Small problem..

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You wake up groggily, laying next to your beloved Junko.

She tightened her grip. And you kissed her, before slipping from bed to a dining hall of sorts. You see Kotoko Utsugi, Monaca, and some other children. Kotoko was from a model agency your dad worked for. He was a horrible man. You ate pancakes prepared by a white haired boy. He was creepy.

Kotoko and Monaca talked about despair, and then your beloved walked in, and took your spot. And you sat in her lap while she rolled her finger through your hair. She ate, while you rested your eyes in her lap.

She carries you back to your room and you cuddle, watching more movies. She wraps her arm about your waist, kissing your head.

Mukuro walks in, clearly to the anger of your beloved. She speaks up. "The movement went successful. The traitor you prepared is dead. It's almost time to fake my death." She said, before replying. "Genocide Jack seems too aware of what we're doing..should we take her out."

Junko reply's. "Do what you want my dear sister, as long as our plan works."

Mukuro, with a nod walks out. You fall asleep on Junko's warm lap, hearing an arguement between Junko and Monaca. "Your not my successor and you never will be, you stupid brat."  She yells, and then Junko walks back into your room. She sees your awake and sit next to you, kissing your head.

"My apologies you had to see that my darling." She says, brushing your head.

You say it wasn't a big deal. She nods, saying you were always so forgiving. The creepy servant came in. "My apologies, but Junko is needed somewhere else." He said. Junko sighed before sitting up. She walks out, blowing you a kiss. You fall back asleep.

Junko slowly wakes you up. "Baby, wake up." She says kissing your forehead. "What?" You say sleepily. She says. "Come on, its time."

She grabs your hand and you stand up. "We're going to survive, right?" You say. She nods. "Mukuro's going to open the secret hatch and the class trial room will explode, killing them all."

You nod.


You both walk to the room. 


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