A Mirror's Memory

The golden light of dawn stretched into millions of windows across the country rousing good students from their nightly rest. Dutifully, within five minutes of each other, the model students of the country were up and beginning their morning routine.

As the light crept through one window, set high into a wooden house on the outskirts of Kyoto. The light spilled into a wooden floored room with a dozen shelves filled to bursting with books, binders, journals and magazines. One book shelf, high enough to scrape the ceiling, was packed with binders and loose-leaf note-paper. Each binder was labeled on its spine using white tape and permanent marker. The labels were the last names of every student and faculty member of Shiketsu High. A stark testament to why no-one from that school would ever be invited into this room.

In one corner of this room, encircled by book shelves, was a small bed, neatly made and undisturbed with light blue sheets. In the corner opposite the bed, was a simple wooden desk, which was currently occupied by a foolish student. He was scribbling into a notebook, muttering to himself. The morning sun’s rays slowly crept closer to the student’s desk. Oblivious to the encroaching light, he kept muttering.

“Pyrokinesis could probably best be paired with a movement restriction… wait, no, why not with aerokinesis? Could feed the flames or extinguish them. Or maybe I need mobility to restrict cover? Teleportation is a no brainer….”

The student was Christopher Cain. A young man of short stature and a slight build. Black hair hung unkempt upon his scalp and his brown eyes were cradled by the brilliant dark bags of sleep deprivation. Christopher strangled another yawn as he continued to scribble furiously. His fingers were covered with ink from his mom’s silver fountain pen.

“… I dunno, I’m kindof sick of using Hifumi’s quirk. Flight then-- *Yawn*”

Christopher broke from his trance long enough to cover his mouth to stifle his body’s latest protest. As soon as his eyes were torn from his notebook, Christopher realized just how tired he was. His head hurt, his eyes were heavy, it was clearly time to sleep.

“Fine, you win.” Christopher whispered to his rebellious body. “Guess I can head to bed.” Christopher turned in his chair, towards his window, beholding the rosy fingers of dawn. He blinked once against the new light, looked at his clock which displayed 6:43am in bold red numerals. Christopher had stayed up all night again. What’s worse, he had to be in school in less than 2 hours.

“Shit.”

He really had intended to sleep last night. Briefly Christopher considered calling in sick. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid sleeping in class today. He was going to get erasers chucked at him all day again.

Ruminating over the coming day, Christopher glanced at that bookcase. The bookcase filled to bursting with three ringed binders and scattered loose-leaf paper. The binders labeled with the last names of everyone he had met at Shiketsu. He didn’t see any unfamiliar names, though his eyes lingered on Imai’s for a moment longer than the others. Needed to remember to do THAT again today.

With a sigh Christopher rose from his desk and walked to the bathroom. If he remembered everyone there was no sense skipping today. On lighter note, he’d get the opportunity to ask Rosethorn-sensei the meaning of that word he saw one of her fans post on her tag last night. Google translate was no help. Christopher had no idea how a cow-girl could be reversed.

In the lethargic efficiency only attainable by the perpetually sleep-deprived, Christopher went about his morning routine. Showering, brushing his teeth. Eating the cold leftovers from his convenience store bento last night. Gathering his school supplies, he walked past his mother’s shrine. He slung his bag over his shoulder and said a quick “bye,” to the empty house without looking at his mom’s picture and stepped through the sliding door into the golden morning beyond.

Christopher’s house was only a block away from Shiketsu. As such, he only had to endure the sun’s hateful golden rays for a few minutes before the school’s gate came in sight. Blinking his blurry eyes Chris saw his homeroom teacher waiting at the gate, greeting the myriad of students as they walked past.

Rosethorn-sensei (he still wasn’t used to honorifics) saw Christopher approach and greeted him with her best stern expression. Chris approached her with enthusiasm. Meeting her first thing in the morning was perfect luck!

As he approached Rosethorn-sensei. She raised an eyebrow in greeting, “good morning Chris-kun. I trust we won’t have any issues with you sleeping in class today?”

“Good morning Rosethorn-sensei!” Christopher greeted, lethargy gone in the face of an opportunity to learn new information. His volume, still set to the American standard caused Rosethorn-sensei to take an involuntary step backwards. Christopher stepped forward, still speaking in his normal volume. “I saw some posts on social media about you last night!”

Her face dropped, but before she could say anything Christopher had pulled out a plain black notebook ready to take notes. “I had a question about the meaning of a word I came across.”

Rosethorn-sensei did not like where this was going, but Christopher obliviously asked his fatal question. “What does ‘ribasukaugaru’ mean? I put it through google translate but I didn--”

“Stop!” Rosethorn-sensei shouted. The entire courtyard, filled with high school students. Stood stock still, mouths agape at what that foreigner had just asked a teacher without a hint of shame. Rosethorn herself was dangerously close to blushing.

Christopher stopped talking, but didn’t move. He tilted his head inquisitively, naively trusting his teacher to answer his innocent question. A question about a Japanese word a new speaker of the language would have no business knowing the meaning of. It was absolutely the domain of the teacher to define whatever word her student didn’t know the meaning of. Unfortunately that word was not one Rosethorn was currently inclined to define.

“It’s not a good word.”

“Really? Because the context seemed posi--”

“Go to class.” She said with every ounce of authority she could muster. Christopher, with a look of disappointment that would haunt an educator’s dreams merely bobbed his head and continued past his thoroughly embarrassed homeroom teacher.

He’d have to look up the word when he got home. Unfortunate that the sites which seemed to have the word’s definition were behind his dad’s parental locks.

The muttering of his fellow students hardly bothered Christopher. Not because he was oblivious to it, but because his ears weren’t tuned into Japanese whisper volume yet. He thought the Japanese spoke quietly even at normal volume, when they whispered? He didn’t have a prayer of overhearing.

Dutifully Christopher made his way to his classroom, still holding his plain black notebook. Muttering.

“I wonder what sort of word it is. Why wouldn’t she define it? It could be some sort of quirk taboo. There was Mensch in Florida. He couldn’t understand the word ‘broken,’ which led to that incident with McDonald’s. Maybe I should do McDonald’s for dinner tonight. Oh, I could do ice cream for dinner. Dad’s not home till Saturday afterall~.”

Christopher smiled at the thought of this adolescent defiance. He walked past the shoe locker without stopping too wrapped up in his own mind to remember to change into his slippers. This faux pas, wearing shoes indoors, was promptly noticed by a pair of students who tried and, through a combination of how quietly they spoke and Christopher being lost in his own head, failed to get his attention. Improperly shod and still thinking about what flavor of ice cream would serve as a sad excuse for nutrition tonight, Christopher walked into class 1-D. As soon as the door slid open, he saw Imai, sitting in the front row like he did every day before Christopher got here. Before Imai even looked at him Christopher copied Imai’s quirk and then forgot it.

A three-eyed student looked at Christopher, noticed who it was then promptly went back to his book, a little too quickly. Christopher narrowed his eyes at the student, but said nothing before walking to his desk and sitting down. Christopher dared not look at the three-eyed student before he opened up his plain black notebook.

The message Christopher was looking for was on the first page. It was written in Christopher’s usual cipher. The cipher wasn’t going to stand up to dedicated cryptographic scrutiny, but it’d be impossible to do in your head if you hadn’t memorized the progression.

“Three-eyed guy’s named Imai, don’t worry about his quirk”

Christopher nodded. ‘Don’t worry’ as in don’t copy it. Fair enough. Christopher put his plain black notebook in his desk, put Imai out of his mind, and yawned. The lack of sleep was starting to overwhelm his burst of energy earlier. Dimly he was aware of more and more students filing in, but the abyss of unconsciousness beckoned him forward. There was whispering upon spotting Christopher’s shoes, but it did little more to him than provide white noise.

The sting of an eraser woke Christopher up with a start. “4^6!” Christopher shouted as he jerked upright. There was some snickering in the back, likely the Koreans, as Christopher returned to his senses enough to realize Rosethorn-sensei was the one that had thrown the eraser.

“Good Morning?” Christopher ventured.

“Try to stay awake today Chris-kun.” Rosethorn began, “please.”

Christopher yawned but nodded as he bent over to retrieve the eraser before he was asked to. This had become an unfortunate morning routine since he’d joined the school. As he bent over Rosethorn looked at his feet. She sighed.

Christopher knew that sigh, it meant he’d screwed up his uniform. Before she could tell him what was wrong he looked down, no everything looked in order. He’d even remembered his hat this time! What could possibly be the--

“Shoes.” Rosethorn pointed out.

Christopher looked at his shoes. The plain black leather loafers stared back at him. He looked at his neighbor’s slippers. Then back to his shoes. “Oh.”

The rest of the day was uneventful and frankly boring. Christopher managed to stay awake through homeroom. Snuck into the nurse’s office for math, slept until English, completely missing lunch, and his hunger kept him awake through the rest of his classes until final bell.

As the bell rang, Christopher yawned one last time.

“Stand.” Rosethorn began. The class stood.

“Bow.” Rosethorn concluded. The class bowed. “Have a good evening.” With that, and a chorus of ‘Hais’, she closed the day.

Everyone around him was packing their things ready to go home and Christopher was no exception. He gathered his things into his bag sluggishly. Chatter filled the air though Christopher passed the jovial atmosphere in a bit of an uncharacteristic silence. Typically he’d go around trying to insert himself into any conversations about pro heroes or villainous activities, sharing knowledge, maybe learning something he didn’t know. But he didn’t have the energy for it today. The other students returned the favor of his silence by leaving him alone.

Christopher closed his pencil case reflecting on his day. Despite the faux pas this morning no-one seemed interested in confronting or comforting Christopher about it and if they whispered behind his back… again Christopher didn’t have the ear for it yet.

‘Not that I care about anybody here enough to care if they did whisper.’ Christopher thought to himself.

Christopher frowned at that. He really didn’t like that part of himself. The part that really was apathetic towards other people. He didn’t hate other people, hate would probably be an improvement over his own attitude, it would make them important. He just genuinely didn’t care. Maybe it was because of what his quirk did to his memory Christopher reflected. But that just sounded like an excuse to avoid thinking of himself as a bad person.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Rosethorn-sensei, tapped her podium loudly enough to gather everyone’s attention. “I’ll want your paper on why you want to be a hero by the end of the week.”

Christopher bobbed his head absentmindedly as a chorus of groans sounded from the back. He’d already typed that paper up while he was busy not sleeping over the weekend. Not a word of it was true, but it was a pile of sentimental garbage he’d cobbled together from Rosethorn’s own interviews on the subject. Easy A.

All teachers ever wanted was to have their views parroted back to them.

Packed up. Christopher got up to leave. “Chris-kun.” Rosethorn stopped him. “Can you wait in the faculty room?”

Christopher nodded once. McDonald’s Ice Cream dinner would have to wait.

The faculty room was empty when Christopher arrived. A line of desks filled with test papers, homework and lesson plans. Christopher walked over to Rosethorn’s desk and stood silently waiting, teetering on the brink of sleep. He was used to this by now.

Rosethorn came in about three minutes later and sat at her desk with a brief nod towards her problem honors student. “You skipped half the day again Chris-kun.”

“2/3s!” Christopher corrected, too loudly. “I’m really sorry but it was for a good reason! I was studying quirks and time just kindof--”

Rosethorn held up her hand. Chris stopped talking. Rosethorn looked up at him, her expression was somewhere between stern and sympathy. “I know you think you need to do that Chris-kun, but you’re not licensed yet. By the time you even take the exam heroes will retire, villains will be caught and all you’ve done is wasted your schooldays sleeping.”

“I-- well I mean.” Christopher let his voice fall off. He didn’t have a retort for that.

Rosethorn pulled out the test he’d done the first day, one she hadn’t handed back to the students yet. She’d given Christopher a perfect score. Christopher wasn’t surprised, he’d mirrored her views, expressed in interviews and off the cuff statements, right back at her during the entire test.

“You’re too smart to waste your time Chris-kun.” She held up the test. “You’re also too smart to plagiarize my interviews for a written portion of my exam.”

“I did not!” He said indignant. “I re-expressed your views in an original--” her face grew smug, he’d just admitted the views expressed on the test were her’s, not his. “Oh.”

Rosethorn shook her head then opened the test to the last page, wherein students were asked to give an example of a hero performing his/her duties admirably. “So what do you really think about Miracle’s last stand against the Horrific 5?”

Christopher averted his eyes. A child could’ve caught the tell. “I take it you don’t view it as the shining example of heroism I said it was?”

“She fucked up.” Christopher said quietly. Rosethorn’s ears perked up at Christopher’s tone. Her interest in his tone cost her the opportunity to scold him for his language. “If she hadn’t saved the kid, she’d have had the opportunity to incapacitate Desolator and win the battle without taking Commander Slaughter’s blast. Instead she died and the 5 escaped.”

“But she saved the kid.” Rosethorn pointed out.

“She only saved him because she had a son about his age.” Christopher countered. “She could’ve saved the 5’s future victims by thinking for a second.”

“How do you know that’s why she saved him?”

Christopher averted his eyes. “I don’t.”

Rosethorn ignored the tell.

“All right, tell you what.” She held up his test. “I’ll ignore the plagiarism,”

“It wasn’t--”

“If!” Rosethorn cut him off. “If you write YOUR answer to ‘why you want to be a hero’ for your paper. If you parrot me or any other hero, I’ll give you a zero on both the test and the paper.”

Christopher frowned, but nodded.

Rosethorn’s eyes narrowed at his attitude, but frankly didn’t have the energy to scold him right now. “You’re excused.”

As Christopher began to leave, he thought of something and turned around. “About that word this morning.”

“Out!”

################

Christopher came home with a pair of convenience store bentos. McDonald’s Ice Cream dinner just hadn’t seemed as good to him after he found out he’d have to rewrite his essay. He tossed his bag on the floor, slipped off his soft slippers. Paused. Looked at the school slippers. The soft black fabric gleamed menacingly in his hands. He’d forgotten to get his shoes at the locker.

“Fun.”

He tossed the slippers on the floor, then tossed his bag next to it. Maybe if he went to school tomorrow wearing the slippers no-one would notice. If they did, well, it wouldn’t be the first time this year he had to clean his slippers in front of a faculty member.

Walking inside, without looking at his mother’s shrine, he put the bentos in the fridge then went straight up the stairs. Barging into his room, he came to the bookcase which held the binders with his classmates’ names as labels. Found Imai’s, an anonymous black 3-ringed binder with an extremely worn out spine, opened it up and read the first page.

“Imai’s quiet so he’s probably not going to get many entries past this one. Anyway, first day of school I blabbed about my quirk. He looked like he was about to vomit so I copied his quirk. It’s a mind reading quirk. So naturally I read his mind. He’s terrified I’m going to tell everyone about it if I find out what he has. Hate to say it, but I probably would. So, I forgot it. I’m going to do that everyday from now on so he doesn’t find out I learned what he has and so I don’t risk blabbing about it.”

Christopher nodded. Probably wise not to trust himself to keep a secret. He brought the binder to his desk. He read it quickly, there wasn’t much. After he was done he turned to the first blank page, noted his interactions with Imai today, practically nothing, then returned the binder to its place. Then grabbed the next Binder, Kaylee’s. He didn’t really need to do this for Kaylee, but he did it out of habit. He brought her binder to his desk, wrote out his interactions with her today, then moved to the next classmate. So on until he’d come to Rosethorn’s binder.

Christopher sighed as he stared at the mountain of loose leaf paper that would have to encompass the interactions he’d had with his teacher today. Christopher was a fast writer and shallow in his social life. He’d talk with everyone just fine, but he very rarely had deep conversations that warranted remembering. The interaction with his entire class up to this point had taken a little under an hour to record. Rosethorn would take about that long on her own. Seeing no way around it. Christopher began to write. To write, so that if… when he forgot her, he’d have a way to remember.

Mirror-maker was an undeniably powerful quirk, it let him ‘mirror’ two quirks at the same time, but it had a drawback. If Christopher wanted to forget a quirk, so he could copy another one, he had to forget the quirk wielder too.  It was a massive handicap in battle, such that he had to be prepared for whatever situation he was walking into. If he wasn’t fully prepared, if he caught himself in a position where he needed to forget a quirk and copy a new one, Christopher risked forgetting an ally or an enemy in the middle of a high pressure situation. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how badly it was going to go for him after that.

His solution thus far had been to only let himself copy one quirk before a fight, usually Hifumi’s. That way he’d be able to mirror his opponent or an ally whose quirk was ideal for the situation without forgetting someone.

After an hour of scribbling on looseleaf paper, he finally finished recording his interactions with Rosethorn for the day. He moved to close the binder but found himself staring at the last sentence. ‘She wants my essay about why I want to be a hero to be original or she’ll fail me.’

Christopher slammed the binder closed. Then put his head in his hands. He knew why he wanted to be a hero but he really didn’t want to write that story. His mind began to go through possible heroes whose motivation he could safely plagiarize, but the risk was too high for every one of them. He could always steal grandpa’s story, he was an obscure hero, the first Miracle, back in the 60s when quirks were closer to a talent than a super power.

But grandpa’s story involved being a soldier and Christopher couldn’t steal that. He couldn’t just talk about wanting to help people. That was Rosethorn’s reason. Christopher’s reason was entirely selfish and extremely stupid.

Just stupid.

Christopher left his desk, retrieved a box from beneath his bed. He pulled out a red 3-ring binder. Then he walked downstairs. He walked past the fridge and those gas station bentos. Past the living room and plopped down at the base of his mother’s shrine without looking at her picture. He opened the binder. The binder had a single sheet of paper. It was all he knew about her.

“Mom was a pro hero. Grandpa was too, but he died when she was a little girl. Grandma survived her but not by much. She met dad in college, he was an American working for Toyota and she was a student. They married. They moved back to the states together where she got her Hero License and began working as Miracle. Miracle was grandpa’s CN, but he wasn’t that strong or well known. Mom’s quirk was psychokinesis. She was born May 6th. She had only just made it into the top 10 when she died against the 5 in 20XX. I was 12 at the time.

“I didn’t know she’d died. I apparently loved copying her quirk, but a friend of mine ended up getting into trouble and I needed to copy his healing quirk on top of his mom’s light generating quirk to save him. When I got home, I didn’t know anyone was missing. I didn’t know why the police were at the house or why dad was crying. I didn’t realize I’d lost someone until dad said my mom died. He can never know I don’t remember her.”

Christopher closed the binder, which contained the sum total of everything he knew about his mother. He looked up at his mom’s photo and beheld the face of a stranger. A pretty stranger, black hair, a thing face. Christopher recognized a lot of his own features in that picture. Even if he hadn’t known for a fact this was his mother, he’d guess she was a relative.

Usually his quirk’s memory loss wasn’t more than an inconvenience. With exposure and time Christopher would eventually be able to fill people in again. But he needed time. She didn’t give him that. She sacrificed herself the very day he forgot her. Robbing Christopher of the chance to know her again. There was a shadow looming over his early memories. He remembered a screaming match with thin air. Plates of food appearing out of nowhere. Excitement when he saw an empty seat in the stands. Saying ‘I love you’ to an empty room.

Christopher thought back bitterly on Rosethorn’s essay prompt. Why do you want to be a hero? “Because the very first time I was a hero it cost me my mom. I have to prove it was worth it.”