Chapter Text
Dad wanted me to play baseball. Mom wanted me to dance ballet. Guess who won out in the end. And so, here I am. Leon Kuwata. One of the top ballet dancers in the country, on my way to one of the best ballet schools in the world… And I hate it.
How did I even get here? What got my parents to decide having me take dance lessons from the age of four? Twelve years of my life dedicated to ankle injuries, foot blisters, strict diets, learning French terms, so many rules…! And for what? To be the best at something that I despise like my name is Ben Simmons? My mother—bless her fucking heart, I guess—thought ballet would teach me discipline, grace, all that jazz. No, instead, it taught me how to pretend, how to smile when my feet were screaming, and how to perfect a pirouette, a plié, a jeté, whatever. But hey, it’d be better than throwing out my shoulders practicing the perfect pitch or imagining how to get a home run.
Besides, baseball didn’t have girls. That was pretty much the only reason I think four-year-old me agreed to siding with Mom to begin with. I wanted to spend my time with girls. And hey, being the only boy in my class meant that I’d always get the lead male dancing role, but all the girls would be fighting over who’d get to dance with me. That was nice, at least… I imagine there’d be cute girls at Hope’s Peak Academy, too. Yeah, Mom’s making me audition, but come on, Leon. Think of the girls. Think of them in their leotards and tutus, hair done in buns and their legs in tights.
Well, I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could even find a cute girl to distract me from all the endless rehearsals and strict teachers. Yeah, that’s it. Hope’s Peak. New school, new girls, new opportunities to ditch ballet for something actually cool, like… I don’t know what, actually. I guess I have this week to find out. And hey, if I don’t make it in, I can use this as an excuse to tell my parents, “Oh well. Dance didn’t work out. Time to do something else—that isn’t baseball, Dad!”
And all that time thinking over what I wanted to ditch ballet for made me nearly miss my stop while on the bus. If my mother wasn’t right here, I’d use this as an excuse to miss going. But no, she made sure that I got off that bus with her. The school towered over us both, the campus decorated with other teens my age, also with dance bags slung over their shoulders and talking amongst themselves. Unlike me, they chose to spend their winter vacation here. They weren’t hand picked by a talent scout like I was.
“Now, Leon, you know I love you, right?” Mom asked, patting me on the bed like I was still four, and not sixteen like I am now. I just grunted in response, still looking up at the imposing building, up at the clock on the tallest tower of it. “I’ll pick you up on Sunday,” was all she said before heading back to the bus stop. As much as I wanted to bother her and beg me one last time not to make me do this, I knew my efforts would be fruitless. Sighing, I dragged myself to the front door, running my fingers through my brown hair the closer I got to the door.
This was it. My week of Hell was about to begin. Six days of a grueling, multi-stage audition process. I got my number: 37, and was soon sent to the locker rooms. Not even getting a moment to settle, am I? So I made my way upstairs, several students showing me the way to the locker rooms on the second floor, and I stepped inside. I wasted no time throwing off my leather jacket and getting on something that’s more, “suitable.” Sweat pants are suitable, right?
I quickly then noticed I wasn’t alone: skin like ivory, hair like ebony tucked in two buns, and… black, lacy underwear. A girl with some class. I had to keep myself from staring at her ass before she tucked it away in tights and a leotard. It wasn’t until she turned around that I noticed her red lips and eyes to match… Damn, she was like a gothic porcelain doll having been brought to life, not a single blemish or hair out of place. Her eyes quickly locked with mine… and she screamed at me.
“What are you doing in here?! This is the GIRLS’ locker room! GET OUT!” she shouted. I don’t know if it was because of how hot she was, or her screaming at me, but I just stood there, frozen as her piercing scream echoed through the locker room. Suddenly, my admiring her was replaced by an equal panic and rising embarrassment.
“Whoa! Sorry! I didn’t kn—!” I tried to explain, but her furious glare and the accusatory finger—with a silver clawed finger guard thingy—pointed at me made it clear that she wasn’t interested in explanations. So I quickly backed out before she could decide to throw something at me. To my surprise, right next door, with the male kanji right above the door, was the boys’ locker room. Huh… to think there were enough boys to warrant this. Normally, I’d change in the locker room alone before all the girls did. That way, I was in the studio and got some extra time to warm up, or be lectured by the teacher, either or.
So I stepped inside, with no further incident. This time, I really was alone, changing just as quickly without being interrupted by a hot girl screaming at me. She’s probably going around calling me a pervert… She’d be right, but I was just so used to it, you know? Being the only guy in a room full of girls; I couldn’t help becoming a pervert. This was a new experience, and a little unsettling, to be honest. Nobody’s ever screamed at me in a locker room, you know?
But now with that out of the way, I needed to head to the dance studio, walking past classrooms—since I guess regular school still happens here?—and once again needing directions there. This time, I walked into someone tall, blonde, glasses framing his face. His icy blue eyes just stared down at me, almost sneering at me, as if asking, “How dare you walk into me!” But judging by the 23 on his chest, I imagine he was like me: someone auditioning to be at this school.
Huh… another guy in ballet. That’s… nice, I suppose.
“Ugh, are you just going to stand there or are you actually here to apply yourself?” he asked.
“Pff… yeah. And… where is the…?” I asked, to which he rolled his eyes and grabbed me by the arm.
“It appears Hope’s Peak will let just anyone in, huh…” Just anyone?! Excuse me?! I was one of the best ballet dancers in Japan! I was about to retort, but he just sighed and gestured with his head towards a door at the end of the hall as he walked me along. “The main studio is this way. Try not to get lost, or worse, trip over your own feet.”
He soon opened the door, stepping inside with me following behind. And finally, he released my arm, sitting with other male students while I was standing at the door, fuming. Oh great; the first male dancer I meet who’s my age and he’s a ballet snob. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, and joined the other boys on the left side of the studio. This was definitely a first for me: no girls. Anywhere in the room. All I see around me are fellow boys. And not just any boys, but ballet boys. The kind who probably spent their entire lives in studios, just like me, but unlike me, they actually seemed to enjoy it. They looked right at home here, unlike me. They probably were also the only boys in their classes, so it’s understandable they mingle. I scanned the room, a mix of nervous energy and irritation bubbling inside me. This was going to be a long week. I just hoped there was at least one person here who wasn’t a complete snob or a screaming banshee.
As if one cue, one more kid stumbled in, nearly tripping over his own feet. As luck would have it, he sat down next to me. I saw the number papered on his chest: 11. His hair was brown like mine, messy like mine, and he looked just as out of place as I felt, if not more so. He had a nervous energy about him, constantly fidgeting and glancing around the room with wide, anxious eyes. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d rather be anywhere else, and I instantly felt a strange kinship with him. Maybe this week wouldn’t be a total loss after all.
“Hey… nervous?” I asked, to which he nodded.
“Yeah… I almost stepped into the girls locker room to change.” Only almost?
“Heh… I actually made it in,” I bragged.
“Wait, really?” he asked, bringing his voice down to a whisper, as if we were discussing something taboo… like a boy changing in a girls locker room with girls in them. Huh, I guess it was.
“Yep! Got to take a look at some of the hotties here. You think the dorms are co-ed?”
“I hope not!” he whispered back, his eyes darting around nervously. “I’m not sure I could handle that. I would almost die of embarrassment.”
I chuckled, a genuine laugh escaping me for the first time since I got off the bus. “Tell me about it. That girl in there… She was something else. All fire and brimstone.”
He nodded, a small smile finally gracing his lips. “Yeah, I saw her as she was stepping out. She looked like she could kill a man with a single glare.”
“Exactly!” I agreed, feeling a sense of camaraderie with this nervous wreck beside me. “So, what’s your deal? You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”
“Honestly… I was kinda hoping I’d make it here. Wasn’t certain I’d make it to auditions, but I got the last spot,” he chuckled. “You?”
“Eh, Mom’s fucking making me…” I muttered. “I only agreed because, you know,”
“The girls,” we finished together. “I mean, girls are nice, but dancing always makes me feel… alive, you know?” Well, glad it feels that way for one of us. “I’m Makoto Naegi, by the way.”
“Leon Kuwata,” I introduced myself, shaking his hand. The conversation flowed easily after that, a surprising relief in a day that, so far, had been anything but. Makoto, it turned out, was genuinely passionate about ballet, a stark contrast to my own begrudging participation. He spoke of the grace and storytelling of dance with an earnestness that almost made me see it in a new light, if only for a fleeting moment. We talked about our hopes—or lack thereof, in my case—for the audition, the intimidating atmosphere of the school, and even shared a few nervous jokes about the screaming banshee in the girls locker room. It was a small comfort, finding someone who, despite his enthusiasm, still felt a little out of his depth, just like me.
Suddenly, the loud tapping of a cane against the hardwood floors, echoing throughout the studio, snapped everyone out of any conversations we were having. The room fell silent, and we saw a man enter the room. The first thing I noticed—outside of his cane—was that everything about him was white: his hair, his suit, his shoes, even his eyes looked white from where I was sitting.
“Gentlemen, welcome to Hope’s Peak Academy of Dance,” he introduced. And I could tell from his voice he was another boring, no-nonsense snob. “My name is Kyosuke Munakata, and I will be overseeing your auditions. Four years ago, I was sitting where you sit right now. Look to your left, and to your right. Ahead of you, and behind you.” I think I was one of the few who didn’t do any of that. “One of you will survive this week. The other four will not. Out of the fifty of you, up to ten students will get in. Maybe even less. For the rest of you, the next six days will be the only time you see inside our hallowed halls, where the best of the best train and hope to accept a contract with the Tokyo Ballet.
“This week, we will assess your spark, your drive, and determine if you have what it takes to join our ranks.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over each of us, a silent challenge in his pale eyes. “This will not be easy. It will test your limits, both physically and mentally. But for those who succeed, your next three years will only serve to push you further. But for those who the Tokyo Ballet deems worthy to join them, a future of unparalleled artistic expression awaits.”
A ripple of nervous energy went through the room. Makoto, beside me, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and apprehension. I, on the other hand, felt a familiar surge of defiance. Unparalleled artistic expression? All I heard was more rules, more discipline, more of the same ballet I despised. But then I remembered the girls, and a small, cynical smile touched my lips. Maybe, just maybe, this week of hell would have its perks after all. I’m actually motivated to be among the 10% to make it in, now… if only to show up that rude glasses dude I met earlier.
“Alright, 1-5, you’re up first. Everyone else, pay attention. Let’s hope you’ve studied your audition packet,” He ordered, tapping his cane. Wait, we had homework?! Who assigns homework for the entrance exam?! I saw five boys move to the open space in front of us, and this Munakata person pressed play on… is that a boombox? We’re in the twenty-first century now; who even uses those anymore? One guy that stood out to me among the students auditioning first was tall, dark, lanky, and had wild hair. Mad respect; I wish I had hair like that. But he looked old enough to be a teacher here… are we sure this was a student auditioning?
“Number three, on the beat!” Munakata commanded, glaring at this one tall-ass kid in particular. “And make sure the hair is tied next time!” The five students dancing in front of us tried their hardest to keep up with the beat and the almost drill sergeant-like commands. And now I realize that this is going to be repeated nine more times.
“1-5, return to your seats, 6-10, pick up where they left off!” As one group of boys sauntered back to the crowd, another took their place. Among them was a boy who was extremely rigid. Otherwise, though, his form was perfect. His own hair was cut to an almost buzzcut length, likely to not get in his eyes. “Number eight, excellent poise and precision. Follow his example, gentlemen.” Eh, I probably would’ve tried to at least loosen up if I were that kid.
“6-10, return to your seats. 11-15, you know the drill!” I saw Makoto get up and take the place of one of the previous boys, trying to get a hang of the routine. He started off a little shaky, a noticeable tremor in his movements as he tried to recall the precise steps from the audition packet. But as the music continued, a surprising transformation occurred. Makoto’s initial nervousness began to recede, replaced by a focused determination. His eyes, though still wide, now held a sparkle of genuine enjoyment. He wasn’t just going through the motions; he was dancing, his smaller frame moving with an unexpected fluidity and grace. Even Munakata, usually stoic, gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of approval at one point. If anyone made it through, I can kinda see him attending here.
And so it continued. Group after group, the same routine played out: intense scrutiny or the occasional compliment from Munakata-sensei, strained expressions from the auditioning boys, and the relentless tapping of the cane. My attention wavered, occasionally returning to Makoto who sat back beside me, watching each performance with an almost scholarly intensity, occasionally muttering to himself about technique or timing. I, on the other hand, found my gaze drifting to the clock on the wall, calculating how many more rounds until it was finally my turn. The air grew thick with a mix of sweat, anticipation, and something else: a fierce, unspoken competition that was both exhilarating and suffocating.
“31-35, you’re done. 36-40, you’re up.” So, I was next. Well fuck. My heart tried its best to not hammer itself against my ribcage, a frantic drumbeat keeping time with the music playing on the boombox. Actually… This was good. I just need to remind myself that I’m among the best there is. After all, why would Mom push me this hard if I wasn’t? It was my turn to prove myself… or flounder spectacularly like the almost egg-shaped kid who was in the group before me. Occasionally, I’d glance at Makoto, who’d offer a small, encouraging smile, easing a fraction of my tension and letting me just… do what I do best.
“Pay attention to number thirty-seven, everyone. See how the music seems to have a hold of him? How he doesn’t just let it guide his movements, but rather has it become a part of his very being? Number thirty-seven, excellent work.” Munakata’s voice, for the first time, appeared to hold a hint of something other than a stern instruction; a flicker of passion that momentarily silenced any anxieties I had in that moment… and likely amplified many others. “36-40, take a seat. 41-45, you’re up.”
Finally, I was allowed reprieve. I sat right back next to Makoto, who patted me on the back as my body practically collapsed. It was over… for now. And soon enough, it was over for all fifty of us boys in this room. Finally, the music stopped playing on a loop, and Munakata just stared down at us all.
“Do not be mistaken, men. Some of you clearly think that a love to dance makes you a dancer. It doesn’t.” I could’ve told him that much; I loathe to dance. “Get your heads out of the clouds and out of the gutters. Begin thinking critically. You have to face your physical, and mental, limitations. Not everyone is born to be a dancer. Most importantly, you must prepare yourselves for a lifetime of hard work, sacrifice, and, more often than not, disappointment. You. Will. Fall. The challenge is being able to get back up. Not everyone will. You are dismissed for the day.”
Oh thank God, I’m free.
Groaning, I got up and left with the other boys. Right next to our studio, I saw that this was where the girls were. They seemed to be going through the same process we were: dancing to a pre-recorded track to some pre-assigned choreography. Except some of them were also dance en pointe. Damn, some of these girls look like they could break apart at any moment, but they won’t show it. Instead, they’re focused on looking picture perfect at every possible moment. I couldn’t spot the banshee earlier, but I did see a couple of girls catching my eye.
… And judging by them waving at me, I was caught staring again. But I wasn’t the only one staring this time, at least.
“Ladies! Pay attention please!” I heard their instructor call, clapping to get their attention once again, just as I was dragged off. Oh great, it’s glasses guy again.
“If you plan on actually making it here, you need to focus on dance, not the opposite sex.” I just rolled my eyes as I was eventually let go, looking at the map of the campus. The dorms were in the next building over, and they’re where I’ll be staying for this week, and hopefully only this week. I just hope whoever I’m rooming with isn’t a jerk like that one snob. “Byakuya Togami,” is apparently the dude’s name.
I eventually found my dorm, opening the door and taking a look outside the window; I knew it was winter but were we really in the studio so long that it’d gotten dark out? It was noon when I got here! Groaning, I claimed the bed that was closer to the door, that way I’d be the first one out of here. I wasn’t alone for long, as the door soon opened to reveal—Oh no…
“It appears we’ve been assigned to sleep in the same dorm together,” Glasses Boy groaned, going to the other bed.
“Well at least now I have a name for ya, Togami,” I chided, a bitter taste in my mouth. My first impression of him hadn’t been wrong, and now I was stuck with him for the entire week. Great. Just great. I just tossed my bag onto the bed by the door, the springs groaning in protest, and started unpacking my minimal belongings: a few change of clothes, some toiletries, and a well worn baseball cap… my dad’s, from when he was a star player. Never wore it, but I always kept it as a good luck charm of sorts. I wondered if this Togami person would even notice, or if he was too busy being a snob to care about shit like sentimental value.
The room itself was bare bones: two single beds, a desk, a closet, and… yep. We have a bathroom with a shower stall. The window in between our beds overlooked the campus, now a shadowy expanse under the dim evening light. Since we were on the first floor, we got a close look of the action in front of us. It was hard to believe that I’ve only been here for… five? Six hours now? I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I just hoped I could find some way to escape Togami’s condescending remarks and this school’s relentless pressure.
“I’m gonna go grab a bite to eat,” I announced, throwing my leather jacket back on.
“Be sure to be back by 22:00. That’s the curfew here.” Of course this school has a fucking curfew… Anyway, maybe I’ll run into Makoto; he seemed genuinely nice, a stark contrast to my new roommate.
Sure, this school has a cafeteria, but that’s not to say there aren’t plenty of dining establishments nearby, because of course nobody wants to eat approved cafeteria food. I’m surprised going off-campus to eat was allowed. Anyway, I made my way to a local Hawaiian-Korean fusion place. To my surprise, I did see Makoto there, chatting it up with a cute girl. Lucky bastard.
Wait… navy blue hair, sapphire blue eyes, hold on…! I’ve seen her before! She’s already got tons of dance companies around the world wishing to scout her! And Makoto was chatting her up?! Damn!
“Whoo… Makoto, you lucky dog!” I complimented, startling them both.
“Eek!” she shouted, hiding her face.
“It’s alright, Sayaka. He’s a friend,” Makoto assured. “Leon, hey. This is Sayaka Maizono; we went to elementary and middle school together.” So he knows her?! Like, before she became this famous child dancer? Damn…
“Hehehe… Hi. We’re just catching up,” Sayaka confirmed. “Leon… so you’re the Peeping Tom in the Girls’ Locker Room.”
“Peeping Tom?” I laughed, though my face was feeling flush. “It was an accident, though. I’m used to being the only boy in ballet classes, so I didn’t even think there’d be a separate boys; locker room here.” Sayaka giggled, a melodic sound that somehow managed to make my embarrassment even worse. Makoto, bless his innocent heart, just looked confused.
“It’s okay, Leon. I believe you. Mostly,” Sayaka teased. “But you have to admit, it’s pretty funny. Though I’d hardly believe Celeste when she said what happened.” So that was the doll’s name: Celeste. I’m gonna put a pin in that. Honestly, it’s kind of nice to be around people not judging me constantly or acting like insufferable snobs. Maybe this week won’t be a total bust after all.
“Sorry for intruding on your date, by the way.” Both teens’ faces turned red at that, either confirming my guess or denying it with equal fervor. Makoto stammered, trying to find the right words, while Sayaka just giggled again. It was clear I’d struck a nerve, and a part of me found it amusing.
Still, I didn’t want to alienate my new, surprisingly normal, friend and the famous dancer. I just shrugged. “Joking… mostly.” The tension in the air eased slightly, replaced by a comfortable hum of conversation as they ordered their food, the aroma of grilled pineapple and kimchi filling the air. But I didn’t stay long, choosing to just explore the city more.
On the way back to the school, I passed a 24 hour drug store. Might as well get some more toiletries just in case I ran out. So I went in, grabbed a spare three-in-one wash, and was about to leave when I spotted something further down the aisle: hair dye… Huh. “Scarlet Flame,” was on the box, displaying a man with fiery red, almost orange hair… I grabbed the box of bright red hair dye, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. This was it. A fresh start. A new me. No more boring, ballet-boy Leon. This was going to be the new, rock-and-roll Leon. Heh… maybe rock and roll is what I wanna do instead. I still have time to figure that out.
I paid for the dye and a cheap plastic comb, then headed back to the dorm, a spring in my step. Togami was already there, meticulously organizing his belongings, his back to me. Perfect. He wouldn’t even notice. I quickly locked myself in the bathroom, the small space feeling like a sanctuary. The instructions on the box seemed simple enough, and soon, the pungent smell of chemicals filled the air. I hummed a forgotten tune as I worked, imagining the shock and awe on everyone’s faces when they saw my new look. This was going to be epic. I even applied some to my brows and growing goatee for good measure.
After about twenty minutes of letting it sit, I quickly hopped into the shower for a rinse. And, shock of all shocks, this is when Togami tried opening the bathroom door. “Kuwata, is it? Are you quite finished in there?” Togami’s voice, muffled by the door, was laced with his usual disdain. I just ignored him, a half-rinsed head of fiery red hair dripping water onto the pristine white tiles. “Some of us have schedules to keep, you know.” I took my time to finish rinsing, wrapping a towel around my waist afterwards, and opened the door, a defiant smirk on my face. Togami’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise in their icy depths before he quickly composed himself. “What in the world have you done to your hair?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.
“Trying out a new look, Togami. You like it?” I challenged, running a hand through my still-damp, bright red hair. He merely scoffed, pushing past me into the bathroom.
“Hardly. It’s… ostentatious. And entirely unprofessional for a dancer,” he answered. I just chuckled, already feeling a sense of liberation with my new appearance. Let him be a snob. I was Leon Kuwata, and I was just getting started.
Tuesday was my day to show off my new hair. Surprisingly, nobody noticed that I changed my hair color. Damn; I was hoping for a bigger response all around. Instead of heading straight to the studio, we all went to the school’s doctor’s office for physicals. I was weighed and measured, of course; that’s the standard for most school physicals. However, the doctors here opted to also test how far we could bend, how much we could flex and point.
“Just let me know if this hurts,” one doctor said, rotating my knee sideways.
“Is it supposed to?” I asked casually.
“No, but if it does, tell me to stop,” the doctor replied, a hint of concern in his voice as he gently raised my bent leg. He made a note on his clipboard for me and sent me off, moving onto the next student and leaving me to ponder his words. Was I just that used to the pain? Eh, I just shrugged it off. Dancers were always in pain; I’ve got the blisters to prove it.
After the physicals, we were ushered back to the studio where Munakata-sensei was already waiting, his stern gaze sweeping over us as we warmed up. “Today, I will be calling you up individually by name, learning a new routine for Saturday. ‘James’ Variation,’ from Act II of Jean Schneitzhoeffer’s La Sylphide.” More dancing… great. I know this is the point of a dance school, but still…! At least we got to just sit and watch Munakata-sensei demonstrate first, likely expecting us to pick it up just like that: the steps, the turns, the leaps, everything. Like before, a couple of groups of boys came before me until it was my turn once again.
“Ishimaru, Kuwata, Naegi, Togami, and…” I just filtered out his voice as we all stood up and took our positions. I exchanged a quick glance with Makoto, a silent acknowledgment of our shared predicament. This was it. Our first real test. I took a deep breath, trying to channel the defiance I felt earlier into something resembling confidence. The music started, a familiar classical piece, and we began the routine, each of us moving with a mix of practiced grace and raw, nervous energy. I focused on the steps, on the rhythm, trying to ignore Togami’s perfectly executed pirouettes and the unwavering intensity in his eyes.
I also filtered out Munakata’s critiques of the other dancers that were not me. In fact, I’m imagining that I’m not here right now. No, instead, I was back home in Yokohama, just off of Tokyo Bay. I was at Yamashita Park, dancing as the carnival lights lit up the night ahead of me. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but if I ever had a moment to myself… I would dance for myself. No music, no eyes on me. Just… the feeling of the wind against my face, the subtle sway of the trees, the distant hum of the city, all blending into a rhythm that was uniquely mine.
It was in these stolen moments, away from the demanding eyes of instructors and the competitive glares of peers, that I truly understood what dance could be. Not a rigid set of rules, but a fluid expression, a silent conversation between my body and the world around me. It was a secret solace, a rebellion against the expectations that had always weighed me down, and in that park, under the cover of night, I was finally free.
“Kuwata, that is not the choreography I demonstrated.” Munakata’s voice, sharp and laced with disappointment, pierced right through my daydream. I just snapped back to reality, my body having halted in place while the other students decided to snicker and laugh. A flush of heat crept up my neck, as I could even feel Togami’s smug gaze looking down at me. Even Makoto, usually so supportive, looked so bewildered. The fleeting sense of freedom I found in my mind vanished, replaced by the familiar weight of expectation and the crushing reality of the situation.
“I appreciate you having your own flare and letting the music get away with you, but here, you need to follow the choreography,” Munakata-sensei continued. “However… the school didn’t scout you out for no reason. I just have to see what exactly that reason is. You five are dismissed.” I just took to my seat again as the next group of boys began to practice the choreography.
I couldn’t wait to leave the studio and mingle. To my luck, the third years who decided to stay were hosting a party on the roof tomorrow night. And, apparently, even those of us auditioning were welcome to attend. A nice distraction from today’s events. But for now, I guess I’ll have to look at the girls’ auditions. I’m not sure I recognize this variation, but judging from the music that was playing… was that Firebird? Interesting pick for the girls. Also interesting that we’re both doing variations from Stravinsky ballets.
My gaze went to Sayaka, rehearsing with four other girls. There was one dark-skinned cutie with her hair up and… damn, how can that leotard contain those boobs?! That material looks like it’s about to rip! Same with that blonde next to her. And… that must be Celeste: the banshee I spooked the other day. She looked absolutely radiant then, and still does now. Her leotard at least looks like it won’t snap, but maybe that’s because it’s all black, like her hair. It just made the red of her eyes, lips, and even shoes stand out more… It’s a good thing she didn’t catch me staring this time, because I don’t want everyone thinking I’m a pervert, even if it’s partially true.
The moment I avert my gaze, I hear the fifth girl, a blonde, dancing with them stumble and fall. Quickly, she was carried out by one of the teachers. I didn’t catch her name, but man… I wish she and I could trade places right now. Looks like she twisted her ankle. If ligaments are torn, then that’s it for her. I don’t get it, though: has my pain tolerance developed so freakishly over the years that this couldn’t happen to me even if I tried?
And… believe me; I’ve tried. A lot.
Anyway, back to the dorms for lunch, and to see if I could meet anyone else in the cafeteria. Sure enough, Togami wasn’t here—probably eating at some high end restaurant or some shit, probably thinking he’s too good for cafeteria food. I’ll admit, I just assumed a dumb menu that was absent of carbs, fats, and flavor. But to my surprise, it actually looked pretty good. It looked like food. If you think that shouldn’t be a big deal, you have not seen public school food. And you certainly haven’t seen food that dancers are, “supposed to,” eat.
I did notice someone else in there: a taller, bulkier woman. She was really toned, her white hair having few strays out of that bun, eating what looked like salad with grilled chicken. And being completely honest, she could probably kill me, or anyone else. Sitting across from her was someone shorter, an identical lunch in front of her, but also gleefully chewing down on a donut. Her metabolism must be through the roof. Lucky. Hey, she was one of the girls I spotted earlier! “Oh! There’s plenty of room here to sit!” And she spotted me. Against my better judgement, I took my seat by the two women.
“I’m Aoi Asahina, and this is Sakura Ogami,” she chirped, offering a bright, genuine smile that instantly disarmed me. “That red hair is awesome!”
“Oh… you think so?” I chuckled, running my fingers through it. “Thanks. Dyed it last night.”
“It is a striking color,” Sakura rumbled, her voice a deep, steady contrast to Aoi’s cheerfulness. “It suits your defiant spirit.”
“Heh, I’m hoping to get that defiant spirit across…” I mumbled, still very much planning on making sure I don’t make the cut.
“Wait, I’m confused. Do you want to fail the audition?” Aoi asked, tilting her head, a piece of lettuce momentarily forgotten on her fork. Sakura, however, simply watched me, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips.
“Let’s just say ballet isn’t exactly my life-long dream,” I admitted, leaning back in my chair. “My mom’s making me because I’ve been scouted. I’d rather be doing literally anything else, maybe even starting a band.”
“This is an amazing opportunity, though,” Aoi countered. “Especially being scouted by the school. Hardly anyone has that chance.”
“Yeah, I’m well aware…” I mumbled, finally deciding to begin having lunch myself.
“Regardless of what you wish to do, I wish you the best of luck,” Sakura said, bowing her head at me. Appreciated, but I’m hoping I can make this week the most disastrous audition in Hope’s Peak history.
Anyway, this day, and the next, went by in a blur, with Wednesday being more of the same as on Tuesday. More rehearsal for Saturday, more physical exams, but unlike Tuesday, Wednesday had that party on the roof. So, up I went when the sun went down. No, I didn’t show up on time. You don’t show up on time to parties. You gotta get there just as the music is blasting while everyone’s blasted. It makes you look cooler every single time. Same with fashion: I just threw on my leather jacket and jeans and didn’t really put much effort into my outfit outside of that.
The party was practically packed when I got up there, filled with people here for audition week like I was, as well as some older students. Some basic, samey, electro-pop music was playing over the speakers as I was climbing up towards the rooftop. Nothing I’d be listening to, myself, but a party is a party. And… I hardly recognized anyone.
“Oh look. The pervert’s back.” I turned my head at the sound of that voice. I could hardly recognize it when it wasn’t being screamed at the top of its lungs. There she was: the doll I was caught staring at on Monday.
“Says you.” I just rolled my eyes as I finally allowed myself to talk with this woman. “Didn’t expect you to be up here instead of catching on your beauty sleep. So… a pretty thing like you have a name? Or should I just keep referring to you as dollface?” She just scowled at me. I already knew her name, but I wanted her to tell me anyway.
“… You may call me Celeste,” she answered simply.
“Celeste,” I repeated, letting the dramatic name roll off my tongue. No last name, then? “Well, Celeste, it's a pleasure to officially meet the girl who screamed at me in the locker room.” She narrowed her ruby eyes, but a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of her perfectly painted lips, betraying a slight amusement despite her frosty demeanor. I decided to press my luck. “Mind telling me why a banshee like yourself is at a party and not perfecting her pliés?”
“I figured I should get one last look at these people. Those who will make it are tucked in their beds.”
“And shouldn’t you be as well?” I asked, smirking back at her. “Bear in mind, this is hosted by the current Third Years. Clearly we’re allowed to relax once in a while, right?”
“If we truly want to succeed, relaxation is not optimal,” she scolded. Fuck it, I’m shortening her name this way.
“Then you wouldn’t be up here to begin with.” Aha! I noticed a fracture in her expression. Seems like my comment got to her. Suddenly, the music shifted. Hang on… is that Habanera from Carmen? But performed as a metal hit? Holy shit, why is this track actually sick? I should’ve known that these kids weren’t uptight ballet snobs after all with this party, but damn…!
“Hmph,” was all she said before proceeding to continue towards the crowd. And apparently some of them recognized her… I’m gonna put a pin in that; it seems important for later. For now, I’m just gonna laugh at her little hypocrisy. I turned my attention to the music, letting the unexpected fusion of classical drama and heavy guitar riffs wash over me, momentarily forgetting the smug girl’s presence as I scanned the crowd for a friendly face. To my disappointment, there were none. Just more unfamiliar faces, while occasionally spotting Celeste in the crowd… talking with a girl with rose pink hair who… woof! She’s got a… nice figure.
…Good going, Leon. Just keep being a pervert… it’ll take you out of the school with, by far, the hottest girls… who will all hate you even if you do stay… Okay at this point you should just talk to her.
So I made my way back to Celeste, talking with the big-busted blonde and still pretending to be above partying. Figured I try to make a good impression.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” she asked.
“Not really,” I answered, fully paying attention to the pair… Of cute girls, mind you!
“Aww, desperation looks good on you,” her friend giggled. “I mean, with all things considered, I do hope you manage to make it in. Then we can see how you manage to handle being surrounded by women with other men around for once, Peeping Tom.” The pink-haired girl winked, her smile challenging. Celeste remained impassive, swirling the drink in her glass. “I’m Junko Enoshima, by the way. And… you didn’t get your own stuffy roommate up here to lighten up, I guess?”
Ahh, so they’re roommates…
“Eh. He’d bring the vibe down,” I admitted.
“Eh, suit yourself. Why don’t you join us?”
“Junko!” Celeste shouted, appalled at her inviting me. Naturally, I took it, sitting in between them after Junko scooted over.
“I mean, if it means I get to be surrounded by babes…”
“See, girl? You’re a babe!” Junko complimented, causing Celeste to scowl and cross her arms, likely regretting letting her roommate bring her up here. So the whole, “getting one last look at those who won’t make it,” was a lie. Hmm… I might make a note of that for later. “Ooh, talk about yourself. When you’re not sneaking into the girls’ locker room, how do you spend your time?”
“Let’s see… I like music. Listen to a lot of that. I actually recognize the music playing over the speakers right now.”
“Interesting…! Oh, come on, Celeste. Surely you have a question for him too!”
“Fine…” Celeste sighed, finally turning back towards me. “What is your ultimate goal in life, Kuwata? Besides attempting to catch glimpses of partially clothed women, that is.”
Okay. Hitting with the deep questions. “Honestly… I’m not sure.”
“Then what are you even doing here?” Celeste interrupted. Before letting me answer, she got up and walked away. “This was a waste of time…”
“Ugh, fine. Go! Be a party pooper!” Junko called out. “But yeah, you don’t know what you want in life and yet you’re here? How come?”
“Blame my mother,” I chuckled.
“Ooh…! Lemme guess: she wanted to get into ballet but couldn’t and now she’s projecting her dreams onto you?” Okay, what’s got her all perceptive all of a sudden?
“You too?” I assumed.
“Nah. You just give this air of, ‘I’m doing this because mom wanted me to, and also babes.’ I mean… I’m also here for the babes,” Junko admitted, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers. I mean… she’s not entirely wrong.
“So, who’s the parent pushing you into this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Junko let out a booming laugh, throwing her head back. “Oh, no mommy or daddy issues here! I’m here because I love the pain.” I… what? “Ah, I see that expression. Imagine, my own body can fail me at any moment just as I’m about to reach my peak. A fractured ankle, a misplaced vertebra, a sudden nine-month sick leave… The sheer possibility of a beautiful, catastrophic failure that could end you with a cane or in a wheelchair—that’s the real thrill of the stage, isn’t it?”
… Okay, so that’s two girls here who scare me and also turn me on. Do I have a type? And all this while the Carmen techno-metal track continued to blast in the background, a fitting soundtrack to this bizarre conversation. I took a slow sip of my drink, trying to process the idea of someone actively seeking bodily destruction through dance. Maybe ballet was a lot more punk rock than I initially thought.
“So, uhh… how long have you been in ballet?” I asked, deciding to steer the conversation back to safer ground.
“Since my sister and I were five. She’s currently asleep, the prude…” Junko answered. “Meanwhile I’m living it up while I still can. Besides, who says you can’t prosper AND have fun on the side?” She really thinks she can do both, huh? Well if I had to choose, I’d pick just the fun without any of the work… especially in something I don’t really enjoy outside of shallow reasons.
“Anyway, you gotta keep me company while I’m here. Gotta show me around, you know? Introduce me to your other friends—the cute ones, of course.” I leaned closer, flashing a grin. Junko just laughed again, a sound that was both infectious and slightly unsettling.
“We’ll see, Peeping Tom. We’ll see. I do happen to know one of the First Years already, so…”
And we just chatted until I noticed the party started to wind down. Unfortunately, even my friend of the night had to retire. So… back to my dorm I go, where Togami would no doubt be fast asleep.
Friday was when we rehearsed one last time before our solo auditions take place over the course of the weekend. I get to go on Sunday, meaning I could use Saturday to relax. But of course, I’m not allowed to. My roommate wouldn’t let me. Instead of trying to sabotage me—at least, he insisted it wasn’t sabotage—the uptight asshole decided to, “take me under his wing,” clearly not happy I decided to go partying on Thursday.
“I will not be responsible for your failure. That’ll be your job,” was his reasoning. “If you don’t absorb my wisdom like a willing sponge, then the only person at fault is you.” To my surprise, instead of an empty studio to likely get some more rehearsal in before we audition tomorrow, he takes me to some fancy tea garden on the outskirts of Tokyo, the air quiet save for the gentle trickle of a shishi-odoshi. I was… confused to say the least, especially since winter just started. “The cold is good for your muscles and ligaments. It reduces inflammation, aids recovery, and focuses the mind. This is where we will practice.”
Togami then set aside an MP3 player and began playing it. On it, our audition music played. And to be honest, I don’t think I’ve truly paid attention to the way he danced before. He moved with a breathtaking precision I hadn’t given him credit for, his jumps impossibly light, his landings silent, transforming the cold, damp ground into his personal stage. It wasn't just technical perfection; there was an undeniable, albeit frigid, artistry in his movements, the kind that spoke of intense dedication—the kind I actively avoided. For the first time, I felt a twinge of something other than resentment: genuine, reluctant respect for the sheer mastery he displayed.
“Okay.”
“Okay? Okay what?” Togami asked, looking at me.
“Okay, you want me to take this shit seriously? Then I’ll do it,” I sighed. I don’t wanna admit it, but this place could be like Yamashita back at home, only with the frigid cold of winter instead of the blistering heat of summer. Togami sighed and… was that the slightest hint of a smile?
“Good,” he stated. “We will begin with the jetés and work on the consistency of your turn-out. Pay attention to the line, Kuwata, not the flash. Focus on conveying the conflict of the variation, the internal struggle.” He pointedly ignored my newly brightened red hair and the leather jacket I still refused to take off, focusing instead on the potential he seemed to have grudgingly acknowledged. I took my place, the cold air stinging my exposed skin, and for the next hour, I danced not for my mother, not for the girls, but to silence the infuriatingly perfect snob standing before me.
… And while he was sleeping, I decided to come here again. For some reason, this felt therapeutic to me. I danced until my muscles burned and the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of orange and pink. The silence, broken only by my ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the city waking up, was a welcome change from the studio's intensity. For a fleeting moment, I felt the connection that Makoto spoke of, a sense of belonging in the movement, stripped of the pretense and the pressure. But as soon as the feeling came, I shook it off, reminding myself that this was just a means to an end. Saturday would be the day before I officially bombed my audition—or maybe, just maybe, the day I found out what I was actually capable of.
Sunday morning finally arrived, and I took a long, hot shower. I’d say Togami was upset at me using up all of the hot water, but after yesterday, I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept his showers cold. I had the choreography memorized, the music still playing in my head as I headed from my dorm to the auditorium where the other boys were sitting. I saw teachers sitting in the very front row of seats as my name was called.
“Kuwata,” a brunette man read, just as I approached center-stage. “I’ve heard so much about you, about how our talent scouts here picked you personally out of these fifty young men.”
“Well—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” he interrupted. “I’ve also heard that you broke curfew last night. If that’s true, then we cannot let you audition.”
… Huh? Where did this man hear that from?
“I agree with the motion set forward by Headmaster Kirigiri. Kuwata, were you breaking curfew?” Munakata asked. I was honestly at a loss. On the one hand, great! Perfect excuse to not follow through with this path. I can go home, officially leave ballet behind, and get started on a path to who-knows where. I can start fresh. On the other hand… I had spent the whole week trying to fail, but now, faced with the genuine threat of dismissal, a strange, competitive fire ignited in my gut—a visceral need to prove that snob Munakata and that uptight Togami wrong.
“I don’t know where you possibly heard that. He was in our dorm the entire night. Isn’t that correct?” Speaking of, Togami was… defending me? His icy blue gaze locked onto mine, a silent, commanding pressure that demanded my immediate confirmation, effectively handing me an unexpected lifeline. I swallowed, the words catching in my throat, before nodding quickly and forcing a casual grin.
“Heh, yeah! That’s the truth. We were in our dorm… all night. Definitely sleeping,” I lied. I almost wanted to thank the uptight asshole for covering my own ass. But now I’m wondering who not only found out I snuck off campus in the middle of the night, but also who told these suits in the front row.
“See? It was a misunderstanding,” a woman smiled, her hair swaying as she turned towards Munakata-sensei, sighing.
“Then by all means, I’d love to see you dance,” the Headmaster laughed. Munakata looked almost disappointed, but nodded anyway. And then the music began to play…
… And my entire audition was a blur.
The next thing I knew, I was on the bus back home. My parents had greeted me with Christmas presents and gasps of horror upon seeing their son dyed his hair red. My mother started crying about how unprofessional it was, while my father just stared, a look of weary resignation on his face—probably already imagining me on a pitcher’s mound instead. I just shrugged, the fiery color of my hair feeling like a physical shield against their disappointment, and focused on the single, most important question: Did I get in? I’d find out in two months, and honestly, the anxiety of the wait was somehow more exhausting than the week of training had been.
Throughout that time, my mind played ping-pong with the idea of me getting in vs not getting in. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind either way. On the one hand, starting anew. On the other hand, the people I met there weren’t all too terrible. Makoto Naegi, Aoi Asahina, and their friends were nice, I had an odd sense of respect for Togami, and Celeste… she still puzzles me in a way that I can’t explain. Not to mention, she scares me… so why does my heart skip a beat thinking about her and our two interactions?
Finally, March arrives, and I get a letter in the mail from Hope’s Peak. The results of my audition, I’m certain. Well, after much thinking, I told myself that I’d be content either way. Both were an acceptable outcome for me. So I took that envelope, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and slowly opened it, giving me access to the letter inside, telling me my answer.
…
Shit.