Danganronpa Secret File Makoto Naegi's Worst Day Ever

Part 15

Vroooooooooooooooom.

Without bothering to say goodbye, Jutarou sped off on the red motorbike. He’d ridden motorbikes in the past, but this was, of course, his first time on a mailbike. The difference, he discovered, was insignificant. The only real problem was that it stood out. He considered stealing the postman’s uniform, but he didn’t have time for that. His number one priority was getting away. Once he had put some distance between himself and the people on the bus, then he could worry about acquiring a less conspicuous means of transportation.

“H-Hey! Stop!” the mailman shouted, running after the speeding bike.

The pain in his neck seemed to have vanished.

Makoto had managed to step off the bus, but that was as far as he got.

He stood on the street, watching the scene unfold in silence. All he could think about was that he wanted nothing more to do with any of this. He didn’t necessarily want Jutarou to escape, he just couldn’t think of any reason he needed to continue to be involved in the situation. At worst, Jutarou would get caught and hold a grudge against him.

Compared to what might happen if he did keep chasing after Jutarou, Makoto thought that was the best course of action. That was the perfectly normal conclusion his abnormally average high-school mind reached. He was no hero, just a regular high-school boy—or at least he was in that moment.

Makoto Naegi wanted nothing more than for the entire incident to tie itself up somewhere he wasn’t. Which is why he just stood there as Jutarou sped away.

It’s all over, he thought, letting out a heavy sigh. Things can go back to normal now. My boring, peaceful everyday life. The tension in his muscles slowly began to release—and just seconds later, he bore witness to something he could hardly believe.

Out of nowhere, Jutarou’s stolen motorbike flipped over.

Huh? What?

Before his mind had time to process what he was seeing, an intense roar filled the air—the sound of an explosion.

Makoto trembled, and then braced himself. His eyes were partly blocked by his own hands, but he could still see the overturned mailbike spewing black smoke and orange flames.

What? What? What?

Things were making less and less sense. He stood there, stupefied, staring at the blaze.

“N-No!” shouted the mailman, bringing Makoto back to his senses. The mailman rushed over toward the burning motorbike, and that was when Makoto finally realized that what he was seeing was actually happening.

He gulped, then muttered inaudibly, “What the...” As if the flames had their own gravity, Makoto was drawn to the wreckage. He stumbled forward along the street. A few uncertain steps later, his foot collided with something.

A burst aluminum can rattled across the asphalt. The can was folded inward, as though it had been stepped on.

There were skid marks on the road near the crushed can.

“...Ah.”

Memories came flooding back to him. The ripped plastic grocery bags.