This is a bit of a long chapter, but I decided to just make it all in one. I hope you'll like it!
Unexpected Visitors
Ninety-seven dead. Among them were two heroes. Over 1000 injured, several of them severely. Gang Orca was still comatose even a week after the attack, and who knew how many others were out of commission— at least, for the time being. Hundreds of millions in financial losses.
Ninety-seven.
That was the official count the authorities had released a week into the investigation of what was now called the Yaku-Insurance-Massacre. When the insurance building had gone down, 73 people were either killed immediately or had slowly suffocated within its ruins. More people had died in this single attack then all the prior attacks of the League of Villains combined. It was the biggest villain disaster since All Might had become the Symbol of Peace.
I should've stopped it!
The dread was palpable. It was everywhere. In the way the injured shuffled through the floors as if they were already dead. In the way the doctors ran around with dark bags under their eyes. In the way the news would talk about it matter-of-factly but with bated breath and tense voices, as if they feared their studio might explode around them at any minute.
Enji could smell the fear. It made his insides curdle.
I should've fought!
What remained unspoken between them – something everybody knew but nobody quite dared to mention – was their immense luck. Musutafu was a city with a high density of heroes – which was likely the reason it was chosen for the attack. Meanwhile, the League had only sent the Noumu, holding back on their actual members.
What did that mean? Were they planning something? Waiting for another devastating attack?
I should've done something!
Why hadn't he?
Because he wasn't allowed to, having lost his license?
Because he didn't feel confident, not being able to properly control his quirk?
Because he was afraid that he might freeze again, be a hindrance and nothing more?
Or because he hadn't wanted to?
Enji didn't know. The question was clawing at the inside of his brain. Had he let those people die because nothing he could have done could have helped anyway? Or because he had selfishly decided that he was too tired, too weak, too exhausted to even try?
Could he have fought and still saved the children?
What if…?
What if! Pathetic! It's too late for that now!
He made his decision. There was no alternate scenario where he might have decided differently. There was no second chance for him to try again. There was no point in lamenting these questions. If he regretted his actions, he would have to simply learn for the next time.
He followed the radio coverage with only half an ear. Most of his attention was focused on his leg, trying to put weight on it. It hurt, but it was bearable. His leg seemed to heal faster than his arm, though it was the more annoying wound. He would've been able to move around in crutches next week, but with one arm in a cast and the wound in his back and stomach still hurting, that wasn't an option. However, he had no interest in being bound to a wheelchair longer than necessary.
"They said you shouldn't put weight on it yet," Yosuke reminded him as he came back from the washroom, watching him with one eye. The other had a thick bandage hidden under an eye-patch.
Enji didn't listen to him. He didn't listen to the doctors, so why would he listen to this 19-year-old? They were still sharing the room. Enji was getting used to it, but Yosuke would be going home soon.
The young man hobbled over to Enji's bedside table to turn the radio louder, before climbing back into his bed. "They haven't brought lunch yet?"
Enji quietly shook his head, his neck red from the effort and pain of trying to stand. He had gotten weak!
"At least they aren't talking about you anymore," Yosuke grumbled.
It almost made Enji laugh. They hadn't really talked about him, ever. Enji still remembered what it was like when the media talked about him. Compared to the constant media frenzy and obsession with him in December, the way they talked about him now could maybe be called an 'offhanded mentioning'. But yes, they had mentioned him. It had gotten around, that he had been injured in the attack, and that he had in fact not been fighting. A few people had expressed their grievances about that, tried calling him out on being a coward. Most – at least, the more professional journalists – had shut that down fast. He didn't have a license, and they didn't want their shows to seem as if they promoted vigilantism. Never mind that, considering the severity of the situation, there were enough other things to talk about.
There was so much to talk about; they simply had no time to rage about his actions or lack-thereof.
When the news report started sifting through the many reasons why Musutafu might have been chosen as a target, Enji felt his interest vain. Musutafu was the city with the most prestigious hero school, having both the highest density of heroes and two former number ones living there. He was fairly certain he knew why they had attacked Musutafu, of all places.
He turned the volume down again and carried the radio to Yosuke. Enji's steps were short and wobbly, and he had to brace himself against the wall. Still, walking.
When he arrived back at his own bed, he sat back down, breathing heavily and thoroughly exhausted. Not because of the distance, but because of the effort it took to ignore the pain. After lunch, he told himself, he would take a nap. A nap! He was getting old.
He heard noises from outside. Stomping feet, loud voices. Laughter… That wasn't a noise he heard often these days. The hospital was a miserable place. Then the door banged open.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He heard a woman's voice outside in the corridor, just before three children exploded through the door almost simultaneously. "I told you, you have to behave!" The woman's voice called after them. "Turn it down a bit!"
"Endeavor!" Yuri sang, bursting into the room and waving with his glove-clad hands. They looked like clunky mittens, though they were made of smooth black shadows. Enji didn't even bother to correct him about the name. "Look what Tobi made for me." He ran up to a stunned Enji, until he stood right next to his bed, patting him against the back of the hand that wasn't in a cast. Enji recognized the odd feeling of nothing of Tobio's shadows. "That's cool right?"
"Uh…" Enji looked helplessly from Yuri to Tobio, who was lingering behind with both hands shoved in his pockets, and then to Hideyoshi, who was pulling one of the only two chairs in the room towards Enji's bed. The wood scraped loudly against the floor. Lastly, he looked to the two adults who entered after the three kids. One of them he recognized as Himatsu.
His eyes narrowed a little. The last time he had seen her, she had taken her son and one other kid and abandoned the rest of the class. He understood what had driven her, but he also hadn't forgotten about it. Maybe Himatsu read him accurately. She glared back at him defiantly for just a moment, then turned her eyes to the floor shamefully.
"Ey, Endeavor!" Yuri exclaimed as he was losing Enji's attention. He poked his hand a little harder. "You have to look!" He waved the other hand in the air, then clapped his hands together and held them to Enji, as if he expected Enji to touch them.
Overwhelmed, Enji lifted his uninjured hand to carefully touch the shadowy material. "So, Tobio did that?" He was almost embarrassed at the uselessness of the question. Of course Tobio had done that.
Yet, like a bundle of happy energy, Yuri dashed for his friend, and pulled Tobio forward. "Yes. He worked on it all day yesterday! He can't do the gloves with the five fingers yet, so I have mittens." Again, he raised his hands, as if – despite already holding them in Enji's face half a dozen times – he thought Enji hadn't seen them yet. The boy's smile faltered a little. Irritated, he rubbed at his eyes. But it didn't take long for the enthusiasm to come back. "It's safe now!" As if to demonstrate, he patted his hands on all the things he could find in the room. Enji's bed, the wall, the radio, Yosuke's bedside table.
"You're getting annoying," Hideyoshi grumbled when Yuri at last patted the other boy's shoulder. "You didn't just try to set me on fire, did you?"
Yuri blushed. "No, of course not. Just joking!" He rubbed at his eyes again. They were slightly red and teary.
"I see," Enji finally said, trying to calm the boy. "That's good. But don't try burning your classmates."
Yuri laughed sheepishly. "Nah… I still need to get used to it. It feels really weird. Like I have to learn writing all over again, 'cause I can't feel the pen. But that's worth it, right?"
One of the adults, a short white man with the same ginger hair and wild freckles, came up behind Yuri and started patting down his hair. "Yes, son. Messy handwriting is better than incinerating your friends." It was clearly a joke, though the only person who laughed was Hideyoshi.
"Yeah," Yuri said, rubbing even harder at his eyes now. Enji saw they were red and teary.
"Yoshi, stop it," Tobio said to the third boy sitting in the chair.
"I'm not doing anything," the boy defended himself.
"You're making his eyes itch," Tobio insisted. "Stop it."
"Hideyoshi!" Yuri cried, as if he had only now realized that his itchy eyes weren't natural. "Why?"
"He's talking too much. I just wanted to help him find a second to breathe." Hideyoshi laughed, but then raised his hands in a sign of surrender.
Tobio rolled his eyes. He leaned back against the wall, putting a foot up against it. It would leave a print, Enji was certain, but Tobio didn't seem to care.
"What are you doing here?" Enji asked, when the three boys finally calmed down again. "I didn't… expect any visitors." It wasn't strictly true. Fuyumi or Shoto visited almost daily, sometimes even both together. Even Aiji had visited once. But he hadn't expected any visitors that weren't family.
"I had to show you my gloves," Yuri answered immediately, the first to talk. He poked his shadow-clad fingers against each other as if he was still so fascinated he could hardly take his eyes off them.
His father used the short pause to speak up. "I wanted to thank you… eh… Todoroki." He bowed respectfully. Enji blinked at him in surprise. Confused, he looked to Hideyoshi and Yuri, but neither of them gave any explanation as to what the man was doing. "Yuri told me everything that happened. I know, you protected my son, even when he didn't have control over his quirk. You risked your life for him."
"I wouldn't be killed by a ten-year-old," Enji rejected the notion immediately – the surprise over the man thanking him shortly forgotten with that slight against his pride.
"I'm nine!" Yuri called out, way too loud. "Do I really already look ten?" He grinned, as if it were a compliment.
"Nonetheless," Yuri's father continued, undeterred by Enji's or his son's comments. "I'm very grateful. Not just for saving him, but also for helping him with his quirk. It's very powerful, but it's also dangerous. We were never quite sure if we could allow him to play with other children or if it was too much of a risk. Now, I think we can rest a little easier."
"Dad!" Yuri whined, embarrassed.
"And he's also much happier. I'm in your debt."
What are you doing?
Enji couldn't help but stare at the man. Despite the explanation, it still seemed so absurd to Enji. When was the last time somebody… anybody, had thanked him for doing what he did? Was it the difference between being a hero expected to save people and a civilian not expected to? Or was it just him? Had he been blind to it?
As a hero, he had saved people for money, to solve a case, because it was his job, because he was expected to… even to kill boredom at times. He had never expected gratitude, never received it… never lingered around or cared enough to receive it.
He had seen the ugly side. The complaints and lawsuits against his agency, whenever his actions caused damage. The expectations on his shoulders, the constant comparisons to All Might. The righteous outrage after Natsuo's diary had gone public and the efforts to take away his license. But… He didn't read the fan-mail, didn't browse his own fan sites, didn't go on talk shows or interviews or conventions or fan events. He didn't visit the people he saved after the fact; he never even asked for their names.
And just as well, he decided. He didn't regret it, he realized, as he stared at the man who was only now righting himself again. This was making Enji uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say. He felt utterly inept, staring at the man like a stupid fish with no clue. Thankfully, before anybody could comment on his shameful embarrassment, Himatsu stepped forward.
She didn't bow quite as deeply or quite as long – which he was grateful for. "I wanted to apologize. I already talked to Todoroki… your daughter. I know I was entrusted to keep the children safe, and then I left you with them. When I brought Tobio and his friend to the evacuation zone, I thought about turning back, but I didn't dare to. And I couldn't leave them. I was never so relieved as I was when I found out that all the children had survived."
Enji thought that he'd feel more resentment. When she had first entered the room, earlier, Enji had been angry. Now, however, he didn't know how to react. He nodded dumbly.
"Ikkaku told me to give you this," Hideyoshi perked up, pulling a small bag that he was carrying with him to his lap. "He wanted to give it to you himself, but he's a scaredy-cat. Doesn't wanna leave the house anymore."
Enji had no idea who this Ikkaku was, but he was certain the kid's reluctance to leave the house stemmed from trauma, and Hideyoshi calling him a scaredy-cat was probably highly insensitive. It also stung, to know that the kids were in fact traumatized – of course they were – even if these three seemed to have taken it comparatively well on first glance.
You shouldn't get close to kids. Evidently, you ruin…
Stop it! Stop, stop.
He couldn't have prevented that.
If All Might were still around…
I'm not All Might!
He was so lost in thought he didn't realize what Hideyoshi was pulling out of the small plastic bag, until he held the tiny flowerpot right under his eyes. A bright yellow… He didn't know much about flowers.
He knew it wasn't a sunflower. Still, his mind circled back to the sad plant in Fuyumi and Azami's apartment.
All Might!
Get a grip!
"How does it grow so early in the year?" he said, angrily suppressing the urge to burn the plant right out of Hideyoshi's hands.
Hideyoshi shrugged. "It's Ikkaku's quirk. He grows plants. He hates it, thinks it's girly, but he still gifts flowers to everybody. It's a yellow coneflower."
A coneflower, not a sunflower…
You knew it wasn't a sunflower.
This had to stop. Suddenly tired, he took the flowerpot, holding it awkwardly in his hands. "Tell him thanks," he said, blinking down at the bright yellow blossom. Then, he looked at the two adults apologetically.
Thankfully they understood without a word. "Well, we should let you rest. Get better soon," Himatsu smiled, ushering the kids out.
If he thought those were the last kids he had to deal with during his stint at the hospital, he was sorely mistaken. Only two days later, he was rudely awoken by somebody roughly bumping his chest trying to wake him up. The person wasn't even particularly strong. It was still irritating.
Almost as irritating were the weak "Stop it, what are you doing!" protests that were going along with the bumping.
"MAKI! Get down there!" Somebody demanded, shock and indignation clear in the pitch of the voice.
The poking had been annoying, and so were the half-hearted cries for Maki to stop; but those he could have maybe ignored… but the adult bursting in his room, yelling in shock, was too much. Enji's eyes snapped open.
There Maki was, standing on a chair, drumming on his chest with one arm, the other in a white cast. Izumo had climbed onto the bed next to Enji, where Yosuke had slept until yesterday, which was now empty. His foot was resting over the backrest of a chair, also plastered. His was blue, however.
At the door, a tall man with dirty blond short hair stood, holding the ugly poison-green rucksack Enji knew belonged to Maki. Dejectedly, the only thing Enji thought about for a moment, was how odd it was that of all the things, apparently, that rucksack had been recovered from the ruins.
"I'm so sorry," the man said hastily, rushing over to Maki and grabbing her arm to stop her from annoying Enji as well as pulling her off the chair she stood on. "Don't climb around like that. If you fall on your arm, you'll cry again. And then I'll have to listen to that all day."
Maki pouted at him. "If I fall on my arm, you'll be the first to get a panic attack," she spoke back at him. "And I won't fall anyway." But she jumped off the chair, sitting down on it with a heavy thud.
"How are you doing?" Izumo asked in a quiet voice. His free leg swung a bit in the air. "Are you going to heal alright?" He avoided Enji's gaze when Enji looked at him.
"I'll be alright," he said. His recovery was going well. He would need a few more days to get rid of the casts and then physiotherapy, but he was confident. He was expecting a lingering pain to remain in his ankle and knee, but he was 46. With the amount and the kind of injuries he had in his lifetime, he should kind himsel lucky he didn't have to deal with crippling back and joint pain. "How's your leg?" he asked back.
"It needs time, the doctors say. Maybe I'll get a sick note for PE for the next six months." He didn't sound very regretful.
"That's a shame," Enji said anyway, because he had liked PE. "And you?" He turned to Maki.
"I can't write anymore," she whined, "or draw. And they put a nail into my arm. This long!" She indicated roughly two inches with her thumb and pointer. Enji wasn't sure if she was exaggerating. In any case, she seemed to think it was exciting. If her tone had been somewhat dejected talking about writing and drawing, it brightened to excitement when she spoke about the nail in her arm. "Do you have a nail, too?"
"Yes," Enji answered easily. "Mine are longer, though. I bet Izumo's are longer as well."
Maki stared at her friend with wide eyes. "What? But he's shorter than me!"
Izumo didn't seem inclined to comment, or maybe he hadn't asked the doctors what they did with his leg.
"Does it still hurt?" Enji asked after a while.
"Sometimes I bump it against the door," Maki explained pitifully, "Or I roll on it when I sleep." but then she shook her head. "But normally no."
"Good," Enji said. "That's good."
Izumo hadn't answered the question, he realized. He hadn't said much all this time. He was also still avoiding eye contact.
"Ey, ey, can you sign my cast?" Maki put her arm right under his nose. Way too close for him to sign anything. He put his hand up to push her arm a little bit away and she complied. "Please. I bet not many people have you signing their cast, right?"
He didn't remember ever signing a cast. Now that her arm was further away from his face, he also saw he wouldn't be the first one to do so. Four other signatures were already sprawled over the hard, white material. "Do you have a pen?"
"Yes!" she triumphed, stretching her healthy hand out to her father. "Dad! My pen!"
Her father needed a moment to procure a thick black marker that he handed over to Enji.
Enji looked down at the cast, and suddenly realized he had a problem. What should he sign with? He wasn't Endeavor anymore, even if he very much wished to take that name up again. Then again, would she even be interested in his real name signature? What did she want? He glanced at Maki, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she giddily moved around, which also made it difficult to draw on her arm at all.
Finally, he made his decision. He was left-handed, so writing was possible, but with her moving around, the material's rough surface, and his other hand being unable to hold her still, his Kanji were crude and embarrassingly childish.
When he was done, she looked at it. Grinning slyly, she joked, "your penmanship is worse than Yuri's!" He hoped she didn't mean Yuri's penmanship with his new gloves with which he couldn't even feel the pen. "What does it mean? En-Ji?" She read with some trouble.
"My first name," he said, realizing she'd never heard his first name. Wow. He knew he'd screw up.
She frowned, a little disappointed. "Why not Endeavor?" she whined.
But before she could even finish her question, he grabbed her arm again, pulling it closer until it rested on his lap, so he could write a different kanji.
Again, she stared at it, her brows furrowed in thought.
勔
"I have no idea what that means!" she cried out, stomping to her father so he could translate.
Enji was about to tell her to ask Fuyumi to translate it for her in class, when Maki's father spoiled the fun.
"You can read it as ben," he said.
"Ben?" she grimaced. "Ben…"
"In English, it translates to 'endeavor'."
Maki brightened immediately. She wasn't that difficult to appease, Enji decided, capping the pen. However, before he gave it back, he hesitated, glancing back at Izumo. The boy still didn't look at him.
"What is it, Izumo?" Enji asked when he lost his patience to wait for the boy to just explain himself.
Izumo shifted uncomfortably on the bed. It was Maki who answered in his stead. "He feels guilty."
The boy didn't look happy that she had just blurted it out. He furrowed his brows, staring down at his lap.
"Why?" Enji asked, looking at Maki, who seemed more inclined to answer.
"I don't know," she said, throwing her one free hand up in frustration. "I told him it's not his fault. He's just being stupid. It's those monsters' fault, right?"
At least one person here made sense, he realized. Yes, it was the Noumu's fault. The League's, and maybe his as the adult present. How could it be the fault of this boy?
"You were only there because of me," Izumo muttered, crossing his arms and hugging himself. "Just cause I had to drink all my water so early and then I had to pee so often and then just before the attack I had to go again and then Maki had to look for me and then you had to look for the both of us so you're all injured now because of me!" He said it so fast without pausing for breath. It was hard for Enji to follow.
"You're just ten," he said, but of course that didn't help.
Izumo scoffed at him. "So what? I want to be like All Might and protect people. But instead, I'm the reason you're hurt!"
"You're not the reason I'm hurt," Enji retorted. "Look!" He pointed at the scar across his face. "Look!" He pulled down the collar of his shirt just far enough for Izumo to see the beginning of Shigaraki's handprint on his scar. "Look!" He lifted the sleeve on his left arm, showing just the beginning of the endless, horrific mass of scars there. He didn't show the worst, but just enough for the boy to understand. "I get injured all the time." It wasn't strictly true. Up until he had become the number one, he had done well, suffering only minor injuries in most battles – if even that.
The fight in Fukuoka and being tortured by the League – including by his own son – cold metal pressed against his forehead… Stop it! – had done more damage to his body, than the thirty years of hero work before.
Izumo hadn't really looked at the scars on his wrist. His eyes were still glued onto the scar on his face. Fair enough. That was, after all, the most visible one. Then, the boy sniffled.
"Todoroki, you should take better care of yourself," Maki admonished. He had almost forgotten that she and her father were also in the room. "You're getting injured way too easily."
But it was her father's gaze that made him uncomfortable. The man's eyes were glued to Enji's wrist that had already vanished under the sleeve again. Enji was about to ask him what his problem was, when the man muttered, "I didn't know."
Didn't know what?
But then he changed the topic.
"I wanted to thank you, for saving—"
"Stop," Enji interrupted him. "Don't…"
The man looked at him ,confused. Then he continued. "My daughter told me what you did, and I can't believe… If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't know—"
"I said stop." He could not deal with gratitude. It had already been too much with Yuri's father. He hadn't known then, why his thanks had been so difficult to accept. However, since then, two days had passed. He knew now.
Ninety-seven people were dead. And you didn't do anything.
You let ninety-seven people die and now you're sitting here like a self-indulgent idiot taking gratitude for the two you did safe?
Pathetic. Stop it! Move on.
He'd had it wrong. For so long, he had been a hero to fight the villains, to be the strongest, to never lose. Prioritize the rescue; of course he had followed that rule. He'd been a professional hero, after all, and that was the first rule of pro-heroism. But he hadn't really lived by it. He hadn't understood it.
Power, strength, tenacity. Hard-fought battles and long, arduous investigations and annoying laws that just got in the way.
It didn't serve to further his agenda, or make him the number one, the strongest man. Not for power or profit or popularity. It all just served one purpose:
To save as many lives as possible.
Shoto knew it too. He knew it already and he only had his license a few months. Enji was late, but he did understand it now.
A hero you can be proud of.
He had resented that fixation on rescue because his quirk didn't seem suited for it. So what? A pathetic excuse!
Enji looked between Maki and Izumo. He had saved them, hadn't he? He might have failed those other ninety-seven, but those two…? Those two he did save!
"Thanks," he said very quietly, not expecting to be heard and not expecting anything in return.
The last visitor was maybe the most unexpected. On the Wednesday before his planned release from hospital, two weeks after he was first admitted to it, Irina visited.
"I know you will be back home tomorrow," she started, marching in with the brusque speed of a woman on a mission. "But Fuyumi told me you still can't walk properly. And only one hand!" She shook her head at the casts he would likely wear until the end of the month. "So you will be even more incapable of taking care of yourself."
Enji blushed furiously, as he realized where this was going.
"In hospital, you get meals every day— but at home! I can't have you starve till Monday!"
Enji shook his head. "You don't need to concern yourself with—"
"Ah, gluposti! No objections," She waved his rejection off. "I'm here to inform you, not ask for permission."
Enji didn't have the energy to fight her. He knew he'd lose. "Okay."
If he had hoped she'd leave as soon as her primary objective was achieved, he had underestimated her. "Is there anything you want to eat tomorrow?"
Enji blinked stupidly. He was an adult, he reminded himself uselessly. Not some teenager requesting their grandmother to cook their favorite dish. It was undignified. Also, somewhat heartwarming – but mostly undignified. He gave her a half-hearted shrug.
"Venison stew?" Irina suggested with a frown on her face.
Enji shrugged again.
"With potatoes and carrots and…? Are you listening?" Her brows rose in irritation as he was clearly not paying attention. She studied him for a while, before pulling a chair closer and sitting down. "Speak up, boy."
Boy… He still wasn't quite used to that. She wasn't that much older than him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answered immediately. There was nothing wrong. More the opposite. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he had purpose again. He just…
…didn't know where to start.
"It's nothing," he repeated at her skeptical frown.
She shook her head. "I know you well, now. Something is going on. If not, you would fight me harder over coming to cook tomorrow. You don't give in so easily. Normally you don't. So, what's wrong?"
He scowled, a little annoyed. "Do you want me to fight harder?"
She shook her head, crossing her arms. "I want you to start talking."
Enji sighed, and ended up giving in easily. After all, she was right. They'd been eating lunch together once almost every week. She was one of the few people who had put in the effort to get to know him, and he'd talked to her about all the other things. About his regrets, his disappointments. About his work with Shoto, about Fuyumi and Natsuo, the divorce. He had even mentioned Touya once or twice, though he tended to avoid it most of the time. Why not share this too?
"I don't know what to do," he admitted. She didn't answer immediately, so he continued. "I feel like I know what I want, but I don't know how to get there."
She nodded. "What is it you want?"
But he didn't know how to answer. Knowing it and being able to say it, he realized, were two different things.
"I see…," she seemed oddly calm and pensive for a moment. Enji didn't remember ever seeing such an expression on her face. "Maybe I can help." She pulled her big brown purse close. It was an ugly, old, and chunky thing. "I apologize," she started. He was immediately suspicious at her oddly subdued tone. "I might have overstepped boundaries, but… I found it in laundry and decided to keep it."
She held her hand out. A piece of paper, he realized, though it was so small it almost completely vanished in her hand. In his laundry, he wondered. Ever since he lost his license – or, well, not long after that – he'd been doing his own laundry. How long had she had this piece of paper?
He took it. The thick paper was frayed at the edges.
"Grand Musutafu Hospital
Clinical Psychologist
Tanaka Kimiko"
Below that, her contact details.
Hui finally! I had like two dozen comments asking and mentioning the business card and when it would come back. I have to admit, I didn't think it would take so long to get to this point!
