Age: 13
The cashier at the "24/7" supermarket looked at us like we were the protagonists of a low-budget horror movie.
And I didn't blame him.
On the counter were three things: a bottle of mineral water, a pack of mint gum, and half a kilo of raw chicken livers.
"Are these... for a pet?" asked the cashier, a college student with dark circles under his eyes who clearly didn't get paid enough to deal with this.
"Yes," I said, pulling out my wallet with a scowl. "A very picky cat."
Beside me, Toga was practically vibrating. She had latched onto my arm like a limpet and was staring at the package of meat with the same intensity other girls stare at K-Pop idols.
"Katsuki-kun is so kind!" she squealed, resting her chin on my shoulder. "He's buying me dinner! It's our first date!"
The cashier went pale. He looked at the livers. He looked at me. He looked at Toga, who had a bit of dried blood at the corner of her lip (my blood) and a smile showing way too many teeth.
"That's... 800 yen," the guy stuttered.
I paid and grabbed the bag.
"Let's go, Toga. Before he calls security."
"Bye-bye, checkout mister!" Toga waved with her free hand as I dragged her toward the exit. "I hope you have lots of blood today!"
"Stop saying that to people," I growled as the automatic doors slid open. "It sounds like a death threat."
"But it's a good wish," she retorted, skipping beside me. "Blood is life. It's love!"
We walked to a secluded bench in the park, away from the streetlights. I handed her the package. Toga ripped it open with her fingernails, not waiting for cutlery.
I won't describe what followed. Let's just say biology is messy, and repressed hunger is ugly. But as she ate, I saw her shoulders drop. The manic trembling disappeared. Her eyes stopped darting around like a trapped insect and focused.
When she finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sighed. A long, deep sigh, as if she had just surfaced from holding her breath underwater.
"I feel... calm," she whispered.
"It's the iron and protein," I said, handing her the mint gum. "Here. Unless you want to smell like a butcher shop when you get home."
Toga took the gum and smiled at me. This time, it was a soft smile. Almost normal.
"Thank you, Katsuki-kun."
"Let's go. I'm walking you home."
"Eh?" She tensed. "No need. I can go alone."
"It's eleven at night. And you just came out of a mild psychotic episode. I'm walking you. End of discussion."
Toga didn't argue, but her mood shifted. As we moved away from downtown and into the upper-middle-class residential neighborhoods, the vibrant, weird girl began to fade.
It was a terrifying process to watch.
First, she let her hair down and re-tied her buns, but this time with military precision. Not a hair out of place. Then, she smoothed her skirt. She buttoned the top button of her shirt that she kept loose. Finally, her face changed. The fanged smile vanished. Her curious eyes became empty, dead.
She walked with her back straight, hands clasped in front. She looked like a porcelain doll.
"It's here," she said. Her voice was no longer high and singsong. It was monotone.
We stopped in front of a nice house. Manicured lawn, white fence, family car in the driveway. The perfect image of the Japanese Dream.
"Alright. Go inside," I said, staying on the sidewalk.
"Goodbye, Bakugou-san," she said, using my surname and a formal honorific. It was as if the Toga from twenty minutes ago had never existed.
She walked to the door. Took out her keys.
I stood there. My instinct told me to leave, but my enhanced hearing (an adaptation so I wouldn't go deaf from my explosions) picked up the sound of the door opening. And the voices.
"You're late, Himiko," a woman's voice said. Cold.
"I'm sorry, Mother. I was studying at the library and lost track of time."
"You smell strange," a man's voice said. A voice of disgust. "Have you been... doing those things again?"
"No, Father."
"Look at me when I speak to you. Have you taken your suppressants? Your eyes look... abnormal."
There was a pause.
"Yes, Father. I am normal. I am a normal girl."
"You better be. We don't want another incident like the bird. You embarrass us all. Go to your room and don't come out. It makes my stomach turn to look at you like that."
"Yes, Father. Goodnight."
The door closed.
I stood in the dark street, fists clenched in my pockets. My knuckles cracked.
That house wasn't a home. It was a maximum-security prison disguised as suburban happiness.
I thought of my own house.
I thought of the Old Hag screaming "TURN DOWN THE FUCKING MUSIC!" while throwing a slipper at my head. I thought of the Old Man asking if I wanted to try his new spicy curry recipe. In my house, there was noise, there were insults, and there were explosions. But never, not once, had they looked at me with disgust.
My parents were loud, but they accepted me. They accepted my violence, my ego, and my destructive Quirk.
Toga's parents were killing her slowly. They were erasing the person to maintain the façade. And if they kept pushing, the porcelain doll was going to explode. And when she did, there would be real blood, not chicken livers.
I looked at the second-floor window, where a light turned on.
"I have to get that girl out of there," I muttered to myself.
I couldn't take her to the beach to live like a hobo. That wouldn't solve anything. She needed adults. Adults who weren't afraid of monsters.
An image of Mitsuki Bakugou smiling fiercely crossed my mind.
If there was anyone in this world capable of looking at a teenage vampire and saying "Sit down and eat, you're too skinny," it was my mother.
I turned around and started walking back home. I had to come up with a plan. Toga Himiko wasn't going to become a villain. Not as long as I had something to say about it.
And woe betide anyone who tried to stop me.