This Ain't Good

6: Gym Drink Bottles Are Expensive

After buying some supplies (walking to a nearby sports store, figuring out how to use the register to scan a gym drink bottle and paying) I went back to the scene. Yeah, even while I'm using my quirk and am unstoppable (am I?), I still pay for stuff. I am a model citizen, I am a good Samaritan, I am an upholding resident of Japan and I pay for drink bottles. I took the huge, blue bottle out of my yellow back pack, along with my blue, ballpoint pen and some sticky notes that had been living in my school bag. I spent twenty minutes collecting the annoying Goo Guy AGAIN before trapping him in this larger, thicker drink bottle. C'mon All Might, I've had to do this twice in one day while you can't even get to the police station without losing a villain who was LITERALLY in your pockets! A fourteen-year-old doing a pro hero's job for them, and better at it too. How sad. It really is. Damn, this cost almost nineteen-hundred yen. The rest of the sewer goop was enclosed in the thicker, stronger plastic, eyes wide open with the unfaded anger of twenty-two minutes ago. Knowing Kacchan, he'll 'sneakily' slip the note I'll write into his pocket or something, instead of handing it to the police because he's an idiot. What should I write though...?
Got it.
I wrote on the pad of sticky notes, making sure to change my handwriting style a bit, changing how I write my Ts, Is, Us and Ks to avoid suspicion on his part. I peeled off the bright yellow note off of the pad and stuck it on the bottle, who cares if my fingerprints are on it? I know Kacchan'll take the super crucial piece of evidence that could help the police heaps while being even more of an inconvenience to me. I place the bottle and note on the ground, right in the middle of where the sewer man was and walk to a nearby alley to hide. Play.

Shocked gasps were heard before the audience was clapping enthusiastically for who I can only assume to be me. The heroes were talking to each other before the press marched in to gather data they'd screw up in their newspapers and blogs. I was leaning against the dusty brick wall, focusing on listening in to each individual conversation.

"Why yes, I do know of this hero who came to save this brave, young man's life. The hero, however, would like to remain anonymous." What the heck. I'm not a hero and you sure as heck have no idea who I am.

"Why didn't you save the boy yourself!?" A reporter called.

"We didn't have the skills nor quirk to stop this incident on our own." Some other Hero replied. Ha, wrong answer, buddy.

"Are you saying that you yourself, along with all of the other heroes at this scene, are unqualified and unfit to be heroes!?" They prodded.

"I, uh, n-no. I meant our quirks couldn't have been useful in this situation."

"But surely, with your hydrokinesis, you could've flushed the slime away with a blast of water!?" That would've been pretty smart, save me some time.

"I didn't think of tha... No comment." You should've said that at the start, buddy. Get ready to have your reputation ruined, Hydrokinesis Man. I concluded my eavesdropping and opted to exit the alleyway, walking around the crowd to see Kacchan hand the heroes a noteless bottle of slime. I knew it, he took the sticky note, and man, is he going to be pissed when he reads it.

I walked home on the uneven footpath, arriving at the apartment I'd lived in since I can remember. Knowing me, that could either be a long time or a very short time. My stupid memory's failing me like I'm freaking eighty-years-old. I took my shining silver keys out and slipped one into the clean, silver lock. It opened smoothly with a faint click. I walked in, closed and locked the door behind me, and went to my bedroom. Dad's probably working so he'll be home late. I hung my school bag up on a hook screwed tight into the wall, and lay on my bed, exhausted, only to get up two seconds later and pull a thick A5 sized black book with a black leather cover and spine from a hole in my mattress. I don't want anyone prying into my thoughts and having a look inside my head, so I keep my current diary or journal, whatever you want to call it, inside a hole I cut into my mattress that it fits into. I read how to do it in a book and so far, the hidey hole has been doing its job. I flipped through the pages whilst reaching for the white gel pen on my bedside table. I reached an unused page and began to scrawl down the events of today, one of the more exciting entries in my fully black book.