Chapter Text
Ochako craves a boring day.
Just once she would like to venture to a grassy area, roll out a picnic blanket, and stare at the sky until her eyes water. Her parents would come, their arms cradling dozens of unhealthy snacks from the local discount store, the plastic wrappers crinkling with every slight movement.
They’d take off their shoes, and their toes would become wet from the morning dew that hadn’t had a chance to dry. A few stray ants would wander onto their blanket in search of sugary morsels. Her mother would gently sweep them to the side, while her father would allow one to crawl onto his finger, turning his hand to study it, before he finally returned it to its grassy knoll.
They’d all struggle to come up with a conversation topic, and when they finally did, it would be something mundane. The lovely weather. The shape of the clouds. The model of a vehicle passing by on the road.
It would be a perfect day. Boring, maybe, but unburdened. Free.
The screech from a rusty shopping cart wheel brings Ochako back to Earth. She silently berates herself for losing focus. Subconsciously, she runs her thumbs over the pads of each finger. She has to be careful. The weather is still too warm to wear gloves. It would arouse suspicion.
She smiles tightly at a young teenager who’s gathering carts in the store parking lot. A thin sheen of sweat shines on his face, and he momentarily pauses to use his employee uniform to blot it. He misses her smile, but Ochako prefers it that way.
She sucks in a small breath as she enters the market. It’s a bad habit she hopes no one notices. A regular person wouldn’t be nervous to enter a grocery store. A regular person’s breathing wouldn’t stall.
Ochako recognizes Kiyama-san, one of the front-end clerks. She is a petite elderly woman with paper thin skin and a semi-toothless smile. The woman nods her head in greeting, her eyes crinkling as her smile spreads. Ochako returns the gesture, taking care to keep her hands tucked by her sides. Kiyama-san is a kind person, but it’s a death sentence to be too trusting.
Especially considering Ochako is not a regular person.
She moises into the canned goods aisle. Her father had requested lychee, and she knows her mother is fond of the packaged bread they have here. She’s about to approach the grain section when she sees someone approaching from the opposite end, headed for an adjacent shelf. Ochako pauses, and then as inconspicuously as she can, she modifies her path, skipping past the aisle. She’ll have to circle back later.
These calculations are second nature to her. She’s made them all her life. It’s either that, or be locked in her own home for her own safety. And for the sake of life as she knows it.
Her family has already had to move twice because of her. Once, when she was four, she’d grown upset at a fireworks display on their boardwalk. The colors were too bright and the noises, uproarious. She’d covered her ears to offer herself some respite, and then her body had left the ground.
Her mother was quick to pluck her from mid-air, sweeping her into her arms with a nervous chuckle, but it was no use. A family was passing by, and the father had seen. Ochako remembers the look on his face. At first pinched with laughter, and then all at once, stony.
Her mother had rushed them home, and together her parents scrambled to pack what little they owned into their rusty mauve-colored pick-up truck. They’d left that night. Ochako hasn’t been able to tolerate the smell of sea salt since.
The second time was when she was sixteen. She’d had a crush on a boy who attended school with her. He had round, almond-colored eyes like her own that shimmered when he talked about baseball. Ochako didn’t know the least about sports, but she could listen to him talk about player statistics for hours. And she did; the two would frequently stay after school together to collaborate on home assignments.
He had liked her too, she’d thought. He’d even tried to hold her hand once.
But the movement had been so unexpected, Ochako didn’t have time to concentrate. The gentle gesture soon became one of regret and horror. His feet had left the ground, and he’d drifted toward the classroom ceiling. The only thing anchoring him was Ochako herself. His mouth opened in a surprised ‘o,’ and then he began writhing, calling for help.
Two members of the teaching staff were there in a flash. By that time, Ochako had figured out how to release him, and he came crashing to the floor, his leg knocking unceremoniously against a cluster of chairs. She’d tried to push past to the exit, but one of the teachers had gripped her elbow harshly, her nails digging into the skin of her arm.
“Call a Detainer,” the woman barked to the other, and Ochako’s heart dropped.
She thrashed with all of her might, finally breaking free after a well-placed kick to the woman’s ankle. She’d sprinted all the way home, her throat hot from gasping and her cheeks stained with tears and mucus.
The truck was loaded within twenty minutes.
Now, at twenty-three, Ochako can’t afford to risk her and her parents’ lives again. If she’s found out, that means her parents will be found out. They’d be separated, carted like cattle to one of the Reconditioning Facilities scattered throughout the nation. They’d torture her, starve her, anything it took to exterminate her power. Her Defect.
The politically correct-term for these unnatural abilities, at least among activists, is ‘Quirk’. Toshinori Yagi had coined the term a few years ago. Toshinori is one of the few people with irregular abilities who’s decided to devote his life to liberating a subjugated people. And thus, naturally, he’s constantly on the run. All Might , they call him. He gives many people like Ochako hope, in a world where there shouldn’t be any.
Ochako finds him admirable, but she’s also not convinced a thing like terminology matters when she would be torn from her family regardless. Her Quirk, Defect—whatever you choose to call it—is more prominent than most people’s, which makes it that much more difficult to hide.
Ever since she was a baby, she’s had trouble staying on the ground. Her body lifts into the air without rhyme or reason, and she’s left helplessly floating until she tires. Her effect on people and objects are the same. Over time Ochako has deduced the pads on her fingers are behind it, but she can’t very well wear gloves year-round. Especially not with the government’s aggressive citizen-reporting policy.
Her parents’ abilities, while similar in nature, don’t carry the same amount of power or risk. Her father can make objects heavier, and her mother can bob off the ground, but both traits are slight enough that they can be easily controlled. They’ve never had any close calls, not like she has.
Ochako peeks down the aisle to find the person from before is still there. A wave of irritation washes over her. She can’t keep lurking like this. She’ll have to come back tomorrow to get what she needs.
She exits the store empty-handed, nodding to Kiyama-san on the way out. As soon as she’s off the premises, she allows her shoulders to relax. No people means no worry, but she still does.
The walk home in her sparse neighborhood is peaceful with the setting sun. The orange and pink hues stretch onto the concrete side-walk, revealing a small chalk sketch of a woman. Whoever drew this is no artist, but Ochako thinks she can make out wavy hair, and a mole tucked below the lip. There’s no mistake; it’s Shimura Nana.
Ochako increases her pace, making sure to put as much distance between her and the drawing as possible. The sketch will likely be covered by Defect Detainers, if it isn’t washed away by the rain first. Regardless, whoever drew it is a fool. It’s needlessly risky, and it could get people in trouble.
What’s worse, it looks like the sketch was made by a child, one whose parents clearly enjoy playing with fire. Ochako takes care to steady her exasperated breathing, lest her focus slips.
Sometimes she doesn’t know why her parents even had her. Defects first manifested well before her parents’ time, so they were already well aware of what bringing a child into the world would mean. Certainly they didn’t expect to have one with such a challenging ability to conceal. Ochako’s parents could probably live a semi-normal life if she wasn’t in the picture. Is she really worth the running, the anxiety, the constant looking over their shoulders? Is she worth the paranoid wondering if someone had been staring too much for too long? She doubts it.
Not for the first time, Ochako makes a promise to herself that she will never have children.
_ _ _
“I can just stop by the grocery store after work tomorrow,” her mother says to her that night. “It’s no trouble.”
“No, that’s okay. I said I would do it,” Ochako responds, feeling annoyed with herself.
She should have found a way around the aisle situation. Her family has eaten a measly dinner of instant ramen and unseasoned rice for the past three nights. The ingredients at the market would have at least made for a decent lentil soup.
Her parents already work so hard. They both have full-time jobs and, up until recently, have doubled as her teachers. Since their last move, they decided it was safer for Ochako to finish her education at home, rather than risk another incident. While she is no longer in school, her Defect is too troublesome for her to work. It’s better she stays out of the way.
Ochako knows her parents would never resent her, but it makes days like today that much harder. Knowing she can’t even do something as simple as pick up groceries. Another failure.
Her parents must sense her growing distress, because they change the subject.
“Reading anything good these days?” her father asks, starting to clear away their dinner trays. He chuckles as Ochako gently swats his hands away, gathering up the dishes herself.
“Oh, nothing too interesting,” she replies, moving to the sink. She turns on the faucet, waiting for it to sputter a few times before a steady stream flows.
“I highly doubt that,” her father says. “What’s that one with the golden cover? You couldn’t seem to put it down.”
Her mother smiles. “Ah. I know the one.”
Ochako’s cheeks redden. “It’s nothing, Daddy. Really.”
“It’s a romance,” her mother fills him in. “About a young maiden who falls in love with a mystical beast. Or is it the other way around?”
“Oh, my. How lascivious,” her father jokes. “Are there any beasts I should know about in your life, Ochako?”
“Um, none that I can think of.” Ochako focuses on scrubbing a particularly tough patch of rice from one of the trays.
She doesn’t know why she’s so embarrassed. It’s just a book. But it feels personal somehow, when she’s flipping through those pages. With the way things are, whimsical ideas like magic and beasts seem more appealing. The concept of falling in love feels so foreign, an untouchable experience. It’s one she’ll likely never have.
Ochako feels like she’s had enough self-wallowing for one day though, so she finishes the dishes and rejoins her parents. She laughs with them about fairytales and folklore, tearing them apart, all of them pretending they’ve never imagined themselves in one.
Her parents eventually retire for the night, their exhaustion prevalent in their eyes despite their smiles. Her father pecks her on the forehead, and her mother flattens down her chestnut hair until the ends skim the tops of her shoulders.
“Good night, sweetheart,” they croon, and she echoes in kind.
Ochako doesn’t go to bed right away. She dusts the living room, listening as the rustling of her parents’ sheets quiet as they succumb to sleep. There’s nothing remarkable about a night like this. It’s exactly the same as every other. But Ochako wishes she had savored it more, as it’s the last time she ever sees either of them.
_ _ _
The following morning is overcast, enough for Ochako to wonder if she should have brought an umbrella. The walk to the grocery store is short enough, but it’s the return trip she’s more concerned with. Paper bags rarely hold their own against downpours.
A careful breeze flows through a line of maple trees along her path, their leaves still vibrant with a distant summer green. The occasional car passes by, but for the most part it’s just the rustling of branches and her quiet footsteps.
Ochako tries not to think too much of it when the chalk sketch from yesterday is nowhere in sight. She knows it hasn’t rained.
To her disappointment and mounting anxiety, the market is busier than it was yesterday. Mothers with infants bouncing on their hips, teenagers picking up refrigerated caffeine before the start of school, and retirees on the hunt for bone-strengthening vitamins have all gathered. Without much time to steady her breathing, Ochako presses on.
She wanders to the produce, pretending to take her time with her selection when really she just needs a moment to steady her nerves. Even now, her heart is galloping in her chest. She should have come later in the day, but she can’t leave now. This is the second day in a row she’s visited, and it might be suspicious if she doesn’t purchase anything again. There’s no such thing as unwarranted paranoia when the risk is so high.
Just as she’s about to reach for a bundle of enoki mushrooms, there’s a small commotion behind her. She turns, finding a boy on his hands and knees, frantically trying to pick up a group of pears knocked from their display. He looks young, maybe not even fourteen. His movements are almost frenzied, and it makes Ochako worry on his behalf.
Against her better judgment, she approaches him. He doesn’t notice her at first, but then she sets aside her shopping basket and crouches beside him. The boy starts when she reaches for a pear, helping him to gather up the fallen fruit. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Kiyama-san approaching, most likely with a wet nap or similar cleaning material.
Ochako is about to rise to aid her, when the boy’s hand locks around her wrist. His eyes, a breathtaking violet, are red-rimmed with unshed tears. A muscle twitches across his cheek, and a vein stands out sharply by his temple.
He’s terrified.
“Please, help me,” he breathes, his voice shaky even without the hum of vocal volume.
Ochako is so startled she doesn’t understand what he means until she glances at one of the pears. She plucks it from the ground, turning it over just to be sure. The fruit is littered with black spots, and a sickly sweet and smoky smell rises from it. It looks like it’s been singed. Ochako realizes it has. The other pears are just like this one. Spots, the size of fingerprints, cover every one.
Kiyama-san is nearly here, and the boy’s grip tightens on Ochako’s wrist. They’re out of time.
“Go,” Ochako hears herself say, and she jerks her head to a side aisle, next to the seafood section.
The boy doesn’t need to be told twice. Without so much as a thank you, he scampers off, right as the new visitor arrives.
“I heard a display fall. It sounded like bouncing fruit,” Kiyama-san remarks. Her age shows as she bends down, her joints creaking as she prepares to wipe up any leftover stains.
“Oh please, let me,” Ochako insists, but her voice sounds off, even to her own ears. She hastily picks up the rest of the pears, hoping the older woman hasn’t noticed their irregularities. “I-It was my clumsiness, after all.”
Ochako’s heart sinks as Kiyama-san adjusts her spectacles, picking up a lone pear that’s been caught on the bottom corner of the display. Her thumb presses into one of the burn spots.
“Eh? A bad batch of fruit?” she wonders out loud, turning it over in her pruned hand. One of the black spots has a very distinct fingerprint. Hers or the boy’s, Ochako doesn’t know.
She is very close to tears now. She swallows heavily, rising from her crouch.
“W-Well, I think I’ll just be going. Sorry for the trouble.” She bows, hoping that will be enough to set things right.
It’s because of her flustered state that she makes a miscalculation. From her place on the ground, Kiyama-san has come eye-level with Ochako’s hands. The woman’s gaze falls to the rounded pads of her fingers, and then, even more horrifyingly, back to the fruit.
Ochako turns on her heel, the rubber of her shoe leaving a black streak on the off-white title. She flees the grocery store without her items for a second day, but the last thing she is thinking about is ingredients for a stew.
Her mind is racing a mile a minute. Her parents are still at work; should she alert them? This isn’t like those other times. Her own Defect hasn’t given her away. But would that even matter? She’d acted guilty enough.
I shouldn’t have helped that boy, she thinks selfishly, angry tears brimming in her eyes. He should have been more careful. Like we all are.
She tries to quiet her breathing, talking herself off the ledge little by little. What if she’s overreacting? Is something like this really enough to warrant uprooting her entire family again? Where would they even go next?
Ochako pauses by the line of maple trees and leans against one. She presses her forehead to the bark, collecting herself. Thinking. Rationalizing.
She has no real reason to think Kiyama-san would report her. The woman has always been kind. She doesn’t seem like the type to rat someone out, even for possessing a Defect. Even that line of thinking is dangerous, but there are other factors to consider.
The old woman’s vision is failing her. She could easily question the validity of what she had just seen. Who’s to say those spots couldn’t have already been there? Besides, Ochako doesn’t have a fire Defect. She should be fine. No. She will be fine.
She takes one last deep breath and then straightens with new resolve. She can’t keep living this way. Some things are unavoidable, but she hasn’t done anything wrong. She’ll find a different market to go to from now on, just to be safe. Even if she has to walk an extra three miles. Even if it’s an extra five. Everything will be fine.
When she returns home, she opts to make a watery soup with the remaining ingredients her family has in the pantry. She’s too rattled from today’s events to try another market, so the safest thing to do is stay put. Tonight’s dinner won’t be spectacular, but it will do.
Ochako will tell her parents she got too caught up in reading, and she wasn’t able to make it to the store. She can stomach their mild disappointment for a day if it means saving them from unneeded worry. She can worry enough for the three of them.
The sun is just starting to dip past its peak when Ochako begins dinner preparations. There isn’t much to do, besides cut up the spare vegetables and heat the miso broth. As she’s chopping some slightly mushy maitake, she considers asking her parents if they can start a family garden. If they did, then maybe they wouldn’t have to visit the store as frequently. They could live off their land, grow their own vegetables. If they get good at it, they could even try their hand at strawberries. She’s always been partial to fruit.
Anything but pears, Ochako thinks, as she sweeps the diced maitake off the cutting board with her knife. The pieces land in the simmering water in a symphony of pleasing drops.
Ochako smiles to herself, adjusting the settings on the stovetop. Yes, a garden sounds wonderful. She’ll tell her parents when they get home.
That’s when a small black object smashes through the front window.
Ochako’s grip on her knife slips, and the blade clatters to the floor. She barely has time to move before a plume of thick gray smoke envelops the small living space. Ochako cries out, choking on the substance, her eyes stinging. She grasps desperately for something to steady herself, her shoulder smacking painfully against the refrigerator handle in her disorientation.
She collapses to her knees, attempting to shield her face as another round of broken glass scatters onto the kitchen floor. A horrible banging reverberates against the front door. This isn’t the knock of a disgruntled neighbor. It sounds like the heavy, deliberate contact of a battering ram.
Tears streaming down her face from the smoke, Ochako hands fumble along the floor until she finds the fallen kitchen knife. She seizes the handle just as her front door bursts open. She can’t see their signature pale orange uniforms through the smoke, but she doesn’t have to. The regular police wouldn’t enter this way.
As soon as she feels someone grab at her leg, she flips over with a scream, lashing out with the knife. The blade slices anticlimactically along what she thinks is a human shoulder, but she has no concrete proof. She feels more hands on her body now. On her legs, wrists, chest, neck. Someone tugs her roughly by the hair, and panic seizes her.
Ochako screams and screams, but her captors work silently. All of them are adorned in face masks. Those with hands not holding her body are working on restraints. She manages to kick one in the neck; she feels the bruising of her big toe as it hits a trachea. The next moment something sharp bites into her own neck, and her body goes limp.
She wishes she were completely knocked out, but she’s conscious the entire time. Her face is swollen from the stinging smoke and her tears. Her thoughts are muddled from whatever substance they’ve injected into her. Together the group adjusts their hold on her, and they carry her from her home. The water is still boiling on the stove.
My parents won’t have dinner, Ochako thinks vaguely, as she’s loaded onto the back of a holding truck. The containment unit isn’t padded.
“Please,” she says to one of them, maybe even the one who she kicked in the throat, “Can I please just say goodbye?”
As long as she’s able to at least say goodbye, she thinks, then what's to come won’t be as horrendous as she’s always been led to believe.
The door shuts.