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Hajime pressed the MP3 switch, making the loud, annoying music finally stop.
The location he found himself in was strangely familiar to him. He didn’t know why, but there was something calming, almost comforting about it, despite the darkness and desolation and the haunting feeling that there was something about it, the intense malice almost physically sensible in the air. He walked deeper into the room with slow, methodical steps… He saw the curtain. He knew he should look behind the curtain. He carefully moved it away, without any feelings in him, as if he was playing by a script.
His eyes widened…
The first thing that caught his attention was the blood. He almost got used to seeing dead people at this point, but it still was the thing that screamed to his mind, “this is not how it supposed to be”.
The second thing was the body. The body, it was drawing his eyes to itself in so many ways that it almost felt like it was going to tear Hajime’s mind apart, his eyes unable to concentrate on something, anything, refusing to stop at any particular part.
But even without seeing all of it, Hajime screamed.
The body was lying motionless, bound by ropes in the spread-eagled position, as if someone deliberately wanted to put all the details on display. Nagito’s legs and arms were covered in injuries, stabs and cuts, deep, still bleeding, and Hajime could tell all those wounds were clearly way more than necessary to simply end someone’s life and escape. His ankles and his left wrist were bound by the rope, knots applied with enough strength to make it cut into the skin, not leaving him any option to escape or resist. His right palm lay limp in a pool of blood, pinned down by the knife… His eyes were wide open, his mouth twisted in a silent scream, clearly visible even behind the tape. Above him there was a spear, dangling in the air, just above his chest that was slowly rising and falling with his weak, shuddered breathing.
He was breathing, Hajime suddenly understood. The realization hit him with both horror and relief as he rushed towards Nagito, grabbing the cord of the spear in his hand before it could fall…
It seemed like the other boy noticed him only now. Nagito continued to grip the rope with a surprising amount of strength for his condition, staring at Hajime with both pain and fear – more the latter than the former, as he probably couldn’t completely comprehend what was happening. Hajime has to practically twist the rope out of his hand before he finally let go, his left palm falling down limp, fingers still red and tense from holding onto it for so long. Surprised by his own ability to think straight in a situation like this, Hajime slowly moved the spear down, grabbed it by the handle and tossed aside, the loud noise of the clanging metal contacting the stone floor filling the room and making him flinch instinctively, but he had no time to regret his decision of not being more careful.
“What in the world happened here!?” Hajime yelled, ripping the tape off Nagito’s face with one fast motion. There wasn’t much care about the other boy’s well-being in that motion, and it probably would have made him wince a bit if he wasn’t in such pain already… Hajime felt a weak pang of guilt thinking about it, but now was not the right time and place for that. “Who did this to you?!” – he would have shaken Nagito’s shoulders if his arms weren’t covered in blood and wounds, so instead all he could do is stare into the boy’s eyes. Nagito stared back, no response except few disoriented blinks.
Hajime was starting to breathe heavily. He should do something about the situation, or Nagito would die, he suddenly understood. Cursing everything in his mind, he moved back to the curtain, and without a second thought ripped off a large piece of cloth from it… Should work as an improvised bandage.
“Try to brace yourself and not move,” Hajime said, placing his palm over the knife’s handle. He could feel that his heart was beating fast as he pulled it out, immediately pressing the cloth against the open wound that had been covered by the blade. It would be enough to stop the bleeding at least temporarily, he hoped… To his surprise, Nagito still didn’t react. “Please try to remain conscious. I really, really want to know who could do… that…” – Hajime’s voice was soft and quiet.
“Who told you I need any help from a useless piece of trash like you?” Nagito asked nonchalantly, sounding unnaturally clear. Hajime blinked. He stared at the boy in confusion, as if he wasn’t believing what he’s hearing. Then he frowned with a sigh.
“Nagito, please, it’s not time for that now,” he tried to protest, but Nagito just giggled as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“There’s no such thing as a wrong time for reminding talentless scum that he’s talentless scum,” he shrugged, throwing his right hand up as if it wasn’t injured at all. The piece of cloth Hajime applied to it slowly slid down, soaked with blood that was now flowing freely… “Especially when they’re as unaware of it as you…” – his face remained pained, but his voice was sickeningly amused.
Hajime was ready to swear his arm was moving by itself as he slapped Nagito’s face. He jerked his hand back quickly, as if the boy’s cheek was made of white hot iron, ready to burst into apologies, but…
“Aw, I’ll take that as proof I was right! After all, nothing is worse for the nobody that forgot that he’s nobody than to return to basics… It is almost like… being raised thinking you’re worth something only to find out it was all a lie… And you’re worth nothing except being a useful tool for those who really matter” – Nagito smiled, wryly, but still genuinely, as if everything he said was not only truth, but a given fact…
Hajime’s hand moved by itself again. This time it was enough to make Nagito’s cheek turn blue after it turned red, a faint trail of blood going down from his lip to his chin.
“Oh… If you were trying to find out your talent like this, you’re definitely not Ultimate Slapper! Your effort is vain anyway, though. If you had any worth in you, you would have been noticed long ago!” – Nagito ignored him this time, continuing to ramble cheerfully.
Hajime raised his other hand… There was a knife in it, he suddenly realized. He moved it down… No, he didn’t want to move it down, his mind screamed, loudly enough to make it stop right before the tip of the blade could go into Nagito’s shoulder. A flash of fear suddenly appeared in the boy’s eyes, and he stopped talking, instead returning to confused blinks.
“If you want to kill me… just kill me…” – his voice became weak and ragged again as he continued to gasp heavily. “My plan… has failed… and there’s nothing left to make my stupid, worthless life useful anyway, so… I don’t think I mind it…” – Nagito looked tired. Endlessly tired. Hajime felt his body shrink, staring at the knife in his hand… just what in the world was he thinking? To actually hurt a human being for such a petty reason.
“See, you’re completely worthless. Not only your dreams and your feelings, but your whole existence is completely meaningless. Like, I don’t think you should die or anything, but if someone who actually has value would need to move their finger to save your life, I wouldn’t blame them in slightest if they decided not to do it!” – Nagito smiled. Hajime felt his face running red… his hand trembled, gripping the handle until his knuckles turned white.
“Because your pathetic life is like… as worthy as one good day for someone with actual value, perhaps? So if you were to ruin their day, I could say you are–“
The flow of sickening words was finally interrupted, quickly turning into a soft, pained gasp as the knife moved slowly, leaving a deep slash on Nagito’s shoulder. Hajime stared at it, paralyzed by terror, the weight of what he had just done making his pupils shrink, but he couldn’t stop until he noticed how the boy stared into his eyes in shock and fear.
“Why are you… doing this?” Nagito asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Hajime couldn’t think of the words to answer with, finally finding it in himself to move the knife away. “It’s unnecessary, really… Or do you just… hate me this much?” – I don’t hate you, Hajime wanted to answer, but the words didn’t come out as he needed all his concentration just to not move his hand. “Aw, if you’re wondering, I don’t hate you at all! After all, I’m not better than you! I’m just telling you the truth about your place in the world! It would sting way more if it were told by someone other than your fellow useless scum, you know!’ – Nagito’s voice turned cheerful and careless again.
Hajime failed, and his hand moved down again.
There was something unspeakably alluring about the way Nagito’s face switched back to the pain and horror just before the knife hit his right arm. It wasn’t the joy of inflicting him pain. Not at all. It was more about… finally having control over him, after everything he did and said. Finally making him feel what he wasn’t ready to feel, after so many times he had done that to them. But even so, Hajime felt disgusted by himself…
The only thing that made him more disgusted was seeing his arm moving down, plunging the knife into Nagito’s pale flesh. He prayed for it all to stop as he pressed it down, making the boy let out a choked out scream, closing his eyes as he threw his head back. Hajime put all his strength into trying to perform the simple action of dragging his hand back, but instead it continued to press forward, and forward, until the tip scratched the stone and the blade was buried into the flesh up to the handle, pinning the arm against the floor again, as if it was a mistake needed to be fixed.
Only when Nagito’s screams went quiet and his shaky attempts to move stopped, did Hajime regain control. His body was trembling as he finally tore his hand away, leaving the knife there. He shook his head, grabbing it with both hands, his eyes becoming teary… His classmate was still losing blood, he suddenly remembered. He needed to do something about it, he needed to help. Not to do those awful, terrible, unforgivable things to him.
He stared at the knife, as if it was a beast hunting for his very soul. Then at Nagito, who was still motionless except his ragged breathing, now looking at him with nothing but disbelief and terror. Bracing himself, he touched the handle… Nagito’s face changed as if it was a magic switch, making him lift his head up and smile cheerfully again.
“Aw, now you also figured out you’re not Ultimate Torturer… and not Ultimate Nurse, although that’s kind of given… I would give you the Ultimate Whiny Bitch title, but you don’t even deserve that because you’re so painfully average… Or maybe Ultimate Student who is Awful at Math could fit?” he asked, clearly trying to move his bloodied finger to scratch his chin, then sighing in annoyance when he found out his arm was now pinned.
Hajime just needed to make him stop talking…
A blow to the neck should suffice.
Completely unable to stop the thought that flashed briefly in his head from taking over, he grabbed the knife again. He pulled it out quickly, trying not to cause more suffering than was necessary – and he didn’t know if such care was caused by any sympathy or just by the desire to feel he was having the tiniest shred of control of himself. The blood splattered all over his face…
The stab was quick and it made Nagito’s body flinch. He opened his mouth, trying to take a breath, but he clearly couldn’t anymore. He made a muffled coughing sound, blood pouring out from his mouth down onto his face. His eyes were full of horror, and it was nothing similar to the previous kind of fear. There was something more… primordial about it. Something that was enough for Hajime’s eyes to turn red, tears running down on this cheeks, from both sadness and guilt. And disgust at himself for thinking there was something distantly relieving about how the boy was now completely silent for those long seconds of struggling in his agony, before his body made one final shuddered movement and went completely lifeless.
He had done something unforgivable, Hajime suddenly realized, pulling the knife out. But, before he even could let the thought to sink in…
“Hey, you’re definitely not the Ultimate Silent Killer either. That was a total pathetic mess… probably even more pathetic that your life, if that is possible!” – Nagito was talking again, slowly lifting up his head, neck still bleeding, but now way more weakly. “I called you completely average, but in terms of being utterly useless, you’re definitely above the bar!” – clots of blood continued to escape from his mouth, forming disgusting pink bubbles in the corners of his mouth, but he was still somehow speaking, slurring lightly, his tone remaining cheerful.
Hajime screamed again.
“I mean, look at yourself! You essentially sacrificed your life – and even something more dear and important: your very personality and ability to think as yourself, all just to be useful!” – Nagito’s voice was almost admiring for a second, before returning to disappointed and disgusted… both were feelings Hajime could share. “And how did it turn out? Not only were you useless, but you continued to cause pain and suffering to everyone you supposedly cared about!” – Nagito was in a weird spot between gloating and anger, clenching the fist of his wounded hand.
Hajime moved the knife down again. Again, and again, and again, each motion fueled with both fear and rage.
“Chiaki Nanami, that poor girl… She just wanted to play games with you, and you tried to sacrifice the boy she loved just to have a chance to not be worthless… and you even failed that! Impressive!” – Nagito was completely unfazed, each stab not making his voice even a tiny bit quieter, even as Hajime was hitting something that he was sure was supposed to be the windpipe. “Even your best effort was not good enough to change! Not only didn’t it turn you into a worthy person, it managed to make everything even worse!” – his calm, nonchalant voice strengthened the rage and loathing, but even as Nagito’s neck turned into nothing but a mess of torn muscles and vessels with his spine somewhere in between, barely intact to hold his head, his voice remained the same.
“I bet you try to comfort yourself with the thought you weren’t actually the one who killed Chiaki Nanami…” – the sight of what he just done would be enough to make Hajime throw up, but the words filled his mind with nothing but rage. It wasn’t working, the realization suddenly came as he recoiled, pressing his hand against his mouth. Nagito wasn’t going to shut up.
What makes people talk is their tongue, Hajime thought. His mind filled with horror again, but it was already too late. He pulled his sleeve over his fingers, because he knew that was the only way to catch something so slippery and so full of poison. A flash of surprise was barely noticeable on Nagito’s face as Hajime’s hand invaded his mouth, still filled with blood, although it didn’t seem like it was flowing anymore. It did make Nagito silent, though, as he didn’t make a single sound or motion when Hajime grabbed his tongue and roughly pulled it toward himself, trying to get out and cut off as much as he could…
The blood gushed out as Hajime yelled gain, staring at his hands in disbelief. His fingers twitched instinctively as he was trying to get rid of what he was holding, making it slip away and fall on Nagito’s chest. Shutting his eyes tightly, he swiped it off with one swift motion, trying with all his might to not remember the wetness and the texture and the blood and…
Nagito laughed.
“Wow, you didn’t want to hear the truth that badly!” – he was now slurring terribly, blood pouring out from his mouth with every word, but somehow Hajime was able to understand everything perfectly. “Of course, you didn’t kill her. Just like you didn’t kill me…” – he pointed at his own body and Hajime realized he wasn’t talking about what happened just now. “Just like you didn’t kill Byakuya Togami… Or should I call him The Ultimate Imposter?” Nagito asked, the act of tilting his head making Hajime flinch because he could swear he heard his bones screech.
Hajime was breathing hard enough for his shoulders to move up and down. He knew he had to end it, somehow.
“Just like you didn’t kill Teruteru Hanamura, Mahiru Koizumi, Peko Pekoyama…” – Hajime took the knife and pushed it right below Nagito’s neck. “Hiyoko Saionji, Ibuki Mioda, Mikan Tsumiki…” – he moved it down, all the way to the point where the sternum ended. “Nekomaru Nidai, Gundham Tanaka…” – Nagito paused for a bit, and it took Hajime a second to realize it was because he ran out of names, not because of anything he was doing.
There were his ribs in the way… Hajime moved his fingers below the skin, then below the ribcage. And he pulled it apart, breaking ribs as easily as if they were toys. The crunch echoed in his head, making him sick, making his eyes burn with tears again…
“All the people who died in the Tragedy… and I would say, all 2357 students of the Reserve Course!” – Nagito sighed like there was nothing wrong. “Of course, they are worthless, but it doesn’t mean we should waste them like that… They could be wonderful, useful stepping stones!” – just what was the part of him that allowed him to talk…? Probably lungs? Which of these were lungs? Hajime didn’t know, and didn’t want to know.
He shut his eyes again and just grabbed something, hoping the sound of ripping it apart would be sickening enough to forget Nagito’s words.
“Sacrificing everything just to be useful for once, and causing such a mess instead. I could almost pity you if it wasn’t totally your fault. If you only knew your place…” – the cheerful voice didn’t stop and didn’t even falter as Hajime continued to rip things apart, eyes still closed because he couldn’t look, didn’t want to look; he would vomit and faint, and he was already ready to vomit and faint from the sheer disgust and loathing…
None of those feelings were directed at Nagito anymore.
Hajime finally opened his eyes, his mind starting to become weirdly cold, now numb to the horrifying sight before him… the sight he created by himself. He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he was sure what he saw before himself was the heart. It wasn’t beating. Probably for a long while now, considering the bleeding had stopped and the blood in some places already ran dry. Hajime’s hands were shaking.
“But you didn’t, being absorbed by your own arrogance that much. The sad thing about it is that the price for it was payed not only by you!” – the cheerful voice pulled him back to reality. The rage filled him again. He wasn’t able to rip out things any longer, so instead he started to stab, blindly.
He was controlling his actions now, the realization suddenly hit him. He stopped, dropping the knife on the floor… no, tossing it away with all of his power, as if he wanted to make sure he would never be able to reach it anymore.
“Not sure why I’m telling that to you, though. You seem to realize it by now…” – Nagito shrugged… well, tried to, but Hajime did catch the meaning of this unnatural, implausible motion. “Oh, by the way, now we’ve discovered you’re also not the Ultimate Anatomist! Congratulations!” – Nagito smiled… Hajime couldn’t see it behind the blood, but he knew.
He was controlling himself now. Not just now. From the moment the heart of the person lying underneath him had stopped beating…
The realization finally hit him completely, making him yell again.
Hajime continued to scream, even as his body pulled itself into a sitting position and his hands clutched his bedsheets tightly. The next thing he remembered was Mikan entering his room with a worried expression on her face, and then running away quickly. She returned with a cup of tea and a couple of colorful pills, commanding him to swallow them in one go. He obeyed. His heart stopped racing so rapidly, but the nightmare was so real and so vivid it made him want to throw up instead, the smell of blood and the feeling of the flesh ripping under the knife still fresh in his head.
Even as he went out of his cottage and sneaked into the large room where the pods were standing, even as he saw Nagito’s face, completely clean and peaceful yet again, his body intact and his clothes without a single drop of blood, it didn’t go away completely, leaving a lingering feeling of horror and guilt hovering in the air around him.
It was nothing, though, Hajime told himself with a weird determination rising inside of him.
He made a lot of mistakes, he knew it for sure. By his own free will, no matter how persistently he tried to deny it. But for now it was not the time to dwell on them anymore.
Now it was the time to begin to fix them.