Chapter Text
For as long as he can remember, Hinata Hajime has idolised Hope’s Peak Academy. Whenever he saw people talking about the school on the TV or he heard the name in real life, his ears pricked up and his heart rate increased, fascinated by what they were saying. He wanted to know everything about Hope’s Peak. He wanted to learn about the Ultimates that the whole country seemed to love. He wanted to go to that school more than anything.
But as he grew up, he realised something agonising: Hinata Hajime has no talents. There was (and is) nothing about him that made him stand out, let alone be what Japan would consider an Ultimate. He tried to become good at a large number of things, but he was always either awful or just plain average. Nothing about him was Ultimate.
So… when he was about twelve, Hajime finally admitted it to himself. The school he loved so much… was not for him. And, not that he’d ever admit it, he cried himself to sleep that night.
He tried to give up on his dream, but it was too difficult. Sometimes, he took a trip without his parents and stood outside the gates of Hope’s Peak, utter awe in his wide eyes. But the awe soon turned to jealousy, and Hajime had to fight to stop the tears running down his face.
Life repeated like this (Hajime thinking about what he could never have and wanting to cry), until one day last year, when he learned something amazing: Hope’s Peak Academy had opened a reserve course. A course that anybody could enrol in. a course that meant a talentless person could go to the same school as the Ultimates.
Of course, it was incredibly expensive and his parents weren’t the most enthusiastic, but Hajime begged and begged until they let him join.
And that explains why someone as talentless as Hajime stands outside Hope’s Peak Academy, ready to study here and have the life he always wanted.
---
People call her an Ultimate, but she doesn’t really get it. Chiaki is just a girl who loves playing video games. The fact that she’s amazingly good at them isn’t really important to her. She would still play the games if she were crap at them, because the act of playing is more important to her than the scores she gets at the end.
Still, people have been calling her an Ultimate for a while now, amazed by her skill at gaming and wanting to play against her. Chiaki loves to game, so who is she to refuse?
To be honest, it didn’t surprise her when she was approached by a talent scout a few months ago (a man who later became her homeroom teacher), and was invited to enrol at Hope’s Peak Academy in April. Again, Chiaki would sort of rather spend all day in bed playing games, but going to a school where they let her build her talent rather than stopping her sounded good. So she agreed and her family through a party and Chiaki smiled awkwardly and went back to the Pokémon battle on her games console.
Anyway, all of this explains why she stands outside Hope’s Peak Academy, about to begin her life as the Ultimate Gamer.
---
She first meets him by a fountain on campus, slumped on the bench and staring up at the cloudless sky. A boy with messy brown hair and an ahoge who wears Reserve Course uniform and looks thoroughly miserable, a boy who she recognises but can’t remember his name – a boy she has a feeling she will get to know very well.
“Hey, hey,” Chiaki says, pausing her video game and staring down at the boy.
He doesn’t turn his head, but his eyes flicker in her direction, and Chiaki forces eye contact even though it makes her eyes ache. The boy makes a noncommittal mumble, and goes back to staring up at the sky.
“There’s usually nobody here. That’s why I come here to play my game. The sound of the fountain is soothing, isn’t it?”
Still no reply. Wondering if her social skills are failing her of if the boy is just being awkward, Chiaki tilts her head.
“Um, I’m Nanami Chiaki. What’s your name?”
Finally, the boy responds. As though his limbs are heavy, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bench, sitting in a normal position. He glances at her, and Chiaki spots the bags under his eyes.
“Hinata Hajime,” he says, voice flat.
“Are you okay?” Chiaki asks.
Hajime shrugs his shoulders. “Not sure. You’re from the main course, right?”
“Uh-huh. They call me the Ultimate Gamer.”
It finally hits her, and Chiaki wishes she could read people better. Sitting there, all withdrawn and tired and flat, Hajime looks… sad. No, not sad. He looks… empty.
“That’s cool,” Hajime says, sighing.
“Hey, would you… would you like to play a game with me?”
Hajime looks up. “But you’ll beat me.”
“Probably. But that’s not the point. It’ll be fun.”
He doesn’t look like he believes her, but Hajime gives her a rather forced smile and pats the bench beside him. “Why not?”
---
Ever since that day, over a month ago, Chiaki has spent a lot of time with Hajime. She goes onto his campus at lunchtime and sits with him when they eat lunch. She waits for him after school at his gate and they walk home together. And they meet up at the fountain and play video games.
Hajime was right; Chiaki beats him at every versus game they play, often by a landslide. But Chiaki was right, because Hajime seems to enjoy himself. Although, in the end, Chiaki finds the best games to play are solo games or ones where they can work together, just to take the competition out of it.
But despite having all this fun, Hajime still looks empty.
“Hajime,” she says one day, not sure how to deal with her new friend’s behaviour. “Um… are you okay?”
Hajime sighs. “Do you want an honest answer?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, then… no.”
“What’s wrong?”
Another sigh. “I just… feel so worthless. I mean, why would an Ultimate like you want to hang around me anyway?”
“You’re not worthless,” Chiaki says. “And I want to spend time with you because… I like you. My talent isn’t important. I like you for who you are.”
“Even though I’m always miserable?”
Chiaki nods. “Yeah. I can tell you’re not normally like this, that something’s made you feel this way. Please, you can tell me.”
“It’s… complicated,” Hajime says, but he turns his head and actually looks at her. “But... thanks for caring. That stuff about liking me for who I am… it made… it made me feel real.” Hajime chuckles awkwardly, not reacting when his abandoned game gets a game over. “I just… ever since I realised I don’t have a talent, I’ve felt so… worthless. And coming to this school… it only made me feel worse. But for you to say that… I still feel awful, don’t get me wrong, but… I don’t feel quite so much like a zombie anymore. It’s, it’s hard to explain, but… I feel a tiny bit like the old me, I guess. Thank you, Chiaki.”
Chiaki doesn’t really get it (does Hajime mean he has been feeling… unreal?), but… even if she didn’t really do anything, she’s glad she could have made a bit of a difference for Hajime.
“You… you’re welcome,” she says, cheeks flushing.