Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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From the moment the internet was first born, predation brewed quietly within its design. Though entrusted by its creators with benevolent purpose, the question of when it would mutate into something else entirely barred consideration of an if. That inevitability slowly crept up at first through the years, but by the time its true intentions bled into recognition, damage far overcame the resources to stop it.

All it took was little over a century for the world and its web to completely intertwine, fated to forever coexist.

Most people lacked the ability to overcome the influence, to escape that web. Elderly naïveté rendered them victim to its sticky lattices before they could realize what was happening. The desire for days when everything they saw was real meant nothing once wiped away by present's evils, guaranteed to never return. They had no choice but to accept nostalgia's death, and in turn, their minds’ own.

Then there was the youth, meant to be smarter—a resilient pair of eyes that could see the corruption for what it really was—however, they were no weaker than their ancestors when bait was hung at a different angle.

Or rather, when they themselves were choosing their lure, stringing it up, and catching their lip at the internet's hook in one fell swoop.

This process always began with a query, far too impatient to turn to more organic sources for knowledge of said query. Those were old, outdated methods. Who turned to books or word of mouth anymore? Scavenging the web was a far quicker and efficient means of finding the answers they desired now, and anyone unaware of that simply needed to ‘get with the times.’

An innocent search online often turned into a second—a follow up—because of course, just one was never enough. Question A brought about questions B, C, D to Z… Creating an alphabet beyond that in order to account for every possible detail or explanation a topic could lead to. When that subject was entirely unearthed, onto the next they went. Before they knew it, they found themselves going down a digital rabbithole, most likely on a path they hadn't previously been on at the beginning of their inquiry.

With that, the flow of time and space would become nonexistent. Hours upon hours spent absolutely enthralled in what may have originally been worth the venture, but in the end, would soon be realized as a waste.

But that was how it worked, after all. The internet's meaning, in addition to helping people learn everything about anything, was to keep them accustomed to having the world at their fingertips at all times. Even for those who knew better than to entertain the problem, how could they go back after having a taste of convenience such as this?

The same could be said for any addiction: drugs, alcohol, sex… But what isolated the internet from the rest was just how unsuspecting and seemingly harmless it was to a majority of society. Indulging in things that were already known to hurt the body and mind was one thing—every school knew to warn them of the dangers in smoking cigarettes or practicing safe intercourse—but doing the same for something like searching the web, it was not as straightforward.

A few clicks of a mouse couldn't be that bad.

Typing on a keyboard couldn't be that bad.

Surely, everyone against this was making it out to be much worse than it truly was, solely because generations that preceded didn't understand.

This kind of reasoning was what made accessing the internet feel that much less guilty, and in turn, a much more enticing ploy.

And yet, even with all this awareness, one of its most loyal victims refused to break away. Much so that not a single day passed where he didn't pay a visit to his favorite place to fall into the ploy—the computer was his companion, and navigating cyberspace was their bonding activity on the regular.

Just like any other teen his age, he found evenings to be the most ideal time for these pursuits across the World Wide, but the exact hours in which he chose to explore were… A bit late, in comparison to the norm. Kids like him would call it a night at twelve, one in the morning, at most. Despite the addiction, at least they knew to quit at some point. But him? His midnight was four, five AM.

The time had just hit three minutes to seven when Shuichi Saihara finally put an end to his research session.

A dimly lit, terribly cracked screen flickered off with the tap of a key, whirs fizzling out into silence as the device powered down. All that remained in its reflection was a face too weary to glance back—a face so devoid of emotion, so deadened and empty, unwilling to make eye contact with itself.

Unwilling was a stretch, perhaps. In times like these where he stayed awake during ungodly hours, he could hardly see to begin with. His vision blurred just enough to make out a smudging of shapes that could be eyes. The assumption was unimportant; that wasn't what he cared to see. Hazy peripherals longed for a bed, the very same one that awaited his company in the corner of the room.

Oh, but the chair he was sitting in was so comfortable… -ish.

‘Tolerable’ may have been a more fitting term, but he chose to believe that backache earned from slouching over his desk until the sun rose was a mere annoyance. Nothing to worry about long-term.

Besides, the space he would've taken up atop his mattress was currently occupied by more important things. Laundry that took forever to put away deserved a resting spot just as much as him, did it not?

So he opted for dropping his head between curled arms, cheek pressed against a surface that didn't do much to bring physical comfort or relief. It was fine. Certainly not the first time he’d done this, and it was only regrettable for a short while upon waking up. The crick in his neck typically subsided once he was up and moving.

He stared into the bend of his inner arm, dark fringe overshadowing the skin.

What was it called again? He'd looked it up out of curiosity one night… The ‘cubital fossa?’ Verification of the term later wouldn't hurt.

In the meantime, he needed to get some sleep. There wasn't another day so urgently in need of energy and focus as the one rapidly approaching. First days of school were already intimidating on their own, however there was an extremely tense air to the fact that he was entering kōtōgakkō^[¹], and the concept of it being the next few years of his life was nervewracking.

The previous semesters of chūgakkō^[²] were doable, sure, but to say he wasn't saddened by the lack of substantial relationships during that time would be a disservice to his feelings. It wasn't as though he actively made the choice for his only ‘friend’ to be the very same thing he Googled and gamed on.

Couldn't even call it a friend, honestly. Friends responded when spoken to. They were made of flesh and blood, not circuitry and data.

But those created biologically were hard to read. How was he to know their every thought and move when expected to converse? Attempts of the past proved to fail, oftentimes resulting in embarrassing or awkward situations—the kinds that made it near impossible to try again. He’d long since run out of enough fingers to count all the times in which he humiliated himself interacting with fellow students. If he could prevent it from happening further during this new chapter, he would.

The uncertainty around how exactly he would do that persisted. He was just as much of a procrastinator as he was socially impaired, a double whammy of sorts to his personality. Stressing himself out during summer break about how to approach people when he could panic the morning before was unintentionally his specialty.

But perhaps it was worth it this time to just… Stay quiet? Let others come to him, rather than invade the spaces of others. He had yet to take that route before. It might do him some good to give it a shot. Maybe then, he would be able to make the connections he wanted.

Either that, or none would form at all. He'd be left to his own devices for three more years.

And that was a risk he was willing to take, despite how the idea of navigating this in lonesome welled a cold tension into his lungs. Such a fate was familiar. The same as years past, even—just less likely to immortalize an unpleasant existence in the eyes of his peers.

Further ruminations would be left to the Saihara of the future, and by that, ‘future’ meant a couple hours’ time. Once he stepped foot on school grounds, he could leave it up to improvisation when needed. ‘Raw-dogging it,’ as he'd read on a forum once… Though, he found the phrase meant differently than initially understood. It'd be wise to exclude that from his vocabulary until he heard it spoken in person.

Prior to then, getting what rest he could afford was the priority.

Long lashes did well to hide drowsy amber hues when shut. A drawn-out breath warmed his face against the sting of varnished wood. Much shorter ins and outs came to follow, repetition of bodily habit inevitably lulling him into dormancy.

This state he hoped would last for a decent sum of time was short-lived, however. Three minutes at most, the very same that remained before a new hour hit, in fact.

Synthesizers cut through the stillness—not particularly loud, but abrupt enough to make shoulders jolt at their emergence. A few seconds passed before claps struck the noise, scattered and brief, something similar to a sci-fi machine charging up crept its way in soon after. It all seemed to escalate, rapidly hitting its peak before powering back down.

Much like his computer, there was an end to expect. 

Unlike it, said expectation was not met.

Instead, the sound’s descent clashed with an exclamation of a word well-known by a certain community of people—Shuichi was indeed one of those people.

‘DANGANRONPA—!’

The boy stirred more prominently, unable to block out electronic chords and rap bars blaring within near proximity. He refused to raise his head yet, slinking an arm from beneath his cheek to find the source. It smacked against his desk, unsuccessful the first, second, fifth time… On the sixth, some part of his hand must've found his phone, bringing the interference to a halt.

There was a sigh. Not of relief, but irritation.

Rather than heeding the call he intentionally set up, the room filled with nothingness once more. All that was heard were those breaths from before, less calm, though they tried to regulate again.

Another ten minutes flew by before inconvenience returned, exactly the same, as though ignoring the first time was a prophecy.

‘DANGANRONPA—! Reality slips, far away—’

His arm remained free from the previous instance, and hushed the tone much faster.

Shuichi placed his trust in five more minutes, just five, knowing full well that there was one final alarm before its recommendation became obligation. He couldn't allow more time to pass than that—between getting ready and the walk from home to the campus gates, an ample amount was needed to make it before they opened.

Five more minutes. It was all he needed, and he'd be up, even if to his dismay.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . .

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . .

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 . . .

Subconsciousness seemed to rouse him sooner than the alarm did. Instinct. It was as though he knew in a moment, he'd hear that song play again, and there'd be no use procrastinating anymore. That same feeling caused him to reach for his phone to check the time—or was it curiosity?

Regardless, it benefited him greatly to make that choice.

The time was a quarter to eight. Gates were said to open at eight. His third alarm was meant to go off half an hour ago.

Realization caused Shuichi to rise without further thought, adrenaline quick to flood his veins and every movement thereon. Much so that the most basic of actions gave into clumsiness easily; the disorientation of waking up still weighed him down.

Grabbing ahold of his uniform took several attempts before he registered how much closer he needed to be to actually touch it. Stumbling around his bathroom to tend to teeth and hair faced similar results. In the next five minutes, he'd managed to get himself pulled together. Enough to be presentable, but not entirely confident.

He scanned over his appearance in the mirror, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten something in a half-present daze. The outfit coordination was a rather pleasant surprise, for someone who knew nothing of the art—a black blazer-pants combo over a dress shirt was common, but the tie? He was incredibly proud of himself for securing that. Every furugiya^[³] within several miles’ radius was selling out like crazy for school shopping last week. Pairing navy with the rest of the outfit was genius, he thought. There was something missing, though. The boy squinted, and that something came to him upon observation.

His hat. He could not forget his hat.

The accessory laid alongside the ‘resting’ laundry pile. He snatched it promptly, and with a backpack slung from his shoulder, Saihara deemed himself ready to leave. With the distance from there to school, the casual stroll he’d planned to take was out of the question. Running was his only option, now.

And run, he did. Out the door, locked tight, bidding farewell to the very roof over his head.

‘Note to self—’ His brain advised, unable to verbalize aloud through unsteady panting. ‘—Triple check those alarms.’

The takeaway from this mistake was not as it should’ve been: to go to bed earlier, or wake up earlier, or even to avoid internet rabbitholes altogether on nights like these—rather, he blamed his carelessness towards neglecting the technology so heavily relied on.

How could he hinder his phone's capabilities like that? It was only trying to do its job, and he couldn't even ensure it had the proper support to follow through.

It was his fault, undoubtedly.

The phone was perfect.

His computer was perfect.

Humans were the ones full of flaws.

Shuichi was the flaw.