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The Ultimates had been exploring Hope’s Peak’s postmortem for about as long as their classmates; only this time, entry was not barred by class trials. While desolate, their current version of Hope’s Peak proved to be a comfortable final resting ground.
In the wake of their exploration, the group had begun to learn about the fate of their fellow victims of the Tragedy, though information remained sparse. A day after Oowada Mondo’s arrival, an unmissable bell rang through the school. It’s iconic ding dong, bing bong sent a collective shiver down their spines. Staring into the blackened screen, a thought dawned that maybe this was all part of the hoax, a second trick to keep the despair rolling. But all worries were replaced as the monitors crackled to life, filled not with a bear, but a man’s face.
The former Class 78 were reintroduced to their headmaster, if only remotely. Kirigiri Jin recounted a synopsis of their time at Hope’s Peak, their class’s accomplishments, and the year leading up to the killing game. The world had reverted to an idealistic state in the afterlife, it seemed. Which was comforting, really, knowing that others were safe as well, including the lives of their late schoolmates, those who could not be saved within the walls of the school.
Memories, Headmaster Kirigiri explained, will return with time. Some will come back in full. Others hazy. And others still, lost. Until you have fully adjusted, I advise you to stay here before reconnecting with former friends and family. Use your time here as a place for introspection, collecting your sorts before returning to society at large, if you so choose.
At this point, a few of the more perceptive students realized he looked strikingly similar to a former classmate of theirs.
In the meantime, use Hope’s Peak to your heart’s content, Kirigiri smiled. We will meet in person soon enough.
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Besides a glaring lack of military-grade equipment and welcomed access to the great outdoors, the only notable difference was a conversion of the monitor room. In addition to viewing DVDs and VHS tapes, students could “tune in” to different parts of the living world, powered by what seems to be an elaborate AI system. Upon the door was a warning note advising “not to enter until truly ready,” which was not heeded.
At present, there seemed to be a protocol blocking access to view the events outside Hope's Peak, restricting students only to view the proceedings of the killing game. At this point, the students had a vague understanding of a universal Tragedy, but were still unclear on some details. That must have been what Kirigiri was protecting us from... Everyone besides Mukuro wanted to see for themselves if it was really true if Enoshima Junko was really alive and behind this evil plot. And sure enough, there she sat behind a monitor, one hand on what must have been Monokuma’s controller, and the other stuffed deep in a bag of chips.
It was one thing to hear Sayaka’s description of her visions and another to see for themselves. Finality settled upon the class, who had to accept the reality of the situation. A former classmate of theirs betrayed them. It was all the harder to grapple with as happier memories returned, from sporting events, from snow days, from trips to town. It left them conflicted. But the former Class 78 refused to be filled with despair.
All of the students passed through the monitor room, Friendships and relationships returned alike, leaving many with a need to watch over their friend’s well-being. It was bittersweet to think of the lost time and inevitable betrayals. Leon and Sayaka had some grappling to do when they realized they had dated, if only for a few months. Despite the amicable breakup, the news sent another fissure deep through their already-rocky relationship.
Meanwhile, Chihiro was pleased to hear that he had already come out once before to his select group of closest friends, who accepted him with open arms. It made sense that any emotional progress within those two years would be erased along with their memories. The news filled him with a sudden burst of determination to become strong again, albeit this, he would stick to jogging. There was no intention for him to return to the gym.
Mukuro had no memories to recover, as she never had her mind erased. The fact she remembered the good times and still acted as an accomplice isolated her further. Sayaka pointed out how the class never worked particularly hard to incorporate her into the group. Of the five other students present, she was the most sympathetic.
Five of the six came and went, but it was Oowada Mondo who spent the most time glued to the screen. His memories revealed far more sensitive material than the others, as he soon began to recount a different kind of relationship with his kyoudai.
Or, rather, his boyfriend.
Mondo had felt an undeniable attraction to Kiyotaka during the games, quickly becoming an inseparable pair. And he would be lying if he said the sight of his kyoudai’s bright smile didn’t send butterflies to his stomach, or that the brush of skin made his heart jump. Whatever Junko did to them couldn’t stop their natural pull.
Looking back, it really should have been obvious what his feelings were, but Mondo had never been the best with relationships. Family normally gives advice on stuff like this. He was left with a disadvantage. When he finally remembered asking out Taka the first time, he couldn’t help but internally cringe at the stuttering mess that was the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader.
And, despite the twisted nature of the situation, Mondo couldn’t help but smile at the thought of falling in love with Taka twice.
He’d spent hours in the monitor room, helplessly watching the love of his life fall apart. Mondo did this to him. He’s the reason why Taka is hurting. Why did he kill Chihiro? Why did he deny his feelings? Why couldn’t he remember his own boyfriend of three years? Phosphene, phosphene, phosphene.
The last thing Mondo did before his execution was desperately thrown Taka his jacket, and it seemed to be the only good decision he made in that fucking hellscape .
It shattered his heart, and he watched helplessly as the hall monitor deteriorated, both physically and emotionally. No more early-morning workouts or exuberant breakfast meetings. He had barely eaten since his execution, which was days ago by now. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t bathing. He wasn’t even crying, not really anymore. All he did was lying curled up on his bed, desperately clutching the coat with bone-white knuckles.
The only word that came to mind was “surreal.” This was one of the strongest men Mondo had ever met. An eternal optimist who only wanted to see the best in others and help them succeed. Stubborn to a fault and ever-faithful to his beliefs. Comically loyal, but was never afraid to call out bullshit.
Someone who could chew Mondo’s ear off. Someone who could probably take him in a fight and hell, he might even win. Someone who's giggly when he’s tired, who prefers snow days to the beach, who blushes a bright scarlet from the end of his nose to the tips of his ears when flustered, who actually wears his retainer to sleep, who take's way too much pride in the fact he's never had a soda before.
The Ultimate Moral Compass. The Ultimate Hardass. The love of his life.
….I did this, didn’t I?
Phosphene, phosphene, phosphene.
The only person who seemed to care about these self-destructive tendencies was Hagakure Yasuhiro, who went out of his way to make sure his kyoudai was doing alright. Three times a day, he would bring a bowl of plain rice or a simple broth and sit with Taka while he ate, and for that, Mondo was eternally grateful. Sometimes the clairvoyant would tell stories, recounting how constellations got their names. Simple things, far more pleasant than any of his conspiracy bullshit. Sometimes he would hum tunes. Or read comics, or shuffle his cards, or polish his equipment. Most of the time, they would sit in silence. But Yasuhiro refused to leave Taka alone.
For someone with his head shoved so far up his ass it popped out the other side, the clairvoyant was surprisingly in touch with others.
Taka rarely spoke these days. When he did, his voice was quiet and hoarse from disuse. Once, he asked for a cup of orange juice. Yasuhiro practically tripped over himself as he rushed to the door. Another time he asked for a book. The third he asked for a reading.
When he heard the words, Mondo blinked and instinctively leaned forward, unsure as to what comes next. His eyes tracked over to the clairvoyant, who had a pensive expression on his face, maybe for the first time in his life. Without a price point or catch, Yasuhiro pulled out a deck of cards from his jacket and crossed to sit on Taka’s bed.
The clairvoyant explained, in brief, the rules of tarot, instructing Taka not to think of this as a way to predict the future, but as a set of discussion points for the questions at hand. All the while, the deck slipped through his hands, shuffling at an impossibly mesmerizing pace, rendering the little pieces of paper liquid in his hands. His words were soft yet sober, and shit, this is how he draws people in, isn’t it? Mondo got it. The class had only seen the tinfoil hat wackjob. This must be thirty percent.
Gently, Yasuhiro placed the cards in the other’s hands and asked him to shuffle, because it wouldn’t make sense if the cards got my intentions during your reading, would it, Kiyotaka-chi? Mondo watched as Taka stared at the deck, long and hard, a set determination in his eyes, before carefully shuffling. The movements were mechanical, sharp and jagged out of practice - clearly someone who does not regularly play cards. A few gracelessly slipped out before being unceremoniously shoved back in the deck. Mondo swore he saw the clairvoyant wince.
There was a thoughtful pause before the hall monitor pulled out three cards from the deck, laying them face down. Nodding, Yasuhiro flipped them over, his eyes darting at the faces. Two of Cups. Reversed Four of Wands. The Tower. He frowned, before slowly, explaining each card’s meaning.
Just then, the door creaked, causing Mondo to whip around and wince at the sudden influx of light. (phosphene phosphene) Standing at the door was the Ultimate Baseball Star, who volunteered to bring his friend meals when he locked himself up in the monitor room. Leon smiled a small, tight-lipped smile and crossed over, gently setting down the food. He stayed standing, shifting his weight from side-to-side, his eye also trained on the monitor.
Mondo knew Leon and Yasuhiro were... something during the Tragedy. Leon always insisted it was a relationship merely out of circumstance, nothing more. But he swore there was a twinkle in the baseball player’s eyes. There were always whispered words and gentle hand brushes between the two, and once he had caught them taking a nap in the garden, the grass warm from the giant heat lamp in the ceiling.
Even now, his eyes were gleaming. Leon’s hand reached up to fiddle his lock in his hands, and for the first time, it dawned on the biker that maybe, that necklace might have some sort of meaning
Silently, they watched the screen, letting the food grow cold.