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He starts his morning with tea. Unexpected. Black, no milk no sugar no time brush his teeth. He starts his morning with tea at exactly 7:55 am, dresses quickly, simply. Black shirt, short sleeves, no undershirt. Plain underwear, sweatpants. Note: Kacchan dresses with purpose, like the world waits for him. Unsurprising. Quick breakfast, toast. Naughty, Kacchan. A hero needs a nutritious breakfast in order to be useful, Kacchan, you’ll never be number one that way. A shame. You won’t be number one either way.

He says hello to the hero he shares his apartment with: red hair, loose and unspiked. Sharpened teeth, spread in a wide and easy grin. Bright, red eyes, the match to Kacchan’s if they were harder. Hero name: Red Riot. Chosen in order to pay homage to old-fashioned hero Crimson Riot. Sees ‘manliness’ as a virtue, perhaps this is why he gets along with Kacchan. The epitome of manliness, ha. Real name: Kirishima Eijiro. He met Kacchan in high school, when they shared a row in Class 1-A at Yuuei. They got along almost immediately, strange for Kacchan. Is likely the only human being in existence who can 100% stand Kacchan’s demeanor. Genuine. I hate him.

Kacchan used to hate tea. 

He walks to work. Of course he walks. Hates buses, too crowded. Hates a lot of things. Did hate. Still hates? Make note to confirm. Learn his patterns. Learn him . Scratch that last note. He does not walk to work, he jogs. Don’t need to learn him, been learning him for years. This is just a refresher-course. Signs: furrowed brow, pursed lips, grinding teeth. There are tiny veins in the creases by his eyes. Conclusion: Irritation, combined with high blood pressure. Kacchan should watch his sodium intake, or he’ll die early. Heroes often die early. Just not because of sodium. Zero incidents on the way to work, a modest building. 

Just kidding. It’s gaudy, full of windows, an office worthy of the Number Two Hero Ground Zero. Bright colors paint “Zero Point Office” over the uppermost balcony. Kacchan employs thirteen people here. Two secretaries, both women. Quirks: minor telekinesis and breath that turns into colored bubbles. Useless. One poor, overworked Human Resources coordinator, hand in hand with Public Relations. They seem panicked most of the time. I don’t have to wonder why. On the way into the building Kacchan yells at a woman who lets her dog use his bushes as a bathroom, and she leaves in tears: I can see the PR coordinator through the window shake his head and pull a pad of legal paper from his desk. The other nine are sidekicks. Classy, Kacchan. You’re a big man now, lots of underlings. Do you bully them the way you used to bully me?

Note: Kacchan must be more charismatic than he was. Half his sidekicks look at him in awe, the other half with respect. Common Quirks, nothing too flashy, but at least they still have one. For now.

One of the younger villains will put the cameras in once Kirishima leaves. I don’t remember his name,  he’s weak, unimportant. Trash. He won’t last long if he doesn’t follow directions well and asks questions--I’ll take the memory from him later, one of the few Quirks I can use fairly well. Turns out it helps to know what it’s like to be invisible.

Back to Kacchan. Don’t wander, remember what you’re here for, don’t waste time or space thinking about extras. This is my show: his smirk his frown his condescending sneer, all the different expressions of his mouth betray exactly how he feels. Tsk Tsk, Kacchan, heroes should control themselves more.

Note: Kacchan is still terrible at self control.

His hero costume is modified from when he was in school. Sleeker, the grenade casings on his forearms revised and reworked to be more efficient. The outside is strong enough to withstand Kacchan’s full power without marks, there’s not a trace of residue on the dark green metal. No, not metal. Something else, metal would be too heavy, get too warm. Not plastic, it would melt. Some mix of alloys, likely new. Can store up to 30% more sweat. 

...How gross to think about.

Support items made by Mei Hatsume, magnifying Quirk called Zoom. The crosshairs in her eyes can see up to five kilometers away when she focuses, but it isn’t useful for more. Strange girl, eccentric. Very popular among pro heroes these days. Note: stop by her workshop, maybe she has tricks to borrow. New technology. It’s always a struggle for the League to keep up with heroes in the regard. She seems to be very...inventive.

She is a sidenote. Unimportant in the big picture. I’m no artist but I can paint this, know where this scene is going. Kacchan is impressive at work--he’s quick, efficient, brutal. On his rounds he sees a bank robbery, and by the end of it the perpetrators are sped to jail á la ambulance. He has no mercy for them, even when they realize who he is and sink to their knees, Signs: eyes wide hands shaking voice high and wheezing through closed lungs. Conclusion: they are absolutely terrified of the demon before them, all burning eyes and burning hands and burning skin, once he gets those hands on them. I can smell their flesh from here. The smell of burning human is difficult to describe to anyone who hasn’t smelled it but it is like copper and rubber and sin have joined. It caresses my nose like an old friend.

Evening training. Note: Kacchan likes to train with his shirt off. Can he detonate his Quirk from other sweat, or just the sweat on his palms? He’d be a full-body explosion. A Nova. Accurate, supernovas collapse after they explode, into shriveled balls of mass, like Kacchan will collapse once I’m done with him. He’s my singularity, the point I always come back to. It’s irritating, the only way to escape a black hole is to either be faster than light or never be caught in the first place. Luckily, I am much, much faster than him. Kacchan’s light won’t escape me.

Evening training: Kacchan trains with his shirt off and every muscle strains. He’s rigorous, thorough. The work he does would likely leave my body aching--we’re built differently, Kacchan and I. He’s broad where I am slim, bright where I am dull, loud where I am quiet. I have my share of strength, but I carry it in my core, not draped across my shoulders like a mantle of muscle. If he caught me, Kacchan could snap my arms in two, but Kacchan won’t ever catch me. It’s no doubt that eventually, I’ll catch him. He’s already walking through tangled threads, silk woven in a net so fine he won’t even feel it until it’s already digging into his skin, delicate fibers slicing into his fingertips. It doesn’t matter if I’m weaker than him, once he’s caught I’ll still devour him, black widow venom in his veins.

He showers and heads upstairs. Dinner is simple. Kirishima makes food, beans and rice with tomato. Kacchan complains about it being tasteless, and adds a quite frankly startling amount of hot sauce. He drinks a cup of tea afterwards, sits in the half-twilight and sips slowly, watching the streets. His eyes reflect the smoke. Jasmine tea, gentle. Bed is simple. He strips to boxers and lies down, not bothering to set an alarm. How confident, Kacchan. To be able to wake up in time every morning.


You really shouldn’t leave your windows open when you sleep, Kacchan. You don’t know who may be watching.