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TOKYO — The building appeared overnight and without fanfare, replacing the wreckage of the former Hero Safety Public Commission headquarters.
The city’s authorities were caught unaware. Construction workers had no idea who built it. Neighbours said it materialised seemingly “out of thin air.”
And emblazoned on its side were the words that sent shockwaves through what remains of the hero community: ENDEAVOR-HAWKS AGENCY.
Six months after the hero governance agency was razed to the ground and its officials killed in the battle that brought the nation to a stand-still, the dust has barely settled. By all measures, civil war still rages. Villain gangs roam the streets, a dozen offshoots spawning for each one apprehended, while the heroes' numbers will take years, if not decades, to replenish.
With the interface between heroes and the public gone, neither party seems to know quite how to deal with the other. In the wake of a war that confirmed every unspoken suspicion about the worst of quirks, ideas that were once unthinkable are now debated openly: abolishing the titles of hero and villain, new and invasive ways of tracking quirk users, even the de-quirking of society altogether.
Out of this rubble rose a tower of gleaming mirrored glass.
The institution that once governed heroes, now superseded by one of its former proteges and a hero who never entirely submitted to its authority—there's some kind of symbolism in that, right?
Wing Hero Hawks laughs when I ask this. "Nah, it was just cheap real estate."
In their first interview since the war, Number One Hero Endeavor is more forthright. “To the public, that wreckage was a constant reminder of what the Commission stood for. Certainty. Stability. Order. All gone."
Is that the purpose of this new agency, then?
"Oh no," Hawks says. He's no longer smiling. "We save people. We don’t make the rules.”
When the number one and number two heroes first teamed up, the general reaction was confusion. This was, after all, just days after the Heroes Billboard Ceremony at which Hawks had publicly questioned—some would say humiliated—Endeavor.
One was a newcomer who’d flown effortlessly up the rankings on wings of charm, youth and a million-dollar quirk. The other was a grizzled veteran famous, and infamous, for his relentless and gruelling work ethic. Two heroes with seemingly nothing in common. It would be a one-and-done, was the consensus.
But it wasn't. And now, somehow, their partnership has lasted through the war and beyond, an unprecedented show of cooperation in an industry that lionises self-sufficiency.
Teething issues are still apparent when I visit, three months after the agency’s launch. There’s a jar labelled ‘public acts of indecency’ that’s nearly filled to the brim (you have that many issues with the public? “You don’t know the half of it,” Hawks says), the staff spends the day picking feathers out of cups and off desks, and the air-conditioning’s operating panel is encased in a nasty looking slime to prevent anyone from changing its settings (“to maintain peace between the fire-quirk users and the rest of us,” sidekick Kido says darkly).
Endeavor, known for being a taskmaster at his old agency, does not seem to have changed his ways.
“I thought I was a workaholic but man, that guy is something else entirely,” Hawks says. “First one in, last one to leave every goddamn day. We’ve been trying to get him to an after-work drinks thing for ages but he’s always like—” he pitches his voice low to imitate Endeavor: “I need to redo your paperwork, Hawks, because you’ve just written ‘IDK’ under five sections and the last page is covered in chicken grease and that’s completely unacceptable because we have to be above reproach, I repeat, above reproach. ”
Sounds intense.
In a flash, his expression turns serious. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, we all want to be here. We all know what’s at stake, right? It’s the nation. It’s the future. Failure isn't an option.”
How do you stop that kind of pressure from doing your head in?
He smirks. “Oh, we have ways to let off steam.”
Of course, we’ve all learnt by now that the Number Two Hero deals in concealments and half-truths. What he fails to mention is that he also has a self-sacrificial streak a mile wide, which I find out when I come back the next morning to an office plunged into stormy silence.
"Boss Man’s in a bad mood," sidekick Burnin' mutters. "Hawks got a last-minute tip about this guy he's been trying to track down and went to check it out himself. Nearly got himself killed."
Snatches of their argument filter through the heavy door of Endeavor's office: blatant disregard for your safety and I don't need your goddamn permission. And then, softer: you could have died and I’m still here.
It goes silent for a moment, before there’s a thump, a groan, and a clatter like objects are being swept off a desk.
Burnin’ checks her watch. “They’ll get it out of their system in….oh, forty-five minutes to an hour.”
They’re going to fight for that long?
She stares at me for a long moment, before snorting a laugh and walking away. When she gets to the end of the corridor, she calls over her shoulder: “Endeavor’s fire can blast clean through that door, you know.”
I leave for a safer location.
“Frustrating,” is how Endeavor describes working with Hawks. “He’s extremely independent. Communication continues to be a challenge. Delegation is almost impossible. And he never does his paperwork.”
I’m surprised at his candidness until he adds: “The Commission encouraged secrecy because it made extrajudicial work easier.”
Not a criticism of Hawks, then, but of the organisation that raised him.
There have been many rumours over the years of the one-man-show that used to be Hawks’ agency, spilling out of the mouths of disquieted former sidekicks and occasionally out onto the gossip pages.
In hindsight, it was just one coordinate on the map leading to the inevitable conclusion that something wasn’t right. But without the benefit of hindsight, none of us, even those whose business it is to be in the know, were particularly interested in looking too hard at the mechanics of how we were being protected, as long as we were.
When I say this to Endeavor, he is silent for a moment, before he replies: “The war has brought past mistakes to light for us all.”
“He saved me,” Hawks says of Endeavor. There’s little doubt what he means: a thief for a father, an incompetent mother, destined to a life of poverty; intimate details of a life deliberately forgotten, brought to light by a son hellbent on burning down the world to hurt his father. “He’s the reason I’m here.”
When I ask the same question to Endeavor—what is Hawks to you?—I’m not expecting the same answer: “He’s the reason I’m here.”
It’s unclear why, after months of silence, the top two heroes invited a journalist to spend a week with them at their agency. Equally unclear is why they decided to combine their offices, what exactly is the nature of their relationship, and perhaps most importantly, why they’d chosen me for this interview.
Colleagues, friends, and family are frustratingly vague.
“It’s akin to the construction of a pair of good-quality jeans,” Number Three Hero Best Jeanist says. “You start with two separate components: the cotton and the dye, before intense heat is used to adhere the latter to the former. Over time and repeated use, the two elements settle into each other to give the optimal faded look. You see where I’m going, yes? Of course you do, it’s as plain as your outfit. Speaking of which, Mr. Taneo, I wonder if your own look could be elevated with the addition of some denim…”
“The joining of two souls into a mad banquet of darkness,” is how former Hawks agency intern Fumikage Tokoyami describes the agency.
And do you consider that a...positive?
“We must take joy where we find it in the face of the coming storm,” he says solemnly.
“What do I think about my father and his bo— wait,” Shouto Todoroki says, “didn't you come to our school in first year, follow us around for a week and then write about All Might eating meat buns? I need to go tell Midoriya about this…”
Do you think society has moved on from needing heroes?
“No,” Endeavor says immediately. He pauses to gather his thoughts before elaborating. “Heroes in our current form, maybe. I don’t think I’m the best person to answer that. But sometimes, there are situations we can’t fix by ourselves. When we need someone to help us. To save us, if you want to call it that. As long as that need exists, so will heroes.”
Are you speaking from experience? “Yes.”
Can you tell me about it? “No.”
On the other side of the country, villain Dabi sends a town hall up in flames, killing two civilians. So in Tokyo, Endeavor holds a press conference, as has become customary following any Dabi-related attack. In the eye of the public, he is answerable for the sins of his son, each and every time.
Hawks tags along, for some reason.
“It’s become kind of a blood sport at this point,” says Araki Takahiro from Japan Today at the auditorium, as we wait for Endeavor to take the stage. This is the eighth such presser he’s attended this month, the reporter says, and after a while they all start to blur into one. The recriminations, the apologies, the questions that go around and around in circles: what would you have done differently? What do you have to say to his victims? Why did you let this—any of it, all of it—happen?
“I mean, shit, don’t we all have that one family member we’d rather not talk about?" he added. "Does that mean I’m going to stop attending? Fuck no, these are the highlight of my day.”
“Someone has to be held accountable,” says Konya Soram, a TV Tokyo reporter. “It doesn't matter who. It doesn’t matter if it’s the right person. But the systems that we were promised would prevent this type of situation have failed. People demand scalps for that kind of thing. Our job is to give that to them.”
Making my way backstage, I hear a low murmur of voices. The door is cracked open and through it, I can see Hawks and Endeavor standing close together.
“—know how much longer I can keep doing these,” Endeavor is saying on an exhale.
Hawks’ response is a low murmur, a world away from his usual chipper lilt.
All at once, like his strings have been cut, Endeavor leans forward and folds into Hawks.
It’s a remarkable sight, the indomitable number one hero collapsing into someone half his size. Equally remarkable is how steady Hawks remains under his weight.
I can’t help but think of another battle between father and son, what feels like a lifetime ago. Back when we were only beginning to learn what a Nomu was, let alone a High-End, when none of us quite realised how close we were to catastrophe. After that battle, Hawks had similarly propped up a battered Endeavor. Then, it had signalled to the TV cameras, to the nation, that the heroes had emerged victorious. That they’d survived, bloodied and bruised and on the brink of death, but still standing.
Now, the battle’s frontier has shifted. There are no cameras, no cheering public and barely any heroes, any more. There are just two men, still standing. Together.
After a moment, Endeavor straightens. Hawks reaches up to straighten his collar, hand brushing against Endeavor's jaw. Then, Endeavor squares his shoulder and prepares to face the music.
The press conference goes pretty well, all things considered.
Afterwards, I ask Endeavor about it: sorry about your murderous son, terrible, really feel for you. Hey, so, what were you and Hawks talking about, before, backstage?
Endeavor stares at me for a long, grating moment. For no apparent reason, images of my family suddenly start to cycle through my mind.
“Next month’s budget,” he finally says.
Would you kill Dabi, if it came down to it?
Endeavor exhales, long and low. It’s clearly a question he’s thought about extensively. "I know what answer you, the public, want. I can't give it to you. The truth is -” He pauses. Visibly forces himself to continue, his words even. “I don't know. I almost hope the decision will be taken out of my hands. But I know heroes rarely have that luxury."
Would you kill Dabi, if it came down to it?
Hawks smiles, a razor sharp slash of teeth that makes him look like the bird of prey he's named for.
"Depends."
On?
"Who's asking."
It’s pushing midnight and everyone else has gone home.
Hawks and Endeavor are waiting to hear whether the victims of a villain attack their agency was stretched too thin to respond to will pull through—something that’s become increasingly common as heroes continue to resign. Hawks keeps up a steady stream of inane chatter like a prayer chant, even as his speech slurs and he starts listing to one side.
At the exact moment he looks like he might fall off his seat, Endeavor, without taking his eyes off his phone, shifts closer so that Hawks’ head lolls onto his shoulder.
“Met a kid earlier,” Hawks mumbles into Endeavor’s jacket. “Came up to me and did the whole ‘wow Mr. Hawks I wish I was just like you’ song and dance. Brought me right back to the good ol’ old days. Guess she’s not old enough to understand the news or something. If only she knew...”
His voice starts to drift off and his breathing slows. After a while, Endeavor sighs, and scoops Hawks up in his arms bridal style.
Endeavor carries Hawks across the room—giving me a stern glare as he passes—and out of the door.
In the quiet, his voice echoes in the corridor: “I think she knows exactly who you are.”
What’s it like being free?
Hawks starts to answer, before his eyes suddenly sharpen on something behind us and his whole face lights up with a brilliant grin. I turn to follow his gaze.
Earlier, he’d spent a good half hour gluing googly eyes and red streamers onto every piece of equipment in the office’s storage cupboard in Endeavor’s likeness. The Flame Hero has just now opened that cupboard. When he notices us looking at him, he quickly schools his expression into one of disapproval, but not fast enough to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s the best goddamn thing I’ve ever felt,” Hawks says, not looking away.
When the number one and number two heroes first teamed up, the general reaction was confusion. From the outside, these were two men with vastly different lives and ideologies.
Then came the war and the revelations about their pasts. We realised that they were actually two lives intertwined long before the signs of disquiet converged on the horizon; two men who both, in their own ways, had given up everything.
We assumed that Hawks and Endeavor had nothing in common. But what’s become clear to me during my week at their agency is that they are cracked mirror images, refracted and distorted, reflecting the worst of each others’ histories and the best of their futures. The red string of fate that materialised between them all those years earlier when Endeavor arrested Hawks’ father has been shortened by their own hands as they bound themselves to each other.
Something else that’s become increasingly clear is that they are more than just colleagues, and I confront them about it on my last day with them.
“Yeah, we’re dating, duh,” Hawks says, crunching on a corn chip.
I knew you’d deny it, so I’ve come armed with—wait, what?
He tilts his head. “We weren’t trying to hide it or anything? Like I’m pretty sure at one point the whole office heard us getting it on in Enji’s office, which admittedly wasn’t our proudest moment and we had to put a hundred dollars into the PDI jar and—”
That’s what that jar was for? Nevermind. Why?
Hawks takes his time answering. “Everything changed with the war. All our secrets were out there. They’d already seen the worst of us, right? So Enji didn't think it was worth hiding anymore.”
This was Endeavor's idea? A glance at the man shows he’s looking resolutely at a spot above our heads, seemingly hoping that we will forget he is present if he stays still and avoids eye contact.
"I'm used to being whoever I need to be," Hawks says. "But Enji, he’s never been very good at it, to be honest. I wasn’t about to try and force that on him."
And there it is in his tone, the last puzzle piece falling in place to reveal a picture that should have been clear to me from the start.
You're in love with him.
Hawks freezes. Endeavor swings around to stare at him. And on a face not made for expressing joy, the naked disbelieving hope that shines through is so blinding that I blurt out: and you’re in love with him too!
In the commotion that follows, there are raised voices, questions, accusations, and eventually, laughter and tenderness. I won’t go into details, to give the top two heroes some small amount of privacy, but suffice to say: we all learnt something new that day.
That’s most of my questions answered, but two still linger:
Why did you decide to do this interview?
“People need to know that we’re still here,” Endeavor says. “That we’re not going to stop. That we can still be—” something soft flickers over his expression for a second, too fast for me to decipher “—a shining light for everyone.”
And: why me?
“Midoriya recommended you,” Endeavor says.
It’s the name of someone I encountered not that long ago, but that had slipped my mind in the chaos of the war. A name that reminds me of lazy summer school days and a simpler, more peaceful time. A name I unfortunately can’t say more about, apart from that it feels like the first ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds after a storm, and sounds like legacy, and the future.
These days, there is an overabundance of misery, anger, uncertainty, and recrimination. It feels, in many ways, like the end of the world. But the past week has reminded me that hope never dies. That no matter how dark the world gets, you can find it flickering, in the sound of a name, and in the space between two bodies bound together by fate and then by choice.
My last vision of the Endeavor-Hawks agency is of its two heroes standing on its rooftop as the wind whips around them. A hulking mountain of a man with a back broad enough to carry the weight of the world, and a man with blood red wings that reach up into the sky and swallow the horizon. Looking out at the people they’ve sworn to protect, together.
I leave with Endeavor’s parting words ringing in my ears: “Just watch us.”