Takara Yumi

The girl squeezed her mother’s hand tightly as the swelling roar of thunder echoed through the convention center. “What was that?” Takara Yumi asked, standing on her tiptoes to see better. The dull noise of the attendees in the convention subsided as many turned to stare in the same direction. One young man raised the foam lizard head he was wearing and murmured something to his partner, a woman in elegant sparkly robes, whose costume Takara had just been admiring.

“It’s probably nothing, dear,” Takara’s mother replied, yet she could not hide the fear in her eyes. Mrs. Yumi tightened her mouth and gripped Takara by the hand, leading her to the side. They passed between a booth selling plastic miniature superhero figures and another displaying row upon row of anime posters and wall scrolls. Other attendees, many wearing costumes, had paused their shopping and turned to look over in growing concern.

“Nothing?”

Mrs. Yumi paused at the end of the stall. Then she fixed Takara with a reassuring smile. “A performance, maybe!”

“Do they have those at conventions?” Takara asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. For the last few years now, ever since she’d been allowed to watch her first superhero movie, Takara had been obsessed with the idea of superheroes. After recently excelling in her studies enough to earn special recognition from the principal, her parents had purchased tickets at an upcoming cosplay convention as a reward. Takara had been thrilled as they wandered through the convention center’s massive halls, giggling as she passed by people dressed up as characters she recognized—yet now it was clear something was wrong.

“I suppose,” her mother answered vaguely.

A rattling sound followed, along with a peculiar sound like the ripping of sheets. As it stopped abruptly, screams of terror and agony echoed over the dull hum of the convention. Takara felt her heart beating faster.

“There you are!” Mrs. Yumi snapped.

Emerging from the crowd, which was already stampeding down the corridor, was Takara’s father—Mr. Yumi. A haggard-looking businessman with graying hair, he always had kind words for Takara and had enthusiastically supported her love of comic book characters. Now, however, he seemed bowed over by stress. In both hands he carried three cones of ice cream, having just bought them to surprise his wife and child. In the commotion, a frightened teenager dressed as Superman bumped into him, and one cone of ice cream toppled to the ground.

Takara stared at it for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I was caught up in the rush,” Mr. Yumi stammered, hurrying over to them. He set the ice cream aside, letting it fall to the ground. It was then that the gravity of the situation struck Takara.

Dad never spills anything…

“Is it terrorism?” Mrs. Yumi whispered, the word unfamiliar to Takara.

“I suppose.” Mr. Yumi gritted his teeth, scanning the area. Another boom sounded, followed by more screams. He pointed to the side. “There! An emergency exit.” His hand gripped Takara’s free hand, as her parents rose. “Let’s go!”

“You’re hurting me—”

Takara’s protests were ignored as they bolted forward, weaving through the crowd of cosplayers and convention-goers. They were buffeted to the side by a pack of Scooby Doo cosplayers, but then emerged on the far end, passing by a popcorn stand where the astonished vendor appeared rooted in place. Takara ran for everything she had, yet her little shoes barely touched the ground, as her arms were lifted by her fleeing parents. A corridor stretched out ahead, along with a door.

The door slammed open.

Staggering to a halt, the Yumi family stared in disbelief as a masked man emerged, clad in camo and with a red bandana across his forehead. The man smirked as if in amusement as he casually raised an AK-47. Mr. Yumi stepped forward, yet Takara could still see the man all too clearly. Then he lurched forward, a burst of his assault rifle slamming into the ceiling and sending puffs of drywall to the ground.

He’d been hit by a curved metal shield, flung from the doorway. As Takara craned her neck beyond her father, she saw a brawny man dressed in a skin-tight purple and green costume emerge, with plates of gleaming armor strapped along his legs and chest. The masked man stepped forward, bending over and retrieving his fallen shield, then straightened and examined the Yumi family.

“Never fear,” the mysterious stranger said in a deep voice, “I shall handle this.”

He streamed forward in a rush, sprinting faster than any Olympian, leaving a trailing image of green and purple. Takara twisted around, staring in disbelief as the stranger zipped past the corridor. More gunfire and explosions sounded, and they were followed by frantic cries, but within moments the carnage faded away.

“Wow,” Takara murmured, once she had found her voice. “A real-life superhero…”

***

“It was then that I decided to become a superhero,” Takara Yumi declared, gesturing at the projected image on the classroom whiteboard. She tapped at the last section of her presentation, imitating her teacher, who sat watching the presentation with a strange expression on her face. Takara straightened, though she was not all that tall for a middle-school girl, and fixed the classroom with a nervous smile. “Are there any questions?”

A long pause fell.

Then, all at once, the classroom rocked with laughter. From the front to the back, boys and girls alike hooted and thumped their desks, as if this was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Takara blushed, embarrassed and furious. She stood in place beside the projection, fighting the urge to cry. Somehow she succeeded.

“Alright, enough of that,” the teacher said, rising and finally calming the class down. The older woman cast a sympathetic glance at Yumi. “I didn’t realize you were at the convention when it had that terrorist attack a few years back,” she said in a soft voice. “I’m sorry about that. But… this presentation is about what you want to be… as in real jobs. Doctors, lawyers, nurses… you know.” The teacher frowned. “Honestly, Takara, I thought you were more mature than that. There’s no such thing as that.”

Takara stared at the floor. Her eyes throbbed, tears threatening to overwhelm her. Somehow she managed to step away, stumbling back to her seat.

I know what I saw! Takara thought, even as she slumped down.

“Alright, Ayomi, you’re next. And remember, this is about real jobs!”