My mother had a rule about swords.
I wasn’t allowed to own one.
This was, in my opinion, unreasonable.
In her opinion, I was fourteen.
We had been having the same argument for almost two years.
“I attend a school that teaches weapons.” “With supervision.” “I’ve used real swords before.” “With supervision.” “Emi owns a lance.” “Emi isn’t my son.” “Montiro can create guns with his hands.” “And somehow you’re making my argument for me.” I stood across the kitchen counter from her, holding a folded sheet of paper.
She didn’t look up from the vegetables she was cutting.
“This one’s not even sharpened.” “No.” “It’s a training sword.” “No.” “It’s reinforced.” “That makes it worse.” “How?” “It means when you inevitably hit something you’re not supposed to, the thing breaks instead of the sword.” “I don’t hit things I’m not supposed to.” Mom stopped cutting.
She looked toward the ceiling.
I followed her eyes.
There was still a dent above the kitchen doorway.
That had been a broom.
Completely unrelated.
“That was different.” “Of course.” “The handle was wet.” “Naturally.” “And Benny distracted me.” “Benny wasn’t here.” “He texted me.” Mom went back to cutting vegetables.
“No sword.” I unfolded the paper.
“What if I pay for half?” “No.” “Three quarters?” “No.” “All of it?” “With what money?” I refolded the paper.
That was a problem for future me.
Mom’s knife tapped steadily against the cutting board.
I sat at the counter.
“Why do you care so much?” The knife stopped.
I hadn’t meant anything by it.
Not really.
But Mom looked at me differently.
Then she put the knife down.
“Because weapons aren’t toys.” “I know.” “I know you know.” “Then—” “And because I know you.” I frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means when you become interested in something, you don’t do it halfway.” “That’s good.” “Usually.” She wiped her hands.
“You stayed awake until two in the morning last month reading about monster joint structures.” “That was one time.” “Three nights.” “I had questions.” “You watched six hours of sword competition footage because Emi told you your rear foot was too wide.” “It was.” “You practiced until your palms blistered.” I looked at my hands.
The blisters were gone now.
Mostly.
Mom leaned against the counter.
“If I put a sword in your room, you’re going to practice every day.” “Probably.” “Before school.” “Maybe.” “After school.” “Possibly.” “At midnight.” “That’s speculation.” “Akio.” “Fine.” She smiled a little.
Then it disappeared.
“I don’t mind that you work hard.” There was something behind the words.
I waited.
“I mind when you work like you’re trying to catch someone.” I looked at her.
“Who?” “You tell me.” I knew where this was going.
“I don’t care about Dad’s ranking.” “I didn’t say your father.” “You didn’t have to.” Mom looked down at the cutting board.
Dad’s name didn’t ruin rooms in our house.
Not usually.
We talked about him.
Sometimes.
Mom told stories when she felt like it.
How he once burned noodles so badly they fused to the pot.
How he snored.
How he assembled my bed wrong the first time and insisted the instructions were incorrect.
Those were my favorite stories.
Not the ones from documentaries.
Not the rankings.
Not the interviews.
Not the memorial footage.
Those belonged to everybody.
The guy who broke our bed frame trying to fix it belonged to us.
“I don’t want to be him,” I said.
Mom nodded.
“I know.” “I don’t even have a power.” “I know.” “So why would I be trying to catch him?” She looked at me.
“Because sometimes you act like being Akio isn’t enough unless you’re useful.” That landed harder than I wanted it to.
I looked away.
Mom picked up the knife again.
She didn’t start cutting.
“I didn’t say no forever.” My eyes returned to her.
“What?” “To the sword.” “Really?” “Don’t make me regret continuing this sentence.” I closed my mouth.
“If you still want one in six months, we’ll talk.” “Six?” “Would you prefer twelve?” “Six is excellent.” “You’ll train with school equipment until then.” “Fine.” “And if Emi says you’re developing bad habits, I’m extending it.” “Why does Emi have authority over my life?” “Because I trust her judgment.” “More than mine?” “Considerably.” “That’s hurtful.” Mom smiled.
I stole a piece of carrot.
She slapped my hand.
“Go do homework.” “I finished.” “Then clean your room.” “I have homework.” “Thought so.” I got off the stool.
“Akio.” I turned.
Mom had gone back to the vegetables.
“Yeah?” “I’m glad you found something you love.” I didn’t answer immediately.
Neither did she.
Then I smiled.
“Six months.” “Seven.” “You said six.” “Keep talking.” I went upstairs.
Emi found out about the sword ban the next morning.
I blamed Benny.
“I didn’t tell her,” he said.
“You absolutely told her.” “I told Threya.” “Who told me,” Emi said.
Benny pointed at Threya.
“See?” Threya took a bite of toast.
“You told me in front of Emi.” Benny thought about it.
“Oh.” I stared at him.
He smiled.
“Memory’s hard.” We were in Emory’s cafeteria before classes.
Frank was eating enough food for three people.
Kenya had one headphone in.
Toma sat beside her, reading something on his phone.
Paul was attempting to balance an orange on top of Benny’s water bottle.
Montiro was complaining about an upcoming written exam.
Beth was watching Paul fail.
Normal morning.
Emi sat across from me.
“Your mother is correct.” “Nobody asked.” “You shouldn’t own a sword yet.” “Why?” “Because you don’t need one.” “That’s a terrible reason.” “You have access to training weapons here.” “Not at home.” “Exactly.” I narrowed my eyes.
She drank her tea.
“Do you practice at home?” “Footwork.” “How much?” I hesitated.
Emi’s eyes narrowed.
Threya leaned toward her.
“Too much.” “Traitor.” “You limped Tuesday.” “I wasn’t limping.” “You were.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” “You get defensive.” “I do not.” Everyone at the table looked at me.
I looked around.
“What?” Benny reached for my drink.
Without looking, I moved it.
His fingers closed on empty air.
“Defensive,” he said.
“That’s theft prevention.” Emi put her cup down.
“Training Hall Three after classes.” “Why?” “You’re going to show me your footwork.” “Why?” “Because if you’re practicing incorrectly, six months becomes longer.” I stared at her.
“Did my mother hire you?” “No.” “Would you tell me?” “No.” I looked at Threya.
She shrugged.
“She’s scary.” “You could defend me.” “From Emi?” Threya shook her head.
“I love you, but not that much.” Benny made a noise.
Everyone looked at him.
He had both hands over his mouth.
“Say it,” Threya said.
He shook his head violently.
“Good choice.” Training Hall Three smelled like rubber flooring and bad decisions.
Most training halls did.
Emi tossed me a wooden sword.
I caught it.
“Stance.” “Hello to you too.” “Stance.” I took position.
She walked around me.
No weapon.
That made it worse somehow.
“Rear foot.” I adjusted.
“Too far.” I moved it.
“Too close.” I moved it again.
“You’re doing that deliberately.” “Doing what?” “Making me angry.” “I would never.” She kicked my ankle.
Not hard.
Enough to move it.
“There.” I looked down.
“That feels weird.” “Because you’ve been practicing wrong.” “I’ve been practicing what you showed me.” “No.
You’ve been practicing what you remember I showed you.” I hated that sentence.
Mostly because it was correct.
Emi stepped in front of me.
“Move.” I went through the sequence.
Advance.
Cut.
Recover.
Step.
Turn.
Guard.
My body knew it well enough that I didn’t have to think about every part anymore.
That felt good.
Until Emi said, “Stop.” I froze.
She walked around me again.
“You’re faster.” “Thank you.” “That wasn’t praise.” “Why not?” “You’re sacrificing balance.” She pushed my shoulder.
I stumbled.
“See?” “I wasn’t expecting that.” “Your opponent will send written notice next time.” “Appreciated.” She took the sword from me.
“Watch.” Emi wasn’t a swordswoman.
That mattered.
She held the weapon correctly because Emi could probably hold a chair correctly if someone told her it was for combat, but there was none of the ease she had with a lance.
She performed the same sequence.
Slower than me.
Much slower.
But every step ended beneath her.
Her weight never drifted.
She could’ve changed direction at any point.
I understood immediately.
“Oh.” Emi stopped.
“There.” “What?” “That face.” “What face?” “The one you make when something clicks.” I took the sword back.
Again.
Slower.
Advance.
Cut.
Recover.
Step.
Turn.
Guard.
Better.
“Again.” I did.
“Again.” I did.
After the sixth repetition, I heard the door open.
“Found him.” Benny.
I didn’t turn.
“Go away.” More footsteps.
Apparently he’d brought everyone.
“His mom banned swords,” Benny announced.
“I know,” Frank said.
“Everybody knows,” Paul added.
“Why does everybody know?” Threya sat against the wall.
“Because it’s funny.” “It’s not.” “It is a little.” I ignored them.
Again.
Advance.
Cut.
Recover.
Step.
Turn.
Guard.
Emi walked around me.
“Better.” That one was praise.
I tried not to look pleased.
Failed.
Frank noticed.
“Look at him.” “Shut up.” “You love this.” I lowered the sword.
“Yeah.” The answer came out before I could make it sarcastic.
Everyone got quieter.
Not silent.
Just enough that I noticed.
I looked at the wooden sword.
It wasn’t impressive.
Scratched.
Worn grip.
One dark mark near the guard from somebody else’s training.
But holding it made things make sense.
There was distance.
Timing.
Angles.
Weight.
A mistake could be identified.
A movement could be improved.
There were answers.
Not easy ones.
But answers.
Powers never felt like that.
Everyone else had awakened and received something that belonged only to them.
Earth.
Metal.
Ice.
Steel.
Music.
Poison.
Explosions.
Weapons.
Thought.
I had spent years waiting for my thing.
Maybe that was why swords felt different.
They didn’t wait for me to awaken.
They didn’t care who my father was.
They didn’t care that every Core scan I’d ever taken came back ordinary.
If my stance was bad, it was bad.
If I improved it, it improved.
Simple.
Fair.
“I do,” I said.
Emi nodded once.
“Then don’t rush.” I looked at her.
She pointed at my feet.
“Again.” So I did.
By Friday, my legs hurt.
Apparently doing footwork correctly used muscles I’d been avoiding by doing footwork incorrectly.
Emi found this hilarious.
Not outwardly.
Emi didn’t outwardly find much hilarious.
But I could tell.
“You knew this would happen.” “Yes.” “Could’ve warned me.” “I did.” “When?” “When I told you that you were practicing incorrectly.” “That’s not a warning.” “It is exactly a warning.” I stretched one calf against the wall.
Classes had ended ten minutes ago.
The hallway was mostly empty.
“Are you coming tomorrow?” She looked at me.
“Where?” I stopped stretching.
“Tomorrow.” “That does not answer the question.” “Benny didn’t tell you?” “No.” Interesting.
For once, Benny had failed to spread information.
“We’re meeting at my place.” “Why?” “Because my mom says if we’re going to spend every Saturday wandering around the city, she wants to know where everyone is.” Emi blinked.
“All ten?” “Apparently.” “At your house?” “Yes.” She considered that.
“Your mother agreed?” “She proposed it.” “Why?” “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.” Emi adjusted the strap of her training bag.
“What are we doing?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “That’s what normal people do when they hang out.” “I train.” “Exactly why you need this.” She stared at me.
“I’ll come.” “Really?” “You sound surprised.” “I am.” “Why?” “You have goals.” She hit my sore leg with her bag.
I almost collapsed.
Mom regretted everything by 11:12 Saturday morning.
All ten of us were in the house.
Benny arrived first.
Of course.
Threya came next with food Mom had not asked her to bring.
Kenya and Toma arrived separately but within thirty seconds of each other.
Nobody commented.
We were learning.
Frank had to duck slightly beneath one of the hanging plants in the entryway.
Paul immediately asked if he was allowed to use his ability indoors.
Mom said no before he finished the sentence.
Montiro complimented the house.
Beth complimented Mom’s books.
Emi brought more food.
That made Mom like her instantly.
Traitor.
By eleven, the living room looked occupied by an invading army.
Shoes everywhere.
Bags everywhere.
Benny had found the old game console.
Paul and Frank were arguing over controllers.
Kenya was looking through Mom’s music collection.
Toma was helping her.
Montiro had discovered an old photograph on the bookshelf.
I saw him pick it up.
Then stop.
I knew which one it was before I crossed the room.
Dad.
He looked younger in the picture.
Not hero-younger.
Actually younger.
No uniform.
No armor.
No cameras.
He was sitting on the kitchen floor holding a screwdriver in one hand and part of what would eventually become my bed in the other.
I was little.
Maybe four.
Sitting beside him.
Both of us were looking at something outside the frame.
Probably Mom.
Montiro looked at me.
“That’s your dad?” “Yeah.” He looked back at the picture.
“I’ve only seen the hero photos.” “Most people have.” “He looks…” I waited.
“Normal.” I smiled slightly.
“He was.” Mom spoke from behind us.
“No, he wasn’t.” We turned.
She carried a bowl of chips.
“He tried assembling that bed without instructions for three hours.” “I remember.” “You were four.” “I remember you yelling.” “I did not yell.” I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Montiro wisely said nothing.
Mom took the photograph from him.
Her thumb moved across the frame.
For a second, she wasn’t hosting nine teenagers.
She was somewhere else.
Then Benny shouted from the living room.
“AKIO, FRANK’S CHEATING!” Frank shouted back.
“MY CHARACTER IS JUST BETTER!” Mom blinked.
The moment passed.
She handed the picture back to Montiro.
“Put that somewhere safe before one of them destroys it.” “Yes, ma’am.” She went toward the living room.
I stayed beside Montiro.
He returned the photograph carefully.
“Sorry.” “For what?” “I don’t know.” “Then don’t apologize.” He nodded.
I looked at the picture one more time.
Dad had one sock on.
I had never noticed that before.
Mom cooked enough food for twenty people.
Frank tried his best to prove that wasn’t enough.
We crowded around the dining table and kitchen counter because there weren’t ten matching chairs.
Benny got a folding chair.
He complained.
Mom told him he could sit on the floor.
The folding chair became acceptable.
“This is good,” Kenya said.
“Thank you.” Frank pointed his fork at Mom.
“Mrs.
Kita, respectfully, I would die for you.” “Please don’t.” “Can I have more?” “Yes.” “Then the offer stands.” Mom laughed.
I watched her move around the kitchen.
She looked happy.
That surprised me.
Not because Mom was usually unhappy.
She wasn’t.
But there was something different about seeing the house full.
Maybe she liked noise.
Maybe I hadn’t noticed how quiet it normally was.
Threya noticed me looking.
“What?” “Nothing.” “You keep doing that.” “Doing what?” “Looking at people.” “That’s generally how vision works.” She stole something from my plate.
I looked down.
Then at her.
“Really?” “Taxes.” “In my own house?” “Higher jurisdiction.” Mom walked past.
“Threya, stop stealing his food.” “Thank you.” Mom put another serving on Threya’s plate.
“Ask first.” “Traitor.” Mom kissed the top of my head.
In front of everyone.
I froze.
Benny saw.
His eyes widened.
“No.” I pointed at him.
“Don’t.” A grin spread across his face.
“Did your mom just—” I stood.
He ran.
The entire table erupted.
Mom looked confused.
“What?” “You’ve killed me.” “Sit down.” “My reputation.” “You don’t have one.” Threya was laughing hard enough to lean against the table.
I looked at her.
“You are supposed to support me.” “I do.” “Not seeing it.” She wiped her eyes.
“I love your mom.” Mom heard that.
“I like you too.” “Great,” I said.
“Replace me.” Mom considered it.
“She does bring food.” “Unbelievable.” Later, we ended up scattered through the house.
Frank and Paul stayed with the console.
Montiro joined them.
Emi somehow ended up talking with Mom in the kitchen.
That concerned me.
Beth was reading again.
Kenya and Toma sat on the back steps sharing headphones.
Benny disappeared.
That concerned me more.
I found him upstairs.
In my room.
“Why are you here?” He was sitting on the floor beside my desk.
“Looking.” “That’s usually called trespassing.” “You have weird stuff.” “It’s my room.” He held up one of my notebooks.
I crossed the room.
“Put that down.” He moved it away.
“Monster anatomy?” “Benny.” “Weak points?” “Give it.” “Movement patterns?” I grabbed the notebook.
He let go.
“You’re really doing this.” “Doing what?” “Studying.” “It’s school.” “No.” He pointed toward the stack beside my desk.
Three notebooks.
One on monsters.
One on first aid.
One on weapons and combat notes.
“This isn’t homework.” I put the notebook down.
“So?” Benny leaned against my bed.
“So nothing.” He looked around.
Then at me.
“You worried?” “About what?” He shrugged.
“Not getting a power.” There it was.
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Sometimes.” “Still?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” “I don’t know.” Benny picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“You don’t talk about it much anymore.” “Everyone else talks about it enough.” “I don’t.” “You absolutely do.” “Not seriously.” I looked at him.
He was right.
Benny joked.
Constantly.
But he hadn’t asked me seriously in a long time.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’m worried.” He nodded.
“Do you think it’ll happen?” “I don’t know.” “What do the doctors say?” “Late awakenings happen.” “That’s not what I asked.” “No.” He waited.
I sighed.
“They don’t know.” Benny looked down.
My room suddenly felt smaller.
“They say my Core’s normal.” “Normal’s good.” “Normal means nothing’s happening.” “Oh.” “Yeah.” He pulled his knees up.
We sat quietly.
Downstairs, Frank shouted something incomprehensible.
Paul shouted louder.
Normal house sounds now.
Benny looked at the notebooks.
“Is that why?” “Why what?” “All this.” I followed his eyes.
Maybe.
I didn’t want to say that.
So I said something else.
“If something happens, I don’t want to be useless.” Benny’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“You’re not.” “I know.” “Do you?” Mom’s words.
Almost exactly.
I looked at him.
Benny wasn’t smiling now.
He had known me too long for that to work.
“If we end up heroes,” I said, “what am I supposed to do?” “Come with us.” “Doing what?” “I don’t know.” “Exactly.” “Figure it out.” “Great plan.” “I’m serious.” “So am I.” He stood.
I thought he was leaving.
Instead he punched my shoulder.
Hard.
“Ow.” “You’re annoying.” “Why did you hit me?” “Because you’re stupid.” “Excellent explanation.” Benny pointed at me.
“If something happens and you’re there, I trust you.” I stopped.
He said it like it was obvious.
Like he’d told me the weather.
“Why?” He stared at me.
“Seriously?” “Yeah.” “Glassbacks.” “That was—” “The reserve.” “I didn’t—” “Training drills.” “Those aren’t real.” “Emi.” “What about her?” “She respects you.” “Sometimes.” “Frank listens to you.” “When?” “Occasionally.” “That’s generous.” “Threya loves you.” I looked toward the door.
“Keep your voice down.” Benny grinned.
There he was.
“Scared?” “Of Threya?
Yes.” “Smart.” He opened my bedroom door.
Then stopped.
“I mean it, though.” I looked at him.
“If something bad happens, I’m probably going to do something stupid.” “Definitely.” “Shut up.” “Continue.” He smiled.
“So you figure out the smart part.” Then he left.
I sat there.
For some reason, I looked at the notebooks again.
Monster anatomy.
First aid.
Weapons.
Things I could do.
I didn’t know then how much I would come to hate that conversation.
That evening, everyone left one by one.
Emi first.
Then Beth.
Montiro.
Frank and Paul.
Kenya and Toma walked toward the station together.
Benny’s mother picked him up.
Threya stayed last.
Of course she did.
We sat on the front steps.
Mom was inside cleaning.
I had offered to help.
She told me to enjoy the remaining fifteen minutes before Threya had to leave.
I suspected she liked Threya too much.
The street was quiet.
Threya leaned against me.
“You okay?” “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” “Because you make faces.” “What face?” “That one.” “Helpful.” She reached for my hand.
I let her take it.
“Benny talked to you.” I looked at her.
“How do you know?” “He talks differently after he says something serious.” “How?” “Louder.” I laughed.
That was true.
“What’d he say?” “Secret.” “Tell me.” “No.” She squeezed my hand.
I looked toward the house.
Through the front window, I could see Mom moving around the kitchen.
Cleaning ten plates.
Ten cups.
A ridiculous number of forks.
Threya followed my eyes.
“Your mom’s cool.” “Don’t encourage her.” “She likes me.” “Unfortunately.” “I think she likes me more than you.” “She basically said that.” “Smart woman.” I smiled.
Threya rested her head on my shoulder.
“Can we do this again?” “What?” “Today.” I looked at her.
“Have everyone over?” “Yeah.” “Sure.” “Next month?” “Why next month?” “I don’t know.
Makes it official.” “Official hanging out?” “Exactly.” “Very serious.” “Put it on the calendar.” I pulled out my phone.
She laughed.
“You’re actually doing it?” “First Saturday next month.” “Okay.” I created the event.
EVERYONE HERE Threya leaned over.
“That’s a terrible name.” “You name it.” She took my phone.
Deleted it.
Typed something.
Handed it back.
SATURDAY I looked at her.
“That’s worse.” “Simple.” “Lazy.” “Memorable.” I saved it.
“Fine.” She smiled.
“Every month.” “Every month?” “First Saturday.” “Until when?” She shrugged.
“Until we get bored.” “Could be next month.” “Then we’ll stop.” “And if we don’t?” She looked at me.
“Then we don’t.” I liked that answer.
A car turned onto the street.
Her ride.
Threya stood.
She took two steps.
Then turned back.
“Akio.” “Yeah?” She came back and kissed me.
Quick.
Warm.
Barely enough time for my brain to understand what happened.
Then she stepped away.
“See you Monday.” I stared at her.
She smiled.
Got into the car.
Left.
I remained on the steps.
The front door opened behind me.
Mom stepped out.
She looked down the street.
Then at me.
Then down the street again.
“Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You’re about to.” “No.” “Mom.” She sat beside me.
I waited.
She waited.
Thirty seconds passed.
I looked at her.
“What?” “Nothing.” “Why are you sitting here?” “My house.” “Go inside.” “My steps.” “Please.” She laughed.
I covered my face.
“This is terrible.” “You’ll survive.” “Debatable.” Mom bumped her shoulder against mine.
We sat together for a while.
Then she said, “You have good friends.” I lowered my hands.
“Yeah.” “Keep them.” I looked toward the empty street.
“Planning to.” Mom nodded.
Neither of us said anything else.
The first Saturday of the next month was already saved in my phone.
So was the one after that.
Eventually, without really discussing it, Saturday became ours.
Sometimes everyone came.
Sometimes somebody had training.
Sometimes we went downtown.
Sometimes we stayed at my house.
There was always food.
Always an argument.
Always Benny touching something that wasn’t his.
I started measuring months by those Saturdays without realizing it.
There were things in my life I worried might disappear.
My chance to awaken.
My chance to become a hero.
Memories of my father.
Time with Mom.
But not them.
Never them.
At fourteen, friendship felt less like something you maintained and more like weather.
It was simply there when you woke up.
I didn’t understand that people could love each other completely and still lose the life that let them stay together.
Not yet.