Psyche Profile #614: Chiami Tenko

Click-Click-Click.

The sound of typing filled the darkened space. The air hung thick with the musty scent of unwashed clothes and sweat. A pale woman sat in front of the computer, face hidden behind a veil of greasy black hair. Her eyes were glued to the screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard as she responded to the anonymous poster.

Chiami Tenko smirked as the (You)'s rolled in, a stream of insults and 'Yes they do's. The thread was derailed - unlikely to return to the original topic of the semiannual Hero rankings. This was how she spent most of her time. Sitting in front of her computer, looking for any possible excuse to avoid facing her responsibilities. The endless scroll of the internet, the ephemeral dramas of anonymous strangers, it was all a welcome distraction.

Anything to avoid thinking about her future. Even more, to avoid thinking about her past.

She opened another tab, before quickly navigating to the catalog of /qrk/. It was, like usual, a cesspool. At least a dozen threads whose OP image was some scantily clad woman (or an exceptionally effeminate man), usually accompanied by some question or comment that was completely unrelated to the image itself. Another dozen threads were taken up by various generals - a self-help thread for individuals with debilitating quirks (not fucking useful, mind you, more an excuse to post degenerate Mutie porn), a thread whose inhabitants spent most of their time screeching about hero or villain rankings across the world, and a few others that despite being locked in her room for over 8 years, Chiami had never bothered to look at. She knew the layout of the board like the back of her hand, the predictable flow of depravity and boredom a strangely comforting constant in her stagnant life.

As she mindlessly scrolled, she eventually found something different than usual. A fresh thread, barely a minute old.

The image was nonsensical, at least for what was usually on the boards. A grainy picture, seemingly from the security footage of an elevator, of a figure crouching. Making out any notable details was difficult from the darkness and poor lighting. All she could reliably see was that he was a man in professional attire, and was staring directly at the camera that watched him. Below, there was a suspicious link, longer than the post itself.

The entire thing looked more like an elaborate shitpost that would appear on /x/ more than anything else. Chiami rolled her eyes. Really? Making people forget their past? What was this, some kind of fucking cult recruitment? She saw a few conspiracies about the recent introduction of Kwoolanism to Japan, but those felt more like eugenicists looking for a vehicle to excuse their Quirkless discrimination.

She almost closed the thread. A sudden knock at her bedroom door was the only thing that stopped her. Chiami tensed before reluctantly turning.

She could see it behind the door of her bedroom. A floating network of blood, tracing the intricate veins and arteries of the circulatory system. A complex web which she could visibly see pulsate - especially the lump of blood where the ghost's heart should be.

Her mother. Always her mother.

"Chi-chan? I made your favorite... Um, how was your day?" Her mother's voice was hesitant, a fragile thing that seemed to break easily on the silence of the hallway. Chiami could feel the tremor in the blood easier than she could hear the voice.

Several tense seconds pass before the floating bag of blood - Chiami's mother - gave up. Probably thinks her daughter was still asleep, despite it being past 2 pm. Chiami watched as the ghost of blood bent at the 'knees' before rising back to their feet, hands at their side. It turned and walked away, presumably back to the dining room, where her mother would eat alone.

Like always.

The door slowly creaked open as soon as the coast was clear, Chiami sneaking the meal into her room. Hamburger steak, fried rice, and a small pudding for dessert. It used to be her favorite, but her mother made it so often the last decade Chiami grew tired of it. Not that she could ever tell the woman that of course. She ate, the only sounds in the room being the dim hum of her computer and the clinking of cutlery. She ate almost mechanically, no pleasure or enjoyment in the act.

When was the last time she looked her mother in the face? She couldn't even remember what the woman looked like. Only how her blood vessels appeared. Hell, it was hard to remember the last time Chiami even spoke to her mother. A week maybe? Two?

She couldn't keep living like this. It's been 8 fucking years. 8 years trapped in a goddamn prison, surrounded by anime figures and posters of scantily clad 2d women. But every time she tries to leave, to catch up with the people that left her behind, just to fucking breathe fresh air... She can't help but see that man-

The plate clattered on the carpeted floor. Chiami looked down, seeing the intricate blood vessels that ran through her hands before the pale skin that covered them. They shook violently, and she could feel the bile rising in her thro-

She didn't make it to the bathroom this time. The next five minutes were spent violently vomiting on the floor, spitting up acid and the few bites she had managed to shove down her throat. The acid burning her throat was almost as unbearable as the shame.

This happened every time she tried, without fail. She could never leave this room. It was the only the place she really felt safe. The only place in the world she could let her guard down.

Chiami Tenko will die in this room.

Chiami slowly rose to her feet, dejected. She did her best to clean the mess, something she had a disappointing amount of experience with. When the deed was done, she turned back to the computer, doing her best to avoid looking at the wet stain that remained. She stared at the thread, the grainy photo of the smiling man.

Maybe it was a trick of the shadows or pixels. But it almost looked like he was staring right at her. A chill ran down her spine despite the heat of the room.

She clicked the link attached to the thread. Another tab opened instantly, taking her to a black webpage, a simple white message box dominating the space. She went back to the thread, refreshed it, looked for replies.

It had been deleted during the course of her ejection. Probably a jannie, thinking it was malware or a scam. By the time she clicked back, there was a message waiting for her.

"Hello? Are you okay?"

Her response was immediate. Almost instinctive, really.

"No, I'm not."

---

---

---

Chiami awoke with a start, holding her chest and panting. Blood thundered in her ears like a hammer. The dark bedroom comforted her. She wasn't in the classroom. She wasn't heard, wasn't seen. Wasn't touched. Not here. Not here. Not here-

She laid there for several minutes as her heart slowed, rising from the mattress only after she stopped hyperventilating. She had stayed up the entire night, messaging someone she didn't even know the username of. All she knew about them, was that they were like her. Burdened by the past.

Unlike her, they found a way to move on.

She had never heard of the Mr. Therapist they spoke so highly of, but he was apparently infamous enough that research was easy to do mid-conversation. Gambling addicts who've forgotten they've ever touched a pachinko machine. Happy marriages between quirk eugenicists who have never met before. A scandal at several schools, both general and hero courses, involving students possessing decades of knowledge on martial arts and various academic fields. Worse things, too - he apparently assisted a mutant-hating cult, and has directly killed before.

Surprisingly, none of this upset Chiami. If anything, it made her all the more interested. This wasn't some elaborate joke - this was a real person, one who had a quirk that could help her.

When she told them that she was unable to leave her room, the supporter she was speaking with had gone silent for nearly an hour. She spammed them with dozens of messages before they finally responded. Her name, address, phone number - even pictures of her from when she still attended school. Before she could question how they accessed it all, they sent their final message.

They would send the Therapist. And if he was met by the police or heroes, they would kidnap and torture her. Logically, it made sense. They wanted to make sure this wasn't some trap. It didn't help her from feeling like she was making a terrible mistake.

Chiami grabbed at her phone She had slept for nearly 13 hours, and still felt exhausted. Facing her was a text message from an unknown number.

Mr. T here! Srry 4 being l8!!! Will b there in ten (10) minutes! C U l8r!

She frowned at the message. Was Mr. Therapist a teenage girl? God, she felt embarrassed just reading this... Then again, she was the one asking this weirdo for help, so she was probably more pathetic...

She heard the familiar ringing sound echo from downstairs. The doorbell? Her eyes snapped back to the phone. The message was sent 8 minutes ago.

Fuck! Chiami scrambled, running to the bathroom to try and wash the sleep off her face and the grease from her hair. After throwing on the closest thing she had to a formal outfit, she spent the next dozen minutes frantically cleaning her room, shoveling discarded bowls and empty snack bags into the closet or under her bed. She had barely hidden the biggest offenders when she could see two shambling circulatory systems climbing the stairs towards her room. The panic clawed at her throat. She wasn't ready. She was never ready.

She moved as far from the door as she could, almost leaning into the bathroom. She tensed at the sharp knock that the taller ghost gave her door.

"Hellllooo? Tenko-san? It's the Therapist you called for! Do you mind if I come in?"

An unfamiliar voice. Higher-pitched than she expected, but clearly masculine. This might have been a mistake, but it was far too late to back out now. She could see her mother's heart through the wall, beating like it would jump out of her chest from the excitement. Crushing her like that would be a guilt that even Mr. Therapist might fail to excise from her.

"C... C-come in..."

Chiami's flinched, reaching for her throat. Her voice was hoarse, and far weaker than she remembered. Just those few words put a strain on her vocal cords. She must have gone without speaking far longer than she first thought. Excited whispering could be heard behind the door, before it creaked open slightly - enough to let in the blinding light of the hallway. Chiami shielded her eyes for an instant, but that was enough time for him to slip in, clicking the door shut as he entered her sanctum.

A tall, slender man. Almost effeminate. Despite looking younger than Chiami herself, his hair was white, and a bright absent smile was plastered on his face. He was dressed in the attire you would expect of someone with his name - dark khakis, a simple undershirt, black rimmed glasses, and a pristine lab coat. He swayed gently as he stood at the entrance of Chiami's room, eyes lazily drifting over every poster and piece of merchandise in the darkened space. His movements were almost too fluid, unsettlingly smooth. Like a puppet on strings operated by an unseen hand.

Chiami averted her eyes, chewing her thumbnail. This was the first time a man had ever been in her her room - and even if he appeared nonthreatening, the dread she was feeling was palpable. His eyes lingered on a poster of Makamura Keicho (obviously the best girl from MAGICAL★GIRL POLKA: STARS REBORN TWICE), and she blushed as he whistled. God, how come she couldn't have fucking woken up earlier and take down all this embarrassing shit...

The Therapist's gaze eventually shifted onto her, bringing with it an oppressive weight. An intense look. Hungry, almost. Despite the smile on his face, she couldn't feel any warmth as he stared at her. The room so silent that you could hear a pin drop. It felt like an hour before he broke the silence, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

"Ah, sorry I'm a little late! Some gentlemen were throwing a fit at my clinic earlier, and that tied me up for a bit. Luckily a couple good Samaritans came and took care of the problem!"

Chiami tensed at the comment. 'Took care of the problem'...? What the hell did that mean?

"It... It's fine... I-I don't really have much I need to do today anyways..."

The man laughed at the comment. It was almost jovial - the kind that was played up by actors in shitty hallmark movies.

"Oh, yeah, good point! Eight years since you had somewhere you needed to be. Don't worry, we'll take care of that!"

Chiami tried to not let the surprise cross her face. She had never told the people she talked with how long she had suffered from her condition. Did they deduce it from her school records? Or was he already reading through her memory?

Hopefully the latter. The sooner he started, the sooner he would leave,.

The Therapist moved to the corner of her bed and sat down, before he retrieved a small notebook from the breast pocket of his coat. Chiami couldn't read what was written on the cover, not in the dark. He carefully opened it, eyes glazing over each page as he delicately turned them. He treated it so gingerly, almost like he was worried it would fall apart at the lightest touch. Eventually, he paused, before putting pen to the paper and staring at her. Jesus he was creepy in the dark-

"We can do this the fast way, or the slow way. Which would you-"

"F-Fast! Uhm, p-please..."

A soft chuckle. More natural sounding than the last one. He nodded, eyes burrowing through her. He was sharper and more attentive now than he had been since stepping in the room. Almost predatory.

"Normally, I must search through your memories week by week. Like rewinding a tape- wait, have you ever used those? O-oh, doesn't matter! If you could tell me about the inciting incident, think about it actively, it would speed things up quite a bit."

Chiami froze, clutching at her pants and staring down. Digital Arteries compressed from the pressure. Femoral Artery engorged from the increased blood flow. If she could see herself in a mirror, she could have seen her heart pounding.

She didn't need to dig deep to find the memories. She could remember it like it was yesterday. The warm light of spring. The empty classroom. The smell of chalk and ink. His hands on her chest, her legs, her-

The Therapist didn't push her to speak. He simply sat in his spot at the edge of her bed, and stared at her. After a few minutes, he started to write. Slowly, at first. A few words at a time, followed by seconds of silence. It ramped up over time, eventually reaching a steady continuous scratching. She hadn't even said a word yet, and he was already working.

Of course. She didn't really need to say anything, did she? He would find her memories regardless of her input. And then, he would make her forget.

No one would ever remember what she went through. Eight years of pain, like dust in the wind.

"I... I was never really... p-popular. I'm not that pretty, and it's hard to talk to people when... when you have to squint to see past the blood..."

She looked up. The Therapist was still writing, eyes locked on her face. The same smile. The same measured breaths. He hadn't blinked once since entering the room.

"Your teachers were quite fond of you. I can tell - you did very well academically, never caused problems in class. A model student, even!"

"I didn't have much else to do... n-no clubs or anything like that... So I, um, studied. You can't see the veins of algebra, right? Hehe... heh."

He nodded, pen pausing as he did. He looked down at the page, before looking back at her. Had it not been for this environment, he really would have looked like a proper therapist.

"That's not quite true. You were in the Cinema Club, weren't you? You founded it, I believe."

"Ahh... ahh..."

A hand moved to Chiami's chest as she panted. She had done everything in her power to avoid thinking about it. For nearly a decade, she's poured herself into mindless shitposting and consumerist slop. Anything to keep her distracted.

If she was lucky, some days she didn't even have nightmares about him.

"Martin-sensei... H-he was the English teacher... He let me eat lunch in his classroom... S-so we became friends..."

He was new to the school - his first year teaching, in a place where he barely spoke the language. Neither had friends in this country, so it made sense for them to confide in one another.

The memories came faster now - whether it was because of the Therapist's influence or simply unbottling them after nearly a decade, Chiami couldn't tell. The warm classroom. The way the sun beamed in and made you want to sleep through the whole period. His fragmented Japanese that other students made fun of behind his back. His warm smile. His soft, secure embrace. Like he wouldn't let anything hurt you.

"I... I..."

"Take your time. There's no need to rush, Tenko-san. You don't have to say anything else, if you don't want to. I'm close-"

She wanted to stop. To let the Therapist do his work, to forget everything. But what the hell would these last eight years of isolation and anxiety have been for if she did that? A massive chunk of her life becoming meaningless?

Even if it was just this villain, she wanted someone to remember what happened to her. She wanted to confess it with her own voice, air out her trauma one final time.

"I knew how he felt... I could see where his blood went when he talked to the girls in class... B-but I never wanted to get him in trouble!"

They had just finished watching Silence of the Lambs. She wasn't supposed to see something mature like that, but Martin-sensei trusted her not to tell on him. She was afraid to walk home when it was getting dark. So he offered to drive her home.

They didn't go back to her home.

"...I stopped going to school a week into our relationship... I was so scared whenever we were alone... Whenever he looked at me, whenever he touched me during class, I-"

"Shut up."

The voice was cold. Alien, compared to the man she had been speaking with until then. Chiami shook as she looked at the Therapist. The smile that once dominated his face was gone. His eyes were clear now as he glared daggers into her. She returned the look with a frightened expression. What had she done to anger this villain? Wasn't this what he wanted?

They stared at one another for nearly a minute. Predator and prey. Even though she feared for her life in that moment, it was still nothing compared to the shame she had endured for eight long years. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die her-

His eyes glazed over once more, the smile creeping onto his face. It was like a switch had flipped, the chilling intensity vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

"Sorry~! I can get kind of scary when I'm working. Need to focus, right? Hope you can forgive me!"

...

...What was he apologizing for?

Chiami strained, but nothing came to mind. She did a quick once over her body, and failed to notice any cuts or bruises. All the blood still in her body. Whatever. As long as she didn't remember whatever it was that she called him in for, this would be worth it.

"There are still a few loose ends to sort through, but it seems like we're mostly done. You were really brave you know! Not many people choose to talk."

Was she brave? She was paying someone to erase her trauma. That was probably one of the most pathetic things Chiami could think of.

"Just one more thing... Do you mind telling me the name of your teacher in grade 9?"

"Homeroom teacher? I... I think it was Ms. Sanakawa. Did she do something to me?"

"Sorry! Should have been more specific, that one's my fault! Tell me about your English teacher."

Her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. She could remember most things from then clearly - the names of her teachers, the guidance counselors, even most of her classmates. Why the hell couldn't she remember her English teacher?

"I... I don't think I had one. Did you get rid of them?"

The Therapist's smile widened. He didn't bother to answer her question. An instant later, and she didn't remember asking.

"Looks like we're about done! I can patch up the holes for you later, but I prefer to do stuff like that in my clinic. Though, with the heroes and police swarming the place, I might need to move shop again..."

The man stood, gently storing the small book he held in his breast pocket. He made his way to the bedroom door, motioning for her to follow.

He flung the door wide, allowed the bright fluorescent light of the hall to flood into the room. Chiami didn't panic. Didn't cry, or slam the door shut. Didn't even shield her eyes from the harsh artificial light. She simply followed the man out of the room she had lived in for nearly a decade. It took a second to see past the network of blood vessels and arteries - for Chiami to see her Mother's shocked expression. She held onto the wall, knees shaking as she stared in awe.

"C... Chi-chan... You're out...?"

Chiami frowned. Her mother looked... old. Much, much older than when she last saw her. Eight years of stress. A divorce. Raising a hikkimori on a single income. The Therapist clapped his hands together in an over-exaggerated expression of apology.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't have come sooner! I've been exclusively operating in Tokyo until recently... I hope you can forgive-"

Chiami's mother cut the Therapist off, flinging herself against him in a crushing embrace. She sobbed, voice hitching in her throat. Tears staining his shirt and coat.

"Thank you... Thank you god, thank you..."

Chiami turned, leaving the man to comfort her sobbing mother. She'd have to ask him to remove these feelings of guilt later - the weight was crushing her. Couldn't spend any longer in that hallway. The harsh artificial lights. The harsher sound of her mother's cry.

The pale woman carefully made her way down the stairs. The house she had grown up in was alien looking now - the same skeleton, but barely anything remained from her youth. She tried to ignore the fact that the stairwell wall, once covered in photographs of her, now sat bare. The dining room, the kitchen, the living room, the entryway. May as well have been a stranger's house.

"Need the Therapist to fix that later..."

Yeah... yeah, that would help. Maybe get him to scrap the last 8 years, while he was at it. Give her some slice of life anime bullshit instead. Maybe a popular college life too~

The front door. She had seen the circulatory systems of visitors and delivery men standing behind it many times, but actually seeing the door itself... She should have felt more impacted. There should have been tension in the air, a wave of nausea, she should have been shaking at the very least. But no. She felt completely at ease as she walked towards the entrance of her home.

Chiami reached out and opened the door. A rush of fresh air and light flooded into the entryway.

For the first time in years, Chiami stepped outside.