Chapter Text
Doppo Kunikida was perfect—Utterly perfect.
He was a vessel for his parents to use his perfection to their advantage.
At the beginning of his schooling, he had managed to skip the first grade, advancing far beyond the rest of his “underling classmates,” as his parents called them.
In the second grade, he had managed to stay far above his studies as usual.
He soared like a stalking hawk above his classmates, seeking for perfection through their failures. He relished in seeing himself be accomplished, be more, because of course it was all he had to show for himself.
If he was not perfect, he was nothing. His parents integrated this thought in his head since the very day of his birth. They reminded him of this ceaselessly. Every time failure had a chance of sowing a seed in their precious vessel, they made sure to decimate it. He was their bountiful harvest, and no pest will ruin that for them.
Doppo Kunikida was a cracked vessel of perfection.
He was 9 when his face was first bruised by his own father, and his ego shattered into millions of irreparable pieces.
His very own report card was brought home by Doppo with sweaty, shaky hands. The consequences of his failure would soon look him in the eyes, and they would only see deep failure and disappointment stemming from his damaged, and imperfect soul.
“Doppo! Is your report card finally in?” His father eagerly asked him, staring at the envelope clutched so hard in his son's hands it could rip open at any moment.
“Yes, father. Here you go.” Doppo replied obediently per usual, his voice void of emotion. He was disgustingly aware of his defeat.
He felt like a carcass of his own body. He couldn’t stand himself.
He slumped his shoulders back after handing his father the envelope that would seal his fate, his fate that he was nothing in this world but an imperfect vessel that failed to be; that never could have been even if he wanted it so badly.
His father ripped the envelope open with excitement, reading the words “REPORT CARD” plastered boldly in front of his eyes.
He unfolded it with a smile, the smile that held so firmly the belief that his son had lived up to his expectations as he always had. That he was perfect, that he was beyond perfect.
That smile that was reinforced by his high expectations would soon be crushed in a gander, a single glance at the mark of failure upon his beautifully hand crafted child. The letter that meant that his child was only average.
This disappointment rose like a volcano in Doppo’s fathers chest, erupting with a bout of anger surging through him.
“Doppo. May you explain to me this utter nonsense?! This is unacceptable, and you should know better!” He shouted, every word with an edge of sadness at the end, but every word fueled with utter hatred.
“Yes, father. I’m sorry. I accept my consequences. I will try harder.” He said the words he had rehearsed in his head quietly, as to hide the guilt from inside his shattered soul. As to hide himself from his father. As to hide himself.
“You must always be trying your hardest! If you cannot be perfect, you are nothing in this world, do you understand that, Doppo Kunikida?! You will be great, but not if you are like this!” He shouted with pure rage. He took a step forward towards his son, towering over the cowering boy.
He lurched his hand forward and forcefully slapped Doppo, leaving a red mark and bruise on his face. Doppo grunts and holds his face on the injured side, looking up at his father whom he loved so dearly. Yet he could not find that love to be reciprocated in his eyes.
Where did he go wrong?
Doppo’s father stepped back, seemingly relieved. He took a deep breath before reciting his tangent.
“Now when you go to school tomorrow and they ask you what happened, you will be reminded of your defeat. Of your imperfection,” His words were shaped with rage as he continued, “And you can only blame yourself.” He says with a quiet voice, and lunges forward towards his once precious son, slapping the other side of his face. Doppo lets out another yelp, and chokes back tears with small, exasperated gasps.
“I will talk to your mother promptly about what your further punishment should be. Now go to your room and study till you fall asleep!”
Doppo rushed up to his room after a nod, and for the first time in his life he disobeyed his fathers orders.
Contrary to what he was supposed to do, he cried himself to sleep on the floor, staring at his academic awards propped up on a shelf. That was all he was, and now he was nothing. He was unimportant in this world full of people much more valuable than him.
He must strive to be more than perfection. He will plan his life down to a T, so he can be perfect. So he will never disappoint those whom he loves. So he can be more.
When he awakes tomorrow, he will begin to be better, he will do more, he will be perfect like he once was.
Doppo Kunikida was 12 when he became aware of his petrifying social skills.
He was only freshly a middle schooler, yet he had advanced far above his classes and was taking numerous classes at his local high school. But in the few classes he had at his middle school, he had the majority of his classes with a skinny, brunette boy. He had caught his name during attendance at the beginning of the year, but he became infatuated with this boy due to his extensive technology knowledge displayed in their robotics class.
His name was Tayama Katai, and Doppo was desperate to learn more about the boy.
So, using the best social skills he could muster up in his anxious body, he approached the boy.
“Hello. My name is Doppo Kunikida, what is yours?” He said, mustering the words out with the most confidence he could acquire. Of course, he knew the boy's name, it was just the polite thing to do to ask! Oh how he tried so foolishly to sound well-rounded.
Katai saw right through him.
“Tayama. Tayama Katai. What’s with the formalities…” He said, not breaking the eye contact he had with his current device he was repairing. Doppo noticed his hands begin to shake slightly after he approached him.
“My apologies.” Kunikida said, slightly flustered at the boy's informal approach to their conversation. “May I inquire as to what you are doing?”
Katai was using tools much too big for his frail hands, and he looked quite silly to Kunikida.
“I’m changing the wiring to the teacher's computer.” He said anxiously. He was beginning to get scared of the taller boy ominously towering over him, observing his every move.
“…Do you need something?” He said, finally putting his tools down and looking up at the blond boy.
Kunikida broke out of his own mind filled with awe at the words Tayama spoke.
“No, I was just curious as to where you learned all these skills? About technology, of course.” He said, straightening his posture back to usual.
“It comes naturally… On that note, where’d you learn to be so formal and perfect? I’ve heard you skipped a grade, and every teacher just adores you here…” Tayama sputtered each word quietly, his eyes darting around the room with hesitation. He already didn’t like him.
Doppo could easily deduce he was socially anxious from the get go.
And he could also deduce that he was not bringing this conversation anywhere.
“My family. They’ve taught me all I know about this world! They’ve taught me perfection.” Kunikida said, sternly.
“They taught me to not let anything pass me by… I live within a strict schedule, so as to not ever be disrupted by underlings!” Kunikida said, earnestly.
His words were all said with such faux confidence
Tayama understands the boy now.
“What a damn snob he is!” Is what he understood of him.
“…Okay, this whole class knows you’re smart. No need to rub it in our faces. I was just curious.” Katai replies, shoving his face back into his current project, signaling an end to the conversation.
Kunikida opens his mouth to speak, but he cannot find the words to reply to that entirely false claim! He was far from smart, he had much to go, and far more to learn.
He turned on his heel and approached his desk, sitting down and cracking the spine of his new book.
For some reason, he felt like crying. He felt tears well up in his eyes, and the words on the pages became one big blur.
One big blur that told him maybe he didn’t want to be perfect.
He just wanted normality.
But he can’t. He must accept his ways of living he has set in stone for himself. He will prevail, wipe his tears over and over again.
The acrimonious edge to his life will only shape him into perfection. He doesn’t need friends, he needs perfection…
He pushes those thoughts down into his stubborn head as a tear forces its way out of him to make space. It drips off his chin, falling onto his page, soaking a singular word.
“Live.”