I've been spoiled. Or rather I've spoiled myself regarding todays chapter... Also I almost uploaded the wrong chapter jut now. No time to talk I'm just abou to eat. I hope you'll enjoy meeting Inari's family!


The Fujiwara Family

It was obvious that Inari's wife hadn't expected Enji Todoroki, of all people, to appear on her doorstep. As Enji saw her eyes widen and her jaw open slightly in surprise, he already regretted that he hadn't called in advance. Then again, if he had called, he would have just said his piece over the phone and left it at that. Silent Tracker had told him to see her in person, and she was right. He owed his loyal secretary that much, at least. If she was angry at him, Enji would just stay and listen to her accusations. He'd bear it as he should have done two months ago.

Two months… It was already so long ago, and what had he done all this time?

Nonetheless.

Fujiwara was a short woman, already shrunken a little from age, wearing her long, grey and black hair in a loose bun. There were crinkles and lines across her face from laughter and – more recently, he assumed – grief. She looked a little overweight, plump around the hips and belly, with a most subtle double chin. The last time he'd seen her, she was surely two inches taller – but that was already a year ago, when Inari had brought her to the agency's last New Year's celebration.

"I'm sorry for coming without an invitation, Fujiwara-san." Enji bowed in greeting. "I hoped we could talk."

She looked past him with a frown as if looking for something. Then, she nodded curtly and stepped back to let him in. "Of course." She fumbled with the sides of her wool cardigan and pulled it tighter around herself, as if she felt cold. "Come in."

It was incredibly warm inside; far hotter than normal room temperature. It smelled of coal and fire. He took his shoes off as she led him to the main room with a big, burning fireplace in the center, where a kettle of water was boiling over the open flames. Looking at his surroundings, Enji noticed that the room was a curious mix of traditional Japanese architecture and modern furniture. He'd seen a high-tech security and smart home system when he first entered the house, a broad flat screen TV, and a laptop and tablet charging on a desk in one corner of the room. On a bookshelf next to the desk, there was a big electronic picture frame, showing a slideshow of family pictures.

"I didn't expect anybody," Fujiwara said in a regretful tone as she shuffled towards the fireplace and carefully took the kettle from the flames. "But I can make tea, if you'd like a drink?"

Enji's eyes were stuck on the picture frame for a while. It showed Inari and his wife, arm in arm, in warm winter clothes, apparently on a hiking trip. There were mountains in the background. Maybe the Akaishi Mountains, he assumed, from a quick first glance. The couple was frozen for eternity, waving at the camera. Then, the picture flickered and changed to another. Now he saw a couple of girls playing volleyball on a beach.

"Uh… yes, thank you." He finally registered that she had offered tea. "Do you…?" But he didn't finish his offer to help her when he realized that she had already pulled the kettle off the flames.

"Just sit." She pointed at a couch in front of the TV. "I'll be back in a minute."

Barely two minutes later, she placed two cups of steaming tea in front of them and sat opposite him.

"What can I do for you?"

Enji didn't know how to reply to this. He had never done this before. Nobody had ever died working for the agency – and on the rare occasion that a civilian did die under his watch, the police would normally do these house calls. He rarely ever got evolved with the people left behind by his mistakes. He didn't know how to do it, how formal to be, or if it would be better to be upfront. Still, he was never one to do things half-heartedly. So, instead of hesitating further, he gave himself a push and stood up straight. Bowing stiffly at the hip, he remained like that for a moment.

"Fujiwara-san, I sincerely apologize for—" his voice faltered a little. He quickly licked his dry lips. "For letting Inari die, for failing to save him, and… and for taking so long." He waited another few seconds, and only straightened back up when he heard her sigh.

It sounded incredibly sad and tired. Enji kept standing, looking down at her slumped frame sitting opposite him. She wrung her hands uncomfortably.

"Please sit back down, Todoroki-san," she said, not looking up at him.

Enji did as she asked and took the cup of tea in both hands. It was comfortably hot against his palm. He didn't drink, however. Instead, he watched her, and waited for her to say something. Quietly, she took her tea as well, and blew some of the steam away. As she took the first sip, she made a face, signalling that it was still very hot – and put the cup back down. Finally, she sighed again.

"We received your generous condolences during the wake."

There was nothing generous about it, he knew. He had sent a decent amount of money, of course, but he hadn't come in person— too afraid to see the accusations in the eyes of the attendees. He hadn't even come to visit the grave yet.

"I did the bare minimum," he disagreed. "He was in my employ for eleven years. Five of those, he was my personal secretary. There was nobody I was closer to," he admitted. "He deserved more than just a small envelope with my regards."

He deserved for me to have caught him. But he couldn't take that back. Neither failing to save him, nor failing to appear at his funeral.

"He rests on Tyton Forest Cemetery, if you want to visit."

His eyes widened at the polite simplicity and sheer kindness of her offer. But soon after this surprise, he admonished himself. He had not come here to receive condolences from Inari's grieving wife.

"That is very kind," he said honestly, "but I came to ask if there is anything else I can still do for you."

For the first time since his apology, she actually looked him in the eyes. There was something akin to confusion in her glare. "I don't need support," she said, with a somewhat harsh undertone.

Enji suddenly blushed, realizing that she must have understood his words as an offer for financial support. Obviously, he had hurt her pride, though she masked it well under her neutral politeness. That hadn't been his intent. He knew, as his widow, she'd receive a pension from the agency – money her husband had diligently worked for. As far as he knew, she was working and earning money herself, too.

"I didn't want to imply that… that—" he had to pause, not knowing what kind of support he had in mind instead. Offering his help had seemed like the right thing to do, considering that she had lost her husband because of him – but he had nothing to help her with, except for sending money. Which was now clear to him that she didn't want.

Her brows furrowed a little in curiosity, as she watched him closely. "Say, Todoroki, do you blame yourself?"

Her questions caught him entirely off-guard. Struck mute, he stared at her, then his gaze turned towards the still-full cup of tea.

Before Enji could decide what to say, she continued. "I—" Pause. "I won't lie. I watched Inari die on TV, I watched it a dozen times. And each time, I pray, I curse, I scream, why you couldn't be faster, why you couldn't grip his hand tighter."

He let her words wash over him. He made no move to disagree with her. He should have been faster, he should have gripped Inari harder, he shouldn't have let it get so far in the first place.

"But that is only in the moment. You didn't let my husband die. My husband was murdered."

He finally looked up at her. She had stopped wringing her hands. Instead, she stared right at him with a fury in her eyes that made his throat go dry.

"I won't let you take that blame, because there are people out there – still walking free without a care in the world – who are to blame. I don't want anybody else to take that burden. It's theirs and theirs alone."

Enji needed a moment to process her words. Then he nodded. Her fury was righteous, he realized. Of course he had to make it all about himself, didn't he? But really, this wasn't about him.

"I thought you might…"

"I'm not angry at you for being unable to save him." She said, making it clear once and for all. "But I am angry that after that, you didn't pursue his killers."

She glared daggers into him. He didn't know how to respond to that, hadn't expected this turn. Maybe he should have.

"Why?" Tears were bristling in her eyes. "You said it yourself. Inari worked for you for eleven years, he was the one closest to you, you just said that!" She shook her head, her tears now running freely down her cheek. She held the teacup tight as if she needed something to do with her hands. "And yet, after he died— you just rolled over, gave your hero license away, and moved on?"

What was he supposed to say to that? He could tell her that he hadn't just handed it over, that he had no choice, but that would be dishonest. The Hero Association hadn't asked him for his opinion, but he also hadn't fought them. When he opened the letter asking for his license, he had even felt relieved. When Natsuo's diary was first published and people had started demanding his license, he had defended himself. He had admitted to his past transgressions, he had faced the media and the outrage, he had cooperated with the Hero Association and followed their inquiry. And he had continued to do his job. After Inari's death, though, he'd done none of that.

"If it were you… I know, my Inari was no hero, but he wouldn't have just moved on, if you had died. He would have asked questions, demanded justice. He would have dedicated whatever resources he and the agency had available to catch whoever did it." One of her hands moved from the trembling cup to her face to wipe away some of the tears. For the first time, Enji realized how strongly her other hand was shaking. Soothingly, he put a hand on the cup, and pushed her hand down onto the table before she could spill the hot liquid over her skin. She let go of it eventually. "I know he was no hero," she repeated to herself, "but he would have at least tried. I know he would have."

He wondered what Inari had told her of his work. Had they spoken about him in private, about the abuse, about why Inari stayed working with him? About the project he had worked on himself to increase hero cooperation in the entire country? Had he said something, that made her so sure that he would've indeed pursued his killer if Endeavor ever died on duty?

It doesn't matter. You know it's true.

Not just Inari, he realized. Enji had long given up, and Silent Tracker was still trying to get justice for him. She even went against the orders and recommendations of the Hero Association and heroes much superior to her, just to get some semblance of payback for how they had betrayed him. Nakamura still worked tirelessly to find a way to get Enji's license back, even when Enji himself blocked most of his efforts. Brazen, he knew, supported Silent Tracker in her struggles. Ide continued working with Natsuo, going above and beyond her normal duties as legal counselor to make sure Natsuo was okay, because Enji had asked her to. Even Avalanche, who had almost betrayed him once, hadn't abandoned the agency yet, despite it being obvious that without Endeavor, the Endeavor Hero Agency was destined to fall apart eventually. None of them had given up on him. Inari wouldn't have given up on him, either.

But he had.

He had given up.

"Y-you… you just moved on," Fujiwara hiccupped, her tears now running free and unstopped. Her feeble attempt to halt them or wipe them away hadn't helped at all.

"I didn't move on." It was the truth. He hadn't moved on. Two months ago, he had given up his license because he was tired, exhausted, hurting, disappointed, afraid… He had handed in his license, thinking it might've been the right step. He might've thought he was ready to move on, start a new part of his life… retire! Laughable! He wasn't ready to retire. And he hadn't been ready to move on. He just didn't have the strength to fight anymore. "I didn't…" No, that wasn't right. "I just gave up." he admitted.

Maybe Fujiwara didn't entirely grasp the difference or what exactly he was talking about, because she barely showed any reaction. Maybe, to her, it didn't matter as it all came down to the same result.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He had come to apologize for letting her husband die. Now, he apologized a second time, for something else entirely. And yet… as he said it, he felt something else.

There it was… Boiling, deep-rooted and overwhelming desire.

And he didn't know what to do with it.

He got distracted when he heard the door open and close from the foyer.

"Mom, I'm home," he heard a female voice call into the room. Shortly after, the door to the room slid open and a young woman poked her head in. "Sorry, I'm a—"

She stopped abruptly as she saw Enji. Her eyes narrowed at him as she turned to her mother. "What's he doing here?"

"Yuu!" Fujiwara said, shocked and embarrassed at her tone. "Please be kind. He's here to talk about your father."

The newcomer's eyebrows rose a little. "Ah." She turned back to Enji, scrutinizing him curiously. "About time."

Enji acknowledged her words with a resigned slump of his shoulders.

Inari's daughter was tall and slender like her father, but not excessively so. Inari, he remembered, was almost haggard. This young woman wasn't. She had muscular arms and shoulders— he realized, when she pulled the door further open and exposed more of her build. He was reminded of professional swimmers, or maybe even canoeists, with that sort of musculature. Her dark-brown hair was braided. Enji estimated her to be in her early twenties.

"Anyway, Mom, is it going to take much longer? We wanted to be in Tatooin in an hour, you remember?" As she spoke, she took her shoes off and left them outside.

"Of course," Fujiwara replied, with an apologetic smile towards Enji.

"Great. Fifteen minutes?" Obviously, Yuu didn't care much about Enji, nor did she seem perturbed by the idea of essentially throwing him out of the house.

He didn't mind much, however. Quickly, he took his first long gulp of the tea, barely tasting it in his haste to empty the cup. It burned uncomfortably down his throat, but wasn't enough to hurt.

"I'm very sorry," Fujiwara said after her daughter closed the door again, leaving them alone.

"No, I just appeared without invitation," he assured her. "I've said what I came to say."

"Thank you." But he could tell from her face that she still wasn't happy with her daughter's rude behavior. She frowned a little as he lowered the now half-empty cup a bit. For a moment, he expected her to tell him to take his time with the tea, but then her lips pressed together in a tight smile.

"Your middle child?" he asked, trying to remember the order of Inari's children. He knew he had met one of them many years ago at some agency event or another, but he couldn't figure out which one.

"Yes, Yuiko." Fujiwara smiled. "She's twenty-two. We're having dinner with her fiancé and his parents," she explained, even though he hadn't asked. "They're to get married in November." There was a sad flicker on her face, gone as quickly as it'd come. Her smile seemed just a little less bright then.

"I have a daughter around that age too," he said.

"I know…"

Of course she knew. Who didn't? He was inexplicably angry now. His daughter was an amazing young woman. There was so much he could tell a stranger about her. Not necessarily to this grieving widow, but in general. He could talk about her new girlfriend, about her job, how passionate she was about the children she taught, about her kindness and caring nature… And yet, when mentioning her to a stranger, all they thought about, the first and only thing on their mind, was the abuse that he had put her through.

Fuyumi had never been the focus of the media. There wasn't much information about her in Natsuo's diary, and Enji assumed that her suffering wasn't exciting enough to ever warrant a lot of attention. But it was still there. Still there, and ever-present in everybody's heads.

He shook his head, thoroughly put off now. Quickly, he finished his tea and stood up.

"Thank you for hearing me out," he said, bowing again. "I should take my leave."

She stood as well to bid him farewell, but as they exited the room together, Yuu stood in front of them, her hands braced against her hips. The young woman frowned, worried.

"Mom, you cried," she realized, with an angry look at Enji.

Fujiwara touched her puffy cheeks in irritation as if she had forgotten about that. "Oh… I guess so. Is it visible?" She looked between Yuu and Enji. "Maybe you could see our guest to the door," she requested. "I need to freshen up."

Hurriedly, she bowed Enji farewell— and then she was gone. Enji was only a little irritated. The door was only a few steps away; he could easily find it himself. He was about to tell Yuu that, but she'd already went to the door and pulled it open for him. There was an impatient air around her. Enji couldn't help but snort at that.

Quickly, he put his shoes back on. He grabbed his jacked and turned to say his goodbye, when Yuu spoke first.

"I don't know what exactly you two spoke about," she said, with a scowl on her face, "but I can imagine… Just because Mom doesn't blame you, doesn't mean I don't."

Her words were blunt and unprompted. Enji, who had just opened his mouth to speak, snapped his jaw shut again.

"I'm about to marry, and Dad was supposed to be there. I know you didn't kill him, but I blame you nonetheless. Just so you know."

Enji looked at her for real now. Her frown deepened. It was as if she wasn't happy with her words, but there was a fierceness in her eyes— and she didn't take them back. Her jaw was set.

"Fair enough," he accepted her words with a simple nod.

"Good, just wanted to make that clear." She sounded as if she was justifying herself. Then, she opened the door a little further and he stepped outside.

His eyes drifted up and down the street. He had taken the Metro, but he thought about walking home. It wasn't that far, and he felt like he could use the fresh air to think. His eyes turned to the other side of the road and— it was then that somebody caught his eye.

Curiously, he peered at the woman standing diagonally across the street at a bright red mailbox. Something seemed familiar about her. She was too far away to see any clear details, and she stood half turned away from him. Yet, he was certain that she had just looked at the Fujiwara house. For just a second when Enji had first caught sight of her, their eyes had crossed. He was also certain that she only acted as if she had mail to send. There was nothing in her hands as she fumbled with the mailbox.

He didn't even think about it as he held the door open before Yuu could close it behind him.

Frustrated, the young woman glared at him. She then looked past him to find what he was looking at.

"Excuse me," Enji started, still looking at the woman on the other side. He could swear he had seen her before, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Do you know that woman? Over there at the mailbox?"

Yuu peered over at the mailbox and the woman next to it. When Enji looked back at Yuu, waiting for a reaction, he saw her shrug. "Dunno. I think she lives somewhere around here. I've seen her a few times recently." She shrugged again, not caring much for the woman or Enji's inquiry.

"Recently?"

"Last few weeks," Yuu specified. "Guess she just moved in. Why?"

But Enji didn't tell her. He didn't even know himself, who she reminded him of. "Nothing, just… Anyway, thanks."

Yuu grunted in an annoyed and undignified way, before finally closing the door behind him.

Enji didn't look back at the house. Instead, he set a fierce pace towards the woman at the mailbox. He didn't run, but his trajectory was clear.

Something wasn't right. He knew her! He was certain, and it made the hairs stand at the back of his neck. Where…?

She straightened up when it was clear that he was walking towards her. Then, she looked around herself, backed away from the mailbox, and tried to act casual. It was then that he got a full view of her, standing tall to her full height and stature.

That thin face, long neck… She was tall, with long limbs and straight, almost brittle light brown hair…

It was exactly at the second when she decided to flee that he finally recognized her.

Quickstep!