Text Messages
“And this is my eldest daughter, Tsuki.” Mrs. Sakimoto gestured to the girl that looked to be about thirteen. Mrs. Sakimoto fostered a lot of kids alongside her husband, who worked at Present Mic’s hero agency. During Kiyomi’s stay, they had three other foster kids and Mrs. Sakimoto’s own kids.
Kiyomi nodded politely as Tsuki glanced at her before going back to looking through her phone.
“Your room will be the first up the stairs on the left,” Mrs. Sakimoto supplied. “It should have everything you need, including some clothes, but if you need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask.” As Kiyomi started up the stairs, Mrs. Sakimoto continued. “Dinner will be as six.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Kiyomi said as she left. Mrs. Sakimoto said something about how polite Kiyomi was before running off to the kitchen.
A pattern was emerging.
Kiyomi closed the door of her temporary bedroom, leaving it open just a crack in case she was needed. True to Mrs. Sakimoto’s words, some spare clothes were in the drawers and the bed had fresh bedding, evident by the smell of detergent.
Quickly changing and tucking a too-big shirt into a pair of jeans, Kiyomi plugged in her phone and opened her ideas notebook while sitting on the bed.
The ideas notebook was a title prompted by Kyoji, as, true to the name, Kiyomi wrote down her ideas in it. It had forgotten novel plots and worldbuilding drafts, along with vigilante information between the pages. Finding a fresh page among the messy Japanese and English writing, Kiyomi found a forgotten pen and started writing.
Kiyomi wrote in her usual English-based code, something she’d made up herself. It was probably pointless to write it down, but Kiyomi liked to organize her thoughts. The writing was messy and rushed and Kiyomi tried to think of more points to write down, but nothing came to mind.
Damn it. She really wanted her work phone. Kiyomi wanted to get to the Market as soon as possible. She needed information. Someone was working in the background, someone keeping the law at bay, and Kiyomi needed to know who it was.
As she closed her notebook, Kiyomi noticed a scrawl of numbers, since erased, but she could make them out. It took a second for the idea to come to her, and Kiyomi grabbed her half-dead phone off the bed.
[To: xxx-xxxx]
Hey, do you know how to jam an ankle monitor?
[From: xxx-xxxx]
excuse me, the actual fuck? please tell me this is who I think it is
[To: xxx-xxxx]
Si, señor.
¿Hablan español? Muy gusta.
¿Quieres queso?
[From: xxx-xxxx]
I don’t want your freak cheese, tamatsuki
wtf does that even mean
Contact name changed: Shinsou
[To: Shinsou]
ooo when did you learn spanish?
you know what, nvm. I need to get this ankle monitor off in a few days.
Help me.
[From: Shinsou]
no.
your mess
[To: Shinosu]
youre mean. meanie
Shinsou never replied. Of course he didn’t. Kiyomi would try again in a few days. She didn’t expect to get him to agree the first time, anyway. It was still such a stroke of luck that Kiyomi had even kept Shinsou’s number. It was on her work phone, even though they didn’t talk much.
Kiyomi and Hitoshi had met in elementary school. Kiyomi was getting bullied for her American accent and weird way of saying things, while Hitoshi was getting bullied because of his quirk. Kiyomi stood up for Hitoshi one day, and they were friends for years. In their last year of elementary school, they’d exchanged numbers, and went their separate ways.
A year later, Kiyomi spotted Hitoshi’s familiar purple hair in the Black Market. They met eyes, nodded, and never spoke, but occasionally, when Hitoshi needed help with a job or vice versa, they’d meet up. They spoke more over text than they did face to face, most of their partnerships ending in getting a small chunk of the cash and a single nod.
Hitoshi was one of Kiyomi’s closest friends, and that was saying something. He didn’t tease her for her anxiety and she didn’t mention his quirk. Kiyomi had friends she’d talk to more, but none of them knew about Shard or took her seriously. Hitoshi did, and that was all that mattered.
At five o’clock, Kiyomi came downstairs, throwing her dirty hair up in a bun, and found Mrs. Sakimoto in the kitchen. Two younger boys, Shinori and Shoyo, who looked to be twins, were coloring quietly at the kitchen table. They looked up at Kiyomi as she walked in, but went back to their coloring soon after. They were unusually quiet for six-year-old boys. It worried Kiyomi, but she didn’t say anything.
“Mrs. Sakimoto, is there anything I can do to help?” Kiyomi asked, walking into the kitchen and inhaling the familiar smell of miso soup.
“You keep surprising me, Kiyomi.” Mrs. Sakimoto smiled. “So kind. Are you any good around the kitchen?”
“My mom was--is--a cook.” Talking about Miyoko in the past tense like that hurt Kiyomi’s heart, but it was automatic. “I’d say I’m okay.”
“Wonderful! You can start cutting up the vegetables in the sink, if you don’t mind.” The woman referred to the vegetables sitting in a strainer, already clean and peeled.
“Thank you.” Kiyomi was quick to act, sliding a cutting board across the counter and Mrs. Sakimoto handed her a knife from a locked drawer. It was a smaller knife than the ones Kiyomi was used to working with, but she didn’t say anything, happy to help. She needed to do something in her spare time anyway. If not, there was no use having her around.
Cutting up the vegetables was easy. Mrs. Sakimoto commented on Kiyomi’s good form and gave her some more things to chop into bite-sized pieces. Together, Kiyomi and Mrs. Sakimoto got dinner done by 5:45, fifteen minutes earlier than Mrs. Sakimoto had promised.
As Mrs. Sakimoto, Kiyomi, and the other five kids gathered around the dinner table, Kiyomi didn’t ignore the glances at her ankle monitor. If they asked about it, which they shouldn’t, if they were polite, she’d lie. No doubt Mrs. Sakimoto knew the truth, but Kiyomi wanted as few people to know now that all the police forces in Japan had Kiyomi’s name in it.
“Where are you from, Kiyomi?” One of the other kids, a nine-year-old girl named Kei, asked as Kiyomi ate quietly. Kei, Kiyomi remembered, was Mrs. Sakimoto’s second daughter.
“Southern Tokyo,” Kiyomi replied. No point in lying. “So not that far away.”
“Do you go to school?” Kei again. Mrs. Sakimoto gave the girl a look.
“No, no, I don’t mind. It’s good to ask questions.” Kiyomi smiled at Kei, who squealed at the praise. “I do go to school. I’m finishing up my third year of middle school right now, at Meifira.”
Kei’s eyes brightened, but Tsuki asked the next question as she helped Shoyo get food for his brother. “What high school do you want to go to?”
Kiyomi really hoped her disgust at the question wasn’t visible on her face. “I’m not sure yet, but I’m looking at my options.”
“Do you plan to enter a hero course?” Kei looked like she wanted to ask that question, but Tsuki was one step ahead of her.
“I…” Kiyomi shrugged. “No. I’m going to keep a general education and hopefully get accepted into a college. Hero work isn’t really my thing.”
Mrs. Sakimoto gave Kiyomi an odd look, but didn’t say anything. Tsuki nodded in understanding, handing a new bowl of rice to Shinori.
Ryotaro, an eleven-year-old boy, spoke up next. “What’s your quirk?” The boy had a mutation quirk himself, hosting two extra arms from his side. They laid unused against his side.
“Ah, it’s a defensive quirk called Shield.” Kiyomi was happy the kids were willing to talk with her. She was worried she’d have to stay quiet the entire time because no one was willing to make conversation. “It’s pretty self-explanatory, but I can create shields with my hands.” Kiyomi didn’t mention the shattering or the scars along her arms from said shattering. She usually wore long sleeves for a reason.
Ryotaro nodded. “That’s cool. You’d make a cool hero, Kiyomi.”
Managing a smile, Kiyomi replied, “Thanks, Ryotaro.”
Mrs. Sakimoto proceeded to take control of the conversation, asking each child how their day went and skipped right over Kiyomi with a knowing look.
After dinner, Kiyomi helped clean up alongside Tsuki. The younger girl didn’t say much, and Kiyomi didn’t press for any questions. Just as Kiyomi started to wash the dishes (unprompted, she just felt like doing them), Tsuki whirled around her, dark hair falling to her shoulders in a wave.
“I don’t know what you did, but stay away from my sister.” It took Kiyomi a second to realize what Tsuki meant. “I don’t want you creating a bad influence for her. We have enough kids that come through here that try to hurt her. We don’t need one more.”
“Do I look like a bad influence, minus my fancy new ankle bracelet?” Kiyomi replied, a bit harsher than she’d intended. “I don’t want you or your sister to see the things I’ve seen. That’s why I have this damn thing in the first place.”
This made Tsuki even more upset, but Kiyomi didn’t let her start, turning off the hot water and filling the sink with dish soap.
“I do know where you’re coming from. I’d be the same way with my little brother.” Tsuki stopped, scowling at Kiyomi, but waiting for her to go on. “Once you realize how terrible the world is, you want to protect them from everything. Even if you don’t get along and even if it seems like you hate each other. That’s why I did what I did. I wanted to protect people.” The soapy water was too hot, turning Kiyomi’s hands a bright pink as she looked away from Tsuki. “But go ahead and make all the assumptions you want. I don’t mind.”
There was a growl, and Tsuki stomped away.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Sakimoto came into the kitchen, surprised to see Kiyomi doing the dishes, but didn't mention it. “I’m sorry about her. She…”
“It’s okay, you don't need to explain.” While Kiyomi was curious, it wasn’t her place, and didn’t want it to be.
“I’ll have you know I locked all the windows and doors leading outside.” Mrs. Sakimoto said it casually, but there was a slight edge to her voice. So she really did know. Kiyomi was right. “I don’t plan to tell the kids. You can make up your own stories all you like.”
Kiyomi was silent, the only sound between the two the clattering of dishes in the crowded sink. Finally, she asked, “Where’s your husband?”
“Working. He works late most days, but he always brings home a good paycheck.” Mrs. Sakimoto began wiping down the counters, working quickly and quietly.
“What does he do?”
“He works in finance at Present Mic’s hero agency. Hachi’s always been good with numbers.” Kiyomi didn’t need to look to see the small smile on Mrs. Sakimoto’s face. Even married, she was still in love with her husband. That was a good sign.
Deciding to press her luck, Kiyomi asked, “How did you two meet?”
If there’s one thing couples who love each other like to do, it’s talk about the other.
Mrs. Sakimoto talked as Kiyomi did the dishes, listening as Mrs. Sakimoto recounted the story of how she and her husband, Hachi, met through a dating app years ago. Mrs. Sakimoto was new to the whole online thing and was happy when Hachi was understanding. They got along well, and Mrs. Sakimoto proposed to him two years after they started dating. They’d been together since.
Mr. and Mrs. Sakimoto started fostering because Hachi was a foster kid himself and wanted to help out. It was a nice story, and Kiyomi enjoyed it. Mrs. Sakimoto didn’t press Kiyomi to talk about her old home life, and Kiyomi didn’t mind.
When Kiyomi went back up to her room, her phone was fully charged and she found a few different text messages on it.
[From: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
Kiyomi! Masujiro asked me if i wanted to go get food with him after school
is it a date?
Mi? is it a date????
I WANT TO KNOOOW.
[To: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
That depends. did Masujiro say it was a date?
If you’re not sure, ask him. he’s bi, right?
Might be ;)
Kiyomi felt a pang in her chest. She wished she could wait for Kyoji to come home and tease him. How was Miyoko going to react if Masujiro actually asked Kyoji out, and they were on an actual date?
[From: Shinsou]
i hate you.
ill help you, you idiot.
[To: Shinsou]
¿qué?
what was that???? youll help me?
I don’t believe you.
Shinsou’s reply was faster than Kiyomi had anticipated.
[From: Shinsou]
don’t push your luck, tamatsuki.
tell me the day and ill tell you what to do
until then, leave me alone
[To: Shinsou]
:D
The third text was from a number Kiyomi didn’t recognize, but didn’t take long to add the number to her contacts.
[From: xxx-xxxx]
Hello, Kiyomi
It’s Mr. Hayato. Please save my number so I can contact you in the future.
Contact name changed: Mr. Hayato
[To: Mr. Hayato]
Yes, sir. Thank you.
What time was it? Around seven-thirty. It wasn’t a Friday night, meaning no non-stop music from Present Mic’s radio show, so trying to listen in would be useless. Kiyomi laid back on her bed. It wasn’t her bed at home, but it was softer than the holding cell.
Home. Kiyomi scoffed to herself.
She didn’t have a home anymore. Not really. Miyoko wouldn’t let her.
Kiyomi was bored, staring up at the ceiling of her room. She wanted to go out and jump from roof to roof and help people. But she couldn't. She needed to wait. She needed to build trust. Rule number one of getting away with things: make them trust you. It sounds manipulative, and Kiyomi will admit that it is, but it works, be it in school or in her work. She was going to get the Sakimoto’s to trust her. She already had some of the trust of one of them, Mrs. Sakimoto, and she seemed nice. Kiyomi almost felt bad for planning to break said trust.
Keyword: almost.
A knock at Kiyomi’s half-opened door made her sit up. It was Tsuki, hair wet and dripping down her back.
“Do you want to take a bath? I can show you where the shampoo and stuff is.”
Make that two people who trust her.
“Sure.”
Kiyomi felt a lot better after bathing. Her hair was clean and she wore clean pajamas, which Tsuki had gotten for her. However, Kiyomi was back to staring at the ceiling.
“Ah, so boring,” Kiyomi said it in English, but didn’t care.
As if on cue, her phone gave a small chime, saying she had a text message.
[From: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
Mom’s disowning you.
[To: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
You’re kidding. Fucking stupid.
Over such a small thing! What the fuck!
okay, maybe not small, but still. Like, seriously.
She needs to get her priorities straight.
If she wasn’t such a hardass, I would be at home rn
Probably grounded for the rest of my life
But still home.
I miss you.
[From: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
I miss you too.
Mom’s still mad and i don’t know why.
You didn’t even do that much wrong.
Compared to Dad, anyway.
She’s acting like it’s such a big deal.
[To: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
SEEE
This is the shit I have to put up with
Everything matters sooooo much
‘Oh no! My daughter got arrested!’
*shoots her heart and soul*
‘Oh boy, now she’s dead! I feel so much pain! :D’
[From: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
I’m sorry.
[To: The Worst Kyo-Bro]
Not your fault.
Tell me about your date with Masujio?
Contact name changed: The Best Kyo-Bro
[From: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Not a date.
I never asked if it was.
But it was good. He bought me food.
[To: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Okay, def a date. even if it wasn't romantic
Idfk where you got it in your head that is wasnt
But if he bought food for you, he might like you
Especially because it was spontaneous
WHY DIDN’T YOU ASK HIM, BAKA
[From: The Best Kyo-Bro]
I WAS NERVOUS
I DIDN’T WANT TO MESS UP
he has blue eyes.
[To: The Best Kyo-Bro]
HAHA I DO IT AGAIN!
[From: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Stop ittt
He wants to meet up again tomorrow
[To: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Ask him tomorrow. Just be like:
Hey, Masujiro, is this a date?
If you need to, say:
My sister asked me and if it is, she’ll kick your ass.
[From: The Best Kyo-Bro]
KIYOMI
[To: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Fine, fine
….
Just make sure he knows that he can’t hurt you. I’ll threaten him.
[From: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Okay.
I’m gonna go.
Bye. Good luck
[To: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Okie. Bye.
Don’t let mom burn my stuff.
[From: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Okay
[To: The Best Kyo-Bro]
Okay
Contact name changed: The Gayest Kyo-Bro
Kiyomi wanted to go outside. She needed a walk. She needed to punch something. It was too late at night to go out. Nine PM curfew had been one of Mrs. Sakimoto’s rules, but the ceiling of Kiyomi’s loaned bedroom was only so interesting.
“Defense.” Kiyomi raised her hands towards the ceiling. A clear shield that looked like an ovular piece of glass and was as long as Kiyomi was tall appeared in front of her. Moving her hands out of the defensive position, the shield disappeared.
“Hemisphere.” This time, Kiyomi put her arm above her head. Her flat palm was suddenly pressed against another glass-looking shield, this time covering Kiyomi in a dome. She moved her arm again, and it disappeared just like the last one.
Kiyomi wanted to do Bubble, too, but the chances of that one breaking something were too big to do it indoors. With a loud sigh, Kiyomi rolled off the bed, onto the floor, and started stretching for no reason at all.