Hello everybody!

So! This story! It has been completely finished for over a month now, and yet I've not gotten around the posting it until today! Why? ... :-)

Anyway. This story currently has 27 chapters and over 370,000 words, though I may split some of the longer chapters in half, I'm not sure yet. I wrote it in about a month and a half, between December and February, and I'm actually very happy with how it turned out, for once! I usually hate my writing, but I just... I really like this story, and I hope y'all do, too.

This first chapter is mostly exposition, with me introducing the changes I've made to Taka's character. Mostly, just know that he is a lot more anxious and more self-aware than he was in the game, ha. I mostly wanted to write a story with Taka being a lot more insecure than in the game, to see how that would end up. Also, this story takes place entirely through Taka's POV, and the Hina/Sakura is background and doesn't show up for a while, so if you're here for that, sorry! I mostly wanted to write a story that focuses entirely on Ishimondo, though I do show Taka's friendships with the other characters. Most of the characters from the first game make an appearance at least once, though the characters I like the least get less screen time, ha. No characters from the other games, since I've only actually seen half of the first game, in a lets play, and I don't know pretty much anything about the other games, sorry.

Anyway! I really hope y'all like this, since I put a lot of effort into it, and I actually like it a lot! This was definitely one of those fics that I wrote for me, first and foremost. Also! I made a YouTube playlist for this story, with songs and videos that either remind me of Taka and Mondo, chapters in this story, or that I just found entertaining. Don't put too much thought into why I chose what song or video, as not all of them have much meaning, ha. (SPACE) www. (SPACE) youtube. (SPACE) com/playlist?list= (SPACE) PLOV76J4b4cmjNQ2nJkng9jhlqhLyzvNl2 Get rid of the (SPACE) things if you want to see it, ha.

Enjoy!

Perfection is not an option.

It is a requirement.

At least… that's what Kiyotaka Ishimaru has always been taught, from the time he was old enough to be taught anything.

Trying your best is not enough. You must do better; be better. There is no time for passivity or idle moments. You must always be moving, always be working; always be your best.

Actually, no. Not your best.

Better than your best.

Absolute perfection.

This is just how it always has been, and how it always will be. Kiyotaka doesn't even really remember a time Before all of this, truth be told. Before his grandfather's fall from grace. Before his family moved to this minuscule apartment in one of the worst neighborhoods in their city. Before his mother fell ill and they couldn't afford to find her treatment, even with insurance. Before she died, leaving him alone with his grieving, overworked father, and the gnawing emptiness that no eight-year-old should ever have to feel.

He knows there was a time Before, of course he does. He's seen the pictures, heard the stories, lived the tales. He knows he wasn't always expected to be Perfect, to be a Model Citizen. The memories dance on the edge of his conscious thought, flitting here and there as he moves purposefully through his day. If he would take a moment to sit down and think, he's fairly certain he can remember that time, a time of childish dreams and youthful ignorance. A time of happiness and love.

A time Before everything fell apart.

But he doesn't dwell on those thoughts, those memories. That would only lead to madness, he knows that. And it would be counterproductive, besides. He knows his role. He knows his destiny, if he believed in that sort of thing (he did, once. He isn't so sure, now).

He is Kiyotaka Ishimaru. Son of Takaaki Ishimaru. Grandson of Toranosuke Ishimaru. He is meant to dig him and his family name out of the hole his grandfather put them in, is meant to right the wrongs not only his grandfather had done, but all the wrongs in the world if he has his way. He will become the Prime Minister of Japan, through hard work and effort, and he will show the world that the name Ishimaru is not synonymous with 'no-good, lying, manipulative, cheating scoundrel.' He will lift his family name out of the mud and return them to a place of grace and divinity. He will honor his mother's memory and will bring peace and order to the world.

This, he knows. This, he has known, from the time he was six years old and watched as his mother cried while his father smashed a bottle against the wall, his grandfather's deception and dishonesty finally revealed, their entire life savings gone in a flash.

Thus, there is no point in dwelling on what was and what never will be again. The memories of a naive child are meaningless to him, as he stands before his mirror, staring at the intense youth that meets his glare. His white uniform is pressed clean and crisp, the one thing he wastes his money on, since a professional looking uniform is paramount to life, he knows. His ruby red eyes are filled with determination and drive, his harsh lips pulled into a righteous smile slash grimace, his black hair cropped short and spiky, a practical haircut. His body is taut and unyielding, back straight and head held high as he stares confidently ahead. It is how he's held himself for as long as he can remember. How he must hold himself to withstand the taunts.

And taunts he has withstood. Many and many. Taunts, and abuses, and slurs. That's not to mention the physical assaults, the shoving and punches he'd dealt with on a daily basis in middle school. No one likes an Ishimaru, not in his hometown. Not anywhere, really.

But that is alright! He can handle it! He is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, a young man of elegance and refinement! He can handle a few taunts, a few moments of harassment! He always gets satisfaction in the end, when he turns over the delinquents to whomever is in charge. His eyes may be stinging, and his throat might be aching, but his back will always be rigid and proud, his chin held high and his face a perfect mask of discipline and poise. And should the authorities refuse to listen, should they sneer at him themselves and turn a blind eye— as they oft do— he just goes above them. And if they refuse to listen, he'd go above them, too. On and on, higher and higher, until justice and order are returned to the world. And it always is, one way or another.

Often, though, he finds himself not reporting instances of his own abuse. There are only so many times a person can tattle before people stop caring, no matter how high up he goes. And, besides, he knows that no one likes an Ishimaru, so he's long since come to terms with his own mistreatment. He'd stopped reporting his own harassment around the same time his mother died, in fact.

But that doesn't mean he allows such things to happen to anyone else! If he ever sees instances of bullying or other injustice done to other students, regardless of age, gender, socioeconomic status, sexuality, ethnicity, or any other discriminations, he will step in and put a stop to the nonsense at once. Even though the bullying usually then transfers to him. Even though the would-be victims usually just sneer at him too, telling him they don't need help from scum like him. It doesn't matter. Like he has said, he can handle it! He trains daily, will spend hours before and after school exercising while he studies, building muscles and reflexes to keep not just himself, but the whole world safe.

It is his determination to right the wrongs of the world that fuels him during the long, lonely, hungry nights, when his father doesn't return home from the precinct until long past his bedtime. This determination is what had caused him to start his Public Morals Committee all those years ago, upon finding that his school didn't have one, to show the world that order, peace, and integrity are what is needed to coexist in harmony with one another. This determination is what keeps him going, even when he longs to put his head down and cry, his body aching from the abuse it has sustained, his mind and heart aching far worse. His determination is what pushes the pain and heartbreak down, so far deep in his heart that he cannot access it while he is active, which he always forces himself to be.

And it is this determination that has led him here, he knows. On the eve of his first day at Hope's Peak Academy, the most prestigious school in all of Japan. No; the world, probably. A school where Ultimates— teenage experts in their particular crafts— are invited to go to hone their skills and make connections that will set them up for life. One does not apply to Hope's Peak, oh no; they are scouted out and hand-picked by a panel of experts, through a rigorous process. Almost everyone who attends Hope's Peak is set for life, either through the connections they make or through the opportunities that are opened up for an alum of such a high-ranking school. Everyone knows this.

His grandfather had gone to Hope's Peak. He knows that, too. The man had been the Ultimate Politician, after all, an absolute genius and highly charismatic, to boot. If only he knew how far he would fall, Kiyotaka thinks to himself, his mouth turning down into a bitter scowl, his intense eyebrows furrowing, which makes his expression far harsher and more severe than even he is comfortable with. He wonders what the man would have done differently, had he known. Wonders if he would have changed his ways, decided to be honest and not accept bribes and payouts, decided to not trust the wrong people, decided to not use his position to get insider knowledge on trade deals, screwing over the everyday person in the desire to build himself up. Had he known he would fall so far, and so hard, would he have decided to not do it? Or would he have just been sneakier, more careful? He'd asked the man that once, in a small, childish voice, and he'd never gotten a response. Though, to be fair, he'd never gotten a response from the man regardless the topic, no matter how often he'd chatter to him in the jail visitor's room.

He's not his grandfather. He knows that, more than anything else. He tells himself that, lips barely moving, as his eyes drag over his uniform with critical focus. He is not an Ultimate Politician, for one. Nor is he a genius, a fact he is very proud of, thank you very much.

No.

He is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, the Ultimate Moral Compass! This is not a title he was given blindly, through no hard work of his own, but one he has spent years earning! He does not know how the school had heard of him, how they know of his achievements and talents, but they somehow do. And they have decided, without bribery or coercion, that he is deserving of such a title and such a chance. It is a great honor, he knows, to be offered this position. An honor he will have to work ten times— no, fifty times as hard to prove he deserves!

The thought makes him feel vaguely ill, his stomach clenching and his heart stuttering in his chest. Which is utterly ridiculous, if you ask him! Because…

Kiyotaka Ishimaru doesn't have doubts. He doesn't allow himself the luxury to stop and think, to idly peruse his emotions and pluck them from his mind for further examination. He just… he cannot. Such a thing is a waste of time, and energy, and he has no use of such a waste! Not with how hard he will have to work just to reach even the lowest of his fellow Ultimates!

However... if he did. If he was allowed to stop for a moment and consider it. If he could do such a thing freely and without restraint. He thinks… well. He thinks that he would be able to admit that he's… terrified. Completely and utterly afraid.

And it's not just of the daunting task ahead of him, oh no. That alone would be fine, that he could handle! He's never backed down from a challenge, not once in his life! He has no doubt that he can handle the task ahead of him, the work and the studying something he has long since acclimated himself to! While he may not quite understand why or how he was chosen to attend Hope's Peak, he knows that he has enough dedication and drive to persevere through whatever challenges the school itself may toss his way. He always has before, after all!

So, no, no... it is not that that has Kiyotaka ramrod straight, staring at the much too pale reflection in the mirror, hands sweating but also ice cold. It is not that that has his breath a little too quick, his eyes racking anxiously over a figure that looks so much like his grandfather's had— in the one picture they have of the deceased man on the eve of his first day at Hope's Peak— and yet so very different.

Instead, it is the thought of his classmates that has brought him here, to this state of frank indecency. Of the 'true' Ultimates, the ones who were born with talent that they have honed throughout their childhood and adolescent years. Their natural talents that have earned them a spot that millions would die for, and millions more would kill for. It is them he thinks of and feels dread fill his stomach.

See, Kiyotaka has never had a friend. He's never really even had an acquaintance if he's being honest. At least… not one who not only didn't mind his presence, but was actually grateful to have him there. He is lucky to be tolerated, most days. And he is not a particularly lucky person... after all, not only is he an Ishimaru— something that would have earned him hatred and spite on sight regardless— but he has also been meticulously painting a larger and larger target on his back through his Crusade for Justice and Order. Even his Ultimate Talent is one that is highly contentious. After all, while he believes in morals, hard work, and dignity above all else, he is not foolish enough to pretend that the whole world feels the same way. He likes to think that most people do, likes to believe the best in the world and his fellow man, but even he isn't naive enough to not realize that it's not a universal belief.

So, he stands here— 8:35 at night, red eyes staring deep into his soul— wondering what his fellow classmates will be like. Wondering what they will think of him. Wondering if they— like his primary and middle school compatriots— will despise not only him, but everything he has ever stood for.

It's a foolish thing to wonder. An idle moment that is wasted, the clock ticking on as he stupidly allows himself a single second to pause, allowing the thoughts and doubts and fears he's spent decades outrunning to catch up with a vengeance.

He tells himself to move, to ignore it, to forget this moment and move on. He has long since finished packing, his meager belongings barely filling a single bag, the ten uniforms he has collected filling the majority of the space, but he knows he should check again. Should look at his textbooks, get even more of a head start, be prepared for whatever the school may throw his way. He knows he has to do this, knows that the only way he can keep his spot at this gaudy institution is to work fifty times— no, one hundred times as hard as his fellow classmates. Knows he has to work harder, has to make up for his lack of natural talent (not that there is anything wrong with that, talent alone means nothing in the grand scheme of things), make up for the dishonor and disgrace his grandfather has put on their family name.

He knows this as well as he knows that the sky is blue.

And yet...

With a sigh that sounds closer to a growl in the near silent room, Kiyotaka forces his eyes away from the mirror and strides over to his small, rickety desk, his pristine history textbook lying there innocently. It is one of the only pristine things in this cramped room of his, alongside his uniform. He has Hope's Peak to thank for that, he supposes. They are the ones who have supplied him with the money to purchase said supplies, a lofty stipend that has paid for the bare necessity of his new school life, after all. Lord knows he'd never have been able to afford it all otherwise…

With only slightly too forceful hands, he cracks open the book and continues where he had left off an hour before— before his impromptu break— three hundred pages into the five-hundred-page text. He wants to finish this textbook tonight, so that he can finish reading his physics textbook during the train ride to Hope's Peak Academy come morning. Getting ahead of his studies is far more important and a far better use of his time than standing before the mirror, worrying about something as trivial as friendship and torment!

What would it matter, anyway, if none of his new classmates like him? He isn't going there to be well liked! He is going there to prepare himself for the real world, to get the necessary skills he will need to achieve all his goals and more! It doesn't matter if all his new classmates decide they hate him, or if they want to taunt him as badly as his middle school compatriots had taunted him, or if they choose to shove him so hard into the wall that he won't be able to breathe properly for weeks after. He's been dealing with such things since age six, after all, from people far larger and meaner than he, himself, is. He's more than used to it by now.

(And he refuses to allow himself to entertain the aching thought that it does, in fact, matter. That he aches with loneliness inside, desperately craving a friend to lean on, someone to share his deepest and darkest secrets to, someone who can shoulder some of the burden that he's been forced to carry for far longer than any newly sixteen-year-old should have to. It is a weakness that he cannot afford, not again. Never again. Not when he's so close to achieving everything he's spent nearly a decade planning.)

So, he pushes all of those thoughts down. He forces them away and focuses on the words before him. Words have always been a comfort to him. Of course, reading itself has never come easy, his mind having trouble deciphering the meaning of sentences and phrases, particularly those of the common vernacular, but it is a comfort, nonetheless. Something about deciphering the verbiage, about struggling to comprehend the information while he reads makes him relax inside. Particularly when reading non-fiction or textbooks. It is familiar. Easy. Simple. It is what he knows better than anything else. What he has trained himself to do since he was a young child. What a comfort this is, reading such a pristine and stain free textbook, in the comfort of his own room! After tomorrow, he will not be able to have this— exactly this— for several months. Maybe even longer if he cannot find cheap transportation back home for the holidays. So, he should savor this while he can, truly. And he will. He is!

Just...well, maybe...

"Kiyotaka!" he hears a voice call out, causing him to jump at the break in the silence. He stands quickly and turns to face the doorway of his room, the frame devoid of a door that they could not afford to replace when it grew mold a year ago; instead, only a thin curtain resides there to provide privacy, though he usually leaves it open when he is not changing. He hadn't heard the front door open, as engrossed as he was in his thoug- book. His textbook, clearly. The adrenaline that had spiked through his veins at the fright begins to settle when he sees only the harried face of his father, the only living relative he still has left. He tries for a smile. His father doesn't bother to try back. It's their usual routine.

"Father! Good evening, sir! I hope your day went well!" Kiyotaka exclaims, one moment away from raising his arm and giving a crisp salute to the man. It's a ridiculous urge, his father never expects him to salute to him, and so it is one he fights against as his father gives him a bemused look, the man looking far too tired to try and decipher Kiyotaka's actions. That's alright. He's not entirely sure he knows, either. It's just something about this uniform, he supposes. It reminds him of the days his grandfather was still alive, the silent man little more than a ghost even before he passed away about four years prior, with not even a funeral to mark the passing (they couldn't afford one and the prison didn't care enough). He'd always saluted his grandfather, back then. He still isn't quite sure why.

"Er... yes, son. My day was fine. I'm sorry I'm back so late, the precinct was packed with petty criminals. Have you finished all your packing?"

Kiyotaka does his best to hide the way his jaw clenches at the question, a thin sliver of hurt attacking him at the knowledge that his father hadn't, in fact, been paying attention when he'd loudly informed the man three days prior that he'd finished all of his packing in advance. He quickly pushes the feeling away. It's not his father's fault, he knows, that the man is so busy. He must be, in order to try and pay back the outstanding debt they are in. He's lucky to have such a hardworking, dedicated role model to look up to! He can only wish that he can become even half the man his father is!

"I have indeed, father! My bag is packed, and I will be ready to depart at 6:15 sharp tomorrow morning for the train station! You need not worry, sir!"

He tries not to flinch at the tired sigh his father gives, the man shaking his head minutely at the way Kiyotaka is yelling in the previously still and silent air, with all the subtly of a bull in a China shop. Despite the taunts his former fellows would make, he does, in fact, know he is being quote unquote, 'too much.' He is not an idiot, after all. He simply does not know how else to be…

"Of course, Kiyotaka. I expect nothing less from you. You are our family's only hope, after all," his father claims, words entirely serious despite the half smile on his lips. Kiyotaka feels his stomach hollow out at the words, though they are not exactly new. His father has been saying that for years, after all. It's silly to still let it affect him after all this time. His father continues before he can let his thoughts spiral any further down. "Now, I'm afraid I have some bad news. I won't have the ability to see you off in the morning. The precinct wants me to come in early to close up a case I was working on this last week, and I cannot refuse. I know you wanted me to see you off at the train, but I'm afraid I will be unable to. I apologize."

The words cut him, more than the previous words had, but he forces himself to smile, as bright as he can. He knows it looks wrong. It feels wrong. His smiles always do, even on the rare occasions when they are genuine. But he has nothing else to give, so he gives it his all. He always does.

"Oh, you need not worry about that, father! I completely understand! Work must always come first! I am old enough to walk myself to the train station, I assure you, sir!"

His father just continues to stare at him with that blank, tired gaze, a thick silence descending between them as Kiyotaka tries to grasp for what he can possibly say next. He can think of nothing. He knows his father will not be able to, either. This is not the first time this has happened. It seems that any conversation they have turns stilted and awkward these days, his father too tired and Kiyotaka too nervous and high strung. It wasn't always like this, he's sure it wasn't. But ever since his mother died, it seems a rift has opened between them. One he cannot bridge, no matter how hard he tries. And he does try! Believe him, he tries!

But no matter what, nothing works. The rift stays, growing steadily bigger and bigger, until one day it will consume them both. The biggest problem, he supposes, is that his father has never understood him and his quirks, not fully. But that's okay! If he's being truthful, he's not entirely sure he understands himself much either, most days...

But that's not a problem either! He doesn't need to understand himself! All he needs is hard work, and dedication, and that will lead him wherever he wants to go in life! It's a Kiyotaka Ishimaru guarantee! He is sure of it. He... he's sure of it.

He has to be.

The silence lasts another minute, Kiyotaka squirming under the weight of words unsaid, before his father sighs again, the weary man turning to leave without any more of a goodbye than a partial wave that he aborts halfway through. Kiyotaka tries not to let the wave of disappointment and pain devour him. It's not like he was expecting anything else from his father, after all. What else would his father have to give? It is not like this day in particular holds any importance, after all. Just another day, one day before the start of the school year, a perfectly normal and boring day, like all the rest. Nothing special about it at all.

Still…

It would have been nice to be wished a 'Happy Birthday'.

He goes back to his textbook.

Words are always a comfort.

I hope y'all liked it! Please leave a comment to let me know if you did! :-D

Also... I have this marked as mature for now, but do know that it WILL go up to explicit at some point. I will mark off explicit chapters, but it's kind of an important part of the story, and the only reason I'm not putting it as explicit now is that it doesn't come into play for a while. Also, some other tags have purposely not been added yet, and will be added as the story progresses, to avoid spoilers for the people reading with me. I should hopefully be posting once a week, probably on the weekends, but I can't promise that, especially since things are about to get very hectic for me, since I'm an after school teacher, and in person learning is coming back soon, which is... yeah. I have my first shot and will get my second one in a week, but still. We have no idea what is going on, and it's very confusing. This story is complete, though, and I'm actually currently working on a sequel, ha. No idea if I'll ever finish it, but we'll see.