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The first days at the hospital, Rumi is so high on pain meds she doesn't even register the other presence in the room. Her head feels full of cotton when she shifts on her pillow to find a more comfortable position. That's when she notices Hawks, laying flat on his stomach to presumably give relief to his bandaged back—his wingless back. Rumi's brow furrows.
"Those fuckers got ya too, uh?" she slurs in his direction. As if on cue, her missing arm gives a shot of phantom pain as if to say fuck you too.
Hawks doesn't reply or otherwise show any sign he's heard her. His expression doesn't change from the deeply focused furrow of his scorched brows.
Rumi wonders what's gotten him looking so serious. She hasn’t seen him much in person, but if there’s one thing about herself she can trust, it’s her instincts. Her first impression of him was of a gutsy, cheeky fella. Not this shell of a man that is staring blankly at the wall opposite him.
She’s out like a light again before she can fully question it.
The longer Rumi stays at the hospital, the more her foot twitches with restless energy. She misses the exhilaration of a fight, and knowing that she can't book a gym room to herself to blow off steam makes her chew the inside of her cheek until it bleeds.
Hawks, she decides, is a better distraction than the mind-numbing shows on their small TV. Or he would be, if he actually talked.
There’s a delay in his responses to small talk, like he has to remind himself how to answer simple questions. He’s evasive about the results of the raid too, and all she gathers is that he hadn’t been in it for long.
Somewhere along the line, she’d come to learn that the operation had been a team-up between Hawks, deep undercover, and the number one, who'd been leading the military strike. If Hawks’ almost catatonic state is anything to go by, it hadn’t been the clean success Endeavor had envisioned.
Once or twice, she’s on the verge of reminding Hawks that he's done enough—for fucks' sake, he'd lost limbs too—but she has enough tact not to kick a man who’s already down.
He goes AWOL before she gets a chance to snap him out of his funk.
It’s a quiet affair.
One morning, she returns from her first physical therapy appointment to find his bed empty and his nurse's veins popping at the sight of the open window he'd climbed out. He’d always had a penchant for rocking the boat.
Hawks’ mysterious disappearance from the hero scene leaves Rumi feeling oddly off-balance. She knows her body, and she’s aware she’d given the operation her all. There was nothing more she could have done. She has no regrets.
She supposes he does. Or maybe, for him, giving it his all means going back to his ordinary life to find nothing left of himself.
She hopes someone broke Shigaraki’s legs for her. The asshole deserves worse after the hell he’d put them through. The resilient fucker. A grin cuts her face like a blade at the memory.
She's still thinking about it a day later when she gets a visitor.
Rumi arches a brow and mentally prepares herself to dig her heels in. She’d been expecting the HPSC Chairwoman, and she knows it’s no social call. Not after that.
The President looks stiff in her designer suit. She doesn’t sit, her eyes briefly falling on the row of get-well flowers and potted plants adorning Rumi’s shelf. She’s empty-handed, but that doesn’t seem to be the reason why her gaze is lingering, calculating as ever.
Sure enough, once those icy eyes meet Rumi's, they’re not filled with any polite pleasantries, just business.
“You’ve accomplished what most pro heroes would deem impossible,” she notes tonelessly.
Out of anyone else’s mouth, it would've sounded like a compliment. Rumi isn't sure it’s meant to be one, though, and her ears twitch. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s leapt ahead of several of her male colleagues. She’s not about to stop to check if they’re catching up.
“It takes more than a few broken bones to slow me down or break my spirit,” she declares, jutting her chin out.
The President doesn’t smile, but the look in her eyes shifts to something more pleased—like Rumi has followed a script she wasn't aware she was reading.
The hair on Rumi’s arm stands on end, like she’s staring at a predator. It makes her blood pump with adrenaline from the unspoken challenge.
“Shigaraki hasn’t been secured.” The Chairwoman doesn't beat around the bush, confirming Rumi’s suspicions. “I’m sure you’ll agree this isn’t a time for sitting idly.”
“That has never been my style.” Rumi relaxes, and her smile becomes more genuine, if no less confident.
If the President had made plans to kick her ass straight to bed, she might as well have tried eating her own foot instead. There’s no way in hell this is the end of the line for the Rabbit Hero: Mirko. She’d been ready to go down with those monsters if that was what it took to defeat Shigaraki.
“I knew you’d be up for the challenge. That makes this easier.”
Rumi leans forward, ignoring the shock of pain exploding in her right side.
“This?” she echoes.
The President glances at her wounds too, then her face, like she's scanning Rumi's micro-expressions to spot a weakness. She won’t find one.
“You have to understand that you have a duty as the number one now,” she says. Rumi blames the drugs for how it takes her a couple of seconds for the words to truly sink in. “That comes with certain expectations—”
“Hold the fuck up,” Rumi interrupts with a scowl. “What did you just say?”
The President smooths out her suit but doesn't repeat herself. Her expression grows grim.
"You're a well-liked hero, Mirko. Your fans’ affection and support prove you're the right face to weather this storm. It's crucial for the populace to look up to someone who isn't showing fear. Someone who accomplished the impossible."
So that's what this is really about, Rumi thinks.
If the HPSC wants a nice PR doll for a Plus Ultra campaign, they're barking up the wrong tree. Buttering her up will get them nowhere.
"What happened to Endeavor?"
Sure, the geezer's got the temper of an active volcano, but at least he's not two limbs short and stuck on a damned hospital bed.
The President's lips twitch. She crosses her arms, her fingers starting to tick impatiently on the sleeves of her suit.
"It's classified."
What about Edgeshot, Rumi opens her mouth to say but gets crudely cut off.
"You can be updated on the results of the operation at a later date. For now, what matters is your speedy recovery. Hero society needs you, Mirko. I'm glad you didn't hold back against the high ends. We can use your solo takedown of those monsters to strengthen the faith in heroism. The masses need to remember that this loss isn't the end." She pauses, and her expression becomes a little less stern. "Like it wasn't for you."
Rumi bristles. Oh, she knows this type. There's a reason why she doesn't have any affiliation with hero institutions. She's never liked people who mask personal interest as the greater good.
"That's a lot of words for a load of crap. It'll be months before I'll walk again, let alone go back to the field. If shit's as bad as you say, the League isn’t gonna sit down and wait for me to be ready to be your new Symbol."
"We can arrange for you to be restored back to full health in a short time." The President's gaze doesn't waver, and her phrasing makes Rumi's hackles rise. Her instincts tell her that she's not gonna like this.
"How?"
She's already gotten the routine visit by Recovery Girl after her amputations, and she doesn't know of any other healing quirk that's more effective than the old granny's. Even then, physical therapy's still gonna be a bitch.
"Quirk-activated treatments are speedier and more effective than old-fashioned, traditional medicine," the President says as if reading her mind. "An…associate of ours possesses a rewinding quirk. The subject's in hero custody, so her legal guardian will have to agree to our terms, were you to consent to the procedure." She pauses, making eye contact with a stony expression. "It's in everyone's best interest that you don't overlook our offer. Please don't let your pride get in the way of our country’s future."
The temperature in the room drops.
It's a good thing Rumi's not the type to stomp defenseless civilians flat because this one is really testing her temper. Her frown morphs into a wolfish grin.
"You really must be desperate to turn to the wounded rabbit with no hero agency to attempt to save face," she challenges, holding the President’s gaze without flinching.
She owns her injuries, but they don't own her. They're the proof she gave her all, not something that marks her as a 'less than' and certainly not something that needs fixing.
If fame and an easy retirement were all Rumi was after, she wouldn't have ended up here. She's a hero because she's strong enough to kick villains and schemers into next week, not to play Idol for the public. Rumi won't sacrifice her integrity for the sake of lulling the masses into a false sense of security. They already underestimated Shigaraki once.
“I hope you'll reevaluate your stance.” The President reaches into her suit pocket to retrieve a business card that she places on Rumi's nightstand. “You don't have to answer immediately."
She leaves without a farewell, and Rumi leans back on her bed. Finally alone, she relaxes.
She's always preferred it that way.
The studio’s overhead lights are just as suffocatingly hot as Rumi remembers them, even in her hero costume. All around her are pros she doesn't recognize after staying away from the hero scene for a year.
She tunes out their routine speeches until her name is spoken again, next to her ranking.
Oh, she's waited so long for this moment.
The lights from above shine off her prosthetics' metal components, and she lets the cameras zoom in on them with a smirk. Tomorrow's headlines will be filled with praise on her Plus Ultra recovery, but that's only if she plays her part.
“This is not the time to let criminality jerk us around and terrorize the populace,” she begins, her voice carried by the small mic on her collar.
A round of applause interrupts her, but Rumi doesn't falter. She's Japan's first female number one. She's a survivor of the Jakku massacre. She's leapt past her competition, even after dropping out of the top ten for two subsequent editions.
But above all, she's a hero.
She stares right into the President's eyes.
“What Japan needs most now is to stop pissing its pants,” she declares, satisfied when that earns her a frown from the Chairwoman. She turns to aim her fearless grin towards the nearest camera pointed at her face.
What they need is a hero with the guts to keep people safe. No matter the stakes.
“And trust me, I’ll give Shigaraki Tomura a one-way ticket to Tartarus if it's the last thing I do.”