Chapter Text
Birds are singing by the time the first rays of the morning sun touch upon the earth and brighten the sky, the dusky gray quickly turning pink and orange. Slowly but surely, the world is waking up, and that sends instinctual sparks of panic to the haggard looking man rushing along the barren sidewalk. He’s more accustomed to moving in the cover of night, well aware of just how much harder it is to hide any suspicious movements when in broad daylight. Years of being a thief has taught him that lesson, so just the emerging sun makes him feel like hiding away, even if he knows he can’t spare any time to do so. With such a time sensitive mission, he has to keep moving.
It’s to his luck that U.A. is sat atop an isolated, forested hill. There’s nothing up here besides the sprawling campus, and given that the school year hasn’t quite started yet, the likelihood that he might stumble upon another human is thankfully slim. It wouldn’t do him any good to be caught by the wrong person.
Of course, it won’t entirely be great being caught by the right person, either. He knows that by walking into a den full of pro-heroes, he won’t be able to slip back out. He’ll likely be sent back to prison, whether he accomplishes his goal or not, so he just prays that the gamble he’s deciding to take will work.
The reminder of what he’s about to do turns his attention to the small form huddled in his arms. Mostly hidden by the large hoodie that dwarfs him, the man only gets a quick glimpse of the boy’s bruised yet docile face. The only sign of any uneasiness that may be plaguing him is the way the boy’s hand grasps the back of his shirt with an ironclad grip. The man’s heart pangs at the knowledge that the boy had learned to conceal his emotions, likely out of necessity. No kid should be forced to hide like that.
The sight of the entrance to the campus is akin to a beacon of hope for the man. He’s spent so long dodging heroes and hiding from anyone who’d put a stop to him, who’d inevitably end up putting the boy right back into the hell he worked so hard to break him out of. He’s riding on the hope that U.A. will be a safe haven, and that even if he does go back to jail, the boy will be protected. If he’s somehow wrong about his decision, then he’ll be right back at square one, and it’ll be even more difficult to break out and rescue the boy. This could be his only chance to give the boy a better life, better than anything he himself could offer. He so desperately needs this to work.
The pavement stings his feet as he runs the last few meters and arrives at the entrance. The door is firmly shut, a reinforced, layered metal blocking him from seeing the inside, but he had expected this to be the case. School isn’t in session, so there was no one it needed to be open for in the first place. He can only hope that the principal would be there.
Shifting the boy to be resting on only one arm, he raises his now free hand and begins banging it against the metal. “Hello? Is anyone there? I need help!” He calls, mentally apologizing to the boy when he flinches minutely at all the loud noise he’s making.
It takes a few minutes, full of his attempts of getting someone’s attention, but eventually, the speaker next to the gate crackles to life, and an even voice answers his calls. “Is there something wrong? Do you need emergency services to be called?”
Shit. If he got all the way here just to be taken in by the police, this would have been all for nothing. “No, no, don’t call them,” the man replies. “I just need to talk to Principal Nezu. Urgently.”
For a few moments, the speaker is quiet. Just as impatience is beginning to well up inside of him, the voice continues, “Takami Hiroto, 47 years old and a career criminal. Arrested for serial burglary and larceny. Supposed to serve a 12 year sentence, but you broke out after only 3 years, as of roughly 6 months ago. Now, tell me, Mr. Takami, what brings you all the way to U.A. to talk to me, pro-hero and principal of a school full of heroes?”
Takami freezes at the thorough description of his life being relayed to him. He’s heard rumors of the principal being extremely smart, but he never expected to be recognized so quickly. It’s unnerving, to say the least.
If he were a younger, dumber version of himself, he probably would have run at those words. Years dealing with pro-heroes as a criminal has taught him that doing something like that was useless, though. It’s too late to go back.
“If you know all that about me, then you know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important,” he says, his voice low with seriousness. His heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of his chest. “It’s about my son. He’s in danger from some people in very high places.”
The boy in his arms doesn’t react. It’s as if he doesn’t realize he’s being talked about. It wouldn’t surprise him if he isn’t even aware of their relation. Even before Takami got sent to prison, he’s never really been involved in his son’s life.
More silence meets his words. Just as he’s beginning to wonder if the principal is stalling him in order for a group of heroes to arrive and detain him, the speaker crackles again. “The gate will be opening now. A faculty member will lead you to my office, where we will talk more. Any funny business will lead to your immediate arrest.”
“Right.” Takami grimaces. With the full force of their attention on him, he’s not sure what “funny business” they expect him to be able to do, but he’s not about to start pointing that out, not while they’re giving him a chance to be heard.
The sound of gears turning accompanies the plates of metal that slide smoothly away, quickly revealing the campus. Standing at the entrance is someone he could only assume is a teacher, a scruffy looking man wearing a scarf that resembles bandages and a deep scowl, one that thins after a glance at the young boy in his arms. The man’s hands are shoved in the pockets of his black jumpsuit, feigning casualness, but Takami’s sure that he’ll be ready to act at a moment’s notice. He has that look about him. The man doesn’t elect to say anything, instead only grunting at him and gesturing for him to follow with a jerk of his head.
Takami does so silently. Both of his arms are wrapped around the boy again now that he no longer needs to use his hand, and he can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at the fact that holding him made him feel some level of comfort. The boy may be his son, but he isn’t exactly an expert at being a father.
The inside of the school is just as big as the outside. The hallways are wide, likely to accommodate the sheer amount of students they enroll, and the doors that line the halls go all the way from floor to ceiling to accommodate the range of heights that could differ due to quirks. For a moment, Takami wonders what it would be like, if his life were much different and he had attended a school like this.
He quickly dismisses the thought – he’d never last at such a prestigious place. Following the rules has never been his thing.
After some time walking, they arrive at a rather nondescript door. It looks like every other door that they’d passed, but the teacher stops and knocks anyway. This had to be the principal’s office, then.
“Come in!” A voice calls. The teacher opens the door and gestures for him to enter first.
The room is decently sized, with a large desk, a table, and a few chairs and couches. Large windows make up the entirety of one of the walls, and by now, the morning sun is shining upon them in full force. The principal stands atop a cushioned desk chair, a kettle clutched between his paws as he pours himself a cup of tea. “Would you like a cup?” The creature offers, and Takami, too occupied with his current situation, declines with a short “No thanks.”
The teacher, having entered the room and shut the door behind them, slumps into one of the plush chairs. He seems exhausted, but given how sharp the man’s eyes are, Takami’s sure that his guard is still up with him here.
“Please, sit! We have much to talk about, Mr. Takami,” the principal says.
It gets a bit awkward when Takami tries to set his boy down on the couch first, only for the kid to remain clinging to him, his little fist to not let go. It remains clutching at the fabric of his shirt, and Takami’s sure that if the boy’s talons weren’t filed down to little nubs, that the fabric would have started to shred. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but he manages to sit so the boy’s grasp remains undisturbed. They’re now seated leg to leg, but that doesn’t seem to bother the boy at all. Takami’s not sure he’d even express it if anything did bother him, though.
“And who might this be?” The principal asks, his beady eyes staring curiously at the small boy.
“Takami Keigo,” Takami answers. “He’s 9 years old. He was only 5 when I went to prison. You can imagine my shock when I went to look for him after I finally broke out, only for his mother to tell me she sold him to the fuckin’ government.”
The pro heroes in the room seem to freeze at his words, clearly comprehending the severity of the situation. It’s not exactly ideal for a group that is supposed to be on the right side of the law to be engaging in human trafficking, after all.
“After some, uh, further investigation, I eventually realized it wasn’t just one dirty official who was committing the crime in secret, but a whole damn organization doing it. The Hero Public Safety Commission,” he spits out, his fists clenching in anger. “A bunch of lowlifes abused my boy under the guise of training him to be a hero. He’s a fucking kid! Kids shouldn't be hit and broken into obedient little child soldiers!”
A small keen slices through his rage, bringing him back to reality. Next to him, his son sits stock still, the small hand covering his mouth being the only thing revealing that he had been the source of the sound. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, his wide-eyed stare instead focused on the carpeted floor below his feet. When Takami raises his hand, the boy's shoulders tense up as if he expects to be hit.
His heart hurts.
Instead, he runs his hand through the boy’s hair, gently petting him. He hasn’t done anything like that since his kid was just a baby, so the action brings him a sense of nostalgia. “You’re okay, Keigo,” Takami says, his voice much softer. His words are meant for him and him alone. “I ain’t mad at you, kiddo.”
His boy doesn’t respond. His little shoulders only lose their tension after Takami stops petting his hair. He lets his hand fall from his mouth, and instead clutches at the front of his baggy sweatshirt with both hands, his knuckles going white. Takami isn’t exactly sure when the kid had let go of his shirt, but the absence of his grip stings.
“Is that blood?” The teacher asks, and Takami just now notices the red that bleeds through the fabric. Shit. He feels like the worst father in the world. How could he have not realized that his kid was hurt?
“Mr. Takami, why don’t you go take Keigo to the nurse’s office? Recovery Girl will be able to help with that,” the principal offers.
“What, no escort this time?” Takami asks, but there’s no heat behind his words this time, just weariness. He’s already gathering Keigo up in his arms, the boy letting himself be maneuvered with no resistance.
“It's just down the hall. Turn left when you exit this room, then it’s the last door on the right,” Nezu says, absurdly calm despite the situation. “In the meantime, I need to discuss the information you’ve provided us in private with Eraserhead here.”
“...Right.” Takami warily glances between the two, trying to look for any sign that they don’t believe him. When he’s unable to get a read, he just sighs and heads towards the door. He can worry about the future of their situation later. For now, his son is hurt.
He leaves the room without another word.
—
Aizawa turns to look at Nezu the moment the criminal leaves. He’s curious as to what the principal thinks about the whole situation — with his high intelligence, Nezu always tends to pick up on more factors than he’s able to on his own. Aizawa likes to think of himself as more analytical and logical than most, but he knows that he can barely hold a candle to Nezu’s incredible intellect.
“I’m curious, Aizawa, as to what you think about the information we’ve been given,” Nezu says, practically mirroring his own thoughts. He gives nothing away aside from curiosity, but Aizawa knows better than to speak anything but his true thoughts.
“Well, it’s a large accusation, and I hate to say it, but we’ve been given no solid evidence that the HPSC is doing what he claims they are,” He responds, a frown stretching across his face.
“So do you think Takami is lying?”
“I don’t know,” Aizawa admits, “Given his criminal status, I don’t think we can trust his word alone. But that just means we should investigate further to get proof that his accusations are true. Regardless of the source, that boy is obviously not okay, both physically and psychologically.”
“Whether truth or lies, our first priority is the safety of the child. We cannot let either of the Takamis leave the premises until we have a better understanding of the circumstances and have developed a follow up plan.”
“And if it turns out the Hero Commission is involved, we can’t let them know about any of this until we’ve reached a conclusion,” Aizawa finishes.
“Precisely.” Nezu then sighs and turns towards his phone, which sits on top of his desk. “I’ve always hated those who prey on the weak.”
Aizawa stays quiet, well aware of the personal aspect underlying his words.
“Aizawa, please check in on the Takamis,” Nezu says while dialing a number. “Once Recovery Girl is finished with her work, if she clears them to go, take them and house them in the on-campus apartments. I’ll let you know when our acquaintance from the force gets here.”
Aizawa couldn’t help but note how the principal hadn't even called the man yet, but was sure he’d drop everything and come.
“Alright,” he says, before heaving himself out of his chair with a grunt and making his way out of the room.
He’s in the process of closing the door behind him when he hears the principal’s next words, his phone call having gone through. “Ah, Tsukauchi, good morning. I have a favor I need to cash in on.”