three

filthy

It's funny how life works.

How everything goes fine and then one event screws up your life so much that it haunts you in your sleep.

I've never slept well, but after this past summer it's been even worse.

I see it every time I climb into bed. Replaying the exact moments play by play. On particularly bad nights, sometimes by brain even goes as far as to speculate what my life would be like now if the Amamiya's hadn't found me.

That night was no different, everything playing seemingly on a loop.

I left the building site with a cheery smile on my face, buying an iced chocolate drink from a vendor nearby. We had just gotten the grades for our midterms back and I was shocked to find that I, the only girl in the class, had top marks. I'd been in a good mood all day, and I was determined to let nothing break that.

I'd promised Daichi that I was going to make a celebratory ramen dinner. From scratch, obviously, not the instant packet stuff.

The sun reflected off the neon and silver on my navy construction jacket, breeze blowing my hair behind my head. That jacket was still the most comfortable piece of clothing that I owned.

It seemed to happen in slow motion: the black van pulling out of the alleyway, the men in black running towards me. I let my guard down for a second to check a text message from my dad, then a pair of rough arms wrapped around my midsection.

I sprung into action, lashing out with kicks. Once I was free I threw a punch at the guy in front of me, blocking a strike from someone to my left and throwing him over my shoulder in perfect judo form, right into his friend.

I was starting to get the higher ground, but when I reached for my phone they took that chance to kick me to the ground, then kick at me from all angles.

Until it let up. Grunts and shouts rang out from behind me, but I was too scared to stand.

Minutes later, when it all went silent, a hand reached out to help me to my feet. Two guys dressed in leather jackets stood in the alley next to me, the members of Doubt lying on the floor groaning.

The one with brown hair helped me to my feet, holding me tight as I threw my arms around him and cried.

I shot up in bed, breathing heavily. The digital clock on my nightstand read 2:45 A.M as it illuminated the area near my bed in a calming lavender light.

I slowly stepped out of bed, stretching my arms.

Once I was awake, there was no getting back to bed.

Crossing my grey shag carpet, I stood on the tips of my toes to pull a small white photo storage box from the top of my closet. Sitting on my bed, legs crossed, I pulled the top of the box off. Inside, colorful but faded envelopes sat stacked on top of each other, my messy Japanese scrawl indicative of what age I was when the photos inside were taken.

It was always crazy to me how people and experiences are eventually whittled down and forgotten until all that's left to prove they were was a single photograph.

Eventually photographs are all that's left of us.

A clunky bronze medal sat on top of the envelopes. The last medal I ever won.

Underneath the medal was a small teal envelope. I smiled fondly, holding the top photograph in my hand. I was wearing a hoodie for some scene band that probably isn't even together anymore, streaks of green running through my hair. I was laughing, a girl behind me braiding my hair. Haruka was my best friend. She left the dojo shortly after I did, moving to Chicago to study ballet. I haven't talked to her since she moved.

Next was one of the many pictures where I was standing with Haruka and two of the other girls that were on the team. Back when we could all get along, huge smiles and arms thrown around each other.

We were unstoppable.

Fighting used to be fun. The trips, the people. Until it wasn't anymore. Until I quit the sport and started getting into more fights around school.

Maybe it was time I got back into it.

And maybe Oya High was the right way to do it.

___

"You want to join Oya High?"

It was a mere few hours later, class as the building site was in full swing. Daichi and I were moving large sheets of drywall up and down flights of stairs, talking about life to make time pass easier during our three hour class block.

"Ok, not join Oya, but I want to get back into fighting."

Daichi shook his head "Why don't you call your old sensei then?"

"I'm pretty sure that I am the last person he wants to talk to. Especially after I quit on him like that."

"I went to high school with Murayama. He's not the kind of guy you want to mess with."

I thought back to the previous day, and how quickly the boy's demeanor had shifted. "I dunno, he didn't seem that bad when I stopped by yesterday."

Daichi looked confused. With a small smile, I launched into an explanation of yesterday's tutoring expedition, right down to how it had ending in sparring. Or at least, an attempt to sparr.

"I think he likes you." Daichi chuckled as we reached the top of the stairs, pulling the drywall into what was supposed to become a home office. "I've known him longer than you have, and he doesn't call just anybody senpai unless he means it."

Leaning the drywall against the wall, I turned to the guy who was supposed to be installing it. There was supposed to be two of them. "Where did Hiroomi go?"

The brunet looked up from the graph paper he was scribbling notes on. "Something came up with his mom, he had to bounce."

Hiroomi was the oldest out of all of us at thirty-two. His life had hit a rut after high school. He was one of those guys who played a sport ( in his case it was baseball ) but had little academic potential. He tanked, eventually joining Daruma Ikka. After his mom had a stroke and needed to be put in a care home, he came back to school and left Daruma. At first we worried that Hyuga wouldn't be pleased and that he'd go out of his way to sabotage us, but Hiroomi reminded us that family was everything to Hyuga Norhisa. After all, his family's downfall to Mugen was what had formed Daruma in the first place.

I nodded. "Right. Daichi and I can take over installation then, if you need the extra help."

Daichi stared at me. "We're gonna do what?"

I smacked his hard hat and we got to work lifting and installing the sheets of drywall. It was tough work, but rewarding.

"If you're picking up extra work around here to look good and try and tell the professor you're fine, you don't have to." Daichi hummed as I started the drywall taping. "You were almost kidnapped, Dori. If you need a break, you should take one."

I shook my head adamantly. "No breaks. I made a promise to Masaki that I wasn't going to let Doubt get the better of me."

"I still can't believe you spent three days hiding with those pricks."

"Come off it, Daichi. I wasn't hiding. But this conversation has gotten me thinking. I'm out of shape. What if Doubt comes after me again, or something big like the Container Fight happens again? Or the Mighty Warriors come after all the S.W.O.R.D land? You live in Sannoh, you get it."

Daichi shook his head "Well, if I can't talk you out of it, I might as well support you."

"You're the man, Daichi."

"I've heard."

___

Oya looked a little bit different today. It was probably the fact that there was a giant person shaped hole in the window, no doubt from some of the first years getting cocky.

For a brief second I stopped to ask myself if this was total insanity. Shaking my head, I turned off the ignition in my car and stepped out, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and tucking my glasses into the pocket of my construction jacket.

The stares were different this time, probably because now I actually looked like I belonged at Oya. I wasn't trying to impress anybody.

Todoroki shot me a confused glace as I tried to retrace my steps to the room filled with mats that Murayama and I had sparred in the previous morning.

I knocked gently on the door, finding Murayama deep in conversation with the man from yesterday that I recognized as Furuya and an older guy who looked like the kind of person that my uncle Marumo would get drunk with and then fight in bar like some American cowboy flick.

"Midori? What are you doing here? Did you leave something upstairs?" Murayama asked, a confused look on his face "You look different."

I chuckled. "This is how I look when I'm not trying to impress anybody." I said, gesturing to the construction jacket, steel - toed Doc Martens, torn jeans and Iron Maiden shirt I was wearing. "Probably smell awful too. Like sweat and sawdust."

"You work in construction?" The older bald man asked.

"I'm working on my construction engineering degree."

"It's like her eighth degree." Murayama laughed

"It's my third degree, doofus." I corrected with a grin

"What are you doing here?" Furuya pressed, an unimpressed look on his face.

I chuckled, putting my bag down. "I want to get back into fighting. But I need a sparring partner."
Furuya laughed. "No offense, but you look harmless."

"You want me to be your sparring partner?" The shorter dark haired boy mused, kicking Furuya in the shin

"Only if you're up for it, Hot Shot."

Murayama grinned. "Let's see what you've got, Nerd Girl."

NOTES!

this was originally going to be a lot longer but i think i need to split it into two chapters-