The hum of the airport grows louder as the day begins to stir. Travelers hustle through the arrival area, an endless parade of lives reuniting. Yet, in a small cleaning cupboard tucked away from the public eye, something different is taking place.
A janitor slips into the cramped space, dragging a broom that looks as worn as his appearance. He carefully shuts the door behind him. The lamp buzzes weakly, casting pale shadows over the cleaning supplies cluttered all over the room.
He moves with purpose now, no longer the slouched and awkward figure from before. The broom that seemed like an extension of his weary frame clatters agains the floor, discarded like a prop.
In one smooth motion, the janitor reaches up to his own face. Steady and nimble fingers catch hold of a seam hidden behind his collar. With a sickening, rubbery sound, he peels away the wrinkled, weathered face.
No—she peels away the face.
The latex mask comes off in one long, practiced motion, revealing sharp, delicate features beneath. Jet black hair tumbles down her back in smooth waves, revealing her real face.
She reaches up again, this time removing her colored contacts with a quick flick, her eyes gleam—one more intense, more alive than the other. A smile tugs at her lips, a curve of satisfaction that glints like a blade.
A cracking sound follows as her right hand morphs, the skin morphing into a blend of pink and snow white exoskeleton. Her fingers extend, transforming into the serrated, deadly claw of a flower mantis.
Hanakiri flexes her joints, and in an instant, the latex mask in her hold is shredded into useless pieces. She kicks them under a cabinet with a flick of her heel, her hand shifting back to human form as easily as breathing.
"Such a pitiful disguise," she mutters to no one. Her expression softens, though her gaze remains firm. "But for you, Sweetie, I'd wear any mask."
She reaches for the door, but before she can turn the knob, it swings open. Standing before her is a young man, a fellow janitor judging by his uniform, his expression a mix of shock and awe.
"Oh, uh—sorry, I didn't think anyone was in here…" the man stammers, his wide eyes drinking in the sight of her. Her form, her eyes—he's lost in them, unable to tear his gaze away.
Hanakiri chuckles, tilting her head just enough to make her hair cascade over her shoulder. She leans against the doorway with casual grace, her voice like velvet. "No need to apologize. I was just... freshening up." Her eyes glint, sharp and cold like the edges of her mantis forelegs.
The janitor's face reddens even further. He swallows hard, clearly mesmerized by the sight before him. His thoughts are scrambled, a mix of confusion and attraction. "Y— You're not the usual cleaner, are you?"
Hanakiri's smile widens, her eyes locked on his. "You'd remember me if I was."
She doesn't need his answer. She knows the effect she has.
There are reasons why the link between her mantis form and her human guise should remain blurred, why disguises are vital. This is one of them.
There's always more than meets the eye.
She takes a step closer, her eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than mere flirtation. "I'm just passing through. But you wouldn't tell anyone, would you?" Her voice is silk, sweeping him in with a deadly precision. She takes a step closer, her slender fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "I'd hate to cause any trouble."
The janitor stands frozen, his breath shallow. "N— No, I wouldn't— I mean, I wouldn't say anything..."
Her smile turns predatory, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good boy." Hanakiri pats his cheek lightly, her touch gentle yet commanding, like a mantis playing with its prey. "Now, off you go."
The janitor stumbles back, eyes wide, and gives a quick nod before nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurries out of the closet. Hanakiri watches him disappear into the busy terminal.
"Hmm, just to be on the safe side."
She slides out a small case of her pocket and puts the contents on. The next time she opens her eyes, her piercing gaze has dulled to an unassuming brown.
With that, she slips out of the cleaning closet, melding seamlessly into the crowd of travelers with a practiced ease.
The League of Villains has reached out to her. Hanakiri laughed it off at first. It was obviously an invitation to join a ragtag band of fools that served little for her own purpose. But then they mentioned something. Something invaluable. Something from I-Island.
Her daughter.
For years, her daughter had been hidden, buried beneath layers of snow with the Shirayuki. But not anymore.
Her daughter is out there. She has chosen to break out. And now, thanks to the detailed and precise intel, Hanakiri has confirmed it with her own eyes.
"Ara ara," Hanakiri murmurs to herself, her voice is soft, but there's an edge to it, like the sharp spikes of her mantis foreleg. "You've grown so much, haven't you, Sweetie?"
She pulls a canned coffee from the vending machine—the same brand the haggard erasure hero had taken that early morning. "But, a hero in training?" With a swift crack, she pops it open, taking a sip. She sneers and lowers the can halfway. "Shit choice. You never fail to let me down."
But lucky for you… I'm a very forgiving mother.
"A life spent saving strangers while abandoning your loved ones—your family? I taught you better." The metal crumples under the force of her grip before she tosses it into the trash without a second thought and walks away.
Blood doesn't forget, nor can it be erased. No matter how far her daughter tries to run, no matter what role she plays, she will always be tied to her mother—and her father.
"Family comes first," Hanakiri whispers to the vacant space before her, beside the passenger pick-up sign in, where hours ago a trio had boarded a taxi.
It won't be long now.
Until next time, Sweetie.