Dangan Ronpa: Unser Sommerende/Can't Buy Me Love

Fresh air doesn’t guarantee a completely calm mind, but it’s much less obvious than a cup of tea, like the one that the Enemy of the People was drinking in front of me.

“You’re going to drink yours as well, yes?” Molly asked, setting her cup down and leering at me.

“I prefer coffee.”

“Well, all you had to do was inform me beforehand.” She picked up her drink and started drinking again, still locking eyes with me. There wasn’t that much activity in the school at half past six in the morning, especially in the courtyard’s garden, so the only sound accompanying her sips were the far-off calls of birds, followed by the soft hitting sound made by the cup being set down again, which would have been unnoticeable otherwise. “... You asked to meet up with me this morning for a reason. Would you mind getting on with it?”

“Why are you a maid?”

“How blunt.”

We stared in silence for a few seconds.

“Do I have to repeat myself?"

“No, not at all, I’m just surprised you take any interest in me. Unless you’re trying to figure out some sort of secret about my family or the upper cass in order to bring about total cataclysm, then-”

“If you need an explanation, I just don’t understand why a class enemy like you decides to labour in an occupation forced upon the working class. Just tell me why, and we’ll never have to talk again.”

The maid nodded insidiously, though she gained a distant look in her eyes, which was brought back to Earth as she finished her drink.

“Mostly to prove a point. I’m living, breathing proof that anything that peasants can do, those of a higher pedigree can excel in, and far more even the most competent worker of a lower class. Honestly? When I graduate, I’l probably never work another day as a maid. There’s no need for it, is there?”

Was she just saying this to be inflammatory? ‘No need’ for her to work... Bloody hell. If we weren’t in public, I would have just killed her then and there. How can she, after toiling the same way her ‘servants’ have to, continue to steal their labour without even a grain of dirt on her conscious? Was she even human?! She acted more like a soulless vampire, clad in excess extravagance, syphoning the blood and sweat of countless unfortunate victims... But why did she feel such a need to prove her ideas? If her family had stolen labour for a thousand years and none of her ancestors felt the need to prove themselves like that...

She had to be lying. There was no way she actually thought like this.

“Look, let’s be reasonable. There has to have been at least one person in history who was a better maid than you are.”

“Among the nobility? Perhaps. Even then, I’d be surprised.” Her little smirk is so punchable. “Besides, I’ve already cleaned and maintained countless mansions single-handedly in the past, enough to put entire teams of maids out of a job for a day or two. So I don’t think ‘Ultimate Maid’ is too far off a title... But we haven’t witnessed a single revolution around here, have we?”

“And that’s because of people like you! If there weren’t oppressive structures that the rich benefited from and maintained, there wouldn’t even be a need for a revolution, and as long as the general populace tolerates the attitudes that you espouse... That system will never change.”

“It’s quite bold of you to assume that change is inherently good.”

“... Ugh, alright, so you’re telling me that you don’t want anything to change ever, no matter what.”

“Ah, and now you’re assuming that I assume that change is inherently bad.”

“Well, do you?”

“Most of the time, yes, it’s bad.”

I tapped my finger on the table for a few seconds, wondering why I was still talking to her.

“Okay, so... Why is it bad?”

“Very simple; disruptions to the status quo usually leads to societal instability, which in turn threatens and damages the safety and power of the far more civilised portions of society.”

“... That’s the goddamn point, Molly...”

“Well, call me the devil for not wanting to become the next Anastasia.”

Okay, I couldn’t say that I hadn’t pictured her death by firing squad at least once. It was a bit unhealthy, I’ll admit, even if I never let anyone see the dart-ridden photo of her I pinned to my wall. Again, I had trouble wondering if she was a human or, as she put it, ‘the devil’. Just... The fact that someone like her even existed, and was so upfront about her warped idea of society... She was one of my biggest motivators to get my job done, okay? Don’t judge. She probably liked to imagine me hanging from the gallows, anyway. Although, considering that she was trying to convince me of her viewpoint through diplomatic conversation, maybe I could do the same?

“I mean, we don’t have to try and kill one another, okay?” I said, though it felt like an obvious lie. “The fact that we’re even having a semi-calm discussion is proof enough of that. So if you just listen to me, and try to keep an open mind about what I tell you, then-”

“Oh good heavens, would you look at the time!~” The girl scanned her phone for less than a second, before looking at me as she daintily stood up. “I have an appointment, so if you’ll excuse me-”

“Hold on.” I said with an exacerbated tone. “Can we at least talk later via text, just to test each other’s ideas? Please?”

“I prefer written communication.”

“But you just took out a phone-”

“Toodaloo!~”

In spite of my expectations, Robin did actually write a letter to me. It was excessively long, spanning a few pages, which was remarkable, considering that it was the afternoon of the same day we had our little chat. He was certainly a quick essay-writer, yes, but most of the writing was poppycock. The arguments that I understood generally boiled down to ‘rich people bad, kill them’, or at least that’s the impression I had. I wrote an eloquent response to each point, but the letter I received the next day only said that my handwriting was too intricate to be legible. It’s funny, honestly, he’s so well versed in literature that reinforces his theories, and yet he’s so uneducated that he doesn’t understand secretary hand cursive with latin phrases interspaced!

Even so, his effort was admirable. Reading his honest attempts to convince me was ever so charming, although it was odd how much he seemed to care about my thoughts. Well, surely he didn’t want to kill me, seeing how far he was willing to go to change my mind.

So... What did he want?

There were plenty of less resistant folks he could bring to his side. You only need so many people to stage a rebellion, according to his letter, so surely he was wasting his time trying to wear me down. Of course, I’m no mind reader, so I decided to discuss it with Renée.

Yes, Renée... She was a maid working at the Devon household, and she had been there as long as I could remember. In many ways, she was my informal mentor, so you all have her to thank for allowing me to bless the world with my talents.

She was also the only person from that life who treated me like a human.

So, we met in a café, closeby to the school, and a pleasant one at that. Yes, the Café Éblouissante was certainly-

“Molly,” Renée promptly said, “You’re getting lost in thought again.”

“My word. I was just absorbing the surroundings, there’s no rush to talk.”

“Didn’t you say you visit this shop regularly?”

“Yes, and for good reason, it’s so pleasant.”

Renée was a tall woman, though I towered over her nonetheless, most unfortunately. Her bright yellow eyes were adorned with a few wrinkles underneath, but she was by no means geriatric, still full of youth well into her fifties. In fact, there wasn’t a grey hair to be found, it was all black and serene as ever-

“Oh, Molly, you always have your head in the clouds.”

“I-I most certainly do not! Nobody else tells me such things, you’re simply being impatient.”

She just shook her head in response, saying “How soon we forget. If I hadn’t taught you to be attentive and brief in anything you do, I don’t believe you would be in the academy to begin with.”

“But I’m off work...” I whined, humbled to high heaven.

“Well I’m sure you have plenty of time to say what’s on your mind.”

“Yes yes, I’ll get to it.”

As our tea arrived (it was almost as good as my tea!), I explained the interactions me and Robin had, whether civilised or uncivilised. Renée nodded every now and then as I talked, keenly absorbing each piece of information, yet never giving away her thoughts or emotions.

“All I’m sure of is that there’s some sort of ulterior motive here. Why on Earth is he trying to convince me of all people? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Mm.” She paused, finished her tea, and grabbed the edge of the table, leaning towards me and whispering. “Listen... This situation may be far more serious than you think. The impression this boy gives me is that he’s a spy, though I can’t say for whom. Although he sounds well versed in his ideology, his conviction is cartoonish to the degree that it seems like a ruse... A ruse designed to get the attention of rich, upper-class nobles who feel threatened by that sort of rhetoric. Whoever he’s working for is most likely looking for an easy way into the Devon fortune, so they’re out to get as much info as they can on the family and security of their home.”

“Deary me, please calm down, you’re reminding me of that paper hat girl from my class.”

She sighed, and eased her lean a smidgen. “I just want you to be cautious, okay? You’ve lived a very sheltered life, Molly, you wouldn’t know a swindler if he waggled your purse in your face. Besides, if this boy really is genuine in his beliefs...” Her lean went back a bit further, and she looked to the side in hesitation. “Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Molly.” She said in a quiet but forceful voice, that stabbing tone that she’d always bring out to put me in my place. “It’s impolite to dismiss everything a person has to say. This boy’s listened to everything you’ve told him so far, and you’ll give him the same respect. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, miss.” I whimpered.

“Besides, if it turns out that his motivations aren’t to simply sap money out of your family’s pocket, then it could actually be something far more benign, but far more... Aha, I shouldn’t.” She raised a hand to her chin, with an odd smile, deeply invested in whether to continue talking.

“Yes?... I won’t judge you for whatever you’re thinking, after all, you said it’s benign, didn’t you?”

“Hehehe.”

“... Okay, now you’re just being strange. If you really shouldn’t tell me, then you would have known not to bring it up in the first-” I gasped without warning, funnily enough, I was caught off guard by my own reaction to what had just clicked into place in the nooks and crannies of my mind. I lightly raised my voice as I felt my cheeks heat up and said “There’s not a single chance that this boy is... ‘Interested’ in me, okay?! Don’t even suggest that!”

“What? I never said anything~”

“Ka-shwah!”

With a flourish, the report was held high in the air by the bright-eyed Charlie, his beaming face hugged by that iconic blonde bob cut that jostled whenever he walked. His uniform was kept neat - not the same type of uniform as mine, but the uniform prescribed by Wish’s Apex for the Reserve Course Students. While none of them had any particular talent, their families were more than able to afford the steep fees to send their children to the school, in order to take a more standardised curriculum. Just another way personal success is tied to the wealth you’re born with in our broken society... Despite his background, Charlie was more than in-tune to the class struggle, and worked to relay messages from our various rebel organisations and societies. The school mandated that I don’t “commit treason” during my studies, so without him, I’d be cut off from every comrade in the country.

“We’ve compiled all the info we can find on our target! Here it is, sir!”

“Again, you don’t need to call me sir, but thanks.”

As soon as he gave it to me, and I unwrapped it from the unnecessary coil he’d shaped it into, he walked behind me and stood on the tips of his shoes, trying to look over my shoulder and read the report with me. Bloody hell...

“You know this is classified information, right, Charlie?”

“Yep! That’s why I didn’t read it on the way here.”

“But you’re reading it now.”

“Yep, yep, so... Can you declassify it, please?”

“Okay, fine, it’s not like you’ll be revealing it to anybody...”

The report was finely detailed, pleasingly formatted, and opened with the physical statistics of the Enemy of the People: as it turns out, Molly Devon is one-hundred-and-eighty-three centimetres tall, her sex is male, and her blood type is A-.

... Wait a minute.

“Charlie, maybe you really should have read this before showing it to me. They’ve obviously made a mistake here.”

“Yeah, I think you have a point... What kind of guy’s named ‘Molly’?”

“No, I mean the - you’ve seen Molly before, right? She goes to the same bleeding school as us.”

“Ohhhh, this is about THAT Molly Devon? Huh...” As I glanced back at him, I saw his brow furrow. “Why are we spying on her? I get that she’s a rich pig, but what do we need this info for?”

“Th-that’s not something you need to know. My point is, labelling Molly as a male is a massive oversight, so tell everyone to double-check their reports for once, okay?”

“Yes, sir!”

For once, I didn’t tell him not to call me that - aside from the fact that I had to focus in and try to actually read and remember everything, I was also starting to genuinely consider Charlie’s question. I assumed that having more information on Molly would give me a better idea of her personality and history, and make it easier to show her the error of her ways. As I read through the document, the high level of detail started to seem less and less useful for the purpose of convincing her, as it was very structured and professional, giving me her residency, relations, even her habits of communication - for some reason, she never writes to her parents. Other than that, the report definitely told me what Molly is, but not who Molly is. So... Why did I read it all the way to the end?

“Gee, that was dry.” Charlie commented as I slid the paper into a folder. “Dunno why I even bothered reading that.”

“Me neither, honestly.”

“Wait, but you requested it, right? If anyone knew why this report exists, it’d be you, sir.”

I shook my head in dismissal, and put the folder away, before sitting on the edge of my bed. Charlie continued to stand there, waiting for me to say something, so I patted part of the bed next to me, and as he understood the signal and sat down, I turned my head to the dart-filled printed profile of Molly that I seemed to stare at a bit too often. “... Why do you think she’s like that?”

“Why she’s full of herself and openly classist? You know why, it’s because of oppressive structures benefitting her and isolating her from the...” He stopped mid-sentence, and I saw him lean closer to me out of the corner of my eye. “Oh... You mean, why is she super pretty?”

I snorted and smiled a little. I definitely knew I mean the first thing, and not the second thing, but ah, she’s kind of pretty... To him. “What, have you got a crush on her?”

“Have you?”

“Nope, she drives me crazy, but like, angry crazy. I think she drives you crazy, too.”

“With anger, yeah?”

“Um, sure.”

“Wh-what do you mean, ‘sure’?” I felt myself sweat as I turned to face him.

“Well, you wanted all this info on her, and got disappointed when it was really dry and unentertaining. If this was about some operation involving her personal details, I’d think you’d be pretty satisfied with what was in it, but I think you were looking for something else?”

“No."

“No?”

“We aren’t going to discuss this.”

“Aww, I’m sorry.” He said, with an overly glum voice. The boy leaned forward, hands cupped over his cheeks, but his eyes didn’t look sad to me. “I can tell it means a lot to you, so we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Bugger off.”

“Alright, hehe, I’ll head off if you need me to. Bye, sir!” He saluted as he snickered, and left promptly. I’m still not used to dealing with someone so nonchalant, but since there’s no other method of contact, I guess I’m stuck with him. I sigh, and look at that picture of Molly one more time.

I mean, yes, she’s definitely attractive, sure. But that’s not why I’m trying to change her mind about things, of course. And it’s definitely not because of her cute little flower, which is apparently a Philadelphus Coronarius, which I only know since she mentioned it in one of her letters. Don’t ask me why I remember it.

Damn, now I’m staring at the picture again.

... There’s no way she’s actually a guy, right?

Knockity knock, someone was at my door. Nothing else to do but let them in, no?

... Wh... Robin stood just outside my door, avoiding my gaze, tightly gripping a bouquet of Philadelphus Coronarius, perfectly vertical as if it were a rifle.

“Hi.”

“... Now what on Earth is the meaning of this?”

“What does it look like?”

“H-how am I supposed to know?!”

“With your eyes.”

“... Ugh...” I cross my arms, and I start to look off to the side along with him. “If you’re supposed to be asking me out, then you should maybe stop being so rude.”

“I’m not asking you out.”

“Oh, so this is an assassination attempt? About time.”

“See, you’re being sarcastic too now...!”

“Who knows, you could have poisoned the flowers.”

“You eat flowers?”

“N-no I don’t.”

We both pause, as I tap my foot, slowly mustering the courage to look at him again. He has the same cross expression that he usually has, an unfortunate resting face, certainly, but it made it more difficult to really read him. I swear, this boy should’ve become a talented poker player instead...

I huff, and adjust my ribbon as I catch my wandering thoughts. “So, this is just a non-romantic gift from a friend, shall we say?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Yes, yes, okay, come in.”

We set out a table, he placed the bouquet in a vase, and I made tea, though out of courtesy and nothing else. We sat, as we did days ago in the garden, and we dwelled. Nothing to say, only flowers and tea.

So I just look at him. Well, he has... Eyes. And a mouth. Nose, ears, he’s... A person. He’s not ugly, definitely not. He’s... Yes, he’s there.

... Oh no no no no no, I like him, don’t I?! That’s not fair! I’m not supposed to like him, it’s unthinkable! I should have just turned him down the moment I saw him with those flowers, how could I let denial get the better of me? B-but no, I don’t like him. I can’t like him, right? Because this isn’t a date. He said that himself. Everything is fine!

“Molly, I need to confess something.”

No no no no no no no no-

“I’d like to be your... Friend.”

“... You just said that we weren’t friends before.”

“We’re not friends yet.”

“See?”

“But... We could be friends if you’d like.”

“Sure-”

NO NO NO NO NO I DIDN’T JUST SAY THAT! No no no nooooooo...

“Is something wrong?”

“Ahh, completely fine! I’m just wondering, wh-why would you extend a hand of friendship to me, your sworn mortal enemy! I mean, you’re also MY sworn mortal enemy, b-b-but that doesn’t matter if you don’t want it to, ahaha!”

His expression eases, and he sips his tea, though he doesn’t look like he enjoys it - wait, hey, that’s my pristine tea he’s insulting! But nevertheless, it prompts me to gulp down a mouthful. Ugh, why is he so calm?!

“I’ll try to be concise in explaining this, so please try to hold on for a moment.”

“O-okay!”

Robin clasped his hands together, took in a breath, and started to speak in a less immediate and structured sounding voice, something more natural.

“After seriously considering everything I know, I think we have a lot more in common than it seems. When I was young, the only support our family had was the income from my dad’s labour; he was a fisherman, and he was out of the house most days. But still, even though he was never late, never slacked off, and worked on weekends and even when he was sick, he was eventually laid off because of ‘budget constraints’. But, as far as I’m aware, Devon Fisheries only grew in market value that year.”

I never knew why my father felt the need to invest in fishing, since we had enough wealth as it was, but...

“I don’t see how this makes us have anything in common. If anything, it should make you dislike me even further.”

“... Well, yes, a little. But despite your constant posturing in favour of your families action’s, you're not the one responsible for those actions, in fact... I think we’re both victims.”

The tone in his voice when he said that... He stared into my eyes a bit closer, like he knew something I didn’t.

“Victims of my father?...”

He averted his gaze again, shifting back in his seat, distant.

“... I don’t know all the facts, but I’ve learned enough about you to make a decent guess at why you don’t talk with your parents any more.”

I wince. He can’t be talking about what I think he’s talking about, there’s no way?!

“S-surely you don’t know for sure, do you?”

“Again, it’s a guess.” Helooks into my eyes again, and I want to scream. “I won’t say it, in case I’m wrong, but regardless, your secret’s safe with me.”

“S-secret? What secret?!”

“... We can stop talking about it if you’d like.”

“Sure! I mean, we’re not talking a-a-about anything, since I don’t have any secrets.”

“Uh, sure.”

We stare a bit longer. Wow, is there really nothing else to say after that? My word, he’s... His... His cheeks are getting red.

“This isn’t a date, Robin.”

“You don’t need to say that.”

He blinks, and looks over at the door. I honestly can’t blame him for wanting to get out of this situation, but...

“We can organise a time to talk later, i-if you’d like.”

He leans away slightly, eyebrows raised high. “So you’re asking me out?”

“... Maybe.”

“I’m free at half past four on Tuesday. So, I’ll accept on the condition that you cease to belittle the working class-”

“NEVER!"

“O-okay, I’ll lower my standards!”