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Autumn was a time for change, signaled by the end of NatsuComi and upcoming preparations for the winter market, bidding farewell to Arita Haruyuki’s exploits and embracing the long-awaited saga of the noble Joestars on Tokyo MX… not to mention all those fresh faces at the upcoming annual halloween cosplay festival…
It was during this glorious season that Yamada Hifumi had completed his assigned coursework, with more than a full week to spare! And the ones who had assisted him in this noble endeavor were none other than… Aha! Hifumi spied his targets up ahead, each with a companionable arm draped around the other’s shoulders as they made their way up the stairs.
“Ishimaru Kiyotaka-dono! And Oowada Mondo-dono too!” He wheezed as he caught up with them, clutching at the railing in a feeble attempt to keep himself in an upright position. Truly he could see why Ishimaru is the Ultimate Prefect—why, even the uncomfortable position of stretching up to keep his arm around Oowada could not deter him from making his rounds with such efficiency, and of course the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader would have the stamina to keep up!
Hifumi, on the other hand, was built differently from those freaks of nature, so he allowed himself another fortifying breath before plunging onwards. “Just the gentlemen I was looking for!”
Oowada flicked a lazy two-fingered salute in Hifumi’s direction. “Yo.”
“Salutations, Yamada-kun!” Ishumaru had let go of his companion to greet him, expression severe as always. “If I remember correctly, you are assigned to the Visual Arts Building for your first period! You should be up all those stairs by now! No loitering in the corridors!”
Oh drat. He had almost forgotten just how terrifying Ishimaru could be. “O-oh, yes, of course! I’ll be going right away!” Hifumi cried, nervous sweat slicking his temples as he fumbled around in his bag to produce two slim packages. “But first I must bestow my latest masterpiece upon you!”
If anything, Ishimaru only looked more perturbed. “Thank you, Yamada-kun, but I must refuse! Neither of us are interested in borderline pornographic artwork!”
Gah, this insult to his darling Buu-ko is too much! “Now look here! Buu-ko is a good girl, a pure maiden, innocent to the delicious desires of the flesh—” he ignored Oowada's scoff, “—but my newest work does not concern her, or her many voluptuous virtues.” Not that these two would know how to appreciate her beauty anyway. “In fact, it concerns an unbreakable connection of intense male camaraderie just like yours! I hadn’t attempted this genre before, though my sister often gushed over it… But after observing your interactions, I feel like I understood her passion a little better!” He pushed his glasses up by the bridge, grinning with satisfaction. “You’ve opened my eyes to so many heart-throbbing possibilities! A brand-new dimension has opened up itself before me, taking my skills to greater heights…!”
“Whatever,” Oowada shrugged. “No idea what the hell you’re on about, but as long as it ain’t... Y’KNOW!” he yelled with a faint flush, startling a nearby sparrow on the windowsill, “...I guess it’s fine. Give it here.”
Hifumi fumbled with the goods—it was always a little nerve-wracking introducing his babies to the sources of his inspiration. Hopefully these two wouldn’t file a restraining order against him, which was what happened the last time he showed Buu-ko’s voice actress his passionate graphic admiration for her character’s various generous assets at a meet-and-greet. “Of course, Oowada Mondo-dono! You too Ishimaru Kiyotaka-dono, thank you both for being such wonderful inspirations!” He thrusted the other copy at Ishimaru, who took it with a thoughtful expression.
“Well! I suppose it is rude to refuse a gift.” Ishimaru nodded decisively before flashing Hifumi a blinding grin. “We’re honored to have played a part in your academic growth, Yamada-kun!”
“Heh, speak for yourself man.”
“It's our duty to lend a hand to our classmates, kyoudai!” Ishimaru chided his companion, though Oowada only rolled his eyes half-heartedly in response. “Yamada-kun, I’m so glad you’re challenging yourself! I look forward to reading your work! Also, please hurry up those stairs at an appropriate pace to your first class!”
Ugh. Hiro wanted to kick himself for choosing History as his elective. Or get Oogami to kick him. Maybe she could knock him out until exams are over, or better yet, until the mafia goons stop chasing him for money—except she’d never do it because it was apparently against her principles to throw down with someone who clearly couldn’t give her a challenge or whatever. Lame.
Look, the only reason he was here was because he got booted off Gardening 101 after the teacher caught him harvesting his, er, special herbs. He wouldn’t even have needed the extra stuff for his mental health if the scary gangsters hadn’t threatened to make off with his internal organs again!
Anyway. By the time his weed heist had been resolved, it was far too late to join the other electives offered to the Main Course students—but whatever! He just wanted something chill—there was way too much stress in other parts of his life already—and history seemed like it’d be that.
As it turned out, history was about Dead Old Guys, which meant ghosts; in other words, the complete opposite of a relaxing atmosphere. He kept seeing something out of the corner of his eye ever since he joined the class, and given how some of these people shuffled off the mortal coil… yikes. He’d taken to chanting protective mantras under his breath every time he went into the room, just in case.
Worst of all, his classmates seemed totally cool with the idea of dead guys hanging around. Kirigiri was invested in the class (probably ‘cause of all the backstabby murder shenanigans), and both Naegi and Oogami were perfectly happy to take notes… not to mention Ishimaru, sitting bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the front of the classroom, diligently copying everything the teacher wrote on the blackboard and asking way too many follow-up questions. Dude sure loves hitting the books!
Alas, Ishimaru also had strong feelings about Hiro's failing grades. And so here he was, stuck in a tutoring session (again!) on a Sunday morning, listening to Ishimaru’s lecture about boring dead dudes and their probably equally boring ghosts. (Uh, not that he’d ever tell them that.) The prefect was going on and on about some samurai guy—one of the Tsuna-whatevers and Nobu-whatshisfaces—and uh how a dog became shogun that one time, or something.
Whatever it was, aliens were probably behind it. And if not aliens, the Illuminati!!!
His gaze flicked towards the clock behind Ishimaru: they’d have the room for another hour and 43 minutes, and Ishimaru didn’t look like he’d be stopping for a break anytime soon. Too bad Oowada wasn’t around, since he was pretty good at distracting Ishimaru. Watching them do their man-hug best-bro routine sure would beat these dead people by a million miles. No less confusing, but definitely less boring.
Then again, with all the recent tension between the two it might just backfire in his face. Ever since a few days ago they’ve been acting all jumpy around each other. Tough guy Oowada got it especially bad, exploding all over the place—just look at poor Yamada after he was through with him! Yikes.
The vortex of awkwardness between Ishimaru and Oowada was seriously bad mojo, bad enough that it interfered with his readings. Why else would he be losing his touch? His vision last night didn’t even make any sense! Something about a bunch of school kids being locked in with some high tech build-a-bear reject or whatever? What was that about?
Probably aliens, again.
Wait. What if all their unresolved tension clung to him, like a miasma of bad luck?! Especially since he’s spending extra time with Ishimaru! If it went on for much longer, he’ll never be able to pay off his debt!
Gah, better nip this in the bud!
“Hey, Ishimaru-chi,” he cut through Ishimaru’s lecture, which had moved onto a vendetta where a crapload of samurai killed a guy over, uh. Something important, probably??? It ended in a mass seppuku, which meant more potential ghosts, damn. He’s gonna have to beg for an exorcist to come help him at this rate. Maybe that occult mumbo-jumbo pet shop guy in the year above could do him a solid? Then again, he—
Ahhhhh! Focus, Hiro! “Dude, have you checked your animal horoscope? It could help with your problems!”
“Wha—excuse me???” Wuh-oh, it looked like Ishimaru.exe had stopped working… But then his scary (blood red!) gaze hardened and he squared his shoulders, whipping out his pointer finger at Hiro like he was in some kind of lawyer video game. “My problems and… horoscopes?! They have nothing to do with the current situation!”
“No way, animal horoscopes are literally perfect for whatever you’ve got going on right now!” Ishimaru still looked deeply skeptical—which was pretty funny, since Hiro thought Ishimaru knew everything. Huh. Maybe he could tutor the dude for a change! “Don’t worry, it’s pretty easy. All you gotta do is take your birthday and use that to work out your animal and elemental type, and then—"
“Animals have nothing to do with the upcoming exam!” Ishimaru said sternly, pointing at what looked like a timeline in the textbook between them. “Please focus on the relevant material, Hagakure-kun!”
“Wait, weren’t we talking about puppies…?” Hiro shrugged. Oh well. “Anyway. A horoscope reading would legit fix the weird vibes between Oowada-chi and you like woah, just sayin’.”
“Hagakure-kun!” Ishimaru’s frown deepened, but Ishimaru frowned all the time—they say people with strong personalities are born with a scary face, and Ishimaru proved it. Whoever said face readings were fake can suck it, in his professional opinion. “My personal troubles are not the subject of these sessions, as we’re here to study! I refuse to let you spend your thirties in school as well!”
Ugh, not this again. Seriously, why did people always make it such a big deal? He was still young! Age was just a number! It wasn’t like he wanted to get held back either, dammit! “Come on dude, there’s more to life than studying, like… uncovering the mysteries of Area 51 with like-minded comrades! Making blood-pacts with pals! Canoodling with someone special!”
Ishimaru went bright red. “We are students, Hagakure-kun! There’s nothing more important than devoting ourselves to our studies at this stage of our lives!”
“Nah dude, I’m telling ya! When relationships fall apart, it doesn’t just affect the ones in the middle of it! Things could get messy y’know!” Hiro threw his hands up. “Like your thing with Oowada-chi! I dunno what’s going on exactly, but you guys gotta stop being weird and talk it out! Trust me dude, your future’s at stake here.”
“My future? What are you getting at, Hagakure-kun?” Ishimaru looked a little freaked out now: gnawing on his lip, clenching his fists, tears beading at the corner of his eyes, the whole shebang…
Ah crap, he didn’t mean to upset Ishimaru.
“Chill dude, just clear the air and you'll be buds again in no time. Ultimate Clairvoyant here, remember? The future’s sorta my business.” Hiro put a friendly hand on his increasingly distressed classmate’s shoulder—it was hard to remember sometimes, but he is older than his classmates and has more life experience!
…Even if those experiences were mostly about getting dumped, running from the mafia, and being in soul-crushing debt…
Speaking of debts. “But just to be totally, completely and absolutely sure…” Hiro hoped he didn’t sound too desperate. “How about a reading?” He dredged up the grin he used for business. Sure, his mojo was on the fritz, but Ishimaru didn’t need to know that. “Now, I usually charge twelve thousand yen for the most basic horoscope forecasts, but you get a discount ‘cause we’re buddies and I’m kinda invested. Tell you what, I’ll take a thousand yen off for you! Whaddya say, dude?”
“No thank you, Hagakure-kun.” Ishimaru said immediately. “I refuse to be manipulated by something as arbitrary as astrology!” He gestured at the textbook. “In any case, time is running short! We have exams in four days, so we should get back to studying!”
Dammit. “Well, how about this?” Hiro held up a placating hand. “How does ten thousand yen sound? You can’t get a better deal anywhere else!”
“I said no, Hagakure-kun.” Ishimaru flipped through the book and selected a page in the current chapter. “Now, please answer my question: who issued the Edicts on Compassion on Living Things?”
“The what on what now?” Seriously, how’s he supposed to know that? “Anyway, nine thousand and five hundred yen is my final offer! Think about it! That’s fifty percent of my usual rate! It’s a steal!”
“Nine thousand and five hundred is definitely not fifty percent of twelve thousand!” Oh crap, Ishimaru looked even more freaked out now. “Do we need to review basic numerical concepts as well?”
“No! Don’t!” Damn it, he should’ve known better than to talk about numbers in front of Ishimaru! “I mean come on, of course I knew that! Just because I’ve been held back three or four times…" Ishimaru was sporting the same scandalized look he has whenever those words were said in his presence, which was par of the course so whatever! “It doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I know it’s around seven thousand, relax. That was just, y’know, hyper-bowl and all.”
“‘Hyper-bowl’… I see.” Ishimaru repeated slowly. Hiro sighed in relief. Now all that’s left was convincing Ishimaru to fork some cash over—
Unfortunately, Ishimaru wasn’t finished. “Hagakure-kun, it appears I had underestimated the severity of your situation, and shall rectify it immediately!” Ishimaru was the picture of determination, with his fist clenched and expression stern. At that moment Hiro knew, with 100% accuracy, that he’d be plagued by tutoring sessions throughout the rest of his high school career.
Oblivious to Hiro’s mounting despair, Ishimaru barreled onwards. “Fear not, I believe in you! Persevere and we will reach our goal! Now listen carefully!” Ishimaru held up a finger. “I believe you were referring to hyperbole—that is h-y-p-e-r-b-o-l-e, pronounced with a long e—which is the use of exaggeration as a rhetorical device. Also!” He held up another finger. “Seven thousand still isn’t fifty percent of twelve thousand! Six thousand is the correct answer! Remember, the definition of percentage is a ratio expressed as a fraction of a hundred. In this instance, fifty percent could be represented as fifty over one hundred, which equals one over two, or one half. Therefore!" He slammed his hand on the table passionately. "In order to calculate fifty percent of twelve thousand, you should—"
Hiro wailed.
Fukawa Touko stormed out from yet another meeting with the coursework counselors, mumbling curses under her breath. On top of the exams, they wanted her to write a space opera—a genre she didn’t have any first-hand experience in, as science fiction could hardly be considered true literature—along with the stipulation that the male and female leads cannot become romantically involved over the course of the story.
That still left romances with side characters, but she was seething inside. It’s clear they were targeting her weaknesses, no doubt setting her up for failure. She couldn’t refuse, not when complying with these stupid exercises was the reason why they wanted her at Hope’s Peak in the first place—not when they know full well where (and who) Syo is. So they’re waiting for her to fail at the end of this, and they’ll be ready to laugh at her, always, always snickering behind their hands just like everyone else, and they’ll ask what kind of literary girl is she, if she couldn’t even beat the braindead talentless sensationalist hacks known as pulp fiction ‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘authors’’’’’’’’ at their own game?
Such was the depth of her enraged anxiety that she failed to notice Ishimaru striding purposefully towards her, and it was too late to run by the time she sensed his approach. “Fukawa-kun!” He stopped in front of her and she cringed reflexively; why does he always have to be so damnably loud? “Please lend me your assistance!”
“Wh-what do you want?” she mumbled at him, clutching her notes to her chest; the male lead, of course, couldn’t be based on Byakuya-sama—he was far too dazzling to be wasted on uncultured genre fiction; it was an insult to even think of him in the vague vicinity of something as stupid as a spaceship!
“Well!” Ishimaru wavered for half a second before he forged on, wearing his usual determined expression. “It’s a question regarding romance! Yamada-kun had brought the issue to my attention, and Hagakure-kun offered some unsolicited aid during our tutoring session. But then I remembered!” He pointed at her with a triumphant expression, and Touko flinched again—people only pointed when they were laughing at her—“Fukawa-kun, you are the Ultimate Writing Prodigy, with a specialization in romance novels! You're the one I should consult with, considering your authority on the subject!” He went a little pink in the face, and when he spoke again his voice was marginally softer than before. “All of this is new to me! Friendship, camaraderie, and now the possibility of pursuing something… deeper…” He took a deep breath, and Touko tensed in feeble preparation for a renewed onslaught of yapping. “I’m having trouble determining the right course of action! I require your assistance!”
Ah. This was about Oowada. Of course she knew about those two—anyone with repeated exposure to their disgustingly hot-blooded “manly bond” would be forced to acknowledge their pathetic display of schoolyard attraction, the kind of trashy will-they-won’t-they drivel packaged as second-rate young adult novels.
But why was he telling her this, if it wasn’t to rub it in her face? He framed it as a request, but she knew better. “St-stop flaunting your t-tasteless love affair with Oowada…” She chewed on the calluses on her thumb with a glare at his face. “How sh-shameless of you! Either t-take a chance and c-commit, or c-c-cut t-ties with him! St-stop dragging it out!”
Ishimaru jerked back in surprise. “How did you know, Fukawa-kun? I never even mentioned kyoudai at all!”
Must he insult her intellect like this? Did he think she somehow missed the altercation between Oowada and Yamada the garbage-peddler in the library, and the subsequent argument when Ishimaru arrived to assign their punishments? They were making such a racket that Byakuya-sama had to leave!
Ishimaru must’ve thought she was completely clueless about what they all get up to, just because nobody (besides, maybe, idiot Naegi) wanted to talk to her. Just because nobody could stand to be around her.
As if he was so much better than her at socializing.
Besides, his ostentatious parade of romantic woes was just uncouth. Despite his acknowledgement of her authority on the subject, he never sought to solicit romantic advice from her before now… which was proof enough that he’s a filthy liar who only wanted to laugh at her expense. He must know everything she has ever written is based on nothing more than her daydreams—she doesn’t know anything and will never know anything regarding real romance because she’s Fukawa Touko and nobody, nobody, could ever fall in love with her pathetic self. They eat her stories up, but she’s just a chew toy to them.
So it made sense that Ishimaru, oh so cruel like the rest of them, always yapping about hard work and acting scandalized whenever someone failed to live up to the expectations he pushed onto them without any regard of their feelings, could tell that she was a fraud and wants nothing to do with her, except as a source of amusement.
Joke’s on him, then. “Don’t p-play dumb, you anal bastard,” she sneered, watching his eyes widen with bewildered hurt. Not so smug now, is he? “Make up y-your mind and do suh-something about it, rather than rubbing it i-in other p-people's faces.”
“What do you mean? Please elaborate, Fukawa-kun!” Ishimaru barked, which was his reaction to anything unexpected, a hand reaching for her shoulder. Oh how she wished, for a vicious second, that he had cornered Syo instead. Syo would’ve gleefully played matchmaker for these loud idiots, given the numerous volumes of perverted trash she had hidden in her bookcases… or perhaps she’d turn her scissors on them, caught in the throes of her rosy depraved fantasies.
But they’re still her classmates, even if she couldn’t stand them most of the time. “Don’t t-t-touch me!” she shrieked instead, shoving him away with all her meager strength. “Leave me alone!”
As he stumbled backwards with an alarmed yelp, she took the opportunity to sprint down the corridor towards the library; Ishimaru would rather die than violate his beloved rules there, and ooh! Maybe she could even catch a glimpse of her darling if she’s lucky!
“Wait a minute! Fukawa-kun!” Ishimaru shouted somewhere behind her, the hurried clip of his footsteps fainter still, “I don’t understand your accusations, please explain yourself properly—and stop running in the hallways!”
It was 6:30 in the morning, and Sayaka found herself sitting in the cafeteria surrounded by cups of terrible coffee and a single piece of toast in her hand. She already had the All ☆ Star Music Extravaganza!!! the counselors expected her to co-host with Mioda-senpai at the end of exams to worry about, so thankfully last-minute appearances like today’s were an outlier. After all, she was usually booked for up to 15 months in advance!
She was contemplating getting yet another cup of coffee when she spotted someone in full uniform marching into the cafeteria, despite the ungodly hour. There was only one person who'd show up here on the weekends at this time in those clothes, which meant Ishimaru must have finished his morning patrol.
“Morning, Ishimaru-kun!” Sayaka chirped, hiding a yawn behind the hand that wasn’t holding her breakfast. She was excited to see Ayaka and everyone again, but it’d be nice if the studio was a little closer... Not only could she have slept in, she might’ve been able to ride in the same car as the other girls if Hope’s Peak wasn’t so far away. As glad as she was that she won’t be stuck alone with Mr. Sasaki this time, she’d be gladder still to know how the other girls were faring with him in the car…
“Good morning, Maizono-kun!” Ishimaru snapped a crisp salute. His brown blazer and slacks were perfectly ironed as always, not to mention the spotless dark red armband and tie. Ah, she wished she could look as put-together as him first thing in the morning, without any stylists around to help. It was tough putting her makeup on half-asleep. “You startled me! I wasn’t expecting anyone else in the cafeteria at this hour!”
She offered him a slightly sheepish smile. “Ah, I’ve always wanted to get up earlier, but I end up sleeping in all the time!” She nibbled at her toast delicately. “Maybe I should start going to bed earlier…”
“That’s the spirit! Exams officially start tomorrow, so make sure you’re well-rested, Maizono-kun! A strong body supports a strong mind!” Ishimaru nodded emphatically. She wished she had that much energy all the time. “Speaking of, would you like to join myself and a few others for morning exercises at the gymnasium in around thirty minutes?”
“Oh. I’d love to!” she lied, making sure a beatific smile was gracing her lips. “It’s just that… my agent will be here to pick me up at any moment now, so maybe next time?” As if she’d ever get up this early if it wasn’t for work.
But hey, never say never! If the job taught her anything, it’s to maintain plausible deniability at all times.
“I see…” Ishimaru’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, but quickly bounced back in good cheer. “In any case, do your best today, Maizono-kun! Give it your all along with your friends!” He gave her a thumbs up, which he definitely wouldn’t have done before spending time with Oowada-kun.
It’s nice how close they got after they stopped fighting over silly things all the time, and she’d even admit to feeling a little envious of their natural bond. She liked the girls—of course she did, they all shared the same dream—but they also needed countless rehearsals to ensure their banter was just perfect on stage; did she know how to smile anymore without thinking of ratings and sponsorships and showing proper gratitude to the producers?
But it lets her bring hope to little girls like her younger self. It’s worth it! It has to be.
“…Maizono-kun? Are you alright?”
Oops. She’d been quiet for too long, and now she’d worried him. That won’t do! “I’m just a little sleepy still, Ishimaru-kun. Thanks for the encouragement!” She tilted her head, giving him the giggle that had won her the hearts of countless girls and boys across the nation. “And you too! Oowada-kun will stick by you no matter what, so don’t give up!”
“Huh??? ” Ishimaru’s open expression, caught between fear and hope, was so revealing that she felt a stab of second-hand embarrassment for having seen it—he’d never survive on stage, they'd eat him alive. He feels too much for anyone to package his emotions for easy consumption—too straightforward, too intense, too stubborn. Too vulnerable. “But… Maizono-kun, how could you be sure?”
Still, that honesty is sweet in its own way, and Sayaka wanted her classmates to be happy. Everyone deserved happiness. It’s why she’s working so hard, after all!
“Don’t you know, Ishimaru-kun?” She grinned. “I’m psychic!”
Mukuro marched down the student dormitory hallway. Her magnificent little sister would be heading to Paris first thing in the morning, and she’d been summoned to pack her bags. She was glad Junko had given this task to her; she was nowhere near as capable as her sister, but she had ample practice with organizing a kit for entering unknown territory. Thinking about what she’d have available for Junko—deciding what essentials to keep and what luxuries to leave, making sure each item was snugly secured in its place—grounded her, and for a moment she was nostalgic for the breathless anticipation of an active warzone.
No matter. Soon enough there would be battles aplenty. She should savor the calm before the storm. Reserve her strength. Aid Junko.
She had pledged herself to her sister’s cause, and she’d make sure Junko got to her destination with everything she could desire. Junko found most practical weaponry gauche at best and boring at worst, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but Mukuro figured she'd tuck a Beretta 92 and a few spare rounds between the push-up bras and makeup kit, just in case. Or would the G26 be a better choice? Junko's hands are daintier than hers; the Beretta might be too cumbersome—
There was a subtle shift of pressure in the air. She pivoted right and let momentum guide her, saving her from a collision with the Ultimate Prefect making his nightly rounds.
“Ikusaba-kun!” Ishimaru blinked down at her, face blank with mortified shock. He had been off-kilter for days—his back was ramrod straight like usual, but the way he carried himself was uncertain, distracted. The kind of opponent that was almost an insult to kill, because they were such easy pickings. Not that she had the right to prefer certain targets over others. “My apologies! I didn’t see you there.”
Such an excuse was no excuse at all in active combat, and Mukuro had followed orders to put down teammates for lesser mistakes. But this was no warzone.
At least—not yet.
“No harm, no foul.” She offered him a professional dip of the head, which he seemed to appreciate. “Excuse me.”
“Actually, if I may…!” Ishimaru warbled, abruptly nervous, fidgeting with his face flushed and gaze averted. “I. Well.”
“What.”
He swallowed, then plunged ahead as if he were ripping off a band-aid. “Given your experiences in other tight-knit units, I was wondering if you’d have any insights into dealing with, ah, fraternization.”
She thought, suddenly, of Naegi’s smile. Mukuro narrowed her eyes. How could he possibly—
Ishimaru’s wavering gaze met hers; what she saw in those eyes was guilt, not reproach.
Oh. This was about his conduct. Not hers.
Every single member of Class 78 knew that there was only one person who Ishimaru addressed informally, and that was his ‘kyoudai’. His ‘bro’.
Fraternization indeed.
“We do not generally…” She hesitated, gaze flicking downwards. “...Discuss such things in Fenrir.”
Or rather, she was excluded from discussions pertaining to romance—and the associated physical activities—by her squadmates. Some combination of too young and too unnerving, even among elite soldiers, though she was always vaguely aware of what the others got up to amongst themselves.
Privacy was a rare commodity in an actively hostile environment that was intent on exterminating you and yours, after all.
“I see.” Ishimaru grimaced, but maintained eye contact with her nonetheless. “Sorry to have bothered you, Ikusaba-kun.”
She gave him another curt nod, intending to continue on her way—her beloved little sister had summoned her, and Junko hated to be kept waiting—
But Mukuro had lingered instead, acting on some gut feeling. “The way I see it… It comes down to two choices: either you do, or you don’t. That’s all there is to it.” She gave him a long, level look, the one that had made hardened killers flinch away and avert their eyes; Ishimaru did neither. “Nobody can make that choice but you.”
Ishimaru froze, his whole frame tense as he contemplated the best course of action. In combat he would’ve been killed in no time, but she appreciated his thoroughness—not that his reaction here mattered in the grand scheme of things. After a moment of deliberation, Ishimaru nodded to himself, a steady self-assuredness in his posture. “Thank you for the excellent advice!” He bowed, posture perfect as always.
Looking at him, she was reminded of how it had felt to sit in a foxhole she dug for herself behind enemy lines, perceiving her targets through the scope of her rifle: completely in control, with serene anticipation draped across her shoulders, utterly untouchable in the knowledge that she could perish at any moment. Do, or don’t—live, or die. “Yes. Goodnight.”
“And the same to you, Ikusaba-kun!” He waved at her and spun around, the steady clip of his footsteps growing more confident as he continued his evening patrol.
Mukuro walked down the hall, deep in thought. If Ishimaru found his answer because of her, then…
She knows full well that the others are ultimately just pawns in Junko’s game—one that her darling sister was kind enough to include her in—and everyone outside their circle of two exist for the sole purpose of experiencing rapturous despair at their hands.
But Junko loves their classmates—it might please her to strip away a piece of happiness that Mukuro had a hand in cultivating personally.
And Naegi… Naegi too would be pleased to see their classmates happy in the meantime. Mukuro was… allowed… to desire his happiness until the time comes, for no other reason than because it pleased her to do so, if she kept it to herself. Perhaps.
And perhaps… Perhaps she desired the others’ happiness for its own sake too. As though someone like her was allowed such personal sentiments.
But she hoped so, anyway.
Mukuro stood in front of her little sister’s door, hand poised to knock. Junko didn’t like her barging in; that brand of upset wasn’t the despair she so craved, just plain common annoyance, and Junko deserved much better than that.
The door opened before her knuckles could make contact with it; her precious sister seized her wrist and wrenched her into the room.
“Oh my god, where were you?” Junko smacked her upside the head, long acrylic nails leaving shallow scratches behind. A proof of her love. “You’re lucky I’m so nice to you, useless sister.”
“Yes, Junko. Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t keep me waiting again, stupid.”
“Yes, Junko.”
The second day of exams arrived without much fanfare. Celes and her cohorts had already sat through Japanese Literature in the morning, and Mathematics was next. Of course, she wasn’t worried; trigonometry would be a cakewalk compared to game theory. She was more than prepared to tackle whatever paltry challenge was thrown at her.
Any insinuation to the contrary was simply a shoddy lie.
And so Celes sat primly at her usual table in the cafeteria, joined by Porky and Kuwata, surveying her classmates.
Enoshima was overseas at her modeling job; her sister slipped into the background the minute the test was over, as she was wont to do whenever the more energetic twin wasn’t around. Byakuya and his stalker had likewise left quickly, while Naegi chatted with a group of their peers in the hallway to the cafeteria.
Oowada and Fujisaki had arrived a while ago, claiming a table near the back, notes scattered on the table between them. They were clearly trying to get some last-minute studying done: Fujisaki was fairly calm, but Oowada seemed to have given up, judging by the thousand yard stare he fixed towards the entrance. Ishimaru would normally be found hanging around Oowada too, but it was no surprise that he had kept his distance after his spectacular row with Oowada in the library.
The entire affair was rather juvenile; Oowada and Ishimaru overreacted, considering that Yamada’s little gift to them had been on the tame side, with nothing more risqué than a saccharine kiss at the end. (She knew because her loyal servant had shown her the sketches… she only glanced at them out of boredom, of course.) The characters didn’t even look like them—if they had recognized themselves in the characters’ unsophisticated dialogue and cringeworthy interactions, it said far more about their own state of mind than anything else.
Oh well. Given Ishimaru’s general attitude towards non-academic pursuits and Oowada’s allergy towards everything involving even the slightest hint of tender emotions, it was inevitable they’d react like this. At least the situation provided some amusement as she waited on the final arrangements of her impending coursework assignment.
She would prevail, of course—defeat was not in her nature. But playing in an international high stakes winner-takes-all tournament with a lie detector strapped to her was no laughing matter, even for the Queen of Liars.
The cafeteria doors opened again, revealing Asahina, Oogami, and…
Well, well, well. Speak of the devil.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oowada stiffen as he registered Ishimaru, grabbing his previously discarded textbook off the table and doing a pitiful pretense of studying its contents. Ishimaru didn’t seem to notice, but Asahina certainly did, nudging Ishimaru and gesturing in Oowada’s direction. She said something Celes couldn’t hear, but Ishimaru just shook his head and followed Oogami to a nearby table, Asahina close on his heels.
The two had completely missed Oowada’s little dejected slump, as well as Fujisaki’s attempts to console him.
Celes surveyed the subjects of her interest over the rim of her teacup. Oowada, previously sprawled out on his chair, had stayed in his mostly-upright position since Ishimaru came into the room, fidgeting with nervous energy. He kept alternating between glancing at his notes blankly and sneaking glances at Ishimaru’s group, fingers tapping erratically on the table.
Come to think of it, Oowada had been pacing more than usual these past few days, and she saw faint ink stains on his hands last night when she passed by him on her way to the cafeteria for some late-night dumplings. He’s definitely agitated, but unlike his usual noisy outbursts it carried a specific intent, the kind of restlessness in a high roller about to see if a gambit would pay off.
On the other hand, Ishimaru had mellowed out a little compared to the beginning of the week. He was unusually jittery then, a tense nervousness radiating off him that had nothing to do with the upcoming exams. He was as expressive as ever conversing with Oogami and Asahina, but he was calmer in general, with the sort of serenity that came from resolve—the kind in fellow players intent on taking the winnings home.
Hm. Oowada and Ishimaru were both going to make a play soon, and neither were known for their patience or subtlety. This was bound to be entertaining, and if she could profit off of the situation, all the more reason to keep an eye on the developments.
Now all she had to do was set the bait. Celes glanced at her two tablemates—they should do nicely. “Regarding the matter concerning our resident odd couple, I reckon it would be resolved…” she paused for effect, and her audience did not disappoint: Yamada started chewing on his nails in nervous anticipation, no doubt remembering Oowada’s pointed displeasure after the friendfiction fiasco, while Kuwata shifted closer towards her despite himself, unable to hide the flare of intrigue in his eyes. “Before exams are over,” she declared and returned to her tea, rich and sweet just the way she likes it. Porky’s services had been exceptionally adequate as of late.
Kuwata raised a studded brow at her. “Huh? What do you—ohhhh. ” He blinked twice as realization settled over him, staring at Oowada and Ishimaru openly. Not a shred of finesse or subtlety at all, idiot boy. “You sure about that?” he asked, tugging on his pathetic scrap of a goatee. “You know how Ishimaru gets about school stuff, which means Mondo’s going to give him space. Wouldn’t it make more sense if it happens afterwards?”
“Oh my,” Celes murmured, setting her teacup down with a soft clink. She gave him a sharp smile to play up the haughty persona, which was sure to ignite Kuwata’s competitive side. “Are you certain that questioning the judgment of the Ultimate Gambler is a wise move, Kuwata-kun?”
“Look, I know you’re hot shit in the gambling world,” he said, running a hand through his ridiculous hair. “But I’m Mondo’s bro, and so by extension kinda sorta Ishimaru’s as well. Ish. I think I know what I’m talking about.”
“Oho!” Yamada fiddled with his glasses, eager to leap to his mistress’s defense. Good boy; perhaps it was time to consider a promotion. “Is this a challenge, Kuwata Leon-dono? You must know, nobody has bested the great Celestia Ludenburg-dono in a betting pool before!”
Celes hummed; Kuwata placed a slight emphasis on ‘I think,’ which revealed that he wasn’t as certain of his claims as he said he was. He probably didn’t even notice it himself. She hid her smirk behind a delicate hand. “Oh my, how intriguing. My prediction against yours… Shall we have ourselves a wager, Kuwata-kun? No direct interference from either of us—that should make it fair enough.” Her eyes locked onto his. “What say you? I’m game if you are.”
“Bring it on!” blurted Kuwata, who looked a little surprised at how quickly he said those words. “Uh, loser buys the winner lunch for two weeks!”
“Very well.” Celes inclined her head in a graceful nod. “I hope you’re prepared to part ways with your spending money come Monday.” She extended her hand towards him. “Shall we seal the deal with a handshake?”
Kuwata hesitated for the briefest moment… then shook her hand with a grin, as she knew he would. What a sucker. “We’ll see who’s buying lunch after this is over!”
“Are you sure you don’t wanna check up on Oowada-kun?” Aoi looked up from her textbook. “He seemed kinda lonely…”
“I think not, Asahina-kun!” Ishimaru shook his head, reviewing his color-coded notes. Wow, she could never get over how neat his handwriting is. How much did he practice to get it looking like a computer printout? “He’s trying his best to study right now! He’d lose focus if I went over there! And knowing kyoudai, he needs all the focus he can get!”
“Uh, I get what you’re saying,” she chewed on her lip, “but go easy on him. I thought you guys were best pals.” Like her and Sakura-chan!
Ishimaru furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’m just telling the truth! I’m glad he decided to study on his own volition. I’m proud of him for wanting to do his best on the test, and working hard at his goal! What kind of person would I be if I deliberately sabotaged his efforts?”
“I guess you have a point,” Aoi said with a sigh. “It’s just kinda weird that you guys aren’t attached at the hip anymore…” She’d want to hang out with her best friend as much as she could! There was nothing that could make her not want to spend time with Sakura-chan, and even if they got into an argument, as impossible as that seemed, she’d still want to—wait.
Her eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh, did you guys have a fight? Want us to break the ice for you?”
“Aoi, my girl,” Sakura-chan placed a steady hand on her shoulder. She’s so dependable! “We cannot fight someone else’s battles for them… all we can do is to place our trust in them to see it through. I’m sure the bond between Ishimaru and Oowada will come out of this ordeal stronger than ever.”
“If you say so, Sakura-chan…” Oh well, she never really understood boys anyway; Sakura-chan would know these things better than her.
“Worry not, Asahina-kun! ” Ishimaru beamed at the two of them. “It’s just as Oogami-kun says! Kyoudai and I are going to be just fine—no matter what happens.” He nodded decisively. “Now let’s get back to studying!”
Kuwata Leon was not having a good day.
It was the last day of exams, which would’ve been literally perfect if a) his stupid practical wasn’t scheduled to end until like 30 minutes into Sayaka’s concert, and more importantly b) he hadn’t forgotten his super special awesome present for Sayaka in his dorm room before Nekomaru dragged him out to the city stadium for their joint exams.
Leon spent the entire morning session—and halfway into lunch—cursing his shitty schedule. Goddamn, why’d he forget to pack the bracelet and Best of Rock CD he got for Sayaka?! Why’d they have to make him play the whole damn day?! What did he ever do to deserve such god-awful luck?!
Granted, luck had never really been on Leon’s side, though he definitely had it better than poor Naegi. Seriously, why was the guy the Ultimate Lucky Student again? Poor dude ate shit on a regular basis, though he did go to middle school with Sayaka, and that’s like hitting the jackpot…
Anyway, enough about Naegi. Leon’s pressing problem remained—with the limited time he had, he could either go to her show without her gift, or he could show up in his stupid smelly baseball getup like a total loser. God, this is so frickin’ unfair! If he wasn’t out here under the blistering sun right now doing his goddamn practical, he’d—
…Wait. Mondo finished his a few days ago, and the lucky bastard didn’t have any exams scheduled for the afternoon!
Okay. He’ll just beg ask Mondo to bring the badass gift he prepared for Sayaka to the stadium! The guy owed him a favor for all the excellent love advice Leon dished out anyway—there was still time to save the day!
…At least, that was what he’d thought. Mondo hadn’t shown up yet, despite saying he’d be there for Leon’s afternoon break when they spoke over the phone.
Dammit, where the hell was Mondo? His break was almost over! Gah, stupidstupidstupid!
There was a shout just as Leon’s face was about to make contact with his palm again. "Oi, Kuwata!"
Oh thank fuck Mondo's finally here!
…With Ishimaru in tow. Huh. Did all those hints that Mondo should really give the dude some space until exams are officially over fly over his pal’s head? Like, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that junk, especially since Ishimaru during exam season was way too obsessed with studying to devote any brainpower to stuff that wasn’t about grades anyway.
And no, giving advice totally didn’t count as direct interference—he never outright told Mondo to not go for it (just… heavily implied it).
So suck it, Celes.
Mondo swaggered over, large hands threatening to crush the paper bag with Sayaka’s gifts in it. “Here ya go, dumbass.”
“Geez dude, be careful with it!” Leon snatched the bag as soon as it was offered, checking the contents frantically.
Luckily it all looked good, despite the bag being slightly crumpled. “Thanks man, you’re a lifesaver!” He gave Mondo a friendly thump on the back, which his pal returned and made a disgusted face.
“Fuckin’ hell! Get that goddamn shower before comin’ back—no chick wants your sweat drippin’ all over them, ya freak.”
Leon rolled his eyes, giving the small bag containing Sayaka’s gifts a little shake. “Yeah yeah okay, you totally saved my ass here, I owe ya one dude!” He clapped Mondo’s back again and started to make his way towards the lockers. Gotta secure the goods...
“Not so fast, Kuwata-kun!” Oh heck, he’d almost forgotten Ishimaru was there too. What does he want now? “The English teacher asked me to give you the guidelines for scheduling make-up test appointments—” awww shit, that probably meant he bombed it— “and I’ve decided to lend you some of my own notes after hearing about your plight! Please work hard, Kuwata-kun!" Ishimaru pulled out a thick sheaf of papers from his bag.
“Oh uh. Thanks.” He took the notes glumly. “I guess…”
“Happy to help!” Ishimaru beamed with pride, hands planted on his hips. “It really is most unfortunate that Enoshima-kun isn’t here! Just think of all the schoolwork blah blah blah—" Oh look, it’s the usual spiel about chaining yourself to the school desk and burning the midnight oil. Good ol’ Ishimaru, nothing out of the ordinary here.
Except… they’re both too damn giddy. Normally Mondo would’ve given him way more shit for making him run all the way out here, maybe a noogie or two while he’s at it. Heck, Ishimaru was downright chipper, despite all the signs of having had a good cry very recently—he’s even happier than the time Mondo and Hiro got Cs on their Japanese paper! Aaaaaand the way Mondo kept blushing and smiling when he glanced at Ishimaru? Suspicious as hell.
Wait.
Crap, did one of them confess already?!
“Soooo,” Leon drawled, ignoring Ishimaru’s splutter at being interrupted, “Something good happened to you guys lately?”
He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the pink on Mondo’s face went a few shades darker, while Ishimaru’s grin threatened to split his face. “Yes, thank you for asking! Kyoudai and I have resolved some private matters on our way here!” Ishimaru laughed, looking at Mondo with a downright soppy expression that Leon sure as hell didn’t know he was capable of making.
When Mondo returned the look and grinned at Ishimaru the same way he’d grin at a cute fluffy puppy—except somehow even sappier, holy shit—Leon knew without a doubt that he had lost to Celes.
Dammit, why’d they have to stop being idiots so soon?
“Look dudes, congratulations and all,” Leon ran a hand through his sweat-stiff hair (yeah okay Mondo was right to make that face, shit's pretty gross), “but I was this close to winning the bet! If you guys stayed clueless about your stupid rom-com hijinks for literally just like, eight more hours or whatever—"
Ishimaru’s lovesick expression turned sharp in an instant. “Gambling is prohibited within school property!”
“You fuckers actually made a bet about—hey wait a fuckin’ minute. ” Mondo growled, cracking his knuckles, “This is where all the shitty ‘give him space’ advice came from, ain’t it?!”
“Language, kyoudai.” Ishimaru wrapped his fingers around one of Mondo’s fists (yeah okay, Leon knows Mondo most likely maybe probably wasn’t actually going to punch him out, but hoo boy was that a scary reminder that Mondo leads the biggest biker gang in Japan for a frickin’ reason) to thread their fingers together. Mondo went extra pink at that and swung their clasped hands, grinning like he couldn’t help himself.
Geez, Leon can’t believe freakin’ Ishimaru’s getting more action than him!
…That hit harder than his allowance going up in smoke to feed Celes’s dumb dumpling addiction, honestly.
“And before I forget, Kuwata-kun,” Ishimaru continued, his voice going into that distinctive cadence for his patented long-winded lectures; Leon almost wished he was facing Mondo’s threatening fists instead. Almost. “Are you saying that there is an active gambling ring operating at Hope’s Peak? And you’re participating in it?”
“Uhhhhhhh… nnnnnoooooooo…?” Oof, even Mondo looked disappointed by that sorry attempt to dig himself outta trouble. Ishimaru would go around school being even more of a buzzkill than usual if he couldn’t nip the oncoming patrolling spree in the bud, so chin up, Kuwata. “I mean, of course not! No way, man!”
Ishimaru still looked skeptical, and Mondo’s smirk took on a decidedly vindictive edge. Goddamn it. What was it the tiny gangster in the year above them said? Feed the cops some low level intel to get them off your back or some shit? Yeah. “Alright, fine. We’ve kinda been joking about whether Hiro’s gonna actually lose an organ for real the next time his loan sharks come calling, plus some stuff about Mukuro’s record since she’s never around to talk about herself… and I guess there’s the whole situation between you two—" Mondo glowered again, good mood forgotten, but it’s too late! Leon now knew how much of a shy guy Mondo was behind the badass biker persona! He got blackmail material for years! “—but it’s, y’know, just harmless gossip for fun! Nothing like those yakuza outfits Celes hits up for spare cash, chill.”
Ishimaru’s face went gray immediately, dropping Mondo’s hand in shock. “Ludenburg-kun does what?!”
Ohhh shit, oh fuuuuuuck, forget forking over his lunch money until the end of time—Celes was going to skin him A L I V E.