Ouma's POV:

I could only stare blankly as Saihara left the room, he seemed hurt again but...did he really stop him from...he tried to...he thought I tried to kill myself...

I sighed annoyed, this was going to make him cling onto me at any moment now, I could just feel it like I was some sort of community service project that he needed to work on. Well, I don't want to be used for him to get out of his self-hatred or whatever kind of new debt he feels he owes to me.

It's not like he can fix anything anyway, but still...ugh why does the person who saved my life twice also have to be the person I despise with every bone in my body? What kind of luck is this? Not to mention...

...

Does he know the other me? Does he remember...oh please say he doesn't because I don't need that in my life, now or ever. It's better actually if he never remembers, the other Saihara...he didn't seem like he had a nice life either.

It's for the best neither of us tries and confront that looming issue. 

He doesn't need to know the times he saved me is actually three. I need to somehow get even with this guy or I'm going to end up looking like a damsel in distress to everyone. I can't seem like I'm helpless anymore. 

First off, this meat sack.

My whole body ached as I once again tried to get back my strength, my arms were tired from pulling myself up but once again the annoying equipment kept me from being able to really exercise. So the stick arms were remaining along with my noodle-like legs.

Well...and...

I once again checked my stitches.

She talked about having to get one of my lungs transplanted...but I guess it really takes looking at the damage to see how real it was. Across this pathetic husk of a body was a long scar across the right side of my chest, where the operator must have happened.

That's the one she mentioned.

But across the more I looked, I could see scars I had no origins for, whether they were from surgeries I didn't remember or some part of his past life I had no idea, all I could tell was that by all means...I shouldn't still be alive.

I must have had two transplants at least...I noted as I touched a scar where I guessed my pancreas would be, this was as fresh as the lung one. Who would have known that yelling at your past self could have medical repercussions? 

...

Healed itself...there really was no way for him to survive then...if I truly nearly died...

I hit myself slightly forcing myself to focus on the more important matters. This was the opportunity I had been waiting for since the day I had woken up in this hell, and I only really have one chance to make sure it goes off without a hitch.

Now that he's gone, I don't have anything holding me back anymore. I'm going to...

...

Shit.

I wiped away useless tears, tears made me look weak, tears didn't do anything for anyone, especially the people who are already gone. I know this, I have known this all of my life...so why...focus. I need to focus right now, I can deal with this later but for now, I need to get what remaining uses I can out of this place.

I grinned as I ignored the pain that was going throughout my body, as I sat up as tall as I could and grabbed the journal that Maiko had brought for me, it only needs a few more details...and a golden opportunity...just any day now...

...

...

Day WHO EVEN KNOWS AT THIS POINT! 

No one will ever be able to know what happened during that six month period, no one will ever even grieve for the person lost because I happen to look exactly like them. So instead of waiting around for people to get a clue as to what was stolen or who died I'll just put it here.

Goodbye Kokichi Ouma.

Goodbye, my annoying Jimminy Cricket.