The dark figure returned to the arcade early the next morning, feeling as restless as ever.
Tomura Shigaraki stalks past the dregs of last night's drunken escapades that had managed to stumble in before him, the businessmen and aging wastes attempting to draw out their withering youth, utterly unaware of the monster that walks among them. He'd loitered alongside them until lunch, wandering between dated and dusty Sega cabinets until it was time for the reason he'd shown up in the first place to begin; Not that an impromptu "Hero Showdown VII" throwback tournament was worth the waste of time, but it would do.
And of course, she's there again.
He hadn't even noticed her come in - when had she come in? The horror cabinets had been collecting dust since she'd last left them, not counting the twenty minutes he'd spent speeding through a campaign of "Castlevania" when he'd gotten sick of its title screen by the seventh loop of its campy chip tune theme, after which he'd immediately walked to the vending machines in the entryway to grab an energy drink. Anyone who had come in between then and now would have walked directly past him, unless they'd taken the long way around the outskirts of the arcade; But somehow, there she was, tapping away at the "Ghosts' n' Goblins" cabinet in the back of the room like she'd been there all morning.
"... Huh." He snorted into his drink, wrinkling his nose at the acidity before knocking back half of the can.
The only probable cause for his sudden interest was boredom, but that reasoning hadn't sat right with him since the moment this had all started. There was only so much pre-planning he could do while waiting for Giran to gather his supporters, ticking down the clock until the opening he'd been waiting for revealed itself; Time was one of the few things Tomura Shigaraki seemed to have more than enough of, and since nothing he had at home seemed to be scratching the itch nagging at the back of his skull, just about anything would be a welcome distraction from the waiting.
He didn't need a better reason to watch the weird girl at the arcade play the dusty horror cabinets- but why her? Tomura sighed to himself, barely wincing at the hollow thud of his head hitting the wall behind him.
It wasn't her fault that she was nothing special, that was just the way the world worked. Horror game girl looked like any other sad twenty-something on the street, shuffling by unaware of the shackles of society holding her back- but the longer he spent analyzing her, the more he began to doubt his assumptions.
Her appearances in the arcade followed an inconsistent schedule that he'd presumed meant she worked some half-assed, part-time job meant to fund her daily trips; Which was more than could be said for the others that lingered here, the parasites that clung to the hope that they would one day win big in the online poker games they played between a session of DDR so that all of their wasted potential would pay off- But then again, he couldn't imagine that any worthwhile job would consistently allow her to take the morning off.
Every day was the same; Horror game girl would come in and stalk straight back to the long-forgotten corner of the arcade that housed a collection of painfully out-of-date rail shooter slashers and side scrollers, never looking twice at the more well-maintained fighting cabinets or irritatingly upbeat rhythm games. Sometimes, she would come in with a cup filled with some manner of dull drink clutched between her bandaged fingers- Overly milky coffee, bubble tea in varying flavors, the occasional soda- only to place it on the floor between her feet alongside her ratty tote bag while she played and just forget until it was so watery it made his stomach churn. There she would stay for hours on end, moving between games when the mood struck her until she seemed satisfied.
Then she would leave while sipping at that watered-down swill with a smile, only to come back the next day and do it all over again.
Sometimes, her phone would go off, silently buzzing against the metal cabinets or in the sagging pockets of her sweatshirt, its pulsing flash barely visible through the fabric. He'd decided that it must be some kind of alarm after watching her ignore it during a boss fight for a good five minutes, completely ignorant to everything except for the gruesome clown on screen until she'd won- She'd nearly dropped that her drink when she'd scrambled to gather her things, muttering quietly to herself as she slung her bag over her shoulder and took off towards the front door without inputting her name into the scoring screen.
That day, he'd stepped into her path on purpose, just to see what she would do; Run into him and apologize, or shout at him for looking at his phone instead of where he was going.
It infuriated him that she'd done neither and that the third option hadn't even crossed his mind.
The girl had swerved into the adjoining aisle of arcade cabinets without missing a beat, like he was just some quick-time event in her escape, before she'd darted out into the busy street and disappeared.
What pissed him off the most was that she hadn't even looked at him when she did it.
When he'd wandered back to the game she'd been playing to flick through the high scores, they were all the same, a list of nothing but her gamer tag, "ZUA" down both columns- No wonder she didn't care about inputting her scores, there's no competition; But what was the fucking point, then? His scowl as he swiped his card for credits had only grown more sour the longer he'd played. Gaming was one thing, but to complete such a simple story over and over - it was the least interesting instance of insanity he'd ever seen. He'd finished the campaign in roughly thirty minutes, watching the ending cutscene with mild interest while he waited for the leaderboard-
Tomura hadn't even come close to beating her most recent run; his score had barely scraped the top five.
Every blink of the text input seemed to mock him as he flicked through the familiar letters, leaving behind a parting blemish on her flawless reputation. Just when he'd been ready to leave, his sneaker slid across the carpet, and Tomura had lifted his heel to glare at the garbage that had gotten in his way; A tiny piece of laminated paper, sun-bleached, bent, and peeling at the corners.
It was undoubtedly hers- He hadn't seen another sole that wasn't his or hers step foot back here since he'd started coming.
"... Huh."
Nails dug into the underside of his jaw, reopening wounds that hadn't had time to heal as he contemplated picking it up - It was trash, probably a fan card for some hot shot Pro-Hero that had fallen out of that ratty sack she kept slung over her shoulder. He should ignore it, leave it on the ground to be picked up by the cleaning staff or some kid, whoever found it first. He could kick it under the edge of the machine, banish it to the shadows to rot with the dead bugs and candy wrappers where it belongs;
He picked up the pink business card at his feet, smearing its foggy covering with streaks of scarlet as he turned it between his fingers.
"Hikikosaibe Cafe-" Tomura squinted at the flowery script, the title pasted on top of the stitched-together promotional image of two airbrushed AI maids bracketing an outdated computer screen. "A maid cafe? You've got to be kidding me."
This girl made no fucking sense.
That had been the same thing he'd thought the first time he'd spoken to her; He'd just wanted to know why she'd been standing at that stupid game for hours, playing through the campaign over and over until he had its unimaginative dialog memorized. The answer she'd given him made perfect sense- she'd been grinding through the game until she reached her desired outcome, a goal with no real benefits aside from bragging rights, but a perfectly acceptable reason to be wasting away her afternoon in an arcade.
Her explanation hadn't satisfied him.
Who fucking cared how long she spent playing a game released long before she was born, chasing useless achievements and cookie-cutter endings until her fingers bled- Which wasn't even some stupid poetic metaphor with her, because she'd picked her skin raw the entire time they'd talked, peeling it back from pastel painted fingernails and bleeding rivets onto the crackling plastic gun while she tore through the final level.
He couldn't tear his gaze away from her wounds, watching as her nail beds filled with red- not that there was much else to see. The dim arcade lighting offered little enlightenment, and he preferred it that way most of the time. It was the worst in the back corner she had claimed for herself, barely lit by the bursting gunshots of her rail shooter and the lone bulb flickering overhead. Even if he had glimpsed her face through the mess of her hair hanging heavily against her cheeks, it would have been impossible to get a decent look at her-
Tomura wasn't sure why the hell he cared what she looked like, and that really pissed him off.
Today she'd pulled her hair into two bushy braided pigtails that had already begun to unravel- It was better than that plastic daisy-shaped-thing she'd clipped it all back with the last time he saw her, but she'd still stuck those pointless little pink pins into it, even though he can't remember a time he saw them actually do anything.
With the tournament time drawing near, Tomura reluctantly slips out of his spot tucked between two of the heftier enclosed shooters that marked the edge of her domain. A sudden uproar from the front of the arcade turns her head towards where he remains tucked into the shadows, and for a second, he thinks she might have spotted him- Then the nasal voice of the announcer comes screeching through whatever sad excuse for a sound system they'd rented for the event, and she returns to clicking away at her stupid side-scroller.
The air in his lungs feels like damp cotton, soaked through by the bile churning in his stomach; He crumples his empty drink can, digging his fingers into the decay until it falls through them like dust, and hopes the feeling floats away with it.
The arcade is busier than he'd ever seen it, filled to the brim with nameless NPCs drawn in alongside the normal crowd of nobodies by the promise of a cash prize. When the first opponent in his bracket cringed at the peeling scab that was clinging to his jaw, Tomura knew he'd already won. These hero-based brawler games were all the same, and so were their players; Brainwashed do-gooders who pick their character based on preference instead of hard stats, smashing the attack keys and pretending the blocking mechanic didn't exist- Brute strength worked for All Might, so why wouldn't it work for them? His opponent startles at the dry chuckle Tomura gives the thought, and the end begins-
Tomura's second opponent, a teenage Endeavor main who couldn't keep his mouth shut, managed to deal some damage- Too bad that he'd been too busy gloating to notice the rising power bar at the bottom of the screen, and hadn't had the reflexes fast enough to dodge the final blow. The kid had barely even been able to muster the half-hearted "GG," he mumbled before sulking off into the crowd; Which was fine. Tomura couldn't care less about post-match pleasantries.
As he sank against a wall to wait out the end of the round, he spied her again, lurking along the edges of the sweat-stained slackers and schoolchildren to watch the chaos unfold. Another match was wrapping up nearby, the sole female player of the line-up jumping back from her game with an irritating squeal before skipping over to declare her win; Unfortunately, she would most likely be his next opponent, a Midnight main who focused on special moves and wore a stack of plastic bracelets that clacked together from her spamming- It would be another easy, and incredibly irritating, win for Tomura.
The opponent was unimportant, a buzzing fly for him to swat down; Nothing compared to the thorn that had somehow found her way back into his side.
Horror game-girl maintained an ample distance, standing just far enough away to watch without risking being drawn into the festivities. Funny, she didn't look like the type to be interested in fighting games, Tomura thought as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, breathing deep into the comforting weight sitting against his stomach. He watched her drift between the machines, weaving through the crowd until she'd made it to the wall. Those pastel fingernails caught his attention again, her palm dragging across the peeling paint and posters toward him until she slowed to a stop a meter shy of where he stood.
A stream of sunlight cuts through the shadows, falling across the top of her hair- brown, maybe a warm black- as she turns to watch some teenager completely steamroll over one of the cockier corporate drop-outs that had chosen to play from her spot tucked against an unused machine, and that acidic cotton clogs up his throat again. Jaw tense and his nails biting deep into his palms, Tomura wills her to just look up, dammit- But she doesn't obey. Her posture is almost too familiar; Head down, shoulders slumped, arms held close and her phone clutched to her chest, all the signs of someone who was trying their hardest to blend into the undergrowth.
And then the yelling starts, and Tomura Shigaraki watches every muscle in her soft little body tense at the sound.
What now, final girl?
Tomura had taken notice of the argument steadily rising in intensity near the center of the competition's crowd. The hot-headed kid he'd just demolished had decided to argue with the event coordinators about his placement, but had been keeping the conversation almost civil; Until some nobody looking to feed his savior complex by "speaking up for the little guy" or whatever those idiots told themselves they were doing instead of voyeuristically fisting themselves to satisfy their ego decided to chime in- And as usual, the "hero" had done nothing but aggravated the situation. The surrounding crowd lurched back as the hot head activated his quirk, thick oil dripping from his pores and pooling across the dingy carpet toward plastic bracelet girl's shoes. The other idiot came to the rescue, his arms stretching like rubber bands to pull her out of the way before throwing the first swing.
Through all of this, Tomura kept his eyes fixed on the frightened mouse that horror-game girl had been reduced to, too curious to see what she would do next.
The last thing he expected her to do was to begin frantically ripping those pointless pins from her hair and emptying her pockets into her purse.
"... Huh?"
He watches, face so twisted in confusion that it makes his headache, as she quickly tosses the bag behind the nearest machine and shoves it into the shadows with the toes of her sandals- Then she sinks into the wall behind her without bothering to see if anyone was watching, disappearing into the grimy black paint with a quick breath, and Tomura smiles.
Now that's a reason to be interested.
The wall is cool, solid against the back of his hand as he lays it against the spot where she'd sunken into, watching the peeling paint for any sign of movement as he picks up the flimsy fabric of her bag with two fingers and loops it around his wrist- Devices clack against each other it swings against his calf, it's contents heavier than he expected.
So you have her stuff, now what? What's the next step? The voice at the back of his mind hissed, familiar yet far away, and Tomura couldn't stop the cringe that stiffened his shoulders. Surely she'd want her stuff back, but after that- it was a lackluster plan at best, betting solely on the odds that she was too skittish to accuse him of theft once she'd realized he had it.
There's only one way to find out.
Pushing through the murmuring crowd clogging the arcade entrance, Tomura finds her pacing the pavement outside, peering through the fading tint of the windows. The whistle of a policeman who had finally noticed the noise from down the street startled her so badly that she nearly slipped off the curb. He had to repress his sigh at how pathetic this plan suddenly seemed- but it was much harder to ignore how sick it made him feel.
The knots in his intestines pulled taut when she finally seemed to see him standing there. It's maybe worse that he can't be sure if she had, not when her eyes remain hidden under that curtain of hair- but so are his, so he guesses that means they're even. It doesn't take long for her to notice the bag in his hand, her head moving in tiny increments to look down at the tattered tote, then to the slowly calming storm behind him, and back to where she must assume his eyes would be.
Well? Come get it then, he wanted to yell across the dirty pavement, but the sound caught on the dusty cobwebs coating his tongue, turning it into a ragged sigh- Tomura dangles the bag between them with two fingers, and waited for her to make the next move.
Take the bait, final girl.
It's like a switch flips; Suddenly she's coming towards him with the measured confidence of someone with an endgame in mind, and Tomura second guesses whether he was right to assume that she wouldn't cause a scene over something so stupid- A scab comes apart beneath his fingernails as she stops in front of him, tucks her hair behind her ear, and bows too shallowly to be considered polite.
"Thank you, I- I must have forgotten it inside."
She lied with so much confidence it was almost impressive; Almost, if it hadn't sounded so mindless, like she'd practiced it in a mirror, making sure those big brown eyes never left him while she lied through her teeth- definitely practiced, maybe a little too much. Her honest, mousey demeanor returned once she'd managed an excuse, attempting to hide her fidgeting fingers by taking the bag and looping it over her arm. Tomura shoved his bloodied fingernails back into his pockets, and again, found himself waiting for what she might do next- Would she check the bag to make sure he wasn't a thief, hide it among casual conversation so she could keep him stuck there while she looked? Or maybe she'd skip the stupid pleasantries, take her things, and run.
It doesn't shock him that she does neither.
She was weird.
For a moment it looked like she was going to double-check that he'd not stolen anything- then she pulled a box of band-aids from her bag, fumbled with the packaging for a moment, and sucked the blood dripping from her thumb before wrapping the broken skin. Those useless pins appear from her bag next; One by one she sticks them between her teeth until she'd found them all, and he can't pull his eyes from that plaster, too pale for her skin and covered in stupid little strawberries as her fingers twist her hair back from her face.
Her skin was darker, warmer than what he would expect of a girl like her- Not Japanese, or at least only half, Tomura guessed, which wasn't as uncommon as it used to be. Not since the hero society brought over foreigners with flashy quirks to be traded like collectibles, since quirk marriages formed an international market for trafficking, and since mutation well, mutated the appearance of humanity to be exactly the opposite.
Like it mattered, everyone looks the same when they're dust-
"... Not a fan of crowds, huh?" he asks, attempting to mimic that mocking nonchalance she'd used before.
The sudden question stops her hands short of pinning back part of her bangs, but she never lifts her gaze from where she'd stuck it somewhere between their feet.
"Oh, uh- I just don't like getting caught up in those kinds of things."
Look at me when you talk. The words claw up the back of his throat only to be ground between his back teeth as his jaw locks shut- Her hair red is, not brown like he'd thought before, a dark, rusty crimson that she continues to pin back with more precision than it had ever been before, and suddenly that gnawing sense of curiosity scratching at the inside of his skull stills itself. Now that he can see what she looks like, maybe he can stop fucking caring-
But she looks nothing like what he would have expected from some girl who spends her free time killing zombie clowns; She looks like a normally abnormal twenty-something, soft in stature and sweet in a drowsy sort of way that curdles his stomach.
It's the absolute worst thing she could have been.
Tomura Shigaraki is still unsatisfied.
