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An eye-blinding light stuns the Detective after leaving the boundaries of Real-Fiction. Disruptive, quiet whirring in the background paired with an intangible hands gripping his arms tightly dragged him back from the brink. His blurry vision was dotted with inklings of darkness and indistinguishable masses of colors. Vivid pinks, dull reds, cooling blacks. The Detective tries speaking, then is pushed back by a harsh whisper in his ear. His own voice, his mouth - it spoke for him.“Dan… Danganronpa?”It’s sickeningly excited, drenched in artificial syrup and human blood. A Detective would’ve vomited on the spot, if he wasn’t overpowered by high-octane memories and aroused thoughts. Controlling them is impossible, as the outcome wasn’t what he feared.The Detective tries penetrating a bullet through the maddening sea, discovering quickly that his efforts are rendered futile. This body never belonged to him in the first place.The Detective reaches out for help, screaming in a treacherous sea of hands. Delicate fingers entangling with his pale cheeks, forgiving hands perfectly crafted for a gentleman, nimble gloves tightening their grip around his neck. Pulled down into a morose darkness, the crestfallen Detective who sought freedom follows his defeated classmates and doomed failures into wordless emptiness. After an immediate flashbang came hollow darkness. A dreamless slumber without any meddling, noise, or headaches. If there was a migraine, it has long since faded away. His eyes slowly fluttered open, met with muddied eyesight akin to a midnight fog. It wasn’t winter, as far as Saihara was concerned, he was walking to school on his usual route - a brand new semester at the regular boring high-school that he always attended. Saihara Shuuichi is your typical high-school student in a mundane, peaceful world populated by lifeless, stale, boring people. And Danganronpa is the all-curing medicine, a temporary solution to his permanent problem of harmonious normalcy and still order.His messy, cobalt hair is strewn around against his pillow as Saihara turns onto his left and concentrates, pouring effort to gaze at his hand. Chipped fingernails from gripping his class trial podium, recently healed scars that decorated his rough milky skin, double-time celebrity Amami’s glistening silver rings attached to his bony digits.(Saihara’s inflamed heart strikes against his chest, drool running down his chin. It drips down, staining the hospital’s thin blanket. He can’t help, but smile and think about their first case.)(Oh, how the Detective was lucky to be in the presence of pretty boy Amami. His glistening, clear skin and long eyelashes. Delicious thighs paired with a playboy attitude and fashion sense.)Saihara looks around, eyes darting to investigate every corner of his hospital room until he notices another person sitting next to him. On his right, mind you, is a professionally-dressed yet debilitated man biting onto an unlit cigarette. His pale golden eyes burns into Saihara’s inherited pair, but it’s not enough to obliterate everything in their path. He gestures to his son and to the television, hesitating to speak - or wanting to avoid an unwanted confrontation.If Saihara hadn’t known better about his tiresome lawyer of a father, he’d misunderstand his intentions for coming here. To see his son? To finally open up and talk about Danganronpa? No, that’d never happen. Not when Danganronpa itself is an unspoken taboo among his purity-aligned, conservative family.The flat-screen television hanging in front of his uncomfortably stiff bed switches on. Prosecutor Shuuji holds the remote, stabbing his knobby thumb to continuously swap channels until he reached the national breaking news. Saihara hitches his breath upon seeing the Detective and his surviving leftovers. For a swift moment, his borrowed face caught off-guard by feral paparazzi and on-set staff almost wrangled his libido. He remembers his negligent father sitting by his side, curling his bottom lip and furrowing his thick, hairy eyebrows in clear disgust.“It’s, uhm, ni… nice to see you again, Shuuji,” he stammers, forgetting their established agreement. “What happened? I thought keeping myself as the Super High School Level Detective was in Danganronpa’s contract…?” Unless, the international fan-base declared and fought against Team Danganronpa for their beloved Saihara-sama to have his memories returned. Whether it was for selfish reasons such as answering questions on what it was like being Season 53’s star protagonist or how it felt having your most wanted talent implemented into you. To be honest, Saihara never wanted to be a Super High School Level Detective. If anything, Saihara wanted to avoid being the detective - his desires, unfortunately, outweighed his eventual reality and he was suggested to become their season’s detective based off appearances alone. If it was a suggestion.Shuuji doesn’t light his cigarette, glaring at his son with burnt-out eyes. Sighing, he crunches on its end and watches the discussion between news-casters and reporters. They play back on-site interviews from Harukawa and Yumeno, their fluctuating voices grating against his ears and attacking his thrusting heart. Without Saihara, their survivor set is incomplete and not only are they worried about him of all people…“The moment I discovered that you were on Danganronpa, of all things.” Shuuji grunts, leaning forward with his legs spread far apart. “Initially, I was going to ignore you and everything with it. Your acceptance into Danganronpa should’ve been the final straw for our relationship, and yet - I decided to become involved. It was against your mo… Rio’s wishes, but I wanted to prevent what happened to her for you.”Saihara wrinkles his nose in irritation, licking his ivories. “Are you responsible for making them give me back my memories? Is that what’s going on here? Shuuji.”The prosecutor drags his coarse-looking fingers into his thin hairline, grayed-out navy falling down in tiny strands against his sweat-laden forehead. He hesitates, but continues speaking. “You’re not exactly the kindest son I have.”“I’m your only son. Remember?”“You are now, but your twin brother was…” Shuuji trails off, then shakes his head. “No, I shouldn’t. He’s gone and you’re the only one I have to deal with. Listen, I decided to take things into my own hands and use my legal knowledge to compromise with the company.”Team Danganronpa. Saihara peels his eyes away from mind-wrecked Shuuji, ignoring his deadbeat father in favor of the crystal-clear monitor. “It was a compromise? What did you negotiate with Team Danganronpa, in order to make this happen?”His brightened eyes squints at a screenshot pulled into view by the channel. A white-haired android with heavy features and a burdensome uniform adhered to his entire body. Robotic gear built for withstanding durability and an angular antenna disguised as a meager hair accessory. The Detective avoided discovering K1-B0’s actual purpose and truth, similar to how he couldn’t singlehandedly dismantle the mastermind’s plans within the first chapter of their season. A flawed investigation led by inexperienced, yet talented teenagers led to nasty consequences. Human error led to a lack of evidence, despite their deductions, and they narrowly avoided ending their season on a half-hearted solution.Their talents, personalities, and backstories were tailored for the fifty-third season’s setting. Meteor showers, extraterrestrial diseases, apocalypses, the Gofer Project. It was a science-fiction themed backdrop for their original location, built up from the annual release of a new season after mind-numbing reruns on the Danganronpa channel. It was a perfect disguise. Nobody would’ve thought K1-B0 was an audience self-insert. Well, except for the audience themselves. This was the so-called “surprise” hinted at in magazine interviews and convention panels, however the Detective couldn’t suspect anything from beyond his manufactured reality.Just like how he couldn’t find the mastermind, no matter how much Hoshi’s logic made sense. No matter how much Amami and Shinguuji cooperated on their alibis. Shirogane outsmarted them all under the poignant charade of being a “plain” girl, because nobody knew that she was acting. Nonetheless, Shirogane was lacking in the acting department despite having a talent for cosplaying and she was terminated like everyone else.Saihara watches his father nod, discarding his analytical thoughts about the Detective’s hindsight. “Really? Ugh, okay. … That still doesn’t answer my question. What did you do?”“It was a secret bet if Shirogane-san failed her role, you’d have your memories back. Team Danganronpa may have a significant sphere of influence, but their company's full of part-time gamblers.” Shuuji shrugs, standing back up. “Though, your contract still says you have to act like Saihara Shuuichi in public. Not as yourself, but as the star detective everyone sees on television. Why?”Shuuji leans in close, flicking his half-eaten cigarette onto Saihara’s pillow. Nicotine lingers in his warm breath, captivating Saihara while instilling a deep-rooted fear from his long-gone childhood. “Appearances matter in our world, Saihara. You’re not an exception to the rule. You’re free, but like everyone else, you have to act. To them, you’re fiction and that’s all you’ll be.”He clears his throat, on the cusp of a fabricated cold. Shuuji gently sets down the remote, standing up to leave when he speaks to Saihara with a strained voice. “You’ll retrieve a weekly check in the mail as compensation from Team Danganronpa with your survival prize. I don’t know what it is. You’ll also… still retrieve money in your bank account from us.”“As for your apartment - it’s untouched. Everything is still paid for. Don't worry about it.”Shuuji doesn’t look behind him or say anything else. His distinctive limp moves with his overworked body, similar to how Momota typically walked through the academy’s hallways - reclaimed by mock verdant, meticulously built to appear abandoned. Saihara doesn’t wave.Saihara Shuuichi, Super High School Level Detective was an adventuresome marketing strategy that paid off and made a breakthrough in the killing entertainment industry. Danganronpa itself had grown stagnant over time, eternally milked to death by money-hungry executives and overzealous fanatics beseeching for another season. Teenage exploitation wouldn’t be allowed under strict circumstances in the past, yet Danganronpa itself has proved to be a profitable venture that investors pocketed money from and the greater international communities enjoyed watching the most realistic of horrors. Danganronpa’s reputation skyrocketed on the fifty-third season’s improvised gamble of sacrificing the pure-hearted Akamatsu for the cowering Saihara.Shirogane’s mistake was carefully masked as an intentional action with a lot of purpose. The Detective’s popularity increased in each chapter with his meek, yet confident face plastered on digital billboards and advertisements. In exchange for your typical, run-of-the-mill determined protagonist came a more pessimistic, vulnerable one to take her place and the fanbase was overjoyed. Danganronpa’s most dedicated fanatics rushed to social media, thirsting over the newest characters and creating spontaneous edits about their untouchable favorites. Artists rushed to their mediums of choice, drawing the most attractive and beloved ones out of the cast - their attractive looks led to drawn pornography and erotic fanfiction. Anyone who died retrieved an honorary dakimakura, printed to celebrate and mourn their twisted deaths. Banished from Comiket, Danganronpa fanatics - calling themselves “Spotless” - declared that they’d host and organize their own conventions. As a worldwide phenomena, Danganronpa conventions are meeting grounds for merchandise vendors, cosplayers, and ordinary fans that constantly devoted their lives to the reality show. If it weren’t for the Mutual Killing Games, they wouldn’t have any idols to worship or role models to follow. They wouldn’t have any hopes or futures to imagine, as Danganronpa itself became a religion beyond any other faith on Earth.New Tokyo XII, informally known as Kyogi City, is a fringe metropolis that barely survived multiple wars and revolutions. Towering glass skyscrapers and penthouse apartments were formally organized on an artificial grid with the overpowering presence of floating advertisements and trailers. Earth is a monotonous planet fighting against technology, reclaiming abandoned territories and dismantled cities. Somehow, Japan has survived - fragmented, just like everything else on the planet, but Saihara hadn’t paid attention to his history lessons in junior high to know why. Like everyone else, he was a Danganronpa-obsessed maniac that held its fictional characters above real people.He spent three days in the hospital, recovering from his post-trial injuries. (Somehow, Saihara didn’t succumb to the various bruises and cuts across his back. Must’ve been Tojo looking over him like a Renaissance angel.)In his right hand is his first envelope containing a personal letter from Team Danganronpa’s director with compensation money.In his left hand is a flip smartphone than most. Numerous charms hang off his Dangancon 68 strap, clanking and knocking against each other as wind chimes. He stands in the middle of a cramped space, still wondering how the hanging trains are handling their combined weight. While his eyes are focused on scrolling through various texts sent by his online friends, documenting their reactions through Season 53 as they promised, Saihara’s ears concentrated on the news blaring from the compact screens above them. The nation is back to talking about the mischievous, unpredictable Ouma Kokichi. The Super High School Level Supreme Leader was a rather creative talent to avoid reusing a previous concept from Season 46, basing his entire backstory around a harmless group of orphaned pranksters. He was against murder with fandom analysts and content creators talking about Ouma’s impact on his season’s Mutual Killing Game. They examined his personality, inspecting and studying his every action to draw enthralling conclusions about such a captivating character. According to Team Danganronpa, his character development was actually unexpected from an exceptional writer such as Kyōka Arai:
“You see, I didn’t think Ouma would weaponize Gokuhara’s trust and innocence against Iruma,” said Season 53 writer Arai. “His entire concept is based on a trickster, but the way he used his swindling skills to contradict his ideals is proof that he’d end up tricking himself one day. Ouma was a complicated character that I loved to write, so I hope you all found him lovable, too!”
Saihara grits his cracked molars at the woman’s cooing. Ouma didn’t have a mixed reputation, compared to the Detective, he was cherished amongst the fan-base. His friends adored the Detective’s interactions with Ouma, especially at the Love Hotel. They treasured Ouma, wanting more of them as anyone would be smitten by a soda-drinking prankster that loved having fun more than anything else. Masking his worries and channeling his energies into constant lying had made him into the fan favorite. While the Detective was popular in terms of marketability and friendliness, Ouma was admirable and treasured by the disturbed. Everything darkened in the transition from sparkling luxury to an ultra-cramped, sun-bleached cityscape layering on top of each other. Moist hands squeeze, grasping a handful of Saihara’s youthful backside. Fervent, sweltering breaths hovered over Saihara’s bare neck as the stranger whispers about how beautiful Saihara was in the sixth trial. They love how yummy his eyes look. They want to break his fingers. They want him to be their husband. Saihara taps on his friends' group chat, attempting to ignore the smothering tent beginning to soak his dark pants. His rushed breathing was alleviated by the raunchy panting behind him, whispering sweet nothings into his ears. Nobody mentioned how subway molestation would already happen to survivors. Regardless, Saihara isn’t a spring chicken and he understands how his slim figure is considered seductive to his persistent fans.
Welcome back to MISSLEMSG, Hikoshi - 11:35 AM JST
[11:35] hikoshi: u guys have been real busy ever since i left[11:35] ren: hikochan!!! hikochan!!! omg hi welcome back!!!! [11:36] tomo: Holy fucking shit? Is this the real Hikoshi or the fraud I saw on tv??[11:36] tomo: Anyways, welcome back. We missed having your dumbass around.[11:37] hikoshi: awwww thanks :) wheres uh[11:37] hikoshi: is miho around[11:37] hikoshi: or is she still at school[11:38] tomo: She dropped out last week.[11:38] tomo: What’s going on, Hiko?
Before Saihara could answer, the train jutted backwards and halted in its tracks. The railing above is confirmed to have more stability than other cities could offer, thanks to Team Danganronpa’s abundant imports. As more people arrived, either traveling for work in the affluent wards or skipping out on school in anticipation for the latest season’s pop-up cafe, something rubs in-between his cheeks. The passionate stranger grips his shoulders tightly, complimenting Saihara’s pretty waist and gorgeous eyelashes.With a benevolent intention to please, Saihara loosens his belt and motions for the SHSL Detective’s loyal super-fan to lower his pants. Feeling his behind touch the hanging train’s musty air, Saihara’s cheeks spread open - lubeless, the desperate romantic eased their hardened member towards the entrance of Saihara’s anus and thrusts. Saihara hovers over his smartphone as a nifty distraction, texting away to ensure that his friends weren’t suspicious about his current shenanigans.
[11:45] tomo: Hiko??? [11:45] tomo: What gargantuan thing are you typing…[11:46] tomo: Please don’t tell me this is about the Saiou fanfiction Jun sent you.[11:46] hikoshi: whaaaat noooooooo lol idek what ur talking about[11:46] hikoshi: daddy pulled some strings[11:46] hikoshi: he went “ughhhhh saihara ur my failure bitch of a son. i wish u were the one tht died. But, I didn’t want u dead”[11:46] hikoshi: decided that having one son around is probs better than none[11:47] hikoshi: not that im gonna b having kids anyways cuz[11:47] hikoshi: ykno im too devoted to togami hes my husband[11:48] tomo: Okay, great. Happy to know that you’re… loyal.
Loyal. Saihara heaves, quieting his laughter to heed social norms and manners. Not that Saihara has any manners in public, railed by an unknown face that’s obsessed with him. Just like how he’s hyperfixiated on Togami Byakuya - a handsome, independent heir who fought against his half-siblings and came out victorious; the youngest brother out of several, proficient at maintaining the Togami Conglomerate; a formerly competitive, straightforward ally that wishes to reshape the world post-Tragedy. Unlike Fukawa Toko, Saihara doesn’t have any loyalties at the moment and he doesn’t have a white knight to swoon over. On a harsh turn, Saihara topples onto the stranger who sits down on an empty train seat. He leans back, allowing a random super-fan to have a lifetime opportunity and have intimate subway intercourse with a Danganronpa star. He stares into their lustful brown eyes, muttering. “Yo… You...! Why are you doing this?”, questions the Detective as he’s shaken to the core. “After everything Danganronpa’s done… After what I’ve been through…”The super-fan wraps their arms around Saihara’s narrow waist, covering his tenting bulge. “Relax. I’ll be done after the next stop, okay?”The Detective slowly nods, glancing at the crowd - absorbed in their pocketed worlds, minding their business. Becoming a cock-warmer for a mid-twenties salaryman wasn’t on Saihara’s wishlist, but he didn’t mind having affectionate company on the way home. Saihara listens to his tales and theories about the fifty-third season of Danganronpa, talking about how fake spoilers and rumors were spread around the Internet. The salaryman, Ebata, thought that Amami faked his death the entire time and how everything occurred in an alternate universe with a mastermind Ikubasa taking the reigns.Elaborate stories about Tojo revealing herself as a yakuza member, Iruma being Akamatsu’s twin sister, the moon. Saihara enjoys his ramblings until the next stop, removing Ebata’s cum-soaked penis from his doughy behind. He ends up waving back, completely flustered from using his Detective persona. The hanging train journeys back into affluent opulence, genuine sunlight pouring down through scratched glass windows. His eyes dart back to his smartphone, observing his friends’ swift conversation about the Season 53rd finale. It seemed like Saihara needed to catch up with his alter ego’s memories and watch the entire season - he only has sparse recollections to reference from and who can say that his mind is correct?The train stops at another station, one closer to his apartment building, and Saihara carefully leaves his cart. On his way back home, he pays attention to a peculiar conversation between two high-schoolers.One snickered, walking down the same path. “Oh, is that Saihara-san? What’s he doing here? Why isn’t he dead after that trash-heap of a finale?”“The people took pity on him, Harumi-chan,” said another. “That’s why he’s still here. `Cause of pity.”Saihara’s two-bedroom apartment is invulnerable to eager landlords. Gentrification has led to upper-class, luxury penthouses available for rent and his parents somehow snagged a life-time ownership for their living son. A combination of wealthy incomes led to a spend-happy livelihood that fueled Saihara’s destructive (but, satisfying) habits. He zips open his backpack’s smaller compartment, pulling out the card key belonging to him and accessed his private chambers. Left intact, everything inside was undisturbed and dusty. The 53rd Season was shorter than your typical Danganronpa, having two months of thrilling murder mysteries for anyone’s enjoyment. Heinous crimes done with sophisticated flair and talent-based creativity. One thing led to another with the Detective breaking fundamental laws and ripping apart a long-loved franchise.If the Detective had a separate body, Saihara would strangle him to death using a leather belt. Alas, Saihara’s body was borrowed for those six months and the Detective was no more.(Shuuji’s lawyer money brought his freedom. It’s a miracle that he isn’t associated with Danganronpa by legal copyrights.)Still, Saihara’s body contributed to Danganronpa itself and the unfortunate ending that dismantled the management team’s hard work. Removing his loafers, Saihara ignores the light switch and opts for the dimmer floor lamps. He unbuttons his old high school uniform on the way, opening the door to his bedroom.To say that Saihara’s sleeping quarters aren’t adequate for comfortable living is an underestimation. He has lived like this for three years, at this point, having an independent lifestyle reliant on escapist killing games.A cluttered sundry of framed posters and gigantic scrolls are secured to his walls. Promotional artwork, signed photographs, cast images. Stockpiled magazines grouped in chronological order, containing obscure Danganronpa trivia and well-received characters on the popularity poll sprawled all over them. Suspended over his head are Togami plushies, keychains, and charms swaying around in the stagnant air, brought back to life by Saihara’s homecoming.His need to accumulate and hoard Togami merchandise constructed a formidable collection that rivaled the more dedicated super-fans. Vintage figurines from the early millennium remain secure in their factory-wrapped boxes, sitting on Saihara’s bookshelf. He steps over dried used tissues on his way to the closet, shifting through his plain shirts and shorts.(His Danganronpa graphic t-shirts are reserved for special moments or stay untouched in his grand collection. All merchandise is precious for his worship.)Saihara spots his spare baseball cap sitting on his closet shelf. He wonders, is it worth troubling himself and wearing the same cap again after two months without it? The teenager ponders, selecting a clean white shirt and striped shorts. It’s not like he has anything else. The Detective’s uniform is folded inside of his backpack, sitting on top of his tarnished bed. His bedroom’s pungent, tarnished scent matches the dreary atmosphere and crowded room - it’s Saihara’s way of establishing a dominant scent compared to the Academy’s cleanliness. If he knew about Team Danganronpa selecting him as a protagonist, Saihara would’ve cleaned up his room for his eventual return. The griminess reminds him of home, though, and the navy-haired boy opened his sticker-garnished mini fridge to reveal…… Bottled mineral water and candy. Oh, how he missed Tojo’s cooking. Her implanted talents allowed her to cook magnificent dishes that opened his taste buds to new foods. That is what he recalls from the Detective’s recollections. She had a specialty for elevating ordinary dishes into higher-quality versions, similar to how an experienced chef transforms canned food into culinary wonders. Was anyone dependent on Tojo before she gained a brand new identity as a maid? Did she have any family to speak of? Thinking about his season’s participants, Saihara closes the mini fridge and collapses into his snug office chair. Its soft, cozy cushion touches his buttocks and already reminds him of earlier’s incident. Such an entitled, disgusting, lonely salaryman. No wonder he relies on Danganronpa to continue living.Saihara giggles, “He really, really loved him that bad, huh? Poor Ebata-san. Maybe, I should’ve given him my number.”In a harmonious, tedious world where international peace has been accomplished for years now, nobody cares about whether or not Saihara allowing adults to plow him is immoral. Killing entertainment has taken over the general media as a respected genre, likened to horror - except, everything is real underneath a thin veil of real-fiction. Rather than touching his personal computer, Saihara abandons his rig in exchange for a disordered bed. His fluffy pillows encased in Togami’s beautiful face with the unique dakimakura laying down underneath his blanket greet him. When his head hit the pillow, he’s surrounded by more Togami plushies that comfortably welcome him back home. Back to his den. Back to his beloved.The madhouse housed a bathroom and shower attached to his shrine of fascination, but showering can wait. He kicks the button-laden backpack down to the carpeted floor, grabbing his smartphone and immediately searching for a playlist consisting of his season’s clipped highlights.(Those always popped up after a Danganronpa season finished - for recap and for content farming.)Instead, his attention gravitates to a playlist titled: “Danganronpa Season 53 - All Executions.”Wet tongue turning around his lips, Saihara selected “Der Flohwalzer - Akamatsu Kaede’s Execution” and hit play.Akamatsu Kaede was a grounded attempt at writing optimistic, headstrong protagonists similar to the ones in earlier seasons. A return to form after countless fan requests and feedback sent to Team Danganronpa. Older spotless yearned for a leading character that challenged the Killing Game with a hopeful determination, like in the 25th Season. While the Detective’s consciousness is a scattered mess of traumatic incidents, Saihara is still able to access them if he forces them to re-surface.Her outstanding attitude lifted her classmates’ spirits, despite how they ended up turning against her in the end. Shallow philosophies that relied on friendship and teamwork rendered her harmony useless, especially when Akamatsu childishly sacrificed her life. Team Danganronpa, even if she was unable to remember, manipulated everything behind the scenes. From the moment Akamatsu tried exposing Shirogane, her failed plan was destined to become a suicide.Der Flohwalzer was foreshadowing Akamatsu’s truth - that she wasn’t the Blackened, that she wasn’t Amami’s murderer. But, nobody participating knew that. They wouldn’t have comprehended such a distressing truth then and they wouldn’t be able to now. White keys, a beginner’s song played inadequately, the crowd infuriated at an abysmal performance.Akamatsu’s execution was orchestrated to be a gigantic joke and Saihara is smitten by every second of it.His breath hitches when Akamatsu is dragged around by the rope, playing its juvenile tune. Saihara’s skin shivers as Monokuma flicks his conducting baton - ah, the Monokubs. Annoying critters that lacked comedic potential. He concentrates on Akamatsu’s perturbed expression, painfully dragged along the piano’s keys.The imminent threat of a spiked wall looming behind her increased Saihara’s growing warmth, penis throbbing during a terrifying moment that ended her life. He reaches down to his twitching cock, fingertips brushing on his damp urethra. Clear, viscous fluid secreted from Saihara’s glans, bubbling out from the cotton fabric. His uncontrollable horniness renders Saihara unable to speak, focusing on Akamatsu’s lonesome suffering. Saihara easily pulls down his shorts, legs buckling at the hardness amassed down in his crotch. There is a reason why Saihara doesn’t bother wearing underwear - it’s an unnecessary extra layer that blocks him from pleasure.Basking in his soundproof apartment, Saihara continues to witness Akamatsu’s execution with his own eyes. Squirming at the sight of Akamatsu hanging from the noose, whilst his free hand moved on its own and starting rubbing his penis in shameless masturbation. Saihara bites his lower lip, jerking off to her final concert and to the authentic corpse displayed on his screen. If he had an opportunity to stick his dick in Akamatsu’s corpse, he would.When the spiked wall finally topples on her, splattering eye-searing magenta everywhere - Saihara howls in bliss and orgasms. He ejaculates all over his chest, cum drizzled all over his face. It’s been a long time since his body experienced gratification, nonetheless, with its rightful owner.Saihara licks the thick fluid all over his lips, smiling. “Ah, it’s sweet. Kind of like…”Kind of like, artificial grape. Like carbonated soda.Tired, Saihara rolls onto his side and scrolls down to read the Youtube comments. There are a few old comments remaining from the initial surprise of Akamatsu’s death and more new ones having shipping feuds about Amamatsu or Saimatsu.He isn’t exactly your typical homosexual. Necrophilia doesn’t have a sexuality attached to it, sure. But, he wouldn’t find himself kissing and doting on the real Akamatsu compared to how his Detective persona had a preference for any gender. That was simply for fanservice.Would he fuck Akamatsu’s corpse? Saihara still would. Mind you, cadavers don’t have sexualities. They’re dead. He’d be dry-humping them regardless of freshness. An expiration date doesn’t make anyone immune from Saihara’s love for penetrating roadkill as it falls apart or random dead bodies he’s found in dumpsters.His mind drifts back to Ouma Kokichi, Super High School Level Supreme Leader. Ouma discovered an opportunity for an unsolvable death, kick-started by meticulously directing Gokuhara to his death, and used it. He really was Season 53’s best character, experimenting with an impossible title and silly backstory. They placed the least amount of effort into writing Ouma’s background than his personality and the gamble worked. He thinks about Ouma’s meddlesome behaviors, taunting the season’s inventor and swinging passive-aggressive insults towards Harukawa. His unwillingness to commit murder, an unbroken rule in his group, only to have his hand forced by unwilling circumstances. Everything that happened in the fourth case made Ouma’s sleeper agent respond, killing himself to end the Killing Game.Ouma’s intelligence and wittiness elevated his character writing. An example for other shows on how to write a chaotic, annoying trickster drenched in simple moralities.The Detective didn’t understand anything about Ouma, aside from his numerous lies.The Detective couldn’t wrap his head around on how Ouma operated, despite spending time with him.The Detective figured out Ouma’s plan, but he never appreciated Ouma for who he was.Before Saihara succumbed to his dreams, his rumbling smartphone wakes him up for the final time tonight. Raw adrenaline rushed through his veins, confusing fear for arousal and he whines at his flaccid dick. He scratches the back of his neck, reading a notification: a text sent from Team Danganronpa.
Team Danganronpa:
Hello, Saihara Shuuichi! Congratulations on surviving as Danganronpa V3: Everyone’s Killing Game Semester’s protagonist! As courtesy, we are extending an offer to you! This will be a final prize in an effort to address our shortcomings with the season finale and you have our deepest apologies from the management team to the producers and CEO.
With formalities out of the way, our biggest fan deserves a final treat: https://11.037.6.101/
Cheers, Team Danganronpa & Co.
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Saihara disregards any old advice about clicking on suspicious links, impatiently entering the website. An ordinary-looking, not-so-suspicious storefront welcomes him upon entry, revealing its purpose after scrolling down. Clones. Team Danganronpa has given him (and the two other survivors, given that he isn’t the only one) an early access link to an online store for clones. According to the website’s details, this is a limited edition free offer to have an exact reproduction of one of his season’s classmates. There wouldn’t be unnecessary modifications that aren’t tied to the Danganronpa brand nor would they have their memories cleared. All of their memories up to their deaths will be re-implanted with Flashback Lights. Retaining their uniqueness, resurrecting their bodies with advanced science, and much more. Unethical science? Sure, but Saihara doesn’t give a shit! He drools on his pillow, staining Togami’s handsomeness with peasant spit. His temptations are unavoidable.Saihara’s legs kick around underneath his Togami-quilted blanket, sinister giggles echoing across his bedroom walls. His thumbs spring into action, hovering over a button and finalizing his impulsive decision in one fell swoop. No second thoughts or hesitation, Saihara grins at the screen and drops his smartphone beside him to drift off to sleep.Dreaming about another day at the Ultimate Academy, holding a small pale hand in his own.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“He’s here, he finally here!”, said Saihara to nobody in particular. He leaps outside of the apartment lobby, disturbing the front desk with his passionate howl. Sweating palms push away the glass double doors blocking his path and Saihara runs in spontaneous joy towards Team Danganronpa’s delivery truck. He giggles in pure excitement, flushed cheeks scanned by the masked driver upon his approach. Saihara leans forward, craning his neck over the lowered window. “Can I see him, yet?”His kicking feet scrape against white concrete, leaving behind scalding pink specks and wet footprints. Saihara’s viscous saliva drools into the delivery driver’s lap, who jolts in response to the teenager’s insatiable hunger. “Pleaaase?”, Saihara begs. “I want him. I want to see him so badly… You have no idea how long I’ve waited…!”The delivery driver grips his wheel, covered in dead skin and city grime. “Fuck, and I was warned about… Alright, whatever. You want `im, you got `im. Just…”His thumb points backwards and a rusted old key is dropped into Saihara’s open hands.“Head down to the back and open the doors. Largest bag in the entire truck. Should be the only one, `cause the others ain’t ready yet.”Saihara frantically nods, ushering in a quick ‘thank you’ under his breath. He excuses himself to the back end of the glossy, sable van. Its back doors are decorated in excessive magenta splatters, imitating his favorite show’s blood - appreciated by the greater Danganronpa fandom, lovingly nicknamed “Pepto Bismol.”Injecting the key into its hole, Saihara turns his wrist counter-clockwise and hears a sharp click. He opens its tailgate, gazing inside a cavernous rear. Pale gold eyes search around, palms sprawled open to grab an unlabeled, unsuspecting body bag. Its brass zipper sealed Saihara’s prize in a sanitized cocoon - another one of Team Danganronpa’s patented inventions. For appearance’s sake, Saihara was lifting a body-bag containing his fellow participant’s cadaver. To the contrary, he feels the departed inside breathe. Deducting from his limpness, it seems like Saihara’s unique treasure still carries the signature weaknesses and frailness that comes from such a meager, delicate body.He grins wide, closing the barn-doors shut. It automatically locks, but Saihara returns the key to its rightful owner and carries the distinct body-bag in one arm. Saihara would’ve commented about how lightweight he is, but he kept that to himself. This was a low-profile exchange meant to be kept under wraps. At least, until corporate media released their breaking news - Saihara didn’t want any unwanted attention, especially when his apartment remained anonymous for a rather long time.(And he wishes to keep it that way. The Danganronpa hatedom is massive, meaning that they’d love to publicly release Saihara’s information if it meant ruining a big-name’s life.)(Over what? Fictional characters in a fictional Killing Game.)On his way to the elevator, Saihara hears the front desk’s clerk ring out —“Wait! Hold on a second!” He turns his head, not bothering to completely look back. His bothersome leering meets a concerned woman, looking at Saihara in worry. “Do you need anything…? I’m busy.”“I’m — erm — wondering what you’re carrying? Sorry, if I’m acting rude…”Saihara’s head tilts at the question and he hums. Lying is his specialty. But, his honesty is required if he’s supposed to continue living in this boring world. He lessens his leer’s intensity, feigning a harmless smile for his response.“Okay, I can answer that!” Saihara plants a finger on his lips, ignoring the minor shifting on his shoulder. “It’s my final gift from Team Danganronpa! I’ve been told it’s a surprise, so I have to wait until I’m home to open it.”Avoiding Saihara’s gaze, the desk attendant returns to work. “Team… Team Danganronpa. I see, ah… Carry on.”The boy swipes his key-card, stepping inside the deserted elevator with untamed anticipation. The apartment door unlocks, artificial light pouring into Saihara’s dwelling of profound darkness. He softly closes the door behind him, restoring order back into his home. Cleanliness isn’t one of Saihara’s greatest strengths. He neglected to follow through on his chores at his family home, concentrating on the non-stop, trigger-happy entertainment of Danganronpa. His old room was covered in cum-dried tissues and emptied water bottles, to where poisonous mold and mushrooms accumulated inside of an uncleaned onahole. It was his parents’ breaking point that led to his father buying a penthouse apartment for Saihara. Kilometers upon kilometers away from Shuuji and Rio, as Saihara warped into an unrecognizable stranger wearing the rotten skin of their son. In exchange for breaking contact with them, Saihara would have all of his monetary needs met - food, shelter, money. He wouldn’t have to speak with his parents at all, as they’ve disowned him for his excessive devotion on a religious level to Danganronpa.He switches arms to carry his body bag, transporting it to the second bedroom. Throughout the week, Saihara was buried inside of his apartment and refused to answer calls from Harukawa & Yumeno. It wasn’t out of hatred, not at all. Saihara needed to gather and pour his energy into a remarkable mission crafted only for a dedicated fan like him!His second bedroom, previously empty from a lack of interest, was immediately renovated into a character shrine of Ouma Kokichi. A cluttered temple of obsessive worship created from an unreasonable amount of effort, built in a disorganized manner and pulled straight from Saihara’s mind. A pure, untainted love that outmatched any self-proclaimed, number one Ouma fan. Unlike them, Saihara’s memories merged with the Detective’s and his gnarled form (controlled by an imaginary mind) witnessed Ouma’s antics in person, watched his character development from a touchable distance, and was partially responsible for the Supreme Leader’s downfall. The end of Chapter Four was a controversial topic among Danganronpa enthusiasts, either praising or antagonizing Ouma for his quick-thinking and unparalleled genius. They adored Ouma from a robot’s perspective, believing themselves to be in the game with him while Saihara actually was.He passed by a jumbled assortment of Ouma posters taped and framed to his wall, destroying any prior resemblance of his apartment’s old pristine barriers. There are official posters displaying Ouma in an intimidating stature, darkened from above to emphasize his antagonist role and trickster persona. Fan-artists have their personal interpretations of the purple-haired boy, drawn to be in compromising poses, vulnerable positions, shy expressions that brought out a softer side to the shorter boy.Acrylic Ouma keychains hang from the ceiling, holding onto silver chains for dear life. Expensive figurines crafted by popular online artisans are placed on an altar attached to the wall - Ouma’s mortuary portrait protected by a fancy frame, complete with false candle lighting and sweet-smelling incense. Saihara’s other bed, of course, isn’t complete without the clustered hoard of Ouma plushies organized to surround his checkerboard pillowcase and weighted blanket.The Ouma shrine has a special property. Togami Byakuya never existed in the flesh, except for Shirogane’s elaborate cosplays, therefore - he couldn’t be resurrected. Brought back to life in a reality separate from Danganronpa.Saihara sticks his tongue out, setting down the body bag onto his mattress. He gradually, slowly, silently unzips to reveal its contents: laying down, overshadowed by Saihara’s dominating figure, is an immaculate clone of Ouma Kokichi. Unconscious, he slumbers in a dreamless sleep. Placid, almost serene in a comatose state and unblemished from the Killing Game.In the past, Danganronpa’s contestants stayed dead forever. From what rumors Saihara heard - their bodies were discarded in on-site dumpsters, incinerated in underground furnaces, or melted away in acid barrels. Their DNA is forever lost, however Team Danganronpa’s advancements continue underneath an intrigue of mystery and the power that comes with life-long NDAs. Team Danganronpa recently patented their cloning technology, releasing a television interview about bringing forth a “brand new era” of Danganronpa. Regardless of the Detective’s sentiments against their corporation’s business, the modus operandi is heavily skewed in favor by majority opinion and the Japanese government. With a positive reputation upheld by the Prime Minister and the United Nations alike, Danganronpa is here to stay. And the option to purchase the only clone of your favorite character is a financial innovation that somehow didn’t suffer from an internal leak from their servers.Saihara is lucky. From his Danganronpa abduction to having sole ownership of the only Ouma Kokichi clone, he’s more goddamn lucky than Komaeda Nagito and Naegi Makoto combined! He undresses Ouma, removing the perfect replica of his supreme leader’s uniform to display in the room for later. Saihara inhales and shivers, scuffling over to the plastic drawers near his bed to pull out a padded faux-leather electric collar and leash. It’s permanently lockable, immune to any lockpicking attempts. Saihara taps on the chromatic, bold lettering stuck to his possession’s collar - in capital letters is the name “OUMA.” Below is a bone-shaped tag with both sides etched in Japanese and English: “PROPERTY OF SAIHARA SHUUICHI. WINNER OF SEASON 53.”Saihara wraps the collar and leash around Ouma’s neck, locking it as a perpetual accessory to Ouma’s appearance. He doesn’t hesitate swallowing the key, ensuring that Ouma couldn’t ever try removing it - with or without his supervision. Then, he takes out the chastity cage. Watching Ouma squirm in his sleep, Saihara’s blood rushed to his tingling crotch.His warm breathing intensifies, accumulating into a thin mist dancing around his cracked lips. Saihara doesn’t waste time, stroking Ouma’s beautiful dick (tinier than what Saihara thought it’d be, Iruma was right in calling him “Chinpouma”), and slips on Ouma’s precious chastity cage. Surprisingly, this was a perfect fit. He wouldn’t have to use the extra one, intentionally sized for the log-sized cocks that plowed his asshole in high-school. There aren’t any punishments in paradise, thinks Saihara, he’s freed from any real societal obligations and he has the best present in the world laying right in front of him. Finally, Saihara is ready. With the preparations finished, he admires Ouma’s pale, scrawny physique and the brilliantly reproduced scars that healed over his skin. He leans down, closing the distance between them and slides his tongue down Ouma’s throat. His dainty limbs scrambled to control Saihara, registering the sloppy kiss as a threat. Ouma’s eyes snap wide open, shoulders jolting up and arms scurrying around the checkerboard blanket in an attempt to escape. Saihara closes his eyes, tongue-twirling Ouma in a minute-long make-out that ended in the taller boy clutching a handful of Ouma’s messy, violet-tipped hair to tug him away.Ouma gasps and shudders, spitting out Saihara’s slobber. “Wh— What—…?” Ouma’s doe-shaped eyes widen at Saihara’s presence and he pushes his grinning face even closer to the supreme leader’s. “This can’t be real. Is that you, Saihara-chan? No, there's no fucking way. What in the fuck is going on — !“Saihara yanks on the leash, removing his hand from Ouma’s hair. “Shhhhh. Be quiet, Ouma-kun! You won’t be able to scream your way out of my collection. So, it’s best to save your breath for the main course.”Saihara allows a short break in their conversation for Ouma to glance around his surroundings. He wasn’t in the Killing Game anymore, he wasn’t dead nor was he in Team Danganronpa’s inventory! He should be satisfied with how his story ended: crushed under a hydraulic press, destined to kill himself out of guilt and animosity in the fifth chapter. “Your entire life was a tragedy, Ouma-kun. I know, because I understand you more than everyone else does.”The navy-haired boy purrs, pressing his entire body on top of Ouma’s and laughing at the latter’s heaving. “An orphaned, young boy traveling the world with a masked prank squad. Did you know that your entire life hadn't been real until today? It was written by Team Danganronpa’s team, they love having sympathetic backstories for irredeemable characters!”“And we eat it up.”His erratic heartbeat thumps inside of his rib-cage, fingertips gliding on Ouma’s cold skin. The supreme leader shivers, unable to overpower Saihara in defense. Saihara’s sopping wet tongue licks one of Ouma’s soft nipples, coating it in his thick saliva. He forcefully turns Ouma onto his stomach, proceeding to grind and dry-hump his plump, adorable ass-cheeks until his hardened boner could no longer be contained.Saihara pulls down his shorts, serpentine cock springing out without any additional protection. Underwear? Condoms? Those aren’t needed in Saihara’s corner of paradise. “Ouma. Ouma… C’mon.” Saihara’s throat quakes, cheeks flushing at Ouma’s fresh tears. “Say something. Why aren’t you… saying anything? … Oh, I get it! Do you want to be complimented? Here, let me…”Saihara’s dirty nails dig into Ouma’s bony thighs, slipping down to spread his petite ass-cheeks to reveal a proper entrance. He sniffs his asshole, licking his lips and pressing a finger on his plump taint. “Awh, you’re cute! Squirm more, Ouma-kun. I love it when you’re scared.”Using his sexual experiences to his advantage, Saihara takes a bottle of grape-flavored lube and jams his dick about three times into it. He removes his lube-coated member, embracing the fruity scent that inspired him to continued living. To live for Ouma’s sake. To live with Danganronpa.Saihara inserts his dick into the squirming Ouma, beginning to strain his hips and thrust. Ouma’s delicate legs buckle, teeth clenching in pain and drool running down his chin. He thrusts again, balls twitching while Ouma yells at the top of his lungs and tries grabbing onto Saihara’s shoulders. His weak grip touches Saihara’s arms, unable to throw them off of his lower half. Every time Saihara thrusts, his bitten nails continue digging into his treasure’s sensitive thighs and the scratches draw magenta blood. “Saihara — Saihara-chan, PLEASE stop!” Ouma shouts over Saihara’s animalistic grunts, panic bouncing off of the walls. “I beg of you —! I’ll do whatever you want! I promise, I’ll — I’ll — You don’t have to do this!”“I don’t care what you have to say!” Saihara’s overheating dick is constantly lubricated by Ouma’s tight walls, but the supreme leader’s unable to erect his. Held back by a chastity cage, Ouma winces in the soreness increasing inside him. Saihara’s mind barely dwells on the Detective’s wishes, fighting against a Danganronpa-less future that’d end in heart-throbbing despair.Saihara smiles, biting on the pale boy’s neck and proceeding to suck. “You’re… mine… You’re under my… ownership, forever! You’re the last big addition to my collection…!”He lets go, placing one of his bleeding feet onto the bedside and balances on the other. Licking blood would be unsanitary, but Ouma is an extremely clean person unlike Saihara. Oh, Ouma smells like carbonated grape and air freshener. The same can be said for his blood. What did Team Danganronpa say about their blood again? All Danganronpa participants, from Season 50 and onwards, will have the signature pink blood from the games! Realism is a distraction from everyone’s favorite horror show. What would be the point of sacrificing red for pink?Well, the distinction between human and character! The pop art versus the baroque painting! Their glowing magenta blood carries an authentic flavor that couldn’t be mimicked in other works. Trademarked and copyrighted by Danganronpa alone! Other forms, mediums, and media in the Killing Entertainment industry could never, ever have the style and flair comparable to Danganronpa’s state-of-the-art Real-Fiction technologies!Reaching his climax, Saihara bites onto Ouma’s shoulder and nuzzles against his cheeks. His feral urges on the brink of self-destruction, he launches into maximum overdrive by pummeling Ouma’s behind within minutes. His floor-burnt fucks slap into Ouma, whose closed fists slam onto the wooden floorboards as he yells and begs for a swift release. Two months of sexual frustration held back by the Detective’s awkwardness ended in an instant. Creamy white strings shoot out of Saihara’s pistol, bullets filling Ouma’s pipe and attacking his prostate. The former detective collapses on Ouma’s disfigured back, relaxing in a brief respite.
“Oh god, oh god…” Saihara gives a half-suppressed laugh, legs trembling like a newborn fawn. “That was better than Okada! He always sucked at roleplay, but this…?”“I don’t need to daydream, when I have the real Ouma Kokichi in my room.”Saihara proceeds to depart, removing his moistened dick from Ouma’s over-saturated entrance and huffs at the over-spilling cum dripping down from it. He tiredly smacks Ouma’s ass, picking up the fatigued blushing boy from his bedroom floor. “Did you enjoy it, Ouma? I did, too. ♡”When Saihara turns Ouma around, he directly spits at his forehead.“No, I didn’t… Let me go, please… I—”“You, what?” Saihara smirks, opening the unlocked dog cage from below his bed. He drops Ouma on his knees, tightening the grip on his leash. “Ouma-kun, there isn’t anywhere else for you to go. You belong here with me. So, stop begging about your reality.”Saihara pushes Ouma into his cramped-looking, tiny dog cage. This was a luxurious buy from a nameless seller - it was a proper dog-sized cage made for large breeds such as Golden Retrievers and Dobermanns. Dog cages aren’t fit for human beings. That is why it’s suitable for Ouma Kokichi, Super High School Level Supreme Leader.Ouma Kokichi doesn’t exist in their reality. He is a fictional property created by Team Danganronpa with a coordinated outfit designed for his manufactured personality. He plants a kiss on Ouma’s left foot, where the Danganronpa brand is permanently tattooed on its smooth sole. Ouma Kokichi isn’t a human being. Saihara locks the cage door afterwards, amused by his resistance to whimper and whine. He is a fictional character built solely for the mass-entertainment of a bored audience in a peaceful world. He is everything complicated that they couldn’t be - tragic backstory, comedic identity, and a dramatic outcome.Saihara locks the dog cage door, hiding the key on a bookshelf - pressed close between two Saiou tankobans, a desirable ship considered to be canon and a powerful wish granted by the incomprehensible forces of love.He fully undresses, looking back at Ouma’s broken stare with found confidence. Saihara heads into the bathroom, wordlessly shutting the door.
“You…”
That’s Ouma Kokichi, the most priceless belonging in Saihara Shuuichi’s magnificent collection.A plain towel wrapped around his waist, Saihara yawns and exits the humidity-dense bathroom. Mist dispels into Ouma’s gigantic shrine, clearing out from his luxury air conditioners. The heated floor beneath his feet soothes Saihara’s burnt soles, it’s amazing that he prefers showering in boiling hot water. Over time, his borrower became accustomed to cold water, unable to pinpoint why his instincts envied Shinguuji’s last bath.He chuckles, silently moving to sit down on his lavish purple couch. (Stuffed Ouma dolls are everywhere, from the cushions to the one hiding underneath the Panta-shaped pillow.)Saihara reaches to the couch’s arm, taking the remote and turning on the flat-screen. The television’s default channel is the national news, boring and intolerable by Saihara’s standards. There isn’t anything else on - well, except for the Danganronpa channel.Excited to see a rerun of the critically-acclaimed Season 25 or the thirtieth anniversary show from way back, Saihara switches to the Danganronpa channel. Instead of seeing a fast-paced, high-action murder mystery, he’s met with complete darkness and the drowning white noise that beseeches his ear drums. He doesn’t scowl, retaining a neutral expression until Saihara moves channels back to the news.Apparently, today’s story is a surprising turn of events. Aside from raw-dogging Ouma, it seems like Amami is still alive. The grass-haired gyaruo stands outside of Team Danganronpa’s headquarters, running a shaking hand through his hair. He hardly sustained any brain damage from the blunt trauma that should’ve automatically killed him. Nay, he’s standing and talking as if nothing happened. Saihara skims his trembling green pools, investigating his body language and expression. Anything that’d seem off in the way he communicates. For all Saihara knew, Amami is one of the living dead. A walking, shambling corpse aimlessly wandering the city streets. He squints, drowning out Ouma’s unconscious snoring in the background and proceeds to listen.
“You’re not calling me a ‘pretty boy’, now’s not the time for that.” Amami crosses his arms, not realizing how much the camera emphasized his lengthy eyelashes. “There’s a problem here and I have to be the one to fix it. Team Danganronpa is unethical, but they’ve gone way too far.”
Saihara scoffs, wrinkling his nose. “There he goes again! He should know it’s pointless.”
Amami frowns, turning away from the camera. “By using my likeness in the latest season without permission, they’ve opened themselves to a new court case. I haven’t given them permission to clone me, of all people, for Season 53.”
“But, Amami-san! Aren’t you going to tell us about —”
In his soothing voice, Amami retorts. “About what? You’re not here to talk about the new season's early romance plotline, yeah?”
The Super High School Level Marauder snatches the cameraman’s broadcaster, aggressively stabbing his fingertip on its lens. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this: I wasn't there and I’m filing a lawsuit to Team Danganronpa.”
Oh, Akamatsu murdered Amami’s clone. Saihara blinks at the screen, observing its graceless drama with a growing smirk. He leans forward, hearing Amami eerily describe the irreparable brain damage that seeped into his hippocampus and fight against the reporter for more control over the interview. His brain-damaged mind is a result of over-exposure to Danganronpa’s memory implantation devices, rendering him useless for any future seasons and Amami wants them to pay. Amami has trouble recounting his past from before the mind-wipes, suffering from three seasons’ worth of identity reconstruction. He suffers from short-term memory loss, clinging onto redundant reminders and misplaces things, to where he’s lost important documents. Amami’s personality faces constant scrutiny, constantly changing with unpredictable mood shifts and refusing to develop past a certain point.
Amami stares into the camera, monotonously drilling his wish into the viewers’ minds:
“Don’t forget about me. Don’t forget what Team Danganronpa has done to all of us.”
Bored out of his mind, Saihara hears Ouma stirring again and lowers the volume. He stands up, tightening his towel wrap and proceeds to turn around - he’s nearly awake again. Talk about having a light sleeper for a sweetheart! Saihara smiles, walking over to his bedside drawer and searches around for his secret weapon. He holds an unlabeled glass bottle in his hands containing a carbonated violet liquid and the plastic syringe with Ouma’s initials written in permanent marker.“Beautiful,” mutters Saihara. He twists open the bottle, steadily removing its fresh seal and filling the syringe with its bubbling drug. The youthful boy tip-toes over to Ouma’s cage, crouching down to make eye contact with his tired eyes.As Ouma’s legs shake from the excessive pain in his behind, Saihara licks his pink lips in unsatisfied hunger and skims his fingers around Ouma’s soft jawline. An unexpected response came from the smaller boy, biting Saihara’s fingers and drawing enough magenta blood from his hand. Liquid harmony drips down, splashing onto the wooden floor between his cage’s bars.Saihara hushes Ouma, prying his mouth wide open and forcing the giant syringe inside. The purple aphrodisiac slide into Ouma’s throat, automatically causing him to swallow it due to having a familiar grape flavor associated with his favorite, fictional brand. Ouma coughs and Saihara withdraws after he emptied its contents, a clear bottle held in the ex-detective’s hand. He sets it aside, unlocking Ouma’s cage and pulling on his extending leash to direct Ouma in standing back up. Oh, how his delicate legs struggled to walk. Like a newborn fawn about to collapse after birth, attempting to trot with its mother.Saihara’s aching boner is covered by a single towel, but it’s visible and poking through the fabric. His blood pumps downwards, increasing its heat into intolerable levels. He unravels his towel, yanking Ouma’s collar and looking down at the former supreme leader (weak and unable to escape, more vulnerable than he was in his original season) with an euphoric grin.“Ouma-chan,” says Saihara. “You know what to do, right? This is an easier puzzle for you to solve than a class trial! Sadly, it’s not a class trial… Hhhhhgn, I wish it was. I’d love to be front and center, basking in your Shumai’s glory…”He shoves his flustered, blushing cock in front of Ouma’s face, slapping his adorable cheeks with its head. “Now? I get to have all of your attention forever. You’re mine and mine and mine and you’ll never leave and…”Realizing that he’s rambling, Saihara stops and bites his protruding bottom lip in a childish pout. “… I’m sorry. If you want to keep living, Ouma-chan, you’re gonna have to suck. Now, suck!”Saihara rams his dick into Ouma’s gaping jaw, not leaving him any room to breathe. “Just having you here is a dream in itself! Do you know how many fans of yours would want to own you? Their very own Ouma Kokichi to live with and feed treats, to take him on walks…”He wraps his messy, purple-tipped hair around a quaking finger - ugh, Saihara wants to kiss Ouma’s forehead.“In your condition, you’re no longer fit to lead and I gotta say — congratulations on winning the Killing Game, Ouma-chan!”Ouma’s fervent tongue covers Saihara’s dick in saliva, moving up and down around his Shumai’s delicious penis. Unlike Momota, Saihara is actually capable of sitting down and cleaning his dick after every use. He uses grape-smelling soap, capable of attracting Ouma with the scent. The aphrodisiac he ordered from a deep web black market certainly helps in accelerating Ouma’s growing horniness paired with Saihara’s need to claim Ouma as his own.He spent hours upon hours before retrieving his treasured gift re-watching the latest season through K1-B0’s eyes.(If the REVOLVER cabal insists K1-B0’s perspective is the most authentic experience, Saihara can’t argue.)Ouma’s intense, non-stop sucking and licking arouses Saihara, elevating their bonding session to ball-busting extremes. Tears fall from Ouma’s cheeks, yet it’s terrifically obvious that the prankster’s discovered his enjoyment for pleasing the master. Saihara’s thighs jolt, kicking forward from pure intoxication as Ouma handles his straining coin purse. He doesn’t hold back, swaddling his smooth legs around Ouma’s collared neck and spews his sticky seed into his throat. The grand climax ends in a satisfying way, Saihara removing his twitching cock from Ouma’s plump, wet lips and smooches him on the forehead. He slips down, hugging his frail beau like an enthusiastic devotee and believer. “You’re my favorite character in the entirety of Season 53, Ouma-chan! For as long as you’re alive, I’ll never forget you.”(I’ll never let you go.)A mumbling voice is heard below Saihara’s chin, glossy eyes resembling a decomposing corpse’s. “Why?”, an ashamed Ouma mutters as his weak voice rises. “What’s going on? What’s — What’s wrong with you?! Where am I?!”Huh. Saihara shouldn’t underestimate Ouma’s uncontrollable, chaotic nature - it was practically written into his character. His featherweight body hardly moved, collapsing on itself from the fast-acting aphrodisiac flowing through his veins. Drugs nowadays, sexual or not, have advanced since the invention of killing entertainment and the special aphrodisiac he ordered is resistant to the body’s tolerance.He taps his chin, answering Ouma’s question. “I’m surprised you’ve shown some resistance! Not everyone is able to fight through the drug.”Saihara yanks on Ouma’s leash again, pulling him close to his bare chest. “I’ve told you already that you’ve won Danganronpa, my dearest Ouma-chan. Squeezed by a hydraulic press in the fifth chapter. How you’re here…”The super-fan winks at Ouma, laughing. “… is a mystery!”Akamatsu’s calamitous symphony roars in Saihara’s ears. Tojo’s heart-wrenching screams tear through his soul, blood splattering from her crushed body. Shinguuji’s boiling flesh reaches his nose, mouth watering from a delectable human stew. He knows Ouma remembers everything that happened in the game, of how he led Gokuhara to a sacrificial death. What Ouma doesn’t know, is that Momota failed him in the end. Unable to bow to his whims and follow through on Ouma’s genius plans.Really, though. Putting his trust in Momota, of all people, to end the killing game?Saihara cackles, holding Ouma closer. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about a single thing. I’ll provide you with food and shelter, as long as you obey my every word…”“Isn’t that right, Kokichi...?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
In stark contrast to Ouma’s current personality, Saihara scratches his chin at the former’s profiles. Finding any slice of personal information on Ouma’s previous life was easier than searching for his father’s approval. The previous Ouma was the worst at keeping secrets, barely obscuring any details surrounding his home life. An old blog or two unveiled the tedious, boring life of a high schooler who begged for acceptance from his peers and the down-spiral evident from how he vented. Of a humiliating life filled with daunting shame and heartless mockery. He neither loved or hated Danganronpa. The past Ouma had a neutral opinion, acknowledging its importance in every day life and viewed the show in an academic light. With the highest ranking in his class and an overflowing love for philosophy, it proves that Team Danganronpa doesn’t select students based on their delinquency record or trouble pasts. That was a bothersome theory often tossed around by the fandom’s oldest members from decades past. It was already disproved by professional stalkers and lurkers, who linked some deceased characters with their forsaken identities. A few of them were honor students and future leaders, some of the average population were pooled to even a season’s cast out, and the unfavorable are thrown into the mix. There wasn’t a notable pattern in Team Danganronpa’s selection process, which leads to extensive forgery, illegal documentation, and other acts that’d end in immediate termination. Saihara rolls his shoulders, stretching out his legs. The computer hums right next to him, violent coolant liquid flowing around in its veins. He moves the pointer around, clicking on a thumbnail that opened to the seventeenth Ouma photograph that he’s seen today. The boy stood right next to a taller guy wearing the same uniform, but Ouma’s ironed gakuran was covered in dried grass stains and dust. “Fhhhhh… I can’t believe he was like this.” Saihara bites on the tip of his tongue, looking at Ouma’s cage from the corner of his eyes. “Top of his class and their laughingstock.”Team Danganronpa must’ve known. It’s why he ended up as one of the most cleverest characters in his season — a juxtaposition of the harmless prankster and antagonizing prankster. This Ouma wasn’t born into a sensational life, compared to his favorite toy. He saves the selfie to his encrypted thumb-drive, kicking his curvy legs back and forth. Saihara moves into the main folder, pulling out its written contents: a birth certificate, articles chronicling the Ouma family’s early years, scandals, and other materials that he archived. Usually, Team Danganronpa engaged in arduous censorship of their character’s real lives. To separate their reality from fiction. Saihara wonders if the Detective’s meddling ended in the company hiring more attorneys and bodyguards. Directing their assets elsewhere to slack off on their black-out campaign, which gave him an opportunity to save Ouma’s entire life in a terabyte drive.He skims the birth certificate again and the notorious scandal saved next to it. This will be perfect to hold over Ouma’s head, anything to keep him. But, Saihara has to be meticulous about withholding information and talk in half-truths. Memory implantation has near-perfect results, so he shouldn’t slip up in front of a living lie detector.… Or should he? It’d be entertaining to watch Ouma’s reaction, to have him squirm under his control and hate him for his dishonesty. Would Ouma even know he’s lying? Saihara shrugs, turning to his right monitor. “What am I thinking? It’s no big deal. Either way, I win.”He rigs the game through familial connections and money alone. That’s why Saihara is an invaluable figure in Danganronpa fandom history - whether the Detective’s existence splits the world’s opinion in two or Saihara returns to his throne.Golden eyes glance over his cramped tabs for a certain icon. Once it’s spotted, he clicks and is taken to a loading page. Saihara is thankful to have built his own computer, pleased with its instantaneous speeds.Contrary to popular belief, Twitter doesn’t exist anymore. Saihara logs into his social media page, overwhelmed by the groundbreaking revelation that he wasn’t forgotten or hated. His notifications are drenched in steadfast proclamations of love and fear, strangers sending their appreciation for his “heart-wrenching performance.” The world has ran wild ever since Season 53 ended and Saihara is proud of his kin.He scrolls down his feed - fan-art reposts by his favorite mutuals, doujinshi advertisements for the next Danganronpa convention, and the blurry photographs of a nude streaker in the middle of New Harajuku. Hastily tagged under the perpetually-trending #ShinguujiSightings.Ricochet is an international website created for the Danganronpa fandom, ran by an anonymous team of programmers, software developers, and graphic designers. Nobody knows how it’s always funded, but Ricochet prioritizes hosting fandom activities and high-tech customization options. Saihara enjoys how quick-lived trending topics are on Ricochet, allowing for endless opportunities for discussion.His private messages, as always, stay open for charmed admirers and distasteful haters alike. The anti-Danganronpa movement, who call themselves the Blackened, have sent their own fair share of messages. If they’re expecting any replies, Saihara doesn’t mind blue-balling them for the time being. Delaying the inevitable to takes the edge off and triggers their short tempers by letting them know that he left them all on read.Out of curiosity, Saihara clicks on a post - it seems like a leaker released information ahead of time. Danganronpa’s store is receiving an important update tomorrow, allowing their greatest fans to share Saihara’s opportunity in buying Season 53’s characters.Clones, like his Ouma, except they aren’t free. Team Danganronpa has to refill their coffers after the Detective’s blunder and with how fervent Season 53’s fanbase is? It’s strangely common how they’re talented liars, too. It’d be easy for any fan to hide their ulterior motives online, holding themselves to the “highest standards” in public.If someone manages to claim Tojo, of all characters, Saihara can only wish them luck.For now, Saihara kicks back and shuts his eyes before…
Tap, tap.
He opens them, spinning his chair around to stare at an enraged Ouma. His character development is progressing in the opposite direction and Saihara is already familiar with the angst fanfiction posted by Ricochet’s users. Ouma’s nose wrinkles, disturbed by Saihara’s artificial grape perfume.Saihara never enjoyed smelling grape, not on himself, but if it’s for Ouma.“Hey, good morning! How are you, Ouma-chan?” When Ouma doesn’t reply, Saihara hums in disguised annoyance and points at the empty dog bowl. “I see! I haven’t… fed you today. Is that why you’re being rude?”“No,” he snaps. “Everything you say hurts my ears. You have his hands, his voice, his face, his smile, and you’re not him. Why should I listen to you?”Saihara lifts an arm up in the air, as if he was reaching for Ouma. (I’m not your beloved Saihara-chan?)(Ouma-chan, you’re mistaken.)Nothing comes out when his lips move. In a deafening silence, the puppeteer tugs his invisible strings and jerks Saihara’s hand back. Garbled noise punches behind Saihara’s skull with his actor screaming and begging.For what? Saihara doesn’t know, he can’t understand the damned thing’s bargains. Saihara smiles, slipping a hand down his back pocket. “Sorry, sorry. I thought you’d be a bit more… lenient. Calm, even. But, baring your fangs at your owner isn’t going to do anything here.”A single button press and Ouma’s collar buzzes, injecting an electrifying shock into Ouma’s throat.Aha, that has to burn! Golden eyes flecked with green widen in gratification, watching the older boy’s fingers grapple around his electric collar and try removing it. He exhales, snorting at Ouma and his painful desperation to be relieved, to be free.That freedom doesn’t exist. International law states bio-engineered human clones aren’t registered as humans, they’re products incapable of having normal lives.Opening the cage, Saihara releases his hold on the button and shows his empty palms in front of his agitated prize. “Ta-da! Did you enjoy the trick I had up my sleeve? If we were in the game, you’d say…”“Was that all you got, Saihara-chan?” Saihara calls out, mimicking Ouma’s tone. “As the leader of an evil organization, I’m immune to all kinds of torture! That way, it’s impossible for a detective to interrogate me!”He presses a cum-dried finger to Ouma’s lip, hushing him. “… Or was that a lie?”In a way, Saihara pities how he’s taken one of the anti-Danganronpa movement’s symbols and started tearing him to shreds. It’s a slow process to purchase an artist’s most expensive painting or a valuable parchment that’s chased after by historians, then tearing it to shreds. Ouma is an example of how to crush hope altogether for an intelligent, resourceful person. Saihara and his affectionately brutal treatment tends to have desirable results. It’s how he outsmarted his high-school tormentors, persecuting them by gaining the upper hand through blackmail and extortion alone.He couldn’t force a human being to suffer. Ouma isn’t a human being, therefore there is a missed character arc that needs requires his growth - even if it’s not what he wants.Saihara wiggles his finger, then takes the porcelain bowl and smells the dried blood stains inside. A whiff causes Saihara to drool, then recoil.“You’ve already eaten today! But, you haven’t drank any of the water I’ve given you.” Ouma furrows his eyebrows, barely poking his head out of the cage. “… I don’t trust it.”“Why?” Saihara tilts his head at the water dispenser attached to the wall, its spout jabbing between the bars. “If hamsters can drink water with their mouths, so can you! It’s the highest quality brand I could find, too…”“You could’ve poisoned it.”“Yeah, but I didn’t! You’re not deserving of a quick death like the rest of your classmates.”Ouma and his wellbeing are more important than anything else in Saihara’s life. He is an invaluable part of Saihara’s lonesome life, reviving his monotonous routine into something new. After spending his years in torment and rumination, he has something alive to worship and adore that wouldn’t hate him! Actually, hate is another form of love. Saihara swings his pendulum all the time, sticking his dick in Ouma’s asshole no matter how he’s feeling that day. Saihara holds back his laughter, blowing out his nostrils as he stood back up. He makes sure to have an unwavering hold on Ouma’s leash, not caring about the fact his own arms are practically shaking from excitement.It will be the first time since Saihara’s induction into Danganronpa that he’d air a special live-stream on Ricochet. Just for the fans.
“Sit on my bed,” commands Saihara, “You’re not gonna die! Just stay there… and look cozy, okay?”
“What are you planning?”He waves dismissively at Ouma, apathetic about his sharp tongue. “It’s a show! Trust me, you’ll be a natural. I’ve streamed before a couple of times, this is just like Danganronpa.”Not exactly like Danganronpa, but still. Saihara buttons his pin-striped uniform, adoring how its monochrome color scheme complimented his eyes. Ouma is already dressed in a counterfeit of his Killing Game outfit - well, it’s not his outfit. A checkerboard scarf wrapped around his neck, covering the leather collar that branded him as Saihara’s life-sized statue. Shoulder-length white gloves and knee-high socks were firmly pulled up his limbs, bringing focus down to his bulging underwear.This time, he wasn’t wearing the chastity cage. Saihara values his viewers’ entertainment over having to save Ouma’s leftover dignity. Now, he stands in front of his streaming set-up and purposefully juts his behind out for Ouma to see. He searches through menus on the program, clicking around to finalize his settings. The rest of the day required Saihara’s attention, spending hours in preparation for tonight’s stream and he wouldn’t waste any other second stalling.His loyal followers poured into the countdown stream, chatting among themselves while Saihara finishes up. He clears his throat, hacking up pieces of shattered bone and mucus onto his wrist. Saihara proceeds to rub it all over his thigh, then sits down next to the eerily still Ouma’s side and pulls him close. Once the scene shifts to the main camera, the Detective lowers his shoulders and nuzzles his dearest’s blushing cheeks. He turns, facing the camera and shyly waving to greet his viewers. “Uhm, hey…! Good evening, chatters.” The Detective wraps his hand in Ouma’s, holding them in an unsettling comfort. “You might’ve seen us before, right? It’s me, Saihara Shuuichi from Season 53. Doesn’t that ring a bell?”Ouma grinds his molars, as if to say ‘no, you’re not.’ There are times where Saihara wants to slap Ouma into additional submission, make him cower and beg. Playing their roles is essential to a successful stream, otherwise their reputations will tank further and further until there are more people who hate Danganronpa than love it.Saihara scoots closer, destroying any boundaries Ouma might’ve tried to create. He has no freedom in the Outside World, but there is a reasonable amount of autonomy in his apartment. An enclosed space away from the world’s cruelties that Saihara is trying to shield him away from. It’s constantly stocked with food now that Saihara’s back, but he’s starving for something else.“Oh, you guys already forgot…?” The Detective lowers his gaze, sheepishly grinning. “I’m the true protagonist, the one who discovered a flaw in Akamatsu’s case? Remember how I tried to get rid of Danganronpa?”A spotlight descends from above, showering the Detective and his Supreme Leader in chemical-flavored innocence.“That’s me! And this…”Saihara gestures to Ouma, then proceeds to hug the limp boy. “This is Ouma Kokichi…! How is he alive, you ask?”Hopefully, some of them have seen the leaks. If they didn’t, well…He hushes the audience, dropping his eyelids. “That’s a secret…! I can’t say anything for now. But, if you’ve already figured it out - good for you.”From one of his side-pockets, Saihara grabs another needle filled with aphrodisiac and injects it into Ouma’s neck. Slowly, at a tortoise’s pace, he smooches Ouma’s jawline as the color drain from his cheeks. Any attempt at pretending to hide his true feelings would fail, Saihara knew that Ouma enjoys their sessions together.Saihara plays with Ouma every chance he gets, whether he’s messing with the leader’s mind or expressing his absolute devotion. He throws the needle into a trash can, flinching at the glass fragmenting inside. Then, Ouma is pushed down into the bed with the navy-haired “detective” nibbling on his ear and roughly shoving his greasy hands down Ouma’s panties.He massages Ouma’s dick, causing the smaller boy to let out a strained moan. There are some things Saihara won’t ever get sick of - and it’s seeing his season’s puzzling antagonist reduced to vulnerable livestock, holding his dick hostage until he cums. Saihara glares directly into the camera, expressionless as if he’s breaking character. He returns back to his typical self, the one known to his countless peers and fellow worshipers.“As… you can see…” Saihara lays on top of Ouma’s back, aroused by his bare musculature. “Ouma and I are… dating! It’s the best thing we could do after… after defeating Team Danganronpa.”He grinds his morning glory between Ouma’s bony thighs, stroking his pathetic-looking member downwards with his left hand and then his right. His hands dance up and down, exchanging their position as a constant stream of sensation rushes to his crotch. The smaller boy’s erection causes Saihara to drool all over his messy strands, but he has to keep the show going. Their fans are thrilled to have content after the season ended, wanting a longer epilogue after an exhaustingly quick sixth chapter. It was like spending money on a multi-level marketing scheme for the thrill, only to end in a negative balance and sudden eviction. Saihara touches his darling’s sweet spot, fondling Ouma’s pint-sized balls. They’re shaped like a coin purse, capable of retreating whenever Saihara begins fondling them. His insanely light touch perform an elegant waltz capable of stimulating the leader’s mind into ecstasy.He purrs, letting Ouma melt away from a combination of the aphrodisiac’s fast-acting effects and sexual pleasure. His advantage will never be taken away when Saihara, unlike everyone else, had never had a chance to truly love. Not until Danganronpa came into his life.If it weren’t for Danganronpa, Saihara wouldn’t be here. He’d have a sixteen hour shift at the nearest office building, overworking himself to death and arriving home to a dead apartment. His life would be spent wasting away, unable to chase after friendships and romance. Everyone he knew, including his former perpetrators, would’ve continued on with their lives and moved on while Saihara remained stuck in a reclusive chasm of pedestrian work and dreamless sleep.Thanks to Danganronpa, Saihara now has trustworthy friends and allies to rely on. He has the necessary courage to gather knowledge and gain retribution for everything that’s destroyed him.Thanks to Danganronpa, Saihara has Ouma Kokichi and he’s even better with him around.Ouma’s face is no longer attached to the poor third-year that carried it. Saihara catches a whiff of his sickeningly candied scent, enjoying the syrupy flavor oozing from Ouma’s pheromones. When Ouma’s balls are softly squeezed, he lets out another puppy-like whimper and collapses onto his bedraggled sheets. Saihara has a window of opportunity, proceeding to slide one of his fingers into Ouma’s asshole and curling the tip backward towards his family jewels. Ouma pleads, succumbing to animalistic hedonism while Saihara purrs and massages his prostate. Lubeless prostate play is a risky endeavor, not even Saihara withstood his first time. He fell to his knees after an ambush in the school bathroom, yet everything felt seamless in his private wonderland.Saihara strokes, pressing the g-spot in rhythmic timing with his beloved’s wet gasps. Huh, now that he’s seen Ouma up close and personal again - he has a subtle resemblance to Tsumiki. Genetic tampering is against Team Danganronpa’s guidelines, aside from detaching a character from their old selves. (Fingerprints are removed, blood types are changed, surgical additions are properly made to be natural.)Every Danganronpa character is designed to have some kind of erotic appeal, targeting specific demographics.Ouma has fallen to his hardwired weaknesses, barely resisting his master’s infatuation. He’s more of a drooling mess than Saihara ever would be, clawing at the chess-patterned blankets underneath them and stirring from the endless arousal. For one reason or another, Saihara pulls out his fingers in a teasing manner and stops touching Ouma’s genitals. A blazing scowl meets Saihara, stunning the fanatic from abrupt boldeness. “Ah! I’m… I have to apologize, Ouma.” Saihara whispers into his reddened ear. “Your… dick looks so much like a tanghulu, that it’s cute. I can’t let you orgasm. Not yet.”Ouma spits, then complains. “You fucker. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t…”“… Kill you?”Saihara glides his hand up and down Ouma’s chin-chin, proceeding to thrust back and forth against rear end. “Relax! It’s not like I’m lying to you. This time, I’m telling the truth…”His grinding accelerates over a few seconds, guiding Ouma in his miraculous journey to a prolonged climax. Saihara’s clothed erection is stained with pre-cum, but he continues to thrust as Ouma has, again, surrendered himself to subjugation.At last, Ouma ejaculates his jissom and drizzles it all over his bed. Its fruity scent brings back memories of his body’s time in the Killing Game - oh, how he loved spending time with Ouma at the Academy. His sweet fragrance followed him everywhere he went, unnoticeable by anyone aside from a select few. The Detective was one of the lucky few, unable to keep his eyes off of Ouma’s delectable figure and royal essence.Saihara’s cum was blocked by his pants, but he didn’t wear the Detective’s underwear. His crotch is saturated by creamy seed, which Saihara didn’t care about as long as he’s appealing to his lustful desires and the welcomed guests observing them. Seems like they’ve donated over the past few minutes and are constantly throwing more money at him. Hundreds and thousands of yen, mostly from pent-up shippers and eager fans that enjoyed his pornographic stream. Saihara stands up, grabbing the camera with his hands and staring into the broadcast. “Ouma definitely loved it, you guys.” Saihara blushes at the audience, reverting back to the timid Detective. “If I’m dead, you’ll know who did it at the next Class Trial.”Aha. Ahaha.Saihara blows a wistful air kiss, signing off. “See you later, everybody. If you see Shinguuji-kun in the corner of your bedroom tonight, please let me know. Thanks…!”He must’ve awakened an ancient ire or kindled some type of breathless drive in his countless fans. Hundred thousands of viewers poured in from every corner of the Internet, meaning that his influence spread from advertisements on Ricochet alone. There had to be people sharing, too! Hate watchers are a given and the Detective’s fans must’ve wanted to see their idol again after spending a week without contact. Only if he had K1-B0 around. That would’ve made streams more exciting, he imagines using the robot as a sapient vibrator inside Ouma’s cute asshole and activating him for an entire day —“When are you gonna let me go…?”Saihara is taken out of his steamy imagination, staring at a sensual-looking Ouma. His deadly glares hardly penetrate Saihara’s thick skin, but he’s defenseless thanks to constant usage of the drug. The aphrodisiac itself has long-lasting effects and has an addictive factor that makes anyone wanting more. It’s a perpetual craving that’d take forever to get rid of. That’s exactly why Saihara chose his distributor, especially when the physical side-effects include heightened sensitivity and enhanced odor.He shakes his head, walking over to Ouma and holding his chin. “Never.”A few minutes later, Saihara exits the shower and greets his own eyes in the fogged-up mirror. An unwanted reminder of his lost innocence and the rich legacy that he willingly inherited. He runs cold water into the sink, splashing his face until his cheeks sting. It doesn’t matter what future his parents wanted for him, Saihara ponders, this was destined to happen. They tried sheltering him away from the world and failed in the end after his discovery of Danganronpa, the one thing that granted him warm and comfort.His boredom and loneliness was satiated by involving Ouma, yet there isn’t any fulfillment. Saihara feels happiness, except for some reason - it’s a hollow feeling that persists. Why?He places his towel back on its rack, walking out of the bathroom and into his kitchen. Saihara opens the floating cabinet, retrieving Ouma’s second bowl from one of the shelves and then he pulls out an unlabeled slab of raw meat wrapped in plastic. To the naked eye, Saihara is preparing dinner for his dog and has the expenses to feed him luxury beef. This isn’t the case.Saihara takes off the wrapper, slaps the bloodied steak on top of a cutting board, and proceeds to dice it into uneven cubes. This is a job well-done - evidence disposal through feeding. At this point, it’s better than nothing when his society is desensitized towards death and cadavers in general.(The police department is beyond corrupted, barely paying attention to murder cases and carelessly sentencing innocents to the death penalty.)Nowadays, anyone’s able to get away with murder and idolize their choice murderers from the Killing Entertainment industry. Not even stuffed hogs are immune, which means Saihara is able to sneak dead bodies out from mortuaries before they’re drowned in preservatives. He does have an eye for detecting fresher ones. Sometimes, he’d witness someone dying from a long fall and drag their bodies out of view.They’d conveniently die in places where surveillance cameras have blind spots or basically don’t exist. It’s a deliberate choice for serial killers to slice their victims’ throats in the labyrinth alleyways of poverty-stricken neighborhoods, too. That’s why Saihara, in his spare time, drags the fresher corpses into one of his friends’ freezer for safekeeping and future processing. He doesn’t have the opportunity to prey upon an unsuspecting pedestrian and kill them with his bare hands. So, Saihara takes their victims and turns them into steaks, roasts, and anything else needed for food. Maybe, he’ll fuck the rotting ones. It depends on whether or not he’s truly alone - voyeurism adds to the thrill of getting caught and he might have exceptions on a case-by-case basis.Saihara scrapes the meat cubes down, filling up Ouma’s bowl. He yawns, heading down the hallway back to his bedroom and opens the door. Ouma, as usual, is back in the cage and Saihara’s heart thumps against his rib cage. Ignoring his ribs flaring up, he quietly walks inside and sets the bowl down in front of Ouma.(How fragile and dainty he looks. Saihara wants to kiss him.)Saihara sits down, knees apart. “For good behavior, I’m feeding you again. Isn’t that sweet?”“Who did you murder? You’re a killer, aren’t you?” Ouma snarls. “There’s no way you’re doing this because you love me.”He juts out his lower lip, pouting. “Where’s your faith in Shumai, cutie pie? Or… you’re begging for more? You’re still hard.”Ouma presses his tense lips, trying to hide his leaking boner. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”“Fine!” Saihara huffs, unlatching the door to Ouma’s cage and points at the bowl. “Eat. I’ll be taking your other one and washing it. Be thankful that I’m not… I’m not the Mastermind, okay?”Ouma shivers at searing pain in his groin, extending his arm to grab whatever’s in the bowl. Saihara notices, slapping Ouma’s arm and kindly directs him.“Not like that.” Saihara tilts his head, soft toes squeezing and moving around below him. “Just like how I taught you. Go on.”His pet stares blankly at Saihara, respecting his lover’s dominance and begins eating straight from the bowl.Like a dog.Saihara beams, sparkling at his obedience. “Good boy! Good boy. I should be sleeping in a bit. While I’m asleep, remember…”“Dogs don’t talk.”