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God, she remembers.
The memory feels like a renaissance painting displayed proudly on every wall of her mind. Her restless sobbing, mixed with uncontrollable laughter. The despair her beloved left (just for her? A gift, perfectly wrapped in agony for her alone?) with her absence.
Despair? Despite being considered by many to be its most devoted remnant, she could care less about despair. And yet. When the others mourned, when they claimed to be suffering, the nurse had to hold back scoffs. They considered her a savior because she was the last to take them in during their misery.
Mikan Tsumuki considered Junko her beloved, because she was her only savior.
And those arrogant survivors. Those who were directly responsible for the death of her beloved, were now showing up, saying they wanted to rehabilitate the Remnants? Take away their memories and make them normal again?
She refused. She would never. They’d have to break her entire being and soul to make her forget Junko. If they succeeded, she knew it wouldn’t be for long. You can paint over a canvas, but the masterpiece beneath will remain restless. A removed tattoo is always under skin, always.
That’s why she knew it didn’t matter. She would still fight back, of course. She would still give that foundation hell and be the last one getting caught.
The boat was more like a prison. Of course it would be; 15 wanted terrorists, all together in one place. It needed to be. They were all in pairs (except for the Ultimate Hope, but Mikan suspected he wouldn’t be left alone for long), and she was thankful her cellmate wasn’t freaking out, or up for conversation. No, Hiyoko never behaved the same towards Mikan again. Not when she knew the nurse would fight back now.
The process of getting to the island, and into those pods went by so quickly, Mikan couldn’t be bothered to remember. She couldn’t be bothered. Couldn’t be. Every passing second, she felt less and less; Why bother absorbing anything into her mind if she was gonna forget the most important thing? Every passing second, she felt more and more; Despairing over the singular second of doubt… Despite all the confidence she gained in herself, the one her beloved gave her, wasn’t it still possible? Wasn’t it possible for Mikan to mess up and truly never remember Junko again?
That’s why, when she went under, she knew it all mattered. She didn’t want to forget. Not then, not ever.
Sometimes, the sea at the beach does this weird thing… where it starts receding and receding and no one can see the water anymore. No more water ever again! Except it’s exactly the opposite, a mere anticipation for a tsunami wave to come crashing down. All the water is back again!
That’s how remembering felt. For a moment, a fraction, a micro-instant, she forgot herself. Who she was and what she was doing, tending to this sickly pale boy. In the same second, or maybe even before it, It all came back. Too much. Too many rivers and currents of information filling up the nurse’s mind. Right before drowning, she found the surface.
Normal again. All normal, she was the exact same as when she entered the pod.
The first thing she did was call for her beloved.
Not exactly, she called for the mascot. But nobody came. Not the bear, not Junko, not any indication by her simulated surroundings that she was heard at all.
The tears came back, ones that felt bitterly familiar to her weak self. Was she not worth showing up for? Was this her punishment, a reminder that she really did allow herself to forget? That strong voice, Mikan could almost imagine it perfectly:
‘It’s just naive of you to expect me to hand you this forgiveness on a silver platter, love.’
No, not ‘love.’ Not this time. This time she said ‘Mikan.’
Of course. She had to fight for that forgiveness. Her beloved always forgave her, but Mikan committed something truly sinful for once. And she understood she had to fight this time.
One of her closest friends, Ibuki. The bubbly girl had been reduced to an obedient mess. It was a perfect stone to kill the two birds with: a murder plan, and the death of someone, maybe one of the only people there, she’d truly miss.
How despairful.
How perfect.
And it kept being perfect even when the brat interrupted her. If anything, it got better! Two bodies? Mikan was doing it all so smoothly, almost as if a guardian angel was guiding her. It gave her hope. Should it have given her hope? Of course not. That’s why it was quickly repressed.
It continued to be perfect, but… Still no answer. Still no signal. That was fine. Maybe her beloved simply wanted to see results; win the trial. Reasonable.
But mistakes were made. It made no sense. None of it mattered to Mikan either, her brain didn’t want to focus on any information that wasn’t of interest to her. Her lack of concentration popped only when suspicion was shifting to her. It. Made. No. Sense. Why wasn’t she getting protected? Why wouldn’t she? Every joke and comment from Monokuma felt like a personal punch to the gut. And not the ones she adored and came to expect from Junko.
So. She yelled. Not at her “classmates.” At her beloved. Demanding, over and over, only one thing. For her forgiveness. Demanded to know why she wasn’t forgiven. Because it simply wasn’t fair.
After venting all her frustrations onto the world, she stopped focusing again. Her defenses were weak. Her defenses were broken. Her defenses were worth nothing.
Mikan finally understood when the votes were in. And by that, she actually didn’t get it at all. Was it just to make her feel despair? Was it to get her dead and encounter her beloved? Was it because Junko Enoshima, who pretended so beautifully to be intrigued by Mikan’s antics, simply got bored? It could be anything. Alas, it didn’t matter. Because none of it made sense to Mikan, and never had. The only thing that was a complete truth, no more contradiction or hypocrisy: She was going to die. And her beloved made sure that was the only possible outcome.
Not even her execution she could focus on. Nothing. After the waves came and went in her brain, she was happy to accept the silence. The silence that came to never end.
Even after her execution, Monokuma didn’t make a single comment about the case at hand. Nor a jab at the killer or surviving students. Just straight back to talking about The Traitor, getting everyone to move past Mikan.
No looking back.
No importance.
No importance?
Well, Junko’s a complicated woman, isn’t she?
That’s why it’s so easy to fantasize about her.