A/N: Written for "The Diversity Writing Challenge" on the Anime and Manga challenges forum. This was prompt 80, section D: write a fic centred around an OC character between 999-3000 words long
Warning: OC-centric, and AU.
Masumi Sawamura had been eighteen for a week and a half already, and life didn't feel any different quite yet. She would be attending university soon to further her education. It was an exciting milestone. Her high school graduation ceremony was enthralling, and a total relief. It provided the ultimate sense of closure: she knew her own fate, and the fate of her classmates as graduates. Whether or not she saw them again wasn't on her mind as she crossed the podium to receive her diploma. The situation's significance was intense yet satisfying. Masumi couldn't wait to have more independence.
She desired control over not only her education, but how she wanted to go about her future. She didn't have that capability to the extent she wanted in middle and high school. She wanted to study art history, even though she knew it wasn't a particularly practical major to study. Masumi gained a reputation as a nerd at school, and in high school especially since classes were more difficult than in middle school. Studying the history of art seemed pretentious to outsiders. Especially to stupid high schoolers who didn't understand her passion. Masumi was thrilled that the university of her choice had the option of studying art history; she adored the idea of understanding the cultural, and sociopolitical aspects of art, and expected to appreciate every second of the history that would ultimately get taught. People whispered behind her back about how weird she was for being interested in a peculiar subject; she was unapologetically herself, which Masumi understood later on intimidated her peers. She still somehow had a smidgen of popularity come her way. The contradiction hurt her sense of logic, so she didn't think about it too deeply.
A hopeful part of Masumi wanted to become a famous painter after receiving this degree. Teachers in high school praised her for the beauty of her style and her firm grasp of technique; the balance of technical skill and natural talent accentuated by daily practice made her paintings unique.. Those compliments made her feel special, as if she were invincible. If she weren't so plain looking, Masumi would become an actress; she had a flair for dramatics, and a natural magnetic charm that drew people to her. Her charisma, and down-to-earth personality (despite her flair for melodrama) made up for the fact that her features were as distinct as the grains of sand on the beach that blended together to make the beach people took for granted.
On a more realistic note, she figured her painting dream would fizzle out faster than it would take for her to become discovered as an artist, let alone become famous. Masumi feared there wouldn't be much in for her in terms of steady pay. After all, the cliche of a starving artist did have truth to it. Masumi figured she could get her teaching degree. She could become a high school art teacher. At the very least, she'd make a steady living. Plus, Masumi would be able to satisfy her creative side by teaching teenagers how to paint.
She currently had a summer job working the cash register at a trendy ramen restaurant. It was always busy, mainly because tourists from all around the world flocked to this restaurant, with its tasty, cheap meals and comfortable ambiance. Despite often being overwhelmed by the abundance of customers on a daily basis, especially during the rush of lunch and dinner, Masumi made a solid amount of money in tips. She was okay with high tips as a reward for dealing with idiotic customers. Not every customer was an idiot though, which was a relief. For every dumbass who ordered something while on the phone, or screamed at the person at the register for not getting a better job, there was kind person who lingered at her register to talk with a genuine kindness in their voices, looking at her as if she was related to someone famous. (Masumi knew she had no conventional celebrities in her family, which was disappointing. What if she was related to an actress or an artist? That would be the coolest!) It was an ego boost when people talked to Masumi with such reverence that they saw her as rock star for giving them the capacity and the power to eat food in a restaurant. Hungry clients were always the most grateful. Her parents would be proud of her for her maturity in saving money while also pocketing some spending money for herself.
Masumi's shift tonight ended at nine forty, and she would have another shift the next day starting at two pm. She biked home as quickly as she could. When Masumi arrived home, the house was pitch black and empty, as it usually was during this time of night. Masumi was an only child, and her parents were a little older than most of her friends. Their jobs required them to awake early so they went to sleep promptly at nine thirty every night. Her father Yohei was a salaryman with a killer commute, and her mother Shoko was a receptionist for a prominent dentist that asked for long hours. Masumi turned on the kitchen light to get a late-night snack, for she was hungry after eating dinner hastily at five pm. On the kitchen counter was a handwritten note that simply said "We have something to tell you; come home for lunch tomorrow". Her parents signed it with hearts. It seemed strange that her parents wouldn't tell her face to face what they needed to say.
I wonder what Mother and Father wanted to tell me that warranted an impersonal note like this… Masumi thought as she got ready to sleep after a long day.
The next morning arrived after a good night's sleep. Masumi lept out of bed to greet the day with energy, enthusiasm, and curiosity. She spent her time idle at the mall, hanging out in the history section of the bookstore. This was preparation for her possible tenure as a history teacher in the future. At noon on the dot, Masumi got two clipped text messages from each of her parents reminding her that she had to discuss this important, mysterious topic.
When she arrived home at twelve-thirty, her parents sat in the two arm chairs, a neutral gaze sitting upon their features. A steely sternness sat in their eyes, their bodies stiff with solemnity.
"What have you called me in for?" Masumi asked, her voice casual and joking.
"This isn't a time to be comical," Father said, his tone too harsh for the situation. Masumi flinched at the statement, but she wasn't sure why this was her knee jerk reaction. She was used to his archaic, too formal speech.
"Sit down, honey. We have news," Mother explained, her voice calm.
"Now that you're eighteen, we figured it was time for you to know." The room suddenly became icy cold as the words came out of Father's mouth. Masumi felt a pang of anxiety bloom in her chest.
"You're adopted," Mother and Father said in unison. Masumi's world stopped. Every last ounce of oxygen left her lungs.
"I...don't know how that's possible," Masumi blurted out after agonizing silence. She wasn't stupid: she understood how adoption worked. However, she wasn't sure how Masumi could ever have been adopted. She recalled having a childhood with Mother and Father. There were even baby pictures! Masumi briefly wondered if she should start calling Mother and Father by something more formal. It was easier to call them her parents, even if it hurt to do so.
"Your mother was not in the right state of mind to take care of you," Father explained, choosing his words carefully.
"What do you mean?" Masumi's curiosity was peaked. Father's statement seemed a touch exaggerated. He was a stickler for facts, and had no time for embellishments.
"What your father is trying to say," Mother said, a panicked undertone running through her voice, "is that your biological mother was actress, and model Misa Amane. Her...involvement with the Kira cases all those years ago warped her already confused mind. She gave you up for adoption because she couldn't take care of a child while juggling her career. Her unsteadiness became more apparent when she was pregnant with you. Her agent at the time was the driving force for the decision for your adoption. She died shortly after giving you up. As improbable as it sounded at the time, your birth certificate says Light Yagami was your father. " The room began to spin. Masumi couldn't breathe, and she refused to believe what was being told to her. It was too far-fetched, too based in a ridiculous farce to ever be real.
But it was. It was the reality of her life now.
She learned about the Kira cases through an extra credit psychology elective class as a second year in high school. Light Yagami and the Kira case seemed so unreal to her, so detached from her life. She wasn't Masumi Sawamura anymore, and that was unnerving. Masumi wanted to cry until every last tear in her ducts dried up. This identity switch was too much.
"What you're saying is...my mother is, well was, a delusional celebrity sucked into the abyss of a murder case, and my father is, was, a delusional, psychopathic narcissist with a God complex?" Masumi hissed. Her parents-the people who raised her-squirmed. She knew she was being too harsh. But everything about her world shifted; in fact, it was pulled from under her feet. Now that everything was flipped upside down, nothing seemed like the truth.
"What's my real name?" Masumi asked.
"You're still Masumi. That was Misa's-your mother's-choice. She gave you her last name." Her father explained. Masumi Amane admittedly had a nice ring to it. Masumi stood up from her seat, dazed, and stumbled into her room. She called in to work sick last minute.
With a sick fascination, Masumi watched every Misa-Misa movie ever created, even the terrible ones that got horrible reviews and were vilified by critics and obsessive movie lovers everywhere. Masumi couldn't believe the woman on the screen was her own flesh and blood. Since Masumi paid an intense amount of attention, she saw that they looked alike: although Masumi was taller and broader and not quite as classically attractive, she did have Misa's cheekbones and the crease between her eyes and the same jawline and the same full lips. Tears escaped her eyes when she realized she wouldn't ever get to see that flesh and blood in real life, even though she had a rightful claim.
(Masumi looked for some lingering pain or suffering in Misa's eyes in the short span of her acting after Masumi's birth. Masumi found nothing to reassure her.)
Masumi noticed that Misa had a natural charm about her: Misa's enthusiasm and child-like energy gave her an adorable aura. Misa stood out because she was tiny, both in height and weight; her delicate, pixie-like features helped perpetuate her innocent persona. Masumi's birth mother would forever be encapsulated in motion on a television, forever remembered as either a girl sucked into and ultimately succumbing to madness or as portraying a fictional character so unlike Misa's real persona that people forgot she was the actress. Her mother was now a bunch of pixels, never to live a breathing, physical life again. Everything about Misa Amane that existed now was a detached memory, something Masumi could never experience; it was all snatched away from her by the uncontrollable force of death and it felt like a stab in the heart.
What could've been, had Masumi been raised by Misa? The thought made her stomach ache. Masumi imagined a life where she would've been raised by nannies, running around movie sets in ill-fitting clothing from wardrobe, wearing bright and mismatching makeup as Misa filmed movies. Mis and the rest of the film crew would be laughing at Masumi's fascination with cameras and how actions got filmed. The life of fame and fortune by association of being a celebrity's child could've been Masumi's, but it wasn't.
The life she led now, she realized after a few days of rational thought, was good enough.