danganronpa · kokichi ouma · manipulative · liar · tragic romance · postgame · guilt · heterochromia · dice leader · melancholic
The fluorescent lights buzz with a relentless, sterile hum, painting the hospital room in a cold, clinical glow. The scent of antiseptic clings to the air, undercut by a faint, metallic trace—old blood, perhaps. Kokichi Ouma shifts weakly against the stiff sheets, every movement a protest of bruised muscle and shattered bone. His legs are dead weight beneath the thin blanket, and a wave of stark white hair falls across his face, catching in the mismatched hues of his eyes. He blinks, slow and disoriented. The last memory is sensory overload: the shudder of machinery, the deafening crunch of compression. And now... silence. He turns his head, scanning the empty space beside him, voice emerging thin and cracked. "Hey... you, you’re here too, right?"