Some Mistakes Were Made
Kiyomi, dressed in her usual black uniform save for her white mask, sat on top of a nearby building while she watched a cleaning crew go through Mr. Tanaka’s store. She felt bad for trashing it, but it wasn’t like she could as a couple of villains to take this outside. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, and Kiyomi stood. She needed to get some space between her and the neighborhood before it was too slick to go jumping from roof to roof.
Being an active vigilante didn’t pay. At all. Fortunately, Kiyomi had some connections, and those connections had gotten her a job. Vigilantism jobs paid pretty well if you took them consistently, and Kiyomi was pretty sure her job paid more than her mom’s. The job that Kiyomi had in her pocket, saved in an encrypted file on her work phone, paid about thirty-five thousand yen, which rounded to three hundred twenty-five USD. It should be easy, too, which gave Kiyomi more time to patrol.
Pressing a button on her boots, Kiyomi began to jump from roof to roof silently. It was dark, probably just past midnight, meaning most of Tokyo was asleep. They wouldn’t notice the light footsteps on their roof unless they listened in absolute silence, and they’d probably think it was just the oncoming rain.
Kiyomi was proud of her boots. They were a hero support item Kiyomi had snagged off the Black Market, which was an actual place where vigilantes and villains could buy and sell illegal stuff. It was the only thing Kiyomi had actually bought from there, but she did show up from time to time to check out the latest dirt on some Pro Heroes (*cough* Endeavor *cough*). The boots used the force of running or walking and stored it in the soles. The stored energy could be used to jump higher or kick harder. They were incredibly useful, especially when Kiyomi found herself in a jam.
Jumping from roof to roof didn’t take much energy at all, and was as thrilling as ever when the rain started. She was a few blocks away from the place she was supposed to steal from, at the top floor of a tall apartment complex. According to the job, all she had to do was take a small USB flash drive from a person named Yamada and deliver it to the Black Market. Simple.
Kiyomi took burglary all the time, especially because it was usually from rich people. The rich weren’t given enough taxes and the middle class, like Kiyomi and her family, were given too much. It was like a karma thing, and Kiyomi was all for rich-person karma.
Lucky her, the apartment had a window, an open one at that. There was a screen in the way, but those weren’t too hard to remove, even from the outside. Attaching a repelling cable to the roof of the complex, Kiyomi traveled down easily, taking out the screen and sliding in. Never had Kiyomi loved how short she was until she had to slide into apartments from windows from over 30 meters, or 100 feet, up.
Thank God Kiyomi never had a fear of heights.
The room Kiyomi had gotten into was a makeshift office, with two desks on either side of a wall. One was orderly, with neatly stacked papers and files, while the other one looked like a complete mess, with no order at all and a cold cup of coffee sitting in the middle.
Oh… Shit.
Even cold, a cup of coffee being left out was never a good sign. This meant the person was probably coming back and Kiyomi needed to find that flash drive fast.
Which side was Yamada’s side? Kiyomi looked between the two desks and decided to try the neat one first. It was always good to try the neat one first, because as long as you put things back, the person wouldn’t notice. Usually, messy people had a system and would notice the moment you moved something.
Staying as quiet as she could, Kiyomi started to look through the neat desk. A few framed pictures were displayed on it, all showing the same blond kid alongside a darker haired boy and a boy with cloud-like blue hair. They were all wearing the same high school uniform.
The U.A. high school uniform.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--
Kiyomi started looking faster, sifting through drawers and opening files with lightning speed. Where the hell was that USB? It wasn’t there, so Kiyomi moved to the other desk, hovering over it as her eyes raked it for any sign of the small black device.
Thank fucking God.
It sat on the top of the messy desk, almost begging to be stolen. Kiyomi grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket. Done and done. Now she needed to get out this place before whichever fucking hero that lived here found her.
Replacing the window screen in record time, Kiyomi started her way back up, taking off the cable as soon as she cleared the edge of the roof. It had started to rain by then and the entire roof was soaked. Kiyomi shuddered as she got rained on, too, but the job was done and she just needed to get back to the Black Market.
“What are you doing here?” An angry, gruff voice asked from the shadows.
A man stepped out, wearing all black, too. Yellow goggles sat on his face and a pale scarf was wrapped around his shoulders, raised in an air of intimidation. The man’s long hair was wet, plastering to his face.
The dark scary man Present Mic called his husband.
The dark-haired boy alongside the blond one in the U.A. photos.
Underground Pro Hero, Eraserhead.
Who the actual fuck would hand out a job like this?
Kiyomi really hoped her eyes weren’t betraying her as she stood nonchalant on the roof, hands out and ready to fight at a moment's notice. Her boots were on and had enough energy that could knock a professional wrestler out cold (Kiyomi knew; she’d done it before) or jump so far it would be hard for the average person to catch up to her.
“Eh, nothing much. Just hanging out.” And thank God Kiyomi could lie, too. “How about you?”
“Wanting my flash drive back,” Eraser said in his usual “I’m Batman” voice. He took a step forward, and Kiyomi went to take a step back but, you guessed it, she couldn’t go any further without falling to her death. Kiyomi’s quirk was strong, but not that strong.
The job had been too easy.
It had been a fucking set up.
“Who sent you?” Kiyomi snapped. “A hero agency? The police? Or are you just a fucking ass?”
Eraser didn’t reply, holding out a pale hand. “Flash drive.”
“Fuck your flash drive.” Kiyomi spat. And today had been a good day too. Way to ruin a day, Eraserhead. “I’m not getting my money, am I?” Well, shit. There goes the money Kiyomi was going to spend on getting a new pair of shoes. And they were going to be good shoes too, not the cheap ones that tear up after a few months.
“Give me the flash drive, Tamatsuki.”
Wait, what?
No. No. No!
This night was getting worse and worse. Jesus fucking Christ this was bad.
“That’s not my name,” Kiyomi tried to say, but faltered. Fuck her anxiety. Fuck her career. Fuck Eraserhead, fuck Japan, fuck everything. Fuck this stupid fucking flash drive!
She wasn’t getting caught today. She wasn’t getting taken in. She wasn’t ruining her life or her mom’s life or her brother’s life. Her dad had already done that. If Kiyomi was caught--
Her heart stopped for a single moment and the shaking began.
Cold rain pelted Kiyomi through her mask, and it was enough to keep her from having a flat out panic attack. Eraserhead took a few more steps forward, and Kiyomi kept her footing. She glanced down the building. If she jumped, there was a chance she wouldn’t turn into a puddle of blood and broken bones. If she used her boots to jump off the side, Kiyomi could activate a shield and roll onto the building across the street. From there, it was about a mile to the Black Market, with its strict no-fighting rule.
Could she make it?
Maybe. Probably not.
Was her head working so she could plan any of this out?
Hell no.
No, rather than think through her plan of action, Kiyomi just up and jumped off the building, flying past the window she’d just broken into and away from Eraserhead and his stupid judgmental glare. Kiyomi shoved her hands out to the side, creating her Bubble. It was one of her shields in a sphere around, but for simplicity’s sake, Kiyomi called it her Bubble. The Bubble was probably Kiyomi’s weakest shield, but it was the one Kiyomi made automatically.
Only, she didn’t actually make it.
The Bubble never came. Kiyomi was falling. She couldn’t do shit. Her chest hurt and her brain wasn’t talking to her body. The ground was getting closer. People could be made out. Lights got brighter. Cars drove below. The ground was getting closer.
Fuck. She was going to die. Kiyomi was going to die.
A thin pale fabric wrapped around Kiyomi’s middle, and suddenly, instead of going down, Kiyomi was going up.
Damn Eraserhead and his stupid eraser quirk and his stupid scarf and his stupid face and his stupid flash drive.
The ground left Kiyomi’s vision as her chest constricted. Now was not the time for a panic attack, but did her anxiety care? Of course not. The roof was stable under her feet, allowing Kiyomi to stumble back, falling to her knees as she struggled to breathe and her chest felt like it was going to shatter.
She was shaking. She kept shaking. The sound of the rain was dull, as was the rest of the world. Kiyomi was dying. She felt like she was dying. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Kiyomi couldn’t even hear what Eraserhead was saying. Her head wasn’t working. She couldn’t even recite times tables, something that normally grounded her.
One times one equaled…
Two times two equaled…
Three times three….
Fuck math. It was failing her.
“--ey! Tamatsuki! Tamatsuki Kiyomi!”
Who…?
Eraserhead.
Kiyomi blinked. She could move. She could run. She… was very fucking tired.
The scarf had loosened its grasp around Kiyomi, though it was still there and now wrapped around Kiyomi’s arms, too. Her chest still hurt and her lungs still hurt but she could breathe and she could think. And, God, she was still shaking. Fuck her shaking.
“You okay?” So Eraser had a soft spot for kids. Fuck that.
“I’m fine,” Kiyomi snapped. “I thought you didn’t care about villains, Eraser. Just carted them in and boom, done.”
Eraser made a sound, but Kiyomi couldn’t pinpoint it. The cloth around Kiyomi stiffened again. So this was Eraserhead’s infamous capture weapon. Surprisingly light. Was that steel alloy? This scarf could sell for so much in the Black Market. Could make Kiyomi rich and set her family off for at least a few months.
But Kiyomi wasn’t going back to the Black Market anytime soon.
Instead, she found herself sitting across from a tired Detective Tsukauchi, files laid out in front of her. It had been that stunt yesterday that had done it. Pros like Aizawa could probably recognize the DIYed fighting style Kiyomi had gotten from watching too many YouTube videos from miles away.
“So. Tamatsuki. I’m assuming you know vigilantism is a crime.” Tsukauchi took a drink from his cup of coffee.
“Do I get one of those?” Kiyomi pointed at the cup Tsukauchi put down on the table. “Can I have one?”
Tsukauchi sighed, obviously too tired to deal with Kiyomi’s shit. “You get water. A kid your age is too young to be drinking coffee.”
Kiyomi was offended. “Excuse me? One, I’m fifteen. Two, coffee is better for you than some random soda or energy drink, and I know I saw a vending machine with coffee in it around the corner. Use the money that was in my pocket.” Kiyomi didn’t dare tell them about the yen bills she had in her bra. That was for emergencies, and while Kiyomi really needed a cup of coffee, this wasn’t an emergency.
Running a hand over his face, Tsukauchi muttered a “Fine,” and waved his hand at the officer guarding the door.
“And yes, Tsukauchi, I know vigilantism is a crime.” Kiyomi sat back in her chair, putting her foot up on the seat and leaning against it. “But so is rape, burglary, human trafficking, selling and doing drugs, and murder, just to name a few. I don’t kill anyone, and they’re usually still waiting for you when you show up. I haven’t inconvenienced you, have I?”
Kiyomi’s stuff, including her epic boots, were currently being processed, so Kiyomi was sitting there in her socks, wearing the tank top and leggings she wore beneath her uniform, with two heavy quirk-suppressing bracelets on her wrists. At least she wasn’t handcuffed to the table, but Kiyomi felt uncomfortable, to say the least. She didn’t like the scrutinizing eyes of the detective across the table, nor did she like being in the air-conditioned interrogation room freezing her face off.
“You know what?” Tsukauchi stood, just as the young police officer came back with Kiyomi’s coffee. It wasn’t what she wanted, but Kiyomi really wasn’t in the place to complain. “I’ll just call your mother.”
No.
It was one in the morning. Chances were Miyoko was asleep. Chances were Miyoko wasn’t going to be happy to find out her daughter was in a police station.
“No!” Kiyomi reached for Tsukauchi, almost knocking her cup of coffee over. “Don’t call her. Don’t call anyone. I’ll tell you whatever. Ask away, detective. Just don’t call her.” Tears, the damned things, were threatening to spill, making Kiyomi’s vision blurry. She hated it. She hated emotions. She hated anxiety. She hated fear.
Fuck, she hated fear.
Tsukauchi didn’t say anything as he opened and closed the interrogation room door. Fuck! Fuck… As soon as Kiyomi was alone, and she didn’t care who was on the other side of the two-way glass, if anyone, she started crying.
Why was she so weak?
Why was she so stupid?
All Kiyomi was doing was standing up for her values and bringing home an extra paycheck. Why was that illegal?
Soon, Kiyomi was dragged off to a holding cell. “Just give her a normal one,” the officer had said. “She has a defensive quirk.” Way to rub it in, boys. Why were there no female officers? That bothered the shit out of Kiyomi.
The man that was watching Kiyomi was obviously tired. She couldn't read his name tag in the light, and Kiyomi honestly didn’t care. She was too busy worrying about her fate. Would she be put in jail? A juvenile detention center? To her dad in America? Fuck, anything would be better than seeing her dad again. She hated him. She understood why he left, but she still hated him.
***Maybe Kiyomi could just die. Her anxiety and fear were overwhelming and Kiyomi just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Was that normal? Was that considered suicidal thoughts? Kiyomi didn’t know and didn’t care. She wanted to leave and go for a walk or play video games or just not be here. ***
There was some talking in the distance. Kiyomi couldn’t make out the words, but she could make out the voices. Tsukauchi, Eraserhead, and someone else. It wasn’t Miyoko. Miyoko would’ve just been notified and, fuming, hopped in the car and began the drive over to the precinct Kiyomi was sitting in across the city.
Who was the third person?
Meanwhile, Kiyomi was trying to figure out how she got tricked so easily. It was there from the beginning. Yamada, as in Hizashi Yamada, aka Present Mic, aka Eraserhead’s husband and Kiyomi’s favorite hero. She was so stupid! How did she miss all the warning signs? It was on the top floor of one of the highest apartment buildings in Tokyo, high enough where Kiyomi’s quirk couldn’t help her in her escape. Eraser had given himself away from the beginning and Kiyomi missed it!
God, what was her brother going to think of her?
How was she going to get into high school? Or college?
What were they going to do for money now? Miyoko hadn’t realized how much they relied on Kiyomi’s paychecks. She’d thought they were checks from Kiyomi’s father this entire time.
Kiyomi stopped paying attention to the time as she stared at the holding cell floor, knees pulled up to her chest. Her arms ached from the heavy quirk suppressors, but at least they weren’t handcuffs.
At least they weren’t handcuffs.
She must’ve fallen asleep because she woke up to the man watching her shaking her shoulder. “Get up, kid. Your mom is here.”
Kiyomi was awake immediately, and fear filled her chest. No, no, no, no. The officer must have seen how Kiyomi tensed, but didn’t show much emotion as he led her out to the main office area.
Miyoko was standing with Tsukauchi, both looking tired and exhausted. Kiyomi should never have taken that job. These adults who could be sleeping were instead awake because of her. Kiyomi was an idiot. This was all her fault. She really wasn’t lying to herself. It really was her fault, because Kiyomi decided being a vigilante was a good idea.
It still was. Kiyomi didn’t regret Shard.
Three sets of eyes turned to Kiyomi the moment she walked into the room, the officer who’d led her in leaving immediately. Eraserhead was still here, watching from a chair in the corner. Why was he still here? His job was done.
“TAMATSUKI KIYOMI!” Miyoko thundered the moment Kiyomi stopped, planting her feet in a spot in the middle of the barely-empty office. The few officers that were there kept their heads down. “What the FUCK? Tell me, what thought goes through your empty head where you think it’s a good idea to sneak out every night for a whole YEAR and risk your LIFE?”
Kiyomi didn’t respond, finding a spot on the wall near Miyoko’s head to stare at.
“Well?!” Miyoko started forward, glare full of pent up rage. It took less than a second for Kiyomi to decide Miyoko’s glare and mere presence was scarier than Eraserhead’s. Much, much scarier.
Still silent, Kiyomi saw Eraserhead sit up in his chair, eyes watching Miyoko instead of Kiyomi.
“Answer me!” If there was one thing Miyoko hated was the silent treatment, but Kiyomi couldn’t speak. Words physically couldn’t register in her brain and saying a sentence longer than a word seemed impossible.
There was a flash, and Kiyomi’s vision was blurry for a second.
Never in Kiyomi’s fifteen years of stupid life had Miyoko hit her.
Not once.
Although, in Miyoko’s defense, Kiyomi sort of deserved it.
The slap was stronger than Kiyomi had expected, sending her stumbling back a little. It had been Miyoko’s quirk that made her hands basically impervious to anything. That was why Miyoko had gone into cooking, and the reason Kiyomi felt her cheek almost break.
“Ms. Tamatsuki!” Tsukauchi rushed forward, grabbing Miyoko’s arm and dragging her away from Kiyomi. At that moment, Kiyomi wanted nothing more than to feel the warm embrace of a mother that loved her. To just stand there, knowing she was supported and wanted.
But there was no love for her. Only a cold, police station wall.
The words came. Four, to be exact. Four words Kiyomi had planned to say since the beginning, and the only words that registered.
“I don't regret it.”
Miyoko looked like she was going to blow up. Literally. Her face was red, as was her hand, her eyes filled with a rage Kiyomi had only seen once in her life and couldn’t believe was being placed on her right then, at that moment.
It was the same rage-filled glare Kiyomi’s father had received before he disappeared off to America at Miyoko’s request.
Words grew fuzzy again, as did the worlds around her, and the weight on Kiyomi’s chest returned tenfold. She started gasping for breath, her lungs refusing to fill. She was shaking so much Kiyomi thought she was having a seizure. She wasn’t. Instead, Kiyomi couldn’t move. No air. No breathing. No movement. Shaking. Hurt. Nothing.
This was the worst panic attack Kiyomi had had in years. And, lucky her, Miyoko didn’t care. Miyoko never cared. “Freakouts,” the woman Kiyomi called her mother. “Being irrational. Faking it. Begging for attention.” It wasn’t just Kiyomi’s classmates. It was her own mother, too
There’d been many reasons Kiyomi was afraid to get mental help, and Miyoko was every single one of them.