Chapter Text
☕ Vignette: Cafe Noir
Kyoko Kirigiri sits by the window, her coat draped neatly over the back of the chair. The coffee in front of her is dark, unsweetened, still steaming. She doesn’t drink it yet. She watches the steam curl upward like it’s trying to escape something.
Behind the counter, the barista wipes down porcelain cups with a practiced rhythm. He’s older—glasses, mustache, apron with a stitched patch that reads “Noir Means Quiet.” He doesn’t speak unless spoken to. He believes coffee is best when it’s still hot. And during the cold months, he serves hot chocolate without asking. It’s a kindness disguised as routine.
The café is nearly empty. A jazz record plays softly, the kind that sounds like it’s remembering something. Outside, the wind nudges leaves across the pavement. Inside, Kyoko finally takes a sip.
It’s bitter. Perfect.
The barista glances over. Doesn’t smile. Just nods once, like he’s acknowledging a truth they both understand.
Kyoko doesn’t stay long. She leaves a tip, folds her coat over her arm, and steps back into the chill.
The coffee stays hot. The silence stays warm.
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🛍️ Vignette: Window Shopping Without Carousing
The storefronts of Summit Vale glowed gently in the late afternoon light. Glass displays shimmered with seasonal scarves, novelty mugs, and one mannequin wearing a trench coat made entirely of zippers. No one knew which store sold it. No one asked.
Makoto, Kyoko, Aoi, and Byakuya walked in loose formation, not quite a group, not quite separate. It was the kind of outing that happened when no one had homework and the vending machines were restocking.
Aoi paused in front of a sports shop. “Those shoes look fast,” she said.
Makoto nodded. “They probably are.”
Kyoko studied a bookstore window. A mystery novel sat propped open, its title obscured by a sticker that read “Now With Less Existential Dread!”
Byakuya scoffed. “Marketing is for the weak.”
They kept walking.
At a boutique, Aoi tried on sunglasses—through the glass, without entering. “Do I look mysterious?”
Makoto smiled. “You look like you’re trying not to sneeze.”
Kyoko didn’t comment. She was watching a display of ceramic cats. One had a monocle. One had a tiny violin. One looked like it knew something.
Byakuya stopped at a tailor’s window. A suit on display had a tag that read “For the Discerning Protagonist.” He stared at it for a long time.
No one bought anything. No one caused a scene. They just walked, browsed, and let the quiet settle between them like fresh snow.
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💸 Vignette: Junko’s Department Store Rampage
The escalators at Summit Vale’s most expensive department store glided upward like velvet judgment. Junko Enoshima stood at the front, sunglasses perched on her nose, faux-fur jacket flaring behind her like a cape. Mukuro Ikusaba followed two steps behind, hands in her pockets, expression unreadable.
“Ugh,” Junko groaned, eyeing a mannequin in a sequined jumpsuit. “Even this plastic freak has more presence than you.”
Mukuro didn’t respond. She was used to it.
They reached the fifth floor—Designer Collections and Emotional Damage. Junko twirled toward a display of rhinestone-studded trench coats. “Try this on,” she said, tossing one at Mukuro without looking. “Maybe it’ll distract from your whole… face.”
Mukuro caught it. “It’s not my style.”
Junko gasped. “You have a style? Since when?”
She waved a platinum card like a wand. “Daddy’s a general. Mommy’s an icon. I’m a mood. You’re… background noise.”
The spree escalated.
- One faux-leather jumpsuit with built-in mood lighting
- Two pairs of boots that made Mukuro walk like a runway model against her will
- A handbag shaped like a grenade (Junko’s favorite)
- A scarf that whispered affirmations Mukuro didn’t believe
At checkout, Junko posed for a selfie with the receipt. Mukuro stood beside her, holding the grenade purse like it might explode.
“You’re lucky I let you tag along,” Junko said, flipping her hair. “You’re like… my emotional support war criminal.”
Mukuro blinked. “Thanks?”
Junko grinned. “Don’t get used to it.”
They left the store in a cloud of perfume and passive aggression. Mukuro didn’t say a word. But she kept the scarf.
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🎮 Vignette: Chiaki in the Zone
The arcade lights flickered like distant stars. The air smelled faintly of popcorn, neon, and ambition. Students wandered between cabinets, trading tokens and half-hearted trash talk. But at the far end of the room, one machine had gone silent—except for the sound of buttons being obliterated.
Chiaki Nanami stood in front of Galactic Blitz: Turbo Edition. Left hand on the joystick. Right hand on the buttons. She didn’t blink. She didn’t speak. She didn’t breathe in a way that could be measured.
The screen flashed:
HIGH SCORE: CHIAKI
SECOND PLACE: CHIAKI
THIRD PLACE: CHIAKI
Hajime leaned against a nearby cabinet. “Has she moved in?”
Nagito whispered, reverent. “She’s communing with the machine.”
Ibuki tried to distract her with a kazoo solo. Chiaki didn’t flinch.
Aoi offered her a donut. Chiaki accepted it without looking, took a bite, and kept playing. The donut never touched her other hand.
The machine beeped. A new level unlocked. One no one had ever seen before. The cabinet shuddered slightly, like it was afraid.
Chiaki’s eyes narrowed. “Finally.”
No one knew what she meant.
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We hope you've enjoyed this brief collection of vignettes.