Letting Off Steam
“FUCK YOU”
The words rang in his head, bouncing around inside the white-hot haze. The rest of his shift was uneventful, but that moment consumed it all.
‘Fuck, stuck-up, entitled- fuck, they’re all the same, just calm down.’ Junichi thought to himself, clenching his fist hard, digging his nails into his palm to try and gain focus through pain. His breathing was mostly steady, forced, with an undercurrent of anger, just a slight waver.
He pulled off his work shirt, tossing it to the side harshly. He clenched his jaw as he forced himself to calm down. ‘When was the last time I let myself get this riled up?’ he pondered, standing still in the middle of the room in the back of the store. He let out a low growl, then reached down to grab at his shirt - one of his favourites, a black button-up - and pulled it on, quickly buttoning it.
With his bag in one hand, and jacket in the other, he left through the back door. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he dug into his pocket to pull out his phone as he walked through the alleyway, checking the time. It was early morning.
‘The worst time of day.’ Junichi complained to himself. ‘At least the trains are running.’
He made his way to Demachiyanagi station, catching the train amidst the early morning rush. A few stops down, he swapped lines to the Tozai line, heading to the other side of Kyoto. The familiar side, nearer to his comfort zone. Less rich people living life up, and more people just trying to make their way in this hazardous and chaotic world.
Stepping off the subway car, he made his way up and out, and onto the streets of Kyoto. Usually, if he were headed home, he’d make his way to the nearby tram line and take that to Rokuouin station, but he was hungry. That, in and of itself, demanded a detour. There was a takoyaki place not far that would be open this early.
That, and the walking gave him time alone to think. ‘Life’s been strange, lately,’ he mused, ‘maybe that’s what has me feeling off?’
His thoughts went round and round, driving a deeper scowl onto his face as made his way through the streets, before he arrived at the takoyaki place, just a small shop on the side of the street. With only a few seats along the counter, it was a quaint place, but it was cheap food, and better yet, good. The best in the city, in Junichi’s own opinion.
“Hey, old man, could I get some takoyaki?” Junichi leaned on the counter, poking his head forward to look deeper into the shop, where an older man could be seen, preparing towards the back.
“Ah, you brat, it’s you. Can you pay this time?” the old man grouched, but a small grin flickered over his gruff face briefly. Junichi smirked back, before he caught himself and forced a cough into his hand to cover his expression.
“Yeah, just got off work actually.” he pulled out his wallet and retrieved a 500 yen coin, and placed it on the counter. The old man sighed in mock annoyance, then slid the coin into his palm.
“One order, coming up.”
Junichi waited comfortably for a few minutes, enjoying the early spring morning atmosphere. Once he had his food, he thanked the old man and dug in. It didn’t take him long to finish, though he did burn his mouth twice, to the store owner’s amusement.
Once he finished eating, he picked his jacket back up - he’d had it resting on a seat next to him - and slung his bag back over his shoulder. He raised a hand to wave at the old man running the takoyaki store, and headed on his way.
‘I’ll take this shortcut’, he thought, ‘I could really use a shower…’
His thoughts trailed off as he heard raucous laughter ahead of him, and a couple of rough voices talking amongst themselves. He was passing through a back alley, and there was a small group of boys ahead, dressed in leather jackets. Maybe his own age, maybe a bit older. One of them even had a pompadour.
‘Who the fuck are these assholes? Never seen them around here before. They’re not yakuza, right?’
As he took a moment to think, the boys ahead of him took the moment to notice him.
“Well, well, well, look here bros! A fresh pretty-boy twink, out in the wild!” the biggest of them snickered, turning to look at Junichi.
‘Nah, not yakuza. Just asshole thugs.’ he confirmed to himself, before shrugging, his lips twitching slightly in annoyance. He picked up his pace again, sliding his gaze past them as he continued down the alley.
“Hey, fucker, I just spoke to you.” the big one said, the aggression in his tone ramping up as he stepped in Junichi’s path, roughly stopping him with a hand on his chest.
“Yeah, and I don’t care asshole. Get out of my way.” Junichi spat out.
Big guy grinned, as the other two, Pompadour and Wiry, spread out to flank, loosely surrounding Junichi.
“Oho ho, tough guy huh? Your boyfriend teach you to talk like that?” Big guy asked, as the other two snickered.
Junichi slapped the big guy’s hand away. “Just ‘cause you three go at it together doesn’t mean we all do.” he scoffed, but he didn’t go to move past.
His brain told him to leave, or at least dart past so he wasn’t surrounded, but he thought back to that girl, and his anger rose again. He thought back to his time in Tokyo, short as it was, and the rational part of his brain shut fully off.
He was a legit villain, and these were some shitty delinquent ganger punks! The rational part of his brain would be amazed at the hypocrisy here, if it were active. No, he needed to blow off some steam, and these assholes had made themselves a target. His restless energy started to gather, tension building up in his entire body - anticipation, pure anticipation.
“Shit, boss, I think this twink just asked us to beat his ass and teach him how to apologize?” the wiry one said, cracking his knuckles.
The big guy, evidently the ‘boss’, grinned, even as his eye twitched in annoyance. “Yeah, I think he just fuckin’ did.”
With that, the big guy cocked back his fist and punched Junichi square on the jaw. The impact was solid, and it sent Junichi stumbling, sprawling backwards. He staggered into Pompadour, who reached under his arms to get him in a hold.
Junichi grinned, even as blood trickled from his lip. Then he slammed his head back into Pompadour’s nose, following up with an elbow into his gut. “Fuck!” Pompadour swore, a hand going to his face as Junichi threw himself to the side, fully evading Pompadour’s grapple, and rushed Wiry, who threw up a boxing guard even as Big Guy was charging in again.
Junichi lashed his foot out in a low kick, catching Wiry in the calf, then stepped back and turned, hands at the ready as he faced down Big Guy, the most dangerous of the three so far. He was at a reach disadvantage, and probably two or three weight classes too light, but Junichi didn’t particularly care. Bruises and broken bones what? Pain could be handled, hell, he’d been training himself for a long time to cope with pain. He could set his own bones and even repair them using his quirk, as long as he didn’t let them get re-broken too much. Even if this guy was just as skilled as him - which Junichi doubted - he’d win the attrition war, and without the boss, the other two assholes would fall and scatter. Grandstanding assholes with their false bravado always would.
For a frozen moment, the two faced each other down, Junichi holding a classic karate guard, while the big guy he was facing was holding a much looser boxing style guard. The moment passed, and Junichi broke the tension, punching out. Quick jabs, raining hit after hit, looking for an opening. He left a few open himself, and his opponent returned with jabs of his own, both of them getting sloppier and angrier as this quick brawl escalated.
But even in this short period, Junichi could tell something was off. The big guy was getting bigger? Or at least it felt like it, his presence expanding, his hits growing heavier and heavier. The big guy grinned, as he launched a powerful straight punch, catching Junichi and knocking him off-balance, right as Wiry re-entered the fight. It had only been a few moments, but suddenly the tables were already turned back on him.
Wiry rushed around, and came at Junichi from behind, grabbing his shoulder and driving a savage knee into his ribs. A hiss of pain and frustration escaped him, as a follow-up punch from Big Guy caught him square in the collarbone with an audible crack. Junichi backpedalled as pain blossomed through his chest, moving diagonally to get away from the two, but they kept harrying him, circling around, one striking at him as he went for the other, or vice-versa.
‘Fuck, is this really as far as I’ve come? Even after Tokyo?’ Junichi thought desperately, barely managing to hold on, even as he re-wove his collarbone back into place with his quirk.
The big guy came in, grabbing at Junichi’s sleeve. Snarling, he twisted his arm, ripping his sleeve away from the big guy, who in turn lashed out with his other hand, pushing Junichi backwards a few steps.
The sudden change to grabs and pushes was puzzling. ‘Even the wiry one isn’t coming any more, what the hell? Did he fucking get bored, or-’
“HEY ASSHOLE!” Pompadour suddenly shouted from a short way down the alley, holding something up in his hand.
Junichi glanced for just a second. It was a knife. He looked back to the other two, saw them grinning, then focused back on the knife in a double-take, his eyes widening slightly.
“THIS IS FOR MY NOSE, FUCKER!”
Pompadour then levelled his hand, pointing the knife straight at Junichi, and then with a dull crack and a boom, the knife jerked out of the guy’s hand at high speeds, and sunk into Junichi’s shoulder, throwing him backwards.
“What, thought we wouldn’t use our quirks, idiot?” The boss man laughed, as Wiry cackled beside him. “Yeah, idiot. Boss grows stronger the more pain he feels, and Airburst over there can launch things like bullets! You couldn’t even take one of us, never mind all of us! Dumbass!” Wiry taunted.
On the ground where he’d landed, Junichi chuckled to himself quietly, reaching up to touch at the knife in his shoulder while his back was turned. “You fuckers started this.” he murmured. Turning, he made his way to his feet, and pulled the knife out, dropping it to the ground with a clatter. Then he raised that arm, his left, despite the pain and the blood pouring out of the wound. Bones started to sprout, growing organically as he raised his arm in front of his face.
This was a trick he learned recently, but it was perfect. He didn’t really have a costume or a mask or anything, but his quirk could replicate skeletal structure. The skull was a part of that structure, and with some slight tweaks to the size…
A skull, fully formed and encasing his head like a helmet, looked back at the three delinquent gangsters. From within the eye sockets, violet eyes glimmered with anger, frustration, and hatred.
“I’ll use my quirk then, too, fuckers.” He stated plainly as he jarred his wrist by slamming it with his other hand, causing the bone to snap between the spur on his wrist and the chin of the skull, separating the two.
“Fuck it, get him!” The big guy, now dubbed M-san in Junichi’s mind, ordered, as he stepped in to close the distance. Junichi ignored him, letting his previous tactic fall from his mind. Being outnumbered was fucking bullshit. He’d fix that first. A bony structure grew from the several spurs on his left wrist, quickly encasing most of his fist, hard protrusions the prime feature, just over his knuckles. He gripped hard on the bone as it grew in between his fingers, and he clenched his left hand into a fist again, and punched Wiry square in the face, his breathing even and calm. M-san was a bit hyper, breathing harder, but it was obviously adrenaline hitting him from the fight. Junichi danced away again, experience from kendo letting him keep his distance.
He focused on Wiry again, even as he watched Pompadour try and find an angle to throw more knives. Another punch, before Wiry could recover from the first, this time to the gut, right in the diaphragm. Wiry’s eyes watered even more as he doubled over, his breath explosively leaving him. With only moments before M-san was on him again, Junichi stepped back and swept Wiry’s leg, kicking his calf in the same place as earlier.
Wiry fell to the ground.
M-san tackled him, picking Junichi straight off the ground.
‘Fucking hell, how strong does this guy get…!’ Junichi thought, as M-san started crushing him in a bear-hug. His bones creaked. ‘Fuck, can’t breathe…’
M-san turned him around. “You ready, Airburst? I’ll throw him and then down the fucker!” he shouted at his friend.
“Yeah, boss!” Pompadour replied, another knife held at the ready.
‘Ain’t… no way…’ Junichi thought, gritting his teeth as he struggled, but this guy could probably out-grapple him 9 outta 10 times even without his quirked up strength. ‘Just one… small spike…’
Junichi forced a bone to grow, sharp and straight, out of one of the small spurs on the back of his forearm, straight into the bicep of M-san, who screamed out in pain and swore, his hug loosening. Junichi twisted, and pulled free, just barely, spinning into a backhand with his dominant hand, the hard bone crunching into M-san’s face, as he heard another dull crack, from down the alleyway.
He felt the thud as the knife stabbed into his skull, bone cracking.
Then he turned his gaze. “You missed, dumbass.” he said flatly, even as he felt the burning cut along the back of his head; the skull mask he’d made had been punctured through, owing to the sheer force of the launched knife, but it was mostly penetrating into the empty space left at the back so that the skull could be removed without a hacksaw.
Before M-san recovered, he needed to close the distance and take out Pompadour, who already had another knife, and was readying it to launch. Junichi shoved his left arm downwards and behind him at an angle, his profile almost completely side-on to Pompadour. Even back when he’d applied for Shiketsu, he never would’ve thought of this move, but after Tokyo?
He was a completely different person.
Bone shot out of his arm from several points, for stability, and then stabbed into the ground, then kept growing. Junichi let it grow and launch him upwards and forwards, even as another knife went flying through the air where he was just moments before.
He spun in the air, and brought his impromptu vaulting pole down, striking Pompadour’s wrist to disarm his last knife, using the impact of the point into the ground to snap it off the growth-points on his arm, even as the jagged bones lurched upwards, scraping and digging into his shoulder. He used his momentum to launch a spinning back kick, catching Pompadour in the head and dropping him.
He discarded the awkward pole of bone with a clatter, and turned back to the now-enraged M-san, who similarly pulled the spike of bone out of his bicep, and threw it angrily to the ground.
“I’m gonna kill you.” M-san growled as he stalked forward, pulling out a knife of his own.
Junichi shrugged, even as he held up his arm and grew a bone of blade, shaped much like a bokken. He snapped it off with a wince, even as blood dripped down his arm and onto the end of the bone. “You can try.”
They faced each other down, the groans of the wiry gangster still audible in the background. M-san held out his knife, ready to try and lunge, but now, Junichi had the reach advantage. They sized each other up, almost like stereotypical samurai, or perhaps cowboys.
Then M-san lunged, confident that any pain he received getting close would be worth the advantage once he was in. Junichi stepped forward at the same time, interposing his would-be sword between him and the knife, sliding it down to push it against M-san’s wrist, as he brought his left hand off his weapon’s grip, stepped into M-san’s reach, and launched a left hook which hit M-san square on the jaw.
His eyes glazed, and he fell, clocked out in one.
“Never focus too much on your own weapon, asshole.” Junichi said, stepping over the now unconscious man, letting his bone knuckles fall off his hand.
The trek home was arduous, to say the least. Beaten, bruised, several areas starting to swell from tissue trauma caused by broken bones, at least two stab wounds, one of which bled profusely enough that Junichi felt like an old shounen anime character…
But he made it. Collapsing onto his bathroom floor, he shakily patched himself up, mainly bandaging his open shoulder wound. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with shivering hands. ‘Hey, I’m not as bad as I was after Tokyo.’ he thought, a single ‘heh’ of amusement escaping his lips.
He sat there, staring out the bathroom window looking at the blue sky. He felt better. All that anger had been vented. But, as he took a drag of the cigarette held loosely between his lips, a single stray thought kept pestering him.
‘She was kinda hot.’