Chapter Text
A howl in the wind, an almost piercing whine with an equally shriek-like scream following afterward. Heads turned towards the noise, boys staring in abstract horror while clutching their crotches while girls merely shook their heads, trying to shield their eyes from the impending beat-down one of their own was about to inflict on the opposite gender.
“Who are you calling a whore?!”
He whimpered pathetically, “I… I d-didn’t say-”
“ HUH ?!” Her voice got louder, calling for all eyes on them in the middle of the courtyard, “Punk ass bitch! I’ll piss on your face and give you pink eye!” A teenage girl practically growled out, her foot stomping down on a boy’s crotch for good measure, “Don’t you ever call me that! Who do you think you are?!”
The rest of the students tried escaping the scene, desperate not to be an accomplice by witnessing what had just transpired. Plus, they didn’t want to incur the wrath of the one and only Nana “ Turbo Granny ” Hiroshige.
While she hadn’t been fond of that name back when they were all young kids, she truly got comfortable with the nickname well into her teens, letting it practically mold her being. It occurred when, for some reason, she had shown up to school completely clothed, head to toe, after disappearing for a week. It was almost like she was dressed like an old widower, a large hat obscuring her hair and face with a headscarf to cover her ears, nose, and mouth, scrunching it until it practically suffocated her. A floor-length dress decorated in stereotypical grandma florals was what she always dressed in every day, even outside of school, her hands covered with white or black gloves that some brave students found extended nearly halfway up her arms. She had matching boots and leggings that were rarely ever shown.
It was like she had been kidnapped and replaced by a kid-looking grandma, the most grandma-est grandma ever. And it certainly didn’t escape her fellow students, who teased her mercilessly. However, that never stopped her from showing up at school the next day in the same garb as the day before, and it wouldn’t stop her to this day.
Nana got comfortable with her look and eventually started styling it more and more as she got content. It took almost five years after her initial one-eighty to finally show her light-colored hair and pierced ears again - simple silver hoops - and another two years to let her hands show. However, the long dress, boots, and leggings remained. It also seemed that on stressful or equally distressing days, the gloves would reappear almost in a frenzy, kept in a pocket for safekeeping. Maybe she'd shorten the dress length in another two to four years.
It didn’t stop the guys in her school from making rumors about her - she gets around, she wears conservative clothes to hide hickeys and whatnot, and if you lift her dress, she’ll let you have some. If Nana heard them say that, she’d chase them down and stomp their crotch until they couldn’t even think about having children for the next twenty years. She never explained why she went after them so horribly, nor would she deny or confirm the rumors, merely dishing out a punishment without a chance for judgment.
But that merely made up half her nickname. For ‘Turbo ,’ well, that was a much more fun and simple story.
The simple truth was that she was the fastest of all. The granny part of her nickname had easily come first, but the turbo came shortly after when her classmates had seen her practically flying down the streets after school. Some even swore she was faster than cars - no one believed those students claiming such ridiculousness until the following year when the first cross-country and track tryouts started circling the school. Nana joined the team readily, and following that, she began breaking records left and right. Her coach had expressed that she had never seen a more dedicated runner than Nana and had pushed for the young girl at the time to pursue it as a career. She had no desire for it, though, and her coach couldn’t understand where her passion came from then. If not to make it a career and not for fun like other students were doing, then why? Family pressure? Social profit? Why run at all? Why try to be the fastest of all?
Nana never gave an answer, and even today, almost a decade later, there has never been an answer.
The principal dropped a large file on his desk, letting the thick manila folder make a resounding thud, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Fifteen times…” He murmured under his breath, leveling his eyes with two figures in front of him, “You have assaulted fifteen students - seven times to the same student - by… stomping their…” The room fell to silence as the principal uncomfortably read the note over and over again before clearing his throat painfully so, “...c- crotches , Ms. Hiroshige.”
Nana’s coach stood up hastily, “Sir, if I may-”
“Sit down .” He practically hissed at her.
Her coach did as she was instructed, practically collapsing into her chair, a look of shame on her face. Nana clenched her jaw at the display, giving the principal a side-eye; she wasn’t scared of authority; she could take him in a fight. Her eyes filtered back over to her coach - a prideful woman who had been one of the only people who ever truly wanted Nana to do good things in light - falling into herself with a look of despair and disappointment. Her head hung low, and she stared down at her lap, resorting to being a husk of herself. Nana had known that the principal didn’t treat female staff too kindly, but seeing it in person made her whole body tremble. She rolled her shoulder, knuckles cracking unconsciously.
Yeah, Nana could definitely fight him for her coach.
The principal heaved a sigh as if he were pained by his following words: “Ms. Hiroshige, you know what actions I have to take now, right?”
She rolled her eyes - like hell, she was going to answer that sack of shit. She moved to cross her arms over her chest in defiance. He wasn’t that big. “I bet if I just tip him enough, he’ll topple over. He’s old anyway. Maybe he’ll have a heart attack on the way down.” Her brain tolled out, “Plus, he shouldn’t be talking to Coach like that. What’d she ever do to him anyway?!”
“I—” the principal grabbed his head as if getting a headache, speaking in an aggravated tone, "We talked about this last time . I… I have to take you off the track and cross-country team indefinitely.”
Nana’s coach sprung from her seat, tipping her chair backward, “Sir! Please! I… I’ll talk to her! Can’t we do something?!”
“No, we’ve already exhausted all resources…” He held up a hand to silence her.
It didn’t work, and the coach belted out in a panicked tone, “A remediation course or a suspension?!”
“We tried that already!” The principal barked back.
She was almost in tears by this point, “You know how much she and the school are-”
“It’s fine.” Nana interrupted stoically, standing up and grabbing her bag roughly, slinging it over her shoulder, "I don’t need to be in a sport to run. There are sidewalks and trails everywhere. I’ll just run there instead.” Both her coach and the principal looked stunned.
“N-Nana, wait-” Her coach stuttered out, watching her leave the office.
“You come back here right now, young lady! We’re not done yet!” The principal belched, practically red in the face. But she was already gone, dashing out of the school with lightning speed. There was no one faster than her.
No one could catch her. Not even him .
Perfect.
Pristine.
Polished.
Everything should be perfectly placed, in pristine condition, and polished diligently before ever stepping foot out of one’s bedroom. All belongings in his room should be perfectly placed as they had been last night, the night before, and the night before that night. Nothing in said room was allowed to be damaged or worn too thin; it was always in pristine condition for inspections early in the morning. All counters and desks were to be polished to perfection; one’s bed was not to have looked to have been slept in.
Perfect.
Pristine.
Polished.
That’s how it had been every night since he had been able to care for himself at a young age. His siblings endured the same treatment and became civilized people who were exceptional members of their communities. He, too, hoped to reach that place as well. He hoped his photo would be proudly placed along a wall dedicated to only him as his ten siblings had before him as well. He would make his parents and siblings proud of him and his achievements.
There was a knock at his door, one that he eagerly awaited. One was not to leave one's room until someone had fetched one. “Mr. Rokuro, your father awaits your arrival at the dining table. Breakfast has been made. Only your presence is required.” The Serpo family butler called out.
“Yes, sir.” He called out curtly, slipping out of his bedroom quietly. The butler was nowhere to be found upon his exit, but that was standard of the elusive butler. He need not be in the presence of the children of the Serpo family when there were other errands to be run. Rokuro headed downstairs to the dining room, which was joined by an adjacent room.
His father, a stoic and rather unemotional man, sat at the head of the table already with a polished-off plate that a maid was removing for him. Rokuro bowed lowly to the floor, knees touching his chest with his forehead to the carpeted floors, eyes never reaching his father’s. This was the custom his siblings had taught him lest he receive his father’s wrath. How benevolent of the man before him to return wisdom to him and his siblings in return for complete respect.
“Good morning, Father.” Rokuro greeted plainly, hoping to appease his father this morning as yesterday’s was a complete failure.
“Stand. You must eat.” His father was quick with his response.
Was his bow sufficient today? His father didn’t say. Rokuro stood hastily, desperate to keep his balance, as he reached for his designated chair - fourth on the left side of his father. A maid set a plate of food in front of him, but he knew he was not allowed to feast until he got a blessing from his father. He awaited his beck and call.
“You have your exam today for early enrollment into a STEM program, correct?” The older man asked, a maid bringing over a cup of coffee.
Rokuro glanced at his food; it seemed today, he would have to wait to eat until after his father finished his drink. “Yes, sir.” He responded.
“Have you finally figured out which sub-major you’ll go into?” The dreaded question fell into his lap once more like hungry animals made for devouring his appetite, “Your siblings have all found their own niche to grow into in one of those four programs and are already bearing fruit for the STEM community. So, with the impending deadline of exams, you must’ve concluded what you’re going for, correct?” Rokuro tried not to let the troubled feeling impede his facial expressions, but he was failing. The silence that loomed over the two of them for a brief moment was harrowing. “Or are you still wasting my time?” His words ended in a long sip of his coffee.
His thoughts swam like fishes in a pond that was too small for them, frantic and running out of air. There was this seed of… of something , something rageful and impactful deep within his being. His father was expecting an answer from him; he knew that, but nothing would come out of his mouth. He was desperate to tell his father that… that he didn’t want to get into a STEM program, or maybe that he just wanted to try out getting a regular job or getting a hobby that doesn’t include microbiology or rocket science for beginners. Rokuro sat firmly in his seat, a burst of determination in his chest. Maybe this time he could…
“Father, I-”
“That’s enough !” His father slammed his hand against the table.
And just like that, it was gone, the flicker of a fire burning deep within him extinguished in a second.
“I’m tired of this, Rokuro. All of your brothers knew what they wanted to major in by the time they were ten. Instead of waiting and playing in puddles, they were studying math, science, technology, engineering , while you’ve just been-” He made a flippant noise and waved his hand aggressively towards him, practically gagging. “You’re bringing shame to this family.” His father growled bitterly, “You bring shame to me , your brothers who are excelling ahead of you, and your poor mother - bless her soul wherever she may lay now - with your poor excuse of a work ethic.”
“I just think -”
“That’s your problem!” He bellowed like a loud lion, “You are always thinking ! I never taught you that! You’re supposed to bring this family respect and power. You can’t shame me, my scientific work, my image, your brothers’ lifelong prospects by being this !” Another shameful gesture fell over Rokuro. A butler shimmied over, whispering something in the man’s ear before shuffling away. The man huffed before standing up, taking his coffee with him, “Eat quickly and then leave for your exam. I will not be here when you get home from it as I will be at an extremely important conference in Paris. I will be back by the end of the week. I better only hear good news when I get back. Do you understand?”
“Yes…”
“Yes, what ?”
“Yes, sir .” Rokuro stared ahead as he waited for his father’s footsteps to disappear before finally digging into his food. It was always tasty before, so why was it so bland now? And why was his face so wet? Was he crying? No, only uncivilized people cried.
He definitely wasn’t crying .
There were soft footsteps behind him, making him stiffen. Had his father returned? It felt like the entire room had been zapped of whatever warmth was left after the utterly disastrous conversation he’d just had with his father. A breath of cold air tickled the back of his neck as Rokuro waited patiently. One must not move when in the company of others.
“You better quit all that before your father returns, young sir.” It was the butler, a nameless, faceless being he’d known since he was a toddler, “What would he say to all that blubbering that you’re doing?” Rokuro hid his face as best as he could.
One must stay quiet when being scolded by one's elders. One is to nod, agree, and apologize in the face of an elder. “I’m sorry.” His words were monotone, perfectly reciting the apology, just like his father preferred.
“Are you going to bring more shame to his name?” The butler whispered in his ear like a ghost of yesterday’s past. When he finally garnered enough courage in his stomach to turn around, ready to glare daggers at the man, he had vanished once more. Rokuro gripped his fork, practically bending it before getting up and leaving the house.
He could use some pre-studying before the exam anyway.