Chapter Text
I
Hajime Hinata wakes up on the beach.
“Hey, are you alright?” A familiar voice is speaking to him, and he opens his eyes slowly. There’s a terrible fogginess surrounding him, and the nagging sense that something is very, very wrong. When his (red) green eyes meet an all-too-familiar pair of gray ones, a series of unpleasant memories begin to come back. The island, the murders, the class trials, Komaeda-and-Chiaki. And then, the vaguest knowledge that something’s missing. Did he die? If he died, how could he come back?
There’s no real answer to any of these questions, but Hajime tries anyway. The first thought is that it was all just a bad dream- and wouldn’t that be nice? But no, Hajime’s never been a vivid dreamer and there’s no way he could think up murder plots and classmates and a robotic teddybear hellbent on murder. The second thought is maybe a little more rational. Maybe those memories are scrambled from something and he’s mixing horror movie plots with anime and the real memories of his classmates.
Classmates. Hope’s Peak. Ultimates. Those memories are maybe a little less unclear. He remembers falling asleep in a classroom. He doesn’t remember what his talent was. He remembers not remembering and isn’t that weird? Something about the memories of Hope’s Peak feel older than they should. Like they happened a small lifetime ago.
None of this explains why Hajime is waking up face-first on the beach with the strongest case of deja-vu. Maybe that’s his talent? Or seeing the future? No, Hajime decides, he doesn’t think he believes in anything as wishy-washy as fortune telling and besides, neither of those feel right either.
And then it hits him. He doesn’t have a talent. Something tells him he shouldn’t say that, though. Dream or not, there’s nothing wrong with playing things safe, and if he’s stuck on an island with the incredibly talented he’d rather they think he belonged. (He doesn’t quite know why he’s so sure of these memories but just like being completely ordinary it rings with a sort of rightness, so he goes with it.)
“...Hey are you listening?” Komaeda asks again, and Hajime shakes his head to try and make the memories go away. Well, he can only assume they’re memories, because how else would he already know that there’s 14 other people on this island and that the boy standing in front of them is going to be responsible for at least three people dying?
“I… Just… Leave me alone,” Hajime says impulsively. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows that’s not the right answer. Not because Komaeda is going to be upset (he’s already reassuring Hajime he won’t be leaving), but because there must be some reason why there are impossible memories floating around in his head. He doesn’t remember what happened, exactly, but he can only assume that Komaeda and his impossible luck are somehow responsible for all of this.
(Komaeda, who loved all the Ultimates. Komaeda, who hated Hajime when he realized the truth. Komaeda, who prompted Teruteru to kill. Komaeda, with a spear and a knife and a burning warehouse. Komaeda Komaeda Komaeda.)
“Sorry,” Hajime says when he realizes Komaeda’s been staring at him for a little too long. “I don’t mean to be rude. My name is Hajime Hinata.”
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Nagito Komaeda, Super High School Level Good Luck. What’s your ultimate talent, Hinata-kun?”
“I can’t really remember,” Hajime lies awkwardly. “Maybe I’m a lucky student like you are.” How do you tell someone obsessed with talent that you have none?
“Oh, I doubt that! I’m sure there’s no one else with such a lousy talent like mine. Your talent must be very special, Hinata-kun. I’m going to feel out of place surrounded by so many special people. Oh, but I don’t mean to be negative.”
Hajime bites his tongue to avoid saying anything he shouldn’t. He wants to call Komaeda out, wants to ask about hope and being a stepping stone.
But then he remembers: Monokuma hasn’t ruined everything yet. As of right now, this is just a class field trip. A weird one yes, being run by a sentient stuffed animal, but not a game of life or death. There’s a moment of relief with that realization, followed by a flood of dread. No one had been able to do anything the first time, and Hajime suspects that won’t be easily changed. Even with a second chance, he’ll still be helpless. (Monomi) Usami is unlikely to take him seriously if he tries to warn her. Not to mention, she might not even know who Monokuma is before he shows up. And besides, Hajime tries to rationalize, what would there be to gain if he calls that to attention?
Still, there’s no need to die for hope when everyone can live and go home. Right now, Komaeda is harmless. He might as well wait and see how things play out.
Hajime meets his classmates while he explores the island. They’re all exactly as he remembers them, and yet, somehow, they’re completely different. Their names and faces and talents, yes, those are all identical. But the other things? The edge of fear and suspicion? The haunted look that only witnessing a murder could create? None of that is there because—Hajime reminds himself—none of it has happened yet.
And then they go to the beach and Monokuma appears and the killing game begins, again, and any hope that those memories might have been a bad dream vanishes.
(Komaeda, Hajime decides, must have something to do with all of this. Somehow.)
Hajime goes searching for Komaeda as soon as he has a moment of free time. The first time through, he hadn’t paid the white-haired boy much mind until after (the Imposter) Togami was dead and Teruteru was fried in lava. Now, he decides the best course of action is to get to know Komaeda before anyone ends up dead.
Hajime invites Komaeda over and, to his surprise, he accepts immediately. “If someone as wonderful as Hinata-kun wants to hang out with me, who am I to refuse?” Is all the other boy says when asked why he accepted the somewhat suden offer.
(Maybe, Hajime thinks, Komaeda is hoping that he wants to remember what happened before the island badly enough to kill someone.)
They start to talk and, surprisingly enough, it’s not as awkward as Hajime expected. As long as he pretends he doesn’t know what the future holds, it’s remarkably easy to shoot down ridiculous talent suggestion after talent suggestion. There’s still that nagging guilt in his stomach as he maintains he doesn’t remember, but he can’t imagine that someone as… dedicated to hope as Komaeda will listen to the advice of a Reserve Course student.
The afternoon passes pleasantly enough, and when Komaeda leaves, Hajime can’t help but feel like they’ve gotten a little closer, and maybe with that he’s a little closer to figuring out what exactly is going on.
They draw straws for who has to clean the Old Building, and Komaeda picks the shortest stick (again). There’s a moment of surprise that flickers inside Hajime. How lucky could the SHSL Good Luck be if he managed to draw the same stick twice? He knows this is the outcome Komaeda wanted, so how strong is his talent that it allows him to manipulate probability so easily? Or maybe he’s just cheating. This time, though, Hajime volunteers to help. Or, to be more accurate, he tries to volunteer.
“Oh, don’t worry, Hinata-kun. I’m very good at cleaning. It won’t take long at all!” Komaeda insists. And so, with some reluctance, Hajime leaves the restaurant. He considers, briefly, confronting Komaeda; saying he knows what’s going to happen. But he has no proof and he doesn’t think anyone else would believe him. There’s still a chance (slim, yes, but present) that all of these memories had been some sort of dream, or somehow connected to Monokuma’s meddling. Maybe this is just one more motive to drive them to murder.
The Imposter (Togami) is stabbed, just like before. The investigation happens, the trial happens, Komaeda snaps. Hajime watches it all unfold, all of his interjections and corrections coming out without conscious thought. It’s not identical to the first time by any means, but it’s similar enough that he knows which inconsistencies to challenge first. It takes less time to get Hanamura to his breaking point this time, now that he knows which buttons to push.
When Monokuma begins the execution, a strange feeling washes over Hajime. It’s not the frozen horror of the first time he watched this scene, but the same icy dread crawls down his back. Even given a second chance he couldn’t manage to stop Komaeda. Not, he thinks bitterly, like he really tried that hard anyway.
If he had another try, Hajime thinks, maybe then he’d be able to do it.
II
Hajime wakes up on the beach (again) with Komaeda looming overhead (again).
This time, Hajime doesn’t waste time on thinking about the impossibility of the situation. Clearly, fate or some cruel God has decided he’s doomed to live this killing game over and over again. The best he can do is roll with it. Maybe he’ll get out of this if he can keep Komaeda from being… himself. It’s the best theory he has at the moment, anyway.
“I can’t exactly remember my talent right now,” Hajime lies when the question comes up again. “But I’m pretty good at figuring out homicide cases.”
Komaeda’s smile doesn’t waver. “That’s amazing, Hinata-kun,” he gushes. “Maybe you’re an Ultimate Detective!”
“Maybe,” Hajime says noncommittally. “I don’t think it matters much, though. Seeing as we’re not in school right now and all, maybe we should look more at who we are as people.”
Komaeda, unsurprisingly, is not convinced.
When they have some free time, Hajime finds Komaeda sitting along the shoreline, watching the sun dip low over the ocean. He sits on the sand beside his classmate and doesn’t say anything for a few long moments.
“How does it work?” He asks when it’s clear Komaeda has no plans to start the conversation. “Your luck, I mean.”
“It’s not a very interesting talent,” Komaeda deflects. “I’d much rather try to figure out what your talent is than talk about something as boring as being lucky.”
“Well, how do you even get scouted for luck?” Hajime knows the answer, but he asks anyway.
“I won a lottery,” Komaeda says, and Hajime wants to kick himself for not noticing the fact that winning a lottery is clearly not the whole story the first time they had this conversation.
“A lottery doesn’t seem like the best way to find someone lucky, though. You might find someone who’s the ultimate hacker who rigged the whole thing. Or the ultimate gambler. You might just get someone who has no talent at all.”
Komaeda laughs. It’s not a nice laugh, Hajime thinks. “Trust me Hinata-kun, my talent is luck.”
“Well, how about you tell me about how your luck works, and in exchange you can suggest talents and I’ll tell you if they seem right.” Hajime pauses, weighing his words. Komaeda doesn’t look convinced.
“I think with your luck you’ll figure it out. In fact, I’m pretty hopeful about this in general.”
Komaeda smiles, a nicer one this time, and Hajime returns the gesture. Hook, line and sinker.
After their conversation on the shore, Hajime tries to find Komaeda during their next piece of free time. But the white-haired boy is nowhere to be found, and Hajime gives up when it’s clear he’s running in circles and annoying their classmates. No one else seems to notice anything weird about Komaeda. At least, nothing weirder than the rest of them.
The more Hajime thinks about it, the more he’s sure that Komaeda is the key to all of this. Everyone else on the island is far too reasonable to kill without a push from their local hope-obsessed classmate. And maybe, maybe, it’s just another piece of Komaeda’s luck, finding someone willing to kill on the first try.
If Hajime can stop Komaeda, stop him at least once, maybe nothing bad will happen and they’ll be able to work together and escape.
“I want to help clean with you,” Hajime declares. “I’m thinking I might have a talent related to it, you know? Maybe Ultimate Maid or Classroom Cleanup Committee Member, like how Tsumiki belongs to the Health Committee.”
It’s the best lie Hajime can think of that would explain why he absolutely must be part of the party set up. Unfortunately, it’s not enough. “You don’t seem like the type to be a maid, Hinata-kun. Besides, fair is fair. If you really want to clean, you can show your talent off after the party is over.”
It’s so reasonable Hajime wants to scream. But he can’t exactly come out and say “I think you’re planning a murder”, not when Komaeda is just their nice, kinda weird but mostly harmless classmate. If anything that will just paint Hajime as the weird one. So he agrees, gritting his teeth, and Komaeda goes to clean while Hanamura cooks up a murder plan.
The body is a little different this time- thicker holes, more like what the knife taped under the table would have left. As he breaks down every piece of evidence in the case, Hajime wonders if this is the result of hinting to Komaeda that he’s some sort of detective. It’s a much cleaner kill than it was the first (and the second) time around, that’s for sure.
But Hajime is nothing if not persistent, especially when he knows exactly who commited the crime and why and how and every other detail. It’s only a matter of time before he has Komaeda cornered.
It’s almost worse the third time to watch the breakdown of his classmate’s sanity. The first time it was out of the blue, a shock to all of them equally. The second was more proof of Hajime’s latent psychic abilities (or reincarnation curse) than an actual event in an actual class trial. This… this is far more disturbing.
“I love you all, from the bottom of my heart I truly do!” Komaeda declares, eyes swirling with madness. “Each of you holds so much hope, a lowly creature like me would be honored to be your stepping stone! Use me to make your hope shine!”
“I guess you really are good at solving murder cases, Hinata-kun” Komaeda says after the trial. “Aren’t you glad I didn’t let you waste time trying out a cleaning talent?”
III
“Third time’s the charm” is what Hajime tells himself when he wakes up lying on the sand (again). Clearly, playing by the rules with a side of “being nicer to Komaeda” isn’t going to stop his classmate from going absolutely off the rails.
Komaeda is right there though, and Hajime decides that any alterations can be made once he’s had time to think things through. Komaeda greets him, introduces himself, and Hajime leaves to track down the rest of their classmates. In the back of his mind, he’s running through every detail he can possibly change.
Keeping Komaeda off cleaning duty seems to be a lost cause, and there’s no way he can keep Hanamura from cooking. Likewise, it seems like no amount of friendship and happy feelings will keep Komaeda from obsessing over hope. What, then, is left? Togami- or, rather, the person posing as Togami- will probably insist on some sort of group bonding event. Maybe, maybe Hajime can keep it from being that same party.
“The old lodge might not be structurally sound,” Hajime says when the idea is brought up by Komaeda. “Even if the planned reconstruction was only cosmetic, there’s no guarantee wood rot from the ocean breeze wouldn’t make the entire place unsafe.”
There are a few heads nodding, so Hajime takes a deep breath and presses on. “Even though the lobby is open, I think it’s much safer overall. Plus, just because Monomi is giving us permission, Monokuma might revoke it, and then we’d be left without a venue.”
“Hajime is right… I think. The headmaster would have more authority than a teacher,” Chiaki points out thoughtfully. “And if we have it here no one has to clean.”
“And,” Hajime continues after a thankful look in Chiaki’s direction, “Monokuma can’t execute any of us so long as we don’t break a rule. If we ask Monomi to distract him, and set up guard shifts, shouldn’t the restaurant be safe?”
“Very well,” Togami agrees. “Your point is well taken. However, as your leader I insist that guard shifts will be taken in groups of three, randomly selected on the spot. There will be no prior collaboration under my watch.”
Hajime finds Komaeda after the breakfast meeting. The white-haired boy is smiling oddly, and Hajime has to swallow back his disgust when he realizes the reason why. Still, it’s what Hajime wants. It’s what he has to do.
“Ah, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda greets cheerfully. “Would you mind accompanying me to the market? It seems my luck didn’t stop me from, ah, misplacing some personal items.”
They’ve only just gotten out of earshot when Komaeda opens up his mouth again. “I suppose knowing that Monomi took all of our memories must be especially difficult for you, Hinata-kun. After all, you don’t even remember your Ultimate talent.”
“That’s true,” Hajime agrees. “If I had all of my memories I’d know exactly why I got accepted into Hope’s Peak. But you said you’d help me remember, didn’t you?”
Komaeda’s grin grows, his eyes swirling ominously. It’s so close to the bone-chilling look he got during the class trial that Hajime has to fight off a shiver. “Of course, Hinata-kun! I’d do anything to help my classmates. But I don’t think my luck will be very useful in a guessing game, you know. It’s a bit of a useless talent.”
“But it would be useful for something like getting a specific set of people together for a guard shift, wouldn’t it? If having… the right people in the right place at the right time would help with my memories?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Hinata-kun~” Komaeda’s voice is low and lilting, far too pleasant for the conversation they’re having. But this is what he has to do to keep his classmates safe, so Hajime leans close, so close Komaeda can surely feel his breath against his exposed neck.
“I want to do it with you,” Hajime confesses. “I want to commit a murder. Won’t you be my victim, Nagito?”
Having Komaeda (Nagito, Hajime reminds himself) in his cabin is… disturbingly intimate. His lanky classmate and would-be victim looks so incredibly right in Haime’s barren room. Or maybe that’s just the impression lounging in Hajime’s bed gives off.
“I didn’t think it would be you,” Komaeda admits. “I’m glad it is, of course. I’m sure your hope will shine beautifully once you use me as a stepping stone. Brighter than our classmates’ hope. It has to, doesn’t it?”
It feels so wrong to use Nagito like this, but Hajime doesn’t know how else he’s going to make this plan work. “You’re more than a stepping stone to my hope, Nagito,” he coos, reaching out to run a finger along Nagito’s jawline. “I wouldn’t want to kill any of the others. It has to be you.”
Nagito shivers and Hajime doesn’t know if it’s a good shiver. “You’re too nice to trash like me, Hinata-kun,” he says weakly. “I’m honored to let you use me.”
“Hajime,” Hajime corrects. “If you’re willing to give me your precious life, the least I can give you in return is use of my name.”
Maybe it has never occured to Nagito, the intimacy of a name. It certainly never did to Hanamura, who referred to them all by their given names from the start. To Sonia, with her hard to pronounce, foreign name, the formality of names to her Japanese classmates had never quite clicked. Even in his first lifetime, Hinata couldn’t ever remember using anything other than “Komaeda-san” and now, here he was, dropping all honorifics.
“Hajime… kun,” Nagito stutters out, tasting the name like fine wine. “Out of all our classmates… death by your hand will be the sweetest.”
Hajime wonders if his name will become far more sour and unsavory once the truth of his deception comes out.
The party that night is- tense. Kuzuryu, once again, has foregone making an appearance. Hanamura has cooked up a feast befitting royalty, Koizumi is snapping photos, Akane is gouging herself on the offerings. Togami looks approvingly at Hajime’s vigilance when he sees the first-aid kit Hajime has brought (just in case Hanamura is cooking up more than meat on the bone, even without Nagito’s influence).
Hajime had refused to provide too many details, no matter how much Nagito begged. The only details Hajime had provided were the location (the balcony) and the third member of their group- Nekomaru Nidai. The rest of the afternoon had been spent with less murder and more attempts to bolster Nagito’s self-worth on the table.
The glass of orange juice Hajime grabbed upon entry tastes too sweet when he takes a sip. The words of his classmates are no more decipherable than the buzz of the summer cicadas. The air is hot and thick and Hajime can’t breathe he can’t even think and it’s like the trial for Nagito’s murder (suicide) all over again except this time no one else knows they should be afraid.
“You’re okay,” a calm voice says. “It’ll be over soon, Hinata-kun. Just take a deep breath.” Chiaki’s face is oddly solemn as she speaks, without the fatigue Hajime is used to. He listens, and it helps. “I’ll ask Togami to send you for your guard shift. The air will help. I think.” There’s something about Chiaki in that moment, something so achingly familiar and different all at once. But just as soon as it’s there it’s gone again.
Togami pulls two names and Hajime would laugh if he thought he could breathe. Nagito’s luck really is something, after all.
Nidai leaves for the bathroom twenty minutes into their shift, a byproduct of Nagito’s luck or maybe just a part of Nidai’s unconventional character. Then, it’s the two of them alone on the balcony and Nagito’s eyes are gleaming in the moonlight.
“It’s just us now, Hajime-kun,” Nagito says. “Will you tell me your plan now? The anticipation is… killing me.”
“I don’t have one,” Hajime admits. “I’m not going to kill you, Nagito. I just…” Hajime pauses. He wanted so many things. “I didn’t want you convincing someone else to kill. I didn’t want you to throw your life away. I didn’t want you to be a- a stepping stone. You’re worth more than that.”
Betrayal flickers in Nagito’s eyes. “So you lied to me.” It’s flat, hollow. “I didn’t know you hated me so much, Hajime. To refuse to kill me… you must think me so terribly beneath you.”
“Nagito that’s not-”
“Isn’t it?” Nagito cuts Hajime off roughly. “Admit it, you think I’m trash. You used me and now you’re throwing me away. Let me fulfill my purpose, Hajime. Let me be useful or I’ll die from the agony- the despair of it all.”
Nagito is scratching at his arms wildly and Hajime wants to reach out, wants to grab him and hold him still. But he doesn’t. He stands, and he watches, and he waits. And when an eerily calm grin crosses Nagito’s crazed face, he still doesn’t move. “If you won’t kill me, Hajime,” Nagito declares, stepping back until his back is pressed against the restaurant railing, “I guess I’ll just have to
Do
It
My
Self.”
Nagito Komaeda’s body hits the ground.
IV
Hajime wakes up on the beach and wants to scream. Nothing is working, no matter what Hajime tries there’s always a body at the end of it and he’s helpless/useless/out of ideas. And scared. If he can’t figure this out, will he be stuck here forever? Living the same loop, over and over and over, with each failure bringing him back to the beach like some cheesy j-rpg that Chiaki would like where the power of friendship conquers all?
Is this what despair is? He was Ultimate Despair before, after all. Could this all be a way to make him feel despair again? Or is this hell? Will Hajime live out his failures for the rest of eternity, doomed from the start? Whatever god saw fit to make him suffer like this is a cruel one.
If this endless loop is his life now, then Hajime sees no reason to play by the rules. Why live through party after party, each ending with a body and a trial? Why pretend any of this is new? If this is punishment for his crimes, Hajime will break the unspoken rules of this place in a heartbeat.
It takes a while for Hajime to find the time to corner Nagito. He considered asking someone else- Chiaki, maybe, or Sonia or even Kuzuryu. But in the end it came back to Nagito. It all came back to him because he was the beginning and the end of it all. If Nagito Komaeda orchestrated a murder, Hajime Hinata paid the price.
“Would you believe me if I told you I knew the future?” Is the question Hajime asks as they sit in what has become ‘their spot’ in Hajime’s mind.
“Is that your talent, Hinata-kun? Fortune-telling?” Nagito sounds as interested as he always does, but Hajime knows it must be a bit of a let down, to have a mystery be so… mundane, as far as talents go. “You don’t seem like the type, don’t you think?”
“Not like an Ultimate Psychic,” Hajime corrects. “Like I had lived through the same time over and over, until I knew every detail.”
“Like that foreign film? That American one where a man repeats the same day over and over again?”
“Yes, exactly. Except… longer than a day.”
Nagito pauses, considering. “That doesn’t seem like much of a talent,” he says slowly. “More like a story.”
“And if- if I could prove it?” Hajome asks. He had thought, of all of them, that Nagito would be the one who believed it first.
“Then I’d believe you,” is all Nagito says. But it’s all Hajime needs.
“When you were in middle school, you were kidnapped and won the lottery on the same day,” Hajime starts. They’re in his cabin again- the first time this Nagito has been here, but a scene not entirely unfamiliar to Hajime. “Your parents died in a plane crash and you inherited their fortune. When you were a child, your pet dog was hit by a truck.”
“Those are all examples of my luck,” Nagito says, not quite disbelieving. “You could have learned them in a variety of ways. I’m sure they’re all in my file at Hope’s Peak.”
“Before you were accepted to Hope’s Peak via the lottery, you were diagnosed with cancer and given six months to live. You have frontotemporal dementia and lymphoma. And you’re planning on letting one of us kill you. You'll say it’s to make our hope shine, but that’s not really it, is it? You want to die. You think your luck only causes suffering, that it’s not a real talent and that you’re as useless as any normal person on the street. You want to die and suicide via Ultimate is the only way you think will beat your luck.”
“You really must know the future, Hinata-kun! I knew your talent would be amazing. But,” Nagito’s eyes grow colder than the arctic. “If you think those are my motives… Clearly you don’t know me at all.”
Hajime tells Nagito the whole story of that very first loop, the loop before the resets. He goes through every murder as best he can remember, every motivation. And Nagito watches, eyes wide. It’s when Hajime reaches the last two deaths that he falters. “You… came across some information that wasn’t exactly true, and tried to kill us all. It didn’t work, though, and you died in the process.”
“And you found out your talent,” Nagito finishes. “That’s why you don’t seem worried about not remembering it.”
“Yes,” Hajime admits slowly. “But it’s… it’s complicated. In the eyes of Hope’s Peak, Hajime Hinata is just a reserve course student.”
Later, Hajime will realize that was the moment everything fell apart.
There are two glasses on the table in front of them, both filled with unknown liquid. Nagito has that… look in his eyes. The look that’s one part madness and one part terrifying genius. It’s a look that fits the gamble Nagito has put into place- a gable as risky as his own suicide was.
“There are two glasses,” Nagito says, hands clasped. “One contains deadly poison from Rocketpunch Market. The other contains nothing but soda. I pour, and you choose. If you drink the poison, you die and I’ll be executed for your murder and the killing game will start. The true Ultimates- the ones with real, valuable hope- will shine brighter for our deaths. If you drink the soda, I die a suicide and you no longer have to worry about my plans. You can even lie about why I did it, if you like.”
“What if I don’t want to play?” Hajime asks, even though it doesn’t matter. He’ll play because he has no choice.
“Then I kill you some other way,” Nagito says with a shrug. “It’s not as if you’re worth anything. It’s more like exterminating a pest, really.”
And that stings, cuts deep in a way Hajime didn’t expect. But it’s nothing he shouldn’t have expected. “Okay,” he agrees simply.
There are two glasses on the table. Hajime takes the glass on the left, and together they drink.
Hajime doesn’t know what poison tastes like, but judging by the hysterical laughter Nagito breaks out in, he’s pretty sure he chose wrong. It was, to some degree, inconceivable that anything else would happen but, well, it wasn’t like Hajime had any other choice.
“How long until… Until I die?” Hajime asks. His voice doesn’t wobble, and maybe that’s enough of a victory for now. Nagito stops laughing and looks, consideringly.
“I suppose we’ll be feeling it in the next few minutes. Death, though? That I’m not sure about. Does it matter, though?”
It’s the use of ‘we’ that throws Hajime off course. He looks, again, at the two cups (empty now, no proof left to be discovered), and then back to Nagito. “There’s something- a trick. What am I missing?”
“Oh, you’re clever, for a Reserve Course student. Is that what made you think you’re good enough to inflict your presence on your betters? Of course there was a trick. Maybe,” Nagito smiles cruelly, “if you beg I’ll tell you what it is.”
“Please,” Hajime grits out through clenched teeth.
“You didn’t drink the poisoned cup, Hinata-kun,” Nagito says slowly. “We both did.”
“What you said? About us being Despair? It got me thinking. If my fellow Ultimates have fallen so far, they need to be culled in the name of Hope. And how better to do that than to use Monokuma’s rules against them all? Two bodies, both poisoned. Who could have done it?
“And, even if they figure it was one of us, how will they figure out which one? How will Monokuma? I poured the poison but you picked your cup, Hinata-kun. And with my luck? They’ll guess wrong.”
“But what about the traitor?” Hajime asks desperately. “They’ll die alongside everyone else.”
“Sacrifices must be made, Hinata-kun. It’s all in the name of hope, after all.” Nagito doesn’t look the least bit remorseful.
“Wait-” Realization dawns on Hajime slowly. “How did you know? About them being Despair?”
“Isn’t that obvious? I remember too.”
When Hajime was accepted to the Reserve Course, his family flew to Okinawa to celebrate. Hajime had sat by the window and watched as the land below shrank and vanished. Over the ocean, it was if he was above the sky, looking down upon it. As they descended for landing, the ocean below looked like thick blue paint, brush strokes visible against the monotony of color.
And then they had hit the turbulence: rough, jarring shakes like an unexpected (unwelcome) roller coaster ride. Hajime had thought they were going to crash.
He feels that same feeling now: the stomach-dropping weightlessness, as if his personal gravity has changed, as if the carpet has been ripped from under him and he’s free-falling into that vast, blue canvas.
“I didn’t until you told me,” Komaeda admits cheerfully. (And he’s Komaeda again, Hajime will not grant his killer the familiarity of a first name). “But then it came back: my plan, with its ability to stump even the greatest detectives. And I thought: why not do it again, but earlier this time?”
“All this because I belong to a different course than you?” Hajime asks, scornfully. “If I was an Ultimate, would you still have done this?”
“I don’t know,” Komaeda says slowly. “You were against Hope, so I would want you to die. But maybe not with my own hands. No, I think I would have repeated my prior plans, if you hadn’t told me.”
Hajime swallows heavily as the magnitude of his actions come crashing down. “Hajime Hinata was enrolled as a Reserve Course student. But there was… more to it than that. A talent development project. A way to create talent in an untalented individual.”
“Did it work?” Komaeda asks.
Hajime shrugs. “I don’t remember. Hajime Hinata was a reserve course student. When they… remade me they gave me a new name. Izuru Kamukura.”
“And the talent that- Kamukura-san had?”
“All of them.”
There’s regret in Komaeda’s eyes when he connects the dots, when he realizes what exactly he’s done, but it’s too late because they’re both doubling over in pain. Poison, it turns out, is not a painless death. It hurts and that’s more than the feeling of betrayal. It’s an intimate, visceral experience.
“I’m sorry,” Komaeda says.
“You’re only sorry because you killed someone with talent,” Hajime says and it’s not angry, it’s just tired. They’re dying, together, and what’s done is done.
“Maybe,” Komaeda admits softly. “Normal people… normal people aren’t strong enough. They’re weak, their hope is weak. And they’re influenced by my luck. Ultimates… their hope is brighter than mine, and so my luck doesn’t hurt them. It won’t kill them like it kills the ordinary.”
It would be sad, if Hajime wasn’t dying. “That doesn’t mean you get to kill them. You can’t control your luck, Nagito. But you can control the poison you pour into their cups.”
There’s silence, of a sort, after that. Hajime is gasping in pain, curled on the floor. His vision is blurring and, desperately, he reaches out for the only other person in the room. Was this how Nagito felt? Dying alone, in pain, with only the comfort of knowing he will not be alone in death for long?
Their hands meet. “I’m sorry I killed you,” Nagito says. “But I’m not sorry to die by your side.”
V
(Izuru) Hajime (Kamukura) Hinata wakes up on the beach, with Nagito as close as ever. The last four times this happened, he had let this introduction play out the way it always had. Now though, after dying, after four attempts to keep the white-haired boy out of trouble, he’s ready to try something a little more drastic.
“Hello,” he says when his eyes meet Nagito’s. “My name is Izuru Kamukura, the Super High School Level Hope.”
The world blurs, static filling the air. Colors dance across his vision and he hears voices (whose voices? When has he heard them before? There’s something there, like a memory long forgotten, but he can’t place it amid the white noise). And then everything goes black around him.