Link: https://fiction.live/stories/The-Only-Thing-I-Know-for-Real/A9W5HrtSW9eCqCRpK/home
Synopsis
In Which Samual Rodriguez is reincarnated into a young lad from MHA, and the players have to decide his life.
Alright, let's do this properly this time.
Hi there. I'm Slaag. I've got my muse clawing the inside of my skull to get me to writing and I've been wanting to try out Akun's method of Questing for a while. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and see if anything pans out of this; if it works out, great. If not, I'll learn what went right and wrong so I can try again.
I'm planning on doing at least one Live a week, though 'when' would depend on my IRL work schedule. Working in the service industry has many surprise changes in working hours, so while I can't guarantee consistency I'll still try to.
We good? Great.
Now let's get into the good stuff.
You saw the blade more than you felt it.
A length of metal, matte black with strands of electricity running along its length. A few hand-lengths shorter than your own blade, forged with great metal and designed to intentionally forsake comfort for function; an above average weapon in all respects. And yet, despite its near-disappointing appearance, it still did what so many others could not.
The weapon is yanked free and you stumble back a few steps, the adrenaline still giving you the strength to stand even when, but all rights, you shouldn't be. You plant your sword into the dirt fall to one knee, a hand rising up to the hole on your chest beneath which your heart lay. It comes away slick with your blood.
A deep wound. Mortal. Even if you had some nanite paste on hand, it still wouldn't have saved you.
You tilt your head up to look at your killer. A white-haired cyborg in a mighty artificial body, black armor plating over powerful CNF muscles guided by a soul who had seen war since childhood. His single blue eye stares back at you with wariness and no small amount of respect, still thinking you capable of lashing out one last time in a final suicide attack. You wouldn't do that; you were a man of many things, but pettiness had no place here.
Your gaze drifts past him, to the canid UG standing behind the cyborg.
LQ-84i, or Blade Wolf as he was known now. The robot pup had come far since their encounter in the Denver sewers under World Marshal. He'd get your sword now, and you won't begrudge him no matter what he decides to do with it once you were gone.
You winked at Blade Wolf one last time before the last bit of strength fled you, your body collapsing onto the dirt.
You manage one last intake of breath as the darkness closed in, thinking of all the things you've done in your life and how they brought you to this moment.
The loss of your father back in Brazil, exacting your terrible vengeance on the pupil and drug cartel who murdered him, your time as a mercenary and dealer of justice to those who did evil, your 'recruitment' into World Marshal by Armstrong; all of it culminating to this final moment.
Was it all worth it, in the end?
You exhale.
It was worth it to you, in the end. And that was all that mattered.
With that, the darkness closed in on Samuel Rodriguez. And then you knew no more.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
In another life, in a world where superpowers were the norm and not having one is considered a disability, a baby is born.
A boy, still warm and wet from his mother's womb, whole of body and strong of health as he wails his arrival into the world with all the vigor of a newborn babe.
He is cleaned, bundled, and handed to his proud parents who gaze at him with the love and affection that only newly-made parents could have.
"He has your eyes, dear." the mother murmurs.
"And he has your beautiful hair, Ayu." the father nods, leaning in to carefully plant a kiss on his son's head. "God, I love him so much."
"We'll be sure to shower him with as much of it as we can, Taro." Ayu sniffles. "Our son, our pride and joy…"
[PROLOGUE: MEMORIES BROKEN]
Your name is Takeo Tsurugi.
You were born the son of Taro Tsurugi, a mechanic and owner of a small autoshop, and Ayu Tsurugi, a metalsmith who often does custom jobs for those seeking show pieces or conversation starters at home or at their workplace.
They were good parents, who showered with all the love and affection that parents could give to their children. You never went hungry or slept cold or felt any bit of fear.
You lived a good childhood, befriending other kids from your neighborhood and in the local kindergarten you went to. They brought you into their little groupies to play and make merry in the days when your parents allowed you to go out to play.
Through them, you learned of Quirks, Pro Heroes, and Villains.
Everyone had Quirks except for those weird Quirkless people. Those who had really good Quirks could train and study to become Pro Heroes, who could use their Quirks in public to stop Villains. Villains were people who used their Quirks and often got involved in very bad things, things that usually got them beat up by Pro Heroes and sent to prison by the police.
That last part… grated at you, for some reason.
You went to your parents to confirm what your playground and kindergarten friends said, about Quirks and Pro Heroes and Villains. They did, for the most part; the Quirks and Pro Heroes were mostly correct but Villains… they couldn't explain much about it save for a cryptic 'you'll know when you're older'.
You believed them of course, and left it at that.
Time went by and your playground friends began manifest strange powers. Abilities that something deep in you couldn't believe was possible. When you asked them about it, they simply grinned and showed off more; claiming those powers to be their Quirks.
They told you that everyone got them when they turned four or five, and that stronger Quirks were better for… some reason. You needled them as to why strong Quirks were better, and they claimed that it would help in becoming a Pro Hero.
"Because everyone wants to be a Pro Hero!" the child had exclaimed. "Don't you want to be one too?"
You… couldn't say you agreed with that sentiment. For many reasons.
Then, not long after your fourth birthday, your father took you to a Quirk Specialist to see if you manifested a Quirk.
"I'm sorry to say, sir." the doctor starts. "But your son exhibits an extra joint in his pinky toe. His body shows no changes to its composition or a internally or externally. DNA tests and scans looking for signs of Quirk development have come up with nothing."
He sighs sadly and reaches down to pat your head. It doesn't comfort you nor your father in the least, if the look of dawning horror on his face is of any indication.
"Your son is Quirkless." the man finishes.
Your father was livid. Oh, you've seen him angry before; at his employees or at customers who were too uppity for his liking. But only now do you see such fury and passion wielded with hate. It got you scared, had you reliving memories that you couldn't have experienced before.
Taro Tsurugi screamed and shouted at the doctor about how he must have had defective equipment or misread the results. His fists were balled and shaking, clenched in a white knuckled grip. Such was the vitriol he spewed that even the doctor was growing wary, and had slowly stood up from his seat. Something in you urged you to act.
So you did.
With all the courage and strength your four-year-old self had, you stood from your chair and hugged your father. The suddenness of it cut off his stream of words as he looked at you, surprised.
"Please stop, dad." you pleaded. "Please."
"T-Takeo--" the older man stuttered. "Son, your results--"
"They don't--" you hiccupped. "They don't matter. C-Can we go get ice cream?" when he didn't reply immediately, you dared to look up at him. "P-Please?"
That calmed him down, the fury and hate cooling into regret and sorrow. He picked you up with his strong arms and tucked you close as he apologized to the doctor and walked away.
The rest of the day passed by quickly enough. Your father brought you to the local ice cream parlor and bought you a three big scoops of your favourite flavors, and bought you a new pet cat that you named Sunny; due to its orange-yellow fur reminding you so much of the sun.
That night, you pretended not to hear your mother's weeping as you tried to sleep.
Things changed after your diagnosis.
Your friends on the playground and at school suddenly called you names when you spilled the results of your quirk test. Everyone turned on you with the sort of cruelty only children could produce.
Nobody wanted to play you anymore, and when you tried to join their games they were quick to shoo you away with words and thrown projectiles when that didn't work. Few wanted to be your friend due to you being the 'Quirkless Weirdo', and those who stayed your friend left when they received a piece of the insults you got.
Some kids even went as far as to pretend to be your friend, only to set you up for pranks that had you coming home covered with paint or mud or with torn clothes and in tears.
The name calling and mockery didn't sting as much as you thought it would, but the loneliness and isolation and betrayals… they tore at you much worse.
Your parents tried their best to intervene and cheer you up where they could, but they couldn't always be there and there wasn't much that their words could do to help dissuade the torment you went through.
Until one day, your dad came up to you with an idea…
"A martial arts class?" you blinked at your dad.
"Yep! I know a few good ones in the neighbourhood, so there won't be a shortage of options for you to choose from with all sorts of techniques." he nodded. "Attend a few lessons, learn some moves, toughen up, and then beat up your bullies whenever they try to hurt you again!"
You pursed your lips, that same presence from deep in you finding a lot of amusement from your dad's words. It… didn't feel right to learn things just so you could beat other people up, even if they would be beating you up otherwise. It would be like you turning into your bullies. And wasn't that wrong?
You feel pride and agreement from deep within, but also something… more complex. You couldn't describe it with a word, but you could equate it to your parents scolding you for something you shouldn't do unless it was for a good reason.
"But wouldn't that mean I'd turn into a bully myself?" you ask your father. "Isn't that a bad thing, dad?"
"Oh, aren't you a good kid?" he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug. "Okay son, let me tell you a very valuable lesson."
He kneels in front of you and gently holds your shoulders.
"Using what you have to hurt others for something they do can be good and bad depending on what they do." your father explains. "Look at All Might for example."
"All Might does bad things?" you blink, shocked.
"He beats up people and breaks things that aren't his, doesn't he? Those are bad things." your father says. "But those people and things would have hurt other people or destroyed things that weren't theirs. Stopping them is a good thing, even if it means hurting them in the process."
"Because it can stop more people from being hurt?" you blink.
"That's right." you father nods. "And that 'more people' also applies to you, Takeo. You don't like being hurt, don't you?"
"No." you shake your head.
"And neither do your mother and I. So its not a bad thing if you have to hurt people to defend yourself." he raises a finger and taps your nose. "But only if they're trying to hurt you. You can't hurt them after they stop, because…?"
"Because that would make me just like them!" you cry. "Right?"
"Atta boy!" he moves forward, sweeping you into his arms. "I knew you'd get it!"
You hug him back, delighted. Deep inside you, you can also feel delight from the presence.
Two days later, he brings you to one of the martial arts classes he told you about. The dojo and their senseis were kind and understanding about your plight, and were more than willing to take you under their wing.
There was paperwork to fill out and agreements to agree to, but in no time at all you were put into a white Gi standing in front of the class with your sensei by your side.
A quick introduction and greeting later sees you partnered with one of the other students to see where you were and what sort of regimen would best suit you for your future growth.
"So, you're the new kid huh?" your partner says to you. "You don't look like much."
She was green, lean, and had a smirk that made her look sort of mean. She carried herself with the kind of pride you wish you had, and looked like she had the know-how to prove that it was well-warranted. You swallowed the lump in your throat and bowed politely.
"I hope you can make me better then, senpai." you nod at her.
"Oh, I will!" she laughs, settling into a stance. "Now man up and come at me!"
You try to copy her stance, legs shoulder width apart and arms raised. Its bad enough that your opponent doesn't bother hiding a bark of laughter so mocking that you feel your blood rush to your face.
Heck, even the presence in you is amused at you.
That has you rushing forward with a cry, fists raised to grab and smack.
The girl in front of you snorts and moves, slapping away your hands and grappling your arms onto your back. A leg sweep kicks one of your legs out from under you and you tumble to the floor with a loud 'oof' from the air forced out of your lungs.
She pins you in place for a long moment before getting off. You roll over and find her smirking down at you.
"You're even worse than I imagined!" she laughs, pulling you up and getting back into another stance. "You went down so quick that I forgot I was supposed to find out where you suck, not how much!"
You bristle, the deep presence feeling amusement at her and your reaction. Enough that it… does something. Like unlocking a door.
"One more time!" she says. "Lemme see your suckiness again!"
You enter a stance again, but this time… this time, something in the back of your mind urges you to do it differently this time.
Rather than copying her stance, you adopt a new one; posture low, hunched down, hands open and eyes set. It gets her to raise a brow.
"Whoa, trying something new eh? That won't help." she smirks. "If you think otherwise, come at me then!"
You oblige her, rushing forward with quick steps. But this time, you don't immediately let loose your arms and hands; instead you aim low, going for her legs and lower abdomen to grapple and throw.
She sees this and moves to counter, lowering down and sweeping a leg at you.
Without thinking, you hop over the extended leg and tackle the girl. She lets out a yelp as you are both sent tumbling, and she squirms hard to get some distance. But you move faster, hands snaking around her little form and clamping hard like vice grips.
It takes the girl another moment of squirming to realize she's stuck and taps on your arm thrice. You let go on instinct, getting back up. She takes your offered hand with a scowl and huffs.
"Wipe that grin off your face, that was a fluke." she says. "It won't happen again."
"If you say so." you chuckle. "I'm just surprised you suck as much as I do, despite being here longer."
"Oh, them's fighting words!" she snarls, getting back into another stance. "C'mon, best two outta three!"
"Your funeral!" you laugh, entering your own stance.
Again, you adopt the same stance. Again, you rush in to grapple and throw.
This time, your opponent does the same; lunging at you with a look of focus and fire burning in her eyes. She lashes out with a low kick and a jab that you dodge and block respectively. You retaliate with a sweeping left backhand and a low kick that both connect, sending the girl stumbling back.
She stares at you, wide-eyed and unblinking from surprise. You settle back into the same stance and even make a come-hither motion with your hand.
That pisses her off, and her runs at you with all the indignant fury of an angry 6-year-old. But before she enters your reach, she jumps and, with forward momentum on her back, raises her legs.
The presence in you is impressed at the textbook flying kick she just pulled off. You yourself feel a little intimidated.
But that same thing in the back of your head urges you onward, and you comply without hesitation; spinning in place and raising a leg just as your opponent flies past. The blow connects and she's sent out of her flight to a sprawl all over the training mats.
She sit up and pouts.
"You're cheating!" she cried.
"Wha- how?!" you cried back, indignant. "I just started today!"
"I don't believe that!" the girl got back on her feet, marching over. "You pulled off a roundhouse kick! And your hands were quick, just like sensei's!" she points at you, finger brushing against the tip of your nose. "You must've had training before this, didn't you?! You had some, some super-secret sensei go up to your house and train you in that kind of kung-fu!"
"You don't even know what it's name is!" you swat her finger away. "If you don't know it, how would I?! And I didn't have training before this, it's just… I dunno, some kinda feeling I got!"
"Feeling?" she blinked. Then she smirked. "Aha! You're using your Quirk!"
"Quirk?!" you snarl, anger rising. "I don't have a--!"
"Enough, children." your sensei called out, walking over. "Calm down, both of you. Now."
He stood tall, almost as tall as your father, but with a stern look that is far more intimidating. You wilt beneath his gaze, guilty at your outburst, and so does your sparring partner. Your sensei hums and nods his approval.
"Takeo-kun, you show much promise for martial arts." your sensei starts. "Those moves you did earlier, they reminded me of my colleagues who specialized in Jiu-Jitsu."
"What's that?" the girl asks.
"It's another kind of martial art, quite different from the sort I teach but nothing I am not unfamiliar with." he starts. "It focuses on grappling and chokeholds, forcing your opponent to the ground so you can take away their advantages in size and strength so you can pummel them into submission."
"That's not the sort of martial art you teach is it, Sensei?" you ask, disappointed.
"I do not teach it, but I know enough of it to train you. And you are prodigious enough to possess instinctive knowledge on its basic principles, so that simplifies my efforts more." he reaches over and pats your head. "Do not fret, young Tsurugi.
Excitement and anticipation bubbled up in your chest; things were looking up!
"Now, make up." he orders. "You were both being quite troublesome together, and since you both will be here for a long time yet, I expect you both to be cordial on and off the mat."
You and the girl exchange stink eyes, and wilt beneath Sensei's gaze a little more before you man up and make the first move.
"Thank you for the match, senpai." you bow. She looks at you for a moment before bowing back.
"You're welcome, kouhai." she smirks at you. "I'm Tokage Setsuna. It'll be a pleasure to work you into the mat next time."
"Takeo Tsurugi." you dare to smirk back. "I'll be waiting for the work, then."
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
A year passed since you started going to that dojo at six years old. Under Sensei's tutelage, your skill with Jiu-Jitsu has grown enough that you can take on some of the older students on equal footing and not lose.
Not win, of course; they were much too big and far more experienced for you to get close enough for your Jiu-Jitsu to work. But they weren't able to pin you to the training mat for too long anyway, so it was more or less even.
But that didn't mean you were untouchable; Setsuna saw your improvement and threw herself into her training more, growing more and more skilled so she could show you up if you ever thought about getting a big head. And she was successful in such endeavors too, often being the only one besides the seniors who can actually pin you down and properly cost you a victory.
That sparked a competitive streak in you that urged you to train harder. To try and be better so you could show up Setsuna whenever she got a big head herself.
On your seventh birthday, however, the deep presence within you radiated approval and… you don't think it urged you, but there was nonetheless something driving you to do something more.
Jiu-Jitsu was good, great even, but it felt like one piece of a much grander puzzle. One you felt, with instinctive certainty, would open up a prize you couldn't scarcely imagine.
So a few days after your seventh birthday, you went to your mother and talked about…
"Sword lessons? You mean Kendo?" you mother blinks at your request, glancing away from her latest work; a statue of All Might flexing his mighty arms. "Isn't that just another martial art?"
"Yeah mum, it is." you nod.
"Why? I thought you loved the martial arts class you're in right now?" she makes a confused noise, still sculpting the . "If you take both Martial Arts classes and Kendo, you won't have a lot of free time outside of it you know?"
"I know, I know…" you sigh. "Dad told me the same thing and sent me to you for a second opinion."
"What did he say?" she turns away to properly face you.
"He said that it's times like this that he's grateful to have you around so you can stop him from doing anything stupid." you say, remembering everything your dad told you. "He's okay with it, but still sent me your way so you can make sure my mind is set on it."
"And? Are you set on it?"
She looks at you with the same sort of look when she's looking over another one of her works for any imperfections. She's looking for any doubts you may have about going for Kendo when you're already attending a martial arts class to hone your instinctive Jiu-Jitsu, so she can convince you not to.
Not because she thinks you can't, but because she fears it would cut into the time you spend in Jiu-Jitsu and your parents. You love them dearly and they love you, but…
You take a deep breath.
"I am." you nod. "It feels nice to learn how to punch and kick properly, but… there's this, I dunno, emptiness in my hands even when I clench my fingers really hard."
"Heeeeeh? Really? I know the feeling!" she giggles. "I don't feel complete without hold any of my sculpting tools. Maybe you got it from me, hmm?"
"Maybe." you laugh. "So?"
She smiles, a tender and soft, as she reaches over to run her fingers through your hair and pull your head close enough to kiss it.
"Let me finish up here, and we can talk to you father." she comments at last. "We'll see what Kendo classes are close and affordable enough to enroll you in."
With your mother's approval given, your dad was quick to arrange a time to go and visit the Kendo class he mentioned before. It wasn't very far, easily accessible with twenty minute train ride and ten minute walk to and from the station.
The teacher, an old man with deceptively thin limbs and thick white eyebrows, welcomes you in and gives your father documents to sign and a quick talking to so they understood what you would be getting into, as well as to determine when you can join the lesson in conjunction with your budding martial arts classes.
While they speak, you manage to slip away and wander into the dojo to get your first look at a proper swordsmanship class.
It was… enlightening. And almost familiar. Achingly so, if you had to properly describe it. It felt as though you were peering back into a past you never experienced, and witnessing something you loved to do when you've never actually done it.
The rows of Gi-clad students arranged in rows from youngest to oldest, swinging their practice swords in synch led by the seniors, every swing punctuated with cries of exertion.
You felt something like nostalgia and melancholy radiating from that presence deep in you, as well as heightening anticipation and rising excitement; like someone who had been reunited with something they loved after so long apart.
You felt eyes on you, and you turned to see…
"Hello." the girl nods. "Are you new?"
She is… fairly pretty, with her blue eyes matching exceptionally well with her purple hair. The way she carries herself also speaks of a sort of maturity, or surety, that you rarely see in most kids your age.
The presence deep in you is approving; of what, you don't know.
"Come, sit with me." she gestures to her side. "We can speak without interrupting the class."
You oblige her, padding over to sit in a seiza just as she is.
"I'm Saeko Busujima." she introduces herself, bowing.
"T-Takeo Tsurugi." you bow back. She grins.
"My, 'heroic sword'? You parents must have great expectations for you if they went for name as significant as that." she smiles. You can't help but smile with her.
"I noticed. I never asked why they went with a name like that, but…" you shrug. "Well, it fits if nothing else."
"Mm," the Saeko nods. "Is that why you want to join Kendo? To live up to the name your parents gave you?"
You pause, thinking back.
"Something like that, I guess." you nod slowly. "But it's something a little more… selfish."
Saeko cocks a brow, an unasked question.
"I don't want to sound weird but… there's this urge I've been feeling lately. Something in me that's driving me to pick up a sword. And an emptiness in my hands that makes me want to grasp something." you explain, struggling to find the right thing to say. "I don't know the right words for it, but… I just…"
"You feel incomplete." Saeko says. "Your hands don't feel right without a sword to hold on to; and it has to be a sword, because you've tried a lot of other things."
You slump, equal parts relieved and… you supposed exhausted is the right name. That same presence deep in you rumbles its agreement, though there's some niggling about stuff you don't quite understand properly.
Motion beside you has you finally noticing Saeko standing up.
"Come with me." she beckons.
You follow her, circling around the students drilling their katas (how did you know that?) to a sliding door on the far side that leads into a hallway. Quietly, you follow the girl with purple hair down the hall and managing to keep up with her as her pace quickens.
"I know that feeling." she comments. "I've experienced it myself before I got into Kendo. That empty, hollow feeling in your hands… if it's left alone for too long, it would spread to the rest of you." she glances back at you, trailing a finger up her arm to her chest. "All the way to the heart. When that happens…"
Her pace slows a fraction, her eyes growing faintly distant in a way that has you paling and feeling very, very afraid for some reason.
Saeko snaps herself out of it, however, and resumes her pace down the hall. She doesn't speak anymore, and you think you understand why even if you don't have the words to express it with. She keeps going until you both reach another set of sliding doors, decorated with a drawing of a sheathed sword.
Where the doors open, the sword is drawn; your mind supplying a mental image of that glorious event happening.
Inside is a spacious room with doors leading out to a garden, the floor lined with tatami mats and the walls bearing both stands and wall-mounted displays where swords, both replicas and training ones, would be placed.
Saeko strides over to a mount with a pair of training swords. She picks up both with one hand and tosses one at you.
You catch it with an ease that surprises even yourself, and when it settles into your hands… it… it feels--
"Now," Saeko states, though she sounds distant. "Show me what you can do."
The world is a blur, a haze, and smudge. It doesn't matter to the feeling you get from holding this… this treasure in your hands.
It felt like it belonged there, as though it were a part of you that was missing for so long you nearly forgot what it felt like. It felt right, having it in your hands. And made you… complete.
Your ears perk up at the sound of approaching footsteps, but you don't feel the slightest bit of fear. It doesn't phase you when you have a sword in your hands.
You move, bringing your weapon up to block. You shift to the side when you feel an impact on your blade, moving your weight so that your opponent (Saeko, your mind supplies) is thrown off balance from the lack of resistance she expected.
It… everything looks like a blur to you. The world, the room, Saeko. Everything but the sword and the hands holding it. It's as though you're hyper-focused on what you're holding instead of spreading that focus to the rest of the world like you should be.
Your opponent (Saeko!) rushes at you again, this time aiming for a low sweeping slash at your legs.
You jump over it and shift your weight, raising you weapon high and landing a firm blow on the girl's back. With your strength, plus gravity, plus the sword's weight, it forces her to the floor with a grunt as you yourself land gracefully on your feet.
Before she can recover, you leap back and enter a stance you don't recognize. You stay in it as she gets her feet back under her.
There is a long moment of silence before she re-enters her own stance.
"Again."
She rushes you again, faster and more measured. She strikes hard and fast, alternating between slash and swipe and stab to throw you off guard and land a solid blow.
None do.
Your sword rises and moves like a blur, slashing and swiping and stabbing at the girl (Saeko!) with speed and grace that far strips her own, even if you were not as strong as could be to properly take advantage of the hits you land. All too soon, the girl (Saeko!) is put on the backfoot, desperately blocking and parrying your attacks, backpedalling further and further into the room.
You feel your heart race, something like liquid fire flooding your veins. It is a good fire, though; very good. So good that you feeling your lips move, splitting into a toothy grin so wide that it hurts.
Part you wants to feel good more, to keep chasing that building euphoria until you reach a peak you haven't yet climb and getting a prize so great that it robs your legs of strength.
That gets something like a laugh out of the presence deep in you, and something more knowing.
You duck low and swing high, catching the butt-end of the girl's (Saeko's!) weapon and sending it flying out of her grasp. You follow up with a return swing that forces the girl off her and onto the tatami mats with a cry as you kneel over her.
Slowly, the rush fades. The euphoria dies down. The world comes back into focus so you can properly see again.
Saeko is laying under you, your training sword at her neck. Her face is flushed red with exertion, glistening with sweat. Her gi is disheveled, loose enough to reveal her bound chest. She gasps breathlessly, eyes distant and pupils dilated in a way that reminds you of mom and dad whenever they get… handsy.
Common decency finally catches up with you and you scramble off her, suddenly remembering that she's a girl your age and you hit her pretty hard with a training sword. Multiple times.
"I-I'm sorry!" you cry, horrified. "I-I-I don't know what came over me!"
Saeko stays laying still for a long moment.
And then she laughs.
She rights her gi from her place on the floor and sits up, face still flushed and sweaty but practically sparkling from delight. You feel your heart race at the sight, and the presence deep within laughs even more.
"That was a great fight, Takeo-kun." Saeko comments, slowly standing up. "A little rough around the edges, but then that's to be expected of a boy who hasn't held a sword before."
You blink once. Twice.
You… You haven't held a sword before.
"I…" you stammer. "Then how could I have--?"
Saeko giggles, offering a hand and pulling you back to your feet. Her hand lingers a moment longer before pulling away.
"Sometimes," she starts, eyes deep and voice knowing. "People have a sort of… understanding of things. Enough that it can come naturally to them without even trying; like yourself with a sword." she gestures at the weapon in your hand, still holding it tight. "In your case, it's wielding a sword."
"Is that…" you pause. "Is that a good thing?"
Saeko's gaze grows deeper, and half-lidded. It might have been a trick of the light, but you swear her tongue just…
"It's a good thing to you," she taps a finger on your chest. "And me, both."
And that was that.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
You spend the next year balancing your martial arts classes with your Kendo classes, while going to school and learning on the things kids your age should be learning.
Between your bouts with Setsuna and your spars with Saeko, you've begun developing a decent bit of muscle, even though its still mostly hidden under your clothes. Your parents have noticed though, and have started teasing you about all the girls you'd be getting once you hit puberty and how you'll have your work cut out for you beating them back with a stick.
That gets the presence in you to laugh a little, and yourself to start looking for a good stick ahead of time. Preferrably one that looks and weighs like a sword, much to the presence's approval.
Your eighth birthday soon comes and goes, and once again you feel a budding urge to do… something rise in you. Nothing like the urge to swing a sword, but it was nonetheless calling out to you to do something.
The question was… what?
"So you want to see what I do, hm?" you mother hums, chiseling away at a lump of metal… without getting it or her tools to spark. "Why the sudden interest?"
"Can't your darling son indulge in some innocent curiosities once in a while?" you flutter your eyelashes at her, getting her to snort.
"You've been after that Setsuna girl a little bit now, Takeo. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing." she chuckles, putting away her tools. "Alright, spill, what's with the sudden interest? You usually don't stray away from the stuff you're already focusing on unless they catch your fancy."
You open your mouth to try and bullshit a little more, but a stern look from your mother has you sighing.
"I am actually curious about how you do your work, mom. Dad does his best to talk explain it, but I'd be comfier getting the info from you yourself." you fidget. "And… well… I--"
"You want a sword, don't you?" she smirks, and you feel embarrassment burning on your face. "Getting into that chuuni phase with all the kendo lessons and martial arts classes, are you? Tying a towel around your neck and fighting villains in your room?" she laughs. "I'm not surprised it cropped up now, but it's still funny, son."
You grumble, looking away and trying to will the flush from your face. Even the presence in you is laughing, amusement and humor rising up in equal amounts.
"D'aww, aren't you just the cutest?" you mother giggles, reaching over to pinch your cheek.
"Moooom!" you protest, pulling her hand away. That just gets her to laugh harder.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry." she stand up properly and shakes her head, amused. "Tell you what, I've got a meeting with a client in a few days at my studio. Come with me then and I'll show you a thing or five before and after the meeting. Deal?"
You beam, delighted and more than a little excited for the opportunity.
"Deal!"
A few days later, you hop into the car with your mother go with her to her work studio.
It was something she and your father agreed on a while back according to her, to make sure their work didn't clutter up the house and to give themselves a chance to get away from the stress so their efforts provide you a good childhood would pan out better.
Part of you wondered if that was originally the plan or if the thought came after your diagnosis, since they still do bring their work home after they clock out, your mother particularly. You won't talk bad about their efforts though.
You loved your parents dearly. There's no changing that, no matter what your thoughts were.
It takes you and your mother a good twenty minutes to get to her studio, a small warehouse on the far side of the city. When you asked how she could beat the traffic, your mother laughed and told you how she knew every backroad between your house and the next three cities like the back of her hand. At your questioning look, she shrugged.
"Fruits of a misspent youth." she merely said.
The car rolls to a stop in front of the warehouse, and you follow her out of the vehicle and into the building. Inside is spacious, with several works of various states of completion and incompletion spaced evenly with tarps under them. At the far back of the building were two decently-sized rooms, one larger than the other.
One had a furnished interior, with a very comfy sofa, coffee table, a fridge, kitchenette, and an office table complete with messy paperwork and a various notice boards lined with notes and designs.
"This is my workspace." she explains. "It's where I usually meet up with clients to discuss commissions. I also sleep here if I have to stay overnight to complete an urgent commission."
"It's really homey, mom." you note, walking around to the couch with wide eyes. "I could see myself napping here some-- eh?"
You blink once. Twice. Bending over, you pick up a shirt. Your fathers.
Your mother blushes hard enough that you can't help but laugh with the presence in you.
The other room, the much larger one, is the materials storage; where the stuff she sculpts and works with is delivered and put away or brought out whenever she has a commission to do.
Much of it is metal, various kinds and types stacked high and grouped by frequency of use and quality. You follow her in, something in your chest rumbling with a mix of emotions you can't figure out properly.
"My Quirk is Smith's Touch, which lets me manipulate metal with my bare hands like it's clay. I've trained enough that I can channel it through my tools to make sculpting much easier." your mother says, leading you deeper into the room. "Now, I'm not much of a blacksmith nor do I know how to make a proper sword that'll fit your tastes. And I wouldn't give you one anyway, because I'm not going to give a pointy metal stick to an eight-year-old to swing around in my house."
You're proud that you manage to hold your tongue and not pout at her back.
"But that doesn't mean I won't make you one." she stops and turns, gently poking at your nose. You blink, and she giggles. "I said I wouldn't give you one, not make it."
"Really?!" you squeal.
"Mmhm!" she beams. "Aren't such a good mother?"
"The best!" you hop in place, much to her amusement. "So when can I get it?"
"When you're older. Sometime after I'm sure you won't run around the house with it, swinging and and shouting like a total chuuni." you deflate and she grins. She reaches over to pat your head. "Aww, don't so glum son; be good and I might reconsider."
That doesn't comfort you in the least.
Still, she gets to work on your soon-to-be sword and you can't help but be entranced with how she uses her Quirk.
After she rolls up her sleeves, her hands take on a distinct metal-ish property; the skin darkens, hardens, and develops a shine to it that you've only seen on polished cars and skyscraper windows.
With it, she grabs one square of metal and starts working it; squeezing and stretching and flattening the square into a sword-ish shape. The end result is a length of metal one-and-a-half times as long as your mother's arm, too heavy and long for boy your age to be carrying around.
But its weight feels… right, in your hands. Familiar. Like the training swords back at your Kendo dojo. But where those were meant for practice, this was a true weapon for a proper fight. Already, you feel your heart start to race.
Though… it wasn't a sword. Not a proper one, the presence in you points out. There was no tempered point (boshi), no point line (yokote), no ridge line (shinogi) or grain (hada). You grip it by the tang, with no proper handle (tsuka) or handle wrap (tsuka ito) to cushion your hand. It even lacked the front and back notches (ha-machi and mune-machi), as well as a proper blade collar (habaki) and handguard (tsuba).
You still cry out happily and hug your mother, thanking her so much for the gift, but… it wasn't a sword. Just a lump of metal roughly shaped like one.
After that, you're allowed to walk around with your new sword-shaped metal lump as her client arrives for the meeting she had. You don't catch what they look like, too busy marveling at one of your mother's statues and properly weighing your gift in your hands to notice.
But then you feel something on your back. Not physical, but still a feeling. Like eyes watching you.
You turn around…
"Hi." a boy greets. His hair is a shade of black, and messily falls around his head like a mop. His eyes looked funny behind those thick glasses of his, and he held on to his Shonen JUMP manga in front of him like a protective blanket. "I'm Haru. Haru Yotsubaki."
"Hello Yotsubaki-san." you bow back. "Is your parent talking to my mom?"
"Yeah, my mom. She came here after one of her friends recommended your mom for a new art piece in her firm." Haru sighs, walking to you. "It's a little boring here, though. I like it better in my room."
"It is a little boring, yeah. But I'd rather go outside and practice my Kendo or martial arts instead of locking myself up in a room." you nod. "I'm Takeo, by the way."
"Nice to meet you, Tsurugi-san." Haru bows. You laugh.
"No, just Takeo's fine." you insist.
"Then only if you call me Haru." the boy also insists. He looks you over and spots your not-sword. "Hey, what's that?"
"Oh, this? It's a present my mom made for me with her Quirk." you offer it to him. 'I'm taking Kendo classes and tried having her make me a real sword without saying I want her to make me a real sword."
"She saw right through it?" Haru grins, taking your offered item. You laugh.
"Yeah, she did. Got teased for it too." you shake your head. "Man, you can't lie to mom's ever, can you?"
"Yeah, not ever. I tried once and got green peppers for dinner for the next three days." he shudders. He looks your not-sword over and nods. "I can think of a few ways to make this better."
"Really?" you blink.
"Oh yeah. My moms run Black Mesa; a research firm that does stuff for politicians, scientists, and the government. They even take custom orders from Pro Heroes for support gear." Haru explains. "I wanna join up it once I graduate highschool."
"Hey, that's cool!" you smile. Then you blink. "Wait. Moms?"
"Oh, yeah, I got two moms." Haru shrugs. "Its a little strange, but I'm used to it."
"So, what do you think you can do to make my, uh not-sword better?" you ask, watching with a little fascination as his eyes take on a piercing glint as he runs his hands over the item.
"Well, giving it an actual edge and polish would be a good start. Can't be a sword if its blunt, right?" Haru laughs. "And then a proper handguard and handle with wrap. After that…"
He devolves into a lot of technical talk that you barely manage to get, helped in no small amount by the presence in you translating or simplifying what Haru's saying. The boy gives a lot of good ideas, you admit; a smart-sheath that moves the sword to whatever side you feel is easier to draw the blade from, a stun function to the blade that can blunts the edge and shock people it hits, a superheat function that turns the blade's edge hot enough to cut through metal and concrete like butter…
You find yourself enjoying your talk with him, and generally getting along with no small amount of theorizing and jokes on your moms being really strict.
"--And then this one time when my mom had me judge how she'd look in new suits," Haru groans. "It took forever until she was satisfied!"
"I know that pain, man. My mom has me looking over her statues and sculptures every once and a while for see what I think." you flail your hands. "What am I supposed to think about them? That they look tough?"
"Maybe she wants you say that they look nice?" Haru ventures.
"They do look nice!" you gesture at one of the statues. "Look at it! Isn't it great?!"
"…I dunno, it just looks like a statue to me." Haru admits. You sigh.
"Yeah, me too."
"Well, at least its nice to see you boys getting along." a familiar voice cuts in. You and Haru both pale, spinning around. "Even if its at my expense."
Your mom stands there with a look of fond exasperation, shared with another woman who stands next to her.
Bedecked in a suit and carrying radiating an air of confidence that reminds you of your dad, Haru's mom strikes quite the figure. Even her laugh makes you think of your father, even it has a tinkling quality to it.
"Let the boys be boys, Ayu. There's nothing wrong with them not understanding the aesthetic quality of your work." Haru's mom comforts your own, who sighs.
"My own son, not understanding why I ask for his opinion…" she faux-sniffles. "I feel so betrayed…"
"M-Mom, no! I'm sorry!" you rush over and give her a hug. "I'll try to be better next time, promise!"
"As you should." she harrumphs. "Well, did you at least enjoy talking to Haru-kun?"
"Oh, yeah! Haru's got so many ideas for my sword!" you show it to her. "It'll be amazing once he can tinker with it!"
"Getting ahead of yourself there, Takeo-kun." Haru's mom laughs, beckoning Haru to her. "Even if Haru-chan's smart, there's no way I'd let him tinker with anything until he's a little older at least."
"But mooooooom!" comes Haru's groan. He's shushed with a flick to the forehead.
"No buts young man. You're sticking with computer programming and simple crafting until you're ten and that's final." she chides. "Remember, crawl before you can walk, and walk before you run."
"Okaaaaaaaay…" Haru pouts. "Sorry I can't tinker with your sword, Takeo."
"It's okay Haru. We can still talk about our ideas for it." you glance up at your mother. "Right mom?"
"Sure thing, son." she laughs.
Time passed.
You trained more and more, devoting more effort into developing your martial arts and kendo skills.
At first, you were clumsy and clumbersome despite your prodigious talent; enough that you could still be dealt with by more than half of the other students from both your martial arts and kendo classes. Sheer talent and instinct made equal against repetition and determination to show you up.
But then you grew. Slowly, but surely; gradually honing your skills and removing all the unnecessary movements until only the absolutely needed motions were left.
Slowly, your swings and punches grew less predictable and sloppy. Slowly, your footwork improved to the point where most of your moves weren't easy to read. Slowly, you began distinguishing yourself from the other students by winning more spars and losing less.
All too soon, you had distinguished yourself from your peers until only the senior students could handle you; and even then they won more often due to their greater experience and more developed bodies.
But you knew it was only a matter of time. Both you and the presence in you were certain; you'd taken you first true step towards reclaiming what you used to have. What you used to be.
An untamed wind so powerful that it left nothing but destruction in its wake.
Martial Arts (Jiu-Jitsu) Skill advanced to Experienced
Swordsmanship (Yagyu Rodriguez-Ryu) Skill advanced to Experienced
One day, Setsuna arrived late for a martial arts class. Sensei questioned her about it, and she just showed him a card that had him nodding. When you spoke to her about it while sparring, she mentioned how her dad had pitched the idea of going to the gym so she could develop her body more to get the most out of her martial arts.
You were a little skeptical about it, since martial arts involved physical conditioning to toughen the body up as well as drills for the various martial arts techniques being taught. Setsuna agreed, but she wasn't going to turn down a gym membership.
…you admit, the idea stuck to you. So much that you talked to your parents about it and they sent you to a gym they used to frequent before having you.
The owner, an old man whose head was planted on a body-builder's physique, was glad to have you and sent you on your way to the nearest exercise machine.
For a moment, you were a little flustered and fiddled with it dumbly. Dumbly enough to attract the attention of others.
"Hey."
You turned and beheld a body-builder… who looked as young as you, much to the deep presence's shock.
"I haven't seen you here before. You new?" he rumbled. You nodded.
"Y-Yeah. First time going to the gym at all, so I'm a little lost…" you murmured. He grinned.
"Well, better to start now than not at all!" he laughed. "C'mon, let me show you how these machines work."
His name was Musashi Goda. He and his friends made a group that focused on body improvement and health in general, which they aptly named as the 'Body Improvement Squad'. He introduced you to them and pulled you into the fun world that was exercise.
They were a blast to be around!
Gained SWOLE (Greenhorn) Skill
You spend some time with your parents between your training, your spars with Saeko, your geeking out with Haru, and general hell-raising with Setsuna. Their presence was a calming thing that helped soothe whatever aches you accumulated from the day and destress for tomorrow.
Some time spent with your dad showed you his Quirk, Auto-Sense-- the ability to 'feel' the inner workings of vehicles and figure out what is wrong or right with it. It contributed heavily to how passionate he was for cars and automobile-related topics. Besides the auto-shop he owns, he also does custom car work for paying customers.
He also shows you he how he tinkers on the side from time to time using spare junk or broken car parts laying around. He mentioned how he used to be quite the grease-monkey before meeting your mother, talked about how he could dismantle a whole car and put it back together into a tank overnight before your mom managed to curb the worst of it into what he was today.
Some time spent with your mom had you finally realizing what she was looking for whenever she asked for your opinions; criticism and feedback for growth.
You… still don't manage to give her that, though. No matter how hard you try, you just simply lack an eye for art; which has your mother sighing.
"About what I expected. You take that from your father, I suppose; not noticing the more subtle things unless its pointed out to you." she said.
"Is that why you're an artist then, mom?" you had asked. "Because you had an eye for subtle things?"
"Partly. I used to use my keen eyes for--" she pauses. "For… many things, son. Some I liked, and some I didn't."
"What were they, mom?" you pressed, curiosity piqued.
She considered, and slumped her shoulder just a tad. Her expression turned into a mix of exhaustion, regret, and more than a little sorrow; enough that your heart and the presence in you were shocked.
"I'll tell you when you're ready to hear them." she had said at last.
You haven't pried since.
Gained some insight to your parents' past.
On occassion, you're pulled out of your usual humdrum of training and gym efforts by your friends to spend time together.
Friends. You hadn't one of those for a long time.
The first was Setsuna. As rowdy as she was in the dojo, there was no way she wouldn't be worse out of it. More than once were you made to tag along to make sure she didn't get herself into trouble she couldn't have handled on her own, and more than once did you pull her out of a few fights with delinquents and gangs.
But with Setsuna being Setsuna, she doesn't quite stop getting into trouble no matter how many times you tell her off.
So you stop telling her off, and instead direct all her trouble-seeking energy onto you. To that end, you learned how to get under her skin and figured out some of her trigger phrases so she'd focus on you instead of the next rough-looking dude she saw.
Your taunting grew, slowly and gradually, until you could use it on other people; if only to redirect them away from Setsuna if she ever got in over her head.
Which led to now.
You and Setsuna stood over a a few beat up gangers no worse for wear. Setsuna herself was making fun of one of the downed gangers when a girl showed up
"So you two are the brats that keep beating up my boys, eh?" she growled.
"Brats? You don't look any older than us, bitch." Setsuna scoffed.
"Hey, you watch your tongue with me kid; you're talkin' to Revy Two-Hands here!" the new girl shot back. "Baddest bitch around the block, best brawler in the Two-Hands gang!"
"Yeah? You gang don't look like much laying on the ground like this." Setsuna laughed.
That gets Revy mad; enough to shoot a look of sheer hate so cold that even you felt a shiver go down your spine. It also got Setsuna to stop laughing, which was extraordinary on its own.
"You take that back." the girl snarls. Setsuna puts up a smirk, but you know she's intimidated.
"Or what?" your friend shoots back.
"Or I'm beating you and your boyfriend up to hell and back!" she yells, charging ahead.
And that was how you met Rebecca Tatsuyori, resident delinquent, owner to two really nasty fists and a quirk that lets her manifest guns that shoot rubber bullets.
Gained Taunting (Rookie) Skill
Saeko, in contrast, is much more bearable to be around.
Quiet, prim, and proper both on and off the training mat; the girl proves that not all girls are as vicious as Setsuna or Revy. That is a bit of solace you take particular comfort in, as you needed as many anchors of normality as you could take in the face of Setsuna's trouble-seeker tendencies.
She takes care to speak as well as she can to you, and listens with care and no small amount of humor whenever you vent to her about Setsuna's latest bout of delinquency; often complimenting her ability in a fight and yourself for looking after her.
"We should meet sometime." she suggests after a particularly grueling kendo spar. "Myself, Tokage-san, and Yotsubaki-san. All four can go for an outing at the mall so we can get a better look at the company you keep, Takeo-kun."
"She'd eat Haru alive and leave me with his bones to clean up." you groan. "And then she'd drag both of us to the nearest gang hideout so we can 'watch her' beat up all the gangers inside." you slap a hand over your face and drag it down. "And when she's overwhelmed, we'll need to save her ass and she'll say she had it handled."
"Such arrogance and confidence!" Saeko giggled. "How did you even befriend such a wildling?"
"She pissed me off on our first meeting. And when I beat her, she wanted a rematch." you laugh. "I supposed our relationship is just one big d--" you blink. "Uh, flex-off to see who's the better fighter or something."
"You can say 'dick' in front of, Takeo-kun." Saeko giggled again. "I'm not some sheltered princess in a tower."
"Right," you laugh back. "Sorry, Saeko-chan. But you do, sorta… give off that impression with how prim and proper you are."
"Well, it can't be helped." she sighed. "My parents are quite high-profile people, so they can afford giving me things that would make me come off as sheltered." she daintily brought her hand up to her cheek. "That they work for a pharmaceutical company doesn't make things better. Such strict cleanliness…"
"You sound like you don't like being all clean." you cock a brow.
"I don't. One of these days, I'd just like to go out into the rain and roll around in the mud. Get dirty for a change." she sighed, longingly.
"Well, I can't say if beating up gangers is the same, but I'll see if Setsuna would agree to a meet up sometime." you offer.
The smile Saeko gives you is bright and… a tad bit eager.
"I'd like that. Thank you Takeo-kun." another quick movement at her mouth. Did her tongue just… "I'm sure it'll be a great time."
Gained Bloodlust (Greenhorn) Skill
Amidst all the femininity that was two of your four friends, Haru proved to be a good bastion of masculine solidarity outside of the Body Improvement Squad and your father. It stood to reason that you would spend some time with him too.
You usually meet up with him after school at a park and walk to either his house or yours, where you'd end up talking for hours as you played video games or vented out things you couldn't vent to the girls or your parents.
For you, it was a mix of frustration from Setsuna's antics and your parents' past with a dash of good compliments for Saeko's swordsmanship.
For Haru, it was how restrictive and strict his moms were about what he was going to be growing up, and why it was important for him to carry on their legacy to the next generation.
"The thing is," he vented out as you both played Tekken 13: Devil Reclamation. "What if I don't want to carry on their legacy? What if I wanted to make my own?"
"What, build your own research firm to do R&D stuff yourself?" you ask.
"Yeah! Like, what they do is great and all because giving support gear to Pro Heroes or writing programs for government ministries benefits a lot of people," his character pulls off a combo on yours. "But I want to help people my own way, with my own inventions."
"What kind?' you prod, parrying a punch and combo-ing his character.
"Like prosthetics to help the disabled, exo-suits to make construction workers and extreme-enviro workers safer, and stuff that can help Pro Heroes do their jobs easier." he grumps. "It's stupid how little people nowadays do with all the tech in the modern day and the past if its not to help them with their Quirks."
"Don't you have a Quirk too?" you ask, moving your character to dodge the beginning of a combo. "It's kinda hypocritical to say that isn't it?"
"Yeah, but I try to use it and whatever Support Gear I make for it to better our future! Not something like Pro Hero work when there's so many out there already." he sighs, losing as your character lands the finishing blow on his. "Man, life sucks sometimes…"
"Well, look on the bright side; once you're old enough to leave the house, they won't be able to stop you from doing what you want to do." you try and comfort him. "Just gather money, make connections, and bam! Dream accomplished."
"It's not that simple, Takeo. Even if I wish it was." he sits back up. "Bah, maybe getting back to your sword ideas can help."
"Nah man, let's play another game. Get that thought out of your mind for a bit." you pick up the spare controller. "Maybe another Minecraft 2 session?"
"…yeah. Yeah, inventing can wait." he snags the controller. "I wonder if Mel's online right now."
"She's a nightowl, of course she is." you laugh. "Smart as she is, you'd have thought she'd understand how sleep cycles work by now."
"I-Island moves around a lot, so timezones change." Haru chides. "You can't fault her for that."
Gained Prototype Sword v1.0
Time passes on well enough; your friends meet, your skills are honed further, the presence in you stays unchanging. It almost feels like things would stay the same for the rest of your life.
Sadly, it does not, following a particular event a month after your twelfth birthday…
[PROLOGUE COMPLETE]