Chapter Text
Mentor.
Such a ridiculous concept.
The King wanted Psyche to be a mentor.
First time he’s talked to her in years and he asked her to do something that went against her philosophy.
And who was she to say no? His voice was haunting to that of a human, general or not. Hearing it alone could make a heart freeze, perish the thought if he makes a command. Yet, for the life of her, she could not figure out what she was mentoring.
Minus the somewhat similar hairstyles, she couldn’t understand why she and Dark Top were “like-minded.” Losing hope wasn’t necessarily an outstanding trait within the kingdom. And he was just a kid. She never understood her colleagues’ choice to rely on them because most of the time they’re just having a bad day.
But that wasn’t the case, according to the King. Apparently his despair was “abundant” and had “great potential for power.” So much so that not a single note played since they were left alone. So much so that the new Warrior of Despair waited patiently in the silence for her to speak up.
A part of her wondered if she was being punished for being out of town the past few years. Who knew the King had a sense of humor? But she pushed that aside for now. Instead, after an attempt at an analysis, all she said was, “I don’t get you.”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Good. I don’t like talking.” A part of her was impressed by the answer. Most youngsters loved to talk. But she didn’t need that to understand Dark Top. She took a breath, allowing the Rhythm of Darkness to play just long enough for her to grab her spear. The music gradually faded away as she explained, “Chore was meticulous, Rosa made connections, but I’m not like either of those two. If this is going to work, I need to enter your mind.”
“Don’t.” he protested firmly. Psyche took in his look. His stance was threatening violence, yet there was an exhaustion in his eyes. It was as if she proposed a torture method; one he was all too familiar with.
The King was the one who recruited him. Maybe she was being punished. “I’m not going to use it against you. I’m just going to look at your memories. It will only take a second.” Dark Top only scowled. “If I’m lying you can beat me up.”
“Everyone lies.” he retorted.
“Yeah, I know. But I can’t be your teacher if I don’t know what’s going on.” She swallowed before continuing, “And we’ll both have to answer to the King for that.”
It wasn’t meant to be a fear tactic; just an objective fact. But it managed to get Dark Top to relax. He didn’t show it, but she knew he feared His Majesty as well.
Psyche tightened her hands on her spear, tip glowing red as she slowly approached him. “Just… hold still. This shouldn’t hurt.” She at least imagined it wouldn’t. She couldn’t remember the last time she did such a thing. Slowly, she lifted the tip to his forehead, the Warrior of Despair closing his eyes as it made contact.
And then she saw everything.
A younger Gaku Hoshikawa’s eyes watching the carnage of a train hitting his father, the scream that escaped him matching the volume of the vehicle itself.
Strobing lights, cameras, foamed mics, strangers. Lots of strangers. Too many strangers. All fighting for a comment from a mourning child.
The perpetrator, not much older than Gaku himself, fallen on the ground, begging for Gaku forgiveness while he held onto the woman he loved. Those eyes of a mother, eyes that would never truly escape exhaustion again, stared lifelessly at that boy.
The kindness of a frie– no, not a friend. The offering of a classmate and the night that followed. A kid he’d see everyday from then on. A kid who changed his life.
The joy of dancing. The transferring of schools. The failure. The comeback.
The Fairy of Darkness giving him a Stella Brace and becoming a Warrior of Hope.
The rescuing of his classmate. The unification of the Warriors of Hope.
The perpetrator’s name is Taiyo Asabuki.
The Pretty Cure come together to protect him while his Stella Brace remains dimmed.
Followed by the betrayal of the Fairy of Darkness. And the return of the King.
A vision of his colleagues meeting the same fate as his father.
Those same colleagues screaming as he took the Evil Brace from the King.
And thus, Dark Top was born.
Psyche blinked as the final image of him announcing himself faded and she saw the real Dark Top in front of her. She removed the tip of her now dulled spear from his head and let it decrescendo into the air. Her thoughts were running wild as she tried to comprehend what she just learned.
Mainly that Clown was the King. It sounded like something he would say to confuse one, but no. Dark Top saw himself. And she watched through his eyes. Clown became the King. Was that always the case? Or was he just a contingency? But then again, it did explain why His Majesty was so… involved. Recruiting Dark Top himself, calling upon Psyche, assigning mentorship. None of that was normal for him to do. But Clown? Clown would do this for fun. He didn’t mind playing invader as long as it got a laugh out of him. If any amount of that bastard was still in His Majesty, then this wasn’t a punishment. It was a prank.
If I ever see that puppet again, I’m killing him.
But Sir Fairy already burned him. It resulted in a scream she found strangely cathartic. All while dressed like a resident from Hope Beat. And apparently for a long time. He looked ridiculous. Yet it was clever enough to fool the Warriors of Hope. She would praise his intellect if he didn’t betray Desparade as well. What reward did he desire that made him so foolishly neutral? She considered Sir Fairy to be the wisest in the kingdom. Maybe she was wrong.
After all, he was the one who explained to her the weight of hope when it comes to the power of despair. It’s why she’s not exactly surprised that this was a former Warrior of Hope. The despair of the Pretty Cure had to have been strong in order for them to put two of her colleagues down. Clown was the closest to becoming successful, and even he was overpowered. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was a genius. Choosing to live after a tragedy, the horror of your loved one becoming a “scoop”, the apathy of one's peers, the search for hope that ends up fruitless. Why shouldn’t Psyche be a mentor?
Yet something itched in the back of her mind. The Pretty Cure were still alive. They had to be. She knew an illusion when she saw one. And they were a team.
They were a team, right?
He at least seemed pleased when they worked together. And they made sure to protect him when he couldn’t protect himself. That read like a team. A team that truly wanted this kid to be safe. The fear on their faces when he was alone with His Majesty was unmistakable. Those screams were the ones of true horror.
So why did he take the Brace?
Dark Top had since opened his eyes, waiting silently, staring blankly, as Psyche processed everything. Maybe… maybe this would work. But some blanks needed to be filled before she would try. So she tilted her head and asked, “You abandoned your friends?”
“They abandoned me.” he corrected, face unchanging.
They did? How did he come to that? They’ve known each other for a while and they all seemed to value him. And the blue one, that old classmate of his, was with him all that time. He was even the first to call his name.
But then again, everyone lies. Maybe the memories gave the wrong impression. Maybe all of what she saw was an act. Maybe this kid was just an asset to them.
But even so, he had his mother. The woman he loves. She saw her briefly, but that love was real. It was underlying through everything she saw. And yet she wasn’t here.
What part of the story did you repress?
Curiosity got the better of her. She took a breath and decided to say, “Right. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mom?”
Dark Top didn’t react. His eyes somehow went from blank to lifeless. She probably wouldn’t get her answer. If they truly were the same, it was probably less than pleasant. And acceptance, especially this young, was long. But she knew how to work with that. She wouldn’t need the answer as long as he was willing to work with that too.
But Dark Top chose to speak anyway, “She was at work last I checked. I don’t know where she is now.”
Psyche blinked. “What?”
“She only attended one competition. It isn’t easy for her.” he explained.
“Your mom is still alive?” she asked firmly, brow furrowing.
“Last I checked.” Top’s eyes remained devoid of life. And something snapped within Psyche.
“You succumbed to despair and your mom is still alive?!” she shouted, grabbing him by the vest and lifting him off the ground. Bit difficult, considering he was already taller than her, but she persisted. The eyes of the disgraced Warrior of Hope hardened, the only inkling of emotion across his entire face. It made her blood boil. “You loved her so much yet you gave up on her too. And for what?! Because some clown pulled a prank on you?! That’s what it fucking—” she threw him hard on the ground, his body grinding against it as she continued, “—took for you to forget how great you have it?!”
He looked up, fists clenching and eyes only growing harder. Psyche let her Rhythm of Darkness play. She was wrong. The King… no, Clown was wrong. The two of them weren’t like-minded at all.
“Screw you. Both of you.” She summoned her spear, eyes remaining locked with the pathetic excuse of a warrior. “I don’t want to be the teacher of a fucking narcissist.”