Danganronpa Secret File Makoto Naegi's Worst Day Ever

Part 13

Normally, yes, but the situation they were in was anything but normal.

In the pressure of the moment, the driver had forgotten to set the E-brake when Jutarou forced him out of his seat, resulting in the day’s chain of bad luck continuing unbroken. The misfortune shattered his determination like a baseball crashing through a window, catching not just him, but everyone on the bus in its crossfire.

The bus continued to rocket forward, the outside world nothing but a blur through the windows. The roar of the engine, the howling of the wind, the screams of the passengers. A single voice rose up above the noise.

“The brakes, son! Step on the brakes!” cried the old man, bringing Makoto back to his senses. He lifted his foot off the gas, then slammed it back down on the pedal beside it. The bus screeched to a halt, and Makoto could have sworn the back end had risen into the air ever so slightly as it did.

Makoto shrieked as the bus threw him from the driver’s seat and into the aisle. On his way out, though, his hand hit something—a button on a panel beside the driver’s seat. As soon as he realized what he had done, a woman’s voic filled the bus.

“The doors are about to open. Please watch your step.”

The intercom clicked off, and then the bus’s door slid open.

Jutarou was the first to react. Jewel-filled bag in hand, he dashed to the front of the bus and leapt through the door.

“What are you doing, son?!” the old man shouted, still on the floor. “Go after him!” His face contorted in pain—evidently he wasn’t able to stand himself. He must have hurt something when he fell.

Makoto, who was lying on his back beneath the bar separating the driver’s seat from the aisle, could see the old man looking straight at him, but it took Makoto a few seconds to realize the man’s words were directed at him.

“Get moving, son!” the bearded man said, and it finally clicked.

“Huh? Me?”

“Yes you! Who do you think let him get away?!”

Who do I think let him get away? Does he mean me? he thought, perplexed. The passengers were all looking at him expectantly. Makoto was dumbfounded. They seriously want me to go after him? He desperately looked around the bus, trying to find the driver. He figured that if anyone would go after the thief, the driver would, but the driver was unconscious, slouched against the back seat. He must have hit his head when Makoto had slammed on the brakes.

This was seriously not Makoto Naegi’s lucky day.

“O-Oh god...” Makoto muttered, his face twisting in fear and nervousness.
“Don’t worry,” the old man said, pointing to the army knife under the seat beside him. “He’s unarmed!”

The man was right—that was the knife Jutarou had been holding earlier. Which meant he was, in fact, unarmed.

But that didn’t change a thing; Makoto was just as unarmed. Assuming he would be fine simply because neither of them had a weapon was ridiculous. If the two of them ended up brawling, Makoto was at a clear disadvantage physically—a fact he knew all too well.

Don’t worry? How exactly am I supposed to do that? Makoto complained at the old man in his mind. But as he cursed, he climbed to his feet and headed toward the door. He was practically in a frenzy by that point, his body moving all on its own without any concern for the consequences. How else could he have not succumbed to such an outrageous chain reaction of misfortune, accepting it for what it was?