aftershock ━

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chapter 3

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓
𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭, 𝟕:𝟐𝟑 𝐏𝐌

Shimamura, dressed down in jeans and a short sleeved band t-shirt (one of Shinsou's metal bands), stepped into the small coffee shop. Her trench coat was in her arms although there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn't wear it. June wasn't the hottest of months, but it wasn't cold either.

She stuffed her house keys in her pocket and pushed her bag strap farther up her shoulder. The pro hero had to keep that bag on her whenever she was on call—it held her suit, after all. Sometimes she wished she could wear her suit on underneath her normal outfit, but the skintight catsuit wasn't the most comfortable costume to be worn under jeans and a shirt.

She sidestepped a young couple who were too distracted by each other to notice Shimamura in the doorway. Not that Shimamura minded, of course. Her neck craned as she peeked around the wall to find her target. There were only about 7 tables in the entire cafe, all of which were filled. The singular long table which could fit at most 8 chairs had a college or high school student sitting in each one with a laptop open, streaming glowing colors onto their faces. The sofa and coffee table in between had a few of what looked like seven-year-olds playing on their little electronic devices.

Everyone in the coffee shop was absorbed by their screens. They could care less about the pro hero in their presence. All except for one...

In the very back of the cafe sat a woman with a red hood propped over her head, shading her face. She was slumped in her chair before she spotted Shimamura enter the shop. The woman slid up in her chair a fraction of an inch and waved Shimamura over, vaguely. She wasn't trying to be quiet about it, more like she didn't want to put very much effort into it.

Shimamura smiled lightly, waving back. Watching the ground as she walked, Shimamura navigated her way through the chair legs and backpacks sprawled on the ground. She had to step over a dog's behind at some point. Shimamura couldn't deny that this place had the best coffee in Kona—close to where Shimamura's agency was located.

The alabaster haired hero sat down across from her slouched compatriot. She set her bag down carefully next to her leg. She hooked the bag strap around her ankle so it wouldn't get stolen. Glancing up, she noticed the woman wasn't staring at her. Actually, the woman was staring at the halfway filled cigarette saucer with dead cigarette buds.

The woman was dressed in a dark red hoodie and a long black skirt. There were dark circles surrounding her golden eyes and deep bags set underneath them as well. Her hood concealed her mass of long, grainy white hair with strands of black intertwined in her white locks. Everything about the woman just seemed old and tired—but she couldn't have been more than 8 years older than Shimamura.

Her eyes lingered on the cigarette saucer as if she despised it being there. Shimamura took notice of this, but not enough to question it. She assumed the platter must have been there before either of them had sat down. Maybe she should ask to take it away—

"Hey T."

The woman's scratchy yet silky voice snapped Shimamura out of her thoughts. Shimamura gave her a lighthearted smile, although the woman couldn't help but stare droopingly at her.

"Hi. It's nice to see you, Kimiko."

The woman, Kimiko, smiled very lightly. Her reddened lips bent her expression into shape and gave her a more lively look as she smiled. She sat up and slid her hood off her head. Shimamura's eyes followed her hair's movements as it flowed out of the area of the hood like a rolling fog.

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