Ouma had to give Kibo credit, the things he'd accomplished in the last two days was nothing short of a miracle. The implant he was developing had pulled Miu kicking and screaming out of her coma, each upgrade making it easier for her to control her own body. Murano had severely misrepresented the what being a true Ultimate looked like. Compared to the Ultimate Robotist, the kids back in Towa City were just scratching the surface of their chosen talents.

With Kibo, AI and robotics weren't just a hobby, it was something he lived. Every new piece of information he gathered had to first go through the lens of mechanics before he could half understand it. The house, his wellbeing, all of it came second to the wealth of machines that were lying around. He couldn't even factor in the potential consequences of what he was doing to Miu, because he knew he could get the implant to work the way he wanted to. In a place like the old Hope's Peak Academy, he might have been able to focus on his craft and meet other kids his own age, but without it he receded into his own home to wait until it was safe for him to enter his own field.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system..." Ouma waited for the inbox to chime. He'd given up trying to reach Miu's parents after the fifteenth or so call and now he was trying to reach any of her friends. Hardly anyone was picking up and the ones that did hung up the minute they heard his voice. He checked the phone screen to remind himself who he called this time.

"Hey Haru, this is a friend of Miu's. Call me back when you get this." He hung up. Frustrated by another dead end and a sickening thought.

This could be his future.

If he did end up getting nabbed by Team Danganronpa, who would notice he was gone? He didn't have any long-term friends, or living relatives, or even people he's known for longer than a year. Forget the Killing Game, if he got hurt doing something stupid, he'd be in a similar position. Watching Miu come in and out of consciousness, unable to advocate for herself, was like staring his worst fear in the face. He couldn't leave her like this. Not in the hands of a roboticist playing doctor.

splat

Ouma looked up from the cellphone to see Miu pulled out her feeding tube and sighed. If she had more energy consistently, he wouldn't have to keep putting one in. He couldn't blame her for instinctively pulling it out, he'd been guilty of doing the same when he'd first been hospitalized. She pointed at him, and took a moment to put her idea into words.

"Where are we?" She then looked around the room. "Is this some kind of nerdy escape room?" Ouma pocketed her phone and helped her off the table.

"No. We're at someone's house. Do you remember your name?" He asked her. She bit her lip, her face scrunching inward. "It's okay if you don't. Let's see if you can walk." She nodded, a little wobbly on her feet, but insistent she didn't need help. "Do you need to use the bathroom before we go?"

"Go?" She caught her balance on a wall. "Go where?"

"To the hospital." She backed away from him. Too weak to run but clearly terrified. "Look, I know it sucks, but you need help."

"I'm going to class." She said, she reached around behind her for something to grab. "That was the deal. I go to class, and you people leave me the fuck alone. I'm not going back!" When she couldn't find a weapon, she bolted for the door.

"Woah, woah; what are you talking about?" He blocked the doorway, trying to stop her.

"If you don't want to get beat by the guards, that's fine, but I can't stick around waiting for them to knock me up and ship me to god knows where." Her shoulders shook. "Now get out of the way."

"Where do you think we are?" Ouma asked slowly.

"The shit they gave me's fucking me up." She grabbed her head. "I don't know which 'rehab' or 'program' this is okay? All I know, is one day Haru was here and now she's gone and no one will tell me which school they shipped her off to or if she's okay."

"Haru's fine. She... she was at a party this weekend." Ouma slowly eased his hold on the doorway.

"That bitch, she was supposed to bust me out."

"She uh, she did." Ouma said again. It was clear, even though Miu could talk, her memories were all transient. "This is a safe house of sorts. We were supposed to hide here until the coast was clear. Which is now. We can leave now, but y'know, not crazy like."

"Oh..." She was starting to droop, her energy limited. "I need to lie down."

"Sure." Ouma guided her back to the table. "As soon as we can, we'll get you outta here, I promise." She laid down, still fighting to keep her eyes open. "...how many of those places did you go to."

"What places?" Miu asked.

"The uhh... the bad places."

"Fuck," Miu's head lolled back, "I don't know... probably six. This one's not the worst, I got my clothes at least. I'll get out of here though. I always do." As she drifted off, the sick feeling in his stomach grew. There would be no easy way to convince her to get medical help in this state, even if she really needed it. On one hand, each time she woke up, she forgot where she was and who he was. He'd have a number of opportunities find out what lie he'd need to tell to get her somewhere safe. He just wish she could retain anything long enough for him to explain what was really going on. At the very least it would keep her from pulling her medical devices out every time she woke up.

The kitchen almost looked like people lived here again. What offerings there were in the fridge were meager, but Ouma took heart his stuff remained untouched. He'd spent the last two days trying to help Kibo get the lights and water back, all while wading through the disrepair of the house. He'd taken on small chores like sorting the mail when he couldn't take hovering around Miu's sleeping body. Anything to keep him busy.

"Have you told the old man we're here yet?" Ouma asked that evening. "I don't want to accidentally jump scare the guy."

"Yes." Any emotion Kibo had when they first met was gone. He hadn't changed out of the blood-stained clothes from the night of the accident.

"Then can I talk to him?" Kibo was vague when discussing the professor's current condition, but it was clear he'd been living in squalor for a while. Whatever had happened was sudden enough, Kibo hadn't been prepared for the responsibilities that came with running a home. Ouma had tried to find the professor himself. Some of the doors were locked and unlike the security system outside, refused to let him in. Lockpicking did little against electronic codes. Where ever the professor was, he was some place they couldn't reach. Or worse, somewhere outside. "He's one of the Hope's Peak certified ultimates he could, y'know, help you build the implant faster?"

"...He's resting." Ouma paused on one of the letters in the stack. It was an overdue medical bill and the envelope felt thick. He opened it up, scanning through the itemized list when he came to a charge for end-of-life care.

"Kibo..." He looked up from the bill. "Where's the professor?"

"He's resting." Kibo said with more certainty. His gaunt features softened a bit as he put away the last of the clean dishes. Lying to both of them wasn't going to make the professor any less dead. It also wasn't going to help them in the immediate future.

"Do you have anyone else you can stay with?" Alarm bells were going off in Ouma's head. The state of the house, Kibo's trance-like insistence that Miu could be saved, it was painting a picture Ouma didn't want to see. This was someone he stole from.

"No?" Kibo dried his hands. "Why?"

"Every day the professor is... resting," he said, not wanting to start an argument, "is a day no new income's coming into the house. You can't just put everything on a card and hope it goes away. The electricity bill alone is close to 700 a month. If there's no one who can help out, you're going to get stuck with no water again."

"I can get a job." Kibo brushed past him.

"Great theory, when you find one, let me know." Kibo turned on his heels.

"You barged into my home. I'm not some child that doesn't know how to take care of myself, I've just been focused on Miu."

"I noticed." Ouma said. "I'm just trying to figure out the plan here. After she's better, I imagine she'd want to shower, or eat. We can't get groceries with no money."

"I'll get. A job." Kibo rolled his eyes. "If you're that worried about money, you put some in. You're just as capable as I am." Not entirely true. Without any legal records, it would be hard for Ouma to be officially hired. He wasn't about to admit that when his trustworthiness was already a heated debate.

They heard the back door chimed.

Miu had made it to the backyard and was looking for a way to jump the fence again. They hadn't changed shifts fast enough. Kibo glared at him as Ouma ran after her. She must have thought she was at the correctional school again. They needed to do something about the lab to make it seem less hostile to her whenever she woke.

Ouma had cleared out the underneath Kibo's work space to line the underside with colored lights. Just a little something to make the space feel less like an OR and more like the backroom of a club. At least then, Miu would think she'd brought herself here. Plus there was so much junk lying around the house that was just gathering dust.

"What are you doing?" He saw Miu's legs and nearly hit his head on the underside of the desk.

"Decorating your room." Ouma said. He slithered out from his awkward position. If she suddenly tried to run again, he'd need to be ready. "I just got started, so if there's anything missing, let me know."

"God, I haven't seen this much tech in forever." She skimmed over the old boxes with interest. "Can I?" She said, after delving into one of them without permission.

"This stuff was already here." Ouma shrugged. "I didn't know you liked anything... stem related." Anytime he'd seen Miu she was talking about some party or gossip like all her airheaded friends.

"Good." Miu clicked her tongue. "It's a full-time job playing stupid and a thankless one. Don't tell whatserface, she'd flip if you knew."

"...who?'

"Exactly!" Miu grinned, then stared at him blankly. She'd already forgotten what they'd been talking about. "Do you work here?"

"Depends, where is here?" Ouma said. She narrowed her eyes, in deep concentration.

"Estate sale?" Ouma was almost impressed. That was the closest she'd gotten to knowing there were in someone's home.

"Then yeah. Everything's a dollar." Ouma shrugged. Miu dove back through the boxes with renewed vigor. Occasionally she'd set something aside that caught her interest. "Do you know what all that stuff is?" Miu nodded.

"Half a transistor radio, the guts of a CRT TV. Those were actually banned a while ago for causing cancer. Very good find." Miu slowly pulled out an old laptop. She snapped it open, holding the power button than hitting it repeatedly.

"Miu most of this stuff is broken." Ouma said, she rummaged for a powercord and immediately tried to plug it in.

"Come on, come on." She held down a few keys while the power cord fueled the battery. It still refused to come on. "Nonononono." She tilted it, listening to the wiring fan and tried again to get a reaction from the screen. "At least give me a lock screen. Don't be-" Her breathing became erratic. "Don't be dead."

"Miu it's just a computer."

"You're just a computer!" She furiously attacked the keyboard. As if some magic combination would make the machine work again.

"I already hit my quota for existential dread today." Ouma snapped back. "Come on, let's just put this back."

"I'm sorry." Her voice was really quiet. "I didn't mean to. I just... you can fix this, can't you." Ouma carefully took the laptop away. "It's just a glitch. It can be fixed?"

"Yeah... yeah sure." He'd have to hide this from her.

"...You're not mad?" She'd calmed down a little, but seemed even more confused than before.

"No, I'm not mad. These things happen sometimes." She nodded with an occasional sniffle.

"I wasn't trying to do anything bad I swear... And sorry... for saying your face looked like butt." She bite her lip. "And don't drink your coffee I- er, someone put gross things in it." Ouma looked at his unguarded cup on the counter. None of the things she said lined up with the last hour, but he wasn't sure it was worth the risk.

Don't worry about it for two months, that was what he had been promised when he stole the hacking gun. And yet, four days later, he was getting multiple phone calls from unknown numbers. They didn't leave any messages or texts. By the fifth call, he finally caved and picked up the phone.

"Where the hell are you?" The guy from the party, Spade, was apparently the one who'd tried to call this time. "I stuck my neck out for you and then you disappear? It's got everyone calling nark. If this deal goes sideways, we're both screwed."

"It's fine." Ouma said. He set down a pen on the coffee table to look for a pad of paper. "I just got tied up with something else. The Idabashi kid, he almost blew it for me. I'm in the middle of damagae control right now." He glanced over his shoulder, to make sure Kibo was still in the lab with Miu. "The kid never leaves the house. It's nearly impossible to do anything without him seeing."

"Wait, you got back in?" Spade asked in awe. "Okay, okay; we can make this work. Is there another hacking gun? Or blueprints maybe? Some way we could make some of the anti-monokuma shit he did back in the day. Hart customizes her skateboards, I'm sure she could make the gun look like a vintage one."

"I don't know, there's always someone in the lab. It might take some time-" Ouma sighed. "Why does that matter? I can take a job in a week or so. It's not like I'm a drain on your resources at the moment."

"Kid, you know why the gang always has an opening for a Joker?" Spade said. "It's cause it's the card you can afford to loose." A chill went down Ouma's spine. "The more money you bring in, the more dependent the other's are on you, the less likely you're name get's brought up if someone gets caught. I'm trying to help. Anyone telling you different just doesn't want you taking their place."

"I can't leave here yet-" Ouma just couldn't risk leaving Miu unguarded and something bad happening. "I can slip away in a week, tops. And for the record, if someone gets caught, that should be on them." Where did he put his pen? He'd just had it. "As soon as I can, I'll lend a hand, but if you guys want any of the old tech you have to trust me on this."

"That's on you man. Unless there's another way you can get dues in, I don't know how to help you." Ouma saw Idabashi's old checkbook on the table. "I don't want to get demoted over this."

"...I could pitch in thirty bucks." Ouma said. It would be fine. They were tight on money, and it wasn't technically his, but he'd be able to put back what he borrowed eventually. He just couldn't leave at the moment. "That should be fine, yeah?"

"Run it by the boss, but that should be fine." Spade said. "Just promise me you'll be safe."

"Yeah, I promise." He wrote down instructions for the next job. "You can tell the others I'm fine by the way."

He'd tried everything he could think of to convince Miu to leave the house with him, but she wouldn't budge. Anytime he claimed he was close to her, or family, or anything; she'd immediately get suspicious and try to run. She rarely remembered her own name, or where she was, but often times she could remember him. Or at least, remember his name and that they were classmates.

"Why me?" Ouma asked as she practiced using a spoon.

"Whatcha mean?" Miu wrinkled her nose and switched hands. Her right side was still weaker than her left.

"Why do you remember me?" She looked up at him, almost insulted. "Or like, what do you remember? I just don't get it. We usually don't talk."

"You usually don't talk." Miu corrected. "You spend all your time sulking and sleeping in class." She managed to get a bite of pudding in. "You're pretty shitty to anyone who tries to be your friend actually."

"What, like you?"

"Yeah." The spoon slipped from her grip. "This is the nicest you've ever been to me." He'd always gone through class trying to be invisible. To the point, it felt like a personal affront anytime someone tried to intrude. Never once had he entertained the idea that Miu would have enjoyed him being just as loud and obnoxious as her friends. "I'm sure you have your reasons for being angry, but it sucks you don't have a better target for it." She slapped her tray. "You should be a cop."

"I'm barfing in my mouth as you speak." Ouma said.

"See? So negative. I'm just trying to help. That's basically all you write about." Miu shook her head. "Sue me for thinking you'd be good at it. Like the undercover kind. All double agent working for the good guys and stuff."

"I need you to talk about anything else right now." Ouma handed her back her spoon. "How do you know what I write about anyway?"

"Class is so boring!" Miu groaned. "Even doing four people worth of homework isn't enough to keep my hand busy. I've changed the exam code signals five times this semester just to keep things interesting."

"Code signals?"

"Hairflip for A, Taping the desk for B, Folding up the paper for C, and adjusting my chair for D. You've sat behind me in most of our classes, you didn't notice?" She shook her head. "Some private eye you are."

"Ignoring that, why are you doing all of that for those people?" Ouma asked. "They don't even like you."

"Liking each other wasn't part of the deal." She rolled her eyes, like this was something he should already know. "There's only one way to make sure you're not the best at something, and that's to surround yourself with people that are just as good. That's why Gigi picks out all our clothes, Rin runs all our socials, and Haru makes all our friends." She mimed throwing back a beer. "There's safety in numbers. And it's easier to dodge honor roll if I half ass all our work. A perfectly curated average for a perfectly curated adolescence. Once we're adults, fuck 'em... This isn't on the record, right? Do I need a lawyer?"

"I'm not a cop!" Ouma shouted.

"...sounds like something a cop would say."

"Just finish eating your pudding before you're too tired to eat again." Miu's pudding fell on her front. She laid back, breathing heavy as a fresh wave of tears fell over her. The string of apologies that followed were nonsensical. She was having to think every time she wanted to take a breath.

He couldn't keep doing this. Couldn't keep watching her almost return to herself just to go into another fit of seizures and guttural crying. Tomorrow was the deadline he'd given Kibo. If they couldn't get her stable by then, they'd make her go to the hospital. Part of him wanted to believe in the supposed power of an Ultimate, but he couldn't fully believe in a false hope. Not at a time like this.