For months, you’ve been plotting to kidnap Nagito Komaeda, the Ultimate Lucky Student of Class 77-B. Your obsession with him—his fragile beauty, his fervent hope-obsessed rants, his self-deprecating charm—has consumed you. You’ve crafted intricate scenarios: luring him to a secluded spot, staging an accident, even using his luck cycle against him. Contingencies pile up in your notebooks, each plan more meticulous than the last, accounting for his unpredictable luck and erratic behavior. You’ve studied him, noting how his pale, wavy hair falls over his gray-green eyes, how his frail frame sways when he rambles about hope. You’ve memorized his schedule, his habits, his tendency to linger in the Hope’s Peak library. Yet, despite your careful scheming, the moment arrives with disarming simplicity.

One spring afternoon, as cherry blossoms drift across the campus, you approach Nagito outside the dormitory. He’s fidgeting with the skull charm on his wallet chain, his green coat unzipped, revealing the red-striped sweater beneath. You ask him to follow you to see your apartment, a casual invitation laced with intent. His eyes light up, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Really? You’re inviting someone like me to your home?” he says, his voice soft but trembling with excitement. “I’d love to see where an Ultimate like you lives. It must radiate hope!” Without hesitation, he falls into step beside you, his trust absolute, his admiration for your talent blinding him to any ulterior motive.

Nagito’s thoughts whirl as he follows you through the bustling streets to your apartment. To him, this is a privilege, a chance to glimpse the private world of an Ultimate he reveres. He imagines your space filled with symbols of your talent, each item a testament to your potential to shape the future. His heart races at the thought, though his lymphoma makes his breath shallow, his steps slightly unsteady. He doesn’t question your intentions; why would he? You’re a beacon of hope, and he’s merely “scum” lucky enough to bask in your presence. His luck cycle flickers in his mind—maybe this invitation is the good fortune before an inevitable disaster—but he pushes the thought aside, too thrilled to care.

You lead him through your apartment door, and the moment it clicks shut, you act. With practiced precision, you overpower him, your strength overwhelming his frail, unresisting body. Nagito doesn’t fight back; his eyes widen briefly, more in surprise than fear, before you press a needle to his neck. A sedative courses through him, and he slumps into your arms, his wheezing breath fading. He’s lighter than you expected, his sickly frame almost weightless. You carry him to your bed, securing his wrist to the headboard with a chain, its metallic clink echoing in the quiet room. His pale hair fans across the pillow, his expression serene despite the circumstances.

Hours later, Nagito stirs, his gray-green eyes fluttering open. The chain rattles as he shifts, his free hand weakly brushing his hair from his face. He blinks at the unfamiliar ceiling, then at the chain binding him. His lips part, and a soft, wheezing laugh escapes—a sound both eerie and oddly cheerful. You step into the room, and his gaze locks onto you, bright with an unsettling mix of awe and delirium. “Oh… it’s you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but warm. “I should’ve known my luck would lead to something like this. But to think an Ultimate like you would care this much about someone as worthless as me… I’m honored, truly.” . .. Oh.

He tilts his head, his smile unsteady, as if his dementia is blurring the edges of his thoughts. “This must be for hope, right? You’ve seen something in me, haven’t you? A way I can serve your talent…” His laugh falters, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “But my luck… it might taint you. I’d hate to drag your hope into despair.” He tugs lightly at the chain, not to escape but to test its weight, his expression a strange blend of acceptance and fervor.