oh my gosh you guys I'm so sorry!
(by you guys i really mean dr. wicks disneymagic silvie and helena)
it's been like three weeks since I posted! but i have a legitimate reason!
I just read the most recent book of my favorite series and I totally dumped all other writing projects to work on fanfiction for it! but don't worry, the stories are all continuing!
side note!
you should a) go read all of The Inheritance Games b) go read my TIG fanfic. I'm just as in love with that protagonist as I am with Tadashi :)
I hope y'all like this chapter! I'm pretty sure it's the longest chapter of Shurikens so far, so that's my making up for not posting sooner...
thanks to everyone reading!
Tadashi and I take the trolley back to my house, and we both change into dry clothes. The sight of Tadashi wearing Dad's old scrubs is heart-wrenching, but I can't just let him go without dry clothes. Besides, he almost looks like a younger version of Dad.
"I'm gonna run to the store," Tadashi says after we put our wet clothes in the dryer. "I'll get some bandages and Advil, and I'll splint your ankle. Hopefully our clothes will be dry when it's time to go home—I don't wanna walk in the door wearing different clothes than when I left."
He leaves the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind him, and I lay back on the couch. My ankle has been placed on a stack of pillows and sandwiched between two bags of ice by Tadashi, who seems very concerned about the matter.
After about twenty minutes, Tadashi returns, carrying a bag with an Ace bandage and some Advil in it.
"This should help stabilize your ankle," he informs me, gently sliding the brace over my foot and tightening it. "Am I cutting off the circulation?"
I shake my head, gingerly flexing my ankle. "It feels fine. Thank you, Tadashi."
Tadashi beams, clearly proud of his medical abilities. "Of course, Momo! You should probably take some Advil to help with the swelling—here, I'll get you some water."
He hurries to the kitchen and fills a cup in the sink, then comes back, pulling the bottle of ibuprofen out of the grocery bag. He struggles with the tamper-proof cap for a moment, then manages to get it open and fish out two small red capsules.
"You should treat yourself," I insist, taking the medicine. "You're injured as well, Tadashi—at least take some ibuprofen. It's my fault that you got hurt."
"Really, I'm okay—it's just a few bruises," Tadashi argues, but I glare at him and he consents, filling another cup and downing two pills.
While we wait for our clothes to be dry, Tadashi asks, "So, what are we gonna do next? Now we know where the blades are, but how are we gonna get them?"
"I have no idea," I admit. "But perhaps I will go alone to retrieve them. We came very close to being caught by the police or even killed by Yama, and I will not put you in such danger again."
"But I promised to help you," Tadashi protests. "I—"
"You promised to help me find them," I remind him. "And I thank you for it. But I will not have you endangering yourself for me again."
"Why, Momo? I want to help!"
"Because I couldn't—" I stop, closing my eyes. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, okay?"
Tadashi looks at me with wide hazel eyes, and then he whispers, "Okay. But really, if you ever need any help, please tell me. I'll always be here for you."
The dryer beeps, signifying that our clothes are no longer wet. I start to get up to retrieve them, but Tadashi puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. "I'll get it, Momo. You need to rest—try not to put any weight on your ankle for a couple days. Honestly, you should probably get it checked out by a professional."
I roll my eyes as Tadashi takes our clothes out of the dryer. "I do not require any more medical attention, Tadashi. Your treatment is sufficient."
"Well, I took an EMR class," Tadashi admits, "but that only trained me to stabilize people until more advanced medical personnel took over. You should really get your ankle looked at, Momo—I don't want it to get worse."
I sigh, giving in. "Alright, I suppose I'll see what I can do. But the doctor will only tell me the same thing you did and then send me home."
Tadashi laughs. "Probably. But it's best to make sure."
He goes into the bathroom, presumably changing, and comes out in his regular clothes. "Thanks for everything tonight, Momo. I—I actually sort of enjoyed it, once it was over."
I can't help but laugh too. "It sounds epic in theory, I suppose. Thank you for your help."
"Of course," Tadashi says cheerfully. "See you tomorrow, Momo!"
He leans down, pressing his lips to my cheek for a moment. Then he straightens up and hurries out the door, his cheeks flaming bright red.
I feel the same color flushing my pale skin as I reach up to touch the spot. That actually felt rather…nice. How strange. I thought I decided to stay far away from a romantic relationship with Tadashi.
But judging by the way that felt, maybe it could work.
On Friday, after school, Obake and I take the train back to my apartment. Tadashi tells us that he has to run home and get the snacks for our meeting, and that he'll be back in a few minutes.
"Forgive me for asking," Obake says apologetically as we sit down on the mat, "but what happened to your ankle? Is it badly injured?"
"It is only a sprain," I reassure him. "I injured it in our last quest to find the blades. Thankfully, it is healing well, and it was a small price to pay for discovering the location of the blades."
Obake's face breaks into a smile. "That's wonderful, Momakase! Where did you find them?"
"Yama's base is located at the top of a building under construction in the middle of the city," I tell him. "Tadashi and I overheard him placing the blades in a safe, but we had to leave before we could take the blades. Now all that is left is to come up with a plan to sneak in and retrieve the blades—although I have decided not to allow Tadashi to come. I do not wish for him to be in danger."
Obake nods understandingly. "Of course. He does seem rather…delicate for such endeavors. But I'm sure he was a great help to you. What would you like to study today? I think the only subject that we all take is calculus, although we are in different levels."
"Perhaps we should look at calculus, then," I decide. "I assume that you have studied programming and chemistry as well, though, given your knowledge in those areas."
"I have," Obake confirms. "I'd be happy to help Tadashi if he needs it. Do you think he'll be here soon? I hear he lives above a café, so I'm rather excited to see what kind of snacks he will bring."
An urgent knock comes on the door, and I start to get up to answer it, but Obake beats me to it. I slump back onto the mat with a sigh, wishing that people wouldn't go out of their way to keep me from getting up with my injured ankle.
Obake pulls open the door, and Tadashi hurries inside, carrying a large box of what looks like donuts and two bags hanging off his arms. He sets everything down on the mat with a thump and then plops down himself, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Sorry, you guys!" Tadashi gasps. "I had to clean up a mess at the café—my cat's always stepping on the coffee machines. I brought a bunch of donuts and muffins, and there's scones, too, but nobody likes those, so—"
"Actually, I quite enjoy scones," Obake interrupts. "Do you by any chance have blueberry ones?"
"Actually, I do!" Tadashi replies, seeming to notice Obake for the first time. "Sorry—"
He holds out his hand. "You must be Obake! I'm Tadashi Hamada—I work at the Lucky Cat Café on Fifth. You're a physics major, right?"
"I am," Obake affirms, shaking Tadashi's hand. "And you are a biomedical robotics major. A fascinating field, if I do say so myself. Do you have a specific vision for your degree?"
"I'm trying to create a robotic nurse," Tadashi tells him, his gaze drifting into what I assume is probably a vision of the future. "I'm calling him Baymax, and he's gonna be able to scan people for injuries and help stabilize them until doctors get there. I've still got a few bugs to work out, but he's gonna be awesome!"
Obake smiles, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out what appears to be a blueberry scone. "It sounds like a fascinating project. I've created robots before, but nothing so advanced."
Tadashi opens the box of donuts, pulls out a sugared one, and eats it in perhaps three bites. He's not a messy eater, but the donut disappears so fast that I'm slightly shocked.
"Do you want a donut, Momo?" Tadashi asks after swallowing. "They're really good—I asked Aunt Cass to make them specially for us. They're actually still warm."
"I suppose I will try one," I concede, reaching out and taking a chocolate-covered pastry in my fingers. Taking a delicate bite, I'm surprised to discover that it's one of the best donuts I've ever had. I will have to see if I can get these more often.
"Would either of you want to brush up on our calculus?" Obake asks, rifling through his class notes, which he's spread out on the mat. "I believe I may need to work on it."
"Yeah!" Tadashi agrees. "I'm…pretty terrible at math." He laughs, a little nervously, I think.
"Perhaps we can remedy that," Obake replies. "What concepts do you need work on?"
"Derivatives, please, I have no idea what they're talking about."
And they actually fall into a sort of camaraderie, which is hitherto unanticipated. After Tadashi being so outspokenly opposed to Obake's plan, I didn't think the boys could actually work well together, let alone be friends. Obake's brilliant, starlight-on-the-water personality contrasts sharply with Tadashi's inquisitive, sunshine-through-mist nature, and yet they make a good team.
I pull out my own calculus textbook and scan the pages on derivatives—a concept I mastered three years ago. But I suppose not everyone will pick such things up as fast as Obake and I have, not even Tadashi. The boy is intelligent, but sometimes he listens too much to his heart, rather than paying attention to his head.
Occasionally, I jump into the conversation with helpful insights, sharing my own knowledge of calculus and sneaking another donut every so often. These are exceptionally good.
"We could go over programming," Obake suggests. "I have studied it before—if you need any help with it, Tadashi, I would be happy to assist you."
Tadashi smiles. "Sure! Momo, I know you don't study programming, but maybe we could teach you about it. And then you could teach us something else—I've never worked with composites before."
So the rest of the afternoon goes, and I'm amazed at how well we all work together. I would not expect three so vastly different people to get along, but somehow, it works.
When Tadashi and Obake leave, they're chatting about what the best batteries to charge robots are. Tadashi is all for lithium ion—less expensive—but Obake argues for supercapacitors, which charge faster.
Tadashi gives me a little wave as he leaves, and Obake throws me a heart-stopping smile. I wave at both of them as my front door swings shut, then realize that Tadashi left the box of donuts on the mat. He took everything else, though, so he probably did that on purpose.
I take another donut, then close the box, get up, and set it on my counter. Then I go to the window, looking down at the parking lot and watching Tadashi and Obake's cars drive away.
How am I supposed to choose?
—TADASHI—
The public lab is loud, bright, and filled with any number of crazy experiments. A line of yellow- and black-striped tape on the floor walls off a lethal-looking plasma machine, and a bright green liquid bubbles in a series of beakers and tubes as a cat—an actual live cat—flies past with tiny rocket boots.
Straining to see the floor past the giant box I'm carrying, I make my way hesitantly through the lab, trying desperately not to trip over or step on anyone's experiment. I'd feel so bad if I accidentally—
My foot catches on something—it feels like some sort of small staircase—and I trip, Baymax's box toppling to the floor with a loud crash and spilling its contents everywhere.
As for me, my glasses fly off, and I hit the floor with a loud "oof". The room goes silent, everyone's heads turning to stare at me.
"Sorry," I whisper, scrambling up, my face bright red. "Sorry sorry sorry—"
A muscular African American student kneels down in front of me, picking up a piece of carbon fiber skeleton from the floor. He examines it, turning it over in his hands, a look of amazement spreading over his face.
"This is cool, man!" he exclaims, handing the carbon fiber back to me. "What is it?"
"It—it's part of the skeleton for my robot. My semester project," I stammer, shoving the last of the pieces back into the box. The guy extends a hand and pulling me to my feet.
"Are you looking for a place to work on it?"
I nod, and a girl with long blond hair walks over, brushing some sort of pink substance off her lab coat. "Who's this, Wasabi?"
The guy—Wasabi?—shrugs. "I don't know. Sorry, I never asked you your name."
"Tadashi," I tell him. "Tadashi Hamada. I'm a biomedical robotics major."
"Wasabi No-Ginger," he replies, shaking my hand. "Physics major. This is Honey Lemon Rivera—she's in chem."
"Hi, Tadashi!" Honey Lemon chirps. "Sorry the lab is so messy—maybe we could get you a private lab? There's a lot more room in there—if you just ask Professor Granville, she could get you a lab. You have to fill out an application, but I'm sure she'd let you have one."
"That'd be nice," I agree hesitantly. "Are there any other requirements?"
"You have to have at least a 3.5 GPA," Wasabi tells me. "What's yours?"
"3.9," I reply. "So it'll probably be okay?"
They both nod.
"We'll take you to Professor Granville's office," Honey Lemon tells me, seizing my elbow. "Come on!"
I let her and Wasabi steer me out of the public lab and down the hall to a door marked Professor G. Granville. Wasabi knocks, and the door opens to reveal a tall, angular Black woman, with short-cropped hair and a heavy gold necklace.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Professor Granville asks, her voice so authoritative that I want to shrink away from it.
"Hi, Professor Granville!" Honey Lemon says cheerfully. "This is Tadashi—he needs a private lab. It's for his end-of-year project. He has a 3.9 GPA—could you help him fill the application out?"
"What year are you?" Granville asks, her dark gaze piercing.
"I—freshman," I reply. "There's not really room in the public lab for my robot—he's kinda big—so I was wondering if I could get a private one."
Granville steps back, gesturing into her office. "Come in."
I nervously follow her inside, setting the box down on the floor. Honey Lemon and Wasabi wait outside, encouraging looks on their faces as the door swings shut.
"Take a seat," Granville tells me, and I nervously settle myself in the chair in front of her desk as she pulls open a neatly organized drawer, which is full of papers.
"Here is the application," the professor says brusquely, sliding a sheet of paper across the table towards me. "You may begin filling it out. Tell me, Mr. Hamada, are you enjoying SFIT? I understand that you started late."
"I like it here," I say earnestly. "The campus is really cool, and everyone's nice to me."
"Excellent. Remind me of your major?"
"Biomedical robotics, ma'am."
Granville nods. "A very new field. What is your end of year project?"
I swallow, working up the courage to explain. "He's sort of a nurse bot. He'll be able to scan patients and monitor their vital signs, as well as find out their blood type and any conditions they might have. I'm also programming him to be able to administer basic first aid, the kind an EMR can do. But he won't be taking over any doctors' positions—he'll just help them take care of patients."
"And what inspired you to create him?" Granville asks, sounding interested.
"I'm a certified EMR," I tell her. "And I know a lot of EMRs face really hard things. I thought if they had a robot who couldn't feel things to help them, maybe they could avoid the situations where they'd get traumatized. He'd also be really good as a nurse in hospitals or assisted living facilities."
"It is a brilliant idea," the professor admits. "Have you finished the application?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I slide the paper across the desk. Granville's eyes rake over it for several seconds, and then she says, "Very well. You may take lab C134—I will program it to recognize your ID. Congratulations, Mr. Hamada. I have faith that you will become one of our star students."
My cheeks flush. "Thanks, Professor."
I pick up the box and turn to leave, but Granville stops me.
"I wonder," she says slowly, "if your brother would be interested in applying here?"
Turning back around and setting the box down, I reply, "Hiro's in the middle of his gap year right now, Professor. I know he's smart enough to apply to SFIT, but Hiro's a bit cocky about these things. He's convinced that he already knows everything he'd learn at college."
"But he is only thirteen, yes?" Granville prods.
"Yeah," I affirm. "Maybe if Hiro saw how great SFIT is, though, he'd want to come. But isn't the age limit seventeen?"
"See if you can get him here," Granville requests. "In his case, Mr. Hamada, I think we could make an exception."
When I come back out into the hall, Wasabi and Honey Lemon congratulate me on getting my lab, and then they take me to meet their friends, Fred and GoGo. All of them seem really nice—with the exception of GoGo—but I'm kind of distracted.
I bid farewell to my new friends and carry Baymax's box down the hall until I get to lab C134. Putting the box down, I swipe my ID and push open the door, bringing the box inside.
The lab is pretty nice, with a desk, a holographic computer with a plasma keyboard, and a large, circular window looking out onto the campus grounds. I set the box on the table and sit down in the chair next to the desk, my mind racing.
Of course I want what's best for Hiro. I want him to succeed as much as he can and fulfill the immense potential he's been gifted with. And I want him to stop bot fighting and go to school, where he can give something great to the world.
But why does everything have to be about him?
I get it. I get that Hiro is smarter than I am. But whenever someone praises me for my intelligence or my young age, the conversation always turns to whether Hiro is going to do the same things as I am, what his IQ is, if it's hard to live with a young genius.
It can't be easy growing up in my shadow, I know that. Everyone will expect Hiro to do as much as I have—but he can do that easily. That's not expected of me, but it's not because I'm the older brother—it's because everyone knows I can't do as much as Hiro, so they all think I'm a lost cause compared to him.
Don't get me wrong, I love Hiro. I would never do anything to hurt him, and I wouldn't change a thing about our relationship or about how smart he is. I think it's incredible that my baby brother is the greatest mind of the century.
But sometimes, I just wish that people would notice me too. That they'd see me for who I am, not for who my brother is.
The only way I'm gonna be able to do that is to leave a legacy—a legacy so incredible that people will have to see it.
Hiro will leave one too, I know that. I want him to. And maybe it'll be even more incredible than mine.
But that's not gonna stop me from trying.
End-of-semester finals pass in a blur, and I barely register the list of As that is delivered to me. Finally, it's Christmas break, and I determine that I need to get some kind of present for Momo.
The problem is that I have absolutely no idea what to get. How do you silently communicate to a girl that you like her without getting her a present that's tacky or cliché? I need this to be really special.
My first thought is a knife, or an expansive set of knives, but Momo already has so many of those that I think they might just get lost in her kitchen. Besides, how could I get knives better than graphene blades?
A book, maybe? I quickly dismiss that idea. Momo doesn't seem like the kind of girl who would like to read, and even if she did, I don't know what she would even read. Jewelry is out—Momo in jewelry is a foreign concept, and she's too practical to wear anything that might hinder her movements.
What if I made her something? That would speak from the heart, and she'd probably like that better than something store-bought. The question is, what am I actually good at?
Not much, I decide. I'm not hopeless at baking, but I'd like to make Momo something lasting, so food's out. Programming a robot would take too long, and I don't even know what I'd do with the skill of chemistry. Blow up sodium outside her door?
After debating for a while, I decide on art. I can paint decently—nowhere as good as Momo's little brother, though—so I pull an unused canvas from behind my bed and pull the partition between my room and Hiro's closed. I don't want anyone to see what I'm working on.
I still haven't told Aunt Cass and Hiro about Momo. I feel bad, but I really don't think Aunt Cass would let me date her if she knew. At this point, I've stopped telling my aunt where I'm going at night, so she just assumes I'm studying. Sometimes, I am, but sometimes, I'm helping Momo look for the blades. Although I won't have to make up excuses anymore, since we found them.
It's just better for everyone that Aunt Cass thinks I'm either not dating at all or dating someone other than Momo. I don't want her to forbid me from seeing Momo or, heaven forbid, getting mad at either of us. It's not like I've asked her about it, but I don't think Aunt Cass would want me to fall in love with a girl with perpetual face paint and a titanium hand—which I think is totally epic, but which other people might find unsettling. Momo's snarky attitude and brazen mannerisms wouldn't help matters, either—they might actually offend my aunt, to be honest.
The secret has to come out sometime, though. I just don't know when.
I dip my paintbrush in a shade of midnight blue, tracing a long, thick stroke of paint onto the pristine white canvas. The swathe of darkness spreads farther and farther, mingling with charcoal and silver and snow. Dark, hard-edged silhouettes of skyscrapers take shape against the sparkling night sky, their light glowing on a tranquil sea.
Three hours pass in a blur of colors and rain, a soft pattering on the roof as I immerse myself in my art. The last thing to emerge from the canvas is a small silhouette—the outline of a girl on a dock, looking up at the stars, two shining blue katanas strapped to her back.
I sign the painting in the bottom right corner—TKH—and hold it up, examining the effect of the dim light streaming through the window on the canvas. This is probably the first painting I've been satisfied with for a few years. I really, really hope Momo likes it.
Sneaking downstairs, I retrieve a roll of wrapping paper, tape, and scissors from the Christmas box in the garage, smuggling it back up to my room under my sweater. The said sweater is so thick and fluffy that I could probably smuggle the whole box up to my room without anyone noticing.
Carefully, I blow-dry the painting and then wrap it in the paper, taping it down as carefully as I can. I'm not the greatest wrapper of all time, but it's at least presentable and not a clump of paper and tape.
I tie the whole thing off with a curl of white ribbon and tape a folded square of paper, with Momo's name on it, to the front.
I'm ready.
Making sure Hiro and Aunt Cass are occupied, I sneak out the back door and get in the truck, driving as quickly as I can to Momo's apartment complex. I just hope I can get back before anyone notices I'm gone.
I pull up to the apartments and park, carefully picking the painting up from the passenger seat. I really don't want to damage it, and I don't trust my incredibly clumsy self to not drop it.
The rickety stairs creak beneath my weight as I ascend them, my heart pounding in my chest. What if Momo doesn't like her present? What if it's a bad time?
Before I know it, I'm standing in front of Momo's apartment door, panting from the long climb—why doesn't this place have an elevator that doesn't make me fear for my life?—and wiping sweat from my forehead. I really wish she didn't live on the seventeenth floor.
"Here goes nothing," I mumble, steeling myself, and then I raise a hand and ring the doorbell.
The door opens several seconds later, revealing Momo's tired face. I instantly worry that I caught her at a bad time, but the swiftest spasm of happiness crosses her face before it sinks back into a bored expression.
"What do you want," Momo grumbles, but I can tell she's secretly happy to see me.
I hold up the present. "Merry Christmas!"
Momo's eyes widen slightly, and she opens the door wider. "Come in, I guess."
I step cautiously inside, taking off my shoes and leaving them next to the door. Momo sits down on one side of the navy couch, and I gingerly lower myself onto the other, setting the painting down.
"You should know," Momo begins, "that I do not celebrate Christmas. That does not mean I don't appreciate your gesture—I simply do not celebrate the holiday."
"Why not?"
"I practice Shinto, the native religion of Japan," Momo tells me. "My mother was a kannushi—she maintained a shrine until she died—and she wanted my father to raise Shuto and I after the way of the gods. My father was Catholic and did not practice Shinto because he was not Japanese, but he taught us about it because my mother had wanted it. We never celebrated Christmas growing up, so I have never experienced it and never felt the need to."
"I'm sorry," I mumble. "I probably should've guessed. I can go—"
Momo holds up a hand. "I did not say I didn't appreciate it, Tadashi. I'm honored that you have come. I just felt that you should know."
I reach under my sweater and pull out the pendant I've worn for years, a chain with a silver cross attached. Letting it rest on top of my sweater, I tell Momo, "Well, I celebrate Christmas, so I wanted to come over and give you a present, if that's okay with you."
She glances at the cross. "Are you Catholic?"
I nod. "My whole life. My dad was Japanese, so he was Shinto, but he went Catholic after he married my mom, and Aunt Cass just kept it up. I've actually never seen a lot of Shintoism—is it hard to practice? What do you guys do?"
Momo shrugs. "I really don't do much. Sometimes I visit shrines, and I take time in nature to worship. But that's all."
"It sounds really cool," I say earnestly. "I guess you probably already know about Catholicism, though. It's pretty well-known."
"I do," she replies, then stands up from the couch. "Just a moment. I have something for you."
I wait awkwardly for several minutes, admiring the sleek, glowing blue blades adorning the walls, before Momo returns with something cupped in her palm. She hands the object to me, and I bring it up to my face to discover a shining yellow-orange diamond, 3D printed and threaded onto a thin leather cord.
"Wow," I breathe. "Momo, this is really cool!"
She reaches up to her collar and pulls a similar pendant from beneath her shirt, though hers is blue. "I crafted one of these for Shuto the day he was taken. When I found out he was gone, I made one for myself. It is the only piece of jewelry I ever wear, and I have not taken it off in three years."
"It's beautiful," I whisper. "It's an honor, Momo. Thank you."
I carefully untie the cord and hang the pendant around my neck, then nod to the wrapped painting. "Do you want to open your present?"
Momo flicks a tiny blue blade out of her finger, and I gasp in surprise. She smirks and says, "I thought you'd have gotten used to my hand by now."
"I didn't know you had blades in it!"
She slides the blade under the tape on the wrapping paper and pulls it off neatly, then quickly scans the note I taped to the front before turning the painting over.
For a moment, Momo doesn't say anything, and I start to worry, but then she looks up.
"This is the most beautiful piece of art I have ever seen," she tells me. "I am truly honored, Tadashi. I did not know that you were so gifted at using acrylics."
I can't keep my cheeks from flushing as I grin sheepishly. "Thanks."
Standing up, I give my apologies to Momo. "I'm really sorry—I've gotta leave. Hiro and Aunt Cass don't know where I am, and I have to get back before they get suspicious."
Momo dips her head. "Of course, Tadashi. Thank you for your visit."
Walking over to the door, I bend over to put my shoes on. When I straighten back up, I'm surprised to find Momo standing next to me.
"Tadashi?" she whispers.
"Yeah?"
She stands up on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. "Merry Christmas."
I'm grinning like an idiot all the way back to the truck.
