To Pretend

Mondo

There's a lot that goes on when in a killing game. People try and stay calm but what few people realise is that no matter how relaxed someone seems there's always a boiling point. And people who don't know there's a boiling are the ones that are the most dangerous.

Mondo Owada is aware of this fact - nobody becomes a biker gang leader by being ignorant to how people work. He's seen a rail-thin, freckled teen smack a bottle over a grown man's head until there was blood. He'd been such a nice dude, docile as anything up until that point but that day just wasn't a good day. Things went bad, kid got arrested and the man got taken to the hospital.

Mondo isn't sure what the man had to do with the outburst, whether it was wrong place, wrong time or if the man had done something but either way, it was a grim sight. Nobody from the gang knew that scrawny boy had it in him but it had taught all a valuable lesson.

Even the sweetest snap and the worst thing is they usually don't have the tools to deal with it. People who've had behavioural or anger issues as a kid usually get noticed, they get recommended breathing exercises, school mandated counselling, et cetera...

This isn't to say it works. Mondo is still as much of a hair trigger as he was as a kid. The only thing he'd managed to do was turn the violent tendencies into volume most of the time. Instead of hitting people immediately, he shouts and huffs and maybe sometimes he still hits people but not as much as he used to.

His dorm room in Hope's Peak makes him angry. There's nothing wrong with it per say but the copies of his usual clothes filling the wardrobe makes him want to scream and see how far he can get his hand into the wall's plaster if he runs his fist through it.

That's a bad thought, he thinks. The stuffed bear would probably use it as an excuse to meddle.

It's ridiculous how a glorified teddy can tell them what to do. They're Ulimates and this is humiliating! There's fifteen-

Twelve. Twelve of them. It's easy to forget sometimes, that three of them got killed. Not because their deaths don't matter, they're ingrained into his memory, but because it feels surreal.

He'd never really talked to Junko or Sayaka but he had spoken with Leon once and he had seemed like a nice guy: a sweet guy.

Sleeping will be difficult, Mondo knows. It's past curfew but maybe some tea will help.

He pulls on a pair of trousers, doesn't bother with a shirt and starts the trek from his room to the kitchen.

Mondo's bare feet are quiet against the floor and he walks quickly. He may be a big guy but the threat of someone possibly wanting to kill someone puts even him on edge. Being completely relaxed would be dangerous, giving an attacker the upper hand.

Walking through the cafeteria is the most unsettling part though. Its large area means no exit is too close by and the tables would make for nasty obstacles if a fight broke out.

There's noise coming from the kitchen: it sounds like squeaking. Mondo can smell something too, something sweet and something else that's almost bitter.

The smart decision would be to walk away. Not even just walk away but to quietly and swiftly bolt in the other direction and lock himself in his room.

Mondo almost does that until the face of Leon flashes in his mind and he wonders who else would end up unwillingly playing Monokuma's twisted game. Maybe it would be Makoto, who was almost framed in the last trial and would break under the stress. Or Yasuhiro, who's been anxious and scared since this all started - maybe it'd be an accident.

It could be Chihiro, who wouldn't be able to run or fight - whose only way of protecting herself would be to kill so her attacker can't get up again and finish the job.