Faces. Expressions covered in shadows, they surrounded her in the darkness, spouting words of hate and mockery. Every syllable, every movement of the tongues was fueled by pure detestation. The sounds charged the air, merciless in their assault as they congealed in the air until the oxygen felt as thick as water in her throat.

It was too much. Fukawa lay in the center, her body curled up in a feeble attempt to ward off the endless accusations and insults. Her eyes were clenched shut, and she wanted nothing more than to cover her ears and make the torture stop, but she couldn't let go of the one escape she still had.

Flimsy pages, wrinkled and covered in scrawls of ink, were clutched tightly to her chest. She didn't need to read it to know the words written upon it. Her thoughts, her emotions, her pain, all were contained on the papers. They accepted each letter without question, without judgment; her only friends in a cruel, pitiless world.

She couldn't breathe. She was drowning, drowning in despair, with everyone watching but nobody helping. Hands grabbed for those pages that held her very soul, heedless of the gashes and slices their claws inflicted upon her defenseless form.

Paper, cloth, and skin ripped in their assault, but that wasn't enough. They wanted more more more, they wanted to watch her scream and suffer…

Fukawa sprang up in bed, her chest heaving and sweat sliding down her forehead and cheeks. For a moment, she was stuck in between the realm of dreams and reality, fearing that she was still in danger of the faces and hands.

Then came the unmistakable jingle announcing that it was morning. She looked up at the screen stationed on her wall, where Monokuma announced that it was morning. She never thought that she would find his high pitched voice so welcoming.

Not bothering to listen—it would be strange if she didn't know each word by now—she released a deep breath and reached for the glasses on her nightstand. She placed the spectacles on her nose, pushed off her blankets, and swung her legs around to the side of the bed.

Fukawa walked over to her desk, covered in papers and notebooks filled with her writing. In the center of the mess, to which only she could make sense of, was the autobiography she had started the previous day. She brushed her fingers across the first page, relieved to see that they were safe and not in tatters like in her nightmare.

She briefly thought about blaming Naegi for the unpleasant dream. He was the one who suggested that she write about her own experiences, and delving into her painful past must have triggered the memories that poisoned her dream. But she couldn't deny the weight that had lifted from her shoulders when she had been confiding her darkest flashbacks to the paper yesterday. That sense of liberation was worth more than enough to convince her that she should be thanking him, not accusing him.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she freshened up in the bathroom to prepare herself for the day. Once the daily routine was finished, she started toward the door but then hesitated.

She had not had such a bad nightmare since before she had arrived at the academy. Even though she knew she was safe for the moment, the petrifying agony had faded into a dreaded darkness that still lingered in the back of her mind.

Her hand twitched. Fukawa felt the urge to write, wanting to banish the gloomy thoughts with a happier fictional world, but she needed to wait for Togami in the hallway. Almost every morning she made it a point to wait outside his room so that she could follow him to the cafeteria. She wouldn't waste an opportunity to be with her prince over something like this; anything she created could never compare to his brilliance.

However, she knew that when she started writing she entered a state where she noticed nothing else around her. She didn't want to miss Togami if he were to pass her by while she was in that zone. Ignoring her White Knight would be unforgivable!

Still, she knew that the ball of loneliness and unhappiness still nestled in her chest would lighten if she allowed herself the reprieve. And she did usually have to wait nearly an hour before he left his room anyway…

She grabbed a notebook and a sharpened pencil before walking out the door.

Fukawa immediately headed to the door across and to the left of her own room. She glanced down the hallway before sitting down against the wall. Everyone else usually left their dorms before this time, so there was no need to worry about being in the way of someone else.

She pulled her knees up to use as a surface for her notebook and gripped the wooden pencil. Her hand hovered over the lined paper for a moment, unsure of what she wanted to write.

She didn't want to continue her autobiography at the moment—she wanted to forget about the bad memories, not think about them more. She didn't particularly want to finish the current scene of her current fictional novel, either. But she could take advantage of her sentiments to create a different scene applying to the main heroine of the book.

She wrote the first few words slowly, the letters careful and deliberate as her mind mulled over the idea stemming from the emotions she had previously tried to erase.

Allowing the feelings to fester, Fukawa developed a situation at first similar to her own, and then altered it to become a circumstance specifically for the character. She poured her emotions through the soft lead and onto the paper, shifting her thoughts and feelings to match that of the protagonist's point of view.

The letters became sloppier and more slanted as her writing pace increased in an attempt to match the sentences forming in her head. She only paused when she accidentally misspelled a word in her rush or thought of something better, to which she would quickly mark it out with a dark line and write the improvised version beside it.

Fukawa's surroundings faded into the background. Words accompanied by images and feelings flashed before her mind's eye, taking precedence over the reality around her. Nothing mattered except for the narrative unfolding with each mark of her pencil.

Her own worries and fears were pushed to the back of her mind to make way for the fictional world, one where evil was punished and the main character always had a happy ending. She knew that she was in control and had nothing to fear, for only the paper knew her story.

Accusations, insults, rude gestures; she had seen them so often that she had come to expect them. But that didn't mean she had become numb to them.

Writing was her outlet. When it all became too much and the emotions bubbling up inside of her needed somewhere to vent, she always had the comfort of a pencil and paper to rely on. The page accepted all of her hate and sadness without question and without judgment. It was the one thing that she could completely trust her innermost thoughts to. Her stories spoke to her, convinced her that maybe one day she will be able to have her White Knight and her own fairy tale ending.

Togami opened his bedroom door, muscles tensing just the slightest out of instinct. He had had too many encounters with a certain serial killer to be completely at ease when going through doors or around corners in the wretched school. He despised that natural slip in his confidence, but since no one except for Genocider Syo herself saw it, he accepted it as a necessary caution.

A few moments passed before he deemed it safe to step out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him and turned away to see Fukawa sitting beside the door.

He prepared to walk away, but paused when he realized that she hadn't looked up. He entertained the thought of just continuing on his way without her—he could finally have a peaceful, stalker-free walk again. However, he found himself rooted to where he stood, curiosity piqued at the oddness of the situation.

The rational part of his mind questioned the decision. This was clearly an opportunity to finally have some free time to himself, and yet he wasn't taking it. Did he want to know what was keeping her so calm, so he could possibly find a way to use it to his advantage when he wanted her to leave him alone? He had never seen her like this before. He knew that she couldn't always act the way she did when he was around, but he had never bothered to wonder what she would be like otherwise. Did he…actually want to know more about her?

Togami quickly dismissed the last thought as if it had never happened. The only person who mattered in his life was himself. He had no need to better know another person. It was simply a study to gather information, nothing more.

Sparing no further energy on the question, he began to observe the subject. Fukawa sat on the ground, using her upper legs to support the notebook she was writing in. This image of her shouldn't have surprised him. After all, she was a bestselling author, so it should have been expected. But the drastic change in her demeanor threw him off guard.

Her relaxed face remained calm, a far cry from the disgusting, giddy grins and nervous thumb biting he had come to expect. Fluctuating emotions glimmered in her pale eyes, as if she was the fictional character she wrote about. Her hand methodically scrawled across the page, never hesitating or second guessing. Whenever she made an error, instead of blaming herself and breaking down, she would stop long enough to draw a mark through it and moved on.

This creature—no, person—exhibited confidence, a word that he never thought he would associate with the typically timid and antisocial Fukawa.

She wasn't being pitifully self-deprecating or feeling hopelessly flustered. Her hand glided over the paper with surety, each word carefully chosen to express the emotions she would never dare to share with another human.

His focus shifted to examine the writing itself. Purposefully picked verbs and descriptive adjectives embellished the simple scene, the words appealing to the senses to paint an image in the reader's mind. Her grammar and punctuation was perfect, with the few exceptions where she altered something to emphasize a point. Her writing style was common but effective; she described the landscape, illustrated the protagonist's emotions, and dipped into the character's thoughts at crucial times.

The prose stirred the seed of empathy in his heart, but he quickly quashed it before it grew into pity. Drawing emotions from him was a difficult feat few novels have ever accomplished.

Togami had never read any of her works before—he disliked the romance genre on principle. However, he couldn't deny that she had a talent for the written word.

Even more begrudgingly, he realized that this was the type of person he could learn to respect. Confident, poised, intelligent; all traits that he considered vital to survival. If she were like this more often, then he might have to recalculate her value to him.

His mind unhelpfully informed him that she already held the highest spot on his allies list.

An undignified yelp immediately followed by a thud startled Togami out of his musings. He turned to look down the hallway, and saw Hagakure in a heap at the entrance to the hallway. Had he fallen down the stairs and actually rolled all the way there?

Naegi came into view a few moments later, an exasperated expression on his face.

"You should have warned me about the stairs dude!" Hagakure complained, sitting up.

"I did." Naegi deadpanned as he stopped in front of him. "You just didn't hear me over your advertising."

"Really? My bad. But I'm telling you, my visions are totally worth the money!"

"Even if you had money, what could you do with it in here?" Naegi questioned.

Hagakure paused. "Um…well…there's nothing wrong with saving up for when we do get out of here."

With a sigh, Naegi held out his hand to help the other up. "Just listen to me next time you start walking backwards in front of me, alright?"

Hagakure accepted the gesture with a sheepish grin and stood. They started walking again, their voices fading as they headed farther away.

Resisting the urge to shake his head at the 'shaman''s clumsiness, Togami returned his attention to Fukawa.

Something between disappointment and irritation passed through him as he discovered that the calm moment had been mercilessly shattered.

For a moment, she simply sat there, frozen. She had looked up to watch the scene, similar to a deer in headlights by her wide eyes and the tense grip on her pencil. Once the voices of Naegi and Hagakure had dissipated into unintelligible sounds, she calmed slightly.

Then she noticed Togami standing a mere few feet away from her.

"T-Togami!" she exclaimed. Her pale face flushed a deep pink as she scrambled to stand, dropping her pencil and notebook in the process. Togami sighed, thoroughly annoyed at the change in atmosphere, and waited for her to pick up her belongings.

Flustered, Fukawa spoke so swiftly that her words were almost incoherent as she stood back up again. "I-I'm so sorry, my White Knight, you were r-right next to m-me…and I ignored you like an arrogant little p-pest! I-I deserve punishment, much punishment, you should—"

"Quiet."

Fukawa closed her mouth immediately. He glanced down to her hands, where she held her notebook in a white-knuckled grip, almost as if she expected someone to try to yank it away from her. It didn't seem to be a conscious effort; all of her attention was on Togami now.

"How often do you write?" he questioned.

She blinked, and then a giddy smile lit up her features. "Y-You want to know something about insignificant, disgusting me? I am not w-worthy of you attention…and yet I have the honor—

Togami bit back a sigh. "Just answer the question."

"Every day." She seemed ready to say more, but stopped, realizing that that was all he had specifically ordered her to speak.

"You may elaborate." He conceded.

"I-I usually only write in my room, because I tend to zone out everyone else when I'm writing…and I can't s-stand the thought of missing any opportunity to be with you, my White Knight. I'm so wretched for d-doing something like that…like I just did…on a silly habit that could never c-compare to your magnificence!"

"Your work is obviously much more than a simple habit." Togami began. Fukawa cast her gaze downward at this, as if she expected some sort of reprimand to follow. "However, it seems to be one of the few things that you are willing to focus your attention on, other than me. It has also come to my knowledge that your writings are not the complete nonsense of an amateur."

Fukawa gazed up at him, disbelief gleaming in her eyes. "…wha…what…?"

"You have permission to write in my presence if you so please." he declared.

She beamed, her lean frame practically shaking in happiness. "Th-Thank you so much, White Knight! I will never forget your kindness to such a lowly peasant as myself!"

"Be sure that you don't. Dealing with your disgusting breath is a very taxing task that I will not do often." He stated before turning and walking down the hallway, not bothering to watch her enthusiastically nod in agreement.

Togami did not tell her where he was going. He did not tell her to follow. But he knew she would. She always did, and he no longer wasted time ordering her to stay away.

He ignored the voice in his mind that accused him of unwittingly putting trust in a person other than himself, a trait that he had always believed to be a downfall for those who held power.

Togami could not help wondering, as he headed down the hallway with a second pair of footsteps close behind, that if she stopped obsessing over him so mindlessly every once and a while, would his attitude toward her change?

He could only wait and see.

And until then, he would keep her around, if only for the sake of satisfying his curiosity.