Chapter Two

Kensuke and Matomaru had cornered the boy and his parents outside the emergency room. The boss revealed himself to be in charge of Japan’s clandestine superhuman program. The exact details couldn’t be provided until an agreement had been signed, but the confirmation that Haruki hadn’t gone insane did enough. “So,” Shinichiro said, nervous creakiness slipping into his voice, “you’ve shown us this.” He gave his son an apprehensive look before returning his gaze to the government goon. “My son…what, has impossible abilities?”

“We believe the evidence speaks for itself,” Matomaru cut in, gesturing at the device.

“What do you want with my son?” Rumika cried. Her husband and son gave her a sharp glance, as she’d thrown the veil off the issue at hand. “You want to enslave him? Turn him into a soldier?”

“We’re not Russia or China,” Kensuke argued, trying to put as much flat seriousness into his tone as possible. “Children are not stolen from their beds here.” He gestured. “All I can say is, I’d like to offer your son a chance to use his abilities to better not just Japan, but the world.”

“Do you mind if we have the rest of this discussion at your house?”

Haruki’s parents shot a stern glare at Matomaru’s suggestion, but Haruki knew they’d accept. Even though his father and mother clearly didn’t like any of the ideas rattling around, the family’s financial situation balanced on a precarious bit of ground. Not six months earlier, his father had a sudden pain in the chest that, thanks to whatever gods reigned, hadn’t been a heart attack. The doctors had told the man that his cholesterol was fine and the matter had been an unrelated muscle spasm in his chest.

If that’d been a heart attack, Haruki thought, the loss of dad’s work might’ve sunk us.

The idea of homelessness wasn’t an absurdity in this post-manufacturing service economy. So, the Kawakatsu family got in their early two-thousands Toyota and the black government sedan followed close behind.

The conversation continued behind closed doors.

“The fact of the matter is,” Kensuke explained, “there are about a hundred superhumans in worldwide service that we know of. The United States has the most at fifteen declared, China a close second. Keep in mind all of this is what’s known.” He shrugged. “In all likelihood, these numbers are greatly deflated. Our brightest estimate about four to five hundred that are unknown.”

Shinichiro leaned forward on his elbows, staring intently at the government man. “See, the problem I have with all this, is the fact that we should be having superhero versus supervillain fights in the street.” He scoffed audibly. “You mean to tell me all these people just hide their abilities?”

Good point, Haruki admitted, thinking about it. Knowing what he knew about human nature, that only a small few were good and a small few genuinely evil, while the most operated in a gray zone of shifting moralities, such an outcome was against the odds. Your average person would seek to use their abilities to benefit themselves. Given that most people he believed to be about average in most things, screw-ups would be fairly common, and that would out the existence of superhumans very quickly.

“I would agree,” Kensuke rebutted, “if it wasn’t for our ground crews that are made up of the most skilled individuals we have. People who go out there every day and confront those who’d be using their powers selfishly.”

“How do you find them?”

“Trade secret,” Matomaru cut in, answering Rumika’s question.

“Enough black-ops nonsense,” Shinichiro cried. “Get to the point. What is your intention with my son?”

Kensuke slid a multi-page contract across the table. “Take it to a lawyer and have him go over it with you. The gist of it is that your son would be free to come and go from our facilities as well as your home and school, and would be paid for his services. Our ask would be a specific amount of patrol as well as search and rescue action.”

“Really,” Matomaru explained, “your son wouldn’t be law enforcement, so no power to arrest. So he’d at most be disarming and restraining criminals. He might encounter a rogue superhuman on occasion, but the meat and potatoes of his action will be disaster relief and obtaining evidence for law enforcement.”

“Espionage,” Rumika argued.

“Because of how fast he is, yes,” Matomaru admitted without missing a beat. “He would have a much easier time obtaining evidence against criminal organizations if he moves too fast to be seen.”

“I’m not thrilled about the idea of my son being a government goon,” Shinichiro admitted.

“We know,” Kensuke said. “It isn’t an easy thing to talk about. To be honest, I’d never dream of approaching a fourteen-year-old about such a thing. If I thought the matter could wait until your son turned eighteen, I would have.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’ the matter could wait?”

All eyes turned to Haruki, speaking for himself for a change. Kensuke, to his credit, turned and looked at the boy, and gave him full attention. “To be honest,” the aging government man admitted, “I’m concerned about this latest outbreak of religious fervor in the world. You’ve seen the religious killings in Europe and South America.”

“Yeah,” Haruki admitted. “Cults popping up, declaring that ‘Haptandra’ and ‘Zenus’ are coming and the Earth will be cleansed, or some such crap.”

Matomaru nodded. “The incidents are small, but the fact is, they’re popping up all over the world. A dozen dead here, twenty killed over there.” He brought out his phone and pulled up several articles. “To be honest, we haven’t a clue as to how they’re connected.”

“So,” Kensuke cut in, “a heavy hitter like you will make a big difference.”

“You’re worried about a religious apocalypse!” Rumika cried.

“I am,” Kensuke immediately replied.

“Imagine if we have someone like your son who has a collection of highly useful abilities,” Matomaru added, “working for us to achieve stability.”

“Plus,” Kensuke said, turning to the page outlining the pay scale, “this will completely get rid of your financial troubles.”

Haruki couldn’t help but be impressed at the numbers. Sure, it wasn’t the kind of absurd wealth that the top one percent achieved, but it would pay off this house in record time and ensure a complete overhaul of their situation. Not having to worry about money would reduce his parents’ stress levels by a lot. Also, it meant he could improve his own situation as well.

“Just take your time,” Matomaru said.

The numbers broke through the last barrier. No argument could be made against the harsh realities of the Japanese economy. With an ever-increasing hardship facing the working class, prices skyrocketing and good jobs being destroyed by excessive corporate greed, they’d be stupid to ignore such a golden opportunity. Both his parents knew it. So, the excuses came out, and to be honest, Haruki accepted them. He had, after all, survived a truck crash, and his wounds healed completely and without a scar. Sharp glass and metal didn’t mar his skin, and he had the strength to tear metal off metal. There probably were villains that could dominate and destroy him, but he felt he could handle the basic problems.

Besides, he thought, I’ll never know the truth of these powers if I don’t.

So, the apprehensive parents signed the contract as did Haruki.

Training began a few days after the guided tour.

The facility itself resembled the chaotic outcome of a breeding experiment between an office complex and a research lab. Entry proved to be a non-trivial affair, as no fewer than three secret entrances existed to the underground facility. Step one meant entering an abandoned steel factory on the outskirts of town, followed by sliding aside a piece of equipment that’d been hollowed out for easy moving. This led downward into a short hallway that ended in a secret elevator. Only then did the sliding doors open into the labyrinth of hallways.

“There’s the cafeteria,” Matomaru explained, as the two walked alongside their new hire. “All your meals while here are provided for free courtesy of the government, but please try to limit your meals to three per day.”

“Sure, sure,” Haruki agreed, too busy marveling at the state-of-the-art facility. He’d already seen the training room, which had the standard weightlifting and cardio equipment any gymnasium would have, but also equipment unique to superhero work.

“Over here,” he said, pointing down a hallway, “is your private quarters. You may decorate it as you please, but again, please exercise restraint.”

“You’ll have a list of tasks to execute per day,” Kensuke explained, “and above that earns bonuses.”

His guided tour had been the second major activity that day. Earlier, the two had arrived not five minutes after he’d woken up and showered, and they drove him to his school during off-hours. Kensuke had called a special meeting of his instructors.

Eight teachers and one gym instructor entered the meeting room. The sight of two men in black formal attire got their attention. What really set them on edge was the official documents handed out. A two-page sheet went to each person, and they glanced it over, shooting suspicious looks at the boy.

“What is this?” the gym teacher, a gruff male with a slight muscular build said.

“Kawakatsu-san is under special arrangement with the Japanese government,” Kensuke explained. “As such, you will all be bound to the terms of this contract if he is to attend your school.”

A female math instructor raised her hand. “Excuse me,” she asked, “but what does the principal think of this?”

“His signature is on the contract,” Matomaru explained, pointing to the last page.

They read the signature with a mixture of shock and confusion. “I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do,” a literature teacher stated.

“Simple,” Kensuke pointed out. “There will come special occasions where Kawakatsu-san will be required to leave class to take care of official government business. You will not draw attention to him leaving, nor will you explain what he is doing. Make some believable lie up if you must.” He gestured at the group. “You will neither stop him nor expect him back by a certain time. Any work he misses, you will provide a make-up opportunity for him.”

“He won’t abuse this privilege, will he?”

Matomaru nodded at the biology teacher who asked. “Our need for him will depend on factors beyond our control,” he stated, “but I promise you we will take your educational needs into the utmost consideration.”

“How political,” scoffed the gym teacher.

“It’s that,” Kensuke flatly stated, “or else he won’t be able to attend your school.” He gave a grin and tilted his head just a bit. “I’ve heard your school is one of the best high schools. Am I wrong?”

Those words brought distaste out of each faculty member. The government man had demonstrated a key aspect of negotiation. Sometimes, the most important move is to use the opponent’s ego against them. Haruki, watching from his seat, couldn’t help but sit astonished at the corner the boss had maneuvered them into. He would remember the frustrated look of defeat as they agreed to the man’s terms. The principal got a signed document from each of the instructors, and they each gave their ascent that, should the boy be needed, they would accommodate him without complaint.

Back in the car, Matomaru took the time to photograph each signed contract with his tablet computer. Haruki fastened his belt and sat amazed as the boss sent a text before starting the ignition. “How’d you do that?”

Kensuke glanced over, a smirk aimed at the boy. “Politicians, teachers, parents, all authority figures are basically the same.”

Haruki gave a suspicious look. “All of them?”

The government man gave a slight chuckle. “Everyone with power ultimately acts the same. Give someone a taste of power, give them a higher taste of power, it torments them. In my case, I had to deal with the fact that the school officials have power over students. They’re used to it.” He gestured as he put the car in gear. “You see, I showed them I had power over them. So I had to appeal to what power they did have.”

Haruki thought about it. “By…flattering them?” His statement hadn’t had a great deal of confidence, because he didn’t see the logic behind the man’s sentiment.

“In a way,” Kensuke commented.

When they drove back to the facility, Haruki got ushered directly to tailoring, which scanned his measurements with a laser scanner and sent off for him to have a tactical outfit made. The equipment supervisor was a middle-aged man with a belt consisting of multiple tool pouches. He explained to the boy he’d be wearing a special outfit designed for superhero activity.

“Because you aren’t law enforcement,” the man explained, “and you don’t have the power to arrest, you’ll be harmlessly subduing people.” He led Haruki over to a large interactive screen where he showed the full outfit. It consisted of a slide-on helmet that covered the whole head and obscured facial features while allowing for a full visual field to be displayed on the inner surface. It also had a wireless connection back to base. His outfit consisted of a full-body outfit of two parts, a slip-on shirt with long sleeves that connected to gloves, as well as tactical pants with cargo pockets. These formed a seal with all-terrain boots. Lastly, there would be several of these outfits, each with different patterns and colors depending on the situation.

“So,” Haruki commented, “I’ve got this…string?”

The man sighed and shook his head. “No,” he corrected. “It’s designed to support the weight of a car before breaking, so it’ll easily contain someone. You’ll attach it with a special device no bigger than a matchbox, and the police will detach it with their own device and bring it back to us. You’ll have about twenty of them. It’s designed to be lightweight and not harmful if used properly.”

Haruki held up a sample of it. It looked like clothesline, except dark gray and had the texture of steel cable. “Huh. This is space-age stuff. How much did this cost?”

“Too much,” remarked the man. “Anyway, once we have some finished versions of your costume, you’ll practice taking it off and putting it on at super speed.”

This intrigued Haruki. “Never would’ve thought of that,” he said.

“Of course not,” Matomaru said, entering the room. “Most of your training will be ordinary, but since you aren’t a soldier or a police officer, you’ll have to learn stuff you wouldn’t otherwise learn.”

After that, Haruki got his practice gear on. The second-in-command led the boy down the hall and towards one of the many training rooms. Inside, a man in tactical garb stood ready. “Your training’s going to consist of several parts,” the man explained. “I’m here to teach you how to adapt to a fight.”

“Martial arts?”

The boy’s question drew a grin out of the trainer. “In a way,” he explained. “You won’t be taught any specific style, that’s too limiting. Instead, you’ll be taught how to best develop ways of adapting to any fight.” He took up a stance. “Attack me. No superhuman strength, try to be at peak human levels.”

Haruki thought of his power, of the strength he'd displayed. Without even thinking, he'd ripped a door off a car and shoved a full-size delivery truck at speed into a wall. The idea of “peak human levels" daunted him. How would he know exactly what to do? With no idea other than what he'd seen in dozens of anime and manga, not to mention American superhero comics, he shut his eyes and, to the best of his ability, tuned out the sound of the air conditioning keeping the room at a reasonable temperature. Inside, he felt a flame that poured out from the center of his body.

Whoa, he thought, able to visualize it. This is…my power?

He imagined a pair of invisible hands turning a metaphorical gas valve. In his mind, he pictured the flame weakening as its fuel source diminished. As it retreated from his cells, going from a raging inferno to a gentle tuft of flame, he felt the room get cooler against his skin. Little by little, he felt more of the pressure of being normal, until his feet felt the pressure of standing in uncomfortable shoes. He turned the flame back up until the pressure in his feet went away.

“Ready?” the man asked.

Haruki nodded, jaunting forward and throwing a fist. He hoped he wouldn't hurt the guy. After all, when he'd rescued the driver, he’d crunched down on jagged glass and his skin hadn't so much as dented.

The man leapt forward like a lightning strike, draped an arm around Haruki's extended forearm before he could think, and spun his body, flipping the boy overhead onto his back. Haruki coughed and rotated onto his stomach and pushed off the ground with enough power to rocket to a standing position. “What was…how did you do that?”

The man let out a sensible chuckle at the boy's comment. “Kawakatsu-san, this is an example of how you're going to learn to improve.” He took up a stance. “You have to learn to rely on more than your power, because we really don't know if you're going to fight someone capable of depowering you.”

He gestured. Haruki put a tad more power into it. He felt his speed increase as he jaunted forward with a kick. The man struck like a rattlesnake, latching both hands around the boy's calf, and spun his body. Haruki rotated midair and once more landed on his back. “You telegraph your moves,” the man said. “Even with a slight superhuman advantage, I still got you.” Haruki nodded. “Take a ten-minute break, and we'll go over some of the basics.”

Haruki got a water from the sizeable cafeteria, splashed some on his face and drank the rest, then returned to the training room. The man went over proper posture and position, explaining that in a fight, physics could be the difference between survival and being taken down. The proper movement and position got drilled into the boy with one demonstration after another. Afterward, he got taught takedowns and grapples, and for this he was allowed full power to avoid pain and soreness.

The last lesson he learned from his instructor was how to deal with a stronger opponent. For this, he fought at normal human level. This required his full attention, as he had to focus on the flame inside at a minimal level. With that, he watched the instructor telegraph what moves would be done and how to react to them. After five minutes of learning, he was allowed to demonstrate, and only after putting the instructor in a disadvantaged position did they call it a lesson.

“This is more intense than I expected,” Haruki commented. Deep down, he knew formal training would be more extreme, but to be taken down so effectively at greater-than-human levels of speed and strength amazed him.

“It always is,” the instructor replied. “And you're lucky. You've got physical powers. Some of our heroes have projectile powers or other non-physical powers, and they have to rely on this training every time they go out.”

“When will I meet with other heroes?”

“Take that up with your commander,” the instructor replied. “Anyway, that's all for you for today.”

Haruki left the training room and sat in his personal quarters. He’d be seeing a lot of this room, and he pictured what changes he'd need to make to it. Looking it over, it remained the very image of utilitarianism. The floor liner seemed to be a plastic-like material rough enough not to slip on, and had a gray, fake granite texture. The walls had a basic light blue drywall and the ceiling had LED lights that shone a cold white light on the room. It had a bathroom with a sliding door. A twin-size bed sat against the left corner and the right wall had a sliding closet door. A simple faux wood desk sat in front of the bed with a laptop computer plugged in. It had a simple enough appearance that he knew he'd have to put up a poster at least. As far as rooms went, he could tolerate this one.

“I see you’re getting used to being here.”

Haruki turned at the voice. Matomaru stood at the doorway. “I mean,” he told the man, “I guess if I’m going to be a superhero I might as well be familiar with my home away from home.”

“Go home and get some rest,” the second-in-command told the boy. “Tomorrow, you’ve got school.”