Now that you have graduated from Hope's Peak Academy, you have your whole life ahead of you; guaranteed success and happiness in your life. Your story is over, is it not, now that your fate is assured? Well, since your fate is set in stone now anyway, there's no risk associated in attending HPA's Graduation Fete! Mingle with your class and past graduates alike! After all, nobody's ever died from having fun! ...yet. COMPLETE! Thanks everyone for playing!
I have a lot of problems with my mom but in high school I wore a jesse pinkman shirt that said “yeah bitch” to class and they called my mom about it on speaker with me in the room and when they told her she said “who fucking care. stop calling me. bye bye” and hung up
Akira Ueno, SHSL Sociologist, existed on paper as an exemplary student at Hope’s Peak, and suitably so. Their parents, deeply involved in social sciences in their own right, cared deeply about their child’s ventures and fully supported their endeavors. However, had they any knowledge that Akira was planning on holding people captive for their pet project, they would have very vocally disapproved.
But they didn’t, so they couldn’t.
After their graduation, Akira didn’t completely disappear. They would occasionally come home and shut themself in their room for hours before heading back out again, off to do whatever it was they were doing. Even if their parents had the notion to question them, they hadn’t the opportunity to do so. They simply figured that their child was working on a study that required the utmost concentration. They weren’t technically wrong.
After a few months, Akira stopped coming home. Their parents’ curiosity turned to worry, which gave way to devastation. Akira’s room, and all of their papers and notes, had been searched for any clue that would lead to whatever corner of the world they were stuck in.
Eventually, something was found. The word “Cliffside” was scribbled into the margin of a years-out-of-date calendar. Despite hours of investigation into various communities and towns that went by this name, Akira was never found.
They were remembered by their parents for their zeal and enthusiasm, and by members of the sociological community for their various published papers and journals, but for the students of Hope’s Peak, they may as well have never existed in the first place.
But there was another student missing, another voice suddenly, abruptly going silent.
At Hope’s Peak, there had been a radio show, known for its attitude and sharp wit. It’s approach to news may not have been technically considered serious journalism as much as sensationalist lies or at least truths that were overblown to the right point to get as much of a reaction out of people as possible, and its humor turned on students and the world at large alike without pity, but it kept the students on their toes, should they choose to listen to it, and everyone had expected it to continue after its host would graduate, in one form or another. It was after all clear to see how much they loved being able to bring forth big emotions and reactions in their listeners, and those listeners loved the thrill it brought them in return.
So wasn’t it strange that, even months, years after their graduation, no one heard another sharp word from said host? Not the students, not the fans, not even their family, who began looking for them soon, but halfheartedly. They knew that it was just in this child’s nature to vanish. In all likelihood someday they would return and bask in their shock and surprise at this delicious twist.
Of course, they didn’t know that that would never happen.
Yasu Yasugawa, SHSL Radio Host, was lying at the bottom of the cliffs that gave Cliffside its name. Victim to their own schemes.
So loud in life. Yet completely unremembered and unmourned in death.
All Hail, All Hail, for They are the Lords Of Hell|Calandra Epilogue
Do you know his name, children? The name of that man. The man who is pulling the strings. Maybe you saw him, among the legion of golden-eyed men in dark suits. A little old man, hair white as snow, back bent with age, clutching an ivory-handled cane. Looking hither and yon with eyes like some great predator. With golden eyes that pierce the soul.
His name is Leonardo Jeggare XIV. He is Calandra's father. Golden eyes so rarely weep among the devils, but for a man deprived of both his children, such weakness would be allowed. After all.
He is the Don, the King of Hell, and he has lost an heiress. He has lost his daughter, his little lark, his beloved daughter Calandra. Yes, she had killed his son, Leo. Yes she had killed his own brother. But such blood was shed with great necessity. That is the simple fact of the Jeggare, that some branches much be pruned for the greater good of the family. That there must be a certain.... culling.
But this... this is a tragedy. He would see his daughter elevated to sainthood, if such a thing existed among the Devils and Legions of Hell.
He would see that boy, Tsubasa, see him buried in some unmarked grave, there in Cliffside. Did he care that this boy had been his informant? Not particularly. To little to late. Leave him there.
And then Leonardo leaves himself. Toddling away like a little old man, helped by his assistants. There was work to be done.
Vengance to be had. Vendetta to be laid forth.
After all.
Katherine, that bitch. She still had living family.
If Leonardo would be denied his favored child... denied his happiness... then why...
Everyone who had ever loved Katherine would be denied their happiness as well, sent screaming to the Pit
So he begins. Everyone. Everyone who had ever liked Katherine, spoken kindly of her, everyone who shared blood with her... Oh the punishment rained upon them. All the spite of a Devil-King unleashed. Businesses bankrupted, lovers driven away, lives ruined. Oh what a merry amount of blood he has spilt, chaos strewn about wherever he can have it.
It almost makes him feel young again.
When he finds Katherine's mother, he is almost disappointed. He makes her mother watch the footage again. And again. But she doesn't break further. His vengance is already denied him. One cannot break a piece of shattered china further. It is already shattered. Its disappointing. Upsetting really.
So when he finds a father, denying his blood? Unrepentant for the actions of his brood? Married and happy? Celebrating the birth of a beautiful son? While Annabelle Jeggare wept for her daughter? While he, Leonardo Jeggare, was denied the ability to love his children?
It simply won't stand.
"The wife dies quickly. He dies slowly. The little boy comes with me"
These were his orders. A bullet in the head of the step-mother who never knew Katherine all that well. A dozen little knives, a flesning of flesh and soul, a punishment fit for hell itself, that is the Jeggare's gift to Katherine's father...
And as a final insult, the son, a baby boy, bright and giggling, taken into the Devil's arms. Renamed. Unchristianed. Babtized in the ashes of burned saints.
Orlando Jeggare, what a sweet little thing.
To be raised in honor of his sister, Calandra. To be raised to love her, even as she is missing, to be like her, to be a Jeggare in all things, to worship the sister he never knew.
Is there any grander justice for Leonardo? To be deprived his child, to take another.
It was clear within a week of her son’s disappearance that something unfortunate had happened to Akihiko. His mother’s maternal instincts told her to begin grieving whatever situation could have possibly befallen her son, but Rika Fujiwara was far too stubborn of a woman to let herself fall apart at the seams - at least openly. So in the weeks following the vanishing class’s departure, she put all of her anxious energy towards work and her search for the boy. She didn’t know what could have happened, but there was always the possibility that he was alive - he could still be out there.
She held steadfast to this hope when interrogating coarse investigators. To them, she was simply a mother obsessed with her grief - which was true, in part - but that never deterred her.
As long as there was even a sliver of hope left, she refused to give up.
[♪ ♪ ♪]
One night after work, however, a knock at her door pulled her from an exhausted stupor. For a moment, she considered ignoring the guest in favor of avoiding another forced interaction. After dealing with customers all day, she wasn’t particularly in the mood to deal with anybody. But in the end, the woman would find some latent energy that could drag her towards the hall.
Opening the door she was shocked to find not a person, but a suitcase with a letter on top. Wearily, she took her time scanning up and down the hallway for who could have left the package before giving up and deciding to read the note. While strained in the dim lighting of the overheads, she carefully read what was written.
She had been on the butt end of some nasty jokes in her life but… this couldn’t be real, could it? If this was actual news, why was it so unofficial? Shouldn’t the police have been telling her this? Was she just supposed to accept this as fact without real proof? Unless that suitcase…
With trembling hands, the woman rested her palms to the cover. Gathering herself, she pulled the suitcase on its side and easily lifted it open. The all too familiar scent of paint and other art supplies rose from the package, and her breath was knocked away. It was there that she realized it was far too late.
It seemed like all of the tears she had buried during her search those past couple of months came out that night. There was no point in continuing on the way she was.
After that, time sped by without her. Within a couple of weeks, her cousin and her sons from the states had flown over to help with her grieving and packing. She found the previously shared apartment had become all too suffocating and their combined savings mean’t that she could afford to move. The twins seemed to take the loss of their baby cousin just as hard as his mother, which was a strange sort of comfort; it reminded her that she wasn’t entirely alone in this.
Without a body to bury they had decided to quietly cremate one of the returned outfits from Satsuki, and they briefly lamented the fact that they couldn’t thank the anonymous survivor in person. They were grateful nonetheless, even if the mementos would never bring true closure.
During the car ride to Osaka, she read the vigilante’s letter countless times.
“ Please, as terrible as it is to say this, try to forget. Not about your son, but about the circumstances leading to his death. Looking into this will put you in danger. “
Those words were haunting her. What sort of danger could she really put herself into while looking for closure? What sort of danger had taken her son’s life? She could no longer find it in herself to be angry, but there were far too many questions to keep her up at night. At least the move into a quiet suburban town took her mind off of things for a while. Unpacking and goodbyes went by quickly, and she soon found herself falling back into an old routine.
Time stops for no one, after all.
It would take years for Rika Fujiwara to find her purpose again. She found work as a secretary in a small home renovation office and saved up enough to finally finish her degree in Interior Design. She moved up in the little business and found nice company among her co-workers, some of whom recognized her last name from her late son’s work. However, most were polite enough not to ask for details of his death.
Publically, she stated that he passed from complications related to his TBI. That seemed like a suitable enough answer for most.
The rest of her son’s savings were used to buy a vacant lot in town that she filled with empty brick walls. She transformed it into a place for artists young and old to come practice their craft; a ‘safe haven’ gallery if you will. After news had spread to the art community of the loss, fans of his work and previous customers alike were eager to donate funds to keep the place running.
Many of her days off are now spent sitting within the gallery, a small memorial plaque nailed to the wall beside her.
In truth, she never really stopped looking; not for the circumstances of his death necessarily, but for peace of mind. It took time, but her nightmares and sleepless bouts eventually faded into dreamless periods to bridge the space until the morning. Younger kids began to visit the gallery to stand in awe of the art double, sometimes triple their size. She couldn’t help but smile.
Those kids reminded her a lot of her son. They all shared that precious sparkle of youthful inspiration.
She realized it was probably the thing she missed the most.
Ms.Fujiwara would begrudgingly learn to live with a hole that she could never quite fill. Being barely to the middle of her life, she still had time to continue her search for peace. The artist himself wasn’t mourned long by the community, but they preserved the fruits of his passion. His name may be mentioned passingly in conversation but his works, in the least, could live on.
When she didn’t return for months, she slowly accepted she was never going to.
MonoWorld opened as planned, despite Monoko’s absence. While she had been the passion, Monoka had always been the brains behind the operation. She ensured its success, and was now determined to keep it going in memory of her sister.
When Gisnep heard of what happened, they offered to buy out MonoWorld and ensure Monoka and her family would never go without. The offer was politely declined, as keeping Monoko’s legacy alive became Monoka’s purpose. The mascots Monoka had trained prior to her death have proven to be a legacy to her name, they are permitted to speak with park visitors, and ensure that every child’s day in MonoWorld is a magical one, keeping an eye out for those who may need extra attention, and ensuring they get the care they deserve, even going so far as to offer counseling and such to those in need.
Saiyuri had certainly spoken to her family about the vacation she intended to take. She had so loved her time at Hope’s Peak, and she was so eager for the opportunity to perhaps catch up with some of her graduating class. Her sisters found it odd that they had received no invitations of their own, given that they were also alumni. It was no big issue, however, given their busy schedules.
Her mother hadn’t remembered how long her daughter said she’d be gone, but after three weeks without so much as a text from her, she grew worried. Despite all attempts to contact her, Saiyuri never responded, and never again would.
After three months, she hired a private investigator to help locate her daughter, but to no avail. All trails and leads led nowhere, and though the family had a close relationship with the Hope’s Peak administrators, they could wring no answers out of them either. The idea that she had gone of her own accord was proposed but quickly dismissed. Saiyuri wouldn’t have given up her career like this even if it would cost her life.
Saiyuri’s family gave up hope after a year, and grieved for a long while after that. What few fans stuck around to find out that she was gone for good also mourned for the loss of the girl’s fun and flirty style. A memorial service was held, but sparsely attended.
Saiyuri and her work faded from public memory, and little record of her remained outside of her own family. Her sterling reputation couldn’t save her from the irrelevance she so feared.
The Jeggare give their honors to the dead boy in the Fool’s costume. Bury the body so it isn’t left to rot, leave it in an unmarked grave in Cliffside. No flowers on it, no one to mourn for him. Tsubasa Kawasawa was a quiet presence in life, and now it may as well seem he just faded out of existence entirely.
Of course he had parents. A family. Friends. One friend, in particular, who looked at their silent, stoic sadness and felt nothing but disgust. They’d seen Tsubasa as a ways to continue their legacy, the tradition of scientists in their family- never had they seen, never had they even tried to see that their son was meant for a different path. But she had. And she did not believe he simply vanished. Aiko Kurosawa, Hope’s Peak alumni in her own right for her talents and achievements in tailoring, knew Tsubasa. And she knew, beyond a doubt, that he wasn’t just gone on his own accord. He couldn’t be. It was she who hired private detectives, had run ins with grieving families and the school board and the very judges who had rejected their teamwork on taxidermy projects years ago. She who dug up some more than suspicious footage.
She hadn’t taken Tsubasa for an actor.
She wasn’t about to buy that he was.
But her drive for vengeance was strong, and she was no friend of the law, and so the footage remained hidden. And her investigation ended in her vanishing herself. And in the wake of the investigation surrounding that, once again Tsubasa’s fate was left in silence.
Peace fell over the unmarked grave in Cliffside, holding the boy who had worked with death in life, and now seemed in his natural place at last. Finally laid to rest. Finally at peace. Finally not torn between what he should be, and what he might be.
Perhaps it is for the better, then, that he was so undisturbed at last.
News of a notorious grave robber flooded tabloids and national news alike for months. The name dropped was none other than that of Aiko Namanari, a graduate of Hope’s Peak Academy who had gone under the title of SHSL Gravedigger.
The scandal was revealed by a private investigator hired by a now-vindicated next of kin of a dearly departed loved one. Of course, no one could ever find Aiko and apprehend her for her crimes. According to her parents, who were now having to take the fall for their daughter’s obsessions, she hadn’t been home for months. They were worried, to an extent, and did wish to locate their daughter, but now the search was more urgent.
However, nothing was ever found. Trails grew cold, but the fact that no other robberies had occurred was a comfort to those worried about the integrity of their loved ones’ graves. To the Namanari family, their issues only grew worse. With Aiko gone, not only had they lost their daughter, but their business as well. The allegations towards their family had simply become too severe to come back from, and the family grew destitute.
No trace of Aiko remained in the world, after some time. She had simply become a ghost, never to be heard from again.
However, someone who knew what happened to her would eventually find a small doll that resembled her among their luggage. Satsuki would swear she had no idea how the doll got there. Perhaps she forgot she had packed it, or perhaps it simply decided to move on its own.
When their visits stopped so suddenly, Sachiko Noji had thought her child had simply gotten tired of her. Rin Noji, on the other hand, thought that perhaps his child had somehow convinced their mother to let them stay with her for a few days, despite hospital rules. It wasn’t until almost two weeks later that the two realized that Sora was, and had been, gone.
Rin looked, of course. He tried his hardest and used what resources he could to find his child, but nothing ever turned up. Knowing of their depression and their tendency towards self-harm, he’d finally allow himself to assume the worst. Though no body or note was ever found, he knew Sora would never return.
He opted to keep his thoughts and assumptions from his estranged wife, knowing that telling her would only drive her towards further relapse. When he did see her, he’d tell her that he was continuing the search. She suspected otherwise, however, and would cope how she could with the fact that her child was very likely gone forever.
Fans of Rosa Join would always wonder what happened to their favorite author. With their YouTube channel having gone completely quiet, no one knew if they were working on a huge project they couldn’t talk about yet, or if they had simply thought themself too important to continue.
To those who knew nothing of them and their books, life moved on. Occasionally, some grown fans would fondly remember the books from their childhood, Sora’s among them. They yet lived, but only through the stories they shared with the world.
Shin’s parents had known little of where their daughter had gone, what she had been planning. Such was her way, vanishing, just hurrying off to the next competition, the next big source of inspiration. They’d be informed of where and what and how by Natsume, and so had come to accept their daughter's stormy nature rather quickly.
And so it had been Natsume too who had told them of Cliffside, their planned vacation. And they’d thought it’d been a great idea, anything to help get her to smile again, give her a sense of…. Anything. Restore her will to live on.
And Cliffside had done that. For just a moment Shin, even bent and broken as she was, had found in herself her old spark. And it’d enabled her to finally be the hero she had perhaps always been meant to be, lit the fuse to turn her last moments on this earth into a firework, just as she had lived.
How fitting that this too was for Natsume to tell them.
Shin’s father, Eiji was the one to receive the news. Usually he would make any emotion he might be feeling at any point in time known. When he heard the familiar voice tell him no more and no less than she could share, he was quiet. He thanked Natsume. He hung up on her. When Maiko came home she found him sitting by the window, chin on his hand, staring outside silently. She knew. Even just when he looked at her, she knew something had gone wrong, so wrong that nothing would ever fix it again.
He only started crying when he was in her arms. Sobbing and cursing where Maiko’s own tears were silent.
They buried an empty coffin that should’ve held their daughter, their only daughter, a final cold embrace neither they nor it could give her. They invited her fans. Her rivals. Her teachers. Anyone whose life she may have touched in one way or another, anyone she may have influenced. Anyone who would remember her, to prove she had left her mark in the world after all. And it was grand, as she would have wanted. But when the glamor left, they were still alone.
It was the silence in the house that hurt the most. Both Eiji and Maiko tried to take solace in their artforms, and in each other. But authors throw around deaths so easily these days, they almost lose significance, and one can’t help but wonder if any of those people who are so ready to kill off their characters think about their mother’s weeping at all. About the hole they will leave that will last far longer than just til the end of the episode, til curtain call.
Shin was gone. And her absence would be something that would never not be felt in the Fukui household.
Still, slowly, over the years, it started feeling less like an open wound. And finally, watching the old recordings of her dancing filled them with more pride than pain.
The pain, of course, would never leave them entirely. But it was far better to look with pride and joy upon what you’d had, instead of weeping about what you’d lost.
YuShi’s stream, her twitter and all her other forms of online presence had gone silent a while ago, and by the time the survivors of Cliffside returned to their homes, people had moved on from thinking she was on hiatus, to tossing around theories of kidnappings or believing she’d quit the community altogether. (“Good for her”, some may have thought, and “Good riddance.”) Those fans or casual watchers or haters were never given any answers as to what happened to their vitriolic idol, their spitfire queen. YuShi’s channels would never be touched again. And one by one, her fans accepted she must have moved on to something else. Maybe she had, after all, outgrown mobage games.
Of course, there was one who would not, could not forget the sudden vanishing of her only daughter. The one she had gone through so much with, who she had protected with her life, known better than anyone. Perhaps the only one who really knew Yukiko instead of thinking she knew Yushi.
On rainy days, sometimes she wanders. Sometimes, her eyes look far off into the distance, filled with the emptiness only a woman who has lost her only child, not to a certain death but an emptiness she can neither comprehend nor deny, can understand. Sometimes there’s hope, far more painful, that she may live yet. How many times does she see her in the crowd?
How lonely it must be, the life of one who had suffered so much, only to lose the last thing precious to her.
Sometimes, sometimes her steps take her to the gates of Hope’s Peak Academy, the very school her daughter attended.
She stands in silence, looking up at it. Hands clutching onto a pair of pink and white Hello Kitty headphones and an old mobile phone.
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