The Plague

Customer service is scarier than the Yakuza

The shift in atmosphere had Chisaki gripping his fists underneath the table as if it'd kill him to relax, tilting his head to the side with a curious facade, as if that could delay the inevitable. His stomach churned in his throat, fighting against his racing pulse, suffocating him. He could fake his expression, sure, but Amakaji knew there was no way to cover up the sudden shrink of his pupils, the slight widening of his golden eyes, the tension that had gathered in knots in his shoulders. What had those idiots out there done to have gotten noticed so quickly? After all he had done for them! And this was how they chose to repay him?! With carelessness so blatantly obvious that even a little girl had been able to pick them out?!

"I don't know what friends you're talking about?" he answered, attempting to sound clueless, but his tone was too angry to deceive anybody. Heroes were too perceptive. She was as ill as all the rest, and illness needed to be dealt with immediately. Purged without hesitation. People like her made him sick.

"I'd suggest you calm down. It's my job to notice these things."

What did she know? She was just a child. Nothing special, nothing important-

"Clearly you came here to talk, so let's talk. But if you're going to bring them along, then they have a say in this too. And I'm not going to say another word until you've calmed down."

Calmed down?! Who did she think she was, bossing him around like that, acting as if she had authority-

No, no, he had to play along. She was considering being co-operative. These situations were delicate. 

Taking a deep breath to quell his rage, Overhaul made a real effort to push that nasty feeling of shock right down where it'd never see the light of day, where it could fester and curdle for some other time, not now. And she even looked surprised herself, as if she hadn't expected him to listen. Of course he'd listen. This arrangement was supposed to go both ways, after all.

Irritation laced his voice like venom. "I see."

Gloves, mask, clean. Germaphobe. Coat, furry, no plain colours, expensive, clean- odd mask shape. Fashion? No, sanitary, functional- expensive clothes, gloves, mask, bird mask, signature look? Odd. More than that.

Intimidating. Eyes, posture, power- powerful? Quirk, or influence? Likely both. Villain? No, the clothes. Not a hero either.

Lesser known Yakuza. Research later. 

Coralia Amakaji had deciphered most of it by the time he walked through that door, and her brain had been picking up the pieces, rearranging them into order, the entire time she served him. Her quirk required two things- knowledge, and intelligence. Those were two similar, but entirely different, things. And each had its own obstacle.

Knowledge, for her, was about facts. Picking them out and recognizing what aspects lingered on a person. Everyone was an amalgamation of their experiences and preferences, and everything about someone reflected something they had witnessed somewhere else, or something they had lived through, or somebody they had known. By picking up these little facts, such as "this person squints" or "that person talks loudly," she could decipher what they were like from a glance.

Intelligence, on the other hand, was about what to do with that information once she had it, or what to do with a lack of it. Knowing that someone was prone to indecisiveness, for example, was one thing, but having the intelligence to use that persons traits for her own motives was something entirely different. Being able to make quick choices and recognise the advantages that came with simple aspects of a persons being, that was her interpretation of intelligence.