Chapter Text
‘ I’m Hirano Kouji, but that’s not my real name,’ the girl with tired eyes tells me.
‘ I’m Harumi Aiko, but that’s not my name either,’ and our texts stop there. There’s only so far you can go without trust, after all.
I was in the middle of dying my hair a hideous shade of green on the tiled floor of the bathroom a week later when she texts me again. I was expecting our next text to consist of bar plans, cat videos, or maybe even a bank robbery.
I wasn’t expecting her to ask me to break her out of jail.
“What did you even do?” I ask with half-lidded eyes, since it’s some unholy hour in the morning, and the first thing Miyoko does with her weekend is attempted murder, apparently.
“I didn’t mean to,” she wails, slapping her face down on the desk she’s parked herself at. “I thought he was trying to assault me, so I stabbed him, and now he’s claiming murder charges!”
“Did he touch you first? Attack you at all?” I pick at the lint under my nails. They’re long and crusty, and my iron deficiency has followed me into this life as well, so they’re prone to snapping under the slightest weight.
Stupid unreliable fingernails.
“Well, no. He was super creepy, though. Who follows a girl for five blocks in the middle of the night?”
“Who takes a stroll in the middle of the night?” I countered, and she blushed, her hands fiddling with her bracelet. It was a puffy thing, but the sharp, unnatural angles suggested the police didn’t do a very good job confiscating all her weapons.
I could work with that.
“I was trying to get food. I was working a late shift.”
I agreed. It was a perfectly valid reason.
My mind made up, I reached over and waved at one of the cameras until one of the officers came in. Privately, I was glad we’d exchanged fake names, or I’d have a hell of a time explaining to Oba-san why we were both on trial for illegal quirk use and attempted murder, respectively.
My dyed hair did wonders to conceal my identity. However, the number Hirano had given the police was real, which meant I’d have to dispose of it later.
“You’re paying for my new phone,” I warned her, and she agreed easily.
“She’s innocent,” I told the officer with a straight face. “Let her go.”
To his credit, he barely blinked. “Unfortunately, there is a rather long series of paperwork to fill out.” His eyes, despite being wary from the hour, softened. “As her younger sister, all you have to do is sit tight, ok? It should be resolved in the morning. We have a place you can sleep if you’d like.”
Is that what she told them? Nice.
“The process is done,” I told him, voice honeyed. “You can let her go, now, or I’ll sue you for false imprisonment.” I had no idea if that was a thing in Japan, but it was effective enough. My quirk made it so he’d believe me either way, so it didn’t exactly matter in the end.
“I— Oh! My bad. I’ll… let her go, now.”
I reached out and plucked the walkie-talking from the man’s belt, muting it and pocketing it consideringly. It might have use later. He didn’t notice, too busy fishing for his keys in his clumsy, entranced state.
“Here you are,” he said, voice only slightly slurred, pulling the door open and letting Hirano out. She skipped out, scooped me up in her arms, and swiftly headed for the door, her long legs setting a brisk pace.
The receptionist barely spared us a glance, and a few blocks later, we were home-free.
-
“I’m Iwasaki Yasu,” I told her. “My quirk is Allure. It’s some form of hypnosis, I think.”
“You think?” her lips twitched. “Miyoko Maki. A pleasure to meet you.”
“What’s your quirk?” I asked once it became clear she wasn’t going to elaborate. We were in an alleyway again—maybe it’ll be a trend between the two of us—but it was a considerably more dangerous time of day. A quick glance through the narrow space between the buildings revealed a few garbage bags and a homeless man.
The man was trying valiantly to hide himself behind the dumpster, but I could see his sneaker-clad feet poking out—shit, they were the same ones Sho used to wear—and I could hear his uneven breathing.
My stomach dropped at the thought of Sho, but I pushed it back.
“My quirk lets me choose what my body absorbs,” she said, voice tinged with amusement. “As you can imagine, alcohol and cigarettes don’t exactly affect me. I don’t know how it works, but the smoke kinda just bounces out of my lungs. I still get the nicotine, though.”
I whistle. “Handy.”
“Yup.”
All is silent. Distantly, a car honks, and I think I can hear the footfalls of a patrolling hero. The homeless man shifts. Miyoko either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“So, was the man actually chasing you, or were you trying to murder him?” I ask, mostly because I need to know who I’m keeping company with. If a capable murderer is sitting at my elbow and enjoying a drink, I need to know.
Miyoko shrugs after a moment. “Wasn’t actually gonna stab him, but I bumped into him and I panicked. I was just gonna pickpocket him, but he had some quick reflexes and a powerful quirk to boot.”
“Ah.” I make a note to remember that for the future. Gotta note my mark’s occupation before I try to steal from them.
“Well, I’ll walk you home?” Miyoko offers. I shake my head.
“Since you dragged me out here, I have some stuff to do.”
Her smile turns predatory. “Legal stuff?”
I don’t answer, but we both know the answer. Miyoko shrugs and leaves, slapping a thin switchblade into my palm. I tuck it into the belt loop of my jeans and cover it with my bulkier jacket. It wasn’t all that cold, but bulky jackets made me look larger and slightly more intimidating. Now that I actually had a hidden weapon to back up the jacket, I felt my confidence rise.
It was with this newfound confidence that I stepped into the rundown bar around the corner, slapped a few thousand yen notes onto the bar table, and ordered a drink from the misty-eyed noumu behind the counter.