This idea is very fun, i hope you all enjoy.
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Chapter one
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It was a lovely sunny day in Tokyo, Japan. Sunny skies, the weather man on channel 'Go!' reported. Three H's outside today; hot, humid and hazy!
Summer had accelerated its arrival time, having Shota's already mopey mood morph into a cranky sweat-induced hostility. He peeled off his scarf and let it drape over one shoulder as he trudged up the stairs to the entrance of his apartment building.
At a very slow pace.
Infused into the right half of the ground floor was a well-established and popular cafe. Big cursive letters Shota noticed had changed since yesterday from 'ROASTED BEAN' to 'GRAVELY DELICIOUS'.
Shota wondered if it was some sort of inside joke.
Staff had begun to set up outside seating. Propping out comfy looking chairs and rolling up sun-blocking umbrellas. Looking far too lively for Shota's taste at six am.
Something was very wrong.
He wondered if he could order ice tea, waving the tenant privilege card. Wiping sweat off his brow on the hem of his scarf, lethargy made him choose sleep. Yes. That would do nicely.
Making it to the elevator inside, he pressed the top floor button and watched through glass walls as the cafe staff went about their morning routines before collapsing against the lift's cool wall.
Seconds later the lift dinged to a floor that wasn't his. Shota stifled a yawn as a gleeful looking, dark haired European man entered. Shota's interest bit into him like a leech, for the man didn't simply step inside the lift. He hopped.
"Morning," the man smiled at him. Japanese fluent. Revealing no hint of where he was born.
Shota mumbled a vague greeting.
He was tall, dressed in a rich posh style that, for a rare moment, Shota felt painstakingly embarrassed about his own shaggy appearance. White, silk dress shirt. Sleeves rolled up to expose such pale skin Shota wondered if they ever saw daylight. Gaze flowing down he met a leather belt and trousers that were so dark he had to blink.
The man had money, that itself was apparent, why he was here was not. The world this man belonged to had no place in his apartment building.
Probably had a one-night stand, Shota thought.
Then they reached the top floor and both stepped out. The man continued on, sauntering down the hallway in complete confidence.
Loan-shark, Shota thought again.
Loan shark that wears high-end Rolexes and Italian shoes? One that smiled and acted like a kindergarten teacher?
Probably insane, then.
Shota was happy to follow down at a slower pace, another man's job - be it non-harmful - was of no concern to him at this current time.
He was forced to reflect upon this when the man nocked on the door to the elderly lady who often gave him homemade cookies and knitted scarves. One of which he was wearing right now.
Shota hung around his door, making a show of misplacing his keys.
The door opened and he heard the women gasp.
"Mr. Potter, come in dear come in. You're right on time," that was not the tone of a threatened lady. "Oh, and is that you Aizawa darling?"
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After 36 hours of constant work, Shota finds himself seated at the dinner table in his neighbour's homey apartment. Opposite a man wearing his life's earnings times twenty. Shota was mystified.
If not loan shark…Host?
With looks like that he figured it was most likely.
"You're a gem, Miss Mao," Mr. Potter grinned, taking one of the offered tea cakes Yui placed down on the table in a wide swoop. The man moaned on a bite, "Truly, is there nothing I can do to have you work for me?"
Yui laughed delightedly. Plump cheeks flushing as she took a seat next to him.
"What is it that you do, Mr Potter?" Shota took the opportunity to ask. Placing his own tea cake on his plate at a sedate pace.
"I own the cafe downstairs since," he cocks his head, green eyes sparkling through munches and thoughtful humming, "yesterday."
"That was how I met Mr Potter," Yui pats the foreign man's spare hand that was eagerly teetering towards more cake. "He spotted me going out to get some more flowers for my balcony and offered me tea. Naturally, I had to accept. It's not everyday this old hag meets such handsome men."
Shota chose to not to be insulted.
"We got to chatting, such a nice young man you are, very polite," Yui tells Mr Potter who laughed. "and well, naturally I had to give him one of my cookies."
"Naturally," Shota nods.
"Mr Potter gladly accepted."
"Naturally," Mr potter smiled.
"Of course," Shota wondered if he ever frowned.
"Yes, well, after he tried one he then goes onto coercing me into revealing my recipe," Yui gave Mr Potter a playful glare. The man shrugs at Shota guiltily. "Which I did no such thing."
"They are marvellous, Miss Mao." He insisted.
Yui harrumphed. "Nothing will ever make me reveal my recipe."
"Not even if I lower your rent?" Clearly this was a joke.
Yui huffs, turning to Shota, "That's another thing, Mr Potter is our new landlord."
Shota frowned. Finding this absurd. "Since when?"
"Since yesterday," Mr Potter lifted his chin. Taking another cake. "I've been very busy."
"I wasn't aware Mr Yamamoto was selling," Shota said.
"Oh he wasn't," Yui explains with excited gestures. Seemingly infected. "But two nights ago he won the lottery."
"That's odd," Shota says.
"How so?" Mr Potter asks.
"Mr Yamamoto never played."
"He said the ticket just showed up in his mailbox," Yui sighed. "Lucky man."
"Lucky man," Mr Potter echoed with dubious innocence. Biting into his third tea cake. The man must have a fast metabolism to eat like that and look so lean. "So, anyway," the man says, "I've been busy introducing myself to everyone here. Letting everyone know they're in capable hands - sorry, what was your name?"
"Aizawa Shota."
"And what is it you do?"
Shota sighed at Yui's happy clapping, "Aizawa's our resident hero!"
Impossibly, Mr Potter's smile grew.
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The background check he had requested on Mr Potter came in the very next day from police via email, showing him to be a descendant of some certain royalty.
Making his landlord an actual Lord of the Queen from London, England. Shota thought of the overly enthusiastic man he met yesterday who couldn't stop eating tea cakes, and found the notion preposterous.
Lord Harrison, James, Potter is twenty five years of age. Both parents deceased. Died in a car accident not long after his birth and from there on out his entire life was standard - for a person of some royalty. Nothing earning his suspicion or immediate arrest/deportation.
Satisfied his new landlord wasn't a serial killer, Shota went about his morning. Fresh from an entire day's worth of sleep.
Showered with a new change of underwear, he's absently flipping through a seperate file on the class assigned to him this year when opening his front door and pausing with his foot over a box used to house birthday cakes. Stepping back, he crouched and eyed the little golden note attached to the box by an extravagant red ribbon.
On it, written in perfect script is as follows:
'Miss Mao told me it's your first day back at UA~! Here's a little something for you and your students to break the ice!
(ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:·゚✧
Have a lovely day Aizawa~~
- Mr Potter'
This man is a Lord and he's writing in cutesy hand script used by lovesick teenage girls.
"The heck is this guy?" Shota whispered loudly.
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The box had a flap Shota could prop up and use as a handle. He used that handle to drop it loudly on the nearest table 'GRAVELY DELICIOUS' had to offer. Mr Potter who was directing a staff member on the coffee machine behind the counter looked up and grinned at him. This was expected.
"Aizawa, you got the cake," he said. Making his way over after ordering another staff member to direct the lost sheep. Again, the man wore a tailored summer suit. This time in navy blue and with a maroon, striped waistcoat. Shota wasn't aware they were still in fashion.
"I did," he said. Uncomfortable with surprise gifts. Especially by strangers.
Mr Potter hoked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Is there a problem?"
Shota looked at the naked friendliness of the man, "Why the cake?"
The man surprised him again with a laugh. "You're a suspicious one."
"Guilty," he shrugged.
"It's not poisoned if you're worried."
"Not terribly."
Potter groaned at Shota's silent questioning. Swinging his head back and rolling his eyes."You know, you remind an awful lot of a teacher I once had. Mad Eye Moody, you'd have liked him. I'm getting the shivers just thinking about it."
"ha ha," he droned. "Funny. Cake?"
"…" Mr Potter stared, unbelieving. "The cake is just my way of being neighbourly. What did you think it was, a threat?" His eyes popped. "Oh my God. Did you think I was threatening you with cake?"
Shota studied then hefted the cake back up into a grip. "Nah. Just confirming your profile I came up with this morning."
"I have a profile?" Mr Potter perked. Appearing far too happy about it. "Can I see it sometime - or oh, maybe I can come over tonight and we can read it together!"
"With respect, Mr Potter, and when I say this I really do mean no offence," Shota said, "That is never going to happen. In any plane of existence. Ever. Just no. Have a good day."
"That's it?" Mr Potter called as he walked out. Voice hitting a bewildered octave at the end.
"That's it," Shota stated.
Apart from All Might - he's never met such an easy guy to profile in his entire career. Congratulations Shota, you've got an honest to God moron as your landlord.
"Did you at least like my note?" Mr Potter shouted as he was half way down the front steps.
"That man is going to die young," he muttered to himself.
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"Attention everyone," Shota yawned. Leaning heavily on his desk in front of the terrified class of exhausted first years. Head on fist he said, "My threats are not empty. Mineta didn't have what it took to be in UA, so he got kicked to the curb. Anyone else who half-asses themselves will meet the same fate, am I understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Sensei, brats," he sighed. Eyeing the clock on the wall. "It's almost lunchtime, get changed into your uniforms and meet me back here for cake."
The lot stared, not sure if he was joking or not.
Shota reached under his desk and brought out the box.
"Ta da."
. -
Harry did not like to think of himself as one of those long-suffering, woe is me immortal God's you see portrayed in fictional tales. Moaning and whining and begging for death.
Far from it, Harry was happy with his existence.
A satisfied customer.
He lived an exciting, unique life as Death. Moving from one parallel world to the next. Adventure after adventure after adventure. Life was an endless sea of exploration, and as a seven hundred year old being, Harry was hell-bent on making the best of it.
His occupation in this new world; Landlord, cafe owner.
Barista.
Harry was positively giddy. Smug. He'd never been one of those before.
The manual he read made it easy enough to understand.
Forging his life into paperwork in this world was a tedious one, he'll give it that. And manipulating the lottery, that was also a tad reaching. Every world has a different system and Harry discovered this one to be on the sophisticated side.
Never mind, everything worked out well in the end.
This new life is cosy, and he's content.
Seeing his new staff settled into work with customers, Harry clapped his hands. Stepped outside and looked about.
Time to introduce himself to this world's reapers.
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The closest graveyard was located absurdly far from the centre of the city, and Harry made sure to enjoy the walk. No matter how many times he's jumped worlds, the feeling of being a curious tourist never ends. Everything is different, even the small things like postage stamps. He picked one up the first day here, a red stamp framing an elegantly lined drawing of All-Might - world's number one hero - which was now stuck in his travel notebook surrounded by thousands like it.
Harry makes it to the graveyard, barred by a wounding animated metal gate. Attached to it was a lock. Looking left and right down the silent street of downtrodden houses, Harry pushes and the lock snaps and mends itself together moments after Harry disappears down the pebbled driveway.
There is only one Death, and Harry was it.
The graveyard acknowledges his presence through the breath and thrum of wind - at once the driveway sinks. Dropping down, down and down into a small, winding metal staircase to the underworld. Brass torches hovered around Harry like a halo in his darkened decent. Eventually he came to a door enamelled in skulls and fire.
On it was a door knocker, he scoffed and kicked it open.
. -
The reapers of this world wore black and white Hakama and were deeply embarrassed at not being aware of his attendance to this world sooner.
Harry stood in the medieval throne room, ignoring his bowing subjects while walking around and touching everything in sight.
"Pah," he waved at the flushing leader. A ginger woman who was most likely older than Harry - not that she knew. Or he planned on telling. "Don't worry, I come and go like an average joe, you couldn't have known." Clapping, he faced the sensitive group with a big grin. "Just wanted to pop round and introduce myself to the gang."
"Gang?" One of them, a child looking reaper echoed.
"Do you have any custard tarts, by any chance?" He smacked his lips. Looking around. "Feel like a bit of a nibble."
The ginger reaper didn't blink. "My Lord, you eat?"
"Can't seem to stop," he chuckled in slight shame. Finger prodding the tip of a katana on display. He flinched and whipped around to look at a display of knives on the opposite end of the hall. The reaper's followed him, seemingly in a constant state of anxiety. "Nasty habit. Need to kick it. Someday, everything will go to my hips and then I'd be in a sorry state. I despise clothes shopping, don't you?"
"Can't say I've ever had the opportunity."
"Then where do you get that?" He pointed at their clothes.
"They just sort of appear," a random reaper answered helplessly.
Harry took a moment to digest that, "How…Alright. Beggars can't be choosers. You look fantastic either way you slice the melon so," he licked his lips again, wondering where he could find a custard tart and coughed. "What's the routine here? How do we reap souls?"
"We decapitate them," this came from the child looking one.
Harry blinked, "Do you really?" He asked.
"Their soul," the leader said in assurance, "we slice their body with our katanas forged from the spirit world. They leave no marking on their earthly form."
Harry nodded, showing he understood. "So the katanas then transport them to wherever they need to go?"
"Precisely." The lady reaper sighed. "Excuse me for saying this, my Lord, but I'm surprised you had to ask."
"So am I, a bit," Harry whispered in her ear as he passed to arrive at the throne. "Are these actual skulls?"
"No way, they're made in Thailand out of this eco friendly material," someone responded from behind. "Some of us found the original throne made with actual skulls a tad distasteful."
"Huh," Harry huffed lightly. Then sat in it.
Immediately everyone dropped to their knees and bowed.
"MY LORD!"
"Ah," said Harry.
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Before long, Hizashi finds him napping on the couch in the staff room.
"You brought cake and didn't save me a slice?" He asked.
Arm over his eyes, Shota doesn't bother moving. Already knowing what kind of expression he was using.
"Don't pout, the cake wasn't even mine."
"I smell a story, and I love those." the lanky man lifts his legs. There's a dip in the couch, very slight, and Shota's limbs are hugged.
"It was my landlord's."
"Is she pretty?" Hizashi cooed.
"He."
"Question still remains, is he pretty?"
Shota actually paused to consider, "His hair is the perfect amount of floppy. Like a black Cavoodle."
Hizashi whistled, "What a catch."
"You can have him," Shota groaned, "Every action is a pantomime. He's embarrassingly theatric."
"I should have him on my show."
"Hizashi," Shota lifted his arm slight, just enough to reveal a dry-eyed glare.
His friend rose his hands in a surrender. "Fine, fine."
"Hmph."
For one peaceful minute, everything was silent.
"So the cake."
Shota huffed. "If he ever gives me another, I'll save you a slice."
"All I'm asking, man."
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Harry meets Shota outside the apartment building with a grande sized cappuccino. Shota eyes the cup before accepting with a sigh and marching ahead to the lift.
"I'm not showing you your profile."
"Why not?" Harry followed, angling his grin in the man's peripheral vision. "I'll keep it a secret. Hush hush. I'm very good at hush hush."
"You don't say," Shota sipped his coffee.
"I made that, you owe me. Every sip you take makes you my bitch."
Shota swallowed, blinking his silent judgement.
Harry caved with a wince. "Every empty cup?"
The elevator dinged and Shota stepped in. Making sure to hand Harry the cup before the doors closed.
He wiggled his fingers in farewell.
. -
Harry tags along with the ginger reaper wearing a new name tag that read 'HELLO I AM: Mai ', to a the scene of a reaping. He fumbles briefly with the katana handed to him. More accustomed to sword and magic than anything.
They shadow travel, a funky mode of transportation that has him burping for the next ten minutes while wandering through a fresh disaster zone of a villain attack. Unseen by humans.
Mai kept flashing him stern looks before remembering he was her superior and flushing.
"Here," she said after their scavenging through rubble of a collapsed building led them to where they were needed. Half-buried under a wall of cement lay a glass-eyed elderly man, above him was his transparent spirit. Staring at them knowingly. Mai bows in respect. Harry mimics and listens intently as she goes over introductions and explanations. He's surprised at how civil this entire transaction is. Mai steps aside and politely gestures for Harry to do the deed.
Harry looked back and forth between the morose ghost and stone-faced Mai. "Oh," he clapped his hands together, "right." And unsheathed the katana, raising it steadily and advancing on the ghost.
"You sure you know how to do this, kid?" Asked the old man.
"Pah," Harry smiled modestly, "I've done this before. Thousands of times. Different method is all."
The old man eyed Mai. "You trust him?"
"He's my superior. I haven't a choice."
"Just my luck," said the ghost. Resigned. "A moron."
"Should be a breeze," Harry assured, "don't you worry. I've been called a natural where reaping is concerned."
"What could you do, kill me?"
Harry laughed, "good one."
"Can't you do it?" The Ghost asked Mai just as Harry swiped the blade through the man's skull. The man glowed a bright, Patronus light and then poofed into a million sprinkles of glitter.
"Nice shot, my Lord," Mai smiled, "Very swift. Clean."
"You think?" Harry asked, slightly concerned about his angle of entry. "You don't think it was a bit too rushed?"
"Not at all."
"Oh good. I was a bit worried."
"I could tell, my Lord."
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