Chapter 15: Surrogate

Based on her media-originated and limited knowledge, Arata doesn't believe there are words more suited to describe Aizawa's living place other than "minimalist". It is a humble apartment with little room to move and even less personality. Nothing there indicates a sense of ownership to her.

The ivory-colored walls are kept blank, and unlike most people, he doesn't even bother to roll out a carpet on the plain ceramic tiles. No photographs, no musical instruments, no posters, no decorations—nothing. It seems that he chose every piece of furniture out of necessity, never out of aesthetics or interest.

A black sofa bed is standing at the center of the room, several shirts sprawled messily on the backrest. A mid-sized television is sitting on a short cabinet in front of it, separated by a wooden low table with a coffee-stained mug sitting on its surface. At the opposite side of the room, a few simple appliances line up on the kitchen counter.

"Here we are," Aizawa says flatly as he shows her around his unified living-kitchen space. "Sorry for the late notice, but I forgot to tell you that this is a one-bedroom apartment, which means you don't have a room all to yourself. You will sleep on the sofa bed here."

"I don't mind," Arata replies in a timid voice and inhales the earthy scent wafting around her. It is a welcome change from the damp, stuffy underground air where she used to be. "I'm fine with anywhere above the ground."

Great answer, Aizawa mentally sighs in relief. Because he won't hesitate to kick this girl out to the balcony if she starts being difficult and ungrateful. He notices she is curiously eyeing the white rays of lamplight coming through a glass door next to the sofa bed.

"That one leads to the balcony. It faces west, so you can watch the sunset at around seven in the evening."

"Oh?" Arata perks up, a hint of fascination tinting her timbre. "I can, um, go there?"

"Yeah. Everything in this apartment, except for my bedroom and storage, is fair game. Don't break anything, though."

"Of course, Aizawa-san."

His gaze darts to the hospital gown she is wearing under her winter coat. Her old outfit was so tattered and similar to rags that the hospital allowed her to bring that gown with her.

"That way is the bathroom." he points to the small room near the entrance with his thumb, then hands her a plastic bag filled with new clothes. "Go have a shower first, we'll talk more afterwards."

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After fumbling her way through understanding how the electronics in the bathroom works, Arata finally emerges out of the bathroom—clean and satisfied. She inwardly thanks the people who thought of putting written instructions on the shower and toilet buttons. That way, she managed to avoid an awkward situation with her new adoptive father.

Speaking of Aizawa, he is sitting on the sofa with two rice bowls on the coffee table, a thin steam billowing from the mouth of their plastic packages.

"You're done?" he motions for her to take a seat beside him, his eyes glancing at the plain green T-shirt and dark cargo shorts she is donning. "Do they fit? I asked one of the nurses to grab them for you."

"Yeah... Thank you, Aizawa-san."

"Are you hungry yet?" he slides over one rice bowl to her and opens the other for himself. "Mind if we talk over dinner?"

"I'm okay with it." she gives him a thankful smile and follows his lead in eating. Then, she mutters tentatively, "Um, I'm sorry you had to cook this late for me."

"Who? Me? I can't cook to save my life, Arata," he grunts as his chopsticks dive again inside his bowl. "I ordered these using online delivery."

"Oh." she cringes upon registering her error. Embarrassment paints her cheeks as red as the tomato slices in her rice bowl. Even though Shoto has shown her how to use the internet a few times, she still can't wrap her head around it. "Technology sure... evolves, huh?"

Aizawa has to admit, it is actually pretty funny to hear those words coming out from a teenager's mouth. By default, they are the ones who seamlessly follow the modern lifestyle. This kid sure has a lot to catch up on.

"So, what are your plans after this, Arata?"

"Sorry?"

"You said you wanted to live and be free from the Shirayuki. Now that basically you've achieved it, what do you want to do?"

"Honestly, I— I don't know. I used to dream of meeting my mother again, but now, I don't know anymore…" Her chopsticks pause mid-air as she mulls over his words carefully. "To begin with, the future was always an impossibility to me, like a faraway dream. I never dared to hope for more."

"I see, no special interests. Does that mean that you will be okay with whatever I set up for you?"

"Um, sort of. By the sound of it, it looks like you have something planned for me."

"Well, you're fifteen. It's only right that you go to school for education. It's a shame that you will be one semester behind your classmates, but late is better than never, right?"

School. Like normal people. The idea sends a flutter of excitement through Arata's stomach, and she eagerly finishes the last bites of her rice and meat before answering him, "Is it... really possible? I mean, I would like to. But, um, won't my parentage be an issue?"

Aizawa dumps their now-empty plastic bowls into a nearby trash bin and heads to the kitchen counter to get some water. "I happen to know the right people to contact." As he sinks down the sofa again, he puts down another glass of water in front of her. "Water?"

"Um, thanks. If it's not a problem to you... I will do my best."

"That's what I want to hear. Since this is your first day in the society, I'm not going to ask you to do anything. You can have the rest of the evening to yourself. But brace yourself for the next couple of days, because there are a lot of things you need to learn."

Someone else may say that Aizawa is rushing things up with Arata, but he himself doesn't think so. The sooner she can navigate her own way in society, the better. He isn't going to be always available for her, after all.

Moreover, considering her problematic bloodline, it won't be wise to let any sign of weakness show, although her weakness could be as fundamental as not knowing how to switch trains. People aren't as forgiving to the ones from a shady background like her. It will be a tough process, but she must be independent as soon as possible.

"Okay, Aizawa-san."

Then, the conversation comes to a halt. Arata squirms uncomfortably on the left side of the black couch, feeling out of place and on edge in this new territory. While she is very grateful for Aizawa for stepping up, she can't help but wonder what his take on this adoption is.

Is it purely out of pity? What will he gain out of this arrangement? Is she supposed to repay him in a way or another? Considering the fact that she is indebted to him for her life, what should she do to return the favor? Should she just ask him?

"If you don't have any question for me, I'm going to turn in for the night," he says and gets up from his seat, ready to walk up to his own room. "I have other things to take care of."

"Oh, wait!"

"What is it?"

"Um, Aizawa-san?" she tries to will down her hesitation, her hands kneading a cushion in nervousness. "What can I do for you to repay your kindness?"

He glances back at her with a skeptical look on his face, his hand still on the metallic doorknob. "Just keep waking up, Arata."

"What?"

"No matter how difficult it gets in the future, keep waking up every day."

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It is a little past midnight when Aizawa emerges again from his room to have a quick fill of coffee. Under the dim lamplight, he yawns and rubs his sore knuckles, popping joint after joint. A warm summer breeze blows past his man bun, as his bloodshot eyes sweep over the living room, following the direction of the wind.

Strange, he thinks in astonishment as his finger wipes the coffee table, failing to find a layer of dust on its surface. His piles of dirty clothes on the sofa and the corner of the room are also gone. His head turns to another direction and takes a look at the shiny kitchen counter.

His apartment has never been this spotless in half a year. While his standard of cleanliness doesn't match that of a slob, he doesn't exactly put an extra effort to clean either. A minimum effort is enough for him to keep it at bay.

A soft hum passes through the slightly open glass door on his left, and he curiously peers over to the balcony through the crack. Under the crescent moon, Arata is hanging the last of the laundry on the rope and pinching a couple of plastic pegs on them. Her bright green eyes are on the horizon, where the city lights and starlight meet.

"Did you just use your free time to clean?" Aizawa leans on the door and takes a sip of the warm, black liquid from his mug.

Her reverie broken, Arata flinches in surprise at his monotone, gruff voice. "I took the liberty of using some tools." she sends a hesitant smile his way, her hand scratching the back of her neck. "I, um, hope you don't mind. It's by the force of habit."

Well, he is not one to refuse a hand in house chores. "It's more than fine actually, go on. I can get used to it. Can't sleep?"

"Sort of... A lot has happened today..." A wistful sigh escapes from her lips. "I think both you and Shoto-san are miracle workers, Aizawa-san. I can't thank you enough for that."

"There is no such thing as a miracle," he brusquely refutes the idea. "Everything that happens to us comes at the cost of other's struggles and sacrifices."

"Um... Aizawa-san, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful to you guys..."

"I know."

"It's just..." Arata pats the damp clothes, smoothing their wrinkles. "You made the impossible possible for me, and I don't really know any other word to describe it..."

"Fine, I'll give you one." Aizawa quirks an eyebrow as he downs the rest of his coffee and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Try 'heroes', because that's what we do."