Chapter 2: Dumpster Diver
After a brisk twenty minute walk, Takumi arrived at Aoba Heights. An old, low-income apartment complex constructed in the late 80s. It was a cheaply constructed, aging three-story walk-up building tucked between a failing bicycle repair shop and a shuttered laundromat. Its concrete exterior layered with faded beige paint and hairline cracks near the metallic stairwell that rattled in the wind.
His apartment was located on the second floor, which cost him around ¥58,000 a month including utilities. As a high schooler who lived solely off his part-time income of about ¥98,000 a month, it'd suffice to say money was tight, and he had little hopes of making ends meet without managing his finances properly.
'I'm home.'
Takumi kicked his shoes off at the entrance and looked towards a portrait set up around a small, impromptu-shrine near his shoe cabinet. It depicted an elderly man wearing a clerical outfit. He had a square jaw softened by his advanced age, thin lines at the corners of his eyes which emphasized their gentleness, and deep-set dark eyes that looked capable of peering into someone's very soul.
Father Shunpei Kisaragi. Takumi's foster father.
According to the priest himself, he found Takumi as an abandoned infant at the doorstep of his church, and in accordance with his own moral compass and the bible's teachings, decided to welcome the child in as his own.
Takumi's respect for the man was ocean-deep. He was well-rounded, upright, and most importantly of all, compassionate as can be. He taught Takumi right from wrong, and aware of the little time he had left in this world, taught him all he needed to know to take care of himself before passing away of natural causes at the start of his adopted son's third-year of high school.
Takumi owed the faint, kindling willpower he used to fight against his quirk's restless perception to his foster father's wisdom and warm-heartedness.
Despite the nature of Takumi's quirk, not once did Shunpei look at him like some broken child. To him, Takumi was just a boy who needed a helping hand here and there to find his footing. Even when Battle Algorithm first awakened, there wasn't the slightest hint of fear on the priest's face.
It was he who convinced Takumi that his quirk didn't necessarily mean he was bound to end up as a violent person. It was he who convinced Takumi that his soul and heart was strong enough to suppress the will of his Meta DNA.
After a moment of silent prayer, Takumi walked over to his kitchenette to prepare dinner.
He washed his hands and opened the fridge, his quirk immediately chiming in the moment he set his eyes on his ingredients of choice.
'Chicken thigh: 28 hours since purchase. Safe to consume. Cabbage: edge dehydration's beginning to settle in, best use tonight. Egg: shell integrity stable.'
One by one, he took out the ingredients and neatly arranged them on his counter. Takumi opened the lid of his rice cooker, and poured in an acceptable range of 175g to 185g worth of rice without the help of a measuring scale.
Before adding water, his brain went over three variables to determine the right amount: the humidity within his apartment, the time since the rice's initial purchase, and the desired firmness he wanted for his meal.
He settled on 205mL of water accounting for the perfect rice to water ratio. The exact amount he'd need to get the right texture while avoiding excess softness.
He set the rice cooker on standard mode for thirteen minutes, while keeping a mental note to start cooking the chicken thigh at the eighth minute to have them both ready at the optimal time.
Next, he took out an onion and gave it a thorough wash and peeling before setting it on his cutting board. His quirk went over the correct cutting technique the moment he clasped his kitchen knife's handle.
'Knife Angle: 18°. Blade alignment optimal.'
He began to slice at even, uniform 3 millimeter arcs, his hands automatically adjusting the pressure of his cuts to avoid slipping. Naturally, the tear-inducing fumes from the onions started to rise once he got to work, leading his quirk to perform a slight adjustment in his breathing pattern, having him inhale through his mouth to mitigate the irritation.
Now it was time for the chicken prep. Takumi opened the plastic packaging with absolute precision, not allowing even the slightest splash of chicken juice to stain his counter. Carefully, he patted the meat product down with a paper towel. By reducing the chicken's moisture the probability of it searing went up by 23%.
He proceeded to distribute the salt through an even spread, stopping once he believed the sodium density to be within acceptable parameters. As much as he'd love to have more seasoning, that luxury wasn't exactly in the bounds of someone with his income range.
Takumi turned on his stove, setting its flame to medium-high and setting his pan atop it. Patiently, he waited for its surface to reach 120°C before adding oil to ensure the liquid spread evenly. His eyes tracked how fast the oil thinned, his brain logging the progression of the spread, the surface tension behaviour, and light reflection distortion.
Once the pan's approximated temperature hit 170°C, an 8-second window to achieve the optimal sear arrived. Takumi didn't hesitate to put the chicken down, the sound of it sizzling against the heat transforming into data within milliseconds.
'Even contact. No curl. Browning projected to occur in 2 minutes 34 seconds.'
Takumi put an exact distance of 40 centimeters between him and his stove, his half-lidded eyes monitoring the piping hot pan to ensure everything went as planned.
Content, he moved back towards his cutting board, shredding the cabbage in short, efficient strokes. No wasted motion, only acute, rhythmic knife taps working away at the spherical vegetable.
His brain subconsciously kept track of the rice cooker's gentle hum and the state of his chicken. His brain needed no timer to know when to flip it over, it simply detected the shift in surface tension via sound and smell, and informed Takumi when it was time to turn it on its side, achieving a perfect golden crust.
Satisfied, Takumi's focus shifted to preparing the sauce. He tossed in a handful of minced garlic first, pushing the chicken to the side to make room for it to properly lather against the boiling oil. Next came the soy sauce and mirin, which caused a heat spike in the form of a burst of steam which erupted from the pan.
His composure unwavering, Takumi reduced the flame by 15% to prevent a sugar burn from occurring.
While he waited for the liquid to thicken, he reached into his fridge and pulled out an egg, readying another pan since the residual heat from the one he was currently using was bound to ruin the yolk. He needed a surface temperature of 125°C, 170°C was excessive.
Once the oil began to whisper, indicating the heat was lower, Takumi cracked the egg against a flat surface to reduce the chance of shell fragmentation and allow for a cleaner break, keeping the cracked egg exactly 4 centimeters above pan to avoid yolk rupture and setting an internal timer for 2 minutes and 10 seconds.
Finally, once all the components were prepared, it was time for Takumi to plate his meal.
Rice centered in the bowl. Even pieces of cleanly-sliced sauce-covered chicken laid across the grain. Cabbage on the side. Egg placed on top.
After 14 minutes and 23 seconds of cooking, Takumi's Garlic Soy Chicken Bowl came together with perfect cohesion. The nutrient content of which in complete accordance with his quirk's survival baseline.
There was no emotion on his face as he sat down on his dining table, no pride for his work. This was simply what his quirk expected him to do, it wasn't a process curated from trial and error, or the joy of learning a new skill. It was a mass of inputs spat out by a living machine brought together as one.
Even as he chewed on his food, his quirk continued to meddle. It told him the ideal bite size for minimal spillage, the optimal rice-to-protein ratio per mouthful, the best chopstick angle to balance the yolk, and the necessary heat dissipation rate to avoid burning his tongue.
It's not as if he was incapable of suppressing his quirk, if he put his all into it, it was possible for him to force the calculations to quieten. But was it really worth it for something as mundane as eating? The wise choice was to save that energy for something more vital.
Once finished, Takumi went to wash his dishes and grabbed his full trash bag, putting on a pair of slippers and heading out to the dumpster before he returned to work on his studies.
Rustle! Rustle!
'Hm?'
As he approached the bin, the sound of something rummaging through the trash hit his canals. Battle Algorithm's automatic threat detection went off, a feature that always activated whenever he was near another person.
He noticed a pair of legs were dangling out the dark-green dumpster, ones that were absolutely caked in filth and grime of unknown origins.
'Again?' Takumi exhaled. The homeless going dumpster-diving wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence in Naruhata.
At present, his quirk told him there was only a 6% chance of them expressing hostility towards him, and a 0% chance they were actually capable of hurting him in any manner if an altercation somehow occurred.
He made no attempt to interact, walking right up to the dumpster and placing his trash bag somewhere that wouldn't disturb the scavenger. As he walked back towards the stairwell, a few passing analytics entered his brain from getting closer to the figure.
First, the individual somehow smelt worse than the dumpster itself. A feat even Battle Algorithm didn't seem to fully comprehend.
Second, from the shape and texture of their legs there was a 94% chance they were a girl. Presumably a teenager around 2 years younger than him.
And third, there was an anomaly. There were fresh wounds caused by a bladed weapon, most likely a dagger strewn across her skin. Wounds that had closed up much, much faster than a normal human's would. So fast that the healing process might as well have been instantaneous.
'An estimated closure time of 6 seconds? A hyper-regeneration quirk?'
Takumi winced, feeling his quirk's assessment of the girl shift from that of an unfortunate, harmless civilian, to a threat possessing a truly impressive recovery-based quirk.
'The wounds sealed cleanly without inflammation. Suggests advanced cellular replication. Low infection risk. High stamina cost likely.'
Simply from glancing at a pair of legs, Takumi's quirk analyzed the potential threat from start to finish.
'If engaged physically blunt trauma will be rendered ineffective long-term. Blade deterrence minimal. Restraint required at joint articulation.'
He ground his teeth, continuing towards the stairwell with absolutely no intention of remaining near the girl. There was no reason for him to interact with her on any level. He simply needed to return to his apartment and forget she was ever there.
"Oi! Human!"
A deep, hearted exhale escaped his breath.
With reluctance, he turned around to face the girl who had leaped out of the dumpster like a cat, revealing herself to be completely in the nude with exactly thirteen blade-caused wounds scattered around her sunken, malnourished torso and lower body. She sported a wild, unkempt mane of frizzy blond hair. Her eyes a strange combination of red and yellow with pupils that took the shape of a cross pattern, and a strange set of blood-red horns resting on her scalp.
Takumi readjusted his glasses, pinching his nose-bridge as he prepared a cut and dry, unenthusiastic response.
"Sorry, I don't have any money on me. If you're hungry, there's a soup kitchen 7 minutes from here." He pointed down the street behind him.
"Mu-ney? I know not what this strange notion you speak of is, human! I'm demanding you receive the honor of handing sustenance over to me so I may embark on my rescue mission!"
Takumi deadpanned.
Why didn't he just walk away?
///
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