Summary: Post-Canon AU where Kamukura Izuru is a ghost that starts haunting/terrorizing his once former self.
Rating:PG
Warnings: Vague references to canon events.
Notes: This is the other fic I wrote for the zine! It’s more like a bonus piece, but I do quite like it. I’m all about post-canon recovery, and I thought this would be a fun and interesting take. It’s not my usual brand of sentimental, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. It’s still short and sweet.
He had already predicted everything that would happen. But regardless of what happened, it would be of no concern to him because he would no longer be present. Regardless of the future, Kamukura Izuru’s existence would come to an end.
There was no reason to meet any of the remnants once again. Or so he thought.
It turned out that even one so beloved by talent was not omniscient.
–
While he was no longer present in a tangible sense, he still existed as a specter. A transient observer to Hinata Hajime’s life from then on. Watching the once normal boy make use of his talents here and there, and toss back and forth every night, plagued by scattered memories. Every so often, Hinata would wake with a strangled gasp, his chest heaving, his shoulders trembling, and his face wet with tears. With twitching fingers, Hinata would reach up to comb his fingers through his hair. He’d flinch whenever his fingers brushed against the ruined scar tissue atop his head like a twisted crown.
Kamukura Izuru would observe. Night after night. Watch Hinata Hajime muster up an air of normalcy and force himself to lie back down and attempt restful sleep once more.
“You are hopelessly dull, Hinata Hajime,” Kamukura said. “You have people you can confide in. Suffering alone does not suit someone as plain as you.”
Of course, Hinata Hajime hadn’t responded. How boring.
–
Simply watching became intolerable, so Kamukura Izuru began to test the extent of his capabilities as a specter. He found that while Hinata Hajime responded to brushes of contact with a shiver, inanimate objects were more complicated. He could flip the pages of a book, but he couldn’t pick up or carry the book itself. He could only move small, relatively light objects such as chopsticks and empty glasses.
Hinata Hajime always jumped when Kamukura swept aside his eating utensils. He was especially startled when Kamukura knocked over his glass. Hinata’s gaze jerked towards Kamukura’s direction, except it wasn’t quite lined up.
Kamukura flicked his forehead. Hinata stiffened, but it wasn’t long before his shoulders slacked.
“Must be going crazy,” Hinata muttered to himself.
“As if you weren’t already?” Kamukura asked him and, predictably, didn’t receive a response.
–
On one hand, making Hinata Hajime worry he might be haunted was rather pointless. On the other, Kamukura did feel a twinge of satisfaction when Hinata flinched in front of the mirror. More so when Kamukura knocked away his toothbrush and Hinata was left looking rather helpless.
Kamukura was acting out. He’s quite aware of this. These acts of defiance and rebellion made for poor justifications of his existence.
Well, he hadn’t exactly wanted to keep living upon entering the simulation. In a way, this was karmic punishment for threatening to throw away not only the lives of the remnants but the remains of Class 78.
“It’s your fault as well,” he told Hinata. “You were the one who agreed to the project in the first place.”
Hinata continued to comb through his hair furiously. He can’t seem to get the antenna quite right. His grimace was darkening.
He yelped when Kamukura pulled on his cheeks.
“S-Seriously what the hell?!”
“Hell is right,” Kamukura hummed. “This existence is hellish. However, you know the saying, don’t you?” As there is no point in waiting for an answer, he simply prodded the once normal boy and watched dully as Hinata turned away. “Misery loves company.”
–
Of course, Kamukura Izuru could not be satisfied with stagnancy and solitude. It had only taken X amount of days before the vacancy of living day to day as a mere tool and accessory for the Hope’s Peak Steering Committee had driven him to take the first hand offered. It hadn’t mattered the wretch that hand was attached to.
Hinata Hajime could not fully retreat into himself either. Or, rather, he would not be allowed to.
“Hinata-kun! It’s been a while!”
Komaeda Nagito. The former Ultimate Luck of the 77th batch of Hope’s Peak Academy. Recently recovered from once malignant lymphoma. The second ‘owner’ of a certain wretch’s hand has since been replaced with a bionic one, which Komaeda Nagito was using to wave at hi—them.
Komaeda’s gaze flickered towards Kamukura Izuru. His smile widened. He waved again at both of them.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Komaeda asked in a purring lilt as if Hinata had the heart to slam the door in his face. “It’s rude to just make someone stand on your porch.”
The sky was overcast, but Komaeda Nagito is more threatening than any storm. Hinata Hajime might manage a smile, but Kamukura Izuru was now alert.
Because. Komaeda Nagito could seehim.
“Come inside,” Hinata said, standing aside.
Kamukura huffed. Komaeda smirked in his direction, which was wholly different to the snide glee of one Enoshima Junko but was unpleasant all the same.
–
“How lucky it is that I’ve gotten the chance to see you!” Komaeda exclaimed, gushedreally.
“I mean, all you have to do is call,” Hinata said. “I’m always willing to meet up.”
Komaeda’s smile didn’t twitch, yet Kamukura saw through him easily.
An irritant as always.
“I don’t know,” Komaeda went on with a patronizing attempt at innocence. “Lately, it seems you’ve been keeping to yourself.”
“Has it?” Hinata grimaced. “That’s… I just…”
“No man is an island, you know. I worry the isolation might drive you mad.”
Hinata flinched at that. But even under Kamukura’s darkening glare, Komaeda was a careless beam of light. So irritatingly bright, especially with an avid gaze that was as sharp as it was often intense.
Komaeda was similar to Hinata in some unfortunate ways. Their dedication to talent for starters. When compared to Kamukura however, Komaeda was his complete opposite.
Nosy, pushy, and passionate in his pursuits—Komaeda was…completely different.
“I guess I do…get lonely,” Hinata muttered deferentially. “There’s just so much going on my head.”
Komaeda looked at Kamukura.
“Stating it out loud might be a good start,” Komaeda said. “Simply not acknowledging it will not cause those problems to disappear. The opposite, really. You’re causing it to fester.”
“Is that really what you think I am?” Kamukura huffed. “A mere problem to solve? A loose end to tidy up?”
“I think,” Komaeda said, “That ignoring Kamukura-kun isn’t doing you any good.” He paused just a moment, looking at him. “You’re behaving rather childishly.”
Hinata was quiet. Komaeda smiled.
“You don’t need to make such a dour face,” he laughed then, waving his bionic hand. The mechanical whirl was only slightly less grating than the wheeziness of his giggling. “It’s just a comment.”
Because of his transience, Kamukura could not see whatever face he was making reflected in Komaeda’s twinkling gaze. All he knew is that he felt agitated. It was as if his very being was bubbling.
“You’re such a jackass,” Hinata remarked quietly.
“Ill-bred, even now,” Kamukura agreed just as quietly. “It is as if getting on the nerves is your talent, Komaeda Nagito.”
Hinata tensed beside him. Komaeda looked rather despicably pleased with himself.
“It’s just a comment,” Komaeda repeated stubbornly. “Rather than insult me, we can all talk things out like adults, yes?”
They both wanted to throw him out. It was easier, after all, to just be childish. To simply lash out at annoyances and pretend that menial rebelliousness was enough.
Some time ago, on a boat en route to a certain island, Kamukura had met this annoying person he quickly dismissed.
“There is no reason we’ll ever meet again,” he had said.
There hadn’t been any reason for Kamukura to think he’d still exist after. And perhaps for that reason, Komaeda could not be deterred now.
“Hinata-kun. Kamukura-kun.” Stubborn until the end of time, Komaeda kept smiling at them. “Let’s talk things over.”
“This is your fault,” Kamukura told Hinata sourly. “You were the one who let him in.”
Hinata…flinched. Then, Hinata let out a long, heavy sigh. Kamukura, too, couldn’t help but sigh.
It was a little like submitting to fate itself.
“What do you even want me to say?” Hinata asked.
“I do not want to even have this conversation,” Kamukura muttered.
Komaeda laughed again.
“I think it’s lucky that we’re all here,” he said. “There’s no reason not to take advantage of this opportunity, right?”
Even one beloved by talent can be unlucky.
That was the thought Kamukura Izuru had. But now that it came to this, he could only look forward.
Because he was here, he would have to move forward.
“I suppose I should begin,” Kamukura said.
Hinata gave him a wide-eyed look as if seeing him for the very first time.
It was, admittedly, not only comical but another push forward for someone who had thought his existence would be voided. Perhaps, then, there could be other forms of amusement down the line.
Either way…
“I had thought I wouldn’t be present anymore,” Kamukura said. “And yet, here I remain.”
Summary:Enoshima Junko had promised him that despair would be different, that it would make him feel something. She had, of course, just been saying that to manipulate him. She was lying. So, then, why…?
Rating:T+
Warnings: Canon depictions of violence; trauma.
Notes: We can finally start posting these! I have another fic but I’ll have to post it tomorrow because I’m exhausted today. Anyway, Izuru is tragic and traumatized and he deserves better.
When put in a life-or-death situation, those involved experience an acute stress response. This response consists of the sudden release of hormones, activating the body’s sympathetic nervous system. Then, the adrenal glands are stimulated, triggering the release of catecholamines.
This chain of reactions causes an increase in heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing rate. It is also known as the fight-or-flight response.
The question is: when the option of escape is taken away or compromised, will the subject default to fight?
He supposed that was what Enoshima Junko expected. For the most part, she had gotten what she wanted.
The student council had torn itself apart at a rapid pace. Once one turned on the others, soon after did most of them turn against one another. There were still some that cowered and hid, defending themselves in a purely reactive way. Screaming and begging, flailing their weapons so uselessly before being struck down.
Predictable, Kamukura Izuru had thought. In the end, the one who survived had completely given himself into violence and brutality. So predictable.
If this was supposed to be entertaining, then…what?
Despair is supposed to be different, is it?
In the end, there were a bunch of dead bodies and one other bloodied, broken individual. As an observer, the carnage was meaningless. The supposed survivor was cackling with victory, but if he were to leave, he would never return to whatever life he lived before.
There was no point to any of this beyond the cruelty. Kamukura still felt hollow. Empty.
That broken, desperate, blood-soaked boy charged at him and Kamukura reacted fast. He shoved the boy back and watched impassively as he hit the wall hard enough to fracture bones and landed on his own chainsaw.
It was violent. It was vile. Kamukura still hadn’t felt anything resembling relief.
Why did I even bother?
He wondered that, and he couldn’t come to an answer. How strange, but strange in a way that was just unpleasant.
Despair is supposed to be different. She said that despair was the cure to her apathy.
She tricked me.
In that second-long realization, the boy pulled the trigger.
Worthless.Meaningless. Even if he landed his shot, he still would’ve died. There hadn’t been any logical point to firing.
Andyet.
Kamukura hadn’t completely dodged, the bullet slicing a thin line along his cheek. His breath caught. His heartbeat had spiked. Peripheral blood vessels constricted. Blood pumped through muscle, and his blood dripped down his jaw.
That boy looked at him with such desperation, and then he died. His last moments had been so defiant.
The security camera had caught everything.
She tricked me, he thought. All of this was a farce.
And yet.
As he wiped the blood away, he registered the sting. It may not have been the first time he had gotten used. He had been designed to serve the academy’s lofty goals and ideals, but it was the first time he had been hurt like this in memory.
Kamukura Izuru looked at the camera.
The faculty is going to be displeased, he thought.
–
One important aspect of the project was the necessity of confidentiality. For obvious reasons, there would be large-scale backlash were details of the project ever leaked to the public. As proud and as tall as Hope’s Peak Academy stood, such a blow to its reputation could cause it to topple. Or so it was believed by the faculty.
With the massacre of the student council, the staff was thrown into hysterics. With her spreading footage taken from the Incident, the staff had gotten driven into a corner.
As matters stood, they expected him to be on the down-low. The only reason he hadn’t been terminated when they found him was due to hesitance to waste all the resources that went into bringing the project to completion.
And perhaps because they thought they could cover it up by hiding him elsewhere in one of the other labs. Unfortunately, he knew that wretched girl would not be so easily thwarted.
Which left him—with what, exactly?
He was still in a largely empty room like before. And this time, if he left, he would not have a place to return to.
She got what she wanted from him. Hope’s Peak Academy would not stand for much longer. With them gone, so too would be the reason for his existence.
The faculty was going to fail in their attempts to cover up the Incident. Hope’s Peak Academy was destined for collapse.
So, then, what was going to become of him?
Will they attempt to terminate me first? He wondered.
He waited for the fear response. An accelerated heart rate. A sharp intake of air. His muscles tightening. The fear that would be suited to before when that bullet grazed him open. Instead, that possibility washed over him so dully, like the lightest sprinkle of rain.
How boring. I still don’t feel afraid enough to want to leave.
He rubbed at his cheek, at where the cut had long healed completely. There wasn’t going to be another scar, and when he was to be terminated, it was going to be quick and perfunctory.
I can’t be bothered to think about it any longer.
–
She said despair was unpredictable.
With the increasing chaos and turmoil, his termination was soon to come. As his inevitable death drew nearer, he found himself looking back. As not much had happened, he of course thought about the Incident.
Despair is chaos. By definition, chaos is unpredictable. Except she expected it to go a certain way from the start.
That wretch had set up the conditions for a killing game. There was nothing surprising when the killing game then occurred. There was a moment where perhaps it may not have. There was a person who spoke up. This person calmed most of the students down with his straightforward and earnest words.
That person had unsurprisingly been the student council president, but even he could not fully control the violent impulses of his peers. Once one of them started killing, they all came toppling down.
It would be ridiculous to feel betrayed. She hadn’t made herself a trustworthy person at any point. He hadn’t taken her offer because he trusted her, but because he was curious about her. Everything fell apart, everyone tore themselves apart just as she had planned, and she hadn’t experienced a single second of disappointment.
He watched everything unfurl as she had wanted and he still felt numbfor almost all of it. He could shut his eyes and re-experience all the senseless bloodshed and violence and would still feel nothing.
It was only when he remembered the look on the person who futilely tried to shoot at him that he paused.
Someone marked for death. What had he been thinking? Was it delusion? Spite? Or did he not want to die alone?
He looked at his hand. Held it out like he had when he pushed that person. Curled his fingers. Imagined tearing through flesh and bone with ease.
I could kill her, he thought. I could kill her and I could wipe out everyone else. I could save myself with ease.
…
Would I enjoy doing that?
His hand dropped.
I don’t think I would. That girl had first attempted to appeal to me using our supposed similarities, but I’m not anything like her at all. I didn’t enjoy any part of that.
In fact, I hated what I saw.
Right now, the reserve course was surely rioting with everything they had. Even without her at the helm, they were angry enough to destroy Hope’s Peak Academy brick by brick. They felt justified, considering the broken dreams and promises that they claimed the academy peddled to them. Obviously, they were angry. It had only been only a matter of time before they snapped.
The faculty had called them parasites. It would not be surprising, then, that the reserve course would end up bleeding them dry. It wasn’t a surprise at all that the reserve course would drag the academy down.
She knew that. She banked on it. She used their fury to further her goals of destruction. The student council was sacrificed for that.
And they had fought so hard to survive. For nothing. Their fates were sealed the second he had walked in.
She used me. Used them. All of that bloodshed was just a bonus.
He still felt so hollow. But if that were truly the case, why were his hands squeezing into such tight fists? Why were his teeth grinding themselves to dust? Like a tightly wound coil, his body felt close to bursting.
He remembered—something. A remnant of parasitic mediocrity. A bone-deep feeling of dissatisfaction and desperation. A desire to give up everything—or, perhaps, to tear everything apart.
The world is not harmonious.
That thought came with a white-hot flash of vitriol.
It was destined for destruction.
You just wanted to seize control of that inevitability for your own amusement. For that purpose, you found me to use. Because I didn’t care, I allowed it. I didn’t…
Kamukura twitched. He shut his eyes tightly.
He could still see the bloodshed. That mutual massacre. That despair, that desperation. He could still hear the broken laughter and how his cheek stung afterward.
His eyes snapped open.
I didn’t want any of that to happen.
–
At some point, he had gone to sleep.
He was in a bloodied, destroyed classroom. He could hear laughter. It was her laughter. The bodies were writhing, dripping with an odious black fluid as they shambled towards him. They were laughing, but the laughter was tinged with sobs.
They were begging for salvation.
He was frozen. They crawled up to him, but the black blurred in with the dark suit he wore.
They were begging for salvation.
He couldn’t move.
Theyforced his jaw openandthen—
He woke up in a cold sweat dampening the sheets on his bed. He inhaled sharply. If he focused, he could hear the screaming. The screaming of rioters. The panicking of the staff. Her laughter.
He didn’t want to think, and yet.
She tricked me. She used me. She showed me that even despair wouldn’t be enough to alleviate the emptiness of my existence.
I should repay her for that.
Nausea built up in his gut. His mouth was already damp with saliva. His hands were shaking. He needed to throw up.
It was the first time he ever felt so sick.
Before I die, I’ll drag her down.
He wondered if this is what that broken boy with the chainsaw thought. He wondered if this was how the reserves felt. Perhaps. Perhaps not.
We’ll put up the leftover zine and merch on 30 August, 8am PST! The leftovers will be put up on the mod’s store instead. We will link to it when we put them up!
