Danganronpa Secret File Makoto Naegi's Worst Day Ever

Part 10

The skies were clear, and he was feeling good, so he decided to take a different route home than usual. Passing by a park along the way, he ran into a classmate, who invited him to participate in a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to buy snacks for everyone. As luck would have it, Makoto lost in a single round, and on his way back with the goods, both plastic bags broke open, spilling the drinks and food all over the sidewalk and street. While collecting the scattered drinks, he met an old man on a bench, and after a short conversation, the man left. But he forgot his phone, and Makoto chased him onto this bus in an attempt to return it. In another stroke of bad luck, he tripped over his own feet and grabbed onto something attempting to catch his balance.

And that was how it had happened.

Even after retracing his steps, the situation still didn’t make much sense. There were jewels scattered on the floor of the bus around him, and a perfectly normal-looking businessman was holding an army knife above his head.
“No problem. There’s nothing to worry about,” the businessman— Jutarou Akafuku—muttered to himself. He appeared to be thinking very hard about something. “I just have to formulate another plan and then go through with it and everything will be just fine.”

“E-Excuse me,” Makoto said hesitantly, intending to apologize to the man standing over him. He had no idea if it was the right thing to do in that situation—his mind was too fried to make that call.

The next second, the man with the knife was glaring down at Makoto.

His voice left him. Those were not the eyes of a hardworking businessman—they were the cold, harsh eyes of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to cause others harm for his own benefit.

“Could I get you to stand up for me, please?” Jutarou asked gently. His voice and his eyes gave two very different impressions.

“...What?”

“I said, would you please stand up?” he repeated, and in that very same moment, Makoto found himself with a knife mere centimeters from his forehead. All Makoto had managed to see was Jutarou begin to lean forward, and the next thing he knew, he was staring down the blade of the man’s weapon. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” he asked, slowly lifting the knife pointed at Makoto’s head.

As the knife rose, so too did Makoto’s body—as though the two were connected by an invisible string. His teeth were rattling audibly.

Without moving his head, he threw his gaze around the inside of the bus, begging for help with his eyes. But the passengers just sat there, frozen, faces pale as sheets. Even if he had been able to form words, to ask them for help directly, he could tell that nobody would have come to his aid.

Accept it for what it is.

Again, the bearded man’s words echoed in the back of Makoto’s mind. But it was futile. How in the world was he supposed to “accept” this preposterous situation at face value? He hadn’t the slightest idea. And the man who had given him those words showed no sign of coming to his rescue—in fact, his head was drooped down and his eyes shut.

Is he pretending to be asleep?

Unbelievable. Did he seriously think he’d be able to fake-sleep his way out of this?

While Makoto’s mind was busy occupying itself with unimportant trivialities—“Come on, get moving,” Jutarou said, shoving Makoto from behind.