AN: TW, contains mentions of disordered eating.

Ouma tried his best not to give up. During morning training, he'd phone it in, willing taking the punishment of working in the kitchen until lessons. He devoted his every waking hour to studying, trying to find some sort of loophole in the system. Any sort of law would involve asking for help from the right person, and that was too risky to do. He tried disguises, heists, even breaking into the headmaster's office. The problem was, no matter how much he studied or understood, he could only do things well. Not ultimate, or above average, just well enough to be competent.

"You just need to focus more." His instructors would say. "If you just picked one thing to focus on, I'm sure you'd do great. You have so much potential." That was their favorite thing to say lately. As if they could tell every time he was let out into Towa City, he spent his time hiding and looking for a way out instead of hunting Monokuma. Which meant he never had enough tokens for dinner.

It was an endless cycle of basic training, starving, studying something new that might help, starving, looking for answers in the city only to come up empty handed and start again the next morning. He started to get dizzy, but he was good at hiding it. He ignored the way his body protested every time he stood, sure he was just sore from the morning course or running from Monokuma. Then it became normal to be tired all the time. Then it was normal to feel nothing, no anger, no joy.

He refused to listen to Maki anymore, or his teachers. He wasn't going to do what they said. Everything was a trick; every passing concern was over a product and not him. They could try to shove him into talent cultivating machine, but they couldn't force him to cooperate. It was the only thing he had control over.

Then he woke up in a hospital.

Some stranger he didn't recognize was sitting across from him reading a dime store novel. The trashcans had paper liners instead of bags and the only thing in the room with a cord was the long IV dripping yellow fluid into him. There was a date written on the board, only a day or so had passed since he last remembered being at the orphanage. There were no proper hospitals in Towa, just clinics, so this place...

"Where am I?" He asked.

The sitter jumped in their seat and closed their book. They leaned back to look out the door and call for a nurse. Someone shouted back and the woman nodded before looking back at him.

"In the hospital dear." She said. He tried to dig deeper, but the name of the place was unfamiliar as was the town. "Your school went on a trip to watch the dragon boat race and you fainted in the crowd." He'd never been to a proper school in his life, let alone a field trip.

"How far are we from Towa City?" He was getting frustrated by the useless facts, he needed something he could work with. She laughed a little, then frowned when she realized he was serious.

"I, uh, I don't know dear. Last I checked it was still underwater."

"Only a little." That really had her laughing. Which, fine, at least someone was having a good time. "Where's my stuff?" He was in only a hospital gown. The lockpick Maki gave him was the only thing he owned still on his person. If they were going to force him on bed rest, the least they could do was let him get caught up on his studies.

"We can't let you wear your own clothes once you're on green light status." She pointed to a laminated posted. According to it, he couldn't do anything for the first twenty-four hours, and someone had to be with him if he went into the bathroom. The verbiage was terribly childish and read like he'd been grounded for something he'd done. On the white board, the only goal was to eat all his meals. "I know it's a little much, but you know what they say, it takes one person to ruin it for everyone."

"Knock, knock." A younger woman in scrubs came in. "Someone told me you were awake." She was too smiley, too chipper for his liking. He knew a customer service voice when he heard it. She pulled up a chair so she could sit next to him. "I have to a quick assessment; does anything hurt?" He went to answer when she pulled out a stethoscope and listened to his lungs instead. "Nice and clear. Sorry, you were saying."

"Nothing really hurts, I'm just tired."

"Skipping meals will do that." She nodded then set her tools aside to bring out a blank piece of paper. "I have to ask everyone these things, so sorry in advanced. Do you do any drugs?" No. "Alcohol or weed?" No. "Do you feel safe at home?" No.

She paused and twirled the pencil in her hands. He had seen the mask slip a little as she thought of what the next question was supposed to be. Soon she set down the pen and looked at him.

"What makes you feel unsafe?"

"Can they hear me?" Kokichi leaned toward the door to see if anyone from the orphanage was lingering outside.

"...they who?" She half glanced over her shoulder then back at him.

"The people from the orphanage." He said. She frowned even more.

"No one's here except us. Unless it has something to do with your treatment, I promise not to tell anyone." Liar, of course she was going to tell everyone what she heard. If not her, than the babysitter they had staring at him from across the room. "Tell me more about your living situation. Who all is in the home with you." He looked away and sighed. He had to code it some way, make it just true enough without sounding crazy.

"A lot of people. Bunch of kids I grew up with, some staff members I know really well, and some I don't know at all." He said. "I don't remember coming here. The last place I remember being was studying at home. They were the ones who said I couldn't eat unless I did what they told me."

"What do they tell you to do?" She asked.

"I..." He didn't know why he hated her tone so much, but something was wrong. "It depends on the day. Mostly chores that the other kids do, but I don't like doing them. It hurts, especially after running laps outside for hours." He said. "You're sure they're not out there?"

"I can make sure you have no visitors until you're ready." She said, and with so much conviction he believed it. He nodded. "I'm not going to lie, the next couple of days are going to be really hard. You have to be on strict bed rest and eat everything we put in front of you."

"And if I don't?" He asked.

"You can either drink a protein shake or I have to drop a tube." She said, scrunching up her face at the thought of the extra work. "It's not pleasant. I don't recommend it. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe while we get you back on your feet again. It's going to be okay." She checked his name band. "I'm glad your fosters kept your name." She tapped the band with her finger. "My mentor was proud of that one, back in Osaka. We always wondered what happened to you." He laid back down, fatigue threatening to take hold again. "It's going to be okay."

At least, that's what she said to his face. Since his door had to stay open, he could over hear bits and pieces of the conversations going on at the nurse's desk. She told the doctors everything, comparing notes with the lies the facility had told the hospital. Of course, the doctors were more inclined to believe the adults paying the bills rather than him. Though it was nice to hear her try and convince them something was wrong.

Didn't change the fact that every twelve hours it was someone new. Each new person getting told what he 'claimed' versus what the facility told them. Another loop, another cage, and this time he was expected to shovel down mushy hospital food. He spent three days actin as the most boring patient in the world. He didn't talk much, would lie down at night pretending to sleep and sleep during the day. After the third day, when he was able to get out of bed without feeling winded, he'd had enough. If he really was on the mainland, he wasn't going to waste his only opportunity to escape sitting in a hospital.

The fourth night on his stay, he pretended to go to sleep. The sitter he was paired with started to nod off around 3 am, just before fourth rounds. It was easy enough to walk to the open door, harder to walk past the nurse's station without getting caught. He lingered just inside the doorway, and waited to hear the click of the unit door unlocking for someone to enter or leave.

It was his only chance.

He walked out, hoping if he acted like he was supposed to leave, no one would look up. He was in his old clothes again, and a family of three was also walking off the unit. He fell in line with them and as soon as they turned the corner, picked up the pace toward the exit. They'd notice he went missing within the hour and needed to get as far away from this place as possible.

As soon as he set foot on the asphalt outside, his heart hammered in his chest. The city ground was dry and the lights were bright. He'd seen upright skylines in books, but it was so strange to have it surrounding him. The sky was a hazy black, with small pinpoint stars. Real ones, not the glitched out panels of the inside of a dome.

He walked toward a parking garage, a little faster this time. He felt less exposed under the bright yellow lights as he kept walking forward and hopped the low concrete barrier that separated it from the side walk. To his left more medical buildings and to his right a dinky convivence store. He could hear the dull roar of a train south of the building and risked walking towards the convivence store in hopes he could get to a residential area.

Every car that drove past him made him tense, but he kept walking. He just needed to make it to the train, and ride it to the next town. He kept to back streets, where the lights were dimmer and the trees were over grown, and made his way in the general direction of the tracks.

He followed the winding sidewalks to a small intersection where the tracks crossed the road. The train would scooch forward a foot or two and then back. Two road workers were manning the switch and talking to someone via a walkie talkie. Ouma quietly walked in the opposite direction, keeping an eye out for a train car he could slip into. The commercial cars didn't have much to offer other than dated graffitti.

Toward the back he caught sight of a ladder, he grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself until he got a foot hold on the bottom rung. He climbed up until he got to the top of the unit. It was hard to get his footing while the train moved back and forth. He was almost crawling across the walk way to the front of the car. He spotted a door and felt a wave of relief when the door was unlocked. It took some shimmying, but he managed to get in the door and nearly collapsed on the tin floor.

"Jesus kid, are you trying to get yourself killed?" He looked up, seeing an old man weathered by the road. The stranger offered him a hand. "Where's your water?"

"...my what?" Ouma accepted the hand, his hospital bracelet slipped out from under his sleeve.

"There's hopping a car on the fly, and then there's having a death wish. Here." He handed Ouma a beat up jug. "Don't wrinkle your nose at it. Does no good to run away if you pass out from dehydration." Ouma unscrewed the top a took a few long gulps. It tasted like hot metal, but he did feel less dizzy afterward. "And double knot your shoes. If we have to book it, I'm not stopping cause you lost a shoe."

"You don't have to worry about me." Ouma said.

"Of course not, but it's a long way to Oyodo and I'd rather not ride with a corpse." He leaned back against the wall of the car. "It gets pretty cold at night. Did you bring a jacket?" Ouma could feel the chill threatening to seep through the door.

"How cold?"

"Forties." The man said and threw a dirty silk cape at him. "I'm gonna want that back."

"...thank you."

"If you're that thankful you could tip me." He opened one eye, and Ouma avoided looking at him. "I see. And what, pray tell, was the plan after getting on the train?"

"Anything's better then going back to Towa City."

"Can't argue with that." The car rattled and lurched as the train started to pick up speed. "Finally we're getting somewhere."

Ouma spent what felt like half a day trapped in the train car occasionally taking a sip of water from the jug. He'd long since drowned out the rumble of the tracks, but the cold kept him from falling in a deep sleep. The old man, Murano gave him a kick when the train started to slow.

"This is our stop kid." He took the silk cape back and shoved it into his bed roll.

"I told you, you don't have to worry about me."

"No, of course not." Murano felt along the wall until he found the ladder back up. "By all means. Stay here and get caught. Of course, you could try jumping from the car while the train's still moving and end up with a broken ankle or under the wheels. The train doesn't care, why should I?" He pushed against the door and shimmied out of the train car. Ouma sat on the floor, another wave of cold biting into him where his makeshift blanket was.

He cursed to himself and scrambled up to the exit. Murano was crouched near the door, and nodded for him to follow once he was out. The wind felt like knives as they ran across the catwalk to the other ladder. The man swiftly climbed down the ladder, with just enough room for Ouma to get out of the cold.

"Count the bolts!" Murano shouted up at him. "If it's less than four, you're going too fast." They clung to the ladder, watching as the tracks steadily cleared and the individual boards were more pronounced. "Wait til I'm on the ground." The man crouched as low as he could and jumped out as far away from the train as he could. He rolled out and dusted himself off. Ouma hesitated, he tried to swing himself to get more distance, but it gave him more height than distance. He rolled his ankle and hit the dirt with an inelegant thud, the wind punishing his back as the train shot by. It was way too close for comfort and he could feel the stinging of fresh cuts along his chin. "You did it wrong."

"I did it exactly-" Ouma spat out some dirt. "You didn't say how to."

"You coming?" Murano's back was slung over his shoulder. Ouma nodded, and pulled himself to his feet. He had no idea where the nearest town was, so even though he'd rather be alone he followed. They followed an over grown path through the forest until they came to a dingy road side diner. "Put that thing away." He pointed at Ouma's hospital bracelet. "Don't throw it out here, but don't let anyone see it either."

"You sure know a lot about this kind of stuff." Ouma said. They entered the diner, an old bell rang over head.

"You don't get to be my age without it." He said. They grabbed a table near a small CR TV, and ordered the cheapest greasy breakfast on the menu. Their waitress rolled her eyes when he asked to speak to a manager by name. "So... where you aiming to be?"

"I might have family in Osaka." Ouma said, though he highly doubted he'd find them. Still it was a better place to start than any. He hadn't really thought much farther than that, and his companion could tell, but he let the subject drop. They ate their meal in silence, as the news played.

"I hope your proud of yourself 'Ultimate Detective'." Someone shouted from beyond the television screen. "You killed my daughter you sick fuck!" Ouma leaned over to watch as an adult man was getting escorted away by security. Multiple people swarmed the victim and the live broadcast switched to an apathetic reporter reading from a teleprompter.

"They'll call anyone an ultimate these days." Murano shook his head. "Kirigiri'd be rolling in her grave if she knew people were still trying to give her title away."

"What do you mean?" Ouma turned his attention from the boring news lady back to the grizzled old man.

"I mean it used to mean something!" Murano glared at his coffee. "Sure, Hope's Peak picked out the firsts, but we were the ones who'd get our titles. A lot of good people died without naming a successor just to protect kids. You think someone that spent their teen years poking dead bodies would want to put someone else through that?" He downed the rest of his mug. "No. Doesn't stop every Tom, Dick and Harry wanting to put some kid's neck on the chopping block for a good headline."

"...How do you know that?" Ouma asked. Murano sat back in his seat.

"Ain't it obvious?" He wore decades of the road on his sleeve. "I'm the Ultimate Magician." He pointed to Ouma's plate. "Now hurry up, we got dishes to wash."

Washing dishes had paid for their meal, but the hot water also made the ink on Ouma's band bleed, making it harder to read. He followed Murano like a lost duckling, prodding the man for any information he could get. The man had lived through the fall of Hope's Peak and evaded capture by radical groups that blamed all Ultimates for class 77's actions during the tragedy. The rest of Japan had moved on, but Murano couldn't feel safe in any one place for long.

"Around," Murano counted on his fingers, "fifty years or so ago the last of the scouted talents were no longer highschoolers. I doubt any of them even claimed to be as such." They walked down the road to the nearest town. "The ones that did had a habit of going 'missing'."

"That's what I'm running from." Ouma said.

"Really? What's your talent?" He asked.

"I didn't let them give me one."

"Give you one?" Murano raised his brow and shook his head. "The culture's commitment to mediocrity knows no bounds." He turned on his heels to face Ouma while walking backwards. "You can't give someone a talent, it don't work that way. It's gotta be something you're passionate about AND good at. Nepotism's how we got into this mess." He flipped back around, too angry about the past to keep up light conversation.

"It's not nepotism, it's more like... like grooming." Cattle hand raised and selected to be gladiators in some twisted game.

"You sure?" He shrugged when Ouma looked away. "Towa was supposed to be a strong hold against the tragedy. A lot of alliums ran there seeking sanctuary only for the bitch to corrupt it from the inside too." Ouma didn't bother correcting the man a second time. "You'll be safe once you turn 18, but god forbid you have children, be on your toes." They got to the outskirts of Oyodo. A large billboard advertised a local carnival with fading lights. "This'll be home for me for the next two weeks." He pointed at the sign. "...You sure you're going to be okay?" Ouma wasn't sure how to answer. "I could put in a word for you. If you work hard, you can scrape some money together, get some real skills that'll help you." He sighed. "I've seen too many kids get themselves killed being on the run, I can't help but worry."

"Sure..." He figured two weeks would give him plenty of time to figure out what to do before he headed toward Osaka.

Two weeks turned into a couple months, with Murano jumping from venue to venue to preform. In some places, Ouma would be additional muscle, constructing set pieces or moving supplies. In others he'd borrow a costume and play the supporting role in someone else's act. This time they were with an three ring circus, practicing street magic to draw in customers for the coming show.

"Try it again." Murano said as he slipped off a pair of handcuffs and put them around Ouma's wrists. He grabbed Ouma's hands and waited. Ouma shook once, then twice, but only got half the set across before Murano stopped him. "Too slow. You gotta find the quickest way to get your hands out of things, not just copy me." He'd been practicing his slight of hand for days now, but no matter how fast he was, Murano always caught him in the act.

"I'm going just as fast as you are." By the time Ouma looked down, the cuffs were back on.

"True, but you're letting me think about what you're doing." Murano said and blocked the cuffs from transferring over. "Time moves slower for an attentive audience."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to lie to the audience." Ouma said, having had to listen to more than his fair share of lectures on respecting the trust people had in performers.

"Misdirection isn't lying, it's exaggerating the importance of something else." Murano said. "A good magician never reveals his secrets. A great magician can have everything out in the open, and still leave people questioning how it was done so well."

"I'm just doing this so I can steal better." Ouma sighed. His teacher was about to object when he heard the click of the cuffs on his own wrists.

"See, you're getting better." He rotated his wrist, unable to get the cuff to slip. "No where'd that key go, you tightened them too much." Ouma started to look around only to get flicked in the forehead. The handcuffs were dangling in front of him. "Still too easily distracted though. I said they were too tight, not that I could get out of them. You need to pay better attention to these kinds of things." Ouma rubbed his forehead and grumbled. Learning how to get food to eat was one thing, but some of these lessons made no sense to him. Even if he liked preforming, it wasn't like he could stay any one place long enough to do it for a living. This was supposed to be fun.

The fiftieth anniversary of the fall of Hope's Peak had Murano is a spiral. He'd been irritable most of the month and sleeping more than was safe for them while on the run. He'd check his phone multiple times a day. He was becoming more aggressive with his teachings. It wasn't just slight of hand any more or basic card tricks, he was trying to get Ouma to assist with all of his acts.

"It's starting." He said, late at night, his face gaunt in the light of a tiny screen. He looked up at Ouma, surprised he wasn't eagerly coming over. "You don't watch it?" He shrugged, going back to the screen as Ouma cautiously crossed to where Murano was sitting. "I don't blame you, not everyone can stomach it." Names and listed talents with colorful graphics flashed across the tiny screen.

"I know him." One of the kids from the orphanage, he had been studying acupuncture when he left. This whole time, he thought the Killing Game had been some private affair. "Anyone can watch this!?"

"If you know where to look." Murano said. "And you have the right browser." He was almost zombie like in front of the screen. "They got one of Miki's too."

"If it's so easy to watch, why hasn't someone stopped it?" Ouma asked.

"Why hasn't someone stopped the Bachelor?" Murano shrugged. "Same shit, different cast, makes no difference to them."

"But that's a show!" Ouma said. "A show you're giving views too." Murano nodded numbly.

"It's a bad habit, but I have to know." His grip on the phone tightened. "It's an insult to the dead stealing people's titles like this, but we'll show 'em. The next Ultimate Magician's going to escape this death trap." A chill went down Ouma's spine. "I'll make sure of it."

He waited until Murano was asleep before he slipped out into the night. No matter how kind he had been, he couldn't be the old man's apprentice. Just thinking of Kyo and his wimpy needles up against athletes and trained killers made his stomach turn. As much as Ouma wanted to take the high road, he had the same anxious urge to check the Killing Game. Even if they hadn't been that close, the thought of someone he knew dying without anyone knowing made him sick.

It was a bad habit to get into, and one Ouma couldn't break.

He had to know.

Kyo survived the first night.