2| Hyped

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

[WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE OF (fictional) MINORS. VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.]



❧


"What's up?" You ask, turning the screen towards you.

"They found that pro hero, Deku," Hiroto explains, "he's all banged up and is being brought to a hospital nearby."


❧


"What?"

"You don't believe me?" Hiroto says, handing you his banged up phone. "Look for yourself."

The screen is cracked through the middle, but you can still read the headline clearly. Your eyes widen in shock, despite already knowing what to expect.

'α΄…α΄‡α΄‹α΄œ κœ±α΄€α΄ α΄‡α΄… ʙʏ κœ°α΄‡ΚŸΚŸα΄α΄‘ Κœα΄‡Κ€α΄, ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ Κ€α΄‡κœ°α΄œΙ’α΄‡ ΙͺΙ΄ ʜᴏꜱᴘΙͺα΄›α΄€ΚŸ'

"'Saved by fellow hero?'" You scoff, "They don't even name who? Something else must've happened."

"Whaddya mean?" Hiroto asks, taking his phone back from you, tracing a finger along the crack.

"Trust me, Hiroto," You tap the side of your head, smirking, "I just know. I haven't worked at a news agency for two months for nothing."

"Well," he coos, pointing at your computer, "looks like it's the end of two months for you."

You stand up, rushing to your computer. It's an email, from none other thanΒ Suzuki himself.

Oh boy.

He never talks to you, much less through emails, so it must be important. Either a promotion, which you doubt, or . . .

. . . you're getting fired. Not unexpected, but still, you love your job. (Although you would love it more if you could actually do it. . .)

You sigh, opening the message and preparing yourself for what's to come. You read the email aloud to your brother.

"Please come in early for work tomorrow," you say, skimming the words, "I have news, and a little something extra if you're interested. Signed, Kane Suzuki."

"A little fishy, but it doesn't sound like you're getting fired, at least," Hiroto says, looking at the screen over your shoulder. "Better do what he says, I guess."

He shrugs, sitting back down on the couch.Β 

"You're right," you sigh in relief. "Although he made it clear he doesn't like me. Not even a 'dear' or 'good evening'."

Hiroto laughs. "Well what'd you expect from a grumpy guy like him? Sleepy Suzuki I'd say. He can't get more than three hours of sleep each night."

You exit the page, sighing, ignoring Hiroto's comments. You run over the words in your mind. A little something extra? What could the old man mean?

You unconciously bring your hand to the blisters on your heels, using your quirk to ease the pain and heal the marks.

You hear Hiroto searching the fridge behind you. He sighs.Β 

"Hey, we're out of milk," he complains, "I was gonna make cereal."

"Cereal?" You scoff, "It's, like, 9 pm."

He shrugs. "I'm hungry, and I can't eat dry cereal."

"You could."

"Only maniacs eat cereal without milk."

"Fine, then, I'll go to the store and buy some," you say, grabbing your bag and looking inside. "If we have enough money. I'm not sure I even have enough for a cab."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I haven't gotten paid because my articles have gotten any attention," you grumble, "but only because that dumb old man keeps taking them down."

"If I were you, I would quit and work at the convenience store down the road," Hiroto suggests.

"Unlike some unemployed brother I know, I like my job, and would rather keep it," you scoff, "plus, nothing's stopping you from getting a job. You could work there as I easily as I could."

"Not with my track record," Hiroto says.

"Now that's on you, my friend."

"Guilty as charged."

You stick what little money you have left back in your bag. "I guess I have to walk."

Hiroto perks up at the statement. "No. You're not walking."

"Why not? I can take care of myself," you counter.

"I know you're not stupid enough to actually consider it, are you? With all the craziness going on lately?"

"I haven't gotten killed yet."

"Why not take some of the money Mom and Dad left us?" Hiroto snaps, pushing his point.

Because, you want to say, I promised. I promised them I would be able to support myself.

"It's too much trouble," you argue. "I'm walking."

"Fine, then," Hiroto stands, "I'm coming too. Your quirk isn't made for fighting, and we literally live in the worst part of town."

"You don't even have a quirk, smarty-pants."

"Well," he smirks, holding up a clenched fist, "I'd like to introduce you to something that's better than a quirk: I call them fists."

You laugh. "Just come on."


❧


You're walking back to your apartment. Hiroto's carrying the groceries: a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, and some new cereal your brother insisted on buying.Β 

The sky is darker than before, and honestly, the small town looks scarier. Surely no one would be fighting at this time of night, would they?

You try to console yourself, although you know nighttime is when it happens most.Β 

When the children fight.

When they murder each other.

It's the best time to not get caught, and in the outskirts, the best place. That's one of the many reasons you hate living here. The fights are more frequent; people aren't as concerned about getting caught by the police.

Nowadays, nobody cares about the police.

Hiroto suddenly grabs your arm, jerking you into the darkness of a nearby alleyway.Β 

"Hiroto?"Β 

"Shh," he says, pointing across the road.

You crouch down in the darkness, the shadows hiding you both from the horrendous fight going on nearby.Β 

Two boys, who look no younger than fourteen, are battling it out.Β 

One boy has blond, curly hair and the other has a straight, bright red mop on his head.Β 

The blond one is laughing like a hyena, arms flailing wildly. Something flies by the other boy's head, and he barely blinks an eye.Β 

It takes a moment for you to notice, but then you realize the things flying through the air are knives.Β 

They're going at an inhuman speed, and you can't help but wonder where they're coming from.

Your heart wrenches when you realize they're coming from him.Β The blond boy has knives materializing out of his skin, each knife he throws leaving a chunk out of his arm or chest.

Normally, he would've stopped by now. Clearly he's gone over his limit, but due to the mass amount of drugs probably running through his system, he's probably beyond caring. It's something parents do before they send their kid out to fight; they call it being Hyped.Β 

Why isn't the red-haired boy doing anything?Β 

He's just standing there, a blank expression on his face, unmoving. Is he going to use his quirk?

He looks the opposite of the boy across from him. Is he even drugged?Β  You wonder.

You grab Hiroto's hand, horrified at the sight in front of you. You look over, and he's covering his eyes. You squeeze his hand in yours. If you run away, you risk being hit by one of the blond's knives, and who knows what the other kid can do.

You want to throw up as you watch the knife boy's arm shred into blood and bone. He's used all of his skin on knives, and his muscle and tendons are going next.

He's running out of ammo, and unfortunately, he is the ammo.

He steps closer to his opponent, and you realize tears are falling down his face. Drugged or not, it must hurt like hell.

His smile is unwavering.

The red-haired boy sighs, as if annoyed by the other's hyena laugh. He tilts his head and--

Crack.

--his opponent falls to the ground, body limp.

"What just happened?"Β  You whisper to your brother. He's watching now, eyes wide.

"I think he just snapped his neck."

Clapping comes from above, people hanging out of the windows. Some look angry, as if they had betted on the blond kid. Others are cheering and celebrating, despite the time of night.

"Shinimi! Shinimi! Shinimi!"

They chant what you assume is the child's name.Β 

There's no remorse in Shinimi's eyes; just a cold stoic glare. He doesn't even flinch at the dead body surrounded in a pool of blood.Β 

He turns to the people hanging out of windows cheering for him, and holds up a hand.

Then he gives them a thumbs-up.


❧




You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net