Trigger Warning:
- mention of abuse
- finger breaking
March.
The month of the spring equinox in the Northern Hemisphere and the autumn equinox in the Southern.
Named after the Roman equivalent of the Greek god of war, the month marked the time of year when military campaigns that had been interrupted by winter were resumed.
My predicament could be more or less representative of that historical fact.
A metaphorical battle between Hanada-sama and I had begun ever since I became a villain. And during the past two months, I built an army, gathered supplies, prepared for attack right under his nose. This month, I hope to have the final touches ready so that with the blooming of the cherry blossoms in April, his dark secrets will be exposed.
One such final touch is being added right now: securing power in my domain.
Hanada-sama has invited both Daruma-san and Yotsubashi-san to the main office on the same day. Two strikes. He has even decided to speak to Aunt Ahearn after negotiating a deal. Three strikes. Ah, I am one lucky girl.
I am not appreciative of many of Hanada-sama's traits, but this one I can respect: not wasting time. As much as he would like to deny it, deep down he realizes that he does not have much time left. Just yesterday, he vomited blood. He had to be rushed to the hospital when his gag reflex failed, and he started choking. Doctors told us that the acetaldehyde levels in his bloodstream were concerningly high. In other words, Daruma-san's given drug has been more effective than I had anticipated. Just as well. The quicker everything happens, the sooner I can get rid of him.
The confidence almost gets to me. I have to cover my wicked grin behind my hand when Hanada-sama sprays cologne down his sides and into the air. He walks through the misty cloud, believing that the musky scent will overpower the stench of alcohol. He turns toward me and grumbles about what I am laughing at. I coolly tell him that it was a light cough.
He glares at me, unconvinced, before descending the elevator to wait in the common lounge for our guests to arrive.
Some time later, I excuse myself to use the restroom. Too busy reviewing the proposal packet in his lap, he waves a hand, ushering me to do as I wish.
There is a tag that has been itching me all day. I summon a knife and with the help of the mirror begin to cut the damned piece of cloth. Finally. I pull the label and glance at it. The brand name is that of the fashion company that came to take my measurements a few weeks ago. They sent me this ensemble as a sample until the orders were ready. No designer in their right mind would stitch such scratchy fabric on a suit. This work must have been that of the tailor who commented on my figure. After all, I made sure to leave a review to her superior after she left.
In one hand, flames incinerate the tag; in the other, the metal of the knife seeps back into my skin. My gloves leave no trace of either quirk having been used.
Much in the same way that my skin does not reveal the reddened skin from hard slaps. Shouto has mentioned on more than one occasion how I return to the dormitory every week like a living corpse. He is smart enough to deduce that it is the result of Hanada-sama's abuse, and though I remind him that it will all be over once he is out of my life, he is not relieved. Understandably, so.
I would never dare voice it out loud, but even I am tired of enduring his beatings. The ends justify the means. Sometimes, the means hurt. The means seem too costly.
But this is no time to wallow in thoughts. In Hanada-sama's eyes, this is the first time Daruma-san, Yotsubashi-san, and I will have in person. I must not belay that we are past acquaintances. As a warning to myself, I adjust the crown of snapdragons in my hair.
An interesting flower. Intended to make a person appear charismatic and cordial, the flower carries an unexpected double meaning: gratitude and deception. Two words that do not go together, yet this bloom does so. Then again, is that not what I am doing? I am grateful for Daruma-san's and Yotsubashi-san's assistance to deceive my adoptive father. And I am thankful to Hanada-sama for falling into my trap so easily.
I had thought it would be difficult work to convince Hanada-sama to meet the men. A remarkable scientist and a noteworthy businessman. Those were two of the four people he had told me to set up by myself. So after fifteen or so phone calls, I had the two of them talk to Hanada-sama. He had the gall to research their names while speaking to them. Utterly unprofessional! Only after he was content with what he had seen online did he extend an offer to arrange a meeting.
And here we are now.
This is not my first time inside this building, but it is new to me. On the highest floor of the building is Hanada-sama's office. I envision myself on that seat. Behind me is a view of the city; in front of me is an L-shaped desk. Reviewing latest policies, scheming new strategies, reigning over the empire. One day, I might have enough time to write my own book.
A knock resounds outside the restroom door. Hanada-sama informs me to hurry up. The order brings me back to earth. Dreams are good and all, but I have yet to achieve them. Do not be hasty, Selene.
With that in mind, I finish grooming myself and step out. Daruma-san and Yotsubashi-san have arrived. If Daruma-san's short stature and Yotsubashi-san's wheelchair alarm Hanada-sama, then he hides it well. Business persona activated, he greets them charmingly. Quietly, I take my place beside him and bow.
"It is a pleasure to meet you face-to-face, Daruma-san. Yotsubashi-san." One bow to each of them. When I stand up, we stare at each other with knowing eyes. A secret only the three of us are privy to.
Yotsubashi-san smiles, "Yes. We spoke over the phone. Persistent girl, but that is an admirable quality of a future business mogul. I'm curious whether you know the basics. Answer three simple questions for me. First, if you want to get an understanding of your business's current financial standing, what can you do?"
I cannot help but feel a little patronized. Yotsubashi-san, I like you, but if you are going to test me, at least make the questions a little difficult. I don't need an MBA to know the answer to something like that. Yet his behavior does not make sense. After all the things you have witnessed me do, you cannot possibly underestimate me like this. So what is your true intention? However, I bite back my tongue when Hanada-sama glares at me from the corner of his eye. He wants me to do as Yotsubashi-san says. "Profit and loss statement," I reply. "It will give a summary of how much revenue is being generated and how many expenses are being made."
Yotsubashi-san nods. "Have you already done that?"
"Yes. I have," I say with a slight tilt of the head and a dubiousness in my eyes. "Our fiscal position is well. It is precisely why I reached out to you."
Daruma-san pipes in, very eager by the game. "May I ask the final question? Science-related."
"Why not?"
He is practically jumping up and down. "If you are ill, you must reach out for treatment and medication to become well; if you are well, you must maintain check-ups and take preventative measures to not become ill. Who benefits from this paradox?"
Now this is a tougher question. I ponder it for a long time. Healthy or unhealthy, it is the patient who is paying. So one would think it is the insurance company, the hospital, and the pharmaceutical reaping the benefits. But the patient is paying for their own well-being as well. Monetary satisfaction or medical satisfaction? That is what Daruma-san is truly asking.
"Money and health are intertwined. There is a positive correlation between the two. Being healthy ensures one can make money, but money is required to remain healthy. So it would be wrong to say that one is more important than the other. Ultimately, both parties receive their shares of welfare since their individual purposes are fulfilled.
"Now it could certainly be argued that the scale of advantages tips more in the favor of the business than the customer, leading to customer dissatisfaction. But is that not why we are gathered here today? To balance the scale, so the public can gain better accommodations?
"I presume that is why Yotsubashi-san asked me about profit and loss and you inquired about the patient paradox."
When they confirm, I realize my speculation was correct. Neither of them intended to patronize me. It was a coordinated strategy to highlight my knowledge and analytical skills to Hanada-sama while emphasizing their own importance in the corporate world. Hanada-sama is obviously is not impressed with me, but his silence is a grudging acknowledgement that I handled the situation well. Or maybe he can taste the bile crawling up his throat.
He beckons toward the elevator. "Let's talk business."
Yotsubashi-san's main enterprise is in heroism, and Daruma-san's is in medicine. Our discussion is centered on coordinating a scheme with these two aspects in mind. After reviewing Hanada-sama's proposition, we debate the best course of action.
Hanada-sama suggests, "Heroes usually sustain critical injuries while combating criminals. By the time the ambulances arrive, many of them succumb to their wounds. We should try to cover this gap."
"Heroes are the foundation for public protection," Yotsubashi-san accedes. "But we must not forget that ambulances and medical personnel are kept far away from the battle site for their own safety. To consider stationing them closer to danger is out of the question."
Daruma-san agrees, "We cannot risk the lives of the health workers but we cannot delay assistance to the heroes, either. Quite the conundrum."
In other words, a compromise is necessary. I imagine the scale of balance. In one plate are the medical corporations; in the other is the hero society. One side weighs heavier than the other, and it does not take a genius to figure out which. That side is not the enemy, but a balance must be achieved nonetheless. An idea sparks in my mind. A little risky, but not without merit.
I cough delicately to gather the men's attention. "If I may," I say. At their silence, I continue. "How about increasing the facilities within the hospital and the battle site? We could develop gear that would improve defense levels of the Pro-Heroes while implementing newer technology inside the ambulances. Heroes who die on route to the emergency room could initiate surgical treatment much earlier." I do not believe that what I have said is a novel idea. In fact, many others before must have had the same thought. The difference is, the four of us have the ability to make that notion become reality. "Yotsubashi-san." His ears perk up. "The Detnerat Company specializes in customizing hero equipment. What do you think?"
"The idea is not unfeasible," he answers. "Much like how a bullet vest has been designed to become lighter yet more durable in the past few decades, my engineers can design a prototype that will protect one from quirks. The problem is, there are a variety of quirks, and you cannot anticipate all of them."
"Hence the second recommendation. Better equipped ambulances," I counter. I look to Daruma-san for his opinion.
He rubs his mustache ostentatiously. I raise an eyebrow at his childlike mannerism before schooling my expression. "The costs will be high. Ambulances have only so much space, which means we would have to redesign the entire structure. However, if we optimize medicine over technology, things will change."
"How so?" Hanada-sama asks, intrigued.
"For starters, the expenses will be lesser. Also, it is possible to develop drugs that will slow the injury process or speed the recovery process. Apologies if I offend you, Selene, but my belief is that surgery should be performed in the hospital only."
I shake my head, telling him that no offense was taken. Because instead, another analysis is forming in my mind. Their choice of words … it's peculiar. Why does it nag at me? Daruma-san, Yotsubashi-san, and I know each other's secrets. With what we have planned, there is no reason for either of them to assist the heroes in any manner. In fact, the more advantages we can garner in our favor, the better.
Perhaps I have been envisioning the scale incorrectly. It is not hero society and business magnates I should be comparing; it is hero society versus villain organization. And right now, it is the heroes who possess more strengths than the villains. This has to change …
Hospital. War. Heroes.
Detenerat. Vests. Quirks.
Anticipation. Optimization.
Gear. Drugs.
I have to suppress the urge to widen my eyes. Confusion has made way for the solution. Daruma-san and I had conversed about how he wished to perform tests on me in the hopes that I possessed the Rewind quirk. And Yotsubashi-san's concern about being unable to predict all potential attacks will be resolved with my absorption ability.
Both men want the same thing I do: to empower the Paranormal Liberation Army.
I am the key to achieving that; hero society is just the disguise.
I must let them know that I have caught on. Glancing briefly at Hanada-sama to ensure that he is just as unaware as he was initially, I lean on my elbows and rest my chin above folded hands. Meeting their gazes, I speak once more. "Worry not about the money. The four of us will be investing." The number almost comes out as a joke. "Especially me. I have a vested interest since I was the one to contact you. I believe I can help in the issues of the hero gear and medical technology. Specifically, it is my quirks that may be of assistance." Now it is not a joke. It is a signal for both to-be partners.
Intelligent men, they are. They catch my meaning instantly.
Problem is, Hanada-sama possesses some brains himself. He reaches below the table to grab my finger. As he pulls it back, he silently seethes at me. Quirks! He spits with his eyes. Have you forgotten that your true power is a secret?! I forged the damn MEXT papers, dammit!
The pain stings. Any more and he will break it. I cannot resist the brief flinch that contorts my face. "My elemental abilities," I lie. "Most Pro-Heroes are born with a marvel of nature as their quirk, so it is likely that their attacks will not deviate from that range."
Daruma-san and Yotsubashi-san must have seen my visceral reaction because they play along.
Hanada-sama releases my finger. I sigh from relief internally. "Shall we discuss the details, then?"
By the time the meeting ends, night has fallen.
In other words, it is still day in London.
If Hanada-sama's slumped posture and droopy eyes are any indication, he is exhausted from today's work. Granted, I am, too, but there is one last thing we must accomplish before I depart for U.A. and he retires to bed.
I watch him stagger up the steps, one hand bracing the walls, railings, and any other available object for support; the other hand swinging an open bottle of whiskey. "Don't fall unconscious just yet," I mutter coldly. "You still have a video call to attend."
He turns around to look at me. I raise a brow. If you are expecting me to help you inside, then shred that thought to pieces and incinerate them. He glowers at my immobility before dragging himself past the threshold. I follow soon after.
"Is your suitcase packed?" he slurs.
I should hit the back of your head. Maybe that will knock some sobriety into you.
"Everything is ready. Clothes, laptop, homework, etcetera. Just pull yourself together for half an hour so neither of us have to see each other's faces for a week." As an afterthought, I add, "Mind you, Madam Ahearn resents alcohol and alcoholics. So I suggest you take naltrexone."
Hanada-sama seethes, "Then why did you choose her of all police officers?"
"Because your genius deductive skills led you to accuse me of being the Bone Crusher Killer," I answer in the same cold tone. My boldness catches him off guard. He wavers on his feet before balancing himself against a couch armrest.
"Huh?"
I scoff and put a hand over my mouth, exaggeratedly, "Oh, did your intoxication wear off? Goodness, I should give you shocking news every time I need you sober. Seems to be more effective than your medication!"
"You little-" he begins to curse.
I cut him off immediately. "The sooner we get this over with, the quicker I can leave, and you can resume drinking yourself to death again."
The way his mouth snaps shut at the retort … the sight is quite satisfying.
Yotsubashi-san enjoys watching stand-up comedy.
I wish I could record the scene in front of me and message it to him. All the crying from laughter emojis he would send … ah, bliss. Because watching Hanada-sama be humbled by a woman he has met for the first time is utterly hilarious. Oh, right. I bugged this room with cameras and hearing devices. No need to record when Skeptic already has access to the footage.
It's only been a few minutes since the conversation has started, and Aunt Ahearn is doing an excellent job of gaslighting Hanada-sama.
"You are a terrible father, Mr. Hanada," she scorns. "When I received your daughter's call, I was expecting a distress message. Not some stupid excuse of how you think your child is a serial killer! The idea was so ridiculous that I rejected her every time she asked for my help!" From my vantage, I can only see Hanada-sama's expressions and the back of the computer. So I entertain myself further by imagining Aunt Ahearn's masterful acting skills. A haughty look in her eyes, nose raised every so slightly, disdain dripping from her voice. Disappointment. She even tsks, to which a vein begins to throb in Hanada-sama's temple.
She continues, "You're delusional, Sir. Tell me how a girl living in Japan can traverse two continents to reach England without booking a flight! That too, every week!"
He replies, "She is the only one who had a motive to hurt the victims. Those men harmed her." I nearly scoff. On whose order? You so conveniently left that part out.
Thankfully, Aunt Ahearn scolds him for me. "The murderer was indeed a female, but she provided evidence of all sorts of financial crimes of her victims. And she died while assassinating her last. However, if your daughter has a connection to all the men who died, what was your role in all of this? As a father, shouldn't you have protected her?"
Ah, doesn't it feel great to have the situation turned on you, Hanada-sama?
"What are insinuating?" he shouts as she slams a fist against the desk surface. Blood through the vein pulsates visibly. "That I am responsible for Selene's tragedy?" Yes, you are. "That I forged connections between her and them for my own gain?" Also yes.
Aunt Ahearn's voice drops low. I can envision the chilling glare she imparts. "Watch your tone. I am not one of your employees who you can threaten or an officer willing to suck up to you for favors. I insinuated absolutely nothing, but it appears that you jumped to conclusions all by yourself, once again." Thoroughly put in his place, he releases his clenched hand and takes deep breaths. "That's right," she remarks. "Be quiet if you cannot be courteous."
Slowly, steadily, he speaks again. "Then who was the murderer?"
"Female with red hair and red eyes. Late twenties to early thirties. Taller, leaner, and more muscular than your daughter," she responds without skipping a beat.
"But why-"
Aunt Ahearn interrupts him. In a voice that silences any protest, she says, "Are you really going to believe your own dubious ramblings over my authority? I was the head of the Bone Crusher Killer case." It works. Hanada-sama grits his teeth. He is powerless. "This entire conversation was a waste of time. But I have more manners than you do, Mr. Hanada. Any more questions for me?"
He does not. A sign that her manipulation worked. With that, she bids an irritated goodbye and ends the call.
I see the opportunity to laugh freely now. Resting my head against the back of the sofa, the chortles escape my body loudly. When I finish, Hanada-sama scowls at me. Unable to resist the urge to taunt him further, I prop my elbow on the armrest and place my cheek into my palm.
"I told you before: your notion was preposterous. You could have saved yourself this embarrassment had you listened to me the first time." He does not seem willing to bite back his tongue. Neither will I. Just to rub more salt into the wound, I get up and move toward the door. "Todoroki-kun, scientist, businessman, police officer. I completed your requirement. You must acknowledge that I am the sole future of your lifetime's efforts. Perhaps it is time to give me the respect befitting of that title." And I close the door before he can comment back.
At the dormitory, Aizawa-sensei informs that I arrived an hour before curfew. He warns me to be more mindful next time.
Indeed, his words remind me that I have come quite late. Shouto must be worried. So instead of going to my room to drop off my suitcase, I go to his.
After a few knocks on the door, I hear a call from inside, telling me to wait some seconds so that he can dress. Given the wet hair and towel hung around his neck, he must have just taken a shower.
I sniff the air. "Lavender soap?" I conclude. "Wonderful choice."
He responds with a fierce embrace. I do not realize when he has wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in the crevice of my neck. My feet are not touching the floor. "You took forever," he mumbles. "I was worried."
My shoulders tremble with silent laughter. He is so endearing. Then again, he has valid reason to be distressed. Combing the wet strands of his hair with my fingers, I answer, "Sorry, love. Today was a hectic day, and I did not pay attention to the time. Let me make it up to you with some castella cake."
He pulls back, and I lift a bag carrying an unopened box of cake. "Thought we should reward ourselves for all the work we have put in so far."
Shouto cannot help the small chuckle that flees his lips. "I'm not upset. But I am concerned." Amusement faded, he sets me down and cups my face to inspect for injuries that I have hidden. "Did he hurt you? Was Miyamoto there?" he whispers.
My jovial mood sullens as well. I wish I could lie so that he would not feel bad. However, he knows me too well. My silence is enough of a confirmation. I watch Shouto become more despondent. Sometimes, he resembles the behaviors of a fox. When I knocked on the door, he snatched me up giddily. Metaphorical fox ears were straight up, tail was wagging, and mouth in a wide beam. Now, those metaphorical features have drooped. Interesting trait for someone who gets along splendidly with cats.
Unable to see him downhearted anymore, I reach up and press my lips against his forehead. Right eye. Right cheek. Chin. Left cheek. Left eye. The kisses work their magic. Tension eases from his shoulders, grip slackening to circle my waist loosely.
"He did," I murmur. "But fortunately, Miyamoto-san was not there, and I feel much better in your presence. Did you have sufficient sleep?" He stammers and avoids meeting my gaze. I get my answer. "Hopefully, you'll have some tonight. Cake?" I try to veer the conversation back to happier subjects.
Gratefully, he has the same intention.
"I'll prepare some tea to go with it," he says as he releases me.
Meanwhile, I open the box and set two plates.
It will be over soon, Shouto.
Hanada-sama, the abuse, the pain, everything.
Once he is dead, you will have to worry no more.