Chapter Text
Year One.
It was the hot, blistering summer of a certain day of a certain year, and Suzuki Kozue – freshly eight, wearing her best summer dress – had just arrived to the city of Tokyo from a land far, far away.
She was wandering outside her house, walking through the streets and around playgrounds that other children were in. She still didn’t quite have an idea of what this country was like. After all, it had been only a few days since she’d moved; and she was much too busy watching Batman while her mother sent strange men in and out of the hose carrying loads of stuff.
As a child, Kozue didn’t care much for the theatrics. It was just the way she was. Other children her age may have found moving interesting – watching her mother move things, take out couches and beds and organizing things that were hers – but it was kind of stupid, and anyways, she’d never wanted to come to the faraway land of Japan.
It was strange, too. Being in a country she’d never been in before.
The first almost-eight years of her life had been spent in a country, while similar in looks, where everything was completely different, but that was not it. People roamed the streets in fashion she found completely strange. Words she could barely read were pasted above sidewalks and on people’s clothes. The cars zooming past looked funky. Even the air seemed different, like Scarecrow had released poisonous gas into the air.
Her consolation was that as far as she saw, this didn’t look like an entirely patriarchal society. Although it could change any day. That was the big goal: to join forces with the rebellious and the oppressed, and someday lift up the society to a higher standard.
Although, Kozue thought, crossing the semi-empty street, she could do with a bit more persons on her side. That was the long-term goal.
Her short-term one, right now, was to kill some time and find something to do while her mother finished moving fully into the flat they’d bought.
There weren’t many things to do, especially for a child like her. Children like her were only one out of the many oppressed people in this twisted society.
She dug inside her pockets and brought out whatever she could find. A plastic ring she’d picked with a claw machine on the way here, and had immediately lost interest of. A little spare change her mother had given her before letting her loose into the streets. A half-ripped piece of paper she’d doodled a Superman symbol on, and (in case she got lost), a bracelet attached to her little wrist looped round twice. Dog tags hung from the leather strings, with her mother’s name and number carved in.
Kozue got lost easily, as many could tell.
It was when she contemplated actually going to the playground in front of her house and introducing herself (ew, she thought, little children. They were astoundingly stupid and slaves of the society, destined to be shaped into lesser beings than those higher up.) when she remembered she’d seen a small clearing somewhere to her left, a few blocks before. It was one of those areas used by old people to stretch – metal equipment painted blue and yellow – but she supposed there was no one there, and anyways, it wasn’t like old people were worse company than children. At least old people were slow enough to catch.
Deciding it was not a bad decision, the girl headed towards the area, ambling about shamelessly – watching the birds, which looked different from the birds she usually saw, as well as cars that occasionally drove past and bushes of strange-looking little seeds she was sure wasn’t edible – whilst exploring the area around her.
She’d need this knowledge in the future, anyway, if she was going to live here longer. This seemed like a somewhat shabby base to set up for the start of her underground organization, but that was okay because the Avengers had been built from scratch. Probably the entire of America, too.
Thankfully, she noted, there was no one here. No old people. Not that old people were bad.
Walking through the equipment, she found a bench on the side near the bushes and flopped down breathing a large sigh to look up at the sky.
She didn’t like the sky here. It was kind of dumb and murky, and maybe that could have been a coincidence called the weather, but she just didn’t like it. Bad weather meant something bad all the time, because in those issues of Nightwing – she liked that guy, he was a former Robin and wasn’t part of the patriarchy even if he had a lot of ‘side chicks’ – something bad happened every time it rained.
Kozue looked back down, towards the tiled ground, and tapped her black sneakers against the ground. She’d seen white ones in a fashion magazine, but her mother had refused to buy her them as they’d just ‘get dirty’. She didn’t disagree, but still. It was mean.
She sat there, wondering when they would be done with moving into the house, and realized with a glum silence that she would have missed the airing episode of Wonder Woman. That was fine. Definitely.
Holy cow, she hated moving.
It was boring, and it was no respect for little children, and most of all it was such a pain. She’d been preparing for her Japanese school for ages – watching Japanese shows, reading books, the like – and she didn’t like how the syllables rolled in her mouth, because English was what she’d grown up around.
She really needed a friend, or something. No, that was wrong. She was lonely, but she didn’t need friends because heroes had to go through their own growth and hers was that she’d moved to this place where she had no friends.
Heroes didn’t need friends. They needed enemies to kick ass.
It was only when she’d thought of that and convinced herself thoroughly as a shadow passed in front of her, and a voice spoke.
“Hey.” The voice spat, “That’s my seat.”
She paused from her swinging and looked up. An enemy sent from hell!
…or rather, the lamest enemy that could exist.
It was a peculiar little guy, about the same age as Kozue herself. His hair was the color of snow, corn silk and failed test papers, and he looked like a city boy from the way his fingers were jammed into his pockets in a futile effort to look cool. In his hand, he held a drink, and she noticed with a jolt that he was looking down at her in the haughtiest way possible.
Men, she thought.
She watched him anyway. This must have been the response to her prayers to George Washington – an archnemesis, and a man she could finally defeat! Truth to be told, he looked a little lame, and he did look like an aspiring movie star with the dumb sunglasses, but she supposed she’d settle for anyone.
Better than old people, anyway.
“Who’re you?” She said, in an antagonizing manner.
“Who’re you?”
They paused and looked at each other. He had a weirdly intense screwed-up expression on his face that was cleverly hidden by shades. She wondered if he needed to go to the bathroom, or if he was just trying to deal with Kryptonite in his system. Probably both.
He seemed to notice her, too, because his head dipped visibly and he said, “Get out.”
There he was, revealing his villainous schemes. She sat straight – not that she could touch the ground with her feet – and gave him the fiercest look she can muster. “You’re not getting what you want today, Thanos.”
“What? That’s my seat.”
“Well, it’s mine from now on.” She demanded, somewhat picky. Of course, her mother had told her not to pick fights, as well as instructing her to stop assuming everyone she met as government spies, but he looked like a large snob and he was her newly-found archnemesis, so it was probably okay. “Sit somewhere else. There are two million benches on Earth.”
“That’s not true.”
She looked up at him again, from where she’d previously been staring at beneath her feet. He looked annoyed. “Go to Tartarus! I was here first.”
In her eyes, that was a very bad insult. She wondered what he would do now, ranging from torturing innocent civilians to flying back to his lair for a master plan. She rarely ever mixed with his type; they had been just the kind of people she’d avoided back in her real country, and then again, it wasn’t like she cared about people’s feelings (especially not this guy’s, since he looked snobbish). Leaders were like that sometimes. That was how most famous men got into powerful positions.
She could get out of the seat. It wasn’t like she particularly cared for that bench, anyway – it was just a dumb little bench, and it wasn’t even comfortable. But, Kozue decided, she didn’t want to lose. Not to this guy.
“What’s Tartarus?”
“A dumb place.” She said. The way he was looking at her pissed her off a little bit, so she made a duh face. “Tartarus, this big god dude, rules it. He’s communist, by the way.”
“Never heard of him before.” He paused. “Is he a bounty hunter?”
“A what?” She stuck out her tongue at him. “No, he’s not. Now go away.”
“Why should I?” He crossed his arms and looked away from her. He seemed to be pondering whether he could drag her out of the bench, and she felt half an urge to go for his family jewels – a comic had told her it would be super effective, not that she knew what family jewels even were. “I’ve been here longer than you. This is the first time I’ve seen you here, so you go away.”
He was a bit of a lame archnemesis. She found him kind of boring, so just slumped back in her seat. Maybe this wasn’t it.
“Sit somewhere else.” She’d come here for peace and quiet away from the flat, and she couldn’t’ believe that she’d run into this guy instead. He was loud and obnoxious and looked like a Latverian. “Or sit, uh, there.”
He looked at her. She pointed somewhere. Anywhere.
A long silence prevailed.
“No.” The white-haired boy decided, and plopped himself down in the bench next to her.
He definitely wasn’t her archnemesis, now that she looked at it. He was too lame to be one. The sunglasses looked dumb, too.
Her mother would be telling her to come back, Kozue thought. Moving was a stupid thing to do and there were men coming in and out of her house carrying loads of stuff. She didn’t want to get caught up in that, either. Not just that, but if she left now, this guy would think of her as quitting.
“You’re dumb.”
“You’re dumber.”
They sat there in awkward silence, twiddling their thumbs. She curled up, placing her feet on the tip of the bench and resting her chin against her knees, and the boy next to her crossed his legs and began to whistle loudly. Kozue wondered if there was anything interesting to do, and settled for fixatedly studying an ant carrying half a bean someone had probably dropped from their lunchbox.
He was whistling that song from the show her mother had made her watch so she could study Japanese – Sailor Moon, or something.
They sat there for a few more minutes. She remembered her parents telling her about striking up conversations with strangers. She had to be… what was it called? Civil. She had to be civil, probably, because if she didn’t she’d be seen as rabid and put away by the higher-ups. It was a tale her mother had told her, called Hansel and Gretel.
“So,” She said, awkwardly. This guy was only a teeny bit taller than she was and she supposed there was no way evil men were using him to lure her into a van. “What’s your name?”
He turned to her. Kozue found his surprised face kind of funny, and giggled.
“You don’t know me?”
“Why would I know you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you George Washington, or something?” He certainly had a similar hair color. Maybe that had been a wig, but she supposed there was a possibility wigs could actually attach onto someone’s head.
“No.” He said, and paused. Probably for dramatic effect. Someone (her mother) had told her that overdramatic people tended to do that a lot. “I’m Satoru. Gojo Satoru.”
Silence.
She stared at him, unimpressed. He looked proud, like he’d just done something super important, but unless he’d turned back time to save the president of Japan, she didn’t think saying his name was that big of a deal.
Still, he kind of looked like he wanted a reaction. Maybe he was a child celebrity.
“Cool.” She replied, because she didn’t know what else she was supposed to say. Was that name surprising? It was cool, she supposed. Satoru was cool. “I’m Kozue.”
“Just Kozue?”
“Uhm, Suzuki Kozue.” She remembered then that in Japan, she would be called by her last name. “Whatever. Call me just Kozue.”
“OK, just Kozue.”
She stared at him. The boy stuck his tongue out at her and she stuck hers out back.
“Well call me just Satoru, too.” ‘Satoru’ puffed his little chest out. She played with the strings of her hoodie and watched him in silence. “Consider it an honor.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’m kinda famous.” He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of you, so you’re prolly not that famous, but everybody knows me.”
That’s egotistical, she thought, but didn’t say anything. If he was this confident in himself, it was probably completely true or completely false, because men were like that. “Why? What’re you famous for? Is it because of that weird hair? Did you bleach it? My mother says bleaching hair early in life makes you dumb. The chemicals give you mootations.”
He ignored the last comment. His face seemed to tell her, I’m glad you asked.
“People say I’m the strongest.” He had an air of pride about him. She wondered what people said about her, whoever these people were. Probably that she was the most awesome girl in female history, who would end up overthrowing the patriarchal society and leading a squad of women on her own. Like Jean d’Arc. Or Sailor Moon. “The most powerful person who lived in a long time.”
“That’s not true.” Kozue argued. The boy looked he was so sure of himself. The only person allowed to be sure of how awesome they were, in her point of view, was Wonder Woman, and that was only because she punched tanks and stuff. Also, he was a little annoying, and it hurt her pride to know that the guy she’d argued with was the same guy who was ‘the most powerful’, or something. Like Superman.
“How do you know that?”
Good question. How did she know that? She looked at him, wondering what it was that a little kid couldn’t do.
“Can you ride a rollercoaster? On your own?”
“I can fly.” He turned his head away. “Why would I need a rollercoaster?”
“You can’t fly. Only Wonder Woman can fly. And that’s because she’s superpowered and everything. You don’t look like you have superpowers.”
“Well, believe it or not.” Satoru looked bored again. Looking around, he seemed to make sure no one was nearby before leaning real close, hand cupping his mouth close to her ear as though whispering a secret. “I’m the strongest guy on Earth. Everyone says so. I’m gifted, right.”
“Right.” She watched him doubtfully as his sunglasses stared back at her. “Can you cook minute rice in fifty seconds, then?”
“You can’t do that!” He complained. “No one can do that, Suzuki! There’s a reason why it’s called minute rice!”
“Then you’re not so powerful after all.” She thought a little more. “Can you lift the moon?”
“Prolly.”
“Can you…” What was there that was really hard to do? She remembered her mom saying something about men and not being able to cook. “Can you cook?”
“…” He turned away from her quickly. She noticed, with a flash of triumph, that his ears were tinged red. “…that’s useless.”
“No, it’s not.” She said. Hah. Her mother was always right. Boys couldn’t do any of the important things, because they were too busy talking about po-li-tics. “You can’t bake, right? Like, cookies, or something. Or a decent cupcake.”
“Of course I can.” Satoru argued. She doubted him, because his ears were flaring red by this point. “I’m just not allowed to be near the oven.”
“Liar. I bet you can’t even make instant noodles.”
“That’s not true!”
“That is true.” She laughed – not at him, really, but when he turned back to her, she couldn’t help but laugh harder at the way ears were shades redder than the rest of his face. “If you can’t cook, how are you supposed to be perfect?”
“I’m strong.” He complained.
“If you’re so strong, why aren’t you allowed to be near the oven?”
“Because I have people who do it for me.” He looked up. “I’m too… valuable, so everyone takes care of me.”
“That’s dumb.” She paused. “Where are you from, anyway? Do you live in a big house, and have servants, and stuff?”
And stuff. The language barriers eight-year-olds possessed.
“I live in a huge house. We have loads of servants, and my parents are super loaded, too, because I come from this super powerful family. I also have anything and everything I want. I train daily but that’s okay because everything they teach me is super easy. All I have to do is be powerful like I am and they do everything else.”
Was he bragging? He sounded a bit like he was bragging. She suddenly found him a teensy bit more annoying. Why couldn’t men just admit when they lost?
“What does loaded mean?” She said, instead.
“It means rich.”
“Oh.”
They looked at each other. Somewhat spitefully, she pointed out, “Why aren’t you at your bloated house, then?”
He looked like James Bond, but smaller and lamer. He also looked a whole lot fuller of himself. She wondered if all Japanese boys her age were like this – she’d had a neighbour boy back where she lived and he’d been fine, albeit a little dirty. This guy didn’t look like most guys, though, and he was looking at her in a weird way that suggested he’d never seen the likes of her before (which, to tell the truth, was not entirely false).
“I was bored.” He said, “And left the house. We never do fun stuff. Everything’s boring. Even the classes are. They make me wear weird clothes, too.”
He sounded like he was bragging about all his classes and how smart he was. The more he talked, the more he sounded like a stupid, stuck-up, prudish little brat – an interesting one, but also an annoying one. The way he was full of himself made Kozue want to punch him, a little.
There were a hundred things she wanted to tell him, except she wasn’t quite good enough at Japanese to say the things she usually would say.
“Well maybe I find things interesting. You find them boring because you’re dumb and don’t understand.” She snapped at him in English, and hopped off the bench. “You stupid rat.”
“You can’t speak another langu—”
“You rat.” She repeated, in Japanese. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, so she did the only thing she could.
She pushed him, and ran all the way back home.
She’d committed a crime. She was pretty sure hitting people was something bad and she could be sent to child prison for that – whatever child prison was called – but then that guy had been so annoying. She hated people who acted like they were the best thing in the world, because they really weren’t. This guy wasn’t, either.
Still, if the government found out with their bird drones, she’d be doomed. Kozue was ninety-nine percent sure eight years old was old enough to get annihilated by the dark order, or something. Not that she knew what annihilated meant.
When she reached home, her mother had just been instructing one of the men to set down her bookshelf. She barged in through the front door and declared, “I’m home!”
“Suzuki Kozue! How many times have I told you not to shout like that? This isn’t the U.S. anymore; you have to have manners—"