Chapter Text
"He got away, huh?” Tsukauchi’s teasing voice carries through the quiet police station. At this hour, most of the regular officers have either headed home or hit the streets for patrols, supporting the heroes like Aizawa who work tirelessly in the shadows of the night. A few stragglers remain, wrapping up reports or digging through files, much like the Detective himself. The work never stops, for heroes or officers alike. There’s always more to be done.
“You could at least try to act surprised,” Shota sighs, weaving his way through the bullpen toward the detective’s desk.
Tsukauchi looks like shit. They both do, if he’s being honest, but the exhausted and rumpled look is more of a choice for Aizawa than it is for the detective, even without spending the better part of the last hour chasing a superpowered teenager across the rooftops of Mustafu. Tsukauchi, on the other hand, looks this way entirely due to exhaustion from overworking. Between his regular duties and his role as lead detective in the child vigilante task force, he seems to spend more time at the station than not.
“Did the kid do that to you?” The detective asks, gesturing to the bandages freshly applied to Shota’s cheek. So far, Tsukauchi has been diligent in preventing anyone from giving the vigilante a name or title. He’s just that: the vigilante, or sometimes just the kid. In a society of heroes and villains, the right name brings notoriety. The right name brings attention, something Tsukauchi is desperately trying to avoid in the case of the kid.
The right title can bolster heroes, create symbols. Like how All Might’s name has become synonymous with justice and peace. He can deter crime and provide comfort to the masses with his very presence alone. Aizawa isn’t one for flashy heroes, but he can admit that All Might has put in work to support the symbol he’s created. However, symbols can also embolden villains and vigilantes alike. They want the kid to come in, not to go wild, and they certainly don’t need the shitstorm that would be the fallout of the media discovering that some child has the police force and pros chasing their tails.
“Mugger in the alley had a knife,” the hero replies. It’s a half-truth, but not a lie, so he should get away with it. Tsukauchi doesn’t have to know that the vigilante had been the one to throw the blade at him. “You were right; he has a talent for finding trouble.”
“I was surprised he was still there, honestly. He’s gotten pretty good at slipping away from the scene before we can get a response team out, in these last few months.”
Aizawa feels Naomasa’s gaze following him as he slips behind the desk and up to the corkboard associated with the Child Vigilante case. Reports on quirk theories, personality profiles, and surveillance stills are tacked up in some semblance of organization. Anything and everything they’ve gotten their hands on in their attempts to understand why someone so young is involving himself in something so dangerous as vigilantism. And yet, as he skims back over the information, it feels disappointingly empty. Incomplete profiles are all they have, the surveillance stills blurry to the point of nearly indecipherable, and there are dozens of quirk theories that all feel wrong.
Super speed. Super strength. Gravity manipulation. Precognition.
“I think he was suffering from quirk exhaustion,” the hero drawls.
“He’s young,” Tsukauchi muses. “It's not uncommon, even in early hero course students, for them to overwork themselves.”
…displays a disregard to the point of hatred for local hero authority, perhaps stemming from traumatic events or coercion in early childhood. A high likelihood of escalation in violence toward pursuing heroes is projected. Extreme caution should be taken …
Shota scoffs and tears the profile off the board, crumpling the paper in his hand. “He loves heroes,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, but Tsukauchi makes a soft, inquiring noise anyways, eyeing the wad Aizawa tosses into the nearby trash.
He’s leaning back in his chair, a sharp look in his eye and slight tilt to his head that Shota knows means he’s paying attention. These are background observations though, as his mind turns over the problem of the vigilante. The inaccurate analysis and the brief interactions they had before the boy eventually gave him the slip.
“He loves heroes,” he says again, louder. More firm, as he solidifies his thoughts. It feels like the noise of the station is falling away, leaving behind only cool and quiet rationality. “He idolizes them, and spends enough time studying those in the region to recognize even an underground hero like me. Then, even if he didn’t know the activation requirements of my quirk, he was able to analyze my gear and behavior to come up with a solid strategy to escape me. A skill like that takes time and effort to perfect.”
“And his quirk?”
“Probably a power type; something that enhances his physical ability. Obviously he’s physically fit for his age, but even then he’s too fast and too strong for his size. I watched him jump almost the full height of a building tonight. I was able to erase it, as well, meaning there’s probably nothing heteromorphic hiding beneath his sweatsuit.”
“Do you think he’s going to escalate?”
Shota shrugs, turning away from the board to meet Tsuakuchi’s expectant expression. “Probably, but not in the way that’s predicted. He’s sticking to petty thieves now, but as he gets more confident, he’s going to go after more dangerous targets. He’s going to bite off more than he can chew one day, and someone is going to have to handle the fallout.”
Naomasa smirks. “Got a soft spot already, Eraser?”
The pro hero snorts derisively. “I just hate watching a kid throw their life away over stupid shit like vigilantism.”
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Sunlight is streaming in through the windows of his room by the time Izuku finally manages to drag open crusted eyelids. The cocoon of blankets is comforting and warm, soothing sore muscles and threatening to drag him back into the depths of sleep. It’s tempting, for a long moment, to allow it. It seems like he’s always tired these days, snatching a few hours of sleep here and there between work, school, and his vigilante activities. It’s never enough, but it has to be, because there’s nothing that he can give up and still meet the goals he needs to. Staring blearily, Izuku watches dust motes floating through the warm warm rays pooling on the end of the bed and almost succumbs. Then, of course, his mind kicks in.
With a panicked yelp, Izuku tumbles out of the nest blankets. The alarm clock is unlit and uncaring of his plight; he must have forgotten to change the batteries again. He dresses in a hurry, plucking only slightly stale clothing from the hamper in the corner and throwing them on. Izuku had meant to do laundry before his shift this morning, but that certainly wasn’t going to happen now. He’d have to do it when he got off. It means he won’t be able to go out as the vigilante tonight, but he needs to repair the hole in his sweats anyway.
His hair is a lost cause, but it is most mornings, so Izuku tears from the room and out into the hall. It is fortunately empty of any other residence of the long-term motel he was currently calling home, leaving him free to sprint down the hall with just the slightest boost from One For All. His heart races and an exhilarated laugh escapes him when he reaches the stairs, tossing himself over the handrail and dropping the two stories in free-fall. An unexpecting patron startles at the base of the stairs when he lands; he offers them an apologetic smile before bounding off again to the front deck.
“Sorry i’m late, Miss Nakamura,” Izuku says as he slides behind the desk, palm resting gently on the shoulder of the old woman currently minding the post.
“Did your studies get the best of you again?” She asks, patting his hand, a fond smile curling at her lips. It’s not the first time he’s been late, nor the first time he’s used that excuse, but Izuku tries not to make a habit of it. Not when his housing is tied to the shifts he covers, and one too many tardies could land him back out on the streets. Fortunately, the kindly old woman seems to find it more amusing than anything.
Ikuku blushes, ducking his head and dropping into the seat she abandons. The guest book is open on the desk, fuller than he expected it to be. Maybe there’s an event or festival coming up that he forgot about. Without going to a physical school, it’s becoming easier and easier for those things to slip through the cracks. “Entry exam season is coming soon. I need to study as much as I can if I want to get into high school.”
“Entrance exams aren’t for another ten months. You’re going to run yourself ragged long before then if you keep up at this pace.”
“I have to, if I want to get into UA,” Izuku recites. “It’s the best program in the country; only one in three-hundred students is accepted every year, and a certificate from an online program isn’t going to look half as good on an application as a recommendation from a real middle school. My test scores have to be perfect if I want even a chance at getting noticed–even with a solid performance in the practical exam.”
The old woman sighs, dropping the argument there. It’s one they’ve had many times before, with nothing she says ever getting through to the ambitious young teen. Mostly because he’s lying to her about how he’s spending most of his nights, but she doesn’t need to know that. Instead, she reaches up and ruffles his tangled curls. “Your roots are starting to show again, come see me when your shift is done and I'll touch them up.”
Izuku flushes, slapping a hand over the offending white as though to hide it when she pulls away. “Thank you,” he says with a weak smile, hoping it appropriately communicates his appreciation. He’s more than capable of coloring his own hair, has been for some time, but he’ll admit that it always seems to come out a little better when she does it.
With a parting nod, she takes her leave back to her own small apartment, where she’ll rest until early evening and her own shift comes around again. Once she’s gone, Izuku settles in at the reception desk, pulling out his laptop and notes. He’s always appreciative that she allows him to work on his schoolwork when they’re slow, and usually he takes full advantage of that as to not cut into his vigilante time in the evenings. However, this morning he has other things on his mind.
Eraserhead. Izuku rolls the name around in his mind until it slips off his tongue, echoing damningly loud in the quiet of the lobby. The newest, unexpected obstacle to his crusade. The hero with perhaps the greatest chance of catching him, given the right circumstances. He’s a problem that needs to be addressed, and quickly, before the hero gets lucky and Izuku’s whole world is turned on its head yet again. He wouldn’t last long in prison, if only because his father would quickly have him back on the right side of the bars. And he’s quite certain that if Father ever got a hold on him, he would not be able to escape again. At least he has a better understanding of Eraserhead than he did before. Izuku writes notes in the previously blank page dedicated to the hero in between checking guests in or out, carrying luggage, and unclogging the occasional toilet.
Quirk: Erasure. An underground hero who relies on speed and stealth to take his opponents down before they have the chance to fight back. He can prevent the activation of someone’s quirk factor for as long as he is looking at them. He wears goggles to hide and protect his eyes, and The quirk pulls his hair back from his face when it activates to prevent one potential obstruction to his vision. It deactivates when he blinks, so Eraserhead compensates with strategic use of a capture weapon that doubles as an aid to his mobility both in and out of combat. It’s one-of-a-kind, likely custom made to serve Eraser’s needs. Flexible, yet unbelievably durable. Izuku likely wouldn’t have been able to tear it even with his current level of strength. As for the man himself…
Izuku chews absently on the end of his pen as he considers the underground hero. He and Tomura had often practiced analysis together, once they’d learned to tolerate one another. It was one of the many secrets they kept from their father, notes squirreled away under mattresses and Kurogiri sworn to secrecy by the children he called master. Tomura had always chosen to focus on powers , on quirks. Their activation requirements, their weaknesses, and how to exploit them. Izuku liked that, too, but he always believed there was more to the story than just power. A quirk was a reflection of their wielder, and understanding the mind behind the body could offer just as much insight as the cold statistics his brother preferred.
He has experienced what Erasure can do to a villain: bringing a cold, rational clarity to the battlefield when the quirk they so heavily rely upon is wiped away. It’s all fun and games playing god until Eraser ruthlessly strips that power away, leaving them vulnerable in a way they haven’t been since they were children—or maybe ever. Back to earth, back to reality, where they’re just people. People with weaknesses and fears and who need to be protected from themselves. Because in the end, that’s his motivation, isn’t it? Protecting the victims from the villains, protecting the villains from themselves, protecting his students from the world.
He hadn’t been able to put the pieces together until he’d found the hero listed under the staff at AU, hours into his research. Shota Aizawa, teacher of heroic law and homeroom teacher to Class 1-A. Online forums label him as a ruthless hard-ass, quick to jump to extreme punishments for seemingly small slights. He’d expelled his entire class of first years this semester, likely resulting in the new free time he had to start chasing vigilantes in the dead of night. But the further Izuku looked into the matter, the more he was certain he was right.
Eraser is a hard-ass, but he is protecting his students from themselves. Quirks and personalities unsuitable for the current climate of hero work. The forums are full of unrealistic expectations, the kind that Izuku has seen get young heroes killed over and over again. Whether they’re willing to accept it or not, Eraserhead has done them a kindness. Perhaps even saved their lives. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? At his heart, beneath the cool and bristled exterior, Eraserhead is kind.
Unfortunately for Izuku, it all but guarantees that the hero isn’t going to stop. He drops his head to the desk with a low groan. Eraserhead is kind, and he saves people from themselves. He’s going to try and save Izuku, too, and he has all the time in the world to dedicate to it. Ten months of free nights he’ll have to spend looking over his shoulder unless he can convince the pro that he doesn’t need saving.