hello friends!

man it's been so long since i posted...I'm so sorry!

hey is anybody actually reading this? I don't get why it has 0 views.

sorry I haven't posted on the edge of night in a while...do not fear! I will post i promise! I guess people are probably looking at that one more than this.

please my friends read and review! I really need feedback on this story! I'm trying to finish it for nanowrimo (national novel writing month) and I would love to hear what y'all think of it! plz let me know what i could do better and if i've left any plot holes open, because i do that sometimes :)

if anyone at all could read and review this it would mean the world to me...I haven't had reviews on any stories for several months and I would love to hear how I'm doing! If i don't have anyone reading I may as well just not post...

okay, no, i don't discontinue stories but i will be sad if no one reads my stuff it would be so nice if someone anyone in the whole world could give me feedback

thank you my friends for all that you do!

peace out!

—TADASHI—

I button my blazer and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, then smooth my hair down and study myself in the mirror. The blazer accentuates my shoulders and does a good job of hiding the slight layer of baby fat I still have around my abdomen. Hopefully that goes away soon—I think I'm still getting taller. And I'll probably get contacts, so I don't have to deal with glasses any longer.

Why all this concern about how I look?

I really want to look like a normal college student—I know I'm too young to be here. Barely seventeen, kind of short—only five foot nine—and still a little pudgy in some places, mostly my face and my gut. Hopefully I'll grow a little more so I can get more toned abs and sharper cheekbones. In my opinion, I look fresh out of junior high.

That's one reason I need to look…well, cooler. The other one is Momo.

I can't stop thinking about her. She's just so amazing, with her sharp glinting eyes and sky-streaked hair and dark makeup painted across her face. But the most impressive thing about Momo is her black titanium cyborg hand—it's much faster and stronger than a human hand, and it looks beautiful next to Momo's pale skin and dark hair. She's the most incredible person I've ever met.

The only problem is that I don't think she cares I exist. Yeah, she's nice to me—well, she's thawed a little, but not much—but I feel like she's trying not to get close to me, like I'll do something to her if she allows herself to like me, even as a friend.

Meticulously, I part my hair, ensuring that not a single strand is out of place—except for the ones that fall over my forehead, adding just a touch of a windswept appearance. Or that's what I'd like to do. But, of course, my hair refuses to cooperate, sticking up in all the wrong places. I sigh and give up on it, remembering that Momo always sits with that Yashiki kid at lunch. Why would she find me more attractive than him? He seems like a much cooler guy than I am.

I sigh and flop down on my bed, running a hand through my hair. Maybe Momo will think it looks better messy.

Grabbing my notebook off my nightstand, I open it to my first blueprint of my new project—a healthcare robot. I've worked on this kind of thing before, but I think this could be revolutionary. I'm designing this robot to be not just an android, but a healthcare companion—a robot that can see to everyone's needs individually and provide comfort and support. I'm even gonna try to program a reward system into the bot, one that can give compliant patients lollipops. That's what my pediatrician, Dr. Armstrong, always did when Hiro and I behaved well at our appointments. I'll also equip the robot with bacitracin spray and water, as well as x-ray capabilities and advanced scanning. And I'm thinking of going with a nonthreatening, huggable look—something soft and round, so that kids aren't scared of it.

Oh, and I'm thinking of calling it—him—Baymax.

It's because of the San Fransokyo Bay, and to be honest, the "max" part just sounded cool, like a robot. His face will be designed to look like a suzu bell, like the ones that hang on Shinto shrines all over San Fransokyo. Baymax will be a mixture of traditional Japanese culture and modern technology, just like San Fransokyo is.

I may be worried about college, but when I think about Baymax, I start to believe that I can get through it. That I'm not just a kid lost in the turmoil of the big city.

That I can change the world.


I stumble down the hall between labs, a tissue pressed to my bloody lip, my blazer hanging off one shoulder. I've been working on Baymax's prototype, and it is not going well. The carbon fiber skeleton kept hitting me when I turned it on, and now I have a split lip.

Exiting the robotics lab, I go over to the café—excuse me, the CaFe, gotta love the chemistry puns—and swipe my ID through the scanner. Once inside, I grab some pizza and a Dr. Pepper, then search for somewhere I can be alone.

I carry my lunch tray over to a corner table and slump down in a chair, exhausted. I usually sit with my friends from high school, but today I'm too tired to engage in normal conversation.

The café is far too loud for my liking, and I wince as the noise starts to give me a headache. My goose egg from a couple weeks ago has thankfully receded, but the spot still hurts if I press on it too hard, and now whenever I get a headache, it usually starts in that spot on my head. I rub the back of my head miserably, trying to alleviate the pain.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I can't get through college. I can't even get Baymax to turn on without him attacking me—how am I supposed to get him to treat patients? He's supposed to heal people, not beat me up. It doesn't help that I'm failing calculus—I'm no good at math, and I have no time to get help because of my job back at the Lucky Cat. At least it's Hiro's shift today, so maybe I can stay in the library after school and work on some homework.

Even worse, though, is English. I wish it wasn't required, but it is, and I'm dyslexic. Like, really dyslexic. I'm barely able to read, let alone write essays and papers. The only classes I'm really doing good in are chem and robotics, and everything else…maybe I'm just not cut out for college.

Rather gloomily, I eat my pizza, pulling out my phone and scrolling through my texts. A new one from Hiro pops up, and I click on his contact photo.

hi tadashi

so i sorta accidentally set fire to my math homework in the science lab and now i have no math homework. also when I tried to put the fire out i burned my fingers and they really hurt :( what should i do about it?

I sigh. Leave it to Hiro to burn his math homework. I kind of doubt that it was actually an accident, although if he tried to put the fire out, maybe it wasn't on purpose. I text back, allowing myself a small smile at the thought of Hiro holding a lighter to his despicable math homework.

Sorry, little bro. Rinse them under cold water and then rub some bacitracin on them. I gave you some of that right?

Hiro replies with a picture of his fingertips, which are all bright red and blistering. I wince sympathetically and tell him to go find some Band-Aids to put over the burns.

buuuuuut i don't have any band-aids, Hiro texts.

You could go ask the nurse…

buuuuuut i don't wanna talk to people it's awkward

But you've gotta get those burns fixed, Hiro. Come on, you can do it.

fiiine

I open my Dr. Pepper and take a sip, hoping Hiro can muster up some extroversion for a little bit. I totally get it, I wouldn't want to talk to the nurse—or bother them, either—but it's kind of important when you have to get an injury treated. I only went to get my head bump treated because Professor Holtry sent me and I was with Momo.

A few minutes later, Hiro texts me back with a picture of his now-bandaged fingertips, and I reply swiftly.

That looks like it hurts :( can you even type with those?

a little…but on the bright side i now have no math homework :)

You know you'll still have to get more right?

yeah but i'm procrastinating that too

…of course you are

I smile and put my phone back in my backpack, grateful for the little bit of humor in this otherwise depressing day. Draining the rest of my Dr. Pepper, I place the empty bottle on my tray and get up out of my seat, walking over to the trash can to throw my trash away.

As I dump my tray in the trash can by the stairs, I realize I'm near Momo's usual corner, and I wonder if I should go say hi to her. But before I can come out from behind the stairs, I hear a soft, whispering voice—Momo. The conversation that follows shocks me, to say the least.

"Then the scheme is nearly in place?"

"I believe so." That's Obake, the kid Momo eats lunch with. "I am working on commissioning KreiTech to build a few robots for me, and soon they will be able to steal the magnet, as well as gather information. As for the energy amplifier…that will be slightly more difficult. But I am confident that we will be able to perfect it."

"And when the city is destroyed?" My eyes widen as Momo speaks again. "How do you plan to shield us from the blast?"

"Simple. The amplifier, once placed, will take up to an hour to complete the reaction. We will be far away from the city before it is obliterated."

My breath catches in my chest, and I almost want to jump out and confront Momo and Obake right then, but I force myself to stay still and listen more.

"When do you think the plan will be complete?" Momo asks.

"Depending on how quickly I can create the amplifier, and how quickly you can steal the necessary parts, I would expect it to be ready in nine to twelve months. I know, it is a long time, but the wait is a small price to pay for our new city."

A faint purple light gleams on the wall as I back away, my heart pounding in my chest. San Fransokyo is going to be destroyed—by two college students. Momo is sarcastic and a little terse at times, but I never would have believed it of her.

Even so, I have to talk to Momo.

Now.

Turns out that now is actually ten minutes later, when Obake finally leaves. Before Momo can step away, I walk speedily around the stairs and come face-to-face with her burning blue eyes.

"Tadashi," Momo sighs. "What do you want?"

I draw myself up to my full height, very aware that it's only about an inch taller than Momo's, and then catch myself. Am I really going to yell at a girl? A girl I like?

No. I just need to talk to her.

"Momo," I whisper, relaxing, "can we go outside for a minute? I need to talk to you."

She nods curtly, and I lead her out the glass doors of the food court and to a secluded spot between the bushes outside. Momo's gaze is guarded and icy, and I suddenly wonder if she'll be mad at me. After all, she has reason to—I was eavesdropping on her conversation. That's not very polite.

"Spit it out," Momo says sharply as we sit down, pinning me with her cold stare. "What is it, Tadashi?'

I take a deep breath and whisper, "I heard you talking to Obake."

Immediately, the fire in her eyes flares up, and I flinch.

"And what did you think of our conversation?" Momo asks, her voice deathly quiet.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I didn't mean to, but—Momo, you can't do this! You can't destroy San Fransokyo! I don't understand—what's going on? Why would you want to help Obake destroy the city?"

"I have my reasons," Momo hisses. "You have no idea what I've been through, Tadashi—you don't why I have to do this. And before you ask me to tell you, I will not. Obake only knows my story because of apparent extensive research, not because I told him. I do not tell people about my past, but know that I have reasons not to."

"But Momo, this is wrong," I whisper. "You can't help him kill millions of innocent people. You'd be killing everyone that's ever cared about you!"

"Everyone that has even cared about me is dead," Momo snaps.

"I care about you," I whisper. "I'm sorry for whatever you've been through, even if you don't want to tell me. I want to help you, Momo—please let me. Please don't do this."

Momo's gaze softens ever so slightly. "Perhaps we can reach an agreement. But you cannot tell the police about this, Tadashi."

I lean forward, eager to hear her response. Of course, I'd prefer that she abandoned the plan altogether, but maybe this will work.

"I will consider abandoning Obake's plan," Momo says, "but you need to do something for me. Something very important—something that must be completed before the city's obliteration, or I will never know true happiness again."

I widen my eyes plaintively, asking her to elaborate.

Momo smiles, and I suddenly feel a twinge of trepidation. "I need you to help me find—and kill—a gangster."


Upon further elaboration, Momo doesn't want me to stab a guy through the heart. Mostly, she wants my help finding the leader of a gang, who apparently did some great personal wrong towards her. I wish I knew what it was, but Momo won't tell me. She'll only tell me why she wants to find him, but I sense a deeper motive than the one she tells me, although I don't doubt that it's certainly a reason to want to find him.

"Three years ago, Yama stole my late mother's blades from my father," Momo tells me. "My father, having angered Yama, traded them for our safety. I did not want to part with them, and I cannot stand the thought of Yama's filthy hands on them. That is why I wish to find him."

The name Yama rings a bell, but I can't place where I've heard it before. In my head, though, I can almost hear the tone it was spoken in—shaky and fearful, barely a whisper. Who said that name, and why were they so afraid? How long ago did I hear it? Had something happened, something out of the ordinary?

I think as hard as I can, but I can't remember where I've heard Yama's name before. Maybe out on the streets somewhere, or down a back alley?

Pulling myself back into the present, I tell Momo, "I'll help you find the blades, but…Momo, you can't kill anyone. It…it wouldn't be fair. Maybe you could just take the blades and go."

"Tadashi, I told you, I have my reasons," Momo snaps, her eyes glinting again. "Surely you can see the better choice. It is the difference between one life and millions."

"But everyone's life is worth something," I whisper. "Even the life of someone like him."

With that, I stand up, ready to go back to school. "I'll help you, Momo, but please…you know this is wrong. I know you know it."

"I know what is right, Tadashi," Momo says, her voice tired but determined.

"I hope you do," I say softly as I start to walk away. "Because your life is worth something too."

—MOMAKASE—

I silently curse Tadashi's reasoning, emotions warring within me. The boy is too nice for his own good—it's going to end up getting him killed.

At least I was able to enlist Tadashi's help in finding the blades—perhaps he can offer me a new perspective of the city. I also do not wish for him to go to the police with Obake's plan—that would jeopardize everything we are working for. Plus, I just needed something for him to do for me, and I thought it might be nice to have someone else assisting me.

The bell rings, and I stand up, realizing that school is still going for another period. I have to go to calculus, I realize, and I groan internally. I am good at the subject, but it is certainly not my favorite class, and I would prefer that it was erased from the face of the earth.

I walk through the halls to my calculus classroom, looking up at the rain now pattering on the skylights. It matches my mood—I can't believe I was careless enough to speak about the plan in public.

As I sit down in calculus, Tadashi's words come back to me, quiet and desperate.

"You know this is wrong. I know you know it."

Well, Tadashi is the one who is wrong. Obake's plan is the only way to fix things—the only way to create a utopia, the only way to eliminate crime and sorrow in San Fransokyo.

The only way to get revenge.

The only way my heart of ice will ever begin to melt.

Tadashi wants me to be happy, right? Well, then, he should accept that this will make me happy—destroying the people who tore apart my family, destroying the city that reminds me of everything that happened. Perhaps I could even find a way to spare Tadashi and his family—maybe that will make him more supportive of our plan. Surely he sees that San Fransokyo needs to change.

"Everyone's life is worth something," I hear, the words running through my head over and over again like a broken sound streamer (for reference, in case you don't know, a sound streamer is basically the equivalent of AirPods, but the streaming device uses a special adhesive to stick to your neck).

I shake my head as if trying to dislodge said sound streamer, attempting to get Tadashi's words out of my mind. Maybe Yama's life used to be worth something, but after he killed Dad, it stopped being anything worthy of existence. He deserves to die, especially if he's killed or tortured Shuto.

The image of Shuto's terrified eyes comes back to me, and I feel a pang of grief and anger shoot through my heart. My baby brother didn't deserve to live out the rest of his days in the company of the man who slaughtered our father and ripped our family apart. And that's even if Shuto is still alive—he could be dead for all I know. I'd rather he be dead, to be honest. At least he wouldn't have to live with Yama. Who knows what that snake would do to my brother?

Suddenly, I'm jerked back into the present by the voice of my calculus professor. "Miss Shimamoto! Would it kill you to pay attention for once?"

I look guiltily up at Professor Rowan, who has an annoyed expression etched on his face. "I apologize, Professor. I will endeavor to focus on you for the rest of class."

His face softens—the professor cannot stay angry with me for long. "It's alright, Momo. I'm sure you were thinking about something important. Let's just try to stay focused, okay?"

I nod humbly, looking down at my calculus homework. I really don't want to do it—what I really want to do is go out with Tadashi and find Yama. Or perhaps go with Obake to his base and learn about the robots he is creating—I believe he plans to hack into KreiTech's system and see what robots could assist us in our plan.

However, Obake has also decided to create a robot of his own, one that can look and act like a human. It will be very useful as a decoy, as well as a spy. I can't help but wonder what Tadashi would think of such an android, as he is a robotics major—he may have an interesting take on the subject. However, since the robot is to assist us in destroying San Fransokyo, I believe Tadashi would take to it with less of an inquisitive approach and more of a sledgehammer.

Struggling to pull myself out of my head—it's more interesting in there than anything in the outside world—I glance down at my homework, resolving to get it over with and then retreat again.

I pull out a pencil and calculator and start plugging numbers in, solving the complex equations are quickly as I can. I wonder if Tadashi and Obake are taking calculus—Obake seems like he would be good at it, but not Tadashi. The poor kid can be pretty dumb sometimes, even if he is in college at seventeen.

A particularly stubborn equation causes me to grumble under my breath, realizing that I've been neglecting my studies for the past six weeks in order to focus on the plan. Perhaps I'll go to the library to study tonight—it is not like I have anywhere I need to be.

When the bell finally rings, I decide to go home for a short nap and then return to the library to study. After all, finals are in three weeks, and I cannot afford to be unprepared.

I nearly fall asleep on the train, but I manage to stay awake until I return home. As soon as I get inside, I drop my backpack on the floor and curl up on the couch, pulling a blanket over my shoulders. I'm exhausted.

Two hours later, I awaken, feeling much more rested and less angry. Sitting up and stretching, I grab my backpack again and leave the apartment, locking the front door behind me.

I set out through the gathering dusk, getting back on the train and heading back to SFIT. Once there, I cross the courtyard to the library and enter the brightly lit building, going over to a chair in the corner. I sit down and pull out my laptop, ready to refresh my memory of calculus.

Before I can do anything, though, I hear a soft sniffle from the other side of the library, and then the sound of a sucked-in breath, as if someone is trying very hard not to cry. I've never been good with emotions—perhaps I should just leave whoever it is alone. I know that's what I'd prefer.

But then I hear a quiet whisper, a weak, resigned voice saying, "I'm never gonna get it."

That's Tadashi.

Of course it is.

Now I have to go talk to him. Wonderful. Leave it to Tadashi to make me deal with emotions when I should be studying.

Reluctantly, I get up and follow the sound of Tadashi's sniffles to a table in the opposite corner of the library. The kid is hunched over a huge stack of books, upon which is set a computer. Half-finished blueprints surround him, some crumpled up. Tadashi's hand is raking through his hair, and his eyes are a little red.

He looks up at me as I approach, his slightly chubby cheeks still glistening with tears. "H-hey, Momo."

Tadashi wipes his eyes and sniffs again as I sit down on the opposite side of the table, intertwining my fingers. "What troubles you, Tadashi?"

"I—I don't wanna bother you about it," he whispers, staring at the floor. "It's my fault anyway."

"Just get it over with," I tell him. "Perhaps you will feel better."

"I'm failing calculus," Tadashi mumbles, and then it all comes spilling out—the fact that he is abysmal at math, that he can't read, that he's dyslexic and unable to write properly. The fact that Tadashi's robot is refusing to work, that he still has to work his job at the café that he lives above, that he doesn't feel ready for college in the slightest.

It takes almost ten minutes for Tadashi to vent all of his emotions to me, and when he's done, he buries his head in his arms, his shoulders shaking. For some reason, a pang of sympathy shoots through me, and I reach out tentatively, placing a hand on Tadashi's shoulder.

"Many people fail their first semester of college," I say, which may not be the best encouragement, but it's all I can think to say. "I nearly did. But if you…if you want, I can assist you in calculus. Perhaps we could work something out for your English class as well. I will not let you fail—you have immense potential, and San Fransokyo needs you here."

Tadashi looks up, his eyes round and bright. "Really? You'd…you'd do that for me?"

I hesitate for a moment, and then I whisper, "Yes, Tadashi, I would."

And then, for the first time in three years, the ice begins to thaw.


Everything is put on hold as finals draw nearer. The plan, searching for the blades, Tadashi's robotics project—none of it is as important as the mid-semester final. Of course, the semester final will be more important and affect our grades more, but the mid-semester exam is a measure of whether or not you're cut out for college. I passed the exams with flying colors my first year—it was the classes that I nearly failed—so I am not worried about this year. I am much more concerned about Tadashi and his capability to pass these exams.

We embark on what could be called a training regimen, and Tadashi and I begin meeting in the library every day after school. I drill Tadashi on calculus equations—thankfully, his course is less advanced than mine, since he's only in his first year of college, so the math he's doing is not as hard as mine—and help him read through difficult passages in Macbeth, which is what his English class is studying. Slowly but surely, Tadashi starts to improve, and his grades go up. Way up.

I'm not saying he's perfect, of course—he's getting mostly Bs now, with an A in chemistry—but Tadashi is doing much better, and he is no longer in danger of failing. He seems happier, healthier, and less stressed.

And, surprisingly, I find myself feeling the same way. I did not realize how much I missed having a friend who understands me, who I regularly interact with. Yes, Obake is my friend, and I do interact with him, but our relationship is more professional. Tadashi, for whatever reason, has me actually talking, engaging in conversations. I find myself revealing details about myself that I never have before, although I am careful not to tell him anything about Shuto or Dad. I am not ready to disclose that yet.

Soon, the day of the mid-semester finals arrives, and Tadashi and I both sit down in chemistry for the first exam. Tadashi looks rather pale and shaky, and I somehow manage to muster a smile, silently telling him that he'll do great. But I know that his real challenge is not in chemistry—he's been doing much better in calculus, but his most difficult exam will undoubtedly be English.

I pull myself out of my head as Professor Holtry passes out the exam booklets, readying my pencil and calculator. I say a silent prayer that Tadashi and I will both do well, and as soon as Holtry gives us the green light, I open my test booklet and begin.