Finally. God damn.

Disclaimer: Boku no Hero Academia is not my property. My OCs are

The Finer Things in Life

Chapter 6

"The Later, The Better (Part 2)"

Time really is seeing how far a day can stretch.

It was finally their turn after two boring battle shows. All the students had to watch from the control room for critical analysis/ commentary of other students' performances. Mohoka was right about the beef going on between green troll and homicidal blondie: some type of grudge is transparent between them. Once they got to battling, it started out fine. Two minutes in, skyscrapers and buildings were broken and scarred beaten by their supreme angst. Their teammates, Cabbage Patch and Andorf, were ever more boring. Andorf looked like he was going to keel over and have a stroke from being a villain, and Cabbage Patch seemed a little bit lost on what to do with herself.

The next one, well, she can't relay the details because her face was aimed at the wall the entire time. She can provide info on the wall though: Good painting, but it's chafing so someone needs to repaint it.

The new arena sits in an urban city, but unlike the first two, these have connected parkway strips curved back and forth with street lamps dotted on the sides and road signs hanging from perfect lines of silver metal. It links two different sides of the city underneath a gray sealed sky. Mohoka whole face sags just looking at it.

The opposing team, Team J, consists of two male students: The Fanta guy she sits behind in class and a spiky redhead with his spiky teeth and spiky everything. His head gear is more shaped like a demonic muzzle, keeping his large razor, ebullient grin at bay like a feisty demon. In truthfulness, homicidal blondie would be a more appropriate candidate for that muzzle. Fanta has the potential to be a new member of the new and improved Power Rangers team. His costume demonstrates, but his mutated elbow housed for his quirk might deter them away.

Mohoka snickers. Purple Lumpy's eyes shoot in her direction. "Y'know All Might said, 'Go' three minutes ago."

Mohoka eyelids fall heavy to the blank expression on her face. And maybe Purple Lumpy can see the abstract subtitles orbiting around her: 'I like you a little less now for telling me that.'

"But we have thirty minutes, so it's fine," He reassures. So, they walked and Lumpy talked and Mohoka blocked. Being stripped of her cellphone (like the students are going to Google the answers for a test like this. Is this even Googable?) there's nothing else but to block.

When they arrive at the starting ground, a stacked building with deep windows, Mohoka and Purple Lumpy take out their maps of the inner building given to them by All Mighty Dorito. They scan it and their faces disappear seeing the long hallways, sharp corners, and the many floors and rooms they'll have to go through just to find a paper mache rocket.

The heroes are supposed to find the villains and stop them before they launch their rocket and destroy Japan, or whatever cartoony scenario they'd installed. Everyone's being cartoony today.

"Do you see all those rooms?" Purple Lumpy sweats, sad falling bubbles of nervousness. "The rocket could be anywhere!"

Mohoka blinks, stares up at the building. She makes a stride over to the glass entrance of the building.

"Wha…!" Purple Lumpy rushes to her. "You're just gonna walk through the front door like that!?"

"Why not? They probably know we're already here," Mohoka says.

"Shouldn't we sneak in like ninjas?" Purple Lumpy goes through some made-up ninja moves. More for her eyes' sake, she gives a begging stop.

"Maybe you can, but I'm not." They walk inside the building. It's a flawless picture of what one would see once they go in any important company building or hotel. A clean, shiny main floor dazzled by glittering marble and refine coating. A fine receptionist desk high and flat like a plateau fit for a make-believe receptionist. The lights in the area are shining brightly complimenting the creamy paint on the walls.

A beautiful décor to destroy.

They really made a lavish building just for students to destroy it—it's not a surprise. They made a tiny city for students to ruin in the Plus Ultra exam. It could be, for argument's sake, authentic reasons, but really, who's sponsoring this shit?

Walk a few steps ahead, there's an intersection: north hallway, east hallway and west hallway. Mohoka eyebrows twitch just looking at these hallways. Purple Lumpy is right. They'll have to traverse a whole lot of rooms to find the stupid arts and crafts rocket. Who knows when those two will come.

No one has time for this. She doesn't have time for this.

She peers down at Purple Lumpy, who's actually ready to do this (even though he knows he's forced too if he wants to continue here).

She peruses through her brain. Up pops a gritty idea.

It's a shot. Mohoka knows what's up. She's around the age where hormones are diving and swimming and floating. Boys are attracted to girls. Girls are attracted to boys. And she definitely knows that Purple Lumpy is attracted to her.

"Hey, let me cut you a deal." Mohoka springs up, staring at the purple mini dude. Purple Lumpy looks at her, eyebrows raised, but it's slightly blinded by his purple mask. He blinks owlishly. "What kind of deal?"

"Well…" She raises her pupils, acting if she was building it up in her head. "I don't want to do the battle trial. I don't want to look in all those rooms. So…"

Let's go down the femme fatale route.

She motions Purple Lumpy over and bends down to catch his ear in a whisper. She dares not say this out loud. All Mighty Dorito and the other students are monitoring them from God knows where and she's pretty sure there'll be conniptions all around if they hear what she's about to whisper to him.

'I know you can defeat them, and once you do and get the rocket, I have a reward waiting for you.'

If it was possible, Purple Lumpy's eyebrows would jump to the tip of his lumpy head. His gargantuan smile stretches as if he won the lottery for a billion yen. Without any regard that maybe he should have a strategic plan, he zooms past her down the west hallway, cheering in the distance.

She waves him adieu and sighs blissfully. Don't know what he'll do when he finds out she has nothing for him, but she'll deal with it when the time comes. He's so not going to cop a feel. She'll make sure of that.

Mohoka strides back to the receptionist desk, hops up on the table, hands on the surface and settles there for some time. Shiftless time a long piece, she surmises that the femme fatale wasn't the best.

She's so freaking bored.

But, opting to roam around until the battle trial winds down isn't a glimmering choice either. What if she gets ambushed?

zzzzZZZZIIIIIIPPP. A tug from her gloved wrist.

Yeah, like this. Getting ambushed just like this.

Mohoka swerves her head to look at the jackass culprit pulling her wrist. Fanta stands to the right of her, one elbow cocked and aimed, and the other one wringing her wrist back like a slow lever.

"Gotcha!" He says, the echoes of a cheeky grin inside a tinted mask.

"You're that Fanta guy, right?" Mohoka barely drawls.

"Hey! I'm not a soda!"

"Ok, you're not a soda, let go of me."

"W-What? No! I'm a villain! I can't let you go!"

Mohoka groans, already tired of this exchange. She moves to cut the tape off her, but Fanta snaps another of strip of tape on the other wrist, keeping her locked and immobilized. Mohoka hums, sharp and stormy, continuing until she runs out of breath. This guy is really annoying the hell out of her.

"Ha! Gotcha again!" He cries happily. "It's very hard to break the tape, so don't bother. That's why I filled the room where the rocket is with my tape. One tap and it wraps you up like a mummy. But with Kirishima guarding the room, that purple guy won't get far."

Oh yeah, him. Purple Lumpy. Persevering for her "reward."

"You're one mouthy villain. What kind of villain tells heroes their entire scheme?" Mohoka says loftily.

Fanta recoils a little. "Well, uh—you're gonna lose anyway!" He regains his composure.

"Hmm?" Mohoka gives a weak eyebrow raise.

"Well, you don't like being here. You purposely tried to fail the apprehension test, you came to school late, twice. You tried to skip the battle trial, and you don't even have a battle outfit!" He laughs in good, honest humor. "I was happy and relieved when I got you and the other guy. I knew you weren't gonna do anything. Thanks to you, it's an easy win!"

Mohoka looks at Fanta long and hard and by each second, Fanta's shining confidence drains quietly, wilting as if Mohoka's storm clouds killed any chance of sunlight. Behind those words, Mohoka gathers that he's basically using her as an ego booster. She narrows her eyes.

"Yeah. You're right. I wasn't gonna do anything." Her gloved hands turn into gloved fists. "I don't care if I win. I don't care if I lose. I am gonna close that mouth of yours."

"Eh?"

Using her arms like knobs of a whip, Mohoka lashes the connected tape on her wrists, rapid fierce hills running toward Fanta. Like nothing, he pulls the tape, stops the charge, but Mohoka knows she heard it, that loud sucked in breath like he wasn't expecting that at all. Neither did she. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing. She just knows that she couldn't let Fanta run his mouth and go without consequence. Seeing that he actually needs to try now, he leaps in the air, half turned, then falls into a series of parkour. Maybe he did it for a distraction because she's almost at a lost on what he's going to do next.

Mohoka then straightens her focus. She realizes now: between the pauses of all of those flips, he's using her as a momentum to propel himself.

But, the kickoff into the air wasn't enough for him to land quickly or even pull her towards him. His stupid, pretentious gymnastic moves costed him.

In that narrow moment, Mohoka doesn't hesitate to slap her hands on the desk, rickety-rocking all the objects on the surface. The air is dwindling behind her and she hears feet crashing on tiled floor. Seconds before he could continue, one hand smacks the tape binding her right wrist. She huffs, but it's a fantastic huff for she knows that while she can't feel it, the deed is done.

Fanta's landing is precise, pristine, made from practice and determination that can never be her virtue. But sometimes practice isn't the end all be all—

Mohoka pulls her right wrist back. With no resistance at all, the tape breaks.

"What!?" Fanta exclaims, completely flabbergasted.

The leftover tape sways on her right wrist like a slow wrecking ball. It might as well be.

She takes the jagged, rip tape to the one on her left wrist. One hit and the tape breaks. By his stance, Fanta's body is ready to have several conniptions.

"How…!?"

Her response is a beautiful shit-eating grin.

The distance between them is too perfect for words (and she's not dumb unlike the person across her.) Gripping them like wild reins holding back a deranged horse, her strike is with the tape in her right hand, performing an uppercut swing that Ryu would approve of. The tape licks the flat place beneath his chin. One feather like touch flies him up, up, right into the delicately patterned ceiling. His head tears through the ceiling as if the ceiling is as durable as wet paper.

–sometimes being resourceful is better. Having a spontaneous, off the cuff delivery can prevail too.

Fanta quickly pops his head out the hole, but the recovery is short. His face is bashed by the pretty mahogany receptionist desk Mohoka throws at him. The imaginary receptionist would be upset, but life holds more value than a receptionist desk that one doesn't own, no?

Mohoka hightails it out, dashes down the hall—

What the frick am I doing?

She hits the brake on her run. She'd be actually participating if she goes through fighting this boy. Damn, she's already tired from manipulating the tape and desk.

"So, you're trying now, huh?"

She touches the tape with both hands.

"Got you now!"

Fanta shoots his tape to the ceiling, using them as vines to swing his way to her.

Mohoka turns around and runs again. The sounds of zips and forced maniacal laughter are in pursuit. She narrows her eyes.

"You're annoying, y'know that." She skids to an abrupt stop, almost tipping herself over. Fanta travels pass her and in that one direct, solid moment, she clamps her hands around his ankles and throws him down, gravity a willing ally.

"Oh…!" His face slams against the floor, tape torn and hanging like party streamers. A good depiction because Mohoka is having a party in her accomplishment of getting Fanta off her back. Ignoring the outcome of her action, she heads the opposite way toward the east hall.

She traverses the hall only enough to gather distance between her and Fanta. After climbing one flight of stairs, she slides into a random room and shuts the door softly as if it was undisturbed.

"How did you find me?" She flips around and sees Purple Lumpy, map crunched in his left glove and a weird exasperated face. A huge amount of relief comes in an exhale as he runs over to her.

"It doesn't matter! I can't find the stupid thing!" He panics, showing the disaster of a map. "You gotta help me!"

Mohoka rolls her eyes, then shrugs with all her might. "You and I know we're both tired of this crap. We might as well forfeit." She eyes him. "What, you don't want your reward?" Which is nothing at all.

He might as well have been electrocuted on the spot. "I do, I do! But I, but you, this—Ugh!" He throws his head in his hands. Purple Lumpy is in a predicament, but Mohoka has no shame to do what she has to do to end this nonsensical test at the moment.

The door busts down. The revealed culprit is Fanta, his tape dispensers gunned their way. He looks a little beat up—Mohoka's impeccable customer service—but he has a giant grin to counter it.

"You guys shouldn't talk so loud if you're trying to hide." He taunts.

Mohoka stands still. Purple Lumpy is peeved beyond belief.

"Okay, you found us nefarious villain. Go away now." She dismisses him.

"Can you guys take this seriously!" He shouts. "You know what?! Forget it!"

He cocks his tape gun, right elbow aimed at Mohoka and left elbow aimed at Purple Lumpy. It bursts, a new move which startles them. The tape divides and soon rectilinear tapes are riding their way to them like dangerous, lethal highways.

"Watch out!" Purple Lumpy yells. He grabs her hand, by her surprise, and pulls her out the way from the attack, fluidly dodging his side of the attack. He then places her behind his back. "Stay behind me!"

"Um, y'know you just gave me permission to use you as a meat shield, right?" Mohoka exclaims, a finger up sagely. It's a done deal contract.

"I'm trying to be cool here!" Purple Lumpy cries.

The tapes hit the floor and bounces off the tiles, ready to pursuit and attack from below. Purple Lumpy grabs Mohoka again and jumps out the way. The tapes graze him a little, but he eluded enough for his whole body not to be seized.

"Take this!" Purple Lumpy takes a lump on his head and removes it he throws the ball straight at Fanta as one would a grenade. Grape grenade, Mohoka stamps it.

Fanta shoots his tapes across the left side of the room as a brave hand to choke the grape grenade. Once it lands in his tape mitten, he rushes to reel it back to him for counter purposes more likely.

He squawks.

"What!? The ball," He shakes his arm. "It won't come off my arm!" Fanta's eyes, wide and pointed, see the sticky grape grenade has plugged his left tape gun port. He shakes his arm faster, his face puckered in bitter fashion.

Purple Lumpy's smirk is knowing and shining. "That's the point of my quirk! Suck it!"

Mohoka feels him squeeze her hand as he runs pass the frazzled Fanta out the battle room. She's slightly dazed at all the unnecessary action that just took place, but she's away from that sizzling soda, so the result is fine with her.

Plus, Purple Lumpy wasn't bad either. She has to give the boy credit.

"Hey, what you did wasn't bad," Mohoka says with an impressive brow raise.

Purple Lumpy's smile has the exact width of his mask. "Really!?" Mohoka nods her head. "Then, can I get my reward!?"

"I knew you were going to ask that."

"It's not over yet!" Both are startled by the declaration. They look back and see Fanta charging at them, his right arm still cocked and functional. Why yes, functional because his wraps are launching towards them formed similar to a streak of a shooting star. A pretty jest for an attack.

Fanta's persistent, she'll give him that, but it comes as such a detriment to her sanity.

"Shit, this is really unnecessary!" Purple Lumpy shouts.

"Yes, it is. Glad we agree." Mohoka sidesteps pass him. She wonders if her next action will be considered mean, but hey, she received permission to use him as a shield, so why not use it? It was a concord, announced and signed.

She pushes Purple Lumpy towards the incoming tapes.

"What the…!?" She watches as the tapes catch him in an insane tape tornado, his head the eye of it. Mohoka feels a little bad because his baffled shrieks are kind of hard to listen to, but the tapes are slowly smothering his screams, so it's becoming more bearable.

Once the attack is done, Purple Lumpy's head is a lumpy toilet paper.

"MMHHhhmmffgphmmHHn!"

"I can barely understand you," Mohoka tells the toilet boy. She looks ahead. "This stupid test won't be over unless we find the rocket, right?"

"HhmmmMhhn!" Sounds like an agreement though his hands are scrambling to rip the wraps off. Probably was a bad move pushing him into the attack since his quirk is useful, but meh.

"Did you really just do that to your teammate?" Fanta asks, scandalized.

Mohoka acknowledges his presence. "Hey, where's the rocket?"

"Are you kidding me?!" He slaps a hand to his mask. "Do you really think I'm gonna tell you?!"

Mohoka is too preoccupied with her thoughts to listen to his whines. If she applies some video game logic, "The rocket is on the top floor, I figure."

A ticking silence because the clock in the hallway has no presence of mind, of course. Fanta gurgles, a weird strangled noise escaping him. She senses his apprehension, though it was a simple guess.

"I'm right," She says definitively. "Your reaction gave it away too. Wow, villainy really isn't for you." Without any other word, she takes Purple Lumpy's hand and jets upstairs.

Oh yeah, she's not really a runner, or athletic even. No shame outside of this, but right now, yes shame.

After three flights of stairs, she's struggling to move a toe on the next step to the fourth.

"A building like this and no damn elevator…" She pants heavily. "This crap needs to end."

"Ai zun behry y'uz!" Purple Lumpy muffles, pointing a thumb to his face. Suddenly, he picks her up like a bride and sprints up the steps like he has just eaten an energy bar. It impresses her that he's able to run up the stairs quite fine with his face covered, sight gone. But, it's awkward because he's tiny for a high schooler and him carrying her has her chest pressed against his cheek.

Maybe he can feel it and it's powering him to fly up the stairs. Well, she can now take a decent breath, so she'll let it slide.

They reach the 11th floor, the top floor. Mohoka signals him to put her down and he, begrudgingly, settles her to the floor.

And of course, subtlety be damned, he pumps his arm in the air and throws a mini parade for himself right beside her. Yep, he definitely felt it.

"When you're done with your party over there, you can go ahead and open the door," Mohoka says. A really conspicuous door. There're rarely any other doors that lead to a room up here and the big, glossy door ahead was screaming, 'Rocket's in here. Please go save it.'

"Oov kus!" He ends his one man festive and marches to the door. It takes him a few attempts to locate the knob, but once found, he grabs the door knob and pulls it open. A bundle of huge floor cracks careens their way, splintering at the threshold of the door. After hurtling over the threshold, the cracks butcher the remaining outside floor. It creates a small makeshift gorge Mohoka and Purple Lumpy evade like mad. They swing away from the door, Mohoka on the left side leaning on the door and Purple Lumpy across leaning on the wall on the right side.

"MMm wa' du ruk, ani!"

"I was wondering when you'd show up!"

Purple Lumpy's stifled hollers stop abruptly. Mohoka peeks inside and sees Fanta's tapes embellished and strung crisscross around the room. And there's the demon boy, Oni she assigns, cemented in front of the rocket and a fire in his fighting stance. Beneath his feet are cracks, roots spreading from him to the door. Well, there's the source of the gorge.

His muzzle grows sharper at the fervent stare he greets her with.

"If you want the rocket you have to get through me!" Mohoka is sure that's an impression of a character from a B movie. "Let's see if you can attack me without getting caught in the tape!"

Fanta wasn't kidding when he stupidly told her that. "This is too annoying. Like over 9,000 levels of annoying."

"C'mon! Come at me!"

"I'm not gonna do it if you keep saying it like that," Mohoka responds, totally wiped out now. "Oni's in front of the rocket," She informs Purple Lumpy.

"Raaa me donaa toot?!" She actually understands that sentence.

"You can do whatever you want." Mohoka says nonchalantly. "I'm fine with any outcome." Though, she prefers to lose.

"Leeeayse mmgr repljeee!" Purple Lumpy clasps his hands in plea.

She takes to her mind and sees if she can spark up a thought, but her circuit is shot. And yeah, she's the one who made it short-circuit.

"You should think of something quick before Fanta comes," Mohoka mentions, "why, he could come crashing through the door any minute."

Purple Lumpy clutches his mummified head and if she could witness his face, she knows it'd be in agony. Well, because of her he can't see at the moment neither can he attack. But, he was able to run up the stairs blind (though she has a sneaking suspicion that perversion was what gave him charge.) Yet, she doubts that he's expert enough to maneuver around Oni who's shielded by tapes, Oni who stomped and made a terrain out of simple tiled floors.

Short-circuited she may be, but she did spin some random stuff against Fanta earlier.

Mohoka glances in the room back at Oni. She then looks at Purple Lumpy.

It's a prediction right now, but these gloves she has on are supposed to enhance, right? So maybe she still has some juice left.

She touches the tapes on her arms.

"I have a p…" She pauses. "I don't know what I have, but I'm gonna try it anyway." She touches Purple Lumpy.

"Wru?"

She grips the back of his yellow cape and lifts him up.

With a long wind of her right arm, she throws him into the room.

"MMMMAA'RAA PAKKA!" Like Fanta and Oni stated, one touch of those tapes clings to his body like a spider web, but it doesn't wrap him. He rips through it because her assumption is right; she still had enough energy in her quirk to transfer the properties of the desk she had inside the tapes to Purple Lumpy.

"What? A head on attack!?"

Oni changes his stance and readies himself. However, Purple Lumpy's loud wails stops him in his tracks. "Is that her teammate?" A quick distraction to discern what or who she threw costs him as Purple Lumpy, strips attached to his body like a pompom, flies pass his head and crashes into the rocket.

But damn, it does not end there, and Mohoka is shocked at what unfolds.

Purple Lumpy tips the rocket over and then zoom, glass shatter, and out one grand window he goes. Since he had several tapes on him, the strips latch to the rocket and drags it along with him to the other side of the room.

"WOAH!" Oni instantly abandons his post and rushes to the rocket, urgency a boost in his step. Although the tapes are sticking to his body as well, he reaches for the rocket and catches it right before it can slam into the window frame, a tight second before the rocket could make a bungee jump ride out of Purple Lumpy.

Oni skids to a stop, one foot almost pass the window. Before anything else, he makes sure he has it secure in his hands and that the tapes are still holding Purple Lumpy. "Man, that was close." Oni throws his head over his shoulder and glares at Mohoka. "Why did you do that!? That was dangerous!"

After what just went down, all Mohoka has for an answer is,

"Oops…that wasn't supposed to happen."

A thin transient silence. Then the sky sizzles followed by mic noises.

"Mineta, my boy," All Mighty Dorito calls. "Are you alright?"

Purple Lumpy answers in shaky Mufflnese.

"The villains became the heroes in the end, interesting, anyway, the Villain Team WINS! The winning team is fairly uninjured. The losing team, uh…Kirishima, lad, would you please bring Mineta back up."

"You got it, All Might!"

It's clear to see that critical analysis is the educational form of getting chewed out.

"For Nise-san, her actions by far were the most offensive. From her mannerisms to her teamwork, her performance was subpar. She did not have any regard for her teammate's safety and wellbeing. She let him jump into danger, pushed him into the opposing team's attack, and willingly threw him out the window. In a real situation, that would be near unforgivable. Her approach to battling Kirishima-san was precarious and not well thought out, endangering not only her teammate, Mineta-san, but Kirishima-san himself—"

Ms. Buzzsaw keeps chewing away, but she should already know Mohoka has just pure levity for this. If she can't, in any way, tell that this is so not effective then she's not as keen as she portrays herself to be.

"— which is why Hanta-san was the best in the match."

Fanta flushes and scratches his head. "Thanks, All Might. I was really trying my best out there."

"Yes, Hanta! And we saw the fruits of your labor!"

Mohoka completely forgot that All Mighty Dorito and his entourage are here and aware and faces in unbelievable scrutiny.

Oni has a dejected face. With that face, he'd be mad enough to pummel his own reflection if he saw it.

Her eyes turn to Purple Lumpy. Strangely, his eyes are already on her. He has a frown on his face, and once he spots her looking at him, he slowly faces away. Damn, really trying to put on that guilt show.

She quietly groans.

One person raises their hand, long and wide fingers in resemblance of a frog. Then, Mohoka follows the hand, looks at the person and says "of course." It goes unheard.

"Sensei, how was she able to damage Hanta-san with his own tape?"

"Good question! But that question shouldn't be aimed at me, but by the quirk user herself!" All Mighty Dorito gestures to her. "Have anything to say, Miss Nise!"

"Nope."

He sweats. "Nothing at all…?"

"I did what I did. The end."

All Mighty Dorito's smile turns tense. He makes the good decision to back off. "Ok, then. Let's move on to the Ultimate Hero duel, shall we!"

Thankfully, the battle is short because Crystal Boy whipped everyone's ass till they had none left. Many were mesmerized by his strength just from a simple, unsophisticated quirk such as ice. If she was physically there, she'd consent to handing out more ass whoops.

"Good job everyone! Apart from young Midoriya, there were no big injuries! No holds were barred in this training! For your first full exercise, you al—uh, most of you did wonderful! Change clothes and return to the classroom!"

Everyone treads back to the classroom. All Mighty Dorito decides to check on green troll, who was banged up the most out of everybody. It seems it's almost habitual for him to either break a bone, dent an organ or singe his hair till it looks like the hair of a scarecrow. He was carted to the nurse's office, which she's miffed about because she had planned to visit Chiyo (Yes, first name basis, that's how much she serves as a beacon of light) after this because school was almost over. But, she'll be too busy tending to green troll's wounds and, All Mighty Dorito's remedy—a dosage of ear curdling, powerful, starlit shouting—isn't going to work for her (or green troll for that matter.)

Mohoka's the last one to enter the girls' locker room, made it her mission to see everybody out before she goes in and change. She leaves the locker room and goes to class while fighting her feet not to stray and head to Chiyo's office.

What she arrives to is everyone talking, some standing, some in their seats carrying conversations. Most of them are most likely talking about the battle trials, so nothing in general. She wanders to her seat and sits. She sinks into her desk a little worn from this bullshit day, like all around in every corner drained. Plus, everyone thinks she's a jerk now for what she did during the match. It was wholly necessary; how else was the test going to end?

Mohoka looks at Purple Lumpy chatting it up with a boy hair spiky and yellow, similar to an electric bolt.

She sighs listlessly.

"PL," She calls. He doesn't hear her.

Of course, because he doesn't even know what that means. And she's not getting up.

"Hey." She calls slightly louder, jutting her head in his direction. The boy he's conversing with notices and taps Purple Lumpy. "I think she's calling you."

Purple Lumpy turns around and meets her eyes. With his eyes switching back and forth, she can tell he's contemplating whether he should go or not.

Finally, he decides and walks her way. The guy, obviously catching the drift, shuffles to mingle with the others.

Mohoka knows this might be a scripted apology, but anything to stop this mess from nagging her.

He arrives at the desk. "Hey."

"Hey," she replies. Get it over with, "…look, I'm sorry for what I did today. I didn't mean for you to get hurt like that. You wanted to win, and I wanted the test to end. It wasn't on purpose, honestly." Which is the truth. The only thing is that she didn't care if they won or not.

He's gonna accept her apology, regardless. PL is attracted to her, and it's hard to be mad at someone whom you're attracted to.

PL's confused face lasts for only a second before he immediately cracks a smile.

See.

"Nah, it's ok. It was just the first trial, and I know you didn't mean it."

"What about when I pushed you into that guy's attack," She reminds him.

"Yeah, that was a jerk move, let's be honest. I'll use your sorry for that," He tells her.

Besides," He pulls a smug smirk, "some of the others didn't do well, especially you, so I don't give a shit."

The first kid in here to leave her baffled. By God, is he on Chiyo's level of toleration?

"I got my reward too, so how can I be mad!?"

Mohoka doesn't need to investigate her mind long for her to realize what he meant.

"That wasn't on purpose so pipe down. You just got lucky." She rolls her eyes.

"Lucky or not, it felt like heaven. What was your original reward anyway?"

Lies. Nothing. "A pat on the back."

"What!? See! Luck wins in the end!" PL's hands bounce and squish the air or better to say Mohoka's hypothetical chest. It's not like she could've done anything about it, so she waves him off, lets him prance merrily in his fantasy.

Homeless-sensei walks in. He has a stack of papers hanging rakishly in his hands. He puts them down on the desk.

"Here are your graded reviews."

Of course, she got the lowest grade in the class: 32. She's pretty sure her father is older than this grade. But the number is soon forgotten by the amused crumpling the paper gives as Mohoka crushes it.

Obviously, Homeless-sensei saw the entirety of the action, but his face stays still as the others collect their paper reviews. Fanta and Oni appear to be satisfied with their grade.

Immediately after the papers are handed out, the door to the classroom slides open. Green troll stumbles in, his right arm in a blue arm sling and exhaustion taking his face. Chiyo patched him up pretty well if he's able to walk. The only good thing about this is that he's finally out the nurse's office and, if she's not too lazy, she'll try to drop by.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a horde of teens running past her to green troll who's more than overwhelmed by their attention.

"That was some heated standoff, man!"

"You dodged like a champ!"

"That match was intense as hell! It got me fired up!"

You might as well sing some hallelujahs while you're at it, Mohoka thinks.

"Deku, your wounds! They're not healed yet?" Cabbage Patch frowns.

Deku? Mohoka looks at Cabbage Patch who's fixated on green troll. Deku? What's a Deku, Mohoka ponders inside her brain. Is it like the deku nut from Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time?

That's green troll's regular nickname? Mohoka raises her eyebrows, not getting the reference or relevance, but she definitely won't waste her time developing theories why green troll's alternate nickname is Deku.

"Alright, go home already. I'll see each and every one of you tomorrow, right?" Homeless-sensei's words travel to the back of her head and each word pokes at it. He made sure that was for her. Surely, he knows that'd make her grumble all the way home. She swoops her canvas bag onto her shoulder.

"Yes, Aizawa-sensei!"

The students trickle out the door in chatter, mainly rehashing today's events. Mohoka moves to leave.

"Wait."

She has every right to ignore the hobo and continue on her way. But then a previous thought jostles to the front of her brain. She was curious about it yesterday but it disappeared into the background as the day went on. The emotion attached to it, heavy annoyance, could have something to do with it. But now it's weighing her mind unlike before.

She turns around.

Homeless-sensei has a flat face (his default face she guesses) mouth behind his scarf. After one backward step to the door Mohoka makes, he finally decides to speak.

"You didn't have your costume today plus you received a low score on the battle trial. This will affect your final grade for the semester." He collates his other papers and straightens it. "If you don't have a costume or order one in the next two weeks, you'll be faced with expulsion."

"Thanks for the good news," Mohoka says.

"It's all part of a teacher's duty." He picks up his papers and heads for the door.

"That's all you wanted to say?" Mohoka asks incredulously

"Yeah. Like I said, all part of a teacher's duty." Mohoka's face turns sour.

"A teacher's duty is to also immediately withdraw a student violating an institution's rules."

"Didn't I say you'll face expulsion if you don't bring in your costume."

"Homeless-sensei, you're—well you seem like a smart man. You obviously know that I don't care."

"Homeless-sensei…?" He deadpans.

"Yes. Homeless-sensei, why waste your time? You can expel me right here, right now. I don't know what's holding you back."

Everything falls silent. Then it comes back.

"I don't like Kachigemu."

"Ok, that's nice."

Homeless-sensei's eyes are mysteriously dimming into a color way pass coal. Mohoka doesn't know any color darker than black. His shaggy hair grips most of his upper face while the scarf has the lower. Mohoka actually dials down until she's downright near humorless.

"To be specific, I don't like the person running Kachigemu magazine." Mohoka narrows her eyes. "Kakatsu Hiso."

Mohoka jerks, enough for her to knock off the last bit of humor. "What the—Who's that?"

"It's the person who runs Kachigemu."

Mohoka's face is blank. She doesn't sneer. She's not mocking or making any snide remarks. How can she when he sounds so serious and convincing though she knows he's wrong in every which way (she'd like to believe. She'd like to believe that her mind isn't suppressing a thought that she really understands where Homeless-sensei is leading her because it shouldn't be there at all.)

"It's a pseudonym. His real name is Nise Joshima."

"Yes, I guess I don't know my father's name." Mohoka has to admit. She was not prepared for that.

But she manages to recover her mind from that tiny pause the info dealt her. She steadies herself, but it isn't because she's unsure or dazed. Her curiosity level is dramatically high it even surprises her. Many people use pseudonyms for certain things, but why would her father use it?

But this info really is small. It's like getting hit with something on the side of your forehead. You find out it's a pebble and all you can say is a small 'Ouch' and keep it moving. But then you stop and wonder who threw that, check to and fro for the culprit. What you rest on is someone who doesn't have much to do with their life.

It could be that the person wants you to be irked and freak out. But that's not the reaction the person gets.

Mohoka regards him with an unflinching gaze. "Ok."

"He doesn't like someone in this school. In fact, he'd want you to stay as far away as possible from this person."

He dares to throw another pebble. It doesn't maim like the first one, but it's more annoying. But she slowly understands why he's throwing it.

"You get it now, right? I let you stay, and anger him in the process."

Ok, now the person gets tired of pebbles and finds a decent size rock that you maybe can't avoid or pass off. What he's saying doesn't make any type of sense. Her father is the who one pushed her to attend this school, shoved U.A down her throat until it shot passed and went to her stomach, oh but she made sure not to digest that crap. Even now her and her father are at odds oft her being in the school.

Why the hell would he be mad about her attending the school?

Confusion comes in like a stinging bruise, but, the rock thrower won't get the reactions he craves. Mohoka will not be cowed.

"Using me to get back at someone." Mohoka shakes her head. "What an adult."

"Life is short, kid. Sometimes to reach a logical goal, you have to be illogical."

A logical goal which is trying to piss off her father, what an ambitious goal, Mohoka thinks. But this leaves her wondering, so many questions stacking on each other like lego blocks.

Who is this person?

Whomever it is, why doesn't her father like him/her?

What happened between her father and this person to have such bad blood between them?

Is it a student? (Doubt it) A teacher? (Maybe) The principal? (Could be…no he would know who the principal is above all else).

Why still have her here if he knows that someone he hates is here?

Was her father pushing her towards U.A. a big, fat lie?

Mohoka sucks in her cheeks, but quickly lets them go once she focuses back on Homeless-sensei.

Why is he telling her all this? He didn't have to, but now that it's out in the open, the reason is beyond explaining why he won't expel her. Mohoka has a hunch that it's further than enraging her father. Now that she's been updated on her father's agenda, apparently people have no clue that she's his daughter, which is kind of a godsend. She already has the Pillar of Hope stalking her, she doesn't need the media gang tailing her too. How does Homeless-sensei know? Did someone tell him? Did he do some sleuthing to get it?

But he knows that one word from her mouth could catch him in the media net, so—

"You can go now." Homeless-sensei motions her to go away. Mohoka fixes her canvas bag that she forgot was on her shoulder, now slipping into the tight hook of her right arm. She has multiple choices she can deliberate over.

A. Be angry

B. Act like you're not curious

C. Question him more

D. Just shut up

MOHOKA. Win this troll game.

Oh, she likes the Mohoka choice.

Mohoka casts her eyes on the rag tag teacher in front of her. "Thank you, Homeless-sensei. I actually learned something in school today."

Before she moves, she decides to asks, "How do you know his real name? If the general public doesn't know, how come you do?"

"Connections, maybe. Smarts. Who knows?"

Whatever. She's not going to press.

Mohoka leaves, a flick of her red hair waving a taunting goodbye at Homeless-sensei. So, the troll warfare begins.

Mohoka walks the hall, mind still focused on the information given. The actions of her father and his sentiments are such a dichotomy that it's, frankly, stupid. But can this info be trusted, that is the question. The equivocal nature of his remarks deemed it so. But, Homeless-sensei has lied before, (yesterday, 24 hours ago) and if this was for his own merit, then his lies could be a mean to an end—and his end isn't clear cut like he wants her to think. There're suspicions she doesn't want to entertain lest thinking of them summon them from conjecture into the realm of truth.

Mohoka knocks the information up and down, side to side in her brain little bit more. It isn't much, especially since she sees someone coming down the hallway. Hopefully, the girl is going to walk by her and mind her own business.

"Umm…"

Geez.

Cabbage Patch approaches Mohoka as a person would a crush: nervous, a shaky smile, fidgety fingers. If she had a blush on her face, she'll be a good template for any schoolgirl with a crush. But no way she's into her like that. Remember, asexual.

"Nise-san."

"Are you gonna confess your undying love for me? I'm sorry. I'm not into anyone at the moment, especially girls."

Cabbage Patch's wide brown eyes shrink, her mouth a perfect circle and like a jet shooting off in the distance, she stammers, "W-W-What!? I'm not—What made you think that!?"

Mohoka shrugs feebly. It seems Cabbage Patch isn't satisfied with her answer the way she's pouting. While she pouts, Mohoka examines her.

She has a pretty face, Cabbage Patch. Those big brown eyes and those full lips aren't anything to overlook. Her bob is a bit bowl-shaped, but it just made her look like a cute little nerd. Perhaps her patience won't dry and shrivel like it does with some of the other students.

But still, Mohoka can feel time whooshing by through a warm flick on the cheek the wind gives. She glances at an open window to the left of her. The sun is still bright, but it begs her 'why are you still here after 3 p.m?' And she heeds the sun complaint.

"What is it?" Mohoka asks.

Cabbage Patch pricks up, Mohoka's voice clearly interrupting her pouting. She puts on a sheepish smile and scratches the back of her head. "Well, I wanted to thank you for helping me during the entrance exam. I know it happened like two months ago, but since I never got the chance to thank you, I decided now would be a good time. Better late than never, right?"

She would agree with that if the topic of the conversation wasn't about something she doesn't care for. These are the last remnants of the day. She'll leave the school and brush the U.A. dust off her shoulders.

Mohoka lets out a tired, strained sigh, emphasis on the tired the way she stretches it out. "It's nice that you want to thank me and stuff, but just keep it. First, I'm not that much of a jerk to let someone who's literally a foot away from me get hurt for no reason whatsoever. Second, there's nothing for you to thank me for anyway."

"What…?" Cabbage Patch is too puzzled to frame a sentence.

"The point of the exam was to reap and rescue: beat the robots and save people, which doesn't only mean civilians. Are you gonna stand there and watch as your partner gets the snot beat out of him or her?"

Well, they both did it during the training battle, but the guilt is more on Cabbage Patch since she's gunning to be a heroine.

"Yeah, you're right," Cabbage Patch says her words from a mouth uneasy and soon to be lost.

Again, as she intoned back when, it baffles her that a person like her manage to take off the sheets and air out the obvious BS the entrance exam was. Now that she's here, looking at Cabbage Patch trying for a resigned smile at best, Mohoka thinks that maybe she should've left her, let the Gimmick run amok and kept away. Green troll came in to save the day anyway.

Such a fruitless involvement. She can't think of anything more useless that she's ever done in her entire life. Ok, that's a little hyperbolic, but she just knows she didn't need to get involved.

But this one crumble had her humble abode besieged by ants, burrowing beneath the floor and into the walls of her peaceful mind.

"Can I," Mohoka rubs her temples. "Can I go home now? Actually, no, I'm going home."

She doesn't hate the poor girl, not at all. But what the girl is to her, it reminds her how much she's an idiot, like stepping on a tack and complaining on why the tack is there.

Mohoka Nise is not an idiot. Period.

"O-Ok! School is over anyway. I have to meet up with Deku and Iida. We're walking home together."

"That's nice. Bye." Way to go frustration, Mohoka gripes internally. She walks past Cabbage Patch. A few steps in, she pauses, a curious, a curious cat sense taking over. Mohoka turns to Cabbage Patch.

"Do you read Kachigemu magazine?"

Her eyes light up, brown marbles underneath a slim ray from the sun. "Yes, I do!"

Her suspicions are lodged in her throat, but she goes on to ask, "Do you know who runs it?"

"I think, hmmm, I'm trying to remember, come on…oh yeah! It's Kakazu Hiso, right? No, Kakatsu Hiso."

And there it is. Suspicions cleared and info validated. Her doubt poofs away.

Homeless-sensei is right. How much he is, she can't say, but her father does in fact have a pseudo name. Why? Is it for a metaphorical use? Poetic use? For popularity effect? He's not a hero…

That's a mystery within itself.

She's never questioned it, her father's occupation. He's admitted U.A is his alma mater, but for someone coming from an "elite school built for aspiring heroes", he has indisputable backing to become a hero. If he said that he graduated from U.A, agencies would throw hero licenses at him the moment they knew. Now that she knows all this, she truly wonders.

What the hell held her father back from being a hero?

"Because I wasn't able to."

Because of that crap, he' trying to live a second life through her.

Mohoka scowls. She didn't care to ask before, and in truth, her caring level only went up a few points. It has her name on it and Homeless-sensei is a daring opponent.

"Ok, thank you," Mohoka says to Cabbage Patch and leaves without any more questions.

"You're welcome…?"

She goes through the hallways out the front entrance and sees two things that make her smile. There's green troll or his formal name "Deku", and Andorf talking. Once they see her, Deku the green troll gives a smile, one that he's not really sure about. The opposite with Andorf. He stiffens and seethes which causes green troll to overreact and calm him down. Then, she sees a smooth, clean black 2015 BMW X3 parked at the front, looking extra glamorous under the light of the sun. So, she splits the smiles.

A wry Cheshire smile for green troll and Andorf, and one for the showoff in the jeep.

Pushing everyone's stares at the black jeep aside, she hops into the passenger seat. Upon her action, she's met with a greater, more powerful wry, Cheshire smile. Mohoka's face…she doesn't know what to do with her face.

"…Sansa."

"Oh, hey kiddo!" She smiles harder.

"Stop it you jumble."

"Like father, like daughter."

Mohoka glowers. "Just drive."

Sansa starts the car and steps on the gas laughing bubbly all the while. It's Sansa's laughter though, a laugh that she can listen to from the moon and back. Plus, she's pretty so she can get away with it.

"Did you wash your jeep? It looks nice today," Mohoka says. She buckles her seatbelt and reclines into the leather cased seat.

"No. It just looks really sexy underneath the sun," Sansa says with a smirk. How she's able to do a hair flip while driving, Mohoka can never tell.

"How was school today?"

Mohoka focuses outside the window, pieces of Musutafu running away from her. "Tiring and annoying." She looks back at Sansa. "There was this battle trial they had. I got the lowest score." Mohoka says with a sweet, preen smirk.

"And you sound happy about it like I knew you would," Sansa replies. The attempt at reprimanding is snuffed by her slow, twitching grin. "Nice hairdo by the way."

Mohoka palms her high bun. "I know. You too, though you're always wearing a low braid."

"Kind of a staple for Indie women." She slows down and stop at a red traffic light. It always intrigued Mohoka on how two separate cultures mingled into one. But the result is sitting next to her, kind of not paying attention to the road, but that shows how much Sansa likes talking to her. Actually, Sansa is the reason why she's so interested in other cultures outside of Japan.

"I thought you said you wanted to cut your hair," Mohoka springs around a yawn.

"I'm still not sure yet. I'm leaning more on yes because this crap is too much to deal with, especially in the summer."

"Long hair is frustrating during the summer, but you don't hear me complaining," Mohoka drones, twirling a strand of her hair for example sake.

"But I'm a complainer. You're just really passive aggressive." Mohoka can't deny that. She's not ashamed of it either.

After a few talkative miles by, without any ask, Sansa pulls over and parks on the street across from Koucha. For each different types of frustration, Mohoka considers ordering different teas, one of them being her favorite of course. Sansa unbuckles her seatbelt and Mohoka moves to do the same, but Sansa halts the action.

"Is Muryō here because you don't look in the mood to pay," Sansa says, scanning her face. Evidently, frustration still lines her face like persistent wrinkles. Sansa's nice rose scented jeep did iron some of the frustration down.

"His shift is over. It ends 3:30. It's five minutes to four," Mohoka grouses, staring at the mechanical numbers shown on the radio. Mohoka pins Sansa with a lazy face, so lazy that it looks like the features on her face are melting. "Can't you pay? You'd have a moneyless fourteen-year old pay? Heartless."

"Stuff it. You get a nice fat allowance, and you don't work," Sansa huffs, brandishing her clutched purse. Dwindling allowance if she's supposedly similar to her father.

"I'll be back." Sansa gets out the car, work pants shuffling impatiently to see outside.

"Salted Caramel Ginseng," Mohoka calls after her before the jeep door shuts her voice up.

Staring her back down till she's fully inside the café, Mohoka taps into her mind and puts Sansa as a red point. Would it make a difference if she told Sansa here what she knows? Sansa may or may not know. She's been in her and her father's life for four years now, why wouldn't she know.

But, closeness and trust are both independent of each other.

"No," Mohoka says, mentally slapping her face. His pseudo name is Kakatsu Hiso. People wouldn't know that he has a daughter. Sansa definitely knows she exists so she has to know.

To what extent is somewhere up in the clouds. She may not know that her father has someone he loathes running amok in the school. May it be the reason why he acquiesced to her transferring…

Assuming that Sansa knows about this person wouldn't be far-fetched.

Would the circumstances change if she told Sansa instead of her father?

She'd rather tell her father about Homeless-sensei whether it makes a difference or not. If only her and her father didn't have this awkward tension.

The high pitch bleep noise of the car squashes all her thoughts. Her eyes dart to Sansa who's heaving herself into the driver seat. She lets out a grandiose sigh, fixes her body to perfectly mold in the seat.

"Crowded as always," She says, though delightful in tone.

She reveals the drinks—a drink—What the…?

"Where's my drink?" Mohoka asks, her pensive state plummeting into a nasty abyss.

"Well, Mr. Boss man said not to get you one." She sips her drink, a long, irritating sound that must taste wonderful. Plus, it's the Salted Caramel Ginseng she requested. "He didn't want me to take you here at all, so I'm already going against his wishes."

Mohoka's glare can burn toast right now.

"Cut it out," Sansa says while starting the car. The roar in Mohoka's mind is in competition with the robust roar of the BMW. "This is what you get for being a bad girl, giving your father a hard time."

"Really? He's the one screwing my life over. And now you join in by torturing me." Mohoka points at the drink that Sansa is proudly parading around. Her mouth should be on that straw, not Sansa's.

Sansa pulls off, and once again Musutafu is running away.

The warm sighs of outside are the only sound inside the jeep. After long seconds pass by, Sansa then breaks the semi-silence.

"You should call your father."

Mohoka's eyes flit over to Sansa. "For what?"

"You know what."

Mohoka pins Sansa with a dirty look, but she knows Sansa is undoubtedly right about calling her father. If she wants to tell her father about Homeless-sensei, then she has to clear the air.

She sighs, her breath along with the air. "I'll call him at home. But, I'm not apologizing." Her eyes focus more on the road. "Pothole."

Sansa, rather swiftly, swerves the jeep to the right and back. The one action sends her purse into the dark pit of the passenger seat floor. And what a smile Mohoka's mouth carves on her face. Intentions sync and her nerves eggs her limbs to go for it. Nimble fingers take charge to pick up the purse. Mohoka side-eyes Sansa who is still recovering from her extra maneuver of the pretend pothole. She sneaks Sansa's wallet and hides it in her canvas bag like a sly fox snatching prey from another fox. It's not exactly stealing. Mohoka isn't planning on taking any money from her wallet. But, Mohoka is ballsy enough to counteract someone when she feels duped. She'll give Sansa a good scare, ruffle her up until she caves in.

"Thanks for the heads up. My tires could've bust."

"Hmm." Mohoka calmly hums.

After going up a shallow incline, they arrive at the house. Mohoka steps out the car, canvas bag in tow. Once she rears the driver side, she faces Sansa currently winding down the window.

"I'll see you soon, alright." Sansa shakes her head and leans it to the side. "And be easy on your father. He's been in a bad mood all day. When he comes home you can at least offer him a 'Hi.'"

Which may or may not spark an argument.

Sometimes, she needs to leave Sansa, the Assistant Editor, back at Kachigemu, Mohoka thinks. She can't really consider her words, not even marginally, because everyone has bad days, hell she had one, so not everyone can be sympathetic.

Mohoka rolls her eyes; that's what Sansa should be doing to, rolling away out of sight.

"It's your father, don't be a stubborn."

"Bye Sansa," Mohoka says, a fast conclusion to their small convo. "Oh…"

She digs in her bag and feel her fingers touch the wallet. But she doesn't reveal, instead an innocent question comes out. "Sansa, how much was that drink, the Salted Caramel Ginseng."

"It was—1700 yen."

"Ok." Mohoka reveals the wallet, files through the slits until she comes across the proper slit with a chockfull of yen. She takes the exact amount of yen stated. "Thank you."

"What the hell! My wallet!"

"Thanks for the fact," Mohoka says, fiddling the money through her fingers.

"Stop being a jerk and give me back my wallet!"

"Buy me the Salted Caramel drink tomorrow. Drink equals wallet." Mohoka compromises

"…Ok. I'll buy you the drink tomorrow."

Mohoka stills her fingers. She just had to give Sansa a questioning glare because she was too compliant right now. She grips the wallet but nonetheless walks over to Sansa. Sansa grabs it and puts it in her purse.

"Bye Sansa." An actual meaningful goodbye. She turns to go, but then her nose hits a wall like presence. At least her nose gave a warning before she could bash her face into the invisible wall. The barrier ripples and has a slight rainbow shine as if it's a blown bubble, encompassing her and the jeep. Lastly, there's Sansa, a dark smile gifted her way like a deranged lunatic.

Her damn quirk. Mohoka should've known.

"How old are you again?" Mohoka asks dryly.

"For everyone, 28. For you, 15." She cackles. "See ya!" She drives down the opposite side of the slope, jokester completely gone.

It seems everyone is after her today.

Mohoka digs through her canvas bags and finds her house keys. She jostles them around, files through numerous foreign country keychains to the find the primary key. She opens the door and slips off her shoes without care. The house is empty, as it should be. Yet, in the house right now, even the walls and ceilings have shadows not seen. They still stay despite Mohoka's rounds flicking the lights on throughout the house.

Once the main lights are on, she flops on the couch and settles. She has to make sure not to fall sleep if she wants to take a shower and have the three-way call with Tomo and Hato. Plus, dinner is non-existent right now.

Mohoka shuts her eyes for exactly five seconds. Within that slim time, she gathers her focus.

She roams her hand around her canvas bag until she hits what she wants and makes a grab for it: her Iphone. She thumbs in her code, but before entering it, she stares at her phone. She squeezes the body of the phone, just for a little bit, while those numbers tucked in the small white dots fulfill her code.

On the contact pad, she dials a number

It rings three times, one more before his voicemail will answer—

'What do you need, Mohoka?" Her father responds in his question.

Mohoka face sags. Instead of hey or hi or what's up even, he asks her that automatically, as if out of habit.

She carries on. "What I need you to do is to…tell me what you want for dinner."

The natural hum of the cellphone keeps it from being completely silent. "Um…"

"I have to scour the fridge to see what we have though so you can't be too choosy."

"You're home?"

"Yup."

"Sansa dropped you?"

"Yes"

"What're you doing?"

"Sitting on the couch, sweaty and making sweat angels on it, now what do you want? Once I'm out cold, so is the day."

"You're…" chuckle. "You're too much.…Unagi-don. I feel for that."

"Alright, simple. I think there's some leftover eel in the fridge, I'll check. I should be done before you get home. Oh, and Dad."

"Hmm?"

"Aizawa or 'Eraserhead' yeah, that dude. He's a teacher at U.A., my teacher in matter-of-fact. You learn something new every day."

"Wait—wha?"

*Beep*

She's such a Good Samaritan.

Mohoka smiles, strangely not as tired as she was previously.

"I can't believe you did that. You literally tricked the guy because you were so damn lazy to do the exercise."

"Hato, it wasn't tricking. He just has a wild imagination. Not my fault."

Leave it to Mohoka to chisel an issue down to a non-issue. But Hato guesses he's kind of doing it too.

"What the hell else would he think of?!" Tomo says, words slowly creeping into a laughter.

"I don't know, a petting zoo?"

"Cruel." Hato says wryly with some sympathy injected in it. He feels for the guy. Of course, at this age, girls are delectable fruits that guys like to eat. Plus, among men, there's something communal about admiring cleavage. Like a verse from an innate, ingrained scripture.

"He did get a feel of my chest on his cheek, so it's not all bad for him."

"How the hell did that happen?" Hato asks though he champions the guy for an early feel.

"Because my stamina is God awful and he took serious advantage of that. Carried me up the stairs and had his heaven."

Tomo's laughter sounds like an abysmal opera, abusive to all ears.

"I kinda threw him out the window too. Half of it wasn't intentional."

"Couldn't leave well enough alone, huh?" Hato can see an image of Tomo shaking her head

"Cruel."

"Shouldn't you be on my side?" Mohoka says, halfheartedly because she knows she sparked the whole exchange so it's entirely her fault.

"I'm on the side of desire."

"Really Hato?" Tomo says.

"Why not? I'm a guy. I appreciate what girls have. Like you two. I'm not gonna pretend that you guys aren't hot."

"So, you're saying that you'll try something with us whenever the day feels right for you," Mohoka says.

"God no. That's disgusting."

"But you just said…!?" Tomo exclaims.

"Yeah, doesn't mean I'll try anything with you guys. It's like committing incest."

"Well there's a saying that incest is winfest or something like that."

"And this is where I hang up. Talk to you guys later. Tomo, lunch tomorrow?"

"Yeah, same spot."

"Alright, bye."

Hato ends the call, resting his cellphone on his desk. He cranks his arms, rolls his neck and realizes that his annoying, awesome friends were a much-needed break from his homework (that he knew Tomo most likely finished.) He already cut half of it down so he should forge on…

"Hato, dinner!"

After he fills his stomach.

Hato takes no time to walk down the stairs. He jets down with a skip in his greed, hits the bottom floor and beholds the feast before him. His father, Matsui Danno, is already at the table in the top seat chatting with his mother, Matsui Chisome, as she sets the table. The dinner is decorated in everything people see when the season spring comes: pink sakura petals trailing around the food, pink sakura mochi, pink and white bamboo mats, crafted sakura petals on white rice bowls twisting around like a fairy crown. And Hato can't help but grimace. He doesn't mind bursting people's bubbles. Actually, he would voluntarily stomp on stacks of bubble wraps if he could.

"Mom," he says, scrunching up his face. "Did Hello Kitty throw up all over the table? What is this?"

"Be quiet, Hato," His mother replies, eyes narrowed whilst carrying the rice cooker: creamy pink flowers on the side of the cooker as if it sprouted ears. And the pink shamoji ready to dive into the rice. Dear God.

"It's a nice way to commemorate the first day of spring." His mother smiles.

"Spring equinox was two weeks ago."

His father whistles, low and encouraging.

"I know that, but you knew that I couldn't prepare it around that time. I've been busy." She takes his father's bowl, pats some rice into it and gives it back to him. "Let's eat." She shares his food too. They say their prayer.

The meal is tasty as usual. His mother always could throw down some pots. Seared tofu and soba noodles aren't a bad combination, and the takenoko brings it to a slow crescendo. Then finally, the fuki comes and gives a climactic end.

Shit, Hato thinks. He sounds like that horrible manga Mohoka likes.

Despite himself, Hato continued his dinner. He makes sure he enjoys it less until that crappy manga leaves his mind.

It's the usual triad of comfy chatter at the Matsui table: His father talks about his day at the law firm, backed up cases, and tiresome paralegals who can't talk properly to clients. Hato relays how school was not too bad and that people are already gravitating to certain cliques, establishing their niches. However, his mother is slow to say anything.

Hato looks at her. She's brooding, her bottom lip is overlapping the upper, eyes set on the rice bowl in her left hand. Her face has the desire to say something, but her mouth wants to keep it in. Her actions are a little bit on edge, antsy if he could wrap it into one neat word.

Hato wonders what her expression means. His mother isn't good at keeping her emotions inside. Whenever she has an emotion locked inside, she either looks melancholic or miserable. With how much she frets over him, he's surprised she hasn't gotten an aneurysm yet. And because of that, Hato tries to gather the reason why. If it's not him or his father or decoration horrors or the garden in the back, what is it?

Both father and son stare at her intensely.

She falls victim to their long, unbreakable stares. Her mouth relaxes, though not by a lot.

Then someone finally talks.

"Mom…" says Hato. He's not questioning or asking. It's a gentle demand.

She puts the rice bowl down. Fingers dainty in her lap, she tilts her head to the left, a light sigh following after (Hato knows that her sigh wants to be a bigger, heavier). As if the words are in the air, she brings them down for all to breathe.

"I've been visiting my brother."

Hato brain dries up, shrivels and takes reality down with it. And it crumbles, finer than sand, so much that reality is pouring out and away from him. He tries not to see the large blackness that is not his own, but reality is falling and he's forced to look at it. It has his uncle's face.

Hato begs for reality to come back.

He desperately takes it as he senses a quiet touch.

Finally, his eyes adjust to the pink and white spring flourished in front of him. His gaze flies over to his mother. She's the one touching him, neat and concerned fingers on his cheek. He could've noticed, if his mother touched him earlier, that his head is low, heaving as if he shouted, staggered breaths stemming through him.

His head only moves an inch to look at her. He falls silent by her touch.

"How is he?" Hato flinches. It's his dad's voice, he recognizes. Just his dad's. "Your brother."

His mother's face is neutral. "He's… restless as usual. Ambitious, more than the last. He's getting into trouble again, or it's better to say that he's still causing trouble, but he doesn't care." His mother lightly leans her cheek on her right fist. "He wasn't happy about me coming to see him…Said I'm using him to ease my conscience."

His father, still as can be, asks, "What made you go see him? How did you know…" His father reels the words back in his mouth, rearranges his words. "How do you know where he is?"

His mother's eyes flashes at that. Her back straightens. Hato chews on empty air.

"I've been tracking him when he came back to Musutafu three years ago."

The cold comes in. "Shit, Chisome! When were you going to tell me!?"

"It was too dangerous to tell you—both of you. He was too far gone."

"Is! He is too far gone! He still is!"

"He's not as dangerousasbeforeereer…'Uncle'…"

Hato freezes.

"Uncle, please. I-I didn't mean to…"

"I won't let it spread to you, Hato. Don't flinch. I'll make it painless."

Uncle. One small word holds so much terror. As years went by, he has hardened his mind, made it almost impenetrable to keep memories of his uncle away. But, he's back, here, and so close; Hato can feel him. His malefic presence is working through Musutafu, hunting the grounds.

Hato doesn't know what to do.

Hato is able to bring himself back this time. The argument between his parents has rested, both too exhausted to continue. There're both reclined in their chair, worn out eyes on the table that looks so calm and nice and warm, how spring should be. And it's soothing, really soothing. The comfort of it chases his thoughts back into the long, unseeable cave.

His mother exhales. "Let's eat." She picks up her rice bowl and chopsticks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. I was thinking of a time to tell you two. I don't know why I chose now. I'm sorry, Hato."

Hato finds himself looking at the dining table and suddenly loving every detail of it. All the pink and white of a cherry blossom scene, the dishes, rice cooker, even the shamoji.

If it couldn't distract her at best it could distract him, for good or for worse. And she probably knew that too, knowing his mother. She'll do anything for her family, no exclusion.

"Hato…" His mother murmurs, lips curled tight.

"It's okay, Mom. It's okay," Hato says, finally composed, brain back at a rational pace.

Dinner continues with a strange sense of air. They enjoy the food, but the words aren't there to express it. Yet, the Matsui family is reaching for smiles to hold dinner together.

Author's Note: This chapter plants tiny seeds for what's to come in the future. I'm glad to finally get this out to everyone at last! Huzzah!

I've decided that every chapter from now on, I'll do a little fun fact either about the characters or the format of the story. I'll more likely alternate between the two.

Fun Fact: I was originally going to make Mohoka have sandy blonde hair like her father, I later made her a redhead. For some reason, I love anime girls with red hair. It's so exotic to me.

Anyway, Thank you for reading The Finer Things. It's the readers that help me continue with this. I really am grateful.

WARNING ALERT KIND OF A RANT INCOMING. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

/

I'd like you guys to read this. Hopefully it'll make people think more critically when discussing other people's works.

There's one word I've come to dislike in the past months.

"relatable"

Like this word has been a non-stop tune amongst arts and entertainment. So many people are throwing the word out there, I believe they lost the meaning of the word.

"This character has to be relatable,"

"This situation isn't relatable,"

"How am I supposed to like the character if I can't relate to the character?"

Stop already!

What are the qualities that make a character "relatable," and why are they so highly valued? Well, young Lovely O here believes it to be identification. Identification with a character is one of the pleasures of reading, or of watching movies, or of seeing plays.

But to demand that a character be "relatable" expresses a different expectation: that the character itself be somehow accommodating to, or reflective of, the experience of the reader. The reader remains passive in the face of the story, expects the work to be done for them. It seems the concept of being "relatable", in my opinion, suggests that an individual experiences a work as a mirror in which he/she might recognize himself/herself. The notion of relatability implies that the work in question serves like a selfie: a flattering confirmation of a viewer's existence.

To me, it feels like the hypocrisy of self inserts. People love to whine about authors writing self inserts, but desire to be self inserts themselves, to insert themselves into an author's character like the author's writing about them? Can someone explain to me what's the difference because I smell a double standard.

And there's a difference between appeal and insertion, just to inform you.

If someone gives the argument that a character is not "relatable", you know that their argument has no substance. People love Jojo. Can you relate to him in anyway? People love Levi. Can most of you relate to him and his situations? People love Guts. Can you relate to him and his situations? If you can, well damn, but I know most people can't.

Stories are at their full power when, through them, we come to understand people who are not alike, but different than us, without judgment, without distance, without distinction.