my role in this story is over now. but i have faith... that my actions will be the cornerstone of the hope of this world. and if that indeed happens... praise me. tell everyone of my feats. raise statues to me. call me, super high-school level hope.
âş A familiar face nearly instantly resonated with the mastermind, her eyes going to quick work on his present appearance from the one sheâd once known. This was undoubtedly Komaeda Nagito, one of the many members of SHSL Despair that sheâd converted â no, maybe that was the wrong word. It was more like sheâd âopened their eyesâ. But were those eyes truly open still?Â
She couldnât say, what with how this city was.
Worst case, he could have those eyes pried back open for him.
âHeeey there~! So you remember me, Komaeda Nagito? I hope so, itâd break my lil heart if you didnât!â
-- wouldâve been the easier way to get to the exit door. Itâs somewhere he doesnât want to be with someone he doesnât want to talk to, or even think about, wrong place and wrong time times ten. Enoshima Junkoâs voice is a still hot memory burning into his ears like hot iron, and though there is no actual pain involved, the first reaction she gets from him is a visible cringe leading his stride to an abrupt halt.
â...Enoshima Junko.â Nagitoâs only halfway turned towards her. His attention is just the same -- victim to the effort he applies in dispersion, he goes from distress, to anger, to flatlined distaste, but never interest. Of course he remembers. Itâs impossible not to. Disgust comes to him naturally when the very embodiment of despair is involved.Â
âWhat do you want? ... what are you doing here?â Not here, in this world, but here, calling him out so cheerfully. Alive. His eyes narrow, his hands sink into the pockets of his jacket, and one of his hands burns. Itches. Feels incredibly uncomfortable, just like its original ownerâs presence. âI donât think you have to worry about that. As far as I know, youâre completely rotten and empty inside.â
Itâs the kind of question heâd ask on a normal day, on any normal day, to any random person on any boring street. Usually, heâd have manners; heâd wait until theyâre laughing, enjoying themselves to spring it. Itâs the kind of thing heâd do on any day, on any normal occasion â take a little, give a lot, and heâd make his fortune in the winding gears of dull, mechanical smiles.
Whatâs your purpose. Here, Iâll even make it easy for you: whatâs the purpose someone else has got picked out for you?
âI like to think,â he answers, hands behind his head and eyes to the sky below. Down upon the teeming masses, who proliferate like clouds and thread the needle that completes his existence. âI like to think Iâm here because Iâm special. Because they needed me. Because ââ
âWithout me, they couldnât keep this place running.â
Itâs arrogance and an arrogant untruth, a softball lie thatâs easy to pick up. He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head so heâs inspecting the kid again. Heâs pale and totally lifeless, like a corpse thatâs had all its colour leeched out.
â⌠my first week, though, I couldnât really tell you. What do you think?â
The manâs answer earns him the positive feedback of a smile. Itâs a joke or a lie too obvious to catch, sure, but it clicks, brings the two-toned taste of familiarity and realization of the possibility that things might not be too different from the place heâs been in right before a man in a white coat began explaining how it works and how it doesnât. Â
Itâs all too familiar.
â...oh! I just arrived... so Iâm not sure if any of my conclusions are close to being... right,â Nagito waves a hand in polite dismissal. It soon returns to the company of the other arm, folded in front of his chest, eyes darting up and left to imply deep thought. When he resumes talikng, his attention is all Izayaâs again. âBut when you think about it, maybe you are.â
â... in a way.âÂ
He chuckles, heâs at ease, he focuses his stare on the other with analytical intent. Itâs innocent, in a way, and far from that, in another. This man -- heâs got this familiar aura, this strong presence, this... potential that draws more questions and questions, one after another, on his head.
âThis place... itâs full of all sorts of outstanding people, isnât it? In all levels you can count, whenever I turn around the corner or look down from where weâre standing, despite how weird or nerve-wracking being suddenly taken away from home like this should be, these people...â A sigh. He closes his eyes, and his smile takes a more satisfied edge to it -- proud, even, like watching the development of your offspring, the birth of an entirely new generation, the prosperity of a loved one. âTheyâve gotten over it, theyâre looking at the brighter side of this whole thing... theyâre living with it -- everything.â
-- and his clear excitement shows through his entire bodyâs expression: a hand drumming on his opposite arm, his eyelids reopening to the mixture of starry-eyed awe and something darker, deeper, harder to decipher. âItâs brimming with hope, isnât it? I donât know why someone as worthless as me has been brought here, but when you think about it, maybe they are all here to make this... or whatever this can mean, work.â
âCan you believe it? I was wrong about this place.â
When the city breathes in, it crushes him to dust. Then it breathes out, and itâs like waking from a nightmare to an even worse reality. There is a short skirt and monochromatic pair of bears adorning bushy twintails in front of him. The thick suffocating miasma doesnât come from the smoke hanging above them. The discomfort making his heartrate speed up isnât from a post-carwreck accident CPR, either.
âI mean... for a moment, I thought it was kind of like where I stayed for a while before this happened, you see. Prodigies. Ultimates. Of course, you still see people like me, around -- stepping stones. But if you look around, youâll understand. In this place, there are people who canât be just referred to as just âhuman beingsâ. Itâs too low of a title for them.â
Because the signal light at the intersection is red. Like her nails, like the rest of the city from their far standpoint, like an accident in the street, like the classrooms of their school and the grotesque corpses of people who once embodied light itself.Â
âBut youâre here. You, of all people. If you want me to be honest... Iâm disappointed.â
@nyantsuku
Because sheâs the only one around when sheâs the one who should exist the least.Â
âBecause... last time I checked, you were dead and rotting somewhere far away from there, far away from here -- where you should be.â
  Of all individuals from his realm, there was one in particular aside from Enoshima Junko herself that he was most hesitant in communicating with. Not because he were afraid or anxious, that was in his nature by default, but due to the reasoning he was absolutely uncertain in how to behave. Naegi was a very reflective person in most ways, finding himself getting under the skin of even the most prickly of people. Even he wasnât entirely sure why that was â he was somewhat passive in a general respect, aside from persuading others to believe in themselves. Perhaps that was where it stemmed from? Enoshima and.. the otherâ.. were some that struggled very strongly with hope.  Â
 Thus when his eyes met those of misapprehension â hollow, almost clouded â he reflexively swallowed in unease. Naegi had witnessed second-hand what had happened in the simulator, hell, he practically designed it for the best results and change of person. However, this man, Komaeda Nagito, had strained the program the most. It had been expected â he was the person who loved Enoshima as well as detested her the most in the world. Although it didnât stop the brunette from feeling incredibly disheartened.
 â Komaeda-san, â he began, searching the eyes of the other, brows unknowingly creased in concern. It had been a very long time since he had spoken directly to the young man. Naegi had believed from the bottom of his heart that those who had died, or gone comatose, would most definitely wake up some day. Hinata had seemed very relieved when he had confessed that, as well as Togami, Kirigiri, and the original survivors. What could the other young man be thinking now that he lived once more â did his gruesome suicide produce an even bigger madness?
  He pressed the nail of his thumb into the flesh of his index finger. â Komaeda-san, youâre here too. â It was an honest statement. âYour memories.. can you recall everything? Do you remember who I am? â
The memories from the island have been foggy for a great part of his first moments inside this city.Â
The rest of his memories are a completely different story, however. Most of them are quite unclear, buzzing disorderly pieces of a puzzle that are hard to fit in their right places. There is static, there is broken glass and blood, bear claws making a mess out of bodies just like their queen claws misery out of bright minds.Â
And then there is him. Naegi Makoto, one of the few clear things in his brain, and one of the few things radiating light thatâs not the proud and almighty Sun.
âHaha... of course I remember who you are, Naegi-kun!â Nagito laughs, as if itâs more of a joke than a serious question. Itâs a casual, wholehearted sound, almost as if there is enough intimacy between them to compare it to the reunion of two old friends -- but then again, itâs not.Â
Closer observation would have been enough to identify admiration, adoration --Â not quite friendliness.Â
âAnd... If you want me to be honest, I remember most things.â Curled fingers propping up his chin, eyes closed -- his face screams deep thought. It also screams a blatant desire to be helpful for someone like him, Naegi Makoto, Super High-School Level Hope. Untainted by fakers and liars, untouched by that womanâs putrid fingers, trying his best at saving the world. The true one.
Nagito opens his eyes. Some of the same putrid fingers rub the fabric of his sleeve, the worn-out red nail polish a rotten ghost of a color. It reassures him, somehow: how it looks dead. âI am surprised that you havenât forgotten about someone like me, Naegi-kun. To think I, of all people, have been contacted by you, of all people... the scientists truly are bringing some of our worldâs best, arenât they?â
Detach the words from âfamiliar faceâ and put them each ten miles away from each other. When itâs enough for them to become parallel lines if stretched just right, you have what she looks like for him, at least until the second he finds her --
@weaponizer
-- a vague quotation on the back of his mind, but one that holds meaning. A strong line of words translated into a beautiful young lady that doesnât quite remind him of her father: sheâs visibly more serious in comparison, icy composure that makes the pale color among the colorful crowd shine even brighter above all the oddities and exceptionalities. Heâs learned about her existence during extensive research, supposed to enroll in the 78th class, relative of the man that has maintained the place where hope was supposed to grow to its fullest, before a certain string of events happened.Â
But all of that can be left behind for the sake of this special moment.Â
Nagito opens his path through people, scanning the area with the clear intention of finding her again. And when he does find her, Kirigiri Kyouko, she is not far, and the rushed way he approaches is an unconscious disregard of whether or not she has something better to do than talk to someone like him,Â
because for someone like her, one truly capable of embodying hope, what isnât?Â
Vowels carrying anticipation, he runs his tongue through dry lips, clasps his hands together, tosses her a genuine smile. It doesnât do much for the sake of a presentation that befits someone her level, but he tried.
In a place where unpredictability reigns, constantly dancing a chaotic style, itâs obvious that new things are going to appear with the slightest acceleration of oneâs heartbeat. Close your eyes for a second and you might accidentally get yourself involved into something youâve never seen, much less knew that existed... and itâs still only a wednesday.Â
So he picks a new hobby: observing. Inhaling the air of the city that inspires him, looking for nothing in particular. Nagito dares to include some spice, some days; striking up a conversation with an interesting stranger that looks displaced, confused, or just odd. And some days, he swears he can see an oddly shaped plane in the skies, or something that definitely doesnât look human, or from this world, in a broader sense. But today, the peak of his day is when he swears that it was probably --
-- definitely,Â
a young girl that has descended from the skies primly, not too far away from him.
âThatâs...âÂ
@toughxst
âIâm-- Iâm not dreaming, am I?â He approaches her, not unlike how a fan does, eager and full of apprehension at the same time. Itâs forgivable; you have geniuses specializing in every possible area, you have researchers attempting to understand luck itself, all in one place. But someone who flies? âMy name is Komaeda Nagito, and... I canât find a word that can let you know how amazed I am! Did you really come flying?â
Amazing and cool arenât enough. Marvelous doesnât quite cut it.
 âThis place is simply... amazing, isnât it?âÂ
Some things, they donât have a clear starting point.
And so they just happen. Independently of how quickly or slowly they do, they happen, and thatâs all. Itâs the weird part of the city, where people lean against the guardrails and consider impossibilities, turning over schemes in their minds and trying to adapt themselves with optimistic thoughts to the radical change in their lives.  âIt really is,â and so the boy continues, stars burning in his eyes light-years away. They say black holes come from these, scientists. The best of them. âIâve been here for a week or so, not all that accustomed to everything, but-- have you seen this?â
He angles his head down, as if pointing towards whatâs below the bridge: people. Itâs not enough âfrom aboveâ to transform them all into a homogeneous mass of antlike silhouettes; itâs just high enough to watch. Observe everything, pay attention to the normal, the abnormal, the exceptional. Enough to make him go on, voice gaining an effusive touch with each syllabe, âEverytime you close your eyes, youâll see someone new. People, and Iâm not even starting to talk about all the creatures that Iâve never seen in my life. All here! Iâve been somewhere similar, you know, the last thing I remember before waking up here--âÂ
@kokkei
Some things, they donât have to be shared right away.Â
And so they die before they leave a pair of thin, pale lips. There is a short moment of silence, and he finally turns around to face him, the only one whoâs still around. He looks threatening, somehow. Threatening, but invested. âUm... Iâm sorry. Iâve probably, ah, bored you to death, havenât I? Oh, but thereâs something Iâve been meaning to ask... if you donât mind.âÂ
Because this guyâs still here.
(Most people wouldâve left. Most people have left. Here, now, before, then. And all other grammatical tenses.)
âIf thereâs a purpose, a meaning, for all of this...
If this experiment is truly for the sake of something greater...â
âWhat do you think they brought you here for?â
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
andulkaphoto
izzy806
dailybridgerton
