If Sam cared about school she would have at least tried to call in sick. The teen instead sat and stared at the people walking by, a hoodie thrown on with the hood up. If there was one thing Sam was still proud of it was her ability to be prepared for the worst. She had a spare bag with some clothes, cash, a notebook, pencils, and a phone charger - not that it mattered cause she ditched her phone back home - and grabbed it the minute she was in the clear. Her siblings may be Heroes, but she was the escape artist.

Sam snuck a look at the sculpture with a clock melded in. Some sort of Salvador Dali tribute with a - thankfully - working clock. It was a little after 12 pm. Which explained the number of people walking through the beachfront. It was a long strip full of restaurants and cafes perfect for the lunch rush.

The thought of food made her stomach growl.

"Alright, alright," Sam stands and pats her legs, "self-loathing can wait for food."

She joins the crowds of people in search of a nice but secluded place to eat. The police weren't lenient on kids ditching school as it was a common occurrence, and Sam knew she didn't look the greatest. One look at her heavy bags from a sleepless night and frazzled hair would make anyone wary. She probably looked like some drug addict or crazy hobo. Not that she cared. As long as she doesn't get caught they can think whatever they want.

It didn't take long for her to find a decent place. The cafe was called 'Loose Leaf,' and - from the sign and menu placed outside - Sam saw they specialized in tea. There was also a list of sandwiches and coffee that really caught her attention.

The door opened with the ring of a bell, and Sam was hit with the scent of fresh bread and ground coffee. Just by that alone, she could tell that tea was their trade, but not the only delectable thing they served.

A young woman greeted Sam with a smile that was pleasantly real, "Afternoon, feel free to sit where you like and a server will be with you shortly.

"Thanks," Sam smiled back, feeling comfortable enough to pull the hood down. The place was pretty full, but a few tables were still open in the far back. Just to Sam's liking.

The teen threw her bag on the booth styled seat before plopping next to it. She pulls out her notebook and pencils. Luckily it was a newer one, and Sam had plenty of pages to sketch and write notes on.

The first few pages were movement-based drawings. Made up men and women in various battle poses and combination attacks. Sprinkled in were portraits of strangers and a few silly doodles. They made Sam smile by the time she got to an empty page. The melancholy feeling that consumed her had decided what she was drawing, and she got right to it.

To Sam, drawing was one of the only things that felt like her very own quirk. She wasn't Picasso, but she knew she had talent. Her creativity and ability to observe finer details are what honed her talent. And it was the one thing that brought her a moment of peace.

"Sorry for the wait, are you ready to order."

Sam blinked owlishly at the waiter, whose smile was just as charming as the women's.

"Chicken pesto sandwich and a raspberry latte with a glass of water, please."

When finished with the order the waiter flashed another smile, "You got it, I'll get that order ready for ya." and with a wink, the man sauntered off.

Sam chuckled. Clearly he knew what he was doing. And while Sam was not one to swoon over such things, she was going to tip him extra for the amusement.

She turned back to her drawing. The beginnings of a face and a mess of black hair stared back at her. Even after all this time, Sam could remember every detail about the man she called her teacher. The first person in a long time that gave her hope. Yoshi Fujita.

"You need to move on," his smile wavered, "this life was never meant for you, Sam. Your heart's too big, too selfless."

His eyes were lidded, dark circles making them look sunken in. This was the most exhausted Yoshi had ever looked. Worst of all, it was the first time she'd seen tears in his eyes.

"You can hate me for this, I don't care." He looked away, but not fast enough to hide the tears falling down his face, "But I won't regret the decision I made. Because all I want is for you to become what you were born to be."

"A hero," Sam whispers.

His face looked back at her, smirk and all. It was the expression Sam liked to see. The look given when he messed with her or was proud of what she had done. It was a part of every fond memory they had together.

The memories that kept Sam going.

Both food and drinks were placed on the table, dragging Sam out of her pity. She thanked the waiter and started to eat when he walked away. It was delicious, but Sam could tell her own sadness had dulled the taste.

This year really has been a shit show. Ever since Sam came back home it had been nothing but problems. The first half had been full of trust issues. Her Mother may stand for her now, but the past had caused tension in their relationship. It proved to Sam that people could change, but the damage done could not.

Her four siblings had just crossed the line of distrust and into skepticism. They had been timid with her but tried to act as if nothing happened. As if pretending their relationship was the same when they were children. The issue was, it wasn't. They had done things that made Sam extremely guarded, and while she didn't expect apologies - as her mother had given her - Sam would have rather they all acted like Mike instead. Ignoring the issues and past actions were somehow worse than defending them. That wasn't to say Mike wasn't the worst.

Sam still tries to avoid him like the northern ends of two magnets. No matter what she was doing, Mike found fault in it. It was a problem considering his high status in the Hero world, which meant he could take near any action if he felt any threat from her. He was ruthless in his criticism and thoughts about her. Hiding behind the idea that it was all to 'protect' Sam and her family.

"Fucking hypocrite," Sam mutters into her coffee cup.

The worst part was her anxiety, depression, and slight PTSD. Sam really thought she had gotten a handle on it with the help of Yoshi's friend - A psychiatrist who gave Sam the medication she needed on top of resources for coping mechanisms without revealing her - who owed him a favor. Yet everything came crashing down the moment she returned home. Not even the medicine worked, and her new psychiatrist had upped the dosages significantly because of it. The therapist helped slightly, but since Sam couldn't be completely honest with her due to legalities - and Mikes hovering - the woman wasn't able to do her job fully. So Sam went from having panic attacks and flashbacks once every month to nearly every other day.

In short, she was a wreck.

The waiter came back to take her plates, and Sam ordered another latte. She decided to treat herself some more. Too many bad memories had surfaced and Sam needed the small things that made her happy.

"Excuse me."

Sam looked up, expecting the waiter. Instead, an older gentleman with glasses stood at her booth. His eyes were wide, lips curled in a smile as his grip tightened on a vanilla folder bursting with papers.

"Are you Samantha Windsor."