Shiketsu Outdoors Club, Reforestation Project
Western Kyoto Foothills, the Mitsurugi Woodlands
[Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzyTUekkMCI ]
Wind blows through Kota’s hair, where he sits among saplings in the back of a flatbed truck. The tiny leaves wave on their spindly branches, and the air smells of the potting soil that dots his uniform pants. Hat in his lap, leaning against the wall of the truck bed, there’s nowhere he’d rather be right now. The taller buildings of central Kyoto, the business and commercial districts, are left behind as they climb into the outskirts.
Alongside Kota in the bed of the truck are four other students, slotted in among the arboreal cargo. Behind them, two other trucks make up their miniature fleet, carrying the rest of the staff and students going on this trip. All except for one- to save room in the trucks, the winged centaur Sophia was given school permission to fly low alongside the vehicles. Watching her spread wings as she soars makes the naturalist in Kota wonder how much work her quirk is doing in the aerodynamics of her flight, and how much is just an abnormal strength in those wings.
Movement from beside pulls Kota’s eyes from the sky. Another freshman curls her body around one of the small trees, her lavender hair catching on a branch and sticking up in a cowlick. Maborineko Sankai’s eyes roll from place to place, taking in the sights around them. A black and purple, striped tail sways behind her in the air. “They picked a good day to go on this little adventure, don’t you think? It looks lovely outside,” she comments, a wicked grin leering from her face, suggesting some eerie hidden meaning to the words. Kota shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Some of the new freshman class are a little odd, but he has to do his best as their senpai on this trip.
“Yeah! Tunnel-sensei and I have been watching the forecasts for a while now,” avoiding her gaze by looking back at the sunny blue spring sky, Kota smiles. “It looks like we’re just about there.”
Sure enough, the trucks are pulling off onto a dirt path. Once, the unkempt road up to the old Mitsurugi Dojo had been in a better state. Once, it had been surrounded by trees. A wildfire caused by a villain attack had swept through the area, destroying much of the woodland before it was contained. Now, the scarce few still standing are fire-scarred, missing leaves and branches, but resiliently yielding new growth. Others left only stumps, which were broken up by city workers and buried. Their remains, alongside the nutrient-rich ash, would fertilize the soil. This would be a fine young forest again, in several years’ time.
Swooping down from above, Sophia hits a well-practiced walking landing on her hooves. She wastes no time in helping unload the saplings from the trucks while the other students disembark, her strong equine back easily managing the weight. “Splendido! We are here!”
Climbing out of the passenger’s seat of the foremost truck, Flingfang-sensei angles her ears towards the crowd of milling young heroes. “Attention! Everyone form a line!” a recorded command bellows, as if from the announcement speakers at Shiketsu. Order is established, with Tunnel-sensei taking attendance of the students and Security Head Atsushi opening her laptop inside of the last truck. From the truck bed, a fly-shaped Compound drone buzzes to life and takes off into the air, establishing a patrol perimeter of the area.
There are a few gasps from the other students. Kota hears two of the younger freshmen whispering to one another as a tall figure emerges from between some of the few remaining trees. Hanging shyly on the fringes of the roadside, the very Tall Man stands eerily still.
“Is that… one of the city workers?” a short boy with dark hair fidgets, murmuring to the girl next to him. Her hair is similar, but with dyed red streaks in it. Arai Fukuchi and Taiho Kiko. Kota made sure to memorize the freshmen’s names in case any of them ended up in his group.
“The teachers seem okay with him,” Taiho whispers back.
Leaning down, Kota reassures them, “Don’t worry. That’s the Tall Man, he’s a forest ranger from America who’s been helping out in the forests around Kyoto. I actually interned with him!” The two of them look up (slightly, he’s not very tall himself) at him, eyes sparkling with questions. Intercepting the onslaught by clearing his throat, Kota sets one fist on his hip, the other clutching his small personal notebook. “I interned as a forest ranger!”
“Did you go to America?” Arai asks.
“No, I did my internship here,” their interest immediately deflates, much to Kota’s disappointment. “Uh, anyways, he just looks a little odd because of his quirk. But he’s actually a really nice guy, he rescues people who get lost in the woods, and like, we tended to animals sometimes who were injured by poachers…”
Saved from his now half-hearted speech by a whistle from Flickfang-sensei’s ears, Kota turns and gives her his attention once more. Tunnel-sensei finished his attendance-taking and things are starting to move. “Listen up, because we only have so long for our field trip before we need to go back to school! We will be breaking into three teams as we go through our planting grid,” she announces. “Team one will be with me. Yagami Kirako, Yun Jae-Seong, Taiho Kiko, Sophia…” there is a long pause as the vice-principal attempts to parse the pegasus’ last name. “Papadopalus…?”
“You did pretty good, bat-sensei!” the Italian girl says. “It’s Papadopoulou!”
Flickfang-sensei points in her direction. “Sophia Papadopoulou, I’ll get it right next time, promise. And lastly, Yui Sagara. Team one, come over here and stand behind me!”
“See you, Kota-senpai, have fun with your Tall-sensei!” running across the dirt road to join her group, Taiho waves back at Kota. He feels a sudden swelling of bubbles in his stomach that she remembered his name.
As her group is assembling, Flickfang-sensei announces the next, “Team two. You will be joining our own Higashi Kota and a special guest, the professional hero, Tall Man!” She holds out her hand in the towering figure’s direction, who only responds by raising one hand. Kota jogs from his spot in line to stand next to his former boss, looking back at the other students and smiling so they know it’s fine.
“Nice to see you again,” he says softly. The very Tall Man slightly nods his head.
“The others going with that group will be,” she feels at the braille bumps on her list. “Higana Hanasaki, Kirisuto Hiro, Maborineko Sankai, and Chihiro Mitsurugi.” As their names are called, they variously stride, shuffle and slink towards the ranger pair, lining up behind them.
Walking closer to the Tall Man, Sankai leans back and twists her head at an unnatural angle, face split in a smile that looks too wide for a human face. “I like your suit, Tall-san.” Reaching into his pocket, the forest ranger pulls out his own signature notebook, of the same design that Kota has become fond of using in the field. While he writes, Flickfang-sensei announces the last group.
“Team three, with Tyler-sensei, will be… Fukuchi Arai, Lixdite Aquila, Iwata Yasu, Gyoyu Kamiya, and Kaylee Suzuki.”
More feet shuffle across the dirt path to assemble behind their other tiny, rodent teacher. Kota cranes his head to see what the Tall Man write back to Sankai in his notepad.
YOU HAVE A NICE SMILE
Staring straight into the void of the towering man’s face, Sankai wrings her hands and bends her elbows backwards in a way that makes Kota reflexively flinch. “Thank you! I uh… I don’t get that a lot!” … Understanding starts to come to Kota, and he feels embarrassed for not realizing it sooner. Cheshire’s demeanor must be part of her quirk, like the Tall Man’s admittedly unsettling appearance and mutism. Guilt pools in his stomach for having found her off-putting, and he makes a silent vow to himself to help make her feel welcome at the school.
“Alright!” clapping her hands, Flickfang-sensei nods her head, big ears bobbing with the motion. “You all know what we’re doing. Every group, grab a wheelbarrow and a tree. Let’s get planting!”
[Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0d9Oqm0Dt60 ]
The initial walk into the woods hadn’t gone the greatest. The red lizard clinging to the back of one of the freshmen, Kirisuto Hiro, had attempted to light the baby trees on fire. He’d managed to burn one, but then the Mitsurugi girl grabbed him and he quickly ran out of energy, passing out in his… master’s? arms. Luckily, the Compound drone out there today had a fire hose attachment and put out the fire before it could spread.
“He looks so peaceful when he’s asleep,” cradling the foul-mouthed reptile in his arms, Kirisuto drags his feet near the back of the group. Whenever the construct starts to stir and spew slurred insults into the air again, Mitsurugi quickly taps him on the forehead and puts him back out. “It reminds me of when we were little…”
“He wasn’t always like that? ”Managing to trudge even behind him, Hanasaki looks paler than usual, her weak constitution fatigued by her turn on the wheelbarrow. No breaks, she’d insisted, I need to push myself. Kota had suggested she go first pushing the wheelbarrow, before she got too tired out.
“Once, we made a promise that we would always be best friends,” the boy laments. “It was in my adolescence that these dark impulses began to overtake him.”
“Maybe he’s trying to give you something you need,” Hanasaki suggests, brushing some of her wavy, verdant hair out of her face. “Our quirks are born to give us something that we need. But sometimes what we need is a trial, to grow stronger.” That must be why she pushes herself so much. Kota hopes she doesn’t overdo it and seriously hurt herself trying to become a hero. It looks like her quirk takes a real toll.
“Maybe so,” Kirisuto muses solemnly. “If so, I hope that when I find what it is that’s missing, he can return to the friend that I knew.”
It’s Kota in the lead right now. When they reach the next site, the Tall Man raises a hand. Kota lets down the wheelbarrow and unloads the next set of trees, with some help from Sankai beside him. Then he steps back and tugs the water bottle out of his belt, taking a deep drink. Kirisuto sets down his construct and takes up a spade with Mitsurugi, and the two take their turn digging.
“I wish I brought more water,” stretching her back with an unsettling back, Sankai leans uncomfortably close to Kota, her eyes locked on the bottle in his hands. She holds up her own, smaller bottle, and shakes the few rogue dribbles still stuck in the bottom.
“Want a sip from mine?” Kota offers, taking what he hopes is a subtle step back.
Hesitating at first, Sankai accepts the bottle and takes a small, respectful sip, licking her lips just a little too long over her sharp, predatory teeth. “Thanks! Better some backwash than heat stroke!”
“I uh, I hope I don’t backwash that much,” Kota awkwardly comments, tucking the bottle back into his belt. “There’s a jug on one of the trucks. We can refill next stop.”
“Nice!”
When Kirisuto gets too tired, he passes off his spade and Sankai switches in. While Kota is standing on his own, watching with his arms crossed, the Tall Man’s shadow drapes between him and the sun. A notepad is gently held out towards him.
HOW ARE YOU
The letters are large, all capitals, in a scratchy, unpleasant script. “It’s been okay, I miss being out in the woods doing real stuff,” Kota admits, in a candid whisper. He tries not to complain too much in front of the underclassmen. It’s bad form. “This is nice. Have there been any follow-ups on the you-know-what from you-know-who?”
Taking time to squish several words onto the next page, the Tall Man reaches down to reveal it.
FRONT COMPANY- LEGAL BATTLE ONGOING
It’s about what they’d both figured. These things take time, but hopefully the detectives can pick apart more connected operations. Kota can only imagine that the man behind it all is fuming…
The Night Before
[Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pS5soRsrKQ ]
Spread out across a fine oak desk is a map of Kyoto. Red and blue ink scrawled upon the laminated paper paints plans for a plot of land in the slopes of western Kyoto. The cap of a red dry-erase marker is slotted back into place by a bulging pair of hands, and set down beside the map with enough force to justle the desk. “The girl still refuses to relinquish the deed.” It’s a statement, not a question. Sebastian Needle can already read on his subordinate’s face across the desk that the news is not good. He takes a long breath in through his nose and holds it there.
Wringing his hands there is a mealy, weasely man with large glasses strapped to his face on account of his too-small nose.
Yuuma Weiner, VN: the Tortuous Thorn Villain, Needler
Quirk: Dermal Thorns
Type: Emitter
Description: Can project narrow cactus thorns from any skin tissue within 5 meters, including that of others. The thorns can be projected outwards, or inwards.
For all his meagre appearance, a wicked look in Needler’s eyes betray that his hands are wringing not in nervousness, but anticipation. “She might require some personal incentive to cooperate,” the smaller man suggests. “We let the business folk try the nice way… time to do things our way.”
“You may be right,” despite his words, Sebastian Needle’s vast jowls sag in a frown. “But this girl stood against the Reaper and held her own. I do not want to throw anyone useful at her unless we are desperate… or know we can win.” Pacing away from the standing desk, he walks to the tinted window of his third floor office, clasping his hands behind him.
The wildfire that had ravaged the forested hillside saw a prime opportunity open to purchase land that had previously been protected by tree-hugging protestors. Soon, the development of the new district under one of Greenfinger’s shell companies would allow him to regain his foothold in that neighborhood. Regain what was lost when that… that…
Rearing back, he slams a fist into the wall, shaking the room at the thought. His fist quivers, holding fast against the brick. That Tall Man and his intern had broken up one of the farms that had been producing for Sebastian’s enterprise. Now the front governing many of his rural production locations is under investigation and scrutiny. What really pisses him off though?
That god damn Tall. Man. If there’s one thing that pisses Greenfinger off like no other, it’s someone being taller than him.
And now, with the recent loss of Happibagga Incorporated, he needs to start pulling the profit line back up. All of these failures are going to set him behind the bird. If Tatarimokke overtakes him, Sebastian would almost rather blow his brains out than show up at the next Night Parade meeting to the owl’s hooting laughter. Maybe he would leak across the table and choke the life out of that feathered freak first… “Mr. Winter.”
“Yes, boss?”
Spinning on his heel, the plant-whispering gangster returns to the table, lit from overhead by a harsh light. It pleases him how the atmosphere sets his towering form in shadow over whomever sits across from him. “I will arrange the next steps in acquiring the deed to the Mitsurugi woodlands. I have a different task for you.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Purchase a crew of mercenaries. No big names. Idiot nobodies who will jump at the money and run into danger,” he flexes his fist, pulling bandages out of his desk to wrap around the scrapes left by his brick wall. “Tomorrow, there will be a restoration attempt on the woodlands. I want it stopped by any means necessary. Throw in some bounties to really get the dogs slathering. Anyone who brings me the head of one of those Shiketsu brats will be handsomely rewarded. And a hefty bonus to anyone who can bring me the head of Mitsurugi Chihiro, or the Tall Man.”
“Of course, boss.” At a nod from Greenfinger, his lieutenant shuffles out of the office.
Never have just one move in motion. Picking up his phone, Sebastian looks down at a sticky note on his desk. Punching in the number delicately with his overlarge fingers, he waits for an answer from the other side.
With a click, someone at last picks up. “Pizza hut. May I take your order?”
“Triple pepperoni. Cut it thin and deliver it to the house with green paint, 10-45.”
“It’ll be ready in thirty or it’s free.”
Sebastian Needle hangs up the phone. A coded message to meet with a representative of a new heist crew, unestablished and looking to whet their daggers. The Argonauts. If they can steal the deed to the Mitsurugi dojo, Sebastian’s forgers will be able to produce a fake bill of sail, and the woodlands will be his to expand his new development into. Soon, Greenfinger will be back.
North Osaka
[Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkTVlH9qGbg ]
In Osaka is a small motel named the Saiga no Shudan (the Last Resort). The rooms are in rough shape, making it a wonder why the prices are so high. And the prices are high, making it a wonder how it brings in clientele. For those in the know, however, the Last Resort Motel has a very special admission price of free. In the Last Resort hotel, there is a room numbered 8. Inside of room 8, there is a nightstand bolted to the floor. Inside of the nightstand, there is a drawer. And inside of that drawer, there is a bible. And inside of that bible…
Reaching down, Yuuma opens the bible to the third page, where the middle has been cut out. On the inside is a switch. When he flicks the switch, a section of the floor just beneath the foot of the bed opens up, into a stairway leading down. He follows it. As he makes a turn, the sound of muffled music works its way up the underground corridor.
Through a door, and into the raucous heart of scum and villainy. Second Nagasaki, built in the style of an old American speakeasy, abuzz with the sound of soft jazz and bad intentions. If you want some freelance goons, or a place to be picked up as a goon, this hole under Osaka where to go.
Yuuma slides into a seat at the bar and waves down the bartender, who comes near enough to hear over the bustle. “Looking for a crew. Fast cash, no reputation needed. Can you put out the word?”
The man behind the bar, a man with an abnormally large forehead and brow, rubs a damp cloth against the rim of a clean glass. “Think I can do you a few. How soon?”
“Tomorrow.”
The bartender clicks his tongue and sets down the glass, leaning on the counter. “Not gonna get much quality.”
“More of a quantity over quality approach,” Yuuma clarifies. “See, you don’t need to pay the ones that get caught…”
“Mm,” it’s not an unusual tactic, and the browed man just nods. He raises a finger and points across the room, to one of the crowded tables where a bunch of unemployed goons are tossing down cards and tossing back drinks. “The duck man there,” Yuuma squints. Among their number is indeed a man-sized duck, wearing an old US army uniform and helmet. “Been on a hot streak. Small jobs. Robberies, targeted muggings. Starting to go to his head, and the small-timers are caught up in the young myth. Get him, and you’ll pick up more. From there it’s all momentum.”
Rubbing his scarce few chin hairs, the wiry villain nods his head. “What’s he call himself?”
“The Duck o’ War.”