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Chapter Text

Chitose Kizuki first met the boy when he was six years old.

Her editor told her rumors about a pre-teen in Yokohama starting a business and founding a charity for homeless kids. As a young, rising reporter, it was a good chance to do a nice puff-piece about it; something to spice up the boring news cycle of crime and politics.

Chitose delayed. She could interview the kid later; her current leads were far more interesting. There was something fascinating about the mysteries of human behavior, no matter whether they were humble or homicidal. She certainly didn’t mind the paycheck, but to her, the story itself was the reward. A new investigation is like an unopened treasure chest, taunting her with the allure of the gold and jewels that lay within. 

In contrast, there was little surprise in a pre-teen starting a business. Usually, their parents talked them into it, or their Quirk was a little niche. Their personalities were still developing, their egos fragile, and their decisions boring. Why should she bother with a brat, when she could pursue a serial killer?

A week later, she entered the bullpen and found a print-out slapped on her desk. Minoru Mineta, age 6, with a criminal charge for Illegal Quirk Use. She took her editor’s hint, and got on the first train out of Chiyoda.

The train ride down allowed her to look up some basic information on her cellphone. Young Mineta had a Quirk that allowed him to grow small balls from his head, which were apparently the perfect size for throwing. He was selling them as dodgeballs to local schools.

The kid was six years old; it wasn’t like he’d invented the next cellphone or anything like that. Chitose expected that his business probably wasn’t anything special, and it probably wouldn’t stand out from any other.

Honestly, she wasn’t there to interview the kid’s business; she was there to interview him. Most six-year-olds were too busy playing Heroes and Villains in their local park, flashing their quirks around willy-nilly, rather than knuckling down and creating a functioning business. No, the business didn’t interest her at all. In another couple years, it would quietly fail when the kid’s lack of maturity made some grievous mistake, or sink into obscurity when the kid’s parents stopped holding his hand and stopped managing most of the business for him. 

But… a child arrested for Illegal Quirk Use, and just that? Nothing else on the rap sheet like assault, vandalism, or even littering? There was something more to this story. A bored cop enjoying the power he had over others? A corrupt official sending a message to the child’s family?

Her mind churned as the train rattled into Yokohama Station. The walk to the listed address stoked her curiosity further, as the surrounding buildings faded into the industrial zone, rather than a family home. Experienced eyes noted the security cameras placed obviously enough to serve as a deterrent from vandals.

When the door opened, a young man of perhaps twenty-five greeted Chitose, and welcomed her inside. The warehouse hadn’t looked too shabby from the outside, but it wasn’t brand-new, and the inside was much the same way, with rays of light stretching down from the upper walls, and a worn concrete floor. The only interesting feature were the square blue tarps located around the room, enclosed by low wooden barriers, like sandboxes in a playground. Inside each one were dozens of small purple balls. Dodgeballs, to be specific.  

The employee showed Chitose to an internal office located in the corner, and then left her there, telling her that “the boss” was inside, waiting.

By this point, Chitose’s curiosity was almost overwhelming. She nearly opened the door right away, but a quick bite to the inside of her cheek kept that urge in check, and she knocked politely and waited for a response.

“Come in,” said a high-pitched voice.

Minoru Mineta sat behind a nice wooden desk, in a chair that looked to have a very high back, but was actually regular sized. He was just that tiny, at six years of age. His hands were folded on top of the desk and he was wearing a nice suit and tie, like he was a normal businessman meeting a journalist... despite the fact that Chitose could see the stack of cushions he was sitting on, peeking out from the side of the chair.

It was adorable, and her heart squished a little… but it was also yet another oddity. She’d expected an immature kid, and here sat a miniature salaryman. The suit even looked tailored, not just an off-the-rack kid’s jacket and pants.

“Ah, you must be from Shueisha,” Mineta said, nodding to her and smiling. “I’d stand for you, to be polite, but if I’m honest it’ll take me another minute to get back into this chair afterwards, so if you don’t mind, I’ll refrain for now.”

Chitose couldn’t help but chuckle at the kid’s honesty about his height.

“Yes, I’m Chitose Kizuki,” she said, smiling as she bowed in polite greeting.

Mineta nodded, and negligently waved a hand at the chair opposing his.

“Please, sit, sit!” he said.

“I must admit to being surprised, Mineta-san,” Chitose started softly, giving him an easy, warm smile, as she set her voice recorder on the desk and pitched him a low-ball. “When they told me that a young man had founded his own business and was making waves, I wasn’t expecting someone quite this young. What inspired you to create your business, if I might ask?”

“No need to be so formal. As for your question... well, one day I was sitting around at home, and I was bored,” Mineta answered, shrugging with a comfortable ease. “You see, my Quirk is quite unusual. You see my hair?”

“Of course, it’s quite distinctive,” she replied.

“Yes, yes. Those balls on my head are solid objects, you see. I can ‘pluck’ them, like grapes, and they stick to whatever they touch.”

“Interesting,” Chitose lied. “You could become an amazing Hero with a Quirk like that. Imagine being able to glue someone in place so easily!”

“Oh, yes,” Mineta said, with the tiniest hint of unease, which was interesting. He’d made a self-depreciative joke about his height in the same way that an adult might have, but a single remark about being a Hero, and he became uneasy. That was unusual. Didn’t most kids want to be Pro Heroes? Self-confidence issues, perhaps?

“Luckily, the balls don’t remain stuck forever,” Mineta resumed, ignoring his little pause. “After several hours, they lose all of their stickiness, and just turn into regular plush balls. Like anyone, I experimented with my Quirk right after I got it, and afterwards, I had a big pile of... well, dodgeballs.”

“So you didn’t decide to make a business out of a love for the game of dodgeball, or anything like that,” Chitose summarized. “You realized that your Quirk made it very easy to make them in the first place.”

“Exactly,” Mineta said, nodding a little. “To be honest, the idea for a business didn’t even cross my mind at first. The dodgeballs at my kindergarten were old, and had some rips and tears, so I asked the teachers if I might supply some out of my own ‘pocket’, so to speak. After we started using them, one of the teachers asked my parents where they bought the new dodgeballs, and my father simply pointed at me. They were very disappointed, because they wanted to buy some more for the local elementary schools to use. They believed that my dodgeballs were superior. That’s what really put the idea in my head, if I’m honest. I owe quite a lot to my teacher, Mrs. Tanaka.”

“Ah, do you mean ‘owe’ as in a financial obligation, or...?” Chitose asked, before wincing in her head. Damn it, this was a six-year old, he wasn’t going to understand that. She’d let her eagerness for a good story get ahead of her, yet again, and now she was dipping back into old habit at the wrong time. This wasn’t a corporate salaryman, no matter how he was dressed, and she didn’t need to keep biting at his heels.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Mineta informed her, shaking his head slightly, as Chitose tried to keep her surprise hidden. “While Mrs. Tanaka was the inspiration for this idea, and I am very grateful to her, that doesn’t mean I owe her any money, or anything like that. We didn’t have a contract, and she offered that advice freely, without asking for any repayment.”

Interesting. A six-year-old who understood the concept of owing a debt to someone for their idea, and understood the implications of that. That was intriguing on its own, but combine that with the kid’s behavior and mannerisms, and Chitose could almost mistake him as an adult... save for the height.

She could work with that. She could sell that.

“That’s fascinating, Mineta,” Chitose praised, making sure not to use the formal ‘-san’, as he had requested; even her generation didn’t like using them, but formality looked good to the old fogeys at the editor’s desk. “Still, that’s just the idea for making the company. What was your motivation to go forward with that idea, to actually do it?”

“Money, of course,” Mineta answered, with a wry smirk. “I like money, and I’d like to have more of it.”

Chitose couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. A polite chuckle was the most she let out, but Mineta nodded in response, still with that wry smirk. Did he pick up that she was more amused? How intelligent was this kid?

“I don’t often get that answer, I must admit,” Chitose said. “It’s somewhat refreshing.”

“Honesty is one of the best things in life,” Mineta replied, leaning back in his comically oversized chair. “Or at least, so my parents tell me.”

“They seem wise,” Chitose complimented. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about them?”

“There’s not too much to tell,” Mineta said with a shrug. “I come from a fairly middle-class family, with a loving mother and father. They were surprised by my desire to go into business, I’ll admit, but they’ve been fully supportive. In fact, the first deliveries were made by my father.”

“I’ve noticed that you’ve got at least one employee here. How much has your business grown, since you started?”

“We started about a year ago, and it was fairly slow at first,” Mineta recounted, looking upwards in thought. “Since our production costs were essentially just my food for the day, the main problem was getting sales. We found that it went much easier if I physically visited. Most of the schools were amused enough by my... precociousness, I believe, that they humored me. After my foot was in the door, everything usually went much easier, particularly once they noticed the price.”

“Yes, I’d imagine that you can sell these at quite a profit, and still undercut your competitors,” Chitose replied. 

“If I wanted, I could sell them for a single yen each,” Mineta said freely. “Of course, that would lower my profit margin, and drive my competitors out of business all the faster. I’m not interested in either of those things.”

“How generous of you,” Chitose said, changing the subject before they got bogged down in boring details, “Now, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to ask about the charity you’ve set up. I understand it is primarily focused on the homeless population, and on homeless children in particular?”

“That’s correct,” Mineta said, his smile fading. “There are many things that children shouldn’t have to face, and homelessness is among the worst. The government does its best, of course, but someone always slips through the cracks.”

“A noble motive,” Chitose replied. “Were you inspired by any personal experience in particular?”

Mineta didn’t respond immediately. His expression was a curious mixture of serious contemplation that looked out of place on such a young face, and the same hesitation that she had seen earlier. Why would he react in such a way to this question? Were the memories awkward? Was he trying to conceal some bad experiences of his own?

“I wouldn’t say that,” Mineta said, finally, “I read about a case of a missing child, abandoned on the street. I wished that I could have met him, and helped him.”

Interesting. His words sounded true, but the hesitation made Chitose doubt this was the full story. There was something being concealed here, something that Mineta didn’t want her to know. What was it? What was the secret? She needed to know the full, juicy details.

“How kind,” Chitose remarked, clamping down on her burning curiosity. The kid was six years old. He didn’t need a journalist tearing into him, searching through all his dirty little secrets and revealing them in a tell-all, show-all extravaganza… no matter how tempting it felt.

Still, he was vulnerable right now. He’d finally shown a little weakness with the question about the charity. Chitose couldn’t resist one last little nibble, just to keep her foot in the door. The boy was so interesting, after all. It wouldn’t hurt to go further. Even if this was just a puff-piece, this portion didn’t have to go in the article.

“Now, I’m afraid I have to ask about something that might be a little awkward,” Chitose said, deliberately leaning back in her chair as she looked at Mineta’s expression. “I’ve heard a rumor that you’ve actually been arrested for Illegal Quirk Use.”

Mineta said nothing, but surprisingly, rather than hardening his expression, a wry smile tugged at his lips, and he tilted his head.

“It’s such a rare thing these days,” Chitose continued, smiling gently back, trying to look reassuring, “With many police officers being lenient on young children, especially on its own. Normally, the crime is tacked on with another charge. I must admit some… curiosity… as to what happened.”

“I wasn’t just arrested,” Mineta said, the wry smile widening, as he met her gaze. “I was convicted for it. I entered a guilty plea.”

“Fascinating,” Chitose murmured, the word slipping out before she could catch herself. No time to retract, that’d look worse. Press forward, she reminded herself. Always press forward. “Why did you do a thing like that?”

“Honesty is one of the best things in life,” Mineta repeated, looking her dead in the eye. “I disagree with that law, and I did not intend to violate it, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to lie about breaking it.”

What did that mean? Chitose leaned forward instinctively, questions dripping from the back of her throat, that familiar ache starting in her chest -

No. No, not now. Not here.

It was getting worse, her curiosity. Her control was slipping. She needed to get out of here.

Her career had to be spotless, and interrogating a child would be an irremovable blemish. For all that he looked like an adorable mixing of a salaryman and a child playing dress-up, Mineta had been sharp, and he could easily cause her issues back in Chiyoda by weaponizing that.

“Thank you for your time, Mineta,” Chitose said, smiling warmly, as she smothered her runaway feelings. “I’m sure that we’ll all be watching your career with great interest. Shueisha may be interested in a follow-up piece in a few months, maybe a year, if that’s acceptable to you? It’s always interesting to see how young entrepreneurs develop and grow. Here’s my card.”

“Of course,” Mineta said. “And thank you, Ms. Kizuki.”

Chitose smiled as she rose from her seat and moved to leave. Before she could step out of the office, however, a thought struck her, and she turned back around.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask,” she apologized. “You mentioned that your charity for the homeless was inspired by the story of a missing child. Is that where the name of the charity came from?”

“Yes,” Mineta said, as a look of… almost sadness came across him. “The Tenko Shimura Foundation. I just wish I could’ve helped the poor bastard.”

That wasn’t just sadness. That was regret. Why was Mineta feeling personal regret for someone he hadn’t even met?

Chitose’s eyes widened, and she pursed her lips, her chest now burning with the need to ask, to know, to learn –

“Thank you, Ms. Kizuki,” Mineta said, cutting her off before she could start. The look of regret was gone, and a look of disapproval was in its place. She recoiled slightly, and her expression tightened and closed off.

She nodded, not trusting her mouth to cooperate, and quietly left the office.

Chapter Text

It was depressingly easy to sneak into the meeting. If Chitose had been doing something genuinely sinister, she might have been pleasantly surprised at this, but since this was her own organization, she despaired about how easy it was. Why, a simple change in hairstyle, more comfortable, homely clothes, and a visit to a Quirk specialist to change her distinctive hair and skin color, and she was unrecognizable!

Granted, this was a low-level meeting, accessible to members and non-members alike, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

“Welcome to the meeting!” the smiling door-greeter told her cheerfully, handing over a small pamphlet, “I’m Honoka.”

Chitose smiled back, quickly memorizing the woman’s face. It was easy enough with Honoka’s tentacle-like hair, but it never hurt to put in the extra effort to appreciate one’s employees, and remembering a name was an easy way to do that.

The meeting room was a well-lit lounge in a public community center in the Toshima Ward, and the décor suited that well. Furniture that looked middle-class, but was actually quite cheap. Bright pastel colored walls, with advertisements for swimming classes and the recreational baseball team. It was a far cry from the dimly lit warehouses full of rats and filth that the media liked to use for illegal organizations on television.

Of course, that was why their organization preferred these places. Normalcy was an effective disguise, especially when cloaked in familiar surroundings. There would be plenty of people at this low-level meeting that weren’t aware of the truth, but who would still react dismissively if told that the community center was a secret recruiting place for such an infamous organization – not the same community center where their children swam, where they played tennis! It couldn’t be so.

There would come a day when such disguises weren’t needed. But as the quote went, ‘the truth must dazzle gradually / or every man be blind.’

Meetings like this, Chitose reflected as she sat in a worn chair and nibbled on some home-baked cookies, were the lifeblood of the Liberation. Not only did they provide the largest source of new recruits, but also a similarly high amount of funding, through donations both legitimate and not. The fully devoted soldiers might be willing to give a higher percentage of their wealth, but they were vastly outnumbered by the lesser-ranking, less-knowledgeable members who donated small amounts to what they thought were charity groups.

Chitose thumbed through the pamphlet she’d been handed, and smiled faintly. “How to Keep Your Child Safe!” was the bold headline, above a cutesy depiction of a crying child with a visible mutation Quirk. The inside of the pamphlet contained tips about knowing your rights, about the difference between legal and illegal public Quirk use. She didn’t need to read the text too closely, since she was already familiar; it may have even crossed her desk for approval, since recruitment was one of her main focuses.

The room filled with ambient chatter as the seats around her filled up with parents, ranging from curious to comfortable. The former were the potential new recruits, and the latter those who’d already attended a few sessions, or perhaps were higher-ranking members – though none were as high up as her.

“Welcome, everyone,” the door-greeter said as she took her own seat. “For those who missed it, my name is Honoka, and I’m the one who organized this little get-together. Please, help yourselves to the cookies and snacks – whatever’s left over will be taken home, and I don’t want my kids to have too many.”

A light ripple of chuckles spread through the crowd, loosening them up. Chitose smiled, playing along. Most of the chuckles were from the already convinced, but there were a couple newcomers that joined in. That was good. It made the uninitiated feel like part of the group.

“As most of you know,” Honoka continued, “I set up this meeting to try to help everyone with a concern that, in my personal opinion, should be on every parent’s mind: your children, and how to keep them safe.”

Honoka looked around as she spoke, pausing her gaze every few seconds to make solid eye contact with a member of the audience.

“I’ve got three young ones myself,” Honoka explained, leaning forward in her chair. “And while I love them dearly, I get worried that when they play in the park, they might get into some trouble. They enjoy showing off their Quirks, like any child would, and sometimes that might go a bit too far. Our children get excited so easily, and it’s easy to cross the line from just harmless playing, into something a bit more serious… and since they’re children, it can be very hard for them to tell when to stop.”

“Do you mean… bullying?” asked a young man accompanied by his wife; both were perhaps in their early twenties.

“Not quite,” Honoka replied, with a regretful tone of voice. “Bullying is a serious concern, but thankfully, there is increasing awareness about it. What I’m talking is when their Quirk use becomes illegal, and can get our children in trouble with the police. A child in Yokohoma, just five years old, was convicted and fined a hundred thousand yen for publicly using his Quirk without a license. It was reported in Shueisha just a few months ago.”

The crowd let out gasps and grumbles of disapproval, and Chitose didn’t conceal her own surprise. Honoka must be referring to young Mineta, and Chitose’s own article… but Chitose hadn’t written how large the fine was; hadn’t even bothered to look it up. It would have harmed the gentle human-interest puff-piece, made it too obviously critical of the government.

“According to the law, the young child should have been aware that it was illegal to use his Quirk in public. His parents should have told him,” Honoka said, shaking her head. “But how many times have we told our children not to do something, and they forget it, or ignore it? It’s not the child’s fault that he didn’t know an obscure law… and it’s not the parent’s fault for not teaching the child properly.”

Chitose spotted a few frowns slipping onto people’s faces, as Honoka continued with her speech. This was where the meeting was dipping a toe into dangerous waters. Conformity was still prized so highly in Japan, even with the conformity-shattering idols like All Might or other professional Heroes. To speak so firmly against that conformity was risky, but necessary. When recruiting radicals and reformers, but not rule-followers, it was important to identify potential allies and potential enemies.

“The nail that sticks out gets hammered down,” one of the frowning women argued, quoting the old proverb. “The law must be strictly held, or else it is no law.”

“Yes, it must,” Honoka agreed, with a sad tone of voice. “But what if your child was that nail? Would that be acceptable?”

The woman paused; her face stuck in a conflicted expression. If she continued to argue, she would hold to her point, but admit that she cared more for the law than for her own child – a tough situation for any parent, much less in a ‘friendly gathering’ full of parents and families. If she changed her mind, she would be inconsistent and hypocritical. A losing proposition, and one which forced the woman to make the only smart move: to stop arguing, and concede.

“Children make mistakes,” Honoka pressed on, still looking the demure ideal of perfection with a plate of home-made cookies sitting on her neatly pressed skirt. “That’s why they have parents. Our job is to take care of them…”

She trailed off. Several of the frowners had replaced their scowls with thoughtful expressions as the silence hung in the air for a long few moments. It would be too easy to move quickly here, and say something like ‘even against the Government’, but such words would be too far for a first meeting, and would result in resistance and push-back.

“With that in mind, you should read this pamphlet,” Honoka continued, as she held up her copy. “Most of the law is common sense, but there’s always a trick or a twist that makes things complicated, and this pamphlet explains them. It also lists several help lines and charitable groups dedicated to helping children with difficult Quirks.”

With a practiced smile, Honoka looked around the room, making eye contact once more with the newcomers. She was warm and personable, but not too much so. Overt displays of charisma could wow and impress, but feelings of awe could be shaken, and seldom inspired the kind of close, familial loyalty that the Liberation needed. Definitely an expert operator, Chitose noted. A very good choice in recruiter.

“I’m sorry,” Honoka said, giggling. “I’ve gone on for a little too long. This meeting wasn’t meant to be a lecture, just a general get-together for the community, and to make sure everyone had a chance to talk to someone if they have questions. Please, feel free to mingle. And of course, try some snacks.”

Chitose smiled as she entered the Meeting Room, nodding to the fellow soldiers guarding the door. The small community center she had just left could not have been further from the grandeur of this place. Instead of worn furnishings, bright pastels, drywall, and low couches, she sat gratefully in a plush, high-backed chair at a polished boardroom table. Even the artwork was superior: a masterful portrait of the great Founder, Destro himself.

She had shed her disguise; her homey clothes had been discarded for a classy dress, and her lustrous blue skin had returned to its splendor. No longer was she hidden as a homemaker. Here, she was in her rightful form: a loyal lieutenant to the coming glory and a Leader in the Meta Liberation Army.

“Curiosity, a pleasure as always,” came the smooth voice of Re-Destro, as he entered a few minutes after her. “How’d it go in Toshima?”

He was still clad in the bespoke suit that concealed him as Rikiya Yotsubashi, President and CEO of Detnerat Corporation, yet as Chitose watched, his gait changed, his shoulders tensed, and his relaxed, warm features shifted into the intense, focused concentration of the Grand Commander.

“I think it went well,” Chitose said, saluting. “The new girl did a great job. Warm, friendly, welcoming. She even shut down a potential problem with… dare I say it? Poise?”

“Aplomb?” Re-Destro suggested, taking his seat at the head of the table, directly across from the portrait of his father.

“Yes, aplomb,” Chitose agreed. “She blended in perfectly with the housewives and stay-at-home dads. You’d never think that she was anything but a demure, subservient mother, concerned for her children.”

“Excellent,” Re-Destro said approvingly. “I was worried that we might have to take drastic action to keep anyone from suspecting, after the last recruiter’s failure. She’s not too soft of a touch, is she?”

“She’s soft,” Chitose admitted. “But I think that’s a benefit, in this case. Even just a slight sign of independence might attract unwanted attention. Better to lay low for a while, at least in Toshima. It’s not like that was a large pipeline anyway, but a reduction in numbers won’t hurt us. Secrecy is far more important.”

“And her loyalty to the cause?” Re-Destro asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Beyond question,” Chitose said. “She was raised in Delka City. Her entire family are followers. Of her three children, two are already in warrior training, the third will likely follow when he’s of age. Her husband serves under Trumpet’s division, I believe as an aide in the Diet.”

“Good. Good!” Re-Destro said, his tension visibly sliding away as a warm smile slipped out, and he leaned back in his chair. “I was worried that we might have gone too far. The Army is growing, but we’re not yet ready for open action.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chitose replied. “From what my division reports, the Hero Commission and the Police have no idea, and I want to keep it that way. We can afford the time, but not the exposure.”

Re-Destro looked at her with a fond respect, and Chitose felt a warmth build in her chest.

This was what she’d been made for. This was her purpose. The only thing better than knowing your purpose in life was to do it well, and she was one of the best. Not just in the Meta Liberation Army, but perhaps in all of Japan. The editor’s desk was just a few inches from her grasp, and the editor-in-chief’s desk just a few more years down the line. In perhaps eight or nine years, she’d be Executive Director, running the entirety of Shueisha’s News division.

She knew it would happen. Re-Destro had told her so. He knew her worth, and praised her often for it; he appreciated her, where few others did.

“In the interest of wrapping up, can you think of anything else?” Re-Destro asked her. “I need to get home fairly soon.”

Chitose thought for a few moments, and then remembered.

“Yes, two things,” Chitose said. “The old recruiter, what happened to her? Do we need to handle her still, or is that taken care of?”

“I had to dispose of her,” Re-Destro said, waving a hand as if to dismiss the concern, though his shoulders hunched, and he let out a sigh.

“Not re-educated?” Chitose asked, surprised.

“Her failure was too great,” Re-Destro said sadly, as the tiniest shimmer appeared in the corner of his eyes. “I wish we could have redeemed her, but her actions nearly exposed us all. We couldn’t risk a loose end triggering a larger investigation. It needed to be done, for the Liberation.”

“For the Liberation,” Chitose repeated, nodding.

She watched a trickle of tears roll down Re-Destro’s face, as he bent his head in clear sorrow. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was over-acting… but Re-Destro believed too strongly, too purely, to hide his true feelings. It was one of the reasons why he was the best choice for Grand Commander. He cared so much for their people. He believed so strongly in the cause. He lived the cause. He was the cause.

“Cheer up, boss,” she told him. “You’ll appreciate my next headline.”

“Oh?” Re-Destro replied, looking up, the glimmer of tears still dripping down his cheeks.

“I found a wonderful young man in Yokohama; someone I believe would be perfect for our cause. He’s a child still, but he runs a business that looks to be on the rise, and I think he shares our beliefs. He’s already seen the dark side of the laws, and been criminally charged for simply using his own Meta Ability, despite his young age.”

“Who is this child?” Re-Destro asked, leaning forward as Chitose smiled. “Tell me about him.”

“His name is Minoru Mineta…”

Chapter Text

The Yokohama café was a quiet place. Chitose couldn’t help but compare it to other cafes in her home of Chiyoda, and it fell short in every aspect. Inevitable, considering the nearby, infamous Akihabara Station. Still, it wouldn’t pay to be rude to her host on his homeground, so Chitose didn’t mention it.

She arrived twenty minutes early, because it was important to set a standard of behavior, especially with younger people. Arriving early and visibly waiting for their arrival would commonly make them feel shame, as if they were late, and establish a social dominance.

Mineta looked up from his seat as she opened the ringing café door, and Chitose cursed in her head. He’s a kid, she reminded herself. He isn’t thinking about that kind of thing. She could still get the initiative here.

“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Kizuki,” the boy greeted her. “I hope the journey down wasn’t too unpleasant?”

“Not at all,” Chitose replied, as she took her seat. “The train ride was pleasant, even if I didn’t get any work done during it.”

Mineta nodded sympathetically, which surprised her a little. Then again, he wouldn’t exactly be able to handle his business during regular hours, would he? Not with his education taking up that time. Perhaps he did understand the annoyance.

“I’d apologize for the inconvenience,” Mineta said, smirking slightly, “but you’re the one who asked for this meeting, so I can’t rightly take the blame for that.”

Chitose chuckled a little, as if conceding the point. She revised her assessment of the boy upwards for the third time in a minute. There weren’t many children capable of making a riposte like that, and fewer still who would say it so casually.

The waiter stopped by, and she gratefully took the opportunity to order a simple coffee and organize her thoughts, while Mineta sipped on a mug of some orange drink that she didn’t recognize.

“How are things with you, Ms. Kizuki?” Mineta asked, as the waiter refilled his mug.

“Couldn’t be better,” Chitose said, nodding to him. “You were happy with the article, yes?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Mineta said. “I’m not going to say that there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but when your conduct is good, then so is your publicity. Mineta Corp. has nearly doubled in size since your article. Another ten contracts, all throughout Yokohama. By next year, perhaps we’ll be in Tokyo.”

“Impressive for such a young company,” she said, smiling a bit, “and in just a few months.”

“And for such a young kid,” Mineta said, prompting a chuckle from Chitose. “I suppose you didn’t want to say that openly, of course.”

“No, not quite,” Chitose said, shaking her head. “But… well, I was thinking it.”

“I’m seven years old,” Mineta said with a wide grin, “Everyone’s thinking it, they just try to pretend otherwise! Please, Ms. Kizuki, you don’t need to be that polite with me.”

Chitose resisted the urge to giggle, but as Mineta gave her a cheeky wink, a couple quick snickers slipped out.

“You’re not a normal child, are you?” Chitose asked.

“How many ‘normal’ children start businesses at age five?” Mineta countered, still smiling. “No, I don’t think I’m ‘normal’… but then, how many children really are normal?”

“More normal than you, perhaps,” Chitose said.

“That’s fair,” Mineta said. “But, please, enough about me. My head’s already big enough. How’ve you been? How’s Shueisha treating you?”

“If your head got bigger, wouldn’t that make your Quirk more productive?” Chitose wondered aloud, as Mineta blushed. “It’d be better for your business, certainly.”

“Stop, please,” Mineta asked, his face flushing with a bright red that clashed with the purple of his hair.

“Really, it’s to be expected. Aren’t all businessmen supposed to be egotistical? I suppose that’d be a good synergy; what if your Quirk was directly powered by how big your head was!”

“Ms. Kizuki!” Mineta pleaded, with scarlet in his cheeks.

“Only if you call me Chitose,” she said, gazing down at Mineta with a look of imperious hauteur.

“Chi-to-se!” Mineta whined, with a faux-complaining tone to his voice.

She laughed freely, dropping the haughty act, as Mineta good-naturedly grumbled to himself.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, kid,” Chitose said, with a smirk of her own.

“Okay, okay!” Mineta replied. “Seriously, though, how’ve you been? You didn’t just call me up to tease me, did you?”

“And what if I did?” Chitose asked.

“Well, I would’ve prepared better!” Mineta said, with a clearly faked look of protest.

There was a polite cough, and she looked up to see the waiter dropping off her coffee, and Mineta’s drink – along with a couple pastries that Chitose was sure she hadn’t ordered. She sent a questioning glance at Mineta, and he gave her a simple wave, as he picked up one of the pastries.

“Help yourself,” Mineta said, “and don’t keep me in suspense about your well-being any longer, please.”

“Why are you so interested in my well-being?” Chitose asked, unwilling to suppress the question as it bubbled to her lips unbidden.

“Is it so strange that I’d be interested in a friendship with a good reporter?” Mineta replied, quirking an eyebrow up. “It never hurts to keep the press happy with you.”

“Lonely, are we?” Chitose mused. “Not many adult friends?”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” Mineta confirmed, flapping his offhand like a gossiping highschool girl. “Business deals are just that; pure business, nothing more. My parents are wonderful, but talking with the same two people does get old eventually. And I can’t talk too much with my employees, both because I’d be keeping them from their work, and because it’s hard enough to keep them taking me seriously.”

“Interesting,” Chitose said, leaning back in her comfortable chair. “Not many children would value adult friendships so much.”

“I believe it’s good to have strong relationships with all kinds of people,” Mineta said, nodding. “You never learn anything new, otherwise. If the price of that is a few thousand yen for some coffee and pastries, then that’s nothing compared to the value of a good friend.”

“I’m quite surprised that you’d say such things,” Chitose said. “It’s an uncommonly mature attitude, and I wouldn’t expect a stranger to rate so highly in your estimation.”

“Why so? It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, since you were the one to invite me out for coffee,” Mineta said pointedly. “Isn’t a bit of… curiosity simply the natural response to such a thing?”

Curiosity. How he seemed to say her favorite word with such emphasis… but the boy couldn’t possibly know that ‘Curiosity’ was her codename.

“Well, I can’t really disagree,” Chitose said, with a wry smile. “You could say ‘curiosity’ is my middle name.”

“Fitting, for a reporter.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Some of the things you said during that interview caught my attention. Specifically, about the Quirk Use laws. You could say that those laws are a subject of interest for me.”

“I’m not really sure what more there is to say,” Mineta said, shrugging. “I disagree with that law, I disagree with the idea behind it, and I wasn’t happy that it applied to me – but in fairness, I did break that law. The police officer and the judge were both apologetic, but firm that the law needed to be upheld. I agree with them, I just don’t agree that public Quirk use should be illegal.”

“Still, why enter the guilty plea?” Chitose asked, leaning forward a little. “It seems very unwise, especially at your age. It’s on your record now, and even with being charged as a child, it could be used against you in the future.”

“You just want to know if I made a plea deal, don’t you?” Mineta replied.

“Of course,” Chitose said, smiling shamelessly. “I was hoping that you didn’t just plead guilty at the first sign of trouble.”

“Oh?” Mineta hummed. “For a kid you’d only met once?”

“I’d hope that for anyone,” Chitose said firmly. “The justice system in our country is fairly well designed, but I’ll be the first to say it has flaws.”

“Well, to answer your question, I did make a deal,” Mineta answered, folding his hands on the café table. “All I got was a minor fine, easily payable from my own salary, as well as the understanding that it was an accidental use of my Quirk, not an intentional one.”

“You’d be surprised how little that distinction matters, if it gets brought up in a future case,” Chitose murmured, her gaze sharpening as she remembered Honoka’s claim; a hundred thousand yen was no ‘minor’ fine. “Be careful about that. You’ve got a record now, even if they say it goes away when you turn eighteen.”

“If something does happen, I’ll just have to rely on the usual defense,” Mineta mused.

“Pointing out that you were just six years old?” Chitose asked. “Arguing that it’s unfair to blame children for violating an unknown law?”

“Really expensive lawyers.”

Chitose snorted, covering her mouth with a hand as she set her coffee back down.

Yumi Sunada looked around, checking the floor yet again. She spotted two of the waitresses taking a breather in the kitchen and frowned, but decided to let it go. The lunch rush was over now, and it was always hard on the younger girls.

It hadn’t been long since she was one of those younger girls, of course. Now she ran the busiest shift, and was rewarded well for it.

“Welcome to the Gundam Café!” the door greeters cheered, as the doors slid open once more.

She glanced over, and saw one of their regulars, Chitose Kizuki, entering. The journalist had been coming to the Gundam Café for years, almost certainly because it wasn’t as eccentric as some of the other cafes in Akihabara. It certainly wasn’t because she was a Gundam fan.

“I’ll take this one, girls,” Yumi said, striding over. It wasn’t technically in her job description to play the hostess role, but it never hurt to give a little extra service to keep the regulars coming.

“Yumi, good to see you again,” Chitose said with a smile, nodding her head. “Is my table open?”  

“Of course, Ms. Kizuki,” Yumi replied, nodding lightly in return. “I just saw the announcement; congratulations on your promotion to editor.”

Chitose bashfully ducked her head a little, hiding her face behind her long purple hair. Still, Yumi could see the quick flash of a smile beneath Chitose’s impromptu veil.

“Follow me, please,” Yumi said, leading the way through the sterile-white tables and space-black décor with the ease of long familiarity.

“What is today’s quote?” Chitose asked, as she took her seat against the wall, looking out over the whole café.

“There is nothing more valuable than life in this universe,” Yumi quoted, smiling at their usual game. “Sandrock has taught me that.”

“Gundam… Seed,” Chitose guessed.

“I’m sorry, that’s wrong,” Yumi answered, shaking her head. She stood by the tableside, waiting for Chitose to ask which series the quote actually came from.

“I’m waiting on a guest to join me,” Chitose told her instead. “Could I get my usual, as well as a child’s size order of katsudon with a model, and a hot apple cider?”

“Of course,” Yumi said, bowing slightly. “I’ll keep your guest’s food in the kitchen until they arrive, so it doesn’t grow cold. Which model would you like?”

“Sandrock, if you have a model of it. Thank you. Oh, excuse me,” Chitose said, frowning as she pulled out her buzzing cellphone and started texting.

Taking the cue, Yumi left the newly-promoted woman alone, and went to place the order.

It was nice to have a single table to look after, compared to a section of three or four tables. Even with the stress of running the whole shift being more work in total, it was a refreshing familiarity to worry about just the customer and their needs. Perhaps that was why she’d taken so strongly to Chitose, and her regular lunches.

Still, there were benefits and drawbacks to her own promotion, months back. Not having to deal with customers directly was nice. The tradeoff was wearing a shift manager’s uniform: a tight blue bodysuit that resembled a stylized pilot’s suit. She’d rather wear the waitress uniform: a loose pink jacket, white shorts, and thigh-high socks made to look like a mix between a formal uniform and a schoolgirl outfit. While similarly designed for looks over function, at least it wouldn’t be skin-tight.

The door greeters chorused out another happy welcome, and Yumi watched as Chitose looked up to glance at the newcomer, before looking away. Clearly not her expected guest, then.

A few minutes passed like that, with Yumi checking Chitose’s reaction to each newcomer. It wasn’t spying or anything like that, Yumi told herself, but just good service. Every guest was escorted to a table by a server, and it would be embarrassing to the Gundam Café’s reputation for a guest to be re-seated. Similarly, it would demonstrate professional service if they did not even need to ask the guest’s name. Small touches like that were the hallmark of an elite café, separating the best of Akihabara from the average cafés of the world.

At a quarter to two, Chitose finally smiled at a guest in clear recognition, and Yumi swiftly moved into action. The awaited guest was a short man, no taller than a child, but he wore a nice suit and carried himself like an adult, so that was how the staff would treat him. In the age of Quirks, it wouldn’t be the oddest thing for someone to be so short. It was easily preferable to treat a child like an adult, instead of treating an adult like a child; less risk of offending a customer.

“Please, this way sir,” Yumi said as she bowed to the man, who nodded back solemnly, and followed her.

“Good to see you again, Minoru,” Chitose said warmly as they approached the corner table, setting her cellphone down. “Thank you, Yumi.”

“Of course, Ms. Kizuki,” Yumi said, bowing once more. She paused for a moment, spotting a flicker of motion near the kitchen. It seemed the timing was fortunate, for their orders had just arrived. “Your food shall be here momentarily.”

“Thank you,” the man said, his high voice surprising Yumi.

Perhaps he really was a child, she mused as she picked up their food, balancing dishes with the ease of long experience. Chitose’s usual was an American-style steak sandwich, grilled to perfection, whereas the child-size order of katsudon was as Japanese as Mt. Fuji itself. Combined with the Gunpla model of Sandrock and their drinks, it totaled only five items, and was scarcely any effort to carry.

“Your food, honored guests,” Yumi said, neatly sliding into their conversation as she set the dishes down carefully. The young man, apparently named Minoru Mineta, looked up from something he’d been eagerly discussing with Chitose, and his eyes latched on swiftly to the Gunpla model.

“Quatre!” Mineta said, a delighted smile spreading across his childish features. “Chitose, you shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“Actually, it’s Gundam Sandrock,” Chitose corrected Mineta, with a slight smile of her own.

Yumi couldn’t help but giggle at that, and Chitose’s eyes flicked to her with a sudden snap.

“I know,” Mineta said, before Chitose could ask Yumi what she was giggling at. “Gundam Sandrock, piloted by Quatre! My favorite pilot.”

The boy’s eyes were locked onto the Gunpla, but Yumi’s were not, allowing her to easily see the widening of Chitose’s eyes and her light smile turn down into a frown. Her gaze dropped to the child-size portion of katsudon, then up to Mineta, still admiring the Gunpla model, and the frown deepened.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Yumi told the boy, bowing lightly as she stepped back.

“Thank you very much, miss,” Mineta said, looking up from the model – before bowing to her.

Yumi smiled hesitantly, a bit surprised, and quietly slipped away from the table as Chitose resumed her conversation with Mineta, her frown vanishing before the boy could notice. She didn’t give much thought to what she’d seen. Chitose was a regular, but it wasn’t Yumi’s job to stick her nose into the business of customers.

There was always more food to serve, more guests to greet, and more waitresses to mentor and help, as a good senpai should. She walked another pass around the café, smiling as she met the glances of customers, and made sure everyone was happy and satisfied.

After that, she checked with the kitchens. One of the sous chefs was about to take a break, and she waved her hand to approve it. Almost everyone in the café had their food, and they didn’t have enough open tables to suddenly require the full roster. Slight luxuries like this went a long way towards earning and keeping the loyalty of the employees.

Ten minutes after she’d left them, Yumi glanced over at Chitose Kizuki’s stable for another check, and noticed that the boy, Mineta, was sitting there alone. Chitose’s sandwich was half-eaten, so she must have stepped out for a phone-call – probably another well-wisher offering congratulations on the promotion.

Yumi walked over to the corner table with a refill for Mineta’s apple cider. Perhaps it was a bit early, but children – no matter how mature they seemed – were best not left alone and unattended. As Chitose was out, that left her to be a good host.

Mineta glanced up and smiled at her as she approached. He seemed to be a warm, friendly sort of person; even moving his mug to make it easier for her to fill it up. She couldn’t help but observe him as she did – anyone that got so much attention from Chitose was bound to be exceptional in some way… yet he merely seemed to be an ordinary, if friendly, child.

It even seemed that Mineta was, indeed, a child. He didn’t so much as blink at her skin-tight attire, nor did he look at the way she bent at the waist to refill his mug, sticking her butt out a bit as was the usual, attention-grabbing method in almost all Akihabara Cafés. He didn’t instinctively look, then deliberately look away, as most men did – Mineta simply didn’t notice.

“Is this your first time in our café?” Yumi asked, smiling down at the boy – idly noticing as well that he seemed to prefer a fork over the usual chopsticks.

“My first time in Akihabara,” Mineta replied, setting his fork down. “It lives up to the reputation.”

“It is a wonderful little place,” Yumi nodded. “And, if I may be so bold, I think you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh?” Mineta replied, with a bemused expression. “Why do you say that?”

“The way you identified Katoru, pilot of Sandrock,” she answered. “Not many would know the English name for him, nor use it so quickly. Is Gundam Wing a favorite of yours?”

“My first series,” Mineta told her, with an easy grin. “You always remember your first series, I think. There’s something… magical about it. The first glimpse of a whole new world.”

“In the distant fu-ture,” Yumi recited from memory, her English shaky. “Man-kind has reached the stars-”

“But the galaxy is troubled,” Mineta cut in, seamlessly joining her, as his grin widened. “The Earth Sphere Alliance rules the outlying Colonies with an iron fist.”

Yumi grinned back at him – and then covered her mouth in surprise as the boy continued, his accent changing to mimic another’s.

“I’m sure God would understand the steps we’re taking,” Mineta reassured her in an aristocratic drawl, before switching to a more determined, clipped intonation. “Isn’t it about time you people realized – the ones posing the most threat are none other than yourselves?!”

She couldn’t suppress her giggles, as Mineta kept reciting the infamous English commercial for Gundam Wing, making dramatic little gestures with his hands that mimicked that commercial – a choking hand, a gun pointed execution-style, sweeping moves as if piloting a Gundam himself.

He didn’t quite recite every single line that Yumi remembered from the commercial, but he bounced from accent to accent with amazing English skill. He must be fluent, if not fully bi-lingual! It would have been a perfect recitation, if not for the high pitch of his child’s voice turning the gravelly tones of Peter Cullen a bit squeaky – but even that imperfection just made his antics even more adorable.

“Amazing!” Yumi said breathlessly, grinning widely as Mineta finished. “The whole thing! You honor us, Mineta-san. Thank you!”

“It was nothing, Yumi,” Mineta said, waving the compliment off with a hand, a huge smile on his own face. “It was my pleasure. And please, just call me Minoru.”

Yumi stared for a moment, her own goofy grin lingering. They were lucky that they hadn’t drawn too much attention – spontaneous Gundam quotes were to be expected at the Gundam Café, after all – but Mineta had been so enthusiastic that she hadn’t made sure that they didn’t disturb any of the other customers.

She looked around, but other than one or two watching with smiles of their own, most of the customers either hadn’t heard, or were pretending that they hadn’t.

But then she spotted Chitose, standing in the middle of the floor, staring at them both, clearly having returned from her phone call and caught them halfway through Mineta’s speech. In that moment, Yumi didn’t see a trace of the usual smiling, polite journalist – only the thirsty, astonished stare of a dehydrated man in the desert, staring at a pool of water. She shivered, and in a flash, Chitose’s expression shifted back, and she sent a concerned look in Yumi’s direction.

“I’m sorry Minoru,” Yumi apologized, turning back to Mineta, who hadn’t noticed. “I’ve spent too long here; I must get back to my duties. Thank you, again, for that wonderful rendition. If you need anything-”

“No, thank you,” Mineta interrupted, smiling up at her earnestly. “I rarely get a chance to have so much fun at a café.”

He was too precious. Too adorable.

Yumi bowed to him, far deeper than she normally did, and then hurried away. She knew Chitose was a good reporter, hunting for stories personally, rather than just riding a desk… but she hadn’t expected such an expression. That expression of surprise, yes, but also of hunger.

She pushed the thoughts aside, and quickly focused on her duties. It wasn’t her place to judge Chitose for how she did her job. If she got enjoyment out of seeing such things, there was nothing wrong with that. Her thoughts were soon buried under more work.

A few minutes later, she returned to her post near the kitchen door. As soon as she got there, she heard her name, and swiftly turned to look, but it was not a customer calling for her attention. It was Chitose and Minoru Mineta, and neither were in need to help.

No, Yumi realized. They were talking about her. Had she done something wrong?

“…such quick friends with her,” Chitose was saying, her voice just audible from this distance.

“Shouldn’t be too surprising,” Mineta replied, shrugging. “A Gundam fan, making friends with another Gundam fan, in the Gundam Café? What a shock!”

“It’s good of you to be so polite,” Chitose said, a barely noticeable tinge to her voice – but Yumi was accustomed to such dismissive implications. It was good to be polite to the help; but nothing more.

“Oh, I enjoyed it,” Mineta said, shooting down Chitose’s veiled comment, as if he’d not even noticed it. “I’ve not had the chance to gush about my favorite series in a while, and she seems to have enjoyed it as well.”

Yumi watched as Chitose’s expression shifted. Her confusion would have been hidden to someone who hadn’t had much experience with Quirks that gave such exotic skin colors, but Yumi had seen all sorts in Akihabara, and had known Chitose for five years now.

“Well, why don’t you tell me more about it?” Chitose asked, leaning forward and perching her chin on her hand.

As Yumi watched, Mineta proceeded to throw himself animatedly into an explanation of Gundam Wing. She couldn’t help but stare, recalling her many attempts to interest Chitose in the franchise. Chitose had been a regular for five years, yet one visit from Minoru Mineta, and Chitose suddenly cared?

The realization hit her suddenly: Chitose’s interest was not in Gundam. It was in Minoru himself, and how he’d made such quick friends with her. Chitose’s stare when she returned from her phone call was not directed wholly at Minoru – it was directed at her, as well. Yumi had been smiling, giggling, and treating Minoru differently.

Chitose must be wondering why that was. She recognized that expression now, from visits long past, like a lunch meeting three years back, with Rikiya Yotsubashi, the CEO of Detnerat. It was the same expression that Chitose wore whenever she was intensely, deeply curious about something.

Chapter Text

The Echo Agency was always busy, Temura often thought with a sort of guilty pleasure.

For any Pro Hero, having a busy agency was a blessing. It meant more funding for their hard work, it meant more popularity for their sponsors, and it meant more chances to do good.

But on the other hand, it also meant that more crime was happening, and that more Pro Heroes were needed in the first place. No law enforcement officer should be happy for higher crime rates, yet despite the base pay for patrols, many Heroes chased the more lucrative arrests, and were eager for such crimes.

It was a delicate industry in many ways, akin to an ecosystem. More Pro Heroes meant less criminals, but less criminals meant less money for the Pro Heroes. There were entire schools of thought dedicated to the dilemma, studying the effects and comparing them to historical things like speeding ticket quotas in America, or conviction rate requirements for prosecutors.

It was a big problem for any Hero, as any new independent learned after starting their own agency. Young Heroes often enjoyed the low overhead costs, but it also meant they often cycled between a feast of captures or a famine of boring patrols… which meant that being busy was inevitably necessary for survival. Even as they grew in popularity, experience, and wealth, and took on their own sidekicks, they’d always be fighting the constant battle for a balanced budget.

Unless you had some big-name patron, like Hawks did with the Hero Commission and the Government essentially subsidizing him.

Unless you were one of the Top Fifty, or better yet, the Top Ten, and sponsors would pay buckets of cash to have your name, your face, or your logo on their merchandise.

Unless you were Temura Takao, and you could cheat.

The front door to his agency opened, and his first body looked up, smiling as a young messenger came in. One floor up, his second body set a completed incident report aside, and stretched his back wearily, smiling as an employee chuckled. On the third floor, in the dojo, his third body paused, setting his collapsible baton aside, while his fourth body smiled at the eagerness in a young sidekick and corrected her form. His fifth body ran a quick off-duty, unpaid patrol around the block, to show the flag. In the ready room, his sixth body explained procedure to four more of his sidekicks, who were taking notes.

Three conversations, two sparring matches, and seven simultaneous streams of thought swirled inside the head of Temura Takao, more commonly known as Echo, the Cloning Hero.

Temura enjoyed taking a personal interest in things, and with his Quirk, he could keep an eye on every room in his agency. With up to ten separate bodies at a time, ‘The Boss’ was always just a few feet away. No difficult choices about dividing his time up. He could train his sidekicks, or work on the financials, or file reports, or check his emails, or listen to the police scanner…

…or do his duties for the Liberation. This recent email, for example.

Temura,

Congratulations! I was pleased to hear of your recent rise to #85 on the Pro Hero Charts. Have you set aside some time for a celebration? It’s important to give your employees a reward for their good work, and no better time than after such a big win.

If you have the spare time, I would love for you to meet a young prospective Hero that I am proud to know. His name is Minoru Mineta, and he’s aiming to attend U.A.’s Hero Course next year, if he can pass the entrance examinations. While I have no doubt that he’ll do so, it never hurts to get some advice from an experienced Pro Hero, particularly since Minoru comes from a civilian family.

Minoru recently returned from a year studying abroad in Canada to polish his English, so he may be a little jet lagged for the next few days. I’ve attached his contact information. He’s a bright young man who will rise far, but please, try not to bury him in too many little details, particularly since he’ll be overloaded in the near future.

Love,

Chitose

Temura leaned back in his private office, frowning as he re-read the email. He’d heard tidbits about Chitose’s new protégé over the years, primarily from Chitose herself, but he’d thought the boy was focused on business, not on Professional Heroism.

An introduction to a prospective U.A. student wouldn’t be too much work, and neither would the advice, but this was no regular student. Chitose’s email, like all of her work, contained little hints of her true intentions. Finishing with ‘Love’, when they were barely friends, was a clue that the entire email was about the Liberation.

‘A bright young man who will rise far’ meant the boy was Command material, not just another secret supporter of the cause – but ‘from a civilian family’ and ‘overloaded in the near future’ meant that he wasn’t even aware of that yet, and Chitose would soon induct him. Temura’s job was to help the boy get into U.A., but failure was allowed, according to ‘if he can pass’.

As an afterthought, Temura glanced at the line saying it was ‘important to give your employees a reward for their good work’. If he succeeded in getting the boy into U.A., he’d be promoted, given even more authority over other Warriors.

Closing the email, Temura clicked his recording program, and started dictating notes.

Minoru Mineta wasn’t much to look at, Temura mused, as the boy entered his agency a week later. He was incredibly short, almost mistakable for a child, rather than a teenager about to enter U.A. He was wearing a suit, of all things, but carried a gym bag with him. Was he expecting a business meeting, or a workout? Why either of those things, instead of comfortable or fashionable clothes like most other teenagers would wear?

“I’m here to meet with Echo,” the boy said, nodding politely to Chie, his secretary, who was peering over her desk curiously at him. “I’m Minoru Mineta.”

“Of course, sir,” Chie replied, smiling back. “I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

Mineta smiled back, and took a seat in one of the lobby’s chairs. A moment later, the phone rang in Temura’s office.

“Echo here,” he answered, his eyes still watching Mineta over the security cameras.

“Sir, Minoru Mineta is here for your 10 o’clock,” Chie informed him calmly.

“I’ll be with him shortly,” Temura told her, hanging up, and watching as Chie relayed that information to the waiting boy.

He spun up his Quirk and a clone popped into existence beside him. His head clenched for a moment – a distinctly alien feeling that he’d grown accustomed to – and then the feeling passed, as another set of eyes, ears, feelings, and thoughts joined the chorus in his head.

Temura’s new body slipped out of the office quietly, closing the door behind himself, while the other body started clearing files from his desk and cleaning up. It was good to present a clean, professional image when meeting a new client – especially if the boy would become a Commander one day. Some formality would be appropriate, perhaps, since the boy had shown up in a business suit.

Another new Echo-body rose from his desk, leaving a half-done report, and went to fetch a cushion for the boy to sit on. The flicker of headache was a small price, for just like in the military, it paid to keep your superior officers happy with you; even if they weren’t your superiors yet.

“Mineta-san?” Temura’s second body said, as he entered the lobby. “I am Echo.”

“Minoru Mineta,” the boy said unnecessarily, with a smile and an extended hand as he stood and stepped forward. “It’s good to meet you, Echo.”

Temura met the boy halfway, and shook hands. The boy’s handshake was firm; not too wimpy, like a child who didn’t care, or too strong, like a child trying to prove that he was a man. Mineta looked him in the eyes, and nodded. He was much more self-assured than most of the teenagers that Echo knew; he’d sat patiently, and now stood comfortably, without fidgeting or looking around.

“This way,” Temura said, leading the boy towards the elevator. “I thought I’d show you around a little, before we talk in my office.”

“Whatever you think best,” Mineta replied, following alongside with short, quick strides.

The tour through the agency was something he did for all interns or new sidekicks, but it served a vital purpose all the same – Temura liked to watch someone’s reaction to each room, see how they reacted. Worst case, he saw no reaction at all, and learned that the person was on guard… but Temura always learned something.

The boy was no exception; he smiled fondly when Temura showed him the dojo, and listened attentively to the sidekicks who greeted him in the ready room. Both of these were good signs to Temura.

No Pro Hero could be effective without the ability to handle a criminal, and that meant time in the dojo. It wasn’t required for a young student, but it was good that Mineta had experience before entering U.A., as many of his competitors would have spent years training in dojos.

Similarly, the boy treated the sidekicks as full Heroes, respectfully, rather than ignore or dismiss them. Some students thought they were destined for the Top Ten, and that sidekicks were just failures who weren’t good enough to start their own agency; such students were often disappointed, and were limited to living as the sidekicks they once scorned.

Good signs, particularly with the boy’s likely career path, Temura mused as he led Mineta into his personal office.

He didn’t know any of the Commanders save for Chitose, but if Mineta truly did become a Commander, then Temura would gladly follow him. Someone who followed the cause because it helped people. He could see those things in the small details, already – simple things, like politely waiting for his turn to speak, or holding a door, or thanking the sidekicks for their service. The everyday actions that showed true feelings, rather than the grand gestures of heroism when people were watching.

Temura’s first body stood, and opened the door for them. Mineta blinked, his hand extended for the doorknob.

“Oh, thank you,” Mineta said, a slight hesitation his only reaction to the clone. “That must be useful.”

“Indeed,” both of Temura’s bodies said together, smiling in unison. The first body stood aside as Mineta entered, then touched his second body, and they merged back together with a soft pop of sound. The brief flash of vertigo and double vision dissipated after a couple quick blinks, an improvement from the splitting headaches of his youth.

“To business, then?” Mineta asked, clambering up into the cushioned seat.

“It’s your future,” Temura replied, eyes narrowing as he took his place behind the large desk. “If you want to talk instead of work, that’s up to you.”

“Talking can be work,” Mineta countered, folding his hands above his stomach and leaning back. “Don’t you want to make sure I’m the right kid to help? What if I’m not good enough to get into U.A., and your help wastes that spot?”

Chitose still hasn’t told him, Temura realized with a frown. No true member of the Meta Liberation Army would say such things, because even if they were not the best choice, they would still be helping the cause. But it wasn’t his place to tell Mineta; he was a Warrior, not a Commander.

“I trust Chitose’s judgement,” Temura said, instead of voicing any of that. “If she says you’re good enough, then you’re good enough.”

Mineta smirked, and his gaze turned contemplative.

“It is nice to have good friends, isn’t it?” the boy remarked generally.

“To business, then,” Temura confirmed, booting up his workstation. “You brought your application?”

“Of course,” Mineta said, pulling a folder from his gym bag and laying it on Temura’s desk. “A full copy of my grades, resume, and filled out application, all for U.A.’s submission. I also brought along a list of extracurricular activities; in case you know which ones they prefer over others.”

“You seem very well prepared,” Temura said, paging through the applications.

It was an understatement, and Temura had to conceal his surprise – the boy was the top of his class academically, had full fluency in English from his year abroad, was a first degree black-belt instructor in Shotokan Karate, was a backup pitcher for Kanagawa Prefecture’s Under-16 baseball team, ran his own booming business, and used that to fund a charity that he ran on the weekends for homeless children.

“Anyone in my position could do the same,” Mineta said softly. Temura glanced up from the list of extracurriculars, and frowned at the boy’s pensive expression.

“Your position?” Temura asked, looking at Mineta until the boy looked up, and they locked eyes. “Do you mean your Quirk?”

“Not quite,” Mineta said, shaking his head. “It’s… everything, really. Good parents, a good hometown, and good influences. Making the right choices, at the right time… and having an easy Quirk to monetize, of course.”

“You said anyone in your position, but aren’t your choices separate from that?” Temura pointed out.

Mineta opened his mouth, but stopped before saying anything. He had a strange look to him, and Temura couldn’t quite figure it out.

“Yeah, I guess so,” the boy said after a few moments.

Temura watched him, but Mineta simply looked back, and it was clear that he wouldn’t say anything more.

It was an odd contrast from the easy confidence that Mineta had earlier. Did Mineta think that he wasn’t special, with some kind of self-worth problem? That would explain the impressive achievements; it would be far from the first time someone did great things by working themselves too hard out of some internal traumas or issues.

“Well, I can spot a few things right now that would definitely help your chances of getting into U.A.,” Temura said, changing the topic. “Your current application is very good, and would likely get you into the next stage, but it can be tightened up a little.”

Mineta nodded, but didn’t say anything, so Temura tapped a finger on the list of extracurriculars, near the top.

“Your charity work is good, but it’s placed above your First Aid qualification,” Temura explained. “That’s good if you want to aim for Hero Management, or a Business program at a different school, but for Hero work, that First Aid qualification is far more important. It shows that you’ve prepared specifically for being a Hero, and that you’re already partly trained. Same thing for your martial arts experience; don’t emphasize that you’re an instructor, emphasize your rank. You’re not going to be teaching Heroes, you’re going to be a Hero.”

“I didn’t think about putting it that way,” Mineta admitted, leaning forward in his chair and watching as Temura started writing notes on his application.

“It’s fine,” Temura assured him. “I see this kind of thing a lot in young people. You wrote your resume for a general purpose, and filled out the application. Charity work is generally regarded better than first aid, so you weren't wrong about that. Instead, write your resume specifically for each school, or each job. You’ve got to customize your resume each time, even if it’s time or effort that could be spent elsewhere.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Mineta said, turning to look out the window with a slight blush. “I should have remembered that. Thank you for catching it.”

“You also haven’t done an internship at any Hero Agency,” Temura said, smiling at the first sign of childish nervousness that the boy had displayed. “You should put it down anyway.”

“I’m not going to put down something that I didn’t do,” Mineta said, looking back at him.

“So long as you do it before you submit the application, it’ll be fine,” Temura answered. “That’s simple enough, I can offer you one, and you can do it right away. It’d be about a week of after-school work here.”

“I appreciate it, but isn’t that part of U.A.’s job?” Mineta asked. “Their website said that internships usually happen after their sports festival.”

“U.A. will ensure that you have internships, true,” Temura replied, “But it doesn’t hurt to have more experience. Some families are full of Pro Heroes, so you’ll be competing against people that might have spent years working part-time in a Hero Agency, like a family business. U.A. tries to keep things fair for everyone, but they can’t deny that prior experience helps – particularly experience from the same industry.”

Mineta nodded. He had pulled out a pocket-notebook and a pen, and was writing some of the notes down. Temura waited for him to finish, before saying his next thought.

“Next up, it looks like you haven’t taken any Disaster Relief courses,” Temura noted. “They’re not essential, but Heroes are called in for natural disasters and other relief efforts, so they’re good to have. Unfortunately, they’re rare, and the next public course is three months from now, after U.A.’s deadline. You should put it down anyway.”

Mineta looked up from his notebook, and his eyes latched on to Temura with a surprising amount of focus.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,” Mineta said, his voice calm. “Could you expand on that, please?”

“I said you should put it down anyway,” Temura replied, matching the boy’s stare evenly. “Taking a Disaster Relief course will greatly boost your resume, since it shows that you’re thinking about all aspects of Professional Heroism, and not just the villain fights.”

Temura kept his eyes on Mineta. He had to give the boy a little credit; Mineta didn’t shy away from an adult Hero’s authority. Neither did Mineta glare angrily, or show his immaturity by over-reacting or taking personal offense. Mineta’s gaze was focused, but cool.

“Like I said before,” Mineta said slowly. “I’m not going to put something down that I didn’t do. That would be lying.”

“You wouldn’t be lying,” Temura countered. “You should sign up for the course now, and by the time you actually enter U.A., you’ll have done it.”

“U.A. can’t see the future,” Mineta replied. “They don’t accept what students say they will do, and they should not. They only accept what students have done.”

“And by the time you’ll be in U.A., you will have done it,” Temura repeated.

“If I get into U.A.,” Mineta said. “And if they decide I’m not good enough, I won’t. I’m not going to lie to get in.”

“It is not lying,” Temura said, a little exasperation slipping out. “It is as you said: U.A. will place far less value in something that a student claims they will do. It is better to say you have actually done the Disaster Relief course, and simply do it after the deadline. It would not be the first time such a thing has happened. Otherwise, you will lower your chances.”

“And I’m okay with that,” Mineta told him, his voice firm. “If I don’t make it into U.A. because of that, then it’s still okay. Disappointing, but more than acceptable.”

“Chitose told me that you wanted to be the best,” Temura said, looking down at the boy. “Are you willing to settle for anything less?”

“Yes, I am,” Mineta answered, before continuing with a more distant tone, as if remarking on the weather. “Most people don’t make it into U.A., and they live perfectly normal lives.”

“And you’re content to be one of those people?” Temura asked, leaning forward and staring the boy down. “To not live up to your full potential?”

“If I don’t get into U.A., that hardly means I’m crippled for life,” Mineta replied. “It doesn’t mean that I’d be less well off, after graduation.”

“You would be,” Temura told him, shaking his head at the boy’s stubbornness, irritation in his words. “Some doors would be closed to you. You wouldn’t advance as quickly in the ranks. You’d be lesser.”

“Are most people lesser, then?” Mineta asked, looking back at Temura with a curious expression.

Temura’s instinctive rebuttal at the boy’s casual acceptance of failure stopped, caught dead in his throat as the boy continued.

“U.A. only takes so many every year. Are those people not important, if they didn’t go to U.A.?” Mineta continued, his gaze sliding over to look at Echo’s own U.A. diploma, framed on the wall, before turning back to look at Temura. “That doesn’t seem like a Hero’s attitude, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. That some people are more important than others.”

Temura’s expression went still, and he slowly, deliberately quirked a single eyebrow at the boy – no, at Mineta – in reply to Mineta’s unstated challenge. It was the appropriate response for a Professional Hero, when a mere middle-school student implied that they weren’t heroic enough; understated, but a clear sign of his own authority, to make the offender think about what they’d dared to say.

Yet Mineta didn’t take his comments back. He simply stared back at Temura, undeterred by the questioning gaze of authority. Beneath his hero uniform, Temura could feel his heart pounding. How much did Mineta know, he wondered. Or even just suspect?

The staring match continued, and Temura suppressed a scowl as Mineta let a tiny, soft smile slip across his features. It didn’t take anything away from his gaze, but it made it… more pitying. As if Mineta understood why Temura had made some mistake, and forgave him. As if Temura was the child in this room, when Mineta refused to simply accept how things were.

…and he was right. Temura had made a mistake.

“That is a fair point,” Temura acknowledged, nodding slowly. “I did not mean to imply that you would be lesser for not going to U.A., or that anyone else would be.”

The cause was important. He knew this, bone-deep, engraved into his being. But the cause was not everything. Temura had joined the Meta Liberation Army because he wanted to help people, to do good. Not because he wanted to look down on other people as lesser.

“How about instead, I put down the date when you would be taking that Disaster Relief course?” Temura offered, watching as Mineta relaxed his stiff posture. “Make it clear that you haven’t taken the course, but that you plan on doing so. It won’t help your application as much, but it will be honest.”

“That sounds great,” he replied, his pitying smile turning warm and friendly. “I’d be honored to intern at your agency as well, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” Temura answered, nodding as he started to realize why, exactly, Chitose was so fond of Minoru Mineta, and why she saw such a bright future for him. He was indeed leadership material.

Chapter Text

Everything is going according to plan, Chitose reflected proudly, as she looked at Minoru Mineta.

The young man was leaning back in his chair, a satisfied smile and traces of katsudon on his lips. The café was fairly quiet today, as they’d arrived in between the dinner and lunch rushes. Mineta had tried to beg out of a congratulations dinner, but his rumbling stomach had betrayed him.

Chitose was sure that his parents were planning on a fitting dinner tonight, but Mineta had just finished a tough workout, and he needed fuel within an hour.

“You’re gonna get in, I just know,” Chitose said, for perhaps the third time, unable to keep her own grin from springing back into place.

“I think I am too,” Mineta said, the haze of content happiness almost visible. “Aced the written test, chatted with Cementoss like old buddies until the interview timer buzzed, and got plenty of robots and helped a couple kids out during the practical. I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m gold.”

The waitress swung by again, topping off his apple cider and Chitose’s coffee, and Mineta sent an almost beaming smile in her direction in a silent, heartful thank you.

It was just… perfect, to Chitose’s eyes. The seeds of potential that she’d seen, nearly a decade ago, were finally starting to bear fruit.

“What if we're both wrong, and you don’t get in?” she asked, sending another little probing test at him.

“Then I don’t get in,” Mineta shrugged off, waving a hand idly. “I’ve already got acceptances from Isamu, Ketsubutsu, and Seijin. Shiketsu hasn’t gotten back to me yet, but that’s probably just because they’re pissed off about my very existence.”

“Shiketsu… isn’t that the High School with the hats?” Chitose recalled, gesturing vaguely at her own head.

“Yup,” Mineta confirmed, taking a sip. “Full Soviet-style commissar caps. They’re so stupid, and I love them for it.”

“But…” Chitose trailed off, looking pointedly at Mineta’s mohawk of purple orbs, which wouldn’t fit under any hat.

“Exactly,” Mineta said, his lopsided smirk returning. “Those stupid hats are part of the uniform regulations. So, do they turn away an exceptional, top-ranking student just because he can’t fit into the uniform? Do they bend their regulations and get me a customized visor instead? How do they react?”

“I… don’t know,” Chitose murmured, tilting her head as she thought about it. “Shiketsu’s strict and disciplinarian. Even some of their graduates still wear those hats. They’ve got a lot of pride about being just as good as U.A.”

“Egg-fuckin’-zactly,” Mineta sang back, in fluent English, before returning to Japanese. “How much is their pride worth? More than their job of training Heroes? Is it enough that they’d turn down an amazing student that U.A. is likely going to accept? And how much of a headache is my application giving them?”

“Schadenfreude,” Chitose identified, leaning forward and inspecting Mineta a little more closely. “Did you apply to Shiketsu just to screw with their heads?”

“I would never be so… subtle,” Mineta answered, his tone full of mock-offense, before winking at her. “I told them outright, in their essay question about the duties, responsibilities, and obligations of a modern Hero. Is their duty to society, as a Hero school, more important than their self-imposed dress code? They can’t say yes without admitting that I wouldn’t have to wear the hat, and they can’t say no without being hypocrites about ‘serving the greater good’. And if they reject my otherwise amazing application just for one little jab at their egos, that’s also an answer of ‘No’.”

“Seriously?” Chitose said, staring a little. “Do you get some kind of joy at poking authority figures?”

“Oh, just the stuck-up ones,” Mineta told her. “I mean, that’s not why I applied there. It genuinely is a great school, and if I don’t get into U.A., it’s my primary backup. Less than half of my reasoning was to mess with them. Maybe a third, in total. Not much.”

Chitose leaned back, little giggles slipping out as she imagined the admissions office workers at Shiketsu, wearing their own little commissar-caps, glaring down at Mineta’s application.

“I don’t want to seem rude,” Mineta continued, his joking tone fading away, “But I need to catch the 4:30 train to Yokohama, and you said you had something to discuss with me in private?”

“Yes, I do,” Chitose confirmed, smiling. “Let’s take this to my office.”

Finally. Finally, it was time to tell him.

Mineta’s future in the Meta Liberation Army awaited him. He was destined for greatness. Chitose would get to show her dear friend the truth, the great cause, the long crusade. She would tell him of their hidden warriors, their agents on the inside of the Government, and most importantly, of the great leader Destro.

She paid for the drinks and meal, since it was her reward to Mineta for doing so well in the U.A. entrance exam, and they politely excused themselves from the café, while Mineta bowed and thanked the waitress by name, as he always did.

It was only a short walk to Shueisha’s headquarters, and neither Chitose nor Mineta talked during it. Chitose was too giddy, too excited, and she didn’t dare start her explanation in public, where the ears of non-believers could listen in. Mineta was content to walk peacefully, rather than chatter away with an over-abundance of energy, like other teenagers his age.

Though Mineta wasn’t wearing his usual suit and tie, he still fit in well. He didn’t gawk, didn’t stare, didn’t shuffle awkwardly and self-consciously, nor over-aggressively stamp his feet. In this, like many other ways that Chitose had gotten used to over time, he was like an adult in miniature. That maturity would serve him well, help him gain respect from his inferiors, supporting his climb through the ranks of both the Hero Charts and the Meta Liberation Army.

A short elevator ride later, they’d reached the top floor. Her secretary nodded in respect to the young man, recognizing him from Chitose’s occasional lunches, as well as intelligence briefs. He was a regular acquaintance, after all, and therefore a potential security risk.

Chitose ushered Mineta into her corner office, giving the loyal warrior from her protection platoon a hand-gesture to hold all her appointments. This took priority over everything.

She entered her office behind Mineta, quietly closing the thick door and watching as Mineta slowly walked around the room, his eyes inspecting the awards on her walls, the framed photographs of interviews with famous Heroes and infamous Villains alike. She doubted that he noticed the thicker walls, the sound-proofing disguised as interior decorating.

Her leather wingback office chair beckoned to her, as her knees shook, and Chitose managed to drop down into it before Mineta could turn from looking out the huge windows. Her cheeks were nearly aching with how much effort it was to keep her smile to reasonable, non-scary levels.

Not that Mineta was paying attention to her at the moment; he was too busy gazing at Akihabara, or the Diet building, or perhaps at the Imperial Palace. Chiyoda was the heart of Japan in many ways, and her own little corner office overlooking it all was a wonderful metaphor for the Meta Liberation Army, as the next step in Japan’s history.

After perhaps a minute, Mineta turned back towards her, and his eyes were alight with gentle amazement.

“I think this is one of the greatest views that I’ve ever seen,” Mineta told her, and her heart swelled. “I hope you never become bored with it.”

“If I ever do, I could switch with you,” Chitose offered. “You have a great view of Yokohama Bay. I think you’d fit right in, around here. What do you think? Up for it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mineta said, surprising her. He shook his head. “I appreciate the words, but… I’m content with my little office out in the bay. Even if I do get something like this, I want to earn it.”

Chitose stared at the young man as he walked across the office, pulling a plush chair away from the coffee table and setting it right before her desk, before climbing into it.

“So, what was it that you wanted to talk about?” Mineta asked, smiling pleasantly at her.

“Well, it’s a long story,” Chitose said, leaning forward in her seat. “Do you remember our talks about quirk use?”

“We’ve had many,” Mineta replied with a nod. “Which one were you thinking about? What specific part?”

“It’s not something we’ve really discussed before,” Chitose told him, as she pulled a book from a desk drawer, and laid it on the desk in front of him. “Let me tell you about the Meta Liberation.”

“…and so, our goal is nothing less than the total liberation of humanity,” Chitose continued, eagerly. “These laws are abominations. They never should have been created in the first place. People should be allowed to use their Quirks freely.”

“I agree,” Mineta said, quietly.

“I knew you would,” Chitose said, her smile uncontainable, her happiness inexhaustible.

This was perfection. This was everything she’d imagined it to be. She knew that Mineta had harbored these same beliefs, the same philosophy that rooted her being, that anchored her soul. She knew he would be a willing follower – but he was destined for more. Not just a supporter in the ranks, not just a warrior in the army, but a leader, a Commander in the great Meta Liberation Army.

She leaned back in her chair, and let out a joyful laugh. All the years of hard work, paying off. Not just in this enormous office, at the top of the tower and the center of Tokyo, but with her good friend Mineta.

He had always been a mature, intelligent young man, but my, how the years had seasoned him. His intelligence was more refined, less instinctive, and he could articulate many of the beliefs in a more comprehensive, intelligible way than the average person. He could lay out all the steps, from A to Z, that made up the compelling truth behind Meta Liberation.

Oh, how she had worried when he took that year abroad. Canada, really? A nation so similar to their own Japan, with similarly restrictive Quirk Laws, and a horrifying amount of control wrested away from the people of the nation. A parliamentary system, with the troubles of democracy bogging down the vision of true leaders.

Why couldn’t he have gone to America, instead, and gotten a taste of a nation where you could freely exercise your Quirk? A nation where people had rebelled over Quirk restrictions. Even if they too were horrifically democratic, and even would limit their presidents to a mere four years. How did they ever expect to get anything done by limiting their strong leaders so heavily?

Mineta was talking, she realized. How rude of her to zone out.

“I’m so sorry Mineta,” Chitose apologized, “What were you saying?”

“I said, I’m very sorry you’ve fallen in with a cult,” Mineta said, staring at her with his eyes hard, his face tight and closed off.

“What?” Chitose said, unable to help herself. She stared back, her good mood wiped away in an instant, as Mineta’s words landed like lead bricks in her stomach.

“It’s a shame,” Mineta said. “You fell in with a narcissistic cult of personality. You came so close, and fell so far.”

“We’re not-” Chitose started to say, only for Mineta to cut her off.

“You are,” he said harshly. “You finished strong with the philosophy, but you spent most of that diatribe talking about your glorious leader. The guy who’s done the most to harm this cause. If you asked the average person on the street what they think of free quirk use, their first thought is going to be the terrorist army that bombed the government, destroyed civilian property, seized military bases, killed Heroes, and worshipped a nutjob that named himself Destro. What, was Cobra Commander already taken? When you walk into these command meetings with the other Meta Liberation Army morons, do you bow before a velvet portrait of Destro? Prostrate yourselves before it? Do your silly goddamn salute?”

“Don’t you dare insult Destro,” Chitose spat back at him. “He’s given more for this cause than anyone!”

“Anyone?” Mineta repeated, his voice rising. “You said there were plenty of martyrs for the cause. Do their deaths not count? They gave their lives because they believed in the cause. Destro killed himself because he lost. He wrote a book about the glorious philosophy he believed in – except it’s an autobiography, all about his life and his glory and his bullshit! One last attempt to make himself an object of worship. If Destro had truly wanted to advocate this cause, then he’d have kept writing. Kept fighting. Instead, right after he finished, he killed himself. He gave up!”

Chitose reeled back, stunned. That wasn’t – Mineta was wrong. He had to be. Destro was all! Destro was the Meta Liberation Army! The cause was inseparable from his person.

Mineta stood, his glare trapping Chitose even as his short frame almost disappeared behind her desk. He kept speaking, stomping around the desk to face her.

“He knew writing a book would have an effect, because otherwise, why write it? But then he stopped. Why not keep writing? Keep fighting? Because then, the cause might live on without him. Who would be the public leader outside of prison? Who would give the speeches? Would they be a rival to him? Would they be more loved, more important? Destro killed himself so that he’s a martyr. So that it's all about him! The book even has his facemask on it!”

Mineta stomped forward, snatching up the copy of Meta Liberation War from her desk. He held the book up like it was a weapon, some kind of bludgeon, before slamming it down, face-up, showing Destro’s iconic facial markings.

“What, did Destro never hear about Gandhi? MLK? Mandela? For fuck’s sake, even Hitler!” Mineta snarled, gesturing at the Diet building below, the seat of Japan’s government. “They all served time in prison, and came out stronger, with more political support. But no, Whiny McWhinerson decided to end it all, instead of serving his time, and showing that yes, he can abide by society’s rules, but that he still wants to change them.”

Stalking around, Mineta waved his hands wildly as he shouted, pacing back and forth in front of the glass wall of her office. She was suddenly reminded of her original reason for choosing this particular office; despite the gorgeous views, no other skyscraper or building could see inside. A cool spray of relief trickled down her chest at that knowledge… but rather than reassuring her, it merely made her realize how hot and aching her chest felt.

“And what the flying fuck is with all the worship of him? He was a bad leader in the first place! Everything he did was hypocritical, self-centered, and just plain wrong! I can see him now; ‘To show the government that they can trust people with superpowers, I’m going to violently overthrow the government with an army of superpowered people.’ Do you not see the problem here? His actions don’t match his words!”

Mineta stared at her, his eyes pinning her in her place. Where before, his gaze had been awed, warm, and friendly, now it was the complete opposite. There was a fire inside Mineta’s eyes, a raging inferno that was almost bursting out of his skin, with every teenaged voice-crack and growling word from his lips.

“That’s what is so goddamn painful about all of this,” Mineta told her, shaking his head. “You have a good idea! Your beliefs aren’t wrong! People should be allowed to use a natural ability they were born with, so long as it doesn’t violate an existing law, or cause harm, or violate someone else’s rights. I’m gonna have a classmate at U.A. whose Quirk is invisibility. She literally can’t turn it off. If she walks in public, is she breaking the law? As it’s written, yes, she is. That’s ridiculous! It’s only ‘okay’ if the police choose to ignore it, and sure, the police are usually nice, but they shouldn’t be allowed to arrest her for that in the first place.”

She’d made a mistake. She’d told him too much.

“These beliefs aren’t radical. They aren’t crazy,” Mineta said. “The United States is three times our size, but they have the same idea. But here in Japan, people are too scared, so it’s illegal. So, what does your glorious leader, praise-be-to-Destro, say? Let’s give them a reason to be scared! Let’s show the government that they’re right to be worried!”

Chitose remembered, now, the advice she’d been given when she ascended to her spot as a Commander in the Meta Liberation Army, and placed in charge of recruitment – that she was now aware of the full truth, but that new recruits must learn gradually. That they must show trust and acceptance before the harder, more difficult truths are given to them.

“Your first priority should be those beliefs, that philosophy,” Mineta continued, almost lecturing her, as if she was some child that had peed in her bed. “Instead, your first priority is the dead guy fifty years back, who couldn’t even walk the walk. You carry his autobiography like it’s a Bible. Do you knock on people’s doors, saying ‘Have you heard the word of our lord and savior, Destro?’ Your new glorious leader is the son of the old glorious leader, and what does he call himself? Re-Destro! Even in death, it’s still gotta be about Destro!”

She’d been so proud of Mineta, and so eager to see him attain his rightful spot, high up in the ranks. Another trusted part of the whole, perhaps even a Commander like her. But she’d told him the whole truth, all too quickly.

“You’re supposed to be a journalist, Chitose,” Mineta informed her, as if this was some new information that he had just learned. He gestured with a hand towards the framed picture of her interview with All Might, just three years before. “You run the biggest publishing company in all of Japan! And you can’t see the obvious problems with calling yourselves an army? You can’t think of what people will say when they see your salute? It’s the loser sign! Children do it all the time, like this; looooo-ser!”

Chitose stared, horrified, as Mineta did the Liberation Salute, and then turned his hand to face palm-out, and proceeded to prance in front of her. Her mind churned, still struggling to process what Mineta was saying, his rant sticking in the back of her brain like the ringing tones of a gong. It echoed, and she didn’t like what those echoes implied.

“You might as well run around calling yourselves Hydra!” Mineta continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil, as he lifted both fists into the air in a strange salute, and shouted out “Hail, Hydra!”

“We’re… we’re not like that,” Chitose tried again, as Mineta lowered his arms. “We don’t say ‘hail Destro’. We don’t have–”

She wanted to argue, but cut herself off, as she remembered that yes, they did have a painting of Destro in the meeting room. A tasteful one, not made of velvet, but a painting, nonetheless.

“We have support,” Chitose tried again. “Millions flock to us. Even some Professional Heroes are true believers.”

But rather than calming him down like she expected, Mineta’s face flushed even redder, and he glared harder.

“You!” Mineta snarled, hands grasping at the air, fingers splayed out, as if cradling a watermelon, “You dense motherfuckers! Are you trying to sabotage yourselves, or are you legitimately just brain-damaged retards?! When you tell people that, do you know what their reaction is gonna be?”

“When the pillars of society, idolized by many, choose to support our cause? They will see that the system is unjust!” Chitose shouted, standing up from her chair and firing back. The Pro Heroes that believed, like Echo or Slidin’ Go, they were her warriors, and they were the proudest part of the Army. They were the strongest warriors, and where they led, the people would follow.

“No!” Mineta screamed, his teenage voice cracking and jumping an octave. “Only one group of people gets to use their Quirks freely! Only one! Professional Heroes, and that’s it! They go to specific schools, get tested harshly, and need a government-issued license! And you, you – you morons, you’re going to show the government that even then, even with all those restrictions, they still cannot trust people to use their Quirks freely, because terrorist criminal revolutionary nutjobs managed to sneak in anyway!”

She tried to respond, but the words caught in her throat. Something she’d eaten. That last coffee had been burned.

“When they figure it out, they’ll restrict Quirk use even more because of what you people have done!” Mineta bellowed at her, stepping up right next to her. “Nobody will be trusted with free Quirk use after this! Your goddamn cult has done more damage to the cause than anyone else!”

Chitose’s eyes widened involuntarily. Her knees wobbled, her legs gave way, and her ass fell right back into the chair it had just left. Her head was level with Mineta’s, at his short height, and she could see the veins bulging in his forehead, the redness in his eyes, the wrinkles of stress and anger and wrath.

She lifted a hand, reaching out as if to grab Mineta, but the boy stepped back and his face recoiled.

“I don’t know where you went wrong, Chitose,” the young man said, his quiet words seeming so loud, louder than all of his shouting, while his flushed face suddenly drained, as if all the blood was rushing away. “I don’t know where or when or why you fell into this cult. But it’s not good for you. It’s wrong. You’re standing in a lake full of shit, and you’re calling it fertilizer. I hope you can see that.”

Chitose tried to say something, but her throat clamped up, like her chest was already doing.

She could do nothing but watch as Minoru Mineta, her friend, walked out of her office. He didn’t stop, he didn't look back, he didn’t hesitate. He left.

Chapter Text

Another year, another dose of fresh excitement, Nedzu mused, as he shut the door of his office and trod to his desk.

Papers neatly stacked, folders crisp, all affairs in order, and the cleverly designed paperweight resting atop them, undisturbed. A quick glance at his monitors as he climbed up into his cushy chair. There were no outstanding items of business, no unscheduled anomalies, no active alarms, and no students on campus.

The perfect setup for one of his favorite tasks at U.A.; the incoming student evaluations.

There was nothing quite so fun as exploring the potential of a new student: their personalities, their motivations, their Quirks. It was even better to have forty such students in the Hero course, with sixty more each in General Education, Hero Support, and Business Management courses; a virtual buffet for someone interested in such studies.

Nedzu hummed to himself as he started sifting through the files. Small hands make light work, as his own malapropism went.

Children were far more fascinating than adults, more open about their vulnerabilities, and more earnest in their strengths and virtues. Oh, the children didn’t intend to be open about their weaknesses, failures, and the like, but their defensiveness made it so easy to tell, even without an intelligence-enhancing Quirk.

There was a touch of anger issues in this file. Perhaps therapy? Perhaps not. Most humans, child or adult, did not react well to others meddling in their affairs, and forcing ‘help’ when not asked could backfire. Literally, in this particular case. Still, anger implied some manner of drive, and U.A. had much experience in driven individuals. It was relatively common, after all. Perfectly well-adjusted individuals did not sign up to wear spandex, work incredibly long hours, and punch villains in the face.

In most of the files, there were few surprises. To the credit of the students, this was not a failing of theirs, but simply how much Nedzu had seen in prior years. True outliers were very rare, though Pro Hero work did seem to attract them.

Every one of them had excellent achievements, be it in academics, athletics, or community service. There were trained fighters, aspiring writers, national-level musicians, and young entrepreneurs.

…although normally the entrepreneurs were in the Business Management course, not the Hero course.

Interesting, Nedzu thought, pausing as he flipped through Minoru Mineta’s file. He set the folder aside, and quickly typed the name into his browser for a simple supplementary search. More curious was his decision to try for the Hero course.

Mineta’s business wasn’t the kind of small, barely profitable business that he expected from a fifteen-year-old. Mineta Corp., as it seemed, had been expanding steadily for just under a decade, from prefecture to prefecture. It had a presence across the whole nation, save for Kyushu. He’d have to see if U.A. used Mineta Corp.’s products in their own facilities.

Additional notes within the file included a request to test out of the language requirement, due to full fluency in English. A year abroad, it seemed, in Canada – at a similarly top-ranking boarding school. Unusual for the boy’s social class. That his business didn’t stagnate during his absence was also impressive. A trusted subordinate handled operations, no doubt.

Still, to have a first-year student running around with a free period wouldn’t work. Perhaps in his second year, once he’d had a chance to prove that he could handle the spare time. In the meantime, perhaps he could use it as a study block? Or function as a Teacher’s Assistant? Given the business background, it seemed unlikely that Mineta would turn down more money, if offered the right way.

PR might be a concern. His brief internet search had pulled up two notable interviews with the press – with an even higher profile interviewer. Chitose Kizuki had risen very quickly indeed, to be an executive director at the dominant Shueisha Publishing at such a young age.

The first interview wasn’t particularly concerning; over a decade old, when Kizuki was still a fresh beat reporter, a fairly standard puff piece to fill empty space. The second interview, given just two years ago, when she was the editor-in-chief of their entire news division, on the other hand… 

Perhaps it was nothing. Kizuki was known as a rabid reporter, chasing leads with fervor. Perhaps she simply connected with young Mineta, and liked to keep in touch in case old stories became fresh again. If so, it looked to have paid off, in one of Japan’s youngest success stories.

But on the off chance there was something more, it might be worth telling Ms. Midnight to shift the public relations portion of her class to the first semester, rather than the second. It wouldn’t hurt to prepare the students a little earlier for the negative possibilities.

Young Mineta might think of Ms. Kizuki as a friend, or believe her merely to be a reporter, but the first betrayals that a child suffered were the worst, and Kizuki had the power to utterly ruin Mineta’s life. Scandals could shutter businesses, shatter charities, and smash personal reputations… and Kizuki was the biggest scandal-monger at Shueisha.

One could never be too cautious when it came to the press. Nedzu knew that quite well. His own checkered past had been the source of frequent rumors and attempted investigations during his active service, much less when he gained control of the most prestigious Hero Academy in Japan.

There was no level too low for a journalist to stoop to, depending on how eager they were for ratings or power. They climbed their corporate ladders so desperately that their feet kicked out at everyone beneath them. And they called him inhuman.

His quick hand jotted down a few final notations, then flipped the page. A mere two pages of notes was hardly a great deal to worry about. Three of Mineta’s classmates already had four pages, with room for expansion.

In truth, Nedzu worried far more about the students with little information. He could teach the angry, the desperate, and the afraid, but he couldn’t prevent future problems based on mere crumbs of information. The less he knew, the worse the inevitable surprise would be.

Thankfully, this Mineta seemed to be straightforward enough. His essay answers revealed a fairly mature outlook, which was to be expected from running a business. His interview showed an acknowledgment of the monetary gain involved in Professional Heroism, but explicitly declared an interest in helping with the common good due to his Quirk’s excellent non-lethal capabilities.

There was a fascinating tangent about the level at which Pro Heroes became economically unviable due to collateral damage or wrongful death, which made Nedzu wish that he’d conducted the boy’s interview, rather than Cementoss. Mineta had pointed out that his own Quirk, while not the attention-grabber of more powerful Quirks, was incredibly useful for capturing villains without such damage.

To conclude his application, Mineta had declared a desire for a rewarding job, both morally and financially; yet explicitly stated he did not have an all-consuming desire to be the absolute greatest, no matter the sacrifices required.

There were some who might look down on such a thing, Nedzu knew. As if acknowledging one’s flaws, or not striving for perfection, made one unworthy of being a Hero. His own school occasionally had such problems, with their motto of Plus Ultra, or 'Further Beyond' encouraging those attitudes.

But Nedzu didn’t believe in such things. Good was good. If some critics of Heroism had their way, there would be far less Pro Heroes saving lives, simply because they were not ‘pure’ enough for the critic’s tastes. At such times, Nedzu would remind his students, it was not the critic who counted. The credit belongs to those who are actually in the arena.

Nedzu picked up the next file, and looked down on the bashful smile of young Izuku Midoriya.

Ah, yes, Nedzu mused. Another interesting student, with great potential.

Chapter Text

Temura had more important things to do than this, but orders were orders. The reports, his personal training, and his time off could all wait, because this was a Priority One alert, and Chitose Kizuki had never issued one of those.

The door to Chitose’s office was unguarded, the secretary’s desk un-manned, and Temura frowned at that. Where was her bodyguard? It was after hours, and the building was nearly empty, sure, but that was no excuse to slack on security. She should have an entire platoon guarding her, from what he remembered. Where the hell were they?

He knocked, and he barely heard Chitose’s response. He couldn’t even distinguish out the words, just the sound of her voice, pitiful and weak.

Chitose’s office was in its usual pristine, carefully designed state, from what he remembered from his very rare visits. The low coffee table was cluttered with a half-dozen mugs of cold coffee, and a single uncorked bottle of wine.

Temura found Chitose sitting behind her oversized corporate desk, slumped in her chair, with her hands cradling her head. Another mug of coffee sat on the desk, almost empty.

“Ms. Kizuki, are you okay?” he asked, moving over to her. “What’s going on?”

Chitose looked up at him, and Temura nearly recoiled at the sight. Her makeup, normally impeccable, was absent, and he could see ugly purple bags under her eyes. Her normally pleasing light-blue skin looked ugly with them, like she was sporting two black eyes, even though it was probably just from lack of sleep.

“Echo,” Chitose muttered, her voice croaking. “Good.”

“Ma’am?” Temura asked, unease trickling into his gut. “Is everything okay?”

Chitose stared at him for a moment, then closed her eyes, and slumped back in her chair. She was a small figure, with the black leather of the chair surrounding her like an abyss.

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No, everything isn’t okay.”

“Where’s your protection detail?” Temura asked, looking around the office. He hadn’t seen them outside, but maybe one of them was hiding in a corner somewhere? Chitose wasn’t alone in here, was she?

“I sent them out,” Chitose told him. “I… didn’t want them around.”

“Why?” Temura asked, more than a little disturbed. Chitose had a full platoon for protection, instead of a single bodyguard, for a reason. Cut-throat corporate politics and her work involving Villains were both dangerous, and she was an enormous help to the Meta Liberation Army. If they lost her, they’d lose the PR battle. There would be no chance of a peaceful transition.

“I did Mineta’s induction into the Army two days ago,” Chitose said, looking up. “It… it didn’t go well.”

“What?” Temura said, blinking rapidly. “Minoru Mineta? That doesn’t make sense. He fit right in at my Agency. I talked to him about the philosophy of Quirk Use and he agreed with it.”

Chitose let out a sharp laugh, harsh and short, and Temura stared. Chitose was normally controlled, precise, methodical.

Is she drunk? he thought to himself.

Temura looked back at the coffee table. The bottle of wine he’d spotted was open, but it also was fairly full. The multiple coffee mugs, on the other hand…

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, looking back at Chitose, at the bags under her eyes.

“Since I talked to Mineta,” Chitose said.

She had been awake for two days straight. No wonder she’s acting strangely, Temura reflected.

“Chitose, you should get some sleep,” he said, encouragingly. “I know it’s a disappointment, but it’s not the end of the world. Mineta’s just a kid, he doesn’t have much experience with how things are in real life. He’ll come around in time. Just give him some space.”

Chitose stirred, and for a moment, Temura smiled to himself as she sat up.

“I can’t,” Chitose said, looking up at him. “I have to tell the Leader.”

“…what?” Temura asked, a little puzzled. “What does the Leader have to do with this?”

“Oh, Echo…” Chitose sighed, slumping a little. “What do you think he has to do with it? Mineta’s a potential leak. He knows too much, now.”

A chill ran down Temura’s neck.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Temura asked, staring down at Chitose, in her black leather office chair, in her director’s desk, in her fancy corporate high-rise… at such a young age. He’d wondered, sometimes, how she’d risen so fast.

“He’s a liability,” Chitose said, her voice distant, as she stared out the window at the gleaming lights of Tokyo’s skyline. “He could go to the police, and destroy the Army. Leaks get plugged, Echo.”

The chill on Temura’s neck spread, and it felt like he’d been plunged into an ice bath.

“That would be murder,” He pointed out, slowly. “You should think very carefully about your next words. You can’t un-cross that line.”

“Oh, please,” Chitose laughed, just as biting as before. “Like it’d be the first time.”

Temura’s words caught in his chest. His eyes widened. His stomach tore, and it felt like his post-shift noodle dinner was spilling into every organ and sinew in his body. Like a grease spill in a kitchen, leaving filth covering the floor, and the terrifying possibility of an uncontrollable grease fire.

“Re-Destro handles these things personally,” Chitose told him, almost conversationally, save for the traces of something dark lurking behind her words. “There was a recruiter in Toshima who was a little too active, a little too outspoken about the cause. The police were starting to sniff around. So, he invited her out to Delka City, and she never came back. I covered the story of her… car crash.”

“Re-Destro?” Temura repeated, softly. “How – how deeply is Command involved in this kind of thing?”

Chitose looked away from the window, and the expression on her face was almost pitying, mixed with the tiniest bit of her own fear.

“We’re all committed to the Liberation, Echo,” she said. “Whatever it takes. By any means necessary. I thought you knew?”

Temura sat heavily on the chair in front of Chitose’s desk, his out-of-costume pants unable to muffle the sound of his near collapse.

“I – I didn’t know,” he murmured, staring at his superior officer, at the lilac-purple of her hair against the pitch-black of the Tokyo night.

“And now… I have to do the same for Mineta,” Chitose whispered, looking up to him. Her hands reached for her mug of coffee, and she clutched it tightly, so much that her blue hands were turning white. “So… I called you.”

“You called me,” Temura repeated, tasting the words, unsure why she’d said it.

“Yes. I need… I need to make a judgement call,” Chitose told him. “Mineta heard the truth, and he rejected it. But he’s… one of us. He knows how important this is. So why did he refuse? I just don’t know what to do. Do I report him? Do I not?”

A sniffle broke out, and the smallest shimmer of water slipped from her black and green eyes.

“He said that we’re wrong,” Chitose said, the tears trickling sluggishly down her cheeks. “He said that we’re a cult. That we’re evil. I told him everything, and he just threw it back in my face.”

“You told him everything?” Temura asked. He was a high-level Warrior, or so he’d thought. But if Command was willing to murder people – if Command had murdered people before – then clearly he wasn’t as high as he’d thought.

He needed to know more. He needed to know the real truth, not whatever lies they’d fed him.

“Everything,” Chitose confirmed. “I have what he said on video.”

“…show me,” Temura said.

Mineta stormed out of the room, and the video footage finally came to an end, freezing on the last frame. Chitose’s stunned expression was locked in place on the screen.

Temura looked up from the surveillance video, and turned to Chitose, the woman he had trusted. Her face was pained, worried, and she looked at him with a begging expression. The bags under her eyes that he’d noticed earlier were even deeper now, darker on her light-blue skin.

There was a feeling of incongruity at her expression. She looked like a victim of some crime that was begging him to get her purse back, or bring to justice the man who’d raped her… when she was the one who’d committed the crime. When she was the one who’d harmed both herself, and Mineta.

“I just… I just want to know, was he right?” Chitose asked, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she stared at him. “I’m not… a bad person, am I?”

“Mineta talks to much,” Temura said distantly, lashing that annoyance deep down, trying to contain the inferno. “He likes the sound of his own voice.”

“What?” Chitose asked, blinking.

Fuck it, Temura thought. To hell with being polite. I’m going to say what he should have.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Chitose?” he demanded.

“What?” she gasped, as he stood up. “I – what?”

“Mineta is right,” Temura snarled, glaring at her. “What is your problem?”

Chitose pushed off her desk, staring at him in shock, the wheels of her office chair squeaking at the protest. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Good, a dark little corner of Temura’s heart whispered. It served her right, for destroying his world. For showing him that he was believing in a lie. But he crammed that voice right back where it came from, and took a deep breath.

“Did the cause mean nothing to you?” Temura asked, a little more controlled, but no less angry. “Did our dreams mean nothing but a bigger group of suckers to exploit?”

Chitose reached a hand out, as if to console him, but stopped halfway through the motion, staring at her hand like it was a live landmine.

“I don’t think of you that way,” she whispered. “You’re my friend.”

“They might send me to Tartarus because of you,” Temura said. “Don’t you get it? You made me a party to treason. They could hang me for this.”

“But you were willing,” she said, looking up at him. Her eyes looked confused, her expression hurt. “You chose to join us. You believe. You can’t be a Warrior without believing! The government needs to be destroyed, before they oppress us.”

“I joined so that if the government tried to oppress us, we could fight back,” Temura corrected, his fists clenched. “Defending ourselves, not attacking. I never agreed to start a civil war. I’m an accessory now, don’t you get that?”

“I… I know,” Chitose said, slumping. “They’ll lock us all away.”

“And they should!” Temura said. “Chitose, you’re building an Army! Not just in name only, not just as a rhetorical device, but to cause a civil war! You’re going to kill people just for disagreeing with you!”

“I thought you believed,” Chitose repeated, no longer even looking at him, but looking at her desk. “Was I wrong about you, too?”

“Chitose, focus!” he snapped. “Do you understand what you’ve done? This is – this is evil. You’ve covered up murders!”

“It was for a good cause,” Chitose muttered. “That makes it right.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Temura replied, the yawning pit in his stomach growing even larger, even deeper, as he imagined the Commissioner-General staring at him, the prison bars locking tight around him. “That’s a Villain’s logic. You helped these people murder and steal and get away with it. They committed crimes, and you helped them.”

“If we win, then they won’t be crimes,” Chitose replied, finally looking up. She looked like a teenager, lost in an unknown city. Her expression was so confused, and she was searching him for the answers. It was easy to believe that she was younger than him, with that look on her face. “That’s how it works.”

“No, it isn’t!” Temura repeated, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. In his head, the Commissioner-General vanished, and now All Might was standing there, his iconic smile missing, and a hard look on his face. “Good and evil aren’t subjective, Chitose! You can’t just say that evil is good because you’re in charge!”

“But that’s what the government does!” she cried out, grabbing his arms and gripping them tightly, squeezing for all her worth. “That’s what they do to us! They make it illegal to use our Quirks, and say it’s alright because they’re in charge, because they’re stronger than us! They committed crimes against us, and got away with it! If they can do that, then why can’t we?!”

“You hate them for doing that!” Temura reminded her. “That doesn’t make it OK for you to do it right back to them. Why are you doing something you hate?”

“It’ll work,” she said, staring at him, her gaze fearful. “It – it has to work. We’ll make everything right!”

“And what if Mineta is right?!” Temura roared. “What if it doesn’t work?! Just for a moment, think about it. What if you’re wrong, and he’s right?!”

“Then we-” Chitose tried to say, but her throat tightened, and the words cut off. “Then – then we killed people. We-”

“They already killed people, Chitose!” Temura retorted. “You’ve covered up Re-Destro’s murders! You just told me about that recruiter in Toshima! You just told me about the deaths at warrior training camps! About your Protection Platoon agreeing to be suicide bombers!”

“I’m not evil,” Chitose whispered. “I’m – I’m not.”

A choked, fragmented sob ripped its way out of her throat, and Temura decided that was quite enough.

He grabbed her arms, bodily pulling Chitose out of her chair. She struggled, twisting her spine and trying to wriggle out, but he was a Professional Hero, and he’d wrangled resisting people before. He dragged her close and wrapped his arms around her.

“You have done evil things,” Temura said, hugging her to his chest. “But you don’t have to keep doing them.”

Another sob burst from Chitose’s chest, and water started to leak through Temura’s jacket.

“How-” Chitose tried to say, before another hiccupping sob cut her off.

Temura hugged her closer, squeezing his own eyes shut, as he tried to imagine how the hell it had come to this. How he hadn’t noticed that there was more to the Meta Liberation Army. How he hadn’t noticed that he was being kept in the dark.

“How do I make this better?” Chitose asked him, her head bumping into his chin. “Can I – is it even possible? How do I do better, Temura?”

“By being better,” he sighed, opening his eyes and looking down at his nominal superior. “By being a good person.”

“Re-Destro made me a good person!” Chitose howled, looking up at him. “He decided what was right! He knew everything!”

“And he was wrong,” Temura told her. “Mineta was right, the Army’s a cult of personality. Re-Destro has to look like he knows everything. He has to look like he’s the answer to everything, because otherwise people wouldn’t give him all the power he wants. But that’s wrong, Chitose.”

Chitose crumpled, her shoulders slouching and her arms drooping. Her head fell, like a doll with its strings cut, and another racking, chest-spraining sob came from her throat. She sounds like a wounded animal, Temura thought to himself faintly.

“We have to be better, Chitose,” he repeated, pulling her closer and hugging her. “That’s all there is to it. We have to be better people, even if it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Chapter Text

Teaching had never been a part of his plan.

He’d imagined many things. Living a full life, defeating his Master’s enemy, saving those in danger, rehabilitating villains. Eventually, finding a worthy successor.

All Might had indeed lived a full life, a good life. He’d defeated his enemy. He’d saved those in danger, rehabilitated what villains he could, and now he’d found a truly worthy successor.

But teaching? In all his years, Toshinori had not seriously contemplated a career in education, until just under a year ago. But times change, and so do men.

Sitting in the communal office of U.A., looking down at his computer, Toshinori faced a new challenge: writing evaluations for schoolchildren.

It was an interesting task. He’d written evaluations before, almost always on the request of the Hero Commission, regarding exceptionally dangerous villains, and his observations of their skills, abilities, and psychologies. He’d rarely had to work hard on such evaluations, just writing down everything he’d seen or thought. They were handed off to analysts, and used as first impressions and combat reports. Nothing more.

Now he had to write forty of the things, before next Wednesday’s class. Custom-tailored to each prospective Hero. Thank God he was only dealing with the first years!

Still, challenging work was just as much of a villain as any criminal, and so he’d dutifully charged in headfirst. The first few evaluations went quickly, with minor tips and tweaks. The next several took longer, with more details needed.

Then Aizawa had wandered by. He’d paged through the finished stack, and told Toshinori that he needed to re-do the first ones. There was too little information, and he needed to remember that they were teenagers, not established Heroes.

That was the real challenge, Toshinori realized. Teenagers were not adults, with experience, training, and skill; able to learn much from a simple tip and their own will to improve. But nor were they children, who needed guidance in all things, and would eagerly follow him around like puppies, hanging on his every word…

…and even if some teenagers did hang on his every word, as young Midoriya did, it just wasn’t good for them. They needed to stretch their wings. They needed to fail, and learn that failure was not the end of all things.

He’d already had one fierce argument with Aizawa about this. That man’s unrelenting obsession with threatening expulsion for minor failures was only going to damage these students. While they continued to meet his standards, the fear would keep them motivated… but after they failed to meet his standards, but weren’t expelled as they’d been warned? Would the threats still hold value?

Or worse, if Aizawa acted upon those threats, and did expel a student, how might that student respond? When they’d tried their hardest, and been cast aside regardless? What kind of adult might that teenager grow into? A dissident, or even a villain?

Some might continue to aspire to heroism, as Midoriya had done after All Might’s shameful treatment of the boy… but that was a testament to Midoriya’s determination and drive, not Toshinori’s own change of heart. If Midoriya hadn’t been so tenacious, All Might’s disgraceful failure on that rooftop would have driven away an amazing potential Hero.

Snipe had also wandered by, and given some advice. However, Toshinori wasn’t confident that treating the students as ‘young bucks who haven’t fucked up yet, but will eventually’ was going to help matters.

Take the current student he was evaluating, young Mineta. A bright boy, who showed a great defensive mindset during his battle exercise. He certainly performed ably, but would he have been able to achieve a victory if he hadn’t been partnered with young Yaoyorozu?

True, their Quirks worked together very well, but if Mineta had been partnered with virtually any other student, his strategy of simply placing as many sticky grapes as possible around the building would have limited his partner’s movement, and rendered them far less useful.

The boy did show effective analytical abilities, though not to the extent of young Midoriya. While Yaoyorozu had wanted to focus on fortifying the bomb’s room to be impenetrable, Mineta had instead argued for delaying tactics such as blocking off doors and windows in the rest of the building, instead of focusing on a single failure point.

If the Villain Team had gone with Yaoyorozu’s strategy, the Hero Team would have advanced swiftly through the undefended majority of the building, and had plenty of time to crack open the bomb room, no matter how fortified.

With Mineta’s strategy, they had to treat every room as if it was the bomb room, because they were encountering resistance everywhere. Thusly, by the time they'd found the real bomb room, they had less than a minute to achieve victory.

Mineta’s snap decision-making was also good; when Yaoyorozu had wanted to use tripwires as pullies to activate more intricate and complex traps, Mineta pointed out that they only had five minutes, and needed to lay as many traps as possible…

…which, to their credit, they had. Countless doors jammed shut with Mineta’s balls, or reinforced by Yaoyorozu. Stairwells were nearly inaccessible. Sticky grapes on strings to hold them in mid-air, or spammed across entire floors. Trip-lines to step over, chest-high poles to duck beneath, all while watching their footing. They’d prepared like an elite Hero Team playing defense, reinforcing their position. This forced the Hero Team of young Ojiro and Hagakure to move slowly, which proved essential.

If not for the delaying tactics, the combination of Ojiro’s combat prowess and Hagakure’s stealth would have won the day. As it was, the lack of time had forced them into hasty action, with decidedly mixed results.

Ojiro’s headfirst dive into combat had flustered Yaoyorozu, despite her experience with her bo staff. Some nerves, perhaps? Not much experience actually fighting in hand-to-hand, as opposed to solo practice? There were several potential explanations.

Still, to get back to the subject of his current evaluation, that was where Mineta had come into play. His thrown dodgeballs were highly effective at forcing Ojiro to be cautious with his approach, and he’d even managed to hit the other student in the side.

It was a minor blow – or at least, it would have been, if Ojiro hadn’t forgotten about the stickiness, and tried to grab the grape with one hand, immobilizing it. A momentary lack of focus that had resulted in crippling his martial arts, and his eventual defeat. Something to work on.

Yet with only a single hand, his legs, and his tail, Ojiro had still performed well, until Mineta had finally captured him, hitting him with several more fastballs, and finally immobilizing him. If not for that, Ojiro might have defeated Yaoyorozu even with his handicap, judging by his ease with combat.

That thought reminded Toshinori of something. He rewound the footage, and carefully watched Mineta’s stance. It was a bit hard to see with his short stature and how he had to keep double-checking for Hagakure’s eventual attack, but All Might could still recognize a baseball pitcher’s stance.

Most unusual! He’d have to ask if Mineta wanted to incorporate America’s favorite pastime into his Heroics more. It was quite a popular sport here in Japan as well as the U.S., so it would play well to the public. There was some Pro Hero in Musutafu who had a similar theme… Slugger, he recalled.

Toshinori leaned back in his chair, and thought back to how Mineta had taken charge; in particular, had Mineta needed to take charge? True, Yaoyorozu was shy, and would need some confidence boosting, but surely Mineta could have given her more opportunities to speak? He’d asked for recommendations from Yaoyorozu on how best to use her Quirk, and for general opinion, but he’d never asked if she wanted to be in charge.

Instead, Mineta had acted as if he was already in charge, with no debate or discussion of the issue.

That kind of attitude could be a problem, Toshinori mused, as he rewound the footage yet again. True, sometimes a Hero needed to take charge quickly, and Mineta hadn’t been rude about it, but Mineta and Yaoyorozu had five minutes to prepare – more than enough time to figure it out.

The innate assumption of authority had not created a problem here, but what if Mineta encountered another Hero with the same belief? Or if Mineta simply was not the right person to be in charge of a situation? A Hero must be able to hand over command if they were ill-suited for it.

It also spoke of potential problems with Yaoyorozu. While it was good that she had efficiently settled into her role in this exercise, he’d need to watch for if this pattern continued. It was the opposite problem from Mineta’s potential assumption of authority: a reluctance to take charge.

Mineta had not asked if she wanted to take charge, but neither had she mentioned it. There would be situations where Yaoyorozu was the only Hero at a crime scene, or the best Hero for a particular situation, and she would need to take charge.

Still… this was just a single training exercise. No need to condemn them harshly for but a single instance of these behaviors. Toshinori jotted the observations down in his notes, and resolved to keep an eye out in case of such instances in the future.

Chapter Text

Fucking cults.

Ten years of my life, I’d been friends with Chitose Kizuki, and this is how she repays me? Tries to drag me into some kind of mushroom-samba abomination of what Free Quirk Use should be like?

I knew I should have just moved back to the U.S. after I finished up in Canada. Hell, with Mineta Corp. being a booming business, I might even qualify for a faster immigration process.

But noooo, I just had to stick around, because some greedy, selfish part of me wanted to be part of the legendary Class 1-A, who would inevitably become ultra-famous, ultra-rich, and ultra-powerful. The class containing Deku, who would eventually ascend to living god levels of power, much like any good Shonen protagonist, despite the garbage philosophical message that sent to young readers.

Goddamn Japanese cultural norms. Goddamn “might makes right”, still sticking around like the virulent disease of an ideology that it was. Even with the inversion that was so common, with “right makes might” – that someone who was morally right should automatically be stronger than someone who was not – it was a toxic, infectious cancer.

Yet here I was.

The bus rattled around me, and I tried to ignore the chatter of my young classmates. Every car that passed us by on the road sent a shiver down my spine, and every flash of a costume out of the corner of my eye made me tense up.

Cults don’t like sensible people. They really don’t. Nobody should be stupid enough to tell one of the top lieutenants of a powerful, millions strong cult, that they were goddamn morons who needed to stop worshiping some hypocritical narcissist, before it destroyed their otherwise worthy ideas for the next hundred years.

Much less when the top lieutenant in question could make bombs out of anything just by goddamn touching it!

Yet here I was.

“Hey, Mineta, you okay?” came a voice to my left, as a hand touched down on my shoulder.

“Fine!” I said quickly, flashing a brief grin over my shoulder, at the kid sitting behind me.

Eijiro Kirishima, perhaps one of the more sensitive souls in Class 1-A, didn’t buy it for an instant. He frowned, but in a nice way, managing to look worried for me, rather than annoyed at me. He was very perceptive, and on any other day – any other week – I might have appreciated his concern.

I could’ve been good friends with him by this point, just a week or two into my doomed-to-be-short U.A. career… had I not spent the past few weeks as twitchy as a chicken on crystal meth, looking out for the inevitable Meta Liberation Army hitman sent to silence me.

So, as it was, I wanted Kirishima to take his genuine friendliness and concern for my well-being, throw it out the window, and stop associating with me before he became collateral damage.

“You’ll do great, man,” Kirishima reassured me, completely ignoring my mental screams for him to run the fuck away, as he turned his frown into a soft smile. “I know rescue isn’t the best use of your Quirk, but every little bit helps, and U.A. isn’t just gonna leave you out for it. Hell, I’m even less suited for rescue than you!”

“It’s not the class,” I replied instinctively, before slapping my mouth closed and looking away.

“Of course it’s not the class,” a girl’s voice drawled, a couple seats back. “Why would Mineta be worried about that? Fortress Mineta’s gonna rock, once he gets over his stage fright.”

“I love you too, Jiro,” I said, my mouth running on pure automatic, and my verbal filter completely missing. “Now please leave me alone.”

“Ooooh, someone sounds like they need a pep-talk!” another girl’s voice called, exuberant and rambunctious. “Aizawa-sensei, can you do encouraging pep-talks?”

“No,” replied a tired voice from the front of the bus.

“Awwww,” Mina Ashido groaned, flopping backwards in her bus seat, pink-skinned arms folding over each other, and her lips smushing together in a pout. It would have been kind of adorable, in a childish way…

…if she hadn’t glanced over at me, and her black-eyed gaze reminded me of a different alien-skinned, black-sclera woman that almost certainly wanted my decapitated head on her desk.

“Toughen the fuck up, shortstack!” came Bakugo’s frenzied cry. “You think you’ve got what it takes to be a Pro when you can’t even stand a field exercise?”

“Didn’t Mineta win his last field exercise, while you lost yours?” Tsuyu Asui’s voice croaked, as she touched a finger to her chin.

“What the hell did you just say to me?!” Bakugo yelled at her, while half the class laughed.

Ah, yes. High schoolers. I let out a sigh of exhaustion, already resigned to three years of loud screaming and insanely energetic children – and blinked, looking up at Aizawa, who’d let out a similar sigh at the same time. Our eyes met for a moment, and I tried my best to convey my deepest horror at how insane our class was.

Aizawa’s dead-eyed stare looked back, almost gazing into my soul, and the tiniest of smiles tugged at his lips. Good, his expression said. Suffer along with me.

A sharp crack of a fire-cracker explosion shot through the bus, as Bakugo flared his Quirk again.

“Bakugo,” Aizawa’s voice snapped, a whip-crack through the air that instantly silenced every single one of the hyperactive children.

Class 1-A’s teacher had sat up in his seat and was staring down the aisle at Bakugo, who had obediently fallen silent – which, honestly speaking, was quite an achievement.

Of course, this was Aizawa, who looked like God had reached down, laid a finger on an uncrying baby, and proclaimed, ‘Your purpose in life is to be a terrifying teacher.’ A single flare of his Quirk, and he went from looking like a slovenly bum to a maniac ready to throw down.

I mean, just look at the man. Tall, sallow-skinned with dark hair that was greasy, much like Alan Rickman doing his best Severus Snape, tapping into the finest-and-worst of Western ideas, ingrained by decades of obsession with those books.

Then when he used his Quirk, add in two similarly ingrained ‘Oh Shit!’ buttons in Japanese culture: the ability to shut off a student’s Quirk with bright red eyes, like he had Sharingan, while his hair shot straight up like he’d just gone Super Saiyan, and was one hundred percent ready to beat you into a pulp, full Vegeta style.

“Nitroglycerin build up,” Bakugo said, strangely quiet.

“That’s understandable, but next time you get into an argument, wait before doing that,” Aizawa told him, firmly. “Otherwise, it looks like you’re threatening people. That’s not good for a Pro Hero.”

Oh, right. Bakugo’s Quirk meant that his sweat turned into nitroglycerin. So even when he wasn’t trying to make explosions, he still needed to burn it off, lest he accidentally run around dripping liquid explosive on everything. Because that wasn’t a scary idea, even before getting into Bakugo’s literally raging inadequacy issues.

I looked away, and couldn’t help but catch Midoriya’s gaze next. Which, let me just tell you, is a strange experience, because you never quite know what you’re gonna get. One minute, Midoriya would be the kindest, most caring little teddy bear imaginable – like his expression right now – and the next, you’re missing half an office-block and he’s broken his arm again.

The kid needed therapy, and bad, ‘cause those kind of mood-swings from meek and mild to ‘what is this pain you speak of?’ weren’t a good sign for his long-term mental stability.

But at the moment, I do have to admit that it was kind of reassuring, to see Midoriya’s expression. He had a soft smile. It wasn’t a confident look of comfort, but something more tender, like he was just happy to see that I was okay. It looked like he genuinely cared, like my well-being was the most important thing in the world.

It… helped.

For a brief couple moments, I smiled back and nodded to him, and my fears faded away.

Then the bus hit a bump on the road, and my adrenaline spiked again, my instincts screaming that this was it, and the MLA’s hit-squad was here.

I should have fled the country while I had the chance, I thought to myself with a grimace, as I tried to control my racing heart.

“Nerves happen to everyone, Bakugo,” Aizawa said, a little more kindly, his voice pitched to carry throughout the whole bus. “There’s nothing wrong with it. You might be teenagers and students at U.A., but that doesn’t mean you’re prepared for everything yet. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.”

Bakugo scowled, but leaned back in his seat, and Aizawa’s head turned to look at me.

“This class will be your first experience with rescue operations,” he continued, still addressing the whole class. “It’s alright to be worried, but remember, you’re here to learn. We, your teachers, are going to fill those gaps in your knowledge. There’s nothing to be afraid of at the U.S.J.”

My first glimpse of the U.S.J. was overwhelming. It was a visual feast, even before the buffet of wonders that was contained inside. Two mountains, dozens of full sized buildings, a lake, a small forest, and two smaller domes… all inside one freestanding structure.

The biggest dome in the world. The lingering remnants of my family upbringing in construction were screaming in wonder, awe, and joy, and for a brief moment, it drowned out my rising fear of assassins.

It was an amazing contrast to the rest of Japan. In far too many ways, Japan looked just like the old 21st Century. Even my year abroad in Canada, supposedly to master my native English, but really just to embrace the nostalgia of my old boarding school, had ultimately been disappointing.

So many buildings built in the same ways, with the same streets, and the same methods. The only real change was the Quirks – people wandering around with shark heads and the like. It was a world of boring regularity, filled with extraordinary people. I would have rather had the reverse, personally.

Yet here… here was a clear sign that this was the future, that the world was advancing in more ways than just a person’s random Superpowers. A freestanding dome, larger than any other, without collapsing under its own weight. It dwarfed the Hagia Sophia, which I’d had the pleasure of seeing once. It could have fit ten Hagia Sophias inside it.

And these teenagers were ooh-ing and aah-ing over the interior, as the Pro Hero Thirteen proudly introduced her greatest creation. The interior was admittedly impressive, but they missed the single most amazing, miraculous thing, which was in right above them.

Well, let this travesty stand no longer.

I walked up to Thirteen, smiling in amazement, and opened my mouth to tell her how goddamn amazing she was, for building this structure. I was going to lavish her with the praise she deserved for her achievement.

But before I could say a word, the lights started flickering, and the entire dome darkened. An audible crackle filled the air, and visible arcs of electricity flared, grounding themselves out on the dome. The central fountain, so small in the distance, sputtered.

A black, inky vortex swirled into existence, like a toilet flushing backwards. It spun and twisted in front of the fountain, easily more than a hundred yards away, growing in size.

And through the darkness, a hand stretched. The portal opened wide, and people walked through. They were sinister figures, twisted and mishappen. Mutations Quirks, largely. They wore gasmasks and horns and bullet-proof vests, and I could see their heads whipping back and forth in deranged laughter.

Dozens of Villains strode out. Maybe a hundred. And with a portal-maker, they could have more just waiting. Hundreds of Villains, against just two Pro Heroes and twenty untrained students.

I was right. The Meta Liberation Army was going to kill me. They didn’t know who I might have told, so they were going to kill everyone I could have told. Everyone in my class.

“Thirteen, protect the students!” Aizawa snapped, turning to face the Villains. “The rest of you, stay together and don’t move!”

“Fuck that!” I shouted, my voice cracking as I stared down at my own death. “Run!”

I turned on the spot and took off, sprinting as fast as I could for the doors. Curse my short, stubby little legs, I thought to myself, as the hysteria rose back up, as my paranoia was proven right.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Kirishima barked, jumping out of the way as I dashed right through the middle of the crowd of milling teenagers, dodging colorful costumes and confused faces. “Aizawa-sensei, is this part of our training?”

“Mineta, I said stay together!” Aizawa yelled after me. “The rest of you, this isn’t training! Those are real Villains!”

“Students, with me!” Thirteen shouted, as my feet pounded the tiled pathway to the gigantic main doors. “We’re leaving, now! Follow me!”

Thank God, one of them is sensible, I thought. Stay in place? What kind of moron are you, Aizawa?! A hundred Villains break into a private building, and you tell us to stay still? What, while you solo the entire crowd of trained MLA soldiers?! And you think All Might’s ego is bad?!

A hundred racing thoughts just like that were blazing through my head, like stars flickering past a spaceship’s cockpit. Of all the times, now is when my brain races into overdrive.

Despite being the first to start running, and getting a head start, I could hear the rest of Class 1-A catching up quickly behind me, their longer legs giving them an obvious advantage. Maybe we’d all get out, before the Villains decided to lock down the entrance. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I was maybe ten feet from the doors when I saw the flickers of purple smoke, like tentacles, appearing out of the corner of my eye. If my lungs weren’t burning from the hundred yard dash, I would have screamed at how goddam unfair it was. I’d spotted the assassins nearly instantly, and did the right thing, and I still was going to be killed.

But the tentacles didn’t reach out to grab me, and the portal didn’t form in front of me.

“Close the door, pretend it’s locked!” someone shouted behind me. I didn’t have time to wonder who had yelled it, or why they’d yelled such a bizarre thing, because I was already sprinting through the gigantic double-doors.

The open sky greeted me like a mother’s warm hug, cheerful bright blue dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the doors slammed shut behind me. I could hear birdsong in the nearby trees, and see the empty parking lot.

I took a quick, terrified glance over my shoulder, but the enormous gateway to the U.S.J. stayed closed – and nobody else had made it outside. I was alone.

So I kept running, despite how idyllic and peaceful everything was. The Meta Liberation Army would soon realize that they’d missed their primary target, and they’d come looking. If I was going to survive, I need to get to cover, so that they couldn’t just look out a window and spot me standing in the open like a moron.

About fifty yards away, the tree-lined sidewalk had some bushes and undergrowth that I could hide in. Just like at my old summer camp, playing Capture the Chicken in the backwoods of the San Juan Islands.

I dove headfirst into the bushes, scrambling through leaf and limb as I moved deeper, deeper, where I wouldn’t be seen.

Finally, I slowed down, panting for breath and trying to keep from rustling the bushes and giving away my position, as I continued to move away from the U.S.J.

My legs were burning from all the sprinting – perhaps armored pants hadn’t been the best choice for my own costume, if this is how they held up. Better than the diaper that had been the original Mineta’s costume, though.

There were benefits to customizing your own gear, of course, even if it hadn’t been as ‘sexy’ as a Pro Hero’s Costume was supposed to be. Utility belts, for instance, which could hold so many important items. An armored vest for protecting center-mass, but not restricting my arm movement, while providing more pockets.

I pawed through my utility belt, brushing past energy bars and bandage wraps, and seizing upon the single most important thing right now – my cellphone.

I had added Nedzu’s cellphone number off the staff directory weeks ago, when I’d almost reported Chitose to him. Almost blown the lid off the entire damn cult.

It was the perfect opportunity, since I had only just learned the truth and wasn’t guilty myself of anything more than having the wrong friends. The Principal of U.A. would naturally have plenty of high-ranking connections in the Hero Commission, and could drag the Meta Liberation Army into the light without risking a leak to their spies in the government or the Diet.

Yet I hadn’t told Nedzu. Some cowardice, probably, or selfishness. A deep, primal part of my subconscious didn’t want to hurt my friend any more than I already had. As well, I didn’t want to risk being dragged out of U.A. in handcuffs, arrested as an accomplice to the Meta Liberation Army.

But now… now my fears had been proven true. They’d tried to kill me. They were trying to kill my friends.

I punched the call button, and waited impatiently while the cellphone rang. Nedzu picked up on the second ring.

“Mineta-san, what can I do for you?” Nedzu asked, his voice cheerful and happy.

“Villains are attacking the U.S.J.!” I told him, my nerves raising my voice, until I was near shouting.

“Are you safe?” Nedzu asked, the cheer dropping from his voice, but without any signs of hurry. There was some kind of noise in the background, but I couldn’t make it out.

“I got outside, but everyone else is trapped inside the dome,” I told him, as I kept walking briskly away from the U.S.J. “I’m gonna call the police right after this, but we need Heroes now! They had a portal-maker and a lot of people.”

“I’m sending the staff immediately,” Nedzu informed me, his calm voice soothing a little of my frayed nerves. “I’ll call the police right after you, to confirm your call. After you call them, keep moving away from the U.S.J. The Villains might have someone assigned to watch for escapees.”

“Got it!” I replied, nodding despite Nedzu being unable to see it.

I hung up, and immediately started dialing the police – almost dialing 911, before remembering that the police emergency number was 110 in my second homeland.

“Police Emergency line,” a gruff male voice answered, on the first ring.

“Villain attack,” I told him quickly. “I’m a student at U.A., and we were at the U.S.J. when a portal came out of nowhere, and Villains started attacking.”

“Okay, try to keep calm sir,” the man’s voice told me, in a reassuring manner. “Are you safe where you are?”

“Yeah, I ran away as fast as I could, and got outside,” I confirmed. “My classmates are stuck inside with our teachers – Pro Heros Eraserhead and Thirteen.”

“Are you sure they were Villains?” the man’s voice asked.

“Absolutely,” I said firmly. “Eraserhead told us this wasn’t part of our training, and that they were real Villains.”

“Thank you, we’re scrambling police and heroes immediately,” the emergency line operator said. “Did you see how many Villains there were?”

“At least two or three dozen,” I told him. “More were still coming through the portal when I ran, and since they’ve got a portal-maker, there’s no way of knowing how many they’ve got.”

“Thank you, I’ll pass that information to the Heroes immediately,” the man said. “Please stay on the line for me, it will help Heroes locate you.”

Morons, I don’t want Heroes to come running to me, I want them to protect the rest of class!

“I can’t, Principal Nedzu’s calling me back!” I lied, before quickly hanging up on him.

The trees around me were more developed further out, as the little nature reserve of U.A.’s facilities tended to do. The bushes blocked views from the road, but deeper in any forest, as the trees grew taller, the undergrowth started lessening.

Despite the city buildings within a couple hundred yards, and the enormous, beautiful dome of the U.S.J. behind me, I sighed in relief to be back where I belonged, back in the forest.

But that relief didn’t last long. My teachers were fighting for their lives back there. My classmates might be doing the same, or even dying. I could see Kyoka Jiro’s face clear in my head, her punk-rock façade melting into fear. I could see Momo Yaoyorozu’s aristocratic features, and her nervous uncertainty. I could still hear Kirishima’s attempts to reassure me, and visualize Midoriya’s caring smile.

The Meta Liberation Army had done this.

No, more than that. Chitose had done this.

She was the only one who knew what I thought of her beloved cause, and the many hypocrisies. She was the only one who knew that I needed to be silenced, in order for her precious ‘Liberation’ to succeed. She was the only one who’d heard my declarations on that night, the anger I’d expressed, the way I’d all but declared myself their enemy.

That was right, I realized. I hadn’t actually told Chitose that.

The words from that first meeting with her, so long ago, came rushing back to me: Honesty is one of the best things in life.

I’d stopped just short of declaring to Chitose that I was her enemy. That I was the enemy of her Meta Liberation Army.

Let’s fix that, I thought to myself, almost calm in spite of the raging inferno building up in my chest.

I dialed Chitose’s number.

Chapter Text

“…and then I said ‘screw it’, and just started shootin’,” Snipe recounted, his feet up on the conference table and his hands firing finger-guns into the air. “You should’ve been there, Nedzu. It was awesome. You could have hung out on my shoulder, like the old days.”
 
“Thank you for that enlightening story, Snipe,” Nedzu said with a wide smile, as the irreverent cowboy shot him two thumbs up from across the staff table. “But as fond as I am of riding into battle, we do have a staff meeting to get back to.”

“Finally,” Vlad King groaned, further down the table. The blood Hero glared over at Snipe, but the third-year’s teacher just waved back without a care in the world. Though this was only a partial staff meeting, primarily composed of those with experience in security, it had taken most of their lunch period, and Nedzu knew that Vlad King was eager to get back to his students.

“Do we have anything else to talk about?” Midnight asked, ignoring her fellow Pro Heroes. “I think Nedzu covered everything we needed, and lunch is almost over.”

“It sounds good to me,” All Might confirmed, his skeletal form hunched over the table, studying the papers that Nedzu had handed out. “It’s tempting to think that our security systems are good enough, and discount the break-in, but even one incident shows that we need to increase our protection. I’m all in favor.”

“Like I said earlier, we’ll start the upgrades this weekend,” Power Loader said. “With Cementoss and a couple of my third-years, we can have most of the core work done before classes resume.”

“Can you trust your third years with the work?” All Might asked, with a slight tensing of the shoulders that indicated concern. How precious, Nedzu thought to himself. He was worried for the students.

“They’re good enough to do apprentice work, and that’s what most of this is,” Power Loader said, before continuing with some clear irritation. “Of course, most of my effort’s gonna be keeping them from customizing the job, or making robot tanks, or stuff like that. They’ve got the skills, but focus comes with time.”

Snipe chuckled, looking at the ceiling and whistling in an off-tune manner.

“In that case, I think we’ve finished up here,” Nedzu said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get back to work, shall-”

A sudden ringing cut through his words, echoing loudly in the room. Snipe yanked his feet off the table, patting his own pockets, but most eyes turned to Nedzu.

Nedzu reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a tiny, customized cellphone.

“How curious,” he said, looking down at the phone number, and projecting his words for all to hear. “Minoru Mineta of Class 1-A.”

“Young Mineta? I wonder what he wants…” All Might mused.

Nedzu opened the flip-phone with a snap, and thumbed the speaker button.

“Mineta-san, what can I do for you?” Nedzu asked.

“Villains are attacking the U.S.J.!” the boy shouted, his voice crackling and tinny over the cellphone.

Chairs went screeching back, Pro Heroes shooting to their feet. All Might opened his mouth, presumably to ask questions, but Snipe cut him off with a sharp wave of a hand, shaking his head.

“Are you safe?” Nedzu asked, keeping his voice calm, so as not to scare the child even more.

“I got outside, but everyone else is trapped inside the dome,” Mineta replied. “I’m gonna call the police right after this, but we need Heroes now! They had a portal-maker and a lot of people.”

“I’m sending the staff immediately,” Nedzu told him, pointing his off-hand at Ectoplasm, Snipe, and All Might, before curling his arm, as if carrying something under it. All Might seemed to understand instantly, his suit puffing up as he grew into his muscly form. “I’ll call the police right after you, to confirm your call. After you call them, keep moving away from the U.S.J. The Villains might have someone assigned to watch for escapees.”

“Got it!” Mineta confirmed, before hanging up with a sharp click.

Nedzu clucked his tongue, looking down at the cellphone. He didn’t have anything more to tell the young man, but if he had, then Mineta had just cut himself off, and Nedzu would have had to call him back. Students were so rash. Ah, well, that was why they were at U.A. to learn.

“All Might, carry Snipe and Ectoplasm, and get there as fast as possible,” Nedzu ordered. “The rest of us will follow as quickly as we can. First priority is to keep our students safe. Second priority, immobilize the portal-maker. Third priority is to contain the villains. Go!”

Everyone nodded, and All Might charged out of the room, scooping Ectoplasm and Snipe up and tucking them under his arms as he did. Despite his earlier joviality, Snipe was nothing but focused now, keeping his body limp to stay streamlined against the air. Nedzu could hear a window being shoved open in the hallway outside, then a sudden rush of wind as All Might took off with a bounding leap.

The rest of his staff also rushed out the room, with Vlad King grabbing Nedzu as he rounded the conference table and placing him on his shoulder. Nedzu latched on, and focused his attention on response times as Vlad and the other teachers ran through the halls. Those response times could be the matter of life or death for any of his students.

Time to the U.S.J. on a good day with little traffic would be about ten minutes or so. With the afternoon rush having not yet started, that was possible. It would take at most two minutes to get to vehicles and get on the road, while setting up a lockdown on the way out. Some Pro Heroes would need to be left at the school, easily handled by phone-calls while in the elevator. Total time to target, at least twelve to thirteen minutes.

All Might himself could probably make it with Ectoplasm and Snipe in less than three minutes, due to taking a straight-line path and simply leaping over most obstacles. Though he was running low on his personal time-limit, he still had a few minutes left. That would be enough to handle the major threats, while Snipe could control the battlefield from range, and Ectoplasm could use his clones to handle large numbers of low-level Villains and safeguard the students.

The nearest police station was the Musutafu Police Department, which was prompt and efficient. Their dispatcher might not believe a teenager reporting a mass Villain attack on U.A., but they would mark it down at least as a potential truth. His own confirmation call would kick them into hasty action, and they would arrive in at least fifteen to twenty minutes.

All Might’s entrance would probably scare many of the Villains into retreating, but the first priority had to be the student’s safety – even if that meant a higher likelihood of Villains escaping, and committing more crimes later on. U.A. could take the PR hit from a less than perfect capture rating, so long as no students died – because if that happened, it would be vastly worse.

He dialed 110 for emergency police calls, and almost lost his grip on Vlad King’s shoulder as he took a corner a bit too fast.

“Hold my phone,” Nedzu muttered in Vlad King’s ear, tightening his grip on the man’s shoulder and passing the Hero his flip-phone.

He glanced at Midnight, who was also on the phone – calling Hound Dog to sound the Level Two Alert. The school counsellor was currently on watch duty in the security center. He would handle the lockdown, select which Pro Hero Teachers were to remain behind to guard the school, while the teachers with Nedzu moved out immediately.

The three Levels was a simplified code for security breaches, with many sub-variants; Level One meant that the school was going into lockdown, and that everyone was to stay within the security barrier. Level Two, as in this case, meant that the students were to remain within the barrier, while some or all of the staff ventured outside to handle Hero work. A Level Three, as they had just had a few days ago, meant that both students and staff were to evacuate U.A. as quickly as possible.

“Police Emergency line,” a female operator said, her voice clipped and no-nonsense.

“This is Principal Nedzu of U.A. High School,” Nedzu said quickly, as Vlad King held the phone up, and the rushing group of teachers finally reached the elevator. “Villains are attacking our U.S.J. facility, and we need immediate police support.”

“Understood,” the operator replied. “We’re dispatching police immediately.”

“I’m on my way there with the rest of the U.A. staff, including All Might, but this is a large-scale attack,” Nedzu emphasized. “We may need outside Hero assistance. Please send out the emergency alert to all Musutafu-based Heroes.”

“Understood,” the operator confirmed. “Who reported the original attack, and can they confirm the number of Villains?”

“A class is currently at the U.S.J., and one of our students called me,” Nedzu informed her, as the elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the basement garage, and the teachers piled out. “He said he would be calling the police, so he will relay that information.”

Across the hallway, another elevator opened, revealing Present Mic, Hound Dog, and Cementoss. They all rushed out into the garage; Present Mic moving for his sedan, along with Midnight and Vlad King, while Hound Dog, Power Loader, and Cementoss went running for larger transportation.

“One moment,” the operator said, as the sound of faint words came through the flip-phone – likely the operator talking to one of her fellows. “Yes, he has. It looks like at least several dozen Villains. We’re sending the emergency alert to all Hero registered phones immediately.”

“Thank you,” Nedzu said, ducking as Vlad King slipped into the backseat of Present Mic’s sedan. “Please inform the officer in charge to call my number for coordination.”

He reached down and ended the call, leaping off Vlad King’s shoulder and quickly buckling himself in, as the car revved to life, and peeled out of the parking garage at a slightly unsafe speed. Midnight was grimacing, one hand firmly gripped on the grab handle, while Vlad King did likewise, though his grim expression was far more habitual than hers.

“Nedzu?” Present Mic asked, glancing back at him in a wordless question as he pointed a finger at the roof of his car, his other hand drumming at the wheel with restless energy.

“Yes, you have my permission,” Nedzu confirmed.

“Hell yeah! Aizawa never lets me use these babies!” Present Mic cried out, pressing a switch on his dashboard.

Loud sirens roared to life, and concealed lights started flashing, encouraging other cars on the roadway to move out of the way swiftly as Present Mic floored the gas.

Nedzu looked out the rear-view window, and saw Hound Dog’s open-topped off-road vehicle following behind them, the enormous dog-Quirk Hero clearly visible behind the wheel, a snarl on his face and the wind blowing at his fur.

Cementoss and Power Loader were crammed into the back, with Cementoss looking distinctly unamused at the fur in his face. Just a moment later, the off-roader’s own police sirens roared to life, and Hound Dog let out his distinctive hunting howl, though Nedzu could not hear it underneath the sirens.

He couldn’t help but clap and laugh at the sight, then turned and waved merrily out the window at bystanders, a broad smile on his own animal face.

No doubt the sight of two fully loaded Hero cars moving at high speed was attracting attention, and perhaps he should have behaved more appropriately as per his position as U.A.’s principal, but Nedzu couldn’t help but bounce in his seat.

The game was on, as the old books said, and he was getting a chance to go into battle for the first time in quite a while.

“Faster, faster!” Nedzu cried, a maniacal laugh starting to build in his throat. “Ahahahaha!”

Chapter Text

It was a normal day at Shueisha. Employees walked quickly between offices, discussing newsworthy events that they might cover in the next printing. The mail boy rattled around with his cart, delivering packages with a smile.

Yet up at the top of Shueisha Tower, in her corner office, Chitose Kizuki was anything but normal. Even as she reviewed the preview of the next day’s newspaper, her thoughts were… distant.

Was I really so wrong? Chitose thought to herself, as lethargic fingers flipped the page.

It’d been… weeks since her world had collapsed. Since Mineta had torn up the foundations that she built her life on. If it weren’t for her job at Shueisha, it was entirely possible that she wouldn’t have gone outside, or bathed, or even left her bed.

What was the point? What was the point of life, if it wasn’t to work for the Meta Liberation Army?

One day, she would be dead, as would everyone who knew her. There would be nobody that actually remembered her, nobody that cared for her. Even if she had a family, with a husband and children, one day they too would die, and so would her children’s children, until there weren’t even fond stories of ‘gramma Chitose.’

Her legacy would be a name and a headshot photo in the list of Shueisha directors. Her interviews would be in video format, in the archive, but it was never about her, just whoever she was interviewing, whatever important or newsworthy thing that someone else had done.

The looming abyss of ennui had returned from the depths of her late teenaged years, like a zombie crawling from a grave.

What was the point? Why even bother?

She could still remember the phantom traces of her college bedsheets on her skin, scratchy and unwashed as she lay there for hours at a time, grappling with this same issue.

It wasn’t lack of ability, or lack of discipline… it was a lack of vision that was her real problem.

At the time, as the adult world was opening up before her, with too many possibilities, none of which she cared to even try, she’d searched so desperately for something she could love, something more than just… traces. She wanted something genuine, something that would actually matter.

Until she’d found the Liberation. It was like a torch in the dead of night, like a signal fire on a lonely mountain, like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

The Liberation had been her salvation. A cause to fight for, a righteous cause that would affect not just her, but every single citizen of Japan – and more, if they could only re-take their homeland. The first step in a long road to improving the world.

The problem wasn’t ennui, she learned quickly.

The problem was that most of the world, when looked at with clear eyes, didn’t matter. If you had a powerful Meta Ability – Quirks to most – then you might be able to become a Hero, and actually make a difference.

But if you weren’t a Hero, then you were shackled. Even licenses to use Meta Abilities for business were highly regulated, tightly limited.

The solution was Free Quirk Use. For every person, no matter how powerful their Quirk was, to be free to use them.

The solution was Re-Destro, and Destro before him.

And so she’d joined. She attended her meetings, sworn her oaths, made her sacrifices. In return for her devotion, she’d been given the greatest thing possible – a purpose.

She was to be a recruiter in the Meta Liberation Army. Her job was to join the news industry, to shape the papers and television reports that were watched by millions. Her work would pave the way for the coming revolution, would prime the citizens for the inevitable Liberation.

In truth, her college grades were mediocre. Getting her first job at Shueisha had been more because of the recruiter’s own ties to the Meta Liberation Army. Yet once she’d gotten in, she latched onto her work like a starving women given gourmet food. She’d chased story after story, with an intensity that earned her nickname in the office, and then became her codename in the MLA.

Curiosity, they called her. Affectionately at Shueisha, and with irony in the MLA; for Chitose didn’t need curiosity. She’d had the cause, and that was all she needed. Re-Destro’s vision was her answer to every mystery.

But her life’s purpose, her life’s meaning was wrong – because the Meta Liberation was wrong.

Because Re-Destro was wrong.

It would be inaccurate to say that her world had shattered – for if it had, there would be pieces to pick up. Lingering traces of her old life… but Chitose had nothing. She had no old home to return to, no adolescent friends to re-connect with, no mentor to rely on.

Everything of value that she had, she had been given by the Meta Liberation Army. Everything of value that she had once possessed, she had sacrificed. She had driven her friends away, donated all her savings to the cause, left her family behind. She had sacrificed her lawful future; if the truth of her crimes was ever known to the police, she would be locked away. She had murdered, she was a Commander in the MLA!

There were moments, in the dark night at her expensive condo, where she considered… going back. Telling Re-Destro everything, throwing herself on his whims, and devoting herself to the cause.

Not because the Meta Liberation Army was right, but because they were comfortable. The Liberation was her home, her family, her community, and without them, she was so terrifyingly alone.

But even now, weeks after Mineta had torn her world apart, she hadn’t told Re-Destro. She hadn’t breathed a word of his disagreement, his vitriol, his rage, to anyone other than Temura – who had merely confirmed Mineta’s words.

If Re-Destro asked her, perhaps at the next High Command meeting, she didn’t know exactly what she would say. ‘I’m still working on it’, perhaps. Something non-confrontational. Something that let her keep hiding.

She just wanted to hide. She only showed up to work because after more than a decade, it was habit. She deposited her paychecks out of muscle memory. She checked the next day’s stories because it was what her employees would ask about, and she didn’t dare draw attention by falling down on the job.

She just wanted to blend in, to sink into the ocean of Shueisha like one more cog in the machine, one more nail in the wall… but the executive director of the News division couldn’t do that.

As if summoned by her thoughts, her cellphone rang – trilling in the silence of her corner office.

She reached for her phone, thankful to have something else to work on, to distract herself with… and then she saw the name emblazoned on the phone’s screen.

Minoru Mineta.

The phone nearly tumbled from her fingers, but she gripped it tight. She stared down at the name, which almost felt… accusing.

Chitose shook her head. A name couldn’t be accusing. That was her own feelings, her own fear. Just the sight of his name, the potential of his voice, was enough to remind her of how badly she’d failed.

…but hiding wouldn’t make things better. Cowardice wouldn’t fix her failures.

She thumbed the green symbol, and accepted the call on the third ring.

“Hello, Mineta,” Chitose said, hesitant.

“DID YOU SEND A FUCKING HIT-SQUAD AFTER ME?!”

Chitose jolted, and the phone dropped from her hand, landing on her desk with a clatter. She nearly dove for it, grabbing the precious device hurriedly, and thankfully, she hadn’t accidentally hung up on him. She lowered the volume, and held it up to her ear.

“No!” Chitose said, her heart beating with a fierce rhythm that shook her shoulders. “I didn’t!”

“I swear, on everything that is holy,” Mineta snarled, his labored breaths hissing and loud across the cellphone, “I will not let you and your cult of narcissistic shitbags drag down this cause.”

“I haven’t done anything!” Chitose cried. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because SOMEONE is trying to kill me!” Mineta roared, his voice staticky over the connection.

“It’s not me!” Chitose replied quickly. “Where are you? I can send help!”

“I’m at UA, at the U.S.J. dome!” Mineta told her. “And if I see a single fucking hint that you were behind this, I am going to tear your world into pieces!”

“It wasn’t me!” Chitose snapped back. “I had nothing to do with this!”

“If any of you MLA assholes are behind this, I will BREAK you!” Mineta snarled. “Do you understand me, Chitose? I will not let this cause be associated with terrorists and criminals – not again. And if that means that I have to drag your asses to the Police and bring you down, so fucking be it.”

“Will you listen to me?! I’m not behind this!” Chitose cried out.

“You’d better not be behind this, Chitose,” Mineta said, his voice intense. “Because I’m not going to let you fuck this up.”

The cellphone clicked, and the call ended.

Chitose looked down at it, for a long moment, and then looked out the window, as if she could see all the way to Musutafu, on Tokyo’s outskirts.

The greatest struggle of her life had been finding a purpose. The greatest betrayal was the loss of that purpose.

Yet Mineta… had shared her beliefs, her philosophy – and still spat on the Meta Liberation Army.

She had wondered over the last few weeks, as she had re-watched the security footage of Mineta’s rant over and over, if Mineta truly had believed what he had said, that day.

That’s what is so goddamn painful about all of this. You have a good idea! Your beliefs aren’t wrong!

These beliefs aren’t radical. They aren’t crazy.

Your first priority should be those beliefs, that philosophy.

He’d been so cruel in the rest of his rant, no matter if she had genuinely deserved it. But cruel or not, that didn’t make his words wrong.

…and Mineta had confirmed them today.

Chitose dialed quickly, her thumb flying over the touchscreen almost on instinct. It rang once, and the man on the other end answered instantly.

“Echo here,” Temura Takao said, prompt as always.

“Echo, this is Chitose,” she said quickly. “There’s an on-going Villain attack at UA’s U.S.J. facility. Mineta’s there. He thinks it was us.”

“Shit,” Temura replied, before his voice turned distant, as if he had put down the phone and was yelling at someone else. “Listen up! Villain attack at the U.S.J.! All Heroes, get moving now!”

Chitose couldn’t hear anything but a slight hiss over the phone, since the microphone wasn’t sensitive enough, but she could imagine dropped coffees, panicked expressions, and a frenzied rush to the door.

“The room’s clear now,” Temura said to her after a moment. “Explain this to me again – Mineta thinks this was us?”

“Yes,” Chitose confirmed. “He got outside, and he called me, accused me of being behind it.”

“Are you?”

“No!” Chitose snapped. “I’m not! We’re not! I haven’t told anybody but you about Mineta’s rant. It can’t be High Command, because they still think I’m trying to recruit him!”

“I had to be sure,” Temura replied. “You’ve been distant the last few weeks.”

Chitose stared down at the phone in her hand and laughed – a crazed, hysterical sound that she couldn’t keep from slipping out.

“I wonder why!” Chitose said, her voice raised, before she cut it off, clamping down on the hysteria. It wasn’t helping. “But this – this can’t be us. We didn’t do it, and I can’t let it be us. Do you understand me?”

“…if this is an MLA op…” Temura said, leaving his word dangling in an open-ended question.

“Then you shut it down,” Chitose ordered. “You shut it down hard. Mineta stays alive, at all costs. We can’t be that kind of group, that kind of people. We need to be better.”

“…made up your mind, huh?” Temura said, humming. “What did it? Why did you change your opinion?”

“It was something he said,” Chitose told him. “Something you said, too.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about it later,” Temura said. “One of my clones is in the squad car. I’m reaching my distance limit, gonna pop soon.”

“I will,” Chitose promised. “Keep Mineta alive, and we’ll talk later. I – I can’t be a part of the Meta Liberation anymore. I can’t be one of them. They’re… they’re wrong.”

“Good. I’m happy for you,” Temura said. “Gotta go.”

The phone clicked again, and Chitose was left alone, standing in an expensive office filled with expensive things in an expensive tower, while her one true friend was potentially dying, just a few dozen kilometers away, in the streets of Musutafu.

She pressed the intercom button on her desk-phone.

“Get my car ready,” Chitose told her secretary. “I need to get to Musutafu, immediately.”

“Of course ma’am,” the secretary replied.

Chitose released the intercom button, and bent down, fishing with one hand to rip off her dressy high-heels, which would just slow her down. Her stockinged feet rushed across the carpet to her work-closet, and she hurriedly pulled on a set of running shoes and her heavy jacket.

She hesitated, and reached inside the closet once more, pulling out the combat bracelets. They’d been a gift from Re-Destro, to allow her to use her Meta Ability - her Quirk - in close-range by turning individual links in the chain into land-mines, and protecting her hand from the blast when they detonated.

Re-Destro had wanted her to name them something inspiring, something grand and befitting of a Commander of the Meta Liberation Army. Something they could turn into a story, a narrative, for more PR. Revolutionaries had always lived or died on their image; just ask Che Guevara. She hadn’t gotten around to it yet. She’d been distracted.

There was no time for fancy names – not while Mineta might be dying. Actions mattered right now. Chitose pulled on the illegal Hero Support gear, one set on each arm, and rushed out the door.

As she hurried down the hall to the elevator, her argument with Temura came back to her, the words lingering in her head.

What if Mineta is right? Temura had asked her. What if it doesn’t work? What if you’re wrong, and he’s right?

Re-Destro made me a good person, she’d screamed at him. He decided what was right!

He was wrong, Temura had replied. Mineta was right.

She’d spent so long looking for a purpose, and Re-Destro had tricked her. Yet Mineta was right – the philosophy of Free Quirk Use was a good idea, a good belief. There was nothing wrong with the ideals that the Meta Liberation Army claimed to have, just with the fact that they hadn’t lived up to those ideals.

But Mineta did live up to them.

His life was in danger, and he thought it was the Meta Liberation Army trying to kill him… and rather than throw away his beliefs, rather than abandon the cause that had been corrupted by the MLA, Mineta had told her that he wouldn’t let her fuck this up.

I will not let this cause be associated with terrorists and criminals.

I swear, on everything that is holy, I will not let you and your cult drag down this cause.

The problem wasn’t Free Quirk Use.

The problem was Re-Destro, and Destro before him.

And the solution… was Mineta.

Chapter Text

Snipe had heard many people say that the world wasn’t black and white, but that it was all in shades of gray.

That, to pardon his French, was a hot load of bullshit.

Sure, sometimes a good action could have negative consequences. Sometimes there was a silver lining to a mushroom cloud. Snipe didn’t deny that – not when he’d seen so much in his days. There were shades of gray in the world, oh yes indeed-y.

But just like cowboys, Western movies, and Sam Colt’s genius, white hats and black hats lived on. You just needed to pay attention to see ‘em. There were good people out there, doing good deeds, for good reasons. Just like there were Villains, doing evil deeds, for evil reasons.

It was things like this that made his job so hard, some days. Particularly with his Quirk.

Snipe wasn’t the most popular Pro Hero in Japan, and he knew it. The nation still shied away from guns, like they were lethal, dangerous things that existed to murder, and nothing more.

It was easy to forget that guns were tools, after so many years of All Might’s glorious golden reign as the Number One Hero, the big man, the Duke, the King himself. The crime rate was at historic lows, and so many Villains were deterred just by All Might’s existence.

But Snipe wasn’t a young buck. He still remembered the older days, the days of his youth, before All Might’s rise. He’d grown up with bombings and stabbings and shootings a’plenty. Hell, even with All Might, there was still the occasional horror, like the nightmare of the Instant Villains just a few years back.

There were monsters out there… but not all monsters deserved death. If he put a bullet in the brain of some Villain, it was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. That Villain could never be rehabilitated, never help another person, never try to make up for their crimes.

Killing a Villain was like a bartender running a drinker out of town, because the drinker owed him way too much money, and never paid off his tab.

Sure, it ‘solved’ the problem of the patron drinking without paying, but it also meant that the bartender was stuck with that loss. The drinker would never pay off that debt. The bartender would never get payment for anything the patron drank.

Add in that you never quite knew a man’s true character, and it got all sorts of complicated. Would this guy be the kind of person to feel regret for his sins? Would that guy be able to admit he was wrong? Did he need just one more push to start making up for his disgraceful past?

But sometimes, some rare times indeed, you ran into a Villain that would never pay off their tab, and more importantly, would never even try. They took, and took, and took, like the riches of the working man were theirs by right. Like normal people were just slaves to them.

And now, a number of those monsters were attacking children. Children under his protection.

What was their logic? That if they killed U.A.’s first-year students, they’d reduce the number of Pro Heroes that might arrest them? Or did they even think that far?

This wasn’t a crime of opportunity. Nobody just ‘bumps’ into private property, bypassing U.A.’s security system, with a couple dozen friends. Considering that first security breach a couple days ago, this was clearly premediated.

Now technically speaking, under some certain rule systems, such as the Japanese legal system, those things didn’t merit the death penalty, and certainly wouldn’t qualify for a ‘Shoot on Sight’ level of response.

But at the moment? Snipe didn’t give a damn. They were going after his kids.

It would be so tempting to go straight for the killshots, here. They deserved nothing less.

His Quirk would make it so easy. Just a few shots, and heads would pop like bottles on the fence. A permanent solution to the problem.

All of this weighed heavily on Snipe’s mind, as the wind tried to blow his hat off, All Might held his entire body under one arm, and the buildings zipped past beneath him like hooves under a galloping horse.

Darker and darker thoughts loomed in the back of his head, until a cough cut right through them – a cough that was somehow louder than the wind rushing past them.

Snipe looked up, and saw a tiny dribble of blood leaking out of All Might’s mouth. The Number One Hero didn’t even seem to have noticed, his gaze still locked on the dome of the U.S.J. in the quickly shortening distance. His usual broad smile was completely absent.

All Might was low on his time already. He’d have barely a few minutes to go full out. After that, he’d be weaker than even one of the students, and a priority target. It was strange to think that the leading man was so… vulnerable.

“Rules of engagement?” Ectoplasm asked, yelling over the wind.

“We need them alive!” All Might answered, his booming voice carrying over the wind easily. “If there are any fatalities on either side, it will traumatize the students. The police will also want answers from those we capture.”

Well, shit. There went Plan A.

Snipe tried to ignore the feeling of relief that was leaking through his stomach, as the decision was taken away from him. The responsibility of life or death wasn’t his, thank God.

Ectoplasm didn’t have any lethal attacks. Why had he even asked – ah, Ol’ Skullface always did see to the heart of things. No wonder he’d figured out Snipe’s internal dilemma.

“What about kneecaps?” Snipe yelled, with his gasmask’s usual electronic hash and buzz.

“A Hero’s work is often dangerous,” All Might replied. “Under the circumstances… the children will understand.”

Amen, Hallelujah, and peanut butter, Snipe thought to himself.

The U.S.J. Dome was fast approaching, and one more leap would bring them to the front doors. Snipe tensed up, one hand gripping his big iron in its holster beneath his poncho.

Ectoplasm squirmed, and All Might released him a few dozen meters above the ground. The cloning Hero spat out his ghoulish gobs of ghostly goo as he fell, and five more Ectoplasms formed into being, all doing that insane stunt of his, where he fell face-first, his pale-yellow trenchcoat flaring out behind him. Snipe had seen him perform it a half-dozen times, and it still freaked him out.

All Might slammed down with legs like gnarled oak, thick and strong, and the concrete cracked under the force of his landing.

Released from the convenience of the All Might Armpit Carry, the cowboy Hero quickly shook out the ruffles in his poncho, before doffing and donning his signature hat – to ensure that his appearance was overall unruffled.

“Ectoplasm, you’re on crowd control,” Snipe ordered, un-snapping his holster as they moved up to the big doors. “All Might, find the nearest big nasty and give him a warm welcome, would you please?”

“And what will you be doing?” All Might asked, hesitating slightly.

Beneath his gasmask, Snipe smiled, as he pulled out his iron.

“Didn’t you ever go to the circus, big guy?” Snipe asked, spinning the chamber of his revolver. “The ringmaster stands in place and directs the crowd. I’ll keep the baddies corralled and under control.”

“Understood,” All Might nodded, his face still grim. “Stand back, I’ve got the door!”

The Ectoplasms fanned out into position, and All Might reached down, and tugged on the ornate door handles. They didn’t move – the doors were locked.

All Might carefully laid a hand on the door. Snipe couldn’t tell what he was doing, but after a moment of tense silence, All Might nodded, and reached up with a clenched fist –

 – and knocked, rapping his knuckles three times on the enormous doors.

The entire doorway practically shivered, a vibration trembling through both doors – and as the doors shook, they opened just a fraction, bouncing back against their hinges.

All Might’s hands slammed into the tiny opening, and with a small grunt, the Number One Hero pulled.

Steel pins popped out of place, brackets split in half, and the hinges shattered as All Might wrenched the gigantic gates open with his bare hands, before shoving them aside. The colossal slabs of steel fell to the ground, sending up plumes of dust.

“I’m pretty sure those opened the other way, big hoss,” Snipe told All Might.

All Might acted like he didn’t hear, but Snipe knew him better than that – he was just too angry to care.

People could think whatever they wanted about the big guy being a teddy bear for the kiddos, but they tended to forget the second part of that phrase – the bear part. Touch his kids at ye own risk, villains.

All Might strode through the dust cloud, and after a brief shrug, Snipe followed him, along with the uniquely clonk-clonk-clonk sound of the wooden peg-legs of a half-dozen Ectoplasms following along.

“It’s the teachers!” a voice cried out, somewhere through the cloud. “It’s – oh thank God, it’s All Might!”

“That’s right,” All Might boomed, his voice echoing out in front of them. “It’s going to be fine, now! Why?! Because I am here!”

“And he’s not alone!” Snipe yelled, as he and the Ectoplasms emerged from the dust, revealing the scenic vista of the U.S.J. before them.

A few of the students were clustered at the top of the entryway, coated in dust and visibly tired. Snipe could see Thirteen next to them, with a horrendous tear in her suit, like she’d been dragged behind a wagon… or exposed to her own Quirk.

Well, time to get a look-see at what was going on around town – and let the good folks know that the Sheriff was in town.

Snipe raised his revolver in the air, and fired once, twice, three times. The shots thundered out, and he saw a couple of the students cover their ears with winces.

The bullets curved in the air, curling like the tendrils of whips, and zooming round the entire U.S.J. Dome in neat, circular paths – and giving Snipe a perfect bird’s eye view of everything going on.

It was a part of his Quirk that he didn’t talk about much, but which any intelligent man should be able to figure out. Everyone knew that he could control the bullets he fired, but bullets moved at hundreds of meters per second – so fast that the human eye couldn’t track them.

Yet Snipe could, whipping them around hairpin turns and through obstacle courses, pulling trick-shots more impressive than anything Annie Oakley ever did.

The secret was that he couldn’t just control the bullets; he could see through them. Not quite as clearly as through his own eyes, but clearly enough that firing off a few seemingly ‘wild’ shots into the air was more than just to announce his presence and demoralize the Villains – but to let him see everything in a crime scene.

And nowhere had it been more useful than in Thirteen’s U.S.J. ranch, with all the acres that it contained, all the buildings, the smaller domes, and the like.

Drones could be shot down, and flying Heroes were obvious – but a bullet? Good luck seeing or stopping it.

Snipe strode forward, whistling nonchalantly as he spun his revolver around one hand. Next to him, All Might ripped his tie off like a salary worker about to go desperado, and the Ectoplasms fanned out, while the original unhinged his jaw and spat out more of the ghostly ghouls.

“Ten, twelve, fourteen, eighteen, and nineteen total,” Snipe called out, as his bullets circled the entire dome. “Got all the students. We got three in the Mountain, two at the Landslide, two in the Ruins, two in the Storm, two in the Lake, and one in the Conflagration.”

“Enemies?” All Might asked, reaching a hand up and ripping off his shirtsleeves.

“Low-level thugs, most of ‘em,” Snipe dismissed. “A couple more experienced thugs at the Mountain and the Lake, and three serious black hats down by the fountain, including one ugly crow that looks like someone scalped him. He’s your size, Sheriff.”

“I see him,” All Might said. “Behind the crowd attacking Eraserhead.”

“Spreading out now,” Ectoplasm hissed, as more trenchcoated ghouls emerged from his sharp teeth. “I’ll gather up the students.”

“Then the big one will be my opponent!” All Might cried out, as his legs tensed, and launched the Number One Hero out.

Snipe chuckled as he stopped at the edge of the cascading staircase down into the U.S.J., and cast his gaze around.

Most of the students were actually handling themselves well, he had to admit. The pair in the Landslide and Ruins zones were outright winning over the petty thugs, and the Mountain trio, including the rich heiress, were handling themselves thus far.

The pair trapped in the Storm zone were the smartest, not that Snipe would ever admit it out loud – they were hunkering down inside the dark zone and staying out of sight. The couple of unconscious thugs scattered around showed that they were picking them off, likely only when threatened.

But the Lake was a problem. It looked like Mini-Might and the frog-girl had launched themselves off the sinking yacht before it inevitably sunk, but they hadn’t managed to make it all the way to shore – they were still a couple dozen meters from the edge of the lake, too deep to properly get out…

...and the Villains in that zone were all aquatic types, with shark-men and water-benders and scuba-types alike.

Snipe could see the dilemma right away, and judging by the frog-girl’s tense face, she was well aware of the problem.

She could easily swim to the shallows and escape, but little Midoriya couldn’t do the same.

Yet if she stayed to defend him, she’d be overwhelmed quickly, since All Might Junior was of little use in the water.

Run or die. Abandon a comrade, or go down together with guns blazing. One hell of a choice.

Snipe smiled a little as the frog girl – Tsuyu, was her name? – stood her ground, kicking one hasty Villain in the jaw and lashing out with her tongue at another. She was a fighter, all right.

He fired three more shots into the air, fanning the hammer of his iron, and reached into a vest-pocket for a speed-loader as he guided the shots high, high into the air – before swooping them down, right above the crowd of Villains swimming towards the pair of kids.

“Hey now,” Snipe roared, kicking in the amplifier built into his gas mask, and booming his voice down towards the Lake. “You leave them kids alone! You want a fight, come on up, and I’ll kick your asses! Form an orderly queue now, and I’ll get to each and every ass in turn!”

The bullets slammed into the water, and immediately slowed. It was a problem that Snipe knew well. Water effectively couldn’t be compressed, so if you threw a fast moving object into the liquid, it would slow to a damn near stop, bleeding all that kinetic energy away.

…but in the process, it would make shockwaves in the water. Not big enough to cause much damage, that would take an explosion of greater magnitude, but certainly enough to scare some of those Villains out of the water. If their Quirks worked by sensing water pressure, it would be a shock to the system, and if they were just looking, they’d see little implosions of water right in front of them, where they were about to swim.

And sure enough, like salmon trying to jump a waterfall, the swarm of water-logged Villains stopped, and a couple of them were stupid enough to pop out of the water, looking around in a panic.

In fact, they looked an awful lot like target buoys, bobbing up and down in the water.

Snipe dropped the speed-loader, snapped the cylinder shut, and opened fire again – nailing a couple shots right into the exposed shoulders of the confused villains.

By this point, some of the Ectoplasms had reached Eraserhead, who was visibly flagging after having to solo the crowd of thugs for those long minutes. Snipe could hear the cries of criminals getting long wooden poles slapped against their faces, and had to restrain an un-manly giggle at the image.

“Mr. Snipe?!” One of the kids next to him asked – a brunette with a blue and bubble-gum pink outfit. “Where’s the rest of the teachers?”

Snipe looked at her, recoiling as if she was a venomous snake, in an over-exaggerated shock.

“What, am I not good enough for you, darling?” Snipe asked, in mock-offense. “The shame!”

“Yeah!” the adorable, pink-skinned girl said, slapping her classmate on the shoulder. “All Might’s here, there’s no way we’ll lose!”

Snipe let out another gasp, and clutched his chest with his off-hand.

“Oh Lord,” he cried out melodramatically. “Mama warned me about harsh words from the mouths of children! You behave, missy, or I’ll walk right on out of here and leave you to the foul clutches of these dastardly villains!”

“Take me with you!” another student begged, this one clad in black and grey, with bright yellow shoulder pads and large, Quirk-mutated elbows. As Snipe watched, he ripped a long strand of… tape off one elbow, and applied it to the back of Thirteen’s damaged suit.

“Now you I like,” Snipe declared, pointing at the boy, who had clearly put some thought into his Quirk being able to heal, and not just hurt. “And you’ve even got a good theme!”

“You like it?” the student replied, surprised. “I thought being ‘Tape Man’ was a bit too weird.”

“Tape Man?” Snipe repeated, tilting his head. “Hell no! I meant the lasso thing! Come on, you can be my deputy!”

One of the Ectoplasms chuckled, and the pink student giggled. Even the tall mysterious fellow with the facemask looked amused.

Snipe smiled under his gasmask. With just a few careful quips, the kids were thinking about how oddball and weird he was, rather than one of their teachers, ripped up by her own Quirk and nearly dying right in front of them.

That’s what it meant to be a real Hero, Snipe knew. To defend, inspire, and soothe in equal measures.

A colossal crashing sound ripped through the air, and Snipe snapped his gaze back down to the plaza, where Eraserhead was hauling Mini-Might out of the water with his scarf.

Beyond them, the Big Man was swapping knuckle-sandwiches with the ugly bird-brain bastard, and the force of their fists colliding was sending out shockwaves in the air, sending some of the low-level Villains flying at the sudden gusts of wind.

“Wow!” the brunette in the pink-and-blue costume said, her eyes wide as she watched All Might do his job.

Snipe reached over and patted her on the head.

“That’s why he’s the Number One, little missy,” Snipe said, his voice warm, before calling out to all the students on the terrace. “Pay attention, kiddos! That’s what a real Pro looks like! And one day, you’ll be there too!”

Snipe fired another shot into the air, a mental flick of the wrist sending it circling around the dome once more. He knew from long experience that both hero students and Villains were unpredictable at the best of times. Some of those ‘guaranteed wins’ like the pair of students in the Landslide and Ruins zones might not be so guaranteed any more – much less the trio in the Mountains zone.

Surprisingly, most of the kids were winning handily, if in different ways.

The loudmouth dynamite kid and his stalwart deputy were kickin’ ass all over the Ruins zone, and making their way towards the plaza, so they were fine. Somebody might need to talk to them about excessive brutality, but Snipe was definitely not gonna do it.

Same went for the one kid in the Conflagration zone. Snipe had been worried about him most of all, but despite being all by his lonesome in the middle of a raging inferno, the tail-boy was thrashing the hell out of the Villains – hit and run tactics, high-mobility, and sudden ambushes. Had this kid been a vigilante in his past life, or something? Had he been trained by Batman? The rate he was going, Snipe was gonna have to rescue the Villains from him!

Endeavor’s son was treating his opponents about as coldly as he did his fellow students, from what Snipe’d heard about the boy. Hell, it wasn’t entirely clear if Todoroki even knew that he had a fellow student in his zone. To be fair, it was the invisible girl.

But the trio of kids in the Mountain zone weren’t doing so hot. The punk girl was clutching a sword and fending off Villains, but she was shaking like a leaf, and the rich girl was trying to keep the third kid safe – and that poor brat looked like he’d stuck his tongue in an electrical outlet.

Worse, the crowd of Villains around them seemed to be more competent than the rest. Perhaps they were from a group accustomed to working together, while the rest were just thugs rustled up into an impromptu posse?

A couple of the bad guys were pulling distraction duty, keeping the punk girl occupied, while a couple more rushed in, to split the trio apart and separate them. The punk girl – Jiro, that was her name – would be all alone, while the rich girl would have to spend half her attention on her brain-fried friend and half on keeping herself alive.

Not on his watch.

Snipe fired off a brace of shots, willing the bullets through the hair-pin turns and crevices of the Mountain zone. A kneecap here, a shoulder-socket there, and one skull-masked asshole got a bullet right through his hand, before he could bring his axe down on Jiro’s head.

The Villains fell back, visibly re-considering their approach, when a thunderous boom echoed throughout the U.S.J., and the beak-nosed bodybuilder went flying up above them like a round-shot from a cannon, before plowing straight into the upper section of the Dome, right into a spotlight – and punched right through, vanishing in a plume of concrete, glass, and fire.

“Was – was that a Villain?” the tape-kid whispered, looking up at the Dome.

“Yeaaaaah! Go All Might!” the pink-skinned girl screamed, punching the air.

“That’ll show those guys!” another student cheered.

Down below, Snipe could see the Head Honcho standing, fist still raised in the air, posing. His mouth was moving a little, but Snipe couldn’t actually hear what he was saying. Whatever it was, it sure as hell scared the two remaining Villains – the inky black portal-making guy and the weirdo with hands all over him.

Another purple-black portal spun into view, like a whirlpool forming, and the two Villains stepped backwards towards it, never taking their eyes off All Might… who was letting them.

Duke must be low on time, Snipe thought to himself. He can’t risk moving after them, and running out of juice.

But Snipe could still make a couple shots – the portal maker was mostly insubstantial, but he could take out the other Villain’s knees, shoulder-blades, maybe his hands. It wouldn’t keep them from escaping, but it would be a visceral reminder not to fuck with U.A.

Just a little pain to make them remember. Just a little fear to instill the lesson.

Snipe’s finger twitched towards the trigger… and stopped.

It wouldn’t be right. Hurting someone just to make them afraid of hurting you, when they were already retreating. All Might wouldn’t approve.

He fired another shot into the air, spinning it around the Dome on recon. The remaining Villains were all staring at the Dome’s roof, aghast and awe-struck. Some were starting to raise their hands, and others were kneeling.

The organized group by the Mountain zone were backing up, and dropping their weapons, while their leader lay on the rocks, clutching his bleeding hand. The rich girl was making handcuffs with her Quirk, and throwing them at the Villains, tongue lashing out with some command.

One of the Villains was already putting the cuffs on. Smart man.

Chapter Text

The wait was unbearable.

“Can you go any faster?” Chitose demanded, leaning forward in her seat and glaring at the driver.

“I’m going as fast as I legally can, ma’am,” the driver said, his voice just as controlled as any loyal soldier of the Meta Liberation Army. “Unless you want me to break the speed limits?”

“Fuck legally!” Chitose snapped in a frenzy. “Get us there as fast as you can!”

“Yes ma’am!” the driver replied, straightening in his seat at her tone, and stomping on the gas.

The black luxury sedan accelerated in a growling roar, as befitting of one of the symbols of Japan’s automobile industry. Chitose normally used it for making appearances at formal events, and preferred a more innocuous, plain vehicle – but in situations like this, the luxury car had the most horsepower, the most torque, and could get her to the U.S.J. Dome faster than anything else.

The tires didn’t screech, and the acceleration was a smooth pull, rather than a sudden jerk. Chitose had never before had a reason to floor it, but the movies had lied about this part, at least. It wasn’t sedate, but it was still maddeningly calm, compared to the storm churning away inside her chest.

She’d finally realized how far she’d fallen. Finally come to terms with her mistakes. Finally found a way to make things right, to make things better, to make up for her failures… and it was slipping away in front of her.

Mineta was slipping away from her. Her only real friend. Her only real hope of redemption.

And they still weren’t going fast enough!

The car slowed to a stop in front of a red light, the driver grimacing at the stop.

“When I say fuck legally,” Chitose snarled, “I mean run the fucking red light!”

“Yes Ma’am!” the driver replied.

The tires screeched, and Chitose was yanked into the second row of seats by the sudden rush of acceleration as the car launched out of its dead stop. She tumbled for a few moments, before scrambling back into her seat and pulling her seatbelt on.

So cars really do that, she thought to herself in surprise. I guess you just have to be starting from a full stop.

The kilometers fell rapidly under the new pace, as the loyal MLA soldier took every shortcut possible – slowing at red lights to make sure they weren’t hit, but then quickly speeding right through, tires leaping into the air as they got airtime over train tracks and small bumps.

Nearly every intersection resulted in honked horns, and the small numbers of mid-day shoppers Chitose could see out the window were blurring into a mash of surprised or confused faces, visible only for a split second, like a snap-shot of the camera, before being replaced with different bodies, different faces, but always the same expression.

They were almost at the U.S.J, just a kilometer out, when a blaring red and blue siren lit up behind them.

“Police!” the driver called unnecessarily, as the police car pulled up alongside them, the government car straining to match Chitose’s much more expensive vehicle.

“Ignore it!” Chitose ordered. “We’re almost there, and I’m not going to be stopped!”

Bless the loyalty of soldiers like him – the driver nodded, and made no further mention of the blaring siren right next to him, nor the cat-faced police officer clearly visible out the window, gesturing at them to slow down.

Yet just a few moments later, as both the cars cleared the last of the nearby buildings and U.S.J. Dome came into view, the cat-faced police officer ceased gesturing. After a moment, the police car decelerated, and pulled behind them – clearly moving towards the U.S.J., just as they were.

Perhaps he’d realized why they were speeding in the first place.

The road straightened out, and U.A.’s classic landscaping took its place, with neatly trimmed trees, glimmering green grass, and pristine pavement lining the long straightaway to the Dome.

Even from hundreds of meters away, the Dome was still so huge above them. There was the dark plume of smoke trailing up from a hole that had been punched in the upper dome, off to the side, almost comically small in comparison. It looked like someone had taken a small pin or needle to the building, but Chitose knew it was probably much larger.

The road gently curved, the main entrance came into view shortly afterwards, and the driver slowed them down to a more reasonable pace. The main entrance was positively swarming with police cars in their drab blue, and several Hero cars in various bright, attention-grabbing colors – among them, Chitose was relieved to see the trio of bright white SUV’s that the Echo Agency used.

Since the road in front of the entrance was crammed, Chitose’s driver pulled into the parking area instead. It was enormous, designed for hundreds of students from Hero Schools to be able to enter and take seminars at one of the most advanced Disaster Relief training locations. Not all schools could be so rich as U.A., and while the Government itself had at least one facility of the same type, they preferred to use it for the Provisional Hero licensing examinations, and so it was often unavailable for use.

The driver parked as close as he could, and Chitose didn’t even wait for the sedan to come to a complete stop before she had pulled her door open and jumped out, hitting the ground running. The rubber soles of her running shoes squeaked on the sun-warmed asphalt, and she rushed over as quickly as possible, her work dress whipping around her knees.

The police had spread out their usual caution tape all over the area, and Chitose could see several police vans already present, as officers led an absurd amount of handcuffed thugs into them – or, more terrifyingly, into one of the very rare armored APC’s, which were almost always reserved solely for highly dangerous Villains.

“Miss, this is a crime scene,” one of the police officers called, as she approached. “You can’t enter.”

“I need to get in!” she told him, stopping at the edge of the police line. “I know someone inside, one of the children!”

“Ms. Kizuki, what an unexpected surprise!” came a chirping, high-pitched voice, from somewhere lower than she expected.

She looked down, and just as she did so, a white creature wearing a bespoke three-piece suit, minus the jacket, came around the other side of the police officers. It was a rat, or a bear – Chitose never had quite been sure what kind of animal he was supposed to be.

“Principal Nedzu,” she said, recognizing the famous – or perhaps infamous head of U.A.

“I’m afraid we can’t let the press in just yet, Ms. Kizuki,” Nedzu informed her politely. “While I’m unfortunately aware that this story will be on the evening news, U.A. is still in the process of cooperating with police and Heroes, and as such cannot allow the press inside at this time.”

“I’m not here as a journalist!” Chitose told him, squeezing a fist behind her back, then hopping from one foot to the other when that failed to relieve her tension. “Tell me, is Mineta okay?!”

“Minoru Mineta?” Nedzu asked, blinking and looking at her with a curious expression. “Yes, I can confirm that student is unharmed. Why ask about him in particular?”

“He’s a friend,” Chitose said, as she looked around a little desperately, not trusting Nedzu’s word for a second. “Where is he? Can I see him?”

“I was unaware that you were on such close terms with any of our students,” Nedzu replied slowly. “I can ask him, of course, but-”

“Chitose!” a voice cried out, over the rustling clinks and murmurs in the background.

She turned her head, searching for whoever had yelled her name – and saw Echo standing a few dozen feet away, holding a hand up.

“Temura!” she replied, running over to him and ducking under the police line, before engulfing him in a hug and quickly whispering, “How is he?”

Oddly, the Hero was incredibly stiff and tense. Is Mineta hurt, Chitose thought, almost panicking. Did Nedzu lie to me?

“He’s safe,” Echo murmured, slowly returning the hug with one arm, “Unharmed. Didn’t say anything to me about the MLA – or to anyone else, I checked.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back, nearly sighing and sagging in his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” Echo replied, at a more normal volume, as they detangled from the hug.

She sighed in relief, unable to keep the tension from rolling off her shoulders like a child slipping along a waterslide.

“Ah, Echo, is it?” the same high-pitched voice came. “The Cloning Hero, as I recall.”

Nedzu.

Chitose turned, and sure enough, the diminutive Principal had followed them over, and was peering at the two of them with a very intense expression that was slowly fading into his normal bland smile.

“Yes sir,” Echo replied, stiffening to attention.

“No need for that,” Nedzu waved off, shifting his gaze back and forth between them. “I was quite surprised to hear of your presence… I thought your usual area of operations was closer to the heart of Tokyo?”

“I was in the area,” Echo replied – and Chitose winced internally, instantly. His agency was far from Musutafu. If it hadn’t been for her own phone call, he never would have been called in by the police.

“Quite a distance from your Agency,” Nedzu noted with a mild voice. “Particularly with all of your Sidekicks along for the ride.”

Echo winced, realizing how bad his lie was. He opened his mouth again, but Chitose stepped in before he could say anything else.

“I called him,” Chitose said, stepping forward, and laying a protective hand on Echo’s shoulder.

“You did?” Nedzu repeated, his animalistic gaze shifting to look back at her firmly, while his voice stayed as plain and dull as the most boring of bureaucratic drones. “And… how did you become aware of this, if I might ask?”

“Mineta called me,” Chitose informed him, matching his gaze evenly. “He was terrified, and asked me to send any Hero I might know to help. Echo was the closest Hero that I was personally acquainted with, so I called him immediately.”

“Fascinating,” Nedzu murmured, tilting his head slightly. “As I said before, I was unaware that you were friends with any of my students, much less Mineta in particular. May I ask how you became acquainted with him? Family friends, perhaps?”

Family friends, as if – when Mineta lived in nearby Yokohama, and she herself lived in the heart of Chiyoda, the beating center of Japan itself.

A trap by the genius animal, or was he simply making conversation? As always, it was impossible to tell. Nedzu was an adorable little animal or a terrifying mastermind, depending on who you believed, and he exploited that contrast constantly. It only tricked the stupidest, but it freaked out everyone who could see the contrast between Nedzu’s terrifying mind and his bland exterior.

But the best lies contain a kernel of truth, and so she would use the original truth to create a reasonably believable lie – the same as she had just done, to excuse Echo’s presence.

“I first met him when he was about six,” Chitose told Nedzu. “He gave a fascinating interview to me, on a fairly boring piece, and so I decided to keep in touch with him.”

“I see,” Nedzu said, humming, as if this was totally new information to him – when, for all Chitose knew, he could have already known that, as well as every single instance she’d ever met with the boy.

Nobody quite knew how intelligent Nedzu was, but his own Hero career was a mixture of stunningly audacious successes, conclusions to dozens of cold-cases, and plenty of blacked out information that the public never knew about. The animal delighted in simple mannerisms and behaviors, and his glee at misleading the media was almost legendary among reporters – it was long accepted that Nedzu always had a plan, that he always had an angle.

Nedzu was the looming threat for the Meta Liberation Army, even more than Heroes like All Might or Sir Nighteye, or even the Government itself.  His intelligence, his animal savagery, and his connections to hundreds of Pro Heroes… all were to be feared.

If he figured out even the slightest hint of the MLA’s existence, he would chase down every lead, put together every puzzle piece, and drag them into the light, where his allies could end their Liberation effortlessly with the physical power he lacked.

And now Nedzu was aware of her interest in Mineta.

“I do always hope that I can trust the news industry,” Nedzu said, almost absentmindedly, as he studied them. “I’m sure it won’t be too much of a problem if you show her around, Echo. You do have her best interests in mind, of course.”

My best interests? Chitose wondered – but she kept her face still, in the same expression as before.

“Of course,” Echo replied clearly, as he always did to simple questions, without looking at the deeper picture.

“Wonderful!” Nedzu said with a broad smile, before turning and walking off.

They watched him go, until the white-furred principal became embroiled in a conversation with a thin, bright yellow-haired police inspector that Chitose vaguely remembered seeing a couple times at some crime scenes. One of Inspector Naomasa’s partners, she believed – a lesser follower to one of the Police’s rising stars.

“What was that about?” Echo asked, as he lead her past more police cars awkwardly parked on top of the curb, away from the other Heros and police present.

“I wish I knew,” Chitose admitted. “But that can wait. Where is he? I need to see him.”

“The boy’s fine, Chitose,” Echo said. “Completely untouched, as it turns out.”

“I’m not asking just because I want to make sure he’s fine,” she replied, shaking her head. “I need to… well, apologize to him. The last time we talked…”

“I remember,” Echo said.

“Well, I shouldn’t have let it sit for so long,” Chitose said, squaring her shoulders, and avoiding any mention of what the conversation had been about – not in this place, not at this time. “He thought so poorly of me, but he still called me when he thought his life was in danger. That means something, Temura.”

“It means he’s got no sense of self-preservation,” Echo replied.

“It means he’s got standards,” she corrected. “And… I want to live up to those standards.”

“That’s good of you.”

He lead her off to the side, where a large number of tents had been hastily erected. Medical personnel were bustling around, but there was remarkably little noise, and none of the medics were moving quickly, so clearly most of the students had come through their experience with minor injuries at best.

“He’s in here,” Echo told her, pointing to one of the tents. “Just resting for now, to make sure he’s not in shock, or has any injuries that haven’t been apparent yet.”

“Can you get us some privacy?” Chitose asked, looking around at the medics.

“Of course,” Echo nodded.

“Thank you,” she smiled, before pushing open the tent flap.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” an unamused voice called from within, as she entered. “Jesus, I avoided all of the fighting, can’t you guys just leave me – Chitose?”

She looked at him, her eyes scanning his childish body with enormous relief. He was, as Echo had told her, completely untouched. Slight green stains on his pants from grass or undergrowth, but that was all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mineta asked, the harsh words mitigated by his disbelieving voice, his shocked expression. “I – I was an asshole to you.”

“You had good reason to be,” Chitose replied, pulling over a folding metal chair to sit next to Mineta, who was sitting on his own, still staring at her.

“No, I didn’t,” Mineta disagreed, shaking his head. “I saw Villains and jumped to conclusions, without any evidence. And I was an asshole to you.”

“And I forgive you for that,” Chitose told him. “You had-”

“And I don’t!” Mineta snapped at her. “I don’t forgive myself for that! I thought I was going to fucking die, and what was the last thing I did with my life? Call up a friend and blame them! With no evidence, no logic, just fear! That last thing I would ever do with my life was harm someone!”

“I deserved that fear,” Chitose murmured, softening her gaze.

“No, you don’t!” Mineta said, his voice harsh. “I’m the one who threw away years of trust on a single day, not you. I’m the one who assumed you’d try to kill me just for disagreeing.”

“And you weren’t wrong!” Chitose hissed, glaring at him. “I was thinking about it! It was my job to think about things like that! I even told you that I’d done it before!”

“But you didn’t,” Mineta replied, leaning towards her, his eyes intense. “And that’s what matters, Chitose. Not what you think, but what you do.”

Chitose wanted to reach up and tear her own hair out. Doesn’t he get it? she wondered.

“And I nearly did that,” she repeated. “I nearly killed my only remaining friend in the world.”

“Now that’s just plain wrong,” Mineta disagreed.

“I did!” Chitose insisted.

“No, not that,” Mineta said. “That I’m your only remaining friend in the world. That’s wrong. It’s total horseshit.”

Chitose laughed, a dry hiccupping thing that almost sounded like she was crying.

“I cut every tie, Mineta,” she told him. “No old highschool friends. No childhood playmates. Just my cause.”

“So yeah, total horseshit,” Mineta repeated. “Because you have at least two friends in the world, not just one.”

Chitose looked at the boy blankly. Who on earth could he mean?

“You sent Echo here,” Mineta pointed out. “He told me what you said. To keep me safe, from anyone. From anything. You trusted him with that request – you trusted him against the entire world with that request. That sounds like a good friend to me.”

“I…guess so,” Chitose replied slowly, looking towards the tent’s entrance. “I didn’t even think about it.”

“You trusted him instinctively,” Mineta said. “That’s good. It’s important to have friends, to have good relationships with people. You should make some more.”

“That’s going to be hard,” Chitose admitted, looking back at Mineta, and bracing herself. “I… I’m going to be better. I’m going to do better. I’m going to… change my life.”

It was hard to talk about this – for all that Echo had promised to secure the areas from eavesdroppers, it still wasn’t smart to talk openly about the Meta Liberation Army. It instinctively felt wrong, and even if she was going to leave, going to quit the MLA, it still wasn’t smart to let anyone know that she’d been a criminal.

“You’re leaving it all behind?” Mineta asked, leaning forward. “Leaving them?”

“Yes,” Chitose said, finally saying the words out loud to him.

“I’m so happy for you,” Mineta said, a smile stretching across his face. “I’m so – so goddamn happy.”

The teenager lunged off his chair and hugged her, his short arms barely able to reach around her shoulders.

I’m leaving it all behind, Chitose thought to herself. I’m going to do better, be better.

I’m going to help those trapped in the MLA, like I was trapped. I’m going to teach them what he’s taught me.

I’m going to make more Friends, like he told me to.

For Mineta.

Chapter Text

Nedzu had fought many battles over the years. He’d struggled, life and limb on the line, against other animals, against amoral scientists, against astounded lawyers, against the Hero Commission, and eventually, finally, against Villains.

Yet now, Nedzu found a new opponent – his own ego. It had snuck up on him, creeping through years of control, and reared its ugly head at the worst possible time.

“That’s… new, sir,” All Might said slowly, his skeletal form leaning away from Nedzu almost instinctively.

Eraserhead, still holding an icepack to his head, cracked open an eye and stared at Nedzu, before a slow, tortured sigh slipped out. Up at the coffee machine, Detective Tsukauchi took one glance, then went back to making another pot, studiously avoiding Nedzu’s expression.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Nedzu told them, his muzzle-like face starting to hurt under the sheer strain of his teeth clenching. “My anger that anyone would dare touch my students, or my excitement for a real challenge.”

All Might opened his mouth, raising a finger, before slowly retracting both.

“The anger,” Aizawa answered. “Focus on the anger.”

“Oh, I am,” Nedzu chirped in response, his smile fading, and his teeth beginning to grind again. “I’m just so angry – at myself. Twenty-two lives were at risk today, and the first real emotion I felt after all of it was over… was happiness. Glee. The thrill of the chase.”

Nedzu swiveled his chair around with a paw, and stared up at the bank of monitors in the U.A. situation room. Two were monitoring news channels, including Shueisha’s affiliate station after the unexpected arrival of Ms. Kizuki. Another three monitors were showing crucial areas of U.A.; the main gate, the front of the U.S.J. Dome, and the cafeteria / common area in the center of U.A.’s four central towers.

The largest monitor, mounted in the center, was frozen on a still image of the two Villains that had escaped, right as they stepped backwards into their portal – the blue haired Villain covered in hands, and the smoke-like Villain in the metal neck-brace.

“Let’s go through it again,” he declared, already reaching for the remote. “I think we’re all familiar with the basic events… but there are too many oddities about this incident.”

Aizawa let out another sigh. All Might squirmed in his seat. Tsukauchi, the best of them all, handed Nedzu a fresh cup of coffee. What a wonderful man, Nedzu thought idly, as he took a sip. If the humans ever force my hand, I will spare him, just for this.

“Initial contact occurred at 10:22 a.m.,” the Detective recited, sipping from his own cup. “The U.S.J.’s own internal security system should have broadcast to the wider U.A. security system, but didn’t, for reasons unknown at this time.”

A soft, silky-furred paw pressed down on the remote, paging through the compiled photos from the U.S.J.’s internal cameras. Close-up pictures of the Villains were already circulating through the Hero Commission for any leads.

Nedzu stopped the slideshow on the first clear picture of the three apparent leaders of the group, which brought the large, blue-black skinned… thing… back into the frame.

“Power Loader’s going through it right now,” Aizawa said, looking up from his cell phone. “If it was intentional, the obvious suspect is the previous break in.”

“One student of Class 1-A, Minoru Mineta, managed to get outside the dome,” Tsukauchi continued. “Other members of Class 1-A, led by Tenya Iida, shut the main door behind him. When I interviewed him, Iida explained that he wanted to draw attention away from Mineta, so that the portal-making Villain would not pursue him.”

“Reckless, but it worked,” Aizawa commented, shaking his head. “As I said before.”

“I disagree,” All Might replied with a huff of resigned exhaustion. “It was a good idea. A bit hasty, but still good. Iida was already a target, as were all the other students, so he wasn’t endangering himself – at least, not any more than he was. Yes, he sacrificed the potential of escape, but he guaranteed reinforcements as a result.”

“He had orders to follow the teachers,” Aizawa said. “Not to go making major decisions under his own initiative. Much like Mineta.”

“Gentlemen,” Nedzu interrupted, clapping his paws together just as All Might was opening his mouth to reply. “As entertaining as your continued disagreement about individual initiative is, and as much as I’d love to watch you argue for the next four hours, let’s stay focused, shall we?”

“At 10:24 a.m., Minoru Mineta called Principal Nedzu and informed him of the situation,” Tsukauchi said. “He then called the emergency police line, and did the same there. According to his own testimony, he continued to run further into the treeline, to stay away from Villains.”

“Interesting…” Nedzu mused, flipping to the next image, showing Mineta sprinting through the empty parking lot as fast as his short legs could take him, visibly terrified. “His reaction is unusual. I wouldn’t have thought that Mineta would panic quite so quickly, or to such an intensity.”

Aizawa set down his icepack, and frowned.

“You’re right,” the grizzled teacher said, almost suspiciously. “He’s a quiet student, unless someone provokes him into a conversation, but this… this almost seems out of character for him.”

“I have to agree,” All Might nodded. “While I only see the boy for Foundational Heroics, he has always seemed to be controlled, precise. He hasn’t panicked in a single training exercise thus far, no matter how much he gets bruised in physical spars, or how close he is to one of young Bakugo’s explosions.”

“Should I move on?” Tsukauchi asked, looking up from the rough timeline printed on a sheet of paper.

“No, we should investigate this,” Nedzu told him. “This is one of the larger oddities of today. Tsukauchi and All Might already know this, Aizawa, but Chitose Kizuki arrived at the U.S.J. very quickly.”

“I don’t recognize the name,” Aizawa said. “Should I?”

“As an underground Hero, not really,” Nedzu said. “Ms. Kizuki is an executive director at Shueisha.”

“…the manga publisher?” Aizawa said, a hint of confusion entering his voice.

“The very same,” Nedzu confirmed. “Their news division is not quite as… dominant as Shueisha’s publishing division, but they are still a very powerful force.”

“Modern day zaibatsu,” Aizawa groaned, leaning back in his chair, and reaching out a hand for his coffee. “Great. What the hell did she want?”

“To see Mineta,” Tsukauchi said, helpfully pushing Aizawa’s cup closer to him.

Aizawa latched onto his cup, but he paused.

“I thought Yaoyorozu was the only student in Class 1-A with those kinds of connections,” the teacher said suspiciously, squinting at Nedzu as he did. “Shouldn’t this have come up after Mineta’s acceptance?”

“I seem to have missed the signs,” Nedzu admitted. “The only connections I could find were two interviews of Mineta by Shueisha, both conducted by Kizuki herself. The first was easily dismissed, as it was nearly ten years ago. I believed at the time that the second interview was Kizuki touching base on an old story, after Mineta Corp. kept succeeding. I didn’t think there was much chance of them having a genuine friendship.”

Regrettable. It had been right in front of him, yet Nedzu had brushed off the possibility, instead of thinking about what other implications might come from that association. It was too easy to focus on the students, and think that Mineta believed falsely that Chitose Kizuki was his friend – rather than consider the genuine possibility that a high-ranking executive in her early thirties was genuine friends with a young middle-schooler.

“It’s understandable,” All Might said with a sigh. “I’ve been interviewed at least four times by Kizuki over the past twelve years. She was a regular Lois Lane, popping up wherever the action was. She was rather notorious for it.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Tsukauchi said, frowning. “How did she manage to keep her relationship with Mineta so quiet? That’s not her style, to be subtle.”

“Agreed,” Nedzu said, nodding along with the detective’s reasoning. “But Chitose Kizuki’s relationship with one of our students isn’t what I’m concerned as much about. It could be that they are genuine friends. It could also be that Kizuki gave Mineta her card after her second interview with him, some two or three years ago, and he still had her number in his cell phone. Either way, that isn’t the real problem here.”

All Might nodded, almost certainly because he’d experienced similar things – the most popular Heroes usually did. It was rather inevitable that reporters would latch on to whatever celebrities they could… and in modern Japan, there was no greater celebrity than All Might.

“What concerns me more is this,” Nedzu continued. “Kizuki called a Pro Hero in Tokyo, and told him to go to the U.S.J.… and he did, with nothing but her word. He brought his entire agency, with every Sidekick, even though the emergency dispatchers didn’t contact him. That relationship is far harder to explain.”

“What?” Aizawa said, sitting up abruptly. “Which Pro Hero?”

“Echo, the Cloning Hero,” All Might said. “Not the most famous of Heroes – I didn’t know his name until I met him. He seemed to be a solid man to me, but Tsukauchi says that he’s got a bit of a reputation among the police force.”

“I know about him,” Aizawa replied, his voice turning grim. “His reputation is deserved. A few years back, he killed a Villain.”

“He what?!” All Might cried out, turning to stare at his fellow teacher. “Why didn’t I hear about this?”

“It was about five years ago, All Might,” Nedzu replied. “Shortly after your injury. If I remember correctly, you were still in recovery at the time.”

“Ah… well,” All Might mumbled, before a cough forced it’s way through his skeletal frame. “Sorry, sorry… what happened? I assume the Commission cleared him, if he’s still got his license.”

“The Villain in question was a complete newcomer,” Aizawa explained, leaning forward. “His Quirk was some kind of ocular beam. It wasn’t so powerful that it’d kill instantly, but he was on a rampage in a shopping district, and there were a lot of injuries, including the Pro Heroes responding.”

“Let me guess,” All Might said, folding his arms and frowning slightly. “His Quirk moved as fast as he could look at something.”

“Correct,” Nedzu confirmed. “It’s quite hard to dodge someone looking at you. The human eye moves much faster than someone can run – and no amount of training will change that. Even some speed Quirks were still vulnerable.”

“Seventeen were injured,” Aizawa said. “One died. I was called in, as were other Quirk nullifiers. But before we could get there, Echo killed the Villain, rather than capture him.”

“It was a difficult situation,” Detective Tsukauchi said gently, not looking at Aizawa. “As I understand it, Echo tried for a regular capture, but kept losing his clones. He was the only Hero present that could afford to take hits, and so he was playing for time… but technically, Echo would have died seven times, if he didn’t have his cloning Quirk.”

“Why the sudden switch to lethal attacks, then?” All Might asked, frowning. “What changed?”

Nedzu thought for a moment, and the details came back swiftly. He could see the incident report, the crime scene photos of a wrecked mall cafeteria with gouges burned into the tile… and the victims, badly burned or worse.

“The Villain executed a civilian,” Nedzu said, sipping from his cup. “Tamaki Haruko, a twenty-three year old office worker. She had been injured and was unable to move, like many. When the Heroes on scene tried to rescue her, the Villain killed her.”

“I didn’t like Echo’s decision at the time,” Aizawa said, his voice a bit rough. “To take a life, when he could have captured the Villain non-lethally… it pissed me off. But he was probably right to do so, as tough as that call was.”

“Echo cooperated fully with the Commission’s investigation for wrongful death,” Nedzu said. “His logic was that the Villain had prioritized killing a harmless innocent over stopping the Heroes that were trying to arrest him, and he could not risk the lives of the other civilians still within the Villain’s reach. The Quirk nullifiers were still thirty minutes away. So he treated it like a hostage situation, and took the Villain out.”

“A tough decision…” All Might murmured. “But the Commission cleared him, so they must still have confidence in his judgement.”

“Indeed,” Nedzu said. “But what concerns me is not Echo’s past, but his relationship with Chitose Kizuki.”

Humans, so concerned with death, Nedzu thought, as he watched Aizawa repress his scowl. As if life is something sacred, as if death doesn’t happen every single day.

But he shouldn’t blame them. The worst part of being intelligent was the fear of the unknown; and death was the ultimate unknown. An animal didn’t really understand things in the same way. They prepared for the future, stockpiled food, and knew what death was, and could even fear it… but it didn’t have quite the same effect.

Animals didn’t fear killers, and what a killer represented, in the same way as a human did – the conscious choice to end someone’s life, to cut short their dreams, to erase years of memories and hard work and relationships, like snuffing out a candle halfway through its wick. Death was the end of all possibilities, the destruction of any remaining potential.

It was one of the many ways that intelligence could be a curse. One that Nedzu, with his own Quirk, shared.

“Could it be that Kizuki cultivated Echo as a contact, in the same way she might be doing with Mineta?” All Might asked thoughtfully. “As a reporter, and now leading a news agency, she might just be networking.”

“Echo’s been a Hero for longer than Kizuki’s been in the news industry,” Tsukauchi pointed out. “Not by much, but he’s in his late thirties, and has been a Hero for at least five years before she would have left college.”

“She could have made contact with him afterwards,” Aizawa shrugged.

“Entirely possible, except for one slight problem: there is nothing connecting Chitose Kizuki to Echo.” Nedzu replied, looking at his three colleagues in turn. “He’s never been interviewed by her, or even Shueisha at all. They’ve never attended any of the same events. They went to different schools. Kizuki lives and works in Chiyoda, while Echo lives and works in Shibuya… and yet when I asked how Echo heard about the U.S.J., Ms. Kizuki said that she told him, because he was ‘the closest Hero that she personally knew.’”

“And Echo trusted Kizuki enough to drag his entire agency across three Tokyo Wards…” Tsukauchi said slowly.

“Exactly,” Nedzu nodded. “Which leaves me wondering – why would a Pro Hero with no connection to Kizuki take orders from her?”

“Calling them orders may be a bit hasty,” All Might warned. “We have no idea what Kizuki told him.”

“While true,” Nedzu replied, inclining his head slightly, “Echo arrived too quickly. We know exactly when Mineta called me, then the police, and we can reasonably assume that Mineta called Kizuki very shortly afterwards. A traffic camera caught Echo leaving his agency within just three minutes after Mineta’s call to the police. Well within that window of time.”

“We could check with Shibuya dispatchers,” Tsukauchi suggested. “Echo could have checked with them about the situation, after Kizuki told him, and gotten confirmation.”

A rather weak argument, but one that extended the benefit of good faith to a Pro Hero. Kind of the Detective, but like many, he was reacting to external stimuli, not being proactive.

“I already have,” Nedzu revealed. “At no point did Echo contact any law enforcement. The first indication that he was heading to the U.S.J. was when he arrived, just a few minutes after myself and the other teachers.”

“Completely dark,” Aizawa murmured, scowling. “And Echo’s not an underground Hero, or the kind to forget official procedure. Not after the Commission’s investigation on him.”

“The more I look at the facts, the more oddities I find,” Nedzu remarked softly, looking up at the situation room’s monitor, and the frozen picture of the League of Villains. “And unlike the Villains, who could have plenty of reasons to commit their crime, I can’t think of a good explanation for this.”

Nedzu looked down, at the paper files spread across the table before him. He regarded them for a moment, then looked back up, as if he had forgotten something.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing that is concerning about this,” Nedzu added, almost absent-mindedly. “I misspoke when I said there was nothing connecting them – because they both know Mineta. He did an internship at Echo’s agency, just a few months before the U.A. entrance exams.”

Aizawa tightened his scowl, and folded his hands together. All Might frowned, in an almost disappointed manner. Tsukauchi sipped his coffee, still looking thoughtfully at the computer screens.

“We have a mystery on our hands,” Nedzu said. “And Minoru Mineta is connected to it, in some way.”

Chapter Text

Chitose had been in this room dozens of times in the last few years, ever since she had become Commander of her Division. She had stood at the lectern, conducting debriefings of tactical exercises, teaching lessons on effective recruitment and propaganda, and preaching sermons on the coming Liberation.

Blue fingers trailed over the fine-grain wood. There was no need for a microphone, as the room could fit twenty people at most, and her direct subordinates numbered only twelve. Her voice would be more than enough to speak to them all, and the personal touch increased the bond between them.

Yet the lectern itself served as a separation – a clear indication that she was a Commander, and they were merely Lieutenants.

Her twelve Lieutenants would enter soon, and sit in their chairs by rank. The highest of them would sit in the front row on the far right side, with his juniors sitting to the left of him until the end of the row, then wrap around to the second row, once again proceeding right-to-left based on seniority.

Small touches like the lectern and the ranked chairs would reinforce their organization, their discipline, and their obedience. It was the same careful planning as the subtle propaganda in her articles, as the levels that the Meta Liberation Army used to divide their followers into their ranks. Some would long for the day that they sat in the first row, or sat ahead of a rival... never realizing that the ranked chairs and rows were meaningless distractions.

Just like the MLA's internal levels and ranks, it kept people from realizing that in a political organization, rather than a government or military one, their voice was their power, and they needed no rank to use it.

She wondered how many lies she’d fed her fellow Soldiers without knowing – and how many of them were the same lies that she’d knowingly fed the general public. She must have done that hundreds, thousands of times over the last decade. Yet she’d never recognized the similarities, never paused to think about how many lies she’d told, supposedly for a good cause.

The meeting room was still empty, for now. She had sent the summons just six hours ago after returning from the U.S.J., and her Lieutenants would be scrambling in the face of the unplanned meeting.

She’d barely had the restraint to schedule it after normal working hours – but dragging these twelve people away from their jobs at the exact same time would be an obvious sign, and highly suspicious if she was being followed. As it was, she was already risking much. Meetings were normally scheduled weeks in advance to keep them hidden from the watching eyes.

Chitose raised her hands from the polished wood, and with a façade of confidence that she did not feel, she stepped away from the lectern.

“Today,” she said aloud to the empty room, “I reject the Meta Liberation Army.”

The room did not respond, for it was only a room, empty and silent. There was no one present to hear her treason – there was nobody in the whole building in fact, for she’d dismissed even her bodyguard platoon.

But somehow, she felt… lighter. As if a burden had fallen from her back, a load from her shoulders, a collar from her neck, a corset from her waist, and a shackle from her feet.

Chitose smiled to herself, softly, and breathed deep.

After a moment, she turned, and started working on the room. She carried the lectern off to the side, and moved the chairs back to the walls of the room. There was a table in a nearby room, thankfully on wheels, and she rolled it into the meeting room, right in the center, and stuck it in place. She placed the chairs all around the table, then stepped back to inspect her work.

It was not quite a Round Table, but it would work for her, nonetheless. Not true equality, for she was still their leader, and changing too much, too quickly, would risk rejection from her Lieutenants. She had to be gradual. She had to be patient.

Still, the first step was to lower the barriers. To be their friend, their compatriot, their fellow supporter of Free Quirk Use – not their Commander.

Chitose sat down at the head of the table, and waited.

The first Lieutenant arrived just five minutes later – her most senior subordinate, her supposed right-hand man, Kunio Hora. A diligent worker in a mid-level HR position within a large corporation, he was one of the few remaining old guard of the Meta Liberation Army.

She’d asked for him to arrive early, before the rest of the Lieutenants, by about thirty minutes. That should give her enough time to talk to him, to bring him around.

Kunio would be both the easiest and the hardest person to convince. On one hand, he hadn’t been around for the original revolution, but on the other, he’d been recruited just ten years after, and had loyally followed the cause through the long decades of hiding. He might favor the familiarity of the old days, when all he did was donate some money and believe in his private politics while living a normal life – which would all be threatened by the MLA revealing itself for open warfare against the Government.

For all Chitose knew, he might be eager for open conflict after so many years of waiting. He had loyally donated funds for decades, as well as protecting and guiding other MLA members in his HR job, so perhaps he truly was too loyal to be turned away from the Liberation.

Which was why it was so important that Chitose handle him first, and ensure that he understood the true horror. The other Lieutenants in her Division respected Kunio, both for his level-headed manner and for his long years of service – much as Re-Destro had, which was entirely why he had assigned Kunio Hora to Chitose when she became a Commander. Her youth might have led to mistakes, so she was given a veteran adjutant to aide her.

“Ma’am,” Kunio greeted her as he entered the room. He glanced around at the changed furniture, but said nothing, his face tight and professional, as it always was.

“Kunio,” Chitose replied, smiling softly. “Thank you for coming early. We have much to talk about, and I’m afraid that very little of it will be enjoyable.”

Kunio said nothing in reply, just frowning slightly as he pulled out a chair and joined her at the table. She waited a few seconds, but he just sat there quietly, waiting for her to continue.

Those were two of Kunio’s better qualities – his professionalism and competence. But ironically, it was those same qualities that had kept him as a mere Lieutenant for over two decades. He was hardworking and loyal, but he wasn’t a fire-breathing zealot that lived only to advocate for Free Quirk Use. When the time came to appoint new Commanders, he had been passed over repeatedly, because he was simply too… plain. He wasn’t that charismatic, wasn’t capable of being a strong figurehead.

“I have something… possibly controversial to tell everyone,” Chitose continued. “I wanted to talk to you first, so that you can help me.”

“Of course,” Kunio replied, nodding.

“You’ve been with the Liberation for longer than almost anyone,” Chitose said, relaxing back into her chair. “So I wanted to ask a question to you, since you would have a different perspective than the more recent recruits, like myself.”

“I’ll do anything I can do to help, ma’am,” Kunio said.

“You joined… what, three years after Destro’s death?” she asked.

“Four years,” Kunio corrected. “His book inspired me, and I went looking for the remnants of his cause.”

“Perfect,” Chitose said, almost purring.

“What’s your question?” Kunio asked, leaning forward slightly.

Chitose let her smile slip off her face, not out of acting, but from genuine worry. This would be it – the big separation. Her first heresy, in front of a true believer of the MLA. Her first step away from them.  

It was a simple question, but wedge issues often were. Something small, innocuous, and potentially world-shattering. The biggest lies could often be broken by the smallest of truths.

“Why didn’t Destro write a second book?” she asked.

Kunio blinked, his expression shifting from professional blankness to something more confused.

“A… second book?” he repeated slowly, as if he was tasting the words. But Chitose had expected his hesitation.

“Yes,” she continued, allowing her true feelings to show through – her worry, her stress, her fear. “Why didn’t Destro write a second book?”

Kunio opened his mouth, but said nothing. He looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

“The Meta Liberation War is the foundation of our beliefs,” Chitose said. “The book is our war, summed up near perfectly. Our beliefs, our fears, our struggles. It’s the first thing that we give to new members, once they swear their oaths. If there was a second book, we would be even better off. We might have more members, more reach, more persuasive arguments.”

“We might,” Kunio agreed, cautiously – tempering his answer with reluctance. It was classic ass-covering, and showed his long years of corporate experience. He was agreeing, but also leaving room for doubt, in case Chitose suddenly changed her mind and attempted to trap him.

A good sign, Chitose thought to herself. Protecting yourself was a natural reaction in times of uncertainty and doubt – and not at all what a zealous, fanatical worshipper would do. Those people would attack any uncertainty, insisting on their dogma even harder, instead of asking questions or expressing doubt, and allowing for the possibility that they might be wrong.

“But instead…” Chitose said, before trailing off. She hesitated, and then continued, plunging headfirst into more controversial grounds. “Instead, he committed suicide.”

Kunio’s face didn’t shift a millimeter – freezing in place like a deer confronted by wolves.

“Why?” Chitose asked. “Why did he do that? Why did Destro kill himself?”

She waited, but Kunio didn’t say a word. He’d retreated from the conversation, like a turtle hiding in its shell, like a soldier diving into a trench.

Well, that would work just fine. It meant that he wouldn’t interrupt her, and she could tell him the truth in much the same way that Mineta had told her – though, perhaps, a little more politely.

Still, that fear didn’t automatically mean that Kunio was listening to her. He might be locking down mentally, as well as physically, and that would keep him safe from the ugly truths. She needed to reel him back in, giving him something more comfortable.

“If I had been in Destro’s position,” Chitose continued softly, “I would have probably done the same. The stress of the first revolution, the battles he’d led, and the worst coming true – the Quirk Laws being passed. He had the government stomping down on his followers, and he himself was imprisoned…”

Chitose paused, and took a deep breath. Kunio was looking a little more attentive, more hopeful. Maybe he thought that the tough, difficult conversation was over. If so, he was about to be horribly disappointed.

“But I’m just a regular person,” Chitose said. “I’m just a follower. It would be understandable that I couldn’t take the pressure. Destro… Destro was the leader. Our glorious leader. We placed our hopes and dreams on him. He was the strong figurehead, our Grand Commander. He would show us the path, lead us on the way, and bring us to victory. He was not just another man – his responsibility was much greater.”

Kunio finally made a sound – a shuddering ragged breath that he sucked in through clenched teeth, as if he was bracing for something.

“And he failed,” Chitose whispered. “No, worse than failing. Destro gave up.”

Kunio squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, and then re-opened them. There was something pained in his face now, something raw. His eyes were a little red, his cheeks growing pale, and his lips were pulled tight.

“He gave up,” Chitose repeated, a little louder this time. “He suffered, and he couldn’t take it, so he ended his own life, so that he wouldn’t suffer any more. He put his own life, his own suffering… over the Liberation.”

“He didn’t!” Kunio snapped, slamming a hand into the table and glaring at her. “How – how dare you! Destro is our cause!”

“Then why didn’t he keep fighting?” Chitose barked back, staring right back, unbowed by his anger. “You’ve given forty years for this cause, Kunio! Destro gave six. Only six years, and when the going got tough, he quit!”

Kunio snarled, a raw noise of almost animalistic pain, and didn’t answer. He shook his head violently, as if he could dislodge the words burrowing into his skull.

“Have you ever heard of Martin Luther King?” Chitose asked. “Nelson Mandela? Gandhi? Hitler? They all went to prison for their beliefs. Some of them were good, and some were bad, but they all went to prison… and they didn’t give up. They didn’t quit. They kept fighting, no matter how hard it was… and when they came out, their cause became stronger.

“What matters more,” she pressed, leaning forward and staring at Kunio as he hung his head. “The Cause, or the Leader?”

She stood up from the table, with too much nervous energy racing through her blood to sit still any longer. She paced back and forth, as Kunio kept his gaze fixated on the table.

“Why do we follow Re-Destro?” she asked suddenly, after long moments of silence. “Is it because he’s a good leader, or because he’s Destro’s son? We both know the answer. Re-Destro has been good to the cause, I don’t deny that. But we follow him because we’re all hoping that he’ll be like Destro. That he’ll be our glorious leader in the second revolution, in the liberation to come. That he’ll be… perfect, just like Destro.”

“He is,” Kunio said, his voice ragged. “He is like Destro.”

“He is,” Chitose agreed. “And I don’t want to find out if he’ll give up, just like Destro did. Because nobody’s perfect, Kunio. Nobody. Destro wasn’t, and his son isn’t any better.”

She stopped walking, resting her hands on the back of her chair and leaning forward, looming over the table.

“If we found a better leader,” Chitose asked, slowly. “Would it be right for him to take over? Someone who was better for our cause, for our Liberation? And if we did find that better leader… would Re-Destro step down voluntarily? Would he admit that he wasn’t perfect?”

“I…” Kunio started to say, before cutting himself off.

“He wouldn’t,” Chitose said, more softly, but just as insistently. “I know this, because Re-Destro doesn’t tolerate any failure. I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him kill our brothers and sisters, Kunio. He killed loyal people because they didn’t follow his exact orders, or because they failed in some way.”

Chitose fell silent, and she slowly pulled out her chair and sat back down. Kunio didn’t look at her as she did. He was slumped over the table, his spine bent – a man with the fight beaten out of him.

She reached out slowly, so as not to startle him, and grasped his hands.

Kunio looked up, first at her light-blue hands holding onto his, and then further up to meet her gaze. Chitose stared at him, allowing all of her own feelings to come to the surface – her own worry, her own fear.

“You’re not alone,” Chitose said, squeezing his hands. “This was just as hard for me to realize.”

He took in another shuddering breath, but it sounded a little less forced than earlier, evening out as he took another, and then another. Finally, he nodded, swallowing heavily.

“Do you really think that Destro was such a bad leader?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I don’t think he was a bad leader,” Chitose answered slowly, her mind flashing to Mineta’s harsh words, and recoiling a little from the memory of them. “But I don’t think he was perfect, or that his son is perfect either. My loyalty is to Free Quirk Use, not whoever the leader is… and if there is a better leader for our cause, then we should follow them.”

“Do you have one?” Kunio asked. “You keep talking about a better leader. Have you found one?”

“Yes, I have,” Chitose said, smiling with no small amount of warmth and pride. “Someone that puts the cause above himself. Someone that truly lives our beliefs. He’s sworn to me that no matter what, he will keep fighting for us. That even if he goes to prison, even if it means his own death… he’ll keep fighting. Because the Cause is bigger than him.”

Chapter Text

“Are you okay, sir?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, looking up from the slow backup of the accounting software and taking care not to let my irritation seep into my words. “Do you need something?”

The young man standing in my doorway hesitated, and his mixed feelings were plainly obvious on his face. There was some worry, undoubtedly related to the U.S.J. incident, but there was also some nervousness, probably because he didn’t like interrupting me.

“I was gonna get a coffee,” the employee said, instead of admitting it. “Do you want me to get you one?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” I answered automatically, out of sheer muscle-memory. “I’m good.”

“Hot apple cider?”

“I’m fine,” I repeated, barely restraining the urge to snap, and not quite succeeding. I took a breath, and then looked up, forcing an awkward smile to my face. “It’s just these books. Accounting isn’t fun.”

“Of course, sir,” the young man said, accepting my thin excuse. He stepped back from the doorway and closed the door.

Presumably, as soon as he was out of my sight, he turned around and mouthed ‘Leave him alone!’ to all the other workers in the warehouse, while waving his hands in a cutting motion.

For all I knew, anyway.

I groaned, and laid my head down on the desk. I could feel a pulsing behind my head, as if two drills were at the temples, just behind my eyes. My brain was throbbing, like I’d been mowing fields in ninety-degree weather again.

I was probably just dehydrated. That was it.

Fumbling around, I searched my desk for my water bottle. It had disappeared on me. Was it in the bottom drawer? Frustrated, I yanked open all my desk drawers, and eliminated them one-by-one, until I was left angrily glaring down at no water bottle in sight – before I looked up, and saw it sitting innocently on the top of the desk, right where I’d placed it an hour before.

I ripped the lid off, slugging down the lukewarm liquid in a large chug – and I nearly choked, as the water surged with my hasty movement, and splashed all over my chin and chest. My white collared shirt was translucent from the water, and my tie was dripping. As I stared down at my own chest in disbelief, another trickle landed on my suit pants.

As if to compound the world laughing at me, when I looked up, the accounting software had frozen halfway through backing up Mineta Corp.’s files. Again. I never thought I’d miss QuickBooks, but here I am.

Maybe I just need something easier.

Not a break. I don’t need a break. Nedzu might have given us the day off from U.A. in a robotic attempt to seem comforting, compassionate, and human, but he was wrong.

But maybe plowing that spare time into hours of paperwork at Mineta Corp.’s office hadn’t been the smartest of plans. I had a trusted manager to handle that stuff, and we went over the day’s operations every single day anyway. I didn’t really… need to take a look at the accounting. That was the bookkeeper’s job.

I was just trying to stay productive. That’s all.

Still, maybe I could be productive in a place that wasn’t compressing my brain into a paste, and stringing it out into pasta.

Briefly, I considered working on inventory – spend an hour plucking dodgeballs from my head – yet that didn’t seem like a good solution. I had plenty of inventory stocked up, producing a couple thousand dodgeballs on a good day.

My Quirk didn’t give me headaches, but it would lead to bleeding from my scalp if I did too much, and going home with bloodstains on my forehead would scare my parents.

They were used to it normally, but the… events of yesterday had left them worried. Even if I just did a reasonable amount of work, they’d assume that I was working myself to the bone in some kind of – some kind of distraction.

No, that wouldn’t work.

Maybe the Foundation?

Yeah, that sounded better. I could set my suit aside to dry, put on some more comfortable, casual clothing, and go work in the soup kitchen attached to the Tenko Shimura Foundation.

Nothing complex. Nothing difficult. Just ladling soup into bowls.

Glancing once more at the frozen computer, I sighed, and started packing up.

It felt good to do good.

I smiled and nodded to a young girl holding out her disposable bowl, and carefully poured her a healthy amount of soup. She returned the smile hesitantly, as if the very act was unfamiliar, and shuffled along the counter.

Before I turned to the next person in line, I watched as the girl looked down at her bowl and stared uncertainly at the unfamiliar chicken-noodle soup inside, rather than the more familiar miso. 

I shrugged mentally, and poured more soup. If she wanted miso, she could come back tomorrow. If she wanted tomato, the day after. Cream of mushroom, the day after that.

It was one of the few sticking points that I’d had to argue about with Tadao Okabe, the middle-aged manager I’d hired to run the Foundation about eight years back.

Charity in Japan was… different. Not at all like the charities I’d been accustomed to seeing in my first life in America. Some of the difference was obvious – Christianity was a tiny fraction of Japan, and thus the usual charitable works associated with them were also small. Of course, other religions emphasized charity as well, not just Christianity, but Japan was largely non-religious, even before the emergence of Quirks.

Still, even after setting aside religion, Japan still had very little focus on charity. The government didn’t offer large tax breaks for charitable donations, just a pitiful amount of pocket change. My taxes didn’t noticeably change at all, despite the fact that I was the primary funding for the Tenko Shimura Foundation, and other donations were rare and usually minor. We got a couple of volunteers regularly, but very little in the way of money.

Japanese culture just didn’t incentivize it. Donations were for shrines, and even then, just a few yen, as token gestures at most. Just another sign of the conformity that plagued Japan, even after the years of Pro Heros cracking away with their blazing individualism. It was seen as better to take less, tighten the belt, and suffer silently, than to give freely and share your plenty. Do your duty, work hard, and don’t complain. If you don’t have enough, you shouldn’t bother more successful people with your begging.

It had taken two years to find someone of the right character to run the Foundation, who wouldn’t frown at the very idea. Someone that cared about helping people, no matter what that implied about himself, or what it implied about the people being helped. It didn’t make him weak, to hand out food freely, and it didn’t make the homeless people weak, to need food.  

Still, Tadao tended to act as if the Tenko Shimura Foundation was a business that simply didn’t make any profit. He wanted to focus on cheaper foods, to stretch his funding out as long as possible. Miso soup was traditional, and both simple and nutritious… but freeze-dried ramen was even cheaper, and Tadao wanted to lower his costs as much as possible.

But people aren’t machines. You can’t just put in the bare minimum, and expect the same results. Treat the homeless, the poor, and the abused like human garbage disposals, and they’ll become human garbage. They’ll fester, like an open wound growing infected. I was insistent on it. Give them warm, filling food, and give them some variety, to show them that they’re not a burden.

Treat them like family, I’d told him. Treat them like friends that you just hadn’t met yet.

And hey, if that meant I could insist on making more ‘exotic’ food that was really just familiar American food? So be it.

That’s what made the Tenko Shimura Foundation such a good thing, I think – not the American food, hardly! – but the mindset. The fact that the Foundation did good things, for no cost.

I usually tried to spend some time at the Foundation every week. Usually, that meant Sunday, since both my old Junior Highschool and now U.A. held classes on Saturdays, albeit as half-days.

It was… important. I don’t mean that it was important for me to show up, since I was the boss of the business and set an example of behavior to the rest of the employees, like I did at Mineta Corp.

No, it wasn’t that. It was important because it kept me sane.

One life was hard enough to balance the first time around. Living a second life, with all the philosophical and psychological horrors of knowing that you would never see your original family again? On top of the pressure of running a charity, a business, and being odd in a conformist society?

I’d been struggling with it, back after I’d just founded Mineta Corp. – and then like magic, soon after I founded the Tenko Shimura Foundation, my stress slowly started lowering.

Because it felt good to do good.

Yet…

Today, as I poured bowls of soup to the trickle of people, it seemed to be so much… more.

It usually felt good to help people out, but today it felt great. It felt like the first couple times I’d served here, like the first time I’d seen a broken, dirty, weary man start tearing up at the sight of a plate full of food.

There was something so very human about helping others, perhaps. Soothing my soul after the violence of the incident yesterday… but no, that didn’t make sense. I hadn’t even seen any of the fighting.

So why did this feel so good? Why did this simple act feel so much better than it usually did? Why did the small smiles and nods of gratitude feel like golden awards in my hands and standing ovations in my ears?

What was different about today? About yesterday?

I frowned, and took a break from the soup line – passing my ladle to one of the few other volunteers present and getting off the stool that I’d needed just to see over the counter. As I passed by the open office door, Tadao glanced up at me with a curious look, but I waved him off gently.

My wandering feet took me to a seat in the common eating area, and I sat down with a heavy sigh, and rested my arms on the table in front of me.

Why was I so affected today? I hadn’t seen any violence, I hadn’t actually fought anyone, and none of my classmates were seriously injured.

True, I’d panicked in a frenzy and believed stupidly that a Meta Liberation Army hit-squad was trying to kill me, when it was really just Tomura Shigaraki and the League of Villains – something I should have remembered, and should have gone to Nedzu about.

Was I feeling guilty?

Maybe, I mused. The thought of me being guilty of something definitely rang a chord in my chest, in an instinctive confirmation.

I’d messed up, and there was no lying about that. I’d had grand plans of altering the world, of telling my story to Nedzu, of trying to change things for the better – and the moment I was afraid, all of those convictions and supposedly iron-clad beliefs had vanished like a fart in the wind.

I’d lost sight of the world, lost control of myself, and nearly lost a good friend.

But… was that really what I was feeling guilty about?

That didn’t feel right to me. That wasn’t it.

I’d screwed up, sure, and wasted a great chance to take out the designated antagonist villain of Midoriya, but that wasn’t the end of the world. The authorities were reasonable, competent, and proactive. This wasn’t a despotic hellhole of anarchy and cynicism, this was a modern nation with a functioning legal system.

And besides, even if this world had been some grim dark place, that wouldn’t really bother me unless it affected me personally. I was fairly selfish at times, and so long as nobody was gunning for me specifically, I was going to shrug and keep on trucking.

As such, the possibility that I’d doomed the world didn’t really bother me – because, well, had I doomed the world? I hadn’t watched much of My Hero Academia back in my old life, true, but it wasn’t some apocalyptic chain of events where one failure cascaded into an endless parade of nihilism and death. It had been almost slice-of-life at times!

So what was the problem? It wasn’t personal horror at violence I hadn’t seen, or more general stress about the weight of the world that I didn’t feel.

…was it Chitose?

I sucked in a long breath, and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, before letting out a long exhale.

It might be, I had to admit. Perhaps I felt guilty because of what I’d done to Chitose… my accusation towards her, my refusal to listen to her, my insistence that she’d wronged me, and my declaration that I would harm her in retaliation.

But… I had harmed her.

I’d metaphorically slapped her across the face in that phone call, and called into question her basic morality. I’d accused her of being evil, and I’d done so not out of any desire for justice, or personal standards of morality, but out of petty-minded, vengeful spite. I’d spat on her. I’d flipped her the bird. Kicked her in the groin and rubbed salt in her wounds.

All because I’d instinctively believed the worst about my good friend.

In many ways, I’d insulted her with that phone call, even if she claimed otherwise.

Hell, I had betrayed her. I’d thrown away all the years of friendship, all of the ways that I knew Chitose was a better, more moral person than that.

And in doing that, I’d done an evil thing. Minor evil, perhaps, but still very much evil.

I’d been full of pride, to assume I knew better about Chitose than she knew herself. I’d been full of wrath, to verbally attack her. Just two out of the seven deadly sins, but two of the worst, including the absolute worst.

Perhaps that was why this charity felt so good, I realized.

I looked around at the tables and comfortable chairs, at the hesitant homeless people that were slowly eating and visibly enjoying their meals, with small smiles, heartfelt thanks to the servers, and even a couple tears at the corners of some eyes, like that young girl I’d served just a few minutes before.

It wasn’t just because I was doing a good deed, but because I was reminding myself that I could do a good deed.

I wasn’t doing this to help these people – I was doing it to help myself.

The subconscious reason that I’d come here was to take pleasure in the fact that I was clearly a good person, because after all, I was feeding the hungry, helping the homeless.

Clearly, I thought, sneering at myself internally, I am such a great person, to use these poor people like this.

Like they were just pawns in a game, props in front of a camera. A little trophy to be held up, then cast aside and forgotten about.

Would I still care about any of them, if I saw them again? Would I praise myself and pat myself on the back for helping someone that walked into the Foundation, and then ignore every poor, desperate, homeless person that I walked past after I’d left for the day?

Would I arrogant enough to say it out loud? Oh no, I’m only going to help you in a place where I can feel good about it. I’m only helping you when it’s a good time for me.

It was so… selfish!

And that was wrong.

The guilt that I’d been slowly shedding had returned, and it was almost clogging up in my veins – a choking miasma of ugly loathing.

What kind of person does this, I wondered, clenching my fists. A monster?

The seething, almost burning feeling of guilt rose up, higher and higher in my chest, and I struggled to figure out why.

Wasn’t I being honest enough with myself? Did I need to berate myself more? Did I need to put myself down even more? Would that make this horrible feeling go away?

…no.

No, fuck that.

What the flying fuck was I just thinking?

That I needed to beat myself up? To castigate myself with a verbal whip, like I was such a shitty human being that I needed to be reminded of how horrible I was?

Fuck. That.

I’m not a monster, and helping others is not the work of a monster.

Sure, I’d gotten some personal satisfaction out of helping those people, but so what?

What was wrong about taking some happiness in helping other people? There’s nothing innately moral about feeling like a sad sack of shit while you work endlessly for someone else.

There’s nothing wrong about helping yourself. Charity starts at home.

I’m a person too, goddammit. Just because I got some pleasure out of helping others out didn’t mean that I was using them.

I hadn’t shown up with a fucking camera crew to record myself being a perfect little angel of charity, and then driven off in a limousine smoking a fat Cuban cigar and splashing mud puddles across the homeless on the streets.

And more than that, I hadn’t just done a few hours of work to feel good about my life, like it was buying an hour of a hooker’s time, to pleasure my soul, instead of my body. It wasn’t a simple transaction of a minuscule amount of labor for some personal satisfaction.

I’d built this goddamn charity up from the ground, in a nation that didn’t really do charities, just to help people. Because it was the right goddamn thing to do. Because it would help people.

And even when the original nugget of thought behind this charity failed – when Tenko Shimura still disappeared from society, and emerged in the U.S.J. as Handsy McBadTouch, the disintegrating destroyer, the sociopathic man-child – what had I done?

Had I thrown in the towel? Fired Tadao, told all the regular volunteers to fuck off, and sold the property? Given up on the Tenko Shimura Foundation, just because I couldn’t help Tenko Shimura?

Told those people, I’m sorry, but this was all a ruse so that I could try to find one specific person and help them, and now that I’ve failed in that, I’m not going to help any of you again… because, well, you’re just NPC’s. You’re unimportant. You don’t matter in the story of this world.

No, fuck all of that. I am still here. Still working for a better goddamn world. Still helping these people, no matter if they would be main characters in a fictional world. Because they mattered, regardless of who they were, or what their names were, or how ‘notable’ they were.

Because that was why I built the Tenko Shimura Foundation. Not to help one singular person, who I deemed more important than everyone in the under-class, but to help everyone that suffered, like Tenko had.

And if anybody thought that it was wrong for me to take a little pride in that? Fuck them. What were they doing? Sitting on their high horse, safely out of the muck and dung of life? Hands soft, fingernails pristine, skin unscarred, lily-white and untouched by the sun?

Must I be unhappy, toiling away forever to make another person’s life better? Unable to take even the smallest amount of personal satisfaction and pride in my labors?

Like a slave?

Because that’s what it came down to. It was an argument that you, as a person, did not matter, because the sum total of your worth as a human being was to toil away for another person’s benefit.

If it is wrong to take care of yourself, then that is an argument for slavery.

That was the world that Re-Destro wanted – that the Meta Liberation Army wanted, just like the dictators of the past. The ‘strong man’ ruling from the top of a pyramid carried on the backs of a hundred, a thousand, a million slaves, who were suffering under the weight of that pyramid.

That kind of person would tell you that it was wrong to care about yourself – that the Cause was all that mattered. That any moment you felt good was a moment you could have made someone else feel good – and that someone else should be the Glorious Leader, and our Chosen Group.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a slave.

Even to myself. My own emotions. My own guilt and fear.

If I can’t even stand up to my own internal doubts and worries, then I will never be able to stand up to criminals, as a regular citizen or as a Pro Hero.

I stood up from the table, shaking my head lightly, as if to dislodge some water in my ear. I took a deep breath, then walked back to the kitchen to help out on the serving line again, smiling and nodding whenever anyone sent a concerned look at me.

“Everything okay?” Tadao asked, standing at the doorway to his office with a concerned expression.

“I had to do some thinking, clear my head a little,” I told him, truthfully. “Some questions aren’t fun to answer, especially when you’re asking them to yourself.”

“Hmm…” Tadao hummed in reply. “Well, take care of yourself. Can’t go wrong doing that.”

Chapter Text

Attending U.A. was different from Momo’s expectations.

Oh, some things were obviously always going to be the same, like the infamous entrance courtyard, with its gleaming arches and bronze busts of famous alumni. The uniforms, either for physical exercise or for classroom academia. All manner of small things that she’d memorized years ago from either the promotional material or from her research on Japan’s top hero school.

Certainly, the quality of teachers, educational material, and facilities were up to the highest standards. Some other students might disapprove of Aizawa-sensei for his slovenly appearance, but his teaching was absolutely top-notch, and his ability to manage twenty youthful teenagers training in a highly competitive discipline was positively masterful.

Even All Might, though he struggled with communicating with students, was amazingly observant in addition to his decades of experience, and she’d learned so much just from watching him.

Yet Momo had imagined that she’d be surrounded by people like… well, her.

There was a sharp bark of laughter from her left side – male, baritone, slightly shorter than her, slightly sheepish in tone – therefore, Ojiro. She turned her head to look, and saw the avian-headed Tokoyami shaking his head good-naturedly at Ojiro, while the face-masked Shoji creased his eyes just slightly, an eyebrow lifting and the bridge of his nose lowering slightly in his equivalent of a smile.

Oh, no, she’d missed whatever joke was said. Should she ask them to repeat? No, not at all, that would be impolite, and also expose that she hadn’t been listening. Better to simply ignore it and keep walking with her friends.

Which was quite odd, honestly – that her friends would be so varied. Not in physical appearance, for in a world full of Quirks, it was impossible to be truly homogenous in appearance – but in mindset.

For instance, take their approach to scheduling. Class had let out just a few minutes before, and Momo had established in the first day that it would take her approximately three minutes to efficiently stow her belongings and depart the building.

She’d anticipated that once she made new friends among Class 1-A, she’d have to change that timing so that she wasn’t rudely rushing off – but she’d anticipated that her new school-friends would keep to a schedule of their own, and so she’d have a consistent timeframe for her walking speed, every day.

Nothing of the sort had happened. Kyoka could vary between three and a half minutes to upwards of eight minutes, dependent largely on her emotional well-being and the exertion required in their day. Shoji, at least, kept the variation between three and four minutes, but Tokoyami and Ojiro were both highly sluggish after classes let out, taking anywhere from six to twelve minutes, and it confused her to no end – particularly Ojiro, who had attained black belts in more than one style of martial arts. You’d think that he would be more disciplined!

Yet… Momo didn’t really mind the delay, which had puzzled her for a few days. She waited for her new friends to be ready to leave, and walked out with them in a group, rather than walking off. Some of that was a consideration for how rude it would be, but it simply didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought that it would.

It wouldn’t be exactly accurate to say that Momo Yaoyorozu had built her life on precision and order, but it wouldn’t be too far off, either. She’d grown up focusing her idle time on precision, even without taking her Quirk into account! Stepping just far enough to avoid stepping on sidewalk cracks, memorizing how long it would take her to do tasks, counting her calories and nutritional intake.

Simple things, but whenever she wasn’t actively engaged, she was calculating odds or inspecting tools or learning about the world around her. There was so much to do, so much to see! Why waste hours of accumulated time sitting still and leaving your mind blank, when you could learn something, do something?

Once she’d really started with her Quirk training – largely on her own – she’d taken naturally to the exacting precision required to create objects that didn’t fall apart. It was a challenge, and it had been fun to press her brain against the universe, and even more fun to win! The wonders of the world were literally at her fingertips, if only she was competent enough.

But some part of her had expected that students at U.A. would be the same. Geniuses, both natural and hard-working! Exacting in precision, and powerful in ability. Kind, generous, and well-rounded. Perhaps not identical but largely similar to her, in many ways.

And they weren’t.

Oh, most of them were highly competitive. Plenty of them were smart. Many were kind and generous. Skill was everywhere in some form or another.

But very few of them were… neat, or orderly, or disciplined – at least in the way that Momo had trained herself to be.

Even more confusingly, the closest student to her expectations of discipline was Tenya Iida, who was gravitating towards a close friendship with Midoriya and Uraraka. Certainly, they cooperated on their duties as President and Vice-President, but they didn’t ‘hang out’ like Kyoka did with her. They were acquaintances, but little more. Even then, Tenya was more focused on precision than her!

And that wasn’t considering students like Katsuki Bakugo, who was third in the class rankings behind herself and Tenya. She still couldn’t process how he managed to be so intelligent when he was so un-disciplined in everything that didn’t attract his attention. Oh, he could be highly focused on Hero work and anything that was a challenge, but when pressed into social situations, he demonstrated a personality that reminded Momo of her first chemistry experiments with alkali metals. It would have been nearly incomprehensible to her just a few months ago.

But she didn’t mind that her closest friends were different. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.

That had also surprised Momo so much – her own adaptability. She had certainly never expected to become friends with a military otaku like Shoji, or a punk-rocker in the making like Kyoka.

Not that there was anything wrong with those things! They weren’t bad, just different, and Momo was gradually coming to love some of those small differences. They shined a light on the areas where Momo herself might have fallen short without even realizing it – the first time she’d talked music with Kyoka, for instance!

Oh, she was getting distracted again, wasn’t she?

Momo shook her head, just slightly, to remind herself not to get lost in her own thoughts so much. With that done, she listened in to whatever the boys were talking about.

“There’s a trick to it,” said a higher pitched tenor, much lower in height than she expected. “You can’t think purely in terms of hand-to-hand combat, or a ranged attack will hit, just because you weren’t expecting it.”

That voice…

Momo turned her head and leaned over, looking at the boys on her left side. There was Ojiro, then Tokoyami, then Shoji – and just past Shoji, easily obscured by the taller boy’s bulk, was Mineta!

“When did Mineta get here?” she asked Kyoka quietly, glancing to the girl on her right, as they tromped down the stairs.

“Just a few seconds ago,” Kyoka replied, shrugging. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Oh, good,” she said, a tinge of heat coloring her cheeks. “I’d hate to be rude.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Kyoka waved off. “Just don’t mention the China thing.”

“That was one time!” Momo hissed, her cheeks flaring up with heat.

“Yeah, but it was the first thing you said to him,” Kyoka reminded her. “Kinda hard to forget.”

“You ready for the Sports Festival?” Ojiro asked loudly, looking at Mineta, but nudging Momo with his elbow.

“Eh, sure,” Mineta replied, shrugging. “I’ll be amazed if I get through the first event.”

“You know what it is?” Kyoka asked, leaning forward so she could actually see Mineta, as they rounded the final corridor and stepped out into the sunlit entrance courtyard.

“Nah, but it’s always a race, isn’t it?” Mineta pointed out.

“You’re a Hero student,” Tokoyami said, a note of curiosity in his normally solemn voice. “Surely you’ll do better than most of those from General Studies.”

“I’m barely a meter tall,” Mineta replied. “I could train for the next ten years, and I’d still be slower than most of ‘em, just because their legs are longer.”

“You don’t seem too worried about it,” Momo observed, frowning.

“Not like it matters much, in the long run,” Mineta said, with another shrug. “I mean, it’s just a school sports festival.”

“Just?” Ojiro repeated, his head whipping over to stare at the purple-haired teen. “It’s U.A.’s Sports Festival! It’s as big as the Olympics!”

“Yeah, here in Japan,” Mineta disagreed. “Maybe one out of every ten Canadian kids I met last year has heard of U.A. – and I doubt anybody in Africa or Europe even cares about Japan at all, being on the other side of the world.”

“Okay, but you live in Japan,” Ojiro said, his voice almost stunned. “And you’re training to be a Hero in Japan. This is your big chance to get noticed by the major Pro Hero Agencies.”

“Don’t you want to be a Hero?” Shoji asked, his masked head craning down to look at the comparatively tiny form of Mineta walking next to him.

“Of course I do,” Mineta said, giving Shoji a strange look. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. What brought that on?”

“You’re too quiet in class,” Shoji said, his extended mouth-arm emerging from over his shoulder. “First time you’ve walked with us, or any of the other friend groups. It’s hard to tell if you actually care about any of this.”

“Oh please, school just started, like, a month or two ago,” Mineta waved off.

“Yeah, and you’ve been all weird for months,” Kyoka said, taking up Shoji’s argument. “What’s up with that, small fry?”

“Personal troubles,” Mineta said, his voice becoming oddly clipped. “Nothing I’d like to talk about.”

“Can we just go back to how he doesn’t care about the Sports Festival?” Ojiro asked, still wide-eyed. “I mean, you’ve only got three chances to really make it to the big leagues! Aren’t you worried about that?”

“I’ve got a lot more than three chances, Ojiro,” Mineta said, a little amused. “Most of us do. Hell, Momo has basically infinite chances, if you think about it.”

“What?” Momo said, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean? I only get three Sports Festivals, same as all of us.”

“Let’s say that hypothetically, you never make it big in any of the sports festivals,” Mineta said, waving his hands as if to conjure the image up. “What would happen?”

“Well, I wouldn’t make it,” Momo said, a little flutter in her stomach at the thought of such failure. “I’d have to go do something else.”

“Why?” Mineta asked, looking at her as if she was the weird one here. “You’d be a U.A. graduate. That alone puts you above, like, 80% of all the other graduating Heroes in the nation. So what if you didn’t get one of three top spots for your school years?”

“Okay, so it’s likely, but that doesn’t mean I get another chance,” Momo said, frowning. “That’s a question of odds, if I make it without the Sports Festival, not a question of chances. Either I get a job offer, or I don’t.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mineta said, sounding almost like Kyoka did when she mentioned something she found incredibly obvious. “And, just hear me out here, what happens if you don’t get a job offer?”

“I…” she started to say, before hesitating. She hadn’t really thought about it, but to say that would be… rude.

“You’d be able to just keep training until you were good enough to get an offer,” Mineta continued, completely missing her inner thoughts.

“No, I couldn’t!” Momo replied, staring at him. “That’s not how the industry works!”

“Sure, it is,” Mineta dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Pro Hero work is all about results, and it doesn’t matter if someone didn’t get a job instantly out of high school, so long as they can rake in the captures. You could probably go to University in the meantime, if you didn’t want a hole on your resume. U.A. isn’t the end of your life, you know.”

“Hang on,” Kyoka interrupted, saving Momo from having to reply. “That’s a nice deflection and all, Mineta, but we were talking about you, not Yaomomo here.”

“Yeah, well, I may not be as rich as Momo, but the same principle applies,” Mineta shrugged. “If I don’t get a job offer after U.A., I’ll just fall back to running Mineta Corp., and I’ll be financially secure.”

“But I don’t have a business,” Momo said, as their group exited the long entrance courtyard and crossed the main security gate.

“No, but you are ridiculously rich,” Mineta said. “You could graduate, found your own Hero Agency, and run it at a loss for years, maybe decades, before you ran out of money.”

“I could?” Momo repeated, more to herself than to Mineta. It was an alien thought, something strange and almost unpleasant. That wasn’t exactly how things worked – or at least, it wasn’t how all the books had said that things worked. Go to school, do well, get hired, and have a productive life.

“Uh, not to prove his point or anything, but…” Ojiro said slowly, as they arrived at the pickup zone for cars, and Momo’s usual ride home, where Tadashi waited in his usual black business suit.

“Young Miss Yaoyorozu,” Tadashi said, bowing at the waist, before opening the door to the family limousine.

“Yeah, you’re not exactly lacking for cash,” Kyoka said, nudging her. “Hey, if Mineta’s right and I don’t kick ass in one of the Sports Festivals, maybe you can hire me on?”

“I, uh…” Momo stuttered, the thought surprising her. “I think you’ll do great, Kyoka.”

“Just messing with you,” her best friend replied, with a wink, before her eyes latched onto something over Momo’s shoulder. “Mineta, is that yours?”

Momo turned, and saw a ubiquitous white box-truck parked just behind the limousine. ‘MINETA CORP’ was stenciled on the side in bright purple letters, and right next to it was a large, stylized image of a purple orb shaded to look like one of Mineta’s grapes.

“Not as fancy as a limo, I’ll admit,” Mineta said, holding his nose high with a clearly faked arrogance. “But it’s quite an enjoyable experience. The ’59 vintage, nothing else compares.”

“You use your company vehicle just for personal commuting?” Tokoyami said, disapproval in his voice. “That seems wasteful.”

“Oh, please, it’s good business!” Mineta protested, the arrogance vanishing from his voice. “Here, lemme show you! Hey, Shinji, open up the back!”

A man hopped out of the driver’s side door and threw a casual salute at Mineta, before walking around the back of the truck.

“Come on, I gotta see this,” Kyoka said, grabbing Momo’s hand and tugging her along, as the truck’s garage-style backdoor rattled upwards with a metallic shudder, out of their sight.

“That’s… interesting,” Shoji said, staring at the inside of the box truck, having been closest to the back and naturally arriving first.

Momo rounded the corner, and stared at the empty racks of smooth, painted plywood. There were several dozen all across the truck’s cargo space, save for a central aisle down the middle. They were almost like containers of some kind.

“Alright, I give up,” Ojiro said after climbing up into the truck, looking down at the plywood racks. “What are these for?”

“Dodgeballs and dodgeball accessories,” Mineta said, clambering up into the truck after him.

He plucked one of his grape-like dodgeballs from his head, and placed it inside one of the containers. He did it a few more times, quickly filling the container within just thirty seconds, and placed the lid on top.

“Huh,” Kyoka said, tilting her head.

“Oh!” Momo gasped, as the realization struck her. “This way, you can be productive and get work done while heading home!”

“Yup!” Mineta confirmed. “It’s kinda hard to run a business when I’m at U.A. for eight hours and the commute’s another three. This way shaves a half hour off the commute, each way, and I get two hours of solid work done in the meantime.”

“Surely it was expensive to set up?” Tokoyami asked, as Ojiro and Mineta both climbed back down out of the truck.

“Eh,” Mineta waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “I already owned the truck, I’m already paying the employees, and we’re already making deliveries as far out as Saitama City, so they just swing by on the way back. And if I didn’t do this, I’d run out of inventory, and then worse, I’d run out of money, and then I might even have to close the business. I’d only be able to work on weekends, and that just isn’t enough time.”

“I’m thankful that you didn’t pick that option, sir,” the male employee said, as he reached up to shut the truck’s door.

“See? Win-win, all around!” Mineta said, smiling with an easy confidence.

He waved them off with a jaunty salute as he climbed into the cab with his employee, and the others headed off to the train station.

It's almost strange, Momo thought to herself as she entered the family limousine, to see the difference in how Mineta acts now, in comparison to the first few weeks. Did the U.S.J. really change him that much?

But no, that couldn’t be right. Ojiro and Shoji had gotten more confident after the U.S.J., like many of them had, but that was because they’d faced Villains and survived – whereas Mineta had run away. So it couldn’t be the experience…

…and besides, Mineta was too easy-going. He wasn’t swaggering around like Bakugo was, or had the same quiet self-confidence of someone like Todoroki. Mineta was calm, relaxed.

He hadn’t gained any confidence, because he was acting too comfortable. His confidence wasn’t new and fresh to him, but old and familiar. It was more likely that this is how Mineta had been up until he’d entered U.A., and become so nervous for some reason. As if Mineta knew that no matter what, he would be fine.

I suppose having your own business might instill that kind of confidence, Momo thought to herself, remembering Mineta’s earlier words. If what he said is true, then he doesn’t have to fear failure, does he? He can always fall back on his company.

And she had that same ability, too, though it was strange to her to think that her family would just support her like that.

It wasn’t how any of the common wisdom went. You went to highschool, and if you were a Pro Hero then you graduated there, but otherwise you attended university, got a good degree, and went out to join the labor force.

The idea that she could simply coast on her family’s money felt strange to her. Odd, as if it was a peculiar-tasting tea that she’d never tried before, or a texture of food from some far off land.

She looked around the back of the limo, actually looking around for the first time since she was a small child. She’d taken dozens, if not hundreds of rides in it, and at some point, it had become the boring normality.

How many other things had she simply assumed, but not thought about?

Chapter Text

In the dark times, Chitose had feared this moment – feared what he would say, what he would think.

Then small arms wrapped around her, trapping her arms against her sides, and a head smashed into the bottom of her ribcage. She leaned backwards with a single step to regain her balance, and the arms squeezed.

“Easy there!” she gasped, a rumble building up in her chest as the tension of the past day flowed off her.

The little gremlin looked up, and the arms squeezed tighter again.

Chitose couldn’t help but giggle, releasing the rumbling from her chest. She wrapped her arms around the teenager to return the hug, then smiled fondly down at Mineta as he released her.

“Good to see you again,” she said warmly, smiling as she gestured at the open door to her office. “Come on in.”

She nodded to her secretary as Mineta walked past, making the little gesture to hold all her appointments, before following after her friend.

“Oh, don’t go there,” Chitose said, as Mineta headed towards the desk. “That’s a little too formal.”

He turned, an expression of slight confusion on his face, and Chitose gestured towards the couch next to the low coffee table.

“If you like,” Mineta said with a shrug.

“Well, I don’t want to impose,” she said, with a slight wince. “Me behind the desk, with it as a barrier between us…”

“Chitose, stop,” Mineta interrupted with a chuckle. “You’re fine. Whatever makes you more comfortable, I’m good with.”

“Okay,” she said, and headed behind her desk, which would be more comfortable. She hadn’t wanted to seem too formal in front of Mineta, but if he didn’t mind, so be it.

She slid into her leather wingback chair and, after a moment of hesitation, took her heels off to give her feet a break. Across the desk from her, Mineta once again pulled a chair away from the coffee table and clambered up into it.

It was almost like a mirror of their last meeting in her office – save that Mineta wasn’t smiling in victorious satisfaction after the U.A. entrance exams, and she was even more nervous. She’d been trying to avoid that comparison, at least a little.

Funny, Chitose thought to herself, I would have thought that inducting him into the Liberation would be more nerve-wracking than just… talking to him, afterwards.

But then, she’d never really thought that Mineta wouldn’t agree, had she? Or that he might make her doubt Re-Destro. The possibility of failure or rejection had never occurred to her.

Nor had she thought that he might be disappointed in her – that his disappointment might actually mean something to her.

“Are we…” Chitose started to say, before trailing off.

“Okay?” Mineta finished for her, after a few moments of silence. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“I thought after we talked at the U.S.J., that it’d… it’d be better,” she admitted. “That we’d go back to the way things used to be. Is that naïve, to think so?”

“It’s an impossible standard,” Mineta said, shrugging. “Time marches on, and we can’t go back. And if it was possible, that’d be horrible. How much of our friendship was built on you grooming me for a cult? Even without the grooming, lying is still a bad basis for any relationship.”

“A new friendship, then?” she offered, hesitantly.

“Nah,” Mineta waved off, with a slight smile. “Same old friendship, just with a little more honesty.”

“Even with the recruitment?” she asked.

“Even with me threatening to destroy your world,” Mineta replied, the slight smile growing into a grin. “Friends do that, sometimes. No biggie.”

“I… don’t think friends do that,” Chitose said, with a small smile of her own. “But… okay.”

“Guy friendships do it,” Mineta explained. “You know, the kind of friends that can only stand each other for a couple months, before having a big break-down, screaming match about how much they hate each other. Then they get along great for the next few months.”

“That doesn’t seem healthy,” Chitose said, not bothering to conceal her doubt. “Or realistic, or common. And keep in mind, I’m saying that. In the Liberation, friendship means you both believe in the Cause more than you believe in each other. I wouldn’t say it’s healthy, but it’s nothing like what you’re saying. That kind of stress…”

“Nah, it’s blowing off stress,” Mineta said. “You know, between guys that get a lot of stress in their jobs, but they can’t schedule the heart attack until six months after they retire.”

“…Should I be more worried for you, or your employees?” she asked, a little disturbed.

Mineta laughed, loud and free, and his high-pitched guffaws made something loosen up in her chest as well.

She leaned back in her rolling chair, kicking her stockinged feet up on the desk, and let out a long sigh. What should she say next? She didn’t want to dwell on the Meta Liberation Army, but in truth, it had been so long since she’d actually had a friend outside of it. Perhaps discussing Mineta would be the safe option.

“Are you prepared for the sports festival on Monday?” she asked, glancing over at him. “It’s very important, you know.”

“Eh, I guess,” Mineta said idly. “I’m starting to think it’s a load of crap, anyway.”

“Really?” Chitose asked, quirking an eyebrow in doubt. “How else would Pro Heroes get to know potential hires?”

“The same as any other industry,” Mineta scoffed. “Interviews, internships, and past jobs.”

“Which gives a major advantage to the well-connected and the experienced,” Chitose countered. “A good thing for anyone who likes nepotism, but I don’t think you’re one of those people.”

“That’s fair,” Mineta admitted, “But that’s just one potential outcome, isn’t it? I could say that it prevents someone from getting hired just because they looked like a powerful fighter. The job’s about being a Hero, not about being the biggest ass-kicker.”

“If I recall, that’s what the licensing exams focus on,” Chitose replied.

“So why’s the sports festival televised, but the exams aren’t?” Mineta countered, his easy expression and light tone contrasting with his words.

He still seemed relaxed to her eyes, though – and she could remember similar arguments with him from a few of their previous meetings, over the years. At the time, she’d thought that Mineta was simply testing her, probing the edges of her reasoning… but was it?

Is this how he makes friends? Chitose wondered. Arguing about everything? It seems like such a strange thing to do.

Well, if it was what Mineta wanted, then she wouldn’t hold back. Particularly when he’d said something so stupid.

“That would be because one is a publicized PR event,” she drawled slowly, leaning back and folding her hands into a steeple in front of her chin. “And the other is a government test for a certification.”

“Point, point!” Mineta conceded, leaning forward and resting his chin on his propped-up hand.. “But it’s still too… physical, I think.”

“Being a Hero is one of the most physical jobs out there,” Chitose said, giving him an unamused look. “Are you seriously complaining about this? What happened to the boy I remember, pitching for the national team?”

“He got bumped to relief pitcher because he’s too short,” Mineta replied, returning her look with one of his own, before lifting his head up and gesturing with that hand. “Look, I’m not saying Heroes don’t need to be fit. God, no, they absolutely do. I agree with that. I just don’t like that it’s all about big fights between big Quirks, as if we’re running around fighting off Darkseid and Thanos every couple years.”

“Big fights draw the crowds,” Chitose shrugged, ignoring the strange names. “Crowds make money for U.A., and get their students internships.”

“Internships for a patrolling job,” Mineta stressed. “Not fighting off supervillains like we’re living in the warlord days. It’s just more ‘might makes right’ bullshit. People acting like the strongest fighter is automatically the best Hero, because oh my God, look at the muscles!”

“You do remember that the Meta Liberation Army is out there, right?” Chitose asked, swallowing her instinctive reply – to ask if that was jealousy that she was hearing. It wouldn’t have helped things between them, and Mineta didn’t deserve it. “Several million loyal followers. A hundred thousand trained warriors, dedicated to fighting to the death against Quirk restrictions – and all believing that Re-Destro will lead them to victory.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mineta said, waving his hand as if dispersing the smell of a fart. “And they’re a real problem, I’ll give you that. Of course, there’s three problems with that, just off the top of my head.”

“Just three?” Chitose interrupted, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

“Hey, gimme more than five seconds, and I’ll come up with more,” Mineta shot back, before raising his fingers as he ticked off his points. “One, they’re still in complete hiding after Japan and every other nearby nation kicked their asses fifty years ago, and you yourself said they’re terrified of being detected. B, the Japanese military still exists, and while they’re not supposed to be used on civilians, if the MLA ever got close to actually winning, they’d be let off the chain, and there’d be a lot of dead bodies. And C-”

Mineta paused, looking at his fingers in puzzlement. His eyebrows furrowed, and he visibly mouthed his last words to himself, before quickly frowning in self-directed annoyance.

“And three,” he said, emphasizing the number. “The MLA’s not some block of faceless robots. It’s made up of individual people, and predicting the actions of so many individuals is like that old phrase – you know, man plans and God laughs. If the MLA goes public, it’ll lose a lot of membership, even before the government kicks its ass.”

“I agree with some of that,” Chitose admitted, before shaking her head. “But it’s not about ‘might makes right’. It’s about-”

Mineta’s sharp laugh cut her off, and she stared at him.

“That’s a little rude, don’t you think?” she asked pointedly.

“It is, yeah,” Mineta said, as he curbed his laughter. “But Jesus, Chitose, are you serious? You think it isn’t about might makes right? In Japan of all places? Have you studied history? Not just the recent stuff with the Quirk Warlords, but the pre-Quirk stuff?”

“I studied business in college,” Chitose said. “Not history. It was more useful.”

“Here’s a fast lesson for you,” Mineta said, his amusment fading as he gave her a very serious look. “Some warlord overthrows the government, declares that he’s ‘restoring power to the Emperor’, and becomes a military dictator with the Emperor as a figurehead. Then some other warlord overthrows him, and says the same thing. Every now and then, the Emperor does the same thing, all the way back to the 800’s.”

“Over a thousand years ago,” Chitose waved off. “Ancient history.”

“And what’s modern history?” Mineta asked, rhetorically. “We’re the survivors of thousands of years of this, Chitose. It adds up, accumulates, builds like a mountain rising out of the sea. Those ‘old beliefs’ are still around today – they’re the backbone of our literature, art, and government. Fucking hell, it’s even in porn.”

“What?” Chitose replied without thinking, pulling her head back at those last words. “What the – what are you talking about?”

“Chitose, you eat lunch in Akihabara every day,” Mineta said, gesturing out her office window to sprawling Chiyoda below. “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Why would I have been reading that – those things?” Chitose asked, bewildered. “I can barely remember Gundam trivia with you and Yumi teaching me. Hell, when would you have read that stuff? You’re just fifteen! Oh, I shouldn’t even be talking about this with you. Ugh!”

Mineta gave her a flat, unamused look, as she gagged at the mere thought. He waited a few moments, but Chitose just stared at him, partly horrified and partly stunned at the very idea of this topic.

“It’s not exactly subtle, you know?” Mineta said, ignoring her discomfort. “The majority of the hentai out there is all the same – woman doesn’t want to have sex with man, the man rapes her, and he’s just so good-”

“Oh God,” Chitose groaned, rubbing her forehead and trying to ignore Mineta’s waving jazz-hands. “Please, stop.”

“-that the woman eventually starts enjoying it, as if the man was right to rape her all along,” Mineta finished, still looking at her with that unamused expression. “It’s the same fucked up logic of ‘might makes right.’ Whoever’s the strongest or the best is just sooooo good that they always get what they want. Power, money, women, whatever. Because that’s what a thousand years of Japanese history and culture all say.”

“That’s not right,” Chitose said weakly, grimacing.

“No, it’s not,” Mineta agreed. “It’s not moral, anyway. But it’s what so many people believe, even if they don’t know it under that phrase, or really know that they do believe it. Hell, that’s what you believed, under the Meta Liberation Army.”

“I… is it?” Chitose asked, slowly.

“What was the MLA’s plan, again?” Mineta asked, with a knowing look on his face. “You explained it a couple weeks ago, remember? Go on, say it one more time.”

“Peaceful transition of power isn’t possible,” she recited, the words of the higher levels of the Liberation coming to her through many years of repetition – the words that low-level members weren’t told, until they’d proven themselves. “The government has brainwashed too many people. We can’t trust the votes, or the courts. But once we’ve removed the restrictions, everyone will see the Truth – that free Quirk use is a human right, and that it is wrong to restrict it.”

“We’ll kick everyone’s ass, and then they’ll see that we were right the whole time,” Mineta summarized, with the same flat, unimpressed expression. “Might. Makes. Right. Re-Destro just isn’t stupid enough to admit that’s what he thinks.”

“The Liberation is… wrong about that,” Chitose said, the words still painful and hard. “But that doesn’t mean that everything is like that.”

“Not everything, no,” Mineta agreed, emphasizing the word. “The current government isn’t the greatest – we both don’t like the Quirk laws, obviously – but they’re actually democratic and don’t fall prey to that stuff. If a member of the Diet loses an election, he doesn’t go off on a killing spree. They can be trusted to have a peaceful transition of power.”

“Even the Heroes,” Chitose said, the next thought leaping into her head. “All Might might be the strongest Hero, but Endeavor gets four or five times the workload done, and still stays at the Number Two spot.”

“But the villains of the world still think like that,” Mineta said. “The Meta Liberation Army’s a good example, but hardly the only one. The Yakuza, for another – always going on about their honor, but they’re really just thugs who pretend to be nice. I’m sure you can think of other villains that think the same kind of garbage.”

“Well… there’s the Hero-Killer,” Chitose mused. “My department’s researching a piece on him right now, actually. Have you heard of Stain?”

“I’ve heard about hero-killers before, but I’ve never heard of this guy,” Mineta said, shrugging. “What’s his deal?”

“He’s pretty underground, not surprised you hadn’t heard of him,” Chitose nodded. “Former vigilante, from the rumors going around. He’s killed over a dozen Heroes, and injured many more. The survivors say that he rants about Hero society being corrupt and sick, and that he’s trying to purify it.”

“By killing Heroes,” Mineta repeated in a clarifying manner, his eyes widening slightly.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. “Hero society is sick, because too many Pro Heroes are fighting over their popularity ranking, and not about actually doing good things. They’re just in it for the money, and they don’t actually care about people. By his logic, that means he should kill all the bad ones.”

“Has this dude ever heard of All Might?” Mineta asked, in a disbelieving manner. “You know, the Number One Hero in Japan?”

“Oh, yes,” Chitose said. “He claims that All Might’s the only true Hero left.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Mineta murmured, covering his face. “This is so fucking stupid, it practically hurts.”

“I think it fits for what you were talking about,” she said. “Though my reporters haven’t figured out if Stain believes that he’ll be arrested at the end, or if society will thank him. If he thinks he’ll be arrested, then I think it wouldn’t fit your ‘might makes right’ logic – it would only fit if he thinks he can get away without punishment.”

“No, no,” Mineta said, shaking his head. “It’s not about whether he skates off without punishment. The fact that he’s killing people to prove that he’s right, is a sign of him believing that might makes right. Otherwise, he’d be fuckin’… I don’t know, reporting corruption to the Hero Commission, or if that didn’t work, reporting on it to the news, or giving it to some of the ‘pure Heroes’ like All Might, so he could handle it.”

“I suppose,” Chitose said, leaning back and thinking about it, as she stared at the ceiling.

“This is the same problem as the MLA,” Mineta muttered. “Morons who shoot themselves in the foot, and drag down good causes with them.”

“You think Stain’s right?” Chitose asked, snapping her head down to stare at the purple-haired teenager.

“About what he’s doing, fuck no!” Mineta snapped, his expression fierce. “But about what he’s saying? Yes, there is corruption in Hero society. Not nearly as bad as this dude is making it out to be, but of course there is. Corruption is inevitable. It’s good to dislike corruption.”

“But…?” Chitose said, leaning forward.

“But he’s a hypocrite,” Mineta said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Just like the MLA talking about showing Japan they can trust people with free Quirk use, by forming a secret army with Quirk users to overthrow the government. Stain’s either stupid enough or delusional enough to think that he can ‘purify Hero society’ through murder and torture. ‘Ah, yes, to show the world that I’m saving Hero society, I’m gonna kill a bunch of Heroes’.”

Mineta let out a long sigh, and slumped in his seat.

“What a mess,” he murmured. “This Stain guy is bad for business. But there’s always someone willing to believe a nutcase like him. That’s the real problem.”

“What do you mean?” Chitose asked, an uneasy feeling starting to spread in her stomach. “If it’s that obvious that he’s a hypocrite, then shouldn’t most people not listen to him?”

“It doesn’t take much to lie to people these days,” Mineta said, looking at her. “Imagine if Stain exposed some Hero for doing a bunch of horrible crimes and that other Heroes covered it up. All he’d have to do is argue that since the polite methods of fixing corruption haven’t worked, clearly it’s time for the impolite methods. And if that’s the only major example of Stain that goes viral…”

“Then people’s impressions are formed by that single example,” Chitose continued. “A fairly basic marketing method. If you pick and chose a few data-points that make you look good, people think that every data-point makes you look good; because you are that good.”

“Yup,” Mineta agreed. “But you can’t get good results out of bad actions. He’s creating the same problem that he’s angry about. It’s a cycle of violence. Some Hero either did something immoral, or fucked up, and he’s angry about it. Even if Stain succeeded, there’d be a lot of people angry that he’d killed their husband or wife or cousin or something, and they’d try to kill him right back, because by their definition, he’s corrupt too!”

“By their definition,” Chitose repeated. “But not Stain’s.”

“Does Stain define right and wrong?” Mineta asked. “Is the big book of laws written by Stain? No, it isn’t. Even if it was, that’ll just make people throw out the book, and write their own. That’s what I meant about individuals earlier, with the MLA. People realizing, as individuals, that they don’t agree with someone’s logic, and deciding to fix things with violence.”

“You don’t like violence?” Chitose asked, amused. “You’re training to be a Pro Hero, don’t pretend they just deploy hugs and kind words.”

“That’s what I’ve got these for,” Mineta said, pointing at the purple grapes on his head. “Blunt, soft, and perfect restraints for most people.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Chitose replied, a little sharply, but with her stomach still feeling uneasy and uncertain. “What did you say to me, just three days ago? That you’d end my world? That you’d stop me? You sounded very willing to use violence against me, if I had sent a hit squad after you. So which is it? Is violence bad, or is it good?”

“It isn’t inherently good or bad,” Mineta answered. “It’s what you do with that violence that makes it good or bad. If Stain was just advocating against corruption, and I tried to kill him, he’d be justified in fighting me off. If Stain tries to kill me because I don’t like him, I’d be justified in doing the same.”

“But who’s right?!” Chitose demanded, the queasy feeling nearly bursting out of her skin. “Mineta, I don’t know!”

The teenager paused, and stared at her with a confused expression.

“You’re asking me,” he said, slowly, as if he was tasting the words out loud.

“Yes!” Chitose snapped. “Mineta, I don’t know what’s supposed to be right or wrong! Re-Destro defined those for me, and you’ve already shown me that he was wrong about that. So what is right? What is wrong? How can I tell? How can I make sure I don’t-”

She cut herself off, shutting her mouth with a loud click of teeth. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, and grit her teeth further.

Mineta just kept staring at her, and for a long while, the top floor office was quiet.

After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, Mineta stood from his chair, and walked around the desk to her. He slowly reached out, not grabbing, but just holding his hands out in front of her.

Chitose, her chest and eyes a little too hot, slowly held out her own hands. Mineta took them in his – doing nothing more than holding her hands and looking her in the face. As small as the gesture was, the warmth of his hands on hers was a reassuring presence. A human touch, a real thing, not like these arguments of morals.

He must be thinking something profound, Chitose thought to herself. He’ll have some wise words, something that I’ve never thought of. He’ll solve this, just like he did for the MLA problem.

“Chitose,” Mineta started to say, gently drawing her attention. “That’s a complex question, but for now… let’s just start with this.”

“Okay,” she replied, biting her lip, and bracing herself for whatever Mineta had spent minutes thinking about.

“Murder…” Mineta said slowly, “Is bad.”

She stared at him for a moment, as liquid started to leak out of her eyes – and then cracked up, the heat in her chest exploding as laughter. Tears started to flow, and she just sat there, laughing and crying at the same time, with Mineta holding her hands.

Chapter Text

The city of Funabashi squirmed beneath him, like decaying food – mushy, falling apart in the center, and with mold growing at the edges.

From his perch, he could see trains rattling on their lines, cars screeching their brakes, and shoes squishing against the pavement. It was getting dark out, with the workday over, and most of those salarymen and office workers had already returned to their cramped apartments, leaving only the fools, the exhausted, the criminals… and the so-called Heroes on the streets.

The sudden rain squall caught them all by surprise. Few of them had looked up at the sky and wondered what the weather might hold for them, and of those who had, they could only see the towering buildings, not the edge of the horizon.

Just like they didn’t, couldn’t see what the future was bringing, the oncoming inevitability. The truck thundering down towards the oblivious fools.

Higher up, looking down on the squalor below, Stain smiled.

To him, the rain was a gift. The downpour mixed with the setting sun, and visibility dropped for everyone. Umbrellas were opened with the fwump of fabric stretched tight, and the people saw even less than before.

The dripping water covered all of the filth equally – the oil-slicks of the asphalt, the fading paint on the condemned buildings, and the blood of the guilty. Three things that this blight of a system had in heaps, as Stain knew.

Yet tonight, at least, the rain would make his work easier.

There was a certain satisfaction to doing your work well, and a certain disgust for failing in it. These days, all that Stain felt was the disgust.

No matter how hard he worked, no matter how corrupt the Heroes that he purged, this sham of a society still clung to their idols. He would have more success fighting the ocean, slashing the tide with a sword and hoping to intimidate it.

But the easy road was not right. It was easy, and nothing more. Pro Heroes were weak to temptation of a quick fight, and weak opponents… but they made no meaningful improvement to the world.

The worst Heroes were just cogs in a machine, the same as the Villains they fought. Like anime characters, they existed to make a nice spectacle in the world, and nothing more. Entertainment. They were little dolls on a cuckoo clock, coming out every hour to sing and dance for the public, and then disappear until it was time for another circus performance.

Every year, Heroes grew worse, and worse. Every year, every month, every week, and every day, like the last drops of water in a bathtub, circling the drain, until they slipped away, vanishing in the pipework and tubing of society.

It was the incentive that did it. The desire for more, more, more. Humanity was selfish, and the system supported that selfishness. Sponsorships and endorsement deals not for the Heroes who did the most work, or faced the toughest challenges, but for those who sold out! For those that posed for magazines, and grabbed every single yen they could, like pigs fighting over the slops!

The allure of money, the glimmer of gold, it was so powerful… and the Government encouraged this, rather than fighting against it. They hosted their pathetic “Hero Popularity” polls, and had shining events to celebrate them.

Children’s stories made evil out to be cartoonish, monstrous, and laughable, but the real evil of the world was warm, friendly, and insidious. It slipped through cracks left by human greed in the very idea of justice. Evil didn’t declare itself with flags and banners… it walked up to you and offered some money to look the other way, just for a little bit, and pretend you didn’t see anything wrong.

It was a tempting deal, for those who had no principles. They sold every ounce of morality they had, and pretended they were angels, when they were nothing but prostitutes.

When the police, and the government, and even the people wouldn’t do anything to stop it all… it fell to him.

Tonight, he was hunting a pathetic man – another sham of a Hero that called himself Slider. The man had a Quirk much like a Vigilante he once knew, and skated across the smooth pavement of the city streets looking out for crime… and ignoring any sign from the local Yakuza, who paid him off.

Slider never went to the industrial sectors, never looked twice at cargo shipments to obviously fake businesses… and he never went out at night.

That made him predictable. As the sun set, Slider would race back to his Agency thirty minutes before sunset, always on a straight line path, and staying to the main streets. He’d move quickly enough to avoid the real dangers of the night, but slowly enough to pretend he wasn’t running away like the coward that he was.

It was so easy to set up the ambush. A few speakers, hooked to a remote in his hand. When Slider approached, he’d trigger the panicked screams of a woman at full volume, and Slider would have to investigate. They were just five blocks from his Agency – close enough that any real crimes would reflect badly on Slider.

And so, like the system should have, Stain would provide Slider with some encouragement to do his job, as he should have from the first day. The fear of damage to his reputation would motivate Slider to investigate, to stick his nose into an alleyway, and into Stain’s waiting blade.

Yet… what was this?

One of the sheep walking out under the rain had gone into the alleyway. He could see the umbrella below, moving deeper inside – and getting too close to the speakers.

What fool would enter a dark alley at sunset, Stain wondered to himself, his eyes widening beneath his mask.

He couldn’t just hope that the fool would leave. Slider was due to approach within five to ten minutes, and this was the perfect position. Any further out, and the so-called Hero would ignore the screams. Any closer, and his side-kicks would arrive quickly enough that Slider would call for backup before entering.

Almost unconsciously, Stain’s right hand moved slowly towards his sheathed sword… before he stopped it, scowling.

He would not kill a civilian. It was wrong, evil, and Villainous – and no matter what the fakers of society had claimed, Stain was a true Hero. His victims were the corrupt, the guilty, the evil, and never the innocent.

Stain would have to capture the civilian, and secure him until after his work on Slider had been done. Then he could release him, with no harm done. Some tape across the mouth to ensure he wouldn’t scream and ruin the ambush, some bindings to his arms and legs to ensure he couldn’t run away and alert the police.

The fire escape would be too noisy. The ladder would be too slow. He needed to move now.

He leapt from his perch, darting up and across to the opposite wall. One hand and his feet slapped into the brickwork with a quiet thud, and as gravity pulled him downwards, Stain slid, dropping a few feet before leaping again – back across to the other wall.

It was a derivation of the urban movement that he’d trained himself in, so long ago – normally used to climb tight gaps, it was simple enough to descend with it. His knees would ache, and his wrists would be bruised, but the suffering of his body was nothing compared to the good work that he could achieve tonight.

As he descended, jumping back and forth to bleed momentum, Stain kept his eyes glued on the hapless innocent. He’d land just behind the man, and could lock him up in a chokehold easily enough.

Even better, as Stain neared the ground, he saw that the fool was talking on his phone! He couldn’t quite make out the words over the rain, but the man was distracted, making his own noise, and facing the wrong way.

An easy capture.

His boots clicked on the ground as Stain landed with a three-point touch. He rose from the crouch smoothly, his arms already reaching out –

Just as the umbrella spun and smashed into his forearm, sweeping it aside.

“Stain!” the man shouted, already facing Stain, and tossing the umbrella aside. His face was blocky, a visible mutation Quirk that made him look like a low-resolution videogame character.

Stain’s eyes widened further – not a civilian at all! So very few knew about him, or his mission – and fewer would be trained enough to block. This man had to be police, if not an underground Hero!

Stain snarled, and his offhand flickered in an uppercut as he twisted his hips into it, throwing his shoulder back and putting all his strength into the blow.

The man moved, but too slowly, and Stain’s fist drove into his sternum. The man wheezed, his breath expelling outwards, and slumped.

Despite the blow, the flat-faced man threw a sweeping haymaker back at Stain with a hand shaped like a block, and Stain had to leap to the side to avoid the blow – which slammed into the alley’s side and chipped off part of the brickwork.

Strong, but not fast, and he didn’t follow up with blows in the obvious directions for Stain to dodge towards. Further signs that the man had been trained, but didn’t have the same experience that Stain did. Real fights, for life or death, taught lessons that no dojo or academy could equal.

It was all over in just a few more blows – he skipped in and out of the man’s range, escaping the flat-faced man’s brick-like fists by centimeters and then sweeping in with his own blows to the knees, the floating ribs, and finally a hard blow across the jaw.

Yet even then, the man clung to consciousness. He was pressed against the ground, and Stain had him pinned, but the man still struggled. But it was no good – the shortness of breath, the pinched expression – Stain had knocked the wind out of him, if not broken a few ribs, and his body simply couldn’t fight any longer.

Who is this man, Stain wondered. He was too pathetic to be a so-called Pro Hero, but the police were rarely ever this subtle.

“Looking for me?” Stain asked, leaning forward over the man, gaze locked on the flat face. “Police, or Hero?”

“Neither!” the man grunted, still trying to throw Stain off.

“Neither?” Stain repeated, curiously. “That makes you a Vigilante, then… yet I see no weapons, no costume… no, I think not. What are you, faker?”

“I’m no faker!” the man shouted, twisting and writhing on the ground. His square eyes glared at Stain, and Stain could feel the conviction pouring out of him. “I’m doing good! Stopping Villains like you!”

“Just another fool, then,” Stain replied, dismissively. “Do you really think you’re doing good, stopping my work? You know my name, so you must know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you’re killing Heroes,” the flat faced man said.

“Heroes!” Stain spat, driving a kick into the man’s side. “Shams and fakes and liars! I’m ridding the world of the corrupt! The ones that swan it up in the spotlight and ignore the real crimes out there! Pro Heroes take the best and the brightest, and seduce them with money, turning them into more parasites! I’m trying to make a better world by removing those leeches, and you think that makes me a Villain?”

“Yes!” the flat faced man replied, snarling up at Stain. “Because you’re killing people!”

“When done righteously, killing is just another job,” Stain told him, shaking his head at the man’s naiveté. “Like cleaning a sewer. There’s nothing wrong with killing evil people.”

“Murder is bad!” the man declared, like the words were something important, like he was quoting some holy man. Whoever they were, Stain had never heard of them – never heard those words quoted like that.

He blinked, leaning back a little from the subdued man. He felt something in his gut – something strange, that he hadn’t felt in some time…

Stain chuckled. Amusement, that’s what it was!

“Murder… is bad,” Stain repeated, slowly. “What a stu-”

“Hey!” someone roared, the noise echoing off the alleyway.

Stain turned quickly, spotting another person standing at the mouth of the alleyway. It was a woman, clad in jeans and a thick vest, with arms bulging in some form of hardening Quirk.

“Your partner?” he asked the flat faced man, drawing his sword. This man was no innocent, and by association, neither was his partner. If they had stood aside, he would have spared them – but to raise arms against his mission? They could not be allowed to live.

“He’s over here!” the woman yelled, gesturing to someone down the street, out of Stain’s sightline.

More people, clearly. Was this some group of Vigilantes that had just gotten their start? Like Crawler and his group, a couple years ago?

“My platoon,” the flat faced man growled, his voice warm with pride.

Platoon? Stain thought to himself, another unfamiliar feeling slowly stirring in his stomach. He glanced down at the man, and saw something laying a few feet away – the man’s phone, still on an open call. He had completely forgotten about it.

Another person joined the woman, running up as she started running down the alleyway – and then another, and another – and then a whole crowd of people came charging in.

Ten, twenty, easily thirty or more. Bodies poured into the narrow alleyway like a flood, so thick that they were pressed against each other like a mob of fans at a concert.

Stain drew out a knife in his left hand, and threw it at the leading figure in the charge, the woman who’d yelled – but she knocked it aside with her hardened arm effortlessly without missing a step.

Another trained fighter. Maybe all of them were trained. But by who? They couldn’t be police, or Heroes. None of them wore uniforms or masks, just hard-wearing regular clothes.

There was no time to hesitate. If they were all as trained as the first man, he could defeat any one of them easily enough – but he wouldn’t be able to handle ten of them at the same time, much less forty!

Stain leapt at the wall, digging his boot in and launching off like a springboard to start his ascent up to the roof, and escape –

But before he could reach the second jump, another person dropped out of the sky above him, screaming and swinging a kick at him. There was a second person descending right behind the first, and three more on the edge of the roof, waiting just in case.

He couldn’t dodge – not in mid-air, not without pushing off something – and so the kick slammed into his shoulder, smacking him out of the air like a volleyball being spiked.

“Get him!” someone in the crowd yelled.

He hit the ground roughly, and had barely gotten to his feet when the woman in the lead dove at him, launching off the ground with her fist extended in a full body punch that caught him in the jaw and sent him reeling backwards.

He slashed his sword at her, but her ludicrous flying punch had already carried her further down the alleyway. His blade sliced up the back of her calf, but nothing vital – and then a second man was on him with a screaming haymaker that he barely dodged, with a third man coming around his side with two Quirk-hardened hands clamped together in double axe-handle.

Stain flicked his blade outwards at neck height, and stabbed with his second knife in the off-hand, but the men didn’t deflect or dodge – they jumped on his hands! – wrapping Quirk-hardened hands over the blades and pinning them with their entire weight.

A whole person, just to hold down his sword! What kind of lunatics were these people?!

But then the crowd fell on Stain like a typhoon, like the divine wind, and there was nothing more he could do but flail and lash out and fight with every spare inch of muscle he had.

It wasn’t enough.

Stain kicked out, and two people tackled his leg, one putting a bear-hug around his calf and ankle, and the other locking his thigh and knee straight outwards.

He released his blades and tried to punch, to claw with his fingernails, to do anything! He connected with someone, somewhere in the seething mass of people, and a few drops of blood even hit his tongue. He could feel his Quirk activating, paralyzing that person in place – but it was of no use, because there were ten more people already slamming fists and feet into him, wrapping his elbows and shoulders into armbars. He was buried underneath a dog-pile of punching bodies.

He twisted at the waist, rotating to spin them off, and some huge, fat slob of a person with the weight of muscle beneath his blubber literally sat on his stomach!

He opened his mouth to roar out his defiance, his principles, his refusal to submit – and someone crammed a towel in there!

No! How dare they! Corruption! The fakers need to be stopped!

But no matter how hard Stain screamed, all that emerged was a muffled mmph-rgh!

He could feel the clink and clatter of handcuffs slapped onto his wrists – and then his arms were dragged in front of his chest, as the fat man stood, rising off Stain’s stomach. Stain tried to surge upwards, but two more people were already holding his shoulders down.

He saw larger black, cylindrical restraints dragged forward, and his forearms were clamped together with proper police restraints – nothing like the easily broken handcuffs bought at the mall.

More Villain-restraints were closed over his biceps, and finally the people restraining him started to rise up.

This was his chance!

But the restraints were too heavy – they were clearly designed for Villains with muscle-enhancing Quirks, and no matter how hard his years of training and dedication were, he simply didn’t have the strength to lift them.

Hands reached up towards his face… but rather than remove the towel that he’d tried to spit out, there came a ripping sound, as an older man stepped forward with a grin and a thick roll of tape in his hands, already stretching it out.

Stain tried to wriggle out of his bindings, but he could do nothing to stop them from pulling off his mask, taking his backup knives, and even yanking his scarf away. The older man was taking visible pleasure in wrapping tape around Stain’s head, over the towel in his mouth, then around his legs, and around his already-locked arms.

The human wave receded like the tide, and he was left laying on the filthy ground of the alleyway, glaring hatefully up at the crowd standing above him, unable to make a sound.

All that Stain had left was his eyes – glaring at them, memorizing their faces for when he inevitably broke free. They were the worst of the corrupt, fighting against those trying to purify the world!

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” said the woman with the bulging arms and vest. “Drag him to the street, and drop a couple road flares. Slider should be able to find him.”

Slider? No! Not that phony!

Stain screamed as best he could through the gag, as hands looped under his armpits and started dragging him like dead meat. But no sound emerged from the gag – and he was left there, howling into a towel on the sidewalk.

Chapter Text

People stepped aside for him as he walked the hallways of his alma mater. Their expressions were awed, impressed, some even dumbstruck. He paid them no attention – there were other things on his mind, greater things.

The U.A. Sports Festival was nearly legendary in their industry, and for good reason. U.A. was the best school, and attracted the best students – but U.A. never slept. Every day was a challenge, every step a new lesson to be learned. There was no such thing as ‘good enough’ at U.A. – there was always a new step to take, a new mountain to climb, a new legend to forge.

He’d been waiting for this day for quite some time. The day that his successor would step forth, that his legacy would earn his own name. The day that the world would realize a new era was upon them, and roar in celebration of their champion.

The boy who would be Number One.

Shoto Todoroki.

He could almost taste the adulation of the crowd on his tongue, when the boy would prove his worth before them, and demonstrate the strength of his convictions.

Yet even now, there was the salty disappointment at the back of his throat, just above his gag reflex. The boy still hadn’t learned the most important lesson. He thought that he could slack off, that he could give less than his total effort, and somehow ascend to the top on the basis of nothing but raw power from his mother’s Quirk.

Well, the boy would learn, Endeavor mused, as he stomped up the stairs, into the shining light of the Sports Festival’s stadium. He could feel the crowd, the sheer noise so ever-present that it was a tangible pressure on his skin.

Just another of the things that made the Sports Festival so important. Out on the street, a Hero would work under the adoring eyes of the citizens, who knew little of technique or skill. At U.A., the students would have to work under the watchful gaze of their seniors – Pro Heroes who could tell the difference between a faker and a hard worker.

That was the true power of U.A.’s Sports Festival – not the cameras and the television, not the cheap medals, but the biggest audience of experts in the world, all watching, all criticizing, and all critiquing. A place where the slightest mistake would be seen, analyzed, and evaluated. Where the value of hard work triumphed over the gimmicks of raw power.

And if there was a single thing that Endeavor embodied, it was hard work.

He could feel his lip almost start to curl as he passed a few of the civilians lucky enough to get tickets, and heard them gushing about All Might.

All Might, the juggernaut. The man who had stood at the top of the national Hero rankings for decades. The smiling Symbol of Hope.

The man who did a quarter of the work Endeavor did. Even at his prime, All Might had barely managed half the workload that he, Endeavor, had shouldered. Fewer cases every single day. Less total hours. A single sidekick. A lack of consistency, vanishing for months at a time.

Yet the world cheered on All Might, oblivious to the slack, the laziness, the failures.

Rumors had spread months ago, before the official announcement. All Might himself was notoriously bad with rumors, letting his mouth run just a little too much. Some Pro Hero had heard it, and passed the news to a reporter – All Might returning to U.A. to teach.

The stands of U.A.’s stadium were always packed, but this year the ticket prices had skyrocketed. The whispers before the first event had sounded like a low wind through the grass. After the race, it had grown to a brisk summer storm. With the one-on-one matches coming up, it was a hurricane.

The cheers and yells rolled down to the sparring ring, and no one held back their enthusiasm. A chance to see what All Might could do with the best students in Japan? Few would be uncaring of the rare opportunity.

Yet if the world honestly compared the effect of All Might against Endeavor, the contest was not close. The idolizing masses could rant about inspiring hope all they wanted, but Endeavor could prove it in raw, cold numbers.

The average Hero did about four hundred cases a year. Call it around a case a day – be it a ten hour drug bust, a five minute purse-snatcher, it all averaged out yearly.

The top one hundred Heroes averaged roughly five to six hundred a year. All Might, for all that he’d once been good, had never truly broken out of that range. He was now outside of that ballpark estimate, and below even the national average. It was stunning news when he would make three arrests in a single day, even if the average civilian didn’t understand why, and still believed that All Might was keeping to their imaginary beliefs of his normal routine.

Hawks, that irritating newcomer, bragged about his speed, his efficiency. He even had the might of the Hero Commission behind him, jumpstarting Hawks past the long, slow process of building up his private agency, finding good employees, handling the necessary business and paperwork. For all that, he averaged about seven hundred a year. Call that two cases a day.

His own average was over a thousand cases every year, on top of raising four children, on top of training over three hundred sidekicks over the years. He had solved twice as many crimes as All Might, despite being over a decade younger.

And yet Japan cheered on All Might over Endeavor, because he inspired hope. An intangible, immeasurable feeling.

No.

No, that wasn’t fair, Endeavor conceded. It wasn’t just the excuse of ‘feelings’ that made people like All Might.

He shook his head fractionally, so that few would see it, as he gazed out over the concrete sparring ring, as the first match of the final round started. The two students were some unknown from general studies, obviously with some trick to his Quirk to have advanced this far without being notable, versus the child that Shoto had told him was All Might’s young protégé.

It was a disappointing match to watch, and it merely confirmed his suspicions. The purple-haired child had some manner of mental manipulation Quirk. On the other side, this Midoriya clearly had a powerful Quirk. A single flick of his thumb had sent out a shockwave of force, almost like All Might’s own blows.

If it wasn’t for the hair color, he’d almost have thought Midoriya was All Might’s progeny, but the boy was too short, too much of a crybaby, and too green. Still, the similarities were there – a motor-mouth who worried too much and had a lot of power.

Too much power.

When All Might punched, the weather changed. When All Might jumped, concrete cracked. When All Might clapped, the air turned solid. Even his obvious successor had already demonstrated his own power, with a pressure wave the entire stadium could feel, just from flicking his thumb.

Oh, the common man in Japan could rationalize it as All Might’s smile, and his good nature, but they were addicted to All Might’s power. The superman, standing above them, superior to them.

Technique? Where was that, in All Might’s moveset? It was all punches, with very few alternatives – and even then, just spinning his hand, or clapping.

Endeavor had worked at his Quirk until he could use it for flash-bangs, wide shock attacks, needle-thin piercing strikes, area-of-effect minefields, solid projectiles with mass, and even flight. His burning facial hair was a control exercise that he’d kept going every waking moment for decades. He’d recruited sidekicks for the express purpose of helping him work on his control, learning from their Quirks as much as he could, and nurturing their own talents in return.

Endeavor turned, stepping away from the concourse’s railing and walking down the stairs as the next match was announced: Shoto’s match against his classmate with the tape Quirk. Some small part of him reasoned that he should try to talk some sense to the boy, one more time, even if it resulted in nothing but the same spiteful refusal.

He had to make the attempt, even if it was doomed. The boy was already repeating too many of Endeavor’s own mistakes… and he feared that the boy would focus on nothing but raw power, just as All Might did.

Just as Endeavor himself had, so long ago.

He’d been young. Barely four years into his Pro Hero career, and he’d seen that All Might was unsurpassable. Other Heroes had begun to give up, conceding that the Number One spot was locked down for the next two decades. They treated the man like he was a god.

He’d thought that if raw power was what appealed to the heart of the Japanese citizens, then fine. He would get raw power.

And so, he’d married Rei.

He wouldn’t lie to himself. There had been little love in their marriage at the start. He promised her a wealthy, luxurious life. The wife of one of the top ten Heroes. They’d grown to like each other, and even perhaps love each other in those early days… and then Toya happened.

It had been a decade since that day. Toya had stubbornly refused to acknowledge that his body could not handle the heat of his Quirk. There would have been no shame in it – not everyone was blessed with a good Quirk. But Enji’s original encouragement had poisoned his son, no matter how hard he’d tried to show Toya otherwise.

He’d tried everything from Quirk specialists to psychologists, and Toya had refused to contemplate any life other than a Hero. He had trained in secret to keep Endeavor from stopping him, and keeping the boy safe.

And Toya had burned to death for it.

Raw power… such a tempting and horrible thing. Fools chase it, and a lucky few get it… while the rest burn in their flames, or the flames of others.

Fuyumi and Natsuo had listened, thankfully. Not that he’d ever pushed them like he pushed Toya, but lesser abilities could ruin a life just as easily as a great one. Instead, they’d pursued whatever career they wanted, and he’d paid for everything. The best schools, the best tutors, the best opportunities for them to grow and learn. No matter what they felt about him, Endeavor was proud of them.

But Shoto… Shoto wanted to be a Hero.

Endeavor had known then, just as he knew now, walking through the nostalgic service corridors of U.A.’s stadium, that Shoto would never stop wanting to be a hero. He had seen the same intensity in Toya’s eyes, and knew too well what might happen if he’d tried to stop Shoto.

And he’d failed. The boy was as stubborn as he was, and refused to use his fire Quirk, neglecting it entirely.

At this point, Endeavor would gladly throw away all of his pride just to see the boy use his fire. He’d weep on national TV, if that’s what it took. Anything so that the boy would start training his fire, and learn to control it, before he was forced to use it in a bad situation – using it too much, too quickly – and be harmed as it leapt out of his control. If he’d just done the opposite, it might have been fine, if personally irritating to Endeavor. Ice didn’t spread like fire.

That was why Endeavor had refused to hide Shoto’s Quirk from the world. Why he’d listed it as “Half-Cold, Half-Hot”, and made sure that Shoto couldn’t just hide it away, and pretend he only had an Ice Quirk.

Because this was U.A., and they pushed their students as much as they could take. They shoved those students in front of thousands of Pro Heroes, all of whom would know that Shoto Todoroki was only using half of his Quirk.

Shoto might make it through the Sports Festival without using his fire. But if he did, he would be questioned about it, and his internship offers might well suffer for it. Perhaps not enough to offset his fame, just for being Endeavor’s son, but he had to hope that there was some kind of punishment for his foolish insistence.

Ah, Endeavor thought to himself, spying the familiar red-and-white hair. There he is.

Perhaps it would all be for vain, but he had to try.

The annoying grape child was back.

Endeavor tightened his grip on the railing, but said nothing as the small child clambered up on the rail and took a seat next to him. Nearby spectators were watching, some quietly whispering about the boy’s audacity, to invade the Number Two’s space without even an invitation!

The child was a teenager in truth, but his maturity seemed to be the inverse of his growth – a tiny boy with a mohawk of grapes, smaller than an eight year old. If he hadn’t seen the boy in the first two rounds, he’d have assumed that the child was simply cosplaying as a U.A. student, rather than actually being one.

Shoto had never spoken about the grape child, and he had barely been noticeable in the first two events – his Quirk seemed ill-suited for both, and the fact he got through the first round at all was a surprise.

And then the grape child started following him.

Not quite like a fan, looking for an autograph that Endeavor would not give, or like an obsessed stalker, as he’d occasionally suffered. No, the grape child had been watching him. Endeavor would turn, and there he would be, leaning against a wall and staring at him. Even when Endeavor looked back and leveled a stare at the child, he had continued, refusing to back down.

Some men would speak out at the boy, perhaps in reluctant helpfulness, perhaps against his temerity to intrude, but Endeavor didn’t care. He had greater things to worry about, and at least this time, the grape child was quietly watching the matches, the same as he was.

So long as he wasn’t disturbed, he had no issue with the grape child.

“Shoto’s got control issues.”

Hellflame flared, rising higher on Endeavor’s costume, just a fraction, as his control slipped for a moment.

“It’s not performance issues in front of a crowd,” the grape child continued, seemingly oblivious to the flash of heat that had to have washed over him, his eyes watching the coming match. “I don’t know if he told you, but he did the same thing on the first day of Hero training. Froze a five-story building, nearly sent two classmates to Recovery Girl with frostbite.”

No, Endeavor thought, refusing to answer the grape child out loud. Shoto didn’t mention it.

The grape child sighed, and frowned as he looked at his two classmates walking out for their match – Midoriya and Shoto, the climactic fight that most of the crowd was eagerly waiting for. Yet he still didn’t look at Endeavor, and his voice was quiet, just loud enough for Endeavor to hear, but too soft for anyone else to make out over the crowd’s noise.

“It’s a problem,” the grape child said, softly. “Guy’s got more power in his pinky than some of us have in our whole bodies, and he doesn’t realize how badly he could fuck one of us up. Sero’s a friend, and I was honestly worried that he might have died in that glacier.”

Endeavor’s grip continued to tighten on the railing in front of him. Impudence, disrespect, and profanity. How U.A.’s standards had slipped. Perhaps All Might had had at least one good idea – perhaps it might be worth joining U.A. as a teacher for a short while, if only to teach some manners into this new generation.

“I know you’ve been pushing him to use his fire,” the grape child said, casually. Endeavor paused, and loosened his grip slightly. “I can’t say I understand why. He’s got enough power already, he doesn’t need more. And it’s not like his Quirk will literally drive him insane if he doesn’t use it.”

The grape child chuckled, and Endeavor could hear a slight bitterness in the boy’s voice.

Would it be so bad to answer him, Endeavor thought to himself. He had not looked at the boy once yet, both their eyes watching the two 1-A students.

The boy had not insulted him, nor begged him for anything. He’d raised an issue that he foolishly believed Endeavor was unaware of, but he’d done it in good faith. The child – no, the teenager – had kept his voice quiet. No petulant demands for actions, or rewards. No arrogant ideas that he could solve the issue that Endeavor had struggled with for years, and bragging about it. He’d been… polite enough.

No, he decided. He needed to focus, and the match was about to start. He couldn’t afford a distraction right now, even if the teenager had done this in the proper way – the way adults handled issues.

“It’s Midoriyaaaaa!” the cockatoo of an announcer screamed out, “versus… Tooooodoroki!”

Endeavor blinked, and locked his gaze back on the ring.

“Begin!”

Ice sprouted from the ground, a wave of jagged spikes launching from Shoto’s boot the moment that the match started. It raced across the concrete to Midoriya, who was already raising his arm, one hand bracing the other wrist.

A thunderous roar came from the other side, and the fast-growing glacier shattered. The top of the glacier evaporated nearly instantly as a pressure wave smashed right into the center, sending shards of thin ice up, up into the warm air from the early summer heat, melting near instantly. The larger chunks near the center were crushed or blown to the side, and the pressure wave carried a surge of ice-cold air straight past Shoto and over those unlucky enough to be sitting behind his son.

Endeavor clenched his teeth slightly, but only just – it was the right move, even if he dearly wished that Shoto had used his fire. A physical barrier had been the only thing keeping that single finger-snap from blowing Shoto straight out of the arena – and any fire would have been blown backwards and increased from the sudden surge of oxygen. If Shoto had used his fire, he would have cooked himself and a quarter of the stadium.

Even from the top of the stairs, he could see Midoriya trembling, whether in fear or pain. The boy had walked out with a bandaged thumb… could he be harming himself with his Quirk? Was his body not able to withstand the raw power it contained?

Perhaps Shoto believed the same, because he sent a second, identical attack right back at Midoriya, the chime of spontaneous freezing ringing out across the field.

Again, a monstrous wave of air pressure smashed the mini-glacier to pieces, and sent a second gust of chilling air over the crowd. Larger chunks littered the sides of the ring, in a fan pattern away from Midoriya’s blasts.

As the wisps of compressed and super-cooled air dissipated, Endeavor squinted, looking closely at Midoriya. The boy was trembling even more. It couldn’t be the cold, since the ice hadn’t reached him, and the cold air was being blown away. The boy’s hand was still outstretched, and his fingers…

His eyes widened. The boy’s fingers were damaged heavily. He could see ugly purple-red bruising all across them.

“Six shots left,” the grape child said, with an odd tone of voice. “What a waste.”

“What?” Endeavor asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He grimaced, but refused to turn his head – to miss any of the fight, or acknowledge the grape child any further.

“Midoriya’s breaking his fingers,” the grape child told him, casually. “Can’t use his thumb. That means eight fingers, minus two, is six shots.”

A broken finger each time he used his Quirk? Endeavor scowled, almost physically repulsed by the thought.

This was All Might’s successor? After all the training the boy had gotten, both before U.A. and during his first few months, and he was still harming himself this much when he used his Quirk? He still hadn’t learned to control it?

Midoriya’s blows were incredibly overpowered; if he could lower the intensity to reduce the damage on himself, he would still have had enough power to destroy Shoto’s ice barrages.

What a waste, Endeavor thought; before grimacing as he realized he was agreeing with the grape child.

Another rush of ice zig-zagged across the concrete, and another finger snapped, sending shards up. Shoto was saying something, he could see the boy’s lips moving, but it was quiet enough that Endeavor couldn’t hear him. He thought he’d seen something by Midoriya’s fingers, some flicker of motion, but it was hard to see against the thick bunches of spontaneous mist from the combination of the cold and air pressure.

Neither Endeavor nor the grape child said anything, they just watched. As odd as it was, it almost felt like standing watch with Kido, one of his less verbose sidekicks.

A fourth exchange of ice and raw power, and Endeavor caught that flicker of motion more clearly – it was blood. The pinky finger must have been weaker, because there was a small spray of blood that Endeavor saw flying in the air.

Midoriya also hadn’t braced nearly as well this time. He was blown back a few meters from his own blow, and was dangerously close to the out-of-bounds line. One more exchange like that, and Shoto could safely win.

But as if the boy had heard him and spitefully refused to follow Endeavor’s good sense, Shoto charged forward with a leap!

Endeavor leaned forward slightly, glaring down at the foolish boy, who was now running up a ramp of his ice, apparently not realizing that he was throwing away a safe win.

Midoriya looked up, and saw the ramp of ice just in time to launch another air-burst, but he missed Shoto, as the crazy boy had leapt from the top of the pillar!

Shoto slammed down, just barely missing Midoriya as the green-haired boy scrambled off to the side.

Yet Midoriya hadn’t fully escaped. As he tried to regain his balance, Shoto sent another fast burst of ice, and snagged the boy’s shoe.

What happened next was fast – perhaps too fast for the civilians in the audience to see in time, to realize what was happening. Midoriya clenched his fist, and yellow and red lines started to race across his entire arm.

Endeavor’s eyes widened, if only a fraction. If snapping a finger could release that much power, what could a whole arm do?

Shoto had already set up a protective backstop of ice, but as the punch came down, it didn’t matter. A giant spray of mist shot up from the clash of air pressure and cold, and both students disappeared in the fog.

When it cleared, Shoto had clung on, but only barely. He’d been blown all the way back to his original starting location, most of the way across the ring – and was cocooned inside a pocket of ice that he slowly stood up from.

Midoriya, on the other hand, hadn’t moved a bit. Whatever recoil had pushed him backwards with the previous strike from his pinky clearly hadn’t appeared with this one… but on the other hand, his entire arm was now damaged.

His arm looked like it had been dipped in purple paint – deep tissue bruising – and it was completely covered. He'd never seen a person manage to damage themselves like that before. Even with deep tissue bruising, there was normally a ring of lesser bruising around the point of impact, and normal skin beyond that.

To have the entire arm covered would mean that the force was present around the entire arm, at the same time, like a long glove, crushing the skin and the bone beneath it. No wonder there wasn’t a bone sticking out of Midoriya’s arm, or his fingers. His bones would be compacted and crushed, not forced through his skin.

One arm down, and the other hand with all fingers broken.

Now, Shoto, Endeavor thought to himself. Finish it! He’s helpless!

But Shoto just stood there.The crowd whispered, and he could hear some people complimenting his son… but this wasn’t a demonstration, or a scripted fight. It was a contest! Shoto’s hesitation was a flaw, and it was allowing Midoriya time – even if the boy’s arms were too damaged, he could still come up with some trick, if Shoto allowed him time to get over his shock.

Endeavor frowned, and tilted his head slightly. As he watched, Shoto turned his head, just slightly, and looked up, away from his match, and stared… at him.

Shoto was staring at him, while his mouth kept moving, kept talking to his opponent.

Stupid boy, Endeavor thought, frowning down at his son. You’ve almost won, and you’re wasting time because you hate me so much? Letting your emotions overpower your judgement… how unprofessional.

The grape child whispered something, right next to him, so quietly that Endeavor couldn’t hear it.

Finally, after far too long of a hesitation, Shoto’s Quirk flared, and another roaring mini-glacier blasted off, zipping down toward Midoriya, who couldn’t possibly use –

- another boom echoed in the stadium, and the mini-glacier exploded, a furrow blasting straight through, and scattering shards in every direction.

Shoto flew backwards, clearly having not expected it, and barely managed to catch himself before he was blown out-of-bounds.

Did Midoriya use his other arm? Endeavor wondered. No, the rest of his arm looks fine… did he use an already damaged finger?

He stared down at the ring, barely noticing as the grape child stood up next to him, atop the dividing barrier.

Midoriya was saying something, he could see the boy’s mouth moving… but even with the crowd near silent, there was just too much distance between them. Yet even without hearing the words, Endeavor could see the student’s glare, watch as he clenched a fist full of broken fingers, and screamed at Shoto.

“That boy…” Endeavor rumbled.

Shoto barked something back at Midoriya, and took off – running at Midoriya.

Running lopsided, arms spread, not moving with him, but held out. Shoto was slowed, just a bit.

He's too cold, Endeavor realized. He’s overused his Quirk. Too much ice, too quickly. Perhaps… perhaps this will teach him not to rely on raw power.

Midoriya took off, rushing up to meet Shoto. The green-haired student ducked at just the right moment, beneath Shoto’s swinging fist, and rammed his own straight into Shoto’s stomach.

Clearly there was more to the punch than just muscle, because Shoto was blasted backwards. There was no blast of air pressure, no blast wave, but… Midoriya had used his Quirk, and without the same level of force.

Where was this control earlier, Endeavor wondered.

But it still wasn’t enough. Shoto had not been knocked out-of-bounds, and Midoriya was reeling, visibly pained by the punch… and the ice stretching across his left arm, from Shoto’s blow. He may have missed Midoriya’s chest, but he’d frozen the boy’s broken left arm.

Shoto grimaced, and another barrage of ice lanced forward… but slowly, too slowly!

Midoriya leapt aside, and the crowd rumbled. The Pro Heroes could all see it, and even the more observant civilians were murmuring. They could see that Shoto was slowing down, and even his Quirk was sluggish.

The match was quickly becoming a slog, as the two students closed into close quarters combat.

Midoriya was flailing, not just from the pain, but with strikes that showed that he’d never seriously learned to throw a punch. His footwork was good enough to keep away from Shoto’s slow ice, but his offense was atrocious.

Shoto was slowing down far too much – and he kept making things worse by over-using his Quirk even more! If he’d stopped, then perhaps he could have taken Midoriya in hand-to-hand, using his training to overcome… but the boy stubbornly insisted on using his ice, freezing himself even more, slowing himself even more. A spiral of defeat.

Power. More power. That’s all it ever came down to, for children like them.

Endeavor watched as Midoriya fired off more shots from his already broken fingers, barely powerful enough to shatter Shoto’s weakened ice. Yet from the winces after each finger flick, it still hurt, aggravating the boy’s injuries further.

Teenagers, Endeavor huffed.

For all that these students were some of the best in the nation, they were still, in the end, teenagers. Relentlessly over-using their one good trick, and too stubborn to realize that they were embarrassing themselves with this behavior.

They were slapping at each other with limp arms, lurching from side to side like drunken sailors, and screaming as they aggravated their injuries further and further.

Dignity flew out the window as Midoriya lost the ability to even make a fist with his right hand, and resorted to a running head-butt, which Shoto couldn’t even dodge.

And now they were just standing there, huffing and puffing, while Midoriya was talking even now, saying something to Shoto.

Shoto was blown backwards by a weakened punch from Midoriya – a clean hit, with his Quirk, but even now it was too weak to end this pitiful display and knock Shoto out-of-bounds.

The boy hadn’t even tried to dodge. He was locking up.

Midoriya charged in, arm raised for another blow. Shoto was too close to the edge now, and this would be it.

“Any moment now,” the grape child whispered, the words detectable now that he was standing on the railing, side-by-side to Endeavor.

A small part of Endeavor wanted to ask the boy what he meant – to look away from the match and pretend he didn’t see this shameful display. But he kept his gaze locked on the ring, as Midoriya moved to end the fight.

And then, like the first rays of sunlight across the ocean… Endeavor saw a spark. A flicker of light. The strands of orange-red, emerging from Shoto’s left side.

Fire erupted from his son, and in mere seconds, a towering inferno was building behind Shoto, a spiraling pillar that roared upwards.

Power, so much power – but controlled. Channeled.

It was a pathetic use of fire, Endeavor could already see. Someone without knowledge of fire Quirks might think it was impressive from its sheer size, but it was sputtering, and had bursts and burps as the fire raced up and down in intensity…

…but it was all channeled upwards, straight into the sky, where it couldn’t hurt anyone.

Shoto had used his fire in a fight, for the first time in years, and he’d managed to control it. Still managed to channel it away from a casualty, to use it without burning himself or his opponent.

The roar of the crowd went higher and higher, fighting against the crackle of the flaming pillar, and Endeavor felt his cheeks start to ache, just a little, as his happy smile stretched from ear to ear.

“Yes, Shoto!” he roared out, unable to keep his happiness inside, screaming it to the sky as Hellflame rose off his shoulders.

But there was an echo – a sound, right next to his ear, of someone yelling at the exact same moment as him.

“Shoto!”

It was the grape child.

His head was facing the sky, just like Endeavor’s, and his arms were out, fingers spread upwards to the sky as if making claws, and the boy was yelling Shoto’s name. He stood atop the low wall separating the walkway from the seating, his knees bent as he leaned backwards, howling the name to the sky.

It knocked the exuberance right out of him, and his next unthinking words stuck right in his throat.

Most of the nearby crowd was staring at them, instead of the match, they’d been so loud.

Yet the annoying grape child ignored all the stares, and turned to face Endeavor, a huge grin on his own face.

“Come on, old man!” the grape child cried, wildly. “One more time!”

The child braced himself, spreading his arms again and striking that unusual pose.

“Shoto!” the grape child cried out to the sky, completely uncaring of the gazes on him. “Come on, everybody now!”

“Shoto!” he screamed – and this time, he wasn’t alone. Some of the others in the crowd, in the nearest seats, yelled it with him. Some of them even copied his pose.

“Shoto!” they yelled again, with more joining in, dozens and dozens of people calling out his son’s name.

“Come on, old man!” the grape child shouted a second time, staring at Endeavor with that wild grin. “With us!”

The crowd roared out Shoto’s name again, and Endeavor found his grin slowly reappearing.

“Shoto!” Endeavor bellowed, spreading his arms and grasping at the sky, with the grape child standing right next to him doing the exact same thing.

“Shoto!” they chanted together, with the entire section caught up in the frenzy, cheering on his son, his Shoto, as a tidal wave of ice and another blast of raw physical force smashed into the concrete walls of Cementoss’s barricades, thrown up at the last moment.

The concrete barriers buckled, and there was a thunderous boom as the heat-wave caught the cold air, but the central walls held strong, with only the first layer truly failing as the two overpowered Quirks slammed into them.

The explosion knocked them all back, and the chant died near instantly. The grape child was nearly blown right off the low wall he was standing on, and Endeavor reached out instinctively, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders before it happened.

An enormous cloud of mist formed, near instantly, and the sparring ring was once again hidden from sight.

The crowd was nearly silent, and they could all hear the crumbling and cracking of Cementoss’s concrete walls as he slowly lowered them.

“What was that?” he heard Present Mic saying over the PA. “What kind of things are you teaching those kids, Eraser?!”

The fog lifted quickly under the summer sky, the air pressure naturally moving upwards, where it was less thick… but it seemed to take too long for Endeavor, who kept staring, kept glaring down.

Where was he? Where was his son?

“Midoriya… is out of bounds!” Ms. Midnight declared, her voice booming over the PA system, as the fog lifted just enough to see the green-haired boy out of the ring, flush against the far wall, while his Shoto was still standing inside.

“YES!” Endeavor roared.

“Shoto!” the grape child shouted again, striking the same pose. “Shoto!”

And as before, the crowd joined in. First their section, and then the next – and the next, and the next, until the entire stadium was roaring his son’s name.

“SHOTO!”

Endeavor’s smile was ear to ear, his mood overjoyed, and he looked back at the grape child – and saw the exact same expression on the boy’s face.

“SHOTO!” they roared together, with the rest of the crowd backing them up, striking the same pose. Knees bent and wide, arms out at a forty-five degree, hands clutching the sky, and screaming upwards.

Chapter Text

It was not Chitose’s first High Command meeting since Mineta had torn her dream to shreds with his painful words.

It was, however, her first since she’d started to believe in those words.

She sat in her usual seat, outwardly attentive as usual, but inside her mind, she felt as if she was in a nightmare. Like a very mild headache, like the half-consciousness between falling asleep or just after waking up, like when dehydration started draining you.

The room was the same, her mind insisted, but everything felt subtly off, as if she’d grown abruptly. The chair felt a bit too small, the padding slightly too thin. The colors on the portrait of Destro seemed muted. She could see lines on Re-Destro’s face – no, on Rikiya Yotsubashi’s face – that she would not have noticed before. She could see the antsy fidgeting of Geten, his fingers tapping and drumming on the table. The discontent of Trumpet, in his slightly pursed lips. Though, as usual, Skeptic was a statue for all that she could read of his emotions, unreadable as stone.

Chitose was both not paying attention, and paying closer attention than ever before – she stomped down harshly on the emotions stirring in her heart at Yotsubashi’s speech, and focused on the words alone, as if reading them from a teleprompter.

And Yotsubashi’s words were terrifying.

He was speaking of their coming liberation, of how soon, they’d be powerful enough to move against the Government. No timelines were given, no references to days, or months, or years. This was a trick – encouraging them with the supposedly inevitable results, but without giving a deadline that they would remember, that they could hold against Yotsubashi when they flew past it. No definitive dates, just ‘soon.’

The Meta Liberation Army’s numbers were growing, yes, but Chitose herself was wondering how much of Yotsubashi’s words were bravado, and how much was truth. They did have over a hundred thousand trained, sworn Warriors, who believed in the Cause and would fight to the death for it.

But then, Echo was one of those Warriors, and he’d been horrified when he learned the truth. He’d flat out rejected it, and had sworn against it.

So how many of those were truly prepared for violent opposition? Was it all just a paper tiger?

Yotsubashi mentioned their numbers, a mighty ten million strong – but that was including anyone who had ever donated to a single one of their shell companies or hidden charities. Those people were not prepared for violence. They barely even knew the Meta Liberation Army existed.

It was a pyramid, with the least dedicated being easily the largest, most numerous group. Each step higher on the Meta Liberation Army’s levels you went, every rung of loyalty you ascended, the fewer people there were.

His words flowed over her like a river over a stone, but she refused to budge. She held to the truth.

This was wrong.

Mineta had said so.

Trumpet began his report, describing the most recent internal polling of the Hearts and Minds Party. They currently held a total of forty seats, but their unity was strong, and their party was gradually growing. For all that the MLA feared All Might’s attention, the peace he had brought about was to their advantage – the harsh old memories of the warlord days were fading, and with them, the fear of unrestricted and unregistered Quirks.

Forty seats, Chitose reflected. It didn’t seem like much, not when the Diet had a total of just over seven hundred seats. But forty seats was enough to shift an election, enough to make or break a coalition. The joys of the Parliamentary System.

It was not a small amount of power… and it wasn’t entirely because of their ten million followers. Maybe two million of their followers knew to vote for the Hearts and Minds Party, and that could have won them, perhaps at most, ten seats in total.

Instead, they’d raked in over eight million votes in the last election. They were the fifth largest party in Japan. Ten years ago, they’d barely earned a quarter of that.

And these… morons can’t see it, Chitose thought to herself.

Why fight a bloody civil war, which would harden the non-believers against them, when they could keep building, keep rising?

“I am very happy to hear about this,” Chitose said, after Trumpet had finished. “The Liberation is growing stronger by the day.”

Trumpet nodded, a happy smile growing on his face. It seemed his discontent was over something else, for there was no sign of it now.

“This ties in well with my division’s report,” she continued, turning to face Yotsubashi. “Our recruits have been increasing steadily. If this holds steady, by this time next year, we will have another million followers of any level, and more than two million going from low-level, to mid-level.”

“Good, good!” Yotsubashi said, clapping. “And the Warriors?”

“Warrior training is not my remit,” Chitose demurred, nodding to Geten, who was not formally a Leader, but who had enough raw power to be treated as one. “Past experience indicates that roughly one in a hundred will be the right combination of loyal and powerful enough. Twenty thousand more Warriors, once their training is completed.”

“The largest single-year growth we have ever had, if I’m not mistaken,” Trumpet said, in his smooth voice. “And from the youngest Commander – you truly are amazing, Curiosity.”

“Thank you,” she said, nodding, and barely concealing her frown. Trumpet should have the greatest incentive to push for a peaceful transition – he had the most data, was the first to see their political growth, and would gain so much personal power from it – and yet he appeared as dead-set on violence as all the others.

Well… that was to be expected. One did not reach the highest ranks without knowing the final ‘truth’ – that peaceful transition of power was impossible, that the government had brainwashed too many people. That they couldn’t trust the votes, or the courts.

Was it a truth, though? Or was it just another selection method, just another filter to ensure that the Leaders were only those who agreed with Yotsubashi, and his ways?

After all, she’d learned that only the low-level members would not know – but Echo was a mid-level Warrior at least, and he did not know. By the MLA’s rules, that supposedly should not have happened, yet she knew it had.

“Thank you,” Chitose repeated, looking at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes for a few seconds and then moving on. “However, not all of the credit belongs to me. Some, of course, goes to the material. It is… easy… to recruit when you speak only the truth.”

Yotsubashi nodded, and Chitose wanted to snap at him. The truth? The truth was nothing like what Yotsubashi was saying. But she leashed her anger, and continued.

She had to try to convince them, even if it would fail. She had an obligation to try to help her fellow cultists realize the trap they were in.

And… she had to see if they truly were lost. When she’d heard the truth – the real truth, not the empty claims of the Meta Liberation Army – it had rung like a bell in her heart, even as she tried to deny it. It had hurt, it had made her ache. She could not ignore it.

“Some of the credit belongs to the people themselves,” she continued. “It’s obvious to recruit from those who understand at least a part of the truth, but there are so many more of those people than I would have thought, before I joined the Liberation. Our people do not talk of their deeper thoughts so freely, and there is a much larger group of silent sympathizers than I think even the Liberation has realized.”

Trumpet gave a murmured hmm at that, nodding slowly. Of course, he should see it the most clearly. But yet he acted as if this was new to him.

Chitose wondered how much Trumpet’s beliefs were blinding him. Why bother to investigate why their political party had grown even more than expected? It was only ever a tool to use, and then be discarded. So long as they continued to have access to the Diet, and their information, then nothing else mattered. When the time came, the party would no longer matter; instead, it would expend itself in creating as much chaos as possible before expiring.

“As such,” Chitose said slowly, hesitating as the critical point came. “I think we may need to re-evaluate the possibility of our end-game.”

The whole table stirred, save one person. Trumpet’s eyebrows lifted, Skeptic tilted his head, and Yotsubashi leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest.

Only Geten was still, and even that was a change – his incessant finger-tapping stopped instantly, frozen in place like his Quirk, and beneath his hood, she could see his eyes glowing as he stared straight at her.

“Oh?” Yotsubashi replied, saying little but clearly prompting her to go on.

Chitose didn’t lick her lips or take a deep breath – such indicative habits of nervousness had been drilled out of her in numerous interviews. She was poised and confident. She was the Executive Director of Shueisha News. She was strong. She wasn’t weak. And even if all of that was taken away from her, she still had Mineta, and his faith in her.

“I think we’ve been under-estimating how powerful our message truly is,” Chitose said, meeting Yotsubashi’s gaze. “How much people still believe in the words of Destro.”

She nodded to the portrait on the wall, and the others at the table slowly nodded – save for Geten, who was completely motionless.

“The truth cannot be denied, and Destro’s words still echo through society, even without our own efforts,” she continued. “We’ve gained more voters than we’d expected in each of the last four elections, and it’s ramping up very quickly. If the current coalition starts to splinter, we could be a king-maker in the next election. We could demand concessions, demand that they move more towards Destro’s vision. If they do, we’ll have done enormous work towards the Liberation – and if they don’t, we can declare it loudly and proudly, and grow our supporters even more.”

She leaned forward, and the last of the nerves – that she didn’t have, damn it – faded as she went into the full swing of her prepared remarks.

“We should not, and will not compromise, not in the slightest,” Chitose said. “But we have been so very passive in our public politics, and I think there is a vast number of people who subconsciously believe in Destro’s vision, just waiting to be tapped.”

She swept her eyes across them, seeing Trumpet’s bemused, but almost surprised expression. Watching Skeptic’s hands fold in front of his face, his long bangs hiding his eyes. Yet Geten, as before, was completely still… until she looked closer, and saw the tiniest trembles in his hands, gripping the edge of the table as if riding out a panic attack.

“I do not think we should limit ourselves to a violent revolution,” Chitose said, speaking the forbidden words. “I think the Government is far more vulnerable than they seem. A paper tiger that we’ve grown to fear. We’ve done nothing but grow stronger, and they’ve grown weaker and weaker.”

“And how would you see this happening?” Yotsubashi asked, speaking finally, looking like the dangerous man he truly was, rather than the cheerful CEO.

“It would be extremely foolish to commit too swiftly,” Chitose said, demurring. “I believe that we can pursue this goal very simply – by doing exactly the same as we are doing right now. We change nothing. We don’t shift our focus, don’t shift our short-term priorities. We recruit, we grow – stable, slow, and strong. Five, ten years, perhaps more, and we will be unstoppable. Inevitable.”

“If we change nothing, then why even mention it?” Skeptic asked, propping his chin on his laced-together fingers.

“Because in the long term, it may make quite a large difference,” Chitose answered. “By the time the Government realizes that we exist, by the time they learn of us, they will not face an army of one hundred thousand – but an army of millions, supported by tens of millions of true believers. They will not face a rival in the ring, but a tsunami that engulfs them completely. They will be so outnumbered that they will be forced to bow down by their own laws as we sweep the elections, or reveal themselves as unjust tyrants by breaking those laws, which will boost our numbers to even greater heights.

“We grow,” she said, pitching her words softly, but projecting them across the room. “We grow strong and stable, so they cannot topple us as they did fifty years ago.”

Chitose stopped there, and waited. The High Command room was almost suffocating before, but now it felt like someone had opened a window, allowing a gentle breeze to clean that cloying, choking air out.

The silence lasted for several moments, and she rejoiced – they were considering it. They were thinking about it!

And then a soft chuckle echoed out, and shattered that silence.

She turned to look at the head of the table, and saw Yotsubashi – Re-Destro in his self-aggrandizing arrogance – chuckling merrily away, as if Chitose had said something amusing, as if she’d told some joke.

Yotsubashi leaned back, and his smile stretched from ear to ear.

“That’s quite an image you’ve painted, Curiosity,” he said mirthfully. “It’s so tempting, too. The allure of it… but it’s impossible.”

Chitose forced a slight tilt to her head, the smallest of quirked eyebrows. She couldn’t – couldn’t keep her face emotionless, but she couldn’t dare argue. Couldn’t dare show the despair that was shooting through her veins like black oil, the anger that was threatening to set her ablaze.

The only way she would get out of this room alive was to pretend that she had just been too eager. That she was loyal, and a bit overzealous.

Just like the woman from Toshima, Chitose thought to herself, realizing her error. Her only mistake was to be too eager.

“Aside from the obvious, that we cannot trust the Government to surrender peacefully,” Yotsubashi said, a paternal warmth in his voice, “such a plan will require far too many resources to dedicate towards even the potential of peace.”

It’s exactly what we’re doing right now, Chitose thought, not letting her expression shift from its innocent appearance. How can it require too many resources, if it’s what we’re already doing?!

The only change, the only difference, would be the vaguest possibility of peace. The slimmest chance that it wouldn’t come down to physical force.

That it wouldn’t come down to Might Makes Right.

That slim chance that Yotsubashi would not be the undisputed leader, the Grand Commander, the messiah that all would obey. That Yotsubashi would not be, in all meanings of the words, Re-Destro.

“We could indeed grow strong, but the Government will inevitably crack down on us,” Yotsubashi crooned reassuringly, reaching over to pat her hand, like a dismayed child. “We would be unprepared, we would need to switch strategies on the fly, and the Liberation would suffer greatly for it.”

Plans change, Chitose felt like screaming in her head. Obviously they could have contingencies for violence! They’d still be building up the Warriors!

…but even this distant, minuscule chance, was too much for Yotsubashi.

It was just as Mineta had said. Re-Destro was nothing. The same selfish failure that Destro was, re-heated in a microwave and served as if fresh.

Because if this tiny, infinitesimal possibility ever came true, then Yotsubashi would not be in charge. He would not be the new Emperor.

The Meta Liberation Army was a narcissistic cult of personality. Yotsubashi was a selfish tyrant in the making. Alternatives to his ideas and plans were impossible, even if you had to ignore all logic and sense to declare them so.

“I see,” Chitose replied, a few moments after Yotsubashi had finished talking. She could not keep the wavering from her voice, but it seemed to help, as Yotsubashi’s intense glare softened, and he instead pretended to be forgiving and kind.

“Why don’t you take some time off?” Yotsubashi suggested, patting her hand again. “These recent events must have been traumatizing for you.”

Recent events? Did they suspect? Did they know?

Chitose’s composure slipped, and her eyes widened, as Yotsubashi looked straight into her failing mask.

“Take your time,” Yotsubashi said. “I know you’re very eager to recruit this UA student, but if him being exposed to some villains puts you in this state, perhaps you need more time to relax? We can’t have you burning out, Curiosity. You’re one of our most important members. I’m sure he’ll be a good Leader for the cause one day, but you must take of yourself.”

They thought she was stressed because Mineta had been in danger. They – they didn’t know.

“I…” she started to say, before coughing slightly, a lump in her throat. “I think you’re right. He will be a good leader for the cause. Excuse me.”

She stood from the varnished boardroom table, her plush, high-backed chair skittering backwards as she nearly knocked it over.

None of the others said anything. Trumpet looked almost conciliatory, as if he was sad that she was in such a state, but that it was understandable. Skeptic’s eyes were still hidden beneath his over-long bangs, but his shoulders were slightly slumped. Geten watched her with the dead-eyed stare of a mad dog, following her every movement.

She barely made it to the door before the sweltering tension overtook her. She opened the door, stepped through, and her restraint snapped completely.

Chitose Kizuki turned back to look at the assembled Leadership of the Meta Liberation Army, and realized that it would be the last time that she would see any of them in this room, ever again. The smart thing was to say nothing, and leave – to let them keep their mistaken ideas about her, and draw no more attention.

Yet she’d bottled up too much emotion, and she couldn’t keep it in any more. She wanted to kill them all, to strangle the life from them – to turn them into Landmines with her Quirk, to rend them into pieces so small that they would never be identified.

Oh, it would fail, and she knew that – each of them was strong, so very strong. She could perhaps kill Trumpet, but none of the others, and Trumpet was the furthest from her. Yotsubashi was in the perfect place to intercept.

It would be such a selfish way to die. It would satisfy her animal urge, but achieve nothing.

But her emotions, still unsatisfied, would not be denied the right to do something, anything to spite these people. To resist them, even if only in the smallest of ways, in the tiniest of cracks in their delusions.

She remembered what Mineta had done, when he’d ripped the veil from her eyes. The words and the pose that had confused her, she now understood.

Mockery.

Her clenched fists snapped into the air, arms straight, and she shouted the words from so long ago, without any conscious control.

“Hail, Hydra!”

The door clicked shut, and the rest of the Liberation’s Leaders looked at the place where Curiosity had stood.

“Do any of you know what that meant?” Trumpet asked, looking around.

Geten said nothing – his eyes still locked on the door, and his expression hidden beneath his hood.

“I’m sure it’s just the stress,” Re-Destro said, waving a hand to dismiss it. “She is amazing, but she’s so young. Always pushing herself to the limit.”

“She just needs to learn to take better care of herself,” Skeptic nodded. “She’ll be better soon.”

“Indeed,” Re-Destro said. “Anyway, back to business.”

Chapter Text

Life was going pretty good, now that I didn’t have to worry about cults any more.

Sure, by the standards of any Shonen, I was failing pretty miserably. I didn’t make it to the final round of the U.A. Sports Festival, hadn’t had a duel with some notorious villain, hadn’t gained a cool mentor figure, hadn’t met a waifu with big boobs that clearly was falling head over heels for me, and hadn’t even gotten any kind of rival!

But here’s the thing about life – there’s a lot more depth to the small stuff than you’ll ever see in a movie. It’s not all explosions and guns, tuxedoes and margaritas, golden jewelry and sports cars.

It’s something that many people don’t learn until later in their lives, and almost always by failing to reach that rich, upper-class lifestyle. That was how I’d learned it – and I’d carried that lesson into my second life. I didn’t need my name plastered on the headlines, or billions of yen running through my fingers, or hear crowds chanting my name, or any shiny medals.

Which was a mindset that very few of my classmates shared.

I leaned back in my chair and watched as they worried and stressed, flipping back and forth about who to pick, who to trust, and who to rely on. This was their very future, the first step into a greater world! Except for all the other first steps, both before and after, but hush, don’t mention those.

“Come on, man,” I said, giving Kirishima a look as he started biting his fingers again. “It’s an internship, not the end of the world.”

“How can you say that?!” Ashido howled from her corner of the room, her face pressed into her desk and her voice muffled by the paper smushed under her face.

“It’s an internship,” I said a second time. “You’re not gonna be paid, you’re not gonna fight, and you’re basically just there to learn basic procedures.”

“Internships are a vital part of a Hero’s growth!” Iida barked out, jumping up to attention a couple rows away and glaring at me. “They are as important as any other part of your training!”

“Mmm…” I hummed, tilting my head. “So, they’re nothing special then? No big deal.”

“Big deal!” Kirishima yelped, looking up from his stack with a frenzied look. “It’s a really, really big deal!”

Fucking teenagers, I thought, sighing.

Kirishima was just dreading this because he was feeling guilty about his performance in the Sports Festival. Having his win come down to a tie-breaker must be annoying him – never mind that it also showed his determination and endurance, two excellent traits for a Pro Hero. He likely hadn’t realized that.

Still, at least he’d made it to the final round, a traitorous little voice in the back of my head whispered. I hadn’t, and as a result, I had gotten a paltry, pathetic amount of internship offers.

In total, I had five. Two of those were obviously stretch offers from desperate Heroes trying to grab any kind of lifeline in their careers – and no matter that I hadn’t made it, I was still a U.A. student, and that kind of attention could rub off on them. Endorsement deals for mentoring an up-and-comer.

Internships were treated weirdly, here at U.A., more like networking and resume-polishing, rather than chances to learn the basics of a Hero Agency, and what daily life as a Pro Hero was like.

This meant some of my classmates were gushing about offers from the Top 100 Heroes, or desperately trying to figure out which less popular Hero might rise higher in the future, and thus was a good idea to ‘invest’ in – as if this was the stock market, not, y’know, a job.

The third offer was from a low-ranking Hero that I actually thought was fully aware of my own potential for crowd-control – he had a similar Quirk around immobilizing people, and had a successful Agency with four sidekicks, based almost entirely upon the fact that they kept collateral damage to a minimum. From what I could dig up, he was a solid, dutiful professional worker, but didn’t really stand out in any other way. I guessed that they made only a moderate amount of money, but by minimizing expenses, they had a better net profit than others with the same gross revenue.

The fourth offer was from Echo. On paper, it was my best offer – he was a U.A. graduate himself, was a recent inductee to the Top 100, and was likely to rise even higher now that he’d left the MLA, and could focus solely on his work. Still, I was reluctant. Echo had been a member of the MLA for years, and while I trusted Chitose’s word on him leaving, interning with him would mean discussing the MLA even more. Planning for how to deal with them. I didn’t want to be thrown headfirst into dealing with the cult again.

Was that so wrong of me? To want to avoid that conflict, that struggle? To avoid the personal rage that seemed to rise up whenever I heard someone butchering an otherwise laudable philosophy?

The fifth offer was from a Sidekick, not a “full Pro Hero”, but it was easily the most intriguing offer, and I was leaning towards it the most. The offer came from Kido, an older man that had been a Professional Sidekick for nearly ten years with the Endeavor Agency.

Did Endeavor think I was worth some kind of attention, but too pathetic to deserve an offer from himself personally? Did Kido just want to mess with his boss a little? Had Endeavor mentioned me to the man, as a polite thank-you after I’d had that little talk with him?

I had no way of knowing, but the offer was so tempting all the same.

Pretty much everyone in Class 1-A looked down on accepting an offer from a Sidekick, but I ignored that. They still had their teenage minds caught up in the fantasy of treating an Internship like being a Sidekick, rather than thinking about the dull, more likely outcome. They imagined being the number two to a famous Hero, arresting criminals, walking patrols, getting fame and glory… instead of watching training videos, sitting at a desk, and reading from the employee manual.

I suppose I can’t blame children for not understanding how the world worked – they had so little experience. They were stumbling out into the light, squinting at how overwhelming it was.

And, of course, I, as the revered elder, clearly knew everything and anything that was ever involved in this Pro Hero Industry, as I had so much life experience with it.

Maybe I did need to check my own arrogance, I mused, scratching my cheek. It was always possible that I was too cynical, and that my thinking was biased by my first life.

Still, looking down on someone for being a sidekick was foolish – especially for an internship! If I took Kido’s offer, I wouldn’t be interning with just Kido, on his own. I’d be interning with the Endeavor Agency as a firm. It was easily one of the largest and best Hero Agencies in the nation. An amazing track record, highly efficient, and well-regarded for turning out good Pros.

This wasn’t just a step forward, it was the world opening up before us. Like a map unfolding in an open-world game, like the slow pan to reveal a planet in a Star Wars movie, like the first time you stepped out of an airplane at a new place.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that the rest of Class 1-A was scared by it. To me, it was like stepping back into a familiar hangout after a few years away, but to them, it was an unknown space, where they didn’t know the rules.

I leaned back in my chair, and kicked my feet up on the desk, mind a-humming with the possible picks.

Kido’s offer was perhaps the most interesting. Wasn’t that what I wanted? The chance to learn, and do it safely?

I was wandering into the great unknown, now. I’d never actually watched any of the show past Midoriya and Todoroki’s match in the Sports Festival. My canon knowledge was exhausted, my future-sight gone.

Some people might be more worried about that, I knew. Humanity had myths and legends about knowing the future for thousands of years, and one of the things they almost always got right was the allure of the knowledge. How badly people wanted it.

Yet… if you get locked into tunnel-vision, you’d lose any gain from that knowledge. If you changed something, you might lose all the value of your future knowledge. If you didn’t change anything, then what was the point?

The dilemma was enough to paralyze people in some of the myths, and that was so true to life. You didn’t need to know the future to be scared of it. Just look at college students hoping to get good jobs, but not seeking out internships or working hard in the summers. Look at employees hoping to get raises, but who feared investing too much effort into a bad job. Fear of failure on one hand, and actual failure on the other… and stuck in the middle was the worst option.

I’d lived that once: frozen by doubt of myself, fear of others. Even now, I wasn’t free of it. The fear would rise up from within me, and I’d hesitate. I’d question myself, and be afraid of doing anything less than perfect.

But people are tough. They’re resilient. They’ll take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, and take arms against it.

That’s what these kids – my classmates – are missing. Failure isn’t the end of the world. It’s just one bump on a long road, and they couldn’t even see that road.

They feared the unknown, and hoped that if they just found the perfect mentor, they wouldn’t suffer. That they wouldn’t fail. They didn’t realize that nobody was perfect, that failure was inevitable. They were too young. They hadn’t lived long enough to realize that everything keeps going.

They didn’t know the future, and neither did I. Maybe the next arc of My Hero Academia was a nuclear war, and I was wasting precious time when I should running for a bunker. Maybe the next arc was the beach episode, and I’d be enjoying the sun and warmth. I didn’t know, and I couldn’t.

So, what could I do about my lack of knowledge?

The same thing as my classmates.

Make the best plan I could, prepare for it, and be ready to adapt when it failed. Go in with hopes, but not expectations. Follow the path, but don’t tie yourself to the tracks.

There was a word for that kind of unpredictable world, that kind of struggle against the unknown.

That word was “life.”

I fished out my cellphone from my uniform blazer’s inside pocket, and snapped a photo of the class from my seat. Ashido face-down on her desk, Kirishima with his head in his hands, Iida standing robotically next to Tsuyu, and more.

Adorable goofballs, I thought to myself, smiling a little.

I mean, come on. All that grim and despairing talk about philosophy aside, I was gonna be fine.

This was My Hero Academia, a loving homage to the best days of comic books. The authorities weren’t perfect, but they did their best to be competent and moral. The Heroes didn’t just try, they cared. They weren’t kind but stupid, or competent but amoral. They weren’t the good guys of most fiction, tiresome and flat, but far closer to real life heroes – always new, marvelous, and intoxicating, as Weil had put it.

I had a thriving company, growing slowly but steadily as my own Quirk grew more capable of producing dodgeballs. I had employees that were loyal, competent, and eager to build the business, to improve their own lives by improving the lives of others. I had a charity, and was reaching down to help those who suffered in the cracks of this society, left abandoned and decrepit like burakumin in the days of old, or the Quirkless in the modern day.

My best friend had left her secret cult behind. It’d probably be another fifty years before those morons were bold enough to stick their noses out of the hole they were hiding in, which meant that I could safely relax, free from ever having to deal with cult bullshit again.

Life was good.

Chapter Text

Life was not good.

Tadao Okabe had known it was going to be a rough day from the moment he regained consciousness. Not woke up – that was reserved for those lucky bastards that got more than six hours of sleep, and didn’t have a pounding headache from a late night of drinking.

Drinking! Because of no good friends that showed up after five years of being completely out of contact, and wanted to rekindle the friendship. Honestly, he wouldn’t have minded that so much, if it had been on a Saturday, and he could recover today, on his day off.

But no. His friends decided to show up and drag him out drinking on a Sunday night.

The pricks.

Tadao had thought ahead and set a second alarm, just in case he slept through the first one. It hadn’t been needed, because the first alarm had nearly killed him, the sharp chirping like a drill in each ear. He straggled through a morning bathroom visit and threw himself into the shower, only for the second alarm to go off while he was in the shower, angrily screeching at him while he was completely unable to shut it off without sloshing water all over the bathroom floor!

After that fiasco, Tadao had strongly considered just going back to sleep, but the demands of his duty and conscience were just too harsh, and he instead started pulling on his work clothes and getting ready.

The first real difficulty of the day started when Tadao checked his laptop as he ate his breakfast, and his email didn’t load. He frowned, but didn’t think much of it. The Tenko Shimura Foundation didn’t get much in the way of emails, so it was a minor irritation.

Ten minutes later, standing in a packed train on his way to the Foundation, Tadao tried to check his email a second time, with no success. Mildly irritated, he tried to pull open the main website, which the email was based off… and it stalled.

The website was down.

Tadao flicked over to his messaging app and clicked Hiroshi, their IT guy.

‘Website and email down,’ he texted. ‘How long to get them back up?’

Another passenger on the train jostled him from behind, and Tadao tucked the phone away, grimacing.

The train ride took another twenty minutes, and Tadao’s uneasy feeling didn’t get any better. A solid breakfast and some time to digest had cleared away most of the hangover and headache, but the website being down bothered him. They hardly ever got any traffic, and Hiroshi had plenty of time to keep the server updated. There was no good reason for the server to be down.

The train doors opened and released a flood of office workers, Tadao amongst them. It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d been one of them, and if a stranger had looked, they wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. He had the same salaryman’s suit, the same haggard expression, and the same stress behind his eyes.

But he wasn’t one of them any more – he’d gotten out of his permanent employment, and found something better. His suit was the same, but that was simple practical re-use of his existing resources. He was tired from a late night reconnecting with treasured friends, even if they could have picked a better day. His stress was from the rare and unusual occurrence of the website being down, not from habitual overwork.

In almost all respects, his life had improved after he’d taken a chance and applied for his current job. He was paid more, he had a connection to a rising corporation run by a future Pro Hero, his ultimate boss was only one step above him, and gave him a free hand to run the business. He’d even shortened his commute!

It was funny how those small changes had made him reconsider his life. Managing a department at a larger corporation might involve vastly larger amounts of money and responsibility, but you had a system that could stack additional burdens on you just as easily as it could lift some off you. A corporate worker was never truly independent or free. Though cubicles had long been replaced by open-plan offices, it still felt like you were hemmed in, crowded, and blinded. Working on tiny pieces of a larger puzzle that you would never get to see or control.

A factory worker could be more free, in some ways – at least they could see something coming to life around them, and enjoy the satisfaction of knowing they’d turned metal, rocks, and plants into a useful product, a physical thing that they could touch.

Tadao had discovered charity work to be much the same, in a way.

Sure, some of the homeless people were ugly, drug-addled, rude, and even criminal, as the common belief declared them. Therefore, they were unworthy of help – better to leave them to suffer, than to increase your own suffering by trying to lift someone from the muck and mire of their miserable life.

But ugly, drug-addled, rude, and even criminal… they were still people. They cried like people when he handed them food. They thanked him with more heartfelt gratitude than any superior had ever given him for his hard work. Some of them were improving their lives, making things better. One of their regulars had stopped in just a month before, wearing the uniform of his new job and thanking them for everything they had done.

The stairways down from the elevated train station were just as packed full of identical salarymen as the train had been, all tromping down the stairs in loose time, trying to keep from tripping and getting crushed – heads ducked, eyes focused only on their immediate surroundings.

Tadao glanced up as he descended the stairs, one hand on the railing as he looked at the buildings around them. The buildings were quite beautiful, in their own way. A colorful painting of shiny glass and advertisements bedecked the artificial canyon of the street.

A Pro Hero with some form of flight zipped past, over the top of the central business district, waving down on the masses below – yet the salarymen didn’t notice, so focused as they were. Only Tadao and some of the young schoolchildren saw the Hero, because they were the only ones looking at the sky.

A buzzing in his pocket pulled Tadao out of his pleasant thoughts as he walked down the sidewalk.

“Okabe here,” he said.

“Tadao, it’s Hiroshi,” said an aged, creaky voice. “We got DDoS’d.”

Tadao paused, stopping dead on the sidewalk, in front of a 7-Eleven conbini, and blinked rapidly.

“You’re serious?” he asked, stunned. “Who – why?!”

“Please, I can’t figure something like that out,” Hiroshi replied, sternly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-” Tadao started to say, before cutting himself off. “I’m just confused. Who DDoS’s a charity?”

“Who cares?” Hiroshi answered with a scoff. “Some punks with nothing to do, maybe. Maybe some celebrity linked to us by accident. All I know is that we’re down.”

“I know we didn’t go for a top of the line server, but what kind of traffic are we talking about here?” Tadao asked, starting to walk again – faster now, picking up his pace as he hurried towards the Tenko Shimura Foundation’s physical address.

Hiroshi hummed, and Tadao could hear the clacking of a mechanical keyboard over the line.

“It’s not just the access traffic,” Hiroshi said after a moment. “That stuff is light, doesn’t do much. It’d take deeper operations. A DDoS means overloading the server, and you can do it a lot of ways. For us… receiving a lot of emails in a burst could do it. Otherwise, having a couple thousand bots trawling through the website, playing every video and opening every picture – stuff that makes our server work a little each time.”

“A couple thousand…” Tadao repeated, thinking hard. “We get probably that number of people through the kitchen every month or two.”
 
“Oh, yes, the homeless people are all accessing your website from their laptops,” Hiroshi replied scathingly. “This isn’t just a couple thousand people over a long period of time! I’m talking a couple thousand per minute!”

“Alright, I get it!” Tadao snapped back loudly, regretting it instantly as his headache flared. “Look, just try to get us back up as soon as the DDoS ends, okay?”

“On it,” Hiroshi said curtly. “Bye.”

Tadao let out an annoyed huff, and tucked his phone away.

Of all the things to start the day off, he thought to himself, as he neared the final corner before the Foundation’s ‘storefront’ entrance.

There was some kind of line stretching around the block – maybe there’d been a Pro Hero fight nearby, or something. Maybe a new All Might toy at that toy store that was next door to the Foundation?

Tadao’s confusion only grew as he approached, though. There weren’t any kids in the line, just an eclectic mix of random citizens. Most of them were young, but very few were dressed like the usual office workers – unsurprising, given that it was nearly eight o’clock, and the majority of offices started at eight. Those workers would be rushing to work, just like the ones from the train, not waiting in line for something.

He walked around the neat and orderly queue, which stayed close to the buildings out of politeness to other people, and turned the corner – and his confusion grew immensely.

The line started in front of the large blocky ‘Charity’ sign that adorned the front of the Foundation. There were perhaps a hundred, maybe even two hundred people patiently waiting for them to open up – enough that the line had wrapped all the way around the block!

Am I still asleep? Tadao wondered, as he walked closer without any conscious thought, his feet carrying him to the front door on muscle memory. This simply couldn’t be happening.

“Excuse me,” he said to the first person in line – an older man, maybe in his mid-fifties, wearing semi-casual clothing. The man stepped back without a word, smiling kindly, and Tadao pulled out his keys, and unlocked the door.

He glanced back at the line, and was met with a dozen perked up expressions, as they noticed him entering the charity. They politely didn’t say or demand anything, but their eyes alone were a pressure on him.

“It will be a few minutes,” Tadao said, falling back on politeness out of lack of anything more fitting. “We will open the doors at eight.”

Several of the people nodded, and some turned to whisper to the person behind them, passing the word along.

Tadao quickly stepped inside and locked the door behind him, just in case the crowd started trying to enter early. He had only a few minutes before the promised opening, and he didn’t have a clue what to do!

The people couldn’t all be here for the soup kitchen – they were dressed far too nicely, like regular citizens, not homeless people. If they were, then the Foundation wasn’t nearly prepared for it; they barely got five to six people per hour, most days!

“Boys!” he called out, back to the kitchens.

Two heads popped out around the corner, worried looks on their faces.

“We were just going to call you!” one of the employees, Zabu, said. “What are we going to do?!”

Well, in the face of worried employees, the answer to that was simple – reassure them that you definitely had a plan. Nothing could corrode productivity faster than a boss who was just as worried as the workers!

“We do our jobs,” Tadao answered, nodding firmly. “It’ll be a little more interesting, but there is no shame in saying that we served so many customers that we ran out of food!”

“Yes, sir!” the two employees replied, pumping their fists.

“Shiro,” Tadao said, turning to the server. “Start calling up the other part-timers, and get as many of them in as possible. Cooks and servers both.”

The young man of twenty-four nodded, and raced off to the office phone.

“Zabu, how many pots of soup do we have ready?” Tadao asked, already knowing that it wouldn’t be much.

“Just a single one,” Zabu told him, a little worry re-entering his voice. “I came in through the back entrance and didn’t poke my head out to the lobby until a minute ago, or I would have made more.”

“That’s fine,” Tadao lied, putting a smile on his face. “Just focus on one thing at a time. Start some more pots, but not too many for you to focus on. Shiro and I will handle the line, okay?”

“Okay,” Zabu said, visibly calming down. “Okay, I can do that.”

Zabu moved back into the kitchens, and Tadao went to the door. It was eight o’clock, and even if the tables and benches weren’t all set up, he didn’t want to delay with this many people outside. He couldn’t.

The lock clicked open underneath his cold fingers, and Tadao put a smile back on his face as he opened the doors up, propping them open.

“The Tenko Shimura Foundation is open!” he announced loudly, trying for a warm tone, his own voice echoing a little in his ears. “Please enter in an orderly fashion, and we’ll help as many of you as we can!”

The older man at the front of the line nodded to him, and entered first.

Tadao stepped back to give them room to enter, and Zabu brought the first stock pot out. It was miso soup today, which was good. Foreign food may be interesting in small doses, but Tadao didn’t want to do anything that might annoy this large group, so traditional was best.

“I apologize, we weren’t expecting so many people,” Tadao said loudly, as more and more people shuffled in – men and women, dressed both casually and more semi-casually. “If you’ll give me a minute to take the benches down, we can start serving.”

“Thank you, but I am not here for soup,” the older man at the front of the line said, bowing formally. “Where can I drop off a donation?”

Donations? Tadao thought, surprised for a moment before his brain rebooted, still sluggish from the hangover. They did get donations, small and infrequent as they were. He should have expected that such a large group would have some people here to donate, rather than eat – especially when none of them looked homeless. He’d simply assumed the worst out of instinct.

“I can take those donations at that counter over there,” he replied, pointing to a smaller counter off to the side of the serving bar. “Please give me just a moment, I need to get these benches.”

Tadao turned back to the tables, and started moving the seating benches off the tops and setting them down. They had a dozen long tables, and the benches could sit four to six people, but that made them heavy, and it would take him some time.

But as he looked up from the first bench, he saw some of the waiting customers leaving the queue and coming over to help. Younger men, perhaps construction workers or something similar, for they were all fairly fit, and lean muscles were visible beneath their sleeves. They quickly started taking the benches down, and what Tadao had thought would take him five minutes was over in just one.

“Thank you,” Tadao told them, bowing at the waist.

“It’s nothing!” one of the young men said, beaming with a bright grin. “It’s good to help out, y’know?”

Yes, I do, Tadao thought, as he stepped behind the counter, gloved up, and got ready to pour out soup. But some wanted to drop off donations, he remembered.

“If you may,” he called out to the waiting line. “Those who wish to donate, please form a line to my left, and I can take those. Those who wish for some soup, please form a line to my right. Please, pass the word back, so that no one will be left waiting for the soup.”

There was rustle of repeated words as the line of waiting people talked amongst each other, and passed the word back – sounding like the familiar, polite discussion of reassurance that came when people didn’t want to cut in the queue or be rude, as they sorted out who should stand in front of who.

Then a few chuckles rang out, and the entire line moved to the left, lining up in front of the spare counter to donate – leaving plenty of room for anyone else to walk through the double-doors and go for soup. But no one did.

Tadao’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, and he stared at the dozens of people crowding inside the small charity café, and the hundred more waiting out of sight on the sidewalk.

“Is… is there no one who wants any soup?” he asked, stunned.

“I would gladly take a bowl out of courtesy,” the older man at the front of the line replied. “But I am afraid if I do so, then the others may take a bowl as well, and you will run out. Save it for those who need the soup.”

A chorus of agreement echoed out behind the old man, and Tadao had to shake himself to get out of his surprise.

What else could he do? He removed his gloves and set them aside, and stepped over to take donations. He thought about leaving the cash box where it was, underneath the counter, as he usually did so that no one was tempted to grab it and run, but the size of the line reassured him, as did the sight of the younger men who had helped him with the benches.

These must be good people, to have helped me, Tadao reassured himself, I don’t need to fear them.

He pulled the cash box out, and checked that the previous day’s donations had been removed as per procedure by the weekend manager. They had, and the box was empty.

The older man at the front of the line looked at Tadao’s face, barely holding a polite expression of courtesy above his faltering composure. He smiled, and winked, as if he could tell.

“Here,” he said, handing over a metal clip full of banknotes.

“Thank you,” Tadao said automatically.

He unfolded the bills, and paused. The banknotes were ten thousand yen notes, the highest denomination circulated, and there were quite a lot of them. He got through ten, then twenty, then thirty. He’d just been handed three hundred thousand yen.

Tadao looked up, and met the older man’s gaze. But what could he say? That the older man had made a mistake, and given far too much? The older man seemed to be able to tell, because he winked a second time, and turned to leave.

It was… good to get so much in a donation, but Tadao was left with far more questions than before. Who would walk in and donate so much money? Who had brought all these people here, told them of the Tenko Shimura Foundation?

A rush of ice-water poured down Tadao’s neck, as that morning’s events clicked into place – the DDoS’ing of the Foundation’s website. They hadn’t been DDoS’ed. There had been that many visitors. Thousands of people viewing the website, per minute, browsing the videos that Mineta had insisted they take, looking at the photos, until the server could take no more.

The next person in line, a woman in her thirties, perhaps a young housewife, stepped up with a soft expression on her heart-shaped face.

“It’s not much, I know, but please accept this,” she said to Tadao, before he could say anything, and offered him a neatly folded stack of yen. Unlike the older man, she didn’t stay to watch Tadao count them, and left quickly.

She’d given the Foundation another hundred thousand yen.

The man after that, a young man with the blocky features of a mutation quirk, handed over an entire wallet containing five hundred thousand yen. Tadao had gone to protest, but the young man had shrugged and left before Tadao could say a word.

Not all the donations were as high as the first few, but Tadao was still only a few dozen people into the enormous line when he was forced to take a break, as he ran into someone that wanted neither soup, nor to donate.

He wanted to volunteer.

It was another young man, this one perhaps a few years out of highschool, with rounded features not yet drawn sharp by age, and he swore to Tadao that he was gainfully employed, but had plenty of spare time to help, and that he wanted no money or pay. He just wanted to do a good thing, and help others.

Tadao sent the volunteer – Haruki – to go tell Shiro that they didn’t need to call in more servers, and to tell Zabu that they wouldn’t need more than a second stock pot of soup, because none of the queue seemed to want it.

He’d gotten through perhaps fifty people before he had to apologize to the line, and take the cash-box back to a safe in the office. The Foundation had gained easily three million yen. Would they all donate so much? It was insane!

When he returned, the line of people looked antsy, and Tadao feared instantly that he’d done something wrong, that he’d somehow offended so many people, and his fading hangover sent a pulse of pain through his temples. A moment later, however, he saw the reason for their anxiousness – a young girl standing in front of the soup counter, wearing worn and dirty school clothes.

The young girl looked like a terrified deer, and her wide eyes kept glancing to the enormous line snaking out of the building.

“Can I help you with anything?” Tadao asked, privately relieved that the crowd wasn’t focusing on him. At last, a regular customer! Someone that Tadao knew how to handle! “Would you like some soup? We have some spare clothes, as well, if you need them.”

The girl stared at him with eyes like spotlights, shining gold. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and Tadao could see them shaking. She looked… familiar. A worn and dirty school outfit, straw-blonde hair, and golden eyes… she’d been here a few days before, maybe a week ago, when Mineta had come in during the school week.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Tadao asked her, softly, smiling gently. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

“I…” the girl murmured, turning her head away shyly. “I need…”

She trailed off, and her entire face squished as she crammed her eyes shut, taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Whatever it is, we can help you,” Tadao reassured her, speaking slowly.

Someone in the donation line shifted, and Tadao instinctively snapped his head over at them and glared. For an instant, he’d forgotten that they were there, and he nearly bit his own tongue when he noticed what he was doing.

Thankfully, the person who had moved froze in place, and looked apologetic about it.

“Blood,” came a whisper in front of him.

Tadao slowly turned his head to face the tired homeless girl, and his eyes locked with hers. She stared at him with an intense, almost ravenous degree of focus – like she was an animal. Unclean, came a murmur from the back of his brain. Burakumin.

“You need… blood?” he repeated automatically, his mouth moving almost without conscious thought.

The thing in front of him nodded ever so slowly, and Tadao could not tear his gaze away from her. He felt like a prisoner in his own mind. He felt like screaming, but his mouth was locked, his tongue a dead weight. Then it came to life again, out of trained, repetitive courtesies.

“Is this related to your Quirk?” he asked without any real control of his body, as if this was some minor thing, as if her request had come up in a casual conversation.

Conscious choice or not, his casual response threw off the homeless girl, and she blinked, as if she herself had never considered the question. She tilted her head in a way that would have been adorable if she’d been his own daughter, but which was subtly wrong and disturbing in her tattered school uniform and unwashed face.

She’s off-balance, Tadao told himself, giving himself a good mental smack on the head. Now keep going before she gets out of it!

He thought of Shiro and Zabu, working by his side, and the new volunteer, Haruki – and a crazy idea slipped into his head, as if it was mail inserted into a dropbox by the gods.

Tadao turned to the donation line, all two dozen people that had fit inside the Foundation’s lobby, and the two or three people poking their heads around the corner from the rest of the line. They were all staring at him and the girl, as if it was a competitive volleyball match, and many of their heads swiveled to look at him as he turned.

“If any of you are here to volunteer, could you please call the nearest hospital?” he asked of them, projecting his voice to the whole room, but keeping the volume down so as not to scare the wild girl standing before him. “Ask them if they can supply some blood for a person with a strange Quirk.”

A couple people in the line nodded, and pulled out cellphones of various sizes to start calling. Tadao smiled, and turned back to look at the homeless schoolgirl, who was still staring at him, confusion evident on her face.

“We’re getting you some blood now,” he said to her, smiling gently, hoping that she was well enough to believe him. “In the meantime, would you like some soup?”

The girl looked up at him, and her eyes grew watery.

“Thank you,” she said, the harsh edge to her features softening.

Tadao chose to believe that she was thanking him for the soup. Otherwise, he feared that his heart might just break.

Chapter Text

The large wooden doors to the Endeavor Agency swung open quietly, and a huge welcoming cheer erupted.

“Welcome back, sir!” a chorus of voices shouted.

Endeavor walked into the bullpen with a barely a nod and a negligent wave of his hand, but the assembled sidekicks pumped their fists into the air and cheered again, as if he was All Might himself.

Shoto Todoroki wanted to hate him for that, but he knew it’d be irrational. His dad wasn’t going to suddenly become warm and friendly. He was a gruff old grump to the core.

Prick or not, the sidekicks hailed them both like conquering heroes back from some war. The office manager had joined them, and was holding up a tablet to Endeavor’s inspection and filling him in on what had happened while they were gone.

As Endeavor’s intern, Shoto probably should have been listening to that, learning from it, but he was just too exhausted to do much more than put one foot in front of another. He’d slept the entire plane ride back from Hokkaido, and the car ride from the airport.

The past three days had been a whirlwind of work, and he had been sorely wrong about how prepared he was to be a Professional Hero. He’d thought for years that Endeavor was Number Two thanks to his raw power and long hours, and not much more than that. He’d been both right and wrong – and their three days in Hokkaido had rammed that home.

His dad was powerful, sure. His dad worked long hours, sure. Shoto had known all of that. How could he not, when he’d spent years eagerly waiting for his dad to walk out the door, and dreading when he’d return every night? But as much as he’d known those things, he hadn’t quite understood what it meant to actually do those things. How even UA was nothing compared to the real thing.

Endeavor had told him up front that half of the internship would be spent learning to control his fire, and the other half would be spent learning the family business. Then he’d told him to get on the plane, and they went straight to Sapporo to deal with a crime wave.

In three days, they’d been the primary Heroes on scene for six scheduled patrols, seven arrests, three stash-house raids, and the final crackdown on the drug ring behind the crime wave. They’d also done two training sessions each and every day. They were doing at least twelve hour days, and the only reason they’d sustained the hectic pace was because they’d had three squads of Sidekicks and ten regular employees from the Endeavor Agency with them to handle all the minor duties, low level thugs, and the paperwork.

Shoto disliked the paperwork that U.A. forced him to learn, but his dad took it to a whole new level – disdaining it outright, only doing it if there was nothing more important for him to do. Instead, he paid the office workers extremely well to follow him around and handle it for him.

It was expensive, wasteful, and crude. It also worked incredibly well, and they’d broken the back of a criminal syndicate in three days, before it could expand beyond the city limits.

When they’d boarded the agency’s private jet a couple hours ago, Endeavor had given him a small nod, patted him on the shoulder stiffly, and told him that he’d done decent for a first time… and that next time, they wouldn’t have to keep him on light duty.

“Get back to work!” Endeavor barked out loudly, scowling at the sidekicks. “If you have time to waste on me, you can do your jobs better!”

What an asshole, Shoto thought.

But the sidekicks laughed and cheered one last time, several of them pumping their fists again, before the crowd broke up and they all headed back to their desks.

Endeavor stopped at the door to his private elevator and waited there, arms crossed. Shoto wanted to scowl, to glare, but he didn’t have the energy for even that.

“You’re off for tonight,” Endeavor said curtly. “Tomorrow, we’ll be hitting the gym even harder.”

Fuck you, Shoto thought.

Endeavor stared at him, as if he was waiting for some kind of protest. Shoto said nothing.

“Hmph,” the old man said. “You’ve got an hour before we head home. Why don’t you catch up with your classmate?”

“Classmate?” Shoto repeated, blinking in surprise. There’d been no other interns with them in Hokkaido, and he hadn’t heard anything about someone else from U.A. interning with Endeavor. “Who?”

“The annoying one,” Endeavor grunted.

“Do you have the slightest idea how little that narrows it down?” Shoto replied, thinking of Bakugo, Kaminari, and Kirishima.

Endeavor stared down at him, and Shoto felt a mild sense of surprise. He hadn’t meant to say that. He must be more tired than he’d realized.

“The grape child,” the old man said after a few moments of silence.

Mineta? Shoto thought, confused. What would Mineta be doing here? He hadn’t even made to the third round. How did he get an offer from anyone at the Number Two’s agency with such a bad performance?

“Talk to him or don’t,” Endeavor said, apparently taking his silence as a message of some kind, and turning away to enter his private elevator. “It hardly matters to me.”

The elevator doors shut, carrying his father off to his penthouse office and leaving Shoto standing there awkwardly.

His hero uniform’s boots squeaked on the polished tile as he turned and looked around the bullpen. For all the grandeur of the place, it was still a working office, and there were plenty of dark hardwood desks in clumps all around the spacious open-plan office.

Still, he couldn’t see Mineta. He glanced around, seeing the smiles of Sidekicks welcoming their co-workers back from the trip, but there were no purple balls anywhere.

“Something I can do for you, kid?” came a voice to his bad side.

Shoto turned to the left, and saw a woman standing there in a light-gray double-breasted jacket – or was it a dress? – and a head full of burning yellow-green flames for hair. Burnin, the leader of one of the Sidekick Squads, he remembered.

“I’m… looking for my classmate?” Shoto said, a touch hesitant.

“Kido’s kid!” Burnin said, with a chuckle. Her smile grew wider, and Shoto was reminded of Bakugo by the wild intensity of it.

“I guess,” he said. “I didn’t know he was here until…”

Shoto jerked his head towards the elevator.

“Ah, yeah,” Burnin said, nodding as if he’d said something intelligent. “The boss gets like that. So focused on the job that he neglects some stuff. You’d probably know that better than me, of course.”

He doesn’t forget stuff, Shoto thought. He just doesn’t care in the first place.

“They just finished a round in the gym,” Burnin said, ignoring his lack of response. “Here, I’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you,” Shoto said.

Burnin waved at another sidekick, pointing briefly at Shoto for some reason, and then beckoned the UA student forward with a hand, holding open the door to a stairwell. Their steps echoed in the bare concrete of the emergency stairs, and neither of them said anything as they climbed upwards.

Two floors up from the main bullpen, Burnin leaned against the wall and banged her fist on the sturdy door. There was no response from inside, but she still gestured for Shoto to enter, and he did.

The gym inside reminded him of U.A.’s smaller gyms: durable flooring, padding on the walls, and plenty of chaos inside.

Mineta’s grapes were scattered on every surface, even the ceiling, along with long stretches of sterile white bandages trapped by the balls and pulled tight. The space looked like a million spiders had gone wild inside of it, turning it into a wire hell of hanging bandages and grapes, obscuring sight-lines.

Shoto looked around for a moment, and couldn’t see anyone inside the white-purple jungle.

Then some motion caught his eye, and Shoto saw a bandage-wrapped man in a tactical vest setting a bookmark in a slim black book as he closed it. The man was sitting on a folding chair along one wall, in one of the few places not covered by the mess. He was covered in the same bandages, without so much as an inch of skin showing beneath them.

“Greetings,” the man said with a grave voice and a light accent as he stood up. “You must be Shoto.”

“I’m looking for Mineta,” Shoto said, slowly. “Is he… in here?”

“Indeed,” the man said, nodding. “One moment.”

He bent at the knees, picking up a long rope of bandages with both hands and giving it a short, harsh pull with both hands. Somewhere inside the cat’s cradle, there was a thud, and a sudden string of English words that Shoto hadn’t heard before, with a harsh tone to them.

“Language, child,” the man said, the words fitting his solemn tone. “Every moment you step outside the agency, there will be a microphone pointing at you.”

“Rassle-frassle long-horn Yosemite Sam wanna-be,” came the reply from inside the maze.

“Better,” the man – who must be Kido – said, as he walked over to join Shoto by the entryway.

The strung up bandages in the center of the room shook, and after a few moments Shoto could see them falling away as the grapes pinning them were picked up. A couple more strands fell down, and Mineta came into view, his hero uniform almost entirely entrapped within the same clean white bandages. He looked like a stereotypical mummy from some bad horror movie, were it not for how short he was.

Mineta looked highly annoyed, and the reason became evident as he walked a step forward and then was forced to stop, with one of the trailing lines of bandages drawing taut and holding him in place.

“I’m adding a knife to my costume,” Mineta declared, turning around and grabbing the long white line, before walking back into the mess and disappearing from sight.

“More weight to carry,” Kido remarked, standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Next time, I can just cut my way out,” came Mineta’s voice from within the jungle.

“Do you think a knife would have helped you in this situation?” Kido asked, his tone unperturbed by Mineta’s harsh tone.

Mineta didn’t reply, and five or six seconds later, he re-emerged from the mess, with one more loop of bandages wrapped around him, and no more of them trailing back to inside.

Shoto’s classmate came to a stop in front of them, and unceremoniously started pulling the bandages off his body, untangling himself and dropping them to the matted flooring.

“Would you like help cleaning up?” Shoto offered.

Mineta looked up suddenly, and his wide eyes locked on Shoto’s with a surprising intensity.

“Please don’t set me on fire,” the grape-haired teen said, very seriously.

“That’s… not what I meant,” Shoto replied.

“Nobody else is going to use this gym tonight,” Burnin said, out in the hallway. “Just leave it and clean up in the morning, when the kid’s grapes won’t be sticking to everything.”

Kido nodded, and Shoto just stood there awkwardly as Mineta finished pulling the last of the bandages from himself.

“What have we learned?” Kido asked the smaller UA student.

“Don’t spam dodgeballs at someone who controls objects like strings or vines,” Mineta said.

“A valuable lesson, but not the one I had in mind,” Kido replied. “Think on this: always keep an eye on your surroundings. You didn’t change strategies once I countered, and you made the situation worse. If you aren’t careful, the ground will fall out beneath your feet, and you won’t see it coming.”

“Yes, sensei,” Mineta groaned, saluting like a soldier.

“Take the rest of the night off,” Kido said, waving towards Shoto, and then walking out of the gym.

“Hey, what’s cookin’ good-lookin’?!” came Burnin’s voice from outside, just before the door clicked shut, cutting off Kido’s reply.

Mineta let out a long sigh, and looked up at Shoto.

“…how are you?” Shoto asked, not sure what else to say.

“I’m tired and grumpy,” Mineta said, his voice flat, “and I’m probably not good company right now, but fuck it. How are you?”

“Tired,” Shoto replied.

“Not grumpy?” Mineta asked.

“No?” Shoto replied, tilting his head.

“Good,” Mineta said. “Last time you were grumpy, you set most of a stadium on fire, and I don’t want to be set on fire.”

“Then why intern here, of all places?” Shoto asked, looking down at Mineta in confusion. “It’s… it’s kind of what they do here.”

“Bah,” Mineta grunted, brushing past Shoto and opening the exit door with the shove of a shoulder.

Shoto watched him go. If Mineta was in that bad of a mood, then maybe he wanted to be left alone? He’d been in similar moods himself occasionally.

Mineta held the door open, and then looked back at Shoto in puzzlement.

“You coming, or what?” he asked.

Shoto blinked in surprise, then shrugged, and followed Mineta out. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do besides wait for his father.

Mineta led him down the same stairs he’d just come up with a casual ease, as if he’d been working at the agency for years.

But was it experience? Or was Mineta just too tired or in too bad of a mood to make much fuss about being at such a famous agency? He was barely acknowledging Pro Heroes with years of experience as they passed in the stairwell, ignoring as they nodded and smiled at Shoto.

It just reminded Shoto that he didn’t really know much about Mineta. The short purple-haired student was quiet in class, and only occasionally commented on things. For the first few weeks he’d been almost invisible, and even after the attack at the U.S.J., he simply didn’t fit in, didn’t mesh with the class. He had made less friends than even Shoto, and Shoto only had friends because Midoriya seemed unable to take ‘leave me alone’ as an answer, and dragged him into a friendship with Uraraka and Iida as well.

They wound up in a smaller room on the third floor, which seemed to be where Kido and Burnin’s squad of Sidekicks had their desks. It was empty at the moment. Shoto had seen Kido and Burnin head out, perhaps they were on a patrol. He wasn’t sure about the others, but they weren’t here.

Mineta headed straight to a smaller desk off to the side, where he clambered up into an extra-cushioned chair and propped his feet up on the desk.

“Pull up a chair,” Mineta said, waving a hand in the direction of the other empty desks. “They won’t mind.”

Shoto hesitated, but Mineta didn’t seem to notice; he was gazing out the window, at the skyscrapers across the street, or something else towards the north, closer to Chiyoda. After a moment, Shoto pulled over a chair, and sat down next to Mineta. He wasn’t sure what the other student wanted – they didn’t have any food to eat, or homework to discuss.

Was it really alright to sit here and just stew in silence, though? Mineta’s expression wasn’t just tired from his training, he seemed almost worried about something.

Shoto wanted to stay away from it, to not interfere in his fellow student’s life, but he could still remember Midoriya’s encouragement, and how All Might had talked in class about helping out those in need. Mineta wasn’t a victim of a crime, but perhaps Shoto could at least try to help him?

“What’s wrong?” Shoto asked, carefully.

Mineta blinked, and turned his head to look at him.

“Why do you ask?” Mineta said, a little suspicion in his voice.

“You seem worried,” Shoto told him, meeting his gaze evenly. “Distracted.”

Mineta sighed, and folded his arms across his chest. On another person, it might have looked distinguished, but on his small frame and flanked by his high-backed chair, it made him look even smaller, like a small child that was dressing up as a Pro Hero.

Seconds passed, and Shoto stayed quiet, waiting.

“I’m worried about my future,” Mineta said finally, after a minute of staring out the window.

“Scared?” Shoto asked. It wasn’t hard to understand, after the U.S.J. attack.

“No, not scared,” Mineta denied, shaking his head. “It’s not… it’s not too much, it’s not too scary.”

“Then what is it?” Shoto asked.

“It’s…” Mineta started to say, before stopping, a look of frustration on his face. “It’s that I’m too fucking passive.”

“You’re a student at U.A.,” Shoto said. “You’re in the best school in the country.”

“Yeah, because my Quirk is great for crowd control and I had to go to U.A.,” Mineta said. “Congratulations, I got a natural born advantage. I didn’t even get to the final goddamn round of the Sports Festival!”

“You didn’t seem too bothered at the time,” Shoto said, thinking back. “That was weeks ago. Why are you worried about it now?”

“Because it’s the same pattern,” Mineta said, turning his head back at Shoto, with an angry expression. “I can see how close I am to doing something impressive, something good, something… I don’t know, powerful! And then I just fall short.”

“You’re not falling short,” Shoto said. “You’re doing pretty well.”

“No, I’m not!” Mineta snapped. “I’m coasting. I’m drifting on a past success, and I’m not reaching out. Why did I get past the first round? Because Momo wanted to partner up. Why didn’t I get past the second round? Because I didn’t fucking go out to find a good team, I just joined up with the first one that asked me.”

“You don’t have to stand out,” Shoto said. “There’s nothing wrong with being part of the crowd.”

Mineta scoffed, and his face had an ugly, dark look on it.

“Yeah, there fuckin’ is,” he spat, angrily. “If I wanted to be part of the crowd, that wouldn’t be so bad. But I don’t.”

“You want to stand out, and you’re not,” Shoto said, trying to summarize, to understand.

“No, I don’t!” Mineta said, shaking his hands in the air for emphasis.

“…You don’t want to fit in, and you don’t want to stand out,” Shoto repeated. “Then… what do you want?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Mineta snapped, nearly shouting, glaring at Shoto.

Mineta paused and looked down at himself, as if he was surprised to see something, and leaned his head back against the chair. He let out a frustrated groan, and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“I don’t have any real initiative,” he said, far more quietly, arms flopping back down to his lap. “Why am I doing what I’m doing? Because other people told me to.”

Shoto stared at him, and didn’t reply. How could he? What was there to say? He didn’t know enough about Mineta to know if he was telling the truth or if he was lying to himself.

“You didn’t want to go to U.A.?” he asked, after a few seconds.

“I did, but…” Mineta started to reply, before trailing off. “…fuck, I don’t know, man.”

“Did your parents pressure you into it?” he asked.

“No,” Mineta said, with a sudden laugh that seemed to surprise him. “They didn’t care. Said I didn’t really need much, because I already had my business.”

Business?

“You have a business?” Shoto asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, Mineta Corp,” his short classmate responded. “I sell dodgeballs and dodgeball accessories. Made it… ten years back, something like? A year after my Quirk came in.”

“…did anyone pressure you into that?” Shoto asked, frowning. He could see his own father doing something similar – his dad had forced him into training shortly after he got his Quirk. Were Mineta’s parents the same, just for business?

Mineta paused, and frowned – not at Shoto, but at himself.

“No,” he said. “My parents actually tried to get me to stop at first. Thought I was wasting my money by getting that commercial Quirk license.”

“So…” Shoto said slowly. “Do you really think you’re too passive?”

“Yeah,” Mineta replied immediately, almost instinctively, clearly not thinking about it for a moment.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” Shoto said. “You got into U.A. and started a business on your own. Your parents didn’t force you to do either of those things. That’s impressive. Other people would think so.”

Mineta scowled, and pulled his feet off the desk, letting them swing beneath his chair, dangling above the ground.

“I don’t,” he said. “Even if it makes logical sense to my brain, my heart still thinks it isn’t impressive.”

“…that’s rough,” Shoto said, for lack of anything else to say.

Mineta looked at him, and his eyes focused on the left side of Shoto’s face – on his scar. He shut his mouth suddenly, clamping his hands over it but a choked laugh still escaped, sounding like snrk.

“Was that intentional?” Mineta asked in a muffled voice, through his hands.

“Was what intentional?” Shoto asked.

Mineta tried to stop it, but another laugh snuck out, and the shorter boy started chuckling to himself.

“You’re alright, you know that?” the grape-haired teen said after a few moments of quiet laughter. “Thanks, Shoto.”

“I don’t know what I did,” Shoto confessed. “But sure, you’re welcome.”

That set Mineta off again, chuckling to himself.

At least if he’s laughing, he’s not so moody? Shoto thought to himself, leaning back in his own chair.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet day at the top of U.A.’s administration tower. The buzz of the Sports Festival had been over for a few weeks, and the media hype from the U.S.J. attacks had faded in the aftermath.

In most respects, the Sports Festival seems to have paid off, Nedzu thought to himself, as he sipped at his latest cup of tea. He had been scrolling through the news media via the internet, the television mounted to the wall, and even the battered old radio set, and it seemed all positive news.

The young Heroes in training from Class 1-A had been cleansed by their successful internships, and their harrowing experiences at the U.S.J were washing out in favor of their new exploits.

Todoroki and his father had drawn the majority of the attention, both from the genetic link and clear indication of Endeavor training his successor, and from breaking such a large criminal group in just a few days.

Yet even setting aside the stand-out, there was still success. Asui had made waves assisting Selkie with the bust of some smugglers. Jiro assisted in a hostage situation without endangering herself. Tokoyami had learned how to fly under Hawks. A dozen more inspiring tales of growth, proving to the public that the security weakness of U.A. was a momentary failing.

His office door banged open, and Nedzu glanced up immediately, eyes widening at the intrusion. Few liked to disturb him, and even less would interrupt without knocking.

It was All Might, in his enlarged public form – yet he was not smiling. The Number One Hero looked at Nedzu with a grim and serious expression, and hurriedly closed the door behind him.

“I’ve just received an emergency alert from the Commission,” All Might said quickly, moving over to the main window and un-latching the security barriers that held it closed. “We’re being called in – both of us.”

“Both?” Nedzu repeated, standing up from his desk on instinct. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” All Might said, shaking his head as he pulled the window open, releasing a gust of wind into the office. “But whatever it is, it’s bad enough they want us both present, as soon as possible.”

Ah, that was why he’d opened the window. All Might didn’t intend to wait for a car; he was going to carry Nedzu to the Commission’s central office personally.

“Very well,” Nedzu said. He pressed a quick sequence of buttons on his desk, alerting the staff that he was going off-campus, and not to contact him, and then hopped off his chair.

All Might scooped Nedzu up in his arms, stepped up on the ledge, and with an enormous surge of muscle, launched into the air with a bounding leap.

Normally, Nedzu would have enjoyed the exhilarating journey through the air, but All Might was not making a leisurely patrol – his leaps were full force, moving as fast as possible, and Nedzu could only burrow further into All Might’s careful grip to avoid the wind ripping at his eyes, trading the sight of blurring white-grey-blue of the city speeding underneath them for the unmoving blue-red of All Might’s vintage uniform.

What could possess the Commission to issue such a hasty summons? Nedzu wondered to himself. They had never issued such an urgent demand, and he’d rarely seen All Might so worried.

For a moment, Nedzu feared the worst – that however unlikely, All Might’s archnemesis had survived that battle a decade ago, and was returning. Perhaps that was the reason behind the U.S.J. attack? But there was precious little that Nedzu could do to prove or disprove that thought. He couldn’t ask All Might, not with the wind slamming into them from All Might’s speed.

It normally would have taken an hour to go from U.A., situated near the edge of Tokyo, to Chiyoda, it’s beating heart. All Might did the journey in a little less than ten minutes. Nedzu’s brain idly did the calculation from memory; the Number One was averaging about two hundred and eighty-eight kilometers per hour.

The last jump was much slower, for it would do no good to crash through three floors when they landed. Nedzu held still as All Might smashed into the helicopter’s landing pad, with one mighty hand clutching the Animal Hero.

“All Might, sir!” a voice cried out, as All Might stood slowly, and Nedzu wriggled out of the grip, jumping free and landing on his own feet. There was a suited employee of the Commission waiting for them by the emergency access door, clearly stunned by the Number One Hero’s entrance.

“No time, young man!” All Might said, waving a hand to the employee as he strode forward, Nedzu trotting alongside him. “Where is the President?”

“The situation room,” the employee replied, holding the door open. “Go two floors down, it’s the door with the guards!”

Guards? Curious. The Commission was a bureaucratic organization, and mostly focused on the paperwork for licenses and registrations. Their security complement was commensurate to that, but largely stayed out of the limelight. For them to be publicly guarding the situation room, the President must be worried.

They hurried through the stairwell, and sure enough, as soon as they entered the main hallway, Nedzu saw a dozen guards in uniforms – but only six were the Commission’s private security. The other half-dozen wore the uniforms of the regular Police Force.

“The Police as well?” Nedzu asked, scurrying his shorter legs as fast as possible to keep up with All Might.

“Not outside, sir,” one of the door guards said. “Identification, please.”

Nedzu pulled out his Hero Registration Card, and All Might did the same. One policeman inspected the cards, plugging them into a device to check their validity. Another one ran a sensor wand over their faces. Whatever the issue was, the Police and the Hero Commission were taking no chances, it seemed.

While the security team did their job, Nedzu’s enhanced mind was racing ahead. An emergency, something so urgent that not only was the Number One Hero summoned, but also Nedzu himself. Though he was still fairly high in the Hero Rankings due to his position as one of the public faces of U.A., Nedzu was under no illusion about his physical powers of crime fighting – his niche had always been analysis, detective work.

For the Commission to summon him as well, and for the Police to be involved, there could only be a few possibilities. If it involved U.A. itself, then the Commission would not have summoned them so urgently – they were pushy at times, but they understood that it was best to allow U.A. some degree of autonomy, given the results it produced.

The situation must involve some degree of security failure, Nedzu realized, looking at the guards again. Why else would they be doing such thorough checks? Infiltration was rarely ever a problem with the crime levels so low and the criminal elements smashed into disorganized groups. For it to be a concern now meant that the Commission was worried about such things.

The checks all came back clean, as they should, and the sealed bulkhead opened to admit them to the situation room.

Through the bulkhead, and through a second door, sat a long wooden conference table and two people that Nedzu would rather have not seen today.

President Kinoshita of the Hero Public Safety Commission was normally a battle-axe of a woman: unflinching, aggressive, and dedicated to keeping society safe and Pro Heroes accountable to the public. Yet now, her age-lined face was frowning as she looked at them – worried, but not about them in particular, Nedzu could tell. It would have taken much to upset her normally stoic appearance.

To her side sat Commissioner-General Nakamura, the man who oversaw the national police agency, and who Nedzu normally saw even less than President Kinoshita. Nakamura was an old hand, from a family of policemen that stretched back to the Meiji Restoration. He, too, was frowning.

“Good to see you,” Commissioner-General Nakamura said to them, nodding briefly as All Might and Nedzu sat down at the table, “We don’t have time for chit-chat.”

“No, we don’t,” President Kinoshita agreed, handing a thick manilla envelope to each of them. “Here, take a look at this.”

Nedzu flicked out the contents, and received two things; a set of photos wrapped tightly together, and a letter on fine-quality linen paper.

President Kinoshita of the Hero Public Safety Commission,

I represent the group that captured the Hero-Killer Stain in Funabashi City on April 24^th. Enclosed with this letter are photographs proving this. We acted against Stain not because we feel the Police and the Pro Heroes have failed in their jobs, but because we had the ability and the responsibility as citizens of Japan.

We are former members of the Meta Liberation Army. It has survived in secret, long after the death of Destro, and grown in strength over the past fifty years.

The Meta Liberation Army has infiltrated the Government of Japan. Within its ranks are Diet members, Professional Heroes, soldiers of the Japanese Self Defense Forces, the Police force, and many common citizens. This is why this letter has been left to your personal attention, so as not to alert those infiltrators.

We joined the Army out of our personal and political beliefs in Free Quirk Use, and our disagreement with the current laws relating to the restriction of Quirk Use. The Army promised freedom to us, that one day we could use our Quirks without fear of the Government.

However, the true goal of the Meta Liberation Army is not to repeal those laws, but to violently overthrow the Government of Japan in its entirety. To start a civil war and demolish the old ways of democracy, and replace it with their Grand Commander as a new Emperor in all but name. To rule through the belief that Might Makes Right.

The Meta Liberation Army is wrong. They are a cult that insists that a peaceful transition of power is impossible, that the Government has brainwashed everyone who does not believe as they do.

It is for this reason that our organization has decided to leave the Meta Liberation Army, and warn you of its continued existence.

We do not agree with the Quirk Laws of Japan, but we do not wish for violence. The radicals leading the Meta Liberation Army have deceived its membership, and it falls upon us as more moderate members to resist them, and fight back, so that we will not be tarred with the same brush.

If we stay silent, then the Meta Liberation Army shall grow more powerful, and more deadly. Peace shall be destroyed. Neighbors shall fight neighbors. We do not wish for this.

I send this message in the hopes that a solution may be found, and that together, we may stop the Meta Liberation Army before it once again stains the political belief in Free Quirk Use by association with violent criminal revolutionaries who care not for innocent life.

I am a high-ranking member of the Meta Liberation Army. By sending this message, I am placing my life in your hands. If this message is discovered by the MLA, I will certainly die.

I am willing to provide information to you, the Hero Public Safety Commission, to prevent the civil war. I have access to most of the Meta Liberation Army. I have many of their bank accounts, membership rolls, training programs, emplaced agents, controlled properties, and more.

In return for this, all I ask is that our organization of defectors receive pardons. The overwhelming majority of my organization is not aware of the true extent of the Meta Liberation Army, and are guilty of nothing.

Please contact me via the following cell phone number as soon as you are prepared. I am willing to attend any meeting, answer any questions, and prove my claims before you.

“Shit,” All Might muttered, next to Nedzu. Commissioner-General Nakamura nodded in agreement.

“I hadn’t heard that the Hero-Killer was captured,” Nedzu said, looking at the top of the letter. “Is that true?”

“It is,” President Kinoshita said. “Three weeks back, a Hero in Funabashi City found him tied up on the street. We suppressed the news, because the Hero himself was under investigation, and we weren’t going to reward him when he didn’t do the work.”

“Stain claimed that he was attacked by a group of vigilantes,” Commissioner-General Nakamura explained, clasping his hands together on the top of the table. “Said there were forty to fifty of them. All trained.”

“If he’s telling the truth,” Kinoshita said. “At first, we thought he was exaggerating to make himself sound better, but we didn’t know who did it.”

“If this letter is true, then the Meta Liberation Army certainly could have done it,” Nedzu said, running a paw over his head and smoothing the ruffled fur from their quick journey through Tokyo. “They were quite the problem back in the day, or so I’ve read.”

“A problem would be if they were strictly a domestic Japanese threat,” Nakamura replied, testily. “This is a disaster. I’m already going to have to brief the Prime Minister on this, sooner or later. We’ll have to inform our international neighbors – and that’s enough of a headache as it is.”

“Which is why we called you here, Principal Nedzu,” President Kinoshita said. “We need your brain. We’re fairly convinced that this is legitimate, but we’re not sure how much of it is reliable.”

“Always a pleasure to be in demand,” Nedzu replied, but the idle quip fell flat in the dead air of the sealed situation room. “As far as I can tell, whoever wrote this letter is worried, incredibly so. I’m sure you’ve noticed the undercurrent of desperation behind all of it. They’re giving you enough to start a bonfire of investigations, and promising more information and verification. If this was a negotiation, their first offer is incredibly generous.”

“Do you think they can be trusted?” Kinoshita asked. Nakamura scoffed, but said nothing more.

“Likely, but we’d need to meet them to be sure,” Nedzu said. “The less information I have, the less accurate the resulting analysis will be.”

“Where was this packet found?” All Might asked, tapping his manilla envelope. “It said it was left to your personal attention.”

President Kinoshita grimaced, and Nedzu watched her expression shift with curious eyes. The woman had been the iron-clad leader of the Commission for decades now, and she was not the type to give away her emotions so easily.

“It was found this morning, on my personal assistant’s desk,” Kinoshita told them, clearly not happy. “They got it through the front door, the security checkpoint, the second checkpoint for the secured elevators, the third checkpoint to get to my office, and the locked door to the assistant’s office. That’s one door away from my desk.”

Nedzu set down the letter in his paws, and looked down at it once more, a feeling of some alien emotion rising within him.

“Impressive,” he murmured. “Most impressive.”

“Security footage showed a night-shift janitor,” Kinoshita continued. “One who’s been cleared by every annual background check for the past thirty years.”

“Is it possible this janitor is the one who wrote the letter?” All Might asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the conference table. “Some misleading information, or a very bad prank?”

“Impossible,” Nakamura dismissed. “A prank like this would get them fired instantly with a black mark, if not outright prosecution. Besides, the photos from Stain check out.”

“What about genuine information, released for a malicious purpose?” Nedzu wondered aloud. “The photos of Stain are legitimate, and the janitor had access, but the real intention could be to distract you, to cause us all to spin in circles and panic, wasting time that could have been spent on something else.”

“Possible, but not likely,” Kinoshita said, though the admission clearly bothered her. “The next Provisional License Exam isn’t for several months, and there isn’t any important legislation or serious matters that are time-sensitive enough to be ruined if we got distracted by this. We have no other major crises on our hands… aside from this.”

“Then I believe we must act as if this information is largely, if not entirely accurate,” Nedzu said. “The risks outweigh any amount of time wasted.”

“Which means we’re neck-deep in a national crisis, and we only just found out,” Nakamura muttered, clenching his hands together, knuckles turning white. “The old Meta Liberation Army had tens of millions at its height. If we’re lucky, they’re only focused on Japan this time, and we won’t have China, Korea, Russia, and all of south-east Asia demanding answers about why ‘our’ people are invading them. Again.”

“Large, but focused solely on Japan, is our worst case scenario,” Kinoshita said, rapping a knuckle on the table. “If they were as strong as their previous peak, they would have already acted.”

“How high could their membership be?” All Might wondered, pursing his lips. “To stay secret this long, I can’t imagine they’d have that many members. The previous one recruited in public as a legitimate organization, as I recall, before they turned violent.”

“Our informant called them a cult,” Nedzu replied, tapping the letter on the conference table. “It’s possible they’ve stayed secret by controlling how much each member is told. If true, they could have much, much higher numbers than any of the criminal syndicates of the last few decades.”

All Might twitched, and frowned, almost certainly thinking of his arch-nemesis. It was, perhaps, cruel of Nedzu to take the tiniest bit of amusement at that, but it never hurt to have a reminder to be humble, and powerful or not, not every negative event in Japan’s recent history could be attributed to All For One.

“They could have millions,” Nakamura said, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t have the numbers to handle them – not with all the Pro Heroes and all the Police combined.”

“Not in numbers, but the quality edge is likely still with us,” Kinoshita replied. “Our training programs have helped quite a number of people with powerful Quirks become Heroes, and their years of experience will be a significant advantage.”

“Yes, they’d likely be weaker in a one-on-one engagement,” Nakamura shot back, gritting his teeth. “That doesn’t help towns outside of Tokyo or the prefectural capitals, where Pro Heroes are much less common, and the Police forces are even smaller! It wouldn’t take that many people to start more fires than we can put out, in areas where we're less concentrated. Half the nation could be left at the whims of these people!”

“There’s also the problem of the military,” Nedzu interrupted, before the two competing officials could start arguing. “The letter mentioned soldiers of the JSDF as members of the Meta Liberation Army. If this conflict isn’t resolved swiftly and decisively, we could see military force deployed either by criminals or by our own government.”

“That would spell the end of any peace,” All Might said, softly. “Social order needs to be preserved – if civilians see soldiers marching through the streets, shooting at enemies, there will be widespread panic and chaos. Unrelated crimes would rise, drastically.”

Kinoshita grimaced, Nakamura shook his head, and Nedzu sighed. They all knew the true message behind All Might’s words – he was growing old, and his power was far less than in his prime. To have such a crisis emerge right as the Symbol of Peace was broken, either in a fight or by retirement… there was no worse time for this issue to come.

“We could increase the number of Heroes on the street,” Kinoshita said. “Lower the requirements for the Provisional or full Hero Licenses, and get more people out there. Mandatory work-studies for Pro Hero students, perhaps.”

“If you lower standards, you’d be rushing unprepared men and women into this fight,” Nakamura replied, though his voice was more conciliatory than before. “Worse – for the Provisionals, a lot of them would be children. It’s tempting, but I think it would be a mistake to throw them into the fire.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Nedzu reminded them. “At the moment, if this letter is true, then the Meta Liberation Army is unaware that we know they exist. They’ve stayed secretive over the past fifty years, perhaps we can prepare for them secretly as well?”

“Which means taking the offer,” All Might said, picking up his copy of the letter again.

“I think that is our best course of action,” Nedzu declared. “We can sit and discuss possibilities, but we lack the information to know if we’re overestimating or underestimating the threat. We need more information, and we need it desperately.”

“It seems logical,” Nakamura said, grudgingly.

“Can we give out pardons?” All Might asked, turning to President Kinoshita. “Is that within the Commission’s remit?”

“No,” Kinoshita answered. “If it was one individual, in a case against a larger criminal organization, a plea deal could be possible, but this letter speaks of a larger group of defectors. I can’t authorize pardons for an unknown amount of people, for crimes that I don’t know the details of. We’d need to get approval from the Diet.”

“The Diet is compromised,” Nakamura reminded her. “If we’re taking this letter as true, that is.”

“Compromised can mean a wide range,” Kinoshita replied. “It could be only two members, it could be twenty, it could be two hundred. We won’t know without more information.”

“As I said earlier, it may help to think of this as a simple business negotiation,” Nedzu told them. “This is their starting offer. They give us the intelligence; we give them pardons. We could easily offer something lesser in return – reduced sentences for many, pardons for some. It hardly needs to be a universal solution applied to every individual in this group of defectors.”

“Then I think we’re all in agreement,” All Might said, clapping his hands together gently. “Does anyone object?”

“No,” President Kinoshita said, glancing to Nakamura at her side.

“No,” Commissioner-General Nakamura said, ignoring the look from the President of the Hero Commission.

“No,” Nedzu said, rounding out the group.

“I’ll make the call,” Kinoshita said, standing up and moving to grab a desk phone from a side table.

All Might leaned back in his chair as President Kinoshita dialed. Nakamura reached for a pen and prepared to take notes. Nedzu did the same, tamping down on the usual mix of glee at the emotional rush of a good challenge, and the intellectual fear of potential failure.

The ringing of the phone was loud in the artificially quiet conference room, and Nedzu’s breath caught in his throat a little as he tried to stay quiet, and keep his eagerness from showing. Oh, what a rush, to play the great game with such high stakes.

Kinoshita was standing, her hands on the desk with her arms spread, as if she was holding herself up, looking down at the phone placed in the middle of the table.

The phone rang once, then twice, and then picked up with a click.

“Hello?” came the voice of the informant.

“We got your letter,” Kinoshita said, enunciating clearly. “We want to meet.”

“Ah… the Commission?” the informant asked. Nedzu frowned, for there was something in that voice that sounded… off. Perhaps it was merely the quiet buzzing of the telephone’s distortion.

“Yes,” Kinoshita replied. “What day works for you?”

“Day?” the informant repeated. There was a pause, and then they chuckled. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Nakamura’s head snapped up, and he stared at the phone in astonishment. Kinoshita was doing likewise, and All Might glanced at Nedzu, clearly just as surprised.

But Nedzu didn’t share their surprise. It was a little unexpected, but the informant had already clearly decided on a course of action by sending that letter – why should it be so surprising that they were ready to follow up so swiftly?

Nedzu’s ears were tensed at the voice itself. It wasn’t the distortion from the telephone, it was something else.

“Come to the loading dock at the back of the HPSC building,” Kinoshita said, her voice betraying none of the emotion that had just been on her face. “We’ll keep this quiet.”

“Of course,” the informant’s voice replied, before disconnecting with a click.

All Might pressed his hands to his head, let out an expansive, explosive sigh, and released his enlarged form with a gentle hiss of steam. His skeletal frame was drowned out in his oversized costume, but the harsh lines on his face, reminiscent of someone with near-deadly malnutrition, seemed to reflect the seriousness of the situation well.

“We should have done this at Sakurada Gate,” Nakamura grumbled, referring to the headquarters of the Tokyo police. “We’ve got anonymous entrances for informants there.”

“Entrances that could be watched,” Kinoshita replied, without any real venom. “They delivered the letter here, not to Sakurada Gate. I can’t help but think that was for a reason.”

“The Diet, Pro Heroes, the JSDF, the Police…” Nakamura said, shaking his head. “Is there anywhere the Meta Liberation Army hasn’t infiltrated?”

“Their recruits are likely adults,” Nedzu theorized. “Recruiting anyone younger would be far too risky for their secrecy. As such, I doubt they have many Pro Heroes – the majority attended Hero Schools in their teenage years, and are immersed in its culture. It’s more likely they recruited those who became Heroes later in their lives.”

“Our licensing standards are quite high,” Kinoshita said. “But there’s always the possibility of grooming children for their goals without telling them too much, and fully recruiting them later, if they showed certain signs. If some teachers for Pro Hero courses are compromised, that could explain why some Pro Heroes joined.”

“A possibility,” Nedzu admitted. “Thankfully, my own hiring standards are quite high as well. I think it’s safe to say that U.A. has not been infiltrated by the Meta Liberation Army.”

Chapter Text

Hawks first met All Might six months before today.

It had been a routine situation – just another mugger who thought he’d take advantage of the dusk and plucked a target of opportunity where the central business district met the residentials. He’d noticed from above, and swooped in to stop it, speedy as always.

All Might got to the alley first. Hawks still didn’t know how – how he’d noticed without the aerial advantage, or how he’d zipped in, faster than even him.

By the time he’d landed, All Might had downed the mugger with a single punch, and was cuffing the man.

Hawks had heard a lot about All Might over the years. The old lady talked about him sometimes, when they had private chats. All Might was the juggernaut, the monolith, the powerhouse that Hawks himself was supposed to replace one day, when the Number One finally retired.

He'd thought that All Might would be bold and loud. But in person, the man was kind and quiet: reassuring the victim with a warmth of human kindness that couldn’t be faked, no matter how much practice someone got.

All Might had looked up as Hawks arrived, and smiled kindly at him. The victim, a young woman, was staring at All Might like he was the sun after a cold winter.

“Ah, young Hawks!” All Might had greeted him, before looking down, back at the victim. “Take heart, young lady, for tonight you’re guarded by one of the best young Heroes in the nation.”

The victim turned, and beamed at Hawks as well, and Hawks had stared, unable to remember his practiced courtesies from the Commission’s PR lessons.

This was the first time he’d encountered All Might since that day, and he still didn’t know what to do, what to say, before the living legend.

Hawks entered the small, dimly lit room, and saw the Number One sitting at a table alongside Principal Nedzu of U.A., watching the banks of monitors placed along the wall.

“Ah, my boy!” All Might said, nodding to him. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Principal Nedzu. Nedzu, this is the young Hero I’ve been telling you about.”

All Might talked to Nedzu about him? A trickle of something rubbed against his neck, feeling awfully like a feather, but he didn’t do that anymore. It was just an old nervous tick, which didn’t look good.

“Oh, I’ve heard quite a bit about him already, All Might,” Nedzu replied, sipping at a cup of tea. “Please, Mr. Three, take a seat. Have you been briefed yet?”

“I got the basics from the old lady’s PA,” Hawks said, pulling a chair out and trying not to think about Nedzu’s nickname for him. “Old villain group back from the dead, and we’re getting a defector in. Big, big problem. Not sure why that needs both of us here live. Wouldn’t a later briefing, once we know more, work a bit better than dragging all of us in?”

“The President believes in making sure the top Heroes don’t get surprised by situations like this,” All Might said. “Endeavor would be here as well, but he’s down in Kyushu at the moment.”

“Mm…” Nedzu murmured, setting down his tea. “You’ll want to pay as close attention as you can. This meeting could decide quite a lot about the future of the nation.”

“And here we go,” All Might said, pointing at the main monitor.

Hawks pulled his chair in tight, and rested his forearms on the table. He felt like taking out a notebook to jot down notes, but this whole thing should be recorded, and he could do that later.

The central monitor, the huge 300-centimeter screen, showed the Hero Commission’s situation room. Hawks could see the old lady and Chief Nakamura inside, sitting at one end of the long executive table. The main door opened, and both of them looked up.

A woman with blue skin and an expensive skirt-suit walked in. Her purple hair cascaded down the back of her unusually severe clothing. She was familiar to Hawks, but the name slipped his mind. She was a journo, the head of some big company – somebody Hawks knew to be on his best behavior around.

“Oh…” Nedzu whispered, almost pained, as if it hurt him just to say that much. “Oh, my…”

“Ms. Kizuki,” All Might said, similarly soft.

The name clicked, and Hawks let out a shudder.

Chitose Kizuki. Executive Director of Shueisha’s news division. Not the biggest news source in Japan, but easily one of its most influential media sources. This woman had access to the reading material of tens of millions, every single week. How many people read Shonen Jump? How many could have been propagandized over the years? A tenth of Japan? A quarter? A half?

If she was a high-level defector from the Meta Liberation Army… who could their leader be? How deep were their ties?

“Shit,” All Might whispered in English, as Kizuki sat down at the table, across from the old lady and Chief Nakamura.

“Chitose Kizuki,” the old lady said, her voice echoing slightly in the monitoring room’s speakers. “I’d say it's nice to meet you, but we both know that’s not true.”

“In any other circumstance, perhaps it would be,” Kizuki said, folding her hands in front of her.

“No more packets for me?” the old lady asked, her expression still grim and focused.

“Some information should never be printed out,” Kizuki replied. “Would you like a fancy letter? It would still be my word, at the end of the day.”

“Verbal, then,” Chief Nakamura said, leaning forward. “Very well. Chitose Kizuki, under the laws of Japan, I must inform you that you are being recorded. Today is the seventeenth of May, and the time is three twenty-five. Present are myself, Commissioner-General Nakamura, President Kinoshita of the Hero Public Safety Commission, and Chitose Kizuki, informant on the Meta Liberation Army.”

“Defector,” Kizuki said, in an unhurried tone of voice. “I am no longer a part of the Meta Liberation Army, and I will not return to them in any way, shape, or form, to act as your informant.”

“Defector, then,” Nakamura said. “For the sake of the recording, please repeat the information you have conveyed to law enforcement by courier.”

Kizuki smiled, and leaned back in her chair. It wasn’t a pretty smile – in fact, Hawks was almost disturbed to look at it.

“She’s nervous,” Nedzu said quietly, in that dim little monitoring room, two floors down from the ongoing discussion. “Not a practiced expression, not a natural one. Unconscious hesitation.”

“The Meta Liberation Army is alive,” Kizuki told them, and somehow, hearing the slightly echoing words in that dim, dark room brought it home to Hawks in a way that the written note hadn’t. This wasn’t a joke, wasn’t some training exercise on old case files.

“Your message said that it had infiltrated numerous parts of Japanese society,” Nakamura said. “Please, identify them.”

“They have eyes and ears in many places,” Kizuki said. “Some small number of Professional Heroes, not more than a few dozen. Soldiers in the JSDF, a few thousand true believers, and approximately twenty thousand of any level.”

“Any ‘level’?” old lady Kinoshita asked, taking up the questioning. “Expand on that, please. We’ll return to the followers later.”

“The MLA controls information in a pyramid scheme,” Kizuki said. “The lowest level is the most numerous, has the least information. The highest is the least numerous, and has the most. First level is comprised of anyone who has ever donated to any money-laundering apparatus of the Army, or attended any meeting. The second level are those who have attended multiple meetings. The third are those that have shown an interest in the beliefs and philosophy, and are potentially worth recruiting. The fourth level are those entrusted with a copy of the MLA’s Bible.”

“Which is?” old lady Kinoshita asked.

“Destro’s autobiography, of course,” Kizuki said, with a sick grimace, as if the words themselves were vile to her. “It’s publicly available, so it’s not too surprising of a gift, and we – they – tell the recruits that there are some interesting points contained within.”

“I see,” Kinoshita said, slowly. “Continue.”

“The fifth level are those who have reacted well to the book, and attended enough higher level meetings without revealing any of the discussions to others,” Kizuki recounted. “Once they have been vetted, they enter the sixth level, where they are told that the MLA are followers of some of the ideas that Destro espoused. At the seventh level, they learn that the Meta Liberation Army still exists, though not what its ultimate goal is.”

“So of the JSDF soldiers, ‘any level’ means that most would not follow the MLA into a civil war, correct?” Nakamura asked.

“I couldn’t say for sure, of course,” Kizuki demurred, before pausing. “That said, the Meta Liberation Army doesn’t trust them to turn against their superiors. Before seventh level, they don’t even know the MLA exists, after all.”

“And the ‘true believers’, then?” Nakamura asked. “What level is that?”

“Tenth level,” Kizuki said. “That’s where followers of the MLA are trusted to hear the truth – or what the MLA thinks is the truth.”

“Which is?” old lady Kinoshita asked, her voice hardening.

“A peaceful transition of power isn’t possible,” Kizuki said, slowly, as if this was some old religious chant. “The government has brainwashed too many people. We can’t trust the votes, or the courts. But once we’ve removed the restrictions, everyone will see the Truth – that free Quirk use is a human right, and that it is wrong to restrict it.”

She paused, and the silence hung in the monitoring room for a moment as Nakamura and Kinoshita looked at each other. Their faces were emotionless, but it was still clear that they were not happy.

“A violent revolution, in other words,” Kizuki continued, almost whimsically. “Boiled down, it means that the MLA thinks those people are loyal enough to side with them.”

Hawks leaned back in his chair, his mind whirling, like he’d been caught in a surprise thermal off a skyscraper.

“My God…” All Might whispered in English.

“So, would you like me to go back to the MLA’s infiltrators?” Kizuki asked, casually. “Because most of the remaining ones are all true believers. The Diet is a much more… sensitive location, you understand.”

“How many?” Kinoshita asked, slightly shakier. “How many – how many followers of ‘any level’ does the Meta Liberation Army have? And how many ‘true believers’? Diet or in total?”

“We’ve got forty seats in the Diet,” Kizuki said casually, flopping a hand in the air, as if she was relaying idle schoolgirl gossip. “The Hearts and Minds Party, led by Koku Hanabata, is entirely the puppet of the Meta Liberation Army, including all the aides, staffers, Diet Members, and Hanabata himself.”

Nakamura closed his eyes, and old lady Kinoshita looked like Kizuki had just slapped her.

“As for the total numbers, maybe twelve million in total,” Kizuki continued, as if she hadn’t just said that the fifth largest political party in Japan was entirely run by a revolutionary conspiracy. “Most of that is concentrated in Japan, of course. Those outside Japan are almost entirely money-laundering schemes. Within Japan, about eight million. Perhaps a hundred and fifty thousand ‘true believers’, maybe less. Of that, about a hundred and twenty are fully trained, combat-ready ‘warriors.’ The main leader, Re-Destro as they call him, is Rikiya Yotsubashi, the CEO of Detnerat Corp.”

Neither Nakamura nor old lady Kinoshita reacted; both were still too stunned to reply. Kizuki, for her part, simply smiled and waited, folding her hands on the table once more.

“No, no, no,” Nedzu said, off to Hawks’s side, muttering to himself. “This is all wrong! She’s not negotiating, she’s giving it all away!”

“Calmly, Nedzu,” All Might urged.

“This doesn’t fit the pattern,” Nedzu replied, pointing a paw towards the screen, towards Kizuki. “She’s not negotiating for a better position for herself, but she’s giving too much away to still be a member of the MLA, and she’s not lying, she’s far too emotionally open. There’s something missing here, and I don’t know what it is – yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Kizuki said, her voice popping on the microphone. “I wish the news wasn’t so bad, but there’s no point in trying to ease you in gently.”

There was a screeching sound from the table, and Hawks jumped at the sharp, sudden noise. He glanced down and saw Nedzu standing on top of his little chair, leaning over the table with claws extending from hidden pads in his paws. He’d scraped ten jagged lines into the table, and he was glaring at Kizuki as if she’d just done something monstrous.

“Why are you telling us?” old lady Kinoshita said. There was no more calm, dispassionate control to her voice – she was harsh, almost scathing.

“Because I could die tomorrow,” Kizuki said, with a small shrug, and her eyes looked down at the expensive wooden table beneath her blue fingers. “My people are good, but the MLA might find out anyway, and send someone to silence me. There’s no benefit to either myself or to Japan for me to play coy and keep information to myself. It… it wouldn’t be right.”

“It wouldn’t be right?” Nakamura repeated, disbelievingly. “Ms. Kizuki, you said you were a high ranking member of these revolutionaries. Why on Earth would you care about what was right?”

Kizuki looked up from the table, and the casual nonchalance had vanished from her gaze. Her eyes were hard, and she glared right back at Nakamura.

“Because it is right,” Kizuki said, firmly. “Call it a philosophical difference, call it a change of heart, but I believe that there is right and there is wrong. Re-Destro is wrong. The Meta Liberation Army is wrong. You can think of me as a muck-raking heartless reporter all you want, but I’m not doing this for money. I’m not doing it for power. I’m doing this because it’s going to save people’s lives. Because it’s going to keep those maniacs from destroying anything good about Free Quirk Use.”

“Oh, give me a break,” old lady Kinoshita snapped. “You can’t tell me you genuinely believe in Free Quirk Use after all this. Which is it, Kizuki? Are you defecting from the MLA, or are you just preaching their word to us? Are you still a true believer?”

“The MLA doesn’t own Free Quirk Use,” Kizuki fired back. “The Meta Liberation Army is hypocritical, self-centered, and just plain wrong. But that has nothing to do with the philosophy. They’re not planning a revolution because they truly believe in it. They’re planning a revolution because they want power, nothing more. It’s just words to them, just a pretty mask over their ugliness. Their goals, their plans, are the complete opposite of what Free Quirk Use stands for.”

“And what,” Nakamura interrupted, laying a hand on old lady Kinoshita’s arm before she could snap back, “Does Free Quirk use stand for, Ms. Kizuki?”

“Free Quirk Use is a human right,” Kizuki declared, staring at them both defiantly. “But no human right can take precedence over the most important one – the first human right. The right to life.”

“She’s found religion,” Nedzu muttered, at Hawks’ side. “No, not that. Not quite, but it’s closer.”

“If you run around murdering people for a human right, then you’re a hypocrite,” Kizuki continued, speaking over Nedzu’s words, as she couldn’t hear them in the other room. “You don’t really care about human rights, because you’re murdering humans just for disagreeing, violating their rights. That’s what the Meta Liberation Army is. That’s what they do. They even kill their own people, their own true believers, if they think they might be exposed, even on accident! They’re nothing but a bunch of hypocrites. They could’ve left Japan. They could’ve moved to a nation that does have Free Quirk Use, and gotten everything they talk about.”

“But they didn’t,” Nakamura said, gently, coaxing her along. By his side, old lady Kinoshita was staring at Kizuki, and her face was twisted in confusion.

“No,” Kizuki said. “They didn’t. They don’t want the right to use their Quirks, Commissioner. They want power. They want to be the new Emperors, because they think that Might Makes Right. They’ve lied to every member of the MLA, to every person that truly wants the freedom to just use their damn Quirks.”

“Pretty words,” old lady Kinoshita said. “So why do I get the feeling they’re not yours?”

“Oh,” Nedzu sighed. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it earlier?”

“Because they’re not,” Kizuki answered. “I didn’t realize this on my own. Someone helped me. Someone that truly lives up to the ideals, and dragged me up to his level.”

“And who was this person?” Nakamura asked.

Nedzu jumped up on the table with a clatter, and turned to Hawks and All Might. His expression was calm, with no signs of his earlier outburst. He held a paw up to the screen, like a Shakespearian actor holding Yorick’s skull, pointing towards Kizuki.

“I can’t tell you his name, because it’s not safe, and I refuse to risk his life,” Kizuki said, unaware of the spectacle in the monitoring room two floors down. “But everything good I have done, I did because of him. Under his orders, I’ve split off from the Meta Liberation Army, and I’ve spread the word quietly, carefully. There are eight million believers of any level in Japan. My numbers are still growing, but if you want a number, maybe a million of them follow his ideals now, and not Re-Destro’s.”

“She’s still a true believer,” Nedzu told them, triumphantly. “She’s simply changed who she believes in.”

“Is there any moniker we could call him, then?” Nakamura asked, still gently, as if trying to carefully coax a wild animal down from a tree. “A code name?”

Kizuki leaned back in her chair, and visibly thought for a few moments, staring at the ceiling. Then her head came back down, and she smiled.

“You can call him… the American,” Kizuki said, her smile tugging at one corner of her mouth, turning into a smirk.

Hawks turned his head slowly, looked first at Nedzu, and then they both turned their gaze on All Might.

Chapter Text

The itching was back.

He bit his tongue, forcing down the urge to scratch his neck, his arms, his chest. It was too noticeable, too obviously abnormal.

The crowds surged around him, jostling and bumping and knocking into each other. Plenty of people, happy and joyful and chatting with each other, pretending to be good and friendly.

None of them looked into the alleys, of course. Why would they? The homeless, the destitute, the weak, they weren’t really people to these happy families, were they?

He remembered that abandonment, that scorn, like it was yesterday. He didn’t like to remember it, but it was still there, lingering, every time he went outside.

It was easier to distract himself with other worlds. New places to explore. New skills to master. New monsters to kill.

But now, after the failure of his grand reveal, even video games seemed lackluster.

He’d been planning that event for… months, was it? Not a year, no, not that long. He couldn’t remember – time had always slipped through his fingers over the years of waiting, of training, of sitting still and being bored. He’d been so excited to finally make his mark on the world… and what happened?

Nothing. Near total party wipe. All the hirelings down. No kills, no XP. All Might hadn’t even been there.

Oh, he showed up later, but as a counter-attacker. Their planned ambush focused on a small number of Heroes, but they’d drawn in too many. Even Nomu had failed. All that multi-classing and grinding to get those Quirks to fit in the same body without splitting open like a bag holding too much meat, and it was wasted.

U.A. acted like it didn’t happen. They went on to hold their Sports Festival, not mentioning the villain attack just prior to their grand event… and the public forgot about them.

The League of Villains faded out of the news cycle like they were C-tier.

The talking heads, the papers, even the forums only talked about how All Might had saved the day, again. A few days later, a week, or however long it was, and it was All Might’s students getting the attention. So much focus on baby Heroes going through internships, like they mattered somehow.

Time, effort, energy – all wasted.

What the hell was the point? Why did he even bother?

The itchiness was spreading, and he bit down again, and felt a splash of copper from his chapped lips as they split open again.

He couldn’t figure it out. Why, why, why. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard, but he just couldn’t understand it. Weeks, months of thinking about it, of trying to distract himself and failing. How long had it even been?

He stopped walking, and pulled out his phone.

What day was today? Late June? The phone screen said that today was the 8th of July. He’d lost two more weeks without even noticing.

The attack at the U.S.J., that was… fuck, that was back in April. It had been… two and a half months? Three?

Three months of stewing in his thoughts, thinking about the same damn questions.

Why did people care so much about All Might? Why didn’t they care about his League? What was it that made the people care about one, but not the other?

Why did society glorify these Heroes, when they hadn’t–

On, and on, and on, these questions rattled around in his head.

The crowd moved around him, and he looked around. Kurogiri had dropped him outside the right mall, so they had to be here. How hard could it be to find a green-haired kid like that?

Ah. There he was.

Izuku Midoriya stood off to the side of the crowd, looking down at his phone. Totally unobservant and unaware.

Perfect.

“Hey there, you’re from U.A., right?” he asked, throwing an arm over the student’s shoulder. “You’re the kid with the Quirk like All Might’s, you had that big speech to the flaming kid! Can I have your autograph?”

Midoriya bent his head and laughed sheepishly, and some part of him wanted to kill the brat right now. But he had to stuff that thought away. He needed answers, not more death. He could kill some scrubs later to get rid of the itchiness, to sate his Quirk’s urge for destruction.

“Hey, can we chat? I’ve got a couple questions, and I just know you’ll have the answers I’m looking for,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible, to keep down the racing beat of his heart.

“Oh. Uh, I dunno, I’m just a student,” Midoriya said, before turning his head, and looking right up at him.

His breath caught. Would Midoriya recognize him? He hadn’t really seen the kid during the U.S.J. attack, not with how fast those damn Heroes had arrived, but there was still a chance…

His arm was still wrapped around the green-haired student’s neck. If the kid went to scream, he could grab his neck, and threaten him to shut up. He looked so weak here, so nervous and shy – nothing at all like the kid who’d been breaking the stadium with punches just a few days ago – fuck, a month ago, not a few days.

But Midoriya didn’t react at all to his face.

“Sure, I can spare some time,” Midoriya said, smiling awkwardly.

He steered the two of them towards a nearby bench, guiding the clueless teenager by the shoulder.

“So, uh…” Midoriya started to say as they sat down, before trailing off.

“I’ve got these problems, see, and I think you’re just the right guy to answer them,” he said.

“I’ll – I’ll try my best,” Midoriya replied, firming up. “But, uh, you can probably also ask any of the licensed Heroes as well. I’m sure they’d be able to help you better than I could.”

“So humble,” he said softly, clenching his left hand, the one not hanging around the U.A. student’s shoulder. “No, they’re part of the problem that I just can’t figure out.”

“O-oh.”

“See, I’m trying to understand why people actually like Heroes,” he continued, talking over the teen’s mumblings. “Why they’re so famous. The news just can’t shut up about them.”

“Uh, well, they’re colorful and eye-catching, they’re popular with most demographics, and they do a lot of good for the community-”

“No, no, no,” he snapped, his irritation overcoming his restraint, a harshness entering his voice, “That’s not what I mean. Why is a Hero more important than anyone else? More than celebrities, or office workers, or just the average people walking around?”

“Oh!” Midoriya said, with a sudden exhale, as his eyes lit up. “You mean why they get so much more media attention than any other industry!”

“Sure, yeah,” he replied. “That. You put the words right into my mouth.”

“It’s a fascinating topic, really,” Midoriya said, his smile coming much more earnestly now. “The degree of publicity focused on Pro Heroes has always been something I’ve studied. Did you know people tend to focus on more dramatic displays of Quirks, over the actual effectiveness of captures?”

No, he hadn’t, and he didn’t really care. But the kid was answering his questions, and he looked like he was a real talker, someone that just couldn’t shut up when they got rolling on a topic, so he’d let the kid talk.

“Yeah, I do,” he lied, nodding along with the kid. “Guys like… Endeavor, right?”

“Absolutely,” Midoriya agreed, nodding back. “Endeavor tends to flare his Quirk dramatically to intimidate criminals, and even in press conference’s he’s always got it going, so he gets a bunch of attention for it. Or Gang Orca, because of his mutant-type Quirk.”

The green-haired teen paused, as if in thought, and then continued.

“I’m sorry, I started going on a tangent,” he apologized suddenly. “I’ve gotta work on that. You were talking more about just Pro Heroes in general, right? Not just the flashy ones?”

“Yeah, I guess I was,” he agreed. “Any Heroes, really. They get so much… buzz. Are other people just… not important?”

“Oh, it’s not that at all!” Midoriya said quickly, his eyes widening and his hands waving frantically. “You can’t rely on what you see in the news as a real indicator of what everyone in society actually cares about. The news is split between getting high ratings and sending their own internal messages – like corporate stations like TBS keep showing ads for Sapporo Brewing because they’re both in the Mitsui Group, or why NHK always refuses to use brand names because they’re government-run.”

“So… what, Heroes are good for their business?” he asked, trying to wrap his brain around it.

“That’s part of it, yeah,” the U.A. student agreed. “Heroes are versatile and variable, so it’s not just footage of cuffed criminals, but big area attacks, or lifting rubble off people, or all sorts of footage that a network can use. Networks can focus on the Top Ten, or on local names, or even show some Heroes further out around the nation. They get big wins at different times just naturally, so the viewers don’t get as bored with always seeing the same Hero all the time-”

“Except All Might,” he hissed. “He’s on all the time.”

“Well, of course he is, he’s the Number One!” Midoriya said, his eyes reflecting a little light off the mall’s lamps and shimmering for a moment. “People love hearing about the top guy, and All Might’s versatile himself, not just fighting archnemeses, but doing rescue work, visiting schools, all sorts of stuff!”

“But he can’t save everyone, can he?” he asked, cutting the hero student off. “He’s just one guy. He can’t be everywhere, all the time. So he does fail, but people still love him anyway.”

“Well…” Midoriya hesitated. “Yeah, I suppose. But he tries!”

“Do you think trying makes it feel better for the people that he can’t save?” he asked, looking down and staring into Midoriya’s green eyes. “And yet… people still love him. Why?”

“Is… is this the question you’re struggling with?” Midoriya asked him, slowly. He leaned back, away from his stare, but the student couldn’t get past the right arm wrapped over his shoulders, locking him in place.

“Yeah, it’s one of ‘em,” he said. “Probably one of the big ones, now that I think about it. What’s your answer, Hero?”

“I’m just a student, really,” Midoriya muttered, still trying to lean back. “But, uh, it sounds to me like it’s something personal to you? I don’t want to pry, and I’m sorry to even imply that, but it’s just so-”

“What about society, then?” he continued, talking over the mumbling from the U.A. student. “You said the news doesn’t show Heroes because it’s what society actually cares about, and that makes sense, because people don’t really care about doing the right thing, do they?”

“Uh, well-”

“I’ll give you a hypothetical, little Hero,” he hissed, the taste of copper flashing on his tongue from his split lip. “Let’s say there’s a homeless child on the side of the street. No food, no home, injured, and alone. Do you think society would care for that child? That the average citizen would care?”

“I-”

“Or do you think they’d just leave him there?” he snarled.

“Hey, Izuku,” another voice suddenly interjected, high-pitched.

He paused, and visibly slackened his grip around the U.A. student’s shoulder to keep up his disguise, and smiled up at whoever had interrupted – probably another one of the kids from Class 1-A. Still, if All Might’s little protégée hadn’t recognized him, he was probably fine.

The interrupter was a short little kid, and he was wearing business casual – slacks and a collared shirt tucked into a belt – meaning he was probably some stuck up rich kid. The type that had no idea, could never imagine what he’d lived through. The clothes were off, though; they looked slightly too small, as if the kid had suddenly had a growth spurt.

He had a tight-knit set of buns on his head – no, those were little round balls. The grape kid, he remembered now. A weakling, hadn’t even gotten past that stupid playground game in the second round of the Sports Festival.

“Ah, Mineta!” Midoriya replied, chuckling awkwardly. “I’m just helping someone out right now, uh, come back in a minute?”

But the grape-haired kid wasn’t looking at Midoriya. He was looking straight at him, black eyes locked onto red, looking at leathery skin, chapped lips, and scraggly light blue hair.

“Hello, Tenko,” Mineta said, softly.

“What did you call me?” Tomura whispered.

“Tenko Shimura,” Mineta repeated, slowly and clearly. “That’s your name, in case you’ve forgotten it.”

Tomura Shigaraki stared back at the purple-haired teenager, and his mind raced. He could still smell the drywall cracking. Could still hear the dog’s last bark. Could still see his sister’s terrified face. Could still feel the steel from the pruning shears against his face. The memories came rushing back, as they always did when his mind strayed towards them, and they locked him in place.

“I’m sorry,” Mineta said, staring at him. His expression was still, and there was barely any emotion on it – just the tiniest hint of something like guilt, long buried. “I tried to find you, and I failed.”

He could still remember the dust. Nothing but dust from the house, that’s all that was left when he was done. It practically caked his skin. He knew it was a side-effect from his Quirk, like his eyes changing color, the Doctor had told him that much, but sometimes Tomura still thought his skin was wrong because of that dust, like the ash of his family still clinging to him, like that old game he’d played.

“Shit, you look like you’re in your twenties,” Mineta said, shaking his head slowly. “I never had a chance, did I? Started the charity ten years ago, but you would’ve already been gone by then. Izuku, you’re a fucking trouble magnet, you know that, right? We’re outside of U.A. for one day, and of all the fucking people in the world to run into, you find someone I’ve been chasing for more than decade.”

“Who?” Midoriya asked, urgently, looking back and forth between Mineta and Tomura.

“Meet Tenko Shimura, grandson of Nana Shimura,” Mineta said, gesturing with one hand at Tomura. “I… heard about him, back when I was a kid. Heard he was homeless, family dead – a real sad story. I was just some stupid kid, and I thought I could help him, so I threw all my savings into trying to find him. Ran out of savings pretty fast, so I started a business to make more money. That turned into my charity, the Tenko Shimura Foundation.”

“What the hell is a charity?” Tomura asked, the words bursting out of him involuntarily, without thinking, skipping right past the surge of hate that rose in his throat when his grandmother, the Hero, was mentioned.

“It’s an organization to help people,” Mineta replied. “Feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. Shelter the homeless. Stuff like that. Not for profit, just because people should be helped.”

“Sounds fake,” Tomura hissed. “Never heard of anything like it. You’re making it up, trying to mess with me.”

“Yeah, well, Japan doesn’t have too many,” Mineta said. He shrugged, but it was fake and floppy, because his head was still locked in Tomura’s direction, and his arms were tense, probably from bottled up emotion. “It’s really more of an American thing.”

Just my luck, Tomura thought to himself. I find the kid I’m looking for, and he crit-fails his perception, and then a scripted encounter comes up before I can finish it.

Charity? Who the fuck thinks that way? And this midget little teenager, this fucking child, pretending that he was trying to help him? That he’d known about Tomura being on the streets, cold, alone, beaten by thugs, and that he tried to help, but oh, he just couldn’t pull it off, because he was too late.

Cry me a river.

“How common are these things, in America?” Tomura asked, with forced idleness, acting like he was genuinely curious.

“Pretty common,” Mineta said, just as idle. “One in almost every town. Dozens in the cities, sometimes hundreds. Some are private, some are religious, and some are government run. It’s a different culture over there. More about the individuals, less about the group. Kinda alien to Japan, but then, Japan’s pretty alien to America.”

This Mineta kid was a failure, just like All Might, but he didn’t know who Tomura really was. Mineta thought he was some homeless kid that he’d failed to help. He didn’t know Tomura was the leader of the League of Villains, that he’d killed dozens. He could play this off as a chance encounter, make his escape, and get away.

He didn’t need to talk to Midoriya any more, to mine the vein of thought that the green-haired student had displayed at the Sports Festival – he had all the answers he needed.

What had society done to help him? Forget the Heroes, they were all wastes anyway, but they were just a part of the problem.

What about society? Everyone else, beyond just the Heroes, beyond the police. The ‘average citizens’, who’d walked past him in their hundreds, every day of his torment, ignoring him or glancing briefly before looking away in disgust or fear.

Only a single person had even stepped towards him, before Sensei had found him on that street. An old woman, and she’d gotten just close enough to see his face, and then she’d made her excuses about how someone else would help him, a policeman or a Hero or someone with authority.

That was the problem, the real problem. Society had conditioned all these people into unthinking drones. See someone untouchable? Don’t touch them, it’s not your place. See someone hurt? Don’t help them, it’s not your job. See a criminal? Don’t chase them, that’s for the Heroes.

The whole damn thing was like… stone. People were petrified, paralyzed, wrapped in vines, and they didn’t dare step out of place.

And the Heroes… they enforced it. They pulled away the dreamers, the people who would shake things up, and they taught them to police the streets, to monitor the hallways, to guard the invisible barriers of society.

Even the kid who failed to help him, but who had at least tried, was sucked into their personality cult. Even Mineta was training to be a Hero, throwing away that tiny little glimmer of goodness in him.

The whole thing was rotten – from top to bottom.

“Well, I’m touched that you tried to help me,” Tomura said, unable to keep all the insincerity out of his voice. “But I’m doing alright now, so, if it’s fine, I think I’ll head on out.”

He pulled his arm off Midoriya’s shoulder, and stood up, slowly, keeping his eyes on both of them.

“Thank you so much, Izuku Midoriya,” Tomura said, no longer trying to do anything to change his voice or his tone. “You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.”

“You’re… welcome?” Midoriya said, slowly, standing up as well, and taking a small step back.

“Hey, Izuku, come here for a minute,” Mineta said, beckoning him over.

The green haired U.A. student backed up, bowed to Tomura, and walked over to Mineta, still half-facing Tomura.

“I’m gonna write this down as my first successful hostage negotiation,” Mineta said, almost casually, as Midoriya reached him – before pulling one of his hair-balls off his head, still staring at Tomura.

Oh. He wasn’t tense from emotion. He was tense because he was expecting a fight.

“Hostage negotiation?” Midoriya repeated, alarmed, as he glanced back at Tomura.

He knows who I am, Tomura thought, as a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

“Did you seriously not recognize him, Izuku?” Mineta said, snappishly, with no trace of his previously pleasant behavior. “That’s the leader of the League of Villains. He attacked the U.S.J., you fuckin’ remember that?”

Midoriya turned to face Tomura, his feet shifting into a stance, and his fists raised. His expression was confused, and more than a little scared, but there was something like determination in that expression too.

“Don’t fucking punch him, you goddamn idiot!” Mineta barked, grabbing Midoriya and trying to pull the much taller teenager backwards ineffectually. “His Quirk disintegrates things!”

“You know, I was going to let you two go,” Tomura said, slowly. “But oh, you just had to be the Hero, didn’t you?”

“Wait, really?” Mineta asked, in what sounded like genuine surprise, as a pained, surprised expression flashed across his face briefly. “Fuckin’ – shit. Shit shit shit!”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Tomura purred, leaning forward.

“FIRE!” Mineta screamed, bizarrely, as he started running backwards, hurling the ball in his hand towards Tomura and reaching for more.

Tomura leapt forward, dodging the thrown ball, and extending a hand towards Midoriya, who hadn’t moved with his friend and was going to die for it.

Midoriya, who, as Tomura ran towards him, was raising one hand, bracing with the other, and preparing to flick a finger.

Oh. Shit, Tomura thought distantly, remembering the Sports Festival – and then the world was nothing but wind and sound and pain.

He lost his footing nearly instantly, and the ground vanished beneath him as he flew backwards. His eyes were too blurry from the sudden rush of raw air pressure to see anything, but the back of his thighs rammed into something, hard, and stopped them dead – while the rest of his body kept flying backwards.

It was the bench, Tomura realized in an instant, just before his torso went horizontal. It was the same damn bench that he’d guided Midoriya too, and had just been sitting on for five minutes.

Then his head slammed into the dirt and a bunch of ferns smacked his face as he went flying ass over teakettle into, and over, the planter. He clipped the enormous support beam in the center as he went, and it felt like half his ribs took the blow.

“Alright,” Tomura hissed, as he climbed to his feet, grabbing onto the support beam as he did. “Everyone’s going to die.”

The painted metal of the support beam groaned, and like so many things before it, started fracturing and chipping as it started disintegrating, decaying into nothing but dust.

That’s when the screams started – high-pitched, shrill, and more than just one, so it wasn’t just Mineta. The enormous banners that had been hanging from the support beam fell to the ground with a thunderous sound, drawing people’s eyes and ears. As Tomura stood, he saw dozens, maybe hundreds of people in the Kiyashi Shopping Mall staring over in his direction, and plenty of the closer people looked terrified.

Oh, yes… now this felt like something real to him. The itchiness from before was fading away, now that he was using his Quirk again.

Something smacked him in the face, and Tomura growled. It clung there, and he reached up and grabbed it, decaying it into dust nearly instantly.

“Was that a grape?” he asked, looking down at the quickly vanishing lump of purple.

“They’re dodgeballs, asshole!” came a yell from Mineta, who was still steadily backpedaling, throwing more grapes. “HEY, IDIOTS! RUN! THAT’S A VILLAIN! STOP GAWKING AND RUN, GODDAMMIT!”

“Somebody call the Heroes!” yelled someone from the crowd.

Tomura dove off the planter and rolled as he hit the ground, just as another thunderous torrent of wind and pressure roared right over his head from Midoriya’s second shot, missing him entirely.

“I’ve got him!” came a male voice from the side. “Get away, kids, I’ve got this!”

“No, wait!” Mineta cried out, desperate.

A man in a bright bodysuit came barreling out of the crowd, and lunged at Tomura with a punch. A Pro Hero, probably walking the crowd for publicity tours.

Tomura slipped the punch easily, since the Pro Hero had been over-extending, pulling his left shoulder back to avoid the blow and winding up for a strike of his own at the same time, then un-twisting and unloading on the Hero as his punch missed – slapping him right across the face with all five fingers.

There was a burning smell, like meat on a stove, and the Pro Hero’s bodysuit peeled off as his head melted back, revealing flesh and bone and brains flaking away like ash and dust.

Tomura didn’t even follow through – just split-second of contact from the slap was enough, as the dead Pro Hero hit the ground with a thump.

He smiled, wide, and looked out at the crowd for a moment, and then laughed, loud and harsh. Then he turned, looking right back at the two retreating U.A. students, and took off running after them.

“Clear the area!” came another voice from the crowd, as the screams increased and they ran away from Tomura like a school of fish fleeing a shark.

Tomura was gaining on Midoriya and Mineta, and then another Pro Hero emerged from the crowd, in a bodysuit of the same white and blue coloration as the first one. Partners, maybe.

This one didn’t make the same mistake as his dead friend, and didn’t lunge and over-extend, but he was still closing into hand-to-hand distance. The Pro Hero dodged Tomura’s first swipe and planted a jab right into his chapped face, knocking Tomura’s head back – then Tomura’s off-hand grabbed onto the Pro Hero’s arm, and bodysuit, flesh, and bone disintegrated, rubbing off like chalk on a blackboard.

But even as the Pro Hero lost his right arm, his left followed up, ramming an uppercut straight into Tomura’s stomach.

Tomura wheezed, and nearly lost his lunch. He hadn’t braced for the blow – who the hell would go in for a second punch when they were dying?!

Then, as the second Pro Hero dropped to the ground in front of him, his torso peeling away like broken chips off a keyboard, a third Pro Hero in the same bodysuit emerged out of the crowd.

Then a fourth, and fifth, all came running out of the crowd as it peeled back, all wearing the same suit.

“Clear the area!” one of them yelled, directing his attention to the crowd. “Get back, this Villain is lethal!”

“The hell is this?” Tomura said, as he caught his breath. “Are you duping?!”

More of the same Pro Hero appeared – five of them now, all pulling out nightsticks and batons from their costume, with grim looks on the jawline beneath the half-helmet they wore as they spread out around Tomura in a fan-shape, blocking his exit. As Tomura watched, one of them blurred, as if going out of focus, and one Pro Hero became two, duplicating right in front of his eyes.

“Fuck this,” Tomura said, spitting on the floor. “Fuck all of you! Now DIE!”

The Pro Heroes braced, waiting for him to charge, and Tomura grinned wildly as he dropped to one knee and smacked the multi-colored, generic floor tile on the ground. He saw one of the Pro Heroes swear just before the tile started disintegrating beneath them.

Three of the clones charged, and the rest stayed back. They tried to jump the disintegration wave as it raced past them, and two of them even made it, but the third lost his footing and crashed to the ground.

Of course, beneath the tile was something else – concrete. It was a problem of Tomura’s: he could only disintegrate one thing at a time. The fake tiles were a solid layer, but still separate from the concrete flooring beneath it.

…But the concrete, so freshly revealed, was an enormous smooth, continuous slab. And what was beneath that, he wondered.

Tomura lifted his hand up, then pressed it to the ground a second time, onto the slab. The wave of disintegrating tiles slowed and stopped, and the bare concrete started to crumble away.

Two of the charging Pro Heroes had almost reached him when the concrete rumbled, and just like when he’d destroyed his childhood home, erupted, sending waves of dirt, concrete and more into the air, like a miniature earthquake.

The first of the clones was caught between two concrete chunks as they were launched up from the sudden wave of mis-matched pressure, and was crushed beneath them.

The second one, the one that tripped, was barely on his knees before the concrete decayed underneath him, and he vanished, falling below the mall, into a tangle of pipes and rebar and dark spaces – but there was no dirt, for beneath the Kiyashi Shopping Mall was a gap, a void – a sinkhole in the making.

The third clone, who’d almost made it to Tomura, leapt frantically over the wave a second time, and came flying down to attack him with a baton – and Tomura simply smiled at him, and raised his off-hand, catching the Pro Hero in the chest like a bird crashing into a nail, killing him before the hasty and mis-aimed blow could land.

Now for the fear, Tomura thought. Show them that their little society is going to crumble, and there’s nothing their Heroes can do about it.

Tomura kept his hand pressed to the ground, keeping the disintegration wave going, reaching the far side of the mezzanine and crumbling storefronts, past where the first wave of disintegration had stopped. He started laughing, loud and proud, sending peals of laughter across the mall.

“Thank you, Midoriya!” he yelled, as loudly as he could over the wave of destruction, the sound of concrete and tile crashing together, of people screaming and running, of sirens blaring. “And thank you too, Mineta! None of this would have happened without you!”

With that said, Tomura reached back into his black hoodie with his off-hand, and grabbed his burner phone. He hit the speed-dial, and within seconds, a black inky portal bloomed into being behind him, like a flower unfurling before the springtime sun.

Tomura rose up from the ground, and waved at backs of the running crowd – and at that duping cloner – and stepped back without looking, into the safety of Kurogiri’s portal.

Chapter Text

Nedzu smiled broadly as his old student walked into the penthouse office at U.A.

“Welcome, welcome,” he greeted, moving over to the door and extending his hand to shake. “How have you been, Echo?”

“Good, Nedzu-sensei,” Temura Takao responded, nodding to him before setting his costume’s helmet down on the coatrack.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Nedzu said, waving his hand absently as he walked back to his desk. “You’re quite the successful Pro yourself, there’s no need for modesty any more. Have some confidence!”

“Of course, sir,” Takao said, smiling slightly as they both settled down into chairs on either side of the desk.

“As I told you over the phone, I’m interested in the events that happened at Kiyashi Ward,” Nedzu said, pouring some tea for both of them. “I’m told that the damages are still being assessed, but aside from you, there were thankfully no fatalities. Honestly, the Commission shouldn’t have removed you from the recovery efforts, but you know how they worry about your deaths.”

“I understand it,” Takao said, picking up his cup and holding it firmly, perhaps a little too firmly given the slight tremble in the tea. “Still, the fact that no one died in all that rubble is reassuring.”

“Technically speaking, there were five deaths,” Nedzu pointed out. “How many does that bring you to, Echo?”

“Twenty,” Takao replied, grimacing for a moment. “Before this, the most I’d gotten in a single incident was…”

The incident with the now deceased eye-laser villain, of course. But Takao couldn’t quite say it, and his grimace grew heavier as Nedzu refrained from talking. Twenty, indeed. His own count had put Takao at thirteen or fourteen – perhaps there were a few more childhood incidents than the Pro Hero had admitted back in his school days? Or were they from off-the-books training with his ‘friends’?

Twenty deaths sounded like quite a lot, but part of the fighting style of Pro Hero Echo was that he would gladly die to defend the innocent. If he’d had a different Quirk, he almost certainly would have had a different perspective and fighting style, and not thrown himself into the fray quite so much… but then, the slightest differences in a young person could make quite astounding changes in the long run, so that wasn’t much of a surprise, was it?

Still, of the twenty ‘deaths’ of Temura Takao’s clones over time, a quarter had been in this one incident, and in less than a minute. Shigaraki’s Quirk was terrifying, indeed. An escalation of force, and at precisely the wrong time, with All Might’s gradual wane only getting worse and worse now that he had transferred All For One to young Midoriya.

After a few moments, Takao cleared his throat, and looked up from the desk.

“Do we have numbers of injuries?” he asked, moving on.

“Twelve injured,” Nedzu said, “Eleven, if you discount Class 1-A’s Midoriya.”

“I did notice them there,” Takao commented, sipping from his tea. “Looked to me like they were close by to Tomura Shigaraki when he attacked.”

“Worse,” Nedzu replied, shaking his head. “They were talking to him just before the attack.”

“What?” Takao asked, setting his tea down quickly, sloshing a little of it out of the cup. “I didn’t hear that.”

“The HPSC is still working on the report, and haven’t released it yet,” Nedzu said, unruffled by the sudden movement. “Of course, since it involved two of U.A.’s students, they brought me onto the debriefings. It was quite interesting.”

“Idiots…” Takao muttered. “Please, tell me they weren’t trying to take down a Villain like that on their own. I don’t know this Midoriya, but when Mineta interned at my office, he wasn’t stupid enough to do that.”

“Ah, yes… Mineta,” Nedzu said, slowly, taking a nice, long sip of his tea before he replied. “I’m afraid he actually caused most of the problem.”

Takao closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled. He still hadn’t picked up his tea, Nedzu noted internally. It was probably just Takao treating this as nothing but a work conversation, and being unable to balance that with the enjoyment of good tea… but then, half the reason he had poured tea for this meeting was to see how Takao would respond to it, and perhaps it was just his own annoyance that Takao was unintentionally depriving him of that indicator of the man’s mood? Or perhaps it was intentional?

“Go on,” Takao said, after a moment. “How bad was it?”

“Midoriya didn’t recognize Shigaraki at all,” Nedzu said. “They didn’t cross paths during the League of Villain’s attack on the U.S.J., likely due to how fast our initial response was. Mineta, however, did recognize Shigaraki. He claims that he thought Midoriya was a hostage, and tried to extract Midoriya from the villain’s grasp.”

“Not a bad idea, but he should have known that hostage negotiations are incredibly difficult, and he was absolutely unprepared for it,” Takao said, pursing his lips. “If he’d done things even slightly differently, Midoriya could have died.”

“Oh, we’ve made that quite clear to him,” Nedzu told Takao, nodding. “I believe his teacher plans to make it even more clear to Mineta over the next term. But it’s fortunate that we’re talking about Mineta, because I’ve got a few more questions about him, and since he interned with you before coming to U.A., perhaps you could help me with those questions?”

Nedzu smiled at Takao, and watched carefully as Takao’s face tightened very slightly. It would have been completely unnoticeable, if he hadn’t been sitting just a few feet from the man and watching specifically for those reactions.

Ah, interesting, Nedzu thought to himself, taking another sip of tea.

“You see, I’ve recently been informed about a list of names floating around the Hero Public Safety Commission and the National Police Agency,” Nedzu continued, drawing things out just slightly to see if he could get Takao’s façade to crack a little more.

“Oh?” Takao asked, not showing any signs of recognition, either obviously or subtly.

“Yes, a list of defectors,” Nedzu replied, smiling broadly. “Quite the political coup that Ms. Kizuki has executed. You must be very proud of her, right now.”

“Kizuki?” Takao repeated, blinking and looking confused. “You mean Chitose Kizuki?”

“Of course, dear Echo,” Nedzu said, keeping his face as calm as possible. “After all, it’s not often that a Lieutenant in the Meta Liberation Army does anything as bold as defecting, much less decides to bring a large portion of such a covert criminal group with her.”

This, at last, broke Takao’s mask of normalcy, and the man stared at Nedzu for a moment, his jaw loosening and his mouth hanging open slightly. He’d just started to pick up his tea again, too, and there was a harsh clang as the teacup smacked into the saucer.

“Careful, now,” Nedzu chided gently. “There’s no need to do that to good tea.”

“I – but-” Takao started to say, before cutting himself off, and going back to staring at Nedzu, almost dumbstruck.

The Pro Hero’s eyes flicked to the corners of the ceiling, and Nedzu almost wanted to praise him, for thinking of the best placement for turrets. He wasn’t right, of course, because Nedzu hadn’t put the turrets in those exact spots for that very reason, but he got some credit for thinking about the possibility in the first place. So many didn’t.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Nedzu said, smiling that pleasant little bureaucratic mask again. “Ms. Kizuki was very persuasive, and we are quite confident that you are, indeed, a Professional Hero in good standing – if, perhaps, under a tiny bit of suspicion.”

“Chitose told you?” Takao blurted out, his expression changing from resembling a man struck over the head with an electron microscope, to, say, someone who was merely flabbergasted at the sight of a lab animal unlocking his own cage.

“Indeed!” Nedzu replied, his smile widening a little too far, perhaps into something that would not be reassuring to a human. “She was very insistent that we not punish anyone on her list. After all, you’re one of the good ones, the ones who decided to leave the MLA, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but how – how on earth did she do that?” Takao asked, as he untensed some of the muscles he’d clenched, apparently unconsciously.

“In dramatic fashion,” Nedzu replied, an air of wistfulness almost entering his voice before he caught it. “But, you see, that leaves me with quite a problem on my hands. You’re on the list, and Chitose Kizuki is on that list, but I’m afraid I don’t happen to see the name Minoru Mineta anywhere on that list.”

Nedzu set his cup of tea down in its saucer, and let his smile drop entirely from his face as he folded his hands over the desk. Takao, for his part, didn’t react anywhere near as dramatically as he had before – though, for such a normally reserved man, it was still a novel thing to see that kind of reaction, and somewhat nostalgic to Nedzu.

Still, there was some kind of reaction there, buried beneath the man’s expression. Some gears ticking away, some alarms blaring, for Nedzu could see his eyes widen just slightly, as panic re-entered his system.

“I fear that I must be a tad more blunt than usual,” Nedzu said, apologizing slightly. “Minoru Mineta interned with you before he tested for U.A.’s Hero class. He had two interviews with Ms. Kizuki prior to attending U.A., and now that the Commission and NPA have added me to the investigation, I’ve dug up numerous instances of the two of them dining together in Akihabara over the years, averaging one working lunch every two to three months over ten years.

“So, Echo… is Minoru Mineta a member of the Meta Liberation Army?”

Nedzu stared at Takao, and sure enough, there was a visceral, emotional reaction at his words – but yet, Takao’s reaction was nothing like what Nedzu had expected.

Instead of surprise, or astonishment, all of the panic vanished from Temura Takao’s expression almost instantly. In its place was fear, horror, and shock. Takao, for one brief moment, was terrified.

Then, with a trained reaction, the man’s face clamped shut, and his features shifted into a grim set. His jaws clenched, his brow furrowed, and he leaned forward. Intensity filled his frame, and instead of a fit Japanese man in his mid-30’s, there sat the Professional Hero Echo, recent inductee to the Top 100 Heroes of Japan.

“No,” Echo said to Nedzu, locking eyes with him and not budging an inch. “Minoru Mineta is not, and has never been a member of the Meta Liberation Army. He was a candidate for recruitment, but he did not join.”

“Excellent,” Nedzu replied, keeping his own gaze matched with Echo’s. “You understand, of course, why I was so concerned. It was a shock to see your own name on that list, given that I was under the temporary impression that the MLA may have infiltrated a number of public institutions, but that U.A. had been immune to such things. I don’t enjoy thinking about that possibility, but if I must, I will root out any such influences in my garden before they spread.”

“Mineta believes some of the same things that the MLA does,” Echo said. “That’s why he was a candidate for recruitment in the first place – Chitose saw something in him in their first meeting, and was grooming him for years to join.”

“From the very beginning?” Nedzu said, taken aback slightly. “He was only six when she first met him. Whatever she must have seen, it would have been faint.”

“Chitose saw it in him instantly,” Echo said, shaking his head. “Principal Nedzu, you’ve got to understand, Mineta was a target of special interest for Chitose from the start. She was not trying to recruit him as a warrior, she thought he would be leadership material.”

“He was a six year old,” Nedzu repeated himself, narrowing his gaze slightly at Echo. “Forgive me, but I think Ms. Kizuki may be retroactively upgrading her assessment of the boy, and pretending she saw it from the start. And, of course, there’s some degree of doubt that must be cast because of your own relationship with her.”

“My what?” Echo said, rearing back out of his forward leaning posture, his expression surprised.

“Your relationship with Ms. Kizuki, of course,” Nedzu repeated, smiling gently. “Naturally, my theory from the U.S.J. had to be revised slightly when I learned that you were both in the Meta Liberation Army, but obviously you’ve been dating for some time, given that she called you in to protect Mineta during that incident. At first, it wasn’t too clear, since you’d obviously never been associated together in public, but, well, it’s no surprise that a fast rising corporate journalist like Ms. Kizuki would want to keep secret the fact she was dating a Professional Hero.”

“I’m not dating Chitose,” Takao said, a slight tremor in his voice that undercut the firmness of the statement.

“You’re not?” Nedzu asked, raising an eyebrow and frowning slightly. “So, she only called you to the U.S.J. because you were a Hero tied to the Meta Liberation Army? It simply doesn’t fit. There are two other Professional Heroes that were both closer to our facility and also members of the MLA.”

“She called me because she trusted me,” Echo said, his professional demeanor coming back. “Chitose tried to recruit Mineta four months ago, after he took the U.A. admissions test. Mineta turned her down, and it shook her up. She called me in the aftermath, and-”

“Go back,” Nedzu urged, cutting Echo off. “She tried to recruit him after he tested with us? Not prior to that, when he could be trained up by the MLA to excel at the tests? Not after classes started, when he was – ah, no, she wouldn’t do it then, because he would have already committed to a career of heroism, and would have the direct phone numbers of several Heroes. Still, that’s very interesting-”

“Nedzu,” Echo snapped, interrupting him. “Listen, this is important. Mineta didn’t just turn Chitose down, he outright yelled at her. He attacked the MLA’s beliefs, their dogma, and told Chitose that she was wrong for supporting them. She called me a couple days later because she hadn’t slept that whole time, and she couldn’t decide whether or not to kill Mineta.”

Nedzu sucked in a breath between clenched teeth with a hiss. True, it was only logical, given the need to plug any leak for an organization that had preserved their secrecy for so long, against the very enemy that Mineta was joining… but the boy was Nedzu’s to protect. Even then, before the results had been tallied and admissions letters sent out, he had come to U.A. to try to be a Hero, and if the MLA had killed him then… Nedzu wasn’t sure exactly what he would do, and whether it would fall in the bounds of any limits – legal, moral, or his own self-imposed boundaries.

“It must have thrown her for quite a loop,” Nedzu said, thinking out loud as his brain raced ahead. “She’d built up a relationship with him for ten years, to try to make him susceptible to her beliefs – but the whole time, she was victim to the same thing, unknowingly growing more attached to him.”

“Yes, yes,” Echo said, impatiently. “She’s got the whole thing recorded. You need to ask her about this, because if she hasn’t already, she needs to share that video with the HPSC and the NPA. She told him everything, Nedzu! She didn’t give the names of the leadership, but she explained exactly what they think, why they think it. It’s the perfect short introduction to the MLA, and that information is worth gold right now. It could help pull more people away from the MLA.”

“She told us the names of the leadership,” Nedzu told Echo, almost absently, as his mind whirled and spun, plucking at strings on the enormous ball of yarn that Echo had handed him – before pulling himself away from those questions, that burning need to know, and focused back on the task at hand. “Don’t worry about how many people are leaving the MLA – Ms. Kizuki has pulled a million, maybe more, from the MLA.”

“I knew they were big, but I didn’t know they were that big,” Echo muttered.

“Why did you join?” Nedzu asked, the question slipping out before he could really think about it. “You were always a good student. You took the job seriously. You still do. Why join the MLA?”

“Because I thought it was self-defense,” Echo replied, grimacing. “You remember what the Commission was like under the last President. I might not have had a license at the time, but I grew up seeing some of it. Sometimes, they went too far. The MLA played on that – everyone they sent at me was reasonable. We were just worried about if the government went too far. I didn’t realize what it really was until I watched the video of Chitose telling Mineta. That’s when the curtain came down.”

“I can’t imagine it was an easy thing to discover,” Nedzu said. “But I’m curious about that. The HPSC wasn’t the best back in those days, true, but-”

“Nedzu, please, let’s try to focus,” Echo said, his tone firm. “We don’t have time for tangents. You were asking about Mineta.”

“Yes, but you’ve answered my questions quite satisfactorily,” Nedzu said, in a reassuring tone. “I trust that there’s nothing more to be worried about, in regards to Mineta.”

“No, there still is!” Echo barked. “You said this was Chitose defecting, yes? That she’s been recruiting people away from the MLA?”

“Yes,” Nedzu answered, taken aback.

“Chitose is a follower, Nedzu,” Echo said, aggressively. “Mineta told her to screw off, and she had a clear procedure to follow: kill any potential leaks! And yet, she still hesitated and looked around for someone to tell her what to do. I know her – Chitose wouldn’t do this on her own!”

That did fit with what he’d seen, back in the HPSC’s headquarters, those few weeks ago. Chitose Kizuki was a true believer, that was unquestionable. She had merely decided that Re-Destro was not worthy of her worship, and picked someone else.

“She did mention someone else,” Nedzu said, slowly. “She claimed she was doing everything on behalf of a hidden leader – she called him ‘the American’.”

Echo’s eyes widened, and a surge of some emotion built up. His neck and shoulders tensed, popping out veins as if he was lifting a great weight.

“Obviously a pseudonym, and one which I’d be very happy if you could enlighten me about,” Nedzu continued. “She said that the Diet, the HPSC, and the NPA all have moles, but she said no such thing about U.A., so if I can be a point of contact, it may be enough to reassure her fears of exposing this ‘American’ to hostile attention. If I can talk to him-”

“He’s-” Echo started to say, before biting it off, clearly frustrated. “He’s not even American!”

“Oh, so you do know!” Nedzu said, surprised. “Who is it? I’d love to talk to him.”

“You can’t talk to him right now,” Echo said, “Because two days ago, you put him on a bus to summer camp.”

A dreadful, horrible feeling hit Nedzu, like a punch to the stomach.

“Echo, this isn’t the time for joking around,” Nedzu said, slowly.

“It’s Mineta,” Echo continued, speaking over Nedzu as he stared at the diminutive Principal. “Minoru Mineta is the American.”

“That’s impossible,” Nedzu said, reflexively.

“He is the American,” Echo repeated, glaring at him. “I know it doesn’t make sense, he should be the Canadian, but she’s talking about Mineta.”

“He has shown no signs of anything like this!” Nedzu snapped, glaring right back. “The moment I learned that Chitose Kizuki was a member of a criminal group, I checked! He is one of my students, and he has shown no signs of anything like this!”

“Yes, because Chitose is an idiot, and Mineta doesn’t know he’s the American!” Echo roared at him.

Nedzu froze, his paws clenched on the desk, his claws extended, scratching thin lines into the wood.

“That’s…” he managed to say, before pausing. “That’s insane. She said she was following his orders.”

“She’s a journalist who works for a manga publisher who joined a secret cult and defected because of a fifteen year old, Nedzu, of course it’s insane,” Echo snarled, before letting out a huge exhale, and shaking his head slowly, like an old dog. “But it’s still true. Chitose’s used to hearing indirect orders like ‘take care of her’, and turning them into policies. She’s doing the same thing here.”

Echo sighed, and took a moment to run his hands down his face.

“This is why you need to let me speak,” Echo said, pleadingly. “You can go over all these tangents later, but this really matters, so just let me say it!”

“So say it,” Nedzu replied instinctively. “I’m sorry, I’ll listen.”

“When Chitose tried to recruit Mineta, he told her that she was wrong,” Echo said, repeating his earlier words. “She thought Mineta was the perfect recruit. He didn’t say that she was wrong because Free Quirk Use is stupid, or because the MLA was insane for even wanting it. Mineta said she was wrong because the Meta Liberation Army wasn’t good enough for Free Quirk Use. Because Re-Destro was doing more damage to the cause than anything else.”

“Oh,” Nedzu whispered, as the pieces started to fall into place.

“I watched the entire video, Nedzu,” Echo continued. “Mineta never dismissed her ideas, he never told her she was wrong to think that way. He told her that she was doing it wrong. That she was a hypocrite, and so was the entire MLA.”

“They weren’t pure enough,” Nedzu murmured.

“Exactly,” Echo said, firmly. “Mineta’s a kid, so he can’t have understood what this meant to her. He doesn’t realize what he did.”

“He tore down her prophet,” Nedzu said.

“More than that,” Echo said. “You remember the U.S.J.? You remember how Mineta got out, and called you?”

“And then he called her,” Nedzu said.

“He called her because he thought that she did it, Nedzu,” Echo said, grinding the words out. “He called her up, she denied it, and he told her that if he got so much as a hint that the MLA was behind it, he was going to burn it to the ground before it could harm Free Quirk Use.”

“Oh my God,” Nedzu said, the rare human expression coming to his lips instinctively. “He swore to die before he let anyone harm their cause. He claimed to be more devoted than she was - more devoted than Re-Destro was. He didn’t tear down Re-Destro. He replaced him.”

“That’s what Chitose told me, and I think that’s what she must have heard,” Echo said, nodding in confirmation.

“If she told you this, why didn’t you do anything sooner?” Nedzu asked, staring at him. “We could have known this months ago.”

“Because I haven’t talked to Chitose since the U.S.J.,” Echo said. “The past two months, I’ve been focusing on cleaning up everything I can. My entire agency is full of true believers, Nedzu. This didn’t just shake up Chitose’s life, it shook up the lives of everyone who was tricked. I’ve been keeping my sidekicks from bouncing between depressive slumps and manic thoughts of suicide attacks on the MLA. I’ve been trying to get their lives back into a steady balance, while doing the same thing to myself! I thought Chitose was doing the same thing on her end! If I had known that she dove headfirst into this insanity, I would have dragged her away from it as fast as I could!”

“Chitose’s helped a lot of people, with what she’s done,” Nedzu said, almost idly, more out of lingering shock than any emotional calmness. “It’s commitment, of a sort.”

“It’ll get her committed to an insane asylum if she keeps it up!” Echo shot back. “This isn’t healthy for her. She’s just as unbalanced as she was when Mineta tore her prophet into ribbons, and she thinks a fifteen year old is a good replacement. She’s gonna do something stupid, if she hasn’t already. She’s still living in the same mindset as that night.”

“And just like that night, are you going to step in and help?” Nedzu asked, his black, beady eyes fixed on Echo’s. “With how well that worked last time?”

“Last time, I screwed up,” Echo told him, meeting his gaze evenly. “I was just as emotionally distraught as she was, and I took it out on her, just like Mineta did. Mineta’s a teenager, but I’ve got no excuse. I’m going to go talk to her, and I’m going to try to make her realize this is a horrible idea, before Mineta asks for sushi and half a million people bury him in a pile of tuna rolls.”

Echo paused, and exhaled.

“And then,” he continued, “I’m going to talk to Mineta, and explain everything that’s happened. He deserves to know, before this hurts him any more than it already has. I’m going to get all three of us in a room, and we’re going to talk about this like civilized adults. It’s not going to be fun, and it’s not going to be easy, but this miscommunication needs to stop before it gets any worse.”

“Ms. Kizuki was highly concerned about Mineta’s wellbeing,” Nedzu noted. “Both at the U.S.J., and when she dropped all of this on us. She’s worried about assassination attempts.”

“She’s… not wrong to do so,” Echo admitted. “The MLA plug any leaks before they can get word out. That’s part of why Chitose’s actions are a bad idea, because she’s putting everyone who leaves under the same risk. But Mineta will likely be at the most risk, because he turned Chitose against Re-Destro.”

“I can send a team of Heroes, cleared by the HPSC and NPA, to pick him up from the training camp,” Nedzu said slowly, in a thoughtful tone. “But I think that would be a mistake. It would single him out for attention, not just among his peers and teachers, but also to anyone watching U.A. – which is not a small group of people, and many of which are certainly doing it for immoral reasons.”

“That camp’s only a week or two, if I remember right,” Echo said, in an agreeable tone of voice. “It should be fine. We can schedule a meeting. Tuesday, the twenty-fourth… one in the afternoon?”

“I’ll clear my schedule,” Nedzu said, nodding. “I think it would be best if it was just you, Ms. Kizuki, and Mineta for the first meeting, but I will be meeting with him on my own afterwards, and I’m sure that President Kinoshita and Commissioner-General Nakamura will want the same thing later on. For now, it would be detrimental to overwhelm him instantly with this.”

“What a mess,” Echo sighed, slumping backwards in his chair and placing his hands on his face again. “At least for now, he’s safe at summer camp.”

“Training camp,” Nedzu clarified, with mock stiffness, as he leaned back in his own chair, and picked up his now cooled cup of tea. “Just because we told them to pack swimsuits doesn’t mean it’ll be relaxing.”

“Nedzu, I went to three of those camps,” Echo replied, shaking his head, but with a weary grin peeking out from beneath the hand covering his face. “Trust me, to those teenagers, it’s practically a vacation.”

Chapter Text

There were days, few and far between, when Shota Aizawa thought of giving up his career.

Most were bad days, obviously. Overall, his life was pretty good. He had a rare Quirk that was incredibly useful against Villains, he had very high job satisfaction from the lives he saved, and he was rewarded well for it financially. He even got to put his own mark on the best young heroes-in-training in Japan, teaching them from his mistakes and guiding them to be even better.

But he was still an underground Hero, and he saw things that would burn out regular emergency responders. Even before factoring in the special calls from the Hero Public Safety Commission for Quirk-nullifiers, he’d seen far too much of man’s cruelty.

It was, perhaps, the reason he never bothered to correct those people who assumed that his constant exhaustion was due to overwork and night-shifts. Easier to deal with well-meaning people who thought he just needed some comfort and care, rather than those who knew he sometimes couldn’t sleep because of what he saw in his dreams.

Hound Dog knew, of course. The advantages of having a psychologist and professional hero on staff; the dog-man could understand things that most psychologists couldn’t comprehend. Hound Dog had seen the same things, and worse – trackers like him got called for missing children cases, and not all of those ended happily.

But there were, occasionally, days when Aizawa thought of giving up his life as a Pro Hero for fonder, more caring reasons.

The potential of a spouse, a loving relationship that might lead to a family. The freedom to relax without being on call, of sleeping through more than one or two nights without an emergency interrupting his rest. The comfort of more than a week’s vacation, a retirement paid for a dozen times over, decades before normal people would be able to retire.

And, more recently, the desire to get away from the ever-evolving chaos of this hell class.

The first day of training had been very solid, largely because they were out of his sight and responsibility for several hours. Today, however, they were all training their Quirks by pushing them to the limit, going as hard as they possibly could. Exactly like what All Might would have wanted, and exactly what had caused problems already in the first battle exam.

Some years, Aizawa felt like he was a friendly mentor to a class of growing young Heroes. Other years, he felt like a lion tamer surrounded by twenty lions, and he only had one whip.

He resisted the urge to sigh as Bakugo roared off to his left, half in agony and half in insane laughter, as the makeshift hot-tub broke again, splashing hot water all over the ground.

The Wild, Wild Pussycats had planned well for how to get Bakugo to sweat, but had they put any thought into making a hot-tub that could withstand repeated explosions? No. Why would that be needed? Just get a steel one, and put it next to a never-ending bomb.

At least he’s picking on someone other than me, Aizawa thought faintly, before resolving to never speak that particular thought out loud.

“Gonna need another one, teach!” Bakugo yelled, that infuriating grin on his face as he turned to look at Pixie-Bob.

The blue-colored Pussycat smiled tightly and pressed her hand to the ground, using her Earth Flow quirk to send mud and rock surging forward, around the cackling blond student. This time, the hot-tub was twice as thick. It might last ten minutes. The female Pro Hero glanced over at Aizawa, a look of annoyance on her face.

I have to deal with him all the time. Now you know what it’s like. Suffer with me, Aizawa thought, as he glared right back at her.

“This is still stupid!” came a high-pitched voice off to Aizawa’s side – though not as high-pitched as it used to be.

“Just do it, Mineta,” Aizawa sighed, without turning to look. “Strengthening your Quirk is a vital step in training to be a Hero.”

“Aizawa, I do this every day,” Mineta said, for the third time.

“You push your Quirk to its limits for four hours a day at most while driving home,” Aizawa replied, repeating the same line as before. “Today, I want you to do it for twelve hours.”

“I did that once when I was bored!” Mineta protested. “Thirteen hours on a Sunday, and fucking nothing happened. Granted, it was four hours straight, then church for an hour, then nine hours straight, but still! I haven’t had my head bleed since I was eight!”

“Thank you for informing me,” Aizawa said slowly, turning to glare at the foul-mouthed purple-haired brat. “Now you’ll be doing it for fourteen hours a day, without a break. And since we’re going to be here for a while, you’ll be doing that every day, until you do start pushing the limits of your Quirk.”

Mineta stared right back at him, undeterred by his best glare.

“I hate you, you know that?” he asked, almost managing to sound casual, but not quite hiding his anger.

“Good,” Aizawa replied. “Get back to work.”

“It’s just a giant pyramid of dodgeballs!” Mineta protested.

“Then make something more interesting,” Aizawa said, his mouth moving before his brain could stop himself.

Shit, he thought, as Mineta slowly started smiling, eyes wide, like he’d had a holy revelation. He had to fix this, before Mineta took ‘more interesting’ to mean that he could slow down.

“So long as you don’t stop using your Quirk, and don’t slow down, I don’t care what it looks like,” Aizawa amended – and Mineta’s worshipful expression vanished, twisting into a scowl again.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Mineta grumbled, as he stomped off again, tugging at his head and pulling off another grape, muttering more curses under his breath.

Aizawa sighed, and reminded himself to get more gym uniforms. Mineta was steadily outgrowing them, going up nearly a centimeter a night. He’d since outgrown all of the clothes he’d brought for the trip, and a lot of his students were disturbed to see the short teen suddenly shoot upwards – none more than Mineta himself.

“I need another hot-tub!” Todoroki called, a distance away.

“What are these kittens, Aizawa?” Pixie-Bob grunted, slapping the ground again and molding another enormous stone cauldron around the boy.

“I gave you the descriptions of their Quirks three months ago,” he told her, voice flat. “You have no one to blame for those two breaking your equipment but yourself.”

“Those barrels were high-grade steel!” Pixie-Bob protested. “They should have lasted at least a week!”

A week of firestorms and glaciers, seconds after each other? A week of bomb blasts, while encouraging Bakugo to make the largest explosions he possibly could?

Aizawa felt a rising urge to facepalm, and shoved it down quickly before his expression could change. Visible, strong emotions were a sign of weakness, and the hell class was always watching him for any sign of that.

Oh, they might claim it was out of concern after his injuries at the U.S.J., but he knew better. They were looking for any potential way to mother him not because they cared, but because it would get them time off from their training, giving them breaks to rest and recover.

Just as Bakugo and Todoroki had realized, when they broke the training equipment in the first five minutes. Aizawa had watched them; they’d shared a look of dawning realization, and he’d had to resist the urge to go find something to drink as they both grinned, Bakugo with his typical expression, and Todoroki more hesitantly.

At least it encouraged them to go all out. A silver lining to that particular dark cloud.

“Nonstop and rapid thermal expansion and explosive concussion,” Aizawa said. “Basic science.”

Pixie-Bob let out a hmph, and crossed her arms.

Two hours later, his headache came back.

“Hey, Aizawa! I’m taking a break now!” Mineta’s voice called out from the smaller valley he’d been training in.

“No, you’re not,” Aizawa called back, sighing internally. “Get back to work, Mineta!”

“Why don’t you come up here and make me?!”

Aizawa turned slowly, clenching his head, and his hair started to rise upwards as his Quirk activated, and his eyes turned blood-red.

He'd been lenient with the grumbling thus far. It released tension, allowed the students to vent, and they could be re-directed back to training fairly quickly. But he wouldn’t – couldn’t – allow outright insubordination.

Wait, come ‘up’ here? Aizawa thought, the odd word choice sticking out.

Then he finished turning around, and saw what Mineta had done, and he stopped.

“Shit,” slipped out of his mouth, as he stared down at the valley beneath him, where he’d told Mineta to practice his Quirk.

The valley had been fairly empty, more like a long-abandoned quarry or a flat-bottomed bowl, with dirt slopes leading down to relatively smooth ground. Aizawa had planned to use it as a confidence booster for Mineta, having him push his Quirk every day, until he’d turned the entire thing into a ball-pit, to show him the visible rewards of his hard work.

Instead, Mineta had decided to build a castle.

It was like something out of a bad video game – every single component of the castle was a perfectly spherical grape, and the entire thing would be structurally unsound, if it wasn’t for Mineta’s Quirk binding them all together. The result was bizarre, and the sheer size of the thing was stunning for just a couple hours of work.

Mineta’s castle was, perhaps, three stories tall. He’d built it in a more European style – boxy and rectangular, with a curved tower taking up each corner. He'd even built a smaller, central keep, though it was really more like a big box in the middle.

Aizawa looked across at Mineta, who was standing atop the closest wall – nearly level in elevation with him, perhaps slightly higher up. The teenager was grinning wildly from ear to ear, and Aizawa once more lamented that Bakugo’s expressions seemed to be spreading around his class, and resolved himself to get All Might to handle that particular habit.

“Mineta…” he called slowly, his hair still held straight-up by his Quirk, eyes still glowing red.

His Quirk seized on the boy like normal, wrapping around him like a hand, he could feel the squeezing sensation that indicated it worked – but the castle still stood, the grapes still sticking to each other even as Mineta tried to lift a hand from the rampart and it stuck in place.

“Oh no, you’ve taken away my Quirk!” the teenager cried out, still grinning, his voice loud and mocking. “What a shame, now I’m stuck here… guess I’ll just have to take a nap!”

“Mineta!” Aizawa barked out.

“What, Aizawa?” the teen replied. “How are you going to make me?!”

Aizawa frowned at him, but didn’t reply, because how could he? The boy’s grapes were clearly still sticky, so tackling the castle would just see him get stuck as well. The purple-haired teen knew it, too, as his grin widened.

Pixie-Bob could do it. She could take down this entire thing with just a few minutes at most of her Quirk. Cover the grapes with dirt, removing their stickiness. Just like how she’d thrown all the students into the forest on the first day of their training, a quick tidal wave of dirt.

But Mineta wasn’t stupid. Lazy, absent-minded, and bizarrely foreign in his mannerisms, but not stupid. He had to know that Pixie-Bob could put his temper tantrum down in just a few moments. He’d been building his castle for two hours, he couldn’t not have considered all that effort being wasted in a few minutes.

“Come on, I’ve been working for four hours straight,” Mineta called out. “My brain feels like taffy! I’m stressed out! I’m bored! Let’s play a little! Have some fun!”

…Fun.

Mineta’s smile was wide and feral, like Bakugo’s, but after a moment, it shrank down to the purple-haired student’s usual smirk, and he winked – winked – at Aizawa.

Brat, Aizawa thought, almost fondly.

Aizawa reached down with one hand and grabbed his radio walkie-talkie. His Quirk’s grip on Mineta slipped away as he blinked, and the moment he was free, Mineta started plucking grapes off his head once more – building the wall higher, taller.

“Mandalay?” he said, squeezing the send button. “Tell Class 1-A to stop what they’re doing and come over to me.”

+Are you sure? What about Class 1-B?+ said Mandalay’s voice inside his head, her Telepath Quirk able to reach him effortlessly.

“Class 1-B started late,” Aizawa said, over the radio. “They’ll be using this time to catch up.”

In truth, Class 1-B had started late because Vlad King seemed to think that fostering the competition between their classes was a good way of encouraging his students to do their best. Some years, he wasn’t wrong. This year… too early to tell.

Of course, it was perfectly obvious when you thought about it rationally, but so few teenagers ever did. Both teachers knew when the day’s exercises were supposed to start, and would be talking to each other regularly to coordinate. So why had Class 1-B gotten up later than Class 1-A? Because Vlad King wanted them to.

+If you say so…+ Mandalay replied, her ‘voice’ sounding unconvinced.

Naturally, Iida was the first to arrive with his speed Quirk, and at high speed. He gave Aizawa a stiff bow, and opened his mouth to ask something, but then caught a glimpse of Mineta, who’d progressed to blowing raspberries and dancing atop the wall, and immediately focused on him.

“How dare you not take this training seriously!” Iida yelled at the purple-haired teen, waving his hands angrily. “This is irresponsible and will harm your future career, and it shames both you and our instructors! Have you no sense of respect?!”

“Respect is earned, Tenya!” Mineta hollered back, plucking more grapes from his head, and tossing them out, over the castle’s rampart, into the empty field in front of it, as if preparing a minefield. “What are you gonna do, make me?!”

“What’s the problem?” Yaoyorozu said, rushing over, before pausing as her stomach gurgled. She visibly lurched and fought to keep her lunch down.

Aizawa said nothing, and waited as the rest of Class 1-A arrived. The last to get there were Jiro and Tokoyami, both of whom were covered in scrapes and rock dust. Some of them were staring at what Mineta had built, and some were looking at him.

“Okay, I’m bored now,” Mineta called out, from the top of his castle. “I’m gonna take a nap, alright Aizawa?”

For one moment, there was silence – and then the yelling started, as most of Class 1-A protested. Some of them were shouting at Mineta, like Iida and Sero, and some were demanding Aizawa explain why Mineta got to take a break, but not them, like Kaminari and Kirishima.

“Quiet down!” Aizawa barked, flaring his Quirk.

The hell class shut up instantly.

I’m going to miss that, when it stops working, Aizawa mused to himself.

“First one to bring me Mineta gets fifteen minutes to rest,” he told them, speaking loudly enough for Mineta to hear.

Blinks, confusion – and from Bakugo, a grin slowly stretched across his face.

“Fifteen minutes, eh?” the blond student said, rolling one of his shoulders. “Oh, yeah. I’ll take that.”

“It’ll be mine, Bakugo!” Kaminari replied, with an easy confidence that was broken as his face twitched from some left-over electricity.

“I can taste the sleep already,” Ashido groaned, clenching her fists and looking enviously at Mineta.

“Ready?” Aizawa asked, as Class 1-A tensed up around him, with eager expressions. “Go.”

“For my naps!” Ashido screamed out, charging towards Mineta, sliding on skates of acid.

“I’ll teach you to be respectful, Mineta!” Iida yelled, quickly rushing to the head of the screaming pack of teenagers.

“Who dares attack Castle Grapenstein?!” came the roared reply from Mineta, as he started laughing wildly, hurling grapes as fast as he could.

The rest of Class 1-A hit the down-slope to the castle running, their feet flashing between plumes of dirt as they raced down and charged forward.

Ashido was near the head, and she was a good counter to Mineta, splashing her more powerful acids to melt the grapes making up the bindings.

Iida had reached the castle first, and appeared to have realized the flaw in his thinking – for his only attacks were physical, and he couldn’t do anything to the walls without binding himself in place.

Yaoyorozu was yelling at people, trying to get them into line. A valiant attempt from the Class President, but most of them was chasing after a potential break after four hours of non-stop work, and they were too tired and too hungry for the reward to listen.

Bakugo, naturally, was throwing explosion after explosion at the castle, steadily chipping into it.

But the entire time, Mineta was throwing out grapes, both to prop up the castle’s increasingly damaged walls, and to immobilize his classmates. He also hadn’t stopped talking – calling down to his classmates to join him in the evil comfort of Castle Grapenstein, where they could rest in comfort for the rest of their days, and similarly grandiose proclamations.

Hang on.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, and he counted heads again. One on top of the walls, ten at the base, three circling around the back looking for weaknesses, five trying to team up to build some kind of trebuchet… There was only nineteen students. Who was missing?

There was a cough at his side, and Aizawa looked over to see Shoto Todoroki standing there, still soaked in sweat from his training – moderating the temperature of a hot tub by alternating between his ice and his fire.

The scar-faced boy was looking at Aizawa, rather than the castle or his classmates, and he wasn’t moving at all towards the castle. Slowly, he grew a gauntlet of ice over one hand, before releasing it, dropping it to the ground as a solid mass.

Like Pixie-Bob, he was a nearly perfect counter for Mineta’s castle. So why was he not doing it? He could get fifteen minutes of-

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned at the teen, who looked back with a completely emotionless, placid face – not giving the slightest hint of his thoughts.

Todoroki was planning to wait. He would let his classmates work to bring the castle down bit-by-bit, then sweep in with an instant glacier, just like he had used against Sero in the Sports Festival. He was incentivized to do so, because if he jumped in now, he’d get fifteen minutes of rest. But if he waited, then he got fifteen minutes, plus however many minutes he waited for his classmates to get close.

“Twenty minutes,” Aizawa stated, firmly. No more than that, he conveyed through his expression. Todoroki was lucky enough to get this much.

The student nodded, slowly, and looked back at the castle. He watched the explosions, the acid-sprays, the lancing laser beams, the boulders flung by the trebuchet… and he made no move.

“Twenty minutes, starting now,” Aizawa said, giving Todoroki an unimpressed look.

Todoroki looked back with his eyes half-lidded, and shrugged, before putting a single foot forward and stomping.

The air shriveled up, the ground hardened, and gleaming, pure ice crystallized into being out of nothing but the moisture in the air, surging forward like a living being from Todoroki’s foot, straight down the valley’s slope, across the barren field, and straight into the damaged castle, climbing right up the listing, leaning front wall, and racing towards Mineta.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Mineta yelled out, defiantly, as he jumped off the rampart, leaping clear over to the center keep, just as the ice broke over the top of the rampart like a wave over a seawall.

The ice continued, unabated, and kept surging forward, consuming every grape in its path, and the moment after Mineta landed on his backup keep, it seized him, freezing his feet in place.

“No fair!” the purple-haired kid complained, his high-pitched voice whining.

“Aww!” Ashido groaned out, almost despondently, like a child, as everyone’s last attacks trickled off, including the trebuchet’s final rock smashing into the now icy wall. She kicked the ground, and pouted, and looked up at Aizawa with a sad, pitiful expression.

Similar cries came up from others – Uraraka, Hagakure, Kaminari, and Kirishima.

Aizawa closed his eyes and sighed. It had barely been a few minutes. Not that much of a break for them.

“You all get five minutes to rest,” he called out, shoving down his instinctive dislike of what he was about to do. They were just children. As much as they needed to get stronger, he couldn’t push too hard, or they’d break. “Then it’s back to work.”

“Yipp-ee!” Ashido cried out, jumping into the air and punching the sky.

“But what about a tight, piercing focus? It’d be overkill on most people, but for someone like Kirishima, with his Hardening Quirk, it’d be good to have an attack that can focus all the blunt force of my punches tighter?”

“It sounds good, Deku, but are you sure it’s needed?” Uraraka said, with the repeating sound of a knife hitting a board as she diced up carrots for dinner.

Aizawa grumbled, and rolled over, burying his head further in his sleeping bag. Some kids had no idea how to rest, even at the end of the day. They’d be going up to the Pussycat’s little test of courage in an hour, but even now, preparing dinner, Midoriya was brimming full of energy and rambling about what kinds of super moves he was thinking of.

“Well, we won’t only be facing people we know well, right?” Midoriya said, hesitantly, as if he was asking her rather than stating a fact. “The Sports Festival showed us that. We’ve gotta think about not just the people we do fight regularly, but also those we don’t.”

“Wait, what were you calling this move?” came Mineta’s voice, joining in the conversation.

“Oh, uh, I was going to call it my Washington Smash,” Midoriya said.

“…and you intended to use it on Eijiro Kirishima?” Mineta confirmed, slowly.

“Well, not him necessarily, but people like him, with defensive hardening Quirks.”

“I didn’t realize you were a history buff, Izuku,” Mineta said, calling yet another student by their first name, in that very American manner of his. It was a little rude, but only if you were very old fashioned, and Aizawa honestly didn’t care, but he still noticed how other students would hesitate when Mineta did it, save for Bakugo or Yaoyorozu.

“Oh? Well, I do generally like history,” Midoriya replied. “But, uh, I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to?”

“Taking down Kirishima with a Washington Smash,” Mineta said, repeating Midoriya’s plan. “Ching Lee would be proud.”

“Who?” Yaoyorozu asked, her voice also joining the others around the ingredient preparation area. “I’m not familiar that name.”

“He’s the admiral who sunk the IJN Kirishima at Guadalcanal in World War Two,” Mineta said. “You know, the battleship Kirishima? The thing I’ve been referencing the past, like, two months when I talk about Eijiro?”

“Oh, that’s what you meant when you kept calling him a battleship!” Yaoyorozu said, surprised. “I didn’t think China had any significant naval victories in World War Two. But what’s that got to do with Washington?”

“China?” Mineta repeated, confused, as Uraraka noisily suppressed giggles for some reason. “No, no. The Kirishima was sunk by the American battleship USS Washington. Thus, the Washington Smash.”

“So… they had a Chinese admiral commanding an American ship?” Midoriya asked, sounding even more confused than Aizawa was feeling at the moment.

“No, he was American,” Mineta explained. “Admiral Willis Augustus Lee, commanding the USS Washington. Probably one of the greatest shooters of all time, the man liked big guns and he could not lie. Still weird that he had really bad eyesight, but whatever.”

“If he was American, why did they call him Ching Lee, then?” Uraraka asked.

“It was a nickname,” Mineta said.

“That sounds vaguely inappropriate,” Yaoyorozu said, hesitantly.

“It was definitely inappropriate,” Mineta said. “But, uh, yeah. I totally thought you were referencing the USS Washington with that.”

“Oh, no,” Midoriya replied. “I was referring to the Christmas Raid in the American Civil War, you know, that Washington led across the Delaware.”

There was a pause for a moment.

“You mean the American Revolutionary War,” Mineta corrected, with an odd sound of... annoyance in his voice. “The Civil War was nearly a hundred years later.”

“Oh. But, then uh… Washington and Lincoln never met?” Midoriya asked, hesitantly.

“No,” Mineta replied, firmly. “They never met. They were nearly eighty years apart.”

“…but then why are they all on Mount Rushmore together?”

“Because it’s just a random monument to some of the Presidents,” Mineta explained. “They never actually met.”

“…oh. That’s… vaguely disappointing somehow.”

“Is it just me, or does Rushmore sound like a good name for a band?” Uraraka said.

“You are definitely not the only one to think that,” Mineta acknowledged.

Chapter Text

Yaoyorozu Momo considered herself to be a rational actor, someone that learned from their mistakes. But sometimes, it felt like all she was doing was running from one mistake into another.

Just a few months ago, she wouldn’t have believed that she would be disobeying the orders of one of her teachers – a Pro Hero, no less! She could still hear the words in her head, like an after-echo of the telepathic message.

+Everyone! Two villains attacked us, it’s possible there are more coming. Everyone return to camp immediately, we’re re-grouping. Do not engage any enemies!+

But her teacher was wrong, and if she followed those orders, she’d be leaving her fellow students.

Most of Class 1-B was scattered throughout the dark forest, as was some of Class 1-A, thanks to the Wild Wild Pussycat’s bonding exercise. The only illumination they had was the moon and the distant blue flames that were creeping closer and closer. The terrain was unfamiliar to all of them, and there were almost certainly more Villains in the woods.

Tactical initiative was a Hero’s traditional weakness. With some exceptions, they were largely reactive assets, patrolling and responding to threats as they popped up. Villains, on the other hand, usually had the advantage of planning out their crimes. For these Villains to even know where they were and attack the private property deep in Western Tokyo, they must have done quite a bit of research.

How much did they know? Could they have known that the students were split up, and be trying to pick them off in small groups? Did they think that the students were all at the base camp? More likely the former than the latter. Sending an inadequate force of only two villains to hit the base camp wasn’t enough. If they were bold enough to attack the camp in the first place, they would have come in force. Yet where were the other villains, then? The answer was obvious, and terrifying. They were in the trees. They were hunting her and her friends.

Momo’s mind raced through the possibilities. How many villains could there be? Where could they be? It was like another one of Father’s tests, trying to push her mind to consider as many options as she could in as short a time. She remembered that lesson well.

The best plan, created too late, is worthless, he’d told her. When you have to hurry, sometimes you must do the best you can, and execute that plan immediately, before hesitation dooms you.

Now, granted, he’d been talking about investing, but she felt that financial markets and dark forests had more in common than some might think.

The Villains had planned this well, just by the Quirks they’d displayed thus far.

The fire was easily the worst part. An average of a hundred people died a year to forest fires, and the embers fluttering above the treeline were blue, far hotter than normal fires. Increased heat could mean faster rate of spread, but even setting that aside, in the meantime it was scaring all of them, demoralizing them. The smoke and smog stung at their eyes and made them cough.

Even if the purple fog creeping through the trees had been harmless, it would have spread panic and made it harder for the students to navigate in the dark, since it seemed to stick lower to the ground, and obscured the tree roots and other obstacles that they could trip over. But it wasn’t harmless – it was poison.

And Class 1-B had no way of protecting themselves from the gas.

It was very simple, really. Just like All Might said, sometimes. She could do something to help, and so she would.

She’d prepared long and hard for her time at U.A., and her future career beyond that, but she’d expected a full three years of training from professionals before she was forced into these kinds of situations. The attack on the U.S.J. had broken that expectation, and Momo had learned from that mistake. If she hadn’t, then she might not have remembered how to create gas masks.

Her diligence meant that several of Class 1-B were still alive, for now. She’d linked up with some of them – her fellow Class President in Kendo, and Tetsutetsu – and they were moving as fast as they could to get gas masks to the rest, before it was too late.

It was hard to move through the forest so fast, in the dark, even before they put on the masks. Now the glass faceplates added to the difficulty, fogging up, and Momo had to keep wiping it with a handkerchief.

“Just a little further, I think Mineta and Jiro were just ahead of you,” Kendo said, panting behind her mask as they jogged along the path.

Momo squinted, but she couldn’t quite make anyone out yet, and the trail bent ahead of them.

“Look, one of his grapes!” Tetsutetsu said, as they rounded the bend. “And there’s more. It’s like a trail.”

“Hansel and Gretel,” Momo gasped through the filter. “Mineta must be trying to lead us – wait.”

She stopped, and Kendo and Tetsutetsu stopped alongside her.

“What? Come on, we’ve got to get to them,” Tetsutetsu said, insistently.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Momo said, shaking her head. “Why would Mineta make a visible trail? He knows there are Villains out here, so he’d be leading them right to himself.”

“Maybe he panicked,” Kendo suggested. “Left it for someone to find him. It’s not like he could place them remotely, so he’s gotta be somewhere nearby.”

Momo grimaced, but it was possible.

“Let’s go – but keep an eye out,” she said. “He might be -”

“-Yaomomo! Over here!” came a hushed, insistent voice off to the side – high pitched, though not as high-pitched as it used to be.

“Hiding in the bushes off the path,” Momo finished, as they all turned to look.

They walked carefully off the trail, looking, but they couldn’t see anyone in the gloom. After a moment, one of Jiro’s ear-plugs came into sight, waving to get their attention, but she couldn’t see where the rest of her classmate was – and then she jerked backwards in shock as the muddy rock to the left of the earplug opened its eyes.

“The fuck?” Tetsutetsu barked, tensing his entire body into steel as he spotted the same thing.

“Quiet down,” Jiro whispered at them, her mouth barely recognizable beneath the brown muck caked all over her face. “There’s a Villain nearby, get over here!”

Kendo glanced at Tetsutetsu, but Momo wasted no time moving into the bushes. She concentrated as she crouched down, remembering the formulas.

“Move around the branches, not through them,” hissed Mineta’s voice from somewhere within the bushes, as the others followed her. “Stop making noise.”

Rubber, glass, particulate filters – out popped two more masks from Momo’s shoulders.

“Gas masks,” she whispered quickly, holding them out towards Jiro. “Put them on, quick, we don’t know what this stuff is.”

Two dark, mud-streaked hands snatched the masks from her, one from Jiro and one from her side. Momo resisted the urge to shriek – Mineta was within a foot of her, just to her side, and she hadn’t even noticed.

The smaller boy had either fallen into or gone swimming in a muddy pit, and there were twigs sticking out of his dark clothing. She could barely even see his normally vibrant purple hair-balls beneath the muck he’d been drenched in.

“Villain’s taking the bait,” Jiro said softly, her voice slightly raspy behind the newly donned mask.

Bait? Momo thought, confused.

“We should get out of here,” Kendo whispered, crouched down next to them. “We’re not ready to fight Villains!”

Tetsutetsu nodded next to her, backing up his Class President. A chill wind brushed through the forest, and they all shivered a little as the leaves rustled.

“Are you there, Mineta?!” yelled a distant voice. “Come on, make this easy on yourself! It’ll be quick!”

Momo glanced to her side, and saw Mineta’s eyes widen, and then close shut, but he said nothing, as they all listened to the approaching Villain. The boy slowly raised a hand, and there was something clenched in it, beneath his muddy fingers.

How does the Villain know Mineta’s nearby? Momo wondered, before the obvious thought hit her like a thunderbolt.

The trail of bread-crumbs. Momo had thought that they’d found the start of it, but they must have found the end of it. She’d wondered why Mineta had done it. Her first thought had been to treat this like a rescue situation, like they’d been trained – get the survivors together in one group, for the maximum amount of protection and coordination.

But Mineta…

Mineta slowly lifted the sizable rock in his hand, and looked right at Momo. She could barely see that he had a couple more tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.

He’d been treating it like a combat situation the entire time. Jiro looked tense, but ready to run, but Mineta looked like he was about to dive into a fist-fight with someone, nearly twitching with adrenaline. He must have talked her around into it.

And together they’d made a trap. Mineta to lay the bait, Jiro to listen for the target – but when they sprang the trap, what did they have? Just a rock or two? That wouldn’t be enough. The Villains were actively looking for them, they’d look at the first noise they saw.

“We need a distraction,” Mineta murmured, and hefted the rock, before lightly tossing it up and down, like a baseball pitcher would, before his throw.

Of course, Momo thought to herself. He had a good throwing arm. Hadn’t he said something about being a pitcher on the bus ride out?

A distraction… she could do that. She’d made similar things for testing purposes a few years ago. Extra-large firecrackers, shrieking fireworks, the like.

“Three prongs, in a Y-shape,” Momo whispered back. “I’ll make a noisemaker across the path. You hit him from here, and Kendo charges him from further-”

There was a loud, thunderous crack in the distance, and Momo’s head twisted instinctively to look for the noise. The crack echoed over the forest, the sound bouncing off the far hills and coming back.

“Gun!” Mineta whispered harshly, his voice tight with tension and his face bone-white. “Gun, gun, gun!”

“Are you sure?!” Kendo asked, turning to look at him. “That sounded like a car backfiring.”

“We’re in a forest, there are no cars,” Mineta snapped back at her, his eyes wide. He was trembling, almost vibrating in place, shaking so much that bits of dirt and leaves were falling off him.

“We’re not bulletproof, we have to go,” Kendo whispered. “He’s far off, we can make it.”

“Are you still there, Mineta?” cried the Villain in the distance. “I’m supposed to make sure you know – YOU’RE ON SHIGARAKI’S LIST!”

“Mineta, don’t let him get to you,” Kendo said, reaching a hand over and laying it on Mineta’s shoulder. “He’s trying to provoke you.”

“You can call me Mustard! Fits with my Quirk, see?”

Mineta froze, suddenly. In the sudden conversational gap, she could hear the creaking of trees, the snapping of branches, and the fire, in the distance, growing ever closer.

“Is mustard gas purple?” he whispered slowly.

Mustard gas?! Momo thought to herself, unable to suppress her gasp. Images from the history books she’d once read over came to mind swiftly. Burns across skin like splashes of paint, and huge blisters of pus, almost like the gel-packs that Aizawa-sensei used as meal replacements, but rising from people’s flesh like enormous yellow zits.

She’d worried about what could be in the gas, and all she really knew was that it was knocking people unconscious – but the worst thing, in her mind, had been death. Distant, removed, just a vague hypothetical. A person with their brain simply… shut off, like a light-switch.

She hadn’t thought about how much they might suffer, before they died. What it might look like, or feel like.

Oh God, gas masks didn’t completely stop mustard gas. It could affect the skin, and a gas mask alone wouldn’t stop it, just prevent it from reaching the lungs.

They’d been talking old trivia last night, and Mineta had known a surprising amount about the World Wars. No wonder he froze – she’d barely touched that particular subject and it had terrified her.

“No,” she whispered back as her brain supplied the answer quickly, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. “No, it’s yellow – mustard colored! This isn’t it. Mustard gas doesn’t knock people out, and it takes hours before it shows effects.”

“What the hell’s mustard gas?” Tetsutetsu whispered.

“We’ve gotta take him out,” Jiro whispered. “He’s too close, now.”

“Dibs,” Mineta whispered, his eyes focused off in the distance.

“You can’t call dibs on a Villain!” Kendo and Tetsutetsu both snapped, completely in sync.

“I wasn’t talking about the villain,” Mineta replied, before turning his head to look back at Momo. “Noisemaker?”

“With Tetsutetsu, not Kendo,” Momo replied. “He might be able to survive.”

“Okay,” Mineta nodded.

“Wait, what?” Tetsutetsu interrupted. “What the hell are you 1-A assholes talking about?”

“I’m going to make a distraction on the other side of the path,” Momo told him, looking back at him with a firm expression. “Once he’s distracted, Mineta’s going to hit him with ranged attacks. We need you to charge into melee as a second attack. It’s got to be fast and quick, before he can get more shots off.”

“Are you crazy?” he whispered back. “This is a real Villain we’re talking about here!”

“Then I’ll do it without you,” Momo said, glaring at him. “We don’t have time to hesitate.”

“Oh, hell no,” Tetsutetsu snarled back. “Anything you can do, I can do, and I’ll be able to tank it. If you’re gonna insist on this, we’ll do it right.”

“Incoming,” Jiro whispered, interrupting them. “Forty, maybe thirty seconds.”

“Fog’s getting thicker,” Kendo whispered, hurriedly. “How do we know we’ll see him?”

“Pray,” Mineta whispered.

Momo closed her eyes and focused. Electronic noisemakers had briefly been popular a couple years back, and she still remembered how to make one that had appealed to her at the time – a little plastic figurine of the man from the famous painting, The Scream, combined with a mechanical timer for placing it in odd locations and running before it went off. She could do that.

“Go further down,” Jiro whispered to Tetsutetsu, as the pushing, pulling sensation of Momo’s Quirk brought the figurine to life, growing out of her arm.

“You’ll be drawing his fire,” Mineta whispered, “So we don’t want those shots to come anywhere near the rest of us.”

“Got it,” Tetsutetsu confirmed. He still looked a little unsure, but determination was slowly filling his face, replacing the nervousness he’d been trying to hide earlier.

Gosh, this is his first real experience with danger, isn’t it? Momo thought to herself, as the steel-haired boy moved a few meters away, Jiro directing him where to go.

Class 1-B hadn’t been there at the U.S.J. attack, and the Sports Festival really didn’t compare. No wonder he and Kendo had followed her so quickly – she was moving forwards when they were in shock.

It really didn’t take much, did it? She barely had any more experience than them, just the one instance – the same with Mineta, though he hadn’t actually fought inside the U.S.J. – and yet that one instance was enough that she could still move, could still think through all the fear around her.

She stood slowly, quietly, twisted the timer, and lobbed the figurine over to the other side of the path, deep in the bushes, before crouching back down under cover.

The deep purple fog intensified, and Momo grit her teeth behind her gas mask as it did. Everyone held still, and she wished she’d taken the time to camouflage herself with mud, like Mineta and Jiro had.

“Mineeeeeeeeeeeta!” cried the Villain, much closer now than before. “Come out, it’s not like you can fight me! I know all about you. You can’t stop my gas! Give it up! What are you gonna do, throw a grape at me?”

Ten more seconds, Momo thought to herself. The Villain was barely visible. She could see the densest cluster of purple fog slowly moving forward, but it was like a cloudy marble. The only thing indicating there was a person inside was the dim glow of two red dots inside. Eyes, maybe.

Tetsutetsu was closest to him; Jiro must have timed his footsteps and estimated where he’d be.

Beside her, Mineta was standing – she hadn’t realized he’d stood up. His clothing was all dark, and with all his exposed skin covered in dirt and mud, she could barely tell him apart from the forest. He wasn’t moving, was almost painfully still, and the large, baseball sized rock was in his right hand.

The timer ticked over, and there was a horrendous, extraordinarily loud shrieking from the other side of the path.

Then the shrieking vanished, blasted out of place by an utterly enormous sound, a thunderclap in her ears, as the gun fired again. The fog shifted, the cloudy marble of its nucleus bursting with the sudden blast of air, and Momo saw the Villain. He was short, wearing a black school uniform, and he had a gas mask of his own, underneath a strange helmet with glowing red goggles.

And he was facing the noisemaker, with his back to them.

“Come ou-” the Villain started to say, just as Mineta moved beside her, his left knee rising and dropping, and his arm whipping out like a snake.

Somehow, the Villain felt it. He started to turn in their direction, a fraction of a second before Tetsutetsu burst out of the bushes with a cry and his entire body hardened with his Quirk. Momo's eyes widened involuntarily as the Villain turned - they hadn’t accounted for the possibility that the Villain had extra senses! 

Mineta’s rock hit the Villain dead on, smacking right into the side of his head as he turned into it, and the Villain’s head rocked backwards, and he dropped, collapsing to the ground with a dull slap.

She stared for a breathless moment, as Mineta grabbed another rock and started to wind up again.

But the Villain didn’t get up.

Tetsutetsu charged right in and kicked the gun – a pistol of some kind – out of the Villain’s hand, then raised his foot up and stomped down, crushing the connecting lines to the tanks on the Villain’s back. He reached down with a steel hand, and ripped the gas mask off his face. The Villain’s helmet had crumpled, and as Momo moved closer, she could see that it wasn’t steel or protective Kevlar or anything like that – it was paper mâché. It was some kind of cosplay helmet.

“He’s out cold!” Jiro said, shooting to her feet.

The fog dissipated quickly. The billowing cloud of purple mist was fading into the night air, and beneath it, the Villain was just a short, skinny little kid. He looked about their age, maybe a little older. Nothing like the monstrous Villain she’d seen in the center of the fog.

“Where the hell did you learn to throw like that, short-stuff?” Tetsutetsu demanded, looking over with a grin on his face as they all emerged from the bushes.

“My Quirk is dodgeballs, pin-head,” Mineta replied. Out of the bush, standing in the moonlight, he looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, and he was already wiping muck away from his face. “Since we’re not allowed to practice our Quirks legally thanks to some stupid laws, how do you think I practiced my Quirk? I knew I’d need to get good at throwing things from four years old. So I played baseball.”

“Heh,” Tetsutetsu chuckled. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

“Sure, whatever,” Mineta said, uncaring, as he stepped up to the Villain. For a moment, she thought he was going to hit the Villain again, but no, he was wiping his hands on the Villain’s old-fashioned school uniform.

He stepped over the unconscious body, and reached down, picking up the gun.

“How’d a punk kid like you get a gun in Japan?” Mineta asked the unconscious Villain, thumbing a button on the revolver. It split, and the round cylindrical part in the middle sprang out on a hinge.

“Mineta, what are you doing?” Kendo asked uneasily, taking a step towards him.

“Taking the obviously useful weapon,” Mineta answered her, as he peered down at the opened cylinder. “It’s a .38. It’s not even Saturday night, but I’ve got me a special.”

“Mineta, we’re not even supposed to have done this much,” Kendo said, gesturing down at the unconscious Villain. “Let’s drop that thing and get out of here.”

“And if we run into another Villain?” Mineta asked, turning to look at her as he snapped the revolver shut.

Kendo pursed her lips, and didn’t say anything for a moment.

“It’s not safe to use a weapon with no training,” she said, changing tactics. “Guns are really, really dangerous, Mineta.”

“I know,” Mineta replied, as he pulled a pouch from the Villain’s school uniform and shook it, getting a metallic rattling sound from it. “That’s why I called dibs.”

“You called dibs on a gun?!” Tetsutetsu barked in surprise.

“Unless any of you have some secret backstory you’re not sharing, then yeah, I am,” Mineta snapped back, his voice breaking and jumping an octave. “I do know how to use this. We just fought a Villain with a gun and poison gas who called himself Mustard, for fuck’s sake. I’m not dying here, got it?! If that means I have to kill someone to keep us alive, then so be it.”

Kendo grimaced, but Momo could tell her heart wasn’t entirely in it. She was clinging to her role as Class President like a lifeline in this stressful situation, and now that the Villain was down, the shock was wearing off a little.

It would have been hard, maybe impossible to figure that out with no signs, but Momo remembered the exact same thing happening to her at the U.S.J. – shock, grabbing the nearest classmates to stay with her, barking orders at them during the fight, and then the slow, creeping sensation of shivers after the teachers arrived, the whole mess ended, and the adrenaline wore off.

She’d tried to give an order to one of the EMT’s, she remembered, and the EMT told her to shut up and pushed her back down onto her seat without listening to a word of her bossy, disrespectful tone. She didn’t even have a reason, she just… had to do something, even when there was nothing to do.

Kendo would probably feel sorry about this later, when the adrenaline wore off. But they didn’t have time for that right now.

“Let’s go,” Momo said, cutting into the argument. “We can talk about this later. Let’s get out of here before more Villains show up.”

“Agreed,” Jiro said, firmly, stepping up next to her. “That fire’s getting awfully close.”

“I’ll get the Villain,” Tetsutetsu said, bending down and scooping the unconscious body up. “Just because he tried to kill us doesn’t mean we should leave him to die here.”

“Mineta?” Momo asked, turning to him.

“What?” he snapped back at her, his tone defensive, as he loaded two fresh bullets into the revolver.

“Just… don’t shoot me, okay?” Momo said, a bit awkwardly, trying to put a smile on her face even though she didn’t feel like smiling.

“I would never,” Mineta spat back at her, anger racing across his face. “Don’t you even-”

“Mineta, that was a joke,” Jiro barked at him, smacking him on the shoulder. “Snap out of it, little dude. Calm down.”

The short teen blinked, and shook his head violently from side to side. He took a couple deep breaths.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing down at his feet, before looking up at them. “I’m sorry, you guys. Just… not handling the stress well.”

“None of us are handling it well,” Momo said, with a firm understatement. “Let’s call it even, all of us, and get back to the teachers before any more Villains show up.”

Chapter Text

The forest was on fire, and it wasn’t his fault.

Five months ago, that thought would never have crossed Shoto Todoroki’s mind. He’d sworn to never use his fire, and therefore he couldn’t be responsible for a forest fire. Up until Midoriya happened.

Damn it, this was so much easier before. He’d known exactly what his life was going to be like. Then All Might’s secret love child had smashed into his life and shown him how arrogant he was being. Shoto had been like a ship sailing on a strict course, with every day plotted out in advance, only for a hurricane to drag him off course, and now every day was a new surprise, a new panic that he had to adapt to.

He wondered, for a split second, if this is what his father felt like when dealing with All Might. Maybe that explained a little bit of why the bastard hated All Might so much.

“Icy-hot, I swear to god, if you get distracted, I am going to fucking leave you!” came an outraged yell from his side.

Oh, right. Running for his life with Bakugo.

Shoto paused for a split second and turned, gritting his teeth as his chest scrunched, and his muscles locked up – but he thrust his hand, pointing back down the dark forest path, and ice flowed, surging out of his mother’s side like a blast of mountain air.

It wasn’t the enormous glaciers that he’d been blasting off during the day. He’d pushed his Quirk so hard earlier that he was still feeling drained, still had one side nearly clenched-up with cold and the other almost sunburned.

Still, it was a healthy sized blast of ice, and he’d made it spiky, hoping to catch their pursuer’s blades with a hedgehog’s collection of spikes and spines.

It was hard to see. He could make out the cool, deep ocean-blue and frosty white of his Quirk’s ice, and the dark-brown trees, and the flickering of blue flames from the forest fire in the distance.

The human eye tended to focus on motion, not on colors, so he should be able to see their pursuer – if not for everything going wrong. The ice was shifting and cracking even now, weakened and unable to hold together because of the day’s training. The trees were blowing back and forth in the wind of the firestorm around them, and their leaves were shaking like a million dancers. The fire was nothing but motion, sending flickers of light across everything nearby, too bright to see in one moment and then too dark to see in the next.

Then a dark object skittered over the top of his ice block, and Shoto’s heart sank.

The Villain was clad in a black restraint suit, his arms locked in a straitjacket, his mouth clamped in place with medical locks, and his face was completely obscured. He shouldn’t be able to see, hear, or even smell them… but the Villain didn’t seem to care for any of those limitations.

The Villain’s teeth elongated, stretching out in metal blades, and he moved over Shoto’s ice blockade like it was nothing, a dozen shimmering metal blades moving too fast to see, propelling his limp body over the obstacle like a spider crawling over a bump. The overall movement was unnatural, inhuman, with dozens – hundreds – of blades serving as improvised legs, moving the Villain faster than a normal running pace. His body jerked back and forth, a ragdoll being suspended above a ravenous maw of churning metal, but his head stayed unnaturally still, locked on them like a laser beam.

“Flesh…” the Villain crooned, the words slithering over them, cutting through the roaring forest fire and the cracking of the chipping ice blocks.

“The fuck did I just say, Icy-Hot?!” Bakugo screamed, grabbing Shoto by the arm and dragging him backwards.

“Had to try,” Shoto grunted, turning and running again, trying to ignore one half of his body trying to shiver itself to death and the other half screaming in pain at the slightest movement.

“Oh, you had to try?!” Bakugo repeated, furious eyes stabbing at him from a side-glare. “I’ll make sure they write that on your headstone, ‘cause I’m gonna live through this shit!”

Shoto had no idea where Bakugo was getting the energy to say anything while they were running, but so long as he was yelling, it was something to think about – something to focus on. A goad, a taunt, a little prick of pain in Shoto’s skin to keep driving himself onwards.

Still, Bakugo didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

They couldn’t do much more than delay the Villain for moments, before they had to keep running from the deranged lunatic that seemed intent on eating them for dinner.

Shoto didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that they hadn’t run into any other U.A. students yet. On one hand, that meant nobody else had been dragged into the path of this horrible monster. On the other hand, maybe they had, and they were already dead.

“Eh?!” Bakugo grunted, his head snapping forward and locking on something ahead, in the dark of the forest. “Hey, dumbass, fucking run! We’ve got a Villain on our ass!”

Todoroki squinted, and he could barely see someone on the path. They were short, and holding mostly still, ignoring what Bakugo had yelled at them.

“Grapist, I will fucking end you if you don’t start running!” Bakugo screamed, veins bulging on his forehead as they sprinted away from the Villain, towards whoever was up ahead.

“Get out of the way!” came a replying yell from the short figure, high and shrill and familiar.

Mineta.

It was Mineta, the shortest member of class. The slowest runner, Shoto remembered, his eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen.

He and Bakugo had only managed to stay ahead of this Villain by throwing up temporary impediments and sprinting as fast as they, young Heroes-in-training, could manage. Aside from those with speed Quirks, like Iida, they were some of the fastest in the class, because they were both gunning to be the best, to be the Number One Hero.

But Mineta wasn’t. He lagged behind most of the class in un-augmented speed. He could be a little faster with his trick of bouncing on his dodgeballs, but would Mineta be able to use his Quirk to that degree, after the day’s exhausting training?

Mineta’s going to die, Shoto thought to himself, unable to stop the thought, as they approached him swiftly, and the short blur in the distance grew more distinct, into a short kid in jeans and a hoodie, with a mohawk of purple balls. He was holding something in both hands in front of him, but Shoto couldn’t make it out.

“Run!” Shoto yelled at Mineta. “We can’t stop him! Run, Mineta!”

But Mineta didn’t move. He was glaring at them – no, past them, at the Villain that they’d been unable to stop, that they’d been running from.

“I said get out of my way!” Mineta screamed back, his voice cracking, as he raised up the object in his hands, moving his feet into a stance, feet spread and shoulders squared, like he was bracing for something.

The fire-light in the forest was sending glimmers of light and shadow across everything in their path, but for just a moment, Mineta was illuminated well enough to see clearly – as was the object in his hand.

“Gun!” Shoto barked out, training snapping into place. He juked to the side, getting away from the middle of the path, aiming for the trees, for cover. By his side, Bakugo did the same, splitting apart from him and sprinting for the other side of the path.

Clearing the path for the Villain, who had just seen Mineta.

“Flesh!” the Villain shrieked, and Shoto risked a glance back, over his shoulder.

A thunderous CRACK was the reply, and Shoto winced, clapping hands over his ears as he watched.

The Villain jerked, abruptly stopping in the middle of his charge, his teeth-blades twisting and seizing. Had Mineta hit him? Had he not? Shoto couldn’t see anything – no spurt of blood, no tell-tale signs against the Villain’s black bodysuit, but the Villain had stopped, surely Mineta must have hit him!

But Mineta didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to think the same thoughts as Shoto.

A second gunshot blasted out, and the Villain seemed to come back to life, starting to move again, his bladed teeth moving faster, more animatedly, as if the Villain was angry – just as a third gunshot rang out.

Whatever happened with the first two shots didn’t matter. On the third, the Villain jolted in place, and his bladed teeth suddenly went limp, as if all the strength had fled them, and the Villain’s suspended body in the air came crashing down to the ground.

For a moment, Shoto stared at the Villain’s body, a lump of dark clothing on the dirt path. His silvery bladed teeth were shrinking and retracting. In a few moments, the monstrous spider-like thing that had been chasing them was barely a bump on the ground, almost invisible in the half-dark of the forest. If Shoto hadn’t seen it happen, he might have tripped over the motionless lump.

It was so sudden, so abrupt. No slow fall, no dying scream, no words – the man had simply flopped on the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, and nothing else keeping it from gravity’s pull.

Then Shoto looked back in the other direction, and he saw Mineta walking out on the path towards them, the gun still held in his hand.

The grape-haired teenager was red-faced, with teeth clenched, and there were even tears leaking down his face. He looked like a mess. But he had a gun in his hand, and he was approaching the Villain.

“Holy shit, Grapist, you just killed a guy!” Bakugo barked, stepping out of the bushes across from Shoto.

Mineta didn’t reply, just walking closer, until he was nearly in arm’s reach from Shoto and Bakugo, in the middle of the path. He still didn’t say anything, and Shoto realized the gun in his grip was shaking, and the boy’s knuckles were nearly white.

“Hey,” Shoto said softly, trying to be soothing. “Hey, it’s OK. You’re gonna be alright.”

Bakugo shot him a look of confusion, and for a moment, he looked less like an angry goblinoid creature, and more like a particularly stuck up Pomeranian. Then he looked back at the dead body before them, and he swallowed, hard. His eyes started widening, becoming huge, like dinner plates, and he kept looking back and forth between the Villain’s body and their classmate.

“Holy shit,” Bakugo repeated, more slowly, as they all looked at the body. “Mineta, you just killed a guy.”

“Yeah,” Mineta muttered, still staring forward, still not looking at them. He paused, and shook his head violently, then his whole body. It almost looked like a seizure for a moment, but then he stopped.

The small teenager looked down at the gun in his hand, and pressed something on it, pushing a cylinder out of the gun. One hand reached into a pocket, and Mineta pulled out a bullet, and started reloading the gun slowly.

“You’re not…” Shoto started to say, before pausing. Not what? Not going to defend them again?

He looked over at Bakugo, and they shared a concerned look over the top of Mineta’s head as he kept reloading the gun.

“The old lady did say we could defend ourselves,” Bakugo pointed out, an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

“He was going to kill us,” Shoto murmured.

Mineta shuddered, and for a moment, his spine arched, and his head lurched forward, instinctively sticking out from his body as he brought a hand up to his mouth – but then the moment passed, and Mineta managed to not throw up.

They stood there for a few seconds longer, and Mineta seemed to slowly be bringing his body under control.

Mineta opened his mouth to say something, as he finally turned his head away from the body, looking up to Bakugo, but he never got the chance.

There was a flash of blue light, and Bakugo vanished, right before Shoto’s eyes.

Shoto caught a flicker of motion to the side, and his head snapped up, catching sight of a figure dressed in a large yellow overcoat. The newcomer was leaning just out from behind a tree. He was dressed fancy, too fancy to be one of them, and even if Shoto hadn’t failed to recognize him, the bright white mask and huge top-hat would have given away that this was a Villain, not one of their teachers.

He had one hand pointed where Bakugo had been standing, with a shining blue marble clutched in it, glimmering with some alien light to it that was settling slowly, lit up by no clear source. A capturing Quirk, maybe? A transforming Quirk?

But Shoto’s thought took a pause as he noticed, in the same slow instant of staring, that the Villain’s other hand pointed directly at… him.

He flinched, and threw a hand up to throw a blast of ice towards the man – but before he could let loose, there was a thundering boom to his side, and Shoto recoiled away from the blast, turning to the side and ducking his head, with his ears ringing.

The yellow-overcoated Villain also recoiled, diving back behind a tree.

“Get back here!” Mineta howled, the gun raised in his hand, his eyes wide and crying again. He’d fired another shot, without hesitation, but he’d missed, because this Villain wasn’t dead.

There was a rustle in the bushes, and the Villain darted away, moving through the forest and running as fast as he could away from the two of them – with the marble in his hand.

“Mineta, that marble!” Shoto barked, looking down at the smaller kid. “That might be Bakugo!”

Mineta didn’t reply, not verbally. He jumped forward and ran off, the gun clutched in his hand. Tears trailed from his cheeks, but his teeth were clenched shut in a grimace.

Shoto didn’t waste any time. He ran with Mineta, his longer legs catching up very quickly.

“Careful,” Shoto said, breathing harshly as they ran, “We don’t want to get ambushed by him again!”

“I’ll be careful,” Mineta spat, not looking at Shoto. “But I’m not letting that bastard get away!”

Shoto would’ve rolled his eyes if he could have, but it was hard enough to move fast through the burning forest and the tangle of bushes, roots, and other tripping hazards already.

Up a small hill, down the back side, across a small stream, they chased the Villain. Shoto was faster than Mineta, easily, in the classroom settings, but this was terrain that he wasn’t entirely used to. Mineta, meanwhile, was cutting across bushes and skipping over gnarly tree roots without hesitation, looking far more accustomed to the action. He barely stumbled, rarely paused, and his grip was tight on the gun in his hands.

The bushes tugged at Shoto’s exposed arms, and small branches whipped at his face, leaving little stings of pain as payment for moving so fast through the forest. He bore it without comment, but Mineta gave out harsh gasps of breath as they charged headlong after their classmates.

“Coming up on something!” Shoto warned Mineta, seeing a glimpse of open space ahead of them.

“Clearing,” Mineta grunted, ducking partly under a low-hanging branch and side-stepping around a fern.

They burst out of the bushes just a few moments after that, and into a chaotic scene.

The clearing was full of people. There were several that Shoto didn’t recognize – and, unfortunately, several that he did.

Midoriya was there with his arms wrapped in bandages, shirtless, and looking like those things were nothing but minor inconveniences. Shoji and Tokoyami were there, bruised and battered, and Tokoyami was barely keeping his Quirk under control, Dark Shadow flailing around like a demon. Further away, he saw Yaoyorozu and a couple of the kids from Class 1-B, carrying bo staffs made of metal, clustered around a group of other students.

Across from them was an eclectic group. The yellow-overcoated Villain that had shrunk Bakugo into a marble was running full speed away from them, towards a swirling black hole that hung over the far side of the clearing. A man in dark-blue and flashes of pale skin was throwing huge gouts of blue fire towards the other students. Another figure in a black bodysuit with a white mask was standing next to a pair of identical thugs in denim jeans and vests, wild grins and crude, blocky swords in their hands.

The clearing was burned, and blood was splashed across some of the dirt. Shoto could see one of the Wild Wild Pussycats on the ground, back by Yaoyorozu, looking like they’d been stabbed and then dragged to safety. One of the Class 1-B students was performing first aid, grimly holding pressure on a bandage.

But the Villains weren’t attacking – they were retreating. The one firing off high intensity waves of blue-tinted fire was walking backwards slowly, and while one of the other figures was still attacking, they were doing so from range – throwing knives while backing up.

“Time to go!” the fire-wielding Villain yelled, just as Shoto and Mineta entered the clearing.

The fire-wielder, the black-bodysuit wearer, and the yellow-overcoated Villain all turned and started running to the swirling black portal – the same portal Quirk as the U.S.J. attack, Shoto realized suddenly – but the identical twin Villains let out yells and charged with raised blades, in total defiance of the retreat order.

Shoto grit his teeth and threw out a blast of ice towards the charging Villains, but it was low to the ground, weak, and barely held together. The Villains jumped right over the top and kept coming.

One of them threw a hand out as he ran, and a knife came whistling through the air. Shoto lurched to the side to dodge it, before shoving a clawed hand forward, sending out a plume of fire. It was flaring, patchy, and uneven – all things that his bastard father had drilled into him as signs of weakness and inconsistency, something that could lightly singe when you meant to kill, or kill when you meant to injure.

Still, the plume of fire was enough to catch one of the Villains, and he melted, transforming into some kind of dark, goopy muck that was hard to see. Was that his Quirk? Transforming? Or was it some kind of weird Cloning Quirk? He didn’t know, and he’d have to keep an eye out just in case he wasn’t beaten.

The other one kept coming. One of the Class 1-B students, the iron-skinned one that had fought Kirishima in the sports festival, roared out a challenge and charged back at the Villain, maybe hoping to draw their attention away from the injured Pro Hero.

Shoto grit his teeth and prepared to hurl another wave of fire at the Villain, but another crack roared in his ear, nearly deafening him as Mineta fired his gun. The Villain fell apart in a slurry of muddy slime, starting from a tiny little hole in the center of his chest, and quickly crumbling outwards in less than a second before Shoto’s eyes.

The Villains were all nearly gone, now. The fire-flinging Villain and the black-bodysuit wearer had both disappeared into the swirling, inky-black portal, and the yellow-overcoated Villain – the one that still had Bakugo clenched in a marble in his hand – was almost at the portal, running flat out towards it.

Crack.

The yellow-coated Villain stumbled, nearly tripping right in front of the gate. Had Mineta hit him? Shoto couldn’t tell for one tense moment, distracted by the cacophony in his ears from the gunshot so close, but then something flew out of the Villain’s hand, a tiny little object –

– and with a swirl of blue light, the marble uncompressed, dumping Bakugo on the ground, right in front of the portal.

The yellow-coated Villain stumbled forwards on three limbs, using an arm to keep himself up as he dove into the black gateway and vanished.

“Bakugo!” someone yelled, from the crowd of students off to the side. It sounded like Aizawa, but more desperate, pleading, in a way that their emotionless teacher would never sound.

Bakugo lifted his head up from where he was laying on the ground. He looked confused, shaken – but he was conscious, and his usual alert expression was starting to return to his face. For a tiny moment, he looked relieved.

Then, out of the swirling portal that was still open behind Bakugo, a hand stretched out, pale against the portal’s inky depths.

Shoto’s breath caught in his throat. He was choking on nothing; he just couldn’t breathe.

The hand grabbed Bakugo’s ankle, and the teenager’s expression morphed in front of Shoto’s eyes, from relief to panic, to horror, to fear. The hand pulled, and Bakugo fought back, kicking with his other leg, grabbing at the dirt in front of him as he tried to get away. But the hand was stronger, and Bakugo was being pulled back into the portal, slowly but surely.

Crack.

Shoto flinched as Mineta fired again. What was he aiming at? The portal? He couldn’t see. The bullet was so fast that Shoto couldn’t tell where Mineta had aimed, or where he’d hit – just a thunder in his ear, and the world unchanged around him, with no sign of impact.

Bakugo had stopped crawling, had thrown himself down on the dirt, pressing as close as possible to the ground. He, at least, appeared to think that Mineta had shot in his direction.

And in the moment that Bakugo stopped fighting, stopped crawling, stopped kicking, the hand coming out of the portal yanked, hard and fast.

There was barely enough time for Bakugo to look up, his face terrified in a way that looked unnatural on the arrogant boy, and then he was dragged through the portal – and a moment later, the spinning, whirling motion stopped, and the portal faded away, taking their classmate with it.

Chapter Text

The hospital’s parking lot was nearly empty when Yuudai Umemoto arrived. It was the only building still lit up in the dark of the night, and illumination spilled from its lobby out into the dark asphalt.

It had been a long drive to the western edge of Tokyo, but even with all that time to think, Yuudai’s panic at the midnight phone call was strong in his stomach. He swallowed, trying to get the lump in his throat to go away, but it wouldn’t.

The police were, apparently, just as nervous as he was, because there were easily twelve officers in plain sight, each wearing riot gear and carrying submachine guns. Four of them were already looking towards his car as he anxiously straightened his tie, before nodding to his driver and getting out.

“Stop right there!” one of the police officers called out as Yuudai stepped out of the car. “Identify yourself!”

He stopped moving immediately, squinting against the harsh light from the perimeter floodlights.

“I am Yuudai Umemoto,” he called back, holding up his ID. “I’m an attorney with Son & Takahara, and I’m here to speak to my client.”

“Hospital’s closed,” the police officer replied. “No unauthorized entries.”

“My agency called ahead,” Yuudai started to say, before a horrendous roar cut him off.

A bright green sedan roared into the empty parking lot, flashing police lights. Its headlights sent bright beams across the police line as they all jumped into action, aiming their weapons at the car.

Yuudai slowly backed up, eyes wide and hands raised, as the lead police officer barked out orders, gesturing with a free hand.

“Get out of the vehicle!” someone yelled over a megaphone.

Yuudai’s mouth went as dry as the desert, and he fought the urge to dive for cover. Sudden movements weren’t a good idea right now.

A costumed man jumped out of the car, most of his upper torso exposed under a green vest, and a bright blue mask over his face – a Pro Hero.

“This is Pro Hero Snatch, responding to a call for backup!” the Pro called out.

“Backup?” the police officer replied. “This location is secure, no hostiles present!”

“Tell that to Eraserhead,” Snatch snapped back, his enormous mustache whipping the air as he turned his head back and forth. “I just got an emergency broadcast from him!”

“Two, check that out!” the lead police officer snapped, turning to glare at another officer.

“Sir, Eraserhead acknowledges the call for backup, and just canceled it,” the second police officer said, after a few moments. “One of the students was moved without telling internal security, so they went on high alert.”

“Okay,” the lead police officer replied, shaking his head. “False alarm.”

The Pro Hero pressed a hand to his earbud, listening to something that Yuudai couldn’t make out. After a moment, he nodded, and got back into his car, pulling out and turning off his flashers.

“Alright, you, lawyer!” the lead police officer called out, his voice harsh. “You can leave too.”

“My firm called ahead,” Yuudai repeated himself, trying to be firm but not rude. “We were told I would be allowed through the security cordon. You can check with your superiors.”

The police officer didn’t reply and made no move towards his radio, but the man at his side did. Yuudai couldn’t make out their expressions behind the lowered faceplate of their riot helmets; the glare from the floodlights was too strong.

The two police officers exchanged a few quiet words while Yuudai stood there, in the late night, early morning air, which felt too cold for him, even now in mid-July.

“Step forward, but keep your hands where we can see them,” the first police officer called out after a few minutes.

Yuudai complied, crushing his personal feelings under his professionalism. This was his job, and he was being extraordinarily well paid for it. There was no excuse for betraying his education and his agency by shirking in his duties.

The police officer took the wallet out of his hand and inspected the ID carefully.

“Alright, you’re clear,” he said, handing the wallet back. “Head inside, and do not try anything.”

“Of course, officer,” Yuudai replied. “Might I ask where my client-”

“Once you’re inside, ask the receptionist,” the police officer said, interrupting him. “Now clear the road.”

Don’t be rude, don’t be rude, Yuudai chanted to himself, as he stepped up, past the line of policemen. Two of them were watching him the whole way, hands on their submachineguns.

The reception desk for the hospital was manned by a young woman, perhaps in her thirties, and even she was watching him warily as he approached.

“I am Yuudai Umemoto,” he said, nodding politely to her. “I’m here from Son & Takahara for my client, one of the U.A. students injured in the attack.”

The young woman smiled, and for a moment, Yuudai relaxed.

“They’re in no condition to talk to anyone right now,” the woman replied, her professional smile clashing with the iron-clad dismissal in her words. “It’s 2 a.m., and they’re resting after a traumatic ordeal.”

“Miss, I assure you, I have no intention of disturbing them,” Yuudai replied. “But my firm’s policies are quite clear – I need to talk to my client right away.”

“And what firm is that again?” the receptionist asked, not budging.

“Son & Takahara, in Chiyoda,” Yuudai informed her, a tinge of frost entering his voice.

The receptionist turned to her computer and dutifully jotted the information in. Maybe she thought Yuudai was trying to pull something that a trash lawyer might, chasing an injured person like an American attorney. Maybe she doubted that he really was an attorney.

It was all quite illogical. She should have realized that he was no fake after the police let him through their cordon.

Still, Yuudai kept his feelings tight in the vice-grip of his training, and gave no visible reaction when the receptionist’s eyes suddenly widened and her face paled. She glanced back at him, and then at her computer again.

Exactly the reaction she should have for doubting him. Did she think that scammers routinely shelled out more than her yearly salary for a suit? That they had private drivers and top-of-the-line foreign cars? She should have known that he was important from just a single look at him.

“The students are upstairs, on the fourth floor,” the receptionist said, her voice slightly shaken. “You’ll want Room 412.”

“Thank you,” Yuudai said, keeping his head locked still, and not nodding to her, as he walked away from the front desk without another look at her.

The rest of the hospital was fairly empty, as the parking lot had indicated, but not due to any lack of competence. This was the best hospital this close to Tokyo’s rural and mountainous west, the first stopping place for those needing quality medical care. It was probably only this empty currently because of the police locking down the entire facility for security this late at night.

The initial reports of the attack were scant. The news hadn’t heard yet. Shaky internet videos of multiple medevac helicopters landing at this hospital were the only way that most of the world would know that anything had happened, and that was if they went looking. He, however, had a different source of information, as befitted his status.

Technically, he wasn’t the attorney for one of the students, but that was only due to polite professionalism on behalf of his main client. First year teenagers, he had been informed firmly, did not need one of the best lawyers in Japan showing up at their beck and call. That would be crass, and wouldn’t allow his young client the proper distance to form meaningful relationships with the rest of Class 1-A, which was of the utmost importance to his actual client, the one that was paying his substantial fees every quarter-hour.

But, alas, when one’s client is hospitalized during a supposedly safe trip under U.A.’s aegis, and suffered injuries from poison gas, his clients were naturally worried – and when a client’s worrying could re-shape the political landscape of Japan, it was his job to reassure them.

The elevator dinged as it reached the fourth floor, and Yuudai stepped out into a quiet hallway. There were a few students milling around, moving from room to room, and watchful police officers stationed every few dozen meters, but he didn’t see his client anywhere.

Room 412 was halfway down the corridor, and as he approached, the door opened on its own, revealing a group of bandaged, determined-looking teenagers.

A shorter kid with freckles, a wild mop of green hair and a fiercely determined expression, a broader boy with spiky red hair, and a sullen-looking teen with two-colored hair, white-and-red. One of them quickly stuffed what looked like a cellphone or an electronic device of some kind into his jacket pocket, very nervously. Yuudai recognized two of them from the first-year events at U.A.’s Sports Festival…

…but his client was not among them.

“Excuse me,” Yuudai murmured, as he stepped to the side and allowed them to walk past.

He knocked on the door, heard a muffled response, and opened it up.

The hospital room inside was fairly cramped. Multiple beds, racks for hanging IV’s, and chairs for waiting visitors… almost all of which were empty, leaving only one bed occupied with a tall, dark-haired teenage girl with aristocratic features. She was wrapped up in blankets, a jacket tossed over one of the chairs to the side.

Miss Momo Yaoyorozu, heir to Yaoyorozu Corporation and her family’s collective fortune. One of the single richest teenagers in Japan, if not the world.

But his client was not in the room.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Ms. Yaoyorozu,” Yuudai said, bowing at the waist. “But you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Minoru Mineta, do you?”

“Mineta?” the billionaire’s daughter repeated, blinking away what looked like the remnants of tears. “I-I… don’t know. Mr. Aizawa went to look for him. He wasn’t in his room.”

Ah, that explains the Pro Heroes outside, Yuudai thought to himself, idly, before Ms. Yaoyorozu’s words struck him like a hammer ringing a bell, and his eyes widened involuntarily.

Wait, Mineta’s missing? Oh no. Oh no! We need him! We can’t lose our Leader!

“I see, thank you,” Yuudai said, fighting to keep his panic from showing as he bowed again and went to step out.

“Uh…” Ms. Yaoyorozu mumbled, obviously thinking hard for a moment. “Hang on.”

She fished a cell phone out of the hundred-thousand yen jacket next to her bed, and started typing away quickly. Yuudai waited in the threshold of the doorway, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Okay,” Ms. Yaoyorozu said, a handful of seconds later. “Mineta’s downstairs. Basement level two.”

“Thank you very much, young miss,” Yuudai replied, a wave of relief washing over him. “May I ask… how do you know?”

“Oh, one of my classmates has a hearing Quirk,” Ms. Yaoyorozu told him. “I thought she might have overhead someone talking about it, and she did.”

“I… see,” he replied, carefully not commenting on the implications of that statement.

Yuudai quietly shut the door behind him, and returned to the elevator, moving as quickly as he could without giving away his rush.

He traveled down to the basement in silence, listening to the clunk-clunk-clunk of the elevator as it passed each floor.

As the elevator doors opened, he heard a voice, fierce and angry, arguing with someone, and he paused inside the elevator, listening to the voices echoing down the sub-basement hallway.

“Let me see my student.”

“Sir, I cannot open this door while questioning is underway.”

Questioning? Yuudai thought, his eyes widening.

Of course. The police’s little trick. Everyone had a right to legal counsel in Japan, even if they could not afford one, ever since the American occupation. But the police didn’t like to call attorneys. They wanted their suspects to sign confessions before they charged them – before an attorney was called, hamstringing them with that signed confession.

And Mineta, for all his words of wisdom and his leadership, was still a teenager…

He stepped out of the elevator, and snapped his head to the right, locking his eyes down the hallway, to where a uniformed police guard was standing sentinel outside a locked door, arguing with a dark-haired man in dark clothing, bandages swaddled around one hand and a long scarf of stiff grey material around his neck.

It was the Pro Hero Eraserhead. He was lucky to be alive right now, having survived two criminal attacks with severe injuries each time. And yet here Yuudai found him, in a sub-basement beneath the hospital, demanding to see his student again, to make sure they were okay.

Good man, Yuudai thought, distantly, as he walked towards the arguing pair, his shoes clicking in the hallway.

The arguing pair quieted down and looked to him. The policeman was visibly tired, as if from a long shift. Eraserhead was more than tired; he looked like a dead man whose suffering was not yet over, with dark rings around his eyes and bandaged injuries peeking out beneath his uniform.

Yuudai ignored the Pro Hero, and stared at the policeman as he approached.

“Did I just hear you say that you were questioning someone?” he asked the policeman, softly, with an undercurrent of iron. “An underaged teenager? Without, I imagine, their attorney present?”

“No one has been charged with any crime,” the policeman replied, with a hesitant expression, as if he wished to be anywhere else at the moment. “There is no need for an attorney to be called until – unless – that changes.”

“Fortunately, someone else already called me,” Yuudai said, enunciating very carefully as he ignored the confused look that came over Eraserhead at those words. “I am Yuudai Umemoto of Son & Takahara. I am Minoru Mineta’s attorney. I need to speak to my client, and your superiors have already cleared my presence here. Let me in.”

The policeman swallowed hard. His eyes flitted over to Eraserhead, then he hesitantly picked up his radio.

“Lead, this is Kou, I’ve got an attorney here, says he’s Minoru Mineta’s lawyer?” he asked, eyes flicking back and forth between the radio and Yuudai. “He wants to get into the interrogation room.”

“Yeah, he’s OK,” the radio blurted out, crackling with a little static as it did. “Commissioner approved it. Let him through.”

The policeman pursed his lips, but stepped to the side of the door, using his keys to unlock it. Yuudai stepped forward, and to his side, Eraserhead did the same thing. The policeman stiffened, and started to open his mouth, possibly to refuse the Pro Hero entry.

“Eraserhead will be fine as an escort,” Yuudai interrupted him, before he could speak.

The policeman frowned, and Yuudai looked at him, really looked at him, leaning forward slightly, and the policeman backed down.

Yuudai stepped through the door with Eraserhead following quickly behind him. The attorney looked back at the Pro Hero, and nodded slightly. The Pro Hero was squinting at him in suspicion, but didn’t seem inclined to say anything. After a moment, Eraserhead nodded back to him.

Eraserhead stepped forward and led Yuudai through a hallway, and together they stepped into a darkened room full of various electronics, including at least one active recording device, and a two-way mirror. The air was cool, almost chilled in the dark room. Another police officer was guarding the door to the interrogation room, barely looking up at them as they entered.

Past the two-way mirror was the interrogation room. Unlike the television dramas, it was quite comfortable looking. The walls were a soothing taupe color, there was a faux wood table with a tablet computer mounted on it, the room was well-lit, and Mineta was sitting on a normal, padded chair, without being handcuffed.

But despite the room’s relaxing appearance, the interrogator was doing everything he could to make up for it. He was standing over Mineta, hands spread on the table, looming over the short teenager and glaring down at him, shaven-head gleaming in the light and 2 a.m. stubble on his cheeks.

There were no signs that he had physically touched Mineta, which was the sole reason that Yuudai didn’t immediately call Chitose, but the young teenager’s eyes were red-rimmed, and tears were flowing freely down his cheeks. The boy was glaring up at the interrogator like he wanted to attack him, which made for a pitiful sight.

Eraserhead straightened up from his partial slouch, and Yuudai caught a glimpse of the Pro Hero’s eyes sharpening, glaring daggers at the interrogator through the glass, before the Pro Hero turned to look at the door guard.

“That’s my client,” Yuudai said, pointing at Mineta through the glass. “I need to talk to him about this unlawful detention. You can ask your superiors-”

“No,” the door guard said, with a bored tone of voice as he interrupted the attorney. “You’re allowed in, and that means you can talk to him after the questioning is done. For now, you can watch him from here.”

Yuudai took a step forward, towards the guard, but before he could say anything, Eraserhead reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Open the door,” Eraserhead told the door guard, his voice flat and monotone.

“No,” the door guard repeated, this time with a little emphasis. “Not until the interrogation is over.”

Eraserhead’s hand lashed out like a whip, grabbing onto the door guard’s vest and dragging him down to the Pro Hero’s level. The man squawked in surprise, his half-lidded eyes flying wide open.

“Open. The. Door,” Eraserhead repeated slowly, not raising his voice.

“What the fuck, man?!” the door guard barked, surprise twisting into bewildered outrage on his face, as he tried to wrestle with the Pro Hero, struggling with both hands and failing to move Eraserhead’s iron grip even a millimeter. “What gives? He’s just asking some questions!”

“That is my student,” Eraserhead said quietly, eyes locked on the door guard. “He’s just been through a very traumatic experience, and he does not deserve to be treated like a criminal. Are you going to stand there while a victim is crying, or are you going to open the door?”

The door guard stared at him for a moment, and then glanced over at the two-way mirror. Yuudai watched as his eyes took in the interrogator’s looming stance and angry expression, and then flitted over to the crying, but defiant teenager sitting beneath that glare.

“…shit,” the door guard swore under his breath. “Alright, alright.”

Eraserhead released the door guard, and the man stepped back instinctively. Eraserhead pushed him aside with a nudge of a shoulder, and went through the door. Yuudai followed behind him, and stepped into the brightly lit interrogation room without hesitation. It was warm inside, not from any machines, but from the humans crammed within, their tension and their anger.

“Get out!” the interrogator snapped at them, stepping up to Eraserhead and trying to loom over him, using his meager height advantage to no effect. “I’m not done with my questioning.”

Yuudai looked to Mineta, and tried to project some kind of reassurance to the boy. It wasn’t easy; his role had always demanded cool confidence, to the point of seeming almost arrogant and alien. But this was not an adult client, who looked forward to having a leashed monster for a lawyer – it was a young adult. Sitting there crying in the interrogation room, Mineta seemed so painfully young.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Eraserhead replied, tonelessly. “My student needs rest and recovery. Not questions. You should have asked me before you took him from his room.”

“This is a matter for the National Police Agency, Eraserhead,” the interrogator growled. “This ‘student’ killed a man, and took a shot at his own classmate! For all we know, he’s feeding information to this League of Villains. I could slap a half-dozen felonies on him right now, and your corrupt little Commission wouldn’t be able to bury this. Don’t try your protectionist bullshit on me, everyone is accountable to the law.”

Eraserhead’s long scraggly mess of hair started to lift up, just a little at the ends, but Yuudai spotted it, nonetheless. He was getting ready to activate his Quirk.

The interrogator spotted it as well.

“Already resorting to violence,” he snarled, “What a Hero you are! If you use your Quirk on me, I’ll press charges for assault and take your Hero License away so quickly, you won’t have time to resign before they kick you out of U.A.”

The interrogator glared at him, and then shifted his glare over to Yuudai, who stared back at the man like he was an insect.

“And get that lawyer out of here,” the interrogator continued, as if he had any authority to give orders to Eraserhead. “Under Article 39 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, right to legal counsel has been restricted on this suspect.”

Off to the side, away from their argument, Mineta stiffened. His jaw dropped, and his fists clenched on the table as his expression slowly morphed from tension to seething anger.

“Oh, has it?” Yuudai asked, forcing his voice light and casual. “That’s very interesting. Who authorized it?”

“The paperwork’s en route to your office, I’m sure,” the interrogator sneered.

Unlikely, thought Yuudai, Mineta has only been here for a few hours, and you’ve had him in this room for perhaps ten minutes, judging by Eraserhead’s call for backup when I arrived.

Yuudai reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He thumbed in his pass-code, ignoring the interrogator, and pulled up a contact. It had only been added to his phone thirty or so minutes ago, but he had no doubt that it was the correct number.

“I have here,” Yuudai said, holding up his cell phone, “the personal cellphone number of Commissioner-General Nakamura.”

The interrogator stiffened in place, and Eraserhead’s bruised eyes widened. Only Mineta showed no reaction – perhaps he didn’t even know who that was.

Yuudai paused, letting his words sit in the air for a moment.

“Would you like me to call him,” Yuudai continued, keeping his voice casual with great effort, “And check if Article 39 has been authorized for an underaged U.A. student that you are preventing from receiving medical treatment?”

The interrogator glared hatefully at him, bristling with pent up anger.

“Or would President Kinoshita of the Hero Public Safety Commission be preferable?” Yuudai asked, meeting the interrogator’s eyes with no hesitation.

“Nice try,” he spat back, switching his glare back and forth between Yuudai and Eraserhead. “You slapped that name on a random number, and you think that’s going to work on me? Lying attorneys, corrupt Heroes, and the HPSC covering up their crimes, some things never change-”

Yuudai pressed the call button, his eyes steady on the interrogator as he raised the phone to his ear.

The phone rang once – just once – and was picked up nearly instantly.

“Nakamura,” a harsh, annoyed voice said in his ear.

Unsurprisingly, the Commissioner-General was already awake, and he’d likely already been briefed on the situation. Hostage crises were bad for the NPA, since Pro Heroes tended to take a lot of the glory.

But it was possible that Nakamura didn’t know how bad the situation was. How bad it could turn, very quickly.

“This is Yuudai Umemoto-”

“From Son & Takahara,” Nakamura finished for him, tersely. “Kizuki’s lawyer. What do you want?”

Ah, perhaps he did know how bad the situation was.

Yuudai smiled as he kept his gaze on the interrogator, who was starting to go still, losing his bristling, vibrating anger.

“I’m at the hospital in Hachioji,” Yuudai said. “I’m in an interrogation room with Minoru Mineta. I’ve just been told that Article 39 has been authorized for him, meaning-”

“Stop talking,” Nakamura snapped. “Who else is in that room with you?”

“Minoru Mineta, his teacher, the Pro Hero Eraserhead, and the police interrogator,” Yuudai answered. “Those three only. The interrogator didn’t give me his name.”

“Hand the phone to the interrogator. Now.”

Yuudai stared down the interrogator as he pulled the phone away from his head and held it out to him. The interrogator was still trying to look tough, but his face had started to go pale in the room’s warm lights. He looked at the outstretched phone as if it was a hive of angry hornets.

“It’s for you,” Yuudai said, forcibly nonchalant, as he shook the phone for emphasis.

The interrogator took up the phone, and raised it to his ear.

“This is-” he started to say, before his mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth, and a truly sour look came over his pale face, before it too was wiped away, replaced with a growing dismayed expression.

He didn’t say anything – didn’t have a chance to, as Yuudai could faintly hear the harsh voice of Nakamura talking non-stop, even if he couldn’t make out the individual words.

Yuudai spared a second to look at the others in the room, and saw Eraserhead looking at him with an unguarded expression of cautious concern. He nodded to the Pro Hero, and smiled gently. They were on the same side, both working to protect their young charge.

When he looked to Mineta, however, it was his turn to be concerned and cautious. Minoru Mineta had been emotional the entire time Yuudai had been watching – crying, red-cheeked with tension, and looking like any other child caught up in the impossibilities of the world, outraged at being stuck in an unwinnable battle.

But now, Mineta had lost the tears. His cheeks were no longer red with anger. His fists were unclenched.

Instead, he was looking at Yuudai with an intense gaze, like a laser beam. It wasn’t quite curiosity. The boy’s eyes lingered on his silk tie, then moved onto his suit’s shoulder, his lapels, the number of buttons on his jacket, the cufflinks on his sleeves, before finally dropping down to Yuudai’s expensive, well-polished shoes.

Finally, Mineta looked up, and met Yuudai’s own eyes, and there was a look of understanding… and confusion.

If Yuudai had to guess, Mineta knew that he was a high-priced attorney… and didn’t know why, exactly, such a person was helping him out.

Commissioner-General Nakamura’s one-sided conversation came to an end, and the police interrogator let the phone drop away from his ear. He held it out, limply, for Yuudai.

“Yuudai here,” he said.

“Tell Kizuki this was an accident,” Nakamura said, the words gritted out halfheartedly over the phone connection. “We apologize for the mistake. It won’t happen again. And… when he’s ready, Kinoshita and I want to meet him.”

“I’ll tell them,” Yuudai said, before hanging up on the Chief of Japan’s Police.

He turned to the interrogator.

“I need a word with my client,” he said, genuinely calm for the first time tonight.

The interrogator stared at him for a moment, then left the room, slamming the door behind him. Eraserhead made no such move.

“I need to talk to him alone, Eraserhead,” Yuudai said, softening his voice. “I’m going to use my Quirk to ensure that we’ve got some privacy, and I’ll need you to leave the room for it.”

Eraserhead tensed up, but Yuudai kept talking before he could interrupt.

“I understand that you’ll want to make sure your student is safe,” Yuudai continued. “You’ll be able to see us the whole time.”

“If you do anything to hurt him, I will be inside instantly,” Eraserhead threatened.

“Good,” Yuudai replied, smiling sadly. “I wish more people were like you, Eraserhead.”

This, of all things, seemed to stump the Pro Hero. After a moment of confusion, the Pro Hero shook his head.

“Mineta,” he said, looking over to his student. “If he does anything…”

“I got it, boss,” Mineta muttered, his voice croaking.

Eraserhead hesitated, and stepped out of the room slowly.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mineta asked, his voice rough and shaky, as soon as his teacher had left, staring unabashedly at Yuudai.

“One moment, I need to use my Quirk,” Yuudai said, pulling a chair over and sitting down, before clenching his arms, and spreading his hands wide.

A dusky, amber-like haze seemed to emerge from the pads of his fingers as he did, forming a small bubble the size of a basketball in each hand. Yuudai held his arms wide for a moment, and stopped there.

“My Quirk dampens sound within it,” Yuudai explained, with a gentle voice. “Here, I’ll demonstrate on myself.”

He moved one bubble around his head, and it grew larger, until his head was enveloped in a bubble the size of a yoga ball. The rest of the world looked strange, through the amber-gold glow of the bubble, and outside sounds were muted, but he could breathe just fine.

“Mineta,” Yuudai shouted, “Can you hear me?!”

Mineta stared at him through the bubble, showing zero reaction to his words, even with his face hard to make out through the amber.

Yuudai pulled the bubble away from his head.

“See?” he asked. “No sound. No lip-reading, either.”

“…Alright,” Mineta said, hesitantly. “But I didn’t pay for any attorney.”

“A mutual friend of ours hired me,” Yuudai explained, crushing his growing exasperation. It was perfectly natural. “Chitose.”

“Chitose?” Mineta repeated, as if confused. “Ah… okay. Go ahead.”

Yuudai spread his arms out, wide, and concentrated. The amber bubbles grew, meeting in the middle, until finally there was one huge bubble, two meters in diameter, held between his outstretched arms. He set the bubble down gently on the table.

Yuudai leaned forward slightly, and poked his head into the bubble, muting all outside sound as he did. After a moment, Mineta joined him.

“As I said earlier, my name is Yuudai Umemoto,” Yuudai said. “I work for Son & Takahara, a very prestigious law firm in Chiyoda. Chitose hired me to help you out with this situation.”

“I’m very grateful to her,” Mineta said, slowly. “But how did she even know about this? We just got in at 10 p.m., and I haven’t called her.”

“I believe that Nedzu or perhaps President Kinoshita of the Hero Public Safety Commission called her,” Yuudai said. “I’m sure she’ll explain it when you next meet to give her orders.”

Mineta paused, briefly, and another look of confusion spread across his face, which confused Yuudai in turn.

Why would Mineta be confused by this? he wondered, before dismissing the thoughts.

“Chitose is very eager to talk to you,” Yuudai said, bowing his head as best he could with his arms outstretched, “She is waiting for your next words for the Army. Other assets are on standby should a more visible intervention be appropriate. What do you require, Leader-sama?”

Mineta didn’t respond.

After a moment of waiting, Yuudai glanced up from his bow, and saw Mineta’s face was changing colors rapidly. First white, then red, as his expression changed from surprise to shock to horror and finally settled on an almost incandescent rage.

“Leader-sama?” he asked, hesitantly, trying to ignore how Mineta was staring at Yuudai like he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands.

“Oh,” Mineta said, slowly, after a few seconds, then again, faster. “Oh, I’m going to have some words for her.”