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Everyone in Akatsuka knew of the Matsuno sextuplets. A miracle of life or not, the children were the fiends of the neighborhood, infamous for making mischief and getting away with it. The boys were impossible to tell apart, especially with their same faces, clothing, and hairstyles.
Chibita didn’t know much about them initially, but he could identify a close family when he saw one. After all, he was a homeless orphan, and they had everything he’d ever wanted.
The first time Chibita encountered them was at the park’s playground. It was a relatively mild day, not too warm and not too chilly; a great place for him to hang out and pretend he had normal things to do for an hour or so. He was sitting on a swing, alternating between swinging low to the ground and kicking his feet into the dirt.
The Matsunos approached as a swarm, high-pitched voices growing louder as they fought to outtalk each other. Hands and arms flew out of their noisy circle as they walked towards the playset.
“Karamatsu, you should be first to get a haircut next time!”
“No! Osomatsu-niisan, you know Mommy does the first cut crooked. That’s the only reason you don’t want to go first.”
“Karamatsu-niisan, it’s not that bad. Quit being a baby.”
“Yeah, you tell him Choromatsu!”
“Hey! Shhh!” One of the boys was squinting at Chibita.
It took a couple of seconds for them all to quiet down. The same voice continued, “That boy is completely bald.”
There was a chorus of “No way!” Now they were all gawking at him.
Someone in the back of the huddle said, “Wait, it looks like he has one hair.” There was a pause, and the boys erupted into poorly-concealed snickering.
Chibita hadn’t given much consideration to his appearance before this encounter. While most children ran around eating, playing, and getting injured so their parents could fuss over and comfort them, he spent his days searching for food and warm clothing before the sun set.
It didn’t mean he hadn’t felt grown-up’s stares on him as he walked the streets, dirty in a way that screamed abandonment. Chibita just didn’t have the time or ability to deal with it. He didn’t have friends to instruct him on the particularities of societal expectations, such as the importance of children having hair.
Perhaps his subconscious had quietly known that something was wrong with him but was too afraid to face it; why else would his parents leave? Chibita knew he was a fighter at the young age of five. Life was harsh, but he just had to push back harder.
But those whispered words and twittering laughter from children of his age hit a chord inside of him. Their voices bounced inside his head, disrupting the calm and order he had established for survival. Chibita could feel his face heat up in embarrassment and began to swing aggressively in the hopes that the squeaking of metal would drown out the Matsunos’ voices.
Just as he thought they finished, a voice perked up, “Wait...if he has one hair, how does he get a haircut??”
The boys exchanged looks before breaking down into laughter again. Chibita pumped his legs harder.
“Oh no!”
“What is it, Todomatsu?”
“Guys, we should leave before he sees us.” There were a couple of hums of confusion. “He could spread his baldness!”
More giggles erupted, but the group began to move away slowly.
“Osomatsu-niisan, you should stand next to him. You’ll be bald, and then you can always be first for Mommy’s haircuts.”
“Aw, shut up, Ichimatsu!”
Their conversation shifted into a debate about who could see the furthest, leaving Chibita alone to slowly drag his feet through the dirt and hop off the swing. He didn’t feel like pretending anymore.
With slumped shoulders, he walked to the junkyard. The gleam from an aluminum scrap caught his eye, and he peered at his reflection. Was it really that bad? Sure, he was bald, but he’d always been bald. Some of the junkyard men also had no hair, so Chibita took great pride in caring for his single strand.
He stared a while longer before a low, sinking realization hit him. The men who worked at the yard were much older than him, and not all of them were (almost) utterly bald like him. Chibita never saw any kids walking around with no hair. Hell, even Hatabou had hair! He traced his scalp, worried. Did that make him abnormal?
His stomach entered the party with a loud gurgle, and Chibita remembered some slightly more pressing matters. He turned away from his reflection with a grunt, determined to forget the comments and scrounge up something for dinner. As far as he was concerned, he was going to avoid the Matsunos as much as possible.
Sadly for him, life had other ideas.
Much to Chibita’s chagrin, he ran into the Matsunos in primary school. Unlike some kids, Chibita didn’t mind school that much. It was warm, he had a desk all to himself, and the lunch ladies served delicious hot meals every day. It was the social aspect that bothered him the most.
Although Chibita had tried his best to clean up and make friends, fate just wasn’t allowing it. His outfits rotated between three shirts and two pairs of pants; coupled with mismatched socks and the junkyard’s smell, he quickly became the whispered talk of the school. If his appearance wasn’t enough to push them away, his personality did the rest.
It wasn’t like Chibita meant to scare people, but his brusque, unrefined speech and tendency to always be on edge often resulted in unwanted fights and arguments. Now, rumors were spreading, and everyone knew to stay away from the weird, violent kid.
Except for the Matsunos.
It was recess. Chibita was minding his own business and reading a children’s cookbook under a tree when a basketball rolled over to bounce off his foot.
“Hey, throw it here!” He looked up to see one of the Matsunos waving at him. Their eyes met, and Chibita froze, tense. The boy just tilted his head and waved again. With a sigh, Chibita stood and walked forward to throw him the ball, relieved that he hadn’t run off screaming or told a teacher that Chibita had stolen the ball from them.
Behind the boy, a different brother looked over to see what was taking so long. He recognized Chibita, and a frightening glint shone in his eye. As Chibita approached, he called, “Why don’t you join us?”
The boy in front of him looked back in surprise. “But Osomatsu-niisan, we’re in the middle of a game?”
Osomatsu snickered and winked, “Choromatsu, we just finished!” He leaped forward, ignoring his brother’s confusion to clap Chibita on the back and push him forward. “Come on now, Chibi! We’re playing basketball.”
“Name’s Chibita, idjit.” Chibita squinted at the boy with curious suspicion. No one ever did anything nice for him, much less invite him to play a game with them.
“Oops, my bad.” Osomatsu gave him an apologetic glance as he walked over to his brothers. “Here, we’re going to play oldest vs. youngest. Chibita’s with the youngest.”
Maybe they weren’t that bad. Perhaps they had forgotten that he was that bald kid at the park. Chibita considered the boys for a moment before inwardly shrugging. It seemed like a harmless invitation. What else could he really lose?
In retrospect, he should have known to walk away right then.
The game started, and it was a mess. The brothers scurried everywhere, ducking in and out in a very distracting, chaotic pattern. Chibita was having difficulty figuring out who had the ball in the blur of faces. They played rough, and by an unspoken agreement, the teams swiftly changed into Matsunos vs. Chibita.
Chibita foolishly allowed himself to be pulled into the game of keep-away, running after the ball even though the brothers always held it a little too high and waited a little too long for him to get close to them. He didn’t know any better.
As one of the copies feinted to the left and threw the ball down the court, Osomatsu’s voice rang out, “Aww, come on, Chibi-chan, you gotta try harder.”
Irritation ticked Chibita as he ran across the court, yelling, “My name's Chibita, dammit!”
Someone clipped Chibita in the shoulder, knocking him off-balance to tumble into a Matsuno behind him. The boy scowled, “Watch yourself, shorty.”
Everything clicked - the insults, the game, the drawn-out waiting. Embarrassment and shame washed over Chibita as he growled, baring his teeth to launch himself at the closest body. “The hell! I’m not short! I’m still growing!”
Chibita sent a solid punch straight into a small jaw. His hands might be tiny, but they were strong from collecting bottles every day for spare change. The yelp of pain from the boy called his brothers to the rescue, and Chibita was soon in the middle of the fray. He tried his best, fighting with tooth and nail, and it was almost good enough. But one tiny, enraged boy couldn’t fend off six.
Suddenly, large, strong hands gripped his arms, and Chibita was dragged out of the pile by a teacher. He struggled wildly, a rip running down the front of his shirt, and spit curses at the Matsunos. His classmates crowded the outside of the court, gawking at him with a mixture of amusement and fear.
“Wow, way to call him out.”
“I never noticed he was so tiny! Trying to make up for it with the scary face, huh.”
“Haha, Chibi-chan~”
As the teacher laid into him, Chibita caught Osomatsu staring from across the court, recognizable only by the red smearing his face from a bloody nose. They locked eyes, and Osomatsu cackled, sticking out his tongue. Hatred boiled in Chibita’s veins.
The basketball incident remained the school’s hot topic for the entire week. For the rest of the year, Chibita fought off students who thought they could take advantage of him because of his height. He heard snickers behind his back whenever he was assigned blackboard cleanup duty. If his classmates had any respect for him before, it was now long gone.
Chibita vowed never to trust a Matsuno again.
It was cold, so very cold. Snow covered every surface and icicles dangled dangerously from overhangs. Shivers wracked Chibita’s tiny body as he pulled his thin coat and worn sweater closer, trying to ignore the fact that snow was seeping into his sock from the hole in his shoe.
He huddled against an outdoor heater that the convenience store’s staff had finally installed, nursing the cheapest bowl of instant soup they had - oden. The only positive thing about his situation was that oden was his favorite food.
Chibita’s nose was running ferociously, and his tissues had run out three days ago. With a wet sniff and a sigh that puffed into the air, he dragged an arm across his face. The rough fabric of his sleeve scraped against his already-sensitive nose harshly. He sneezed, an ugly scratching sound.
Loud chatter from across the street drew his attention, and Chibita’s stomach dropped in dismay as he watched the sextuplets cross the road in their blue, thick hantens. Grubby hands clasped identical wallets as they yelled about allowance and candy. Chibita considered fleeing, but his frozen limbs and lukewarm soup would cause more trouble than it was worth. Armed with his scowl and sharp tongue, he watched them draw closer to the store.
“Jyushimatsu! What are you going to buy with only fourteen yen?”
One of the brothers, supposedly Jyushimatsu, pouted and looked away, “Better than your zero yen, Osomatsu-niisan. You’re not getting anything from me.”
“Ehh? But I’m your great onii-chan!” A pause. “Choromatsu?”
A boy crossed his arms, seeming annoyed. “Hell no.”
“Oooh, I’m telling Mommy you said a swear word!”
“Still a no.”
They walked up to the store’s entrance and entered without acknowledging him. Chibita breathed a sigh of relief. He was never so grateful that the heater was a couple of meters away from the door. With another loud sniffle, he tucked into his soup, determined to finish and leave before them.
Just as Chibita had thrown the paper bowl into the trash, the store’s door chimed, and the brothers tumbled out. They were pushing and shoving, each holding a couple of treats in their chubby hands. Chibita tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d had something sweet. To his horror, they turned as a group and began to walk in his direction. He threw his hood over his head and swiveled to get a head’s start. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough.
“Oi! Chibita!”
Chibita urged his legs to move faster, but they were too stiff from squatting in the cold. He didn’t want to admit he was short, but today they were letting him down. A hand touched his shoulder and he smacked it off, scowl firmly in place as he whirled to face the irritating brats. “What?”
Whatever pain the Matsunos had planned was now forgotten as they blinked at him, eyes collectively falling to his cheeks. A beat passed, and Chibita was growing antsy. “I said what, you idjits. The hell, can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Chibita,” a middle boy spoke slowly, “What’s all that on your cheeks?”
“It looks like you have whiskers,” another piped up helpfully.
Puzzled, Chibita swiped a hand across his face where it caught on several lumpy lines. He froze, and everyone seemed to realize exactly what it was at the same time.
The Matsunos fell into a howling fit on the ground, their snacks crunching under the weight.
“Boogers! He has dried boogers on his face!”
“Gross, gross, gross!!”
“Baha! Snotty-chan! I can’t get over this!”
Chibita bit his lip and fled, the stiffness in his legs not so important anymore. He refused to acknowledge the new, salty wetness streaking down his frigid cheeks.
Chibita was in a good mood. He had spent the day watching people walk by as he fed some birds the stale end of a loaf of bread he’d found. Feeding animals was similar to providing for himself, he mused. Nothing should ever be taken for granted.
It was getting dark enough for him to start thinking about dinner. With a stretch and content sigh, Chibita stood and began to walk into town in search of something filling and cheap. He could only spend about 500 yen to save enough for brunch tomorrow, but a little could go a long way.
He looked inside a convenience store, eyeballing the offerings within his price point. He could get the bento and a bottle of water. Or…
The rich smell of shoyu ramen wafted through the air, tantalizing and warm. Chibita knew from experience that the shop sold it at a manageable price, but he just couldn’t justify splurging on a meal most of the time. His legs moved on autopilot towards the shop as he mulled over the pros and cons in his head.
Someone bumped his shoulder, and he raised his head to apologize, “Sorry-”
Standing in front of him were the Matsunos. The one he had bumped into was rubbing his shoulder dramatically, drinking in the attention as two brothers cooed over him. The rest were frowning at Chibita.
What a wonderful start to his night.
“Hey!” One of them leaned straight into his space. “Don’t run into Todomatsu like that!”
Chibita’s quick temper got the better of him as he snapped back, “It wasn’t like I meant to, damn it!” It was a very foolish response. The others bristled, and they were on him in a heartbeat.
“How dare you talk to our baby brothers like that.” Two boys appeared at his side, shoving him into the building next to them. He was quickly surrounded.
Chibita snorted, “It’s not like I can tell who’s who in your crazy family. For all I know, you could be the same person!” Another bad move.
They all broke out into identical, feral grins. “That’s the point.” Now, that was deeply unsettling. Chibita tensed and readied himself to throw the first blow.
A distinctly feminine voice called “Boys! It’s our turn now.” The sextuplets froze and reset back into a faux sweetness in a single second.
“Yes, Mommy!” They ran off until only one remained. He leaned into Chibita’s face and simpered in his ear, “We’re going to eat ramen now. Enjoy your dumpster dinner, midget.” With a chuckle and spin of his heel, he was gone in an instant.
Chibita took a deep breath and congratulated himself for navigating the encounter with minimal problems.
The Matsunos had definitely walked into the ramen place he was considering; he confirmed that with a quick peek in the window. The whole family sat there happy as could be, the sons wearing fake, scheming smiles. Their poor parents undoubtedly had no idea of even half of the horrible deeds their demon children committed on a daily basis. If only the sextuplets knew just how lucky they were.
Chibita shook his head and reminded himself that he should try to have an enjoyable night. They might be eating ramen, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t try elsewhere.
As he stood in line for an udon place, he patted his pockets to find his change. Chibita’s heart fell as he didn’t feel the typical bump of coins, and he felt around once, twice.
Those cretins had stolen his money.
+1
Karamatsu was on the street corner, chest heaving as he spun, eyes darting everywhere frantically.
“Osomatsu-niisan? Choromatsu? Guys?”
No answer. He was beginning to berate himself for agreeing to keep watch of the area during Osomatsu’s latest prank. Of course they would abandon him at a moment’s notice!
Behind him came angry yells as the toy shop keeper barreled down the sidewalk. “Stop, thief!”
Karamatsu barely advanced one step before he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and hauled away, the keeper yelling at him the entire time. He was scared and didn’t know what to think or do. Karamatsu burst into tears.
---
Hours later, the sun was just beginning to set as Karamatsu emerged from the shop. He was exhausted after sitting through an extensive scolding and being forced to clean up the shop, wiping floors and windows.
A frown covered Karamatsu’s face as he followed the path home. His brothers had started to increase the number of times they abandoned him, often leaving him to clean up their collective messes. It wasn’t fair.
A loud crash echoed from an alley, startling Karamatsu.
“Aww, hell.” That voice sounded awfully familiar.
Carefully, slowly, Karamatsu peered into the alley to get a glimpse of Chibita’s back. The smaller boy was bent over to examine a rip in the large cloth bag he was carrying; numerous cans and glass bottles scattered the floor. Karamatsu watched as Chibita shook his head angrily and sent a forceful kick to the nearest can. It spun down the alley with a tinny clatter. Chibita shook the remaining cans out of the bag and threw it down, mumbling to himself under his breath.
Karamatsu watched Chibita rub his hands over his head in frustration, thinking about all the terrible, awful things he and his brothers had subjected him to. Karamatsu thought about how his brothers treated him now and how that made him feel.
He silently left and walked to the nearest store.
When Karamatsu returned to the alley, panting slightly from rushing, he was glad to see that Chibita was still there. The small boy had tied off the hole in the bag and was trying to fit as many cans into it before it exploded again.
Taking a deep breath, Karamatsu stepped forward and called, “Chibita?”
Chibita’s head whipped around as he glared at Karamatsu, expression growing increasingly guarded. Karamatsu knew he deserved at least that much disgust and walked forward slowly, holding out the sturdy bags he had purchased from the store.
“I, um.” Dark, untrusting eyes flickered down to the bags, expression unchanging, “I thought you might be able to use these.” Intimidated by the stare, Karamatsu avidly studied the ground.
“The hell do you mean?” Chibita’s voice twisted wryly, “Is this another one of your dumb pranks? Just go away Matsuno, I don’t have the time to deal with you idjits today.”
Karamatsu nibbled the inside of his lip. “It’s not a prank. I really mean it.”
He glanced up to see a skeptical look cross Chibita’s face. The boy picked up a pipe from the ground and poked at the bundle. “These aren’t covered in slime or something? You haven’t ripped a new hole into them so you can mock me again?”
“No, no!” Karamatsu frantically waved his hands, causing the bags to whip back and forth. “Nothing of the sort.”
There was a pause as Chibita narrowed his eyes before using the pipe to motion for him to drop them. The bags hit the ground with a soft slap, and Karamatsu backed away. Chibita shot him one more glance before picking up the bags and scrutinizing them, shaking them upside down to check that they weren’t crammed with bugs, dirt, or worse things.
“Huh.” They seemed clean. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.”
Without another word, he began to stuff a bag with cans. Karamatsu stood there awkwardly before grabbing the other one, bending to fill it as well. Chibita froze.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Karamatsu gave him an uncertain smile. “Helping?”
Chibita watched him continue to load the bag, and he snorted, “Suit yourself, but you’re not getting any of the profits.”
They didn’t speak again as the final bottles and cans were scooped from the ground. It was late; the sun’s last rays were disappearing into the horizon. Chibita quickly left the alley carrying his cargo and Karamatsu followed dutifully, dragging his own bag. It was heavier than he had expected. The shorter boy stopped to send him another incredulous squint.
“Damn it, what are you doing now?”
Scratching the back of his head, Karamatsu shrugged limply. “Still helping?”
The smaller boy regarded him carefully as he said, “Which one are you?”
“K-Karamatsu.”
“Hmm.” Chibita plodded forward, not bothering to check whether Karamatsu was following along. They were silent all the way to the junkyard gate where Karamatsu watched as Chibita greeted the worker casually, receiving a small number of coins.
“Come on.” The boy turned and walked inside the yard, forcing Karamatsu to scramble after him. He paused to bow to the worker, who chuckled and waved.
They dumped the bags’ contents into a large bin with a considerable clatter. Mission accomplished, Chibita gently tugged the bag from Karamatsu. They stared at each other for a moment.
“Here.”
Fifteen yen clinked into his palm, and Karamatsu glanced up in confusion. “I don’t-”
“Oh shuddup, Karamatsu,” Chibita rolled his eyes before shifting away slightly, “I know the bags cost something, idjit. Now leave before I stop being gracious.”
Not wanting to anger Chibita, Karamatsu nodded eagerly and quickly left the yard, missing the small, rare smile thrown his way.