Chapter Text
Akagi Kazuya
The type of quirk you have matters. Some quirks are flashy enough that they always look impressive, and some are more muted. Either can be important, and either can be useless.
Heroes have a certain type of quirk. They're recognizable even if you don't know they're a hero. If someone uses a quirk in the streets, even with no other context, it's not too difficult to tell if they're a hero. Some people use their quirk and everyone around them calms down a little, feeling assured that they're safe.
Smoke is not that type of quirk.
There are some quirks that seem handmade for villains. It makes me wonder if the type of quirk someone has can lead to what their personality becomes. Maybe it can even lead to them becoming a villain or a hero.
When some people use their quirk, everyone tenses and becomes unsure of that person's next move. Smoke is that kind of quirk.
When I want it to, smoke comes from my entire body, but mainly my hands. I generate it and I can control where it goes once it's there. I can even will it to solidify into something, as long as I can picture that something and I have enough energy, I can form it from the smoke.
When I was in school, people almost always thought it was scary and that made me a scary person.
It's as if people believe that quirks provide a window into someone's intentions and morals. I hate people sometimes. For exactly that reason.
When Best Jeanist wraps people in clothing and yanks them around, those people aren't scared or worried because of his quirk. They're scared of whatever he's yanking them away from. The villain.
The person with the scary quirk.
* * *
"No." I spit blood onto the concrete and sag against the wall behind me, almost hearing the old paint flake off under my back. The woman in front of me has the front of my hoodie in her tight grip and has her fist pulled back from her last hit.
She aims for places that can be hidden under clothes. Honestly I’m surprised she’s being so considerate, but her politeness is beginning to fade. That last hit almost knocked me out because she hit my jaw. She doesn’t want me unconscious though, that wouldn’t be enough fun. What’s the point in hurting someone when you can’t see their pain?
Her and her gang got here a bit ago. I think it was only 5 or 10 minutes ago, but knowing that is a whole new kind of hit. One to my pride. I’ve been on the ground pretty much this whole time and there’s no way I could fight back at this point, even breathing is difficult.
Her eyes narrow at my repeated negative response and she punches me again. This time when she hits my chest I actually hear something crack and my vision goes fuzzy. I would surely have collapsed on the ground by now if it wasn’t for the woman’s tight grip on my jacket hood. I can’t feel all of my body anymore, I’m a bit numb, but what I can feel is hot and in pain. I try to just ignore it.
My vision comes into focus just in time for me to see her readying her arm again before the guy next to her puts his hand out in front of her fist. He mouths something, or maybe he says it and I just can't hear, and she glances back at him before letting go of me and watching me fall to the ground.
It’s as if all the pain in my body collects at my head to give me a migraine. I can’t see at all and can only feel the impact with the ground through my arms and hands, but it seems disconnected. I'm really out of it.
Then my stomach clenches and my throat constricts. Again, I feel the sensation of throwing up without truly connecting the vomit to myself.
The only thing keeping me from face-planting in my puke is the fact that my arms are locked, but they're shaking so violently that I don't think it'll stay this way for long. So I roll over and let myself fall away from the small puddle of gross.
The man crouches and his knee is right in front of my eyes. I vaguely hear him say, "Change your mind yet?"
It takes me a moment to realize that I'm supposed to respond and then another minute to make my vocal cords work well enough.
I cough before I speak and when I taste my vomit reality hits me hard enough to put some steel in my voice. "I said no ." Speaking hurts. I hope he doesn’t ask any more questions.
I don't see a boot. I do feel my body lurch sideways from the kick though. I cough and my arms go around my ribcage while it’s kicked over and over again. My eyes squeeze tight even though I can’t see with them wide open. I can’t feel anything except the pain, but I force myself to stay conscious. At least until they finally leave.
Then my plan is wrecked when one of them delivers more of a stomp than a kick. In the spot that I had heard a crack from before, the heavy blow connects and everything else I’ve felt today pales in comparison. I think I scream, but it’s hard to tell whether that’s just my headache ringing or not.
I'm either too dizzy, nauseous, or in pain to remain conscious, because the world fades quickly into a bright speck, right before I pass out.
* * *
I've been awake for a little while. I limped into my apartment and took 8 pain relievers the very second I could swallow. They're not acting as quickly as I had hoped. Everything still hurts.
My head is not doing well. I can’t keep down water. My face feels swollen even though that’s the place that was hit the least. I found a knife in my right leg when I woke up and I just know it’s going to be infected. There are other small cuts all over my body. Also, I’m certain that a number of my ribs are broken.
Right now I'm collapsed on my bathroom floor with a gallon of water next to me. I'm recovering, but you wouldn't be able to tell if you looked at me. Only I can tell. I am recovering, just slowly. . . very slowly.
* * *
A couple of days later, I'm able to walk around and appear as if nothing happened. I am still acutely aware of what happened. I feel it every time I take a step. Every time I do anything.
Luckily, my face is healing pretty quickly. There’s still evidence of cuts and bruises, but it’s small enough that no one has asked me if I need to go to the hospital.
The rest of me however, isn’t doing as well. The area around my broken ribs is swollen and painful, making it hard to breathe, and the knife wound is definitely infected, making it hard to do much other than sit. My appetite hasn’t fixed itself yet but I’m not really helping with that. I don’t have any food here anymore and I haven’t had anything since the morning I was beat up.
I would love to just lay down today and chill. Or, if I do have to go outside, get something to eat so that I can heal faster. Unfortunately, I’m broke as shit and I need to get out of this place soon.
The people who beat me up were trying to get me to join them again for what they call a mission. I used to call them that too, then I opened my fucking eyes and realized that I was hurting people and it’s actually called a criminal offence.
Once they find where I live they stop by every couple of days so I want to get out of here. I might have worked with them in the past, but I want nothing to do with it anymore, no matter how many broken bones I get for that decision.
However, walking isn't easy. Walking down the stairs is even harder, but that's what it takes to get away from my apartment. I'm on the second floor and the stairs are outside. I go down them one at a time and grunt everytime my right foot hits a step. My knife wound feels like it might be bleeding again, but I doubt it. I’ve become very good at stitching myself up.
I made sure to take my phone just in case they do break in. Also just in case I don’t go back, sometimes I just leave apartments and while I realize that’s not very responsible of me, I don’t like being harassed by gangs.
Five hours later, I’m walking around a downtown part of the city. I've begun to seriously limp with my right foot dragging behind me because everything about that side of my body hurts.
It doesn't occur to me that this makes me look especially weak until I see three people standing ahead of me on the road, facing me.
This street is skinny enough that it doesn't even have a sidewalk. The street is surrounded with buildings on either side. It might be considered an alleyway, but it's a long road with nothing connected to it for a while.
I could turn around and limp the other way, but giving street thugs a shot at hitting my back is not a great option. So I stop moving and do my best to square my shoulders, standing my ground. Maybe if I give off the impression of strength they'll leave me alone.
No. Such. Luck. They walk toward me calmly, almost smugly, and I see their quirks.
One of them has fangs so large he can't close his mouth and a steady drop of drool is crawling down his chin. When he wipes his chin I see that instead of fingers he has something rather like spikes. They don't seem to bend.
Another has purple hair that drips on the road behind her as if it's liquid. The droplets of it bubble and disintegrate, melting away the road that they touch. Her eyes are also purple and they would be beautiful except she's grinning at me like I'm prey.
The third seems to have an activation-type quirk like me. Something that looks suspiciously like lightning courses up and down his arms in waves. I don't fancy being hit by that.
They're all people with scary quirks and I doubt they're here to wish me well and then skip away. It always seems to be scary quirks that make villains.
That gives me an idea.
Clearly me standing up straight didn't make them nervous at all and they clearly expected me to be terrified of them and their powers.
Too bad. I have a scary quirk too.
I plant my feet and spread my arms, allowing smoke to billow off of me. It rushes out as if it's been waiting; with such speed and in such an amount that even I’m surprised. I’ve done things like this before — scared others with my quirk. After all, it used to be my job.
One of them shrieks a bit but I can't see which one. Then they all go silent and I feel deaf as well as blind. That's the major problem with the smoke: if my opponents can't see, then I can't either.
Although I can encourage the smoke to diffuse in a specific direction, I can't feel when the smoke hits a wall or a person. I can't tell when someone's inside the smoke. I can thin it out but if I can see then so can they and that's not the point.
In my hand I condense some of the smoke and I feel the cool, smooth surface of a handgun. My finger slides to the grip and I bring my other hand to it to pull back the slide. I hear a bullet tumble into the chamber and the sound of the gun cocking echoes off the buildings on either side of me.
Everything feels so still.
I lift my gun to the sky and fire at an angle that lets me know none of them will be hit. Before the sound of the shot has gone completely I shout into the smoke.
"YOU'D BETTER GET LOST! THAT'S YOUR WARNING SHOT AND YOU ONLY GET ONE!"
They don't know that I can't see any better than they can. In fact, they probably think the opposite. I use their lack of knowledge to my advantage and listen to the rush of footfalls that follow my words. They run as fast as they can.
I stand there for a moment before squeezing the gun tightly and allowing it to turn into smoke that flows between my fingers. Then I call back the smoke. It rushes to me much faster than it exploded toward the thugs.
Then I'm just standing there in that alley-street, and I can't see the three thugs anymore.
"Do you mind explaining what just happened?" A voice from behind me startles me so badly that I whirl around, twisting my midsection and putting most of my weight on my right leg.
I can’t bite back my cry of pain as I fall to the ground and land on my right leg. I bite my tongue savagely to keep from screaming. I taste blood instantly.
"Oh gosh!" Cries the voice. "Are you alright?" I blink and although I can’t think clearly right now and my vision is blurry from the pain, I can make out a hand outstretched. It's not exactly like I can get up on my own so I lift my own hand to meet it, but I miss and my hand falls back down to the ground.
I try to say, "I'm fine," but my words slur so I'm not sure they can understand me.
The hand leaves my sight and as my vision starts to clear I see that the person- a guy about my age- has crouched next to me and looks concerned.
"Can you see me?" He asks and I nod. "Can you speak?"
It takes me a moment but I manage. "Yeah, I'm good."
He nods but when I don't stand up he sits down next to me. In less than a second of properly looking at him I recognize him.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, relieved to hear that my words aren't blurring together nearly as much.
He blinks at me. "I'm on patrol."
This man is Deku, a brand new Pro Hero. He's straight out of the best hero school and he's in a team with a few other Pros, who I'm pretty sure were some of his classmates in high school. He and his team are called Number 1, but I'm not sure if they named themselves or if the press named them.
They had already been in the news a lot. It seemed like every year something happened to them, it was as if one of them had a quirk that’s sole power was to attract trouble. There was probably enough news about them that their fans named their team agency.
There are a few in Number 1. There's Deku, Dynamight, Earphone Jack, Red Riot, Uravity, Ingenium, and Shoto. As far as I'm aware they all take a different city to patrol and report to one another at the end of their shifts.
The only problem with my knowledge is that I had no idea any of them ever patrolled anywhere near my city. That's fine, it makes me feel a bit more safe, but it also makes me feel less confident in their abilities.
This city is submerged in crime. If you can't keep your head down and your mouth shut then you better either know how to fight, or know how to run. That or you leave this place as fast as you can get your trembling hands on a train ticket.
I actually glare at him. " You patrol here ?" I sound like I'm accusing him of murder, which is probably too harsh of a tone to use on the best Pro Hero, but right now I feel like he's failed.
If his team has been patrolling this city then I shouldn't be having to worry about getting mugged or beaten to death every time I turn a corner. But I do have to worry about that and that means either he's lying and he doesn't patrol here, or he's failing miserably at his job.
His eyebrows rise at my tone and he stares at me like he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking. "Yeah, why? Is everything okay?"
I let out a harsh laugh that's deeper than my actual one. "Oh sure, everything is great. You're doing a bang up job keeping the streets safe."
His eyebrows furrow and he frowns at me, but not really at me, more like through me. He's definitely lost in thought and if I thought I could get up on my own and still have enough energy to walk away, that's exactly what I would do. But if I do that then I know I’m going to let loose another sound of pain, and I don’t need a Pro Hero worrying about me. What if he sees the gang and automatically assumes that I’m a member of it?
When he speaks again, it's slowly, like he's thinking through every word before letting me hear it. "This is actually the first patrol anyone from my team has done through here. We recently expanded where we patrol so I won't be patrolling the entire city."
Guilt flushes my face. I didn't have to be a jerk about it, and I misread the situation anyway.
He responds to my reaction without me even having to say anything. "Don’t worry about it, I understand. Like you said, it's my job to keep you safe." He says it matter-of-factly, presents it with no question, and for some reason that makes my insides twist and I sink into guilt even further.
I scowl, hoping that'll get rid of the feeling. "You said that you just expanded patrol borders."
I glance at him and he looks a little confused. "It's my job to-"
"It's not your job to be perfect!" I growl and he freezes with his mouth hanging open. My face starts heating up again. It's not my place to say that. Everyone does expect him to be perfect even though he's only 18, because he's a Pro Hero.
When looking at it from his perspective, it kind of is his job to be perfect.
Midoriya Izuku
I have no idea what to say. I'm supposed to smile, it's what Nezu calls my "brand," and even though I know that I usually do that and brush people's words off, it doesn't seem appropriate right now.
This guy is strange. That's for certain, but that's about all there is for certain.
I came here to help out some other heroes in this city. They weren't having the easiest time and they asked if we could help. I’ve heard about the crime rate of this city and wanted to see if it was really that bad, so I volunteered.
Ochaco told me to be careful but Kacchan didn't think it'd be too hard. Shoto wasn't sure if it was necessary but left for patrol so early I didn't even say "goodbye". Kyoka wished me good luck and ran out for patrol with Eijro. Tenya gave me a run-down of the city before I left and he stressed how likely it was that I would run into something illegal, but I didn't expect it to be so quickly.
I'd been in the city for about 20 minutes when I saw the smoke. It spread above the buildings around it and I was about to call for someone to help control what I thought was a huge fire, when I noticed how it was acting.
The smoke had spread so quickly it was scary, but then it just stopped. It didn't go very high and it didn't keep going through the street. I ran to find it and I heard someone yelling at the top of his lungs but I couldn't make out what he was yelling and I couldn't see through all the smoke.
When he stopped yelling I thought I heard people running away and then the smoke I had been standing in front of shot away from me and flowed into the man in the street like someone had opened the drain. The smoke was gone in seconds with nothing left behind to hint that it had been there.
My guess was that it was his quirk and once I heard him speak I knew that he had been the one yelling.
In front of me he groans very quietly, but I still hear it. Then I realize that he's moving to get up. I stand up swiftly and try to help him but he bats my hand away, pushing himself upright with one hand on his left knee.
When he's standing I start to notice some things. He clearly favors his left side but I can't tell why, although that must have been why he fell. He's definitely in pain but I can't tell how much because all I can really see is that he's doing his best to hide it. His clothes are torn and have some blood on them, but the blood looks old and there's none on the ground around us.
So this guy's probably been in a fight recently and it doesn't look like it went in his favor.
Aside from that, I notice small things. His hair is a kind of faded red, almost white at the bottom, like red dye giving way to naturally white hair. He has pale green eyes that judge everything they look at, and they look washed out like his hair. His mouth is frowning a bit but I don't know if that's him concentrating on not looking like he's hurt, or just how his lips naturally fall.
All in all: he looks tired, in a deeper way than just needing physical rest.
"What's your name?" I ask. If I can look into this guy then I can find out who he was fighting just now. Either that, or he'll tell me what was going on if I ask, but I'll do research if necessary. Knowing if he has a criminal record is really the first step.
He looks sideways at me with his judgmental eyes and hesitates. "Akagi."
I nod, storing the information for later. If he doesn't want to tell me his given name that's fine. "Can you tell me what was going on right before I showed up?"
His frown deepens and I decide that frowning must just be his go to expression. "Which part?"
He turns toward me completely, plants his feet, and crosses his arms. That's a defensive stance, both physically and mentally. He's likely preparing himself to either dodge questions or outright refuse to answer them. But I notice that he's still leaning a bit to his left, keeping weight as far away from his left as he can, and even though his arms are crossed they're not tight at all, so there's no pressure on his chest.
"Was the smoke your quirk?" I figure I'll start with easy yes or no questions.
His eyes darken a bit and he scowls. "Yes." So that's a touchy question for some reason, or maybe he thinks it's just stupid. After all, there was no one left on the street but him.
"Is it more offensive or defensive?" I gauge his dislike of the question. He really doesn't like this one.
"I don't know. I guess it depends." He tells me coldly.
Vague answers. So he's probably either offended in some manner or he's hiding something.
I nod all the same. The more relaxed I can make him, the easier this will be. "I suppose it's that way for all of them." He doesn't so much as relax one finger. So he's more likely to be hiding something than feeling offended.
"I'll just go so that you can patrol." He says and I raise my eyebrows. It's not easy to tell anything from his tone, it's almost bland. Kind of like his eyes and hair, his voice is worn down.
"Any information you can give should help me lower the crime rate in this city." His cold and empty expression gives way to a look of confusion.
"I can help?" It's the most emotion I've heard from this guy and it makes me smile but also makes me want to cry. He sounds so incredulous and disbelieving that he could help. It reminds me of my reaction whenever I was praised during my 1st year at Yuuei: shock and disbelief.
"Of course. You live in this city, don't you?" I ask, being a bit more gentle than before, less businesslike.
He looks like he's remembering something and a spark fades from his eyes. I only recognize it now that it's gone.
"Yeah, I live here." Now he sounds tired again.
I bite my lip. Eijiro is taking most of my patrol today. That was decided by Tenya as a precaution in case something happened in this city. Kyoka is doing the rest of my patrol and said that if I needed her to pick up any more of it all I had to do was text her.
This really isn't a serious enough situation. As far as I know, nothing might have happened here. Akagi-san could have been messing around with his neighbors in the middle of the street and I misread it as a fight.
Then again, Akagi-san is physically hurt badly enough that he can't stand up easily and he's clearly not in a great frame of mind. I could mark this down as an emergency if I put emphasis on certain aspects of it. This could be enough to warrant Kyoka taking the rest of my patrol. Could be, but maybe it isn't.
I think of the look he gave me when I said he could be helpful. There was an emotion in his eyes that was so faint I didn't see it until it snapped out of existence. He was hopeful that he could help me, so I am going to give him that opportunity.
"Akagi-san," I start and he looks startled by the honorific. "How willing would you be to leave the city for a while? Probably not too long- just a few days."
He blinks at me and remains quiet. He doesn't move for so long I wonder if something happened. Then he says, in a timid voice that doesn't sound like it should belong to him, "That would be fine."