Through a closed door, the muffled white noise sound of a shower seeped continuously into the hallway.
Sshshshhssshshhshsh..
Shsshshshshshs..
The constant pitter-patter of the water hitting the tiled bathroom floor, never-ending.
Shshshshsshshshshh..
Shshshshshshsshhs..
The gentle splashes of a million drops, causing the glass to fog up, a light plume of steam rising up above.
Shshshshshsshhs..
Shshshshshhshshs.
Sshshshshhshshshsh..
...
..squEAK.
A faucet was turned, and the shower ceased. A rattle echoed, and out came its occupant. A girl, clad in a pink towel wrapped around her body.
Hana Sunomiya.
Her hair was damp, still very much wet and would very much take a bit to dry. Her soaked feet left visible, dampened footprints in the carpet that was laid out in front of the sink. Droplets of water, very tiny streaks of shower residue, dripped down her body, trailing and trailing along her Silk-y smooth skin, before making the plunge to the floor.
Her hand brushed along the equally smooth surface of the bathroom mirror, which had also fogged up and become blurry. With a "pat-pat-pat' motion, she grabbed a good amount of towel and gently dabbed her face with it, ridding away excess liquid that might've still remained.
She then stared at herself. The both of her hands grasped on to the edges of the even, shiny countertop, and she leaned in. Her back was sort of arched, one leg bent at its knee, and her head was pointed downward. Yet, her eyes remained straight, fixated on her reflection. Herself.
Hana stood there for a while, doing nothing but gaze upon her face. Her eyes. The stoic frown she always had on, but this time, the frown was different. It was a frown that spoke of..
..uncertainty.
One might look and guess that she was deep in thought. That wouldn't be wrong at all. Hana looked as if she were thinking, pondering, doing complex, incalculable calculations in her head.
What was she pondering? What had her like this? What could've had a girl her age standing in front of a mirror, digging deep in her own mind for moments that seemed like eternity?
None could guess. Hana was good at hiding things.
In a sudden change of scene, she finally exited the bathroom and marched to her room. It was small: a little bed with two pillows in the corner, a nightstand with a lamp and alarm clock, a wooden shelf that stood against a wall filled to the brim with books, a table with stacks of paper, writing utensils, another lamp, a chair, and a standing canvas with which she used to sketch and draw on.
Plus a window.
She sat herself on her bed, still draped in soaked towel. Another towel was definitely needed to speed up the drying process for her hair, but Hana put that aside. Instead, she reached for her phone.
It was an ordinary one with a plain black case. Perfect for her.
She had little to no apps, only the usual ones for messages and notes, with the exception of one which she downloaded for art. Her wallpaper was a group picture of her entire family, and she only had them as her contacts.
No social media, no other people who shared their info with her. Hana had no one.
People saw her as the weird, emotionless stoic girl. She was fine with it.. for the most part. Peace, quiet, and solitude were things she enjoyed. They allowed her to concentrate on her art and become a drawing machine, but at the same time, no one realized that she was, deep down, the lonely weird, emotionless stoic girl.
And the lonely aspect had only become worse in recent days.
A tap of her finger on top of the Internet app brought up an interesting page. A news article, speaking about a particularly trendy topic in her home prefecture.
"Hayama's Masked Hero spotted in Yokohama!"
Hayama's Masked Hero, "That Spider-Guy" as the kids in her class would call him. The unnamed, identity-concealed man or woman who first popped up out of nowhere in a small quiet town, leaping along buildings using strands of webbing performing heroic acts like saving children from burning buildings, was seen in the big city. Pictures and video feed provided by the article were blurry, but they clearly showed the Hero in a new outfit.
Before, That Spider-Guy was reported to have worn a shabby, poorly put-together getup, but now here they were, clad in a skin-tight, full-bodied black and white skin-suit. It certainly earned him the awes and oohs from her classmates who found it awesome-looking.
But Hana wasn't looking at the pictures with any awes or oohs. Her frown remained.
...
...
...
...
Scribble, scribble scribble scribble..
Hana checked her phone for the time.
10:21 PM.
She went back to drawing, having long since gotten dried up and dressed.
Scribble scribble scribble scribble..
She checked again.
11:35 PM.
Scribble scribble..
12:42 AM.
Scribble.. Scribble..
...
1:15 AM.
Scribble..
Her door slid open, and she turned around to meet the confused, slightly concerned gaze of her father.
"You're still up?" He asked.
A nod. "Yes, father. I wanted to get some practice in before I went to bed."
"Some practice" was an understatement. The young artist had gotten utterly lost in her work. Staying up an hour past midnight was not the norm for her, but sometimes it was easy for her to be immersed.
"Remember that it's still a school night," he said with some worry. "I want you to get a good night's rest."
Another nod. "I understand."
Her father approached her, leaning in to view what his daughter was drawing. Closing her eyes, Hana went quiet and looked straight.
She could feel his displeasure. His disappointment, his disapproving of her work. Hana did nothing but sit there, idly.
She didn't cry, nor did she try to explain anything. She just sat, refusing to make eye contact with her father.
A few dreadful, awkward seconds later, and he backed up and made his way out the bedroom.
"Please make sure to sleep soon, Hana-chan."
"..I will, father. Good night."
"Good night."
He closed her door, and she was left alone once again.
Alone, alone with the confirmation that her drawing did not impress her father. They usually did.
Hana eventually went to bed. It was about 1:30 when she had done so. Her lights now off and her room filled with darkness, the artist did everything.. but sleep. She stared at the ceiling, thinking once again..
"Look at that delinquent," her father said earlier. She ran it over and over in her mind. "Being a nuisance yet again."
"We don't need a hero. We have police."
"He causes so much racket at night. He's scaring people."
"He's probably a criminal."
Her mother also agreed with her husband's beliefs.
"Don't be like that guy, Hana-chan. Focus on school."
"Watch out for people like him."
All of this was said during dinner at the table earlier, a couple hours before her shower, when the Sunomiya family were eating and watching the news broadcast the latest development of Hayama's One-and-Only Amazing appearance in Yokohama.
"You'll end up like him if you don't go to school."
Her parents were very much the old-school type. Loving, yet strict. They instilled upon her the classic doctrine of discipline: Work hard, go to school, get into a university, and become successful. They wanted that for Hana. They wanted her to focus on her art and become an amazing artist like her cousin Sana.
She was on track to being accepted into Tokyo University of the Arts. They wanted Hana to follow suit.
And that was all fine and dandy. Hana wanted that for herself too, but nowadays she was a lot more conflicted about it.
Because nobody knew her secret.
She was just like him too. Powers, abilities.. quirks similar to his. She had them.
It happened a while ago, around a few days after he appeared. Sketching a basket of fruit in her art club room, alone, all members having already left to go home.
She went to a bare spot in the wall to display it. The piece looked good, worthy to hang up for all, club members and not, to see.
Then, she saw it. Out from the sleeve of her uniform, came a large spider.
A spider that revealed itself on her hand. A spider that managed to dig its fangs into her skin.
Her life changed after that. Waking up to a constant, almost nauseating blaring in her head that she needed to get used to. Incredible feats of strength she kept hidden during PE so as to not hurt anyone.
Webs coming out of her fingertips. Webs just like his.
Hana needed help. She needed.. wanted to tell someone, but she couldn't. She had no one, and her family.. They didn't like him.
He was a delinquent in their eyes, a no good troublemaker trying to act above the law. His very existence challenged their way. Their teachings they taught her.
Hana wanted to see him, meet Hayama's One-and-Only. He'd help her. He'd understand her.
But there was no way they'd allow that, and she didn't have it in her heart to challenge them.
Even if she told them that they were wrong, that he wasn't a delinquent and instead was a good person trying to do the right thing, she knew they wouldn't hear it. Even if she told them that he could help her with her powers to use them for art, obtaining awe-inspiring views of their home prefecture, they wouldn't hear it.
And she didn't try to fight.
Hana chose to hide everything away. She chose to be obedient, and pretend that she was still "normal" out of respect for their wishes.
Not even Sana would know. She was very close to her cousin, but she knew that the Prez was just as strict as her parents. She'd most likely share the same opinion.
The only person she might've been able to share her troubles with.. was her old Senpai.
Naoto Hachioji. The boy she met in her first year of middle school, while he was in his last. He taught her a whole lot about art, and she greatly respected him.
But she wouldn't meet him again for another year, and they didn't have each other's contact info.
Hana was alone, and she chose to endure.
She took one last look at her drawing on the canvas, before deciding to finally sleep.
It was unfinished and somewhat messy, but it still looked amazing to an untrained eye.
A piece done with no reference. Only from memory and her own mechanical skill.
A front-view pencil sketch self-portrait of the Masked Hero.
Author's Notes:
24th.