Chapter Text
Takami was a curious-cat.
No part of him felt bad for how he treated Shimura, the man who had a patchy neck and smelled of oil and grease. He was hungry. The only time he relaxed was when he got to eat delicious takoyaki or fresh, hot steam buns. Why should he feel bad?
Yet, as he ate his heartwarming meal, his mind was racing. What was the thing Shimura wanted him to fix? Why did he have to come to the location? There were routes for robots to pass by.
It’s not that he didn’t want to help a customer who disturbed him on his lunch break — he was practically free any time so long as it wasn’t on the day he was going to see his wife. He has denied plenty of shady customers and got away with it due to his reputation as The Reliable Hawks. He prides himself in that.
However, that wasn’t the problem.
He couldn’t take major risks anymore. He had just made a promise to the love of his life. They’d finally be with each other for long periods of time, no feelings of longing tearing them up inside. This was his chance to be a boyfriend, soon to be husband. He would not ruin that even if the world begged him to.
The junkyard Shimura told him to come to was known as Death of A Mind. All of the failed products littered inside of the junkyard made Takami’s heart swell. How many inventors had hope in their product, only for it to turn into a failure? He remembered how his father tried to create a built-in heater pillow, wanting nothing more than to bring comfort to other homeless men with nowhere to sleep at night.
That’s how Testers were born. By his father’s death. And this place reeked of death.
He already struggled to make time for Fuyumi. He already had to go months, even years, without seeing her. The endless tears that streamed down her face whenever she saw him fly down to hug her broke him. It made him realized that the money was no longer worth his future wife’s heart. So, no matter what, he could not die. Death was the last thing he wanted to put Fuyumi through.
For him to get caught up in a mess was not an option. He’d worry about the profit loss some other time.
Takami began to walk away. The people walking on the sidewalk and riding their cars seemed to leer and whisper. They avoided him as much as possible like the sun despised him.
“Hey, you!”
A voice of a teenage girl.
The first thing Takami noticed was the teddy bear squished against her beige blouse and pink skirt. Her hair, pinned into two messy balls, had strays of yellow-blond all over the place. She did look off-putting, from the way she smiled, but she seemed friendly.
“Are you going to fix the robot?” she asked.
Nope. He did not want to. Yet, to a fault, he was curious again. He asked why.
“My big brother wants to fix it for the kids here!” she squealed, tightening her arms around the neck of the teddy bear. “He wants to distract them from life in the slums. That robot has been all they’ve talked about for, like, years! It’s like a gift from Cupid! Oh, how I love it!”
Once again, Takami cocked his head to see the gigantic robot, tall as a skyscraper. The rust was clear on its mechanical shoulders, trailing down its forearms. It had a small glass dome of a hard. The tiny red spot in the middle, like a stye, was most likely the seat for the one controlling it.
No wonder that stupid nickname has Hawks in it, he thought. “Can’t you get someone else?”
Her thin eyebrows scrunched together, lips forming an adorable pout. “No! We wanted you to do it!”
Because of my wings.
He could still leave. Once he did, the paper with his two-weeks notice that’s been stuffed in his pockets would be given to the manager. Fuyumi would be there, hot pan of marshmallow brownies held between mits, a happy smile as he flew down and spun her in his oil-stained arms. Everything about the nightmare of a job would be a memory, a bittersweet one. He wouldn’t have to worry about this.
But the thought of the kids here stopped him.
Most of them would become Testers. Kids that live in the slums are always encouraged to go down that path — “It’s easy! Maybe one day, you can invent something!” is their go-to motto. They’ll be faced with a harsh environment, overworked, and desiring the thin, rotting mattress at home. If he left without giving them a spark of joy, he’d be worse than the government.
So, taking a deep breath, he looked at the blond girl and said, “I’ll fix it.”
Her vampire-esque smile widened as she leaped with joy in the air. Grabbing his arm, she dragged him inside Death of A Mind, the smoky, burnt orange air overflowing his lungs. This, to him, was almost like his childhood home.