RED - miya atsumu

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IF ANYBODY CAME up to Miss Red at that particular moment that evening, they would've found her scowling. Not that anybody could, though, as she was tucked safely away in her home.

Well. Anybody but Ronin, she reasoned. Although I'm confident enough in the training given to him to assume he wouldn't come into his employer's room unannounced. Not to even mention without knocking.

Shortly after this conclusion, Akiko frowned again. My ears have been itching the past three hours. If there aren't people talking behind my back, I don't know how else I could explain this phenomenon.

And yet as soon as these thoughts crossed her mind, Red vehemently shook her head. No. There are always people talking about me. If the superstition of the occurrence of itchy ears every time somebody speaks of you is true, wouldn't my ears constantly be itching?

At this, Kogawa permitted herself a faint smile. "Now that was just a little narcissistic of myself, wasn't it?" she mumbled to nobody in particular. Maybe it was for the taciturn white walls of her abode. In any case, their blank faces did not offer her a reply.

Perhaps they don't have an opinion on that, Red found an excuse for their unforgivable silence. How could walls have a perspective of narcissism? It's not as if they were educated on the subject. All they were built for was to house people like me. So expecting a reply from them would be like asking a dog to recite the Quadratic Formula: It's completely unethical.

Absently scratching the back of her small, dainty ears, she lowered her chin and gazed upon the open book lying in her lap. Tonight was supposed to be her down time, but the topic of work always seemed to trace its way back to her. First there was a complaint from one of the collaborative companies Cloud Dust was working with. Then one of the engines of Scarlet X's second-most important rocket was malfunctioning.

There were an endless amount of problems to be solved. Every time one issue was taken care of, another popped right up to take its place. A never-ending game of whack-a-mole; That's what this all was. And it took up every single drop of energy Red had in her tanks.

Rolling her head to the right, she gazed upon the dark reflection of herself in the window. It always calmed her to view her own face; Hers was one that under no doubt would be considered beautiful. It always, no matter the circumstances, calmed the raging waters of her thrashing thoughts.

Giving herself a moment to recollect herself, Akiko eventually turned back to her book. Lord of the Flies, written by William Golding. This was her–what–fifth time rereading it? But of course, mused Red, there is never a limit to how many times you can read a classic.

It intrigued her, the moral aspects of human nature. In a situation that burns away the essence of morality and exposes the primal instinct of survival, what do we become?

Childish questions like these appear only up to high school; Childish because adults did not converse on the trivial topic of good and evil, because everybody knew all the adults were good, because nobody wanted to have to lie awake the following night, pondering what their true reactions would be.

Because nobody wanted to admit to themselves that they knew deep down how ugly their true nature was.

Akiko chuckled quietly to herself at this thought. No need to be so pretentious, she silently comforted the people in vain. No one's blaming you for what you'd do in a scenario like that. Whatever you do, it's how you were programmed to be, right from the minute you were born. So no, you don't have to tell everyone how you'd gallantly rescue as many people as you possibly can. Just tell the truth; In fact, that'd help us more. We don't need to believe your lies then realize you're a backstabbing traitor when it's too late. So if you really cared for us, why don't you just tell us that you'd be a terrible person to stick around with during an apocalypse, so that we would have better chances of survival?

Red closed the book in her lap. But of course. No matter what happens, you still have to survive this world, the one tangled with politics and scandals and feuds and more. You couldn't possibly openly admit what type of a person you really are, that'd almost be equivalent to taking off your armor in battle.

Still, reasoned Red, you at the very least have to know who you are. It is essential to understand yourself before you can accomplish anything.

Watching Train to Busan alone at home, Miya Osamu was having similar thoughts to the business woman.

These ideas were all reminiscent of a particular high school memory, one consisting of the volleyball team and their manager, discussing the topic of what they believed they would do in a zombie apocalypse.

"I think... that I'd just try my very best to survive," said Kita. A simple but reasonable decision. "Obviously, but like, what steps would you take?" Prodded Atsumu. "Would you... I don't know... Kill people?"

Kita looked horrified. "Of course not!" Aran smacked the blonde twin's head. The group chuckled amiably as the setter rubbed his head with a pout.

In an attempt to deflect the attention away from himself, Atsumu turned to Akiko who sat beside him. She was staring up at the passing clouds, her voice absent from the chatter. "What about you, Akiko?" He asked. "What would you do?"

His question seemed to bring her back to the crowd. They all watched eagerly, interested in what their excellent manager's answer would be.

She turned her head slowly, taking in the sight of the people before her. The light of the afternoon sun glinted distantly in her black eyes. As her gaze rested on Osamu, he thought, "Her eyes look like tapioca pearls". Then, the 'tapioca pearls' turned to his twin. They observed the genius setter for only a moment longer than everybody else, but the wing spiker caught this.

"What do you mean, what would I do?" Kogawa remembered snapping. "Don't you all have things to do? It's already four!" And without another word, she'd stood up and walked away, leaving a very confused group of boys who were bewildered by her sudden anger.

But it wasn't them she was mad at. She was angry with herself for not being able to tell them the truth—the truth that she would do anything to survive, even if it meant hurting others. She was mad at herself because she didn't want to expose her true nature to the boys that she had come to love, especially that idiotic Atsumu. What would she do if they looked at her in fear, in hatred, in disgust?

And then she was mad at herself for caring. Then she was angry she was mad at herself for caring, because that was what that stupid old hag had taught her. And then—

Red sighed, pulling herself back to the present. Whatever she had been mad at herself for in the past didn't matter now; forget the past and forge the future. Previous failures held no meaning for her now.

They got their answer either way though, didn't they? Thought Akiko bitterly. Anybody and everybody knows what I would do. It's been broadcasted to the whole world.

But it's alright. Red crossed her right leg over her left and drew her arm up to her cheek, where she rested her head. This is the world of politics, where everybody fights dirty. And as of now, 'tapioca pearls' studied the roaring scarlet fire in the fireplace, I am their queen.

"Miss Kogawa!"

Ronin's urgent cry brought her out of her silent monologue. Immediately, Red's mind began to spin. Something was evidently wrong, if her butler had to barge in. "What is it, Ronin?" She inquired.

The large man started towards her. In his hand, a phone. Displayed on the phone, breaking news. The headline, emblazoned with large, dark letters:

THE IDENTITY OF THE SUPER BUSINESSWOMAN 'MISS RED'; FINALLY REVEALED?

Right below was a picture of Kogawa in her high school days—taken by the photography club for the article on the volleyball club, Red remembered.

She inhaled sharply. Her gaze grew dark.

Yes, she was the queen. And now, somebody is trying to take her crown.

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