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There is a reason Rumi works alone as a hero. Why she enjoys her personal space, and her ability to go full out on assignments. Consideration who? Tanks don’t need to have consideration, thanks.
But sisters, unfortunately, do.
“Rumi!”
“Mimi!!!!”
“Is that Pro Hero Miruko I spy, gracing us with her awesome presence?”
“RUMINATORRRRR!!!”
And those are just four of her thirteen siblings that have come to pick her up from the train station. Rumi smiles and her oldest brother, Daichi, snorts loudly, his tan rabbit ears quivering with mirth.
“Oh, stop with the death glare, dude; you’re not fooling anyone. Just admit that you mi~ssed us!”
“Only under torture, and even then: questionable.”
Her immediate younger sister, Naomi, laughs heartily, her tanned cheeks bunched into a grin that forces her violet eyes closed. “Oh lord, Mimi, please never change!”
“Don’t plan to,” Rumi returns, easily side-stepping as the twins launch themselves at her. The two six-year-olds rocket by with squeals of glee, nearly face-planting into the train behind her. Rumi shakes her head while Daichi shakes his finger.
“Miki, Kiki, you’re not supposed to roughhouse with Rumi,” he scolds. “She’s here to recover, not fight.”
“I’m always here to fight,” Rumi corrects. “Please don’t spread these lies about me.”
Daichi shoots her an exasperated look while Naomi gestures for Rumi’s bag.
“Yes, yes, we all know you’re a badass,” her sister says, smiling through the brief tug-of-war that occurs while Rumi’s pride tries to overcome her aching ribs to retain her suitcase. Kiki and Miki latching onto both of her knees in little bear hugs finally make her relinquish her hold.
“Using the babies against me, I see,” Rumi challenges, hands on her hips with the two six-year-olds koala-holding her legs in place. “Underhanded.”
Daichi and Naomi beam at her like she’s just handed them a compliment and Rumi rolls her eyes. Still, it puts her in the uncomfortable position of acknowledging that she can’t move. She - Rabbit Hero Miruko, with legs that can bench press over a ton without breaking a sweat - can’t lift two little kids. Not without busting the stitches that run down her hips, ribs, and shins.
Clearing her throat, she gives Daichi her most disdainful look.
“Call off your minions,” she demands. “We’re gonna be late.”
Naomi snorts, gesturing for Miki and Kiki to let go. They hop over to her, chattering excitedly. Daichi just raises an eyebrow.
“You can cool it with the hardcore schedule thing, you know,” he says even as they start walking toward the station exit. Or limping, in Rumi’s case, as much as she tries to hide it. “You’re home now, and you know we’re not all that speedy Hawks, out here.”
She almost winces at the reminder that her fellow heroes are still out there kicking ass while she’s stuck in her little hometown for the next week, taking it easy.
“Ain’t that the truth,” she grumbles as Naomi pops the trunk of Daichi’s car and packs in Rumi’s suitcase. Daichi nudges her gently.
“Hey now,” he says in an undertone. “You’re gonna be back out there fighting the known universe in no time. But even if it sucks to be on the bench for a while, we’re still happy you’re here.” His red eyes, so similar to hers, are bright with happiness. “We missed you, sis.”
Rumi pulls a face but elbows him back without even trying to put force into it. Daichi had always been her favorite, after all.
----
The drive through ‘town’ is… something. Rumi remembers being the twins’ age and enjoying coming to what she thought of as the height of action - away from the farm and the acres upon acres of crops her family grew. She’d thought the grocery store was a treat and that the middle school parades were the height of entertainment.
Now, hearing about the decades-old feud between the two corner market owners has her listening with half a fluffy ear while she watches all the people out shopping, working, and going about their daily lives. With the windows cracked, she can even hear the sounds of music coming from the old CD shop, chatter coming from the local breakfast diner, and kids playing as they wait for their parents to finish up haggling at the fresh market.
She doesn’t miss this lifestyle if she’s being honest with herself. The most alive she’s ever felt has been when kicking off of concrete and still not clearing the skyscrapers around her. Feeling like she’s among the giants - like she’s flying, and still has higher she can go.
“...not that this has anything on what you deal with, Rumi!” Naomi was saying from the front seat. Rumi, sitting in the back with the twins, frowns.
“People’s lives are still people’s lives,” she says, as diplomatically as she can. “Don’t have to be saving ‘em to make a difference in ‘em.”
I may not miss this life, she thinks, seeing Naomi look back to smile genuinely at her. That doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you guys.
----
Arriving at her brother’s house comes with much fanfare. Little bunny-eared kids hop around her in excitement, some of them the same age as her own younger siblings.
“Aunt Rumi, Aunt Rumi,” one of them crows - Haruki, she thinks. “Did you know Uncle Masaki has, like, all of your merch? He showed it to us when we went over to Gramma’s last week!”
Rumi’s eyebrows shoot up, and she glances over the herd of bunny ears to Naomi, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Really?” she asks, thinking about the little brother who’d barely been in primary school when she’d gone off for her first internship in the city, and hadn’t come back.
“Don’t act so surprised,” Naomi snorts. “You’re famous around here, sure, but we’re all still your number one fans. Though…” She coughs out a laugh. “I think Masaki might be planning to ask for your autograph. Fair warning.”
“But he’s my brother!” Rumi protests, while the kids around her laugh at her surprise. Naomi shrugs.
“He barely remembers you,” she points out. “Take some time to talk with him if you can - I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
----
Daichi’s kids are adorable, and Rumi is not biased at all. Truly, since she doesn’t typically like kids all that much, unless one counted Hawks.
Holy shit, the birdbrain would have a blast with this, she thinks, watching the kids approaching the base of the treehouse, all snickers and shushing noises. They’re trying to sneak up to her ‘evil fortress’ so that they can defeat her, but they clearly don’t know the deviousness of their youngest sister.
“Ready?” she asks Aki, who giggles up at her. The four-year-old had been ‘gifted’ to Rumi’s team since her siblings hadn’t thought she’d be much use in their game of ‘Heroes vs Villains’. Rumi, tail puffed from being cast as the villain, had taken the little girl on with a regal nod and an internal vow to crush the rest of Daichi’s brood.
Now, after Aki had snuck the water hose and a packet full of balloons up into the treehouse, Rumi actually has the evil smile to match her role.
“I’m ready,” Aki lisps, beaming up at Rumi with a gap-toothed smile. The heroine grins.
“On three?”
“Yeah!”
Both of them peek out of the rough-hewn window of the treehouse, peering down at the four children approaching, water balloons at the ready.
“Three, two, one...” Rumi counts down, cocking her arm back as far as her stitches will allow. “FIRE!”
Balloons fall like rain, splattering the screaming children while Rumi cackles out as many cheesy villain one-liners as she can remember.
“That’s right!” she hollers as the kids scramble back to the relative safety of the engawa. “Flee before the might of Rumi and Aki, the terrors of the trees!”
She sees the back door slide open as her eldest brother steps out. Immediately, Daichi’s kids circle around him, pointing at the treehouse and squealing over the attack.
Daichi takes one look at his soaked children, then up to Rumi and Aki leaning out of the treehouse window, casting him victory signs, and then bursts out into laughter.
----
After dinner, when most of the household has gone to bed and Naomi has taken the twins back to their parent’s house, Rumi meets Daichi on the engawa for tea.
“I haven’t done this since middle school,” Rumi says, easing herself onto the porch edge and feeling her stitches pull. As much fun as it’d been to annihilate - or play with - the kids, it had not been awesome for her injuries.
Beside her, Daichi passes over a steaming cup along with her painkillers and antibiotics. Rumi takes them gratefully and swallows the pills with a sip of tea.
“Jasmine with honey?” she asks, letting the sweet scent hit her nose. Her muscles relax with the mixture of nostalgia and comfort.
“Just how you liked it,” Daichi smiles, shifting to draw his knees up. “Hope it’s still okay?”
Rumi takes another sip, ears twitching with pleasure. “Mmm, yep. Reminds me of kotatsu time and math homework.”
“My deepest apologies about the latter, then,” Daichi says gravely, his face far too serious.
Rumi snorts. “Coming from a math professor, kinda feels like a lie.”
Daichi blinks innocently, “Me? Lie to a hero? I could never!”
“Just did. How dare you.”
Daichi laughs, and Rumi snickers alongside him, pressing a palm to her aching ribs.
“You okay?” Daichi asks quietly, noticing the motion. Rumi just waves him off though.
“Painkillers will kick in soon. Doesn’t bother me much right now, anyway.”
“Who’s the liar now?” Daichi chides, reaching out to poke her shoulder gently. “You don’t have to keep up the tough badass image here, you know.” At the sight of her raised eyebrow, Daichi snorts and adds, “Though, of course, we all know you are a tough badass.”
“Damn right,” Rumi asserts, raising her chin stubbornly. The motion sends a twinge through her back, and she lets out a sigh, her ears drooping slightly.
She’s been a hero for so many years now, and had been trying to emulate them for so many years before that; she’s not sure she remembers how to relax. The number of times she’d been caught in high school, sneaking out with a homemade mask to stop criminals? The times she’d gone into illegal fighting rings just for a chance to go toe-to-toe with villains?
Fighting, pushing hard, baring her bloody teeth at the enemy and asking: “That all you got?”
Those are all part of her personality. They’re who she is at her core, and the reason why she could never settle in a sleepy town like her siblings.
But that’s not what Daichi’s talking about, and she knows it.
Her ears droop further as she releases the tension she’s held in her muscles for so long. Without a word, Daichi scoots closer and opens an arm in invitation.
Rumi takes it, leaning into her older brother’s side like she used to when she was a kid, worn out after a day of playing, taking on bullies, and studying her ass off to become the greatest hero Japan had ever seen.
A warm arm drapes over Rumi’s shoulder, careful of the bumps and bruises she has along with all the stitches. It helps ground her as the painkillers kick in, pulling her mind into fuzziness. A kind of floaty feeling, like her nerves have temporarily been detached.
“We’re proud of you, you know?” Daichi murmurs quietly, resting his cheek against the top of her head while they stare out into the star-filled night.
Despite how many times Rumi has heard those words from teachers, fans, and fellow heroes, she warms at hearing them again.
“Thanks, Daichi.”
----
The next day, Rumi is informed that she won’t be meeting up with her parents at their farm, but rather in town, at the farmer’s market.
“You know old Murakami-san?” Naomi asks while reapplying Rumi’s bandages. “The one with the weather quirk? He told the farmers that next weekend there would be typhoon levels of rain. So all the farmers decided to move the market to this weekend instead.”
“And Mom and Dad are gonna be running around all day, catching up with friends and making sure they sell as much as they can,” Rumi points out. “I can wait to see them for a couple of days.”
Naomi smiles kindly. “Mom can’t. Neither can Dad, actually. I had to bully them into going to the market to begin with.”
Rumi looks up at her younger sister, eyebrows raised. “You? A bully?”
Naomi’s ears twitch in amusement. “Someone had to fill your role, you know.”
Rumi thinks about objecting, or letting her heroic pride take offense. But at the glint in Naomi’s eyes and the way her sister hides an amused smile, Rumi relents, settling on sticking her tongue out instead.
——
Rumi left her hometown behind when she was fourteen years old, and very little had changed about it in the intervening twelve years.
I’ve spent almost as much time away from here as I did actually living here, she muses, winding her way through the farmer’s market while her little brother, Masaki, talks the fur off her ears about her recent fight.
“- and then, when you kicked off the building and the bricks broke under your foot, I seriously thought you were gonna punch straight through the wall! But you pushed off so freaking fast; that freaky spiny guy didn’t stand a chance -”
Rumi snorts, thinking about the stitches lacing up her skin under her clothes, and acknowledges that, even with her ego, she wouldn’t say that fight had been easy. It felt nice to have hardcore fans, though, even if it was a little weird that one of them was her brother.
“No chance at all,” Rumi agrees with an over-exaggerated seriousness that would have sent Hawks cackling. Masaki, however, eats it up.
While they chat, Rumi looks around the farmer’s market, taking in all the stalls and stands, people calling out greetings to each other in the brisk morning air. Bright streamers, balloons, and spinning wheels for kid games give the market a festive air, and Rumi breathes in the earthy scents of fresh vegetables alongside funnel cakes being fried. A light breeze ruffles her hair and tugs at her jacket, a reminder to switch to her winter hero costume.
Even without her normal hero get-up, though, she’s getting a lot of looks. Some people wave in a friendly manner, remembering Little Rascal Rumi, who’d gotten in more scrapes and tussles than the next ten kids combined. She’s grateful that very few gawk, other than the little kids who weren’t quite old enough to put together the rabbit quirk family and the copious Miruko posters around town and come to the right conclusion.
“Do they still have those carrot cakes the old goat lady used to make?” Rumi asks, looking around the stalls for the lady and her distinctive herd of tiny goats. As much as she hates the question in interviews, Rumi actually does love carrots, and she remembers the cakes being delicious.
“Her daughter runs it nowadays,” Masaki confirms, nodding toward the end of the street. “But we gotta stop by mom and dad’s tent first.”
Rumi shrugs and jerks her chin, indicating that her brother should lead the way.
The stall is busy, customers packing in makeshift aisles as they examine all kinds of produce from leeks to carrots to persimmons. Rumi has to be careful not to bump into people as Masaki ducks and hops around customers to the back of the tent.
“RUMI DEAR!” A booming voice calls out, and several heads whip around, searching for the delinquent-turned-hero that the whole town knew. Rumi glares at her father, who she can see past the shoulder of a beefy farmhand. He grins back at her, waving vigorously.
Suddenly, the shoppers pull back, as if the whole group realized her presence. Rumi snorts, tossing a casual wave while she deliberately doesn’t limp to where her dad is behind the checkout counter. No one seems to mind that Usagiyama Bunshi abandons his post to wrap his daughter in a huge hug.
“You’re gonna undo all the doc’s good work,” Rumi protests in a voice muffled by her dad’s plaid-clad shoulder. Her father’s enormous shoulders shake with mirth as he steps back to assess her.
What Rumi had not inherited in height from her dad, she’d inherited in both strength and hair color. Bunshi’s foot taps happily against the ground, beating the earth down into a compacted print as he grins with bright violet eyes.
“Yer ma is gonna lose her shit, fair warning,” Bunshi advises. “She stepped out a mo’ ago to keep the twins from running amok.”
Rumi smiles broadly, then tilts her head back at the register. “Might as well have a barrier set up for when she gets back. Think I can help ya out?”
Bunshi gives an exaggerated bow and sweeps a hand out toward the counter in a ‘by all means’ gesture.
It ends up being futile, as a loud cry of “RUMI!!!!” comes from the tent opening, and her mom, Rinari, rushes forward. Rumi only has time to inhale before she’s caught in a huge embrace that her doctors would scowl at.
Rumi doesn’t know who starts it. She’s caught with her dad’s broad chest at her back, and her mom blubbering into her shoulder. But someone starts clapping, and the whole freaking booth follows suit like it’s some kind of Kodak moment.
Snorting at the display, Rumi presses her cheek into her mom’s greying-blond hair while Rinari babbles about how happy she is to see her, thinking that maybe a week chilling with her family won’t be so bad after all.