Danganronpa Secret File Makoto Naegi's Worst Day Ever

Part 16

The scattered drinks. The fact that he hadn’t managed to gather everything he had lost.

And then it clicked.

The drink cans he dropped—at least one of them rolled out into the road, which he never ended up retrieving.

Jutarou, in his attempt to escape, ran over the can with the motorbike and lost his balance.

In other words, the catastrophe unfolding before him was, yet again, the result of Makoto’s bad luck. Just moments earlier, he had prayed he would have nothing more to do with the situation. And who knew, perhaps it had happened precisely because he had made that wish.

The number of coincidences that had been necessary to reach this point seemed almost fantastical. But that hadn’t stopped it from happening. As unrealistic as it felt, it was, in fact, reality. How “believable” it was didn’t matter—all that meant was that Makoto Naegi’s misfortune was strong enough to make it happen.

Jutarou lay unconscious on the ground a short distance from Makoto.

At a glance, he didn’t appear to be badly injured—physically, at least.

Emotionally, well, that was another story. He had most likely suffered a nearly fatal blow to his pride. The incident taught him a painful lesson: that no plan—no matter how intricately constructed—was any match for luck.

Jutarou Akafuku failed for one reason, and one reason only: Makoto Naegi’s bad luck was more powerful than his own good luck. Up against Makoto’s preposterously bad luck, Jutarou’s carefully laid plans were of no use. As desperately as he tried to eliminate chance as a factor, it was all in vain. No amount of hard work or raw talent was enough to overcome such an enormous, overwhelming degree of misfortune.

Everything he had believed up to that point had probably come crumbling down. When he finally woke up, he would probably do so with a renewed fear of luck. Moving forward, he would have to look at things differently—not only on jobs, but in his everyday life as well.

Meanwhile, the boy who caused all of this—the horribly unlucky high-school boy who inflicted those mental wounds upon him—let out a sigh and slumped his shoulders. He felt bad about what he had done, and what his actions had led to.

The postman’s motorbike continued to burn bright red in the street—and so did all the mail it had been carrying.

The mailman paced back and forth near the blaze, muttering, “O-Oh no... How could this happen?”

As he watched the mailman, Makoto felt even worse.

Soon after, he heard the sound of a siren blaring in the distance. He let out another sigh, listening to the siren draw near.

This next part isn’t going to be much fun, either, he thought, having a good idea of what laid ahead for him. And his prediction was right on the money.

“God,” he muttered. “Worst day ever.”

That day—that almost disgustingly beautiful day—was, without a doubt, the very worst day of Makoto Naegi’s life. However, he had still yet to learn the real reason that particular day was the worst day of his life. After all, the day’s greatest misfortune had not yet struck him—in fact, the gears had only just begun turning.