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“The Earth still turns and I believe
One day I’ll fall into your gravity
I just took too long to see
beyond this predetermined read”
SUNRISE by MICHELLE
***
Pink and red shaded camellia patterns, woven into inky black silk. The bleeding red of the dawn is what reminds Rangi of it, the unusual outfit worn by her attacker earlier this night, that’s only now coming to an end.
A deep sigh leaves her lungs and she trudges down the still empty streets of Yokoya, the decently sized coastal city she’s chosen to protect.
Chosen may be too generous a word, Rangi considers, for a surname, title and power that had been pretty much handed to her at birth. It starts drizzling and the wind is cutting into her cheeks, but her skin stays thrumming with heat.
Yokoya, like any big city, never has a shortage of thievery and petty crime. The floral patterns had screamed luxury and excess, however, and the woman’s movements had seemed way too polished to belong to a common criminal. All in all, it’s a glaringly obvious discrepancy from Rangi’s usual range of foes during a night of fighting crime—perhaps that’s why she got away.
Annoyed by her own incompetence, Rangi enters the first coffeeshop she sees.
She doesn’t even stop to think how unusual it is for a coffeeshop to be open at 7am on a Sunday, instead walking up to the counter rather briskly, stopping only when the tall girl behind it shoots her a smile.
“Good morning,” she says, too chipper at this hour for Rangi’s taste, “what can I help you with?”
“Hi,” Rangi mutters, scanning the menu above tall girl’s head even though she already knows her order. “Uh, an espresso, please.”
“Do you want a double shot?” Kyoshi, the girl’s name tag reads, looks at her with a crooked grin that’s probably meant to convey sympathy.
Rangi wonders how dark the bags under her eyes are this morning. “Yeah, sure.”
She gets a chocolate chip cookie with it by means of breakfast and pays. It’s only when she’s sitting at one of the tables near the bar that Rangi realizes she never gave her name.
Kyoshi saves her the trouble when she comes over with her drink, setting the small cup down in front of her.
“Here you go,” she says, still wearing that kind smile.
Rangi is about to thank her when her eye falls on the cup, that isn’t blank, like she expected—Huo Guang, it says, in loopy handwriting and with a heart drawn next to it.
Her blood freezes in her veins. “That’s not me,” she chokes out. The power that sleeps in her belly roars as anxiety washes over Rangi—in all of her years doing this, no one has ever recognized her, or even as much as accidentally guessed it. She wills the roar to quiet, lest her next breath leaves her nose as steam.
Kyoshi, blissfully unaware to her inner turmoil, only smiles some more. “I know,” she says, “you just remind me of her. You know—” A hint of redness creeps onto her freckled cheeks. “—your eyes, your hair a little, most of all your jawline.” She must be sleep deprived, Rangi thinks as all she can do is stare at her barista. “Uh, sorry,” Kyoshi continues, the blush out in full force now, “you must get this all the time.”
Yokoya’s resident superhero looking like her? It’s ironic enough that she nearly lets slip a scoffing laugh. “I don’t, actually,” Rangi answers. And to keep it that way is exactly the reason Huo Guang wears face paints. “Perhaps you do have a point, though I can’t really see it.” She takes a sip from her cup as she watches Kyoshi’s green eyes gain a triumphant spark.
“People have told me I have a good eye for detail,” she says, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is it okay if I sit?” Considering they’re the only two people here and Rangi is mildly amused by their topic of conversation, she nods. “Anyways, I’ve been a little obsessed with Huo Guang ever since I was very little,” Kyoshi continues as she sits across from Rangi. “She’s still the main reason I ever watch the news. As a kid, I used to study pictures of her to recreate her face paint with my mom’s makeup—it’s silly, maybe, but I think I could recognize her even without the getup.”
Rangi wants to laugh and she manages to keep it to a smile mirroring Kyoshi’s. “Well, you never know. Has she ever come in here, before?”
The look Kyoshi shoots her makes Rangi intimately aware of how easy this is, talking to her, as if they’ve known each other for years instead of however long it took Kyoshi to make her espresso. It all adds to the otherworldly feeling of drinking coffee in a shop where she’s the only customer, on a street where she was the only pedestrian, in a city that’s still asleep.
Save for Kyoshi. “I think I would know,” she says, faux insulted. Rangi allows herself a chuckle.
“Well, she would be dumb to get coffee anywhere else. This espresso is like the best thing I’ve ever had.” It’s because she’s tired and hungry, probably, but the pride on Kyoshi’s face is worth it. Mirroring the grin sent her way, Rangi breaks the cookie in half and hands it to her.
“Thanks,” Kyoshi says. “You’re the nicest customer who’s ever come through here. Most of them just yell at me when one of my employees screws up.”
“You’re the manager?” Rangi asks around a mouthful of cookie.
“The owner, actually,” Kyoshi says, like it’s completely normal for a girl her age to run her own business. Who knows, it might be—it’s not like Rangi has a normal job.
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah.”
Throwing her head back, Rangi swallows the last of her coffee. “You shouldn’t let an asshole with a caffeine dependency walk all over you, though,” she says. Kyoshi just shrugs. Outside, the sun has started to peek over the tall buildings of this part of the city, shining a warm light through the tall windows of the shop and onto their table.
“I can handle it,” she answers simply. It’s not entirely satisfying to Rangi, but she’s distracted enough by the range of colors the sunrise reveals in the green of Kyoshi’s eyes to say anything else. Then the doorbell rings and Kyoshi has to return to the counter, leaving Rangi with an empty cup and the realization she never told the barista her real name.
Huo Guang written in black sharpie glares at her.
What passes for morning rush on Sundays is starting when Rangi moves to leave, but as Kyoshi is busy preparing drinks, she steals a pen from the counter and writes on her receipt:
I’m Rangi, btw. Nice to meet u.
She leaves it on the counter with a tip for Kyoshi to find and, as she steps out into the waking city, makes sure to remember the coffeeshop’s name: the Flying Opera Company.
A strange name for a shop run by a strange girl, Rangi thinks to herself as she makes her way home. Her initial stress at Kyoshi recognizing her resemblance to Huo Guang has made way for a quiet curiosity, swelling in spite of the rational part of her telling her to stay away, to not take this risk.
Rangi is back there the next day.
***
She keeps calling her Huo Guang in her head, even though Rangi has made it clear on several occasions that she doesn’t really see the likeness. Kyoshi is convinced, however. It’s something about the eyes and the set of her mouth, she thinks, that always seems to be turned down and a little bit strained, at least until Kyoshi brings over an espresso and their daily special.
They’re halfway towards being friends now, but she keeps writing Huo Guang on the cup.
Kyoshi likes Rangi. She’s kind, though she disguises it with harsh words. She’s easy to talk to and Kyoshi makes sure she always does, not only because she likes talking to her but because Rangi is nice and tips well. Or, that’s what she assures Lek when she calls him over to man the register when the bell rings and she sees the familiar, immaculately tied black topknot.
The espresso is ready just when Rangi has shed her coat and sat down.
“Good afternoon,” Kyoshi says as she sets down the cup—Huo Guang written on it with a star, today—and a slice of lemon tart.
When Rangi notices the name, her face turns as sour as the tart, if only for a second. “Hey,” she greets, “and thanks.”
“Anything for my hero,” Kyoshi teases. Rangi chuckles as she shakes her head and picks up the fork.
“How long are you going to keep that up?” she asks, not unkindly, before taking a bite. “Wow, this is really good.”
“For however long I still enjoy it,” Kyoshi grins. “Or, at least until you admit you look alike.” She makes a mental note of the satisfied expression on Rangi’s face as she eats the tart. On their next team meeting, she’ll suggest making lemon tarts a permanent food item.
A handful of customers enter the shop and then she’s forced to leave Rangi to it and help Lek behind the counter.
Making the drinks together with Lek is so familiar that Kyoshi does most of it without thinking, instead glancing over to Rangi’s table at every available moment, trying to imagine what she did earlier today.
For how much they chat whenever she’s here, Kyoshi still knows next to nothing about the girl. She comes in on the oddest hours, both early and late, no matter if it’s a working day or the weekend, making it so Kyoshi has started theorizing about what she does every day. Maybe she’s a firefighter—a decent guess, she thinks, because of that one time she leaned in a bit closer than usual as she served Rangi her coffee, and smelled the unmistakable tang of smoke clinging to her hair and her clothes. Or, maybe she’s a student with classes at unusual hours. Kyoshi had dropped out to take over the shop, but she could definitely imagine the stress of deadlines being enough to make someone pick up smoking.
Being completely in the dark like this makes for a nice pastime contemplating, even if it’s also kind of frustrating. Who knows, she could even really be Huo Guang, Kyoshi thinks to herself with a grin as she pours the milk for a cappuccino.
“Are you nearly done pining?” Lek’s voice comes from next to her. “I need to use the milk frother.”
“I’m not pining,” Kyoshi protests as she moves out of his way, but it doesn’t hold much weight and they both know it.
Ever since taking over the shop after her parents died, Kyoshi has worked an inhumane amount of shifts, being in every day. Ever since Rangi started frequenting, she has picked up even more; something impossible for her coworkers to miss.
“You’re a pining workaholic,” Lek tells her. “For real, when are you going to make a move?”
“I’m not,” Kyoshi hisses, before calling out a name and handing the customer their drink. “I can’t. It’s not professional.”
“You give her discounts on snacks,” Lek shoots back.
“That’s just because she tips too much.”
“Sure.” The way he draws out the word makes Kyoshi’s skin itch with feelings she doesn’t dare think about. Luckily, there’s another customer to worry about.
“How can I help you?” Kyoshi says by means of greeting, plastering on her nicest customer service smile.
“One americano,” the man on the other side tells her, not even looking up from his phone. “And make it fast.”
Kyoshi rolls her eyes as she rings him up. The Flying Opera Company is one block from Yokoya’s financial district so men like this one, who value their time as much as their pressed suits and gleaming watches, come in all the time. “Coming right up.”
She goes through the motions, quickly but not more quickly than usual, and hands the cup to the waiting hand. “Here you go, enjoy.” The man, finally looking up from his phone, has to look up even further to meet Kyoshi’s gaze.
The smile on her face is strained, but she keeps it there. Interacting with people has never been one of Kyoshi’s strong points, but she likes to think she’s gotten better at it ever since she started working here. The man takes it without a word and walks off, though before he can take more than two steps, he takes a sip and his face twitches.
It’s clear what’s about to come as he turns back to her. “This is disgusting,” he grumbles, angrily placing the cup back on the counter. “You’ve used too much water.” Kyoshi knows for a fact she has prepared the americano just the way she always has, the way it’s supposed to be prepared.
“I have not,” she tells him, keeping the smile plastered on her face, “but if you don’t like how it tastes, I can make you something else.”
“Sure,” the man scoffs. “A plain black coffee, then. Since you don’t look like you can make anything more complicated than that.”
Anger is bubbling in her gut, but Kyoshi keeps it under a tight wrap as she prepares the coffee. Neutral jing, she tells herself. If she gets mad or passive aggressive in the way Lek tends to get, the situation will only escalate. This isn’t the first guy to talk to her like this; it’s better to just do nothing.
It’s only when she’s finished the second cup that Kyoshi, with her heart skipping a beat in surprise, sees that Rangi has come up to the counter as well. Before she knows it has happened, Rangi has snatched the cup from her hand, looking about as mad as Kyoshi feels. Probably more so.
“You’d do well to treat the person making your drink with more respect,” she tells him. “If it was me, I’d have spit in it.” With that, she shoves the cup in his hand. “Now, scram.”
As he leaves, Kyoshi can hear him mutter about bad service, bad coffee and the rudeness of today’s youth. Like before, he does take a sip before he walks out the door—letting out a yelp as the liquid scalds his mouth.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll see him again,” Lek remarks as the door swings closed.
Rangi chuckles, but turns serious again as she turns to Kyoshi. “You can’t have them treat you like this, you know,” she says. “It’d do well for them to learn some common decency.”
“And that’s why you don’t work here,” Kyoshi responds lamely. “We have to treat everybody who comes in here with respect, even if they don’t show us the same courtesy. Especially when they don’t show us the same courtesy.”
“Though God knows why,” Lek mumbles as he moves past her to deal with a new customer.
Rangi looks similarly unconvinced. “The moral high ground looks good on you,” she tells Kyoshi. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s easy, really,” Kyoshi responds, as she throws out the americano and starts wiping down the counter. “It’s the principle of neutral jing; not doing anything, except listening, and waiting. It just requires some patience.”
Like a switch that flips, Rangi’s frustrated expression softens into a smile. “You’re entirely too good for this world.”
***
The concept of jing isn’t entirely unfamiliar to Rangi. As her mother trained her in using her powers, she had learned the principles of positive and negative jing in the most general sense: attacking and evading, and how she could use her powers for either. Neutral jing sounds like an afterthought, a tactic for the indecisive, instead of an actual strategy.
It seemed to work for Kyoshi, though. The calm on the tall girl’s face as that man screamed in her face keeps coming to Rangi’s mind—her fist, bathed in hot, orange-yellow flame connects with a stubbled jaw and a robber falls to the pavement with an anguished cry, but all she sees is Kyoshi’s everlasting smile.
Rangi wonders how much clientele she’d saved with that smile.
With a fiery roundhouse kick to the face, she slams the man who’d only just managed to stand up back to the ground. Neutral jing might work in the coffeeshop business, she thinks to herself, but decidedly not in her line of work.
Her hand itches to wipe the sweat off her brow, but Rangi fights the urge, as to not mess up her white and red face paint. It looks like she’s done for now, anyways. The group of four unconscious on the ground aren’t going anywhere for a while; with one tap she calls the number on her speed dial.
“It’s me,” Rangi mutters, cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she drags the men onto a heap. “Can you send a clean-up crew? I’ve got a band of robbers out here.”
She gives her location and starts collecting the evidence as she walks the person on the other side through everything that happened. “The resident is safe,” Rangi says when she’s nearly done. “If that’s everything, I’ll be home in a second.”
A black van rounds the corner, signifying she’s no longer needed here. Rangi hums in response to a question from the other side of the line. “Let’s talk about it later,” she says, annoyed. Fighting crime is fun, but between the heat and the sweat and the (often) irritating men, it always leaves her feeling dirty. A shower is first on her list of priorities right now. Second, maybe an espresso. “Yes,” Rangi replies half-heartedly, eager to end the call. “Okay. See you later, mom.”
Unbeknownst to Kyoshi and the rest of Yokoya, Huo Guang isn’t really one person. If she was, she’d have an inhuman power and longevity, with a career spanning at least fifty years—something that must add to the mystification of Huo Guang as more than a person with fire powers in face paint and rather a true symbol of peace, striking fear into the hearts of those who dare to break it.
The truth of the matter is that Rangi is only the second Huo Guang, having officially inherited the mantle from her mother when she completed her training at eighteen years old. And although technically acting on her own authority in the four years since, Rangi does still report back to the original Huo Guang, Hei-Ran.
“Welcome back,” her mother says as she enters the dimly lit study, without looking up from her laptop. Rangi plops down on the sofa by the window. “Rough night?”
“Not really,” Rangi says. “Just wasn’t feeling particularly up to it tonight.” That gets the attention of Huo Guang’s originator.
“What do you mean?” Hei-Ran asks, eyeing her closely, and Rangi can already see the track her mind’s taken.
“Don’t worry, I’m not thinking of quitting, or anything,” she says, glancing out the window to the night sky outside. It’s the middle of the night, probably closer to the morning now, the many lights of Yokoya’s skyline having darkened.
“It can be tiring,” her mother starts, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve experienced it myself. Criminals will always exist and run over this city, wave after wave, and Huo Guang needs to be the rock in the surf, breaking them.” Rangi rolls her eyes at the flowery language, though she supposes she has a point. Yet, she isn’t sure it’s that fact of her life exactly that’s making her feel this way.
“Maybe I need a vacation,” she mutters, more to herself than to Hei-Ran. “What did you want to talk about?”
Her mother ignores the comment in favor of answering her question. “Your demeanor. In particular, your excessive use of force.” Rangi feels her face twist into a frown. “Breaking the law is a crime and you have been given the right to arrest whomever does,” Hei-Ran says, wearing the same expression she got when Rangi was a kid and got caught sleeping instead of meditating and focusing on her breathing. The candles on her desk flicker, creating moving shadows on her face. “You do not have the right to give them third degree burns.”
“Like you‘ve never burned anyone,” Rangi shoots back.
“Violence is a necessary part of the job, however unbecoming it is for a hero,” Hei-Ran lectures. “As Huo Guang, we walk a very thin line between hero and vigilante. You should do well to remember that.”
For as much as they are alike, Rangi and Hei-Ran don’t always have the smoothest relationship. This type of conversation isn’t an anomaly—Rangi has often suspected the older woman has had some qualms about leaving her heroic persona in the hands of her less than passionate and ill prepared daughter—and normally, Rangi would’ve gone on the attack, defending her own style of enacting justice ferociously.
It’s only her mother who can get her riled up like this. For one instant, the fire of the candles roar, explosively growing in size and burning through half of the wax in the blink of time it takes for Rangi to collect herself, stand up and leave the room without uttering another word. This time, she doesn’t do anything.
It’s Kyoshi’s influence on her, Rangi is pretty sure. There is no way she would’ve let it go, back when she had never set foot in the Flying Opera Company. She hasn’t gone back there yet, having slept in after her late night and leaving home again when she wakes to Hei-Ran, informing her of a large fire in an apartment building downtown.
Fires are easy enemies for a superhero who commands the element. As she focuses on her breathing, Rangi wills the flames to shrink and falter until they flicker out. She moves through the building like that, sucking the heat out of each room and hallway until the fire is out and everybody is safe.
The sun sits high in the sky when she’s done helping all the victims get the first aid they need, covering others in crinkling silver shock blankets and patting the children on their ash covered hair, speaking to them in hushed tones about how brave they’d been.
And when she sees a flash of pink and red on a black background, there in the shadowed alley across the street, she waits. She notices a mask, patterned with the same camellia motif. From this distance, it looks like a fresh bloodstain. Even when she sees the dark eye slits focused on her, looking back, Rangi doesn’t do anything.
***
Her hair is messy today, not quite reaching the standard of dark hair pulled back into an immaculate top knot that Kyoshi has come to expect, and there are dark circles under her bronze eyes. Still, Rangi looks effortlessly beautiful, as she always does.
As she brings the cup up to her mouth, Kyoshi notices some dirt fall off her sleeve. Once again, her brain starts drifting. Seeing Rangi only in the closed environment of the coffeeshop makes it so she remains somewhat of a puzzle to be solved; no matter how much they talk. Kyoshi wonders what she’s like out there, in the rest of the world. What she likes to watch on tv, what she does before she goes to bed, what she eats when she gets up in the morning.
A bump against her back brings her back to earth. “You’re setting a bad example, boss,” Kirima tells her as she moves past her, to the coffee machine. “Lek is going to think he can get away with staring at Yun whenever he makes his deliveries.”
Kyoshi snorts at Lek’s indignant “hey!”, because although he might be more subtle about it than she is, there’s no denying he falls uncharacteristically silent whenever Yun brings over fresh pastries from his bakery, a block away from the Flying Opera Company.
Kirima does have a point, though, so Kyoshi takes off her apron and tells her employees: “Alright, then, I’ll be on my break,” and goes to join Rangi.
“Hey,” the other girl greets her, showing her a grin Kyoshi hasn’t ever seen her direct at anyone else.
“Hey,” Kyoshi replies, all possible topics for conversation leaving her mind the moment she sits down next to her.
“On break?” Rangi asks, although she knows the answer. Just like Rangi coming in so often, Kyoshi taking her break whenever she does has become part of their little routine, a shared, unspoken promise.
Kyoshi nods. “One of the pros of being the boss,” she says with a smile, “I can take breaks whenever I want.”
“And give discounts,” Rangi says, giving her a look that makes Kyoshi instantly hot under the collar. “Lek is better at making coffee than he is at keeping his mouth shut.”
Ignoring the blush that has doubtlessly made it onto her cheeks at being found out, Kyoshi crosses her arms and holds Rangi’s piercing gaze. “Only to my favorite regulars,” she responds, ignoring the fact that the category consists of only one. “Besides, didn’t you tell me I shouldn’t let my customers walk all over me? I’ll decide who gets them, and who doesn’t.”
That pulls a chuckle from Rangi’s chest. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. And I mean, I’m not complaining.”
“Good,” Kyoshi says. “I can revoke your special privileges just as easily, you know.”
“Woah, what happened to the kind barista we all know and love?” Rangi says, playing at shocked and wounded. “So harsh—who are you and what did you do to Kyoshi?”
It’s Kyoshi’s turn to laugh. Just like that, like they always do, she and Rangi fall into easy conversation, interrupted only by brief stints of companiable silence during which Kyoshi’s eyes stray from her running gag on Rangi’s cup to Rangi herself.
She hasn’t changed her mind on that matter, no matter how much Rangi might want her to. If anything, getting acquainted with Rangi’s silent but stern support when it comes to dealing with rude customers makes her believe in her little theory even more.
It’s all part of the daydream world she keeps close to her chest, where Rangi is Huo Guang and Kyoshi is the only one in the whole of Yokoya who knows, content to keep her secret, where Rangi come in every day at the very least and where Kyoshi can admire her from behind the counter for as long as she wants, without getting embarrassed when Rangi notices and their eyes meet, and without ever getting called away by her duties. And although her traitorous mind reminds her of what is probably observational bias, Kyoshi can’t help but notice the smaller things, like the dark marks that looks like burn marks on the sleeves of Rangi’s black hoodie, how the shop’s heating that borders on malfunctioning never seems to affect her and how her espresso never seems to grow cold, no matter how long they sit together, talking.
A warm hand covers hers and makes Kyoshi look up. “Huh?”
“I think they need you up there,” Rangi mutters, glancing over at the counter, where Lek is looking dangerously close to getting in a fistfight with a customer, Kirima holding him in his place by his apron. Kyoshi’s face twists into a frown and she quickly makes her way over.
“Can I be of assistance?” is what she starts with when she approaches the situation. The woman’s head swivels around so fast Kyoshi briefly fears it’ll fly off her neck.
“Are you the manager?” she demands. Kyoshi nods, sending the woman into a rant that paints Lek in the worst possible light. Meeting Lek’s eyes as she listens to the accusations, Kyoshi indicates with a small nod that he should wait in the little office in the back.
“…so, after that whispered insult, of course I don’t believe he ‘accidentally’ put dairy milk in my cappuccino after I specifically asked for almond!” the woman says, glaring up at Kyoshi with wide eyes, likely desperate for her to reward the scene she’s making with publicly firing Lek, or another needlessly excessive measure like that.
“Could it be possible you misheard?” Kyoshi asks, keeping her polite demeanor firmly in place.
“Would I mishear some kid calling me a hag?” the woman shoots back, incredulous at the mere suggestion of the possibility she may be wrong. Although Kyoshi definitely knows Lek to be capable of insulting customers when they are particularly taxing, she also knows him to be smart enough to do it only after they’ve already left the store. She notices a second drink on the counter, which according to the markings contains her cappuccino with the correct type of milk—looks like Lek had tried to solve this misunderstanding already, to the best of his ability.
Having enough experience to know that this type of person would never admit to misinterpreting whatever it was that was said, Kyoshi decides to move on. “I’m sorry this transpired here, where we pride ourselves on treating others with respect.”
“Yeah? I hadn’t noticed,” the woman mutters under her breath and Kyoshi feels her brow twitch.
“I see my employee has already made you the correct drink,” she says, sliding the cup towards the woman, who glares at the drink but doesn’t take it. “I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding, I’ll talk to him and make sure it won’t happen again.”
“That’s not good enough,” the woman replies, crossing her arms. “I want you to get him back here, admit to what he said and apologize.”
“That’s entirely up to him, ma’am,” Kyoshi tells her, “I can’t force him.”
“You’re the manager, right? Do you mean you don’t believe me?” the woman protests, glaring up at Kyoshi with wide eyes. “That’s unacceptable—I’m not a liar. Pull up the CCTV footage if you don’t believe me, I know you’ve got camera’s up somewhere around here.”
Instead of letting the woman rage on or waiting until she leaves of her own accord, like she usually does, Kyoshi decides then that enough is enough. She doesn’t even tell the woman the camera’s don’t record sound, instead using her height advantage to gently place her hands on the woman’s shoulders, turning her around and giving her a light push towards the exit.
“If you’re not taking your order, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she says, in her kindest customer service voice.
“What—”
Kyoshi leaves no room for discussion. “The café is a place for customers to consume their drinks in peace. If you do not want your drink, you have to leave.”
Shocked and disgruntled, the woman snatches the cup from the counter and walks away, muttering something Kyoshi doesn’t catch as she steps out the door.
A deep exhale leaves her lungs and Kyoshi relaxes, not even having noticed her muscles having tensed up during the altercation. As natural as the breath, her head turns and her eyes find Rangi, who’d already been looking and is already walking towards her.
“Nice one,” she tells her, patting her shoulder with her impossibly warm hand. “Looks like I’m rubbing off on you.” The proud grin she receives makes Kyoshi melt, as if she’s nothing more than a popsicle in the way of Huo Guang’s furious blaze, and the heat from Rangi’s fingers seems to seep right through the cotton of her shirt and settle into her chest.
***
“I think, one night when I was all out of groceries and just put all I had left together. It was milk, plain macaroni and sugar,” Kyoshi says, fingers on her chin as she thinks about the question. “The first bite was okay, actually. The second was worse, the third was disgusting and after that it tasted like actual garbage.” She snickers at the memory, before shuddering and shaking her head as if to get rid of it. “How about you? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever eaten?”
Rangi doesn’t need long to think about that. “Charred noodles,” she says, then at Kyoshi’s shocked and concerned face: “Don’t ask me how I managed to burn them, I was young and stupid. Felt like a crime to let them go to waste, though.”
“Did they even cook?” Kyoshi asks, mouth slightly agape. “Or where they…”
“Crunchy? Yeah,” Rangi finishes for her, smiling as Kyoshi cringes. “I’ve always been rather bad at giving in. And I wanted so badly to prove to my mom I could easily cook for myself while she was… Away, for business.”
“I’m guessing she wasn’t happy when she came back,” Kyoshi says, before taking a bite from the mille-feuille they’re sharing.
“She didn’t find out for the longest time, actually,” Rangi responds, following Kyoshi’s example. The sweet custard of the pastry compliments the lingering bitterness of her espresso magnificently and she hums quietly before she swallows. “I simply refused to admit defeat. In case you didn’t already know how stubborn I am.”
“Oh, trust me, I know,” Kyoshi smirks. “You still won’t admit you look like Huo Guang.”
“You’re the only one in Yokoya who thinks that, Kyoshi.”
“Hm, well, the comparison doesn’t hold up in all places, I suppose,” Kyoshi starts. “I bet Huo Guang wouldn’t burn her noodles.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve since become a master at making noodles,” Rangi shoots back, giving Kyoshi a challenging look over her cup as she takes a sip.
“Right,” Kyoshi replies, a clear hint of skepticism in her voice, challenging her right back.
Heat bubbles in her chest and Rangi, with a lifetime of fire burning in stomach, knows it’s not her power creating that feeling. Like a wildfire, it spreads up to her cheeks and she attempts to hide it by quickly taking another bite of the pastry.
She’s about to ask Kyoshi about the best thing she’s ever eaten when an unmistakable noise penetrates the windows. The siren swells until the fire truck thunders loudly past the shop, the sound of it warping as it gets further away again.
Rangi curses internally and looks for the fastest excuse. Making a show of looking at her watch, she makes sure to gasp, before she says: “Oh, no. I’m so sorry—I have to go.”
The fact that this has never happened before is something of a miracle and Rangi is glad for it as she watches Kyoshi’s pretty face fall, a sight she’s never seen before and would prefer to never see again. “What?” Kyoshi brings out, obviously confused.
“I’m sorry,” Rangi says again. “I forgot I have to run an errand for my mom. The shop closes soon and I have to get it done today. I’m sorry, I completely forgot about it.”
Hoping the purposefully vague excuse is enough to placate Kyoshi, Rangi simply gives her a wave and one last, apologetic smile, before she’s out the door.
This time, the fire is not at an apartment building, but at the power plant that provides most of Yokoya with electricity. Flames the size of houses burst out of broken windows and climb ever upwards, painting the whole scene in hot reds and oranges.
At first glance, Rangi can tell this was probably not an accidentally fire, but rather a manmade one. It’s too aggressive to have happened organic, eating up the walls of the main building on all sides, as well as several of the chimneys. A real fire spreads from a central location. This one seems to rage everywhere, indiscriminatory.
As she approaches the building, what meets Rangi is a mass of hot air, rolling towards her alongside the fleeing employees. Fire trucks are still arriving on the premises, backing up the ones already out there fighting the fire. It’s chaos—with a deep inhale, Rangi focuses on the heat and, with her next exhale, expels it, cooling her immediate vicinity a significant amount of degrees. It’s only a small start as all around her, the fire continues to spread.
As she moves through the plant, crouching low to the ground as to better breathe the remaining air, it quickly starts to feel like hours have passed since she entered, though it’s likely only been one. Being able to control fire doesn’t mean she’s physically safe from it, so around every turn Rangi has to exert herself in order not to get burned, in addition to extinguishing the flames. It’s tedious and exhausting.
Sweat rolls down her brow profusely as she pulls two people out of the control room, who’d fallen unconscious due to the lack of oxygen. Her face paint gets messed up when she wipes it away, but today Rangi doesn’t even realize it, putting all her power into pulling the men over the blackened tiles towards the exit, until she encounters a fireman who can take them off her hands.
Every part of her body screams to follow him, to let the fire brigade take care of it from the outside, but Rangi’s mind harshly reminds of her of the disappointment on Kyoshi’s face, when she’d left the Flying Opera Company so abruptly. This fire is the reason for that. She might not always like being Huo Guang, but she sure as hell will not let leaving Kyoshi like that be in vain. A breath to steady herself, then she walks back down the hallway.
The sun is setting when she has combed through the entire building and finally gets outside, eyes tearing from the heat and coughing heavily from the smoke. Thanks to Huo Guang weakening it significantly, the fire brigade has gotten a hold on the fire now, bombarding it with burst after burst of water and quickly smothering the flames. Exhausted, Rangi lets herself fall to the ground next to one of the trucks.
When finally, the all clear comes, it takes all of her remaining strength to stand—and to keep standing, because a blot of red and pink suddenly appears in her peripheral vision, causing Rangi to whip her head around and come eye to eye with the masked woman once more. None of the firemen seem to notice her where she stands in the growing shadows at the edge of the terrain, half hiding behind a tree.
Rangi starts walking straight towards her. ‘Who are you’, she wants to ask, but as she croaks out the first word, her lungs protests and send her into a coughing fit. When she looks back up, the woman is gone.
“We need to talk.” Having knocked back an entire pitcher of water, Rangi is feeling a bit more like herself again. She doesn’t sit; choosing instead to slam both hands on her mother’s desk.
“Rangi,” Hei-Ran says, a little surprised. “Good work tonight. The fire marshal just called—”
“I couldn’t care less,” Rangi interrupts her. “What do camellia’s mean to you?”
This is the only thing that makes any sense, she’d decided on the way home. In her decades of activity in Yokoya, Huo Guang is bound to have made some enemies, and Rangi is pretty sure she’d remember one like this. That meant that this is an enemy her mother had made. And a serious one at that; although Rangi had only encountered her three times, now, the woman in camellia patterns had not shied away from harming innocent bystanders in order to…To what, exactly, Rangi is still unsure. Get her attention, maybe, but for what?
Hei-Ran looks positively taken aback by the question. “Rangi,” she replies, “what happened?”
“The fire happened,” Rangi says. “And I’m pretty damn sure the person responsible is one I keep encountering lately: a woman in a black mask and a black suit, both patterned with red camellia’s. At least, I think they are. We used to grow them in the garden, didn’t we?”
The prolonged silence before Hei-Ran nods is already enough to let Rangi know her gut was right. “Yes,” her mother says. “You’re positive you’ve encountered her multiple times?”
Rangi nods. “Today, the apartment fire last week, and one time a few months ago. She’s definitely getting bolder, though. I just can’t figure out what she wants.” Hei-Ran’s eyes stray and her hand has come up to her face, fingertips on her lips as she thinks. “So?” Rangi demands.
“…I might know her identity,” Hei-Ran says after another moment of quiet. “Years ago, when Huo Guang was still very new in Yokoya, she had an ally. Her name… Her real name, was Huazo Saowon.” A nostalgic smile briefly graces her face, but wilts in a second. “The camellia was her favorite flower.” The adrenaline in her body is finally starting to wear off, so Rangi sits down in one of the chairs on the other side of her mother’s desk. She drags a hand down her face in her exhaustion, glaring as she realizes her error too late and her hand comes away white and red.
The name is entirely unfamiliar to her. Rangi hadn’t even known there was ever a time Huo Guang didn’t work alone, and she is the second utmost authority on the matter. There has to be a reason for that, one that likely ties into the fact why her mother thinks this ally would ever have turned to an enemy. “What happened?”
“It was the early days,” Hei-ran starts, reluctantly. Her eyes are fixated on dark mahogany and don’t stray. “I had no proper training, not like you do, and my fire was still very susceptible to my emotions.” Rangi nods—she knows that part of Huo Guang intimately, having struggled through many fires sparking from her anger and sadness while growing up. “Huazo was my confidante, someone who knew what it was like, suffering from a similar affliction.”
“What?” In all of her life, Rangi had never heard of someone else having a power like she and her mother.
“Lightning,” Hei-Ran explains. “Harder to control, certainly, and twice as destructive as fire. She taught me the breathing exercises that I needed to control mine. Together, we started using our powers for good. But then…” She exhales, her shoulders turning inwards as she does, and lets her head fall into her hand. “We got into an argument. I don’t even remember what it was about, now, but I momentarily lost my newfound control.”
Rangi is stunned silent at the admission. It’s hard to imagine her mother, the most put-together woman she knows, the most experienced Huo Guang, losing control. The mask makes more sense, now. “You burned her.”
“I did. She was devastated—she was always a very beautiful woman,” Hei-Ran mutters. “After that night, I never saw her again.” She’s getting lost in thought, but Rangi has heard enough. Her mind settles as she leaves the office.
The masked woman is Huazo and she has a score to settle with Huo Guang. Rangi showers, quickly washing off the paint, ash and grime, then walks to the Flying Opera Company as fast as her legs can take her. She needs a break—an espresso and Kyoshi’s company, to take her mind off of this revelation.
***
Kyoshi feels on top of the world these past few days, and it likely has everything to do with the fact that Rangi has come in on every one of them. Yesterday, she even visited twice; once in the morning and once right before closing, and Kyoshi’s grin had cemented itself securely on her face for the entire day.
She doesn’t even care about Lek’s teasing anymore. Her crush on Rangi has been growing and blossoming for a while, now, and she’s pretty sure Rangi feels the same about her. It can’t be the no more than average coffee that makes her keep coming back.
They’d been the only ones left, yesterday night. While Yokoya bathed in darkness, Kyoshi had lit several candles, putting them on the counter and the table Rangi usually sits at, before turning the lights off.
As Rangi laughed at the sudden blackout, the candlelight had seemingly surged—as had the feeling of weightlessness in Kyoshi’s chest.
“Doesn’t this make the shop look cozy and atmospheric?” she had said, gesturing at the warm browns of the wooden furniture, the varnish glittering in the flickering light.
“Yeah. The most romantic coffeeshop in the event of a power outage,” Rangi had replied, smirking, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Their late-night conversations and the way Rangi’s eyes took on a profoundly captivating shine in the low light keep replaying before Kyoshi’s mind’s eye the next day. She’s always been a daydreamer, but today she gets so lost in it that she starts to mess up orders, something she hasn’t done since her first week on the job.
As the day progresses and Rangi doesn’t show, Kyoshi doesn’t let herself think about it too much. She’s been in every day, she reminds herself, and a person could grow tired of coffee after so many espresso’s. Caffeine dependency can be a serious issue.
When the time she needs to close the shop rolls around, Kyoshi has made her peace with it, dutifully cleaning all the tables and the counter a last time before gathering her things, putting them in her bag and swinging it over her shoulder as she leaves the shop and locks the door.
She would be here again tomorrow morning and perhaps, so would Rangi. The thought of an early morning together brings a smile to her face. With that thought, Kyoshi steps into the night.
Before she can get far, something unusual in the corner of eye catches her attention. In the alley next to the shop that leads to the back, normally used only for deliveries and where her employees go to smoke, a dim light shines. Kyoshi, perhaps still somewhat caught up in her dream world, is momentarily captivated by it—in her years working in the Flying Opera Company, this alley has never been anything but pitch black after closing.
She does the only thing she can think to do, and approaches it.
“…Kyoshi?”
It’s the voice she’d been replaying in her head on a loop all day and it makes Kyoshi freeze dead in her tracks. “Rangi?” she asks, carefully. The source of the light remains unclear no matter how close she gets, Rangi’s body curled in on itself around the tiny flicker of warmth and light.
It’s only when she moves, turning her face to meet Kyoshi’s eyes, that Kyoshi sees a terrible truth confirmed.
Rangi’s face is unnaturally white and streaked with red in familiar patterns, though the flame that rises from the palm of her blackened hand not quite enough for Kyoshi to see where the face paint ends and the blood begins. There are ominous dark stains and burn marks in her black clothing, made more sinister by how she’s clenching onto them with her free arm. Rangi, with this appearance better known as Yokoya’s protector Huo Guang, is bleeding out in the alley next to her coffeeshop.
Kyoshi’s breath catches in her throat and she wastes no time in kneeling down next to her most valued customer, sliding an arm under her armpit and around her back, supporting her weight. “Rangi?” she asks again, tentatively. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Rangi moves to stand, her face contorting at the stress it puts on her wounds. Maybe she doesn’t hear the question or maybe she doesn’t care about answering right now, because instead of explaining her ravaged state she just shoots Kyoshi an overly familiar grin. “You’re too kind to say it,” she whispers through gritted teeth, “so I’ll do it for you.” Using the advantage of her height and her strength, Kyoshi hauls Rangi out of the alley and into the door she just locked. “You were right,” Rangi says, leaning heavily on the counter as Kyoshi scrambles to get her a chair. “You were joking, but you were right.” It makes her chuckle, which instantly sends her into a coughing fit and Kyoshi doesn’t know if she wants to hug her or slap her.
“I don’t care about that,” she admonishes, although her mind is still reeling from the revelation that, like Rangi said, she was right. She’d been right from the start. Rangi is Huo Guang.
They’re back in the shop, covered by the darkness of the night, and the irony of the morose difference with how they spent the night here yesterday isn’t lost on Kyoshi. She gets Rangi a glass of water and tries again. “What happened?”
Her wounded state means Rangi is even more to the point than she usually is. “It’s a long story. The short version of it is, Huo Guang’s oldest enemy wants to kill me.”
The way she words it gives Kyoshi the barest hint to Huo Guang’s true identity. Rangi is her age and the hero has been active about as many years as they’ve both been alive. Kyoshi should know. She’s been looking at this same white and red face paint on her tv screen for as long as she can remember. Meaning, although she is the hero now, she wasn’t always.
“Who?” Kyoshi asks.
“Her name is Huazo,” Rangi replies. She’s zipped open her black jacket and is picking at her wounds under her shirt—Kyoshi slaps her hand away and quickly gets her first aid kit from behind the counter. “She’s been bothering me for a while—ah, that hurts.”
“Yeah, well, it beats cauterizing,” Kyoshi snaps as she presses a bandage to a particularly nasty looking gash on Rangi’s ribs with one hand, getting out the roll of gauze with another.
“You’re mean today,” Rangi says, and Kyoshi has to actively ignore the way the Rangi’s skin thrums under her fingers as she talks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”
It’s probably the stress, but— “I don’t usually have customers bleeding all over my counter.”
“Ouch.” How she’s still grinning at her, Kyoshi doesn’t know. Maybe Rangi has sustained brain damage in her fight. Maybe she’s used to this kind of situation, being hurt and having adrenaline pumping through her system in an environment that’s high pressure unlike anything you could ever experience in customer service.
“Did you at least beat this… Huazo person?” Kyoshi asks, being a bit more gentle as she tapes the gauze in place, smoothing over the ragged edges. Her eyes come up from her hasty first aid and meet Rangi’s bronze ones through the darkness.
Rangi’s brow furrows and she looks away. “No,” she admits. “Not yet.”
“What are we going to do?”
The glance Rangi shoots her way makes her look more like Huo Guang than ever before: the stern, disbelieving look screams authority and responsibility, as if Kyoshi using the word ‘we’ broke a sacred rule that forbids heroes and civilians to mix. As if Huo Guang should defeat any foe entirely on her own.
It’s certainly unconventional, the way she keeps sitting with Rangi during work hours, Kyoshi knows that. She’s the boss and Rangi is a customer, yet she keeps bridging that distance between them at every turn. And why shouldn’t she? The Flying Opera Company is hers to do with as she pleases, and hers alone.
Similarly, in spite of Huo Guang’s history, the identity belongs solely to Rangi. Hoping her determination and something of that closeness they’ve accumulated over the weeks reflects in her gaze, Kyoshi stares back at the girl sitting on her counter. If you’re not backing down, she wants to say, then I’m not either.
“We are going to do nothing,” Rangi carefully says, but she betrays her weakened state as she tries to jump off the counter and cringes at the pain the second her feet hit the floor. “You—ah, fuck—are getting to safety.”
“No way,” Kyoshi responds. “You’re hurt—so I’m helping.”
Rangi looks ready to protest, but before either of them can say anything else, a flash followed by the loud crash of glass shattering overtakes the room.
***
“Huo Guang.” The voice that accompanies the cacophony of sound is deep and chilling. “Are you quite done running?” Huazo’s mask is cracked from when Rangi hit it at the very start of their fight, making her look even more dangerous as she steps over the rubble, through the hole she just blasted in the Flying Opera Company’s facade. Rangi ignores the pain of her injuries and the rapid beating of her heart because, against her wishes, Kyoshi is still present.
And, with apparently no caution for her own wellbeing, she steps forward. “You’re not welcome here,” Kyoshi says. Although she’s grateful for it, now Rangi mentally curses the fact Kyoshi has changed so much from the timid barista she was when they first met. “Please leave, and I’ll forgive the damages you’ve caused.”
Huazo is momentarily stunned into silence, before breaking out into laughter. “You would be very foolish to assume I’d abandon my revenge now, when it is ripe for the taking.”
“Revenge is a childish pursuit,” Kyoshi says, crossing her arms and looking down at the woman who could very well injure her right where she stands. “You’ll win nothing with it.”
“You don’t know what I’ve lost,” Huazo spits, stepping forward.
“No. But I’ve lost enough to know.”
It’s like the woman doesn’t even hear her. “My face, my beauty, my youth… It was all taken from me. By Huo Guang—” She speaks the name like its poisonous. “—whom I considered my closest friend.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Kyoshi says. Even now, to Rangi’s dismay, backing down doesn’t seem to register as an option for her. She’s still the same, polite barista, talking softly and compassionately as if the woman before her is nothing but another dissatisfied customer.
It seems to entrance Huazo as well, as she takes another step towards Kyoshi. Positive she’s now out of the woman’s line of sight, Rangi steels herself, exhales and swings her fists forward.
Fire rages from her knuckles but it’s not enough—Huazo turns around in time to meet the flames with a crackle of lightning, that tears through the blaze and hits Rangi in the shoulder. With a groan, she crumples back to the floor.
“Ra—” Kyoshi catches herself in time, transfixed in her spot where all she can do is watch Rangi struggle through the pain. “Huo Guang!”
It’s no use. Huazo is by her side in a flash and quite literally kicks her while she’s down, her foot meeting the ribs Kyoshi had just patched up multiple times. It takes a second for Rangi to get a hold of herself, gritting her teeth through the pain and grabbing onto Huazo’s boot when it slams against her the fourth time.
“What I did to you was wrong,” she mutters, staring up at the woman towering over her, crazed yellow eyes looking down at her through the slits in the mask. This isn’t her mistake, but she’ll own up to it if it gets Huazo to stop. “I apologize.”
“I’m not asking for your remorse.” Huazo states it matter-of-factly, like she’s telling her what the time is. She pulls her foot back from Rangi’s grip easily. “I am demanding your atonement in blood.”
Rangi locks her jaw and prepares for another beating, but before Huazo can start she’s hit in the head by a mug, that falls to the ground and shatters on impact. She turns around just to be hit in the chest by a barstool, the power with which Kyoshi throws it at her pushes her back, enough for Rangi to regain her footing.
She is granted a moment to catch her breath as Kyoshi keeps throwing stuff from behind the counter, which she’s quick to hide behind as Huazo hurls bolt after bolt of lightning at her.
The woman has a one track mind, not just when it comes to her revenge but seemingly in their fight as well; she’s still preoccupied with Kyoshi when Rangi pops up behind her and with a kick, swipes her legs out from under her, punching her in the mask as she falls to the ground. Kyoshi jumps over the counter in a smooth motion and is by her side in a heartbeat, grabbing Huazo’s wrists and keeping them together as Rangi holds her down by her shoulders.
But Huazo isn’t content to go down without a fight. Her nostrils widen as she inhales deeply and Rangi recognizes the danger in that instinctively—she’s just not fast enough. Huazo releases her lightning and Rangi can’t do much but watch in horror as Kyoshi screams and pulls her hands off of Huazo’s, tears welling up in her radiant eyes as she looks down at her burned hands.
“Kyoshi,” Rangi whispers, wanting nothing more than to care for her like she patched her up earlier, hugging her close because the pain from heat and fire is one she knows intimately.
There would be time for that, later, she reminds herself. Huazo is moving again, but before she can get up fully, Rangi is there. She lets her anger take a hold of her power and as she exhales, her breath coming out in clouds of steam. Her eyes lock with Huazo and, for the first time, she sees something else beside a dark determination in them. Something akin to fear. Rangi looks past it, eyes focused on the crack in the mask she’d put there earlier as she twirls, the fire surrounding her like a vortex, then she extends her leg and lands a kick on Huazo’s face.
With a muted crack, the mask breaks, and both halves clatter on the floor. Huazo is out cold. Only now, Rangi sees the damage her mother had done, decades before. A scarred burn mark tears diagonally through Huazo’s face, all the way from her hairline to her chin, distorting her nose and her cheeks. Hei-Ran’s words about excessive force take on a new meaning now, one that sends a horrific chill down Rangi’s back. She tries not to think too hard about it as she pulls a pair of zip ties from her pocket and binds Huazo’s hands and feet together.
When that’s done, she stumbles over to Kyoshi, grabs her shoulders as gently as she can, and pushes her towards the counter. “Come,” she tells her, “we need to get those hands under some lukewarm water. It’ll help with the pain.”
“What about you?” Tears are still streaming down her face, but Kyoshi’s voice is as calm and insistent as Rangi has ever heard it.
It’s kind of crazy how, with her bleeding and burned hands, she still finds it in herself to care about Huo Guang’s wellbeing. “I’ll be fine, dummy,” Rangi tells her, pushing her to the sink and adjusting the tap until the water temperature is adequate. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“It isn’t mine either,” Kyoshi mutters as she sticks her hands under the stream. “Burned my hands on the coffee machine plenty of times.”
Still, there is no way this compares, Rangi thinks to herself as she watches the blood wash away to reveal angry, red lines branching up Kyoshi’s fingers and hands. She stands next to the girl, leaning on her ever so slightly under the weight of her own injuries, stroking the hand that’s still resting on Kyoshi’s back up and down in a comforting gesture.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she mumbles.
Kyoshi tilts her head, leaning it softly on Rangi’s. “I’m glad you are.”
Rangi chuckles. “Of course—I’m supposed to be the hero, right?”
“Well, yes,” Kyoshi answers, her eyes on her hands in the sink. “But you’re just a person, too, you know.” A grin crinkles the freckled skin around her nose. “You’re my favorite customer.”
The blush comes easy and unwanted, but Rangi doesn’t even notice. She presses against Kyoshi a little harder and lifts a hand to her face, fingers splayed over Kyoshi’s cheek and angling it so that she can stand up on her tippy toes, and press a kiss on her lips.
It surprises Kyoshi, evident from how her breath hitches, but she catches on fast and leans further down when Rangi pulls back, kissing her back urgently.
It’s a little clumsy with Kyoshi’s hands still under the water and Rangi exerting her body, twisting it to be able to join her hands around Kyoshi’s neck without hurting the gash in her side any more than she already has. Outside, the last lights switch off, and Yokoya sleeps.
In a few hours, the sunrise will herald a new day, with new villains and old duties, but in this moment, they’re the only ones awake; they might as well be the only ones on earth. Rangi kisses Kyoshi again, giggling at the white and red smudges on the tall girl’s face when she pulls away.
Warmth spreads through her body, and it has nothing to do with her power.
It’s perfect.