Clearly, this takes place before chapter one, but I hadn't planned to write this until after chapter one was already posted. :P

Junko-sama will be so pleased, Tsumiki thought as the faucet poured over her hands. She had just finished tending to Owari, and now saw fit to bring a cool cloth to Komaeda. His suffering would be at an end soon, so it only felt right let his final moments be as comfortable as possible.

The faucet knob squeaked as she turnt it to off, nearly masking a second noise. Wet rag still dripping through her fingers, she paused to listen. A thumping was coming from outside of the restroom window. Her calm mood took a sharp dive. Was someone spying on her, trying to spoil everything?

She whipped around. Two hands were pressed against the glass, long, elegant fingers topped off with perfectly manicured nails.

Tsumiki choked back a scream, instead flinging the wet cloth at the window with a moist thud. Though the hands had appeared clean, they left behind glistening red hand prints for a parting gift as they lifted away.

Hesitantly, Tsumiki retrieved the cloth, washing it out in the sink once more. She was hallucinating due to her own fever, she knew. She also knew that sanitizing the cloth was a waste of time, considering her patient wouldn't be alive long enough to contract any further sickness. Still, the familiar action was soothing.

She shook her head, doing her best to ignore the ceaseless clusters of dripping hand prints cropping up on every pane of glass as she traversed the halls.

"Komaeda-saaaan~, are you feeling any better yet?" she asked in a sing-song as she entered his room.

She frowned when there came no response. It wouldn't do at all if he up and died all on his own.

Upon approach, however, the faint rise and fall of his chest became visible.

With a gentle smile, she began to pat at his forehead with the cloth. The patient frowned at the sudden sensation.

"Don't worry; everything will be over soon," she crooned.

"Tsumiki-san…" he groaned.

"I'm here."

"…luck," he rasped.

"Would mind speaking up?" the nurse requested sweetly, removing the cloth.

"…What…terrible luck I have…getting sick while having a nurse like you on the island…I don't feel safe with you…"

Her heart sank. Did he somehow know what she was planning? Just as quickly, however relief washed over her. Komaeda was suffering from the lying disease. It was easy to forget, since he been asleep much of the time that he had been in her care.

"Is that so?" she replied mildly.

A halo of sweat stained the pillow around his head. Tsumiki went to the small linen cabinet to retrieve a fresh case.

"Can you lift your head at all? I need to slide the pillow out."

The boy responded with a hacking cough, yet complied as best he could.

Even before she had contracted the fever herself and regained her memories of despair, Tsumiki had secretly delighted in caring for the ill students. To be needed by some of the most prestigious students in the world, to have their lives in her hands, it was intoxicating.

Even now, she could simply leave Komaeda Nagito, the boy who was the eminent embodiment of 'luck', grimacing alone on the rock-hard, pillowless mattress. Instead, she placed her hand beneath his head, cradling his soft yet dampened hair, as she slipped the crisp, freshly changed pillow beneath him.

Absently stroking his hair, she looked to the clock. She would have to enact the plan soon, if there was going to be time for everything to go smoothly. She'd be visiting Mioda next. While she was caring for her, she might mention that it was Komaeda who was making them ill, that he was poisoning everyone. The only way to get him to stop would be for Mioda to kill him. She'd hand the musician a rope, and ask her to strangle the boy. Komaeda Nagito would be murdered at the hands of Mioda Ibuki, and the world's greatest young musician would be guilty.

Having Komaeda out of the way would be perfect. He was incredibly intelligent, and so very perceptive. Tsumiki only wished that she could have been as bright as he was. With him gone, the others would have a difficult time guessing that Mioda was the killer. They'd guess wrong, and they'd all be killed, herself included. What could bring more glorious despair than that?

"Tsumiki-san…keep working all night…I don't want you taking any breaks…" He coughed once more.

She smiled softly. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I have to tend to Mioda-san now. I'll come back for you in a little while, okay?"

As she turned to go, she felt a tug at the hem of skirt. An image of the spectral hands from earlier flashed in her mind, though when she turned around, panicked, it was only her patient, feebly clutching at the garment.

"Don't come back, Tsumiki-san. Leave me here... I hate being cared for by you more than anything. I want to die," he pleaded, fear painted across his feverish face.

Without a word, the girl continued walking toward the door, forcing the boy to lose his grasp on her, hand dropping uselessly to the side of the bed.

Tsumiki turned the doorknob slowly.

He always been so kind to her; it was really such a shame that things had to end up this way.

Maybe it would be better to come up with a different plan, after all… As long as some despair came of it in the end, it was all the same wasn't it?

End