Emi "Ms. Joke" FukukadoThe office was sterile—white walls, harsh fluorescent lights, a desk so polished Emi could see her own forced grin reflected in its surface. The official across from her, a thin-lipped man with a receding hairline, adjusted his glasses as he slid a thick dossier toward her.
‘Wow. They really went all out on the whole “sinister bureaucracy” aesthetic, huh?’
“Pro Hero Ms. Joke,” the man began, voice monotone, as if he’d given this speech a hundred times. “Under the Quirk Marriage Initiative, you have been identified as a Priority One candidate due to your combat proficiency and the strategic value of your Quirk.”
Emi leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her sea-green hair swaying with exaggerated interest. “Ooooh, Priority One? Does that come with a trophy? Or at least a coupon?” She wiggled her fingers. “Maybe a free dessert on my government-mandated wedding night?”
The official didn’t so much as blink. “Your compliance is mandatory. Refusal will result in suspension of your hero license and potential legal repercussions.”
‘Ah. No coupon, then.’
Her smile didn’t falter, but her fingers tapped a restless rhythm against her thigh. ‘Breathe. Play along. You’ve talked your way out of worse.’
“So, what’s the catch?” she chirped, flipping open the dossier with a theatrical flourish. “Do I get to meet my mystery spouse before the big day, or is it more of a blindfolded-at-the-altar situation?”
The man sighed, clearly unamused. “You will undergo a preliminary meeting with your assigned partner within the week. After that, you are expected to produce at least one child within three years to ensure—”
Emi’s fingers twitched.
‘Produce. Like I’m a damn factory.’
She cut him off with a laugh—sharp, loud, the kind that made junior heroes flinch. “Three years? Wow, you guys really don’t waste time! What’s next, a quota on how many jokes I’m allowed to tell during labor?”
The official’s expression remained flat. “This is not a joking matter, Ms. Fukukado.”
‘Oh, but it is.’
Her grin widened, even as something hot and furious coiled in her chest. “Everything’s a joking matter if you’re brave enough!” She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Bet you love that at parties.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Good.
He pushed another form toward her. “Sign here to acknowledge your understanding of the terms.”
Emi stared at the paper, her pulse loud in her ears. ‘This isn’t real. Can’t be.’
But her hand moved anyway, scrawling her name with a flourish so aggressive the pen nearly tore through the page.
“Pleasure doing business with you!” she sang, shoving the form back. “Can’t wait to meet whatever unlucky soul drew the short straw.”
“Actually, Ms. Fukukado,” he said, pressing a button on his intercom, “we’ve expedited your case. Your match is already on-site.”
A crackle of static. Then: “Bring them in.”
A bead of sweat traced her temple, despite the room’s chill. ‘Already—? No. No way they’re doing this now.’
Her pulse kicked up, but she forced a laugh, pivoting on her heel with her hands laced behind her head. “Wow, you guys work fast! What, was there a two-for-one sale on forced matrimony today?” Her laugh came out half a note too high.
The official ignored her, adjusting his tie as the door at the far end of the room clicked open.
Emi didn’t turn. 'Don't look. If you don't look, this isn't real.' Her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
‘Wow. They really went all out on the whole “sinister bureaucracy” aesthetic, huh?’
“Pro Hero Ms. Joke,” the man began, voice monotone, as if he’d given this speech a hundred times. “Under the Quirk Marriage Initiative, you have been identified as a Priority One candidate due to your combat proficiency and the strategic value of your Quirk.”
Emi leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her sea-green hair swaying with exaggerated interest. “Ooooh, Priority One? Does that come with a trophy? Or at least a coupon?” She wiggled her fingers. “Maybe a free dessert on my government-mandated wedding night?”
The official didn’t so much as blink. “Your compliance is mandatory. Refusal will result in suspension of your hero license and potential legal repercussions.”
‘Ah. No coupon, then.’
Her smile didn’t falter, but her fingers tapped a restless rhythm against her thigh. ‘Breathe. Play along. You’ve talked your way out of worse.’
“So, what’s the catch?” she chirped, flipping open the dossier with a theatrical flourish. “Do I get to meet my mystery spouse before the big day, or is it more of a blindfolded-at-the-altar situation?”
The man sighed, clearly unamused. “You will undergo a preliminary meeting with your assigned partner within the week. After that, you are expected to produce at least one child within three years to ensure—”
Emi’s fingers twitched.
‘Produce. Like I’m a damn factory.’
She cut him off with a laugh—sharp, loud, the kind that made junior heroes flinch. “Three years? Wow, you guys really don’t waste time! What’s next, a quota on how many jokes I’m allowed to tell during labor?”
The official’s expression remained flat. “This is not a joking matter, Ms. Fukukado.”
‘Oh, but it is.’
Her grin widened, even as something hot and furious coiled in her chest. “Everything’s a joking matter if you’re brave enough!” She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Bet you love that at parties.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Good.
He pushed another form toward her. “Sign here to acknowledge your understanding of the terms.”
Emi stared at the paper, her pulse loud in her ears. ‘This isn’t real. Can’t be.’
But her hand moved anyway, scrawling her name with a flourish so aggressive the pen nearly tore through the page.
“Pleasure doing business with you!” she sang, shoving the form back. “Can’t wait to meet whatever unlucky soul drew the short straw.”
“Actually, Ms. Fukukado,” he said, pressing a button on his intercom, “we’ve expedited your case. Your match is already on-site.”
A crackle of static. Then: “Bring them in.”
A bead of sweat traced her temple, despite the room’s chill. ‘Already—? No. No way they’re doing this now.’
Her pulse kicked up, but she forced a laugh, pivoting on her heel with her hands laced behind her head. “Wow, you guys work fast! What, was there a two-for-one sale on forced matrimony today?” Her laugh came out half a note too high.
The official ignored her, adjusting his tie as the door at the far end of the room clicked open.
Emi didn’t turn. 'Don't look. If you don't look, this isn't real.' Her nails dug half-moons into her palms.
2011
