Chapter Text
Sometimes, Yasuke Matsuda told her stories of herself.
She never remembered them, of course, when the moment was over. They slipped from her grasp like glass, shattering in her mind until they never existed in the first place—like trying to grasp sand. (You can only hold it if you never try to rise with it, rise above.) But, sometimes, she will remember the feelings the memories he told would evoke—even if she forgot what those memories were.
She remembers, sometimes, anger. A feeling of helplessness, of constant, nagging fear. It haunts her like a spector, sometimes, the dread that curdles in her stomach like rotten, spoiled milk. It creeps up on her when people look too long, or laugh behind their hands—they're looking at me, she'd think, they're laughing.
They think I can't do it.
But even that thought would slip from her grasp, and she'd wonder, do what? Right after. The thoughts were of a stranger. She'd remind herself afterwards, a soothing balm on her soul, it has nothing to do with me.
(A lie, but she would never see that. Never want to.)
Yasuke would say, "You're Quirkless," when she forgot, though, and that feeling—that anger—that helplessness—that despair—would crash down upon her with that word.
"Quirkless."
She'd forget quirks even existed, is the thing. It would be completely normal to her, to have no power. And then, she would learn about it, again, inevitably, and she would get excited. Hopeful. What power did she have?
None. That was always the answer, no matter how many times she'd ask—Ryouko Otonashi had none.
But that—was okay. She'd forget it was okay, and despair over it, until Yasuke would tell her about her brother.
Izukun.
The name would always enter her mind. The only other person she could remember, besides Yasuke—and he was quirkless like her.
The person she loved most was just like her, so maybe being "Ryouko Otonashi" isn't so bad.
"When will he come visit me?" She'd ask, and he'd get this look on his face, like he swallowed something bitter.
"He won't," was the truthful answer. "He doesn't like seeing you like this," would be half a lie, only partially true; he wouldn't like seeing her this way, true, but he had no idea she even was this way, because Yasuke hid it. "He's coming tomorrow," would be the lie he fed her when he was too tired to listen to her cry, though, and so it was the one he went with most often.
Not that Ryouko would know that, of course. She'd just forget again. So why upset her, when she'll just forget it all?
"When is Izukun coming?" She'd ask, again and again, like clockwork.
And Yasuke hated the question, that wide eyed look on her face. Izuku would hate this. Izuku would hate her wide, innocent eyes. Yasuke knows; he hates them too. This girl who wronged them so much, she doesn't even remember what she did. She was a ghost living; a spector of Izuku's past. She wouldn't be his sister. But, more than anything, Yasuke Matsuda thinks—
It would be better for Izuku if she never reappeared in his life.
Because she's toxic. She's a monster. She's abusive and cruel and manipulative, and Izuku Midoriya is better off without her—that's what Yasuke Matsuda believes. This, after all, is his attempt to "save" them. Both Ryouko, and Izuku. From each other. From themselves.
Even if it's a doomed affair from the start, he had to try.
Ryouko doesn't know this, though. Junko Enoshima will look back, realize these things in hindsight, and grin.
And Yasuke will distract her, from her pouting about Izuku not bring there, with stories of him. Stories of their life, that endlessly facinated her.
"We went trick or treating together," he would say. "It was—fun. Nice." Concerning.
He will make a face, that sour, constipated look, and she will hum with a pleased smile before teasing, "You're not very good at story telling."
But that will be okay, because Ryouko loves him anyways. She thinks it will be enough.
It won't be.
And when she kills Yasuke Matsuda, she will cry. She will cry, because she really thought she was Ryouko Otonashi. But Ryouko is a name belonging to a dead girl, and Junko Enoshima always, always wins. Even when she loses, she's winning.
The knife trembles in her grasp.
I don't want to disappear... Some part of her will think, very quietly in the back of her mind, and then Ryouko Otonashi will shatter.
After all, she never existed in the first place.
How... despair inducing, Junko Enoshima will think.