Danganronpa Extra Life

Therapist

Chiaki sorely wished she hadn't put off reading those extra notes. But she'd been too depressed to read them after Kamukura-kun left, and then it had been the next day, and suddenly she had an appointment at 10 AM she hadn't prepared for. She scanned them on the subway ride over, toast jammed in her mouth, brain shifting through stock phrases and techniques to form some kind of game plan. Still, when she walked into the office, she felt the kind of dread that came from going up against a tough boss without any proper equipment.

The office was not hers, or at least not hers alone. It was set aside for the interns to share, and so none of them could personalize it. Therefore, it was rather plain, with beige wallpaper, cushy white chairs and couches, and a desk. Chiaki sat behind it, fingers jittering against her leg as she glanced at the clock. She wished she had one of her consoles to calm her down. She resisted the urge to take out her phone and play a mobile game—that wouldn't make a good first impression.

After a few minutes, the door opened and Nakajima Kanon strode in, exuding confidence and command. Her heavy makeup was garish under the room's bright lighting, and again Chiaki was reminded uncomfortably of Enoshima.

Swallowing down her nerves, Chiaki smiled at her. "Hi there! Make yourself at home. I'm Watanabe Keiko, therapist intern at the seventh branch, and—"

"They couldn't even get me a real therapist?" Nakajima-san interrupted, eyebrows pulling down into a deeper scowl as she sank onto the couch. "That's so wack."

From what the notes said, Nakajima Kanon had been brought in as a tense teenage bundle of anger, hate, grief, and confusion. While Hagakure-kun's report tried to paint her as nicely as possible, it had still admitted she held a dislike for the Future Foundation, and she'd been described as staring coldly at the employees on the helicopter ride back. With her arms crossed and body curled defensively into itself, that animosity seemed to have followed her in.

Antagonistic from the start went down on the paper, the pencil's movement sharp and jarring with restrained vexation. "I may not have a license, but I did study and work hard for this position. And I have plenty of resources and people to help me handle your case. So while I have zero experience, I am trained."

"Right..." The teenager fell silent. From her closed-off behavior to the way she seemed to be gauging Chiaki, it seemed Nakajima-san wouldn't be the first to talk. So it was up to her.

She exhaled, slowly, telling herself to lock away her issues. Diplomacy was important. Another breath, and—okay. Okay, she could do this. How to start? All the questions she should ask seemed too personal. Oh god, I'm going to mess up. "You don't seem very comfortable. Have you seen a counselor before? Or is there something in the room upsetting you, somehow?"

"No, I haven't, and no, there isn't."

She took a guess. "Then, is it because I'm with Future Foundation?"

Nakajima-san's eyes widened slightly. Then she nodded, face closed off.

Should she ask why? This was way too soon for that kind of question, wasn't it? She tried anyway.

For a very, very brief moment she saw Nakajima-san tense. Her hands curled into fists and her eyes flashed dangerously. She almost looked like she was considering attacking her. Chiaki swallowed, throat drying. Patients assaulting their therapists wasn't unheard of, and there was a panic button under her desk for if she ever felt in danger. She told herself she wouldn't need it, she'd learned self-defense for exactly this reason, but the report had painted Nakajima-san as such a strong warrior...would she really be able to protect herself? Despite herself, her finger strayed towards the button.

Then the younger girl visibly, forcibly exhaled. The tension in both their bodies drained away. "Mind your own business."

Okay. Sore subject, then. "Alright, we don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable."