Noon arrived rather sluggishly above the City of Musutafu.
Aldera Junior High School was shapeed like a Swiss Cross, dividing the school in five sections: North, East, West, South, and the Central Courtyard.
On the south side, teenage boys and girls walked past the school's wrought iron gate. Like a congregation leaving Sunday Mass, everyone was cordial and lively, chatting among each other as they strolled beyond the school. On the fifth floor, there was an outdoor mechanical clock, which read, 3:30pm.
On the north side, a green haired boy slothfully trudged from around a corner. He hugged a charred and drenched Kokuyo notebook against his chest, almost preciously safeguarding it. His black gakuran and randoseru basked in the sunlight, but a lacklustre scowl remained plastered on his face.
He walked alone for a while, where he eventually inspected his notebook. The pages were coarsely crisp, their contents still present inside, nonetheless. Halfway through his notebook, however, he stopped and looked up, spotting a familiar underpass ahead. Its 3m clearance cast a looming shadow in the late afternoon atmosphere. Gloomy.
Tenderly closing the notebook, an inaudibly slow sigh left his throat. He reached for his smartphone, but he paused again, starring at the lock screen, which read: 4:00pm.
Slipping it back into his pocket, he turned and looked around, finding nobody around. Besides a few cars whooshing overhead, he dishearteningly slumped his shoulders, lightly, albeit discerningly, shaking his head before walking away from the overpass. Within minutes, he backtracked to the school, where he waited an eternity for a traffic light to change. From there, he crossed the street and into a park.
On the red brick perimeter wall, there was a gold plaque at the entrance, which read:
GEORGETOWN PARK
est. 1620
Beside the wall, a grand Victorian wrought iron archway greeted him as he walked inside. Yew and oak trees lined the dirt-gravel pathway, their leaves bristling in the slight breeze overhead. Though there were Victorian lampposts, sunlight peered through whatever seams or gaps formed, modestly illuminating the park in the meantime. Jays, finches, and chickadees cawed or squeaked all around, accompanied by the occasional appearance of a few mischievous squirrels.
"Hmm..." He humbly chuckled, his posture straightening and his scowl relaxing into a faint smile.
But when he walked onto the other side of the park, he was greeted, not by the wall or another archway, but the city riverbank. Standing between him and the river was the finely tiled pavement and wrought iron railing. Beyond the river, there was another park, which was much bigger and more populated, but had painfully obvious Japanese features, particularly Buddhist or Shinto pillars. The dainty sound of children chattering or laughing emanated from that park, whereas the former was almost completely silently (aside from a few British English banters in the background).
He slipped his hands out of his pockets, where he crossed his arms and leaned leftward, against an oak tree, overall. His left peripherals barely caught a man sitting on a bench, however. He narrowly held the urge to yelp when he spotted him, especially since he was a few meters behind him. Midoriya paused intensely, contemplating the awkwardness he had inadvertently positioned himself in.
The man's back was facing him, but the Englishman's angular face, pointed nose and chin, and black swept back hair was visible. His fingertips were pressed together, almost praying, even as his piercing hawkish grey eyes stared across the river. Despite the black suit and tie, his lanky 183cm physique was modestly obvious. A black top hat and featureless cane sat beside him, including the daintily traces of sizzling smokey cinnamon.
Quietly, Midoriya slumped his shoulders and arms, slipping his hands back into his pocket before walking beside the bench. He stood there, the river and railing dominating his vision, this while the Englishman hid in his left peripherals. He eventually glanced at him, which he did likewise as well. Midoriya expected a verbal exchange, but the Englishman simply tiled his head and right forearm, which Midoriya understood and accepted the invitation.
Sitting beside the Englishman, Midoriya crossed his arms again, albeit lackadaisically, and on his own lap. The Englishman said and did nothing else as he stared onward. Midoriya couldn't help to look, however, tracing those hawkish eyes at their target downrange. Needless to say, there were dozens of people across the river.
"Look at those two madams." The Englishman said in English.
Midoriya shook slightly, briskly glancing at him momentarily, silently expressing his shock before the Englishman noticed. Upon diagonally tilting his head slightly upward, Midoriya shuddered his head and looked across the river.
There!
Near a bench and cherry blossom...
"The saleswoman and her food stand?" Midoriya asked in Japanese.
"Precisely. What do you make of the other?"
He looked more closely despite the distance, hardly discerning the saleswoman's blonde hair and clear complexion from her tanned, dark haired associate.
"A soldier?"
"Very recently discharged."
"Possibly French." Midoriya guessed, noting the French writing above the kiosk.
"And a non-commissioned officer."
"From the Middle East."
"Ah..." He shushed the teenager, momentarily, "Africa, my dear boy, Africa."
Midoriya squinted, now more intensely observing the woman in question.
"Surely," The Englishmen explained, "It is not hard to say that a woman with that bearing, expression of authority, and dark sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from Africa."
"She also seems to wear her hat like a garrison cap."
"Why, she has flipped it inside out. It may be hard to tell for you, but witness the seams in her hat. Obviously, a grave sign of disrespect to the service."
"Huh, dishonourable discharge..."
"Nay. Her colleague treats her fairly. In fact, they share the same army strides, yet the darker madam moves with tender swiftness. She was in the armoured brigade, a tanker, so to speak."
"That taiyaki does look good, though." Midoriya muttered ... audibly.
"Hmm?"
It took a moment for the green haired teen to realise his mistake, glancing and shaking his head at the Englishman.
"Sorry," The teen apologised, "I haven't ate anything since this morning."
The Englishman didn't say anything, only smiling very briefly and ... lightheartedly?
"You've been harassed recently." He suddenly deduced in English.
Midoriya instantly swivelled towards him, completely shocked by the white man's intuition.
"You are surprised." The Englishman remarked.
"I am!"
"Then you understand me."
"W-Well, other than your accent, I speak fluent English. You're British."
"Obviously..."
"But ... I don't get it."
"Hmm?"
"How did you know about I was, you know, bullied?"
"I observe." The Englishman turned to him, resting his right arm over the bench, "You see, my dear boy, it is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon his predecessor, and each simple in itself. If after doing so, one simply knocks out the central inferences and presents one's audience with the starting point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possibly, meretricious, effect."
Concurrently, a million questions computed in Midoriya's head. How did he know? Inferences? Audience? Meretricious effect?
"I can tell from the daintily singes on your right shoulder, that you been dismissed with a warning. That's not to mention that you been involved in a fairly small explosion, which your singed brass buttons portray so subtly. You also have traces of dirt smeared within the back of your shirt, suggesting you've been forced onto the floor. They had the advantage of you, yet you sustained no injuries. Why did they wished to molest you, if intimidation was the only thing on their mind?"
Midoriya looked down at the ground, a shy scowl firmly morphed on his face.
"I'm ashamed to say it."
Though the Englishman said nothing, his emotionless expression speculated otherwise.
...
...
...
"He's my best friend."
"Your friend?"
"Mhm."
"A friend that takes pleasure in demeaning you at every waking moment?"
"...Well, if you put that way, not exactly. It's ... complicated."
"Do tell. I am all attention." The Englishman leaned slightly back.
"We go way back, when we were just toddlers. He wasn't always mean. In fact, aside from occasional mischief, we were close friends. That is until our quirks manifested, or rather, he and everyone else did."
The Englishman maintain his attention, nonetheless. Midoriya could have sworn he saw a flinch in the gentleman's face and brow, but it was probably his own imagination.
"You see, I'm quirkless." Midoriya murmured heavily, in English, of course, "I have no superpowers! Helpless, certainly not. I can never become a hero myself because of it. I don't expect you to understand that I'm part of that 20 percent global population. That, I am ashamed to say it."
"On the contrary, you are thinking within the boundaries of your culture." The Englishman unexpectedly replied. "You imagine yourself as a victim; it's your people's shame culture at its finest. Needless to say, I'm not entirely surprised that you wish to be as mighty and illustrious as everyone around you. Again, the threat of social rejection."
"Rejection? W-Wha ... what makes you think you can understand?"
"Because I am, as you put it, quirkless, myself."
Almost instantly, Midoriya's frown morphed into an exclaimed, albeit silent, gasp.
Yet when he was about to speak...
"Calm yourself." The Englishman soothed, softly raising his left hand. "Calm yourself, please."
It took the teenager a moment to realise that he was starting to hyperventilate. Thus, he leaned back, resting his hands to his side as he normalised his breathing. A gulped a couple times, barely withholding a surreptitiously ferocious tremor.
"I don't believe it..." Midoriya uttered, modestly shaken. "I-I ... I don't believe you ..."
He was about to look down at the ground again, but he caught a glimpse of the man ... smiling briefly?
"You are wise." The Englishman complimented.
"Eh?"
The teenager could have sworn he saw the Englishman's left eye twitch, but again, probably his imagination.
But his uneasiness piqued when he saw the man rested against the bench, pressed his hands together, and closed his eyes. Midoriya's panic soon turned to confusion, where he leaned slightly forward, analysing the man furthermore.
"Someone..." The Englishman murmured.
...
...
...
"Someone in this great observant public!" He almost shouted, opening his eyes and resting his own hands on the bench.
The teenager shuddered, partially leaning back as he witnessed the white man's outburst.
"You see, my dear boy," The Englishman explained, still stoically acrimonious despite a moment of calmness, "Crime is common. Logic is rare. Yet in spite of this 'observant' public, who still could hardly tell a weaver from his tooth or a compositor by his left thumb, the truth is drowned in a sea of irrelevance. This is a brave new world, indeed, of passivity and egotism! Fortunately, it is your utterance that bestowed new hope unto me."
Midoriya was speechless.
He didn't know if the man was still seething or genuinely thankful, especially his last statement. The teenager sat still, not any less apprehensive as he was moments earlier.
"Had you took comfort in me outright, I would have undoubtedly concluded this friendly rendezvous. Therefore, you are wise to doubt to me."
"Doubt you? It's just ... it's an insult. Is it not?"
"To the public, it is, indeed, an insult. But to the wise, it is not only a compliment, it's a confirmation of cognizance."
...
...
...
Suddenly, he swivelled to the teenager, leaned his right arm on the bench, and asked, "Tell me: Will you be here again?"
"Yes." Midoriya nodded almost unconsciously.
"Splendid." He elated calmly before he turned away, stood up, and began gathering his belongings, "Let us meet again tomorrow at four under the clock at this very spot ... that is as long as no one has placed you under observation."
"Don't worry. I'll be careful."
"Oh and a pen. I would be obliged if you would slip one into your pocket. Sumi ink is an excellent argument against gentlemen who should be reading books instead of burning them. That and a fresh notebook is all you should need."
Uh ... his notebook? How the...?
Unfortunately, respect and manners came first.
"Well, um..." Midoriya stood and bid farewell, in English, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr..."
"Sherlock Holmes." He replied, offering a handshake, which the teenager returned the favour.
"Midoriya Izuku."
Once their handshake finished...
"Shitsurei shimasu." Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett) eventually tipped his hat and walked away.
Only when he was ten metres away, Midoriya turned away. But he didn't start walking. In fact, he was confounded by this 183cm tall Englishman's encounter.
He had so many questions surging behind his shuddering, albeit subtle, smile...
