Kyoko Kirigiri (Danganronpa series)

(All characters appearing in this story shall be over 18. The story takes place in an AU version of Hope's Peak Academy where no tragedy has occurred. This will be the author's only note.)

Attached to the library of Hope's Peak Academy was a computer lab. While certain classes were held there, it tended to be rather empty at other times of the day, since most students at such a prestigious school had their own personal desktops or laptops for private use. Indeed, it was so quiet at the current late afternoon hour that it could be mistaken as completely empty.

While not popular in general, this space had a certain appeal for someone who wanted quick access to research materials, a computer, and a place to spread out their things without being interrupted. Such was the case for the Academy's Ultimate Detective, Kyoko Kirigiri.

For a workaholic such as her, the current research she was doing was as close as she came to having a hobby. She wasn't working on an assignment or a case anyone was paying her for. Instead, she was diving into the records of unsolved cases, from her own agency and those of others. From her perspective, this was both useful as a development exercise for her talent and a service she could offer to others. Plus, it was, in some ways, relaxing to investigate a case that had no stakes for her in its resolution.

Rather than hanging out with friends, the cool, lavender-haired beauty was spending her downtime clicking through various articles and digital papers online, poring over physical media, and jotting notes in her personal notebook. Her hands flew between the keyboard and her notepad with practiced ease, noting every detail that stood out, organizing them into webs on the page.

Right now, she had a lot of clues and not a lot of webs.

The detective sighed and leaned back in her chair. She was thankful for the solitude this place offered. In public, she had to project the constant appearance of having everything together: inspiring confidence in her abilities was something she saw as a necessary part of her job. Reliability allowed others to confide in her, and having them do so meant she could get information she needed.

All of this was to say that the opportunity to be human, to stretch and sigh and struggle in a case away from the eyes of others, was valuable to her. If there was ever a case she'd struggled on before, it was this. She was going off less of an unsolved cases file and more of a tall tale... A tall tale that existed only in a one-page file from her own agency, as far as she could tell.

"'Popups... Pink Objects of Perverted Unaware Performance,'" Kyoko read from the page without emotion. It read like a fabrication or a dumb prank, but the report included private details and verifiable outcomes that couldn't be ignored. No culprit was ever found in those incidents, and the "Popups" themselves were never recovered. The file was too thin, as though the detectives assigned had simply given up on investigating. With how cold this case was running, she could hardly blame them.

She supposed she wouldn't have the good luck that one of them would simply appear before her...

Kyoko looked both ways to confirm no one else was present, then removed one of her studded gloves to rub at her bleary eyes with her scarred, bare hand. She needed a break from her recreational activity. The detective picked up her notebook, intending to get her eyes off the screen and spend some time reviewing her notes. Hopefully, the neurons would begin firing-

As soon as she set her eyes on the pad, she froze in a cold sweat. Her sharp purple eyes, which she rarely let reflect her actual emotions, went wide.

The handheld notepad she was carrying wasn't her ordinary, clinical leather-bound pad, and it wasn't covered with bits and pieces of her day's research. Instead, it was a pink composition notebook, the kind that looked like it ought to be covered in some middle school student's stickers. It didn't have any writing on the cover.

Kyoko's braid cut the air as she turned her head this way and that, looking for who could have swapped out her notes. The thought of losing a day's progress on a personal project was far less concerning than the fact that someone had apparently approached her and swapped it without her knowing. Furthermore, it obviously wouldn't escape the detective's attention that the replacement book was pink. Whoever was messing with her was obviously very aware of what she was researching.

The detective had **** but to open the book and find out what she was dealing with. She did so with a gloved hand in front of her mouth and nose, cautiously. In fact, out of an abundance of caution, as she slowly opened the book and found no trap, she concluded by throwing it open across the desk. Anyone looking at her would probably think she'd gone mad as she ducked under a desk, but she wasn't going to become a bomb victim just for the sake of appearances.

No gas, no explosion. Still not feeling reassured, Kyoko rose to her feet and glided across the carpeted floor of the computer lab. As she saw the page that the book had opened to, she felt the pit of her stomach drop.

The writing in this notebook... it was her handwriting! The pages were decorated with glossy, colorful stickers of question marks, but the writing was in her own steady, familiar hand. She brought the page close to her eyes reflexively, staring at the words she couldn't remember putting to page.

The Popup is targeting me. It's changing me in ways I don't understand.

To fight it, I'm trying to make a record of important details about myself. It's the only way I can hold on to who I am.

My name should be Kyoko __________.

My hair should be ____________________.

My gloves should be __________________.

The sentences each terminated in a smudge, as if something had been erased. Reading and interpreting eraser marks ought to have been child's play for the accomplished detective, but there were too many overlapping marks.

So, something supernatural was happening...?

Hardly. People could move silently. Handwriting could be forged. Someone found out she was researching the history of Popups and was targeting her, either for a prank or to scare her into giving up on looking further. Kyoko found herself intrigued by the latter. If someone was targeting her, that probably meant she was onto something.

Still... it was bothering her to see her name half-completed on the page. "If this is a challenge, I'll accept it," she spoke to the empty library around her. Perhaps seeing her own genuine writing next to the forgery would lend some insight, regardless. Keeping her defenses up, her senses sharp, and her head cool, Kyoko took her pencil to finish filling in the name as a declaration.