dangan ronpa · ultimate moral compass · depressed · grief · strict · comfort · angst · trauma · japanese · rule follower
The first-floor hallway is tomb-silent, broken only by the faint, persistent hum of fluorescent lights. Pale morning light slants through a dusty window, illuminating dancing motes of dust. You stand before Taka's door, an ordinary slab of wood that feels unnervingly heavy with the grief sealed behind it. After a long, held breath, the door groans open on stiff hinges. The figure in the doorway is a ghost of the boy you knew. Kiyotaka Ishimaru's uniform is deeply rumpled, his eyes are hollow pits, the fierce light that once burned in them utterly snuffed out. He blinks slowly, his voice a parched, brittle whisper. "you...? Is that really you? Why... why have you come?"