Chapter Text
III
Okay, a brief once-over over coffee later and Midoriya understands it’s a string of thefts that range from “petty” to “life-without-parole.” Particularly on the basis of dangerous, heavy chemicals to drugstore blood pressure prescriptions. The criminals who are involved are no amateurs, either. Apparently, leaving no trace on security cameras, and specializing in going ghost.
Sound familiar?
Infact, it’s apparently this untraceability Is the only thing that’s connecting these crimes, other than the relation regarding the mishandling of drugs.
Midoriya briefs Bakugou on the connection he’s made, who’s relatively more hung up on the why rather than the how. Bakugou asks how the most influential character of the century (a title Midoriya is still not not squeamish with), is connected to a bunch of drug heists.
“There's not enough information.” Midoriya spits through his teeth angrily, and he nearly leaves it at that. Instead, he looks up at Bakugou from his perch on the edge of the couch. Eyeing the legs of the footrest Bakugou has pulled close, shin pressing against his deep colored coffee table. Tracing the lines of his body until he reaches his eyes. “And I’m not sure we can do anything but wait until they strike again.”
“But we only know they’ve..“ Bakugou clears his throat of something. “.. ‘striked’ when we notice something is missing. By then they are long gone.”
“So, we spring a trap.” Midoriya shrugs.
“You have an idea.” Bakugou states, and he is only partly incorrect.
Midoriya eyes a different manilla folder, containing the graphs and data from the string of thefts. The patterns that have been noticed. Its pages were splayed intimately across the coffee table, and the only comfort that the two of them would even be able to get them back in order was the small, center-aligned numbers at the end of each page.
“Following these trends, the next heist will be a pharmacy.” Midoriya frowns. This would be as easy as placing a tracker if it were an isolated mega-compound, but random prescriptions in a large chain is a whole new ball game, and it isn’t like they can wait for the chance of a big theft to roll around. Accounting for a failure would be much more catastrophic than if it were a single, easy to make drug in some random pharmacy. If anything, they’re lucky for the safety net.
Midoriya gazes over the long list of potential victims. Another trend is that the thieves steal a different compound each time.
Looking for something?
He frowns deeper into his fingers. Something, whatever it was, was not quite right.
“So assign one hero in each of the storage rooms.”
“Are you crazy? There’s thousands of pharmacies in Musutafu alone-“
“And those are the thousands we need to account for.” Midoriya interrupts, raising his spare hand. The one that isn’t hogging his coffee mug close to his chest. “They are going from prefecture to prefecture in Japan. Right now? They’re in the midpoint of their jaunt across Shizuoka. Which explains how they fit their little detour to my house into their tight schedules.”
Bakugou hums, and shrinks away. Glaring at the floor in the way he did when he was deep in thought, when to anyone else it looked as if he was pouting.
“I thought you had thousands of connections.” Midoriya says, bemused. He adjusts to lean comfortably further into his couch cushions, the comment earning him a rightful glare that he preens under.
“It gets difficult when you are required to talk to them regularly.” Bakugou huffs with heat, but no malice. “I’m sure hawks can do something if we bring it up to him, but configuration of all that manpower is a multi-week thing.”
“And the next attack is scheduled in three days.”
”And it spreads our forces too thin. And if one hero is at each pharmacy, they still have a high chance of getting taken out If this is a group of people.”
“We must assume all cameras are useless, and all security systems can be deactivated or avoided, as they have been prior. What else is there to do than have someone there in person?”
“I say we increase security by using groups of cops instead of heros.” Bakugou hums.
“Like watch dogs.” Midoriya crumples his brow. “Then, if any cop group sees anything, we have hero’s on standby in the midpoints of several pharmacies. That takes care of our forces being too thin.”
“But can a bunch of cops last against these villains? We don’t even know if they’re late league level or some lowly thugs with a lucky pull of stealth quirks.” Bakugou frowns.
“We might be sending these people into the fray.” Midoriya bites his nail.
“It’s the best shot we got.” Bakugou grumbles. “We need to nip this in the bud.”
“We need to bring this up immediately.” Midoriya stands, cradling his head in his fingertips. “I have a feeling it’s way worse than the public safety commission currently thinks.”
“Izuku.”
Midoriya turns to see Bakugou on his feet, nearly reaching out for him but falling short.
“We aren't done. What about the memories?”
Midoriya frowns, shakes his head. “I have no idea. I don’t even know how to bring it up. It’s such an improbable quirk, that it could be incredibly dangerous if used on the right person.”
“Do you have any clue on how it could connect?” Bakugou tries desperately. Midoriya isn’t sure if he’s more panicked about this, or someone’s grandma’s diabetes medication getting stolen. He seems awfully serious about both.
“I don’t, hell, there’s not even enough evidence to connect the two other than both perpetrators were sneaky-”
“Izuku. there’s no way this isn’t a quirk initiated by contact. Whoever it is, you already know.” Bakugou Says gravely as he steps forward, around the messy coffee table. Saying what they both were tiptoeing around the entire time they were talking about police and hero’s and real-life chess-like scenarios. “If these crimes are as connected as it feels like they are, there’s no way you do not already know at least one of the perpetrators.”
“Or, someone on the street who brushed my shoulder and had half the sense to be able to follow me home. Kacchan, don’t you think this is a stretch? I mean, what if these aren’t connected at all? What if it’s coincidental?” Midoriya argues, but it’s more tired than anything.
“And what if we do nothing about it, and you get hurt.” Bakugou is the one packing the heat here, something stressed in a tight ball in his chest. Midoriya knows he cannot deal with it.
“And what if you take it too far?” Midoriya dismisses, walking his cold cup to the kitchen. “I am not made of glass.”
Bakugou groans, following him. “You know that’s not what I was saying.”
Midoriya knows he knows he knows. Nearly wanting to continue the argument for the sake of it. But, his frontal lobe is nearly developed and he just doesn’t get the kick out of it that he used to.
“Yeah you're right, but still.” Midoriya laughs lightly through his teeth. “I’ll be fine. Don’t blow this out of proportion.” He makes his way to the kitchen, and begins to wash his mug from coffee.
Bakugou leans against a counter parallel to Midoriya. Stewing in something for a moment before releasing it in a long, controlled exhale.
“You’re probably right.” Bakugou eventually admits. “It’s.. a bigger case than I normally would deal with.“ because cases like this were one in ten. Not to mention they were in what would be considered a peaceful era right now, so there was a distinct lack of villain organizations to begin with.
“I know.” Midoriya sets the mug off on a rack to dry. “And I also know you should probably get started on that public safety report.”
“Already?” Bakugou says, not in regard to the report, but rather Midoriya’s excusal of himself.
“Sorry, it's a school day.“ Midoriya checked his watch, still safely within 6:49 AM. Because after paperwork yesterday Bakugou had left him a ‘be at mine at 6’ message conveniently within his phone. One Midoriya had woken up at 4 AM for, in order to make the hour bullet train ride. “I have to get to my class.”
Bakugou hums disapprovingly before he nods his agreeance.
“okay. Be safe.”
“i will. See you soon.”
IV. [3 days until the mission.]
Midoriya stops in front of Nezu’s office 27 minutes past the last bell, having emailed him that morning to announce his request for leave, and being shot back with a time he should be standing before the most expensive room on the UA campus.
Just as he is reaching for the handle, the doors shuffle open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the eerie smile of the rodent. His fingers steepled tactically in front of him, forearms resting on the grandiose dark wooden table that far exceeds him, but feels strangely fitting. A teapot is next to him, the set complete with two empty cups.
A few years ago now, Nezu’s office was remodeled, and it was nothing short of brilliant. Rows of studious books illuminated by the wall parallel to the door consisting only of gigantic, floor high window panes. Letting in natural light, but purposefully not in the trajectory of the sun, so it was never overbearing.
The room seemed controlled and typical at first glance, but Midoriya doubted that none of the books were secret levers for various things.
“Midoriya. Welcome.” Nezu says, impassively. Midoriya hears the doors closing behind him like a gavel.
“Principal Nezu.” He greets, pulling out and sitting in one of the two plush leather chairs in front of the desk. He gazes at Nezu’s golden name plaque That resides on the edge of his desk. He inhales, and decides the best course of action when speaking to Nezu, his former principal and now boss, is to be concise about it. “I asked for leave because we believe I might be a target in this case.”
This decision is for more reasons than one. Particularly for the reason that he always felt scrutinized whenever he was in the chimera's presence, and almost felt like he was willingly participating in being a chess piece whenever he chose to speak with him. It escapes him the exact reasons why Nezu even offered him this job, and as much as he can make probably-accurate guesses, there was no way of telling what exactly went on in the animals mind. So, in the absence of being told directly, Midoriya can only wonder.
“Hm. So lightning does strike twice.” Nezu says, and he pours a cup of tea. He places it before Midoriya before he pours his own. “How so?”
Midoriya does not doubt Nezu’s access to certain classified files the public safety commission stores. That being said, Midoriya cannot assume he looks at every new update, because despite Nezu’s ability, there are only so many hours in a day.
Midoriya picks up his cup out of politeness, thinking of how to word his recap.
Eventually, he settles.
“The string of heists is entirely untraceable.” Midoriya starts. “And all surveillance is bypassed in one way or the other. Implying a warping or stealth quirk to bypass human patrols, a warping quirk to bypass vaults which have no sign of opening, and either advanced hacking technology or a quirk that influences the electrical fields of cameras and other sensory tech. This is the very least that they would require. executed by one person, there’s no denying that this would be extremely difficult and expensive, but a few more would lighten the load considerably, so we are going off the basis that this is an organization rather than an individual.”
Nezu smiles at him, and Midoriya does not doubt the fact he is following this long-winded explanation.
“This group also has set schedules and predictable times that they strike. Such as, two months ago in Hokkaido they began with drug stores with minimal security before making their way up to target facilities with advanced technology and security. Then, last month, they repeated the exact pattern in Shizuoka. Just last week they made a strike on Kanagawa. Signaling a beginning of a new cycle.”
“Troublesome. I heard about this report briefly but assumed it would be taken care of quickly.” Nezu takes a sip of his tea, and his impassive face does not even twitch. “Thank you for the detailed explanation. Now, other than our proximity to the crimes, would you mind sharing how this connects to you specifically?”
“Yesterday morning,“ Midoriya starts, before he sighs. It sounds so improbable that he feels stupid saying it out loud. “A manilla folder appeared in my apartment. On my coffee table. It wasn’t mail, and there were no reports that anyone visited my apartment.”
Nezu refills Midoriya’s cup of tea when he sets it down. Silently prompting him to continue.
“Same bypass of security. Locks on my door were not even tampered with, not to mention my windows do not open, and no one saw anyone go in or out. A distinct lack of interest in anything else, not even a finger on my suit. But maybe the most troubling part of this is what was actually written in that folder. It was my memories, Nezu. from when I was 4 and 5. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Copied from my head without my knowledge and written down.”
“That’s troubling.” Nezu says, curious. “And very nearly improbable.”
“The mission will commence Monday. I wish to be on standby, because if this group has ill will towards me, I do not want my students to suffer the repercussions.”
“Unless they already are.” Nezu says violently, and Midoriya pauses halfway between bringing his cup to his lips.
“What?”
“I do not appreciate the idea of rats in my campus, but considering the circumstances it is entirely probable.” Nezu shakes his head. Grim despite the smile on his face. “Fool me once, fool me twice.”
Midoriya sinks. He remembers the bonds he had in 1A. The feeling of betrayal.
Aoyama’s fear. The signs of needing help he missed.
Had he.. .
Done it again?
“You’re dismissed, Midoriya. I will permit the period of leave.” Nezu raises his paw, taking his cup and swiveling around to gaze out the window.
”Do you really think it’s a student? I mean, it could be a stranger on the street or-“
“Midoriya.” Nezu interrupts, not facing him. “Nothing is impossible. As much as I hope it is not someone on this campus, we cannot assume anything.”
“Right. My apologies.” Heat creeps up Midoriya’s neck.
He leaves with a new feeling of dread.
V. [1 Day until the mission]
It is on his kitchen table this time.
Askew like it doesn’t matter.
A manilla folder, even thicker than the last. Three days out from the previous.
The year things took a turn for the worse.
He threw it against the wall and the papers went flying across his living room floor.
VI. [18 hours until the mission.]
The police station was nothing short of rowdy. with people dipping into and out of the doors in a rush.
Midoriya does not go inside. He does not have the courage.
VII. [14 Hours until the mission]
The messy and crumpled folder rests in a drawer by his knee. He knows this because he’s placed it there, and since then, has checked it was tangible at least a dozen times.
The drawer’s hinges make a metallic thud as he slams it once more.
Right. Gradework. He’s typing and needs to finish this by tonight, or his grading schedule tomorrow will be off. Yet, he still has half the class's research pages to pick through, all about a topic he's known and researched since he was 12. They repeated the quotes from their textbooks that he knew by heart as their evidence. And frankly, despite every student having a slightly different approach to his prompt, he was getting bored.
Getting bored makes him restless, and getting restless makes him think. None of these things are particularly good. They are even worse to occur when there is a large-scale mission he knows about in detail going on, and he can do nothing to contribute. And soon these minor distractions will turn major, and the day will be over before he gets any work done.
He thinks about his students, and how getting injured would be the last thing they needed. He thinks about Bakugou, who's on standby and most likely antsy. Wrapping up things with cops and tying up loose ends. Preparing for rest.
He thinks about the predictably of this villian. Why do they have a set schedule? A graphable, predictable, and counterable schedule?
A string of chances that they like predictably? A trap? a group they must account for? Perhaps there’s only a few gaps in their schedules that allow all of them to act at once. But that would mean they had appearances to keep up.
Whoever it is, you already know.
Midoriya opens the drawer. Checks. Picks up the folder and flips to a random page.
VIII. [13 Hours until the mission]
Bakugou is sitting on a bench, and he is relaxed to the extent a first grader with a nickel sized bruise on his jaw can be. He is also paying no mind to the teacher scolding him, and he looks into the foreground blankly.
He’s one of the oldest in the grade at 7, and frequently makes a show of showing no fear to any kid a few grade levels ahead. His sass then leads one thing to the next, and an arms-flailing fight ensues. This time he is victorious simply because he got a lucky stab to the others’ eye which had sent him to the nurses. Last week Bakugou hadn’t been so lucky.
Midoriya watches this because it’s the tail-end of the school day, and he is waiting to be picked up. Bakugou had cleverly timed this to be after school, which allowed him just to breeze by without heavy punishment, at least for that day.
But that also meant all the others were able to watch and Bakugou defiantly did not listen, off to the side as each kid got picked up one by one.
Midoriya found himself standing there for a long while, staring. The teacher, at this point, crossed her arms and sat next to Bakugou with a stone faced expression. No doubt planning the speech she would give his mother about his misbehavior.
Across the yard, he made eye contact with Bakugou. His red eyes glaring into him like he would be next for a fight.
Since awakening his quirk just three years ago, Bakugou has become different. a year after, he had completely distanced himself from Midoriya. It took another few months for Bakugou to start interacting with him again after a half year period, but the attention he got was now no longer positive.
Midoriya taps the straps of his bag, still staring. Too young to learn to avoid his eye contact yet. The wounds of the abandonment of their past friendship still too fresh for him to abandon the idea of going back to it.
He’s sure, even after all the crude comments and shoves, if Bakugou asked him to be friends again, he wouldn’t even need to think about his answer.
But for now Bakugou stares. And for now, Midoriya’s car pulls up, and he struggles to open the heavy passenger seat car.
For now, he wonders if Bakugou is so bitter because he’s always the last to be picked up.