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Kazuichi wondered if the decorated gymnasium was designed to tug at their heartstrings. Evoke pity, so that the ex-ultimates might crack open their wallets and make generous donations. How else did you get shiny plaques or a wing in your name? Your high school begging alums for hefty donations, maybe that was weird to some people. Normal people. Hope's Peak and its students were far from normal. The school did boast a reputation of always being there for the Ultimate students after their graduation. The unspoken agreement was that they would be up to only good things. Hope’s Peak would even help them with that, arranging connections or possibly securing jobs at the school.
It ran like a well-oiled machine. That didn't make Kazuichi want to turn out his pockets. He was actually wearing a nice pair of pants, the pockets went pretty deep. But even though he had a well-paying job, he didn't come with a heavy wallet. Call it a result of his impoverished upbringing, but he actually found himself being pretty tight-fisted with his paycheck.
Tables were smattered across the hardwood floor, covered in white tablecloths and burning candles at the center. On the edges of the room, long tables held old projects laid out on display to evoke memories from their high school glory days. Some glory it was, grinding away at your sanity and sleep schedule to be better. Upward trajectory was the only thing satisfactory in life. That hadn't prepared them for real-life; as you aged there tended to be more extended plateau periods. You didn't constantly have to be improving when you were already an expert by 18.
That reality came crashing hard on a lot of people. But Kazuichi wasn't like that. Life turned out better than a middle school him would have ever imagined. His shop had success now, even beyond his father's life. It was rough when he passed on from cancer, but he'd always been adept at bottling that up.
A thick black book on one of the tables caught his eye, making him wonder if it was a guest book of sorts. At least that would tell him who was around.
When he flipped it open, instead he saw a plethora of familiar faces. Pictures of him and his classmates. All his friends' faces met him, beaming like it was just yesterday. Photos of award ceremonies, performances, class, every moment captured in crystal clear high quality. Taken by none other than Hope's Peak's own Ultimate Photographer.
The pictures were like a window, tricking him momentarily into believing he could reach his hand through it and feel sunlight from the sunny beach scene. They were organized in plastic sheets, clearly compiled in order of date, and arranged in clusters of different events he could remember. Hitting a party in the park, he remembered Ibuki's sixteenth birthday. She'd requested the party of a five-year-old, buttercream frosting and paper streamers stuck to a wooden picnic bench. At least it was easy.
Here was where the first picture of Mahiru taking their picture accompanied the page. Taken by none other than yours truly. After that, you could flip through each memory to find at least one picture of Mahiru in her chosen outfit, snapping a picture. The images were nowhere near on par with her skill, the lighting all wrong, his thumb occasionally caught over the lens. He had actually built out a camera for himself at some point but ended up forking it over to the photographer that Christmas.
"What are you looking at?" That Christmas was the memory he was caught red-handed on, making him drop the book like he'd been caught looking at dirty magazines. He'd recognize that voice anywhere, even if it had matured into a lower register.
"O-oh, Mahiru. I was just... Looking at your old pictures of us all." Kazuichi gestured to the photo album open flat on the table.
"Kazuichi?" she asked, sounding surprised. "I almost didn't recognize you! Look at your hair!"
He couldn't very well look at his own hair, but he did know what it looked like. Dye maintenance to the top of his head had long ceased, leaving only the tips of his bleach-fried hair pink. His roots, grown well out past his ears, were their natural black color.
"Yeah, uh, I realized nothing about my hair was making me look any cooler. No one really cares what you look like standing in the middle of a garage, you know? They just want you to fix the bike." No one ever bought that he was cool or intimidating with the neon hair, sharpened teeth, vibrant jumpsuit. So he mellowed out.
"You still dye the ends though," Mahiru said. Her own bob had grown just past her chin, the bangs split in the middle and framing either side of her face.
"Old habits die hard." It was a change. Slow departure from who he'd been, as he drifted in the middle position wondering who he would be. That was what your twenties were for.
"Oh, this was Christmas third year." Suddenly the photo album was in her hands, studying each shot with an expert eye picking up every grain Kazuichi surely missed.
"Your pictures capture it so perfectly. It's like we're really around the fire still." Fuyuhiko was smiling next to Peko, both with piping hot mugs, immediately jogging the memory of the fight that broke out surrounding making cocoa with water or milk.
"They're not that great..." It took her saying that for Kazuichi to notice she wasn't smiling at the memories like he was. Instead, her artistic eye was scrutinizing the old work.
"These are pictures of good memories! Of course they're great. How would we remember it all without you?" He probably never would have been able to connect the washed-out shade of Ibuki's green-tinted hair back to the exact day without it. Someone might argue you didn't need to be able to do that, but thanks to Mahiru they could.
"It all just looks... The same." Mahiru flipped through the pages past group shot after group shot, everyone's laughing faces, couples cuddling.
"I think you're looking at it too closely. You've gotta take a step back." Kazuichi took the photo album from her and held it open up against his chest. "Don't you see the subjects in the frame? Those are our friends!"
Mahiru did see the bonds of their friendships twining through each of the photos, under all the technical mistakes she now saw glaring back at her. The moments were irreplaceable memories that reflected the inability to capture sometimes so fleeting.
"And that's you. Taking all those pictures, missing out on the laughter, always looking so serious!" He pointed with an actually trimmed and cleaned fingernail, disappointingly surprising for him. "Like right now, you're making that frowning face. Cut it out!" His voice made her jump, the demanding shout something she wasn't used to being on the receiving end. She was always harsh to men, stabbing at an attempt to whip them into shape. So what was happening?
"I'm not! S-stop yelling," she hissed. People were starting to shoot questioning looks to the early birds of the reunion. "It's not very impressive work when I haven't even improved at all."
Suddenly he was quiet, and Mahiru regretted her words. A pin could have dropped between them, but there was only ringing in their ears. Kazuichi handed the photo album back over to her.
"I'm sure that's not true I mean... You just showed us how you got into that magazine!" He insisted, remembering the photo that had popped up in the slow-going group chat. They all used to chat every day, but life busied them until it faded with months in between talking. Achievements were always met with support though, and he remembered the small cheers for Mahiru.
Mahiru just shrunk in on herself, shoulders hunched as she hugged herself nervously. The photographer had left Japan to finally meet with her mother as equals in the field. It was freeing to be away from her father, and all the housework for the first time in years. But the thought of him now having pushed away both the women in his life made her sick with worry every night. War photography was a serious, grim profession to occupy one's time. There weren't a lot of smiles to capture, but it was important. Recorded history meant more than smiles.
But still, in her travels, she would find herself among the civilians. It was hard to stick in one area for so long without finding familiar faces in your day-to-day life. Even when there was a language barrier. And despite the fact their homeland was in unrest, there was still family. Still love. Still smiles.
Mahiru came home with rolls of film containing the same thing as always. The important, groundbreaking, bleak photographs edited and sent to magazines for publication. Likely to meet critical acclaim coming from the Ultimate advertising alone. The boring stuff sat in undeveloped rolls and taking up the storage space of her phone. In the end, she felt no love in either project.
The book in her hands though. There was love there, in the pictures of people she cared about and missed while she was away.
"The magazine stuff just isn't me," Mahiru said. "It's what they all want to see." It hit him now why the pictures had stuck out as particularly hollow. Even when he'd stopped by the newsstand to buy one in print and have it kicking around his house. They felt incomplete, but he was no artist so he figured he was missing the point.
"You should take pictures of what you want to see. Like in school." That's what he thought she was doing at least. Mahiru wouldn't put her camera down for ten seconds back in school, because she never wanted to forget any of the moments slipping by. She was always more mature than them, realizing their carefree happy lives were fleeting.
"I do sometimes. I have some, but no one cares about that stuff." She shrugged her shoulders. He wanted to rip the photo album back from her and throw it at her head. I care! He screamed internally, wanting to point at the photos sitting unworthy in comparison next to her.
"You could show me," he said casually. "I'm not a great critic or anything, I probably wouldn't have much to say. But I think you take good pictures." Mahiru had enough criticism coming at her from every angle.
Mahiru dug her phone out, opening the camera app to go back through the months. Cold winter filters accompanied the photos, setting the exact bone-chilling feeling she'd experienced even through her clothes. But then there was more warmth around a different fire, a new holiday around another hearth. But with photos of smiling grandparents with their youngest grandbabies. They were looking into the face of the future in the barrel of Mahiru's camera.
"Who wouldn't wanna see these!?" Kazuichi couldn't help snatching the phone from her, swiping through more pictures she'd taken.
"H-hey! Don't just go looking willy nilly through a girl's phone!" She scolded, going to grab it back. He'd already scrolled onto one of the mirror selfies she'd taken, head tilted and laughing to send back to a few social media accounts. Alive, well, healthy. He'd seen it, but he still paused anyway. She'd never taken photos of herself much before.
"Sorry." He handed the phone back over sheepishly. "I think you're doing amazing. I told you, you're just too close." You could take intricate macro photos of the raindrops on a leaf and tell a story, but it wouldn't be one about the tree so far divorced from what you were looking at.
"Jesus Christ, are you two still flirting in the corner like always?" The grating voice caught them both by surprise, as they'd been existing like they were the only people in the room up until that point. Fuyuhiko was scowling at them, his left hand wrapped around a glass with his silver wedding ring glinting at them.
"W-what!?" Mahiru squeaked, a blush starting to cover her face. That was certainly not what she was doing. Kazuichi laughed nervously at her side, figuring jumping on the defensive denial would only backfire on him.
"Seriously, if I pay for the fucking room will you get one already?" The gangster continued, a snide smirk playing on his lips.
"It's not like that! Jeez." Mahiru was quickly abandoning the photo album, distancing herself further from the situation.
From over his shoulder, Fuyuhiko felt his wife's hand settle on him.
"Fuyuhiko, I think that's enough," Peko said evenly.
"What? I'm trying to help them!" he grouched. At that the serious woman laughed, she actually laughed . Kazuichi couldn't take this, but it did seem to wipe the grouchy look off Fuyuhiko's face. They were doing that annoying thing all couples did, communicating without a word as they silently agreed to leave them to it and walk away.
"Well, he hasn't changed at all. So rude-, What kind of manners!" Mahiru was grumbling more to herself, fighting off her flushed face. Kazuichi just laughed.
"You know you're talking about a yakuza boss, right?" He'd never been well mannered before, and there was no way he'd start now.
"A yakuza who lectured you for three hours straight when you had to have your stomach pumped after our graduation party." Kazuichi still couldn't remember the night that had only been recounted to him.
"Can we go one gathering without bringing that backup!"
They were both laughing again at least, shaking off the nerves Fuyuhiko had injected into the situation. Reminding them both that the way their stomachs tickled with butterflies had always been something they both ignored in each other's presence.
"Have you found your place card yet?" White papers were folded on each table, letting them know their designated spot at dinner.
"No..." Mahiru said slowly. "Honestly, I don't really care about dinner or this lame fundraiser. Ibuki's hosting an after-reunion anyway. Do you want to go get a burger?" His stomach growled as he was reminded exactly how much he liked Mahiru. He was pretty ready to get somewhere he could push the sleeves of his stuffy shirt up and throw his beanie back over his head.
"God, yes. Take me away," he practically begged. "I'll pay. Where's your coat?"