Hi all! :-D

Thanks for the warm reception to my fic! I'm glad people seem to be liking it so far! Here we have Taka finally arriving at Hope's Peak, and maybe... a meet cute? Hm. Wonder how THAT will turn out. ;-)

Anyway, this chapter is one of my favorites, so I hope y'all like it.

Enjoy!

Kiyotaka stands before the shining and gilded school he is about to become a student of, mind blank, his stomach clenched tight and his fists clenched tighter. He is clutching his single suitcase so tight that he is afraid he is about to break it. He can't seem to force himself to loosen his grip. Well then...

The trip up to the school had been fairly uneventful, to be honest, which he is thankful for. He'd woken up over an hour early, long before the sun rose, hoping in vain that his father would still be there when he woke. He really should have known better, by now. His father always got the worst of the worst shifts, the ones no one else on the force wanted nor dared to take. He wouldn't have had the ability to delay himself if he wanted to get to work on time. Especially not now that their ancient car had finally given up the ghost a month back, meaning his father had to take the bus, which took an hour longer each way. Kiyotaka knew this.

As such, he'd barely allowed himself a moment to feel disappointed before he'd forced it away, washing and cleaning his room for the final time in what would likely be months. He'd pushed that thought and pang of pain away, too, and instead put all his focus on getting ready to leave. That was what was important, not… not anything else.

By 6:15, Kiyotaka was well on his way to the train station, and he had walked so briskly that he'd even arrived over half an hour early for his train, which was scheduled to leave at 7:00 sharp. He'd used the extra time to go over his physics textbook, the numbers and equations making his head spin, but it was nothing that Kiyotaka Ishimaru couldn't handle!

By the time the train arrived, he was over halfway through the textbook, the knowledge almost overwhelming. Math has always been one of his better subjects, the rules and regulations calming and understandable to him, but for some reason science— physics in particular— has always tripped him up. He isn't quite sure why, but he is determined to break through it with sheer determination and hard work! That's all he needs! Intelligence doesn't matter when you have a strong character, and an iron will!

After that, he'd been lost in a world of studying, barely noticing the train as it moved through the Japanese countryside, eyes focused on the textbook before him. If he were being honest— which he always was— he'd confess that had always loved train rides, back when he'd been too little to have any worries in the world. Back /Before/ everything changed, and train rides were reserved for only the direst of situations. If Hope's Peak money weren't paying for this train ticket, he honestly doesn't know how he would have gotten to school, truth be told. It honestly wasn't something he had wanted to think about.

Still, as he'd sat on the fast-moving bullet train, part of him had wanted to look out the window, to gleefully watch as the pre-autumn colors of the breathtaking countryside flew by. However, he knew he shouldn't. Couldn't, really. It was a waste of time. And he couldn't afford to waste a single second! Not now, not when he was so close to achieving all of his life's goals! He couldn't afford to slip up now! He has so much he must do, just to keep on par with his fellow Ultimate peers! The real Ultimates, with real talents, not like him! He has to work a hundred times— no, /a thousand times as hard/ if he wants to keep up!

When the train had finally pulled into the station and he'd gotten into the cab that Hope's Peak had arranged to bring him to the school, Kiyotaka's heart rate had been elevated higher than it had ever been before. And that included the first time he'd had to present in front of not only the entire school, but all of the parents and teachers as well, his Morals Committee having to do a public presentation if he wanted it to officially count on his record. He'd only been twelve and had been so full of determination and righteousness— and /fear/. And of course, what felt like every person in the city had wanted to come out to watch him as he floundered.

(Which— he is proud to say— he hadn't done, much! He'd been very articulate, if a bit loud, and had gotten his points across very well, thank you very much! That hadn't stopped his heart from trying to pound out of his chest, of course, but he felt he did a very good job at masking that!)

And now, as he continues to stare— wide eyed and white knuckled— at the hulking building before him, he feels as his heart continues to pound so hard that he wonders if he's going to have a heart attack and die at the tender age of sixteen and one day. He blithely wonders if he's doing a good job of masking his nerves now.

Probably not.

He can hear laughing and chattering coming from inside the school, which makes his insides clench to hear. The sound of children and teenagers laughing has never been associated with good things, for him. In his youth, it had always been either proceeded or followed by a cruel act done to his person, after all. Part of him wants to turn tail and run away. To never have to head into that school, never have to face those laughing students, never have to worry if they will hate him on sight like every other person he has ever met seems to. Part of him wants to quit, right here and right now, and never have to face the terror that floods his heart at this singular moment in time.

However...

However, he is not a quitter! He does not give up! To quit is to give up on yourself, and he is not ready to do that; not now, not ever! He's had too many people deny him in his life, too many people scoff at his grandiose plans, for him to quit now, before he's even begun! He is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, and. He! Does! Not! Give! Up!

Taking a deep, steeling breath— his resolve and nerve back in place— Kiyotaka marches determinedly into the school, head held high and his shoulders held back, looking for all the world like he belongs in this school as much as anyone else does.

He is a strong proponent of the mentality 'fake it until you make it,' after all!

It seems that his determination suits him well, as no one seems inclined to bother him as he marches with measured steps through the opulent halls. He can feel eyes on him as he marches, however. Can hear whispers starting up at he passes by, with hints of laughter echoing through the halls. He doesn't know if he's imagining it or not, to be honest. Regardless, he pays them no mind, even as his stomach starts to churn. He has more important things to focus on, after all!

As he strides through the building— mind firmly on his destination only— part of him wants to gape at everything, the building far more splendid and ostentatious than any other he's ever been in. It's honestly stunning and he wants to look around, like a child at Christmas, drinking every detail in. However, he has more pride than that. He will examine the school later, with a controlled expression on his face, perhaps during the tour he knows the school is providing following their orientation at 9:00.

Now, he knows that today is a non-instruction day, the school allowing them the day to set up their rooms and get used to the school (or, for older years, catch up with old friends), but that doesn't mean he doesn't have to keep to a tight schedule! It is currently 8:25, which means he still has thirty-five minutes to unpack his meager belongings before finding his way to the main hall. Now all he has to do is find his new dorm room…

He puts his hand in his pocket and quickly pulls out the map that he'd been sent via mail over the summer. On it, it details exactly where everything is located, including his dormitory. Each student gets their own private dorm, each year on a separate floor. As he is in his first year, he will, logically, be on the ground floor. From what he can tell, he is currently by the gym, and according to the map that means he has to head to the other part of the school if he wishes to find his dorm. He's always been good with reading maps, so he has no doubt that finding the hallway to the dorms will be no trouble at all. He does find, though, that wading through the crowded hallways is a bit of a challenge.

To be honest, there aren't that many students really— given how few Ultimates there are and that the reserve, 'non-Ultimate' students are kept separate from the Ultimate students— but it's still far more than he feels comfortable being around. And given that he's trying to be as unnoticeable as possible, while also confidently striding through the halls, he's having a bit of trouble with his task.

Many of the students he sees milling around and laughing are clearly older than him, their friends they've likely made over the years welcoming them back happily. However, he does see one or two that look to be roughly his age. That— mixed with their wide-eyed looks, their mouths hanging half open as they stare in awe at the school— makes him assume that they are in his year. If he had the time to spare, he'd let himself look at these students, study their faces, see if he could figure out their true nature (whatever that means). But, given that it has taken him about five minutes just to walk through the busy hallways to the dorms, he figures he doesn't have much time to spare. He checks the clock on the wall and winces when he sees it says 8:31. Ah! He's practically late!

Lengthening his stride, Kiyotaka hurries forward to the dorms, relief filling him as he notices that this hallway is less crowded than the others. It seems that the students in his year either have yet to arrive, are elsewhere in the school, or are already situated in their dormitories. Either way, it means that he does not have to worry so much about running into anyone as he hurries to his designated room, especially since his is one of the nearest dorms to his current location. He can actually feel his shoulders already starting to relax as he imagines standing in his own room, hidden from view of the rest of the world, not having to keep up his front of confidence and poise constantly. His insides are squirming up a storm and he longs to take one second— just one, measly second— to let his facade drop so that he can recollect himself that much easier before their orientation. He can almost feel the relief already, his face relaxing unconsciously from the scowl he'd unintentionally put on it while walking through the halls.

It's honestly quite stupid of him, really, to let his guard down before he makes it to the dorm room itself. He honestly should have known better by then. And later, when looking back, he knows he will curse himself for that decision, banging his head against the wall (lightly! So as to not damage the wall!) for his stupidity, but at the moment he'd not really cared. He was just so relieved to almost be somewhere relatively safe, his body so tense he felt like throwing up, that he'd not been able to help it, honest!

But no matter his reasons, pure or not, it doesn't change the fact that at this moment in time, he is not paying full attention to his surroundings, as eager as he is to enter his dorm. And, as such, he does not notice the quiet click of a door opening or the almost silent sound of leather cloth hissing softly through the air. Nor does he notice the large, hulking form slip out of the room that is adjacent to the one he now has his eyes laser focused on, his eyes catching sight of the little plaque with a crude but almost charming depiction of himself on it.

In fact, he does not notice the other form at all, not until it is far too late, the man moving to exit the dorm hallway right as Kiyotaka moves to enter, neither paying enough attention to prevent the tragedy that is bound to occur. It is his horrid luck entirely— he thinks later once he is safe in his room— that this had to happen at all.

Because it truly is his awful, truly /terrible/ luck acting up that makes him ram— full speed— into a hard, firm body, a strangled noise of shock releasing unbidden as he loses his balance almost immediately.

With wide eyes, Kiyotaka feels himself falling backwards, heart racing with anticipatory fear. He feels his eyes shut a second later, though, bracing himself for the pain he knows is bound to follow. After all, he's been shoved to the floor often enough (more often than not /intentionally/) to know how much such a thing hurts.

And yet, before he can fall fully— his cruddy suitcase scattering away from his grip, his long limbs flailing helplessly— he feels a strong, steady warmth wrap tight around his waist, quick as a wink. And— before he even has time to fully comprehend what had just happened— he feels himself get pulled (almost yanked, really) forward, his body colliding yet again with the same hard, firm body. But this time… this time he stays there.

He isn't sure how long he stays frozen in place, this moment in time lasting him what feels like decades. He feels dazed and very confused as he is pressed up tight against the hard body, his hands unconsciously resting upon some firm pectoral muscles as his face gets smushed into a muscular chest, his legs pressed fast against muscular thighs. Bizarrely (or not), his first thought is '/huh... I wonder how much this guy must work out?/' Which, honestly, should not have been his first thought when being pulled against random, strange men in his dormitory hallway. Not even his second or third thought. Or any thought he has at all, really! But given the emotional whiplash of the last .05 seconds, he feels he's earned some measure of a strange reaction to a strange event, honestly...

His second thought is almost (scratch that, /definitely/) worse, though, as he takes an unconscious inhale in and thinks '/huh. He smells strangely nice. Like cinnamon and motor oil./' Which, by the way, are not two scents that Kiyotaka would have ever thought would go well together, ever before, really. And yet... well, somehow, this gentleman (?) pulls it off.

All in all, it is a very strange moment...

He truly isn't sure how long the pseudo-embrace lasts (probably not as long as it feels, maybe all of two to three seconds, but it feels lightyears longer), but he definitely feels it when the man begins to talk, his chest rumbling pleasantly under his body. He almost shivers at the sensation, but mercifully manages to curb the reaction in just the nick of time.

And then the words the man says registers to him, making him freeze fully.

"Hey! Watch where the fuck yer goin', asshole!"

Blinking once, Kiyotaka grimaces and pulls back (/finally/), and glares at the figure before him, hands immediately going to his hips. Technically speaking, his role as Hall Monitor (!) is not currently in affect, but that doesn't mean that this man is allowed to curse on school property! He doesn't even have time to take in the other man's appearance before he's talking, his words clipped and measured, like always.

"Language! This is a school, and we are required to adhere to the rules in place at all times! And one such rule is no foul language on school grounds! Because the school year has technically not yet started, I will let you off with a warning this time, but if I hear such language again, I will not hesitate to hand you a detention slip! Am I understood?!"

Kiyotaka does not mean to shout his words, but then again, he rarely does. It's just how his voice naturally sounds, he supposes. Still, part of him winces internally as he sees the man before him reel back, eyes that he only just now notices going wide as a surprisingly pretty mouth opens dumbly in shock. A few seconds pass by in silence, the other man clearly struck dumb for some reason, which gives Kiyotaka the ability to actually look at the man properly, for the first time.

Well, one thing for certain is that, while he is large, he's not technically a /man/. Or, well… he /is/, but also… not? Or… well. How to put this… he is not a man in the same technical way that Kiyotaka, himself, is not a man. In that they are both— not technically but actually— /teenagers/, and thus are not yet men. Kiyotaka blinks at his logic there, shaking his head subtly to clear it of the fuzz that's obscuring his ability to think properly. Because that statement right there? Makes no sense. Not even to himself, and he'd just thought it!

It is true, though, he realizes as he looks at the man (/teen/), who may be overly large and hulking, but has a surprisingly youthful face, clearly marking him as a student, not a staff (thank goodness! Running into a student is bad but running into a staff member would have been worse!). With that bit of information gleamed, Kiyotaka moves onto actually /looking/ at the teen, taking in his appearance at last.

The first and most noticeable thing that Kiyotaka notices about the teen is by far the— quite frankly /bizarre/— hair style he is wearing. He doesn't know the name of hair styles very well, as such a thing is a waste of time to him, but it honestly, well... hm, how to put this mildly… it quite frankly looks like the teen has a /corn on the cob/ glued to his head. Or maybe an armadillo… aha. Well, whatever it is, the weird /thing/ is a dull, golden yellow and extends at least half a foot from his face, while some darker, more natural looking hair hangs limply around the back of his neck, just barely reaching his shoulders. And it… it's not that it looks bad! It actually looks kind of interesting if he's being honest… but it certainly is bizarre, and it takes Kiyotaka a moment to look away, as unusual as it is. Eventually he is able to look away, though, and his eyes flit down to the teen's face, instead.

The first thing he notices on his face are his eyes, most definitely. Even if the teen wasn't wearing the most ridiculous eyeliner Kiyotaka has ever seen (including on the women on those beauty shows his mother used to like to watch), his eyes themselves are intriguing in their own right. At first, Kiyotaka thinks they are a light, stone gray, like the color of a rock baking in the summer sun. However, as he looks longer, the stunned silence between them stretching, he notices that they are actually a very, very light shade of lavender, the purple undertone oddly striking with the exaggerated eyeliner. Huh... he wonders blithely if that's why the teen does it?

After another moment of staring into the teen's eyes, Kiyotaka realizes that he is, in fact, staring into another man's (/teen's/) eyes and hastily averts his gaze, cheeks flushing for no good reason.

This distraction allows him to drink in the rest of the youthful face, the pale skin even and smooth, even as splotches of red begins to spread out along the temples and cheeks. His nose is on the smaller side, but has a chink in it, making Kiyotaka think that it has been broken at least once, if not multiple times before. He has a similar chink on his nose, after all, from the years of being punched and slammed into walls. And with their lack of adequate healthcare, he had always been forced to set his own nose, making it heal a little crooked, like the other teen's is.

And… and his /mouth/... Kiyotaka's own mouth goes dry as his eyes flit down there, curious eyes staring unbidden at the pale things. The teen's mouth is still hanging open slightly, which should make him look unattractive and silly, but it honestly really, really doesn't. Decidedly not. It just makes him look kind of... Kiyotaka doesn't know, but it certainly isn't /bad/. In fact, it might actually be kind of /good/, which is making something inside of him freak out as he suddenly realizes that several seconds have passed, at least fifteen, and the two of them have just been staring at each other the entire time. His arms drop dully from his hips, his hands tingling and numb for reasons he cannot quite explain.

Another second passes and he can feel his cheeks flare hotter, and he knows for a fact that his face is bright red, his pale complexion doing nothing to hide his shame. This is a fact he's always known and has hated with a passion ever since the children at his primary school first began teasing him about his all too clear embarrassment. It's no different now, especially as the other teen finally blinks and reels back again, a startled laugh barking from his lips.

"Yer fuckin' kiddin' me. Right? What are ya, a fuckin' hall monitor?! It's school, dipshit. Don't matter what we fuckin' talk like here."

Kiyotaka can't help but blink again at the words, his hackles rising even as something inside him purrs at the rumbling quality of the other teen's voice, masking the low-class accent the teen uses. He will not admit it, certainly not while standing not one foot from the other, but the teen has a nice sounding voice. Despite the ugly words being said with it, of course...

But those ugly words are the source of contention here and so— with the same will he does with all of his other unhelpful emotions and thoughts— he locks all thoughts away but the ones revolving around the teen and his unfortunately horrible potty mouth.

Crossing his arms, Kiyotaka lifts his head up, trying not to care that the other teen easily has at least four or five inches on him, if not more, and stares the teen dead in the eyes again, this time his own eyes hard and unyielding. He's been told that he can look very menacing when doing such a thing— his red eyes unnerving at the best of times— but the other teen doesn't even flinch, just stares hard right on back. He doesn't let this daunt him, though, and just does what he always does— ensure order is maintained!

"As a matter of fact, I am! I applied for the position of hall monitor over the summer break and was awarded it! It is a great honor, and it is a duty I take very seriously! I do not wish to start our year off on the wrong foot, but I will not tolerate rule breaking of any kind, no matter what you or anyone else may think of the matter! If you do not like the rules, you can take it up with the headmaster! Is that understood?!"

The other teen stares at him dumbly again, but snaps out of it much quicker this time, snorts of laughter echoing out of his lips, cruel and overly harsh. It makes Kiyotaka flush even harder, his stomach clenching harshly as a cold realization washes over him. Ah… he's just made his first enemy here at this school, hasn't he? Oh… and it's such a shame, too. There was something about this teen that made Kiyotaka feel so curious, like there's a puzzle there just waiting for him to unravel…

But such thoughts are ridiculous! Of course this teen and him wouldn't get along! He's wearing leather, for one, which Kiyotaka just notices now, his eyes glancing over the teen's body as they sink to the floor unbidden. Practically no one who wears leather is a reputable person (yes, there are always exceptions to this rule and Kiyotaka would never stereotype anyone, but part of him highly doubts his stereotyping is inaccurate, here). And it is not like the Ultimate Moral Compass could ever possibly get along with a disreputable person! Or vice versa...

"Jesus Christ, yer actu'ly bein' serious, ain't ya? Damn, you some goody two shoes, then? Shit, don't tell me we're in the same class, are we? Ah, fuck, goddamnit. Can't believe I'm stuck with such a fuckin' tightass, shit /fuck/."

Kiyotaka stiffens even further, his eyes starting to water as the insults already begin. And school hasn't even officially started yet! And that's not even to mention how the teen seems to now be purposely putting needless swear words into his sentences, likely just to mess with him! Ugh, this year is going to be terrible, isn't it?!

But he refuses to cry. He's always been an emotional person, crying at the drop of a hat, seemingly. It has never really bothered him too much, as he figures it's good to have such strong emotions; it means that he is human, after all! Plus, his mother was always an emotional woman, crying with sympathy at even the simplest of commercials. His mother was the strongest person he's ever known, especially after the cancer diagnosis, so he prides himself on his similarity to her and on his deep connection to his emotions, honestly.

However... however, something about the way the teen is staring at him— his eyes hard and critical, his mouth (not pretty anymore, not at all) contorted in an ugly sneer— tells Kiyotaka that if he cries now, it will be like admitting defeat. And that is one thing that he, Kiyotaka Ishimaru, never does!

And so— puffing himself up yet again— he pushes one finger into the taller teen's chest (definitely not remembering what it felt like to be pressed tight against that chest, his body closer to another human that he's probably ever been since his mother died), eyes blazing, not caring how rude the gesture is. He feels anger flooding his heart now, his body beginning to shake with it, but he won't let it control him. He's better than that.

"My name is Kiyotaka Ishimaru, and you would do well to remember it! As I said, I do not wish to start any battles, but I also will not tolerate anyone breaking the rules! This is your last warning, if I hear or see you breaking the rules again, I will not hesitate to give you a week's worth of detention! /Do you understand me/?!"

Kiyotaka continues to stare at the other teen, silence echoing down the hallway as his shout peters out. It's a good thing this hallway seems to be fairly deserted, no one else in sight. It allows him to stare at the teen without too much embarrassment, even as his cheeks continue to flush red hot, knowing that staring into another boy's eyes is considered wrong, but also knowing that he refuses to back down from this test of wills.

Finally, after several long seconds pass, the other teen smiles, but it is not a nice one. It looks more like he's baring his teeth, his eyes full of a simmering rage and hatred. And, if Kiyotaka were being truthful (which he always is, with himself especially), it makes him feel very, very afraid. He's seen that look once before, after all, and it was right before his main middle school bully broke his arm for confiscating his illegal fireworks that he was planning on setting off in the girl's locker room. So, he supposes he has some right to be a bit afraid of such a look.

But still! He does not back down!

He can't.

Not even when the teen leans forward, all predator swift and fast. It does make him flinch somewhat, though, which seems to be what the teen had wanted, as he can see a self-satisfied smirk out of the corner of his eyes, even as the teen leans in closer, his lips practically brushing his ear, making him want to shiver again.

He suppresses the feeling.

Again.

"Listen here, an' listen good, ya piece a' /shit/. I ain't gonna change fer no one, got it? They invited me ta this school, knowin' full well who I was an' who I wasn't gonna be. An' I sure as hell ain't gonna be some prissy, goody /fuckin'/ two shoes, mindin' my fuckin' language like a fuckin' square. Ya have a problem with that, ya can have a nice chat. With my fists. Ya understand? Ya asshole?"

Kiyotaka can feel himself shaking, and he can't quite tell if it's out of fear, anger, or a mixture of both. The other teen (he still doesn't know his name, does he? For some reason, this fact really starts to bother him all of a sudden, his fists clenching at the realization) leans back again, smug smile on his face, like he's won or something. Annoyed, Kiyotaka knows that he cannot give him any hint of satisfaction.

Despite the tears he still feels gathering in his eyes, his throat tight and angry, he just smiles pleasantly (as pleasantly as he ever can, which usually turns into some kind of grimace, of course), and inclines his head slightly in a jerky nod.

"If you must resort to violence to solve your problems, then that is very telling of your character! Rules are in place for a reason, and without them the world would descend into chaos! I will not allow that to happen! If you choose to take your aggression out on me, then I cannot stop you! But I will warn you that I have mastered many forms of self-defense and while I will not fight back, I will not stand by idly! You do not scare me, so if that is what you are trying to accomplish here, you are wasting your time!"

The only warning he gets is a low growl in his ear, before he is suddenly being slammed into the wall, the breath getting knocked out of him as that hard and firm body is pressed up against his again, but in a very different scenario this time. A far less pleasant one, for sure. N-not that the first time had been pleasant at all, of course! Of course…

"Ya goddamn piece a' /shit/! Ya got no idea when ta fuckin' quit, do ya?! I tried ta be nice, but now? Yer pissin' me the /fuck/ off! Do ya have any idea who the fuck I am?! I'm Mondo Fuckin' Owada, ya goddamn asshole, Ultimate Biker Gang Leader! So, ya might wanna /fuckin'/ reconsider bein' afraid a' me, ya got it?!"

Oh.

Oh.

/Oh/.

Kiyotaka knows that name.

It's not a good reason why Kiyotaka knows that name...

His father. His father is an officer on the police force. At least once a week, Kiyotaka would hear his father rant about this gang or other causing trouble in the streets, tearing up nice, reputable neighborhoods, causing havoc and grief wherever they went. There are many biker gangs all over Japan, ranging from small to massive. Some are more destructive than others, but all of them cause some kind of grief or other to everyday citizens, who huddle in their houses in terror when the gangs tear through their streets. Kiyotaka has absolutely no respect for bikers or biker gangs of any type, finding them absolutely deplorable, no matter who they are, and usually resolves to never waste his time thinking of such deplorable scum.

But Mondo Owada? That's a name he knows. That's a name he /hates/, his father telling him time and time again how frustrating it is that the biker is always one step ahead of the police, him and his gang (the Crazy something or other, he never bothered to learn) somehow never quite getting caught for any of their vandalism or assault, even though the police knows that they're doing it.

When he'd heard that one of his fellow classmates this year was going to be Mondo Owada (because of course he'd looked into his fellow students, he is not only going to be their hall monitor, but he is going to be their class representative, so he has to know them), he almost withdrew from Hope's Peak then and there. Clearly, if they were letting /garbage/ like that into the school, then it wasn't the reputable and upstanding institution he'd always thought it to be!

It was his father who actually convinced him otherwise, bluntly saying that they needed the stipend money that the school would be giving him for his time there. Plus— his father had cajoled— maybe he could find some evidence on Owada and get him arrested, once and for all. Or maybe he could even work on reforming the teen, offering him programs to reform his life (though his father had said that one with a smirk, which makes Taka think he was possibly joking… maybe).

It was a stretch, Kiyotaka had known that much, but he had reluctantly agreed, knowing they needed the money. And it would only help him in life, to go to such a prestigious high school, setting him up for his future. Not attending such a school for such a petty, stupid reason would be ludicrous! And Kiyotaka is decidedly not ludicrous!

Still… during the days leading up to today, his stomach had refused to stop churning in knots over the thought of meeting such a rough and wild boy, late at night as he tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep but couldn't, fear filling him at the idea of being in such close proximity to such a person. After all… a gang leader would likely not take kindly to rules and regulations, and given his role at this school, they'd automatically be set at odds before ever even meeting one another, wouldn't they? Another enemy made before he'd ever even met them. One who had questionable morals, and possibly no limits whatsoever, to boot.

Never, in all his wildest nightmares, would he have imagined meeting Owada in such a way.

(Never, in all his wildest dreams, would he have imagined being literally swept off his feet by the biker, being held for several long, lingering seconds in a faux embrace that was embarrassingly not unpleasant. And then, barely any time later, finding himself holding the other's surprisingly striking eyes for even longer seconds, his heart clenching for reasons he is firmly never going to examine, because he hates lying to himself and he knows that whatever he finds there is not something he wants to ever know. And this— all of this— while feeling slightly dizzy from the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and motor oil that is still assaulting his senses, not as unpleasant as it should be. Because that sort of thing just... it just doesn't /happen./ Not outside of lame and cheesy romance novels. Most certainly not to someone like him.)

(And yet...)

It's as the teen (/Owada/, his mind hisses at him, finally having a name for the person he's been talking to for the past several minutes) begins to pull away, smug smile on his face, that Kiyotaka breaks free from his stupor. With his jaw clenched tight, eyes blazing one last time, he lifts a hand up unbidden and grabs the biker's sleeve, fingers digging into the soft feeling leather.

"I have already told you, /Owada-kun/, that you do not scare me," he says softly, for once not yelling. He didn't even know his voice could sound so quiet, truthfully. If it weren't for the deafening silence of the hallway around them, he wouldn't even think the biker could hear him. But he can see the way Owada's nostrils flare, and he knows he has the other teen's attention.

Good.

"I do not care what you do to me. I have faced more than you can ever know, fighting for what I know to be right. You can beat me all you want, but I will not back down. I will persist! My mother taught me to stand up for what is right and true, and so I shall! So, do what you like, Owada-kun, I will not stop until you and your band of criminals is brought to justice! You have my word on that!"

They were good words. Pretty words. Words that a man ten times as brave as Kiyotaka could say and mean one hundred percent, no hint of doubt or regret in his mind.

That man is not Kiyotaka.

As soon as his words leave his mouth— his volume steadily getting louder and louder with each one until he is yelling again— he regrets saying them. He is, unintentionally, staring into Owada's lavender eyes again and he can see the rage that fills them as his words are processed in real time. He is shaking, he knows he is, knows Owada can feel it, but he can't stop. He's never been more afraid before. And he's felt fear many times in the past, when faced by bullies or other school yard tormentors! But those times are all very different to this one, for one main reason.

While his schoolyard bullies were cruel and unkind, hitting him again and again until he bled, until he broke, they always knew their limit. Not even the city's hatred of the name Ishimaru could excuse permanently debilitating Kiyotaka, meaning that all of his tormentors had had lines they knew they could not cross. And he always knew that fact, no matter how bad it got. It comforted him, in some sick, bizarre way, to know such a thing. To know that, no matter what, he would always eventually heal, even if it would often scar.

But Owada?

He's a criminal. A thug. An outlaw; the fearsome leader of Japan's largest motorcycle gang. All while being no older than he, himself, is.

Who knows what limits the other teen has?

If he has them at all...

But he... he can't back down. Not now. Backing down now would- would be worse, r-right? A-and... and Owada wouldn't actually, you know... /kill him,/ right? O-or do anything that would permanently disable him? Surely- surely someone would notice if he went missing so soon after arriving? A-and someone had to have seen them talking! R-right?!

Kiyotaka can feel his breathing getting quicker and quicker the longer the irate biker glares at him, his body getting pressed more firmly to the wall, the sensation so far from pleasant he almost wants to cry. He still is holding it in, but he can feel the tears filling his eyes and he knows that any second now, to his intense mortification, they will overflow.

It's as he feels more than sees Owada reel back, his fist clenched tight as he pulls it back as far as it can go in their current position, that Kiyotaka finally breaks.

Completely against his will, he feels his body flinch back dramatically, hitting his head harshly against the wall he's still pressed against, but he barely even notices it. His eyes slide shut, also unbidden, and he can feel the tears finally spilling over, his hands shaking as he instinctively raises them to cover his face, like he always (uselessly) did as a child, back before he knew Taekwondo and Jiu Jitsu and could defend himself properly. Not that he often did, knowing it would just get him in more trouble than the attacker, but it made him feel better knowing that he /could/ use it, if he truly needed to.

But here, now, crowded against this wall, his heart pounding and more afraid than he's been in years, the residual anxiety from this entire morning still lingering and mounting and swirling within him... here, facing a biker who is notorious in all of Japan, despite barely being old enough to shave?

Here, he feels so much like a child again that all he wants to do is curl up and cry, holding onto his mother as he asks her, again and again, why the other children hate him so much? What he's done to deserve their hatred? She'd never had a good answer, would simply cry with him and hold him tight, but that was enough, having someone there to hold him and tell him it was alright, that he was alright... that he was still loved, so dearly, regardless… that was plenty more than enough.

God, he misses her hugs…

He barely has time to think before contact is made, the sound loud and booming in the silent hallway, and he flinches so harshly that for a moment, he honestly thinks he's been hit.

But after the moment passes, he notices that the usual pain doesn't bloom on his face, or his gut, or... anywhere on his body, really.

Surprised, he opens his eyes, more tears falling out, and stares into the dark, lavender eyes of Mondo Owada, the biker's chest heaving like he'd run a marathon. His fist is slammed into the wall besides Kiyotaka's face, his forearm brushing his face with every breath either teen makes. It takes Kiyotaka a second to realize what happened, but when he does, he has no idea what to make of it.

Owada... hadn't hit him? He'd instead... hit the wall? And he hadn't pulled the punch, either! He'd heard the contact, it had been loud! He'd truly hit the wall at full force, choosing to not hit Kiyotaka, despite having a perfect opportunity to do so! What...?

Kiyotaka— fully against his will— takes a moment to worry about the biker, wondering how messed up his hand must be and how much it must hurt, distantly wondering if he should try to force the biker to the nurse's office (which he's not even sure is open, since the school itself is technically not open yet, not to mention the logistics of explaining why Owada was hurt so early in the year, and how he was involved, and /oh god, is he going to get in trouble for causing a fight, oh god, oh god/-)

But the thoughts are chased away when Owada leans in close again, his lips barely touching Kiyotaka's ear, finally making him shiver unconsciously, the words low and deep and almost, dare he say... /sensual/ in his ear…

"I'll hand it ta ya, Hall Monitor. Ya got some serious fuckin' balls. But take this as yer last fuckin' warnin'. Fuck with me again, and I ain't gonna miss next time. /Do you understand me/, Ishimaru?"

Kiyotaka shudders again at the words, his eyes wide and hands pressed desperately to the wall behind him. He has no idea what is going on inside his head at the moment, let alone his body, but he's fairly certain he's about to pass out. The way Owada had whispered those last words, his tone and inflection different to the rest of his speech pattern, oddly formal and educated, almost like... like he was /mimicking Kiyotaka's earlier words/...

Before he can make good on his idea of passing out— mind and body very much done with this conversation, thank you very much— suddenly, Owada is gone. The heat and warmth that had been pressed against him vanishes and with the support no longer holding him up, he sinks, boneless, to the floor, tears falling freely, feeling like an utter waste of space. Like a pathetic child. He blinks sightlessly at the floor, before looking up, Owada almost haloed by the way the light falls on him. It's... something. It sure is... something…

"I'mma leave this here, ya got me? I ain't the kind ta hold grudges, not 'less I hafta, so I ain't got any problem lettin' this slide. I ain't no fuckin' bully. But ya cross me again, I will fight back. Got it?"

Kiyotaka wants to say something, to tell Owada that he won't let him get away with breaking the rules, wants to say that he refuses to back down, or, well… /something/… but… but he can't. He /can't/. He's too afraid.

He's too /weak/.

So, instead, he just nods dully and stares blankly at the floor, his legs coming up and his arms wrapping around them, like he always did after his tormentors finished and left him lying in the dirt, his face soaked with tears and sometimes blood, his heart aching and pained. At least his tears have finally stopped leaking out of his eyes… small miracles, yes? He can hear Owada shuffling before him, can see his shadow moving awkwardly around, but Kiyotaka doesn't say anything, just stares blankly ahead. He's already growing numb to this entire situation, all his earlier bravado and adrenaline gone without a trace. He's just weak, stupid little Kiyotaka Ishimaru again, the most hated kid in Japan.

Why did he ever think he could be anything different?

Another several seconds pass, before he hears a soft sigh, the sound of heavy footsteps finally hitting the ground. Kiyotaka is just about to let out a sigh of relief and stand to finally (/finally/) enter his room and put his things away, when he hears the steps falter again, Owada clearly having something to say, but seeming to struggle when he tries to say it. Eventually the words come out, faltering and awkward, a far cry from the confident and smug tone from a few minutes before.

"... you, uh. Yer pretty fuckin' brave. Fer a Hall Monitor, that is. Ain't a lot a' people who can go toe ta toe with me, even fer a couple a' minutes. So, uh... yeah. See ya 'round, I guess. Neighbor."

And with that, /finally/, the biker leaves, the hallway echoing with silence once again. The only sound Kiyotaka can hear is the sound of his own heart beating, and the sound of his breaths, ragged and scared, even minutes after Owada officially leaves.

Finally, looking down at his ancient watch that doesn't even work half the time but thankfully decided to work today, Kiyotaka is spurned into action when he sees that it's already 8:55, meaning he has less than five minutes to put his suitcase in his room and book it halfway across the school (without running!) to make it to orientation on time.

Cursing softly under his breath (no actual curses, of course! Just the watered-down, kid friendly versions of them. He's not a hypocrite, after all), he stands up and hurriedly shoves his key card against the door, the thing opening up a second later. Not having time, he quickly grabs his suitcase, shoves it in carelessly into his room, and shuts it again, hurrying off down the hall. Before he does, though, his eyes can't help but linger on the room right next to his, his heart freezing with something that might be fear, but might also be something else (something he refuses to think on, lest he have to start lying to himself, which he hates to do).

Because written there, for all the world to see, are two words. Two simple, little words, that Kiyotaka has a feeling he's going to hate above all else by the time this year is through.

'Owada, Mondo,' the plaque says, with a tiny, crude caricature of the teen carved into the metal.

Well. He supposes that explains Owada's final parting word, then...

He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though, because otherwise, he's going to be late. And on the very first day, too!

(In the end, he manages to make it to the orientation room with ten seconds to spare, his chest heaving and spine tingling as all eyes turn to him. He'd managed to scrub his face clear of all tears during his brisk walk, but he knows that his sclerae are probably still red, which he knows from experience looks very creepy with his red irises. Not a very good first impression, to say the very least!

He bows deeply to the instructor as soon as he is able to and asks profusely for forgiveness. The man just laughs and says it's fine, directing him to a seat that is between an utterly average looking young man with short brown hair that introduces himself as 'Makoto Naegi,' and a timid, overly shy looking young girl who introduces herself as 'Chihiro Fujisaki.' They both seem nice enough, and they all seem to get along pretty well during the ten-minute period when the instructor tells them to get into groups of three to get to know each other better. He does, of course, get a few confused stares at the awkward, almost formal way he speaks, proper grammar and speech mannerisms drilled into him by his father when he'd been young, but that always happens, so he doesn't pay too much attention to it, really. He does manage to keep his volume lower than usual, though, mostly given that they are in a school setting, which he supposes is a good thing. They don't call him out on anything, at least.

Best of all, he's far away from Owada— who had barreled in three minutes late, his fist roughly wrapped in gauze, the teen not even bothering to give the instructor an excuse. He just grunted when the man told him— with a far colder tone than when talking to Kiyotaka, which is something that still boggles his mind— to sit beside a teen with bright orange hair and multiple piercings, and an unfortunately rotund man whose face kind of reminds Kiyotaka of a hamster. He presently is watching Owada now that he's finished up the sheet the instructor gave them to learn more about their partners— which he'd finished two minutes early— as the biker trades muttered words with the redhead.

He watches— though he doesn't know why— as the redhead snorts and mutters back, Owada grinning at whatever he had said, a bead of laughter escaping his not-at-all pretty mouth. His eyes linger for a beat longer, before he turns back to the board, his pencil flying over his paper as he takes down every word the instructor wrote, and then some.

When the orientation starts up again, Kiyotaka raises his hand every other minute, having a question about almost everything, from how the dorm rooms work (they do not appear to be separated by gender in their hallway, which concerns him somewhat), to what time breakfast begins each morning (it's important to know!). He can tell that even the instructor is getting a bit tired of his endless questions by the end, but it isn't his fault! He just wants to be sure he knows what he's doing, that's all! H-he must know what he's doing so that he doesn't mess up, like he is so wont to do without instruction…

Through it all... through it all, he feels eyes boring into his back, but whenever he turns to look, the light lavender is looking elsewhere, seemingly disinterested. Sometimes at the desk, sometimes at the clock. Sometimes at the back of his own hand. It makes Kiyotaka feel strange inside, his insides churning at the potential reasons why Owada would be staring at him, but he forces it from his mind. He doubts it matters. After all, Owada himself had said that he wasn't a bully. Well... here's hoping that wasn't a lie!

(And if he leaves behind a pack of ice he picked up at the nurses' office, as well as some ibuprofen tablets and some more gauze outside Owada's door in a paper bag, ringing the doorbell and hurriedly running into his room to not be caught by the teen once the orientation and tours are all finished for the day, well... he is the class representative, after all. It's only right that he helps out his fellow students, yes?)

Kiyotaka doesn't know what is going to happen the rest of the year. His first day was already so action packed that he's kind of dreading to see how the rest of the year goes, if he's being honest. His class is small, only sixteen students including himself, but his year isn't the only year in this school. And who knows what the other students will be like, in the end? He's already made one enemy, it would not be remiss to assume he could very easily make so many more. Who knows what will happen next, where this year will lead?

Well… well, he's going to have to find out eventually.

One way or another...)

Aww, poor Taka. And Mondo.

Side note: I've started writing a companion piece to this story, because why not, and it is pretty much the exact same story, but told from Mondo's perspective. I've already written the first 5 chapters (which do not correspond to the chapters in this story, since I skipped the chapters that only have Taka in them like the first) and I was wondering if anyone would even be interested in reading something like that? I don't really care too much, since I'm mostly writing it for me, but I was curious if anyone else would be interested. I wouldn't post until after this story is completely published, since it already has a ton of spoilers for this story in it, so it wouldn't be posted for a long while, but still, if that interests you at all, let me know. :-)

(Also, random, but I'm pretending the Hope's Peak uniform is Taka's white uniform, because I like the image of him in white better than the one of him in brown. Also, I've not gotten to the part in the game where they show them in the Hope's Peak uniform, I just saw some pictures online and realized that they would actually be wearing uniforms in the actual school. I only learned this after I finished writing this whole story, though. To make things easier on me, the uniforms are optional for Ultimates, but if they were to wear them (like Taka), they're white. Makes sense? I doubt anyone cares, but dang it, I do. Consistency and faithfulness to source material is important! Also, school starts in September and not April because... I'm a dumb who didn't realize Japan's school year starts in April, oops.)