When the acceptance letter arrived in the mail, I had initially thought that it was a cruel and unusual joke from Yoko and Co. down the street-the same law firm where dad used to work. The key phrase there is "used to", past tense.

After the DR-3 Incident, he couldn't show his face to his co-workers. They would have laughed him off anyway-laughed at the fallen star that had never once lost a single case, only to be spectacularly dethroned in one swift, painful move. The press called him a liar, a fraud, a cheater. They claimed that he was an insane perfectionist incapable of allowing one loss to stain his otherwise flawless record. In their eyes, the same man who had taught me the virtues of truth and justice, of goodness and honesty, of loyalty and kindness, would do anything to get the judge to declare "innocent".

They say that dad did terrible things.

DR-3 was his first "guilty" verdict in his entire career as a defense attorney. It shattered his perfect record. They claimed that was his motive when the defendant for DR-3 showed up dead exactly three days later. There was crazy talk of forged evidence, blackmail, and bribes to obtain the desired verdict following the initial accusation of murder.

Dad's trial was long and grueling, spanning several months of appeals and arguments. In the end of the battle, the prosecution completely destroyed him. Murder-a capital crime-was on dad's head, and the punishment for taking another's life is high in the land of the rising sun.

You pay with your life.

We weren't informed of it until the day after the execution. The officials said that dad himself was told the morning before the hanging, as though that were supposed to make us feel any better. This was, after all the law. The merciless law.

Mom wept and mourned without making a single sound, without letting a single tear cascade down her tired cheeks. It must have been tough on her, especially since there were reminders of dad all over the house-his home office, photographs of past happiness, and most hauntingly of all, me. I have dad's dirty blonde locks, his thick eyebrows, his sharp hazel eyes. I may not have dressed in suits and attended court, but I probably resembled dad in his younger years whenever I passed under mom's gaze.

She was brave. I was not. I grieved with livid shouts, erratic sobs, and loud curses, damning the people who had condemned an innocent man. I vowed that I would clear his name, to open the eyes of the public to the blinding truth.

Few said they were sorry for our loss.

In a nation that values purity and honor above all else, the very thought of hanging an accused murderer seemed like sweet justice instead of a horrible wrong.

It was the story of the century-the epitome of justice, a great man of the law, accused of an entire plethora of horrible crimes. The unthinkable had happened. Titles like "Ace Attorney Shamed and in Shambles!" and "Huge Hero to Sudden Zero!" plagued the news channels and papers for the longest time. Then again, you can't expect anything less of the showy circus known as the media. The moment they spot anything worthwhile or juicy, they latch onto the subject and seem to never let it go until the fuss has completely died down.

And it didn't die down for quite some time.

No, the media eventually found a new chunk of meat to feast upon: me. The child who was left unbroken by the "tragic fall from grace" that his father had taken. The kid who boldy rose from the ashes of death like a reborn phoenix with a rekindled, fiery determination burning in his eyes. The boy who spent every moment of his free time-following his father's execution-exposing the hidden evils of society.

I roamed the streets, scoured every available nook and cranny, seeking out clues to prove dad's innocence, to show his accusers that they had been wrong all along. At the time, the DR-3 Incident was still so obscure to me, but no one bothered to share what they knew to some random kid. In frustration, I had directed my efforts into other investigations. It was only supposed to be a one-time thing, but like a rolling snowball, my habit for muckraking just perpetuated into something bigger.

Articles by a mysterious new reporter soon dotted the papers, all of them pointing to the wickedness and corruption in Japan-the ugly truths that no one wanted to acknowledge. Fixed sumo wrestling matches, money being exchanged under the tables, crimes left unsolved, the underbelly of polite society-nothing avoided my eagle eyes. It did not exactly redeem my father, but it certainly was a shock to the public to be exposed to such verity.

To the 建前-"tatemae", the facade-that we were presented with, I provided the 本音-"honne", the truth. They were amazed. Mom was amazed. I was amazed. No one had expected this-least of all me.

Around the time the letter came, there were still harsh, hushed whispers of dad's tarnished reputation and his prodigy of a son, but they had recently started to subside as a new topic captured everyone's attention. The new class roster for the incoming freshmen to Hope's Peak Academy had been released. Ah, yes. The audience of the news media can be quite fickle, shifting from a terribly despairing tale to one of jubilant hope.

Ironically, the letter arrived on the anniversary of dad's death.

Hope-the word is literally imbedded into the school's name-is what the entire academy stands for. It is erected in the middle of an otherwise average, bustling suburban area, outshining its surrounding buildings like the sun amongst countless other stars, each suddenly made smaller, duller, and more insignificant when compared to the center of our solar system. It is a place that exists solely to gather the elite and to prepare them to lead the rest of us into a future full of hope and promise, a position that the so-called masses can only dream of attaining.

It is Hope's Peak Academy.

Often credited as the most prestigious learning institution in the world, Hope's Peak sends the cream of the crop into the work force every year, ensuring its graduates both happiness and success. You can't bribe your way into the academy, and nor can you enter upon passing an excruciatingly painful entrance exam-in fact, the school itself must personally invite you to enter its incoming freshmen class, and Hope's Peak approves only the best of the best.

Each year, thousands upon thousands of yen are spent on researching, tracking, and hounding out the lucky few worthy of an education from Hope's Peak. The academy is well-backed by many wealthy philanthropists and the government alike to keep it private and extraordinarily exclusive. There are students from a wide variety of backgrounds and ethnicities, but each one excels in a particular field or talent. It could be something as basic and fundamental as math, or something as unconventional and zany as ventriloquism, but that doesn't change the fact that these young, talented minds will surely pave the way to the future. Because of this, the students of Hope's Peak are often referred to as the "Ultimates"-as in being the "ultimate" at what they do. And the Ultimates always go on to do great things.

When grouped with world-class facilities, top-notch instructors, and private dorm rooms, Hope's Peak serves as a boarding school for the elite as they hone and polish their skills to a fine shimmer. It truly is a sanctuary for the best of the best.

Knowing all of that, it's hard to believe that standing before the ultimate school, full of the ultimate students...is me.

First impressions are going to be vital in a school full of big shots like Hope's Peak, so I suppose running through my prepared self introduction one more time couldn't hurt. After all, dad always said that "the reason people judge people is because people are people." Might as well start off on the right foot.

I fish out my trusty tape recorder from my pocket and press the play button. The prepared message starts rolling.

"Hello! Is this thing on?" Cue muffling sounds. "Okay, it's recording properly!"

"My name is Ryosuke Kinji! That's R-Y-O-S-U-K-E and K-I-N-J-I! I'm just your ordinary everyday high school student, invited to the not-so-ordinary Hope's Peak Academy! My title? According to the school, it's Ultimate Investigative Reporter! I'll be keeping track of my adventures here for future reference, so don't be alarmed by the tape recorder, guys!"

Satisfied with my introduction (and praying that my classmates wouldn't ridicule me for playing a tape recorder to give my name and title), I returned the device to my pocket. In any other circumstance, I wouldn't have resorted to a handheld contraption to state my personal information for me, but this is Hope's Peak that we're talking about here. Everything counts. One mistake or fumble on my part and the other kids might eat me alive. Plus, if there's one thing that I want them to remember about me, it's that the lawyer's son is unconventional, yet honest. That's how I roll.

To tell the truth, I'm a bit apprehensive. I mean, even if Hope's Peak calls me an Ultimate, that doesn't mean that I've accepted it myself. Until the letter arrived, I was just an average free lancing investigative reporter. Would I really fit in with all of the other big-shot prodigies that Hope's Peak had hand picked?

Of all the cases that I have investigated, I wasn't able to do anything about the most important one of all. I'm frightened that the other Ultimates have never once known failure. It rattles me, this fear, from the inside out.

Deep breaths, Ryosuke! Deep breaths! I reminded myself, refusing to lose my nerve during the first day of school-not when so much counted on this. If Hope's Peak is all that it claims that it is (and more), then it goes without saying that if I can graduate...

...then I can do what my past self couldn't do: uncovering the scandal that ruined my father, and the ones that framed him.

Just knowing that makes me feel better already. My spirit soared, my heart sang. I'm instantly rejuvenated.

"Look out, world! Here comes Ryosuke Kinji!" I cried triumphly, eagerly pumping my fists into the air. One foot after another, I boldly approached the golden gates of the academy of hope, utter determination etched on my face.

Now, this is where it gets a little fuzzy.

Why?

Because the moment I crossed the threshold, everything went black.

Hello, all you Danganronpa fans, and thank you for reading Of Trials, Truths, and Tribulations. Much time and effort was poured into the making of this first chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Constructive criticism via reviews and PM would very much be appreciated. :)

(Oh, and for those of you who are wondering, please don't expect daily or even weekly chapters, as I would not like to substitute the quality and quantity of my writing for frequency. Sorry about that...)

Here is the complete class roster:

Males

1. Ryosuke Kinji-Ultimate Investigative Reporter

2. Atsuko Gunshiken-Ultimate Pianist

3. Daichi Takano-Ultimate Mycologist

4. Kai Ogasawara-Ultimate Inspirational Speaker

5. Reese Kramer-Ultimate Socialite

6. Madoka Kurosawa-Ultimate Vandalist

7. Hideki Takenaka-Ultimate Hypnotist

8. Akihiko Hibiki-Ultimate Ikebana Artist

Females

1. Misaki Taiga-Ultimate Cartoonist

2. Kishi Naoki-Ultimate Chess Master

3. Sakiko Imamura-Ultimate Shipper

4. Arisa Ito-Ultimate Poetess

5. Rylie Kramer-Ultimate Manager

6. Shiori Kasaya-Ultimate Architect

7. Shigeko Wakahisa-Ultimate Figure Skater

8. Nayato Kougane-Ultimate Miner