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Chapter Text

July 17, 2012

As soon as class was dismissed, Hajime made his way outside and into the summer sun. Nanami was by the fountain as usual, eyes glued to her GameGirl. He raised the packet of paper in his hand with a triumphant wave, even though he wasn’t expecting her to look up. It felt good to hold them up regardless.

“Hey, Hinata,” she said as he approached. “How was your last day of finals?”

“Good,” he said, and actually meant it to a certain degree. He’d been in good spirits all day, despite the grueling hours of testing he’d just endured. “I got the assistant position.”

“You did?” Nanami’s eyebrows raised. Her eyes remained focused on the screen, but he knew she was listening. “That’s amazing. I was really hoping you’d be able to come with us.”

“Yeah. I found out this morning.” He looked down at the packet again. There were at least fifteen pages of instructions, permission slips, and schedules, and he was actually eager to read through all of it. He hadn’t felt this excited since he’d gotten his acceptance letter from Hope’s Peak Academy. “It feels like they were kind of cutting it close. You’re leaving in a few days.”

“ We’re leaving,” Nanami corrected him with a smile. “I guess they had a lot of applications to consider.”

Hajime nodded. Nearly everyone in the Reserve Course had been talking about it since the school trip had been announced. In a way, this position was more competitive than getting into the Reserve Course in the first place. Out of the hundreds of Reserve Course students, only one of them would be accompanying Class 77-B on the trip.

“This is a good sign, right? That they picked me?”

“Definitely. Now I’ll have someone to play games with on the flight. It’s a pretty long way to Norway, I think.”

“Eighteen hours. We’ll probably have a layover somewhere in Europe,” Hajime said. Nanami already knew how much this meant to him—there was no point in pretending that he hadn’t done obsessive research about the trip.

“See? You’re already doing a great job as our assistant.” Nanami finished a complicated-looking attack combo in her game and nudged him with her elbow. “I can’t wait for you to meet the others. I think they’ll all really like you.”

His stomach swooped at the thought of meeting the other Ultimates. He knew all of them by name and talent, but he’d never spoken to any of them directly.

“You don’t think they’ll mind that I’m coming along with you guys?”

“Nope. Well, maybe some, but that’s okay. Most of my classmates are really nice.” Nanami reached a save point and looked up from the screen. “We’re having an end-of-semester party tomorrow night. You should come.”

The falling sensation in his stomach intensified. “Really? Is that okay?”

“It only makes sense if you’re going to be spending the next couple of weeks with us. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Nanami seemed so eager that he couldn’t help but relax a little. It was true that he was going to have to get to know everyone eventually.

“Alright, then.”

“Good.” She turned back to her GameGirl, apparently satisfied. “Wanna play a round of Gala Omega ?”

July 18, 2012

Hajime took a deep breath to calm his nerves as he approached the Main Course building. Its shadowed figure loomed over him, all polished brick and glass ribbed with steel. The Reserve Course building was technically newer, but it was a squat rectangle of uniform classrooms. It lacked the state-of-the-art facilities housed in the Main Course building—facilities he’d dreamed of but never seen in person.

Nanami pushed open the door as he drew closer and waved him over. He had no way to get inside himself, so she’d texted him to come through the back door so she could let him in.

“Hey, hey. You’re right on time.”

“I wanted to make a good impression.” Hajime straightened his tie. He’d gone for a short-sleeved button-up instead of his Reserve Course uniform.

“There is no shame in being ‘fashionably late,’” said a musical voice, and he realized Nanami wasn’t alone.

A pretty blonde girl was standing inside the doorway, and she brightened as he walked through.

“You must be Hinata. It is wonderful to finally meet you. Nanami has had many good things to say about you.” She gave him a small bow. “My name is Sonia Nevermind, but please just refer to me as Sonia.”

Hajime only barely remembered to return the greeting. Even up close, Sonia embodied the grace and elegance one would expect from a princess.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone else in a little.” Nanami grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the hallway. “We just set up Mario Kart, and I want to get a round in before Souda and Owari hog the controllers.”

“I would like to play as well.” Sonia fell into step beside them, her shoes clicking on the tile. “I had a few opportunities to play video games over winter break, and I believe I no longer qualify as a ‘noob.’”

“Great. You can play with me and Hinata.” Nanami was practically dragging him up the stairs.

They went up to the third floor. The whole building was quiet, the lights dimmed. It was after school hours, and most students had gone home for summer break. Hajime craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse inside the classrooms, but Nanami didn’t allow for any detours as she guided him to a door labeled ‘Rec Room.’

The room beyond was crowded. There was music playing a little too loud from a speaker somewhere, almost drowning out the chirping sound effects coming from the TV in the corner. The table in the center of the room was littered with snacks and discarded cups.

“New guy alert!” A girl with dyed hair bounced into his personal space before he could fully take in the scene. “You’re the roadie, right? My name’s Ibuki Mioda.” She mimed holding out a microphone. “Now, what do you know about carrying guitar cases?”

“I— What?” Hajime blinked. He didn’t even know what a roadie was. It might have sounded offensive coming from anyone else’s mouth.

“Please, Mioda,” Sonia said. “Hinata is assisting us in an administrative capacity. It would be insulting to expect him to perform manual labor on our behalf.”

Mioda tapped her chin, a piercing glinting just below her lip. “So you’re more like a manager, gotcha. Cool beans! You can help me organize my sheet music.”

His brow furrowed. “That’s not—”

“Kidding!” She winked and turned her attention to Nanami. “Hey, come on! I saved you a spot so I can kick your butt at Mario Kart.”

“You’re on.” Nanami’s eyes lit up, and she took off with Mioda towards the TV.

Hajime turned to Sonia, a little flustered that she’d spoken up for him. “How did you know about what I’m meant to be doing as an assistant?”

“Our teacher explained it to us,” Sonia said, gently guiding him into the room so they weren’t awkwardly standing in the doorway. “I suppose the school expects us to be busy with interviews and demonstrations, so some extra assistance would certainly be helpful.”

“Have you been to Norway before?”

“Several times.” Her expression brightened. “It can be quite cold, so I am glad we are going in the summer. I have always wanted to visit Vardø, but it is on the other side of the country from Oslo, so I do not think I will have the opportunity this time.”

“What makes you interested in…” Hajime decided against attempting to pronounce the foreign name. “...That place?”

“It has a long and storied history, but my main interest is in the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century.”

“Witchcraft?”

“Of course, there are many valid questions as to the accuracy of accounts of witchcraft, but don’t you think it’s fascinating that historical women may have been capable of such fantastical deeds?”

“I’ve honestly never really thought about it.”

“Of course.” Sonia’s laugh was slightly stilted. “Forgive me if I’ve bored you with my talk of small Norwegian municipalities.”

“Not at all.” Hajime felt his cheeks flush as he realized how unenthusiastic he’d sounded. “Sorry. I guess I don’t really know how to talk to a princess.”

“Please do not let my status affect your perception of me.” The earnestness returned to her expression. “I would be happy if you were to treat me as you would any of your other classmates.”

She wasn’t, though. Royalty or not, she was an Ultimate.

“Let’s go see how the others are doing at Mario Kart,” he said. “You wanted a chance to play, right?”

“Indeed.” Sonia raised her chin as they crossed the room towards the TV. “I am fully prepared to pwn my competitors.”

Nanami and Mioda were sitting in front of the screen, controllers in hand. Next to them were a blonde girl and a boy with dyed pink hair. Hajime caught the blonde’s hand dart over to mash the buttons on the boy’s controller.

“Stop!” He yanked the controller away, but not before his kart careened off the side of the track. “Hey, can someone disqualify Saionji for cheating?”

“Your reflexes just suck.” Saionji’s devious grin turned into a scowl as her kart spun out. “Whose fucking banana peel was that?”

“Get peeled!” Mioda pumped her fist.

“You guys should be focusing on the real threat instead of fighting each other,” Nanami said.

“Wouldn’t that be you?” Hajime said, noting that she was in first place.

“Oh. I guess so.” Without taking her eyes off the screen, Nanami reached back to tug on his pants leg. “Hey, can you go get me a strawberry Ramune? I’ll give you my controller once the race is over.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Just don’t beat them before I get back.” He turned away and headed for the table where the refreshments were. He reached for an unopened bottle of Ramune and paused as another outstretched hand bumped into his own. “Sorry.”

“My apologies,” the other boy said at the same time. He straightened and looked Hajime over. His expression went from mildly pleasant to unreadable. “Are you lost?”

“...No?” Hajime sized him up in return. He was far from unremarkable, with his slim figure and shock of pale hair, but Hajime was having trouble remembering his name or talent. “I was just grabbing a drink for my friend.”

“Ah, you seem to be confused.” His smile was friendly, but a touch patronizing at the same time. “This party is for Class 77-B of the Main Course. We didn’t invite any Reserve Course students. We certainly didn’t advertise that just anyone could come in here and help themselves to refreshments.”

Hajime stared at him for a moment, heat creeping up his neck. Out of all the times he’d imagined meeting the other Ultimates, something like this was definitely on the worst-case end of the spectrum. But Nanami had seemed so relaxed, and Sonia had been so kind, and for a few minutes he’d thought he was in the clear.

The boy continued smiling at him. “I hope you’re able to find your way to the door. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He reached for the Ramune bottle, and Hajime finally remembered his name. Nagito Komaeda, the Ultimate Lucky Student. He had no talent, but he’d been invited into the Main Course anyway. He’d been an intense source of jealousy for Hajime two years ago, when the sting of losing the lottery had still been fresh in his mind.

Komaeda, of all people, was telling him he had no right to be here.

Hajime snatched up the Ramune before Komaeda could grab it. “Nanami invited me here, actually,” he said, not bothering to hide the hostility in his tone. “And I was chosen as the assistant for your class trip, so you should probably get used to me being around.”

“I see.” The fingers of Komaeda’s outstretched hand flexed before returning to his side. “In that case, I apologize for making assumptions. You clearly know what you’re doing here.”

“Okay.” He relaxed a little. “Good.”

Still smiling, Komaeda reached into his pocket and held out a dirty, crumpled napkin. “Now, be a good assistant and put this in the trash, would you?”

July 19, 2012

Hajime was still yawning as he walked across the tarmac the next morning. The bus to the airport had departed from Hope’s Peak at five A.M. for their eight o’clock flight. Between how late the party had gone and his excitement over the trip, he’d barely gotten any sleep last night.

Souda whistled and stretched his arms above his head as they approached the small, sleek plane sitting on the tarmac. “A private jet? Man, Hope’s Peak really sprung for us this time.”

“It seems a little extra.” Koizumi pulled her sweater tighter around her torso. Even though it was summer, the early morning air was brisk. “It’s not like we’re going to a really remote location. We could have taken a regular airline.”

He grinned and folded his hands behind his head. “Maybe they just wanna give us the VIP treatment. They gotta make a good impression if they wanna open a branch in Europe.”

Hajime finally decided to stop eavesdropping and fell into step beside the pair. “Uh, here. I’m supposed to hand everyone their boarding passes before we get on the plane.”

Souda and Koizumi took their respective documents, and the latter held out her hand. “I can give Saionji hers, too. I need to zip up her bag, anyway.”

Hajime handed her another boarding pass, and Koizumi jogged up the line to where Saionji was munching on a pack of gummies, oblivious to the unzipped pocket of her backpack.

“So, what do you think?” Souda slung an arm around his shoulder, startling him. “You excited for this trip?”

“Yeah, I am. I only found out I was going a couple days ago, so this is all moving kind of fast.”

“Sweet!” His grip tightened a little. “By the way, I saw you talking to Sonia last night, and I just wanted to let you know she’s spoken for.”

“Oh.” Hajime resisted the urge to pull away. He was afraid that would only make him look guilty. “You guys are dating?”

“Well, no. But I’m gonna ask her out soon.” Souda let go of him and grinned, giving him a full view of his sharp teeth. “Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Hajime glanced around for an escape, but Nanami was sharing a pair of earbuds with Mioda, both of them listening intently to something. “I mean, I just met Sonia, and I don’t have any interest in her that way, so—”

“Good.” Souda patted him on the shoulder, and this time the gesture was less threatening and more friendly. “Hey, I bet there are a ton of hot blondes in Norway. I wonder if they’ll let me spend a semester in European Hope’s Peak so I can check them out.”

He decided not to ask how that would work if he planned to ask Sonia out. “It’s not actually going to be a European Hope’s Peak. The school is just sharing their model with another organization so they can try to adapt it.”

“You actually read that big packet of paper?” Souda blinked at him.

Multiple times. “I mean, it’s kind of my job to know what’s going on.”

“Right on.” He grinned at someone on Hajime’s other side. “Miss Yukizome, you picked a pretty good assistant.”

Yukizome smiled. Despite the early hour, her eyes were bright and her ponytail bounced with energy. “It wasn’t my decision, but I agree that Hinata has been helpful so far. Speaking of, would you mind helping load the luggage into the plane? There’s not much of a crew besides the two pilots.”

Hajime remembered what Sonia had said last night about manual labor, then shrugged. He couldn’t exactly reject a request from a teacher. “Sure. I’ll catch you later, Souda.”

“Seeya.”

He followed Yukizome to the plane and handed out the last of the boarding passes, then started lifting luggage into the side compartment. Thankfully the plane wasn’t too high off the ground, but lifting the suitcases was enough for him to break a sweat.

He grunted as he attempted to lift Mioda’s suitcase, which was plastered in so many stickers he wasn’t sure what color it had been originally. “What the hell is in here?”

“Oops, Ibuki wasn’t sure what amp to pack so she took two.” Mioda grabbed the other end of the suitcase and lifted it with a surprising amount of strength.

“Amps?” He shoved the bag into the compartment.

“Short for ampersand. Because I took two!” She flashed him a peace sign and skipped up the steps to the plane.

“Thanks for helping with this.” Nanami was next, passing him a pink suitcase which was also plastered with stickers. “I’ll save you a seat on the plane, okay?”

“Thanks.” He lifted her bag and was relieved to find she hadn’t packed her larger gaming consoles. It didn’t feel that way, at least.

After stopping Owari from bodily throwing her bag into the plane and receiving half a dozen warnings from Koizumi to handle her photography equipment carefully, he took a moment to stop and shake out his arms. It looked like that was pretty much everyone, except…

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be able to go on the trip with the rest of you.”

Yukizome sighed and tilted her head at Komaeda, who still had his suitcase tucked by his side. “This is really last minute. What brought this on?”

Hajime tried not to scowl as he busied himself with stowing his own luggage. If Komaeda didn’t want to come, he certainly wasn’t going to stop him. Their interaction at the party last night had left a bad taste in his mouth, even though everyone else had been (mostly) nice.

“I realized that I don’t exactly have a place on this trip. After all, everyone else is going so they can demonstrate their talents for the educational board. My own talent is hardly worth anyone’s time or attention. I’d simply be dead weight.” Komaeda’s eyes flickered in Hajime’s direction. He clenched his jaw.

“You’re as much a part of Class 77 as anyone else, Komaeda.” Yukizome placed a hand on his shoulder. “This trip wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Komaeda smiled, but it had none of the false amicability from last night. The expression looked wrong on his face, like a poorly-made toy doll. “That’s precisely what concerns me.”

Yukizome turned, seeming to remember they weren’t alone. “Hinata, you can join the others on the plane now. I’ll take care of the last couple of bags. Thank you for your help.”

“Um, sure.” Hajime walked past them and up the stairs, resolutely avoiding Komaeda’s gaze.

The inside of the plane was as rowdy as an unattended classroom. Hanamura and Saionji were bickering loudly about something. Mioda was playing a song from a small speaker and trying to goad the others into a call-and-response game. Hajime narrowly avoided a couple of Tanaka’s hamsters as they jumped from one seat to another and made his way down the aisle.

Nanami was in the back, and she stood up as he approached. “Could you take the window seat? I don’t want the glare to get on my screen.”

Hajime smiled as he slid into the seat. “I think you’re the only person in history to give up a window seat on a plane.”

“Oh, is that not common? I’ve never flown before.”

“I’ve only done it once.” He settled into the seat. It was wider and softer than the last time he’d been in a plane. “My parents and I went on a trip to Hokkaido.”

Nanami began tapping on her GameGirl again. “What about Costa Rica?”

“What?”

“You did that study abroad trip in Costa Rica last year.”

“Oh. Right.” He blinked. “So I guess this is my third time flying.”

He glanced out the window. Komaeda and Yukizome were still deep in discussion. She still had a hand on his shoulder, but his whole posture had gone rigid. Even from a distance, Hajime could see how wide his eyes had gone. He wished he could hear what they were saying.

“Hey, hey.” Nanami elbowed him in the side. “I just finished this level. Wanna play Gala Omega?”

“Yeah, sure.” He turned away from the window and reached into his backpack. He didn’t actually care what Komaeda’s deal was, he just didn’t want their trip to get held up.

They played a few rounds, comfortable in their corner of the plane, until a gentle chime sounded from the overhead speakers.

“ Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will be taking off shortly. ”

Hajime glanced up in time to see Komaeda coming down the aisle. He slid into the last available seat, the one across from his and Nanami’s.

Great. He shot him a wary glance, but Komaeda didn’t even seem to notice him, sitting with his hands folded in his lap and his gaze focused on the back of the seat in front of him.

“Is Komaeda afraid to fly or something?” he muttered.

“Hm?” Nanami looked up from her screen, then glanced across the aisle. “Hey, Komaeda, are you doing alright?”

Komaeda turned towards them with a stilted movement. His eyes were slightly glassy. “Of course.” He attempted a smile. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

“If you get motion sickness, Tsumiki might have something that’ll help.” Without waiting for an answer, she stood up. “I’ll go get her.”

As soon as she was gone, Hajime went back to his game. He was pretty sure any concern on his part would be met with more condescension from Komaeda. It seemed like Nanami had it covered, anyway.

After a minute, she returned with Tsumiki, who held out a paper cup.

“I’m giving you an antihistamine to help with motion sickness and a benzodiazepine to help with anxiety. Please make sure to drink at least eight ounces of water with the pills.”

Nanami slid back into her seat. “I have a water bottle if you need it, Komaeda.”

“No, thank you.” That distorted smile was back as Komaeda accepted the paper cup. “I’m truly undeserving of your kindness.”

The speaker chimed again. “ Everyone, please take your seats. ”

Tsumiki flinched as if someone had yelled at her and scurried back to her seat.

Nanami began digging through her backpack. “Hinata, you don’t get motion sickness, do you?”

“No, I’ve never had any issues with that.” He felt smug for a split second before it was replaced with guilt. Even if Komaeda was a dick, he didn’t deserve to deal with actual health problems. “I think sitting under the air vent can help with that, though.”

Nanami reached across the aisle to pass a water bottle to Komaeda. “Did you hear that? Maybe you should open up your air vent.”

Komaeda twisted the cap of the bottle. “I think I’ll take medical advice from professionals, thank you.”

Hajime turned away. Never mind. I hope he throws up on himself.

A few minutes later, the plane’s engine rumbled to life. Hajime watched through the window as they taxied down the runway and took off. The sprawl of Tokyo, stirring with early morning activity, began to shrink below them.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Nanami said once they were up in the air. “I picked a seat in the back because I heard it’s the best place to be in a plane.”

“I think that’s for roller coasters.”

“Oh. I’ve never been on one of those, either.”

“I know.” The handful of times they’d been to an amusement park together, Nanami preferred spending the majority of their time in the arcade.

There was nothing to look at up here but clouds, so Hajime went back to his handheld game. He played a few rounds with Nanami until she let out a groan.

“Low battery.” She bent over and dug through her bag. “And I forgot to bring my portable battery, too.”

Hajime looked around, but there were no outlets near their seats. “Guess we’ll just have to wait until we land.”

Eighteen hours was starting to feel like forever.

Thirty minutes later, Nanami was asleep on his shoulder, snoring softly. Hajime could feel drowsiness settling over him too, and reached over to slide the plastic cover over the window. Their little corner of the plane dimmed, and he closed his eyes.

He dreamed of piloting a spaceship, something sleek and black and red alongside Nanami’s pink and white vessel. They glided through stars, dodging asteroids and blasting apart alien ships. At some point in his dream, it occurred to him just how vast and empty space was. There was nothing holding him steady in the void but his own inertia. In his dream, his ship tipped downwards and he began to fall.

When Hajime opened his eyes, he was still falling.

He blinked rapidly, gripping the arms of his seat as if to steady himself. Next to him, Nanami lifted her head and brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his pulse picking up. “Are we landing already?”

Even as he spoke the question out loud, he knew the answer. They were still hours away from their layover destination. And planes weren’t meant to descend this fast.

A few rows up, someone screamed. Nanami gripped his arm.

“Hinata, can you open the window?”

With unsteady fingers, he pried the plastic cover upwards. His heart dropped at what he saw.

The ground was still far away, enough that he could only make out a vast expanse of dark green trees. But the plane was angled downwards, far more than he’d seen during his previous landings.

Someone else screamed. A chorus of fearful chatter rose in the cabin, nearly drowning out Yukizome’s voice.

“Everyone, stay calm. Stay in your seats and keep your seatbelts on. It’s going to be okay.”

Hajime took in a shaky breath and squeezed Nanami’s hand. “Maybe they’ll be able to get the plane under control.”

“Yeah,” she said, though he could feel the way she was trembling under his grip.

An alarm blared through the cabin. Something hit him in the face, and Hajime felt his whole body seize. It was an oxygen mask, he realized. With clumsy movements, he managed to pull the elastic over his head and positioned the plastic opening over his mouth and nose. He turned to help Nanami with hers, but she was already securing the mask over her face.

Their eyes met, and the understanding that passed between them made tears prick his eyes.

We might die here.

He took her hand and held on as tightly as he could, even as sweat gathered between their palms.

The entire plane shuddered, and everything descended into chaos. His breaths sounded too loud in his ears, the screams even louder. He caught a glimpse of Yukizome staggering down the aisle towards them, a glimpse of Komaeda frozen in his seat, the oxygen mask dangling uselessly in front of him.

“Hinata—” Nanami said, her voice muffled by plastic.

A shadow filled the window. It was a tree, Hajime realized. The crown of a tree whizzed past, then another, and a sickening series of cracks sounded from the front of the plane. His whole body tensed in the moment before impact.

A blinding light filled the cabin, followed by a deafening roar. Everything was too bright, too loud—and then it all stopped.

Chapter Text

June 1, 2022

“Hinata, do you have a minute?”

The door to his office swung open. Hajime realized how cramped his posture had gotten from staring at his computer for the past hour and straightened. “Sure. What’s up?”

Ueno, his boss, shot him a familiar, apologetic smile. “Do you mind going over the invoices before we send them out? Shimamura’s been through them already, but. Well.”

She didn’t have to say any more. Shimamura had been hired around the same time as Hajime, both of them having leveraged connections within the company, but at least Hajime made an effort to spell check his work.

“I’ll look them over.” He rubbed a sore muscle in his neck. “I can email you the finished copies once I’m done.”

“That would be great. I appreciate it.” She lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then stepped back and closed it.

If it weren’t for the difference in their positions, she probably would have asked him out already. Hajime wasn’t sure if she was still going to try at some point. It was nice to feel noticed, but he was dreading the thought of having to turn her down.

He shook the thought away and navigated to the invoice forms in the shared company drive. Shimamura had put them in the right folder, at least. The letterhead for Shimizu Irrigation stood in bold black font at the top of each page. There were always a few jokes passed around about the suggestive nature of their logo, but it hadn’t changed in the seven years he’d worked there. They weren’t exactly a public-facing company anyway.

Muffled laughter rose and faded from the other side of the door. The occasional click of his keyboard and the buzz of the fluorescents filled the silence. Hajime’s office didn’t have any windows. He hadn’t bothered to decorate any of the walls since he’d moved in. It was a timeless little box, removed from the rest of the world. It made the day pass a little more quickly when he didn’t notice if the sun had set or if it had rained until he stepped outside.

He finished reviewing the invoices, sent them off to Ueno, and checked the clock. Four minutes to eight.

He packed up his things, threw on his jacket, and stepped out into the hallway. Most of the others had left for the night, the lights dimmed and the cubicles empty. Even the receptionist had vacated her desk.

It was hot outside and hotter in the subway, stuffy with the crowd of evening commuters. Hajime tucked his bag against his chest and turned on his phone. He swore softly as a message from four thirty-six that afternoon popped up.

Are you available for dinner tonight?

He tried maneuvering his bag under one arm, then gave up and started typing with one hand.

I’m sorry. I didn’t see this until now. I had to work late today.

A few minutes later, his phone vibrated with the reply: That’s alright! How about this weekend?

Hajime checked his calendar app, more out of habit than anything. He already knew he didn’t have plans.

I can do Saturday at seven?

Great. See you then!

He stowed his phone away and readjusted his grip on his bag before it could slip from his hands.

A blast of cool air greeted him when he stepped inside his apartment. He left his bag by the door along with his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. He opened a beer while he waited for his dinner to heat up in the microwave.

While he ate, he checked the Crime Watch app on his phone. It was all unofficial reports from people in the community, ranging from vandalism to the occasional violent crime. He scanned his neighborhood, scrolling in widening circles around his apartment. A couple of suspected car break-ins, a littering complaint. Nothing serious.

Hajime closed the app and took a swig of his beer.

July 19, 2012

When the shock of the impact faded, Hajime tried to stand, only for his seatbelt to jerk him back into place. His legs were shaking so badly he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stand anyway.

He wrestled the oxygen mask off his face, breathing hard. The air smelled like smoke. Wispy tendrils of it were drifting through the darkened cabin.

“Hinata.” Nanami was still holding his hand, squeezing it so hard his fingers were numb. Her hair was disheveled from where she’d pulled off her own mask. “I-I think the plane’s on fire.”

“The door’s stuck!” Souda screamed from further up. “Fuck, fuck, we’re gonna die here!”

“Out of the way!” Nidai’s bulk moved through the haze. “There’s no way this door can stand against the might of Nekomaru Nidai! ”

It was such a bizarre thing to shout Hajime might have laughed in any other situation. All he could do was cough as the smoke stung his airway.

“Come on.” Nanami fumbled to get her seatbelt unfastened and stepped into the aisle. “Komaeda, are you okay?”

Hajime stood, relieved to find that his legs were cooperating, and peered over her shoulder. Komaeda was still in his seat, the plastic of his oxygen mask puffing with each breath. He stared blankly at the seat in front of him, unresponsive even when Nanami reached over and jostled his shoulder.

“I got him.” He moved Nanami back into the aisle and took her place. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She muffled a cough in her sleeve and nodded.

Komaeda didn’t react as Hajime undid his seatbelt and pulled the oxygen mask off his face. His head wobbled on his neck as Hajime shook his shoulder.

“Hey. Dude. We gotta get off the plane. There’s a fire.”

No response. Would it be helpful to slap him, or would that just make things worse?

“Hinata,” Nanami said, a thread of panic audible in her voice.

There was no time for deliberation. Hajime swore under his breath and bent down.

 He grabbed him by the waist and threw him over his shoulder, nearly losing his balance in the process. Komaeda wasn’t terribly heavy, but he was unwieldy, his legs knocking against the seat as Hajime stepped back into the aisle.

Nanami was a few rows up, helping Saionji pull her skirt free from the seats. An orange glow filled the front of the plane. The air swelled with screams and smoke, broken by the grating of metal as Nidai finally forced the door open. Everyone who had gathered behind him surged forward.

“Come on!” Nanami pushed Saionji ahead of her and beckoned to Hajime.

He staggered towards her, wincing at the heat emanating from the front of the plane. The smoke grew so thick he could only see the outline of Nanami’s pale hair through the haze. He held his breath, pushing his nose into the soft fabric of Komaeda’s jacket.

And then he was free, stumbling out into fresh, pine-scented air. He fell to his knees, letting Komaeda flop to the ground beside him, and coughed until his throat was raw.

Tanaka was pacing in front of the plane entrance, looking half-ready to run back inside. “San-D! Come forth from the flames, my loyal minion!” Despite his bravado, a tremor was audible in his voice.

Sonia rushed towards him, her face streaked with soot. “I have him. He crawled into my pocket.” She held out a ball of fur, and Tanaka took it from her with an exhale of relief. His other three hamsters crawled out of his scarf, squeaking frantically.

Hajime took a moment to look himself over. His abdomen was tingling where the seatbelt had pulled taut against his skin, but he couldn’t see any actual injuries. He felt unspeakably lucky. Kuzuryu was being supported by Pekoyama, nursing a bruise on his forehead. Mioda was sitting in the dirt, hands clamped over a cut on her shin. Tsumiki flitted between her classmates with scraps of cloth and instructions to put pressure on this, keep that elevated.

“Hinata?” Nanami fell to her knees beside him. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” He swallowed, realizing how uncomfortably dry his mouth was.

The wreckage of the plane continued to smolder, smoke pouring through a gap in the side, and the sight made him dizzy. He could still hear the awful noise the crash had made echoing in the back of his head.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he breathed.

“We all made it out, at least.” Nanami squeezed his hand, grounding him a little. She swiveled her head, counting under her breath. “That’s sixteen of us. I don’t see MIss Yukizome. O-Or the pilots.”

Yukizome had been standing when the plane went down. And the pilots had been sitting in the front, the part of the plane that had caved in like a rotten fruit. The part of the plane that was on fire.

Hajime put a hand over his mouth and tried not to throw up.

“Komaeda?” Nanami looked over at the boy still lying in a crumpled heap in the dirt. “Is he still…”

Hajime followed her gaze. He was staring blankly at the sky. 

Is he dead?

His stomach dropped like he was falling again. He leaned over Komaeda and shook his shoulders, maybe a little too roughly.

“Hey. Komaeda. Snap out of it. We made it out, okay? We’re alive.”

Komaeda blinked once, slowly. His eyes moved, focusing on Hajime’s face.

“You with me?” Hajime could hear a tremor of relief in his voice. “Can you say something?” He almost wished Komaeda would insult him again, just to show he was alright.

With a small grunt, Komaeda lifted his head. Hajime put a hand on his shoulder and helped him into a sitting position. He watched his face, watched him take in the wreckage with an unreadable expression.

“It’s over?” He spoke slowly, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah. I guess.” Hajime cast around before remembering that he’d forgotten to grab the water bottle. He was struck with the chilling realization that all of their belongings were still inside the burning plane.

Komaeda let out an abrupt noise that could have been a sob or a cough. His eyes widened as he gazed at the plane, the orange flicker of flames reflected in his gaze.

And he started to laugh.

At first, Hajime thought he was crying, but there was no mistaking the wheezing sound, the twisted glee in the noises he was making. Behind him, Nanami let out a small gasp. Most of the others had stopped tending their wounds to stare.

Hajime sat back on his heels. The world rocked like it was gearing up for another crash. None of this felt real.

The flames growled, licking at the edges of the plane, and Komaeda laughed.

The fire burned itself out by early afternoon, but the smell lingered, the scent of burning metal and the sting of evaporating chemicals hanging thick in the air. As soon as the flames subsided, Nidai and Owari pried open the luggage compartment and extricated what remained of their belongings.

Those that weren’t nursing their wounds were wandering around the edges of the clearing the crash had created. There had still been no sign of Yukizome. Koizumi had ventured to the front of the plane to check for the pilots and had ended up emptying her stomach into a bush. No one had asked what she’d seen.

Hajime pulled himself up onto a rock formation and looked around. He could see nothing but trees in every direction.

“Hinata?” Sonia approached him, arms clasped over her middle. “Do you have a cell phone with you?”

“Oh. Um.” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved it. His eyes flickered to the signal bars in the corner, but the symbol had been replaced by a small exclamation point. He sighed. “I don’t have signal.”

“I feared as much.” Her shoulders fell. “I have been asking around, but it appears we are in a death zone.”

“You mean a dead zone?”

“Yes.” She gave a shaky laugh. “What a morbid turn of phrase.”

He climbed down from the rock with cautious movements. His balance felt off-kilter, like the crash had knocked something out of alignment in his head. “Where even are we? Are we still in Japan?”

Sonia shook her head. “We were several hours into the flight, so I believe that puts us somewhere in Russia. Perhaps in the Sakha Republic.”

That meant close to nothing to Hajime, but it was comforting to at least have a name for where they were. “Then they’ll be able to find us, right? They just have to trace the flight path or something. Maybe the pilots sent out a distress signal before…before we went down.”

Her answering smile was unsteady. “Yes, of course. I’m sure it will be no time before they are able to locate us.”

“Yeah. I guess we just have to wait until then.” He looked around. They could survive a night camping in a random stretch of woods, right?

Didn’t Russia have bears?

“Owari, what are you doing?” Koizumi called. 

Hajime and Sonia turned towards a tree on the other side of the clearing, where a cluster of people had gathered.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Owari was already ten feet off the ground, scaling the branches of the pine. “If I get to higher ground, I can get a signal from my phone.”

“P-Please be careful,” Tsumiki said, holding her hands against her chest. “If you fall, you could become seriously injured.”

“I climbed a radio tower in the rain once,” Owari responded, her voice fading in volume as she ascended. “This is nothing.”

They waited with bated breath as she climbed. Soon she was so far up that Hajime could only see a glimpse of her red shorts.

Hanamura whistled lowly. “I wish I had a pair of binoculars.”

Saionji scowled at him. “Shut the fuck up, you pig.”

Almost everyone was gathered below the tree at this point, even Komaeda. He’d fallen silent after his…Hajime wasn’t sure what to call it. He’d laughed himself hoarse, then started rambling incoherently until Tsumiki had practically dragged him into the shade of a tree and made him do some breathing exercises. She’d speculated that the medication he’d taken earlier combined with the shock of the crash might have caused his episode.

Hajime wasn’t so sure. He didn’t like the way Komaeda had looked at everyone since then, with bright eyes and a feverish intensity.

“Dammit,” Owari called from above. “I can’t get a signal.”’

“Look around while you’re up there,” Souda called. “Do you see any buildings? Or roads?”

“Nope,” she replied, and there was a collective groan from the group.

“Hang on. There’s something…” The branches rustled as she descended. She paused about twenty feet up and turned around. “Thought I saw something stuck in the trees.”

“Is it my suitcase?” Saionji asked. “You guys said you didn’t find it in the plane. Maybe it fell out before we crashed.”

Owari shielded her eyes with one hand, hanging rather carelessly from a branch. Even from a distance, Hajime could see the moment her expression changed. Her eyes widened, and her mouth moved soundlessly for a moment. She pointed to something in the boughs of another tree. “Over there.”

“What is it?” Nidai called, but Owari didn’t respond, instead climbing down with frantic movements.

A few of the students broke away to search in the direction she’d pointed, and Hajime trailed after them. It was difficult to see anything but pine needles from his vantage point on the ground. They made their way closer to the swath of trees that had been knocked down by the plane’s descent.

“Oh my god, what is that?” Mioda pointed to a dark patch on the ground. It looked like some kind of liquid had spilled and half-soaked into the dirt.

A sharp, metallic scent hit his nose. He didn’t recognize it, but it made dread pool in his stomach.

A droplet of something fell into the patch with a muffled tap .

Mioda looked up and screamed.

Hajime followed her gaze and let out a strangled gasp. He didn’t understand what he was seeing at first. The sight came in pieces to him—blue and yellow fabric, auburn hair, patches of thick, dark liquid seeping into both. The details congealed slowly in his mind, over the screams of the others.

Chisa Yukizome was suspended from the branches, blood dripping from her limp figure.

He didn’t realize how numb he’d become until he was jolted back to the present by a body roughly nudging past him. Owari leapt into the tree they were standing under and began climbing up towards Yukizome.

“Owari, don’t be stupid!” Nidai ran to the trunk, but she was already out of reach.

“I’m gonna get her down.” She was nearly halfway there. “It’s gonna be fine.”

She sounded so determined Hajime almost believed her for a second. He almost believed it would be okay, that they would get Yukizome down, that they would be able to get her help despite the fact that they were stranded in the middle of nowhere.

“Be careful,” Koizumi called. She sounded close to tears. “That tree doesn’t look stable.”

“I got it.” Owari hoisted herself onto the branch next to the one holding Yukizome. Her jaw trembled. “I-I…”

“Please tell us the s-state of her injuries,” Tsumiki said, her voice shaking even more than Koizumi’s. “It might not be safe to move her right away.”

“Well, we can’t just leave her up there!” Souda said, and she flinched.

Mioda cupped her hands around her mouth. “Miss Yukizome! Can you hear us?”

Someone groaned. Hajime looked around, then realized the noise hadn’t come from a person. It was coming from the tree. The branches shifted, sending a few pine needles fluttering to the ground.

“Owari, look out!” he shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the screams of the others.

The branch holding Yukizome gave way with a loud crack . Owari swore and pulled her legs out of the way. Nidai grabbed Mioda and yanked her backwards a second before the branch and Yukizome hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Sonia let out a small scream, the noise muffled by both hands.

Yukizome had a wound in her stomach, the splintered remains of a branch partially visible through the hole in her abdomen. Blood had soaked into the fabric of her dress, had dripped down over her neck and across her cheeks. It pooled at her hairline. It was in her eyes, open and unseeing as she lay there.

This isn’t real. Hajime struggled to swallow. This can’t be real .

A hand slipped into his, and when he looked over, he saw Nanami, her cheeks wet with tears. Their eyes met, and just like the moment before the crash, a horrifying realization loomed over him.

It very well could have been one of them impaled in the trees. The plane crash could have killed one of them. It had killed all three adults, the people that were supposed to protect them.

They were trapped out here, and they were alone.

Chapter Text

July 20, 2012

Mikan frowned at the tiny tube of antiseptic ointment in her hands. She was unbelievably glad she’d packed a First-Aid kit, but it hadn’t come close to enough with the injuries her classmates had sustained. It made her cringe to think of the sanitary risks of using strips of t-shirts as bandages, but it would have been unacceptable to let their wounds just bleed.

The skin under her fingernails was raw from the time she’d spent picking dirt out from under them. Her hands were tacky with grime and sweat. There was only so much her little bottle of hand sanitizer could do.

They didn’t have any water to spare for cleaning, either. Pekoyama and Sonia were busy dividing up what little food and water they had, which consisted of a few water bottles and some snacks people had brought for the plane trip.

Mikan put a hand over her stomach. She was hungry, but she was used to it. No one had eaten yesterday, not after Yukizome.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked over to the spot of freshly turned earth at the edge of the clearing. Yukizome had always been so kind to her, even when she didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t fair that she’d been the one to die.

“Tsumiki?” Koizumi approached and held something out to her.

Cautiously, she took it. Three rice crackers, wrapped in a scrap of foil packaging.

“I know it’s not a lot,” Koizumi said with an apologetic grimace. “Pekoyama said we should try to make the food last.”

For how long? How long would it take for someone to find them? A week? A month? 

Her appetite had vanished, but she ate her rice crackers anyway. She needed to keep her strength up if she was going to be of any use to her classmates.

“Hey, hey,” Nanami called, gathering everyone’s attention. “Can we all sit together for a little? I think we should talk as a group.”

Everyone drifted into a circle, a good distance away from the plane wreckage. Seeing them all together, Mikan realized how battered their group looked. Sonia’s face was shadowed with ash and abrasions. Hanamura’s signature hairstyle was so frazzled it was barely recognizable.

Nanami still smiled at them as she tucked her legs beneath her. “So, I think we should talk about what we’re going to do next.”

“We need to find food somewhere,” Owari said, crouched in the dirt and rocking back and forth on her heels. “I could climb trees and look for bird nests. Maybe some of them have eggs.”

Hanamura sighed wistfully. “An omelette sounds lovely.”

Mikan tentatively raised her hand, then pulled it back into her lap as Kuzuryu spoke.

“We need to make it easier for people to find us. A rescue team’s gonna have miles of forest to look through. And that’s assuming they’ll even be able to—”

“I agree with Kuzuryu,” Sonia said, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Kuzuryu glowered at the interruption, but said nothing. “It would be prudent to create a signal fire, or perhaps communicate our location in another way.”

Koizumi frowned. “Does anyone know how to make a signal fire?”

A moment of silence passed. Mikan’s wrist twitched as she worked up the courage to raise her hand again.

“I could look for parts inside the plane,” Souda said. “Maybe see if there’s an intact radio.”

“Why didn’t you mention that yesterday?” Saionji said. “We could have been rescued by now.”

“I was gonna get to it eventually.” He tugged on the brim of his beanie. “I was waiting for the plane to, you know, air out. Since the front is all burned up and gross.”

“We should take care of the pilots, too,” Sagishi said. “We can’t just leave them inside the plane.”

Another awkward silence followed. After Koizumi’s reaction, no one had dared to even look inside the remains of the cockpit. Mikan swallowed and tried to gather the words in her head before she spoke. She’d dealt with their injuries, so it would make sense for her to deal with dead bodies, too. Maybe the others would be grateful that she’d volunteered.

“I will gather the remains,” Pekoyama said before she could speak. “We can bury them next to Miss Yukizome.”

A visible ripple of relief ran through the group.

“Then leave the digging to us,” Nidai said. “Two more graves shouldn’t be that difficult.”

He spoke so confidently that Mikan almost missed how morbid the conversation had become. Three people had died. They weren’t even going to get proper funerals.

“Tsumiki, were you going to say something earlier?” Sagishi asked.

Mikan flinched, her face warming as everyone looked at her. “Um, I w-wasn’t trying to interrupt. It wasn’t that important anyway.”

It was important , a small part of her protested, but she was desperate to get the attention off herself.

“It’s fine if you have a comment to make,” Sagishi said. “After all, you’re the one who’s been taking care of everyone’s injuries.”

A few people murmured in agreement, and the heat on her face intensified.

“I, um, think we need to look for water. We can go for a c-couple weeks without food, but even two days without water is extremely dangerous. Not to mention water is necessary to keep wounds clean and it would be nice for us to be able to…to bathe.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as she began to stumble over her words. “I’m s-sorry, that was a lot.”

“I agree,” Pekoyama said. “Finding a water source may lead us to food as well.”

“How do we find water, though?” Hinata asked. “It doesn’t seem safe to just go wandering around.”

“Why don’t we check out the lake?” Owari said.

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“What on earth do you mean by ‘lake?’’ Hanamura asked.

“That way.” She pointed with the hand that wasn’t pulling pine needles out of her hair. “I saw it when I was climbing trees yesterday.”

Sonia gaped at her. “Owari, why did you not mention this before?”

She shrugged. “You guys didn’t ask.”

“Then let’s get a move on.” Nidai shot to his feet. “We’ll go to the lake and clean ourselves straight away!”

Hanamura smirked. “Anyone up for some skinny dipping?”

Koizumi rolled her eyes. “Let’s focus on the necessities, okay? Though a bath would be nice.”

“Then it’s decided.” Nanami smiled at all of them. “Let’s go to the lake.”

With Owari in the lead, they trudged through the brush, away from the plane and down a gently sloping hill. It became evident almost immediately that traveling without a path was incredibly difficult. With the dense undergrowth and hidden dips in the earth, even their most athletic classmates were having trouble keeping their footing.

Mikan yelped as she tripped over a root. Loose twigs and rocks bit into her skin as she caught herself on her hands and knees.

“Watch your step.” Koizumi took her by the shoulder and helped her to her feet.

“I’m s-sorry.” She blinked back tears and brushed the debris from her palms. She hated being so dirty. “It’s really difficult to walk here.”

“Tell me about it.” Koizumi looked down and sighed at a hole forming in her sock, just above her ankle. “I guess this is the price we pay for being in untouched wilderness.”

“We have invaded this place in a most violent manner,” Tanaka said as he passed them. His hamsters were having a much more pleasant journey as they clung to his shoulders. “It should be no surprise that the wilderness receives us with hostility.”

“It’s not hostile, just…” Koizumi pushed aside a low-hanging branch. “Not people-friendly.”

Mikan shut her eyes, bracing herself for the branch to hit her in the face.

“Come on, Tsumiki,” Koizumi said. “I don’t want to fall behind the others.”

With a muttered apology, Mikan hurried past the branch, and Koizumi let it swing back into place. She felt terrible for assuming the worst about her classmates, but it was a difficult habit to break, even after two years. Not to mention Koizumi was friends with Saionji, who would have been happy to give her a faceful of pine needles.

Up ahead, someone let out a triumphant whoop. Mikan looked up and saw that the spaces between the trees were filled with blue. She stumbled the last few yards to the edge of the treeline.

Koizumi let out a gasp and raised her camera.

The lake glistened under the sun, a wide blue expanse ringed with dark green trees. What struck her most about it was the smell—fresh and invigorating, nothing like the crowded stench of the city or the sharp, antiseptic scent of a hospital or infirmary.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of view.” Koizumi lowered her camera and sighed. “Owari you got in my shot.”

“Huh?” Owari had already kicked off her shoes and was knee-deep in the lake.

“I thought you liked taking pictures of people,” Souda said, rolling up the legs of his jumpsuit.

“When they’re good.” Koizumi frowned down at the picture. “Owari was moving. She looks more like Bigfoot in this.”

Saionji cackled. “She definitely has Bigfoot’s hair.”

Mioda was busy pulling off her stockings, trying to maneuver them around the makeshift bandage on her leg. “Splash City, here I come!”

“Wait, Mioda!” Mikan hurried over to her, nearly rolling her ankle on a rock jutting from the sand. “You really shouldn’t go in the water with that cut on your leg. It m-might get infected.”

“Aw, really?” Her shoulders deflated. “They should invent a way for people to swim with only their upper half.”

“I’m sorry.” Mikan went back to picking at her nails. “Maybe I can, um—”

“Ooh, sandcastles!” Mioda’s attention had already shifted to where Tanaka was piling the sand on the lake shore.

He tossed his scarf aside and glowered. “Do not interfere with my dastardly machinations, siren, or you will regret it for all of eternity.”

She pointed at him. “If that’s a challenge, then you’re on.”

Relieved that Mioda’s disappointment hadn’t lasted, Mikan wandered further down the shore. Owari had stripped off her shorts and shirt and was wading deeper into the water, followed by a similarly-undressed Nidai. Hanamura was making no secret of his staring.

“Oh my god, finally.” Souda submerged his water bottle into the lake, the surface bubbling at he filled it. “I thought I was going to dry up like a raisin.”

“Wait!” Mikan waved to get his attention. “That water m-might not be safe to drink.”

Behind her, Saionji scoffed. “God, are you going to ruin everything? Can’t we just get a break after everything we’ve been through?”

Souda raised his water bottle and gave it a dubious glance. “I mean, the water looks pretty clean.”

“Most harmful organisms are too small t-to be seen by the…the naked eye.” Mikan clasped her hands together as she began to stutter. “I’m really sorry. I don’t want to r-ruin everyone’s day. I just don’t want anyone to get sick.”

“Too late. Day ruined.” Saionji pushed her ponytail behind her shoulder. “Also, weren’t you the one who was saying we needed water? Do you want us to dehydrate anyway?”

“Of course not.” Tears pricked her eyes, her face growing hot. “I just m-meant…”

“You meant what?”

“Tsumiki is right,” a new voice said, and they both turned to see Pekoyama padding across the sand towards them. “It would be dangerous to drink potentially contaminated water.”

Saionji put her hands on her hips. “Yeah? When did you become an expert?”

“I’ve studied wilderness survival in my spare time.” She scanned the lake. “We will need to filter and boil any water before we drink it.”

Mikan attempted a steadying breath and nodded. “That should make it safe to drink. I don’t know how to filter it, though.”

“I will see what supplies I can find in the plane.” Without another word, Pekoyama turned and set off at a jog up the hill.

Saionji glanced at Mikan, stuck out her tongue, then walked away.

Mikan slipped off her shoes and stockings and waded into the water until she was able to bend down and clean her hands. Her skin wouldn’t be clean, but scrubbing away a layer of grime made her feel better, at least.

Her face was still burning, tears stubbornly clinging to her eyelids. She thought about Saionji ignoring her advice and drinking straight from the lake. She thought of Saionji contracting dysentery, the fever, the vomiting, the humiliation of losing control of her bowels. The look in her eyes when she realized Mikan was the only one who could keep her alive, who could make her feel better.

The others were lucky, really, that they’d only come out of the crash with scrapes and bruises. They were lucky Mikan was there to treat them. Maybe they’d learn to be grateful, at least until the rescue team came and they were whisked away back home. Then they could go back to ignoring her.

But she could make the best of these days while they lasted.

June 3, 2022

Her Friday shift was busier than normal. Some sort of bug was going around, and two of the nurses had called out sick, leaving them short-staffed.

Mikan liked these busy days the best.

She sorted a variety of pills into a white paper cup, filled a glass of water, and brought both to Miss Kanda’s room. She tried not to wrinkle her nose as she pushed the door open. The room was starting to smell a little stale, a combination of latex and body odor. It needed another deep clean, but there wouldn’t be time this week.

“Here are your afternoon doses, Miss Kanda.” Mikan placed the pills and water on the bedside table. There was plenty of room for both objects—there were no flowers or cards, not even a stuffed animal from the gift shop. “Do you need anything else from me?”

“No, that’s alright.” With a somewhat unsteady hand, Miss Kanda reached for the cup. She was always dutiful about taking her medicine. Mikan liked that in a patient. “I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.”

“I’m sorry I can’t stay.” She cast around, seized by the familiar urge to placate. “Would you like me to open a window before I go? Maybe you’d like some fresh air.”

“It’s not as fresh as I’d like it to be.” She brought the first pill to her lips and followed it with a sip of water. “It’s alright, really.”

The hospital was next to a particularly busy intersection, and the noise was even worse than the smell of exhaust.

Mikan deliberated for a moment. The room really did need some air circulation, even if it wasn’t perfect quality.

“I’ll open it for a little,” she said, striding to the window before Miss Kanda could argue. She pushed it open the slim fifteen degrees that the hinge would allow. “I’ll be back to close it as soon as I can.”

Satisfied she would take her medicine without needing to be watched, Mikan left the room and yelped as a cart bumped into her hip. The clipboard tucked under her arm slipped out of her grasp, and papers scattered everywhere.

“I’m so sorry.” The man pushing the cart rushed forward, hands outstretched. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Mikan ducked her head and knelt down to gather the papers. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I feel so stupid.”

“That makes two of us.” With a sheepish laugh, he joined her on the floor, pushing the papers into a messy pile. “I’m the new tech. Still trying to learn the layout of this place.”

Jirou Kumamoto , his nametag read. She liked the sound of the syllables in her head. He was good-looking, with a mop of dark hair and kind, almond-shaped eyes.

“Maybe I can share some tips for getting around,” she said, gathering up the last of the papers and trying not to grimace at the grit of dirt on her fingers. They really needed to vacuum these halls more often. “I feel like I should m-make it up to you after wasting your time like this.”

“It’s no problem, really.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Though if you know any shortcuts to radiology, that would be helpful.”

A pair of shoes clicked on the tile. Mikan made eye contact with a shiny pair of red flats and felt her shoulders hunch a little.

Yasuda put her hands on her hips. She was the only nurse in their department who refused to wear sensible sneakers like the rest of them. “Oh, did Tsumiki have another accident?”

Mikan swallowed, her stack of papers crumpling in her grip. “I was just…”

“Wait, Tsumiki?” Kumamoto studied her face, like he was seeing her for the first time. “As in…”

Yasuda let out a brusque, “Mm-hm.”

She’s going to tell him. There’s nothing I can do about it.  

Trying to keep her hands steady, Mikan pulled the other half of her papers from Kumamoto’s hands and stood up. He hissed, turning his palm upwards to reveal a small papercut.

“Ah, I’m so sorry! I’m really sorry. I’m so clumsy.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her back was to the wall, and she was boxed in by Yasuda, Kumamoto, and the abandoned cart of machinery. “I c-can go get you a bandage—”

“I’ll handle it,” Yasuda said, and one look from her was enough to make Mikan’s jaw snap shut. “You should really go wash your hands after crawling all over the floor.”

Face burning, Mikan clutched the messy stack of paper to her chest, squeezed past the cart, and hurried down the hall.

She left her clipboard on the bathroom windowsill while she washed her hands, scrubbing between her fingers and under her nails with more force than necessary. Against her better judgement, she glanced up at her reflection.

Her head was already haloed with flyaways that had escaped her ponytail. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Her lower lip was red and chapped from chewing on it all day. Everything about her was marked by little flaws she couldn’t help, things that would disgust people even before they recognized her from old articles and news stories. She snapped her gaze back down to the sink and turned off the faucet.

The office phone was ringing outside, interspersed with the rhythm of hurried footsteps and the chimes of monitoring equipment.

Mikan took a deep breath and blinked until her eyes were dry. She was needed out there. Whether they liked it or not, the other nurses needed her. The patients needed her. No one could take that away from her.

She pushed the flyaway hairs out of her face and marched back into the hallway.

Chapter Text

July 20, 2012

The group’s good spirits only lasted for a little while after they found the lake. It took fucking forever to boil enough water for everyone to quench their thirst. The few mouthfuls Fuyuhiko had drunk left an unpleasant, metallic taste in his mouth, probably from the ice bucket they’d used to boil it.

Drinking something had also reminded him of how hungry he was. They were already running low on the snack foods that hadn’t been burned up inside the plane. Every day they spent waiting for rescue instead of looking for food was a gamble.

“Ugh, I’m so hungry,” Mioda groaned from where she was sprawled out beneath a tree. “When we get back to Japan, I’m gonna order a bowl of ramen the size of a swimming pool.”

“Should we start looking for food?” Koizumi asked, sitting next to Mioda with her legs tucked beneath her. “Maybe the lake has some fish.”

Fuyuhiko crossed his arms. “Do you know how to fish?”

She shot him a glare. “At least I’m coming up with ideas.”

“I think Owari and Nidai scared off all the fish.” Mioda pointed to where the two were sparring in knee-deep water.

“They’re wasting their energy,” Fuyuhiko said, then pushed off the tree. He’d never admit it out loud, but Koizumi was right. They needed to start looking for food, and he had no fucking clue where to start.

He walked to the edge of the lake and tried to be subtle about scanning the trees around them. Peko had slipped away from the group more than half an hour ago, after they’d finished boiling the water. He knew she had a good reason for whatever she was doing, but it pissed him off that she hadn’t told anyone where she was going.

No one else seemed to even care. Sonia was sitting at the water’s edge, brushing her hair and chatting with Tanaka. Saionji was shrieking at Souda while he attempted to splash her with lake water. Komaeda was watching everyone else like a weirdo. He’d been almost totally silent since his freakout after the crash. Fuyuhiko couldn’t blame him for being a little shaken up, but he didn’t look nervous, exactly. More like he was watching a scene from his favorite movie.

Movement at the tree line made him turn. He let out a small sigh of relief as Peko appeared, stepping nimbly over a fallen branch.

He couldn’t help himself. “Where the hell did you run off to?”

“I was looking around,” she replied. “I walked the circumference of the lake to see if there was anything useful nearby.”

“In thirty minutes?” Souda shot an incredulous glance at her, then at the lake. “There’s no way you were walking.”

“It’s true I had to move quickly.” She folded her hands in front of her. “I found a couple of streams that feed into the lake. They might prove useful for hunting or fishing. I also spotted a building at the top of the hill.”

Tsumiki’s head snapped up, the water filter in front of her forgotten. “A t-town?”

“Just one building,” Peko said, and Tsumiki’s shoulders fell. “But it might be worth checking for supplies.”

“Duh,” Saionji said. “There’s probably someone in there that can call for help. We can finally get out of this stupid forest.”

“I’ll go on ahead and get a closer look. If there is someone living there, it would be safer to know what we’re dealing with.”

“No fucking way,” Fuyuhiko said. “We’ll go as a group. Bastard’ll think twice about messing with us if we show up with numbers.”

Peko met his eyes. “He could be armed. There could be more than one.”

“Or this person could be able to help us, like Saionji said,” Sagishi said. Fuyuhiko hadn’t even noticed them, sitting quietly at the base of a tree. “It might be worth bringing someone who knows how to speak Russian.”

“That would be me,” Fuyuhiko said, trying not to sound smug.

“We can make contact once I’ve ascertained that it is safe,” Peko said.

Sagishi nodded. “That sounds like a fair compromise. I’ll ask Nanami to round up the others in the meantime.”

Fuyuhiko clenched his jaw. Peko didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t say another word as she set off down the shore.

A year ago, she wouldn’t have dared argue with him, even in situations where they were pretending not to know each other. The fact that she was disagreeing with him now was technically a good thing. He just hated the thought of her going alone to check out some shack with a possible shotgun-wielding maniac inside.

Even if she didn’t think he’d noticed, he’d seen how hard she was trying. As soon as Tsumiki had cleared him of a possible concussion, Peko had been going nearly nonstop. First with setting up the damn water filters, then running back to the plane to move the pilots’ remains, then running around the whole lake, and now this.

He wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, even if his words were empty.

By the time Peko returned, the group was gathered on the shore, drying off and chattering excitedly. Sonia was teaching Koizumi and Tsumiki a few Russian phrases. Saionji and Mioda were discussing what they were going to do when they got back home, as if a rescue helicopter was already hovering above them. Komaeda was still watching them all like a fucking creep.

“So?” Owari asked as Peko approached. “Is this guy gonna feed us, or are we gonna have to beat him up?”

“Neither,” Peko said. “The cabin is empty, and it looks like it has been for a long time.”

“Did you see a phone or a radio or something?” Souda asked.

“No, but I didn’t check the items inside the cabin very carefully.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Nekomaru said with a grin. “It looks like a new vacancy just opened up in these woods!”

Mioda raised her arms and cheered. “Cabin party, here we come!”

Fuyuhiko kept to the back of the group as they began trudging up the hill. Even in the shade, it was hot enough for him to sweat through his shirt. The lower part of his pants were already stained with mud.

Some fucking school trip.

His thoughts strayed to Natsumi. He hoped she wasn’t too worried about him. She’d probably rub the whole plane crash thing in his face when he got back. She’d been furious about not getting the assistant position, and she’d blown up at him when he suggested she could join them on the trip as a guest.

He was glad she’d turned him down.

Instead, they’d ended up with Hinata, who had kept to himself for the most part. He was near the front of the group, pushing aside a particularly leafy bush so Koizumi and Tsumiki could walk past. As least the guy was pulling his weight.

“Alright!” Nidai called from the top of the hill. “Just a few more yards to go. Let’s keep up the pace!”

There was a collective grumble from the people in the back. Fuyuhiko swatted a branch aside and pushed himself forward. He was not going to be the last one to the top.

It only took a few more minutes to reach the cabin, which was just as run-down and abandoned as Peko had described. The roof was covered in moss, the windows cloudy with dust and grime. There was a fire pit out front and a small shed off to the side. It had probably been a hunting lodge back when it had been occupied.

“You’re sure nobody lives here?” Sagishi asked, trying to peer through one of the windows.

“Look.” Nanami pointed. The front porch was covered in grime. A single set of footprints had tracked in and out of the house.

“Those are mine,” Peko said.

“Then it would definitely be obvious if someone had come through before us.” She smiled. “I think it’s okay for us to explore the inside.”

“Great, let’s see if they have any food.” Owari shoved the door open and ran inside.

“And maybe some decent cookware,” Hanamura added, right on her heels.

Fuyuhiko waited until the others had finished shoving their way through the door before stepping inside himself. The interior was dim and smelled stale—it was obvious no one had been here in a long time.

The room was comfortably furnished—or at least, it had been before the place was abandoned. The couch and armchairs were moth-eaten and rough with pilling. Every surface was covered in dust. Koizumi let out a high-pitched sneeze.

“Dammit,” Owari called from one of the back rooms—the kitchen, presumably. “All the food here is rotten and stuff.”

Several people groaned.

“What a shame.” Hanamura had picked up a cast-iron pan and was stroking it in a way that made Fuyuhiko want to punch his teeth out. “Once I season this baby, I could’ve cooked us up a nice hot meal.”

Saionji poked her head out the door to the back room. “There’s a bed in here. I’m calling dibs.”

Mioda stood on her tiptoes to look over Saionji’s head. “Aw, that bed’s clearly big enough to share.”

“Fine. Mahiru can share with me.”

Koizumi’s cheeks darkened. “I mean, I don’t want to put anyone out.”

Fuyuhiko snorted. “You guys keep the bed, but if there’s bugs and shit in the mattress, I don’t wanna hear any complaining.”

Saionji glared at him. “If I find any bugs, I’m gonna drop them on your face while you’re sleeping.”

“You fucking try it, bitch.”

“We should look for a phone or a radio,” Sonia said. “Surely whoever used to live here had a way to contact the outside world.”

They searched the cabin, rifling through the sparse cabinets in the kitchen and checking behind the dusty furniture. There wasn’t so much as an electrical outlet.

“Hey, look at this.” Behind him, Souda had stretched his arms up to pull something off the rack above the door. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

Tsumiki let out a yelp and flattened herself against the wall. “B-Be careful with that, Souda!”

“Aw, it’s probably empty.” He aimed the rifle at the deer head mounted on the wall and closed one eye. He puffed out his cheeks to mimic an explosion.

“Give me that, dumbass.” Fuyuhiko pushed the barrel so it was aimed at the floor and snatched it out of his grip.

“Hey!”

He’d never handled a model like this before, so it took a moment for him to pull back the lever to check the chamber. “You’re lucky this isn’t loaded.”

“Give it back.” Souda made a grab for the rifle, but Fuyuhiko moved it out of his reach. “Like you’re not carrying your own gun right now.”

“I’m not. You can’t bring firearms on planes.”

He actually had a drop waiting for him in Norway, but it wasn’t like that mattered at this point. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Peko watching them closely, and shifted the rifle so it was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious you don’t know a thing about handling a gun, so let the pros take care of it.” He smirked at Souda. “Otherwise you’ll shoot your eye out.”

“Hey, couldn’t we use that gun to get some food?” Owari asked, cutting off Souda’s protest. “Does anyone here know how to hunt?”

A beat of silence fell over the room, broken only by the squeaking of Tanaka’s hamsters as they explored a threadbare blanket on the couch.

“I know how to use a rifle,” Peko said after a moment.

“I have also been trained in the use of firearms.” Sonia raised her hand, smiling like they were talking about childhood swimming lessons. “My instructor said I was particularly skilled at hitting moving targets.”

“Alright!” Owari grinned. “Kuzuryu, hand the gun over to one of them.”

“Hell no.” He tightened his grip on the rifle a little. “I know how to shoot one of these, too. I’m coming with.”

“It would hurt our chances of moving quietly if our group was too large,” Peko said. “It might be better to stick to a pair.”

Souda nodded. “Yeah, it’d probably be better to leave the hunting to the guys. Sorry, Miss Sonia.” He flashed her an apologetic smile that Sonia did not return.

Koizumi shot him a look. “Does that mean you’re volunteering?”

“Hey, why not?” He clapped Fuyuhiko on the shoulder, moving his hand away before he could smack it aside. “You could show me the ropes.”

“It’d be a waste of time to bring you along if you don’t have any experience.” He tried to sound casual as he added, “Pekoyama and I can take care of the hunting.”

“How much experience do you have operating a rifle?” Peko asked, her voice perfectly even.

His jaw clenched. Like she didn’t already know the answer. “Started when I was thirteen.”

“We started firearms practice in elementary school in Novoselic,” Sonia said, eyes gleaming. “Of course, that was with airsoft guns, but I was learning my way around a SSG 69 by the time I was twelve.”

“Nice name for a gun,” Hanamura said, and was ignored.

“I know a little about tracking animals.” Peko straightened. “Sonia, I’ll leave the shooting to you.”

“The fuck?” Fuyuhiko’s hands curled into fists. “What, you don’t think I know my way around a gun?”

He knew he should back off, that it might be suspicious if he continued to press the issue. But it pissed him off that Peko was doing this. They worked well as a team, and hunting together would give them a chance to talk without worrying about eavesdroppers. Did she really think he was so incompetent that she would be better off with a princess?

“Perhaps a contest of marksmanship is in order,” Tanaka said, his gaze shifting between the three of them. “Unless you intend to bicker until we have all withered to mere husks.”

“That seems reasonable,” Peko said. “We’ll find a suitable target, and each person will have three shots each. We shouldn’t waste ammunition.”

“Hang on, is there any ammunition?” Koizumi asked. “Kuzuryu, I thought you said the gun was empty.”

“I think I found some.” Hinata held up a small, worn box with a yellow label. “This was in the storage closet.”

“Very well.” Sonia squared her shoulders and turned to Fuyuhiko with a smile. “Are you ready to face me in battle, Kuzuryu?”

“You’re on.”

They found a relatively clear stretch of the woods outside the cabin. Peko used a knife to carve an X in three separate trees, each one a little farther from where they were standing. She returned and drew a line in the dirt to indicate where they would stand.

“Your target is the X. You get one shot per tree.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “Any questions?”

Nanami raised a hand. “Could I join the contest, too?”

Several heads whipped towards her.

She shrugged. “I don’t have any interest in hunting. I’ve just always wanted to know what my aim would be like IRL.”

Saionji snickered. “If you both get beat by the gamer, that’d be hilarious.”

Peko hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Three shots each.”

“Lemme show you how it’s done.” Fuyuhiko loaded the first bullet into the rifle and raised it.

The first target was only twenty feet away. He took a slow breath to steady his aim. There was no one firing at him, no moving vehicle to throw off his aim. He had all the time in the world.

The first gunshot made one of the girls yelp. The bullet hit the tree with a crack, showering splinters of wood from the impact.

Mioda whooped. “Take that, tree!”

Tanaka let out a hum. “Surprisingly deadly aim from such a small stature.”

Fuyuhiko ignored their comments. He wasn’t going to let anyone fuck this up for him.

The second shot hit its intended mark. The third target was so far away the X was beginning to blur in his vision. He planted his feet, waited for the breeze to die down, and fired.

The bullet hit the far tree with another crack. His classmates burst into cheers.

“Well done, Kuzuryu.” Sonia approached him with a smile. “I am eager to test my skills against yours.”

“Wait, shouldn’t someone go check the targets?” Souda squinted. “I can’t see where the bullet actually hit on the last one.”

“Go on, bag boy.” Saionji gave Hinata a shove, making him stumble forward a couple steps. “That’s your job.”

He turned around and frowned at her. “Bag boy?”

“You might as well make yourself useful,” Komaeda said, and Hinata’s frown turned into a glare.

“I’ll do it,” Peko said, but Hinata shook his head.

“It’s fine. I got it.” He began trudging through the brush. “Just nobody start shooting until I get back.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Sonia said.

While they waited, Fuyuhiko passed the rifle to her. “Careful with this thing. It’s got a kick to it.”

“Not to worry. I have had the opportunity to operate rocket-propelled grenades in the past, so I imagine this will be no trouble.” As she spoke, she ejected the empty shell with a swift, expert movement.

Fuyuhiko tried not to let the sinking feeling in his stomach show on his face. He knew Sonia had some military experience, but he’d been counting on the fact that she’d never actually been in the field. When had she fired a fucking RPG?

Hinata made his way towards them, shaking a bramble loose as it snagged his shoelace. “So, Kuzuryu was about an inch off the center of the X for the first target, three inches for the second, and about six away for the third.”

Fuyuhiko let out a slow breath. Far from perfect, but at least he’d hit all three trees.

“It appears I’ll have a cut out of work for myself.” Sonia raised the rifle, and Hinata quickly moved out of the way.

She was a quick shot, hitting all three trees in half the time it had taken him. Fuyuhiko tried not to glare as Sonia gave a curtsy to her cheering classmates. It wasn’t her fault she knew her way around a rifle. He would’ve been even angrier if she’d tried to go easy on him.

He glanced at Peko, but she didn’t meet his eyes, too busy watching the others with an unreadable expression.

While Hinata headed out again to check the targets, Sonia began demonstrating how to reload the rifle for Nanami.

“Simply pull the lever down and back.” She smiled encouragingly as Nanami followed her instructions. “Deceptively simple, is it not?”

“It’s a little more involved than pressing a button.” Nanami’s eyes had followed the casing as it hit the ground. “Do you think we could use those for anything?”

Several people looked at Souda, who threw up his hands.

“Do you guys think I’m some kind of magical trash compactor or something?”

Hinata returned, seemingly having given up on removing the stray leaves and twigs clinging to him. “Uh, Sonia hit the bullseye on the first two targets and was about two inches off for the third.”

Mioda cheered and threw up her arms. “Way to go, Warrior Princess!”

Sonia turned to Fuyuhiko and held out a hand. “Good game, Kuzuryu.”

Begrudgingly, he shook her hand. Humiliation burned on his cheeks. Before he could figure out what to say without snapping, Nanami waved at them.

“Hey, hey, I haven’t had my turn.”

“Ah, of course.” Sonia whirled around and began instructing Nanami on how to aim and fire the gun.

Fuyuhiko watched with a tight jaw. Peko still wouldn’t look at him.

The first shot nearly knocked Nanami off her feet, and Hinata rushed forward to steady her. The bullet struck a tree a few yards from where the target was.

“Ow.” Nanami handed the rifle to Sonia and rubbed her shoulder with a wince. “That’s a lot different from pressing a button on a controller.”

“Indeed it is.” Sonia ejected the casing. “But it is quite impressive that you managed to hit something on your first try.”

“So, I guess Pekoyama and Sonia are going to be our hunting team,” Koizumi said.

“When are you guys heading out?” Owari asked.

Peko exchanged a glance with Sonia. “We still have some daylight left. It would be best for us to start as soon as possible.”

“Very well.” Sonia slung the rifle over her shoulder and turned to the others. “Fear not, everyone. We shall hunt the most dangerous game.”

“Please don’t do that,” Koizumi said. “Seriously, you both better come back safe.”

“Doesn’t ‘the most dangerous game’ refer to hunting people?” Hinata said.

“Ah, does it?” Sonia’s eyes widened. “Well, we most certainly will not be doing that.”

“We’ll be back before sundown.” Peko gestured with her chin for Sonia to follow her, and the two began wading through the brush.

As Fuyuhiko watched them go, he realized there was a lump in his throat. He looked away, nails digging into his palm. The two of them would be safe. Of course they would come back.

“Chin up, Kuzuryu,” Nidai said, nearly making him jump. “There’s still plenty of work to do around the cabin. Now, who wants to chop some wood for a fire?”

“Just because the girls are doing the hunting doesn't mean you boys shouldn’t pull your weight,” Koizumi said, arms crossed, and began walking towards the cabin.

Saionji was on her heels, and shot a spiteful grin at Fuyuhiko as she passed. “What, sad you lost to a girl?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said, a little louder than he’d meant to.

He turned away from the pair heading deeper into the woods and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he followed the others back towards the cabin.

June 4, 2022

“I got one question for you: you wanna be an axe, or a tree?”

Fuyuhiko watched the man in front of him lower his brows. He was searching for a trick to the question, a hidden meaning. Fuyuhiko only took a sip of his whiskey and waited.

The man swallowed. “An axe.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else here.” 

He gestured with a tilt of his head to the other yakuza spread across the sprawling gardens behind the Kuzuryu estate. The men were laughing between gulps of sake and puffs of smoke from expensive cigars. Were it not for the multiple tattoos visible among the guests, the scene might have looked like a typical summer party hosted by Tokyo’s elite.

Fuyuhiko turned his attention back to the man seated across from him. Hideyoshi Uchiyama, recently risen in the ranks, had an unusually serious disposition. He was clever and ruthless too, and his recent accomplishments had prompted his introduction tonight. These days, it was getting rarer to have promising young men in the organization.

“‘The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.’” He swirled his whiskey in his glass. “What about you? You remember everyone you fucked over to get to where you are now?”

“Some.” Uchiyama’s fingers curled around his own glass. “I don’t expect them to take revenge in the future.”

“Keep it that way.” He leaned back in his chair. “Hiramatsu mentioned you had some ideas about recruitment.”

“I do. Everyone knows being a member of the yakuza doesn’t pay as well as it used to. It doesn’t help that money is often lost in disputes between clans.”

“Only if we lose the disputes.”

Uchiyama dipped his chin. “Indeed. Axe and tree. I believe a bigger reason for loss of income is increased government hostility. I think aligning political interests with the yakuza’s is key to giving us more breathing room, so to speak.”

Fuyuhiko raised an eyebrow. Uchiyama still hadn’t said anything he hadn’t heard before. “It’s not as easy as it used to be to bribe government officials.”

“I’m not talking about bribery.” He leaned forward. “I’m talking about securing positions for those that would act in our favor.”

He scoffed. “Rigging elections is even harder than bribery.”

“Not if the people are on our side. With the increased development of social media, it’s never been easier to spread misinformation.” Uchiyama’s eyes gleamed. “The yakuza need to modernize. We could use technology in our favor, garner public support and weaponize democracy against itself.”

Fuyuhiko kept his face expressionless as he listened. He wasn’t like some of the old farts here that still used flip phones. He knew how modern technology worked. But there were few things he hated more than social media. He had no interest in leaping into the fray of vultures and liars just for the chance at a little more political influence.

He cracked a smile, hoping it came across as genuine. “Hiramatsu was right. You have some fresh ideas.”

The barest hint of a smile curved Uchiyama’s lips. “I’m fully prepared to take the lead on this initiative.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Just because you have a new idea doesn’t make you next in line to be shategashira. Creativity and innovation doesn’t pay everyone’s salaries.” He downed the rest of his whiskey and stood up. “Keep putting in the work, got it?”

Uchiyama’s lips tightened a fraction, but he nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

Fuyuhiko straightened his jacket and stepped away from the table. He was supposed to head back to the center of the party now. Hiramatsu would want to hear how the conversation had gone. Okamoto had been hinting at asking a favor at least three times tonight.

Instead, he took the path leading to the back door of the estate. The loud music was giving him a headache that even the whiskey couldn’t fully dull. He needed a minute to just fucking breathe. He’d take a leak, count to five hundred, then come back out with a bottle of something expensive.

Once he was inside the darkened hallways, he let out a weary exhale. The topic of recruitment and their shrinking numbers had been coming up at almost every meeting. There were times he thought about just letting it all go. He could dissolve the clan, give the members the buyout of their dreams and move somewhere it never snowed. He’d been having cowardly moments like that more and more frequently.

The floor creaked behind him. Fuyuhiko whirled around, but the hallway was empty.

Who the fuck…?

He let out a slow breath through his nose. It was an old house. A small noise didn’t mean anyone was there. He knew none of the people outside were stupid enough to try and jump him on his own turf.

The uneasiness didn’t leave him as he rounded the corner. The urge to run crept through his limbs. His hands curled into fists.

Not here. Not in my own fucking house.

The bathroom door was at the other end of the hallway. He was halfway there when he heard it again—the low thud of footsteps, getting louder as they headed towards him.

Axe and tree.

His limbs locked up for a moment before he forced them into action. He spun on his heel and darted back to the corner. A shadow came into sight, and he lunged at it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His hands fisted in cloth, and he slammed the figure against the wall. “You trying to sneak up on me?”

Okamoto’s terrified face came into focus. His hands lifted in surrender. “I wasn’t trying to surprise you, I swear. I saw you enter the house and I just wanted to ask if you had a moment to speak—”

“This clearly isn’t the fucking time.” It took a force of will to uncurl his fists and release the other man’s shirt. His heart was pounding. He tried to breathe in, but the air wouldn’t reach his lungs.

“I’m sorry.” Okamoto attempted as much of a bow as he could without knocking his head against Fuyuhiko’s. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll wait outside.”

You didn’t startle me, Fuyuhiko wanted to say, but there was no air in the room. His heart was beating so fast he could barely feel it anymore. He waited until Okamoto was out of sight, then stumbled through the first door he saw.

It was a guest bedroom, the furniture dusty from disuse. Fuyuhiko fell to his knees before he could make it to the bed. One hand clutched at his chest as he gasped for air.

He couldn’t breathe. Fuck, his vision was going. He was going to die here.

There was someone standing behind him. That red-eyed figure, the one that haunted his nightmares, was here. That thing was going to finish what it had started.

He didn’t die. He knelt on the floor, seized with terror, and gasped for air until his lungs gradually started working again.

Panting, Fuyuhiko dragged himself over to the bed and sat with his back against it. His temples throbbed. His limbs shook as if he’d finished a particularly demanding workout. He closed his eye and allowed himself a moment to be grateful no one else had seen that.

The door slid open. Fuyuhiko tensed, then relaxed once he saw the figure standing in the hallway.

“Did you have another panic attack?”

Natsumi stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Fuyuhiko rested his forearms on his knees and avoided her gaze. “No, I just thought I’d sit on the floor in a dark room by myself.”

“Loser.” She tucked her legs beneath her and sat across from him. “Are you gonna wait until you have an episode in front of someone before you actually get help?”

He scowled. “I tried those meds Doctor Sugita prescribed. They fucked with my head, made everything fuzzy.”

“Have you thought about seeing a therapist?”

Fuyuhiko shot her a flat look. “What is this, The Sopranos?”

Natsumi rolled her eyes. “You do realize therapists are real people and not fictional creatures from an American TV show?”

“You do realize I couldn’t talk about half the shit in my day-to-day without getting arrested? And fuck their confidentiality bullshit.”

“I’m not talking about the yakuza stuff.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “I’m talking about the crash.”

His pulse jumped. He tightened his jaw. “That was ten years ago, Natsumi.”

“And you haven’t been the same since you came back.” Her lips pursed in the way she did when she was about to cry. He could never resist that look, damn her. “What the fuck happened out there that you won’t even talk to me about it?”

“What happened is none of your business.” He swallowed and tried to soften his tone. “It’s in the past, alright? Talking about it isn’t going to change anything. And I’m not going to lose my cool in front of the others.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn it’s unbelievable.” With a huff, Natsumi pushed herself to her feet. Fuyuhiko made to follow her, but she waved him off. “Take another fifteen minutes. I’ll tell everyone you had to jump on a call with the Takedas.”

He thought about arguing, but just the thought of seeing everyone else filled him with exhaustion. “Thanks, Natsumi.”

“Whatever. Everyone already knows I’m the one actually running the show.” She gave him a cheeky wink and slipped out the door before he could retort.

Fuyuhiko watched the door slide shut, affection warring with regret, and let his head fall against his knees.

July 20, 2012

Fuyuhiko’s eyes remained open long after everyone else had gone to sleep.

They’d divided into two groups after night had fallen—the girls were all in the bedroom while the boys had claimed the living room. Souda was draped over one of the armchairs, twitching and muttering in his sleep. Tanaka was asleep by the fireplace, nose buried in his scarf while his hamsters shuffled beneath his coat.

Everyone had fallen asleep soon after their first real meal in days. Sonia and Peko had come back with a deer (fucking somehow) and Hanamura had shown a surprising aptitude for butchering the carcass (“Even a city-born chef picks up a few skills here and there!”) before cooking it into something decent. Fuyuhiko hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d practically inhaled his own portion.

The meat sat heavy in his own stomach now. He wasn’t sure what had sparked such intense jealousy when he’d watched Sonia and Peko march into the clearing with a fresh kill between them. Sonia had proven that she was the better shot. It made sense that she’d be their hunter.

With a muttered curse, Fuyuhiko gave up on trying to sleep and sat up. No one stirred when he moved, so he slipped on his shoes and stepped outside, careful not to let the door creak.

The forest was quiet, near-total darkness enveloping the space between the trees. The moon cast only a thin gray light into their little clearing. It took a moment for him to realize he wasn’t alone.

Peko was sitting cross-legged on the porch, her back ramrod straight as if she were meditating. She turned just enough to catch him in her periphery, then went back to facing ahead.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked softly. He hadn’t noticed her leave the cabin. She must have gone out the back.

“I’m keeping watch.”

Fuyuhiko glanced through the window to make sure no one was awake, then sat beside her. “Are you fucking serious? Are you even taking shifts with anyone else?”

Peko kept her eyes on the darkness. “I can rest a little in the morning once everyone else is awake.”

His hand curled into a fist. “So, what, are you just not going to sleep until we get rescued?”

Her chin lowered a fraction. “None of the others have any knowledge about surviving in a situation like this. I’m doing what I can to keep everyone alive.”

He stared hard at her profile for a long moment, then sighed, all of his anger leaving him in a single exhale. “This isn’t going to be like last time.”

“No, it is not.”

The words stung. He’d never liked depending on Peko the way he’d been forced to. He despised the thought of their entire class putting their lives in her hands.

“When did you research all this wilderness survival stuff, anyway?”

“In my spare time.” Her fingers curled and uncurled, the way they did when she wanted to fidget but was reminding herself not to. “I thought it best to be prepared.”

“You can’t do this all by yourself.”

“I won’t. I will teach the others what I know.”

“And does that include me, or are you going to keep acting like I’m fucking useless?”

Peko didn’t look at him. He wished she would. He wished he knew if she was hurt by his words.

“I don’t think you’re useless,” she said. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I already said this isn’t going to be like last time. I’m not a fucking kid anymore.” He could hear anger seeping into his voice and took a deep, calming breath. “We’re not alone, either. We’ll stick with the others and wait this out.”

“And how long do you think that will be?”

Fuyuhiko hesitated. “It could be a while.”

“I believe Sonia shares that same fear.”

He propped an elbow on his knee and rubbed his brow. Japan and Russia weren’t on the best of terms, politically speaking. Sonia probably knew better than him how difficult it would be to get permission for a search party to start combing the wilderness for them.

“My family’s got connections with the Russians,” he said. “They won’t have to deal with all the red tape bullshit.”

“Then we’ll just have to wait this out, like you said.”

“Yeah,” he replied, and the sheer helplessness of the situation made him want to break something. “We all have to pull our weight in the meantime. So don’t treat me like I can’t.”

“Yes, young master.”

He bit his tongue before he could retort. He didn’t want to be angry with her. He wanted to tell her he thought she was doing a good job, but he didn’t know how to say it the way he meant it.

More and more, the words “young master” had started to feel like a door closing in his face.

His chest tight, Fuyuhiko stood and made his way back to the door. Before he stepped inside, he paused and turned back.

“Don’t stay up the whole night,” he said, but even that came out sounding like an order.

Chapter Text

July 22, 2012

“Hey, has anyone seen my deodorant?”

Kazuichi stopped digging through his suitcase and looked around the cabin. Sagishi met his eyes and shrugged.

“I’m surprised you even own any,” Saionji said. “You smell even worse than usual.”

“You’re one to talk,” he said. “It’s pretty obvious you didn’t wash yourself with the other girls yesterday.”

“I’m not bathing in disgusting lake water.” Her fists clenched. “Mind your own business, Souda.”

Kazuichi was surprised to see angry tears in her eyes as she marched out the door and slammed it behind her. She’d stopped with the crocodile tears at the end of their first year at Hope’s Peak. Had he actually upset her?

“Hey.” Hinata approached him, a stick of deodorant in one hand. “If you don’t mind sharing, you can borrow mine.”

“Thanks, bro.” Kazuichi grinned and accepted it. He unzipped the top if his jumpsuit and swiped it under his arms.

Normally he didn’t mind his own smell—working in a garage all day was bound to get you sweaty, not to mention the smell of all the machine parts. But after a couple days, he’d become increasingly aware of the fact that he was sharing a cabin with a bunch of girls. Apparently the combined body odor had been enough for Koizumi to take the other girls down to the lake yesterday so they could bathe.

In their cramped quarters, it was really hard to get that mental image out of his head.

“Is Saionji okay?” Hinata asked, leaning against the back of the armchair Kazuichi was behind.

“Yeah, she’s probably just being dramatic.” He started stuffing his discarded clothes back into his suitcase. “You should’ve seen her during our first year. She was a total brat.”

“This is how she acts after she matured?” Hinata muttered.

Kazuichi snorted. “Oh, yeah. Hey, mind helping me carry this up to the attic? It’s kinda hard getting up the ladder by yourself.”

“Sure.” Hinata straightened, and the two of them went to the storage closet at the back of the cabin.

Last night, Mioda had found a trap door in the ceiling of the closet, and with Owari’s help, they’d opened it to find an attic space above. It was musty as hell and a little creepy, so they mostly used it for storage.

“If I’d known this was gonna turn into a camping trip, I would’ve brought some lighter clothes.” Kazuichi climbed the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. “I figured we’d be freezing our asses off in Norway by now.”

Hinata lifted the suitcase with a grunt. “Do you think they’ll still let us do the trip once we get rescued?”

“They’d better.” He grabbed the handle of the suitcase and hauled it partway into the attic. “Can you imagine how badass we’ll all look after roughing it in the wild for a few days?”

“None of this really feels badass.” Hinata climbed up and gave his bag a shove to get it the rest of the way through the trapdoor.

Kazuichi dragged it across the floor to rest with the other suitcases and stretched. “Maybe we’ll all get interviewed for the newspaper or something. We’ll be the most famous class that ever attended Hope’s Peak.”

He turned around in time to see a shadow pass over Hinata’s expression.

“And they’ll probably mention you too. How you helped us and stuff.”

“Yeah.” Hinata didn’t meet his eyes as he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the opening, legs dangling through the gap. “Hey, did you mean it when you said you’d be able to fix the radio in the airplane?”

“Well, I’d have to find it first.” Kazuichi tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped at the thought. “Guess it kind of slipped my mind, heh.”

“You forgot about trying to call for help?”

His shoulders hunched. “It’s not like I forgot, there’s just been a lot going on, okay?”

“I get that, but the faster a rescue team finds us, the less stuff we’ll have to deal with.”

“Alright, fine.” Kazuichi motioned for him to move so he could climb down the ladder. “If it’s such a big deal, I’ll go back to the plane right now.”

Hinata scooted back and moved his legs out of the way. “Did you want someone to come with you?”

“Nah. I know the way.” And if he ended up freaking out, he didn’t really want anyone there to witness it.

On the way out, he grabbed his bag of tools from the living room. He hadn’t used it for much since the cabin didn’t have anything that could be called a machine, but it made him feel better to have it close by.

Some of the others were outside, taking advantage of the open space. Owari and Tanaka were taking inventory of some of the berries and nuts they’d found. Tanaka had made a big stink about eating the deer meat, since apparently he was a vegetarian. Sonia had convinced him to do it anyway, which seemed like common sense to Kazuichi, but then again Tanaka wasn’t the most down-to-earth guy.

The sounds of conversation and Nidai’s wood-chopping faded as he walked further into the forest. Some of the others had been more optimistic about getting out into nature and all that jazz, but the woods kind of creeped him out. Every time the underbrush rustled or the branches creaked, it made him jump. It was worse at night, when the forest turned pitch black. Last night, he’d woken up in the middle of the night having to pee and spent hours holding it until it turned light outside.

At least he didn’t have to worry about tripping through undergrowth like the first time they’d gone to the lake. The whole group lugging their bags from the plane to the cabin had been enough to create something of a trail he could use. He could still see prints in the mud from where Nidai’s enormous sneakers had stepped.

Something darted through the bushes a few feet away, and Kazuichi cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. What he wouldn’t do for a chainsaw or something like that. The noise would probably scare off any creatures in the area.

As the clearing with the plane came into sight, a new noise made him freeze. It was low and keening, and it sounded nothing like any of the animal calls he’d heard before.

Okay, not a ghost. Definitely not a ghost. There’s no ghosts in these woods.

As quietly as he could, he unzipped his tool bag and slipped out a screwdriver. He crept forward,  wincing every time a loose twig or rock crunched beneath his feet.

When he reached the edge of the clearing, he saw a figure dressed in bright-colored clothing, bent low to the ground. Heat blurred the figure around the edges, and fear gripped his heart. He blinked rapidly, bringing his vision back into focus, and his shoulders drooped in relief as he realized it was just Saionji.

She was bent over Miss Yukizome’s grave, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. His heart twinged with sympathy, but then he thought about what Saionji would do to him if she caught him watching her cry. With a grimace, he turned away and started sneaking back the way he’d come. Maybe he’d give Koizumi a heads up about this.

“Hey!”

He jumped and fumbled his screwdriver, juggling it for a second before reaffirming his grip.

“Souda, I see you over there!”

Even with her voice hoarse from crying, her tone was still whip-sharp. Kazuichi turned around with a sigh. His hair and clothing didn’t exactly help him blend in with the forest.

Saionji was marching towards him, feet clomping in the sneakers she’d borrowed from Mioda. Kazuichi still wasn’t sure why she’d thought it was a good idea to wear sandals on their flight.

“Do you get off on watching girls cry or something, you creep?”

“No!” He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t even know you were up here. I was just going to check out the stupid radio like you keep asking me to.”

She froze, cheeks flushed and eyes watery, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fucking finally. Hurry up and fix it already.”

“Alright, alright.” He tugged the brim of his beanie over his brow and trudged back towards the plane.

Saionji watched him with crossed arms and a tense jaw. The hem of her kimono was damp and wrinkled, like she’d tried to wash the mud stains out of it. It seemed like the sneakers had been as far as she was willing to go when it came to clothes that were actually appropriate for the forest.

As Kazuichi drew closer to the cockpit, his footsteps slowed. The front section of the plane had been caved in from the impact and blackened by fire. He could still smell ash and burning plastic.

His stomach turned, and he swallowed. Pekoyama had already taken care of the remains of the pilots. There was probably nothing gross inside.

“What are you waiting for?” Saionji said, making him jump.

“I’m just getting a lay of the land.” His palms were starting to sweat. He wiped them off on his jumpsuit. “If you’re so impatient, why don’t you go get the freaking radio yourself?”

“I don’t know where it is, dummy.”

“It’s in the cockpit.” He gestured with outstretched arms. “How else would the pilots use it?”

“Oh my god, just get in there.” She shoved the small of his back, making him stumble.

“Hey, chill out!” He scrambled over the lip of dirt that had been raised by the impact and braced one hand against the dented window frame of the cockpit. The control panel, the seats, and the walls had all been blackened by the fire. The floor was littered with debris: shards of glass and scraps of stuff he couldn’t even begin to identify.

He took in a shaky breath. There were no dead bodies, no ghosts. The plane had already crashed. It couldn’t hurt him anymore.

With ginger movements, he climbed down into the plane and looked around. The half of the control panel attached to the ceiling had been completely busted by the impact. Fortunately for him, the radio was on the bottom half. He crouched down to inspect it. The digital readout and most of the buttons had been ruined by the fire. He hoped the internal components hadn’t been damaged too.

“Did you find it?”

Saionji was crouching on the dirt and looking down at him.

“Yeah, but the fire did a number on it. I gotta crack this thing open, see what needs fixing up.”

“And then we can get rescued?”

Kazuichi looked up. There was a fragile thread of hope in her voice. Her eyes were still rimmed with red from when she’d been crying.

“You’re pretty desperate to get out of here, huh?”

“Well, duh. This whole place sucks. There’s no running water, all we have to eat is deer meat, the bed in the cabin is all lumpy and smelly, and…” Her voice wavered. “And Miss Yukizome is dead. She can’t even look out for us.”

He looked away, blinking rapidly. This whole time, he’d been trying not to think about it. This whole ordeal in the woods was rough, sure, but at least they’d get to go home. Their teacher was dead. He was crouching in between the chairs where two more people had died.

“Dammit!” He stood up and kicked a stray piece of metal, sending it skittering across the floor.

Saionji gulped and sniffled. “What was that for?”

“Just… You’re right. This whole thing sucks.” He pulled his beanie off and ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta fix this stupid radio and get us out of here.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She climbed down so she was standing on top of the captain’s chair. “So get to work. I’ll even help you get stuff you might need. I don’t want you getting distracted or goofing off.”

Kazuichi let out a noncommittal grunt. He could think of a lot of other people he’d rather have as an assistant. But at least he wouldn’t have to work alone in this creepy plane wreck.

“Alright. Let’s work together and get out of these damn woods.”

For the first time since they’d crashed, a genuine smile brightened Saionji’s face.

June 6, 2022

“Are you nervous?”

Kazuichi realized he was bouncing his leg and made himself stop. His hands immediately itched with the urge to fidget.

“I guess not more than, you know, the baseline.”

On the other side of the office desk, Doctor Sano remained motionless, a clipboard with his notes poised in his lap. He would sometimes go statue-still, especially when other people were talking during group sessions. It made Kazuichi even more aware of his own restlessness.

“Any anxiety you feel is normal,” Sano said. “It’s extremely difficult to transition between an environment like this and living a normal life.”

Kazuichi knew. He’d done it, what, a dozen times at this point?

“Do you feel like you have the tools to make the transition?”

He’d done it often enough to know that the things they’d done to treat him wouldn’t be permanent.

Sano smiled. “That is, tools in the metaphorical sense. I’ve seen firsthand that you know your way around a real toolbox.”

“Heh, yeah.” Kazuichi realized he’d started bouncing his leg again. He stopped.

He’d liked that this place would actually let him help out with a busted AC unit or a broken igniter in the kitchen stove. Some of the other facilities he’d been in had been extremely strict about letting them handle anything sharp or pointed.

“I got a plan for after I leave,” he continued. “I’ll take more hours at the shop, keep myself productive.”

Sano nodded. “And have you thought about making any changes to your social life?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, trying for sincerity.

If it were that easy, he’d have stopped hanging around other addicts a long time ago. It was kind of hard to break out of his social circle. Even after he’d let his roots grow out, cut his hair to a respectable length, gotten caps for his teeth, he could still tell that other people sensed something off about him.

It was a lot easier to ignore that when both parties were high.

“Have you thought reaching out to anyone you might have lost contact with?” Sano asked. “It’s easier to rekindle old friendships than it is to make new ones.”

Kazuichi tried not to grimace. “Old friendships” was code for the other survivors. Sometimes it felt like the rest of the world was holding onto this fantasy that they should have stayed a collective. Like they should’ve held hands, gone on press tours together, met up to reminisce for every anniversary.

“I don’t really want to go digging up old memories and stuff,” he said, hoping Sano would just drop the subject. He had good reasons for not reaching out to the other survivors. They were either completely off the grid, scared him shitless, or a combination of the two. There was only one person who didn’t belong to either category.

“It might be good for you to talk to someone who would understand,” Sano said, “since you’ve kept up your vow of silence with me.”

He couldn’t suppress a sharp inhale. He was so sick of people asking. He wanted out of here already. 

His leg was bouncing again.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, hoping that would get him out of here faster. “I guess there is one person I could call.”

“Good,” Sano said, and it didn’t really matter whether or not he believed him. He’d already signed the release form. “I’m proud of how far you’ve come, Souda. And I mean this in the nicest way possible: I hope I never see you here again.”

They shared a half-hearted laugh as Kazuichi stood and Sano slid the paperwork across the desk.

“Good luck out there.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, an overwhelming weariness washed over him. The people here always treated a person’s last day like the beginning of a new chapter, a chance for them to reenter society whole and healthy. To Kazuichi, it didn’t feel like much more than a change of scenery. A new backdrop for whatever shit was going on in his life. The more he thought about it, things didn’t really change whether he was clean or not. It was just different flavors of the same anxiety.

He stepped into his room to gather his handful of belongings. It wasn’t much, just his sneakers, his jacket, a plastic bag of half-decent paper stars he’d made in the rec room. He would get the rest of his stuff at the front desk.

“Wow, they’re actually letting you out?”

Kazuichi glanced over his shoulder. Iruma, who stayed in the room across the hall, was leaning against the door frame, toying with a strand of long blonde hair.

“Yeah, today’s my last day. They announced it at group yesterday.”

“You know I never pay attention to that shit. I probably wouldn’t’ve even noticed you were gone if I hadn’t caught you here.”

He let out a noncommittal grunt and stuffed his bag of paper stars into his jacket pocket. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Iruma.”

Her grin sharpened. “You can just say you’re gonna miss me. Especially since you never got a chance to hit this.”

Kazuichi sighed. The times he’d spent talking machines with Iruma had made his days here bearable—fun, even. Maybe they could have been good friends if it weren’t for their respective messes.

“Just take care of yourself, alright?”

“I got no other choice. This place is full of ugly virgins.” Iruma huffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Hey, snort a line in my honor once you get out of here, ‘kay?”

He huffed a laugh. “You know I gotta at least try to stay clean.”

“For however long that lasts.” She finally moved out of the way so he could step through the doorway. “If we do run into each other out there, we gotta get fucked up together.”

Kazuichi understood this was the closest Iruma would get to acknowledging their semblance of a friendship. For some reason, the thought made him sad.

Same shit in here, out there. It doesn’t matter.

“Alright. Bye, Iruma.”

“Bye, Souda,” she called as he set off down the hallway. “You’d better go see a barber and fix your ugly-ass haircut.”

Before he could stop himself, he reached up and ran a self-conscious hand through his hair.

The sinking feeling in his gut intensified as he turned in his forms and took stock of his belongings. He’d had the sense to turn off his phone before he arrived, so it still had a decent amount of charge. He had just enough change in his wallet to get a cab back into the city.

As he waited outside for his ride, he scrolled through the messages he’d missed. A few party invitations, a couple maintenance requests that only sometimes paid in cash.

wanna smoke tonight?

my heaters broken can you fix it? ill hook you up

heading to nozawas apparently hes got some new stuff

Each new message only made him feel lonelier. He put his phone away and scuffed the pavement with his shoe.

Have you thought about making any changes to your social life?

It wasn’t that easy. It was never going to be that easy, even if certain people made it look that way.

Before he knew it, he’d taken his phone out again and begun navigating through his contacts. If he’d given up on impulse control, he might as well go through with this.

He began typing a new message: Hey. I know it’s been a while. I was wondering if you were in town and wanted to meet up. 

Before his nerves could get the better of him, he pressed “Send.”

Chapter Text

June 6, 2022

“Princess Sonia!”

“How is it being back in Japan?”

“Sonia-san, over here!”

“Will you be meeting with the other survivors for the tenth anniversary?”

“Are you going to address the allegations?”

Sonia lifted her chin and let the voices around her fade into one indistinguishable murmur. Marin, one of her bodyguards, held the door open so she could step inside the restaurant. The noise was muffled as the door swung shut behind her, and she let out a tiny sigh.

The maître d’ was waiting for her with a smile and a well-rehearsed bow. “Welcome, Princess Sonia. Your table is ready for you. If you’ll follow me.”

“Thank you, sir.” She shifted her clutch beneath her arm and followed him up the stairs. Marin stayed by the door, while her other bodyguard Corneliu followed her a few paces behind.

The second floor of the restaurant consisted of a wide balcony with an expansive view of the patrons below and the ornate chandelier in the center of the room. The tables were given ample space between them to allow for more private conversations.

The maître d’ led her to a table in the back corner, where the other half of her lunch party was already waiting. “I’ll give you a moment to peruse our wine selection.”

The man at the table stood, straightened his jacket, and held out his hand for her to shake. “How was the flight?”

“Quite pleasant.” Sonia took his hand—dry, manicured, impersonal—and shook it. “I am relieved there were no delays. I would have deeply regretted having to miss this meeting.”

In truth, she would have preferred not to go at all. When she did have to travel by plane, she usually spent the rest of the day doing breathing exercises and listening to classical music. But this meeting was important, and Byakuya Togami was not a man with a flexible schedule.

“Surely the Novoselic royal family has at least one private plane,” Togami said as they took their seats. “That would all but eliminate your concerns about flight delays.”

“It is true that we have several private jets at our disposal.” Sonia took a brief glance at the lunch menu. It didn’t look like they had a vegetarian option. “However, I find it wasteful to produce such a large amount of emissions for only a handful of people.”

Togami raised an eyebrow. “How environmentally conscious of you.”

Sonia smiled. “It is no longer acceptable for the upper class to turn a blind eye to the amount of waste they create. Your own company sponsored a beach cleanup in Tsuruga last week, did they not?”

He didn’t so much as blink. “Did they? I leave such matters to my Public Relations department.”

She turned her gaze to the wine menu, searching for something appropriately strong. “You must have employed a skilled team if they recognize that actions cultivate a good public image more than mere words.”

“And under which category would a check for one hundred fifty million yen fall?”

Inside her clutch, her phone vibrated. Sonia switched it to silent mode without looking down. “I suppose it depends on what you are willing to purchase.”

“The Togami Corporation has varied interests.” He leaned back a fraction of an inch. “Education. Public health. Foreign affairs.”

She nodded slowly. She remembered an anime she’d liked to watch, back when she’d had time for television. The final scene of the first episode still lingered in her mind—the low lighting, the protagonist and the devil seated across from each other, the contract spread between them. 

She didn’t remember how that anime had ended.

“I am on the board of a foundation that delivers vaccinations and medical care to impoverished communities in Southeast Asia. The amount you mentioned would be enough to begin training and deploying teams to more remote regions.”

Togami removed his glasses and cleaned them with a small silk cloth. He replaced them and glanced at his watch. He was pretending to think. Sonia had seen this performance enough times to know he’d already made up his mind.

“I could recommend some pharmaceutical companies.”

“That would be acceptable.” Sonia didn’t let herself falter as she spoke, not even when a bitter taste filled her mouth.

She was doing this to help people. No matter where the money came from, as long as the drugs were safe and the volunteers had proper training, this would still help people.

Togami smiled. He’d always been infuriatingly skilled at showing that he knew he had the upper hand.

“Then I believe we have a deal.”

July 29, 2012

During her first few days in the wilderness, Sonia had woken every morning with sore muscles.

She was mindful about getting regular exercise and always tried her best during gym class. But that was nothing compared to trudging through untamed wilderness, hauling animal carcasses and freshly chopped wood and buckets of lake water.

After a week, the ache began to lessen. She could feel herself getting stronger, and she no longer had to push herself as hard to keep pace with Pekoyama when they went hunting.

Sonia was starting to love it.

“It’s good to see you in high spirits, Sonia,” Nidai said one day while the two of them were on laundry duty. Kuzuryu had complained about Nidai scrubbing too aggressively and “fucking up his jacket,” so he’d been relegated to hanging things to dry while Sonia did the actual washing.

“I suppose I am,” Sonia said. She hadn’t realized she’d been smiling. “Since we have become stranded here, I have been reminded of all the things I am grateful for. I have capable friends that are all willing to pitch in to help us survive, we have a sturdy cabin to keep us sheltered, and we have been able to find plenty of food in the wilderness.” She paused and squeezed the water from a pair of Pekoyama’s leggings. “I did not realize how many things I had taken for granted before all of this.”

Nidai laughed. “There’s nothing like hard times to make a person really grateful. Maybe you should toast everyone during dinner tonight.”

That would probably incite a complaint from Hanamura about how they had nothing suitable to toast with. He’d been vocal about the lack of seasoning and variety in their food, but Sonia found she quite enjoyed their simple meals. She wondered if it was because it was food she had hunted herself. She’d been similarly overjoyed the day Pekoyama had taught her how to start a fire.

“Oh.” She straightened and passed the leggings to Nidai. “I just had an idea.”

“What is it?”

“We should have a bonfire tonight. We can celebrate our accomplishments and play games and tell secrets to one another. It will be just like a camping trip.”

“That sounds like a good way to keep everyone’s spirits up.” Nidai shared a grin with her. “Alright, tonight we’ll build a bonfire so large they’ll see it from space!”

Most of the others were similarly enthused once Sonia shared her suggestion. Hanamura offered to make everyone meat skewers that they could roast themselves. Mioda promised to teach them all some “certified classic campfire songs.” Saionji and Koizumi did each other’s makeup. Sonia considered the dresses stowed in her luggage and decided to leave them there. She was starting to prefer jeans.

As night fell, Hinata, Pekoyama, and Kuzuryu gathered the wood they’d chopped and began arranging it in the clearing in front of the cabin. Souda arrived with a small metal container and a grin.

“Figured this bonfire could use a little kick.”

Owari took the container, sniffed it, and grimaced. “What the hell is in here?”

“Jet fuel. There was a little left over in the plane’s tank.”

Tsumiki paled. “Are you sure that’s not d-dangerous?”

Koizumi scowled at Souda and took the container from Owari. “You’re not putting jet fuel in anything. You’ll set the forest on fire.”

“Maybe that’d get us rescued faster,” Saionji said. She’d opted to wear one of her cleaner kimonos, and the bright fabric stood out among the muted tones and dirty clothing on the others. “Did you finally fix the radio while you were messing around in the plane?”

“I’m working on it, alright?” Souda tugged on his beanie. “Part of it got busted in the fire, so I’ve been digging around for replacement parts.”

Sonia tried not to let her expression fall. Souda hadn’t said the radio was a lost cause yet. If they had to wait a little longer to contact a rescue team, that was alright.

“Let us not talk about work tonight,” she said. “After all, we’re meant to be enjoying ourselves.”

“What kind of party is there supposed to be anyway?” Saionji crossed her arms. “There’s not even any music.”

“Ibuki Appear!” Mioda burst into the middle of their group, her guitar slung around her torso. “Are you guys ready to rock? Souda, you better time that jet fuel so the flames get super big when the bass drops.”

Without waiting for a response, Mioda began to sing, strumming her guitar in time with the fast-paced lyrics. Behind her, Kuzuryu had finally managed to coax a flame from the kindling, and an orange glow emanated from the center of the bonfire. Everyone cheered and gathered around to watch the fire grow.

Mioda sang until the bonfire grew to full force, filling the clearing with warmth and light as the sun set. She only stopped when Hanamura called them in to get their meat skewers. They gathered as close to the fire as they dared to cook the meat.

As Sonia sat in the dirt, smelling smoke and chewing on slightly-charred deer meat, she thought it wouldn’t be so bad if the rescue team took another week to find them.

Music filled the clearing again. Souda had helped Mioda rig her mp3 player to one of her amps, and she begrudgingly turned on a playlist of pop music they would all know. Saionji was the first to stand up and start dancing, pulling Koizumi along with her. Owari joined in, then Souda, and soon half the group was dancing around the bonfire. They looked wild, silhouetted agains the towering flames. Sonia grinned and joined them.

Halfway through “Love Chase,” the music shut off. Mioda walked over to her mp3 player and let out a whine.

“Aw, it ran out of charge.” She cast a hopeful glance at Souda. “Hey, didn’t you get a battery from the plane?”

He shook his head with a defensive scowl. “Only thing getting juice from that battery is the radio. You can charge your stuff once we’re back in Japan.”

Sonia felt for her cell phone, still stowed in her back pocket out of habit. She wasn’t sure why she was still carrying it around—none of them had any signal out here. She’d kept it turned off to preserve the battery, though. As soon as they were back in civilization, she was definitely going to have to make some calls.

Koizumi let out a wistful sigh. “Now I feel like an idiot for bringing my digital camera. I won’t even be able to get a good look at the pictures I’ve taken until we’re back.”

Saionji tilted her head. “I thought you brought your Polaroid too.”

“It got busted in the crash.” Her expression fell. “I’m going to have to replace a lot of equipment when we get back.”

“We should sue the plane company,” Hanamura said, arms crossed. “It was their negligence that caused us to crash in the first place.”

Komaeda made a small, choked noise, but it was drowned out by a chorus of agreements from the others. Sonia cast him a concerned glance, but he continued staring into the flames with a strange expression.

Tanaka let out a low chuckle. “Such insolence, to fantasize about a world of luxuries when we are still well within the clutches of the wilderness.”

“There is no harm in talking about the future,” Sonia said, shooting him a reassuring glance. Even if he hid it well from the others, she could tell he’d been anxious ever since the crash. She wasn’t sure if it was his concern for his Devas or the fact that he couldn’t maintain a vegetarian diet, but his mood had darkened even beyond what she would expect from a dark lord.

He pulled the edge of his scarf higher over his face, scowling into the darkness at the edge of the clearing. “What future remains for us that is not shrouded in ruin?”

“Come on, dude, don’t talk like that,” Souda said. “I’m gonna fix up the stupid radio and we’ll get rescued.”

Sonia nodded. “Let us not give up hope yet.”

“Of course.” Komaeda shot to his feet, eyes bright. In the glow of the bonfire, his gaze had an unsettling gleam to it. “I’m so happy to hear you say something like that, Sonia. I’m sure it won’t be any trouble at all for people like you.”

A beat of perturbed silence followed his small speech.

“Are you doing alright, Komaeda?” Sagishi asked. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “I simply didn’t want someone as useless as me to take up anyone’s time.”

“You are not useless, Komaeda,” Sonia said with a frown. His self-deprecating comments weren’t exactly out of the ordinary, but there was an edge to his voice that she didn’t like. “We all have a chance to contribute while we’re out here.”

Komaeda’s smile dropped. He nodded solemnly at the bonfire. “I suppose I do have a lot to make up for. Especially considering this whole thing is my fault.”

The bonfire let out a loud pop in the ensuing silence.

“What?” Nidai shouted.

Kuzuryu stepped forward, fists clenched. “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying, asshole.”

“You mean the crash?” Souda asked, face pale. “You’re saying the plane crashing was your fault?”

“Precisely,” Komaeda said. “And I apologize for not to admitting it earlier. I was procrastinating, trying to wait for the right moment…” A humorless smile twisted his expression. “And then I ended up ruining the party you all set up. Pretty typical for me, huh?”

“You fucking bastard,” Kuzuryu growled.

“Please wait!” Sonia leapt to her feet, heart pounding. She couldn’t stand the way the others were looking at Komaeda, the way the quivering shadows from the bonfire made their angry expressions all the more vicious. She couldn’t stand the thought that one of her classmates had done something so horrible to the rest of them. “Komaeda, you must explain yourself. What did you mean when you said the crash was your fault?”

“Are you saying you tampered with the plane before we boarded?” Hinata asked, watching Komaeda with a guarded expression.

“Of course not.” Komaeda’s brow furrowed as if someone had told a particularly bad joke. “I’m not quite as incompetent as a Reserve Course student, but there’s no way I’d have the skills to damage the plane’s machinery.”

“Then what the hell are you saying?” Souda said, his voice rising in pitch. “Did you cause the stupid crash or didn’t you?”

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Saionji said, her face flushed with anger. “Miss Yukizome is dead because of you.”

“I know,” Komaeda said, and for the first time, Sonia caught a flash of grief on his face. “I’ll regret that for the rest of my days. If I could give my life in her place, I would do it in an instant.”

“Then why did you do…whatever you did?” Hinata asked.

“Pure selfishness.” Komaeda wrapped his arms around himself, his gaze lost in the flames. “Against my better judgement, I boarded the plane with the rest of you. I was so eager to see your talents on display, to see what kind of hope you could bring to people in Norway. I should have known my luck would ruin all of it.”

“Your luck?” Sagishi echoed.

“What are the odds that a plane operated by the best pilot Hope’s Peak could afford would crash in such a remote location? What are the odds we would be stranded somewhere it would take weeks to find?” His voice lowered until it was nearly inaudible over the crackle of the flames. “Something like this would only happen to someone as unlucky as me. It’s just salt in the wound that the rest of you were forced to suffer as well.”

Hinata’s brow furrowed. “I thought you were the Ultimate Lucky Student. What does that have to do with something like this happening?”

Komaeda shook his head. “It’s just a sign that something even better in our future. If we ended up here, then there must be a reason for it.”

He looked around at the others with that same eager gaze he’d worn since the crash. Sonia thought back to all the times he’d made an expression like that at school. He’d always been quick to praise Mioda for her musical skills or Hanamura’s cooking. It had been easy to interpret his attitude as simple admiration from someone who loved talent.

“You are expecting us to do something,” Sonia said, relieved to hear her voice come out steady despite the chill crawling up her arms. “You think we must be the agents of our own rescue.”

Komaeda’s face lit up. “Exactly! With your combined talents, there’s nothing you all couldn’t accomplish. I’m sure it won’t be long before you discover the shining hope that’s waiting for you.”

Mioda tapped on her guitar strings, making a low, discordant sound. “Are we inside a tree right now? Because this sounds pretty freaking nuts.”

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. I believe in you all.” He put a hand to his chest. “And I’m more than willing to become a stepping stone so you all can achieve your respective hopes.”

Sonia’s hands curled into fists. “Komaeda, we are not going to use you or anyone else while we are trying to survive. Miss Yukizome would want us to all work together.”

“Of course she would. But it’s possible not all of us will survive while we’re out here, right?” He cast another glance around the group. “And it’s undeniable that I’m the reason we’re stranded in the first place.”

“No, it’s pretty fucking deniable,” Kuzuryu said. “Is it a shit stroke of luck that we’re out here? Yeah. Does that mean you get to take credit for it? Hell no. Stop preaching to us before I punch your lights out, asshole.”

“Yeah, can you just chill out?” Owari said, picking at her teeth with the end of her skewer. “You’re acting like something really bad’s gonna happen. We’re stuck out here, but we’re fine, you know?”

“I suppose we’ll see,” Komaeda said, then sat down and fell silent.

A few beats of awkward silence passed before Mioda leapt to her feet.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, who’s ready for Sing-Along Part Two?”

She began strumming her guitar and a few others joined in her singing, but the mood was significantly more subdued. Komaeda watched them all, a small, placid smile on his face, and Sonia couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding beneath it. Komaeda would never do anything to hurt them, would he? Even if he had been affected by the crash, he still cared about them all. He’d said himself that he wanted to see them succeed.

“Miss Sonia?” Souda approached, hesitated, then sat next to her. “You know you don’t have to worry about that guy, right? Komaeda might be a creep, but I wouldn’t let him do anything to you.”

Sonia tried for a smile. If she was expecting effective protection from anyone, it would not be from Souda. Not to mention she was the one who had been chosen to handle the rifle.

She straightened, feeling the ache of her sore muscles. She was getting stronger—she couldn’t forget that. If Komaeda had a real reason to be afraid and there were dangers in these woods, she was not going to rely on anyone else.

“I do not believe we will have anything to worry about.”

Chapter Text

“What are you doing out here?”

“I am gathering information about the surrounding terrain.”

“Are you going to aid the others in their escape?”

“No.”

“Then you’re planning something else. Can I ask what that is?”

“That knowledge will make no difference in your survival.”

“Be as that may…I’d still like to help, in what minimal way I can. Even if it’s just keeping your secret from the others.”

“It does not matter if the others know. It will not affect the outcome.”

“The outcome of what, exactly?”

“This situation has presented a possibility for an interesting case study. I intend to watch the results closely.”

“I see what you mean. I doubt there’s ever been a situation like this before, with so many talented people in such dire straits.”

…

“Is that your goal, then? To see what will become of us? To see if hope will conquer despair?”

“I do not ascribe to such limiting dichotomies.”

“You really are an interesting person. I’ll keep your secret for now. And in return, allow me to prove to you that hope will triumph amidst these desperate conditions. You’ll let the others prove themselves, won’t you?”

“I intend to allow this experiment to run its course.”

“Good. I’m excited, then. This just became that much more interesting.”

September 2012

“Is that it? Are you serious?”

Fuyuhiko set down the buckets on the porch and turned to glare at Saionji. “You want more water, you can go and lug it up from the lake your fucking self.”

“Maybe if they asked someone stronger to do it, you wouldn’t have spilled half of it on the way up here.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” He straightened, resenting for the hundredth time the fact that Saionji was taller than him. “You got a problem with me?”

“I just wish you’d do a better job.” She gestured to the buckets with a flat palm. “If we have to save most of this for drinking, how am I supposed to wash my face?”

Saionji’s face was dotted with acne, which had flared up in recent weeks. Her skin was red from where she’d picked at it, despite Koizumi’s insistent reminders to leave it alone.

“That’s not my problem,” Fuyuhiko said. “This isn’t a damn five star hotel. If you want more water, go get it yourself.”

Koizumi opened the cabin door with a frown. “What’s going on out here?”

“Nothing.” Scowling, Saionji pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Just that some people aren’t pulling their weight.”

“That’s real fucking rich coming from you,” Fuyuhiko said as Saionji stormed past him into the cabin.

“Kuzuryu.” Koizumi shot him a warning look. “Give her a break, okay?”

“What, like she’s the only one that’s been stuck in the middle of the woods for months?”

“Just…” She sighed and pushed her own bangs away from her face. “She’s having a rough time. It’s…a bad week for all of us.”

“Whatever.” Fuyuhiko turned away, eager to end the conversation. He only knew what she meant by that because last month Souda had asked one too many times why all the girls were so irritable. Apparently spending enough time together made them all sync up. What a fucking nightmare.

“And don’t worry about what Saionji said earlier,” Koizumi added. “I know you’ve been working as hard as everyone else.”

“Obviously.” His shoulders rose an inch. Even if Koizumi didn’t mean to be condescending, it sure as hell sounded like it. “Just forget about it. I’m gonna grab some wood for the fire.”

He stalked away before Koizumi could respond, heading around to the shed where they kept the firewood. The interior was dim and smelled like dead animals. Hanging in one corner were the carcasses of the three rabbits Peko and Sonia had caught that morning. It wasn’t a lot to share between sixteen people. Even with the girls hunting every day, even with the traps they’d set, the makeshift nets in the creek, the plants Owari and Tanaka scavenged, they never had anything left to save. Any leftovers from dinner were eaten the next morning before they began looking for more food.

With a sigh, Fuyuhiko tore his gaze away from the rabbits and grabbed a few pieces of wood. Peko hadn’t spoken to him about it directly, but he could tell she was getting anxious. The weather was getting cooler, they were barely getting by in terms of food, and there still hadn’t been so much as a fucking whisper of rescue.

The needle was starting to shift from when to if.

He tried not to think about Natsumi as he carried the wood inside and began arranging it over the smoldering embers in the fireplace. She was probably back in school by now. Had the other classes noticed their empty classroom? Their sixteen vacant dorms?

“Hey, hey.” Nanami stepped up beside him, hands tucked in her pockets. “Mind if I try lighting the fire? I think I’m getting better at it.”

“Knock yourself out.” Fuyuhiko stood up, not meeting her eyes. “I’m gonna grab the water from the front.”

As one would expect from the Ultimate Gamer, Nanami didn’t have much to offer when it came to hands-on skills. She couldn’t handle a gun, wasn’t strong enough to do any of the heavy lifting, and was never the first choice when it came to other tasks like cooking or mending clothes. She still tried her best with a smile on her face.

Fuyuhiko didn’t understand how she could be so fucking patient all the time.

When he returned with the buckets, moving slowly so the water wouldn’t spill and Saionji wouldn’t have an excuse to jump on his ass, Nanami was still working on the fire. The kindling she’d placed inside was smoking, but it refused to catch fire even as she blew gently on it.

“You gotta move it all closer together.” He knelt beside her and used a stick to rearrange the dried leaves and pine needles. “But, y’know, still leave some space so you don’t smother the flame.” He gestured for her to try again with the lighter Mioda had pulled from her luggage (“For fireworks!” she’d said, which was more concerning than if she’d confessed to smoking).

Nanami held the flame to the kindling and blew gently. The bundle caught fire, and her expression lit up. “There it is. Thanks, Kuzuryu.”

“It was nothing.” He stood up and hefted one of the buckets onto the hook in the fireplace. “Just one of those basic things we all gotta know.”

“Still.” She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “I think some of us are better cut out for this than others.”

He prodded some more kindling into the fire and watched the flame grab the first piece of wood. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“Not being cut out for this.”

Nanami tilted her head. “Maybe a little. But I know I can rely on all of you. That’s what a good class does, right? We help each other.”

Fuyuhiko watched the flames grow and thought of his cousin Hidemi. He’d always been a dangerous combination of stupid and arrogant. He’d been a liability for the clan, knowing enough to do some serious damage and dumb enough to let information slip for the right amount of whiskey or yen. As far as Fuyuhiko knew, he’d never actually given up anything valuable. He’d died in a shootout shortly after his twenty-first birthday.

A terrible accident, everyone had said, but even at fourteen years old Fuyuhiko had understood that things that benefitted the clan rarely happened on accident. He’d understood even earlier that the Kuzuryus had no tolerance for dead weight.

He stood up. “Mind keeping an eye on the water? I gotta take care of something.”

“No problem,” Nanami said, and he ignored the concerned glance she shot him as he walked out of the cabin.

Were his parents still looking for him? When he’d spoken to Peko all those nights ago, he’d truly believed that his clan would have access to resources that Hope’s Peak or the government wouldn’t. If no one had found them yet, was it because they couldn’t?

Or because his family thought he wasn’t worth the trouble?

“Are you feeling alright, Hinata?”

Hajime stopped rubbing his shoulder and looked up. Tsumiki was watching him with an anxious expression, fingers kneading the hem of her sweater.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little sore is all.” He’d been waking up sore more often. Maybe it was because of all the physical labor he was doing, but it hadn’t been like that during the summer.

“If you feel like you might have pulled a muscle or injured yourself, I can try to help.” Tsumiki let out a short, nervous laugh. “I’ll do whatever I can to make you feel better, I p-promise.”

“Thanks, Tsumiki. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He went to take another bite of his food, but the plate was empty.

With a sigh, Hajime stood and brought his plate to the metal basin they used to wash dishes. There weren’t enough for everyone to use at once, so they tended to eat breakfast in two rotating shifts, the food divided meticulously between them.

It felt like their portions were getting smaller these days. Maybe that was why he was sore all the time.

The basin was full of dishes from the second breakfast shift. Hajime took a rag and began cleaning them off. He was tempted to leave his in the pile and forget about it, but then Koizumi would probably complain about people not doing the dishes again.

He left them to dry on the counter. They wouldn’t need them until dinner.

Just thinking about his next meal made Hajime’s stomach growl. He tried not to dwell on it and began lugging the basin outside. Maybe Nanami and Sonia wouldn’t mind reusing the water for laundry duty. It wasn’t exactly clean, but getting fresh water would mean bringing it up from the lake, and the only task more undesirable than that was dumping out the waste bucket.

Komaeda was sitting on the front porch. Out of habit, Hajime gave him little more than a cursory glance, hoping he could get by without being targeted with any snarky comments. Komaeda seemed to be in a good mood, at least, smiling at someone over Hajime’s shoulder.

He glanced behind him and…no. Komaeda was smiling at him.

“Good morning, Hinata.”

“Uh, good morning.” Hajime cast him a wary glance. “Everything okay?”

“Better than expected, actually.” Komaeda turned his face towards the sun, which was just high enough to illuminate the clearing. “It’s somewhat warm today.”

The sun did help offset the early autumn chill. Its glow touched the edges of Komaeda’s pale hair with a halo of gold.

Hajime averted his gaze and began dragging the basin to the other side of the porch, careful not to let any water slosh over the side. “I hope they find us before it gets any colder. I’m not looking forward to seeing what winter is like here.”

Komaeda said nothing. Hajime glanced over to find a strange look on his face and inwardly braced himself. Is the Reserve Course student afraid of a little unpleasant weather?

“I think everything will turn out okay,” Komaeda said, his features smoothing into his usual placid expression.

Hajime frowned. Komaeda rarely passed up an opportunity to condescend to him. Maybe a warm patch of sunlight was enough to put him in a good mood, like a cat.

He ran a hand through his hair and shook away the train of thought. He was hungry enough that he was thinking weird things now.

“I’m gonna go check the nets in the creek, so. Bye.” He stepped off the porch.

“Have a nice day, Hinata,” Komaeda replied. Was there a trace of sarcasm in his voice, or was he just being paranoid?

“You too,” Hajime replied, just in case he was.

June 7, 2022

“I’d like to address the elephant in the room, if that’s alright with you.”

Sonia was immaculate in her reaction, or lack thereof. A slow blink, a small, docile smile. Only her voice was being recorded for the interview, but she wasn’t going to let herself slip in any regard.

“I suppose it’s only natural that this elephant should appear.” She rested her hands in her lap, loosely curled around each other. She did not bounce her leg or tap her foot. “Please, go ahead.”

The reporter, a woman with immaculately shaped eyebrows and lips that curled into a perpetual smirk, flipped to a new page in her notebook. “Next month will be the tenth anniversary of the crash. How are you feeling?”

Sonia was prepared for this question. She’d rehearsed her answer during the drive to the news station. “I find the idea of a tenth anniversary to be somewhat misleading. It is not as if July nineteenth will be a day of mourning and remembrance and life will continue on as normal on July twentieth.” She paused to sip from the glass of water on the conference room table. “We were out there for a long time. It will be the tenth anniversary on July nineteenth, on the twentieth, on every day after that for the next eighteen months. I consider the date of the crash to be something of a convenience, a shorthand for those who were not involved.”

The reporter nodded slowly, pen moving rapidly across paper. “Eighteen months is a long time. Did you ever give up hope that you would be rescued?”

I’m sure it won’t be long before you discover the shining hope that’s waiting for you.

Sonia took a calming breath as quietly as she could and ignored the chill that ran down her spine. “We realized after the first few days that we could not simply wait around to be rescued. We would have to work together to ensure our own survival. That does not mean that we gave up hope.”

We never gave up hope. What we did was worse.

She swallowed. The phantom taste of blood sat heavy in the back of her throat. “We simply had to manage our priorities.”

“You’ve mentioned before that your previous experience with firearms allowed you to hunt for food.” The reporter glanced up, her pen tapping her notepad a couple times. Sonia resisted the urge to check the time. “How did it feel to be the one to feed them?”

What a strange choice of words. Was it intentional? Sonia had agreed to this interview because she’d known the woman she was meeting with was tactful. Perhaps it was only a mistake. Still, the unintentional implication unsettled her more than any of the straightforward questions she’d received from tabloid writers.

“I was glad to be useful.” She tried for a smile. “Growing up, I had never given a second thought to how my food arrived at my plate. Having to…to kill or gather everything that I ate changed my perspective. I have an immense respect for agricultural workers and their contributions to feeding people worldwide. That was one of the reasons I joined the board of the World Food Programme. I believe fair wages and labor rights for farmers worldwide is imperative.”

The reporter nodded again. “So you’ve said. I’m thankful you’re sparing the time to talk to me, given the amount of nonprofits you’re involved in.”

Sonia let out what she hoped was an airy laugh. “Forgive me. I know we discussed that in the first half of the interview. I am rather passionate about my work.”

She shot her a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. Your humanitarian work is going to make up the bulk of the article. It’s just that mentioning the crash tends to draw in more readers.”

“Of course.” She took another measured breath. “Do you have any more questions you would like to ask?”

“Just a couple more, and then we’ll wrap things up. You mentioned earlier that having to hunt your own food gave you a new appreciation for it. For any readers who might be going through something dire, whether it be poverty or war or disease, is there a message you would give them? Is there anything you would say to the Princess Sonia from ten years ago?”

Sonia thought of her second year school photograph, the one that had been plastered all over news sites after the crash. She remembered looking in a mirror for the first time in eighteen months and failing to recognize the person staring back at her.

When she thought of her younger self, the naive child she’d been, all she felt was pity. What advice could you give a girl fated to die?

“I would say to anyone who is in a dire situation that they must remember the power they hold. Grassroots organization begins at the individual level, after all. I would ask these people to find strength in their communities and to remember that there are many people in the world who wish them well.”

The reporter finished writing and took a moment to scan her notes. “What are your thoughts on the way your classmates had been murdered?”

Sonia stiffened. “W-What?”

“Hope’s Peak Academy in particular has turned their memory into a rallying cry for the future of talent and education. Do you see this messaging as a genuine push to revolutionize the way students are educated?”

She swallowed, trying to measure the volume of her voice against the ringing in her ears. “The way my classmates had been m-m…”

“Martyred. Though perhaps that’s not the correct word.” She looked up from her notes and frowned. “Are you alright? Would you rather move on from this question?”

“I owe a great deal of my early education to Hope’s Peak Academy,” Sonia managed, falling back on a well-memorized answer. “I understand how much they valued our lives and wellbeing despite the unfortunate circumstances. I fully support their mission going forward.”

The reporter nodded slowly, searching her face. “Alright, then. That should be all for now. Is there anything else you’d like to mention that I forgot to ask about?”

“No, that should be all.” Sonia stood and smoothed her skirt. “Thank you for your time. May I ask where the bathroom is?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left.” She paused. “No, they’re doing maintenance there today. You’ll have to use the one downstairs. It’s right across from the stairwell entrance.”

“Thank you,” Sonia replied, and breezed out of the room before the reporter could say anything else. The door clipped her on the shoulder as she slipped through, but she didn’t look back.

Corneliu was waiting just outside. He followed her down the stairs without comment. Sonia didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she was inside the bathroom stall and it all came out of her in one loud, shaky exhale. She squeezed her eyes shut and began the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her.

Murderer.

She opened her purse and popped a mint into her mouth to get rid of the coppery taste on her tongue.

The bathroom door swung open. A pair of gray loafers padded across the tile and into the stall next to hers. Sonia finished her breathing exercises as quietly as she could.

After counting backwards from thirty, she flushed the toilet and emerged from the stall. She studied her reflection as she washed her hands. There were shadows under her eyes, but those could be hidden with concealer. Her hair was still neat and in good condition, but…

Sonia cursed under her breath and twisted to examine the shoulder of her blouse. The thin fabric had torn right at the seam. It must have caught on something when she’d bumped into the conference room door.

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

The bathroom’s other occupant had exited her stall. She cast a sympathetic frown at Sonia as she went to wash her hands.

“That’s a pretty blouse, too.”

“Thank you.” Sonia dried her hands and tugged at the rip. There was no fabric to tuck over the hole, and she hadn’t brought a jacket today.

“I have something that might help.” The woman pulled a thin strip of white material from her pocket and held it up triumphantly. “Fabric tape. Double-sided.”

“How convenient!” She offered her shoulder. “Would you mind…?”

“Not at all.” The woman stepped forward and peeled the wrapper off the tape. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly, but she applied the adhesive with quick, efficient movements. “I do hair and makeup here, and every so often someone has a wardrobe malfunction. Things like fabric tape come in handy.”

“Thank you,” Sonia said again. The hole in her blouse was invisible now. “I have often heard tales of ‘female solidarity’ taking place in bathrooms, but I have never had the privilege of experiencing it before.”

The woman laughed and adjusted her glasses. “I think the privilege is mine, actually. You’re Princess Sonia Nevermind, right?”

“Yes.” She tried not to let her smile falter. She was in a news station. Of course plenty of people here would recognize her. “I was here for an interview. I’m afraid I have another appointment I must be getting to.”

“Of course.” The woman practically leapt out of her way. “Sorry for holding you up. I’m practically an NPC compared to you.”

“Please, do not apologize. I appreciate your help with my blouse.” She gave her a polite nod and made to leave the bathroom.

Her hand was on the door knob when the woman spoke again.

“Your Majesty?”

She turned around.

“I really don’t mean to take up too much of your time.” The woman fidgeted with a strand of her long hair. “It’s just that I really appreciate everything that you’ve done and I think your experiences are so valuable and I, um…”

Sonia’s expression softened. “I am glad to hear that.”

The woman took a deep breath and began speaking with renewed force. “Did you hear about the plane crash in the Himalayas last year?”

“I did.” She’d helped cover the medical bills of the survivors.

“They were only stranded for a week, so of course it doesn’t really compare to the trauma that you went through, but, um.” She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses again. “I help run a support group for the Japanese survivors of the crash. We meet every week.” She took a business card from her pocket and held it out. “There’s no pressure, of course, but it would be just plain amazing if you could come and speak to them.”

Sonia blinked once, slowly, and accepted the card. “I’m flattered that you would ask for my help, but I have a very busy schedule.”

“Of course. I understand.” The woman shot her a rueful smile. “I thought I’d ask anyway. You can’t get anywhere if you don’t ask for things, right?”

“That is true. Take care.”

She didn’t get a chance to actually look at the card until she was inside her car and they were driving away from the crowd of paparazzi outside the news station. She was planning on slipping it into the first paper recycling bin she saw. It was a shame, though—the font was simple and elegant, the corner of the card adorned with a needle and thread in embossed cobalt blue.

Tsumugi Shirogane

Hair and Makeup Specialist

After a moment of consideration, Sonia dropped the business card into her purse.

Chapter Text

September 2012

Koizumi stepped out of the cabin, hands braced on her hips. “Okay, who didn’t empty out the waste bucket?”

Nanami looked up from where she was picking burrs out of her shoelaces and blinked sleepily. “I thought we only empty it at the end of the day.”

“That’s the liquid waste bucket. Solid waste gets emptied whenever someone goes.”

Fuyuhiko sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Koizumi had somehow gotten even more uptight about chores in the past couple of weeks. Between her and Saionji, it was enough to make him want to hike into the woods and take his chances with the wilderness.

Sagishi stood up. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Not unless it was you.” Koizumi blocked them from stepping through the door. “We can’t just let people get away with stuff like this. Everyone needs to be following the same rules.”

“What the fuck are you gonna do about it?” Fuyuhiko asked, and she turned her glare on him.

“What does that mean?”

“What are you gonna do about the people who aren’t following your damn rules? Lock ‘em in the attic until they behave?” He stopped trying to pry a splinter out of his palm and stepped up onto the porch. “Who died and made you fucking dictator?”

“I’m not…” Koizumi’s face flushed. “I’m not trying to be a dictator. There are rules we all collectively agreed on. We can’t start slacking off and making exceptions.”

He took a step closer. “I’ll ask again. What are you gonna do about it?”

“That’s enough, okay?” Nanami hurried up the steps and angled herself between them. “There’s still a lot of work to do, so let’s not waste our energy on arguing with each other.”

Koizumi’s glare softened a fraction as she turned to Nanami. “I don’t want this to become a problem.”

“We can talk about it with everyone at dinner tonight.” Nanami shot her a reassuring smile. “Everyone will be in a better mood once they’ve eaten. In the meantime, Sagishi and I can take care of it.”

She considered this, chewing on her lower lip, then let out a huff and stepped aside. “Alright. We’ll bring it up tonight.”

Nanami turned to Fuyuhiko. “Sound good?”

“Fine. I don’t give a shit.” 

He turned on his heel and left the porch, ignoring Koizumi’s “Seriously?” as he walked away.

That was one thing Nanami had to offer the group. She could defuse arguments better than anyone he knew, and he could count on one hand the number of times she’d had to raise her voice to do it. 

It was the kind of strength a yakuza heir should have. 

When it came down to it, Fuyuhiko  could never let go of his anger, even if there was no good reason to hold onto it. No matter what, it would just twist up inside of him, tighter and tighter until he lashed out at the wrong person.

He was no good for the people here.

He left the clearing around the cabin, heading down the trail to one of the creeks. Owari had already checked the traps today, and they’d gone from finding fish in the nets twice a day to just once. Just like he’d expected, they were empty. 

He kept walking.

He’d never been this far out before. Sonia and Peko had been going farther and farther out to hunt, and Tanaka and Owari had picked through most of the edible plants in the area. The four of them had managed to draw a crude map of the area, but they never went more than a few hundred yards from the cabin.

They had to be missing something. Fully-constructed cabins didn’t just spring out of the ground for no reason. There had to be a road, an outpost, something that was just out of their reach. He was tired of waiting around for help to find them. They were going to have to find it themselves.

The brush became thicker as he went, thin branches and stubborn foliage snagging on his ankles. The jeans he’d borrowed from Hinata had to be rolled up twice, but they afforded a bit more protection than his dress pants. A bit of dry brush crunched under his foot and he cursed under his breath. He had no idea how Sonia and Peko were able to move around without scaring off half the wildlife in the forest.

He was descending a small slope when his foot connected with something hard, throwing him off balance. He swore loudly as he hit the ground and tumbled down the slope, getting a face full of fallen leaves and twigs in the process. He hit the bottom with a grunt, and the rock that had tripped him slide down and bumped into his ribs.

“Piece of shit.” He snatched it up and made to throw it, then realized it wasn’t a rock at all.

It was a piece of metal, rusted and worn to an unidentifiable shape. At some point in time it might have been a hook or part of some other tool. It was definitely man-made.

Fuyuhiko pushed himself to his feet, considering the lump of metal in his palm. This had to mean something.

He tossed it aside and forged onward into the forest.

June 8, 2022

The split ends in her hair seemed to have multiplied overnight.

Teeth worrying her lower lip, Mikan ran a brush through her hair again, trying to tame the stubborn mess. She’d thought about leaving it down since she always wore it tied up for work, but wearing it loose was only making it more obvious how disgusting her hair was.

He’s going to notice, she thought as she gave up and scraped her hair into a ponytail. He’s going to notice and he’s going to hate me.

She wet her hands and ran them over her scalp in an attempt to smooth down the flyaways around her face. She’d already bitten off half the lip gloss she’d applied, so she smeared on another coat. It made her lips look wet and slimy, nothing like the alluring shine she’d seen on other women.

Resisting the urge to start biting her lip again, Mikan looked down at her phone and gasped. It was a quarter past six. She was going to miss her train if she didn’t leave now. She refused to look in the mirror as she shoved the mess of cosmetics into her bag and hurried towards the door. She slipped on a pair of flats, ignoring the way they dug into her heels, and left her apartment.

She couldn’t help looking at the other passengers on the train. At this point in the evening, it was an even mix of commuters leaving work and younger people heading out for social events. The woman on the other side of the car was wearing a form-fitting plaid dress over a tight black shirt and matching leggings. Mikan looked down at her own skirt and sweater—beige, frumpy, unflattering. It was too late to go through her closet again. She was glad she’d worn a mask to hide her face.

To distract herself from the fact that people were probably staring at her, she took out her phone and opened up the profile she’d been studying relentlessly since she’d gotten home from work. Mizushima was a defense lawyer. He was interested in American football and had family in the United States. His favorite manga was Jujutsu Kaisen. She’d done all the research she could in her spare time and had memorized a list of fifteen different conversation starters. She just hoped her brain would cooperate when it came time to introduce herself.

She nearly tripped up the stairs while exiting the subway, letting out an embarrassing yelp and causing several people to look in her direction. Face burning, she gathered her skirt in one hand and kept her head down as she emerged onto the street. The restaurant was only a few blocks away. She could make it without falling on her face.

Mizushima was waiting outside the entrance, tapping away on his phone. He’d been clean-shaven in his profile picture, but a shadow of stubble framed his jaw now. Mikan stopped a few paces away, tentatively waving to catch his attention.

“Um…”

He finally noticed her and glanced up, looking nonplussed.

She remembered she was still wearing her mask and fumbled to take it off. Had it messed up her lip gloss? There was no time to check.

“It’s Tsumiki. From the, um, the dating app?”

“Oh, yeah.” His expression melted into a smile. “I guess I got here a little early. Wanna head inside?”

Mikan nodded, maybe a little too vigorously. Apparently it wasn’t too off-putting, because Mizushima held the door for her when they stepped inside. He pulled a chair for her too, and Mikan blushed and stuttered a thank you.

She barely had to do anything during dinner. Mizushima talked for the majority of the meal, happy to explain the cases he was working on, the differences between the Jujutsu Kaisen manga and anime, how he was optimistic about the Arizona football team having a good season this year. Mikan was content to listen. The less she had to speak, the less opportunities she had to say something wrong. After her second glass of wine, she stopped worrying so much about whether she was nodding too often.

“Let me walk you back to your place,” he said once he’d paid for their meal, and Mikan happily agreed.

She didn’t feel quite so nervous on the train ride back. Mizushima was standing next to her, talking to her, paying attention to her. None of the other women in their car were with a date.

She tripped again on the stairs from the subway, but Mizushima was there to catch her arm. He held it for the rest of the way to her apartment building, squeezing it reassuringly when Mikan apologized for her clumsiness.

“I had a great time tonight,” he said with a grin as they lingered outside the entrance. “We should do this again sometime.”

Mikan giggled and nodded. Emboldened by the wine still in her system and the closeness they’d shared, she twisted a lock of hair around her finger and looked up at him through her lashes. “Did you want to…to come inside for a little?”

“Oh, uh.” He glanced at his watch. “I should probably be getting back, actually. I have some depositions to review before tomorrow.”

Her confidence shattered like a soap bubble on a needle. Of course he didn’t want to spend any more time with her. He was probably dying to get away so he could text his friends about the weird girl he’d gone on a date with.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. “I get it. You probably c-couldn’t wait for the date to be over, huh?”

Mizushima blinked. “What? No, that’s not it at all. I…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend.” She sniffled and dragged her sleeve over her eyes. “It was nice just spending tonight with you. I get stood up by guys all the time. Some of them…Some of them ditch me halfway through the meal and leave me to cover the check. At least you had the d-decency to walk me home.”

“Hey, that’s not… I had a good time, I promise.” He raised his hand like he wanted to pat her back. Mikan flinched and he lowered it. “Maybe I can come inside for a little while, okay? Just until you calm down.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She lowered her head and wiped her eyes again. “I’m being such a…such a pathetic mess. I should just leave you alone.”

“You’re not pathetic.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him swivel his head. Were people staring already? “Come on, let’s get inside.”

“Okay.” Mikan fumbled for her keys and led the way inside. Hot shame writhed in her chest like a parasite. How pathetic was she that she couldn’t get a date to follow her home without crying?

Her apartment felt cluttered when she walked in with Mizushima in tow. The plants on her shelves and windowsills looked limp and dull. What if he didn’t like indoor plants and thought they were gross?

“Wow, your place is really neat,” he said as he slipped off his shoes.

Mikan let out a nervous giggle and rubbed her palms together. She usually liked to wash her hands as soon as she got home. Instead, she sat on the couch, hand fluttering in a tentative invitation for Mizushima to do the same. He sat beside her, leaving a respectable distance between them.

“Have people really ditched you on dates before?”

She nodded, keeping her gaze fixed on the wrinkled fabric of her skirt. To be fair, it had only been once, and it had been after she’d gone on a lengthy rant about erosive esophagitis after watching her date swallow a painkiller without drinking any water.

“I can be, um, I can be really off-putting to some people.”

“I guess that kind of makes sense.”

She tried not to flinch. “It does?”

“N-Not like that.” He waved a hand as if he could erase his comment. “I just meant I don’t, you know, blame you.”

Mikan stiffened and turned to face him. “W-What do you mean?”

Now it was his turn to avert his eyes. “I looked you up a few days ago.”

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to know a little more about you, you know? See if you had any social media profiles. And all these articles came up about the, uh, plane crash and…” He made a vague gesture. “That whole thing.”

That whole thing. Just three words to encapsulate those eighteen months that she carried with her like stones in her pockets. It was a neat, tidy way to describe it. Mikan woke up screaming some nights and couldn’t eat red meat and didn’t speak to any of her high school friends because of That Whole Thing.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Mizushima rubbed his hands on his knees. “I just meant that I understand if you’re not…totally normal.”

Mikan wanted to break out into giggles. He didn’t understand anything about her. About what she’d done. But even a freak like her knew laughing wasn’t the appropriate thing to do in this situation.

Instead, she stretched her lips into a smile, hoped the expression wasn’t too off-putting, and said, “You’ve been really nice to me tonight. Would you like some tea?”

He blinked. “Okay. Sure.”

She stood, smoothed her skirt, and went into the kitchen. It comforted her a little to fall into the easy routine of filling the kettle, setting out a couple of mugs, measuring out tea leaves. She glanced over her shoulder as she waited for the water to boil. Mizushima couldn’t see into the kitchen from his spot on the couch. She opened the cabinet above the sink, took out a small glass jar, and poured twenty milligrams of gray powder into his mug.

She carried the tea back to the living room with a smile, feeling considerably calmer. Mizushima accepted his mug and inhaled the steam. She sat on the couch and watched him closely.

“It smells good,” he said.

“They’re just r-regular tea leaves.” She pressed the tips of her fingers against her mug, feeling the burn of ceramic against her skin. “It’s nothing special.”

Twenty-four minutes later, Mizushima was kneeling on the bathroom floor, gasping for breath as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Mikan sat on the edge of the tub and stroked the hair on the back of his head.

“I feel so terrible that you got sick.” She passed him a damp washcloth so he could clean his face. “Do you think it’s food poisoning? Should I call the restaurant and complain?”

“No.” He leaned forward and retched. “Don’t bother. I’m not going back there again. I knew I shouldn’t have ordered the mackerel.”

“It’s not your fault.” She rubbed circles on the center of his back. “Do you want me to get you some water? I don’t want you to become dehydrated.”

“It’s fine. I should probably get going.” He shot her a sideways glance, his forehead damp with sweat. “I’m sorry about making a mess of your bathroom.”

“Oh, please don’t be sorry.” She continued rubbing his back. “Why don’t you wait until the nausea has passed before you leave? It would be terrible if you vomited on yourself in public.”

Another two hours passed before Mizushima felt well enough to walk on his own. Mikan brought in a fluffy towel so he would be more comfortable kneeling on the floor. She plied him with small sips of water and spoke soft, encouraging words to him every time his stomach cramps flared up.

Mizushima was a sweaty mess by the time he stood up and wobbled towards the front door. Mikan trailed after him, hands ready to catch him if he stumbled.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright getting home?”

“I’m gonna call a cab.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he slipped on his shoes. “I feel really bad about all this.”

“It’s not your fault.” Mikan smiled. “I’m just glad you had someone there to take care of you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” His answering smile wavered on his face. “Have a good night, Tsumiki. Thanks for everything.”

“Get home safe.”

Once he was gone, Mikan slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and went to scrub down the bathroom.

September 2012

It was dark by the time Fuyuhiko returned to the cabin. He could see firelight through the window and knew everyone would be gathered in the living room for dinner by now.

There was no use putting it off, so he sighed, kicked the dirt off his shoes, and pushed the door open.

As expected, everyone turned towards him.

“Where the hell have you been?” Souda asked.

“Yeah, we totally thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere,” Saionji said, gnawing at a hangnail with her incisors.

“I was looking around,” Fuyuhiko said, loosening the collar of his shirt. “Is that a crime or something?”

“Everyone knows to be back by sundown,” Hinata said, brow furrowed. “We thought something happened to you.”

“N-Not to mention you have scratches on your face,” Tsumiki said, shrinking when he turned his gaze to her. “Not that that’s bad. I just meant it would be bad if you, um, if you got hurt.”

Peko was watching him from the corner of the room, the food in her lap untouched. Her face was expressionless, but the intensity of her gaze pinned him in place like she’d stuck him with her sword.

He forced his gaze back to the others. “So what if I stayed out a little late? Not like we have an actual curfew.”

“And what quarry did you pursue so fiercely that you did not return until the black curtain of night had fallen?” Tanaka asked.

Fuyuhiko hesitated. This was the part that stung the most—not that the others didn’t think he could handle himself out there, but that he had nothing to show for it. He’d wandered around the woods for fucking hours and all he’d managed to find was a useless hunk of metal.

“Perhaps some malevolent spirit meddled with your sense of direction,” Tanaka said.

“I wasn’t fucking lost.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I got some new landmarks for the map. I’ll write ‘em down when I have the chance. Does that satisfy you bastards or are you gonna put me on trial?”

A beat of silence followed his words. He suppressed an irritated sigh. His least favorite thing about this cabin was that there was nowhere he could go for a moment of privacy.

“You should eat, Kuzuryu,” Sonia said, and Hanamura began forking over the last of the meat in the pan. “You must be hungry.”

He bristled at the words, though he knew Sonia didn’t mean them in a patronizing way. They were all hungry, all of them, all the time. At some point they were going to have to do something about it.

Swallowing his anger, he stepped forward and accepted the small portion of food from Hanamura. As he ate, the others went back to their conversations. And even though he couldn’t see her, he could feel Peko’s gaze on him the entire time.

Chapter Text

September 2012

“I dreamed last night that a plane flew over us,” Tsumiki said quietly as she mended the seam of one of Souda’s jumpsuits.

Sonia looked up with a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes I think I hear an engine. I’ve looked up more times than I can count.”

“I thought…” Tsumiki trailed off, worrying her lower lip as she finished another stitch.

Her thumbs and forefingers were bandaged from the numerous times she’d pricked herself with the needle. She’d lamented at her own clumsiness until Sonia had suggested she try to think of it like stitching up a wound. Despite Mioda’s disgusted noise at the statement, Tsumiki’s hands had been much steadier since then.

“What is it?” Sonia asked.

“My dream was weird. It didn’t, um, didn’t make any sense.” Tsumiki ducked her head, hunching closer over her work. “The plane didn’t see us. Or didn’t see me. Everyone else left, and it was just me.”

“Something like that would never happen,” Sonia said, keeping her voice soft. “If we were to be rescued, nobody would be left behind.”

Tsumiki stopped her work and raised her watering eyes to Sonia’s. “If…?”

“When,” Sonia said, heart skipping a beat as she realized her mistake. “When we are rescued. We would not leave without everyone present.”

“Good,” Tsumiki whispered and went back to her work. “They definitely wouldn’t let a princess stay missing, right?”

“I do not think so. I have received training in the event of a hostage situation, on how to defend myself, withstand interrogation, and call for rescue.” Sonia listed each item on her fingers. “However, I was not trained for the possibility of being stranded.”

Tsumiki paled. “I-Interrogation?”

She nodded. “Most mainstream forms of torture. However, I have never had to use any of these techniques in a real-world situation. And to answer your question, yes, I believe my family will do everything in their power to find me.”

Sonia did not mention that those powers were somewhat limited given their location. Russia and Novoselic had a fraught political relationship that went back centuries. There was a possibility the Kremlin would even leverage her disappearance in negotiations with her country. The thought made her stomach turn no matter how many times she told herself there was nothing she could do about the issue.

“It is a difficult thing to be patient,” she said just as the door burst open.

Sagishi stood on the threshold, panting. Sonia leapt to her feet. Sagishi never ran, not unless there was a dire need for it (much to the chagrin of their gym teacher).

“There’s a fire outside,” they said, one hand on their chest.

“Where?” Sonia followed them out the door, ignoring her instinct to grab her rifle as she stepped outside.

“Uphill.” Sagishi backed into the clearing and pointed behind the cabin. Sure enough, a thick pillar of smoke was rising from the woods about a hundred yards away. “Nanami and Kuzuryu already went to investigate.”

“We should see if they need help. Sagishi, will you round up a few of the others and start bringing water from the lake?”

They nodded and the two of them went their separate ways. Sonia’s train of thought diverged in two different directions as she ran uphill. If there was a fire, perhaps that meant someone had started it, and regardless of their intentions, a stranger meant a chance at rescue. On the other hand, if this was a wildfire, if it burned down the cabin or suffocated them in smoke or burned them alive—

She cut off that train of thought before it could continue. They’d fought to stay alive thus far. This wasn’t going to be the end.

As she drew closer to the blaze, a scent that was both familiar and foreign stung her nose. Sonia coughed and waved away the smoke in front of her face. She could hear a pair of angry voices coming from the top of the ridge.

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” That was Kuzuryu, his voice strained from the smoke.

“No, obviously not.” That was Saionji, and as Sonia drew closer, she could make out her face, flushed with anger and wet with tears. “Why would I want any of us to die? I’m trying to get out of these stupid woods.”

“We’ll talk about this after we deal with the fire,” Nanami said, trying in vain to push the two of them apart. “Come on, guys. This isn’t the time.”

“What happened?” Sonia asked as she joined the others.

Kuzuryu jabbed a finger in Saionji’s direction. “This psycho decided it would be a good idea to light half the fucking forest on fire.”

Saionji slapped his hand away. “You didn’t have a problem when Sonia suggested that stupid bonfire!”

Sonia thought back to that night, to Souda and his silver canister, and finally realized what the strange smell was. It was burning fuel.

She cast Saionji a horrified look. “You didn’t.”

“I was trying to light a signal fire to call for help.” Behind the tears in her eyes, she looked absolutely terrified. “I didn’t think it was going to get out of control like this.”

“Hey!”

The four of them turned to see Koizumi and Pekoyama sprinting up the hill towards them.

“What the heck is going on here?” Koizumi asked, suppressing a cough with the back of her hand. “Is everyone alright?”

“We need to stop the fire from spreading,” Pekoyama said without waiting for anyone to answer. “We won’t be able to put it out at its current size.”

“What do we do?” Kuzuryu asked.

Pekoyama hesitated for a split second as her eyes met his. “We clear the ground, get rid of any fuel the fire might use to spread itself. We can try and cut off its path to the cabin.”

Sonia looked down at the blanket of dry pine needles beneath her feet, thick and brown with the advent of autumn. She swallowed back a wave of dread. They had to try, if nothing else.

“Let us start right away. Nanami and Koizumi, perhaps you can find the others and alert them of the plan. The rest of us can split into pairs.”

“Tell them to bring water, rags, and any tools we can use to clear the ground,” Pekoyama said. Nanami nodded and took off down the hill, covering her mouth with her sleeve.

“Let’s go.” Sonia beckoned to Saionji. “We’ll take the left.”

“We’ll be on the right. Stay safe, you two.” Kuzuryu nodded to them before falling into step with Pekoyama.

Saionji still hadn’t moved, dragging her sleeve across her face and spluttering in the haze of smoke. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Sonia stepped forward and grasped her shoulders. “You have a chance to make it right, now.” She took hold of a nearby bush and tore off a branch that could serve as a makeshift broom. She held it out to Saionji as if offering her a sword. “Let us fight this fire together.”

She sniffled and took the branch. “Fine.”

They cut a path through the brush, Saionji sweeping away pine needles while Sonia broke apart the thicker brush as best she could. Her hands were scraped and bleeding, and nearly every breath she took was expelled in a cough.

She wasn’t sure how long it took before the others arrived. Hinata and Mioda handed out wet rags to tie around their faces, which made breathing a little easier. Nidai brought the shovel from the cabin and set to digging a trench with ferocity. Everyone was at work with axes and sticks and whatever makeshift tools they’d scavenged. Despite the fear pounding in time with her heartbeat, Sonia felt a fierce wave of pride for her friends.

“Alright, everyone, fall back!” Owari shouted. “Pekoyama said we gotta move downhill!”

Sonia straightened and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She hadn’t realized how hot it had gotten. Through the haze, she could see the glow of the flames.

“Come on.” She tugged on Saionji’s sleeve. Her tears had left tracks through the dirt on her face, but her brow was set in stubborn determination as she worked.

“Are we done?” Saionji panted as they made their way downhill. “Is that gonna do it?”

Sonia looked over her shoulder at the encroaching wall of flame. “It must.”

They all rendezvoused in a clearing halfway between the fire and the cabin. Even Tsumiki had joined, a shovel in her tremblings hands, and Komaeda, whose wheezing breaths were audible even with the crackling of the fire.

Mioda threw her hands up. “Good work, team! We didn’t start the fire, but we sure as hell stopped it.”

Beside her, Saionji shrank back a little, her sweat-soaked bangs falling into her eyes. Kuzuryu noticed and opened his mouth, but Nidai talked over him.

“The fire doesn’t look like it’s getting any smaller.” He shielded his eyes with one hand as he gazed uphill.

“It will have to burn itself out,” Pekoyama said, speaking smoothly as ever, though there was a furrow in her brow. “The gap we created should be enough to stop it from moving downhill.”

As if in open mockery of her words, a loud crack sounded uphill. Sonia craned her neck in time to see a burning tree crash downwards, easily clearing the trench Nidai had dug. The impact flung orange embers into the brush.

“Oh, fuck.” Souda put his hands on his head, fingers clutching at his beanie. “We’re dead. We’re so fucking dead.”

Saionji put a hand over her face and stifled a sob.

“We should run.” Hanamura was pacing back and forth. “We still have time to grab some of our belongings.”

“We can’t abandon the cabin just yet,” Pekoyama said, the slightest hitch in her voice betraying her wavering confidence. “We could die of exposure if we don’t have shelter. We have to try to save it.”

Koizumi crossed her arms. “It won’t be much of a shelter if there’s no one alive to use it.”

“The hell is wrong with you bastards?” Kuzuryu glared at them. “You’d better listen to the one person who actually knows how to survive out here.”

“Pekoyama’s right,” Nanami said. “We can’t give up just yet.”

Nidai beckoned for the axe Tanaka was holding. “I’ll get back to the cabin, start chopping down the surrounding trees.”

Tanaka handed over the axe, eyes bright. “Very well. If we are to face down the very flames of hell, then we shall do it with courage.”

“Yes.” Sonia straightened. “Let us fight. We must save ourselves.”

They set to work creating a second gap. Sonia could feel her energy waning, her arms growing heavier as she used a branch to force her way through the brush. She pulled her sleeves up over her stinging palms and kept moving.

The smoke was getting thicker. Even with the wet cloth on her face, it stung her eyes. Through the haze, she saw Pekoyama cutting through the undergrowth with disciplined precision. If she was tired and sore like the rest of them, she wasn’t showing it.

Sonia forged on.

The heat encroached again, radiating from the burning brush with unrelenting force. Sonia thought back to the bonfire all those nights ago, how gratifying the warmth from the fire had felt. She wondered how it would feel to have it touch her flesh. 

She rolled her ankle on a root hidden in the brush and fell to her knees with a choked cry. Footsteps hurried to her side, and a bandaged hand grasped her upper arm.

“Hold fast, my lady. The battle is not over yet.”

“Thank you.” She tried to catch her breath as Tanaka helped her to her feet. Sweat stung her eyes. Their surroundings were incredibly dim.

Sonia looked upwards. Where had the sun gone?

Something cold hit the skin between her eyes, making her flinch. She kept her grip on Tanaka’s arm as a rumbling noise rolled over them.

“It seems the heavens themselves have awakened to our struggle,” Tanaka said, and the skies opened up.

Sonia gasped as rain began to pelt her skin and pulled the rag from her face. The water touched her parched lips and sapped the heat from her skin. Nearby, the others had stopped in their work and were looking at the sky with varying degrees of surprise and relief. She turned to the encroaching fire and watched smoke turn to steam.

“Come,” Tanaka said, tugging gently on her arm. “We should reunite with the others.”

The two of them were both soaked by the time they found the rest of their class in the clearing behind the cabin. Nidai had managed to fell half a dozen trees, and Tsumiki was busy inspecting his blistered palms. Sonia looked down at the scratches on her own hands, which were beginning to sting as the adrenaline faded from her system.

“So we’re good now, right?” Owari asked, pushing a wet lock of hair out of her eyes.

Nanami shielded her eyes from the rain with one hand. “It looks like the fire’s going out. I doubt it’ll spread much further if everything’s wet.”

Koizumi looked to Pekoyama, who nodded.

“We should have someone keep watch, but I think we’re safe for now.”

A scattering of relieved laughter ran through the group. Tsumiki squeaked as Nidai patted her on the back. Sonia reached over and squeezed Tanaka’s hand. He let out a startled noise that was quickly muffled by his scarf, then briefly squeezed back.

While Pekoyama and Owari went to check the forest and make sure they were truly safe from the fire, the rest of them trudged inside to dry off. Sonia stood with the girls on the porch and wrung the water from her hair. Her wet jeans clung uncomfortably to her skin, and for the first time in weeks, she wished for the luxury of a hot bath and a soft bed to climb into.

A weary quiet fell over the group as they filed inside. Hinata got to work stoking the fire so they could warm up. Tanaka extricated his protesting Devas from his wet clothing and set them to dry on a small pile of scrap cloth that served as their bedding.

“It’s a shame about the rain,” Komaeda said, leaning against the wall near the window. He looked like a baby bird with his wispy hair flattened to his scalp by the rain. “I was really enjoying watching the rest of you battle the fire yourselves.”

The mood in the cabin soured immediately.

“You get off on that, you sick fuck?” Kuzuryu glared at him as he shrugged his wet jacket off his shoulders. “Watching us fight for our lives?”

“It was inspiring.” Komaeda’s eyes gleamed. “Even when the fire continued to spread, none of you backed down or gave up. That’s what hope really is.”

“You’re really crazy, man.” Souda wrung his beanie out on the floor, ignoring Sagishi’s motion for him to take it outside. “Don’t tell me you lit that fire yourself just so you could watch us put it out.”

“I couldn’t possibly take credit for that. My skills are pathetic enough that I could barely start a campfire with all the necessary tools.” Komaeda’s gaze flickered downwards. “Perhaps it was just another bit of bad luck.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Kuzuryu said. “And it wasn’t Komaeda who started the fire.”

Souda’s head whipped towards him. “Are you saying someone else did? Like, on purpose?”

Kuzuryu turned his glare on Saionji, who visibly shrank.

Mioda gasped. “Holy crap. That’s red-hot levels of sabotage.”

“It wasn’t sabotage.” Saionji shot to her feet, fists clenched. “I was trying to create a signal fire so we could finally get out of this fucking forest. Unlike the rest of you, I’m not happy living here like a bunch of barbarians.”

“I told you, I’m still working on fixing the freaking radio,” Souda said.

Saionji rounded on him. “How do we know you can even fix it? You’ve been saying it for weeks, and for all we know you go up to that plane every day to jerk o—”

“Saionji,” Nanami said.

“Did you really just say that to me?” Souda demanded, but Nanami held up a hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and Saionji deflated a fraction, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. “I know you wish more than anything that we could all be back home. I know you miss your family. It’s not fair that we’re all stuck out here. It’s not fair that no one’s found us yet. I don’t think it was wrong for you to try and take some initiative. But maybe Pekoyama or one of the others could have helped you make a fire more safely.” She shot her a reassuring smile. “I promise you we all want to leave. And we’ll all work together to make it happen.”

Saionji stared at her for a long moment, still quivering with rage.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not fair. And I wish I was stuck out here with people who actually knew what they were doing.”

She stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

June 11, 2022

The body had been arranged very deliberately in the corner of the warehouse. Hideyoshi Uchiyama had been propped against the wall, hands in his lap, head tilted to the side to give a clear view of the survival knife embedded in his right eye socket.

Fuyuhiko recognized the slackness in Uchiyama’s face. He’d been killed before he’d known what was happening.

“Wasn’t the knife that killed him,” Nishitani said. “Found a blood splatter a little ways away. Thinking it was a gunshot. Close range.”

Whoever had done it had a flair for the dramatic. Fuyuhiko’s gaze fell to the end of the knife’s handle, where a red string had been tied. Hanging from the string, like some kind of fucked up ornament, was a red envelope.

“Want me to open it?” Nishitani said as Fuyuhiko stepped forward. “Too thin for explosives, but could be some kind of poison inside.”

“I got it. It’s addressed to me, so I’ll open it.” Fuyuhiko tried not to bristle. Nishitani was good at his job, as far as bodyguards went. There wasn’t any real reason he was so irritating to work with, so Fuyuhiko ignored the feeling as best he could.

He walked around Uchiyama’s outstretched legs and took hold of the envelope. He yanked it off the string, and the knife in Uchiyama’s skull shifted with a soft, sickening squelch. Fuyuhiko ignored the stab of phantom pain in his own eye socket and tore the envelope open.

Nishitani tensed. Fuyuhiko resisted the urge to snap at him and pulled out the paper inside. It was a postcard depicting a worn cabin in a snow-covered forest. A chill crawled down his spine. He flipped it over to reveal neat rows of handwritten Cyrillic.

Feeling nostalgic? There’s more where this came from. I’m prepared to release many interesting stories about your time in the wilderness to the press. I might be persuaded to change my mind for the right price. How does 160 million yen sound?

There was a phone number at the bottom. His pulse thrumming in his ears, Fuyuhiko took out his phone and dialed the number. It rang three times before the person on the other end picked up. Fuyuhiko grit his teeth and waited, but the line remained silent.

“Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once. You’re not getting the 160 million. You’d better go ahead and send out everything you got on me, and then you’re gonna want to get your affairs in order, because I’m coming for you. And when I find you, I’m gonna make what you did to Uchiyama look like a fucking back massage.” He lowered the phone and pressed the button to hang up the call with more force than necessary.

“What was that about?” Nishitani asked.

Instead of answering, Fuyuhiko threw the card in his direction and began walking towards the warehouse exit. “Trace the number on here. And clean up Uchiyama’s body.”

Nishitani caught the card with a deft movement. “Anything else?”

“Three guys. Your choice. I want them ready by tonight.”

Chapter Text

October 2012

Hajime kept having dreams about running.

He’d wake up and still feel out of breath, cheeks tingling from the cold air moving past his face. He didn’t feel afraid, like he’d been running from something, but he didn’t get the sense that he was running towards anything, either.

And then he’d remember that he was hungry, and all thoughts of running would leave his mind.

He’d spent the morning helping Tanaka and Mioda move more things from the plane. They’d decided to use the seats and cushions to make the interior of the cabin a little more comfortable. Souda had complained at first—he’d become a little territorial about the plane since he spent time there fixing the radio—but in the end he’d acquiesced and handed over a spare screwdriver.

Now it was a little past noon, and Hajime was hungry from exertion and shivering from the steadily dropping temperature. He was sitting on the porch, picking at a hole in his sneaker, when the floorboards creaked behind him.

“Did you want some tea, Hinata?”

He glanced over his shoulder to find Komaeda stepping outside. “Huh?”

“Sonia just finished boiling some water. It turns out we can make a decent tea from pine needles.” Komaeda smiled. “Would you like some?”

“Uh.” Hajime didn’t have to think that hard about it. It was something to fill his stomach and warm him up. “Sure.”

Komaeda stepped back inside, careful not to leave the door open for too long. Koizumi had started making a bigger deal about people leaving the door open since the weather had gotten colder. Last week’s project had been to stuff rags and cushion stuffing and whatever else they could find into the cracks around the windows to try and insulate the place further.

Hajime frowned down at the hole in his shoe. He knew how to deal with the cold. He just wasn’t sure what to make of Komaeda offering him tea. Was this an attempt to poison him? Get rid of the dead weight Reserve Course student so the Ultimates could find their hope? Would Komaeda even go that far?

The door opened again, and Komaeda returned with a metal cup of steaming liquid.

“It’s somewhat hot.”

“Thanks,” Hajime said, trying not to sound dubious as he took the cup by the rim. His fingers brushed against Komaeda’s startlingly cold ones. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Komaeda’s hands settled into his pockets. “What is it?”

Hajime glanced down at the pale yellowish liquid inside the cup. It definitely smelled like pine. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

He shot him an exasperated look. “When we first met, you treated me like I was something stuck to the bottom of your shoe. Now, all of a sudden, you’re offering to get me tea. Why?”

Komaeda’s expression was carefully neutral. “My perspective has changed.”

Hajime huffed out a sigh. If it had been anyone else, he might have believed that they simply felt bad about being rude to someone they barely knew. But Komaeda had gotten even harder to predict since they’d ended up in this mess. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

He tilted his head. “Why? Would you rather I go back to treating you like trash?”

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just want to understand what made you change your mind.”

“I underestimated you, Hinata.” Something glimmered in his eyes as he spoke. “I’ve come to realize that you’re capable of far more than I originally believed. Does that answer your question?”

Hajime’s reply caught in his throat. It wasn’t like he’d done anything truly spectacular since the crash. He’d dragged Komaeda out of a burning plane, and that still hadn’t been enough to prompt a change in attitude.

But Komaeda was someone who loved talent, and he’d seen something in Hajime that was promising enough to make him change his mind. He wanted to ask what that was, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to voice the question out loud.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Then maybe we can just start over.”

“Start over?”

“Just pretend we haven’t interacted before this.” Hajime shifted the tea to his left hand and held out his right. “Hi. I’m Hajime Hinata.”

Komaeda hesitated, then extended his own hand. “Nagito Komaeda.”

His fingers felt even colder now that his hand had been warmed by the tea. It only reminded him of how different they were, how little he understood Komaeda. Maybe that could change.

“I hope we can get along,” Komaeda said, his expression unreadable.

“Me too.” Hajime took a sip of his tea, and hot, bitter liquid filled his mouth. “Ugh.”

Komaeda raised his eyebrows. “Not good?”

“Nope. You should go get some yourself. Your hands are freezing.”

June 11, 2022

I’m at the fourth table on the right.

Kazuichi checked his phone again to make sure he’d read the message correctly. Anxiety prickled on the back of his neck—he was standing in the middle of the diner like a doofus, staring at the fourth table on the right and feeling like he’d just been stood up.

The woman sitting at the booth had dark hair. Her back was turned, so he couldn’t see much else, but she was definitely not who he was looking for.

A waitress sidestepped him with an impatient glance, and Kazuichi finally convinced his feet to move. He’d just go up to the table and get a look at the woman’s face. Maybe she’d be pretty. Maybe he’d work up the courage to speak. (“Yeah, I was supposed to meet someone here, but I guess she stood me up.”) Maybe she’d be open to some company.

With one hand fidgeting with the keys in his pocket, he stepped up to the table and half-turned towards the woman. She looked up from her tea. They exchanged a mutual look of Do I know you?

“Holy crap.” Kazuichi turned to fully face her. “I didn’t even recognize you at first.”

“Neither did I.” She smiled and gestured. “Please, sit.”

Kazuichi nearly tripped over his own feet as he sat on the other side of the table. “Did you…Did you dye your hair?”

“It is a wig.” Sonia touched the dark brown locks and adjusted her thick-framed glasses. She was speaking just a tad lower than a normal volume. “I feel rather like an undercover spy.”

He let out a breathless laugh. Even in disguise, she was still devastatingly beautiful. He’d gotten over his high school crush a long time ago, but there was still a part of him that wondered what could have been if things hadn’t gone to shit. Maybe there was a different version of him in some alternate timeline that was happy, clean, married to a princess.

The waitress from earlier dropped a menu in front of him, snapping him back to the present. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh. Uh. Just a coffee.”

It was a little late in the afternoon for caffeine, but his sleep schedule was pretty fucked anyway.

Once the waitress had left, Sonia curled her hands around her teacup and looked him over. “You look healthy.”

“Healthy” was code for “sober.” There was nothing really healthy about a guy who stayed up until the early hours of the morning, elbow-deep in an engine with too-loud music blasting from a speaker. There was nothing healthy about surviving on cup noodles and energy drinks.

But yeah, he was sober.

“I’ve been working at the shop. Keeping myself busy.” He noticed a grease stain on his knuckles and put his hands under the table so he could work on scrubbing it off.

“Anything interesting?” Sonia adjusted her glasses again. “Perhaps we could trade some work stories.”

“Well, a couple of guys came in to get their bikes modded. It was a little tricky ‘cause they’d used this super expensive paint and said they’d beat our heads in if we scuffed it up.” He paused, noting Sonia’s stricken expression. “Not like it was gonna be an issue. We’re all real careful. All we were really doing was getting rid of the PMFs and…”

He glanced away. He was talking about modding bikes to let out dark clouds of exhaust to someone who’d been campaigning for clean energy and all that jazz.

Kazuichi cleared his throat. “It’s a bunch of boring technical stuff. Anyway, how are you doing? You’re working on that, uh, children’s hospital stuff, right?”

“The fundraiser, yes.” Sonia’s expression brightened a little, and Kazuichi was glad he’d taken the time to look it up on the train ride over. “I will be helping the catering team beforehand. I am quite excited for that.”

He smiled. That was Sonia, getting excited over things most people would find tedious at best. “That sounds pretty cool.”

His coffee arrived and he dumped a couple packets of sugar into it. As he watched the little white grains dissolve, he realized this didn’t really feel any different to looking at search results of Sonia on his phone, seeing her pose with giant checks and baby endangered animals. It still felt like looking through a window at someone else’s perfect life.

“Was there a reason you asked to meet with me?” Sonia asked. “I am perfectly happy for this to be a casual social encounter, but if there is anything I can help with…”

Kazuichi blinked and wondered how long he’d been staring at his coffee. “Not really. I just thought we could catch up.”

In the ensuing silence, he could hear Sonia’s unspoken question: Why now?

It had been years since they’d spoken. And yeah, the technical answer was that Sonia was incredibly busy and the days she was free usually intersected with Kazuichi being high or in rehab. It wasn’t like anything had really changed.

“I wanna…” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t know. I feel like none of it really got settled, did it? We just promised not to talk about it and everyone moved on.”

“Is that what you think I have done?” Sonia asked, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. “Moved on?”

“I mean, you’re like a saint these days.” He gestured vaguely. “You actually went and did something with your life instead of. You know.”

“You are not weak for struggling with addiction.”

“Then how come I’m the only one who’s dealing with it?”

“Souda,” she said, not quite an admonishment. “We all have our vices. The wilderness did not change us equally.”

Kazuichi looked down and managed a sip of his coffee. The wilderness had forged her into something stronger, sharper. There had been a while when he’d been afraid of her, too.

“We could visit the memorial together,” she said, gentler this time.

He scoffed. “I’m not that eager to have a billion cameras in my face.”

“I would not subject you to that. I must make a public appearance, but we could go together another time.” She touched her wig. “Early in the morning, when we are less likely to be spotted.”

A lump rose in his throat. He’d only been to the memorial once. He’d looked at the portraits of his friends, of faces that seemed younger every time he looked at them, and he’d remembered far more than he’d wanted to.

Two days later, he’d had his first overdose.

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have to, you know, check my schedule.”

Sonia smiled and didn’t comment on the irony of him saying that to her. “In any case, I am glad you asked to meet.”

“Yeah.” He gave her a half-hearted grin in return. It was genuinely nice to see Sonia again, to share a conversation with someone who understood.

Even if it didn’t really change anything.

October 2012

Fuyuhiko barely made it fifty feet from the cabin before someone was calling after him.

“Hey, Kuzuryu! Wait up!”

He turned with a scowl and waited for Hinata to reach him, irritated at the defensiveness he felt. 

“Need something?” he asked, not bothering to keep the edge out of his voice.

“I wanted to ask where you were going. And if you needed any help.”

Fuyuhiko threw out an arm to indicate the wilderness around them. “The woods. You got a problem with that?”

Hinata looked him over with a furrowed brow. “Pekoyama said we shouldn’t go far from the cabin alone, remember?”

“What, you think I’m gonna try and burn the forest down like Saionji?”

“No, but what if you get hurt and nobody knows where you are?” A momentary hesitation flickered over his expression. “If you don’t want to go with me, that’s fine. But you should partner up with someone.”

Fuyuhiko looked away. “It’s got nothing to do with you.” He respected that Hinata was holding his ground, even if it was fucking annoying. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”

“I’m not here to babysit you. We’ll just look out for each other, alright?”

He let out a slow sigh through his nose. “Fine. But you’d better not slow me down.”

Hinata fell into step beside him as they continued through the woods. “What are you doing out here, anyway? I thought Souda already checked the nets today.”

“I’m working on our map of the area.” He’d made sure to bring a pencil and paper this time, after bargaining one of his ties for a few sheets of Mioda’s manuscript paper. He had no idea what she planned to do with it, but that was her business.

“You think there’s something we need to be looking for out there?” Hinata asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, a little surprised that Hinata had caught on so quickly. He guessed he had to be smart if he’d gotten into the Reserve Course. “If there’s a cabin in the middle of these woods, there must’ve been a way for people to get out here in the first place. There’s tools in there. Glass windows. Shit you’d have to bring in from somewhere else. If we can find a road or an outpost, we might be able to contact someone without waiting for Souda to fix the radio.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this.”

“Well, someone’s gotta start thinking outside the box.”

“Do you agree with Saionji, then?”

Fuyuhiko shot him a look. The list of things he and Saionji agreed on was very, very short. “About what?”

“She implied that some people don’t want to leave. Or that they’re not really concerned about getting out of here.”

He fell silent, keeping his focus on his footsteps as they descended the hill that had tripped him up last time. At the time, he’d dismissed Saionji’s comment as impatient whining. It hadn’t occurred to him that some people might actually feel that way.

“I think the others are just trying to adapt,” he said after a while. “The reality is that we’re stuck out here, and we gotta focus on surviving.”

“Yeah,” Hinata said quietly. “It feels like all we do these days is try and look for food.”

Fuyuhiko grunted in agreement. “It’s gonna be shit when—”

“Woah, hold on.” He threw an arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

Resisting the urge to shove Hinata’s arm away, Fuyuhiko followed his gaze to the ground. It took him a moment to make out the round set of indentations in the mud.

“That looks like a paw print, doesn’t it?” Hinata said.

“Yeah.” His cheeks heated. He would have stepped right on top of it if Hinata hadn’t stopped him. How many prints had he trampled last time because he wasn’t half as observant as he thought he was?

“Do you think there are dogs out here?” Hinata crouched and held out his hand, fingers splayed, next to the print. The two were nearly equal in size. “Or wolves?”

Fuyuhiko frowned. Even under the shadow of the trees, he could see how each toe in the print tapered to a point at one end. He thought about the dogs his clan trained and imagined what a creature twice as strong could do to a person.

Hinata straightened. “Should we be concerned?”

“Probably,” Fuyuhiko muttered. “But if they haven’t gone after us so far, I don’t know why they would start now. We can ask Pekoyama or Tanaka when we get back.”

They continued on, dividing their attention between the brush ahead and the ground. Fuyuhiko racked his brain, but he was no animal expert. He didn’t know why none of them had been attacked yet, or when their luck would run out.

But he was not going to be scared of this fucking forest.

“You have a sister, right?” Hinata asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah. What about her?”

“We were in the same class in the Reserve Course. We didn’t talk much, but…she’s nice.”

He snorted. “No she fucking isn’t.”

Some of the tension in his expression relaxed and he let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess she can be kind of…blunt. But she seemed really proud to have you as a brother.”

The comment hit him right between the ribs. He thought back to how angry Natsumi had been when he and Peko had been recruited to Hope’s Peak Academy. Even after she’d been accepted into the Reserve Course, she’d spent so much time bitching about how she was too good for a program like that.

“She always talked about wanting a talent. She probably could have been the Ultimate Yakuza if things had been different.”

“I think it was less about being an Ultimate and more about being on the same level as you,” Hinata said. “I don’t know if that makes any sense. I’m an only child, so maybe I don’t get how siblings think.”

Fuyuhiko frowned. Natsumi could have taken the title for herself. A decent amount of their family members would have backed her. But she never had, and he’d never taken the time to think about why.

“I’m going to talk to her when we get back,” he said without knowing why he was saying it out loud, or to Hinata of all people. “Being out here kinda makes you think about all the things you haven’t done yet back home.”

Hinata was quiet for a moment. “Do you think she’d ever have a chance of making it to the Main Course?”

He scoffed. “Well, if the school’s looking for another Ultimate Yakuza, my slot just opened up.”

Another stretch of silence passed between them. Fuyuhiko snuck a glance at Hinata’s face and found quiet resignation there.

“Were you hoping to make the jump to the Main Course, too?”

“I…” Hinata chewed on his lip for a moment. “Yeah. I thought being at Hope’s Peak would help me discover my talent. I doubt the school would allow a transfer this late, though. We’re already missing our third year. We might miss university entrance exams, too.”

Fuyuhiko shot him a dubious glance. “You’re worried about university entrance exams? Weren’t you just talking about how we don’t know where we’re getting our next meal?”

Hinata ducked his head. “I know it doesn’t make much sense. But you were the one talking about all the stuff you haven’t done yet back home.”

“Alright, fair enough.” He shrugged. “Just don’t want to think about that stuff too much. If your head’s back there while we’re stuck out here, that’s enough to drive a guy insane.”

He let out a small hum. “I know what you’re saying. I just think we need something to look forward to, you know?”

“So, what did you think was gonna happen, anyway? You thought you’d attend Hope’s Peak and you’d just…” He made a vague gesture. “Come up with a talent?”

Hinata let out an aggravated breath. “I know how it sounds. I was banking on finding something I was good at. I thought it’d be more likely to be noticed if I was already at Hope’s Peak.”

Fuyuhiko thought about the longing in Natsumi’s voice, the lengths people people would go for something that had just been handed to him. He hadn’t done anything except be born. He’d never had a choice other than to be heir to his clan.

“Well, hey. Maybe something’ll come up while we’re out here. You could be the Ultimate Survivor. Ultimate Outdoorsman, maybe?”

Hinata’s answering smile was understandably bitter. “Yeah. I guess we’ll see.”

Chapter Text

October 2012

“So, what do you think?”

Hajime blinked, tried to pretend he hadn’t been spacing out, and looked down at the small object Souda had thrust in his direction. He examined the mangled piece of wood.

“It’s a…dog?”

Souda’s shoulders fell. “It’s a bird.” He took the carving back and turned it over in his hands. “I’m no good with woodworking, man. Do you think Miss Sonia will appreciate the thought, at least?”

 I think she’d appreciate you getting the radio working even more, Hajime thought.

“What made you decide to, uh, make that anyway?”

Souda placed the carving on the windowsill next to the couch and looked at it pensively. “Well, Miss Sonia was talking the other night about, like, the difference between survival and actually living. Like, food and clothes and all that is what sustains us, but art and music and all that is what we live for.” He grinned. “I thought it was a super interesting thing for her to say.”

That must have been what prompted Mioda to burst into song the other night. Hajime had half-dozed through a lot of that conversation. His energy was a lot lower these days.

“Anyway, I don’t do a lot of artsy stuff, but I thought I’d give it a try.” Souda picked up his carving and held it up to the light. “It really doesn’t look like a bird?”

“You work with machines, right?” Hajime asked. “Why don’t you try making something out of spare parts? Like a wire sculpture or something?”

Souda’s eyes widened. “You’re a genius, Hinata! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.”

He shrugged. “I guess it could be a cool side project—”

“I’m gonna go look for some spare parts right now.” He leapt to his feet and beckoned for Hajime to follow him. “You can help me come up with a design. You’re not busy, right?”

With a stifled sigh, Hajime heaved himself to his feet. His morning chores had consisted of creek duty (or as Kuzuryu called it, “Go look at empty nets”) and he’d been planning on just sitting and feeling hungry until the water buckets needed filling again. As much as he wanted to preserve his energy, it probably wasn’t healthy to just sit around feeling sorry for himself.

The two of them bundled up and set off down the trail to the plane wreckage. Souda chattered on about what kind of bird Sonia might like as a sculpture. They discussed what a makango might look like—apparently the class had a running bet on its appearance since Sonia had claimed none of the images on the Internet were accurate. Hajime felt a little better by the time they finished their walk. Souda had his flaws, but he knew how to keep things light-hearted.

“Alright, come check this out.” Souda ducked through the side door of the plane with practiced ease. He’d taken to calling it his “workshop” despite the fact that everyone still referred to it as the plane.

Hajime followed him, taking in the dim interior of the plane. It was starting to look less like the wreckage he’d stumbled out of all those months ago. Leaf litter and dirt was strewn about the carpet. Some of the seats had been removed, and nearly all of them had been stripped of their cushions. A bird had built a nest in one of the luggage compartments.

Souda was standing by one of the remaining seats, unwrapping a tarp from a rectangular object. He turned to Hajime and gestured to the contents with a grin.

He tried to hide his grimace. The radio looked…rough. The casing was blackened and partially melted in places, and the innards had been removed and rearranged so thoroughly it barely looked dumpster-worthy.

Souda let out a laugh and patted the top of the radio. “You can just say it. It looks like a piece of crap.”

“Was it like this when you…pulled it out?”

“Hell no. I thought I could just open it up, replace the damaged parts, and hook it up to a battery, but some of the hardware got busted during the crash. Had to take the whole thing apart and basically rebuild it from the bottom up. I’ve had to go through the rest of the plane and dig out parts I could use and…yeah.” He tugged at his beanie. “It’s been a real hassle.”

Hajime blinked and looked at the radio again. Souda had built a machine from scratch with salvaged parts from a plane. He’d had his doubts about why the process was taking so long, but…this was something only the Ultimate Mechanic could do.

“That’s pretty impressive, actually.”

His face lit up at the comment. “Hey, man, I just do what I can. Should have it finished this week.”

He jolted. “Wait, really? It’ll be done this week?”

“Yeah, probably, but don’t tell anyone yet.” Souda bent over to fiddle with something on the back of the radio. “I still gotta test it, make sure everything works. I don’t wanna get everyone’s hopes up if something goes wrong. I finally found the parts I’ve been looking for, but I need to clean them off.”

The hope rising in his chest was enough to make him nauseous. “So you just need to clean off the parts and put them in the radio? And then we can get out of here?”

“That’s the best case scenario.” Souda waved a placating hand at him. “Seriously, don’t tell anyone else. There’s been a couple times I thought the radio was good to go, and then something else ended up busted. Soon as I get some sound coming out of the speaker, I’ll make a big announcement to everyone.”

“Okay.” Hajime took a deep breath. “Well, can I at least help?”

“That’d be great.” Souda grinned and reached under the seat. He pulled out a box, its contents shifting with a muffled rattle. “Just gotta clean off the stuff in here, see what’s salvageable.”

He glanced inside and frowned at the dirt-covered metal. “How’d it get like that?”

“Got half-buried during the crash. It took me half a day to dig up the stupid thing.”

Hajime looked up and searched his face. “Souda, how come you’ve never told anyone about all this?”

Souda blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“With how long it’s taken to fix the radio…” He paused, then decided not to repeat some of the things he’d heard around the cabin. “I don’t think anyone realized how hard you’ve been working.”

“Heh, well.” He shrugged. “It’d probably be boring to talk about. I figured I’d just let everyone know once it was finished.”

Hajime crouched down and sifted through the box of parts. “How do we clean, these, anyway? Do we just wash them, or…?”

“Definitely don’t wanna get them wet. An air duster would be great, but we’re not finding one out here.” He scratched the back of his head. “I guess if someone’s willing to give up their toothbrush, that would kind of work.”

He sat back on his heels. “I think some of the girls have little brushes for makeup and stuff.”

Souda snapped his fingers. “That’d work. You can get one of those, clean off the parts real gentle, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Alright.” He picked up the box, which thankfully wasn’t too heavy. “I’m gonna take these back to the cabin. I’ll bring them back when I’m done.”

“Thanks, Hinata.” Souda clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, when we get out of here, maybe you can be my assistant at the shop.”

Ultimate Assistant, Hajime thought sourly as he carried the box out of the plane. He knew Souda was mostly joking, but he hadn’t been able to shake the assistant label since they’d been out here.

Mioda was in the living room when he returned to the cabin, sewing kit at her side. One of Owari’s shirts was in her lap, and she was busy stitching a tube of pink fabric onto the sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Hajime asked.

“Modding.” Mioda held up the shirt to give him a better look. “The weather’s getting colder, so Ibuki’s making everyone’s sleeves longer. But not, like, super long. Got any shirts you wouldn’t mind me tearing up?”

“I’ll trade you one. Do you have any of those, uh, brushes for makeup?”

She looked up with a grin and waggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, Hajime, if you wanted a makeover, you could’ve just asked.”

He sighed. “It’s not that. I need a brush to clean up some spare parts for Souda.”

“Okay. BRB.” Mioda hopped up from her seat and clambered up into the attic. She returned with a hot pink case and pulled out a handful of brushes in varying states of wear. “Got any preferences?”

Hajime looked them over, then pointed at one with a large, round brush and another with a finer point. “Can I take two?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Two brushes for one shirt?”

“Mioda, come on. I wear my shirts. What do you even need makeup for out here?”

“You drive a hard bargain, mister.” She swiveled her torso, pretending to think, then held out the two brushes. “Okay, your sensible arguments have won me over.”

“Thanks. This is seriously helpful.”

One ceded shirt later, Hajime was seated on the porch, the box of tools beside him and the big brush in hand. Its bristles were surprisingly soft, and he hoped it would be enough to get the job done. 

It was kind of calming to work with something this delicate for once. Hajime forgot about the cold and the slight stiffness in his shoulders, and didn’t notice someone approach until footsteps creaked behind him.

“What are you doing?”

He started and looked over his shoulder. “Were you trying to sneak up on me?”

“Of course not,” Komaeda said with an apologetic smile. “I’m not nearly that stealthy. It seems you were quite focused on your work.”

“I’m cleaning up some parts for Souda.” He held up the metal piece in his hand. “Apparently this stuff got half-buried in the crash.”

“How lucky that he managed to dig it up.”

“Yeah.” He glanced down at the piece and thought for a moment. “Did you, uh, want to help?”

“As long as you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. I mean, I was the one who asked.” Hajime gestured to the spot next to him. “I have an extra brush. I thought this one would be good for getting dirt out of the cracks and stuff. You can clean out the crevices and then we’ll trade off.”

Komaeda sat next to him. Hajime wasn’t sure how long he’d been outside, but his ears and the tip of his nose were already bright red from the cold. It made the rest of his skin look paler in comparison. He took the brush from Hajime and one of the parts from the box and began cleaning it with small, precise movements.

They worked in silence. This was still weird to Hajime, even after weeks of polite exchanges. Komaeda hadn’t shot him a snide comment in a long time, but a subconscious part of him kept expecting it.

“Something wrong, Hinata?”

He looked up from his work and shot a questioning glance at Komaeda.

“Your face is all scary.”

Hajime made an effort to smooth out his expression. “Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about stuff.”

“Does it require that great an effort?”

There it is. Hajime turned to give him a look and found Komaeda giving him a small, tentative smile. He blinked. He’s teasing. Komaeda’s teasing me.

He huffed a short laugh. “I just have a lot on my mind. What with, you know, being stuck in the middle of the woods and all.”

“The situation really is unfortunate.” Komaeda finished cleaning a piece of machinery and held it out. “But I still do feel lucky, you know?”

Hajime tried to keep the judgement out of his tone as he asked, “What part about all of this makes you feel lucky?”

“Well, it was unfortunate that all the adults died in the crash, but all of the students survived. We found a cabin to take shelter and a source of clean water. Pekoyama and Sonia have the skills to feed us. And despite all the dangers a place like this presents, no one else has died so far.” Komaeda listed each item on his long fingers, expression brightening as he spoke.

Hajime nodded slowly. All things considered, it wasn’t that irrational of an outlook. There was nothing really wrong about looking on the bright side of things.

“In all honesty, I figured if something like this were to happen, I’d be by myself. Either everyone else would die in the crash, or I’d end up falling out of the plane mid-flight and miraculously survive the impact. Not that someone like me would last long in the wilderness alone.” His smile went crooked. “I’m totally dependent on the talents of everyone here to survive. And that’s what makes me so lucky.”

He let out a slow sigh. He was lost again. “Do you still blame yourself for the crash?”

“Like I said before, I don’t have the skills to cause a plane to crash.”

“No, but…” He searched his face. “I remember you trying to talk your way out of getting on the flight with the rest of us. You knew something bad was going to happen.”

Komaeda averted his gaze to the dirty piece of metal in his hand. “If I’d known for sure, I would have done anything to stay off the plane. I took a chance, and unfortunately for everyone, it resulted in the worst possible outcome. So to answer your question, I believe if I hadn’t been on the plane, you all would have made it to Norway.”

Hajime swallowed, something tight and unpleasant sitting behind his sternum. He wasn’t sure if guilt was the right word, not for someone like Komaeda, but he couldn’t imagine thinking that bad things happened to people simply because he was present.

“I don’t think you should look at things that way,” he said. “I mean, we’ll never know why the plane really crashed. It was a terrible accident, but that doesn’t mean it had anything to do with you.”

Komaeda was looking at him like a teacher would at a student who was confidently giving the wrong answer to a question. “Did you know I used to fly pretty frequently as a kid?”

“No.”

“My parents were fairly wealthy, so we would go on trips all around the world. When I was ten years old, we went to the Galapagos Islands. I was quite sunburned by the end of the trip, but I remember seeing turtles and sea lions. Being close enough to touch them. Sea lions aren’t too different from dogs, you know.” His smile turned distant. “Anyway, when we boarded our flight to return home, our plane was hijacked in the middle of the runway.”

A chill ran down Hajime’s spine, erasing his mental image of sunbathed shores. He knew what he wanted to say—that the hijackers were men that made their own choices, that none of that could possibly be Komaeda’s fault—but he waited for him to finish.

“They had guns, and they were demanding the tourists hand over their cash and valuable items. I remember one of them pointing a gun at my mother’s face because she was taking too long to remove her necklace.” His eyes flickered to Hajime’s face. “Wouldn’t you consider that bad luck?”

The unpleasant sensation had slid down to his gut. Hajime remembered the blank-eyed terror on Komaeda’s face when he’d sat down on the plane.

“Well, my parents never had to hand anything over to the hijackers. A meteorite actually fell in that exact spot and killed all of them in an instant,” he continued as if he were recounting a recent baseball game. “My parents were killed in the impact as well, but their deaths granted me access to a sizable inheritance. And there you have it—good luck follows bad luck.”

Hajime’s mouth moved soundlessly for a long moment. He felt as if he’d just been held upside down for several minutes. “I…I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“I know it’s not an easy thing to understand. Especially not for a Reserve Course student,” Komaeda added with a smile. Hajime couldn’t muster a laugh this time. “But it’s a pattern I’ve seen repeated many times before. And with the amount of bad luck that comes from a situation like this, I’m looking forward to seeing what good luck we’ll all face in the future.”

Would Souda fixing the radio count as good luck? Or was Komaeda expecting another metaphorical meteorite to crash into their lives?

“I don’t know what that’s going to look like, if we do end up getting good luck like you say. There’s nothing we can really do about that, anyway.” He looked down at the machine part in his hand. “But we can focus on cleaning these up, right?”

“That’s true. It’s only right that we leave the real work for those with talent.” Komaeda went back to cleaning his piece as if he’d said something totally normal and sane.

Hajime suppressed another sigh. He wasn’t sure he fully understood what Komaeda was about, or if he agreed with the weird subservient status he’d assigned to both of them.

But in Komaeda’s eyes, they were in the same category, and for some reason that made him feel a little better.

Kazuichi left for the plane first thing after breakfast. He was supposed to be helping Sagishi with the laundry, but he figured that could wait. Everyone would forgive him once he presented a working radio to the group.

After Hinata had presented the box of cleaned-up parts to him, it had only taken half a day to replace the last few damaged components. By that point, it had been too dark for him to double check everything (what he wouldn’t give for a decent work lamp). He was going to take advantage of some fresh daylight and put some finishing touches on the radio.

And then, finally, he was going to get this stupid thing to work.

As he entered the clearing where the plane was, he paused for a moment to look at the three graves at the edge of the clearing. They’d creeped him out for the first few weeks, but now they were comforting, in a weird way. Sometimes, when he got frustrated working on the radio, he’d imagine Miss Yukizome standing at his shoulder, encouraging him to take a break and tackle the problem from a different angle.

“Sorry you didn’t make it,” he murmured, then shifted his gaze to the pilots’ graves. “You guys, too.”

He hefted his bag of tools and ducked into the plane. His foot bumped into something that rustled in response. Kazuichi cursed under his breath and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A bundle of fabric lay discarded on the floor. It was the tarp that he used to cover the radio.

“What the hell…” he muttered, nearly tripping over the tarp again as he moved to the seat where he kept the radio.

The bag of tools clattered from his hand.

The radio was a mess. And, yeah, it had been a mess while he’d been working on it, but it had made sense to him. He’d known the placement of every wire and component. It had been this close to working.

Now the casing was torn open. Someone had pulled apart the plastic and gone after its innards with something blunt and heavy. Breathing hard, Kazuichi rushed forward and inspected the radio with shaking hands. The components had been bent and crushed, wire stripped and snapped in half. The battery was lying on the floor in pieces.

“What the fuck?” He barely heard the sound of his own voice over the ringing in his ears. “What the fuck?”

He reached into the radio, digging around for something that still looked like it worked. Broken metal slipped through his fingers like sand.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t possibly be happening. He was dreaming, or this was some sick joke or prank or something.

He tripped over the tarp again as he left the plane. He needed to find whoever had done this. It didn’t matter why. They needed to understand what they’d done.

He didn’t realize he was crying until he reached the cabin and Saionji looked up from the fire pit in alarm.

“What’s the matter with you?” She stood up, her expression uncharacteristically concerned.

“The radio. The fucking radio. Someone—” His breath hitched. He took off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair.

Saionji’s expression morphed into horror. “What? What happened?”

“What’s going on?” Nidai came around from behind the cabin and put a hand on his shoulder. “Everything alright, Souda?”

“No, nothing’s fucking alright! We’re dead. We’re fucking stuck out here!”

Saying the words out loud felt like a punch to the gut. He’d put all his hopes into the radio. He’d thought they would finally get rescued once he’d finished it. All of this felt like a door slamming shut in his face.

His outburst had brought more people out of the cabin. Hanamura stepped onto the porch, clutching a towel to his chest.

“What on earth is going on?”

“Are you hurt, Souda?” Tsumiki asked, eyes glistening with sympathetic tears.

Sonia followed them outside, and Kazuichi felt something in his chest twist and break. He was going to have to disappoint her, too.

“Just spit it out already,” Saionji said, arms crossed tight over her chest. “What happened?”

“The radio.” Kazuichi gulped back a sob. “Someone destroyed the radio. It must have been last night. It was fine yesterday. I went to go check on it this morning, and—”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the horrified outbursts of the others. He was such a piece of shit. If he’d just worked longer hours, if he’d been smarter about finding missing components, maybe he could have had the radio working before some psycho decided to mess it all up.

Nidai steered him by the shoulder into the cabin. Kazuichi sat in one of the armchairs and dried his face. He could at least try to act like a man after he’d screwed everything up.

“Let’s round everyone up and talk about what happened,” Nidai said. “We gotta figure out who did this.”

Tsumiki raised a tentative hand. “I think Tanaka and Hinata are down, um, down at the lake. Everyone else should be nearby.”

“I’ll go find ‘em.” He left the cabin, footsteps heavy against the floorboards.

Kazuichi rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. He kind of wished someone would just hit him. He deserved it.

“Hey.”

That was Saionji’s voice. He braced himself and looked up. She was sitting in the chair across from him, features pinched.

“Can’t you just fix the radio again?” she asked. “I mean, you said it was destroyed after the crash, right? Just put the parts back together.”

He swallowed. He’d been so freaked out he hadn’t really taken the time to check how broken everything was. There was a chance he could cobble together an even jankier version of a radio. But he’d been working with machines for years, and something in his gut told him that without replacement parts and some heavy-duty tools, there was no turning that pile of scrap back into something that worked.

“Let us not make any assumptions until we have all the available information. We should at least wait until the others get here before we start discussing things in full,” Sonia said, then shot him a sympathetic glance.

Kazuichi wanted to sink into the earth.

The living room was uncomfortably crowded once everyone had gathered inside. Usually the girls split off to the bedroom to eat or sleep, and otherwise at least half the group was outside doing chores. The rising temperature and the feeling of everyone’s gaze on him made his skin prickle.

“So someone broke the radio,” Kuzuryu said, his voice unusually quiet. Kazuichi found it scarier than if he’d shouted. “And none of us are leaving this room until we figure out who did it.”

“Please, let us hear the full story from Souda before we jump to any conclusions,” Sonia said.

Everyone looked at him. Kazuichi cleared his throat once, twice, and began to speak.

“It was fine yesterday. I went to work on it this morning and found it all busted up. I freaked out and ran back here.”

“Is it possible an animal could have damaged the radio?” Sagishi asked.

“I animal-proofed that thing as much as I could. I wrapped it up in a tarp, put it up on a seat so it wouldn’t get wet. It’s not like I left food in there or anything an animal would want to get at. And the way it was damaged…it wasn’t like some chimp with a stick, you know? Whoever did it really wanted to make sure the radio was broken.”

A murmur swept through the group. As Kazuichi looked at each of their faces, the rest of the awful truth sunk in. Not only were they stuck out here, but there was someone who had sabotaged their only chance of getting rescued. There was a traitor in the middle of their group.

“Then some malefactor sought to prevent us from escaping the clutches of the wilderness,” Tanaka said, fixing him with a piercing gaze. “What wisdom or skill was required for them to complete such a task?”

Kazuichi squinted. “What?”

“Was there anything notable about the way in which the radio was damaged?” Sonia asked. “You said it must have been a human that had done it, but could you tell if any tools had been used?”

“They definitely smashed it with something heavy.” He rubbed his brow. “They probably used something to cut the wires, too. It was, like, really thorough.”

“Maybe we should think about why instead of how,” Nanami said. “Any one of us would be physically capable of destroying the radio, so it would be better to focus on the motive for doing something like that. I think.”

Several heads turned towards Komaeda, who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He looked up with mild surprise.

“Oh, do you think that I did it?”

“You’re the one who was going on about how the fire was a good thing,” Saionji said with a glare. “How do we know you didn’t break the radio so we would struggle more?”

He tilted his head. “Weren’t you the one who started the fire, though?”

“That was an accident!” She jabbed a finger in Kazuichi’s direction. “I’ve been on his ass about the radio since day one. I’m the last person that would go ahead and destroy it.”

Nidai cracked his knuckles. “I didn’t hear a ‘no’ from you, Komaeda.”

“Well, as much as it’s worth coming from someone like me, I had nothing to do with the radio.” He turned his creepy gaze towards Kazuichi. “As much as I’d like to see you all overcome the despair of a broken radio, it would be incredibly disrespectful to Souda’s talent to destroy something that he worked so hard to fix.”

“That makes no freaking sense, dude,” Kazuichi said.

“Is it possible it was someone else?” Sonia said. “Someone outside of our group?”

Saionji shuddered. “You mean there’s some freak out there that’s been watching us and messing with our stuff?”

Hanamura smoothed back a stray lock of hair with a sigh. “A serial killer in the middle of the woods is just what we need right now.”

“I am not trying to cause anyone alarm,” Sonia said, then fixed everyone in the room with a stern glance. “But I cannot believe that anyone here would do anything as horrible as destroying our chance to leave this place. Not even you, Komaeda.”

“So what do we do?” Koizumi asked, hands clasped on her elbows. “The fact is that someone destroyed the radio. Someone’s trying to keep us here. We’re in more danger than we thought.”

“Then we’ll just have to keep an eye out,” Owari said. “We can set a trap. Souda fixes the radio again, and whoever’s the culprit will try and bust it up again. We’ll be watching, and that’s when we strike.” She smacked her fist with her open palm.

“If whoever broke the radio is here, then they just heard your plan,” Hinata said.

“Oh.”

There was a clatter as Mioda emerged from the closet, a stack of machinery precariously balanced in her arms. Kazuichi hadn’t even noticed her leave the room.

“Please accept this humble donation from Ibuki Mioda and Co.” She set the items on the floor in front of him: both of the amps she’d packed and her portable speaker. “You can use these parts in any way you see fit to fix the radio.”

Kazuichi laughed weakly. If there was anything in there he would have needed, he would have asked her weeks ago. The tech Mioda had would maybe increase the audio quality of any incoming transmission, but that was about it.

“Souda, you should store the radio in the cabin for now,” Nidai said. “You can put everything up in the attic, and we’ll have someone keep an eye on it until you get it fixed again.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked. He clamped his hands over his knees to keep them from shaking. “I don’t know if I can fix it, guys.”

The cabin went quiet.

“I mean, I can take another look at it, but I basically took the whole plane apart looking for replacements to the stuff that was damaged in the fire.” His voice shook, but he made himself continue. “It was gonna be a miracle if the radio actually worked, and after everything it went through last night…”

He dropped his gaze to his hands, to the healing scrapes on his knuckles from months of working with scrap metal. He’d spent so much time on that stupid radio, and it had only taken one night for someone to completely trash it.

“Then…” Sonia’s voice wavered. When she spoke again, it was steadier. “We will have to wait for rescue. There is still a possibility they will be able to track us down. Thank you for everything you have done, Souda.”

It felt like she was giving a eulogy. Kazuichi resisted the urge to put his face in his hands again.

“If no one has made contact by spring, we can discuss sending a team out to look for help,” Pekoyama said. “For now, we should focus on stockpiling supplies for the winter.”

“And so the sun sets on the mouth of the cave,” Tanaka said, then went to go stare into the fire.

The others murmured amongst themselves. Eventually they began to leave in twos and threes. It was still mid-morning. They all had work to do so they’d be able to eat tonight. Kazuichi stood up, a ball of dread sitting heavy in his chest, and helped Mioda move her speakers back into the attic.

June 11, 2022

Hajime could smell grilling tofu inside the apartment, and his stomach growled. He remembered to school his expression into something pleasant just as the front door opened, and the bespectacled man on the other side spread his arms with a grin.

“You made it.”

Hajime held out a small paper box. “I brought dessert.”

“Is that blueberry cream I smell?” He held the box up to his nose.

“Yeah, I went to a new place this time. Grabbed the last one.”

Another voice called from inside the apartment. “Is that Hajime?”

“Oops, you summoned him.” Taichi stepped back and waved Hajime inside. “He brought donuts.”

Hajime slipped off his shoes and entered the apartment, decorated in inviting greens and yellows. A slight figure intercepted him at the entrance to the living room and wrapped both arms around his middle.

“Hey,” Hajime hugged him back. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Chihiro adjusted his glasses, which had become slightly crooked during the embrace. “Got a new project I’m working on.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing about it.” The two of them went into the kitchen, where Taichi was busy portioning sautéed vegetables over three bowls of rice. “Sorry I couldn’t make it last week.”

“All good.” Taichi shot him a smile over his shoulder. “You’re not working too hard, are you?”

“We just started a new acquisition, so there’s been a lot more paperwork coming through the office,” Hajime replied, and just saying it out loud made him want to grimace. He couldn’t think of a more boring job.

“What is it, merging datasets?” Chihiro had pulled a laptop out of seemingly nowhere and had it precariously balanced on the kitchen counter while he typed away.

“That’s about sixty percent of it.”

“I’ll code something to steal your job. Then you can come work for me.”

Hajime smiled. He’d lost count over the years of the number of times Chihiro had threatened to “steal his job” with a new piece of software. There were times when he didn’t exactly hate the idea.

“Chi, can you set the table?” Taichi bent to grab something out of the oven. “And don’t bother looking for the donuts. You’re never going to find them.”

Chihiro was standing on tip-toe to peer into one of the cabinets. “You don’t know that.”

“Never!”

Laughing quietly to himself, Hajime filled three glasses with water and carried them to the table. He helped Chihiro lay out the napkins and utensils and took a seat in the chair closest to the window. Even when he’d been in high school, this had been his unofficial spot, where he would sit to do homework or sip tea on rainy days.

Like he did every time he sat here, his gaze fell on the one chair out of four that remained empty, that hadn’t been pulled out in years.

Taichi came out with three steaming dishes and took his own seat. He cast a disapproving look at Chihiro as he brought his laptop from the kitchen.

“If you’re gonna use that thing while Hajime’s here, you have to get him a laptop of his own.”

Chihiro turned to Hajime with a straight expression. “You want one?”

Hajime smiled and shook his head. Considering how his skill level compared to the other men at the table, they might as well get him a plastic toy laptop meant for children.

“Alright.” Chihiro stood up, looked at the empty chair for a moment, then darted away to his bedroom.

“Have you been sleeping alright?” Taichi asked, fixing Hajime with a concerned look. “You look tired.”

“Just, you know. Long hours.” He let his gaze fall to his plate. “This looks great.”

“I’m starting to like cooking with tofu better than beef. They say it’s supposed to be healthier, too.”

Chihiro returned to the dining room and slid into his chair. “Dad gets all his information from They Say Weekly.”

Taichi rolled his eyes. “If you want, I can go dig up the exact study.”

“Please.”

Hajime swallowed his first bite and hummed appreciatively. “So, Chihiro, what’s the new project you’re working on?”

“I’m working on the development of some new artificial intelligence models. I have a contract with this medical technology company, and they’re looking into some new therapeutic methods for people with brain trauma.”

“Wow. How’s that coming along?”

“We’re still in the early stages, but the integration of neurological data into the learning model got me interested in a side project.”

Taichi shot Hajime a knowing smile. “By interested, he means he’s been locked in his room for hours at a time working on this top secret project.”

“It’s still got a ways to go, but once I’m finished, I’d like to share it with you.” Chihiro met his eyes, a rare flash of hesitation flickering on his face.

“Sure,” Hajime replied, unsure why Chihiro would be apprehensive about showing him anything. He rarely understood the actual science behind most of his projects, but he was always impressed nonetheless. “I’d love to take a look at it.”

“Good,” Chihiro said. His eyes flickered to the empty chair again. “So the way we’ve been analyzing some of these brain scans is actually pretty interesting…”

Hajime listened and nodded and asked questions whenever Chihiro mentioned something he didn’t understand. Taichi asked him about the goings-on at his own job, and he provided what bland details he could about life at Shimizu Irrigation. He asked Taichi about the PC he was building and nodded at the two dozen pictures Taichi had saved on his smartphone.

He always enjoyed these nights. It was refreshing to sit with people who enjoyed their work, who felt good about the things they were skilled at. He could sit here and look in on the lives of people who were content, and for a few hours forget the gray, empty apartment waiting for him a few train stops away.

As soon as their plates had been cleared and the donuts had been retrieved and consumed (“Hiding them inside the cereal box is so cheating”), Chihiro stood up and stretched.

“I can show you some of my work stuff now. I’m gonna project it onto the TV so you can see it better.” He waved Hajime towards the living room. “Let me grab my charger.”

Hajime stood up and began stacking dishes, but Taichi waved him off with a smile.

“I got it. Go relax.”

He hesitated, then nodded and drifted into the living room. They’d replaced their old sofa with a beige couch that didn’t have any holes in the upholstery, but he still missed the plush, lumpy blue one they’d had years ago. He remembered sinking into it, portable game system in hand, and playing Gala Omega until his shoulders were stiff.

Nostalgia aching at the back of his throat, he moved to the cabinet beside the television. Lined up at the top were various awards for computer programming competitions and hackathons Chihiro had won when he was younger. Below that were photographs of both of Taichi’s weddings, baby photos, Chihiro’s graduation ceremony at Hope’s Peak Academy.

The center shelf contained a single photograph next to a pink and purple game controller. Chiaki, forever seventeen, smiled in the center of the frame, an errant lock of hair tickling her chin. The ache at the back of Hajime’s throat intensified.

“Hey.”

Chihiro was standing at the entrance to the living room, his laptop clasped against his waist. His gaze was filled with silent understanding.

“Um.” Hajime cleared his throat. “What was it you wanted to show me?”

“It’ll just take a minute to pull up.” He sat on the couch and turned on the TV with a few keystrokes. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Hajime settled into the stiff gray cushions and watched half a dozen complicated-looking programs pop up on the screen.

“You can talk about her whenever you want,” Chihiro said without looking up from his laptop. “I don’t mind.”

“Not tonight,” Hajime said quietly, and that was it.

It was late by the time he finally left the Fujisakis’ apartment, exchanging hugs and promising to visit again soon.

“Take care of yourself,” Taichi said, squeezing his shoulder. “Make sure you catch a break every now and then.”

“I will.”

Exhaustion dragged at his limbs the moment he stepped into his apartment. He had a day off tomorrow, so it wouldn’t be a problem if he slept late the following morning. He shucked off his clothes, leaving their journey to the hamper for tomorrow, then locked up and crawled into bed.

Sleep claimed him easily. He dreamed of running through the woods, weaving through trees and dodging sharp claws and teeth. He dreamed of running right up to the cliff’s edge and clearing it in a single leap. He dreamed of falling, falling, falling…

White light flooded his vision. Hajime flinched, blinking against the onslaught of brightness. The overhead light in his room was on. He turned his head and something hard and cold pressed against his temple.

“Slowly, now,” an unfamiliar voice said, and adrenaline jolted him the rest of the way to wakefulness.

Hajime raised his hands, inch by inch, into a gesture of surrender, and turned his head the rest of the way. The barrel of a gun hovered just above his left eye. His gaze traveled past it to the man standing at his bedside.

“You’re gonna get up and get dressed,” he said, voice grim and gaze hard. “And if you try anything, I’m gonna shoot you in the head.”

Chapter Text

October 2012

Sonia couldn’t stop glancing out the window that night. Every flicker of the firelight, every reflected movement of her friends, every twitch of a branch outside made her tense and peer through the glass.

She couldn’t shake her worry that they weren’t alone in the woods. Someone had destroyed their radio and effectively trapped them here. She couldn’t believe that it was one of her friends who had done it, which left the possibility of some mysterious aggressor. There was someone out there who meant them harm, who could potentially attack them at any moment.

Her arm brushed against the rifle leaning against the wall beside her. She’d begun sleeping with it beside her, just in case. If the stranger who had destroyed the radio came into the cabin, she would be ready.

A few sharp raps sounded from the bedroom door and Nidai called from the other side, “Dinner!”

Sonia stayed where she was as Koizumi, Owari, and Mioda stood up to retrieve their food. Her stomach rumbled, but she could wait a while longer. The pine needle tea she’d drank earlier had helped satiate her hunger a little.

Nanami let out a small, disappointed noise from where she was curled up on a plane seat cushion in the corner of the room.

“Is everything alright?” Sonia asked.

“My GameGirl finally ran out of charge.” Nanami held up the small device, a rare look of genuine sadness on her face.

Koizumi and Mioda returned, bringing the aroma of cooked meat with them. Sonia ignored her watering mouth and turned back to Nanami. “I’m surprised it has lasted this long.”

“I’ve been trying to save the battery. I turn it off right away after I play a few rounds.” She set the console in her lap, one finger tracing the circular buttons. “I only play when I start to feel really homesick.”

Sympathy clenched at her heart. Nanami was normally so cheerful and level-headed, it was easy to forget that she was struggling too.

“If Souda truly has no use for the battery, then perhaps he could find a way to create a charging device,” she said. “Just because we are trapped out here does not mean we cannot try and enjoy ourselves.”

Nanami shot her a grateful smile. “That’s a nice idea, but I think any electricity we have can be put to better use than charging my GameGirl. I’ll just have to find a different way to have fun.”

“Perhaps we could do something for a while after dinner.” She looked around at the other girls. “We could treat it like a sleepover and play a game.”

Owari walked in, licking a bit of grease from her thumb. Her plate was already in the kitchen being washed—she rarely bothered to sit before inhaling her food. “Like wrestling?”

“Hot,” Mioda said.

Saionji groaned and burrowed further into the blanket cocoon she’d wrapped around her body. “Every night here is a sleepover with you freaks.”

“Let’s do something that doesn’t require a lot of moving.” Nanami stifled a yawn in her hand. “I wanna save my energy for tomorrow.”

Pekoyama stuck her head through the doorway. “Mioda, Koizumi, are you finished with your dishes? Hanamura has prepared the rest of dinner.”

“Right.” Koizumi stood and handed her plate to Saionji.

Mioda beckoned to Sonia, then made to throw her plate like a frisbee.

“Please do not.” Sonia held up her hands in defense. “My reflexes are not so good when I am this hungry.”

“Aw, alright.” Mioda handed over the plate in a more sedate fashion. “We’ll save Ultimate Frisbee for another day.”

Sonia laughed softly at the pun and went to collect her dinner from the other room. She stepped in line behind Sagishi, her stomach growling. Earlier today she’d watched Hanamura butcher the rabbits she and Pekoyama had caught. She’d watched the blood drain into the basin and felt ravenously thirsty.

“Is it not wasteful to dispose of part of the animal like that?” she’d asked.

“Not unless you want your dinner tasting like the back of an iron skillet,” Hanamura had replied. “With all the iron in the blood, it’ll make the whole roast taste funny. Now, if we had a decent thickener, I could see what I could do about blood pudding…”

Sonia snapped back to the present as Saionji let out an indignant scoff.

“That is so not an even split. She got way more than me.” She pointed at Tsumiki, who flinched and began stammering apologies.

“Now, Saionji, you know we don’t argue over portion sizes,” Hanamura said.

Saionji bristled like an angry cat. “You’re just playing favorites because she lifts up her skirt for you.”

Tsumiki’s face reddened. “N-No I don’t!”

“Can you guys cut it out?” Kuzuryu said, the bite in his tone undercut by weariness. “The rest of us are fucking hungry.”

Saionji shot him a glare. “Stay out of this, babyface.”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Everyone—” Sonia said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take more than I was allowed.” Tsumiki thrust her plate in Saionji’s direction. “You can take my food. I’m really sorry.”

“No, don’t give her more,” Kuzuryu said, stepping closer. “She’s just being a bully.”

Saionji swatted at him. “I said, stay out of this.”

“Don’t lay a fucking finger on me, you little—”

“Please don’t fight.” Tsumiki was crying as she held out her plate. “You can just have my food. Please, take it, Saionji. Please forgive—”

“Get out of my face!” She shoved her hard enough to knock her to the ground. Her plate clattered to the floor, meat spilling off the surface.

Stunned silence fell over the cabin, broken only by the crackle of the fire and Tsumiki’s sniffling as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

With her lips pressed together so tightly they were starting to feel numb, Sonia crossed the room and pulled Tsumiki to her feet. She bent to examine the spilled food. Despite their efforts to sweep the floor now and again, the meat was covered in a layer of dirt. Inedible.

“I’m sorry,” Tsumiki whimpered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up!” Saionji yelled. “God, I’m so sick of you. I’m sick of all of you. I’m sick of this stupid fucking camping trip, I’m sick of being cold,” she jabbed a finger in Souda’s direction, “and if you had just fixed that radio sooner—”

“That’s enough,” Sonia said, and she barely recognized the sound of her own voice. “Saionji, we are well aware that you are sick of this situation because you do very little except complain. You act as if you are exceptional in your suffering, and yet you are the one spreading so much fucking misery to the rest of us.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt a mixture of guilt and twisted satisfaction. Saionji looked at her as if she’d been slapped.

Koizumi took a tentative step from where she’d been standing in the bedroom doorway. “Hey—”

“Fuck all of you,” Saionji snarled. She pushed her way out the front door and slammed it behind her. The windows gave a low, mournful rattle in their frames.

Sonia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She felt as if she wanted to cry. “I should apologize.”

Koizumi shook her head. “Give her some space. She needs some time to just be angry.”

Hinata peered out the window. “She’s sitting in front of the fire pit right now.”

“I’ll go out and get her in a little bit.” Koizumi crossed her arms and cast an unhappy glance at the door.

Sonia swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “I will go with you. I was unnecessarily harsh.”

“Didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Kuzuryu muttered as he bent to pick up the discarded plate.

Silently, the people who hadn’t eaten retrieved their portions of meat. Sonia knelt on the floor of the bedroom and ate her dinner.

She’d watched Hanamura drain the carcass earlier that day, but the meat in her mouth still tasted like blood.

June 11, 2022

Hajime tried not to shake as he climbed out of bed and bent to retrieve his clothes. The man kept the gun trained on his head like it was laser-guided. His eyes were sharp but disinterested. Professional.

“I can give you the combination to the safe in the closet,” Hajime said.

“Shut up.” He waited until Hajime pulled his shirt over his head, then gestured with his chin to the doorway. “Go. Slowly.”

His mind raced as he took careful steps towards the doorway. The stranger wasn’t here to kill him—at least, not right away. He wasn’t interested in robbing him. From the clean lines of his suit, he looked well-paid.

The light in the dining room was on, illuminating another suited man sitting on his couch. Hajime flinched as the barrel of the gun prodded him between his shoulder blades.

“Alright, alright.” He turned the corner and froze.

Three men were in his dining room. A pair of muscular men flanked the third, who was sitting at the head of the table, one hand resting on the pistol lying in front of him.

“Kuzuryu?” The name escaped him with a gasp, recognition cutting through his panic for a moment.

“Have a seat,” Kuzuryu said, his voice anything but friendly. He hadn’t grown much in the years since they’d last seen each other, but he’d aged. The eye that wasn’t obscured by his eyepatch was shadowed from a lack of sleep. His face was thinner, his pale skin marked with a few scars.

“You could have called, you know,” Hajime said. “You don’t have to break into my house in the middle of the night.”

His only warning was Kuzuryu’s eye flicking a fraction to the right before the man behind him kicked the back of his knee. He fell to the floor with a grunt, almost knocking his head against the edge of the table.

Grit and dust clung to his palms. He hadn’t bothered to vacuum in a while.

“When you stand up again, you’re gonna sit down,” Kuzuryu said. “And then you’re gonna shut up and listen to what I have to say.”

Hajime picked himself up and pulled out the chair. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh, seeing Kuzuryu evolved into the rugged yakuza boss he’d always been destined to be. A louder part of him was acutely aware of the man standing behind him with a gun that was no doubt still aimed at his head.

Once he was seated, Kuzuryu took a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, set it on the table, and slid it towards him. Hajime caught it with one hand and pulled it closer. It was a postcard depicting a cabin nestled in a snow-covered forest. Chills prickled up his bare forearms.

He turned the postcard over. There was a handwritten note in a different language—Russian, maybe? The only legible information was the 160 figure.

“Look familiar to you?” Kuzuryu asked, his voice bordering on a growl.

“No.” Hajime looked up. “What is this?”

“It’s a blackmail note,” he said, enunciating his words like he was explaining something obvious. “160 million yen or the info about our time in the wilderness gets leaked to the press.”

An unpleasant rush swept through him, like he’d missed a step going down the stairs.

“Could be that it’s a bluff. The note doesn’t have any specifics.” Kuzuryu leaned forward in his chair. “Or it could be that someone talked.”

“You know I’m the last person who could talk about what happened out there,” Hajime said, and wished his voice was steady enough to sound convincing. 

“Then you wrote the note yourself.”

“Kuzuryu, I don’t even speak Russian.”

“No? You sure?” Kuzuryu’s glare had sharpened into one of pure hate, and Hajime realized with a sinking feeling why he was doing this. Why he’d been dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night.

“I’ve been careful,” he said, almost relieved to hear some indignation bleed into his voice.

“I saw the lock on your door. Is that what you call careful?”

“I promise you that note wasn’t from me.”

Kuzuryu stood, his chair scraping against the floor. He lifted the gun from the table. “You willing to bet your life on that?”

Hajime felt his pulse jump in his throat, beating rabbit-quick against his skin as Kuzuryu walked around the table. He stopped just out of arm’s reach and pulled a silencer from his pocket. He screwed it onto the end of his gun without moving his eyes from Hajime’s.

“I owe you my life, “ he said, his voice barely above a growl, “and that’s the only reason why I didn’t do this ten years ago.”

Hajime watched him raise the gun, looked down the black cylinder of the silencer and past it into Kuzuryu’s eye. He saw the fury burning there, remembered why Kuzuryu had brought four men into the apartment with him, and felt a quiet sense of resignation wash over him.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” Kuzuryu snapped.

“If you’re going to kill me, then there’s nothing I can say to change your mind,” Hajime said, his voice finally settling into a semblance of steadiness. His skin felt numb, like death was already seeping into his pores. It felt almost peaceful.

Kuzuryu was gripping the gun so tightly his knuckles were turning white, the little scars there standing out on his skin. His upper lip trembled.

He lowered the gun.

“You’re pathetic.”

Hajime glanced at the electric clock, flashing green from the kitchen. It was five minutes to three. At least I don’t have to get up early for work tomorrow, some distant part of his brain thought.

If Kuzuryu had shot him in the head just now, how long would it have taken for anyone to realize he was dead?

Kuzuryu swiped the postcard from the table, then braced a hand on the back of his chair and leaned in close. “If I get so much as a fucking whisper that you lied to me tonight, there’s not gonna be a second warning. You’re gonna go to bed one night and you’re not gonna wake up the next morning.”

Hajime closed his eyes. His boss would notice if he never came into work. His tasks would be shuffled off to other people in the office. They’d wait a few days and report his absence. Chihiro and Taichi would find out through the news, probably.

The door to his apartment slammed, snapping him out of his reverie. In the absence of other people, the silence closed in like cold, dark water.

October 2012

An hour had passed and the lump in Mikan’s throat still hadn’t subsided. She’d barely been able to eat around it. The others had been kind enough to divide their portions of food so she would have something to eat. After some debate, they’d decided to take the dirty meat out to the nets the next day to use as bait.

As Mikan sat in the bedroom, knees pulled tight against her chest, guilt burned an acid hole in her chest. It was her fault they’d wasted precious food, that Saionji was going hungry tonight, that the whole thing had devolved into such a terrible argument. If she hadn’t tried to make things better in her stupid, clumsy way, someone would have stepped in and calmed Saionji down. Saionji wouldn’t have been sitting in the freezing cold for the past hour.

Clearly having similar thoughts, Koizumi stood with a sigh and strode to the bedroom door. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna go get her. Sonia, did you still want to come?”

“Of course.” Sonia stood with a graceful movement and followed her into the main room.

Mikan picked at a loose thread on her sweater. She hated not having a place to hide in the cabin. She could already picture the glare Saionji was going to send her way when she came back inside. Maybe she’d start sleeping in the attic, among the dust and shadows. It was unpleasantly cold up there, but that was what she deserved, wasn’t it?

“Are you fucking serious?” Kuzuryu’s irate voice came from the other room. Mikan instinctively tensed. He wasn’t angry with her, was he? He’d told her not to give Saionji her food, and she hadn’t listened.

“Well, where could she have gone?” Koizumi asked, equally agitated. “How long ago did she leave?”

Curiosity piqued, Mikan joined the other girls in the doorway so she could hear better.

Hinata was standing by the window, brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I’ve been glancing outside every ten minutes or so, and when I looked out just now, I didn’t see her.”

“So she can’t have gone far,” Sagishi said. “Especially not in the dark.”

Koizumi stepped outside, letting a blast of cold air into the cabin. 

“Hiyoko!” she called into the dark.

“Maybe she got lost,” Nanami said.

Hinata crossed his arms. “Why would she walk away in the first place? It’s too cold and too dark to go wandering off alone.”

“Do we have any flashlights?” Sagishi asked. “If she is lost, the light will get her attention.”

Mikan thought back to her luggage. She had a tiny flashlight with her for checking pupillary responses, but she wasn’t sure how useful that would be in the woods.

“We can light some torches, at least,” Nanami said. “We have plenty of wood.”

Koizumi stepped back into the cabin, breathless and red-cheeked from the cold. “She’s not answering. I-I don’t know where she could have gone.”

“What about the plane?” Souda said. “She visits Miss Yukizome’s grave sometimes, right?”

“Then we should seek the imp before she is swallowed by the forest,” Tanaka said.

The cabin became a flurry of activity as people began to bundle up and gather supplies. Sonia gathered a few pieces of wood and began fashioning them into torches. Mikan hurried to pull on her own coat, stuffing first-aid supplies into the pockets. If Saionji was hurt, she would need help. Maybe she would forgive Mikan for earlier.

“I’ll stay here in case she gets close to the cabin,” Nidai said. “And I’ll call for her with everything I’ve got!”

The rest of the group bustled out the door, torches held aloft.

“Saionji!”

“Hiyoko!”

“Get your ass back to the cabin already!”

Already trembling from the cold, Mikan called out with her own pathetically small voice. She followed the others as they took the trail to the plane. The forest was intimidating enough during the day, but at night it was a new kind of terrifying. The jumping light of their torches cast jagged shadows against the trees. Everything outside of a small radius was completely obscured. Mikan hadn’t known that anywhere could be this dark.

Koizumi ran ahead once they reached the clearing and looked around.

“Hiyoko!” Her voice cracked. “Where are you?”

The trees around them loomed like teeth. Mikan could barely see their silhouettes against the sky.

Mioda ran to the plane and stuck her head through the doorway. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Silence,” Tanaka said, his deep voice resonating through the clearing. “Should we befoul the air with our own voices, we will have no hope of hearing a response.”

“He’s right,” Sagishi said, breathing hard. “Let’s just listen for a minute.”

Mikan wrapped her arms around her torso and strained her ears. For several seconds, all she could hear was the muffled breathing of the others, the torches illuminating the wispy air that left their lungs. There were no insects, no birds. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath.

“Okay, that was a minute, right?” Souda said. “I was thinking—”

A long, high note cut through the night.

Hinata’s eyes went wide. “What was that?”

“A G sharp,” Mioda said.

“Was that a wolf?” Souda asked, the color draining from his face. “Oh my fucking god, are there wolves out here?”

“Seems so,” Kuzuryu said. “I saw some tracks a while back.”

“So have we.” Pekoyama glanced at Sonia, one hand going to the sword strapped to her back. It had become something of a permanent fixture on her, but Mikan was suddenly glad she carried it with her so frequently. “It’s not safe for all of us to be out here.”

“I can lead a group back to the cabin,” Sonia said. “I will retrieve my rifle and rejoin y—”

Another high-pitched sound rent the air. It was shorter, more abrasive, and it took a moment for Mikan to realize it wasn’t a bird’s call.

It was a girl’s scream.

“Hiyoko!” Koizumi took off towards the noise, nearly running headlong into a tree.

“Hey, slow down!” Hinata chased after her, holding one of the torches aloft, and the others followed suit.

It was a mad dash through the dark. Trees seemed to jump out of nowhere from the shadows. Hinata swore as a low-hanging branch nearly knocked the torch from his hand.

“Hiyoko!”

“Saionji, come this way!”

Mikan tripped and scrambled to her feet, ignoring the stinging in her palms. She was terrified the others would leave her alone in the dark, that the wolves would know she was alone and come after her.

Another scream cut through the woods, closer this time.

She smelled the wolves before she saw them. They carried the earthy scent of the kills Sonia and Pekoyama brought back each day, mixed with a thick wet-dog smell.

She also picked up a scent she was far more familiar with—the syrupy tang of blood.

Someone let out a ferocious scream and lunged forward. Mikan realized it was Sonia, hair glinting in the firelight as she swung her torch like a sword. Sparks scattered as it made contact with a wolf’s flank. It let out a yelp and disappeared into the night. Owari jumped into the fray and sent out a vicious kick, narrowly missing a wolf’s head as it ducked and fled. Pekoyama moved in between them, silent as a shadow as her sword cut through flesh. The smell of blood grew stronger.

The others were shouting, waving arms and torches to drive the wolves away. Mikan cowered near the back with her arms drawn against her chest. She would only get in the way if she tried to help.

Koizumi let out a scream, a wretched sound that sent chills crawling down Mikan’s arms. Mioda rushed to her side and froze. The others gathered around, bringing their torches to illuminate Koizumi’s trembling form as she knelt on the ground.

Mikan forced herself to move and wiggled her way to the front of the group. If Koizumi was hurt, she could help. She could already smell blood, so thick it was seeping into her taste buds.

Koizumi let out another wail, but it wasn’t the scream of someone who was injured. The pain went deeper than that. Her shaking hands hovered over the prone figure in the dirt, over hair and clothing dark with fresh blood.

“I can—I can—” Mikan dropped to her knees on Saionji’s other side. This was her chance. She could save her life. Saionji would have to forgive her, and they would all see how valuable she could be.

Gently, she rolled Saionji onto her back to assess her wounds. Her head moved, loose as a cloth doll, and Koizumi let out a tearful, high-pitched noise. Mikan stopped breathing.

Most of the flesh on the right side of Saionji’s face was gone. Her teeth and cheekbone were visible through the blood and dirt stuck to the wound. Her neck had been torn open on the same side, the exposed artery pulsing weakly as her heart slowed.

“Hiyoko, no,” Koizumi sobbed. “No, no, no…”

Someone behind her vomited. Mikan lowered her hands into her lap, the gasps and sobs of the others fading into a quiet buzz. There was too much blood. If, by some impossible miracle, they managed to stabilize her, they had no way of stopping infection from killing her. There was nothing left to do except—

Except record the time of death, and they didn’t even have any clocks with them, there was no way to tell what time or even day it was out here. There was no hospital to take her body. No phone to call her parents and tell them their daughter was dead. There was no funeral service, no tissues to dry the tears streaming down her face.

There was only the dark, the blood watering the soil, and the sound of Koizumi’s anguished screams.

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

Snow made it easier to track animal prints. Sonia led the way through the woods, occasionally flexing her fingers to keep them from growing stiff in the cold.

There was very little game left in the forest. That was why the wolves had attacked, Tanaka theorized—their food source had been consumed by their human neighbors, so they’d taken to hunting larger prey.

Pekoyama followed a few paces behind, her footsteps nearly silent. Sonia didn’t need to look behind her to know that she was scanning the woods, ready to draw her sword at a moment’s notice. The trees were bare and the ground was covered in white, leaving few chances for anything to surprise them, but none of them had let their guard down since the night Saionji died.

Sonia blinked the memory away and flexed her fingers again. She was not allowed to grieve while she was working. That was reserved for nighttime hours, when the girls huddled together for warmth and made no mention of the muffled sound of Koizumi’s sobs.

The prints led them uphill, to the ridge above a large bowl-shaped indent in the earth. They’d avoided the area because the sides were so steep, but Sonia stopped now and looked down the slope. It had seemed unremarkable in the summer with foliage covering the slopes, but now that everything was bare it was easier to see the uniform shape of the sides. In some places she could almost make out terraced steps, like in a rice field.

“This might have been a mining pit once,” Pekoyama said, joining her at the edge of the drop.

“Perhaps there is something else we were not able to see,” Sonia said. “A road that had been previously covered in brush.”

“Even if we were to find it, it wouldn’t make sense to attempt a journey in the middle of winter.”

Sonia dipped her chin. They’d had this conversation before. They would have to wait until spring. They would have to save food for a journey, and right now they didn’t even have enough for a full daily meal.

“Were we too complicit before?” she asked, so softly the wind nearly snatched away her voice. “Should we have tried harder to leave this place, or to…”

“No,” Pekoyama said, and the steadiness in her voice made Sonia turn. “We’ve done everything we can to keep the others fed. Trying for more would have put us all at risk.”

“Souda was going to fix the radio. We never found who destroyed it.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “If we hadn’t lost hope—”

“We can’t change any of that now. If you keep thinking about what could have been done differently, it’s only going to hurt you.” Pekoyama grasped her shoulder, firmly but not unkindly. “We should stay focused.”

Sonia took a moment to study her face. Nothing had fazed Pekoyama so far—not the plane crash, not Saionji’s death. The closest she’d come had been the fire, but that still hadn’t been enough to make her freeze.

She took a deep breath and nodded. She’d been drawing on that strength more than she realized.

They followed the prints back downhill. Sonia used tree trunks and low-hanging branches to keep her balance. Hunger was making her light-headed, and the snow wasn’t helping her footing.

The wolf came into sight just as they reached the creek. Sonia’s pulse jumped and she moved slowly into a crouch, one hand sliding the rifle off her shoulder. Her arm shook slightly from the weight.

Pekoyama moved into a similar position beside her. “How’s your aim?”

“I can do it,” Sonia murmured back, and raised the rifle.

There was no room for anger. She was not allowed to grieve while she was hunting.

She inhaled, let it out slowly, and fired.

The wolf took off, trailing blood behind it. Sonia stood, resisting the urge to run after it. They needed to preserve their energy.

They followed the dark red droplets across the snow to the clearing where the wolf had lain down to die. Blood stained its muzzle. Was this the same wolf she’d driven off months ago? She’d only caught a glimpse, a flash of yellow eyes and fur wet with Saionji’s blood, gleaming in the light of her torch. The vision still haunted her dreams.

Pekoyama was speaking, but the words escaped her. Sonia’s vision had narrowed to the wolf’s stomach, distended from when it had gorged itself on its last meal. Her ears began to ring.

Saionji, screaming into the dark.

The wolf’s jaws on her face, her throat.

She drew the knife from her belt, fell to her knees, and cut the beast’s stomach open. Fine red strands spilled out of the wound—blonde hair, slick with blood. She let out a jagged breath and pulled a clump of hair out. There was a pink barrette, the small round shape of an eyeball—

“Sonia.” Pekoyama gripped her shoulder and gave her a firm shake.

Tears filled her eyes. Sonia blinked them away and looked down. The wolf’s intestines lay before her, bloated with fluid. Her gloves were covered in foul-smelling blood.

She sniffled and resisted the urge to wipe her face. “I…I am sorry.”

Pekoyama scooped up a handful of fresh snow and offered it to her. “Clean your gloves.”

She did so, backing away from the blood and innards that were oozing into the ground. The wolf would be much harder to carry back now that she’d gutted it.

“That was foolish of me.”

“It’s okay.” Pekoyama stood up and paused. “You don’t owe her anything.”

“I was cruel.” Tears fell down her cheeks. She stripped off her gloves and dried her face with her sleeve. “If I had not spoken to her so harshly, perhaps she would not have left the cabin.”

“Saionji wasn’t going to survive out here,” Pekoyama said. She didn’t flinch when Sonia turned to her with an incredulous look. “She wasn’t made for a place like this. If she hadn’t made a mistake last night, she would have later on. There’s nothing you could have done to change that.”

Sonia struggled to regain her composure. If she kept crying, her tears would freeze on her cheeks. “She did not deserve what happened to her.”

Pekoyama’s gaze fell to the wolf. “No, she didn’t.”

June 18, 2022

“I finished my side project yesterday,” Chihiro said after dinner.

Hajime glanced over his shoulder from where he was washing dishes. He’d insisted on doing it tonight, so Taichi was busy packing leftovers into boxes.

“That was fast. I thought you said you were in the early stages last week.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been working on it a lot.” He huffed a nervous laugh, fingers drumming on the doorway. “It’s definitely still in an early beta stage, and sh—um, it still needs some fine-tuning. But it’s at a sort of usable stage right now.”

Hajime frowned and set another bowl on the drying rack. Chihiro was never this vague about programming projects, and usually seemed more excited than nervous. He sent a questioning glance at Taichi, who shrugged.

“Were you still thinking about showing it to me?”

“Yeah,” Chihiro responded, and he could hear an echo of the anxious first-year he’d met all those years ago. “If you don’t mind.”

“I can wrap up here.” Taichi stepped closer to the sink and patted Hajime on the shoulder. His smile was easy, but there was a tiny furrow in his brow. Hajime found it even stranger that he was also in the dark about this side project.

“Sure.” He dried his hands and turned to Chihiro. “Are we going to the living room?”

“All the stuff is in my room, so.” He gave a twitchy gesture and led the way down the hall.

Chihiro’s room was dominated by a large desk with a three-monitor setup and an office chair that had been cleaned and patched many times. There was a matching chair in significantly better shape in the bedroom across the hall.

He slid into the chair with a practiced motion and plugged a thumb drive into his laptop. “It’s going to take a minute to boot up.”

Hajime let his gaze wander to the telescope and camera equipment stored on the other side of the room. A collection of photographs of the moon and stars were plastered all over the wall. He stepped closer to observe one of a waning moon.

“Is this a new one?”

“Yeah,” Chihiro replied, not looking up from where he was bent over his laptop screen. “Sorry, um, what?”

Hajime waited until he swiveled around in his chair. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I’m just…not sure how you’re going to react to this.”

A small knot formed in his stomach. “React to what?”

“I’ve been working on an AI model. It actually has some genuine learning protocols, not like the primitive stuff tech companies have been putting out.” He glanced away, one hand kneading the fabric of his pants. “It’s, um…I trained it on data from Chiaki.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I took all the photos and videos I could find, all the texts and emails she’d sent to me, old essays, the VODs from when she was streaming for a little while. I’ve been training the model too with what I’m able to remember, so that helped round out the dataset, but it’s obviously pretty biased towards my memories of her, so if you wanted to help with the process that would be okay—”

“Stop. Stop.” Hajime glanced at the laptop screen, which showed a crowded desktop. “You’re saying you…what, made an AI version of her?”

“Yeah. I know it’s weird.” Chihiro shrank in his seat a little. His eyes glistened with tears, and he took off his glasses so he could wipe them away. “I just miss her, you know? I thought this might help.”

The grief he’d tried so hard to bury swelled in his chest like a tumor. God, he missed her too. He thought about her during work, during meals, during the quiet, sleepless hours of the night. He saw advertisements for new video games and tried to imagine what she might have said about them.

He stepped closer and put a hand on Chihiro’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Chihiro sniffled and blinked away his tears. “Do you…want to talk to her?”

The pressure in his chest was making it hard to breathe. Hajime didn’t think he’d be able to manage words, so he nodded.

Chihiro motioned for him to pull up another chair and typed a few commands into his laptop. A window filled the screen, blank except for a soft pink background. With one shaking finger, he pressed the Enter key.

A girl’s face appeared in the center of the screen. It was clearly a 3D model, its edges too soft and features a little too simplistic to be photorealistic, but Chihiro had gotten all of the details right. Her short hair curled at the ends, her eyes downturned in that way that always made her look a little sleepy. Her lips curled into that warm, familiar smile.

“Hey, hey.”

It was her voice, too. Hajime clenched his jaw. He was afraid if he breathed, he would start to cry.

Chihiro cleared his throat. “Um, I’m still tweaking the audio input, so for now we have to type to speak to her.”

His fingers flew over the keyboard. Hey, Chiaki. It’s Chihiro. Hajime’s with me.

Her expression brightened. “Really? That’s good to hear. I’m glad to see you, Hajime.”

Hajime pulled in a short, painful gasp. “Y-You are?”

Chihiro turned the laptop towards him and gestured at the keyboard.

His fingers shook as he reached out to type a response. He’d imagined this moment more times than he could count, had thought about what he would say if he ever saw her again—if there was an afterlife, if they would even end up in the same place in the afterlife.

I’m sorry. It should have been me. It would have been better for everyone if it had been me. You didn’t deserve what happened. Please forgive me. Please forgive me for what I did.

He couldn’t bring himself to type any of it. His cheeks were wet. He dragged his wrist across his face, his pulse pounding in his temples. Chihiro reached over and put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Chiaki tilted her head, her expression mildly confused. “Hello?”

What would she think, if she knew Hajime was still visiting the apartment where she’d grown up, sitting across from her empty chair, spending time with her family? How was that fair to her? He’d spent ten years being able to listen to music and drink hot tea and soak up sunlight when she couldn’t, when she hadn’t even had a proper burial.

He thought about the night Kuzuryu had pointed a gun at his face and realized if he’d died that night, it still wouldn’t have been enough to make up for everything.

“Hajime?”

“I have to go,” he rasped, nearly knocking over the chair as he stood up.

“I’m sorry.” Chihiro stood up as well, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Hajime didn’t wait for him to finish, striding out the door and down the hallway. Taichi called out to him from the kitchen, but his ears were ringing too loudly to catch his words. He jammed his feet into his shoes and left the apartment.

June 19, 2022

Mikan didn’t notice the woman when she first walked into Mr. Otonashi’s room. She was absorbed in the medical chart for a recent transfer and there was no real need to greet a coma patient, so when she looked up and saw a stranger in the room, she yelped and dropped her clipboard. Papers scattered everywhere.

“I’m s-so sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.” She dropped to her knees and gathered the paper into a messy pile. “I get startled easily. I’m so sorry for walking in without knocking.”

“It’s fine.” The stranger dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a wadded up tissue, in the careful way women did when they didn’t want to ruin their makeup. She sniffled and blinked rapidly. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in.”

Mikan finally managed to corral her dusty papers and stood up. She really wished they would clean the floors more often here. “I just came in to check Mr. Otonashi’s vitals. I, um, I can leave and come back a little later if you want some privacy.”

“It’s fine.” The woman sniffled again and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind one ear. “You’re working here. I don’t want to get in your way.”

She stayed frozen in a moment of deliberation. It was rude to walk in on someone while they were crying, but the woman had said it was fine for her to work. Would it be worse to ignore her and walk out anyway?

“Relax.” The woman managed a smile. “I could actually use some company for a minute.” Her eyes flickered to Mr. Otonashi. “You know, non-comatose company.”

Mikan let out a wobbly noise that could barely be considered a laugh. It would be rude to laugh about the situation, even if the woman had meant it as a joke. Instead of making a further embarrassment of herself, she crossed the room to check the IV drip.

“How is he doing?”

“His condition is stable.” She was relieved to hear her voice level out a little—medicine was something she could talk about with confidence. “We haven’t seen any neurological changes yet. Are you, um… C-Can I ask what your relation is to Mr. Otonashi?”

“He’s my grandfather. I’ve been putting off visiting him for a long time.” She sighed, one red-painted nail digging into the balled-up tissue. “I still don’t know if this was the right choice, but I didn’t want to have any regrets in case…”

Now that she was a little closer, Mikan could get a better look at the woman’s face. She’d clearly been crying, but it only added a shine to her eyes and a bit of redness to the tip of her nose. Mikan wondered if there was any skill behind that, or if it was part of her natural beauty.

“Not that I think he’s not getting good care here,” she continued, and Mikan realized she’d been staring. “I’m not trying to imply anything like that.”

“O-Of course not.” Mikan brought her clipboard a little closer to her chest. The woman looked familiar, somehow, though she didn’t know why. “We’re doing our best to keep Mr. Otonashi in a good physical state. It might actually be a good thing that you’re here. There’s evidence that a coma patient’s mental activity can be stimulated if they hear the voice of a loved one.”

“You mean if I talk to him, he might wake up?”

“I can’t guarantee anything, but it could help his chances.”

The woman leaned closer to her grandfather. “If you’re still in there, gramps, I hope you can hear me. And I hope if you do wake up, you’ll finally apologize for beating me when I was a kid.”

Mikan let out an involuntary gasp and averted her gaze. Her heart twinged in sympathy. Should she have left already?

“You know, I have a twin sister, and the old man couldn’t tell us apart sometimes. He’d smack me around for something my sister did.” A wry smile curved her lips. “Sorry. I have a pretty dark sense of humor.”

“P-Please don’t apologize.” Mikan stammered for a moment, trying to think of something appropriate to say. “I think it’s kind of you to visit your grandfather even though, um, even though he mistreated you.”

“The things we do for family, right?”

She made a shaky, noncommittal noise. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to anyone in her family. If it were one of them lying in that bed, locked in a coma…

It wasn’t the first time she’d indulged in the idea.

She blinked and refocused her attention. The woman was giving her a knowing smile that made her skin grow hot.

“Um, if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. I have other patients to visit, but—”

“Yeah, of course.” She waved her off. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. It was nice talking to you, though.”

“You too. I mean, it was nice, um…” She made a clumsy gesture at her name tag. “I-If you need anything, you can ask for Mikan Tsumiki.”

Her smile widened. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

The attic was chilly and unpleasantly dusty, but Hajime was willing to overlook that for a few minutes of solitude. The cabin was starting to feel uncomfortably crowded—it was too cold outside for anything other than their absolutely necessary chores, so everyone spent most of the day indoors. Between Souda’s constant muttering about how hungry he was and Kuzuryu’s worsening temper, he’d grown sick of hanging out with the other guys.

So, the attic.

Hajime was sitting by the window, angled so that the gray light hit the pages of the paperback in his lap. He’d already read it—half before the crash, half after—but he couldn’t really be picky about sources of entertainment these days.

The trapdoor of the attic swung open and hit the floor with a thud loud enough to make him jump. Hajime glanced over with exasperation, which softened slightly when a familiar head of pale, unruly hair emerged.

Komaeda climbed the rest of the way through the trapdoor and brushed himself off. “Ah, Hinata. I wasn’t sure where you’d gone.”

“Since you couldn’t find me in the two other rooms in the building?”

He smiled. “I figured you weren’t interested in braving the cold, so I decided to check up here.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “I just wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet.”

“I see. Excuse me, then.” Komaeda turned and stepped down onto the ladder.

“Wait,” Hajime said, then tried to sound more casual as he added, “I didn’t mean I wanted you to leave. I just…I mean, it’s fine if you stay.”

Komaeda tilted his head, as if he was considering his options. Hajime bit his tongue. He wished he wouldn’t overthink things like this, weighing his own underestimated value against whatever he perceived other people would need. But he really didn’t have the energy to tackle that issue, so he stayed silent.

Finally, Komaeda asked, “What book are you reading?”

“The Sunken Staircase.” Hajime raised the book so he could see the cover. “I’ve already finished it, but I thought I’d read it again.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a mystery novel. It’s about this guy who inherits this old house, and he realizes the basement is a lot bigger than he thought it was, and then he starts finding dead bodies in the secret rooms… Well, I don’t want to spoil any of it, but that’s the gist.”

“It sounds interesting.” Komaeda finally crossed the room and sat next to him. “Did you enjoy it?”

“It was pretty good.” He thumbed the pages, sending up a faint whiff of crisp, new-book smell. It sent him back to the brightly-lit store where he’d first picked it up, a place that felt almost alien now. He would have given anything just to stand in a place with a heater and fluorescent lights. “Now that I’m reading it a second time, I’m picking up on a lot of the clues I missed.”

“Would you lend it to me once you’re finished?”

“Sure.” Hajime looked up and was struck by the bright-eyed, eager look on Komaeda’s face. He imagined a scenario in which the two of them could explore a book store together, swapping favorites and commenting on cover art. Neither of them would have to worry about luck or talent or freezing in the middle of the woods. “Actually, maybe we could read it together.”

Komaeda’s brows raised a fraction. “Are you going to read it to me, Hinata?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I meant we could sit here and both read in silence. I’m only thirty pages in, so I don’t mind starting at the beginning.”

“As long as I’m not inconveniencing you.”

“You’re not.” He patted the floor next to him, then wiped the dust on his palm onto his pants.

Komaeda shifted closer, not quite touching him, but definitely closer than normal. Hajime let out a slow sigh and moved the book in between their laps. He’d never noticed before how thin Komaeda’s thigh was compared to his. Was he getting enough to eat?

…Well, none of them were getting enough to eat these days. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

He flipped the pages back to the first chapter, and they began to read in silence. It took several pages for him to realize that Komaeda read at a faster pace than him and was waiting for him to catch up before flipping the page. It probably would have been better for them to read separately, but he didn’t really want to stop. This was the most relaxed he’d felt in a while, and the minimal warmth radiating from Komaeda helped knock off the chill a little.

When they finished the fifth chapter, Komaeda looked up and asked, “When did you figure out who the killer was?”

“Maybe three-quarters of the way through? It was while we were here, actually. I was on water duty and thinking about the book, and it hit me. I stayed up by the fire that night so I could finish the book and see if I was right.”

Komaeda smiled. They were sitting pretty close now, enough that Hajime could feel the puff of chilled air from his breaths. “It’s the protagonist, isn’t it? He just doesn’t know it yet?”

“Wh…” Hajime glanced between him and the book. “So you have read this before.”

He laughed. “Nope. Just a lucky guess.”

He let out an aggravated sigh. How had Komaeda managed to figure that out from just five chapters? “Do you do this with every mystery book you read?”

“Some. Others manage to surprise me.” He closed the book. “The cover even gives it away somewhat. See how there are two silhouettes above the staircase?”

“Yeah, but one of them is supposed to be the killer…” He looked it over again and sighed. “The silhouettes are identical.”

“Exactly.”

“I never would have caught that. Also, your hands are freezing.” He pressed his fingertips against Komaeda’s, where both of their hands were clasped around the back cover.

“Oh, they’re always like that. I have poor circulation.”

“You should wear gloves. The fire doesn’t keep the cabin that warm.”

He clasped one of Komaeda’s hands between both of his and rubbed his palms back and forth, trying to create enough friction to warm up his chilled skin. Komaeda let out a small, wheezy breath, but didn’t pull away.

“Is that any better?” He reached out for Komaeda’s other hand and realized he was staring at him with mild shock. “Sorry, was that…weird?”

Komaeda visibly swallowed. “I don’t know that I’m the most reliable benchmark for what can be considered ‘weird.’ I appreciate the gesture, though.”

Had that been a gesture? It was just a nice thing to do, like holding the door or telling someone their shoelace was untied. He would have done it for any of the other guys. Or maybe not, and definitely not for any of the girls, but he probably would have warmed Nanami’s hands if she asked him to. It was just a kind gesture between close friends. That sounded like an accurate term for him and Komaeda, considering all the time they’d spent together over the past few months.

“Well, anyway.” Hajime glanced down at the book sitting precariously on their thighs. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone else brought any good books. Maybe we’ll find one where you can’t predict the ending.”

“I look forward to it,” Komaeda said softly.

Hajime stood up, stretched, and tossed the book back into his suitcase. The spine thumped against something solid. He bent down and tugged aside a wrinkled dress shirt to reveal his handheld game system.

“Oh. I forgot I had this.” He picked it up and examined the dark blue casing. He hadn’t touched it since it had been retrieved from the plane.

“Is that the same one Nanami has?” Komaeda asked.

“Yeah, just with less games. And worse scores.” He powered it on and winced at the bright light from the screen. It still had a decent amount of battery left. “I’m gonna give it to her. I think hers is dead.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” Komaeda said. There was something strange in his voice, but when Hajime glanced over, he was wearing his usual amicable smile.

“Okay, well. I’ll just be a minute.” He tucked the game system into his jacket pocket and climbed down the ladder.

Nanami was in the girls’ room with the others. Hajime made sure to knock on the closed door—Hanamura had nearly gotten a concussion after “accidentally” walking in while some of the girls were changing.

Nanami answered the door with a yawn, then smiled when she saw him. “Hey, hey. What’s up?”

“Here.” He held out the game system. “This is for you.”

Her eyes widened. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but yours ran out of battery. I think you’ll enjoy it more than me. You can give it back once we get out of here and find some chargers.”

“Thank you.” Nanami wrapped her arms around him with a grin. “This makes me so happy, Hinata.”

Hajime smiled and returned the embrace. Behind her, he could see some of the girls giving them curious glances, and wished for the hundredth time that the cabin had a little more privacy.

“I also figured Christmas is coming up at some point, so. Merry Christmas.”

Nanami pulled back. “I’ll have to figure out something to give you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I will anyway.” Her brow furrowed in determination. “I need something to challenge myself these days.”

“Well, don’t overdo it.” He released her. “You can always wait until we get back.”

“At that point, I’ll probably have missed your birthday.” She tapped her chin. “I know Kuzuryu, Hanamura, Sonia, Mioda, and Tanaka have already missed theirs.”

Hajime was impressed that she had everyone’s birthday memorized. Kuzuryu and Tanaka didn’t seem like the types to announce it out loud. “We’d probably be better off having one big party once we get back.”

Nanami smiled. “I’d really like that.”

He nodded and, just this once, let himself imagine a brightly lit bookstore and a party with all of his friends and more food than they could eat.

June 19, 2022

Sonia spent the next week in a whirlwind of fundraisers, conferences, board meetings, lunch meetings, dinner meetings, and furtive stakeouts in various lobbies as she waited for her security team to clear a path through hordes of paparazzi. Her schedule was clear for the next two hours, so she’d retreated to the bedroom of her penthouse apartment for a short nap.

But of course she was too wired to relax at all, much less sleep. She sprawled in the center of the bed, dressed in a coveted pair of sweatpants, and let out a weary sigh.

Her purse was on the desk, and inside it was Tsumugi Shirogane’s business card. She hadn’t thrown it away like she’d promised herself. Every time she went to do so, something stopped her.

Devil’s Helmet was lying in a divot in the covers next to her. Sonia curled up on her side and stroked his soft black fur with one finger. The action calmed her right away. Part of her longed for the days when she’d been foolish enough to sneak him around in her purse.

“They would understand, at least a little,” she murmured. “They were only stranded for two weeks before their rescue, but they would know what it feels like to think you are going to die.”

Devil’s Helmet gazed back at her with his dark, beady eyes.

“They would not look at me the way my friends did.” She swallowed. “My former friends. Even Souda called me a saint, because he does not want to think…”

She paused, gently cupping Devil’s Helmet’s small, round body with her hand. She would need to bathe him soon.

“I understand that you cannot give me any answers. Know that you are my most trusted confidant.” Her eyes began to sting as she leaned in closer. “Not in the least because there is no way I can harm you.”

Her phone buzzed. Sonia lifted her head and dug around the covers for it. She turned off the alarm for her nonexistent nap. She sat up and raked her hair out of her face. She still needed to brush and tie it back before she left. “I will tell you all about it when I return, alright?”

Devil’s Helmet didn’t move. He’d fallen onto his side when she’d sat up, and she was quick to right him. 

“I’ll see you when I get home.”

Devil’s Helmet was made of polyester and plastic. She still gave his head an apologetic pat as she climbed off the bed.

Winter 2012

Hajime kicked a tree to remove the snow coating his sneakers, then swore as a small flurry fell onto him from the branches above. Nanami giggled, and he turned to her with a frown.

“It’s not funny. Some of it went down the back of my shirt.”

“You’re my favorite example of cause and effect.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave up on his shoes and followed her up the slope. “I think the only good thing about all this snow is that we don’t have to go down to the lake for water anymore.”

“Yeah, that is pretty convenient,” Nanami said. “And that’s coming from someone who never had to do water duty.”

“You weren’t missing out.”

“I just wish we’d saved that powdered candy Mioda had in her luggage. Maybe we could have made snow cones or something.”

Hajime made a face and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “You’d eat a snow cone in this weather?”

“I think I’d enjoy it more than pinecone bread.” Nanami jostled her half-full backpack for emphasis.

His expression scrunched further. They were running so low on food that some of the others had started to get creative with supplementing their meals. It had been Owari’s idea to try pinecones, and they’d spent most of a day collecting them, grinding them into something that resembled flour, and handing the product over to Hanamura. The result had been…ground up pinecones mixed with water. Hajime’s arms were still sore from the effort, and his stomach had hurt for days afterward.

On the other hand, Komaeda had accidentally cracked open a pinecone with a seed still inside, and that had been edible. Pekoyama had made the tentative suggestion to try eating the pine bark too, and here they were.

Hajime sighed and looked up at the white-dusted branches above them. Only a fraction of the pinecones actually had seeds in them, and even then it was a lot of work for barely a mouthful of food. If Komaeda actually did have some form of luck, Hajime was thinking about handing all the pinecones to him. If it even worked like that.

“Hey, hey.” Nanami stopped and nudged something with her shoe. “I think I found one.”

She dug a pinecone out from the snowdrift, shook some of the snow off, and held it out. Hajime turned around so she could place it in his backpack.

“This is just like grinding for materials,” she said as they resumed walking. “If this were a video game, I’d probably find the area with the highest concentration of pinecones and the most efficient route to check all the trees. Maybe there would be an item that would increase my chances of finding a seed inside.”

Hajime rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the soreness in his muscles. His backpack didn’t even have that much in it, but it felt heavy. “It’s not so fun in real life, is it?”

“Not at all.” She brushed a few stray locks of hair out of her eyes. Her bangs had gotten so long that she’d borrowed a hair clip from Koizumi to keep them out of her eyes. “I never realized how much walking—”

She gasped as the snow gave way beneath her foot, sending her off balance. Hajime rushed over to help her up.

“Oof. It’s like tanghulu over here.” Nanami accepted his hand and brushed herself off.

He tested the snow with his foot. The top couple of inches had frozen into a hard shell, while the layer underneath was a softer consistency.

“Hey, is your backpack too heavy? We can switch.”

She gave him a teasing smile. “You’re not afraid to be caught wearing a pink bunny backpack?”

He spread his arms, indicating the silent wilderness around them. “Who’s gonna judge me?”

“Fair enough. Let’s try and find some shallower snow.”

They continued trudging through the forest, occasionally pausing to dig up a pinecone or pull one from a low-hanging branch. Hajime’s feet were numb from the cold, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t pass Tsumiki’s frostbite inspection when he got back.

“I’m glad you’re getting along with the others,” Nanami said.

He glanced at her. “What brought that up?”

“Nothing, really. I was just thinking about the day you showed me your acceptance letter. You were so nervous about meeting my classmates.”

That sunny afternoon felt like a different lifetime. A different body, even. Six months ago, he’d been warm and fully fed and excited for the future.

Nanami stopped walking and turned to him with a surprisingly thoughtful expression. “I hope you don’t still feel like you’re inferior to them.”

Hajime froze, the statement hitting him like a splash of cold water. “I guess I haven’t thought about it in a while.”

The difference between him and the others had been obvious during the first few weeks. Pekoyama’s athleticism and Tanaka’s knowledge of animals and Sonia’s skill with a gun were definite advantages. Owari was good at getting to hard-to-reach places and Hanamura made their food taste better than crap they’d scavenged from the wilderness. In that sense, Hajime was nothing more than an extra pair of hands.

But regardless of talent, all of them were hungry.

“You’ll stay friends with everyone once we get out of here, right?” Nanami asked.

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t.” At the very least, they were the only ones who would understand everything they’d gone through together. “To answer your question, I guess I haven’t thought about the talent stuff as much. Survival is more important, you know?”

Nanami’s cheeks puffed out in the way they did when she felt she wasn’t being understood properly. “I know, but I don’t want you to just think about survival. It’s not just food that keeps us alive, you know? It’s being with each other.”

Grief welled in her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about Saionji.

Hajime reached over and gave her gloved hand a brief squeeze. “Then I’m glad we’re together.”

Her expression softened. “Me too.”

As they continued their search for pinecones, Nanami changed the subject to the combination birthday-Christmas-New-Year’s party they were supposed to have once they got back. They left the painful subject of food aside and talked about the decorations they could put up. Nanami recounted how Souda had rigged up an incredibly bright string of lights at last year’s Christmas party and nearly set the cafeteria on fire. She talked about the bizarre party game Sonia had tried to teach everyone and how Sagishi and Mioda had put on a puppet show parodying all of their least favorite teachers.

“Maybe we don’t have to wait,” she said, her expression touched with wistfulness. “We could do something one of these nights.”

“We could decorate the leftover pinecones,” Hajime said, because Nanami made it easier to indulge in ideas like that than to remember that every night left them too exhausted and hungry to do anything fun.

They stopped at the top of the ridge to catch their breath. Below them was the sheer-sided pit they’d started using to dump waste. It was too cold to bury the entrails of the animals Sonia and Pekoyama hunted, and if any wolves or other animals went after the parts, they wouldn’t be able to climb back out. Hopefully.

Nanami let out a heavy sigh, as if she could fill the empty space beyond with the weight of her breath. “We should probably head back.”

“Yeah.” Hajime reached behind himself to test the weight of his backpack. He was tempted to dig through his loot right now and eat whatever he was able to pry from the pinecones. He knew Owari had a habit of eating while she scavenged.

A breeze gusted through the forest, and a trickle of snow fell directly onto the back of his neck. Hajime hissed through his teeth and brushed it away.

“I swear, this forest has a vendetta against us or something.” He scowled up at the offending tree, then paused as a dark clump caught his eye. It was a fat cluster of pinecones, just barely clinging to a drooping branch. He pointed. “Do you think those might be worth climbing for?”

“Ooh, maybe.” Nanami shielded her eyes with one hand as she followed his gaze. “Do you think you can make it?”

Hajime scanned the base of the tree. There were a few branches within arm’s reach, but he didn’t think he’d have the strength to pull himself up. “Maybe I can boost you up. How far up do you think you could go?”

She took a few steps back to get a better view, the snow crunching beneath her feet. “I can try, at least. Maybe I can knock them down with a stick.”

“Might as well give it a shot.”

Behind Nanami, there was the wet hiss of snow falling. Hajime turned in time to see the layer beneath her feet give way.

It all happened in the space of a second—the breath freezing in his lungs, Nanami extending her arms for balance, the grating sound of hard-packed snow moving. Their eyes met for a sliver of a moment.

Nanami let out a sharp, surprised, “Oh!” and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

Chapter Text

June 22, 2022

“A doctor will see you in fifteen minutes or so.”

Kazuichi grunted an acknowledgement and shuffled away from the front desk. The receptionist hadn’t so much as blinked at his condition, but the elderly couple on the other side of the room was staring at him. He didn’t exactly blame them—considering their age, he guessed one of them had woken with a heart murmur or something and they’d rushed to the clinic in their pajamas. They probably hadn’t expected to end up sitting across from a grimy dude covered in blood and motor oil.

With a sigh, Kazuichi adjusted his grip on the rag he had pressed against the side of his face. He’d stayed late at the shop like usual, and he’d been so focused on work that he’d forgotten about getting another energy drink (or possibly going home to sleep like a normal person). He’d gotten clumsy and stupid. He hadn’t even realized part of the engine had snapped off until he’d noticed something weird in his periphery and realized there was a piece of metal embedded in his fucking face.

It had been about an inch away from taking out his eye, and between yanking out the metal like a dumbass and fumbling for something to stop the bleeding, he’d had the bizarre mental image of calling up Kuzuryu.

Hey, man. We’re matching now. How crazy is that?

Something told him Kuzuryu wouldn’t have found it funny.

Kazuichi realized he was bleeding onto the seat and shifted. His vision swam. He was sixty-percent sure he had a concussion, but then again, he was no doctor.

Tsumiki would’ve fussed over him. She probably would’ve told him off for working with heavy machinery by himself. It was funny how assertive she got when it came to other people’s help. A shiver slid down his spine, and he tried to think of something else.

Sonia. She would’ve been worried about him, of course. It would’ve been really unfair to her if he’d gone through all the trouble of texting her, trying to reconnect, only for him to bleed out in his own shop a week later.

The adrenaline-fueled delirium ebbed, and a cold, familiar guilt slid into its place. He hadn’t even been that scared once he’d registered the amount of blood coming out of his face. He’d thought about how he would need stitches, realized he needed to go to the emergency room, then wondered if they would give him something good as a painkiller.

He’d thought about pills during the entirety of the cab ride to the hospital.

His head hurt like a bitch. Even if they gave him over-the-counter stuff, he could probably get some weed to take the edge off. Weed wasn’t even that bad.

I make dumb mistakes even when I’m sober. So what does it even matter?

Kazuichi shifted his gaze to the coffee table in front of him, where an array of pamphlets about vaccinations and therapies were spread out. There was one about the dangers of smoking, and he reached for one with a raspy chuckle.

God, he could go for a cigarette right now.

A bright blue piece of paper was peeking out from beneath the smoking pamphlets. He leaned over to pull it free, wincing as his head throbbed. It was another brochure, depicting an aerial view of a group of tropical islands. Island Wellness Retreat, it read.

He propped his elbow on the armrest as he flipped the brochure open. One of the panels showed a group of people sitting in a circle on the sand, deep in discussion. Happy, healthy, sober.

Fill your life with purpose, the bold white text promised. Bring peace to your mind and body.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen on various rehab brochures, but for some reason the advertisement made something lift in his chest. Maybe it was the idea of somewhere warm and sunny, not crowded like Tokyo but cradled by endless ocean. He imagined sitting in the shade with a cocktail poured straight into a coconut or a pineapple, chatting with girls in swimsuits. He thought about turning his phone off and leaving behind his messy, depressing apartment. He imagined suntan lotion on his skin instead of oil and blood.

The door at the back of the waiting room swung open, and a nurse leaned through.

“Kazuichi Souda?”

He stood with a grunt and shoved the brochure into his pocket.

As soon as Hajime entered his apartment, he sat down at his desk and opened his laptop with shaking fingers. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flash drive that had been burning a hole in his pocket for the past twenty four hours.

Last night, he’d gone back to the Fujisakis’ and apologized to Chihiro. Of course, Chihiro had apologized profusely in return, and Taichi had done his best to mediate and comfort them both. He’d rubbed Hajime’s back while he fought back his tears and convinced him to stay for dinner.

On his way back from the bathroom, Hajime had slipped into Chihiro’s bedroom and swiped the flash drive from his desk.

It sat in his palm now, a tiny piece of plastic and metal with A.E. scrawled in permanent marker on one side.

It wasn’t Chiaki in there. It was a copy, an approximation, a snapshot. It wasn’t her.

Hajime wasn’t sure if that was going to make this next part easier or much, much harder.

With a shaky sigh, he plugged the drive into the USB port. He was tempted to grab a beer from the fridge, to gather his nerves while he drank, but he needed to be sober for this. He wanted to choose his words carefully.

He hesitated, mouse hovering over the file stored in the flash drive. Would his own computer even be able to run the program? Would he damage it if he tried? Knowing Chihiro, there was a chance he’d hidden some kind of authentication protocol in the data, and trying to open it would completely brick his computer.

Hajime put both hands over his face, dragged them up into his hair.

It’s not her. There’s no way I can talk to her. Whatever I say, it’s not going to change anything.

But god, he wanted to hear her voice again. If he could just pretend he was talking to her, maybe he’d be able to sleep tonight.

He opened the program. His screen filled with soft pink light, and when Chiaki’s face appeared, his heart seized in his chest.

“Hey, hey. Is that you, Hajime?”

“How did you—” He remembered she couldn’t hear him and began typing. His fingers were shaking so badly it took him a minute to spell out a response.

How did you know it was me?

She smiled. “Just an educated guess. This device is called ‘Hajime Hinata’s Computer (1).’”

You can see stuff like that?

“Yeah. Chihiro thought I’d get too cynical if I had full access to the Internet, but I can read some basic stuff like device info. We play games sometimes, too.”

Hajime let out a weak chuckle and realized his cheeks were wet. She talked just like Chiaki. It was so bizarre it made him dizzy.

A small furrow appeared between her brows. “Are you feeling okay? Chihiro said you got really upset the last time we spoke.”

“I…” He swallowed.

Sympathy melted over her expression. “I don’t blame you at all. You must still be grieving.”

Grieving?

“I know I’m not the real Chiaki,” she said, slightly sardonic. “I know the real one died in a plane crash. Chihiro explained everything to me. He said you and the others were trapped in the wilderness for eighteen months.”

The pain in his chest intensified, like a knife twisting between his ribs. This Chiaki thought she’d died in a plane crash because that was what Chihiro thought. It was what Taichi believed, what the rest of the world knew as the truth.

I’m sorry.

She tilted her head. “You don’t have to apologize. I don’t want you to blame yourself for the crash, okay?”

“It wasn’t the crash,” he whispered.

If he told her the truth, it would be the first time he’d shared anything other than the well-rehearsed story the survivors had agreed on. If he typed it here now, would this Chiaki keep the information secret? Would she tell Chihiro? Would she hate him? Whatever cynicism she would develop from Internet access, it would pale in comparison to the truth about her death.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want you to keep holding on to your guilt.” She smiled again, soft and gentle. “You deserve better than that.”

“I don’t,” he spat, his chest trembling as he expelled the words. He needed Chiaki to understand.

We… he typed, and that was far as he made it before breaking down into tears. Grief and guilt rolled over him like a wave in a storm. He’d tried so hard not to think about it, but it was with him every day, sitting in his mouth, behind his eyelids.

Sharing that truth would just be selfish. Even if this wasn’t the real Chiaki, even if she was only lines of code, she didn’t deserve that burden. She deserved to think that she’d died in a plane crash, that it had been quick and painless and that she’d been mourned the way she deserved.

He closed the laptop and pushed it away, bent double by the force of his sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the silence, the only confessional he could ever trust. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Winter 2012

Mikan tested the temperature of one of the compresses sitting on the hearth, found it to be suitably hot, and wrapped it around the bare skin of Sagishi’s foot. They let out a hiss through their teeth at the sensation and gently flexed their ankle.

“Don’t move too much.” She secured it with a shoelace, making sure not to wrap it too tightly. “I’ll change the compress again once it starts to cool down. I’m sorry for any discomfort you feel.”

“That’s alright.” Sagishi lowered their foot with a sigh. “It’s already starting to tingle a little. That’s good, right?”

“It’s too early to tell.” Mikan brushed her hands on her pants and stood. “Please let me know if you feel any serious pain.”

“Sure thing.” They smiled. “Thanks, Tsumiki.”

Heat flared on her face. “I’m j-just glad I could help.”

She went to check the compresses on Souda’s hands. It was fortunate that most of them had packed clothes for the cooler Norwegian weather, but none of them had been prepared for temperatures this low. Mikan jumped up every time someone came back inside so she could inspect them for frostbite. So far, no one’s condition had been too bad, but she worried for people like Sonia and Pekoyama who spent long hours outside.

Souda winced as she unwound the cloth from his hands. “You’re not gonna have to amputate one of my fingers, are you?”

“Of course not!” She set the cloth aside and inspected his skin. It was still cold to the touch, but it was a little closer to its normal color.

“Good. I kinda need all ten, you know?”

Mikan murmured an agreement. It made her anxious just thinking about attempting an amputation with the limited supplies they had here. There was no shortage of water, thankfully, but they were low on nearly everything else.

Her stomach grumbled. Most of all, they were low on food.

Mioda flopped down onto the couch beside Souda, making him grunt as the cushions shifted. “Wanna try some warmups?” She lifted her guitar. “That’ll get your hands back into shape.”

“Uh…” Souda glanced at Mikan.

He was looking for her advice, she realized with a rush of warmth. “It would be a good way to exercise your muscles without expending too much energy.”

“Yeah, why not?” He took the guitar from Mioda. “I heard playing guitar is a good way to pick up chicks.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Mioda winked at Mikan, and she let out a shrill, nervous giggle.

“We’re in the middle of the woods, dumbass,” Kuzuryu said from where he was leaning against the wall and scowling out the window. “Where the hell do you plan on picking up chicks?”

“I’m just saying, I should probably practice now. I could be a pro by the time we get out of here.” Souda adjusted his grip and strummed a chord that, even to Mikan’s untrained ears, sounded pretty off.

Mioda went so far as to cover her ears. “Yeah, we’re gonna need at least another year.” She reached over to help Souda adjust his finger placement.

“You know, I always wanted an electric guitar.” Souda furrowed his brow and played a much more pleasant-sounding chord.

“Ooh, you should get one that matches your hair.”

“Which part?” he muttered, running a self-conscious hand over the tangled strands. A couple inches of his dark roots were visible above the pink.

Mikan touched her own hair, which hung over one shoulder. Koizumi had taught her how to braid it so it would stay out of the way and was less liable to become tangled. She wasn’t sure if it looked very good, but it was practical, at least.

Souda was busy strumming the one chord he’d learned, singing an out-of-tune melody under his breath while Mioda drummed her hands against her thighs.

“You got the look down, sorta,” she said with a grin. “Kind of a backwoods grime-punk fusion—”

“Shit.” Kuzuryu tensed, his gaze focused on something outside.

Souda stopped playing. “What is it?”

Hinata burst into the cabin, gasping for breath. His face was red from exertion and cold, and his shoes and most of his calves were caked in snow.

“Tsumiki,” he panted. “I need—”

Mikan shot to her feet and hurried to his side. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

“Just take a breath, man.” Kuzuryu put a bracing hand on his shoulder. “The hell happened?”

“Nanami’s hurt,” Hinata said, and when he raised his head, there was pure terror in his eyes. “She fell, I couldn’t get to her, I don’t know if—if…”

“Shit,” Kuzuryu said again, and looked around the room. Sonia and Pekoyama were out hunting, Nidai and Hanamura were collecting pine bark, but everyone else was inside, watching the scene with wide eyes. “Let’s some rope, guys. Tsumiki, go with Hinata.”

He nudged her towards the door, not roughly but enough to make her flinch. Mikan fumbled for her first-aid bag and snatched a random coat from the makeshift rack by the door. Hinata was waiting for her, looking impatient despite his obvious exhaustion.

“I’ll t-try to keep up,” she said as the two of them hurried out into the cold. “Can you tell me anything about her condition?”

“I don’t know.” Hinata took the frantic path he’d cut through the snow on his way to the cabin. “She wasn’t answering me when I tried to call for her. She fell down into that big pit on the other side of the ridge. I-I didn’t realize the snow was going to give like that, I didn’t know—” His voice cracked and Mikan’s heart twisted with sympathy.

The snow beneath her feet gave in a few inches and she slipped with a yelp. Hinata reached back for her arm and she let him half-drag her along until she’d regained her footing.

“It’ll be alright,” she said, even though she couldn’t promise that. The only thing she knew was that she had to find a way to make this better. She had to save Nanami, who had always been kind to her. She had to make up for where she’d failed with Saionji.

Both of them were out of breath by the time they reached the pit. Hinata doubled over, sweat running into his eyes, then straightened and staggered towards the cliff. Mikan followed, her legs trembling from exertion. Had she always been this weak, or was it the lack of food?

“Nanami,” Hinata called, his voice shaking. “I brought help, okay?”

Mikan shuffled to the edge of the cliff and peered over the side. Nanami was lying on her side about thirty yards down, precariously balanced on a rock ledge jutting from the slope. She swallowed, her mind racing. Possible head trauma, broken limbs, traumatic injury to the torso. They’d have to move her carefully to avoid exacerbating her injuries. If she hadn’t responded, she was either unconscious or in shock. Without equipment for a scan, they—

“Hey!”

Kuzuryu was struggling up the slope towards them, flanked by Souda and Mioda, with a length of rope slung over one shoulder. Mikan could hear the rest of the group a little ways behind.

“You find her?”

“She still isn’t answering,” Hinata said. His face had gone from red to bloodless. “Come on, let’s get the rope. We have to get to her.”

They tied it around the base of a nearby tree, and Kuzuryu tugged hard to make sure it wouldn’t come loose.

“I-I, um…” Mikan stammered for several seconds while the others stared at her. Heat flared on her cheeks. “I, um, I should check on Nanami before we lift her up. It could be dangerous to move her without stabilizing her.”

“Fine.” Kuzuryu turned to Souda. “Go back to the cabin, get the materials for a stretcher.”

“Got it.” Souda turned and sprinted back the way he’d come.

Mikan lifted the rope and hesitated. Her palms were sweating beneath her gloves. It was a long way down if she slipped, and she was so terribly clumsy even when it wasn’t snowy and cold and someone’s life wasn’t on the line.

Hinata put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go first. I’ll climb down before you and make sure you don’t fall. I promise.” His voice was steady, but the desperation in his eyes shone like broken glass.

“Okay.” Mikan tightened her grip on the rope. She had to do this. She had to be useful for Nanami and the others.

Hinata wrapped both hands around the rope and knelt at the edge of the cliff. Kuzuryu and Tanaka crouched by the tree and gripped the rope to keep it steady.

Mioda patted Mikan’s arm with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Just think of it like rock climbing. Only backwards.”

Mikan let out an unsteady acknowledgement and crept towards the drop as Hinata lowered himself over the edge. The rope went taut, and he hissed through his teeth.

“It’s fine.” Gingerly, he straightened his legs, searching for a foothold in the snow. “It’s fine. I’ll get a little further down and you can follow me, Tsumiki.”

She waited as he picked his way down the slope, then sat in the snow and shuffled to the edge. She gripped the rope, turned her body towards the cliff, and let out an involuntary whine of terror as she dropped.

Her foot hit an edge in the stone, so hard it sent a painful shock up her leg. Mikan clung to the rope and tried to stop her trembling.

“Here.” A hand tapped her foot, making her jump. “There’s another ledge just below. Move your other foot.”

Mikan obeyed, inching downwards until she found another foothold. Her arms were already shaking from the effort of clinging to the rope.

They continued like that, Hinata feeling his way downwards and guiding Mikan once he’d found a safe path. Mioda and Sagishi stood at the top, occasionally calling out encouragements.

“You guys are almost there. Like, eighty percent.”

“Watch your step. It looks steep there.”

“Alright.” Hinata paused below her, breathing heavily. “I don’t think there’s room for both of us next to Nanami. I’m gonna move to the side. You go check on her, okay?”

“Okay.” Mikan wanted to double check that her first aid bag was still in her pocket, but both of her hands were locked around the rope.

Hinata shuffled to the side and guided her the rest of the way down. Once they were close to the same level, he grasped her upper arm to keep her steady. Mikan stretched her leg downwards until it made contact with the rock ledge. Nanami was right next to her, still motionless and unresponsive.

She trembled. Her fingers wouldn’t uncurl from the rope.

“I got you.” Hinata gave her a slight nudge, his hand still gripping her arm. “You can let go.”

Mikan swallowed. If I die here, it’s because I wasn’t good enough.

She managed to loosen one of her hands and reached out to grip the rock face. She let go of the rope and all but collapsed next to Nanami. She was overcome with the urge to curl up against the cliff and cry.

“Tsumiki?” Hinata prompted, and she snapped out of it.

Nanami was lying on her side, facing away from her. There were no visible lacerations or bruising, but there was the possibility of injury beneath her clothing. Mikan reached out, hands shaking, and pressed her palm against the back of Nanami’s neck. Her skin was cold. How long had she been out here?

With one hand on her neck and the other on her shoulder, she slowly turned her onto her back. Nanami’s eyes were half-lidded. A trickle of blood slid from her nose and down her cheek. Mikan’s heartbeat stuttered. She leaned forward, bringing her ear to Nanami’s lips, and listened for breathing.

“Is she okay?” Hinata asked, and Mikan squeezed her eyes shut. She could barely hear over the blood rushing in her ears.

She took her gloves off, shoved them into her pocket, and pressed two fingers to Nanami’s carotid artery. She held her breath, willed her own body to stop its movement, and felt for a pulse.

Pressure built between her ears. She pulled up Nanami’s sleeve and tried her radial artery.

“Tsumiki?” Hinata asked again, his voice on the verge of breaking.

Mikan finally noticed the shadow beneath Nanami’s head, the blood seeping into the snow. Her eyes were motionless beneath her lids, pupils unresponsive. She checked again—carotid artery, radial artery, breathing. She put aside her reservations about a possible spinal injury and tried CPR. She heard Hinata’s increasingly desperate pleas behind her.

Finally, she checked for a pulse again, dug her fingers into Nanami’s cold, lifeless skin, and burst into tears.

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

When Fuyuhiko tried to open the door that morning, it didn’t budge.

“The hell?” He shifted his stance and rammed his shoulder into it, but the door held fast.

It didn’t have a lock. Souda had fashioned a hook and eye latch after the wolf attack, which had worked for a couple weeks until Owari had accidentally ripped it straight out of the frame by kicking the door open.

Sagishi approached one of the windows and rubbed their sleeve against the frosted pane. They squinted at the bright white light pouring through. “It snowed.”

“It snows every other day in this hellhole.” Fuyuhiko elbowed his way over to the window and peered through. “Holy fuck.”

If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the cabin had sunk several feet into the ground. White drifts towered around them. Even on the porch, which had been shielded by the awning, at least two feet of snow had piled up—enough to completely block the door from the outside.

“I hope you weren’t going outside for something important,” Sagishi said.

He glanced at the smoldering embers in the fireplace. “I don’t know, does not freezing to death count as important? We’re low on wood.”

“What’s the problem?” Nidai approached the door and braced both hands against it. “This thing is stuck? Allow me.”

He began to push, and the wood let out a concerning groan.

“Let’s not brute force it,” Sagishi said.

“Nidai, if you break that fucking door I’m using your face to patch the hole,” Fuyuhiko said at the same time.

He stopped pushing with a sigh. “Gah, it’s probably best not to use too much energy.”

“Should we just wait for it to melt?” Souda asked from one of the armchairs. He was curled up in a ball, wrapped in a threadbare blanket so only his eyes and nose were visible. “I mean, we have some leftover firewood inside. And it’s not like we’re gonna find any food today.”

Fuyuhiko ignored the cramping in his stomach. This would be their third day without food. Sonia and Peko had been staying out later and later only to come back empty-handed each night. The pine bark had been a bust. Their search for pinecones had yielded them a pathetic total of three pine nuts. Two had gone to Sonia and Peko, who needed the energy, and the third had been offered to Hinata.

It had been a shitty attempt at condolence, but Hinata had been a lot more gracious about the offer than Fuyuhiko would have been under the same circumstances. He’d spent the majority of the past few days staring into space or sleeping. Right now he was curled up in his normal spot by the sofa. If the commotion by the door had woken him, he didn’t show it.

Fuyuhiko huffed out a sigh and looked away. This wasn’t like when they’d lost Saionji. They’d had something to blame then, and he’d felt a sick kind of satisfaction every time Sonia brought back the carcass of a wolf. It had almost felt like revenge to strip their bones and wear their hides.

Nanami had died from a stupid accident. She’d been standing in the wrong spot and slipped. They couldn’t even bury her next to Saionji and Yukizome and the others. They’d had to wrap her in a tarp and put her in the shed until the ground thawed.

He looked outside again at the mountainous drifts. Spring seemed a long, long way off.

“Yo.” Owari stepped into the living room. “The back door’s all blocked by snow. Can we get out the front?”

“Nope. We’re completely trapped inside.” Nidai thumped his fist against the door for emphasis.

“Then how’re we supposed to piss?”

Sagishi frowned. “There’s a bucket by the back door. Have you not been using that?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Using a bucket’s gross. I usually just go outside.”

“Setting such matters aside,” Tanaka said, “we must find a way to escape this icy prison if we are to obtain water. Even such cursed beings as ourselves must quench our thirst if we hope to survive.”

“Not to mention it’s a fire hazard,” Hanamura said. “If, heavens forbid, we were to have an accident, we would need a way to get out quickly.”

At least a house fire would give them a fucking break from the constant cold. The chill was almost unbearable even with the fireplace lit, and he wasn’t sure how long they’d last without it. The point was, they needed to find a way out of the damn cabin.

“There’s a window up in the attic, right? We can just go out the second floor and dig a path from outside,” Fuyuhiko said.

“I’ll do it.” Sagishi grabbed the shovel from where it sat near the fireplace and started for the ladder.

“Cool.” Owari shrugged and walked back into the bedroom.

The others returned to their usual spots, curled up to try and ward off the cold and their hunger. Fuyuhiko glared at the window, something like unease prickling on the back of his neck. After a moment, he followed Sagishi up the ladder.

They were standing by the window, inspecting the frame. “I don’t know if this is designed to open.”

“Shit, really?” He moved beside them and searched the frame with his fingertips for a gap or opening. They hadn’t done as much work to seal this window as the ones downstairs, and a draft of freezing air stung his palm.

“We might be stuck in here after all.”

The whole thing seemed unbelievably stupid. They were trapped inside the one place that was keeping them from freezing to death, and all that was doing was prolonging their death by starvation. It felt like the forest was trying to bury them alive.

Fuyuhiko rolled his aching shoulders. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if a fire got us. Cooked everyone in the middle of the night.”

Sagishi’s head snapped towards him. “I understand why you feel that way, but you shouldn’t let those thoughts consume you. In situations like these, keeping morale up is just as important as food and shelter.”

“I know.” Fuyuhiko clenched his jaw. “I was just…talking out of my ass.”

“I believe you. If you ever need to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

He cut his eyes at them. “The hell’s up with you lately?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured towards the shovel. “This. Volunteering to dig us out of the cabin even if it’s going to wipe you out for the next two days. Offering to play therapist. I watched you listen to one of Komaeda’s rants for an hour yesterday, and right after that you went to help Tsumiki with one of her stupid cleaning binges. It’s like you’re running for class pres—”

He nearly choked on the rest of his sentence and looked away.

Sagishi said nothing for a moment, just staring out the window and rotating the shovel between their fingers. The shed wasn’t visible from the attic, but Fuyuhiko could feel its presence looming next to the cabin like a mausoleum.

“I know I could never replace her,” they said quietly. “I could try, but it would be an empty effort. An insult to her memory.”

“I wasn’t trying to imply that.” Fuyuhiko ran a hand through his hair. It was long enough to grip between his fingers and it annoyed him. “I was just talking out of my ass. Again.”

“I think hunger is making us all a little off.” They huffed out a laugh, their breath puffing white in the frigid air. “I was just trying to say that I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m doing here. I don’t have any survival-specific skills. I’m not particularly athletic. I miss full meals so much it’s hard to think about anything else. The one thing I know I’ll never lose is my ability to change. To adapt. And even if that doesn’t mean taking on anyone’s identity, I can still try to be whatever you all need me to be.”

Whatever you need. This wasn’t the first time Sagishi had uttered those words. It had become like a mantra to them.

Fuyuhiko’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to smash the window open. It’d make the attic freezing and he’d probably slice his knuckles open, but at least it would be something. If he was going to beat his fists against the walls, he might as well make it count.

Instead, he turned away, snatching the shovel from Sagishi’s grip as he did so. “We might as well go talk to the others. We’re not gonna accomplish shit up here.”

June 23, 2022

Sonia’s palms were sweating as she descended the stairs to the basement. She flexed her fingers and resisted the urge to double check the address in her phone. She knew exactly where she was and who was going to be at the room at the end of the hall. Her security team had done their own background checks, and had probably done a sweep of the building. There was no possible way she could be more prepared.

She still felt as if she were in free fall.

Before entering the room, she turned to Corneliu and Marin, who were shadowing her like usual.

“I would like both of you to remain outside, please.”

Marin nodded, while Corneliu’s brow twitched in the barest expression of doubt.

“It is for the sake of their privacy.” She hesitated. “As well as my own. We should be finished within the next forty five minutes.”

She turned back to the door, double-checked her posture, then put on an easy-going smile and stepped into the room.

Most of the furniture in the classroom had been shoved off to the side, except for a circle of plastic chairs. Seven heads whirled around to face her as soon as she entered.

“Good afternoon.” She let the door swing shut behind her. “I hope I am not too late.”

“You’re right on time.” Shirogane leapt out of her chair and hurried forward to shake her hand. “I was so happy when you said you were coming today, but I wasn’t sure if something came up—”

“Of course not. I simply had some trouble navigating the building.” Sonia took her hand, feeling soft palms and callused fingertips against her own.

Shirogane laughed, a little too loudly. “This place can be pretty difficult to navigate. Anyway, we should get started. I’ll get you a chair.”

Sonia could feel the stares of the six other people as she sat in the chair Shirogane shoved into the circle. She crossed her legs at the ankles, set her hands in her lap, and finally permitted herself to look them over.

They were all young, probably university age, and looked to be generally healthy. Sonia already knew each of their names, but she’d left the more in-depth research to her security team. It felt wrong to know too much about people she hadn’t met before, even though they probably already had that advantage over her.

“Do you all go to this school?” she asked before the silence could swell to an uncomfortable level.

“Yeah.” One of the boys cast a glance at Shirogane, who nodded encouragingly. “We, um, were all in the same study abroad program. Mumbai for one semester.”

“It is a lovely city,” Sonia began, then stopped herself. None of the students had ever made it to their destination, after all.

Shirogane cleared her throat. “I’m going to stay out of the discussion as much as possible, but maybe we should start with some introductions. I’m sure you all know who our guest is, but…” She sent a prompting look at Sonia.

She raised her hand in a small wave. “My name is Sonia Nevermind. I am part of the royal family of Novoselic. Please do not think of me as a guest, but rather as a friend. I am here today because I was in an accident similar to your own ten years ago. I hope I can offer some support to you all.”

The others were looking at her with awe. Sonia tried to keep her expression open and inviting. If the survivors here needed an example of healing and growth, she would be it for them.

“Maybe the rest of you could introduce yourselves as well,” Shirogane said.

They went around the circle, all six of them giving names and areas of study in halting voices, as if they were reading from an invisible peace of paper. Sonia did her best to memorize their family names, if nothing else.

“And you all know me,” Shirogane said, shifting in her seat. “I brought this group together to help everyone heal from their traumas. I want this to be a safe space where everyone can share whatever they need. There is no judgement whatsoever.” She cast an affirming glance around the circle and received several nods. “So, does anyone want to share?”

One of the girls raised her hand. As soon as the others turned to look at her, she wedged both hands between her knees. “I guess, um, I can start.”

Shirogane gave her an encouraging smile and nodded.

“I’ve been having, um, weird habits with food. “ She shifted in her seat, as if the attention of the others was making her skin itch. “I always pack, like, way too many snacks in my bag. When I go home after classes I go straight to the kitchen and check that there’s food in the pantry. I do it even when I’m not hungry. It’s stupid, but I start to panic if I don’t.”

One of the boys nodded. “I guess I kind of have the opposite problem. I still struggle with eating three meals a day. Sometimes I forget because I’m not hungry, and sometimes I am hungry but it just…doesn’t occur to me to get food.”

Sonia took a slow, measured breath as quietly as she could. After their rescue, her parents had whisked her back to Novoselic the same day she’d been cleared to leave the hospital. She’d spent weeks struggling to finish even a small meal, unsure why she couldn’t eat when she thought she should be ravenous.

One night, she’d woken in a daze of hunger pangs and crept down to the kitchen. She’d taken a package of ground beef from the freezer, methodically sliced it open with a knife, and eaten it raw.

Afterwards, she’d emptied her stomach into the guest bathroom toilet and cried into the cold, spotless tile.

She cleared her throat. “I know a psychologist that specializes in disordered eating and food-related anxiety. If any of you are interested, I would be happy to refer you to her practice. I will pay for any associated costs, as well.”

Another girl gave her a shy smile. “A nutritionist came to visit us after we were rescued. I thought it was pretty helpful, so…”

“Medical professionals can definitely be beneficial,” Shirogane said. “A healthy body can help the mind recover as well. Did anyone else want to share…?”

A lanky boy with piercings straightened in his chair. “I sleep with too many blankets now. My roommate complains because I never want the AC on, but I hate feeling even a little cold.” He glanced at Sonia. “It was cold where you were too, right?”

She nodded. “Russian winters are quite intense. We were incredibly lucky to have a cabin to shelter us, and we kept a fire burning as often as we could, but it was difficult not to feel cold.”

“A cabin?” He scratched the back of his head. “For some reason I thought you guys were camped out in tents or something.”

“Fortunately not.” Sonia kept her hands still in her lap. She could feel goosebumps rising on her skin.

“I’m kind of nervous about winter,” one of the girls said. “I feel like it might take me back, you know?”

“I’m just gonna fly out to some tropical island for half the year,” the boy with the piercings muttered.

“That sounds like the anniversary effect,” Shirogane said. “It’s possible you’ll experience mood swings and increased trauma symptoms on the anniversary of the crash. You should all keep the date in mind as it approaches, and make sure you have people you can reach out to for support.” She glanced at Sonia for validation.

“Indeed,” she said. “You must be gentle with yourselves when the anniversary arrives. It may help to find a change of scenery, if you are at all comfortable with flying.”

The boy with the piercings blinked and nodded.

“Maybe we could talk more about grounding techniques,” Shirogane said. “Does anyone want to share how they deal with particularly intense emotions or memories?”

The rest of the session proceeded without incident. The group of students seemed to be in relatively good spirits, and Sonia was glad. It made it easier to hide the sinking feeling in her chest, the memories that were threatening to resurface. By the time the session was over, she was considering cancelling her dinner meeting. She needed some time to calm herself.

Shirogane turned to her with a smile. “Thank you so much for your time today. I usually hold a little debrief with everyone after the session, so…”

Sonia recognized the dismissal for what it was and stood up, trying not to appear too eager. “Of course. It was lovely to meet you all, and I hope I was able to provide some form of support.”

The others thanked her with shy smiles, and Sonia took even, purposeful steps towards the door.

“How was it?” Corneliu asked once they were back in the car.

“It went well.” Sonia took a deep breath, gathered up the tendrils of memory and unease that were threatening to resurface, and tucked them away somewhere deep and unreachable.

Her phone buzzed—Shirogane was calling. Ignoring a tremor of anxiety, Sonia answered the call.

“Hello, Your Majesty. I want to apologize for kicking you out at the end like that.”

“Please call me Sonia. There is no need for formality between us. And no apology is necessary—it is perfectly reasonable if you require privacy between yourself and the members of the support group.”

Shirogane stammered for a moment, then cleared her throat, the noise crackling through the line. “I just wanted to thank you for your time today. I know you’re incredibly busy, and it means so much to me that you came here to support my, um…my support group.”

Despite the tension in her chest, her heart warmed. “I hope my presence was helpful. I have never attended a support group before, so I was not sure what the conventions would be.”

“…What about your fellow survivors?”

Sonia remembered the last time all of them had been in a room together and tried not to shiver. “We all had scheduling conflicts, unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Shirogane paused again, then continued in a lighter tone, “It’s no problem if this is your first time. I just wanted to…well. This feels plain presumptuous, but I thought since I’m running the group I should maybe offer a little piece of advice.”

“Please.”

“Um, the way we run things here, it’s more about letting people get stuff off their chest and talk to others who would understand. If they ask for advice, everyone’s free to help out, but for the most part it’s not exactly about fixing anything.”

Sonia nodded slowly “I see.”

“I noticed you were offering them therapy recommendations and other things. Which is incredibly generous of you, but I think it might be more in touch with the group’s mission if you were to just…listen and empathize. And share, if you feel comfortable. I’m sorry for being so harsh, I just—”

“Not at all.” Sonia waved a placating hand, though she knew Shirogane couldn’t see it. Embarrassment simmered low on her cheeks. “I see your point. Most of my work involves connecting others with services they need, but I should have been more considerate about bringing that mindset to the group. I will make an effort to focus more on listening next time.”

Shirogane let out a small sigh of relief followed by a squeak of surprise. “Next time? You mean you’d come to another session?”

“If you are agreeable to it.”

“Of course,” she said, her voice bright. “That would be fantastic. Thank you so much.”

“I do not know if my schedule will allow me to come every week, but I will let you know in advance if I can make it.”

“That’s plain perfect.” Her smile was nearly audible. “You have no idea how helpful this is.”

“I am glad.” She reached into her purse and pulled out Shirogane’s business card, which was beginning to wear at the edges from the number of times she’d turned it over in her fingers. “If you have a moment, I have been meaning to ask about your own involvement in the support group.”

“Oh.” Shirogane’s voice rose in pitch. “Um, me?”

“I do not meant to call your qualifications into question, but as I recall, you work as a hair and makeup specialist.”

As far as Sonia’s research showed, Shirogane had no certification or training related to psychology, and her undergraduate studies had been in television production. Sonia would have passed on the meeting entirely if she hadn’t found Shirogane’s name attached to several other support groups at the university’s Health and Wellness Center.

“That’s a completely fair question to ask,” Shirogane said. “I’ve had experience volunteering at my university, and I’ve been doing training as a social worker on the side. I mean, television is my real passion, but I wanted to do something to help people and not just entertain them, you know?”

“Of course I understand. And I do not think there is anything wrong with having more than one passion in life.”

Shirogane laughed. “Well, I guess they’re both about the kind of stories we tell ourselves, right?”

Sonia flinched. 

Stories, or lies?

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all philosophical on you,” Shirogane continued, rushing to fill the silence. “But, um, if you have any more questions about my qualifications—”

“That won’t be necessary. I can tell your heart is in the right place.” Sonia smiled, hoping it would help lighten her tone. “I look forward to meeting with you and the others soon.”

“Of course. Yeah. Thank you so much. Um, talk to you later.”

“Goodbye.”

Sonia ended the call, and her hand trembled as she placed the phone in her lap.

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

Without any food, there wasn’t much to do during the day. They’d spent half an afternoon painstakingly scraping snow away through a crack in the door until there was enough space to dig a path off the porch and over to the wood pile. They drank pine needle tea and fed the fire and slept. No one had the energy to do much more than that.

Hajime was almost grateful for the hunger, because it gave him something else to think about besides Nanami. He sat in his spot by the sofa and felt the pit in his stomach grow more painful each day.

It felt like all of them were waiting for something. To die, probably.

At least for Nanami it had been quick.

There wasn’t much to do during the day, but at least the others were awake. Hajime knew they felt sorry for him. Souda occasionally tried to strike up a conversation about something lighthearted, but those never lasted long. Sagishi had gently prompted him to talk about his feelings, with very little success. Sometimes Komaeda would come and sit beside him. There was a strange energy in his posture, like he was also waiting for something, but Hajime never felt like asking about it.

It was worse at night.

At night, with nothing to distract him, with hunger pangs keeping him at the very edge of sleep, Hajime replayed the moment at the cliff over and over again. He imagined calling out in time, getting Nanami to step away from the edge. He imagined running forward and pulling her to safety. He imagined being too late anyway and watching her disappear a hair’s breadth from his outstretched fingers.

He imagined going over the cliff with her. Maybe he could have shielded her fall with his body. It could have been him—it should have been him, if it meant Nanami could be here with the others. She was worth something to the group. She’d been their hope. She was meant for great things, had a family that was proud of her, and he—

The ache in his chest intensified, like his ribs had finally given in under the pressure of his grief. He was going to have to tell her family that she was dead. That she wasn’t coming back.

Hajime muffled a sob with one hand and lifted his head. White sparks crackled in his vision. Slowly, he sat up and looked around. The others were motionless, probably asleep. Someone had added another log to the fire, but he couldn’t feel its warmth. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow and tried to slow his breathing, but the tears wouldn’t stop. They traced burning paths down his cold skin.

With one hand clamped over his mouth, he stood and steadied himself against the sofa as another wave of dizziness swept over him. He crept past Souda snoring quietly in the armchair, Tanaka curled protectively around his hamsters, and reached the ladder in the storage closet. He climbed the rungs slowly, biting his lip to keep himself quiet.

Once he was in the attic, the dam burst. Hajime curled into a ball and cried.

He missed her. He missed Nanami so badly it hurt. She’d been there to talk him through bad test scores and fights with classmates and existential crises about his own lack of talent, and even if she hadn’t always known the right thing to say, it had been enough that she’d cared. And the twisted fucking irony was that she wasn’t here at his lowest point, when he needed her more than ever.

Hajime hid his face in his arms and tried to remember how to breathe.

The ladder creaked behind him. He stiffened and dragged his sleeve across his face, the fabric scratching his chapped skin. He couldn’t bring himself to face whoever was coming up, so he sat still and tried to quiet his hiccuping breaths.

A soft, raspy voice sounded from the trapdoor. “Hinata?”

Footsteps padded across the floor. Komaeda knelt beside him, peering at his face. Hajime kept his eyes on the floor, a strange knot of emotion rising through his grief. He was embarrassed, even though everyone had already seen him cry. He’d cried when Tsumiki had declared Nanami dead. He’d cried while they’d lifted her body from the ledge. While Nidai had carried her to the cabin. While they’d wrapped her up and placed her in the shed.

He wasn’t sure if Komaeda would judge him for giving into despair instead of being hopeful about…whatever. It took a significant amount of energy on a good day to try and predict where Komaeda’s mind was going, and he really didn’t have it in him to do it tonight.

“It’s going to be okay,” Komaeda said slowly, steadily, like he really believed what he was saying. “Things aren’t okay right now, but they will be.”

Hajime sniffled and dried his eyes again. “How do you know?”

“Because what happened to Nanami was terrible.” His expression darkened. “It was the worst luck.” His voice rose into something more optimistic. “And that can only mean something amazing is going to happen soon.”

He closed his eyes. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting Komaeda to say. “There is nothing that could make losing her worth it.”

“Not even if we were rescued?”

Hajime stiffened. He didn’t even want to entertain the possibility, even as it made longing rise in his chest. “I don’t want to think like that. She wasn’t something to be traded—”

“Of course not,” Komaeda said, his voice firm and soft. “There’s nothing that could ever fill the void that Nanami left behind. But we have to believe that things will get better, don’t we? That’s what hope is.”

“I know, I just…” He was still crying. He wiped his eyes again. “I don’t want to think about that right now. I came up here so I could just cry, okay?” He let his vision blur, too wary to look at Komaeda.

“I’m not good at comforting people,” Komaeda said softly. “It’s one of my many shortcomings. And I know the things that give me comfort don’t always help other people.”

Hajime looked at him directly for the first time and realized he was shivering, even under his coat and gloves. “Are you really that cold?”

“It’s not that I lack empathy entirely. It hurts to see you grieve, Hinata. It’s just that I often struggle with—”

“I meant the temperature. You’re shivering.”

“I’m always cold.” He smiled humorlessly. “I don’t think the lack of food helps, either.”

Hajime lifted his gaze to Komaeda’s eyes, which were shadowed with weariness. There was grief there too, despite his placid expression. He was holding his hands in his lap, fists tight like he was trying to hide the fact that he was shivering.

“Can I do something?” he asked. “You can tell me if it’s weird.”

A single crystallized breath puffed from Komaeda’s lips as they moved silently for a moment. “Like I said, I don’t think I’m the best judge of what is weird.”

“Then tell me if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Komaeda locked eyes with him and nodded. The pale, wintry light coming from the window washed his face in silver and gray. He looked like an apparition, a shade. Hajime was struck with an aching, bone-deep sense of loneliness.

He shifted forward until he was close enough to wrap his arms around Komaeda’s middle. He held him loosely, anticipating rejection, half-wishing he would pull away just so the awkward moment would be over. He leaned his head against Komaeda’s chest, the sharp ridge of his collarbone against his temple.

Komaeda stayed still for so long that Hajime was wondering if he should move away first and try to brush the whole thing off. Just as he was about to lean back, Komaeda lifted one arm and draped it over his shoulders. His other hand went to the back of his neck, and Hajime shivered at the touch of cold skin.

It was nice to be held, even by someone as angular as Komaeda. The last person to touch him like this had been Nanami, on the day he’d given her his game system, and the memory made tears well up again. He tightened his grip on Komaeda, as if his presence would somehow ease the pain in his chest.

“I don’t mind if you cry,” Komaeda said softly. “I would offer you tissues, but I think my shirt would work as a reasonable substitute.”

Hajime let out a choked noise that was half-laugh, half-sob, and pulled him closer. He could hear the vibration of Komaeda’s voice in his chest, could feel the slow rise and fall of his breaths and the steady drumbeat of his heart. He wanted to bury himself in that rhythm, wanted to find comfort in the knowledge that they were still alive.

He thought about Komaeda, standing next to the corpses of his parents. Maybe it wasn’t the most irrational thing to put so much weight on hope, on the idea that something good could come out of something terrible. There weren’t many other things that could keep a person sane in a situation like this.

“Let’s try to survive this together,” Hajime said, his voice muffled by the fabric of Komaeda’s coat.

Komaeda didn’t respond, but his hand pressed against the back of Hajime’s neck, his thumb stroking the hair at his nape.

Kazuichi could hear multiple voices coming from the girls’ room. Maybe he should have been relieved at a break in the monotony, but it made him nervous. It reminded him of the nights he’d lain awake as a kid, listening to his parents arguing in the kitchen. Even though none of the girls sounded particularly angry, the noise still prodded at some deep-buried instinct to make himself as small as possible.

He didn’t want to think about his parents right now.

He flinched when the door opened and Mioda walked into the living room, her guitar slung over her shoulder. She sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace and pulled the instrument into her lap.

“What’s up, everyone? Ibuki just finished one of her side projects.” Her voice was bright as ever, but Kazuichi could hear the strain in it. She always seemed to have endless amounts of energy, but the fact that she was doing this now seemed like a downright miracle.

The rest of the girls filed into the room. Kazuichi sat up, prepared to offer his chair to Sonia, but she headed for the other side of the room and sank to the floor next to Tanaka. He looked away and slumped against the lumpy cushions again. He’d probably die in this fucking chair.

“My fingers are like popsicles right now, so I’m gonna do a few warmups before I jump into my new single.” Mioda began playing a series of scales, her fingers fumbling over the strings. “Sing along if you know the words. Mommy made me mash my M&Ms, I cried…”

“Could you try singing about something else?” Sagishi said.

Mioda’s fingers stumbled over a chord. “Oh, shoot. Right. Let’s see. Um… Chester Cheetah chewed a chunk of cheap cheddar—oops.”

Kuzuryu put his head in his hands and muttered, “Someone kill me now.”

“Okay. Silent warmups.” She cleared her throat and started a series of scales. “I guess they’re not technically silent. Voiceless, maybe?”

A quiet click sounded in between scales, and Kazuichi lifted his head in time to catch Koizumi lowering her camera. She stared at the tiny digital interface, one finger tracing the shutter button. He hadn’t seen her take a picture in months, not even of the snowy landscapes outside. He knew she liked to take pictures of people, and none of them had really been camera-ready since Saionji had died. Especially not after Nanami.

Mioda’s teeth worried her lower lip as she watched the movement of her fingers. She looked exhausted and nervous. But she was making music. She was trying—that was more than could be said for the rest of them.

He thought about what Sonia had said all those nights ago—that food kept them alive, but things like music were what they lived for. He looked at his shitty wood carving, sitting abandoned on the windowsill. He thought about the mangled remains of the radio lying on the floor of the plane.

Sitting up made him dizzy. He wasn’t totally confident he could make it to the other side of the room without passing out, but he put his feet on the floor and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders.

“Mind if I—” He cleared his scratchy throat. “Mind if I join in?”

Mioda’s expression brightened and she beckoned him over. “I only have one guitar, but you can do backup vocals.”

Kazuichi stood and shuffled his way over. He was moving like a grandpa, but at least he made it without falling. He lowered himself into a cross-legged position next to Mioda’s chair and felt his face grow hot as he found himself in front of an audience.

“Alright, I’m gonna start you on something simple.” Mioda switched to a set of chords. “It goes, bum, bum-bum ba-dum…”

He parroted the notes as best he could, his voice weak and shaky. He couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s eyes, but he could feel their gazes. Owari was leaning against Nidai’s leg, listlessly tapping one foot. Sonia was perfectly still, sitting up straight with their hands in their lap. Maybe they’d get a good laugh out of his shitty performance. That was better than dying totally miserable, right?

Mioda began to sing, and Kazuichi tried to remember the correct notes as her melody diverged from his. She was slurring her words a little, but it sounded like a ballad about a girl traveling the world in a hot air balloon. It was kind of hard to focus on the lyrics and keep track of his own part. He was starting to wish he’d just sat back and listened. He was already out of breath, and the silence from the others was suffocating.

Maybe he was wrong. They wouldn’t find this funny at all—just incredibly depressing.

His voice was completely gone. He was just mouthing wordless syllables through dry lips. Mioda stopped singing a minute later, leaning heavily on her guitar.

“Whew, that was a workout.” Her lips attempted a smile. “Stay tuned for part two. Whenever I get around to it.”

Tsumiki burst into tears.

Everyone flinched at the noise. Nidai, who was closest, reached over and patted her shoulder, his expression strained. She flinched and curled in on herself, her sobs muffled by her arms.

“I’m sorry,” she keened. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I couldn’t…”

“Oh, no,” Mioda said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean…”

Kazuichi’s eyes stung. He put his face in his hands, the heels of his palms massaging his cheekbones. The fire was right behind him, but he felt incredibly cold.

“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” Hanamura whispered.

Koizumi was crying too. Pekoyama stood and went to the door.

“There is nowhere we can go,” Sonia said, her voice trembling. “The snow is too deep.”

Pekoyama stopped. She’d been surprisingly steady when crossing the room, but Kazuichi could see one hand braced against the door, holding her upright.

Despair filled the room, so thick he could feel it in his lungs.

They were going to die here. They’d worked so hard for so many months and they’d lost Saionji and Nanami and he’d tried to sing to make them feel better and none of it was going to matter in the end. 

He couldn’t feel the warmth of the fire at his back.

Mioda’s shoulders sagged, and she set her guitar on the floor.

June 23, 2022

There was someone in his room, standing at the foot of the bed.

Hajime’s eyes were wide open, his pulse thundering in his ears. It had to be one of Fuyuhiko’s men, here to finish him off. It seemed the universe wasn’t kind enough to let him sleep while it happened. Maybe that was what he deserved, after everything.

He couldn’t move. His limbs were locked in place, and all he could do was stare into the darkness as the silhouette moved.

A specter stepped towards him, into the gray light filtering through the window, colorless and ethereal. Hajime’s breath caught in his throat.

Nagito Komaeda, still seventeen, climbed onto the foot of his bed with soundless movements, like he weighed nothing at all. His hair was wispy and tangled, bleeding into thin air like vapor. A small, knowing smile curved his lips.

Hajime couldn’t speak. His jaw was painfully stiff, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Komaeda crept closer on all fours, and Hajime flinched as something wet seeped through his pajama pants, just below his knee. A familiar, coppery scent filled the air.

He forced himself to look.

Komaeda’s left arm was nearly skeletal from the elbow down, scraps of mangled flesh hanging from bloodied bone. His hand left a damp handprint on Hajime’s leg, his stomach. It settled just over his heart as Komaeda straddled his torso.

Hajime couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know if he even remembered how. He stared up at Komaeda’s face, his gaze narrowing on those bright gray eyes.

“Is it forgiveness you want?” Komaeda’s voice was little more than a rasp, a whisper of a memory. “Or something more?”

He managed to part his lips, but no sound escaped. His lungs were beginning to burn with the need for air.

Komaeda leaned forward, his unruly hair tickling Hajime’s cheek, until his cold, dry lips brushed against the shell of his ear. He drew in a rattling breath to speak.

Hajime gasped, sensation flooding his body in painful needle-pricks. He sat up, chest heaving, and pawed at his clothing. There was no blood, just sweat.

Komaeda was gone.

Shame and guilt and longing rushed up his throat. Hajime fisted his hands in his hair and pulled. For a second, he’d really believed…

The urge to cry throbbed in his chest. He took in ragged, purposeful breaths until it subsided. There was no one left who would forgive him. No one left who would understand. Grieving that loss would just make it worse.

The sweat soaking his clothes was starting to make him shiver, despite the adrenaline running hot through his veins. He turned and squinted at the clock on the bedside table. 

4:14 am. He couldn’t leave his room yet. With a sigh, Hajime flopped backwards against the mattress and pulled the blanket over himself.

He stared at the gray, empty ceiling and waited.

Chapter Text

June 23, 2022

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Fuyuhiko didn’t flinch when Natsumi slid open the door to his office, the wood hitting the frame with a snap. He flicked his eye in her direction, then towards the clock in the corner of his laptop screen.

“It’s 4:14 am.”

“Which is an insane time of the day to be awake. I have an actual reason since I just got off a flight.” She crossed the room and braced both hands agains the desk. “What’s your excuse?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, keeping his eye on the webpage he was reading. He was hoping Natsumi would leave him alone and go sleep off her jet lag. He didn’t have the energy for whatever was making her so belligerent.

Natsumi reached over and pulled the laptop off the desk, spinning it around so she could see the screen.

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Wow.” She arched an eyebrow as she scanned the webpage. “So you’re finally taking my advice and checking yourself into a mental hospital.”

“It’s not for me, dumbass.” The laptop was out of reach, so he sat back in his chair with a sigh. “How’d the meeting with the Americans go?”

“It went fine. Stop trying to change the subject.” She balanced the computer on one palm and scrolled with her other hand. “Don’t tell me this is about the blackmail thing.”

“I told you to let me handle it.” He tried to inject some form of a warning into his voice, but as soon as he’d leaned back against his chair a wave of exhaustion had settled over him. “You gonna let me get back to work or what?”

“I don’t get why you’re so worked up over this.” She placed the laptop back on the table and he reached over to shut it. “So what if this person some dirt on you? You’re oyabun. It’s not like it’s gonna hurt your reputation.”

That wasn’t true. There were some things even yakuza didn’t tolerate.

“It bothers me that they’re trying,” he replied through gritted teeth. “That they think they can get one up on me with whatever they think they know. And regardless of my reputation, it’s gonna fuck up everyone else’s lives if anything gets out.”

“So why’d you go after Hajime Hinata? If he was the one who sent the note, he’d ruin his own life by leaking info to the press.”

Fuyuhiko took a long, slow breath to calm himself. Just thinking about that night felt like putting pressure on an old, festering wound. He thought it would have brought him some kind of satisfaction to see Hinata so miserable—to see him downright suicidal—but it had only made him angrier.

“There’s a lot you don’t understand.”

Natsumi placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Then explain it to me.”

He wondered if he’d ever looked half as intimidating as she did in that moment. There was no anger in her eyes, just cold steel, the determination of a woman who knew she was going to get what she wanted.

“I’m gonna be honest,” she said quietly. “You’re my brother, and I love you, and it hurts to see you struggle with whatever the fuck happened out there. If that’s not enough to make you talk, fine. I’ll speak to you as wakagashira. You’re using clan resources to surveil Hinata’s apartment, even though you didn’t find anything compelling enough to kill him. If you can’t come up with an explanation to justify that use of resources, then we’re going to have a problem.”

Fuyuhiko held her gaze and felt nothing but exhaustion. She’d always been the stronger half of their team. A better sister, too. He hadn’t been half as subtle about his own shortcomings as he’d thought.

He nodded at the chair on the other side of the desk. “Sit down.”

Natsumi searched his face for a moment, a skeptical set to her jaw, then sank into the chair. Fuyuhiko let his eye unfocus for a moment and tried to gather his thoughts.

“You know I wouldn’t judge you for any of it,” Natsumi said, and when he looked across the desk, it wasn’t his business partner and greatest rival staring back at him. It was his little sister. “Whatever you did, I know you did it to survive.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. There were still some parts of the story that he didn’t think he would ever say out loud, but he could talk about some of it. Just the parts she needed to know, if they were going to defend the clan.

“Keep an open mind until I’m done talking.”

Her frown deepened. “Seriously, whatever it is—”

“It’s not that I think you’re gonna judge me.” Fuyuhiko sighed and closed one hand into a fist before it could start trembling. “I’m just not sure if you’ll believe me.”

Winter 2012

“Is that what I fucking think it is?”

Hajime stirred. His muscles felt unbelievably sore, the skin on his hands chapped and raw. There was daylight streaming through the windows, but it was still cold. It was always cold. He didn’t remember what it was like to not be cold.

More voices joined Kuzuryu’s, sleepy murmurs from the other boys. Hajime squeezed his eyes shut and rolled away from the window. He just wanted to sleep. His stomach had been cramping for the past few days, painfully enough to numb the hunger, but it was back now. He was so hungry his mouth was watering. 

…It smelled like cooking meat.

Hajime opened his eyes.

“Do you need help dividing the portions?” Sagishi asked.

“I still remember how to do it,” Hanamura said, half-grumbling. “Eat quick so the girls can have their share.”

Hajime lurched into a sitting position and swayed as stars filled his vision. He was filled with a sudden energy, something that wasn’t quite panic. He gripped the side of the sofa and used it to pull himself to his feet.

The other boys were stirring from their usual spots. Kuzuryu and Sagishi were by the fireplace, staring ravenously as Hanamura prodded at something in the fireplace. He was using the cast iron pan that had been gathering dust in the kitchen, that had been cold and bare but was hot and sizzling now. Hanamura forked over a piece of perfectly cooked meat onto the plate in his hand and Hajime’s stomach lurched.

There was meat there was food there was something they could eat, they could finally eat—

The bedroom door opened. Mioda shuffled out, leaning heavily against the doorway, and blinked sleepily. Her nose twitched and her eyes widened.

“Oh my god, no way.”

They didn’t line up. They didn’t divide into two rounds like they had before. They crowded around as Hanamura carefully divided up the meat, plated it, and passed it out.

“Remember to bring the plates back, y’all.”

Hajime burned his tongue on his first bite. He nearly spat the piece back out as pain shot through his mouth, but he was salivating so much he didn’t know what to do except chew and chew and swallow. He sat hunched on the floor, his back against Souda’s armchair, and burned his tongue again.

They’d run out of seasoning a long time ago. Even Hanamura’s talent could only take things so far, but this was still the best thing he’d ever tasted. Despite the pain in his mouth, the discomfort in his stomach as it made room for food after being empty for…for however long it had been, Hajime would have eaten until he made himself sick.

He reached for another bite and froze. There was no more. He licked the grease from his fingers, from the plate. He was still hungry—so, so hungry—but he felt a little better now. He didn’t feel quite as unsteady as he pushed himself to his feet and returned to the fireplace.

His arm still trembled as he held out his empty plate. “I didn’t wash—”

“I don’t think anyone cares about that.” Hanamura took it from him and plated a portion for Tsumiki. He stared at each piece hungrily, and Hajime wondered if he’d fed himself first or if he was waiting to eat last as usual. He couldn’t imagine having that kind of self control.

Half the group was still waiting for their portion, so he shuffled out of the way and sat in his usual spot. His stomach was still growling for more, but now that he’d eaten a little, he felt drowsy, a little more comfortable in his exhaustion. Maybe there would be more food tomorrow. Maybe they would be okay.

The others seemed to share his tentative optimism, exchanging shaky smiles and whispered conversation. Hajime sought out Komaeda and saw him sitting by the window, eating carefully with a faraway look in his eyes. He wondered what he was thinking, if he was expecting something terrible to follow this stroke of good luck.

He wished Nanami was here.

“I can just eat it out of my hands,” Owari was saying, looking like she was about to reach into the hot pan herself.

“If you wanna get grease burns all over your hands, be my guest,” Hanamura said.

“Here.” Kuzuryu shoved his plate in her direction. “I’m done. Take it.”

“Please tell me you’re hiding a part two somewhere.” Mioda put a hand over her stomach. “You’ve totally awakened the beast by giving us food.”

“Yeah, how much was the haul?” Owari asked around a mouthful of food, glancing between Sonia and Pekoyama. “You guys go hunting last night or something?”

Sonia blinked and wiped the back of her mouth with her sleeve. Hajime would never have imagined a princess doing something like that, but it wasn’t like manners really mattered right now.

“I was sleeping with the rest of you last night. Pekoyama, I assumed you had gone to check the traps or something of that nature.”

Pekoyama went still. One last bite sat on her plate, but she didn’t touch it. 

Goosebumps rose on Hajime’s skin.

“I have not been outside since yesterday morning,” she said. “I did not bring anything back other than firewood.”

All eyes turned to Hanamura, who held up both hands. The pan sat next to him, empty and shining with grease.

“Wasn’t me. I dunno a darn thing about hunting.”

“Well, whoever it was better take credit,” Nidai said. “They deserve to be congratulated for saving everyone.”

Koizumi ran an agitated hand through her hair. “Hanamura, where did you get the meat in the first place?”

“The shed,” Hanamura replied, and Hajime’s stomach turned. “I saw it when I went out for firewood this morning.”

“Is it possible we left some in the shed and forgot about it?” Sagishi said.

“We’ve all been sitting here starving,” Souda said. “How the hell would we forget?”

Hanamura’s brow furrowed. “Well, it did seem like it had been frozen at one point, but it was partially thawed when I took it inside.”

Pekoyama was staring into space, her jaw tight.

White spots danced in his vision. Hajime pushed himself to his feet, overcome by the crawling sensation beneath his skin. He didn’t want to believe it, but the anxiety building in him was unbearable, threatening to tear him up from the inside out. He stumbled towards the door and pushed his way outside, ignoring the blast of cold air that seared his skin and the outbursts of the others behind him.

Please. Please, don’t let it be…

He ran through the trench in the snow that Hanamura must have made earlier, his toes already growing painfully numb.

The meat shed was cold and quiet and smelled of blood, like it usually did. It was empty except the bundled tarp at the far end. Hajime could hear his breaths knifing through his chest as he stepped over the frozen mud and fell to his knees. He gripped the edge of the tarp, ears ringing, eyes stinging, and pulled.

Bones. Stained clothing. Nanami’s hair, matted with viscera.

Hajime didn’t remember screaming. The next thing he knew, he was doubled over, his throat raw, gasping for air and smelling nothing but gore. His whole body trembled and he retched.

A cold hand clamped over his mouth, forcing him to breathe through his nose.

“Don’t.” Komaeda held him tight even as he tried to pull away. “You need the food. Just breathe. In and out.”

Hajime squeezed his eyes shut, but the image was burned into his retinas. He could feel it sitting stone-heavy in his stomach, he could still taste it on the back of his tongue, he could taste her—

From the doorway of the shed, Tsumiki let out a high-pitched wail that cut through the murmurs of the others.

“It can’t be,” Sonia gasped. She sounded close to tears. “Please, someone tell me we didn’t…”

Tentatively, Komaeda took his hand away from Hajime’s mouth. His other arm was wrapped around his trembling shoulders. Hajime wasn’t sure what he would have done if Komaeda hadn’t been holding him upright. His nausea had subsided somewhat, but his nostrils were clogged with the scent of blood. He wanted to reach down his own throat and claw it all out.

With his free hand, Komaeda reached over and folded the tarp back over itself, obscuring its contents. He murmured something, too soft for Hajime to hear with the ringing in his ears.

“We did what?” Nidai shouted, loud enough to momentarily drown out the voices of the others. The sound shocked Hajime back to the present and he looked over his shoulder.

The rest of the group was crowded outside as if some invisible boundary kept them from crossing the threshold. He took in the looks of horror on their faces and his stomach turned again. He shrugged off Komaeda’s arm, lurched to his feet, and made for the doorway.

Tsumiki leapt out of his way, nearly knocking Sagishi over in the process. Sonia stepped aside but she reached out for him, tears on her trembling cheeks. He didn’t hear whatever she said to him. All of their faces blurred, their words fading to a low drone, until he found Hanamura.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice as he leapt forward, hands fisting in Hanamura’s coat, nearly knocking him over with the force of his grip. “How could you do that to her?”

Hanamura dissolved into unintelligible babbling, hands pawing at his wrists. Hajime was still shaking, either from anger or the cold, and he was so sick to his stomach he could barely manage the words, but he couldn’t stop.

“How could you do that? Why would you— How could you think any of us would be okay with that? How the fuck—”

“I didn’t know!” Hanamura howled. “I swear I didn’t know, I walked in that there shed and the m-m-meat was already skinned, I swear I’d never, I’d never, I’d never…”

“Then who did that to her?” His throat was hoarse from how much he was shouting. The short journey from the cabin to the shed had left him out of breath. “Tell me the fucking truth or I swear—”

“That’s enough.” 

A hand grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him off of Hanamura. Hajime stumbled several steps before righting himself.

“We need to get back inside and preserve our energy.” Pekoyama’s voice was hard as steel and brooked no argument. “There’s no point in discussing this in the cold.”

Mioda nodded, her entire body vibrating with shivers. Sagishi was practically holding Tsumiki upright, swallowing with visible difficulty and looking anywhere but the shed.

Most of the others had taken the time to put on their coats before stepping outside. Hajime was freezing in his jacket, could already feel his ears and fingers and toes going numb, but he didn’t want to go back inside. He didn’t go back into the room that smelled like misery and sweat and cooking meat.

Someone cuffed him roughly on the shoulder, startling him out of his daze. Kuzuryu met his gaze, and there was no pity or fear there, but a steel that matched Pekoyama’s.

“You heard her. Get the fuck back inside.”

The others moved as a group, and Hajime shuffled along with them. His shivering only worsened as he entered the shelter of the cabin. He leaned against the wall near his usual spot, where he could see the entirety of the room.

Hanamura stared at the empty cast iron pan for a long moment, then removed it from the fire and took it into the kitchen.

He knew how to butcher animals. He’d taught Sonia and Pekoyama, too. Tsumiki had anatomical knowledge. Any one of them could have been hungry enough, desperate enough…

Hajime squeezed his eyes shut. They’d all loved Nanami. Even if she hadn’t been everyone’s closest friend, she’d been dear to all of them.

How could anyone possibly be hungrier than that?

Pekoyama lowered herself onto the stool by the fireplace. “Hanamura, which door did you use when you went outside this morning?”

“The front.” Hanamura’s hands twitched, like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Like always.”

“There were tracks leading from the back door as well,” Pekoyama said. “It’s hard to say how recently they were made, but they could have been from last night.”

“And that’s when it happened.” Sonia glanced at her for confirmation. “When it must have happened. When one of us went out and…”

“It’s not like it’s easy for people to sneak around, right?” Souda had curled into a ball in his chair, both arms wrapped around his stomach. He cast an uneasy glance around the room. “So, someone must have seen someone else go out last night.”

“But we were all sleeping,” Owari said. “It’s not like I notice every time someone gets up to take a leak.”

“Yeah, but it gets cold as hell whenever someone opens the door.”

“The bitter chill seeps inside regardless,” Tanaka said. “Most of us still slumbered as Hanamura left in the early hours of this very morning.”

“How did you not notice?” Hajime asked, and ignored the way Hanamura flinched. “You’re a chef. You know how to tell apart different kinds of meat. How could you not tell…?”

“I didn’t think,” Hanamura stammered, his gaze on the floor. “I didn’t think at all. Assumed it was deer meat or something like that. I was hungry. All of us were hungry.”

Hajime clenched his jaw until it ached. Hanamura was right. None of them had thought to ask questions until they’d eaten every last bite in front of them. If he could go back in time just thirty minutes, knowing what he knew, would he have been able to control himself?

“This is the second time, now.” Kuzuryu was glaring at nothing in particular, arms crossed. “A couple months ago, someone destroyed the radio in the plane, fucked our chances of calling for help, and we never figured out who did it. And now this.”

“Maybe it really was some creep,” Mioda said, pulling on a strand of dyed hair. “Some boogeyman messing with us.”

“There were no tracks from anywhere other than the cabin.” Kuzuryu cast a glance around the room, narrowed eyes landing on each of them in turn. “Whoever it was, we’ve been sleeping under the same roof as them from the start.”

Tension crackled in the room. Hajime stared at the fire until it left white spots in his vision. He didn’t want to look anyone in the eye.

“Could it really be the same person, though?” Komaeda said softly. “The motives behind each action seem completely different. Whoever destroyed the radio meant to keep us from escaping. If they hadn’t done that, maybe Saionji and Nanami would still be alive.”

The hairs on the back of Hajime’s neck stood up.

“But whoever…prepared Nanami’s body essentially saved us all from starvation,” Komaeda continued, becoming more animated as he spoke. “All of us would have died if not for her sacrifice—”

“Nanami didn’t sacrifice shit!” Hajime said, so loudly Tsumiki flinched and shrank back. “She died on accident. She would never have wanted this!”

Komaeda met his gaze unflinchingly. “Do you really believe Nanami wouldn’t have given her life to save all of us?”

“She never had a choice.” His voice cracked. “It shouldn’t have been like this. We should have…” His voice failed him entirely, and he threw all his effort into blinking back tears.

Slowly, Kuzuryu straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall. “Don’t tell me you were the one who did this, Komaeda.”

“It wasn’t me.” Komaeda said. “Just like with the radio, I wouldn’t have the skills or the strength to succeed with something like that. In all honesty, I was planning on offering my own body, though I doubt there would be much worth in it calorie-wise.”

“Stop.” Hajime ran a hand through his hair, tightened a fist in the oily strands until his scalp stung. “Just fucking stop. Don’t say things like that.”

“But we’re still here.” Komaeda looked genuinely confused. “We survived.” He looked around at the pale faces of the others. “Aren’t you all going to do something with that? Or is this where your hope ends?”

“We must continue,” Tanaka said, his voice little more than a rumble, “in whatever form our survival takes. It would be an insult to those that have fallen, to the very idea of life itself, to accept otherwise.”

“I got people waiting on me back home,” Owari said, one fist tapping against her thigh. “I can’t give up on them.”

“I believe it is what Nanami would want for us as well.” Sonia caught Hajime’s gaze and gave him a shaky smile, eyes brimming with tears. “Even after such horror, I do not believe she would ever wish ill on us.”

Hajime looked away. Would she really forgive them for letting this happen? For failing to find who had mutilated her in the first place?

There was nothing else to do. There was no more food, and the snow was still too deep to venture out into the woods. The girls retreated into the bedroom. Souda fell into a doze, twitching and murmuring restlessly. Sagishi made pine needle tea, and Hajime drank the bitter liquid until he realized no amount was going to wash the taste of human meat from his mouth.

Night fell early, like it always did. Despite his exhaustion, Hajime couldn’t sleep. He was afraid of what his nightmares would bring tonight.

He tried again to shift into a more comfortable position and winced as something sharp jabbed against his chest. He unzipped his jacket, wondering if one of the buttons on his shirt had broken. He pulled aside the collar of the sweater Souda had lent him and dug through the breast pocket of his button-up. His fingers brushed against something small and angular. He pulled it out and held it up to the weak moonlight filtering through the window.

It was Nanami’s hair clip, the enamel warm from where it had been pressed against his skin.

Hajime stared at it until the shape began to blur in his vision, then slipped it back into his pocket and looked at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

Fuyuhiko gazed at the dark rectangle of the shed doorway. If he let his vision unfocus, the whole building bled into a single shape, framed by the painful brightness of the snow. White and black and white. When closed his eyes, the pattern stayed branded beneath his eyelids. He hated the fucking smell of this place. Tired as he was, he was eager to get away, even for a few hours.

Peko emerged from the shed, a backpack slung over her shoulders. Fuyuhiko tried not to shudder. Sagishi had lent it to them and obviously wasn’t expecting it back.

“Are you ready?” Peko reached up to make sure her sword was still free in its sheath with the added weight on her back.

“I can carry the damn thing if it’s gonna get in the way.”

“It won’t.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He led the way towards the trail to the plane—or where it was supposed to be when everything wasn’t covered in snow. By some miracle, the drifts had melted enough for them to be able to walk around (“Thanks, global warming!” Mioda had said). Peko and Sonia had taken the opportunity to try hunting again. And since Peko apparently couldn’t go more than a few hours without working, she’d also volunteered to take Nanami’s remains to the plane. It was the best they could do until it was warm enough to bury her.

“Just let me know if you want to trade off,” he said once they’d left the cabin behind. “I don’t mind.”

Peko was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I will let you know.”

Maybe she understood it wasn’t just about the physical weight. She was carrying their friend—or what was left of her. Fuyuhiko hadn’t seen the remains himself, but the sound of Hinata’s scream had been enough to conjure some fucked up mental images. It was bad enough knowing that he’d been a part of that. That he’d fucking eaten part of another person.

Fuyuhiko sucked in a breath, then stopped himself. He didn’t have the energy to walk and talk at the same time. This would be the first time he and Peko would have the chance to speak privately in weeks, and they could make the best of it once they were at the plane.

Halfway up the trail, Peko stopped and passed the backpack to him. Fuyuhiko tried not to flinch at the weight, at the fact he’d half-expected its contents to still be warm. He focused on the burn in his muscles as they continued uphill.

The plane was half-buried in snow. On the other side of the clearing, the little grave markers they’d placed for Saionji and Yukizome and the pilots were nearly invisible. Fuyuhiko tried not to think about how many more graves they’d have to dig before this was all over.

“You think any animals are gonna try and get inside?” he asked as he followed Peko into the plane.

“We’ll put the bag in one of the luggage compartments.” She reached up to undo the latch of one of the intact compartments. “I also brought supplies for a couple traps. It’s out of the way of our usual rotation, but at least it will keep any intruders out.”

“Good idea.” Fuyuhiko slid the bag from his shoulders and held it out.

This was wrong. All of this was so fucking wrong.

Peko held the bag in both hands, palms facing upwards, and let out a small, quiet sigh.

“She worked hard for all of us. She gave us strength without ever expecting anything in return.”

Fuyuhiko closed his eyes. And look how we repaid her.

“We’re all gonna miss you, Nanami,” he whispered.

Peko raised the bag towards the open compartment and her arms trembled.

“Fucking—here. Let me help.” Fuyuhiko stepped up beside her, wishing for the billionth time that he was taller, and helped her push the bag onto the shelf. Peko closed the compartment with a snap.

They sat on two of the still-intact seats and caught their breath. Fuyuhiko hadn’t expected the walk to be as taxing as it was, but he could feel tremors of exhaustion in his legs. He’d probably pass out as soon as they made it back to the cabin.

“I don’t think there’s any game left in the forest,” Peko said slowly, as if it took a considerable effort to say the words. “I don’t know if the animals are hibernating or if they’ve migrated, but we haven’t found anything. Not even tracks.”

“Yeah. We’re still pretty much fucked.” He weighed his next words for a long moment before speaking. “Was it you?”

“No. I…” Her breath hitched. “I’d thought about it, but I knew how the others would react, so I never brought it up. I do not know that it was right to trick them.”

“I hate it,” Fuyuhiko said. “I fucking hate that someone else thought that they knew better. There are some things we shouldn’t be willing to sacrifice, you know?”

Peko remained silent.

He tried to keep the accusation out of his voice as he asked, “You think differently?”

“I’m worried,” she said. “I think…things will be different from now on. Nanami died on accident. We consumed her unknowingly. But we did it, and we’re still alive.”

Fuyuhiko shook his head. “Nobody would go for it.”

She took a deep breath. “I made it my responsibility to feed the group. I—”

“No. No. Peko, fucking listen to me.” He grabbed her arm, as if he could keep her alive just by holding onto her. “You’re a hunter. You know more about this survival shit than anyone else. You’re the last person who should be giving themselves up like that.”

Peko met his gaze, and the sadness in her eyes made him freeze. “Is that what we’re going to come to? Deciding which of us are more valuable as people than as food?”

“No. Dammit.” He wanted to stand up and pace, but he was still so exhausted. “We can’t do it. What the fuck would be the point of surviving, if that’s the kind of people we’re gonna choose to be?”

“Your sister,” Peko said, and he stiffened. “The clan. Everyone else has reasons to survive. Either some of us live or all of us die. It’s a difficult choice to make, but not an impossible one.”

“Or we find a way out. We find another way to call for help.” He shook his head helplessly. “We could make human sacrifices out of each other and still fucking die at the end of it. If I don’t make it out of this, I wanna go knowing I stayed myself.” His voice cracked and he looked away.

“I understand,” Peko said quietly. She placed a hand over the one grasping her arm. “I will keep hunting. If there is a way out of this, I will find it.”

Fuyuhiko could feel her warmth through his glove. “Just don’t push yourself, alright? This isn’t all on you.” When she didn’t respond, he squeezed her arm. “It’s not. Let the rest of us pull our weight.”

Peko nodded and released him. Fuyuhiko tried not to dwell on how thin her arm was beneath his grasp and let go. They had work to do and a long walk back to the cabin.

Still, they lingered a few minutes more inside the plane, just to sit side by side and breathe.

June 29, 2022

Someone shook him awake by his shoulder. Kazuichi pried his eyelids open, the world swimming around him, and when he recognized the interior of a plane, his heart dropped.

“Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck.” He gripped the armrest next to him, his other hand pressing against the wall. Were they going down already?

“Sir.” The flight attendant standing in the aisle looked impatient. The room felt like it was swaying a little, but she didn’t seem fazed. “You need to step off the plane.”

“W-What?” He blinked, trying to get his vision to focus.

“All the other passengers have disembarked.” She glanced to the side. “If you’re not able to move, we’ll have to ask security to escort you off.”

Kazuichi lifted his head and looked around. Sure enough, the plane was empty except for a couple more flight attendants, who were watching him with guarded curiosity. They’d probably gossip about him later—the grungy-looking dude with a huge bandage on his face. They could probably smell the whiskey on him from down the aisle.

Right. He was drunk.

“Sorry.” He wobbled to his feet and shuffled towards the aisle. The flight attendant pulled his bag out of the overhead compartment and handed it to him. “Thanks. Sorry.”

Even in his hazy state, his skin still crawled as he walked towards the exit. He’d tried to make this as easy for himself as possible, so fucked up on liquor and cold meds it had taken him three tries to find his seat, and he’d still nearly thrown up when the plane had taken off.

The air was a little warmer, a little less stale in the loading bridge, and he let out a shaky sigh of relief. He picked up his pace down the corridor, desperate for solid ground.

The airport was small, consisting mostly of a large atrium with half a dozen gates. Ice cream vendors and souvenir shops lined the walls. Through the enormous glass window at one end, he could see the runway and the Pacific Ocean spread out beyond.

Kazuichi bought a packet of potato chips and wolfed them down on an empty bench. The overhead lights were starting to get painfully bright, warning that he was creeping into hangover territory. As much as he wanted to sleep it off, he still had one last leg of his journey. With a sigh, he unzipped his backpack and rifled through the crumpled papers inside until he found the one he was looking for.

The printed-out email was smudged in places from something in his luggage leaking…water? Hand sanitizer? He wasn’t totally sure. He’d thrown a bunch of random crap into his bag, afraid if he took the time to think about the trip, he’d end up chickening out.

The light blue banner at the top was still cheerful as ever. Congratulations! You’ve won a free two-week trip to Jabberwock Island’s all inclusive resort!

He’d nearly trashed the email when he’d seen it in his inbox, but he’d thought back to the brochure he’d found at the hospital and clicked on it instead. Some restless part of him had decided to email the tourism company back and poke around to see if the offer was legit. Apparently he’d entered a raffle, which wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d done that he couldn’t remember. They were paying for his flight and accommodations and all that, and the whole thing had seemed more or less above board.

Then he’d found out one of the islands nearby offered a wellness retreat for mental health, and it had kind of felt like fate.

He fished out another crumpled paper. The instructions he’d gotten after signing up for the retreat had directions from the airport to the ferry. He could handle a short bus ride and an hour on a boat before sleeping off his hangover. He’d promised himself that the overpriced whiskey bottle he’d drained at the airport would be his last. Never mind that he had enough “last” bottles to fill an entire shelf.

Winter 2012

Mikan hated how much her hands shook these days. She was already shamefully clumsy on a good day, and now she was struggling to handle a simple hair tie. The elastic slipped from her fingers with a snap and she let out a low, frustrated noise.

“Need help?”

Mioda scooted across the floor of the bedroom, and Mikan winced at the scrape of dirt beneath her shins. She hated how filthy the cabin was and that she didn’t have the energy to clean like she used to.

The greasy, tangled strands of her hair were starting to slide out of the messy braid she’d managed. Mikan held it in one fist and held up the hair tie with the other.

“I’m having trouble with, um, tying the end. I tried to do my braid again because I was having trouble sleeping and felt it getting messy but i-it probably looks terrible now and I can’t figure out how to handle a simple elastic.” Mikan bit her tongue to stop her rant. “Sorry. I, um, sorry.”

“Ibuki can do your hair.” Mioda winked. “You might be the field doctor here, but I can pick up the slack with hair and makeup emergencies.”

Mikan tried not to flinch. She was no doctor. She wasn’t even sure if she was still deserving of the title of Ultimate Nurse after two people had died under her care. Even now, she was helpless to stop them from starving to death.

Mioda held up her hands as if Mikan’s discomfort was directed towards her. “Just a simple braid job, promise. No dyes or undercuts.”

“Um, okay.” Mikan nodded, hoping Mioda wasn’t getting fed up with her hesitation. “If you want to.”

“I so do. I’m totally bored.”

Mikan wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if Mioda’s voice had trembled a little at the end. Not that there was anything wrong with that—it was completely understandable for her to be upset. She’d been unusually quiet for several days after…after they’d…

Pain sank its teeth into her scalp as Mioda began combing her fingers through her hair. Mikan bit her lip and didn’t protest. She was used to having her hair pulled, much more roughly that Mioda was managing, but her skin felt more sensitive than usual. That was probably malnutrition. She’d seen the other symptoms in herself and the others: weakness, fatigue, irritability. Skin lesions and hair loss were next. They’d slowly lose the ability to heal wounds and fight off infection. One by one, they’d start to die.

A small, awful part of her wished she’d been the one to turn Nanami into food. The guilt of eating alone still made her sick to her stomach, but she knew it was the only reason they’d survived this long. If it had been her, it would have meant that she’d done something. The others would have hated her, would have been more disgusted than they already were, but maybe some part of them would have been grateful, too.

“Done-zo.” Mioda patted her back, startling her out of her thoughts.

Mikan turned her head and felt the braid slide across her back. It felt neatly done, at least, and that was something of a relief.

Mioda grabbed her upper arms and squeezed, making her tense up. “Geez, you must be really cold. You’re shaking like a bass-boosted speaker.”

She let out a shaky noise of acknowledgement. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know how I, um, how I can repay you—”

“Aw, don’t worry about it.” Her smile wavered. “Just glad for something to do.”

“Um, when was the last time you had some tea?” Mikan asked. At the sour expression on Mioda’s face, she pressed on. “I know it doesn’t taste good, but it will help you maintain your Vitamin C levels. I really d-don’t mean to annoy you, but it would be good if you drank it regularly.”

“Vitamin C-U-Next-Tuesday,” Mioda grumbled, but wobbled to her feet anyway. “Well, if it’s the doctor’s orders…”

Mikan grabbed the windowsill and pulled herself to her feet as well. She might be useless, but she could at least make sure her classmates didn’t have to contend with scurvy on top of everything else.

The two of them shuffled into the main room. Mikan took a moment to take stock of the occupants. Kuzuryu and Nidai were both dozing in their respective spots. Tanaka was taking care of his hamsters. Souda was curled up in his chair, chewing on a stick. Mikan didn’t dare remind him that wood was bad for digestion.

A quick survey told her everyone was still breathing, and she relaxed a little. They’d all been sleeping more often, and the thought of one of them never waking up kept her awake at night. There were some nights when her anxiety would get so bad she would make slow, shuffling rounds and watch each of them as they slept until she was sure they were breathing.

She was fairly sure Pekoyama had caught her one time, but she’d never said anything about it.

There was still some leftover water in the cast iron pot, so Mikan went to the kitchen while Mioda stoked the fire. On the shelf was a glass jar half-full of pine needles, the sole inhabitant of their pantry. Mikan remembered their first few weeks here, when the shelf had stored jarred nuts and plastic snack packages and jerky wrapped in paper. The collection had seemed so meager back then, but it would have been a feast today.

They waited in listless silence for the water to boil. Mioda twisted a lock of hair around her finger, over and over again, then let out a small sigh of dismay as several strands came loose. Mikan dug her nails into her palms and looked away.

“Yo.” Souda lurched upright in his chair. “Tanaka, what are you doing?”

Tanaka didn’t turn from where he was hunched in the corner. “You should not concern yourself with matters beyond your purview, fiend.”

Mikan shrank into herself a little. She’d hoped their collective starvation would at least mean no one had the energy to argue. The weeks when they’d been hungry and irritable had been hell. She’d taken to hiding in the bedroom when the boys fought and the attic when the girls did, but she needed to finish the tea.

Slowly, Souda stood up. The end of the stick he’d been chewing on was stained red. He swallowed and let it fall to the floor, then crossed the room. Mikan pulled hard on the end of her braid. Maybe if she started crying at the right moment, the fight wouldn’t escalate.

Tanaka went still as Souda approached his corner and braced one hand against the wall. “You risk your very soul by approaching—”

“Oh my god,” Souda hissed. “Are you feeding your hamsters?”

Several heads snapped in their direction. Mioda craned her neck to try and get a better look. Mikan forgot about crying and put a hand over her aching stomach.

“Have you been fucking hoarding food?” Souda’s voice sounded dangerously close to cracking.

Hinata raised his head. “Wait, what?”

“You have a whole bag full of nuts and stuff.” Souda jabbed an accusatory finger at Tanaka’s lap. “I saw you, don’t try and fucking hide it.”

Tanaka rose to his feet with slow, deliberate movements and glared at him. He was only a few inches taller than Souda, but it seemed like more in that moment. “As I said, it is beyond your purview.”

“It is so fucking not.” Souda didn’t back down, even though he was shaking. Whether it was from rage or hunger, Mikan didn’t know. She wished she’d stayed in the bedroom. “We’re all starving, Tanaka. Have you been so in your head that you didn’t even notice? How can you keep food from us when we had to—” He clenched his jaw and swallowed again.

“Tanaka, when we agreed that certain people would be in charge of gathering food, it was under the assumption that it would be distributed equally,” Nidai said. “If you’ve been setting food aside and not sharing it, that’s a pretty serious offense.”

“I have not taken food from anyone’s mouth but my own!” Tanaka turned his glare on the rest of them, and Mikan ducked her head. “How dare you accuse me of theft. What I have done with my share is my choice and mine alone, whether it is to consume myself or to nourish my minions.”

Souda let out an incredulous laugh. “That’s still not okay! You’ve been feeding those things and they don’t even do anything. At this point, they’re basically—”

Tanaka’s lip curled into a snarl. “Basically what?”

Silence swelled in the room. A few of the girls had crept down the hallway to listen. Sonia was watching the exchange with pursed lips and pale cheeks.

“They’re meat,” Sagishi said quietly.

“Know this, then.” Tanaka clutched his scarf with one hand, glowering at each of them in turn. “If any of you attempt to feed upon my Four Dark Devas of Destruction, you risk the almighty wrath of the Seven Hells!”

Komaeda tilted his head. “Is that it, then? You’d risk your life to feed your hamsters while the rest of us starve?”

There was no accusation in his tone, but Tanaka still bristled.

“Please understand.” Sonia fixed the room with a pleading look. “The Devas are not just pets to Tanaka. To let them die would be like losing a limb—”

“And I would sooner rend my own flesh from my body than surrender them,” Tanaka said in a voice like thunder. “Loyal as they may be, they are not a part of this.”

“A part of what?” Hinata asked.

“The Ouroboros that has encircled this cabin.” He cast his arm in a clumsy gesture. “That since we have come to this place, we have done nothing but consume, and all that is left now is our own flesh. We are more ravenous than wolves, and now we are restricted from everything but gnawing at our own limbs, as a wild animal does to escape the jaws of a trap.”

 Nidai straightened in his chair. “What are you trying to say, Tanaka?”

“Yeah, what’s an arbarous?” Mioda asked.

The water was boiling, Tsumiki realized, but she didn’t dare move.

“It’s a serpent that eats its own tail,” Pekoyama said, her eyes fixed on Tanaka. “He’s saying our only source of food is ourselves.”

“That’s so fucked up.” Souda took a shaky step back. “That…That can’t be right.”

“It’s not,” Kuzuryu said. “Fuck that. We find food out there, somewhere, or we—”

“Or we die,” Hinata said. “That’s our only other option.”

Mikan looked down at her empty, helpless hands and tears welled in her eyes. She was no use to them as the Ultimate Nurse. No amount of bandages or medication or encouraging words would save them now. If she gave them the only thing she had left to give, would it matter in the end?

Would they love her while they consumed her flesh?

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

The sound of agitated voices pulled him out of a thick, hazy sleep. Fuyuhiko furrowed his brow and let out a wordless grumble. Even without a clock, he could tell it was way too late for anyone to be making this much noise.

“The cabin better be on fucking fire,” he muttered, pulling himself into a sitting position and ignoring the throbbing in his temples.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just the wind?” Koizumi asked, sounding just as sleep-deprived and impatient as he felt.

“You think I’d forget that creepy-ass noise after we found…” Souda trailed off, and his next words were nearly inaudible. “Sorry.”

“If there really are wolves out there, going after them would be a huge risk,” Nidai said, doing a piss-poor job of keeping his voice down. “It’s too dark for you to get a clear shot.”

“We must try anyway,” Sonia said, and Fuyuhiko managed to pull himself to his feet just in time to see her and Peko stride out into the living room, already bundled up and armed.

“Hold on.” He took a couple steps to the side, not quite blocking their path to the door. “Don’t tell me you guys are going hunting in the middle of the fucking night.”

“Souda heard wolves howling just now,” Peko said, lighting a torch in the fireplace. “They could be long gone if we wait until morning.”

“We have not seen any game in weeks,” Sonia said. There was none of the usual politeness in her voice. “This is not a chance we can pass up.”

“If there hasn’t been any game, then whatever you’re hunting out there is gonna be skin and bones.” Fuyuhiko glanced around, hardly able to believe he was going to have to ask for backup for something this obvious. Souda shifted his weight and looked away. Sagishi was blinking sleepily, and Hinata was still half-buried in his blanket. “You guys are gonna risk your necks for what, exactly?”

“For a third option,” Peko said, and he could tell she was remembering their conversation in the plane. “For a chance to survive together.”

Not like this. Fuyuhiko struggled to come up with a compelling argument, a way to convince them both to stay inside. His thoughts swerved and fizzled out before they could form anything coherent. All he could think was, Not like this.

Sonia strode past him, rifle poised like she was prepared to shove him out of the way if need be. The look in her eyes was unfamiliar, cold and feral like she already had a wolf within her sights. Peko followed suit, and Fuyuhiko wanted nothing more than to drop the stupid ruse he’d set up, to grab her and beg her to stay.

“We’ll be back within an hour,” Peko said, locking eyes with him for the briefest moment.

A blast of cold air made him flinch, and they were both gone.

“Fuck,” he whispered, then turned and kicked the shovel by the door. “Fuck!”

“They go to battle against fearsome prey indeed,” Tanaka said, his words nearly inaudible from his place in the corner.

Fuyuhiko glared at him. “I didn’t see you trying to speak up.”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of those who are willing to fight for their survival.” He met Fuyuhiko’s stare with a glower of his own. “If they perish out there, it will be more honorable than anything we have done so far.”

“What the fuck do you know about honor?” He stepped forward, but Nidai held out an arm, blocking his path.

“We should save our strength. If the girls end up needing our help, we’ll need to give it everything we’ve got.”

“This is so fucking stupid,” Fuyuhiko muttered and went to go glare out the window.

Wolves had killed Saionji. A loose patch of snow had killed Nanami. Peko and Sonia were out there now, contending with both, and even through the opaque dark outside the window, he could see the wind starting to pick up. If they didn’t come back, what were the chances of even finding them? What were the chances they’d get dragged off by wolves instead?

And if they did find them? If Peko or Sonia died and they recovered the body…

His gaze shifted to the reflection of the others behind him. Maybe Tanaka was right. They weren’t much better than wolves. If it came down to it, if they were that desperate for food, they would have to discuss it, at least. Unless whichever psycho had sliced up Nanami didn’t wait for them to make a decision.

He remembered the look in Peko’s eyes back in the plane. I made it my responsibility to feed the group.

He wouldn’t let them. It didn’t matter if it was what she would want. He wouldn’t allow it. He’d fight tooth and nail to give Peko the burial she deserved.

His muscles were begging him to lie down, or at least sit. Fuyuhiko squinted out the window and cursed under his breath. It had started snowing again. He hadn’t heard so much as an echo of a howl or a gunshot.

He walked over to the fireplace, where Sagishi was holding their watch. “How long’s it been?”

“Just over half an hour.”

He turned on his heel and grabbed his coat from the overflowing rack by the door. “I’m going after them.”

“You’re gonna turn into a total popsicle,” Mioda said, shoulders hunched. She was standing in the hallway with Tsumiki, watching the proceedings with bleary eyes.

“Peko and Sonia have been out there for thirty minutes already, and they have fucking wolves to contend with. The least they could use right now is some backup.”

It was only after he’d zipped up his coat that he realized he’d used Peko’s given name in front of everyone.

“Kuzuryu, please.” Tsumiki sounded close to tears. “It’s not safe. You d-don’t even have a weapon.”

He lit a spare torch, then picked up the fallen shovel from the floor. “There. Happy?”

“Nobody’s happy, because someone’s going to have to volunteer to go with you.” Sagishi tucked their watch back in their pocket and stood. “Can you give me a minute to bundle up?”

“I’m not asking anyone to come with me.”

“It doesn’t matter. We all agreed a long time ago not to go anywhere alone.” They shrugged on their coat. “Whatever you need.”

“I’ll come too.” Hinata rose from his spot on the floor.

“Fucking fine. Just hurry up.” Fuyuhiko handed the torch to Sagishi so he could pull his hood over his head and tighten his scarf over his mouth and nose.

The cold was brutal when the three of them stepped outside. The wind had picked up, slinging snow at their exposed skin like buckshot. Fuyuhiko hunched his shoulders against the chill and let Sagishi take the lead. The tracks Sonia and Peko had left behind were barely visible. If they’d waited a full hour, they would’ve disappeared entirely.

Darkness closed in on them as soon as they passed the tree line. Fuyuhiko squinted against the stinging snow and kept his eyes on the meager light from the torch. Sagishi’s broad frame provided a little bit of shelter, but the wind was so loud in his ears he was afraid he’d miss the sound of a gunshot. Or the movement of wolves.

Fuck, this was a stupid idea.

“You still have their trail?” he shouted, even though he was only a couple paces behind Sagishi.

“Yeah.” Their reply was nearly snatched away by the wind. “I think so.”

Fuyuhiko pulled down his scarf and sucked in a lungful of freezing air. “Peko! Sonia!”

No answer.

They forged on into the darkness. Fuyuhiko strained his ears for a sound, a sign that the girls were out there, but it was all white noise and shifting snow. The torch was leaving him night-blind, too.

Sagishi stopped, and Fuyuhiko nearly walked right into them. They bent low, holding the torch over the ground. He hurried to their side and bent down.

“What is it?”

“Do these still look like tracks to you?” they asked.

The dip in the snow was barely visible. It could just have easily have been a shallow ditch.

“We should go back.”

Fuyuhiko opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. They only had one torch. He couldn’t continue on without the others, but going back would mean abandoning Peko and Sonia.

“Maybe the girls already made it back to the cabin,” Sagishi said.

He could imagine the look on Peko’s face if that were the case. He could just as easily imagine her torn apart like Saionji, lying cold and pale like Nanami.

“Let’s get to the top of the ridge.” He straightened slowly, his legs already stiff with the cold. “The girls had a torch, too. We’ll look for the light.”

Sagishi nodded, brow furrowed. “Hinata, are you alright to keep going?”

He didn’t turn from where he was watching the darkened forest. “Yes.”

“Let’s get a move on.” Fuyuhiko fell into step beside Sagishi as they began trudging up the slope. His legs were already burning from the effort of walking through the snow, each breath uncomfortably cold in his lungs.

The wind howled at them when they reached the top of the ridge. Fuyuhiko squinted into the white-flecked dark and thought back to what Tanaka had said earlier about the metaphorical snake or whatever that encircled the cabin. He didn’t agree at all with his point about eating each other, but something about the imagery had stuck with him.

Tonight, it really did feel like the forest was trying to kill them.

The torch guttered. Sagishi hissed and held it lower, trying to shield the flame with their body. Fuyuhiko turned away and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the hazy white spot in his vision to disappear. He could feel flecks of snow clinging to his eyelashes. His toes and fingers were going numb. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, straining his vision for a flicker of light.

Behind him, the torch went out.

Sagishi swore. “Okay, we need to all stay together.”

Fuyuhiko grit his teeth. The forest was impossibly dark, flakes of snow whirling a chaotic gray in his vision. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth.

“Peko! Sonia!”

He staggered forward, squinting against the stinging snow. Was that a glimmer of light through the trees?

“Kuzuryu, don’t go too far.” Sagishi’s voice held the barest edge of panic. “I can’t see—”

The world tilted. Fuyuhiko swore and flailed his arms for balance as he descended. He skidded down the slope, his torso catching against something that knocked the breath out of his lungs. The drift at the bottom caught him in a freezing embrace.

He coughed until he’d gotten his breath back. There was snow in his hood and on the back of his neck. His ribs throbbed. He tried to sit up and only managed to lift his head.

We could die here.

Maybe that’d be better than starving. It was supposed to be peaceful, freezing to death. Wasn’t it?

A memory drifted to the front of his mind. Nobu Inada, a high-ranking clan member, had disappeared a couple years ago, right after an arms deal in Hokkaido. Everyone had thought he’d defected—according to their supplier, he’d never even showed up. Two weeks later, they’d found him frozen to death in the woods near the meetup spot, an empty whiskey bottle in hand. He’d gotten drunk and wandered off for a nap and just never woken up again.

What a fucking mess.

With a groan, Fuyuhiko rolled onto his side and pushed himself up with shaky limbs. Peko would never forgive him if he let it end like this.

His next breath was painfully sharp in his lungs. If they both made it back to the cabin alive, he would find a way to make it up to her. For making her worry, for making her pretend she didn’t know him, for every slight and mistake she’d endured since they were kids.

“Kuzuryu!”

The voice was faint, nearly inaudible over the wind. Fuyuhiko craned his neck to see up the slope.

“I’m okay!” he shouted back. “You guys good?”

He strained his ears for a reply. Hopefully Sagishi and Hinata weren’t having the same shit luck as him. They needed to find a way to rendezvous that didn’t involve more falling, but he couldn’t see more than vague shadows beyond the snow stinging his eyes. He wasn’t even sure he could find the tracks they’d made on their way here.

“Hey!” he called again. “Fuck, can you guys hear me?”

The forest howled back.

With a muttered curse, Fuyuhiko brushed the snow from his pants. He needed to move while he still had the strength. He pulled his scarf tight around his face, fastened his hood over his head, and started walking.

It had been nearly impossible to keep track of their location while they’d been walking, but he had a vague sense they’d been going downhill while following Peko and Sonia’s tracks. He wasn’t sure if his legs would even hold up for another uphill journey, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He would just have to walk parallel to the ridge and pray he met up with Sagishi and Hinata.

It was brutal, walking alone. He had no one to keep pace with, no footsteps to follow. It became an effort just to persuade his legs to move.

“Not today,” he muttered, and heard his breath shake with the cold. “Not fucking today.”

He wasn’t sure if something tripped him up or if his knees just decided to buckle, but before he knew it he was crumpling forward into the snow. He caught himself on his hands and hissed at the impact.

“Come on.” He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of Natsumi. She’d be pissed at him right now.

What, you’re just gonna lay down because you’re tired? She’d give him that pout that managed to be half-endearing and half-infuriating. How are you gonna run the clan if you’re such a pussy about a little snow?

He thought of Peko, reaching down to pull him to his feet with that quiet fire that never seemed to leave her eyes. She’d pulled him out of the snow before, all those years ago. She’d saved his life when he’d been too terrified to do anything but cry.

God, he’d resented her for so long because he’d never wanted to depend on her. And all he wanted at the moment was for her to be by his side.

Some animalistic instinct pricked the back of his neck, sharp enough to make him jolt. He straightened and turned his head, searching for the source of his unease.

There was a figure standing a few feet away, wrapped in shadow. Fuyuhiko couldn’t see any of their features, except—

The barest reflection of light off the snow illuminated a pair of red eyes.

They weren’t Peko’s. They were flat and soulless and they didn’t blink at the pelting snow. Something about them sent a chill through Fuyuhiko, deeper than the endless cold could reach.

The figure moved, and Fuyuhiko pushed himself to his feet and bolted.

The only thing keeping him upright was adrenaline. He stumbled through the snow, knocking against trees and flinching as branches appeared out of nowhere to strike him in the face. His scarf hung loose around his neck, and every ragged breath made cold air scrape against his throat. His cheeks stung like they were bleeding. Maybe they were.

He didn’t look to see if the thing was following him. He didn’t think he was heading in the direction of the cabin. All he could do was follow the animal instinct to go, to run until he couldn’t anymore.

He didn’t see the sudden dip in the snow until it was too late. His foot hit air instead of frozen earth and he swore.

The ground opened up beneath him. The air whistled in his ears as he fell, and everything went dark.

June 29, 2022

“Is there something I can help you find?”

Mikan was glad she hadn’t been holding one of the perfume bottles she was browsing, or she would have dropped it. She hid her full-body cringe by shoving her hands in the pockets of her sweater and whirled around to face the petite store employee.

“I’m so sorry. A-Am I in your way?” She took a step back, nearly bumping into a rack of makeup on the other side of the aisle.

“No, not at all.” The woman smiled. She was probably used to feigning patience with difficult customers. “I just wanted to ask if you were looking for a particular fragrance.”

“Um.” Mikan glanced at the perfume rack, but her mind was blank.

Something strong, she wanted to say, but that made it sound like she smelled bad. Did she smell bad? She’d heard a couple of teenage girls complaining on the metro about a “hospital smell.” She personally liked the scent of antiseptic and cleaning chemicals, but maybe the girls had been talking about the other part of it. The dead skin cells and blood and feces.

Maybe they’d thought Mikan smelled like death.

“We just received a new line of fragrances from Kenzo,” the woman said, and Mikan winced, wondering how long she’d let the silence drag out. She grabbed a slim, asymmetrical bottle from the shelf. “It has some subtle floral notes, and the packaging is very pretty.” She motioned for Mikan to hold out her wrist.

Mikan pushed the sleeve of her sweater up. Blue veins stood out against her pale skin. Her hand shook and she gripped her forearm to keep it steady. The woman lifted the bottle and sprayed a fine mist onto her pulse point.

Hesitantly, she lifted her wrist to her nose and sniffed it. It was sweet and floral, gentle enough to lack the sharp alcoholic scent she’d detected in a few others. She’d found those somewhat comforting, but maybe this was what men preferred.

As if reading her mind, the woman smiled knowingly. “It’s perfect for a first date. It lasts a whole day too, so you won’t need to reapply it.”

“Oh.” Mikan blinked. “I-It doesn’t wash off?”

She tilted her head. “Well, it’s possible to remove the perfume from your skin with some rubbing alcohol.”

Mikan looked down at her wrist, where the fragrance had already dried. She remembered the days when she’d scrubbed her hands raw, when she’d scraped under her fingernails until they bled, when she could never feel clean no matter how hard she’d tried. Even now, she carried a small bottle of unscented lotion because her hands were often dry and cracked from how often she washed them.

“Um.” She swallowed, blinking rapidly. The floral perfume had turned syrupy in her nostrils. The fluorescents were beginning to give her a headache. “I can, uh, I can think about it.”

“Of course.” The woman turned back to the shelf. “Maybe you’ll like this one better. Many of our Shiseido products are customer favorites. This one has a refreshing scent.” She uncapped a boxy amber bottle.

Mikan’s mouth went dry. It would be rude to refuse, especially when this woman was being so kind and patient helping her in the first place. Maybe she would buy this one just to end the interaction. She glanced at the label on the shelf and held back a wince. Almost fifteen thousand yen for one bottle.

The Kenzo perfume was only six thousand. She fumbled for one of the boxes next to the sample, the sleek exterior nearly slipping from her fingers.

“A-Actually, I think I might buy this one.” She plastered a smile onto her face as she backed away. “Thank you so much for your help. I really appreciate—”

Her back collided with someone and she gasped. A pair of slender hands closed around her biceps, steadying her.

“Whoops. Don’t knock anything off the shelves, yeah?”

The voice behind her was familiar. Mikan spun around and came face to face with the blonde woman from the hospital—Mr. Otonashi’s granddaughter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“It’s fine. I wasn’t really looking where I was going either.” The woman—was she also an Otonashi?—glanced first at the perfume rack, then at the box in Mikan’s hands, before finally settling on the employee. “I can take it from here, thanks.”

The employee inclined her head and left the aisle. She was probably glad not to have to deal with Mikan anymore.

“Kenzo Flower?” Otonashi plucked the box out of her grip. “Sorry, but this is so not your scent.” She placed it back on the shelf and began scanning the display.

Mikan watched her, hands still frozen against her chest. “Do you work here?”

Otonashi glanced at her, smiling like she’d said something funny. “I was picking up some mascara, actually.”

Heat flooded her face. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to imply that you looked like you worked here. Not that, um, not that there’s anything wrong with retail employees—”

She waved her off. “Don’t apologize. I come here often enough that they might as well hire me.” Her fingers hovered over one of the sample bottles, then moved on. “Honestly, I didn’t take you for a cosmetics person. You’re not wearing any right now.”

Mikan resisted the urge to touch her bare face. With how often she teared up and chewed on her lips, it was only really worth it to wear makeup for a date. Not that it was much of an improvement, but it felt polite to at least make an effort.

“I, um, don’t really know what I’m doing here.” She let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know anything about cosmetics.”

“You like to keep it clean. Simple. I can respect that.” Otonashi straightened and held up a dark purple bottle with a crystalline top. “Doesn’t mean you can’t change things up every once in a while.”

She uncapped the bottle, plucked a small strip of paper from a jar on the shelf, and released a spritz onto one end. She held out the paper with an expectant look and Mikan’s heart fluttered. She raised it to her nose and inhaled.

The first word that came to her mind was warm—more musk than smoke, like the sweeter notes of animal hide. She thought there might have been vanilla in there as well, though it was hard to tell as the scent evaporated from her nostrils. Still, it was enough to make her chest ache with something like nostalgia.

A small laugh from Otonashi broke her from her thoughts. “Looks like it gave you a lot to think about.”

Blinking rapidly, Mikan lowered the paper. She really needed to stop spacing out. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little scattered today.”

“I forgive you.”

She froze. “W-What?”

Otonashi shrugged. “If you’re gonna keep apologizing, I’ll just keep forgiving you.”

Heat rushed all the way down to her toes. The strip of paper was beginning to bend from how tightly she was gripping it.

The words leapt from her mouth like a caged bird. “Would you like to get tea?”

Otonashi glanced at her phone and Mikan braced herself for rejection. “I have a little free time. Sure.”

Mikan took a moment to double check that she hadn’t misheard her. “Oh. Um, good. Then I can just—”

“Lemme buy my mascara first, and then we can go.” She adjusted the position of her purse and turned away.

“M-Miss Otonashi.” She cringed at the sharpness of her voice, then forced herself to continue. “Um, thank you for the…” She waved the paper still clutched in one hand.

“Anytime. I’m pretty good at reading people when it comes to perfume.” A smile curved her red-painted lips. “By the way, I don’t have the same family name as my gramps. You can call me Junko Enoshima.”

Chapter Text

June 29, 2022

Enoshima picked a tea place in a quieter corner of the mall and ordered a black tea. Mikan ordered a plain iced matcha and tried to figure out what to do with her hands while they waited for their drinks.

“You know, this company is the only one that brews their tea like this.” Enoshima pointed at a machine on the back counter. “It’s like an espresso machine, but specifically for tea. They call it tea-spresso.”

Mikan nodded while she attempted to get her vocal cords working again. “That, um, that’s really cool.”

Enoshima had probably picked up on the fact that she was so nervous she could barely think. As soon as it had sank in that they were really getting tea together, anxiety had exploded in her stomach. Mikan couldn’t parse it—she didn’t even get this nervous on dates. Maybe it was because she didn’t have any female friends. (She didn’t have any male friends either, but…)

“So is matcha your favorite kind of tea?” Enoshima asked, and Mikan wished she could sink beneath the earth and disappear.

“Um, I like a lot of different kinds of varieties. I like how some herbal teas smell and um…” She bit her tongue before she could start rambling.

Enoshima only smiled. “Sorry. I’m terrible at small talk.”

Heat bloomed on her face. “Oh, please don’t apologize. I’m really bad at small talk. Too. Um. I’m a terrible conversationalist in general.” A nervous giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it. “I just, um…”

“Maybe we should skip straight to the deep stuff.” Enoshima turned to the counter and accepted their drinks from the barista. “Since I totally overshared on you the first time we met.”

“That—That’s okay.” She took her matcha and prayed her fingers wouldn’t slip on the condensation coating the plastic. “It can be really emotional to visit a sick relative. It’s normal for people to share things they normally wouldn’t.”

“How long have you been a nurse?”

“Almost eight years.” They picked a round table in the corner of the seating area and Mikan set her drink down with relief. “I was hired right after medical school, but even before that, I was in a sort of specialized program in high school—”

She stopped dead, the pieces clicking together in her mind. She looked up at Enoshima, who was giving her a half-guilty smile.

“Remember me?”

“Y-You also went to Hope’s Peak Academy. You were in the year below mine,” Mikan said, blinking rapidly. Her anxiety soured into dread. If Enoshima recognized her from school, that meant she knew about the crash.

“Yep. Class 78.” She made half-hearted jazz hands. “We don’t have to talk about the plane crash stuff, you know. I’m sure you get asked about it all the time.”

Mikan stared, matching the pretty face before her with her hazy memories of high school. Junko Enoshima had been scouted as the Ultimate Fashionista, and she’d glowed among her peers with matching blonde pigtails and boisterous laughter. She was exactly the kind of person who would have pressed gum into Mikan’s hair or snapped an embarrassing picture after she tripped, so Mikan had done her best to remain invisible around her.

But Enoshima was nice. She’d said I forgive you without a second thought and ignored every one of Mikan’s missteps and blunders like she hadn’t seen them at all.

And she wasn’t interested in talking about the plane crash.

Tears filled her eyes, followed by a wash of mortification.

“I’m sorry.” She fumbled through her purse for a tissue. “Um, I guess I just, um…”

“It’s okay,” Enoshima said. “You’ve seen me cry before, so I guess we’re even now.”

A watery laugh escaped her. “I’m v-very sorry about your grandfather. I can give you an update on his condition, if you want.”

“I’d really like that. Also this is kind of gross, but I keep wondering about it.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You guys have been feeding him right? Or giving him an IV or whatever? How does he, like, go to the bathroom?”

Mikan straightened. “Well, we try to keep the process as sanitary as possible. There are a couple different ways we deal with waste…”

Enoshima didn’t interrupt her once as she launched into an explanation. Once she was finished, she nodded slowly and said, “That was a very detailed answer.”

“Sorry.” She took a guilty sip of her drink. What an inappropriate thing to talk about when food was present. “Sometimes I talk too much about medicine.”

She shrugged. “I was the one who asked. It’s like talking to a WebMD page in the form of a beautiful woman.”

Mikan nearly choked on her tea.

Enoshima didn’t seem to notice as she checked her phone. “Shoot, I have to run. This was really nice, though. I’d be happy to listen to you explain more medical stuff some other time.” She pulled a pen from her purse and scribbled something on a napkin. “See you around, Tsumiki.”

By the time Mikan was able to form a response, Enoshima was already striding away from the table. She pulled the napkin towards her and stared down at the phone number written there. It was fake, probably, an easy way to get Mikan off her tail. There was no way someone like her would want to spend more time with someone like Mikan.

It was impossible, but it was still a very nice thought to entertain.

The napkin fluttered in her trembling hand, and Mikan shoved it into her purse.

Winter 2012

Sonia pulled her scarf tighter around her nose and mouth and let her breath warm her chilled skin. Her toes were numb, her legs stiff from spending the past hour squatting at the base of a tree. She tried to shift as quietly as she could to bring some feeling back into the lower half of her body.

A shadow moved further down the hill. Sonia half-raised the rifle, pulse picking up, then paused. It wasn’t an animal—just a branch giving out under the weight of its snowy burden. She watched the drift settle until her vision blurred, then rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was hunger or exhaustion or both, but these days it felt like her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Beside her, Pekoyama said, “We should walk the creek again and check for tracks.”

A half-hearted protest rose in her throat. Stiff as her legs were, a stakeout meant she could preserve some energy. The wolf they’d caught had barely lasted them a couple days. The first day had been as much meat as they could scrape from its hide. The second had just been broth, Hanamura boiling the bones over and over again until there was nothing left.

On the third day, Sonia had crept out to the spot where they’d butchered the wolf and scooped a handful of bloodied snow into her mouth. The taste still lingered, metallic and sharp like a blade resting on her tongue.

“We’ll get frostbite if we don’t move,” Pekoyama said.

Sonia braced her rifle on the ground and used it to pull herself to her feet. Her legs shook and protested, but they held once she straightened. She extended a hand and helped Pekoyama do the same.

They retraced their footprints across the ridge to the closest creek. The route they’d used the day before (and the day before that and on and on) was frozen in the snow. They were saved the trouble of forging a path through the snow, and it was easier to see the tracks of other creatures. 

Or it would have been if there were any. Sonia couldn’t remember the last animal they’d eaten prior to the wolf, only that her stomach hadn’t been full in a very, very long time. The closest she’d come in months was that awful day with Nanami. Just thinking about it sickened her, but she couldn’t put it out of her mind. It was like a wound in her mouth that she needed to keep probing just to make sure it was still there.

“We—” Sonia stopped and ran her tongue over her teeth. Every other time she’d tried to broach this topic, she’d been too cowardly to form even a sentence.

Pekoyama turned around with weary eyes. “We need to feed the others.”

A lump rose in her throat. “If it were one of us, then the other could teach someone else how to hunt.” Her voice was beginning to shake, but she forced herself to continue. “That way when spring comes and the game returns…”

Pekoyama didn’t meet her eyes. “You think it should be one of us?”

Her reply froze on her tongue. Of course she hadn’t meant to presume Pekoyama’s own stance on the issue. Still, she’d been hoping that she would at least be open to the idea, because if it was both of them making the offer, then that didn’t mean for certain that she would die.

Sonia didn’t want to die. She wanted to see Novoselic again, walk the palace gardens and taste chocolate and have tea with her parents. She wanted to see her friends make it through hell. She wanted them to survive, and she’d made a promise to help them do that. And what was duty if not a promise made on one’s life? Her duty was to her kingdom first and foremost, but what kind of princess could she really be if she ascended the throne on the backs of her friends’ corpses? If she had to eat them to live?

“We’ll talk about it as a group,” Pekoyama said, and Sonia wondered for the thousandth time at her calm. “We have to decide who it will be first. We can make plans around that.”

She blinked and found tears clinging to her lashes. “You make it sound so simple.”

Pekoyama’s gaze was on the creek, cutting a cold and vicious path through the snow. “It is simple. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.”

She began walking again and Sonia lurched after her. Her shoulder ached with the weight of the rifle.

The snow around the creek was empty of tracks. It felt as if the entire forest had fallen into a deathly silence, a hibernation meant to outlast everyone in the cabin.

Her skin ached for warmth by the time they made it back. Sonia drifted towards the glow of firelight in the window like a moth to flame, then stopped as Pekoyama fell behind.

“I’m going to search the woods again.” She faced the faded tracks heading into the forest as if drawn to them the same way Sonia was drawn to the fire inside.

The cabin door was only a few strides away. The thought of spending another minute in the cold made her want to cry, but Sonia only said, “I’ll come with you.”

Pekoyama shook her head. “You’re exhausted. I’ll move faster on my own.”

“You are exhausted as well.” She took a step closer. “None of us should be in the forest alone. That is why Kuzuryu went missing in the first place.”

Her shoulders stiffened a fraction. “I have plenty of daylight left. I won’t be long.”

Sonia pressed her lips into a thin line. It took more effort than it should to summon her patience these days.

“Please let me be candid with you.” She stepped into Pekoyama’s eye line. “It has been more than a week. Without food, perhaps he could survive, but without shelter Kuzuryu has most likely frozen to death. If we have found no sign of him after searching every day for a week—”

“We haven’t found his body.” Pekoyama’s expression was stony. “That means we have no confirmation that he is dead.”

“We have nothing to eat.” Sonia made an effort to keep her voice low. The unnerving quiet of the forest made it seem louder than usual. “And we have very little energy. If we cannot feed the others, nothing else will matter.”

“Go inside.” Pekoyama made to follow the tracks.

Sonia grabbed her arm. She knew, even in their weakened states, Pekoyama could have easily slipped out of her grip, perhaps given her a split lip for good measure. Pekoyama only halted, her back turned, statuesque.

She’d been the same the night with the wolves. They’d stumbled back to the cabin, the corpse of the wolf leaving a bloody divot in the snow behind them. Sagishi had been sitting by the fire, eyes haunted, Hinata quietly dazed beside them. Pekoyama had launched into a series of questions—where they’d gone, how Kuzuryu had been separated from them, how long it had been since then. As soon as she’d been satisfied, she’d turned on her heel and plunged back into the storm. The entire time, she’d spoken with a steely calm, worn an expressionless mask like hardened clay. Sonia knew from experience that composure like that only came from a very concerted effort.

“Please,” she said, loosening her grip on Pekoyama’s arm. “At least explain to me why it is so important to you that we find Kuzuryu.”

Her chin dipped a fraction. “Isn’t it enough that I don’t want another person to die?”

Sonia took a step forward, trying to get a better look at her face. “Is that all it is?”

Pekoyama’s eyes closed, lids fluttering. Sonia knew how painful it was to finally feel that mask cracking, and wished there was a gentler way to invite her out from behind it.

“We should get moving first. We don’t have much time before sunset.”

They set off down the slope, following the tracks they’d made in previous days. The trail from the week before had been buried by the snow, but Pekoyama had done her best to recreate the path the others might have taken that night. Sonia had considered asking the others to help, so they could do a proper sweep like in a crime television show, but they were all in bad shape. There was the possibility one of them would obscure a potential clue in their exhaustion.

“Fuyuhiko and I have known each other since we were very young.”

Sonia nearly stopped dead in her tracks at the admission, at the ease in which Kuzuryu’s given name fell from Pekoyama’s lips, at the quiet tremor of grief in her voice.

“I never knew my parents. They abandoned me shortly after I was born. The Kuzuryu clan took me in, gave me a purpose.” Pekoyama spoke the words as if she were reciting them. “I became the Ultimate Swordswoman because as soon as I was able to lift a blade, I was trained to use it with utmost precision, with only one goal in mind.” She swallowed with visible difficulty. “To protect Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu.”

Small, innocuous moments from their time at Hope’s Peak began to coalesce in Sonia’s mind. She thought of all the times Pekoyama had stood on the sidelines, observing—not out of shyness, as most of them had assumed, but so that she could keep an eye on her charge. During their first year, when Kuzuryu’s temper had been particularly hot, it had more often than not been Pekoyama who stepped in to defuse the situation, though she rarely addressed him directly while doing so.

“Why did you both pretend as if you were strangers?”

“You would have all looked at Fuyuhiko differently if you knew his bodyguard was in the same class. You would have looked at me differently as well. Hope’s Peak was a chance for both of us to…to have a fresh start.”

They began climbing the ridge, and all their breath went towards making the ascent.

“I’m sorry,” Sonia said at the top of the slope, once they’d both caught their breath.

Pekoyama finally faced her. “For what?”

“I am sorry that you have had to pretend all this time.”

She shook her head. Her expression was strange, as if she could no longer remain calm but she wasn’t sure how else to arrange her features. “It was for the best. It was what Fuyuhiko wanted, and I agreed—”

“That is not what I meant. I am sorry that you have had to pretend for this past week that this was not tearing you apart inside.” Sonia stepped closer. “Kuzuryu was not just your charge. He was also your friend, was he not?”

Pekoyama squeezed her eyes shut, jaw clenched and trembling. Sonia closed the distance between them, wrapping both arms around her shoulders and holding her tight. She had dreaded this moment, she realized, when the weight of everything that had happened would finally descend on Pekoyama’s shoulders. If all of this had finally proved too much for her to bear, what did that say about the rest of them?

“I’m sorry,” Sonia said again, because it would be unfair to deny her at least a moment of weakness. “I am so sorry, Pekoyama.”

The first sob rattled her whole body. Sonia held her tighter, as if steadying her against a strong wind. Pekoyama sniffled and gasped through her tears for a full minute before Sonia felt her begin regulating her breathing again. She understood that was something that only came with a tremendous amount of practice and emotions buried so deep one sometimes forgot they were there.

When Pekoyama spoke, the words muffled against Sonia’s scarf, her voice was scratchy and raw with grief. “I have to find him.”

“We will,” Sonia whispered back, and did not think of how utterly hungry she was.

Chapter Text

June 29, 2022

The Sacred Messenger Wellness Retreat wasn’t too far off from what Kazuichi had expected. A gravel path led up from the docks to an ornate wooden gate with the name of the retreat painted in bold white letters. There was no reception building or call box or anything though, just more path leading into the trees.

Kazuichi sighed and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t considered that he might have had to sign up for this place beforehand. The website hadn’t mentioned an entrance fee, either. He’d just been hoping to show up and let the retreat people do the rest.

Hey, I’m hungover as shit and I’ve been to rehab more times than I can count. Can you guys fix me or something?

He shook his head as his sneakers crunched down the path. Like it was going to be that easy. If he could just climb into his own brain and fix things up with a wrench and some elbow grease, he’d probably be enjoying the resort on the neighboring island instead of hiking his way to Therapy Camp.

The tropical charm was beginning to wear off, anyway. The sea breeze had been kind of nice, but the humidity was making him feel sticky and gross. All of the whiskey he’d drunk was sloshing around in his bladder and he didn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth and he was trying really hard not to think about how badly he was craving some vodka straight out of the freezer. Or cheap ramen to settle his stomach.

“Hello there!”

Kazuichi’s feelings of general grossness doubled as soon as he saw the woman striding down the path towards him. She looked like she’d been born and raised on the island with her smooth, tanned skin and wind-ruffled hair. She was only wearing a swimsuit top and a skirt underneath a loose yellow robe, and Kazuichi wondered if all the women in the retreat dressed like that.

“Welcome, welcome!” she said in English as she spread her arms. “I hope your journey here was pleasant. The sun is wonderful today, is it not?”

“Uh.” Kazuichi shifted his weight, unsure if she was going in for a hug, then relaxed when she dropped her arms to her sides. “Yeah. The, um, sun.”

“Oh, sorry, do you speak Japanese?” she asked, switching languages flawlessly. “No worries. We have a few other Japanese speakers in the community. Come, come!”

Then she did grab him, taking hold of his arm and tugging him forward. Kazuichi guessed she was somewhere in her twenties, but she had the energy of someone younger. Or maybe this was how young adults were supposed to act when they didn’t have several lifetimes worth of stress hanging over them.

“Did you know I was coming or something?” he asked.

She nodded, eyes bright. “God told me.”

Kazuichi almost stopped in his tracks.

A musical laugh shook him out of his momentary panic. “Kidding! The boat captain notified me over the radio. I like to be prepared when I greet new community members.”

He tried to laugh along with her. “Oh. Cool. That makes sense. I’m Kazuichi Souda, by the way.”

“Angie Yonaga.” She swept her robe behind her as she bowed. “Everyone here calls me Angie. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Kazuichi bowed as much as he could without keeling over and splitting his face open again. “Uh, sorry for not signing up for the retreat or anything. It was kind of a spontaneous decision and all.”

“Nonsense.” She waved him off. “Everyone is welcome here, regardless of their location on life’s path. Everyone comes seeking different things, but they all find what they need in the end.”

He let out a sigh. There was a non-zero chance that was just some marketing bullshit, but Angie sounded like she really believed it.

“So I’m guessing you like this place?”

“I would certainly hope so, considering I am its founder,” Angie replied, and laughed again at his expression. “Of course, there is always room for improvement and growth.”

They finally reached the end of the path, and the optimism in his heart inflated just a little bit more.

They were on the other side of the island, it seemed, at the edge of a shiny blue cove. Several wooden buildings sat in the shade of the trees—their lodgings, he guessed. A few people sat at picnic tables next to the largest fire pit he’d ever seen. Others were waist-deep in water or walking along the sand.

“Oh,” Kazuichi breathed. “This looks really nice.”

Angie clasped her hands together. “I am glad you like it. We have been blessed with a perfect environment for spiritual growth and healing.”

He nodded. This was so much better than the sterile white halls of a rehab facility.

“Now, on to the important part.” Angie turned to face him fully, expression open and earnest. “You’re free to relax for the rest of the day and familiarize yourself with your surroundings. However, I like to have an idea of the sort of work we will be doing.”

Kazuichi blinked. “Are you also the therapist here?”

“I like to think of myself more like a guide. I can help you find the path you are meant to walk, but only you can take the necessary steps. So, tell me.” Her eyes flickered to the bandage on his face before she locked eyes with him. “What brings you here?”

Tension crept back into his shoulders. “It’s…you know. The usual stuff.”

She tilted her head. “Family trouble? Strained finances? Health problems?”

All of the above, more or less. He shifted his focus to his periphery. A few people were casting him curious glances, but no one was in earshot.

“Drugs.” He spat the word out like a broken tooth. “I’m clean, though. And I didn’t bring anything with me, in case you were going to search—”

“I see.” Angie nodded slowly, her expression sobering.

Kazuichi struggled to swallow. Was he about to get kicked out right after he’d arrived?

“Drugs is not the reason why you are here,” she said with an air of finality. “But I suppose the truth can be uncovered in time.” The cheer returned to her expression like it had never left. “In any case, welcome to the Sacred Messenger Wellness Retreat, Kazuichi Souda. I look forward to guiding you to your spiritual destiny”

He attempted a smile, which wavered as he remembered the other reasons he disliked rehab. Even if Angie was only a “guide” or whatever instead of a therapist, she was still going to pry. He was still going to have to figure out how to hide the real reasons why he was here.

As if sensing his unease, Angie gave him an encouraging smile. “Fear not. I believe you will be saved in the end.” Her smile widened. “God told me so.”

Winter 2012

Owari was the first one to say it out loud.

“We gotta eat, guys.” She gazed at them with sunken eyes, cheeks hollow and hair matted against her skull. “We have to do something about this.”

Hajime looked away, arms clasped around his stomach. He’d stopped feeling hungry a few days ago. Now his stomach just hurt, cramping hard enough to keep him awake at night. He didn’t remember what it was like to not feel tired and cold all the time.

The room was silent for a long, drawn out moment. The girls had come into the living room for water and tea, and each of them had lingered afterwards. The inevitability of their situation drew in close, like a noose tightening around each of their necks.

Pekoyama was sitting with her eyes closed as if she was praying. The tip of Koizumi’s nose was red, her lids swollen with evidence of tears. Hanamura ran his tattered scarf through his hands, muttering under his breath. Komaeda opened his mouth to speak, but Sonia beat him to it.

“I am willing to volunteer.” She struggled to her feet, breathing hard. Her eyes darted around the room, not quite landing on any one of them. “We can discuss terms afterwards, but since we first must select a person—”

“No.” Souda’s voice cracked as he sat up in his chair. “No, come on. It can’t be you. Who else is gonna hunt?”

He turned to Pekoyama for confirmation, but her eyes were locked on the floor.

“There is nothing to hunt.” Sonia paused, fighting back tears. “If it gives you all the opportunity to live long enough to hunt real game again, then—”

“I can do it.” Sagishi raised a hand. “I can…be…it.”

Sonia turned to them with a watery, fragile smile. “Please, Sagishi. Have you no manners? Ladies first.”

Hajime buried his face in his hands and tried to remember how to breathe. He wished Kuzuryu were still here to scream at them that they were making the wrong choice. They’d lost him in the snow however many days ago, and Hajime didn’t even remember it happening. When had everything become so fucked up?

“Seriously,” Souda said. “It shouldn’t be someone who has an actual role in this group. If we really have to do this, we should be smart about it, right?”

Koizumi let out a disbelieving huff. “Are you asking us to…what? Decide who here is the most useless?”

“Or the weakest, perhaps? The easiest kill?” Tanaka said lowly. “The one who will provide the most food?”

Souda’s chair creaked. “Hey, fuck you, man. You’re the one insisting on feeding your stupid fucking hamsters.”

“We gotta pick someone somehow,” Owari said. “Can we just come up with a way to do it already?”

“We’ll have to earn it,” Nidai said. “Something this heavy can’t come without really working for it.”

“I already volunteered,” Sagishi said, their voice shaking.

“Maybe we don’t have to choose,” Komaeda said, so softly his voice was nearly lost in the argument.

“We’re wasting a lot of energy arguing, here.”

“Why don’t we just vote?” Souda said. “We can make it anonymous.”

Hajime looked up. Komaeda was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, something clasped in both hands. Dread pooled in his stomach.

“Are you seriously asking everyone to pick who they want to eat?”

“I’m sorry, do you have a better idea?”

“How about this?” Komaeda said, still not quite breaking above the din. He waved a hand. “Hello?”

“Can we please not argue about this?”

“Everyone shut up,” Hajime said, his voice cracking with the effort, but it was enough to catch the attention of the others.

Komaeda cleared his throat and waited for silence. “Maybe we don’t have to pick someone. Just because someone has to die doesn’t mean any of us have to be burdened with making a choice.”

Souda rubbed his forehead. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I kind of thought the group would reach this point, so I prepared this beforehand.” He held up the object in his hand—a bundle of chopsticks, scavenged from the plane’s refreshment cart. “There’s thirteen here, one for each of us. One of the chopsticks has a red mark on the end. We each pick one, and whoever draws the red mark has to accept their fate. Sound fair?”

Hajime bit his lip. Something about this felt too easy. He rubbed his brow and wished his head wasn’t so fuzzy.

“I guess that’s as fair as it’s going to get,” Koizumi said, and a few others murmured their agreements.

“Please, everyone take a chopstick.” Komaeda held out the bundle, smiling like he was explaining the rules of a board game. “But don’t look at the end until everyone has taken one.”

Hajime stood on shaky legs and gathered with the others as they took a chopstick from the bundle. His heart was beginning to pound, anxiety growing with each step. He tried to catch Komaeda’s eye as he approached, but Komaeda was staring at the bundle as if it held all the answers to their current dilemma.

He returned to his spot by the sofa but didn’t sit, electing to lean against the wall instead. It was beginning to sink in, what they were doing here. None of them could claim ignorance like they had with Nanami.

What would she think of them for choosing it again? For killing someone just so they could eat?

He squeezed the chopstick until the wood creaked in his grip. Maybe it was better that she wasn’t here. That she didn’t have to see them like this.

There was only one chopstick in Komaeda’s hand. He looked around, counting under his breath. “I guess we can all look, now.”

Hajime looked down at the chopstick in his hand, at the blade-thin splinter sticking out from one end. How were they going to do it, once they’d picked someone? Strangling? Suffocation? Sonia’s rifle?

They weren’t just going to pick a victim. They would have to pick a killer, too. Two shitty strokes of luck, two sides of the same bloodied coin.

Chills crawled down his spine. Hajime glanced at Komaeda, who was turning over the chopstick in his hand with wide eyes.

He looked down at his own, at the pale wood. He remembered using a real pair for the first time. His father had taught him to rub the ends together to smooth out the broken edges. His mother had told him not to stick them straight up in his food because it looked too much like funeral incense. 

He flipped it over.

There was a red spot on the end, wavering in his vision until it looked like a drop of blood.

Ears ringing, he looked up. Komaeda was staring at him in horror.

“I’m good to go.” Souda twiddled his chopstick between his fingers. “No mark on mine.”

“Mine is also clean,” Sonia said, fighting back tears.

“The condemned has yet to come forward, it seems,” Tanaka said.

“This isn’t another weird mind game, is it?” Owari asked Komaeda. “Did any of them even have a red mark?”

Komaeda was impossibly pale. “I—”

“It’s mine,” Hajime said, and barely recognized the sound of his own voice. He held up his chopstick, his hand shaking so badly he wasn’t sure if the others could even see the red mark.

Everyone turned to him. Hajime’s eyes filled with tears, and he was glad he couldn’t see the expressions on their faces. He hated to think how they were looking at him, at the Reserve Course student. The assistant. Their next meal.

“Fuck.” All of the bravado had vanished from Souda’s voice. “Sorry, man. I…”

Tsumiki buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

“I will do it.” Pekoyama stepped forward. Hajime resisted the urge to cringe away from her. “It’ll be quick.”

“Can you…” Hajime tried to swallow. The whole room felt as if it were sliding away from him. “Can you knock me out first or something?”

Was this really happening?

Pekoyama nodded and touched the end of the sword strapped to her back. Her hand trembled. “We should do it outside.”

“I can…” Sonia sniffled, tears streaming down her face. “I will come as well.”

Komaeda shook his head, his breaths coming in uneven bursts. “This isn’t—”

“This is folly.” Tanaka’s hands curled into fists. “Have you no desire to live, Hinata?”

Hajime blinked rapidly. “W-What do you mean?”

Koizumi turned to Tanaka with a glare. “Don’t make this harder on him.”

Tanaka turned his scowl on her. “What bloodless creatures are we that any of this should be easy? What prey should ever lie down and offer its throat to be cut?”

“He’s right.” Nidai stood from his chair with a groan. “None of us are executioners. Not even you, Pekoyama. If we’re going to kill one of our own, we’re going to do this the right way.”

“What is the right way?” Hanamura asked in a shaky voice.

Owari climbed to her feet and locked eyes with Hajime. “You gotta run for your life.”

Something changed in the room. Nobody moved, but adrenaline swelled in his veins so intensely it made him dizzy.

Komaeda caught his eye from across the room, face taut with panic, and mouthed, Go.

Too much happened in the space of a second. Nidai grabbed Pekoyama by the hood and pulled her backwards. Sonia lunged for her rifle. For a sliver of a moment, Hajime had a clear path to the door.

He pushed himself off the wall and bolted.

The cold was brutal. This was the second time he’d run outside without putting on his coat and scarf, but there was no time to turn back. Already, he could hear angry clamoring inside the cabin, Tanaka’s booming voice and Mioda’s shrill yelling. Even if he did get frostbite or worse, it wouldn’t matter in the end.

He didn’t even have time to pick a path or decide what exactly he was going to do. There was nowhere he could hide, no escape. He ran anyway, struggling through snow and stumbling on hidden rocks. Cold air seared his tired lungs. Already, his limbs were protesting, begging him to stop.

If he stopped, they were going to kill him.

They were going to kill him anyway.

Hajime ran.

“This way!” came Nidai’s shout from behind, and Hajime cursed under his jagged breath. They would have no trouble picking up his tracks in the snow. They were going to catch him and kill him and eat him and all he was doing right now was tiring himself out.

He stumbled over a root and his knees gave out. Snow stung his palms.

Komaeda’s face flashed in his mind, eyes wide and lips pleading for him to run.

The ground rumbled with the footsteps of the others. Hajime pushed himself to his feet and fled.

Sweat dripped into his eyes despite the cold. He blinked it away, stumbled again, and realized he’d made it to the cliff where Nanami had died. He hadn’t been back to this place since that day, but maybe some part of him had wanted to return. Maybe this was where things were supposed to end for him.

Snow crunched beneath swift footsteps. “Hinata!”

Hajime scrambled to his feet and turned around. Pekoyama was only a few paces away, cheeks red with exertion. Owari wasn’t far behind, the rest of the group straggling after her.

God, he’d never stood a chance.

“I want to make this easy for you,” Pekoyama said, so quietly only the two of them could hear.

She advanced, and Hajime staggered backwards to keep some distance between them.

The edge of the cliff yawned behind him. He could feel its bitter wind at his back.

“I just…” He took a shuddering breath. Owari had come up next to Pekoyama and stopped dead.

What did he even want out of this? More time? A few more minutes to come to terms with his own death?

If he did see Nanami again after this, what would she say?

The rest of the group staggered into sight and formed a semicircle around him. There was nowhere to run.

Sagishi held out a placating hand. “You’re really close to the edge, Hinata.”

“Yeah, well.” He let out a bitter laugh, jagged like broken ceramic. “I’m dead anyway, aren’t I?”

If they ate him to survive, would it matter as much as when they’d done the same to Nanami?

Was he going to matter to them once he was gone?

“Please.” Sonia gripped her rifle in both trembling hands. “Do not throw yourself away like this.”

“Am I just food to you guys?” Hajime whispered, and she flinched.

He turned to Nidai, who was gripping his hair so tightly it was a wonder he hadn’t ripped any strands out, then Tanaka, who was standing with his face half-buried in his scarf.

“Did you guys get what you wanted? Some bullshit attempt at survival from me?” He was crying again, tears stinging his windburned cheeks. “Did it make you feel better, pretending I had any chance at making it out of this?”

Tanaka met his gaze. “If you wish to find meaning in this moment, it will not be birthed from resignation alone.”

He shook his head. What else was there?

Nanami had wanted them all to live. She would have hated seeing what they’d been driven to.

But maybe part of her would have been glad that she’d given them a fighting chance.

“You all…” His tongue was stone-heavy in his mouth. “You all have to promise to survive this.”

Koizumi clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle a sob.

Pekoyama’s jaw was clenched so tightly it was trembling. She pried it open to say, “We won’t forget you, Hajime Hinata.”

Nanami wasn’t here anymore. She wasn’t able to want anything for him anymore. So if it was just up to him, if it was his choice how to give his life…

Scarcely daring to breathe, Hajime stepped away from the cliff’s edge.

“Wait!”

At the sound of Komaeda’s voice, Hajime realized he hadn’t seen him at all since running out of the cabin. With his build, it wasn’t surprising that he would lag behind, but…

Komaeda came into sight from behind a copse of trees, staggering over the footprints left by the others. His face was sheened with sweat, strands of hair sticking to his cheeks and temples. His eyes were glazed, his gait unsteady.

Tsumiki looked at him and screamed.

A familiar metallic scent reached Hajime’s nose, and he realized Komaeda was leaving a trail of blood as he walked, a steady red drip-drip into the snow. As the others turned to look, their gasps of horror nearly drowned out his words.

“I…I understand what a meager offering this is,” Komaeda said, words slurred. “It’s p-pathetic, even for me, but I hope you’ll…take it into consideration.”

Hajime stepped forward to get a better look and froze.

“I doubt this will be enough for all of you,” Komaeda said and lifted his arm—his arm, he was holding his arm and there was a belt around his bicep and blood leaking from the jagged stump just below his elbow— “but you’re more than welcome to take more after…after…”

“Komaeda,” Hajime whispered, horror pinpricking his skin. “What did you do?”

Komaeda looked at him, smiling even as he swayed on his feet, and crumpled into the snow.

Chapter Text

Winter 2012

By the time they made it back to the cabin, Hajime was so exhausted he could barely stand. His legs shook, sweat falling into his eyes. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to collapse, because collapsing would mean letting go of Komaeda. 

Komaeda was disturbingly pale, head lolling to the side despite Hajime’s clumsy efforts to keep it steady. It was hard to tell if he was still breathing, even though he’d barely taken his eyes off him since he’d first collapsed. It hadn’t even occurred to him how easily Pekoyama could have cut his throat as he rushed past her. The only thing he was able to think was Please, please, please. Not him.

Tsumiki had bodily shoved him out of the way so she could wrap Komaeda’s injury in her scarf. She and Nidai had helped him carry Komaeda back to the cabin, and now they were stumbling through the living room, shoving open the door to the bedroom and staggering the final few steps to the bed.

“Careful,” Tsumiki said as they deposited him on the mattress. “Please, let me—”

She practically shoulder-checked Nidai out of the way, balled up one of the moth-eaten blankets, and tucked it beneath Komaeda’s bicep.

“I-I’d just be in the way,” Nidai said, sounding like he’d had the wind knocked out of him, and backed out of the room.

Hajime still hadn’t let go of Komaeda’s shoulders. His whole body trembled as he watched Tsumiki tear a strip off the edge of the bedsheet and begin twisting it into a rope.

“I need something thin and sturdy,” she said as she tied the rope around his bicep, just above where the belt was. “Like a pen or—”

He pulled the chopstick from his pocket and tried not to think of the sick irony as he held it out. Tsumiki used it to twist the knot even tighter, until the rope began digging into Komaeda’s skin.

Komaeda’s eyes opened and he let out a strangled cry, making them both jump. Tsumiki pressed both hands down on his shoulder as he made a feeble attempt to twist away.

“Please don’t move. You could exacerbate the injury.”

Hajime clamped both hands on either side of Komaeda’s face, holding him steady. His eyes were glazed with pain, roving wildly before finally settling on Hajime’s face.

“Hey.” His voice shook even worse than his limbs. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re still here,” Komaeda rasped, his breathing growing labored as Tsumiki wound another strip of bedsheet over his injury.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Hajime pushed a few tufts of sweat-soaked hair out of Komaeda’s face with his thumbs. “It’s gonna be okay.”

The cabin floor rumbled with the footsteps of the others, their agitated voices filling the living room, and Hajime resisted the urge to flinch. He realized he could very well be lying. They were all still starving—even more so after their mad sprint through the woods. Maybe the others would kill him as soon as he stepped out of the room. Maybe he was running on borrowed time even after everything Komaeda had done.

“Why?” he asked, his voice barely audible over Komaeda’s ragged breathing. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the blood soaking through the sheet wrapped around his arm. “Why the hell would you do something like that?”

“They’ll take the rest of me, once I’m gone,” Komaeda said, each word labored like he had to drag it from the back of his throat. “That was the plan, you know. So you don’t have to worry.” His sentence broke off in a horrible, trembling noise that could barely be considered a laugh.

Tsumiki was muttering under her breath as she took his pulse. She straightened, fingers wet with Komaeda’s blood, and locked eyes with Hajime. “I’m going to get some medicine. Please make sure he stays awake while I’m gone. Going into shock could kill him.” She walked out of the room without any more words to soften that terrifying statement.

Hajime sat on the edge of the mattress and winced as Komaeda let out a pained noise. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” He leaned over so he could look him in the eye. “Just hang in there, okay? I don’t care what your plan was. If it was supposed to be me, then…”

“What horrible luck.” He let out another almost-laugh and tried to lift his remaining hand. It trembled a few inches above the mattress. Hajime grabbed it and squeezed it in both of his, like he could inject a will to live in Komaeda by physically holding him here.

“It’s not your fault, okay?” His vision blurred with tears. “It had nothing to do with luck. You can’t blame yourself.”

Komaeda just stared at him, some unreadable emotion behind the haze of pain in his eyes.

“Did you…” Hajime blinked away his tears, wrestling with the horrible question on his tongue, knowing this might be his only chance to ask. “Why would you do that for me? For some talentless Reserve Course student?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” His words were coming slower, now. His eyes began to slide closed.

“Hey.” Hajime jostled his shoulder, eliciting a small grunt of pain. “Hey, stay with me. What are you talking about? What don’t I know?”

Komaeda’s hand squeezed his, weakly. “Please don’t forget.”

A sob rattled in his chest. “What is it?”

“From…From the bottom of my heart…” His eyelids fluttered and slid closed. For one terrible moment, Hajime thought they wouldn’t open again. 

Komaeda looked at him, gaze unfocused, a crooked smile at the corners of his lips.

“I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you.”

He closed his eyes again, and no matter how much Hajime pleaded and shook him, he didn’t stir again.

June 30, 2022

The entirety of the support group beamed when Sonia walked into the room, which made it a little easier to return the smile as she took her seat.

“Good afternoon. I apologize for being late.”

Shirogane nearly leapt out of her seat. “Please don’t apologize. It means so much to us that you would take the time to come to a second meeting.” She stammered and glanced at the others. “We were just catching up. You haven’t missed much.”

“In any case, please do not feel obligated to wait on my behalf.” She crossed her legs at the ankles and settled her hands in her lap.

“So, we were thinking it might make it easier to share things if we set a certain theme for each session.” Shirogane reached under her chair and retrieved a pad of paper and a pen, which immediately fluttered in her fingers like the wings of an anxious bird. “I also want to take some notes today so I can organize my thoughts and help you all a little better. Of course, everything will remain strictly confidential.”

Sonia’s first instinct was to look up on the paper with suspicion, but she tried not to let it show on her face. It wasn’t uncommon for therapists to take notes, and besides, this wasn’t about her anyway. 

The rest of their group murmured their assent and Shirogane smiled. “Great. I was thinking a good first theme might be regret.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you all have recurring memories of the crash. Moments that come back to you. Things that you wish you had done differently. Does anyone want to speak on that?”

A moment of silence passed. Sonia’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. It wouldn’t be right for her to share first, so she laced her fingers together and waited.

“The people who died,” one of the boys said, speaking directly to the floor. “I mean, it was quick for a lot of people but some of them were injured and we couldn’t help them. We couldn’t do anything to stop them from dying.”

“I took a first aid class,” a girl began, then cringed. “Sorry, were you done?”

He nodded, still staring at the floor.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s alright.” Shirogane gave her an encouraging smile. “What were you saying about the first aid class?”

“I took it after we were rescued.” She tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “And it was really hard, because I kept thinking about how I might have used it then…” Her voice cracked.

Sonia’s heart twinged. The girl reminded her a little of Tsumiki. She opened her mouth to suggest a medical volunteer job, then stopped herself.

Listen. Empathize. Share if you want to.

“We’re never as prepared as we think we should be when it comes to traumatic situations,” Shirogane said. “But learning a new skill is a great use of your time. Don’t think of it as a missed opportunity. Think of it as unlocking your potential to do good.”

Sonia remembered something a therapist had once told her. “You did not do anything wrong by surviving.”

The girl jolted a little when she realized she was being addressed, then nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

“I feel like…” Another boy braced his hands on his knees and paused. “It’s probably horrible to say this, but I wish I’d never gotten on the plane. Even if I couldn’t stop it from happening, I wish I wasn’t involved.”

A few of the others murmured their assent.

“There’s nothing horrible about wishing that,” Shirogane said. “It’s incredibly normal to think about avoiding a tragedy altogether.”

An uneasy, expectant silence fell over the room.

“What about you?” A girl with delicate features turned to Sonia with a pleading gaze. “Is there anything you wish you’d done differently?”

“Of course.” She blinked, fighting to settle her expression into something neutral yet sympathetic. Her skin prickled hot and cold as everyone looked at her. They weren’t tabloid writers hungry for gossip. They were still practically children, and they were scared.

“Everyone died in the crash, right?” the lanky boy asked, then immediately pressed his lips together. “I mean, everyone who… Or at least it was quick…?”

“It was quick,” Sonia said, because it was easier to parrot his own words than to come up with her own. “I wish I had… There were some things I wish I had not done.”

“Like what?” the girl with the delicate features asked. Shirogane’s pen trembled above her notepad.

Sonia closed her eyes and grasped for something palatable, something that would not horrify them quite so much. She could only think of her own savagery. Her lowest moments. The air in her lungs was thinning. If she opened her mouth to tell the truth, she did not know if she would scream instead.

She took the memory burned behind her eyelids and peeled it apart, neatly, into a half-truth.

“I killed an animal. And I wish I had not done so.”

“Was it self defense?”

“No.”

“Well, you had to hunt animals, right? So you could eat?”

Her nails were close to breaking the skin of her palm. “I didn’t kill it so we could eat.”

Silence pressed in close. Sonia knew she needed to open her eyes.

“Then why did you do it?” Shirogane asked softly.

“Because I wanted to.” Despite her best efforts, the words rattled in her throat. Sonia bowed her head and tried to remember how to breathe.

Count backwards from ten, said a voice that sounded almost like Pekoyama’s. Sonia let the seconds fall and with each one took a different piece of the memory, the taste of blood and the echo of screaming, and packed it neatly away in the back of her mind. By the time she opened her eyes, they were perfectly dry. The students watched her warily, and Sonia did not know if they were afraid or concerned.

Shirogane’s pen had bled a dark spot onto her paper. She shook herself and cleared her throat. “If you could go back and change things, you wouldn’t have killed that animal?”

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Sonia could not say with any certainty whether that decision would have made any difference in the end. If she would have chosen different at all.

Perhaps the most horrible thing was not the regret, but that she understood perfectly why she had done it.

The others were still watching her. Sonia nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Shirogane said, then addressed the group at large. “Maybe we can talk a little about how to cope with regret.”

Winter 2012

Hajime’s joints hurt. His muscles ached. A chill had permeated his skin, deep enough to prod him out of sleep.

He’d fallen asleep sitting upright. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but he’d never fallen asleep in the cabin bedroom. It was even weirder that the room was empty.

The memory hit him hard enough to make his heart drop. Hajime straightened from where he’d been leaning against the bed frame and clambered to his knees.

Komaeda was still lying on the mattress, eyes closed and skin disturbingly pale. Hajime watched him until his eyes burned and he could make out the faint rise and fall of his chest. He closed his eyes and let his forehead fall against the edge of the bed.

“I still don’t get why,” he whispered through cracked lips. “How could you…”

Tsumiki had come in a few hours ago to check on Komaeda’s arm. Apparently the bleeding had slowed enough for her to clean and stitch the wound shut as best she could. Hajime had made himself watch. He hadn’t expected the inside of a person’s body to be such a dark red.

Tsumiki hadn’t made any comments about the wound, but Hajime had watched her handle the ragged edges of flesh and realized what Komaeda had done. Whatever blade he’d used, it hadn’t been a clean cut. It must have taken him three or four tries to sever the limb completely.

Hajime couldn’t begin to imagine doing something like that to himself. Even if he could handle the pain, the idea of doing permanent damage to himself…holding his severed arm in his hand and offering it up…

He’s crazy, he told himself. He saw our plane go up in flames and laughed. He thinks being out here is a good thing. He…

He saved my life.

He told me he loved me.

Or something like that, at least. Hajime had run those words through his mind countless times, like a riddle or a prayer. Fragments of it had followed him into his dreams.

The hope that sleeps inside you.

Komaeda saw something in him, something that made him feel strongly enough to cut his own arm off.

A painful lump rose in his throat. If Komaeda never woke up, he would never find out what that thing was. If he’d even meant those words at all.

The door swung open, startling him out of his reverie. He turned around, nearly losing his balance in the process, and found Pekoyama standing there, a small, cloth-wrapped object in one hand.

He watched her warily as she closed the door. She didn’t have her sword on her back, for once. She crossed the room and knelt. A gesture of surrender. He sank to the floor and tried to relax.

Pekoyama held out the cloth, only the barest hesitation in her movement. “You should eat.”

Hajime took the parcel, uncomprehending, and unwrapped it. Inside was a small piece of meat, barely larger than his index finger. He flinched and nearly threw it across the room.

“Is this…?”

“We didn’t want to waste it,” Pekoyama said, each word deliberate as if it hurt to speak them.

He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Are you still going to kill me?”

“Hinata,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear.

When he looked at her, she was poised as ever, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her hands were resting in her lap, clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry for…” Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment. “I do not want you to think that I…meant it. That I took any pleasure or gratification from hunting you down.”

Hajime stared at her. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to really think about it, but it had stuck with him that Pekoyama had been the one to volunteer to kill him. She’d been the first one to catch up to him at the cliff. For a split second, he’d been scared when he’d seen her in the doorway.

“I wasn’t thinking about it like that,” he rasped. “I know it must’ve been really hard. If that’s what it’s going to come to, I don’t want you to think I’d hold it against you.”

Pekoyama closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. “We haven’t decided what’s going to happen next.”

“We still need to eat, right?” Hajime tried to ignore the weight of the cloth in his hand. “Are we…going to pick someone else?”

Her gaze shifted to the bed and his heart sank.

“I talked to Tsumiki. She is going to try her best to save him, but there’s still a chance he could succumb to his injury.” Pekoyama didn’t meet his eyes. “If that is the case, then there’s no sense in us deliberately killing someone.”

A broken, breathless noise left his lips. This was what Komaeda had wanted, after all. He’d been speaking like he was already dead ever since he chopped off his own arm.

“And if he pulls through?”

“We’ll have to figure out something else.”

Hajime ran a hand through his hair, stray knots pulling at his scalp. It didn’t feel fair that he’d cheated death like this. That everyone else was sitting in the other room basically waiting for Komaeda to die. That was what Komaeda had planned for himself, but…

Did Hajime even deserve to survive in his place?

“I’ll give you some space.” Pekoyama braced one hand on the bed and pulled herself to her feet. “I’m sorry, Hinata.”

As soon as she was gone, he buried his face in his knees and tried not to cry.

“You know, I thought my lottery idea was going to be much more straightforward.”

He gasped, nearly choking on a sob, and lifted his head. He only had the strength to lift himself onto his knees, but it was enough to brace himself on the bed frame and see Komaeda’s face, his eyes half-lidded and rimmed with shadows.

Hajime tried to decide what question he wanted to ask first. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“I’m pretty good at winning lotteries,” Komaeda said, his voice muted like he didn’t have the energy to speak at full volume. “I’m good at claw machines. Gachapon. The other kids at school used to dislike me because I always won raffles for cheap prizes. Well, that wasn’t the only reason they disliked me.”

It was hard to speak with how tight his throat felt. “How is that the same as winning a lottery to…to die?”

“I’m just lucky.” He smiled humorlessly. “There’s good luck and bad luck and I get both. I thought after Kuzuryu’s disappearance, after everything we’ve all suffered, I’d easily get what I wanted.”

“You wanted to die.”

“Better me than any of you.”

Hajime blinked back tears. “How can you say that?”

“You must have even worse luck than me, Hinata,” Komaeda continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “It’s a little exciting, to not be able to predict what’s going to happen next. Do you feel the same way?”

“This has been one of the worst days of my life,” Hajime said, not bothering to soften his tone. This had been the worst week, month, year… The magnitude of it all hit him hard enough to make his legs shake. He crossed his arms and buried his face in them. “Fuck.”

“At least you’ll see the end of your worst day,” Komaeda said, sounding far too optimistic for their situation. “You still have a chance to fulfill your wish.”

“My wish?”

“Do you remember what you said to me that night in the attic? That you wanted to survive this together? You’ll have a chance to make it through with the others.”

His head snapped up fast enough to make him dizzy. “I was including you in that too. That’s what together means.” His arms shook as he hoisted himself upwards and sat on the edge of the bed. “Can you please not give yourself up like this?”

Komaeda shifted his gaze to Hajime’s clenched fist. “I already have, haven’t I?”

He looked down and realized the cloth-wrapped meat was still in his hand. Mortification washed through him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“It’s okay.” He reached out with his remaining hand. “You should eat.”

“I can go into the other room.” Hajime made to stand, but his jacket snagged on something. Komaeda had caught the corner between his thumb and forefinger, his arm shaking from the mere effort of lifting it.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “You don’t have to leave.”

Hajime sank back down onto the bed and searched his face, trying to parse the strange eagerness there. “You don’t…mind?”

“This is what I wanted, after all.” His eyes flickered to Hajime’s hand. “I didn’t think I’d still be around to see it, but it means a lot to me. If I could give even a small part of myself to ensure the rest of you live on, that you’re able to find your hope—”

“Komaeda.” He wanted to tell him to shut up, but the words were stuck in his throat. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted himself, standing on the edge of that cliff? To find some kind of meaning in his own death? His own consumption?

Would it really be alright to deny Komaeda after what he’d sacrificed?

“I just want to see,” he said, and the small, broken plea in his voice made something uncomfortable twist in Hajime’s chest.

He should have felt disgusted. He didn’t understand how Komaeda could stand to watch something like this, much less ask for it. He didn’t understand how Komaeda could mutilate himself in the first place. He still didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this kind of devotion. He didn’t know what kind of thanks to give to someone who had saved his life like this.

He wanted to understand. Somehow, it felt like his life depended on it.

His heart was beating painfully fast as he unwrapped the piece of meat in his hand. It looked even smaller than the last time he’d looked at it. Against his will, his mouth began to water.

He raised it to his lips and looked at Komaeda, seeking something like permission. Komaeda was watching him, chest rising and falling slowly, eyes wide with something more than hunger.

Saliva began to fall past his lips. Hajime bit down.

He hated that it was good. It had nothing to do with Hanamura’s cooking. He was hungry and Komaeda tasted good. He shoved the rest of the meat into his mouth before he was done chewing his first bite. He swallowed it all, swallowed again, and couldn’t bring himself to meet Komaeda’s eyes.

“Do you feel any better?” Komaeda asked, more gently than Hajime deserved.

“I…” He swallowed again. He was so hungry it was making him nauseous. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I wish you hadn’t cut off your arm.”

“If I didn’t, you’d be dead.”

“Maybe that’s how it was supposed to go.” He clenched his fists. The cloth in his hand was damp with sweat. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? Whoever drew the marked chopstick, we were supposed to abide by that.”

“That would make me a hypocrite, wouldn’t it? Arrogant too, for trying to take control of the situation like that.” His smile turned wistful. “Still, I couldn’t let things stand the way they were. I don’t regret what I did.”

He was doing it again. Talking like he was already dead. Hajime fought back tears and said, “I know I don’t have any right to ask you for anything, but please just do one thing for me.”

Komaeda perked up as much as he could in his weakened state. “What is it?”

“Don’t die.” His voice cracked. “Please try to pull through. Let Tsumiki take care of you. Let us figure out another way to survive this.”

His expression softened. “I have complete faith in everyone here. I’m immensely grateful to be under Tsumiki’s care, but there’s no sense in wasting resources on me.”

“It’s not a waste.” If Komaeda weren’t injured, he might have grabbed his shoulders and shaken him. “It’s worth it to me if you survive. Komaeda, if I lost you, I…”

Komaeda’s smile faded. “You what?”

He had no words to articulate what he was feeling. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to share them anyway with the effort it took to keep from crying. Hajime held his gaze, grappling with a moment of desperation, then braced one hand against the bed and bent over.

The kiss was a clumsy, dry brush of chapped lips that tasted like tears and sweat and the memory of cooked flesh. Hajime kissed him again, more gently this time, and felt Komaeda exhale against his mouth. His arm was beginning to shake from holding him up, so he sat upright and waited for the dizziness to pass.

“Hinata,” Komaeda breathed, his hand grasping weakly at his sleeve.

“I don’t want you to go,” Hajime said shakily, and hated how much it felt like a goodbye. “Can you please…”

Komaeda’s grip tightened on his sleeve, drawing him closer. Hajime leaned in.

A gunshot sounded just outside the cabin, loud enough to rattle the windowpanes. Hajime shot upright, the sound echoing in time with his frantic heartbeat.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck. Stay here,” he said as if Komaeda had a choice, then stumbled out of the room.

The others were already making their way through the front door, a crush of murmured excitement and anxiety. Hajime followed them onto the porch and froze.

Sonia was down on one knee, breathing heavily, her rifle aimed at the other end of the clearing. A mass of fur slumped against the snow, leaking fresh blood from a wound in its head. It took Hajime a moment to make out the shape of a bear, still fat from hibernation.

With the help of her rifle, Sonia struggled to her feet, turned to face them, and grinned.

Chapter Text

June 30, 2022

Tsumiki got home just after six thirty, like clockwork. She locked her door behind her, noticed the men in her living room, and dropped her purse with a scream.

“Calm down and take a seat,” Fuyuhiko said, not moving from his position on the sofa. “If you panic, you’re only gonna make things worse.”

“K-Kuzuryu,” Tsumiki said, blinking rapidly. “I, um, I didn’t realize that you were—”

“Sit down.”

She crossed the room and sat in the chair by the bookshelf, knees pressed together and fingers tangled in her lap. “Can I get, um, get you some tea?”

Fuyuhiko let out an incredulous scoff. “I don’t want any of your fucking tea.”

He pulled the postcard from his jacket pocket and walked across the room to hand it to her. She looked at him through her lashes, lips pressed together, and took the card.

“What is this?” She flipped it to the side with the writing. “I’m really sorry, I don’t read Russian.”

“It’s a ransom note. 160 million yen or they leak info to the press about what happened after the crash.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “I-I didn’t write this, I promise! I would never do something like that.”

Fuyuhiko searched her face. In a way, she was a better liar than she deserved to be, because it was impossible to crack her—Tsumiki was always cracked. It was hard to identify genuine guilt in someone with a persecution complex.

“You talked to anyone about what happened?”

She shook her head, gaze flickering to the men on the other side of the room. “I don’t want anyone to find out either. It would be just as bad for me if anything got out.”

He feigned interest in the cuff of his jacket. “The name Noboru Ikeda mean anything to you?”

Tsumiki blinked. “Who?”

“He was admitted to Seiwa Hospital a couple days ago.”

Her expression wrinkled in recognition. “I h-heard about his case.”

“Then you know what happens to people who lie to the Kuzuryu Clan.”

She gave him a shaky nod, her gaze falling to the card.

“We’re done here.” Fuyuhiko held out a hand, but Tsumiki kept staring at the writing. “What?”

“Nothing!” Her head snapped up and she thrust the postcard into his hand. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”

He held her gaze for another moment, then turned on his heel and made for the door. Noiselessly, his men followed him.

One of Tsumiki’s neighbors was walking down the hallway with a handful of mail, which nearly fell from her grasp as she noticed them. Fuyuhiko didn’t spare her a glance as he passed.

As soon as he stepped out onto the street, he noticed the sleek black car waiting on the other side and sighed.

“Don’t wait up for me,” he said to his men, then crossed the street and climbed into the backseat.

Natsumi sat with her legs tucked under her, black high heels discarded on the floor. “Dead end?” she asked without looking up from her phone.

“The fuck do you think?”

“If Tsumiki is anything like what I remember from Hope’s Peak, she’s a coward and a people-pleaser. Blackmail doesn’t fit her personality profile.”

“Thanks for the insight.”

Natsumi set her phone down and propped an elbow against the seat. “Why are you chasing dead leads, Fuyuhiko?”

“I’m covering my bases. Just because Tsumiki didn’t send the note doesn’t mean she didn’t talk to someone. Like you said, she’s a people-pleaser.”

“What about Kazuichi Souda?”

Fuyuhiko sighed and let his head fall against the head rest. He half-wished the Yamaguchi-gumi would start another turf war so Natsumi would have something to focus on other than sticking her nose in his business.

“What about him?”

“I see your angle with Hinata, but consider this.” She started listing items with her fingers. “Junkie gets out of rehab. He’s broke as shit, needs money. He blackmails someone he knows has cash and a weak point.”

“You think Souda killed Uchiyama.”

She shrugged. “Some people get violent when they’re high.”

Fuyuhiko took a deep breath and didn’t flinch. He didn’t think about blood and glazed eyes and frantic screaming. Uchiyama’s murder had been methodical, precise. Nothing like back then.

“Souda didn’t write that note.”

“How do you know?”

“His handwriting’s shit.”

“Maybe he had an accomplice. Some junkie girlfriend looking to make some quick cash.”

His hands tightened into fists. “Stop fucking saying junkie.”

“Stop making excuses for your…friend who suffers from substance abuse problems.”

“Souda’s not my friend.”

“He’s guilty, though.”

He finally turned to look at her, and her know-it-all expression only pissed him off more. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he left the country. Flew out of Narita two days ago.”

Fuyuhiko sat up. “He flew out of Tokyo?”

Natsumi gave him a meaningful look. “Remember your first flight after you got back?”

Barely. The five-hour trip had felt like one protracted panic attack. He’d put off flying for as long as he possibly could, and even now Natsumi usually took point with overseas meetings.

Souda didn’t have a criminal syndicate and a reputation to maintain. So what the fuck would possibly get him on a plane?

“You still think he’s innocent?” Natsumi asked.

“None of us are innocent,” he muttered before he could stop himself. “Fine. I see your point.”

“Good.” She picked up her phone again. “I’ll see if I can get his flight number.”

“I want you to think of a moment in your life. A time you felt terrible. Powerless. Hopeless.”

Kazuichi decided he was not going to do that.

“Try to conjure up details of that moment. What you were seeing. What it smelled like. Were there other people there? Did they say anything?”

No. He wasn’t going to think about any of it. His eyes were still closed, so all he had to focus on was the sound of Angie’s voice and the gentle roar of the waves nearby.

“I want you to focus on the thing that caused you the most pain in that moment.” Angie paused to take a slow, deep breath, and the rest of the group followed suit. “Forgive that thing. Let it go.”

His legs were starting to fall asleep from sitting cross-legged for so long. Kazuichi cracked an eye open and glanced around. Angie was sitting with her back ramrod straight, lips spread in a placid, angelic smile. The others were either wearing a neutral expression or frowning in concentration. One man had tears rolling down his cheeks. Everyone had their eyes closed except a woman with dark hair tied back by a green scarf. She made eye contact with him and frowned as if to say, You’re breaking the rules.

So are you, Kazuichi shot back silently, then closed his eyes.

“I want you to turn around and leave that moment behind,” Angie said. “Walk away, and keep walking until you can no longer hear it, until its scent is no longer in your nose. Breathe in…and out… And open your eyes.”

The group obeyed with sighs of relief. Kazuichi wiggled his toes to get some feeling back into his feet. Angie looked at each person in turn and when she made eye contact with him, he tried to look enlightened. He felt like a kid again, doing his best to pretend he was paying attention in class.

“Wonderful job, everyone.” Angie clapped her hands, her bubbly demeanor returning as she stood. “Now that we have rejuvenated our bodies and nourished our souls, we can have breakfast.”

“Thank god,” Kazuichi murmured, stretching his legs out with a wince. He was looking forward to something hot and greasy since he was somehow still hungover. Maybe it was because he’d been woken up at six in the morning and asked to do a full hour of tai chi followed by what felt like another hour of meditation before he could eat.

Breakfast was well worth the wait, at least. It was buffet style, so Kazuichi helped himself to thick slices of melon, salty bacon, and some kind of sweet, fluffy roll. He devoured it all while he sat with his bunk mates and listened to them chat about today’s activities. He hadn’t been expecting bunk mates, but according to Angie, the private cottages were reserved for “the most generous members of our community.” She hadn’t mentioned a specific figure, but Kazuichi had blown most of his cash on the plane ticket here. He wasn’t sure if he even had enough to get back to Japan but, well. That was a problem for another day.

“Hey, new guy.” The young man sitting across from him waved to get his attention. Amami was all dyed hair and piercings, but he still came across as one of the most approachable guys at the retreat. It also helped that he spoke Japanese and English, so he’d spent most of yesterday translating for Kazuichi. “You haven’t partnered with anyone for tasks yet, right?”

Kazuichi blinked. “Uh, no. Is there a sign up sheet or something?”

He laughed like he’d said something funny. “We don’t really do that here. We’re more of an intentional community. If something needs to get done, it gets done.”

“…So what needs to get done?”

“Think about everything you’ve done since you’ve gotten here. You slept in a bed. You used the latrine.” He smiled slightly. “You sweated through your clothes during tai chi.”

“What about food?” Kazuichi glanced down at his empty plate.

“We grow and catch most of it right here.” He gestured to the mostly-empty tray of melon slices. “We harvested those a couple days ago.”

“Is that okay?” He blinked in alarm. “I mean, is that enough for everyone?” He looked down at his plate. Shit, had he taken too much? Or should he have eaten more, just in case?

“We also get shipments every week or so. Stuff we can’t get here.” Amami gave him a strange look. “It’s all good, man. But if you want to help out, you can check out the garden today.” He leaned back to point at the fenced-in plot of land at the edge of the area. “Or the boats, if you’re a good swimmer. They might be checking the crab traps today.”

Kazuichi took a sip of his coffee and wished it was beer. He guessed he shouldn’t have been expecting too much, since this place was free, but the self-sufficiency stuff was starting to bother him. He liked supermarkets and convenience stores and cheap ramen shops where food appeared in front of him and he didn’t have to think about how it got there.

“What are you doing today?” he asked.

“Me and Nic are making nets today.” Amami shot him an apologetic smile. “We’re already paired up, though.”

Kazuichi glanced at the blond man sitting next to him. “What about him?”

“He’s got a private session with Angie this morning. I think he’s doing latrine duty later today.”

Nope. No thank you. He fiddled with the edge of his napkin. This place had cloth napkins, but not the fancy restaurant kind—they were squares of fabric in tropical blues and greens, already worn from repeated washing.

“Guess I’ll check out the garden, then.”

There were already three people standing by the fence when Kazuichi made his way over. The woman with the green scarf watched him with pursed lips as he approached.

“Uh, hey.” He shot them an awkward wave. “I’m here to help out with the garden, if that’s okay.”

The other two smiled at him with slightly vacant expressions, and he realized they probably didn’t speak Japanese.

“Let’s pair up, then,” the woman with the scarf said, putting no effort into hiding her displeasure. The other pair nodded happily, probably relieved they wouldn’t have to deal with a language barrier today.

Kazuichi followed her to the shed at one corner of the garden. “So you’re from Japan, huh?”

“Yeah. Chiba.”

“Oh, cool. I’m from Tokyo,” he said to her back as she began rifling through the shed. “I’m Kazuichi Souda, by the way.”

“Tenko Chabashira.” She handed him a pair of gloves and a bucket.

“So…” He trailed after her as she grabbed her own supplies and headed away from the garden. “Meditation isn’t really your thing?”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “What, are you gonna tell on me?”

“What? No. I mean, I wasn’t really into it either.” He quickened his pace so he could walk beside her. “Did I, like, do something to offend you? I kind of feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You mean besides acting like a typical man?” Before he could parse that comment, she sighed and said, “It’s not you. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Kazuichi bit back an exasperated sigh. “So I didn’t offend you?”

“I’m just in a bad mood, okay? I’m kind of sick of this place.” She glared down at the bucket in her hand like it had personally offended her.

“Then why are you here?”

“My friend.” She pressed her lips together. “She’s been struggling with depression for a long time. When she heard about this place, it was the first time I’d seen her excited about something in forever. I thought it might help but…” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think Angie is the right person to help her. And I can’t exactly drag her away, so I just have to stay and look out for her.”

Wasn’t that exactly what had led him to this place? When was the last time he’d looked forward to anything before he’d booked his flight out here?

Was that feeling nothing but an advertising tactic to draw in people with nowhere else to be?

“Sorry about your friend,” he said, and hoped the apology didn’t sound as lame as it felt coming out of his mouth. “Depression can be really rough.”

“I know that.” She shot him a look. “I was supposed to be paired with her today, but she’s been in a rough spot so Angie recommended that she ‘take a rest.’” She held up two fingers as air quotes. “I was kind of hoping she would show up anyway, but you came along instead.”

“Sorry,” Kazuichi said again, even though it obviously wasn’t his fault. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to let you down. It probably helps her to know that you care.”

Her shoulders rose in indignation. “Himiko could never let me down. She’s allowed to take as much time as she needs to get better.”

Some people don’t get better, Kazuichi thought, and decided that was best kept to himself.

Chabashira let out an exasperated groan. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. I swear, if you try to take advantage of Himiko, I’ll break your goddamn neck.”

“What the f— I’m not—” He spread his hands, making the bucket rattle in his hands. “I’m just here to deal with my own shit, okay? I’m not here to take advantage of anyone.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then hesitated. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I’m an addict,” he said after a moment of consideration. “Not, like, violent or anything. Just trying to get clean. And stay clean.”

Chabashira cast a dubious look at the bandage on his face. “Not violent?”

He gave a weary shake of his head. “Sleep deprivation and heavy machinery don’t mix well.”

“So you need some serious help.”

“Not like this was my first choice.” He sighed. “I mean, it’s nice, I just didn’t think it’d be so…I don’t know. Granola.”

To his surprise, Chabashira laughed. “Funny you should say that.”

“Why?” He realized they’d reached the latrines and stopped short. “Hey, I thought we were taking care of the garden.”

“We are.” She hefted her bucket. “We’re fertilizing the crops today.”

Kazuichi let out a small, involuntary groan and she laughed again. It was pretty obvious she was laughing at his expense, but still. It felt kind of good.

Winter 2012

Kazuichi’s hand shook as he brought the bear meat to his mouth. He bit down and chewed as slowly as he could.

Eating made the hunger worse, somehow. None of them were complaining about the bear, since it was more food than they’d seen in forever, but none of them had been able to eat their fill, either. Pekoyama had been adamant that they make the meat last as long as possible, so they’d made it stretch with two small portions a day.

And this was the last of it. The bite he’d taken had already disappeared down his throat. Kazuichi pushed another piece past his lips. This was the last of it, and they hadn’t found anything else to eat. After today it would be more pine needle tea and stomach cramps and…

He still had nightmares about that day with Hinata. Last night he’d dreamed the others were chasing him instead, that they’d held him down and chopped off his limbs one by one. That Sonia had pressed her rifle to his forehead to put him out of his misery.

He didn’t blame Hinata for spending most of his time in the bedroom with Komaeda, who was still laid up after cutting his own arm off (and that was something else so fucked up Kazuichi didn’t even know where to start). Maybe Hinata was afraid of them. Kazuichi wanted to clear the air between them, but he had no idea how. Hey man, sorry for trying to chase you down and kill and eat you. I just kind of felt peer pressured into it since everyone else was doing it and for some reason I felt more terrified of being left behind than trying to literally hunt down one of my friends. High school, you know?

The food on his plate was gone. Kazuichi licked the grease from his fingers, his mouth thick with saliva. There was a cut on his finger, still sluggishly healing, and he could feel the ridge of the scab on his tongue. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten it, but he’d sucked the blood from it until Tsumiki had caught him and given him a surprisingly intense lecture on infection.

“Are you sure this is it?” Owari asked, legs pulled close to her chest.

“You’re more than welcome to check the shed again,” Hanamura said, thumbing the handle of the cast iron pan like he was testing how long he could stand the heat. “We used every part of that there creature. I haven’t had to get that creative in a long time.”

The door to the bedroom creaked open and Hinata walked into the living room. Kazuichi tried for a moment to catch his eye, then looked away.

“Just getting some more water,” Hinata said to no one in particular, then crossed the room with tense shoulders.

Tsumiki scooted back several feet to give him room. Owari pushed her mouth against her crossed arms as he passed, eyes shadowed and listless. Kazuichi tried and failed to come up with something to say to relieve the tension.

Maybe Hinata felt like he had a target on his back now that they were out of food. The worst part was that Kazuichi wasn’t sure if he was wrong to feel that way. No one had broached the subject of what they were going to do now that they were out of food.

Kazuichi picked at the scab on his finger, eyes burning. He didn’t want any more of his friends to die. But he was so, so sick of being hungry.

“What ails you, Siren?” Tanaka asked, making everyone look over.

Mioda was sitting with her hands clamped over her ears, humming softly under her breath. Kazuichi’s heart dropped. He hadn’t expected her to be the one to crack first.

Sonia crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder. “Is everything alright, Mioda?”

She shook her head, and with Sonia’s gentle encouragement, took her hands away from her ears. “Is that buzzing driving anyone else crazy?”

“Buzzing?” Pekoyama echoed. “You mean there’s a ringing in your ears?”

Mioda shook her head, messy half-dyed strands falling into her face. “It’s definitely a buzzing, not a ringing. Kind of bass-y. You guys don’t hear it?”

Owari stood and looked out the window.

“How long have you been hearing it?” Hinata asked.

“Maybe a couple minutes.” Mioda dug her nails into her scalp. “Ugh, it’s getting right under my skull.”

“Can you tell what direction it’s coming from?” Koizumi asked, brow furrowed. “Or is it…inside your head?”

Kazuichi rubbed his scalp in sympathy. He had some permanent ringing in his ears from working in the shop before he’d been able to afford some noise-cancelling headphones. Most of the time he was able to ignore it, but some nights it was all he could hear.

“Would it help if we made some noise to drown it out?” Sonia asked.

“Guys, there’s a plane outside,” Owari said.

The whole room went silent.

Owari spun around, eyes wide. “That’s what you were hearing, right? Guys, there’s a freaking plane outside!”

“Are you sure?” Hanamura took a few hesitant steps toward her. “A plane? You saw it?”

“Through the window.” She grabbed a coat and shoved her arms through the sleeves. “It’s flying above us.”

Everyone moved at once. Kazuichi tripped over Nidai’s foot in his haste, and Nidai hauled him back to his feet. They squeezed through the door, half-bundled in the first coat they could grab—no one bothered with ownership anymore. Kazuichi craned his head upward and squinted at the gray sky.

“Which way was it going?” Hinata asked as he wrestled with his scarf. “Which direction?”

“I think…” Owari lifted a finger and traced an imaginary path through the sky. “That way.”

“Down here!” Hanamura screamed at a pitch Kazuichi had never heard before. “Help us! We’re down here!”

“Koizumi.” Pekoyama gestured to her. “Gather as many pine needles as you can and throw them into the fire. Add in some snow, but don’t let the fire go out. We need to create a lot of smoke.”

Kazuichi pressed his hands to his head and racked his brain. They were out of jet fuel, every battery in their possession was dead, and all their half-decent mechanical parts were sitting in the plane. If he had more time he probably could have jerry-rigged something to reflect light or send up some kind of signal but instead he’d just been sitting around for weeks when he could have been doing something useful and now there was no time to even think about it.

Owari took a running leap into one of the trees and began scaling the branches. Snow sifted through the needles as the boughs shook beneath her weight.

“Owari, wait,” Pekoyama called.

One of the branches shuddered. Owari swore loudly as she lost her footing and tumbled downwards. She hit the ground with a low thud that made Kazuichi wince. Sonia and Nidai rushed forward to help her up.

Mioda squeezed her eyes shut, fingers tugging at her hair. After a moment, she straightened and pointed away from the cabin. “I think the buzzing is coming from that way.”

Tsumiki’s face was half-buried in her scarf. “How are we going to catch up with it? What if we…we already missed it?”

“The lake.” Sonia’s eyes were wild. “The trees won’t hide us there. It may be easier for someone to spot us from above.”

They didn’t stop to debate. They ran downhill, in the general direction of the path that was currently buried in snow. Kazuichi’s lungs burned, his legs protesting with each step. It had felt just as awful when they’d been chasing Hinata. And somehow, he was just as hungry.

Sonia reached the shore of the lake first and didn’t break her stride. A warning cry rushed up Kazuichi’s throat as he watched her charge forward, but the ice held. He watched Tsumiki slip and fall with a scream, saw Nidai keep a deliberate distance from the others, and slowed his pace as he reached the edge of the ice.

“Where is it?” Hinata asked between ragged breaths, his face turned to the sky. “Where’s the plane?”

“I think I… think I see it.” Tsumiki panted, still flat on her back. “Through the clouds.”

Kazuichi staggered onto the ice, towards where the others were standing further out. He looked upwards and nearly lost his footing. The others were screaming, waving their arms, barely resisting the urge to jump up and down on the ice.

“Help us!” Kazuichi screamed. He scanned the misty gray cloud cover. His vision danced with white spots no matter how many times he blinked. “Hey! Down here!”

Sonia had taken her scarf off and was waving it back and forth, the bright red fabric leaving searing trails in his vision. Nidai fumbled for his whistle and blew it, the shrill noise cutting through their collective voices. Sagishi was dragging clumsy trails in the snow scattered over the ice, carving a shaky SOS with their feet.

Hanamura stretched his arms to the sky, like a child asking for their mother. “Help us, please!”

Kazuichi looked up again, feeling dizzy. There was nothing in the sky. The plane had disappeared.

One by one, their voices fell silent.

“Where’d it go?” Owari paced in circles, puffing white clouds with each breath. “I saw it. I swear I saw it.”

“Are you sure it was a plane?” Hinata swallowed as his voice cracked. “And not just a bird or something?”

She lunged at him, making him stumble back a few steps. “I know what I saw! You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“Did anyone else see it?” Sonia turned desperate eyes to Kazuichi. “Souda? Perhaps you were able to identify something?”

He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know. I didn’t…I couldn’t really tell…”

“We could wait,” Pekoyama said. Loose strands of hair were plastered to her face with sweat. “We could wait for it to come back.”

“Mioda?” Tsumiki asked, her whole body trembling. “Do you still hear the noise?”

Everyone held their breath and turned to her. Mioda shook her head, her gaze somewhere far, far away.

Kazuichi felt something like a laugh bubble up in his throat. He sank into a squat, eyes stinging. “We’re fucked. We’re so fucked.”

“I saw it,” Owari whispered. “I saw it, I saw it, I saw it.”

“Perhaps we were merely beneath the thrall of a mirage,” Tanaka said. “An illusion of escape. Would that we had—”

A sharp crack cut off the rest of his sentence. Kazuichi leapt to his feet, heart pounding, but the ice beneath him was intact. He looked around, head spinning.

“The hell was that?” Nidai asked, shifting his weight uneasily.

One by one, their heads turned to Sagishi, standing at the end of the S carved in the snow. White cracks spread from beneath their feet like spider’s legs. They looked down and let out a shaky breath.

Tsumiki rushed forward, only for Pekoyama to grab her arm and hold her back.

“No one get near,” she said. “Extra weight will only make it worse.”

Hinata turned to shore. “I can go get some rope from the cabin.”

“There may not be time.”

Sonia, still clutching her scarf, held out a hand. “Everyone, quickly. We’ll tie them together.”

They converged, hands at their necks, but Nidai said, “Stop! Remember what Pekoyama said about the extra weight? One at a time.”

Hanamura went first, passing his scarf to Sonia. Sagishi stood with their arms out as if to keep their balance, eyes locked on the fractured ice beneath them.

“Hurry.” Tsumiki trembled in Pekoyama’s grip, her scarf already unwound. “Please, hurry.”

The seconds seemed to crawl by as Owari offered her scarf next. Kazuichi lifted his fist and bit down on his glove. They were going too slow. Sonia knotted the scarves together as they came with shaking hands, tattered fabric pooling at her feet.

It was his turn. Kazuichi shuffled across the ice, heart in his throat, and the others moved to give him room. He held out his scarf and hunched his shoulders against the freezing wind.

Sonia didn’t move, her gaze locked on the knot in her hands, an unfamiliar, haunted look in her eyes. Her fingers spasmed. Both of them were still breathing heavily, he realized, from the effort it had taken to run all the way to the lake.

“Hey.” He nudged her arm with the fabric. “You got this.”

“Sonia?” Sagishi asked, their voice taut with fear.

She shook her head repeatedly, though he couldn’t tell if it was at them or at herself.

“We can’t,” she murmured. “We can’t.”

“We can’t what?” Kazuichi resisted the urge to shake her. “Come on, we gotta move.”

“We were going to have to pick someone anyway,” Pekoyama said quietly. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

Sonia took a shuddering breath and looked up. Her eyes were full of unshed tears.

Oh, god. Kazuichi felt dizzy. He looked down to make sure the ice wasn’t shifting beneath his feet. This was just another lottery, like with the chopsticks.

“Is there something wrong?” Sagishi asked, though something in their voice make Kazuichi think they already knew.

“Enough of this.” Tanaka strode forward despite Kazuichi’s attempts to wave him away, only stopping when the ice let out a dangerous creak. “Make your choice. Whether it is right or wrong, it is worse to stand here and deliberate.”

“Sonia,” Pekoyama said.

Sonia dropped the knotted scarves as if it had burned her and backed away. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Wait.” Sagishi’s voice cracked.

Kazuichi bent and scooped up the fabric. He thought he might have been hyperventilating, but he couldn’t really hear it over the ringing in his ears. He fumbled for the end of the rope.

He could do something useful for once. Toss the rope to Sagishi, pray they didn’t fall into the water, pull them to safety. Trek back to the cabin before they all froze to death.

Starve.

He looked up at the empty sky and the rope slipped from his hands.

Mioda was looking at the sky too, hands like claws around her ears. Nidai was dangerously red-faced, hands and jaw clenched. Tsumiki knelt against the ice and sobbed.

Nobody moved to pick up the rope.

“Everyone,” Sagishi said, voice shaking.

The ice gave a sickening crunch and Sagishi slipped into the freezing water.

Chapter Text

July 1, 2022

“Hello?”

Mikan swallowed, her hand trembling as she held the phone to her ear. Her lips moved soundlessly as she tried to remember how to speak.

“Hello...?”

“Hi,” Mikan forced out, wincing as her voice cracked. “Um, it’s me. Mikan. Um, Tsumiki.” She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the click of the line being dropped.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t recognize your number at first. I’ll save it once we hang up.” Enoshima no longer sounded annoyed, and Mikan let out a tiny sigh of relief. “What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I just wanted your advice on something.” She looked down at the two blouses laid out on her bed, absently tugging on the ends of her hair. “I was trying to pick out an outfit to wear tonight.”

The smirk in Enoshima’s voice was audible as she said, “Is someone going on a date tonight?”

Mortification washed over her as she realized what she’d done. When they’d met at the mall, Enoshima had called her beautiful and given her her number. Wasn’t it rude to call her about a date she was going on with someone else? Or was it presumptuous to assume that Enoshima would ever feel attraction towards someone like her?

Mikan took a calming breath as quietly as she could. It didn’t matter. That’s not why she was making this call.

“Yes. I’m not very good at dressing myself, so I was wondering if you had any advice.” She swallowed. “If you don’t mind.”

Something rustled on the other end of the line. “You know where you’re going? Indoors or outdoors?”

“It’s, um, an Italian restaurant, I think. It’s probably indoors.”

“So no white. Gotcha.”

Face burning, Mikan swept her white blouse to the side. She should probably get rid of it entirely, with how clumsy she was.

“Okay, I’ll be there ASAP. Text me your address.” Enoshima hung up with a click.

Blinking rapidly, Mikan lowered the phone from her ear. She never would have wasted Enoshima’s time by asking her to physically come over. She’d just planned on sending a picture of her blouses, and the white one had already been eliminated.

She walked over to her dresser, where the crumpled napkin with Enoshima’s phone number was spread out. Maybe this was a good thing. Seeing her in person would give her more information, at least.

She leaned forward and traced the swirling sixes on the thin paper. She’d spent so long staring at the napkin that the same shapes had jumped out to her when Kuzuryu had shown her the postcard last night. It had been a different phone number, but the handwriting had looked so similar.

Unless panic had warped her memory. Maybe she was allowing paranoia to get the best of her, assuming that Enoshima was only interested in her for blackmail material. But why else would someone so beautiful and capable bother spending time with her?

Mikan realized she was chewing on her lower lip again and was thankful she hadn’t applied any makeup yet. She wouldn’t know the truth unless she saw Enoshima again.

She picked up her phone to text her her address.

2013

After he and Nidai finished laundry duty, Hajime sat on the porch and did nothing.

It still felt like his muscles were waking up, getting used to moving around and having the energy to do so. Even now that the snow was gone, now that it was warm enough to wash their clothes and sheets and hang them to dry without them freezing stiff, now that the frozen earth had opened up and allowed them to eat from it again, there were still mornings he woke expecting to see his breath in the air.

No matter how many times he brushed his teeth until his gums bled, he could still taste the three people that had gotten them through the winter.

Hajime let the sunlight warm his brow and listened to the light flutter of the bedsheets on the clothesline. Komaeda’s blood had stained a section of it a muddy brown. The skin on his palms was raw from trying to scrub it out.

The porch creaked as someone stepped outside, and Hajime tilted his head to see who it was.

“Oh, hello.” Komaeda descended the steps, a bundle of cloth tucked under his arm. “Taking a break?”

“I guess so.” There was still plenty of work to do, plenty of tasks preferable to being alone with his thoughts. Something had just prompted him to sit and be still for a moment.

“I won’t intrude any longer, then.” Komaeda adjusted his grip on the cloth and began walking away from the cabin.

Hajime watched him with a frown. Things had been…less than straightforward between them. Neither of them had brought up the kiss after it happened, but Hajime had stayed at his bedside for the weeks it had taken for Komaeda to heal from his injury. They’d talked about childhood adventures and old school assignments and movies and books. It had been comfortable, even with everything they’d left unspoken.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Komaeda turned around. “I heard Koizumi mention that it might be warm enough today for bathing in the lake. I thought I’d do everyone a favor and try to clean up a little.”

“By yourself?”

He smiled. “I’m hardly fit to help out with any chores, so I figured it’s better if I keep out of the way. Don’t you agree?”

Hajime heaved himself to his feet. “We’re still doing buddy system. I’ll come with you.”

“I thought you were taking a break.”

“I kind of want to clean off too.” He stopped short. “Do you not want me to come with you?”

Komaeda was silent for a long moment, as if weighing out his answer. Hajime bit back a frustrated sigh. He’d come and gone from the bedroom a hundred times and never once considered if he was welcome or not. He didn’t understand what had changed.

“You can just ask for stuff, you know.” He took a few steps closer. “Like you did back then.”

He tilted his head. “Back then? What did I ask you for?”

Hajime pinched his tongue between his teeth. Don’t make me say it.

Komaeda saw his expression change and let out a short breath that might have been a laugh. “Alright, then. Maybe it would be better for us to go together.”

“Yeah.” A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, like he’d just finished a particularly challenging homework question. “Give me a second to grab a change of clothes.”

The walk down the lake path took longer than usual. Neither of them spoke, and Hajime found it awkward until he noticed Komaeda’s labored breathing and the careful way he was placing his feet. He’d been walking around for several days by now, but this must have been the farthest he’d gone from the cabin since his amputation.

“Do we need to take a break?” Hajime asked after a while.

Komaeda glanced up as if he’d forgotten he was there. “Oh, am I slowing you down?”

“I don’t want you to push yourself too much.”

“Honestly, the physical activity has warmed me up a little. I don’t mind if you go on ahead, though.”

“That defeats the whole point of the buddy system. Maybe you should hold onto me in case you lose your balance.”

Komaeda looked down. His remaining hand was occupied with his change of clothes.

Hajime held out a hand. “I’ll just carry your stuff too.”

He gave him the bundle with a smile. “I’ve become quite burdensome, haven’t I?”

He tucked the clothing under one arm and took hold of Komaeda’s elbow with the other. “This is nothing compared to lugging those stupid water buckets up to the cabin.”

That was the only thing he missed about winter—the snow had provided easy access to water. Now water duty had gone back to being the least popular chore among the group.

The path led them to the sandy stretch where the group usually collected water or did laundry. Hajime skirted the shore, pushing through the brush until they reached a little strip of sand sheltered by trees. He dumped their clean clothes on a flat rock and focused on untying his shoes, acutely aware of Komaeda’s footsteps crunching over the sand. This wasn’t totally different from going to a bath house. He’d never done it with someone he had feelings for, but that was fine. He just had to not make it weird.

Komaeda crouched by the water and sifted his fingers through it. “It feels pretty cold.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not gonna get warm until it’s really hot outside.” He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and wondered if he should just burn the latter. “It’ll be worth it just to feel clean for once.”

“Agreed.” Komaeda sat and began working on his own shoes.

This was fine. This was normal.

Hajime shrugged off his jacket and took a moment to adjust to the temperature. The air was cool, but nothing like the freezing temperatures they’d endured during the winter. He pulled his shirt over his head and felt goosebumps pepper his skin as soon as it was exposed. 

He looked down and immediately wished he hadn’t.

His ribs were visible—not quite skeletal, but enough to make his heart drop. He counted the extra holes he’d had to put in his belt and suppressed a shiver.

Komaeda was watching him. “Is something wrong?”

Hajime resisted the urge to pull his shirt back on. That was another thing—he’d never had the toned body of the actors on TV, but he would have at least liked to look healthy if he was undressing in front of someone he’d kissed.

“There’s no need to be insecure.” Komaeda smiled and climbed to his feet with slow, shaky movements. “I’m sure I’m in far worse shape than you are.”

Hajime shook his head, his mood souring. “It’s just a reminder, you know? Of everything we went through, everything we haven’t recovered from…”

Komaeda stepped closer and placed a hand on his chest. Hajime froze, heat curling in his stomach.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” Komaeda said. “Proof that you’re still alive. That you survived the winter.”

Hajime clasped one hand over Komaeda’s. His fingers were cold, but he didn’t want him to pull away just yet. The tightness in his chest had eased up just a little. 

“Feeling optimistic today?”

Komaeda met his gaze with raised brows. “Aren’t I always?”

He managed a half-laugh. “Come on, it’s cold. Let’s get this over with.”

He released Komaeda’s hand and undid his belt. His jeans fell to the ground without much effort on his part. He stepped out of them and realized Komaeda was just standing there, watching him.

His cheeks grew hot. “What?”

“Hm? Oh.” Komaeda shrugged off his jacket and made an effort to fold it against his stomach. “You don’t have to wait for me. It’ll probably take a while for me to get undressed with one hand.”

Hajime watched him fumble with his jacket and reached out before he could second-guess himself. “Did you want help?”

Komaeda blinked. “With taking my clothes off?”

His face grew hotter. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Yeah. And I can also help with, um.” His throat was dry all of a sudden. “The bathing stuff.”

“Surely you didn’t come all this way just to play nurse for me. Tsumiki does a much better job at it.”

An edge of exasperation crept into his voice. “Tsumiki’s not here right now, is she? Do you want help with your clothes or not?”

“I think I can manage on my own.” He reached back and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. “No need to wait on my account.”

“Okay, then. I’m gonna go check out the water.” Hajime walked away feeling a little bit relieved, because he’d just thought his hypothetical offer all the way through and realized helping undress Komaeda would also mean taking off his pants and underwear and that was…a lot.

Maybe cold water would be a good thing right now.

He stepped into the water and goosebumps traveled up his calves. He was standing in the shade of the trees, but a little ways out the sun lightened the deep blue of the water. He watched the ripples travel over the surface, from his feet to the indeterminate point where they vanished. A chill bit his skin, the ghost of ice that had long since melted. For a moment, he was back there on the frozen surface. He remembered the way the sky had looked, how his muscles had burned after running down the hill. How hunger and guilt had formed a monstrous tumor in his gut.

Hajime stripped off his boxers and waded deeper into the water. The cold crept up his body like it was hungry. Already, he was starting to shiver, but the water here had to be several degrees warmer than it had been that day. He’d read somewhere that hypothermia was supposed to be a peaceful way to go. Painless, even.

It hadn’t looked that way with Sagishi.

He wished the numbness seeping into his feet would spread faster. Anything to stop the horrible feeling of wrongness that had settled in his bones. Hajime moved faster, the water sloshing with his movements, and sank beneath the surface. A rushing noise filled his ears, the cold sinking into each of his pores all at once. He closed his eyes, let the hum of the water pressure fill his brain, and stayed there until his lungs were begging for air.

He surfaced with a gasp and felt like his heart had restarted. His skin was warm beneath the chill. He took in a deep breath and tasted the freshness of the air. He submerged his head again and scrubbed at his scalp with his fingernails until the skin felt raw.

“Hinata?” Komaeda’s voice was nearly lost in the sound of water rushing past his ears.

Hajime lifted his head. His fingers were clogged with loose hair. He dropped them into the water and turned around.

Komaeda was completely bare except for the bandages wrapped around his arm. He was even thinner than Hajime had expected—skeletal, almost. Worry tugged at his heart. Had he gained any weight since they’d started eating regularly?

“Grotesque, aren’t I?” Komaeda smiled. “I’m guessing the water temperature is fine.”

“It’s cold, but you’ll get used to it.” Hajime waded back to shore, keeping his eyes locked on a random point just past Komaeda’s shoulder. “And you’re not grotesque.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He inched towards the water, standing as close as he could without touching it. “Even in the grotesque, one can find beauty. I don’t consider myself that remarkable.”

Hajime sighed and went to grab a washcloth from their clothing bundles. “You sound like those girls on social media that are always fishing for compliments.”

Komaeda actually laughed at that. “Well, I assure you, I’m not expecting any compliments. I’m just stating the obvious.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put yourself down like that.” Hajime frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I mean, are you trying to say I’m stupid for the way I feel about you?”

They faced each other, both of them shivering slightly. Komaeda’s eyes followed a droplet of water as it dripped from Hajime’s hair and down his chest.

“Maybe I am.”

“Well, you can only expect so much from a talentless Reserve Course student.” 

Feeling somewhat triumphant, Hajime crossed the distance between them. Komaeda was still looking at him. Whatever spark had been there that day in the cabin had been real. He watched his pupils dilate, saw his chest rise and fall with measured breaths. “Are you going to let me take care of you or not?”

Komaeda swallowed and nodded.

It took some coaxing to get him into the water, and Hajime sympathized with his shivering—it wasn’t like he had any insulation on his body.

“I can’t swim, by the way,” Komaeda said once they were waist-deep in the lake.

“We’re not going that deep.” Hajime soaked the washcloth, squeezed it out, and began sponging away layers of dirt and dead skin from Komaeda’s skin. “You never learned how?”

“I did take swimming lessons as a child. I only managed a single day, though. Someone had spilled some suntan lotion on the tile next to the pool. As I was walking towards the ladder, I slipped, hit my head on the concrete, and fell into the water. Thankfully the lifeguard was able to resuscitate me afterwards.” He pushed his hair away from his forehead. “The scar has more or less faded by now.”

Hajime winced. “So I guess you had no interest in swimming after that.”

“By the time I recovered from my concussion, I begged my parents not to make me go back to lessons.” His expression brightened. “It turned out to be for the best, though. The day I was supposed to return, a freak thunderstorm passed overhead and lightning struck the swimming pool. Ten people died, I think.”

He froze, the washcloth dripping in his fist. “Are you messing with me?”

“If we weren’t stranded out here, I’d be happy to look up the newspaper article for you. It was a great tragedy for everyone involved.”

His tone was light, but Hajime could only feel his heart sink. Komaeda had been spared, but ten people had died. He’d been carried out of a burning plane, but they’d been plunged into hell. He’d survived the lottery he’d designed himself and lost his arm.

He grasped Komaeda’s injured arm, careful not to get the bandages wet. “Does it still hurt?”

“Sometimes. It was worse in the winter.” He followed his gaze, the remainder of his forearm moving slightly. “I have moments where I still feel as if I can move my fingers. As if they’re still attached.”

Hajime’s eyes stung. “I’m sorry.”

He looked up. “For what? I already told you I don’t regret it.”

“I just wish…” He shook his head, the futility of his words rising in his throat. His regrets piled up faster than he could put them into words. He let go of Komaeda’s arm and placed a hand over his chest, keeping his palm flat and steady until he could feel the beat of his heart.

They were both still alive in the wake of more grief and loss than either of them could quantify. He didn’t know how to make sense of it. There was only one thing that felt right, that felt real in the moment.

He shifted his hand to Komaeda’s shoulder and leaned forward to kiss him. The angle was less awkward than last time, so he could take his time, draw back slightly to make sure Komaeda was okay with this. A single breath ghosted over his lips before Komaeda kissed him back, his movements just as clumsy and awkward as Hajime felt.

The sun warmed his back, his cheek, and as Komaeda wrapped his arm around his neck, he didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

Chapter Text

July 1, 2022

The cacophony of cheerful conversation bled through Hajime’s office door. Most of his coworkers were still gathered in the break room, sharing chocolate cake to celebrate Yamamoto’s fiftieth birthday. Hajime’s own slice of cake lay neglected on his desk, its nearly inch-thick layer of frosting beginning to slump onto the plate. He knew that much sugar would make him sick to his stomach.

He had a proposal to write, anyway. He’d sung ‘Happy Birthday’ with the others, made sure to sign the card. Anything else would be a waste of time. They weren’t being paid to stand around and joke with each other and swap stories about their spouses and children. Everyone in the office had already heard the answers Hajime would’ve given: Good. Not very much. No, I’m not dating anyone. It’s fine. Not really.

Yamamoto was wearing a watch his wife had gifted him for their anniversary the week before. He was planning on taking his two children on a weekend trip to Yokohama. He’d grinned with red cheeks while the others had showered him with birthday wishes.

Hajime blinked and refocused his gaze on the blank document in front of him. The cursor flashed idly in the white expanse.

Happy Birthday, he typed, without quite knowing why.

The door to his office swung open, and Hajime jabbed the backspace button.

Shimamura pushed his head inside, grinning, and held his phone out. “Yo, Hinata, is this you?”

Hajime squinted. Even if Shimamura hadn’t been holding the phone five feet from his face, he wasn’t holding it steady enough for him to read the text on the screen. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned further into the room, hanging off the doorframe with his free hand. “Do you listen to Cold Cases? They just did an episode on that plane crash back in 2012, and listen to this.” He drew the phone closer to his face. “It’s called Class 77: The Secret Sixth Survivor. And they’re talking about a guy named Hajime Hinata.”

He took a slow, measured breath, hands curling into fists beneath the desk. “Do you know how many people in Japan are named Hajime Hinata?”

“But didn’t you go to Hope’s Peak Academy?”

“I went to Kodaka High School,” he replied, trying to sound disinterested. “By the way, did you ever get around to finishing that monthly report?”

Shimamura deflated a little, like a high school boy caught without his homework. A classroom probably would have suited him better than a workplace for adults. “I’ve been working on it, yeah.”

“Great. Let me know when you’re finished so I can compile it with the rest of the documents.”

“Sure thing.” His gaze lingered on the untouched slice of cake on Hajime’s desk, then he slipped out of the room.

As soon as the door shut, Hajime let out a slow breath and massaged his temples. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to read lines from that particular script. He would finish his work for today and ask Chihiro to corrupt the audio file on the podcast’s website.

He took out his phone and did a search for Cold Case podcast. The top result was their most recent episode on the plane crash. His finger hovered over the link.

With a sigh, Hajime put his phone face-down on the desk and went back to work. It had been a long time since he’d seen an article or talk show segment or podcast about the crash, but he guessed with the tenth anniversary coming up soon, it made sense that certain people would try to revive the mystery to boost their online engagement. He didn’t go on social media that often anyway. It wouldn’t be hard to ignore it all for the next few weeks.

With a few keystrokes, he added the company header to the document. Beneath the logo, the cursor flashed at him.

Hajime closed his eyes, the white of the screen leaving an imprint in his vision. It had been hard to see at a distance, but he realized now that the thumbnail on Shimamura’s phone had been simplistic vector art of a pine tree and a cabin in front of a snowy background. He thought of the postcard Kuzuryu had showed him, the one hundred sixty million yen figure written in black pen.

His hand moved of its own accord, picking his phone back up and navigating back to his search. He didn’t have the time or the nerve to listen to the podcast itself, but the next link in the search results was the Cold Cases community page on a popular forum website. He found the post someone had made with a link to the episode and began scrolling through the comments.

wasn’t the original coverup because he was a minor during the crash?

yeah but he turned 18 while they were stranded. so idk if that applies

poor guy. don’t really blame him for trying to stay under the radar

hope’s peak lawsuit coming their way lmao

if hinata was a girl would this be considered stalking?

Hajime put his phone down, blinking rapidly. He glanced at the door, at the webcam installed on his monitor. He knew it was just paranoia, but he was overwhelmed with the sense that he was being watched, that a hundred faceless people were peering at him, prying with their eyes.

He managed to type a couple paragraphs of the proposal before he gave into the urge to look at the forum again. There were more comments speculating about his personal life, what the other survivors were doing, and some allusions to the typical theories about what had happened after the crash. An unpleasant feeling wound in his chest, a simmering rage he hadn’t felt in a long time.

sometimes i wonder if the crash drama wasn’t just to distract people from the fact that a serial killer was attending hope’s peak.

The comment included a link to another post outlining a theory that Genocide Jack had been a student at Hope’s Peak Academy. Hajime skimmed the post, then returned to the comment thread, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

That was the claim he hated most—more than the accusations of cannibalism, of black magic, of Russian weapons testing and alien abduction, he hated the people who posited the crash had never happened. They claimed it was all a PR stunt by Hope’s Peak Academy, aided by Sonia’s family in order to leverage political tensions against Russia. They claimed the sixteen of them had been in a safe house somewhere for eighteen months, that their bruises and scars had been makeup, that those who hadn’t made it back had just assumed false identities and moved elsewhere.

That none of their suffering had ever really happened.

Ears ringing, Hajime typed out a reply with shaking fingers. He knew it was stupid, that he was risking legal repercussions by engaging in the discussion, but he didn’t care. He was so sick of staying silent.

Hope’s Peak has had plenty of students over the years whose talents directly related to illegal activity, including violent crime. There’s no reason they would remove an entire class of students just to avoid a rumor. There’s no solid proof that such a student ever existed at the school, and even if they did, Hope’s Peak has always championed talent over morality.

He jabbed at the button to send the comment and let his phone clatter to the desk.

“That was stupid,” he muttered, turning back to his proposal and trying to recover his long-lost train of thought. Chihiro had offered to install some custom code on his devices to filter out crash-related content specifically to keep him from getting into arguments with strangers on the Internet.

He didn’t care. It felt good to fight for himself for once.

2013

Kazuichi angled the nail between his lips to the side and said, “Can you hold the light just a little closer?”

“I’m trying.” Tentatively, Koizumi raised the torch a few inches. “I just don’t want anything to catch on fire.”

Nidai gave a considering grunt. “Maybe we should have brought up some water before we started this.”

“I’ll just hurry up.” Kazuichi positioned the nail again and began hammering it through the board Nidai was holding against the attic ceiling. He was eager to get down from the rickety stool he was standing on, and Nidai was already sweating from holding the board above his head for so long.

Above them, the exterior of the roof creaked with the weight of footsteps, and Koizumi hissed through her teeth.

“Is Owari still up there? I really hope she doesn’t fall through.”

“Don’t worry,” Nidai said, easing up a little as Kazuichi secured one end of the board. “She knows to stay near the edges. She’s probably just checking for more damage.”

Let’s hope she knows how to get down without breaking her neck, Kazuichi thought as he moved the stool and retrieved another nail from his pocket. His thoughts strayed to when Owari had fallen out of the tree last winter. She hadn’t been seriously hurt, but the thud of the impact still echoed in his bones. It was either that or the crack of the ice on the lake.

He tried really hard not to think about that day.

“Okay.” He lowered the hammer and stepped back so he could survey the two planks nailed in an X against the ceiling. They didn’t have the tools to make anything useful out of fresh wood, so both of these had been torn out of the side of the porch. “Does that look like it’ll hold?”

Nidai slapped him on the shoulder, breathing hard. “Not bad carpentry from the Ultimate Mechanic.”

Koizumi nodded in agreement. “I’m just glad we caught it before something bad happened.”

Hinata had suggested it might have been the weight of the snow that caused the roof to begin to bow. Hopefully the fix would hold for now, and when winter came again…

Nope. He wasn’t going to think about that.

Koizumi put out the torch and the three of them descended the ladder. Mioda was in the kitchen, washing dishes with a listless expression.

“We fixed the roof,” Koizumi said, making her look up. “Souda did a pretty good job.”

A small smile appeared on her face, and was gone just as quickly. “Coolioz.”

Kazuichi hesitated, then left Koizumi to cheer her up. It sucked seeing Mioda in a bad mood because she was never like that. But there wasn’t much he could do. He never knew the right thing to say.

Pekoyama was in the living room, tending to her sword while Sonia cleaned her rifle. Nidai gave them both a nod before heading out the door. Kazuichi shuffled after him, but Sonia’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Has the roof been repaired?”

“Uh, yeah. More or less.” He tapped the handle of the hammer against his leg and debated on making eye contact. “We’ll probably have to watch it next time it rains.”

“Alright.” Sonia’s voice was more subdued. She’d probably noticed his discomfort, and he hated himself for making it obvious. “Thank you for taking care of it.”

“No problem.” He forced himself to at least look in her general direction. The hammer made a bruising beat against his thigh. “I’m gonna see if Owari saw anything on the outside. So, uh. Yeah.”

He hurried out the door before he could take in Sonia’s expression. He thought he’d gotten better at pretending things were normal around her, but seeing her and Pekoyama with their weapons out made him nervous.

Neither of them were killers. They would never hurt one of their classmates directly. They just…hadn’t helped Sagishi. Nobody had, so it wasn’t like they deserved any more of the blame than the rest of them. 

He’d just wished Sonia had fought a little harder, even if she ended up losing in the end. She was a good, selfless person. She’d tried to sacrifice herself before. He didn’t want her to die—it would ruin him if she did—but she wasn’t the kind of person to just let one of her friends die.

She was supposed to be better than the rest of them.

Kazuichi swallowed. The more he tried not to think about that day, the more difficult it became to think about anything else.

“Souda? Everything alright?”

Nidai was standing with Owari in front of the porch, both of them peering at him with concern. How long had he been standing there?

“Uh, yep.” He slipped the hammer through the loop in his cargo pants and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

“The roof looks okay on the outside,” Owari said. “It’s a little caved in in one spot, but none of the tile thingies are broken.”

Nidai scratched the scruff on his chin. “We don’t want anything pooling up in that spot. We’ll probably need to do something with the shingles, just in case.”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Kazuichi said. “Hope it doesn’t rain tonight.”

Owari shrugged. “Fine by me. I’m going foraging with Tanaka. Mushrooms are starting to come up, so we gotta pick ‘em fast so they’ll grow back.” She jogged off without waiting for a response.

At least someone has their energy back. Kazuichi rolled his shoulders and sighed. Normally he would’ve been happy to continue the roof project, but his arms were already sore from the little bit he’d done today. He kind of just wanted to find somewhere to lie face down and put all his energy into keeping his head empty.

“Thinking about resting today?” Nidai asked.

Kazuichi straightened and tried to wipe the exhaustion from his face. He really wasn’t in the mood for a motivational speech. “Uh, maybe later. I might go see if anyone else needs help.”

He laughed. “Come on, you need a break. It’s written all over your face.”

His cheeks warmed. “It’s not like I want to slack off.”

Nidai’s expression sobered. “We all need rest. Especially in times like these. You’re not a lazy person, Souda.”

Kazuichi resisted the urge to duck his head. His dad would’ve said differently. “Yeah, okay. I hear you.”

“Gah, Owari forgot to bring a basket with her again.” He patted his pockets as if he was expecting to find a container in there. “I’d better go bring her one. When I get back we can chop some firewood, yeah?”

“Sure.” Kazuichi sat on the edge of the porch as Nidai trudged away. With all the manual labor he’d been doing, he wished he had something to show for it. All the muscle mass he might have gained had vanished over the winter, and he still hadn’t built it back up. He’d almost cried the first time he’d undressed to bathe.

He bowed his head and massaged his brow. Don’t think about it.

He wished he had something to tinker with, just to keep his hands busy. He hated going to the plane for parts because that meant seeing the freshly dug graves that didn’t even contain whole bodies and the mangled monument to his failures that was the broken radio. 

He hated even thinking about the plane. It reminded him of the dream he’d been having every night since Sagishi died. In his dream, they were back on the lake, watching the plane circle overhead. Sonia would raise her rifle and shoot it down. Kazuichi would chase the plume of smoke to the wreckage and watch the skin on his hands burn as he tried to fix the engine. Some nights he succeeded, and after he fixed the plane he would fly his friends out of the woods.

He always woke up just as the plane began to fall again.

“Are you busy?”

Kazuichi startled and suppressed a sigh as Koizumi approached. She definitely wouldn’t let him off as easily as Nidai had.

“Just, you know. Taking five.” He made to stand up, his sore muscles protesting at the movement.

“If you have a minute, can you take a look at this?” Koizumi held out her camera.

He blinked. He hadn’t seen her touch it in months. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“The lens is cracked.” She popped off the cap to show him. “I think it might have been the cold. Maybe I dropped it. I don’t know. I have a couple spare lenses, but I don’t know how to replace it myself.”

“Sure. No problem.” He took the camera from her and sat down again so he could fiddle with it. “Are you thinking about taking pictures again?”

“I’m not really sure.” Koizumi sat next to him and folded her hands in her lap. “I haven’t taken any since…” She swallowed. “Since Saionji died. I didn’t even notice it was broken until a couple days ago. I guess it just bothered me, knowing it was broken and that I couldn’t take any pictures even if I wanted to.”

“Yeah.” Kazuichi pulled his multitool out of his pocket and flicked it open, comforted by the familiar movement.

She sighed. “If you’d rather work in silence, that’s fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

His head snapped up as she made to stand. “Wait. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to…” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I-It’s not you. I just suck at knowing what to say. If you want to just vent, I’ll listen.”

Koizumi cast him a dubious look and sank onto the porch again. “Do you ever worry about what people are going to think?”

He thumbed through his tools idly, not wanting to look away just yet. “What do you mean?”

“My mom is a war photographer. She’s seen a lot of really horrible things, and her job is to document it. Sometimes she works with forensic teams after a conflict has passed. They’ll try to identify dead bodies, sift through rubble and mass graves so they can let people know their loved ones are really gone.”

Kazuichi didn’t move. He didn’t like where this was going.

Koizumi’s hands were knotted in her lap, her gaze distant. “I keep thinking about a rescue team finding us here. What’s left of us. I know Saionji’s family would want her remains with her ancestors. And if the others decide the same thing and ask to have the bodies moved…”

He let out a shuddering breath. “Maybe the… Maybe everything will be too…” He waved his hands helplessly. “You know how things decompose?”

Koizumi pressed her lips together, and he understood. They’d probably still ask why Nanami’s remains were inside a backpack. Why Sagishi’s grave barely had anything in it. Sagishi had never even talked about their family, about who would be looking for them after the crash? Had anyone even noticed that they were gone?

“I guess that only matters if we get rescued at all,” Koizumi said, a weak attempt at optimism in her voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“It’s all good,” Kazuichi said, and even he knew he didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Something rooted deep in his soul was convinced they weren’t going to be rescued. That they’d never had a chance. “It’s not good. But, you know. I hear you.”

“Thanks,” Koizumi whispered. “No rush on the camera, by the way. I know we all have more pressing things to take care of.”

He looked down at the tools in his hands. That was something he could do, at least.

“It’ll be good as new when I give it back, yeah?”

Koizumi’s answering smile was interrupted by a crash as Owari burst into the clearing. Her legs were covered in scratches, as if she’d run straight through the brush instead of taking the path. Kazuichi took one look at her panicked expression and his heart dropped.

“What’s wrong?” Koizumi shot to her feet. “Owari, are you alright?”

She shook her head, looking dazed. “S-Something’s wrong with Coach.”

Chapter Text

July 1, 2022

Kazuichi tried not to drag his feet as he took the stone path to Angie’s private sanctuary. It was a surprisingly small building for the founder of the retreat. The hexagonal, one-room structure sat near the base of the cliff that sheltered one side of the cove. Five of the walls had floor-to-ceiling windows shaded by translucent white drapes. He glanced at the windows as he approached and couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

He knocked on the door, which sported a round window adorned with shells and colorful stones. It was too dark to see inside, so he jumped a little when the door swung open.

“Hello, Souda.” Angie smiled and stepped aside to allow him into the building. “I’m so glad you could come today.”

Kazuichi blinked at the dim interior as he slipped off his shoes. There was a desk on the left, covered in wooden sculptures and other little trinkets. A pair of bookshelves were stuffed to the brim with books and well-used notebooks and loose papers. His eyes lingered on the canopy bed at the far end of the room. He had a mild suspicion that the one-on-one sessions were just sex, which he wouldn’t have hated with someone who looked like Angie, but it also seemed like kind of a scummy thing to do under the guise of therapy.

He was half-relieved when Angie guided him to the circular rug in the center of the room and knelt, motioning for him to do the same.

“How have your first few days at Sacred Messenger been?”

“Good. It’s, uh, a really good setup.”

Her expression softened. “It is okay if it was not good. Most people are not happy when they first come here. I do not expect that to change right away.”

“No, really, it’s been great,” Kazuichi said, shaking his head, then stopped himself.

This wasn’t rehab. He didn’t have to say the right things just to get a little more freedom.

“Actually, can I be honest?”

Angie nodded, her expression open and inviting. “Of course.”

“I guess I don’t really know what good feels like anymore. Like, when things get really bad, I can definitely tell, but when things are okay I guess I just don’t notice. I just…exist.” He locked his gaze on a loose thread in the rug, too nervous to see her reaction to the nonsense he was spouting. “When I think about it, I don’t know if things were ever good. Maybe in high school, there were a few good days, but most of that was just from a stupid crush that I—” He let out a broken laugh and dragged a hand through his hair. “Maybe I don’t know what good is. Maybe my brain just doesn’t work that way.”

Silence descended like a sledgehammer as soon as he stopped talking. The curtains around them were completely still. The crash of the waves sounded impossibly far away. Kazuichi held his breath until the tightness in his throat subsided.

“Do you want to know something?” Angie asked softly.

He nodded.

“I have heard very similar things from others. I believe most of the people here intimately understand how you feel.” She tilted her head to try and catch his eye. “I do not want you to believe that you are incapable of happiness, Kazuichi Souda. You just need to let it come into your life.”

“How?” He tried not to wince as his voice cracked.

Angie scooted closer and held out her hands. Kazuichi took them, feeling a patchwork of callused and soft skin against his own.

“I want you to close your eyes and talk to him.”

“Who?”

“God. The universe. Whatever power you believe controls your world.” Her lips curled conspiratorially. “Perhaps the person you need to speak with is Kazuichi Souda. Tell him that you are willing to let light into your life again. Tell him to guide you to the place you need to reach.”

She closed her eyes. He did the same and tried to remember if he believed in a god.

Cold, red irises flashed in his vision and he flinched.

Angie squeezed his hands, tugging him back to the present. “It’s okay. If you speak, he will listen.”

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “Out loud?”

“If you like.”

Kazuichi was still stuck on the issue of a deity. He’d prayed before in the wilderness, but it hadn’t been directed at anyone or anything specific. He knew that machines hadn’t been able to save them. They hadn’t been able to save themselves, not really.

If a higher power really had been watching them back then, it hadn’t given a single shit about their survival, much less their happiness. How was he supposed to believe that anything cared about him now?

He remembered he was supposed to be meditating and let out a slow breath. Maybe that was a good thing. If there was no higher power watching over him, there was no one to see just how badly he’d fucked up his life.

“There,” Angie said, and Kazuichi opened his eyes. “Do you feel that you have been heard?”

For the second time, he felt like he’d been caught spacing out in class. He managed a nod. “I think so.”

“Be patient with yourself, Souda.” She squeezed his hands again and released them. “Faith takes time. Good things will come to you when you are ready to receive them.”

“Yeah.” His hands felt uncomfortably empty as he placed them in his lap. “I’ll think on that.”

“Good.” She rose to her feet with the grace of a dancer. “Now, go enjoy the sunshine. Physical sensation is just as important as mental stimulation.”

I would’ve taken some physical sensation over whatever the hell that was. Kazuichi tried not to let his dissatisfaction show as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Thanks, Angie.”

“It is my absolute pleasure.”

The sun was brutally bright when he stepped back outside. Kazuichi stopped a few paces from the sanctuary to see if the light and the warmth would do anything for him.

He stood and waited and realized all he really wanted in that moment was a shot of whiskey to dull the ache in his chest.

2013

The first thing Mikan saw was Nidai’s sneakers. The large, worn soles were packed with pine needles and dirt. He made the floor shake every time he kicked them clean so he wouldn’t track debris inside the cabin. The wrongness of seeing them now, of seeing his soles exposed as he lay facedown on the ground, hit her with a surprising amount of force.

“Nidai!” She scurried forward. “Are you alright?”

“I shook him a bunch,” Owari said, her voice hoarse and shaky. “He hasn’t moved at all.”

Behind her, Koizumi muffled a gasp in her hands and Souda let out a stream of curses until his voice cracked. Mikan knelt at Nidai’s side, hands outstretched, and froze.

Nanami, motionless, leaking blood into the snow.

Saionji, her head lolling on her mangled neck.

“Can you fix him?” The brush crunched beneath Owari’s anxious footsteps. “Can you do something?”

Mikan flinched and instinct took over. She conducted a quick examination with shaking hands. No breathing. No pulse. No visible wounds.

Nidai wasn’t dead. Boisterous, immovable Nidai couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t possible.

“Help me turn him over.” She shifted so she was kneeling beside his head as Owari approached. “We need to keep his neck as still as possible in case of a spinal injury.”

Owari dropped into a squat and pulled at Nidai’s shoulder. Her arms shook. “Souda, you gotta help.”

Souda joined them, his face already wet with tears. Together, he and Owari rolled Nidai onto his back while Mikan tried to keep his neck steady. She flinched as his body settled with a thud. There was leaf litter stuck in his beard.

Mikan lifted herself onto her knees and began chest compressions.

“What happened?” Koizumi asked. “Did he hit his head on something?”

“I don’t know.” Owari had resumed pacing. “I just found him like this. I almost tripped over him. I don’t know what happened. He was fine like ten minutes ago.”

Mikan’s arms were beginning to ache. Sweat beaded on her brow. She shook a few strands of hair out of her face and tuned out the others’ voices so she could focus on keeping her rhythm. Any moment now, Nidai would start breathing again. He would be weak and disoriented, but he’d look at her with gratitude when he realized who had brought him back. She would tend to him for however many weeks it took him to regain his strength. Everything would be alright.

She didn’t even realize she was being spoken to until Koizumi waved a hand in front of her face. She was kneeling on Nidai’s other side, gazing at her with concern.

“Tsumiki, let me take over. You’re exhausted.”

She was missing beats, now. She was doing it wrong. With a wordless whimper, Mikan sat back on her heels and Koizumi replaced her with a seamless movement. She gave her aching arms ten seconds to rest, then checked Nidai’s pulse again.

Owari crouched beside her, making her jump, and started patting down Nidai’s jacket pockets.

Mikan gaped. “W-What are you doing?”

“His meds.” Owari began pawing through the pockets of his sweatpants. “He’s gotta have them somewhere. That would help, right?”

“M-Medicine?” Mikan blinked, guilt curling in her chest. She hadn’t known that Nidai was taking medication. “What for?”

“Something to do with his heart.” Owari sat back on her heels, fists clenched. “Dammit. Maybe it’s back at the cabin. Should I go get ‘em? Would that help?”

Nidai had heart problems. She’d never even suspected as much.

“Tsumiki?”

Koizumi had stopped her compressions and was looking at her with wide, tearful eyes. Owari eyed her with desperation. Souda stood nearby, frantically wiping his cheeks. Mikan realized both hands were buried in her hair, pulling so tightly her scalp stung.

She sat upright, pried her fingers away from the knotted strands, and took Koizumi’s place.

They took turns doing compressions for the better part of an hour. The front of Nidai’s shirt grew damp with their tears and sweat. Mikan could hear the groan of his broken ribs with every compression.

As soon as she had enough breath to pronounce him dead, she opened her mouth and a shrill, horrible scream came out instead.

July 1, 2022

By the time Enoshima knocked on the door, Mikan had already been standing there for a good fifteen minutes, trying to school her expression into something inviting and confident. As if she could emulate even a fraction of Enoshima’s poise.

She reached out to open the door and stopped herself. If she opened it right away, Enoshima would know she’d been standing there like a nutcase. She needed to wait a few moments.

One, two, three, four—

Making her wait was rude, too. How long had it been?

A second knock sounded, and Mikan yanked open the door.

“Hi,” she breathed. “Um, hi.”

All she could see for a moment was her reflection in the wine-dark pair of sunglasses Enoshima wore. Her heart dropped.

She can see it on my face. She knows I suspect her.

Enoshima pushed her sunglasses onto her forehead with the hand that wasn’t laden with shopping bags and grinned. “Hey. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“Not at all.” Mikan leapt to the side. “Please, come in.”

She swept through the door and Mikan became painfully aware of how drab her apartment was. The only real color came from her plants, and even then Enoshima looked terribly out of place with her bright blonde hair and cherry-red halter top.

“Nice place,” Enoshima said as she took in the living room. “I’m getting a little bit of an Earth Mother vibe.”

Mikan stuttered as she tried to come up with an appropriate response. “I, um, I guess so. I’ve never thought of myself as a mother.”

She laughed. “Not literally. It’s just that you know how to take care of things. People and plants, I guess.”

“Oh.” She let out a shaky echo of Enoshima’s laugh. “That makes sense. I try to, um, take good care of them.”

“I’m jealous. I swear all the plants I buy shrivel up before I even make it back home.” Enoshima dumped the trio of shopping bags onto the coffee table and began rifling through one of them. She pulled out a pink and black tube top and held it in front of Mikan. “Hmm. Not your style, I think.”

Mikan’s mouth grew dry at the thought of showing that much skin. Her cheeks warmed. Was Enoshima also imagining that? She looked at the bags and tried to reorient herself. “Um, are those all…?”

“From the closet of Junko Enoshima herself.” She lifted a short-sleeved blouse, smiled, and tossed it onto the couch. “I know we don’t exactly have the same style, but I have so many fucking clothes I figured there had to be an overlap somewhere.”

She took one look at Enoshima’s slim waist and her heart sank. She wasn’t sure they were even the same size. If she tried on a piece of clothing and accidentally ripped it—

“Here.” Enoshima handed her the blouse and a denim miniskirt. “Try these on.”

“Okay.” She accepted the clothing. “I, um…” This felt just like the cosmetics store, when the woman had been suggesting perfumes and she’d had no idea how to say no to any of them.

A frown wrinkled her brow. “You don’t like them?”

“No. I mean, I do. I just, um…” She bit her tongue before she could start stuttering. Enoshima had suggested a good perfume for her. Even with her newfound reservations, it wouldn’t hurt to trust her outfit suggestion, right? “I d-didn’t expect you to put so much effort into this.”

“Well, fashion is kind of my thing. I like doing this for other people.” The corner of her lips tilted upwards. “If this outfit doesn’t work, I’m only gonna take that as a challenge.”

Mikan let out a shaky excuse for a laugh. Maybe Enoshima’s talent would be enough to turn her into something presentable.

She took the clothing into her bedroom and changed, doing her best to ignore the hammering of her heartbeat. The skirt was snug but not as tight as she’d expected. She realized after she’d put on the shirt that the buttons were off by one, swore quietly to herself, and redid them with shaking fingers.

When she stepped back into the living room, Enoshima appraised her with an unreadable look. “Tuck in the shirt.”

Mikan fumbled with the fabric. The skirt was too tight around her waist, so she undid the top button and stuffed the hem of the shirt inside.

Enoshima strode forward once she was finished and tugged at the fabric around her midsection, correcting the clumsy job Mikan had done. She reached up and undid the top two buttons of the shirt, and Mikan gasped as cool air made contact with the heated skin on her chest.

“That’s more like it.” Enoshima looked her over with a satisfied smile. “Do you have a mirror anywhere?”

“In the bathroom.” She hurried away, partially to put some distance between the two of them. She wished she had a moment to splash some water on her face.

She stepped in front of the mirror and froze. The clothes hugged a silhouette that looked like it belonged to someone else. The blouse showed the tiniest bit of cleavage, but the buttons added a bit of sophistication. The outfit was sensible, like she preferred, but it made her look like a woman. She’d forgotten, she realized, that she was a woman.

“So?” Enoshima sidled up behind her. “What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Mikan whispered. “I really like it.”

Enoshima began digging through her bathroom drawers and Mikan stiffened. What was she looking for? Something related to the crash? Drugs? Money?

Everything that could possibly incriminate her was inside her head. There was nothing to be embarrassed about in her bathroom cabinet, but Mikan stood stiff and terrified until Enoshima extracted a hairbrush and held it out without looking up from her work.

“Put your hair up. Where do you keep your cosmetics?”

Mikan pointed a trembling finger at the top left drawer. Enoshima straightened, her smile fading.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and clutched the hairbrush to her chest. “I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“He must be a cute guy, then.” Enoshima began digging through the makeup drawer, then turned back around. “Or girl?”

“G-Guy.” She swallowed and began brushing her hair so she would have something to do with her hands.

“Lucky fella.” Enoshima waited until Mikan had pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, then lifted the cosmetics she’d collected. “Alright, close your eyes and relax.”

Leaning against the counter for balance, Mikan squeezed her eyes shut, then remembered the second part of her instructions. It was a multi-step process, smoothing out her brow, letting her lips slacken, unclenching her jaw. Even though she was anticipating it, she still flinched at the first touch of the brush against her eyelid.

“Relax,” Enoshima said again, her breath ghosting against her cheek. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She’d never done this before. She’d never let anyone get this close to her before without expecting something like violence. Even the handful of times she’d been intimate with her dates, she’d understood it was a matter of giving herself over, making herself into something desirable without expecting anything but circumstantial pleasure in return.

Enoshima had two fingers against her jaw to hold her steady, her other hand applying makeup with gentle but efficient movements. Mikan kept her eyes closed, even when the brush was on her cheeks. She wished Enoshima would kiss her.

“Open your mouth,” she said, and Mikan obeyed without a second thought.

The applicator swiped across her lips. She thought about abandoning her date and staying in her apartment with Enoshima. They could make an afternoon of trying on the clothes she’d brought. Enoshima could dress and undress her and perhaps…

Cool fingers tapped her cheek. “You still awake?”

Her mouth closed with a pop and her lashes fluttered open. Humiliation burned on her cheeks. It was far more likely Enoshima would laugh in her face or look at her with pity. She would take her bags and tell Mikan to keep the borrowed clothes so they wouldn’t be obligated to see each other again.

Enoshima tilted her head towards the mirror and Mikan followed the movement with her gaze. She blinked slowly at the face staring back at her. She looked acceptable. Pretty, even.

“Gorgeous,” Enoshima said, and flashed a grin at her reflection.

Mikan tried to imagine what Enoshima would look like with a fever, bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat and dark circles hanging beneath her eyes. She’d shiver and Mikan would brush her hair out of her face, tip water and pills past those full lips.

The mental image made her shudder with excitement. She met Enoshima’s eyes through the mirror and returned her smile.

Chapter Text

2013

Mikan’s arms were still trembling even as she kept them tightly crossed over her chest. She didn’t know if it was from exhaustion or fear or guilt. She’d stopped crying for a little, at least. Everything was starting to feel numb.

Owari had gone to tell the others about Nidai, and now the eleven of them were gathered in the clearing, standing in an uneasy circle around his body. Koizumi had spread her jacket over his face, but to Mikan that was an even more horrible sight than if they’d left him uncovered.

“It couldn’t have been that long,” Souda said. His eyes and nose were red and swollen. He sniffled and glanced at Koizumi. “I mean, we were only talking for a few minutes before Owari came to find us, right?”

Owari’s nails dug into her forearms as she said, “If you saw him leave, why didn’t you ask to pair up?”

All the color drained from Souda’s face.

“It is not his fault,” Sonia said, her own eyes glistening. “No one is to blame, here. None of us could have predicted something like this would happen.”

Even as she spoke, her eyes flickered in Mikan’s direction, and she resisted the urge to bury her fingers in her scalp.

“I didn’t know,” she said. “H-He never mentioned to me that he had a heart condition. If I’d known, I would have paid better attention.” A sob swelled in her throat. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I should have realized something was wrong.”

“It’s not your fault, Tsumiki.” Koizumi put a bracing hand on her back. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“You knew, though.” Souda frowned at Owari. “You were looking for his meds, right?”

Owari’s upper lip twitched, silent tears running down her face. “Yeah, I knew.” Her expression collapsed. “It’s okay. You should all blame me.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Koizumi said, harshly enough to make Mikan flinch. “That’s enough. Deciding who is or isn’t at fault isn’t going to help.”

“What we must do now is look forward,” Tanaka said, his solemn gaze focused on Nidai’s body. “We must determine what Nidai intended for his mortal flesh once his soul ascended from this plane.”

“Word choice,” Mioda murmured around the nail she was biting.

“We bury him,” Owari said, but there was a crack in the certainty in her voice. “Right?”

“Is that…” Hanamura wrung his hands, his hair drooping over his face. “Is that what’s best for the group?”

Chills shot down Mikan’s arms. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood.

Owari turned to Hanamura with a slow, dangerous movement. “You better be really clear about what you’re suggesting.”

“We have food,” Pekoyama said, enunciating each word carefully. “There is no surplus, but our supply has been relatively consistent each day.”

Mikan nodded, licking at the broken skin inside her mouth. Things would be alright now that it was spring. There was no way their food would run out, right?

“We can put it to a vote if anyone disagrees,” Pekoyama said, eyes landing on each of them in turn. Mikan tensed and looked away, hoping her doubt didn’t show on her face.

“I have none.” Hanamura shoved his hands in his pockets. “No disagreements.”

“Then we’ll bury him,” Pekoyama said, her eyes flickering to Owari.

“Yeah.” Owari took a couple steps forward and stopped.

It seemed to dawn on all of them at once. Nidai had carried Saionji’s mangled body to her grave. He’d carried Nanami from the cliffside. He’d helped carry Komaeda and Sagishi and no one had given it a second thought.

No one had considered that one day they might have to carry him.

“I’m gonna—” Souda’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I can try to rig something up with the wheels from the suitcases. Might make it easier to move him.”

“We’ll make a stretcher first,” Pekoyama said. “Then we can see if wheels will be necessary.”

They left the clearing as a group, leaving Owari to kneel beside the body. Mikan hesitated, wondering if there was any comfort she could offer that would be worth something.

After a moment, she turned and followed the others, the tightness in her chest so painful it felt as if her own ribs were broken. There was nothing more she could do here.

She was useless to the living and the dead.

July 2, 2022

They were getting stares from everyone in the cafe. Hajime did his best to appear invisible, but Chihiro seemed unconcerned, typing away on his enormous laptop like he was the only person in the room.

Hajime took a sip of his smoothie. “Do you think that thing’s gonna melt through the table?”

“Nope, I just cleaned out the fans last week, so—” Chihiro looked up and seemed to notice that the computer vents were whirring in competition with the air conditioner at the back of the cafe. The couple at the table across from them pretended they hadn’t been staring. “Shoot, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Hajime extended a hand, but Chihiro had already closed his laptop. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, but you must be on edge after the whole podcast thing.” He reached for his abandoned iced coffee, which had accumulated a watery layer of melted ice on top. “You said someone at work told you about it?”

“Shimamura’s an idiot. If he tells anyone else, they probably won’t take him seriously.” He glanced at the laptop. “You took care of it though, right?”

He nodded. “I got an alert about it before you even texted me. I can’t do anything about downloads, but the file hosted on the website is inaccessible now. Same for third-party apps.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He wondered how many pieces of media Chihiro had wiped from the face of the Internet before he had a chance to know about it. He decided it would be better not to ask.

“I know what it’s like to have your privacy totally invaded,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “At least you don’t have to deal with the Main Course stuff on top of that.” His smile wavered. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s true,” Hajime said, bitterness rising in his throat like bile. “Anyway, are you sure the guys who recorded the podcast won’t get suspicious? The episode’s pretty recent, and if they stop getting views…”

Chihiro shrugged. “Their numbers’ll keep going up. They’ll get plenty of bot comments, too. They produce a lot of content, so they might not notice if the response for one episode is a little lukewarm.”

Hajime nodded. There wasn’t anything more he could do about it. All he had to do was keep his head down like always.

“You look like you’re not getting a lot of sleep.”

He tried for a smile. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, but I stay awake by choice. You have your nine-to-five to stick to.”

He didn’t remember the last time he’d left the office as early as five. “It’s probably just the heat.”

Chihiro gave him a meaningful look.

Hajime took a deep, measured breath, tracing a path through the condensation on his cup with one finger. “I’m sorry about stealing the flash drive.”

He blinked. “It’s okay. I know why you did it.”

“Still, I know how much it…” He hesitated, the words grinding against the back of his throat. “How much she means to you. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay,” Chihiro repeated, softer this time. “I kind of figured you took it. She was more worried than I was, I think.”

He froze. “What?”

“I talked to her the night you returned the drive. She didn’t give any specific details, but she told me something seemed wrong when the two of you talked.”

His eyes stung. Had Chihiro programmed some kind of privacy protocol, or was that just Chiaki’s compassion shining through? Did it even matter if it wasn’t really her?

“I’ll let you borrow it anytime. No questions asked.”

“Thanks,” Hajime said quietly, and tried to think of a way to change the subject.

“I’m sorry if it was too much.”

“It’s not your fault. I know you were trying to help me. I just…” He shook his head helplessly. “We can just drop it.”

Chihiro watched his face, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I have to tell her something, you know.”

“What?”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I get that, even if I kind of hate it, but she’s worried about you. She’s gonna ask about you.”

His chest ached. Chihiro and Taichi worried about him, he knew that, but it had become something like white noise after so many years. The idea of Chiaki worrying over him, caring about him, even if it was just a facsimile of emotion…it reopened a wound he’d nearly forgotten about.

He took a deep, measured breath. “I guess she’s probably gotten a bad impression, since both times we spoke I was pretty upset. Tell her it’s not always like that for me. I have good days, too.”

Chihiro nodded slowly. “You know, I was thinking maybe it would be easier without the audiovisual component. I could program her own Chat ID, host it on one of my devices. You could text her whenever you wanted.”

His head throbbed with the implications of that offer. Chiaki, residing in his pocket, just a few keystrokes away. Would she always respond immediately? Or would she fall asleep mid-conversation like the real one had? This one would be trained on data from a teenager. What could she possibly understand about his life with a ten-year gap between them now?

“You don’t have to answer right now,” Chihiro said, and Hajime realized his thoughts had bled onto his face. “Just let me know.”

“Yeah,” he rasped.

His phone buzzed, and he sighed through his nose. He’d tried to wrap up everything before he left the office last night, but evidently something had fallen through the cracks.

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Go for it.” Chihiro waved him off. “It’s work.”

“Sorry. It must be important.”

He opened the notification and froze. It wasn’t related to work. He’d assumed as much, since the only other person who texted him was sitting on the other side of the table, but he’d gotten an email about a private message.

Spam, he thought, and went to delete it. His gaze caught the first few lines of the message and he paused.

MRKOTO888: Hi, there. I saw your comment on a forum post that seems to be deleted now. It made me curious. Why do you think Hope’s Peak values talent over morality?

Hajime let out another sigh and rubbed his brow. He’d completely forgotten about the impulsive comment he’d left on the forum site. He chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, then hit the link to reply.

NATAJELLY11: because they do? they’ve accepted several students with criminal backgrounds into the main course. last year’s graduating class had an Ultimate Graffiti Artist. their reputation relies on talent, not on their students being good people.

“Something wrong?” Chihiro gave him a sympathetic grimace over his laptop, which he’d reopened. “You’re frowning really hard right now.”

Hajime blinked and shut his phone off. “It’s not work related. I’m, uh. Arguing with strangers on the Internet.”

He muffled a snort. “I guess that technically counts as social interaction.”

He set his phone on the table, face-down, and held his hands up. “I’m done. I know it’s a waste of time.”

“I don’t mind seeing that side of you, actually. I remember you used to get all fired up when you and Chiaki would argue with people on video game forums.”

His lips twitched. Those had been the days, when the most pressing thing on his mind had been whether Solid Snake could win in a fight against Leon Kennedy. Chiaki had actually chosen his username on the forum while he’d been distracted, and she’d laughed so hard at the look on his face that she’d snorted.

His chest hurt.

“We’re adults now. I think getting ‘fired up’ at this age is bad for your heart.”

“Ugh. What are you, fifty?”

“Getting there.” He wondered if stress was aging him prematurely, if he’d start finding gray hairs in a couple years.

“Well, take a look at this, old man.” Chihiro hefted his laptop with a surprising amount of strength and turned it so Hajime could see the screen. “I wanna show you something I’ve been working on.”

Hajime glanced at his phone, then slipped it into his pocket and put it out of his mind.

2013

Kazuichi rolled over and groaned as he was hit with a face full of sunlight.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shifted back into his original position. He was pretty sure this hadn’t happened yesterday. Maybe the sun was getting to that point in the sky where it would shine through the attic window and wake him up every morning.

“Perhaps you should take this cursed light as an omen that the hour of awakening is finally upon you.”

He cracked an eye open and saw Tanaka standing over him, a smirk barely visible behind his scarf.

“Ugh. Shut up, man.” He curled himself into a tighter ball. That was towards the bottom of the list of things he wanted to see first thing after waking up.

 “Do as you wish. The earth continues its stirrings with or without your presence.”

Kazuichi thought that was the end of the conversation until he felt tiny feet scurry up his leg. He yelped and shot into a sitting position, legs kicking frantically, but the hamster was already scampering across the floor and into Tanaka’s waiting hand.

“Fear not,” he said, still smirking as he straightened. “Mirage Golden Hawk Jum-P has no intention of harming you today.”

Kazuichi grumbled a curse and scratched his leg. He would’ve been more irritated, but he was thrown off by the fact that Tanaka was actually in a good mood for once. “I was just surprised, is all. Haven’t seen your hamsters in a while.”

He clenched his jaw as soon as the words left his mouth. Tanaka’s scarf hadn’t so much as twitched in the past couple of months. He’d kind of assumed the hamsters had died, but he’d never worked up the nerve to actually confirm it.

Tanaka didn’t look upset, though. He lifted his chin and said, “My Four Dark Devas of Destruction were merely in a deep slumber, awaiting the dawn of spring and a more plentiful season. Jum-P is the first to awake.”

“Good,” he said, and realized he meant it.

Tanaka raised an eyebrow.

Kazuichi sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He was still kind of pissed about him hoarding food for his hamsters while the rest of them starved, but it wasn’t like he’d wanted any of them to die.

“I’m serious, man. That’s good news.”

Tanaka held his gaze for a moment. A hint of a genuine smile curled his lips before he spun on his heel, his coat flaring out behind him.

“Be glad while you can. Their reign of terror has only just begun.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

Kazuichi followed him down the ladder. The boys had taken to sleeping in the attic and the girls in the living room while Komaeda had been laid up with his injury. They were back to their original sleeping arrangements now, but he’d gotten kind of used to the attic. It was a quiet spot where he could sleep in a little—at least, when the sun wasn’t blasting directly into his face.

Most of the others were already awake and waiting for breakfast. Kazuichi stepped into the living room and remembered the other reason he’d taken to sleeping in the attic. Being split up from the other boys made it easier to forget that their group had gotten smaller. That his arms still ached from helping carry Nidai to his grave.

He sat on the edge of the armchair next to Koizumi, his heart and limbs heavy. He would have taken a slightly smaller portion if it meant their friends were still with them. And that was the irony of it all, wasn’t it? The only reason Sagishi was no longer with them was because they—

He dug his nails into his palm. He didn’t want to think about that right now. They had actual food now that spring was here, meat and mushrooms and berries. A few days ago, Owari had discovered that pinecones were actually edible while they were still young and green, and she and Tanaka had brought back so many that evening they’d had an actual surplus of food for once. They probably would have had more, but the group had gotten into a huge argument about which mushrooms from the haul were edible, and half of those had ended up being tossed out.

“The next servings are ready,” Hanamura called. He’d been in a slightly better mood now that he had a bigger variety of ingredients to work with.

Kazuichi heaved himself out of his seat and went to get his breakfast. Sonia stood in line in front of him. His eyes followed the neat bumps of the braid running down her back. She must have redone it this morning. In the corner of his vision, he could see the undyed roots of his hair and wondered if it would just be better to chop all the pink off.

At the front of the line, Owari looked down at the stew Hanamura had ladled into her bowl. It was a weird brownish-purple color, but it smelled pretty good.

“So, should we start eating more? Now that we have more food?”

Kazuichi looked at Sonia, who looked at Pekoyama. A beat of awkward silence swelled in the room.

“We should save what extra we have,” Pekoyama said. “If we dry and store it properly, we could have a stockpile of food for the winter.”

Kazuichi’s knees shook. He didn’t want to think about winter. He didn’t want to think about doing it all a second time.

“Such a strategy comes with risks,” Tanaka said from his place in the corner. “If we let avarice and desperation rule our efforts, we reap the land bare. Not even a hoard will stave our hunger.”

He barely understood what Tanaka was even trying to say, but Sonia straightened with a frown.

“The land will be bare in winter, anyway. We have time now to prepare the best we can.” Her grip tightened on her sleeve. “We cannot have things the way they were last time.”

“All we have to do is sacrifice a little bit of food so that we can survive the winter.” Komaeda smiled from where he was sitting on the couch next to Hinata. “I think it’s a wonderful plan. We’ve trusted Sonia’s and Pekoyama’s guidance so far, haven’t we?”

Kazuichi suppressed a groan and wished someone reasonable would speak up. He still didn’t get why Hinata had taken to spending so much time with Komaeda, but he probably felt like he owed him after the whole Arm Thing.

Owari looked down at her bowl and sighed. “This sucks,” she said, but sat down anyway.

“What about a party?” Mioda raised a hand. “I mean, we don’t have to eat all the food, but maybe we could have a little extra? Just to, you know…for fun?”

Kazuichi stared. Mioda almost never hesitated. During a field trip their first year, she’d brute forced her way through thirty minutes of an impromptu heavy metal performance before Saionji had pointed out that their bus driver looked like he wanted to swerve off the road. Mioda didn’t ask—she just did, and sometimes it was fun to follow along.

“A good last few days,” Hanamura said to the fire. “Food to fill our stomachs, loving company…a happy ending.”

Koizumi let out a small noise of disgust, but Hanamura’s voice didn’t have its usual suggestiveness.

“Are you hinting at a mass suicide, Hanamura?” Komaeda asked.

Hanamura jumped like he’d been burned. “No. No! Of course not. Nothing of the sort. I was just, you know. Running my mouth. Like I do.”

“I think it would be good,” Tsumiki said in a half-whisper, and Mioda shot her a grateful smile. “A party would be fun. But it’s okay if we don’t have one.”

“Perhaps it would be good for our spirits,” Sonia said, and Kazuichi relaxed. Sonia was amazing at planning parties. She’d make sure everything went well. “And we could take some time to grieve those that are no longer with us.”

“That would be really nice,” Koizumi said, eyes misty, and a few others murmured in agreement.

“I’ll tune my guitar,” Mioda said, a bit of her old energy brightening her voice. “We can dress up, make a thing out of it.”

“I would not deny a ritual of this importance,” Tanaka said, which Kazuichi guessed was his way of saying yes.

“Alright.” Owari pumped a fist, her food already gone. “Let’s get to celebrating.”

Despite himself, Kazuichi felt a smile tug at his lips. He wasn’t going to think about next winter. He wasn’t going to think about anything that might or might not happen after the party.

It was enough to have something to look forward to for once.

Chapter Text

2013

It took Hajime a long time to figure out why he was nervous.

Koizumi had just given him his shirt and slacks, freshly washed and dried after being crammed inside his suitcase for months. It wasn’t exactly formalwear, but it was the best he could do given the circumstances. He changed and rolled up his sleeves and when he looked down at himself, his stomach flip-flopped.

He looked okay. The other guys were fiddling with their own appearances. Souda was wrestling with his hair, tugging loose the braid he’d just tied and pulling on his beanie with a frown. Tanaka was scrubbing stains from the hem of his coat, his cursing muffled by his scarf. In the bedroom, the girls were being much noisier, giggling and whispering and making muffled thumps for reasons Hajime couldn’t decipher.

His gaze landed on Komaeda and the nervous buzzing in his stomach intensified. He’d gotten pretty good at dressing himself with one hand, but Hajime approached him anyway.

“Want me to roll this up?” He pointed at the limp section of sleeve hanging from his elbow.

Komaeda finished buttoning his shirt, his long fingers moving deftly. Hajime remembered to swallow, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked up and smiled. “I would appreciate that, Hinata.”

“Anytime.” He rolled the sleeve up to his elbow with careful, deliberate movements. Komaeda claimed his injury was no longer painful, but it still felt wrong to touch the scarred flesh. “Do you want to take a walk?”

“As long as we don’t go too far,” Komaeda said, straightening his sleeve with a single tug. “If we’re going to dress nicely for once, I’d like to keep my clothes in good condition.”

“Sure thing.” He led the way to the door, casting a wave at the other boys as he passed.

“Where are you guys going?” Souda asked. He’d taken off his beanie again and was wrestling his hair into a ponytail.

“Just getting some air.”

“Mind if I come?”

Hajime suppressed a groan. He had no idea how Souda hadn’t caught on yet—it seemed like most of the others had.

“I’d be glad to have your company, Souda,” Komaeda said. “It’s always a privilege to witness your mechanical genius. Are you interested in contributing to the decorations for the party? Perhaps we could visit the plane and look for spare parts. Of course, I would try to keep out of the way. After all—”

“It’s fine.” Souda pulled out his ponytail with an aggravated sigh. “I’m not dressed yet. You guys enjoy your walk or whatever.”

“If you’re sure,” Komaeda said, and Hajime bit his lip to stifle a laugh as they stepped outside.

The clearing outside the cabin had been transformed. Koizumi and Mioda had spent hours stuffing bunches of wildflowers into bushes and between branches, filling the spaces with color. Wood for a bonfire had been stacked in the middle, and Tanaka and Souda had dragged logs around it to act as benches. Between decorating and doing laundry and Hanamura’s insistence on crafting a “special menu,” it had taken a couple days after deciding on a party to actually get everything set up.

“I guess Souda prefers third-wheeling to being stuck with Hanamura and Tanaka,” Hajime said as they stepped off the porch. “I was impressed with that little speech, though.”

“I meant every word,” Komaeda said, falling into step beside him. “It would have been really enjoyable to see Souda work for a little bit.”

Hajime’s smile faltered. This wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if he was misreading things, if Komaeda valued the time they spent together less than Hajime did.

“I also meant what I said earlier,” Komaeda continued. “The party hasn’t started yet, so I’d really prefer not to get my clothes dirty.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, his face heating up. “That’s not why I asked you out here. I just wanted to talk.”

“What about?”

The falling sensation returned to his stomach. This was what he’d been nervous about. The way he and Komaeda acted in private was one thing, but they’d never talked openly about it.

“So, this is kind of weird.” He scratched the back of his head and was glad he’d washed his hair a few days ago. “I know this is the furthest we could possibly get from a regular…you know, high school scenario, but since we’re having a kind-of-normal party, I figured I could ask. Uh, did you want to go to the party with me?”

They were stopped in the middle of the path. Komaeda tilted his head. “Were we originally planning to go separately?”

The heat on his face deepened. Sometimes he wondered if Komaeda intentionally played dumb just to mess with him. “I meant together as a d-date.”

Komaeda blinked, slowly.

“Are we dating?” Hajime asked, internally wincing at the uncertainty in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Komaeda said, sounding out each word carefully.

He suppressed a sigh. He was beginning to miss the talkative Komaeda from five minutes ago. “Did you…want to be my date to the party?”

An awkward silence stretched between them, and hot prickles of discomfort crept up his neck. Maybe their relationship had only ever been physical, and Komaeda genuinely preferred watching Souda play with scrap metal to furtive handjobs and makeout sessions in the woods. Maybe he could learn to live with that. He just needed to know where they stood.

“I’d like that,” Komaeda said. “Though I’m not really sure what it would entail.”

“Um.” Hajime swallowed, his train of thought screeching to a halt. Komaeda had said yes. Okay. He needed to answer his question. “I guess we, um. We could sit together. Hold hands. That kind of thing.”

“You wouldn’t be embarrassed to do that in front of the others?”

Hajime frowned. “No. Why would I be embarrassed?”

Komaeda smiled as if he’d asked a particularly stupid question. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not particularly well-liked by my peers. Not that I deserve to be, but it would probably hurt your social standing among the—”

“I don’t care.” An incredulous laugh escaped him. “Seriously, I don’t care. You think it matters to me how popular I am when…” He gestured at the woods around him. “Come on.”

“If you feel that strongly about it, then...” He touched his chin like he was thinking. “Yes. I will be your date.”

A burst of happiness swelled in his chest. “Okay. Cool.”

A patch of wildflowers caught his eye. He bent down and plucked two fat purple flowers from their stems. He stuck one in his breast pocket and did the same for Komaeda.

“Now we’re matching,” he said lamely.

Komaeda looked down at his flower, touching it gently as if it were a baby bird, and a genuine smile curled on his lips.

“I bet the others are ready by now.” Hajime held a hand out, his heart still pounding. “Should we go?”

Still smiling, Komaeda nodded and took his hand.

A mournful air filled the clearing as they gathered around the bonfire, its first young flames licking the fresh wood. They stood in a semicircle, facing the wide, flat stone Pekoyama and Souda had dragged from the creek.

Koizumi had neatly folded one of Saionji’s kimonos, its bright pink fabric out of place even among the flowers, and placed it on the stone. Next to it was Nanami’s Game Girl, which Hajime had pulled from her suitcase and polished with his sleeve until the screen was smooth and black. Pekoyama had rolled up one of Kuzuryu’s ties and placed it face-up so the animal skull design was visible. Mioda had chosen a Hawaiian shirt patterned in warm browns and oranges—Sagishi’s favorite, she’d insisted. Coiled next to it was Nidai’s chain necklace, scrubbed clean by Owari’s hands.

They had no photographs of their friends, so this was the best they could do. Hajime closed his eyes and pictured Nanami’s face, the way her hair curled at the ends. Her slow blinks and gentle smiles. He’d started doing it every day after it had occurred to him that he might forget what she looked like, that there would be no pictures to remind him.

Owari moved first, placing a single white flower over Nidai’s chain. Koizumi went next, tucking the stem of hers neatly in the folds of Saionji’s kimono. It had been her idea to save the white flowers for the memorial, to set them aside from the blues and pinks in the trees. 

When it was his turn, Hajime looked at the white petals in his hand and thought of the snow that had been stuck to Nanami’s hair the day she’d died. He tried to remember if she’d been happy that day. She’d asked him to stay friends with the others once they were rescued. He’d been too caught up in his own problems to even ask if she was alright.

He couldn’t remember her face anymore. All he could see were the pieces of her in the shed.

I’m sorry, he thought as he placed the flower over her Game Girl. I’m so sorry for what we did.

His eyes were thick with tears, but he could still see his distorted, miserable reflection in the screen. He backed away as quickly as he could without falling over.

Hanamura was sniffling quietly into his ascot. Koizumi had one hand cupped over her mouth to stifle her sobs as Sonia rubbed soothing circles on her back. Hajime wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and returned to where Komaeda was standing.

His eyes were dry, but the look in them was haunted. It occurred to Hajime that he’d never seen Komaeda cry over any of their dead friends. He’d laughed himself breathless at the sight of the wrecked plane. He’d cut off his own arm to keep Hajime from dying. But he’d never cried during any of it.

Hajime reached over and took his hand. Komaeda looked at him, searching his face. Hajime did the same, though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find. 

His grip tightened. If he’d died the day he’d been hunted, would Komaeda have shed any tears for him?

Owari cleared her throat, pulling him out of his reverie. She stepped towards the stone, which was littered with flowers now.

“Okay.” She sniffled and wiped her swollen eyes. “We should eat. We can’t just stand here and cry all day.”

She crouched down and took hold of the stone. Pekoyama and Tanaka helped her move it to the porch. White petals trailed in their wake.

Hajime kept his hold on Komaeda’s hand as they sat on one of the logs. He ran his thumb over the ridges of his knuckles and focused on the growing heat of the fire. A few of the others went inside the cabin, and after a while Koizumi came out with several cups balanced on one of the trays they’d scavenged from the plane.

“Hanamura said the soup isn’t quite ready yet,” she said. “So in the meantime, this is an herbal tea Mioda and I made.”

Mioda hopped to her feet and helped Koizumi pass out the cups. Hajime balanced his on his knee as it cooled, inhaling the steamy, floral scent.

“It smells good,” he murmured.

“Hmm,” Komaeda replied.

Hajime glanced at him. He’d let go of his hand so he could take his cup, but he wished now that he could hold him again. “Are you okay?”

Komaeda met his eyes, slowly, and tilted his head. “Am I supposed to be?”

It didn’t sound like a rhetorical question, but Hajime still felt like an ass. He opened his mouth to give an answer he didn’t have.

Obviously none of them were okay. Koizumi was attempting a smile with red-rimmed eyes. Tanaka was seated next to Sonia, fidgeting like he wanted to pace. Souda was attempting to coax Tsumiki into a conversation, seeming unaware that his leg was bouncing furiously.

“I think today we’re supposed to pretend,” Hajime said. “That’s the next best thing, right?”

“Maybe.” Komaeda was silent for a moment longer, then he straightened, his melancholy falling from his shoulders. He raised his cup with a smile. Hajime toasted him and they drank.

A bitter, acidic liquid filled his mouth. Hajime bent over and spat the tea back into the cup as discreetly as he could.

“God, that’s awful.”

Komaeda managed to swallow his mouthful with a wince, and Hajime couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face. On the other side of the bonfire, Souda locked eyes with him as he lowered his own cup and started to laugh too.

Koizumi’s watchful eye caught their exchange and she sighed. “It’s not good, is it?”

“Well, it’s not pine,” Owari said, and the entire group erupted into giggles.

Grinning, Hajime glanced over and caught Komaeda smiling with the rest of them, cheeks pink and eyes bright. Affection swelled in his chest. A giddy impulse made him lean over and kiss him on the cheek. Komaeda started and turned to him, the pink in his skin deepening.

“Hinata…”

“Ooh,” Mioda crowed, reminding him that there were other people around. “We’ve got some sugar right here, Koizumi. Add that to the tea!”

Hajime forced out a laugh, his face growing hot, and was saved from any further awkwardness by the last person he’d expected.

“Dinner is served.” Hanamura strutted onto the porch, bearing a tray laden with steaming bowls of soup. “This is a new, original recipe of mine, so I do hope you’ll all enjoy."

Tanaka crossed his arms, his own cup of tea sitting abandoned on the ground. One of his hamsters sat on its hind legs and sniffed it curiously. “And what elements have you added to this concoction that it should be considered new?”

Hanamura winked. “Chef’s secret.”

Souda’s leg resumed its bouncing. “It’s not anything weird, is it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

His shoulders hunched as he realized everyone was staring at him. “I don’t know, I just like to know what I’m eating, okay?”

Hajime’s stomach churned. The floral scent of the tea was gone, replaced by the metallic sting of blood.

Hanamura drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “The meat’s deer, and so is the bone broth. The umami you’ll taste is from a variety of mushrooms, and I’ve added a number of seasoning as best I could from our limited supply. Does that satisfy your question?”

“Yeah, man,” Souda mumbled. “It’s all good.”

“I’m sure whatever Hanamura has cooked will be delicious and filling,” Komaeda said, his voice all sunshine. “It’s the least we could expect from the Ultimate Chef.”

“That’s about right,” Hanamura said, his defensive posture relaxing. “I want this evening to be nothing short of pleasurable for everyone involved.”

“Then feed us already.” Mioda waved her arms in a beckoning gesture. “All these one-star reviews on Ibuki’s tea are making her hungry.”

Hajime blinked, trying to keep himself in the present as Hanamura and Pekoyama began passing out bowls of soup. He could do this. Deer meat tasted different from human meat. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that, because he wasn’t in a position to refuse food.

Komaeda put a hand on his knee, having set his cup aside. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

He let out a tiny breath, the touch grounding him.

“How was that? I was pretending.”

A smile twitched on his lips. “Very convincing.”

His stomach settled somewhat when Sonia came around with their servings. The soup smelled delicious, and unlike the tea he knew the taste would match. They usually ate in two shifts, but this was a special occasion that required some improvisation. His own soup was in a plastic container for in-flight meals, the hot broth nearly sloshing over the sides. Komaeda’s travel mug of soup was refusing to stay balanced on his knees long enough for him to let go of it.

“Hey.” Hajime waved Sonia down before she could walk away. “Can Komaeda borrow the tray? He needs a flat surface to eat.”

“Oh.” Sonia’s cheeks flushed as she realized. “Of course. Forgive my lack of consideration.”

“It’s no problem at all.” Komaeda probably would have waved her off if his hand hadn’t been occupied. “You don’t need to trouble yourself with accommodating me, Sonia. I’m perfectly happy to drink my meal once it cools down.”

“Nonsense,” Sonia said at the same time Hajime said, “Shut up.” Together they situated the tray on his lap.

Komaeda set his mug on the plastic, his expression frozen in a placating half-smile as Sonia walked away. “There was really no need to go through all that trouble.”

“It took like ten seconds,” Hajime said. “Let’s eat, okay?”

The clearing lapsed into silence, save for the crackling of the fire and the quiet sounds of slurping and chewing. The soup was good. Hajime still missed salt, but the lack of it helped him appreciate some of the more subtle flavors in the other ingredients. The mushrooms tasted like the earth—not like dirt, but something else that gave him the sense of growing things. There was a weird, nutty flavor he didn’t recognize, but that might have been from whatever other seasonings Hanamura had thrown in.

“Oh my god, that was good.” Souda slid off the log and onto the ground, stretching out his legs with a groan. “Geez, I’m tired. Should we all just nap after this?”

“Screw that, it’s time to party.” Mioda leapt up, plucking Souda’s empty bowl from beside him. “I didn’t tune my guitar so you could all snooze.”

“Come on, no lying around.” Koizumi nudged his leg with her foot. She had her camera slung around her neck for the first time in months. “Let’s at least put an effort into having a good time.”

“I don’t think there will be much effort involved,” Hanamura said as he began gathering everyone’s empty dishes. “Why don’t we just go with the flow for tonight? See what happens.”

“Even flow,” Mioda sang as if someone had pressed a Play button on her. She raised her guitar above her head as she descended the porch steps. “Thoughts arrive like butterflies!”

Souda hauled himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his backside. “Hey, wanna do another duet?”

“Hell yeah!”

Tanaka tossed another log into the fire, sending sparks careening into the air. “Let the flames of hell illuminate this night of revelry!”

Hajime glanced over just in time to see Komaeda accidentally tip his mug over with his spoon. His hand shot out to catch it, and he hissed as broth splashed over his skin.

“Okay, I think most of the solid stuff is still in there.” He righted the mug with a wince.

“Ah, you really didn’t have to do that.” His spoon stayed frozen in the air, as if he was afraid to touch his food again. “It’s not worth getting burned just to make sure I can eat.”

“It’s fine. It’s not even that hot.” After a moment of consideration, Hajime licked the broth from between his thumb and forefinger.

Komaeda let out a small, choked noise, his food still sitting abandoned in his lap.

“What?” He looked over and froze in the middle of wiping his hand on his pants. Komaeda’s cheeks were flushed, lips parted. Even though it had been an entirely innocuous gesture on his part, Hajime felt his body grow warm. He thought about bringing his hand back to his mouth just to see if he could garner another reaction like that.

“Excuse me.” Komaeda turned back to his soup, blinking rapidly. “I really should finish before I cause any more problems.”

“Yep.” Hajime looked away and shifted to a more comfortable position on the log. He couldn’t believe he’d let a thought like that cross his mind, especially when there were so many people around.

Owari and Sonia were dancing to Mioda and Souda’s duet, the firelight flashing against their swaying bodies. Koizumi was standing nearby, moving her hips with more sedate movements, her camera cradled in her hands. She didn’t look poised to take any pictures—it seemed more like holding it gave her some sort of comfort. Hanamura was watching the proceedings with his hands on his knees and a flushed, almost dreamy expression.

Sonia spun with a grin and beckoned to Pekoyama, who hadn’t moved from her seat.

Pekoyama shook her head. “I’m alright.”

“Come on.” Owari joined Sonia and tugged on her wrist. “No sitting allowed tonight.”

“Dancing is easy.” Sonia took her other wrist. “We’ll show you how.”

Owari braced her feet against the ground like she was about to put some actual effort into pulling, but Pekoyama stood, her arms still suspended in their grasp.

“Alright, then.”

Hajime nudged Komaeda, who was finishing the last bites of his soup. “Do you want to dance, too?”

“I think I’d embarrass myself.”

“Yeah, so? No one here’s an expert at dancing.” He took the tray off his lap. “Did you spill any soup on you?”

There was a damp spot on the outside of his thigh, and Hajime rubbed it to try and dry it a little. Komaeda’s leg twitched, his whole body stiffening, and Hajime took his hand away.

“Sorry, was that…?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little sensitive today.” Komaeda didn’t meet his eyes, his cheeks still tinged red. “If we don’t stand too close to the fire, I think it would be alright. To dance.”

“Okay. Good.” Eager to move past that awkward exchange, Hajime stood and clasped Komaeda’s hand to help him to his feet.

Hanamura and Tsumiki had joined the group of dancers. Everyone had joined their voices to Mioda’s, singing the lyrics to a pop song Hajime no longer remembered the name of.

Song names and lyrics. He would have to try to remember those too.

He kept his hand joined with Komaeda’s and settled his other on his waist, swaying gently to the beat.

“Hinata?” Komaeda said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear him.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you ask me to be your date?”

He focused on Komaeda’s expression. He was looking back at him eagerly, almost hungrily, but his gaze was tinged with anticipation. With something that looked almost like fear.

“Because…” Hajime searched for the right words, something that would reassure him while still being truthful. “I don’t know, it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Ah.” His expression brightened. “You mean you did it out of pity.”

“No!” He squeezed his hand. “Not at all. I just meant with everything else we’ve been doing, it seemed like it would fit. It’s what people in a relationship would do.”

“Are we in a relationship?”

He laughed. “Didn’t I ask you the same thing earlier today?”

“I told you I didn’t know, so I thought it would be better to ask you.”

“Well, it has to be a mutual thing.”

It hit him quickly and gently, like sliding into a warm bath. The trees danced around him. Komaeda was so close, filling his vision with soft white hair and dilated pupils and pink, parted lips.

“You’re beautiful,” Hajime said, because he felt like he had to. He needed him to know.

Komaeda stared at him a moment longer and started to laugh. There was nothing manic about it, just pure amusement.

“What?” he asked, but Komaeda just buried his head in his shoulder, still laughing. He held him tight, feeling a grin pull at his lips. “What’s so funny?”

The question slipped from his mind when he looked up at the trees. The leaves were kaleidoscopic, swirling in mesmerizing patterns that changed every time he moved his eyes. He shifted his gaze to the fire and stared. The flames were bright and impossibly colorful, filling his vision with light.

There were shadows moving behind the light. Koizumi, taking rapid-fire photos of the bonfire. Pekoyama, her back against a tree, head tilted towards the sky. Hanamura, swaying in his seat and trying to catch hold of the hem of Mioda’s skirt as she spun. Hajime wasn’t sure how he could see them past the beams of pure light, but—

He squeezed his eyes shut. The light was burned into his vision. If he kept looking, it would be stuck forever, and he didn’t want that. There were patterns in the light, swirling behind his eyelids. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

I think I might be on drugs, he thought, but the thought faded as soon as it appeared. Komaeda’s lips were on his neck, sucking at the skin there, and Hajime felt the sensation jolt through his nervous system like lightning. He pulled him closer and realized how hard he was.

“We should go,” he gasped, his arousal building in him so intensely he thought he might burst. “We should go somewhere.”

“Take me, then,” Komaeda murmured against his neck. 

He pulled back and Hajime was struck again by how pretty his face was. He watched his lips part and was no longer sure if he could wait until they were away from the others.

“Your eyes…” Komaeda breathed. His own pupils were impossibly dilated, nearly blocking out the gray entirely.

“Yeah, yours too.” He lurched forward, caught in his orbit. “Let’s go.”

Still holding him, stumbling through a beautiful array of colors, Hajime took him into the woods.

Sonia felt as if she were seeing the forest for the first time.

The leaves seemed so much brighter, staining the canopy with brilliant greens and yellows. She’d never before noticed the long, full bough that extended over the clearing, smoke from their bonfire tickling its branches. And the fire itself was impossibly mesmerizing. She could have watched it for hours.

She was high. She recognized that, distantly, even though she’d never been high before. It was a little thrilling, another first for her to experience since coming to these woods.

She smiled, her cheeks aching. Her first indication had been that everything had suddenly become very funny. Pekoyama’s nonplussed expression, her slow blinks as she came to the same conclusion, had been enough to send them both into a fit of giggles. It had been wonderful to see Pekoyama laugh. The thought made her heart swell full.

Tanaka’s hamsters had been hilarious. Something about watching them shuffle out of his scarf, all tiny limbs and beady eyes, had made her laugh until her stomach hurt. She’d spent a long while watching them snuffle in the leaf litter, utterly mesmerized yet still aware that Tanaka was watching her in turn.

She’d only turned her attention away once Mioda had begun playing her guitar again, and the notes she’d strummed had been utterly transcendental. She’d felt each one ripple through the air like they were underwater and Mioda was gliding on the surface above them. She’d caught Tsumiki with tears streaming down her face and realized her own cheeks were wet. She could have lived in that moment forever.

The music had faded some time ago, though she could still hear echoes of it in the trees. At the moment she was propped against one of the log benches, face turned to the sky, contemplating the unmet need between her legs. She hadn’t taken care of herself once since coming here, and now it felt as if all of her neglected arousal was coursing through her veins at once. Perhaps Hinata and Komaeda had had the right idea, slipping away from the party to satiate each other.

If she asked Tanaka to take care of her, would he do it? She’d thought about it before, but her need had never been so pressing as it was right now. There was a chance he was grappling with the same issue. She thought of spreading his coat over the forest floor, straddling his broad frame, and heat flooded her body.

Where was Tanaka, anyway? She shifted, the world reeling around her as she moved her head, and felt the weight of a hand on her knee.

Hanamura kneaded the fabric of her pants. “Looking for some company?”

She looked at his face, at the twist of his smile. The hunger in his eyes, the look he’d worn every time he looked at her since the first day of school.

“No, I…”

“Come on, sugar. I made this soup for everyone. So we’d all have a good time.” His hand shifted up to her thigh. “I know what you’re feeling right now.”

“I’m not.” Her breaths were coming sharper now, fast enough that she had trouble keeping up with them. “Not for you.”

She thought of wolves, their endless, savage hunger. None had been so methodical as the boy beside her.

“Why won’t you give me a chance?” He was closer now, fingers sliding along the inside of her thigh. “I’ve been told I’m fantastic with my hands.”

She’d skinned Sagishi herself, after watching Hanamura do it with dozens of deer and birds and rabbits. Her hands had slipped on their flesh as she tried to pull it apart. She’d never expected humans to be such a deep red inside. It hadn’t occurred to her until then, until the moment echoing in her now, that they were really all just meat in the end. Just flesh and food.

She lifted one hand to the side of Hanamura’s face, pressing the tips of her fingers into his skin, feeling it give under the slightest pressure of her nails. Her thumb brushed the corner of his lashes.

“That’s a good girl.” He smiled, his hand grasping at the very top of her thigh, and leaned in.

Sonia watched him open his mouth, saw the moist ridges of his teeth and tongue, and pushed her finger into his eye socket.

Hajime came back to consciousness in sluggish pieces, like sticky fingers pried from the side of a soda can. His backside was cold despite the fact that he was lying on top of something warm and angular. He shifted, feeling the flutter of a pulse against his cheek, and took stock of his limbs so he could move.

He braced his elbows on the ground and lifted his head a few inches. The skin on his back stung. His mouth was uncomfortably dry.

Komaeda’s face was inches from his own, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, you’re finally awake.” His throat sounded just as wrecked as Hajime’s felt.

“Did I fall asleep on top of you?” He pushed himself upright and winced at the sticky, half-dried mess between their torsos. They were both completely naked, he realized with a shiver.

“I guess so.” Komaeda was a mess, splayed on top of his jacket with his hair even more unruly than usual and his lips red and swollen. There was a dark purple bruise on his shoulder, and when Hajime leaned closer, squinting in the dim twilight, he realized it was a set of teeth marks.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh, you bit me,” Komaeda said, as casually as if he were talking about of spot of dirt.

“I bit you?”

“I don’t think my own teeth could reach that spot.”

Hajime sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. “I…I’m so sorry. My memory’s kind of fuzzy, I don’t know why I would have done something like that.”

He vaguely recalled stumbling through the woods, finding a random secluded spot behind some bushes and spreading Komaeda’s jacket on the ground. Everything after that was less defined, more sensation than actual memory. He was pretty sure whatever had been in that soup was more or less out of his system, but just thinking about it made his skin flush.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Komaeda sat up. “I liked it.”

“Oh.” Hajime felt his brain short-circuit as he considered the implications of those words and simultaneously tried to think of a response.

Komaeda was looking at him closely, peering into his eyes like he was searching for something. Even in the dim light Hajime could make out the silver of his irises, shaded by thick lashes. He gave up on a verbal response and leaned in for a kiss. Komaeda trembled beneath his touch—no, he was shivering, and there were goosebumps covering his arms.

Hajime broke the kiss and leaned back. “Shit, you’re probably freezing.” He felt around until his fingers snagged a piece of clothing and held it up. “Are these your pants or mine?”

Komaeda pinched the fabric with his forefinger and thumb. “It feels pretty cheap, so they’re probably yours.”

“Wow.” He set them aside and started patting the ground again. “You know I’m not poor, right?”

“I think we’re all experiencing some form of poverty right now.”

He found a pair of boxers, squinted at the gray flannel, and tossed them in Komaeda’s direction. “What even happened tonight? Did we all get drugged or something?”

“I’m guessing it was the mushrooms in the soup,” he replied, making no effort to help Hajime in his search. “I imagine Hanamura would have noticed right away if someone had tampered with his cooking, so it must have been his doing.”

“That’s so fucked up. Someone could have gotten hurt, or we could have ended up…”

He wasn’t sure how to finish his sentence, so he threw his focus into finding the rest of their clothing. He used a handful of leaves to scrub the mess from his stomach. What he really needed was a decent bath, but at the moment he was freezing and sore and really wanted to get back to the cabin.

While Komaeda struggled to button up his shirt, Hajime picked his jacket up and brushed the dirt from it. He frowned at his shoulder, though he could no longer see the bite mark he’d apparently left.

“Hey, was that okay?” He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I know we were both kind of out of it, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I liked it,” Komaeda repeated softly. “It was enough that I got to—”

Hajime frowned at him. Komaeda rarely cut himself off. It seemed like there were very few things Komaeda decided were better left unsaid.

“In any case, things could have gone much worse, given the circumstances,” he continued, and something in his voice made dread curl in Hajime’s stomach.

“I guess so,” he said. “Let’s get back to the others. I’m sure everyone’s pissed at Hanamura.”

“We’ll need something to guide us back to the cabin,” Komaeda said, and a second later, a scream ripped through the air.

Sonia came down from her high in jagged steps. She rubbed her fingers against her palms, feeling the blood begin to dry on her skin. Her arms were gloved in it. It was in her mouth.

She tried to catch her breath and looked up. Pekoyama was on her knees a few feet away, staring at the darkened shape at the base of a nearby tree. She reached up, slowly, and removed her blood-spattered glasses from her face. It was the first time Sonia had ever seen her hands shake.

A flash of light made her flinch, and for a single, unforgiving moment the clearing was illuminated. Koizumi stared at the mess her camera flash had hit, the pieces of Hanamura that were left, and let out a horrified scream.

“W-What is that?”

We did it together, Sonia wanted to say. You grabbed his hair when he tried to run away.

Mioda was sitting against a tree, her quiet sobs interspersed with unintelligible murmuring. Her guitar lay in pieces beside her, splinters of it still lodged in Hanamura’s skin, one of the strings garroting his neck.

Souda and Tanaka were nowhere to be seen. She had a vague memory of Souda’s terrified face, his glistening eyes, but she couldn’t remember when she’d seen him. She didn’t know if she’d hurt him, too.

Owari rose from her crouch, her jaw working for a long moment, and spat a thick glob of saliva into the bushes.

“He’s dead?” she rasped.

“No.” Tsumiki crawled towards the body, trailing twigs and loose leaves in her wake. Her nails were dark crescents, caked with blood and skin. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

She burst into tears, and Sonia felt the last of her stupor peel away. She made to raise a hand to her mouth, but there was blood on it. There was blood in her mouth, too, in between her teeth and at the back of her tongue.

She’d skinned a human before, but there had been none of that precision or care in the way they’d killed Hanamura. She’d gone after him with teeth and nails, had snatched Pekoyama’s knife out of her hand and used that too.

She’d killed him like a wolf.

“Why?” said Koizumi, her voice bordering on a wail.

Because we’re animals, Sonia thought, but that was wrong. She hadn’t done it because she was hungry. It hadn’t even been because he’d been about to rape her, because a gouged eye would have been enough to keep Hanamura far, far away.

She let out a single, shuddering breath, horror nestling beneath her skin like a fever.

What am I? 

The brush rustled, the orange glow of firelight drawing near. Sonia moved her feet beneath her, shifted her weight onto her toes. She was flush with adrenaline, with the instinct to attack. Beside her, Pekoyama sniffled and shoved her glasses back onto her face.

When the torch finally came into sight, it was enough to leave her night blind. She blinked rapidly, one hand groping for a makeshift weapon. A slight figure shuffled closer, holding the torch in front of them, and when she saw their face it was enough to make her freeze.

Kuzuryu froze too, his weary, sunken eyes taking in the clearing. He saw Hanamura and his face contorted.

“What the fuck?”

Chapter Text

July 2, 2022

Enoshima insisted on a debrief the day after Mikan’s date. She also insisted on doing it at Mikan’s apartment. The latter was accomplished by showing up at her door with a bottle of wine and a razor-sharp, mischievous grin.

“So?” Enoshima waggled her eyebrows as Mikan scurried into the room with a pair of wine glasses. She’d scrubbed the dust from the insides, but she hadn’t worked up the nerve to spike one.

“Um.” She set the glasses down and handed the corkscrew to Enoshima. “Um, it was good.”

“Good?” She wrinkled her nose. Mikan tucked her elbows against her sides. She’d just come from a long shift at the hospital, and she’d barely had time to change before the doorbell rang. Her hair was a mess and she probably needed to apply more antiperspirant and she just really didn’t want to do this today.

But as soon as Enoshima had showed up at her door, it had been a moot point.

“Okay, lunch with your brother can be good.” She finished pouring a generous amount of wine into both glasses and handed one to Mikan. “If your date was just good, that basically means it was horrible.”

“It wasn’t horrible.” She sat up straighter. “He was really nice. We talked about, um, the short film that he’s working on with his friends.”

Enoshima gave her a dramatic eye roll. “Let me guess. He’s fine-tuning the script because he hasn’t found anyone to be part of the cast or crew.”

Mikan surprised himself with a giggle. “Pretty much. He said that I could audition if I was interested, but I would, um, hate that.”

“Good.” She sipped her wine, and Mikan was momentarily transfixed by the crimson half-moon her lipstick left on the edge of the glass. “You have better ways to spend your time than that.”

Her fingers knotted together in her lap. She’d actually been flattered when he’d asked her. “I just hate seeing photos or videos of myself. A-And I think it would be really awkward if it ever got published.”

“Because it would be a critical failure?” Enoshima’s smirk faded. “Oh, you mean…”

Mikan nodded, her gaze focused on her untouched wine glass. “I don’t have social media or anything like that but it’s still hard. People still recognize me sometimes.”

“I get that,” Enoshima said quietly. “People stare at me a lot. Sometimes they come up and say I look like a model. Like, duh.”

“I-I’m sorry. You’re a public figure. I’m sure it must be—”

“No, no, you have it way worse.” She waved her off. “I stick with modeling because, well. A lot of reasons. But it’s not like you chose to get stuck out there.”

Mikan tried to swallow and found her throat was dry. Most nights she didn’t know what haunted her the most. It wasn’t just the things she hadn’t chosen, the horrible things that had been thrust upon her. It was the things she had chosen to do. Or not do.

“Have you ever thought about just taking control of the narrative?” Enoshima asked, twirling a lock of hair around one finger.

Slowly, Mikan met her gaze. “W-What do you mean?”

“Media circuses get off on the unknowns. Speculations. If you come out and tell them, ‘Yeah, we did eat our classmates and it was really fucked up,’ then they’ll run with that for a few weeks and then…” She spread her fingers in a poof motion. “That’ll be it.”

“But we didn’t.” Her voice came out small and pathetic. “We didn’t do that. E-Even if I did talk, the others would never forgive me.” She remembered the burly yakuza men that had been sitting on this very couch only a few days ago and shivered. “And I don’t want people to think of me like that.”

“They probably already do,” Enoshima said gently. “This kind of thing isn’t going to go away. You either deal with it or spend the rest of your life running.”

Her ears were ringing. Mikan grabbed her wine glass and swallowed a mouthful.

“Sorry.” Enoshima nudged her leg with her foot. Her toenails were painted the same color as her lips. “This kind of turned into a bummer topic. Let’s go back to talking about your date.”

Mikan shifted towards her, a surge of adrenaline running through her along with the first warm settling of the wine. “I want to hear about your… Um, are you dating anyone right now?”

A slow smile spread across her lips, and the sight made her skin flush. “Nope. I’m completely unattached.”

She nodded, unsure if she was supposed to look disappointed on relieved. Maybe neither. Why was it so hard to act normally around her?

Enoshima laughed. “Oh, are you fishing for stories about the losers I dated in college?”

“N-Not exactly.” She was gripping the stem of the glass too hard. She relaxed her fingers a little. “I was just wondering…”

“For the record, I didn’t go to college.” She leaned forward. “But I do have stories.”

Mikan listened and laughed and tried not to count how many glasses Enoshima was drinking. She was halfway through her second, now. The only sign it was affecting her was the pink tinge in her cheeks. How strong was her tolerance? Food affected the absorption of alcohol into the bloodstream—maybe she’d eaten before coming here. She also wasn’t drinking as much because she was busy talking. 

Impatience prickled on her skin. Mikan wanted her drowsy and incoherent. She wanted to tip the bottle directly down her throat.

She didn’t realize how far her thoughts had strayed until she blinked and saw Enoshima inches from her face. She wasn’t talking anymore, just taking in her features with critical gray eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. 

“I—” Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to come up with an apology.

“You had a really intense look on your face just now.” The corner of her mouth tilted upwards as she searched her eyes like there was something to read there. “What are you thinking about?”

Mikan swallowed. If she lied, Enoshima would see it on her face.

“You.”

“What about me?”

Her pulse thundered in her throat. “What I want to do to you.”

“Yeah?” The word was barely more than a puff of air. “What’s that?”

Impulse made her set her glass on the table, made her grab Enoshima’s instead. She braced one hand against the back of the sofa and straddled her lap. She pressed the rim to her lower lip, muddling the lipstick stains on the glass.

“Drink.”

For one horrible moment, she thought Enoshima might shove her to the floor, spewing curses, and storm out. That anxiety came to her as easily as breathing. It always would.

But she’d already seen the way Enoshima’s pupils had dilated. She opened her mouth, tongue teasing the rim of the glass, and tipped her head back. Mikan tilted the glass, watching Enoshima’s throat bob with each swallow, only letting up when it was completely empty.

“Good.” She set it aside and pet Enoshima’s hair with the other hand, marveling at the silky texture. “That was really good.”

“Was it?” She tilted her chin up. “Then where’s my reward?”

Heat trickled through her body. She’d never felt like this with anyone. Even her most intimate dates had never come close to this.

She leaned down, her breath coming in short pants, and kissed her. Enoshima’s hand pressed against her lower back, caressing a sensitive spot she hadn’t even known existed, the nails on her other hand grazing the outside of her thigh. Her knees squeezed Enoshima’s hips, her whole body craving heat and friction.

She needed her. Needed to take care of her. Everything else could wait.

2013

Kazuichi didn’t know where he was.

He’d run blindly through the brush, ripping his clothes and scratching his face in the process. He’d ended up with his back against a tree, concentrating entirely on breathing because for some reason his body wasn’t doing it on its own. By the time he’d started breathing normally again, the sun had set and left him in a dark and unfamiliar part of the forest.

He stretched out his stiff legs with a wince. Whatever had been in that soup had fucked him up pretty bad. He’d hallucinated that the girls had gone crazy and started attacking Hanamura, and just the mental image of that memory was enough to make shivers crawl up his spine.

A faint glow to his left made his heart rate spike. He watched the light grow closer, footsteps crunching through the overgrowth, and couldn’t bring himself to move.

That had just been a hallucination. He had no reason to actually be scared, right?

“Reveal yourself, fiend.”

Kazuichi scrambled to his feet just as Tanaka came into view, holding a torch aloft.

“Holy shit, how did you find me?”

“You were careless in your flight.” He gestured at the series of broken branches behind him. “Even in the depths of shadow, your path could not be concealed.”

“Yeah, thanks for the—” The rest of his retort died as he took in Tanaka’s grim expression. “What’s up? Are you still, you know…” He made a vague gesture at his head.

“Hanamura is dead.”

Kazuichi flinched. Blinked. A half-laugh escaped him. “N-No, he’s not. That was just a hallucination. It wasn’t real.”

“His blood stains the earth outside our cabin,” Tanaka said, his voice hardening. “The women of our group were possessed by madness. They tore him asunder.”

His knees shook. Kazuichi half-fell back into his original position against the tree. He’d watched them converge on Hanamura. He’d seen Sonia with blood staining the lower half of her face, eyes feral and terrifying. She’d looked at him with red, bared teeth and that’s when he’d run.

He pinched himself, hard. He was still hallucinating. Sonia was gentle and kind. Even after what had happened with Sagishi, she would never hurt any of their classmates, not even a pervert like Hanamura.

“Come,” Tanaka said, making him tense. “We must return.”

“Can you just give me a minute, man?” His voice wasn’t half as steady as he wanted it to be. “If you’re actually telling the truth, then why the hell would we go back there?”

“Because Kuzuryu has returned to us,” he replied. “If nothing else, we must ensure his safety.”

Slowly, Kazuichi turned to look at him. He had to squint against the light from the torch. The girls had killed Hanamura, and Kuzuryu had come back from the dead. According to Tanaka, the whole world had turned upside down.

“Can you stop fucking with me, man?”

“If you wish to remain here, cowering in the shadows, you are free to do so. However.”

Kazuichi furrowed his brow, trying to see Tanaka’s face through his night-blindness. It was hard to read his expression when half his face was obscured by his scarf. The foliage crunched under Tanaka’s boots as he approached.

“You will die out here alone.” His next sentence was so quiet Kazuichi barely caught it. “For better or worse.”

Chills crept up the back of his neck. Tanaka was right. They had to go back to the cabin. The forest would swallow them whole if they stayed out here, the way it had swallowed Kuzuryu.

 His limbs shook as he pushed himself to his feet. If Kuzuryu really was alive, then maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Hell, maybe he’d found a way out and come back to tell them.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Tanaka turned on his heel and led the way back to the cabin. Kazuichi hurried after him, desperate to stay as close to the light of the torch as possible.

“So, everyone’s, like…sober now, right?” he asked. It felt like speaking would help keep the darkness at bay.

“It would seem the worst of the elixir’s effects have passed. Who knows what symptoms may linger, though.”

God, Hanamura had poisoned them. Kazuichi tugged at his beanie. Had he just gotten confused about the mushrooms he’d put in the soup? He’d been talking kind of weird after they’d first brought up the party. Maybe he’d done in on purpose.

He couldn’t be dead, though. Hurt, maybe, but not dead. Tanaka was just being dramatic.

“Did you see—” His voice cracked. He tried again. “What were you doing? After, you know, you started feeling the effects.”

“Once the carnage started, I retreated to ensure the safety of my Devas.” He touched his scarf. “We had a lengthy discussion among the five of us.”

Despite himself, Kazuichi barked out a laugh. “What, you were actually talking to your hamsters?”

Tanaka shot him a glare over his shoulder. “I am able to communicate with my Devas on any given day, though perhaps their manner of speech is unintelligible to those with lesser senses. It so happened that their voices were clearer this night.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged. That at least sounded like a better time than hyperventilating in the middle of the woods, or whatever had happened with the girls.

The brief moment of humor evaporated as a metallic scent stung his nose. Up ahead, he could see light coming through the cabin windows, but he stopped dead in his tracks and pressed the back of his hand to his nose.

“Fuck, w-what is that?”

Against his better judgement, he looked around. He couldn’t tell if he was seeing spots of blood or just torch light reflecting off the leaves. His skin crawled.

“There is no need for you to see the body.” Tanaka gestured for him to keep walking. “Let us rejoin the others.”

Kazuichi breathed through his mouth as he took the last few strides to the cabin. Tanaka extinguished his torch and pushed the door open. His stomach flip-flopped as he followed. The girls weren’t going to attack him. They would never. And if things did get weird, at least he had Tanaka as an ally.

The urge to laugh rose within him again. Maybe the world really had turned upside down.

The living room was full when they entered. Everyone turned to look at them, and Kazuichi froze in his tracks.

His eyes found Sonia first. She was sitting with her hands in her lap, her expression shadowed as she took him in. Her skin was clean, but there was a drying splatter of blood on the front of her blouse. Pieces of her hair were dark and sticky with it. Tsumiki was bandaging Mioda’s hands, and both of them had blood on their clothes. 

The room swam in front of him.

When he regained his bearings, he finally noticed the figure sitting on the couch, and shock eclipsed some of his horror. Kuzuryu was nearly unrecognizable, his hair so dirty it looked brown and his face distorted with deep hollows and sharp angles. He wasn’t dead, but he’d clearly come close.

“Holy shit,” Kazuichi whispered. “You’re actually alive.”

Kuzuryu looked at him, and his deadpan stare was familiar, at least. “Good to see you too, Souda,” he replied in a voice that was raspy from disuse.

“Do you want to start talking, now?” Koizumi asked. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her camera was nowhere to be seen. “Where have you been?”

His hands were clutching an empty bowl, trembling even though they were stationary. “This isn’t everyone.”

A chilled silence fell across the room. Kazuichi made a silent count, though he already knew what the result would be. There were the six girls plus him and Tanaka. Hinata was sitting next to Komaeda (with bruises littering his throat—had the girls gotten to him too?) And now Kuzuryu was with them too.

“Sagishi and Nidai are dead,” Pekoyama said. She was sitting next to Kuzuryu on the couch, but she faced the fireplace as she spoke. Her voice trembled a little as she added, “Hanamura, too.”

“Did you guys tear them into pieces, too?” Kuzuryu asked, and the vitriol in his voice made Kazuichi flinch. Koizumi bit her lip, the blood draining from her face.

“Sagishi fell into the lake last winter and drowned,” Pekoyama said, as though she were reciting something from a book. “Nidai had a heart condition and it failed him several days ago.”

“A heart condition,” Kuzuryu repeated, his lip curling.

“Do you wanna see his prescription meds or something?” Owari said, mirroring his snarl. “The fuck are you trying to accuse us of?”

“Well, what was your excuse for Hanamura?” He leaned forward a little like he wanted to rise out of his seat. He gripped the bowl so hard his knuckles were white.

Tsumiki burst into tears. Kuzuryu and a few others started and turned to her. 

“W-We were dosed with psilocin. That’s what I think it was. I don’t really know. I’m still having trouble thinking clearly, I’m really sorry.” Her hands fluttered helplessly on either side of her head. The skin on the tips of her fingers was raw and red. “We had a party earlier today, and there was something in the soup, and it, um, it made us—” She broke off with a sob and buried her face in her hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kuzuryu whispered, staring at her with an expression that teetered between disgust and disbelief.

“She’s telling the truth,” Hinata said quietly. “We got dosed with something that made everything…weird. I think it affected everyone differently.”

Kazuichi frowned and tried to catch his eye. He wanted to know what Hinata had experienced. If he was also afraid.

“So what about you?” Koizumi asked Kuzuryu. “You were out there for months. We all thought you were dead. How did you survive?”

Kuzuryu let out a long sigh through his nose and sat back. “I got separated from Sagishi and Hinata that night. It didn’t take long for me to get lost. It was snowing pretty hard and I didn’t have a light. I ended up in a cave. Kept me from freezing my ass off, more or less.”

“You didn’t try to come back in the morning?” Kazuichi asked, and flinched as Kuzuryu turned to him with a glare.

“You think I didn’t want to? I fell through the entrance. Fucked up my ankle pretty bad. Couldn’t climb back the way I’d come, didn’t have a light to find another way out. I could ask why you all never heard me screaming for help.”

Pekoyama let out a small, pained breath and turned away.

“Sorry, man,” Kazuichi said. “We’re just glad you’re back, alright?”

“What’d you eat?” Owari asked.

“Canned food,” Kuzuryu replied, ignoring their sounds of disbelief. “Thought I wasn’t going to make it by the time I found the stash. No idea who left it there. Maybe whichever bastard built this cabin.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “I made it last as long as I could. It’s all gone now.”

“Perhaps you will be pleased to know we are secure in our stores at the moment,” Tanaka said. “Though one could say you arrived at a most inopportune time.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Mioda said, her voice nearly a whisper. “I kind of thought trippy mushrooms were only in jungles and stuff. Not up here.”

Kuzuryu’s expression darkened. “There’s something wrong with this place.”

Komaeda nodded agreeably. “We should definitely be careful about what we eat in the future.”

“No, I don’t mean that.” He frowned at his bowl for a second. “Look, that night I got separated from you all, it wasn’t just because I was lost. Something was chasing me.”

Owari straightened, her brow furrowed. “A wolf?”

“It wasn’t a wolf. It looked human, but it wasn’t. I don’t know what the fuck it was.” He glanced out the window, and the look in his eyes sent chills down Kazuichi’s spine. “But there’s something out here with us.”

Chapter Text

2013

It was difficult, falling back into their daily routine.

The morning after the party, they’d all come into the living room and sat in silence. There had been meat and berries and green pinecones in the kitchen and no one had touched them. They had food—a blessing they understood all too well—and no one had wanted to eat.

Mikan’s appetite had vanished anyway. She hadn’t been able to think of anything except Hanamura’s body, still strewn over the forest floor. Her fingernails hurt, like his flesh was still caught beneath them.

Eventually Koizumi had gotten up and started making breakfast. They’d eaten their portions and no one had acknowledged aloud that it hadn’t tasted quite as good. As soon as he’d finished, Tanaka had left the cabin and returned a couple hours later with dirty hands.

Cooking became a rotating chore like the others. Mikan still had burns on her hands from her first turn.

If the food tasted like anything at all, it tasted like blood.

One week after the party, Mikan made her way to the creek. The burn just below her thumb was throbbing, and she wanted some cold water to soothe the pain. She knew it wasn’t sanitary, but she couldn’t hold off any longer. It wasn’t like anything else in her life was really clean, either.

She unwound the bandage she’d been reusing (another dirty, dirty thing—she was lucky she wasn’t suffering from infection) and submerged her hand in the water. Pain bit into her skin before numbness followed. She shivered and tried to shift into a more comfortable position.

“They blistering yet?”

Mikan gasped and nearly pitched face-first into the water. She scrambled to right herself, spraying droplets with her frantic movements, and turned around.

“Sorry.” Mioda was sitting at the base of a tree nearby, speaking to her bent knees. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” She shook her hand dry, resisting the urge to wipe it on her blouse. “I should have been paying more attention.”

Mioda didn’t respond. Worry needled at Mikan’s heart. She’d barely said a word to anyone since Hanamura’s death. Mikan hadn’t realized how melancholy she’d become until her old energy had returned during the party. It seemed now like whatever spark had reignited had been crushed beneath the heel of a heavy boot.

“Um.” Mikan struggled to rise to her feet without letting her wet hand touch the ground. “I can…”

She came up against her own uselessness like a brick wall. She wasn’t good at comforting people. She could offer to fetch an instrument, but she wasn’t sure if Mioda would even be in the mood to play music. If she were sick or injured, at least Mikan would be able to fix that.

“You should probably give your hands a break,” Mioda said, still not making eye contact. “Blisters are no joke if you don’t leave them alone.”

A lump swelled in her throat. She was so useless Mioda was trying to give her medical advice.

“I wish I had clean bandages,” she said before she could stop herself. Now she was complaining, even though Mioda was the one who needed comforting. “Real gauze bandages, not…” She looked down at the strips of fabric hanging out of her pocket. They were from a shirt of Owari’s that she’d ripped up and offered. All of their real bandages had been used on Komaeda’s arm.

“I wish I hadn’t broken my guitar,” Mioda whispered.

Tears welled in Mikan’s eyes. She sank to her knees beside her, digging deep for the right words to say. It felt like it would be easier to offer up her own organs.

“I should have n-noticed something was wrong. If I’d realized what was happening sooner, I could have—I could have taken care of everyone.” She gestured helplessly. She could taste the impossibility in her own words.

“It was fun, at first,” Mioda said, almost wistfully.

“I really, really liked your music.” She remembered crying at the sound of her guitar, and for once her tears hadn’t felt like a sign of weakness. 

“I lied.” Absently, she played with the bracelets on her wrist. “I’ve always wanted to break my guitar. I thought I’d do it on stage, though. Sort of a bucket list thing.” The smile on her face looked wrong. Forced. “I thought I’d have way more time to do bucket list things.”

Mikan wanted to curl into a ball.

“I think that’s what Hanamura wanted, too,” Mioda continued. “He was talking about having one last good day. Being happy before…” She pinched her fingers together and swept them sideways.

“He was going to t-take advantage of us.” Her voice trembled. She’d watched Hanamura try to grab Mioda’s clothes while she danced. Maybe that was when the moment had started to sour for her. “He was always… He was always thinking about it.”

Before she’d learned not to be alone with him, Hanamura had been relentless with his suggestive comments, his searching gaze. Before she’d befriended Mioda and Koizumi and Saionji, back when she’d been nothing but loneliness and self-doubt, she’d thought about surrendering to his advances. She’d known even then that a person like that would swallow her whole without giving a thought to leaving anything behind.

The most terrifying thing about that night was that however distorted her thoughts had become, none of it had come from outside of her. She’d been angry at Hanamura for a long time. She’d wanted to scream and dig her nails into his skin and make him feel even a fraction of the fear she’d been harboring her whole life.

“Do you think we’re bad people?” Mioda asked.

The urge to shrink in on herself doubled. She’d known for a long time that she was repulsive. Pathetic. The only reason people would ever keep her around was because they needed her. The only reason she hadn’t counted as a bad person was because she hadn’t hurt people on purpose.

Even if that night was the only time she gave in to that impulse, it still wouldn’t make her a good person.

She looked over at Mioda. She was beautiful, in the same delicate way as the veins visible beneath a dying person’s skin.

“I don’t know if it matters anymore.”

MRKOTO888: Do you think Hope’s Peak Academy should only scout people who are morally good?

NATAJELLY11: ??

MRKOTO888: You said Hope’s Peak values talent over morality. Do you think they should change their values?

NATAJELLY11: I don’t really know

NATAJELLY11: I just think sometimes HP brings out the worst in people

MRKOTO888: But they help people develop their talents. How is that bad?

NATAJELLY11: not everyone who goes to HP is talented

NATAJELLY11: do you work for them or something?

MRKOTO888: No, I don’t. That would be a pretty cool job, though.

NATAJELLY11: well their PR team is pretty robust so you don’t have to go around defending them.

MRKOTO888: I’m sorry if I offended you. I was just curious about your opinions.

NATAJELLY11: it’s fine

NATAJELLY11: i think I also came across a little defensive. i’m more used to people arguing in bad faith on forums

MRKOTO888: I understand. People can be pretty rude.

MRKOTO888: I am still curious about your thoughts on Hope’s Peak, though.

MRKOTO888: You said it brings out the worst in people.

[NATAJELLY11 sent a link.]

NATAJELLY11: this kind of thing.

MRKOTO888: That was definitely a tragedy.

MRKOTO888: Do you think they wouldn’t have killed themselves if they hadn’t attended Hope’s Peak?

NATAJELLY11: i don’t know

NATAJELLY11: i’ve just heard that a lot of the reserve course students feel worthless. they’re treated like trash

MRKOTO888: Do you think they should get rid of the Reserve Course program?

NATAJELLY11: honestly I don’t understand why they don’t get more alumni donations. wasn’t there some super rich student that graduated several years ago?

MRKOTO888: Byakuya Togami, the Ultimate Heir.

NATAJELLY11: yeah him. funding the school would be pocket change to a billionaire

MRKOTO888: That’s true, but large donations usually come with strings attached. I imagine Hope’s Peak wouldn’t want to be beholden to any third party organizations.

NATAJELLY11: that’s a good point

MRKOTO888: They’d remodel the Main Course building in the shape of the Togami Conglomerate logo.

NATAJELLY11: hahaha

MRKOTO888: Do you want to know something funny?

MRKOTO888: The “nata” in data jelly refers to the Filipino desert “nata de coco,” which is coconut jelly. But “coco” means coconut and “nata” means jelly.

MRKOTO888: Your username is “jelly jelly.”

NATAJELLY11: lol

NATAJELLY11: my friend actually picked it for me

MRKOTO888: Is it your favorite food?

NATAJELLY11: no it came from my family name

MRKOTO888: Hinata?

NATAJELLY11: i’ll never tell

MRKOTO888: I just picked a common name.

MRKOTO888: If I got it right I promise I’m not a stalker!

MRKOTO888: I tried a drink with nata jelly for the first time today. It was tasty.

NATAJELLY11: yeah it’s pretty good

NATAJELLY11: i prefer grass jelly though

MRKOTO888: Maybe you should change your username.

NATAJELLY11: lol

NATAJELLY11: are you slacking in school or something?

NATAJELLY11:  you’re always really quick to respond to my messages

MRKOTO888: I work from home, actually.

MRKOTO888: I keep my phone close by so I can easily respond to notifications.

NATAJELLY11: what do you do for work?

MRKOTO888: I’m writing a book!

MRKOTO888: Well, I’m not that good of a writer, so I have a friend helping me.

NATAJELLY11: is it an autobiography or something?

MRKOTO888: What makes you say that?

NATAJELLY11: people usually hire ghostwriters for autobiographies

MRKOTO888: I guess I took some inspiration from my life, but it’s more of a fiction book.

NATAJELLY11: what’s it about?

MRKOTO888: It’s about a group of friends who learn to work together to overcome hardships.

MRKOTO888: Seeing it typed out like that, it sounds really cliche, haha.

NATAJELLY11: well that doesn’t mean it’s a bad premise. it’s all in the execution

NATAJELLY11: i guess. not like i know anything about writing books

MRKOTO888: I’m relying a lot on my friend. I’m not really sure what I want the message of the book to be, anyway.

NATAJELLY11: then why are you writing it in the first place?

MRKOTO888: I think I’m hoping to discover something in the process.

MRKOTO888: Like you said, it’s all in the execution.

NATAJELLY11: well if you ever want to share it i’d be willing to take a look

NATAJELLY11: put me in the acknowledgements when you publish it

MRKOTO888: I definitely will!

July 7, 2022

Sonia wasn’t sure why she’d come back a third time.

She’d skipped a board meeting to come to the support group this week. The other members knew she was busy, but she still felt guilty about cancelling last-minute, after she’d finally worked up the courage to show her face in the college basement again.

The meetings made her uncomfortable. She’d started having nightmares again, half-accurate recollections of memories dredged up like dark silt in the recesses of her mind. She was terrified she was going to let something slip that she shouldn’t. Everything she did reveal felt like blood from an open wound.

Maybe that was why she hadn’t stopped coming.

“Miss… Um, Sonia? Was there anything you wanted to add?” Shirogane leaned forward in her chair, trying to catch her eye.

Sonia blinked, automatically checking that her expression hadn’t slipped. “I apologize. My mind wandered for a moment.”

“Anything you want to share?” The corners of her lips curled upwards. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be on topic.”

A couple of the students giggled. They’d spent the first fifteen minutes of the meeting swapping stories about their childhood pets after one of the boys had mentioned adopting a cat. Shirogane had eventually steered the conversation back on track, but she’d done so gently. It had been nice to see everyone relaxed and smiling for once, even if Sonia had nothing to add.

“It was nothing fun, I’m afraid. I was just thinking about some upcoming meetings.”

“You do a lot of philanthropic work, don’t you?” Shirogane asked.

Sonia nodded. “I typically split the year between Europe and Asia. I am always happy to come back to Japan, but I…still find it difficult. Flying.”

A few of the others nodded in sympathy.

“Is it because you feel guilty?” one of the girls asked. When Sonia looked at her, she immediately directed her gaze to her shoes and said, “Sorry. I was just curious.”

“Guilty?” Sonia repeated.

“You mentioned last week that you regretted killing that animal,” she said to the stripes on her ballet flats. “Is charity how you make up for it?”

She conjured the answer as easily as if it had been written on a cue card. “Most members of royal families in other monarchies around the world are complacent in their wealth and privilege. I choose to spend my time and money in pursuit of a better, more equitable world.”

The girl nodded slowly, still not making eye contact.

“That’s an answer fit for a LinkedIn post,” Shirogane said, her tone light as ever.

Sonia looked away. She’d promised herself not to be a politician in here.

“I do not want to be the way some of my associates are,” she said. “I do not want anyone here to believe I consider philanthropy to be a transaction. It is not a public relations strategy to me.”

“Then what is it?”

“A…” She knew the word she wanted to use, but she had to work up the courage to say it aloud. “To me it is a yoke.”

“Like an egg yolk?” one of the boys muttered, and the boy next to him nudged him in the ribs.

“You mean like a burden?” Shirogane tilted her head. “Part of your duties as a princess?”

Sonia shook her head, smoothing back her frustration. She was an excellent communicator. It was embarrassing not to be understood now, especially when her Japanese was nearly on the level of a native speaker.

How would she phrase it in English? In Romanian or Hungarian or Croatian? Would it make any sense in all the other ways she knew how to think?

“Are you saying it’s a burden you chose?” Shirogane asked.

“I am afraid of what I would do with my time if I did not limit myself to the utmost of selfless acts,” Sonia said, and her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch at the confession.

“You mean like depression?” one of the boys asked.

“Or drugs and drinking and stuff?” another added.

Sonia took a moment to compose herself. She would never diminish the severity of the examples they had given. She’d paid for each and every one of Souda’s stints in rehab, and she knew how thoroughly addiction had sunk its claws into him. But those were typical trauma responses. Understandable to most mental health professionals.

“You’ve mentioned killing animals,” Shirogane said, pushing the suggestion towards her like a paper boat on stormy waters. “Simply because you wanted to.”

They were getting dangerously close to the truth. Sonia could feel the razor’s edge at the back of her tongue. They would be afraid of her—perhaps only abstractly, but the gentle image she’d cultivated would shatter before their eyes.

“I was the hunter in our group,” she said. The best lies were rooted in the truth. “We were lucky enough to find a rifle and I was the best at using it. All children in Novoselic are required to have some experience with arms. And I liked it. I have sometimes thought about hunting for sport.” A sad, bitter smile tugged at her lips. “Birds of prey. Savannah beasts. Dangerous things. How cruel that I should cause the death of another being simply to satisfy my own….”

A tear slipped past her eyelid and she let it fall. She thought of Tsumiki, how it had never seemed to matter if her tears were real or not.

Shirogane fumbled for the tissue box she kept on the teacher’s desk, but Sonia was already pulling her handkerchief from her purse.

“You know, they have these things called rage rooms,” one of the boys said, his chin propped on his knee. “You can pay to go in and smash a bunch of stuff. Old junk cars and things like that. Maybe that would help.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was talking about,” one of the girls whispered to him.

“I appreciate the suggestion nonetheless.” Sonia sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “I am grateful to you all for listening to me.”

The girl sitting next to her offered her a tentative, reassuring smile. Sonia returned it, even as she felt the cracks in her composure widening. This wasn’t good for her. Getting so close to a real confession felt like holding her hand just out of reach of a flame. Touching the truth, letting it out, would be both terrifyingly destructive and tantalizingly purifying.

They did not ask her for any more during that session. Shirogane gently steered the topic back to coping mechanisms and Sonia was left to seal herself back inside a calm exterior. Her eyes were perfectly dry by the time she left the classroom.

Shirogane called her a few minutes after the car had picked her up.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “Seriously, you have no idea how great this has been for the others.”

“I am glad,” Sonia replied, checking her makeup in her compact mirror.

“I know it must be so hard for you to share your story, but I promise it’s going to be worth it.”

She snapped the mirror shut. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s having a big impact on the kids. Well, they’re not really kids anymore.” She let out a tittering laugh. “I just think it’s going to mean a lot to them.”

“I certainly hope so. That is why I offered to do this in the first place.” Her fist clenched, the cold edge of the mirror digging into her palm. She would give up pieces of herself, even if they were only made of half-truths. Perhaps that would make it a little easier to remember the times she had remained selfishly, impossibly whole.

“You’re a good person, Sonia,” Shirogane said. “So, will I see you next week?”

“Barring any complications in my schedule, I will certainly try to make it.” She ignored the wave of dread that rose within her as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

“Perfect,” she said, her voice bright. “That’s just plain perfect.”

And though Shirogane couldn’t see it, Sonia shaped her lips into an obliging smile.

2013

The girls had done a number on Hanamura.

Tanaka had done a decent job of collecting his remains and hauling it all to the graveyard. (It was an actual graveyard now. Fuyuhiko had gone to look at Sagishi and Nidai’s grave markers and spent an hour trying to wrap his head around the fact that they were gone.) But it had been a dark and gruesome job, and he hadn’t gotten everything. Fuyuhiko had gone back to the scene of the murder, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, and found a dark muddy patch of blood in the dirt. Strands of curly brown hair. Scraps of flesh crawling with insects. He’d seen blood and bodies since his age was a single digit, and even out here in the wilderness, he could recognize a crime scene that had spiraled wildly out of control.

Murder. Crime scene. Like there was any semblance of law out here. As if they could cast any kind of judgement on what more than half their group had done.

They could blame that one on the drugs, but three more people were dead. Komaeda was missing a fucking arm. When Fuyuhiko was able to sleep at all, he did it with a clear path to the door.

His foot landed wrong on a hidden root, breaking him out of his reverie, and Fuyuhiko righted himself with a swear.

Peko was at his side in an instant, holding out her hands without actually touching him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he said, scowling as he tested his footing. His ankle still hurt. It wouldn’t be much longer before he wasn’t able to hide his limp, but he was fucking sick of sitting around. Not with Souda’s nervous twitching dialed up to a ten. Not with Tsumiki’s wounded looks and Koizumi’s discerning frowns. Especially not with the way Peko was acting, jerking to attention every time he so much as stumbled even though she still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Half the reason he’d asked her to come out here today was so they could fucking talk. Or try, at least.

Peko moved half a pace in front of him as they continued. Even though she was following his lead, she probably wanted to test the terrain or something. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He didn’t know how to put the ache in his chest into words.

As they descended the hill, dread wound tighter at the base of his neck. It had been hell getting out of that cave, and now he was going back on purpose.

I can leave, he reminded himself. I can go back to the cabin, for better or worse. And I’m not alone.

“Here.” Fuyuhiko motioned for her to turn right. They approached a narrow cliff face, half-folded on itself as if some giant had carelessly shoved a sheet of rock to the side. He took care moving the foliage to the side as he made his way to the opening in the rock. He was sure they hadn’t been followed, but they needed to keep this place well-hidden.

“We should’ve brought a torch,” Peko said as she followed him into the cool embrace of the cave. The drop in temperature made his skin crawl.

“I got one inside. Wasn’t my choice, but I know this place like the back of my fucking hand.”

He kept one hand on the wall, feeling the familiar ridges beneath his fingertips, and reached back with his other. For a moment he was afraid Peko would pull away, but she found him in the dark and circled her fingers around his wrist.

The pain in his ankle grew worse as they walked. He wasn’t sure if it was the temperature or just the memory of being here. He crouched down with a wince and felt around for the supplies he knew were against this wall. He lit the torch with the camp stove, shutting off the flame as soon as it had transferred, and pushed himself to his feet.

He watched Peko’s face as she took in the interior of the cave. Her gaze lingered on the empty cans he’d stuffed with cloth scraps and pine needles in a desperate attempt to create some form of insulation. Her eyes moved to the pile of wooden crates and stayed there.

“It’s all food,” he said. “Not good food, but it kept me alive.”

Peko was silent for a long moment. “Are you going to tell the others?”

“There’s eleven of us. We’d burn through it in a month. Maybe less.” He faltered as her brow wrinkled. “Look, we’re doing okay right now. I’m keeping this as a contingency.”

“For when the game disappears again?” From the stiffness in her tone, it was clear she already knew the answer.

“For when shit goes downhill.” He tried to catch her eye. “You know it’s gonna happen sooner or later.”

Peko shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

“There’s nowhere else to go,” he continued, trying to keep his voice even. “We try to leave, find civilization somewhere, we’d die and no one would know. This place at least buys us a little time.”

“Time for what?” Peko asked, her voice so distant it was like he wasn’t even in the cave with her.

“To survive.” He threw his hands out. “If it’s between this place and getting fucking disemboweled by my classmates, I know what I’d choose. Understand?”

She wouldn’t look at him as she spoke. “After you disappeared, we were desperate. We knew we would die if we didn’t eat something. We drew from a lottery and it chose Hinata. We hunted him down, tried to kill him. Komaeda cut off his own arm to stop it.”

Chills that had nothing to do with the cave crawled down his arms.

“Sagishi drowned because we let them. We watched them die because we needed to eat. We buried Nidai whole but we talked about eating him too. And when we killed Hanamura—” She brought her fingers halfway to her mouth and stopped.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Fuyuhiko said. “This group is going to kill itself trying to survive. I’m not gonna be a part of it.” He gestured at the piled crates. “This is another option for us. If we—”

“I was complicit in all of it,” Peko said, and he stopped short. She rarely raised her voice, and it had never been directed at him. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she finally met his gaze. “I was going to be the one to kill Hinata. I stood and did nothing while Sagishi drowned. I cut Hanamura’s legs so he wouldn’t be able to run from us.” Her upper lip trembled in a half-snarl. “If you’re going to condemn the others to die, then condemn me with them.”

Pain lodged itself in his throat. He shook his head, his own eyes stinging. “I’m not leaving you behind. Whatever happens, I’m not… I didn’t spend months in this fucking cave for it to go down like this.”

“I didn’t stop looking for you,” she said in a small voice. “I knew I needed to survive because I didn’t want to stop looking.”

He looked away and took a moment to catch his breath. He wasn’t stupid. Nothing in life had just been handed to him and nothing ever would be. That was how the world worked. But there was an insistent, stinging part of him that wanted to scream at how unfair all of this was.

There was another loathsome part of him that burned with a sense of betrayal.

“We don’t touch any of it,” he said hoarsely, gesturing at the food. “We don’t tell the others either. There’s still… Things could change.”

“I won’t say anything,” Peko said, her voice subdued but even. She’d always been better at reining in her temper. “Thank you for trusting me.”

His head snapped towards her. “I’ve always trusted you. Even after all that shit with Hanamura, that still hasn’t changed.”

“But you don’t trust the others.”

“I know you,” Fuyuhiko said, and hoped that was still true. “Better than anyone else. I know what you’re capable of. It’s never scared me.”

Peko closed her eyes. “Sonia knows about us.”

“That’s fine. I was thinking maybe we should come clean to the rest of the group.” His lips twitched in a bitter half-smile. “Reputation doesn’t really matter out here, does it?”

“I think it still does. But I don’t have a problem with telling the others.”

Fuyuhiko nodded. They’d just be trading one secret for another. The shadows at the edges of the cave seemed to draw in close.

“We should get back.” He took a step towards the exit and stopped. “Are we good?”

Peko had fallen into place beside him. “I’m not upset with you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m…really glad that you’re still here.”

A little bit of the ache in his chest eased. “I’m glad you are, too.”

They made their way out of the cave and he stashed the torch near the entrance, where it would hopefully stay dry. Peko scanned the area while he pulled branches and vines back into place.

“What do you think it was that you saw that night?” she asked. “The thing you said was chasing you?”

“I don’t know.” He leaned against the rock face so he could take some weight off his ankle. “It was shaped like a person, I think, but its eyes were…” He shook his head like he could dispel the memory. How many nights had he waited in the freezing dark, terrified the thing would find him in the cave and finish hunting him down? “Its eyes weren’t human. It looked like it didn’t even care. Like I was just a bug in its path.” He blew out an exasperated sigh. “That sounds fucking stupid.”

“We were all close to starvation that night.”

And there it is. “You think I was just seeing things?”

She didn’t balk at the indignation in his voice. “I’ve seen no evidence that there’s any kind of intelligent creature in these woods except for us.”

“The radio.” He held out one finger, then another. “No one ever fessed up to skinning Nanami, either. I swear on my life something came after me that night. Peko, something is wrong out here.”

She was silent for a long moment, mulling over his words.

“Whatever it is, I won’t let it hurt you.”

Fuyuhiko struggled to swallow. “Same goes for you,” he managed.

Peko didn’t look at him, but she stayed close as they walked back to the cabin.

Chapter Text

[MRKOTO888 sent a link]

MRKOTO888: Have you seen this?

MRKOTO888: I could see her being scouted as the Ultimate Ballet Dancer in a few years.

NATAJELLY11: you’re obsessed with hope’s peak

MRKOTO888: Haha, I guess I’m just getting excited. This is around the time when they usually announce the incoming class.

MRKOTO888: When I was in middle school, I would check the message boards pretty regularly.

NATAJELLY11: me too actually

NATAJELLY11: was hoping i’d get scouted myself

MRKOTO888: Really? What for? Do you have a talent?

NATAJELLY11: nope. i thought it might be snowboarding when i was younger, but all i got out of that was a pretty nasty concussion

NATAJELLY11: i still have a scar on the side of my head

NATAJELLY11: i guess i thought they’d figure out what my talent was before i did. which obviously isn’t how it works

NATAJELLY11: i was a stupid kid.

MRKOTO888: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with admiring talent. Or wanting to be talented.

NATAJELLY11: i kind of let it take over my life though

MRKOTO888: What changed?

NATAJELLY11: i guess it goes back to the thing we first talked about

NATAJELLY11: talented people can also be bad people

NATAJELLY11: and there’s worse things than being ordinary

MRKOTO888: That’s a pretty strong statement.

MRKOTO888: Are you talking about people who use their talents for “evil,” so to speak?

NATAJELLY11: i guess that’s part of it

MRKOTO888: Can I ask you something?

NATAJELLY11: sure

MRKOTO888: Are you happy being ordinary?

NATAJELLY11: who said i was ordinary

MRKOTO888: Sorry, are you happy being the Ultimate Snowboarder?

NATAJELLY11: shut up lmao

NATAJELLY11: not really actually

MRKOTO888: Not really what?

NATAJELLY11: you asked if i was happy

NATAJELLY11: being whatever

NATAJELLY11: not really

NATAJELLY11: but that’s just life

MRKOTO888: You think so?

MRKOTO888: That’s bleak.

NATAJELLY11: life is bleak. shit is fucngkng shit

MRKOTO888: Are you alright?

NATAJELLY11: two beers + empty stomach

NATAJELLY11: my friend keeps calling me an old man. i feel like my tolerance should be better at this age

MRKOTO888: Are you an old man?

NATAJELLY11: physically no

NATAJELLY11: spiritually maybe

MRKOTO888: Haha.

MRKOTO888: I’m sorry you’re unhappy. I wish there was something I could do to help you.

NATAJELLY11: it’s fine dude

NATAJELLY11: honestly it’s kind of nice to talk to someone who doesn’t know me irl

MRKOTO888: Why?

MRKOTO888: Do you have a bad smell?

NATAJELLY11: ha

NATAJELLY11: i just have like. baggage. makes people act differently around me

NATAJELLY11: i have trouble making new friends. it’s hard for me to get close

NATAJELLY11: for whatever reason it’s a lot easier when it’s just text on a screen

MRKOTO888: Is that why you message me sometimes during work?

NATAJELLY11: work is boring

NATAJELLY11: i like taking to you

MRKOTO888: I like talking to you, too.

2013

Fuyuhiko tried to make nice with the others despite the obvious apprehension on both sides. Tsumiki oscillated between fussing at his ankle and apologizing profusely for fussing at his ankle, both of which only worsened his temper. Koizumi sometimes looked at him with a frown, the way she did when she couldn’t quite get a shot to focus properly. Sonia was withdrawn and steely-eyed, and he found himself holding his breath every time she and Peko left on a hunting trip.

Meanwhile, Souda had taken to avoiding the girls while trying to pretend he wasn’t. Hinata and Komaeda were usually wrapped up in their own thing (and good for them, all things considered) and everyone knew Tanaka was far from Souda’s first choice. So he’d taken to attaching himself to Fuyuhiko’s side.

“I could probably make a walking stick for you or something,” Souda said as he and Fuyuhiko ascended the lake path, shoulders laden with buckets of water. “I’m not super great at it, but I’ve had some practice with carving stuff. I could find a decent-shaped branch and make a crutch or something.”

Fuyuhiko bit back a sigh. “These lids are your work, huh?”

“Yep.” Souda smiled at the crude wooden disks fitted over the buckets. They looked like crap, but they helped prevent spillage during the walk from the lake, and that was basically gold out here. “Seriously, though. Are you sure you’re good?”

“I already told you I’m fine.” He grit his teeth. He was limping again and he couldn’t help it. It had helped a little when Tsumiki had wrapped his ankle, but the downhill walk had obliterated any relief he’d felt earlier. “Just because my leg’s hurt doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit around like a fucking invalid.” And because it was just the two of them, he added, “At least I still have my leg.”

“Yeah.” Souda’s voice cracked on his attempted laugh. “I don’t know how he deals with it, man. I guess Hinata’s been helping with stuff, but I couldn’t imagine…” He flexed his fingers as if to check they were still there.

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure Hinata’s giving him a lot of help.”

A beat of silence passed and Souda said, “Oh my god, do you think he helps him change and stuff?”

Fuyuhiko stared at him, but Souda only blinked like this was the first time the thought had crossed his mind. His lips twitched and he shook his head. “You are so fucking dumb.”

“What?” Souda asked, but Fuyuhiko only strode ahead towards the cabin. “Wait, what?”

He was still smiling when he set the buckets down on the porch, and the realization dampened his mood a little. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He’d forgotten that there were still things worth smiling about.

Most of the others were out doing chores, so the living room was empty except for Mioda, who was staring listlessly into the fire. She didn’t acknowledge him, even when he set one of the buckets down by the hearth.

He shot her a pointed look. “A little help?”

She blinked, a lock of hair twisted around her finger. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

The three of them carried in the water and started the filtration and boiling process. While they waited for the water to heat up, Fuyuhiko leaned against the arm of the sofa to rest his ankle. If he actually sat down it would be twice as hard to get back up.

“It’s warmer today,” Souda said to no one in particular. He was fully reclined in his armchair, his bouncing leg making an erratic beat on the floor. “Soon it won’t be so cold at night. I don’t really like sweating, though.”

Mioda moved her head in what could barely be considered a nod.

“Wish we had cold water, too. To drink, you know?”

“Maybe you’d be cooler if you sat still for five fucking seconds,” Fuyuhiko said.

Souda stopped bouncing his leg and fell silent.

A few minutes later, Owari opened the door, pushing it hard enough that it bounced against the wall.

“Yo, Souda. One of the traps is busted.”

He sat up like he’d been spring-loaded and turned to her. “Uh, don’t Sonia and Pekoyama handle that?”

“Yeah, but they’re taking the long route today and I don’t wanna wait. You can figure it out, right?”

“Maybe.” He shifted his weight. She hadn’t really phrased it as a question. “Um, yeah. I guess I could take a look.”

“Good.” She pushed herself backwards off the door frame. “If you can make more, I think we should put them by the tunnel entrances, too.”

Fuyuhiko’s head snapped towards her, but Owari was already hopping off the porch, Souda shuffling after her. He bit back a curse and staggered after them.

“Owari, what tunnels?” He tried to keep the urgency out of his voice. If one of the others ended up stumbling on the cave with the supplies, there was nothing he could do about it, but he didn’t want to cross that bridge just yet.

She cast an impatient glance over her shoulder as she headed for one of the trails. “The ones that go underground.”

Souda caught his eye and shrugged. When Fuyuhiko fell into stride beside him, he said, “Did you, uh, wanna help with the traps?”

“I have fuck all to do otherwise.”

“Fair enough.” He patted his pockets and sighed. “I probably should’ve brought my tool bag. Could you—” He shook his head. “I’ll just run and grab it real quick.”

He ran off before Fuyuhiko could curse him out.

Grumbling under his breath, he tried to keep up with Owari’s long strides. Even though he knew that wasn’t how it worked, there were times he wished he could borrow Souda’s mallet and beat his ankle into submission. Tsumiki’s rambling about corrective surgery and physical therapy had made him want to tear his hair out. It was embarrassing not to be able to do something as basic as walk normally.

He just hoped he wouldn’t have to run any time soon.

Owari stopped short beside a pair of trees. She turned around, one finger outstretched, and frowned. “Where’s Souda?”

“Went to grab his tool bag. He’ll catch up with us, assuming his dumb ass doesn’t get lost.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

He bristled involuntarily. “I’m curious about the tunnels you mentioned.”

“Yeah, I think there’s one nearby.” She began kicking her way through the brush. “I was digging around for berries and ended up finding it.”

“You go inside?”

Owari made a tshh sound and knelt so she could lift up a particularly thick branch. “Figured maybe it’d be easier to catch rabbits if we put traps right at the entrance to the tunnels, yeah?”

Fuyuhiko peered over her shoulder. The tunnel entrance in question was barely the size of his fist.

“That’s not a tunnel.”

She sat back on her heels and gave him a look. “Yeah, it is.”

“No, it’s not.” He pointed an indignant finger at the opening. “That’s a hole. I thought you meant an actual fucking tunnel.”

“What the hell’s the difference?” She let the branch fall back into place. “It’s a tunnel for rabbits. Ants make tunnels too.”

“What the fuck do ants have to do with this?”

“Yo.” Panting, Souda jogged towards them, his bag of tools jangling in one fist. “Why are we talking about ants?”

“No reason.” Fuyuhiko waved him off and turned away.

“The trap’s over here.” Owari sprang to her feet and showed Souda the spot. “Can you fix it?”

“Uh…” He knelt and set his tools beside him. “What, this string?”

“I dunno. I just know it’s broken. It’s not supposed to be all saggy like that.”

“Well, then how’s it supposed to be?”

“Not like that.” She gestured haphazardly. “Can you fix it or not?”

Fuyuhiko resisted the urge to rub his temples. He should’ve stayed back at the cabin.

“Okay, so this…” The brush rustled as Souda fiddled with the trap. “Was like this…?” The branch he was holding slipped from his grasp and he cursed as it smacked him in the face. “Okay, guess not.”

They waited in silence as Souda messed around with the trap. Owari rocked on her heels, impatience increasing with her tempo, while Fuyuhiko glared daggers at the spot where the rabbit hole was hidden.

“Okay, this is, like, kind of a hassle.” Souda sat back on his heels and sighed. “Can’t we just wait for Sonia and Pekoyama to come back?”

“Seriously?” Owari’s shoulders rose an inch. “You can’t figure it out?”

“I’m not used to this kind of stuff. I work with engines and shit—”

“You could at least try to make yourself useful.”

Souda flinched like he’d been struck. Fuyuhiko stepped forward.

“That was uncalled for, Owari. It’s not the end of the world if we go one day with one of the traps being broken, yeah?”

She rounded on him, fists clenched. “We’re already behind. Pekoyama said we were supposed to be stocking up for the winter. We’re not even close to that.” She stepped closer. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see what we had to go through.”

“It wasn’t a fucking picnic for me, either.” He lifted his chin so he could meet her glare. “We’re all doing what we can—”

“It’s not enough!” Her face was red, eyes wide and bloodshot. “We’re letting everyone down if we don’t do our best. I’m letting everyone down.” Her voice cracked. “We didn’t have enough, and that’s why Sagishi and Coach are dead.”

Souda’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

Fuyuhiko searched her face, dread eclipsing rage. “Owari, what the fuck does that mean?”

“He didn’t…” Her jaw worked even as angry tears filled her eyes. “It wasn’t an accident. What happened.”

“What?” Souda asked in a thin, high whisper.

“Before the funeral, I was going through Coach’s stuff. I was looking for something he might’ve liked other than his whistle. I found his meds and the bottle was still half-full.” She ran a hand through her hair, fingers tearing through the knotted strands. “He was supposed to take them whenever he was showing symptoms. For him to have that bad of an attack out of nowhere…I think he just stopped taking them.”

“Holy shit,” Fuyuhiko breathed. Souda put a hand over his eyes.

“He never even let on,” Owari continued, her cheeks wet with tears. “He kept telling me not to give up, and this whole time he was—” She gulped back a sob.

“Oh my god.” Souda looked up. “He was one of the people who suggested chasing Hinata. H-Hunting him down. I thought it was fucking crazy at the time, but maybe he was trying to…”

“He was gonna give himself up,” Fuyuhiko said quietly. “If he died of a heart attack, it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault but his own.”

“And we didn’t even… We just buried him.” Owari spun and kicked a tree, bark splintering off the trunk with a sharp crack. “God dammit!”

Fuyuhiko took a deep breath, feeling a similar urge to hit something. Nidai had been waiting for weeks for his own heart to give out. Maybe he’d resented it, the stubborn way it kept beating while his classmates died.

And when he’d finally gotten what he wanted, it had been too late for it to matter.

“I bet I can…” Blinking rapidly, Souda pushed himself up and went back to the trap. “I bet I can figure something out.”

“You don’t have to,” Owari said thickly.

Souda twisted the rope into a knot, pulled it taut, and said, so quietly Fuyuhiko barely caught it, “Yeah, I do.”

Hajime bit his lip, stars filling his vision, and let out a shuddering sigh as he came. He eased his grip on Komaeda’s shoulder, panting a little as he came down from his high. 

Komaeda sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How was that?”

“Really good.” It was good every time, but Komaeda always seemed happy with positive feedback, and it wasn’t like Hajime wasn’t going to discourage him in any way.

He lifted his hips a little so he could pull his boxers and pants back up. The first time Komaeda had gone down on him, he’d blacked out and nearly given himself a concussion falling over—hence why he was currently sitting against the base of the least bumpy tree they could find. He let his head fall back, closed his eyes, and let out a contented sigh.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?” Komaeda asked, his hand idly rubbing up and down his thigh.

“Maybe.” Without opening his eyes, he pulled him closer so Komaeda was reclining against his chest. He settled his chin against his soft, fluffy hair and decided these were probably ideal napping conditions in their current situation.

“How remarkably lazy of you.” He took one of Hajime’s hands and held it loosely, his thumb tracing the lines on his palm.

“I don’t see you making any effort to get up.”

“There’s not much I can contribute with just one hand. I’m probably better staying out of the way.” As if to emphasize his point, he settled further against Hajime’s chest.

“Whatever. They’re not going to miss us anyway.”

He’d started volunteering for water duty more often. His shoulders ached more often than not, but it also gave him a bit of a pass when he decided to sneak off with Komaeda for an hour or so.

Which had become a sort of daily thing recently. Hajime wasn’t sure if he was still experiencing the aftereffects of the soup, but his libido had been much higher, and Komaeda seemed happy to oblige. Maybe he was feeling the same way. Even when he was trying to focus on other things, his thoughts kept creeping back to that night, reliving the good parts the two of them had shared before returning to the carnage outside the cabin. Fragments of that hazy memory had resurfaced one by one from his subconscious.

Some of those fragments had started to bother him.

Komaeda rolled his head to the side with a lazy hum. “You got tense all of a sudden.”

“Did I?” Hajime replied, even though he could feel it in his body. He didn’t really want to bring this up. It felt silly, but…

“Is something bothering you?”

“It’s stupid.”

“That’s kind of a luxury, isn’t it? To worry about something stupid in the middle of all of this.”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if Komaeda was mocking him or not, but he could see the humor in it. Funnily enough, it made him feel lucky to have something to worry about that wasn’t life-or-death. “Maybe I’m lazy and spoiled.”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes before Komaeda spoke again.

“You’re still tense.”

Hajime hesitated. If Komaeda was going to press the issue, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk about it. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Do you think I’ll actually find it weird?”

“It’s kind of personal.”

Komaeda’s hand was tracing random patterns on his knee. “I don’t mind sharing.”

He took a moment to gather himself. Komaeda could probably feel the uneasy tempo of his heartbeat. “Have you ever been with anyone before this?”

“Hm?”

“Like…” He gestured between them as well as he could since they were pressed up against one another. “You know.”

His chest shook with a small, sardonic laugh. “I don’t think this will come as a surprise to you, but not many people have been willing to touch me as intimately as you have.”

“Not many?”

A beat of silence. “None.”

“Okay,” Hajime said quickly. “That’s fine. I’m not judging. But…have you ever been in any kind of romantic relationship with anyone else?”

“I think that would be even less likely than the physical aspect.”

His tone was light, but Hajime still felt bad about asking.

“I’m not trying to be weird or jealous or anything,” he said. “I just…”

He couldn’t ignore the fact that on the night of the feast, while they’d been entwined on the forest floor, Komaeda had started calling out a name that wasn’t his.

Komaeda sat up and moved off his lap so they could speak face to face. It was hard to read the litany of emotions on his face. He seemed composed, for the most part, but something like sadness bled through his placid mask.

“When we’re having sex,” he said softly, “the only person I think about is you.”

Later, Hajime would wonder how things would have gone if he’d kept his mouth shut, if he’d just ignored the nagging sense that something was wrong.

It was too late, and the question had already slipped past his lips.

“Then who is Kamukura?”

Chapter Text

2013

Komaeda’s expression didn’t change. The silence seemed to draw out forever.

“Izuru Kamukura,” he finally said, uttering the name almost reverently.

Hajime’s stomach did an unhappy, jealous twist. “…Who is that?”

He tilted his head, one eyebrow arching a fraction of an inch. “You don’t recognize the name?”

“Should I?”

“Izuru Kamukura was the founder of Hope’s Peak Academy.”

Recognition finally sparked in his brain. There was a portrait in a polished frame hanging in the entrance to the Reserve Course building. Hajime recalled the old-fashioned hairstyle, the lumpy nose and stern brow, and that was as far as he got before his mind ground to a halt again.

“Okay.” He blinked, caught between bafflement and relief and the rapidly fading hope that Komaeda was playing a joke on him. “Um, what?”

Komaeda lowered his gaze to his hand, which was clenching and unclenching the fabric of his pants. His mind seemed to be somewhere far away for a moment. “That was how you introduced yourself to me. As Izuru Kamukura.”

Hajime wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t bring himself to. “What? No, I didn’t.”

“I couldn’t sleep one night, so I left the cabin,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “I went walking through the woods. The moon was full, so I didn’t have much trouble seeing. Lucky me.” An ironic smile curved his lips. “That was when I saw you.”

This was the first time he’d ever heard Komaeda speak like this, like he was describing some sort of revelation. Like he’d watched the moon dip down and touch the earth.

“I could tell right away that you were different. Your eyes were different…they were red like rubies. It felt as if your gaze could run through me like a spear. But it wasn’t just that.” Komaeda’s eyes had taken on a feverish light. “I could feel the amazing talent emanating from you. It was like the sun’s rays.”

“That didn’t happen.” Hajime’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth, as if he’d forgotten how to use it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We spoke.” Komaeda was talking faster now, gazing into his eyes with something like desperation. “It wasn’t for long, but it was enough. We made a deal. I’d keep your secret, and in return I’d get to watch you work.”

“Stop,” Hajime croaked. He didn’t know if Komaeda had somehow been drugged again or if he was just freaking out for no reason, but hearing this made an unfathomable dread sink in his gut. “I don’t know what this is, but just stop.”

“You wanted to see what would happen.” He leaned closer. “What a group of Ultimates would do with their survival on the line. And the results have proven rather fruitful so far, haven’t they?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He leaned away, but he was already pressed against the tree. “We never had this conversation, Komaeda. We never… How could you think I would want to turn this shit into some experiment?”

“I would never dream to understand the inner workings of Kamukura’s mind. It’s enough to know I have some small part to play in all of this.”

The half-delirious smile on his face sent chills down Hajime’s arms.

“What is going on with you?” he demanded. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Me?” His smile faded. “I’m just following your lead, really. You’ve been the one keeping us here. You were the one who decided to extend things when Souda was about to fix the radio.”

His spine straightened like he’d been shocked. “You think I was the one who broke the radio?”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that no one ever confessed? That no motive ever revealed itself? You never took credit for it, but I couldn’t think of anyone but you.”

“I didn’t break the radio,” he said, and tried not to think of how sore his hands had been the day Souda had found the wrecked machine. He’d chalked it up to cleaning the last parts in cold weather the previous day, but— “I didn’t do it. I never did any of the shit you’re talking about.”

“Or you don’t remember.” A tiny frown wrinkled his brow. “That explains why you reacted the way you did to Nanami.”

Hajime jolted like his body had been dunked in ice water. He gripped the tree and hauled himself to his feet, breathing hard. “Don’t say that. I didn’t—I would never do that to her.”

“It’s okay.” Komaeda struggled to stand and reached out without quite touching him. His eyes shone with admiration. “Think about the amazing potential you have. You saved us. You fed us. You could give us so much hope.”

He took a step back and his knees shook as a terrible thought occurred to him. “This conversation you say you had with me…with Kamukura…when did that happen?”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “It was early on. September, maybe.”

His throat was so tight it was hard to get his next words out. “That day last autumn. It was like a switch flipped. You started being nice to me for no reason.” His gaze fell to Komaeda’s missing arm. “Was that why? The whole reason you risked your life to save me was because you thought…”

Komaeda’s face was perfectly expressionless. “Did you really think I’d take any interest in you if you were just an ordinary Reserve Course student?”

Hajime let out a hoarse, involuntary sound. The back of his throat burned. He gathered the last scraps of his composure and straightened.

“This,” he gestured haphazardly between them, “is over. We’re done. Leave me the fuck alone from now on.”

He stormed out of the clearing, his shoulder knocking against Komaeda’s, and didn’t look back.

His footsteps dragged him aimlessly through the brush. He held his breath until he couldn’t any longer, until the burning in his chest became unbearable, and then he started to cry.

It had all been a lie. Komaeda giving him tea, holding him in the attic, offering his bleeding arm as a sacrifice, every kiss and touch they’d shared since then, it had all been for someone else. It had all been for some fucking delusion.

It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. He’d woken up sore the morning they’d eaten Nanami, but that didn’t mean anything. Every day he’d been sore and cold and hungry. He…

His hand crept to his breast pocket, where he’d found Nanami’s hair clip that night. The one she’d worn the day she died. The one she should have been buried with. He never would have taken it from her body, and yet—

And yet.

Twigs and leaf litter crunched beneath his knees as they hit the ground. His hand clutched his chest, as if to keep his heart from bursting through his ribs.

Sore muscles. Scratches and bruises he never remembered getting. Dreams of moving through the woods like the wind.

He’d skinned his own best friend.

He’d destroyed the radio.

He was the reason they were all dead. Everyone—Saionji, Nanami, Sagishi, Nidai, Hanamura—they were all dead because of him.

Komaeda, looking down at him, their small height difference feeling like a mile. Did you really think I’d take any interest in you if you were just an ordinary Reserve Course student?

He was up again, running despite the jagged breaths knifing through his chest. Bushes and roots snagged his ankles.

Ordinary.

He was clumsy sometimes. His strength was average at best. He was unremarkable in a crowd. He only got good grades if he studied hard. He’d spent his whole life trying to be more, and the only remarkable thing about him was the fucking monster living inside of him.

He tripped, picked himself up, and kept running. He recalled the past eight months, pulling at each event like a thread that would cause the whole thing to unravel. His application for the assistant position could have been rejected. He could have refused the job altogether and worked at a convenience store over summer break. He would have watched on the news as Class 77 was lost in the wilderness and rescued a few months later.

If not, his seat belt on the plane could have been a few inches looser. His head would have cracked against the seat when the plane crashed, hard enough for that to be the end. Souda would have fixed the radio, found them all help. Nanami would be alive to grieve him, none the wiser of what he was capable of.

Again, for the hundredth time, he pictured himself on the edge of the cliff. Going over the side instead of Nanami.

It should have been me. It was always supposed to be me.

He was back again, his toes at the edge of the precipice. His subconscious kept leading him back here, and he finally realized why. A part of him had always known this was where he was supposed to be.

A couple tears fell from his chin and disappeared in the drop. The rock face looked different, more severe, without snow to cushion its rough edges. He could still see the ledge where Nanami had died. He could go further, probably.  Some kind of twisted humor rattled in his chest. If he was ever going to be good at anything, it could be really pitching himself over the edge, getting some real distance so there was no chance he would—

“The fuck are you doing?”

Hajime flinched and turned around. Kuzuryu stood at the edge of the tree line, glaring daggers at him.

“Step the fuck away from there or I swear I’ll feed your body to the wolves.”

What kind of threat is that supposed to be? a distant part of him wondered. His body swayed a little, the gravitational pull of the void beckoning to him.

Kuzuryu took slow steps toward him, favoring his right ankle. “Look if you’re going through some kind of breakup drama right now, I don’t give a shit.”

“What?” Hajime croaked.

“Komaeda came back to the cabin by himself, wouldn’t say where you went. Thought it was fishy, so me and Souda went looking for you. Now, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your relationship status, but if you’re about to kill yourself over Nagito Komaeda,” Kuzuryu jabbed a finger in the general direction of the cabin, “I swear I’ll lose all respect for you.”

A sardonic laugh escaped his lips. It didn’t even sound like him. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

“Listen.” Kuzuryu limped closer, his pace picking up. Hajime tensed and tried to pull away as he seized the front of his jacket, but Kuzuryu put all of his weight into yanking him away from the cliff’s edge. He threw him to the ground hard enough to wind him.

He grunted at the impact, pain shooting up his elbow. “What the fuck?”

Kuzuryu pointed at him and said, “Stay,” like he was a dog. He lowered himself to the ground with a sigh and rested his forearms on his knees. “You try that again, you’d better hope I don’t catch you.”

Hajime glanced at Kuzuryu’s injured ankle. The toll winter had taken on him hadn’t left his face yet. He’d been chased off the night of the snowstorm, the night Hajime had told himself he couldn’t remember because he’d been starving. A chill ran down his spine. If Kuzuryu had known the truth about who had nearly killed him that night, he probably would have stood and watched him throw himself off the cliff.

He dragged himself into a sitting position. “What do you care?”

Kuzuryu glared at him, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Do you know how many people have died so I could live as long as I have?”

It was a bizarre thing for a teenager to say, but Hajime only shook his head.

“I’ve watched five different men take bullets that were meant for me. I’ve watched people I care about put their life on the line so I didn’t have to.” His upper lip trembled. “I ate part of one of my classmates so I didn’t fucking starve to death.”

Tears stung his eyes and Hajime looked away.

“I still haven’t done anything that would make those sacrifices mean something,” Kuzuryu continued, his voice ragged. “My life isn’t mine anymore. Not until I’ve paid it all back.” Shakily, he rose to his knees and leaned forward so he could jab a finger into Hajime’s chest. “Buck the fuck up. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and make it all mean something.”

Hajime met his gaze, his throat impossibly tight. There was nothing he’d ever be able to do to make up for what he’d done. For what he still could do, without having any control over it.

He thought back to the last time he’d stood on the cliff’s edge, the day he’d stared his own death in the face. The only thing on his mind had been making that moment mean something. He could still die. Maybe this just wasn’t the right time to do it.

“Okay,” he rasped and pushed himself to his feet. “I hear you.”

“Good,” Kuzuryu said, the tremor in his voice barely audible. Hajime reached over to help him stand but he slapped his hand away. “Don’t do that shit again.”

“I won’t,” he lied, and kept pace with him as they walked back to the cabin.

July 8, 2022

Hajime Hinata had a lock on the outside of his bedroom door.

It was automatic; it locked every night at eleven and unlocked at seven the next morning. He lived on the tenth floor but he’d painted over the seams of his windows too. His landlord could take it up with him when he eventually moved.

He knew it wouldn’t stop Kamukura from leaving the bedroom if he really wanted to. It was only for his peace of mind. The only thing that scared him more than waking up somewhere he didn’t recognize was waking up in his bed unaware that he’d left at all.

He’d missed the lock once, back when it had been set for ten at night. He’d lost track of time at work and a problem with the train had doubled his commute home, and by the time he’d made it to his apartment the door to his bedroom had been barred shut. He’d set himself up in the dining room with a double espresso and a computer game and when he’d gone into work the next morning, his coworkers had asked if he was hungover. After that, he’d set the lock to eleven and splurged on taxis when he needed to.

He’d moved out of his parents’ house the week after Hope’s Peak Academy had set him up with a job. He’d bought the least comfortable couch he could find so he wouldn’t be tempted to fall asleep on it. He left his cell phone in the kitchen at night. He hadn’t had sex in years.

Alone in his apartment, days turned into weeks turned into months that slipped through his fingers like sand.

He was scraping up the leftovers of his microwave dinner when his phone buzzed.

MRKOTO888: That was an interesting comment you made on the Genocide Jack post.

NATAJELLY11: stalker

MRKOTO888: I was browsing the true crime page long before you showed up. Technically you’re the interloper.

NATAJELLY11: maybe you should stick to the big vocabulary page

MRKOTO888: (￣～￣;)

MRKOTO888: Anyway, what makes you support the DID theory in that case?

NATAJELLY11: i’ve just done a lot of research on that topic and it mostly lines up

MRKOTO888: Well, your opinion matches what most experts have said.

MRKOTO888: Sometimes I think people come up with outlandish theories just to be contrarian.

NATAJELLY11: i used to know a guy like that

MRKOTO888: Really?

NATAJELLY11: he was actually really smart. he just had a weird way of showing it

MRKOTO888: Was?

NATAJELLY11: i don’t think those two murders last month were genocide jack, though.

MRKOTO888: The M.O. and victim profiles match.

MRKOTO888: Do you think it’s a copycat killer?

NATAJELLY11: yeah

NATAJELLY11: it just seems weird that they’d come back from a ten year hiatus like that. it’s probably just some weirdo looking for clout or something.

NATAJELLY11: i don’t know how serial killers think

MRKOTO888: That’s probably a good thing.

MRKOTO888: I actually stumbled on some evidence that points to the contrary, though.

NATAJELLY11: what??

MRKOTO888: I probably shouldn’t talk about it over text.

MRKOTO888: I could show you in person.

NATAJELLY11: i’m honestly not sure if you’re trying to sell me something or kidnap me

MRKOTO888: Neither, I promise.

MRKOTO888: I understand if you’re not comfortable meeting in person, though.

NATAJELLY11: i’m in tokyo

MRKOTO888: Me too. Outside of it, technically.

NATAJELLY11: but i’m not that interested in the genocide jack stuff

MRKOTO888: Oh, really?

MRKOTO888: That’s okay, then.

NATAJELLY11: i’m probably gonna watch some tv and head to bed

MRKOTO888: What kind of TV shows do you like to watch?

NATAJELLY11: trivia game shows mostly

MRKOTO888: Spring of Trivia?

NATAJELLY11: yep. it’s starting in a few minutes

MRKOTO888: Want to watch together and guess the answers?

NATAJELLY11: yeah sure

“The cherry blossoms have been blooming a little earlier every year.”

Sonia frowned at the lush pink boughs shading the park walkway. At this point in the summer, the trees would have been flowering for months regardless. She wasn’t sure why the thought had crossed her mind.

“Is that not a good thing?” Corneliu asked from her right. On her other side, Marin was busy scanning the thicket beyond the trees. As much as Sonia enjoyed the beauty of the city parks, there were many spots for paparazzi and other prying eyes to hide. In a way, they were easier to spot than the animals she’d used to hunt.

“It means the planet is getting warmer,” she replied. Perhaps that would be a useful anecdote for her meeting next week with one of Japan’s clean energy coalitions. “It is a small thing, but it worries me.”

“Shame,” Corneliu said, and she murmured an agreement.

The park wasn’t quite as crowded today, at least. The heat was particularly thick, and Sonia could already feel sweat gathering beneath her collar.

“Miss—um, Your Highness!”

Sonia turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Tachibana, one of the girls from the support group, was walking briskly towards her.

Marin was already moving to intercept, but Sonia said, “It’s alright. She’s a friend,” and gave her a warm smile.

Tachibana stopped several feet away, hands fidgeting at waist level. “Sorry. I don’t mean to bother you if you’re busy. I was just getting my steps in and I thought I saw you.”

“I was going for a walk as well. I have a few minutes to talk if you’d like.”

She half-hoped Tachibana would refuse, but of course she stepped forward with bright eyes and a nervous glance at Marin. Sonia sent a meaningful look to both men and they fell back as she and Tachibana continued on side by side. They would still be watching her closely as ever, but at least they would have some semblance of privacy.

“How have you been?” Sonia asked, even though it had only been a day since they’d last seen each other. There weren’t many opportunities for one-on-one discussions during the meetings themselves, and Sonia always left right after they ended so Shirogane could debrief with the others. “How are your classes?”

“Good,” Tachibana replied, though she didn’t seem thoroughly sure of herself. “Um, good. Classes have been going well.”

“You are majoring in health science, correct?”

“That’s right.” She nodded slowly. “And how are you? Do you come to this park often?”

“I’ve only been a few times before. I thought it would be nice to get some fresh air.”

“Yeah.” Tachibana smoothed her hands down the front of her skirt.

Sonia shot her a concerned glance. Most of the students had warmed up to her over the past few weeks. Perhaps she had reverted to being star-struck because it was just the two of them.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” she asked, injecting polite interest into her voice.

“I might hang out with some friends,” she replied in a halting voice. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“Is something wrong?”

Tachibana shot her an uncertain glance and smiled sheepishly. “Um, is it okay if I’m not in character?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I just wasn’t sure how far we’re supposed to take the method acting stuff. I never thought I’d actually run into you outside the meetings, and I wasn’t sure how dedicated you were to the whole thing.”

Sonia stopped walking. The pavement was smooth and clean but she no longer felt confident in her footing. Corneliu and Marin continued their approach, but she nodded at them to keep their distance. She faced Tachibana and said, “Please explain what you mean by method acting.”

“It’s an acting technique,” she said, becoming more animated as she spoke. “You’re supposed to embody your character fully, even if you’re not rehearsing or filming. That’s what we’ve…all been…doing.”

“You all,” Sonia repeated. Her skin felt cold, as if the sun’s rays were no longer reaching her.

“Yeah.” Tachibana shrank a little under her gaze. She’d never acted quite this timid before. The other girl in the group had always been the shyer one, stuttering in a way that reminded her of Tsumiki—

Her breath froze in her lungs. She did a mental inventory of the support group participants, the young men and women she’d thought she’d come to know. Timid Tsunoda. Lanky Morikawa in his neon-patterned clothes. Brash Kawaguchi, who rarely held his tongue.

Tachibana, who had been saying only yesterday that she was thinking of dying her hair blonde.

“You were never in a plane crash,” she said, and her voice sounded foreign to her ears.

“Well, no. Miss Shirogane said she explained to you that it was all a character-building exercise. I thought it was so nice of you, considering…” She blinked rapidly. “You didn’t know?”

“Assume I know nothing,” Sonia said, and this was a mask too—the cold, commanding face of a woman that would one day be in charge of an entire country’s military. There was insistent part of her, a part she did not let forth, that wanted very badly to cry.

“I signed an NDA.” Tachibana struggled to swallow. “But I guess it’s okay. Um, Miss Shirogane casted me and the others to be in a movie about the—” She gestured vaguely. “The, um, crash. We’re not filming for another few months, so Miss Shirogane said it would be helpful to do this character-building exercise where we all pretended to be survivors of a plane crash, and she said that we could do some method acting alongside an actual survivor, but we had to stay in character the whole time.”

“And you were cast to play me,” Sonia said. It took an immense effort to keep her breathing even.

“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I really thought you knew. I-I—”

Sonia held up a hand. It would take ten minutes to exit the park. Twenty to twenty-five back to her apartment, depending on traffic. Another three upstairs and into her bedroom, where she could scream into her pillow. She could hold herself still for thirty-eight minutes.

“Tachibana, I am afraid this is the last time we will speak,” she said, her voice perfectly toneless. “I will not be attending any more of the support group meetings. I’ll make sure to inform Shirogane.”

She nodded, her lips struggling to form words before she settled on another, “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Sonia said, only because she was afraid if she said what she meant it would be something truly horrific.

Chapter Text

July 9, 2022

NATAJELLY11: where would you want to meet?

NATAJELLY11: if you’re still up for it

MRKOTO888: I’ll send you the address.

[MRKOTO888 sent a link.]

NATAJELLY11: is that your house???

MRKOTO888: If you’re not comfortable meeting, I understand.

NATAJELLY11: i can come sunday afternoon

NATAJELLY11: gonna take me a while to get there

MRKOTO888: Sorry. I appreciate you making the journey.

NATAJELLY11: i’ll let you know when i’m close

Fuyuhiko resisted the urge to pace as he waited in the center of the empty warehouse. He hated big spaces like this. Despite the fact that this building was well within Kuzuryu territory, his men had already swept the perimeter, and there was one at each entrance, he was still on high alert for something to creep up out of the dark.

He got just as jumpy in small spaces, too. He wasn’t sure where the fuck he was supposed to feel safe.

The door creaked open. Nishitani entered and stepped aside to let a slim figure through. She stood still for a moment, eyes adjusting to the darkness, then made her way towards him. Fuyuhiko squinted a little, taking in the dark hair, the thick-rimmed glasses.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” she said.

That was Sonia’s voice, alright. He wasn’t sure if she intended her words to be a power play by reminding him that she’d been the one to call this meeting, or if she was just being polite, but he bristled involuntarily.

He gestured to her hair. “What is this, your secret identity?”

“I thought it necessary to remain discreet.”

“Your security team’s gonna be pissed when they find out you snuck off on your own.”

“I trust no harm will come to me.”

He let out a quiet snort, then motioned for her to follow him across the room. They crossed the distance in silence, their footsteps echoing in the shadows. The back of his neck prickled. Sonia had no reason to be concerned for her safety—he wasn’t stupid enough to lay a finger on a royal family member, former classmate or not. If she’d brought any weapons, Nishitani had confiscated them before letting her inside.

He still didn’t like having her walk behind him.

He walked through the backdoor, which led to a secluded part of the docks. The guard standing outside gave an obliging nod and stepped inside.

The breeze from the bay cooled the July air somewhat. Far across the water, the city lights gleamed. With no sound to accompany them, they seemed remote. Imaginary.

A minute later, the squeal of a buzzsaw sounded from inside the building. The drumming of a jackhammer joined it. Fuyuhiko turned to Sonia and raised his voice.

“This meet your criteria?”

She nodded, hands clasped in front of her. “Thank you for accommodating me.”

He regarded her warily. He’d been surprised when she’d been the first to reach out after years of no contact. She’d been next on his list of suspects regarding the blackmail, but given her status it had been next to impossible to figure out how to catch her off guard like he had the others.

She’d gotten to him first, with both the invitation and the surprise: If you are available tomorrow, I would like to meet in person.

I will leave it up to you to choose the location, but I request it be somewhere that other people will not hear loud noises, such as screaming.

Sonia opened her mouth to speak, but Fuyuhiko beat her to it, whipping out the postcard from his pocket. The edges of the paper were fraying from how much he’d handled it.

“Take a look.”

She accepted the postcard and moved closer to the single outdoor light on the side of the building. She stared at the illustration on the front for a long moment before flipping it over. Fuyuhiko chewed on the inside of his cheek, knowing she could probably read the text faster than him.

“One hundred sixty million yen,” she said, handing it back to him. “It’s a rather specific number.”

“I’ve thought a lot about it,” he said. “There were sixteen of us. To start with.” He gave the card a derisive flick and tucked it back into his pocket. “Odds are the exact amount doesn’t mean anything. It’s just another power play.”

“Sixteen students, one teacher, and two crew members.” Sonia put a finger to her chin. “The only people who would know sixteen people survived the plane crash would be one of the survivors themselves.”

He gave her a hard look.

“I see. Have you spoken to everyone else regarding this matter? Even…?”

“Was it you?”

Her lips flattened into a thin line. “As you know, I have no need for money, especially a sum acquired through such unsavory means. And as for the possibility of a psychological power play, I have no desire to inflict that upon you or any of the others.”

“Yeah, blackmail’s not really your M.O., is it?”

She didn’t take the bait. “I would rather assist you in uncovering the culprit. Have you given any thought as to why the note was written in Russian?”

“We were in Russia.”

“Yes, but it is only the two of us that know the language.” She hesitated. “As far as I know. Have you considered the possibility of the culprit being a Russian national?”

“Of course I have.” He’d been extra wary of their contacts in the Russian mafia, but so far no one had shown their hand. “It’s a pretty dumb move though, if they don’t actually have anything. If there is actual material for blackmail out there, it came from one of us.”

Sonia’s expression hardened. “They may have physical evidence. As you said, we were in Russia.”

A chill shot through him. “That’s impossible. The way you guys told it, there was no physical evidence left.”

“We do not know that for sure.” Her expression grew distant, as if she were also remembering those last few days. “Eight and a half years have passed. That is plenty of time for someone to have uncovered something.”

His injured eye socket throbbed with phantom pain. Fuyuhiko resisted the urge to touch his eyepatch. “Well, if you really wanna help, look into the Russian side of things. You have connections I don’t across the border.”

“They may be difficult to leverage, but I will do what I can.” She let out a sigh, shoulders rising and falling with the movement. She held herself like a doll, he realized—perfectly poised, impossibly still. He wondered what it did to her sanity, being a woman, a princess, a survivor, and having to keep everything that made her angry locked away.

It finally hit him, why she’d asked him to set everything up this way. He took a calming breath of his own.

“Your turn."

Sonia blinked in what might have been surprise. “Very well.”

She cast around and her eyes settled on an abandoned toolbox near the door. She rifled through its contents with gloved hands and selected a monkey wrench with rust flecking its red-painted handle. Fuyuhiko watched her test its weight and remembered the serrated hunting knife she’d carried in the woods. The rifle she’d wielded like an extension of her body. When was the last time she’d allowed herself to hurt someone?

Behind him, machinery whirred and screeched.

Wrench in hand, Sonia walked to the black sedan parked behind the building. Her shoulders trembled.

The passenger’s side window went first in a cathartic explosion of broken glass. Sonia circled the car, shattering each window, hammering at the pieces of glass that clung to their frames. The windshield took three blows before caving in against the dashboard. She held the wrench like a machete, lips curled back in a mixture of a snarl and a sob.

Fuyuhiko leaned against the side of the building and stuck his hands into his pockets. He’d gotten this out of his system a few months after returning to Tokyo.

The windows were gone. Sonia decapitated each of the rearview mirrors in a single strike.

His car had been a man named Hanzo Nishiyama, a gun for hire with the blood of five Kuzuryu clan members on his hands. Technically he’d deserved worse. Some of the more ruthless men in the clan had punishment down to a science, twelve-step-process type shit that would make even a hardened intelligence officer sweat. No one had denied him when Fuyuhiko had requested the task, the same way a normal teenager might have asked for a new game console.

Sonia was working on the doors now, leaving fist-sized craters in the sleek black metal. She’d been silent before, but seething groans escaped her now. She had her back to him, but he thought she might be crying.

He hadn’t really cared about punishing Nishiyama. The fact that his life was forfeit had been a convenient excuse to break his ribs, his ankles, whatever he could get at with a metal baseball bat. There were only 206 bones in the human body and not a single one had relieved the rage sitting like hot iron in his chest. At some point, after Nishiyama had fallen silent—dead or unconscious, he couldn’t remember—and there had been nothing except the hollow noise of the bat against broken blood vessels, the futility of what he’d been doing hit him full force.

It hit Sonia now, and she sank to her knees amid chunks of broken glass. Her chest heaved with angry sobs. Fuyuhiko pushed off the wall and walked towards her, stopping at the very edge of the debris.

“You know, that car belongs to one of my guys.”

“I will reimburse you.” Sonia sniffled and went to wipe her eyes before stopping herself. She took off one glove and dragged her thumb beneath her eyelids.

Fuyuhiko stood still, his hands still buried in his pockets. He knew there was nothing useful he could say. He wasn’t sure if he was making things worse by being here. Or if he should even care.

“Do you still think about her?” Sonia half-turned to him, her wig obscuring most of her face.

He resisted the urge to flinch. “Every fucking day.”

She gulped back another sob. “I should not be vengeful.”

He stared hard at her, wishing she would look him in the eye. “What the fuck does it matter what you should and shouldn’t do? Why do you still care?”

She did look at him then, her pale eyes hollow. “I could ask the same of you.”

Fuyuhiko clenched his jaw and looked down at the jagged beads of glass on the concrete. He didn’t know how else to do right by Natsumi. By Peko. Leading the clan was the only way he knew how to pay his debts, if that was even possible.

The glass grated beneath her as Sonia pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you.”

He hardened his expression. “For what? Letting you fuck up one of my cars?”

“For witnessing this.” She glanced off to the side, lost in memory. “I sometimes wonder if it was real.”

Fuyuhiko gestured to his eyepatch. “It was fucking real. Some of us don’t have the luxury of forgetting.”

Sonia’s expression shuttered closed, returning to its porcelain stillness. “I’m aware.”

They walked back to the building and Fuyuhiko opened the door for her. “Wire me the money for the car. Next time you need a favor, you’d better have some intel to trade.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Sonia said, and didn’t look at him as she passed into the dark interior of the building.

July 10, 2022

The driver shot him a skeptical glance in the rearview mirror. “Is this the place?”

Hajime looked out the cab window and scrutinized the wrought iron gate at the side of the road. Behind it lay a long driveway that wound through a well-manicured yard lush with plants. He checked the address on his phone and realized his hand was shaking.

“Yeah. This is it.”

He thanked the driver, paid him, and climbed out of the cab. The air was hot and humid, buzzing with insects but otherwise still. This far out, the area was unnervingly quiet. Besides a handful of conferences for work, Hajime couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this far from the bustle of the city.

He took in the gate, the dark wooden fence embracing the property. He was still waiting for his sense of self-preservation to kick in. He knew it was objectively stupid to walk into the house of a stranger he’d met on the Internet. That was one reason why he hadn’t told anyone where he was going—another objectively stupid move on his part.

There was a little town a mile down the road. If he’d cared at all about his own safety, he would have asked the cab driver to stop there, sat down at the tiny coffee shop and asked his acquaintance to meet him there. He’d have at least been able to get a look at him before potentially wandering into his house.

Without warning, the gate swung open, inviting him inside. The hinges barely made a sound.

Hajime spotted the little camera nestled against one of the columns. He gazed into the lens, knowing he was being watched. He imagined himself looking small and unsure in the fish-eye view.

“Fuck,” he muttered and walked through the gate.

The garden out front was as well-maintained as the gate. Fat bees hummed between tiny white flowers. Through the brush he spotted a koi pond dotted with shiny orange and black fish. The air was fresh and sweet despite the humidity.

The driveway took him to a three-car garage and a stone path leading to the front door. The house itself was two stories, a tasteful mix of traditional and modern architecture. Most of the curtains were open but the windows were clean and polished, making it difficult to see inside. Hajime frowned at his reflection and continued down the path.

His heart was pounding, just fast enough to be unpleasant. He couldn’t remember the last time his emotions had run this high. He’d had a gun pointed at his head a few weeks ago and even then his adrenaline had faded into dull acceptance.

He wasn’t used to actually feeling alive.

He stopped in front of the entrance, a pair of white double doors with expensive-looking wood paneling on either side. He raised a hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock. The person on the other side of the door already knew he was here. He was suddenly terrified of what would happen if he did move, if he let his hand connect with the door—I want this.

There was no more time to make a decision. The door swung inwards, just as silently as the gate, and Hajime’s breath froze in his lungs.

“Hello, Hinata.” Nagito Komaeda smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

Chapter Text

January 24, 2014

“I think they’re gone.”

Souda peered through the narrow window set in the door, pressed against the wall like he was afraid the light filtering through would burn him if it touched his skin.

Hajime couldn’t blame him. It had been surreal, seeing electric light again. He’d stood in the tiny bathroom connected to their hospital room and watched the tap run, half-expecting it to drip and run dry. His fingers kept rubbing the blanket laid over his lap—clean, soft fabric. It felt like they’d been abducted by aliens.

They hadn’t been given any food yet. Hajime assumed he was getting the essentials from the IV hooked to his arm. He resisted the urge to pick at the tape keeping the needle in place. He didn’t like the way it pulled at his skin.

Souda crept back to his bed, dragging his IV stand with him, his steps unsteady in the too-big slippers he’d been given. From what Sonia had been able to glean from the nurses’ rapid-fire Russian, the tiny hospital hadn’t been prepared to receive so many patients, especially in their condition. It was probably why they’d all been crammed into the same room.

“I don’t know how much time we have.” Sonia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her brow furrowed like she was making a conscious effort to stay in the present. “But we should all discuss what we are going to say.”

“S-Say to who?” Tsumiki asked. She was perched on the edge of her mattress, her arm awkwardly angled so it wasn’t pulling the IV. She hadn’t been able to sit still the entire time the nurses had tended to them, shifting her weight like she was waiting for them to ask her to get up and help.

“The press. I imagine they will be waiting for us when we return to Tokyo. Even if we ignore them, our families will want to know what happened. Hope’s Peak Academy may ask for a statement as well. We must ensure that we all give the same story.” Her eyes shifted to the other side of the room. “Kuzuryu, are you awake?”

Hajime followed her gaze and suppressed a shiver. Kuzuryu hadn’t moved since the nurses had brought him back from surgery. A large rectangular bandage had been taped over his right eye.

“You guys won’t shut the fuck up, so yeah,” he ground out. His words were slurred. There was probably a generous amount of pain medication in his IV.

“We will review it again if there is time.” Sonia glanced at the door, one hand fisting in her blanket. The nurses’ visits had been less frequent now that it was nighttime. “Our classmates died in the plane crash. The six of us survived until we were rescued. I..I hunted our food and Tsumiki treated us when we were sick.”

Tsumiki nodded. “I can explain what I had to do. With, um—”

“You used the medical supplies you had packed with you and improvised when necessary. Do not give more details unless prompted.” Sonia’s eyes were clear and sharp now. “What happened after the plane crashed?”

Her jaw trembled. “O-Our classmates died. They died in the crash. We had to survive on our own. Um, we had to hunt. You hunted. Animals.” She struggled to swallow. “Deer. Um, I helped people when they were injured. Or sick.”

Kuzuryu let out a raspy noise that could have been a scoff and Tsumiki shot him a wounded glance.

Sonia didn’t react. “Souda?”

He flinched and straightened. “Yeah?”

“What happened after the plane crashed?”

“Our friends died in the crash. You hunted for food. Tsumiki healed us.” Souda counted each point on his fingers and looked to her for approval, but she’d already turned away.

“Kuzuryu.”

“Crash, food, medicine.”

Her lips pursed. “Hinata?”

“Our classmates died in the crash.” His own words sounded as if they were coming from underwater. He wondered if his ears would ever stop ringing. “We…We survived on our own. Sonia hunted animals. Tsumiki took care of our injuries.”

Sonia nodded and turned to the bed closest to the window. “Komaeda?”

He didn’t seem as if he’d heard anything they’d said. He sat with his back to them, spine curved, gazing at the tiny parking lot outside. Pine trees crowded in close around the cracked pavement.

“Komaeda, we must all be on the same page about this,” Sonia said lowly.

“Now?” He still didn’t turn, just cocked his head a fraction of a degree. “It didn’t seem as though any of us were on the same page back there, when it really mattered. But I suppose now that your reputation is on the line, you want to cooperate?”

“You’re one to fucking talk,” Kuzuryu said.

“We’ve all sinned.” Komaeda faced them, the moonlight illuminating the crooked smile on his face. “All of us, corrupted by despair. You were all going to embrace it. What’s changed, exactly?”

“We didn’t think anyone was ever gonna find us,” Souda said, his nails digging into his legs. “We all thought it was over. And then you fucking…”

“You must comply with the story,” Sonia said. “If you ever had any faith in us as Ultimates, as classmates and friends, then please allow us a second chance.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Komaeda gazed at her coldly before his lips curled upwards again. “I think I’ll contact the press once we reach Tokyo. They’ll all be clamoring for an exclusive interview, begging with money and favors. I could write a book if I wanted. Perhaps you’ll see me on the morning news.”

A frigid silence followed his words. Hajime realized he was picking at the tape on his arm and stopped.

“You’re gonna ruin all our lives?” Souda sounded close to tears. “You’re gonna pretend like you’re better than all of us after you tried to kill everyone?”

“Of course I don’t think I deserve any better. But I’m not going to let any of you get away with it, either.” His eyes narrowed. “None of you are worthy of being called Symbols of Hope. It would be a great disservice to Hope’s Peak Academy too, if you were to lie. I’m sure they’ll pour all their resources into damage control once they find out you’re alive, and none of you deserve to take advantage of that. I’m going to make sure the whole world knows what you really are.”

A sharp sniffle cut through the air. Tsumiki was glaring at him, tears glistening in her eyes. “No, you won’t. I won’t let you.”

Komaeda raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? What are you going to do?”

Hajime sat up a little, hoping he wouldn’t have to intervene. Hoping he wouldn’t have to make that choice at all.

With a muffled shriek, Tsumiki pulled the needle out of her wrist. A dark rivulet of blood seeped into her palm. Breathing hard, she crossed her arm over her chest, her skin stark white against the hospital gown. She gripped the needle in her other fist and stabbed her arm over and over, leaving tiny bloodied punctures over her skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Souda gasped. Kuzuryu grunted as he tried to sit up and see what was happening.

“You were always c-crazy,” Tsumiki said, staring hard at Komaeda as she climbed out of bed. She pinched the IV tube and pulled the needle off. “And the plane crash and the wilderness only made you crazier. You s-snapped and cut off your own arm. You tried to kill all of us, and once we were rescued, you wanted to finish the job.” She crossed the room with shaky footsteps, eyes impossibly wide. “You need to be locked away where you can’t hurt anyone else, ever again.”

Hajime’s stomach turned, but Komaeda looked vaguely unimpressed. “And I suppose if I try to deny these accusations, you’ll all just call me crazy.”

Tsumiki grabbed his hand and smeared his palm over the blood on her arm, seething through clenched teeth. “No matter what you say, no one’s ever going to believe you.”

Souda pulled out his own needle and staggered across the room. “I got it. I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.” He looked as if he wanted to cry as he grabbed Komaeda by the shoulders and forced him to the floor. Tsumiki crumpled against the wall and began to cry, clutching her bloodied arm as her whole body trembled.

Sonia surprised them all with a scream. She turned to the door and cried out a string of Russian. A light in the hallway flickered on.

Hajime’s heart made a sick, staggering beat in his chest. He turned and found Komaeda looking straight at him, his neck twisted awkwardly from where Souda had pressed him facedown against the linoleum. There was no accusation, no plea in his gaze. He was just looking at Hajime. At the fact that he was doing nothing to stop this.

He looked away and resisted the urge to hide his face as the door burst open.

July 10, 2022

Hungrily, Hajime took him in. Eight and a half years had changed Komaeda. The shape of his face had slimmed a little, and there was a bit more color in his skin. His hair had darkened a shade too, the ends touching his shoulders. He was wearing a cream-colored pullover, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of dark slacks. He looked clean. Healthy.

“Would you like to come inside?” Komaeda asked. His voice was a touch deeper, but it still had that soothing, raspy quality to it. Hajime realized he still hadn’t said anything.

“Y-Yeah.” He wished he could pause this moment for just a few minutes more, enough time to make sure he was really standing here on Komaeda’s doorstep. Enough time to take him in, mosaic together the parts of him that were the same and those that were different. 

Komaeda stepped off to the side, allowing him to enter. Hajime walked into the genkan and removed his shoes, feeling vaguely like he was in a dream. He remembered that night weeks ago when he’d seen a younger Komaeda in his room. Felt his weight on his chest. He was struck with the terrifying sense that this one would disappear in front of him, too.

He was walking down the hallway, further into the house, and Hajime had no choice but to follow.

They passed by a spacious sitting room with an L-shaped couch in front of an enormous bookshelf set into the far wall. Hajime resisted the urge to step inside and scan the titles one by one. He was hungry for information, for any scrap of detail that would give him a look into Komaeda’s mind.

The couch looked as if it had never been touched.

They passed the dining room—also enormous and spotless—and a couple closed doors before reaching another sitting room. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked another pond, this one so large it had a tiny island with a bent black pine in the middle. Komaeda sat in the armchair and rested his hand in his lap.

Hajime sank onto the couch, which was nearly as stiff as the one in his apartment. His gaze fell to the asymmetrical coffee table, which held nothing except a white ceramic sculpture that didn’t resemble anything in particular.

“I hope the trip out here wasn’t too troublesome,” Komaeda said.

“It was fine. I took a train and a cab.” The part of his brain that dealt with trading smalltalk with coworkers had taken over. “I’ve never taken that line before. It was nice. Scenic.”

“I’ve always liked this area. It’s especially beautiful in the spring.”

Hajime kept his eyes on the lumpy sculpture. He was afraid if he looked Komaeda in the eye he would lose his ability to speak. “How long have you been here?”

“I grew up here, actually. I inherited this house from my parents after they died.”

The mental image of a younger Komaeda running through the spotless halls, handling the coffee table sculpture with two soft, intact hands, threatened to derail his train of thought entirely. He struggled to swallow.

“I mean, how long has it been since…?”

“Oh, since I was released from the mental institution? About a year and a half,” Komaeda replied, perfectly conversational.

Seven years. The sharp, acidic guilt he’d buried a long time ago came rushing up like vomit.

“It was wrong.” The words came easily to him, surfacing from the same place as his guilt. He’d practiced this conversation in his head a long, long time ago. “What we did to you was wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it.”

Komaeda was silent for so long that Hajime finally looked him in the eye. He was wearing the same look as he had that night. There was no blame, no anger, just impassive observation. An unexpected pang twisted his heart. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he’d missed him. There were a dozen other emotions to go along with it, but the longing that rose in him nearly made him dizzy.

“It wasn’t all bad. They transferred me to Switzerland after a couple years. I guess they thought my case was too difficult for the specialists in Japan,” Komaeda said with a sheepish smile. “The mountains made for a beautiful backdrop. They gave me access to books and films to entertain myself. It was almost like a vacation.”

All Hajime could think of was how brutal the flights must have been.

“Anyway.” Komaeda straightened an imaginary wrinkle in his pants. “I suppose we should get down to business. I wouldn’t want you to think I lured you here under false pretenses.”

Hajime blinked. He’d been so caught up in the shock of seeing Komaeda again that he’d completely forgotten what had led him here. It hit him now that the two of them had already exchanged hundreds of messages. Mr. Komaeda Nagito. He let out a sound that didn’t quite qualify as a laugh.

“H-How’d you know it was me?”

Komaeda shrugged. “Lucky guess. I do genuinely enjoy browsing that true crime page, even if most of the posts aren’t exactly well thought out. Your comment intrigued me. I went through your post history, and what I saw seemed to line up with what I knew about you.”

Right, because I’m the only guy in Japan that posts about video games, trivia shows, and manga. Maybe it had been the gap in activity on his account. Before he’d starting using it again this summer, his most recent post had been three weeks before the crash.

“Did you know it was me?” Komaeda asked, the barest hint of hesitation in his voice.

“No. I…” Hajime pressed his lips together. How many messages had he read in Komaeda’s voice before he’d trained himself out of the habit? Before he’d dismissed the instinct as loneliness or delusion or some other emotion he couldn’t name? “I didn’t know for sure.”

“In any case, I apologize for keeping up the charade for so long.” He shifted an inch closer to the edge of his chair. “And I really do have information on Genocide Jack that isn’t available to the public. I assume you took an interest in the case because of Kamukura?”

Hajime stiffened and met his gaze. Komaeda was doing it again—peering into his eyes with that hungry stare, like he was waiting for something to reveal itself. A bitter laugh escaped him.

“That’s why you invited me out here, isn’t it? You were hoping it wouldn’t actually be me that showed up.” He tore his gaze away and stood, ignoring the lump rising in his throat. “False fucking pretenses.”

He was halfway out of the room when Komaeda said, “Genocide Jack tried to kill me a few nights ago.”

Against his better judgement, Hajime stopped. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“I was surprised myself. I do fall into her target demographic, after all. But I think she’s coming back in a couple days. Maybe she’ll finish the job then,” Komaeda said, as casually as if he was talking about a lunch meeting with a coworker.

With his back still turned, Hajime dragged his hands over his face. I never should have come here.

“Why did you come here, Hinata?” Komaeda asked, as if he could read his thoughts. “If you really didn’t know it was me, what made you take such a long journey to what you thought was a stranger’s house?”

Hajime thought back to their message logs and the deranged urge to laugh rose within him. He felt the same discomfort he’d experienced looking at the camera lens on the gate. He hardened his expression and turned around.

“I think you already know why,” he said. “Have a nice life, Komaeda.”

And he walked out before either of them could come up with a reason why he should stay.

2013

After she woke, Sonia spent a long time staring at the ceiling of the cabin bedroom before finally convincing herself to rise.

Summer had finally come, radiating from the sky light an oven turned on high. They’d lost track of the exact date not too long after the crash. The months had slipped away soon after that. They had nothing to indicate the passage of time except the seasons, each reluctantly molting out of the previous one. 

That, and the dwindling number of people in the cabin.

Saionji, Nanami, Sagishi, Nidai, Hanamura. Five of her classmates were dead after a year of being stranded here. How many more would die in the next twelve months? How many of those deaths would be at her hands?

Her chest grew painfully tight and Sonia finally pushed herself up. From the living room she could hear the low clatter of breakfast being made—Tsumiki’s high, anxious voice and Koizumi’s soothing one. Owari had walked outside an hour ago with a low, frustrated huff and hadn’t returned since then.

Mioda sat curled up on the bed, her chin resting on the windowsill. Pekoyama was by the door, busy lacing up her boots. She nodded when Sonia looked at her.

“Good morning.”

“I’ve made a later start than usual.” Sonia got to her feet and ran a hand over her braid, the end of which was nearing the small of her back. The length of her hair, which had once been a point of pride, had become more of an inconvenience than anything.

“We have plenty of daylight left.” Pekoyama pulled her laces tight and straightened. “Let’s take the creek trail today.”

Sonia nodded for her to go ahead and sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to catch Mioda’s eye, but she seemed lost in her own world.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked after a lengthy pause.

“I’ve been having weird dreams ever since the…” Mioda gestured vaguely, a slight tremor in her fingers.

“How so?” Sonia asked, somewhat relieved. Some days it was difficult to get Mioda to talk at all.

“I was eating the Sanrio mascots last night. You don’t expect those guys to have intestines and stuff, you know?”

Sonia bit her lip. “None of us were in control that night. Please do not blame yourself.”

“Bad things happen either way.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Whether we mean them or not.”

She could not think of anything to say. They hadn’t had any other celebration since the last. Their days had become rolling cycles, eating and sleeping, gathering food and keeping the cabin clean. She and Pekoyama had worn trails in the woods from the circular paths they walked. They would do it over and over again until summer decayed into autumn, until winter blanketed the forest and they were forced to decide whether they were going to kill another classmate.

Her eyes stung. She took a deep, calming breath and looked away. She could not give up, not when she was responsible for keeping her friends fed. While they still breathed, she had work to do.

“It’s been so quiet,” Mioda murmured, seemingly to herself. “I keep waiting for something to break the silence.”

How perfect it would be, Sonia’s thoughts whispered traitorously. Something dangerous and terrible. Something to remind them all they had a reason to survive.

“It is a miserable thing to wait,” she said. It was the only comfort she could give.

Chapter Text

2013

Heavy with sweat, Hajime knelt down and plucked another handful of nuts out of the foliage. His fingernails were caked with dirt and the scratches on his fingers stung. He rolled the sore muscles in his neck and tossed the nuts into the zipper bag beside him. His gaze lingered on the faded pink and orange flowers patterning the outside. It was a cosmetics case belonging to one of the girls—Saionji, maybe.

He ignored the pang in his chest and resumed digging through the brush. It hadn’t gotten any easier, remembering everything that had happened with the context that it was all his fault. If he hadn’t destroyed the radio, Saionji would still be alive. She would have been at home with her family.

“Stop,” he muttered to himself. He tried to save these spirals for nighttime, when no one expected anything from him. Of all people, he least deserved to be wallowing in his misery.

He turned to add another handful of nuts to his container and jumped with a gasp when the bag moved. The nuts in his grasp scattered. Gingerly, he leaned forward and found a ball of gray and white fur nestled inside.

“Tanaka,” he called. “Your hamster’s getting into my stuff.”

A moment later, Tanaka strode into sight, his own bag tucked under one arm.

“Such greed is unbefitting of a being of your stature,” he said, not looking particularly apologetic as he gestured with his free hand. “Maga-Z, come.”

Maga-Z leapt out of the bag, scurried through the foliage, and disappeared into the folds of Tanaka’s coat. Hajime checked his collection and pulled out a half-chewed nut with a sigh.

“I guess he can have the rest of this one.” He tossed it to Tanaka. “Try to keep an eye on them, yeah?”

“You forget that this bounty would have remained hidden to us were it not for Maga-Z’s keen senses.”

Hajime nodded, not wanting to argue this point again. Tanaka had insisted they credit his hamsters for finding the large amount of nuts that had fallen from a tree in the middle of the woods. The group had agreed to try and collect as many as they could in one day, to avoid them going bad or getting snatched up by the squirrels Owari kept trying to catch with her bare hands. He and Tsumiki had ended up volunteering to help with the collection process.

He spotted something orange shuffling through the brush and watched another one of the hamsters crawl onto Tanaka’s boot, settle on the toe, and pull another nut out of its cheek pouch. He remembered that one being larger than the others last year, but it had shrunk in size and its sides sagged with loose skin.

“Are they…eating okay?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if the hamsters were taking their share every time Tanaka went foraging, and he didn’t want to bring it up in an accusatory way. He didn’t want a repeat of the fight he’d had with Souda last winter.

Tanaka followed his gaze. “Cham-P may be a shadow of his former stature, but it is only a means by which he has survived these past seasons. I expect to see him grow in the coming months.”

“Okay. Good.” Hajime sat back on his heels. “You don’t worry about them wandering off, though?”

He scoffed. “My Devas have their own means of protection, and they never stray so far that I would be unable to come to their aid.” He scooped Cham-P off his boot and began walking off. “In any case, there are some evils in this forest against which there is no defense.”

Hajime’s head shot up. He wasn’t sure if Tanaka was being his usual dramatic self, but something about that last sentence made a chill shoot down his spine. “What do you mean? Like, wolves?”

Tanaka turned back to him with an inscrutable look. “There is malice in this forest. We may have reached a reprieve from winter, but it has not forgotten us. We will feed now and we will starve later. And that is assuming the being that attacked Kuzuryu does not reappear.”

Goosebumps prickled his flesh despite the temperature. “Do you really think there’s something out there?”

“There are many things in this world we do not understand.” Tanaka gestured to the trees surrounding them. “Here, in this place, we have reached the very edge of what is known.”

He strode away without waiting for a response, leaving Hajime to sink into his own dread.

July 10, 2022

The explosion came out of nowhere. Kazuichi dropped to his knees and clamped both hands over his ears.

He was shaking so badly he nearly pitched forward face-first into the sand. Someone was talking but he couldn’t hear them. He needed to get up, needed to find somewhere safe.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He braced his hands on the ground and pushed himself to his feet.

He came face to face with Chabashira, who looked way too incredulous considering they were about to fucking die.

“Are you okay?”

“We gotta get out of here.” He stumbled past her, away from the water, and motioned for her to follow. They had to get somewhere safe. Where had he gone last time? Was anywhere safe?

“Souda, that was thunder. What is wrong with you?”

He barely heard her. He’d already pushed himself into a run, his sneakers sliding in the sand. Fat drops of rain fell onto his shoulders. It had been snowing last time. He’d been in the forest, not on the beach, but it didn’t matter. He just had to get away.

He was shivering and half-soaked by the time he reached the garden shed. Hopefully the others were evacuating now. The cabins were probably destroyed. He could hide here and wait. He threw the doors open and stumbled through.

“Shit!” Someone was already inside, stumbling back from the doors and nearly tripping over a box of tools.

Kazuichi screamed in response and backed straight into the doorframe.

“Oh my god, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Amami pushed his hair out of his face with a sheepish smile. “Uh, are you okay?”

A familiar earthy scent filled his nose, and Kazuichi couldn’t help but inhale deeply. “Are you s-smoking in here?”

He glanced down at the joint hanging from two fingers. “Sorry. I know it’s not allowed. I figured everyone’d be inside with the storm and I could chill out in here.”

“No worries, man.” Kazuichi reached over and pulled the door most of the way shut. The light from outside was weak and gray, and the only illumination inside the shed was the glowing orange tip of the joint. He looked at it and a familiar craving cramped his lungs.

Amami hesitated. “I don’t wanna break your clean streak.”

“I can just, uh, hang out.” He fumbled for something to sit on and found what felt like a crate. “Secondhand smoke doesn’t count, right?”

“Sure, whatever.” The joint glowed as he took another drag. “Everything okay? You looked pretty freaked out when you came in here.”

“I was—” Kazuichi screamed again as someone flung open the door.

Chabashira glared at him, strands of wet hair plastered to her face. Behind her, a petite woman—Yumeno, Chabashira’s friend—clutched the wide brim of her hat, trying to cover her head as much as possible. 

“Wait, are you two smoking marijuana in here?” Chabashira turned her frown on Amami, who was coughing up puffs of smoke. “Seriously?”

The other woman ducked past Chabashira and squeezed into the shed.

“Himiko, we should go. These two are breaking the rules and they’re doing drugs.”

“I’m not going back in the rain.” She sat heavily on a pile of burlap sacks. “I’m waiting here until the storm passes.”

The wind had picked up. Rain splattered the inside of the shed.

Amami raised a hand. “Hey, can you—”

“Ugh, fine.” Chabashira stepped inside and pulled the doors shut, plunging the shed into darkness. “It’s not like I’d leave the two of you alone with Himiko anyway. God, it reeks in here.”

Kazuichi tried to be subtle about taking another deep inhale. It felt like months since the last time he’d smoked. It probably hadn’t been that long, but he wasn’t even sure what the date was anymore. Angie kept everyone’s phones in a locked box in her cabin, citing a need to “be free from the stresses of the outside world.” It wasn’t like he really had anyone to text, but…

“What was that, back there?” Chabashira asked. “You totally freaked out.”

“Were you in the military?” Yumeno asked. “Did you think the thunder was a gun or something?”

Kazuichi took another deep breath. His brain was beginning to reorder itself. He’d been on the beach, helping a few others unload the crab traps before the storm rolled in.

The storm. 

It was dark, so he put his face in his hands. He’d had a total meltdown over a crack of thunder.

“Maybe you should head back to the cabins,” Amami said. “I bet someone has noise-cancelling headphones or something.”

“Can you put that out?” Chabashira said. “This is a really small space. What if me and Himiko get high too?”

Kazuichi decided not to mention that he was kind of banking on that.

Amami’s smile was audible as he said, “This is mild stuff, I promise. And sorry, but I’m not cutting my smoke break short because you guys decided to barge in here.”

“I’m not getting more wet than I already am,” Yumeno said.

As if to punctuate her statement, a sheet of rain lashed against the side of the shed, spraying through the crack at the bottom of the door. The panels rattled on their hinges.

Kazuichi cast around with his hands. He needed to be doing something. “Does anyone have a light?”

“I have a lighter,” Amami said.

“I can work with that.” He reached out in his general direction and didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he took the lighter. He flicked it on, casting a dim orange light over his surroundings. Chabashira was standing in the corner, arms tightly crossed. Yumeno was squeezing water out of her hat. Amami was leaning against the wall, wreathed in smoke. Kazuichi found a trowel and wedged it through the door handles, securing it shut.

Chabashira frowned at him. “You’d better hope this idiot doesn’t light this place on fire and we get stuck in here.”

“The rain’d put it out,” Yumeno said.

Another growl of thunder rumbled in the distance, and Kazuichi hissed through his teeth, feeling his whole body tense. His grip slipped on the lighter and the shed was plunged into darkness again.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just thunder,” he muttered to himself, resisting the urge to pull his hair. He’d been good about handling loud noises in the past few years. Or maybe he’d just made a habit of getting wasted during summer festivals.

“Were you in a gang or something?” Yumeno asked. “Like the yakuza?”

He almost laughed. No, but I did go to school with the head of one of the most notorious clans in Japan.

“I’m just not good with loud noises.” His leg was bouncing, rattling one of the floorboards. He thought about the flimsy little shed being flattened by a shockwave and shivered. “Hey, Amami, do you mind…?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I kinda need to take the edge off.” He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice. He reached out, careful not to burn his fingers, and took a long, deep drag. His lungs welcomed the first rush of smoke like a parched throat swallowing water.

Chabashira made a disapproving sniff. “Where did you even get that? I thought drugs were super illegal here.”

“Hooked up with a dealer while I was on the main island a couple months ago,” Amami said. “Cost me an arm and a leg, though.”

Kazuichi rubbed the skin just below his elbow. “What were you doing on the main island?” He hadn’t heard any talk of people leaving, temporarily or for good.

“Angie sometimes sends people to advertise. Recruit. Whatever you want to call it. She’ll probably kick me out after this, but…eh.”

“She won’t kick you out,” Yumeno said. “Angie knows we all make mistakes. She’ll forgive you.”

Kazuichi leaned against the wall, feeling the angry patter of rain on the other side. It hadn’t even occurred to them that they’d be punished for smoking. That thought had been a distant second to the prospect of getting even a slight buzz. A lump formed in the back of his throat. He’d slipped back into old habits without a second thought. Had he even made it two weeks into his clean streak?

“Do you not care about getting better?” Chabashira asked, so quietly it was almost swallowed up by the sound of the rain. Kazuichi stiffened, thinking she’d somehow heard his thoughts, until Amami spoke up.

“I guess I think of this place more as a stop than a final destination.”

“Isn’t that basically running from your problems?” Yumeno asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just haven’t found the right place yet.”

“No, it’s definitely running,” Chabashira said, some of the edge coming back to her voice. “You think you need some external factor to fix you when it’s really something intrinsic you need to change.”

The shed fell silent. Another clap of thunder sounded overhead. Kazuichi took a deep drag and passed the joint back to Amami.

“Maybe Angie should take you on as a therapist,” Amami said, and the tip of the joint glowed.

She scoffed. “I’m not a therapist, and there’s no way I’d spend my time hearing a bunch of men’s sob stories. I’m just telling it like it is.”

“Tell me how it is,” Yumeno said.

“What?”

“Be honest with me. You always say I’m trying my best and that I’m doing a great job, but that’s not really true, is it?”

“Of course it is.” Chabashira gave an unconvincingly incredulous laugh. “I know some days are tough, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t made progress.”

The ensuing stretch of silence was longer and even more uncomfortable than the first.

“So, what about you, Souda?” Amami finally asked as he leaned over. “You keeping it real over there?”

Instead of answering, Kazuichi accepted the joint and took a long hit. He waited until his lungs were clear before saying, “I dunno. I mean, I’ve basically been pretending since I got here that I even want whatever this is.” He let out a laugh that broke halfway through. “This is probably the…the least shitty I’ve felt the whole time I’ve been here.”

Another clap of thunder rattled the sky. Kazuichi took another hit and was grateful it was too dark for the others to see that his eyes were wet.

“So why’d you even come here in the first place?” Chabashira asked.

“Just wanted a change of scenery.” He muffled a sniffle with his fist. “I’m only out here ‘cause I won a raffle to vacation on the main island.”

“But you came here instead,” Amami said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, there must be some part of you that wants to get better,” Chabashira said. “So the least you could do is try. And keep trying.”

“Yeah, you’d make a great therapist,” Souda muttered.

“And this is why I don’t bother.”

“It’s a pain,” Yumeno said. “Trying.”

“I’ll smoke to that,” Amami said.

Kazuichi was in the middle of passing the joint back when a gust of wind rattled the shed, hard enough that he felt it in his teeth.

Chabashira threw her back against the doors, which were swaying and letting in spurts of water. “Okay, this place is not secure.”

“I really hate to say this, guys,” Amami said, “but I think we’re gonna have to make a run for the cabins.”

Yumeno groaned. “Just leave me to drown.”

“Nope.” Chabashira crossed the shed, nearly tripping over Kazuichi’s foot in the process. “Not happening. We’re getting out of here together.”

Regretfully, Kazuichi watched the end of the joint go out, plunging them into darkness. They didn’t really have another choice. He wiggled the spade out of the handles and winced as the doors flew open, spraying them with rain.

The four of them stumbled out into the mud and began to run.

2013

It wasn’t until dinnertime that anyone noticed something was wrong.

Owari finished washing her plate, having finished her food first as usual, and stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Hajime watched her scan the room, silently counting under her breath.

“Where’s Mioda?”

Souda blinked. “The bedroom, yeah?”

Pekoyama shook her head. “I was just in there.”

“Perhaps she absconded to the attic,” Tanaka said. Before he’d finished his sentence Owari was halfway up the ladder.

“Nope,” she called down. “Empty up here too.”

Tsumiki stood up, eyes wide. “H-How long has she been gone?”

A disconcerted silence fell over the group. Hajime bit his lip. It wasn’t just that she’d become quiet and listless. It had been painful to look at Mioda, to look into her eyes and see dimmed windows that had once been full of light and color. Without meaning to, he’d been ignoring her, because it was easier than seeing how depressed she’d become.

“She was at breakfast, yeah?” Kuzuryu said, his voice teetering between annoyed and unsure. “We all remember that.”

“Koizumi, she was supposed to clean the cabin and the fire pit with you today,” Pekoyama said.

“We finished that earlier,” Koizumi said, her face drawn and pale. “She went to the bedroom afterwards, but that was several hours ago.”

“The sun will remain in the sky for some time yet,” Tanaka said, glancing out the window. “We have time to search.”

“We’ll go in pairs,” Pekoyama said. “Everyone must return before the sun sets.”

The unspoken sentiment lay heavily on them—no one wanted a repeat of the last time they’d gone on a missing person’s search. Hajime took a deep breath, chills crawling down his arms despite the summer heat. He remembered everything he’d done since the last time he’d seen Mioda. There was no way he had anything to do with the fact that she was missing.

Kuzuryu opened his mouth, but Koizumi interrupted him as she crossed the room.

“Kuzuryu, why don’t we pair up?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She met his gaze evenly. “Is there a reason not to?”

After a tense second, he scoffed and made a dismissive gesture. “Makes no difference to me.”

The usual duos—Sonia and Pekoyama, Tanaka and Owari—joined up afterwards. Souda clapped a hand on Hajime’s shoulder like he was calling dibs, and Hajime made an effort not to look (or care) when Tsumiki was left with Komaeda. Pekoyama doled out assignments so they’d cover a wide area and the teams set out.

Hajime and Souda were meant to cover the trails on the other side of the lake, near the plane and graveyard. He tried not to let his apprehension show as they left the clearing in front of the cabin. Just thinking about the radio made him sick to his stomach. He wondered if he looking at it would make him remember the night he’d turned it into scrap metal.

“She probably just wandered off,” Souda said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You know how she gets kind of distracted sometimes.”

“Yeah.” He chewed on his lower lip. There was a chance they’d find her at the graveyard, paying her respects.

Mourning all the people he’d gotten killed.

“Hey, are you good, man?” Souda asked, idly patting his pockets like he was looking for something. “You’ve been kind of off since, you know…”

Since I almost threw myself off a cliff.

“I don’t know what your fight with Komaeda was all about, but don’t let it get to you, yeah?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I feel kind of bad. Someone probably should’ve warned you that he’s kind of weird.”

“Like I didn’t notice?” Hajime couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Oh, yeah.” He let out an unconvincing laugh. “I guess there was the whole arm thing and all.”

Something like grief pricked the back of his throat. He’d spent the past few months more or less pretending Komaeda didn’t exist. On his part, Komaeda rarely spoke to anyone, and when he did it was usually unsolicited. Hajime slept in the attic now, partly to get some space and partly to make it more difficult for Kamukura to sneak out of the cabin if he did…show up. He still wasn’t sure how that all worked. After a few days, Souda had taken to sleeping in the attic with him, and he’d never mentioned anything out of the ordinary.

“He was leading me on,” Hajime said without quite knowing why. He hadn’t talked to anyone about what had happened that day. Kuzuryu was the only one who knew about the cliff part, and he hadn’t made any effort to discuss it further. “I found out and just didn’t want to be around him anymore.”

“Wait, leading you on like…” Souda blinked owlishly at him. “Were you guys dating or something?”

Hajime stared at him, his melancholy forgotten for a second. “You didn’t notice?”

“No. I thought you guys were just…hanging out…” His eyes widened, gears visibly turning in his head.

“Seriously?”

He threw his hands up. “I didn’t know you were gay, alright?”

Hajime suppressed a groan and rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s fine. Let’s just change the subject.”

“Yeah.” Souda cleared his throat. “Actually, no. I just wanna say, you know, don’t let it get you down. Whatever went down, don’t…”

He couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. Maybe Kuzuryu had told Souda about his near-suicide attempt.

“Don’t get like Mioda is.” Souda’s voice cracked and he cleared  his throat again. “Don’t just disappear.”

Hajime frowned. “We’ll find her.”

“Yeah, I know, but even though she’s been around she hasn’t really been…there, if that makes sense.”

He nodded. He’d felt himself withdrawing, too.

Souda patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a cool guy, Hinata. Just hang in there, yeah?”

Hajime nodded and looked away and felt himself go completely numb. Souda coughed and thumped himself on the chest like there was something stuck there.

They reached the graveyard. Hajime couldn’t bring himself to check inside the plane, so he busied himself with circling the crash site while Souda ducked into the wreck.

He stopped by the graves, laid in a row along the edge of the clearing. The wooden markers for Miss Yukizome and the pilots were already worn and chipped after a year of weathering. He didn’t know how much of their bodies would be left after so long.

Saionji’s marker was in a similar state. The earth over her was covered in pine needles, seamlessly blending in with the rest of the ground. Koizumi had spent an hour fussing over her body, brushing her bloodied hair, straightening her kimono, arranging a sash to cover her mangled face and neck. She’d turned away and cried herself hoarse while they’d filled in the grave.

Nanami had been buried in a backpack, months after she’d died. So had Sagishi—just their clothes and hair and the parts they hadn’t eaten. Both of their graves were small, the outline of the disturbed earth barely visible.

Tanaka had buried Hanamura by himself. The edges of the grave were haphazard, irregular. His grave marker had been thrust into the earth and circled with small stones. Hajime had continued replaying that night in his head, but these days he imagined what would have happened if he’d never gone off with Komaeda. Maybe he still would’ve been none the wiser about Kamukura. Maybe he would have joined in on the slaughter and felt the blood on his hands all the same.

“She’s not in there,” Souda said as he emerged from the plane. There was a shadow on his face that hadn’t been there before. He had his own ghosts inside the wreck. He would hate Hajime if he knew the truth about the radio.

“We’ll keep looking,” he said. “We’ll find her eventually.”

Maybe it was too late. Maybe he was already gone, in the ways that really mattered, and the only thing he could offer were lies and empty assurances.

Chapter Text

2013

The sun was only a dim yellow glow on the horizon by the time Fuyuhiko and Koizumi made it back to the cabin. They’d just barely made Peko’s deadline.

It had all been for nothing, at least on their part. They’d circled the entire lake without finding so much as a bead from one of Mioda’s bracelets. Koizumi had been quiet and methodical, and hadn’t once brought up the reason why she’d asked to partner with him in the first place.

He didn’t have the energy to press the issue. He was tired and his ankle hurt and he wanted to punch something. If Mioda was waiting for them when they stepped inside he was going to give her an earful, depression be damned. They’d lost too many fucking people to make each other worry like that.

Hollow faces greeted them when they walked into the living room. Tsumiki was curled up by the fireplace, her nose and eyes red. Sonia caught his eye when he walked in, and her expression fell when he shook his head.

“Where could she have gone?” Koizumi asked, crossing her arms.

“Maybe she’s hurt and she…she can’t make her way back,” Tsumiki said, her voice tremulous with tears.

Sonia’s head shot up. “The cave where you were trapped, Kuzuryu. Is it possible she could have fallen into that same place?”

He crossed his arms. “It’d be pretty fucking hard to miss. Only reason it got me was because the entrance was covered in snow.”

Owari strode towards the door. “Well, we’d better go check. Where is it?”

“I surveyed that area already,” Peko said. “He showed me the location earlier. I saw no sign that anyone had been there recently.”

“We should try looking again,” Tsumiki said, jaw trembling. “Maybe there’s something someone missed.”

“If she has not revealed herself during the day, our chances in the twilight hours grow ever more slim,” Tanaka said. “So too does the risk of danger grow.”

“Tanaka is right,” Peko said, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the stool she was sitting on. “It’s too dangerous to go out at night, even if we all go as a group.”

“What if it was that thing that almost got Kuzuryu?” Souda curled up tighter in his armchair. “The ghost or whatever?”

“It wasn’t a ghost or whatever,” Fuyuhiko said. He didn’t have a word for what that thing was. He just knew it hadn’t been human.

“We need to find out what happened as soon as possible,” Koizumi said. “We should search again as soon as the sun is up.”

Tsumiki sniffled and nodded. “I-I agree.”

Souda stood up slowly, as if his limbs wanted to stay locked in their defensive position. “I’m gonna get started on dinner.”

With a low scoff, Fuyuhiko turned towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Koizumi asked.

“I’m taking a leak,” he replied with more venom than he meant. “You wanna partner up for that too?”

She shook her head and headed for the kitchen, muttering something under her breath.

The trees around the cabin were muted shades of gray as the last bit of daylight slipped from the sky. He focused on his breathing as he relieved himself, trying not to focus on the minute twitches of the branches in his periphery.

Peko was waiting for him in the shadow of the meat shed.

“I searched the cave,” she said as he approached. “There was no sign of her.”

Fuyuhiko crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Did Sonia go with you?”

She shook her head. “We split up briefly to cover more ground.”

He scowled at the branches of a bush swaying in the breeze. The air around the meat shed was rich with the smell of iron.

“There are other tunnels connected to the cave,” Peko said.

“I know. They’re all blocked off with rocks and shit. There’s no way Mioda could’ve gotten through.” He’d found that out the hard way.

“That may be true, but I don’t think that cave was always an isolated space. The place where Nanami died looks like a mining pit. It’s possible there’s a whole system of abandoned tunnels beneath us.”

“Doesn’t matter if we can’t find any other entrances.” Fuyuhiko chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking back to that cliffside, the day he’d caught Hinata standing on the edge. A cold, dark sensation settled in his gut. “Maybe Mioda doesn’t want to be found.”

Peko looked away and took a slow, deliberate breath. “It is still our duty to look for her.”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” He heaved a sigh of his own. He was already tired of yelling at people until they rediscovered their will to live, but if that’s what it took, there was nothing he could do about it. “Let’s get some rest, yeah? Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

No sooner had they stepped inside the cabin than Koizumi was frowning at them from beside the fireplace.

“What were you two doing out there?”

“The fuck does it matter to you?” Fuyuhiko said, sparing her an irritated glance as he went to grab his portion of dinner.

“I think you’re hiding something from the rest of us.”

He ignored the plate Tsumiki was holding out and rounded on her. “What, you think I had something to do with the fact that Mioda’s missing?”

Koizumi didn’t flinch. “No, but you’re still being dishonest. I don’t think you told us the whole truth about what happened last winter. And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you whispering with Pekoyama.”

His upper lip twitched. She could accuse him of lying if she wanted, but like hell was he going to let her do the same to Peko. “Listen—”

“Maybe we should tell them,” Peko said. She was sitting on the couch with her hands in her lap. When he looked at her she gave the barest of nods.

Fuyuhiko sighed. Right. They’d been putting off sharing the secret they’d actually meant to reveal.

“Tell us what?” Souda asked, his gaze flickering between the two of them so rapidly it was a wonder he wasn’t dizzy.

“Yeah, fine.” He took his plate and trudged over to the empty spot next to Peko.

His jaw dropped. “Oh my god, are you guys secretly dating too?”

“What? No.” He hoped the heat that sprang on his face didn’t show. “Shut the fuck up and let me talk.”

Souda raised his hands in surrender.

“Who else is secretly dating?” Owari muttered.

“Peko and I grew up together,” Fuyuhiko said before the conversation could get derailed. “We’ve known each other since we were little kids.”

The fire popped loudly in the ensuing silence. Koizumi’s eyebrows rose until they touched her bangs. Souda’s mouth formed a tiny ‘O.” Sonia was one of the few that didn’t look surprised, but a tiny furrow appeared between her brows.

“I was abandoned by my parents as an infant,” Peko said. “The Kuzuryu clan took me in, trained me to use a sword. I was raised to be a bodyguard for Fuyuhiko.”

“The reason I didn’t tell anyone during our first year was because I knew it would—” Fuyuhiko stopped, a lie caught between his teeth. He hadn’t even told Peko this part, not explicitly, but she deserved the truth. There was no room for ego, not after everything they’d been through. “I didn’t want to seem dependent on anyone. I wanted to prove that I was worthy of my Ultimate title, and I didn’t think I could do that if I was standing next to someone so much stronger than me.”

The reactions of the others were more like background noise at this point. He gathered his courage and looked Peko in the eye. She didn’t look hurt, thank god, but there was uncertainty in her gaze as she looked back at him.

“And so the mystery unfolds itself,” Tanaka said, “and the illusion is torn away.”

Fuyuhiko cleared his throat and turned back to Koizumi. “So that’s why the two of us have been whispering with each other. Happy?”

“I wish you’d told us sooner,” Koizumi said. “But it’s fine. There are obviously more important things to worry about. I’m sorry for being intrusive.”

“It’s alright,” Peko said. “I’m glad we were able to tell you all.”

Guilt pricked at him. It had been his call to sit on this information for so long. Peko had never told him that she wanted to come clean to the others, but he’d never asked, either. Without knowing why, he thought of the classmates they’d lost, people who had died thinking that he and Peko were nothing more than classmates. He didn’t know why that brought a lump to his throat.

“I’m glad the two of you decided to be honest with us,” Komaeda said with his usual creepy-ass smile. “And I hope you won’t make a secret of your partnership going forward. I’m looking forward to seeing what you two will accomplish together.”

Fuyuhiko decided not to dignify that with a response and sat back against the lumpy sofa cushions. Suddenly he was exhausted.

Once dinner was finished, everyone got ready for bed, spent by their frantic search for Mioda. The girls shut themselves in the bedroom, and Hinata and Souda headed up to the attic. Fuyuhiko was thinking about adding another log to the fire when Peko came back into the living room and reclaimed her spot on the couch.

“Hey.” Out of habit, he spared a quick glance around the room. Komaeda was staring out the window and Tanaka was busy with his hamsters.

“I wanted to talk to you about what you said earlier,” Peko said, keeping her voice low.

His stomach lurched, and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. “Sure.”

“Do you still feel the way you did when we first came to Hope’s Peak?”

He hesitated. “Which part?”

“That you are ashamed to stand next to me.”

“I never said I was ashamed.” He realized he’d raised his voice and lowered it again. “I was just…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, because I’m past that. We’re gonna work together like we always have. And…” He didn’t want to think about rescue. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Peko nodded slowly. Her expression had softened, but it was still hard to read. “You said I was much stronger than you.”

His lips twitched in a wry smile. “Well, that’s still true.”

“I don’t know that it is.”

“We’d all be toast out here if it wasn’t for you. We wouldn’t have made it two months.”

Her brows lowered. “You used to be unhappy about that.”

That same needle of guilt stung him again, harder this time. “Yeah. I was being fucking stupid.”

A ghost of a smile passed over her face. “I wish I could be more honest.”

“What about?” He frowned. If they were going to talk about the cave again, they needed to do it out of earshot. “You mean…”

“When I am afraid. Or angry.” Her gaze drifted downward to where her fist was idly curling and uncurling in her lap. “I wish I could be more honest about it. To myself, even. I don’t know why I am unable to do it.”

He’d been jealous of that, too. He’d always had trouble controlling his emotions, and eventually he’d learned to warp all of it into anger, to turn that into a shield. It had never occurred to him that Peko’s self-control might have been just as much of a trap for her.

“Be honest with me,” he said. “Forget about everything else. The bodyguard stuff, young master, everything—it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll just work together from now on, yeah?”

“All of us.” Peko took a deep breath, and the tension in her brow cleared a little. “And I will try to be more honest.”

“Good.” He smiled. It was his first in a long time, long enough that it was almost uncomfortable.

Peko met his gaze and slowly, haltingly, returned the smile. It made her face look strange, but it suited her well all the same.

July 12, 2022

When he got home from work, Hajime checked his mailbox, expecting the usual sheaf of advertisements, and was surprised to find a thick manila envelop crammed inside. He pried it out and shook it. A dense layer of paper shuffled inside. The envelope itself was blank except for his name and address, written in neat black marker strokes.

As he took it up to his apartment, his thoughts strayed to the postcard Kuzuryu had shown him. The envelope felt a little too full to be a blackmail note, but the lack of a return address unnerved him.

Unless he’d sent it to himself.

Hajime inhaled sharply and banished the thought from his head. He wasn’t going to think about that. It wasn’t possible.

He discarded his jacket and briefcase on the sofa and walked over to his desk. He used the flat edge of a ruler to pry open the flap of the envelope and tugged out the papers stuffed inside. His heart dropped.

A postcard had been taped to the front of the packet.

He took a deep, calming breath. White sand and blue ocean bisected the picture on the front of the card. Palm trees shaded the blocky text: Costa Rica. He reached out cautiously, as if the papers were an armed bomb in disguise, and flipped the postcard over.

How was your trip? the message read. It was written in Japanese, not Russian. Send me some pictures, will you?

His brow furrowed. He’d been expecting a million-yen demand, not a request for study abroad photos.

He didn’t have any pictures, anyway. He’d lost his camera. Or maybe he hadn’t taken any.

The packet of paper grabbed his attention before he could pursue that train of thought. Beneath the postcard was what looked like a cover page stamped with the Hope’s Peak Academy logo. And beneath it, in bold text: THE HOPE CULTIVATION PLAN.

“What the hell?” he muttered, flipping to the next page.

The heading of the page had been redacted with black ink. Below it, a single paragraph read, The following project was an attempt by the Steering Committee of Hope’s Peak Academy to produce a culmination of all the academy’s prior research on talent. These records are meant for archival purposes only and are by no means intended as instructions for further attempts.

Chills raced down his arms. Hajime flipped to the next page, which was full of technical jargon and more blocks of redacted text. The next several pages were the same. From what little he could glean from the exposed text, it seemed like some kind of project proposal, though it wasn’t clear what for.

And then he flipped to a page that made his heart stop.

MEDICAL CONSENT FORM, it was titled. The following text was uncomfortably small, but even then his eyes picked up a few phrases immediately. Invasive surgery. Memory loss. Personality changes. 

In cases where the patient has died or is unable to give consent, I authorize…

I understand Hope’s Peak Academy will not be held liable…

And at the bottom, his signature.

Hajime gulped a breath of air, which seemed to dissipate before it could reach his lungs. That was his signature. He’d always made his pen strokes sweep out a little like that. But he didn’t remember signing this form. He’d never even seen it before.

He tore through the other pages. More jargon. A couple more signatures he didn’t remember writing. Page numbers omitted in twos and threes and fives. He reached the last page, his chest painfully tight, and flipped the packet back over.

THE HOPE CULTIVATION PLAN.

He only just remembered to lock his door on the way out. He barely remembered descending the stairs, entering the metro, stepping into the train car. The papers, shoved haphazardly back into the envelope, were clenched between his sweaty palms. He felt far away, weightless, buoyed with something between rage and panic as he transferred lines. When he called for a cab it sounded like someone else’s voice coming out of him.

The driver didn’t try to make conversation. He accepted his payment wordlessly and Hajime waited until he’d driven off before he approached the wrought iron gate.

He wanted to beat on it with his fists, wanted to pull it apart, but it swung open obligingly before he could even touch it. He settled for striding down the driveway, trying to pull together something coherent to say. He loosened his tie before banging on the door.

Komaeda pulled it open with an expression of mild surprise. Before he could speak, Hajime slapped the envelope against his chest. His hand was holding the door open, so the envelope fell to the floor with a defeated thump.

“Did you send this to me?” Hajime demanded.

Slowly, Komaeda looked down at the envelope, then back at him. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Hinata. I don’t even know your address.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, and was horrified to find that he didn’t sound angry. His voice was laced with fear. “You planned this, didn’t you? This whole thing—”

“Komaeda, is something wrong?”

He froze at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He looked over Komaeda’s shoulder and saw a woman coming down the hallway, regarding him with a suspicious frown.

“Not at all.” Komaeda glanced at her with a reassuring smile. “Just an old friend dropping by.”

“That’s how your friends talk to you?” she muttered, just loud enough for both of them to hear.

“Am I interrupting something?” Hajime asked. Something that felt uncomfortably like envy needled at him.

“Not at all,” Komaeda repeated, and stepped aside. “I’m actually glad you decided to visit. Why don’t you come inside?”

Hajime and the woman regarded each other with identical wariness. After a moment he bent to retrieve the envelope and stepped through the door.

“This is Hajime Hinata,” Komaeda said, and her eyebrows crept upwards as if she recognized the name. “Hinata, this is Toko Fukawa. She’s helping me with a personal project.”

His mind stumbled over the rant he’d been about to give. It took him a second to place the name. Fukawa had been in the Main Course at Hope’s Peak Academy, in the year below him. Her books had been on the bestseller’s list since she was a child.

“I didn’t realize you’d be accepting social calls,” she said, fixing Komaeda with a look that wasn’t quite a glare. “Should we just wrap this up, then?”

“Why don’t we just take a break for now? I’ll make tea.” Komaeda walked past her without waiting for a response.

Hajime and Fukawa shared another brief stare down. She was helping Komaeda with a personal project. Komaeda had mentioned earlier that he was working on a book.

Did she know….?

Fukawa broke eye contact first, turning on her heel and retreating soundlessly down the hallway. Hajime steeled himself, the edge of the envelope pressing against his palm, and followed.

Komaeda was in the kitchen, heating water and preparing tea leaves with practiced motions. He seemed well-adjusted to doing everything one-handed, as if he’d never lost a limb in the first place. Fukawa stood on the other side of the kitchen island, arms crossed. A tense moment of silence ticked by.

“What’s your book about?” Hajime asked, setting the envelope on the counter. Maybe Komaeda was going to pretend this was a social visit, but he was tired of playing games. “That’s what you two are working on, right?”

“It is.” Komaeda removed the lid of the teapot—a white porcelain vessel painted with delicate flowers. “Obviously I have very little skill with writing, so Fukawa’s talent is necessary to make it into something that people would actually want to read.”

“Your coming of age story?” Hajime looked hard at him, but Komaeda was busy packing the tea leaves back into an enameled wooden box. Two nights ago he’d reread every single message they’d exchanged, recontextualizing everything with Komaeda’s face and voice and personality. He already suspected what this book was about, but he wanted to hear him say it out loud. “Friends overcoming hardships?”

“That was the original plan, but I’ve decided to go in a different direction.” The box snapped shut. “I’ve decided to be a little more honest. So I’m going with what you guessed originally when I told you I was writing a book. It’s going to be an autobiography about our time in the wilderness.”

His jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Hajime turned to Fukawa, who didn’t meet his eyes. “He must be paying you a lot, huh? Are the royalties from your romance novels not enough, or do you just enjoy ruining other people’s lives?”

“Think whatever you want,” she said, resolutely staring at the far wall.

“Please don’t be too harsh on Fukawa,” Komaeda said. “Obviously it’s a massive waste of her time to help someone like me. Which is why I’m blackmailing her.”

Fukawa stiffened like she’d been stung. “You—”

“Remember how I said Genocide Jack would be dropping by my house today?”

The water had begun to boil. Komaeda took the kettle and slowly emptied it into the teapot.

Hajime let out a soft, “Oh,” and looked back at Fukawa, who was staring at Komaeda with wide, furious eyes, her whole body rigid.

“You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she said through clenched teeth.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for breaking that promise,” Komaeda said. “The only reason I’m telling Hinata is because you and he have more in common than you think.”

“Komaeda, stop.” Hajime slammed a hand on the countertop. “Whatever this is, just stop.”

Komaeda finally met his gaze, an edge of spite in his smile. “The tea’s almost ready. Why don’t the three of us sit down and talk?”

Chapter Text

2013

“Take heed.” Tanaka pointed at the inky clouds just barely visible in the distance. “Darkness draws near.”

Mikan worried her lower lip with her teeth. They’d all risen just before dawn—earlier for her after a restless night—and organized new teams and a fresh search strategy. Anxiety had been gnawing at her since the moment she’d learned Mioda was missing, and now it felt like their search would be cut short before it had even begun. How much time did they have left, if they had any at all?

Kuzuryu glanced at Pekoyama. “We keep going if it rains?”

She took a moment to consider. “Yes, unless there’s thunder.”

“Then let us depart. Daylight wanes as we speak.” Tanaka turned away with a flourish of his coat.

Pekoyama and Kuzuryu had elected to work together today, so Koizumi had offered to pair up with Mikan instead. She was relieved not to have to search with Komaeda, whose unnerving assurances about Mioda only made her feel worse. She hoped Owari wouldn’t get too angry with him today, since Tanaka had paired up with Sonia.

She and Koizumi were supposed to take the lake trail today, taking more time to search the surrounding brush and look for signs of…something, she supposed. Even after all this time, the forest still looked like an incomprehensible jumble of wood and leaves to her. All she could hope was that when they found Mioda, perhaps with a broken leg or a concussion, Mikan would be there to bind her wounds and nurse her back to health.

Koizumi had her camera hanging from her neck. She hadn’t touched it since the night Hanamura died. Mikan had a vague memory from that night of a flash of light, which she’d realized later must have been Koizumi’s camera. Her mouth began to water and she struggled to swallow. Koizumi probably hadn’t meant to take that picture, the same way none of them had meant to do what they did. She must have deleted the picture at some point. It was bad enough they had to remember it.

“She’ll be okay,” Koizumi said. “The woods can be kind of confusing. She probably got lost.”

“M—” Mikan bit back her thought before she could vocalize it. She didn’t want to be a pessimist, not when Koizumi already looked so worried.

Her expression softened as she glanced at Mikan. “What were you going to say?”

“Um. Sorry.” She lowered her chin, but Koizumi just looked at her expectantly. “I just don’t understand why she’d wander off in the first place.”

Koizumi tried for a smile before her chin wobbled. “Well, you know how she gets distracted. Maybe she saw something interesting and wanted to take a closer look.”

The old Mioda might have, but her gaze had been dull and listless for months. Mikan’s eyes stung. When they found her, Mikan would fix her. She would heal her body and tell her every day that she had to keep living, that she had to find something to hold onto. That they would all miss her if she were to disappear again.

She sniffled, and Koizumi reached over to rub her shoulder. She felt sick about every death they’d seen out here, but she hated the thought of losing her friends, the girls that had made room for her in their lives at Hope’s Peak. She even wished Saionji were still here—perhaps with a scarred face from a wolf’s teeth, but maybe she the injury would have humbled her. Maybe she would have felt something more than begrudging tolerance for Mikan.

Koizumi stopped and turned off the path, one hand touching her camera. Mikan followed her, nearly tripping over a root jutting from the earth. Koizumi picked her way over to a matted sheet of branches that dipped over the earth like a wooden roof. She pried it upwards and peered underneath.

“D-Do you see anything?” Mikan asked, hanging back. She wasn’t confident in her ability to brave the underbrush, and a small part of her was afraid if they went too deep in the woods they wouldn’t be able to find the path again. Perhaps they’d get lost like Mioda had.

With a frustrated sigh, Koizumi let the branches fall back into place. “No. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

They started down the path again. Through the trees they could see a blue sliver of the lake. Kuzuryu had suggested they search the water as best they could, and the mere thought sent shivers racing down her spine. Even in the summer heat, she could still feel the chill of the ice beneath her soles. Sagishi had thrashed in the freezing water for so long that Mikan had pressed her face into her hands and prayed for it to be over, whether it was their death or the ice swallowing her up so she wouldn’t have to hear their gurgling cries. She gladly would have traded her life for theirs, but she hadn’t. She’d knelt on the ice like a coward while Pekoyama and Nidai had dragged Sagishi’s body out of the water and Mioda had sobbed until she was hoarse.

Mioda wouldn’t go the same way. She wouldn’t drown herself. How could she, after it had been such a horrible thing to witness?

“If we don’t find anything at the lake,” Koizumi said, “maybe Hinata and Souda will find something on the creek trails. Mioda would’ve needed water, at least. Right?”

Mikan nodded. “That’s true. That’s, um, that’s a good idea.”

Maybe she’d contracted a stomach virus from drinking contaminated water. Maybe that was why she hadn’t come back. Mikan had run out of medication months ago, but she’d figure something out. She’d keep her hydrated and clean, coax her through sleepless nights until her body fought off the disease. It would be difficult without medicine, but she would do everything she could.

She’d always been dismissive of herbal remedies. It felt incredibly shortsighted now.

“How did Kuzuryu survive all that time?” Koizumi said. “He didn’t have access to filtered water.”

“Maybe he melted snow,” Mikan said. “If he, um, if he built a fire, it would have been possible.”

“And the canned food,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard her, “that he just conveniently found. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”

Mikan stuttered. She’d just been glad that Kuzuryu had been alive. His reappearance had felt like a blessing, one she had no interest in questioning.

Koizumi sighed, her pace slowing. “I don’t want to start anything. I want this group to work together. To trust each other. I’m just afraid that Kuzuryu doesn’t feel the same way.”

“I don’t think he w-would…” She pressed her lips together. If Kuzuryu left any of them to die, if he killed one of them with his own hands, he would be no worse than the rest of the group. “I don’t know.”

“I’m going to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.” She turned to Mikan, one hand poised over her camera. “You’ll let me know if you see anything, right?”

“Of course.” Mikan nodded, maybe a little harder than she needed to.

Koizumi left the path several more times as they descended the hill, digging through the brush and peering under fallen trees. Mikan tried to help only once, and ended up tripping and plunging one arm into a thorn bush. She bound the scratches, seething under her breath, and insisted they keep moving. Finding Mioda was more important than anything else.

Finding her would make everything alright, at least for a little while.

July 12, 2022

“Well? Which one of you would like to go first?”

Komaeda took a sip of his tea and set it down on the dining table. He was the only one who had touched his drink. Hajime sat across from him, his own steaming cup abandoned next to the envelope. At the far end of the table, Fukawa was chewing on her lower lip and staring daggers at Komaeda. Hajime would have never profiled her as a serial killer, but the fury emanating from her was bordering on murderous.

Hajime couldn’t really blame her.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” he asked, and Fukawa’s eyes darted to him like she’d forgotten he was there. “He said you attacked him a few days ago.”

She turned her glare back to Komaeda. “A few days?”

“I might have exaggerated a bit.” He shot Hajime an apologetic smile. “In truth, I’ve known Fukawa—and Genocide Jack—for several months. I just thought my situation might appear more urgent if I shortened the time to a couple days.”

“What else are you lying about?” He put a hand on the envelope, fighting the urge to shove it across the table towards him. “Did you send this to me or not?”

“I don’t really know what you’re talking about.” He stretched a hand out. “May I see?”

After a moment of deliberation, Hajime passed it to him. Komaeda slid the papers out, using his elbow to keep the envelope in place.

“So are you also a serial killer?” Fukawa asked. She had one hand clasped over her teacup and was spinning it in small degrees.

The openness with which she said it made him shiver. How much blood did he have to have on his hands for the term to apply?

“I…I don’t think so.”

A note of derision entered her voice. “You don’t think so?”

“Did you actually try to kill Komaeda, or did he lie about that too?” Hajime shot a look in his direction, but he was fully engrossed in the packet of paper. He watched his face for a moment, hungry for a reaction, but Fukawa spoke again.

“He was telling the truth.”

“And you’re letting him blackmail you instead of going through with it?”

“I’m sure if Fukawa had any taste for violence, she’d have no problem wiping me off the face of the earth.” Komaeda lifted his head. Had he been listening the whole time? “But Genocide Jack lost interest in me. Apparently something I said ‘ruined the mood.’”

“Wait.” Hajime looked at Fukawa, who had gone back to glaring at Komaeda. “Does that mean…?”

“I don’t share memories with her.” She didn’t return his gaze. “I have no desire to kill anyone, but she does. I don’t care if you believe me. That’s the way it is.”

“I do. I do believe you.” He sat up straight in his chair, heart pounding. He’d never once imagined that he would find someone he could actually relate to. “I’m… I’ve had the same thing happen.”

Fukawa finally made eye contact, brows knitting together. The hand not holding her teacup curled into a fist. “I don’t mean getting blackout drunk and getting into fist fights or sleeping with someone uglier than you. I mean finding out you killed someone and having no memory of doing it.”

Hajime held her gaze and felt his throat tighten. He knew enough about the Genocide Jack case to know her suspected body count was in the double digits. He couldn’t imagine the sheer weight of guilt that would come along with that. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”

She looked away. “Well, if you’re looking to start a support group or something, I’m not interested. And if you try to report me to the police, I’ll do the same to you.”

“But how—” He stretched his hands out like he could physically grab her attention. “How do you deal with it? I mean, there weren’t any killings for years before this summer.”

“So clearly whatever I was doing didn’t work,” she replied. Her voice wavered on the verge of breaking. “I’m not going to be your therapist, either. It’s bad enough I have to help this jerk with his stupid novel.”

Hajime looked back at Komaeda, who was only on the fourth page of the packet. He looked like he was absorbing every word. He reached across the table and yanked the papers back, nearly spilling his tea in the process.

Komaeda looked up, blinking like he’d just realized he wasn’t alone. “I wasn’t done.”

“That was plenty of time to jog your memory. Did you send it or not?”

He tilted his head. “Why Costa Rica? That place doesn’t have anything to do with the wilderness.”

“I went there for a study abroad trip during my first year at Hope’s Peak.”

“Really? For how long?”

“I don’t know. A couple months during the spring semester.”

“How many students came with you? What was the name of your teacher?”

“I don’t know.” His shoulders rose an inch. “It was more than a decade ago, Komaeda. I don’t remember.”

His eyes flickered to the postcard. “Do you have any pictures from the trip?”

“No. They were probably on an old phone or something.”

“Then do you have any evidence that you actually went to Costa Rica?”

Hajime stared at him, lips moving soundlessly for a moment. He’d been there. He remembered standing on the beach. Walking through the jungle. Eating…whatever kind of food they ate in Costa Rica.

“Surely you remember at least one specific detail,” Komaeda said.

He shook his head like that would dislodge a memory, an image, anything that would help this make sense. “My parents signed a permission slip. I told Na—I told my friends where I was going.”

“Did your parents drive you to the airport? Or did you take the train?”

Hajime pressed his lips together and didn’t answer because he didn’t remember. How the fuck did he not remember?

Komaeda sent a meaningful glance at the papers. “Maybe you didn’t leave Tokyo at all.”

His center of gravity shifted, like the table and chairs were bending towards each other. Hajime pressed one fist to his mouth and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Why would he think he’d gone somewhere he’d never been?” Fukawa asked.

“Perhaps that’s explained it in the packet.” Komaeda made a gesture like he wanted to take the papers back.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Hajime fixed him with a glare, wishing he could convey a stronger sense of anger in spite of the numbness creeping over him like frost. “Why did you have to go and dig all of this up?”

“I didn’t send that envelope to you, Hinata. I had no idea you ever took a trip to Costa Rica. Or believed you did.” He leaned forward. “But I think whatever’s in those papers could be the answer to why Kamukura exists.”

“Who’s Kamukura?” Fukawa asked.

Hajime tore his gaze away from Komaeda, focusing instead on the papers. The edges were wrinkled from how roughly he’d handled them.

“Kamukura is…my Genocide Jack,” he said, feeling both relieved and sickened by the fact that Fukawa would understand. “You know I was in the plane crash, right? He…showed up sometime after that.”

Fukawa hesitated. “It was the same for me. I mean, not a plane crash, but a…bad situation. That was when she appeared.”

“You don’t think it happened before then, Hinata?” Komaeda asked, drawing his attention again. “You don’t think the Hope Cultivation Plan had something to do with it?”

“I don’t know.” The eagerness in Komaeda’s gaze made him furious. “Whether or not you sent me these documents, all I know is that I don’t trust you.” He pushed his chair back and glanced at his phone. “Fuck. Fuck.”

He yanked the papers from the table, stuffing them haphazardly back in the envelope as he ran for the door. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. He stuffed his feet into his shoes as he did the math in his head. Assuming the cab arrived quickly, assuming he could make the next train back into the city…

He checked the time again and his stomach sank.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Komaeda had followed him into the genkan. “I didn’t mean to keep you so late.”

“I’m gonna miss the last train.” His voice came out strangled.

“You could always have a cab take you back.” When Hajime shot him an incredulous look, he added, “I’d be happy to pay for it. Like I said, I really didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Hajime stared at him, at that infuriatingly placid expression, and his empty hand curled into a fist.

“I have a lock on the outside of my bedroom door,” he said. “It’s supposed to keep me in every night, and it’s on a timer, and I’m not going to make that timer. Did you know I’m afraid to go to sleep every night? That I’m terrified I’m going to wake up and find out I hurt someone?” His voice raised in volume, uncomfortably loud in the narrow space, but he didn’t care. “Do you understand that this has been hell for me, Komaeda? The only interesting thing about me is that I’m a fucking monster. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live like that?”

The half-smile dropped from Komaeda’s face.

“I’m not going to sleep tonight.” His voice cracked, and it was then that he realized how exhausted he was. He wasn’t even halfway through the sleepless thirty-six hour stretch that awaited him, and it made him want to curl up in a ball. “This is what I have to deal with. The best I can do is just ignore it and hope I don’t hurt someone again, and then you come back and start digging everything up again like that’s not the worst thing you could do to me. So yeah, you’ve fucking inconvenienced me.”

Komaeda had retreated back into his blank expression, that one-way mirror look that revealed nothing except the fact that he was looking at Hajime. Taking everything in.

“I have sedatives,” Fukawa said, startling them both. She stood half-hidden behind the corner of the hallway. When they both looked at her, she stepped into view. “It’s prescription-grade stuff. It should…keep everything quiet if you need to get some sleep.”

Hajime made an effort to speak around the knot forming in his chest. He still wanted to shake Komaeda, demand that he say something. Instead, he asked, “They work? You’re sure?”

Fukawa’s eyes darted to the side. “It’s what I’ve been using.”

“How long do they last?”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Eight hours or so. Might be different for you. I don’t know.”

Ignoring the fact that Komaeda still wasn’t looking at him, Hajime did another round of mental calculations. He could make it home, pray the pills would work, and pass out on his concrete slab of a couch. He’d be late for work, assuming he only slept for eight hours.

“Okay.” He stepped past Komaeda and approached her. “You sure you don’t mind giving them to me?”

“You’re only getting one dose,” she said, shooting him a look as she reached into her purse. “And don’t ask me where I got them.” She withdrew an unlabeled prescription bottle and shook a pair of gelcaps into his waiting hand.

Hajime looked down at the pills and it finally occurred to him that taking these would be an incredibly stupid idea.

Fukawa stuffed the bottle back into her purse and headed for the door. “I’m done for today. You two work out your issues—or not—but leave me out of it.”

“Have a pleasant evening, Fukawa,” Komaeda said. “We’ll be in touch.”

As the door opened, letting in a wave of balmy evening air, Hajime felt a stab of envy. He wouldn’t wish what he was going through on anyone. But at least Fukawa had something else to make of her life. She had a talent, a list of best-selling books as long as his arm…people that would miss her, probably, if something were to happen to her.

He was going to call in sick for his boring, meaningless office job. And then he was going to take those mystery pills and the next day, if he woke up at all, he would have another twenty four hours of emptiness and mediocrity waiting for him.

“Hinata?”

He stiffened and didn’t turn around.

“I’m not sure if you remember the night you told me you were unhappy with your life. It seemed you were a little drunk, so I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.” Komaeda’s feet shuffled against the hardwood as he took a step closer. “I meant what I said in response. I don’t want you to be unhappy.  And I do want to help you.”

“I don’t know if we have the same definition of help,” Hajime rasped. “Or happiness, for that matter.”

“Going through the Hope Cultivation Plan documents would be a good start. If you really do want to find a way to get rid of Kamukura, or manage him at the very least, wouldn’t it make sense to find out where it all started?”

He could feel Komaeda’s eyes on his back, the sensation crawling up his spine. It became unbearable and he turned around. “You’re in love with Kamukura,” he said, half-hoping Komaeda would refute it, but he only gave the barest of nods. “Why would you help me?”

“Call it curiosity. I want to know where someone like him came from.” His gaze flickered to the pills in his hand, which were beginning to stick to the sweat in his palm. “You should spend the night here. If your door is locked, you won’t be able to sleep in your own bed, will you?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I have several guest rooms available.” Komaeda moved past him, one hand brushing against his shoulder to guide him further into the house. The simple touch sent a shockwave of warmth through his skin.

“I meant my couch,” Hajime said, but Komaeda acted as if he hadn’t heard him.

The pills were melting in his palm. Muttering under his breath, Hajime followed him to one of the doors, which opened to reveal a spacious bedroom decorated in brown and gray. Like the rest of the house, the decor was simple and impersonal. It looked like a hotel room.

“I can get you some water for the medication, too,” Komaeda said, and left for the kitchen without waiting for an answer. 

Hajime peered into the room, noting the curtained windows spanning one wall. The mirror-paneled dresser. The pens in a ceramic container on the desk.

Komaeda returned with a glass of water and a smile. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“You’re writing a book that’s going to destroy my reputation.” The envelope crinkled as his grip tightened. “You’ve lied to me basically the entire time we’ve known each other. And you expect me to believe that you care about my happiness. That I should feel safe sleeping under the same roof as you.”

He nodded slowly, as if Hajime had presented a particularly difficult math problem. “How about a show of good faith, then? I’ll give you the thumb drive that contains my book. Or what’s been written so far, anyway. You can do whatever you want with it tonight. Flush it down the toilet, if you want.”

Hajime gave him a flat stare. “You have a backup copy.”

Komaeda smiled sheepishly. “I’ll give you the backup, too. And in the morning we can go through the Hope Cultivation Plan documents. How does that sound?”

It sounded like a terrible plan. There was still time for him to call a cab. He had a receipt in his pocket he could wrap the pills in, so they’d still be intact by the time he got back to his apartment. If he was feeling particularly reckless he could wash them down with an Asahi. Lie down on his shitty couch and think about dying.

“Okay.” He tucked the envelope beneath his arm and took the glass of water. “Get the drives.”

After Komaeda left the room, he put everything down on the desk, peeling the gelcaps off his palm. He surveyed the room again. Even in its featureless state it was better furnished than his own bedroom.

He’d just sent a text to his boss telling her he wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow by the time Komaeda returned with a portable hard drive and a USB stick balanced in one palm.

“I’d hate to lose so much work,” he said with a wistful smile as he handed them over. “But hopefully you see this as the olive branch that it is.”

He wanted to. He wanted to believe that at least some of the messages they’d shared had been genuine. He wished he was stupid enough to pretend they were.

“Good night, Komaeda.”

“Good night, Hinata.” He hesitated for a split second, his smile wavering. “I hope you sleep well.”

Hajime waited until he’d closed the door and the sound of his footsteps had faded before turning the lock. After a moment of consideration, he took the desk chair and propped it under the knob.

He put the glass of water on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, which was as impossibly soft as he’d expected. He considered the pills in his palm, ran through all the reasons why this was a bad idea, then closed his eyes and swallowed them both.

Chapter Text

July 12, 2022

Sonia turned the fountain pen over in her grasp, letting the early evening light reflect off its surface. It had been an expensive gift from a diplomat whose name she couldn’t remember, its casing black enamel with intricate gold detailing. Apparently it had been quite difficult to take apart to check for bugs. She preferred the convenience of a ballpoint pen, but the tip of this one was wonderfully sharp, and she enjoyed the ease with which it glided over paper.

“So there is nothing to be done?”

A sigh crackled through the phone speaker pressed to her ear. “If there is no written or recorded evidence, our case would be very weak.”

“I see.” Sonia closed her eyes. She’d anticipated as much.

“There is no written or recorded evidence, correct?”

She thought back to Shirogane’s notepad, imagined it being passed around the table in a writer’s room. Perhaps there had been a recording device hidden somewhere in the room, too. There was no way to find out now.

Her gaze turned to her office window, the widespread view of cars and pedestrians hugging the riverside paths of the Arakawa. Perhaps Kuzuryu could do what she could not. Certainly he had connections to skilled men who could search an establishment without being noticed. Or men who could start quick-spreading fires.

“Your Majesty?”

Sonia blinked and realized she was pressing the tip of the pen into the pad of her thumb. Pain throbbed beneath her fingernail like it had been waiting for her to notice. 

“I wrote nothing with my own hand.”

Kuzuryu would not agree to such a request without payment, and it had been risky enough wiring him money for the car she’d destroyed. If it ever came to light that Princess Sonia Nevermind had made a deal with the yakuza, her reputation would be obliterated.

She cleared her throat. “I do not know if anything will come of Shirogane’s project, but is there any way to ensure it does not come to fruition?”

“Defamations laws only come into play once something is released to the public. The best I can do is keep an ear to the ground and privately discourage any producers from pursuing the project. Even then, there’s no guarantee someone won’t pick it up.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, then. Please keep me updated.”

She hung up, set the phone down, and pulled the pen out of her finger. Blood welled from the puncture wound. She watched it bead up, perfectly red and round, and brought her thumb to her mouth. She tasted metal and thought of Shirogane, the place on her neck that would cause her to bleed out the quickest.

A knock sounded on the door. Sonia started and pulled her thumb from her mouth, a line of drool following it. She snatched up a tissue, dabbed her mouth dry, and wrapped it around her finger.

“Enter.”

If her assistant noticed anything on her face when she stepped inside, she didn’t comment on it. “Do you have a minute? I want to run something past you.”

“Please.” Sonia gestured for her to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. Her injured hand remained firmly in her lap.

“You remember that typhoon from a couple days ago?”

Sonia nodded slowly. The storm had brought little more than heavy rain by the time it had reached Tokyo. She could not recall any more details than that, though. She normally dedicated time in the morning to keeping herself updated on current events, but lately her attention had been consumed by gossip sites and conspiracy blogs. So far she hadn’t found any evidence that Shirogane had published any of the information she’d collected.

“The damage was extensive for some of the islands in the Philippine Sea.” She pulled up something on her tablet. “More so than usual because of the rising sea level. Several heads of state are holding a conference to discuss potential strategies and spread awareness. A couple of them extended invitations to you.”

Blood was beginning to leak through the tissue wrapped around her finger. “When is this conference?”

“Next week.” She tapped her tablet again. “You’d have to reschedule a couple board meetings and probably the virtual call with the anti-proliferation group as well. Wireless connection could still be spotty out there.”

“Where is it being held?”

“Jabberwock Island. Apparently their infrastructure only sustained minor damage.”

As was often the case for wealthy tourist donations. “Make travel arrangements then, please. And if there are any opportunities to help personally with the reconstruction efforts, I would like to make time for those as well.”

“I’ll make it happen.” She stood, still sliding a finger along the tablet screen, then looked up and paused.

“Is there something else?” Sonia asked.

“No.” She opened her mouth, closed it, and smiled. “I’ll forward you the booking confirmations later today.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as she’d left the room, Sonia frowned at her faint reflection in the window. Perhaps she was paler than usual today.

Her gaze fell to her desk. Blood clung to the tip of her pen. She used it to draw a straight line down the center of her notepad until it ran dry.

2013

“Maybe we should all be thinking of this differently. It’s possible that, in our search for Mioda, we’ll find something incredible,” Komaeda said, and Kazuichi resisted the urge to punch him in the face. They were already miserable after two weeks of useless searching. Komaeda didn’t have to rub salt in the wound.

“Like fucking what?” Kuzuryu glared at him. “A unicorn? A rainbow bridge out of here? If you don’t have anything useful to say, then shut the fuck up.”

“Sorry,” he said with a smile, and Kazuichi rolled his eyes. He had no idea what Hinata had ever seen in the guy.

Nowadays he seemed to have the lowest tolerance for Komaeda out of any of them. As soon as they’d come back from water duty, Kazuichi had flopped down in his armchair, eager to rest his shoulders. Hinata had taken one look at Komaeda sitting on the couch and gone back out with Tanaka to check the creek traps.

Not that he was wrong to be proactive. They had enough to eat, but that was it. There had been a three-day stretch where Sonia and Pekoyama had come back empty-handed, and they’d eaten everything they’d dried and stocked up as a result. Ever since then they’d only had enough food for a day’s worth of meals.

With a groan, Kazuichi pushed himself upright and stretched his sore limbs. It didn’t feel right to be resting.

“Hey, uh, wanna go get some more firewood and stuff?”

Kuzuryu shot him a look, then heaved himself out of his chair. “Why the fuck not.”

Kazuichi’s limbs protested as they hefted their recently-sharpened tools and left the cabin. Maybe chopping wood wasn’t the best way to deal with his restless energy, but the rack by the door was getting low and it needed doing. It was something he could do.

They reached the small grove of stumps where they harvested firewood. Kazuichi remembered how long it had taken for them to go through their first tree, how cool it had seemed at the time to chop their own firewood. Now, looking at the two dozen trees they’d burned, piece by piece, all he could think about was the days stretching before them. How miserable it would be to chop wood in the coming winter. How this grove would probably double in size by the following winter. How they’d probably all be dead before they ever made a dent in the forest stretching endlessly around them.

Kuzuryu hefted the axe and set to cutting up a piece of the felled tree they were halfway through. Kazuichi scuffed his shoe against one of the stumps, holding the hatchet they used for lopping off branches and the like. It still had dark brown stains on the handle from when Komaeda had cut his arm off. Looking at it still made him nauseous, so he breathed deep and focused on the patch of blue sky above them.

Panting, Kuzuryu propped the axe against the dirt. “Hey.”

“Yeah. Coming.” Kazuichi jogged over and helped him heft the cylinder of wood onto the stump they used for chopping. Its uneven surface wobbled as they set it down. None of them had been able to make clean cuts the way Nidai had.

He traded tools with Kuzuryu and started hacking the wood into pieces. Not for the first time, he wondered if he could dig out some kind of motor from the plane and cobble together an electric saw or something. Even if any of the necessary parts were still salvageable after a year of weather, they had no fuel that would make it run.

Still, it was nice to think about actually doing something useful for the group.

Once the wood was in passably-sized chunks, Kazuichi wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up. Kuzuryu was looking out past the cabin, brow furrowed.

“You worry about her, huh?”

Kuzuryu turned to him, still frowning. “What?”

“Pekoyama. You worry about her when she’s out hunting, yeah?”

He crossed his arms. “I know she can handle herself.”

Kazuichi rubbed a tender spot on his palm. He’d been worried sick about Sonia for the first few weeks after she’d started hunting. He still got anxious thinking about her, though he wasn’t sure why.

He tried for a smile. “It’s kinda backwards, right? That the girls are out hunting and we’re here waiting for them to come back?”

“You sound like a caveman.” Kuzuryu nodded to the wood he’d just chopped. “What, are you trying to make sawdust over there? Look at all the splinters.”

“Well, it kept wobbling ‘cause you did a shitty job cutting it.”

“Give me the axe, asshole, I’ll show you how clean a cut I can make.”

Kazuichi clutched the handle to his chest and tried for a laugh that came out as more of a squeak. “Take it easy, man.”

Kuzuryu glared at him for a second longer, then sighed and dropped his gaze. “That was a shitty joke. Sorry.”

If his heart hadn’t been galloping in his chest, Kazuichi might have gloated over the fact that Kuzuryu had actually apologized to him.

“No worries, man. Trade off again?”

Kuzuryu started cutting off a second chunk while Kazuichi stacked the wood pieces he’d chopped. There was an embarrassing amount of wood chips, but at least they would make decent kindling.

He was shaking off his hands, careful not to lodge any splinters in his skin, when raised voices sounded from the other end of the cabin.

Kuzuryu paused in his chopping and sighed. “Fuck, what now?”

Kazuichi squinted and strained his ears. It sounded like someone crying. “We should check it out.”

The two of them hurried back towards the cabin. Tsumiki was the one crying, tearfully glancing between Owari and Koizumi as they argued on the porch.

“You know we can’t do that,” Koizumi said, her expression faltering a little as she stared Owari down. “We can’t—”

“So, what, are we just supposed to let him get eaten?” Owari loomed over her, fingers curled like claws. Her hands were wet with blood, Kazuichi realized with a jolt. “That’s not okay.”

“Please don’t fight,” Tsumiki said with a sniffle. “I c-can take care of it. Please.”

“The hell’s going on here?” Kuzuryu strode towards the porch.

Koizumi let out a wordless noise that bordered between exasperated and helpless. Owari turned to him, hair wild and eyes bloodshot. She’d been looking more and more sleep-deprived over the past few weeks.

“We didn’t bury him deep enough,” she said. “I found some fucking animal trying to dig him up.”

Her fingers twitched into fists, and Kazuichi let out an involuntary sigh. If it was just animal blood, that was slightly less terrifying.

“Owari wants to…” Koizumi struggled to swallow. “She wants to redo Nidai’s grave.”

“Oh, god.” Kazuichi put his hands over his temples. He didn’t want to think about that. It had taken half the group just to dig the grave and move him inside. How much of him would be left after a few months?

“We obviously can’t do that,” Kuzuryu said. “It’s been too long. He’ll probably fall apart if we try to move him.”

Tsumiki let out a choked noise and Koizumi grimaced. Owari leapt off the porch and got in Kuzuryu’s face.

“We can’t leave him there. We have to do something. Or are you gonna give up on him like you gave up on Mioda?”

Kuzuryu let out an incredulous laugh. “And how long did you guys spend looking for me, huh? Back the fuck off, Owari.”

“Guys.” Koizumi stepped forward, reaching out a tentative hand. “Please, let’s not fight.”

“We have to,” Owari said, a wild look in her eyes that reminded Kazuichi of the night the girls had all lost their minds. “I’m not just gonna sit here anymore. We have to fight.”

She reached out and yanked the axe from Kuzuryu’s grip.

“What the fuck?” He lurched forward and took hold of the handle. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Guys, stop!” Koizumi shouted. Tsumiki was watching through her fingers, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Oh, god. Oh, god.” Kazuichi looked around, wishing Pekoyama and Sonia would burst through the trees and put an end to this already.

Owari bared her teeth and yanked on the axe, hard enough to nearly send Kuzuryu off-balance. Kazuichi rushed forward, his mind blank. The hatchet was slick with sweat in his grip. He grabbed the axe with his free hand and braced his other forearm against Owari, trying to push her away. She was surprisingly strong, holding her ground even against his added strength.

She pulled hard, his foot slipped, and he pitched forward.

The hatchet fell to the ground, wet with blood. Owari gasped and leapt back. Kuzuryu did the same, clutching the axe, and Kazuichi stumbled, barely catching himself on his hands and knees. He looked up and gasped.

Blood was running down Owari’s arm from a long cut in her bicep. She looked down at the sliding red, breathing hard. Her lips twitched strangely.

“Oh, fuck.” Kazuichi scrambled to his feet. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

“Let me see.” Tsumiki stumbled off the porch, hands outstretched. “Oh, Owari, I can—”

“No.” Owari shoved her back with her uninjured arm, sending her sprawling. “I’m not done.”

Kuzuryu leapt forward with a curse, but Owari was faster, snatching up the hatchet and swiping at him with a blow that nicked the axe handle, hard enough to nearly pull it from his grasp.

“Fuck!” He backed up, teeth bared. “Don’t do this, Owari.”

“I have to,” she ground out. Blood dripped from her fingertips and onto the dirt. “I’m not giving up.”

She lunged forward with a series of vicious blows that forced Kuzuryu back several steps. He blocked another strike with the axe, dodged another, and his back hit the tree behind him. Koizumi screamed.

With a desperate cry, Kuzuryu swung the axe at her. Owari leapt back, dodging a blow that would have split her abdomen open. He raised his weapon again but Owari was faster. She’d always been faster than the rest of them. The hatchet sliced along his forearm, spattering blood against the leaves. Kuzuryu screamed and dropped the axe.

Owari raised the hatchet again but a pair of hands locked around her wrist. Kazuichi realized they were his own. She tried to pull away but he stumbled forward with the movement, wheeling around and staggering in between her and Kuzuryu.

“We’ll bury Nidai again, okay?” His voice was at a higher pitch than he would have thought possible. Everything was too fast, too bright. He was shaking so hard the hatchet wobbled in her grip. “We’ll do it. I promise. Just stop. Please.”

“It’s not about that.” Owari’s eyes were shadowed with tears. Her teeth were bared in a snarl, but she looked just as scared as he felt. “He’s gone because he gave up. So did Mioda. I’m not. I won’t. And you better not either.”

She punctuated her statement with a hard shove to his chest with her free hand. Even injured, she managed to push him hard enough to break his grip on her wrist. Kazuichi stumbled back, fell on his ass, and scrambled backwards.

Komaeda, Tsumiki, and Koizumi were standing on the porch, watching with wide eyes. Tsumiki was curled up on the steps, still crying. Kuzuryu was clutching his bleeding arm, eyes flickering between Owari and the axe at his feet. Her eyes were still locked on Kazuichi, and he made a split-second decision.

“Okay. Okay.” It took him two tries to push himself to his feet. “I-If you wanna fight, let’s fight.”

“You gotta mean it.” Seething, Owari took a step towards him. “You have to want to win, okay?”

“Alright.” He cast around and grabbed a stick. It would be about as useful a weapon as a block of foam, but it made him feel a tiny bit better. “Okay, um—”

She lunged. Kazuichi screamed and backed up, waving his stick in a frantically. It made contact with the hatchet and the top half of it spun into the brush.

“Okay, okay.” He held out a warning hand and yanked at back as she took another swipe at him. This wasn’t like playing samurai with the other kids in his neighborhood. Owari was actually trying to kill him. “Man, this isn’t even a fair fight.”

Owari hesitated, breathing hard, and Kuzuryu tackled her from behind. He leapt up and wrapped his good arm around her neck, took hold of his wrist, and pulled. Owari let out a single croak before her air was cut off.

He was shorter than her by half a foot, and when his feet hit the ground both of them lost their balance and fell backwards. Kazuichi heard the wind leave Kuzuryu’s lungs when he hit the ground, but he kept his grip, teeth bared as he pulled. Owari clawed at his arm, leaving welts on his skin. Her sneakers kicked up dust and leaves as she struggled.

Kazuichi gulped a mouthful of air and trembled. At some point he’d wet himself. How long did they have to watch this? Until Owari passed out? Would Kuzuryu even stop then?

Maybe if they had some rope they could tie her up until she calmed down. He looked around. Koizumi was frozen on the porch, shoulders shaking with sobs. Komaeda was watching the pair on the ground with unblinking eyes, as if he he didn’t notice anything else around them.

Kuzuryu cried out. Owari dug her nails into the cut on his arm, blood seeping between her fingers. His grip slackened and she flipped over, gasping for air even as her hands locked around his throat.

“Fuck, fuck—” Kazuichi darted forward and grabbed her shoulders, trying to pull her off, but he might as well have been trying to pull a root out of the ground.

Kuzuryu’s face was a startling shade of red, spittle flying from his lips as he beat his fists against Owari’s arms. Her breathing was ragged, small desperate noises that sounded like please please please coming from her mouth.

The hatchet lay abandoned on the ground. Kazuichi snatched it up and nearly dropped it as it slid against his sweaty palms. He prayed his shaking limbs wouldn’t completely throw off his aim, made sure the blade was pointed towards the sky, and brought it down on Owari’s head. She collapsed on top of Kuzuryu, her arms bent awkwardly beneath her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Kazuichi dropped the hatchet like it was hot metal and sank to the ground. “Oh, god. Oh, fuck.”

Kuzuryu dragged himself out from beneath Owari, coughing and wheezing. He clutched at his chest like he was trying to make sure his heart was still beating.

“What the fuck was that,” he rasped.

Kazuichi breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and tried not to throw up.

Tsumiki approached, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Her arms were laden with fabric and other supplies. She spread an old shirt on the ground, dumped everything on top, and retrieved another cloth that she folded into a compress.

“Put pressure on the wound,” she said, handing it to Kuzuryu, who shakily complied.

Kazuichi drew his knees to his chest as she inspected Owari next. He never would have expected Tsumiki of all people to take charge, but he was more relieved than surprised. She’d patch everyone up. They could talk this through.

Tsumiki let out a sharp, distressed noise that shattered his relief. She rolled Owari onto her back, one hand bracing her neck. Owari’s eyes were still open.

“What—” Kazuichi croaked. “What happened?”

Kuzuryu had managed to push himself upright. He took one look at Owari and his face twisted. “God dammit.”

“She’s not breathing,” Tsumiki said, two fingers digging into Owari’s pulse point, and Kazuichi felt the world shatter around him.

As she started chest compressions, Kazuichi was reminded horribly of the day they’d all done the same for Nidai. How it had been for nothing in the end.

He looked down at his hands and wondered when he’d gotten blood on them.

Chapter Text

2013

The ladder creaked as someone descended and came into the kitchen. “Need any help?”

Sonia paused and looked down. She’d been scrubbing the pot for so long that the water inside was murky and dark gray. She’d lost herself in the repetitive motion, the persistent ache in her muscles.

The floorboards groaned as Hinata took a step closer. “Sonia?”

“I do not need any help. Thank you.” She shook the grimy water from her hands and turned around. Hinata looked weary and drawn in the early morning light. Her gaze flickered to the ladder. “How is he?”

“Uh, the same. More or less.” He shook his head helplessly. “I’ve just been trying to give him some space.”

Sonia pressed her lips together. She’d given Mioda space and she’d disappeared. She’d given Owari space and she had flown into a rage that had taken her own life.

She took a moment to formulate a gentler approach to the sentiment she wanted to convey. “I think we should be more proactive with Souda. I do not want him to hurt himself.”

Hinata flinched. “I just don’t know what to even say. Maybe you could try talking to him.”

“I do not know if that would be particularly effective.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

Because he is afraid of me. The back of her throat stung. She wasn’t sure if Souda himself knew it, but he’d been wary of her since the day Sagishi died. Hanamura’s death had worsened it. Sonia did not know if it was possible to assuage his guilt when she embodied the very thing he was scared of becoming.

“I do not know what to say that has not already been conveyed by the others,” she said.

Kuzuryu had been adamant about the fact that Souda’s actions had essentially been self-defense, that he’d saved his life with his actions. He hadn’t been gentle about it either, even while Souda had cried and trembled. Tsumiki had repeated those assurances in a softer voice, cleaning his face and hands and staying with him in the attic until he’d fallen asleep.

Hinata’s gaze was distant and hollow, though she could not say what ghosts in particular haunted him. There were so many these days it felt as if she would choke on them.

“Do you think we get to come back from that?” he asked, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“From what?”

“Hurting people. For whatever reason. Do you think we’ll ever get to just move on?”

She considered the princess’s answer. The version she’d been telling herself since they’d found Nanami’s remains in the shed.

Everything we have had to do was necessary for our survival. We do not linger in the past, but we do not forget, either. We mourn and honor the sacrifice of everyone who could not make it here with us today.

Sonia took a deep breath and said, “If we do not move on, then we will die.”

Hinata met her gaze, his own heavy with shadows. She remembered the way he’d looked on the cliff’s edge. She remembered thinking that a shot from her rifle would have sent him out of reach. They would have filled their mouths with him and then Sagishi would have died and then Nidai and Hanamura and Mioda and Owari.

They were all of them animals, and what did animals do except eat and then die?

“I’m gonna go wake him up,” Hinata said, still frowning, and climbed back up the ladder.

Sonia murmured an acknowledgement, dumped the water from the pot, and started making breakfast.

July 13, 2022

Hajime panicked the moment he woke up.

He was halfway through ripping the chair out from under the doorknob when his memory of the previous night settled into place. He stood there, chest heaving, and let the chair fall to the floor with a defeated thump.

He was in Komaeda’s house. This was the first night he’d spent outside his apartment since he’d moved in. He’d slept in Komaeda’s guest bed after taking sleeping pills given to him by a famous-novelist-slash-anonymous-serial killer.

The skin on his cheek was stiff with dried saliva. He wiped it away with the heel of his hand. Had he slept through the night? Laid over his panic was a thick sluggishness, a weight in his limbs that made him want to crawl back into bed. Maybe the pills had worked. Or maybe he was going to walk out of the guest room and find—

A knock sounded from the other side of the door, making him jump.

“Hinata? Is everything alright in there?”

That was Komaeda’s voice. Hajime was both relieved and suddenly aware that he was dressed only in his boxers. He ignored the part of him that wanted to answer the door and said, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Alright, then.” The soft sound of footsteps shuffled away.

Hajime frowned at the floor for a moment, then pulled on his wrinkled work clothes and picked up his phone from the desk. It was a quarter past eleven. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that long.

The only sounds in the house were coming from the kitchen, so he headed that way. Komaeda smiled at him from the other side of the island.

“Good morning. I assume you slept well?”

“I think so.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Would Komaeda even tell him if he’d seen evidence to the contrary?

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

Hajime’s response died in his throat as he realized Komaeda was putting together a tray. He’d set a bowl of steaming rice next to a dish of pickled vegetables. He took a container of marinated eggs out of the fridge, then turned and raised his eyebrows at Hajime.

“Please don’t tell me you drink beer in the morning.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.” He cleared his throat and decided not to think about how weird this was, Komaeda actually making him breakfast. “And you didn’t have to do all…” He gestured vaguely. “This.”

“My cooking is unfortunately subpar, but I wanted to at least make an attempt at being a good host.” He spooned a couple eggs onto the rice. “I don’t have very many guests. Except for Fukawa, of course, but she’s rather hard to please.”

“Probably doesn’t help that you’re blackmailing her.”

“I do feel bad about wasting her time. Speaking of, did you end up destroying those copies of my book?”

Hajime fixed him with a flat look. “Does it matter? I know you didn’t give me every single copy you have.”

Komaeda didn’t even bother looking guilty. “I suppose there might be one stored in the cloud. It’s amazing what modern computers are capable of.”

Last night, before the medicine had knocked him out, Hajime had thought about asking Chihiro to hack into Komaeda’s computer and wipe any traces of the manuscript he could find. But the thought of Chihiro accessing those documents himself had been horrifying enough for him to put it out of his mind.

“I have handwritten notes, too. Though my handwriting is so abysmal I doubt they’d be of any use to anyone but myself.” Komaeda pulled the tray halfway off the counter, preparing to balance it on his hands.

Without thinking, Hajime stepped forward. “You don’t have to—I’ll get it.”

He stopped, one hand awkwardly outstretched, as Komaeda blinked at him. Heat rose on his cheeks.

But Komaeda only smiled and pushed the tray back onto the counter. “I guess it would be bad if I spilled your breakfast.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply…”

“It’s no trouble at all.” He retrieved a pair of chopsticks from a drawer and set them on the tray. “We all have our limitations.”

I might have deserved that, Hajime thought as he picked up the tray. Skin still hot, he followed Komaeda to the dining table.

“Are you not going to eat anything?”

“I already had breakfast earlier.”

Right. Because Hajime had slept in like a teenager. He took a seat across from Komaeda. The scent of warm rice hit his nostrils and his stomach woke up with a growl.

“Thanks. For cooking.”

“I hope it’s edible.” Komaeda rested his hand on the table. “So, I’ve been thinking about the Hope Cultivation Project. I remembered there was an Ultimate Neurologist in our year—”

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

He blinked. “What is it?”

“Can you give me, like, ten minutes before we start talking about that?” Hajime picked up his chopsticks and gestured to his food. “I just want to…”

Komaeda gazed at him for a moment, his expression teetering between affronted and bemused. “Alright, then. What should we talk about instead?”

Hajime shrugged and split an egg with his chopsticks. “Where’d you learn how to cook?”

“I look up recipes online. I tend to prefer cold dishes because they make less of a mess.”

“Really?” Hajime took a bite of the rice, sticky with egg yolk, and went back for another. Komaeda had been exaggerating—he wasn’t a terrible cook. It wasn’t fantastic either, but he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty four hours. Things tasted good when he was hungry. Even things that weren’t supposed to.

“I’ve become partial to salads, too,” Komaeda continued. “What about you? What do you cook at home?”

The words came out stilted, like he was reading from a script. Hajime swallowed his bite and said, “Microwave meals, mostly. Cup noodles. I spent a lot of time at work so I don’t always have the energy to cook.”

“I see.”

Silence descended on the table. As he ate, Hajime racked his brain for something else to say. He thought back to the break room chatter at the office, then realized he’d been tuning that out for years. He went back further, to awkward icebreakers he’d done in high school.

“What, uh. What do you do with your free time? Besides the book.”

“I read, mostly. Though I guess lately I’ve been reading for inspiration. I’m halfway through a translation of a memoir written by one of the survivors of the Andes plane crash. Do you remember hearing about that?”

Hajime wished there was a clock in the room so he could see if they’d managed even five minutes of normal small talk. “Yeah, I think so.”

“The author did an amazing job of conveying the bleak conditions they faced.” Komaeda paused. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if one of us had left to look for help?”

He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath and set his chopsticks down. “Why a book?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you writing a book? Why not get a deal to make some documentary series? Record a podcast? You need help for a book, and you had to blackmail Fukawa into doing it.”

Komaeda put a finger to his chin. “I suppose… I’m not sure if I mentioned this to you before, but I’ve been treating the book as a sort of discovery process. I think writing everything down might help me understand why it happened.”

“Why what happened?”

“Everything.” He met his gaze with slightly widened eyes. It was the first time Hajime had seen that look in years. “Why we survived as long as we did. Why so many people had to die. Why it all ended the way it did.” His hand flexed, grasping at something that wasn’t there. “I tried writing it all out before. Tried to find where it went wrong.” A rueful smile twitched on his lips. “The doctors at the mental institution weren’t particularly pleased about that.”

“Hey.” Hajime reached a hand out, then stopped before he could fully close the distance between them. “You shouldn’t do that. If you keep reliving what happened out there, it’s gonna drive you crazy.” He took a moment to regret his choice of words, then forged on. “Things happened the way they did. There’s nothing to figure out.”

Komaeda looked at him for a long moment, then tilted his head. “Isn’t there, though? If we’re still alive it’s not really over, is it?”

The fingers of his outstretched hand curled into a fist. A chill crawled down his arms.

“Do you still wish you’d killed all of us?”

“There are days when I think that might have been for the better.” Komaeda dropped his gaze. “And others where I think things happened the way they were meant to. I mean, look at the others.”

Something like bitterness curled in his throat. He’d only seen Sonia through social media posts, but her career in philanthropy was thriving. Kuzuryu was a yakuza boss straight out of a movie. He imagined Tsumiki and Souda excelling in their respective careers. Despite everything, they’d all managed to make something of themselves.

“In any case, I owe you an apology,” Komaeda said.

Hajime’s gaze snapped to his face. “What for?”

“I really do wish I was a better cook.”

He looked down at his half-eaten meal and suppressed a frustrated sigh. “It’s not bad. This was just…a depressing conversation.”

“Hm.” Komaeda didn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, since we’ve already started, I believe ten minutes have passed. Did you want to look at the Hope Cultivation Plan documents?”

Hajime pressed his lips together. Maybe he should have asked for a beer. “Alright, fine. I’ll be right back.”

He retrieved the envelope from his room, frowning at the bright blue of the postcard visible through the opening. Komaeda seemed too invested in the documents to have been the one who had sent them in the first place. It wasn’t like he actually needed Hajime’s help to look into the Hope Cultivation Project. The real culprit was probably the same person who had sent Kuzuryu his own postcard, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to reach out to him for help. The best outcome he could hope for was a terse, “Fuck off.” The worst would probably be a bullet between his eyes.

Komaeda smiled at him when he returned and gestured to the other chair on his side of the table. “We should probably sit next to each other so we can both read it, right?”

His half-empty dishes had already been cleared from the table. Hajime felt a small twinge of guilt. He really hadn’t meant to be rude about it, especially since Komaeda had bothered to cook for him at all.

He slid the papers out of the envelope and set them on the table. As he took his seat, he took the postcard from the top of the pile, turning it over in his hands with a sigh.

“Have you ever been in a sensory deprivation tank?” Komaeda asked, watching him closely.

“…No?” Hajime frowned at him. Was that one of the treatments he’d done at the psychiatric institution? “Have you?”

“I’ve never had the opportunity. Most people consider it pseudoscience, but some studies have found a link between sensory deprivation and mental clarity.” He nodded at the postcard. “Something like that might help you remember what actually happened during this supposed study abroad trip.”

A chill ran down his arms despite the warm sunlight coming through the window behind them. He’d spent the better part of a decade repressing memories from his high school years. Sifting through them again—in a dark metal box, no less—felt like a terrible idea.

He rested one elbow on the table and massaged his forehead. “Let’s just go through the papers first.”

They started from the beginning, reading through every sentence not obscured by a black rectangle. Komaeda was still faster at reading, a difference that only increased as the technical jargon started to blur in front of Hajime’s eyes. After a while, Komaeda retrieved his laptop so they could look up some of the more obscure terminology, his hand flitting over the keys in a graceful, bird-like matter. Even with the help of the Internet, there were some paragraphs that remained impenetrably dense.

What Hajime was able to glean was this: if the documents were truthful, he’d consented to an experimental procedure funded by Hope’s Peak Academy. It wasn’t clear what the procedure involved, but the end goal was to create an “Ultimate Hope,” a person imbued with as many talents as the researchers could cram into one person’s head.

And according to the documents, the project had been an utter failure.

“I don’t understand why,” Komaeda murmured, thumbing the corners of the last few pages. “Izuru Kamukura exists. I spoke to him myself. If the project did succeed—”

Hajime pushed his chair back and stood up. They were almost done, but the headache throbbing between his eyes was bordering on unbearable.

Komaeda looked up at him. “Hinata?”

“I need a minute.” He turned away without waiting for a response and walked down the hall. He didn’t want to go back to the guest room, didn’t want to see any more of this blank, spotless house, so he kept going until he found a door leading outside.

His first breath of fresh air filled him with surprising relief. He hadn’t realized until now how stifled he’d felt inside. He felt raw, a taste like latex in his mouth, the way he’d felt going to the dentist as a child. He took another slow, deep breath and stepped out of the shadow of the house.

It was late afternoon, the sunlight thick like honey. A red brick path wound through thick clusters of flowering bushes and sprightly trees. All of it was meticulously landscaped, the path swept clean of debris and the bushes neatly trimmed. Komaeda must have hired at least one gardener, Hajime mused as he walked. There was no way he could maintain all of this himself.

He reached the pond with the lonely pine in the middle and sat on the bench overlooking the water. He felt a little less disoriented, but his headache remained, only a little less painful than the longing taking up too much space in his chest. He remembered it from his middle school days, his semester at Kodaka High. He remembered bending over his desk in his bedroom, eyes unfocused, wracked with yearning for a talent. He remembered the jealousy that had threatened to suffocate him once he’d started attending Hope’s Peak.

It made him sick, knowing that even if he didn’t remember signing those waivers, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He would have signed away anything, carved out his own organs, for a chance at a talent. He’d had the opportunity and he didn’t even remember it slipping through his fingers. He could have had a talent. He would have been glutted with talents, overflowing with them, and somehow it had all gotten locked away just out of reach. If it had been him instead of Kamukura, he could have helped. He could have fixed the radio, hunted for food, led Class 77-B to safety, terrified but intact. Chiaki would still be alive.

“Hinata?”

He blinked, remembered where he was. His hands were gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked up as Komaeda approached, still wearing his sweater despite the balmy air.

Komaeda gazed at him, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and sat on the bench.

Hajime turned back to the pond, the listless shapes of koi circling beneath the glasslike surface. What was it like for Komaeda, waiting for Kamukura to appear again? Had he been disappointed earlier today, calling into the bedroom and hearing Hajime’s voice answer?

“I usually like to feed the koi this time of day.” Komaeda withdrew a plastic bottle from his pocket. He held it between his knees so he could unscrew the cap, then withdrew a few multicolored pellets. He tossed them into the water, which began to churn as the koi surfaced with greedy, gaping mouths. He held the bottle out to Hajime.

He glanced from the bottle to Komaeda’s tentative, inviting smile. “I should go. I have work tomorrow.”

“Ah, I guess it’s later than I realized.” He glanced at the sky. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager to return to your salaryman life.”

Hajime looked down at his wrinkled slacks. He didn’t want to go. He was still stressed out, struggling to breathe around the knot of long-buried emotions in his chest, but today had been different. Komaeda’s quiet, endless house, the back-and-forth they’d been doing all day, the fragrant garden—all of it felt so far from the apartment-office-apartment hamster wheel he’d been running on for years. It was a strange relief just to do something different. He wanted another night of dreamless sleep, wanted to wake up to another one of Komaeda’s cold breakfasts and talk about things only the two of them would understand.

He couldn’t allow himself to have any of that.

“I can’t really fall behind. If other people have to finish the work I miss, they’ll probably do it wrong.” He stood up, tried and failed to tug a wrinkle out of his shirtsleeve.

“You must be bored working in an environment like that.”

Komaeda was giving him that same searching look, the one that meant he wasn’t really looking at him at all. Hajime turned away.

“We can talk about next steps with the Hope Cultivation Project later. I just don’t want to miss my train.”

“Alright, then.” Komaeda set the bottle on the bench and stood. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Hajime stopped by the dining room table to stuff the papers back in the envelope. Komaeda followed him, pushing his laptop closed with two fingers. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave those here?”

“I’m sure. If you want I’ll fax them to you.”

He laughed. “Your office must be old-fashioned. Why not just email them to me?”

“Sure, whatever works.” In any case, it was probably a breach of ethics to be sending redacted documents about unethical psychological experiments using office equipment.

“We could exchange phone numbers too.”

Hajime paused, his thumb playing with the flap of the envelope. For some reason texting Nagito Komaeda felt different from messaging MRKOTO888. It didn’t make any sense. They were the same person, after all.

He held out his phone. “Put your number in. I’ll text you when I get back.”

“No business card?”

“The hell would I need a business card for?”

“For your boring office job, I assume.” He entered his number, his thumb moving deftly over the screen. Hajime let his gaze linger, taking in the shadow of his thick lashes. The absent smile curving his lips.

The glowing red dot trembling on his chest.

“Shit.” He grabbed Komaeda by the shoulders, startling him into dropping the phone.

They both froze at the sound of a familiar voice from the doorway.

“I should have fucking known.”

Chapter Text

July 13, 2022

“How was that, love? Was that good?” Mikan pushed a few damp strands of hair away from her face and crawled back up the bed.

Junko still looked perfect despite her mussed hair and reddened cheeks. She smiled a lazy smile, still panting, and pulled her close.

“I dunno,” she said. When Mikan’s answering smile faltered, she added, “Can’t really think right now. I think you might have actually fucked my brains out.”

Mikan smothered a giggle behind her hand and relaxed into the pillow. She understood now why other people liked sex so much. She’d thought about it all throughout her shift yesterday, lust smoldering in her like a newly awakened hunger. Junko was the first person she actually liked having sex with, the first to make her feel good in ways she thought had been made up for romance novels.

But her favorite part was when their roles reversed, when it was her turn to be in control. She did have a talent, after all, for knowing the human body, how it responded to certain stimuli. It had been such a lovely challenge, the most fun she’d had in years, to figure out the different ways she could make Junko fall apart piece by piece.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Junko asked, pushing back a lock of Mikan’s hair, grazing her fingernail over the skin behind her ear. Mikan shivered.

“Just that I like doing this.” She averted her gaze. “I know that’s a stupid thing to say.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s true.” She continued stroking her hair, sliding her fingers down her jaw, her neck. “Besides, I like seeing that side of you.”

She blinked. “You mean…?”

Junko grinned and bit her lip. “Your dom side, for lack of a better term. I had no idea you had it in you.”

Heat bloomed on her skin. “I guess I didn’t either.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing it outside the bedroom.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “It would be really hot to see you, I don’t know, telling off a waiter or something.”

She imagined how mortifying that would be and felt another wave of heat pass over her. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“Well, only to someone who deserves it.” She twirled a lock of Mikan’s hair around one finger. “But I’m fine with being the only one who sees this side of you.”

“Me too.” She reached out and stroked her side, caressing the smooth skin between her hip and her breast. “Do you think you might come over tomorrow? I could make dinner. If you want.”

Junko’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. “I might be free. If I have a shoot I could always just blow it off.”

“Y-You don’t have to do that,” Mikan said, giddy at the thought of Junko missing work just to spend time with her.

“It’s fine. I think I’ve been working too much, anyway.”

She hummed in agreement. She’d been working six-day weeks since she’d gotten her current job. Nursing had felt like her life, and everything else—all the awkward dates and stilted conversations with neighbors—had felt like doomed forays into a world where she didn’t really belong. Being with Junko was the first time she’d really wanted to make space for something in her life other than work.

Junko’s hand was at her collarbone now, tracing the ridge of it with her thumb. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

Mikan blinked. She’d thought about it a lot. There had been a period of a few months where she’d religiously watched travel vlogs from women her age. Some of them brought boyfriends on their trips while others seemed content in their solitude. She’d watched hours of women strolling beaches and sampling street food and nursed the envy in her chest like sour beer.

“It’s been a long time,” she said. “I guess I’ve been too busy.”

“Let’s go somewhere.” Her smile widened. “I’ve always wanted to go to Bali.”

“I, um, don’t really like going on planes.” She resisted the urge to draw the sheet tighter over her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“What about a cruise?” she asked, patient as ever. “I think most of those boats are too big to actually sink.”

“That might be nice.” Now that she thought about it, she’d never been on a boat before. She didn’t know if she would get seasick on the open water. Maybe Junko would. Maybe she’d be bedridden, and Mikan would stay with her in their cabin and soothe her nausea. Junko would apologize for ruining their vacation but Mikan would assure her that it was okay, that it was more important that they were together.

Junko tapped her nose, startling her out of her daydream. “What’s that look on your face? You’re not into it?”

“I-I am.” Mikan blinked, heat returning to her face. “I was just thinking about, um, logistics.”

“I’ll handle all the boring stuff.” She leaned closer. “All you have to do is show up and look cute.”

Her giggle was swallowed by Junko’s lips. She pulled her into an embrace, their limbs twining beneath the sheets, and imagined doing this in the cradle of the ocean waves.

2013

Sonia stepped into the living room, a small frown on her face.“Who was supposed to bring in wood this morning?”

“I think Souda was,” Hinata said. “Sorry. I figured it’d be better to let him go with Tanaka so he could get some fresh air.”

Anything was better than Souda moping around. Fuyuhiko stood up with a sigh. “I got it.”

He stepped outside, the porch creaking beneath him. The air wasn’t unpleasant, but a hint of a chill touched his exposed skin. Summer would linger for a few more weeks. They still had time before they had to contend with how (if) they were going to survive the rest of the year.

He approached the wood pile and tucked as many pieces as he could manage beneath his arm. Lately he’d been thinking about the first person he’d ever killed. His family had been in a restaurant he couldn’t remember the name of. His father had decided thirteen was old enough for him to begin familiarizing himself with more concrete aspects of the family business, so he’d brought him along for what should have been a routine meeting with a clan associate.

He’d been thinking that maybe he did like squid after all when the gunfire started.

He’d learned later that it had been a gang with bad intel. They hadn’t even known the oyabun of the Kuzuryu clan was going to be there. The element of surprise hadn’t saved them in the end, but they’d still killed the associate, splattered skull fragments in his miso soup. It wasn’t the first person Fuyuhiko had seen die, but for some reason it had made him furious. He was supposed to be learning, picking up negotiation strategies, and these men had interrupted them. Ruined his dinner. Shot at his father.

He didn’t remember where the gun had come from, only that he’d snatched it off the floor, checked the safety, and started firing. It had taken four rounds for him to hit his target. He’d watched a dark red patch of blood bloom on the man’s chest, his body contorting strangely as he went down. Then Peko had pulled him under the table, shielding him with her body like she’d done it a thousand times, even though they’d never been in a situation like this before. She hadn’t said a word afterwards about how he’d started trembling.

He’d replayed that moment over and over in his head that night, but in the morning it had come out that the gang had run afoul of another clan, who had given them bad intel on purpose. Lured them into suicide-by-Kuzuryu. His father hadn’t appreciated the waste of resources.

Fuyuhiko didn’t know what to say to Souda because he’d never killed someone standing on the other side of the invisible line separating himself from civilians. Yakuza, gang members, every petty criminal who spun in their orbit—they all knew what they were getting into. Self defense, punishment, and cold-blooded murder were all an integral part of his world. He didn’t know what to say to someone who had killed on accident, out of desperation because these woods were slowly starting to drive all of them insane.

None of this made any sense anymore.

He took the wood back inside and started stacking it in the rack by the fireplace. He felt the wood shift in his grip, and when he tried to adjust it a spike of pain shot through the cut on his arm. He dropped the rest of the wood with a curse.

Tsumiki was at his side in an instant. “Are you alright, Kuzuryu?” She grabbed his arm, careful not to touch the injury directly. “Did your stitches tear? You really shouldn’t strain it too much.”

“I’m fine.” He tried to pull away, but she tightened her grip. “It hurts because it got fucking sliced open. That’s all.”

“There might be damage to the muscle.” She tugged his sleeve back and held a hand over the bandage. “Do you feel feverish at all? There’s still time for an infection to—”

“Let go of me before I make you,” Fuyuhiko ground out, and Tsumiki released him like she’d been burned.

Koizumi shot him a look. “You don’t need to talk to her like that.”

He scowled back. “How the fuck else am I supposed to talk when she won’t take no for an answer?”

Tears welled in Tsumiki’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help. I’m really sorry.”

Fuyuhiko let out a slow sigh through his nose. It was hard to stay angry at someone who folded so easily. It was like yelling at a baby.

“It’s fine. I’d be in way worse shape if it wasn’t for you.” Gingerly, he pulled his sleeve back down. “I’ll let you know if I need something, yeah?”

“Okay,” Tsumiki said, hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, then started picking up the wood with his uninjured hand.

With reluctant footsteps, Tsumiki went back to the kitchen. The day Owari had died, Fuyuhiko had never seen her so…well, happy wasn’t even close to the right word, but it was the most energetic she’d been in weeks. She’d already had makeshift sutures and sterile bandages prepared. She’d flushed his wound clean once the bleeding had slowed and watched him like a hawk for signs of fever. It was a miracle the wound hadn’t gotten infected, since Owari’s dirty fingers had literally been inside it. Whether it was dumb luck or Tsumiki’s skill, Fuyuhiko was grateful to her for keeping him alive and his arm intact. (This cabin didn’t need two one-armed bastards walking around.)