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They hated to admit it, but Chihiro was running out of leads, their investigation through Towa City’s apocalyptic terrain proving unsuccessful. They were almost glad for the diversion when another survivor from Class 78 sent a message over their handheld PDAs requesting help locating a Demon Hunting target.
Branded “Gontakerus” by the Warriors of Hope, he was spotted near Towa Library. Chihiro slipped through the building’s side door and tracked new footprints in the fine layer of dust coating the floor. The library was eerily still, a few desks piled high with newspapers and magazines, every headline about the Tragedy. Chihiro shuddered seeing their own name in print with five others who’d survived the killing game from half a year ago.
A thud snapped Chihiro to attention. Scanning their surroundings, Chihiro glimpsed a Monokuma clumsily bumping into a table on the other side of the room, unaware it was being watched but still so dramatic. Chihiro rolled their eyes and reached for their hacking gun—
“Don’t!” a voice hissed. Before they could locate the source, someone pulled them between two bookshelves.
“You insane?” a scowling boy scolded. Chihiro gaped at the face they recognized from photographs as Takemichi Yukimaru, interim leader of the Crazy Diamonds, and right-hand-man of Mondo Owada.
He was prettier in person, with tousled hair and sharp, calculating eyes. He was also shorter than they’d expected, but not to be overlooked; where Mondo was hotheaded, Takemichi was reportedly collected and inflexible.
But all Chihiro remembered was that brave boy who’d wanted so badly to live. Who’d throttled Monokuma at the first sign of danger, who’d pounded on bolted-up windows, who’d paled only at the sight of a secret worth dying for. Every day now, Chihiro fought to conjure memories of their school, as painful as it was, for even a moment more with Mondo.
Takemichi’s scrutinizing frown deepened. “You can’t use a megaphone—there’s one of those alarm bastards in here.”
A siren in a hushed library…were the Monokuma kids trying to flush Takemichi out of hiding? “Can you show me?”
Takemichi appraised Chihiro, untrusting, but ultimately decided to take their gloved hand and lead them to a vantage point between shelves. There, they saw the hazardous siren Monokuma wandering amongst romance novels. (If there was more time, maybe they could’ve found books by the late Toko Fukawa.)
Takemichi muttered, “If it was just the regular punks, I could take ‘em out myself.” His possessive grip on a metal baseball bat tightened.
“Let me handle this, Yukimaru,” Chihiro whispered. He stiffened at his name, but Chihiro was already swapping truth bullets and taking aim.
“DANCE!”
In the ensuing burst of pink, the siren Monokuma shimmied and shook while its alarm blared, attracting every other Monokuma in the vicinity. Startlingly, four others had been lurking—but they flipped back to the Break function and attacked with blue shots, saving the boogieing bear for last.
Once it lay inactive, Chihiro became aware of Takemichi’s gaze.
“Um, Yukimaru, I actually came here to talk to you…” they babbled nervously. “I promise it’s not bad! I just want to bring you somewhere safe so you—”
“You’re with that Future Foundation, then,” Takemichi concluded, scoffing. “That explains the weapon. Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Everyone still kicking in this godforsaken city is convinced you guys’ll swoop in to save the day. Fuck that. If Future Foundation had an ounce of strength, you would’ve charged into that murder school and stopped Junko Enoshima before any of this shit happened, before—!” Takemichi stopped, sensing he was losing his cool.
It was impressive he dared say the name of Ultimate Despair herself—most were afraid to invoke it, these days—much less spit it with such venom. But they knew who he was vicious on behalf of.
“I never introduced myself,” Chihiro began again. “I’m not here on behalf of Future Foundation. My name is Chihiro Fujisaki, the Ultimate Programmer.”
The enraged flush drained from Takemichi’s features. “...Fujisaki?” He reached out a hand, as if to prove they were not a ghost—but then flinched back.
“The reports said your class’s memories were altered. How do you know me?” Observant and unapologetic in his questioning—Kyoko Kirigiri would’ve appreciated his investigative mind.
Chihiro explained, “The kids who overran Towa are hunting hostages of Class 78’s killing game. You were…Mondo Owada’s chosen loved one.” Chihiro didn’t feel half worthy of saying his name. “My friends and I received information and tech from Future Foundation, but we’re to help of our own volition.”
Takemichi sighed loudly, resolute. “Fine. I’ll go with you—they already found me. Anyways, I’d rather travel with someone who can hold their own, over risking it alone.”
Chihiro froze, baffled to have swayed the stubborn biker—and that he trusted Chihiro to have his back!
“You coming, Fujisaki?” Takemichi called, already heading for the exit.
“Uh—yes!” They scurried to catch up.
Outside, Takemichi walked like he owned the streets, while Chihiro subtly signaled which turns would take them to the Towa Underground entrance. From there, they could follow the subway lines to the secret base that sheltered Towa’s citizens. Everyone would be relieved to have another Demon Hunting target securely in their care. Then, Chihiro would resume their search…
“How does the memory shit work?” Takemichi asked suddenly.
“Eh?”
“How do you lose, what, three years of memory?” he elaborated, disgruntled.
Chihiro huffed, amused. “I was focused on the killing game, so I wasn’t trying to look for inconsistencies. In the months since, I’ve been able to recover fragments of memories…Say, did we ever meet before, Yukimaru?”
Takemichi avoided their gaze. “No. But Mondo talked about you. Before the world went to shit.”
Chihiro wanted to probe, but then their eyes caught on glinting metal in their periphery: a broken-off length of chain wrapped around a lamppost, like a dog had gotten loose…
Before they could stop themself, Chihiro was rushing towards it. They called backwards: “Sorry! I have to do something quickly! The subway is two blocks down—I’ll join you soon!”
Down a side street, the sounds of a brawl grew cacophonous, which meant either a hellish volume of Monokumas, or—
One of the Warriors of Hope’s mecha suits, the Sage Robot, was unleashing destruction upon an intersection. Chihiro ducked behind an abandoned car to avoid flying debris. In the chaos, they spied the mecha’s enemy: a single girl, attacking with a gleaming spear. She moved like lightning, feinting away from the robot’s grasp and plunging her weapon into the crook of its elbow, sparks spraying.
“Who…who the hell is that?” A panting Takemichi had caught up to Chihiro. They would’ve admonished him to go somewhere safe, but they knew what it was to be underestimated, so they held off.
“That’s Mukuro Ikusaba,” they answered.
“The Ultimate Despair?” Takemichi screeched.
“Ultimate Soldier,” Chihiro corrected. “She was nearly killed by her sister, so she fought back.”
Back then, it was lucky Makoto Naegi saved her from the trap in the gymnasium. Mukuro had never believed her sister could really hurt her, but that betrayal was what turned the tides of their killing game—and Mukuro—against despair.
Although, Despair wouldn’t leave her be. As Mukuro circled the mecha and took aim, a shadowy figure behind her brandished a blade—
Instantly, Chihiro flipped on their hacking gun. “MOVE!” Green light shot at the car in front of them, its forgotten engine roaring to life. It sped towards the assailant and sent him skittering away, while the soldier was busy burying her spear beneath the Sage Robot’s shoulder blade.
From wherever the Sage himself was watching, he opted to cut his losses and flee, his mecha retreating away. Mukuro pursued, but not before calling to her classmate: “Nice aim, Chi! Thanks for the assist!”
And then, she bolted away. Chihiro briefly glowed in the soldier’s praise.
“Holy shit,” Takemichi blurted. “Did you kill that guy over there?!”
“Huh? No—I’m sure he’s fine!” Chihiro picked their way towards the car, now smashed against a crumbling building.
“You threw a car at him!”
Thankfully, the crushed rubble shifted, and a mittened hand poked out. Chihiro shifted some of the pieces away and helped the man stand. “Here—I’ve got you, Komaeda!”
Nagito Komaeda was taller than the other two, and willowy. An unfinished braid stuck out amidst his cloud of insipid hair, and his unobscured hand was dotted with marker doodles, like he was a giant doll for villainous kids. Most notably, he wore a collar with a long chain matching the links Chihiro spied earlier. This man—this Remnant of Despair—was part of Chihiro’s true goal.
He lit up with recognition, though they’d never met. “Ah, thank you, Fujisaki! Apologies—you may know, but I am Servant to the Warriors of Hope, so of course, I needed to at least attempt to stop Ikusaba…but alas, the rays of hope from the Ultimates are just too bright for someone like me to dim.”
Takemichi cleared his throat. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t understand a goddamn word of that.”
Nagito’s stormcloud eyes cut to him, disdainful. “It can’t be helped, of the talentless.”
Takemichi scoffed, unimpressed.
“Komaeda—” Chihiro started.
“Of course, Fujisaki, I’m sure you’d like to get on with it. Someone so gentle must hate to dirty your hands, extinguishing a pitiful despair like myself.”
“What?” Chihiro spluttered. “I’m not here to kill you!”
“I still wouldn’t call them gentle,” Takemichi warned, idly swinging his bat. “They did almost run you over.”
Nagito raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Please enlighten me, then: why have the Remnants of Despair been vanishing since your game’s end?”
Cautiously, Chihiro reiterated, “We’re not killing Remnants—we’re giving them a chance. That’s what I came here for. Take this.” From their pocket, Chihiro pulled a skeleton key to hand to Komaeda. “Mukuro said I should return this: it’s for that collar Enoshima locked you in.”
Nagito stared at the key, apprehensive. “...You’re setting me free? How do I repay you?”
“Please consider my offer: I want to protect you and your former classmates, and help you heal. But to combat despair, you have to choose to change. Enoshima never gave you a choice, but I will.”
“How hopeful…” Nagito murmured.
“It’s not hope I have,” Chihiro replied firmly. “It’s belief—that if we come together, this world can recover. That it’s possible to change for the better. In my darkest time, I was given my friends, who I learned to trust in. And now, after everything, I finally believe in my own strength—so you can believe in me, too.”
For the first time, Nagito looked solemn. Chihiro said their piece, so they turned to Takemichi, who was grinning wickedly.
“He was right,” Takemichi proclaimed. “When Mondo said he was actually making friends with the talented jerks at that school, I wasn’t convinced, but I get it now. I’ve seen with my own eyes the big-hearted programmer he said is crazy enough to shine with the Diamonds.”
Stunned, Chihiro squeaked, “Mondo…said that?”
Takemichi nodded. “Sure did. Hey, Fujisaki—I’d like to offer myself as someone you can believe in, too. I’ll come with you on your mission.”
“You mean that? We could still go to the shelter.”
“Nah. I’ve always felt safest with my gang. Whatever’s next for you, I’ve got your back, Boss.”
Chihiro beamed, feeling tears well. It had been a long road here, and it wasn’t over yet, but they were on their way to being the person Mondo knew they could be.
“Excuse me.” Nagito had removed his collar, now clutched tightly in his hands. “...I would also like to assist you, if I may.”
“I would be happy to have your help—as Komaeda, not a servant,” Chihiro clarified. “See, there’s another Remnant here, but I can’t seem to find any sign of him…”
The biker and the Remnant followed dutifully behind their leader as Chihiro guided them through the wreckage of Towa City.