Chapter Text
Kiyotaka Ishimaru was not good at many things. He was tall, but not particularly so. He only had exceptional grades because of the hours of study he drilled into himself—nights filled with revision and practice. He wasn’t sporty, or funny, or witty. Quite frankly, other than his extreme dedication to morals and proper conduct, he was sure he wasn’t naturally good enough at anything to deserve the position he currently held: a second-year student at the prestigious Hope’s Peak Academy.
That was why he could never allow himself to slip, not that he ever would, of course. It had been easier back at Kaisaidan, where he could bury himself in books and ignore the aching feeling in his chest when others mocked him both to his face and behind his back. Isolation made life simple. It let him deafen his ears to ridicule (though he always heard it—so many nights crying himself to sleep, scolding himself for caring). To keep his eyes on the future. There was no one else who could bear his burden. Not his father, who he seldom confided in, if only to keep the slump in the man’s shoulders from deepening after endless weeks of overtime. His father had suffered enough since the incident. If Kiyotaka could help it, he would not add to that weight.
That glazed look in his father’s eyes when Kiyotaka first started talking about his... difficulties at school made him feel like a nuisance. A parasite leeching the last remaining lifeforce of its host. His father used to smile before the incident, not often but it was a view he could remember. He hadn't seen that look on his father's face in a long time, the most recent being when he'd received his admissions letter from Hope's Peak Academy. Mirroring his own experience, the police officer's relationships at work had suffered following the impeachment. Long overtime with stunted wages, fellow officers dumping work on him in an effort to put him in his place. The man probably didn't need to hear the endless complaints of a child who didn't understand the pain of living in the real world.
(Of course, if he'd been better at reading facial expressions, Kiyotaka would have seen that the look came more from concern than boredom.)
To think that someone other than his family could love him was a blessing in itself, a miracle rivalled only by his admission to Hope’s Peak Academy. This was his chance to rectify the damage caused by his grandfather, to rebuild the Ishimaru name that arguably had started to crumble from within these very halls.
Having friends was wonderful. Even just one was more than he’d ever dreamed of. His Kyoudai was the missing half of himself: rough in the places where Kiyotaka was smooth, a puzzle piece that mirrored him but fit differently. He never imagined that, of all people in Hope’s Peak, the person he’d have the most in common with would be Mondo Owada, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader. They’d clashed many times when they first met—purple meeting red, voices rising, shoves and crude insults (one thing about Mondo he was still learning to adjust to). Kiyotaka had assumed the biker was like the delinquents from his old school: reckless and uncaring of people and property. Undisciplined. From afar, it was easy to think Mondo’s shouting came from anger rather than nerves, his style meant only to intimidate rather than to express pride in his subculture. The long coat bearing the Crazy Diamonds insignia, the eyeliner, the bleached pompadour—all the marks of delinquency and inadequacy.
Yet hearing about the gang from his Kyoudai had changed things. The Crazy Diamonds weren’t just troublemakers—they were a family, created by Mondo’s older brother to give kids with broken homes a sense of purpose. A flourishing display of youth culture: wild and untamed. Daiya forbade his members from joining the yakuza while in the gang. They repaired abandoned buildings so members without shelter had a place to sleep. Mondo once told him about a time when he was younger, how a group of the gang had lifted a woman’s car out of a ditch after she’d hit a pothole. Kiyotaka had almost thought it was a joke until Mondo showed him the photo, Daiya catching the boys grinning proudly beside the rescued driver, a sheepish smile on her face as she held a peace symbol up to the camera.
Things about the taller boy that had once annoyed him had become endearing. A kindred spirit, someone who also knew the struggle of staying true to one’s moral code, who also had burdens which at times felt impossible to bear. Through his bro, traits within himself now felt like strengths rather than weaknesses.
He’d never thought he would find joy in watching television, or understand a joke quickly enough to laugh at the appropriate time. But Mondo had opened that door for him, given him the chance to make new friends, to become part of a school community he had long accepted he would never truly belong to.
Essentially, his friend had taught him a great deal—from slang words he’d never use to video games he was comically bad at. It felt nice to have someone of his own. Someone he could confide in, even just a little.
There was one thing, though, he was certain he could never tell him. Maybe never tell anyone, though he hoped that someday, that wouldn't be the case.
No matter. Even with Mondo’s help in “humanising” him, as Kuwata had crudely put it, he still wasn’t the most likeable person. And yes, handing out demerits and detentions didn’t exactly do wonders for one's popularity, his personality didn’t help either. He spoke too loudly, missed jokes too often, and had a talent for ruining moods. His classmates had grown used to it, but awkward moments still happened often enough to worry him. If Hope’s Peak couldn’t help him learn to be more personable, what hope did he have after graduation—in the real world, as a politician?
The thought worried him deeply. Still, he was grateful for the advice his classmates had offered so far.
“How to become more likeable? Taka, you already are likeable.”
Makoto really hated everyone who’d gone to Kiyotaka’s old school. Even if his grandfather had been a horrible Prime Minister, what did that have to do with his grandson? It’s not like the whole family had been running the country together. The way people treated Taka back then still made his stomach twist whenever he thought about it.
The slightly put-out look on the hall monitor’s face told him that Kiyotaka didn’t believe him. Sure, Taka could be overly enthusiastic sometimes, but everyone in their class had their quirks. There were plenty of loud, overzealous, and occasionally overbearing personalities in Hope’s Peak — some way worse than Taka! But since he wanted to be Prime Minister one day, Makoto knew the idea of being “unlikeable” probably kept him up at night.
“Makoto-kun, you shouldn’t lie!” Ishimaru said, straightening his posture with serious disapproval. “I know very well that I have a personality that many people don’t like. That’s why I am taking action to rectify this by conducting a survey.”
“…A survey.” Makoto blinked. That was such a Kiyotaka Ishimaru way of saying he wanted to ask everyone for their opinion. Maybe if the others gave him words that described him, he’d finally realise that anyone worth being friends with already liked him for who he was.
“Well,” Makoto spoke carefully, “I think people who are... nice to talk to make good friends! It’s easy to become close to people when you learn about their interests.”
Taka nodded thoughtfully, eyes sharp with determination. He always tried to make small talk during homeroom, even if it came out a little stiff. He’d even started calling Makoto Professor after a long discussion about how watching TV could actually be educational. (Makoto had lost count of how many friends he’d made just by mentioning a show or movie someone else liked.) That nickname had worn off quickly once Ishimaru noticed how red his face turned every time he said it.
“People… good to talk to… conversational…” Ishimaru muttered, pulling out a small notebook to jot something down.
Makoto sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe he should warn the others before Taka reached them with his “survey.” He doubted Togami would even respond, and Junko would probably just laugh at the question—calling it “despair-inducing” or something equally messed up. Still, the rest of the class might help if he explained what Taka was trying to do.
Maybe he should’ve stalled until he could ask Kyoko for advice before answering? She was better at this kind of thing.
He glanced at Taka’s focused face, already bent in determination over his notebook. _Hopefully this doesn’t backfire too badly.
Across the room, Mondo’s gaze landed on Kiyotaka, and not for the first time that day, the biker felt a knot of panic twist in his stomach.
He was so freaking screwed.
Not in the forgot-his-homework or missed-his-turn-and-now-added-fifteen-stupid-minutes-to-his-journey kind of way. Nah, this was worse. This was the crushing-on-your-best-bro kind of fucking worse. The kind that made his brain short-circuit every time Kiyotaka smiled at him like a damn motivational poster.
Shit, he’d always known he found guys semi-attractive. Maybe even majorly attractive. But that was more of a “shit, I should’ve thought of wearing bandages like that” or “those scars really frame his face—he looks fucking badass!” and less “his smile is so fucking cute I can’t breathe” or “if I turned my head a little to the left, I’d practically be giving him a kiss...”
Followed, of course, by embarrassing imaginings he wouldn’t admit to even if you strapped him to a chair and electrocuted him.
It wasn’t his fucking fault! Kiyotaka was just so damn… good. Even back when they’d hated each other’s guts and fought all the damn time, he’d been nicer than any other hall monitor or class president had ever been. Maybe if the guy could catch a fucking hint (which he was slow at on his best day), he’d have realised, just like all the others, that forcing Mondo to do anything in any damned school was a lost fucking cause.
He wasn’t the smartest, nor did he ever care to be. He barely scraped passing grades most of the time, always having to lug folders of homework with him over break just to stay enrolled. To the rest of the world, at best he was a public nuisance, at worst a criminal and social failure. He shouted when he was nervous—solidifying his losing streak with girls, as if his appearance wasn’t already enough. He wasn’t great at dropping his gang persona in calmer situations either; his old school was basically a dumping ground for losers and troublemakers that no one wanted to deal with. Keeping up appearances there had been for survival, ain't no way he'd let no second rate gangster wannabe think badly of the Crazy Diamonds, certainly not of their fucking leader!
After spending years in an all-guys gang and then an almost-all-guys school (sure, there was a nearby sister school, but most of those girls were rough enough that they barely registered as people he should be nervous around—at least after the first few encounters), his experience with girls wasn’t exactly stellar.
The few girls who actually were his type: smart, confident, cute; didn’t find getting screamed at in the face all that endearing.
Looking back, maybe his first interaction with his Kyoudai should’ve been a warning sign of where he’d end up...
Accepting that he was bi wasn’t really the problem, despite what you’d probably think.
Yeah, the machismo in gang life was definitely overboard—everyone had their secret hobbies they thought made them look “less manly.” No one actually believed that Sato collected Pokémon cards for their cash value, or that Takumi painted his nails just because of his girl (who didn’t even wear nail polish herself, for fuck’s sake).
Daiya never cared about shit like that. He’d beat the hell out of anyone who gave him crap for liking to sew or read, and he’d do a hell of a lot more if it happened to one of their guys.
Not that Mondo didn’t feel the same way. It was just… Daiya was older than the rest of 'em. It was easier for him to set the stage, to be the big brother they all needed—and missed dearly. He was nurturing, actually good at talking 'nd shit. Whereas Mondo?
He didn’t think he’d ever fill the hole Daiya left. Especially not in that way.
Daiya'd always been the supportive, motivational one, the one people confided in. The one who taught them any semblance of self-worth and fucking dignity. Besides Michi, he usually only found out someone was queer when someone slipped up around him by accident.
That always kinda hurt, honestly. The mortified look on their faces—did they all really think he was some kind of homophobic asshole? He knew they knew he wasn’t, but still… Mondo’s temper wasn’t exactly famous for restraint, and no one wanted to risk getting put on blast cause they got in his way on a bad day. When he was mad—like really mad—his head filled with fuzz. Stuff just spilled out. Violent, spiteful, ugly words just wanting to hurt people even if he didn't in a million years actually mean it.
He was working on it.
Still, Mondo was sure that after a few times meeting Taka (after the guys got used to him) his Kyoudai would be able to infiltrate the walls that some of the guys had so damn high. He was a good leader, and the way he’d softened since first year only highlighted how much he genuinely cared about others. The responsibility of Daiya’s death was something that he had to deal with alone, but if he were to tell anyone... it'd be Taka.
If, in an alternate universe or some shit, Taka ever decided to join the Crazy Diamonds, he’d make one hell of a co-captain.
The image popped into Mondo’s head before he could stop it: Taka holding tight around his waist, a smile pressed against his back, the rest of the gang following behind them. His bro in leathers, those impractical high-ass boots somehow still spotless.
His bro, a tokkofuku...
With the Crazy Diamonds logo blazing across his back, pants cinched by a matching black Komainu belt that hugged his tiny waist—
Shit.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. What the hell was wrong with him? The butterflies of doom were back. And given that the only person who ever actually helped with his anxiety was the cause of it, venting to him wasn’t exactly an option.
“I really don’t think it’s as bad as you think! Honestly, you’d think Taka was a video game final boss with the way you’re talking about him...”
The three of them were slumped on Chihiro’s small couch, mashing buttons furiously as they finally escaped an Apex fight without getting steamrolled by a third—no, fifth party. You wouldn’t think it by looking at him, but Chi’s gaming experience trumped basically everyone Mondo knew, even the guys who did nothing but bum around playing shooters 24/7.
“What kinda game would that be? High school dating sim where a delinquent falls for the goody two-shoes?” Leon barked out a laugh, leaning further back into the soft couch. “How fucking cliché.”
A growl rumbled in Mondo’s chest before he even registered it, his leg darting out to kick Leon in the knee. (The guy was lucky Mondo’s hands were busy.)
“What! I’m telling the damn truth. Plus, Chihiro’s right. Just go confess already and get your happy ending.” Leon turned from the screen to meet Mondo’s glare. “Trust me! There’s no way the hall monitor isn’t into you.”
Yeah, right. Trust Leon? This was the same guy who swore up and down that Maizono was into him but still hadn’t managed to ask her out on a date that wasn’t just music practice or group studying.
Leaving out the fact that he wasn’t even sure if Taka could be into anyone like that, not to mention fucking men! He’d never really shown any interest in girls apart from being classmates and encouraging them to do their best like everyone else in their school. Even though that stupid rumor had gone around about him and Asahina being in some kind of secret relationship...
Mondo was 90% sure that whole shitshow had been started by Junko, the conniving witch, just so she could corner the swimmer with a flood of questions right after Asahina had told the whole class she was ace. A real piece of fucking work, that one.
Taka had talked about relationships before, but only in the context of other people: usually to give citations about PDA and “improper school conduct.” Still, his Kyoudai was a secret romantic, if the way his eyes had sparkled when Mondo wrangled him into a weekend-long Ghibli marathon was anything to go by.
Even if Taka did like men, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to go for someone like those guys? Someone soft. Dependable. Handsome.
Not a guy who yells when he’s nervous and can’t go a week without screwing something up.
Yeah. Mondo didn’t think any of those words could be used to describe him.
“Well,” Chihiro started softly, eyes still glued to the screen, “you guys are already really close, closer than most best friends I think. I really don't think it'd be a disaster, even if he didn't feel the same way.” The small boy added in a whisper, "Even though he totally does."
They were closer than Mondo had ever been with anyone since Daiya.
Chihiro was one of his best friends, Leon got on his nerves (mostly in the good sort of way) and other classmates like Hiro or Naegi were fun to hang around when it came down to it. Hell, even with some upperclassmen like Fuyuhiko or Souda, he’d go as far as to call them friends. Especially the former.
But none of those relationships held a freaking candle to his Kyoudai.
Maybe... maybe his heart was just confused! He’d finally accepted that he was into guys, and now the closest guy to him was making his heart race? It was probably just hormones latching onto the nearest person, didn’t mean a damn thing!
If he could just keep it in for a few weeks, the feeling was bound to fade. Then he could tell Taka about him being bi, and one day, he’d be able to laugh at the idea of wanting to date, kiss, maybe even marry, his bro.
“...Chi, you’re a fucking genius!”
Chihiro’s face said he didn’t share that opinion, but Mondo wasn’t listening.
He had a plan now.
What could possibly go wrong?
Headmaster Kirigiri was one of the first teachers Ishimaru had liked since the incident. Even when he’d been younger, he’d always been a sort of teacher’s pet, not that it was appropriate to ever refer to someone as such. He simply liked being helpful, offering to do small tasks or chores.
But ever since his grandfather’s failings had come to light, teachers who’d once smiled at him began to sneer, disgust evident in their eyes. His offers to help turned against him; students and teachers alike accused him of trying to buy their forgiveness, of using his labor to win back approval after the downfall of his family name.
Of course, that was absurd. Back then, when it had all started, he hadn’t understood the severity of the situation. He’d only known that his grandfather had done something wrong—his position in the government stripped away, his company foreclosed. It wasn’t until the protests outside their home, the insults hurled in the street, the whispered slurs in grocery aisles, and finally, his mother leaving—that he understood.
People’s perception of you, no matter how warped, could greatly shape how the world treated you. And the only way to change that perception was through your actions.
Kirigiri, however, was different. He was kind—calm but surprisingly cheery. Kiyotaka could see where his classmate got her looks from; her father had an undeniably handsome face. Ishimaru admired him for becoming Headmaster of Hope’s Peak when he could have easily followed a detective’s path. A genius, yes, but also a man who knew the value of hard work.
“Good morning, Headmaster!” Kiyotaka bowed deeply, a folder of revised student timetables clutched in his hand.
Kirigiri had asked him to adjust the schedules of several classmates (namely Kuwata, Asahina, and Oogami) to make room for additional talent practice. The three had been chosen to participate in an upcoming international sports showcase sponsored by Hope’s Peak. The event was meant to highlight Hope’s Peak’s athletic excellence and strengthen ties with other prestigious schools abroad. Ishimaru was certain both the home and international students would give it their all, he could already imagine the shining example of discipline it would present to the world!
Hopefully, he thought, the preparations might even inspire Leon to take his own talent more seriously. Despite claiming to be done with baseball, the redhead’s effort toward his newfound passion of music was... inconsistent at best. Ishimaru often wondered whether Kuwata truly expected to make a living out of it, given how little attention he gave it when he wasn't "in the zone."
Kirigiri greeted him warmly, holding the door open to let him inside. Kiyotaka stepped forward.
The Headmaster gestured for him to sit, though Ishimaru chose to remain standing.
“Thank you for doing this, Ishimaru,” Kirigiri said as he flipped through the folder. “Ah—you even made one for the exchange student?”
“I—” Kiyotaka hesitated. “Although it wasn’t part of the original task, sir, I thought it would be wasteful to have a student come all this way and not experience our academic environment! Even if they are only here for two weeks, it would be a fine opportunity to experience the excellence Hope’s Peak offers.”
He straightened his posture, voice filled with pride. “And, of course, it would allow them to practise their conversational Japanese with other students!”
Kirigiri’s lips curved slightly. “Admirable foresight. Thank you for that.”
He set the folder down and sighed softly, circling his desk before taking his seat. “You’ve just reminded me of another problem. The staff member assigned to handle the orientation tour for our new exchange student fell ill this morning. I’ll need to find someone to replace them, but on such short notice—”
Kiyotaka wasn’t sure what came over him. Talking to people was difficult even on a good day, let alone with an American who might not speak Japanese fluently. Yes, he had a decent grasp of English, but his limited social skills would likely render him useless beyond the most basic conversation.
He should have recommended a classmate. Junko Enoshima, perhaps (who despite first impressions, was very smart and a master in the English language) or Makoto Naegi, who was kind and effortlessly likeable.
But of course, his enthusiasm got the better of him, and before he could stop himself—
“If I may—!”
He didn’t even realise he’d stepped forward until his knee brushed the edge of the desk.
“I volunteer to guide the new student, sir! It would be an honour to represent Hope’s Peak in welcoming our international guest!”
Kirigiri blinked once, then set his pen down with a quiet click.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm. You’re certain you can manage this alongside your existing duties?” Kirigiri's facial expression could only be described as doubtful, which filled the hall monitor with more determination.
“Of course! I will not fail you, sir!”
The Headmaster nodded, though his expression softened with something like concern.
“Very well. I’ll inform the staff. The student’s name is Kai Tanaka, he’s arriving from an American sports academy later in the week.”
“Understood, Headmaster Kirigiri!” Kiyotaka’s hand came up in a crisp salute. “You can rely on me completely!”
Kirigiri’s lips twitched—half approval, half amusement.
“I don’t doubt that, Ishimaru.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!
How on earth could he have been this freaking dumb!? Of course Japan used different plugs than America, why hadn’t he thought to check? And, of course, he’d forgotten to charge his power bank at the airport back home. So he’d barely managed to call a taxi to Hope’s Peak before his phone died completely.
Maybe if he’d used that time to properly check his email, he would’ve realised that the school had already sent a car to pick him up, and all he’d needed to do was wait at the pickup stop outside his terminal.
Instead, here he was: panicking in the back of a cab, running through every formal Japanese phrase he could remember before stepping foot into the best school in all of freaking Japan.
Okay, Kai. You got this.
You speak, like, 60% Japanese. Maybe 70%.
Sure, basically all of your knowledge came from your dad — who hasn’t been back home in about ten freaking years — and who’d admitted that, since he was usually the only one around who spoke fluently, he wasn’t always as formal as he should be...
That’s... almost fluent, right?
Hopefully, the students at Hope’s Peak wouldn’t immediately ostracise him the moment they heard his horrible Japanese. And, of course, he’d forgotten to dye his hair back to black before flying out. It made him look more like a delinquent than a visiting athlete, or maybe just someone prone to bad life decisions... he wasn’t sure which was worse. The buzzcut had looked cool and sharp went first done, but now it looked more of a “quarter-life crisis” shade of red that refused to die. Back home, no one thought twice about it, but here, he could already feel the stares.
Speaking of Hope’s Peak, the place was freaking huge! The school loomed over him like some kind of academic fortress, all shining glass and towering gates. Despite it being the middle of the day, there were plenty of students walking around the courtyard, chatting under cherry blossom trees and generally having a good time.
Luckily, his school uniform from back home was a similar blue-black color to the reserve course students’, so with a bit of confidence (and the help of the crowd when the bell rang) he managed to blend in and slip into the building unnoticed.
Now if only he could find the headmaster’s office.
This week was going horribly. Being part of the disciplinary committee at a school with students such as the Ultimates was… challenging, even on the best of days. The main course students had a talent (ha ha!) for turning the ordinary into chaos. Upperclassman Tanaka had somehow decided to foster a retired racehorse and needed a temporary place in the school to house it. Meanwhile, the Ultimate Musician had staged a surprise CD signing right outside the building, which led to swarms of fans blocking the entrance and leaving other students trapped outside.
Having other members on the committee was a great help, a privilege Ishimaru had lacked at his previous school. The committee was just three people: himself, Mitsuyo-kun, and Yamato-kun, both reserve course students who had volunteered their time, mostly for a chance to interact with the main course students. Kiyotaka was sure that, after dealing with the chaos caused by the Ultimates, Mitsuyo and Yamato were satisfied knowing that their new experiences in upholding moral conduct would help them grow as people (though, in truth, it was mainly for their CVs—don’t tell Ishimaru that).
Though he had been difficult to work with at first, the two students had grown to appreciate him, especially after seeing him take on double the amount of work they did, despite also being an Ultimate himself. They had both been on the verge of quitting after the first month, but watching Ishimaru work tirelessly, even when no one seemed to appreciate it, made them feel guilty enough to persevere. Now, they could even say it was something they enjoyed… most of the time.
A stomach bug was currently sweeping through the staff, leaving a few teachers so ill that they couldn’t teach. Substitute teachers had been called in, leaving scheduled tutoring sessions unsupervised, and detention periods unchecked. Though this sudden increase in workload was far from ideal, what sort of Ultimate moral compass would Kiyotaka be if he didn’t rise to the occasion? But on top of all this, there was Mondo’s not-so-subtle avoidance of him and the arrival for the new student…
Hmmm.
It wasn’t as though Mondo was fully avoiding him. They still spent the same amount of time together each day: lunch (Mondo woke up too late for breakfast with him) and study sessions (admittedly, the amount of work Mondo completed could be debated, but he was steadily improving his grades semester by semester! His bro wasn't as stupid as he thought, a self deprecation Kiyotaka was keen to put a stop to). Yet still there was a subtle, unfilled space between them. Mondo didn’t touch him as much as he used to, despite both of them being naturally physical.
And now this! Amid all the commotion, Kiyotaka hadn’t been able to practise his social skills as he’d intended. Observing detentions didn’t exactly require conversation. Now, standing at the gates of Hope’s Peak Academy, his watch showing he’d been waiting for twenty minutes (he’d arrived a little early, just in case)… Kai-kun was nowhere in sight.
The taxi that had been arranged for him hadn’t arrived, and there was no notice that the boy’s schedule had changed. Had he gotten lost on the way? Yet Kiyotaka had a draft of the final email the boy received; the instructions were clear, written in both English and Japanese. The few students he'd questioned nearby hadn’t seen anyone unrecognised, so where on earth could he be?
He had managed to fail at this important task before it had even begun! Every passing minute made him more anxious. Maybe the boy had gotten lost at the airport? Could he still be there? Surely he had a mobile device—perhaps he had tried contacting the school and couldn’t get through?
Kiyotaka resolved to go to reception to see if the exchange student’s mobile number was on file, and perhaps also check with airport staff to see if any boy matching the description had been spotted. Granted, he didn’t know exactly what the boy looked like, other than being partly Japanese and wearing a school uniform—the kind of description that could match countless students in an airport...
Oh, this was a disaster!
Somehow, the school was even bigger inside than it looked from the outside. Apparently, Hope’s Peak was split across multiple buildings, and the one he’d stumbled into first had been the Reserve Course. That meant he’d had to tail someone eccentric-looking (though honestly, the guy looked way too old to still be in high school — like, legally-old-enough-to-drink-in-both-Japan-and-America old) with massive dreads just to get to the right building.
The Reserve Course might’ve been huge, but the main building? The main building was on another freaking level. High ceilings, polished floors that practically glowed, plaques and framed awards lining the walls — dedications to students who’d walked these halls and actually made it.
Just seeing it filled him with determination. Even if he was only here for a month, he was gonna prove that he belonged.
But right this second, he needed to prove to himself that he could still read Japanese. His dead phone was clutched in his hand like a used “Phone a Friend” lifeline on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, not exactly comforting.
With all the students walking past, and him trying to read every sign he came across to see if any of the kanji gave him a clue where to go, he'd totally lost the guy he’d been following. Shit.
He supposed it might be best to just stay put until classes started. Eventually, someone would notice the confused foreigner loitering in the hallway and take him to an authority figure—hopefully the elusive (to him, at least) Headmaster. But Kai wasn’t keen on getting in trouble on his first day for technically trespassing, nor did he want to be humiliated in front of everyone by being called out for slinking in the halls like a creep.
It would probably be better (for both his pride and his sanity) if he just cobbled together every private Japanese lesson he’d ever had and found the stupid Headmaster’s office himself.
Again, if he’d been paying attention to anything that wasn’t covered in kanji, he might have noticed the guy walking with an almost military pace: back straight, hands folded behind him. The kind of guy who looked like he greeted his reflection every morning with a motivational speech.
If Kai had actually read his welcome email properly, he’d have seen a photo of one Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the student assigned to give him a tour around the school. Maybe then he wouldn’t have instinctively lifted the blazer in his arms to cover his dulled red hair and ducked around the nearest corner when he heard a voice call out.
“Excuse me! You there, with the red hair!”
Despite being quite far away, the guy’s voice carried way too well—it was like he was standing right behind him!
“Do you have permission to be here?”
No. No, he absolutely did not.
Saved by the freaking bell, the second alarm rang out, prompting the students still in the halls to scramble toward their respective classrooms. For a second, it looked like the guy might give chase, but instead he let out a heavy sigh and turned into one of the classrooms they’d just passed (Classroom 2-B, according to the sign.)
Unluckily for Kai, the hallway he’d ducked into looked almost identical to the last one. And since the building had multiple floors, that meant he totally wasn't going to find the right place for a long while.
Just great.
At this point, Kai decided it was probably best to cut his losses and head back to where he started. Maybe he could just stand by the entrance and pretend he hadn’t technically broken into one of the most prestigious schools in Japan—one that was generously hosting him for free for two weeks.
Plus, he could make sure no one had moved or tossed out his luggage while he’d been running around like an idiot. He'd even left his most expensive letterman on the handle to help him blend in... Japan wasn't known for petty crime, right?!
He waited until the hallway had mostly cleared, especially until that white-uniformed student (the one who’d almost caught him) was out of sight. Then, cautiously, he started back toward the way he came.
Kai’s eyes darted across the hallway, scanning the neat signs lining the walls. Which one could it be…? He squinted at the first one.
“That… must be the some sort of office?” he murmured to himself, stepping forward. After all, “事務” had something to do with… business? He really hoped he wasn’t about to barge into a storage room.
It was.
That’s when he noticed it: just above the slightly ajar door the other boy had gone to enter, a flash of blue.
Was that… a bucket?
Man, he should’ve known Leon was up to something the second he got to homeroom before him. That bastard had that look on his face that said he was about to get someone else in trouble.
Sure enough, when Mondo leaned back in his chair and glanced toward the door, there it was. A slightly filled bucket, perfectly balanced on the edge of the frame.
Real subtle.
He groaned, rubbing the back of his head, fingers grasping the brown, unstyled locks. “Oi, Kuwata, tell me that’s not what I think it is.” The only reason the baseballer would ever come to a class early (even if homeroom technically wasn't a class) to do a prank was because Kiyotaka wasn't around. He was usually here 5 minutes early, and Leon wouldn't sacrifice much more of his break to fuck with someone else's day.
The boy snickered from his seat, spinning a pencil between his fingers like the world’s cockiest drummer.
“Relax, dude! It’s for Hiro. It's what he gets for finishing my damn beer without telling me." Beer that he wasn't supposed to have, but seeing as Mondo had drunk some of the stash too, he couldn't exactly comment. "If he's gonna drink, the least he can do is replenish when he's done. At least he's old enough to buy from regular stores without a fake ID! Besides, hall monitor’s gonna be in meetings all day with the new kid. No harm, no foul.”
Yeah, right. Mondo had a bad feeling about this. The universe loved screwing with Taka too much to just let him miss it. Plus the boy seemed to have a sixth sense for mischief, even if he didn't realise it. So ironic for him alway to be in the centre of a plan, but not realise what was happening until it was too late. Mondo loved the guy, really, but he was more than a little naive. He was probably gonna walk through that door the second the damn thing tipped.
And sure enough, like he’d been summoned by fate, or just another instance of bad timing, he heard his bro’s voice from right outside the classroom.
“Good morning, everyone! I’ll be busy for the rest of the day, I just—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—!” Mondo shot up from his chair so fast it scraped against the floor. “Taka, don’t open the—!”
He didn’t get to finish. Because right at that moment, some random dude with a dark blazer draped over his shoulders rushed into view, looking like he’d just sprinted across campus. Mondo didn’t recognise him, but the guy’s eyes darted up: straight to the bucket.
In a way, Mondo felt like in that moment him and this guy had acted as the same person with the ferocity with which they both lunged; Mondo to stop the door before the bucket could fully fall and hit its unintended victim, the stranger to grab Taka by the bicep and pull him backwards.
Pulled so strongly, in fact, that he sent the two of them tumbling to the ground.
The bucket hit the floor with a loud thud, spilling water across the hallway in front of the human pile. By this point, most of the class had jumped to their feet, a few of the closer students crowding near the door to check if Kiyotaka was alright. Which (thankfully) he seemed to be, if you didn’t count the probably sore ass from the fall. His face was bright red, and the pants of his uniform were soaked.
Mondo was already in the doorway, though he wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten there so fast.
But that wasn’t what he was focused on.
What really occupied his mind was the sight in front of him: his Kyoudai, surprised and red-faced, bracketed by long legs in dark dress pants and scuffed Converses.
The mystery boy’s hair was red, buzzed short with black roots showing through. He had an angular but approachable face, dark, neat eyebrows that framed bright eyes.
From what Mondo could see, the guy was muscular—athletic.
Handsome, that’s for damn sure.
His face was close (way too close) to Taka’s, a hand coming up to touch the hall monitor’s forehead as he stumbled through rudimentary Japanese, asking if he was okay and apologising for knocking him over.
Why the hell was he so fucking close?
The vein in Mondo’s forehead started to throb, that familiar buzz growing in his ears. Fucking calm down, he told himself. There’s nothing to blow up about.
But all he could think was—why was Kiyotaka in this guy’s arms instead of his?
Totally bro-like thoughts. Absolutely nothing weird about that.
...Shit. He should probably help Taka up, seeing as he was standing there like a damned Thwomp trap, blocking everyone else from exiting.
Kuwata was going to have detention and community service for the rest of the week!
Regardless of his intentions, pranks like this were forbidden for a reason! Even if it was intended to be friendly, which Ishimaru could only assume from the look on the baseball player’s face; punctuated with a mouth agape horror. Or perhaps the other was visualising the large amounts of cleaning blackboards and litter picking in his near future.
Being soaked in front of one’s peers was both uncomfortable and humiliating—not to mention the loss of valuable learning time from having to shower and change in the middle of the day. What if it had been someone else? What if it had been a staff member!
Despite the pain in his rear and the blood rushing to his face from shock, he was physically unharmed. Before he could even attempt to move, a face appeared in his vision.
A warm hand pressed to his forehead, and a solid chest hovered just behind his back as the stranger spoke—his words tumbling out in accented Japanese that Ishimaru’s slightly addled mind needed a few seconds to properly process.
Red eyes darted to meet black ones, flicking briefly to his soaked legs and shoes before returning to his face.
Wait...that hairstyle, the black trousers...this was the student he’d attempted to stop in the hallway! His broad shoulders and easy way he carried himself made it clear he was used to moving fast, and given the type of day he was having, Kiyotaka hadn't exactly been eager to follow this boy as he undoubtably ran from his consequences.
He’d thought about giving chase; briskly, of course, as running was not permitted in the halls (even by hall monitors) but had decided against it. It would be more efficient to alert his classmates to watch for an unfamiliar student and then report his failure to Headmaster Kirigiri directly.
But now, as his gaze fell to the other boy’s shoulder, Ishimaru’s attention caught on the embroidered crest stitched into the blazer’s breast pocket. It wasn’t the same as the one expertly attached to the black and brown uniforms of Hope's Peak Academy students. Neither was it a symbol from his old high school, which would be the only other option he could think of.
So where had he seen that symbol before…?
“Kai-kun?!”