Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s not that she dreamt of becoming a hero someday. Not really. Nothing… quite so noble.

( she just didn’t want to become the villain . )

PROLOGUE

For a while, there is just… nothing.

An empty, awning space where there are no thoughts, no feelings. 

When the world around her first shapes itself back into something tangible and recognizable, she is a little over six months old.

Her hands are small; the room is large. There is yelling and the shattering of glass. How strange it is to breathe; for air to fill her lungs and for the release to burn when extended for too long. A laugh, long and steady, fills the air and the shrill voices stop. She is mesmerised by the tongue in her mouth and the cracks in the ceiling. How strange; how odd. Everything seems so loud and bold—she can barely wrap her mind around it all.

An older man with streaks of grey in his hair comes into vision; his smile is large and bright as he presses a hand to her forehead. The words he speaks mean nothing to her, though she can only mindlessly watch as little stars and comets appear above her in a cloud in shades of purple, blue, and red. A melody plays, soft and soothing.

It’s beautiful and strange; she cannot comprehend where they came from.

She does what any rational person would do and simply goes back to sleep.

In time, reality drags her back.

The fog that clouds her mind eventually dissipates. It’s an unavoidable fate, regardless of how stubbornly she tries to go back to the quiet; back to before. A weight of exhaustion muddles her mind, leaving her barely functional in her moments of consciousness.

She is two and the days are long and tiring. Most of her time is spent daydreaming of things that used to be, of places she would go, and of stories she once read. She can’t remember her sister’s face anymore. Names slip from her mind like oil to water. Memories of a life once lived to ease away as new, monotonous ones form in this toddler’s form. A language she has a vague understanding of finds itself gradually implanting into her inner thoughts.

The ugly truth is that there are some days when she is resentful . It clouds her thoughts, crawls in her skin, and lingers in her gut like liquid tar. The feeling is unfamiliar—startling and uncomfortable. 

But, mostly, she is curious.

She just wants something more .

She blinks awake one day and suddenly she is three and in a new house. 

She realises fairly quickly in this tenure of her life that her parents are long gone, disappearing at some point during her helpless plights of sleeping the reality away. It is not an unfortunate turn of events. The couple who are now her caretakers is, from what she has gathered, her “aunt” and “uncle”. Maybe there is more to the story, but her restricted understanding of the language remains a barrier.

They are kind but distant. 

They do enough to ensure that her needs are adequately fulfilled, however rarely keep an eye on her for any longer than necessary.

She can’t blame them. They have two children of their own who require much more attention and time than she does. A set of energetic twins with a shock of white hair; constantly running and yelling and laughing. Her cousins are children who crave nothing more than instant gratification and the adoration of their parents. They regard her with the careful caution of wild cats, tip-toeing around her and pushing to see how far they are allowed to go with their mischief.

It’s better.

This is better.

It makes things easier—this family’s reluctance to spend time with her means that she has plenty of time to familiarise herself with her surroundings. She stares at the script written in books and watches television with a mixture of awe and discomfort. This is a world where superpowers are the norm. Superheroes are the modern-day celebrity, covering the news feeds with their exploits and the local channels with their game shows and behind-the-scenes footage. The Olympics are no more. Instead, festivals surrounding heroic tournaments and dare-devil escapades fill the screen.

But, just as omnipresent, villains paint the stage with their smiles and violence.

A rampage that makes even Gotham City look tame in comparison—the everyday occurrence of crime and the accepting passivism of those who have become far too accustomed to everyday violence. Bystanders watch as others are mugged with their phones outstretched, flashing peace signs at news cameras as newscasters zoom by. 

An all-smiling hero seems to keep the “evil” at bay; the ridiculous feats of his actions replaying on every cable channel and video website available. 

It is an odd world that she has found herself in. 

She can’t stop herself from watching. 

She wants to know more.

Once upon a time—before her rebirth into a futuristic Japan—she was a girl known for her wanderlust; never quite satiated, eyes filled with stars and dreams. 

She wanted to know . 

She wanted to piece the world together, slot in the fragments like pieces of a puzzle. How many hours had she spent in a library, daydreaming of extravagant tales and delving into the mysteries of the known? How many months did she spend touring the grand world with awe at its grandeur? There was an ache to feel sand between her toes, the icy chill of the cold on her cheeks, and breath in the forest mist early in the morning. To feel the beam of a sunspot, to dance until her lungs burned, to trail a finger over the lines of raindrops on a windowpane. Marvel at each sunrise and memorise the constellations until all she could see were stars whenever her eyes would shut.

The single truth that she came to know by the end of her previous life was that life, in its own mundane way, held beauty unparalleled. Even in the weeks, months, days leading towards her slow, dragging death—she had accepted the end to the lease to her life and had lived the final moments with gentle curiosity. 

To find it continue?

Well, she can only conclude that this is a sign of some sort. One that she will gladly accept.

Tsukishima Yūho .

It is the name that has been given to her. Her uncle teaches her how to write it with patience and a steady hand.

It’s not the name she is used to, but it’s a good enough name as any.

Being a kid is pretty great, actually. 

She spends her days stretched out on the couch—or the floor—watching cartoons or reading through articles while eating rice crackers. Some days she lays outside on the back patio, enjoying the rays of the sun or the brush of wind against her cheeks. With so much to learn and so much to explore, she rarely finds herself bored or wallowing.

Her uncle works from home for an insurance agency and is always tucked away in his office during the day. Although he claims that he’s an important cog in the company, she spies on him playing video games hunched over his computer more often than not. He oversees her during the day in the loosest of terms but always remembers to feed her. 

They are often quick meals for just the two of them. She appreciates the octo-sausages and the silly drawings he leaves behind on paper towels.

It becomes a daily occurrence for him to ruffle her hair and mutter about children and their reliance on technology. Despite this, he never dissuades her from using the tablets or laptops in the house—most days he says nothing at all and some days he seems mildly interested in her proficiency. 

The house cat, Inu, often comes to snuggle on her chest while she is lazing about, purring thunderously when she scratches behind his ears and slides her fingers up his nose and forehead. She learns by trial and error not to scratch too hard, as the unusual black of her fingernails prove to be much sharper and stronger than what she is accustomed to. Filing her nails becomes a daily task, lest they become difficult to manage. Her clothing and the household furniture are no doubt thankful for this.

Ultimately she feels close to “pampered” and enjoys the peace while she can.

She has some 60 years of television to catch up on, which proves to be an endeavour in itself.

It’s not that she intentionally goes out of her way to isolate herself. There are times when she tries to play with her cousins. Sometimes it’s fun, even.

She learns three things very quickly:

1. They will never play fair.
2. They will always be on each other’s team, until there is no one else to oppose them.
3. They will create new rules to better their own chances.

Koharu and Hiroto aren’t cruel or mean or needlessly vicious, but they absolutely will cheat their way into winning Mario Party 13 by any means necessary. There is no safety in board games, as they will hoard the pieces blatantly, without any regard for the rules. Because a game is just a game and, by the twin’s standards, the rules can change at the whim of those who are playing it. Except for when the person is not the twins— then, of course, you can’t change the rules because it’s against the rules.

They’re children.

Sometimes it’s cute, sometimes it’s not. She decides rather quickly, and quietly, to stick to one-player games. 

It’s a much easier and simpler existence.

It’s nighttime.

The twins have fallen asleep on the floor of the living room, curled up into themselves. It would be a cute sight if the crayon drawings on the wall behind them weren’t so apparent and bold against the beige paint.

She spends her time practising her writing in a children’s book; the symbols are difficult to map out with her small, fumbling hands. It’s a reasonable pass-time, however, when reality sets in too starkly for her to simply fade back into nothingness. Nights like this only lead her to the conclusion that one day she will simply have to move forward in this new life of hers. The reprieve of sleep lasts shorter and shorter. 

One day she will simply be Yūho .

She is ready to accept this.

“I fear Hiroto and Koharu have too much of my uncle in them,” her uncle sighs at her side, scrubbing the walls with soap and water. It seems barely effective. “A ball of energy, he was. One of him was bad enough, but these two? We have our work cut out for us.”

Her aunt huffs a laugh from where she is setting the dinner table, “They’ll grow out of it, once their quirks settle in.”

“That’ll be in ten years if we’re lucky.”

“Oh, hush. It’ll be fine. Also, remember that you have to take them to their new counsellor on Thursday - at 3:15 pm sharp.” There’s a long, drawn-out sigh. “We can’t have this one running away on us too.”

“Yes, yes.” He hangs his head. The man has always looked tired, for as long as she has known him. His white hair and prominent eye bags make him look much older than his age of barely thirty. The slouch of his shoulders and his slow movements do nothing to aid his appearance. It’s odd to think that she was older than him, once. “If only they had a little bit of Yūho in them, though. Just a little. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Isn’t it a miracle?” Another soft laugh. She has never seen her aunt ever laugh without restraint; only in quiet, measured ways. Everything about the woman is done with quiet precision. “How such rotten things could create something so…” 

Her aunt trails off. 

“Cute and well-behaved?” Her uncle attempts, reaching out with his damp hands to ruffle at her hair. 

She lets it happen.

There’s no response. And then there’s a length of silence where only the scrubbing of the wall can be heard before her aunt sighs and says with an off-handed air, “Who knows how long this will last for. He’s only three. He’ll get his quirk any day now.”

She frowns, staring down at the book with furrowed brows. The language of this place is coming to her easier, like puzzle pieces being slotted into place, but some conversations she wishes she could stay out of. She’s supposed to be a child. She wishes she could be.

“Maybe Yūho is like you,” her uncle replies with a slightly awkward edge of hope to his voice. 

“It would certainly be kinder.” 

Her aunt goes into the kitchen then, cutting the conversation to a close. 

Words claw at her throat when she startles awake from a vague and dissolving nightmare, quietly gasping and clutching at her chest with a sharp, desperate, overwhelming sense of panic—

Breathe, she reminds herself.

It takes time for a sense of calm to return. By the time she sits up and brushes the fringes of her hair out of her face, she has forgotten what the dream was about in the first place. But it’s hot and she’s sweaty, a discomfort that lingers beneath her skin. Crawling out of her shirt, she flops onto her back and stares into the dark, bland corner of her room. 

Despite the silence and the calm that starts to take reign, she can still hear the remnants of the dream:

beep. beep. beep. beep.

The internet , for the time being, becomes her new home away from home.

Confined to the house, she makes do with what is available at hand. Her cousin's tablet becomes her own while they are away at school, though she often ignores the games in favour of opening up the web browser. It takes some time to figure out the new technology and familiarise herself with the upgraded interfaces— however, the base framework of browsers and their settings remain similar in construction. The delete history option is the first setting she searches out for before diving into the limitless adventure of knowledge and intrigue.

History, art, music, law— she finds it difficult to find a place to start, simply spiralling into an endless and chaotic trail of articles and scientific papers.

Human history becomes the 21st Century becomes International Relations since 2020 becomes The Rise of Heroism becomes the History of Heroes becomes Incidents of the 2060s becomes Media Independence becomes Media Manipulation becomes Media Psychology becomes The Superhero Conundrum—

And on and on it goes, the bottomless void that leeches onto her mind until her eyes feel dry and strained.

Quirks are her first dedicated field of study, of course. The appearance of quirks, the nature of quirks, and the theories of quirks. Albeit, it is a subject that is largely theoretical in nature and most of the sources she finds are shallow in nature and do the best they can with so few facts to speak of. It’s difficult to comprehend how quirks came into existence and how quirk factors can make fantasy come to life. Superheroes with strength like Superman walk the earth. News reports and scientists speak of it as though it is the dawn of a new time for humanity—

And it’s true. Quirks have taken over the world.

There’s an article she reads, one she has difficulty deciphering if it is a criticism or a praise, that states that humankind would have made it to space, had quirks never came into existence. 

She can only agree. Her world had already been so very close to it.

From her readings, she deduces that her world and this world had truly diverged in the early 2000s. Quirks had come into light before then, but it was a generation that had largely kept it to themselves lest they be discriminated against for the strange abilities they possessed. 

Y2K, Abba, Youtube, the Mars Rover, Swine Flu, Friends, Game Boy, Superman—

And then, it diverges.

New scientific studies; heroes taking the limelight; governments announcing their undivided support; consumerism and media latching onto the new wave.

She drinks it all in.

Koharu shrieks with delight, soft white hair bouncing in its tiny ponytail, when Endeavour appears on the screen during the newscast. The screen is momentarily red with the flames that devour the scene of a crime. 

A villain is defeated, and the hero is victorious yet again.

Hiroto covers his ears with dramatics, yellow eyes going cross-eyed as he falls to his knees and then slowly sinks onto the floor. “Change it, change it! I want to see Treego, not this guy.”

A pillow is thrown at the dramatic boy, and soon enough a fight emerges as the two twins battle it out over who is the better hero. 

“Endeavour could beat up Treego any day!”

“Uhm, any hero that can get beat up by rain and a splash of water is lame . Treego is awesome .”

“Ugh, he has a lizard head!”

“That’s the best part!”

She stares at her cousins with mild amusement. 

It’s difficult to ignore Endeavour—his broad shoulders and flashy quirk seem to appear on all the media outlets lately. Logically, Endeavour is the more efficient and overwhelming hero. There have been very few heroes who have been able to keep up with him since his debut; only the all-smiling hero has the numbers to compete. The fiery hero approaches every scenario like a battle—it’s difficult to contest who is better in terms of strength.

She just wishes that there were fewer soldiers on the leaderboards. There should be more to heroism than strength and popularity.

Treego cannot compete. It’s truly unfortunate. There should be more appreciation for the friendly, neighbourhood Spiderman’s and the heroes that support them in silence.

She shakes her head before returning to the game on her tablet.

Her mind wanders. She can’t help it.

There is a show she watched a week prior that was set on a beautiful beach—water stretching out for miles towards the grey, grey sky with seashells coating the rocky shores. 

She misses seagulls. 

There is something funny about the thought, but she misses seagulls. She misses hearing them in the morning, their rancorous call as the sun peeks through her window sill. There was something unmistakably summer to the sound; a warmth that she can still feel in her chest, even after death. She misses the smell of salt in the air, of the idle crashing of waves along the shoreline. Rocky shores and cool, cutting winds.

She misses home.

It’s a thought that has been creeping into her mind more and more lately. Where is home, exactly? In the memories of a life that she is slowly forgetting? In this house, where distance is a mercy? No, the only answer is that home is a place that has not yet been constructed. Which is fine. She will have to make herself a home, someday. Someplace warm, someplace safe. She has done it once and she is certain that she can do it again. But, until then, she will just have to yearn for the things she misses and enjoy the aspects of this household until she, too, can call one her own.

Japan has beaches. It’s an island. They must have seagulls, somewhere. She may only be four, but she’s sure that one day—

A hand slaps down onto the table, startling her from her thoughts. 

She accidentally pokes herself in the cheek with her chopstick as her limbs jerk at the noise. Rice and egg scatter onto her shirt and shorts, which she desperately tries to catch before the pieces fall onto the floor.

Her aunt stares at her, eyes wide. The silence that follows is awkward and pointed. 

It drags. And it drags. And it drags—

The older woman leaves without a word. 

She blinks. She doesn’t know what she did wrong.

During her time in this world, she never really stopped to consider the fact that she , too, would one day attain a quirk. 

“Now, like most quirks, illusion quirks are quite diverse in their factors and manifestations. I like to differentiate them between environmental and hallucinatory effects. Do their illusions affect the areas surrounding them? Or do they affect the mind of a specified individual? Of course, there can be the mingling between the two, however, most illusory quirks exhibit one or the other.”

“I am well aware.”

The doctor's office is bright pink with large posters and children’s drawings framed along the walls. 

Dr. Hayashi is—allegedly—their family's quirk doctor and has been for several generations. He is small and stout with small circular glasses that only seem to accentuate the wrinkles that line his face.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure your family is quite… accustomed, fufu , to the nature of illusory quirks. I often forget that there is another Tsukishima running around. Quirkless, no less.” The doctor laughs, though continues once he realises that her aunt does not intend on responding. “Have you been able to deduce the effects of the child’s abilities, yet?” 

“No.”

“I understand. Newly developed. Might I ask what led you to assume illusions?”

“Auditory.” The word is said stiffly. “Visual. Not both at once.”

“Hmm..” The doctor peers at her with interest, “Have you been able to tell if it is a projection or if it is internal?”

Her aunt hesitates, but then shakes her head. “No, I don’t— Yūho isn’t… often around many people. It’s only happened a few times, at home, when no one else is around. It’s been… difficult to discern whether or not he is… like my father or like his mother.”

Her aunt and the doctor speak in low tones. Despite this, it is difficult to ignore their words as she blankly stares at the garnishings that decorate the room.

She feels like a rat in a cage.

One would think that she would no longer be fazed by doctors and hospitals. She had spent so much time with them in her last life, after all. But now, she can only feel wary; hoping, hoping, hoping that things will not end up the same way—

“Now, now, you should know better. Your father is quite proficient with both , though they certainly don’t advertise as such. Makes the world feel a tad bit safer to think he can only give people visions, I suppose.”

Again, her aunt’s answer is silence. The doctor coughs a tad awkwardly. It’s comforting to see that she is not the only one who struggles with her aunt’s lack of social cues.

“With time we will be able to find the source and the rules associated with the quirk. As you may know with your other children, control isn’t something that comes easily. Especially with children. Given your family’s… history, I’m certain you are aware that patience and rationality will be your greatest ally as Yūho’s quirk starts to develop.” The doctor fiddles with his glasses and heaves a quiet sigh. “In my experience, it is quite common for children with these quirks to struggle with finding the proper equilibrium between reality and the illusory surroundings they create. There will be times when it is difficult and it might feel unfair, however, it is your prerogative to help Yūho navigate this.”

Her aunt sucks in a sharp, quiet breath. However, whatever is on her mind stays where it is as she simply says, “I… understand.”

“We will have to focus on a regime that allows for enough experimentation for a full analysis of the quirk without strengthening the quirk too much. With more legislation and regulation developing—no doubt due to your father's deeds—it is… no longer advised that children with illusory quirks are provided with the consultation that goes past a bare minimum of what is needed to control the quirk. We will have to be careful, lest the Public Safety Commission gets wind. They have been incredibly nosy and strict lately…”

She focuses on the drawings. There’s a dinosaur. A masked hero with spiky hair and a red cloak. Something that could be a dog, a cat, or possibly a lizard.

“Now, the most common sign for illusory quirks are imaginary friends brought to life. Often, as the depiction of their favourite cartoon or comic book character. This is particularly evident for environmental illusions, however, depending on the quirk factor, children with hallucinatory quirks may also exhibit these behaviours. Oftentimes the children fail to pick up on the inconsistencies provided by the illusions they create and simply accept them as an aspect of their reality… Oh, look at me go. Rambling on.”

“It’s fine.” Despite this, her aunt’s voice is bland. “I prefer it, actually. It’s good for Yūho to hear.”

“Well, yes, I suppose…” the doctor trails off. “Please understand that these concepts are difficult to comprehend for children, especially those exhibiting the quirks.”

“I’m not especially worried about that.” Maybe she understands how that sounds, because she adds, “You’ll understand why, soon enough.”

“Fufu. In that case, I’ll look forward to it. You Tsukishima’s are always an interesting bunch.”

In time, the attention provided to her by her caretakers… eases away.

Gradually, piece by piece.

Of course, she feels a mild sense of disapproval. Regardless of the perspective that her adult mind provides, she is still a child by the rational and understanding of this world. It is not responsible by any means for adults to distance themselves away from a child in their care. 

However, Yūho cannot argue that it is not to her advantage.

As such, she holds no resentment for this. She asks no questions.

It means that she can comfortably continue through life with an independence not often afforded to children her age. There is freedom in the food she eats and the clothes she wears. Yūho finds great satisfaction as she is gradually allowed outside into the neighbourhood, and finds amusement and joy in the snow statues she creates and the poetry she writes.

( yūho… 

oh, how strange to consider this as herself… )

Her clothes have always been leftovers of her older cousins, assigned every morning by her aunt before going to work. This is fiscally responsible, as there is no need for Yūho to acquire her own clothing at this age. Koharu’s dresses and Hiroto’s shirts and sweaters will certainly do just fine until she is older and functioning in a social environment. For the time being, she simply hangs out around the house or lounges on the back deck when the winds aren’t too chilly—so she isn’t all too concerned about her social autonomy. Yet.

“Yūho… certainly likes Koharu’s hand-me-downs.” Her uncle states one morning, tone a few shades less than weary. 

The comment takes Yūho by surprise. 

It takes her a moment to piece together a response, not wanting to get too in-depth with it. The lack of initial discomfort or disdain on his features and tone is certainly optimistic for her future. “It’s really pretty,” Yūho decides to say. She looks up at him before she spins around in one of Koharu’s old pink overalls. 

“Well, if you like it…” He ruffles at her short hair, though his tone is certainly showing more signs of weariness. He’s not really one to make a big deal out of things that don’t personally affect him, so Yūho doesn’t expect much push-back. That said, he looks towards her aunt and quietly says, “Maybe it’s a phase.”

“Why would it?” Her aunt leans back against the kitchen counter, staring at the ceiling. There’s something fatalistic in her tone that makes something in Yūho’s stomach sour. “Life can never be easy, can it?”

“Haruna…” Her uncle immediately rushes over to her aunt, a comforting hand pressing to her back as they quietly whisper to each other.

Yūho watches with quiet contemplation.

She… considers this a success.

Illusions .

An obsessive, all-consuming spiral fills her mind.

Her days are spent reading through countless articles on anything and everything that pertains to quirks relating to illusions. Japanese, English, Brazilian, French— she bulldozes through any and every academic website that she can find. Any written in languages she doesn’t understand is spun through several language translators until she can generally grasp the gist of what they are saying.

There are dozens, hundreds of different ways that illusory quirks have manifested; like mirages, like mist, like hallucinations, like simulations—

It’s fascinating. It’s scary.

There are thousands of recollections on the internet depicting the effects of illusions, hallucinations, and visions and why it—ultimately—is restricted if not outright banned in various countries. There is a controversy surrounding the topic: those who support the right for people to utilise the quirks provided to them versus those who vehemently deny that those who can negatively impact the livelihoods of others deserve the right to use their abilities. Illusory quirks are up there on the list of quirks that are heavily controlled and supervised by the government to mitigate unlawful usage.

Heroes, villains, civilians—it’s all the same.

She spends days reading through the developments of illusory quirk regulations over the last ten years in Japan. She read through an unending stream of forum sites that discuss the topics, with varying degrees of education and literary understanding. It’s an incredibly interesting study of human philosophy and how this mixes with law. She watches the televised recording of the most recent plenary sitting on the discussions of illusory quirks and the various debilitating aspects they present to society. 

They ultimately voted to raise the fines for intentional usage of illusory quirks in public spaces in an effort to diminish the number of “crimes” committed.

The implications have not yet set in; Yūho sifts through disastrous stories with the ease of someone who has not realized how fucked they are.

She can’t stop reading.

She finds herself back in the doctor’s office much sooner than anticipated. 

Yūho is escorted by a nurse and at first settles into one of the chairs in Dr. Hayashi’s room. Her uncle is… somewhere. Probably buying coffee. 

She sits and she sits and she sits— but very quickly finds herself restless. She paces the room in thought, staring at the various instruments and decorations in the room. Patience is something that comes naturally to her, always has, however the smell of the clinic rings the bell of unsettling familiarity. She likes to think that she has gotten better at ignoring the memories of her past life. They provide a perspective—a framework —that allows Yūho to see this world with a clarity not often afforded to children her age. 

It’s moments like this that are humbling.

Her fingers touch everything that is within reach—the plastic of the chair, the waxy layer of the paper draped over the bed, the soft fur of a doctor teddy bear. It establishes what is here and now.

She waits and she waits and she waits. 

Yūho is glad that this clinic does not have the beeping . There are days when she wakes up to the sound of beeping , as though ingrained into her mind even after death. In hindsight, she wonders how long she has had these powers; if the beeping was ever really in her head. She is glad that she is in a family doctor’s office instead of in the emergency room or hooked up to a shared room with other moaning patients. The thought makes her skin itch and her fingers aching to do something.

She plays with the teddy bear, lifting its arms up and down to a rhythm that plays in her head.

Yūho stares at the decorations on the wall. Never give up! One of the posters says. There is a large photo of a very cute cat giving a thumbs-up in the centre of it. She wishes for Inu the housecat, to drag her finger through his hair and feel the thrumming of his purr against the palm of her hands.

Plus Ultra! another says, the all-smiling hero posing beneath the words.

She tilts her head at him. Sometimes Yūho cannot help but think that he is a caricature of what would be the pinnacle of a superhero. The Superman of this world, if you will. The unstoppable beacon of what is good . But it’s strange, for the all-smiling hero is not a character in a movie or a cartoon. She wonders why he is treated like he is. 

This world is strange.

The doorknob rattles as it opens. Yūho startles and bursts into motion as she rushes to resume sitting in the chair. The teddy bear stays firmly in her hands.

“All Might, huh?” Dr. Hayashi laughs in a way that sounds like he’s coughing, “Yes, yes. Always the popular one with the kids.”

Yūho doesn’t say anything, simply adjusts herself into a more comfortable position. 

“Do you want to be a hero someday, like him?” His tone is light and playful, soft around the edges. The baby-voice adults often use with children. There’s something about the way he says it that makes her feel uneasy. “That’d be quite interesting, given your family’s history.”

He says this quite often. Yūho isn’t sure what to make of it. She doesn’t know this family’s history.

She just shrugs, uncertain how to explain the discomfort that lights herself at the thought. It’s something that all adults ask kids here. It’s all over TV. All over the internet. Do you want to be a hero? Her cousins talk about it instantly; her aunt and uncle play along with the ruse— but they know the truth. This society is obsessed with the limelight and the security that comes with the word “hero”. It’s an interesting and concerning question to lay on a child without any proper support or follow-through. 

Yūho believes, without a doubt, that there are countless children out there who see All Might as a beacon—something to look up to, admire, and want for themselves. It seems a bit reckless and short-sighted, however, to lay such expectations on kids. 

The emotional weight of it is certain to crush them, someday. Disappointment can cut as deep as heartbreak.

Not everyone can be a hero.

“You’re certainly not as chatty as your cousins,” Dr. Hayashi says wryly. He rolls his chair over so that it is directly in front of her, adjusting his glasses as he sits down. “Now, I assume your aunt has spoken to you about our quirk?”

She has not, but Yūho nods anyway.

“Good, good. I was worried that she wouldn’t. Hits a bit too close to home, I believe.” He takes a pen from the pocket at the breast of his coat and clicks it open. “Do you understand what illusory means?”

“... Something that’s there, but isn’t really,” Yūho decides. She has a lot of questions for the doctor and doesn't want to miss out on the opportunity because she is too worried about being discovered as a child anomaly. 

“I watched a show on VidTube about the desert and how they make things look like something is there but it isn’t,” she continues, idly fiddling with the legs of the teddy bear as she speaks. Children aren’t unintelligent, they just have a smaller understanding of the framework of the world. Basing her answers on the twins, she knows that children are good with repeating concepts described to them, even if they do not comprehend the mechanisms of what they describe. “When a person is tired they can see all kinds of things too even though nothing is really there.”

Dr. Hayashi laughs once again, though this time it’s a full, genuine laugh instead of the polite ones he has done before. “Yes, exactly. That’s wonderful. You’ve done your homework, haven’t you?”

Yūho doesn’t flush, exactly, but there is something uncomfortable with the praise that forces her to look away from the doctor. 

“Quirks come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, even if the results seem fairly similar. It’s important to figure out where and why things happen as they do.” 

So, quirk factor.

“Now, your family is quite renowned for their illusions by touch . However, looking at your eyes… I have some suspicions that your quirk is different from theirs.” Dr. Hayashi taps his pen against his chin before unhooking a clipboard from the side of his chair. He scribbles something onto the page as he speaks out loud to himself, “I’ll have to remember to ask Haruna about your father. It will make things simpler if his quirk factor is his eyes. It’s not uncommon for quirks to mutate into something else without cause, however, most quirks tend to merge or be one or the other. Given the trend of quirks as of late, the deviation might… cause you a bit of unnecessary hassle in the future...”

He continues to mumble. 

It’s a bit frustrating, to understand what he is saying and not be able to ask for clarity on the specific things she doesn’t.

"It probably won't be too concerning." Dr. Hayashi stands up from his chair and gestures towards the reclining bed. “Take a seat. We’ll just do a little check-up, nothing too scary today.”

Yūho can’t help the small frown that pulls her mouth to the side, eying the bed. But, to the doctor’s credit, his voice is quite calm and relaxing… She finds herself walking over to the bed with ease, teddy bear still in hand. 

Dr. Hayashi gives her a wide smile as he brushes the bangs from her face, lifting a small magnifier to inspect her eyes. He hums thoughtfully and provides several eye exercises while he keeps a careful watch. Once satisfied he moves on: asking her to open her mouth, show her arm span and reach, then using a device on her ears. He finds great interest in her fingernails and toenails, making little notes on his clipboard. Then he has her jump off the bed and has her stand on a stadiometer, noting that she is a little tall for her age. When he has her stand on the scale, however, he pauses for a long moment before writing a note. 

“There must be some heteromorphic lineage, somewhere. I haven’t seen anything like this in any of the other Tsukishima’s, so likely from the father.” Rubbing his chin, he once again starts speaking out loud: “I’ll have to request a few additional tests. Optometrist, nail testing, and so forth. Oh! I’ll need your uncle and aunt's permission, of course.”

As if summoned, the door opens and her uncle enters the room.

“Welcome, Itō-san!” Dr. Hayashi claps his hands with delight, before sending her a wink, “Now, Yūho, how about we have a little fun?”

She perks up with interest.

The doctor has a poor sense of “fun”.

Nearly an hour is spent trying to activate her quirk. It’s only once Yūho is desperate for something to happen so that she can leave that the sound of the door closing quakes through the room. 

While Dr. Hayashi is thrilled, her uncle watches with evident lines of worry.

Chapter Text

It’s quiet.

It’s also 3:14 am if the clock can be trusted. 

Her room is cascaded in the darkness of the night; shadows are cast along the walls by the small flicker of a light that Yūho wields in her hand. It exposes the wide smile and the glitter in her eyes, the curiosity and mirth unparalleled. 

In the dead of the night, Yūho does what she knows she should not. 

She spends countless hours trying to shape images to life, to bring forth the fantasy that dwells within her mind. She imagines the light of a flame—warm, small, flickering like candlelight—and marvels when it appears within her palm. It’s just an image, she can’t feel the burn or warmth of it, but it’s something. Using her ability, as it turns out, is not so difficult when she is not in the confines of a doctor's office with their mouths breathing down her neck and her aunt and uncle watching with blatant disapproval. 

Without their oversight, Yūho learns some important details about how her abilities work. It’s easier to create an impression of something that she is already experiencing—an image, a voice, a sound. She can project the illusion of something not there, but it takes more time and effort. When she uses her quirk, she has come to realise that her eyes glow and tingle in a way that she can only assume means activated. 

Yūho understands that she cannot use her abilities outside the foundation of her room; understands the weight that her actions may have. But there is nothing that dictates that she is not permitted to make the shadows that dance morph into creatures on the walls. This is just for fun. 

She once lived in a powerless, magicless world--to find that she is capable of something so fascinating lights her up with excitement and wonder.

Yūho visits the doctor's office on a nearly bi-weekly basis

Sometimes it is Dr. Hayashi and sometimes it’s someone new who wants to poke and prod at her. They have a specific interest in her nails: apparently, they are made of a type of mineral not found around Japan. But there are a few other points of interest; namely her weight and how high her body temperature is. They can’t quite find a reason for it, however, the on-going theory is that there is an underlying heteromorphic lineage that results in a higher amount of this... mystery mineral… within her body.

Dr. Hayashi focuses exclusively on her quirk.

It turns out to be simple, really.

Whenever Yūho wants something—it appears. Sometimes it’s a sound, sometimes it’s an image. One time, while hungry, she even manages to make a smell for Dr. Hayashi. It baffles and fascinates him.

The trick, however, is to figure out how she is doing it.

“Light!” Dr. Hayashi says one day, rushing into the doctor's office with the same glee of a mad scientist that has finally created its abomination. He looks as though he is about to jump and click his heels. He abruptly turns off the lights in the room, which startles both Yūho and her Aunt Haruna. “Give it a try, Yūho. Picture something.”

She tilts her head to the side, idly brushing her hands over the fur of the doctor's teddy bear. Staring at the floor, she pictures the one thing she wants most right now:

Inu the house cat slinks into the room. He briefly brushes the doctor before meandering towards Yūho.

The image of it is disrupted as the doctor rushes forward, his legs melding with the torso of the cat. But he pays little regard to the illusion, instead, he looks at her eyes with rapid attention. Then looks towards the vision of Inu, which has now jumped onto the examination bed in indignation. 

“May I try something?” Dr. Hayashi asks.

She looks between the doctor and her aunt, meeting their expectant gazes. After a moment, Yūho nods.

He covers her eyes with his hand. 

After a few moments, he says, “Oh, now that’s interesting. I have no idea how it’s doing that .”

Yūho is asked to wait outside while the adults talk. 

Despite this, the door to the office remains ajar enough that their voices filter out into the hallway. She swings her legs and taps the metal armrests as she listens.

“It’s.. remarkable, really.” Dr. Hayashi says, “I didn’t quite believe you when you had mentioned that he was gifted but… There’s no other way to describe it. Yūho shows incredible control for someone who has only had their quirk for a few months. In the few sessions that I’ve worked with him, Yūho has managed to go from not being able to control which sense is affected by his illusions, to being able to dictate which sense and pick a specific, albeit simple, instruction for the illusion—which I can only imagine is independent from Yūho’s concentration. Things like this.. Well, you often see progress like this in high schoolers.”

Aunt Haruna huffs a laugh, “Yūho ’s practising at home, of course.”

“What? Oh, this brat— I told him not to. It’d be dangerous if someone were to find out.”

“Yūho’s a four-year-old,” her aunt stresses, “with something new and shiny. He’s been thoughtful enough to do it when he doesn’t think anyone else is around, but…”

“Even still, this much development so soon…”

There’s a dramatic pause.

“My current understanding of Yūho’s quirk is that, when activating his ability, his pupils dilate and emit a light that projects illusions of his choice onto the surrounding area. Think of an old-school projector—place a piece of paper onto the slide and affix the light on the wall.” Dr. Hayashi pauses for a moment, “It is more complicated than this, of course, given the sounds and smells that he is able to conjure as well… Perhaps a movie theatre is a better allegory.. And I don’t understand how the illusions maintain form while the light is obstructed… but nevertheless, this is the basic conclusion of what Yūho’s abilities allow him to do.”

“So Yūho’s quirk is not much like Tsuyoshi or Youko…” Again, her aunt laughs, but this one trails off into something almost manic. “Nothing like Chiyo or Tetsuya, either. Not that either of them was any good with their quirks, anyway.”

“First name for your father?” Dr. Hayashi tuts, “Now, Haruna, that’s cold even for you. They are still your family.”

“Tsuyoshi is wanted in 23 countries,” her aunt states with a flat tone, “he’s long since forfeited the right to be regarded as a father. And the rest of them… Well, they are where they deserve to be, now. You’re naïve if you still think that there is any semblance left of ‘family’ with them. We’ve only ever been actors in his theatre productions, anyway.”

“Aaa…” the audible sound of discomfort, “You know I’ve never wanted to get into your family… politics. But, this is all beside the point. Do you know Yūho’s father? What quirk he may have?”

“No, I’ve never met him.”

“It’s… probably best, then, that we assume the quirk factor comes from him… for Yūho’s wellbeing. If you understand what I am implying.”

There is a pause. Aunt Haruna very slowly says, “I.. Well, now that I think about it.. I do remember Youko mentioning something about his eyes. And the way that they.. Glowed.”

“Yes, yes I think that should suffice. Remember that.” He takes a deep breath, then. “That just about sums up what is required of me. I will submit the papers today—make sure to get Yūho registered as soon as possible once the official documents arrive. The last thing you need is for the authorities to get suspicious. I would suggest acquiring a quirk counsellor in the meantime; it will be good for there to be a paper trail advocating Yūho’s management and supervision. Given the nature of the quirk, these appointments will likely be in name only. Not many practitioners are interested in delving into grey legal areas. Of course, I will still—”

“No, no—” Aunt Haruna interrupts him, “What do you mean? We’re not done .”

“I’m only meant to provide the beginning examination of a child’s quirk, Haruna.” His tone is soft and gentle as he says this, lulling in its quality. “You know that I’m not permitted to further study the.. anatomy and construction of a quirk anymore. As fascinating as it may be, delving further will only cause more troubles for Yūho in the future. A quirk is like a muscle, yes? Repetition simply leads to procedural memory and I doubt any of us would like for Yūho to perform his quirk without conscious, active effort. Consider the end result. We must put an end to this now, don’t you think?”

“No. Stop. Don’t do that,” her aunt snaps, “you know I don’t like it.”

The doctor sighs.

“I’m not asking you to do a dissection of Yūho’s quirk. I’m asking you to finish what you’ve started. You’re the only one who knows about Tsuyoshi—not even Shinji. No, I can’t have anyone else do this. I can’t risk that on my family.”

“Yūho already shows an incredible amount of control, Haruna. You’ve seen the progress, haven’t you? What are you so concerned about?”

“Oh, he certainly knows how to shape a cat in a way that looks real, but that’s not what I’m worried about.” There’s something sardonic that twists her tone. “They’re all like this, Hayashi-san. Methodical and precise with what they focus on. And no one ever realises— it’s not when they are trying to use their quirk that’s my concern. It’s when they aren’t paying attention .”

“Haruna…”

“Yes, Yūho is an incredibly well-behaved and kind child… But what do you think happens with children who can bend what you perceive as reality?” It sounds muffled, as though her face is in her hands, “It’s the idle thoughts, Hayashi-san. It’s the sound of the ocean outside your door. It’s the crashing of plates against the floor. Its starlight affixed to the ceiling. It’s laughter that echoes down the hall. It’s the fucking cat. Just because they aren’t trying to use their quirk doesn’t mean they aren’t using it. You should know, as a quirk doctor, that quirks don’t come with on and off switches.” 

She can hear the scrapping of metal against the floor and quick, pacing footsteps as her aunt continues.

“They want something and it's there. And the less they think about it—the less detail they put into it—the stronger it is. Always. Always. As though their idle thoughts and inner desires shape the world around them in a… delusion of what they want. It’s all a delusion! Their control, their confidence. And as you said; these quirks grow stronger the more they use them. And it just grows and grows and grows until it’s not just the small things anymore. Suddenly, your apartment is not your apartment anymore—it’s a beach, it’s a hole, it’s a room with no door. Suddenly, your mother is alive and no one is acknowledging that she died months ago. Suddenly, you don’t have the confidence to tell if you are awake or still asleep—and, frankly, does it even matter?”

There’s a heavy silence.

“Shit,” Aunt Haruna says, once again huffing out a laugh. She takes in a ragged, drawn-out breath. “I hate it when you do this.”

“Now, you were my patient once too, even if you don’t have the same capabilities as the rest of them.” 

Her aunt chokes out an incredulous laugh, “But I’m not the patient here, am I?”

“Now, now, it’s… good to let out your concerns. You’re always so quiet. Always have been. You’ve been much too concerned about Yūho to even consider the weight that this is putting on yourself.” 

Her aunt is silent.

“How about this: we’ll figure out a way to… manage the quirk until you have found yourself a proper counsellor. I’ve heard that there have been leaps in studies surrounding items used in quirk management—while it likely won’t be able to force the quirk to a stop, we can see about getting creative with alternatives to mitigating the effects of the quirk. Given the nature of the quirk, I don’t think that you’ll have much trouble getting the proper approvals and signatures.”

“I think—that would be good. Yes, let’s try that.”

They leave the doctor’s office soon after. 

It’s as they’re leaving the sliding front doors of the medical clinic that Aunt Haruna stops. Yūho tilts her head to the side in a silent question, her mind still buzzing from the earlier conversation. She has so many questions she wants to ask—who’s Tsuyoshi? What did she mean by the ocean, the stars, the cat? How long has her aunt known that she has been practising her abilities?—but Yūho is starting to understand that there is more weight to the queries than she was anticipating. 

She’ll have to be careful going forward. 

Yūho would very much like to prevent accidentally opening old wounds, if possible. It, unfortunately, sounds like her aunt has many.

“How long…” Aunt Haruna starts, pauses, then huffs as she runs slim, pale fingers through her hair. It seems as though she is trying her best not to look at her. “How long is… that going to follow us for?”

Yūho blinks.

She looks down to the ground and sees Inu the housecat at her side, idly licking its paw. As though noticing her attention, the vision tilts its head to the side in silent question.

“Oh,” she says, after a moment. Honestly… she hadn’t even…

Yūho closes her eyes to focus and urges it to stop— the tickle, like a breeze, that she had forgotten about dissipates. When she looks at the ground once more, the cat is gone. 

Glancing up at her aunt, she can’t help but consider the confessions she had heard. Her grandfather, the illusions, the doctor’s subtle implications. While Yūho is not privy to the details surrounding her family—and is starting to believe that she never will, if her aunt has any say in it—there is a lot of baggage that comes with the name Tsukishima. Especially when partnered with a quirk like hers.

It creates an interesting conundrum. Yūho is not guilty of anything, she knows this intrinsically. However, there is still a small part of her that feels a fraction of… responsibility for the stress this is causing. The last thing she wanted to inflict upon her aunt is discomfort. Now that she knows—well, she decides to be more tactful with her explorations. The rest of her family does not need to get caught in the crosshairs of her curiosity. 

“I’m sorry,” she states. 

It is an apology as much as it is a promise.

Aunt Haruna stares at her. It’s the sort of unsettling, all-seeing stare of someone who is looking directly at you, pulling apart every detail at the seams in an effort to put some sort of hypothesis together. The sort of stare that implies the thoughtful dismemberment of every action you’ve ever done. Yūho is certain that there is no strand of hair unseen, no flicker of emotion unread. This is fine. She hopes that her aunt can see the sincerity in her posture; the light in her eye; the sureness of her voice. 

Sighing, her aunt reaches over and ruffles Yūho’s hair—in a very reminiscent manner of her Uncle Shinji. Dragging Yūho into an almost half-hug, Aunt Haruna says, “That’s alright. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

She can only stiffen in surprise at the gesture. Her aunt is not an affectionate woman. It takes a thoughtful moment before Yūho presses her face into her aunt’s hip, enjoying the touch while it lasts.

When she pulls away, there is a singular emotion splayed across Aunt Haruna’s face:

guilt.

Given certain revelations, Yūho scours the internet for any information pertaining to her mysterious family.

Nothing comes up, predictably.

That said, there are dozens of well-known villains across the world that have quirks associated with or are assumed to be illusory in nature. She creates a list of the most likely culprits of her aunt’s past traumas, ranging from the likely to the impossible. The trouble is sifting through what is reliable conjecture and what is so theoretical that it only holds an ounce of validity--it’s not as though the profiles of villains are spread about the web with transparency, which she should have expected when she wrote Tsukishima Tsuyoshi into the search bar to no avail. Yūho understands this as she reads through one villain-centric site to another. It’s entirely possible that his notoriety is so elusive that the governments of the world have blacklisted him from the internet. Or, perhaps, her grandfather, by nature of his quirk, passes off as a totally different quirk altogether.

With quirks and personas so diverse in identity and essence, how is she to find the needle in a haystack?

But it’s almost better this way. It would simply be too easy to just get all the answers at once, wouldn’t it? Yūho feels like she is in a children’s mystery novel, trying to find the clues to a past that she, frankly, holds little regard for. She has some of the puzzle pieces in hand: he is Japanese, likely in his fifties or sixties, uses his hands as his quirk factor, and is wanted across the world.

How many villains can possibly fit this description?

Flowers bloom into spring and Yūho is prepared for the next milestone in her life: 

School.

Kindergarten is an exciting change of pace—she adores children and finds the new environment refreshing and fun. Yūho misses… people. Even with the adult framework of her mind, she enjoys interacting with other children her age. In the two-and-a-bit years that she has been alive and conscious, she hasn’t thought much about how her isolation from the world might be affecting her. She’s simply glad that it is over now. Finally, finally, she can play a simple, fun game of tag. Colouring is no longer a competition. The teachers are attentive and kind. It’s a change of pace and she finds it incredibly invigorating. 

Her days fly by in a wind of classes and playground games. While Yūho can genuinely say that she doesn’t mind lounging at home and indulging in the information of the world wide web, the reprieve from her house and family is a welcome surprise. 

She is certain now that the feeling is mutual.

Cartoons play in the background as the early morning birds sing outside the patio doors. 

Picking out a light blue crayon from her pile, Yūho twirls it through her small fingers as she stares at the page below her. Yūho colours her homework pages, using her basic knowledge of colour theory to attempt pretty but outlandish combinations. It might be mean, but she likes to tease her straight-laced teachers. She can’t wait to see their reaction to her green and purple skies. 

She likes to think that she was an artist, once. Her painting had been amateur and something she had only really done here and there. Honestly, it caused her a bit of grief in her youth. The discomfort of nothing looking like she wanted it to, the subtle agitation of not even knowing what she was doing. By the time she was an adult, she only ever took to art whenever she was stressed or strapped for cash and needed last-minute presents for family members. It had taken her a long time to rid herself of the feeling of perfectionism that had plagued her early years—illness and grief had certainly flipped that switch in her. But, by then, she no longer had the desire to paint and was filled with the need to explore the world while she still could. 

Yūho pauses when she hears a quiet meow.

She looks up to find Inu the housecat slinking into the room. He circles around her before laying down on the cool hardwood floor.

It’s cute…but…

Well, she’s not even sure if he’s real, anymore.

“Hiroto, Koharu—remember, this is Yūho's first errand so make sure to take care of him,” Uncle Shinji says, crouched low to the ground so that he can look them in the eyes. His white hair is sticking up in all directions today, bed-head worse than usual. "Daddy has an important call to take, so it's up to you three to buy a new sack of flour."

The twins stand to attention, hands held up in a salute. Though they have changed clothing, the white powder that dusts their hair exposes their earlier shenanigans. There’s a sparkle to their eyes, a secret humour only known to nine-year-olds.

In tandem, they chirp, “Yessir!” 

“...I-” Uncle Shinji cannot hold back his exasperation as he places his head in his hands with a sigh. “I can’t keep up with the trends these days. What's with the salute?”

“Dad, haven’t you seen Captain Sterling?” Koharu gasps, breaking from her pose with dramatic flare. “How can you not know who he is?”

“His videos are everywhere!” Hiroto chirps, hands spreading around him, “Did you see him at the aquarium?”

“Yeah, yeah! And how he went pew pew, and the glass went screeee , and then kapow——”

The twins then begin to reenact the battle, though they fumble for a moment as they bicker between themselves over who will be “Captain Sterling” and who will be “Sea Nought”. 

“Yes, yes.. I think I've got the picture now," her uncle says, likely in an attempt to tame their enthusiasm. He pulls out a little change purse and looks at the three of them with quiet contemplation before holding it out to Yūho. "Here's what you need to buy the flour, okay? Make sure to keep it safe."

"Hiroto reporting for duty!" Her cousin salutes once again, "We will ensure the safe transport of the goods."

"Not even Sea Nought will get in our way!" Koharu adds, punching at the air. 

Yūho puts the coin purse into the centre pocket of her overalls. Letting children do errands at this age is something she is not accustomed to, however, she certainly has no intent to complain. Maybe one day she’ll be able to do so on her own without the kids around. She pauses for a moment as she looks at her uncle, taking a moment to run her fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame the flyaways before he goes on his work call. Once satisfied, she holds out her hands to her cousins. 

The twins share a silent look with each other. They obediently twine their fingers with Yūho's and start to lead the way to the nearby grocer.

She has a suspicion that trying to keep these kids in check will be a rather difficult venture. 

The sun is hot and sweltering as summer takes full effect.

The cicadas sing like electric lines as she approaches the doctor's office once again. She’s lost count of how many times she has visited in the past six months. It’s uncomfortably reminiscent of her previous life, though Yūho is simply glad that the quiet anxiety of it is ebbing away, slowly but surely. She hopes for a day that she will walk through the entrance doors without ever even thinking of the pain, grief, and confusion she had once felt. 

“Are you excited?” Uncle Shinji asks, idly swinging her hand to and fro as he leads them through the front door. “Dr. Hayashi has a gift—he’s been working hard with his scientist friends to make it just for you.” 

She’s uncertain if it is apprehension that she feels or the exhaustion of the heavy humidity. Her hair is longer than it usually is now, and she can feel sweat from the heat beading at the back of her neck. She craves a hair elastic or a headband. 

The immediate chill upon entering the building is most unwelcome. 

“Yes,” Yūho decides to answer his question with simplicity. 

Yūho has thought about this a lot in the past couple of months: the ethics behind using items in an attempt to confine a child’s abilities. 

She hasn’t come to a conclusion, yet. Ultimately it will depend on what the item is and whether it is used as training wheels or if it is something that is intended to cage and limit the abilities of someone who does not have the agency to have a say. At the end of the day, she has decided that she would prefer not to accidentally utilise her powers—especially if it is truly to the extent that her aunt believes that their family is capable of. If there is a non-invasive item that may be able to assist in providing her control until she has a better grasp and familiarity with her abilities, it would be appreciated. 

Yūho can only hope that it isn’t expensive—she is well aware of how misleading the term “ universal health care” can be.

"Good, good." The response is off-handed and distracted.

They sit in the waiting area for some time. Yūho plays a rogue-like game on her cousin's tablet to distract herself from the quietness that encases the room while her uncle flips through magazines that are stacked on the table beside him. It doesn't take long before he gives up on this and throws an arm over the back of her chair, fingers tapping against the back in a constantly changing rhythm. He’s then sliding down and inclining his head so that he can watch her play. She shifts to give him a better view, leaning against the metal bar of the chair’s arm.

When her name is called, her uncle jumps up. 

Yūho quietly observes. Her uncle seems to enjoy the doctor’s office less than she does. Slipping out of her chair and securing the tablet into her bag, Yūho follows her uncle as they are escorted down a hallway into Dr. Hayashi’s office. It’s as colourful as always, though today there are several boxes lined across his desk.

“Welcome, welcome,” the older man says as they enter, lowering a stack of papers to fiddle with his glasses. “How are you both today?”

“Oh, well, you know,” is Uncle Shinji’s response, slouching into a chair in the corner of the room as he rubs the back of his neck.

Yūho pauses for a moment to look at him before smiling at the doctor, “I’m good.” 

“Yes, yes, that is good to hear.” Dr. Hayashi glances towards the door and says in a careful tone, “Will Haruna be joining us?” 

Yūho finds herself gravitating towards the doctor bear plushie, gently taking it into her hands as she quietly listens to the adults talk.

“No, she got called into work today.”

“Ah.” The man’s tone is… “I see, I see. Nothing we can do about that, then, hm?”

“I can leave if you need—” her uncle seems a bit too excited at the prospect.

“No, no, not at all. She’s just more familiar with how things work. You should stay; it’ll be good for Yūho to have the support.”

“If you say so…”

There’s a pause: both adults are quiet, stuck in thought. Yūho plays with the legs of the teddy bear, patiently waiting for someone to continue the conversation. 

“Well, let’s get started, then!” Dr. Hayashi claps, picking up one of the boxes from the desk. “So, this has been a bit of a pet project from my colleagues over in the support item department. They’ve made a few different types, as there has been quite a bit of discussion over how to best mitigate the quirk. I assume that Haruna has explained the nature of Yūho’s quirk? We say that ‘light’ is the cause of the illusions that Yūho creates, however, light is simply the term we use for electromagnetic radiation. Trying to find an item, without the proper experimentation, is a tad difficult since we are uncertain of the wavelength and frequency of the ‘light’ that he emits. Are the illusions a product of X-rays? Radio waves? Gamma rays? Can the quirk emit different types of radiation, which affects the results of the illusions?”

“Wouldn’t the usage of radiation in a quirk be harmful to both Yūho and those around him?” Uncle Shinji asks, voice flat.

Yūho stares down at the ground, wide-eyed and hands trembling. Nausea burns at the back of her throat—it feels as though her past is chasing her, even into this outlandish world.

“I, well, it’s just an extreme hypothetical, of course. There’s no evidence that the light will have any negative or long-term effects. Given the way Yūho’s eyes glow when the quirk activates, we can safely assume that—”

“Can we?” her uncle interrupts, “It’s not as though you can see a ray of light coming from Yūho’s eyes to the illusions that he creates like you would with a video projector. It's the iris' that glow.”

“We can certainly ensure that specialists look into this matter if that is what you would prefer. However, we highly doubt that the quirk will be harmful to Yūho or anyone else in the long run. Confusing, yes, as all illusory quirks are. However, even if it does emit radiation regardless of the energy output, exposure to low levels of it does not cause immediate health effects.” Though her uncle looks ready to continue this fight, Dr. Hayashi continues, “Here is the first of the prototypes—”

He opens up the box and takes out what can only be described as a black helmet.

“Now, it’s a bit heavy, however, the material on this will ensure that no illusions pass through the wrap-around visor. The black glass is made of—”

“You can’t seriously expect a five-year-old to wear that. How is Yūho even supposed to see through that? You may as well tell us that we should blindfold him for the rest of his life.”

“Now, now,” Dr. Hayashi murmurs, voice soft and soothing, “I understand that this may seem extreme—”

“Extreme is not the word I would use. Yūho is not going to wear that.”

Dr. Hayashi says nothing for an uncomfortable moment. He simply stares at her uncle over the rim of his circular glasses as he puts the helmet back into the box. He grabs a second box and takes out a similar-looking helmet, though a tad sleeker in design and appearance.

“Oh, come on. You’ve got to be joking,” Uncle Shinji laughs, running his fingers through his hair, “do you really expect a kid to wear this through school? You know how children are, Yūho will be dragged through coal for this.”

“I understand, Itō-san, however, there are plenty of children with heteromorphic lineage that—”

“Which, Yūho is not, and therefore is not relevant to the conversation.”

“Well, actually we’ve reason to believe that Y—”

“No.” Uncle Shinji stands up, “If all you have are things like this then we will pass on purchasing any protective gear. Yūho’s well-being is just as important.”

“Even if it is at the expense of yourself and those around you? There is a reason why your wife has requested this, Itō-san, and I would highly recommend that you speak with her thoroughly,” Dr. Hayashi says, with a hint of something in his tone that makes Yūho uncomfortable. At her uncle’s silence, the doctor moves on to the last box. “Now, this prototype will be less effective than the others, however, its appearance is slightly more… socially acceptable than the others, as you might be inclined to say.”

He pulls out a pair of ski goggles—white frames with a slightly reflective pink-tinted lens. Uncle Shinji rubs at his forehead, as though an impending headache is threatening to bubble over.

“I want to try those.” Yūho decides to speak up, worried that they might go home with nothing. “They look cool, like something a superhero would wear.”

Both adults turn to look at her.

“Fufufu~ That’s good! That’s good! I’m glad you like these ones. Now, Yūho, try these on and see how they fit. We’ll have to run a few experiments to see how effective your illusions are while wearing them, alright? Yes, yes, exactly like that. Now, how about you call your little cat friend..”

It is still sweltering hot by the time they leave the doctor’s office.

She wears her new goggles as they leave the house. Her appearance isn’t important to her now, but she’ll be sure to ask for improvements to the aesthetics as she gets older—if her uncle doesn’t get to it first, that is.

His argument with the doctor took her by surprise. Yūho would have been fine to wear the helmet if she needed to ensure that no one would get hurt from her abilities—it was a much better solution than any of the wild worst-case scenarios that had run through her head when the concept was first brought about. A pill that could mitigate the effects of a quirk? A chip implanted into her eyes? Even if a helmet would be difficult to wear in the summer, Yūho is confident that she could have made it work. 

Even still, her uncle’s adamant refusal plays in her mind. Yūho never took him to be the argumentative type, given the way he interacts with her difficult aunt. But, then again, she has never seen him in situations where he would have to argue. It’s touching, though, to see him fight for her well-being—he certainly has no obligation to. She’s not one of his kids. 

Maybe he just… cares.

The thought of this makes her quiet as they eat ice cream on the curb of a road.

“What a creep,” Uncle Shinji mutters, staring out at the street.

The words startle her—almost believing that the man is speaking to her. It takes a moment to observe his far-away gaze to realise that it was an off-handed comment as opposed to a criticism of her behaviour. Yūho stares up at him with mild confusion, wondering if she should ask about it.

“Ah.” He blinks, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Oh, don’t mind me.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

She is five when she sees his face for the first time.

( unknown to her, it’ll be the only time for many, many years )

It starts with the sound of shattering glass, followed shortly by a loud thud and her uncle’s exclamations. Yūho finds her aunt staring at the television with eyes wide and hand pressed to her mouth—completely oblivious to her husband at her side and the questions that spill from his mouth. 

A newscast plays in the living room. The National Art Center of Tokyo paints the backdrop as a newscaster remarks on a near-stolen painting considered to be a relic of Japanese history. The camera is shaky as thunder grumbles, late night summer mist rolling in the background. A hand is gestured towards the building as the person on the screen speaks with a table of two people in a studio—they have a back-and-forth on the villain inside and how it has been quite a few years since he has been spotted in Japan. A picture is then shown on the right, depicting the villain and his attire. They remark that the mask adorned was once stolen from an old Spanish family—then they go through a brief overview of his most recent exploits in China and India.

Yūho has never heard of this villain before. She carefully tiptoes close to her aunt and bends down to start picking up the glass from the ground. It’d be unfortunate if someone hurt themselves.

The image on the TV suddenly swerves to the right as the newscasters drop from the screen. Police lights, people shouting, and then finally a tall man with a bright grin is shackled with a device that completely covers his hands as he is dragged towards an armed vehicle.

There, on the TV screen, in large bold letters—End of an era! Maestro’s Downfall!

‘Handsome’ is her first thought. The mask is gone. Black hair with streaks of grey is slicked back, though a few strands fall into his dark, narrow eyes. His appearance is a blurry area between young and old--the marks of age doing nothing to hide the youthful spark that lights in his eyes. His dark, uneven tan suggests life in the sun, though his most striking feature is his crow's feet which express an inherent amusement in life. 

It’s unfortunate when villains are good-looking. 

Before he can be pushed into the backseat of the vehicle, the man pauses and looks back towards the camera as a reporter screams from the side:

“Wait! Maestro! Do you have anything to say about the crimes you have committed?”

“Oh? Well, only because you've been so thoughtful to ask.” His grin merely grows, “It’s been fun, dear, but this first act has finally come to a close. I hope that all you spectators out there have enjoyed the show so far. Worry not.”

He is forcefully pushed into the car, but not before the villain can say:

“This is just the beginning.”

Yūho doesn’t pay any more attention to the rest of the newscast as she carefully dumps the broken glass into the trash can. Taking a broom, she takes a few minutes to sweep around the living room and dining room just in case there were any run-away pieces. Her uncle continues to soothe her aunt, who drinks in the news with a level of desperation that makes Yūho start to consider who this man might be—

As though the universe could hear her thoughts, sudden exclamations can be heard from the panel of commentators on the news. A new banner has found itself at the bottom of the screen:

Identity revealed ! Tsukishima Tsuyoshi, an advisor to the largest Portuguese fashion conglomerate, unmasked!

Yūho stares at the characters that comprise the name. To her right, her aunt’s head falls into her hands with a dragging sob.

Chapter Text

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her uncle's voice is soft. There is no outward emotion afflicting the tone—just the simple curiosity towards a secret kept.

Yūho sits at the top of the staircase leading upstairs, legs curled up to her chest and chin resting on her knees. Her anti-quirk goggles stay firmly on her head and she reaches up to fiddle at the point where the strap rubs against the side of her ear. The news can still be heard in the background, though the volume is a low mumble now as the commentators discuss the impacts of a Japanese-born villain and his rampage across Europe and Asia. One of them has been very vocal about this negatively impacting their international relations with other countries; bickering about whether or not this would be just. 

She doesn’t really care too much about what the newscasters are saying. They talk and talk, but in the end, none of it really matters or changes anything.

Instead, she focuses on the quiet voices of her caretakers. They’ve been near-silent since they sent her to bed. She knows that it’s immature to eavesdrop on a private conversation… but something significant just happened and she can’t just let it go. The ruse is up. She knows without a doubt that her caretakers would prefer to remain silent than share this revelation with the kids. 

Yūho understands. 

Of course, she understands—she has been in their shoes before. 

In their perspective, she is just five years old. Their children are only ten. Most kids wouldn’t really understand the scope of the issue at hand—it is only natural for adults to want to protect the innocence of childhood for as long as possible. People want to protect the semblance of normality that they have steadily and carefully crafted. No one wants their life to change by the reveal of a difficult truth. 

However, sometimes a secret kept is what breaks people. Sometimes it… tears them apart.

Yūho.. understands this, too. She twists her fingers in the fabric of her pyjama pants, hugging her legs tighter to her chest. 

It’s a complicated situation. 

Perhaps it is arrogant of her to compare this with the lingering memories of her own past—illness is one thing to hide… villainy and family dysfunction is another. She cannot pretend to understand what her aunt has gone through or what this might bring upon her family, after all. It’s not as though “villains”—with their capes and superpowers—were an active part of her world prior to her death and rebirth.

Discomfort eases into resolve. Yūho’s fingers loosen on the fabric caught in her death grip, heaving out a quiet breath. All she can do for now, while maintaining her own safety and ambiguity, is support this new family of hers through what is to come. 

“I didn’t want you to know,” is her aunt's simple response. The silence had gone on for so long that Yūho had almost forgotten that they were in the middle of a conversation. “In fact, I didn’t want anyone to know. I just wanted it—him, them, all of it—over with and left behind me. By the time I met you, I had already decided to cut ties with them and the ‘family business’. I didn’t want to change the way you saw me. You saw me as apart from them and their schemes—and I liked that. I needed that.”

“I-” Uncle Shinji is quiet for a moment, followed by the shifting of a chair. “You still should have told me. At some point, at least. I mean, we’ve known each other for nearly fifteen years and this… is important. For you and for us.”

“I understand why you feel that way… Oh, Shinji, don’t look at me like that—I do. But… I don’t regret it.” She laughs then, “I guess you can tell, huh? I would do it all over again if I could. You don’t know what it was like. Every day I wake up and I am so thankful that you and the kids don’t. So don’t... don’t try to make this into a moral lesson. I’m not claiming to be in the right. I'm not. I just know that I wouldn't have done anything differently and I refuse to feel bad for making the lives of those I care about better by withholding the full extent of this.

Yūho stares at the third stair down from where she sits. Emotions clot and muddle in her chest. Her aunt and uncle say nothing else for the rest of the evening until the TV clicks off. The words that follow are mild and mundane; quiet good nights and grocery reminders. 

She slinks off to bed before either of them can find her.

“Moonlit escapade! 300 year old jewels taken in the heart of France.”

Yūho lays curled up on her side, scrolling through French articles on her tablet. Her eyes sting from the strain of the bright light, but she is starting to get used to the lens of her headgear—in time, she's sure, she'll altogether forget when she's wearing them, even with the pink tinge.

“Moroccan fiasco—heritage artifacts stolen in broad daylight!”

Maestro , as it turns out, is a well-known thief in Europe. Paintings, jewellery, books, pottery, technology—the man has an extensive list of known objects stolen. Not to mention the dozens of mysteriously disappearing items that have been suspected to be by the hand of Maestro, if only for the lack of evidence towards any culprit. Authorities of the EU have been torn between considering the heist artist a criminal or a villain—the ambiguity surrounding his quirk usage certainly does not help with the distinction. The organised and blase nature of his crimes suggests criminal, however, the brutality that can come about in the aftermath of his performances and the frequent necessity for hero intervention suggest villain. 

“ Murder at the Colosseum! Havoc let loose upon the crowds of Rome.”

For there is no shortage of victims to Maestro's exploits. It is clear that Maestro holds no reservations towards violence, however, most of his victims are left healthy and intact with… other… long-lasting symptoms after their unfortunate encounter with the man.

Maestro's quirk is largely disputed within the online community. 

Interviews with the victims present at the scene of the crimes—whether this be museum staff, family members of those afflicted, or angry homeowners—all depict contrary reports on the villain’s abilities. In hindsight, it’s easy to connect how his illusory powers might be able to convince someone that he is the head security guard, or might convince someone that nothing happened at all, or might convince them with a fiery display of violence, or might convince someone that they have lived out their entire life... only to find themselves again at age 28 in the museum they used to work at.

What’s hilarious is that there are just as many testimonies “debunking” Maestro’s alleged abilities. She watches a long-winded VidTube essay about how the villain uses special effects and planning to conduct his schemes. If she wasn’t already aware of his illusory powers, then she might have even believed it.

Many of his noteworthy heists have video footage. She watches over an hour of short clips: some from security cameras, some from newscasts, and some from the phones of bystanders. Maestro conducts himself in a confident, purposeful way. Yūho understands now what her aunt had meant when she said that it's all a theatre production; it's almost as though he's pulling the strings of every situation. A conductor of the scenario. There’s a flair to his step and a teasing nature to the way he eases in and out of shot. He speaks in riddles and vague monologues, often taking the time to reminisce in a way that can only be considered arrogant when confronting a hero.

Yūho rolls over onto her back, tablet held up. She scrolls through various articles regarding his recent capture in Tokyo, Japan.

A note regarding his sudden appearance in Rome ten years ago gives Yūho a moment's pause while she tries to formulate a timeline in her mind. Tsukishima Tsuyoshi most certainly was an active villain earlier in his life, right? Aunt Haruna would have already gone to university prior to his introduction to Rome—the twins would have only just been born.

She resigns herself to a tired day in school tomorrow. Yūho scratches idly at her cheek as she looks up any and all evidence towards Maestro’s appearance in Japan in the past 30 years.

Yūho’s investigation is, ultimately, unsuccessful.

There is no evidence of a villain named “Maestro” with his telltale mask of Spanish origin prior to five years ago. She suspects that he might not have always gone by the name “Maestro”, changing identities and masks when it is convenient to him, and goes to bed.

For the next few days, she finds herself compiling a stack of articles and pictures, framing the timeline of his life within a binder hidden in her bookcase. From Rome to France to Norway to Russia to Belgium to China—the heist artist seems to have had his fair share of travelling. There is a limited amount of information regarding the advisor Tsukishima Tsuyoshi—better known by the anglicised name of “Kevin Tsuki”—for a fashion company called “Luar”. Most of it is regarding the various events that he has attended as well as the various financials regarding the company, but she prints these out too. 

If someone were to ask—and, frankly, who even would—Yūho can’t exactly say why she feels compelled to research Maestro like this. It's not as though she knows him. And, sure, while it can certainly affect her livelihood at some point, it’s not as though she particularly cares about how he twines in with her family history. He’s just a boogeyman from her aunt’s shadowy past.

She supposes that the answer is: that she’s just curious. There is no other way to describe the digging, itching sensation.

Yūho isn’t too bothered by the prospect of this family finding the binder. If anything, there is a small part of her that wants them to look. 

( … she doesn’t think they will. )

“The chilling final promise of the super-villain Maestro moments before his arrest…"

The late August sun is sizzling as she heaves a sigh and relaxes on the back patio of their house, legs dangling between the metal bars of the railings. There is a nice breeze today; it sways her short hair and provides relief against the fiery summer heat and the heavy humidity. She wishes that every day could have this quiet quality to it. 

“Regret ”

The word circles her mind, returning over and over to the conversation she overheard. Of secrets and regret. Worry clogs her mind, striking her in these quiet moments. She likes the quiet, yes, but can’t help but notice the silence that has taken over the house. She thinks there is a difference between the two.

It is not her place to judge or criticise—her aunt and uncle are adults. They have all the tools necessary for handling their own relationships. She doesn’t know what they say behind the privacy of closed doors or through the safe distance of a text… and, in all honesty, it is not her place to know these particulars. Even caretakers should be given the agency of privacy. It would be remiss of Yūho to pretend as though she is an open book—the pinnacle of open vulnerability. She is no better or wiser of a person. She just has this framework of another life that provides deeper context to the emotions and thoughts provided by this child-like body. 

The wind chime sings its tune along with the sounds of lawnmowers and nearby traffic. Yūho stares up at the bright blue sky, leaning back onto her hands as she watches a stray cloud pass by. Her legs swing back and forth as she considers the directions her thoughts have been turning towards, lately. It’s a turbulent dance with wanderlust and melancholy. 

Yūho finds herself thinking of summers that she has experienced in her watercolour memories—of weekends camping, of beach days, of working in an office, of sweltering days spent in a bed looking out of a window to parking lot, of longing. 

Maybe it bothers her because she feels starkly contrasted with her aunt’s decisions. Even now, after death, she still holds onto some regrets and cannot quite understand her aunt’s stance.

Regret is simply a human experience that she will never truly be rid of. 

Yūho doesn’t want to become like her aunt, but… It’s a waste to mourn the things she never became or the things that passed her by. Yūho tries her best not to get drawn into that spiral of a pit—perhaps in the same way that her aunt does. A boundary set. In this regard, there are things that she can learn from this new family of hers. 

At the very least, she decides that she is excited to try new and different things this time around.

It’s with quiet grief that Yūho realises that Inu the housecat is no longer present within their household. 

She had realised it before, of course, that the cat had been merely a figment of her imagination. The lingering suspicion tickled her mind and refused to let go, but its disappearance upon her usage of the anti-quirk goggles only cements her theory into fact. It was fake. It was always fake. She had created a friend because she needed one in a place like this. 

Grief eases into a loneliness that she doesn’t expect. She doesn’t have anyone to talk to, anymore.

She is not the only one who shares this grief, however.

Hiroto and Koharu beg their parents to find where their precious cat has gone—crocodile tears falling from their cheeks. They walk the streets of their neighbourhood and leave hand-drawn pictures of Inu on any flat surface available; a grey blob with large fluorescent eyes.

Guilt claws at her throat. 

Yūho knows that it is not her fault. It was never something that she had any control over. 

Her aunt and uncle fumble with how to explain the absence of the cat that just suddenly appeared one day—and ultimately decide to lie. 

Yūho has the doctor's office memorised. It’s locked in.

The ticking of the clock on the wall and the sterile smell of the room lingers in her dreams. She can picture the layout of the desks perfectly when she closes her eyes--the posters on the wall, the angle of the chairs lined against the wall, the little knick-knacks that surround the computer on the desk, the feeling of the wax paper against her fingertips. 

Which is why she finds herself engrossed with the slight slant of the All Might poster on the wall. Yūho tilts her head to the side as if it’ll help her deduce why the poster has rotated by about half an inch.

It bothers her. 

“I’m truly sorry about what happened,” her aunt says at her side, “especially after all you have done for us. He's not usually like that. I’ve already spoken with him about his behaviour and we will ensure that nothing like that happens again.”

Yūho offers her aunt a silent side-eye but says nothing. Her hands twist at the arms of the doctor-teddy bear, trying to focus on the way the texture of the fur feels against her hands. 

“No, no, no. It’s alright, I understand that your husband was simply feeling protective of the child. I hold no ill will towards him—he’s simply a bit… unaware of what he is advocating for, is all. Nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Hayashi swivels around in his chair to face them, clipboard and pen in hand. “We should be happy that he is willing to speak up on Yūho’s behalf. The unfortunate way of the world requires such stubbornness, I’m afraid. Fufufu, things will not be easy from here on out and I am simply satisfied that Yūho seems to like his new support-wear.”

Her aunt says nothing and simply inhales a slow and steady breath. 

There is something about the non-answer that stings. The poster is forgotten as Yūho stares down at her tablet and tries not to think as she messes around with a game of sudoku. 

“I’m sorry to hear about your father. I …hear that he will be going to Tartarus.”

Yūho read an article about it this morning. Maestro had pleaded guilty of all charges with a grin split across his face. The expediency of his arrest and then sentence is something that she is especially curious about—she is well aware that these scenarios can take months to play out, especially for a situation like this wherein the individual's crimes have largely taken place on another continent. She intends to investigate the internet to see if there is a video of the hearing online; she is very interested in seeing if the man Tsukishima Tsuyoshi testified himself and what he might’ve had to say regarding his excursions in Europe.

“It’s where he should have gone twelve- no, thirty years ago,” Aunt Haruna states dismissively. She does not explain this any further as she continues, “Anyway, I am not here to discuss Tsuyoshi with you. I’d like to discuss something in regards to Yūho, as the family doctor who has spent the most time with him.”

“Oh? Then, please, be my guest.”

Yūho finishes her Sudoku puzzle. She messes around with the settings of the tablet to appear busy.

“How do I put this…” Her aunt pauses for a moment, “I know that all parents consider their children to be incredibly intelligent, you know, beyond their years. I was, well, do find myself thinking this way with Hiroto, even. And I know that we have spoken about the.. progress.. that Yūho has acquired with his quirk. However, given some recent discussions with Yūho’s Kindergarten teachers.. Well, there is simply something different about him, isn’t there? Something more that’s not just a parent’s gut feeling.”

She blinks and stares up at her aunt, tablet screen going dark. Yūho wonders if she has been caught.

Maybe she’s a little too excited by the thought.

“Fufufu~ Oh, now this is fun. Please, allow me to guess,” Dr. Hayashi intervenes with a playful tone of voice, “An unmatched curiosity—mixed with a degree of shocking complexity, of course—that absorbs information like a sponge? The tendency towards independent behaviour and an unusual clarity to his self-talk? A constant need to be fixated and properly stimulated?”

“...Yes. His teachers believe that he is more… mentally advanced than his peers. They’ve even suggested that he may be able to skip a few grades in Elementary school. Shinji and I have opted to deny this option should it be offered, of course, but this does leave us with a few concerns.”

Ah. They just think that she is intelligent. Yūho loses interest in the conversation as she returns to her tablet, starting over with a new game. 

“Yes, yes—I have considered this all before. The progress that Yūho has shown in the past year has been a topic between myself and my peers for some time now. We’ve determined that it is likely a biological factor. Though this has not been a universal trait when it comes to your family, your father was very similar—incredibly intelligent with a stark memory that had impressed all the quirk doctors at the time of his youth. Likewise, I believe that this is in relation to Yūho’s quirk—sometimes there are biological adjustments made to better accommodate a quirk to an individual’s body. The nature of illusory quirks is largely dependent on the user’s mind and the capacity of information that can be held to facilitate the requirements for an illusion, after all.”

It makes sense to Yūho. 

“I see,” her aunt looks down to the ground, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Youko wasn’t like this.”

“No, no she was not. As such, her powers were never able to reach the same heights as your father’s.” Dr. Hayashi hums as he taps his pen against his clipboard, “It is also difficult to compare your family’s quirks when Yūho’s quirk factor is much, much different than theirs. Given the nature of Yūho’s illusions, it makes sense that his mind would adapt to the necessity of requiring a sharper memory to acquire more accurate illusions. To continue the metaphor, a movie projector is useless without the ability to gather film. As I said, it’s quite reminiscent of Tsuyoshi-kun's abilities in this regard. Yūho’s heteromorphic heritage may have a hand in this as well, but it’s difficult for us to tell from this standpoint without his father around to provide an example… or without further study.”

Again, her aunt doesn’t say anything. Her dark eyes have a distance to them.

The rhythm of the pen tapping stops. Maybe it’s because of what her uncle had said before, but there is something off-putting about the clinical glint in the doctor’s eyes as he stares at her aunt.

Doctors have always been off-putting to Yūho. In her experience, there is little empathy to be found in the eyes of those who witness death day after day. Cold and clinical is the opposite of what she aspires to be as a person—has felt the burn of its sharp logic and icy distance. 

“There is nothing to be concerned about, Haruna. Yūho will be fine in our care.” Despite her thoughts, Dr. Hayashi's tone takes on a warm and lulling quality. She’s almost convinced by his words, even. “Health-wise, that is. I would take care, however, with sharing this information with others. The last thing you would want is to attract the attention of the wrong people. The good, the bad, the neutral. Your family is placed in a difficult position. With your father’s incarceration, I’m certain that the regulations around illusory quirks will become more strict in time… and that there will be others looking. Tsukishima isn’t a common name, after all, and Tsuyoshi combined with Tetsuya-kun’s history… Well, let’s just say that I wouldn’t be surprised if you received one or two visitors soon.”

“I understand,” Aunt Haruna says grimly.

Yūho certainly doesn’t. She thinks back to her uncle’s interaction with the doctor and suddenly finds herself wishing he was here, too. Uncle Shinji may not be the most outspoken individual, however, he rarely allows for vagueness to permeate a conversation… especially when he isn’t in the know-how.

“Good, good. So long as you are prepared.” Then, the doctor claps his hands. “Now! Putting the seriousness to a close—While you are here, we may as well test out these goggles once again. We are considering making some alterations to the design, making of the glass, and adding a coating to the lens... Haruna, have you noticed any changes over the past few weeks?”

“Yes, they seem to be working. I haven’t noticed anything wrong since Yūho started wearing them.”

Something in Yūho relaxes, then. She exhales a long and quiet breath.

“That is great news!” He stands with a few more excited claps. “Now my, ahem, colleagues and I were discussing the possibility of enacting a little more testing on Yūho. After all, your husband was quite concerned over the prospect of his quirk utilising radiation to enact the quirk. Completely understandable! It is a scary word with some misleading connotations. With your permission we would like to set up a few study sessions, again, to best ensure the safety of all.”

“That is fine,” her aunt waves a hand dismissively, “Just give me a call so we can discuss the best dates.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Oh, this is wonderful. Now, Yūho, let’s put that tablet away! Let’s see how these goggles are holding up…”

There is something invasive to the sight of a stranger on their doorstep. Like an ill omen. She didn’t expect the doctor’s warning to come true so soon. More than anything, Yūho is surprised by how jarring it is and instinctively steps behind her aunt.

She doesn’t often meet new people.

“Good afternoon,” her aunt says as they walk up to the gate of their house, offering the stranger a small and polite bow as they near. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes! Though, it’s more like what I can do for you,” the woman states, stepping forward a few feet to hold out a business card. Her mint green hair strikes quite the contrast against a wrinkleless red top and the dark bags beneath her eyes are quite telling. She looks fresh out of university.

“Am I correct in my assumption that you are Itō Haruna? Or should I say, Tsukishima Haruna?”

“I- yes, that would be me.” Her aunt sounds instantly defensive, despite how gently she takes the card handed to her. She manoeuvres herself so that she stands between the stranger and Yūho.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Suzuhara Aya and I am a journalist for the Toky-”

Aunt Haruna sighs, all the air in her lungs coming out like a long hiss. There’s no hesitation to her voice as she holds out her hand to give back the business card. “I’m not interested.”

“I get it—I totally do.” The journalist’s voice sounds genuine, though it does nothing against her aunt’s icy exterior. “It’s all so fresh. He’s been gone for a while and I understand that it’s a difficult time for you and your family. But doesn’t this mean that now is the best time to speak your truth?”

Aunt Haruna says nothing and simply levels the stranger with a silent stare.

There’s something comforting about the way the look makes the journalist bristle. It’s always nice, in the oddest of ways, to see others struggle to handle her aunt’s behaviour. It makes Yūho feel a little less irregular.

“Please understand that people are going to be very interested in you very very soon. Maestro is still a big topic and it’s only going to get worse now that he is confirmed to be sentenced to Tartarus.” The woman blocks her aunt's path as she tries to enter the gate, “I mean, if our small agency can find you, it’s really only a matter of time before everyone else does, too. Nothing sells quite like tragedy and with your father’s recent conviction—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” her aunt’s voice is flat as she grabs onto Yūho’s hand and pushes her way past. “Whatever it is you want, I don’t care and I don’t want to get involved.”

“Look, you have my business card. Keep it.” Suzuhara remains relentless as their gate opens. “Feel free to hit me up if you ever want to tell your story. The honest and true story of Maestro’s daughter. Cause, let me tell you, I’ve been in this business for a while and most people aren’t going to care enough to ask in the first place. This may very well be your only opportunity to tell the world your side of things… before it is too late.”

Yūho looks back as the gate closes. The journalist is watching, fingers playing with the strap of her satchel with an odd twist to her mouth.

“They’re just going to see your name and think of him. Trust me! They won’t even care to consider otherwise!” Suzuhara Aya calls over. “But I can change that!”

When they pause at the front door, Aunt Haruna’s firm and glacial expression has shattered.

Yūho watches as her aunt tries to gather herself together. It’s a valiant effort even if it doesn’t work especially well. Aunt Haruna cusses under her breath as she tries to get in, fumbling with the lock. She eventually huffs in frustration and lets go of Yūho’s hand to cover her eyes. She breathes in and out—and looks seconds away from smashing her fist into the door to get inside.

Taking the keys from her aunt’s shaking hands, Yūho opens the door for them and guides her inside. She expects a word of protest from her aunt as she does so, however, her caretaker has no words of complaint as she slips off her shoes and storms into the house. Yūho stares at her aunt's slippers left behind in the cubby. She sighs and disarms the alarm to the house. 

Before closing the door, she takes one final look at the journalist—who continues to watch from the other side of the gate. 

She offers a small wave. 

The woman waves back. She puts something into their mailbox and then turns to walk down the road.

Later in the evening, Yūho lays in bed while throwing a ball in the air. The letter the journalist left behind sits open at her side, wrinkled and with specks of soy sauce from its short tenure in the garbage can. Yūho doesn’t quite know what to make of the confessions written, though it was clear that her aunt did not sympathise with their similar situations. 

She catches the ball. It’s not real, but she thinks that she is getting better at making the motion life-like. 

Like a radio, she switches stations, thinking over Dr. Hayashi's theories on her abilities. A movie projector is useless without the ability to gather film, he had said. Place a piece of paper onto the slide and affix the light on the wall. 

The ball freezes in midair while she sits up.

A spark of an idea rages into a forest fire as she pulls out her tablet. 

“Master Illusionist—captured! The 10 most valuable items of his acquisition that are still at large.”

Maestro continues to be featured on the TV screens, though with dwindling bursts as new Breaking News statements hit Japan. With hundreds of heroes and villains to use as source material, his frequent segments on air get swamped in the sea of everything else. Soon enough, even Yūho moves on to other topics of interest. Namely an incredibly addicting 12-season BBC drama that explores a detective with a quirk that allows her to see into the past of anything she touches. 

She expects the Maestro fiasco to just blow past—

That is, until her uncle comes home one day, slamming the front door and shouting:

“Kids, don’t go outside.” 

He rushes around the house, tossing his briefcase onto the couch as he fumbles with his phone. The children can only watch in confusion as they listlessly follow him like wayward ducklings. There’s something incredibly unnerving seeing her uncle this way: nervous, jittery, easing slowly towards frantic. With his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, Uncle Shinji goes around locking all the windows and doors and closing the curtains. 

The doorbell rings.

“Oh, come on Haruna, answer the phone,” Uncle Shinji turns to them, running a hand through his hair, “Kids, don’t answer the bell, either. Just… stay put and play more Mario Kart, okay?”

He disappears in the kitchen then, shortly followed by the tell-tale thumping of him going up the stairs to the bedrooms. 

Yūho stares at the ceiling. Something discomforting finds itself worming in her chest.

When Hiroto goes to curiously peek out the window, Yūho grabs his hand and drags him to the centre of the living room where she assumes it is safe. 

“Do you think it’s a villain?” Hiroto asks, sounding a bit too excited at the prospect as he climbs onto the back of the couch. He presses his hands to his temples and squints his eyes as if it’ll let him see past the walls of their house. “What if it’s a big one?”

Koharu gasps as she climbs over the side, “What if.. What if it is Seanought?”

Hiroto whips his head to his sister, luminescent eyes wide. “Whoa.”

“Whoa.”

“Do you think—” he slides down to the cushions, “—do you think it’s because of us?”

“Hiroto,” Koharu says with a severity rarely seen, “what else makes sense?”

Yūho merely offers them an exasperated look. If it was a villain then Uncle Shinji would be calling the police or the local hero agency, not Aunt Haruna. Plus, she doubts many villains would be kind enough to ring the doorbell before enacting their murder spree. 

The doorbell rings once again, startling the two children. The twins stare at the walls of their house with a new sense of… foreboding excitement. 

There’s adventure to be found anywhere, for them, she supposes.

Despite her uncle’s suggestion, Yūho takes matters into her own hands before her cousins do anything reckless or lose their innocent wonder to fear.

Grabbing their tablet, phone, and two sets of headphones from the coffee table, Yūho manhandles her cousins into accepting these into their hands. The doorbell continues to ring. They whine in protest as she snaps the headphones over their ears, but quiet as she chooses a Treego compilation for Hiroto to watch and an interview with Endeavour for Koharu to watch. It’s for the best, she thinks, to keep them occupied with something else until Uncle Shinji has handled… whoever or whatever is outside.

Yūho sits between her cousins, a leg pulled up to hug her chest as she idly listens to the bell ring and ring and ring.

On her way to school the following day, she finds out that it wasn’t a villain or a particularly adamant salesperson that is stationed outside of their door.

It’s a man with a camera.

“The truth behind his lies—an in-depth study of the villainous Japanese-Portuguese fashion icon and his influence on the industry.”

Weeks blend into months—the molasses days of her childhood.

She goes to school, she comes home, and she goes to sleep. Rinse and repeat, the flavour of the day varies. Yūho savours every minute of it.

Under normal circumstances, she might not notice the flashing light that sometimes sparks at the corner of her vision, the mail stuffed in the garbage, or the way her family has slowly (but surely) cut itself off from the rest of the neighbourhood. Aunt Haruna and Uncle Shinji do an amazing job shielding them from the worst of the attention to the point where she is certain that her cousins have not even noticed. 

But, Yūho looks for it—for the strangers who periodically appear around them, for the articles on the internet, for the whispers that follow them in the supermarket. There’s a game in this quiet I-spy that she is playing. 

However, she quickly finds the joy of it dwindling. The side-eyes become more tedious than amusing. Generalised news clips on their family become focused on the only living heir of the big bad villain—the quirkless daughter of the mysterious Maestro. There are days when she feels like someone in their house is a ten-year-old Harry Potter, given the amount of mail that is found stashed in their mailbox. It’s difficult to ignore the way her teachers have become… distant; jittery; anxious. They handle Yūho like a glass figurine, as though scared of what might happen if she breaks. 

It takes about three articles, a handful of forums, and an endless stream of video comments written about the Tsukishima and Ito family before Yūho is hit with the realisation that she… should stop. 

Curiosity should not be at the detriment of her mental health, she thinks. This is not something that she is familiar with nor has the emotional bandwidth to handle responsibly. The anger that is incited by the empty words written by strangers is wasted energy when she could be focusing on something more fulfilling. 

She often forgets what social media is like. Sure, she reads through internet forums and watches the website equivalent to YouTube, but it’s not the same as it was when she was an adult with full access to the internet. It has been over five years since she had scrolled through TikTok, or posted on Instagram, or added a story to Snap--and suddenly, she is shocked by how… relaxing everything has been without it. 

Yūho barely even thinks about it. 

She decides that she should keep it this way.

"The Super Villain family of the heist-expert Maestro reveals the chaotic and defiant nature of illusory quirks…”

Despite her decision, she reads about her mother in an article.

It’s… mostly by accident.

Tsukishima Youko is not someone who is mentioned within the Ito household—in fact, she only knows the name of her mother (of this world) due to her doctor's appointments. Likewise, the names of her uncle and aunt. It’s as though they never existed, though there is such a finite line placed to secure Yūho as the “nephew” of the family and not one of their own children. 

Yūho has never really cared. Her mother is long dead, in another world. 

Her memories of the mother who birthed her in this world are… not entirely pleasant. The living conditions were poor as it was, let alone Youko’s… difficulties. As such, Yūho has never expressed any interest in the woman or the man who had brought her into this world. Not even Dr. Hayashi’s thinly veiled comments could make her crack and look up the names.

Maybe there is a small part of her that worries that her aunt and uncle will assume her curiosity means she wants to go back.

She doesn’t. 

And yet, despite all of this, Yūho cannot help but find herself drawn to an article that finds itself on her browser feed. An in-depth look into the Tsukishima family, or so it says. She opts not to read it, initially. After all, she’s chosen to step away from the whole media fiasco of their villainous roots. The only opinions on their family that matter are those who have a personal impact on her life, such as Aunt Haruna and Dr. Hayashi. Both of whom have expressed the clear-cut desire to remain outside of the world that the Tsukishima’s delved into.

If some of the article headlines are to be believed then Aunt Haruna is the only Tsukishima of the four siblings left alive, anyway.

She ignores it. She ignores it. She ignores it—

Then, one day, she clicks it by accident. The initial picture of a woman that she can barely recognize prevents her from immediately closing out of the page. She can vaguely see the connection between the healthy, youthful girl in the photo and the woman in her memories, but it’s enough of a difference that Yūho wouldn’t recognize her on the streets. It’s a mistake when she reads the first sentence, because this leads to the second, and then the third, and then she finds herself at the bottom of the article with a sour mouth and a stomach that feels curdled.

Yūho closes out of the webpage. 

After that, she stops looking up information on the Tsukishima family altogether.

Fall comes and goes in the blink of an eye. She can barely keep track of the days and soon enough she is sporting a winter coat and struggling to put on her boots.

“Can you take Hiroto and Koharu to school next Wednesday?” Aunt Haruna asks while she is tucking her cousin’s mittens into his coat, “Yūho and I might be going to Jaku, if I can get the time off.”

“Jaku?” Uncle Shinji turns to blink at them, “Why on Earth are you going to Jaku?”

This is news to Yūho as well. She doesn’t even know where or what Jaku is.

“Dr. Hayashi wants to do some testing. Something to do with radiology, I think? The hospital in Jaku has some of the best equipment when it comes to quirk analysis. I know it’s far, but he had a lot of good things to say about the teams there.” She wipes her hands together as she straightens herself up. “All done!”

Within milliseconds, Hiroto is bulldozing his way through the door to try to catch snowflakes.

“It’s a four-hour drive to Jaku, Haruna.” There’s a certain quality to his tone that is simultaneously exasperated and tentative. He slowly manoeuvres down to sit on the front porch ledge next to Yūho. “I’m sure the hospitals in Tokyo will be better suited for this kind of thing, anyway. Why bother going all the way there and back? Even if we have to go to the city centre, it’d be less than an hour’s train ride in.” 

She shrugs, “He said that the hospitals here will take a long time to get appointments and even longer for the results.”

“And?” With his hands on his hips, her uncle heaves a heavy sigh. His glasses start to slip down the column of his nose as he looks down to the ground, “Yūho’s six. We have plenty of time.”

“You’re the one who said that it was irresponsible of the doctors not to look into a quirk that uses radiation,” Aunt Haruna points out.

“I didn’t mean that we have to know as soon as humanly possible,” her uncle grumbles. He then offers Yūho a side-eye before he says, “You know what my issue is.”

“I’m… not going to argue with you on this. It was just a suggestion that he had made, that’s all.” Aunt Haruna finally offers him a look of her own, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “I just thought it might be good to just get away for a bit. I’m sure I can reach out to Dr. Hayashi and Dr. Sato to have something set up close by.”

“Good, let’s do that.” His shoulders ease a bit. He leans back and watches as her aunt starts putting on her winter gear. “A getaway, huh… That’s not a bad idea, though. Not Jaku, but maybe we could plan a family holiday when the kids are on break next. Hot springs, hiking, picnics. Just like the good ole days.”

Her aunt smiles faintly at that, eyes crinkling. “It’s been a while since we went on a trip…”

“The beach…” Yūho mumbles, fiddling with the zipper of her coat.

The two of them look at her, startled. 

Uncle Shinji ruffles at her hair as he asks, “What was that, Yūho?”

The words remain stuck in her mouth for a moment as an inexplicable discomfort settles over her. She scratches at the point where her goggles and cheek meet. “I.. want to go to the beach.”

It surprises a laugh out of both her uncle and aunt. Yūho watches with a mild sense of fascination.

“It’s a bit late in the year for that, don’t you think?” Her uncle laughs again, ruffling at her hair some more. “It’ll be all cold and miserable.”

Yūho shakes her head—the beach is good at any time of the year. You just need the proper gear in order to do it safely.

“Maybe in the summer,” her aunt relents, eyes still crinkling in a way that might suggest affection. She gently kicks at Uncle Shinji’s foot as she adds, “We could visit your Mother and uncle in the summer. There are some beautiful beaches along the coast and it also wouldn’t hurt for the kids to meet their cousins.”

Uncle Shinji groans, head falling into his hands. 

“Anything but that…”

“The Hero Public Safety Commission has publicly denied claims associating them with the Tsukishima family of villains.”

It’s grey and cold. Snow falls from the sky in large flakes, covering the ground in a thin blanket of white. The kindergarten parking lot looks almost peaceful when it's devoid of life—the parents and students are long gone now, only leaving the few lingering teachers. 

Yūho sits on the curb making small circles in the snow as she waits. She wishes there was wifi outside so she could watch her show. It’s been over an hour since he was supposed to be here…

“Oiiii! Yūho!” 

She jerks at the noise—head snapping up to find that Hiroto is standing at the other end of the parking lot, waving at her. She grabs her bag and shuffles through the snow to get to him, trying to make a single line in the snow on her way over. It’s a delicate process and takes up more time than necessary.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says with a grin, scratching at the back of his neck.

The closer she gets the more concern starts to simmer in her gut. He looks… wet. Upon closer inspection, she finds that her cousin's mittens are missing and his snow gear hangs off of his body with a telltale wet weight. Water drips on the ground at his sides. There’s a scrape on the side of his hand and wrist; bright red in a way that must sting, especially in this cold. There’s a newly formed hole on the knees of his pants, though no notable signs of blood. 

Yūho frowns into her scarf as he offers her a hand to hold. The palms are cold.

“You’re hurt."

“Oh- I, yeah, I fell at school.” He says with an awkward laugh, tugging her along as they start their trek home. While his tone seems cheery, she can’t help but notice the dirt in his fingernails.

“...into a lake?”

“Yes! Exactly. I fell into a lake on my way here!”  

He’s not a very good liar but… she also doesn’t want to make any baseless assumptions. “You should get Ojisan to bandage your hand...” 

“I- don’t worry about it, I’ll do it when I get home.” 

Yūho offers her cousin a side-eye and chooses to stay silent on her doubt. She pulls her hand from his so that she can manhandle her mittens onto his hands, which he accepts with a bashful laugh. She takes his hand again and lets him lead the way home.

“I will help,” she says because no child should have to bandage their own wounds alone, “and make hot chocolate.”

“Aww~” He proceeds to ruffle her hair, as seems to be the family tradition. “That’ll heal me right up! And maybe we can convince Otousan to continue playing Final Fantasy 26/ I want to keep trying the bird racing—I’m sure I can get it this time…”

Yūho immediately tells her Uncle Shinji, of course. She doesn’t mind snitching.

He frowns.

“Not again…” he says, so faint under his breath that Yūho can barely hear it. The words make her heart flip in her chest at the implications, though her sudden bout of dread is cut through as her uncle smiles and places a hand on her head. “Thank you for letting me know. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

She scratches at her cheek idly, wondering if she should ask for more information. Of course, her first concern is that he is being bullied at school. The letters and the suspicious looks have started to wane, however, her teachers at school have certainly remained vigilant. But there is another possible reason: has Hiroto secretly been practising his abilities, too, when no one else is looking? She knows that he has ambitions of being a superhero—something that she cannot quite relate to or understand. But anyone who has met her cousin has listened to him ramble about his favourite hero of the month. 

Uncle Shinji makes a soft huffing sound, then. It startles her out of her thoughts, especially when she notes that he is inspecting her with a serious stare.

“Why do you keep—” he falls to a crouch as he moves her hand from her face. Her chin is tilted up—in, possibly, the gentlest touch she has ever been given in this life. She watches as several emotions flicker over his facial expression. “Yūho, when was the last time you took your goggles off?”

She stares as she tries to remember. The only time she really takes them off is in the brief moments when she showers or practises her abilities.

“The fact that you have to think about it is…” Again, he huffs under his breath and leans forward to pick her up. They go from his office and into the hallway.

The experience makes Yūho’s stomach flip-flop as she wraps her arms around his neck. She doesn’t really understand what is going on but—well, she’s not completely opposed to the sudden display of affection. Resting her head on his shoulder, she enjoys the ride while it lasts. Once in the bathroom, she is placed on the counter. She almost feels like an actual child when he takes a moment to make sure that she won’t fall. She is, perhaps, a little too happy with this sudden attention as Uncle Shinji messes around in the medicine cabinet while she swings her legs back and forth. 

What joy she feels fizzles out with a sudden spike of fear when Uncle Shinji swiftly takes off her anti-quirk goggles. No words fall from her mouth, just a general noise of confusion and anxiety. Her entire body stiffens as she covers her eyes with her hands, just in case. 

“Stop.” Uncle Shinji easily pries her hands away. “Yūho, this rash is really serious. You can’t wear these goggles all day, every day, okay? It’s not sanitary.”

Rash?

His hands are steady as he holds onto her wrists. When she doesn’t show any signs of immediate rebellion, he lets go and reaches for a tube of some sort of paste. 

“You have to be careful, especially with your nails. They are very sharp, right? Look, you’ve given yourself all sorts of cuts.” Despite the sternness of his words, they are spoken in a gentle manner. His hands are even more so as he spreads a cool-feeling paste along her cheeks and up her forehead around her ear. “Some of these look a little infected..”

The curiosity gets to her. 

Yūho doesn’t often look in the mirror—partly because she is too short to look into the bathroom mirrors but also out of active choice. There’s a small part of her that is worried that she’ll never be able to acclimatize to her appearance; to this new body of hers. Refusing to look at her reflection until she has more control over her active appearance is all she can really do until she is older.

Even still, she winces when she turns to stare at herself in the mirror. Uncle Shinji is right. Angry red rashes blotch the right side of her face, marking her right cheek and up to her hairline by her ears. Scratches, irritated and open, mar bottom edges from where she has been scratching. Yūho doesn’t even know what to say. She swears that she has been cleaning the goggles. How could she miss this? How could she have just.. Not…

“I didn’t know..” she mumbles, fixated on her own complexion. It makes sense now, she supposes, that Dr. Hayashi always fixates on her eyes. Yellow with red, pointed irises. The red markings around her eyes look like red-winged eyeliner. How bizarre. “... I didn’t know.”

Uncle Shinji says, voice quiet with a twist to his mouth, “How could you?”

He stops moving then, head hanging quietly. 

Yūho doesn’t think that the words are for her. Even still, she reaches up to push his glasses up so that they don’t fall.

“Alright. Here’s what we are going to do: I’m going to clean these goggles up and then tomorrow, bright and early, we are going to go to the clinic. The regular clinic, not the whack- I mean, not the other one.” He smears more paste onto her cheeks and Yūho can only despondently stare at the ground. “No more wearing the goggles until this heals, okay? We don’t want it getting worse than it already is.”

Her head whips up, eyes wide. 

“No!”

Uncle Shinji pauses and then slowly washes his hands. He takes a moment to think before he asks, “Why not?”

“I can’t—” 

Yūho stares, mouth open but mind blank. She knows the words, so why won’t they come out of her mouth? There is no language barrier anymore, so why does she always find herself fumbling to put together fragments of her thoughts and emotions into words? 

She’s thankful that, while frustration clouds her chest, Uncle Shinji waits patiently for her response.

“I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The water runs. Uncle Shinji turns off the tap. He turns to wipe his hands with a towel.

“Ah,” he says.

Then he, slowly, falls to a crouch with a hand covering his eyes. She doesn’t quite expect the laugh that barks out of his mouth, or the several that follow afterwards. Awkwardly shifting on the edge of the counter, her shoulders bunch together as she waits in bemusement. This is rarely the reaction one might expect when baring their heart to someone, but then again, this certainly wouldn’t be the first time that she has simply been laughed at.

“Yūho,” he places a hand on her knee, “you aren’t going to hurt anyone, okay?”

This time it is Yūho who laughs.

“No. Yūho, listen to me.” Yellow eyes stare up at her, firm and serious even as he says, “You are not going to hurt anyone by not wearing these goggles. They are a training tool. They are not necessary for you to function.”

“But,” she can't help but choke on the words, “Aunt Haruna said..”

“No.”

It’s with hesitance that Yūho says, “No?”

“Aunt Haruna.. She’s… Your quirk can be dangerous, just like any quirk can be dangerous. Yes, you are not allowed to use your quirk outside of the quirk clinic or your quirk counsellor because it can be confusing for the kids around you. But, Yūho, it’s not going to hurt people.”

She blinks at the reassurance. She does not feel as though she deserves it. It’s not funny, she decides. It’s not funny to hear him say this when she knows it’s not true. There are countless studies out there that would argue otherwise—and how could he say such a thing when he knows what Maestro has done to Aunt Haruna? When he knows what Yūho has done to the family?

“Yūho, you are six years old.” Again, he laughs. “No matter how prodigal you may be, even with the things you can do with your illusions, it’s not nearly enough to hurt people, okay?” 

Her mouth opens and then closes. She feels like a fish.

“Aunt Haruna… She's been hurt before. Do you know how it hurts when you bump your knee? You go and try not to bump it again, right? Because you don’t want to feel that again. That’s.. That’s what she is trying to do. She’s trying not to bump her knee again.”

She tries to wrap her mind around his logic. She does not find herself disagreeing, however struggles to accept it as truth. After all…

“But… What about Inu?”

Uncle Shinji stares blankly at her before repeating, “What about Inu?”

“I made him,” her fingers tangle together and she can’t quite look at him, “I made him and now he’s gone. It hurts Hiroto and Koharu...”

“Yūho, Inu is real. He wasn’t one of your illusions.”

“What? No, he was fake. Aunt Haruna even said—”

“No, Yūho, Inu has been around for years before you joined us.” Again, Uncle Shinji laughs under his breath, “He’s been in and out of the house since the kids were little. Inu comes and goes pretty often, but he always comes back when he is tired of the outside world. It’s pretty tiring out on the streets! He has to hunt his own mice and birds. Sometimes he needs a little vacation and comes to stay with us.” 

She focuses on her breathing. “...really?”

“Yes, really.” He smiles at her, gentle and soft.

“Really?” She asks again, voice breaking, and there is no way to control the way her eyes water and hands tremble.

“Yes,” he repeats, “really.”

People cry. She knows this—knows that there is no shame in it. And yet, there is a large part of her that wants to hide her face and tuck herself into a quiet corner of the house. She should feel lucky that she has someone to cry with. Instead, the vulnerability feels chafing as her uncle pulls her into a hug.

She doesn’t go straight to her bedroom afterward. Yūho lingers by the staircase and makes the quiet thumping noise of footsteps going down the wooden planks as her eyes tingle with the telltale activation of her ability. 

Ultimately, despite her swollen eyes and dripping nose, she is still curious.

Uncle Shinji remains crouched on the floor, almost looking curled up as his forehead presses against the wooden door of the cabinet beneath the sink. He stays like this for a long, long moment before lifting a hand to his mouth.

“Fuck,” is all he ends up saying.

Yūho decides to watch a few moments longer before slowly, silently, making her way to the living room.

“The truth of the name Tsukishima—and the voices of those who have known them ”

Chapter Text

“Yūho is an incredibly bright child,” Aunt Haruna starts, leaning forward with her fingers twined together and resting on a knee. Her narrow, dark brown eyes are focused on the woman sitting behind the desk across from her. 

The stiffness of her speech belays her nervousness. 

“There have never been any issues with his behaviour or his class participation. While he is a quiet child, he is very attentive and works hard in class. I think you will find Yūho to be a delightful student and I want to thank you for accepting our request to come in and meet with you personally. I work for the government for our prefecture—primarily within Innovation and Industry—and my husband works remotely for an insurance company based in central Tokyo. We have two children who are in a public Elementary school and will be going into their final year in April.”

The office is covered in framed photos: some are children’s drawings, some are photographs of a family, a few embellished diplomas. The lady behind the desk has a lovely red dress that contrasts beautifully with her large green eyes and black feline head. She taps a finger against her desk in a steady rhythm, surveying her aunt with quiet contemplation. Her fingernails are painted the same red colour as her dress. 

“I have referrals from his Kindergarten teachers and his quirk councillor, if you’d like to have a look.” Aunt Haruna hastily pulls out a folder from her bag, taking out a handful of papers from the pouch on the inside. There's a slight tremor to her hand. The councillor's silence speaks volumes. “I have all the documentation that you might need--medical records, adoption papers, a copy of his quirk registration.”

Yūho barely refrains from cringing. She fiddles with the string of her sweater as her aunt speaks, eyes sliding around the office. 

“That is all well and good. We expect exemplary behaviour from our students. However, about his quirk…” The woman tilts her feline head. There is something calculating about the gesture. “What is it, exactly? The admission papers were quite vague. One might even consider it intentional, given the circumstances”

“I- well,” her aunt sucks in a quick breath, “we call it Projection . It allows Yūho to create imagery from his eyes, very similar to a movie theatre or an old-school projector.”

Again, there is just the quiet tapping of the administrators nails against hardwood.

“I see. Can you confirm that it is considered an illusion quirk?” 

Yūho quietly slides down her seat, shoulders hunching. She already knows how this is going to end. Given the desperation that starts to darken her aunt’s face, she can only assume that Aunt Haruna knows this too.

“Yes, however--”

“Tsukishima-san, you must understand how this looks…”

A complicated emotion flickers across her aunt's face before she schools it into a cold expression, “I go by my husband’s name. Please refer to me by my name Ito .”

“... My apologies, Ito-san. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I understand how this may look.” Aunt Haruna looks down to her hands, flattening them on her knees and smoothing out the wrinkles of her skirt as though the gesture will do the same to her fraying nerves. 

“My father, and by extension the remainder of my family, has had nothing to do with mine or Yūho’s life. My sister passed away last year and I have had sole custody of Yūho for nearly three years now--and, given your disposition, you must know why he is no longer in his mother’s care.” She pauses then, tilting her head up to stare the school counsellor in the eyes once more. “It is simply an unfortunate life circumstance for our family members to have been who they are. Do not let that blind your opinion on my nephew. Yūho has excellent control over his quirk--which you would know, if you were to give his referrals a glance--and his anti-quirk glasses ensures that the quirk will be of no concern for you or your students.”

Again there is a moment of silence as the councillor considers her aunt's words. 

“We value the comfort and the safety of all of our students here.” The woman twines her fingers together and sighs. “Ito-san, the fact that you must provide evidence for assurance tells me all I need to know. I’m sure that Tsukishima-kun is a kind and well-behaving child. However, it would be remiss of me to ignore the concerns that might befall the minds of our students and the community at large.”

Aunt Haruna closes her eyes, as though it will lessen the impact.

“I am sorry about this Ito-san, however I unfortunately cannot accept your application at this time.”

“You can’t…” her aunt starts, before trailing off with a heavy sigh. “The Board of Education sent us here . It is by law and as a right of a citizen that Yūho is eligible for education, regardless of the categorization of quirk.”

“Please believe me when I say that it does not provide me with any comfort to turn away this request. However, as a private school, we are eligible to dictate who can or cannot attend.”

The look her aunt levels on the administrator is layered as dozens of emotions pass over her expression.

“Maybe you should try your other children’s school. You said that they are in a public school right now, correct? Private schools tend to be a bit more… selective with their students, as the parents are regarded as stakeholders in the community. I’m sure that public schools are more… lenient with their admissions. And, though it pains me to admit this, I have… concerns regarding Tsukishima-kun's wellbeing as a student here. It would be incredibly neglectful for me to allow a student knowing that there would be… certain difficulties should his parentage come to light.”

Yūho says nothing as she watches her Aunt silently stand up and sling her bag over her shoulder. Would it matter if they told the councillor that they were already rejected by her cousin’s school--and two other schools in the prefecture?

“I see.” Aunt Haruna breathes out and offers the lady across the desk a bow and a tight, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us” before turning around and exiting the office.

Yūho is quick to follow.

The bell of the convenience store chimes softly as Yūho exits, a slushie and chocolate treat in hand as she meanders her way over to where her aunt stands at the nearby bus stop. 

She slides her goggles off her head and into the side pocket of her back pack, careful to keep them secure in their designated spot. The last thing she needs is for Uncle Shinji to find out that she has been wearing them during these meetings, especially since the rashes that marr her face are still as red and itchy as they were when she first went to the clinic. 

Aunt Haruna is on the phone, foot idly playing with a loose stone as Yūho approaches. 

Her aunt has been looking progressively more stressed as of late. White strands of hair have made their mark at her temples and are further emphasised by the dark, heavy lines beneath her eyes. It is late February and Yūho still does not have an Elementary school lined up for her. It seems that not even the educational board can convince the nearby schools to accept her admission. Yūho, and her uncle, don’t particularly think it is legal.

“-supposed to do? They’ve already said no.” 

Yūho hovers nearby--close enough to run to catch the bus when it comes, but far enough to give her aunt some modicum of space.

“We can’t keep pestering them about this,” her aunt presses a hand to her forehead, “the last thing we need is for them to decide that they don’t want the twins, either.”

A frown begins to form on Yūho’s face as she sits on the curb and unfoils her candy bar. 

Her aunt and uncle say some rather hurtful things every once in a while. Yūho isn’t certain if this is atypical to the parenting experience or if she is simply more aware of their words and the context than most kids her age would be. She never had kids nor does she recall her own childhood memories. Do parents often speak of their children like this, unminding of them overhearing so long as they are quiet? 

Or, maybe, it’s not so pressing because she isn’t truly their child.

Either way, it makes a small part of her squirm. She doesn't think anyone would take kindly to the implication of no one wanting them, adult memories or not.

“We’re running out of options… We might have to seriously start considering that school in Nakano.” 

Yūho winces at the thought. It's the only school that had openly welcomed her as a student in the district that wasn't directly in the metropolitan area. However, it would mean a 50 minute commute via two trains to get to and from the school. She understands why her aunt and uncle had refused this offer—it seems not even they were willing to let their 6 year old not-child travel such distances unattended.

She had offered to be homeschooled when the topic had been first brought up. It seemed to be the easiest solution. 

They hadn't taken this suggestion all too kindly, either. 

In fact, they had been rather horrified that she would even consider this.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble or have this be any more complicated than it needs to be.” Aunt Haruna is silent for a few moments before she sighs, “Yes, I know, I know. I’d rather not… but, fine, you give it a try.”

Starlight affixes itself across the expanse of her ceiling, the blue and purple cosmos churning in slow and gentle movements. Rainfall taps against the glass of her window, the gentle sounds both soothing and grounding as the stars twinkle and shift. Asteroid clouds and molten rock float listlessly in the air above her.

Yūho is only able to keep the illusion up for 7 seconds before the stinging sensation in her eyes forces her to close them. She records time and approximate size of the illusion in her notebook with a slight downturn to her mouth. She isn’t making much progress.

Rubbing at one of her sore and watery eyes, Yūho heaves a quiet sigh before trying again.

The humble driveway of their home smells like fresh rain and wet pavement--the telltale sign that spring is on the way. The sky is bright blue and clear after a morning of heavy rains and chill winds. As much as Yūho enjoys the wintertime, she can’t help but admire the green buds that line the trees around them. Soon Aunt Haruna will start tending to their small garden and soon she’ll be able to look forward to summer. 

Beach days, mountain towns, singing cicadas…

“Whoa. Yūho, look at you go!” Bright yellow eyes stare at her from where her uncle is crouched in the driveway. “You’re a natural.”

The sparkling, multicoloured tassels along the sides of the handles of the bike swish in the wind as she turns around to face her aunt and uncle. Yūho gently squeezes the brakes on Koharu’s old bike, feet landing on the ground as her shoulders hunch at the surprised tone in her uncle’s voice. 

Guilt simmers in her gut. Aunt Haruna and Uncle Shinji had made such a big deal over this, should she have stumbled a few times? Has she ruined the moment for them?

“I guess that memory of yours comes in handy in all sorts of ways, huh?” He laughs, though there is a bit of an incredulous air to it. “No need for these training wheels, then.”

Yūho fiddles with one of the sparkling plastic strings, twisting it around her pointer finger. Fear of getting hurt is the greatest obstacle a child faces when starting to ride a bicycle. The motor skills can be trial and error--but needless to say it feels disingenuous to accept these compliments when, really, she spent most of her last life riding a bicycle. This may be a different body, but the motions are all the same.

“How does the bike feel, Yūho?” Aunt Haruna asks, sitting on the curb with her chin in hand. 

“Good.” A bike is a bike.

It’ll work, for now. 

“Look at the tires, Shinji.” Her aunt frowns, seeming to echo her quiet concerns. “Yūho’s already nearing 40 kilos--they won’t last.”

Running his hands through his mop of hair, her uncle lowers himself to sit on the ground as he angles his head to look at Aunt Haruna. “It should be fine the way it is. Wheels can usually hold a lot of weight. Lots of teenagers still use their childhood bikes.”

“The average child, maybe, but we don’t know how Yūho’s heteromorphic traits will develop. It’ll work for now--” Yūho almost laughs at her aunt unknowingly repeating her own opinion, “--but we can look into getting replacement wheels that are larger and with a thicker tube. Or we could see about getting a custom made frame that’ll be more comfortable for him. I was talking with a coworker the other day about grants that are available for these kinds of things and I think we can make a convincing case for Yūho.”

 “You are making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

The words take Aunt Haruna by surprise as she stares at him for a long, silent moment. 

Yūho quietly grimaces as she smooths her palm over the rubbery coating of the handlebar. 

“It’s just a bike.” Uncle Shinji huffs out a breath, either oblivious to the death-stare that he is receiving or ignoring it. “If it breaks we can buy new tires or a new bike.”

“Why wait,” each individual word is stressed with emphasis, “when we know there is an issue to fix?”

“Because,” likewise, with a heavy emphasis, “there is nothing to fix. There is nothing to worry about. It's just a bike and we don’t know if there is an issue.”

“But if we do something now then we can prevent something happening later. ” Frustration leaks into her tone as she speaks. “It’s preventative.”

“What’s the point of doing all this if later doesn’t end up happening? You are just stressing yourself out over endless possibilities.” 

Idly rolling the bike forward and backward, Yūho wonders if she should go inside to give the two privacy to air out whatever is lingering between their words. Clearly they are not talking about bikes, anymore.

“I am not stressing myself out,” she says, sounding rather stressed out as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to do my best to keep things from going wrong. There are countless opportunities available to us to help mitigate and manage our lives in ways that are easier so long as we take the steps beforehand.”

“There’s-- Look, Haruna, there is a difference between being prepared and perceiving a catastrophe or a tragedy or a threat behind every corner.” He turns, then, to properly look at her. “Saving money so that we can buy tires if they break is being prepared. Getting an army of bikes in case one or two or three breaks--”

Aunt Haruna cuts him off, voice low and dragging as she says, “I’m not saying that we should buy an army of bikes.”

“No, but, you get what I’m saying, right? We’ve talked about this?” There is something exasperated and desperate with his tone. “We are prepared. This constant need to be doing something to prevent nothing is-- Haruna it’s not…”

He trails off.

Her aunt sets her jaw, “Normal?”

“No, no, that’s not--” Uncle Shinji takes his glasses off and drags his hands over his face. “No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

There’s a silence, then, that hangs in the air like a suffocating fog. 

Yūho often feels like an intruder on this family and their affairs. Though she wishes she could help, in whatever way she possibly can, it’s difficult to determine when she should interfere and offer her opinion on the matter. She thinks that they could both benefit from therapy--if they aren’t already doing so. If anything, it’s progress that her aunt hasn’t stood up and left the conversation in the dust, as she is prone to doing.

She wants to help. And yet…

“Um,” Yūho’s voice is quieter than intended. 

Both adults jolt with shock. She can see the realisation in their expressions, in the widening of their eyes. They forgot that she was there. Which is fine.

“... Can I go to the playground?”

“Yes--of course.” Her aunt is the first to recover, face settling into a smile. “Remember to wear your helmet on the way back, okay? Don’t stay out too late.”

“When the street lights turn on,” Yūho says with a studious nod.

She is floating.

Sun-spots coat the surface above her; hazy and languid in their movement. She blinks. Her chest slowly, casually, feels like it's crushing—the burn of it flickering like an ember until it grows and grows and grows and suddenly her chest is on fire. The crackling of flames encases her ears, sparking and fizzling until it’s a constant hum . The noise is suffocating. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to cover her ears--but she has no hands, has no ears, has no eyes. She drowns in it. She drowns, she drowns, she drowns--

“Hey!” 

She is shaken.

Life sparks and she breathes in. She is fascinated by the burn that comes with the expanding of her lungs and how the dark of her bedroom is illuminated by the yellow light emanating from Hiroto's eyes.

Groggily rolling over, she scratches at the place where the strap of her goggles and her ear meet. She paws at them, suddenly finding them constricting and suffocating, slowly sliding them off until they fall onto her bed with a quiet thud. She speaks, but the words are mumbled, foreign, and impossible to make out.

“Can you stop it?” Hiroto, likewise, rubs at his eyes with a tired and irritated look. “I could hear you flailing aaaall the way from my room.”

She blearily stares at him--no, through him. Her mind is still half in a dream, the buzzing of the noise still stuffing up her ears like electric static. After a long moment she gives him a half-hearted salute. 

She did not mean to wake him up.

“Thank you ,” he says, with a shocking amount of sass for an eleven-year-old, and leaves her room with quiet stomps.

A long series of numbers are shown on the screen of the large television attached to the wall.

784301948500074

The numbers disappear after a few seconds, with a written prompt requesting her to write down as many digits as she can remember.

Yūho spins her tablet pen in her hand, idly writing down all fifthteen digits. The room she sits in is empty and silent--the only furniture being the chair and desk she’s sitting at. Blackout curtains cover the windows, hiding the early morning sun from her vision. The only light comes from the large television, her tablet, and the small 80s style monitor tucked away into the back of the room. The walls are bare and a dull off-white colour. It is all so tragically monotone and clinical that Yūho regrets ever agreeing to participate. 

The screen of her tablet glows green before it reverts back to a white screen. 

A new prompt: Please recite the third set of digits provided during this test.

Yūho does so with relative ease. The screen of her tablet lights up with green.

Close your left eye.

She does as instructed, watching as a strange picture depicting curling black lines transitions onto the television. Like the other prompts, it remains for a few seconds before the screen fades to white.

Close your right eye.

Similarly, a new image with black lines appears on the large screen. It disappears shortly after.

Please combine both photos to draw the object.

Yūho pauses for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she thinks about it. She’s not an expert drawer or anything but… She does her best to recreate the image--at first focusing on drawing the first photo shown, before remembering that she has to combine them. Her eyes flare with light as a small and simple illusion appears beside her tablet, trying to fit the two different images together in a way that makes sense.

“Oh.” She blinks and the image dissipates. “It’s a lighthouse.”

With that, it’s quick work drawing the prompt. It’s not perfect--she can see where the lines are too rounded or where the angles are incorrect on her lines, but the overall impression of the photo seems accurate enough to convey a similarity.

Over and over again, the screen turns green and the questions flow in. A short movie scene plays on the screen, a prompt is given regarding reciting as much of the dialogue as she can. A song plays, a prompt is given regarding the number of times love is said during the clip. A photo is shown on the screen, a prompt asking to recite the number of cars in the scene. On and on until her mind feels as though it is eating itself; the building headache making her eyes ache and her temples throb.

In the end, Yūho draws a large X in the middle of a prompt and the screens go dark.

“Absolutely phenomenal!” Dr. Hayashi says as she returns to his office. “As predicted, the biological adjustments are in line with other quirks that we’ve faced that affect the mind. There are many ongoing studies in Japan currently regarding those with memory-related quirks and how we can use these individuals to better understand the human psyche. It is quite prominent in the medical field, looking for preventatives for diseases and whatnot.”

Yūho slumps in her seat, watching the doctor and her aunt through thin slits. 

“That is… good to hear.” Aunt Haruna murmurs, idly thumbing at her bottom lip in thought. 

“Yes, yes. This is all quite exciting! Fufufu~ Outside of the general confusion brought on by his environmental illusions, I doubt that Yūho-kun will show any of the… difficulties that your sister faced. Thankfully! Quirks and genetics are quite funny that way.” 

Dr. Hayashi collects a handful of papers, sliding about the room in his rolling chair as he offers a cheerful laugh. 

“The only thing I would be concerned about are nosy doctors! For a child like Yūho, I’m certain there are many who would do, almost, anything to get a brain scan to add to their pile. There is no end to the curiosity towards the never-ending study of why quirks are the way they are and how we can improve society using the knowledge that we manage to gather.” The Doctor sighs, “Oh, those were certainly the days…”

“There’s already been too many doctors as it is.” Her aunt shifts in her seat, looking down at the floor with a furrowed brow. “I’d rather not subject Yūho to any more testing than what is absolutely necessary to mitigate the negative effects of his quirk.”

“I understand.” Dr. Hayashi hums, leafing through the papers in his hands in a way that Yūho could only describe as coy . “As much of a boon his memory will be, it’ll take an equally incredible toll on his life. Perhaps it is best to ensure that he’s not placed under a microscope any more than is required to best ensure a quality of life…”

Yūho frowns at the words. 

“What do you mean?” Aunt Haruna asks, dark eyes drilling into the doctor.

She can see it in the expression of the doctor: the mental hook, line, sinker .

“Please understand that individuals with an improved memory, especially to the photographic and audiographic extent of Yūho, often remember every detail of their life. It is incredibly mentally and emotionally draining on the patient. They carry the entirety of their lives on their back, unable to allow the passage of time to dull the aches and pains of their past…” Dr. Hayashi sighs, his voice again taking that lulling quality, “Without the proper support, they often struggle to maintain their livelihoods and turn to… other means of distractions. We would like to do our best to avoid this, don’t we?”

Aunt Haruna is quiet as she contemplates the words. “Support as in… therapy?”

“Yes, counsellors and therapists are a few of the many different forms of support that can assist a child--and even an adult--in learning helpful ways to maintain functionality despite the way a quirk manifests.” The doctor adjusts the placement of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I have some associates that specialise in the management and support for those who attain ostracised quirks--quirks that reputable quirk clinics often turn away in favour of those that are more manageable and better for their ratings. An unfortunate side-effect of society, hence why I have devoted my life to helping those with illusory quirks like your family. And, well… I only wish I could have done more for them, while I had the chance.”

Biting her lip, Aunt Haruna stares at the floor with a far-away gaze. 

Yūho casually draws out her tablet from her backpack, eyes drifting between the two adults as the silence blankets over them. Despite the doctor’s friendly appearance and words that convey the utmost concern for a patient… There is just something about the way he phrases things that makes the bells in her head go off. That lull that creeps into his voice as he makes a suggestion. Creepy, her uncle had once called him. She cannot offer any better description--the ease with which the doctor can make mundane things seem dangerous is incredibly discomforting… Especially when paired with her aunt. 

What Yūho doesn’t understand is why. Is the doctor trying to collect a profit off of their family, using the Tsukishima’s reputation and his close connection with their family to cash in on any commission provided by a referral? Is there some larger picture that they are missing? 

Opening up a messaging app on her tablet, Yūho texts: I think Obasan is getting swindled.

“Are these doctors the ones you spoke of before? In Jaku City?” Aunt Haruna’s voice is quiet, unsure, as she wrings her hands over her lap. 

“Yes, the exact ones.”

Sighing, her aunt lowers her head. “Jaku is four hours away, Hayashi-san.”

“Only three if you take the train.”

“Still--” she laughs, releasing the death grip she has on her hands to smooth a hand over her face. “That’s not any better. Do you expect us to take a day trip to Jaku City every week? That’s ridiculous.”

“The quality of care will be more than you’ll find in any clinic in Tokyo,” he states. “With their specialisations on those with life-debilitating quirks, they will be able to focus on Yūho without having the distractions of fifty million people. I understand that the distance may be off-putting, however, the positive effects this undivided support would have will be paramount.”

There is another pause.

Aunt Haruna opens her mouth--only for the ringing of a cell phone to cut through the air. Blinking, her aunt pulls her bag from the floor and retrieves her phone from the large open pocket. 

“Ah, I’m sorry.” She winces, “It’s Shinji, I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Of course, of course~” The doctor’s tone is jolly as he rolls his chair back to his desk. “Take your time, Haruna.”

Yūho stares at the doctor as her aunt leaves the room, watching as he pulls out a binder from the filing cabinet next to his desk as though it’ll help her deduce what he is thinking. 

“Tell me, Yūho-kun,” he starts with a casual tone, “do you have any dreams in life?”

She doesn't need to think about it--her response is immediate.

“I want to go to the beach.” 

The answer takes the doctor by surprise, eyebrows raised as his circular glasses slide down the wide bridge of his nose. He bellows a laugh once the words settle in, slapping a hand lightly against the plastic arm of his office chair. “I see, I see. That is an excellent desire to have! Especially with the summer ahead, I’m certain that Haruna-chan will fulfil this goal of yours sooner rather than later. However, when I say dream I mean: what are you looking for in life? Where do you want to be when you are older?”

Do you want to be a hero? he had asked her, when they had first spoken without the adults around.

How does he expect a six-year-old to respond to this? She almost wants to laugh.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I just want to be happy.”

Dr. Hayashi offers a thoughtful hum and nods his head a few times. “Yes. That is the crux of everyone’s desires, is it not? To be happy, healthy, and supported. As simple as it sounds, it’s a rather difficult goal to attain in a world like this. Such a pity, such a pity.”

Yūho’s eyes narrow, mouth pressed into a frown. “It’s not that difficult.”

“Fufufu~ Ah, the child-like innocence of optimism. Some things cannot be told, I’m afraid. I suppose that is simply a lesson you will have to figure out on your own.”

Something sours in her gut at the words. The thought that "being happy" is an optimistic ideal is something that she intrinsically disagrees with--but there is a larger part of her that understands that this man is attempting to get a reaction out of her. Inspire curiosity or fear, perhaps. No amount of sugarcoating his words can hide the way his beady eyes watch her.

Offering the man a dismissive shrug, Yūho says quietly, “If you say so.”

She’s unable to read the expression on his face: it seems pleasant, amused as he lightly laughs. 

Running her thumb over the corner of her tablet, Yūho considers the thought that, maybe, she is picking up more back habits from her aunt than she was expecting. Catastrophizing and expecting the worst at the slightest hint of a threat. Maybe he really is just a doctor that gets too invested in his patients. Clearly it’s the closest thing he’ll ever get to whatever quirk-related projects that he used to be involved with.

“What sort of studies are done on those with memory quirks?” Yūho asks in her effort to change the subject. “Why is it important?”

“Oh, now that is interesting! There are many ongoing. The ones that I’ve been keeping a pulse on are those that are trying to better understand the depths of our brains and why they do what they do. It is a fascinating realm of science that remains a mystery, even to this day! Now, as I mentioned before, there are also many studies that are focused on how we can help prevent diseases--specifically neurological diseases that affect our memory and how we think. Now, have you heard of dementia ? No, no I suppose you wouldn’t. Well, you see, there are neuro-cognitive disorders that are a sleeping danger to our society…”

On and on he goes, hands waving with enthusiasm as he speaks.

Yūho watches and nods along, quietly absorbing words that she doesn’t understand with the intention to look up the definitions of them when she gets home.

Clouds quickly pass by in the sky, the wind pulling at the foliage of the nearby trees. The pavement of the clinic’s parking lot is wet with recent showers. Despite this, Aunt Haruna heaves a heavy sigh as she lowers herself to the curb of the sidewalk in front of the clinic entrance, thumbing at the screen of her phone. 

“We are just going to take a taxi home today, hopefully it won’t take too long.”

Aunt Haruna’s brows are creased as she stares at her phone. Her bottom lip is raw from biting at it, a small spot of blood emerging from a small tear. 

Quietly nodding, Yūho joins her on the curb. 

It’s busy for a Monday morning, she notes as she listlessly stares forward. The parking lot is full of people coming and going from the clinic and the support-wear store is attached. She would think that more people would stay inside as the grey clouds darkened over their heads, promising more spring rains over Tokyo. 

Looking from her aunt to the pavement, Yūho curls the string of her sweater around her finger. It's methodical and soothing, wrapping and unwrapping it as she thinks over the conversation with the doctor. 

“You know,” Yūho says as she rests her arms over her curled-up legs, leaning in to rest her chin on top, “it’s not as bad as he makes it sound.”

Her aunt lowers her phone into her lap, turning to look at Yūho with a blank expression.

When she says nothing, Yūho continues. “He assumes a lot about how I’m feeling, I mean. But he’s never asked how I think or feel. If he did, I’d tell him that there is nothing to worry about. I'm not hurting or sad.”

“It might seem like that now… but the concern is how things will develop in the future,” her aunt's tone is gentle as she presses a hand to Yūho’s back. 

Yūho stares up at her, perhaps a little too happy at the small touch.

"I'm sorry," Aunt Haruna says, face softening. “I just want to make sure that you will be okay.”

“I’m okay." Yūho smiles, leaning into her aunt’s side to further enjoy the warmth of the touch. "Don't let him say it. I’ll let you know when I’m sad or hurting.”

Aunt Haruna, again, says nothing. She simply rubs Yūho’s back in small circles as rain starts to sporadically fall from the sky.

The train car is busy, even in the midday.

Yūho presses her forehead against the glass, eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the endless cityscape that zooms by. She is not unused to trains or large cities by any means--had used them frequently in her past life--but the difference of 60 years has done wonders to… well, everything.

No, if anything the largest surprise comes from how large the Tokyo Metropolitan is. Logically, she knows that it is the largest and most populated metropolitan in the world, however, it’s much different to sit and watch 50 minutes of constant city and bustle fly by. It has been a nonstop cityscape since they departed on the Metro from their station in the Northern Tokyo prefecture. It is quite impressive, especially when combined with the advancements in technology since she was last alive.

She’s astonished when the train stops in a smooth motion--she can barely even feel it happening.

“Look, look, look--” Hiroto babbles, pointing outwards as he sprawls himself over Yūho’s lap and legs in a hurry to peer out the window. 

It’s almost endearing until she realises that he is breathing on the glass next to her. She reigns in the desire to grimace as she leans away from him.

“All Might!”

As the train slows down to another station, it’s impossible to ignore the ginormous sign with the smiling hero posing with his staple motto at his side. 

Uncle Shinji quietly shushes him, reaching an arm over the small gap between their seats to push Hiroto back into his seat. Despite this, he laughs softly as he gazes at their wonder-struck expressions. 

“I didn’t expect you both to be this enamoured by the trains,” he says idly, mostly to himself. “Maybe we should take some field trip days. There’s a lot to see: the mountains, ocean, forests…”

Yūho turns to whip her head over at him, unable to keep her eyes from going wide with curiosity and wanderlust. 

“Yes!” Hiroto crows, crawling in his seat so that he is sitting on his knees. Yūho reaches out to stabilise him, fingers wrapped around one of his arms as he babbles. “There’s this really really cool museum in Nara that has the really really old heroes! And there is one in Tokyo where you walk around barefoot and there are bubbles and water and lights and Koharu wants to go there. And Hokkaido!”

“Hokkaido?!” Uncle Shinji laughs, “What’s in Hokkaido?”

“Treego, dad! Treego !”

Yūho watches with a quiet smile and nods along. 

Yūho’s entrance into Elementary school is a quiet affair—she hears nothing about school for nearly two months before the news is casually brought up to her. Given the awkward, lingering silence between her aunt and uncle, she opts to not ask too many questions and simply chooses to feel lucky that they managed to secure her a spot… Regardless of whatever methods they used to do so. 

Hiroto and Koharu walk on either side of her, holding her hands and swinging her arms in sync. It is so incredibly unnerving—their steps and movements are all done at the same time.

“I’m going to join the football club this year,” Hiroto says with such abruptness that Yūho wonders if she has missed out on a part of a conversation. Her cousin puffs out his chest and clenches a fist in the air as he vows, “And this time no one is going to stop me!”

Koharu offers him a funny look, “I think you actually have to be good at it to join the team.”

”Hey! I’ve been practising!”

”I thought you wanted to join the broadcasting club again.”

“Why join the broadcasting club when I could be in football ?”

“It’s cool that everyone in the school gets to hear your voice and know your name!”

“Football is way more cool. And fun.”

“Sports gets scholarships,” Yūho quietly adds.

The twins turn to look at her, quiet for a beat.

“See, Yūho’s on my side.”

Koharu rolls her eyes and waves her hand dismissively. With her face pitched into a frown, she says, “Well, at least Jinoru won’t be there this year. Maybe you’ll actually have a chance.”

It is Hiroto who sends his sister a look this time. The twins share a moment of silence as their eyes speak wordlessly above Yūho’s head.

“Jinoru?” Yūho asks, head tilting quietly.

Most of the time Yūho is willing to look aside and turn a blind eye to the things her family says--understanding her role as the youngest child and not wanting to cause too many ripples. Boundaries are important, after all. Theirs and her own. However, there are some insinuations that she is growing progressively tired of letting go to maintain her status as the youngest.

It doesn’t feel good; she doesn’t like it. 

She understands that the twins experienced a fair amount of bullying in the previous year due to the Maestro allegations. While she doesn’t want to assume that this is related… if this boy was simply an arrogant, talented upperclassman then she doubts they would be acting so suspicious about it. 

Hiroto scowls to his twin before saying, “Just… a mean boy. Don’t worry about him, he’s not at our school anymore and we’ll never see him again.”

Yūho side-eyes him.

They are eleven and already they do not want her to know how difficult the world can be. Hence why Yūho asked no questions when the twins volunteered to walk her to and from school, despite how out of the way it is from their own route. Behind their smiles and theatrics, they are worried.

“Well, I’m excited that finally we are the ones in charge!” Koharu breaks the tension, stealing the conversation for herself. She grins in a way that promises terror only eleven-year-olds could accomplish. “I think we should try to take over the baseball bench before anyone else thinks to.”

“But I like our spot at the fence…”

”The cool kids always sit on the bench!”

They continue to banter and discuss the pros and cons of moving their dedicated lunch spot—Yūho loses interest quite quickly and instead focuses on the environment around her.

It is sunny and warm—already, she can feel the difference between her stiff school uniform and the light fabric of her kindergarten outfits. 

Yūho had done her research of the area well ahead of time, memorising maps and reading through years of the local monthly newsletters shared in the community. The cosy, quiet neighbourhood that her new school is nestled in has a declining rate of families, evidentially, with the townhouses primarily occupied by senior couples and those with children who have far outgrown the diminishing elementary school. There have been a total of three villain sightings in the past five years, making it one of the safest communities in the municipalities--or so says the newsletter. It makes the walk to school seem strangely idyllic and relaxing, with the drifting cherry blossoms and the empty streets. There are some parts of the Tokyo prefecture that are stuck in time, and this is certainly the case with the small community of Daiyu.

The school itself is a child’s delight—a large playground in the back where children are already swinging on red monkey bars and an open, green sports field surrounding the small building. It is a two storey school with a parking lot tucked into the side large enough to accommodate maybe ten vehicles.

“It’s small,” the twins say, giving identical winces.

Yes—it’s a far smaller school than her cousins. 

But a school is a school and Yūho intends to make the most of it.

1-1 has twenty-three students—and it is the only class in her year. Time flies by quickly once she has found the proper rhythm.

For all her family’s worries, it is an upbeat and friendly group of kids with enough troublemakers to steal away the attention as Yūho eases herself into the class. Her goggles, however, are quick to catch the affection of her classmates for how similar they are to a novice hero hitting the market. Much to Yūho's amusement, it becomes a daily task for her goggles to cover the eyes of the other students… much to the dismay of her teachers, who often treat Yūho with more care and reluctance than the others. 

Which is fine; it works well for Yūho. 

She's at a drugstore the first time she sees it.

Yūho browses through the isles as her uncle awkwardly stands at the counter window waiting for the pharmacist. She runs her fingers over the glossy laminate of the magazine covers, idly cataloguing the heroes for this week. The all-smiling hero is, as always, a heavy presence with his face plastered across the countless newspapers and journals. A large cardboard cutout with his visage is propped in the corner of the store, a comic-book-style word bubble reminding people to eat their daily vitamins. The flame hero has a fair number of covers dedicated to him, but Yūho is more interested in the newer hero whose limbs extend out like branches. 

She blinks when she catches sight of a smiling, tanned-skinned individual—surrounded by a large, obsidian building.

Maestro found dead in prison! See more on Page 5.

The words churn in her mind as she picks up the morning newspaper. Tilting her head to the side with idle curiosity, she flips through the pages to read more about the supervillain's untimely death.

Chapter Text

The sun is searing—its heat beats down on her sunburnt shoulders with callous indifference as sweat drips down her neck and arms. Cicadas sing along the treetops, their buzzing in tune with the crackling of the electric lines. It’s the hottest Tokyo has been in decades, or so that weather networks are stating. The heat wave has been relentless in its onslaught, making the very air feel dry and singeing. Heat mirages distort the places where the pavement meets the sky, glowing and wavering as Yūho runs underneath the shade of the large metallic bleachers.

The crack of wood against an object cuts through the air, followed by a wave of cheering that gets louder and louder. 

Hands shove into her sides. The world goes lopsided, even as she desperately tries to keep herself balanced. Gravel cuts into the palms of her hands and knees as she impacts the ground in a cloud of rocks and dust. She offers the boys surrounding her a look of building frustration as she slicks her sweaty hair back and away from her goggles. Wincing at the brief flash of stinging pain, she turns over her palms to pick out the small, sharp pebbles that have embedded in her skin.

”Hey, you’ve got to try harder than that,” a pointy-toothed boy scoffs, hands on his hips as he leans over her. “Villains don’t just stand around and run away, you know!”

”Yeah!” A larger boy says, unnecessarily flexing his rock-like arms as he crows. “Boring!”

“You need to get into character,” a girl with large glasses and red-trimmed iris states, disappointment lingering in her tone. “You’re not making the game very fun.”

Yūho almost scoffs. 

An unfamiliar frustration has been creeping into her chest as of late—a feeling that feels so bitter and foreign. It is only with the understanding that reacting will further encourage their behaviour that she manages to hold herself back from doing anything childish or reckless. Like throwing the tiny blood-smudged rocks at their smug expressions. 

Such thoughts aren’t especially good for her conscience; guilt already pooling in her gut at the intrusive impulses. Maybe she’s a child, maybe she’s an adult. Either way, she knows that she is better than this.

The loud announcement of HOME RUN! echoes in the background, followed by another wave of cheers and cries of disappointment. A particularly angry father can be heard shouting nonsense, telling one of the teams to get their act together.

Yūho takes a deep breath. The air is stale with the smell of crusher dust and summer winds. “Why don’t one of you guys be the bad guy, then? Maybe it’ll be more fun.”

“Because we are the good guys and you’re the bad guy, duh.” 

Rolling her eyes at the shark-toothed boy's response, Yūho sits up properly to examine her knees. She’s only given a few seconds to do so until the larger boy is dragging her up from the ground and shoving her away from the shade of the bleachers. 

Yūho braces herself for the inevitable impact. 

The aunties in the stands really need to stop gossiping when there are kids around. She understands that it’s a novelty for there to be the grandson of a major villain on the team—there are not many families out there willing to be associated with villainy after all—but sharing this insignificant detail with every single youth team they play against is doing very little good to Yūho’s patience. Oftentimes the aunties and uncles simply laugh it off or offer side glances throughout the game. Most people have the wherewithal to understand and offer empathy when Uncle Shinji or Aunt Haruna explain their circumstances. 

Which, in itself, has become a frequent and bothersome scene in their day-to-day lives. Time and time again, Yūho can only watch in quiet frustration as her aunt and uncle divulge private matters with awkward smiles and sheepish laughter to hide the desperation for normalcy that lies beneath. 

How tiring, the constant necessity to excuse and explain your existence. It is a weight that Yūho is slowly familiarizing herself with.

There are only a few adults who watch Aunt Haruna like a hawk; their suspicion is cloying like tar in the audience bleachers. Fewer act as though Hiroto will pull out a knife while he’s playing in the outfield. At the beginning of the season, a few children had been pulled from their teams by worried parents—however, thankfully, the league has not requested for the Itō’s to withdraw Hiroto from the team. 

As exhausting as it is, the reactions are never as astounding or discomforting as the few who have marvelled at their relation to the mastermind Maestro and his dozen aliases. Their questions are the ones that cut deepest and most intrusive.

The thought itself gives her the shivers.

Regardless, for Yūho it often winds up like this—with kids who haven’t developed enough to understand that heroes and villains are not just a game to be played. She can only be relieved that, this time, these three kids are simply and honestly looking to “play”. They are too young to register the implications that can be taken with their words; too young to consider that, perhaps, children like Yūho are rarely given the opportunity to play the hero or the damsel in need of saving.

Others haven’t been so innocent.

The shark-toothed boy laughs as he shouts a “combo move”, swinging his body around with gusto as he and the girl hold out their arms to clothes-line her. Again, Yūho becomes acquainted with the ground as their arms swing back and push her forward. 

Staring at the bright blue summer sky, flat on her back, Yūho mentally chants a quiet mantra to inspire patience and calmness. She knows, logically, that she should run over to Uncle Shinji where he is in the zone of neutrality. It is, however, easier said than done. The innocent ones are the most difficult for her to shrug off. They mean well and they are just having fun. 

“Is everything alright over here?”

The kids startle around her, their feet kicking at the gravel and causing the dust to cloud around her. Wrinkling her nose, Yūho waves her hand in the air to clear it away as she twists around to hold herself up with an elbow.

A man, seemingly in his mid-forties, stares at them from the wired fence leading towards the field. He has a poorly disguised can of beer in hand, covered with a fabric coaster with Concrete Bandit’s face on it. His cheeks are reddened from the sun and the beverage in his hand, his t-shirt half untucked from his shorts. 

“Yeah!” The girl says, looking towards the boys briefly, “We are just playing Heroes and Villains! We are almost done!”

”Ah." The man pauses, adjusting his glasses. Yūho debates momentarily whether she should, in fact, acknowledge that she is not having any fun. Would it make any difference? “I see. In that case, enjoy yourselves.”

Watching him leave, Yūho heaves a quiet sigh as she once again pulls herself up from the dusty ground. 

The loud crackling of tape welcomes them as they enter their home. 

It is with immense disappointment that, as she takes off her shoes on the front porch, she is not met with the cool wall of the air conditioner. Peeking into the living room, Yūho finds Koharu and her aunt Haruna on the floor putting their Knick knacks and photo albums into cardboard boxes. The clear plundering of the fans throughout the house is evident by the half a dozen set up around the room, surrounded by the chaos of moving boxes and the dismantling of furniture. 

Yūho can only grieve—Koharu must have broken the air conditioner. 

Again.

“Oh, good, you're home.” Her aunt says, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow as she turns to face them. “How did the game go?”

“We lost…” Hiroto mumbles. He does not offer them a glance as he stomps upstairs. 

The four other family members can only watch and stare as he does so in a loud and dramatic manner—heaving a loud and sorrowful sigh as he gets to the top of the staircase and slams his bedroom door.

“Ah.” Her aunt looks at a loss for words. 

Teenagers, Yuho quietly thinks with vague amusement.

“They got crushed,” Uncle Shinji says, wafting into the room to collapse onto the couch. He reaches over to one of the standing fans to point the blowing air into his face, sighing with relief. His cheeks and nose are bright red from the sun—his white hair fluffier and wilder than normal thanks to the humidity. “You should have seen them, Haruna, the other team were practically adults. Twice my size, let alone Hiroto's. The kids didn't stand a chance.”

“That's too bad.” 

Koharu squints at her parents, before levelling her gaze on Yūho. 

Yūho lightly shrugs, slumping into the doorway of the living room and sliding down to the floor. The heat has sapped away at her energy. As she does so, she can’t even be irritated at the kids at the baseball field when her knees and shins ache. The wood of the doorway feels cool against her cheek compared to the heavy humidity in the air.

“Someone looks exhausted,” Aunt Haruna says with a quiet, measured laugh.

She closes her eyes with a quiet hum. 

“Yeah, Yūho was playing with the kids the whole time.” Then, quieter he says, “Oh, how nice it must be to have that sort of energy. Kids sure have it good.”

The look that Yūho shoots her uncle is impulsive and done with more heat to the gaze than intended. Words simmer on her tongue, but she chooses to keep silent. There’s no point kicking up a fuss about this now, anyway. Once the summer is over she’ll likely never see those kids ever again. The summer air is simply getting to her, the heat chipping away at her patience with steady resolve. 

It’s a relief that Uncle Shinji is not even looking, laid flat on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes. He’ll be asleep in minutes and dead to the world... conveniently until the moment dinner is on the table.

“That’s good,” her aunt says absently. She cuts out another stripe of tape as she holds a cardboard box close. “Yūho, go clean up and take a cold shower. You look ready to pass out. Once you’re done, come down and help with the packing. There’s so much… game stuff here that I have no idea if you kids even play with them anymore or what to do with it all.”

“Okay…” Yūho drawls, using the wall to pull herself up from the ground. 

She turns away to do as she is told—but pauses as she catches her cousin's expression, bright yellow eyes focused on Yūho with a steady, fierce stare. She stills, fingers clutching onto the door frame as she wonders what might have caused Koharu’s ire this time. Her cousin hasn’t said a word since they got home. 

Yūho waits. 

When Koharu says nothing, Yūho retreats upstairs.

It does not take long for her cousin to pounce. A few minutes after Yūho goes to her bedroom to collect a new set of clothes, her door swings open with a flair that she now knows by sound.

“I knew it!” 

Yūho turns to give her cousin a bland look. Koharu points at her from the doorway, eyes scanning over her with intensity. 

“I freaking knew it!” She repeats. 

She does not, however, specify what exactly she knows before she swivels around and zooms  over to her brother’s room. The lights of Yūho’s bedroom flicker as she does so, followed by the yelling of their Aunt Haruna downstairs. The loud whining of Hiroto can be heard just as the door to his room is slammed shut, Koharu yelling from within: “TWIN MEETING.” 

Yūho stares up at the light on the ceiling, wondering if this bulb will fizzle out too. 

It does not. 

She takes this as a sign to take a shower while she can.

Yūho ignores the bathroom mirror as she returns to her bedroom, absently using a towel to pat dry her hair. 

One ice cold shower later and she is feeling more like herself. The small, insignificant cuts that the gravel had inflicted are now plastered with colourful and lovely pink, yellow, and bright blue bandages. The sight of them on her fingers and knees makes her smile quietly. 

She is quick to change into a loose and breezy t-shirt and shorts. Most of her belongings now reside in open boxes as the family prepares for their move, though Yūho is the only one in the family who is properly ready to leave. She has taken glimpses at the chaos that is the twins' rooms and she knows that they will not be packed well until the day the moving trucks arrive. She has already emotionally prepared herself to assist them when they inevitably beg for her help at the last moment. 

Returning to the living room, Yūho begins the slow dismantling of their game consoles and sorting the accessories by their intended device as she had been instructed. It is curious how technology had remained at a standstill once quirks became a normal aspect of society—the entirety of the world’s development had taken a break to delve into this new, unknown phenomenon. It has only been in the past decade that innovative technology has set its sights back on everyday appliances and gaming systems. Despite being in the future, it is a constant disappointment that VR technology has not yet advanced to the extent of her sci-fi dreams. 

A loud, surprised laugh disrupts her rhythm. 

Staring up at her uncle, she can only watch with a raised eyebrow as he begins laughing so hard that he rolls off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. She had written him off for the rest of the evening—he certainly does not fare well in the heat.

“Shinji, what is-” her aunt's dry words are cut off as she turns her gaze to Yūho. 

Yūho continues to stare up at them, twisting HDMI cords into a careful knot as she does so. 

“Oh dear,” is all her aunt has to say, hand over her mouth. It is evident by her shaking shoulder and struggling expression that she is trying not to laugh as well. 

Panic hits like a brick wall. She drops the cord onto the floor and sprints out of the room and into the first-floor bathroom. Throwing the door open, she rushes towards the small footstool so that she can properly look into the mirror. 

Horror quickly follows the panic as she stares at her reflection. Though she had applied plenty of sunscreen throughout the day, her face is blushed red from the sun—except for the skin that had been covered by her goggles. 

It is not by active choice when her mouth starts to tremble or when tears swell in her eyes. To say that she looks silly would be a severe understatement. Yūho reaches across the sink to turn on the tap and wash her face, as though it will help wash the colour away. When it doesn’t work, she just stands on the stool, her hands wavering in the air, as she is struck frozen with a sudden wave of utter helplessness. It is with continued horror and shame that the tears spill down her cheeks; frustration mingling as she desperately tries to breathe and calm down.

It is Aunt Haruna who picks her up in a hug, then, rubbing Yūho’s back as she wanders them around the hallway and the kitchen as Yūho continues to cry. Her aunt’s tone is soothing as she says, “There there, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Yūho chokes out. She looks like a red panda. Or a raccoon. The thought somehow just makes her blubber even more. 

“It’s just a little sunburn,” she tries again. She is incorrect. She is lying. It is a very big sunburn. “Don’t worry, we have some after-sun cream that will help.”

It takes a little over ten minutes before Yūho manages to wrangle her emotions together. Rubbing the tears from her cheeks, she tries not to be too agitated with herself for crying so easily and for requiring the comfort of her aunt and uncle. It’s as though her mind and body are at war—she, Yūho, does not feel the emotional necessity to cry. However, her body goes on ahead to get teary-eyed anyway. And as soon as she starts she just cannot stop, as though the floodgates of her emotions are swung open at the smallest of inconveniences. 

“This is a sign,” Uncle Shinji says with a brief chuckle, breaking the relative silence. “The goggles need to go.”

Alarm spikes through her as Yūho swiftly turns around to him, “No!”

The sunburn is awful, but—

“Yūho,” he admonishes in a low but gentle tone, “these goggles are meant to help train you to control your quirk, not use it as a crutch to avoid for the rest of your life.”

She can’t refute his words; the logic is sound. Yūho knows this. She knows that the goggles are simply a safety net and are not meant to be a permanent fixture in her life—Uncle Shinji certainly hasn't allowed her any opportunity to think otherwise. Even still, her bottom lip trembles. There is something innately comforting in the goggles that she hasn't been able to get rid of; the quiet understanding that, with the goggles on, everyone around her can rest assured that she will not hurt them. It is such a complicated, clotting feeling that she has hesitated to share it out loud. She does not think they will understand.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find something else,” he says, ruffling her hair, “our little red panda.”

Despite her best efforts, Yūho starts to cry again.

“And what do you plead?” One of the judges at the judicial panel asks, hunched over the table to lean into the microphone standing on the podium.

The screen shows a courtroom, the seats of the gallery in the background filled to the brim with individuals adorned in sharp suits in muted colours. Though no other cameras are shown to be in the hands of the audience, the perspective of the video taker swivels between the murmuring crowds and the speaking attendants. A quirk is undoubtedly at play to collect this undiluted footage.

”Guilty,” the defence responds.

A murmur ripples through the watching crowds as the judge raises an eyebrow, “On all accounts?” 

“That is correct.”

“Can the defence verify that the archvillain Maestro fully comprehends the extensive list of offences that he has been charged with?”

The usage of the villain's name is an interesting choice, Yūho notes. Dehumanising, almost. 

”Yes,” the defence attorney then pulls out a stack of papers from the binder in front of him. “My client has additionally requested to plead guilty for the following crimes perpetrated by the various aliases that he has maintained throughout his career.”

The camera zooms in on Maestro’s unmasked face—his grin wide and unapologetic as he leans back against his wooden chair. In a room filled with blues and greys, the villain’s bright red blazer with floral designs embroidered with golden thread contrasts with stark intention. It is clear by his expression that he enjoys the building uproar of the courtroom attendees—laughing as their shouts start to derail the presentation. The judge's hammer slams against his desk, demanding silence from those sitting in the gallery.

When a relative quiet finally falls over the room, the defence continues.

Thus began the long unravelling of Tsukishima Tsuyoshi’s life from his early teens to late forties that would haunt the news channel for months to come. 

The Conductor. The Moonlit Bandit. Phantasm. 

Yūho watches the dramatised documentary with mild interest, laying on her stomach with her legs slowly swaying in the air. The narrator goes over the various identities of the archvillain Maestro, which they have opted to refer to him as over the other aliases. 

The Phantasm Family, in particular, catches Yūho’s interest as they were well known within Japan in the early 2030s, during what is commonly referred to as the Era of Villains. Though their quirks had never been fully disclosed to the public, the narrator does an in-depth study on how their recorded feats could have been an expression of illusory quirks. They speak in short about the various members that had partaken in the villainous family, but frankly, there is not much known about Maestro's predecessors. Yūho had not known how far that rabbit hole of villainy had been for the Tsukishima name, going back by at least three generations. 

This is then followed by a panel of commenters, ranging from historians to social media reporters, discussing the age of villainy and how the Phantasm Family had been outliers in an era where unity within villains was rarely accomplished without force, quirk usage, or betrayal. There is a brief debate over how this may be reflective of the networks often created by criminal organizations as opposed to what constitutes villainy: and, in the end, what is the line that separates the two.

One of the commentators notes how authorities frequently struggled to label the Phantasm family in the same way Maestro had toed the line between villainy and criminal—and how it was likely a tactic used by their family to create pause within government agencies. Though, of course, it was a tad more difficult with Maestro given his prolific activities took place in dozens of different countries.

The documentary returns to the video clip of his criminal trial. 

Maestro was never given a chance to speak as a witness and defendant during his criminal trial. A brief quirk analyst was called to the stand to state that this was in accordance with quirk law to ensure that those with mind-altering quirks do not sway the court. No one in the defence had tried to object to this claim. The more she watches, the clearer it is to Yūho that the sentence to Tartatus was all within his expectations—she wonders why no one else seems bothered by how elated he’d been during sentencing. Perhaps, in the end, they were not all too concerned about whatever schemes he might have, so long as they had him within their grasp. After all, the media coverage had been incredibly in favour of the police force and the Human Public Safety Commission.

Her aunt had once said that their family had been a theatre production; their father pulling the strings of the performance. Yūho can see this play out as he is dragged out of the courtroom by armed guards, grin unwavering as his fingers waggle at the gallery.

“This is just the beginning,” he had said on that rainy day outside the National Art Center of Tokyo. 

Chin in hand, she watches as the documentary continues to give a brief description of Tartarus, Japan’s high-security prison set off of the coast of the country. The prison is, as the narrator describes, for criminals for whom the death penalty is simply not enough. Though the documentary does not show any video footage of the prison, several still photos of the intimidating structure flash on the screen in a PowerPoint style—dark clouds in the distance as large waves slap against the rocky coastline of the tiny, man-made island. 

By the accounts of the documentary and every news source that Yūho has found, Maestro was killed by one of his fellow prisoners. A death so swift that not even the technology in place could restrain the perpetrator in time. Police investigators had found, in the months following, that the two prisoners had bad blood from decades beforehand. The documentary goes into the research of their journalists regarding the conflict that had arisen between the two—a job gone wrong at the beginning of their villainy, wherein one was sentenced to life in Tartarus whereas Maestro was free to roam. 

Revenge, as one of the police officers notes on screen, is often found in Tartarus. An anti-climatic end for a villain whose flair for dramatics was his signature. 

How hilariously ironic.

“A-ah-ahem,” Hiroto pointedly coughs into his fist to grab the attention of all within the room. He then holds up a small stack of multi-coloured craft paper for all to see.

The kitchen is dimly lit from the sunset outside, casting soft orange light along the furniture of the room. The room is far more cluttered than her aunt likes to have the space, dozens of boxes littering the countertops with their kitchenware and non-perishables slowly being packed away. The dishes from their dinner have been set aside by the sink, stacked and teetering on the edge. Aunt Haruna, Uncle Shinji, and Yūho stay at the kitchen table as demanded by the twins, though she can see the way her aunt’s eyes frequently dart to the forgotten dishes.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining our seminar.” Koharu gives a polite bow, white hair falling over her shoulder as she does so. “We are now about to conduct a very, very important and monumental proposition, so please keep your questions until the end and grab your drinks now.”

Despite her words, Hiroto whips up the first piece of purple paper that says in large white letters:

SELF-DEFENSE IS COOL.

Koharu punches at the air, ducking under an invisible opponent as she loudly says, “Self-defence is cool! However, not only is it cool—in this day and age I would consider it almost a necessity!”

Hiroto nods, face set into that of utter seriousness. 

“Oh, this is…” At her side, her uncle heaves a loud sigh. From his exhausted expression, it seems as though this is not the first time that he has heard of this. Indeed, it is through his teeth that he confirms her suspicion: “Kids, we’ve talked about this.”

The twins ignore him. Hiroto holds up a second piece of light blue paper, this time with the large white letters of: 100%

“Did you know, there is a 100% increase in crime from our community to that of Tokyo?” Koharu asks, “I know, I know. There were only three villain-related crimes recorded from the past calendar year for this community, one of which was vandalism to our house, for the record, so it may sound a bit silly and obvious. However please consider the facts! From last year’s census for Tokyo City, there were over a million recorded crimes that occurred last year.”

Hiroto changes pages, now to one that says: 2740

“That is an average of two thousand seven hundred and forty crimes committed every single day! Compare that to the Tokyo Metropolitan area, which has an average of three-thousand, eight-hundred and thirty-three daily crimes, which includes Chiba, Saitama, Kawasaki, and Yokohama—suddenly, you get the picture. The closer you are to the city, the more crimes there will be!”

Hiroto changes papers, though this one only has a large photo of All-Might.

“Of course, heroes will always be around to help! To match the higher demand, Tokyo has the largest number of hero agencies per capita in all of Japan. All Might alone assisted with twenty-seven percent of the overall crimes that happened in the Tokyo area!”

Yūho blinks. That’s… incredible to think about. She watches as Hiroto presents another piece of green paper, which is just a collage of different sad students.

“But that does not mean that we shouldn’t be vigilant!” Koharu clutches her fists into the air with dramatics, “Just as there will always be heroes, there will always be villains! And just as there are villains, there are hundreds of silent everyday crimes that are committed without hero oversight! Last year, there were a total recorded number of eight hundred thousand bullying cases reported by schools in Japan—three of which were given national news coverage due to the severity of the abuse. In a place like Tokyo, we should not allow ourselves the opportunity to be ridiculed and instead give ourselves the skills to defend against the rising tides of villainy!”

Yūho, quietly, wants to mention that villainy is actually at an all-time low and that a majority of “crimes” committed are classified as misdemeanours. Their argument is heavily exclusionary on what constitutes as a “crime” to create a heavy emphasis, which she finds a tad disingenuous. She does not, however, interrupt as she is actually very interested in seeing where this goes. 

“But that is not the only reason why self-defence classes would be beneficial…”

Hiroto holds up a page that simply says: DISCIPLINE. 

“Martial arts is deeply tied into our country’s history and sense of honour. It was considered a mark of admirable discipline as well as a means of self-improvement! If allowed to participate in martial arts, you will be allowing us not only to improve our bodies and our general health, but also to learn etiquette, self-control, and respect!”

“But most importantly…” Hiroto trails off as he lifts the last page:

SELF-DEFENSE IS COOL.

“It would be really, really, really awesome.” 

There is a silence that hangs in the air afterwards as the twins give their best pleading looks to their parents. Yūho wonders when the twins became this invested in martial arts—their aspirations for heroism had always been baseline at best, without any thoughts towards how to functionally get to the mental and physical position to be able to defend others from criminals. She is impressed, if not a little suspicious, by the usage of the statistics that they have acquired for this presentation. She wants to ask them where they collected their data—hoping desperately that they used academic articles instead of click-bait websites. One million crimes seem like an exaggerated number, even for a city like Tokyo.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Uncle Shinji says at the same time Aunt Haruna says, “We’ll think about it.”

The two turn to stare at each other. 

Yūho, for what her opinion might be worth, simply gives the twins a thumbs up.

Hiroto and Koharu loudly cheer, yelling in unison: “Kaa-san and Yūho say yes~!” 

“That is not what I’m saying—” her aunt says, hazarding a look to her husband and she waves her hands in the air. “No celebrations. We’ll talk about it.”

Yūho doesn’t know why she bothers to try; the twins dance around in circles in the kitchen and continue their cheering.

The All Might poster on the wall is crooked again, today. 

Everything else in the hospital remains the same as it always is. The reception desks are stationary with the exact same pamphlets stacked on the tables in the waiting room; the same information posters lined on the walls regarding the clinic rules and best ways to refrain from getting others sick. 

Doctor Hayashi’s office remains the same as always, too. The desk in the corner with the papers carefully stacked along the bottom left corner, blue-capped pens within a jar in the top left corner, the computer and the keyboard are perfectly aligned on the right. The filing cabinet to the back, where Doctor Hayashi always hooks his writing board along the side. The clock on the wall. The Patient’s bed, angled at 45%, with its wax paper coating. The guest chairs are in the same spots, as always, across from the desk and the patient's bed looking directly at the posters along the wall. 

The children’s drawings, the cat poster, and the All Might poster.

But, for whatever reason, it is only the All Might poster that is ever wrong. The only one that changes, the corners of it never quite align properly straight. Yūho can’t look away from it—no matter how much she tries. It bothers her in a way that she cannot explain as she stares at that large, shining smile as the adults speak. 

Something about her goggles.

She refrains from listening, too busy thinking about angles.

A tap on her right shoulder startles her. She instinctively looks to her right, only to remember that her Aunt Haruna is on her left with an arm draped over the back of her seat. There’s a slight humour to the quirk in her eyebrow as Yūho sheepishly looks up at her beneath her lashes. 

“I’ll see about putting a work order in for this,” Dr. Hayashi strokes at his chin as he stares at his clipboard. “I would like you to keep in mind that what you are asking for will be far less efficient than the designs constructed by our equipment suppliers. These will not stop the quirk. In fact, I would consider this more of an… aesthetic appeal than one that has functionality.”

“We understand,” Aunt Haruna’s voice is firm, though she can hear the echoing of her uncle's words as she continues, “However, our quirk counsellor advised that it would be best to find an alternative so that Yūho can learn how to control the quirk, not smother it. Three years is long enough.”

“How incredibly wise of them,” Doctor Hayashi says pleasantly, though Yūho does not miss the way his upper lip stiffens. “Might I provide a reminder that it was you who had begged for me to be of assistance in mitigating the effects of his quirk?”

“Things have changed.” Upon her lap, her aunt’s left-hand flexes.

“Have they?” The question is said lightly, Dr. Hayashi tilting his head down to his clipboard while idly tapping his pen. “Well, you know that I will always be here should you need any help. With everything that has happened, I understand that there are few who you can trust with discretion and an open mind. Should you have any questions at all, please do not hesitate to reach out to me. Central Tokyo is not that far!”

“Thank you, Hayashi-san. Your help has truly been invaluable to me and Yūho.”

Doctor Hayashi waves a hand in the air, “Oh, dear, when you say it like that it sounds like goodbye! Rest assured, Haruna, that I am not going anywhere.”

Her aunt laughs; light and airy, as though the words had lifted a weight from her shoulders.

Yūho slides down her chair, peering up at him with squinted eyes. 

Cloth bags line her arms from wrist to shoulder as Yūho takes one step at a time down the long, winding driveway. Something sharp and jutting pokes into her side as she tries to shift her weight as one of the straps starts slipping down the curve of her shoulder. Forward, she further endures. Never has their home felt so far away, with the weight of the groceries, clothes, and newly bought packing supplies dragging her down, down, down.

”Yūho,” Aunt Haruna calls from the boot of the car, her tone slightly admonishing, “We can take multiple trips.”

It’s far too late for that—she has dedicated herself to this cause and has already inched her way halfway down the drive. And she would have silently bared the weight all the way to the kitchen if given the opportunity, however, her aunt easily catches up to her with a few, quick strides. 

Aunt Haruna holds out her hand as she levels a flat and unimpressed gaze onto Yūho as she says, “Give.”

Yūho puffs her cheeks out, but after a few moments of contemplation, she slides a few bags off of her arms and struggles to hold them up for her aunt to take. The final half of the trip is far easier with the weight gone, however, it is not a very satisfying conclusion to the little game Yūho had been playing in her head. It doesn’t count if she gets help, after all, as it was a one-player game. 

The tranquilness of their mundane afternoon is instantly disrupted as Aunt Haruna opens the front door of their house. Pausing in the doorway, her aunt tilts her head at the sound of unfamiliar voices talking. Eyebrows furrowing, her aunt places her bags of groceries on the floor of their front porch and slides off her sneakers before slipping into her slippers. 

“Oh, Haruna.” Uncle Shinji’s voice can be heard from the living room, disrupting the mumbling voices. Not a few moments later his head pops out from the doorway, a hand holding onto the door frame as he leans out into the hallway. Segments of his hair are slicked back and sticking up at odd angles—the tell-tale sign of him running his fingers through his hair. “We have… visitors.”

Groceries left behind, Yūho’s eyes brighten at the chance of reinstating her game. It distracts her from her uncle’s odd tone; after all, there are frozen foods that would be at the mercy of the summer heat if left by their lonesome by the doorway. Toeing off her sandals, she grabs the remainder of the bags left behind and begins her trek to the kitchen.

“Who?” Aunt Haruna’s voice is a ghost of a whisper, as though a thousand names are running through her mind. She is careful as she approaches the living room and whatever thoughts that seem to haunt her are brought to fruition as she freezes in the doorway. 

Yūho inches behind her aunt, sneaking a peek into the room as she passes by. 

Two adults in slick, black suits sit on one of their couches with suitcases tucked by their ankles on the floor. They both look up at Aunt Haruna with unwavering faces, one of whom lifts a steaming cup of tea from the coffee table to take a sip.  

“Tsukishima Haruna,” the other says, lifting from her seat to approach her aunt with a friendly smile, “it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your husband has been telling me about your plans to move; that is most excellent. Tokyo is a wonderful city, especially now that your children are all grown up.”

Her dark eyes then slide down to Yūho.

A shiver runs up her spine at the look. She has spent more time than she cares to think about being assessed and experimented on to recognize that glint.

“What are you doing here?” is all her aunt says—and the frostiness and lack of courtesy in her tone is all the warning Yūho needs to hasten as she hides in the kitchen and gets to work on putting the groceries away. Starting with the frozen foods first, of course. 

“My name is Sato Akisa and my coworker here is Sakamoto Sho,” the same woman once again, her wording and tone exceedingly formal. “We are looking to speak to you about a most excellent opportunity for yourself and your family. I understand arriving unannounced may be intrusive, however, we have attempted to contact you a few times by email and mail. I believe that there may have been… unforeseen circumstances that have delayed our meeting.”

“Yes, perhaps the mail had gotten lost.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

A thick moment of silence, until Uncle Shinji gives a broken, awkward laugh. “Haruna, come sit down. Our guests are with the-”

“The Hero Public Safety Commission,” she interrupts him. There is an angry tremor to her tone that Yūho has, regrettably, gotten quite familiar with. 

It is only a matter of time before she is requested to leave. As Yūho does not want to do this, her eyes tingle as the sound and visage of herself pass through the hallway and up the stairs to the bedrooms. She understands that it is an abuse of her abilities to do this—but her curiosity outweighs her desire to be an upstanding citizen. She is not hurting anyone by eavesdropping, anyway. What the Hero Public Safety Commission, or HPSC for short, would want with their family eludes her and she doubts that they will be forthcoming. 

She has extensively looked into HPSC during her quirk-related research, as they are the government body that delegates and creates legislation for anything relating to heroes. As a new form of government, similar to the civilian-associated Quirk Safety and Security, Yūho has been quite interested in their development and regularly keeps an eye on the bills and statutes that are passed by their elected council. Though, more often than not, she likes to watch for any conflicts regarding quirk regulation occurring between the two government branches. To find their agents, here, in her house, is quite an interesting turn of events.

While her aunt also works within the government through the Department of Innovation and Industry, it does seem rather rude to approach someone’s home instead of making an appointment during office hours. 

It is not until Yūho provides the gentle squeak of a door opening and closing that the conversation continues. 

“Let me start by saying: we are not interested.”

Three voices speak up, then, to counter her words with pleas of listening to what they have to say. Mind spinning, Yūho silently tucks herself against the doorway of the kitchen so that she would not immediately be seen by the living room door. 

Her aunt ignores them and instead says: “Shinji, please make sure the kids are alright upstairs.”

“What? Haruna-”

“Please.”

Despite the plea, the word is nothing short of a demand and another moment of silence passes through their household. Yūho does not need to imagine the way the two are likely battling with their eyes—she has seen them argue too many times to count. A long, drawn-out sigh is all she hears before the tell-tale thumping of his feet stomping up the stairs to the twin's bedrooms. As he does this, she hears her aunt’s lighter steps finally entering the living room. 

Aunt Haruna says something then, her tone so low that Yūho needs to creep closer to the hallway to hear properly, “-ter everything you and your department have done? I have signed your papers! I have kept silent! And here you are, demanding more?”

“Please, if you only take a moment to listen, Tsukishima-san-”

“Itō,” she grits out, “that is Itō-san, to you.”

She is ignored as a male voice speaks up, “Tsukishima-san, I understand… the duress you may be under. Rest assured that the past shall stay safely behind. The Hero Safety Commission is under new, better leadership now and we are looking forward to a brighter future. For you, for us, and for Japan.”

“Leave.” Her aunt’s voice is louder than before, reverberating with anger that Yūho thought only the infamous Maestro could bring about. “My children are not for sale .”

Sato’s tone is gentle and careful as she says, “Tsukishima-san, it is not your children that Madame President is interested in.”

The words embark a truly ominous feeling within her gut as Yūho silently draws her legs up to her chest. She stares at the lines of the floorboards, trying not to think too hard about what these words could mean.

She is solidly distracted as Aunt Haruna wheezes out an incredulous laugh, however, the words that follow do not inspire any amount of relief. “I see, now that my father is dead you come knocking on my door. Incredible. Have none of you any shred of human decency? Did our written agreement, the one that your so-called Madam President hounded me down for, mean nothing? NDA be damned—I will not allow my nephew to end up like Tetsuya.” 

“I’m afraid I’m unaware of what you are implying.”

“Of course,” her aunt’s voice is thick with sarcasm, “none of you ever seem aware of it, until convenient.”

“Tsukishima-san, I understand that previous leadership may have… strained the relations we might have shared. Please know that the goal of our agency is simply to look for promising children who we can assist in sponsoring. I understand that your family has experienced much hardship in the past few years following the exposure of your family name. With our aid, we can offer the best education and protection that a child could ever receive. And, yes, it would be with the end goal of-”

“I apologise,” her aunt’s voice could freeze a volcano, “have I not made myself clear?”

“If you would only give it some consideration-”

“There is nothing to consider-” 

“The resources that would be available to you and your family would be-”

Footsteps loudly thump down the stairs from the second floor as Uncle Shinji returns, cutting the conversation to a sudden halt. Yūho very quickly ducks behind the doorframe once again to hide from his view in the hallway, listening as Uncle Shinji calmly but firmly says, “I’m so sorry—Haruna, we have to go. I completely forgot that the twin’s quirk counselling session is today.”

There is a long pause, before her aunt says, “Right. The quirk counselling session.”

“Yes, that.” Though she cannot see him, Yūho can imagine the lop-sided grin on his face as he says, “Kids these days, right? It feels like every year we need to get their quirk registration updated due to the new and weird things that just pop up out of nowhere.” 

“I understand,” the male agent’s voice pops up, “I have a cousin with an electric quirk—messy business trying to keep the records straight.”

“Right?” Uncle Shinji’s voice is incredibly amiable for someone lying through his teeth. “Here, do you have a business card? Perhaps we could follow up on this another day.”

“Or not,” her aunt bluntly states. 

Though the adults share a few more pleasantries and back-handed comments as Uncle Shinji deftly guides them out of the house, their words are muffled and far away from her perception. Yūho's thoughts have, thankfully, slowed to a pause alongside the rest of the world. Raising herself from the floor is a long and strenuous process as she continues to stare at the floor. She doesn’t bother turning to look in the hallway or the living room, deciding that their words are more than enough to remember. She doesn’t know what face her aunt might be making and she would rather keep it this way. 

As the adult give their goodbyes, Yūho quietly walks towards the back doors to the patio and oh-so-carefully manoeuvres herself outside without a single squeak of the floorboards.

From there, she simply sits in the sun and watches as the clouds roll through the cerulean sky.

Chapter Text

Clouds float overhead, marring the bright cerulean sky with smears of soft white. A chime overhead sings its metallic tune as a gentle wind picks up and rustles at the loose fabrics of her dress.

From where she lounges on the deck of their backyard patio, Yūho lifts her hands to the air as she uses her fingers and thumbs to frame a segment of the sky. The cloud caught within looks like a fox, she thinks, curled up with its ears perked up. Her eyes tingle as a red fox with black-tipped ears and tail appears within the box created by her fingers, the image mimicking the pose of the cloud. However, some aspects of the fox are wrong—the snout is too short, the legs too stout, and the tail seems awkward and out of place. Her hands move alongside the clouds lazily sprawl through the sky, but they ease past the tall gates of their house before she can perfect the picture.

She tries again; this time framing her fingers around a cloud that vaguely looks like a whale breaching the ocean’s surface. A blue whale appears within her fingers; the image is easier to project with references tucked away in her mind. She tries to animate the image by having the animal roll over; the ocean water lapping at the sides of the whale as it sinks back into the water. But, even still, it doesn't look quite right—no, the motions of the water are right but wrong. Picturesque; too perfect, as though the whale were breaching in a pool and not the ocean. 

The loud honking of a nearby car startles the image away. 

Yūho arches her head back to the general direction of the noise, squinting at the tall fence that surrounds the backyard of their house—though, calling it a backyard might be a generous term. The new house is lovely and modern, but the outside is distinctively traditional with the engawa surrounding the outside of the house. There is no greenery in the small, narrow space; just small rocks coating the ground in various intentional patterns. Though, frankly, she thinks the tall fence that surrounds the house, with its state-of-the-art technology, is the sole reason why this house was chosen over others that might have been cheaper or more convenient. 

She’s never really thought much about it before the acquisition of this house, but the Itō family has never seemed to struggle when it comes to their finances. Yūho had nearly died when she investigated the realtor’s website to find their new home—the number of zeros attached to the price was far more than what she would ever be comfortable spending.

The sound of a car opening and closing is then heard from beyond the gate, followed by the telltale sign of a car’s engine and the skidding of tires on concrete. 

The ground beneath her starts to rumble gently. Unrelated, she knows, from the car. She lowers her arms to press her palms against the hardwood of the deck to feel the sensation. Like clockwork, the soft sound of a chiming song echoes in the nearby air—followed by more rumbling that shakes the earth. 

When her aunt and uncle had said that the new house would be close to a train station, she hadn’t expected them to be quite so literal about it. 

In a way, she understood that living near a metro station would be noisy. There is a constant buzz of trains and vehicles and foot traffic that are gradually making their way into the background of her thoughts. That said, she had ever really considered the little tune signifying that a train was arriving. Yūho had thought it cute the first time she had listened to a subway song—thought it amusing that the stations have different melodies. Now, she has it memorized in her head. Now, it plays in her dreams. 

Propping herself up on her elbows, Yūho brushes at the back of her head and runs her fingers through her hair to brush off any dirt.

Strangely enough, the noise of the city is a welcoming change from their old home. Their old community of Daiyu was a quaint and idealistic place to live for how quiet and peaceful it was, but there was something to the silence of the place that instead felt like a measured distance. The Itō family was always walking around on their tiptoes; as though any noise would wake the ire of their neighbours and colleagues. The constant hassle of reporters and vandalism certainly had not left a good impression on their family, leaving them to try to compensate in other ways.

Tokyo is always awake, she finds. 

It’s reminiscent of places like London, New York, and Paris where it simply does not go to sleep—there is always something happening in her community. In the week since they’ve arrived, there has been a festival, a protest, and a parade; an exciting change of pace. Her favourite pastime recently has been to watch the passersby walking in and out of the train station, perched up in the window in Koharu’s bedroom. She likes to watch as flocks of kids play around out front, as adults run to catch the train at the last minute, and as couples chat in front of the doors. It is an interesting exercise on human nature.

The twins think that it’s a sad pastime. They certainly haven’t withheld their thoughts on the matter; have been rather vocal on their opinion of how synonymous they believe Yūho and loneliness are. She’s certain that they have conjured up all sorts of pitiful scenarios of her woefully watching the motions of the world just beyond her fingertips. She disagrees with their worries, of course. Being alone does not equate to loneliness, after all, but she can’t quite tell them the real reason for her new-found people-watching hobby.

Her aunt once said that, to paraphrase, the illusions cast by their family members are easier done when they aren’t thinking about it—they are the most insidious when done without intent.

Once again positioning her hands in the air to frame another cloud, Yūho has reluctantly come to terms with this observation. Though her Uncle Shinji has been adamant in his confirmations that her abilities are not strong enough to bring forth the fears and doubts that linger on her aunt’s mind, it doesn’t mean that Aunt Haruna is altogether wrong in her views, either. 

Yūho’s illusions are the strongest when she’s not thinking about it—when Doctor Hayashi, or any of the other doctors or counsellors that she has seen, points and says do-the-thing and she half-heartedly throws an image out onto the clinic floor. It almost always is one of the many cats that Yūho likes to reminisce about. A memory thrown out to appease. But, when she tries to shape an image that isn’t within the databanks of her mind… it’s always wrong, weak, and short-lived. 

It’s easy to project an image, a memory, a noise, but as soon as she tries to make something original—well, that’s when things start to unalign. It’s as though she has to adjust the projection frame by frame; which is extremely time extensive and exhausting. Throwing out a memory of something—of a cat or a noise—is much much easier.

It’s an interesting puzzle to play with. 

One that she really shouldn’t be playing with.

But, well, if she’s just making things a little bit more interesting while cloud-watching, who’s to say that it’s wrong? 

With summer nearing its end, the Itō family is never home.

The house is quiet with the twins gallivanting about the neighbourhood, making friends with any kid that looks their way or trying to charm the shop owners that make up the street-wide market a block over. Yūho had tagged along on a couple of their adventures to familiarize herself with the area but found her patience waning in their presence. The twins are teenagers who do things on a whim—and if nothing catches their interest, then they muck about while whining and complaining about being bored.

Yūho is fairly free-spirited when it comes to sightseeing. She likes to do some research in advance so that he has a general understanding of what she wants to do, but truthfully just walking around the new, unfamiliar streets is interesting enough for her. There is just something wonderful about casual exploration and the small surprises it can bring.

The twins, however, need to be entertained. 

The empty house is fine. It’s better, even. It means she can wear whatever she wants and invest in her personal studies without worrying about hovering adults wondering why she’s looking at suicide rates in Japan or the ever-evolving controversies over quirk usage. There are days that she misses the times when her aunt and uncle had kept her at a distance—but, most days, she finds herself more and more relieved to be integrating herself into the family. In hindsight, she understands why the Itō family had been hesitant about her arrival. It’s difficult getting attached to a child you may never be permitted to adopt.

Thankfully, this was not the case.

Now that Yūho is eight, her aunt and uncle thought the move to Japan was an opportune time for them to return to the office. She tries not to think of any other tense reasons that may inspire them to not want to be around the house (or around each other) and decides to simply accept that some people might find it lonely always working from home. However, she’s certain Uncle Shinji will miss the days playing video games rather than work.  

Yūho certainly would—she is already mourning her summer days now that school is back on the horizon. 

But, more than that, she mourns the missed summertime opportunities. With the busyness of the Itō’s schedules and the messiness of their move, the family hasn’t been able to do any of her bullet-point summertime aspirations.

She draws an X over the date on the calendar hanging on their fridge, sighing sadly. 

Another day has gone by with no mention of going to the beach. 

One day, she thinks. One day.

“I just… don’t think what you can offer me is enough,” the lady on the screen says, a gasp resounding from the other contestants on the show. The camera zooms in on the face of a particularly astounded man—she’s seen memes of his reactions everywhere. “Especially when there are other guys that can offer the level of commitment that I’m looking for. I just—I’m sorry. I just can’t give you a rose this time.”

Yūho idly watches the show on her tablet from her comfortable spot on the couch as she munches on a rice cracker. She almost laughs as the guy makes every effort to convince the lady otherwise. It’s hilarious to think that a hundred years isn’t enough to kill The Bachelorette from showtime, but here it is—with the UK Superhero edition.

Low-effort shows like this are good for the brain, she thinks. After a full day’s worth of spiralling through countless articles on the evolution of quirk socialism in the East, she thinks she deserves a guiltless treat. The drama always seems so staged and silly, but she just can’t help the desire to keep watching… if only to see how bad things get. Moreover, it’s been fun to judge and rank the outfits on the show—and there have been a few episodes where the make-up artist was simply going overboard. Sometimes less is more, she thinks. 

It’s as the rejected contestant is doing his sad walk-of-shame off the set of the show that a fist is playfully drilled into the top of her head. Shoulders immediately hunching, she darts a quick glance up and sees a wild puff of white hair above her and smiling yellow eyes. 

Offering Uncle Shinji a huffy whine, she bats at his hands and curls into the side of the couch in a half-hearted attempt to hide away. 

She pulls out an earbud when she realizes that he’s talking, making out the final, “-don’t you know that’s junk for your brain?”

Yūho pulls a face at that, muttering, “It’s not any better or worse than those game shows you are always watching.”

Game shows have always been popular, but she had never really known how absolutely bizarre the show concepts in Japan could be. Or, perhaps her humour simply isn’t suited for them. As with all things in modern-day society, they almost always feature superheroes or celebrities doing outlandish challenges. Of course, the most popular ones are competition-based shows where well-known actors are pitted against superheroes—there are always headlines blasting in the media, washing away arguably more important news. 

Surprise flickers over Uncle Shinji’s face before he laughs, once again messing with her hair, “Hey, hey! What happened to our kind little Yūho? I think you’ve been spending too much time with your sassy cousins. You still have a few years until your delinquent teenager phase.”

She merely offers him a blank stare, listening in her remaining earbud as the remaining contestants all give their end-of-episode statements of relief for being given another chance at winning the heart of Scotland’s most eligible (superhero) Bachelorette.

Her uncle looks like he’s about to tease her some more, but he gives a hard blink and leans over the backrest of the couch. He is silent for a long moment as he watches the screen, glasses slightly drooping down his nose as he does so. Golden eyes flick up to Yūho as he says, in a tone and tenor implying that it’s more to himself, “You don’t have the subtitles on.”

“Ah,” Yūho has to look at the screen to confirm that this is true, “un.”

Resting his chin in hand for a few seconds while he inspects her, Uncle Shinji merely states, “Hm! Interesting.”

He does not share his thoughts any further, merely bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head before walking away.

Face warming, Yūho touches the spot with her hand before sinking down into the crevices of the couch.

The first time that the twins catch Yūho wearing Koharu’s old clothes that summer, it’s an accident.

It’s not a rarity, exactly. Yūho has always worn her cousin's leftover clothes—but she’s been very intentional about what the family sees her in, teetering the line of what might be considered too feminine by Japanese standards. Based on her caretaker’s reactions; pink is fine, and hair clips offer a wayward glance, however, a dress encourages a passive comment. She has not attempted anything beyond the walls of their home thus far.

Despite being well into the future of the memories she holds, Japan still holds onto certain social norms that are conservative in nature. 

As much as she is growing to care for the Itō’s, she can’t help but be a little wary of how they might accept things about her. She’s trying to be gentle with them; guiding them to make a conclusion to discuss with each other before she has to step forward to address some rather substantial things about herself.

But. 

There is a burning, cracking ache in her that she has been ignoring. It leaves a weight on her chest, an ache for something out of reach.

Objectively, Japan has an interesting—the same quality one might consider the minute series of events that may cause a train wreck—stance on progressive social norms. Yūho has, of course, extensively read about various points of interest for her. While there have been leaps made in comparison to the past, the truth of the matter is that the country is deeply enveloped in a social conundrum where the level of acceptance one might face is heavily dependent on how one looks.

An easier example to consider, and probably the most pronounced social issue of the decade, is the considerations made towards those with heteromorphic quirks.

Mutants, they are called. In other parts of the world; irregulars, variants.

The level of prejudice one faces depends entirely on how easily an individual passes for what is the standard norm. No one blinks at Yūho, despite the irregularity of her biological composition. However, because she doesn’t appear “different” she does not experience the same vitriol that others might. It is an issue that has seeped deep into the mentality of the world. Even Uncle Shinji, someone she considers kind, has voiced his refusal to admit that she has heteromorphic qualities despite being told by doctors otherwise. 

It is interesting, again in the most morbid of ways, how this has evolved in the world. Quirks appeared and were discriminated against. As the general populace acquired quirks of their own, the judgment was then shifted to the individuals who had quirks that changed their anatomy and appearance. But, as the world has been gradually forming qualities that would not have been considered the norm as of one hundred years ago, where does it go from here?

Yūho prefers to live within the little bubble she has created in this world. There is too much in the future to consider; too much to worry about when she stops to consider the circumstances of her life. 

Tokyo is boiling hot. 

Though she has taken to wearing breezy clothes in her efforts to fight off the summer heat, she caved immediately on the first 40C day that blazed through the metropolis. A dress to keep as a secret while her family is away from home until the evening time. She had picked out a cute blue floral dress that Koharu had worn maybe a couple of times before she outgrew it and tossed it to the back of her closet. Nothing that anyone would miss.

As with anything else, it easily became a habit. After the twins left for their daily adventures, she would pick through her pile of clothes left over from Hiroto and Koharu—matching different outfits and finding what would be the most optimal for the weather. Half for efficiency, half for fun.

Of course, when the cousins come home earlier than usual one day and find her lounging in a skirt and tank top in front of the air conditioner, Yūho has already rehearsed a response in case of an emergency.

“It’s hot,” is all she says, flipping over a page in her book. Sometimes less is more, after all.

They stare at Yūho for a long moment. Though they do not speak, they share a silent conversation as they then turn to look at each other. She tries not to fidget; tries not to be obvious with the way that she is staring at them over the rim of her novel. She prepares herself for the worst, hopes for the best. They're not bad kids, but they live in a place where people like her aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms.

It’s Koharu who breaks the silence.

“Ew, no.” She huffs quietly, “That shade of yellow isn’t your colour, Yūho. You’re too tan. Here, let me show you this website my friends are obsessed with so we can find your colour palate.”

Yūho’s carefully curated expression melts away as curiosity takes root. Relief spreads like ink in water as the book drops from her hands in her eagerness to follow.

It is not dread, per se, that settles in her stomach as school approaches—but the feeling is remarkably similar. 

Yūho and Koharu sit on the living room floor as her cousin carefully draws tiny golden stars on her black fingernails. Family photos litter the floor around them from their earlier endeavour of rearranging the frames they have yet to decorate the house with. Hiroto sits on the couch, cheek in hand as he tries his best to binge an animated show that she has never heard of. Yūho’s stomach churns every time she sees a photo of herself, of the odd individual who does not quite meet her mind's eye. But it is nice, she supposes, to have the twins by her side bantering and laughing over memories.

There is something peaceful about molasses afternoons such as this. She knows she is going to miss it.

The sound of Uncle Shinji cheering from the kitchen strikes through the comfortable silence that had settled. It is not altogether unfamiliar, but it's usually only when a basketball game is on.

Or, perhaps that is not what it is—for his rapid footsteps then take him to the front porch. He emerges into the living room after a few moments outside, holding a package in his hands. It is wrapped in brown paper, making it difficult to discern. 

Hiroto leans over the side of the couch, straining to get a look at the box, “What is it?”

"A surprise for Yūho,” Uncle Shinji says with a grin. “But we’ll have to wait until Haruna is home from work.”

The twins groan. They have accepted her surprise as their own. 

Yūho simply stares up at him from the floor, mind running through a dozen scenarios of what could be in the box. It’s fairly small… is it a tablet of her own? A book? 

These thoughts run through her head throughout the rest of the afternoon. 

She does not feel patient in the slightest—however, compared to Hiroto and Koharu, she seems like a pool of cool, still water. Every twenty minutes or so one of the twins will meander over to pester their father, moaning and groaning about how Aunt Haruna won’t be back for hours and that, really, he ought to at least give them a hint because they deserve it.

The pestering does not sway him in the slightest, for every time he simply stares them in the eyes and says, “Do you want me to die?” 

It is not until after five that her aunt gets home, carrying a load of groceries in her arms. The twins, uncharacteristically, dart their way to the front door to eagerly offer their services as upstanding citizens and all but steal the groceries from her arms. Yūho watches this from the doorway, unable to stop herself from following them. Aunt Haruna looks startled and vaguely suspicious, as she should, and follows them into the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Uncle Shinji loudly says as he exits his office with the mystery box, “let’s get this over with, alright? Haruna, they’ve been utterly relentless.”

Her aunt’s mouth quirks into a half-smile as she eases into one of the kitchen chairs.  

The twins cheer as Yūho inches into the kitchen, fingers itching to tear through paper. She can practically feel them breathing on her as they crowd around her chair, the air fizzling with energy. 

“Stop,” Aunt Haruna warns, looking at Hiroto. “Take a deep breath and calm down. It’s nothing special.”

Oh, but she’s wrong.

Yūho stares with wide eyes as she opens the box, a glossy rectangular case neatly tucked inside with a small spray bottle and soft fabric cloth. The twins ooh and aah behind her, taking on the roles of the audience, she supposes, as she opens the white, shining case. Within lies a small set of Yūho-sized glasses with bright red lenses—the frames are thin and black, the arms thick and sturdy. She holds them up in the air in front of her, watching through the lens as the kitchen melds with the scarlet hues. They are weird and they are beautiful. If this is possible for her quirk mitigation, well, she has a few other ideas in mind for future pairs that she would love to have for her wardrobe.

“The goggles are a little too clunky, don’t you think?” Uncle Shinji says. She can hear the smile in his voice, though she doesn’t look his way. 

Yūho nods; struck silent by a wave of emotion as she lets the glasses perch on the bridge of her nose. Her aunt Haruna watches with her elbow resting against the table and chin in hand, a faint smile lighting up her features. Uncle Shinji relaxes back into his chair, seemingly satisfied despite Yūho's lack of reaction.

Turning around in her seat, Yūho settles on her knees and uses her hands to frame her face for her cousins. They turn to look at each other before they speak in unison:

“Whoa! So cool!”

“Wow, those are so cute!” 

Her face flushes. Stumbling down from the chair, Yūho rushes towards the closest mirror.

“I’m thinking about joining the basketball team,” Hiroto says one sunny day during one of their breaks. “I hear this school has a really good basketball team.”

With her glasses on, the world is encased in red. It is not much different from the pink hues of her goggles, but it is enough of a difference that she has been fumbling to find equilibrium. 

It is another hot, cloudless day in Tokyo. 

Slipping off her glasses and letting them hang along the collar of her t-shirt, Yūho reclines against the grassy hill that they have chosen to rest on. A walkway arches over their head, marking a path over the riverbed at the bottom of the hill and casting shadows that offer little relief in the heat. Further down the river, a few kids weave around each other with a football. Their excited yelling competes with the cars that rush past at the top of the hill, joining with the city's symphony of noise. Threading her fingers behind her head, she idly watches her cousins as they speak.

Koharu looks up from her phone and sends him an exasperated look, “What, so you can spend another year on the bench? These guys made it to nationals last year, all you’ll be doing is making drinks and cheering from the sidelines.”

“What? No, I won’t.” 

“Oh, come on. Have you ever played basketball?”

“Yeah, all the time in Phys Ed. I participate in every sports festival, too.”

“You think that’ll be enough?” She shakes her head, “Nationals, Hiroto. They’re not a team you play around with. They have goals, you know?”

Pale face flushing a bright red, Hiroto stomps his foot and glares at her. “So, what? Do you think it’s not important to try, even if you aren’t the first pick? There’s more to life than being put on the starting line-up, alright? Friendship! Teamwork! Working towards a goal—"

“Sure,” she says, totally unsympathetic to his cause, “but you change clubs every year. Why don’t you just stick with baseball? 

“I don’t like baseball anymore,” he scowls.

Yūho digs her heels into the grass in an idle pattern as she side-eyes the budding argument. The heat is encouraging their tempers after a day's worth of biking around their segment of the sprawling city. Maybe they should have gotten something to eat sooner—like ice cream. Who can be grouchy after a nice refreshing stick of ice cream?

“You don’t like baseball,” Koharu continues to dig in, “or you don’t like losing?”

She can practically see the ‘it was super effective’ tagline appear above Hiroto’s head. 

“Both!“ He wipes the sweat from his forehead, “Who likes to lose, anyway? I think this is a good chance to start fresh. New school, new club, new friends.“

“Well, if you kept with a club for longer than a year then maybe you would actually be good at something,” is all Koharu says in reply, flippantly waving a hand as she returns to looking at her phone. 

Because of this, she misses the flash of emotion on his face—for all their typical banter and arguing, her words hurt this time. 

“You should do what makes you happy,” Yūho intervenes, rolling to the side so that she can lazily prop her chin in the palm of her hand. “You have lots of time, Hiroto. Middle school is the best place to figure out what you want. High school is when things start to get serious with sports. The fact that you are an active individual and are already familiar with the rules of the sport is the most important thing when starting out. It might actually be really beneficial to have lots of different sporting experiences that can help you. Did you know a lot of football players transition to rugby after high school?”

There is a solid moment of silence. Yūho understands; it is probably to most she has spoken at one time in months. 

It is worth it, however, when Hiroto’s expression immediately brightens into a large grin. 

“See!” He crows, pointing both arms at her. “Yūho agrees with me!”

“Yūho speaks like a textbook,” Koharu mutters, mouth pressed into a squiggle.

The words rattle through her like a rock down a metal pipe. Yūho and Hiroto both blankly stare at her for a long, surprised moment. Yūho doesn’t have the time to consider a reply, though she likely wouldn’t give one, as Hiroto is suddenly launching himself at his sister and punching her in the arm.

“Hey!” Koharu’s face pinches as she roughly pushes her brother away.

“What is WRONG with you today?” Hiroto yells, face flushed and teeth baring—and Yūho realizes that she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him mad before. Frustrated, yes. Whining, yes. But there is a low tenor of anger that reverberates in his words as he says, “Look, yell and insult me all you like, but leave Yūho out of this, alright? You’ve been so mean and moody all day.”

Koharu’s shoulders pinch together, her head dipping. “… Sorry. I just-”

Her words stutter out, she once again looks at her phone. She holds it out to give to her brother and slumps against the grass as she stares up at the summer skies, arms and legs spread out as she gives a loud, wistful sigh.

Hiroto takes the phone and looks at the screen. His eyebrows furrow before shooting up his forehead as he exclaims: “He DUMPED you!?”

Yūho stares at the concrete overpass and resists the urge to sigh. 

She should have stayed home.

The open-concept room of the hair salon is bright and white with countless mirrors surrounding her along the pale walls. Chatter, blurring into an uncomfortable cacophony, accosts from all sides from the other dozen clients and stylists in the room. Yūho has been unsuccessful in erasing the wince from her face—can see it every time she has the misfortune of looking up.

A black cloth is tied around her neck and shoulders as the hairdresser speaks with her uncle. She’s been listening, but even still she doesn’t understand when or how they started talking about local restaurants in the area and the best date-night spots to go to. Privately, she thinks her aunt would prefer a home-cooked meal with some candles and classy music, but maybe it’s the effort put into it that matters. 

Every once in a while the hairdresser will remark on the texture of Yūho’s hair, but she’s mostly just been wetting it and running a comb through it. 

Just a trim, she told them.

As a distraction, she has her uncle’s phone in hand as she zones in on an MMO game he has downloaded. She’s never heard of it before, but the graphics are beautiful and the battle systems are easy to understand. Mostly she just has the character running around the city the game opened up in; switching in and out of the various party members. Her nose wrinkles when she accidentally switches characters into one that is very clearly Endeavour—there are a lot of things Yūho doesn’t like about video games, but crossover and endorsement characters are high on the list. 

She’s in the midst of a battle she accidentally triggers, so she doesn’t immediately react to the buzzing sound of clippers. They’re in a hair salon; the noise is to be expected.

No, it’s the press of plastic and the breeze against the back of her neck that sets off the alarm bells. Yūho can only look up in budding horror as the hairdresser buzzes off a long line of hair. She freezes. Her thoughts halt to a stop; can only stare at her reflection and the hair that has been cut back to ear-length as the sides and back are sheared one line at a time. The two adults continue to chat above her. She said she wanted it trimmed. It’s too late to say anything now; too late to—

Yūho is still and silent for the remainder of their time in the salon. Her arms and shoulders rigid; the phone screen black in her hands.

It is only when she is in the back of Uncle Shinji’s car, with the radio playing quiet tunes, that the tears finally start to fall.

Yūho’s new elementary school is far more well-kept than her previous one—she stares with wide eyes at the gargantuan school as one of the teaching assistants guides them around the vibrant front gardens, reciting the history of the property. Several sports fields surround the main academic buildings, separated by green fences and bleachers. Gymnasiums are unattached to the academic sectors, instead acting as merging points between the academic buildings and the sports fields, all connected by hallways with no walls. There's a theme, here—a deep forest green as an accent and the frequent image of a hawk.

The school reminds her much more of a university or a boarding school in its layout; sprawling buildings that separate the students by age and level of schooling. Clearly there is a hearty amount of community and government funding being funnelled into the school, though she supposed this should be expected for a private school. 

“There are many different programs and clubs that we offer our students here, with a heavy emphasis on cultural activities,” the teaching assistant informs her aunt, as they enter the main academic building where the administrative office is. He hasn’t stopped smiling since they met at the front gates, which Yūho finds disconcerting. “It is important to us that our students are given a reminder of the traditions of our past, so all students are given opportunities throughout the year to partake in exciting events such as tea ceremonies, flower arrangements, and Kyūdō. Of course, there are regular sports teams and facilities available as well, however, for our elementary division we prefer to encourage curiosity for activities more embedded in our history.”

“I see…” Aunt Haruna looks at a loss for words as she stares up at the tall ceiling of the school entryway, “That is very admirable.”

The teaching assistant continues to smile before he informs them of the lunch program offered by the school as they enter the cafeteria. The walls of the large room are made of cherry wood with tall, thin windows that offer an abundance of natural lighting. There are dozens of tables that cluster the main central area and balconies with more tables lining the walls above them. A counter is set up in the far corner; the kitchen behind it is visible from where she’s standing.

She changes her mind—this school is very similar in structure to a university. All that is missing is the old brickwork and the palpable feeling of anxiety.

The teaching assistant takes a moment to look at his watch, “It looks as though we are running out of time, is there anywhere the two of you would like to look at before class starts?”

Aunt Haruna looks down at Yūho with a quirked eyebrow.

Looking around the cafeteria, she can only wonder… 

Her tone is sheepish as she fiddles with her fingers and says, “I’d like to look at the library, please.”

With the chaos of integrating herself into a new city and school, Yūho had long forgotten about her cousin's schemes and bartering by the time Aunt Haruna gathered them up one afternoon and drove them deep into the city of Tokyo. 

Resting her head against the passenger window of her seat in the car, she watches as countless busy streets pass by as the twins argue about what to listen to on the radio. Summer has eased into fall, tree leaves taking on a golden hue as the sky takes on a perpetual overcast. More people are wearing coats, now, with the temperature dropping and soon she can start looking forward to months and months of grey. 

It is with deep wariness that Yūho follows her family from the car to a thin, remote alleyway tucked between a block of skyscrapers in the middle of nowhere. 

Despite it being in broad daylight, the shadows cast by the gargantuan buildings leave the alley in a near void of light and colour; only the blinking neon lights of far-away signs denote any activity within. There are no people. Abandoned. Decrepit. The only indication of life is the garbage tucked to the side of the brickwork and the ruined quality of the cement on the ground. 

The twins are not on the same wavelength.

“This is so cool!” Koharu cheers, racing to the front of the alleyway just to turn around to face Hiroto, “This feels so- so... Authentic! Like the real deal.”

Hiroto, overwhelmed by his own excitement, says nothing and simply looks forward with a large grin. 

However, she can feel the zing in the air from his quirk.

They seem far more aware of what is happening than Yūho, who can only blink at their continued dramatics.

Aunt Haruna simply shakes her head at their antics, though she cannot hide the small endeared smile that lights her features. She takes Yūho by the hand, perhaps sensing her hesitation to follow, and gently leads the way in. The walk through the alleyway is uncomfortably long with too many run-down staircases. The twins are a bundle of energy as they run through and stare at all the tiny shops that had been tucked away by the lack of light. Tech, souvenirs, a small grocer—they seem to have a little bit of everything. Even Yūho pauses as she passes by a used book and antique store, but is pulled away by her aunt. Yūho makes a mental note to go back, even if the place looks a little skeevy. 

In an even tone, she remarks, “The rent must be low here.”

Her words are rewarded by a sudden, short laugh from her aunt.

They go down another set of old, crumpled stairs. At the bottom of one of these, lies a bright red door with a sign that simply says: FIGHT!

“Remember, behave yourselves.” Her aunt interrupts before the twins can barge in, “Masa-san was a friend of your uncle, from a long long time ago, so treat him with respect. Today we will simply be sitting in on one of his classes to get a better understanding of what you’ll be committing to. If it looks scary, or if you don’t want to sign up, that is perfectly fine. Your schools will have more standardized martial arts clubs if that is what you are looking for.”

“No, this is perfect!” 

Hiroto looks at his sister, “This seems so Fight Club .”

The words give Yūho whiplash—what are the twins doing watching English movies that are a hundred years old? 

Her aunt heaves a quiet sigh. 

Once again, life falls into routine.

She spends most of her free time at school exploring; the campus is certainly large enough to warrant it. Yūho quickly finds a nice cozy spot in the library to call her own, sat at a window to spend her lunch time reading or watching the sports field and the back alleyway. She takes time out of her day to speak with the various teachers and librarians that she runs into during her adventures, familiarizing herself with the workings of private school life. The adults are professional in their interactions, ranging from casual to cautious in a way that imparts the impression that they are aware.

But, well, it’s fine.

Yūho is amiable with her classmates. There are no notes left in her locker and no whispered words that trail after her, so for this she is thankful.

Once school finishes for the day, she either walks her way home or goes to the meet-up spot to wait for her cousins. Most days she waits for up to an hour, fiddling with the kid’s shared tablet until one or both of them arrive to escort her to their martial arts class. The twins thrive in the settling, though Yūho finds it dull. Perhaps it’s because of the class subjects of her age range—most of her time is spent practicing how to drop and roll. 

Yūho would drop out if not for how excited the twins are to share an activity with her. She considers it a strange phenomenon. What thirteen-year-olds want to spend time with their 8-year-old cousin? 

She says nothing, of course. 

She might not care for the class itself, but she treasures the time spent on the subway rides home.

It is at the end of autumn when she first spots the calico cat lounging on a concrete wall on her way home from school.

It is cute. Yūho thinks nothing of it.

In the weeks following, however, she pieces together a rather bemusing puzzle: every time she passes by the cat, the stripes and blotches of colour are different. Only slightly so—enough to trick the regular eye. The patterns shift slightly, like watercolours, in such a way that only by looking back through her memory can Yūho acknowledge the changing edges. But it bothers her much in the same way the poster in the doctor’s office had. Something irregular that is innocently portrayed as consistent.

Even still, she chooses not to think about it. Quirks are not solely documented in humans, after all, and maybe the cat simply has some sort of transfiguration ability.

However, weeks of suspicion culminate. 

It is a lovely, sunny autumn afternoon when she is, unfortunately, proven correct in her churning stomach and careful observations. It is colder than usual, though the frost that had covered the plants and windows in the morning is long gone from the afternoon sun. She wears one of Hiroto’s large, baggy sweaters over her school uniform, uncaring of how silly it may look for it to fall to her knees. She appreciates the concern that was bestowed by her cousin when she was given the sweater, and ultimately it will be Yūho with the last laugh when all the kids are falling sick from the change in season, while Yūho is perfectly fine. 

Hands loosely gripping onto the straps of her backpack, Yūho walks past the concrete wall that the cat is always lounging on. She offers it a quick, vague glance—enough to impart the new pattern for today into her memory. 

The cat lifts its head from where it rests on its tiny front paws. With a flick of its tail, the cat says: 

“Hello.”

She stops. The voice is low, unfamiliar but familiar, and the teetering amusement that thrills through the single word has her shoulders stiffening.

Fingers tightening on the straps of her backpack, Yūho side-glances at the cat with a quiet grimace. Maybe it’s cruel of her to make assumptions, but she is incredibly familiar with horror movie tropes and the terrible things that happen in Tokyo alleyways. In video games, she is wholeheartedly a completionist who likes the exploration of open-world games; finding all the treasure chests and puzzles and quest lines to piece together the entirety of the story and world of the game. 

Things are different in real life. Yūho would much rather avoid the difficult waving flags of a mission—and this is certainly not a side quest that she is interested in.

Woodenly snapping her head to look forward, Yūho ignores the cat and continues her walk home.

“Hm,” is all the cat utters behind her.

“How was your day at school?” Uncle Shinji absently says from the kitchen counter, hunched over his laptop.

Her hands somehow grip the straps of her bag even tighter, her knuckles bone-white. Despite this, her tone is even as she says, “A cat spoke to me on my way home from school.”

“Oh,” again, distracted, “that’s nice.”

Yūho goes to her room.

“Tell me,” the cat says the next day, its calico spots once again arranged slightly differently, “do you not like cats?” 

It’s raining.

Sheets of rain fall from the sky, pattering against her umbrella in a quiet song. Luckily she always brings her umbrella, tucked away in her backpack for emergencies, as the weather turned sour with no word of warning beforehand. Dark, moody clouds dance overhead. The streets are sleek and bright with the reflections of lights against wet pavement. She had been too distracted watching how the fluorescence shimmers and tasting the petrichor in the air—she forgot that she was supposed to avoid this street.

Yūho does not look at the cat as she passes by the concrete wall. She is tired; she wants to be home before the lightning starts. 

“I was told you like cats,” the tone is pleasant and curious despite the ominous words.

A shiver racks down her spine. 

She continues walking.

It does not offer her any relief to hear low, quiet chuckling behind her.