He'd royally fucked up.
Sure, he'd bled mistakes onto their shared canvas time and time again, but this felt like a monumental screw up; a mar as unforgiving as a bloodstain right over a moment that should've been idyllic.
He'd known as soon as her pink mouth fell open, caught in a surprise that was quickly struck through the heart and pushed every inch of her into a rigid cold front. His own stomach plunged ten stories but before he could explain, try and backpedal this blunder of thoughtlessness, Chiyo had fled as if trying to outrun her own embarrassment. The ring, still on her finger, glinted like the tail of a meteor.
But she shouldn't have; she had nothing to feel embarrassed about. It was him who had, once again, pressed a black fountain pen into a pastel watercolor.
And now he was about to enter a den of wolves, ribs filled like a hive of restless bees and mind unable to focus on the deadly mission before him, too preoccupied with half a dozen needs and desires and every single one of them involving her.
Her.
Who had asked to meet all together one final time right before the soiree began, to run through both the plan and its fail-safes.
Who he could blame for having to wear this blue-and-black penguin suit even longer now, sitting uncomfortably in the backseat in too many too-tight layers, already preparing himself for the Hopper brothers' ribbing.
Who had arrived earlier than him, dressed far more breathtakingly than him, and stole away every single thought from his mind like the sun collecting the stars at morning's dawn.
But even the sun must have stopped to take in the sight of Chiyo Tsutomi and gifted her back those star-shaped thoughts, pouring them down her shoulders to shine across a split gossamer cape. They winked at him with every movement of her hands, attached by spindles of golden thread around her wrists.
Between the stars was only her soft, golden skin, dipped by the curve of her exposed spine and neck, hair whisked away and shimmering with little flecks of gold. Folds of liquid night descended from her waist and made a shallow puddle behind her, filled like a flower basket with a cluster of fallen stars.
He hadn't even seen her face, could only imagine what the front of such a dress must be composed of, and already he couldn't breathe.
She was running through the plan, making sweeping gestures to relay points as she spoke. Every so often the light would catch a rogue star, the diamond-crusted ring on her right hand, each one a demure alarm beckoning attention to the speaker.
Unfortunately, not a single person was listening.
Because Chiyo Tsutomi was beautiful. Truly, obliviously beautiful, despite her serious tone and ironed expression.
Even Toro seemed in a daze, watching her like a deep-sea creature he'd never seen in full light before. Ichiro and Jiro never stood a chance.
And then she turned, and her eyes were on him.
The obsidian material flowed down and met just above her navel, skin between protected by a thin layer of something that probably had a more delicate name than mesh, but such words were not a part of Aizawa's vocabulary. A silk sash brought in her waist and released the flowing skirts below.
She looked like a fairy tale princess who had escaped her tower and the entitled prince right along with it, instead saddling the dragon protecting her to go carve her own constellations into the night sky.
"Woah, Eraser! You look-"
"Decent!" Ichiro finished for Jiro, hardly recognizing the clean-cut man before them. Face still ruggedly unshaved and hair not exactly sleek in its capturing, this was still the first time they'd ever seen his full face, let alone the fitted clothing or straight posture.
But he hardly heard them, because he was still looking at her.
"Oh, hey- Check it! Our girl looks good, right?" Jiro took Chiyo's hand and she allowed him to twirl her out, displaying the stars streaming across her with the dance step. Chiyo laughed.
"I'd wife her," Ichiro agreed.
"You idiot," Jiro paused in their over-exaggerated dancing to send a flat glare at his brother. "You sayin' she's only now worth wifing because the way she's dressed?" He turned quickly back to the light eyes of his pretend date, smile a lopsided crescent. "I've known since the moment she tricked your dumb ass-"
"Chicks don't wanna be disrespected by your assuming tone and behavior, numbskull-"
"Chicks?" Toro commented weakly.
Ichiro shouldered his brother out of the way to take Chiyo's left hand between all of his stubby, calloused fingers. Her eyes widened just a fraction when he fell to one knee.
"Akua-Chiyo Tsu- uh, Tsu...tomi?" His seriousness remained through the stutter, having half forgotten what was alias and what was reality.
She smiled despite herself. "Yes?"
"Will you marry me?"
Regardless of the clear ridiculousness of the gesture, Aizawa felt a creeping breath of heat blow against the back of his neck, spread forward to grab him like strangling hands.
But Chiyo lifted her chin, a benevolent queen being addressed by a common peasant. "What's in it for me?"
Ichiro hadn't thought this far in advance. He looked to his brother and then back at her, clearly lost.
"Um. My undying love and affection?"
Chiyo frowned.
"Er, naw, naw, I mean…"
"Would I get shares of Hopper Recycling put in my name?"
Ichiro jumped at the simplicity of such a request before falling solemn, tightening his hands around hers.
"Yes. All of it. We'll rename the joint after our first born child."
Aizawa didn't know how Chiyo's heart reached out across the room and thrashed against his ribs at Ichiro's vow; after a moment, though, he realized that she hadn't. It was his own heart, protesting both the notion and his incompetence, gawking like a bystander and allowing this moment to happen.
"What if it's not a boy?"
"Then our daughter'll be the heir to a recycling dynasty bearing her very own name."
A silence echoed around the room for a single moment.
And then Chiyo hid her mouth behind one hand and blushed.
An uncharacteristic amount of rage licked Aizawa's bones clean. He jerked at the sensation, both surprised and strangely embarrassed, like everyone suddenly noticed his presence, even if only one person caught the reaction.
"You know," Chiyo said, coy. "Polyandry isn't legal in Japan. How will I choose which Hopper brother to keep?"
And then Ichiro and Jiro were off to the races, throwing insults like knives and knocking their chests together, reminiscent of two praying mantises preparing for a showdown. Chiyo slipped out from between them to sidle up with Toro once more.
"Your GPS trackers, in case anything goes awry," Toro handed both her and Aizawa a microchip no bigger than a pill, along with a half-filled cup of water.
Chiyo raised her eyebrows at him with a conspiratorial grin. "Bottoms up."
Ichiro and Jiro were still fighting when the hero duo made for the door, now arguing over whose offspring would be more attractive.
"It's like they don't even realize they're identical," Chiyo muttered under her breath.
When the Hopper twins finally did notice them leaving, both immediately began trailing behind her, holding her skirts as if she were some departing bride. The fire in his lungs burned higher when her stupid blush returned, thanking them for helping her into the car.
Chiyo glanced at the driver before bringing her eyes to his, sitting within arm's reach of one another. Were her lashes longer than before? He knew she typically wore make-up, sure, but this was something else- ethereal, almost, with the way her skin seemed to glow from within.
Jealousy still held his tongue in place, though his breath caught under her inspection. The sudden, chipped-tooth smile she gave him didn't help, either.
"You look very nice," She said softly. Words filed out of his mind like clouds fleeing a storm. Why couldn't he think? Better yet, why was his mind set on replaying the moment of Ichiro kneeling before her, offering an empire of recyclable garbage named after their imagined kid?
"Is that what you want, then?"
"What?"
She looked at him innocently enough, even as he contemplated jumping out of the moving vehicle for beginning such a stupid question. He cleared his throat, eyes glued out the darkened window.
"You said what if it's not a boy. It made it sound like you had a preference. Do you?"
"Why on earth would I want a son?"
Her severe expression made him feel even more ridiculous, though this time he wasn't sure why. Chiyo stared at him with wide, perturbed eyes.
"Little boys like dirt and sports. They have no interest in love stories and most would rather collect bugs than read novels." She shuddered. "Then they hit puberty and become whole new entities, struggling with society's expectations of what a man should be, whether it aligns with what they believe or not. And after all that, they go out and replace you with a new woman to love and care for them, and suddenly you're no longer the most important woman in their lives." Chiyo sniffed, turned away from his surprised attention to look out her own window. "No, I- while any healthy child is a blessing, I think I certainly prefer daughters."
He could see it, too. A little girl with her eyes and a popsicle smile, hair maybe a little darker in color.
"I didn't like getting dirty, and I still don't like sports," He argued anyway. Light eyes peeked over from their corners. He slid the smallest inch closer, having never bothered with a seat belt to begin with.
"My library, while humble, is still nothing to turn your nose up to, and entomology is both enlightening and a fun pastime."
There was a flutter in her breast; he could all but see her heart beneath. "Teenagers, in general, are pretty awful, but depending on their home life, I don't believe it's fair to say all males are more troublesome than their female counterparts. And finally, sons don't go out to find replacements for their mothers; they try to find someone who will ease the constant worry of said mothers, who will push them and make them into the men they're supposed to be. The better version of themselves; ones to be proud of."
He was almost too handsome to look at.
Like staring at a sunset, imprinting on your eyelids even after looking away, lingering in the gaze.
But it was what he was saying, voice a filter of low rumblings and eyes soft on mine, that pressed my heart into my mouth and threatened to fall into his lap, wanting nothing more than him.
This was A Moment; the perfect opportunity to admit having met Sheru Aizawa, the mother he was thinking of at this very moment, and clear my conscience of my omission of truth.
Ever since Sasu had mentioned recognizing the ring on my finger, I'd known Shota had seen his parents for this impromptu homecoming. Why hadn't Sheru told him? She'd known me even without an introduction; surely she would've mentioned this to him.
"Are you saying you have a preference?" I said instead, stupid and drunk on the moment. "What do you want?"
"I just want you, and whatever you want," Shota Aizawa said quietly.
Sometime between the beginning and now I'd closed the small space between us, halfway into the middle seat, knees bowed beneath the bridges of his. He really looked too handsome.
"We're here," The driver noted politely.
When had the car even stopped?
"Are you ready?" Shota asked after a moment of quiet breathing. I released my own forgotten breath, nearly collapsed at its weight.
No, I'm not ready. So take me back to wherever you're staying, and let's lock ourselves inside for a week straight. Because I can't wait a single second more.
"Ready."
Considering Shota had received a drug-laced invitation, I had more or less expected the wild-eyed, poorly dressed men we'd been finding the past two weeks, one foot in the grave and the other standing on a pile of ground Cure.
Instead, we entered a chandelier-lit room of individuals dressed similarly to us, regal in formal wear of every shade in the rainbow. Couples performed elegant dances across a glossed wooden floor while others sipped from bubbling flutes of champagne and the like, laughing as if truly enjoying a benign soiree.
I stole one of the drinks from a traveling tray, took a sip, and nearly spat it out onto the floor.
"What the hell is this?"
"Have you never had champagne before?" There was a distinct smirky edge to Shota's smile, more goofy than snide. He took in my bitter expression and breathed out a chuckle.
We dissolved into the crowd, mingling as if we belonged, talking up wealthy snobs who seemed more disappointed with Hokkaido's lack of wine selections this season than its steadily increasing rate of drug abuse.
There were a few gazes a little too harrowed to be clean; we approached individually, sniffing for clues and finding similar circumstances to Shota's.
"What I don't understand is this dramatic show," I accepted the tumbler Shota offered, pleased to find its contents three-fourths soda with only a drop of rum dispersed throughout. I glanced around over the rim of the glass, trying to pick out missing links. "There's no way those mules from previous busts attended a party like this- some of their files made it questionable whether they'd bathed in years."
"Maybe this is an upscale shearing," He took my glass back to take a long pull himself. The idea of sharing a drink filled my stomach better than any seltzer. What a stupid thing to get girly about.
"Notice there are significantly more men here than women, too?"
Shota huffed a breath. "Why do you think I keep drawing back to you so quickly? You're like a pearl in the middle of a stye; if I look away too long, someone's bound to glean you from the pile."
What an analogy. He glanced around again, caught two overly-upholstered men staring somewhere below my neckline, and edged an inch closer. I breathed in, surprised.
"Are you wearing...cologne?" He smelled like that first cool sigh of night, right as the sun relinquished its power for the day. There was only a small bit of his neck to inhale with the high cut of his shirt and bow tie.
"Mhm," A hand graced my waist, fingers curling into the vulnerability of my exposed back, gentle. Familiar.
And then suddenly I was transported to the last time there was nothing but our skin and a thin sheet, his hand sketching my silhouette in the raw morning light, thinking I was still asleep, tracing me like I was lying on concrete waiting for my chalked design.
How his hand paused, moved across the plane of my stomach, then pulled my body to his.
"Chiyo?" Shota asked so softly I barely heard him. I looked up, fought the trembling in my hands.
"Shota, I-"
A cacophony of busybodies stole away our moment. Someone, clearly, had arrived.
He was tall, broad-chested, with a face made of strange angles that shouldn't have been as attractive as they were. The greatest flaw might have been his long, almost pointed teeth, which he seemed to smile without, drawing attention to his cupid's bow lips instead.
Jamon Azakuku held an air of charismatic pompousness about him that worked like a pheromone. It was no surprise, then, to watch him arrive with a girl on either arm.
The surprise was who those two women were.
"Is that her? Rozu?" Shota murmured. I nodded, too overwhelmed by the bloodlessness of my limbs to speak.
We didn't need to approach to seize their attention- almost instantly those vanilla sky eyes were wide on me, turning into saucers upon noticing I wasn't here alone.
"Akua," She breathed.
We watched Rozu glance at her dates, smile dainty as she politely withdrew from them. As soon as she turned, her face- from the arches of her brows to the glossy corners of her mouth-twitched with anxiety, stalking a direct route towards her target.
The dusty-pink dress languishing from her shoulders was a hybrid of ballerina and nightgown, its simple shape heightened with flecks of gold. She stood almost taller than Shota in her heels, taking me by the arms, her flushed face caught between surprise, pleasure, and yellow-tinted worry.
"Akua, what are you doing here?"
The game begins.
"The astronomy benefit ended around seven, so when I was asked to come to this party, too, I thought, 'why not?'" I smiled, placed a hand on Shota's left lapel. A heart knocked hello against my palm. "This is Shota Aizawa, by the way."
"Hello," Rozu tried to greet brightly, voice wavering. Shota bowed his head.
"It's nice to finally meet you."
She looked taken aback. "Oh?"
"Akua talks very highly of you. I'm thankful she's found such good friends to care for her," He took my hand from his chest, pressed a kiss against my fingers. Which we had not discussed, and caused an unfortunate blush to crawl into my features, only worsened when his crinkled eyes found mine.
"You- Er, are you two together?" Rozu shook her head at her own question. "But you live here? Akua?"
"Not permanently," I admitted. Shota spun small circles into my palm, relishing the feel of my jumpy heartbeat at his sly antics. Focusing on Rozu proved more difficult than it should, and I vowed to get him back later. "I'm actually on a sort of sabbatical, like Sara. Speaking of which-"
"I have to go," Rozu interrupted. She blushed at my surprise, one gazelle leap away from flying through the balcony doors and over the rail for good. Before another question could be posed Rozu really did flee, a miasma of blonde hair flowing behind her. Absently, I reached up to touch my own swept-away locks.
"Well...What now?"
The room had resumed its champagne gaiety, music leading the decibel of conversation as more people took to the floor.
Shota watched for a moment, hand still interlaced with mine. I gave his fingers a squeeze and a little smile answered.
"I promised you the full-dance experience, right?"
It wasn't the first time we had danced together; all those months ago, his hand had found a similar home in the curve of my back, holding me close as if I might float away otherwise.
But last time I hadn't been in a backless dress.
And last time he hadn't been dressed to the nines, looking at me as if I were the last breath of oxygen in space.
Last time I hadn't been aware of being in love with him.
"In case I didn't say it before, you look beautiful."
He smiled at my blush. The sensation of being with him, wrapped in his arms with that dimpled smile, was enough to warm me to the marrow, fear a loss of consciousness. Maybe he knew. Maybe that's why he held me closer, hand warm on my bare skin. Did he feel the same way?
"Why did you really leave?"
There was no accusation in the question, not even a whisper of anger; just curiosity.
My chest brushed against his with a deep inhale. I took in his patient features, the face I'd spent countless hours trying to memorize, even after I knew Mom could never erase him from me again.
"In the beginning, I felt like a house with rooms for each version of myself," I began, slow as the analogy pulled itself together. "There was the cozy living room I'd spent my life with Mom in, and the crisp office space of my teaching career. I met Toshinori, and got to know Kayama, Yamada, and the students, and so a new rec room was happily added. Then I met you, and so I added a bedroom filled with blankets and green-eyed cats, the space I began to want to spend the most time in. I could stay in there like a pocket of life forgotten by time, with you." I smiled, blamed the cardboard champagne for sizzling out too much honesty.
"But then Mom's room shifted shapes, added closets filled with skeletons, and then one turned out to be a passageway to a past I didn't know. A basement full of shadows where Tomura and All for One carved out existences. A new room down there for the After, where a cradle sat full of ash. Chiyonex added an entire new floor, with rooms for media and others for heroism and then suddenly I was caught on Penrose staircases, lost. Not knowing how to reach certain rooms anymore, or too slow to make it back to safety before whatever chased me through the halls caught me by the ankles. And then I...I realized the house I'd built had been made of cards. With one ill-placed sigh, the entire building would collapse."
The well of emotion bubbled, rose higher with the storm, filled my throat with its burning. I swallowed, kept the drowning at bay by releasing some of the water.
He wiped my tears away with our conjoined hands. The smile trying to ease my expression held an aching regret I couldn't outrun.
"I should have never left that bedroom." I admitted quietly.
"You're wrong."
His face was so close, I had no trouble recognizing the emotion etched into the slate of his eyes. His mother's eyes, placed in the face of his father.
"I should've been building those rooms with you. Holding your hand and a flashlight in the other. I should have always been there for you, not just when it was easy for me." His arm tightened around my waist, chest an unbalanced bridge as he breathed through parted lips.
When had we stopped dancing together, I wondered?
"Chiyo, let me- Let me rebuild that house, with you. Let's build a house together."
Why are you here? I had wondered.
Now I had my answer.
"Okay."
He took my face and kissed me without a single regard to where we were, who could see us.
And I was glad he did, because once his face broke out in such anguished relief, boyish and vulnerable like a man offering to stitch his own heart between someone else's lungs, I felt every ounce of myself fall into place. One more second apart and I would've returned to bone and stardust.
"Why'd it take you so long?" I blurted before a grossly wet laugh bubbled out of my throat. His grin made it seem like the sound was musical.
"Fear and general stupidity. Plus, like I said before, you're a hard woman to track down." He kept hold of my face, as if to make sure I wasn't some figment of a runaway imagination. My lopsided smile moved against his hand and he sighed, as if relaxing for the first time in six weeks.
Which was probably foolish, considering we stood in a dance room of the most notorious drug pusher in the country.
As if to remind us of this little forgotten fact someone entered my periphery, a mess of pale shades and wide, golden eyes.
"Akua, can we speak? Alone?" Rozu emphasized the last prompt with a worrying smile. She never once looked away from me until I nodded; then her hand was in mine, pulling me out of the room altogether.
"Rozu, slow down. What-"
"What are you doing here, Akua?" Rozu sounded like a child questioning why she couldn't run away with the circus.
"I told you: the benefit ended early and Shota invited me to come here, and I happened to be able to make it." The night air was surprisingly chilly without a single cloud for cover. I wrapped my arms loosely around my waist. "A better question would be what are you doing here, Rozu? You said your boyfriend was coming to town."
Her face went white, but not for the reasons I thought.
"He's here," She said quietly.
"You mean Jamon Azakuku? Him?" Her skin felt cold under my fingers. I softened my voice. "Rozu, why didn't you tell me? I could've- we can get out of whatever he has on you-"
"Jamon isn't my boyfriend."
Now I was the one feeling cold. Rozu caught the change of wind with a stomach-churning amount of what looked like...guilt.
"What? Then who-"
"Akua, do you love him?"
What?
Rozu's big eyes had filled with tears. Instinct pulled my attention back to the ballroom, to see his face, but her long fingers caught my cheeks instead.
"You do; it's written all over your face," Rozu bit back a sharp inhale, prey finally catching sight of the danger beneath the weeds. "Akua, you need to run. Take that man and get as far away from here as possible-"
"Rozu, I won't leave you. Whatever Azakuku has on you, we'll take care of it-"
And then I remembered something Tsurai Sasu had said.
Bitter little thing. Never smiled once.
Rozu Nishin, built like a willow tree with long, slender limbs made for reaching heights, was nothing but pearly teeth and flushed apple cheeks; an Amazonian with a near-constant cheery disposition.
Jamon Azakuku hadn't arrived with one of my friends, but two.
There was a soft click as someone joined us on the balcony, muting the sounds of the ballroom with the shutting of the door behind them.
The moon was a sharp-edged frown. I blinked and it turned into a sneering smirk, knowing that, despite her waning size, she would be restored soon enough, that the earth and sun would not betray her.
Not like I had been.
"It's been you all along, hasn't it?"
Sara's smile was the color of her eyes, like burst stars on a black canvas.
I didn't need to dip into Rozu's chest to feel her fear; it trembled straight through her fingertips.
"Everything I've done has been for the betterment of society. Surely you, of all people, can see that."
The judgment she cast on Rozu. The strange, possessive way she watched and spoke to the women after meetings, how they always left clutching her phone number.
They, who tend the flock; they, who captures the wolves.
I was a fool.
"You're using Azakuku," I breathed, turning to Rozu. Her look was answer enough, tinged in a shame Sara's couldn't even fathom. "Your quirk- that day in the bathroom, where I was drawn to you- That's why he stopped going to the tailor shop-"
Sara's barking laugh dispelled my blabber. I subtly tugged on Rozu's hand, edged her behind me even though they were both flagged in red guilt.
"Like all quirks, Rozu's has limitations. So tell Sasu I'm sorry, but he won't be seeing Jamon anytime soon."
It's a substance Rozu can produce. Cure's base was similar to standard methamphetamine, but far more addictive and, by default, deadlier; Rozu's packageable quirk made it thus. But if Jamon was simply addicted to the tampered heroin, how would Sasu impact Sara and Rozu's control over him? And why hadn't he become a strung-out zombie like the other Cure users? Unless-
"Rozu made him addicted to you," The accusation fell out like a surprise. Sara's eyebrows rose, impressed. "But why? To gain access to a drug cartel? How could you think this is possibly helping society?"
Between the three of us, Sara originally appeared the most simply dressed. The cut was modest, with long sleeves and a collarbone-grazing neckline, but seemed made of holographic material; every time I blinked the color changed, from blood reds to drowned blues, refocusing again into a piercing silver. When she stepped close enough to slap, the dress took the color of her eyes; a deep, steady violet.
"Didn't you find it odd, that the Cure wasn't impacting Japanese civilians? And then, even after you found out about my little American connection, didn't it strike you as funny that no reports of overdoses or new drugs had hit international news? Why would that be, do you think?"
I needed to get to Shota- we needed to get these people out of here-
"How would she know about any of that?" Rozu asked. Sara snorted, shooting her a flat look.
"Wake up and smell the coffee, Rozu. Her name isn't Akua; it's Chiyo Tsutomi. She's-"
"Chiyonex," Rozu finished in a gasp.
So, they weren't exactly on equal grounds in this operation.
Rozu pulled away from my hold; not in offense, but to run her eyes over me from head to toe. "I- Your hair, and-"
"How long have you known?"
The first signs of remorse colored Sara's eyes olive. "Since the day you caught me when I tripped on the bus stairs. The first time we made skin-to-skin contact. I-" She tapped a finger against her temple. "When I touch someone, I gain a few bits of information: their name, and the key into their emotional experiences. Which was massively helpful as a psychiatrist; I could know in an instant the worst pain- sadness, anger, regret- instantaneously, as well as who orchestrated the feeling."
Sara looked to the moon, thoughtful. Did it smirk or frown back at her?
"Most people I saw experienced small traumas; yellow-tinted fear, a solar flare of anger. But those who really felt pain, an insurmountable sorrow, blazed like fire."
She caught my wrist even as I tried to jerk away, unblinking eyes drinking in mine.
"Chiyo, you burned molten."
"So, what? You go around tapping people to build your clientele list?" I snapped my hand out of her grasp, ran into the soft touch of Rozu's tulle. Sara straightened, unoffended.
"Have you forgotten where we first met?"
That day, sitting across from me. Watching me vocalize my sterility to a roomful of supposed like-bodied individuals.
A cold, unlike anything I'd felt before, filled my lungs.
"I was a rather well-known psychiatrist in the States, actually," Sara spoke with such casualty, as if explaining a recipe to an inquiring neighbor. "High-end clientele, where women looked a part and gained access to a life they thought they wanted, only to find out that once you exchange your freedom for a wealthy last name, the safety net of government protection was tossed in the trash.
"Women treated like inanimate objects; made to bear children, smile and not be heard, and accept any ruthlessness their politician or old money husbands harbored at the end of a long, hard day." Her features hardened like obsidian. "Faces the color of bruised fruit. Arms covered in sleeves regardless of season. If they spoke out, they were silenced. If they tried again, somehow found a reputable officer to listen, they're discredited as "gold diggers" or victims crying "wolf" and then- Then they are made to be truly sorry."
A high-end clientele.
The wealthiest of families, using all that power to cover up their unseemly bloodstains.
Sara shared my breath, eyes like pyres.
"Don't you see, Chiyo? It's them; they are the disease."
"And so you're curing them."
She tutted at my tone, pulled away only slightly. "They sit on their glass thrones, use and take without heed, unchecked because the government sits in their pocket-"
"What about the people you're using here?" I interrupted. The electric-speed neurons were beginning to freeze over, slower to react to my commands.
Then they are made truly sorry.
Sara glanced over her shoulder. I followed her gaze as it roamed the room, picking out swine for the feast.
"You see him, in the burgundy jacket? His wife became so accustomed to his violent drinking binges she began child-proofing the walls, just to soften her falls. And that one, harassing a cocktail waitress? Accused of raping a series of women at various parties. His lawyer blamed the women for their level of intoxication; he walked away with a two week's probation that went totally unchecked-"
"What about the people you've misconstrued to be worse than they are? What about Rozu?"
"Oh, my dear, sweet Chiyo," Sara chuckled. "Don't you remember? Rozu told you herself; her boyfriend was coming to town."
And then I saw him; wild-eyed, dressed a little less finely than others, bow tie askew like a curious onlooker, wondering how it got there.
Rozu watched him too, a helpless passenger as her friend accelerated towards him like a deer caught in headlights.
"You're probably surprised to see some women here. More often than not, I've found the brightest-burning pains among those you'd least expect it from: seemingly happy, well-known families, the wives of "heroes", those reputable folks no one suspects." Sara held out her arms in a delighted gesture. "And so this little soiree was held, just for them. Who was I to turn down their witnessing of justice finally being had?"
Sakamata had drilled me so many times over hostage situations I could've penned a how-to book. Sanity is often in question, He'd said. You will have no more luck changing a villain's mind than changing the stripes of a clownfish. So what can we do instead to de-escalate a situation?
"Is this what you want, Rozu?" My voice was an underwater current, gentle as morning rain. She looked to Sara for an answer before her wide eyes refocused on me. "You saw for yourself, didn't you?"
"What are you talking about?" Impatience made Sara snappish. Rozu kept her rabbit eyes on mine, even as Sara tried to grab her attention.
"If she's wrong about him, about Shota Aizawa, what's to say she hasn't been wrong about others?" I asked quietly.
"Enough-"
I moved with hidden lethality, sweeping Sara's feet from under her and pulling Rozu towards the balcony door in one continuous move. Sara braced herself, landed on her hands and knees before barking out another laugh.
"You really are very clever, Akua- Chiyo. But weren't you told there were three Graces?"
Rozu's soft hand fled from mine, just as someone's wintry fingers caressed the staircase of my spine.
And with the caress, the world went dark.
A/N: Rozu means rose, which always brings the color red to mind, and Nishin means herring.
Shota and Chiyo love each other. Sara is the grand mastermind, pulling all the strings with the intent on taking out the wealthy abusers of her homeland. Chiyo's been rendered unconscious before she could warn Shota. I wonder what will happen next?