The Thing with Feathers: Reloaded

by The Lucky Pen of Hope

Sometimes, two people are brought together by luck, and that can make all the difference. Luck ended up bringing Makoto Naegi and Mukuro Ikusaba together—and that resulted in them sharing an afternoon in a police station! Can this stroke of luck, for better or worse, change anything? Let's find out!

2. Makoto's Worst Day Ever?

Author's Note: Okay... so, this is a thing... I wasn't planning on having the prologue be this long, but I wanted to give each and every character the attention they deserve, and if this story is going to be the epic I want it to be, its going to need a rock-solid foundation!

Still though, I think I may be in trouble with this story, considering that this prologue meets the maximum-end of any minimum requirements to be considered a novella...

Oh, well, here we go...

I am certain that there are errors in this, despite my best effort to find them all, but rest assured I am looking for a beta over on SpaceBattles!

---

This story starts on the worst day of the life of a completely average boy by the name of Makoto Naegi. Now most stories start at the beginning, but this story shall start here, instead of, for example, with a red-haired young girl painstakingly recreating a famous cathedral out of sand, or on a distant battlefield in a foreign land.

All of life is a story, and our lives are governed by fate—with the ultimate finality that one day, death will come to each and every one of us. Now, Fate would have it that this story would see not only the deaths of many people, but also society as we know it. But, on this worst day of Makoto's Naegi's life, where his luck has taken an almost supernatural turn for the worse, something different might happen.

You see, Lady Luck is the most fickle mistress there is, and not even Fate itself can escape her whims. Through the tender mercies of luck, what was fated to end in death might not, or it might become impossibly worse than could have ever been possible otherwise.

Everyone and everything in this world is equal in the eyes of luck, and Lady Luck does not play favorites for anyone and anything, rolling her dice and setting the bloody strings of Fate into tangled knots where anything is now possible.

Sixteen young lives have been upset, and more will soon follow—possibly all the world.

Anything can happen with luck, after all, so let's see the possibility that presents itself. Maybe it will end in tragedy worthy of The Bard himself, maybe the Reaper will be cheated and his list wiped clean. Either way, the die has been cast and this "WhatIF" now unfolds...

••• Danganronpa •••

The door to the Seven-Eleven convenience store slide open, welcoming the young teen named Makoto Naegi with a cheerful electronic chirp that seemed to say, "Welcome, honored customer! Thank you for your business—please purchase lots of items from us!" Looking down at the hastily scribbled list in his fist, his eyes scanned the multitude of items that were requested of him; buying "lots" wouldn't be a problem...

His eyes scanned the store: there was, of course, the iconic Slurpee machine that most consumers thought of when they thought of this store, currently offering three different varieties of frozen delight in red, brown, and an unnaturally bright pink shade; a row of coolers along the back housed all manner of soft drinks, iced beverages, and alcoholic beverage; the two makeshift aisle offered a huge selection of prepackaged snack foods such as chips, pocky, cookies, instant noodles; and another cooler stocked a variety of premade sandwiches, onigiri, pasta dishes, "to-go" sushi bento.

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Makoto went over to collect his friends fried chicken from where it rested along with the other hot items such as hot dogs and hamburgers of dubious quality; he had thought he was alone in the store aide from the teenage clerk manning the cashier, but as he got closer, he saw that a girl around his age, her dark hair cut short to frame her face and a backpack hung by a single strap on her back, was regarding the hamburgers thoughtfully. Makoto didn't recognize her, and she wasn't wearing the uniform of any middle school that he knew of, and she didn't react to his to his presence, save for shifting ever so slightly as his hand reached out and retrieved a container of fried chicken that had been heating under the lamps. Offering the young girl who he guessed to be slightly older than himself a polite yet bright smile, Makoto hurried off to gather the multitude of drinks that he had been tasked with purchasing.

The girl gave him a very brief sidelong glance with a pair of pale gray eyes, before returning to her contemplation of the pre-made patties of meat on buns. Her attention was once more drawn to Makoto as he shuffled to the register, hardly able to see with cans and snacks piled high in the crook of both arms as he tried valiantly not drop his items. The girl tilted her head slightly at the sight; why didn't he simply grab a basket when he game in?

Dumping his purchases on the counter, Makoto felt a sense of accomplishment! Honestly, with how luck had been favoring him this afternoon, he was convinced that was going to spill his purchases all across the floor of the store on his way to register. As the attendant rang each item up with the electronic beep from the register, Makoto's eyes flew rapidly from the crumpled list in his hand and back to each item in his due diligence to ensure that he had not forgotten any item or mistakenly grabbed a wrong variety.

Success!

His items totaled, Makoto reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out the small wad of cash he had been given by the group for the purchases and handed it over to the waiting employee. Soon, either arm weighted down by plastic bags straining to contain far more items than they ought to, Makoto began what suddenly seemed like a long, long trek back to the park, given the ache he felt in both arms.

Walking out of the store, Makoto gave no further thought to the dark-haired, pale young woman who had been standing in the store. Little did he know, that Luck that day would soon bring the two of them together again, and possibly change not only their fates, but the fate of the world itself...

••• Danganronpa •••

Open. Close. Open. Close.

Over and over, a pair of hands, the fingers slender and long, made white-knuckle fists before relaxing the tension, only to repeat. The owner of the hands, a young girl with flowing hair the shade of lilacs in spring, regarded her hands with a gaze that had been keenly trained to hone in any detail, no matter how small.

The girl felt the expected resistance in the simple action of making a fist and then relaxing it, given the material that each glove was made out of, they had yet to be broken-in and still carried the leather aroma that was characteristic of the material. Yet, even beneath the layer of animal hide that covered her hands, Kyoko Kirigiri felt the slight stiffness in her own hands and the unnatural way that her own skin pulled against digits. It was better now, for sure; the detective only suffered a brief twinge of pain that went as soon as it came, and she knew that it was simply the traumatized nerves finishing their healing.

Gazing at the gloves, the young girl thought of removing it to once more gaze at her hand, but she knew what she would see: the slightly leathery skin encasing her hands, bright red and shiny in the light and a stark contrast to the pale, unblemished flesh to covered the rest of her body.

The sound of distressed leather reached her ears as her hands fisted so fiercely that the appendages shook from the strain. For a brief moment she could feel the complete and utter agony of the chemical falling upon her hands: her flesh sizzling beneath the caustic liquid, her skin melting and sloughing... Taking in a breath, Kyoko hissed harshly though clenched teeth as she banished the memories of the exquisite pain that had seemed to consume her whole world... though, worse were the very few, small places where there had been no pain at all...

Shaking her head, sending her hair flying in a curtain of lilac that almost seemed silver in the pale glow of the bathroom's light, Kyoko looked up into the mirror and chastised herself harshly for her childish reaction. She was injured because of a stupid, foolish, rookie mistake that a Kirigiri should never have made! The doctors said that her hands were healing surprisingly well, and that she should receive up to 97% percent of all the sensation in both!

Her hand darted to the side, harshly shutting off the glow of the bathroom's lights as the detective walked back into her dorm room. It was spacious for a dorm room of a boarding school—but that was unsurprising considering the prestige of this all-girls boarding school—and Kyoko's lips curved up into a smile as she spotted the vibrant bloom, resplendent in its glass container and still growing heartily on her bedside table even after all this time since the new year had dawned, in the rays of the setting afternoon's sun. As fond memories of her friend, and the bloody and depraved Duel Noire they had been thrust into, filled her thoughts, she began to change out of her uniform's pristine white blouse; one after another, her fingers pushed the small white discs through the openings as she managed to unbutton the shirt with her fingers faltering only once, and briefly at that.

Though she knew that it was childish, she couldn't help but let her smile widen just a bit more at her success. Her eyes fell upon the ornate envelope that laid just beside the glass-encased rose and all joy left her face as a mask of cold indifference befell her.

The envelope bore a coat of arms that almost everyone living in Japan would recognize at a glance and, furthermore, was known globally as well. The heraldry of the institution was a crossed shield overlaid by a fountain pen and a stylized Gothic feather-like symbol, with an ornate crown above the shield, as well as the curving feathers that served to support either side of the shield. Beneath it, the title of the prestigious institution was written in actual gold leaf:

Hope's Peak Academy.

The letter that had laid within was unfolded just to the side, the gentle swooping arcs of the hand written ink characters lay exposed for any to read, though she had long since memorized the contents of the page, as well as the signature that had placed at the bottom of the correspondence.

"Jin Kirigiri, Headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy."

An unwavering resolve was in Kyoko's heart; she knew her grandfather did not approve of her using the Kirigiri family name in such a public way, but she was determined to meet with that man—to look him in the eye, and show him that his abandoning her had not broken her.

••• Danganronpa •••

Makoto Naegi could only stare down in shock at what had occurred. Surely his luck could not be that bad, could it? But looking at the spilled cans and food items—none of them seemed damaged to the point of being rendered inedible, at least—he could only accept that his fortune on this day seemed to be in a downward spiral, and he could only prayer to any god that might listen that it didn't get worse.

He wondered if perhaps he had done some unspeakable, heinous act on this day of the year in a past life; that was the only way he could begin to even fathom why his luck had taken such a sudden nosedive on him this afternoon. He wouldn't have minded if the universe decided to compensate him by having a cute girl come by and offer her help, but that didn't seem to be likely to happen any time soon, so Makoto still cursed his misfortune.

Bending down, Makoto grumbled to himself as he went about the task of collecting his spilled purchases; the food items were simple, but the cans had rolled in every direction. At this rate, Makoto was going to miss the televised performance of Sayaka Maizono, something that he been looking forward to all day! Gathering the scattered beverages in a loose pile before, since the bottom of both bags had simultaneously broken—it appeared as if a careless employee had unknowingly cut them with a box cutter when he or she was unpacking the bags, no doubt—so his original method of conveyance would be of no assistance. How was he supposed to carry all of these drinks and food back to the park? He supposed he had no other choice but to go back into the convenience store and get a couple of bags that wouldn't break before returning to the park.

The snacks were, indeed, all there but when Makoto took tally, he noticed that he was missing a can of coffee and a can of green tea. Looking around, the unfortunate youth scanned the surroundings, Makoto failed to notice that the dark-haired girl from the store had exited and was silently watching his plight; she pulled a mobile phone from her pocket, glanced briefly at it, before turning and walking calmly towards the nearby bus stop. Makoto's face lit up as his gaze fell upon a nearby bench, seeing the missing can of coffee roll to a stop and bump gently against the foot of an older gentleman who seemed to be waiting there.

Getting up, smiling at his good fortune, Makoto went to retrieve the can of coffee when the older man suddenly glanced down at the object that had disturbed his foot, seemed to contemplate it, and then reached down to grab it. Before he could ask for his drink back, Makoto felt his mouth opening in shock as the old man calmly opened the can of coffee and drained half of it in one drought.

"No way..." Makoto thought, his eyes wide at what had just happened before his very eyes. "Oh, come on!" he complained aloud to an apparently uncaring world. What kind of person simply drinks something that rolls up to them on the ground? Makoto, until this very day, had never heard of such a thing or seen it, but it had just happened before his eyes!

Though he knew it to be true, Makoto still hoped that somehow a miracle had occurred—that perhaps another individual suffering a sudden streak of misfortune had likewise spilled his drinks on the ground, and that was that person's can of coffee and not Makoto's—and he asked of the bearded, old man seated upon the bench, "E-Excuse me," he began, scratching his cheek. The old man looked up with a slightly startled expression. "I-I apologize if I'm mistaken, sir... but would that be a can of coffee by any chance?" he asked hopefully.

"Hmm? Oh, so this was yours, son?" the old man asked, a look of surprise on his bearded face; he burst into laughter. "Sorry about that!" he apologized with good mirth, handing back the half drank can of coffee.

Makoto stared at the can in a forlorn manner. He knew that it was a pointless, impossible thing to hope for, but still...

••• Danganronpa •••

It must be perfect! Everything had to be just so—he would not expect anything less than complete perfection! After all, if he didn't hold himself as an example, how could he expect anyone else to do so!

With a critical eye, Kiyotaka Ishimaru, grandson of the disgraced former prime minister of Japan, Toranosuke Ishimaru, surveyed the pristine white uniform laid out on the ironing board before him. Ever so carefully, he placed the tip of the heated implement to a minute wrinkle in the garments left sleeve, near the cuff and by one of the shining, golden buttons, and eased the imperfection from existence.

Nodding his head in satisfaction, he carefully picked up the uniform top so as to not undo his work, and hung it in his closet alongside the pants that went with it, next to six identical copies of it. Nearby, on his bed, three more identical white uniforms await his careful ministrations, surrounded by a number of sewing and clothing maintenance supplies.

Kiyotaka allowed himself a moment's distraction from his preparation, and he gazed at the framed letter that hung on his wall; he felt a fierce swell of pride in his breast, but squashed it down—he had not worked so hard all these years only to let premature hubris ruin everything.

Pride cometh before the fall—and he would not fall as his grandfather had, and further blacken the family name. No! Kiyotaka had long ago swore to himself that he would erase the stain on the honor of his family name! The name of Ishimaru would once more be as shining and pristine as his uniform!

Filled with renewed zeal, Kiyotaka turned towards the task of making sure his uniform's were in impeccable condition for the inauguration ceremony! His attention so consumed by his task, the young man did not see the older man who stood silently in the doorway of his room, a small smile upon his lips as watched his son.

Takaaki Ishimaru was so very proud of his boy! To be accepted into Hope's Peak Academy was an accomplishment fit to make any parent brag, but to be excepted on the merit of their moral fiber and work ethic, as the Ultimate Moral Compass? Well, Takaaki honestly didn't know where his son had inherited such traits from (he had, of course, done his best to instill a sense of justice, propriety, and work ethic in his son, but it was Kiyotaka himself who had nurtured those to the extreme that he did.)

Turning away without his son ever knowing he was observing him or that he had arrived home early from his shift, Takaaki left to change out of his uniform. He didn't think a father could be more proud of his son—he only wished that Kiyotaka would realize that he already had brought honor to the family even before he had been accepted to Hope's Peak, and that the sins of his grandfather did not fall upon his young shoulders to carry or fix...

••• Danganronpa •••

The young woman boarded the bus, paid her fare, and walked to the back to claim one of the seats there. Removing her pack from her back, she set it in the vacant window seat before claiming the aisle one next to it; opening it, he her hand dove into the confines, fingers searching in the dark briefly, colliding with and ignoring the various items contained within, before they came upon the sought prize and extracted it.

Without a word, the young teen pulled a paperback novel with a red cover—it's spine was creased harshly down the middle and the cover proclaimed its title in English, with a pair of crossed white bones contrasting harshly against the cover. Opening the novel to a dog-eared page, the young teen, though clearly of Japanese origin, began scanning the rows of English text.

She had found this novel a few hours ago at a second-hand bookstore among a collection of similar mystery novels, and the title and summary of it had caught her attention. Turning the page and finishing off the chapter in which a young woman met a particularly gruesome end by being cooked to death in an underground tunnel thanks to an exposed steam pipe, the young woman noted that the bus was arriving at the next stop and that the same old man she had seen waiting outside the convenience store had boarded. Briefly her attention was torn from the world of murder and intrigue that she had immersed herself in to take in the approaching figure of the old man who seemed intent on taking the other aisle seat to the right of her. The dark-haired girl gave the old man a brief once over, noting how he carried himself with a confidence and spryness that few his age would, but ultimately dismissing him as not a threat; she was about to return to her book, when another figure suddenly shot through the closing doors of the bus like a bat out of Hell.

Every muscle in the girl suddenly tensed, tendons tight with barely restrained energy, ready to be released at a moment's notice—then she noticed that it was simply a very out of breath boy. She blinked at his slightly hunched figure: that was the same boy who had been buying all the food in the store, wasn't it? The same one that then had the misfortune of it spilling just outside the store? The girl gave the coincidence a moment's thought in her mind, but ultimately dismissed it: the bus stop was close to the store, so who's to say he hadn't planned on taking it afterwards anyway?

Satisfied, she returned her attention to the fictional murders being perpetrated in New York City within the slightly faded pages of her book.

••• Danganronpa •••

There was a grand celebration happening all around; rowdy, good cheer and the clinking of sake glasses filled the air before being quickly drained in enthusiastic toasts, only to be quickly filled up again. The establishment was filled with a number of people, all wearing jackets that proudly declared them as members of the infamous Crazy Diamonds motorcycle gang that was infamous throughout all of Japan.

And it was easy to see why this gang of individuals held such notoriety: the entire bar was filled past the limit with them, all in good spirits, celebrating their beloved leader's accomplishment in typical Crazy-Diamond-style revelry. A number of them were crowded around a pool table, where two of their members seemed to be in a tense competition for a stack of money on at the corner of the table; when one of the contestants ended up sinking the eight ball prematurely, there was a wave of cheers and groans alike, though no one seemed to hold a grudge as everyone congratulated each other.

Strangely, the only person who seemed to not share in the same spirit was a young man sitting hunched over the bar, his head bowed as low as his rather extreme pompadour hairstyle would allow with it touching.

Mondo Owada, leader of the Crazy Diamonds and man of honor in the celebration, stared with contempt at the face looking back at him in the reflection of his liquor. His lips curling, he harshly grabbed the drink and swallowed it, relishing the harsh burn of the alcohol as it scoured his throat and warmed his stomach; he took mute satisfaction in the fact that he no longer had to see the mug of that bastard—now he merely had to live being said bastard...

Looking up, Mondo saw the rather haphazard banner that his gang had made for the celebration by hand (and didn't that fact fucking show...) and glared at the bright red letters that wished him congratulations.

"Yeah..." he grumbled to himself, looking down and wishing that he had another drink in his hands, if only to distract himself from his self-loathing, "only problem is they chose the wrong fuckin' guy," he spat. "You should be here right now, big bro, not me," he spoke to himself poisonously.

Mondo was shocked when a hand fell heavily upon his shoulder; looking up, he saw Takemichi Yukimaru, head of the elite guard of the Crazy Diamonds and his closet pal, standing beside him "I know that Daiya's proud of you," Takemichi consoled. "I mean, who would have ever thought a member of this group of dumbasses would ever set foot in a place like Hope's Peak?" he asked, and though his words were harsh, looked fondly at the rowdiness that the other members of his gang were displaying.

Mondo scoffed and put on a cocksure grin as best as he could. "You kidding me?" he asked with a grin. "Daiya's probably spinning in his damn grave as we speak," he said, laughing. Honestly—the Crazy Diamonds were pretty fucking badass, no doubt, but to considered important enough to land a mook like him in a place like Hope's Peak? Well, let's just say that it made the leader doubt the value that society prescribed to some things.

Then again, look at how much people ate up that reality television shit...

"What the hell are you doing over by me?" Mondo asked gruffly. "Where'd your fan club go?" he asked, referring to how women seemed to flock around his friend—the lucky son of a bitch...

Takemichi shuddered at the mention of the women that constantly hounded him; why couldn't they understand that he was devoted to the Crazy Diamonds and Mondo, and afford to have a broad distracting him? He was about to resume his conversation, but he suddenly saw one of the member's about to hit another over the back with a damn chair for no seeming reason other than he could. "Hey, you dumb ass! Cut that shit out right now! I swear if you guys get the cops called on this party, I'm going to personally kick each and every one of your asses!" he raged, storming off to settle the matter, one way or another.

Alone was more, Mondo swiped a bottle behind the bar that was within his reach without getting up. Gripping the cork between his molars and opening it with a devil-may-care attitude, Mondo saluted towards the heaven.

"Here's to ya, Daiya," he solemnly toasted his departed older brother. "It should have been you attending this stuck-up, fancy-ass school..."

••• Danganronpa •••

Makoto made it onto the bus at the last possible second—a complete shock to him, given his luck that day—and after catching his breath, quickly scanned the relatively full bus for the old man; he found him sitting in the very back, shocked at seeing him once more after having given Makoto his lecture on luck, or the lack thereof, to be precise.

"Thank goodness," Makoto sighed, and started towards the old man, ignoring the stares of the other customers who were understandably startled by his manner of boarding the transportation. "You forgot this on the bench," he offered, holding out the phone, and saw the older man's face fill with surprised recognition at seeing his phone in the youth's hand. Makoto paused as he saw the girl sitting across the aisle from the old man; was that the same girl from the store? He couldn't be certain since her face was turned towards the novel she was reading, but he thought that it was her... Any further consideration to identity of the unknown girl was put on hold, however, as he somehow managed to trip on his own foot and took a spill towards the ground.

Reaching out instinctively, his hand sought to take hold of anything that might break his fall.

Rip!

He had managed to grab something, at least, and that had lessened his fall, but the impact still jarred his right shoulder and side, and his head did collide with the floor of the bus, disorienting him. What had been that tearing sound just now? Blinking his eyes, Makoto attempted to dispel the stars that danced across his vision, and as he began to regain his senses, he was met by a pair of white pillars in front of him. Blinking, Makoto followed the white pillars up, and then his face flooded with color as he realized that pillars were, in fact, a pair of very long, very it legs belonging to girl sitting to the left of the old man.

Tearing his gaze upwards, away from the exposed skin of her legs, Makoto hoped that the girl hadn't noticed his accidental ogling of her, but of course, her attention was directed towards him; staring up at her face, his mind strangely noted that she had dusting of freckles across her face, just beneath her eyes and over the bridge of her nose, and he thought that they were cute. Shaking his head furiously, he began opened his mouth to start apologizing to her but then noticed that she wasn't looking at him, but instead the area around him.

Confused, he looked down around him and saw a number shining stones scattered about him. "What?" Makoto wondered, gazing about. Why are there jewels are the floor of the bus? his mind wondered, but didn't get much of a chance to think on this matter as a voice above him cut in.

"Don't Move. Stay right where you are, everyone," the voice commanded in a polite, but firm tone. Looking up, Makoto saw a man in business attire had risen to his feet, a torn bag set on the seat beside him, and was muttering to himself under breath.

Oh, and he had a knife in his hand, its edge gleaming wickedly in the light.

••• Danganronpa •••

"Preparations for your stay at Hope's Peak are complete, Young Master," the stately older gentleman said, bowing at his waist. The bespectacled young man looked up from his report, raising the fine china cup from its saucer and taking a sip of the coffee within before placing it gently back on its cradle.

"Excellent work, as always, Aloysius," Byakuya praised, leaning back into leather of his chair as his eyes scanned a stock report for one of the Togami conglomerate's holdings, pleased that that it had risen above the margin that he had predicted. Nodding, he made a note on his PDA and turned his attention to his butler. "Anything I need be made aware of?" he asked, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his lap.

"Despite my best efforts, it seems that the headmaster was quite insistent on you attending the enrollment ceremonies with your fellow peers at the start of term," he said. "He called it a 'matter of tradition,' I'm afraid. My apologies, Young Master," Aloysius apologized, bowing his head.

Byakuya made a thoughtful noise in his throat and then waved away the matter. "I shall simply have to tolerate the grandstanding, then, it seems," he said, his mouth twisting in distaste at having to be put on display, like some prized mutt at show. It would be worth it, though—even with all the power that the Togami conglomerate held, some, like the Towa Group, refused to acknowledge their betters and persisted in futilely opposing them in all manner of things they had no right to, economic or otherwise. However, Hope's Peak was recognized on a global scale as the shining example that all of humankind should strive for, and when he doubtless graduated top of the class, with full honors, everyone would be forced to recognize not only his inherent superiority, but the Togami group that he represented. "It's a small price to pay for the further glory of the Togami Corporation, after all."

"As you say, sir," Aloysius said, smiling at his young masters assurance. Truly, the future was bright if a man like him was at the reins.

••• Danganronpa •••

The young teen's eyes followed every movement that the business man made, having marked him as a person of interest the moment she entered the bus, but paying him no mind until then. However, when the clumsy boy had exposed the man for the wolf-in-sheep's-clothing that he was, he became the girl's top priority.

But she showed no concern, though, calmly folding the corner of the page she was on, she set dropped her novel back in her still opened backpack; across the aisle, she saw the old man tense, seemingly ready to enact some kind of plan if given the opportunity.

As the businessman-revealed-as-a-robber made his demands, brandishing an army knife, the young girl calmly thought of the best way to resolve the situation—if she should even get involved, to begin with . At her feet, the young boy who was the inadvertent cause of this drama was still regaining his sense, having been disoriented when his head had collided harshly with the floor of the bus. The girl briefly noted that that the boy had been staring up at her with a flushed face a few seconds prior (probably a result of the shock of his collapse, she thought,) but was now staring with wide eyes up at the figure of the knife wielding criminal just above him.

"E-Excuse me?" the boy asked in shaky voice, and the girl felt her brows raise toward her hairline; why was he drawing the attention of the obviously dangerous man standing above him? Unfortunately for the young boy, he succeed in getting the attention of the armed man.

"Would you please get up?" the faux-businessman asked, and though his voice and words were polite, his cold gaze was anything but. Not surprisingly, the boy didn't quite grasp the situation he suddenly found himself in.

"...What?" the unlucky boy asked, not quite grasping the gravity of the situation. Besides her, the old man had dipped his head to his chest, feigning sleep.

"I said would you please get up?" the criminal asked, and punctuated it by thrusting his blade towards the boy's forehead, stopping less than half an inch from his skull. "You'll do that for me, won't you?" the man asked, and as the knife raised, so too did the unlucky youth, trembling, his eyes daring to and fro, searching for some form of aid to help him escape the danger that he had unwittingly found himself in. The young girl saw the boy's Adam apple bop up and down as perspiration covered his forehead, his gaze cross-eyed as he followed the point of the knife that could so easily cut his brief life short.

Then, suddenly, the criminal's gaze shot towards her, and the young girl saw a sudden flash of inspiration color his features. "You as well, young miss," he said politely, pointing with his free hand, making sure to keep his weapon trained on the young boy. "Would you please get up, as well?"

The young woman stared at the criminal, and in her mind, she had already formulated a number of strategies that would leave her assailant either disarmed or dead.

She could easily break the bones in his wrist, or end his life by quickly overpowering him and snapping his neck. She could use the butterfly knife she kept in a holster against her thigh, hidden by her skirt.

The question was, should she implement any of them? It would be a simple thing to do for her, but could have unforeseen repercussions or draw attention to herself.

Her beloved little sister wouldn't like that. No, she would not like that—at all.

Fear gripped the young girl's heart momentarily , at the thought of disappointing her beloved little sister.

For now, she would have to play along, it seemed. Getting up, the young girl's face was the picture of calm serenity as she stared at the criminal and awaited instructions.

"Very good," the criminal's lips curved into tight, thin smile. "Now then, if you would please gather up the jewels on the floor, myself and this nice young man will be at the front of the bus when you're finished. If you try anything, well... I'm sure you don't anything to happen to this boy, do you?" the criminal asked, inching the knife so close that the tip dug into the boy's forehead enough to dimple the flesh, but not pierce it.

Truthfully, the girl didn't care, but she obeyed the instructions given to her.

Then, something very strange happened that the girl did not understand: despite being in more danger, with his life teetering on a precipice, the young boy smiled unabashedly at her and mouthed, "Don't worry," to her.

Don't worry? Why should she worry? She wasn't he one with a knife about to stab into her brain, he was, and yet the boy was concerned for her?

How strange. That boy had flawed survival instincts, that was for sure. Perhaps the stress of the situation had gotten to him? Ultimately, it was unimportant, so the young girl bent down and began gathering the precious jewels that had spilled across the floor of the bus.

••• Danganronpa •••

Her nerves were raw and frayed. The young girl sat bent in her desk chair, hunched over her keyboard as her fingers danced across the keys and an entirely new world was created in real-time on the glowing screen before him. Her lips curled as she heard the shrewish voice of the one of the women who might be her mother, but the girl drowned out the voice and the unpleasant memories associated with it, and hit the return key with far more force than was necessary.

Her eyes scanning the columns of symbols, the renowned teenage author Toko Fukawa quickly read over what she had written, her eyes searching for any errors. She didn't see any, but her editor always seemed to have some complaint of some kind.

It didn't matter, though: she wanted to finish this book before the start of term. Hey gaze fell to the acceptance letter that had arrived in the mail, and she remembered the slight sense of joy that she had felt. It wasn't that she cared about being able to attend Hope's Peak—the popularity and quality of her writing spoke enough of her skill as an author, she didn't need some fancy "Ultimate" title to tell her she was good at what she did—but it meant she would be away from her "family."

Whether within the gilded halls of a prestigious nationally recognized school or the confines of her own room, all people recognized—and always would ever acknowledge—about her was her talent writing. People could care less otherwise.

It was all a foul, ugly girl like her was good for, anyway... The only one in the world that understood her or cared about her was her dear Kameko!

The words poured from her mind, through her dancing fingers, and into the computer as the world in the book became more real with each word she typed, each character that much more lifelike with opinion, flaw, or thought she allowed them to have.

She was almost done now; her hands rose from the keyboard as she allowed herself a slight break to gather her final thoughts before concluding the tale. She would, of course, have to review it and change a few things before all was said and done, but the utility of a computer allowed her to easily make the edits when they were needed. Her hand fell to the lap, and she felt a series of raised ridges along her thought, uniform and purposeful in their design. Immediately her hand flew away from her lap as if burned and instead tugged fitfully at either braid that fell over her shoulders.

No... No, no, no, no, no no no no no no no no nononononononononono...

No! She wouldn't ruin this!

She wouldn't!

Still, she felt the burning upon the flesh of her thigh, as if the wounds hidden just beneath the dark fabric of her skirt were freshly carved, always reminding her of their presence permanently etched into her body—into her soul.

Forever a reminder of her.

Shooting up from her chair, she hurried over to a plastic insectarium beneath her window; quickly raising the lid, Toko thrust her hand into the enclosure and waited, her hand shaking. Eventually, she felt the telltale prickle of a multitude of legs, as a brown bug, its shell spotted, climbed the arm of its owner, releasing a most foul odor into the room. Toko had long gotten accustomed to the scent, and it was a small price to pay for her only friend in the entire world.

The only person that cared if she lived or died.

Not caring about the stench, Toko gently cradled the stinkbug in her palm and held it close to her cheek. Kameko tickled the young girl's face with its antennae as its owner sobbed.

"Oh, Kameko..." Toko mewed pitifully.

••• Danganronpa •••

Even with how his day had been going, Makoto thought that this was particularly ridiculous... Honestly, this was something that went beyond the scope of mere bad luck and into a comedy! It was one thing to lose a game of rock-paper-scissors or have your bag of groceries rip open, but suddenly find your life threatened and thrust before the wheel of a bus!

He didn't even know how to drive!

That was just surreal.

The bus driver sat in an empty seat in the front row, pale faced and trembling after having been explicitly threatened by the criminal on what would happen should he "attempt any foolish heroics," in the criminal's words.

Gripped with indecision, Makoto wondered what to do, now that he found himself in this situation; if it had just been him, that would be one thing, but his currently abysmal luck had ensnared that dark-haired girl, so now he had to do something!

Currently, the criminal was watching everyone like a hawk, but Makoto had a feeling that his attention would be distracted as soon as the girl brought him his ill-gotten gains, and that would be his chance to act!

"Here it is;" for the first time, Makoto heard the girl speak, and noted how calm she sounded in this situation.

She must be terrified! Makoto thought, rationalizing that she was so scared that she had entered into some state of shock. Just then, though, there was a cry and Makoto heard the old man who had drank his coffee shout something about being a kendo master, and latch onto the criminal's back like a monkey.

What?

The young girl watched the new occurrence with surprise, obviously not expecting the new turn of events any more than Makoto had, but she still took a step back to dodge the flailing swipe of the criminal's weapon that would have cut a line across the pale flesh of her neck had it connected. Seeing this, Makoto felt all the fear and all the apprehension of the twisted luck that had been dogging him all afternoon flee from him.

He had to act now! A resolute resolve was now filling Makoto Naegi's soul with the drive to move forward despite the danger presented to himself, against overwhelming odds! Now his luck had endangered not only the girl, but the old man was risking his life for his sake!

Makoto Naegi, bad luck or not, could do nothing other than act.

Without thinking, his hand reached out and he rose to his feet.

Something shifted.

What?

Before Makoto could fully realize what he had done, he let out an alarmed cry—him and every other person on the bus, in fact—as the bus suddenly sped forward from the dead stop it had been in ever since it had reached the bus stop and picked up the old man and Makoto. Makoto was very quickly thrown back into the seat he had just rose from.

In his resolve, Makoto Naegi had the bad luck to shift the bus into drive and put his foot on the gas pedal when he got up...

••• Danganronpa •••

Hope's Peak Academy was just as majestic as people said it was, the youth considered, steering up at the towering buildings that were regarded as shining beacons of Hope for not only Japan, but the world over as well. His hand caressed his chin, grating against the stubble that lined his jaw.

Truthfully, though he was still young, the man was far too old to normally be enrolled in any form of high school, let alone Hope's Peak Academy, and yet he now found himself standing before the hallowed institution, all the same.

"So this is Hope's Peak Academy, huh?" Yasuhiro Hagakure said, squinting up at the multitude of buildings on the north side of the campus. "Seems like a pretty secure place, no doubt," he commented to himself, rapping his knuckles against the solid iron bars of the ornate gate that barred entry to the school. "They're serious about this joint being invitation only, huh?" he laughed.

Then, with little to no thought of the consequences, Yasuhiro Hagakure scaled the fence of the prestigious Hope's Peak Academy and admitted himself.

"Let's see those thugs get me now!" he crowed gleefully, brushing himself off as if he hadn't just trespassed onto one of the most highly prestigious schools in the world and wandered off towards one of the buildings, wondering if it was the cafeteria.

••• Danganronpa •••

Overcome by a sudden sense of momentary vertigo, the girl's instincts kicked in and she found her footing as the bus sped forward; the old man and the criminal, however, weren't so fortunate and were left sprawled in the aisle.

Somehow, the girl fought the urge to sigh in frustration at the ridiculousness of the situation. All around her the occupants of the bus cried out, a cacophony of terror and shock as the world outside the windows soon became a mere blur as the bus picked up speed. The dark-haired girl glanced towards the shocked youth, who had his hands wrapped around the steering wheel in a vice-like grip.

Why hadn't he taken his foot off the gas pedal, by now? Or stepped on the brakes?

Apparently, the old man who had been wrestling for the criminal's weapon, agreed with her thoughts and called out, "The brakes, son! The brakes!" The youth behind the wheel obeyed, lifting his foot from the accelerator and slamming it harshly down upon the brake pedal, causing the bus to rapidly decelerate with a sickening lurch and the squeal of burning rubber upon the road.

The back end even lifted up, ever so slightly, as if to emphasize how bizarre this entire situation was.

The young driver was bodily thrown from the seat; however, his hand slapped against a button against a panel on the side of the driver's seat. As a feminine voice filled the bus, still audible among the screams and frenzied yelling of the passengers: "The doors are about to open. Please watch your step."

And open the doors did. The criminal, quickly picking himself up from the floor, seemed to want to take no more chances upon the bus, and quickly hurried to freedom, his bag of jewels clutched tightly in fist.

The young girl watched all of this happen, not inclined in the least to involve herself any further than she already was—especially considering she had been trying to keep a low profile, after all—and was about to follow the criminal's initiative and retrieve her backpack and likewise leave the bus. Except, the old man had apparently injured himself and was unable to pursue the criminal, so he was calling upon the boy and herself to pursue him.

Seriously?

All the passengers looking expectantly towards them—despite the fact that both she and the brown-haired youth were mere children while they were the adults in this situation—the boy leapt up and followed in pursuit without a second thought, an earnest, determined expression on his face.

The young woman stared after him for a moment, and then shook her head and was about to wash her hands of this whole ridiculous matter and put it behind her, if only all the passengers weren't staring expectantly at her to follow after criminal. She would have simply gathered her belongings and left, but they could have described her to police—and she was currently a person of notoriety to the authority of the Japanese government, and she really didn't need them to be looking into her any further.

Sighing to herself, the young woman set out after the criminal and the boy, thinking to herself that this was the very situation that was in mind when the term "FUBAR" had been coined.

••• Danganronpa •••

Pop star sensation Sayaka Maizono sat in her dressing room, wiping the excess makeup off her face with the aid of her mirror. Her vanity was piled with all manner of makeup, and likewise the other furnishings of the room were occupied, but with cards, flowers, letters, and other tokens of affection from her many fans across Japan and the world beyond.

Of all the letters she received on a daily basis, the one opened before her held infinitely more importance than any written confession of love or adoration did: her invitation to Hope's Peak Academy.

Sayaka had sacrificed her very blood, sweat, and tears to reach the lofty pillar that she now occupied in society, but it was a constantly wavering and precariously balanced one—and one mistake, one misstep in public—would see her fall from the heavens and back to the base earth below.

The only thing that people loved more than seeing their idols succeed, after all, was seeing them fail.

But the letter before her, that gilded invitation, was a soothing balm to her conscience, letting her know that all the things she had sacrificed and all the things she had to do—sometimes she laid awake at night, thinking of the horrible things she had done—letting her know that it had been worth it!

It was a well-known fact that if you graduated from the hallowed halls of Hope's Peak, then you were set for life. She would become standard by which all other entertainers in the world were measured by.

And everything will have been worth it.

It had to be...

••• Danganronpa •••

Makoto's luck took a turn for the worse—fatally so.

All day, the criminal had suffered under the yolk of Mako Naegi's ill fortune that seemed to draw everyone and everything around him into it, like an inverse probability singularity; and even though the criminal's normally stellar luck seemed to be returning to him—with the unexpected boon of the postman who had left his mail bike unattended on the side of the road after he had stopped upon seeing the bus suddenly speed forward and abruptly stop—he wanted to take no chances anymore. Truthfully, he preferred to operate without using violence, and he abhorred spilling the blood of a child, but he needed to ensure that the unlucky boy, the source of his misfortune, could not ruin his plans anymore.

And so the criminal, though with a heavy heart, aimed his speeding motorbike on a direct collision with Makoto Naegi. If the boy was lucky, he would only suffer some broken bones—but given the lad's luck, the criminal doubted it.

He watched as the boy stared, wide-eye with fear, his face drawn pale of blood, as two-wheeled, bright red death approach with a roar; the criminal briefly closed his eyes, having no desire to see what effect the impact of the bike would have on the young boy.

Because of this, the criminal was quite shocked when he was suddenly thrown from the seat of the bike and sent flying through the air, blood trailing from his broken nose.

••• Danganronpa •••

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Endlessly the electronic drone repeated its mantra, letting any who could hear that the person it watched over still drew breath among the living. Connected to the machine, a young man laid in the hospital bed, supported by a series of pillows and in good spirits with a bright smile on his face.

Seated in the chair by the bedside, a large figure sat, appearing almost comical in daring to perch on the chair it now sat; the visitor's skin was bronzed by the kiss of the sun and long, silken locks of hair spilled over their large back. The visitor seemed to radiate power, as if it burned beneath the skin, barely contained within the large muscles that covered every inch of the body.

The two people in the room were alike in the regard of physical fitness, though the young youth in the hospital bed, while still quite fit, had his body atrophy quite a bit from the disease that ate at his heart and the strain it placed on his body. The way they differed, however, was while the patient's skin was unmarred by blemish, the visitor's arms bore a number of scars that while long since having healed, were still visible, including a rather prominent one that divide the plane of the of the visitor's face nearly in half: a jagged strip of scar tissue that started above the left eye and angled down over the bridge of the nose to curve slightly around the left cheek. Perhaps the reason for the visitor's slight bend in the nose?

The other key difference, though you would be forgiven for thinking otherwise and many a person had the mistake, was that despite her large size and muscle mass, the visitor was, in fact, female, even if the fact was only readily apparent by feminine nature of the school uniform she wore and her prominent bust that stressed the top of said uniform to the point of disrepair.

A fact that the man in the bed was gently ribbing his friend about currently, in fact!

"Geeze, Sakura, you better find a way to get those things under control or Hope's Peak's is going to be busy tailoring you uniforms twenty-four-seven!" he said a with a laugh.

The teenage girl in the chair closed her eyes and bowed her head, not refuting the claim made by her friend. "It cannot be helped. I keep breaking my bindings during training, and they do not make a supportive undergarment to fit my body, off the rack—and they would not be able to withstanding my training regimen, anyway." Her voice, while still obviously feminine in tone, had a husky rasp to it that fit with her outward appearance.

"Like those things need extra support with your muscles," the boy scoffed good naturedly, and Sakura gave him a sidelong glance, though one tinged with affection. "Oh well," he said, leaning back into the soft pile of pillows that supported him in his bed, "it seems fitting that the strongest person in the world also have the strongest bust," he said with a snicker. "Seriously, though," he said, turning and smiling gently at his rival and longtime friend, "are you finally willing to admit that you're stronger than me? Even a school like Hope's Peak can see it," he told her.

Sakura snorted and crossed her muscled arms beneath her chest, shaking her head in refute. "I have told you, I refuse to accept that title in such a manner. When you regain your strength, I will claim it in the proper manner after I have defeated in you in honorable one-on-one combat."

The man, Kenshiro, smiled gently, though it was a melancholy grin, and teased, "Like that will have happen;" though he spoke in jest, they both knew that there was an indisputable and final grim note of truth to that jibe, having been diagnosed with little over half of a year to live. "Still," he said, suddenly grinning brightly at the white ceiling of his hospital room, "your father must be so proud to have you in Hope's Peak!" he said. "I know I'm proud of you," he said, directing a expression filled with such warmth and affection that made Sakura fidget in her seat, a bright flush across her cheeks that she hid by bowing her face. "Seriously, Sakura, now no one can deny the greatness of your family's dojo—you could afford to be a bit more like a regular girl, you know! I really want to see in a dress!"

"You must have a fever," she said, standing up stiffly and being sure not to face him, least she reveal her embarrassment. "I will summon the doctor; you're having delusions," she said gravely.

As she left, the sound of Kenshiro's laughter followed her into the hallway, lifting her heart with its joyful peal.

••• Danganronpa •••

Makoto watched as his death swiftly approached in the form of bright red mail motor bike, of all things. The unlucky boy was rendered motionless through a combination of fear and shock, and his only defense was closing his eyes tightly and await the end, hoping that he was lucky enough that it wouldn't hurt too much.

But the dreaded feeling of his flesh being torn and his bones shattering like so much glass never came; instead he felt himself embraced by a pair of form objects and pulled against something soft, followed by a cry of surprised agony, just before he found his feet lifted off the ground.

What? Makoto thought, his mind unable to process what was happening. Was he already dead and this was simply the experience of his spirit leaving his broken and battered body from where it must be laying mangled on the roadside? That must be it.

Makoto was about to say a few final, internal prayers that he hoped Komaru wasn't sad for too long and that his parents got over his untimely death quick as well—and that he hoped his spirit didn't get lost and somehow take a wrong turn and end up in Hell.

Unrealistic, he knew, but given the events that had happened today resulted in his death, Makoto thought it best not take any chances with his afterlife.

Then his feet touched back down on the ground.

What? Why was he back on earth? Don't tell him that they couldn't decide what to do with a boy as average as himself and simply decided to place Makoto in Limbo! Before he could get into an even larger panic or existential crisis on his part, Makoto heard a female voice utter quietly, close enough that her warmth of her breath tickled his ear and sent chills raising down his spine.

"Are you uninjured?" Despite the concern that the words implied, the voice was emotionless, as if its owner was reporting to him tomorrow's weather forecast. Opening his eyes, Makoto recognized the voice to belong to the gray-eyed girl with long legs—

Feeling his face heat up, Makoto cut that line of thought short, but it wasn't easy when he almost immediately realized that the soft thing that he was being held against was in fact the front of said girl who had apparently saved his life by tackling out of the way.

"I, uh..." Makoto began, trying not to squirm from his nerves, especially pressed up against the girl's body as he was. Why hadn't she let him go? Not that he was complaining... No! He shouldn't be thinking those thoughts, especially after she had saved his life! "I'm fine... I think..." he finally managed to articulate, turning his head enough to one side so he was able to see the a close of her face—close enough, in fact, that he could count that multitude of freckles dusted across the bride of her nose.

The girl stared at him for a moment, casting her gaze his entirety from head to toe, only serving to make Makoto feel even more awkward, before nodding to herself in a satisfactory manner and stepping away.

Makoto felt his heart hammer rapidly against his rib cage in a furious beat, and he feared for a moment that the combination of embarrassment and the still adrenaline that still raced through his veins courtesy of his near death experience would make the said organ leap from his chest and to freedom, like in a children's cartoon.

On top of it, he was somewhat conflicted over what had just happened, honestly: he was thrilled that he was still alive, let alone uninjured, but he was worried that turn of good luck resulting in his being saved—and held close by a pretty girl, to boot!—was simply a precursor to an even worse turn of misfortune just around the corner!

By this point of the afternoon, Makoto wouldn't be surprised if a rouge piece of space debris descended from the atmosphere to strike him dead... Any further thoughts of his possible future grim demise were halted when a nearby explosion distracted, causing the shaking boy to jump and stare in fear towards it source!

He knew it! A gas main had suddenly ruptured and he and all these innocent people were about to be consumed in a fiery inferno that would leave nothing but blackened, grinning skeletons! Why did he have to drag all of these other men and women into his misfortune?! Why couldn't he have just been run down by that bike?!

Except the explosion was in fact the same motorbike that had nearly been his instrument of murder; the bright red bike had crashed into a nearby lamp post and was cheerfully alight in flames that greedily consumed the many letters and parcels that its owner had been dutifully delivering before he had been dragged into this farce.

Makoto and the girl watched as the bike burned, the papers in the mail sack making popping noises and their pages curling as the fire consumed them all without discrimination. Nearby, the postman who had owned the bike, looked in silent horror.

None present had anything to say to the sight, and if the watching passengers of the bus had any comment, they could not be heard to offer it, anyway. The criminal who had stolen the bike, however, felt it appropriate to offer his opinion in the form of a muffled groan of agony, his cry of pain muted and distorted.

Turning, Makoto saw his laying against the guard rail, his immaculate business suit torn up from having slid harshly along the street, and what was visible of his face was marred by blue and green fireworks, beneath the skin, of imminent bruises. The lower half of his face was covered in blood, the source of which was his nose that was grossly twisted out of normal position and without a doubt broken.

"Yew bish!" the criminal slurred, glaring as best he could at the dark-haired girl who had suddenly moved far swifter than any human—let alone a small slip of a girl like her!—had any right to, and pulled that damned unlucky monster out of the way before kicking him in the face with enough force to send him flying! "Ish all your fauld!" he raged, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the road; his face discolored by the large bruise and his teeth stained red with blood from his broken nose, the criminal looked like some kind of demon escaped from the pits of Hell itself. "Yew an' dat dam unwucky brad!"

The criminal's curses would have been far more threatening if not for the nasal tone that his broken nose was giving his voice. The young girl responsible for his injury judged the criminal to no longer be a potential threat unless he had a firearm on him—unlikely considering Japan's strict gun control laws and policies, and the fact that he would have used that on the bus instead of his knife.

Her ears twitched as she heard the sound of approaching sirens, no doubt summoned by a bystander that had seen the erratic behavior of the bus when the young boy had been thrust behind the wheel or perhaps by one of the passengers finally informing the authorities of the hostage situation with a cell phone.

She debated simply walking away from the scene and leaving police to sort matters out; while she considered the merits of this action, a pair of small, shaking hands suddenly grabbed hers, drawing her attention. Blinking, the young girl quickly took note that it was simply the misfortunate boy who was not grasping her hands, shaking it earnestly.

"You saved my life!" he said, gazing up at her with an open, earnest expression of gratitude that it made the girl uncomfortable. "Thank you! Truly, thank you!" he profusely repeated, bowing rapidly in gratitude.

The young girl shifted, brushing aside a bang of hair, entirely ill-at-ease with the whole situation, and was about to brush off the assurances and tell the boy that her actions had been nothing, when suddenly she found a pair of arms encircling her waist.

Her eyes widened in shock and her limbs stiffened. What was happening? Why was she being hugged? Unsure how to deal with this situation, especially among the watchful eyes of those on the bus, the girl opted to remain motionless, her face completely devoid of emotion. When the boy did finally release her, he seemed to realize what he had just done and ducked his head in embarrassment, his face colored red.

But then he lifted his gaze towards her, and his smile was so welcoming and sincere that it nearly left the girl breathless. Why was he looking at her with such a smile? Had anyone ever smiled at her in such a way?

Not even her little sister had ever looked at with such an honest smile.

••• Danganronpa •••

Jin Kirigiri, headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy, sat before four old men, all of their faces deeply creased by wrinkles and marred by the severe expressions that twisted their visages; to the one, each of them had made known their opinion on the topic they were gathered her for many times in previous years, and none were at all pleased that they had to be having a second meeting about (to their minds, at least,) a waste of time and school resources.

The headmaster was not deterred however, and he fully believed in his conviction that "luck"—for better or worse, benevolent or ill—was truly a talent worth studying, and wasn't that the purpose of Hope's Peak: to nurture the limitless potential of this generations children so that they could light the way for not only those that came after them, but all of humankind?

Besides, as he said, all one had to do was luck at the previous year's Ultimate Lucky Student, Nagito Komeada of the 76th Class; it was impossible for luck—so extreme in its scope that it affected everyone and everything around him in a nearly preternatural manner, often for the worst—could be anything but an "Ultimate"-class talent.

"So simply send out another invitation, if you are that set upon wasting the school's time and money with this pointless tradition of yours," one of the Board members grumbled, glaring at the headmaster with a harsh gaze. "I fail to see why you required summoning us to tell us that an incompetent postal worker resulted in her invitation being lost." Suddenly his thin lips curved into an unkind expression, stretching his pale skin tight against his skeletal features. "Or do you perhaps mean to tell us that you have squandered so many of this institution's resources that you can no longer afford the paper and ink to send out a new one?" he asked nastily, getting chuckles from his fellow likeminded board members.

Jin smiled politely, not reacting the barb hurled at him. "It is not so simple as sending out another invitation, I'm afraid," he lectured, folding his hands on the desk before him. "While the previous winner is at no fault, the fact that her invitation failed to be delivered when everyday thousands of other similar letters arrive at their destination without any trouble, can only mean that she is no longer eligible to attend as Hope's Peak's yearly Ultimate Lucky Student." The headmaster spread his arms out, palm open as if to illustrate his powerlessness in the matter and the fact that he too was chained by the shackles of protocol.

One of the board members, a balding man whose head was speckled with liver spots and whose eyes were covered by a pair of darkly tinted glasses, snorted. "So simply hold your ridiculous election again," he said, wanting to leave the room and get on with far more important matters, as did his fellow compatriots.

"I already have," Jin said, his voice carrying a slight note of pride. "In fact, his invitation may have already arrived at his house as we speak."

"You already held a new drawing and arranged the necessary paperwork to enroll this 'lucky' boy, despite only having heard of the incident a few hours prior?" the rightmost board member, a rather portly old man, asked incredulously. "Such a dutiful headmaster, you are, Kirigiri," he sneered.

Jin Kirigiri simply nodded with a smile, accepting both the disdain and frustration that barb carried: that the Board wouldn't be able to use this incident to set a precedent for the elimination of the yearly lottery for the Ultimate Lucky Student. "If you say so, sir," Jin replied. "It is my pleasure to inform this esteemed body that the new Ultimate Lucky Student of Hope's Peak 78th Class is..."

••• Danganronpa •••

The girl's finger nails drummed a constant tattoo on the table of the police station interrogation room as she stared in a surly manner at the large reflective window that she knew to be a two-way mirror. Besides her, the young boy was hunched in the plastic chair, his face staring at the table. The girl noted that his hands shook ever so slightly, likely because of the stress of the situation.

Normally it would have been a simple matter, seeing as they were both minors and the situation was a clear-cut case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the cops had of course found out her identity, and given her status of notoriety, they decided to look deeper. Leading to her and the boy, who had identified himself as Makoto Naegi, attending Blackroot Junior High, being grilled for many hours with far more intensity than were warranted to a pair of teenagers.

The least the cops could have done is given her back her novel, so she had something occupy herself with; it was bad enough that had to dispose of her butterfly knife before the cops arrived, as being in possession of it would have made this complicated situation even more so.

"Eat," she spoke, reaching out and sliding the plate of no doubt slightly stale donuts over to the boy. He looked at, shocked at her sudden initiative to speak with him, blinking owlishly and appearing all the world like an eager puppy. "You've had a stressful day and may be suffering from low blood sugar, the donuts will help," she explained, and then reached out for one of the steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee that the officers had left. Deftly her fingers tore open three packs of artificial sugar substitute, poured them in, and briskly stirred the caffeinated concoction with the thin red stirring straw that had been provided. "The caffeine should also help," she told him, passing the cup to him before reaching out for her own; she grimaced at the light brown tone of the coffee—she wasn't expecting much, considering it was most likely half a day old and instant coffee—but she did wish that the cops hadn't put such a large amount of cream in their drinks, no doubt on the assumption that they would prefer it such due to their youth.

Well, she couldn't speak for Makoto's tastes in coffee, but she liked hers black; nonetheless, she added a minimal amount of sweetener and took a small sip, before wrapping her hands around the cup and staring silently into space. Besides her, Naegi reached out hesitantly and took a powdered donut, taking a small bite—grimacing, as it was, indeed, slightly stale—and then watched it down with a drink of coffee. The only sound in the room was the quiet noises of Makoto eating, and the girl did not feel inclined to further disrupt the silence.

"Um... Ms. Ikusaba, was it?" Makoto began hesitantly, looking at her after having finished his pastry; the gray-eyed girl turned her attention to him, her head tilted slightly. "Ms. Ikusaba?" How formal.

"Mukuro is fine," she informed him, seeing Makoto blink in reaction, either from her actually answering him or her forwardness, Mukuro did not know.

"Ah... Mukuro, then..." Makoto began, a bit nervous to already be a first-name basis with such a pretty girl—especially after she had saved his life. "I... I just wanted to thank you for saving me earlier," he began.

Mukuro's brows rose; this again? Shaking her head, she replied simply, "I told you, it was nothing. Do not mention it," she deferred, only to be slightly shocked when Makoto was suddenly possessed by a fit of manic energy, suddenly leaning forward into her personal space and staring at her with an expression of absolute conviction and certainty.

"You're wrong!" Makoto exclaimed, and Mukuro's eyes widened slightly at the outburst. "I'd be dead if you hadn't been there—you're amazing, Mukuro!" Makoto began, grasping the hand of the shocked girl who stared at him with wide eyes.

What? What was happening? Mukuro couldn't understand what Makoto was saying. She was amazing? Why? She hadn't done anything worth praising, had she? No one had ever said she was amazing before—not her comrades in Fenrir, not Junko, no one...

"So, thank you! If not for me, than thank you on behalf of my mom and my dad and my little sister! They would have been so sad if I had died, but I'm alive because of you!"

Mukuro stared, her gray eyes pools of absolute shock. "I... I see," she began, once taking firm reign of her emotions and placing the mask of indifference that she wore for society back over her face, though it was no longer as firmly in place as she would have liked. "I accept your gratitude then, if you insist," she said, and Makoto nodded, smiling at once more in a manner that made her stoic heart beat just go just a few beats faster in her chest.

Makoto nodded, satisfied that he finally properly conveyed his absolute gratitude to the girl next to him for saving his life; he then suddenly realized how close he was and how he had been acting, and quickly shrank back in embarrassment, hastily grabbing a plain donut and taking a bite to distract himself.

Neither of the two spoke, though Mukuro did catch Makoto stealing sidelong glances at her or the tattoo on the back of her right hand, obviously curious, but too shy or polite to ask. Finally, Mukuro decided to break the quiet, unable to take deafening silence anymore.

"Makoto," she began simply, causing the boy in question to start slightly, sending a chunk of donut down the wrong pipe and sending him into a fit of coughing. Mukuro reached over and began firmly thumping the small of his back in an attempt to dislodge the errant food, but this was accomplished by Makoto quickly draining over half of his coffee.

"Y-yes?" He asked, staring at her after she had removed her assisting hand from his back.

"I'm curious about something..."

"Yes..."

"Where is your other shoe?" Mukuro asked, and Makoto stared at in befuddled shock, and then looked down to see that he was, in fact, missing one of his sneakers.

How? How had he not noticed that?! Come on!

Unseen, as Makoto searched rather pointlessly in the small room for his missing shoe, Mukuro allowed the corners of her lips to curl up ever so slightly.

••• Danganronpa •••

This was a matter of absolute severity for the young woman—life and death, in fact! An intense gaze raked over the rows of items and her slender fingers danced about in the air above them, ready to plunge down and pluck up their chosen prey as soon as it had been decided.

With the swiftness of a hawk descending on a field mouse, the long fingers pulled one of helpless treats from its cradle, brought it to a pair of plump lips, and white teeth savagely tore a chuck.

As the flavors and texture danced across her tongue, Aoi Asahina closed her eyes in bliss and let out a moan of delight that bordered on the indecent. In her hand she clutched a cake donut, and the flavors of the treat played across her tongue: the spongy sweetness of the dough, the thick dark chocolate the blanketed the top, the crunch of the rainbow sprinkles that served no other purpose than to make people happy!

This was truly bliss! Donuts were, without a doubt, the food of the gods themselves! Quite happily the athlete took another bite before she had finished her first, and her cheeks puffed out slightly, filled with the cakelike confection.

"Careful, big sis, if you keep shoving donuts in your mouth like that, it'll all go straight to your boobs!" a young sounding male voice called, causing the tanned girl to whirl in shock to see her younger brother grinning at her from her doorway. "If they get any bigger you won't be able to swim, and then what use will Hope's Peak have for you?" he asked, grinning cheekily.

Hastily swallowing the half-chewed mass of donut in her mouth, and nearly choking in doing so, Aoi set an absolute filthy glare in the direction of her brother. She knew her breasts were big—and how much faster would she be able to swim if she didn't have them the size that they were!—but she didn't need Yuta to point that out! Still, she loved donuts! Shouldn't she be allowed at least one vice!

Her little brother seemed to realize too late the error of his actions, and made to put his track and field skills to good use, but Aoi descended on him before he could, fully displaying why she was selected as an "Ultimate" to attend Hope's Peak and why she represented their country in the Olympics. Her face alight with wicked glee, Aoi wrapped a toned arm around her young brother's neck in a chokehold, making sure to smash his face against the very breasts he had just mocked, and then ruthlessly rubbed her knuckles over the top of his head, drawing the conflicting cries of laughter and pain from her brother.

"You're a hundred years too early to be talking to your big sister like that, Yuta!" Aoi proclaimed, intensifying the motion of her knuckles against is scalp.

The house was filled with the sound of the two siblings laughter as they enjoyed one another's company.

••• Danganronpa •••

Mukuro Ikusaba found herself in a situation she did not know how to handle. She had crossed the width and breadth of numerous foreign battlefield without a single injury to show for her trials, had hidden from the searching gaze of enemies snipers, and had been locked in one-on-one duels to the death with enemy combatants as she crossed both blade and bullets.

She could take someone's life with no more thought than most people gave getting out of bed, and yet she felt intensely uncomfortable sitting in the chair, a plate of home cooked food steaming before her, as the family looked at her gratitude.

It had been after ten in the evening when the police finally released the two of them from questioning, and a woman who was Makoto's mother had arrived and began scolding him with an anger born out of obvious concern for her son. Mukuro watched this scene, feeling like a voyeur intruding on a private moment: she had never known the care or affection of a loving mother, and the closet thing she had was Junko, and their relationship was not something that society would consider normal by any definition of the word.

Junko was going to be so angry and disappointed in her when she found out about her involvement in this afternoon's events—knowing her little sister, Junko probably already knew...

She was about to retrieve her backpack from the front desk and simply leave, putting the incident of this very strange afternoon behind her and let Makto Naegi and the bright smile he had so freely gifted to her fade to a distant memory—one that she would back fondly on, in the future, when all that was left was Despair; she would recall that once upon a time when a young boy smiled at her, and for a brief moment, the world was filled with light.

That was what she had planned. That was what was supposed to happen.

It seemed that Makoto's strange ability to alter the fortunes of those around could affect even she, who had been gifted the title "Ultimate Soldier." Mukuro shouldn't have been as surprised as she was; she well knew the fact that often times, on the battlefield, only the whims of luck decided if you lived or died, and yet she was left once again flatfooted by a person bearing the name Naegi, when Makoto's mother, after having spoken to her son and an officer, strode over and pulled Mukuro tight to her chest in a warm and gentle embrace, thanking her for saving her little boy.

Pressed tight in this grateful stranger's embrace, for all of her strength, Mukuro was rendered powerlessness before this honest and unconditional affection. Her face was a study of shock, the emotionless facade she displayed for the world cast aside as her heart writhed and twisted, assaulted by emotions she was unprepared for and had seldom—if ever—experienced before in her young life.

Swallowing the obstruction that had formed in her throat, Mukuro felt helpless as she let her arms hand limp at her sides.

"I'm so, so sorry my son has inconvenienced you," Makoto's mother apologized—"Hey!" Makoto protested at the rather unfair treatment he was receiving. "It's not like I wanted any of that happen..." he mumbled, realizing that he was being ignored by the two females "You're parents must be so worried, dear," Makoto's mom said, holding Mukuro out at arm's length; "Insist on allowing me to take you home." She smiled warmly at the younger girl.

Mukuro cleared her throat and resumed the more familiar posture that her military-style life had ingrained into her. "There's no need for that, ma'am;" she shook her head. "I live on my own—I have for quite some time now, so I will fine. I thank you for your concern," she said, bowing slightly to the older woman, confident that with her explanation, the matter was settled.

"You live on your own?" Makoto's mother repeated, staring at the young girl who had saved the life of her son. "But aren't your parents worried about you?" she asked concerned.

Mukuro stared at the older woman; why did she care? Mukuro was a stranger to this woman, and yet she was worried about her... Why? "Neither I or my sister ever knew our birth parents, so we learned to take care of ourselves," explained. She then nodded her head in farewell to the mother and son. "It was a pleasure meeting you both," she bid them farewell before spinning on her heel to return to apartment.

Except the hand around her wrist prevented her departure. Looking down, Mukuro saw that Makoto's mother had stopped her; turning, Mukuro was struck by the similarity the mother now displayed in her expression to the same one she had seen occasionally on Makoto's face earlier in the day.

"It is very late, and it's not safe for a young lady to be wandering the streets alone at night—" the elder Naegi said, before her lips curved into a wry smile as she recalled the tale that she had been told—"even if you can obviously take care of yourself.

I insist on you staying the night as our family's guest—at the very least, you must be hungry after the ordeal were put in."

Mukuro stared at the mother and then her gaze slid over to Makoto, who seemed disinclined to contradict his mother and even appeared somewhat hopeful. It was clear that she should expect no support coming from him. "I would not wish to impose," she began, only to be quickly cut off.

"Nonsense!" the smiling woman clicked her tongue, and her hands begin smoothing out the wrinkles in Mukuro's shirt in an instinctual manner, making the young girl a bit more presentable. "My two children are like bottomless pits, so I always make sure to make more than necessary."

Mukuro watched as the woman smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt before her hand reached up to her face to tenderly tuck her hair behind her ears. Why was she doing this? And why did her own heart tighten up so painfully when this happened, the former mercenary thought. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Mukuro knew she could press the matter and probably escape, but she had already drawn enough unwanted attention to herself—Junko would be furious enough as it was.

Letting out a breath through her nose, Mukuro looked the older woman in the eye and nodded. "...In that case, I would be honored to dine with your family," she said, and heard Makoto let out a cheer.

And so that was how, after an awkward car ride where Makoto had chirped to her good naturedly about his little sister and his father and how he couldn't wait for her to meet them, with his mother smiling at the one-sided interaction taking place in the back of the car, Mukuro Ikusaba found herself seated before the dinner table of the Naegi household, eating her first home cooked meal in over five years.

••• Danganronpa •••

"I love you, Leon!"

Leon Kuwata, famous teenage pitching all-star of Japan, sighed as he heard his cousin once more confess her undying affection towards him. It wasn't that he didn't love his cousin—he cared for her deeply after all and regarded her as his beloved little sister—he just didn't love her the same way she loved him.

Sighing, he could only nod his head resignedly, having become well accustomed to her confessions of love towards him, and simply replied with his usual, "I know, Kanon, I know..." It wasn't that cousins being in a romantic relationship was illegal or completely unheard of in Japan, but the feelings he had for Kanon were simply not the same kind that she had for him, as much as he hated to break her heart.

She would make some guy very lucky some day, Leon knew—it just wasn't going to be him.

His cousin, Kanon, had become the manager for his junior high baseball school team, and she ran a tight ship, making sure that everything was perfect for the team that her beloved cousin was on. Looking at either of them, you would not take either of them for being involved with the sport of baseball based off their appearances.

After being accepted to Hope's Peak Academy, Leon had used his entry as an excuse that he already was recognized by the final word in Japan on talent that he was damn good at what he did, and let his hair grow out and put in the silver piercings that were more fitting to what he truly wanted to be in life. He would go into Hope's Peak as the Ultimate Baseball Star, but he would be damned if he didn't leave that school as the Ultimate Musician instead!

Kanon Nakajima, daughter of a prominent director of the TAT Television network and cousin to Leon Kuwata, had the stereotypical appearance one associated with a member of the gyaru subculture, with a thick layer of make-up over her face. She had started adopting the appearance after Leon had seen the famous teenage fashion model Junko Enoshima in a magazine and made an offhand comment that she was the kind of girl that he preferred.

Leon had told her that it wasn't the gyaru look in particular, but the fact that girl's who could pull it off looked cute doing it. Nonetheless, Kanon resolved to mastering the art of makeup in the hope of one day capturing the attention of Leon!

Leon only lent half an ear to his cousin—knowing that the next few minutes would consist of her listing even more reasons they should be in a relationship, so all he had to do was nod his head occasionally—and was thus caught somewhat flat footed when he heard her mention something that actually captured his attention.

"Huh?" he asked, turning his attention towards Kanon; the softball he had been tossing from hand to hand stopped its motion. "What'd you say about Hope's Peak?" he asked, sheepishly at the stubble that was lining his jaw—he was thinking of growing it out into a goatee, honestly; he thought it would look cool, and would certainly lend more of the "rock star" personage that he one day wanted to adopt for himself.

Kanon glared at Leon, her cheeks puffed out slightly in irritation; for being such a tiny girl, she could be surprisingly forceful and intimidating when someone wronged her.

"Sorry, sorry!" Leon apologized, waving his hands frantically in a placating manner.

Sighing, Kanon shook her head. "Honestly, Leon," she scolded, making said boy feel like he was being talked down to by his mother, "you may have been accepted into Hope's Peak for your skills at baseball, but how exactly do you hope to stay enrolled with your flighty attention span!" she demanded, pointing a finger at him, her other hand akimbo on her hip.

Leon shrugged. "I dunno," he replied honestly. "I was as shocked as you were when I got that letter in the mail..." He thought about the concern that his cousin had just presented to him; coming up with no solutions, he shrugged unabashed. "I guess I'll figure something out when I get there..."

That set his cousin off on a tirade of how irresponsible he was and how he was hopeless without her there to take care of him—and he wouldn't have to worry about such things if he just finally agreed to marry her, after all. Not bothering to defend herself against the accusations, as they were all true, honestly (except that last one,) Leon resumed his tossing the ball between his hands.

He would miss seeing Kanon, truth be told; and then an idea struck him. If he was to become the Ultimate Musician, then surely Hope's Peak would eventually need a new Ultimate Baseball Star, right.

Grinning to himself, Leon knew that Kanon could easily become worthy of such a title—she just needed the proper motivation.

Fortunately, he had just the carrot to use.

Tossing the baseball at Kanon, drawing a startled yelp from the younger girl, who juggled the ball between her hands as she tried not to fumble the sudden projectile, Leon grinned as he earned another ire-filled glare.

"I'll make a deal with you, Kanon," Leon said, walking towards his cousin, who had silenced her tirade in the sudden curiosity of what Leon was up to. Leon recalled one of the coach's that had trained him had been fond of making the players under him memorize useless sports statistics (and hadn't that sucked!) but he did remember that some record had been set in Japan for female pitching speed... What had it been? 130 meters per hour? 150?

160 meters per hour! That was it!

"If you can manage to pitch a baseball faster than 160 meters per hour, I'll agree to consider you as a potential girlfriend!" he said.

Kanon stared at Leon, unable to believe the words that she had just heard come from his lips. Was this truly real? She wasn't dreaming was she? This wasn't just some sick, cruel joke? She wouldn't be able to handle the disappoint if it was!

Swallowing thickly, Kanon stared at Leon and asked in a quavering tone of voice, "D-Do you really mean that, Leon?" She had such hope in her eyes that Leon kind of felt like some jerk who had just kicked a box of puppy. "Truly?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Leon said, nodding and looking away, embarrassed by the big deal that Kanon was making out of this. "Listen—if you can do that, I promise that I'll hold up my end of the bet, deal?" he asked, smiling at her and offering his pinky extended out to seal the agreement, as they had so many times before as children.

Tears flooded Kanon's eyes and she let out a sob; instead of linking fingers she threw herself around Leon, who fell back under the sudden onslaught.

"What the hell!" the Ultimate Baseball Star demanded; where the hell did this come from!? "Why the hell are you crying?" he demanded, staring in shock at the sniveling young girl who had latched onto him and didn't seem to be inclined to release him any time soon.

"I-I'm just so, so happy!" Kanon all but sobbed, her face a covered in makeup that was not tear-proof, and she was burying her face in Leon's shirt, getting it stained in all manner of chemicals and who knows what else...

"Geez..." Leon grumbled, but patted the girl who was, for all intents and purposes, his little sister. At that moment, he began to worry about the deal that he had just made—but it was too late now, and he would just have to man up if (though Leon knew with a practical certainty that it would be "when") Kanon accomplished her side of the bet.

Oh well...

"I promise not to let you down, Leon!" Kanon cried, her voice muffled in his chest, either hand wrinkling his shirt where she clutched it in a death grip.

"I know you won't," Leon said, patting her back. "You never have," he muttered under his breath, too low for even Kanon to hear despite how close she was.

••• Danganronpa •••

Komaru Naegi could barely contain her excitement as she practically danced in place in front of the door to their house, eagerly awaiting her mother and brother's return home. How Makoto had gotten himself involved in multiple motor vehicle incidents and a hostage situation, the younger Naegi sibling didn't know—but right now, she didn't care! All that mattered was the ornate envelope that she held in one shaking hand; it was open—and she felt no shame in reading her brother's mail, thank you very much!

As she heard her mom's car pull up to the house, she began to bounce from foot to foot; if Komaru had been a dog, her tail would have been a blur of motion by this point, but she was not a dog and simply a very excited little sister. She heard the lock of the door turn, and she filled her young lungs with as much air as she could, fully prepared to launch herself at her older brother and proclaim the good news the second she saw her.

The door opened. Her mother appeared; Komaru tensed all her muscles, ready to spring at Makoto, who she knew to be just behind her mom!

...That wasn't Makoto...

"Huh?" Komaru stared in shock at the older girl who had followed her mother into their home; likewise the stranger stared at her blankly, wondering if she were about to be attacked. Had this all been some kind of trap? "You're not Makoto!" Komaru proclaimed, pointing defiantly at the strange woman. She did not even realize she had set the letter she had previously been so eager to show off on the nearby stand, next to a framed family photo.

This truly was a strange day of new experiences for Mukuro Ikusaba, who could only stare at the offending digit being damningly aimed at her. "No," she admitted, "I am not." Really, what else could be said to the young girl's accusation.

This must be Komaru, who Makoto had told Mukuro about at length on the ride over. Said young boy peeked his head over Mukuro's shoulder and waved.

"Hi, Komaru," he greeted with good cheer, giving a jaunty wave.

Their mother, on the other hand, looked sternly down at her youngest child, unimpressed by the greeting that had been given to their guest. "Komaru!" she reprimanded, her hands on her hips. "You are being extremely rude to our guest, young lady!"

Komaru shrunk in on herself, her head hung in shame; mother was right: she was being rude. She hadn't met too, though! She was surprised! Who was this pretty older girl who was with her brother? "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing to the pale raven-haired girl who still stood awkwardly in their doorway. "You surprised me, is all," she explained her poor manners. "I was expecting my brother..."

Mukuro made a thoughtful noise to let the younger girl know she had heard her explanation, but she really did not have anything to say. Stepping to one side, she allowed Makoto to enter his own house.

Makoto's younger sister seemed to rally quickly, though, and was once more her normal excitable self, rocking to and fro on the heels of her feet as she regarded the strange new girl in the house. "I'm Komaru Naegi, pleased to meet you!" she said, seeming to share the same excitable energy and cheer that her brother displayed.

Mukuro gave a polite, small smile in return. "I am Mukuro Ikusaba; it is a pleasure to meet you, Komaru—Makoto has told me much about you," she said.

Komaru's eyes widened at that, and she turned her gaze to her brother. "None of it is true! He lies!" she cried. "Makoto! What horrible things have you been telling her about me?" Komaru whined.

"What?" Makoto demanded, his mind struggling to make sense of the conversation he had been thrust into. "Nothing! I haven't told her any lies!" he refuted.

Mukuro watched the two siblings enter into an easygoing back-and-forth squabble, trading affectionate barbs with the practiced ease of years' experience. Observing such a sight was a surreal experience for Mukuro: she and Junko had never shared the easy affection she was now witnessing between Makoto and Komaru. The siblings' mother watched the two argue with an air of resigned exasperation, but her gaze held a large amount of love and warmth as well.

Suddenly, Komaru unexpectedly drew her into the conversation. "So, Mukuro, are you my big brother's girlfriend," she asked, getting extremely close and gazing towards Mukuro with wide eyes as she awaited the answer. Mukuro stared mutely, Makoto quickly turned red and began sputtering out incomplete sentences, and their mother hid a smile behind her hand.

Girlfriend? Why would his sister ask such a thing? "...No," Mukuro finally answered, deciding that the simple truth was for the best in this situation.

Komaru accepted that answer with a satisfied nod of her head, crossing her arms under chest. "I thought as much," she opined. "As if my boring big brother could ever have a girl as pretty as you as a girl friend," she said.

"Hey!"

Chuckling at her children's antics, the Naegi matriarch put an end to any further escalation. "That's enough you two!" she scolded. "I do believe you've put our guest on the spot enough for one evening, and I invited her for our late dinner," she said. "Komaru, please go inform your father it's time to eat and set an extra place for our guest," she ordered. "Where is your father, anyway?"

"On the phone with grandma and granpa!" Komaru said, but before her mother could ask why her husband was on the phone with his parents, her daughter was off racing off down the hallway. "Dad! Mom says it's time for dinner! We have a guest!" she could be heard shouting, much to her mother's apparent chagrin.

Sighing, Makoto and Komaru's mother followed after her daughter, muttering "that girl" and "I swear..." under breath.

Makoto and Mukuro were left in silence in the entry hall; having nothing better to do, Mukuro removed her shoes, as was proper, with Makoto soon following after.

"I'm really sorry about Komaru," Makoto broke the silence to apologize; turning, Mukuro saw him staring at his feet, his face red with embarrassment. "I hope she didn't make you feel too awkward..."

Mukuro's social skills could be charitably described as "inadequate" at best, but even so, she smiled slightly and waved her concerns. "Not at all," she dismissed, and then judging this to be inadequate for the purpose of social "small talk," offered further: "I like your family... it's very..." she thought for the proper word, never having experienced a family dynamic such as this was (or much of any family dynamic, for that, matter) "welcoming," she finally decided.

And it was true: when you stepped into the Naegi household you were immediately swept up the current of familial camaraderie and made to feel like a long absent distant relation returned for a visit, and greeted with all the warmth and affection that one would expect.

It was... nice.

"Yeah..." Makoto agreed, smiling. "Well, you're probably hungry!" he exclaimed. "Follow me—I'll show you to the washroom where you can wash up before dinner!"

••• Danganronpa •••

The letter to Hope's Peak was held aloft, and its owner triumphantly sang out the iconic five notes to the Legend of Zelda "new item acquired" tune.

"With this entry pass, I shall make all of Japan and beyond recognize the beauty of 2D!" The proclaimed aficionado of all things of the second dimension was none other than Hifumi Yamada, comic artist and upcoming Ultimate Fanfic Creator of Hope's Peak Academy's 78th Class!

Nearby, a girl who could be nothing other than a relation to Hifumi, looked up and smiled in pride at her younger brother, before returning to her work of ever-so carefully getting just the right curve on the profile of that leg of lamb she was illustrating in her latest issue of Tara Spa! The rendering of the food done, Fujiko Yamada gave it a review with a critical eye, before nodding and setting the pencil sketch to the side to be inked later. On a separate sketch pad, she jotted down the stream of her thoughts, putting every little thought that entered her mind onto the pad in a jumbled mass of out-of-context words and phrases.

Among the words were such phrases like "slow roasted," "render the fat," "full-bodied," "marbling," "voluptuous," "girth," and several doodles of various food items and, well, penises in various states of erection...

It must run in the family...

••• Danganronpa •••

Mukuro did not know if it was typical for the Naegi household, but that evening's dinner was an extremely lively affair: Makoto and Naegi traded playful barbs, dueling each other with chop sticks for the final spicy tuna roll, but were left befuddled when it suddenly seemed to vanish. Mukuro, didn't know if it was the stress of the day or simply unconscious mimicry of Makoto and Komaru's antics, but she struck by a sudden streak of puckish behavior, and had used the reflexes that had seen her safely across many fields of battle to snatch the last piece of sushi. Her lips curved up slightly at the corners, Mukuro popped the morsel into her mouth, chewing her conquest with slight satisfaction at the gob smacked faces of the two other teens.

The family was very impressed, with the eldest man laughing at seeing his arguing children one upped so thoroughly, while the teens' mother scolded their poor manners at not offering the last piece of sushi to their guest.

Makoto was used to her reflexes, with them having saved her life, but Komaru excitedly clapped her hands and wondered if she was a ninja, and if so, could she teach her how to secret shin obi arts like throwing fire balls.

Makoto's mother had politely asked the basic questions about their guest: where did she live, where did she attend school, those sort of questions; seeing no sense in telling a falsehood, especially since they could easily find out that information by simply searching her name on the Internet, Mukuro admitted that she had been out of country for little over the last three years and she had been working as a member of an internationally based private security force—which, while being a colorful twist on the truth, was in fact, the truth.

Makoto's parents had seemed very impressed by her worldly experiences, though his mother did seem concerned for her safety, and Mukuro was certain that the father suspected something, as he kept glancing towards her Fenrir tattoo—most likely he was recalling having seen one of the not-so-distant news reports about her sudden return to her country of birth, or had read an article about it in passing a couple of weeks ago.

Komaru and Makoto's father did have wonderful life changing news for him, and that was in fact the reason why their father had been on the phone with the children's grandparents, but it was quickly forgotten after Makoto explained his day to him, and how Mukuro had saved his life.

This leads to how Mukuro Ikusaba found herself once more embraced by a member of the Naegi family, as Komaru tearfully thanked her for saving the life of her "stupid-idiotic-unlucky brother." It went to say something about the way that her day had progressed, that Mukuro, who had been removed from normal social interactions, let alone ones of affection, could now loosely drape her hands around the back of the crying girl and pat it rather lamely.

"Truly," Makoto's father began, his face grim, "this family owes you a debt that we can never repay," he said seriously, causing Mukuro to shift uncomfortably in her seat and frowned slightly, cursing her abysmal lack of any that even came close to resembling normal social skills, as she was left to either say nothing or uselessly shrug her shoulders.

Figuring she had nothing to lose, Mukuro figured she might as well try her hand at "small talk." Gently easing the younger Naegi daughter off of her so as to not seem rude, Mukuro then cleared her throat and decided to ask.

"Forgive me if I am being rude, but I am curious:" she began, seeing that she had gotten the attention of all seated at the table by the sheer fact that she had taken the initiative to ask them a question for the first time that night, "but is Makoto's luck always this..." Mukuro bit the inside of her cheek as she thought of a polite euphuism, before deciding that boldfaced honesty was the best course of action, "impressively horrendous."

Makoto sunk back into his chair, flinching as if Mukuro's words had physically pierced his heart, and gave her such a wounded look that the former mercenary nearly apologized for her choice of words; Komaru, on the other hand, broke into a fit of gleeful giggles, pointing joyfully at Makoto.

Makoto's father sighed, shaking his head, but he did not seem offended by his guest's question or choice of wording. "Honestly, Ms. Ikusaba," he began with a chuckle, "I would like to tell you that his luck today is fantastic, as a matter of fact," he began, causing everyone at the table other than himself and Komaru, who's face simply lit up as she recalled the wonderful news she had been so eager to tell her brother before she had been distracted. "But after hearing of his misadventures today, I'm not entirely certain that this afternoon was not the universe's way of evening out my son's karma, so to speak."

Makoto looked to his father, clueless as to what he could mean. Smiling at his son's clueless look, Makoto's father felt such pride surge forth in his chest as he gazed at his son. "You see, Makoto, while you were off driving city transportation without a proper license and getting yourself involved in hostage situations," he teased, causing Makoto to sulk, "wonderful news came for you in the mail."

Makoto stared blankly at his father, and his mother was likewise confused, but Komaru was all but vibrating in her seat, a wide smile stretched across her face. Possessed by a sudden streak of mischief, the father turned to his daughter and asked of her, "Komaru, dear, would you please and go get Makoto his letter?" It seemed that Komaru had been waiting for the question to be asked, as she had pushed her chair away from the table and was running towards the hallway door where she had left the letter earlier. Before anyone at the table could become too confused by the strange behavior displayed, Komaru had returned, thrusting an official looking envelope towards Makoto with shaking hands.

"Open it, Makoto!" she urged.

Makoto looked at the envelope and raised a brow at the state it was in. "It seems like someone already did," he commented sardonically.

"That's not important!"

Makoto stared at his sister, his expression making perfectly clear what he thought of that remark. "Not important?" he parroted incredulously. "I'm fairly certain it's illegal!"

While the family's attention was distracted by the byplay occurring between brother and sister, Mukuro's eyes had widened ever so slightly in shock. She recognized that envelope and knew exactly what it meant—after all, she had a similar letter resting in her backpack, serving as her official documentation as far as the truancy officers of Japan were concerned.

But why did Makoto receive one from that school? No offense to him, but he was so far outside of what would normally be considered the institution's target demographic that it wasn't even funny.

Grabbing the envelope in a crab-claw swipe, Makoto flipped it over and went to remove the letter, but stopped as soon as he saw the coat of arms of the school that most people can only imagine what it must be like to be a member of the elite that attend—the cream of the crop of not only Japan, but some would argue the world itself.

His pale pink tongue peeked out from between his suddenly dry lips to moisten them, and he removed the letter with shaking hands, his eyes scanning the neat symbols that had been handwritten by the headmaster of the school himself.

"...as the Ultimate Lucky Student of Hope's Peak Academy 78th Class," Makoto finished reading, and then decided to read again once more, simply to assure himself that he wasn't having some kind of vivid hallucination. "T-This is real?" he asked his father, who nodded his head.

"I called the school and confirmed myself. You're name was chosen out of the yearly national lottery!" Makoto didn't seem to know quite how to react to this news, though Komaru seemed excited enough for both of them, hopping up and down as if she herself had been selected to walk the hallowed halls of Hope's Peak as a legendary "Ultimate." Makoto's mother looked at her son with an expression of pure, maternal pride. Suddenly, Makoto's face changed to one of pure, unbridled optimism and joy, and he joined his sister in her revelry.

Mukuro watched all of this, a silent observer to this family's joy, unable to dispel the notion that was she some kind of voyeur to this joyous scene, despite having been invited into the family's home and broke bread with them. Perhaps it was because she had never formed any such familial connections.

She of course had her twin sister, and while Mukuro loved Junko dearly and with all her heart, it was no small understatement to say that the two sisters' relationship was... complicated. Even the family that had adopted her, while treating her with all the warmth and care that could be expected of a family, had never instilled the same sort of bond that she now witnessed; she'd had no reservations about risking her life in pursuit of her dream and had set out into a foreign land, with nothing more than her wits, some food, and her well-loved copy of a survival guide, to find some place in the world that would see only her passion and skill in all matters of military.

••• Danganronpa •••

This was a place of vice and sin, catering to gluttony and greed, as its patrons freely imbedded spirits of grain, grape, or otherwise. Among those who frequented this place, seeking fortune and fame with a modicum of effort and a lot of look, particularly incongruent was the young girl who looked as she had stepped from the pages of a Gothic fantasy.

The girl, for she was not yet a woman, had skin so pale as to almost glow in the soft lights of the underground casino; despite her young age (or because of it,) she was well known among those who kept their finger on the pulse of the underground currency that so readily changed hands in this culture. Celestia Ludenberg was well known to everyone present, though not much was known of her that could be considered hard fact: she was young and undoubtedly skilled at gambling, this much was readily apparent, but none knew where she came from, who her parents were, or if "Celestia" was her actual name!

Needless to say, Celestia took great care to maintain her aura of mystique and privacy; her tongue spun silken lies and tantalizing half-truths alike, though no one was ever able to tell the two apart. It was rumored that she was the daughter of Lucifer himself, come up from the pits of Hell—she had obviously inherited her father's luck, if this was true, and would readily explain her lack of fear at risking her life if it meant the procurement of earthly gains.

Indeed, Celestia approached all games of skill and chance with the same fox-like smile on her aristocratic features, not hesitating for even a second to place the barrel of a revolver to her temple and pull the trigger.

Her fellow competitors were not so lucky.

Smiling at her opponent for the day, drinking the look of shock and absolute despair as she revealed her royal flush, she calmly collected the man's entire life savings, gave a polite courtesy, and went to cash in her winnings. Humming a classical tune to herself, the pale girl ideally considered stopping to get some gyoza—and of course to bring some home for her beloved Grand Bois Chéri Ludenberg.

After all, she did not know how long it would be before she would be able to once more indulge in her greatest guilty pleasure in life, while she was attending Hope's Peak Academy.

••• Danganronpa •••

Now that the subject of schooling had been raised, after the infectious cheer and fervor of the youngest boy of the Naegi family attending Hope's Peak had faded, the mother of the family turned her concerned gaze towards their dinner guest, who had remained quiet and respectful the whole while. Recalling the fact that she lived on her own, the caring older woman could not help but be concerned for the dear sweet girl.

"What are you, Mukuro, dear?" she asked, drawing attention once more to their dinner guest. "Where you do attend school?"

Mukuro finished taking a drink of her beverage and gently placed the cup back on the table before replying. "Due to recent return to Japan and my previous work overseas, I do not attend any schooling currently," she informed them all; however, before the parents could get too concenerned for her welfare, she continued on, "but I will be attending high school at the start of the coming term, of course."

Makoto's father nodded, glad that this girl who had saved the life of his son had was not simply another unfortunate soul lost to society. "And might we ask where you will be attending, if you do not mind?" he inquired.

Mukuro chewed at the inside of her cheek, briefly considering the strange series of coincidences that had brought her and Makoto together today, added to the fact that they would be soon be class mates together.

Was this simply luck or fate, she the young girl had to wonder.

"It would seem your son does have the most curious of luck," Mukuro simply commented, reaching down besides her chair and retrieving her own envelope. Immediately, all the eyes at the table went wide at seeing another such envelope from Hope's Peak Academy in their house; Mukuro gestured towards the letter, giving permission for the father to read the letter.

"The Ultimate Soldier?" Makoto's father said the title awarded to their guests slowly, as if tasting the words upon his tongue and considering if they were to his liking—he wasn't sure what to think about this development. Hope's Peak would not confer the title of "Ultimate" to just anyone, but what did a person have to have accomplished in their past to be considered the most elite of Soldiers. Come to think on it, the name Mukuro Ikusaba kept nagging at his mind—he was certain he recently read an article the not-so-distant past about her, come to think of it.

"Yes, sir," Mukuro said, nodding. "As I explained earlier, I joined an international group of private security forces and trained under them for the last three years abroad. It seems that my exploits gained the attention of the Academy and the Board of Director's saw fit to award me that title."

"Oh my gosh!" Komaru suddenly exclaimed, gazing at Mukuro with the same fervor that she normally reserved for Sayaka Maizono. "You're just like the heroine of one my manga!"

Mukuro blinked at that remark. How was she supposed to respond to a claim like that. "No... I'm really not," she eventually decided upon. But Komaru would not hear anything of it, and Mukuro was suddenly struck by the feeling that this might be somewhat what her sister felt like, having fans...

Makoto, meanwhile, was staring shocked at Mukuro. What was the luck that the very same girl who saved his life would also be one of the small handful of people in the world that would be his classmate in the coming year?

A wide smile broke out on his face. He would have a friend in Hope's Peak Academy before even starting there!

"All my bad luck today was worth it!" Makoto suddenly exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone gathered around the table. "Because now I'll have a friend when I start school!" he cheered.

Mukuro was shocked, and her face was a clear indication of the fact. She opened her mouth several times, only to close it as her tongue failed to find words to properly respond to this revelation.

Her and Makoto—friends? Why? How? Why would he want to be friends with a disappointing girl like her? Junko was the one who made friends—not, plain boring Mukuro. This did not make any sense.

"F-Friend?" Mukuro repeated, not quite comprehending the full meaning of the word.

Makoto was suddenly overcome by a sense of embarrassment, and directed his gaze towards his plate, pushing around some vegetables with his utensil. "W-well... yeah... I mean, that is, if you want be my friend..." he said bashfully.

Mukuro stared at the young boy, her mind desperately trying to figure out what was going on. "I'm your friend?" she finally asked.

"Huh?" Makoto asked, looking up in confusion and looked at Mukuro as if she had just insisted the sky was green and pink. "Of course you are, Mukuro! You saved my life and we're going to be classmates! Of course you and I are friends!"

Mukuro listened to his words; the way he said that, so matter of fact, as if it were an obvious fact of the world, right alongside gravity or the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Mukuro suddenly felt very uncomfortable there in that seat, in that house, sitting before this young boy who had just proclaimed for all to hear that she was his "friend."

"I've never had many friends..." she said softly, tracing a whorl of grain on the wooden table.

"That's stupid!" It was not Makoto but Komaru who voiced this opinion, causing Mukuro to look up in surprise. The younger girl seemed to take the fact of prior lack of friends as a personal affront, and was sitting upright with as much indignation as a young girl in junior high could. "You're all kinds of awesome, Mukuro!" she exclaimed. "I'm happy to be your friend!" she declared.

Mukuro stared at the younger girl with wide eyes. Her too? She didn't understand what was happening; looking around, she saw that the teenagers' parents were looking at her with kind gazes and gentle smiles.

Why? Why was this family who had just met her today welcoming her with such open arms? Sure, she had saved the life of her son, but she had routinely saved the life of her comrades in Fenrir and had never received excess praise or special treatment for doing what was expected of her. So why now?

"To be honest, Ms. Ikusaba, I'm very glad," Makoto's father said. "I was worried about him going to Hope's Peak by himself," he confessed. "I have full faith in my son, but the expectation of being a member of that school... well, I was worried that even my son's boundless optimism would be strained." He smiled at Mukuro. "I cannot tell you how much it eases my worries to know that he'll have a friend there to help him—I mean, you'll already saved his life today, so I think you'll be handle the situation if his luck gets out of hand again," he said with a laugh.

Makoto protested to his father, exclaiming that he was embarrassing him; Mukuro simply sat there, the father's words echoing in her mind. They believed in her? They placed their faith to keep her... her "friend" safe in her?

Mukuro was overcome by a strange feeling, as if a tiny, sputtering flame had alit itself in her frozen heart. Was this what it was like to have a family? Was this what it was like to have a friend?

She smiled.

It was... nice.

••• Danganronpa •••

Lines of complicated code and mathematical algorithm filled the laptop's screen, with even more conditions and operators coming into existence as the petite hands flew across the keyboard with blinding speed.

The owner of the hands was a very petite individual dressed in a girl's school uniform; she chewed fretfully at her lower lip as she considered the massive walls of code, searching for the one error that was causing the program to not compile and execute properly.

"Hnngh!" she made a frustrated noise in her throat. What was wrong! Why wasn't this working? Had she made a mistake somewhere? Before she could get any more frustrated, a large hand placed itself gently on her shoulder, and she looked up to see the smiling face of a man who was obviously her father, the family resemblance apparent for any stranger to see.

"You'll get it, son!" he encouraged what was actually a boy, his eyes radiating confidence from behind his glasses. "You've already made me so proud! You'll solve this problem, too—I know it!"

Chihiro Fujisaki smiled, his father's words casting away his self-doubt and filling him with renewed determination! "I won't let you down, dad!" he chirped, smiling brilliantly before turning back to resume work on his robotics control program.

As he walked away, Taichi Fujisaki, father of the upcoming Ultimate Programmer, simply smiled. "You never have, son," he said softly.

His smile widened at the exclamation of joy as his son found the error that had been stymieing his efforts: he had forgotten to place a single semicolon at the end of a line of code.

••• Danganronpa •••

"Absolutely not," Makoto's mother said, barring the way to the door from Mukuro, causing the freckled girl to frown softly in slight irritation.

"I will be fine," Mukuro insisted, taking a step forward but faltering when the older woman did not even so much as blink.

"You are a young girl, "Ultimate" or not, and I will not allow you to wander the streets at this time of night," the mother said, in no uncertain terms laying down the law for her guest. She gave a critical once over of Mukuro before nodding. "You seem to be around Komaru's size—I'm certain that she has something that will serve for the night," she considered.

Wait. What? Mukuro tried to wrap her head around that seeming non sequitur. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, hoping for some form of clarification.

"You're staying the night of course, dear," the mother said causually, before turning towards her daughter. "Komaru go find something that might fit Mukuro here, will you?" She asked. "Makoto, set up on the couch—Mukuro will be staying in your room tonight," she ordered.

"Yay!" Komaru cheered, racing off towards her room. "Sleep over!" Makoto stood there for a moment, scratching his cheek as he attempted to figure out what was happening, but he had long ago learned never to question his mother. Seeing Mukuro giving him a pleading look, he could only smile apoplectically and go off to fulfill the task he had been given.

Mukuro, by this point, was so far outside of her element, it wasn't even funny. A sleep over—her? How had this happened? Becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the situation she now found herself in, she did, however, vow to never underestimate Makoto's seemingly supernatural luck and the tendency it seemed to have to upend any situation onto its head.

"I assure you, this is not necessary, Ma'am," Mukuro said, fidgeting in a manner that would have had her superiors in Fenrir scolding her for her lack of discipline. "I do not wish to put anyone out..."

"Of course it is, and I promise you, you aren't, dear," she said, giving that gentle smile towards Mukuro once more. "We're thrilled to have you!"

Mukuro by this point that this was not an argument that she was going to win—unless of course she was willing to resort to physically moving the Naegi matriarch aside, which she was not. But what was she supposed to do at a "sleepover"? Well, sleeping , obviously—that wasn't a problem—but Mukuro knew there must be more to this tradition than that, or else surely Komaru would not have been as excited as she was.

"I... I am fine with taking the couch if I must. There's no need to put Makoto out of his own room," she told the older woman; the look she got in return told Mukuro that it was necessary, and Mukuro did not believe it wise to press the point further.

Komaru came racing down the stairs, a white and black pinstriped sleeping top and pants clutched tight to her chest. "Will these work, Mom?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

Taking the garments from her daughter, the older woman opened the shirt and held it out over Mukuro's torso, gently chiding the girl to stop her fidgeting. She nodded her head decisively: it would be a bit short in the hem and the sleeves, but it would do in a pinch, certainly.

Komaru slyly sidled up to Mukuro, who was staring at the clothes that had been thrust into her arms. "Hey, Mukuro," she said, a wicked grin on her lips. "If you look under big brother's mattress, maybe you'll find his secret stash of magazines!" she practically sang out.

"Komaru!" Makoto, of course, chose this time to return with his blanket and pillow, and had heard his sister; his face was as red as a tomatoes. "I-It's not true! I swear!" he quickly denied, shaking his head to Mukuro. "I don't have any magazines like that!"

Mukuro simply nodded her head. She was well aware of what kind of magazines that men liked to peruse in their free time, having worked with mostly adult males in Fenrir. Nevertheless, she would not be looking under Makoto's mattress, in any case.

As she made her way to the bathroom to get changed, the sound of Komaru giggling, Makoto yelling his indignation, and their mother scolding the both of them for behaving in such a manner in front of a guest followed her.

••• Danganronpa •••

The young teen with dark hair made a disgruntled noise, his fists shoved firmly into his pockets as he marched up the stairs to the third floor of the Biology building, where his domain lied. Approaching the door to the Neuroscience's Institute, Yasuke Matsuda, Ultimate Neurologist and member of the 77th Class, stalked into his lab, wasting no time in removing his shoes and shocks to conduct his business barefoot, as was his preference.

Honestly, campus security had to a do better job! He had just been assaulted by either a vagrant who had gotten in, or a very unkempt Reserve student—either way, why in the hell would he give a thousand dollars to have his fortune told!

Falling carelessly to the bed, Yasuke took out his manga and quickly found the spot he had left off last at. Letting himself get lost in the action-packed pages of the story, Yasuke couldn't help but let his mind wander to the fast approaching new school year that would bring with it a fresh batch of new talented students.

And Her.

Before he could think on the matter anymore, a knock sounded on the door of the lab, and Yasuke gave it an absolutely filthy look for daring to disturb him. Making no effort to get up or offer any acknowledgement that anyone was occupying the room, the student returned to his manga—but the knocking wouldn't stop!

Growling in his throat, Yasuke got to his feet angrily, and ripped the door open, staring death at the individual whom had made the grave mistake of earning his wrath. From his uniform, Yasuke saw that it was a Reserve student, and judging from the stupid expression on his face, not a particularly bright one either.

Hope's Peak really needed to either increase the entrance exam qualifications for these fools. He knew that funding was hard to come by, even with the numerous grants that the Japanese government subsided the school with, but surely there was a limit...

"What do you want!" Yasuke spat, causing the boy to sputter. "Well, out with it! I don't have all day!" he demanded.

The young man swallowed thickly. "H-Hello!" he greeted, waving—fucking waving!—at the much angrier upperclassmen. "I-I was told to find Yasuke Matsuda... the Ultimate Neurologist?" he said, unsure.

"Congratulations, you've succeeded," Yasuke said scornfully. "Now leave me alone!" he said, making to slam the door harshly in the fool's face, only for the student to let out a yelp as his foot stopped it from closing all the way.

For the love of god!

Becoming increasingly frustrated, Yasuke sent a withering glare at the brown-haired dolt interrupting his evening. "What!" he spat. "Haven't you wasted enough of my time? Go back where you belong and leave me alone!"

"I was told to give you this by the Board of Director's," the student finally managed to say, holding out a black folder bearing the red insignia of Hope's Peak.

Yasuke regarded the student in surprise. The Board sent him? Most students—Ultimate or otherwise—never even so much as saw any of the Board members, even in passing. Why would have those ancient fossils have taken the time to meet with a Reserve student?

Intrigued, Yasuke all but ripped the folder from the grasp of the student, and quickly began to flip through it. With each page he read, his eyebrows climbed ever higher into his hairline.

Were they serious? They actually wanted to attempt this? Maybe this wouldn't be a waste of his time after all, Yasuke considered.

"You're sure about this?" he asked the student before him. Reserve student or not, what he was signing up for was no small thing and had no guarantee of success.

"Absolutely!" The other boy said confidently, it's always been my dream to one day be an Ultimate at this school!"

Yasuke scoffed at that childish notion; talent was something that a person was either born with or without and there was no changing that—at least, that had been the case until now.

Maybe...

"Come in," Yasuke demanded, throwing his manga down upon his desk where it landed by a framed photo of a much younger him next to a smiling girl red eyes and similarly colored hair pulled into pig tails. "What's your name?" Yasuke asked.

The boy smiled brightly. "Hajime Hinata, sir!" he said with all the enthusiasm of a newborn puppy.

"Well, Mr. Hajime Hinata," Yasuke said, making note among the papers. "Let's get started then, shall we?" he advised, setting the folder down.

The black folder bore many warning labels on its surface, such as "Confidential," and "Eyes Only!" but prominent across it in letters the color of blood was the label "Project Ultimate Hope."

••• Danganronpa •••

Mukuro laid awake in the unfamiliar bed of the strange room, reflecting on the events of the day.

Komaru had enthusiastically dragged her to her own room and commenced "girl talk," as the younger girl had called it, prattling on about manga, idol groups, her dreams and hopes. Unprepared for the conversation, Mukuro had made the comment that Sayaka Maizono was going to be one the people attending Hope's Peak alongside herself and the girl's brother.

That had set off a whole steam of words that occasionally reached decibel levels not normally heard (to Mukuro, sometimes it reminded her of the ominous whine of an incoming artillery fire.) The styling of each other's hair was then suggested, but Mukuro lacked any skill that department and neither had hair of sufficient length to do anything, anyway. Makeup was a similar failure, as Mukuro simply never wore cosmetics.

Eventually, she had achieved some success by telling Komaru of the foreign lands she had visited and of some of the more tame battles she had been part of; of course, this did nothing to diminish the hero worship that Komaru seemed to regard her with, and the younger girl had somehow managed to secure the promise of Mukuro demonstrating her knife throwing skills tomorrow afternoon.

Although Mukuro wondered why Komaru kept asking her what she thought of her brother. Mukuro had just met Naegi that day, but he seemed like a very kind boy, if a bit naive—Komaru seemed disappointed by this assessment, but still requested that Mukuro use her "super powers" to make sure that her troublesome big brother didn't get into too much trouble.

Seeing no reason not to, Mukuro had easily agreed to this.

Mukuro Naegi was unlike anyone that Mukuro had ever met before in her life. For one thing, his luck and the way that it seemed to ensnare everyone around him, for better or worse, was quite astonishing and would have been an absolute nightmare to deal with in Fenrir.

It was said that the battle plan itself was the first casualty of any battle, and Mukuro knew from experience that was true, but Makoto's luck would have ensured any plans demise before the battle even started.

The nearby alarm clock glowed softly, telling Mukuro that it was past midnight and technically a new day; her phone buzzed harshly nearby from where it was recharging, plugged into a wall outlet. Mukuro did not even need to glance at it to know that it was yet another message from Junko, demanding to know where she was, what she was doing, and "why the flying fuck hadn't she gotten back to her, yet!"

Mukuro promised herself to get in contact with Junko first thing when she awoke tomorrow, and closed her eyes to go to bed. Before sleep claimed the girl however, Makoto's beaming smile lingered in her thoughts, and she was not aware that she went to sleep with a smile on her lips.

••• Danganronpa •••

Like, OMG! Seriously! Where the fuck was her sister!

Glaring harshly at the phone, listening to sound of its plastic case creak under the pressure her grip was exerting on it, Junko Enoshima sneered at the screen with curled lips.

Fine! If that flat-chested disappointment wanted to ignore her, so be it! She had more important things to do, after all!

Smiling, Junko looked at the locked gates that blocked entrance to the school that was popularly considered to be "Hope's Peak Elementary."

Junko Enoshima, Ultimate Despair, smiled.

••• Danganronpa •••

Once upon a time, in a disappointing girl, there was a heart that was as barren as the meaning of her name. This heart knew neither Hope nor true Despair, indifferent to both in kind.

But one day, by chance or luck, a small bird found its way into this heart, a tiny seed clutched its claws. As it sang its song, that seed was dropped and found root in the barren landscape, where it one day might grow into a small sapling.

But would it survive? That, at this time, is impossible to tell with any certainty, for who among us can claim to know designs of Lady Luck and her mercurial whims? But for now, at least, there was Hope, however small.