Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ibuki is one of the first to lose herself, after Mikan goes. They’re able to hear the carnage from campus, a boom so deafening it’s lethal to anyone at close enough range.

What they know about the state that Ibuki is in is that there’s no bouncing back from it—that once you’ve lost your mind in that way, it’s completely lost. Complete and utter despair, loyalty to nothing but the very concept of it. Ibuki is no longer the enigmatic, good-natured girl Peko knew so well. She’s been completely lost.

Still, Peko tracks her down. She’s of two minds about it. Ibuki in her current state is a threat, not just to the world at large but to the safety of Fuyuhiko and countless others Peko cares about. And, also…

“Peko-chan!” Ibuki perks up the moment Peko’s heel clicks against the concrete in front of her. Peko tracked her to a back alley, seated on a pile of crates, her hands loosely interlinked between her. She’s hunched over, her hair a mess, but she straightens as Peko approaches. “I was hoping you’d come!”

Peko grinds her back teeth. She sounds just like Ibuki, but just slightly off. The crazed look in her eye could almost be that addictive look she used to get when she had a new song idea or a new scheme she wanted to pull off. Ibuki’s career had suffered in the last year of their friendship, and it must’ve been eating at her—must’ve been worse than Peko could’ve possibly imagined. She has never been the most observant, when it comes to the feelings of those around her.

There’s little she can do now but speculate upon what may have caused this, and speculation won’t fix the problem. Peko tightens her hold on her sword.

Ibuki, of course, spots it at once. “You’re here to fight me?” Her brows shoot up, then she grins. “No… you’re here to save me, isn’t that right?”

“It is an injustice to the friend I knew to allow you to continue on this way,” Peko responds, and slides her sword from its case. “Please understand.”

“Oh, Peko-chan.” Ibuki’s eyes soften with sympathy so exaggerated, it has to be a mockery—but the tears that well in their corners must be genuine. She stands with a big, heaving sigh. “Ibuki does. Trust me, she does.”

And despite the grin that spreads on her face, the hand that reaches for her guitar… Peko thinks she even sounds sincere.