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“Are you ok?”
Kazuichi wakes up on his back in the sand, an extraordinarily ordinary student leaning over him, and it only goes downhill from there.
Bright pink hair hangs in his face, clashing with the yellow jumpsuit he’s wearing. Neither of these things feel familiar, but nothing really feels familiar right now. He’s on a beach, surrounded by people he’s never met, and he doesn’t know how he got here. He can’t remember anything.
By the time he transitions upright and follows his new friend— Hajime, he’s told— to a nearby rock, his headache has subsided enough to tolerate. The two of them are hanging back while the others investigate; Hajime politely waiting with him, to make sure he’s alright, and catching him up to speed as much as he can.
“— the white-haired one is Ultimate Luck, and I’m the Ultimate Mechanic. I think that’s everyone.”
“You’re a mechanic?”
Hajime laughs, like he gets that a lot. He adjusts his uniform tie, all buttoned-up and not appropriate for either a beach or a garage. “I know, you were probably expecting more grease stains, right?”
“I wasn’t expecting a white shirt and tie.” It seems impractical, for working in a garage but then— Kazuichi can’t think of anything his current outfit would be practical for.
“What about you? Oh, maybe I can guess.” Hajime squints at him, looking for a hint, “Skateboarder? Musician?”
It’s the hair. Why is my hair pink, of all things?
“Actually, I—” Kazuichi rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, “I can’t remember.”
Hajime blinks, surprised, but he looks more curious than suspicious. “Really? Nothing at all?”
“Nothing, man. Just my name and— I don’t know. Nothing.”
There’s a weird itch at the back of his skull. It’s like he’s trying to recall a dream that’s slowly slipping away. The more he tries to concentrate on it, the more it fades. There is something in his head, taunting him, and he can’t seem to put a name to it.
“You could be, like—” Hajime pauses, a little hesitant to share his theory, “the protagonist. A blank slate.”
“With bright pink hair?” Kazuichi tugs down the beanie a little further, which doesn’t do much to improve his… aesthetic. He bares his teeth, showing them off. “And sharp teeth?”
Hajime tilts his head, like the angle is the problem. Like Kazuichi might look different, more average, from a little to the left. “To a certain audience, maybe.”
He’s oddly calm about— whatever is happening now, but then again, none of the Ultimates seem fazed. They’re doing a good job of hiding it, anyway, with that cool confidence you can only get by knowing your place in the world, and knowing you’re on top. Hajime, he’s got an air about him like he’s already assessed the situation, already knows how he’s going to go about fixing it.
Kazuichi is sure, as Ultimates, they’ve all seen weirder than suddenly waking up on an island with no memory of how they got there. He’s sure that he’s seen weirder too, since he must also be an Ultimate. Ultimate Jumpsuit-Wearer. Ultimate Hair-Stylist. Ultimate… Dentist?
It’s difficult to keep a train of thought going in this group, between whatever is happening with the hamster guy, the athletes wrestling each other, and the girls—
“Looks like we’re going swimming,” Hajime says, with a chuckle, “They definitely didn’t waste any time finding swimsuits.”
Pastel frills. Sleek black. A... full coverage wetsuit.
The princess, despite being the most modestly dressed, draws his eye immediately. There’s something about her— whatever it is that makes her the Ultimate Princess, exponential to the glamor of an ordinary princess. It overrides the pang of loss at not getting to see her in a bikini.
The princess is the most eye-catching, but they’ve all got that Ultimate-ness. A gleam that makes them something more than human. Better than everyone else at their talent, and just better than everyone else, on top of that.
Hajime’s still saying something, tone light like he’s trying to cheer Kazuichi up, “It’s kind of like an island paradise. I’m pretty sure that’s a convenience store over there and—"
“Girls in bikinis,” Kazuichi says, miserably.
“Yeah, there’s— there’s also those.” Hajime raises an eyebrow, and waves a hand in Kazuichi’s face, to no reaction. “You ok?”
“Oh man,” Kazuichi falls back, laying down in the sand, the rock digging into his back, “this is bad.”
Kazuichi’s covered his face with his hands, but through his fingers, he sees Hajime lean over him, taking up most of his field of vision. His eyebrows are pinched in concern, like he’s not sure whether he’s going to have to call over that nurse— Mikan, who’s also in a bikini, pale pink to complement her uniform—
“Why?”
Kazuichi leverages himself up on an elbow— Hajime dodges just in time, so they don’t bump heads— and whispers, conspiratorially, “How am I going to pick up chicks without a talent?” he gestures to himself, “And looking like this?”
“I think you look pretty cool.”
Kazuichi thinks about that for a second. About the implications. Hajime is the Ultimate Mechanic, which means artful grease stains, casually rolling out from under expensive cars, and motorcycles. He must be experienced, must know what he’s talking about.
“You mean, if you were a girl, you’d want to talk to me? Really?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s totally what I meant.”
The Ultimates— his peers, Kazuichi reminds himself— are making the most of their impromptu island vacation, just a few feet from them. They seem farther away than they are, like he’s watching them from the other side of a wall. He’s struck with the thought that he’d do anything to fit in with them; even though, in theory, all he’d have to do is get up and walk over. It’s a weirdly familiar feeling.
He feels woefully inadequate, even with the spectacle of his hair and outfit and teeth. He certainly looks like he should be an Ultimate, one of those eccentric, ridiculous students, but without the actual talent, he’s just—
Nothing. A blank slate, like Hajime said.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Hajime says, a little quiet, like he’s not really talking to Kazuichi at all, “Maybe you have all the talents.”
Kazuichi, sitting up again, looks at him sideways, “That’s stupid.”
“No, think about it— it’d definitely be too many talents to remember. That could be why you can’t figure it out.” He nudges Kazuichi, prodding him with an elbow, “We could test it.”
“How?”
Hajime looks around, for inspiration, and lands on Akane and Nekomaru, who are finally wrapping up the— Kazuichi wants to say it was a wrestling match, though he’s pretty sure that’s neither of their specialties. There’s a cloud of sand and dust around them, isolating their incident from the rest of the beach. Hajime smiles, nodding at where Akane’s kneeling in the sand, having clearly lost, “You could pick a fight with Akane.”
It’s obvious that he thinks battling the loser makes his suggestion somehow less insane. Kazuichi may not be able to remember much, but it doesn’t take a cure for amnesia to tell him that Akane could snap him in half without breaking a sweat.
“I don’t know,” Kazuichi says, not wanting to shoot down Hajime’s idea, or the surprising, if unfounded, faith in his physical abilities, “I don’t think that’s it.”
There are a few slightly less dangerous talents to choose from on the beach— and a lot that are entirely unobtainable. He doesn’t think he could be the Ultimate Princess or the Ultimate Yakuza, unless he’s forgotten a lot more of his life than just high school. Most of them are difficult to test in direct competition, like Luck or Breeder— how do they even measure these things? Did Gundam have to meet a world record of rat babies, or—
“It could be subconscious?” Hajime says, “Maybe you’re trying too hard to remember.”
“How do I remember by not trying to remember?”
“Well, what are you thinking about right now?”
It could’ve been anything. There are plenty of options, between the colorful cast on the beach and the turmoil in his own head, but movement catches his eye as Hajime loosens his tie, clearly feeling the heat. The impractical white shirt is stretched over broad shoulders and a broad chest, and for a second, Kazuichi thinks he’s going to take it off and enjoy the island with everyone else.
Kazuichi stares. Hajime lets his hand fall, the tie loose but still hanging around his neck.
His throat goes dry— because it’s hot outside. They’re on a beach. Of course.
“Soda. I want a soda.”
“I guess you could be,” Hajime shifts, not looking at Kazuichi but at the sky, trying to think of something, “Ultimate— uh, Soda Chugger?”
He seems to realize that’s not particularly flattering, but before Kazuichi can say so, Hajime stands and offers him a hand. With nothing else to do, he takes it. They stand together for a moment, vaguely uncomfortable in the sand and sweat gathering beneath their distinctly not beach-appropriate attire.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Kazuichi blinks. “Huh?”
“Me and you. We could get a soda.” Hajime hesitates, eyes sliding to the girls at the shoreline. “Or, we could try to invite the girls. If you want.”
Kazuichi sees himself not only trying to talk to girls— a disaster— but trying to talk to Ultimates, when he has no talent to speak of. Hajime’s right here, he already knows, and he doesn’t care. He called Kazuichi cool. Maybe— he can stick with Hajime. At least until he finds his talent.
“Just you and me, uh,” he adds, with a hesitant fist-bump offering, “bro.”
“Bro,” Hajime agrees, accepting the fist-bump before Kazuichi can second-guess himself. “We could even find some swim trunks, while we’re at it.”
“Yeah, it’s definitely time to get you out of that shirt. I mean— because as your friend, I don’t want you to get heat stroke.”
Hajime grins and if Kazuichi were a more observant person, he’d say that Hajime’s doing an admirable job of not laughing at him. As it is, Kazuichi only thinks that Hajime’s got a nice smile, with very white teeth. “You’re a good friend, Kazuichi.”
This might not be so bad, after all.