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Bland and foreboding, the grey building seemed to loom before Mic while simultaneously blending inconspicuously into the busy Tokyo Street. Even the amber-tint of his glasses could not liven up the look of the building. Hundreds passed by the building every day without giving it a cursory glance—he knew this for a fact. He followed the bricks up to the second level, to the middle window and Mic thought he could see a young blonde boy staring down at him. Watchful eyes gauged the adult’s reaction, wanting to scream for someone to look at him, to notice, but knowing that opening his mouth would mean trouble.
A tight feeling seemed to spread across his face and Mic felt his heart seize with fear, reaching immediately to rip free the muzzle. He found nothing there, just the fading feeling of an old trauma. He moved his hands to fix the collar of his jacket around his speaker, fiddling idly with the zippers. He eventually found his arms hesitating before his chest, one hand picking at the fingernail polish on the other.
He felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest.
This was a bad idea, Sensei.
“I can’t…I can’t do this,” he murmured to himself, attempting to burying his face into his speaker but failing. He clenched his eyes shut instead, blocking out the building and its prison-like features. He couldn’t really see himself as a hero until he faced this. Shaking fingers dug into his palms. Not yet, the nineteen year old said, I’m still too scared.
He had graduated Yuuei High School, his hero license sat safely in the wallet tucked away in his jacket and he had been working as the sidekick of another hero for a few months now. He was a bona fide hero already, he didn’t need to do anything else to prove that. He’d already reached the finish line. Mic nodded to himself, a feeling of calm spreading through him as he began to turn away, dropping his hands to his side. Something pulled him to look back to that grey building again and he hesitated, swallowing. This wasn’t about proving himself, this was about closure. Nedzu-sensei had said as much. Facing this—his greatest fear—this would prove he could be a great hero.
He inhaled deeply, turning towards the building before exhaling as slowly as he’d inhaled. Someone needed to remind these kids that someone cared, if no one else would. Determination in his steps, Mic walked through the gate and up the stairs, staring at the door handle with nervous eyes for a few moments before reaching out and pulling it open.
Once inside, it took Mic’s eyes several moments to adjust. The walls in the entryway were the same pale grey as outside, accented only by a bulletin board directly across from the front desk. Nothing looked noticeably different than when he’d followed his foster parents out of the place nearly a decade ago. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that the very same bulletins had been on the board, trapped by time and his memories forever. The papers weren’t faded enough for that though so logically that couldn’t be the case.
“Can I help you?”
Mic turned to face the attendant at the desk, colour dashing his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he’d zoned out looking at the bulletin board, remembering it as the last thing he’d seen before exiting those double doors for good. I can do this. Taking in another deep breath, he looked the attendant over catching sight of the name tag clipped to her shirt. Morisaki. It seemed familiar but he couldn’t place it. She was too young to have been a caretaker when he had lived in the institution, far too amiable as well. Even when she was frowning, the woman had faint laugh lines forming across her features and her eyes shone. The caretakers he’d known growing up had been rough people, their tongues sharper than blades with shadows in their eyes. Mic wondered if perhaps he’d imagined it all, a child’s mind over exaggerating his fears. After a moment, he brushed the idea aside. The memories were still too vivid and painful to have been made simply of a child’s illusion. The caretakers may not have looked like creatures out of a horror movie, but he remembered very vividly how unkind they had treated him and the other children.
He felt like he was swallowing a rock, blinking and struggling to find the will to speak. It took him a few moments longer than he’d intended to fit back into his “hero persona”, slipping into it like a suit of armour. Today he was not Hizashi Yamada, an orphan who’d been abandoned and abused here. He was Present Mic, a hero, here to show other children like himself that there was someone looking out for them. He exhaled steadily and smiled at the attendant. She seemed to be unsure about his presence and if they’d had any, probably would’ve called for security already.
“My name’s Present Mic and I’m a hero!” he boomed excitedly, startling the woman with his change in demeanour before lowering his volume and continuing sheepishly. “I was wondering if it would be alright to visit with the children for a bit.”
The woman stared at him, frozen, surprise written on her features. Mic frowned, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
“Is that…not allowed?” It had never occurred to him as a concept, but now he felt silly having forgotten to consider it. He felt his body starting to turn away, to run from this building and go back to pretending that it didn’t exist. “I didn’t mean to trouble you, I’m sorry.”
The attendant seemed to break herself from her stupor and shook her head quickly, all but reaching to pull him back.
“No no! It’s perfectly alright!”
She started scrambling for something behind the desk, looking over the counter and then disappearing as Mic heard her open drawer after drawer. “It’s just…No one ever visits…” She reappeared with a blank log and offered it to him to sign, gasping, “Least of all heroes.”
Mic smiled, it was more genuine than his hero-fuelled one but weaker, remembering just how forgotten places like this had become. Things had gotten better over the decades but there was still a fault in the system and a never ending stream of orphans and abandoned children.
“Maybe I’ll start a trend,” he attempted to joke, signing his actual name to the log. He doubted it but he wished it could be true.
“Perhaps.” The attendant seemed hopeful staring at the pen marks on the log before looking back up at Mic. “All the kids are in the common room right now. Follow me.”
The woman led him down a short hallway, the grey walls giving way to windows observing a large room filled with about fourteen children of various ages playing or reading. Some sat by themselves or in pairs, while there was one or two larger groups of four and five. The oldest that Mic could see looked around thirteen, but he couldn’t be sure. As the attendant paused at the doorway, Mic realized that he’d forgotten how much the area reminded him of a hospital waiting room with its wide observation window.
They’d replaced one of the two couches, but they both looked more than a little worse for wear, patches covering dozens of rips in the old leather. One of them had been a beige colour once but had begun to take on a greyish hue from years of use. There were a few tables, most empty, the children playing on the rugs—also worn from years of use. Several things had been changed over time, the walls had been redone but still in the same pale grey as the rest of the building. It made Mic uneasy how similar and different everything felt, as if he’d walked into his memories but in a different dimension. He swore any second he’d turn around and see that blonde boy staring at him with terrified green eyes.
Mic stepped inside the room, following quickly behind his guide and immediately felt his gaze drawn to the far right corner. The closest point to the windows and the doorway that was also far away from the cacophony of children drawn to the centre of the room, Mic had made the corner his place. In the present, the corner was occupied by a small child with a bob of black hair. They sat alone focusing intently on what looked like a puzzle.
He stood awkwardly, waiting for an introduction and just observing for the time being. One of the children near the centre of the room took the initiative before Morisaki could say anything, looking up and seeing the attendant standing with another adult. He remembered that new adults either meant a new caretaker or even more rarely—a potential foster parent. They were always of immediate interest.
“Mori-san, Mori-san!” he cried, jumping and tugging at her sleeve. “Who is he?”
A relieved smile spread across her features and she gestured towards Mic with a flourish. “Children!” Her voice carried in a way similar to a public speaker; she was obviously experienced at this. “This is Present Mic. He’s a hero and he’s come to visit you all today. Please welcome him.”
Children began to swarm around him excitedly and he found his features brightening. A spare few didn’t join the swarm, hanging on the edges, but most seemed to be watching with interest at least. The child in the corner didn’t seem to notice and continued on with their puzzle.
“Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Present Mic!”
One child immediately yelled out after the introductory yells had faded, “What can you do?”
“Yeah, you look like a robot or a giant radio!” The child’s words did not sound like an insult, but an intrigued observation. Knowing the children he’d grown up with, he suspected either one would be incredibly intriguing—in contrast, he was actually kind of bland.
Mic chuckled, pointing to the directional speaker around his neck. “I can make my voice really loud, louder than you can even imagine possible. So loud it hurts. This speaker helps me aim it in a specific direction so I get the bad guys and not my friends.”
“Woah! Cool!” There was a rumbling of interest among the children, even those hanging at the edges.
“What about any of you, what can you do?” he inquired, looking over the children with interest, trying to engage them. It had been a long time since he’d directly interacted with anyone of such a young age. He’d never really incredibly comfortable with children after his time in the home and he was always afraid that he’d say or do something wrong.
All the children fell quiet and looked at each other awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what he’d said, but he felt that this was one of those moments he’d always feared. One of the eldest who’d been hanging out in the back raised his hand.
“None of us here have quirks,” he pointed out, dropping his gaze immediately to the floor.
“Ah.” Mic pursed his lips and hummed to himself, casting a glance to Morisaki standing by the entryway. Her face was impassive despite the encouraging smile. Interesting to say the least. Perhaps the children were too young but the boy was well past four years old. “Well…”
Another child, a girl with two messily tied together braids, raised her hand and quickly started speaking almost as soon as Mic look at her. “As far as we know, Yana-san says we could all have hidden quirks.”
The boy scoffed, rolling his eyes. He didn’t seem inclined to believe the younger, but Mic didn’t detect any automatic malice either. A topic change seemed in order.
“Forget about quirks, what else can you do? I’m sure all of you have things you’re really good at?”
A majority of the children started raising their hands and Mic grinned, relieved.
“Alright starting from over here,” he gestured to the child nearest to the far left, “We’re going to go around and say something we’re good at, okay? Okay!”
The first boy excitedly yelled out that he was good at finding lost things. The girl beside him thought she was good at singing. The third pointed out he was good at oversleeping, much to the amusement of the other children. Around the group they went until every child that wished to speak up had shared. When the excitement seemed to be fading, one of the younger children hanging at the edge piped up with a new question.
“Why’s there’s a slot in your speaker, Present Mic? Will it play music if we put a coin in there?”
Mic looked down but couldn’t get a very good look at what the boy was talking about, even though he’d noticed once or twice before. “I’m…pretty sure it allows for air flow or something.” It had been a long time since he’d thought about it or considered it. He was sure he’d been run through how it worked when he’d gotten the support item years ago, but he’d been so excited to finally have the speaker that he hated to admit that he probably hadn’t listened properly. Years later and he still had no idea what the little slot was for, if it was for anything but aesthetic.
“Boring!” the boy called out. “Put a coin in!”
“I can’t,” Mic protested, “It will break it and what if the bad guys show up, how will I save the day?”
“What about your headphones?” Another child spoke up, “Do they play music?”
“These? Yeah,” Mic reached up and pulled the headphones off his head and looked them over. “They actually protect my ears from my quirk, but…I can play music from them if I wanted to.”
“Are they comfy?”
The blonde nodded, his smile playing at the edges of his lips as he held out the blue headphones and placed them on the boy’s head. They were quite a bit big on him and barely hung onto his ears. “Tell me yourself, what do you think?”
The boy pressed the edges to his ears gently, grinning from ear to ear. “So soft!”
“I wanna try!” He heard one of the children yell and saw a few start to shove each other.
“Please be gentle, they’re very important. Just like you kids, so no shoving.”
He passed the headphones around to each of the children, glancing to see if the child in the corner had ever engaged with the rest of the group. He frowned slightly to see that they hadn’t. He didn’t want to single them out if they wanted to be alone, but he also felt like he’d failed leaving one of the children out of the excitement.
“Hey! Why’re you wearing two pairs of headphones?”
Mic turned to stare at the last child wearing his headphones in confusion before realization dawned on him. It’s not that he’d forgotten he was wearing his hearing aids, it’s that he hadn’t heard them incorrectly referred to as ‘headphones’ in a long time. He reached up and touched the contraption inside his ear hesitantly. “These are hearing aids, they work kind of like headphones but they make every sound louder so that I can hear them.”
The same boy looked at him intently, trying to process what he’d been told. “Can we try them on too?”
Mic shook his head very adamantly, offering an apologetic look. “No. They were made specifically for me because my ears don’t work well but they would probably end up hurting yours or anyone else’s.”
The girl with the braids piped up again. “What about Miyo-chan?” She seemed to seek out Morisaki for the answer to this question before looking towards the child working on the puzzle. “Miyo-chan’s ears don’t work well either, maybe they can try them on?”
Mic watched the woman move back over to them and shake her head clearly at the young girl. “How about we give Present Mic his things back and say goodbye. He’s been more than patient with all of you.” He caught her cast him an apologetic glance his way and he shrugged appreciatively. It hadn’t bothered him that much. He’d been asked stupider things by adults who should’ve known better.
There was a chorus of “Yes, Mori-san,” that was quickly followed by several scattered “Good-bye Present Mic!” of various levels of excitement and ranges. The boy with his headphones made sure to hand them over gently, adding with a hopeful look, “Please visit us again….if you can.”
Mic nodded his head in acquiescence. “I will do my best.”
“Why don’t we all clean up and head outside for a little bit before dinner? Yana-san will meet you out there,” Morisaki continued, guiding the children to start cleaning up the mess that they’d made before Mic had arrived. He started to drift to the edges of the classroom, observing again. It seemed strange watching the familiar movements from the outside—the silent clean-up, the nod from the other caretaker as Morisaki opened the doors to pass them off to the other outside.
He noted that the child working on the puzzle was still working diligently rather than starting to clean and head outside. Mic couldn’t remember perfectly, but he didn’t really remember them acknowledging his existence or even their surroundings. Something tugged at the bottom of his jacket and Mic looked to see the young girl with the braids peering up at him, waving him down to her level. He crouched slightly and she leaned closer.
“That’s Miyoko-chan. The caretakers say they can’t hear so they just ignore everyone.”
Mic pursed his lips and looked seriously at the girl. “Does anyone ever try to talk to them? Are they ignoring everyone or is everyone ignoring them?” He lifted his eyebrows a bit to accentuate his question. The girl put her lips out in a pout, looking down in consideration.
Her voice seemed small and defeated when she whispered, “They don’t talk though; I don’t think they can.”
“You don’t have to talk to interact with someone,” Mic pointed out softly, attempting to keep his voice from sounding abrasive. “You could, offer to work on the puzzle together sometime or say you would like to be nearby? It’s worth a try, right?”
“I…guess.” The girl cast a look back at Miyoko before looking at Mic and attempting to whisper. “Their parents were villains though so everyone’s kind of scared of them.”
“That’s silly,” Mic admonished, a moderate stern tone in his voice now, “They’re too young to be a villain and so are you. You can’t go about your childhood ousting people that are different. I know it might sound silly, but the most heroic thing you can do right now is look out for each other. Okay?”
He offered the girl a smile, showing her that he wasn’t permanently upset with her.
“Okay.” The tone she offered was neither elated nor defeated, but simply accepting. Though she was young and it might take some time for her to understand the lesson he’d just shared with her, he hoped it would make an impression.
Mic’s smile broadened and he raised his hand up. “High touch!”
The girl beamed and smacked her entire palm flat against his in a high-five before bounding away to follow the rest of the children outside.
Mic watched her leave before walking to the corner table and carefully moving the chair from the opposite side to allow room to sit across from the focused child. The table was short enough for kindergarteners and even sitting, Mic towered over it.
From his jacket pocket he pulled out a medium sized notepad. He always tried to keep one with him, along with a few pens for those days when he didn’t want to wear his hearing aid. There was always a chance that he’d run into someone who wanted to talk and didn’t know how to sign. Aizawa had just bought him a brand new one and its cover was still in one piece, if a little bent at one edge.
The kid noticed his presence now, lifting their head ever so slightly to peer at him, trying to seem inconspicuous. Their brown eyes seemed suspicious and frightened, hidden by the shadow of their bangs. He recalled what the girl had told him about Miyoko’s parents. If they’d been placed here, it meant their parents had either been killed or arrested. He wasn’t surprised they were paranoid of adults whether because their parents had treated them badly or because other adults had taken their parents away—either one made sense to him.
A puzzle piece sat forgotten in the child’s fingers, leaning against the edge of the table. He noticed the puzzle was already half done, the entire edge finished and a good portion of the left corner. A brief glance at the box showed him the puzzle was supposed to be a bridge over a stream with a sakura tree nearby.
Mic offered the child a harmless smile, quickly scribbling his message onto his notepad before pushing it across the table.
Would you mind if I help with your puzzle?
They looked down at the notepad and then looked blankly at Mic and he suddenly feared the kid couldn’t read either. But after a moment, Miyoko placed the puzzle piece down and made a hesitant motion for his pen. He passed it over, pulling a second from his pocket. He looked up in time to see the notepad slide back in his direction.
Who are you?
That’s a fair question, he laughed to himself, and one he should’ve expected. He probably should’ve led with an introduction as he’d done with the others but he’d thought it more polite to ensure he was allowed in their space first.
Sorry. I’m Present Mic and I am a hero, dear listener!
Miyoko looked up and made a face at him, pen hesitating in their hand as their lips pulled into a thin line and Mic almost started laughing. They reminded him so much of Aizawa with that face.
Listener?
You look a little young to be a hero.
Mic smiled sheepishly.
I work in radio sometimes. It’s my catchphrase!
I just graduated but I’ve done a lot of hero…stuff.
They passed him back the notepad, a relaxed smile pinned to their previously impassive features.
I like it. What kind of stuff?
Mic didn’t know how to exactly explain all the stuff that a hero could find themselves doing. Most children knew the basics, but there was a lot more detail work behind the scenes that he couldn’t really share without being confusing or sounding boring. It was a bit easier to pass off when a dozen or more children were yelling various questions about hero work at you rather than having a one on one chat.
I don’t want to brag or anything, but just last week I saved a cat from a tree.
The child read through the message quickly and let out a soft noise that startled Mic. He’d grown accustomed to the silence again. He noted the way their smile had widened and realized that Miyoko had laughed. He smiled back.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real cat before. I hope it was good and soft.
The response caused Mic to freeze, having forgotten the differences between a lot of children who lived in the institutions and those that didn't. Curfews and rules had always made it impossible for him to have free time outside of school and of course, pets weren't allowed at the home. He didn't know how to respond and Miyoko must have noticed because their smile fell away, looking confused. After a pause, they took the notepad back and scribbled another, somewhat unrelated, question.
Why would a hero visit this place? I’m not in trouble am I?
It made sense that the caretakers could tell that the city just allowed these children to disappear into these walls forgotten, but Mic remembered how he'd felt back then too. He knew that Miyoko and the other's recognized that emptiness as well. The feeling of being entirely invisible, begging someone to just take one moment to open their eyes. It hurt him to even process the question must less reach to respond to it. Heroes should visit places like this and stop turning a blind eye. Aizawa had said something similar when Mic asked him his feelings on it. ‘What good is being a hero if there is no one looking out for the people who need saving the most?’
Mic swallowed as he wrote, wondering if it was too much to push on someone so young. He didn’t like dumbing things down—honestly he wasn’t sure he’d ever learned how. He was getting better but he was often blunt about a lot that should’ve been handled more tactfully.
I grew up here. They didn’t know how to handle my quirk and weren’t very kind but they seem to have gotten better. I was fostered by two loving moms, but I never forgot about this place. I wanted to show everyone here that there’s a hero out there that hasn’t forgotten about them.
Miyoko pressed their lips together tightly, almost as if trying to bite through them. It pained Mic because he knew there was probably still so much going on inside these walls—things that shouldn’t happen--while changes that needed to be made were never made. He was only seeing a glimpse, a possible façade held only while he was still present. But even then he could already note the neglect befalling Miyoko as the children ignored them and the caretakers left them to their own devices. He wondered if the caretakers even attempted to provide resources for the deaf child.
Part of him hated himself for coming here, for realizing that there was still so much that needed fixing that he couldn’t do anything about. He couldn’t get the home closed—all the children would just be separated and passed off to other homes that might be even worse. He wasn’t legally allowed to force them to change their ways and be better—they’d probably laugh at him if he even tried. Furthermore, he was far too young to take any of them in right now, even though watching the child across from him with the paranoid eyes and pout told him he’d adopt the other in an instant if he was capable.
A hand tapped his arm and Mic blinked, focusing back on Miyoko. They pointed a finger at each of their cheeks and lifted them into a smile and then pointed back at Mic’s face. He offered a weak smile in return and Miyoko passed back the notepad, satisfied.
Mori-san said this place used to be really scary and all the caretakers were mean and awful but they all got in trouble. Now the caretakers try to be nicer and they send kids with quirks away to special homes. Don’t frown! You sound like you’re going to a great hero, like All Might!
I’m glad you got new parents. Some of the other kids think they might be taken in, but I don’t think I ever will. It’s okay though. They deserve good parents.
Mic felt a bit of warmth spread in his heart at the kid’s comparison to All Might, the world’s number one hero for quite some time now. Everyone idolized him and Mic was no exception. He wanted to be as good a hero as All Might and save everyone. But that warmth was replaced with a chill at the last of Miyoko’s message and he frowned again. He knew how unlikely it could be for the kids to be fostered or to ever leave the institution until they aged out but he wasn’t sure which was more damaging—holding onto a happy dream or being realistic. Aizawa would’ve told him the former was the crueller option but Mic didn’t like how Miyoko had singled themselves out as the one not likely to be adopted, not the kids as a whole.
Why not?
There was that look again. Face completely still and expressionless and yet Miyoko conveyed a blatant incredulity through the blankness as if his question was the stupidest thing ever written. They lifted their hand and pointed to their ear.
Mic had been afraid of that. Between the caretakers and the other children, Miyoko had singled themselves out to be ignored and unwanted. He remembered the feeling far too well and it struck him like a knife.
Because you’re deaf?
He didn’t know why he asked. It was obvious what they were saying and yet, he wanted to be wrong. Miyoko didn’t look up after writing their short reply, reaching out to start on their puzzle again. They didn’t want to talk about this.
Yes.
Three pieces had been placed before he passed the notepad back over to the child. Miyoko placed another piece to form a cherry blossom and ignored it, reaching for another piece. Mic bit his lip and wondered how Shouta and Midnight would feel if he just showed up at their apartment with an eight year old in tow. He wasn’t old enough to be a parent, he knew that. They didn’t even have the money to support themselves right now, much less a child, but Mic wished more than anything that this wasn’t something that was still happening. He wished that the child across from him could be happy, with parents that could guide them like his moms had for him.
He sighed and pulled a puzzle piece from the box and began looking for where it went without saying or doing anything else. Miyoko peered up at him again, mirroring the look they’d given him when he’d first grabbed their attention before quickly pretending they hadn’t. They worked on the puzzle together for some time, probably about ten or fifteen minutes before Miyoko’s gaze drifted back to the notepad and the message he’d left.
I’m telling you this as someone who is also deaf: you’re not a burden and don’t let anyone tell you differently. You deserve a loving parent just as much as anyone.
Miyoko’s hand shot out for the pencil, startling Mic as he’d reached to put down another piece of the puzzle. He watched with green eyes as they wrote their message hurriedly, almost shoving the notepad back into his hand.
You’re deaf?!!!
Mic laid the notepad gently back down on the table and smiled at them, nodding. He turned his head ever so slightly and lifted his headphones, pointing at one of the hearing aids hanging onto his ear lobe before writing out an additional reply.
Since I was young. My quirk was dangerous back then.
Miyoko’s face looked pensive, if a little confused. Mic almost had to wonder if they thought he was lying for their benefit.
And you’re a hero?
He looked from the message to the look on their face, patient and curious, expectant of his answer. To think that the concept that he could be both was so far-fetched in this decade pained him, but he was glad to destroy the idea before Miyoko got any older.
Yes. I’m deaf and I’m a hero.
The response from Miyoko was almost immediate and it made Mic’s heart glow. Their face lit up as if they suddenly held an entire sun in their eyes, mouth opening wide to exclaim joyfully despite a lack of any sound escaping. Mic watched them cover their cheeks as they started grinning and laughing, overwhelmed with joy. They tried to reach out and write a message while they were still bouncing with excitement and Mic noted that their handwriting was a little messier than before but he couldn’t help but keep smiling.
You really are a cool hero!
Mic heard the sound of someone entering the common room and his eyes pulled away from the notepad to look at the approaching form of Morisaki. Miyoko noticed his distracted attention and followed his gaze. They grinned, bouncing up from their seat and running over to the woman, grasping her hand and tugging at her excitedly.
“Miyo-chan, what’s gotten into you?” She didn’t wait for Miyoko to look at her, so Mic was thoroughly convinced that the child had no idea she’d spoken.
Miyoko gestured at Mic with a wide grin and then pointed down at the word “hero” on the notepad. Their other hand clutched tightly to the woman who was now looking at Mic with questioning eyes.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to get them so wound up.”
“No no,” Morisaki offered the other a weak smile, looking at Miyoko’s joyful features as the child finally freed the woman’s hand, reaching out for the notepad. “It’s just, Miyo-chan has never been this animated since coming here. I think I’ve only seen them smile three times in the whole year. Whatever you said, you’ve made them very happy.”
Mic felt Miyoko tug at his sleeve again, pressing the notepad into his hands, beaming at him. He looked down and he knew he needed to leave soon or he was going to break down crying in front of the poor kid.
I want to be a hero like you one day.
“Are you alright, Present Mic?”
Mic had his mouth covered, feeling the emotion building up behind his eyes and managed to nod before forcing out, “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Miyo-chan. It’s time for dinner. Say goodbye to Mic-san.” Mic noticed the woman had gotten down to Miyoko’s level, making sure the child was focusing on her lips as they moved. For the most part, they seemed to get the gist of the message, nodding. Miyoko sobered up a little at the idea of saying goodbye, but Mic could still see the faint ghost of a smile that they were trying to hide.
Mori-san says it’s dinner time. Good-bye. Please visit us again soon.
Mic smiled and waved as the attendant led the kid out of the common room and he sighed, taking one last look of the half familiar, half foreign room. Things were improving, he could tell, but he wished it could be better. Another sigh and he pushed himself to his feet, hands in his pockets as he made his way back down the hallway towards the door. He didn’t know how long it would be before he found the energy and emotional strength to come back here again, but he knew he couldn’t make this his last visit.
He had fans he couldn’t disappoint.
“Hizashi-san!”
The blonde stopped short and looked back to see the attendant looking up at him. He knew he’d signed his full name to the log but the woman said it with such a familiarity as if she’d referred to him by that name before.
“I’m so happy for you!”
He stared at her for a few moments, unsure how to respond. She looked almost as bright and joyous as Miyoko had a few moments ago, except without the excessive energy behind it that children were known for. But, he would be more likely to expect her to tell him ‘thank you’ or ‘I’m happy you came’ rather than feeling happiness for him specifically. The familiarity slowly began to click into place, Mic putting the pieces together.
“Morisaki-san….You grew up here. We both did,” he said, musing aloud. Morisaki nodded, smile softening.
“It took me some time to properly recognize you. But seeing you sitting in that corner again, I remembered. Miyo-chan is a lot like you.”
Mic rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “Yeah….So you came back to work here? After everything?”
“Mm-hmm.” Morisaki looked down the hallway towards the empty common room and Mic noted that her gaze seemed distant. “Things are a lot better than they were for us. But it’s still not ideal.” She turned back to him, swiping at tears he hadn’t noticed. “I appreciate you visiting the children. I’m sure they had a good time and Miyo-chan—“
“Please look out for them, Morisaki-san.”
The woman blinked, startled at the interruption, staring at the half pleading look in Mic’s eyes.
“Miyoko-chan is already beginning to feel ousted and alone here. As one of their caretakers, I’m asking you, please do not let this continue.”
He watched Morisaki nod several times. The look on her face told him that she’d already noticed but he knew she could only do so much on her own. It was still something.
“I’m only part-time and the caretakers are stretched thin as it is. I will try my best, for as long as I can.”
Mic had to accept that that was good enough, even though they both knew it would never be adequate. “That is all I can ask, thank you.”
He allowed his hands to relax, realizing that he’d been holding them tight into fists. “They mentioned something about kids with quirks being sent away….is that true?”
Morisaki looked at her feet, hands clasped in front of her. She looked notably upset about the topic and it carried in the soft shaky tone of her voice. “I was actually leaving for the day, how about I walk you to the station?”
The offer wasn’t the expected answer, but Mic nodded anyway despite his confusion. It wasn’t a blatant change in topic, but it still made him feel momentarily distressed. The woman grabbed her jacket from the desk before ushering him from the building. It didn’t feel as relieving exiting the building the second time.
“Brrr,” Morisaki pulled her jacket around her body and shivered, chuckling. “It’s too bad my quirk has nothing to do with fire or something, I hate the cold.”
Mic hummed softly, mind still on the question he’d asked and wondering if she was attempting to divert his attention. He heard her fall extremely quiet as they walked and knew she was forming an answer and it came eventually, the woman’s voice quiet.
“The way the caretakers treated you and others came out in a big scandal several years ago. But instead of closing the school, they hired new staff and made new training policies. Now when any of the children start exhibiting signs of a quirk, they go through a physical and then…usually, they’re sent off to different institutions with caretakers that are better trained to handle quirks. The entire thing feels like they’re hiding what happened and ignoring the real problem.”
“I understand.” Mic inhaled sharply. If anyone would be bothered by the idea of the institution getting away with what they had done and just shoving the children off to other homes that would probably do the same thing, it would be him. All to keep their name clear… “So are all the children quirkless?”
The woman shrugged her shoulders, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk. “They could be. I suspect most of them just have quirks that are easy to hide or harder to detect. As long as their quirks don’t effect their care, they’re not a threat to the institution’s good name.”
Mic hummed again, sensing the venom in Morisaki’s tone.
“And Miyoko-chan?”
Morisaki paused at the crosswalk, looking nervously at ground and then up to Mic. “I’m afraid they have a quirk they’re supressing. When they arrived, no one could get any official paperwork for them, but there have been moments…”
“You’ve kept it quiet?” he inquired, getting a feel with what the woman was saying.
She nodded. “Their father was a villain that was arrested last year after attacking his child and a group of heroes. His quirk had something to do with radiation, so they won’t hesitate to ship them off to another home and I—I’m afraid of what might happen to Miyo-chan there so I haven’t said anything about the incidents. ”
Mic knew that he was helpless in this, that there was no individual hero in the world that could fix the mess that was the child care system. He loathed the idea that he could do nothing except keep visiting and reminding the children that they weren’t alone and spread the word to the other heroes. Maybe in time, he would be important enough to change the way things worked. But right now, he was just starting out and he’d already decided that this would be the biggest evil of his entire career. He sighed, looking out at the train platform across the street.
“Thank you for everything, Morisaki-san, I won’t trouble you any longer.” He looked to her and offered a comforting smile, “Please continue to do what you can. It’s obvious the kids trust and look up to you and that is an improvement from our time. I will try to visit again when I get the chance.”
She smiled weakly, nodding her head. “I will do my best. I promise.”
He beamed, fixing his headphones as he turned to cross the street. Once his foot was on the stairs leading to the platform, he heard a yell behind him.
“Hey, Present Mic!” He turned to look back at Morisaki, both hands cupped around her mouth. “I think you’re a fantastic hero!”
It warmed him up enough to walk up the stairs, feeling the urge to look back at that grey building in the distance. He forced himself to turn and look straight ahead as he walked, trying to push Miyoko and their conversation from his mind.
What a bittersweet feeling knowing that his biggest fan was someone he could never save.