(no subject)
Title: This Is Not Guilt
Fandom: Dangan Ronpa
Characters/Pairings: Mukuro/Naegi
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,877 words
Warnings: Noncon
Summary: Mukuro does not have time for this.
At the AO3 or here.
He was always smiling at her.
Mukuro was accustomed to needing little and receiving less. Junko was ever the one who asked for more, and she got it, too; Mukuro stayed silent, and sometimes Junko shared, but mostly she didn’t.
Perhaps if Mukuro had ever been the one to speak first--
--but she wasn’t, and things were the way they were.
Her time with Fenrir should have kept her from Junko’s influence. Instead, every battle was a thousand whispers in her head, that bullet in that heart makes for a cavalcade of despair, dear sister, and it’s all from you, but I was the one who drove you to this, so it’s all from me, everything is from me, you only exist because of me and isn’t the despair of knowing that delightful, dear sister, and she returned home with Junko twisted up inside her even more.
So anything that was hers was Junko’s, really. And Mukuro did not have much. Weaponry, textbooks, uniforms--
--and smiles.
Junko did not have those, yet.
It would be a lie to say no one besides Naegi was ever kind to her. Most everyone at Hope’s Peak was helpful in their own way. Oogami trained with her sometimes. When she had brief struggles in math, Fujisaki would gladly help her. Even Celes offered to teach her poker. Her face, Celes said, was made for it.
Perhaps it was because he had nothing else to offer. His lack of skills in any particular area gave him no particular use. All he could do was help in small ways--holding doors open when someone’s arms were full, taking over cleaning duties when someone was sick, picking up pencils someone had accidentally dropped. Sometimes Mukuro wondered if he even thought he was as important as they were. If he knew.
Did she even need a reason? People did things with no explanation all the time; feelings, in particular, were widely accepted as capricious. Wondering about a boy who had nice eyes and smiled at her wasn’t unthinkable. If she had more time--
--but she did not have more time.
The plan was almost ready. Tomorrow, their beautiful game would begin. The other students were training, or reading, or talking amongst themselves; any number of ordinary things, in their own extraordinary life. Only she and Junko knew what was about to happen.
Mukuro took a deep breath, and knocked on Naegi’s door.
He opened it with a “Hello?” and his eyes widened slightly as he saw her. Did that mean something? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
“Naegi-kun,” she said. “Good evening. Are you well?”
“Ah, yes, I am,” he said. “And how are you?”
“I am fine,” she said. She glanced inside his room. “May I come in?”
“--sure! Okay!” Naegi said, opening the door further to let her in. She stepped inside and looked around. There was nothing remarkable about it; she hadn’t expected there to be. A few books strewn across a desk. An open bathroom door. An unmade bed.
She pointed at the bag she was carrying. “Is there somewhere I may put this?” she asked.
“Um, the desk is fine,” Naegi said, rushing towards it to move the books out of the way. She put her bag down and looked at him.
Mukuro knew the value of silence. Silence on the battlefield gave you time to plan your next move; and, in turn, for the enemy to plan theirs. Silence in a classroom was a sign that it was time to work. Silence in any room with Junko was a rare and precious gift. Awkward silences, too, were in her repertoire. This one was a remarkable example.
Eventually, Naegi said, “Was there something you wanted, Ikusaba-san?”
That was the key, wasn’t it. Want. It was always Junko who wanted, and Junko who got. But tonight was the last night before their work began, and Mukuro--
--Mukuro wanted.
Efficiency was important. She closed the door behind them and pushed Naegi against it. There was only enough time for him to make a startled noise before she pressed in and kissed him, pinning his wrists to the wall. She closed her eyes and thought about how pathetic Junko would call this, that she could luxuriate so with a boy who had never kissed or been kissed before and knew very little of the theory. But he was soft and warm and there was not much in her life that was soft, and his body relaxed against hers and it felt like her first kill.
Mukuro opened her mouth and slid her tongue past his lips. There was only a moment of hesitation before he joined her. It wasn’t a kiss for the ages, but Mukuro had never expected one anyway and it was already a better experience than most of her others. The slight widening of his eyes had meant something, she was sure of it, and perhaps the smiles--he smiled at everyone else, yes, but as often as he did her? Or with as much happiness? Naegi was not a complicated person, or at least he did not seem like one. Honesty did not come hard to him. Even if he tried to hide anything, he would not do a very good job of it.
She released his wrists and moved her hands to his hair, stroking it and parting it with her fingers. It was as soft as the rest of him. She wanted to move her mouth to his neck, but leaving any marks would only cause problems. She made up for it by sliding one of her legs between his and enjoying the small noise that slipped from his mouth. Oh, but Mukuro wanted this; a boy who had nice eyes and smiled at her and melted under her touch, and made no sign of thinking about Junko. Naegi was in many ways the least of all the students here, but for this, for her, he was perfect.
Now that his hands were free, they settled on her hips, and she almost wanted to smile at that--was he even sure where to put them? She considered telling him to touch her breasts, but she didn’t have time for that. Instead, she moved one of her hands down from his hair, and down further, skimming across his torso, until she slipped down the waistband of his pants.
That earned a noise, and Mukuro opened her eyes to see that he had already opened his, staring wide-eyed at her. She pulled back her head and whispered into his mouth, “Do you want this?”
Naegi looked unsure. The moment grew too long. She didn’t have time for this--and then he nodded just a little bit, and swallowed, and closed his eyes again.
That was all Mukuro needed. She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt with a speed that might have impressed even Junko, and Naegi’s immediate yelp as she pulled out his cock was reward enough.
As she took it into her mouth, one of his hands scrabbled at her hair. If he hadn’t known where to put them while she was kissing him, he certainly didn’t know what to do with them now. His frantic breathing provided a suitable soundtrack. She swirled her tongue across the head of his cock and tried to remember the last time she had enjoyed having sex; had she ever done it just for the pleasure of it, actually? Always there had been a greater purpose for her actions. Very little in her life was done for the sake of pleasure. So this, now, this--her and a boy and nothing else necessary, this was simultaneously a highlight and a reminder that her life was pathetic indeed for this being a highlight. It made for a wonderful despair.
Or that was what Junko would think--
--that was what they would think. Super High School-Level Despair was not one person. She and Junko were intertwined in all ways possible; if Junko had a thought, she did too. And Junko would shiver at the despair.
Right now, though, it was Mukuro who was bringing Naegi apart and listening to his breathy wordless moans, not Junko.
Mukuro was suddenly filled with the desperate need for Junko to never find out about this. Junko knew everything about her, knew everything about so many things, but this was Mukuro’s, this was hers. Nothing had ever belonged to her before, and in all likelihood nothing would ever belong to her again, but if she could just have this, one thing that was unquestionably hers--
--and Naegi’s, yes, of course.
He didn’t last very long, but she hadn’t expected him to. She swallowed, wiped the remaining saliva off with the back of her hand, and stood up to look at him. His wide eyes were dazed and his face was pale. They were the same age, but Mukuro was so much older than her age, and it struck her that he was very young, compared to her. He’d never done this before. If Mukuro was capable of feeling guilt, she might have felt some now. He didn’t look unhappy, and he’d nodded, but--
--but she wasn’t, and she didn’t, so it didn’t matter.
Without another word, she grabbed his hand and pulled him over towards the bed. Once there, she let go of his hand and instead clenched the bottom of his jacket and pulled it over his head. The shirt underneath it, too; his alarmed “Ikusaba-san?” was unimportant right now. Once that was done she moved to his pants, his underwear, his shoes, his socks, all with military--mercenary--precision. She didn’t give him time to react. He had already stumbled onto the bed when she’d started on his feet, which made it easier to push him down onto it after she’d fully divested him of his clothes. His head thumped against the pillow, but she didn’t look at it; she wasn’t sure she could look at his face, right now.
With fast, long steps she went back across the room to open her bag. Out of it she pulled a length of rope and walked back just as quickly. She glanced at the headboard of the bed--of course there weren’t any slats or posts, of course, but the desk on the wall behind it was close, and the chair closer, and it was already short, and that would work.
Naegi was sitting up on the bed; she pushed him back down, pulled the chair up against the headboard, grabbed his hands, and pushed them together in front of it. He was saying something, not very quietly, but she didn’t pay attention. With one of her hands she grabbed the rope off the bed, and tied his wrists to one of the slats of the chair behind them. There.
Mukuro stepped back and looked. His eyes weren’t wide from surprise any more. She’d seen that look many times--on the faces of those she was about to kill. Did he think she was going to kill him? No, surely not.
“Ikusaba-san, what are you doing?” Naegi said, his voice trembling. He wasn’t stupid; he must know by now. Maybe he was clinging to the slightest shred of hope that this was a game or a joke and she’d laugh and let him go. He’d never seen her make a joke, though.
She didn’t reply. Instead she unbuttoned her own jacket and shirt, and pulled them off, adding them to the small pile of clothes by the bed. Her skirt, bra, and underwear followed, and she was as naked as he was.
Naegi wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Was he too scared to talk? That wasn’t--no. Mukuro put that thought aside as she moved to the bed and sat, straddling his thighs.
There was a benefit of his age--it didn’t take much to make him harden again. His cock was still slick from her mouth. Mukuro ran her hands across his chest, just to feel, just to see how skinny he was without his clothes. His breath sharpened as she did. They were the same size, but he seemed small like this, small and young and fragile and she wasn’t capable of guilt, she wasn’t. Junko had always liked to break nice things. She’d blame it on something else, sometimes Mukuro, and she always looked like miserable about it until later, when she’d confide in Mukuro about how wonderful it had felt. Mukuro had never felt that. She briefly thought about how wonderful Junko would find this, but crushed the thought, buried it down and deep. Junko was not here. This was hers.
Hers to break?
It didn’t matter. She lifted herself up, positioned Naegi’s cock with one hand, and slowly slid down onto it.
Naegi made a muffled cry at that; she glanced and saw that he was biting his lip so hard it bled, no marks but maybe it would heal by tomorrow?
Having him inside her was a pure and honest feeling. She’d never had sex with someone she genuinely liked before, only for duty, and Naegi--her boy who smiled at her and had nice eyes--she did like him, she wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t. And he’d liked her, hadn’t he? Did he still? Of course not. The paleness on his face and the blood on his lips and his eyes still shut tight were proof enough of that. But it didn’t matter. This still felt good, wonderful--
--good.
She raised and lowered herself at a quick pace, knowing he wouldn’t last long this time either. Her breath came fast and heavy. It seemed like Naegi’s breath was the same, but through clenched teeth it was hard to tell.
It didn’t take long. She managed to reach her own climax seconds before, and was thankful for it. He spilled inside her, but that was no worry; she and Junko both had been born sterile, and once they had seen that as despair, but then they had realized they didn’t want to bring more of themselves into the world and it didn’t seem so bad. Certainly it was useful.
She pulled herself off him and lay by his side. She would need a towel. Right now she wanted to be still for a moment. After the moment, she moved onto her side and put a hand on his chest. Sweat clung to it like on a hot day. She rested her head on his chest, too, and listened to his heart beat rabbit-fast. He was still trembling.
Why hadn’t she asked? He might have said no, he might not have been ready. And Mukuro had no more time. If she had done this months ago, if she’d had time to wait, maybe right now he’d be smiling at her, maybe--
--his nice eyes were full of fear, and he would never smile at her again.
Mukuro pulled away from him and off the bed. She put back on her clothes, still efficient, and untied his wrists. He drew his arms back to his body and stared at her, started to prop himself up, and she couldn’t look at those eyes, she couldn’t. She wasn’t capable of feeling guilt. She wasn’t, she wasn’t--
In all likelihood he wouldn’t last the month, or even the week; her boy with nice eyes was too trusting, too ready to believe the best of someone (too ready to believe the best of her), and it would be so easy for anyone to lure him away and make him the first victim. Could she prevent that? But why would she want to? She wasn’t supposed to. She was prepared for all of them to die.
But there was the catch-22 that was starting to consume her: wouldn’t her despair be even greater if she wasn’t?
She had to crush it. There was no room in her rotten heart for emotions such as these. And it wouldn’t even be hard; all she had to do was ruin it so deeply the thought of it would make her sick. She looked back at Naegi.
“Did you think this meant anything?” she said. “You’re not even worth my time. You don’t mean anything either--you were just convenient. Did you really think you had any kind of importance to me? If you did, you’re even more pathetic than I thought. And that would be impressive, let me tell you.”
For all that she was looking at him, Mukuro couldn’t see his face. She wondered what her own looked like.
With a dismissive sigh, she walked back across the room and picked up her bag, dropping the rope back into it. When she closed the door behind her, she closed it with an utmost finality--the next time she saw him conscious would be after none of this had happened.
She would see him again, though. And she would have to pretend it hadn’t happened to her, either.
She could do that, couldn’t she?
The next day, a girl in a blonde wig put on someone else’s face and became someone who did not have to worry about caring.
“Yoohoo! My name’s Junko Enoshima! Great to meet you!”
Fandom: Dangan Ronpa
Characters/Pairings: Mukuro/Naegi
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,877 words
Warnings: Noncon
Summary: Mukuro does not have time for this.
At the AO3 or here.
He was always smiling at her.
Mukuro was accustomed to needing little and receiving less. Junko was ever the one who asked for more, and she got it, too; Mukuro stayed silent, and sometimes Junko shared, but mostly she didn’t.
Perhaps if Mukuro had ever been the one to speak first--
--but she wasn’t, and things were the way they were.
Her time with Fenrir should have kept her from Junko’s influence. Instead, every battle was a thousand whispers in her head, that bullet in that heart makes for a cavalcade of despair, dear sister, and it’s all from you, but I was the one who drove you to this, so it’s all from me, everything is from me, you only exist because of me and isn’t the despair of knowing that delightful, dear sister, and she returned home with Junko twisted up inside her even more.
So anything that was hers was Junko’s, really. And Mukuro did not have much. Weaponry, textbooks, uniforms--
--and smiles.
Junko did not have those, yet.
It would be a lie to say no one besides Naegi was ever kind to her. Most everyone at Hope’s Peak was helpful in their own way. Oogami trained with her sometimes. When she had brief struggles in math, Fujisaki would gladly help her. Even Celes offered to teach her poker. Her face, Celes said, was made for it.
Perhaps it was because he had nothing else to offer. His lack of skills in any particular area gave him no particular use. All he could do was help in small ways--holding doors open when someone’s arms were full, taking over cleaning duties when someone was sick, picking up pencils someone had accidentally dropped. Sometimes Mukuro wondered if he even thought he was as important as they were. If he knew.
Did she even need a reason? People did things with no explanation all the time; feelings, in particular, were widely accepted as capricious. Wondering about a boy who had nice eyes and smiled at her wasn’t unthinkable. If she had more time--
--but she did not have more time.
The plan was almost ready. Tomorrow, their beautiful game would begin. The other students were training, or reading, or talking amongst themselves; any number of ordinary things, in their own extraordinary life. Only she and Junko knew what was about to happen.
Mukuro took a deep breath, and knocked on Naegi’s door.
He opened it with a “Hello?” and his eyes widened slightly as he saw her. Did that mean something? Perhaps. Perhaps not.
“Naegi-kun,” she said. “Good evening. Are you well?”
“Ah, yes, I am,” he said. “And how are you?”
“I am fine,” she said. She glanced inside his room. “May I come in?”
“--sure! Okay!” Naegi said, opening the door further to let her in. She stepped inside and looked around. There was nothing remarkable about it; she hadn’t expected there to be. A few books strewn across a desk. An open bathroom door. An unmade bed.
She pointed at the bag she was carrying. “Is there somewhere I may put this?” she asked.
“Um, the desk is fine,” Naegi said, rushing towards it to move the books out of the way. She put her bag down and looked at him.
Mukuro knew the value of silence. Silence on the battlefield gave you time to plan your next move; and, in turn, for the enemy to plan theirs. Silence in a classroom was a sign that it was time to work. Silence in any room with Junko was a rare and precious gift. Awkward silences, too, were in her repertoire. This one was a remarkable example.
Eventually, Naegi said, “Was there something you wanted, Ikusaba-san?”
That was the key, wasn’t it. Want. It was always Junko who wanted, and Junko who got. But tonight was the last night before their work began, and Mukuro--
--Mukuro wanted.
Efficiency was important. She closed the door behind them and pushed Naegi against it. There was only enough time for him to make a startled noise before she pressed in and kissed him, pinning his wrists to the wall. She closed her eyes and thought about how pathetic Junko would call this, that she could luxuriate so with a boy who had never kissed or been kissed before and knew very little of the theory. But he was soft and warm and there was not much in her life that was soft, and his body relaxed against hers and it felt like her first kill.
Mukuro opened her mouth and slid her tongue past his lips. There was only a moment of hesitation before he joined her. It wasn’t a kiss for the ages, but Mukuro had never expected one anyway and it was already a better experience than most of her others. The slight widening of his eyes had meant something, she was sure of it, and perhaps the smiles--he smiled at everyone else, yes, but as often as he did her? Or with as much happiness? Naegi was not a complicated person, or at least he did not seem like one. Honesty did not come hard to him. Even if he tried to hide anything, he would not do a very good job of it.
She released his wrists and moved her hands to his hair, stroking it and parting it with her fingers. It was as soft as the rest of him. She wanted to move her mouth to his neck, but leaving any marks would only cause problems. She made up for it by sliding one of her legs between his and enjoying the small noise that slipped from his mouth. Oh, but Mukuro wanted this; a boy who had nice eyes and smiled at her and melted under her touch, and made no sign of thinking about Junko. Naegi was in many ways the least of all the students here, but for this, for her, he was perfect.
Now that his hands were free, they settled on her hips, and she almost wanted to smile at that--was he even sure where to put them? She considered telling him to touch her breasts, but she didn’t have time for that. Instead, she moved one of her hands down from his hair, and down further, skimming across his torso, until she slipped down the waistband of his pants.
That earned a noise, and Mukuro opened her eyes to see that he had already opened his, staring wide-eyed at her. She pulled back her head and whispered into his mouth, “Do you want this?”
Naegi looked unsure. The moment grew too long. She didn’t have time for this--and then he nodded just a little bit, and swallowed, and closed his eyes again.
That was all Mukuro needed. She dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt with a speed that might have impressed even Junko, and Naegi’s immediate yelp as she pulled out his cock was reward enough.
As she took it into her mouth, one of his hands scrabbled at her hair. If he hadn’t known where to put them while she was kissing him, he certainly didn’t know what to do with them now. His frantic breathing provided a suitable soundtrack. She swirled her tongue across the head of his cock and tried to remember the last time she had enjoyed having sex; had she ever done it just for the pleasure of it, actually? Always there had been a greater purpose for her actions. Very little in her life was done for the sake of pleasure. So this, now, this--her and a boy and nothing else necessary, this was simultaneously a highlight and a reminder that her life was pathetic indeed for this being a highlight. It made for a wonderful despair.
Or that was what Junko would think--
--that was what they would think. Super High School-Level Despair was not one person. She and Junko were intertwined in all ways possible; if Junko had a thought, she did too. And Junko would shiver at the despair.
Right now, though, it was Mukuro who was bringing Naegi apart and listening to his breathy wordless moans, not Junko.
Mukuro was suddenly filled with the desperate need for Junko to never find out about this. Junko knew everything about her, knew everything about so many things, but this was Mukuro’s, this was hers. Nothing had ever belonged to her before, and in all likelihood nothing would ever belong to her again, but if she could just have this, one thing that was unquestionably hers--
--and Naegi’s, yes, of course.
He didn’t last very long, but she hadn’t expected him to. She swallowed, wiped the remaining saliva off with the back of her hand, and stood up to look at him. His wide eyes were dazed and his face was pale. They were the same age, but Mukuro was so much older than her age, and it struck her that he was very young, compared to her. He’d never done this before. If Mukuro was capable of feeling guilt, she might have felt some now. He didn’t look unhappy, and he’d nodded, but--
--but she wasn’t, and she didn’t, so it didn’t matter.
Without another word, she grabbed his hand and pulled him over towards the bed. Once there, she let go of his hand and instead clenched the bottom of his jacket and pulled it over his head. The shirt underneath it, too; his alarmed “Ikusaba-san?” was unimportant right now. Once that was done she moved to his pants, his underwear, his shoes, his socks, all with military--mercenary--precision. She didn’t give him time to react. He had already stumbled onto the bed when she’d started on his feet, which made it easier to push him down onto it after she’d fully divested him of his clothes. His head thumped against the pillow, but she didn’t look at it; she wasn’t sure she could look at his face, right now.
With fast, long steps she went back across the room to open her bag. Out of it she pulled a length of rope and walked back just as quickly. She glanced at the headboard of the bed--of course there weren’t any slats or posts, of course, but the desk on the wall behind it was close, and the chair closer, and it was already short, and that would work.
Naegi was sitting up on the bed; she pushed him back down, pulled the chair up against the headboard, grabbed his hands, and pushed them together in front of it. He was saying something, not very quietly, but she didn’t pay attention. With one of her hands she grabbed the rope off the bed, and tied his wrists to one of the slats of the chair behind them. There.
Mukuro stepped back and looked. His eyes weren’t wide from surprise any more. She’d seen that look many times--on the faces of those she was about to kill. Did he think she was going to kill him? No, surely not.
“Ikusaba-san, what are you doing?” Naegi said, his voice trembling. He wasn’t stupid; he must know by now. Maybe he was clinging to the slightest shred of hope that this was a game or a joke and she’d laugh and let him go. He’d never seen her make a joke, though.
She didn’t reply. Instead she unbuttoned her own jacket and shirt, and pulled them off, adding them to the small pile of clothes by the bed. Her skirt, bra, and underwear followed, and she was as naked as he was.
Naegi wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Was he too scared to talk? That wasn’t--no. Mukuro put that thought aside as she moved to the bed and sat, straddling his thighs.
There was a benefit of his age--it didn’t take much to make him harden again. His cock was still slick from her mouth. Mukuro ran her hands across his chest, just to feel, just to see how skinny he was without his clothes. His breath sharpened as she did. They were the same size, but he seemed small like this, small and young and fragile and she wasn’t capable of guilt, she wasn’t. Junko had always liked to break nice things. She’d blame it on something else, sometimes Mukuro, and she always looked like miserable about it until later, when she’d confide in Mukuro about how wonderful it had felt. Mukuro had never felt that. She briefly thought about how wonderful Junko would find this, but crushed the thought, buried it down and deep. Junko was not here. This was hers.
Hers to break?
It didn’t matter. She lifted herself up, positioned Naegi’s cock with one hand, and slowly slid down onto it.
Naegi made a muffled cry at that; she glanced and saw that he was biting his lip so hard it bled, no marks but maybe it would heal by tomorrow?
Having him inside her was a pure and honest feeling. She’d never had sex with someone she genuinely liked before, only for duty, and Naegi--her boy who smiled at her and had nice eyes--she did like him, she wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t. And he’d liked her, hadn’t he? Did he still? Of course not. The paleness on his face and the blood on his lips and his eyes still shut tight were proof enough of that. But it didn’t matter. This still felt good, wonderful--
--good.
She raised and lowered herself at a quick pace, knowing he wouldn’t last long this time either. Her breath came fast and heavy. It seemed like Naegi’s breath was the same, but through clenched teeth it was hard to tell.
It didn’t take long. She managed to reach her own climax seconds before, and was thankful for it. He spilled inside her, but that was no worry; she and Junko both had been born sterile, and once they had seen that as despair, but then they had realized they didn’t want to bring more of themselves into the world and it didn’t seem so bad. Certainly it was useful.
She pulled herself off him and lay by his side. She would need a towel. Right now she wanted to be still for a moment. After the moment, she moved onto her side and put a hand on his chest. Sweat clung to it like on a hot day. She rested her head on his chest, too, and listened to his heart beat rabbit-fast. He was still trembling.
Why hadn’t she asked? He might have said no, he might not have been ready. And Mukuro had no more time. If she had done this months ago, if she’d had time to wait, maybe right now he’d be smiling at her, maybe--
--his nice eyes were full of fear, and he would never smile at her again.
Mukuro pulled away from him and off the bed. She put back on her clothes, still efficient, and untied his wrists. He drew his arms back to his body and stared at her, started to prop himself up, and she couldn’t look at those eyes, she couldn’t. She wasn’t capable of feeling guilt. She wasn’t, she wasn’t--
In all likelihood he wouldn’t last the month, or even the week; her boy with nice eyes was too trusting, too ready to believe the best of someone (too ready to believe the best of her), and it would be so easy for anyone to lure him away and make him the first victim. Could she prevent that? But why would she want to? She wasn’t supposed to. She was prepared for all of them to die.
But there was the catch-22 that was starting to consume her: wouldn’t her despair be even greater if she wasn’t?
She had to crush it. There was no room in her rotten heart for emotions such as these. And it wouldn’t even be hard; all she had to do was ruin it so deeply the thought of it would make her sick. She looked back at Naegi.
“Did you think this meant anything?” she said. “You’re not even worth my time. You don’t mean anything either--you were just convenient. Did you really think you had any kind of importance to me? If you did, you’re even more pathetic than I thought. And that would be impressive, let me tell you.”
For all that she was looking at him, Mukuro couldn’t see his face. She wondered what her own looked like.
With a dismissive sigh, she walked back across the room and picked up her bag, dropping the rope back into it. When she closed the door behind her, she closed it with an utmost finality--the next time she saw him conscious would be after none of this had happened.
She would see him again, though. And she would have to pretend it hadn’t happened to her, either.
She could do that, couldn’t she?
The next day, a girl in a blonde wig put on someone else’s face and became someone who did not have to worry about caring.
“Yoohoo! My name’s Junko Enoshima! Great to meet you!”