School of Maoh: Homeroom of Darkness
Summary: Laharl is a freshman at HSM and is all set to take over his father's Yakuza gang. The problem? His smart-aleck vassals, a ditzy transfer student from the past, and an annoying, self-proclaimed rival. Can things get much worse?
Disclaimer: I do not own Disgaea. But then, I think that was pretty obvious considering that this is a fanfiction—not a pilot script for the next Disgaea game.
Chapter One: Enter the Overlord
Laharl had somehow become tangled up in his sheets, his expression vaguely perturbed as he lay deep in slumber. Behind his closed lids, he was being accosted by his old man—and sadly, he was on the butt end of the confrontation.
"What do you mean I can't become the next Yakuza Lord!?" Laharl snarled, drawing the katana he kept sheathed on his back. His thin red scarf trailed aimlessly in the air behind him, flickering uneasily in the wind.
Krichevskoy smiled coolly down at his son, looking completely unconcerned by Laharl's predictable reaction. "There are many things you've yet to learn, son. As of right now you're short-tempered, stingy, impulsive, and difficult to please. I'm afraid I can't possibly name you as my successor until I see a bit of…hmmm…progress."
Laharl lowered his sword a fraction of a degree. "What do you mean by progress?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. Right on cue, Krichevskoy flashed his signature sadistic grin.
"Glad you asked," he replied. Reaching into his pocket, the Yakuza Lord withdrew from its shallow depths a single white flower.
"What the…?" Laharl murmured, reaching out to accept it. "Is that…a lily?"
As soon as Krichevskoy's fingertips brushed against his, the world around him suddenly became a blinding white. For a moment, Laharl was convinced that a bomb had gone off within the area—but he felt no impact from the explosion. Instead, all he could feel was the refreshing breeze on his brow with the weird scent of flowers in the air.
Soon, he began to get his vision back. He could see that he was now standing in a vast field of white, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be made up of more lilies. That was when he found that he was still holding that one flower in his tightly clenched fist. A terrible sadness cut through him like a knife, though Laharl had no idea why. He had an agonizing sense of loss that he hadn't felt in a long time.
Completely unnerved now, Laharl tried to throw the flower away, hoping that it would end the painful feelings. To his horror, it persistently clung to his hand, unwilling to part from him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to shake it off, but it refused to yield. "Come on, already!!!" he growled, waving his arm like a windmill in an attempt to fling it several yards away. This was, of course, to no avail.
"Damn you!" he screamed, feeling a lump rising in his throat. "Damn you to hell!!! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!"
To his dismay, Laharl immediately felt a pair of small, soft hands on his shoulders. There was no way they could belong to his father, so…
"Mother…?" he breathed, turning around.
Standing there was a young girl around his own age with long blonde hair. She regarded him with a pair of clear, crystal blue eyes that sparkled in the light. There was a tentative smile on her face.
"Okay," she said brightly. "If I can't be the queen, I'll be your vassal instead—your most loyal one! And you can be the Overlord."
She was definitely not his mother. Laharl felt a brief sense of shame for even thinking it. After all, his mother was dead.
But then…??? It couldn't be…her…?
Without warning, Laharl found himself jolting awake as a bucket of cold water came splashing down upon him. The first thing he felt was his skin screaming from the icy wetness of it all. Then he felt the bucket itself colliding against his skull, ricocheting off at an angle and clattering against the hard wooden floor, scuffing it in the process. His hand clutched at his head as he glared up at his tormenter: a young girl with flaming red hair tied up into pigtails and matching red eyes. She was dressed in a school uniform consisting of the typical sailor-girl outfit with a maroon collar and sleeves, white short-sleeved shirt, and a short maroon skirt. She was also dressed in a smart pair of brown knee-highs and black loafers.
Laharl found her choice in apparel to be very strange.
"Etna, why are you going around dressed like that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what the hell do you think you're doing?!?"
"Waking you up," she replied, frowning at him. "God, don't you even know what day it is, Prince?"
"No. And I don't care." Laharl almost went to lie down again, only to realize that his sheets were soaking wet and, therefore, quite uncomfortable to sleep on. As he was just realizing his dilemma, Etna regarded him coolly.
"Yeah, you do," she said simply. "It's the first day of school, moron."
Laharl froze. "What did you say?"
Etna sighed, ripped the calendar off the wall, and threw it into his face. "Look at it, yourself. I'm already wasted enough time trying to wake you up." Without a second glance, she turned and left the room, undoubtedly gathering the rest of her things.
He pulled the booklet down from his eyes and scanned it quickly. Sure enough, there it was. "September 9th…shit! Wait, what time is it???"
"Late," came her reply from down the hall. "You better hurry, or the other bad-asses in the school are going to encroach on your territory!"
Sadly, this was all too true. Ever since Laharl's father passed away six months ago, several low-lives who had at some point been in the employ of Krichevskoy had inexplicably risen up to try to take his title of Yakuza Lord. And incidentally, some of those low-lives actually went to Laharl's school. In defense of all these hapless challengers, Krichevskoy never got around to naming a clear successor—or perhaps he just chose not to—no one really knew. So now it was entirely up for grabs—it was a winner takes all scenario that Laharl still couldn't get the best of, even now.
Fortunately, he still had Etna to support him. So what if the only reason she was doing it was because she had made a promise to his old man? So what if she respected an alley rat more than she respected him? Both of them were entirely aware of the fact that she was just a vassal. Laharl didn't have any friends, and preferred to keep it that way.
"Crap," he swore, climbing out of bed and rummaging through his closet. "Etna, don't I have any clothes left!?"
Receiving no reply except for the sound of the front door slamming—"Dammit, I can't believe that bitch left without me!"—Laharl went over to his dirty clothes hamper and pulled out a uniform that was the least wrinkled. Not even having the time to dab-dry his hair with a towel, he grabbed his gel and hastily shaped his azure locks into its signature antenna-style. Then, he grabbed his bag and wooden katana (he couldn't bring an actual weapon on school grounds) and ran out after Etna.
Blinking at the bright sunlight, Laharl squinted down the block and spotted the demon girl walking at a leisurely pace. She had a pair of earphones plugged in and was listening to her I-pod, and he had no doubt that it was Metallica being blasted in her ears. Behind her, a few prinnies trailed uncertainly, carrying her books and her bento-box and hoping that they wouldn't be the blunt of her early-morning rage—Etna was not a morning person.
"Hey! Wait up, dammit!"
The demon girl paused, taking a single headphone out of her pointed ear as she looked back at him. Wasting no time, Laharl ran over to her.
"Oh, hey, Prince," she said. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
"You didn't have to get so far ahead!" he snapped, gripping his katana angrily. "I didn't even eat a decent meal!" As he grumbled to himself, he added, "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"
"Duh, I did," Etna replied, her tail twitching a little in indignation. "You sleep like a rock! I couldn't even get you to budge until I did the thing with the water."
"Well, it was completely unnecessary. I would have gotten up eventually."
"Correction: too late."
"Whatever."
"Hey," she said suddenly, coming to a halt again. "You were all twitchy when I came to wake you up. What were you dreaming about, anyway?"
The memories of last night's disaster returned with the impact of a locomotive. The girl's smiling face and that field of lilies suddenly became clear in his mind's eye, causing that familiar sense of loss.
"None of your business," he mumbled distractedly.
"Aw," said Etna, smirking. "Did da widdle pwince have a big scawy nightmare?"
Laharl didn't comment. They had reached a cross-walk, and he was staring intently at the red light flashing in the cross box. Etna frowned. It wasn't like him to be all quiet and contemplative. She would have to do something about that.
"You know," she began, "the summer assignment was a real bitch this semester…"
If she hoped to illicit a response from Laharl—preferably a rant about how annoying it was that a future Yakuza Lord had to sink to such lows—it was all for naught.
"I didn't do it," he said, his gaze never leaving the flickering signal. Soon, the red light changed to green, and Laharl left the sidewalk. Etna, however, was staring at him in dumbfounded silence.
However, it became clear that he had no intention to wait for her. Rousing her prinnies, Etna scrambled after him, swatting him on the back of the head with her schedule book as soon as she reached the other side of the street.
"Baka!" she snapped. "Don't you care that I'm the one who will have to pick up the pieces for you if you flunk again? I promised your father…"
"And what is that, a binding contract?!?" Laharl snarled, finally losing it. He was getting a head-ache from the bucket, and being attacked with a schedule book didn't help. "Just shut up about my old man, already! I'm sick of this lecture…!"
"Then why don't you actually do something about it?" Etna demanded, placing her hands on her hips. "You know, it's not like you're a complete dumb-ass, Prince—because you're not. We both know that."
"Phht…I don't need this…"
"Fine," she sighed. "Just remember that you can't become Krichevskoy's successor unless you get yourself a high school diploma. He was pretty clear about that in his will."
"Let me worry about that then."
Krichevskoy's will had been discovered within a week of his untimely demise. In it, Laharl discovered that he had been left the Overlord Mansion—and yes, that really was its name (neither father nor son had been creative enough or had the inclination to find a new name for the intimidating estate)—along with the majority of its servants (the prinnies) and a handsome sum of cash that Krichevskoy had wisely put into a savings account—which Laharl couldn't access until his eighteenth birthday.
This meant that either he got himself a part-time job, or he had to continue to steal other people's lunch money. And his classmates became a lot more wary of their possessions lately. As Etna had put it, he had "flooded the market of potential victims" by stealing from everyone on the daily basis.
So that left him with the less-favorable option of the part-time job. And fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—Krichevskoy also had that covered.
"Don't forget," Etna reminded him as she popped her earphone back in. "You have to work again this afternoon. Hoggmeiser will dock your pay if you're late again."
"That cheap bastard can kiss my ass for all I—hey! Watch it!" Laharl cried as he found himself propelled to the sidewalk. He heard someone running by, hastily crying out, "Sumimasen!!!" in a breathless voice. As he lifted his head up to glare at his assailant, he caught sight of someone's long, golden blonde hair whipping out of sight.
Laharl swallowed heavily. That girl…who…?
His thoughts cut themselves off abruptly as a pair of older boys pelted after her down the alley. And suddenly he completely forgot about everything else as he pulled himself up onto his feet. He took off after them in a dead run, ignoring Etna's bewildered cries.
"Hey, Prince! Wait up!"
Laharl sucked in his breath, going into a sprint as he tore into the gravel path. Several yards away, he could see the girl clinging to the chain-link fence, her blue eyes wide with terror as she glanced back at the thugs from over her shoulder. There was a blue ribbon in her hair.
His crimson eyes narrowed in confusion as he ducked behind a nearby dumpster. Peeking around the corner, he got a look at the two thugs who were chasing her. They were both lean and wore a pair of goggle on their heads. Hmmph, he thought to himself. Looks like we got a couple of scouts, here…but who do they belong to?
"Damn," the first scout gasped, coming to a halt and leering down at the frightened girl. "She's fast…!"
"Well, she may be fast," his partner replied, equally out of breath, "but we got her cornered and good."
The girl clung tighter to the fence. "Please," she said imploringly. "It's not what you think!"
"Hey, toots," the first one replied with a shrug. "It doesn't matter much to me, you being such a cutie and all, but you're in demon territory. And you," he added with emphasis, "are an angel."
Laharl's eyebrows went up. Way up. "No way," he muttered, craning to get another look at the girl. Since she was still turned three-quarters of the way away from him, he managed to catch sight of a small pair of fluffy white wings sprouting out of her back. There was no doubt about it. She was definitely an angel.
But what was an angel doing all the way down in this part of town? Everyone knew that angels all went to that hoity-toity upper-class private school on the outskirts of town.
It was the second scout who voiced the question on everyone's mind. "What are you doing here, anyway? You lost or something? We could show you around if you want…" he added, unable to keep the lewd note out of his voice. It made the girl recoil, edging harder against the fence as though willing herself to melt through it and vanish.
"I'm an assassin!" she blurted. "I mean…um…oh, no! Wait! I didn't mean to say that!"
"God, she really must be dense," Etna whispered, startling him. Laharl hadn't seen the demon girl follow him all the way down here. She certainly was silent about it. It both amazed and unnerved him. "Saying something like that to those guys is like her begging to be raped and killed."
"Shut up," he muttered. "I want to hear the rest of this."
"An assassin?" one of them laughed. "You? You have got to be kidding me."
"Well, we'll see soon enough," said the other, approaching her slowly. "As a test, we'll see if she can…assassinate us." Coming up to her, the scout grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her away from the fence, throwing her to the ground. "Or at least," he added, "we'll see if she can manage to stop us from having a little fun…"
"Ooh, damn," said Etna softly. "I give her only two minutes before she's done for."
Laharl gritted his teeth, anger flowing through him. "Those bastards are not doing that in my turf! If anything, I should be the one robbing her blind! Come on, Etna!"
"What!? You can't be serious! You want us to help this little damsel in distress? Have you lost your mind, Prince?"
"Apparently, these low-lives haven't got a clear idea in their heads as to who owns this alley. I need to re-establish my dominance in the area, so quit complaining!"
Laharl unsheathed his katana and stepped out from behind the dumpster, his antennae poised and his crimson scarf flickering menacingly behind him.
"Step away from the girl, and maybe I'll let you poseurs live!"
The two thugs turned around quickly, startled by the appearance of this new foe of theirs.
"Who the hell do you think you are, you runt?"
Laharl's gaze didn't waver an inch as he regarded them menacingly. "I'm the guy who's about to kick both of your asses. Any final words?"
"He's so full of it," one of the scouts muttered to the other.
"Actually," said Etna, coming out from behind the dumpster, "he's a bit of an arrogant jack-ass. Always has been, always will be." The demon girl had her arms wrapped around the back of her neck and an extremely bored expression on her face. She acted as though the presence of the thugs was merely incidental and not worth her time.
"And who are you?" the taller of the two scouts demanded.
"Never mind who she is!" Laharl barked, causing both of them to focus their attention back on him. "You should be more worried about who I am! ME, Laharl; rightful heir to the late Krichevskoy's yakuza empire! And I'm going to make you jerks wish you had never been born!"
For a moment, his crimson eyes flickered to the angel girl, watching the progressing scene with a pale face and wide, star-struck blue eyes.
Dammit, they're the same eyes! Laharl thought to himself as he hastily averted his gaze. Well, that's it…I'll beat these assholes to the ground, find out what the hell she wants, and get the fuck out of here. How hard can that be?
However, before he could do anything else, the angel let out a loud exclaimation that was so loud that everyone stopped what they were doing to turn and look at her. Every pair of eyes was filled with confusion, and in some cases annoyance. Laharl particularly looked miffed.
He turned to glare at her. "What?" he asked flatly.
"Krichevskoy…he's…dead???"
"Moron," he snapped. "He's been dead for two years! Go read a newspaper or something!"
"But then," the angel continued, as though Laharl had said nothing at all, "if you're Krichevskoy's heir, doesn't that make you…his son? You really are Laharl?"
"Yes, dammit! Don't make me repeat myself!"
She merely blinked at him for a couple of seconds, her eyes as round as two glittering sapphires and quickly flooding with tears. At least, that was all Laharl had time to register before the angel scrambled to her feet and threw herself at him, enveloping him in a fierce embrace.
"What the--?! ACK!!!" he choked as they fell over backwards and landed on the ground, the girl still on top of him. Laharl squirmed frantically, trying to wriggle free, but the angel held onto him tight, practically sobbing with happiness. "Dammit, Flonne! Get the hell off of me!" he bellowed.
"Oh, Laharl, it is you!" she said, shaking a little from excitement. To his relief, she pulled away from him, choosing to beseech him from a more appropriate distance. However, that was when she noticed the stunned expression on his face, every muscle frozen in shock. Her teary smile faded slightly.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Hey, Prince," said Etna, coming closer to the pair with an amused smirk on her face. "You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend…!" She turned to the blonde, her smile growing wider. "What did he say your name was? Flonne?"
"I didn't say any God damn thing!!!" Laharl snarled, rising forcefully to his feet. In the process, he threw the angel off of him, ignoring her yelp as she fell roughly to the ground again. Brandishing a finger in her direction, he said, "I never met that…that…girl in my entire life!"
"Laharl," said the angel again, this time tentatively. "Don't you remember me? You…you said my name just now…didn't you?"
"This is just like a soap opera," one of the thugs muttered, only to be sharply elbowed by his companion. They fell silent as they waited for Laharl's reaction.
"You're out of your freaking mind," he said in a low voice. "I don't know you, and I never want to know you. Now get out of my way!" Sheathing his wooden katana, he turned to Etna. "We're leaving!"
The demon girl looked annoyed. "After you waste my time by dragging me down this little shithole of an alley, you decide to up and leave without doing anything? You've got some nerve!"
"Deal with it," Laharl snapped. "You're my vassal, so do as I say, or else!"
The angel, Flonne, let out a quiet sob at the word vassal, but he ignored this. Throwing his scarf behind his shoulder, he began to walk away from her.
"Wait!" she cried, her voice trembling a little. "Please, wait! You can't just leave me here! They'll kill me!"
"Not my problem," Laharl replied without looking over his shoulder. "I don't care what you do or where you go so long as I never have to see you again. You're annoying."
"You don't mean that," said Flonne, a little uncertainly. "Everyone is capable of a little compassion, just as everyone is capable of love."
"Hmmph…not me."
"You're wrong," she told him, all doubt having melted away. Laharl paused and glanced back at the angel girl and realized instantly that he had made a mistake in doing so. She wore an annoyingly determined expression on her face that made him want to put his fist through a glass window.
Folding his arms, he decided to play her game, if only for a little while.
"What makes you so sure, love freak?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He pointed at himself. "Take a good long look. Do I seem to reek of love and kindness?"
"He reeks of something," said Etna pointedly.
"Shut up, you! I was talking to this Love-Freak here!"
Flonne pouted. "Looks can be very deceiving. Appearances are not a basis on which a person should be judged."
"You're naïve," Laharl shot back. "And it's going to get you killed in a few minutes."
The angel looked at him for a long time before she sighed in defeat. "Then," she said in a resigned voice, "my gift will never be yours…"
That caught his attention all right.
A/N: And that's the first chapter. As you can see, I changed the story a bit in this AU. On a cruel whim, I made Hoggmeiser take the role of Laharl's boss—because what's more degrading than having to work for one of your dad's old vassals?
I also decided to give Laharl and Flonne some sort of history instead of having them meet for the first time. As to what exactly happened between them and why Laharl pretends not to know her, you're going to have to keep reading to find out—unless of course, you leave a constructive review. Then I might give you a hint as to what happens next. I hope you enjoyed! Watery-the-Strange, over and out!