Chapter 2

A/N: Warning - I make OC's on the spot and am not afraid to use them. You have been warned.

(Kind of am getting a better idea of where this story will go. Tomorrow work is starting up again so I'll probably regret spending time writing this now, but ah well, sweet things of life.)

Chapter Two

"I met a strange kid," Aizawa said thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he leaned back in the teacher's lounge thoughtfully.

"What kind of strange?" Toshinori asked curiously, lifting his gaze from his linked hands, where he had been fixedly staring at his hands.

"Don't know," Aizawa said gruffly. "I caught him trying to steal a bento box. I was going to stop him, but he ran from me."

There was a distinctly unsatisfied note in the teacher's voice at those last words.

"He ran from you?" Toshinori was surprised. "And... you weren't able to catch him?"

Aizawa nodded, obviously still in thought.

"Illegal quirk usage?" the world's number one hero guessed.

Aizawa shook his head, then shrugged. "He was fast. Faster than he should've been." He grimaced. "Tricked me into releasing my quirk on him. I thought he had a mutant-type quirk, so my cancellation was somehow hurting him. He used the chance to escape."

"But there's something else," another voice said. It was Sejikiro Kan, the Blood Hero and homeroom teacher of Class B.

"Ah," Aizawa said, looking up, eyes not dull and bored for once. "Yes, there was something else. It might be nothing, but… he seemed to genuinely not know what pro heroes were, or understand why the police would do something about him stealing something. And… he didn't even know what Tokyo was."

"Did you catch his name?" Toshinori asked, leaning in, a frown on his face. "You said he was a kid? How old was he?"

Aizawa grimaced. "Young. Maybe thirteen or fourteen." He looked away. "Tch. As if we don't have enough problems handling our own students."

"Did you report it to the police?" Sejikiro asked.

"Of course," Aizawa said drolly. "What do you think I am? A novice?"

"Maybe a lazy bastard," Sejikiro said, but he was smiling. Aizawa let it pass; the bulky, ever-encouraging hero was impossible to hold grudges against.

"I did report it," Aizawa continued levelly, "but without an ID, it'll be hard to find the kid. Looks like he had some family situation going on too. He was a runaway."

"A runaway?" Toshinori asked.

Aizawa nodded.

"What'd he look like?" Sejikiro asked. "Maybe I could pass it on to the other heroes and they could keep an eye out on patrols."

"That's not a bad idea," Toshinori agreed. "It's rare to find someone who can outrun a pro hero, so the police might not be able to handle this case."

"Hmm. Fair point." Aizawa was quiet for a moment. "He had distinctive white hair, blue eyes. A brattish look." What else? "Wore rather normal clothing. Tanks and a shirt. Clean enough, so he must have had a place to stay recently."

Sejikiro was writing the info down in a notepad. "Roger that. I'll pass it on." He paused, then continued, "What would you think the best course of action would be upon encountering him?"

Aizawa thought for a moment, remembering how disbelieving the boy had been at the prospect of "help". He hadn't even seemed to take it seriously as a possibility.

"A slow approach," he said, measuring the words as he thought them. "That's the type of kid who'd run off the moment he thinks he's in danger. We'd need to find out why he didn't know where Tokyo was, and his full situation before approaching him."

"Hmm," Sejikiro said. "A tricky case."

Toshinori nodded in agreement. "I, as well, will search for him."

Aizawa scowled. "And risk losing your time as the Symbol of Peace? Forget it, All Might, there are plenty of heroes more capable than you at finding a kid."

Toshinori seemed wounded. "But - "

"You can't save everyone," Aizawa said, feeling as if he should roll his eyes. "The kid will be fine. With any luck, he's already found himself a safe place to be. He was smart enough to trick me, anyway. The only real danger is if…"

"I wouldn't finish that thought," Sejikiro said wryly. "You'll only get All Might up in a twist." He looked at Toshinori encouragingly. "Don't worry, we'll be on it, old friend. You can count on us to find him."

Meanwhile, elsewhere...

"I know how to make sushi," Killua said, annoyed.

"Right, and you're wielding that knife like you're going to slaughter someone with it," the older girl said, rolling her eyes. "Just let me show you how."

Killua grumbled, but handed Sencha the knife. Her family had been nice enough to take him in after all, when they had found him sitting on their steps under their awning in the rain. They had even offered him a job at their restaurant once he admitted he didn't have any money to repay their hospitality with - it was a little strange to him, the idea of working in a restaurant, but he didn't have many better options at the moment.

"Look, like this." She lifted the knife, letting the tip rest against the wooden platform while she brought up the back of the blade. Then she brought it down, once, twice, then many times more until twenty neat slices of salmon lay on the tray before them.

Killua whistled, impressed. "Nice!" He reached out to grab a piece, but she swatted his hand away.

"Geez, you're really like a stray cat," she said. She gave him a stern look. "You're here to work, aren't you? Have you ever even made sushi before?"

"I made it once," Killua said smugly. "Under a hell of a teacher too."

Though she hadn't really taught at all. He still had nightmares about Menchi's sushi trial.

She sighed. "Everybody's made sushi at home once or twice before. It takes more than that to be a real chef."

Killua took the moment to process that and pouted.

She laughed, a surprised laugh. Then she offered the knife over to him, hilt-first. "Here, prove to me that you really know what you're doing. Then maybe I'll let you do something other than sweep the floor and clean the dishes."

Killua gave her a tight grin, and took the knife. He had been trained as an assassin. Of course he could use a knife to chop up a fish.

Mirroring her technique, he brought the tip carefully to the wooden board, lifting the back of the knife. Then, deciding to show off a bit, he brought the knife up and down in a flurry of motion.

He grinned at the twenty near-perfect slices and turned to her with smug satisfaction. His grin died a little when he saw the avid horror on her face.

"No, no, that was too fast!" she said, then turned to him accusingly. "Showoff. You have a speed enhancing quirk, don't you? Well - look at this." She lifted up a slice, and Killua could see that it was only a little torn on the edges, but maybe thinner in width than her own slices. "It's all squished! Look, you want to keep the dead cells all preserved and in the right size, alright? You need to be gentle with the fish. There's a technique."

"Ah…" Killua said hesitantly. She really was just like Menchi. Way too picky. It looked fine to him. "Maybe I should just do the dishes and sweeping," he offered finally.

"Right you are," she said bossily, nodding. "Though it wasn't a bad first attempt, I cannot certify you for this kitchen." She grinned cheekily. "Though maybe you'll catch up to me one day, stray kitten."

Killua wasn't sure what to make of the nickname.

"I'm not a kitten," he huffed.

"Right," she rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe you'll grow up into a real fine sweeper one day. The broom's over in the corner." She pointed, and a bit bemused, Killua wandered over to pick it up. He held it up for a second, wondering what to do with it. The floor looked clean enough - ?

"You start at that corner," she said, eyebrows raised, lips twitched, "and you go to the other corner. I promise you, there'll be a mess once the store opens."

"Right," Killua said, cheeks flushing. "I know how to sweep."

The Zoldyck's had never much bothered with manual labor themselves. Killua had certained held many brooms before - but as assassination improvisation weapons, should the traditional methods fail. He felt a bit silly using it to just dust the floor, but he did, and once he had gotten started he got the swing of things.

"Hey," Sencha said abruptly, in a different tone of voice. More serious. Killua immediately stopped sweeping to look at her. She was leaned back against the counter, abandoning her tools of trade. "What's your story?"

Killua leaned on the broom, smiling. "Huh? My story? Why do you want to know?"

She shot him a look. "Well, you're staying here, aren't you? Don't you think I deserve to know?"

"Fair point." Killua considered her for a moment. "You remind me a lot of my friend, you know."

Her eyebrows raised. "Your friend?"

"Yeah, he," Killua waved his hand, growing flustered at trying to explain it. "He also, well, nevermind." He looked away, propping his elbow on the top of the broom and his chin on the palm of his hand, perched into a delicate balance. "You're older, but he was also the first person my age to just welcome me in. Speak to me normally. That kind of thing." He waved his hand as if were nothing. "It's just fun, you know."

She hummed thoughtfully for a moment. Then said, "Now I'm even more curious about your story. Why'd you end up here, out on the steps in the rain?"

Killua frowned, waving back and forth on the broom.

"I'm not really sure," he confessed. "I was taken here, somehow. I don't know how to get back home yet."

She looked alarmed, standing straighter, no longer against the counter.

"Taken here? Were you, kidnapped?"

"No, no," he waved his free hand again. His eyebrows furrowed. "Just taken. I don't understand it. I think it was some kind of… Quirk."

She looked even more concerned. "Have you reported this to the police?"

Again with the police. What was with these people? Were the police actually strong here?

Killua shook his head. "I don't know anything about this place," he said. "I just got here today. I don't trust them."

"Hmm." She stared at him. "If a quirk took you here, the pro heroes should be able to help you, or catch the person that brought you here. This is what they specialize in." She paused, thinking. "Where are you originally from? It must be Japan, isn't it, because you speak so well?"

"Huh?" Killua said. "What are you talking about? This is the international language."

She stared at him flatly. "No, it isn't. There is no international language, unless you count English."

Oh, great. Another interdimensional difference.

Killua shrugged sheepishly. "I guess I meant national language." It was a weak excuse, but it'd do. "But I'm not actually from Japan. I'm from… further."

"Hmm." She raised her eyebrows. "So mysterious."

Killua smiled, all teeth. "I am full of mysteries."

She paused awkwardly at that, then coughed. "Right, well, I think you should go to the police, and they can get you in contact with the heroes. We can go later today, if you'd like?"

"Do you really think they'll help?" Killua asked seriously. "I met a pro hero and all he did was try to swipe at me. He was... strong."

Her eyebrows furrowed in an almost-angry expression. "Swipe at you!?"

Killua shrugged, backing off, releasing his tip-toe hold on the broom. "It wasn't so bad. I got away just fine."

Her eyes widened, and then she actually facepalmed. "What have I gotten myself into…" she muttered. She looked at him then, removing the hand casually. "Not from Japan, eh?"

"Not from Japan," he reaffirmed.

She shook her head, and said, "Well, for now, get back to sweeping. We are going to that police station later, and you can report the pro hero who acted inappropriately towards you as well. Sound good?"

Killua wasn't happy about being told what to do, but he figured it was the best plan of action he'd heard yet. Sencha at least seemed ordinary; she had no dangerous aura and no clear ulterior motive. He thought he could trust her.

He didn't have many other options anyway. No one else seemed to care about a boy on the streets, and, more importantly, he didn't know where to go in this strange, new world. He didn't know how he ranked in strength to everyone else, so he didn't dare to start anything yet, not when he still knew so little.

"Yes, yes, ma'am," he drawled, finally, and went back to sweeping.