#A.k.a. Badd respects girls and fights abusers

[handlewcaare]

When one read the comic books, being a teenage hero was a helluva lot easier than it was.

Spiderman didn’t have to watch his grades gradually plummet with each “emergency” meeting the Avengers set up for him. Nor did he have to turn in half finished homework because he forgot to do it when he ran off to handle a Behemoth of a beast. It was smooth sails for the likes of some friendly neighborhood vigilante.

Badd wished it was that simple.

He couldn’t complain it was all that rough. Kids at school knew of his devestating strength, so much so that a few would text him about a monster nearby. At times, he’d handle a monster in exchange for a free tutoring session for a class he was struggling in. It was a fair exchange, a life for a decent test grade.

Some people at school would greet him, but he was hardly popular. If anything, he was just as good as company as a cardboard cut out. Someone to briefly pause what he was doing to stoically pose for a photo-op. Though, some people just assumed he wasn’t as friendly as the stature he put on.

“Badd, right?”

His brow arched, momentarily breaking the signature snarl he naturally adorned (it wasn’t a scowl, it was just his face). The voice came from a girl who’s face was speckled with a constellation of freckles. He knew of her, that she was a new transfer student from H-City, but he never got to know who she really was.

“Ya know anyone else that looks like me?”

“Yeah,” the girl remarked, “hate to say it but a pompadour isn’t exactly a unique feat of yours.” Despite his frown, she went on to resume, “I was gonna ask if you had a spare hair tie.”

Out of all the things she could have asked him to do, she asked for a meager hair tie. She might as well have asked a practical mountain of a man to do her makeup. What an odd thing to ask, “how the hell do ya know I even have one??”

What should have been a snide remark about how he always had a spare hair tie for his little sister was accented with a shrug, “The girls in my track team say you do. I don’t mind using my shoelaces though—!”

“Ya can do that??” He implored as he surrendered the hair tie that was nestled within his pants pocket, “wouldn’t it be flying out of yer hair or somethin’ ?”

“You just have to know how to tie it,” after she briefly gave her thanks, she secured her dark hair within a high-ponytail. After a beat, she made a full presentation of the bun atop of her crown. “Ta-da! How does it look?”

“Like a pineapple.”

What insult would have made girls scoff or bark out a bigger insult at him only prompted a wrinkle from the girl’s nose as she laughed. Her grin radiant, almost contagious for a guy renowned for his intimidating glare. It didn’t take the girl long to skip back to her team—‘thanks Badd!’ She would chirp over her shoulder—and he offered a small wave of goodbye to her.

To say it had been the last time they spoke would have been a blatant lie. The girl, who’s name was revealed to be Hikari, would be variant in her greetings. Some days would just be utter small talk: ‘how are you?’ ‘Fine, you?’ ‘Could be better,’ and other days would be exclusively full of excitement. Most notably were they the days that she had just finished her track season or after practice:

“—what I’m saying is that Ayame started acting funny when she dropped the baton,” Hikari said as the two of them sat along the edge of the rooftop during lunch. Her brows furrowed as she plucked a piece of grilled salmon out of her bento box and set it over for Badd to eat.

“Ya still won though, right?”

“Yeah, but it was like something startled her? I can’t say what exactly, but she got a little frazzled after the tournament,” she hummed as she pursed her lips, “maybe ‘m overthinking it.”

“Ya gotta bad habit of that,” he quipped as he took a bite of the surrendered salmon, “she prolly jumped cus she dropped it.”

As it turned out, that wasn’t wholly the case.

The more he talked to Hikari throughout the months in school, the more exposure he got from Ayame. How she often would ask for one of her friends to come with her to the bathroom or how she would stay longer than an hour or two after practice. He wasn’t a psychologist, but Hikari’s concern became more understandable.

Once he was invited to eat lunch with Hikari and her track team, that was when he met Ayame.

As always, Hikari was rather jovial with introductions. Her excitability practically lightened the mood, even when some girls felt a little unnerved to be around a guy who could easily crush a monster’s skull with an indestructible weapon. Those girls he left very well alone for their comfort. The others were met with his gruff nature, he wasn’t sure whether Hikari told them he had a soft spot or not, but Ayame was the one who stood out the most.

The girl was kind and soft-spoken. She loved talking about her cat named Sakusa and she couldn’t help but find pictures of Tama to be an absolute delight. Though, Badd couldn’t lie, Sakusa was just as adorable.

The thing was she couldn’t afford to look him in the eye, nor could she barely manage a tone beyond a small murmur. When Badd would growl out a ‘huh??’ over a mean jest, she would flinch instinctively. Such a response evoked a small ‘sorry’ from the bat-wielding hero.

Lunch became rather awkward between them after that. Fortune came in Hikari’s emotional intelligence, otherwise Badd would have tried to make some means of dramatic compensation. He picked up a giant bouquet of roses for Zenko’s concert when he missed her piano recital once.

It wasn’t until school was no longer in session that he caught a glimpse of Ayame retreat to an older man. Her arms folded across her chest, though the heightened bark of the man made her flinch once more.

The man could have blended in well with the white collar types: nicely trimmed suit, slick back hair and an expensive pair of gloves that would have made Amai Mask green with envy. Their insignia was rather reminiscent to a bamboo lily.

He didn’t just have money, he had money to buy himself out of consequences.

By now, the grip around his signature bat became rigid in a white-knuckled grasp. His storm merely accented with a twirl of his instrument to rest atop of his broad shoulder.

“—and I told you to do the dishes!” The older man exasperatingly barked, “the hell were you doing??”

“I just...” Ayame paused as she shuffled closer to the masonry, “I h-had practice okay? It’s not a big deal—“

“It is a big deal!” His voice was now a tornado that swam tension within the air. His face was beet red and his fists practically quivered from the intensity of his own storm, “I had my fuckin’ brother over and—!”

Without a hint of hesitance, Badd rammed the hilt of his bat directly into the man’s diaphragm. The sheer velocity of his strength evoked a shriek from Ayame and a wheeze from the stranger. Had he known he shattered a rib or two, he probably would have offered a menacing simper.

“Do Yer own damn dishes next time,” when the man attempted to scramble to his full height, Badd hadn’t hesitated to step in front of Ayame. It wasn’t everyday he handled an abusive shithead, but they were marginally easier to handle than a stray papermache volcano come to life.

As the man scowled, his glare dripped over to Ayame, “this isn’t over—!” Once the threat had seeped, Badd simply let his metallic instrument slam into the concrete. A cobweb of weight bloomed under the strain.

“You bet Yer ass it is,”

This was a monster, no doubt, but he had heard from Daichi that some monsters liked to isolate their victims. Norte dam syndrome or something like that. As soon as the man retreated, Ayame began to present signs and symptoms of that.

“He wasn’t going to hurt me,” her voice was distant compared to the staggering man who retreated with a very polite warning. “He was just being an ass, okay? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know what bein’ an ass is,” Badd scoffed, “and that wasn’t it.”

Being an ass meant Hikari poking fun of Badd crying in the middle of Zenko’s piano performance or Badd poking fun of Hikari not knowing how to do algebra, but being able to chemistry. Neither of them would have dared to clench their fist at the other, let alone make the other flinch in response.

Ayame only shook her head, “no, he just... he didn’t mean it.”

“ ‘s that what he tells ya?”

“Of course not, I—“ she sighed, her small shoulders slumped when she practically hung her head, “look, I know you’re supposed to be a hero, but he’s just a guy. You must have bigger priorities, right?”

Bigger priorities meaning bigger monsters; nothing like the abusive asshole nextdoor. Badd couldn’t help but wonder if that was really what being a hero meant to these people, that they were just as fictional as their comic book alternatives.

Whether the answer was blatant or not, it didn’t matter, “I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt, so call Hikari and stay with her, alright?”

“W-What are you gonna do??”

Badd simply unbuttoned his uniform jacket and let it draped over his shoulders.“ ‘m gonna go be a hero.”

It was a slow day at the notorious deadman detective agency. The gentle hum of the fan being the only company the detective had, among the various files of cold cases he tried to decipher in his day off. He didn’t mind the breaks, rather he milked them as often as he could, but they could be rather tedious at times.

Fortunately, his answer came in the form of his phone vibrating against the table. The caller ID consisted of a simple “Badd”. Chances were that the kid needed someone to pick up his sister or ask about homework he didn’t understand.

“Well, good afternoon to you too,” Daichi hummed leisurely.

“Ay, real quick!” If Badd hadn’t been huffing so much, he wouldn’t have assumed the intensity of the situation required a running start, “ya know anyone who’s got a flower on their gloves?”

There was a pregnant pause when Daichi tucked the phone along his shoulder. What sprawled evidence files had been tucked into their respective cabinet drawers, yet there wasn’t anything that could have resembled a nondescript flower. Aside from the insignia a murderer had carved into the wood of his victim’s furniture.

“What kind of flower was it?”

“Iunno??” Badd grunted, seemingly vaulting himself over a fence from how the chains rattled under his weight, “like a Lily or somethin’ ??”

Had his blood not been lethargic like tar, it would have ran glacial through his veins. He never quite noticed how reminiscent it was to a lilac flower, only that it was scrawled and messy. Though, it would have been a bold assumption to make Badd would keep him alive, “You’re planning on going after him, aren’t you?”

“Yep!”

He figured.

Hastily did Daichi retrieve his beige coat and slid his arms through the sleeves, “don’t do anything like kill him. I’ve been looking into cases like—!”

“Ah, I gotta go. I think I see him!”

“Badd, wait-! Wait, did you hear—?!” When the line was cut off to evoke a triad of monotonous beeps, Zombieman hissed a curse under his breath when he rushed to grab his keys and head to C-City. He didn’t even bother to shelf his evidence back when he bolted out the door.

Kids, he swore...