Chapter Text
The Villain Threat Level Assessment, a separate ranking system from the more commonly known Hero Rankings systems, was a ranking system that was updated monthly. The VTLA categorized villains based on a variety of metrics. Their volatility. Their motives. The power of their quirk. And in some cases, their threat to society. The higher up on the chain, the higher their street cred. At least, one would think that. The title of B-class villain was anything but the life of luxury. The life that was promised to him, the connections, the opportunity… The words of his former associates echoed through his mind as bitter lies that brought about the end of his career. The chill of the fresh evening air was a welcome change after a year spent on the run. Giran had changed hideouts as often as the wind changed the direction it blew his unkempt hair in. He found himself drawn to a new promise. A place of new beginnings. The slums of East Musutafu.
A neighborhood he remembered from his childhood that once bustled with the sounds of laughter, the exchange of coins, and most importantly, the sound of silence when things went south. The police never bothered with this neighborhood in the past. As Giran crept by the third block of condemned buildings, his chest tightened as he studied a particularly familiar spot that was completely reduced to rubble.
Of course there’s nothing left.
Not that he expected to see his home standing. Giran maneuvered through the mountain of debris. With each step, his eyes wandered in a desperate search for something. Whatever that something was, had faded a long time ago. The broken man hung his head as he claimed his seat on the mountain of leftovers from a better time. His hand trembled as he grabbed a stray shard of glass from a discarded liquor bottle. His warped reflection glared back at him. Without another thought, he pieced together the remnants and found an unfamiliar design with faint text. A single shard stood out that reeked of the familiar scent of blood.
Established 2020
The man raised himself slowly, burdened with the weight of a heavy heart from the leftovers of his past. Giran carefully removed a cracked burner phone from his pocket. A part of him wanted to use the flashlight on the ground. He couldn’t afford another pair of sneakers. Another gust of wind reminded him of their condition as he felt the chill between his toes. The rest of what remained of his ensemble wasn’t much to write home about either. A torn pair of black sweats with a matching black t-shirt ripped under the arm that he swore still lingered with the smell of death from the corpse he relieved of its ownership back at Kamino. The wind drew his attention to the stab wounds on the chest. The last thing on his mind was the gazes he’d drawn to himself as a lone figure in the darkness of the condemned blocks. He needed to read it again. Just one more time.
Villain Threat Level Assessment - April 1st, 2xxx
He scrolled through the page like a man possessed by the spirit of his now unfamiliar surroundings. His fingers locked up as he reached the familiar text.
Kagerou “Giran” Okuta
B -> C
I’m not dreaming.
He pocketed the burner with a sigh of relief, as if he hadn’t checked it for the tenth time on the trek to his destination. For now, the rest of the background was of no importance to him. Giran saw the light at the end of the tunnel. A sole sign that flickered in the darkness like a beacon of hope in an otherwise desecrated fragment of history. A place he had sworn to never visit as a patron. An establishment that catered to what he referred to as “the young, desperate, and recently disillusioned.” He chuckled at the irony. The stench of the ocean had grown heavier with each step. The sleazy neon sign called to him. “Sushimi.” Like a moth to a flame, Giran swallowed his pride and bolted to the doorstep.
The last bastion of hope stood tall in front of the broken man. Unfamiliar graffiti covered its windows. It proudly declared “ownership” of what remained from a better time. What did they know? Nothing. In a place like this, Giran figured that “ownership” changed more frequently than he had been able to change his own underwear lately. He felt the judgment of the large steel door as he swore it gazed down at him. Covered in bullet holes that were masked under duct tape. That familiar scent caught his attention again. He gazed at the handle in silence as fresh blood oozed from it. Had Giran lost it? Hesitation wasn’t on the menu tonight. He pulled down on the handle. The giant metal slab’s laughter creaked loudly through his eardrums.
Not today.
The scent of blood disappeared from his mind as he strolled into Sushimi, replaced with the unfamiliar scent of brine and fresh lemon. Its beige walls were a collage of hero posters adorned with the generous additions of bonus features to their appearances drawn by their patrons. Purple tables with cheap plastic folding chairs clashed with the aesthetic. Each table had a single page menu stapled to each of its corners. A dolphin-shaped man in a worn waiter’s attire emerged from the hole in the wall, wiping his flipper-like hands with a rag he could’ve sworn had the same crimson hue that had plagued him for the last year.
“Sushim-” the man interrupted himself, “Wow. You look like shit, Giran-kun. Ma figured you’d be back this month.”
Nagisa Ren stood before him. Of course Giran knew he preferred to go by Flip these days. All he could do to pass time in between his trips to dumpsters was stay up to date on the VTLA. Flip had debuted alongside his younger twin brother, Nagisa “Fluke” Ken, back in January update after they defended themselves in Okinawa to secure their futures. He felt they were lucky. E-class was a slap on the wrist.
“It’s nice to see you too. How’s old Kamei-san doing?” Giran staggered over to the counter and extended his hand with the rigid motion of a robot. He hadn’t been on the best terms with Flip back in the day, but this man had become the key to his new future.
“Ma’s fine. A helluva lot better than you, that's for sure.” The dolphin’s clicks of laughter bellowed through the empty restaurant.
“Fluke’s still running Shizumi back there, yeah? I can’t spot the cover fee to enter tonight, but I can pay you back with information.” Giran stated bluntly. Money was the last of his concerns for the past year.
“Alright. I’ll bite. Tell me somethin’ I don’t know. But if I know it, you owe me a thousand yen.” Flip extended his flipper-like hand and grabbed Giran’s. The bet had been sealed. He knew the man had developed a bad gambling problem. Flip exhaled. The sudden sound escaped from the top of the dolphin’s head.
Giran bit his lip for a moment, contemplating what news would pique the dolphin’s interest.He cleared his throat and leaned in, motioning for the man to meet him halfway.
“That octopus sidekick you fought back in January works for Gang Orca. I wouldn’t bother with revenge. Heard he’s only in it to take care of his own mother.”
“Ehhh?! Well, shit. That’s a load off my chest.” Flip snorted as he released his grip off the man’s filthy hand. Giran hadn’t missed the subtlety of him wiping his flipper on his apron. "You also just lost me another thousand yen, you scruffy bastard. I bet Fluke you would wallow in your misery and not stay up to date on the news.”
“‘Preciate the honesty as always, Flip-san,” the older twin beamed at his words like a praised child. “Come on, let me pay my respects to Fluke-san while I’m here.”
“Alright, alright! I get it. Jeez!” Flip tossed his flippers up. He was almost tempted to admit he wanted to keep talking with the bastard, but business called the man forth. Was that man’s snout turning pink? Too easy. Flip knelt beneath the counter. A mechanical sound whirred through the quiet of the store. The wall behind the counter began to rotate. Giran bowed to Flip before he took the next step to his revival. As he walked past the revolving wall, a new familiar odor filled the air. Smoke. Alcohol. The nostalgic scent of business.
The clandestine bar, “Shizumi,” was the crown jewel of East Musutafu. Its bar had the same purple tables as its sister establishment. Tacky purple leather booths nestled tightly together. A quiet nod to the true nature of the bar. A gathering place for like-minded individuals to find “work.” A real “family owned” business where anybody from the slums could concern its patrons family. At the far corner of the bar stood a booth separate from its brothers, near the lonely exit of the seedy bar. Giran tiptoed past the unfamiliar faces and claimed the most strategic location while his back watched his escape route.
Fluke exchanged a nod with him from across the bar behind his own counter, flipper deep in a glass. He wasn’t much of a talker. An identical younger twin, minus a wider snout that made it hard to see his eyes from the front.
Giran stole another glance at the familiar webpage on his phone again. He lamented his past decisions and cursed his own existence under his breath. If he was born with a quirk suited for combat, he wouldn’t have had to live a year as a hermit with a disproportionate bounty. All he could do was touch a target’s head and make the previous five minutes and the five that followed hazy like a dream. It had its uses as it covered his tracks fairly well over the last year, but it required head contact. A luxury he would not be afforded against the likes of professional heroes.
“Man! You stink!” a familiar voice rang out from across the bar with the subtlety of an elephant in a glass house, “Yo! Giran-san! Nice to see you again!”
Giran fumbled with his phone, his attention snapped towards a familiar voice. A man whose energy could fill a damn power plant. He rolled his shoulders, preparing himself and his personal space to be invaded. Kiritani “Handyman” Hiroshi bounded towards him. It was a matter of time before those burly arms locked around his neck, a bear he’d have to tempt with fish to get him to ease up.
Same old, pup…
…though….
As he backed up, Giran noticed he wasn’t hit with the scent of the hair gel Kiritani slicked his hair with.The cheap pinstripe suit swapped with sweats and a plain white tee. This idiot was a former D-lister with a quirk that allowed his hands to reconfigure themselves into the shapes of different tools. He recalled an article as he gazed at the familiar meathead’s now peaceful stare. He was released last November. Kiritani served a few years for public quirk usage, menacing, and a convenience store robbery in West Musutafu that ultimately led to his arrest.
“Kiritani…” his voice trailed off, “Have a seat.” Giran welcomed the burly man with a wave of his hand.
Kiritani was a magnet for trouble. Trouble was a magnet for work. A small job would be nice to break the year-long silence. Something quiet. Something easy. A peaceful job that he’d use to shake off his nerves and rust.
“You look like shit!” Kiritani said with a wide grin.
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight.” Giran smiled for a moment as he remembered how their interactions went back in the day. The sense of familiarity allowed him to ease his shoulders. “You’re in trouble again, yeah?”
Kiritani groaned as he slumped into the booth. “Is it really that obvious?! I’m in a lot of trouble, man! I’m so excited to see you by the way. I went looking for you when I got out, but I heard you had the Commission following you like when you feed stray puppies!”
Stray puppies? The fuck kind of therapy do they do in prison these days?
The man continued, “Anyway! You’re on the C-list now, yeah? I figured you’d come back out of hiding. I’ve been coming here every night all month waiting to find you. I even got a job as a butcher. I can afford you now. Unless I treat Naomi-san to dinner and a hotel again~” Kiritani sighed happily as he turned his phone towards Giran. The woman on the wallpaper had long black hair that flowed over her shoulders. The infatuated oaf pocketed his phone with a smug grin.
Guess all you needed to do to change a hardened criminal was therapy and love.
“Yeah. We can talk,” Giran whispered, “Let’s use the backroom, though, you know privacy and all that. It’s soundproofed.”
The men crossed the bar in silence. Giran felt the plush fuzzy carpet beneath his soles with each drained step. His sorry excuse for footwear was torn in more places than he was aware of.
Who carpets a damn bar anyway?
Once the pair reached the counter, Giran bowed to Fluke.
“You won me 1000 yen. Consider your fee for the room covered for tonight.” Fluke spoke with a soft smile, “10 minutes. Not a second longer. I can’t let my patrons think I show favoritism.” The younger twin pointed to the steel door behind the counter.
Kiritani had already run over and grabbed the handle. Good. He didn’t need to touch another steel door tonight. He followed Kiritani into the soundproofed room and shut the door behind him. The safe room was a simple room with two purple couches and a short table held up by old books. A clean ashtray sat in the middle of the table. A small light flickered above them as it hung from the ceiling. He hesitated to take a seat first, as a room this small was dangerous. Luckily for the broker, his customer was Kiritani. Giran’s jaw unclenched as the gorilla took a seat in front of him. He pulled out his last loose cigarette and offered it across the table with an open palm.
“Aw, Giran-san. Thanks, but no thanks. I quit a few years ago. I can’t exactly smoke when I’m working with food all day.” The hefty man groaned with a slouched back.
Surprised yet relieved, he pocketed the lone cigarette for later. He wouldn’t light it and disrespect the boundary Kiritani established. The smoke meant something to him now.
“So, what did you want to discuss?” Giran opened a notepad app on his phone. With a deep breath, he leaned forward, ready to take notes, and show his old friend he meant business.
Kiritani matched him and furrowed his brow. “Someone’s been breaking into my new place every Friday night, man! You know Tanaka’s? The convenience store from well, the incident?” His smile was weak and apologetic. “This guy Natsume-san invested in a butcher’s shop in the commercial district of East Musutafu. There’s a small apartment up there where I’ve been living.”
“Are they breaking into the apartment or the butcher’s shop?” Giran flexed his fingers on his phone.
“Just the butcher’s shop. I tried staking it out last week, but the bastard somehow knocked me out without me seeing them.” Kiritani hung his head as if it was an admission of his weakness. “I’ve got nowhere else to turn. It’s Friday night tonight and I was ready to hire anybody to deal with this pest. The weirdest thing is that they only steal animal blood. What kind of freak is that?”
Giran stopped typing mid sentence and glanced up at the man. “Animal blood?” Giran leaned forward, propping his chin on his wrist. “Tell me more.”
“Yeah. You know, the shit you contain and drain! Read about it in the books at the big house. I’m desperate, man. I need you, Giran-san.” The big man was in tears as he extended his lone hand in search of a friend.
“I can help you. I’ve always come through for you,” Giran chuckled and extended his hand, but immediately retracted it when he remembered Kiritani’s quirk.
“Right. Right. Sharp hands and all that.” Kiritani’s expression shifted as he stood up. “Thank you so much!” The man bowed with his head hung over his own.
“The room is too small for that, meathead.” Giran sighed as he gave him a soft nudge back. “What’s your number by the way?”
The men exchanged contact information as Giran contemplated what to do. The crime had seemed harmless on the surface. Theft of an unusual substance. With the assault factored in and the lack of any evidence left behind, it wasn’t an amateur that plagued the former D-lister. Were they sending a message? Testing their skills? Or were they desperate for blood?
Of course it just had to be blood.
He had one disposable burner left. He could gamble the remainder of his savings on recruiting this mystery person. Their desperation could be his salvation. Introducing this mystery person to work would definitely yield him a solid broker’s fee. But what would he do if it failed? If this person was unstable? These questions couldn’t stop him. Not tonight. He was drawn to that danger. That adrenaline. He removed the burner from his phone and slid it across the table.
“You remember how this goes down right?” It was a rhetorical question. Of course Kiritani remembered the plan. It always worked in the past. Now wasn’t the time for any doubt.
“The classic burner slide! Of course, Giran-san! What should the note say?” The man’s face lit up with the innocence of a kid eyeing a present on Christmas. A changed man like him with a lady in his life didn’t belong in Shizumi. Not anymore. He truly was desperate. That desperation connected the people of East Musutafu.
“For the raccoon. They’re stealing what’s basically trash to you, yeah? I’m just calling it how I see it. Besides-” Giran’s voice was interrupted by the loud roar of the heavy door opening. He swore the handle dripped crimson as it turned.
“I’m afraid time is up, Giran-san.” Fluke frowned.
Kiritani got up and offered Giran his hand to help him up. He retracted it once again with a laugh.
He’s gonna fucking get me one of these days.
Giran passed the steel door without touching it. The familiar scent of the bar worked wonders on his stress.
“I’ve got a date with Naomi-chan tonight! I’ll leave the note near the ‘trash’ and head off. Good luck, Giran-san!” Kiritani bowed and exited the emergency door in a hurry before he could even respond.
“That oaf is your first new job? Congratulations.” Fluke smiled. He held up a small lighter and handed it to Giran along with a pack of cigarettes. “Mom is busy with a patient upstairs. She said to hand you this. Come back again, okay?”
“Thank you. I told Flip-”
“He told me. We can communicate through the walls using our quirk.” Fluke interrupted.
“Ah, right. I’ll be off then. Give my regards to Kamei-san,” Giran replied. He turned and headed towards the emergency exit.
“Of course, Giran-san,” Fluke answered with a bow.
Giran held his breath and closed his eyes as he pushed down on the cold steel bar. The rancid stench of expired fish caught his attention. He lit the loosey he pocketed earlier and exhaled. With a deep breath, he enjoyed his first smoke in a week. It wasn’t much. His future was hung by a loose thread that was coated in animal’s blood. He gripped his head as he let out the laughter of a man free from his chains.
Might as well have fuckin’ bet it all on black.
All Giran needed now was a place to stay in East Musutafu. He hadn’t managed to get an audience with Kamei-san, a resident doctor and mother to the dolphin duo, but he received a pleasant reminder. Tanaka was a man who, much like Kiritani, had a feeling of debt towards him. As a man with nothing but the clothes on his back, it was time to claim that untapped generosity. Giran exited the alley and kept his gaze forward. He ignored the whispers of the night as he passed the last condemned building, as the sidewalk faded away as if the slums forgot they existed. The stretch of road forward was surrounded by dark forests on both sides. The occasional hoot, howl, and screech shook him. He quickened his step with each cry of the creatures of the night. People, he could handle them. Animals? No thanks.
The sidewalk came back into view after ten minutes covered in the darkness of the evening. An extravagant neon bright sign that yelled “TANAKA’S” came into view. If he was more tired, he could’ve sworn the sun had landed in the slums. A year and a half ago, the quirkless old geezer with the alias “Tanaka” was an easy mark for the delinquents of the city. His shop wasn’t far from where the miscreants were holed up in the abandoned buildings. They were doing whatever it took to survive. Tanaka’s store became their haven. The elderly man had reached his wit’s end and was desperate for help. He’d pay whatever it took. Tanaka had even offered him far above his asking rate to deal with the problem, ready to plunge headfirst into debt. Giran was a villain, sure, but he wasn’t a monster. The situation was solved the same way he planned to deal with the raccoon. He rounded the delinquents up, gave them burner phones, and found them honest work in West Musutafu. Tanaka offered the world to Giran, but he charged his normal fee and never bothered the man again. All that remained of that job was a keycard Tanaka had left him. It allowed access to the backroom. A safe room that Tanaka set up for anyone who truly needed it, at least that’s what he claimed. Giran never bothered to see if it worked. Back then, he had struggled with settling on a place to stay for the night. Tonight, he wanted nothing more than just to find one place to pass the night in peace. He felt the judgment of the sign’s gaze upon him. The door was propped as if it invited him to enter and test his luck. Well, there wasn’t any reason for him to stop gambling with his life tonight. At least, that’s what he thought as he stepped on his cigarette.
Giran entered the convenient store. The shelves were packed from corner to corner like a mini Don Quijote Market. The ceilings, the walls, and the floors were all painted in the same shade of sky blue. A small young teenager was running the counter and bowed towards him.
“Welcome, Giran-san,” the boy whispered.
“You know me, kid?” Puzzled, Giran examined the kid. To his surprise, the kid held up a framed photo of him that said BOSS in giant golden letters.
“Thank you for helping Tanaka-sama. It’s thanks to him that us quirkless kids can find easy work in this city, but Tanaka-sama won’t return until tomorrow. We all have heard your story of how you saved this place more times than we care to count. Please, feel free to use the backroom,” The boy mumbled, his attention drawn back to his phone.
“I see. Thanks for the heads up, kid,” Giran answered.
“Uh-huh,” he acknowledged.
Giran felt like a rat in a maze as he navigated the tight aisles. Each turn led him somewhere different. He had begun to lose track of the time as he found himself browsing through the wares. Office supplies, food, clothing, medicine… He found his thoughts had prattled on. He’d never get a good night’s rest like this. After an eternity lost in the convenience store, he finally made it to a wall.
This damn place is bigger on the inside.
He clung to the wall as a landmark and discovered a large steel door with a keypad attached. It just had to be another steel door. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He reached into his tattered sweats and removed the keycard. He placed it against the reader and as it turned green, Giran’s face turned red with glee. The door clicked and slid into its own opening like a turtle retreated into its shell.
He stepped into the opening and flicked a switch on the wall next to him. The familiar blue was vibrant through the room. The white cabinetry in the mini kitchen was sterile. The fragrance of lavender greeted him politely. A clean futon beckoned him to the corner of the studio apartment like an oasis in the desert. Giran crashed onto it without a second thought. He could sleep, but he had his ritual. He forced himself to stay awake and read articles nightly. He wouldn’t be caught off guard by new information. But nothing caught his attention. News about local villain attacks flooded his newsfeed. Social media posters bragging about changes in their ranking was nearly enough to make him toss his phone aside. He found himself scrolling through forums and posts occasionally disappeared as he continued his routine against his will.
As the night went on, Giran realized the only thing that was worth his attention was this mysterious raccoon. He reread his notes again and again and again and again.
How could they knock out Kiritani? Why the blood? Or rather, why not take more? This mystery turned around in his mind, until he saw the time and put down his phone. He fidgeted with the holes in his shirt. It was 2 A.M., the following Saturday. The clever miscreant had already finished their business. The butcher wasn’t there to pose any obstacle. He imagined a raccoon laughing maniacally as it sipped on a vial of blood like a cartoonish villain. His phone vibrated. There were two contacts on his phone. Kiritani and the other burner phone. If he assumed Kiritani was out with this “Naomi-chan” and having a good time, he wouldn’t bother him.
[2:04 A.M.] Burner: not a raccoon.
Giran exploded into a fit of laughter as he clenched his phone. They took the bait. His oldest tricks still worked. He hadn’t lost his mind. At least, not the parts that he needed to survive. He took a moment and renamed the contact to “Black.”
[2:05 A.M.] Giran: Alright. Sure. What are you then?
[2:06 A.M.] Black: doesn’t matter. where were you butcher? i wanted to play.
Oh? What a coincidence. Giran also wanted to “play.”
[2:07 A.M.] Giran: Me too. I’m not the butcher though. How are you likin’ the phone?
[2:08 A.M.] Black: oh. well thank you for the phone stranger. i never had one before.
[2:10 A.M.] Giran: You’re welcome, kid. Enjoy it. How about we cut straight to business?
[2:11 A.M.] Black: how do you know im a kid???
[2:12 A.M.] Black: i didnt see anyone hiding.
Too easy. Far too easy. Finally, whatever god had forsaken him with that last job had cut him some slack.
[2:13 A.M.] Giran: Relax. Adults don’t steal, they negotiate. Talk to me, kid.
[2:16 A.M.] Giran: You have a good reason for knocking out my friend every week, yeah? Tell me about yourself.
[2:18 A.M.] Black: why should i
[2:20 A.M.] Giran: Fair, I haven’t given you a reason to tell me anything, but we can work on that.
[2:21 A.M.] Giran: I can tell you need help.
[2:23 A.M.] Black: so what if i do?
[2:24 A.M.] Giran: Then let’s talk. I want to help you.
[2:25 A.M.] Black: why? who are you??
He reinforced his grip on his phone. He could be pushy with this kid. Sure, they’ve got an attitude, but what kid didn’t? Those delinquents were tougher than this.
[2:27 A.M.] Giran: I’ll let you keep the phone. Isn’t that enough?
[2:29 A.M.] Black: thanks
[2:31 A.M.] Black: i dont want trouble. can you really help?
Might as well roll out the red fuckin’ carpet, kid.
[2:33 A.M.] Giran: Of course I can. How about we meet up today?
[2:34 A.M.] Black: so soon? it can work but
[2:36 A.M.] Giran: But what?
[2:39 A.M.] Black: Are you a villain?
What the hell was he supposed to say to that?
[2:41 A.M.] Giran: Aren’t you?
[2:43 A.M.] Black: im not!
[2:46 A.M.] Giran: Sure, kid. Let’s see… breaking and entering, theft, assault… I’m assuming public quirk usage and battery with a quirk, yeah?
He felt bad for a moment, but it was truthful.
[2:47 A.M.] Black: i see
[2:48 A.M.] Black: youre right. im desperate.
[2:52 A.M.] Giran: I’ll level with you, kid. We both are. We’re both on a clock. I know I’m askin’ for a lot. We can talk more in person. Your turf and your time.
[2:54 A.M.] Black: really? that would help a lot. promise youll come alone?
[2:54 A.M.] Giran: Promise.
[2:56 A.M.] Giran: So when and where works best for you, kid?
[3:00 A.M.] Black: komori hanaya. noon. that okay?
Not like it mattered what the kid said. He’d make it work.
[3:01 A.M.] Giran: Of course. Of course!
[3:02 A.M.] Giran: I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Sweet dreams.
[3:03 A.M.] Black: yeah…
[3:03 A.M.] Black: good night.
A nightstand with a charging station mounted to the top escaped his notice earlier. With his mind finally at ease, Giran set an alarm for 10 A.M. He placed his phone on the stand, rolled over, and drifted off to sleep.
WAKE UP CITIZEN, BECAUSE I AM HERE. I AM HERE. I. AM. HERE. WAKE UP CITIZEN-
Giran reached for his phone as he yawned. With a click, he shut the alarm off. He couldn’t recall the last time where he could sleep without worry. A locked, secluded, windowless room was the perfect hiding spot for a man who had grown to distrust his own shadow. He stood up and strolled to the bathroom- There was a bathroom?
There’s a fuckin’ shower?!
The tired man pondered the meaning of life from the sanctity of his newly acquired porcelain throne. Flush. He held back a single tear as he discarded his torn robes and entered the shower. It was outfitted with everything a man could ask for. Had Tanaka kept it ready this entire time? Where’d he get that photo of him anyway? Giran scrubbed weeks worth of grime off himself with a red loofah he found hanging from a basket. He massaged his scalp with shampoo. When was the last time he spoiled himself? That he indulged himself? He couldn’t afford to eat, let alone take care of his body. He exited the shower with a guilted expression. Giran took the towel that sat behind the throne and dried off. The warmth in the air had become unfamiliar after having endured the winter. The spring hadn’t been much kinder. He wiped the condensation off of the mirror and gazed at his reflection. His grey hair hadn’t grown much. He could fix this with a few scissors and a brush-
Am I dead?
Everything was laid out on the vanity counter and he meant everything. A toothbrush, hair gel, a hairbrush, everything he had taken for granted in his past life. His vision grew blurry as the renewed man sniveled. Giran examined the unfamiliar reflection with reverence as he groomed himself. He felt the confidence return to his smile. The light of life returned to his pink eyes. He combed his grey hair to the left part with a slight bang. This was the man Giran was. He needed to affirm himself more than anything else. Nothing mattered more right now. At least, nothing mattered more than the thanks he owed Tanaka. He stepped out of the bathroom and looked at his torn rags with disgust. But the gift kept on giving. A small wardrobe hunkered down in the corner next to the nightstand in the small space. Clean underwear. Clean socks. Khaki shorts. A black All Might t-shirt. Nothing had holes. Everything smelled clean. This is how it should be. Shoes? He could find them somewhere within the depths of the jungle that was outside him. He grabbed his phone off the charging station and headed out into the wilderness.
Giran had a clearer mind than last night. That much was sure. The signs of the safari were legible. Hell, the place had signs? He hadn’t noticed. He found himself some black loafers and followed the tracks to the entrance. A different teen came into view. A small girl who restocked the warm food section. They exchanged nods. Giran grabbed two bentos without a second thought and exited the convenience store with a satisfied smile.
Giran sat on the curb outside of Tanaka’s feeling at peak condition. Finally, he’d check his phone.
Saturday, April 21st. 11:10 A.M.
2 unread text messages
[8:44 A.M.] Kiritani: Yo! It’s your favorite Handyman. Burner’s gone. Blood’s gone. WHen are you meeting them?!
[10:30 A.M.] Kiritani: Giran-san! Don’t leave your best buddy hanging! You did it, yeah? Of course you did! Giran-san is the best of the best of the best!!
I swear, this man is like a damn stray.
[11:12 A.M.] Giran: I’m in a rush. I’m already behind on time. I’m meeting your “Raccoon” soon.
YOUR CALL IS HERE. YOUR CALL IS HERE. YOUR CALL IS-
“I said I’m in a rush!” Giran growled.
“Woah! Someone’s grumpy,” Kiritani sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Oh and things went great with Naomai-chan thanks for asking. We totally-”
Click.
Nope. Don’t have time for that. Not now. There was time to waste on the thought of a newly energized Kiritani have gone steady, working a respectable job, and in lov-
I’m not jealous of that damn dog, am I?
He hadn’t had much time to think, let alone walk. He searched for Komori Hanaya on his maps app.
Komori Hanaya
Registered Owner: Komori Takumi
Reviews: 4.8/5 (440 Reviews)
Phone Number: xxx-xxxx
3-12-8 Sakuramachi
East Musutafu, Shizuoka 422-xxxx
Hours of Operation
Monday - Friday 8 a.m. - 6 p.m.
Saturday/Sunday - Closed
Closed, huh? Black is definitely the owner’s kid.
Fortune continued to smile on the newly fatherly disguised man. It wasn’t just close by, it was less than a 10 minute walk. He clicked on the navigation setting, got up from the curb with bentos in hand, and began his Saturday morning walk with a skip in his step. Giran tabbed over to a new app and decided to read some articles to gather more information on the place on his stroll. The peaceful spring breeze calmed his mind as he scrolled. One title stood out in the mess of words that flooded his screen.
Komori Hanaya Celebrates 15th Anniversary Despite Recent Events
The Aftermath
Click.
Komori Hanaya, a “Flower and Crafts” business as the owners call it, is located in East Musutafu over the now defunct fast food chain Burger Burger. 15 years of having wrongfully acquired the land! I’d be ecstatic too! Komori Takumi, a 38 year old self proclaimed “Genius,” attributes his success to his quirk. The man claims his quirk allows him to quickly plant seeds and alter their genetic makeup, but I am not convinced he’s limited to just plants. Especially not after the sudden disappearance of the previous owner which led to the chain’s downfall, who still hasn’t been located. His wife and lifelong business partner, Komori Ayaka, is a 39 year old woman who can squeeze the life of plants and convert them into dyes. Both claim their quirks are limited to plant life, but an inside source claims the quirk registry mentions no such restrictions. Clearly, the Komori business found success based on their adaptability and ability to move and create products faster than the competition, but is adaptability really their strong suit?
Impatient parents. Maybe they feel superior?
Did you know, they were merely fined after being caught as a distributor of a plant found in a variant of Trigger? Why would this be swept under the rug? When Komori Takumi was reached for comment he claimed the event never happened. The arrogant man simply stated that the other businesses dragged down East Musutafu. Some not so tasteful comments were made about the mutant owners over at Sushimi. Not only does Komori Takumi believe he’s superior, he hates mutants too! It wouldn’t surprise me if he was the reason why Trigger had reared its head three times in the last few weeks at the mutant fighting ring in underground Yokohama.
Trigger? Mutant fighting ring? Why the fuck is he saying this stuff publicly? Does he have a death wish?
Did you know the Komori family also posted a photo with their daughter for their 15th anniversary? For a family so fixated on their appearance, why would they wait so long? Why was there no mention of her before then? If this daughter was a liability in the past, why would they show her off now? A vain man like Komori Takumi, an arrogant tyrant who’s vocal about his distaste for a tightly knit community, and a devious schemer who’s been linked to Trigger is hiding a terrible secret! The Aftermath has three different theories.
Oh? Alright. I’ll bite.
Theory one: The Komori daughter was adopted recently. Why would this asshole want a child? Readers, take your best guess.
Theory two: The Komori daughter is quirkless or has a quirk they don’t want to be well known. Maybe they wanted to wait for it to manifest? An anonymous source at the family registry says this girl is 13! Maybe it’s a harmless quirk and they deemed her safe for photography!
Theory three: The girl has a mutant quirk that they’ve learned to hide from the media!
Thirteen.
What theory do you like the most? Personally? I, Natsume Kaoru, believe in the third theory. While I believe her quirk would be difficult to obscure, her recent appearance on social media has led me to believe it must be subtle. It wouldn’t answer why they waited this long, but who knows?! Komori Takumi isn’t a normal man after all.
Let me know in the comments what you think!
And remember, “After every story, the truth is found in The Aftermath.” Natsume Kaoru, signing off!
Huh. Natsume Kaoru.
He’d have to remember that name.
Though the article read like a tabloid, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the man had his sources. He searched the author’s name and was accosted by a slew of sleazy websites. All named differently. Copies of his articles were mirrored to different websites. He couldn’t find the source. He’d have better luck chasing a ghost. Didn’t Kiritani mention the name Natsume yesterday? He’d have to ask him later what the man’s name was. Giran couldn’t let his thoughts get bogged down by a man who seemed proud of each word he wrote. He needed to focus on his raccoon. The “Black” that he had staked everything on.
I AM HERE. TO TELL YOU TO TURN LEFT. YOU’VE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION!
Komori Hanaya - 11:43 A.M.
Despite almost being raptured this morning, Giran found himself at the flower shop early. He hadn’t even noticed he had arrived until All Might’s voice boomed from his phone as if it was offended at the thought of being forgotten. The flower shop was situated on a hill, off a side road. The layout served as a small credibility to the article, as he hiked up the mound towards the peak that the Komoris used to look down upon the inferior slums. There wasn’t a way to mask his presence, but for once, he didn’t look shady. He looked like a respectable father figure who couldn’t figure out what stores were closed on weekends. Giran wasn’t particularly excited at the thought of a fight with the child either. If he avoided deals with customers he couldn’t survive a cage match with, he’d never be in business. Even though he agreed to meet on the child’s turf and on their terms, Giran held all the cards. He knew their crimes. Their identity. How desperate they were. Desperate kids who needed help weren’t threats. They were fresh talent in the right hands. Not that he had any intentions of leaving with the kid. He needed information first and foremost. What better way than the source?
As he reached the top of the hill, Giran had a better look of the “Flower and Crafts” shop. It looked plain. A two story home that sure, was quite wide, but had nothing descriptive on the outside of it. He hadn’t passed by a sign on the sidewalk. Or had he missed it? While he blamed Natsume’s annoying writing style, he approached the building and peeked through the clean glass. Rows upon rows of strange and usual plants were tightly packed together. He hadn’t planned on entering another jungle so soon, but this was his life now. Giran walked the perimeter of the empty lot in what could be described as a search to find visible signs of sentient life. The green kind that didn’t talk back and judged you if you forgot them. The explorer grumbled as he pondered where his new favorite troubled kid was. Once he made it back to the front door, he opened a chat with “Black” prepared to make first contact.
[11:53 A.M.] Giran: I’m outside, kid. Take your time. I brought breakfast.
[11:55 A.M.] Black: breakfast? thanks?
[11:56 A.M.] Black: the door is unlocked. thanks for coming alone.
[11:56 A.M.] Black: hurry up.
A familiar steel door stood in his path. He felt a chill down his spine as the door mocked his existence. The boom of an explosion from beyond the door grabbed his attention and gripped his throat.
He couldn’t move. Why would he hesitate now? This was different. This wouldn’t be like last time. This kid wouldn’t be the end of his existence. He reassured himself that several times, closed his eyes, and pushed the door open.
Inside Komori Hanaya, Giran’s eyes widened like a deer in the headlights. Except the headlights he came face to face with was an exotic rainforest. A rainforest where he found himself prey to an unknown predator lurking in its shadows. What sounded like a sprinkler clicking on and off echoed through the room rapidly. Unlike the jungle, the road to the middle of the rainforest was clear and easy to navigate. He could’ve sworn a vine or two grabbed at him as he passed through the foreign menagerie. Giran dealt with information for a living. Yet in a place like Komori Hanaya, nothing and he meant nothing made any sense to him. He might as well have wandered onto a movieset of a trilogy that he had just glimpsed the trailer of. At the center of the rainforest was a small wooden counter with a register mounted unevenly. A few smaller booths labeled “Crafts & Supplies” were hidden to the side beyond a large venus fly trap he felt would offer him the world. A few notes were taped to a massive wooden clock behind the counter.
Take your medicine
Don’t chew anything
We’ll be back Monday
Stay upstairs
The tacky calligraphy matched the horrendously overdesigned signs he now acknowledged across the rest of the Amazon. His phone vibrated as he looked away from the note.
[11:59 A.M.] Black: did you know most men only get gifted flowers once?
He pondered the implication of the kid’s message as his thoughts were interrupted by the loud GONG of the clock as it struck noon. The clicking of the forest stopped.
“On the day of their funeral.”