Slayer Anderson

Mind Games - Chapter 21

As promised, the next chapter of Mind Games is here!

Not much to say other than that. I'm hoping to get one more chapter out before/with the end of the month Monday night. Likely, it'll go up with the new poll for April, so look forward to that.

As for what it's going to be? I'm thinking either more Mind Games or The New Ron.

Not sure right now, but I'll start later tonight. The one that doesn't get chosen will start off the new month while the poll runs.

Thank you again for all your support and know that I'm extremely grateful for it.

The Hand We're Dealt - Vote:

So, I've been going back and forth on a few things as I finish up the next chapter of Mind Games, which I should have out later today.

Next chapter of The Hand We're Dealt will feature a timeskip and the Spanish-American War will have developed a lot further. I'll keep the exact circumstances under wraps for now, but here's a question. As Patreon supporters, you have a chance to shape some of the stories and details, and this is one such chance.

Should Andrew Jackson survive the war?

Feel free to discuss in the comments.

Edit: Short History Lesson on Andrew Jackson...

Andrew Jackson was the last elected President to have served in the Revolutionary War and held a deep and abiding hatred for the British after his time as a young boy (13 IIRC) when he was put on a disease-invested prison ship and nearly died. After nearly dying on the march back home, he recovered and went on to serve in the state militia and make a name for himself.

Jackson was active in local politics and won a seat in the US House and Senate from Tennessee, but left both prematurely because he preferred the military life, hated politics, and was infamously quick to anger. That last characteristic is why he fought at least two dozen duels over the course of his life, eventually dying with several bullets still lodged in his body.

His rise to national fame came during the Battle of New Orleans, where he defended the city from a British invasion using a hodgepodge force of black freedmen, American Indians, Creole militia, regular army, and pirates. It was here that he attained something of a folk hero status as a decisive and intuitive leader as well as a man of the people. Jackson also led military incursions into Spanish Florida and created the fear of a war that led Spain to sell Florida to the US.

Jackson ran in the 1824 election and was narrowly defeated despite receiving a plurality (but not a majority) of the electoral vote. He dubbed the backroom dealing a 'corrupt bargain' and resigned from his senate seat in protest. Running again in 1828, he won and proceeded to move forward with a political agenda that strongly favored the rural agricultural class as well as the slave-holding south. He was staunchly Unionist and wielded the power of the federal government like a cudgel at times, openly arguing with his former Vice President over the issue of a State's Right to Nullify certain tariffs that were economically damaging.

He was, ultimately, a populist who supported small farmers and hated large businesses and banks especially. The first great economic depression in American history arguably led to his election as an anti-elitist candidate who promised to abolish the National Bank and put power back in the hands of the states and local banking institutions.

He's most infamous for the Trail of Tears, in which American military units forcibly drove Native Americans from their land and resettled them in Oklahoma. A significant number of these people died during the forced march during a brutal winter and is generally agreed-upon as an act of genocide or ethnic cleansing today. Many Native Americans felt betrayed by the man who had led them into battle as a militia commanders years prior, but Jackson felt that the Indian population was fundamentally not American. In order to secure the agrarian ideal and supply the increasing population of the young country with land to settle, the Indians had to be moved.

The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 10

“What's a hunter?” The Professor asked a tad scornfully, then shook his head. “You'll need to use that Gear of yours to read up on current events more, boy.”

“I'll endeavor to do so, Master,” I replied with a nod.

“But there will be time for that later, when my guests aren't on their way,” he grumbled, then gave me another glance as he inspected my cleaning. “Hunters... they're a relatively new phenomenon, a result of the vast wilderness of the continent to our west. What do you know of the creatures that inhabit those lands?”

“Not a great deal, sir. I've been more concerned with studying lore and magical knowledge,” I admitted, grimacing.

“Another oversight we must see to,” he grunted, sliding a weathered hand over rough wood and coming up with no dirt or dust. “Skunk apes, the Leeds Devils, Sasquatch, the Moth Men, Wendigos... fearsome creatures one and all, many of which interbred with the savages that populated this land before we civilized it.”

I bit my tongue and kept my expression bland as I nodded.

“I know little of whether the Indians allowed this practice willingly or if it was forced upon their women as sometimes happened in the Old World, but... the end result was that they were greatly culled by the diseases the Spanish brought over. Hopefully a few even went extinct.” The Professor paused, surveying the dishes and utensils before continuing. “But unlike the natives, these creatures breed closer to base animals and, therefore, have repopulated faster.”

Given I knew what often happened when humans encroached upon areas they weren't welcome with normal animals... “They've attempted to return to their old habitats, haven't they?”

A warning glance was shot my way, but the old man nodded. “Every now and then you demonstrate a brain that isn't merely a function of your Gear. Hmm... yes, that is the short of it. It was before the revolution... colonists began being attacked, small settlements wiped out, travelers gutted and eaten in ways that made it obvious it wasn't the work of vampires or ghouls.”

I saw where the tale was going, but knew I'd already been warned once.

One warning was all I'd get before being disciplined.

“Like seemingly everything in this land, various groups joined together for self-defense. A few witches and wizards who knew a bit of herbalism, some half-blood native shaman, a few exiled knights and inquisitors from the Old World, and more besides.” Professor van Beek paused, gathering his thoughts as he rubbed at his hairy chin. “Men and women of ill-repute, mostly. People who had been cast out of society for good reasons, but now saw a chance to earn their way back in by providing a service no one else could.”

Toss a coin to your Hunter, huh?

“Many of them died a desperate fool's death,” the Professor snorted derisively. “But a few managed to prove themselves. There were even rumors that some of the old witch-hunters, vampire slayers, and devil-killers sent agents to train them. I know for a fact the Papists had Exorcists take advantage of the Revolution to insert agents in Maryland.”

There was enough of a pause that I felt safer 'interrupting' his lecture this time as he continued his inspection.

“They do not sound like the kinds of people you would approve of receiving as guests, Master,” I observed, my tone as neutral as possible.

Unexpectedly, the man barked a laugh, the sound hoarse and gravely from disuse. “Hah! No, they do not at that. Thankfully, they have reformed themselves these past three decades. They are now only mostly composed of brigands and disreputable thugs. There are a few good apples in that basket of deplorables.”

“As Master says,” I nodded, busying myself with the last of the cleaning.

“Boy!” The Professor called, turning and frowning at me suddenly.

“Yes Master?” I asked, doing the same to him in a show of attentiveness.

“Under no circumstances are you to allow the Hunters Guild to know about your Sacred Gear. As much of a layabout bookworm as you might be with no respect for tradition, I don't need the aggravation that their interest in you would bring...” He paused for a moment and scowled. “And you don't want the attention from the Abrahamic Factions when one of them inevitably lets something slip.”

At this, I felt myself reflexively swallow.

The Gremory might be one of the 'nice' devil houses, but as with these 'hunters,' there were a lot more rotten apples in the bushel than there were unblemished ones. Likewise, Azazel might have been depicted as a quirky mad scientist in the work I'd once read, but there was too much in the records I'd read of the Grigori's Governor General's human advisors to simply dismiss all of the gory details. And that wasn't even touching on the Fallen that simply loathed humanity in general.

...and I'm not sure if I could take serving the contradictions and hypocrisy of the Church.

Well no, that's a lie. The struggle would be putting up with the dogmatic bullshit until I was high enough in the chain of command to enjoy the hypocrisy and contradictions.

In theory, I'd be able to manage it, but I knew myself well enough to say that the years of subservience it would take to climb to a position of power would grind me to dust. I wasn't the kind of person that could exist under that kind of institutional weight without being changed and twisted. More than that, I would have to conform to a great lie and make it the truth of my existence.

It would suck, in other words.

And that was all with the added complexity that the Catholic Church was going to cease being a temporal military power in the next few decades, unless things went radically different than what I knew. Granted, having the Spanish-American War almost a century before it was scheduled and, if rumors were true, kicking off an early Mexican Revolution was going to throw a wrench into the gears of history, but Napoleon had already set into motion the unification movements of Germany and Italy when he'd invaded and reorganized the regions.

Nothing like the occupation of your lands by foreign troops to turn a pack of squabbling city-states and principalities into a single national identity, eh?

On the flipside, though, were the butterflies I'd set into motion and the turbulence their wing-beats would kick up. The Italian Unification, in particular, wasn't the period of history I was most fluent in, but I knew the basics of the Risorgimento. Of particular import was the fact that it had only really kicked off after the Revolutions of 1848, which meant that the people who would one day be taking part in that tumultuous time period...

...would be born, mostly, in the next decade.

And I'd just accidentally started a major intercontinental war. Or, really, enlarged one by drawing America in on the side of the United Kingdom against Napoleonic France and Spain.

Many areas of what we would, centuries later, think of as integral parts of 'Italy,' were even now under occupation by French troops or had been turned into vassal states by Napoleon. Spain, too, held more than a few 'Italian' under its sway. Given that those two countries were now in a completely different war, entire armies could be displaced. Soldiers would be in different positions, they'd meet different women, settle in different places after the war, die different deaths...

The ripple I had created when trying to prove a man's innocence had turned into a tidal wave threatening to sweep aside everything I knew.

On the one hand, it was terrifying to be walking a completely unknown path.

On the other, it was exhilarating to see a new history unfold before my very eyes.

None of that even touched on the magical world, though, and there were even stranger things at foot to tamper with human history there. Even if the Olympians, the Norse, and the Egyptian pantheons were no longer the power and force that they once were, they still had significant influence to wield when they desired to.

Of particular interest to me was the legends of the Fates and their counterparts in the other deific realms. Was it just a passive monitoring of destiny? Did they enforce it? Was there a design to the weave of fate or was it a random sprawl of meaningless threads only sometimes directed by a higher power?

Obviously the God of Abraham had been proclaimed to be omniscient and omnipotent, too, but he might very well be dead and gone.

But even if God is no longer in His heaven, are the surviving archangels still keeping to His design? Do they know what He intended? Or are they just, pardon the pun, winging it?

“Boy! Pay attention! Pfeh, what goes on between those ears of yours?!” The Professor shouted, sending me a scathing look.

I flinched back from the reprimand and out of my thoughts. “My apologies, Professor. I didn't mean to get lost in my woolgathering, I was simply pondering the role of predestination on our earthly existence.”

Marteen van Beek looked as though he'd bitten into a lemon as he eyed me. “Were it any other, I would call you out for the liar you were and beat you with my cane until you learned better. Sadly, you are strange enough that I am given to believe your truthfulness.”

I ducked my head, keeping the smile off my face. “My apologies again, Master.”

The Professor snorted. “But today you are an apprentice sorcerer, not a theologian in training. Do away with these thoughts and come with me.”

I murmured an affirmative and followed the old man – how old was he if he casually name-dropped the Revolution? - out the door.

While I pondered the question of my master's age, a subject he'd been studiously opaque on, we made our way across the great field in front of the university and towards the town. Any other day, we might have taken a carriage, but the sun had finally deigned to show itself and dry the roads out, so we were taking the short walk to town ourselves after being cooped up for some time by the weather and laboratory work.

Finally, as we made our way into town, my Master suddenly perked up at seeing a man in a traveling cloak accompanied by a younger figure...

Both had blond hair which shone a few shades lighter than even my own in the bright daylight. Most of their clothing was covered by their thick cloaks, but I could easily see a pair of thick boots on each of them. More than that, though, were the large packs they both wore on their backs that reminded me of some of the more absurd moments in anime where a wanderer walked in carrying a coffin or a giant cross or similarly bizarre giant weight on their back.

Thankfully, neither of them looked quite that ridiculous, but...

I blinked as the younger figure – just a few years older than myself, perhaps twelve – came into focus. Their hair had been allowed to grow long and was bound in a braid down their upper back, while the elder – likely their father from the resemblance – had cut his short.

But it was their faces that truly leapt out at me.

“Marteen! I thought for sure you'd finally died on us!” The blond man called cheerfully, the slight cant to his voice denoting a foreign accent I couldn't place, but the cant of his eyes told of eastern heritage. Normally, I'd say that blond hair meant he'd be a half-blood like myself, but...

Well, one of the boys at the university did have blue hair.

Not even dark blue hair that could be dismissed as black with a certain sheen to it. No, it was sky blue hair that testified more than any mystic artifact that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

“Tyler!” The Professor barked back, his eyes narrowed. “If you're still half the idiot you were ten years ago, you'll be in the ground long before me!”

I blinked, almost missing a step. The man had said it, but really...

He actually had friends?!

“Hah!” 'Tyler' barked back, a young dog to the Professor's old as I met eyes with the younger of the two, who perked up at seeing someone their own age and grinned, offering a wave. I smiled back and replied in kind, neither of us willing to speak up as our respective guardians were talking. “Good to see you again, Marteen. And don't tell me you actually found a woman willing to put up with you?”

The last was said with a tilted head in my direction.

I could feel the old man roll his eyes. “Hardly. The boy is my apprentice, an orphan I picked up with some meager talent. Henry Bell.”

“Sir,” I greeted with a nod, offering my hand. “A pleasure to meet a friend of the Professor's.”

One blond eyebrow arched high as he extended his own and carefully shook mine. “Well aren't you polite? Tell me, did that come pre-taught or has the pupil surpassed the master in that regard?”

Marteen spat and shook his head. “The boy knows better than to be careless with his relations before he's proven he can take care of himself. Henry, this is Tyler Drake and-”

“Yan! Yan, Drake. My son,” Tyler stated, clapping the child on their back and pushing them forward slightly.

The Professor grunted and nodded, accepting the name. “I suppose that would make traveling easier.”

It wasn't all that difficult to understand, even if the revelations meant strange things were afoot. In particular, I noticed that the child a few years older than me still had enough baby fat to conceal a definitively feminine shade to her face. It was only obvious if you knew what you were looking for, though, and knew to look in the first place, which most people wouldn't care to. She was still young enough to be labeled a child and children were only important when you needed something simple and labor-intensive done. Or had to feed them.

“Hey! I'm Yan,” she greeted me with a boyish grin, a worn brown tricorn hat cocked on her head as she pronounced the name with an odd lilt that spoke of a concealed accent.

“Henry,” I nodded, extending my hand out for another shake automatically.

'Yan' looked at my hand for a moment, cocked her head, then spit into her palm and clasped mine. “Nice ta meetcha Henry!”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I replied, feeling my face twitch as our hands squelched.

“You kids make yourself scarce,” 'Tyler' ordered as he turned back to my master. “Don't go too far, Yan, and stay out of trouble. I have things to talk about with my friend.”

“Alright, Dad!” The blond grinned and set their huge pack of luggage down next to their father before grabbing at my arm and pulling me away. “C'mon! Show me around!”

“Fine, fine, stop tugging on my arm,” I grumbled, sighing as I was pulled away from a far more interesting discussion to play tour guide.

“So, your name is Henry?” She asked, turning with a smile. “You look about the same age as my sister, Ruby.”

“What name does she use when she's traveling with your father?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, she's not old enough to-” Yan began, then twitched and smacked herself in the face before turning towards me. “Ugh, dammit! You better not tell anyone! I'll be in big trouble if Dad finds out I slipped up!”

“I'm not telling anyone,” I shrugged it off. “Besides, the Professor has known your father for a long time. I'm pretty sure he'd know you're actually a girl anyway and tell me later. You're supposed to be lodging with us.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You talk weird. Is it 'cause you're a wizard or whatever? Like the old man?”

I cut a glance around, but there weren't too many people out and about with classes going on today. “Yes, but that's a secret too. Just like yours. Only a few people at the college know my master and I are sorcerers.”

“Ri-right,” she nodded, her blond ponytail bouncing, then she perked up and smacked one fist into the palm of her other hand. “Oh, that makes us friends! Sharin' secrets like that.”

I had the urge to be petty for a moment, then shrugged it off. “Sure. Uhh... welcome to Hanover, I guess?”

“Huh, it's that all there is to it?” Yan asked, looking around.

“Pretty much,” I shrugged. “Hanover's a small town. Most of the people work at the college or do stuff for people at the college or sell stuff from the farms outside the town. I can take you to see the Connecticut River, though? It's pretty close and looks neat.”

“Sounds good,” she nodded, adjusting her heavy brown jacket as she followed me. “So what do you and the Professor do with all that magic stuff?”

I hummed. “My master is focusing his research on geomancy-empowered greater magics.”

“What's that at home?” She pressed with a frown.

I rubbed at my chin for a moment and sighed. “It's like... there's magic in the Earth and there's magic in people. Magicians use magic in themselves to cast spells. Sorcerers can do stuff that lets them pull magic from the Earth to make their spells bigger and nastier.”

Blue eyes sparkled with interest. “Neat! So... why don't magicians do that?”

“Cause it's hard and takes a lot of work to do right,” I replied, falling back into a more casual speech pattern as I began to relax. “And if you do it wrong you mess up the spell and probably die. Maybe even blow yourself up.”

Yan snorted and laughed at the image.

“So... what are you and your dad doing here? Just passing through?” I asked, given the Professor had been as opaque as usual for his own dealings.

“Dad's taking me on my first hunt!” Yan grinned proudly, crossing her arms. “Supposed to be some ghouls causing trouble up north in Quebec and the Guild sent us to take care of it.”

“Good luck on your hunt, then. Ghouls are dangerous. The Professor and I were attacked by vampires on the way back from where I used to live,” I replied.

Yan's eyes widened. “No way! You've got to tell me all about it!”

I chuckled and began doing so. In this time period, when there was no internet, no television, no radio... stories were the most available form of entertainment. Even the most annoying story from a grandparent you'd heard a dozen times before was better than simply staring at a wall in boredom. Having an entertaining story or a few good jokes could also get you out of a few nasty scrapes with other children your age if you were in the unenviable position of not being able to hypnotize them into compliance. Even then, I'd managed to get myself through a few run-ins with the local 'street-toughs' that hung out around Hanover by trading jokes in place of punches.

“That's amazing! I almost can't believe it... you're not having me on, are you?” Yan asked intently, narrowing her gaze as I got to my own contribution to the fight.

“I'm not, no.” I frowned and looked down at my hands. “For some reason it just... clicked? Like, suddenly everything made sense and I just... did it.”

Remembering the sensation of holding blades of fire in my hands and fighting the vampires last year was... strange. I didn't often recall it, or have any real reason to, but the whole fight had just been a bit odd in hindsight. While I wasn't all that athletic overall, in that moment I'd felt energized and ready for action in a way that didn't line up with my more thoughtful and planning-oriented personality. While it was nice to have fantasies of kicking ass and taking names, I'd long-since contented myself with the life of an academic.

...and this life wasn't any different, not really.

I had no desire to go out and tangle with the various supernatural nastiness of the world, even if I knew that choice might be taken from me someday. Regardless, I was in no rush to face anything like that again if I had any choice in the matter.

“Ya' might have what it takes to be a Hunter,” Yan commented Idly, clasping her hands behind her back thoughtfully as she looked me over before flashing a teasing grin. “C'mon, show me whatcha' got. I'll go easy on you!”

So said, she hopped a few quick steps back and...

A candle-flame's worth of supernatural energy flared into existence, the power curling and twisting like flame itself and feeling as though it were concentrated sunlight as Yan raised her fists.

Something inside me stirred.

Despite knowing with absolute certainty this was a bad idea, I felt myself slip into a combat stance that... felt right.

I shook my head, wondering at the sensation.

I'd been confronted with violence several times in my life at this point, but... this felt different. This felt like that night on the road with the vampires.

Yan grinned as she stepped up to throw a punch, obviously slow, but-

-I deflected it and, on autopilot, stepped into her guard.

Her eyes widened and she stepped back, ratcheting a forearm against my wrist and throwing my own punch off-target. “You've got good instincts, Henry!” She said the words as if they were rehearsed, likely having heard them from someone else and just repeating them.

“I don't know why I did that,” I confessed, surprised at myself.

“Only one way to find out!” Yan cried and threw another punch.

I stepped out of its way, feeling a shot of adrenaline course through me as I realized she was taking it much less 'easy' on me than before.

Step.

Block.

Kick.

Block.

It was an intricate and thrilling dance as we moved together, trading blows as my pulse thrummed and instincts I didn't know I had woken up. I'd dismissed the fight against the vampires as some residual knowledge trickling into me from awakening my Gear, but that was over a year ago now.

This was something different.

Another round of blows and I could feel myself flagging, but I didn't want to stop.

Fun. I'm having fun fighting. What the hell...

It was decidedly out of character for me. Even the runaround games children played in this time barely held much amusement for me. I had no desire to engage in stupid fights that could end in injuries that could get infected, but this...

I caught a blow across my shoulder and tumbled with it into the grass, my breath heaving.

“Oh shit!” Yan cried, bouncing over to look down at me in worry. “Henry! You okay?”

I couldn't help it.

I laughed.

“Hahaha!” I giggled, my voice high-pitched and childish like I always tried to hide, my amusement wearing away at my cool temperament.

Yan blinked, then grinned widely. “Hah! I knew you had it in you! Are you sure you're a wizard and not a Hunter?”

“I dunno...” I sighed, the laughter dying down but the good chemicals still surging in my brain. “It just... it felt like my body knew what to do and I just let it.”

The common thread between that night with the vampires and today?

A supernatural opponent.

Even if there hadn't been real 'bullies' at the orphanage, in the classic sense, the older kids let you know when not to get in their way with a few thumps. And they liked to fight amongst themselves. On the rare occasion I'd been caught off-guard enough to get dragged into one of their scuffles... nothing like this had happened. Even when I'd been cornered by the older students a few weeks ago, I'd felt nothing but cold annoyance and cool logic.

“Might be in your blood,” Yan guessed, reaching out a hand to pull me up. “One of your parents might'a been a Hunter or something. Dad says kids that have parents in the Guild are better at fighting and stuff.”

“That I do,” a voice chimed in, and Yan and I both turned to see her father and the Professor standing some distance away from where we had our impromptu spar on the grassy field near the river.

“Oops,” Yan muttered, wilting.

Tyler Drake, a man who probably used that name in place of Taiyang Xiao-Long, gave his daughter an unamused look. “Oops is right. I felt your aura surge, Yang-er-” He flicked a gaze my way and sighed. “Yan. I told you we were supposed to be keeping our heads down.”

“My boy is to blame for some of it,” Marteen stated with a growl as he looked at me. “He's the host and he should know better than to behave like that in public.”

I ducked my head in some measure of real shame.

I really should.

“No, it was my fault!” Yan cried, spreading her arms to deflect blame. “I called Henry out on what happened when the vampires attacked your carriage! I didn't believe him and wanted proof.”

She ducked her head and repeated herself. “It's my fault.”

The two older men exchanged glances, my master scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“Vampires, eh?” Tyler asked, raising an eyebrow at the Professor.

“A few stupid fledglings that had struck out on their own. Nothing like what we saw during the war,” Marteen snorted.

“Maybe I'll get that story later tonight over a tall glass,” Tyler smirked, then turned back to his daughter. “No dinner tonight, Yan. If you'd done this closer to the target, you might have endangered both our lives. Maybe a night with an empty stomach will teach you a lesson.”

Yan winced, but nodded. “Sorry, Dad.”

“I'll let you off this time, Boy,” the Professor growled, turning from me. “But any more stupidity and you won't enjoy the consequences.”

“I understand, Master,” I stated, bowing slightly.

“Well, come on,” Marteen stated. “Let's get the two whelps out of here before anything decides that was an invitation to cause trouble.”

“My thoughts exactly, though... whenever your boy gets done studying, Marteen, if he can still move like that he's got a place in the Guild.” Tyler offered.

Yan perked up and nudged me with elbow, showing off an untarnished and unapologetic grin.

I gave her a small smile before my expression faded into a thoughtful frown.

'Maybe it's in the blood?'

That was... an interesting question, and one that complicated my already muddled feelings on whatever heritage I might have.

As we walked back to the house, my thoughts spiraled back towards the prohibition against taking Catholic Mass. It made me wonder... had my father or mother been a lapsed member of the cloth? Someone who'd left the church or been excommunicated for some reason? Perhaps I had the blood of an Exorcist running through my veins?

An Exorcist that had come over during the Revolution, then joined the Guild?

Perhaps they'd had an affair with someone while still nominally a priest or nun and been sacked from the clergy for the offense?

I shouldn't get married to a single theory just yet. There are any number of potential families or groups that have a long legacy of fighting supernatural threats.

And that was just the human side of things. In theory, I could have non-human heritage that had simply run thin enough to pass for a pure human. Perhaps that could be the reason?

Later that night, Yan quietly munching on a day-old piece of bread I'd snuck her after dinner, I stared at the golden ring hanging from the leather strap around my neck. Once again, it was clean and featureless, refusing to yield any clues about who I was or who my parents might have been.

I shook my head and rolled over, dropping the ring and feeling the cold metal press against my chest.

The only thing I knew was that I likely wouldn't have any answers in the near future.

~~~

Alrighty, here's chapter... and I'll be putting up another new thread for this one in a few hours, so look forward to that.

I hope everyone enjoys the new chapter and I'll be trying to get two more chapters out before the month ends. At least one of them will be Mind Games, so don't worry about that.

The last one? Not sure right now.

Thank you for your patience and your support once again.

The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 10

Alrighty, here's chapter... and I'll be putting up another new thread for this one in a few hours, so look forward to that.

I hope everyone enjoys the new chapter and I'll be trying to get two more chapters out before the month ends. At least one of them will be Mind Games, so don't worry about that.

The last one? Not sure right now.

Thank you for your patience and your support once again.

Mind Games - Chapter 20

“So, how do I look?”

My father turned, blinking owlishly at me... and stared.

“Uhh... don't take this the wrong way or anything, Hitoshi, but... I think you're a little overdressed,” he commented, amused and bemused simultaneously.

I rolled my eyes. “Dad, don't worry about it. Just... any smudges or stains or anything? Is my tie straight? No wrinkles?”

“Hmm...” The chronic insomniac rumbled, taking a few steps around me and giving me the once-over thoughtfully. “No, you look fine. Very professional. Reminds me of myself when I was still trying for job interviews years ago.”

 Bittersweet nostalgia was like a soft wind.

“I still think you're overdressed. A first-night meet the parents thing doesn't really need a fully-pressed set of slacks and a dress-shirt with a tie,” Niko commented with a shake of his head. “Honestly, you look more like a junior salaryman than anything else.”

“That's perfect, then,” I snorted, pulling out a small glass bottle.. “Exactly what I was going for. Do you mind if I use a little bit of this?”

My father blinked again, perplexed as he looked at the decorative bottle, then warm humor and old sadness swept in. “Where'd you even find this, Hitoshi? I thought... isn't this the gag gift your mother got me that one year? This cologne smells awful. It's why I've never worn it.”

“I pulled it out of the cupboard under the sink in the guest bathroom while I was looking for that old bottle of aftershave. That had actually gone bad, though, so I threw it out,” I waved him off and double-checked the bottle of sake he'd gotten me. “Thanks again for picking this up, by the way.”

“No problem, I know you'll be responsible wi-wait,” Niko stopped mid-sentence and shook his head, holding up a hand as the turbulence of confusion swept over us. “I... I trust you, Hitoshi. And I know you'll make the right decisions, but... I don't think I'm out of line to expect-”

He cut himself off again, making vague motions with his hands before settling for saying, “-some kind of explanation? Please?”

I paused in my final preparations, sliding the box of moderately-expensive chocolates into the bag with the rice wine and reached up to rub thoughtfully at my chin. “There's an American expression... 'Keeping up with the Joneses,' are you familiar with it, Dad?”

“I think I've heard it somewhere before. Maybe a movie?” Niko muttered after a moment's confusion. “Isn't that one of those cultural jokes that doesn't translate well?”

I frowned and nodded. “Kind of. It's a turn of phrase used to describe people jockeying for social position using material wealth, bragging rights over otherwise meaningless accomplishments, and the presentation of an – often fake – idyllic family life.”

Understanding started to enter my father's eyes as confusion lifted into muggy and cloying irritation. “Ah. Those kinds of people.”

The phrase might not translate well, but its meaning apparently does.

“Are you sure you want to keep dating this Himiko girl if you have to put up with that kind of...” Niko waved his hands again.

“Assholes,” I replied dryly.

Dad choked on his own spit, coughing and laughing at the same time while the atmosphere shifted abruptly to match his mood. Managing to contain himself, he affected the veneer of a stern demeanor. “Hi-Hitoshi, language young man! B-but yes, those kinds of people. You need to ask yourself if this relationship is worth putting up with them long-term if this is what you have to go through to even have dinner with them.”

I considered my answer again as I matched my father's gaze. “I'm... going to exercise my right to be annoyingly cryptic and mysterious here, because the answer would take a lot longer than we have before I need to leave, is that alright?”

Niko's face smoothed out into an exasperated deadpan. “I think I liked you better before you hit puberty, became a teenager, and learned how to be sardonic.”

I raised an eyebrow, pressed my hands together, and gave a too-formal bow. “This humble one can only reply that he learned at the feet of a great master of the art and still is but a student.”

A gentle spring rain's worth of humor sprinkled the room as Niko snorted. “I suppose a cryptic answer is better than none at all, then. Hit me.”

There was the momentary impulse to continue the joke with a soft tap to my dad's shoulder, but I hadn't been lying about needing to leave soon. From how Himiko had described her parents, they wouldn't understand the concept of 'fashionably late,' or if they did, they wouldn't approve of the notion at all. Instead, I took a deep breath and cleared my throat before shifting my demeanor and footing.

“Toga Himiko currently stands at the crossroads of her destiny,” I explain, injecting gravitas and an air of ominous energy into my words that made my father's back stiffen in surprise. “Poised at the intersection between two futures, the instruction she has received bars her from properly understanding the weight her decision will have on the person she will one day become.”

Sensing something more serious was afoot, even if he couldn't intuit the larger context of my declaration, Niko frowned. “And... you need to be the one to give her that instruction? For some reason.”

“The weave of the Loom of Fate is a complex thing that even one such as I cannot know the purpose of each and every thread,” I stated. “While I refuse to force her down one road, my ability to see with eyes unclouded allows me to serve as a guide.”

“...why do I get the feeling this has to do with your job?” Niko asked, the heat of mild frustration and bitter chill of helplessness mixing chaotically. “Your other job?”

“Feelings are an attunement to one's own soul and often offer insight that the conscious mind cannot properly understand,” I grinned, breaking the weighty mood and relaxing my shoulders as I turned from my father to grab my bag.

“Ugh,” the older man grunted. “Fine, fine... just. Call me if you need help, okay?”

I looked back at him seriously and nodded. “I'll always be your son, Dad. Part of that will still mean getting a call to help me clean up a mess even when I'm fifty.”

Niko blinked at the sudden warmth of my words, the metaphor becoming more literal as he smiled and clapped me on the back as I passed. “I lo-ah,” he paused, then cleared his throat. “I'm proud of you, Hitoshi. Remember that.”

“I will,” I nodded. “Now I've got to go.”

“Yeah, you should. That cologne smells like you're a fifty year old man who's been hiding out in a bar for two weeks instead of going home to see his family,” Niko pulled a face.

“All according to plan,” I chuckled as I walked out the front door and headed towards a train station.

But, seriously, it was a pretty godawful cologne.

It was the kind of thing a young man with an underdeveloped sense of masculinity might wear to try to seem mature to his older work colleagues, or an older man who, through excessive smoking, drinking, and possibly diabetes had dulled his senses to the point where he needed a scent with more substance to mask the slowly-growing olfactory markers of death that never quite seemed to wash off. As distant as those two might be, they had one thing in common. The young gun with his bright-eyed inexperience and the aging burnout going through the motions with zombie-like repetition...

Neither of them were a threat.

Especially not to a successful and established upper-middle manager.

Which was why, as I entered the home of Toga Daiki and Chishio, the two of them took a single breath and, despite their dual hidden grimaces, both of their shoulders unconsciously drooped.

Really, it took more than a simple dab of cologne to pull things off, but attention to detail when constructing any sort of disguise made things much easier. The intent of wearing a disguise at all, of course, being that one wanted to present a false front from which they could act. The most successful types didn't simply present an illusionary image, but actively manipulated the target's subconscious to associate with archetypes and relationships they already possessed.

“Punctual.” Daiki noted with a glance at his watch. “Excellent. Dinner will be served after a short conversation.”

“It's a pleasure to meet the young man our Himiko is so taken with,” Chishio bowed.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home,” I replied, equally respectfully. “This is a small token.”

The bag was handed over to the wife, as the husband made no move to accept it, merely nodding in approval at the gesture as he crossed his arms and inspected me more fully. I returned the favor a bit more subtly, though, taking in the man's neatly-pressed dark slacks and button-down white shirt complete with pressed and starched tie. A set of thick-rimmed sturdy glasses sat perched upon his nose, their structure and color obviously picked to distract from the cat-slit pupils of his gold eyes. Likewise, the man had a pair of blonde cat ears that matched his hair, both of them perked and shifting in parabolic motions.

“Oh, honey! It's your favorite brand!” Chishio cooed, extracting the sake bottle and showing it off. The woman had darker, brown hair and an entirely human body-type, free from any heteromorphic traits. Beyond seeming a bit on the young side – my research putting her at a comfortable thirty-nine – but she appeared to still be in her late twenties. At a guess, this was her quirk at work.

Blonde cat ears perked up and the man turned to take the rice wine while his wife smiled at the box of chocolates. Fighting off a small smile himself, piercing eyes flicked up to dissect me more carefully.

Despite everything, I can see where Himiko gets it from.

“I hope this didn't trouble you too much,” Daiki stated, the not-question carrying all of the implication of a request for information that was so common in his daughter's speech patterns.

“I asked my father to acquire it on my behalf,” I replied, assuring the man that it wasn't stolen or bought under false pretenses. That being what he really wanted to know. “He understands the value in making a good first impression.”

“And clearly you have his trust to be allowed access to alcohol,” Daiki murmured with a hum as he handed the bottle back to his wife. “I'll summon the children. Chishio, show our guest to the living room, please.”

“Of course, dear,” his wife nodded.

All the while, I was reading them as they moved about.

The phrase 'relaxed tension,' came to mind immediately. There was nothing of a coiled spring's anxiety in their muscles, but the sheer deliberateness and quiet focus on each detail was too intentional to be anything but. It was the kind of constant vigilance that implied many things, some of them deeply worrisome.

“I can't do that, Father would know.”

When Himiko had initially said as much to me, I'd taken it seriously, but underestimated exactly how firmly she'd meant it. I hadn't missed the twitching ears, the keen eyes, or the flexing nostrils on the man. Any single one would be a strong clue, but taken together they were all but a declaration that the man had some sort of enhanced senses. Obviously he was where Himiko had gotten her own, far more limited, feline morphology from.

That didn't mean the mother was any slouch, though.

As she walked through the house, leading me to the living room, I noticed her gaze sweeping over the spotlessly-clean surfaces and geometrically-perfect pictures set on the walls and tables. Between Cass and River, the two had given me one hell of an eye for angles and, if Himiko had been truthful that her mother was the homemaker of the two, I could probably take a laser level and not find any single item more than a single degree off from its intended position.

The woman walked past the various inanimate objects of the house like a street-hero on the beat as she examined each passerby for the potential to commit a crime or violate the law.

Or... more disturbingly, like a prison warden inspecting cells.

I was seated at a small low-lying dining table in a sparse room with seat cushions surrounding it. The floor wasn't proper tatami matting, but a kind of modern imitation material I was passingly familiar with from its use in a few of my school's mock-traditional rooms. These people didn't strike me as the type to tolerate that, but perhaps there was some quirk of the home itself that wouldn't allow the woven straw grass to be installed.

“We had a mold issue some months ago,” Chishio commented idly as I was seating myself, forcing my body to continue the motion flawlessly as I realized I'd been caught out. The woman placed a cup in front of me and lifted a pre-positioned pitcher of green tea to pour me a glass. “I'm embarrassed that you have to see the house in such a state of disarray. Once we're sure the problem has been resolved, we'll be removing this unsightly mess.”

Well, that answers that.

Himiko was a monster from a family of monsters. Her mother was a woman who had evaluated my gaze lingering on her flooring for a split-second too long. Her father was just as observant. I didn't know what had motivated them, precisely, to twist themselves into what they had become, but honestly this was slowly eclipsing the horror of the unknowable creatures from beyond reality.

“There isn't really any substitute for the original article,” I nodded in confirmation and thanked her for the tea with a dip of my head. “That said, I would recommend seeing if Himiko's school takes donations of these. Schools often use the lower-quality mass production versions for certain specific rooms in their buildings.”

“Such a civically-minded young man,” Chishio smiled and dipped her head. “I think I'll do just that, thank you for the insight.”

“It's no problem, I'm happy to help out in any way I can,” I stated calmly, taking a sip of my tea and being careful to replace the cup on the coaster exactly where it had been. “Delicious.”

Chishio's smile broadened imperceptibly as the custom of complimenting the beverage after first taste was observed. “I hope you are serious about Himiko, young man. She seems quite smitten with you, especially after your date to the park this afternoon.”

I nodded, smiling at the lie repeated back to me. “I am quite taken with her in turn. I hope this is just the second of many outings we will go on together.”

Chishio nodded and rose from seiza. “I'm sure Daiki and the children will be down shortly. Please wait for a moment while I bring some light snacks.”

While Himiko's mother moved towards the kitchen, I pondered whether it was too late to make a run for the nearest window.

Opening or bashing through a door would just take too long.

No, I've made my bed. Now I'll lie in it.

The only other option besides going through with the dinner was assassinating her parents, after all.

Near-silent footfalls caught my attention and I kept the corner of my eye out on the doorway to my right, watching as the master of the house led in two blonde girls. Himiko, of course, was present. She was wearing a knee-length dress and a matching blouse with sleeves to her shoulders, both bearing elegant blue and white flower patterns.

The girl next to her was only slightly shorter and, I knew, only two years younger than Himiko herself. Her blonde hair was a shade lighter, almost to what I'd call platinum blond, but not quite. Her own dress was a simple single-piece sundress with a sash around the waist in earthy tones that matched her eyes-

Eyes that shifted from brown to blue as I watched, flexing from normal human pupils to ones which matched her sister and father.

“No quirk use while guests are in the house,” Daiki stated firmly, the decree of an upper manager.

He hadn't even been looking at her.

“You've met Himiko,” the girls' father stated and would have cracked a joke or a smile were his plastic imagining of normalcy real, but it was not so he did not. “This is her younger sister, Reiko.”

I turned, repositioning myself on the seat cushion and dipped my head in a shallow bow as best I could from a sitting position. “It's a pleasure to meet you. Your sister has told me much about you.”

Eyes that were once again brown, matching her mother's, flickered to Himiko in an unreadable expression before Reiko smiled. Normal teeth, no fangs. No cat ears or other visible heteromorphic traits for that matter, either. She bowed. “As Father stated, I am Toga Reiko. Please be welcome in our home.”

“Sit. We will be having a period of light conversation to introduce ourselves to Himiko's suitor before dinner is served,” Daiki stated, moving towards his own pre-set position at the table before the girls did the same. Himiko took the seat next to me, her father across from me, and her sister sitting at one end of the table that would leave her between her mother and sister.

All in precision movements and perfect silence with smiles on the girls' faces and nary a wrinkle or speck of lint on their clothing.

This is some Stepford Wives bullshit right here.

 “It's good to see you again, Hitoshi,” Himiko smiled and dipped her head at me as I rearranged myself. “Thank you for the pleasant walk in the park and light lunch today.”

“You're welcome. I had fun spending time with you as well,” I nodded back at her.

My girlfriend had been very clear, no overt displays of affection in the house save for the possibility of a kiss on the cheek as I left. I watched a tremor run through her plastic expression as she visibly resisted the urge to reach up and touch the band of black and red cloth woven through with silver thread which tied around her neck. It was a style that she'd been particularly fond of when I'd shown her the design options.

“I'm pleased you've made a connection with someone you like, Big Sister,” Reiko chimed in beyond Himiko and...

Well, realistically, I can't expect any child raised in a home like this to be normal, but... damn.

Every part of me firmly agreed that there was something off about the child. No, 'off' didn't really do what I was seeing justice. Himiko was easy enough to understand for me, at a glance. For all that she was a 'monster,' she was also uniquely human. Driven by a desire for connection with a repressed psychological and physiological need that resulted in a psychotic break, Himiko's story was an intimate tragedy.

Toga Reiko possessed none of the glimmering shards of humanity rearranged into a monstrous mosaic.

There was something there, no doubt. The girl wasn't simply an empty vessel devoid of substance, but neither was she remotely like Himiko's own condition.

Still, Reiko wasn’t my immediate objective tonight. I could concern myself with her later if… or, more likely, when it proved necessary.

“Thank you, Little Sister,” Himiko smiled back at her younger sibling, giving her a respectful nod. “Hitoshi was very gentlemanly.”

“That's quite good to hear,” Chishio stated, bringing in a tray with several small dishes on it arranged to artistic perfection. Small pieces of fruit dotted one, complete with a honey-glaze. Another held thinly-sliced meats drizzled with sauce surrounded by crackers. The final one was topped with the chocolates I'd brought arranged into a neat geometric pattern. “Reiko, Himiko, one chocolate each before dinner and one as a part of dessert. Thank Shinso for bringing such a thoughtful gift.”

Both girls chirped out the reply pleasantly before taking specific pieces that wouldn't unbalance the design.

“Himiko has told us some about you, Shinso,” Daiki stated, sipping his own green tea as he interjected and automatically dominated the conversation. “She was somewhat vague on what your parents do. Could you illuminate us on the subject?”

“My father is an independent information technology consultant,” I replied. “He has an unfortunate quirk which requires a degree of self-isolation in order to properly function within society, so he generally works from a home-office.”

“I see,” Daiki stated with a microscopic dip of an approving nod. “A very prudent decision on his part. And your mother?”

“My mother is undergoing treatment in a facility after an unfortunate incident involving a villain a few years prior. My father and I visit her frequently, but she has not been cleared to return home yet,” I stated.

“Unfortunate, you have my sympathies,” the older man replied with all the emotion of a brick wall. “Still, it seems you've taken that as motivation for your career choice. Himiko has disclosed your internet persona which you seem to intend to parlay into a professional hero identity. Truthfully, I was expecting a somewhat more relaxed individual from what I've seen of your channel.”

“A substantial portion of hero work that often goes unnoticed is maintaining an image that sets the larger public at ease. Affecting a more relaxed attitude and more amicable interactions sets civilians off-guard and allows one to gather information and render aid more effectively,” I explained.

“An affectation for your workplace environment, then,” Daiki stated. “Himiko tells me that you were involved in extracting her from that unfortunate incident some time prior when she was kidnapped by villains with her friend.”

“You have our gratitude for that,” Chishio spoke up, nodding at her husband. “We were deeply worried when Himiko did not come home before her curfew.”

“I was happy to help,” I replied. “Being a functioning member of society means assisting others whenever feasible.”

The parents nodded with approval again, small though it might be.

“It seems you are well suited in temperament for your chosen career, at least,” Daiki commented. “Himiko says you are planning to attend UA.”

“I will be taking the exam with the Endeavor Agency's backing, which puts me on a higher track than those taking the standard exams. It is very likely I will have attained a limited hero license by that point in order to better complete my work with them.”

“My daughter did mention something about that, yes,” Chishio stated, her eyes narrowing a bit. “Is that normal? A student as young as yourself engaging in work like that?”

That's a trap.

I side-stepped the bait to self-aggrandize. “I am merely doing my utmost to secure a position in my chosen field as early as possible to maximize potential options for later development.”

The parents exchanged a look.

The daughters were obediently silent.

“It's a credit to your character that you understand the value of workplace ambition at a young age,” Daiki decided. “I would not be where I am if I had allowed myself to languish as a low-level claims adjuster.”

“Still, it concerns me that Himiko is interested in someone with a career path so... volatile, even if it is laudable,” Chishio stated bluntly. “Do you have contingencies planned out if you are injured and unable to provide for her or your children?”

That was what Himiko had meant when she'd commented on the expected 'formality' of the meeting. This wasn't a simple meeting between parents and the daughter's new boyfriend. No, this was an interview for a potential spouse. It wasn't anything binding, of course. Arranged marriages in the classic contractual sense had fallen out of practice even before the rise of quirks, but I'd known that this meeting would still possess many of the hallmarks of such an archaic ritual.

“I'll be concentrating on back-line hero work investigating bureaucratic, financial, and other non-violent crime with the Endeavor Agency. Therefore it will be extremely unlikely I see any form of combat for the duration of my contract with them,” I stated, then offered a professional smile. “The most severe injury I'm likely to see on the job is a particularly severe papercut.”

Chishio obligingly giggled and Daiki flashed a nod of approval. “Bureaucratic crimes, then? I take that to mean the falsification of documents, attempts at forgery, and such.”

“Yes, quite a bit of what I expect to be doing will relate to the crunching of numbers and the verification of documentation rather than what one would classically assume hero work to be.” I paused. “It's very likely that, in addition to those duties, I'll be working as a translator and coordinator when circumstances require international cooperation between hero agencies. My quirk being uniquely suited towards enhancing my understanding of foreign languages.”

There was a ghost of something that passed over the husband's face, almost like nostalgia, and I knew my attempt to paint myself as working in a parallel career to his own was going well. The man's profile on his company's website still had several pages up relating to his honors from years prior and his successes in 'loss prevention.'

Even if it wasn't in the same field, there was overlap in what I claimed was going to be my profession and what the other man had done for several years as a junior employee.

“That sounds very interesting. You'll have quite the opportunity to network in those situations,” Chishio stated. “I do hope foreign travel would not be required? It would be a shame for you to need to leave our daughter on her own for extended periods of time.”

“It would be unlikely for the next decade, save short trips of less than a week,” I shook my head. “The contract on the table currently stipulates that I will be working part-time through my high school career and transition to full-time with the ability to take night classes at the college level upon graduation. Even then, though, Endeavor does not leave the country often or for long. Given his high position, it is preferable that agencies seeking cooperation come to him rather than the other way around.”

Daiki nodded judiciously. In corporate terms, one did not call a senior manager into a junior's office. The junior would go to see the senior. The truth, on the other hand, was simply that Japan was a regional power and not a global power. Not truly. Which meant the interests of the country seldom extended beyond its own sphere of influence, manifesting in very little need for Japanese heroes to travel significantly.

Outside of All Might, of course.

“After your contract expires, though, what do you plan to pursue? The creation of your own agency or a renegotiation of your relationship with the Endeavor Agency?” Daiki pressed, moving further into long-term career planning.

“Presuming that my relationship with Himiko develops properly, I'll likely need something more stable than striking out on my own,” I stated, hinting at the possibility of children. The ten-year contract with Endeavor would put me at twenty-five at that point. Assuming nothing went wrong, a child or two wasn't out of the question by then. “Although such plans require flexibility, I've been looking into the possibility of transitioning either to corporate investigative work or government work in the diplomatic sector if I manage enough contacts in either area.”

Daiki hummed in approval, likely satisfied both by the fact that I had any kind of answer at all and that I was keeping my options open.

“I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, but I'd like to address the concern that Himiko and I would grow apart during an extended absence from each other,” I stated, breaking the flow of conversation.

“Heroes, even those in training, are often presented with a number of relationship options, Dear,” Chishio stated quietly.

The cat-man grunted, narrowing his eyes. “Logically, your suggestion is that Himiko attend the high school you are aiming for. UA?”

I nodded. “It's unlikely that she will be a fit for the hero course or, honestly, make it all the way through even were she to place well in the practical exams through luck. But even a position in the general education department would position her well for the college of her choice.”

Himiko dipped her head slightly, as if she were truly surprised by the points she'd suggested I raise.

“You envision her having a career, then?” Daiki asked, an almost unnoticeable curdle of distaste in his tone.

“It is my belief that any spouse I am to take would require at least some secretarial training, formal business organizational skills, or management skills to properly support my career path,” I lied through my teeth and felt dirty so thoroughly contradicting my true beliefs. “To say nothing of the possibility of a position in diplomatic affairs, wherein one would need a great deal of cross-cultural knowledge most easily acquired in academic environments.”

Daiki paused, considering the matter, then nodded. “I'm not against the notion. Given you are the only boy Himiko has shown interest in with a continuing relationship and, should it not work out, a position in UA will allow her better options...”

His eyes pierced me. “Do you believe she has what it takes to pass the exams?”

I nodded. “I've looked over her work and found it to be of acceptable quality given the standards you've held her to. Additionally, I would like your blessing to solicit the pro hero Hot Ice, Endeavor's daughter, to provide a reference for Himiko. Even if she fails the recommendation exam, it would allow her to bypass the bulk of the written portion.”

Chishio frowned. “And what if she passes and is admitted into the hero course?”

“It would be decidedly unusual to step back from such an achievement, but success in getting into the hero course does not mean one will stay in the course the entire year. Himiko would be allowed to drop into the general or management departments in a semester or two when the pro heroes running the classes deem her unfit for continued progression.” My explanation had the adults exchange a considering glance. “Further, even in the unlikely event Himiko remains in the hero course for the full term of classes and graduates, there are a number of part-time occupations she can explore while focusing more fully on homemaking. Himiko informed me that her mother performed significant work with volunteer agencies?”

Chishio blushed slightly and tittered. “Ah, yes. My quirk allows me to donate my time and services to hospitals to keep myself busy, it's true, though any income I bring in from such a thing is entirely secondary. A good wife should be active in her community.”

“A licensed pro-hero, even a low-ranking one, can offer significant aid in visibility and resources to such volunteer groups. This would allow her to use her training and education in a peaceful and productive way,” I explained. “It would be acceptable, in my eyes at least, for Himiko to keep herself busy donating her time to worthy causes, much as her mother does.”

There was an extended pause as both parents considered my points.

“I think we should move on to the meal,” Daiki stated, rising immediately. “Girls, help your mother clear the table and finish setting up dinner. Young Shinso and I need to discuss entry requirements for his school.”

~~~

And here it is, the long-awaited dinner chapter!

Watch as Hitoshi faces down Himiko's parents. How bad can they possibly be?

...pretty bad, it turns out.

Also, apologies for the lateness of the chapter. Some, ah... personal stuff happened and delayed things. Non-serious medical issue a friend was having. Don't worry about it, they're fine now.

Mind Games - Chapter 20

And here it is, the long-awaited dinner chapter!

Watch as Hitoshi faces down Himiko's parents. How bad can they possibly be?

...pretty bad, it turns out.

Also, apologies for the lateness of the chapter. Some, ah... personal stuff happened and delayed things. Non-serious medical issue a friend was having. Don't worry about it, they're fine now.

Industrious (OG Naruto) - Chapter 65

The next two weeks were mostly peaceful.

I'd cleared my calendar for the 'birth' of my first child, so the lack of anything to do but spend time with her wasn't unexpected. A few small things happened that needed my attention, but the lion's share of the time was devoted to helping Kokoro adapt to the material world and learn how to interact with people that weren't dream-manifestations working on nonsense logic.

It was... hit or miss.

“What you have to keep in mind,” I explained to Yakumo as I put down a stack of ryo bills in front of the disgruntled glassblower, the sizable gratuity making him much less-so suddenly, “is that, for all intents and purposes, Kokoro is effectively an infant in behavioral terms.”

Yakumo blinked at me, turning the exasperated look from our daughter – who was nibbling on the last bit of a vase she'd eaten – to me. “Kotaro, please. Explain this to me in a way that makes sense.”

I reached down and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I felt her relax slightly. “You okay?”

Yakumo sighed and nodded, squeezing back. “I'm okay. I'm just a little snappy after running for so many nights on so little sleep. I feel like I'm trapped in mission mode and dealing with stress that I can't stab or set on fire.”

I grinned slightly. “Have you talked to your mother about it? She might have some good coping mechanisms?”

Yakumo glared at me. “She just starts laughing every time I bring it up. I think she's enjoying it, almost as much as she's enjoying having Kokoro around... when she's behaving herself.”

Left unsaid was that Kokoro's mood fluctuated rapidly when she was told 'no' in a way that didn't make sense to her semi-inhuman perspective. Neither Yakumo or myself had been forced to use any of the countermeasures I'd put in place yet, but it had been a near thing at some points.

“I imagine all mothers react with at least some amusement when their daughters have their first child and get a taste of their own medicine,” I commented idly, only to receive a glowering look in reply.

“You're supposed to be on my side, Kota,” Yakumo reminded me primly, then shook her head. “Now what was all that about acting like an infant?”

“Perhaps toddler might be more accurate?” I frowned, watching as Kokoro finished off the piece of glass in her hand. “What's the number one thing you have to keep small children from doing when they get something interesting in their tiny little hands?”

Yakumo cocked her head, then turned back to our daughter and her eyes widened. “Putting it in their mouth!”

“Is something wrong, Mommy?” Kokoro asked, biting down with an especially satisfying and audible crunch.

Yakumo sighed and patted her daughter on the head. “Nothing worth worrying over, baby. Why don't we head to the playground next?”

“Yay!” Kokoro shouted, throwing her hands up.

“I'd imagine most ninja parents have stories about their children reaching for shuriken or kunai simply because they caught the light and looked shiny,” I commented idly. “Young children stick things in their mouths because it's one of the most sensory-rich areas on the human body. Lips, tongue, and gums for feeling alone. Then you've got taste added into the mix. And smelling things with the nose, which is right next to the mouth. It's the easiest and fastest way a child has to investigate the world.”

“That... makes a lot of sense,” Yakumo stated slowly. “So we can expect her to keep doing this for years?”

I chuckled quietly at the whine in her voice. “Probably not that long. Kokoro is clever and is developing faster than normal. I think it's likely part of her... nature that is leading her to act out like this.”

Yakumo frowned. “You mean... she's hungry, but not in a normal way.”

I nodded. “I've been talking with her and I think I've developed a bit of a strategy to help her deal with these cravings. It's likely that, once they go away or become reduced, she'll stop acting out so much.”

“Thank the gods,” Yakumo sighed. “I love her, but I'd really like for her not to try and eat some of the family's heirloom technique scrolls again.”

Knowing that I'd already vented my amusement at my girlfriend to a dangerous degree, I simply hummed and nodded. “That does sound like it would cause some discord in your family.”

“It does, doesn't it?” Yakumo asked dryly as we walked, Kokoro skipping ahead. “So, what are these exercises you're going to teach our daughter?”

“You know how everyone who actively uses chakra bleeds off some degree of energy naturally?” I asked, then clarified. “At least, when they're not actively trying to hide it?”

“Naruko being an especially loud example, I suppose,” Yakumo agreed, then paused. “Most Uzumaki as well, for that matter.”

“True,” I stated contemplatively. “I'll have to consider that as well. But I believe I've come up with a way for her to metabolize the cast-off chakra trained shinobi give off during the course of their daily lives.”

“I thought you called Kokoro a-ah... what was it?” Yakumo asked, glancing at our child as she cheerfully ignored the ongoing conversation with a young child's single-minded focus on anything that caught her attention.

Well, that and the SEP sealing tag I'm burning right now. It's only partially effective against her, but the rest of the village normies don't need to be privy to this conversation.

“Psychophage,” I replied, watching her mouth the foreign word, “which doesn't have a direct translation to the common tongue of the Elemental Nations, but can be summed up as 'an eater of minds and/or souls.'”

Yakumo grimaced, but nodded. “You've told me that before, but... anyway, you think she can subsist off this cast-off energy?”

I waggled a hand. “Truthfully-speaking, Kokoro doesn't need to eat, not really. Her desire to consume is just that, a desire. The reason she's having trouble with it right now is that her own sense of self isn't really developed enough to fend off her own urges. Willpower like that will come with age and experience, though.”

I hope, at least.

I'd given Kokoro a fighting chance and put my thumb on the scale as much as possible. Artificial though it might be, she had the scaffolding for an anthropocentric conscience. That is, I'd given her the building blocks to be able to discern a morally and ethically 'correct' course of action from one that was considered 'incorrect' based on the common beliefs and actions held by those around her. On the one hand, I'd have loved to be able to simply do away with the necessity of such a thing and rely on the power of love, nakama, and heartfelt speeches, but I really didn't want to end up having to take over the village or convince the girls to go into exile with me simply because Kokoro ate one of those asshole kids that had wanted to sexually assault Satsuki and Yakumo or a similar idiot without any sense of self-preservation.

I'd stopped short of 'real' brainwashing, anyway, which was something I could have implemented. All Kokoro had was a complex series of if-then commands that would generate a neurological response should they be triggered. There were gaps in the schema, though, and that was intentional. It wasn't as though I could or even wanted to plan for every contingency. Kokoro needed room to grow just as much as she needed the guiding hand that was present in most human psyches.

“That's reassuring,” Yakumo nodded. “What form will this training take the shape of?”

“I'll be walking her around Konoha and teaching her to meditate at various locations,” I stated. “It'll be part training exercise, part father-daughter bonding, and part lesson in patience.”

“What locations?” Yakumo pressed with a slight frown. “The academies? I'd assume there would be a great deal of shed chakra around them.”

I nodded. “Among other places. I believe Kokoro will key better on chakra that has a negative emotional component. The Leech purportedly being tied to 'human darkness.’”

“I'd say the academies might not be the best place to train her, but...” Yakumo grimaced. “There's a lot of negativity in the schools, isn't there?”

“Jealousy, bitterness, anger and outright hatred sometimes, and crushing disappointment for those who don't make the grade,” I confirmed. “I took a careful look while checking out my students-to-be and there's some real emotional trauma baked into the chakra of the place. Nothing that normal humans would be affected by, really, but a great deal of residual energy.”

“How are you planning on handling them, by the way?” Yakumo asked. “I know you made the promise to help bring Kokoro into the world, but... you don't really want to teach them, do you?”

I hummed and busied myself keeping track of the ANBU still following us around. For some reason, I had the damndest feeling that would continue for a while.

“Admittedly some of my displeasure is performative. As with my disdain for you, Satsuki, Naruko, and Tenten calling me 'sensei,' I generally don't enjoy taking a leadership role in shinobi activities,” I confessed, holding up a hand to forestall Yakumo's impending response. “Not because I'm incapable or don't enjoy teaching, but because children playing shinobi are, by and large, stupid. One or more of the children I – personally – am going to teach, is likely to die in the next ten years.”

“And you get attached,” Yakumo sighed.

“And I get attached,” I stated.

“Promise me you're not going to start a war if one of us doesn't come back one day,” Yakumo suddenly asked. “Satsuki, Tenten, and I all know the risks. Dying on a mission is bad enough. Knowing that it will precipitate an international incident that might lead to another Shinobi War... don't put that on us.”

I stared at her for a long moment. “No.”

Yakumo blinked, taken aback as her gold eyes widened. “Kota?”

“You'll value your lives more if you know what happens should you fail to return to the village,” I stated bluntly, unwilling to be moved on the subject. “Even if I do promise you that I won't start a war to get revenge... I can't promise you that I won't end one instead. Permanently.”

Yakumo shivered and, though I took no pleasure in it, she seemed to understand what I was nearly outright stating. “Kotaro... please. You're not being fair about this. We're ninja. We're meant to serve the village.”

“And I'm not stopping you, but I am informing you that there will be consequences should an enemy shinobi manage to get lucky.” I huffed. “I'm not going to fly off the handle and level Hidden Stone or something if there's an unfortunate accident, but targeted attacks do happen, Kumo-chan, and my response will be very... proportional.”

Even if she didn't know the joke, her eyes narrowed at the emphasis I'd placed on the last word. “Why do I not like the way you just said that?”

“You weren't meant to,” I replied with a smirk. “It was supposed to be ominous and unsettling.”

Yakumo's shoulders slumped. “That's not reassuring.”

“It's not meant to be,” I shook my head.

I was telling the truth, at least. If Yakumo were taken out by a small band of enemy-nin over some pissant little objective in a backwater I'd be angry, but not apocalyptically so. Oh, I'd certainly make a gruesome and horrible example of the guilty parties and make it glaringly obvious to all and sundry exactly what this was in response to...

But I wouldn't resort to wiping a village off the face of the Elemental Nations.

Initially.

But for things to deescalate, the other party would have to take my reply on the chin and walk away. Which is unlikely. What's more likely is that I'll be forced to escalate.

And if that happened?

If someone's response to being warned was to trespass against me and mine again, knowingly and intentionally?

Old Man Sarutobi could go fuck himself.

Shit was going to burn and people were going to die.

“Besides, it's not me you should be worried about,” I quietly informed Yakumo, who was still ruminating on my ultimatum.

Yakumo followed my gaze as Kokoro made her way to the playground with a cry of childish glee. The quick intake of my girlfriend's breath told me she'd understood my point, though, and her scowl told me what she thought of it.

“Either I do it or she does it, and she'll have less restraint than I will,” I informed her in no uncertain terms.

“I suppose I'll need to talk with Tenten and Satsuki about this,” Yakumo sighed tiredly.

“Feel free, or tell them to come to me. Just understand that my answer won't change no matter who asks. I've bent myself over a great deal for this village, for the sake of my relationships with you girls. I've sacrificed things I believe in, ideas that I've held dear to my heart. I don't regret those sacrifices, but they will not be in vain. I deal with the Hokage because he understands the value of giving and taking. He understands that nothing is free, and so do I. To get, I've had to give.”

I turned towards her fully and made eye contact with her. “But the moment someone believes they can take from me without repercussions? That is the moment I am no longer dealing with a reasonable person and will respond accordingly.”

…

“How go the preparations, uh?” The blond young man asked.

“Well, Iwakage-sama. Kumo has properly aligned with our interests in finally humbling the Land of Fire and the Hidden Leaf,” the woman standing next to him stated as they looked out over their village.

“What of our overtures to Suna and Oto, uh?”

“The Kazekage has come around after we offered one of the scrolls we took from Uzu. The greater control over their Jinchuuriki has allowed them to move more forces into position,” Kurotsuchi replied stoically.

“And Orochimaru?” Deidara asked, reaching up to massage his chin thoughtfully.

“Evasive, as usual. Our spies have reported that he is consolidating his troops, though. It is likely he will make the commitment, even if his forces will be substandard compared to a proper Hidden Village.”

“Hmm... has your grandfather offered any pearls of wisdom, uh?” Deidara asked, reaching up to adjust the hat resting on his head.

“Grandfather has taken to muttering to himself while playing with shogi pieces,” Kurotsuchi confessed, a crack in her voice. “He... some of his ramblings seem more paranoid than rational, but he is convinced that Leaf spies know we are coming.”

“There are always spies,” Deidara shook his head. “The question is whether or not they have seen through the changes in our supplies and logistics networks. None of our intelligence shows that they have penetrated so far, uh.”

“As Tsuchikage-sama says,” Kurotsuchi bowed.

Deidara grunted and nodded. “Move forward with the preparations for the chunin exams. We must be ready.”

~~~

Not much to say about this one, other than it fought me. I'm a little rusty writing the Naruto timeline, but maybe I'll be able to direct a little focus towards it, now.

In other news, expect more Mind Games and The Hand We're Dealt this week.

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

Industrious (OG Naruto) - Chapter 65

Not much to say about this one, other than it fought me. I'm a little rusty writing the Naruto timeline, but maybe I'll be able to direct a little focus towards it, now.

In other news, expect more Mind Games and The Hand We're Dealt this week.

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

Mind Games - Chapter 19

This was fun.

It was hardly the first time in her life that Toga Himiko had had the thought. She found many things fun, after all. For all that her friends were more shields to keep prying eyes at bay rather than 'true companions' as described in so many light novels or movies, there was a certain amusement to be found in watching their byplay and interactions. Learning how to cook, too, even if it had been at Mother's insistence, had been 'fun' in a way.

Of her school subjects, mathematics was perhaps the closest she could point to as fun, for much the same reason as her home-schooled cooking classes.

In mathematics, there was a right way and a wrong way to do things, just as there was with cooking. Physical Education was much the same. The exercises were prescribed and one performed them to that same standard, or as close to it as one could manage.

There was none of the flighty creativity of literature classes, none of the complex colloquialisms of English-language studies, and few of the special-case rules that governed interactions in science.

As she'd intimated to Hitoshi, Himiko did not enjoy things that could end in surprises.

Which was why math was her favorite subject. Cooking and PE were close, but they added a number of personal flourishes and creativity to the subjects that were, in Himiko's eyes, unnecessary. Even dangerous.

'Fun,' for Toga Himiko, was a cold and calculating thing.

It was the enjoyment of a solved problem, a lap completed in the precise middle of the pack, and a perfectly cubed vegetable ready for the stew pot.

It was nice.

Predictable.

Safe.

-Normal-

That had been the case until today, at least.

She brought the gun up and snapped off a quick succession of rounds, smearing pink paint over a trio of unwary boys in camouflage outfits.

Her cheeks ached as muscles pulled taut in a way she was unaccustomed to beneath her mask. A distant part of her railed against such a carefree expression, but the dominant part of her reasoned that she was wearing a mask. No one could see her face. It was alright to smile like that. To show off the teeth her parents were ashamed of.

Her heart thrummed.

She leaped, catching a sturdy tree branch and deftly spinning herself around and then up, easily landing in a crouch as she brought the rifle up again to mount it. Hitoshi's demonstrations flashed through her mind's eye as she calmed her breathing in a quick pause. The abrupt stillness, the long-trained skill of sealing herself away from her parent's notice, rose up inside of her.

Her pulse raced.

Shoot, shoot, shoot... and they were down. Glee warred with frustration. It was... enjoyable, but over so soon. Too easy. Her mind flickered back to Hitoshi – her boyfriend – and her eyes scanned the field for him. He knew. He understood. He'd be able to play properly.

She felt alive!

Himiko had read books before, of course, and many of those pieces of literature had used those phrases. She'd always found it puzzling, borderline amusing, that authors would exaggerate physiological reactions like that to make a point. Now she understood, too. She understood what she'd been missing.

Moving through the shadows and between the notice of the squads of would-be assailants, Himiko giggled occasionally as she picked a few off here and there. The flickers of satisfaction she'd felt at concealing herself from notice, avoiding a particularly troublesome classmate, or discovering something to use against someone to surreptitiously drive them off... they paled in comparison to this.

It was one of the few things she and Mother had authentically bonded over.

One of the few things that had always given her hope.

She knew she had to be perfect, had to be normal, had to pass for something she wasn't, but... Mother had shown her how to listen and learn from the other girls and how to watch and know which boys were trouble. It was a skill that all good girls should have, Mother had said, to take care of themselves and avoid danger.

Watch. Wait. Judge. Act.

A group of five, mixed between girls and boys, passed by. She watched, waited for them to move, judged that they would continue on their chosen course, and acted by moving in their shadow.

Then closed the distance to the point where she could have touched them.

Himiko felt her cheeks ache again.

She pulled the trigger as she stepped into the group. Bodies fell over, the sheer surprise of the impacts stunning her targets as their heads snapped around searching for her. Only after they did a comical double-take did they realize she'd been among them before massacring them. Once they understood that, one of them even started babbling in shock.

It was kind of... cute.

A giggle crawled up and out of her throat.

Her cheeks hurt.

Still... too easy.

Her eyes locked on Hitoshi coming around a corner and she skipped to cover on her own. Once she was sure he hadn't seen her, she leveled her gun and fired off a few shots. With reflexes that were too fast by half, he dodged the incoming rounds and rolled further out of the way, firing blindly at her position.

Himiko's lips twitched.

Her eyes narrowed.

Fleeing – Chase

It was an impulsive choice, something deep in her urging the action. And... he was provoking it. Hitoshi was deliberately engineering the response.

 HOW!?

He knew her better than herself. Every choice he made was designed to draw her in, to show her things she never understood. He was calm and calculating and cold... then showed off a flicker of emotion through that bland mask he wore, so like her own hard-won copied expressions but so different at the same time.

Frustration and glee warred within her.

She leapt forward.

Another short exchange followed, shots fired in both directions, before she and Hitoshi collapsed together in a tangle of limbs.

She was furious that he'd led her around so easily!

It was the most alive she'd ever felt!

“Do it.”

Had her mask come off? She didn't remember taking it off, but-

Her teeth sunk into flesh, piercing skin and digging into muscle as warm life and love flowed into her mouth. The pulsing heat that had been building inside her suddenly released as white spots danced before her eyes. Liquid emotion burned into her, adhering to a sense deeper than mere taste or smell, and she felt…

Love.

It burned, the cheesy romance dramas her friends liked had gotten that right, but… it felt different. Hitoshi’s love was a burning cold, a careful and calculating thing that bides its time and waited for the perfect time to strike and ensnare and bind. It was selfish and ugly and perfect in a way that reminded her of… reminded her of…

Crimson flowed down her throat, muscles working to swallow like she'd been dying of thirst... for a decade.

Her eyes widened, tears beginning to well up as the bird flashed before her eyes.

She'd ruined it! She'd ruined it all!

Her mask cracked, then shattered.

…

I'd had to make a few excuses, but it was nothing a little smooth-talking wouldn't cover.

Himiko had gotten overeager after her successes. We'd slipped and fallen into each other. I'd torn my coat on a branch, which had then dug into my shoulder and gouged me. Himiko had seen the blood and gone into hysterics, then fainted. A quick swipe of her mouth with a handkerchief that had vanished back into my 'pocket' and all the evidence to the contrary was gone.

It even helped ameliorate some of the harsh feelings many of the other paint-ballers had after being so efficiently destroyed.

Almost like that was the plan all along.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, mostly at myself, as I went through the motions of cooking a light soup and pouring it in a mug. As long as my Sidereal Tendencies focused on minor things like that, I wouldn't be too perturbed with them, but it was a little absurd that I'd accidentally had a plan within a plan within a plan without consciously realizing it until they all worked.

Truly, a Sidereal was a creature of infinite deception, even unto themselves.

I dropped from the kitchen to the living room floor in a deft spin and sat the mug down in front of Himiko, backing off to seat myself in a black mammoth-leather recliner.

Himiko's breathing quickened and her eyes fluttered open as soon as the scent wafting off the soup fully hit her. The moment they properly dilated and locked onto me, though, she froze in the languid stretching movement she'd begun.

I shrugged and took a pull from my soda, visibly leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.

Himiko's breathing eased and she completed the stretch, even if with a hint more tension than before. Finally, she slowly eased into a sitting position and reached out to take hold of the mug, breathing in the smell and absorbing the heat. Bringing it to her lips, she sipped at the liquid and whimpered lowly before taking a larger mouthful.

“You tricked me,” she stated, golden eyes on the pink cup in her hands, one thumb sliding over the rim.

“Do you know what destiny is, Himiko?” I asked, rather than answer.

It wasn't as though she needed one anyway.

Those too-insightful golden cat's eyes pinned me, dissecting every movement I made. “It's something that... you can't avoid, isn't it? Something that would happen no matter what.”

Her shoulders shook a little and I reached over to grab a box of tissues before taking a half-step forward and sliding them onto the low-rise table in front of the couch she'd been resting on. With a mumbled word of thanks, Himiko pulled a pair free and wiped at her eyes.

“That's what most people understand it to be,” I nodded quietly, taking another sip of my soda. “The reality is a lot more technical – dry and boring – but suffice to say there are... precursor events. Things which happen that increase the probability for other things to happen after them.”

“That doesn't sound cute at all,” Himiko shook her head, sniffling. “I was trying so hard...”

“What this means, in practice,” I continued as if she hadn't spoken, my tone dry and distant, “is that a person who lives a certain kind of life, with a certain kind of condition they can't take care of, is increasingly likely to the point of certainty to end up in a position no matter what. Few things are ever truly inevitable, but even fewer people stop to understand and prevent them instead of passively going with the flow of their daily lives.”

“And how does that HELP ME?!” Himiko shouted, slamming her hands on the table in front of her and looking up at me with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, her fangs on full display in a snarl of rage. “I was happy, dammit! I-I had friends and Mother and Father and-and-”

The flash of anger spent, she curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her body as she sobbed.

We both knew it was a lie, so I didn't call her out on it.

I didn't need to, anyway.

I wanted to close the distance between us and wrap her in my own arms, lie to her and tell her everything would be alright, but... I couldn't. Not only was that not what she needed right now, but it wouldn't end well for either of us. Himiko could be talked out of regretting what had just happened, or at least could be talked into blaming me instead, with little effort. What would happen should I approach an angry, scared animal in its moment of most vulnerable weakness, especially when that part of her was so close to the surface...

Well, Himiko would never forgive herself for that, for attacking someone who was legitimately trying to help her once she realized the truth of the situation.

“If you know something is almost certain to happen, you can control how and when and where it will happen as a result,” I said calmly, the blond girl taking a shuddering breath. “An incident that could have taken place around friends and family, in front of people you wouldn't be able to escape from... instead happens in a small town hours away from Tokyo that you don't need to ever visit again in front of people you'll probably never meet again.”

Himiko stilled as what I was telling her sunk in.

That realization was my gift to her and the out for my own conscience. A lie I could, myself, believe in to protect my own blackened soul.

This, after all, was my inevitability. A future I could no more prevent than she could her own. The choices we had weren't choices at all, just how we would face what was coming and where we would go from there.

Gradually, Himiko's grip on herself loosened and the anxiety in her slowly deflated. She reached out and took hold of the mug again, taking a long sip. Her shoulders eased themselves into resignation as she shook her head. “Your love... isn't cute at all, Hitoshi-kun.”

I blinked, cocking my head, then sighed slightly with a sad smile. “It probably isn't, no. But that's... well, we are what we are, and sometimes there's no denying that, no matter how much we want to.”

Golden eyes squinted at me, the mood behind them shifting as Himiko finally felt secure enough to notice her surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere you can rest until you want to leave,” I replied, taking a long drink of my soda.

Himiko frowned at my non-answer, her eyes wandering up the featureless walls... and eventually catching sight of the table and chairs above her, then the kitchen range and cabinets. “Why is all that stuff on the ceiling?”

I cleared my throat, looking away and my cheeks flushed slightly. “It's... ah, it's an MC Escher model apartment. They have a more efficient use of space, even if they take a bit of time to get used to.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Himiko nodded, still craning her neck to stare at the kitchen. “How do you...”

She made a vague motion between here and there.

“You can either jump high enough to let the altered gravity take over and flip mid-air or you can use the walkways,” I stated, pointing towards a pair of brick columns that framed the floor-to-ceiling doorways on either side of the openings.

“Really?” Himiko asked, cocking her head.

I nodded, opening my mouth to-

In a fluid motion, Himiko stood and set her mug on the small table before leaping with all of her impressive strength, spinning midair in a move that would impress most professional gymnasts, and landing on her sock-clad feet in my kitchen.

Then proceeding to do so again, shooting me a wide-eyed look of glee with a too-wide smile as she landed exactly where she'd taken off from.

I watched as she took off running, hitting the path of polished brick and running down one of the walls only to hit the floor and cross the interim space before running up the other side of the wall, getting to the 'ceiling,' and then jumping off the kitchen floor to the living room floor. Then she repeated the process, varying the method she chose to traverse the space with each repetition.

I drained my coke and contemplated the situation.

Hmm... I wonder if this world has a hotline to call for advice if your girlfriend suddenly gets the zoomies?

I blinked, feeling an evil smile overtake my face as I reached into my pocket and fiddled with the utility apps on my phone before finding the one I needed. On her latest round of the course, Himiko stopped abruptly when her eyes locked on a small red dot. Her muscles tensed, her eyes wide and dilated, her fingers twitching.

Then she pounced.

My lips went white as I suppressed the urge to bust out laughing, instead directing the small red dot of my phone's laser-pointer around the room as I sat in silent, hysterical amusement. Chasing the eternally elusive prey of all feline entities, Himiko stalked and leaped after it, clawed fingers reaching out and attempting to grasp the very ether itself.

“Why can't I stop chaaaaa~aaaaasing it?!” Himiko whined, clambering over the couch and diving on it one last time before I cut it off. Laying on the cushions and breathing harshly, Himiko was wide-eyed as she stared at me, both the quirk and the person looking out in excited disbelief.

“Because you've never fed or used your quirk intensively before,” I stated, my lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Himiko pouted at me, a trace of the mask manifesting itself again. “Hitoshi-kun is mean.”

I simply chuckled and drained my drink before standing and stretching. “I'm going to make lunch. Do you want anything specific?”

“I should do it,” Himiko stated impulsively, then blushed and withdrew slightly. “Cooking, I mean. That's... I-I'm the girlfriend.”

I hummed. “Is that what you want?”

There was pressure in the way I asked the question, the slightest glimmer of essence filling my voice.

Himiko's face blanked. “It's what Mother and Father say.”

I began walking towards the brick pillar that would take me up to the kitchen. “I'm not in a relationship with your mother and father. I'm in one with you. What do you want?”

The blond girl paused, then followed after me silently... her face a curious mix of emotions and non-emotions.

I began pulling out fruits and vegetables, bread and meats, and prepping a set of small sandwiches with light sides. We were still expected at dinner, after all. Himiko took to the cutting with a deft fluidity that spoke of at least one segment of cooking she authentically enjoyed while I focused on the other parts of the meal.

“I'm going to UA,” I stated as we set the food and drinks down. The caffeine and sugar addict in me wanted another soda, but I resigned myself to juice. “This coming year.”

Himiko blinked. “I thought you were a year younger?”

“I'm skipping a year,” I replied, disregarding peripherals like 'if it worked out,' or 'if I passed the test.' There was little chance I was going to fail unless I did so intentionally. “If you want to continue our relationship, I'd like you to give serious thought to following me there.”

Himiko frowned, another bit of the mask falling slowly back into place with someone else's expression. “Mother and Father talked about a boarding school. A place that teaches how to be a good wife.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked again.

Himiko paused in taking a bite of her sandwich, then continued eating. “I don't know. I... thought it was? Before today.”

I nodded, taking no offense at the confused and resentful look she threw my way. Tolerating your world being thrown into chaos simply at the whim of someone else who thought they knew better what you needed wasn't easy, after all. Nor should it be, really.

“It's your choice,” I lied, if only because it wasn't really a choice at all, and we both knew it.

There was silence for a long moment as we ate, Himiko shivering in delight with the pieces of passion fruit and pomegranate I'd carved up for her. Sprinkled with a little lemon juice and the resulting taste mimicked that of blood without quite getting close enough to register as the same thing.

“Do you think I'd like it there?” Himiko finally asked, her food halfway gone.

I nodded. “Now that you know what to watch out for, I think you could manage if you want to be a regular person. The question is...”

“If I want that,” Himiko nodded, pushing her plate away and curling her arms together to lay her head on them. “Your love really is cruel, Hitoshi. You wake something up in me and then offer to let me walk away instead of taking responsibility for it. You're a big meanie.”

“If I don't offer you a chance to walk away, I don't think I can live with myself afterwards,” I stated plainly. “Being with me... we've moved quickly, Himiko. I wanted more time, but... making the choice to stand by me isn't the kind of thing you can take back. Once someone says they love me, they can't just leave anymore, and you need to know that before we get to that point.”

The half-true explanation of the Celestial Bureaucracy was on the tip of my tongue, but I eschewed it in favor of something more honest. She wouldn't care about the complexities and details anyway, just like she didn't care how I knew her so well or how my apartment casually violated physics. It wasn't in Himiko to care about things that were that abstract.

“I love you,” Himiko stated plainly and I jerked in shock-

-but didn't hear my phone ding.

I sighed, partly in relief and partly in exasperation. “It has to be sincere, Himiko. Authentic. You can't just say the words. You have to mean them.”

Gold eyes peaked at me from her tangled arms. “I love you.”

No chime.

I gave another sigh, this one slightly more aggravated as I reached up and rubbed at my forehead. “Please stop trying, Himiko. You're going to give me a stroke.”

“You're not supposed to be able to tell I don't mean it!” Himiko whined, the emotional fit only half-faked. “Ugh! You're not cute at all, Hitoshi! Not cute, not cute, not cute!”

I rolled my eyes. “If you can't mean something, then don't say it. To me, at least.”

We both knew she'd keep lying to everyone else.

So would I for that matter.

Maybe that's why we fit together so well? We can manufacture comfortable lies whenever we encounter hard truths, then let ourselves believe them rather than confront the ugliness.

“But you love me,” Himiko said quietly, her tantrum passing as she laid her head back down on the cushion of her arms. “I felt it. When I...”

“When you drank my blood,” I stated unflinchingly.

It was Himiko who flinched at my blunt assessment. Her gold eyes stared at me, assessing. “It burns, but it's cold. A fire that still hurts, but it freezes instead. You want to protect me, but... not physically. You don't look away from what you see in me. You're the only one who never has. Why?”

I plucked a grape and chewed it slowly. “Because I know it's dangerous, but still think it's beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed and her smile stretched. “Mother and Father might not want me to go to UA. I don't think they'll like the idea of me as a hero, even if it's just to be with you.”

“I can handle your parents,” I stated unequivocally. I was even looking forward to the challenge tonight, middling though I expected to be. The Toga family wasn't some grand mystery or complex problem to solve. They were simple, stupid people with simple, stupid lives that were easy for me to dismantle should I feel the need.

Part of me hoped they gave me a reason to do so.

“You're the first person who's ever said they loved me, you know?” Himiko asked, picking up another piece of fruit and popping it in her mouth. “The first to mean it, at least. My little sister used to, when she was younger. Mother and Father don't let us talk much anymore. She's always at cram school, it seems like. You... are you...”

I waited patiently as she wiped her eyes, staring up at me from where she was half-lying on the table. “Are you... sure you want me?”

The desperation in her tone was unmistakable.

“Yes,” I nodded. “My life is a complicated mess and will probably only get worse, but I'll never turn you away. That, at least, I can promise. I love you.”

“Can you promise that I'll get to see you like you see me?” Himiko asked, swallowing and taking a deep breath. “You... know everything about me. I want to... to...”

“Become me,” I smiled at her.

Himiko shivered in pleasure, obviously trying to fight the feeling that was coming over her, but failing. “Can I?”

She licked her lips.

“Whenever you want,” I paused. “Though I'd like some warning first.”

Himiko nodded rapidly, taking a deep breath and steeling herself.

“I love you.”

This time, she'd meant it.

~~~

Okay, a couple of house-keeping things to get done before I talk about stuff.

First, IOS (Apple) is now servicing the Patreon App through the App Store. For the uninitiated, this means that ANY MEMBERSHIP you purchase/subscribe to through the IOS Patreon App will come with an Apple surcharge. I strongly recommend you use the website to subscribe to creators.

To clarify, this charge is not coming out of what you're giving me. It's EXTRA on top of that, just for Apple. And that sucks and I don't want you to have to pay it.

So now you know, and knowing is four-eights of the battle.

Next up... the Advanced Poll has closed and we'll be looking at an extra-long chapter of The Hand We're Dealt next week. Just FYI, that's coming down the pipeline.

Finally, I seem to have completed my taxes now, so hopefully after I send those off I'll be a little less busy. I wish you all the best on your own filings as well.

Uhh... anything to say about the story? Not really. Hitoshi and Himiko being very cute, but deeply unhealthy and continuing to be very interesting to write because of it. Next chapter will be the dinner and then we'll get back to hero shenanigans for a while.

Look for the Naruto Industrious update over the weekend!

Mind Games - Chapter 19

Okay, a couple of house-keeping things to get done before I talk about stuff.

First, IOS (Apple) is now servicing the Patreon App through the App Store. For the uninitiated, this means that ANY MEMBERSHIP you purchase/subscribe to through the IOS Patreon App will come with an Apple surcharge. I strongly recommend you use the website to subscribe to creators.

To clarify, this charge is not coming out of what you're giving me. It's EXTRA on top of that, just for Apple. And that sucks and I don't want you to have to pay it.

So now you know, and knowing is four-eights of the battle.

Next up... the Advanced Poll has closed and we'll be looking at an extra-long chapter of The Hand We're Dealt next week. Just FYI, that's coming down the pipeline.

Finally, I seem to have completed my taxes now, so hopefully after I send those off I'll be a little less busy. I wish you all the best on your own filings as well.

Uhh... anything to say about the story? Not really. Hitoshi and Himiko being very cute, but deeply unhealthy and continuing to be very interesting to write because of it. Next chapter will be the dinner and then we'll get back to hero shenanigans for a while.

Look for the Naruto Industrious update over the weekend!

Nexus Event - Lore Dump (Part 2)

“So, wait...” Hermione paused, sipping at her drink. “I was under the impression that, outside of the initial violence of conquest, Muslim governments were largely tolerant given their realm's relatively cosmopolitan population. Was the oppression and threat of violence really that severe as to form the impetus for a societal schism?”

 “I assume you're referring to the oft-repeated application of the Jizya, the tax on non-Muslims, as a comparative mark of tolerance of their own system. Especially when one compares such things to other contemporary realms, especially Christian ones?”

“Precisely,” Hermione nodded, tapping a finger against her chin. “I'm not sure how back the Millet System of the Ottoman Empire goes, for example, but it could be considered another such example. Many Muslim communities were remarkably tolerant of non-Muslim ways of life, you have to admit.”

“For the time periods we're speaking of, yes,” I granted, emphasizing the qualifier. “Though, again, we're running into the risk of oversimplifying nearly a millennia and a half of complex socio-cultural, economic, and legal interactions across three continents.”

“Acknowledged,” the bushy-haired bookworm affirmed, “but even still... I think my point stands.”

“It does,” I nodded, “but it overlooks one of the classic mistakes many historians and researchers make.”

“Oh, what's that?” Hermione asked, a trace of defensiveness in her tone as I poked her academic pride. Which, if she was this bad at age eleven, I shuddered to imagine what she would be like if she ever got into university.

“Telling someone in the Medieval Middle East that they have it better than someone in Christian Feudal Europe doesn't actually mean anything or help their situation in a material way,” I informed her.

Hermione's brows furrowed. “But it's not supposed to-oh.”

“Yep,” I grinned, taking a deep drink.

“Oh,” Hermione stated again, her eyes wide with realization. “That... yes, I suppose that is a rather subtle yet profound issue at play when analyzing these issues. To clarify, you're saying that just because one region or ruling class was more tolerant than their contemporaries, such a distinction isn't really germane when discussing how it affects the motivations and lives of the people actually living under them.”

“Comparative analysis is all well and good from a modern academic perspective,” I moderated my earlier statement. “But bringing it up in this context is...”

I rolled my hand at the wrist, making a vague motion in the air as I struggled for a word that wasn't either condescending or outright insulting.

“Ancillary, at best,” Hermione filled in, giving me a smile.

“Just so,” I hummed thoughtfully. “Even if I think you understand the thrust of the point, a more material example to further illustrate things might be your own experiences here in the magical world as a muggle born witch.”

Hermione jerked slightly in her seat, blinking as she transitioned from the passive thoughtful academic to the culture-shocked child transitioning to an entirely new world. “That... I don't think I ever would have thought of it like that. I suppose there are some similarities, aren't there?”

“How would you react to a comparative analysis of the situation you're facing here in wizarding Britain versus the much harsher caste-based magical societies in India, China, or Japan?” I asked gently. “Imagine being approached by some wealthy professional who is very knowledgeable about your situation and being informed that you actually have it very good and shouldn't complain so much.”

“I suppose I'd be rather irked,” Hermione huffed, frustration mixing with humor as she contemplated my scenario. “Regardless of where my personal treatment stands against a gradient of other such examples or knowing that it could be much worse, it isn't very satisfying to be treated as a second-class citizen in a society very clearly not built to accommodate people of my identity.”

“And that really is the fundamental issue at play in western magical societies,” I stated, leaning back and crossing my legs as I reached for my drink again. “I'm not going to digress into an analysis of eastern magical societies right now – perhaps another time – but it doesn't really matter how good or bad someone 'has it' a thousand miles away when you have to deal with paying more taxes than everyone else, being looked upon with suspicion or accused outright of crimes you didn't commit, or barred from civil service because of some aspect of your birth or identity that you refuse to alienate yourself from merely to fit in.”

“Under that lens, it is rather understandable how the magical populations of these regions felt they didn't have any recourse but to form parallel societies,” Hermione nodded, picking her pen back up and beginning to write. “Just a moment, I need to get all this down. It's terribly important and I allowed myself to get too involved in the discussion to keep taking notes simultaneously.”

“Take your time,” I stated, picking up a few slices of chilled meats and cheeses and assembling a small sandwich for myself.

After a short break where we mutually indulged in a bit more food and drink, Hermione cleared her throat. “So... can I assume that something similar was happening in European societies during these periods?”

“Similar, but distinct,” I confirmed, removing my wand and giving my clothing a quick tap that banished the small crumbs coating it. “It's probably best that we transition here to the High Medieval period, that is, between one thousand and thirteen hundred AD-”

“You do know that modern historians are attempting to convert to the Common Era standard rather than the religiously-denoted Anno Domini demarcation, correct?” Hermione interrupted, her pen still scraping away.

“The term 'Common Era' actually originates during the early seventeenth century and as such isn't really all that 'modern' in its use. I won't be using it, though, given that I am in face a Crown Prince of the Kingdom of New Camelot and, therefore, ascribe to the belief that rulership is a divinely-ordained position anointed by the Most High,” I stated, my voice bland and overtly irritable.

Hermione had looked up when I'd contradicted her and my level stare drew a flush to her cheeks, forcing her gaze downcast again as she realized this wasn't something I was going to be shamed into. “Ah, well then... I'm terribly sorry, please go on?”

I cleared my throat and took a breath, pushing away the momentary frustration with practiced ease. Hermione might be less of a know-it-all when confronted with people who genuinely and provably knew more than her on a given subject, but she was still overeager to show off her knowledge and academic skills.

“The High Medieval period was, in many ways, the high-water mark for upper-class magical and mundane relations since the Fall of Rome.” I paused pointedly. “While also representing the low-water mark for lower-class magical and mundane relations.”

“That's... quite the dichotomy,” Hermione stated, quietly stunned. “How do you explain the difference?”

“How do you explain the dichotomy of political opinions between the upper and lower-classes today?” I asked in reply, admittedly somewhat cheekily.

“Well... there are a number of reasons,” Hermione hedged, nibbling on the end of her pen. “But for the sake of brevity, I would say money.”

“That is what tends to make the upper-class and the lower-class what they are, respectively,” I acknowledged. “But to go more in-depth on the subject... money allows one access to many things: formal education, land ownership, the ability to travel, the power to bribe officials, the ability to hire their own military force to keep peace in their lands...”

I drained my cup as the thought percolated in Hermione's head and her pen scratched. I moved to pour myself more from the pitcher. “That is one thing that stays constant throughout both of our societies, I suppose. And that difference between upper and lower-classes manifested in poorer witches and wizards being less capable of defending themselves from mundane individuals, specifically the nobility and the churches, but also the regular peasantry.”

“Was it religious persecution?” Hermione asked, frowning. “I did a bit of research on the subject before coming to Hogwarts and the earliest real evidence there is for that kind of thing is in the mid twelve-hundreds with the formal establishment of the Inquisition and Pope Alexander the IV's ruling that sorcery amounted to heresy.”

“Religion played a part in what happened next, no doubt, but it was more complicated than one simple issue,” I stated slowly, puzzling out my own words on the topic. “While the old magical cults to the pagan deities of Rome had faded in the time since the Fall of the Western Empire, magicals were looked upon with suspicion when they attempted to enter Catholic houses of worship and generally kept of a kind of folk-paganism or quiet atheism. Neither of which, I'm sure you can imagine, enhanced their popularity or acceptance with their neighbors.”

“So they were shunned?” Hermione asked, her eyes flicking up to me.

“More like, they were kept at arm's length,” I stated. “Magicals could often offer services and products that mundane people simply couldn't, even with the minimal kind of education most families could pass down. Just a potion that could remove warts or cure boils was often invaluable in an age with otherwise primitive medical treatments. Likewise, the power to mend objects or obscure a village from an advancing group of bandits was highly prized. The result was people who liked what you could do, but wanted as little to do with you as possible and blamed any poor turn of luck – bad harvests, sickness, livestock deaths, etc – on you when no other easy target was available.”

“Wouldn't anti-muggle wards solve that problem, though? Simply allow the wizards and witches to hide in their homes?” Hermione pressed.

“To what end?” I riposted, making her frown. “You're taking the magical education of the modern age for granted, here. Even for the few especially learned or lucky magicals who knew how to construct such wards or had an ancestor who had done so, being truly apart from the community in the way you're suggesting would mean growing one's own food, raising your own livestock, making your own clothing, and all manner of other tasks. Villages exist for a reason, simply put, and it was during this time that magicals started congregating properly for the first time since Rome fell in large numbers and setting up their own communities. Some of the oldest magical towns in Europe date from the first century AD, in fact.”

“Fascinating,” Hermione muttered, taking more notes. “So communities simply pushed out magicals and forced them into their own segregated areas?”

“That and the Crusades,” I sighed, fidgeting in my chair and feeling joints pop as I did so. “Which... were something of a giant mess for both magical Europe and the magical Middle East.”

“That's a bit of an understatement just from what I understand of the subject on the mu-mundane side of things,” Hermione noted with a small smile.

“Pursuant to our side of things... the Crusader armies and the armies raised by the Muslim world in response, both needed magicals to serve in some capacity,” I explained with a frown. “It did not particularly matter whether they were skilled magicals or not, they just needed to be able to do something to help the army, particularly if it looked impressive enough to intimidate hostile forces.”

“I can see why mass conscription like that would be potentially damaging to relations between the two worlds,” the bushy-haired witch hummed. “And wealthy magicals were exempt from service?”

I nodded in affirmation. “When they did go to war, wealthy wizards – and rarely witches – traveled as a part of a ruler's personal traveling court or were enobled to act as a royal guard. Additionally, they were often actually paid, as opposed to conscripted magical soldiers who frequently went unpaid and were told that they should simply be thankful for the opportunity to die in God's service and have their blasphemy and apostasy forgiven.”

“That's...” Hermione trailed off, obviously struggling to find the words.

“That same tendency to stiff magicals of debts carried over when people traveled back to Europe as well. While magical mercenaries – often known as hit-wizards – was never exactly a common occupation, it became rarer and rarer for any magical to accept employment under a non-magical lord simply due to the chance they wouldn't be paid and the danger posed if they tried to demand it.”

“Danger?” Hermione asked, disbelief evident in her tone as I quenched the thirst I'd worked up talking at such length. “While I can imagine a modern soldier with a gun would stand a good chance against a wizard with the element of surprise, what chance would a bunch of... well, medieval knights stand?”

“Even the most well-trained combat-oriented wizards and witches of this era would be a pale shadow when compared to the sheer skill and knowledge of those today,” I reminded her pointedly, to which she blushed. “Due to the rigors of life in general, that did mean those who survived tended to be individually more powerful, but... well, everyone has to sleep at some point. A common tactic on the noble's part was often to get a wizard drunk and then take advantage of their stupor to have them murdered while defenseless.”

“Oh, I... hadn't thought about it that way,” Hermione admitted with a frown, scribbling more in her notes. “And they didn't simply do such things to wealthy magicals?”

“Those with wealth tended to be more capable in addition to being more wise to the moods of the court and the noble they were pledged to,” I stated. “That isn't to say such things didn't happen, but there was also the question of such wealthy wizards having friends or family who could act in retribution were they to suffer an untimely death.”

“I suppose money really does mean you live in a different world,” Hermione admitted softly, then froze and looked at me with alarm. “I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean-”

I waved her off. “Don't worry about that. It's the truth, after all. I try not to be the kind of person who gets mad when someone tells the truth like that.”

“Ah... alright then,” Hermione stated, still a bit uncomfortable. “So... it was the lower-class magicals that started the official movement for what would become the Statute of Secrecy?”

“We are getting to that point in history, yes,” I hummed. “The 'Print Revolution' in the magical world happened about two hundred years earlier than in the non-magical world. The invention of the self-writing quill and the proliferation of certain copying charms started to make the written word more common among our communities, increasing literacy, and thereby beginning a multiplicative – if not exponential – increase in the variety, complexity, and efficiency of modern spells and magic in general.”

“That would most like trigger a commensurate awareness of their general condition as regards political organization and rights,” Hermione hypothesized. “At least, if what I know of the muggle world carries over properly.”

“That was more or less what happened, yes. Whereas the magical communities had begun living apart from the mundane ones over the previous centuries, slowly shifting away from each other, the emergent refusal to participate in conflicts like the Crusades, and the continually mounting tension from religious ostracization and persecution began the impetus to create autonomous bureaucratic structures in the thirteen-hundreds. This, in turn, began the process of creating a political administration. Along the way, wizarding society started realizing that, in an absolute and explicit way, we could exist without non-magical society... and that was the real beginning of the Statute of Secrecy, at least in a formal way.”

“I think I remember seeing some well-articulated arguments for why the Statute – or what eventually became the Statute – should be implemented from that time period,” Hermione stated. “Although, in the history books, it seems as if such tracts emerged out of nowhere. There wasn't any discussion of public sentiment prior to the fifteen-hundreds-”

“Which focused almost entirely on the height of the European Witch Trials,” I guessed without guessing. “And completely disregarded or failed to mention any level of social, economic, and cultural complexity to the situation.”

“I wouldn't want to disparage the literature on the subject, but...” Hermione pulled an awkward place.

“To be perfectly fair, the Witchcraft Trials were pretty much the straw that broke the camel's back. They came at a time when magical society had already been dealing, for centuries, with the Inquisition, forced recruitment into the Crusading Armies, religious persecution and economic disenfranchisement... in point of fact, there's a lot to be said regarding the comparison between magical communities and Jewish communities in Europe.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, then nodded. “I suppose I can see where you're going with that thought. European Jews, especially in the east, started forming small self-sufficient market towns around the same period because of similar pressures, didn't they?”

“Shtetls,” I clarified. “That's probably why some of the largest and oldest magical communities in the area are populated primarily by Jews who used the skills of their magical family members to essentially convert their settlements to fully-magical areas of habitation in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century to escape the wars that ravaged nearby mundane communities.”

Hermione blinked. “Even that late? How were they allowed to do that if the Statute was signed in the late sixteen-hundreds?”

This is actually a good segue,” I noted, idly drumming my fingers on the table. “Even within Europe there were communities that were slow to accept the Statute being enacted. In particular, one of the problems was the fragmentary nature of magical political organization. Britain, France, Denmark, Spain... these countries had the advantage of a unified non-magical government that gave the wizards a template to pull from. Even then, though, there were some analogous growing pains in the magical world to the nationalism of the non-magical one.”

“And in order to sign a binding political agreement like the Statute of Secrecy, you'd have to have some kind of internationally-recognized governmental structure,” Hermione stated, sussing out the point and looking contemplative as a result.

“Have you taken a close look at a map of the various European polities in the magical world?” I asked her pointedly.

Hermione blinked, then shook her head silently.

“The Basque Country,” I stated bluntly.

Her eyes widened and she stiffened in her seat. “Really?”

“I don't think anyone's explained it to the French or the Spanish, yet.” I paused, chuckling. “But that's just one example, and a minor one at that. The real issue has always been the Magical Principalities of the Germanic States. If you've read anything regarding the Dark Lord Grindelwald?”

“A bit? He was active during the late thirties and early forties, wasn't he?” Hermione asked. “Roughly coinciding with the Second World War.”

“In a previous age, Grindelwald would have been spoken of much more fondly, especially had he succeeded in his attempt to unify the principalities. His tactics, though... were suitably cruel that they belonged within that earlier age. Modernity simply doesn't forgive the kinds of black magic he used so easily,” I explained. “More germane to our discussion, though, is the fact that there are a handful of the old German princely states that never signed the Statute. They're small ones and, in large part, they still maintain some level of secrecy simply due to the fact that magical communities live apart from mundane ones, but...”

“There's no legal enforcement mechanism to compel them to erase their citizen's memories,” Hermione understood. “But if that's the case, wouldn't rumors or proof of magic society-”

“Get erased and confiscated the moment they move past the border?” I interjected. “Or simply disregarded as wild tales and evidence of some kind of mental condition?”

“B-but television-” Hermione tried, waving a hand expressively.

“In the kind of quality an immediate broadcast you'd need to be able to catch something like that on film?” I asked. “Television is almost at the point where you can get someone on-site with a camera in half an hour and have everything hooked up for broadcast to the station and then to the wider world. There might be a reduced amount of latency in the signal itself, especially in the last decade, but we just don't have the kind of ease-of-use and portability to allow someone to be on-site with a camera when magical phenomena happens.”

Which would change in ten to fifteen years, but a decade and a half in the future wasn't today.

 “When you put it like that...” Hermione grudgingly nodded. “So, which countries today aren't signatories to the Statute?”

I leaned back in my seat and thought on the question. “Well... it's fewer than you'd imagine, but they're important. The Magical Congress of the United States of America signed for many of the same reasons the European countries did, though the surviving population of native American practitioners probably strengthened the impulse, as it allowed their communities to better hide themselves. The Caribbean magical communities, though...”

“That's where New Camelot is located, isn't it?” Hermione asked suddenly.

I nodded. “New Camelot is on a warded island the size, often referred to as Jamaica's Twin just west of that same island. There are probably a dozen other islands that have warded themselves off in that region, all of which have significant mundane populations that live on them. There's a similar phenomenon in Indonesia, as well, with small island kingdoms run by a magical royal houses. The magical population of Australia... well, the one that hails from European-descended lines signed the Statute, but the aboriginal communities – note the plural there – still operates on a tribal societal level. There's virtually no way to push them to enforce the Statute.”

“What about Africa? Sub-Saharan Africa specifically, given you've talked about the north of the continent,” Hermione asked.

“Most of the people living on the magical side of the divide in Sub-Saharan Africa simply don't acknowledge the existing mundane political structures and have something of a loose tribal confederation instead.” I explained slowly. “Keep in mind that these are very broad summaries, but... Africa is still a hotbed of witch hunts-”

“It is?” Hermione blinked, startled.

“It is,” I confirmed. “Literally thousands of people across the continent are accused of being witches, very often orphans and young children so that society can justify no providing for them.”

Her eyes wide, Hermione pressed a hand over her mouth. “That's horrifying!”

“The magical communities of Africa have actually made a practice of... well, essentially abducting magical individuals accused of witchcraft to extract them from volatile situations.” I grimaced, but there wasn't really a more polite way to put it without disguising the truth. “Granted, most magicals, especially the children, opt to stay with the tribes after their experience on the mundane side, but it's still a necessary evil to combat an unnecessary one.”

“And you said India, China, and Japan are more complicated than that?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

I sighed deeply. “The respective regions have an unfortunate habit of each dynasty retreating from advancing forces attempting to overthrow them, magically concealing their position and simply setting up an isolated city-state under their rule. There are roughly fifteen major cities with a population of over a million beings each, all of them claiming to be the true ruling leaders of each respective country's magical population. At least, that is the case for China and Japan.”

“And India?” Hermione asked.

 “India is subdivided into so many princely states that it functionally doesn't exist as a singular magical political entity, much like Germany,” I explained.

“That is...” Hermione struggled for words.

“Something of a catastrophe, given the situation we're facing, I'm aware,” I stated, my tone turning suddenly grave.

Far more than you, yourself, know.

~~~

Here's the second part of the Lore Dump for Nexus Event and concludes the things that I won't be able to work into the story organically very easily.

Hope everyone enjoys it.

Next update will be more Mind Games and the Naruto side of Industrious.

Thank you for your support and patience.

Nexus Event - Lore Dump (Part 2)

Here's the second part of the Lore Dump for Nexus Event and concludes the things that I won't be able to work into the story organically very easily.

Hope everyone enjoys it.

Next update will be more Mind Games and the Naruto side of Industrious.

Thank you for your support and patience.

Mind Games - Chapter 18

“-okay, so level with me,” I spoke aloud, pulling out various bits and pieces I'd need in a fit of last-minute preparation. “What kind of mess am I dealing with?”

“Asking a question like that after giving me the sample size you have is effectively like producing a picture of a feral dog or cat – not even the organism itself – and asking me to tell you about all life on Earth,” Velma replied tiredly. “As incomprehensible and unknowable as the rules by which they operate are, the eldritch have a similar kind of diversity in them to more mundane lifeforms.”

“Alright,” I replied, looking over my bag and shoving a few more things into it, “can you tell me whatever you know from the scans you got, then?”

“I can tell you that the provisional Danger Rating for this world has been officially changed to a six instead of a four with a further upgrade pending and dependent on more data being collected,” Velma replied, noisily slurping from something. With her personality, I guessed strong coffee or tea. “Which means you're not going to be working off a loan, for what it's worth.”

“I'd like that in writing and properly notarized, please,” I droned, taking a moment to lean against my bookcase and study my surroundings.

“Comments like that almost make me think you don't trust us, Hitoshi.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

Velma scoffed. “That hack wishes he had half the reach The Company does.”

Point. They probably employ a dozen different versions of the guy – girl – whatever. Or more.

“Not something you should be bragging about, first off,” I stated, sighing. “Next, this is a digression. What am I facing?”

“Well... it's definitely eldritch, we can say that much,” Velma replied, her fingers clacking against a keyboard. “This isn't man-in-a-mask style villainy and that wasn't someone with a particularly strange quirk you faced last night.”

“Good to know, I suppose,” I granted cautiously. “Anything else?”

“Not much. Eldritch entities of all types and stripes tend to operate on their own rules. Their own, very personalized rules.” She paused abruptly. “For a given value of 'person' in this instance. Anyway, the point is that what works on one might not work on another. Or might not work on the same one in a different situation.”

“'The oldest and most strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown,'” I quoted off fluidly. “You're not telling me anything I don't already know, Velma.”

“Okay, being blunt about this, it's not really my job to tell you anything you do or don't know. I am, at best, usually expected to walk some idiot through the standard tech support spiel because said idiot never read the manual and could have fixed his own problem if he had,” she stated curtly, taking another audible swig from her cup. “I recognize the fact that you're on your own in a situation you didn't sign up for, Hitoshi, but if we're going to have a productive relationship going forward, then you need to recognize that this branch of The Company is only rated for DR 5 and below canon worlds. That means I'm only trained on DR 5 and below canon worlds. So I'm winging it as much as you are.”

I hummed, considering the words. “For the sake of my own survival, fine. I apologize for my conduct just now.”

Velma sniffed. “Just now? Not for the entire mission.”

“No.”

“I'll take what I can get, then,” Velma sighed. “Ji-eeezus Christ, okay... you're probably looking at a low-eldritch world. So I'd expect there to be some kind of masquerade being enforced. This is just my personal evaluation, but I'd put money on whatever happened to the metaphysical environment of this world to bring about the dawn of the age of quirks having some unintended side effect and bringing eldritch entities into or close to this world.”

I thought about it for a moment. “That means the historical archive I've sent you lines up with a non-divergent standard reality until the Glowing Baby, then?”

“That's the general idea that the Cortana we had go over it spat back,” Velma hummed. “Or, at least the publicly-recorded history. You know how these things are.”

“I mean, not really,” I said, reaching up to massage my forehead. “But I understand the theory of convergent timeline development, at least.”

IE: The most boring possible interpretation of the Many Worlds Theory.

However, in the infinite omniverse, all things were true. As annoying as it was to confront in practice, that seemed at first glance what we were dealing with here. Even if it made no sense for you to run into Teddy Roosevelt or George HW Bush in a world-line with millennia-old cults praying to dark gods beyond time and space, well...

 If you had enough cosmic monkeys on enough universal typewriters, you'd eventually get a cluster of realities where the only noticeable, recorded difference was the stitching pattern on Jesus' sandals... outside of the shadow world of ancient conspiracies no one knew about. It was apparently one of those hyper-nihilistic mindfuck puzzles that The Company handed out in their Basic Training to weed out people who were bothered by the concept that the whole 'Free Will' thing might not matter after all.

 “So, what... you think a group of cultists or something tried to start an apocalypse, botched it, and the resulting metaphysical shenanigans manifested in quirks?” I asked, not entirely skeptical of the idea.

“I'm not paid to hypothesize points of divergence for superhero universes,” Velma replied stoically. “No, scratch that. You couldn't pay me enough to do that job. I've seen the turnover rate and brain bleach gets expensive after a while.”

I opened my mouth to reply, then thought better of it. There was too much in that sentence for even me to unpack, especially right now. Instead, I changed tracks. “I have the damndest feeling you're going to end this conversation by telling me that I'm doing an excellent job, keep it up, and there's no way for you to help me anymore than you have been.”

“Don't be silly, I'm going to say that right now and then end the conversation by reminding you that you have unspent Company Credits,” Velma replied cheerily.

I groaned. “Fuck, fine. Pocket Apartment, both levels.”

 There was a flurry of typing. “You do have a mission available to reimburse you for one tier of that purchase. Do you still want to make this purchase or would you rather buy one level and complete the mission for the second?”

“I'd rather purchase both levels right now and complete the mission for the refund later,” I replied. “I've bookmarked the design I want for my apartment on my device, by the way. Oh, any chance I could get a personal home-defense armory loaded into it?”

Velma hummed. “I'm technically allowed to include a handgun and shotgun with the purchase, but you'll be on your own for ammo after the initial box. If you want the refilling cache or the full armor you'll have to shell out for Sweet Home. Which, I'll add, you do have the credits for.”

 “I want to keep a rainy day fund,” I shook my head, even if she couldn't see me. “I can still purchase one more template for myself, right?”

“One more,” Velma emphasized. “The reason the newer contracts escalate pricing on those is because people started turning their souls into pretzels loading up so many of them. You're already over the recommended limit for a new agent, but between the synergy they've got going and the amount of Defenses you're running, you probably won't explode if we jam something else in your metaphysiology.”

“Awesome,” I nodded. Besides, the template probably wasn't going to be for me, anyway.

“Anything else?” Velma asked instead, still chipper and caffeinated.

“Not for now, I guess.” I sighed and then, almost against my better judgment, added. “Thanks.”

“You're quite welcome. Happy Hunting, Contractor,” she replied.

I rolled my eyes and cut the call.

Then took a deep breath and released it slowly, feeling a meditative calm come over me in the predawn quiet of the early morning. “I'm not going to agonize over things I can't change. I'm not going to piss and moan like a bitch. I had a choice, I made it, now I have to live with it.”

Even if a deal made while you're bleeding out from a car crash isn't really a 'choice.'

Holding my bag up, I hit the mental trigger to shift it into my personal dimensional pocket and nodded in satisfaction as it disappeared into that folded space.

I'd check out my new apartment later.

I opened the door and spun my keys on one finger, the metal chiming against itself as it smacked into my palm with each rotation. “Hey Dad, heading out for the day.”

There was a small clatter of pots and pans as my father tried to casually prepare breakfast for himself. “A-ah, Hitoshi! I, uh-heard you in your room. I didn't know you were leaving quite this early!”

Guilt and worry clouded the room, a thick and invisible miasma.

I refrained from rolling my eyes as I grabbed two of my premade breakfast burritos from the freezer and tossed it into the microwave. “Uh-huh. So you weren't listening at my door a few minutes ago?”

Niko flinched and almost dropped another pot, then sighed. “Hi-Hitoshi... I was just... I'm your father. It's my job to worry.”

Which is one reason I'm buying the apartment early instead of waiting to complete the mission.

“I won't tell you not to,” I decided to say, scratching my neck anxiously as the microwave hummed in the otherwise silent kitchen. “But this isn't really something you can help with, Dad.”

Niko sighed and rubbed at his jaw tiredly. “...what was that language you were speaking? I didn't recognize it.”

“High Sylvan,” I answered with a shrug. “It's... the tongue of the ruling nobility of the Courts of Faerie. Think... western yokai. The language, though... isn't really local.”

Fear came in, like a northern gale as it battered the cold light of a resolute sun.

Niko hummed again, thoughtfully. “Can I... ask about some things? Just... nothing major, but from time to time, if I have questions?”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye, taking care to remain facing the spinning plate in the glowing box humanity prayed to daily for hot meals. “That means you gave up figuring out where I pulled the bunny from?”

Niko snorted, seeming to surprise himself at the action. “I... ah, let's say I'm trying to be more open-minded about things.”

“Then I guess...” I hesitated, chewing on the thought for a moment. “Ask about as much as you think you can handle. Keeping in mind that this is something I have to handle myself.”

Niko paused, considering the ultimatum. “I'll... think on it, then.”

The microwave dinged and I stepped up to remove the burritos from it. Then dropped the plate in front of my father before picking one of them up in a folded paper towel. “Whatever you think is best, but eat this instead of whatever store-bought processed crap you were going to heat up, okay? We both know these are better for you.”

Finally, finally... the turbulence in the room abated somewhat, melting into placid warmth.

“Ah... thanks, Hitoshi.” Niko flushed and scratched at his head. “I, ah... looked over the new contract you left when you got home last night. It looks good, but there are a few things I want to go over with you later tonight or tomorrow. Sounds good?”

“Sounds good,” I echoed, the words somewhat muffled by the bite of food in my mouth. Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, I dumped some in after the burrito and swallowed. “You should let that sticky mess I made of those pots soak in the sink and I’ll take care of them when I get back. I'm heading out now, okay?”

Dad nodded, his eyes glancing over the evil candy-coated mess I’d left with a flicker of amusement before picking his own breakfast up gingerly. “Be careful and don't do anything dangerous.”

I snorted, grinning. “If I was going to abide by your definition of dangerous, old man, I wouldn't leave the house.”

My tone took the sting from the words, though the faint tang of bittersweet ozone pervaded the air. A warning before the storm. Still, there was enough of that good-weather vibe remaining that I didn't worry.

Then I was out of the house and into the true cold morning weather of late January. Thankfully, the winter had been fairly mild and the last of the snow had worn down to ice a week prior. Now the streets were simply chilly with small patches of frozen water here and there. The immediate forecast, though, was for a cloudless day as warm as it could feasibly get this time of year.

Which made it perfect for an outdoor activity.

One relatively quick train ride later, Himiko casually appeared in my field of view far too close for it to have been anything but a deliberate act to avoid my notice and make a statement. Atypical for the girl, she was wearing long thick pants that had seen better days, a pair of sturdy shoes, and a worn coat with a few buttons missing. The only thing that looked like it was a part of her usual ensemble was the pink scarf with white rabbits holding red hearts spaced regularly over the fabric.

“These clothes are not cute.”

My lips twitched as I suppressed a smirk. “Thrift shop?”

Himiko pranced to my side, the movement a fluid dancer's motion. “I had to have the store hold them for me so I could come in and change this morning.”

 Instantly, my amusement faded. “Sorry about making things difficult for you. Did your parents give you any other trouble about today?”

That fake smile slithered across her face. “Nope! They thought I looked totally cute in my date outfit! As long as I come home with you for dinner, they'll be happy!”

I nodded, then thumbed towards the train. “Alright, let's go then. We've got an hour's ride on the bullet train before we get to where we're going. Hope you brought something to read or listen to.”

Himiko rolled her eyes and hefted the bag containing her change of clothing over her shoulder. It too, looked 'ruggedly worn' if you were being charitable. “I looked up what you said we're doing today on Herotube. It didn't look very fun. Or cute.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “You remember how you didn't think you were going to like the movie I took you to? And you liked it?”

Gold eyes glittered irritably as she crossed her arms, following me across the threshold of the boarding area. Thankfully, we were both early enough and on an outbound train to the country, both factors meaning there were few people around us. Even still, the social taboo of making noise on the train forced us into near silence the moment we stepped onboard.

“I remember,” Himiko stated quietly, sitting next to me as the doors closed. She cocked her head at me, studying me up and down with open curiosity and a blank face. “You choose things you know I'll like. Things that not even I know I'll enjoy.”

“Hmm... are you comfortable with that?” I murmured, taking note that the only person within hearing range had a pair of earbuds in. “Is that something you can live with?”

Himiko frowned, kicking her feet listlessly as the train began moving. Part of her, likely, refusing to sit still outside of a place she'd marked as 'safe.' I could feel that part of her, the restless energy, build in time with her frustration. “I don't know.”

“Not knowing is fine,” I reassured her. “When you're in a relationship, you shouldn't force the other person to give you an answer they don't have yet. Patience is important. It lets the other person move along at their own pace. You can let me know when you have an answer. Still... I did promise I'd get you a gift when you gave me those sunglasses.”

I reached into my coat and pulled a medium bag of individually-wrapped hard candies out, holding them for her to take. Himiko smiled that blank smile, reaching for them-

Her nostrils flexed as she breathed in, and she froze, her eyes flicking rapidly between the clear bag and my face. “Th-these are...”

“I made them, especially for you,” I stated, my cheeks heating up just a little bit. I cleared my throat and extended them another inch, Himiko almost flinching from the bag. “I went down to a butcher and asked for a gallon from a pig. I thought about making something where the taste would come out clearer, but these will last longer and be less-”

In a motion as swift as a cat's paw, the blond reached out and snatched the bag from my grasp, instantly pulling off the red-white bow I'd put on it – see, I paid attention – and plucking one out to unwrap and put in her mouth. It took a moment for the non-stick powder coating to melt, but it was obvious when the flavor hit her tongue.

Her eyes went wide, she took a shuddering breath through her nose, and a soft whimper escaped her mouth.

Huh, guess I know what a drug dealer feels like now.

“Good?” I asked, both amused and bemused. I'd tried one, both as a test and reward, because making hard candies by hand sucked something awful, and while they were good as a kind of cherry/strawberry flavored candy, Himiko was obviously getting something special out of them.

“These are better than what the hospital gives me,” Himiko shuddered, relaxing against me. “I... thank you.”

“I'm glad you're enjoying them,” I replied with a smile. “I'll make you more whenever you want.”

Himiko looked up at me from where she was nestling against my side and stared at me with an unreadable expression... then unexpectedly dropped her head on my shoulder. “Your coat is soft. I'm gonna' nap.”

A declaration like that didn't really need a response, so I didn't bother. Instead, I snorted with faint amusement and pulled an earbud from my 'pocket' in a deft movement concealing the fact I'd drawn the small device from nowhere before cuing up some soft music for myself. The combination of that and the scent of strawberry shampoo wafting from Himiko's hair quickly lulled me near enough to sleep that I slipped into a meditative trance instead.

Even if what Himiko was doing wasn't really 'sleeping,' either.

She'd said 'nap,' after all, and her word-choice had been deliberate. If anything, it qualified as resting, even if she wasn't quite unconscious. Her body was moving too intently for me to believe that, small muscle groups regularly tensing and holding before slowly relaxing, an exercise to bleed off excess energy while remaining 'still.' It was probably one of the only useful things her quirk counselor had ever taught her. Either that or she'd just instinctively developed the skill herself at some point.

Given I did the same a lifetime ago, it's not out of the question. And the overall quality of her counseling points towards the latter rather than the former.

So... if she was still awake-ish...

Himiko could just be in the mood to otherwise entertain herself and legitimately be tired. She could be interested in seeing what I'd do while she was indisposed, both to amuse myself and given otherwise unfettered access to her 'unconscious' form. She could also be thinking over the question I'd asked her. Or trying to come up with the right questions to help her figure me out.

Or she could be doing all of the above at the same time.

Instead of pushing further, I simply allowed my head to slowly droop onto her own.

Eventually, after a bathroom break and a quick run to a vending machine during one of the stops, we arrived at the small country station and disembarked before making our way. From there, it was a ten minute walk to the dilapidated ruins of a pre-quirk section of the small village that had been turned into a walled-off area that...

I grimaced and stepped around something that wasn't there.

Sharp gold cat's eyes narrowed at my movement, briefly scanning the location I'd avoided and-

I caught Himiko's arm and shook my head as she was about to move through it. She frowned and looked back at the empty space. “What do you see?”

“Would you believe me if I said it was a ghost?” I asked, giving her a short tug towards the entrance of the large walled-off area.

“My parents don't like things like that,” Himiko stated bluntly. “They say they aren't real.”

...which was just as much a deflection as it was a warning not to bring the subject up later tonight, probably. “Lots of people say lots of things,” I replied instead. “That doesn't make them true or the people who said them right.”

Again, frustration mired Himiko's expression for a moment before she shifted back to the mask. “What do they look like? Are they cute?”

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes carefully tracing back towards the thing I'd avoided. It was human-enough for it to come from a human, but... to call it 'cute.' “I suppose it would depend on your tastes. Are you familiar with the idea of 'creepy cute' or 'grotesque cute?'”

Himiko blinked owlishly, then shook her head. “No? What's that?”

Hmm... wonder if Hot Topic survived the apocalypse?

“I'll show you some pictures later,” I promised, pulling a pair of tickets out of my 'pocket' and handing them to a perky-looking attendant at the gate. A quick scan of our tickets, a stamp on each of our hands, and we were quickly admitted.

Himiko's eyes cut left and right before reaching into her pocket and popping her third candy of the day. I knew she was trying to ration them, but the way she relaxed when the taste hit her tongue told me I'd need to make more of them soon enough.

“Okay, do either of you two have any experience with paintball?” Another of the site's attendant's asked us with a smile as we walked up to him.

“I have a little, but it's been a while,” I replied, then gestured to Himiko. “She doesn't have any.”

The girl obligingly shook her head.

Smiling at us, he gestured to the racks of gear. “Alright then, I'll run you through the safety lecture, then I'll explain your equipment options, and after that I'll turn you loose so you can decide if you want to join a team or go in the free-for-all area.”

We obligingly sat through the entire lecture and selected a pair of masks, guns, and a good supply of paintballs. I went ahead and prepaid for another five buckets of the things each given what was likely going to happen.

My girlfriend looked down at the pink gun she'd been given, staring through the equally-colorful mask, her body radiating nervous energy. I smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “Everyone is going to be shooting everyone else, that's what this place is for. All you need to worry about is that and not getting shot yourself, okay?”

Himiko nodded tentatively.

…

Two hours later, I knew I'd made a horrible mistake.

The bodies of the paint-stained and terrified patrons of the paintball range lay in various states of shock and awe around me as I crept through the ruins of a hundred-year old building. Demoralization had set in across the forces I had arrayed against the coming darkness, for my efforts had come to naught.

“Hehehe~”

A broken and sobbing man in his fifties, his equipment bearing the mark of a professional of the sport, whimpered at the echo of ghostly-giggling.

Pressurized air rang out, cries of surprise and pain from the last of the defenders.

Thirty minutes in, the fools had not believed me when I'd offered portents of doom and destruction, when I'd tried to rally them against the End of Days. They had called me mad, thought me a fool to be scared of a single junior high school girl.

They have paid the price for their mistakes, now.

I alone had emerged unscathed, unstained with the crimson splatter of defeat.

“Not human... no way she's human...” Another professional paint-baller whispered to herself as she lay curled up in a corner, her eyes vacantly staring ahead at the unmarked graves of her comrades.

“Hi~to~shi~”

Dammit.

A shiver raced up my spine as I realized there was something very wrong with me to be enticed by that sing-song taunt, that siren's call tempting me to my own destruction. I wondered if it was perhaps the part of me that remembered being Saotome Ranma, who's infamous lack of self-preservation was the thing of legends. Even he had limits, though, and Kodachi had been one of them. Although... a younger Kodachi? One who hadn't fallen to madness yet?

Hmm... yeah, good strategy. Blame Ranma, it always worked for everyone else. Definitely not my own degenerate nature coming to the fore.

I dove, the sound of pressurized air releasing hitting my ears seconds afterward, proving that relying on my natural senses would only leave me among the slain and stained here and now. I leveled blind shots from my own gun as I advanced to remove myself from her line of sight.

Dive-duck-dodge-roll-

I felt the splatter of red plastic against wood follow me in an arc and traced my own weapon back across that path.

Finally, I threw myself through a hole in the shattered structure, took a breath, and jumped. I had to get the high ground-

A weight impacted me in the chest as I bounced off one of the reinforced 'dilapidated' structures, trying to gain height. Attaching itself like a limpet to me, arms and legs squeezing around me, we went down in a tangle of limbs, our respective guns spiraling off as they were discarded. Reflexively, I took the impact instead of rolling us. It left me short of breath, but the blinding smile Himiko was wearing as she tore off her headgear was more than enough of a reward.

Both sets of fangs were fully visible, her cheeks stretched to their limits as clean white rows of ivory were exposed. Her breath came in short pants as she giggled, her cheeks flushed with emotion and her golden eyes glimmering as she pressed her weight down on me.

One hand snatched at my mask, pulling it free as I grinned up at her, still catching my breath from having it knocked out of me.

“Got~you~hehe!” Himiko giggled, swaying slightly. “What should I do~oo now, hmm?”

I was still 'winded,' so I did the only thing I could...

...I tilted my head back, my eyes silently daring her.

Himiko took a shuddering breath, her too-long tongue sliding out to slip over her teeth as her grip began getting painfully tight on my limbs. Still, it was just pain. Not harm. Not injury. Nothing like what she could actually do if she wanted to. I'd seen her grip strength first hand with some of the acrobatics she'd pulled dodging shots.

“Do it,” I told her, leaving no doubt what I was offering.

That was the last straw, apparently, as Himiko tore my coat open at the collar and sank her teeth into the flesh where my neck met my shoulder. Even as I released an involuntary hiss at the pain, I noted that. She hadn't gone for the throat. If she had, if I'd been in actual danger, I would have pulled taught on my own quirk and sent her into a trance using its thread that connected us even now.

I was horny, not suicidal.

Himiko moaned into the pierced flesh, her tongue sliding over the open wounds her teeth were still digging into. Her body locked up as she arched into me, pressing the length of her body against mine, her grip slackening in the process.

Then the tears started.

Her moans changed to sobs as she came back to herself and just as I wrapped my arms around her, she began to try to pull away, fighting my grip as I whispered into her ear and held her.

~~~

Okay, this one required a rewrite or two before it got to a place that I liked, but...

I'm really happy I took the extra time to give it the polish I did and I think it turned out really well.

There will be more Himiko coming up in the next chapter, obviously. I don't know if I'll be able to close out the second part of the date by the end of that one. If not, I don't think anyone will be bothered by extending it to a third.

Next update will be Nexus Event over the weekend. Finish out the lore chapter.

I'll have the Awesome Tier poll up momentarily.

Mind Games - Chapter 18

Okay, this one required a rewrite or two before it got to a place that I liked, but...

I'm really happy I took the extra time to give it the polish I did and I think it turned out really well.

There will be more Himiko coming up in the next chapter, obviously. I don't know if I'll be able to close out the second part of the date by the end of that one. If not, I don't think anyone will be bothered by extending it to a third.

Next update will be Nexus Event over the weekend. Finish out the lore chapter.

I'll have the Awesome Tier poll up momentarily.

March Favoritism! Advanced Tiers Poll

Second Verse, Same as the First.

March Favoritism!

I think everyone knows the way things go by now, but for those of you who are new, you pick the project you want to see written the most and I'll try to focus on that. I'm usually pretty good about it, a little wiggle room aside. I'm hoping to sneak in a chapter of some of the less-chosen stories this time around, but we'll see if time permits.

Thank you again for all your support and I hope to see you stick around for another month!

Where Your God Is - Chapter 17

I stretched as we trooped through the forest, among the first players to enter the <<Great Elven Wood>> after the event had been declared. In the end, we'd agreed to run the <<Elf War Questline>> as a single group instead of splitting up. All things considered, it was otherwise a nice day. That was one good thing about being trapped in a death game, I supposed.

“What's up, big brother? You've got that look on your face like you're thinking about something,” Leafa stated, leaning forward in that way she'd copied from an anime to try and trick me into looking down her shirt.

Well, her armor. Sensei, why were you so obsessed with mechanical realism and so willing to make the combat gear stripperrific?

It wasn't really a question.

I knew why.

“Just thinking about how the weather's always what we need on a day for a special event,” I replied idly.

“Whaddya mean?” She asked, a trace of Argo's accent on her lips. Or mine. As much as the accents of the American and Japanese south were used almost interchangeably in translating media, they weren't really like that. But I was just enough of a redneck in a past life that I'd also adopted some of Argo's habits.

“How many times have you had a school festival rained out?” I asked with a shrug, feeling the swords at my waist shift with the motion.

Leafa blinked, cocking her head. “Ah... two-no, three times? I think? We just moved everything inside, but it was a real pain.”

I pointed at her. “That's what I'm saying. It's always sunny on days we have big events planned, like the Elf War Quest opening. It never rains unless the game devs programmed it for a rainy-day special event.”

“Rainy day special event?” Asuna asked, perking up from behind us where she'd been unusually quiet.

Tellingly, an unusually subdued Mito was atypically palling around with Argo at the back of our formation. Sinon, our usual silent sentinel, was walking between them and either knowingly or unknowingly providing a barrier.

Which isn't indicative of a problem I'm going to have to deal with at all, I'm sure.

I nodded. “We've had a few since the game started, though none of them have been worth putting too much effort into given my stash of gear. There are a couple coming up, though, that we might want to take part in.”

“Like what?” Asuna asked, a fumbled motion eventually producing a notebook in a cloud of materialized data.

“Oh, the <<Crystal Tears Quest>> is coming up, isn't it?” Leafa asked, perking up.

I nodded, looking to Asuna. “The crystal tears quest is a special event that happens on rainy days on floor two after the Elf War questline starts. It's meant to encourage players to go back and retrace earlier content so that everyone isn't crowding the latest floor.”

Asuna nodded, taking notes. “And how does it work?”

“You're given the quest by an old lady who appears in inns, taverns, and other rest areas,” Leafa explained, smiling fondly in remembrance. “She shows you this necklace her husband made for her back when they were young and had just started dating, then tells you the legend of these monsters that appear in the rain that produce these blue gems called 'crystal tears.'”

“Hence the name of the quest,” I added.

“Shush,” Leafa... well, shushed me. “I'm getting to explain something for once, game otaku.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like you're any better.”

Leafa sniffed and crossed her arms, turning back to Asuna, who was watching our exchange with a wan smile. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted... you go out during the rainstorms and fight these <<Weeping Birds>> that you have to catch off guard or they'll fly away. Whenever you beat one, you get a crystal tear as a drop.”

“Of, if you're lucky, a blood crystal as a rare drop,” I chimed in again.

Leafa opened her mouth to rebuke me, then pursed her lips and nodded slowly as she accepted the correction. “Right, I remember those. The crystal tears are worth a lot if you want to sell them at item shops, but if you take them to a crafter – and it has to be a player, not an NPC – they can make you jewelry out of them that stops you from getting stat debuffs during rainstorms or in wet, marshy areas. You can catch in-game diseases or illnesses that can lower your stats, but the jewelry drops the chance waa~aay down.”

“That sounds really useful,” Asuna admitted.

I laced my fingers behind my head and looked up slightly as we continued on our way through the forest. “They are, and the quest serves multiple purposes. First, like I said, it entices players to go back over earlier content instead of just pushing forward, since not everything gets found the first time through. Next, it's the first widely-available player-only crafting recipe available and can draw people into the the game's economy on the supply-side. It's also a great way to make a lot of money really fast if you're short on it, for that matter. And, finally, it opens up a lot of quests and areas later on that would be a huge pain to deal with if you didn't have the jewelry. Like, there's an area on this floor at the far edge of the map that has disease-spreading debuff insects.”

“Oooooh,” Leafa hissed, then drew in a sharp, annoyed breath between her teeth. “I hate the <<Swamp of Lost Souls>>. So much hate.”

“Swamp of Lost Souls?” Asuna asked, then paused. “No, wait... we shouldn't get off-track.”

I shook my head. “It's just a nasty dungeon we can do later on after we get past a certain point in the Dark Elf side of the questline. The trigger is a little hidden, though, so not many people do it. That, and the skill set you need to do it is a little...”

I pulled a face, trying to find the right word.

“Complicated,” Leafa stated firmly, scowling.

“Sure, let's go with that,” I nodded. “The only reason it's important is because it's one of the earliest dungeons that isn't entirely hidden, but isn't on the beaten path either.”

“That's actually something I've been meaning to ask about,” Asuna began. “You've mentioned hidden dungeons a couple of times now... why would you hide a dungeon if the entire point of having them was for players to beat them and get the rewa-er, drops at the end?”

I hummed, thinking over the question and deciding how best to answer it. “Okay, so there's two ways to explain that. The in-game answer is that there's often enough to do in the main quests being presented to players that adding more material to them would needlessly complicate their choices about how to progress. The general rule is that, for casual players, you want to have a clearly-defined route they can advance through the game to get the material they need to get to the next stage. These are the type of people who just want to kill the monster, speed-run the conversations with the townsfolk, and only key onto the game's lore when it's important for a quest or monster.”

“And the out-of-game reason?” Asuna asked, scribbling and walking in a way that made me wonder how long she'd practiced it to not trip over a root or run into a tree.

“A lot of MMORPGs are about bragging rights,” I sighed tiredly. “There are upsides and downsides of the culture, and I hate the constant braggadocio that surrounds it, but it's undeniable that the competitive nature of secret levels, hidden dungeons, and other hard-to-reach or difficult-to-master content serves as both a hook to interest players and a status symbol within the communities.”

“That's... a really interesting way to look at things,” Asuna admitted quietly.

 “That's my brother,” Leafa sighed. “He seems to practically live off those weird ideas you get at three AM when you can't sleep and are staring at the ceiling.”

“I feel like I should be offended, but instead I just feel seen,” I stated, then grinned at my sister.

Leafa rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you would. Remind me why we're-”

Suddenly, she grimaced, her eyes flicking towards Asuna.

“-in the same party?” I asked smoothly, noting the brunette girl's eyebrows furrow slightly at the exchange. “I thought it was because of my dashing wit, effortless style, and charming demeanor?”

Leafa palmed her face, careful to keep one eye on the trail. “Hah, hah... I'm going to go talk to Sinon. At least she doesn't have an ego the size of yours.”

I let my sister make her escape, taking it for what it was instead of what she said it was. Her near-flub with our relationship in front of Asuna had obviously made her more cautious about engaging with the older girl for the moment.

With her gone, though, I gave a look around and made sure there weren't any mobs sneaking up on us. Floor three wasn't exactly a hotbed of hostile monsters, given that it was supposed to get people thinking about PVP and more organized inter-guild conflicts, but there were a few nasty surprises. I hoped the moratorium during the initial Elf War encounter would hold, though. You didn't want people accidentally triggering a field boss when they were supposed to be running into a quest prompt, after all.

“Can I ask you about something?”

I blinked and looked at Asuna, her expression unusually anxious.

Taking a shot in the dark, I jerked my head backwards, lowered my volume, and asked, “This have anything to do with you and Mito not being on speaking terms today?”

The brunette grimaced and looked away from me. “That... we're not... I mean, we're not not... ugh, I'm screwing this up.”

I sighed. “Look, I think I know what's going on here, but... just take a deep breath and start over, okay? Take your time, choose your words, and explain it to me.”

Asuna did as I requested, inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly, visibly re-centering herself as she regained that subtle poise and posture I'd come to expect from interacting with her over the past few months. “Mito... she... confessed... to me. Last night.”

The halting explanation brought a blush to Asuna's cheeks.

I clicked my tongue. “Ah.”

Asuna blinked, turning back to me. “Ah? That's it? You're not...”

“Surprised?” I replied with a faint smirk. “Not really. Taking a shot in the dark here, but... you asked me because Mito and I have known each other the longest, right?”

Asuna nodded, which... well, fair. Given she didn't know Argo or Leafa's sexual preferences and wasn't really close to Sinon – who could (and did) come off as cold or confrontational – I was the logical-ish choice.

“So you did know,” Asuna sighed. “I mean... about Mito liking girls?”

I chuckled. “The reason we stopped partnering during the beta? She asked me on a date.”

Asuna's eyes widened dramatically and she cupped her hands over her mouth. “She did not!”

“She did. She'd never asked if I ID'd as male or female and, well... I look like this,” I waved a hand over myself. “And she was using her male avatar...”

“Oh my gods,” Asuna sighed, briefly closing her eyes as the cringe-by-proxy of the moment got to her. “That's... that's just...”

“It was one of the most awkward moments of my life,” I freely admitted.

“Was that before or after you started dating Sinon?” Asuna asked, clearly invested now and openly curious.

I took a breath. Should I take the plunge? On the one hand, I'd known the girl for a while and she didn't seem like the type to freakout over someone else's relationship, no matter how unusual. On the other, I didn't really know her all that well outside of some half-remembered third-party media that might be partially or entirely off-base.

“Forgive me if I answer that question with a question, okay?” I asked, the unexpected gravitas of my reply bringing the girl up short and causing her to nod hesitantly. “Do you know what a 'polycule' is?”

The brunette girl frowned thoughtfully. “It... poly... molecule? Some kind of portmanteau?”

I smiled. “You speak French, don't you? That was a nice flourish.”

She smiled and replied in a fluent string of the foreign language I couldn't follow, then paused as she saw incomprehension on my face. “Oh, sorry. I thought... well, yes, my family vacations in France occasionally.”

“I actually recognized the word from English, which is a language I'm fluent in, just to clarify. I'd never heard it said like that, so I thought you'd be using the original French pronunciation,” I explained.

“So I was right, then,” Asuna murmured consideringly. “Poly-something. We've been discussing relationships, so... oh.”

I cleared my throat, my cheeks a bit red. “Polyamory. It's shorthand for a polyamorous relationship, meant to be evocative of the multitude of connections between atoms in a complex molecule.”

“Ah,” Asuna repeated my earlier sentiment, looking interested despite her embarrassment, even if I'd wager it was only in an academic sense. “So... you, and Sinon, and... Argo-”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded slowly, the girl's own eyes widened as she understood the implication.

“But you're brother an-no, wait...” Asuna stopped herself. “Leafa told me you're biologically cousins, so it wouldn't... although we're in the game world now, so I guess it wouldn't matter even if...”

We both almost missed a step over a particularly large tree root and had to reassure the other members of our party.

Asuna turned to me and began, “H-how would, if biological siblings-”

“I have no idea,” I preempted her question. “We live in a brave new world that pushes all sorts of boundaries with this technology. You'd need to ask someone on the legal side of things.”

Seemingly satisfied that I didn't know the answer to her question, Asuna took another breath and calmed herself again. “That's... I don't know what to think about that right now. You all seem so... normal.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “We are. If it makes you feel better, think of myself and Sinon as one couple and Leafa and Argo as another. That's how we present things IRL when we meet up. We're just two couples who go on a lot of double dates and are very familiar with each other.”

“Familiar, you are that, I suppose.” Asuna snorted, then looked appalled at herself. “I didn't mean-oh, gods... you must think-”

I shook my head, still smiling. “If you're comfortable enough to crack a joke about it, that's a good sign to me that you're not going to get angry that we're a bunch of perverts and storm off.”

“I wouldn't-” Asuna shook her head, biting off the rest of what she was going to say. “I-I mean, it's obviously not something I've ever thought about, but... you all seem very happy together. I wouldn't want to cast aspersions on any of you by insinuating your choice of relationships is wrong.”

“For what it's worth coming from some guy you only know because we're trapped in here... you're a good person, Asuna,” I stated with a reassuring smile.

Asuna flashed a brief, but stunning smile back at me and...

...for a moment, I could see myself falling for her. I could see what he would have seen in her, in that other possibility, if I hadn't had the people I now had in my life. Asuna was radiant when she smiled, a wonder of elegance and a flower of beauty. Even now, with the bonds I had, it was a struggle not to lose myself in those eyes.

Then that moment passed, and all of the good times I'd had with Shino, Sugu, and Tomo came rushing back, and I was firmly myself again and not the Kirito that had fallen in love with her.

Still...

...this girl is dangerous.

“I guess that answers what you think I should do, though,” Asuna sighed, stretching her arms over her head in a sinuous move I pointedly didn't watch. My heart could only take so much, woman.

“You think that I'm going to tell you to jump in headfirst just because this kind of thing is right for me and the girls?” I asked, scoffing. “You'd be better-served if you thought about what you want instead of what you think I want for you. Or what Mito wants for you, for that matter.”

Asuna blinked, “Huh?”

I rubbed at my forehead. “Look, Asuna... relationships shouldn't be about catering to what other people want, and you definitely shouldn't let yourself feel pressured to get into one by someone else.”

“B-but Mito's done so much for me!” Asuna began, her voice rising until I raised a finger to my lips and she grimaced, flicking a glance backwards to her friend, then continuing with a more moderate tone. “She's helped me through... everything. She's practically the only really close friend I have at school, and... I think I'm the only one she has.”

“So you're going to... what? Agree to date her out of a sense of obligation?” I asked, skepticism coating my words. “And then, what happens when we get out of the game? You two break up because you don't really like girls, you just didn't have any options in here?”

Asuna looked down, biting her lip. “I...”

“That kind of thing will really break her heart,” I offered softly, and Asuna took a halting breath in, practically gasping.

I really wish I could have warned Mito about the inherent power-imbalance she was getting into. It's not as bad as if Asuna were still a complete newb or if she didn't have us to fall back on... but there's still an element of a student-teacher romance here.

Worse, really, since lives were on the line.

I didn't think Mito had seen that angle, though, and my own situation was such that I couldn't really throw stones about things like that. Even with everything I did to make sure I wasn't trying to use my 'extra wisdom' to pressure the girls, there were days I felt deeply conflicted.

I bit back a sigh as I realized I'd probably have to have another awkward conversation with Mito in the near future.

“I didn't think about it like that,” Asuna replied quietly, curling in on herself. “I... I've never had a real relationship before. Up until last year... well, my parents were thinking about an omiai.”

“A formal engagement? In this day and age? Are they from Kyoto or something?” I asked, joking.

Asuna's face blazed red, “Mom's family is. I think she was brought up really traditionally and... she just wants me to be happy and safe, I know, but the guy she chose... He had this huge scandal break. My parents had this massive fight about it, with my father yelling about how he'd always been against it and my brother took his side. It was... bad.”

Ugh... way to go, Asuna's mom. Kyouko? That seemed right. You've traumatized your daughter over relationships, great.

Also, that whole 'being engaged to a rapist human-experimenting monster' thing. Which...

In a flash, I saw it. There was a flicker of insight and I saw how I could twist this situation to my advantage. Asuna was vulnerable, confessing that I had been the one to uncover Sugou's crimes and free her from that potential engagement would instantly elevate our relationship and create the same feelings of debt and obligation she had to Mito in regards to myself.

From there, I could use Asuna as leverage to pull Mito in closer. As the girl's only IRL friend and love interest, Asuna had substantial sway over her.

Talking Suguha into expanding our relationship would be fairly easy. She trusted me, had a friendly cooking-rivalry going with Asuna, and at least got along with Mito. Tomo... she'd be a little trickier, but not too much. There was a business-savvy streak int the girl, and she'd see Asuna's IRL family connections for what they were worth. That and, not to appeal too hard to the oversexed lesbian trope, but even Tomo could admit that Asuna was stunningly beautiful.

Shino would be the hard-sell, but I could see a budding rivalry between her and Mito. Better, Shino was Tomo's opposite in terms of sexuality. The blue-haired girl preferred men much more than women, but had a thin strike zone that Tomo and Suguha barely fit into when the mood was right... or when I was involved. If a rival-romance developed between Shino and Mito, well...

Mito would need me in play to make any potential relationship there work. As long as Asuna was happy and she got what she wanted, she'd be able to delude herself into enjoying things until those emotions became real. And Asuna... she was coming out of her shell now, likely for the first long-term stretch outside of her parent's oversight. I'd wager she had the potential to get a little wild buried in her, if she was given permission to enjoy herself by someone she trusted.

It was a tempting idea.

It wouldn't even take too much work on my part to get everything to fall into place.

Which is why I won't do it.

Doing so would contradict everything I'd built my current relationships on. Honesty, equality, fairness, love... I'd be abusing my remembered life experience to drag two girls who deserved an honest chance at happiness into a hedonistic lifestyle to serve my own ends explicitly for sexual gratification. Oh, there could be love at the end of that path, but it wouldn't be the point.

Moreover, I'd be putting myself above and beyond Tomo, Shino, and Suguha. It wouldn't be a relationship of equals anymore, but a hierarchy where I decided things for them instead of with them.

A harem instead of polyamory.

I turned away from that tempting future and took the higher path.

“My advice is to think about all of the times you've spent with Mito, both in the game and outside of it,” I began slowly, growing more sure of myself. “Just... watching a movie together, playing games with each other... shopping, talking, relaxing... all of that. Take all of that and just add in the occasional kiss, lingering hug, and long walk holding each other's hands.”

Asuna blinked, staring at me. “Th-that's it? I thought... I mean, romantic relationships...”

The brunette made vague complicated motions with her hands.

I chuckled. “The secret is that there isn't one, Asuna. The best, most long-lasting and stable romantic relationships really are just friendships with a few spicy extras sprinkled in. Passionate declarations of love and grand gestures might make a good drama, but they don't fill the quiet hours while your significant other does housework and you cook. Or when one of you has a report to do and needs understanding when they get snippy and frustrated.”

“But doesn't sex-sexual attraction... isn't that important?” She asked, looking thoughtful.

“It's as important as you and your partner make it,” I shook my head. “It can be the make or break for a relationship, but if it is... well, it's just a symptom of other problems, usually. Be up front with the person you're involved with, explain what you're comfortable and not comfortable with, set clear boundaries, and move forward at a speed that you both agree with.”

Asuna began nodding slowly. “That... that makes a lot of sense, Kirito. Thanks.”

“Your kind are not welcome here, wretch!”

My mouth snapped shut as I lunged forward, my reflexes driving me into a movement sword art. <<Long Stride>> carried me over fifty feet in a blink, an off-brand flash-step or instant movement, that left Asuna's surprised squawk echoing behind me before it had time to fully form.

The scene I came upon was a familiar one.

A blonde <<Forest Elf Warrior>> with a haughty scowl and an eyepatch over one eye was standing clothed in a green cloak with brown armor and gold highlights underneath. Opposite her was a dark-skinned <<Dark Elf Warrior>> with purple hair, lavender cloak, and dull silver armor.

“The people of my tribe have just as much right to our territories as your kind do to yours!” The dark elf NPC proclaimed.

Immediately, I saw a prompt pop up in front of me, the party leader.

I barely bothered glancing over it, skimming to ensure the text was the same as it had been in the Beta. With the two choices clear, I selected the dark elf faction, the one we'd all agreed to support together. It would have been nice trying the other side of the conflict, but not in a death game. In a situation like this, the unfamiliarity came with a lethal risk.

Upon the choice being made, there was... a moment of the slightest distortion, a flicker in the VR environment as the dark elf's features shifted subtly...

...and her tag shifted from <<Dark Elf Warrior>> to <<Kizmel>>.

“Kirito!” Sinon cried, coming up behind me.

“Sorry, love,” I smiled over my shoulder at her. “I've been really waiting for this. Good chance to stretch my legs for real.”

Sinon opened her mouth to argue, then made a noise almost like a deflating balloon as she rolled her eyes. Raising her bow, she gestured towards the fight as the rest of our party came up hot on our heels. “Whatever, I'll bail you out if you get your dumb ass in too much trouble. Again.”

I leaned forward and tapped a quick kiss on her cheek before dancing away as she blushed. “Thanks, babe!”

“Asshole!” Sinon cried affectionately, waving her weapon in a fond farewell to wish me victory in my battle.

But I would embrace my lady loves later.

For now? I had an haughty forest elf ass to kick.

“Let's dance, bitch,” I cried, another fast-movement sword art closing the distance between me and her.

“Knave! You are in league with the dark-skinned trespassers!” The elven woman cried, shifting her stance and making a deadly swing.

Man, I do not envy the English localization team for that one.

I ducked and weaved out of her strike, twirling my paired <<Obsidian Katana>> as I crouched low and slid the two blades in parallel over her lightly-armored extended arm.

Even if this wasn't a fight you were supposed to win, the devs planned for the possibility that some parties would. That old adage of, 'if you stat it, they will kill it,' applied, after all. The forest elf warrior had stats, had a health bar, and therefore could die.

She pulled back, her stance more cautious as she raised her blade once more.

“Foul cur! You would sully this sacred duel by an ambush!?” The forest elf – my eyes looked up reflexively to the floating tag that bore her name – Triniel, cried in outrage.

Triniel.

That was... that name was familiar.

“Kirito! What good fortune!” Kizmel shouted, stepping up beside me and flashing me a wide smile. “Quickly, let us finish her off! It is truly a mark of the depravity of the Forest Elves that they would send their King's daughter to slay me!”

I blinked.

“You lie, harlot! You were the one sent to slay me in ambush, made doubly clear by your reinforcements arriving!” Triniel yelled, her single eye glancing back at the group I'd brought as her feet slid backwards an inch.

She was going to run.

Which... didn't make sense. I knew Kizmel had been scheduled for an AI upgrade. She hadn't been earmarked for the initial confrontation, instead having been placed as a potential encounter later on in the quest for especially skilled and/or lucky players. But, the opposing elf in the encounter... should have been a normal NPC.

Unless... were they hard-coded as opposite parts of a special event?

Had I unintentionally pulled the Forest Elf Princess out of her scheduled event along with Kizmel, the Dark Elf Clan Chieftain's daughter?

And... I hadn't looked at Triniel's scripted events. Had she been due for a full AI upgrade?

Fuuuuu~uuuuuck.

~~~

...and just like I thought, a few hours past midnight.

But it's still February somewhere, so I'm counting this as the last chapter of the month!

Anyway, hope everyone enjoys the return to Kirito's adventures. I hope I get more opportunities to focus on Black Swordsman Jesus-kun. Join him as he confronts a sudden and unexpected moral dilemma... and then does so again! Oops!

Next update? I'll make that a mystery box.

However, the March polls will be up shortly!

Where Your God Is - Chapter 17

...and just like I thought, a few hours past midnight.

But it's still February somewhere, so I'm counting this as the last chapter of the month!

Anyway, hope everyone enjoys the return to Kirito's adventures. I hope I get more opportunities to focus on Black Swordsman Jesus-kun. Join him as he confronts a sudden and unexpected moral dilemma... and then does so again! Oops!

Next update? I'll make that a mystery box.

However, the March polls will be up shortly!

Mind Games - Chapter 17

I worried that I was adapting to my new life a little too well at this point.

Step to dodge.

Most people had a stress response that included avoidance, particularly of more stressors.

Strike solar plexus, target incapacitated.

Once upon a time, I'd counted myself in that esteemed group known as the 'majority.'

Dodge again, spike quirk, moderate accuracy – low CQC skill.

After a few months in a superhero setting, though, I was jumping out my bedroom window to go punch criminals in the face to relieve stress.

Sweep leg, chest strike, target incapacitated.

Sighing, I pulled some industrial-strength zip-ties out of my pocket and began tying my latest punching bags up.

Well... okay, I was being a little bit hard on myself there.

My first night out had been a midnight stroll to get used to moving through an urban environment. The crimes I'd happened upon had been entirely coincidental and I'd done my diligence before storming into any location with bad guys. I had the patience, training, and maturity to make reasonable calls with a number of aces up my sleeve and a willingness to call for help should I find myself in over my head.

Even as I looked around the small gang's hideout, all of those factors still held true. The 'stress relief' was entirely incidental to what I was accomplishing tonight.

That fact still didn't stop the physical violence from feeling very therapeutic.

“What – the – fuck,” one of the downed villain thugs gasped. “Did we do to piss you off, bitch?!”

“You klepped a cop and his kids,” I stated, my senses roving over the building once again and homing in on the basement door where the darkness dwelt. “And decided to set up shop in a place where twenty-one people have disappeared over the past fifteen years.”

It'd been an accident for me to stumble on the case, working backwards as I had been.

The location was what had set off the alarm bells for me, not any sort of evidence relating to the crime I'd discovered. The whole area was just fucking cursed, a demographic trench of low-income, low-density barren properties full of squatters, wanna-be villains, small-time gangers, bottom-rung sex workers, and the poorest of the poor. The cluster of buildings I'd been looking at specifically, though?

People just vanished.

And it got a lot worse if you went back further than a decade and a half.

To a certain extent, I'd be willing to buy that some of the people disappearing would have been the work of your usual suspects. No rest for the wicked, after all. People have bills to pay and mouths to feed. And they're often willing to do pretty horrible things to make sure their children don't have to make the same choices.

But no bodies? Really!?

Again, there were plenty of ways to get rid of an inconvenient human corpse, even more with certain quirks offering certain advantages in that department. But once you tallied up all the missing persons, the length of time, the complete lack of any bodies showing up over the past century... which was another thing. No bodies had ever been picked up in this tiny stretch of urban housing. Not even a lonely elder dying in their sleep, which set off more alarm bells for me.

Take all of that together and there's been something hanging around here for a lot longer than a normal human lifespan disappearing people.

“How tha'fuck-” He wheezed, drawing a laborious breath as he writhed painfully against his bonds. “-did'ya know it was us? Hadn't even-” A hacking cough. “-done tha' ransom yet!”

I rolled my eyes, steeling myself for where I needed to go and palming the small arsenal of 'weapons' I'd picked up. “Numb nuts over there-” I jabbed a thumb to the dumb muscle of the group. “-left his Cape profile set to public.”

Thank god for stupid criminals.

The dumbass stared at me blankly for a long moment, as if he couldn't believe what had come out of my mouth. I ignored him and started making my way towards the basement, which... yeah, this was the right place. It didn't feel as bad as whatever was hiding under the Endeavor Agency, but it didn't really need to in order to be very bad news.

Then the muffled screaming started and I was moving even before dropping the curse from my lips.

As I impacted the door, the venerable locking mechanism shattered and I crouched low to avoid hitting the underside of a stairwell while skating down the railing in a smooth slide to-

I hate it when I'm right.

I suppose, in theory, it could have been an especially creepy heteromorphic quirk.

It wasn't, though, and I knew that instinctively.

And, judging by the terrified faces of the bound man trying to shield his gagged children with his own body, they knew it too. It wasn't just fear in their expressions. It was something more atavistic, more primal than that. At the end of the day, even a villain like Moonfish... they were just a human. An evil, creepy, monster of a human being... but a human being nonetheless.

What I saw in that instant where I crouched on the last post of the handrail, staring into the darkness of the basement, was…

Something that pressed against my mind, fear and horror clawing to get in and only barred by my collective willpower. It was twisting space and pulsing power held back only by the thin veneer of the physical world. As the pulsing mass moved, the detritus of the basement was not so much pushed aside as pulled into a new location, as if the world around it were too afraid to bar its path.

It wasn't alive.

It didn't think or feel or eat or sleep or breathe.

I don't know how I knew that just from a single glance at it, but I did.

It was... less a creature and more a distortion of space itself. Something that was... that was pressing in on reality to create a body, twisting the very fabric of the world and casting a shadow that was simultaneously part of this world and manifested by something which was most decidedly not.

The best description I can think to give is waking in the dead of the night while camping and finding something pressing in on the fabric of the tent around you. You couldn't tell what was making the impressions, but you knew that there was something out there. Something that knew you were inside that flimsy mesh of fabric, and if it pushed hard enough...

...it could reach you.

Only instead of a tent in the woods, the fabric was that of time and space woven around you in your everyday life.

For all that it wasn’t a being made of flesh and blood, though, it saw something in the cowering forms of the man and children that was driving it forward, driving it to consume…

I pushed my own horror aside and struck.

Essence flared in my heart, burning bright in response to my emotion, focus, and will.

And then I kicked it in the closest analog I could pick out to a face, a wreath of red energy coalescing around my foot as I struck.

Even if I felt sure that whatever it was could not be 'surprised,' there was an element of shock in its sudden stillness as my blow actually impacted and forced it back.

The Thing Beyond the Veil didn't lurch towards the wall, though. No, instead its imprint on reality lessened in a way that only the Sidereal part of me was qualified to fully grasp. A ripple in reality spun out from where I'd struck, and something in me could feel the world around me twist and pulse under the stress of two supernatural powers playing tug of war with it.

Whatever it was, I didn't give it time to rebound and, instead, threw the adult man over my shoulders before picking one child up in each arm and manifesting more essence around me to twist reality just a bit more to close the gap of the stairs to a single step.

I slid to a stop at the outside the door and watched as the tortured fabric of the basement's physical substance gave way, snapping and cracking-

-then disappearing, leaving only a brick wall where the stairs had been.

 I glared at the wide-eyed criminal who looked as though he was trying – unsuccessfully – to work himself free and set the children down before dropping the man off my back. Tearing at the cloth gag biting into his cheeks, I disregarded the two-day filth coating his head of yellow feathers.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” The grown man wept.

“You're welcome, let's get you out of here,” I said, reaching to untie him. “Take care of your children while I call this in, okay?”

The man cried something that might have been an affirmative as I got his hands free and he embraced his children briefly before working on their bonds.

Meanwhile, I stepped away to make my call, placing myself in a calculated position between the villains and the former hostages.

I met the conscious man's eyes. “Give me an excuse, please.”

His own gaze slid upwards to where the glowing mark on my forehead was now faintly visible, then back down to my eyes. My eyes, which were subtly sparking with power as well. He shook his head convulsively as I sighed and brought my phone up, glancing briefly at the notification before dismissing it.

What Goes Bump: Encounter a phenomenon or lifeform that does not possess or is not created by a 'Quirk,' yet still explicitly supernatural. Five points awarded for non-hostile contact. Ten points awarded for hostile contact.

Now wasn't the time.

I sighed and made sure my phone was running in incognito mode before hitting speed-dial for Endeavor's emergency hotline number.

“Hello, you've reached the Endeavor Agency. Is your call regarding an emergency?”

“Yes,” I replied instantly, my eyes flicking towards the father, his son, and daughter. “I'm a vigilante and I've just raided a small-time group of villains who kidnapped Officer Nakamura and his two children. My current location is approximately fifteen kilometers northwest of your building in the old Shindai Housing Complex. I have three villains incapacitated, one unconscious. The hostages have been freed, but are showing signs of physical and mental trauma. Please send both emergency response personnel, emergency medical services, and at least one group of heroes to attend.”

There was a significant pause as I heard her turn away and start barking instructions, her fingers hitting keys loudly.

“I'd like to ask you to stay on the scene until such time as the heroes arrive to ensure the transfer of custody, ma'am. May I have a name to identify you and a description to give the heroes I'm dispatching?”

“My name is Perspicacious Mauve Avenger,” I replied. “And I'm five-foot four-inches – one hundred, sixty-two and a half centimeters – with lavender hair and eyes. Leather jacket and pants over a plain t-shirt. I'll be waiting with the villains and kidnapping victims.”

Then I hung up.

And took a deep breath, reaching up to rub at my nose. I heard the faint sound of movement and, without opening my eyes, spoke up. “You in the kitchen. I know you're awake. Your options are going to jail with a broken leg or without. Choose.”

The movement stopped.

I shook my head and turned to the cop, who was now standing and holding his preteen children close. He dipped his head to me as soon as he saw me looking. “Th-thank you. I can never begin to repay you for saving my family fro-from that... that...”

He glanced at where the basement used to be and shivered violently.

“It's best not to think about it,” his somewhat wild gaze returned to me. “And I really mean that. It's best to think of it like a particularly vivid nightmare. Let it fade into the back of your mind and only pop back up when you roll over in your sleep with a cold sweat.”

The cop stared at me, uncomprehendingly. “What was-”

“A hallucination brought on by a traumatic experience and a shared delusion, likely resulting from exposure to toxic fumes in a poorly-maintained house with bad ventilation,” I stated bluntly. “Or, at least, that's what your superiors are going to tell you after they complete their investigation, because it's the only thing that makes sense.”

 I paused pointedly, my eyes narrowed at him. “If you don't want to look crazy, I'd suggest you accept their version of events.”

“Thank you.”

My eyes tilted downward and my expression softened as I smiled at the ten year old girl looking at me from where she was clutching at her dad's shirt. Honestly, I was less worried about the kids suffering from long-term problems than the father. Kids bounced back with fewer problems, probably because their memories could fade more easily.

“You're welcome, Mayoi-chan,” I smiled.

Her eyes widened. “You know my name?”

“Of course I do. I came here to save you,” I replied with another smile, bending down to her level. “Because that's what heroes do when people are in trouble.”

“How did you find us?” The father asked, massaging his daughter's back as she ruffled her head of brown feathers against his shirt.

“That one,” I threw a thumb over my shoulder to the one who was still unconscious. “Left his Cape account-” The man blinked and frowned. “-social media account set to public. I was looking into this area for... reasons.”

Unwillingly, both of us glanced at the basement.

“-and I wanted to check on the current residents,” I finished, shaking my head. “It was a complete fluke I found some idiot who was whining about not being able to make an idol show he'd wanted to go see because he had to watch you and your kids.”

The talkative asshole started thumping his head against the floor, muttering obscenities towards his teammate.

“Now... I think we should get out of here,” I sighed, glancing at the basement again even as the cop realized that was an option and started hurrying his kids towards the door. Personally, I didn't think anything was going to happen. When space had torn and snapped, the feeling of something pushing at the walls of reality had faded substantially. It was still there, still faintly present to my more esoteric senses, but the immediately vulnerable part of the area was gone now and whatever it was would probably have to wear another section thin to get back in, if it was struggling like that.

I'll have to see if I can collate dates and times for disappearances around here to a better degree, but the records are just so shit...

There were dozens of factors that could be at play for how often something like this recurred – time of day, time of year, stages of the moon, correlating to human violence or trauma – the list was practically endless.

The sound of sirens cut my thoughts short.

“Behave,” I warned the two villains. “Or I'll be back.”

Stepping outside, I arrived just as one of the Endeavor Agency's iconic red and white hero transports drove up. I bounced on my heels once before shooting up to sit on the window ledge of a second-floor apartment as the heroes rolled out. As luck – or fate, a traitorous part of my mind whispered – would have it, Charcoal, Brazier, and Onibi filed out of the vehicle even as a swarm of regular police cars came rolling up.

“Hey, you the vigilante that called this in?” Charcoal rumbled up at me.

“Three villains, all restrained in the building. Three captives freed. No permanent injuries on any of them.” I stated, flipping up fingers on my hand as I did. “And I even stayed until you got here. I'll be going now, if you don't mind.”

“What you're doing is against the law,” Brazier stated, stepping forward to look up at me as I stood. “I'll admit you're a cut above the average vigilante, but you're going to get in over your head or really hurt someone sooner or later. We have licensing programs for people like you.”

“As long as you haven't crossed a serious line,” Onibi chimed in, her too-wide grin absent in the face of the serious mood. “Once that happens, we can't help you.”

I nodded and pulled out a card, spinning the hand-crafted piece of cardstock for Brazier to catch. “I'll keep it in mind. Now I really need to get out of here if I want to dodge the cameras.”

“Thank you, miss!” The two children cried out as I made a particularly impressive series of jumps along the window ledges until I hit the corner of the building and could begin pinballing between two different walls to reach the roof.

All in all, a good night's work.

As I dropped to street level and shifted back near a train station, I felt the change from female to male cleanse my body of essence and seal my caste mark away again.  Definitely a neat trick.

…

I hummed as I walked through the Endeavor Agency, delivering memos and handing out paperwork and other notoriously intern-level tasks. Essentially anything that didn't involve violence and arresting criminals, which was the standard experience. I gave it a few days before I ended up on the non-standard side of the experience again, something I was beginning to privately refer to as the '1-A' side of things.

“And... that's that,” I muttered, dropping off the last bundle of documents into a tray.

“Thanks, kid,” one of the employees waved me off. “You should go get lunch.”

“Roger that,” I replied easily, steering myself towards where I'd left my packed lunch. Normally, I'd just go for a local takeout store or one of the select in-house bento services provided by brands Endeavor had licensed for advertising, but anything they could make, I could do better.

A few minutes later, I had grabbed my lunch and was heading towards the small internal office that had been converted from a storage room into a space I could use.

There were still a number of boxes and metal racks covering the place, but it had working outlets, a three-legged desk I'd found a few bricks to prop up, and even a utility sink in the corner. The only thing I was privately miffed about was the shitty office chair that apparently came standard for the agency. That would be getting replaced ASAP. Or, at least, as soon as I got my office on the books for internal mail and could receive a new one.

“Hey Shinso, surprised I caught – oh, no.”

I looked up to Fuyumi, my eyebrows rising as I lowered the chopsticks from my mouth. Swallowing, I frowned. “What?”

She crossed her arms, rumpling the stack of papers in her left hand slightly. “No. You are not going to become one of our workaholics who eats lunch in their office by themselves.”

I opened my mouth to deny that was what I was doing, then glanced at the open laptop to my side and the open coding suite I'd had running.

Damn, that was what I was doing.

Out of all the lives I remembered, only River and the Sidereal were social eaters. The rest of 'us' were of the opinion that food was fuel and would be consumed as-needed wherever was available.

“I'm an introvert and don't actually enjoy interacting with people all that much,” I replied instead. “I've literally been running around the building the entire day talking to everyone and delivering documents. That makes this the closest I get to a real break, and I don't want to spend it doing the same thing I've been doing all day.”

Fuyumi's frown didn't disappear, but it did lessen in its severity.

“If it makes you feel better, I'll pop open Herotube and play some funny-but-informative trash while I eat instead of working?” I offered as a reasonable middle-ground.

The pro-hero sighed, and rolled her eyes before looking around and kicking one of the boxes full of random office trash up to the other side of my desk, pulling out her own bento from her bag, and sitting down opposite me.

Finally, she slapped the papers down in front of my lunch, as if daring me to object.

I sighed and slumped. “If you think you have to.”

Fuyumi nodded, her eyes narrowed. “Good. I don't know what my father was thinking, honestly, giving you an office by yourself. You should be socializing with someone else, even while you're working. Closed off spaces like this aren't good for your mental health, Shinso.”

“Probably wanted to stop interoffice harassment and workplace hazing rituals,” I replied, resuming eating between sentences. “Which is why I'm practically down the hall from him.”

Fuyumi paused in preparing her bento and grimaced. “I... want to say that wouldn't happen here, but when I started a few years ago...”

The way she trailed off was admission enough.

I pointed with my chopsticks at the stack of papers. “That the revised contract?”

Fuyumi perked up, adjusting her glasses as she visibly regained firmer ground. “Ah, yes. We've made the agreed upon changes. I actually just sent a copy to your father via email, but I wanted to go ahead and give you a physical one to read over.”

I nodded, pulling the document to the side and scanning the first page before catching the older woman's frown and dismissing it momentarily. “Thanks. Dad'll send it over to his lawyer to review and we'll either get more corrections or a signed copy back to you tomorrow.”

The pro-hero exhaled in relief, rolling her shoulders. “I'm going to be so glad when this is all done. It's been a huge mess trying to get all the paperwork filed properly. The only thing that's keeping our insurance provider from losing their minds, I think, is that we've promised you won't be anywhere near combat and that you'll be enrolling in a hero school come spring.”

I blinked, rewound the conversation, then started picking through my memories.

I cocked my head. “Aren't I supposed to enroll... next year? Like, I'm fourteen. Don't you have to be fifteen to go to UA or whatever?”

Fuyumi paused in her chewing, reached for her energy drink (with her father's face on it) and took a long pull from it. “Wait... your Dad didn't tell you? No, I'm sure...”

I sighed. “Look, my Dad can be...”

Shaking my head, I grimaced and waved between me and the laptop with my chopsticks, the gesture all the explanation I really needed. “I come by my work habits honestly, if you know what I mean. We both tend to monofocus and stuff slips our minds. So he probably thought he told me or I was tuning him out while I was working on something.”

Fuyumi groaned and palmed her face. “Shinso... I don't want to discourage you from telling me these things, but that really doesn't sound like a healthy relationship dynamic with your father.”

“I'd rather be functioning than healthy,” I told her bluntly.

“Gods... we're getting you in for a psych eval as soon as you're on payroll,” Fuyumi muttered.

I decided not to object at the moment. Even if I couldn't head that plan off, I pitied the fool the got to try looking in my head.

Heh, I don't know if it'd be better or worse than looking in Himiko's... head...

“So I'm skipping a year, testing out of junior high, and going straight to a hero school?” I asked for clarification, pursing my lips thoughtfully.

“That's the plan... unless you have an objection?” Fuyumi asked, almost visibly worried at the prospect.

“No, that's fine. I don't have any close friends at my school,” I waved her off, mildly amused to see – feel – relief war with regret.

Huh, that's new.

“Just making sure we're on the same page,” I replied, tapping my utensils against the box of my bento. “Am I on the recommended track or the general admission test?”

“The recommended track, of course,” Fuyumi replied with surprise. “You've already demonstrated a number of very important qualities we look for in young heroes. The fact that we believe you're already good enough to sign to the agency should be enough evidence that we're willing to put our reputation behind you.”

I nodded absently. “So... is the entire agency only allowed to recommend one student, or is it based on individual pro-heroes?”

Fuyumi pursed her lips, frowning as she thought. “Technically? I think it's the latter. Of course, since it's my father signing your recommendation, everyone knows you've got his agency behind you, but the rules for this stuff are a little archaic.”

“So... hypothetically speaking... if you had another promising student to recommend, you could put your own name behind them? In addition to your father?” I asked pointedly.

Fuyumi began to lean back, catching herself as she remembered she was sitting on a box and not a chair. Shaking her head and fighting back a blush she cupped her chin. “Do you have someone in mind? Applications are due by the end of January, in two weeks. I'd need to vet them pretty harshly in that time to make sure I'm not damaging my own reputation by naming someone who would flop under pressure.”

“Let me talk to them tomorrow to make sure of some things,” I replied. “Maybe... could you schedule some time Tuesday? In the afternoon?”

Fuyumi gave me a skeptical look, but nodded. “I hope this isn't that Buster kid you got to co-star your channel, Shinso. He has promise, but he's nowhere near good enough, not yet.”

I waved her off. “This is someone else. Someone who's really got talent.”

All I needed to do was determine whether or not I'd have to blackmail her parents, now.

~~~

Still playing catch-up a little bit, but I've already got the Where Your God Is chapter started. Same deal as always and it'll probably be ready either right before or right after the new month starts. Likely posted with the new polls.

In the meantime, some exciting new stuff for Hitoshi to deal with. That poor guy has so much shit on his plate right now. I envy his only needing two hours of sleep, let me tell you.

Next chapter will feature some nitty-gritty contract stuff and the first part of the next Himiko Date. People seem to like those, for some reason.

Thanks again for all your support!

Mind Games - Chapter 17

Still playing catch-up a little bit, but I've already got the Where Your God Is chapter started. Same deal as always and it'll probably be ready either right before or right after the new month starts. Likely posted with the new polls.

In the meantime, some exciting new stuff for Hitoshi to deal with. That poor guy has so much shit on his plate right now. I envy his only needing two hours of sleep, let me tell you.

Next chapter will feature some nitty-gritty contract stuff and the first part of the next Himiko Date. People seem to like those, for some reason.

Thanks again for all your support!

Industrious: Engineering Marvels - Chapter 25

“I mentioned that blighter, Baron Blood, to my father when I happened to stop in on the family, you know?”

I looked over from where I was stretching, the full accounting of my gear laid out before me on a tarp as I prepared for the battle to come. “Oh really?”

Monty nodded, a distracted look in his eye. “Turns out the bastard is evidently a great uncle of mine. A dark blotch on the family record, as it were.”

“That wouldn't happen to come with a magic compass or something to tell us where he is?” Logan snarked as he chambered a round and began to load up a few more in his rifle.

“You know, I actually asked a similar question?” Monty replied, a trace of ironic amusement in his posh accent. “But no such luck, sadly. My father did have something, though...”

I watched as the man reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a tiny crystal with a vial of red liquid sealed inside. Now that my attention was directed towards it, I could feel a very faint something surrounding and infusing it, the kind of minor enchantment that, if I was measuring against my experience with chakra...

Well, it would probably protect against cavities, at most.

“...was a crystal vial of his blood that, according to family legend, was enchanted by a gypsy to remain red until the bastard died,” Monty grinned.

I hummed, flexing another muscle group in a long stretch that left me sighing with relief after a night on the cold, hard earth. “Well, I suppose it's good to know that he's still out there, at least. Did you tell Steve about this?”

Monty chuckled and flipped the small charm back into his pocket. “Done and done, good fellow. Would have told all three of you at once, but you were out taking care of the boy of yours. No shame on it, of course, even if it makes my already failing character look positively reprehensible by comparison.”

I snorted. “I'd think a war hero and an elite soldier of a classified strike team directly serving joint high command would earn you some slack with your old man.”

Monty sighed and shrugged theatrically. “Alas, I'm afraid I've well and truly earned the label of the family's black sheep. Dear Old Dad did say that if I managed to kill a certain vampire I'd be written back into the will, so... who knows? The future's looking that bright, at least.”

“Odds are we'll see him again,” I sighed. “Did your father tell you anything else about him?”

Monty cocked his head, thinking for a moment as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. “Just that, if we do manage to kill Old Uncle John... we need to make damn sure he's dead. Apparently the bastard took an arty strike back in the Great War and showed up a month or two down the line sucking his way through a French trench.”

I thought about suppressing the juvenile response that popped into my head...

...then decided I didn't care all that much.

“Sucking down an entire trench of Frenchmen?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the castoff noble. “Well, that just goes to show he's got terrible taste in allies and men.”

Monty stared at me for half a moment, then began laughing so hard he almost choked on his smoke. I even got a rare chuckle out of Logan, who stood and clapped me on the shoulder as he walked off, rifle in hand. “We get out of this in one piece, wanna' ask you about something, bub.”

I grunted and nodded. “Sure.”

I shook my head and looked back to my laid-out gear. Resolving not to worry about that when the time came, I returned to ensuring everything was in good working order. The only real change was an additional sidearm that I'd special-ordered to fit high-caliber rifle rounds. It was an over-engineered mess of a gun that was utterly impractical – or outright dangerous – for any normal person to use, but I was tired of my fists being more lethal than the sidearm I was carrying. That, and I occasionally needed to put very big holes into things and didn't want to injure my soul any further in the name of desperate violence.

I sighed and slipped it into its holster in the hollow of my back, then put my smaller-caliber handgun into the holster at my hip.

After all, just because I want to be able to kill monsters doesn't mean I won't also need to kill a few humans too.

That was my lot in life. A tool to be wielded by-

I shook the thought off and started sheathing my kunai and shuriken. Once that was finished, I packed in the vials of holy water, the packs of mixed salt and crushed glass, and the other nasty surprises I had in store for supernatural bullshit. I was specifically looking forward to what thermite would do to an elder vampire when paired with a magnesium fuse. Finally, my sword, bow, and quiver.

“Alright everybody, gather 'round and we've got some special weaponry to hand out before we head out,” Bucky called, waving us over in the light of the setting sun.

Dougan, Frenchie, Monty, Morita, and the rest of the motley crew started gathering around, including our newest addition.

Steve knelt down and pulled off the lid to a wooden crate, inside was a mix of tightly-packed woolen stuffing and a variety of gear. “Okay, first up. Dougan, Morita... you two get one of these each-”

Two over-large grenades emerged, being passed to the two men, who carefully looked the weapons over.

“They're full of tiny silver ball bearings made from a blessed church cross donated to the war effort by a Catholic Priest,” Bucky stepped up and explained, pulling out an additional two and adding them to his waist. “Only use them in case you run into vampires, werewolves, or something else that stepped out of a fairy tale.”

Steve sighed. “It's more like we don't actually know if they're going to be effective and they're expensive to create, so this is kind of a trial run for them. All of you get one of these stakes, though. They've been fire-hardened and quenched in holy water and blessed by three different denominations. They burned Nina-”

The part-time supernatural member of our team shifted as the men glanced her way, but she held her head high. “Completely voluntary testing.”

The big boy scout we called our leader frowned, but nodded. “-so they should work just fine, even if you don't have particularly strong faith.”

Stakes were passed out to everyone except Nina, obviously, before the next set of gear was unveiled. This time, it was knives.

“This is where the rest of that silver cross went,” Bucky stated as he began passing out knives, most of the team getting a single blade, Victor and Logan getting a pair each. “They're only silver-plated, but they should do the trick.”

“And on Ray's advice...” Steve sighed. “We also have a set of six cold-forged iron daggers. Just in case we run into an actual fairy tale.”

I chuckled as I accepted one of each silver and iron, forged into a different style than the others. The style of folded-steel katana didn't mesh all that well with silver-cladding steel or cold-forged iron, but I was still more adapted to curved blades than straight.

Testing the weight of them, I nodded as I spun them and let them momentarily rest on my wrists, palms, the backs of my hands, my fingers, and made a few test-strikes with them. I nodded firmly. “They're good. Usually I'd insist on making them myself, but I just couldn't find the time. Whoever they found is an acceptable smith, though.”

“So glad it meets with your approval, sir,” Morita rolled his eyes, his voice dry as a desert as everyone on the team strapped sheathes onto their bodies. Nina, I noticed, had taken a pair of the cold iron daggers.

“Last but not least is silver-tipped blessed ammunition,” Bucky stated, pulling out a pair of ammo crates. “General Philips managed to get a second cross and our resident science whiz cooked up something that made these actually fly straight, but there's still actual silver in them. So don't fucking waste these on anything that isn't undead.”

Greedy hands reached out and, soon enough, both ammo boxes were reduced to a bare few rattling bullets that Bucky and Steve split between themselves. The vast majority went into pockets or spare clips rather than the guns themselves, though I noticed a few men slotting them into an extra sidearm on their hip, ankle, or back.

“Alright, grab what you need, take a shiii-er,” Bucky paused, his eyes glancing towards Nina.

“A shit. Take a shit if you need to, children,” the woman stated dryly. “Women have the same bodily functions as all you boys.”

Dino turned away to unsuccessfully hide his snort and I grinned as Steve desperately looked at me for help.

“You heard the lady,” I called out, pulling my mask on and throwing up my hood. “Potty break, fill your canteens, we roll out in five. If you're late, Steve will be very disappointed in you and none of us wants that.”

Steve no longer looked as though he wanted my help.

That probably meant I'd done a good job, right?

Last minute preparations complete, we rolled out in a pair of stolen Nazi jeeps graciously provided to us by our Resistance contacts a few moments later. The ride was mercifully short and thankfully quiet as the air started to thicken with building pre-battle tension. A few men muttered prayers, some checked their weapons compulsively, smokes and small bottles of liqour were passed around, and the last few sat in meditative silence.

Finally, we pulled off the road right before a winding hill and the drivers steered the vehicles into deep brush before we unloaded out the back and looked around for a few limbs to cover our rides more completely. While the rest of the men did that, Steve, Bucky, and I walked up the steep hill before dropping to our bellies and pulling out binoculars in the last fading rays of the sun's light.

“That's our target, then,” Steve stated.

“Not much to write home about,” Bucky chimed in.

I was silent on the subject, the historian in me impressed with the aging fortification that had been repurposed from the Great War. It might not have been anything grand these days, but it would have been a marvel of engineering three decades ago. Squat, wide, and dug into the rolling hills of northern France, now covered with thick vegetation, the exposed sections were simple blocky concrete with thin slits to aim machine guns out of. In another age, they would have been known as 'murder holes.'

 If I had to guess, it had been left standing after the war simply due to the sheer mass of reinforced concrete that made it up. Like its more modern fascist counterparts, this base just wasn't economical to dismantle. It was easier to seal it up, bury it, and do your best to forget it existed. Anecdotally, I remembered that there was an ongoing effort even in the twenty-twenties to get permission from various governments to explore and document extant, known Nazi bases.

It would take centuries for the elements to finally tear down what heavy artillery and explosives couldn't.

...I'm willing to put good money on there not being a single chunk of rock larger than a military jeep remaining intact after we're done here tonight.

“Thoughts, Ray?” Steve asked in a low voice, turning to look at me.

“Thinking where it'll all go wrong,” I replied evenly, frowning at the base.

“Ray-” Steve sighed.

“Right there with you, man,” Bucky nodded.

Captain America dropped his head into the cooling grass and quietly groaned. “Nothing has to go wrong. We've learned a lot from the last missions. We know to be on our toes going in. We're not sending anyone in without backup. We have the right ordinance for the job.”

“That's why you're the inspirational leader and poster boy for the military, Steve,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the fortification. “That boundless optimism.”

“You've got a way with words, Ray,” Bucky commented. “I'd have just called him hopelessly naive and left it at that.”

Steve rubbed his face through his mask, sighing again. “Let's just... get this circus moving, okay?”

“As long as Bucky's in charge of the clowns,” I replied, ignoring the man's reply of a one-finger salute. “Come to think of it, Bucky needs a mask.”

“I do not need a mask,” Sergeant Barnes replied tartly.

“Hmm... maybe later,” Steve hummed, sounding intrigued by the notion. “So... a few small changes to the plan now that we're here. I can see a side entrance that I think will be a good target...”

As the last fading bit of orange-violet light faded into true night, we finished marking out the changes to the plan and crawled back down the hill.

Then it was go-time.

Unlike the other operations, I was being kept in reserve with the main group this time. Nina was paired with Steve, Logan, and Victor as a heavy assault team that represented the most durable elements of the squad. They would compose the initial feinting attack designed to draw Hydra's attention.

By now, they would at least understand they needed to be on alert for a group of commandos coming in for a raid, if not looking out for Captain America specifically. Still, Steve would do a great job of distracting them in his highly-visible red, white, and blue outfit. His shield was completely bulletproof in a way nothing else we had was, to boot. Logan and Victor, on the other end, could just soak damage. Painful, but they'd get back up again from nearly anything we could imagine Hydra would throw at us.

Nina was the question, and the reason why she was joining their group.

If her nerve was going to break during the fight, it was better that it break while she was part of a force that was planned to retreat once their job was done instead of getting trapped in crossfire and becoming a liability we needed to dedicate time and lives to saving.

On another level, Steve and Bucky didn't exactly doubt her self-control, but were reasonably concerned about what would happen if she lost herself in a blood-frenzy.

Once she'd made it through a few fights, that worry would fade, but it would persist until then.

The one thing that I hadn't quite understood yet, though...

Was that with Steve off running around, Buky would therefore be in charge. Which, in and of itself, was not a major issue. Bucky was actually the more experienced soldier of the two and handled a lot of the real orders that Steve wasn't quite used to giving while not under immediate threat of death from an enemy. Bucky, however, would need a second-in-command.

Which was me.

“Okay, stow your shit and let's get going,” I ordered in a solid undertone. “Cap and his squad are going around the right to a side entrance. We're going up the left and making a hook around to the main entrance and wait for them to launch their attack.”

A chorus of grunts and affirmations left the men as Bucky steered us on the best path, his sniper's eye checking for hostile perches.

Thankfully, the perimeter of the base was fairly small and consisted only of two fences with barbed wire strung over the top. Timing it so that the sweeping lights didn't catch us, Dougan and Dino carefully cut through them and held the holes open as we hurried through to hide behind one of the low-lying hills near the base. They'd obviously attempted to flatten it to some degree, but hadn't been quite successful. Lying in its shadow, we waited.

“Fifteen meters over open ground with machine guns pointed at us,” Bucky muttered with a scowl. “This better be one hell of a distraction, Steve.”

“I'll take out the machine guns, temporarily at least,” I volunteered, shifting my sword over my back to pull free my bow and extend it properly.

Bucky turned to me, then snapped back to the thin vertical slits in the stone walls. “You can make that?”

I raised an eyebrow in the dark.

“Of course you can,” he snorted, shaking his head as I picked out the arrow for the job. “Explosive?”

“Flash-bang,” I replied, bending my head to look at the overlapping fields of fire that would catch us. Carefully sticking two more arrows into the ground where I'd be able to immediately grab them. “The explosives... I'm not sure we want to set off the ammo stores in those rooms quite yet.”

Bucky pursed his lips, looking over the hill with me and nodded. “Yeah, good call. As long as they're not shooting at us, I won't gripe. I'd rather not have to run through a field of concrete shrapnel, either.”

The meager bombs on my arrows wouldn't be able to destroy any significant part of the base, of course, but a cache of machine gun ammo cooking off? Much less the potential of three of them doing so in a chain reaction? Again, I don't think it would do serious structural damage to the building, but you didn't have to in order to turn chunks of concrete into an AOE shotgun blast of debris. You just needed a blast strong enough to blow off the weakest parts of the walls of a thirty-year-old WWI fortification.

“So, what's the signal?” Dino asked, checking his rifle again.

I looked around, waiting for the universe to take its cue...

...I am disappoint, universe. So very disappoint.

“Knowing Steve, could be anything,” Bucky stated.

 Which is, of course, when we heard the dramatic revving of an engine as a vehicle quickly crossed the short distance it needed to traverse-

-before exploding.

Okay universe, I forgive you.

“Yep, that'll do,” Bucky nodded, turning towards me as the explosion cleared and the sounds of screaming German filled the air in their place. “We wait twenty seconds.”

I nodded, fingers clenching around my bow and arrow.

Gunfire.

More explosions.

The sound of another revving engine.

Screams of alarm, pain, and death.

“Go,” Bucky ordered, but I was already rising.

Three shots in less than three seconds. The final machine gun nest just started to fire as I loosed the last arrow, but their aim was off, digging a furrow into the hill a few meters in front of me.

Flares of light and sound shot out of the thin slits, compliments to the larger destruction on the other side of the base.

“Go, Go, Go!” Bucky and I shouted in unison.

Our men went.

~~~

Another chapter that's a day later than my usual posting date. Not sure what's up with that. Just kind of tired and meh this week.

Well, I did finish it before the week was out, that's the important part. And this way maybe people who've had a sucky weekend can end on a high note. I hope there aren't too many of those.

Have fun with Ray getting back into the thick of things. Next chapter will be a LOT of combat, so be ready for that.

Regardless, I'll get to work on the next update post-haste. I want to get two chapters out this week before Friday and the new month hits. Let's see how that works out. One of them is going to be Mind Games. The other... not sure. I'm thinking Where Your God Is, though.

Industrious: Engineering Marvels - Chapter 25

Another chapter that's a day later than my usual posting date. Not sure what's up with that. Just kind of tired and meh this week.

Well, I did finish it before the week was out, that's the important part. And this way maybe people who've had a sucky weekend can end on a high note. I hope there aren't too many of those.

Have fun with Ray getting back into the thick of things. Next chapter will be a LOT of combat, so be ready for that.

Regardless, I'll get to work on the next update post-haste. I want to get two chapters out this week before Friday and the new month hits. Let's see how that works out. One of them is going to be Mind Games. The other... not sure. I'm thinking Where Your God Is, though.

Mind Games - Chapter 16

“Why don't we do quirk tutorials, anyway?” Kirishima asked, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

I sighed as I considered the question, my eyes scanning the small cafe that we'd decided to meet up near. It was really just a single ten-by-ten foot building that served to house the two or three people working, the stove and oven, and whatever ingredients they had. However, it was placed on a hill overlooking a river and had a generally excellent view. Honestly, I had no idea how these people stayed in business given how far off the beaten path the entire thing was. I didn't even think a full-sized car would be able to make it up the winding path that led up here.

“Because quirk tutorials are dangerous,” I replied eventually, deciding that full disclosure was probably the best way to go about things.

“Really? I thought you'd know a safe way to...” The dark-haired boy made a vague motion. “Test things or whatever.”

I shook my head. “It's not that easy. Quirks range in their abilities so widely that it's actually difficult to construct some kind of generalized training schema.”

Kirishima seemed to chew on that declaration thoughtfully. “So we couldn't just show off our quirks and talk about how we're training them?”

“I mean, we could. In theory, as long as we do so on private property with the permission of the owner, there's no legal problem with doing so,” I replied. “But the issue there is that we'd instantly lose about a third of our subscribers if we did.”

Kirishima blinked as he picked up his cup of hot cocoa. “What, really?”

I shrugged. “Psychic quirks are generally pretty unpopular outside of straight-up telekinesis. Anything that involves mental manipulation, outright control, or mind reading routinely rank as the least-popular broad category of quirks. That's why I haven't actually talked about my quirk on the channel.”

“And why you make it more about the skills and training and stuff instead,” Kirishima nodded, then scowled. “Man, that sucks though! You shouldn't have to hide a part of who you are like that! It's totally not manly.”

“It is what it is,” I stated bluntly. “To be perfectly fair about it... people have a lot of good reasons to be wary of psychic quirks. They're easy to misuse or put to criminal ends and leave few obvious tells as long as someone is careful about it. Quirks like telepathy especially make it easy to cheat on tests or steal things like PIN codes or credit card numbers. Given that my quirk, brainwashing, is literal mind control... I get it, I really do.”

And I wasn't just blowing smoke up society's ass, either.

An ability that could fundamentally violate either your volition or your sense of self was existentially terrifying. It was one thing to confront a person with super-strength, they were generally straight-forward in how they'd attack others. Even the most creative villains would only think to pick up a car or mailbox and throw it instead of punching or kicking someone.

Someone with a psychic quirk? If we went bad, we got creative.

And, as I was rapidly coming to learn from my internship, creative villains were just the worst.

“Still...” Kirishima began, his voice almost coming out in a whine. “You'd think there'd be more people with quirks like yours on the news going villain if they were that bad. As it is, you barely ever see that. I think there was that guy a couple of months ago that stole a safe combination from a business across the street using... I think he could touch things and read a person's thoughts that they'd had while they were holding it?”

“You want the official answer for that or the conspiracy answer?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

The other boy frowned, rubbing at his chin. “Uhh... both? I guess start with the first one?”

“The official answer is that psychic quirks, especially ones of sufficient power, range, and ease of use... well, they're just rare. A lot more rare than someone who ends up with tactile telekinesis, an enhanced metabolism, a mutation that gives them gorilla arms or anything else that amounts to being able to tear the face off an ATM,” I explained, waving a hand out as if banishing the idea that anything were strange about his question.

Kirishima nodded slowly, crossing his arms over his chest as he thought it over. “Okay, I get that. What about the other one, the conspiracy or whatever?”

“You don't hear about many psychic-quirk users as villains because they're all either snatched up for secret government jobs or, if they turn bad, killed by a black ops squad on government orders,” I grinned widely, intentionally giving off creepy vibes as I was doing so.

Kirishima shivered. “Ugh, yeah... don't do that man. I can't handle spooky stuff. Good to know it's all a conspiracy theory, though.'

“Eh,” I replied, then shrugged.

“Eh? What 'eh'? What do you mean, 'eh'?” Kirishima asked, his eyes wide.

My thoughts shifted to an article I'd found from a few years prior about the early retirement of the last HPSC head. He'd not been seen in public since then, as best as I could tell. There had been another, much smaller article covering the transfer of a moderately well-known hero going by the name of Lady Nagant, transferring to the JSDF around the same time.

As much as I was happy that her story had a better ending than it could have, I could also read between the lines.

“Just that the Japanese government has scandals pop up every few years,” I replied vaguely. “If those are what we know about... well, it stands to reason that there's a lot we don't know about, doesn't it?”

Kirishima grimaced and reached for his drink, downing a good portion of it. “Man, that's... yeah. You really think...”

I shrugged again. “No idea for sure, but... when you can't say for sure, that tells you something, doesn't it? That there's at least some kind of possibility.”

Kirishima shook his head. “Anyway... let's talk about something else. So we're not doing quirk stuff on the channel, then. Right?”

“Not unless something changes,” I replied with a nod. “We can do more advanced self-defense exercises, though. And there's nothing stopping us from doing quirk training off-camera, like we have been.”

“I'm just worried that the content will get stale, eventually. I mean, I know you've got that stuff about getting a first aid and lifeguard license and stuff, but... we should do something every now and then to reignite interest,” Kirishima suggested.

I hummed. It was a good idea to appeal to sensationalism every now and then. While things were advancing faster than I'd thought they would, with my upcoming 'Office Hero' license exam potentially being as soon as two weeks away... I was loath to simply drop the channel. Even if I was never going to pursue a truly public hero identity, my ideal goal being something akin to the heroic non-entity of Eraserhead, having some way to publicly interface with society was more than just a good idea.

Pushing any level of societal change would require public support, after all.

Even if that's a long-term goal, it's the kind of thing that requires long-term planning.

“What do you propose, then?” I asked, leaning back in my chair thoughtfully.

“We could do... uhh, maybe...” Kirishima pondered. “Oh, hey! Tests of courage are really hot right now! I've seen a bunch of herotubers going to haunted places recently and filming them!”

I stared at the other boy, slowly cocking my head. “I thought you couldn't take spooky stuff?”

Kirishima shrugged awkwardly, looking away. “I mean, didn't you tell me that being a hero was all about 'owning your fear' and stuff? If I'm afraid of something, shouldn't I be trying to conquer it?”

I took a deep breath and sighed it out. “As long as you're okay with a video of you screaming like a preteen girl living on the internet forever.”

Kirishima hissed, looking as if he immediately regretted his proposal. “It would, wouldn't it? Damn, uhh... hey! We could do karaoke!”

“That's... not an awful idea.” I nodded slowly, thinking it over. It wasn't exactly the best use of my time, but I'd never actually been to a karaoke place or whatever. Well, outside of a particularly memorable incident involving Stephanie Brown a few lifetimes ago. Personally, I chose not to count 'martial arts karaoke' as a thing that existed, for my own sanity if nothing else.

“Tell you what,” I decided slowly. “I'm going to be busy with my internship for a while, still. Why don't you use the opportunity to do a solo-stream?”

The dark-haired boy blinked, his eyes going wide. “Whoa... really? You don't mind?”

I shrugged. “You've been on four times by now, I think you know the drill. Think about what you want to do for an hour or two of content, map it out, and pick a block of time. Let me know ahead of time so I can be on-call if you have an emergency, but otherwise it'll be your show. You can do an AMA, talk about your hobbies, chat up the audience to see what they like... maybe even do a poll for future content.”

Kirishima's mouth slowly twisted into a shark-toothed grin as he slammed his fist into the opposite palm. “Dude, alright! You've got me pumped! I'mma do it! Just lemme-”

“Ah, hello Shinso-kun.”

Kirishima startled at the sudden interruption, but I'd already caught the quick flash of blond hair on the reflective surface of a chrome railing. Golden cat's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as I calmly took a sip from my drink in response to her appearance.

“Toga-chan, this is Kirishima Eijiro. You know him as Buster on the channel. He's my... coworker, I guess you could say. Kirishima-san, this is Toga Himiko, my girlfriend,” I motioned between the two with my free hand.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Himiko stated, bowing politely with just a touch too much formality as she dipped her head and gave the other boy a small smile. “I'll be in your care.”

“Ah!” Kirishima blinked, standing up abruptly as his face flushed and ducked into a bow that was definitely too stiff and formal. “Nice to meet you, too! The boss-”

I rolled my eyes.

“-er, ah... Shinso said you were coming by. Sorry if we ran long or something. We just needed to meet up and talk about the channel since he's so busy at the Endeavor Agency,” Kirishima apologized.

Himiko giggled, the intonation in the sound identical to that of her tall friend's even if the pitch was different. “Don't worry, I'm a little early. The sewing club didn't meet today because of a bug that's going around, so I came straight here from school.”

Unbending, Kirishima grinned at Himiko-

-the girl freezing for a second-

-and nodded. “Sorry to hear that. Well, I'll let you and the boss get to it then. I think we talked about everything, right?”

“You don't have to leave if you don't want to,” Himiko assured him with every social cue aligned to present a worried expression. “I wouldn't want to interrupt anything just because I'm early.”

Translator's Note: 'Yes, please leave. I need to talk to my boyfriend and you're in the way.'

Admittedly, it was one of the few times I'd seen Himiko display something approaching 'normal' subtextual interaction with one of her peers. Instead of an outright lie, this was just pretty standard social untruths designed to sidestep being rude and telling someone to fuck off.

“If you need to head out, I won't stop you. Feel free to call me later or drop an outline for your stream format in the shared folder,” I told Kirishima, implicit dismissal obvious. “You've got my digits if you need to reach me for some face-to-face.”

Kirishima grinned and further goodbyes were exchanged while I grabbed Himiko's drink of choice and a refill for myself. Setting down the outrageously colorful mocha with a full head of whipped cream and edible red sprinkles strewn about the candy-straw, Himiko squealed slightly and pulled out her phone to take a picture of it.

“You know he likes you,” she stated bluntly, tapping away at her phone.

“I'm aware,” I nodded.

“Hmm,” Himiko frowned, sipping her abominably cute confection before staring at me again. “And you liked that girl at the music store, didn't you? You're harder to read, but...”

I felt that lying, here and now, would be the last mistake I would make in this relationship. So I told the truth. “I like the idea of her. I'd have to get to know her, first. And she'd have to get to know me, to see if we're compatible. That's how relationships – dating – usually works.”

Jiro Kyoka was 'my type,' insomuch as I had one. Tomboyish punk-rock girl that could pass for goth if you squinted... yep, for all that it mattered I found her very attractive. But I also didn't know the first thing about her, not really.

“Is that what we're doing?” Himiko asked, blinking those piercing golden orbs at me.

I shrugged as I sipped my drink. “I didn't think we were at that stage yet. All we'd agreed to do was pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend to keep other people off our backs.”

The blond's lips screwed up in something that wasn't quite a snarl. “My parents want you to come over for dinner.”

I nodded again. “I gathered that. Your message said you wanted me to delay. I can keep making excuses if you'd prefer.”

Unlike Endeavor, Toga's parents appeared to be very much on-track, as horrible as that was for Himiko to experience. As such, I wouldn't mind lying out my ass to them on virtually any subject imaginable. Hell, I'd tell them I'd had Mexican instead of Chinese for lunch just for shits and giggles.

“They want...” Himiko began, swiping a finger through the slowly-melting cream and licking it off. “You're the first guy I've had a second date with.”

I hummed, my eyes narrowing as I read between the lines. “They want this to be more significant than it is.”

Another serious glance at me. “My parents moved here for work. We're originally from Kyoto.”

I exhaled a quiet 'ah' as I internalized that fact. Much like in other nations, being 'from somewhere' had cultural connotations that outsiders wouldn't pick up on unless it was shoved in their faces. Even then, though, it only mattered if it was said in a certain specific way when delving into certain specific topics. The closest comparison I could make to my current situation was asking an American if they owned a gun and having them respond, 'I'm from Texas.'

An answer to the question without actually answering the question, in other words.

When you're talking about relationships and someone mentions they're from Kyoto...

My eyebrow crept up. “On the second date?”

Himiko twitched slightly. “You're already interning at Endeavor's hero agency while you're still in middle school. I told them you'd be taking the license exam early, too. Mother was very impressed. Father doesn't want anything formal, though. I don't think he likes how casual your are on your channel.”

Well... damn. What do you say to that?

“What do you want?” I asked, because that was the only important thing.

My desire to discreetly murder her parents could wait.

Himiko's movements, as small and contained as they were, carried the kind of vicious pent-up energy of a particularly angry, large predatory cat. It was hard to explain, but every tiny motion of her fingers, every tap of her phone, every glance at me was just a bit too calculated, too focused.

Intent. That's the word.

“I... don't know,” Himiko finally muttered, her voice deeply unhappy.

I nodded, reaching up to cradle my chin as I considered the reply. I'd had tentative plans to move things along with Himiko slowly. Not out of any true reason, but merely out of a personal preference. I didn't like jumping into things quickly and was just careful and methodical by nature. Still... I hated seeing her like this, torn between things she obviously didn't understand. If I had to take a few steps out of my comfort zone to give her the support she needed, then so be it.

“I'd like to take you on a real date, this Sunday,” I stated boldly, drawing her attention away from her internal issues.

Himiko looked up from where she'd been studying the grain of the wood table and stared at me. “A real date? Is this a fake one, then?”

“In the sense that these have largely been performative outings to make people believe we're dating instead of actually doing so, yes,” I replied, and she nodded. “I'd like you to come with me and accompany me in an activity on Sunday. It won't be something that dating couples usually do, but...”

Himiko nodded slowly, still staring at me. “We'd need to have dinner at my house, with my parents. I can put them off for that long if we have a date.”

I hummed. “This... I'll be trying to authentically capture romantic affection from you during this outing. Are you okay with that?”

“I don't know,” the blond girl admitted, pausing and frowning slightly. “I've never... felt that before.”

“Then it comes down to whether or not you'd like to try,” I stated, then continued after a short pause of my own. “You. Not anyone else. This is your choice.”

Himiko bristled, irritation rising to the fore as she fought to maintain a mask of politeness.

Once again, I was struck by how much more enthralling that anger was over that vapid happiness she wore like armor. At the same time, though, I could read fear in her... or at least deep uncertainty.

Still, she nodded. “Sunday.”

Then she did something I didn't expect and pulled out a small box from her schoolbag. About a one hand's length and a quarter of that in width and depth, it was wrapped in some kind of pink kitten-covered atrocity with a blood-red bow on it. I cocked my head and looked at her.

She gave me that fake smile again. “Mother said that you're supposed to get your boyfriend gifts.”

“Ah, thank you,” I stated, taking the present. “Though... you should know, it's customary to wait until the third or fifth date for something like this. It's usually a tacit social cue that the giver wants to extend the relationship and potentially make it more serious.”

Himiko froze and took a momentary shuddering breath before nodding. “I apologize. I must have misunderstood her instructions.”

Yeah, I'll bet. No way this wasn't an opening gambit to induce a more serious courtship.

“Do you still want me to have it, knowing that?” I asked, making no move to open it.

Himiko stared at me for a long moment before replying. “Yes. I liked the movie, and the steak was nice. Even if I'm not sure I like you yet, you're the only one who hasn't looked away.”

I hummed and set my hot cocoa down before carefully opening the wrapping paper and pulling out a small case that-

I blinked.

“You squint when you're in bright areas,” Himiko stated. “And your fingers sometimes twitch like you're reaching for something, before you stop. Then you blink hard and force your eyes open a little too wide.”

A small smile curled on my lips as I picked up the sunglasses and put them on, sighing with quiet relief at a sensation that shouldn't be familiar to this body. “You picked the swept back ones with the half-rims. Why?”

Himiko frowned. “Do you not like them? I thought it would be better to get you something that didn't block the corner of your eyes, since you tend to watch people from them.”

I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked at her admiringly. “I really need to stop underestimating you.”

My eyes – Hitoshi's eyes – were a shade of pale violet just a bit darker than my blue eyes had been in a past life, once upon a time. I didn't know if that was the cause of it, but I'd always been a bit more sensitive than normal and I'd gotten used to wearing sunglasses whenever I was outside. Especially when I was driving. I'd picked up a pair of half-rim sweptback sunglasses after a near-miss car accident I almost hadn't seen coming because my peripheral vision was blocked... and had been wearing basically the same style for nearly two decades after that.

I'd been trying to stop wearing them because of how completely my costume/uniform covered my face. Leaving some bit of skin showing was humanizing when you were basically wearing a bodysuit otherwise.

Still... going on three months without a pair, it feels nice to have one again.

“Does that mean you like them?” Himiko asked, smug satisfaction replacing the surprise and betrayal from earlier, even if her minute smile didn't shift. “Mother wanted to get you something else, but I picked those out.”

“I like them a lot,” I smiled at her. “I'll have to think about something to get you for Sunday on our date.”

Himiko nodded, then paused. “I... there are... things, about my parents. Things you should know.”

“I guessed as much,” I replied. “If you want me to make a good first impression, I'd like you to tell me as much as possible about them.”

The mask slipped back into place as Himiko visibly perked up and smiled that fake smile. “Oh, Father is a senior manager at an insurance firm. He's in charge of a lot of people-”

As Himiko rolled out a string of empty chatter that contained nuggets of useful information, something she'd probably done a dozen times whenever a classmate or teacher had brought up the subject of parental occupations, I took mental notes about where to start my own search. Sadly, it looked as though my busy schedule just got even busier.

Well, at least I’ve got a pair of kickass shades now.

It was the little things in life, after all.

~~~

This should have been out yesterday, but I've been feeling really tired for some reason and needed a little more time on this chapter. I really hope I'm not coming down with anything. Don't need that noise.

Anyway, I'm feeling better now and got this wrapped up.

Not too much to say about this chapter. More Kirishima, more Himiko, so it's automatically a winner. Other than that, just setting up some dominoes for later.

Hope your weeks are all going well and thank you for your patience.

Next update should be Marvel Industrious in a few days.

Mind Games - Chapter 16

This should have been out yesterday, but I've been feeling really tired for some reason and needed a little more time on this chapter. I really hope I'm not coming down with anything. Don't need that noise.

Anyway, I'm feeling better now and got this wrapped up.

Not too much to say about this chapter. More Kirishima, more Himiko, so it's automatically a winner. Other than that, just setting up some dominoes for later.

Hope your weeks are all going well and thank you for your patience.

Next update should be Marvel Industrious in a few days.

The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 9

Stereotypes are judgmental shorthand for social situations the mind uses to come to conclusions quickly, saving effort for more important things.

“Lookit the widdle kid who likes to talk out his arse.”

But, the thing about stereotypes? They almost always had some basis in reality in order to exist in the first place.

“Aww, what's the matter, mixed-breed? You gonna' cry?”

For an example as to the validity of stereotypes, take my current situation. I'd been cornered by three older boys on my way to do an errand for the Professor. They were somewhat notorious around the campus and I usually avoided them as discreetly as possible. If their type saw you turn and run, they'd react like sharks to blood in the water. Still, on this occasion I'd been unlucky enough to stumble on them as they lounged about in the halls, very obviously bored enough to seize upon the first opportunity for amusement.

“Maybe we should do van Beek a favor and get rid of the chit? Not like his parents wanted him.”

At that point, I decided I'd had enough.

Again, stereotypes had their basis in reality. As cliché as it might be, a shot against whoever my parents were was more of a sore point than I thought it would be. My first instinct was, of course, violence, but I reigned that in tightly. Although I felt pretty sure that the Professor wouldn't care about the bodies themselves once the situation had been explained to him, I'd be punished for taking up the man's time and energy.

I settled on an alternative solution.

It helped that the last of the witnesses had turned the next corner, not wanting to get involved with the three older teenagers that were looming over me, deciding that a nine year old child was a valid target for some entertainment. I suppose I looked a bit tall for my age, but not substantially old enough that it should actually matter, especially given they each had at least fifty pounds on me.

Magical energy surged into my eyes as I forced them as wide as I could, lacing the words coming from me with yet more magic. “You believe bothering me to be beneath you, much as you do to all other people of lower social or financial means. Abusing the weak isn't fun anymore. You have better things to do.”

I cut the streams of power, steadying myself against the wall as the boys blinked owlishly at me for a long moment.

Then the leader shook his head, clearing the artificially-induced cobwebs from it and snorting. “Let's go, guys. I've got to get to class. We've wasted enough time on this kid.”

His lackeys muttered their assent and the three turned to walk away as one.

I sighed, finding my footing again as I recovered from the momentary exertion.

“Holy Shit.”

I briefly closed my eyes, rubbing at them tiredly as I turned towards the familiar voice. Dark hair and dark eyes, a slightly-ruffled suit in good condition. Still, the fact that he was staring at me with black surprise, bordering on shock, told me all I needed to know. For a moment, I considered wiping his mind, but relented instead. It wasn't as if van Beek didn't have anyone in his circle that knew about the moonlit world, and... I trusted him, if only somewhat. In the end, he was the closest thing I had to a real friend here.

“Good morning Hector,” I sighed.

“Ah... yeah, morning,” Hector stated blankly.

We stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

“If that's all, I need to attend to the Professor's errands,” I stated, turning and making to leave.

“Damn, no – wait!” Hector cried, stumbling into a quick run to catch up to me and lowering his voice as he looked around furtively. “Wait-wait... what was that?”

“Something I'd really rather you hadn't seen,” I stated with a grumble.

Hector chewed on his words quietly for a moment, keeping apace with my own steps as he visibly hesitated before trying again in an undertone. “So... it's true then, old Professor van Beek is a wizard, isn't he?”

“A sorcerer,” I corrected with another sigh, mentally calculating that I was going to be doing quite a lot of sighing today. Much more than I'd accounted for, certainly. “Do I need to explain that you can't tell anyone about this? Or do you understand on your own?”

The older boy gave me a slightly sour look, no doubt feeling he was being talked down to. Which he was. Hector huffed and nodded. “Fine, fine... no one takes the ruddy rumor seriously anyway, it's just school gossip. Even if I swore up and down it was true, they'd just take me for a nutter.”

“You're wiser than most people who figure things out,” I noted to take the sting out of my earlier comment. “If you have any questions, you can ask Mister Simons. He's not a practitioner, but he knows enough to stay out of things. I imagine he'll have some useful advice to impart.”

“Why would I ask him when I could just ask you instead?” Hector pointed out, looking at me curiously.

“Because I have neither the time nor the energy to entertain your curiosity on this subject?” I parried, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I'll help you with your chores,” Hector offered. “I can be absent one day from classes and no one will miss me. My grades can stand it and I'll beg off with the excuse of a bad meal that didn't sit right.”

I sighed explosively, adding yet another to the tally. “I want five of those little candies your mother sends you.”

Hector grinned, giving a small leap and whoop of glee and I rolled my eyes at the older boy.

“You are so very lucky I consider you my friend,” I stated with a shake of my head and a fond – if exasperated – smile definitely absent from my face.

“Aw... c'mon Henry, don't be like that. I was just about to step in front of Tom and his lot for you before you pulled your hocus pocus,” Hector stated, wiggling his fingers.

“Thank you for that, though it probably would have hurt more than helped,” I stated with a frown.

“Oh? How so?”

“Having someone near their age would give them permission to be rougher with both of us. They wouldn't consider it, really, just automatically move towards physical force once you entered the picture. That's usually how it goes, anyway,” I explained with a shake of my head.

Hector looked me over and frowned. “I'll keep that in mind. I suppose it isn't like you can't take care of yourself.”

I hid a grimace and decided it was worth it to moderate my earlier statement, at least a little. It was better he think I was grateful and frustrated rather than ungrateful and too proud to accept help. “Thank you, though. No one else would have even bothered.”

The dark-haired boy gave me a smile in return, then clapped his hands as we made our way outside and across a large field. “So... magic.”

I rolled my eyes at the conspiratorial undertone he adopted. “Speak normally. Whispering like that carries further than normal tones.”

Hector gave me a faux-scathing look that had traces of real annoyance hidden within it. “You hate fun, don't you Henry?”

“Remember who my mentor is and ask me that again,” I challenged him blandly as we made our way towards the wood-line.

Hector opened his mouth to argue, closed it, and shook his head. “Nevermind. Magic is real.”

It wasn't a question, but he wanted confirmation – affirmation – anyway. “Yes.”

He took a deep breath, then sighed it out. “Okay. So, witches and wizards and-and... like, did Old Dutch make you sign the devil's book?”

I sighed, more deeply and tiredly than anytime before. “That's a myth. The vast majority of human magic-users, to my admittedly limited experience on the subject, have very little or nothing at all to do with the devils or the Satans.”

“Satans?” Hector squawked, obviously noting the plural and looking around us in a paranoid fashion. “There's more than one of them?!”

“There are four of them. One is in charge of internal affairs, one is in charge of external affairs, one is in charge of research, and the last is in charge of military matters,” I explained patiently. “There was a civil war in the underworld a few centuries ago and instead of the positions being held by family lines, they were taken over by the 'New Satan' faction of devils who, largely, favor peaceful coexistence with the Grigori, – the fallen angel faction – and the forces of the God of Abraham.”

As was my intent, I could almost see the smoke coming out of Hector's ears as he stumbled along behind me silently attempting to reconcile the worldview I'd just taken a sledgehammer to. In the meantime, I removed a slip of paper and started looking over it to ensure I properly remembered the details of the wild herbal ingredients van Beek wanted me to pick up.

I had a nearly-supernatural memory, so I probably wasn't going to need the list, but it was better safe than sorry.

Perking up as I looked around for the first batch, I removed a folded leather bag from my pocket and snapped it open before reaching down with a small pocket knife to cut the first set.

“Okay, so heaven and hell are things and-” Hector began, before I thrust the bag at him.

“Hold that open for me,” I ordered him, snorting at his somewhat perturbed look. “You did say you were going to help me, didn't you?”

“Alright, alright... but, really... heaven and hell are... well, real?” Hector asked, his expression turning contemplative. “I'm going to have to start paying more attention in the pews.”

I cut another herb and then took a closer look at a patch of mushrooms. “Heaven is real, but hell... well, it's not what you think it is, as far as I know.”

“Gonna have to explain that one, Henry. You just said-” Hector began and I shook my head.

“I just said the underworld is real. Not the same thing. Magic-users basically warp the world around us with math, language, and raw concepts. So we're very particular about specifics, such as with word choice. Mixing up places like 'hell' and 'the underworld' is a blatant tell that you're either a complete amateur or have no magical training or knowledge.” I scowled at him. “Don't make that face at me, it's just how it is.”

“Sounds like you all have a stick up your ass,” Hector grunted.

“We're effectively all some brand of academics, so that checks out,” I replied dryly.

Hector snorted, hunching over as he fought against a sudden bout of laughter. “Ha! That's a good one, Henry. That's... just amazing, really. Heh.”

I grunted with a nod, then went back to picking out mushrooms. These weren't on the Professor's list, but they'd make something good to mix in the stew tonight.

“So if hell and this underworld place aren't the same... what's the difference?” Hector asked, holding the bag open as I dropped more plants into it.

I hummed thoughtfully. “The underworld is... think of it like our world's shadow. It's still a physical place, filled with physical beings, just... without any humans. It's the last refuge for a lot of the magical species that we've pushed out of the world and have become very rare here on Earth. Cerberus, Nemean Lions, those sorts of creatures. Instead of humans, though, the world is populated exclusively by devils and frozen in eternal night.”

Hector shivered slightly. “You almost sound like you want to go there.”

“If it weren't for the devils, maybe,” I lied, standing and slapping my hands against my pants legs. “There would be a lot of interesting research opportunities at the very least.”

“If you say so, kid,” the older boy shook his head. “So, what about hell?”

“Hell, as near as I can tell, is an abstract realm outside of reality. It's... not really all fire and brimstone like the bible would have you believe. Or, well... there's not much of that in the actual bible, but a lot of preachers and pastors don't let that stop them,” I muttered, shaking my head as I walked towards the next area on my mental list.

“I'm pretty sure that's heretical... calling churchmen liars,” Hector commented cynically, but didn't disagree. “So hell's... not eternal torment?”

I waggled a hand before kneeling to reach another set of herbs. “It's not really a place at all. It's... outside reality, I think? It's where the soul goes after it's untethered from our physical bodies. If you don't fit the qualifications to get into heaven or haven't pledged your soul to a pagan god or goddess, then your soul just kind of... drifts away and gets exposed to so much raw magical energy that it forgets the memories of your current life and attaches to a new body to live a new life.”

Hector blinked at me, startled from the information dump. “Huh... yeah, I guess souls would have to be real, too. We are talking about heaven and hell and everything. We'd have to have souls.”

“You are your soul,” I corrected tartly. “You have a body.”

Another round of blinking. “I... don't get it?”

I sighed and shook my head. It'd be useful to be able to make an analogy about software and hardware right now, but the comparison would be meaningless to the young man. “You think and feel with your soul. You body... is like a puppet. Without the animating force of the puppeteer behind it, it would just sit there doing nothing.”

“Okay... so, if a soul is like the puppeteer, then couldn't you just pick up a new body-er, puppet if yours stopped working, ah... died?” Hector stumbled through the question awkwardly.

I narrowed my gaze at him. “That's incredibly dark magic, Hector.”

His eyes widened, looking alarmed and surreptitiously glancing around us again. “It is? Shit, I didn't mean-”

“Think about what you just asked,” I advised him, taking pains to keep my voice neutral and free of judgment. “To 'take over' a new puppet, you'd have to find one without a puppeteer... or make one.”

I looked up from the wild plants I held in one hand and drew the thumb of my free hand across my neck pointedly. His eyes widened and he looked away, face simultaneously flushed and pale at the implication of what he'd unknowingly asked. “I... sorry. I wasn't thinking. This is all just... really incredible. I guess some of the stuff about evil witches is real then, huh?”

“More than I'd like to admit,” I sighed. “And... it's not your fault. You're curious, I would be too in your position. Hell, I am in your position, really. I only started my apprenticeship last year, so a lot of this is new to me as well.”

“Right... you just came back with Old Dutch last year,” Hector mumbled.

“But, to be perfectly fair to your earlier question,” I sighed and returned to the topic. “There are ways to cheat death that don't involve human sacrifice. Usually creating some type of golem or homunculus to house your soul after death. It's just... those are expensive and time consuming, in addition to requiring a high level of skill and technical knowledge. The types of people who would be desperate enough to attempt something like that...”

“Aren't the type of people who would want to put in the time, money, and labor to do it the right way,” Hector nodded, grimacing. “If there even is a right way. Cheating Death. I really need to think more before opening my mouth. That's what it is, isn't it? Defying God's heavenly design. That would definitely get you locked out of heaven.”

“Eh,” I waggled my hand again as I stood to make my way towards another area. I'd been worried there wouldn't be a good crop this early in the year, but the weather had been warm enough that we were seeing early sprouts.

“Oh, now you're just shitting me,” Hector rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mr. Wizard. How is that not defying God's grand design?”

“First off, it's sorcerer, not wizard,” I replied. Hector opened his mouth. “And, yes, it matters. Second, the God of Abraham's divine proscription against magic is specifically against any spell or working which is malicious against another person or would taint the soul with pagan or demonic power. Extending your own life, as long as you don't do it through murder or human sacrifice, is perfectly allowable... even if it's frowned upon by most church doctrine and would likely be condemned by most pastors. Still, only magic that is deemed 'black' by the church – mainly the Catholics – tarnishes your soul.”

I paused, then frowned. “Except for where the caster is granted a pardon by one ordained in the Christian faith. Especially if you're given permission beforehand, that can absolve you of a lot of the sin such an act would involve.”

Hector pursed his lips. “You know... I think Luther had it right. It's downright medieval to hear something like that.”

I snorted. “A lot of magical culture is trapped in the past, from a modern perspective. The Professor's books are all handwritten manuscripts, for instance. I'm not sure if I've seen a single printed work in his collection of grimoires.”

Hector hummed, bouncing one leg on the ball of its foot nervously. “So... how do you get into heaven, then? What's the secret?”

“There isn't one,” I rolled my eyes. “They tell you how to do it every Sunday.”

Hector crossed his arms and gave me a level look.

I sighed yet again. “Fine. Mechanically... on a spiritual level, when someone prays to a given deity, the God of Abraham or otherwise, what you're actually doing is aligning the energies of your soul with theirs. Note, though, when I say 'pray,' I don't just mean getting down on your knees and reciting the words. You have to mean them, from the heart of your being. You have to want – legitimately and authentically desire – to be closer to your chosen god.”

Realization filled Hector's eyes. “And if you do that enough...”

“You stain your soul in their colors,” I confirmed. “When your soul leaves your body that resonance serves to mark you as one of their own and allows you entrance to their afterlife. That's the simple version, anyway. Prayer is more complex than what I can really go over, too. Praying for material things rarely does anything, but praying for strength or resolve or wisdom often empowers the spark of divine essence in your soul, granting you a sliver of ability to accomplish your goals. There's obviously more to it than just that, but-”

“Like what?” Hector pushed, then drew back a bit. “Sorry, it's just... you're probably the only person I'll ever meet that'll tell me the truth about this without all the pomp and circumstance.”

“Keeping to the ideals espoused in whatever teachings you know of your god or goddess,” I added. “People being people... even some of the stuff in the Torah, Holy Bible, or Quran is contradictory given the nature of their authors as flawed mortals. What's generally important is keeping to the interpretation of the work that you believe to be correct and acting in accordance with it. Knowingly acting to contravene the teachings of such a text would diminish your closeness with God, in this context meaning lessening the amount of divine resonance with Him. Similarly, keep to the holy days and celebrations...”

There was a distant look on Hector's face as I talked, explaining the basic mechanism of divine magic. Eventually, I paused to catch my breath and take a drink from the canteen at my waist, cleaning my hands with a basic spell in the process. The sudden appearance of bright circles of magical light seemed to jar him out of whatever fugue he'd fallen into.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked, struck by sudden curiosity. The day had mostly been me talking so far, and we were well into our little forest field trip. Plus, Hector had had his world fundamentally jarred by today's events. Even if I felt I had his measure, it would be good to know if he'd be okay on his own.

Or if I needed to change plans and wipe his mind anyway.

I hoped it wasn't the latter, I really did.

“Just wondering if this is what the disciples felt like, back in the day,” Hector admitted bluntly. “And wondering whether or not I should be writing all of this down.”

I made a face akin to what one would when they bit down on a lemon. “Please don't joke about that.”

Hector shook his head. “I mean... people should know about this, shouldn't they? Why don't they, come to think of it? Angels are real, right? So why don't they just come down and tell everyone straight up?”

“They did,” I pointed out. “It's not their fault that we measure our lives in decades – if we're lucky – and they measure theirs in millennia. They've shown up and explained things a few times by now, we just keep forgetting on a societal level how this stuff works. And, to be fair to the various denominations, they do make a good shot at explaining things in a way people can understand: obey the rules, pray a lot, ask forgiveness when you make a mistake, and desire closeness with God.”

“Yeah, but they could...” Hector started, obviously struggling for words. “Tell people. Or something.”

I rolled my eyes as he threw his hands up. “Careful with the bag! And... ugh, I can't believe I'm defending organized religion, but... they do. You've been told every Sunday that all this stuff is real. It was your choice not to believe without evidence being thrown in your face.”

Hector ran a hand through his hair and, more mindful of the bag he was holding, shook his head. “It just... seems wrong, somehow. Not to do something. Couldn't you call up an angel? Or Old Dutch?”

I barked a startled laugh. “Jeus, Hector... we just talked about thinking before you speak. You want something that will bar you from heaven? That's a good start. Forcefully summoning an angel to do your bidding? The best case scenario is that it doesn't work. Angels are powerful supernatural beings that don't work on human logic or reason. And, frankly, they don't like humans all that much either.”

Hector blinked and reared back. “They don't? Why not?”

I looked heavenward for relief, but found only the cold blue sky of a crisp late winter/early spring day. “Imagine you live near a tribe of illiterate, violent hill people who occasionally kill each other for reasons you don't understand and don't want to understand, smell like wild animals most of the time, have used things you've taught them as justification for horrible crimes in the past, and react with fear and panic every time you remind them you exist.”

I turned my deadpan expression on him fully, enjoying the dawning realization on his face.

“Would you want to interact with these people more than you absolutely had to?” I pressed him, just to drive the point home.

“When you put it like that...” Hector admitted sourly, turning away from me. “Is that really how they see us?”

I sighed tiredly. “The angels? Mostly not. They tend to be a lot more compassionate and forgiving than most of the other supernatural factions, but even they have shades of those opinions and have resolved that it's better to leave us to our own devices than personally be the cause of any more violence being carried out in their names.”

I took another draw from my canteen.

“The Grigori, the fallen angels, mostly hate us for spurning the gift of forgiveness God allowed us to have. A gift which many of them would commit horrible atrocities to receive, even if they're too proud to admit it and would kill you for suggesting it. The devils... they mostly think we're good deniable assets that are easy to corrupt and use for their own ends.”

I bit my lip and cut myself off there. It was for the best that I didn't air the whole of my views on the various supernatural races.

I'd hesitate to call the opinions of devils a very complementary view, but we at least hold a certain value in their eyes depending on our individual skills and powers. At the very least it was more nuanced than the impotent paternalism of heaven. Though there was the same tendency between all three of the Abrahamic Factions to assume humans were there to do their bidding and nothing more. Angels saw us as creations of God, owing allegiance to them in his absence. The fallen, in turn, saw us as younger siblings in a similar way to their untarnished brethren, merely in a more abusive light. They believed we owed them for jump-starting civilization and teaching us the various secrets of primitive technologies that helped get the first city-states off the ground.

Devils just thought we were weak and, therefore, fair game.

It's probably just elements of the show still living rent-free in my head, but that kind of honesty is refreshing, at least, instead of patronizing.

“That's the real reason why the supernatural elements of the world don't show up as often as they used to,” I continued, taking a different train of thought. “Humans are loud, obnoxious, violent, and don't care about understanding other peoples. With our populations increasing the way they have, we started encroaching on the habitats of magical creatures a long time ago and driving them into the underworld or into outright extinction. Save for the groups of humans who already have ties to the moonlit world, they really don't want more of us interacting with them.”

Which had been a bitch of a thing to figure out, involving quite a bit of reading between the lines on various secret Vatican documents as well as the correspondence of the Grigori and devil's spies. Another limitation of my Gear had reared its ugly head in my attempts to understand the magical cultures of non-human species...

Specifically, Encyclopedia was a repository of human knowledge.

Or, at least, knowledge put to record by human hands.

I held out hope that I'd be able to, one day, develop some kind of Balance Breaker or advanced evolution of the Sacred Gear that would broaden my horizons, but in the meantime I was loath to complain about only having access to the largest and most complete collection of knowledge in human history.

“That's... really depressing, actually,” Hector admitted candidly, frowning.

I sighed, idly remembering the fact that I'd been correct in my assertion that I was going to do that a lot today. “Tell me about it.”

We were quiet for a long while after that, working through the various patches of herbs that I'd frequented whenever van Beek had sent me on these errands. Not everything was ready for harvesting, but there was enough that it would satisfy the old sorcerer for now. I knew I'd be back in a week double-checking to see if the remainder were ripe enough to be cut, but there was nothing for that.

“Let's talk about something else,” Hector stated. “What was that trick you used on Tom and those two others?”

This time, I groaned. I just knew that the older boy was going to try and get me to hypnotize a girl for him.

Regrettably, I was right.

After I'd very firmly shot that idea down, we managed to finish up our trek through the forest and Hector was delighted by how well a quick spell cleaned up clothing that had very much not been meant for such a walk. Another quick snap of a mending spell saw the tiny rips and tears from the various branches we'd brushed against sealed themselves. With one last admonishment to keep his mouth shut, and a tacit warning of what would happen if he didn't, I returned to the cottage I shared with my master.

I cast the cleaning spell again, wiping away the mud from my walk as I kicked off my shoes.

“Boy! There you are!” Marteen van Beek growled, prowling around a corner. “Come! We have work to do. I have received word that acquaintances from the Hunter's Guild will be traveling through here next week. I will have a list of chores for you to make ready the spare room. Now get busy with the herbs! And put the stew on!”

I restrained the urge to give another sigh. There was always the chance that the Professor would take that as me giving him lip.

It was best not to provoke him.

“Yes Master, I'll get right on that,” I stated instead.

Well, there goes my reading time for a while.

~~~

This one was a little more difficult than usual, but I got it out by my self-appointed deadline at least. This will be one of the last buffer chapters for this story before it gets its own thread. But, this being a buffer chapter, that means there's not going to be a public rollover this time around. So enjoy your early access with an air of well-earned smugness.

I hope everyone has a great weekend. As for me? I'm heading to bed.

Next chapter will probably be more Mind Games or that chapter of Marvel Industrious I mentioned last time.

The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 9

This one was a little more difficult than usual, but I got it out by my self-appointed deadline at least. This will be one of the last buffer chapters for this story before it gets its own thread. But, this being a buffer chapter, that means there's not going to be a public rollover this time around. So enjoy your early access with an air of well-earned smugness.

I hope everyone has a great weekend. As for me? I'm heading to bed.

Next chapter will probably be more Mind Games or that chapter of Marvel Industrious I mentioned last time.

Mind Games - Chapter 15

“They call them 'Office Heroes,' apparently,” I explained, flipping through the document once more. “Not formally or anything, but I think it's one of those workplace-humor jokes. They're more or less the IT geeks that everyone needs, but no one wants to admit to needing.”

That got a mild chuckle out of my father as he sat across from me at the table, stacks of paper and a laptop each strewn about randomly as we ate dinner, talked, and looked over information relating to Endeavor's job offer. And that was what it was, make no mistake. I'd be officially limited in my capacity and exposure to certain cases as well as the hours I could put in each week, but I was deeply cynical how those mandates would stack up against reality.

Even if I was willing to use them, quite hypocritically, to support my own arguments in favor of the arrangement while negotiating with my father.

“That seems to be a good way to put it,” Niko nodded with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, proving that habits ran as deep as our genes given the waves of bittersweet and nostalgic happiness that lapped between us. The man had lived with his quirk for his entire life and yet he still emoted like others couldn't feel everything he did.

I didn't know whether to count that as a reassuring sign of the durability of the human condition or a sour note tallied against that same condition's ability to change and adapt.

“Is something wrong, Dad?” I asked, using a pair of chopsticks to push fried rice into my mouth.

“It's just...” The older man frowned, setting down the pages he was studying before looking up at me with a narrowed and thoughtful gaze. “I'm grateful for you opening up about all of this, coming to me for advice and permission, telling me about all these uses for your quirk... but, it's been years. You didn't think I needed to know... or could handle knowing – and I'm not sure which is worse – that you needed to go to the doctor to get your quirk reassessed.”

Niko swallowed, storm-wracked emotion clouding the room's atmosphere. “Am I a bad father, Hitoshi?”

I blinked, then grimaced. Lying to Todoroki Fuyumi honestly didn't bother me all that much. Perhaps it would, one day, but for all that she authentically cared about my health and welfare, I'd also just met the woman and barely knew her. There was only so much emotion I could conjure under those circumstances, sadly. Especially when lying to her provided me with legitimacy and the ability to use more of my abilities openly instead of forcing me to conceal an even bigger part of who I was. A little lie to tell a larger truth.

And I could live with that.

Niko, though... was my father.

“You remember my first birthday after what happened with Mom?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, as much as I was able to in the stiff dining room seat.

A roiling wave of embarrassment shifted, regret and sadness sounding in the distance like thunder. Heat colored his cheeks. “Ah... I am still sorry about that cake, Hitoshi. I just got busy with work and the next thing I knew the smoke alarms were going off... your mother was always the one who knew her way around the kitchen.”

Absently, his gaze shifted to the faded soot stains around the oven. They were no longer noticeable, unless you knew what you were looking for. We'd cleaned it several times, after all, but never quite got around to giving the area a new coat of paint.

I chuckled and shook my head. “What I remember... is rolling out of bed and hearing loud noises, then stumbling into the kitchen to find everything coated in white foam. Including you. Even if it was kind of a disaster, it's a good memory. One that showed you actually tried, even after everything that happened.”

I shifted awkwardly and, unlike my manipulations in Endeavor's office, it was honest. “I won't say you were the best Dad ever, I think we probably both know I'd be lying if I did, but... trying counts for a lot. In my book, at least.”

Niko cracked a smile, running a hand through his navy-purple hair and sighing. The cloud of emotions hovering around him grew deeper, more intense and more complex. “Under the circumstances... I think that's probably the best review I could hope for. Thanks son, you know I-”

My eyes widened and I held up my hands, “Ah!”

Dad blinked, realization spreading like momentary beams of sunlight in a hale across his quirk, then dimming just as quickly. “Hitoshi, I gave you a pass for pulling that stunt when we visited your mother because it made her laugh. Well, that and my suppressants, but if you're going to be a hero you should probably drop the middle school fantasies.”

I hummed, the crisis having momentarily passed as I picked up another set of documents, these detailing the obligations I would be under to pay back the agency by the length of my employment term. The details were... interesting, given the provisions for early contract release. “What makes you think it's a fantasy?”

I felt Niko's attention on me and looked up to meet his gaze, our mutually-dispassionate stares meeting in the air between us like a pair of energy blasts from a shounen anime. He raised an eyebrow, rubbing at his jaw as skepticism spiked through his emotional aura. “If you can prove it, that you work for this-this... Celestial Bureaucracy of yours, I'll drop it, son.”

I snorted and shook my head, breaking eye contact to pull my laptop up. “No you wouldn't.”

Niko went to respond, but I simply reached out and tapped the stacks of paper, silencing him momentarily.

“You'd want to see my employment contract, talk to my liaison, evaluate my workplace conditions... do everything that we did for the internship and that we're doing for this offer,” I pointed out. “Because you're a good father.”

He cradled his chin, thoughtful curiosity clearing the miasma of depression as he was pulled deeper into the conversation. “That's... well, that's probably true. Hmm, and you don't want me to do that? So that's why you aren't going to prove that this whole Celestial Bureaucracy thing is real. Or, at least, that's what you believe.”

I gave him a short nod, skimming more paperwork and pulling free a highlighter to mark specific sections for his later review. I'd need to see about changing that clause. I didn't care if he was the number two hero in the nation, he wasn't getting that large of a cut of my merchandising rights. The cap of the marker still in my mouth, I muttered around it, “Pretty much.”

Niko stared at me as I worked, starting to drum his fingers on the table as I felt the familiar sensation of the man's mind at work deciphering a complex problem like a dog gnawing on a bone. It was an 'emotion' that didn't translate well to human language. The best I could do was usually 'preoccupied distraction.'

“What if I promise not to?” Dad asked tentatively. “Not to interfere, that is? With whatever this job you say you have from them is. Will you try to prove it to me then?”

“If you actually want me to,” I said, spitting out the cap and closing the highlighter with a sharp click. “But you'd have to live with the knowledge of it, and I'm not sure you want to do that.”

Energy thrummed through his quirk, sharp curiosity, stormy concern, and diffuse confusion. “What do you mean, Hitoshi? That I'd have to... live with it? Are they asking you to do something bad?”

Not asking. Just waiting patiently for circumstances to force my hand a little further down that slippery slope.

“I'm not hearing voices, Dad,” I sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing where his mind had gone. Dropping the marked-up papers on the table, I propped an elbow up and set my chin on it. “Think about it like this... two-hundred and... fifty years or so ago, no one knew what quirks or powers were. And if you tried to tell them that you knew a guy who had a goatee of living fire and could shoot blasts of flame from his body... their reaction would be pretty much what your reaction is to me, right now.”

Niko frowned, frustration and understanding entering the ethereal mix while confusion precipitated out like vanishing rain. “So I'd have to keep it a secret, is what you mean. Because no one would believe me.”

“And, unlike teenagers, which society excuses for their eccentricities, adults get shown to quiet padded rooms a lot faster with a lot less leniency,” I deadpanned.

Dad nodded slowly, a light storm of contemplative learned-helplessness and the resulting depression fomenting. “I just... I'm worried that if you sign up with the Endeavor Agency – or even become a freelance hero on your own – and slip up and mention your delusion in front of a camera or have some coworker talk to a tabloid... it would ruin your reputation and future job prospects.”

Not an invalid concern.

“Which is why the 'character' of my hero identity is going to be a conspiracy buff,” I explained, lazily flipping through a set of documents I'd already examined. “I'll wait to introduce that element until I'm confronted about it and then go on a polite and serious rant about quirks being an alien experiment, squirrels controlling geopolitics, and probably something about a moon base.”

Niko's shoulders drooped. “You're not exactly inspiring confidence, Hitoshi.”

“Unlike normal adults,” I clarified patiently, “heroes are tolerated when they're weird. If you lean into it properly, you even become popular for it. Look at Wash, the guy's costume is a literal washing machine and he's in the number eight slot nationally. Weird sells, Dad. As long as you can sell it.”

“I'm actually worried that I'm the one going crazy now that this is all kind of making sense,” Dad muttered, half-irritated and half-resigned. “So it's an-an... affectation, then? Something that you're practicing to pretend to believe in and want to use me as some kind of test-group for your potential marketing appeal?”

I cocked my head, not having expected that angle, then spoke slowly, drawing out the question I was asking as I thought over the exact phrasing. “If I agree to that interpretation, would you still take my warning seriously?”

Niko sighed and rubbed at the bags under his eyes that I suspected, half-seriously, were a congenital condition. “That's a 'No,' then.”

“Can we get back to discussing vacation days and education financing now?” I asked with a sigh.

Dad lifted his head to stare at me, then clapped his hands in a burst of uncommon energy. “Okay! How about... you show me something small. Something that I can reasonably convince myself was a trick, but is odd enough that I won't be able to figure out how you did it.”

I hummed, cocking my head as I saw where he was going with this. “And if you can't figure out the trick I use, whatever it is, you'll let the subject drop and listen to my requests about vocalizations of affection until, at the very least, you can come up with a solution as to how I pulled off my trick.”

Niko smiled, a disused expression on the man's face that was slowly coming back into fashion. “If you pull a rabbit out of a hat, I promise to do as you ask until and unless I figure out where the rabbit came from.”

I narrowed my eyes, turning the compromise over in my mind while simultaneously considering...

Ah, that would work.

“You promise?” I asked, pulling out my phone and tapping it against the table. “You aren't going to demand to know where I got the bunny, freak out and call Quirk Services, or whatever?”

“I promise,” Niko stated with a small smile. “But, if I do figure out your trick, you have to at least drop the eccentric superhero act here at home and let me express affection to my own son.”

Ow, that guilt trip hurts.

“Deal,” I stated, then skittered my phone across the table into his grasp. He looked at me questioningly. “Break it. Drive a knife through it, crush it, throw it on the floor and stomp on it a few times... whatever you want to do. Just destroy it.”

Niko frowned, confusion dancing again in the cloud of his emotions as he regarded the device hesitatingly. “Don't you use this for your streaming stuff, Hitoshi? I don't want this silly little experiment to-”

I waved him off, silencing him. “It'll be fine. Worse-case scenario, I have all the latest stuff backed up on my PC. Including my contacts. I can even use an app to make calls, if I need to talk to someone.”

Niko sighed and stared down at the small black rectangle showing off its lockscreen. “I'm not buying you a new one, okay? This is coming out of your pocket.”

“I acknowledge that you will not be buying me a new phone,” I stated with a straight face, my leg beginning to bounce with frustrated and anxious energy. “Now either shatter it into a million pieces or let me start dinner.”

Dad hesitated another long moment and then dropped it on the ground, bringing his slipper-clad heel down on it several times and staring down at it, before pausing and doing so once more for good measure. He blinked, frowning, and looked back up at me. “Okay, I broke it. Now what-”

I quirked an eyebrow, holding up the unblemished smartphone in my right hand, visibly looking it over in faux-puzzlement. Looking back at my father, I frowned at him in mimicry of his own expression. “Are you sure? Seems fine to me.”

Shrugging, I passed it over to him again, letting it slide across the table.

Blistering incomprehension beat down upon the room like the hottest day of summer, sweltering in its intensity. Hand shaking, Niko picked up the phone, swallowing as the same lockscreen lit up. For a long moment, he said nothing as he studied the smartphone, then shook his head as he looked up at me. “You had two of them, right? That's a good trick son, but-”

 I tapped the side of the table where he'd dropped the phone. “Then where are the pieces of the first one?”

Niko blinked, the thought having not occurred to him as he pushed his chair back in a squeal of wood on tile flooring, looking uncomprehendingly down at the clean floor.

Well, mostly-clean. I really need to do some intensive housework. Dad's been better, but the dust is accumulating to the point it could stage an insurrection.

“How... the hell,” Niko muttered, looking between the functioning smartphone and the floor where he'd destroyed it, even going so far as to lift his slipper-clad foot up to stare at fine indentations in the sole of the shoe so great was his disbelief.

My Father looked up at me, an edge of fear and wonder creeping into his aura and body language. “Hitoshi... this isn't part of your quirk, is it? I mean, for all that you can brainwash yourself, apparently, I can't see how-”

I shook my head and held up my hand, the invisible tether that bonded it to my soul going taut at my command, Niko blinking in shock as it teleported from his fingers into my palm. “Soulbound smartphone. Standard issue just in case my superiors need to get in touch with me. Guaranteed internet and cellular service on the material plane no matter your location.”

 Niko blinked. “W-wait. Is that why I've never seen a bill or... how did I not notice that?”

I grimaced slightly. “There's some occupational jargon for it, but unless you're specifically calling people's attention to it, like right now, they don't notice it. They come in different physical interfaces – books, clay tablets, parchment scrolls – depending on the comfort zone of the user, but when some people get deployed to a remote jungle with a stone age tribe or something and they want to keep their smartphone... well, it'd be inconvenient if they burned you as a witch or started deifying you whenever you took a call or listened to music.”

“Y-yeah... I guess it would be,” Niko mumbled, his emotional aura numb and placid. “S-so... you can just call it to you? Whenever you want?”

I shrugged and nodded, activating my trap card. “It's how I was able to call the heroes in when I was kidnapped. Having this-” I tapped the phone against the table lightly. “-means that, save for truly extraordinary situations, I'm never going to be out of contact or unable to call for help.”

Dad set up straighter in his chair, numb shock clearing like clouds before the relief of a sunny sky. “Th-that actually makes me feel a lot better about all this.”

It was supposed to, yes. Ending on a high note will make it less likely for you to spiral.

Again, the manipulation felt like sour sandpaper against my conscience, but-

I blinked as my phone chimed, Niko jumping slightly. “I-is that your-your bosses?”

I gave the older man a deadpan stare as I looked up from the text notification. “It's my girlfriend, Dad.

His face flushed. “O-oh.”

 I frowned as I mentally translated the message. “Maybe I should try for the cryptography specialization on top of linguistics? I get to test in three categories and being able to decode a teenage girl's use of katakana and emoji's has got to count for something.”

Niko snorted, then began openly laughing at the abrupt interjection of unexpected humor.

Thanks, Himiko. I owe you one.

“What's... ah, Toga-chan want? That was her name, right?” Niko asked, still grinning.

“I think she wants to get together for dinner,” I stated, frowning. I'd always hated emojis and the crazy pseudo-language that popped up with their use. Himiko's appeared especially complex, though, inserting kanji in a way that, ah... I nodded as I felt the deeper meaning snap into place. Instead of reading them for their meaning, I shifted to reading the more fundamental figure-based art that went into their original composition.

That's some next-level shit, girl. Why would you... oh, that's a depressing thought.

“You should invite her over,” Dad offered and I nodded, giving a vague hum in response as I twisted my new native script around in my head. “Hitoshi? Go ahead and reply, you shouldn't keep a woman waiting.”

I hummed again, thinking. “One minute, I'm thinking about my reply.”

Niko shook his head with a wan smile. “It's best to just be straightforward, son.”

“I think her parents are reading her texts over her shoulder,” I admitted with a narrowed gaze. “The message has a double-meaning. She wants me to refuse... no, put it off.”

Niko blinked. “That... sounds worrying. Is that normal?”

Making a decision, I began carefully typing out my reply, dipping into the seldom-used repository of colorful shapes and symbols. “For her, yes.”

“What are you saying?” Dad asked, partially rising from his chair.

“Arranging a meetup at a coffee place for the day after tomorrow, citing my internship as taking up too much time. Ugh, emojis,” I grunted, hitting 'send' and shaking my head. “I'm making dinner. Curry okay?”

“Y-yeah, curry's fine son,” my father nodded, cocking his head as his aura shifted to the preoccupied distraction that was so common during his all-nighters. When I glanced up from pulling out dishes, he had his phone in hand and was typing away.

Filling the pot with water, I sighed when I heard my phone chime-

Twice.

Blinking, I snapped it from my pocket to my hand, making no effort to hide the instantaneous motion. Unlocking the device, I blinked as I saw a coded confirmation from Himiko that, to me, was tinged with relief. My use of a version of her own code being a tacit admission that I understood it. The other one was...

I snorted. “Very clever. Love you too, Dad.”

“Not that I entirely believe you, but... I guess it's better safe than sorry.” Niko's aura swelled behind me, full with the weight of well-earned smugness. “Give me some time to think about it.”

That, at least, ended the conversation on a good note. As I made dinner, we continued talking about both my experience with my internship and thoughts on the job offer. My father wanted to go visit the Endeavor Agency in-person to get a better feel for them, but agreed that his more typical video-call approach was probably better. My offer to sit on his side of the call, remaining in our home physically seemed to be both reassuring and touching.

He was still concerned about... well, everything.

But he seemed to be coping well enough.

As I shut my bedroom door behind me, I sighed as I dropped into my computer chair and woke my computer up from sleep. One of my screens was dedicated to the digital library of rumors and modern folklore I'd been scraping from various forums and message boards. Most of it was bunk, of course and sorting through it had taken an algorithm that hadn't previously existed on this Earth as well as a lot of man-hours to double and triple-check the work it had done.

I was looking forward to what I could do with access to Endeavor's databases and the extremely likely possibility I'd soon have access to police cold cases as well.

As it was, I'd had to depend on a combination of news reports and articles, publicly-disclosed missing persons cases, and various public-facing social media accounts to cross-reference against my growing body of investigative leads.

Truly, the internet was as wonderful as it was horrifying.

Finishing my last line of code, I hit 'enter' and watched the system automatically populate a map with various data points.

Leaning back, I pondered the resulting diffusion of potential cases.

My mind's eye overlaid visions of the caped crusader sitting at his titular supercomputer, divinely-appointed investigators looking for inhuman infiltrators, and the brutal training of the Alliance to pinpoint dissident cells.

“Reorganize the spread and sort into color pools during eight-hour periods over the course of the day and night,” I muttered, hands reaching out to begin typing. “Then start overlaying maps. Underlying geography, population density, zoning, villain attacks...”

Literacy rates? Sure, why not. In fact, let's do a mass-download of all available census-derived records from government sites. Those are public-access.

“Why stop there,” I chastised myself with a smirk. “Third-party NGOs just love painting pictures with data to support their causes. Socioeconomic status, subsidized housing maps, childhood hunger programs, immigrant communities, the whole shebang.”

It took another hour, trolling through website after website and downloading all manner of maps, charts, graphs, and assorted other organizations of data. There would be statistical noise, of course; ghosts in the equations created by cross-referencing so many disparate collections of data that you'd eventually find some kind of commonality. It was far, far from perfect and would almost certainly generate several wild-goose chases, but it was also the most thorough approach I could possibly approach this situation given that I was starting from zero.

...and besides, even if some of those 'ghosts' aren't the ones I'm hunting, that doesn't mean they aren't real in their own way. I see you, trigger-distribution network.

In the end, though, I was able to comfortably lean back and nod at the slowly-evolving graphic I'd created, collated with thousands of case numbers and detailed analyses over the past several weeks.

“Now that...” I grinned widely. “That is what we like to call 'actionable intelligence.'”

Contrary to popular convention, though, I made my way to the bath instead of the window. I'd had a long day and earned some rest.

~~~

In what probably shouldn't come as a surprise to many people, here's a second chapter of Mind Games in a row. Join Hitoshi was he has a heart-to-heart conversation with his father, schedules another date with Himiko, and achieves a breakthrough in his research.

Next update will either be The Hand We're Dealt or a chapter of the Marvel Industrious timeline. Not sure which.

Thanks again for your support. Hope everyone's week started out strong.

Mind Games - Chapter 15

In what probably shouldn't come as a surprise to many people, here's a second chapter of Mind Games in a row. Join Hitoshi was he has a heart-to-heart conversation with his father, schedules another date with Himiko, and achieves a breakthrough in his research.

Next update will either be The Hand We're Dealt or a chapter of the Marvel Industrious timeline. Not sure which.

Thanks again for your support. Hope everyone's week started out strong.

Mind Games - Chapter 14

The insectoid-heteromorph threw a harsh punch.

The boy in the masked outfit, silver boot-print logo on his back, ducked and stepped back.

Two heroes standing nearby whipped their head in the direction of the sudden movement, their eyes widening and their jaws dropping as the heteromorph stepped forward, his hand leaving the arm of the child who had been standing next to him as he stepped up to throw another punch.

That punch, the teenager didn't dodge. Instead, he stepped underneath it, grabbing the wrist of the arm that was now extended over his back. Both hands wrapped around that limb and, with one fluid motion, the teenager catapulted the adult heteromorph into the air using the combined force from his sudden standing motion and the pull from his hands on the extended arm.

The video paused, freezing on the screen as I watched my own performance from six hours ago.

“You've already given a statement to the attending hero, Hot Ice, recounting the events which led up to the altercation in the hallway,” the Flame Hero Endeavor stated, his elbows resting on his impressive desk as he stared at me. “Given that we have both her own testimony, that of the sidekick Lantern, and corroborating footage from the building's security system, I'm not going to ask you to do so again.”

I nodded, not feeling the need to add to anything he'd said.

“Instead, I want to ask you one question which does not have a substantiated answer in the recounting you've already given,” Endeavor said, still staring at me levelly. “During your altercation with the individual alleged to be involved in the human trafficking ring you helped uncover, you – self-admittedly – could have neutralized the criminal during his first attack.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Hot Ice standing against one of the large office's walls, her back straight and her hands tucked behind her back. Her helmet was on, as was her firefighter's jacket, the image being projected as her being in 'full uniform,' so to speak, at parade rest.

“You want to know why I didn't?” I asked.

Endeavor, his famous facial hair extinguished as he stared at me, nodded. It was a less imposing look, but at the same time... more personable. Either intentionally or unintentionally, he'd successfully painted the illusion of having this conversation as two people rather than an unlicensed intern and one of the most experienced and powerful heroes in the nation.

“I won't lie, there's a significant amount of weight riding on your answer,” Endeavor stated, his tone grave. “Both because it will inform my personal opinion of your ability to measure up to the title of 'hero' as you are right now and because it will help me decide a course of action I would normally not condone. To reiterate the question... why did you not act as a hero should in such a situation and subdue a known threat in the shortest time possible once you had resolved to act? Especially when there was a child in close proximity.”

Well, that's not ominous at all.

“Two principal reasons,” I replied. “The first, mostly-superficial, is that I wanted him to establish that his first blow wasn't any kind of accident. To commit to his assault on me. Given he'd already been able to talk his way into removing a panicked child from your agency, that implied significant interpersonal skills and/or the ability to act to some degree. If I'd simply flipped him at the first punch, there's the outside chance that he could have played it off as an accidental swipe of his hand and used my seeming-aggression towards him to dismiss my claims as the ramblings of a deluded and violent teenage wanna-be hero.”

I paused, sensing Hot Ice shift more than seeing her. “Regardless of the attending pro-hero and sidekick's opinion of me, the stakes were such that I was not willing to risk that kind of play being successful. Hence, I had to allow him to attack me at least twice before subduing him myself or allowing Hot Ice or Lantern to step in and deal with him.”

Endeavor kept staring at me, then nodded. “You said that was the first. Given your position as inexperience, unlicensed, and fairly-unsubstantiated character outside of one incident... that reasoning is understandable. The second?”

“I wanted him to let go of Tyelovuyo,” I replied, nodding to the screen.

Endeavor blinked, then subtly stiffened his posture as he reached for the remote he'd put down moments earlier and rewound the footage.

-as the heteromorph stepped forward, his hand leaved the arm of the child who had been standing next to him as he stepped up to throw another punch-

Endeavor paused on the frame where Tye's uncle, a man unironically named Vile (though pronounced differently) released his grip on his younger relative's arm.

“Removing Tye from the situation, or engineering it so that he could remove himself, was of ultimate importance,” I concluded. “Even a retaliatory throw couldn't be implemented while the child was in a position where injury could be done to him as a result of actions taken against his uncle, to say nothing of the possibility of Tye being held hostage once his lie was unveiled.”

Endeavor visibly chewed on my statement for a long moment, reaching up to rest his pointer finger under his lower lip as he cupped his chin with his thumb.

I waited on my verdict.

“Because of your intervention, we were alerted to a human smuggling ring of an ethnic minority in South Africa. The people are being imported to use as slave labor in the Second Ming Dynasty. The child, Tye, had escaped a warehouse where they were being held after a storm damaged the vessel in question and they were forced to make port here in Tokyo.” Endeavor's explanation was nothing new.

I'd gleaned as much from speaking with – and translating for – Tye over the first hour or so after the incident.

“There are aspects of the situation I wished you would have handled differently,” Endeavor continued, frowning at me thoughtfully. “In an ideal scenario you would have been able to maintain your composure while speaking with criminal, broken contact, and alerted Hot Ice to the specifics of the situation as you understood them. That would have allowed a professional hero to take over and manage the potential fallout, as they are trained to do.”

There was a subtle pressure on the word 'trained,' to which I nodded. “You have my apologies for not being able to keep my mouth closed. The entire thing came about as such a surprise and my initial actions were taken without proper thought and consideration.”

Hunch slightly, dip head, tilt eyes down. Manipulate perceptions to reduce threat, increase sympathy, portray regret. Clench hands, display subdued frustration.

Endeavor grunted, then nodded. “It's good that you understand your mistake. That said, results count for a significant amount in this business, as you will soon discover. The fact that the criminal attacked you first, you did not use your quirk in the altercation, and visibly acted only in self-defense without any attempt to further prosecute the fight following the throw... the legal complications are minimal.”

There was another pause, then Endeavor's shoulders drooped and he reached under his desk to pull out a bottle of fruit-blend juice, before throwing it to me.

I caught it mostly on reflex.

“Removing an innocent from the line of fire is a very good reason for taking an extra moment to end a fight,” Endeavor stated, a small smile gracing his lips as he visibly relaxed into his seat. “Your actions directly contributed to saving three dozen lives today, Shinso. Take pride in that. It's perhaps the most eventful first day of an internship I've ever heard of.”

So said, Endeavor pulled out a milk tea and tossed it at his daughter before removing plain water for himself and draining half the bottle in one go.

Hot Ice – Fuyumi – having stepped forward to catch the drink, bent over and nudged me in a fluid motion, then whispered, “He likes you, good job.”

I hummed in agreement and popped the lid on my Twilight Zone Juice given to me by Negaverse Endeavor from the Nice Guy Dimension.

Truly, this was doubtless a world of eldritch horror and cosmic nightmares.

Good juice, though.

Endeavor settled into his seat in a show of very human fidgeting that was directly at odds with the previous display of a granite-like wall of muscle wearing the barely-emoting visage of a man. With a sigh, he took another long pull from his water, almost finishing it and staring at me again in a more casual manner of observation, discarding the previous cold-burning gaze that made me feel as though he was trying his best to put me under a microscope. This stare was similarly blunt and obvious in its assessment, but more contemplative than dissecting, as if he'd already taken me apart to see what made me tick and now needed to decide what to do with me.

“Do you prefer Bootstrap or Shinso?” Endeavor asked.

“For the purposes of this conversation, either will do... but I probably need to get used to the former if I'm going to be making a real go of it,” I stated with a nod.

Endeavor nodded back, vaguely approving. “It's been a while, but I still remember adopting my hero name. It can be a challenge getting used to being addressed by something other than your birth name, but you should acclimate as quickly as possible. Responding immediately in the field can be instrumental in saving lives, both bystanders and comrades.”

“Bootstrap, then,” I stated, taking a pull from my juice.

“Very well,” the Flame Hero stated. “Bootstrap. I suppose I should begin the discussion we're about to have with the disclosure that my agency does a full background check on every prospective intern application that crosses my desk. Under normal circumstances, someone with your family history would have been a hard sell to my managerial team, especially the PR and legal groups. I trust you know why.”

It wasn't a question, but there was a tacit invitation to respond waiting in the words. “My mother was arrested five years ago as the villain mastermind behind a bank robbery.”

Hot Ice stiffened in the corner of my eye, her eyes wide behind her helmet's visor.

Huh, so she really didn't know. I was curious if I'd read her right the first time, but Endeavor really didn't tell her.

Interesting.

“I called in a few favors and got a look at the sealed file,” Endeavor admitted, his face professionally-blank. “If only because it piqued my interest to see a villain's court records sealed after such a – and I mean no offense by this – minor incident, especially with an exceptionally light sentence for the crime she committed.”

“No offense taken,” I replied with a shake of my head. “Even if the incident might mean a great deal to me emotionally, on an intellectual level I understand that it was probably a relatively mundane occurrence for law enforcement. No fatalities, no serious injuries, and the arresting hero team was a local set of B-listers.”

The store down the street being broken into is a curiosity unless it's the one where your relative or friend works, then it's a problem. When it directly involves them, though, it can easily become a tragedy.

“How much do you know about the details of your mother's case?” Endeavor asked, his tone... not quite curious, but distantly inquisitive.

“Enough,” I both tried and did not try to hide the quiver of anger in my voice, a psychic disconnect between the 'Hitoshi Who Had Been' and the 'Hitoshi Who Now Was.' I grimaced and took a drink before elaborating. “The bank's CEO sent a pair of lawyers to our home, I listened at the door. You can probably imagine how the conversation went if you actually looked at the file.”

Endeavor nodded and I quietly marveled at the fact that I only saw sympathy, not pity, in the hero's eyes. “I can, though I'll reserve the right to ask you more detailed questions with a legal aide present at a later date-”

My eyebrows shot up and I stiffened in my seat.

“-for which you shouldn't be surprised,” Endeavor pivoted with a frown. “It's an obvious miscarriage of justice and the entire case stinks to high heaven.”

“I'm just surprised you would pick a fight with the largest national bank in Japan,” I replied. “Especially on the behalf of some kid you just met.”

“Shin-Bootstrap,” Hot Ice broke in, stepping up to me and putting a hand on my shoulder cautiously. “You aren't just 'some kid.' You're a very promising hero candidate with a bright future. I don't know what you and my father are talking about-” She directed a mild glare at the man, who cleared his throat and looked away, reaching for the remainder of his water as if to shield himself. “-but if he believes something illegal was done, it's our duty as heroes to investigate it.”

“Forgive me for any disrespect, but those are just pretty words, Hot Ice,” I replied with a shake of my head.

She opened her mouth to reply, but her father raised his hand, silencing her. “Daughter... enough. Young Bootstrap has been wronged and that harm has gone unnoticed and unaddressed. He is well within his rights to disregard our assurances until we can show him substantial proof that we're making progress on his case.”

Fuyumi grimaced behind her visor, but released my shoulder after one last reassuring squeeze. “Alright. I'll drop it for now. But you'll be explaining why you didn't bother to tell me about any of this beforehand, Dad.”

Endeavor flushed slightly, drained the rest of his water and dropped the empty bottle into a bin by his desk. “I wanted an impartial assessment of the boy by someone I trusted, Fuyumi. Moreover, someone that he was already familiar with to some extent, so they might get a better read on his character. Regardless, we've digressed from the issue at hand...”

Endeavor fixed me with another one of those considering looks. “I want your assurance that, if I put you in front of a camera or in a position of public visibility, you won't make public accusations regarding your mother's case.”

Ah. He wants to make sure I don't start a Corpo War between his agency and the bank. The bank which likely handles significant portions of his finances, if not the majority of them.

Even if Endeavor could legitimately claim that he had no idea I'd go off-script, the damage would be done. Someone nominally employed (using the term very loosely) by his agency would have made a public accusation of criminal actions against a major financial institution and, in Japan, you could sue people for slander and libel even if what they were saying was factually true. Beyond the damage that a lawsuit would do, there was also the near-certainty that the bank would start delaying, denying, and misplacing financial transactions 'accidentally' as an object lesson to any other well-meaning heroes who cared to point out their legal shortcomings.

Fire is not the answer, Hitoshi, and it's not the question either. None of this 'how much' nonsense.

Even if it would be incredibly satisfying.

 “You have my word,” I nodded. “Speaking out about the incident with my mother would only result in handicapping your agency's ability to properly investigate the case. Moreover, even if it did result in my mother's early release, it would likely impoverish my parents and likely result in them moving to make good on their threats to deem my father incompetent to raise a child.”

Or have him committed because of his quirk.

Endeavor snorted, embers catching in a brief flare as he exhaled through his nose, a revealing sign of exactly how angry he really was even if one ignored the righteous fury burning in his gaze. “I see we'll need to have that conversation sooner rather than later, but...”

The Flame Hero took a deep breath, releasing it in a gusty exhale as he closed his eyes and visibly let the anger go. “Even if it's disheartening for one so young to understand the realities of the situation as they stand, it speaks well of your level-headedness and ability to put an equitable resolution above a personal grudge.”

“Not that I don't find complimenting my ability to emotionally distance myself from my mother's unjust imprisonment... gratifying,” I stated, my normal toneless voice bleeding into sarcasm at the end, to which both of the heroes appeared unhappy, but willing to grant me without rebuke. “But the turn this conversation has taken implies that there's going to be a situation where I'm put in front of a large crowd, a reporter, or a camera for some reason.”

I let my assertion hand in the air as I looked between the father and daughter who were glancing at each other.

“Everything I know about internships says that's not a normal consideration.”

Endeavor leaned back in his chair, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his desk. “No, it is not. However, I find myself in something of a... complication, regarding this human-trafficking case. The primary issue at hand is the fact that it is very likely you are going to be called to testify during the trials of the organization's leaders, some of whom have both Japanese citizenship and the financial resources to leverage it properly.”

Fuyumi's words from before the confrontation echoed in my mind. “Both because I was the one who uncovered the deception and because I'm the only one you have who can speak the language other than the victims.”

It wasn't a question, but Endeavor's nod still confirmed what answer it would receive. “My people have begun making inquiries and reaching out to specialists, but the specific dialect of Khosian they speak is rare, made rarer by the adaptation of the language to their endemic heteromorphic quirk factor. Apparently it is quite difficult to pronounce common phrases without a pair of flexible mandibles.”

I grimaced and rubbed at my jaw. “That does explain why my jaw is so sore. Usually I only get mild headaches after picking up a new language.”

Hot Ice turned her head sharply. “Do you need something? A painkiller? You should have told me if that application of your quirk was taxing, Bootstrap.”

“The headaches come and go and they're pretty mild unless I try to do more than one language in a week,” I waved her off, spewing bullshit from my mouth as I went. “I carry a few over the counter pain pills in my pack, just in case I run into a new one I haven't heard yet.”

“You told us that your quirk automatically allows you to digest the knowledge of a given target's language upon verbally interacting with them,” Hot Ice stated, frowning. “But I don't think we asked how many languages you actually know.”

I leaned back, making a show of thinking it over, then held up a hand. “Let's see... Japanese, obviously. English from the guy who taught me jeet kune do. I picked up Korean from a little old lady running a street stall. Russian from a businessman who asked me for directions once. Han Chinese from a group of refugees that used to live down the street-”

That one, at least, is true and verifiable.

“I have a classmate who goes on vacation to France, so I grabbed that from her-” Another bit of truth woven into a tapestry of lies. “I picked up Spanish and Portuguese from some guys at a beach a few years ago, I think they were on vacation? Anyway, Vietnamese from another little old lady running an ethnic restaurant. I can give you the address to that one if you want. Most of these people I just kind of ran into and didn't get names for...”

I cocked my head. “Hindu is the only one I actually hunted down on purpose, I think. There was this video series I wanted to watch on Herotube so I asked my dad if we could go out to an Indian place for dinner once.”

Looking at my hand, I'd cycled through the fingers once and had all but the thumb up again. “So, nine – or, well, ten now that I know... you said it was a dialect of Khoisan?”

Hot Ice was staring, but her father was more composed, his stare having shifted to a mix of the two different modes I'd seen him look at me, both dissecting and contemplating. After a brief moment, he appeared to have decided something, though his daughter preempted whatever he wanted to say.

“I'm making you an appointment to have your quirk reassessed,” she informed me in no uncertain terms, as if daring me to refuse. “You'll be taking the full psychic battery. I'll have a form for you to take home for your father to sign.”

She paused, then frowned as she stared at me. “Considering what you've said... does he know about this application of your quirk?”

Intentionally shifty, avoid gaze to the side, fidget, clear throat-

Fuyumi folded her arms across her chest as her tone became more dangerous. “Shinso. You told me in the hospital that you'd spent your educational career systematically underperforming. I can't imagine a parent who cares about their child's future would allow that to happen, now that I think about it. Does your father know you have an eidetic memory?”

Increase awkwardness, scratch at neck to show anxiety, clear throat more intensely while muttering an answer-

“I'm sorry,” Fuyumi stated, removing her helmet and tucking it under an arm so that her saccharine-sweet and very threatening smile was fully exposed as she glared at me. “I didn't catch that. Could you repeat yourself, please?”

In an Emmy-winning act of desperation, I shifted in my seat to look past the young woman and at Endeavor instead. The older man raised a single red eyebrow and slowly shook his head, now drinking from another bottle of water he'd pulled out of what I was convinced was a hidden mini-fridge behind his desk.

Even as I avoided Fuyumi's probing gaze and settled in to endure the anger of someone who actually cared about my welfare, there was a part of me that felt guilty at fooling the woman so thoroughly and completely by using that same concern against her.

Notably, that part of me wasn't the Sidereal.

This level of deception was equivalent to a child's primary-school crayon drawing.

But, if I wanted to be able to operate at even a mildly-reduced level, I had to sell the lie. And there was no better way to sell a lie than to eclipse disbelief with anger, sadness, or other powerful emotions. It made the person want to believe in the lie you were feeding them.

“I said,” I stated, clearing my throat awkwardly once more, “no, he doesn't. I didn't want to bother him and it was... a later development of my quirk.”

Fuyumi's brows furrowed as she cocked her head again, the anger not gone but overshadowed by puzzlement. “It's rare to see that in a quirk. If I've got the timeline right, this would have been after your mother's arrest... you don't usually see a quirk mutate like that outside of an awakening event, and even with the psychological trauma, the response of your quirk to enhance your memory...”

I hummed in the back of my throat and continued to refuse to meet her eyes.

“What aren't you telling me, Shinso?” Fuyumi asked, nigh-on demanded from the cool tone in her voice.

“I... would like to preface this admission with the fact that I've had two MRIs done in the years since, one after a bad fall in late primary school-” Really more of a 'push' than a 'fall,' but who's keeping track? “-and another after the kidnapping incident. Both were completely normal and showed no irregularities beyond what you'd expect from my quirk under normal circumstances.”

Fuyumi had stopped blinking and the room had gotten much colder suddenly. “That is, perhaps, the least-reassuring reassurance I've ever heard. I'm curious why you would feel the need to explain that to me, Shinso.”

“Because... I've deliberately obfuscated the fact that my quirk works on myself, too,” I replied with a sigh. “If anything, it's more effective on my own mind given that I don't have the same resistance to a foreign intrusion that other people do.”

Finally, the white-haired woman blinked, taking in my statement and digesting it before the temperature dropped several more degrees, cold enough that I could see my breath forming clouds of condensation in the air as I breathed through my mask.

“You brainwashed yourself, as a child, to alter the way your mind works and artificially-induce eidetic memory,” Fuyumi stated tonelessly.

“Not having to study as hard for math and English tests seemed like a great idea to an eight year old,” I replied bluntly, a confession in spirit, if not letter.

There was frost forming on the floor by Fuyumi's feet as she took a calming breath, the chill in the room gradually abating as she closed her eyes and concentrated. Finally, she opened her eyes and stared at me. “You are going to tell your father what you've told me, Shinso. You are going to attend the quirk reassessment testing I've scheduled for you, and you are going to be honest and forthright with all of the applications of your quirk while doing so. You are also going to have a full medical workup while you're at it. To do otherwise would display a disregard for your own health and safety and that of the civilians you need to interact with as regards your quirk and its abilities. Until this point, you've displayed remarkable maturity and insight that makes me think you have a bright future ahead of you as a pro-hero. I'd rather you not prove me wrong.”

“I was planning on getting my quirk reassessed before I attempted to test into a hero school,” I groused in the type of slightly-immature teenager attitude, reaching up to scratch at the back of my head.

Fuyumi sighed and reached up to rub the bridge of her nose. “I'm sorry, Shinso, let's just say that... children not receiving the kind of training and counseling they need to properly manage their powers is something of a hot button issue. I tend to overreact somewhat when it's brought up.”

I'll admit, part of the reason why I was so willing to forgive her for handing down what were essentially mandates when we'd known each other for all of a few hours was because I could literally see the well-meaning concern and legitimate desire to help me in every movement of her body. I could also see, of course, the deep and abiding frustration of seeing a problem and not being able to just fix it.

Besides, I'd probably have largely the same reaction if a teenager told me they'd used their superpower to do psychic surgery on themselves years ago in secret and never really had a medical evaluation after the fact. Realistically, I'm somewhat lucky I'm not being dragged off to the ER right now.

Oh, sure, I knew that I wasn't in any danger because of higher-order fiat-backed Company Bullshit, but Fuyumi both did not and could not know that. Her response was entirely natural, which was kind of the point of this whole exercise.

Well, that and the five other birds I wanted to kill with this stone.

I considered the entire gambit I was undertaking here remarkably restrained, actually. Part of me had wanted to construct a Rube Goldberg Machine out of this necessary deception to set in motion a dozen more potential plans with far-reaching consequences. Three guesses which part of me that was... and the first two didn't count.

“You still think this is a good idea, Dad-er, Endeavor?” Fuyumi asked, turning to her father and trying to reclaim some of the professionalism that she'd irrevocably lost in my eyes.

Endeavor put his water down and nodded. “As long as young Bootstrap keeps to his word and no serious medical issues are brought up by his experimentation with his quirk, yes I do. I don't see why a youthful indiscretion, especially a comparatively mild one that has seemingly boosted his own skills without serious visible repercussions, should bar him from a potential opportunity.”

That was... a lot of subtext.

Like someone in a dark room maneuvering around obstacles they knew were in their way but not entirely sure of the exact orientation or makeup, I could feel a topic being talked around between the elder Todoroki and his daughter. It was especially apparent in the way that otherwise boilerplate statement seemed to take a great deal of aggravation out of Fuyumi and reduce previously-volatile temperament to a simple contemplative nod.

...and then there's the way her eyes just unfocused as she turned towards me.

As if she was looking at me, but seeing someone else.

Not for the first time, I wondered at the exact details behind Enji and Rei's divorce in this timeline, as well as why the children had come to live with him after custody had been awarded to their mother.

Something had clearly happened.

“So... to get to the heart of this discussion, now that we have digressed greatly,” Endeavor quirked a self-deprecating grin for a moment before returning to his serious countenance. “What do you actually know of the hero licensing program, Bootstrap?”

I paused, packing away my previous thoughts and switching tracks to the new topic. “I know about them in broad terms, at least. Provisional licenses, proper hero licenses, support licenses... I haven't really plumbed the bureaucracy to see all the minutiae of the requirements yet. I assumed they'd be covered at UA or whatever school I got into.”

And, frankly, I was busy enough that the specifics were a concern for later.

“They will be, and much of the details of the program as a whole aren't relevant to my current point,” Endeavor nodded. “Suffice to say, while those may be the most well-known aspects of the program, those are not the only types of licenses on offer. A 'proper' hero license, as you termed it, is formally known as a 'Unrestricted General Occupational Heroics License,' and is both the widest-ranging in its privileges as well as the most expensive to train someone to achieve and maintain the relevant standards for.”

I nodded, intrigued. I didn't blame myself for not looking into it, but I might have to. Either this was an aspect of the world I'd landed in or a bit of worldbuilding that had never been featured in 'canon.'

Endeavor cleared his throat and leaned forward, a more intense look in his eyes driving the explanation he was giving home. “There are various forms of restricted licenses for combat heroics that aren't germane to the matter at hand given that it's vanishingly rare to see them issued to minors, but the reason why I bring them up is that they're exclusionary by their nature. In effect, when one possesses a combat license they are barred from legitimately handling evidence or bearing witness in a trial as expert testimony outside of their specialization.”

Instincts that were newly-mine jumped three steps ahead and I saw where this conversation was going.

“That would imply,” I stated slowly, speaking into the pause the Flame Hero had left, “the presence of the opposite. One or more types of licenses which are reserved for expert witnesses specifically in non-combat roles.”

This time I paused, driving home my own assertion.

“Translators, for instance.”

Endeavor smiled and nodded, leaning back. “It's good to see that you already understand where I'm going with this. There's a bundle of various licenses called 'Rear-Echelon Heroics Licenses' and they come in restricted and unrestricted forms as well. Given that you would be barred from combat were you to acquire one, the age-restriction isn't a formal requirement but rather a strong convention within the hero industry that requires significant influence to override.”

“Influence you could provide,” I inferred, because that much was obvious. If Endeavor, the Number Two Hero, couldn't do it, then there was little point in the allowance being even theoretical.

“Influence I could provide,” Endeavor echoed. “As long as you have parental permission and are, yourself, willing and able to pass the required examinations.”

Huh, so this is really happening, isn't it?

“I'd need to talk this over with my father and consider the matter myself before I could provide you with an answer,” I temporized.

Endeavor and Hot Ice exchanged a short approving look before the former replied. “That's a reasonable response and, of course, I'd want you to spend the remainder of your time here as an intern training to take the exam.”

Fuyumi cleared her throat. “There's also, well... we'd be making an investment in providing the training, paying for your examination and licensure fees, as well as providing you coverage while you're 'on the job' even in what limited capacity you would be acting. Given your age, the latter would be especially expensive.”

You know, the fact that they aren't doing this entirely altruistically actually makes me feel better about it? That probably doesn't say good things about my faith in humanity.

Endeavor shifted uncomfortably and coughed into a fist. “That is... the reason you're being offered this opportunity is, principally, so that your testimony in court would bear more weight and credibility against the individuals who committed the crime and allow the victims to have a voice in the proceedings with you as their translator. While it would be acceptable to use you as a freelance young hero, the optics at play if you were employed by my agency in some way...”

I hummed and finished his thought. “Would allow you to use my credentials in conjunction with your reputation to push for harsher punishments against the criminals involved, some of whom may escape justice if they are able to discredit any testimony I would give were I not affiliated with you.”

Endeavor sighed heavily and grimaced, but nodded. “It's an unfortunate reality of the line of work you aspire to join, Shinso. I would be remiss if I did not make it clear that our system is not perfect. Oftentimes, it requires a level of finesse to achieve an equitable outcome in the face of those who would use its shortcomings against us.”

I nodded slowly, sighing. “Do you have some documentation that I could look over and present to my father? He's very... detail-oriented when it comes to things like contracts and he'll doubtless want to call in to talk to you or your daughter personally to clarify things. Well, that or your legal department, I suppose.”

Endeavor nodded and, showing that this had been the outcome he'd hoped for, removed a large binder of documents from one of his desk drawers before handing it off to Fuyumi to give to me. “My number is in a card at the front, both the agency's and my personal line, though I'll ask you not to offer it to anyone else beyond your father.”

Handing the rather heavy binder to me, Fuyumi sighed as she looked at her father. “Well, I think we should call it there for today. I'll get Shinso the paperwork for his quirk assessment appointment on the way out, okay Dad?”

“It's been a rather... eventful day, especially with the unplanned raid we put together,” Endeavor chuckled and waved her off. “Let me finish these last few pieces of paperwork and I'll meet you downstairs in the rear lobby, Fuyumi. We can at least drop young Shinso off at the nearest station given how late we've kept him.”

In a thoughtful daze, I rose from my chair and followed the Flame Hero's daughter out of the room.

Man I'm glad I only need two hours of sleep every night... ah, shit. Fuyumi's probably going to get pissed at me when she finds out that part of my 'quirk,' isn't she?

~~~

So... this was supposed to be a relatively short chapter that dealt with a lot of detailed nuts and bolts stuff I needed to cover to move into the next chapter or two.

Safe to say, the chapter got away from me a little bit.

Also, look forward to a new chapter of The Hand We're Dealt sometime this month. It will be similarly long as the last one given it won the Awesome tier poll. So there's that, too.

Enjoy the chapter and thanks for all the support you give! It really means a lot to me.

Mind Games - Chapter 14

So... this was supposed to be a relatively short chapter that dealt with a lot of detailed nuts and bolts stuff I needed to cover to move into the next chapter or two.

Safe to say, the chapter got away from me a little bit.

Also, look forward to a new chapter of The Hand We're Dealt sometime this month. It will be similarly long as the last one given it won the Awesome tier poll. So there's that, too.

Enjoy the chapter and thanks for all the support you give! It really means a lot to me.