Assassin Among Heroes Chapter 39

“So, what do you think?”

Nighteye rubbed his chin and stared at the gaping wall, noting the flaking concrete crumbling from its top. The officer frowned and moved to ask again but the hero cut him off. “You said this was the result of a disturbance?” 

“Noise complaint. The neighbors called 119 and said there was a huge ruckus going on, like a bulldozer was running through this joint. I came in a squad car with another pair, and the door was wide open. We rang the doorbell, but no one answered, which was weird since dispatch told us this place wasn’t abandoned. My partner and I made a judgment call and came in, but then we found this,” he gestured to the wall with a grimace. “This is real fresh, so we called for backup.”

“I see. And the other rooms? On both floors?”

“Mostly clean, and in a bad way. There was stuff there until recently, and I’d bet my salary this wasn’t a normal moving day. The forensics team is gathering evidence, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this place wasn’t some regular homestead.”

The hero nodded, already anticipating the answer. He’d seen similar patterns far too often not to recognize when a drug den was recently scrubbed. “Mostly?”

“You saw that blood puddle in the front yard, right?” At his confirmation, the officer turned and walked down the hall, to which Nighteye quickly followed. Pushing past forensic investigators and camera-wielding officers, Nighteye noted every detail of the building. He would have preferred Bubble Girl to assist him with note-taking, but she was outside, helping investigation efforts with the rest of the force. Not to mention the press, who started pecking at any scrap of information like vultures. 

“Well, there’s more than one, and these are big ones.” He was led to a small sitting room, and sure enough, two large bloodstains marred the sofa and floor beneath it. Waving the forensic team away for a moment, Nighteye kneeled down and examined the stains with narrowed eyes.

“That is a significant amount of blood, not the result of a minor injury. Fatal wound?”

“Most likely. But we haven’t found any bodies anywhere in the building. There was a suggestion of knocking down some of the walls, in case they stuffed them inside, but these-”

“Are fresh. The blood hasn’t completely dried and I assume there’s no sign of recently painted walls or loose floorboards yet.” Nighteye finished, eyes never leaving the bloodstain as he attempted to piece the scene together. “Whoever cleaned the house did it in a hurry. They had time to remove incriminating evidence like bodies or anything drug-related, but not enough time to do a thorough clean-up.” He glanced at the gloved forensics officer who stepped away. “Anything else about this blood I should know?”

The gloved policeman hesitated, but a pointed glare from the other officer loosened his tongue. “We haven’t been able to determine the method in which it was spilled, and that’s if we’re lucky. We managed to gather fingerprints from the sofa and the nightstand, but it’ll take time to match them to our database.”

“What about the camera above the front door?”

“There’s a blank spot for a computer on the top floor, first room to the right. The camera was connected to it.”

Nighteye clicked his tongue and adjusted his glasses. “Of course. Does the other giant hole in the wall at least provide more clues than what we’ve seen?”

Humming in annoyance at either the shared predicament or the question, the escorting officer exited the room, with Nighteye not long behind. The hole in question wasn’t far ahead, and it led to a very similar scene to the one before; total pandemonium and utter destruction. The only difference was the lack of blood, or at least an overt amount of it. 

“Strength Enhancement Quirk,” the hero stated as he took in the scene. “Undoubtedly caused a rampage. Once the Quirk user came to their senses, they packed up whatever they could, burned the rest and left.”

“Goddamn villains,” the cop cursed. Nighteye refrained from mentioning since this was a private building, technically the perpetrators couldn’t be labeled as villains since they didn’t use their Quirks in public…but if they were drug dealers, then the whole argument was moot anyway.

“Yes, unfortunate. Anything of note here other than rubble and ruined furniture?”

“...there was one thing.” They approached another forensic specialist who lifted a clear bag. Inside was a knife, covered in dust. “This was found buried under rubble near the desk, or what’s left of it.”

Nighteye leaned forward and, with permission, held the bag aloft. “Blackened, well-sharpened, and quite weighty. Any prints?”

“Nothing yet, but this was used recently. You see the slight shaving along the edge?” the specialist asked. “The blade was given regular sharpening, and the handle wrap’s been worn down from constant use. This wasn’t lying in some drawer.”

“So, other than that, we have no leads?” the cop snorted. “Great. There goes the next few weeks.”

Nighteye hummed as he kept observing the knife, mulling over every fact and piece of information. If this house was a drug lab, then whoever ran it wouldn’t throw it aside easily. Houses like these were an investment and given time could produce a good quantity of drugs. If this house was trashed, then a few possibilities were plausible, but one seemed the most prominent: someone had discovered the safe house - or something sensitive inside - and it was no longer safe to keep around.

Chemical analysis of residue will determine the drugs used here. As to the house’s ownership, it was rather obvious even if you weren’t a first-class detective. 

“I’m guessing the bastards didn’t leave a forwarding address?” the officer asked with all the dryness in the Sahara. “And if we were to take a look at city hall records, we’ll find some nanashi listed as the owner?”

“We won’t know unless we try,” Nighteye replied, though the answer was rather rhetorical. Organized crime, such as the yakuza, didn’t advertise its ownership of property. 

But the longer he stared at the knife, the discomfort in the back of his head wormed further. The whole situation, when comparing it to recent troubles, portrayed a more troubling picture than a mere panicked evacuation by a crime lord. The Hassaikai’s increased activities didn’t bode well for anyone in the city, and he feared this was merely the final act of the prelude. So why…

The knife hung in the plastic bag, coated with a thin layer of dust. The blade didn’t shine against the light and he saw no reflection. Not a weapon some second-rate thug or villain would possess. Rather, it suited someone who didn’t want any trace of himself being present.

…it couldn’t be this soon, could it?

But the facts slid into place neatly.

“Specialist, may I borrow this for a second?”

The specialist blinked and turned to Nighteye. “Um, sir, that’s evidence. I can’t have you tampering-”

“I will not remove this knife from its bag or take it outside the premises. I have a suspicion as to a crucial aspect of who was involved in this incident, but I need to make a phone call or two to be certain. Is that acceptable?”

The specialist hesitated, then looked to the officer, who eventually shrugged. “If you think you’ve found something we’ve missed, then go ahead. Sir Nighteye has my permission, as long as he stays in the building and returns the knife.”

“...alright. I’ll add this to the report though, just in case.”

“Much obliged. Also, will you be part of the team responsible for the analysis of the drugs back in the precinct?”

The officer blinked four sets of insectile eyes. “I’m pretty sure of it, yes. Why?”

“Can you hold out your hand?”

Although thrown off, the officer did as he was asked. Nighteye grasped his hand -

Coffee. Chatter. Laboratory. Screens.

The experience barely lasted three seconds.

“The drugs’ main compositions are mainly outsourced, Latin American cocaine and heroin smuggled through ports in Kobe where screening is handled lightly compared to neighboring Osaka. Deemed safer to handle than fentanyl which draws too much attention. A cheaper strand hid inside avocado containers and allowed through thanks to a bribed customs official working on Pier Three. Hired Villain muscle will be involved, I advise coordinating with local heroes. Routes are primarily vehicle based, but there are discrepancies. The Trigger is homegrown, likely in Shizuoka itself, requiring large amounts of chemicals sourced from parts unknown, but native to Japan.” He paused for a moment as the images of his Quirk faded and filled in the rest with his personal deduction. “With such large volumes of hazardous material, empirical evidence and logic suggests their main facilities are underground or on city outskirts. And please ignore any pop-up ads in the future, no matter how compelling.”

Silence swept upon the cops, gaping in confusion until the full ramifications of his words hit them. A usual, if bothersome side-effect of clairvoyance.

“D-did you just…?”

“A case of this importance cannot tarry. We must cut off all branches before they sprout further,” Nighteye said. “I will forward my findings via secure email.”

He then left the room and the stupefied cops behind, wandering through the house until he came to a relatively empty corridor. He pulled out his phone and dialled the new contact he’d added recently, his foot idly tapping the floor.

“Sir Nighteye?”

“Detective,” he greeted. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“No, but one sec…” Rustling and hurried footsteps sounded on the other line. “Okay, now I’m free. What’s up?”

“I’ve come across some information that might interest us both. Tell me, do you have descriptions of Shinigami’s weapons?”

“Domino’s footage is the only one in our records, and I witnessed the murder firsthand, but don’t get your hopes up. That memory fuzzing extends to his weapons, at least when he’s holding them.”

“What about his victims? There are detailed examples of several fatal wounds he left on them. Did the medical examiners determine the type of weapon used to inflict such injuries?"

“That’s one of the few facts we’ve managed to get consistently in this case. Why? Do you have a knife with you?”

“Astute observation.” He took several pictures of the bagged knife and sent it. “This was found today in a ruined drug house in Shizuoka’s south-western area. Shows no prints so far, but does show signs of repeated usage and maintenance.”

Tsukauchi hummed for a few seconds. “...blackened, about 18cm long, standard form with serration, unusual for throwing knives…I’m not a betting man, but if I were, this would cash in at any poker game.”

Nighteye’s eyes narrowed. “A strong possibility then?”

“From what you’ve told me so far, I wouldn’t be surprised. You said you found this knife in a drug house? Any corpses you can match it to?”

“Unfortunately, no. The owners removed the corpses, but they did leave blood.”

“Maybe a blood splatter analyst could determine what left them there.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Nighteye replied. The knife was devoid of any blood, but records showed that Shinigami used multiple knives. If he used the same type, then the suspicions would only be confirmed.

“How are things on your end? Any luck with new clues?”

A frustrated groan blared from the speaker. “Nada. We’re scouring and coordinating with heroes as best we can without alerting the public as to our intentions, but we’re plowing up old ground, and we can’t divert too much of our attention before other villains become opportunists. There’s been no new reports or even hints of reports. What little we find ends up being so cold it’s worthless. It looks like he’s gone over to your end for now.”

The bespectacled hero frowned as he stared harder at the bag, lamenting that his Quirk couldn’t be used on objects. This was a line he couldn’t allow Shinigami to pass. Whether he was a visiting Tokyo native or moving here to cement a new base, it was irrelevant. “I’ll contact Chief Tsuragamame and ask him to deliver your intel on Shinigami to the Shizuoka PD’s chief. With luck, I’ll have you as an official liaison on this case. Then I can persuade the chief here to enact a full inspection of all entry and exit points to the city. With this, we’ll also track down any Hassaikai shipments attempting to leave. I am not letting any of these criminals parade in my city like it’s their personal killing field.”

“A multi-pronged attack on two enemies…who are also fighting each other. I don’t think the yakuza will take kindly to one of their cash incomes being neutered.” The detective chuckled. “I’ll get right on it. But fair warning, I’d hurry up if I were on your end.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘wrong’...more of a heads-up,” Tsukauchi sighed and Nighteye could see his lips pressing together in his mind. “The HPSC’s been prodding us.”

Nighteye raised an eyebrow. “The Safety Commission?”

“They’re rather antsy about our…setbacks in arresting Shinigami. They haven’t done anything except politely inquire, but they’re insistent. Every message they leave, they end with statements like how ‘this dangerous, destabilising factor to society must be removed lest others follow in his chaos’. Yeah, he needs to be stopped and he has a fanbase, but the first is a given and the latter is the internet.” Full of infinite stupidity. “They even offered to help with our efforts, but the chief declined them, stating that this was a joint effort with the police at the helm. They haven’t knocked on our doors lately after we started the mass patrols, but if they find out he’s in Shizuoka, they might come knocking at your doorstep.”

Humming, Nighteye scanned the area again to ensure no one was listening. The HPSC’s desire for involvement wasn’t unusual. Some villains needed to be handled directly by more hero-affiliated channels, and there was an unspoken agreement between them and the Japanese police departments that any incident started by one will be handled by one, with the other not interfering save for an invitation. Despite this, especially with cases extended beyond wanton villainy, the HPSC had a habit of…posturing. Trying to interfere in inserting themselves in prominent cases, as if regulating Quirks and Hero licences wasn’t enough. Even All Might wasn’t spared their prodding, trying to divert his attention to more ‘prominent’ cases rather than the community service he often participated in. Nighteye remembered well how he rebuffed their efforts: polite but firm. The Symbol of Peace worked best without the constant nudging of government agencies. 

Every Pro Hero used HPSC resources, but as a general rule, they preferred to solve their own troubles. Some old colleagues of his once stated that the HPSC was like a public transport app: you use the base features every day, but don’t click on the ads.

Crude, but rather apt. Not to mention the odd rumors that arose from their more covert divisions…

“Your warning is appreciated, detective. Rest assured, I have experience in dealing with the HPSC’s reach. Let me know if they attempt anything and I’ll advise the best I can.”

“I appreciate that, Sir. If there’s anything else, then I’m all ears. Otherwise, I’ve gotta bounce.”

“That will be all for now. Have a pleasant day.” With those words, he hung up the phone. Heading back to the room, the hero’s mind whirled with thoughts of the future. There were many things to do after returning the knife: talk to the chief, conduct his own investigations, ensure the Hassaikai weren’t tipped off…the list was long, but a prophecy of chaos if he allowed it to continue unchecked. Yet one thought stuck out amidst the others:

‘If Shinigami left his knife here, when he’s shown to be able to retrieve them at will…add the ruined walls, how did the confrontation here go down? And where is everyone involved?’

-x-

“...”

Grey dust clouds dance in the soft winds of the Valley. The endless whispering of countless souls, flickering in and out of existence, wafts in the air with no rhyme or reason. Shadows loom and creep in equal measure over the towering cliffs and endless stretches of sand. Azure fire blooms and dies within the myriads of tunnels that dot the cliffsides. In the distance, the blue haze, leading to parts unknown, stands vigilant and immobile as it swallows the sea of will-o'-wisps whole, shining its light against the perpetually darkened skies above.

Many would call the Valley disturbing if they were privy to its true nature. I wouldn’t blame them; places for the dead leave people uncomfortable, much less a place like this. I felt much the same at first, during my first days of training. But over time, I became accustomed to its sounds. Better, I drew a…sort of comfort from it. It was a constant companion at this point, helping me anchor myself during Muraqabah. Sometimes, when I strain my Concealment to its limit, I hear the Valley’s ethereal melody playing in the distance.

Now? I try. I desperately try, with all my heart, to reach out and grasp that same comfort. But when I finally hold it in my hands, just as I start to hone in on its presence, it slips away. Leaving only a slowly gaping hole.

A blue wisp floats past me. It lands on the ground, crawling and spreading like a drowning man reaching shore. I lift my head slightly and stare as it sputters along the sands. On occasion, its extensions resemble arms and hands.

Was it simply the nature of this place that made these souls act like so? A confusion that sets in once a person, no matter who, realizes that their time has passed? Or is it echoing the last moments of their life, peaceful and desperate in equal measure? 

They do not scream, at least that’s a small comfort. How did this one die? If its behavior really was an echo of its life, then it couldn’t have been peaceful. Was it agonising? Long and drawn out? Or were the dread and horror before those final moments so strong that they overshadowed the death itself?

A titan breaking the earth. The walls are closing in. Colossal and unyielding. 

My fingers grip my knees as my breath hitches and I look back down. The sand ripples underneath me, and from the corner of my eye, more shadows dance. I try to concentrate only on the music of the Valley, but it’s only a token presence. 

I dare not even stare high, for fear the shadow might morph into it.

Absurd. Yet here I am, cowering in the umbral.

Another shadow approaches me. Tall and imposing, yet utterly silent. I don’t even hear the grain of sand being disturbed from their bed. Between my arms and the ground, I glimpse pointed iron boots.

The hole roars, and I hold my tongue.

“Thou hast proven determined to cloister thyself. In here and in the waking world.”

I sit in place, face buried in my arms, but say nothing.

“Thy practice is lifeless, driven only by retention and reflex. The drive that once roared within thee has been smothered to mere embers.”

Shame compounded upon shame.

“One incident, one failure beyond the scope of thy control, and thou art reduced to this. A far cry from the boy I met all those moons ago.”

All I can do is crawl into myself.

“...are there any words thou wish to say?”

“...I still see him. Them. In the dark.” The floodgates don’t open as much as they rise an inch. “One of them, sometimes both at the same time…other times they always switch. But they always wait. They try to grab me or cut me down and I can’t move. I can’t even Conceal myself; they see through it. I just…lie there like a vegetable.”

A helmet. A bird’s head. A fusion of both, it doesn’t matter. Always accompanied by the same earth-shattering stomps. An overwhelming presence that drowns me in despair and I can’t escape it. Doesn’t matter where I go or what I throw at them; they keep coming.

I expect a rebuke. A chiding. Hell, even a huff of dismissal. I could process that, bear the emotional onslaught, then work to find a solution.

Instead, he remains taciturn. I brave a quick peek and see him gaze at me with those blazing eyes, armored hands firmly clasped over the pommel of his colossal sword. I’ve known Mawla when he’s upset, annoyed, or even angry. But this? This blank stare?

I’m not sure whether to be afraid or ashamed.

So we stay, me avoiding his judgment, while he tries to pass it on me. The sand keeps dancing in the wind, and the wisps veer around us on their journey to the unknown depths of the blue maw.

“...I may not be aware of thy innermost thoughts, contractor, but thy emotions are laid bare upon each of thy entrances to this Valley. It has been festering in thee when thou fell to the wrath of the Berserker, lingering in the recesses of thy psyche. I had hoped that, with proper meditation and continued training, this taint would be expunged.” He glances around, staring at everything and nothing all at once. “It appears I was…mistaken. I had underestimated how deep the scars of thy encounter ran.”

I lean against the obsidian cliffs and hold back a snort. “I did too.” That lie’s so blatant I almost apologize. I saw the flashes long before the yakuza house. In the streets, at school, in my bed. On missions, in school, and when I was with Mom, I held it in, unwilling to let it distract me. I felt something was off, something I only encountered once, back when I donned the mask for the first time. But I had no euphoria of newfound powers to drown out the dread and helplessness. And now it came back to haunt me, magnified.

“What do I do?”

My voice cracked as the question hung in the air. For the first time, I didn’t want to put on the mask. Why would I when it meant I had to face those…juggernauts, against whom my efforts do nothing?

And Mawla’s response is equally disheartening. “I fear that any words I offer thee will fall on deaf ears. There is a grip upon thy mind that no Muraqabah can remove.”

A scoff escapes my lips. Great. Some Hashashin I’m turning out to be. “Bet the others didn’t act like this. The other assassins, I mean. They probably charged headfirst and didn’t give two shits if they lived or died.”

“They endured where thou hast failed, true. Those who bore my name took it upon thyselves to embody the highest tenets of the faith, and no earthly force stopped them. No matter the task they were given, success was their only option.” His resonant voice drops an octave. “Nevertheless, they were failures. When the moment of truth arrived, all save one wavered in their convictions. Faltered when it mattered most. And when their failings risked the Order…they paid dearly.”

My hands grow clammy as they tighten their hold on my knees. I have a feeling Mawla was more than involved in the payment for those failures. “Then why are you even bothering with me?” Because right now, I’ve gotta be the stellar example of ‘faltering conviction’ alive or dead.

He goes silent again…but there’s a sentiment in that silence I barely manage to pick up. It almost feels like…dare I say it, hesitation.

“The Hassans were carriers of my name and faith. They were the sword in the dark of the Nizari. Utter devotion to the cause was their being, and even when their faith wavered, their belief in the absoluteness of their mission was ironclad. I forged them into living incarnations of what it meant to be fedayeen, to give their life with no regrets to the creed I set upon Alamut. Wraiths in life as I am now in death.” He reclines his head. “Thou art not any of those, for I never sculpted you to be one.”

“Then what am I?”

“...something new.”

I finally lift my head and stare into Mawla’s burning eyes, confusion seeping through my depressed state. Yet despite my questioning glance, he says nothing else. 

Something new? What is that supposed to mean?

Eventually, I sigh and finally force myself up. “I suppose I should get going. Mom’ll notice if I’m sleeping too much.”

Mawla dips his head and I turn around, focusing on my anchor beyond the Valley. As the sand swirls around me, my teacher’s voice rings out with the force of a bell.

“Contractor.”

I glance behind me. He hasn’t moved from his spot, only the cape fluttering in the swirling wind. His finger rises from his sword’s pommel, but quickly sets back down.

“...if thou truly wish to purge this poison, thou must confront it. Else the spectre of fear shall always bind thy limbs. Thy predecessors squashed their fears; thou must overcome them.”

What’s the difference?

Before I can ask, though, the sands obscure his form and he vanishes from sight, leaving me alone as everything fades away...

-x-

I awaken in my room and immediately lick my lips. When I try to move, my bones groan in protest. Yeesh, how long was I out?

“Hey brat, you still alive?”

Mom’s call from yonder kitchen breaks through my grogginess and I force myself up. Walking to the kitchen, I’m greeted with the familiar sight of my mother raiding the fridge, hair wild and barely brushed. 

“About time you got up,” she exclaims. “I know it’s the weekend and all, but you shouldn’t sleep in too much. I tried waking your lazy ass, but you didn’t so much as budge.” She pulls her head from inside the fridge, then blinks. 

“Are you okay, Ritsu? You’re reminding me of my exam weeks in college.”

It takes me a moment to realize what she means, but when I do, I rub the skin under my eyes. Is she saying I have bags?

“Um, I’m fine,” I say. Unfortunately, my idiot brain registers that half-asleep statement too late, because Mom narrows her eyes at me and leans against the now-closed fridge. 

“Ritsu Ogawa, haven’t you learned by now? You’d think that sixteen years of living together taught you something. One more time: is something wrong?”

Shit. Can’t lie now, but what else can I say? Maybe if -

…screw it, it’s not like I need to hide this.

I rub my forearm and look away from her. When I do answer, I hate how small my voice sounds.

“...it was nightmares. From…that villain attack.”

Her suspicion vanishes in the blink of an eye. She rushes up to me and starts checking me over, gently brushing where my damaged rib was. 

“Is there anything I can do? Are the wounds acting up? Do you want me to call the doctor?”

I shake my head. “I’m not feeling the injuries, Mom. It’s just…memories.”

She gently grabs my chin and forces it up, staring into my eyes. Her thumb brushes my cheek as a breath escapes her, and the sheer concern in her gaze further twists my insides. Without another word, she brings me closer and embraces me, laying my head upon her shoulder. I blink at the sudden reaction, but slowly move my arms to hold her in return. For several long minutes, we stand there holding each other, and if her shuddering breath is anything to go by, we're both trying not to lose it. 

The earth-shattering stomps still echo within my mind, and the shadows from the windows rise and flicker into towering shapes. Shutting my eyes, I force myself to focus on my mother’s heartbeat. Anything to not see it again.

“I’m here, Ritsu. I’ll say it as many times as I have to, I’m here,” she whispers. “I won’t let you go through this alone, do you hear?” She pulls me back long enough to reveal her glistening eyes. “If you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay? It doesn’t matter if I’m at home or neck-deep in a case, the moment your name comes up, I’ll drop everything and answer. So don’t you dare keep this mess to yourself, okay?” 

I nod and she hugs me again. One extra portion of shame to add to my entree. 

“Cheeky brat, giving me gray hairs so early…” she says with mirth. Finally, we separate, and she wipes away the few stray tears before biting her lip.

“Do you want to do anything else today? Any schoolwork or the like?”

My mind turns up empty as I scramble for an answer. Honestly, I didn’t have anything on my plate at the moment, what with foregoing any training beyond the usual. I actually used the spare time to complete a few school assignments and some studying - Mom’s inquisition is bad enough, I don’t need Makoto-sensei’s extra attention - so I didn’t plan on anything beyond -

“You were going to play video games all day, weren’t you?”

I am not pouting. Or blushing. Her twitching lip is more than enough.

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but not today. Why don’t you get some fresh air?” She claps my shoulder wholeheartedly, then her smile briefly falters. “Holing yourself up isn’t going to help you with this.”

I was starting to go a little stir-crazy, but there was one problem. “Where would I even go?”

“Hmm, how about the World Collection? Or maybe that nice park we used to visit?” She taps her chin, and I’m taken aback by how much thought she’s putting into it. “I don’t want you to wander off too far, somewhere that’s not too full of people, that’s bad for stress…”

She keeps muttering and rattling off places, even as I rifle through locations myself. The museum sounds nice, but…I’m not feeling it. For once, I’d rather not look at anything that resembles a knight.

No, don’t panic again. Not in front of Mom.

A park sounds nice, but what do I do? Walk around? I mean, it sounds nice and I’m all down for enjoying a view, but it doesn’t sound appealing right now.

Any thoughts, Mawla?

He doesn’t reply, though I can feel his lingering presence. I hold back a sigh; his going silent isn’t a good sign, but if what he told me before meant anything, I was on my own for this one.

“Hey, I have an idea!” Mom suddenly exclaims, snapping me from my ruminations. “What about asking Shiki?”

I blink, taking a moment to process the question. “Shiki? What about her?”

“You could ask her if she wants to hang out,” she replies, completely serious. 

“Mom, whatever it is you think is going on, it’s not.” I deadpan. “I get you’re worried about me in that regard, but there’s nothing between-”

“I’m trying to help you, Ritsu, and this has nothing to do with your dating life,” she interjects and swipes a finger at me. “Letting your thoughts spiral in private is just as bad as locking yourself in. Having someone to talk to, even if it’s completely unrelated, can do wonders.”

I don’t hold back the scoff. “Since when did you become a psychologist?”

She smirks and raises two fingers, with one hand on her hip. “First, I’m your mother, and I know you better than anyone on this godforsaken ball of dirt. That makes me ten times better than any psychologist. Second, studying human behavior is a big part of being a lawyer. How they think, what can steer those thoughts, their motivations: it’s all part and parcel of legal work. The best lawyers are the ones who not only read their opposition but also predict what they’re going to do based on their daily lives. Laws are, in the end, written to respond to human behaviour.” The smirk vanishes, but she continues. “I’ve seen more than enough clients, both mine and opposing, whose problems could’ve been solved if they had someone to confide in or to vent to. Bottling up your issues will only hurt you in the long run.”

“...I’m not exactly sure that Shiki would appreciate me using her as a verbal punching bag,” I reply. Even if she was the only person who knew about my double life, it feels strange.

Mom shakes her head. “I never said that, and I did, that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to talk to her specifically about the nightmares; you can talk about literally anything, as long as it keeps your mind distracted. It’s not like you don’t enjoy being around her.” Again with the coyness! “Come now, mister, don’t give me that look. Every time you come back from your little playdates, you really smile. Not one of your smart-ass smiles or the ones you give me to throw me off the subject, but a real smile. When was the last time that happened outside of a museum?”

I frown as I take in her words. She had to be exaggerating. I’m not some emo who thinks life is miserable and there’s no joy in the world! I smile plenty! Just because she doesn’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s true!

She exhales and pinches her nose. “Cheeky and stubborn, what a son I’ve raised…at least call her.”

I move to protest, but her glare freezes me in place. She really wasn’t gonna back down from this. 

With a begrudging huff, I grab my phone from my room. Dialling her number, I place the phone near my ear as Mom watches me with the precision of a hawk. Another first: when I don’t want someone to pick up the phone.

Alas, my luck is still in the pits, because the dialling ends in three rings.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi. It’s me, Ritsu.”

“I know, I can read your ID,” she says flatly. Ignoring Mom’s gesturing to get on with it, I take a deep breath.

“Listen, can I come over today? Or we could hang out somewhere near your house?”

“...you want another spar?”

“N-no, not today. Not feeling it.”

The seconds tick by as I await her response. Mom tilts her head while my finger taps the phone case. Did I screw it up? Was I supposed to say something before? Ask about the weather?

“Okay.”

“Wha-really?”

“Sure. I’m bored myself and I don’t have any homework. You can come right now if you want.”

“That’s…great. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“See you soon, then.”

The phone hangs up and a tension I hadn’t felt before suddenly evaporates. Was it really that easy? I turn and witness the terrifying sight of my mother’s Cheshire grin in full force. I brace myself for another round of teasing, but all she does is point to her lips. Slowly, I raise my hand to my lips. Huh.

I…don’t know what to make of that.

“What are you standing around here for?” she exclaims and starts pushing me to my room. “I want you out of the house in ten minutes! And I’ll be calling you soon, so don’t think of running off!”

“Didn’t you say that it was important that I go out for some fresh air!” I yelp and catch the shoes she throws at me. Bismillah, what is up with her? Didn’t we have an emotional bonding moment right now? What happened to ‘if you need anything, I’m right here?’

“That was before another human being invited you to their home of their own volition, and it’ll help a hell of a lot more than staying here.” She wipes an imaginary tear from her eye. “Oh, how fast does my wayward son grow!”

…I should’ve stayed in bed.

And thus, after being almost thrown headfirst out of the house, I proceeded to Shiki’s house. I didn’t have time to pick up my mask or any of my gear, which was a bummer…but then I recalled what I said to her. No sparring today, just hanging out. That last part is still in the planning stages. A train ride and a calm walk later, I find myself before the mansion’s gates.

I walk up to the doorbell under the simple plaque with the name RYOUGI in black ink and ring it. Fortunately, I don’t have to wait long because the gates open after the first chime. Now, I could’ve snuck in through the bamboo grove or the usual hole in the wall, but what would be the point? 

Stepping into the grounds, I’m greeted by Shiki herself, instead of her father, wearing her blue yukata. That was good; one less round of intimidation to go through.

“Yo. How are you?” she asks. 

“I’m…decent, I guess,” I reply with a shrug. Half-assed answer, I know, but it's the best one I can give at the moment. Her expression doesn’t change in the slightest, but I can tell she’s trying to decipher that answer. Good, so am I.

Her stare remains focused on me and I resist the urge to fidget. I can’t be this bad at talking to people. But what should I even talk about? Or rather, what can I talk about and not bore Shiki to death?

“Follow me,” she suddenly says and turns around, heading into the house. Blinking at her sudden motion, I nonetheless hurry up and keep pace with her. We walk through the old pavilion, the floorboards occasionally squeaking in tempo with our steps. Likely intentional. A few servants pass us by, bowing at Shiki and quickly leaving. Servants - another reminder that this girl is rich in ways that my plebian brain is struggling to comprehend. Are they even called servants in this day and age? Maybe maids or butlers? No, that’s European and I’m seeing a distinct lack of suits and ties; all of them wore traditional clothing, the only outlier being an apron a woman wore.

We finally reach the little zen garden behind the house. Water trickles from the small fountain and splashes on polished white rocks before descending into the pool. A willow tree hangs above us, its leaves casting a kaleidoscope of shadows upon its roots and the delicate patterns on the sand. Birds chirp from between the surrounding bamboo stalks. It’s rather soothing, and combined with the rest of the scenery, gives the garden a tranquil air.

When we stop under the oak tree, we stand in silence for a while. Part of it is just to take in the garden, but mostly because I still don’t have anything else to say.

“...what have you been up to lately?”

“Not much. I haven’t gone out killing alone since we met, if that’s what you mean.”

I wince at the bluntness of her admission. If I weren’t able to tell that no one was eavesdropping, I’d be concerned. 

“No, just…like in general.”

Shiki hums. “Answer’s the same. I go to school. I come back, train with Father, learn more from my mother, then walk here or in the grove until bedtime.”

“Sounds…calm. I mean, if that’s what you like doing then-”

“You can say boring. I know I don’t have hobbies.”

Well, she doesn’t sound offended. Better steer away from that topic, just in case. “You have any friends at school?”

Shiki slowly blinks and tilts her chin upward in thought. “I don’t hang out with people after school. Too noisy and I never really saw the point of it. There are a few that I’m…fine with. There’s Ayako from archery class, Fujino, Azaka and Yuuko from the same homeroom, and Miyazuki sits with us at lunch.”

I mentally file away those names, nodding all the while. “Sounds nice. I don’t really have people I hang out with, even if it’s at school, present company excluded.”

“I figured.”

I send a deadpan glance at her response. Okay, maybe that’s not completely true. My teammates from Makoto-sensei’s debate assignment have started chatting me up between class periods, Edelfelt and Kurokami in particular. Mostly it’s pleasantries, but they’ve probed me about several topics regarding heroes and philosophy of all things. I don’t know if this is a ploy to recruit me into the debate team…but it’s not as uncomfortable as I thought it’d be. Does that count as hanging out? Maybe, but I doubt it.

“What’s eating at you?”

I sharply turn to meet her nonplussed stare. “I could tell the moment we started talking on the phone. You don’t seem like the type to casually want to hang out. Meaning you want something, but if you did, then you would’ve said so already. So what’s wrong?”

…Am I that obvious?

With a begrudging sigh, I lean against the willow’s trunk and stare at the grandiose house, looming as a sentinel over us.

“My latest outing, it didn’t go so well. Scratch that, it was a disaster.”

“How so?” she asks.

“It’s about a wave of Trigger drugs. My latest investigations led me to seek their source outside of the city, and I discovered old yakuza remnants were behind it. I hit a drug lab and managed to work my way inside when…” I swallow. “I got ambushed.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Ambushed?”

“It was one guy, but he was huge. His entire body looked roided up, and he had the temper to match.” 

“Did he see you?”

“Not exactly…” I cross my arms. “I don’t think he actually saw me, but when I saw him…you remember the knight? Back at the zombie apartments?”

She nods. “Hard to forget something tearing through concrete like it was paper.”

“Well, when the yakuza busted down the wall…I saw him. The knight. It was exactly like before and…” Swallowing down my queasiness, I press on. Just throw it out there. Admit your shame so you can brood in silence. “I shut down.”

I sit myself at the tree’s base and hug my knees. Inhaling deeply, I try to force the memory of those earth-shattering steps back down. To forget how all the strength and skill I’d garnered through my blood and sweat was spirited away.

“In the end, I managed to run off without a chase. That’s the only good thing that came out of the trip.”

A passing breeze sends tiny ripples in the small lake and carries stray leaves in an acrobatic dance. I raise my head and glance at Shiki, who’s staring down at me with no hint of visible emotion. It’s more observing than judgmental, a trait I picked up from our spars. Whenever we faced each other in her dojo, it was impossible to throw her off or distract her.

“So what’s the problem?” she asks in her usual detached way.

I bite my lip. Isn’t it obvious? “I don’t want to risk everything I’ve built by facing him again. If I break down one more time, I don’t think I’ll be able to snap myself out of it.”

She hums and suddenly sits down beside me with perfect posture, gazing at the flowing sands of the garden. Odd move.

“That fear…what’s it like?”

“Horrible,” I reply instantly. “It’s like claws digging into every pore of your flesh and trapping you in tar. The world closes in and all you can do is watch until you fade to nothingness. You’re as helpless as a hatchling without its mother and the predators come swooping down.” The grip on my arm tightens. “I absolutely hate it.”

Shiki listens, lost in the garden’s view, but I don’t believe her mind has wandered. For several minutes, we sit there, observing the sculpted nature around us. 

“Sounds messed up,” she says. “But I’m not sure what to say.”

I scoff. Figures. “You’ve never been afraid of anything? Hard to believe, even for you.”

She shifts in place, and I see it. At the last second, her eyes imperceptibly narrow before returning to their usual placidity. Yet her words carry a hidden steel that piques my interest.

“There are all sorts of fears. Most of them don’t come from the monsters outside.”

…huh.

She shifts in place, smoothing out her yukata. “This yakuza…did he have armor? Some invincibility quirk?”

I pause and think. “No to both, I think he was just absurdly strong, or his quirk made him so.”

“Then he bleeds, right?”

“I guess? Where are you going with this?” I ask.

She turns to me again and I find myself sitting up straight.

“If it stops you, cut it down until it doesn’t.”

There’s a gravitas in those words that I can’t place, but the sheer simplicity in that statement…it’s pure whiplash. I want to laugh in absurdity, but only a dry wheeze exits my mouth. She’s completely serious.

“Is it really that simple?”

“Works for me.”

I try and press my point. “I don’t trust myself to pick up that knife.”

“But if you do, you could win, right?”

…maybe? If there’s a good enough plan.

“I guess so, yeah. It might be harder, but I could cut him down.” Am I just saying that to make myself feel better? To entertain the belief that I won’t fold the moment I see those towering goliaths?

“Then don’t think too much about it. Focus on the end goal and push everything aside. Then it all passes away.”

Another breeze flies past us, swaying her cropped hair. Only the birds witness us, me staring at her in befuddlement, and she returning it with utter surety.

It can’t be that obvious. Didn’t she hear anything of what I said?

“...I wish I had your confidence.”

“It’s not about confidence.” She then gets up and motions with her head. “Come on, we’re heading to the dojo.”

I blink. The dojo? “Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because there’s a cloud of stupidity hanging over you and it’s starting to annoy me. Beating it up will help.” I open my mouth to interject but she’s quick to continue. “I have spare gear. It’s a bit looser because you’re a boy, but it shouldn’t be too problematic. Now hurry up.”

Any protest I have dies on my throat at that pointed amethyst glare. With a weary sigh, I pick myself up and follow her. For some reason though, my lips curve upwards.

What a strange girl.

…but I really hope she’s right.