My name is Shinsou Hitoshi, and I was bitten by a radioactive spider

Tragic Backstory

Grinning like a maniac, Dad entered Hitoshi's room. Hitoshi broke out into a nervous sweat as he slipped out of his pullover and tossed it behind his bed lest anyone spot the webs glued to the sleeves. Evidence that he hadn't walked the way back from the café on foot.

He didn't protest as Dad slipped a ridiculously frilly apron over his head and dragged him into the kitchen. As Dad quaked with excitement, Hitoshi decided that his parent's antics would likely be an ideal way to take his mind off the barista's contempt.

In the kitchen, sheets of sushi spread out on the countertop that hardly saw any use because no one in the household could be trusted with so much as a pot and packet of ramen. Wrinkling his brows in suspicion, Hitoshi accepted the knife Dad handed him while gesturing toward a slab of salmon on the cutting board that had just been taken out of its original packaging. Whistles filled the apartment and Dad stepped forward to pour rice into a pot. After going through half a packet of matches, Dad managed to spark a blue flame atop the stove

Curious, Hitoshi set the knife that he feared he'd be more likely to slice off his fingertips with than prepare a meal. The tingle at the back of his skull that signaled danger was absent as he stepped closer to Dad's side. Hitoshi crossed his arms and nodded his head. Color me impressed. For once Dad wasn't whining about how gas stoves were an impossible mystery to unravel. Instead, he cheerfully stirred the rice around.

"Dad, since when can you cook?"

"Ah come on, Hitoshi. You can learn anything from YouTube."

Skeptically, Hitoshi turned back toward the platter of salmon. Had Dad even refrigerated the fish properly? Tapping his fingers against his forehead, Hitoshi concluded that it had been foolish to believe that Dad's cooking skills had magically leveled up overnight.

"Are you planning on poisoning Uncle Shouta?"

"Absolutely not! We just need to commemorate his first day back on patrol somehow."

With a sigh, Hitoshi returned to the cutting board and kept his fingers a respectable distance from the blade – after all, he didn't completely trust that his newly found spider reflexes would prevent him from losing a digit or two. Regardless, the air warped around Hitoshi like a soft embrace because of Dad's gesture. Seeing Uncle Shota walk around without bandages reconstructed some of the normalcy Hitoshi had lost after getting bitten.

Staring at the knife, Hitoshi struggled to find the motivation to slice through the meat. He was half-convinced that any food that required chewing wasn't worth Uncle Shouta's while. After all, he didn't have much energy to spare between his two jobs. Now that Hitoshi thought about it, Dad had three jobs between hero patrols, teaching and his radio show. Shuddering, Hitoshi dwelled upon the implications that being raised by workaholics would have on his future work-life balance.

"Does Uncle Shouta even like sushi?

"Who doesn't?"

Schooling his expression into a neutral one, Hitoshi reached for a soy sauce packet. After opening it, he traced a line reminiscent of Uncle Shouta's scar beneath one eye. He banished every sardonic trace in his voice as he gave Dad an unimpressed glare.

"Raw fish. What do I look like to you? A cat?"

"You really are like Shouta's mini-me," Dad cooed before leaning over to pat Hitoshi on the head. "But to be fair, the two of you really do resemble cats."

"I don't see it."

"Of course, you don't, little listener." Dad pointed toward Cappucino who was lunging on top of the refrigerator, convinced that would be enough to prove that he was in the right.