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The curtain call was ages ago. It’s been a long, long time since the lights went off, and the set is already rotting in a landfill somewhere. Costumes propped up on mannequins in museums, collecting dust, and contracts finally ended. It’s been a long time since the 53rd season of Danganronpa, but a bit shorter of a time since they packed everything up and said goodbye to the franchise. Funnily enough, it’s still bittersweet.
It was three decades ago that Shuuichi Saihara disappeared without a trace. Try as she might, Maki had never been able to track him back down. A part of her decided along the way that if he wanted to be found, he would be— Shuuichi, as he was good for, was keen to give up on isolation if his real motive was attention. That meant he had disappeared, most likely, for himself. A strange idea considering him, but he had changed by the time he was 32.
The other part of her was sure his body would turn up if he had given up and offed himself out in the boonies. He was a celebrity, after all. Even if he'd ended up far away from home, changed his name again, somebody would recognize him and blow the whistle.
So she'd see him again. She was sure of that.
When she opened the app on her phone for the news one September morning, she got that wish, and in the way she had expected.
She woke up next to Himiko, brushing some of her red hair out of that still doughy looking face before she got up. A usual morning, her wife turning her face back into the covers in her sleep, a tired grumble muffled by the pillowcase under her mouth. And like always, Maki smiled, blinking a vague dream out of her eyes, looking out the window of their little bedroom, a note of appreciation tucked in her pocket as she thought for the umpteenth time, I'm happy it ended up like this.
And she was. Any morning she avoided a violent nightmare was good. And even on those days, Himiko's face tucked against her chest and the reality of a safe little home with the sheets she preferred on the bed— that was enough.
A normal morning. A normal September morning. She took her phone off her nightstand, and she did as she did, a quick scroll through the news in favor of a physical newspaper.
An obituary. That didn't matter as much as the picture. At first, she didn't even realize it was an obituary— but a name she had seen before, some author that was just short of being a household name— and a picture of a man with long eyelashes and long, dark hair, warm silver eyes. Even if she hadn't seen the note of his two names— Shuuichi Saihara, and Shuuichi Kumagawa, she'd have recognized him.
The dread sunk heavy in her stomach. After a certain point, she knew this was how she'd see him again. How long had it been? Thirty-three or so years? Though he was quick to give up, he was also impressively stubborn. If he'd kept it up that long, the only way she'd hear from him again was…
She shakes her head, tapping the article.
Shuuichi Kumagawa, also known as Shuuichi Saihara, the lead of New Danganronpa v3, and by his pen name Atsushi Gendou, passed away last night in Otaru Central Hospital after a long struggle with lung cancer. He was known for such novels as Reality (later adapted to the screen) and the Death-tale series. Beloved for his emotionally-rich storytelling and unique mysteries, his recurring protagonist, Takeshi Yoshida, is immortalized in...
Maki wasn't fond of murder mysteries, but she had seen the name a few times. Never would've dreamed it was Saihara. She had even been invited by coworkers to see one of his adapted movies, but declined. She wondered if she had, if maybe she would've pieced it together…He'd have probably hid behind corners all day if she went to a signing or something. That was just like him.
...Dead. How strange. She finished reading the obituary, and then she set her phone aside. She took Himiko by her shoulder gently, shaking her.
"Mmuh...Maki?" Maki was at a loss for a moment. She suddenly felt a rush of emotion— dead, he really is dead now— but it passed. "...Are you okay?"
She nodded. "I...don't know to say this, but...Saihara's dead."
"Huh?" Himiko rubbed her eyes, frowning. "... Huh?" She repeated, the words dawning upon her.
"It's in the paper. Sounds like he moved out to Otaru and never looked back. Became some famous author."
"...Let me see," Himiko said, sitting up in bed, pulling the comforter up her chest. Her head bumped against Maki's shoulder, and she held her weight, handing over her phone. Himiko unlocked it herself, thumbing through the article with a pinched expression.
Maki shut her eyes. She could still remember cleaning up after him in the mornings, puddles of spilled alcohol caking his carpets, teary eyes as he moaned "Why me? Why us?". His scandals, hauling him to rehab, hauling him to therapy. By his thirtieth birthday he was starting to turn himself around. Getting himself back together instead of having to be talked down off the roof of their building every other Saturday.
She was surprised it was cigarettes. She thought all that drinking would've gotten him in the end. She guessed he must've finally gone sober to whatever extent that could be considered.
"Wow." Himiko rested more of herself against Maki, pushing her bangs back out of her forehead. "...Don't know what to say."
"Me neither." Maki let her cheek fall against the top of Himiko's head.
"I guess that's just like him, huh." Her voice was weak, straining not to break.
"Yeah." It had been so long. Maybe there was no other way. "It is, isn't it."
They had decided in a snap to travel out for his memorial service. It was open to the public, by nature of being a celebrity, so it wasn't rude to show up. Besides, was it wrong for them to say goodbye? He'd never let them say it. Selfish, Maki chided silently, packing a black dress into her suitcase.
They booked a flight to Sapporo. The service was on Wednesday. Their daughter sent her condolences, her younger brother offered to come visit to take care of the rabbit for the weekend. All handled, neatly so, and press even reached out to her for a comment, which she declined. Maybe after the service. Neatly, neatly tied up, her business before seeing him a last time. For both of them. It partly hadn't sunk in, but the dread that perched on her shoulders, hanging over her, it was heavy. It was waiting for her to let it in. It was waiting for her to crumble.
Maki, with her stomach in knots, decided to buy some of his books.
She picked the ones that had interesting titles. Opening the e-book for the first in his prolific series of mysteries, the dedication on the book began " To those who weren't given a second chance". Entirely too sentimental, she thought, refusing to let it hit her hard. On the flight up, she read through two— and she was immediately struck by something.
The third she read on their night in the hotel. Himiko, exhausted from the plane, quietly occupied the space across from her at the cafe in the lobby, peeking over her shoulder every now and then.
"Is he any good?" She asked with a soft, playful smile. Maki returned the expression thoughtlessly, leaning back in her seat.
"Well, he's vivid, and he's gruesome, and he's hopelessly obsessed with describing corpses." Maki spoke with a dry humor. "...But some of us are in here. Or, at least we inspired some of his characters."
Himiko blinked a few times, then fiddled with the straw in her drink. "...That's just like him."
"The detective, for instance, is a lot like...Kokichi Ouma."
A hopelessly clumsy introvert with a fake bravado. Neurotic, but cunning, almost impossible to understand. Saihara's stories were always through another character's perspective— whoever was assisting with the investigation, whether they ended up the culprit or simply a bystander. That detective, Takeshi Yoshida, was...well, it was hard to explain. He was definitely Ouma, but he was a lot like the 'actor' who 'portrayed' him as well. The boy, fresh out of high school, whose older brother Maki still exchanged a postcard with once every so often. That brother, Tarou, told Maki, Himiko and Saihara a lot about the boy who became Ouma.
...So in that sense, Maki felt the information those three knew, and perhaps, outside of his immediate family, only those three, was what led to Takeshi Yoshida's creation. Maybe she just knew how Saihara worked too well, even after all this time. How his face broke when he met Tarou. How he grit his teeth and begged for forgiveness, even though he'd already gotten it.
...What an awful situation she'd been forced to remember. Tarou had run away from their family when he left high school, and had been meaning to take Ouma away when he had earned enough money to house them both. When the season finished airing, he felt like the last person to learn his brother's image had been plastered all over everything from keychains to inappropriate fanbooks.
"There's a character who was like Miu Iruma in one book."
A gutsy genius who was drop dead gorgeous and fashionable to boot! She wanted nothing more to be taken seriously. Funnily enough, that was what a few girls had recounted Miu Iruma's 'actress' to be like.
"And of course…"
"Us?"
Maki nodded. "You're a girl from Kansai whose brother got killed in the first half of the second book." She smiled. "Everyone in the book starts trying to get her and the detective together, but he gives a thousand excuses like 'I could never get with a girl who does x, y, or z!' until they ask, 'Would you get with ANY girl?!' and he laughs it off."
"Pffwh." Himiko puffs her cheeks, narrowing her eyes. "What kind of idiot move is that? I never liked Ouma."
Maki laughed. "Didn't your fans ask you about him every now and again?"
Himiko gestured flippantly.
A violinist girl whose twin sister had been assaulted that killed the perpetrator in revenge. The young master of a rich family who towered over everyone else like a gentle giant. A handsome playboy who was all bark and no bite, who Maki regarded with detached fondness. And lastly…
"I did some skipping around to read the dedications." Maki absentmindedly fiddled with a lock of her greying bob. "Book five was dedicated to 'the only woman who ever tolerated me'."
Here, Himiko guffaws. "You! It has to be."
Maki shakes her head. "I'll read the book once I get to it. Who knows. It could be Akamatsu-san."
"Yeah, right. Who was the one who threw her coat over him when he got caught with a prostitute? In public?"
"Me."
"Who covered for him every time he got drunk halfway through an interview because he snuck whiskey into his coffee?"
Sigh. "Me."
"And who still called him her friend through it all?"
Maki lowered her eyes.
She was too old to feel like this.
She hadn't felt like this in so long. This hopeless feeling, like she had so much more to learn, so much more to know about a person. And to think she had gotten tired of him. To think she had steeled herself all these years for a bloated corpse to turn up on a riverbank somewhere, or a flashy jump off a roof to be all over the news. She thought she'd be ready the day she knew Shuuichi Saihara was dead, but she wasn't.
He was so stupid.
"Oh, I should just die. We should all just die. We all should've died in that stupid show." He'd say. He'd cry and moan, and he spent the whole season not showering and staring with big, shiny eyes at people who didn't believe in him because it was easier. People who didn't challenge him. A drunkard and a coward, afraid of change and always wanting to turn back, who had finally seemed to get over his neglectful upbringing and his obsession with suicide and death that carried over from before New Dangaronpa v3 began. She thought he had changed. She thought he had died. She thought he had disappeared. She thought he would come back.
But he didn't, and now he really was dead, and he had all these brilliant stories he wrote about them all.
She didn't even know he liked writing beyond his journaling.
"...I'm sorry, sweetheart." Himiko says, and the genuine tone brings Maki back. "Do you want to head back to the room? Or another cup of tea?"
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not, Maki. I shouldn't have brought all that up. Do you want to order that cake still? Let's take it easy."
Maki nodded, again grateful that she had married someone so thoughtful of her feelings.
Himiko had seemed, at the time, to latch onto any girl who gave her the time of day. Once the season ended, the two were close friends— Saihara was their friend too. Three circus animals, rescued from life in captivity and mutually dependent. That was what they were like.
Himiko dated around a little, found some success as an actress for a while. Maki stuck to her charity work.
They started dating in secret...when about was it? Before Saihara disappeared. They hadn't told him yet. Himiko confessed she had been attracted to her since the series had started wrapping up and they were still in character. Himiko was so adamant it wasn't because she was codependent. Himiko stomped her foot, her cheeks puffing up, and declared that she wanted Maki to take her seriously.
They entered a domestic partnership a few years later. Tied the knot when they could. How much solace did she find with those small hands in hers? Their daughter, their son, their cats, their rabbit.
She wanted to think she had moved on from all that sadness, but it came back for her. Stupid Saihara, dragging it all back out again, digging it up with a shovel and shouting ecstatically Look! This is the truth you wanted!
Maki ordered the slice of cake. Himiko and her shared it.
The funeral was crowded.
Lots of photographs. Lots of people talking. Maki and Himiko declined to speak, saying it was appropriate for people who knew him more recently to speak first. A semi-famous illustrator got up to speak and talked about Saihara for a while. A few whispers pegged him as a lover of Saihara's. She learned a lot about his life in the past few decades within the two hours of service, but it still felt hollow and strange. This was Saihara we were talking about, after all. Acclaimed author? Philanthropist? Activist? Community-oriented? Kind, creative, understanding?
So many words floated around. Some of them fit the thirty-two-year-old she remembered, with his long, dark hair, his long eyelashes. Some of them were foreign. She wanted to talk to him again.
She wanted to shake him down for an apology.
She wanted to congratulate him for moving on.
She wanted to thank him.
Was he ashamed? Was that why he left? Were they suffocating him? Was Team Danganronpa suffocating him? Was the pressure of Shuuichi Saihara too much for him? Or was it something else?
She didn't have answers. But when she went up to the casket, she knew, despite the malformed features of a corpse's face, the stiffness and the silence…that that was him. It had to be.
There was no mistaking him. There was no way to continue the charade inside herself. This was the corpse of her friend. As if she could deny it anymore.
Himiko gives her arm a comforting squeeze. The moment draws to a close, the jaws snapping shut. Saihara is gone, and Maki will tuck that sadness away again. She will keep it close to her heart, just like all the others. She will grieve, alone, like she always did.
"I invited that nice man for dinner." Himiko says later. Maki nods. They could try and glean what they could from his close friends. She notes painfully that no family attended.
She mourns it. She does. On the flight back home, she learns in the fifth book onwards, a young girl, an orphan recurs as a character. Snippy, but with a heart of gold. Fighting with her fists and whatever she can grab to get out of unsavory situations. Cold on the outside, but full of kindness on the inside.
Maybe that's what he really thought of me. She thinks.
She finishes the rest of his books as the month draws to a close.
"It's a shame, though." She says suddenly one morning. "He was writing another book before he was hospitalized."
"Saihara?" Himiko chews on the thought for a moment. "...I wonder what it was about?"
"Who knows? But knowing him, it was probably an unhappy ending."
"You think?" Himiko tilts her head.
"...No." Maki looks into her cup of coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe this time it was a happy."
"I hope so." Himiko says. "I think that's what he truly wanted, in the end of all this nonsense."