Controlee

13. Inconsequential

This chapter's real short so prepare for a double whammy.

Rule 30: It's not wrong to keep secrets.

Otsuka figured she'd just give her guardians the abridged version of what they needed to know.

"I was pretty excited the day my quirk manifested, it was just this cool mist around my fingers. Then some time around lunch it sort of exploded, we don't know if it was actually an episode or not. It didn't stop for two days." She remembered all the information like statistics on a page, all of it was just numbers. "Over two hundred and fifty people spent the next eight weeks in hospital and, yeah." She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was something she was done with, like there wasn't a guilt burning in her chest that only ever went quiet, never truly going away.

The following silence was familiar; it hurt more than the burning.

"Holy shit," Yamada muttered, dipping into English.

An amused smile came over Otsuka's face. "Yeah, that's probably the most accurate response I've ever had."

"You were stuck in that for two days?" Yamada muttered in amazement.

Otsuka nodded. She'd expected them to focus on the number of people she put in hospital and how long they'd had to stay there, the things everyone else focused on. But yeah, her and the younger boy she hadn't mentioned to them had been stuck in that for a full forty-eight hours before it— she didn't even know for sure— either dissipated, or sucked back into her.

"I remember hearing about something like that on the news," Aizawa muttered, more to himself than anyone else but the ginger (now a little more grown up than that scared seven-year-old) heard.

She nodded again. "They tried to keep it as confidential as they could, but it was hard considering an entire school was swallowed by some red barrier and hospitals miles around were suddenly going past full capacity for eight weeks straight." She remembered Mags talking her through it, a few years later, a few years to move past it, a few years of control under her belt. "A rumour eventually started that it was a hostage situation by a group of villains and it caught so much wind that most of Japan was convinced." In a way, most of Japan was convinced Otsuka was a villain, even if they didn't know it. "My name was never mentioned."

"And after that, you went straight to the control school?"

She hummed affirmatively, taking another few loaded mouthfuls of her meal. "If you don't mind, I've got some homework to do," she lied, or she thought she was lying until she remembered that she hadn't paid any attention to anything all day because of Kirishima, "so I'm going to get that done."

"Right, good plan," Yamada said, his voice almost seeming shaky. It didn't suit his confident and outgoing personality.

She thanked them for the meal before heading back into her room.

The door shut behind her.

She didn't even think about the work she had to do; she stared at the letter. Well, more like the pillow it was hiding under.

It was taunting her, she decided. The letter, not the pillow. It was teasing her, acting so innocent, not like it was from a dead person, or anything of the sort.

She was being a fool. This had to be some kind of prank or something. Maybe Matsui had somehow got Mags to agree to this, how else could this possibly be real? Maybe the original letter was fake. Maybe it was all just Mags.

So there was nothing wrong with tearing the envelope open and getting at whatever was inside. Not even a single issue. Nope. Not a one.

Not.

A.

One.

And yet, she still hadn't moved from her place with her back firmly against the wall. It was almost like she'd scrambled back from it in fear.

This was so stupid. Afraid of a letter? Mags would tell her she was insane; Matsui would never let her live it down.

That was it. She stormed the short distance over and yanked it out from the pillow and ripped it open with reckless-

Nope. She was still just staring. But she wanted to do it. She really wanted to just take it like it meant nothing.

She took a deep breath and reached a faintly trembling arm out to it. Standing to be able to reach far enough, her hand slipped under the soft material and pulled out the aged paper.

Just paper. Just a bunch of paper. That was what she was afraid of right now. How stupid was that, huh?

Just a bit of paper. She said it over and over to herself as her thumb flicked the corner of the flap up and slid along the edge, making a right meal of it when the tab tore. Just a bit of paper. Just a normal, everyday, bit of inconsequential pa-

It wasn't inconsequential.