Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"How dare you!" snapped Inoue the elder. Emily translated, or perhaps paraphrased. She was never good when people were yelling. He had called about a week after I had spoken to Tokuda.

The attack video had begun to trend on social media, pushed by the American students. The tone was 'I can't believe this sort of thing still goes on in Japan.' More in sorrow than in anger. Tokuda followed up with a piece on Juzo News. It was more about the fact that an U.A. Hero Course incoming student was getting ridiculed and attacked for something most of the country had forgotten about than an investigation of corruption in local government. Though the questions he asked at the end pointed in that direction.

Mr. Yanagi had already contacted me and chewed me out. That had sent Emily into a meditative state from most of a day. I got a lot of practice with my Japanese as I tried to make my way without her. I wondered if it was her way of punishing me when her father couldn't.

Mr. Yanagi could yank the financial support he was giving me to live in Tokyo. Or he could refuse my attendance at U.A. But any such action that stopped me becoming a Pro Hero would impact his goals more than mine – and I think he suspected that.

So, I let him yell in his quiet passive-aggressive way and said nothing in my defense. Mostly I ignored him.

"You should be expecting a call from Inoue-bugyo," Reiko's father had said. That got my attention. "He wanted your address, but I refused. I did not want him sending thugs or showing up unannounced. He does have your number and will almost certainly contact you soon. Be humble and abase yourself. You do not know what trouble he can cause us if you continue to defy him."

Have you any idea what he means by that? I asked Emily.

There is some old agreement between the Inoue and the Yanagi regarding the temple or maybe the land around it.

Like maybe they have a mortgage or some sort of lien on the temple?

I do not know. But every year my father must go before Inoue-bugyo and formally submit to him and abase himself. It is humiliating, but Father carries out this obligation, as did his father before him and back unknown generations.

"Are you even listening to me, girl?" Inoue snapped.

"What do you … want?" I asked hesitantly. It was a language issue, not nervousness – but he likely read it the other way.

"I will talk to you in person. Meet me tomorrow at Tonki in Meguro at 1100. Do not be late or your family will suffer as you have made my family suffer, but ten times over. Do you understand?" Even I could hear the anger in the way he was biting off each syllable.

"Hai."

He hung up.

What is his quirk?

Like all Inoue he has an Earth related quirk. But Inoue-bugyo's quirk is very strong. If he had chosen to be a hero, he would rank high in their standings. He can cause earthquakes or dig mine shafts. He can entomb his enemies and create shapes from stone with a gesture.

Wow. Goro must have been some disappointment.

He is, though he may yet improve his abilities.

The idea that you can make powers stronger through use and practice is so strange to me. It wasn't that way on my world, or at least not for most capes.

I cannot understand why you find the concept so unbelievable. You are your own proof. In just three weeks you have found several new ways to utilize our quirk. I await your progress when under the skilled tutelage of the faculty of U.A. High School.

Back to the bad guys. Have you any ideas why he wants to meet in person?

I cannot offer anything but supposition. I have heard that he prefers to humiliate his workers in public when he feels they have failed in some way. He feels his family's samurai heritage very strongly and may see any confrontation as a duel, though without blades. That conceit is more difficult to sustain without a personal meeting. Or he may want to be in a position to physically punish you for your presumption.

Such action is sure to bring him in conflict with the Pro Heroes in Tokyo, Emily continued. … and brand him as a villain, but he may be so accustomed to his person being inviolable that he cannot believe anyone would dare deny his rights over you. If he were thinking clearly, he might try to reverse your trap and goad you into attacking him. He could claim self-defense when he retaliates.

I thought you said self-defense was still illegal.

Only when he is the one determining the law. The law allows for quirk usage in specific limited circumstances. Applied fairly, the law would likely find your quirk use in Kesuru-machi defensible.

Good to know. I really need to read up on the specifics of those laws.

I can assist you with that.

As for Mr. Inoue, I think we can make that meeting. But I want to make some preparations first.

It took more than an hour to get to the restaurant. I met with Tokuda at a soba shop in the station first.

"Are you sure you should be there?" he asked for the fourth time. We were speaking English, not just to make it easy on me, but to offer some level of privacy. I summed up the conversation for Emily every few minutes.

"I have to be. I just want you there to record what happens. I'm worried he may try to get physical or to restrain me in some way. If he does, you can call for help and act as an impartial witness." I hoped he was impartial in my favor but couldn't rely on that.

"Alright. I'll go in and get settled. If he is already there, I'll be sure to sit where I can get a good shot. If you come in before him, ignore me but sit where I can see you easily."

"Got it," I agreed. "I'll see you at 11."

Tonki, it turned out, was a venerable Tokyo establishment that had been around since before WWII. It was a spartan place that only sold tonkatsu – fried pork cutlets. They only served them one way, with shredded cabbage and mustard, with rice and soup on the side. They offered water or tea to drink. No coffee or deserts. Somehow it seemed to fit with Mr. Inoue's traditional ways.

As I walked in, I gathered my spirits in tight. I was shepherding a swarm as large as I could manage. I had no idea what this man would do, but it sounded like he was significantly stronger than me. I couldn't bring a debris cloud in with me. It would be visible and put me in the wrong to start. I did note where the cutlery and flatware were – as well as the stacks of dishes. I also marked the boiling oil. I had not yet tried to move liquids without a container, but the day was young.

I saw the old man across the floor, seated in a prominent booth. He saw me at the same time. Our eyes never parted as I walked to his table. I offered no bow, not even the merest nod. Nor did he. I did not sit. He did not offer, though there was a chair facing him.

The silence stretched. So, he wants to play he who speaks first loses?

Emily did not answer. She was very uncomfortable but had once again agreed to try to maintain the translation until actual violence started. Then I was on my own.

At ten minutes after the hour – according to the clock on the back wall – I turned and started walking away.

"Where to you think you are going?" He barked, banging his fist on the table. That stopped all conversation in the open room.

"You said … you wanted to … t-talk, but it … seems you … have nothing to say." I turned to look at him over my shoulder. In my head, Emily was stuttering from fear. It made for broken translations.

That seemed to confuse him.

"Speak correctly, girl. That is the one thing you ever did well."

"When your … s-son … tried to put … a r-rock through … my skull he … s-seems … to have c-caused brain damage. I may … n-never be able … to speak correctly … a-again."

"That is a lie!"

"No. We have b-both … s-seen the video."

"You will retract that defamatory fiction or …"

"The t-truth … is n-never libelous." I interrupted.

"BE SILENT!" He slammed his fist on the table harder, cracking the wood. A tremblor rocked the restaurant, rattling dishes, and sending a pot crashing to the floor. People started pointing to the old man as he surged to his feet throwing the table aside.

"I will be s-silent … no more." I stated, turning to face him head on. My spirits held me a millimeter off the floor so that he could not drop it out from under me. "What you … and your family ... have done f-for s-so long … is wrong. No more."

"You will submit." He stood towering over me. His hand reached towards me like a claw.

"No."

"Submit!" he closed and opened his fist like he was clutching at something. His eyes and his arm glowed indigo. The concrete floor lit with the same light and began to raise up in the shape of his fist, surrounding me.

"Iie." Emily was gone. I was assuming he and I were just repeating ourselves.

He clenched his fist again and I had to dive over the back of the concrete hand that would have crushed me. He swiped his left hand, now glowing as well, and chunk of concrete ripped out of the floor and flew towards me.

Knowing there were people behind me, I couldn't just dodge. Instead I leapfrogged over the missile, using my spirits and body weight to force it to crash on to the floor. It scrapped along the concrete, throwing up shards that my poltergeists batted back down before they could hurt anyone.

Growling, his chin flecked with spittle, his face three shades of purple, Inoue lumbered towards me his arms out to grapple. Concrete was accreting around his fists and along his arms. Not wanting to find out what that did for his grip, I dived between his wide-spread legs.

I rolled to my feet, expecting him to be right behind me. Instead, when I turned, he was facing off with a short, dark-skinned woman in a white and purple bunny suit and metal boots. She was barking orders at Inoue and he was growling back at her, brandishing his rocky fists.

I recognized her as a Pro Hero, though I couldn't recall her name. I decided they could play while I tried to get the civilians out of the way.

I moved to chivvy the staff out, only to find most of them already gone. An older man with red skin stood next to two pans of boiling oil. I guess he wasn't going anywhere and had a quirk useful for defending the kitchen. I saluted him and moved around the two people now actively fighting in the middle of the floor.

By the time I got to the door, all the customers, save Tokuda had evacuated. I was beginning to realize this sort of cape fight was a regular occurrence and people were well prepared.

I noticed the reporter had a lens coming out of his forehead. Interesting quirk.

Less than a minute later Lady Rabbit had the malevolent mining magnate in massive manacles. Not that he was conscious enough to appreciate them.

"Are you alright?" Tokuda asked me in English.

"I think so. Shaken, but not hurt." I looked around. The restaurant was in ruins. And even staying to help with cleanup, if I used my power, would be considered illegal. The laws here were as crazy as back home, with what seemed like fewer reasons.

"Why did he do it?" I asked. "He must have known he would get arrested."

"I do not know," he replied.

"You might want to go to Kesuru to see if you can find out?"

"I just might. But now I have to interview Mirko. Am I correct that you are starting U.A. on Monday?"

"Unless they kick me out for this," I replied. It was a concern.

"As far as I can see you did nothing wrong. Some might say you were disrespectful to an elder, but given your history, and your families', it is understandable. You only used your quirk to evade his attacks, if you even did that. I think you'll be ok. But you probably need to stick around to talk to them."

He pointed to a man and a woman in suits. They had badges hanging from their breast pockets. Lovely.

By the time the police got around to questioning me, Emily was functional. So, my language difficulties, while noticeable, were not as severe as during my 'conversation' with Inoue.

Tokuda had already shown the detectives his recording of the event, so they were asking more for confirmation and added detail than a recitation of events.

They promised to contact my parents and the UA administration before letting me go.

Why would they inform the school? This has nothing to do with them. I asked.

Emily took great delight, it seemed to my grumpy sensibilities, in describing the incomprehensible level of involvement in, and oversight of, students' lives, both in and out of school, that teachers and administrators in Japan practiced.

It was so much worse than Winslow.

My homeroom teacher, Kan-sensei stopped by my apartment on Saturday and interviewed me. He was a large man – six four or five at a guess – with broad shoulders, silver or grey hair, red eyes, and a few facial scars. He was dressed in an oxford shirt and khakis. His presence seemed to fill my small flat.

"Yanagi-san, there are a few topics I would like to discuss before you start class on Monday." We were kneeling at my table, drinking tea. Emily showed me the appropriate courtesies and advised me on making the tea. "We are worried about your living conditions. Not so much the apartment," He looked around. It was not much, but I'd lived in worse. "But there are some concerns about someone you age living alone in Mosuaizuri-cho. This is not a safe neighborhood."

"No, sensei," I enunciated carefully, trying my best to match Emily's phonetic translations of my responses. "But it is a much less expensive one than any around Musutafu City. My family cannot afford better at this time. Perhaps that will change in the future, but for now this is a necessary compromise."

"I see," he said. "I will contact your parents about possible alternatives. As long as you are here, I will stop by at least once a week. And I want you to tell me if you have any troubles or concerns. Neh?"

"Yes, sensei." While it chaffed, it was a reasonable precaution. A place like Mosuaizuri was almost custom designed to eat up little country girls and spit out victims and sex slaves. I felt I was safe, but the school did not know me.

I grinned internally at how I would have reacted to such an imposition on my privacy and independence when I was fifteen.

Are the differences between our ages so great? Emily asked.

As the old saying goes – it's not the years, it's the mileage.

"Yanagi-san?" the teacher prompted. I realized I had drifted a bit.

"Sumimasen," I said, without using Emily's service.

"Another concern we have is your reported brain injury. I understand you are experiencing difficulties in communication."

"Yes, sensei. My comprehension of spoken Japanese functions almost normally, though occasionally in times of stress, I cannot understand what people are saying. These episodes are usually of short duration. As you can hear my speaking ability is more compromised. I must often take time to consciously compose my speech. This can add unusual delays to the normal rhythm of conversation."

"I see."

"Again, under stress this disability increases, sometimes completely robbing me of my capability to form words and sentences."

I switched to English. "The oddest thing about this disability is it does not affect my ability to speak and understand English. My mother, who lived in Australia at one point, claims I have actually gotten better since the attack."

"Remarkable," he replied in English. I translated for Emily.

"But, as the majority of our classes are in Japanese, we will need to see what can be done to alleviate or accommodate this difficulty. I will discuss this with the Principal as well as our school nurse, Recovery Girl. It is possible that she can help heal any lingering physical damage that may be causing the difficulties."

We sat quietly and finished our teas.

"Are there any questions you have for me before I go?" he asked as he rose to his feet.

There were a lot of things I wanted to know, but I would be in school in two days. I could wait rather than draw more attention to myself. It was going to be hard enough to fit in as it was. No need to borrow more trouble. "No sensei. Thank you."

"I will see you on Monday. Don't be late."