Chapter Text
They needed to tear down Hope’s Peak academy.
Ever since the biggest, most awful, most tragic event in human history smothered the city surrounding and shushed the bustling campus at its epicenter, the whole place had crept into disarray. Sheet metal barricades remained fastened to cracked and muggy windows. Rank brick stood in a mockery of the sapling green fostered so far below. To a great many people, it was a testament to the fatal flaws of the old guard, and a reminder of promises unfulfilled.
Komaru didn't care much one way or the other. Perhaps she'd feel differently if she'd seen it all with her own eyes.
“This place…it still irks me.”
Toko Fukawa spoke with her chapped lips pursed and bitten, and with a subtlety she usually lacked. Komaru ran a thumb over hers, smoothing over the broken cuticles Toko would've preferred to chew were their hands not so interlocked.
Her brother, Makoto, led the group with a deflated facsimile of his iconic gusto.
“I know what you mean," he meekly replied, “Lots of complicated memories tied up in this place."
Just behind followed the true engine of the operation, the detective Kirigiri.
“Try not to let it affect you. There's no sense in lingering here," she advised in her level tone.
Komaru had only been introduced to the woman upon her and Toko’s departure from Towa City. Even acting in a proxy capacity for the Future Foundation, the detective remained elusive and avoided their fragile lines of communication. Curiosity was an unvirtuous worm nestled in the apple of Komaru’s eye, second only to her impatience. Prior to their arrival, Komaru had only formed the vaguest outline of Kyoko Kirigiri from the sparse mentions by Toko, the very brother to whom she was engaged, and even Byakuya. Ever since their first meeting, Komaru had only found her vaguer still.
Their objective, however sanctioned by headquarters, was similarly disinterested in critical detail;
Four operatives. Three survivors of Hope's Peak and a close constituent brought for assistance. Find and demarcate the personal belongings and remains of the victims of the Killing Game for Future Foundation to extricate upon return.
The dossier claimed they were to be issuing the items left behind to the people left similarly so. Toko had wondered aloud how possible such an outcome would be, and whether there would be anyone left to accept the grim mementos.
Komaru wondered if there were other people like her. If there were any other survivors so close to the scene yet to witness that bloodbath broadcast. Toko had asked her not to. Her curiosity always had reigns from the suicidal extreme. None of her burning questions were worth being answered, so Komaru rolled along in the middle of the pack. Only gingerly did her companion need to be spurred into action as they approached the chasm where doors once stood.
As Makoto shored up anxiously before the entryway, Kirigiri swept away cobwebs with her leather gloved hand. She waved her hand to shake away the stringy debris. Komaru couldn't tell if the common display of disgust had a more clinical justification to the trained investigator, and the woman's expression wasn't about to clue her in.
“I can flag the morgue first," she flatly explained, “They shouldn't have any trouble locating the others’ remains. You all will have better luck documenting the personal items."
For a mission of compassion, Kirigiri certainly held her distance. She disappeared into the dark threshold with the quiet click of her modest heels.
With sad, shiny eyes, Makoto sighed, “Okay,” before he turned to their tag alongs. "We should start with the dormitory. There's probably not much anywhere else, actually."
The decrepit landing the three were led into smelled like mold and droppings. Something about the architecture cloistered any light or draft from seeping into the dank and musty ballroom. Checkerboard tile squelched underfoot with the thick coating of grime growing from the outside in.
“Look at the state of this place," Toko bemoaned, warily squinting at the cock-eyed angle of the glimmering sconces. She held a hand over her nose as if to shield herself from the particles in the air.
"I guess there's more reasons to condemn this place than everyone thought,” Makoto said.
"Are we even sure there's anything salvageable in this mess?” Toko pressed.
Komaru brought their held hands to her chest as she turned to her partner.
“If there is, I'm sure we'll find it," she reassured.
Makoto stared into the inky blackness of the hallway ominously erected dead ahead, and confirmed, “There's only one way to find out.”
Slinking deeper into the complex, the narrow corridor felt stuffier still, and the mildew scent grew stronger. The rows of doors on all sides made her feel restless and exposed.
The first door on the right had Kirigiri’s name on the placard, and the ex-ultimates in her party ignored it easily. The second caught Komaru's urgent attention.
Eyes peered from the cracked door bearing her very own last name.
Komaru froze, reached for her hip, and felt nothing there. They hadn't come armed; there hadn't been power to the building in some months. They figured the place too unappealing for squatters and too disheveled for effective sabotage. Her gaze darted between the two people with her, who hadn't seemed to notice their company.
When she looked back to Makoto’s door, it had closed without a sound.
Her heart skipped a beat as she forced her legs to keep moving. This was no time to be jumping at shadows; her people needed her to be strong. She couldn't imagine how difficult it was being back here for Toko and Makoto.
When the former glanced at her with questioning eyes, Komaru squeezed her hand and offered a placating smile.
“Sayaka’s room," Makoto murmured softly, "You two better start in there.”
Abnormally agreeable, Toko nodded silently and pulled her along. Komaru knew she ought to have checked on her brother, but her eyes were glued to his dorm room name plate instead.
Behind the door was as sorry a place as she'd seen. A leak from the ceiling left untreated spawned mold all down the muddy wallpaper and across large swathes of the carpet. Something scurried along the far baseboard and weaseled its way into a hole tunneled through the drywall.
“Aw damnit," Toko groaned, “That's my room on the other side of that wall."
“I don't think there's gonna be anything safe to take in here."
“Let alone breathe! We should be kitted with hazmat suits or something!"
The jittery girl pulled her hand free to tug at her hair. Komaru covered her own mouth and nose with her tie.
“You're right," she grumbled into the fabric, "Let's keep moving.”
Toko rolled her eyes as she turned to leave. “No new collectables for the idol stans of the apocalypse," she quipped disparagingly.
"They really did make good music, back in the day,” Komaru reminisced, "It's a shame there aren't really popstars anymore.”
Her companion didn't care to comment.
Breathing felt lighter for a moment as they closed the door behind them. Toko made some noise about the presumable destruction of her own bedroom and shuffled along down to the room past it.
That's it, Komaru realized, That's where I know those eyes.
It was Sayaka stood fully in the doorway behind them now, glowering at her with hateful eyes. Blood splatter painted her uniform like a blooming flower design from her center. Komaru offered a small wave that Toko wouldn't see with her back turned, an utterly pathetic gesture to the sheer magnitude of the spirit before her. Besides the slightest narrowing of her sharp detesting eyes, she was unmoved.
Why was she there, in Makoto's room?
Komaru didn't know what to make of it. Rarely was it pertinent to tell Toko about the ghosts that passed them by; after all, her skepticism was harsh and their appearances grew more frequent by the day. So she stretched her shoulders like a taut wire, turned completely, and trailed after Toko toward a room marked for a Fujisaki. She thought she'd heard that name before.
***
Every room was much the same, with their own unique quirks of decay. Some were plagued with mold, others were ridden with bugs. One room belonging to a Yamada had seemingly been conquered by a family of raccoons.
Little in the way of personal effects had been recovered. A hair brush here, a bracelet there. Perhaps enough to make the trip worth it for any surviving next of kin, however imaginary they may be, but not enough to feel any satisfaction with the work.
“I doubt anyone's waiting on the hand me downs in here," Toko tersed as they approached the first door on their way back to the entrance.
"Toko, that's not a very nice thing to say,” Makoto chided.
She scoffed in her condescending manner, “I have it on good authority that her only relative was her cat.”
Komaru felt a warmth spread along her collarbone as the two closest people in her life bickered amongst themselves. Thinking about the past between them, though they both chose not to share it with her, still sat sickly tepid in her chest like slimy fryer discard. Eager to leave, Komaru pressed onward to the door.
Like a bomb, dust exploded out from the door just as she tugged at the warm metal handle. She hacked and coughed as the powder billows left grit in her eyes, her nose, her mouth…
Suddenly the taste of dry ashes overwhelmed her senses like a bitter punch in the teeth. Ashes, ashes, it was hot inside and it was flaring, whipping towards her and-
Hands gripped her shoulders and wrenched her away from the door.
“Dekomaru!" The shrill gravelly yelp of Genocider Syo shocked her from the stupor. "Don't you look like an antique! All your limbs still attached?”
Shakily, she reached up to grasp the hands which held her.
“It’s not dust,” she choked, “Ashes. And it felt warm, like there was a fire. I thought…”
As the smoky clouds settled, it became clear there was nothing unique about the room. Makoto eloped them to test the door knob.
“It feels cold," he explained, “If there was a fire it must've been a while ago."
The group all took in the look of the bedroom, complete with the same wet wallpaper and nasty carpet. Rather apparent to them all was the lack of any visible fire damage, or even an obvious cause to the downpour of debris.
A quiet chuckle echoed through the halls. Well- perhaps it was simply a trick of the acoustics, or Kyoko from further in the maze, but Komaru knew exactly what she had heard. Carefully, as to avoid drawing suspicion, she turned her head towards the sound. There!
Her first assumption of the ephemeral creature prowling around the corner was that she must have been a vampire. What else, with her porcelain skin, single predatory crimson eye and regal crown of pitch black hair. Next, Komaru realized she had never considered how luxurious and ornate vampiric fashion could really be. Of course, then Komaru admonished herself for her childish impulses; vampires were a work of fiction, not a facet of reality. Like all the worst monsters that seemed hellbent on disturbing her, this person was dead.
Still in a daze, Komaru mumbled, “Your dress is quite lovely, miss."
The ghost raised a delicate hand draped by ruffled and lace bell sleeves to cover her politely gaping mouth and her delighted gasp.
"What's that?” Syo asked. Komaru shook her head to refocus.
“Nothing," she chuckled blithely, "Sorry, just startled me a sec.”
Syo split a wide grin. "I'm the only one allowed to startle you!” In a snap, she turned to fervently examine their surroundings. "Now could anyone refresh me on the plot here? Last time I woke up here things were more fucked than a hooker in a locker room!”
***
The scant few personal effects they'd collected were neatly laid out along the wide cafeteria table. Kirigiri had returned with their highlighter-yellow labels provided by the foundation, and the group of four had meticulously sorted out the belongings of the deceased, collected from all over the abandoned campus.
Syo straightened a sketchbook with a graphic style cover that referenced a series Komaru had heard girls discussing, once upon a time. She didn't seem happy with the organization and fussed with the miscellaneous pens and markers that were attached.
Komaru admired the thick woven braid that draped down the nape of her neck and hung down as she leaned over the table. It was presentable, and in an un-Fukawa way, but it gave a romantic edge to the precisely cut Future Foundation suit and tie. She quite liked looking at Fukawa, whether it be Toko or Syo, in situations mundane and theatrical alike.
Anything to distract from the crawling sensation of prying eyes, ensnaring her from the abstract distance.
“That should be the last of our business here,” Kirigiri announced with a hint of lukewarm satisfaction. “Unless there's anywhere else you'd like to see."
Makoto and Syo shared a mute exchange, which left Komaru to watch her brother's stony fiancé. Her lavender eyes slipped from their rapt attention on her fellow survivors, as if she could sense Komaru’s gaze.
She shied her eyes away with a self-deprecating smile. Just what did she think she could get past the Ultimate Detective?
"I think we're good,” her brother affirmed. The prospect of a final farewell to the academy seemed to have significantly improved his reflective, despondent mood. He led the pack towards the exit as a fragile peace settled over the group. Toko returned to them with an inevitable sneeze in the asbestos-tiled entryway.
“Excuse me, Ms.Naegi!"
Komaru's shoulders stiffened, but she made no other acknowledgement of the voice hovering in her periphery.
“Um, Ms.Naegi," he urged again, “Ms.Ludenberg insisted you spoke to her." She pointedly ignored his lumbering frame as it shrunk the already claustrophobic hall.
“We were all wondering if it was true! If you could see us, I mean."
Komaru brought a fist to her lips and inconspicuously cleared her throat.
“You can't tell them," the spirit concluded, “I see. If you don't mind, could you please look at me? Just so I can be sure."
Mustering her conviction, Komaru tilted her head toward the softly-spoken giant. Beady eyes glittered under the miniscule lenses balanced on a snub nose. The giant was plump and jolly and had blood oozing from the gaping, bashed-in crater taken from the side of his skull. She managed a weak grin.
"By all that's 2D, you really can see us,” he floundered in amazement. He floated alongside her as she strided towards the exit.
"Hold on! Are you gonna come back?” He demanded. She canted her head to the side, much to his disappointment.
He insisted, "Oh no, but you can't go! No one else has been here in so long…and when you don't all get along, we get pretty cooped up in here.”
Makoto sidled up to the open doorway where fresh air lay beyond. He shifted and threw a look over his shoulder at the decomposing remains of a once bright institution.
"Mr.Naegi and Ms.Fukawa…even Ms.Kirigiri look so much older now,” the giant muttered. "Could you tell me, please, how long has it been? That we've been here.”
"I didn't think I'd ever come back here,” Makoto wistfully laughed.
Toko handily replied, "I'll feel better when it's all torn down.”
"Torn down?”
"I think we all will,” Kirigiri continued, oblivious to her objectioner. “The impact of this place will be felt for a long time. But proper closure will do us some good."
“Closure?" the giant began to panic. “Ms.Naegi! Do they mean to demolish Hope's Peak?"
She focused on the ceiling. Interest patterns of cracks formed and fractaled there: a testament to the structural stability.
"They can't do that!”
The survivors one by one shuffled out the door with an air of respect deeply opposed to the spirit spitting before them.
“Komaru?"
Toko had turned around to face her with a quizzical expression. She must've taken too long to file out.
One final time, she turned to stare into the abyss. Dozens of eyes pinned her down from every shadowed crevice. The giant pleaded in front of them all.
"What will happen to us?” He cried.
Strangled by her very own heart, Komaru took Toko's offered hand and left them behind to their tomb.