To be in one empty room, all cordoned off in cubicles where the only noise was the wild, almost smoking, scratching of a single pen anyone, adept at clocking surroundings of utmost urgency or not, would be excused for thinking that where Arima-san sat in was the Matsuzaka Aptitude Test center. Fondly and sometimes with vitriol, designated as only Matthew.
Unfortunately Arima-san had aged out for a placement test.
Practitioner.
A venerated status and one of many records now broken within the eccentric agency's walls where rules were much more lax-- some could say downright laissez-faire if he was quoting the French correctly.
In so many words, nineteen year old Okaze Arima, the youngest Practitioning super in their prefecture, was writing his last will before lunch.
It was either bumbling beuracratic error or a villainous power working against him that placed a pinched, sallow faced, fresh from training recruit on a high note Villain meeting bust.
Simply put, this city ran in part from the slush funds that excreted in slimy pustules of no less than nine powerful and callous villains with offenses a mile long and so heinous, so depraved and utterly unseemly even Hell may shudder to let them in.
Someone of his status should be dealing with purse snatchers and neighborhood watch duty around the shopping districts to enforce the feeling and appearance of protection and service.
Certain themes had become common buzzing of a bee from highschool onwards.
The very hard truth of things, the very worst and brutal activity occured behind closed doors, often disguised as good and in the privacy of isolation and ignorance.
And by God, by his legal rights as an individual with a will-- if not stamped, signed or "official,"-- that would be the final message he passed on to whoever succeeded his beloved cubicle.
And in turn inherited their own little neighborhood.
And one of the neighbors, two years his senior had been spying on him for the last half hour he had been writing and coming to terms with well-- his death.
"Hey there, Ari-kun see the long face is still around. And poetic by the way but also, the hell that Kuroko gets all your gaming mods and codes! What about the senior who has tenderly nurtured you and taught you, I treated you like-- like my little brother!"
Watari Kagome.
Ability: Regenerating Call.
When he hollers and/or harmonizes the hero two years his senior can revitalize up to 45 fallen comrades. And enemies as well.
It was a risky power to use and on the field is considered the absolute last option, often moves between disaster relief and combat.
"After I graduted and besides, Kuro was kind enough to warn me what a human disaster you are," Arima replied without shame, without subtlety or even much respect in his tone. "Shameless, absolutely shameless, having planned to take advantage of a little boy."
Kagome-san smiled cheekily, completely eschewing the usual formalities of an agency structure. "Only when that little boy is so cute, but now that boy's a man and fighting with the very, very bad big boys to boot."
Matsuzaka agency had always been a deadlock of intermingled, ringed together jurisdictions that had been dubbed The Eccentric of the country.
"Absolutely not," Arima deadpanned, "Now if that's all I suddenly have a memo to write."
Kagome whined.
"To HR."
"Okay, okay serious time let me take you out and as your senior, I am telling you, you'll be accepting my gracious gift," he said and then turned around to a sugary sweet and tacit chirp, "let's get cake then, do you like cake? Get your coat."
YOU ARE READING
The Heroes are Dumbheads but Fun I Guess
ComédieOkaze Arima: On his first mission as a recently vetted superhero had been unexpectedly overwhelmed. His superiors may have overestimated his skills based on the training regimen. And within the Walking Death's custody faced horrors unimagined and as...