctly, and pushes his glasses up. If you'll excuse me.
Aeron's about done. He can't do humans. He nods politely to the working boy, and writes quickly to Natsuki that he's heading out to find Yakusuga. The Occupation Therapist accepts with a blinding smile, and Aeron rushes out of the restaurant.
Outside, the sun is lower in the sky but it is not yet setting. The smell of salt stings his nose when he inhales too quickly. He glances up and down the dock. He settles on walking left, since it's opposite where he arrived. He scurries down the wooden platform, alone and frigid. It's eerie, how empty and desolate the area is, how he already seems to be distant from the restaurant. He passes by metal doors, labelled with numbers and small, pixelated icons. Some doors have no labels at all. He hopes he hasn't already passed the kitchen.
To his luck, he sees a sign hanging out from atop a wooden door. It indicates that it leads to where he wishes to go. Just as he's about to enter, however, he smells the hot, strong stench of cigarettes. He squints past the low-hanging sun and into the distance.
Slumped against the rails is a scruffy boy. His upper-half dangles languidly over the edge of the unstable metal. Aeron watches as he takes a tired drag, holding the smoke in his mouth for longer than necessary before exhaling it all out in a big, hurried puff. Around his limp figure hangs a red zipper shirt, one that looks like it's been worn too many times, and it's rolled up at his elbows, exposing his arms to the chilly air. There's a white lab coat around his shoulders, swaying absently in the wind.
Ignoring him, Aeron steps into the kitchen, and it's like walking into an oven.
The blast of heat wraps around his body like a welcoming blanket. Aeron exhales. This is right. This is comfortable. He walks further in, enticed by the smell of flour and cooking bread. He spots Yakusuga behind a counter, hands flying faster than he can see, jumping from one end of the kitchen island to the other. Flour flies in her wake. Aeron lets the door close on its own to alert the baker that he's there.
Without stopping her hands, Yakusuga turns around, and her face explodes into a smile. She beckons him over with the roll of her shoulder.
Tentatively, so as not to bump into anything, Aeron shuffles over meekly, totally amazed but out of his zone.
He stands beside Yakusuga and watches as she switches from kneading dough to mixing ingredients into a large plastic bowl. Her hands are completely coated in yeast and flour.
She points to the bowl and indicates whisking it.
Cautiously, Aeron picks up the handle and swirls the mixture uncertainly.
Yakusuga shakes her head and grabs his arm, spinning and twisting his wrist with vigour. She points to the rim of the bowl and points to the bench. Don't spill it is what he obtained from her gesturing. He nods.
Satisfied, Yakusuga turns back to kneading the dough.
His hands caked in strong smelling flour, Aeron does his share of the work while watching Yakusuga. She wipes her brow with her shoulder.
Fun? She traces on the flour-coated bench.
Tiring, Aeron writes back.
She gives him an incredulous look. Aeron understands why – he's only been stirring for a couple of minutes while she's been at it for at least an hour.
I'm half your size, he reasons.
Yakusuga's shoulders shake. He thinks she's laughing. She playfully bumps their arms. You're cheerful.
It's true. Aeron remembers crying only a few hours ago.
Is it because of Pauline? Yakusuga suggests, wriggling her eyebrows.
Aeron rolls his eyes into the fifth dimension.
No. I'm not into women.
Yakusuga's mouth drops. Before she writes anything, Aeron clears up the misconception.
Or men.
Yakusuga's brows scrunch. She covers their writing with a new layer of flour. You don't like either?
Aeron shakes his head. Then he remembers he should be stirring, and attempts to reply while mixing. No. I'm asexual. There's a startling moment when he nearly tips the bowl. And aromantic.
Yakusuga frowns. But women are great! She places a heart next to her statement. Aeron smiles at this. Then he links the connection.
Wait, so it's you that's happy because of Pauline?
The baker turns red so quickly Aeron startles. No, no! I'm naturally chipper!
She ignores how flustered she is by punching the dough. Aeron feels his throat give way to something breathy. He coughs.
That's cute. :)
Yakusuga hurriedly erases all trace of their conversation.
For a second, Aeron forgets that he's stranded. His stomach heaves, and then he's laughing. With the way Yakusuga's hands shake; he can tell she's laughing too.
It's dumb. They're stuck on a boat in the middle of nowhere with five other strangers, but they're probably giggling like twelve year old girls at a sleepover.
It's you who makes me happy, Aeron confesses with a shaky finger – he can't stop laughing. Thank you for helping me.
When he turns, he sees that Yakusuga has the warmest, fondest smile on her face.
Thank you, she writes back. I wish we'd met under better circumstances.
She picks up the dough and places it into an open oven. Aeron watches as she pulls out a tray from another. The smell wafts over and cleanses the thick air.
Do you know where we're going? he writes. When Yakusuga walks over, she reads it with an unfathomable expression.
No, she replies. But the others are investigating it.
Aeron's mind flickers over to the four students lazing around in the restaurant. They didn't look particularly busy. Others?
Yakusuga's smile drops. Yes. There are other Hope's Peak students here. Aeron watches as she inhales heavily. There are 16 of us in total.
All mirth from before plummets. Sixteen Hope's Peak students. He feels the cold, tangible hands of fear latch onto his lungs. He abandons the whisk.
We suspect that this ship is taking us to the next killing game location, Yakusuga continues. Aeron doesn't want her to. As soon as the words are written, he erases them with a trembling hand.
He grips the edge of the table. He feels like his feet are slipping from underneath him. He squeezes his eyes shut.
A killing game.
AN: Wow, there's 4k of my life gone.
I purposely omitted a lot of the character descriptions, but don't worry, I'll bring them up later. It's just very out of character for Aeron to notice things like the size of a woman's breasts or the accessories some of the characters happen to wear. I was already pushing it with Riku and Pauline's descriptions. Another point I want to raise is, wow, I already revealed who the culprit and victims are! I'm such a killjoy. Sorry, it's just a new method of writing I'm trying out. It's just such a Danganronpa cliché to gather everyone into a killing game, reveal Monokuma, show their Shocked Faces™, lay out the first murder, then have a mysterious class trial. I'm basically doing the same thing, just changing the order a bit, so I shouldn't be complaining haha.
Review Replies:
TheRoseShadow21: Thank you for being my first review and sending in two amazingly rounded characters! I was so flustered when you complimented my writing style ;;; You're a really good writer yourself so when I got the review I was practically screaming.
mayurie: Thank you for complimenting my style! Personally I think I have a lot of holes and have the world's crappiest pacing, so this really motivates me! I currently have exams too I know your pain very well hahaha. Good luck!
kayoi1234: Thank you for the pity review. Jk.
Reader (guest): Hahaha thanks.
liammarklh88: I already answered you in PM but thanks heaps. Amai's the sweetest little munchkin and I hope to get as much coverage on her as possible before she…dies. I'm so sorry you were so happy to have her accepted and I'm killing her already! I already wrote the chapter before you reviewed and I did not expect your reaction so killing her now brings me immense guilt sorry.
TheStarshipMessenger: Thanks for the praise. I'm kind of nervous that you see promise in my story…but it's better than leaving you disappointed, right? I'm not very fond of the 'show not tell' trope and I'm kind of ashamed that it evidently shows in my writing. Thanks for the critique though! I'll try incorporate more of it into my chapters.
Pretty Palutena: I replied to you in PM but like, hey again! Thanks for being so enthusiastic about my story so far! I'll do Pauline justice!
Kuranoir: Hahaha it's too late I neglect living a healthy life over this. Juudai's pretty cool - you gotta give yourself more credit! My favourite interaction to write is between Amai and Aeron I try to make it as squishy as possible they're adorbs I love them like they're my own children.
RioA: I will never take my time, not ever. If I take my time I'll be posting after a year I'm trying not to do that ;;; Thanks for submitting though!
dougcupcake: Yeah dude the ultimate was hella cool I wanted to put that in but I realised his dynamics wouldn't really fit with everyone else so I'm sorry I couldn't accept him :( Thanks for continuing to read nevertheless!
hambor12: Flynn puts the pro in proactive.
TheVolcanicGal: No probs, Hanako's a chill girl I really like her personality. Who do you think the culprit is? Your girl or Hino?