Breaking Out, Breaking Down (Misako)

THE GLASSES CONFUSED THE REDHEAD—at first he thought a stranger was addressing him, but they knew his name—and a stranger knowing his name raised so many red-flags, particularly with how panicked he presently was. When he looked past the glasses, though—into the bright, blue eyes and the familiar, short brown hair, he realized that he was looking at none other than the class rep.

Well, Vice President. But Kenji wouldn’t dignify Edward with any higher title.

“Su…zuki-san,” he realized aloud, sounding… embarrassed. Kenji turned back towards the television, his eyes distractedly lingering on the LCD screen. A silver-haired, pink-eyed woman was addressing the viewer from above, but her words were muted—the camera panned over the crowd of armed criminals—then cut back to the current diaspora of prisoners freed.

A pit formed at the base of Kenji’s stomach. He tried to take a steadying breath, but it shuddered in his throat. He registered the question a few moments after it was asked.

“What?” he asked, quickly, “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

His gaze went towards the t.v. again. An idle hand went to the front of his night-shirt, gripping the fabric of his collar in a way that betrayed his actual feelings. The teen that was usually so full of mirth was unusually serious. A frown tugged the corners of his mouth down. Anyone who knew Kenji knew he was never this dour—something was clearly amiss. Even if he said nothing was.

“That’s… crazy, right?” Kenji said, gesturing towards the t.v. with his free hand, squinting towards it, “One villain gets the idea to let all the others out, and everything goes to shit. Fuckin’ wild…”

The television must have been too bright for his tired eyes, for Kenji bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut. Oh yeah, totally fine. Nothing out of the usual here.

ft. misako suzuki

]quirk: friction manip. d-rank mobility, range, strength; f-rank street style fighting, f-rank parkour

ooc notes:

IN LIGHT OF ALL OF THIS, Misako adopted a friendly tone—reassuring Kenji that he didn’t “need to use formalities with his classmate”, and to call her Misa. Kenji’s frown deepened, genuine sadness prickling at his eyes. First name basis’s were reserved for friends. As far as Kenji was concerned, his only friend was Rei. He exhaled sharply, a skeptical sort of noise.

“Sure, I can try.”

Misako edged closer. Kenji didn’t step away. His gaze flicked to their almost-touching shoulders, but quickly cleaved-on to the television once again. There was a rawness in his throat—his breaths were growing short. Kenji tipped his head, hiding his his eyes behind his bangs. He tried to steady himself by looking at the carpet.

Misako’s optimistic ramblings whirled around the redhead’s skull, dizzying and unintelligible. If Heroes and Teachers made them safe, then how could they let a thing like this happen? How were the students at U.A. any different?

“Yeah,” the teen agreed distractedly, not really cognizant of what he was agreeing with.

Kenji’s breath hitched. All of it was bullshit—the sense of security that teachers and heroes provided, the blind optimism over being able to “be better than the first generation of heroes” by getting stronger.

Kenji rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and his hand came away wet.

He wished Mosa was here.

He was going to puke, he could feel the sickness simmering in his throat.

His Dad would find him—take him—sell him.

Something brushed against Kenji’s hand, and the redhead winced, jarred from his thoughts. His cheeks glimmered in the light of the television.

It was still just Misako.


Kenji wiped his hand on his shirt, then bashfully returned his hand to Misa’s squeezing it weakly. Fat tears were rolling down his cheeks now, and he sniffled slightly.

Kenji drew the hood of his oversized sweater, pulling it low over his eyes. He grit his teeth, his shoulders trembling.

“Please, don’t tell anyone,” he whispered.

If only Mosa was there. Or Charles.

Dimly, Kenji wondered if Charles had been taken to Fuchu—if there was a chance of them finding one another. They would protect him. But the threat of his father was far more frightening than that.

“Especially not Eddie.”

That bespectacled bastard would get so much mileage out of knowing that Kenji was so weak—at least, in Kenji’s understanding of who Eddie was.

Kenji used his free hand—this time concealed in a baggy sleeve, to wipe at his eyes again.

“I’m really scared, Misa.”

ft. misako suzuki

]quirk: friction manip. d-rank mobility, range, strength; f-rank street style fighting, f-rank parkour

ooc notes:

KENJI'S THROAT TIGHTENED WHEN MISA APOLOGIZED. Why was she apologizing? This wasn’t her fault! She didn’t even know why he was crying! In a way… he guessed it was kind-of comforting. Even without knowing the whole story, someone felt for him. Despite all of his antics, someone cared enough to comfort him. That was… nice, actually.

Thanks, Misa.

He didn’t have the words to say it, but he felt it. Maybe if he stopped blubbering and whimpering like a baby, and could find the courage to admit he appreciated it, he would. Kenji tugged at his hood, his shoulders shuddering. She gripped his hand tighter.

Misako murmured reassurances, insisting that she wouldn’t leave him until off this died-down. The redhead nodded lamely. That made him feel… marginally safer. Even if something did happen, at U.A., at least he had someone watching his back.

The teen butted his head against Misako’s shoulder as she hugged his arm, his expression crumpling as he tried to steel himself. Why would this time be any different from when he was younger, huh? Schools were supposed to protect you, yes, and so were heroes. But for how long was Shinji Murano, Kenji’s father, able to run unchecked? How many unimaginable horrors was he able to enact on his own flesh-and-blood?

“L-let’s find somewhere to sit, yeah?” Kenji muttered huskily, tugging at Misako’s arm.

Preferably somewhere to the side, where someone didn’t see him sniveling and clinging to his classmate’s arm. After some weaving through the gathering crowd, Kenji found a bare patch of wall towards the back of the room, off to one side.

He released Misako’s arm to take a seat—leaning against the wall and then sliding into a seated position. He gathered his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, and resting his chin, there.

Kenji kept his gaze pointed just beyond his knees, towards an unoccupied patch of floor.

Whether Misa joined him on the floor, or remained standing, Kenji would murmur to her as soon as she was settled.

“…you remember the first day of class?” he asked distractedly, now making a point of trying to not look at the t.v., “And how we were talking about why we wanted to be heroes…?”

ft. misako suzuki

]quirk: friction manip. d-rank mobility, range, strength; f-rank street style fighting, f-rank parkour

ooc notes:

AMIDST ALL OF THIS, KENJI was grateful for Misa. Grateful that she drew his hood, grateful that she had pulled his hood up for him so he had at least some privacy in this sea of classmates. They were the heroes of tomorrow, the stalwarts, and here he was blubbering. How embarrassing.

Where did she get that blanket? As Kenji watched Misako unfolded the blanket and took her seat. But rather than cocoon herself away from the redhead, she fanned it wide, covering both of their laps. Kenji’s throat clenched, his face growing hot beneath the cool streaks left by tears. Misako was… certainly very friendly about how close she sat to people.

Kenji tucked his head again, a shy hand rubbing the back of his neck as she recalled that Kenji had mentioned “being there for people who had nobody”.

Well… yeah. That was the gist of it. But… and, if he were in a less frantic state of mind, Kenji might have been relieved that that was what Misako had remembered. Not that Kenji was the child of villains, and that he was the child that had no one… but that he wanted to be the “someone” that was there for people. Misako had remembered the good parts.

She hadn’t remembered what Kenji was currently trying (and failing) to say.

“Y-yeah, there’s… that…” Kenji agreed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Thank you.”

Thank you for remembering the good things, he meant.

The boy tried to mop at his face with his sleeve, but the sleeve stayed pressed to his face. Kenji dug the heel of his hand into one eye til he nearly saw stars, trying to figure-out a way to say what he wanted to.

There was a loose stitch in the blanket, just over Kenji’s knee. He picked at it, still tearful and snotty, his brow furrowing.

“I wanna be like that because, uh…” the teen mumbled, “I, uh… n-needed a person when I was a k-kid. I didn’t have anyone. My parents were—are—bad people.”

Kenji glanced towards the t.v., which he could only see a sliver of from their vantage point on the ground. As he muttered, he seemed to build momentum and confidence.

“A-and… uh…” Kenji faltered, inhaling shakily and then sighing, “My dad. My dad. Was in there.”

The redhead pointed at the t.v., briefly, then covered his mouth his free hands. His shoulders shook quietly, and he pulled the hood low over his face, biting his lip.

They were supposed to be the strong ones.

But, faced with the possibility of his own father, Kenji was just a terrified kid.

ft. misako suzuki

quirk: friction manip. d-rank mobility, range, strength; f-rank street style fighting, f-rank parkour

ooc notes

FIVE WORDS OF FLAVOR TEXT, An acrid burn was rising into Kenji’s throat, and he bowed his head, hoping to hell he didn’t get sick. When Misako praised him as being kind-hearted, Kenji smiled wistfully. His fingers still picked at the loose stitching of the blanket, but he hazarded a glance at Misako, tearful but appreciative.

“Thanks,” he said simply. The girl didn’t stop there, though—her hand lit on Kenji’s knee as she persisted. A creeping uncertainty leaked into his expression at the mention of a growing support system, about never being alone again.

“You don’t know that for sure,” the redhead mumbled cynically. He could be alone in the future. Just because he was in the dorms now, with all these people around him… didn’t mean anything. People came and went. You couldn’t count on anyone to really stay.

The redhead scratched his head as Misako continued on about strength—but honestly, whatever point she was trying to make about that was lost on the redhead. Something about being strong and great and not forgetting her.

“The greatest?” Kenji echoed, the smile creeping back into his expression, and his tone, “Please… the D.C. nerds are probably the future poster-kids of hero society. I’ll be lucky if I graduate.”

If his grades didn’t condemn Kenji, his mischievous antics certainly would. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either—Kenji studied hard, strived to do his best in academic and heroic classes alike. He just… was average at best.

ft. misako suzuki

quirk: friction manip. c-rank speed, range, strength; f-rank street style fighting, f-rank parkour

ooc notes