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Clack, clack, clack….
Chiaki moved her heavy feet across the dirty, metal floor. This was a cruel game she was being put through. Not even a game, though, it was a “punishment.” For what, exactly, she didn’t know. Walking through Junko’s Death Dungeon cautiously, she looked through the distance, trying to find anything resembling an exit.
She sped up her movements, feet moving along the ground quicker. Her arm was killing her, she really needed to get it checked out. Bright pink blood splayed on the surface below her, each second more agonizing than the last. With each misstep or trip she took, she would have to pay the price for it.
Spikes, prongs, skewers, all of them getting pierced through her skin like she was an entrée at a barbecue. Anguished screams echo off the room's gloomy encasings, the pain in her foot insufferable. She kept muttering to herself about how “she could make it”, “this wasn’t the end”, “she could do it”.
Multiple challenges got in her way, such as comically oversized Indiana Jones-eque balls, metal shot put balls thrown straight at her face, sickles lunged at her, even spears through her thighs. But she kept moving. She had hope in her heart, a hope that would never die! With each gut-wrenching step, she moved on and on, searching more and more for the exit, all while thinking the same thing: Hope will win. Hope always wins. Despair will lose and fall disgracefully.
While repeating these in her head, she spots something in the dark distance. A door. A door marked with the word “GOAL”, in big, blocky, yellow letters. Has she reached it? The end to this wretched game? With slow strides, she headed closer. It really was the exit! Limping, she heedfully placed trembling fingers on the doorknob. With slow, cautious movements, she turned it, only to see…
Her classmates. Class 77-B. Miss Yukizome, Akane, Fyuyhiko, Gundham, Teruteru, Hiyoko, Ibuki, Kazuichi, Peko, Mahiru, Nekomaru, Nagito, Mikan, Sonia, Ryota, and a blinding light of white hope. She had done it. She had bested Junko. She had won.
… Or so she thought.
Before she could even flinch, hundreds of spears erupted below her, impaling all through her body. Her hands, legs, organs, body, and everything else between them were punctured. Falling almost-lifeless on the floor, all she can do is bask in the despair washed onto her.
She hoped… and so she despaired.
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Clack, clack, clack…
Footsteps on the dirty, metal floor. Mimicking the ones she took into her inevitable doom. With little strength, she managed to lift her head up to see a man. A dark, brooding man with long, black hair covering his face and the grounding below him. A man wearing a clean, crisp suit and tie, staring darkly at her. This was no unfamiliar man. She recognized him, Hajime Hinata. Her friend, maybe more if they weren’t in this unfortunate predicament of despair and suffering.
“Hinata…?” She muttered out, blinking tiredly. “Is that you? Please… tell me you’re still in there….”
The man was silent. He continued glaring at her.
“Was that my name? Is that whose body this used to be?” He asked bluntly, eyebrows furrowed.
“You really… don’t…. remember anything?” She questioned weakly. He stayed silent. “Not even… that we used to be…” Tears started to fall down her face.
“I’m afraid not.” He candidly replied. “All vestiges of the former identity have been erased to make way for me.”
“You never know, though…. Maybe you could– Gnh– still be in there…” She winced in pain as she weakly attempted to sit up to face him.
“C-Come on, you can do it… I-I know you can!” She sniffled, her voice breaking. This was too much for her heart to bear. She sloshed around in her own blood, falling onto her stomach whenever she tried to sit back up. She cried softly at the state of her body.
“I’m sorry…” She talked under her breath, tears falling down. “I just wanted to help you, I really did…”
“With death so close at hand, you would still dedicate yourself to helping others?” He asked, his eyebrow rose. She gave a frail smile.
“It’s what I do. For my classmates. For my life. I… I love them all.” Chiaki’s voice quivered feebly. She was so afraid. She wasn’t ready to go. She wasn’t ready to leave her parents, her teachers, her classmates, everything that she was excited or anticipated would be gone, she would be gone…
Hot pink blood pooled under her. It was evident she wasn’t making it out of this, was she?
“Please… Just one more game. One more round.” Chiaki brought her shaky hand to him, still weeping. “I don’t want it to end. We had so much fun… Right..?”
Most of that was irrelevant to Izuru Kamakura. He strolled over to her, noticing her hair pin had fallen out. Picking it up, he brought it close to his face, looking over it. His vision got warpy. His face got wet. What… was this? Was he– the Ultimate Ultimate, the person with every single talent in the world– crying?? He’s not sure how, or why, but for the first time ever, he was surprised. So surprised that something in him… changed.
Somehow, someway, the concept of feeling human emotion for him, practically an unfeeling container of perfection, had brought back the original. Back to who he was before. As if a switch in him flipped. Hajime was back.
Confused, he looked down at the scene before him, his stomach dropping to the cores of the Earth. Chiaki Nanami, his friend, someone who he enjoyed being by, someone who he had made plans with, covered in her own blood. Was this his fault? Did he do this? Was this him?
“C-Chiaki…?” He muttered, quickly rushing to her, picking her up and turning her face to his. Chiaki coughed, some of her blood hitting his face. He was getting blood all over his clothes, but that was the last thing on his mind right now.
“Is- Is that you, Hajime?” She murmured weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Y-Yes, it’s me. It’s me. You’re gonna be fine, okay? We-We’ll take you to a hospital, we’ll get you the help you need, okay?” He said, panicked. His tears fell down his face more and more. His voice breaks, as he picks her up, trying to find an exit.
“I’m… so happy you’re here, Hajime… I really missed you..” Chiaki quietly said. She was hanging on by a thread, a loose one.
“I-I missed you too, Chiaki, I- You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just keep putting pressure on your wounds.” He anxiously sped up his movements, walking around faster and faster.
“... T-Thank you, Hajime. You’re a g-great person…” She smiled weakly before her head keeled over. Before he could say anything, she limply laid in his hands like a ragdoll.
“Chiaki? Chiaki?!” He screamed, halting his feet. She said nothing; her body waved around flabbily. It was over.
Chiaki Nanami was dead.
And it was because of him.
He was the reason for his friend's death. It was him who caused this. All because he wanted to play tough and act like he was worth more than he was. All for what, a small sense of pride? Chiaki was gone. Chiaki was never coming back. And it was all because of him. He didn’t even know if he was Hajime or Izuru now. All he is now is the one responsible for the death of her.
Her.
Because of him, they were both gone. Him, mentally. Her, physically.
Forever.
He was a shell of the man he once was, a man who, despite his faults, was completely ordinary. Being ordinary was the reason he did this in the first place. Everything that happened, it was all because of him.
So, if he couldn’t be a good guy, what was the point of trying to be? The one person who was nice to him is gone.
There was no hope left in his heart. Only despair. If all he did was cause despair, what was the problem with causing more?