Am I the only one who thinks that Shoko won’t die at an old age? As much as the sentiment of the last man standing in the class of 2006 being old enough to live is such a great idea I do think realistically she’d miss her friends. I think she’d stay alive long enough until the next generation can take over and then she’d dedicate the rest of her life to exploring a world outside the 4 walls of a cold empty morgue.
Malaysia would be one of her first visits, a desire to see the simple existence that Nanami once craved for, to feel the waves tickle her toe on the beaches he couldn’t tread.
Backpacking was the next thing on her list, strangely enough something that was discussed frequently between Suguru and Satoru. They’d always end up bickering about who would complete the course first.
In the end it was only Shoko who could, still, she’d rather not come back on her own again. Sweat clung to her shirt and her calves burned. Seeing one too many couples and groups surround her on the way up the mountain also made her feel funny, sorely regretting her decision not to invite Utahime.
The view was worth it though, now she looks back; she sat there on the bench for what felt like hours, watching the sun kiss the land and bathe her in an orange hue. Shoko distantly thinks to herself, ‘Haibara would’ve loved this.’
Teashops, trails, souvenir stores. She visits them all and even mails some back for Satoru’s students.
She down in a small town after that, opening her own clinic to work as a local doctor for the residents there. They always came in with bright smiles and small gifts and trinkets while enthusiastically talking about their day. Shoko thinks that Suguru would’ve loved this place, Satoru might have had his reservations but he would’ve come to enjoy it too. It wasn’t too far from Tokyo either so the students could visit whenever they pleased.
Funnily enough, one of the last things she see’s is a hospital. She never could recall how she ended up there but distinctly beeping of machinery in the background as her vision blurrs with every blink, breathing in the smell of bleach and only briefly being able to make out the figures of Yuji and Nobara with more in the room judging by the distant murmurs.
The next time she blinks, the scenery changes to an airport. Her bones don’t ache anymore and her hair tickles her chin, the comfort of the packet of Marlborough in her breast pocket now absent as she finds herself wedged between two familiar figures. One with ink black hair tied into a neat but and another with unruly white, grinning from ear to ear.
Shoko Ieiri rolls her eyes and for what feels like the first time in years, battles the glassiness of her eyes.
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