"Hello! Hello everyone here!"
A tall, shaven-headed, dark-eyed, wheat-skinned man dressed in a smart wine-colored business suit stepped onto a small stage where there was a luxurious-looking desk and next to it a comfortable sofa.
It was the stage of any Talkshow. In this case, one starring controversial host Ueda Masado and the guest of the occasion.
"Now, now," he said soothingly to the audience present. "Let's give a standing ovation for tonight's guest, the one and only, the incomparable and imaginative... The great Kitahara Ryou!"
Once again, the audience's applause was heard as from the back room appeared a young man wearing a blue formal shirt and black suit pants. He had long dark brown hair slicked back, 179 centimeters tall, striking gray eyes and a face shaded by a beard that had been shaved.
His face reflected a lost expression and an honest, but uncomfortable smile.
"I must admit it Ryou-san, you're someone hard to get in touch with." Masado began in his usual introductory tone as soon as the young Kitahara and himself took their seats. "Though I must say, it was completely worth the wait. A bit abrupt to start with this but, your work as co-writer of 'Kilroy'? I wouldn't be surprised if it takes home a few Oscars at this year's awards."
"You are very optimistic, Masado-san."
"And you very humble. But I'd like to do something if you'll allow it, a look back at everything that made you who you are today."
"I don't see why not."
Ueda said several things to the audience, made some hand gestures and other things that Kitahara paid no attention to. His mind was in its own space, torn between intrusive thoughts and the reminder of all the unfinished business he had.
It wasn't until he heard Masado call him name that he returned to what was happening in reality.
"Ryou-san, I understand you grew up in a good home, with your mother's stories and the ones you made up."
"Yes, that's true."
"Did you ever think you would make it this far?"
"... Yes, I did. Ever since I was a child I dreamed that the ink I put on paper in words would reach many people, but I didn't think I would do it being so young. I thought it would be quite some time before my work would be recognized or, you know, I might be like one of those posthumously famous writers."
"And look at you now. Bestsellers, successful plays, script consultant on a AAA title and now co-writer of a critically acclaimed movie. I don't know kid, I'd say you even qualify for-" Ryou's mind tried to tune out Masado's words, but it didn't yield a result. His statement was heard by every Japanese household tuning in to the talkshow, the audience present and Kitahara himself. "-attend Hope's Peak."
... ... ...
... ... ...
"AH!"
Kitahara Ryou woke up bathed in sweat, his body cold and shivering.
He wasn't having nightmares, in fact, he was one of those people who couldn't remember his dreams.
Maybe it was the fault of the letter still lying on the computer desk, crushed carelessly between the keyboard and the mouse.
A letter of invitation to Hope's Peak Academy.
Just thinking about it made Ryou feel a little sick.
Hope's Peak Academy, one of the highest educational centers in the world, the jewel of Japanese education. Built in 1879 during the Meiji Period by businessman Izuru Kamakura as an exclusive institution to prepare future Japanese leaders for the modernization and opening of the country to foreign countries. It was not long before the institution proved to be effective and received great support from the emperor. This support became global in 1957, one year after Japan joined the United Nations.
It was and remains a beacon of hope for the future of the land of the rising sun.
It was said that any graduate of Hope's Peak would make a life and leave his or her impact on the world in one way or another.
... Ryou was less than thrilled at the idea or what the academy represented. As part of an essay he published two years ago, he had devoted himself to gathering information about it.
Since the 1990s, the institution had been embroiled in the controversy of the still-deficient Reserve Course. Basically, an educational center derived from Hope's Peak itself that functioned like any private school, with a not necessarily secular education, flexibility and obviously, an enrollment fee and another per term. It operated on the promise of developing the talents of the average person to the point where they could be considered for the main Hope's Peak course. It was currently, 20 years after its establishment, that none of the students admitted to the Reserve Course appeared on a main course.
So, the senior leadership of the of the academy were financing who knows what with what they drained from the poor suckers who attended this. Ryou was not naive or presumptuous enough to believe he was the only one who knew about this, surely it was an open secret everywhere.
It was something unpleasant and reflected well what the academy represented to the young writer: corruption hidden in modesty, darkness disguised as light.
Kitahara Ryou feared darkness to the point of hating it with all his guts.
If it had a face, he would not cower in fear, but try to render it toothless.
"Mama said to look at the positive in the bad, I guess I'll give it a try," he muttered to himself.
Entering Hope's Peak would give him plenty of free time to hone his writing skills and at the same time his mind was already starting to come up with a new project: a chronicle, essay, survey, whatever, but one that would be focused on the Reserve Course students and show the world their experiences.
And who knows, maybe he'd befriend some of the ever-eccentric Ultimates...
"... I'm screwed."
... ... ...
... ... ...
With four hours of sleep and a thermos full of coffee, Ryou found himself walking to Hope's Peak Academy. He'd barely had time to shave that morning and had done it poorly, but at least he'd had a quick shower and had a decent backcombed hairdo.
His drowsy mind was so focused on reviewing what he had done that morning that he only caught the shouting of a man because he had stopped him with his arm.
Snapping out of his reverie, his eyes met a tall, muscular man with dark, slightly greenish hair combed in a way that seemed unusual to him, the man also possessed deep, opaque purple eyes.
He noticed that the man was wearing a guard's uniform, so...
"What are you looking for here?" he asked in a direct and threatening tone, which displeased the young writer.
Sighing with annoyance and muttering curses, Ryou pulled from the satchel hanging from his left shoulder several papers proving his enrollment at Hope's Peak.
The guard, who Ryou could see was surnamed Sakakura according to the badge on his uniform, examined the papers in detail, as if he was paranoid.
The papers crumpled under his grip and disgust showed on his face. He didn't even address the young Kitahara as he pushed the papers against his chest and stomped away. The sleepy young man felt the uncontrollable urge to throw his thermos of hot coffee on the bastard guard.
Shrugging his shoulders, he turned around and headed for the outdoor gymnasium, which is where the homecoming ceremony for Class 75, 76 and the welcoming ceremony for this year's classes, 77 and 77-B, would be held.
Kitahara Ryou was a young but disturbed mind. A brilliant writer with a talent for almost any genre but romance, with short stories, fables, screenplays, essays and chronicles confusingly grounded, but with obvious genius embodied.
The Ultimate Literary Author, that's what they had called him in the letter.
He didn't even understand how that works considering that there were already other Ultimates related to literature or out there were prodigies like Fukawa Toko.
But that tangent didn't matter right now.
The focus here was on the unloved young man, a writer fascinated by that which he hated. A hatred and fascination that made him feel sick, that had consumed his person.
What is the extent of the light and shadows that dance between the voice in your mind?
Kitahara Ryou was still searching for that answer.
And this is the story of what he found.