Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Somewhere in a city there is a great hero. A symbol of peace. A pillar of justice. He has a quirk that can shatter buildings with ease; a smile that wraps you in a feeling of safety and comfort; he is All Might. 

But he is only a man. And he, like all men, is not immune to failure. Cannot save everyone.

Somewhere in that same city, far, far away from All Might and peace and hope and a chance at being saved —there is a boy.

This boy is quirkless.

In other words, two people of seemingly vastly different ends of the spectrum live in the same city, walk the same streets, and yet somehow live in completely different worlds.

One admired, loved, respected. 

The other scorned, hated, mocked. 

All for a simple ability? Our world is vastly unfair. But of course, dear Izuku, you already know that quite well, don’t you?

***

Inko drops her son off at school, kisses him on the cheek, wishes him a good day and then drives off. 

Izuku knows that she’s just eager to get home and see his father (his father, his father is here and isn’t that a thought) but he still feels something uncomfortable swell up in his throat when the car fades from view. He would have liked to stay home and talked to dad, too. He goes inside anyway.

After hanging up his things, he hesitantly steps into the yard. It momentarily seems that the coast is clear so he nervously makes his way to the sandbox. 

“Deku! You quirkless waste of space!”

This. This is what Izuku has been dreading all day. (This is what he’s been dreading since he turned four years old.) He knows his mom and Bakugo’s are friends, so chances are Kacchan will already know about his dad. 

Izuku instinctively cringes away from the voice, but Kacchan only seems encouraged by it. He desperately hopes that maybe today will be a good day—maybe he’ll be allowed to play with them, be an actual hero—but it’s unlikely at this point.

“K-Kacchan, I—“

“I heard your deadbeat dad came over yesterday? He also a screw up like you?” Kacchan’s friends cackle at this, as if mocking just Izuku wasn’t already amusing enough for them. They had to drag his family into it.

“No! He has a super strong quirk!” 

Izuku regrets the words before they fully leave his mouth. Kacchan’s face contorts in rage, and tiny explosions roar in his palms, but beyond that, Izuku’s perceptive enough to see the flicker of hurt in his eyes. 

Oh, he realises distractedly, a single thought piercing through the haze of fear, he’s upset that I didn’t tell him. 

“I’m sorry…” he starts, but Kacchan must see something he doesn’t like because he immediately snarls, “Stupid Deku!” and then all Izuku knows is pain. 

(There is a pale scar on his lower shoulder, shaped like a tiny hand.)

The apartment feels… off, somehow, when Izuku gets home that evening. Part of it probably has to do with how the air is energized by his father’s visit, alive with his mother’s laughter; while the other part feels like it’s holding its breath, anticipating something terrible. 

But Izuku is six, and his father is here, so everything must be okay. He’ll go into the kitchen and see his mother, wrapped in his father’s arms. His father will smile at him and ruffle his hair and ask him how school was. He’ll tell them it was great, and then they’ll be a perfect (happy) family. 

(Wake up … —eku… Don’t kid yourself. —oo old…lies.) 

Instead, there’s only his father sitting at the table. Hisashi nurses a glass of sake in one hand, and with the other gestures for Izuku to sit. 

“Izukun! Come sit with your tou-san.” He sends Izuku a brilliant smile. 

“Mom says those kind of drinks are for adults,” Izuku blurts before his brain can fully catch up with his mouth. He reddens immediately. He was taught that when alcohol came to the table it was best to clear out. 

Luckily, instead of being disgusted or angry, instead of leaving, Hisashi only laughs. Then he sets down the whiskey and pats the chair beside him. “We just won’t have to tell her!” he says brightly.

(Failure.  …. .. x … inNeR— ..     …. RECALIBRATI—)

Two emotions well up inside him at that; one is guilt at keeping secrets from his mother, especially with his father whom he so rarely sees; the other is bubbling excitement at having a secret just between the two of them. 

“... Okay!” Izuku tumbles into the chair next to tou-san(?) and can’t help the pleased giggle that escapes him when a warm hand ruffles his hair. 

They make idle chatter for a while. Hisashi asks about school. Izuku says it’s fine and tells him about something random he learned in class. 

“Are you still friends with Bakugou? Last I heard, you two were inseparable; always talking about heroes and the like.” Hisashi leans forward conspiratorially, grinning. 

Alarm bells go off in Izuku’s head at this, because as far as he’s concerned, his father never visited when he was that age. He could tell that mom wasn’t hiding any secret visits from him because she showed all the signs of the constant unhappiness he knew she felt when Hisashi wasn’t present in their lives. He didn’t even call back then (actually, even the calls were a relatively new development), so why would he know so much about him and Kacchan? It wasn’t natural for an all but ‘estranged’ relative to know so much. Especially considering he was quirkless, a factor that definitely added to people not wanting to associate with him—could the Bakugous have told him? Why was tou-san here? There was not really a logical explanation as to why someone as powerful as Hisashi would take an interest in him and—

“You know, you really are special Izukkun! If only you could see your own potential...” Izuku jumps as his father’s voice interrupts his spiel. Had he said all of that aloud? It’s getting harder to remember. 

“Tou-san,” says Izuku slowly, the room spinning in and out of focus in front of his eyes. He feels sick, like something nasty and wrong is rolling in his stomach and reaching for his head. “I don’t feel very good.”

There is complete and absolute silence.

His hands shake with minuscule tremors. Izuku slowly raises his head and feels his blood run cold. There is a bucket of ice water that rushes down his spine and pools in his stomach. 

(—take … emotional response. Trigger…  S E C T O R   V—)

Izuku ( thought he knew, thought ) knows what fear feels like and he knows what sickness feels like. It’s in the way Hisashi looks at him as if he was a fresh piece of meat, the way he looms over Izuku, yellow eyes alight with some sort of hungry glow. The smile that seemed comforting seconds earlier looks like the gaping jaws of a beast about to eat him whole. 

Izuku can’t move, can’t speak. There is a predator in his room, it’s sharp clawed fingers already wrapped around his neck. He can’t escape, not when he’s always been a captive.

“...such a detailed analysis! It hurts me to think that you think so lowly of me, but I’m sure you’ll warm up to me in spite of my absence—I was just busy with the business, you see. I really have always kept in touch with the happenings in your life,” Tou-San ( c u t e... T o u - S an?—a g on/) says happily, like he just won a bet he expected to lose.

Is Tou-San still talking? What could He be talking about? Izuku better listen because he knows there is always punishment for the disobedient.

 “In fact, I bet you would do great as heir to the company. You’d make me so proud .”

The thick tension slides out of the room at that. Izuku’s father is proud of him? That’s what he’s always wanted. He has to complete the ḿ̮̺͖̫̞i̴̛̤͎͙͈̮s̹͓͠͠s҉͕̬̮̤͈͙͇ḭ̶o̴͇̻̗̙͔̹͝n̸͇̱̮̯̤̼͞, right? 

“You’ll listen to me, you’ll listen to your Tou-San, right?”

His vision goes fuzzy. “Yes.” That is his definitive reply. There’s no real basis for it—since he can barely think at the moment—but he just knows that that is the only acceptable response. Yes. 

“Yes,” he says again, then tacks on, “I am ready to comply.”

The world goes dark. 

***

“Wouldn’t you like to finally fit in, Izukkun?” 

This is what Midoriya Hisashi tells his son moments before whisking him away from any chance at a carefree life. 

(Hisashi is helping him, why can’t anybody see that?)

His son Izuku, a quirkless boy. A lonely boy, who wanted at heart to be a hero. 

Izuku thinks of his mother, crying at night when she thinks he can’t hear her. Thinks of schoolyard taunts and tiny explosions going off in his face.

“Yes, tou-san,” he says and takes his father’s hand. It’s the worst decision of his life.

It’s a real tragedy when six-year old Midoriya Izuku goes missing, never to be seen again. Or so it was thought. 

You see the world—for all it is terribly predictable—has a strange way of surprising you.

***

4 YEARS AFTER THE MUSTAFU DISAPPEARANCES

“Tsukauchi-san! There’s an emergency, we’re heading out now!”  

Naomasa’s day had been going relatively well up until this point. He had cracked what seemed to be headed towards a cold case, done some paperwork, and only had to go out and arrest two villains. It was a good day. 

Then, his previously unflappable secretary had dashed in and said, “Your presence is needed immediately!” and it all went to shit.  

Dashing out, Naomasa looks up to the nearest live TV. It was broadcasting (with slightly fuzzy quality) a tall, thin individual standing on a building, holding what seemed to be multiple bags of cash. Wonderful . 

He sighs. “Report.”

A nearby officer who was muttering anxiously into his communicator snaps to attention. “Sir! The perpetrator has robbed the main bank in Mustafu and has brought two hostages with him to a roof in order to negotiate his escape.”

“And… Erm… before any nearby heroes could take action, a civilian boy started to climb the tower. We can’t risk going up there as well because we might harm him. The villain doesn’t seem to have noticed him.”

Naomasa massages the bridge of his nose. 

The unspoken “yet” hangs in the air.

“The fate of these poor children hangs in the hands of—Breaking news! I have just been informed that a civilian has reached the top of the tower...”

The TV booms abruptly and more shaky footage shows a small figure crawl onto the roof. He disappears from sight and almost immediately after the villain follows. The crowd’s anxious muttering is audible through the news mic.

“Sir, I believe we should go now,” one officer begins, only to just catch Noamasa’s muttered curse and the tail end of his coat go out the door.

Toshinori is already waiting for him when he gets to the nearest car. He looks depressed and guilty, which makes Naomasa want to bang his head against the steering wheel because dammit, this man has saved thousands of people but still has no concept of self-worth. 

“How bad is it?” Toshinori asks. Naomasa starts the engine then pulls a sharp right, tires screeching.

“It could be worse. There are only two hostages and the villain seems to just want money as far as we’re aware.” I don’t think it’s related to Him.

“And the boy?” Thank God. 

The car halts between two other police vehicles. 

“We don’t have an ID match yet. The only thing we know right now is that he sure can climb.” Oh, how he hates these cases. They look past the security tape (that doesn’t seem to discourage the observers at all) just in time to see the boy plummet to his death. 

Or not, apparently. Naomasa wants to scream but also to be reluctantly impressed, because the villain just pushed a kid off a sixty-storey building and the kid managed to grab on to something and not end up a painful, gory mess. 

He picks up a communicator and presses a button to open all available com lines. “Are there any heroes who can assist?”

Most in-range heroes reply with a negative, others too far away or held up by other crime or with quirks that just can’t help in the given situation. 

Naomasa curses again and jumps out of the car, barely pausing to take the megaphone handed to him. The building looks even bigger than it is when there’s a kid standing at the top of it. 

“For your own safety, please desist all communications with the villain,” he says, the megaphone making his words boom loud enough to reach the group. 

The villain and the boy keep talking—as if they’ve heard nothing at all—and it’s clear the longer the conversation drags on the more agitated the villain becomes. He looks seconds from (possibly even literally) blowing up and Naomasa is so done with this generation. 

Toshinori, who towers over most people there and by extent must be getting a better view, claps a comforting hand on his back. It abruptly drops as he instinctively outstretches a hand, whole body tensing. 

Naomasa’s heart drops when he follows his gaze to the building. 

The wind starts to pick up, whistling around violently. Everyone gasps at the tiny girl that dangles over the yawning void below. The villain waves her around carelessly.

“All heroes on standby!” Naomasa barks, taking a step forward and herding various civilians further behind him. He’s really starting to dislike the occasional but regular lack of heroes in certain districts. (It’s always the poor ones. Always.)

He would love not having to inform the child’s parents of her death, but he knows better than anyone that it’s generally better to look at the realistic side of things instead of the positive. 

You have to in my line of work, he thinks, only a bit bitterly. 

Another sharp gale whips through the crowd, sending hats and papers flying. They disappear into the sky, accentuating the slowly setting sun. Which is then almost completely blotted out by an enormous, writhing arm. 

Both arms of the villain bubble over and slowly begin growing larger. They continue to grow until large deformed hands dangle the girl over the edge. Someone curses viciously. Naomasa notes with sickening guilt that he can see her flailing and yelling. 

“Don’t do this!” The desperate yell comes from an injured hero who’s currently recovering in a medical chopper. “There’s still time to turn back from—”

Then the villain absolutely howls in rage and smashes his other arm on the roof, rubble cascading over the edges as he pounds and pounds and pounds relentlessly. “Shut up !” he screams, mad with adrenaline and rage. “You have no idea what it’s like living like me! You filthy trash!”

The hero’s flinch at being spoken to with such venom is visible even through the scratchy recording. Poor kid.

The villain continues to destroy the rooftop with a barely concentrated rage. But it’s still concentrated.

...What’s he trying to hit?  Naomasa wonders after a while, even though the unwilling realisation floats in the back of his mind. 

As if summoned by his thought, a lithe figure leaps over the offending limb, weaving in and out between blows and landing lightly on the villain’s upper arm. Of course, it’s the goddamn boy from earlier. 

Toshinori stares next to him for a long moment—just like the rest of them, he figures—before launching into a run, carelessly shoving through authorities and various blockades. (Naomasa’s hot on his heels anyway.)

Another TV station being projected nearby showcases the live up close footage being filmed by yet another news chopper. The wind must be much stronger higher up because it blows the boy’s long hair back and highlights the fact that his entire face is covered by a completely opaque, circular black mask. 

He’s also fighting a villain and actually winning . The way the boy moves is untouchable both figuratively and literally; not a single blow even glances off him, but there’s something terribly melancholy and detached about the way he looks in that mask. Something tragic. 

The villain plunges his fist, hard,  into the building and then struggles to pull it out. The structure creaks ominously under his ministrations. The boy stands calmly just out of his attack range. His lips move but the quality makes what he says indiscernible. Maybe it’s for the best.

Blood sprays into the air and someone above screams. The fight is over in an instant, and a child is the victor. 

“My God…” Naomasa hears someone next to him breathe, and he can’t help but agree. Because the enlarged arm that was closest to the boy is now lying on the floor, severed from the elbow down. There’s no trace of any weapons, but a thin trail of scarlet drips down the child’s sleeve and onto the ground.

The villain’s mouth is still locked open in horror when he slumps over and the girl tumbles from his grasp. The whole crowd surges forward as she falls.

And then the boy jumps after her. She plummets and screams, while he tilts his body into a dive and gains ground, then, miraculously, catches her before they’re more than a quarter of the way down. His wrist flicks out and a long cord whistles through the air before attaching itself to the building with a solid clunking noise. 

(Part of the reason it’s so stunning is because it’s so unexpected. A murderer makes a leap of faith; it’s raw and imperfect and vicious and innocent all at once.)

The boy crouches on a ledge, the girl somewhere tucked behind him.

For a moment, there’s dead silence. It’s hard to tell whether they’ve just witnessed the birth of a serial killer or of a hero. The air whooshes past one final time, this time bringing with it the roaring sound of fire; the roof of the building has burst into flames, sparks careening off the edge.

They fall around the boy like brilliant snowflakes, a sweet harmony in the crisp winter air. He stands like a tall, stoic sentinel; a winter soldier sent to watch over the city. 

Did he set the fire? Was it the villain? Who is he?  Countless questions swirl in Naomasa’s head like pestering gnats. 

The boy slowly lowers himself to the ground using the grapple, the girl still clutched in his arms. There are heroes waiting for him at the bottom, looking ready for a fight, and he flinches subtly when one of them jerks slightly. It’s unlikely anyone else picked up on it, but Naomasa is an old hand at reading society’s damaged. 

On the other hand, if this leads where he suspects it might lead, then they’re dealing with a completely different set of problems entirely. Likely worse ones.

Toshinori worries his lip between his teeth. It’s clear he’s noticed too. 

The boy finally reaches the ground and gently tries to pry the girl’s arms off and send her forward. She refuses, burying her face into his arms and shaking. A hero tries to call out but Naomasa cuts them off with a sharp hand movement. He needs to see what will happen. 

The boy crouches down and whispers something in her ear, and she tentatively lets go of him, takes a few steps, then charges her mother who’s standing nearby. His wrist flicks out after she’s gone and he hauls himself back up and into the fire. Heroes yell and try to grab onto him, but he’s already vanished.

Naomasa looks for the nearest officer and orders her to tell all heroes with an above view to keep a close eye on the boy. Only attempt to capture if necessary.

Seconds later the boy drops down again, this time depositing the other kid who immediately tries to run away. He struggles to stand for only a second before the whole family converges on him. The girl from earlier peeks her head out and sends their rescuer a blinding smile.

“Thanks for saving my brother!”

The mask reveals nothing about what the soldier (as Naomasa’s taken to calling him) might be feeling.

Someone calls for him; the detective only looks away for a few moments, but that’s all it takes. When he turns back around, the boy and his mask are gone. 

“Find him! Put out a city wide alert,” Naomasa says, thankfully much more calmly than he feels. 

If he notices Toshinori staring into the fire long after it’s put out, he doesn’t say anything. 

***

Objectively, Tsuyu knows her chances of escape are slim. That the odds are that she’s going to die here, at the hands of this villain. 

But her brother is also with her, so, foolishly, she hopes someone will come save them. They would at least come for her brother, who’s barely five years old, right? They must. 

(But if they don’t, well. Tsuyu’s always wanted to be a hero, and heroes always save people in the end. She can do it herself.)

So Tsuyu keeps yelling for help, screaming for someone, anyone, to do something. There are so many voices yelling at her, telling her to remain calm, not to worry, but how can she?

Anyone, she begs internally, please come. Samidare clings to her side and buries his face in her neck. She can feel his tears soak through her shirt. 

The villain wheels on them and cracks his knuckles. “Stop your whining! This is more important than the lives of both you two squirts,” he says angrily, looming above them. 

Tsuyu numbly shushes her brother as best she can. She keeps her eyes glued on a spot right behind the villain’s left ear. 

What is..? 

“Sami, Sami it’s gonna be okay. Someone’s coming,” she whispers in his ear. His head lifts the smallest bit and she feels him gasp when he also catches sight of it. A small hook is attached to the edge of the building, and it trembles slightly every time the person on the other end takes a step closer. 

The villain sees them staring and then turns in time to take notice of the hand that’s just reached the top. His expression twists but he does not move as a boy pulls himself up fully. 

Tsuyu doesn’t know what to think. He looks her age, maybe a bit taller, but her age . It’s like expecting one of her classmates to come and rescue them, and the thought is kind of baffling. 

Then again… there’s something off about him. When she looks at his face it’s carefully blank, any emotions he may have been feeling cascading off of him without a trace. The other thing is the way he’s standing, a sort of lax upright position, hands still at his sides. It’s unnerving how motionless he is. 

“You’re here to save us?” she asks quietly, hopefully. Even if the shouts say otherwise. 

He doesn’t answer her (and really, she didn’t expect him to) but they make eye contact briefly. 

His eyes look like a vast ocean, an ocean that somehow burns.  Tsuyu knows that whether she lives or dies, something big will have happened here. She falls silent and presses her brother’s face into her neck. Her hold on him tightens. The boy puts on a black mask.

They talk. Or at least the villain talks, talks until he can barely contain the boiling anger.

Things blur after that. Distantly, she thinks the boy must have been thrown off the roof, but then he came back and they started fighting for real. Him and the villain—that is before the villain’s arms widen and widen and widen and—

They come down to kill. Except they don’t because the boy is suddenly standing in front of her, shielding her from the blow and sticking a needle in the villain’s arm. 

Tsuyu can only focus on that moment, watch it over and over again. 

That’s what a hero looks like. That’s what I want to become. (Is this passion? Determination? Obsession?)

She shoves her brother away from her just as a big hands rip her off the ground and hang her over the edge. Just like that, the untouchable feeling is gone. Tsuyu screams. 

The boy and the monster fight, then a shiny thing covers the boy’s hand and RED REDred R eD. A noise of such deep pain and suffering reverberates around her skull and then she is falling. 

It’s fine, though, because a hero catches her before she can hit the ground. 

***

Would you like to know what the Soldier told the Target before killing him?

“The son apologises to the martyr.”

***

The Soldier stands on a nearby rooftop, watching the flames burn brighter and then burn out. Father stands next to him, a pleased expression on his face. The Soldier feels nothing. He takes off his mask because Father likes him to make eye contact when they talk.

“Great job, Izukun!” Father says happily, and winds an arm around the Soldier. 

“You did not need to light the building on fire.” Dramatics don’t seem necessary for such an occasion. 

“Maybe not, but it adds a nice flare, don’t you think?” He pokes the Soldier on the nose to show false affection.  “They’ll have trouble forgetting you now.”

“Okay. I will return to the Academy—”

“Nonsense,” Father interrupts, looking offended. He gestures to the city below them. “We should go celebrate; anywhere you want!”

His hands tighten lightly on the back of the Soldier’s neck. A clear warning. Comply or else. 

“Could we go to the American restaurant near the hospital?” Father’s favourite. 

“Of course. I know that one’s your favourite.” Father walks to the edge of the building, then lets himself drop.

The Soldier looks out at the city, at the burning roof, and feels like he’ll never be able to escape it. He’s chained to the wailing of the police sirens, to its heroes, to its people. He can never leave it, not as long as Father stills needs him. 

But maybe he could visit mother... Izuku-the Soldier gasps as a sharp pain roars to life behind his temples. He had been having more strange visions recently. His handlers should be informed as soon as possible.

He follows. As he was made to do.

***

A harried looking woman sits in an Internet cafe, typing furiously on her computer. Occasionally, she’ll look over her shoulder furtively, then clutch her computer closer protectively.

“Whatcha writing now,” someone says from in front of her, and she almost screams in terror. Oh, thank God it’s only Mizuki.

“Only the article that will keep me financially insured for the rest of my life.” She gulps down the rest of her coffee. “Now go away. I’m busy.”

“Hmmmm… not too busy for me, I don’t think.” Mizuki sits down on the table, not even bothering to take off his waiter apron.

Riiighht. In exchange for enough free coffee within reason, she has to tell him all her scoops in advance.

“Sit.” She pats the corner of the booth next to her. “Okay, so. I’m biking home from work when I see a crowd gathering. Naturally there’s a villain attack, and because I’m never one to miss—“

“Short version, Arataka. Short version,” he interrupts, smirking. “I am on working hours you know.”

“You don’t even need to work, you rich son of a bitch… ANYWAY, once again, there were no heroes ‘with the right quirks available’, so these kids are being held hostage by some villain with a mutant-quirk, and no one’s really doing anything…”

Arataka pauses for dramatic effect. “Someone else saved them. And I think it was a kid, too. An unaffiliated, non-government sanctioned, kid .”

Mizuki’s eyes actually widen at that. “You’re kidding. You saw an actual vigilante?”

“In the flesh. He did quite some damage, too. Look at this.”

She opens a document labelled ‘Asumi’s files’ and clicks on the most recent date. There are roughly ten pictures and a video. The first picture shows a man standing on top of a building, with two kids huddling behind him. The second is of a tall blonde man and a police officer staring upwards, expressions unreadable.

Mizuki slides into the booth next to her and snatches the computer from her hands, ignoring her protests. He clicks on the video.

It showcases—in strangely clear and steady footage—a masked individual gliding down the building, the girl in his hands. The roof of the building is still blazing but he still goes back up and returns with another child. The detective can be seen, simply watching the events unfold.

He’s speechless for a second. Then, “What happened to the villain?”

Asumi growls at him. “If you would have just let me show you all the pictures in order,” she begins, then appears the give up reasoning with him. “Yeah well, you’ll get the rest when I publish my article, like everyone else.”

“Nooo, I’m sorry. Just let me see,” he begs, even if his smirk says otherwise.

“Not a chance. Anyway! I finally got a tenant to rent my above-store flat. I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

He grimaces, then hops off the counter. “Okay, boring stuff now. Gotta get back to work.”

Her yells and his manager’s yells sound suspiciously similar when they’re being ignored simultaneously. Mizuki has gotten his obliviousness down to an art by now.

Unnoticed by both of them, two tables down, a girl of about fourteen snaps her pen shut and activates the communication device inside. “Publicity has been covered. Expect it ready by Monday.”

A quiet static beep answers. She snaps her pen back open, turning the device off, and continues writing her homework. 

Chapter Text

Katsuki stands in front of Inko’s apartment building feeling somewhat like something’s gone and died in his chest. For all intents and purposes, it has. 

He clutches the flowers tighter and feels the pit of anger in his chest fester and grow, feeding off his emotions and burning brighter, the cycle constantly repeating itself with every breath he takes. Someone else lives there now. In the Midoriya’s apartment.

God, it makes him angry. He stands a few feet away, but it’s all he can do to not blow the door straight off its hinges and demand it reveals where the hell they went. Katsuki doesn’t care what everyone says. People don’t simply disappear without saying a word of goodbye. Izuku doesn’t just fucking disappear without telling Katsuki first.

He growls and stalks back down, the flowers reduced to ash in his hand. He knows the hag won’t nag him for skipping school, not today, and he contemplates just leaving and not coming back until he’s found his answers. Finds out what happened to the mother and son he knew so well. Katsuki can’t stand not knowing something and it’s never been a problem until now; he’s never had a problem last him this long.

A taxi is waiting for him when he gets to the road. As soon as the door slams shut the driver starts the car and heads to the police station. Katsuki has had the exact same routine for years ever since he was seven. He’s fifteen now. It makes him angry.

Katsuki marches out without paying as soon as they arrive, and the driver drives off without saying anything. He never pays her on this day, and she never asks for money. She knew the Midoriya’s too.

The officer manning the front desk smiles politely at Katsuki when he walks in. Katsuki scoffs and walks right past him into the depths of the office. “Hey! Commissioner Asshole! You got any updates or have you been sitting on your ass this year as well?”

The sounds of a chair being scraped back makes Katsuki sigh.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? If you have something to say you need to blah blah blah…” It’s just wonderful that the station decided to have a newbie on desk duty today. 

He doesn’t even bother turning around. “I’m not talking to you. I have business with your boss.”

The officer marches up to Katsuki and grabs his arm. He stares in surprise that quickly morphs into rage. “Let go,” he snarls. Sparks dance through his arms and she clenches his fists.

“Kid, I can arrest you right now.” Whatever else he was going to say never leaves his mouth because Katsuki is turning, ripping, boiling his insides with the indignancy of being treated like dirt—

“Sanemi, you can let him go.”

Officer Naomasa Tsukauchi beckons Katsuki into his office with only a mildly irritated look. 

“But, sir! He just walked right in!” Sanemi explodes when the door shut. 

“I know. It’s better to just indulge him. He comes around every year and won’t leave without making my life hell.” Seeing Sanemi about to protest, Tsukauchi raises a hand. “Something bad happened to this kid. Leave it.”

He turns and re-enters his office, unsurprised to see the kid already going through his desk. “You cannot keep doing this. Not all officers will be as lenient as me,’’ he says.

The kid continues to roughly open drawers and the files Tsukauchi works to keep relatively organized are carelessly scattered everywhere. Jesus.

“Did you find anything?” Katsuki asks, and that’s pretty much the politest thing Tsukauchi’s going to get out of him. 

“No, I did not.’’ Then, more gently. “I know it’s not fair, what happened to the Midoriyas, but you have to realize this is technically a cold case. I’m keeping an eye out, Bakugou, but I cannot put aside other cases for you.”

The kid practically throws himself across the desk in an effort to intimidate him. It’s pretty futile. “He’s still alive. Deku wouldn’t just die,” he snarls. Not without telling me.

“Bakugou,” Tsukauchi says severely. 

Katsuki knows what his files say: highly volatile, dangerous, unstable. One more blow-up away from a criminal record. But it’s still fucking annoying when people treat him like he’s about to explode. He’s not. Not yet. (He needs to save that anger.)

When it’s clear he’s not going to answer, Tsukauchi sighs. “Go home. Rest. I heard you’re trying for UA, so you’ll need it.” He puts a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “And please, let this case lie.”

“Still fixated on your special case, huh.” And he’s right. Tsukauchi follows his gaze to all the photos. Only a few are clear, but they all show the same vague figure. A boy with a black mask and loose gear. Newspaper clippings are also scattered about, with one (the longest) highlighted in the centre of the mess.

“You know that’s an ongoing… situation as much as I do,” he replies shortly. There might even be a link between that and the disappearances. Tsukauchi doesn’t say this out loud.

“Whatever.”

Katsuki shrugs his hand off as he pushes past him and out of the office. He flips off the desk guard on the way out. He does need to prepare for UA, but damn it if he gives up on them. 

(Izuku was his childhood friend, the person he played heroes with, the only one who never expected anything of Katsuki. In the end, that’s what tore them apart.)

Someone knocks roughly into his shoulder as he nears the main road. Katsuki spins around and sees a kid his age, arrogant sneer glued to his face. “Watch yourself,” the boy growls.

“What did you say? Wanna fight, punk?” Explosions flare in his palms and he makes to jerk forwards when all he catches is the tail end of blue hair.

Katsuki looks around. “Running? Just what I’d expect from an extra,” he grumbles. Part of him, a very, very small part, wonders what’s the point of even getting angry. The rest of him screams so loudly that part is drowned out. 

The sun starts to set and he curses when he realizes that the hag will yell at him if he comes home after dark. She’s already uncomfortable with his strange obsession. Katsuki’s mother sure got over Inko fast.

(He gets home before dark anyway. Definitely not because he cares about her.)

CURRENT TIME

Eijirou is so, so screwed. Like, beyond belief, completely and ultimately in too deep. Today is the day he takes the entrance exam to what is most likely the most prestigious and well known school in all of Japan—and he hasn’t done jack. 

Procrastination is a very dangerous enemy. Eijirou pleads academic struggle and unwillingness and also last minute stress-fits. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to go to UA. But. Well. He sort of was. 

It’s just so confusing. How is he supposed to pick preparing for school (even the most amazing, heroic one) over hanging out with friends all summer and enjoying his final years of freedom?

The sight of the city whipping by through the window seems somehow more solemn than it does normally. The crowds of people he sits with every day have an ominous air of finality about them. Even though it makes no sense, Eijirou has the odd feeling that this may be the last time he’ll truly see them. 

(And maybe it will be, considering the things to come.)

Distractedly, he reads over a frayed newspaper clipping pinned against the wall. It’s that report from year ago—he barely remembers, being only ten at the time, but it had caused quite a stir—about the first sighting of the Winter Soldier.

Copies still show up every now and then. Probably some fanatic still hunting for clues. Eijirou can respect that, the Soldier is pretty cool even if he can’t exactly share his opinion the matter. Vigilantes are not supposed to fit into a hero’s society. 

“Um, hello? Are you also heading to UA?” A really quiet voice says from behind Eijirou. The subway is fairly crowded, but not everyone can be headed to UA, right?

He turns around quickly, flashing a self-conscious but friendly smile before he can back out. Best to start with a positive first meeting. “Hi! I’m Kirishima Eijirou and I’m going to become a hero.” He scratches the back of his head nervously. Too much?

A boy with strange golden eyes looks up at him. “I’m Inoue Soma.”

He goes to offer an even more brilliant smile—never mind. As a future hero he needs to be alert and ready for anything.

“Wait,” Eijirou says suspiciously, mood doing a 180. “How’d you know I was going to UA?”

“Ahh, my quirk is minor premonition and luck,” the boy replies. He looks strangely nervous, but it’s not like Eijirou has room to judge with a boring quirk such as his own. “I’m really only trying to get into the business class…”

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Probably better than me, trying out for the hero-class with such a boring quirk.” 

“Boring quirk? I’m sure that’s not true. You’re going to change the world with that quirk, I can see it.” Inoue looks passionate for a brief second, then curls back into shyness.

“You can see it?” Eijirou stares. The other boy curls into himself even more, mumbling “maybe it’s a bit more than premonition”.

So… he makes a difference. Can Inoue really see that?

Eijirou feels a bit stunned. “Thank you… Am I a good pro-hero?” Did I save people? He can’t help himself from asking. 

“A defensive quirk, right?” At Eijirou’s nod, Inoue smiles. “Then yeah. Take this, just in case, alright?”

He hands Eijirou a folded piece of paper. “It was nice meeting you, Kirishima-san. I have an errand to run, so I’ll be getting off now.”

Inoue leaves him with a warm feeling growing in his chest. He can do it. He unfolds the piece of paper to see a number written on it and the name of a company. ‘business class u.a !!!  :)’ is written on it in loopy font. 

Then an angry blonde boy bumps into him, tries to pick a fight and they both get kicked off the train a stop away from UA with fifteen minutes to spare.

Inoue watches them run off from the window. The train speeds away and he smiles. He tears off the old newspaper clipping and places another exact one where it used to be. No one even bats an eye.

“What interesting people you’ve found, Izuchan.”

“This is your fucking fault,” Bakugou says in between pants as they run through traffic. A woman yells distantly after them for ruining her flowerbeds.

“Aww c’mon, you hit first.” Eijirou jumps over a pair of trash bins. 

Bakugou snorts. “Yeah? You retaliated violently.” UA comes into view in front of him and he speeds up. Eijirou looks at his watch, curses, and tries to catch up. Damn, that guy’s so manly. And he sure can run.

The courtyard is ominously empty when they arrive and they hastily push the entrance doors open. Bakugou barely waits up for him, so it’s a relief when Present Mic’s voice is distantly audible down the hallway. 

Eijirou would have tried to open the door cautiously and maybe try to keep their late entrance quiet, except Bakugou kicks it open with a ‘bang’. Everyone in the hall falls dead silent. He can feel the blood rushing to his face even from standing behind the doors as he is. 

His blond partner stalks down the stairs until he finds a free seat and sits down, uncaring that there are literal multiple pros staring at him. Surrounding students recoil. Eijirou reluctantly slinks in after him and ends up siting right behind. The girl next to him squeaks her chair as she tries to get as far away from him as possible.

“How dare you come to a school such as UA and act so belligerently?!” Someone yells from the back. I’m sorry and I agree. “You cannot be late—”

“Shut up, four eyes,” Bakugou snaps back. Eijirou buries his face in his hands.

“ALRIGHT LISTENERS!! TIME TO QUIET DOWN AS WE BEGIN TO EXPLAIN THE TESTS!!” Present Mic speaks over them, forcefully wrestling control back from the audience. Both parties finally shut up.

He points at an image depicting four different kinds of robots phases into the screen. “The physical portion of the exam will be a points based system…”

Eijirou focuses. It’s time to pass.

Shota regrets ever becoming a teacher. But this year just might take the cake in terms of his personal suffering. The hero-course applicants are all power-houses with behavioural issues (see: the explosion brat who came ten minutes lates, Endeavor’s kid, a boy kicked out of multiple schools for causing severe electrical damage).

And of course he works at UA, which means he’s still on active duty. He has a case he could be working on right now, yet he’s missing it to watch a group of kids who wouldn’t even last a second in real life situations try to destroy as many robots as possible within a time limit. It’s… messy.

“Shota! Stop frowning,” Hizashi says brightly from beside him. “I think this year’s got potential!”

“You’ve said that every single year since you’ve worked here.” On screen, the explosion kid’s cackles are audible as he smashes robot after robot. 

Shota rolls his eyes.

“Show. Some. Enthusiasm. We have Tensei's little brother, Endeavor’s youngest, and even a Yaoyarozu.” Hizashi tries to punch him playfully but Shota leans away with a disgusted look. He huffs.

Nemuri slides her chair over. “And we’ve got a new teacher coming.” She wiggles her brows. “A male teacher.”

Shota feels prematurely bad for whoever has the misfortune of taking this job. As if summoned by his thoughts, a giant, veritable skeleton of a man shuffles in through the doorway. The other teachers turn to look at him, and he scratches the back of his head nervously.

“My name is Yagi Toshinori. It’s a pleasure to be working with you,” he says and bows. They all call out their own greetings and Nedzu waits just long enough to be polite before calling him over. They’re in a hushed conversation seconds later.

“He seems close to Nedzu-san,” Hisashi remarks. “What’d you think they’re talking about?”

“I bet Eraserhead knows,” Nemuri says mischievously. “He’s been given a case that he won’t even tell me about.” She pouts.

“I’m not allowed to tell anyone, even other heroes, because it’s classified,” he says before she can get Hizashi riled up. Shota would enjoy simply telling him that the case he’s been assigned is a raid, but he’s been forbidden. 

Eraserhead is rarely asked to participate in large scale combat raids because his quirk is not flashy or overwhelmingly powerful. He’s good at infiltrating and taking down a reasonable number of opponents quickly. Except this time he has been asked to team up with All-Might and an assorted group of high profile heroes. For his ‘professional behaviour’.

It’s also supposed to be a rescue mission, so the less people in the know the easier things are for the victim. That’s what he’s been told at least.

He’s drawn back by the sounds of excited yelling. Nemuri and Hizashi are leaning forward in the seats at the sight of an overwhelming explosion that decimates multiple robots. Shota initially thinks it’s the explosion kid from before, except when the smoke clears a boy with yellow hair and lightning crackling from his hands stands in the centre of the carnage, looking a bit dazed. 

What really draws his attention though, is the purple-haired kid lying in front of him. A rescue? Interesting.

“…He could be in my class,” he says slowly to Nedzu, who’s grinning at him maniacally. Everyone else groans when he says it, which he refuses to admit makes him snort.

“You always get all the exciting ones, and then you don’t even pass them!” Vlad King protests from behind a nearby screen. 

“I pass the ones who deserve to be heroes. Not the flashy ones.”

Vlad King yells something back at him but Shota is distracted by how solemnly Yagi is watching the exchange. Maybe in growing confusion, but also a bit of wistfulness? Shota keeps an eye on him, even as Hizashi drags his attention back to the monitor.

“You’ll be okay, right? It’s not like you to take missions like this.” Hizashi looks at him with wide concerned eyes. Shota feels himself soften.

“It’ll be fine. I’m not even part of the main attack force,” he says in what he hopes is a comforting way. Nemuri audibly sighs and rolls her eyes but Hizashi looks fairly reassured. He just hopes that he didn’t lie to them.

“Nedzu, I believe we should stop the exam now,” Yagi says suddenly. Shota looks back up and sees that almost all the cameras have turned to the physical portion of exam B. Shota feels nauseous at what he sees. There is a girl pinned under a piece of rubble and the zero-pointer is practically on her. Still, Nedzu does nothing.

“Stop the robot. It’s clear she can’t get out, and nobody is going to rush out there and save her,” he says briskly. A few contestants are starting to look concerned, but ironically all of them have quirks that can’t do anything against a robot.

The principal still does not stop. “Nedzu,” he says again, more sharply. Other teachers are starting to get anxious and agreements echo through the room. Yagi has not stopped talking, movements bordering on angry.

Hizashi stands up and goes to the monitor. He tries to type something, but the device is frozen and unchanged. “Shit—Nedzu-san, he’s right, you’ve gotta stop this now.”

Nedzu stares unblinkingly at the screen. “No. She’s not in danger. Just keep watching.”

One of the screens zooms in and shows an up close of the student’s face. She frantically clawing at the rubble now, and her face shows real terror. One of her legs in twisted at an odd angle. Her hands are tapping at the cement, presumably trying to active the gravity quirk she had displayed earlier. It doesn’t move. 

Shota slams his hands down and sends his chair flying. His scarf is out, and he is not above using it to restrain his boss, who has clearly gone off the deep end. “There’s no time left—”

The girl screams. It chills Shota to his core, but before he can react, Yagi is tearing Nedzu out of the chair and slamming the button that controls the zero-pointer. Then he rushes out of the room.

“I’m getting recovery girl. Tie him up with this.” Shota gives Nemuri his scarf and follows.

“That kid’ll be okay r-right?” someone asks from inside the room. Hizashi sits numbly next to Nedzu who is muttering erratically under his breath. Nemuri tries to turn off as many computer screens as she can while still monitoring the situation. While there are seasoned heroes here, there are also normal teachers and newbies who do not need to see this.

“Someone was supposed to save her. There was someone… I swear she wasn’t alone. Someone was going to save her. The girl is okay…”

Nedzu’s whispers are the only noises in the room.

Shota loses sight of Yagi much faster than he would like to admit. He’s fast for a man so frail-looking. Shota isn’t quite sure he can believe that he’s a civilian. There are multiple ways to get to the exam area in case of emergencies but it doesn’t make sense for Yagi to go so far out of his way. He wonders if he was even heading there.

He throws out a smaller scarf from the belt pocket to scoop a disoriented student out of the way. The zero-pointer is visible from where he is, towering over the city. 

“Recovery girl on route, ETA 6 minutes. How close are you, Eraser?” his com buzzes out.

“Two minutes and closing. I can do damage control.” Shota clips the com shut before he can get an answer as the false road comes into view. The students are all standing clumped together and as far away as possible from the robot, all in various states of stress.

What shocks him is that All Might, of all people, is standing there. He’s positioned in such a way that the view is blocked from the other students. There’s a girl with what appears to be a frog mutation quirk weakly struggling in his arms.

Shota gets close enough and brushes past All Might, feeling his stomach drop. The girl is lying in a puddle of sticky blood. The piece of debris pinning her leg was luckily only clipped by the zero-pointer, but even so he doubts that anything bellow the knee is salvageable. Something must have clipped her head and knocked her out.

As if alerted by his thoughts, the girl makes a quiet whimper. He’s by her side in an instant. “Don’t move,” he says, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder, “can you understand me?”

She makes another noise then shifts, but no other reaction. Shota curses. Recovery Girl should arrive soon, he just needs to make sure the kid keeps calm.

“Wait, wait! Is Ochako going to be okay? Please let me see her—”

“My dear, we are doing our utmost to make sure she remains safe until rescue-heroes can arrive. For both of your safeties, it would be better if you could remain with the other students.” All Might is steering the student away, and for once his expression is grim.

“T-this wasn’t an accident! You need to understand…” She wiggles free of All Might’s arms when he sets her down.

“Young lady.” The girl goes quiet, her tongue sucking back into her mouth. “Stay. Here.”

She looks back one more time, then wordlessly stands with the others. All Might stands near Shota, apparently deep in thought. He’d always thought the number one hero was just another title for a flashy, big-shot muscle-head. It’s easy to see how the man in front of him is a cut above the rest.

“Do you believe this was just an accident?” Shota says, impulsively thinking of her words. 

“I can’t say,” he says, then adds after a moment of pause, “I don’t believe it was orchestrated by Nedzu, however. Is the child okay?”

There’s something familiar about him. It niggles at his brain.

Shota frowns from where he’s applying pressure on her head wound. “If she can hold on until Recovery Girl gets here, she should survive.” Whether or not she’ll be okay is an entirely different question.

All Might’s face twists. He opens his mouth once, then closes it. “I apologize, but I need to go.”

Shota looks up incredulously. All Might is already halfway out of sight. “Goddamnit… that man…”

A team of assistant heroes rush in then and Recovery Girl pushes through. “Aizawa-san, support her head,” she orders. He obeys and the other heroes all start swarming the robot, methodically taking it apart. Cementoss begins assisting them after arriving from on duty.

From there it’s a blur of action. The girl has lost so much blood that Recovery Girl can only afford to use one kiss and one of the older interns is hooked up to a machine and has to donate blood right away. “Go take care of the kids,” someone urges him at some point.

He guides them out. Most look sick. Shota feels bad almost immediately after thinking it, but a small part of him says good. This is reality. This is what it means to be a hero. Watching people bleed out and being helpless to save them.

(Another generation of dying children.)

The girl from earlier is crying quietly. He can only distinguish her from the rest because of the occasional ‘kero’ sounds she makes. 

He’s not completely heartless. Shota guides them back to the entrance hall and gets someone to bring out food from the cafeteria. Many look too nauseous to eat.

“Um, s-sir? When can we leave?” A boy asks from the front.

“Soon,” Shota says. “Your guardians may come and pick you up after UA staff checks you over. There will be a brief debrief.” His gaze darts to someone on typing furiously their phone. “You better not be texting someone other than your guardian or a teacher about this.”

They put the phone down guiltily. 

There’s a tug on his sleeve. “My name is Asui Tsuyu, sensei. All Might wouldn’t let me talk to him earlier, but there’s something going on that doesn’t involve a malfunction,” frog-girl says with certainty.

Oh boy. Shota meets her red-rimmed gaze and recognizes what he sees there. Trauma. The look of somebody who knows too much. He can only recognize it because two other people wore the exact same expression: Yagi and All Might. Strange.

Maybe it’s that that makes his scribble down a number. “What you saw was nothing, most likely, but feel free to contact UA at their email. Don’t bother wasting their time,” he says, words contradicting the paper with his personal number he hands out. “Now go sit down.”

Asui looks angry for a moment, but she reads the paper and her face smoothes impressively. 

That’s the end of that, hopefully. 

His cell buzzes. This incident obviously won’t be affecting his other mission, because it’s a notice to attend the final briefing tomorrow night. Shota is about to put his phone away when another messages pops up.

Plans have been modified slightly. New intel suggests that there may be a connection between our suspects and the victims of the Mustafu disappearances nine years ago. [This message is strictly confidential and is not to be shown to anyone not directly involved. Individuals who disobey these conditions will be legally reprimanded.]

Shota’s instincts vibrate with uneasiness at that. He knows about the case from almost a decade ago even if he was just starting out as a hero. Everyone does. Fifteen children, all with no relations or similarities to each other, taken off the streets in broad daylight. Every single one in the span of a day—despite being from all over Japan.

It happened too quickly for any intervention. Japan was in an uproar for years after. Security was doubled, everyone searching far and wide for a single suspect or a clue at where they might be. They found nothing.

As far as Shota knows they put it to rest years ago. If—and that’s a big if—this leads to something… if the children are still alive.

Unbidden, the memory of a rainy night and a boy running comes to mind. The boy stumbling and clutching his head, Shota reaching out and—hitting a wall hard, hard enough to knock him out. Eyes filled with regret. Needless to say the vigilante escaped that time.

The Winter Soldier is (was) a child. The theory was discussed of course, but he did not fit the descriptions of any of the kidnapped children. 

Shota knows there is something connecting these things. The raid, the missing kids, the rise of a notoriously competent vigilante. All of these things are occurring now and that means something.

He suppresses the urge to pace. Think, think, think. Shota’s mind is running in circles.

Ah. There’s one person coming to UA who might know.

Hizashi.

is the student ok?? r u ok??

me and nemuri r worried

The student is with Recovery Girl. Damage

looks intense but not fatal. I'm fine. 

You told me all might is coming to UA.

I need you to get me in contact.

oh thank god

and shota what. did something

happen.

Personal reasons.

 awww!!

does sho-chan want me to talk

to his idol for him?? 

that's adorable (◕‿◕✿)

Shota doesn’t bother answering that. 

“Everyone listen up,” he calls, “you’re all free to head to the hall you took you written exam in. Someone there will tell you what to do. No detours.”

A BAR, SOMEWHERE

“Sensei, did you see this?”

“The vigilante? Hmm yes.”

“He’s not one of ours.” 

A phone rang nearby. There was a long silence, then the beep of a voicemail.

“Not yet.” There was an unspoken smile in the voice.