Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rats on the street usually aren't differentiable to Chizome, but this one was particularly remarkable, although not for any optimistic reason. It was a boy who couldn't be more than thirteen in a tattered tank top standing over the brutalized corpse of a hero, a chainsaw in his hand—on closer inspection, it's no ordinary chainsaw.

The boy, Denji, introduces his "chainsaw" as Pochita. Pochita, blood stained on his blades, wags his little ripcord tail and legs out an innocuous woof. It's a dog.

"One hero nets me about 300,000," Denji says, holding up three fingers with what Chizome feels is unwarranted enthusiasm. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

"How much did your father owe those Yakuza bastards?" Chizome asks.

"Hmm... about 40,000,000," the boy replies as if he were talking about the weather.

Ah. It's not really any of Chizome's business. Maybe once upon a time, Stendhal existed, but not anymore. It’s just Stain that remains. His priority has been on heroes, and he can’t afford any other distractions.

"Are you working for the Yakuza too, mister? You're not mad that I stole your kill, are you?" Denji points his thumb at his chest. "Because I got to him first! Finders Keepers!"

"I don't work for those mongrels," Chizome says with an air of disgust.

"Oh." All indignance leaves Denji's face. "I'll be taking this body with me, then. Don't mind me."

The boy whistles a tune while dragging the corpse on the ground, blood smearing on the floor leaving behind a reckless trail of red. Pochita follows dutifully behind, giving Chizome one last glance before leaving with Denji.

Anyone would think the boy strange after such an initial encounter. Little did Chizome realize that it would be far from their last.

"Oh, it's you again. From that one time," Denji says, pointing to Chizome with recognition alight in his eyes. He cradles Pochita against the side of his body with his other arm, the creature energetic as when he was last seen.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Nah. You've got a pretty memorable face, though," Denji says with a sneer, pointing to his own nose. If it weren’t for the fact that Denji is a literal orphan who has no room to speak, Chizome would’ve slashed his face for such a rude remark with the justification that the boy had intentionally provoked him. And perhaps Denji had, but Chizome knew better than to take such bait.

Denji puts Pochita down on the ground, approaching Chizome's latest kill. This time, it's Denji who shows up to the scene in the aftermath. He gives the body a good kick before kneeling over it, chin propped on the knuckles of his hand. "So, why'd you kill him?"

"Society is better off without scum like him."

"..."

Denji gives the man an unimpressed look, one eyebrow arched up. He directs his eyes back at the corpse, maintaining an expression of apathetic disbelief. "Whatever, dude."

Chizome should leave it at that, but there's a part of him that's... annoyed, even more so than usual. The itch to educate those of the newer generation who don't understand how deep that corruption runs in their dystopian system of a hero-filled society.

"Many in this corrupted society take the title of 'hero' for granted," Chizome explains. "It's my job to get rid of the poison plaguing hero society."

"...You know, mister. Cutting down trees only gives 60,000 a month. Hunting heroes gives me 300,000 per kill, but I don't get to keep most of it, and those jobs don't show up as much as I need them to. Other places won't hire me because I'm too young and I never went to school. But I can still do a lot, so how 'bout recommending me to whoever it is you work for?"

"It's not a real job," Chizome sighs. "It's my moral obligation. My duty. My mission. I don't get paid for it."

Denji takes in the information, processes it in his head, and yells. "You mean you do this work for free!? That sounds like a scam, dude!”

"A runt like you would never understand."

Denji says, "Geez, people like you are so weird. Moral this and that. It's not like any of that pays for food on the table."

Denji grabs the two legs of the corpse and hoists them over his shoulder. He sticks his tongue out childishly at Chizome, reminding Chizome just how much he can't stand dealing with the ignorant youth.

...Although Denji's youthful ignorance is much different from the usual ignorance of others around his age.

"Well, I'm off," Denji says with a casual wave of his hand.

Pochita barks, hopping while trailing behind the boy.

Ojiisan is more pissy than usual, Denji notes. Ojiisan and that associate keep discussing boring things like “villain organizations” and the fall of yakuza groups and blah blah blah…

Denji spends most of the car ride tuning Ojiisan out, instead wondering what a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would taste like. He hasn’t even had peanut butter or jam itself in the past—but he hears that supposedly when the combination of such condiments is smushed between two slices of bread, it tastes like heaven. His mouth waters at the delicious fantasy.

“This won’t be a normal job,” Ojiisan instructs Denji when the car arrives near a shady alleyway. “You’ll be on guard duty today.”

“If there’s so much as a scratch on the boss, we’ll be cutting your balls off!” Ojiisan’s associate threatens Denji.

“Will I be getting paid for this?” Denji asks.

“I’ll take 10,000 off what you owe us. No interest,” Ojiisan says. “Maybe an extra 5,000 if you’re on your best behavior.”

That’s as good as a ‘no’. Still, Denji’s not in a position where he can refuse an order from Ojiisan. Ahh, at this rate, he’ll die before being able to pay off this damn debt. Ojiisan’s associate sneers at him, but it’s nothing Denji isn’t already used to.

Denji picks Pochita off the ground by his handle, maintaining a defensive stance around Ojiisan as they walk through the alleyway, Ojiisan politely knocking on an unmarked door. A few beats of anticipation pass before a small compartment slides open revealing a pair of eyes that overlook them. The compartment slides shut seconds later, and the door opens.

A line of men bow before Ojiisan as he enters, Denji and the associate following Ojisan closely behind. It must be another Yakuza organization, Denji is quick to pick up.

They enter another room where there’s another man who Denji could recognize as the boss of this Yakuza organization. Another man with black hair stands beside him, his posture straight and his eyes sharply focused on Ojiisan.

“Welcome,” the boss says, bowing to Ojiisan. Ojiisan bows back. Everyone on both sides start to bow to each other, apparently, so Denji does the same, not wanting to piss anyone off.

“It’s been a while,” Ojiisan greets back.

The conversation that the two share is mostly boring, again. It’s stuff about heroes, and Yakuza groups, and villain organizations, and stuff Denji could care less about. Denji instead focuses his attention on Pochita in his lap, rubbing his stubby little paws as he thinks about what he’ll eat for dinner tonight. Probably a slice of bread. Maybe he’ll go dumpster diving again if he has the energy or time.

Unbeknownst to Denji, his behavior draws the attention of the Yakuza boss. The boss’s eyes waver in the direction of the boy who maintains a rather innocent appearance of a child playing with their dog.

“Is this a stray you picked up?” The boss asks. Ojiisan chuckles humorlessly. Denji’s ears perk up when he realizes that the conversation has turned on him, and he immediately shifts his focus away from Pochita.

“His father owed me money,” Ojiisan explains curtly.

The boss gives a disapproving glance at Ojiisan. “It’s morally depraved to take advantage of a child.”

“We’re short on hands.”

“So are we,” the boss says. “Everyone’s short on hands nowadays. Shie Hassaikai, Abegawa Tenchu Kai, Todou Gang, the list goes on. It’s still no excuse to abandon the old ways.”

“Denji-kun is happy working with us. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Denji nods fervently, because Ojiisan said he would take extra money off his debt if he was on his best behavior, so he might as well get as much out of being here as possible. Pochita lets out a woof, which draws not the boss’s attention, but the attention of the boss’s own associate.

“What is that?” the man asks, eyes of disgust directed at the creature.

“Chisaki,” the boss says with a berating tone.

“Is that your quirk?” Chisaki adds, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Denji-kun is quirkless,” Ojiisan says before Denji can answer. His warning glance at Denji tells Denji that he shouldn’t speak. Dismissively, he adds, “That ‘thing’ is his weapon. Pay it no mind.”

After the boss apologizes for Chisaki’s behavior, the conversation steers away from Denji, and stays that way for the rest of the meeting.

Disappointingly, the extra yen amount is not taken off Denji’s debt. Asshole.

“I’ve been thinking,” Denji says. “That maybe I don’t want to hunt heroes anymore.”

Chizome raises an eyebrow at the boy he has managed to run into multiple times now. It’s not that surprising considering that the city is a magnet for Denji’s type of people—or rather, the type of people that Denji works for. Yakuza, villains, scum of Japan. They’re usually attracted to the “bad neighborhoods” of major cities.

Chizome is a hero killer. There’s no better place to hunt heroes than where the villains tend to be.

It’s not that often he sees Denji, but it’s often enough. Usually, it could be weeks or even months between the sightings, but they’re still consistent enough to be of note.

“What would you do instead?”

“Dunno. Didn’t think that far ahead,” Denji lazily says. “But I’ve been kinda thinking that… maybe I don’t like it when I have to hurt people with families n’ stuff. Like, actual people who might not deserve it.”

Well, that’s certainly a start to a moral compass.

Chizome never thought of Denji as someone who came off as a sociopath, nor did he think the boy had sociopathic tendencies. At the same time, Denji’s not exactly the pinnacle of moral behavior. He’s like an animal in that sense—always taking the option that ensured his survival above all else, and as an orphan with a debt to the yakuza, there wasn’t many options for someone in his position.

Chizome’s not that worried, however. The yakuza are a mere shadow of their former glory in the past. He knows that Denji won’t have to deal with them much longer. He doesn’t even have to lift a finger himself, to play the role of Stendhal again.

“Do you feel guilt when you hurt other people?”

“Not really. If I don’t think about it too hard,” Denji says. “But then I think about stuff, like, what if they left a dog behind? And what if that dog doesn’t have anyone to take care of it anymore? That wouldn’t be cool at all. But I don’t feel bad when I kill a person, I just don’t like the idea of it.”

“That makes sense,” Chizome says, and he means it.

“It does?”

“More than you think it does.”

Denji looks surprised at himself, and tries to ponder over the logic before scratching harshly at his own hair. “Ahh, I don’t want to think about these sad things anymore! It doesn’t matter anyways, ‘cause Ojiisan’ll force me to keep hunting heroes anyways!”

“Do you ever think about why that man needs to use a child to do his dirty work?”

“He said it’s cause I’m quirkless and they can’t call me a villain if I’m the one who,” Denji clicks his tongue and slides a finger across his neck. “Something about a loophole in some dumb law. I don’t really get it, either.”

Ah.

Yakuza groups are in trouble because most of them fall under the category of “villain organizations” and villain organizations are the main targets for heroes. So, they hired Denji to do the killing so that their little pesky yakuza group wouldn’t be considered a villain organization.

It’s utterly despicable. Despite his earlier train of thought, Chizome feels the inexplicable urge to whip out his sword, barge into the yakuza headquarters, and execute all those bastards himself.

“Hey, mister. Why do you kill heroes? Are you a pervert who enjoys that type of thrill?”

Chizome scoffs, already used to Denji’s senseless comments by this point. “I’ve explained it multiple times in the past. You’re a lost cause for any of my teachings.”

“You mean that bullshit that never makes any sense?” Denji says with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believe in that crap! No wonder you’re still single despite being an old man!”

Denji pauses. “Wait, how old even are you?”

“Not old enough to be considered an ‘old man’,” Chizome grumbles. It’s not a matter of being offended. He’s just correcting an objectively wrong statement.

“Oh my god! You’re totally an old man!” Denji laughs while pointing at him. “You’re going to die old, single, and noseless!”

He’s the literal definition of “too stupid to feel fear”, Chizome thinks. It’s not automatically a bad thing, but Chizome can’t say he will pity the boy when he bites off more than he can chew when that day comes. He should consider himself lucky that Chizome isn’t the type of petty man to beat up an orphan.

Denji’s laughter is cut short when his giggles turn into hacking coughs, and he lifts his hand up to his mouth to catch any of the saliva that flies out. Except when Denji uncovers the hand over his mouth, there’s red sticking to his chin and onto his hand. Denji’s eyes widen, and Chizome looks at the boy in alarm, giving a quick check over his body for any injuries he may have missed.

Pochita, also alarmed, barks with what Chizome could be imagining as worry in the dog’s voice.

“Ah shit,” Denji says, shaking the blood off his hand, using his other arm to wipe the viscous liquid off his face. “’s fine. ’s probably just a heart issue, nothing big…”

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

“Last night.”

Chizome sighs. He really, really shouldn’t be taking on any charity cases. However, it’s hard to ignore a boy like Denji with his severe magnitude of problems. In the first place, how did someone like Denji even slip through the cracks of the system this badly? Why wasn’t there anyone trying to save him?

It’s astounding how Denji’s been living alone on the streets and working for the yakuza for several months now, and not a single person except for himself apparently has batted an eye. Even then, Chizome barely wants to intervene because it shouldn’t be his job to save Denji. It should be the job of heroes to save Denji from living this sort of life.

…But Denji’s killed several heroes now, albeit most of them having been extremely low-ranking heroes who are sticking their noses in places they shouldn’t. Not only that, but Denji is quirkless, and from what Chizome could guess, Denji’s father was a complete good-for-nothing, so Denji had no family members nor family friends looking for the boy.

Denji was a boy who had been utterly abandoned by everyone.

Chizome doesn’t want to be that person, but it seems his hands have been forced to play that role, at least, until somebody fucking notices. But then again, if the government ever does find out about Denji, quirkless or not, he’d probably be sent straight to a juvenile institution. Denji would probably be forcibly separated from Pochita. In fact, Denji’s probably already thought of seeking help, but decidedly doesn’t for his own reasons.

“Why d’you want to know?” Denji adds absentmindedly.

Chizome sighs. “Come with me. I’ll feed you.”

The effect of his statement is instantaneous, it’s like Denji has been hit by a shockwave. His mouth curls into a big smile, and with vigor, he scoops up Pochita in his arms and twirls the dog around, singing, “The old man is going to feed us! We’re gonna get fed tonight! Woo—!”

Denji doesn’t comment on his dump of a place. Chizome imagines that wherever it is that Denji lives, it can’t be that much better. If the boy even has a place to call home in the first place.

“So, this is what you usually eat,” Denji says when he sees the packages of cup noodles stacked on top of each like towers. “I guess killing heroes doesn’t pay the bills after all.”

Chizome looks through the labels of the different flavors. “What’s your preference?”

“I’m not picky at all!” Denji exclaims. Chizome shrugs and picks the flavor of ramen that he usually eats. Denji starts salivating at the sound of the microwave fan, although he tries to desperately hide it. He tries to distract himself by petting Pochita, but his mind keeps going back to how the ramen’s going to taste. Real food.

When Chizome sets down the cup of ramen, Denji immediately tries to dig in with the disposable chopsticks—only to be stopped by the former who instructs him to wait a few more minutes for the ramen to soak in the hot water.

“The hell, old man!? Does it matter that much?” Denji grumbles, feeling like this is as painful as water torture.

“No,” Chizome admits. “It’s already cooked, but it’ll taste better when it’s ready.”

“I don’t care about that!” Denji peels off the lid hurriedly and stuffs the strands into his mouth, which are… very crunchy, but not bad.

It tastes so good. Better than anything Denji’s had in weeks. Months, maybe. He doesn’t keep track.

“Pochita, you gotta try this!” Denji says, a strand of ramen squeezed between his chopsticks, “Open up!”

Denji drops the strand into Pochita’s wide-open mouth, the dog slurping it up before curling up into a ball on Denji’s lap.

Chizome, who watches the interaction, has a sudden thought. “Do you normally feed the dog everything that you eat?”

“Always,” Denji says with a genuine grin and his cheeks stuffed with food. “If it weren’t for Pochita, I wouldn’t even be alive today. We saved each other when we first meet, so now we’re stuck with each other. Pals for life. That kinda stuff.”

Now that Chizome thinks about it, he’s never once pondered the nature of the relationship between Pochita and Denji in detail. Wherever Denji goes, Pochita follows. Denji respects Pochita almost as much as Pochita respects him. So, the heroes were so useless, that a mere dog was better at their job than them. How pathetic is that?

“You should be careful about that. There are foods toxic to dogs that aren’t toxic to humans.”

“All I eat is bread anyways,” Denji says. “Oh, there was once when I bought a bag of flour ‘cause I thought I could make bread with it, but turns out ya need an oven for that. So I ate flour with water pretending it was cake, but then I got super sick afterwards. Pochita was completely fine though. His stomach’s tougher than mine.”

“Woof!” Pochita barks at the compliment, closing one eye when Denji pats him on the head.

…The more that Chizome learns about this kid, the more Chizome is increasingly concerned about someone whose business he shouldn’t be getting involved with.

“So, when you ate last night, you ate bread.”

“Yup.”

“You’ve only been eating bread for the past month.”

“Yup.”

“Why do you only eat bread?”

“It’s all I can afford with my budget,” Denji asserts confidently.

“A loaf of bread is the same price as two servings of instant ramen.”

“A loaf of bread lasts me, like. Three weeks.”

“…You eat one slice of bread per day.”

“Yup,” Denji says. “Actually, I share half with Pochita.”

Why the fucking hell is Chizome even surprised at this point?

They’re at that one yakuza group’s headquarters again—not that Denji remembers the name of said yakuza group. He remembers the boss, though, because he seemed to question Ojiisan’s involvement with Denji, which was surprising to him to be acknowledged in such a way. Denji’s already accepted that his life will never be normal at that point, but it’s still nice to dream.

That man who had at least shown an ounce of concern towards Denji lays on a bed in a coma.

Well, Denji thinks. Figures. He doesn’t feel bad about the man at all—but it’s always interesting to observe the fates of those around him. The lives of gutter rats that scurry along the forgotten streets that no hero dares to step into. Sometimes, heroes do get involved with their neighborhoods—but they usually end up dead one way or another. Stuff like this happens all the time.

Yes, even if Denji’s not the one who delivers the final blow, there’s always a villain or two out there who will.

Denji wonders if it’s inevitable he’ll end up this way, too.

“I’ve taken over Shie Hassaikai in his place,” Chisaki tells Ojiisan. “I’m going to restore the yakuza to its former glory. Something the boss never could do.”

“He always clung onto old traditions in this modern era.,” Ojiisan says, in a mourning yet respectful tone, his hand clasping his hat over his heart. He sounds genuinely regretful for the man’s fate. Chisaki gives Ojiisan a glance but doesn’t comment any further on it. “Tell me more.”

They’re led down a long hallway, Denji subconsciously gripping Pochita’s handle tighter in case of an ambush. Nothing happens, however.

At the end of the hallway, Chisaki opens the door. Light floods into the dark room, revealing an unconscious girl with long white hair strapped to a chair, several bandages wrapped around her arms and body. Denji’s stomach lurches at the sight.

Look, Denji’s not exactly the most normal dude in the world. Denji’s somewhat self-aware that he’s not normal to a degree. But he can still recognize when something is completely fucked-in-the-head, and this is no doubt one of those things. He resists the strong urge to yell, ‘What the fuck!’, and instead keeps his head down like a dog should.

But, seriously. What the fuck?

Chisaki presents Ojiisan with a case and opens it to reveal bullets. Ojiisan picks up one of the bullets, examining it closely with his eyes.

“Guns are useless against heroes,” Ojiisan comments.

“These bullets will permanently nullify any quirk,” Chisaki says. “The era of heroes will be flipped on its head once we're able to mass-produce these.”

“Fascinating. How do you produce such a weapon?”

Chisaki’s eyes wander to the little girl in the chair. Ojiisan’s eyes follow his gaze’s direction. Denji thinks he wants to throw up what little he had for last night’s dinner.

Pochita apparently senses his tension, whining slightly. Denji tries to calm himself down because he would rather not attract attention at a time like this. Ojiisan doesn’t notice, but the way that Chisaki’s eyes turn to him…

It’s like scorpions jumping into his skin and crawling down his spine.

“I see,” Ojiisan says, rubbing his chin. “Yes, I can see why the old boss wouldn’t have approved of such a method. Fortunately, I’m not as soft-hearted as him. If you need my help with the production of these bullets, I’ll gladly offer it.”

Of course. The man who’d work a kid like a dog to pay off the debt that the kid’s father left behind would have no moral qualms about whatever the fuck is happening here. Denji wonders why heroes exist if shit like this still happens.

“What about your subordinate?” Chisaki asks, sharp gaze focused on Denji. “He’s not going to spread this around, is he?”

“That boy wouldn’t,” Ojiisan chuckles. “Guys like him are trained to be our obedient dogs. He’s never disobeyed an order once. That’s why I even keep him around—they’ve still got some use in them. Even if they’re not worth even a fraction of what they owe.”

Denji considerably warms up to Chizome after the incident when he was fed by the man. He doesn’t call Chizome “sir” like he would Ojiisan, but he restrains himself from making any noseless jokes around him or addressing him as old man. He waves happily at Chizome whenever they cross paths, and even approaches the hero-killer with an optimistic smile. Anybody else would be running for the hills at the mere sight of Chizome, especially with his infamous reputation among the street rats.

The boy reminds Chizome of an abused dog that’s always waiting for the stranger who had shown him a sliver of pity, because it was more kindness than anybody else in the world had ever shown him.

To Chizome, if Denji disappeared from his life, Chizome wouldn’t think twice of it. It’s just a natural inevitability that’s a consequence of this society. Some people—children, even—fall between the cracks. There’s nothing to prevent that from happening unless systematic change happens.

“What happened to your eye.”

There’s an eyepatch over Denji’s right eye. Initially, Chizome had guessed that some sort of accident involving a mission given from the yakuza had occurred when he first saw the accessory.

“Sold it.”

Somehow, the real answer manages to be much worse than expected.

“Didn’t sell for much, but it’s fine. Only need one eye to see,” Denji says pointing to his left eye. “I hear a kidney goes for a lot on the black market. I’m gonna try for that next.”

“Don’t,” Chizome says, followed by a resigned sign. “It’ll hardly make a dent on that debt of yours.”

“Only if I can’t get a good deal out of it.”

“How much was your eye worth?”

“…300,000,” Denji says with his head hung in defeat, as if he’s almost embarrassed to say the amount. “Go ahead. Make fun of me if you want.”

“I would if I had a sense of humor.”

A breath of both disbelief and relief is forced out of Denji at the unexpected reply. “You know. For a serial killer, ya’re a pretty decent guy.”

Chizome raises an eyebrow. “What others have you met besides me?”

“Probably a lot. But who cares about any of ‘em? They’re all the same. They don’t even bat an eye in my direction.”

Denji smiles bittersweetly. “You’re the only one who’s ever bothered to do anything. So, thanks. I guess.”

Pochita barks, as if to express his gratitude as well. Denji kneels down and picks up Pochita, wrapping his arms around the dog in a tight embrace. Pochita pants with his tongue sticking out. “Pochita’s grateful, too.”

“It’s just pity,” Chizome dismisses with crossed arms. “Don’t read too much into it, child. You’ll only get hurt in the end by expecting too much.”

“I know it’s only pity. I know what pity looks like—even in this shit neighborhood, there’s always people passing by and staring at the kid who does all of the yakuza’s dirty work. But they don’t do anything more than look. Couple of useless bastards, all of ‘em.”

Denji continues, “Thanks to you, we got to eat a delicious meal. So, I’ll gladly take any pity you’re willing to give!”

Chizome thinks Denji is pure proof that some humans, even dealt with the shittiest hand of cards, will make something out of nothing in their lives. For such a child to maintain a positive outlook even having nothing but the clothes on his back and his dog, Denji continues to press on forward day-to-day, and it’s astounding to him that such a person could even exist, much less someone Denji’s age. Or is it Denji’s youthful ignorance that helps him move forward despite everything?

“…I reject your gratitude,” Chizome says after a long pause. “It was a passing gesture of kindness. I won’t do it again.”

“Maybe I should cough up blood more often,” Denji jokes. Any signs of his earlier depression have been completely wiped away by this point.

Chizome finds that he likes Denji better this way, absurd as it may seem.

Despite what one may think, Denji doesn’t think much about the serial-hero-whatever-killer who he often runs into in deserted alleyways.

It’s nice that he doesn’t have to deal the finishing blow sometimes. It’s less work and less energy for him. He still doesn’t quite understand why that man does what he does—for free—but it’s not any of his business, that’s for sure.

He’s not someone Denji would describe as having a weak spot for children, but he’s bewildered by the existence of Denji, and that’s enough for Denji to finally fulfill one of his dreams—finally getting something delicious to eat. Something that wasn’t from a dumpster or wasn’t a miniscule of a morsel that barely fills his stomach.

“If only it was a hot girl instead of an old man…” Denji complains, “But I ain’t in the position to complain!”

Pochita barks in agreement.

“I wonder how much more we could con out of him,” Denji ponders aloud. He walks with Pochita on the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. “It’d be nice to get some of those noodles again. But he obviously doesn’t wanna take responsibility for a dog like me.”

Pochita lets out a whimper of sympathy.

“Yeah, if I were him, I wouldn’t want to either,” Denji says. “I ain’t cute, and I only got selfish dreams to keep me going. A righteous guy like him would probably sympathize more with someone who dreams big. Or, at least, someone who actually understands what the hell he says half the time.”

Whenever the old man spirals into his long spiels about hero society and corrupt heroes, those words tend to go in one ear and out the other. It’s like listening to Ojiisan ramble about the state of yakuza groups. Like, talk about something Denji gives a shit about!

“Ah, whatever. At least we’ll always have each other,” Denji tells Pochita while scratching the dog’s chin. “Can’t ask for more than that.”

They visit Chisaki more, much to Denji’s displeasure. The rate of pay for guard duty is shit, and he doesn’t get paid any actual money from it. It won’t help pay off the water bill or for next month’s food supply. Even though Ojiisan offers to raise the hourly rate, it’s only money taken off his debt.

Denji’ll admit it: he doesn’t like Chisaki nor the fact that his little group are torturing a little girl to make weapons. Like, yeah, Denji’s done fucked up things in the past in the name of survival, but that’s a new fucking low. It’s not easy to look the other way when he constantly has to reminded about this fact.

There are a few times when he sneaks a peek at her, and she’s awake. Denji always tries to avert his eye whenever that happens, not wanting to meet her glance. He thought he was fucked up enough at this point to be immune to the feeling of guilt—apparently not. Damn.

But he has to play the role of an obedient little dog. Otherwise, Ojiisan really will discard him in the blink of an eye.

Sorry. Can’t do shit to save you, Denji mutters in his head. He’s got his own stuff going on. Don’t have time for this and that.

“D’you have a dream?” Denji asks. With a roll of his eye, he adds, “Besides your whole thing about heroes.”

Chizome glares at him the way he always does whenever Denji dismisses Chizome’s ideals as ‘stupid’. As if the boy knows anything about the world beyond his life as a dog.

“What are your opinions on All Might?” Chizome asks.

“Not my type,” Denji replies flatly. “I like girls.”

Chizome points the tip of his blade at Denji’s throat with an unamused look. Denji returns that unamused look back.

“Hey, you were the one who asked,” Denji says with a lazy shrug. “The only heroes I’ve met in person are the ones that I’ve been sent to kill. I could care less about ‘em.”

Chizome lowers the blade. “My existence serves no other purpose in this world.”

“Boo, that’s boring. So boring!”

“That’s because, brat, you don’t even try to understand.”

“Pass. Ain’t worth my time,” Denji mutters.

Denji barely registers the moment that Ojiisan dies.

It happened so fast. It was just supposed to be another visit to Shie Hassaikai, but it seems that they only walked into a trap. Denji wasn't even aware that Chisaki had such a quirk, and there's no way in hell he could've protected Ojiisan given such little warning.

Next thing he knows, a hand is reaching for his face and Denji’s flight or fight instinct is screaming as the scene plays in slow motion, the fingertips coming closer and closer to his face…

If Denji was the protagonist of a shounen manga, he’d persevere in this moment. He’d dodge Chisaki’s hand, and take Pochita, and run away. Escape to make a new life for himself. He’d be able to chase after those dreams, those small dreams that he dared to dream about, because he had nothing else going for him.

Who knows what would’ve happened.

Maybe he would’ve run off to become a hero. Attended hero school, gotten a girlfriend with the initial encounter of him saving her from a villain, and got to eat some good ol’ bread and jam with her. Pochita would be there, curling up on the blanket above Denji and his imaginary (and cute) girlfriend. They’d fall asleep together, like a family. Have a normal life together.

Denji has absolutely no desire to be a hero, but he’s only ever been a criminal in his life. He thinks it probably isn’t that hard to be a hero from what he’s seen. It's just the same work, but on the other side. Right?

But what does he know.

He’s simply a dog who doesn’t know any better.

That’s all the Hero-Killer ever saw him as, anyways. The only reason why that man never bothered to kill him on any of their encounters nor did the man ever go out of his way to help him. It’d be a nice gesture to save a dog, but ultimately, that dog would have nowhere to go either way. It was all fucked. So why did it matter if somebody saved that dog from their current circumstances if it was ultimately going to die a dog’s death in the end anyways.

Chisaki’s fingers make contact with Denji’s skin. Denji’s eye widen the slightest fraction before his entire body unravels, blood splattering everywhere.

…And then, Denji’s face-to-face with Pochita.

“Pochita?”

Denji’s dead. He remembers dying. Is this part of Pochita’s quirk? Or was that all a hellish nightmare that came from the recesses of his mind?

“Woof!”

Denji smiles and pets the dog on the head. A respite from everything in his life. Then, Pochita’s mouth opens.

“I’ve always loved hearing you talk about your dreams, Denji.”

Denji’s eye widens.

“I’ve actually been a Devil this entire time,” Pochita says, as if that explains anything. “Usually, my kind doesn’t come to Earth. But I escaped here because I had no other choice. That day when we first met, it was you who saved me.”

Denji’s head is spinning in circles at the overload of information. “A… Devil…?”

“Here’s the deal. I’ll give you my heart. In exchange, I want you to show me your dream come true.”

A shirtless teenage boy rises from the dumpster with an outstretched hand, crying, “Pochita!”

He’s alone.

As one person facing off against the entirety Shie Hassaikai, Denji can’t help but begin pondering his life. A dog’s life that had no value, but he managed to survive all on his own because he and Pochita had saved each other on that faithful day.

These guys who cared so much about their shitty yakuza organization to the point of complete moral bankruptcy… it’s not like they were going to die if their little group disbanded. Why are people always like this? Wanting more and more, wishing for useless things like honor or fame or power when they already had it so good?

Ah.

He finally gets it now, Mister Hero-killer. Why you must hate those “greedy” heroes who pretend to give to people, but in actuality only take from the very people they claim they’re trying to save. Why people who were born with such good fortune decide to turn to such an occupation simply to have it easier than they already could've had it. They already had everything, and they always want more, and more. Insatiable. Why couldn’t they just be happy with what they have?

Maybe he’s a hypocrite. He could’ve been content with his life having Pochita by his side. Some people in the world don’t even have anybody to rely on. Denji couldn’t possibly imagine such a lonely life. Still, he always wished he could have it easier, too. He also wants to be able to taste bread and jam, and be able to have normal things that normal people have, even if he’ll never be normal himself.

Maybe he’s also greedy.

He still dreamed of a better life. It’s all he had left besides Pochita. His dreams.

Heroes, villains, and everything in between… Denji’s sick and tired of hearing all the bullshit about this society. Maybe those heroes and villains have their own dreams, but Denji has his own. His dreams should be the only thing that matter to him.

Denji’s hand reaches for the ripcord that stems from his chest, where his heart should be.

He pulls on it. The violent revving of an engine follows.

From outside the headquarters, the sound of muffled chainsaw noises and screaming can be heard. Some lackeys try to escape, but Denji is able to hunt them down like how he’s hunted heroes in the past. How the roles have reversed. He slaughters them without mercy, maniacally laughing in the process, visions of his past flashing before his eyes, the visceral fury of losing Pochita to help soothe the underlying grief in his chest.

He wants their blood to decorate the walls. He wants them all shredded into pieces, so that their petty dreams could fall apart right in front of their eyes.

He finds Chisaki trying to escape with the little girl hunched like a rag doll over his shoulder with the eyes of fear—a coward is all that bastard is. Denji slices straight through him with the chainsaw attached to his head, the girl from his arms falling onto the floor with a dull thud.

After that, Denji isn’t sure what happens. His only regret is Chisaki didn’t suffer enough after everything.

Denji’s eyes slowly open to a pair of small red eyes with a groan as parts of his body ache.

“Oh, it’s you.”

He’s always wanted to wake up in a girl’s lap, but well… obviously not a girl who’s, like. Nine years younger than him. There’s no fun in that. It’s funny how his wish that he’d wake up in a girl’s lap was finally fulfilled, just not in the way he wanted.

The girl doesn’t respond. She just keeps staring down at him with curious eyes, even as they’re both surrounded by an army of Shie Hassaikai’s corpses and blood stains splattering the walls and miscellaneous disembodied body parts strewn all over the floor. Shouldn’t a little scared kid like her be running away at a time like this?

“Why’re you still here?” Denji slurs, still disoriented from having just woken up. “You’re not mad ‘cause I killed your dad, are ya?”

The girl blinks at him, expression unchanging.

“Ah, that piece of shit wasn’t your pops. That’s good. I don’t have to feel bad about the fact that I tore him to bits, then.” Denji smiles with strained amusement. “Deserved everything that was comin’ to him. Anyways, shouldn’t you be running off to the police n’ stuff? Run home and go give your mom and pops a big ol’ hug.”

The girl still doesn’t respond.

“They dead too? No wonder they left you in this shithole. Buncha useless assholes.”

Another moment of uncomfortable silence. Denji opens his mouth to say something, but the girl cuts him off before he could.

“I—My—my quirk. It made my dad disappear,” the girl’s voice trembles throughout the confession. She looks at Denji with the eyes of a lost puppy—one who doesn’t know how or where to beg for help. It’s a look that Denji knows all too well.

Denji’s body shoots up without warning, scaring the girl who hadn’t expected such a sudden motion. She jumps back as Denji’s body lurches forward from the lack of a sense of balance.

“Oh shit!” Denji shouts. “Wait, for real?”

The girl nods slowly, uncertain what to make of Denji’s reaction.

Chapter Text

Denji has vivid memories of the carnage—the emotions from the moment still fresh in his heart. Even as he looks on at the aftermath with his own eyes, there’s a distinct lack of guilt—an empty void—that’s left behind when the adrenaline, the grief, the violent feelings that had stirred inside him begin to fade with every step he takes.

His foot maneuvers around the numerous bodies lying on the floor, the girl who called herself Eri following closely behind him.

“You happen to know where they kept the money?” Denji asks Eri, but the girl shakes her head.

Denji thought it was worth a try to ask, even though he’s sure the fucker probably just kept her in that torture chamber 24/7. The more he starts to remember his impressions of Chisaki, the more he feels that his lack of guilt is rather justified. He’s not someone worth feeling guilt over, that’s all.

Eventually, after searching around, Denji finds a safe and rips the metal door off its hinges. He stuffs the fat stacks of cash inside into a burlap sack he found lying around. Eri watches him stealing the money with mild interest. Well—it’s not stealing if they’re all dead!

“Nice,” Denji says with a satisfied smile at their payout.

It’s nice to just be able to owe money without any fear of having it taken away. No more debt—just money that he could finally use for his own enjoyment. He grips the bag tightly like it’s a lifeline. Back to his upbeat attitude, he yells, “Time to go shopping!”

The convenience store worker who has been behind the register in the slums for some time now has learned one crucial lesson: to not to ask questions, no matter who it is that emerges from that door which the bell rings for. They’ve gotten used to the odd characters who come and go.

At least, that’s what they thought until a teenage boy covered in blood with a little girl clamoring close to his side enter the door. It’s dead hours, literally the middle of the night. The sack in his hand is suspicious—the worker almost suspects that this will most undoubtedly be an attempted robbery and mentally braces themselves, but the boy seems to hold no interest in the register, instead focused on browsing the aisles.

“That ain’t food,” the boy’s voice pipes up. “We can’t eat that, I don’t have a microwave. Wait, maybe I should just buy one?”

A poignant pause.

“What the fuck! Microwaves are so damn expensive,” the boy curses. “Whatever. We’ll worry about that shit later.”

The pair come up to the register, the teenage boy slamming down various jars of jam, peanut butter, and two wrapped bags of bread.

“All of this to go!” the teenage says with a proud sneer. The girl looks up to the clerk with doe eyes. The worker chooses not to question the pair’s eccentricity, instead opting to scan the items as fast as possible to avoid any trouble.

“Here, you hold this one. Don’t drop it.” The boy passes the lightweight bag with the bread to the girl, who pokes through the bag at the texture of the bread. “Tonight, we’ll be eating like kings!”

The odd couple of kids exits through the door, and the convenience store worker isn’t sure what they had just witnessed.

They’re back at Denji’s refuge—a small singular room the size of a janitor’s closet located in some abandoned building on some random floor that’s littered with useless junk and a mat on the floor. There’s no security in the building whatsoever, but there’s nothing of any value to steal anyways. It’s just a place to have a roof over his head while he sleeps and occasionally eats. Having no table, Denji is forced to lay the jars of condiments on the floor.

“It’s called a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich,” Denji says with excitement in his eyes, using the knife to smear the condiments on the slice of bread.

Eri looks at the sandwich between her hands with uncertainty. It has a spongy texture—like it could fall apart if she squishes it with too much force between her fingers. She looks back up only to see Denji has already gone through half of his sandwich, a mess of jam and peanut butter smothered on the area on his mouth.

“D’you not know how to eat a sandwich?” Denji bluntly asks, chunks of food spilling out of his mouth as he speaks. “Just take a bite.”

Eri nibbles at the sandwich little by little.

Wow, she eats like a chick, Denji thinks, picturing a little baby bird pecking at seeds littered on the ground. He’s not sure what the hell that dude must’ve been feeding her, but probably nothing good considering how malnourished her body seems. She’s too small for even someone of her age. He remembers it from a passing remark in one of Ojiisan’s conversations.

“You can have as much as you want!” Denji says, gesturing to their setup. “There’s nobody here who’s gonna stop you! I’m different from that guy!”

“I’m slow,” Eri says shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, okay,” Denji says, already reaching to make his second sandwich. He feels giddy for the hopeful future, which hasn’t looked this bright before. No more debt! No more Ojiisan running him around like a dog! Freedom!

Wait, now what?

“Fuck, now what?” Denji says with his mouth full, mostly as a question to himself. He has no idea.

He keeps this question inside his head, even as he’s falling asleep afterwards with Eri curled up in a ball against his back.

Nope. Still no idea. Fuck.

The fall of Shie Hassaikai has even the residents of the slums, who were usually used to gruesome incidents, on edge. It was an utter massacre and planted fear in their hearts. Nobody protests when the police force show up to the scene of the slaughter.

“Was this possibly the work of another villain organization?” the officer asks. He doesn’t even want to entertain the idea that all of this could’ve been committed by one person.

“The style of attack is the consistent throughout. The coroner’s report came back this morning. The impact on most of the bodies suggests they were all killed by the same quirk,” the detective remarks, confirming those fears.

The officer shudders. He wouldn’t want to meet the monster who’d left this mess behind.

“It’s strange, however. Nothing’s been raided except for one safe. Everything else was left untouched, including the cases full of trigger that were being produced at this site. Arguably, the product that this organization was known for,” the detective says. “The motive is unclear. If it was simply for monetary gain, they would’ve stolen the trigger too. But if it was monetary, why target such a powerful organization for extra cash…?”

“Maybe there was something more valuable in the safe,” the officer theorizes. “Or maybe it was simply for revenge. Who knows.”

Another officer comes between them interrupting the conversation, telling the detective, “Sir, the coroner just called reporting that it’s unlikely the rest of the remains sent will be identified.”

“Yes, I expected as such considering the state of the bodies…” The detective lets out a heavy sigh. “I almost feel bad for the way these villains had to die. Has anyone contacted the families of the identified yet?”

“Someone has.”

“Good, good,” the detective gives the scene one last glance before raising his hand, moving to leave. “I’ll call for a clean up crew, but otherwise, we’re done here. There’s not much else we can do at the moment.”

Word spreads.

The neighborhood talks.

Nobody suspects Denji, apparently. That’s good, but at the same time, seriously nobody even thinks that a dog like him could be capable of such a crime? There are criminals trying to take street credit for his massacre, god damnit! That was him! All him! Trying to scare other criminals by claiming credit for his work…

“Those posers!” Denji curses in frustration, feeling a little petty about the entire thing. “Nobody can let me have even one good thing…”

“It’s okay,” Eri says. “At least I know it was you.”

“Damn right it is!” Denji shouts, pointing to himself with his thumb. “I oughta go out there myself and beat up all these imposters for trying to steal my cred!”

A knock on the door interrupts his tirade. “Hell, I bet that’s one right now!”

Denji angrily growls at the door, his thumb hooked inside the little loop of the ripcord ready to pull at any moment to trigger the transformation. He still hasn’t bought a new shirt ever since his old one had been ripped into shreds, instead running around shirtless since the incident.

“Cover your eyes,” he barks the command at Eri, who nods obediently and lifts both hands to cover her eyes as told.

Denji stomps to the front door, flinging it open with no hesitation, almost instinctively pulling on the cord but he stops at the sight of the guest.

“Your eye is back,” the man comments.

It’s Chizome, or Mister Hero-Killer. What the fuck?

“Oh,” Denji says, anger dissipating instantly. His thumb unhooks from the ripcord, and he turns around to tell Eri, “You can look, I know this dude. Probably not gonna fight him.”

Eri doesn’t uncover her eyes, instead creating a little sliver of an opening by separating her fingers to give her eye just enough room to peer at Chizome. Chizome stares at the little five-year-old girl sitting innocuously on Denji’s sleeping mat.

“Who the hell is that.”

“Her name is Eri,” Denji says. “I killed her abusive not-dad, so now she’s with me.”

Eri nods to corroborate Denji’s explanation. She removes her hands completely from her face, taking the opportunity to fully gawk at Chizome’s unusual attire and the bandages hanging loosely from the man’s arms. It reminds her of the bandages wrapped around her own arms. Does he get hurt often, too, she wonders.

“She doesn’t talk much,” Denji says.

Eri nods again.

“Wait, how’d you even find this place? I never told you where I live.”

“I have my ways,” Chizome mutters. He invites himself in, stepping inside without Denji’s express permission to observe the cramped room with miscellaneous junk lying around and the various jam stains on the ground.

“Hey, I didn’t say you could come in!” Denji complains loudly. “You’re ruining the vibe here!”

“It’s not any worse nor any better than I had expected,” Chizome evaluates. He does a double take when he glances around the room. “Where’s that dog of yours?”

Denji visibly deflates at the question, reality smacking him hard in the head.

He’d purposely avoided thinking about Pochita up until this point, even though his little buddy was always lingering in the back of his head. Wandering through the convenience store, eating sandwiches filled with peanut butter and jelly, thinking about the future. Whenever Denji’s thoughts started to wander towards his memories and complicated feelings of his belated companion, he’d force himself to get distracted by something else.

“He’s gone,” Denji says in a soft voice, the lonely ache returning to his chest. Where there should be a hole instead of a heart given by Pochita.

Damn it, this is why he didn’t want to think about it for at least another year or something! He hates putting himself through this shit. He’s learned a long time ago that it never helps to focus on the depressing shit. Never.

People who fall into despair don’t make it out of the slums. It’s a lesson he learned the hard way.

“He was killed in conflict, I presume.”

“It was my fault,” Denji murmurs, hand coming up to where his heart is. Pochita’s heart. “He sacrificed himself so I could live.”

There’s a lot of questions left unanswered by the dog’s disappearance. Like what exactly a “devil” is, as Pochita had described himself. Why Pochita was even there on that fateful day when they met, pitiful and bleeding out. Why Pochita approached him. Why Pochita chose to stay with him despite everything. Why Pochita even cared so much about his tiny dreams, to the point of self-sacrifice just so he—Denji—could live despite having so little to live for.

The thing is, there are very few things Denji can be grateful for. Living a happy life together was impossible, but Pochita’s presence always made everything better, no matter how bad it got. So, he was able to scrap up a semblance of happiness thanks to Pochita. He owes him his life even if Pochita hadn’t gone and sacrificed himself, and now Denji feels like he’s left with barely anything except a promise to his savior.

“So, yeah,” Denji says. “He’s gone.”

“I see.”

Chizome stares at the clearly visible ripcord embedded in the center of Denji’s chest. He thinks back to the massacre of Shie Hassaikai gang, and he knows that they’ve been operating in this city. The same city that Denji’s yakuza runs things. Chizome’s had his suspicions from the moment he’s heard descriptions of how the corpses were found.

Ripped apart. Torn from limb to limb. Nobody spared. As if a reckless typhoon of blades had come and swept them, blended their insides into red paint all over the walls.

There are logical conclusions to draw here. Denji was quirkless. Shie Hassaikai was found dead, suspiciously sounding like they’d been murdered brutally by some weapon of mass destruction. Like, say, a chainsaw. Denji is no longer quirkless, or so it seems. Pochita is gone. Denji says the dog sacrificed himself.

The pieces are there. They aren’t put together, as in there’s no logical glue holding the seemingly related facts together, but Chizome has a good idea of what the final picture could look like.

“How will you repay your debt to the yakuza without him?” Chizome asks, trying to fish for a more definite answer.

“Ah! That’s the thing, I don’t have a debt anymore! Ojiisan died!” Denji cheers, sadness leaving his face in an instant. “Old bastard died after having been stabbed in the back—that’s what he gets!”

“Congratulations,” is said dryly with Chizome’s harsh tone, but he means it sincerely. “What will you do now?”

Denji pauses in his gloating, absentminded expression appearing on his face. “I have no idea.”

“He’s going to apply to a hero school,” Eri says, holding up a U.A. application for Chizome to see.

Denji’s mouth drops to the floor.

He thinks he sees his life flashing before his eyes. Letting out a shriek, he scrambles to tear the application out of Eri’s hands, crumpling the piece of paper into a ball and shoving it in his mouth. “She’s lying! I would never apply to a hero school! Why would I of all people apply to a hero school!”

Eri frowns. “I thought he was a friend…”

“Stop being so dramatic, boy,” Chizome hisses, unamused but not angry either. Okay. Yeah. That’s good. Maybe Denji’ll come out of this alive, after all.

Denji sticks his tongue out, gagging at the taste of paper, spitting out the ruined U.A. application and coughing little bits of wet scraps everywhere. Eri looks at him with a pitiful look of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Eri says with the eyes of a child who knows they’ve done something wrong.

“Don’t apologize for something that was entirely his fault,” Chizome says, using a firm hand to pat Denji’s back with a force that’s anything but gentle. Denji chokes violently every time Chizome’s hand makes contact with his back.

“That hurts!” Denji snaps, finally having stopped coughing but only because of the pain flaring in his back. “You kill heroes! It’s just suicide if I let you find out I’m tryna be one! I probably ain’t even gonna get accepted! I don’t even understand most of the questions asked on the damn application alone!”

“I kill false heroes,” Chizome corrects. “It truly goes to show that you haven’t paid attention to even a single one of my speeches.”

“Hey, I was thinking about you when I almost died! Thinking about how right you were about stuff… but now I forgot what kinda stuff,” Denji says. “I just remember being angry and going, ‘Yeah! That guy is suddenly making a lot of sense!’”

“I highly doubt you even remembered anything correctly, but sure, runt. Whatever you say.”

“What the hell!” Denji shouts. “I’m never gonna listen to another of your high-and-mighty speeches ever again! They were always full of crap anyways!

Eri’s eyes switch between Denji and Chizome with a thoughtful expression. She wonders what the relationship between Denji and this strange man could be. 

“Proving my point,” Chizome sardonically says. “Why are you applying to hero schools? You’re nothing close to what’s acceptable for a hero.”

Apparently, something a killer of heroes would know.

“I want a job,” Denji says. “But I don’t have money for school. I’m dumb, and broke, and I can’t pass off for an adult. But I don’t want to keep taking jobs in slums. I want a normal job. Not something like huntin’ heroes. Free choice, stuff like that.”

Before Chizome can reply to that, Denji adds, “I want a girlfriend, too! If I could be a hero... I'd have all the ladies over me! They love that shit! I promised Pochita I’d show him my dreams, damnit!”

Eri places a comforting hand on top of Denji’s. “I’ve, um, never had a friend before but… I’ll be your friend.”

“No, that’s not what a girlfriend is!” Denji shouts, retracting his hand from Eri’s. “Like, I want to date someone! And feel her up! And go on dates and do normal stuff with her!”

Eri tilts her head to the side. “Feel… up…?”

“Stop spewing that inappropriate drivel,” Chizome hisses, a vein popping out of his forehead. “Brats like you are the reason why I hate dealing with children.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man.” Denji sighs. “Does that mean you’re not gonna stop me from applying? If I get in, you won’t kill me for not kissing up to All Might’s ass?”

“You could learn a thing or two from him,” Chizome says vaguely.

“That guy does have a lot of fangirls,” Denji says while rubbing his chin with a contemplative look. He crosses his arms as he imagines what the potential future could look like—a line of screaming girls who are calling out his name, begging him to go out with them. “It’d be nice to have a dedicated fanclub, too.”

Chizome groans.

Eri carries the rolled up sleeping mat with both arms, trying to maintain her sense of balance as she keeps up with Denji and the strange man whose name she has not learned on the streets of the slums. When she asks Denji what the man’s name is, he shrugs.

“Think it’s supposed to be a secret,” Denji says.

“Stain,” the man answers flippantly.

“See? Told ya,” Denji snickers.

“…Akaguro Chizome,” the man adds, much to Denji’s pleasant surprise.

Huh. He doesn’t know if it’s an alias or not. If it isn’t, it’s not like the high-profile vigilante hero-killer would have much of a secret identity—the police are rather good at figuring out that kind of stuff nowadays. Denji just never expected Chizome to actually give out his real name to a bunch of orphaned kids from the slums.

“Wow, he even gave out the full thing,” Denji says with awe. “Turns out the hero-killer had a soft spot for little girls this entire time!”

“If you speak any more, I’ll kill you.”

Denji hums happily, not taking the threat seriously in the slightest. Instead, he gives the man a shit-eating grin, and Eri gets nervous about the possible outcomes of this scenario. She doesn’t want Akaguro-san to turn on them. She feels like Denji is pushing it, but she can’t stop him from doing anything he wants, either.

She squeezes the bed mat trying to control the sense of helplessness that was so acutely familiar to her. She prays that the man won’t hurt Denji-kun.

At some point, they make a sharp detour from the main street down the unknown alleys and recesses of the slums, Chizome leading them through the nooks and crannies until they find themselves in an alleyway where there are no doors in sight.

“You should really get a ladder,” Denji comments, head raised to stare at the third story window. He’s not particularly surprised at this style of design, especially for a guy like Chizome who’s able to parkour up walls with relative ease.

Eri is instructed to climb onto the back of the strange man, one arm wrapped around Chizome’s neck and the other arm gripping the bed mat with all her might. Chizome scales the wall of the building, opening the third-story window with ease and crawling in. Denji follows, though not as gracefully, scrambling his way up with his human-form strength alone. His body flops over on the floor once he’s able to get through in the window.

Eri sets the sleeping mat down on the floor, attempting to smooth out the creases with her fingers. While in the middle of doing so, Denji collapses backwards onto the mat, Eri quickly retracting her hands from being crushed by the weight of his body.

“I’ll cover the water bill,” Denji says offhandedly, staring at the ceiling. It’s a little less moldy than the one he’s used to.

“You don’t have a job,” Chizome replies.

“I took some money before I left. ‘s not much ‘cause I bet they were smart enough not to keep it all in one place, but still something.”

“Save it.”

“C’mon, it’s not like I offered to pay half the rent. Just the water bill.”

“There’s no rent. I own this hideout.”

“Sooooo rich,” Denji says in a jokingly accusatory voice, not pushing the subject further. He’s not actually sure how well off Chizome is, but it’s clearly better off than anything Denji could possibly dream of being.

Lying face up on the mat bed, Denji thinks about how much he misses having Pochita climb on his chest. He looks up Eri who sits crisscross next to his face and lifts the young girl to sit on the spot where Pochita would be.

Well. Eri’s a lot heavier, for one, and it just doesn’t have the same satisfaction as when Pochita would climb on and snuggle with him. Man, he misses Pochita. Eri looks down at Denji’s face with confusion spelled out on her face.

“Let’s have some ramen,” Denji says to Eri. “C’mon, I’ll teach you how to use the microwave.”

The most surprising thing Denji learns when living with Chizome is that the man actually knows how to cook. It’s not something he expected from a man who looks like he was born straight out of a dumpster. Denji doesn’t think much about how Chizome is actually, like, a person and not just some serial killer with an obsession of murdering heroes.

Like, damn. It’s strange to acknowledge that Chizome most likely has a past and everything and he learned how to cook from some origins long forgotten. Isn’t that just the wildest thing ever.

Isn’t it kinda unfair that Chizome knows so much about Denji and yet Denji’s learned almost nothing about him?

Denji doesn’t get why Chizome doesn’t cook more if he knows how to. Why even have a months-long supply stock of pre-cooked instant ramen in the first place? Just doesn’t really make any sense.

“I can’t read this,” Denji says when Chizome gives him a slip of paper with words that resemble chicken scratch handwriting.

“Deal with it,” Chizome says.

“No, I mean I literally can’t read this.”

Chizome pauses. “You don’t even know basic hiragana?”

Denji slaps his hand over his face. How many times does he have to repeat that he never went to school! This is humiliating, old man!

Chizome shows Eri the note. “Do you know how to read this?”

Eri shakes her head. “Should I?”

A teenage boy and a young girl in rags huddle together in the middle of the aisle of a grocery store.

“What do you think this is supposed to be?” Denji, squatting down to reach Eri’s eye level, points at the crudely drawn picture of some weirdly drawn shape with a bone sticking out of it. “All these other things don’t look like meat, so it’s probably meat. Curry has meat, right?”

“What’s a curry?”

Denji stands up, understanding that he’s not going to receive any help from Eri. Which, to be fair, isn’t her fault. There’s just a lot that she doesn’t know, the same as Denji.

“Let’s just grab whatever looks good,” Denji says as he eyes the various options in the meat aisle.

Eri tugs on his pants insistently. Her eyes dart around the grocery store. “We should ask someone for help.”

“No way! They’re totally gonna make fun of the fact that I can’t even read hiragana, just like that bastard!” Denji shouts, picturing a look of sick glee on Chizome’s face.

“Was he making fun of you?” Eri asks, confused. She doesn’t remember such a thing happening.

“People are always making fun of other people behind their backs,” Denji mutters stubbornly. “Happens to me all the time. An orphan makes for an easy target.”

“Oh,” Eri says with a low voice. “Do you make fun of me behind my back?”

“What? No!” Denji shouts. “Why would I? You’ve probably gotta better future ahead than me! If anything, you should be the one making fun of me!”

“But you said—”

Denji picks up one of the packaged meats, scanning both the front and back before slamming it in the shopping cart. “There. Moving on to the carrots!”

“This is chicken,” Chizome says.

“Yeah. And?” Denji defensively replies.

“I told you we should’ve asked for help,” Eri whispers to him.

Denji brushes her off with a scowl. “We didn’t need help! Food is food, why do we gotta be the ones to do your stinkin’ errands!”

“Because I’m easily recognized in public,” Chizome says.

Denji empties one of the paper bags containing groceries out on the kitchen counter, takes a pen and punches out two holes in the paper bag. He draws an arc below the holes to resemble a smile and shoves the makeshift mask over Chizome’s head. The eyeholes aren’t even aligned with Chizome’s eyes.

“Problem solved,” Denji says smugly, dusting his hands.

Eri takes a spoonful of the curry into her mouth, lighting up at the taste. She’s surprised by how flavorful it is compared to the other things that Denji’s made her try in the past. With a sparkle in her eyes, she says, “It’s delicious!”

“Eat your veggies,” Denji reminds her. “Or I’ll eat them for you!”

Chizome smacks him on the head, not pulling back on the force of the blow.

“Ow!” Denji yells, the pain leaving him hanging his head on the table, rubbing where the man had hit him. “I was just offering!”

“Eyes on your own plate,” Chizome says.

“I got it, dude. No need to resort to violence,” Denji petulantly says. Eri’s too focused on the taste of the food to notice the interaction happening right across from her.

“I’m done!” Denji moans, slamming his head face down on the table. “I don’t wanna do this anymore! I give up!”

“I’m done,” Eri politely says, handing in the piece of paper that contains neatly handwritten hiragana to Chizome. Chizome looks it over, satisfied with the quality of the work.

“Good job,” Chizome tells Eri. Turning to Denji, he says, “You, on the other hand, are as much of a lost cause as I expected.”

“Dude, this is so hard,” Denji says. “Why are there so many things to remember in the alphabet? Couldn’t they have invented a simpler system?”

“This is the simpler system,” Chizome says. “If you’re having trouble with hiragana, you’ll be hopeless when we get to kanji.”

“I bet you’re having so much fun watching me suffer right now,” Denji scoffs.

“You need to learn.”

“Says who? I’ve never seen a hero pick up a book in the middle of battle! This shit is so useless!” Denji yells. “So what if I can’t multiply fractions? I can still cut down a villain, ‘s all that matters!”

“It’s called being an educated human being. Some enlightenment would do you some good.”

“This is all just a ploy to get me to buy into your cult.”

“You think teaching you how to read is part of my political agenda?”

Denji sputters, unable to come up with a decent comeback to that. He’s complained all this time that he never went to school, but it seems like school would absolutely chew him up if he actually goes. He’s not smart enough for any of this!

“…I guess it’d be impossible to pass the entrance exam without knowing how to read,” Denji pouts. “But you’re going too fast, and I can’t keep up!”

“That’s because you’re going at a pace too slow for the girl.” Chizome gestures to Eri. “You’re holding her back.”

“She’s, like, five, man! She’s gonna learn all of this in school anyways! Help me!” Denji cries. “I’m the one who’s applying to biggest hero school in Japan!”

“Maybe she should take your place. She has a better chance at getting accepted than you at this rate.”

“Not helping,” Denji groans.

They leave Eri at home when taking off into the streets at sunset, Chizome confident enough about the security of his hideout. Denji tries to match Chizome’s pace as the hero killer glides easily from rooftop to rooftop of different buildings, but he keeps falling behind due to their gap in experience. He supposes Chizome would have to be some sort of beast to evade the cops and heroes for so long.

Denji’s fast enough to at least keep Chizome in his eyesight, but if Chizome were truly trying to evade him, Chizome would’ve already been far out of his reach by this point. Eventually, Chizome stops running on one of the rooftops that’s fairly taller than the average building, overlooking parts of the slum. Denji eventually catches up, panting hard and sweating from the workout.

“Not bad,” Chizome comments. It sounds like half an insult coming from his mouth.

“Fuck, man, was that supposed to be a test or somethin’,” Denji says in between gasps for breaths.

“Hardly.”

Denji straights his back, looking to where Chizome’s gaze is focused at—the sun in the distance that’s mostly disappeared from the horizon, casting the blanket of the night in the sky. The slums have a more ominous atmosphere when the lights go out.

“You know, usually you don’t stay in one place for too long,” Denji remarks, having the sudden urge to make small talk. It’s from a past observation of his.

It makes sense the Hero Killer is always on the move. Stay in one city too long, one becomes a lot more trackable that way.

“You’re the one who wanted to apply to U.A.,” Chizome calmly says. “In your current state, you’re not ready to be anything close to resembling a hero.”

“Well, duh. That’s the stuff school’s supposed to teach you. Otherwise, hero schools wouldn’t exist.”

“No. What you lack cannot be taught in schools.”

“Well, you’re gonna hafta to be a lot more specific than that ‘cause I’m lacking in a lot, and I don’t really know what to expect to learn from U.A.,” Denji snarks. “If I even get in.”

“You need to know right from wrong, for one.”

“It’s not like I’m a complete psycho! I know killing people is wrong. In most cases. Unless they deserved it. Okay, maybe it’s not always wrong. Sometimes you gotta accept the planet is better off without some of the assholes living in it.”

“It’s not that I don’t agree,” Chizome sighs.

Denji doesn’t expect Chizome to be the “pinnacle of morality” as Mister Hero Killer, either.

Chizome continues, “However, those at U.A. wouldn’t understand. You’ll need to adopt a more sanitized set of ideologies if you want to fit in, regardless of how you feel. Hero schools like U.A. don’t want to expend the time to train strays like you—they want obedient dogs left at their doorstep, ready to be molded into their closeminded idea of justice.”

Denji yawns visibly. “Why do I feel like this is halfway to turning into one of your long and boring lectures?”

“If anyone even suspects you’ve had a familiar history with murder, you can kiss those chances of becoming a hero goodbye. Expulsion only would be the best-case scenario. Some cop might even chase after your paper trail if they’re curious enough.”

“I get it,” Denji says with a roll of his eyes. “I thought school was supposed to be fun n’ stuff, but you’re making it sound like a real chore. I already know how to act like a dog. Following orders was one of the only good qualities about me when Ojiisan decided to put me to work. If hero school’s just gonna be like that, except with teachers instead of Ojiisan, then it’s whatever. As long as I get paid and find a girlfriend, who cares.”

“As always, your priorities are insipid.”

“Now you’re just making up words! It’s what I promised Pochita. I have to pay him back what I owe, after all.”

Denji’s hand rises to cover the center of his chest instinctively, where the ripcord lies, as if he’s carefully cradling the spot where Pochita lies.

“I know I’m too stupid to live up to your high expectations of what a hero should be, but I got dreams too! We’ve all got dreams! And so what if I gotta become a hero to even have a chance of making those dreams come true? Are you gonna get in my way?”

“Your dreams are selfish. I could never officially approve of you as a hero.”

“There ya go. I knew it,” Denji says.

“However, I don’t intend to interfere with your plans, as long as you don’t interfere with mine. I’ve got better things to do than to meaninglessly spill the blood of orphans. You’re just a product of our corrupt hero society in the end.”

“…Hey, why’d you even let me and Eri move into your place anyways? I thought you hated kids.”

“Why didn’t you drop that child off at the police station when you had saved her?”

Denji is rendered speechless at the question mainly because he doesn’t have an answer himself. He’s never done something for someone else before. He’s also never felt a terribly strong urge to make friends. His past loneliness was remedied the moment Pochita came into his life. With a best friend like Pochita, who needed anyone else?

But Pochita was gone. Maybe the reason why Denji inexplicably wanted to look after Eri is that he needed a replacement for Pochita.

A vision comes to Denji—a door staring back at him. He shudders.

Denji’s hand raises to rub at the back of his neck. He admits, “I dunno. I thought if I was in her position, I’d get pissed as fuck if I got ditched to the foster system. She’s lived her life under that abusive bastard thinking she deserved all that torture, and I thought it’d be another hell for her if she was forced to stay with normal people thinking that she didn’t deserve nice things. I didn’t want to abandon her to that shit.”

Chizome doesn’t smile, but for once he doesn’t look like he’s swallowed an entire sour lemon whole. He gives Denji an ambivalent look, the most approval he’s had for the boy since they’ve met.

“There’s still potential in there, somewhere,” Chizome says. “Taking responsibility. That’s a start.”

“Oh,” Denji says. He echoes, “Taking responsibility. I did that. Yeah, I guess that counts.”

Denji pulls on the ripcord and with a rev, a long sawblade emerged from his head, blood spurting everywhere. He tries to focus on the adrenaline rather than the immense pain from having a fucking metal blade poke from beneath his skin, and he lets Chizome circle around him when the transformation is complete.

Chizome ogles at the helmet on his head and the blades that extrude from his arms. With a quirk like this, it’s not exactly surprising what must’ve transpired on the day the massacre happened.

“Fuck, man, it hurts,” Denji complains. “And I lose blood every time I transform. So I can’t do it too often.”

“You haven’t transformed since the first time, I’m presuming.”

“Yeah,” Denji says. “I haven’t needed to but I’m guessing I’m gonna have to transform if I wanna pass this damn entrance exam.”

“It’d be good for you to learn some combat techniques that don’t solely rely on this quirk given the limitations,” Chizome says. “It should be only used as a last resort. It’d be too easy to kill a villain in this form.”

“Hey, like I said—some people just have it comin’ to them.” Denji shrugs. If a guy is an asshole enough to be terrorizing random innocent civilians, then it should be fair game for whatever happens to said guy. Isn’t that simple enough logic? “But, yeah, I don’t want to go using my chainsaws for everything. If I get cut up too badly, I’ll need lots o’ more blood to recover.”

“Interesting. So it’s also a blood-related quirk?”

“I’m quirkless, though.”

“Then what else would you call this?”

It’s not exactly like Denji could come clean with Pochita’s whole “I’m a Devil” confession that really should’ve been accompanied by a ten-minute long explanation so Denji could understand what Pochita had done to save him. He’s, of course, grateful but he doesn’t know jack shit about Devils and this and that!

“Pochita did something weird. I’m just sayin’, I don’t think it’s a quirk,” Denji insists. “But eh, I’m not gonna question it. Sure, we’ll call it a quirk.”

Although Denji’s response is suspicious, Chizome wouldn’t even know where to begin in dissecting that answer in order to ask the right question back.

They test out Denji’s strength and endurance in his chainsaw form, with Denji going as far as being able to lift a car over his head with his bare hands. He scales a building quickly by making chainsaws materialize from his feet, able to climb much faster than in his normal form. He jumps down from the rooftop of a five-story building with no problem, landing on both his feet with minimal effort. Although, there’s a slight dent in the concrete of the sidewalk from the impact.

“You said you recover using blood?”

“Yeah?”

Chizome unsheathes both his katana and machete, each weapon in one hand. Oh. Denji does not like where this is going.

“Let’s play a game, then. For training sake.”

Denji gulps.

The game is simple: steal Chizome’s red scarf using any non-lethal means possible. Denji didn’t want to play unless there was some incentive to win.

“The reward is experience.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, man?”

“Do I seem like I’m joking?”

“You look like the type who’d have a sick sense of humor,” Denji says, pointing to his tongue and mock gagging. Chizome chooses to not respond to the provocative comment. Despite Denji’s complaints, he decides to participate in the “game” though he doesn’t particularly feel motivated to put any effort in.

When the game starts, Chizome actually goes easy on him at the start, careful not to go too far as to permanently injure the boy, but the older man’s fighting becomes progressively more serious as he gages Denji’s combat skills. Eventually, Chizome stops holding back when he deems how much Denji can handle and mercilessly dual-wields both blades, cutting Denji down with precise strokes and inhuman speed.

Denji, who retracted his blades before the game even started thinking that they’d get in the way, brings the sawblade back in one arm to defend against Chizome’s blades that had been slicing thin bleeding cuts in his skin. Metal clinks against metal, and Denji’s reflexes are almost on-par with Chizome, but he’s not able to read Chizome’s movements.

Eventually, Denji collapses backwards, too tired to fight back.

Denji hits the floor with his back flat to the ground, saliva drooling out of his mouth. He chokes before coughing for air, groaning in pain. Blood trickles from the cuts carved into his skin into pools around his fallen body.

“And I didn’t even have to use my quirk,” Chizome states smugly, putting his katana and machete back into his scabbard and sheath respectively. He takes out a knife from one of the pockets attached to his belt and holds his left arm over Denji’s face. Chizome unwraps the bandages that are wrapped around his arm before digging a small nick into his own skin, blood dripping down into Denji’s open mouth.

It takes several drops before Denji rises again. He looks down at his arms and chest to find that the cuts from Chizome’s weapons have already disappeared, leaving behind unblemished skin aside from a few minor scratches here and there.

“Good as new,” Denji says with a rejuvenated tone, knocking a fist against his heart.

“Then you’ll be good enough to go again.”

Denji pales, his optimism gone as quickly as it came. Shock quickly turning into outrage, he shouts, “But I didn’t learn a thing! What kinda experience was I supposed to get outta that!?”

“Non-lethal combat experience. If you really wanted to win the game through any means possible, what would’ve been the easiest way?”

“Killing you,” Denji answers as if it’s been on his mind for the past ten minutes already.

“Exactly. Do you think someone who’d resort to that could ever become a hero? Or do you think they’d be labelled a villain on the spot?”

“You seem to be really fixated on the whole murder angle,” Denji says. “Is it really all that bad if I end up accidentally killing a bad guy? Don’t heroes just… I don’t know, make mistakes from time to time too?”

“A mistake can be made, but a mistake that costs an innocent civilian’s life can never be forgiven. It can always be attributed to a fault on the hero’s part—whether that was their own selfishness or incompetency or arrogance.”

“Hey, I said bad guy for the record,” Denji replies, the rest of Chizome’s lecture completely flying over his head. “But I don’t wanna be labelled a villain, so I’ll just try my best not to kill anybody or get caught. I don’t wanna end up in jail either.”

Chizome thinks that even though there is “potential” in Denji, there’s a high mountain to climb—and the journey for the boy won’t be an easy one. But at least there’s a path leading to somewhere.

Denji returns to the hideout covered in blood, much to Eri’s panic.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Look, I’m not hurt,” Denji reassures the girl. “We just went out to train for a bit. Are you hungry? Or were you just bored?”

Eri hugs his legs tightly as if she was afraid that he’d never come back—it’s that fear of abandonment that Denji’s familiar with. Denji kneels down and pats the top of her head, unsure what to do. Petting Pochita always did wonders to calm him down.

It seems to work as Eri slowly relaxes her grip on his legs.

“Why don’t you go bother the old man for something to eat while I go clean up?” Denji tells her.

Eri looks around before beckoning Denji to come closer with her hand. Denji obeys, leaning his face closely to Eri as the girl cups a hand around her mouth, whispering in the boy’s ear, “He’s a little scary.”

“What part of him is scary?” Denji asks aloud, not bothering to whisper back.

Eri doesn’t answer, not capable of articulating her feelings into words. Denji ruffles the top of her hair, not unlike the way he would’ve petted Pochita to comfort him, accepting the lack of a proper response.

“Listen, just ‘cause someone’s got an ugly face that only a momma would love doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.” Denji tries to think of more positive things to say about the guy, but it’s hard to defend someone who actively murders people in their free time.

Denji doesn’t know Chizome-san enough to be able to trust the guy, even after everything the man’s done. Chizome keeps too much to himself, and it’s not that Denji expects the guy to be open to a complete stranger, but it keeps him on edge. Pity’s one thing, but there’s not enough kindness in the world to explain letting two kids into his hideout, cooking curry for them, and teaching them stuff like how to read or fight.

That’s just the nature of people—everyone’s got their own self-interests and they’re always almost working towards those self-interests one way or another. Denji sure as hell ain’t one to judge.

“And he’s got no reason to hurt us,” Denji says. “For now.”

“Right…” Eri says dubiously.

If Denji’s completely honest, he’s not sure why Eri even trusts Denji. If he were in Eri’s position, he’d find it pretty hard to trust anybody. But he doesn’t know the full extent of what she’s been through—and he’s a fundamentally different person from Eri. He’s learned to be self-dependent… to an extent. Maybe younger Denji would be willing to take any hand outstretched to him, no matter who said hand might’ve belonged to.

It’s probably just desperation.

“You know, you got other options,” Denji says. “You’d have a better chance at a brighter future if you didn’t stick around places like these. You’re cute enough that some nice people’d adopt you. They wouldn’t treat you like that piece of crap ever did.”

Eri tilts her head slightly to the side. “But what about you?”

“I’m not cute enough for anybody to want me,” Denji says. “I’ll just stick it out on my own ‘till I’m old enough. ‘s easier that way. But you still got so many years ahead of ya.”

“I don’t want to go,” Eri meekly says. “I want to stay as long as I can, if that’s okay.”

Denji shrugs. “It’s your choice. Honestly, I don’t know why anybody’d be willing to stay in this dump, but I can’t force ya to do anything you don’t wanna do. Just tell me if you ever want to leave.”

“Would you come with me?”

Denji almost says no, but stops himself at the last moment, instead saying a dismissive, “Maybe,” without meaning it. He’s already made up his mind on this subject a long time ago.

Chizome’s hideout doesn’t have a proper bathtub or shower—there’s a nozzle in the bathroom which a hose is attached to, and Denji can only guess that the hose is used often for washing away blood. Now that he thinks about it, Chizome mentioned that he had a quirk, but Denji’s never seen him use it once. Maybe if Denji had even been close to winning the game, he could’ve forced the man to resort to using it.

It's just another mystery to add to the pile of mysteries revolving around this dude. Denji can’t say that it doesn’t bother him at least a little, he’s practically living with the guy right now!

Only cold water is supplied through the hose—nothing Denji isn’t already used to. He washes the blood and grime away, the muddled red water seeping down into the drain slowly. He comes out of the bathroom to find Eri eating a bag of baby carrots, offering one to Denji when he sits next to her criss-cross on their shared sleeping mat.

Denji had offered to buy Eri her own sleeping mat with some of his money, but she seems content to share with Denji. Denji also doesn’t mind sharing his bed because he misses having Pochita curling up in his arms, and it feels empty without the warm weight against his body. It’s hard for him to go to sleep when he’s reminded of what he’s lost. It’s easier when he doesn’t have to think about it.

“Thanks,” Denji says, plopping the baby carrot in his mouth.

Eh, at least she seems alright for now.

Denji finds out that Chizome follows an erratic schedule. Some days, the man is up at six o’ clock doing god knows what at that hour while others, the man sleeps in until late afternoon. Chizome’s as unpredictable as the media claims Stain the Hero Killer to be. There’s even been a morning when Denji wakes up to find cold pancakes sitting out on the table for him and Eri. He eats his share before getting the idea of reheating them using the microwave, which he does for Eri.

They often leave the hideout during the day to go visit the nearby thrift store. They usually venture near the section where there’s a bunch of random unorganized books on shelves sold for low prices. Denji tends to grab whatever manga has the coolest pictures—it’s not like he can read the words—while Eri picks out children’s books to supplement her makeshift education.

The thrift store is also where Denji was finally able to buy a shirt after his only one had ripped some time ago. Dying and having your heart replaced will certainly ruin a shirt. The good thing is that Chizome actually has the means to do manual laundry in his hideout—again, Denji guessing that it’s only because it’s relevant to his unsavory hobbies. Man’s gotta keep a shirt clean of blood somehow.

He also buys a few outfits for Eri so she can finally abandon that nasty hospital gown. In the bunch he gets, there’s a yellow dress with a flower pattern that slightly bigger than her exact size, a couple of plain t-shirts and shorts. He doesn’t wanna get too much, so he holds off on getting a coat for her since winter won’t be for another few months.

“You don’t have to get so much for me,” Eri says. “You should save your money.”

“It’s fine,” Denji insists. “Nobody else wants to buy these clothes so we’re saving them from a trip to the junkyard. Someone somewhere went through the effort of making them.”

Eri doesn’t have a good argument against that, so she accepts the clothes after some reluctance.

“Ah, we should also get you some shoes,” Denji says. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be walking around the dirty streets with your bare feet. The ground’s freaking nasty!”

Unfortunately, the shoe section doesn’t have a lot of options considering Eri’s small size. A lot of the shoes don’t have a matching second complement, so Denji ends up picking up a red and blue shoe pair. It doesn’t look that bad, Denji thinks.

“You’ll just have to live with this for now,” Denji says. “We’ll get a new pair from somewhere else later.”

“This is good enough,” Eri says.

“Nah, it’s not worth it. It saves more money in the long run to get good shoes that’ll last ya several years. These probably won’t last more than a year, so they’re just temporary.”

They don’t visit the thrift store every day, but they make multiple trips per week as Eri continues to go through the children’s books one-by-one. Denji always goes back to look at the pictures in his ever-growing manga collection. Even with just the pictures, he doesn’t get a whole lot of value out of the story—the thrift store only has random volumes from random series,  so even if he did understand the words, it wouldn’t matter much.

Early on, Chizome notices the small stack of children’s books and manga in the corner of his hideout.

“You should purchase a workbook to supplement your lack of an education,” Chizome suggests. “Have you even been practicing your reading?”

“He hasn’t,” Eri casually says, eyes fixated on the book as she flips the page.

“I have! Sometimes, I try to read the words!” Denji argues. He holds up the pages of the manga to Chizome, pointing at the speech bubbles. “Here, I bet the main character is confessing his love to the girl he likes!”

Chizome, unamused, says, “He’s not. The man is threatening to kill her entire family if she doesn’t cooperate with him.”

“What!?” Denji flips through the pages of the comic book, expression of disbelief stark on his face. “Are you lying to me?”

Chizome sighs. “Why don’t you start small and work your way up, just like the girl has been doing? You need to learn how to read, despite whatever you may think.”

“Those are books for babies,” Denji huffs. “I’m not a baby.”

“Then stop behaving like one,” Chizome says. “Even the girl is more serious about her education than you. If you need help, then I can provide it. However, you need a certain degree of discipline to push through, or you’ll never get anywhere.”

“Reading hurts my head,” Denji says. “I can’t get through a lot at once.”

“Then revise your pace, but there should still be some progress made over time. You don’t have anything to show right now because you haven’t put in the effort.”

“Fuck,” Denji curses. He defeatedly sets down the manga onto the stack, scooting over to where Eri’s reading. “Can I read with you?”

They fall into a routine, weirdly enough. Chizome’s erratic schedule, Eri and Denji often left to their own devices either spending the morning and afternoon reading (or studying in Denji’s case), visiting the thrift store occasionally, or even the rare times when Denji will travel to the outskirts of the city to cut trees in order to make a quick buck. He takes Eri along with her on these outings—the first time he ended up carrying her on the trip back since she got tired very fast. They get ice cream afterwards, Denji discovering his favorite flavor being strawberry while Eri’s is vanilla.

With the help of both Eri and Chizome, his endeavors to learn reading and writing pay off, although it takes weeks of struggle and perseverance. While he suffers trying to improve his weaker set of skills, he much prefers the evening training sessions with Chizome which deals with concepts much more familiar to him.

Denji’s always been a decent fighter, but Chizome’s “lessons” lean more on the side of learning restraint, discovering the limits of his newfound quirk, hand-to-hand combat, and… philosophy of all things. Philosophy doesn’t really stick with Denji, though, but Chizome doesn’t stop trying to instill ideas of justice in him for whatever reason.

Denji’s not sure how to feel about his life.

When he lost Pochita, he thought he’d truly lost everything. The day he stared at his father’s grave when it was raining, the yakuza driving off in the distance with tires screeching, Denji had lost all hope in his life. But then he found Pochita, who was hurt, and he found something new to live for. Losing Pochita will forever haunt him. His only friend.

He never thought he could be happy again after that. But life moves on, and most importantly, he’s distracted by his current efforts towards a goal.

But it feels wrong to accept that he could find happiness without Pochita. On the other hand, if they’d swapped places, Denji would want nothing more than Pochita’s happiness. He’s sure Pochita would want the same for him.

So fucking complicated…

He gets delicious food. He’s working to get accepted in a school. He’s on the cusp of getting a fair honest high-paying job—allegedly. He can finally read manga without just looking at the pictures. He’s not alone.

It’s weird.

The routine is broken one day after several weeks when Chizome makes pancakes for breakfast, which is a rare occurrence. If the man cooks, it’s usually for dinner, and it always depends on the man’s mood. He’s clearly not one who really enjoys eating food, rather a man who eats for necessity sake and nothing else.

“Let’s fill out your application today,” Chizome says.

“The U.A. application?” Denji asks with a muffled voice, cheeks stuffed with food.

“Don’t talk while you eat. It’s disgusting.”

Denji swallows the piece of pancake that he had been chewing. “For U.A.?”

“Are you applying to any other hero schools?”

“Can’t even if I wanted to. They got scholarships, but they don’t pay for everything. Only U.A.’s like that.”

“What will you do if you don’t get in?”

“I’ll think about that when I don’t get in.”

“Tunnel vision,” Chizome remarks disapprovingly.

“It’s my life, dude,” Denji dismissively says, lolling his head back with a careless expression. “I’ll figure something out.”

It’s not like he’ll die if he doesn’t get in. Well, he might be fucked, but isn’t life all about being fucked and having to deal with the aftermath of it? Denji’s used to it.

After breakfast, Denji lays the application out on the table, pencil in hand, trying to fill out whatever he can. Which isn’t a lot, it turns out. Eri’s busy leaning against the wall with her head in a book.

Chizome eyes the blank space where Denji’s family name should be. He points to that specific column with his finger, saying, “You—”

“Don’t have one,” Denji interrupts without blinking. “It’s just Denji.”

“It’ll look suspicious if you don’t put down a last name.”

“Can’t put down something I don’t have.”

Chizome looks like he doesn’t believe Denji, but the boy is seemingly refusing to budge on this topic. He can be quite stubborn when he wants. It reminds Chizome of how troublesome it can be to deal with children.

“You can write Murakami down,” Chizome says.

“Who’s that?”

“My alias. My real name is too obscure to be used; it’s better they can’t trace you back to me.”

Chizome also instructs Denji what to fill in for the emergency contact field, the address field, and any other missing information.

“Can’t they, like, tell this is all fake?” Denji says.

“How would they able to? You’re an untraceable ghost,” Chizome replies with arms crossed. “Even if there’s a file of you that exists somewhere out there, it’s outdated by now. We’ll worry about registering your quirk if you get accepted.”

“You mean when I get accepted.”

“I’ll be keeping my expectations low. You may have the conviction, but it won’t be enough. You lack too many qualities that other candidates will have.”

“I still have months to catch up,” Denji argues.

“Like I said: it won’t be enough. Not even nearly.”

“I just gotta do well enough on the practical exam to make up for the written exam! They can’t reject me if I’m a good enough dog to train!”

“They’ll be observing your every move during the exam,” Chizome says. “Even with your lacking formal education, they also want to see that you’re a good fit for their school. Potential is one thing, but the potential also needs to be tangible. It needs to appear within reach.”

“Obedient dogs, not strays,” Denji mutters, remembering their past conversation about all of this.

The problem is that Denji already sees himself as an obedient dog—what could the overseers of the U.A. exam possibly see as a problem even with him on his best behavior?

This is all so stupid. Does he really not know how to be a normal kid?

What’s so different about him that differentiates him from the rest?

“I’ll think about it,” Denji says earnestly. “I really don’t have another plan, so this is just going to have to work out somehow.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Shut up!” Denji shouts, tired of being forced to listen to Chizome’s unhelpful commentary on his questionable life decisions.

Later, that night, Chizome makes curry for dinner and he doesn’t take Denji out for an evening training session.

“I’m leaving,” Chizome announces.

“Why? Are the cops on your tail?” Denji asks. “Or didja get bored of us?”

“I’ve done everything I can. You have to take care of the rest on your own. It’s your future on the line, after all.”

“So, you’re bored of us. Could’ve just said so,” Denji teases. “I don’t blame ya.”

“I won’t be here in the morning. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone, I won’t be here to stop you.”

“No promises!” Denji says with a wicked sneer.

“Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Chizome tells Eri. “I trust you more than him. You’re already more mature than he is.”

Eri nods her head fervently, giving Chizome a thumbs up with a determined expression on her face.

“Dude. She’s five.”

“…And?”

“And you suck,” Denji adds petulantly.

“Will you be back?” Eri asks Chizome, surprising both him and Denji with her forwardness. Chizome mulls over the right answer to give.

“Eventually,” Chizome says after some pause.

True to Chizome’s word, the man is gone by the morning. He doesn’t come back that evening, nor the next day, nor the following week. The routine changes, but not that drastically. They fall back into a different routine now that it’s just Denji and Eri. The hideout grows messier. Denji begrudgingly cleans it up knowing the man would likely stab a sword through his chest if he came back to a pigsty. He really knew what he was doing when he didn’t give a specific timeframe for his return.

Denji eventually sees a newspaper with front headlines about some dead hero found in another city and he automatically knows the Hero Killer is back. Ah, well.

Good for him, Denji supposes.

Chapter Text

Eri holds up one of the flashcards from the pile. Denji stares at the flashcard with a blank expression, squinting at the characters with a grimace. Eri looks at him with an expectant look.

Eventually, Eri asks, "Um... Do you need—"

"No, no, I got this," Denji says, fist clenching instinctively in his concentration.

Eri patiently waits, encouragingly whispering, "You can do it!"

Denji wants nothing more than to give up, but he remembers the image of the wedding ring ad showing a happy young couple smiling together and there's nobody who understands the uselessness of giving up more than Denji. If you give up, there's a literal zero chance of getting what you want. A nonzero chance means it's still possible, no matter how unlikely it may be.

Nobody said it was easy to get a cute girlfriend. It was one of those things that had to be earned. Maybe he'll meet a cute girl at the entrance exam. Wouldn't that be the ideal scenario?

Eventually, he gets the word, and even though it had taken so long to come up with the answer, it's a miracle that he's even able to reach there at all.

"Good job!" Eri cheers brightly. Denji smiles while averting his eyes. It always feels nice to get praised.

It was Eri's idea to start using flashcards. She's a clever kid, in terms of book smarts. On the other hand, Denji was the type of kid more likely to eat book pages at her age. If only paper was even partially nutritional.

The day of the entrance exam approaches. If Denji's being honest, he doesn't feel prepared at all. He only knows it's hard because he's been told it's hard. He's never taken a test before—not one on paper anyways. He doesn't even know if he'd be prepared if someone told him that it's be an easy test.

"What do you think my chances of getting accepted are?"

Eri shrugs, and of course she wouldn't know either. Just makes Denji feel stupid for asking such a pointless question.

He's a little nervous. He didn't think he would be, but he is. It's a stupid thing to get nervous over. He hates that he cares about getting in to some extent, even though his heart knows that the school would have to be real stupid to accept some punk ass hoe like him.

Sometimes, Denji doesn't really understand his own feelings. He used to not think about it because he had other more pressing things on his mind, but now that his days have become more peaceful, he has a lot more time for introspection. And it sucks real hard.

"Well, whatever," Denji says dismissively. What does he want, reassurance? He tried his best already. If it's not good enough, then that's that.

"Wanna go out?" Denji asks.

The owner of the thrift store is an old lady who sits behind the counter all day. Her wrinkly face brightens when they pass through the front door. She's kind, though a bit nosy. Denji never answers any of her questions, maintaining an indifferent disposition, but Eri likes talking with her. The now six year old girl was only a little shy initially but she quickly grew accustomed to the elderly woman's doting attitude.

"Eri-chan, how are you today?"

"I'm good, thank you," Eri says with a slight bow of her head.

"My, what a polite child," the woman says. She reaches out a hand to pat Eri on the head. Meanwhile, Denji's too busy perusing the manga section to pay them any attention.

He's getting better at reading them. Maybe Mister Hero Killer would be proud if he could see Denji's progress now. He picks out a book of a series he hasn't touched yet—apparently, volume five. It's expected that a thrift store wouldn't have the entire collection, so Denji's used to making up context himself to fill in the gaps.

"—hero school?" Denji hears the woman say with an apprehensive voice. "But wouldn't Denji-kun need a strong quirk to get accepted?"

Eri nods with optimistic eyes. "But it's okay because Denji is really, really str—"

"Hey, stop talking about me behind my back!" Denji yells. "I'm right here, you know! Any questions you got, aim 'em at me."

His voice comes out more hostile than he intends it to, but the shopkeeper doesn't show any changes in her attitude.

"Is it true that you're applying to U.A.?" the woman asks.

"Yup," Denji replies. "Why, you got a problem with that?"

"No, I was just surprised. It's not something you see every day. Not around these parts."

"Can't stay in the shitter forever," Denji says lazily. "If I can get outta here, I will."

"Then I wish the both of you best luck with that."

Outside the thrift store, Denji warns Eri not to run off her mouth too much to strangers.

"Why? Grandma's not a stranger," Eri says. "She just wants to know more about us because she likes us."

"Yeah, but our business should stay our damn business," Denji says. "If they don't ask, then don't tell. And if they do ask, then definitely don't tell 'em anything."

Eri seems to disagree with his sentiment, but she nods her head anyways.

When they get back to the hideout, Denji having gotten used to scaling the wall with Eri on his back after the countless he's been forced to do it, they both show each other what they had gotten. Denji's mouth falls wide open when he accidentally flashes a page with a panel of a topless woman. Eri's pick is a picture book titled "Chika the Bear's Adventure Picnic".

It's a baby book for sure, but Denji had realized some time ago that baby books aren't all that bad. The stories told are simple, but simplicity can be quite nice. Takes a lot less brains to enjoy.

"What makes an adventure picnic different from a normal picnic?" Denji scratches his hair, as if such a question defies everything he ever known.

"Maybe it's more... fun?" Eri responds, equally puzzled. "Have you ever been on a picnic before?"

"Nuh uh, I barely had anything to eat as it was. A picnic woulda been like an entire buffet!" Denji says matter-of-factly. He flips through the pages of the children's book, eyes widening. "The hell, Chika's freaking basket fits like... a whole week's worth of meals, and he's hogging it all to himself!"

Eri giggles. "Maybe we should have a picnic one day."

"I dunno... seems boring," Denji says, rubbing the back of his neck. "And we'd have to get a blanket and a basket and find a nice spot somewhere... seems like a whole lotta trouble for nothing."

"Oh," Eri says with slight disappointment in her voice.

"...But maybe my future girlfriend would wanna do that kind of stuff. So maybe it ain't a bad idea to try it," Denji adds in a grumble, feeling slightly bad for having rejected the idea so quickly.

Denji shoves his hands into the pockets of his parka. Eri watches him do so and copies the motion with her own jacket. She clamors close to his side, disliking the overwhelming crowd surrounding them from all sides.

Fortunately, it doesn't take long for the train to pull into the station. Eri uses her gloved hand to reach for Denji's hand, squeezing tight with her fingers as if she's worried that she'd lose him if she ever let go. Denji doesn't take too much notice to it, focused on reading the seat number on their tickets with his other hand.

"Are you nervous?" Eri asks when they're both seated.

"Me? Nah. Not nervous at all," Denji says nonchalantly. It's a lie.

For all his dreams of wanting to live a normal life and all those complaints about never having the chance to go to school. The prospect of taking a step onto the property of the most prestigious hero school in Japan twists his stomach into knots. All his life, he's only ever been living one way, doing things just to make a living even if it was barely a living at all, and it didn't matter how he did things as long as things got done.

Hero school is gonna play by different rules. Fuck, how is he supposed to respond when someone tells him straight to his face that he doesn't deserve to go to their preppy little elite school for elite students to obtain an elite education?

He wants to say he doesn't care about what those people think about him. To some extent, it's true. But he's the one showing up to their test, it's some proof to them that he cares at least enough to fucking show up.

"You worked really hard for this," Eri says. "So I hope you get in."

"Let's just see how the exam goes first. Maybe if it's all fists, I'll get in easy. They gotta be testing on mostly combat, right?"

The train pulls out of the station, Eri staring at the passing scenery through the window. Denji does the same, trying his best to distract himself from the fact that his nerves are eating at his heart.

When they get off at their stop, Eri's red scarf sags around her shoulders.

"Hold on," Denji says, stopping the girl to tighten the cloth snuggly around her neck. Denji has a matching scarf—he "borrowed" it after sifting through the old man's closet. He figures that it would be okay since it's been complete radio silence since they've last seen him. Mister Hero Killer got bigger things on his mind. That's fine.

"There we go," Denji says. They continue to walk towards their destination.

Eventually, he notices that a bunch of kids his age are walking in the same direction, all of them wearing different uniforms.

"There's a lot of people here," Eri comments.

"Bet you we're all here for the same reason," Denji says. "Look at them in their posh uniforms. Probably think they're better than me. Show-offs."

Arriving at campus, Denji almost can't believe that he's actually here. In front of U.A., which would've only been a pipe dream a year ago. He thinks Pochita would be happy for him that he even got this far.

"Are all schools supposed to be this big?" Eri asks.

"Maybe. U.A.'s supposed to be the best of the best, so maybe the people running it splurged extra to make it look cooler than all the other schools."

"Wow..."

The guy who hands him his entrance exam ticket gives him an attitude, sending a look of disapproval directed at Eri. It pisses Denji off.

"You know that only applicants are allowed in the exam room, right? This isn't a daycare, kid." the guy says, and wow, Denji finds his voice is particularly grating to listen to.

"She can just wait outside the room," Denji says. "Not a big deal, right?"

"And what will you do if she wanders off somewhere? Like I said, this is not a daycare."

"And like I said, I didn't think it was gonna be a big deal. I don't see what your deal is, man."

The man, or what Denji has been referring as in his head as "Two Piece Moustache", dramatically sighs with his arms up in the air. "I suppose we'll have one of the teachers look after her and you can come pick her up after the exam is finished."

"Please don't be mad at Denji," Eri cuts into the conversation with an insistent voice. "I was the one who asked him if I could come, so it's my fault. I'm sorry."

Which is a complete lie. Neither of them really talked about it. It just... seemed like a given to not leave Eri alone at the apartment. Denji thought it'd be cool if Eri could come see U.A. for herself. Some adults in the world really do have a stick up their ass, and over the most meaningless shit ever.

"Hey, don't apologize to this dude. He's the one worked up over literally nothing," Denji says, sticking his tongue out. Two piece moustache gives him a look like he wants to stab him.

Whatever. Fuck him, honestly.

Contrary to what Two Piece Moustache had said, no teacher comes forward to look after Eri. The teacher proctoring the written exam for his assigned oom tells him that he won't allow Eri to enter nor will he allow Eri to just... wait outside the room unsupervised. Apparently, it's "irresponsible" and they don't want to run the risk of a little kid causing trouble around campus.

Such bullshit. Eri's a good kid, does she look like the troublemaker type? It's freaking ridiculous!

"I shouldn't have come," Eri says with sad eyes.

"Don't say that," Denji says. "Should we just leave? I think they're just making up fake excuses to get me outta here."

"No!" Eri exclaims, urgently tugging on his parka sleeve. "You have to take the test. I'll, uh... I'll hide in the bathroom and wait for you until you're done.:

"No, wait—look at that dude over there," Denji says pointing to the white bear creature seen passing in a nearby hallway. "That guy doesn't look busy at all. Let's just ask him to look after you. I think he must be like, their mascot or something. So he's probably good with kids?"

Denji rushes towards the direction of the anthropomorphic white bear, dragging Eri by her gloved hand. He skids across the floor around the corner, gaining access of Mister Mascot Man in his line of sight. He yells, "Hey! You!"

"Hmm?" The bear-looking creature turns his head, revealing the side of his face with a scar over his eye. "Oh, hello. The written exam should be starting soon. Shouldn't you be at your assigned room?"

Denji quickly explains the situation. Eri stares at the creature thinking about how soft his skin must feel. She wants to brush her fingers through the fur.

"I see," the man(?) says. "Well, seeing how nobody else has stepped up to look after the girl, I'll gladly be the one to do it. I think it's only fair that all applicants are given their chance to do well on the exam."

Eri smiles, and Denji slaps a casual hand on the man's shoulder with a shark grin. "Thanks, Mister Mascot! I totally owe you one! You rock!"

"I'll be back," Denji tells Eri.

"Good luck," Eri says with a thumbs up. Denji gives her a thumbs up back. He leaves to rush back to his assigned room.

"What's your name, little one?" the bear asks.

"I'm Eri," Eri says.

"Welcome to U.A., Eri. My name is Principal Nezu, but you may call me Nezu if you wish."

Eri nods. "It's nice to meet you, Principal Nezu. Thank you for giving Denji-kun a chance."

"You speak well for your age," Nezu comments gently. "How old are you? Seven? Eight? Hmm, a bit on the small side for that, even for adolescent female children."

"I'm six," Eri says, holding up six of her fingers.

"Yes, that's much too young for someone your age to be left home alone. I'm guessing your parents must be too busy to look after you?" Nezu asks.

Eri almost responds with the truth—that her parents were gone and were never coming back—but she remembers what Denji said. Even if Nezu seems nice, he is just a stranger in the end. She shouldn't say too much just in case, just to be safe.

Lost in her thoughts of how to respond to the question, Nezu picks up the rather unfortunate implications fast. "You don't have to answer that," he says. "I was merely curious. Is Denji-kun your brother?"

"He takes care of me," Eri says. "He's a good person. A really good person. I hope he can become a hero..."

"If he has the propensity to become a hero, he'll certainly pass the exam with flying colors."

"Really? You'll think he'll pass?"

Nezu chuckles lightly. "We'll see. What made your brother want to become a hero in the first place?"

"Hmm..." Eri tries to remember how to express what Denji wants in precise words. She rubs her chin trying to recall the thing that Denji wants the most...

"A girl friend?" Eri says with a straight face. "And he wants to... go to a high place with her?"

Nezu blinks with a smile. "Ah... I think I can see what you mean."

Eri nods enthusiastically with a smile, happy that Nezu understands her with ease.

"My apologies if the teachers have been giving the two of you trouble, by the way. Unfortunately, this time of the year tends to stress them out. It's always the busiest the school gets."

"It's okay. I just want Denji to be able to take the test," Eri says.

Nezu leads her to his office, rummaging through his desk drawer to bring out All Might themed manga that had been stylized to look like American comics. She recognizes the name All Might—Denji and Akaguro-san mention it a lot, not to mention that his name and face are plastered everywhere.

"It's all I have, I'm afraid. There'll be more entertainment to be found when it's time for the practical portion of the exam to start."

Eri reads through the book with mild interest, wondering what exactly the hype is around such a man.

Denji knew he was completely fucked, but he didn't realize how fucked someone could be until he's walking out of the classroom used for the written exam. To say it was bad would be a complete understatement.

He expected that there would be some reading comprehension questions, but nobody told him that there would be an essay component...!

He freaking knew it. The school is conspiring against him to make sure a street rat like him doesn't get in.

...Well, it should be okay. As long as they understand the answer he gives, he'll at least get partial credit, right? That's what he's telling himself to help him sleep at night. Those dreams of having a girlfriend to snuggle with are collapsing before his very eyes.

Sorry, Pochita, he thinks glumly.

He follows the other students to the auditorium. Apparently, they're gonna get briefed on the other half of the exam. Presumably the part that Denji will actually be good at. Maybe it's something to be excited for.

When the presentation starts, a familiar face appears on the stage. Two Piece Moustache... Denji feels an immediate strong dislike for the dude who had fed him nothing but lies and a 'tude. When the man starts explaining the practical exam, Denji starts to tune the man out.

He wonders what Eri must be doing right now. Mister Mascot Man seemed to be nicer than any other adult he's met in this whole place so far. Or maybe he's always had a soft spot for animals. Was Mister Hero Killer this fucking annoying as those other adults during the first few times they met? He doesn't think so. Mister Hero Killer never looked down on him, weirdly enough. Pitied him, maybe, but the serial killer never outright treated him in a condescending manner.

Next thing Denji knows, a spotlight is put on him when some kid with glasses is calling him out for something.

"—incessant yawning has been a public disruption the entire time! If you're not going to take the exam seriously, then please leave."

Has Denji been yawning? Does Four Eyes have a quirk that grants him the ears of a bat or something, because there's no way that his yawning would be loud enough to attract his attention from this distance. Oh, great. Now Mister Two Piece Moustache is staring at him.

"Um... Okay?" Denji says indifferently, not knowing how else to respond. Some students around him snicker at the apathetic reaction, which somehow causes more veins to pop from the student's head.

What's this dude's problem? God, Denji forgot how obnoxious it is to deal with actual people sometimes.

He goes to his assigned area, hoping that the exam is going to be over soon. Thankfully, none of the other applicants seem interested in talking to him. If they're anything like Four Eyes, then Denji would rather them not approach him.

The worst part is that he hasn't even been able to talk to a single girl yet!

Denji sighs at the depressing reality that blew his expectations out of the water. If this was a fucking manga, he would've already met the main love interest (and his future wife) by this point! Is the world trying to tell him that he'll be single forever!?

While everyone else is stretching and preparing to charge into the exam site before the countdown begins, Denji takes off his parka, revealing a tank top underneath, and wraps it around his waist. It'd be a waste to let his only jacket get ripped to shreds. He makes sure that the red scarf around his neck is fastened enough to not slip off.

In a way, he only has Mister Hero Killer to thank for getting him this far. Denji probably would've been at a loss for what to do with his application otherwise. It's confusing to try to understand that guy and what his intentions are, but the man did genuinely put in some effort in helping Denji for some time, even if he decided to fuck off afterwards. It's still enough to make Denji feels like he owes that guy a lot.

He should think about how to pay that man back later. What is a gift that Stain the Hero Killer likes... maybe a hero's disembodied head for a mantle? Denji shudders and retches at the nasty mental image.

The speakers come on, interrupting his thoughts and two piece moustache's annoying voice is broadcasted to all the applicants.

"And... start!"

None of the applicants move, frozen in place.

"What's the matter? There's no such thing as a countdown in a real battle!"

"Well, duh," Denji says with a shrug, not understanding why that guy would point out obvious. Hero schools...

Nezu opens the door to an unlit room, the only light source coming from the various screens displaying drone footage taken from the practical exam areas. Eri follows behind him, first peeking her head through the door to look around before scurrying lightly on her feet as to not attract attention.

Despite her best efforts, people still take notice. It's not an every day occurrence that the principal has a companion.

"Ah, Nezu. Who's that?" A teacher points to Eri.

"A friend," Nezu warmly says without hesitation. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

"O-oh." Eri feels shy underneath the towering man whose height is at least twice as tall as her own. She looks up with an uncertain expression. "I—I'm Eri."

"Welcome to U.A., Eri-chan," the teacher says with a smile. "Are you thinking of applying when you grow up?"

"It's..." Eri feels uncomfortable having been put on the spot. She's been too busy focused on talking about Denji that she's caught off-guard at the question about what she wants.

There's been many nights where Eri had thought to herself that she's already been given so much that she doesn't deserve. She nervously rubs at the horn on the top of her forehead, which has been growing in length steadily over the past few months.

"I don't know about that," Eri says. "I've never thought about how my quirk can be used to, um, s‐save people..."

"Well, it was just a suggestion! No need to feel pressured," the teacher nonchalantly says. "Don't worry, you're still young, so you've got time to decide."

Eri nods without saying anything, hiding behind Nezu. Nezu hums, though he can't hide the curious glint in his eyes.

"So, Eri-chan, your quirk's already manifested?" Nezu asks. Eri reluctantly nods.

"I don't want to talk about it," Eri mumbles.

"Okay, I understand," Nezu says with a cautious tone. "Don't worry, you have a right to your own privacy. But do keep in mind that sometimes, people ask questions with your best interest at heart. Only you have the power to judge who you want to trust with what information."

Eri's eyes light up with recognition. "Denji said something like that, too."

"Did he?"

"Um, kinda," Eri says. Her eyes wander over the various screens before she comes across a particular one that catches her interest. "Is that...?"

"Ah, it seems you found him," Nezu says. He lifts Eri up so that she can scoot herself onto the chair where she can get a better view of the television screen without needing to crane her neck up all the way. Nezu is small enough that they can both fit on the chair side-by-side so he climbs up to join her.

Eri hasn't seen Denji in his chainsaw form since their first meeting. She could never forget the jagged sharp teeth that was exposed with every maniacal laugh, the blades affected to his arms that could cut through bone and skin as if it were water, and the sawblade attached to his head that had literally ripped Chisaki into two.

Of course, Eri had been terrified at first that she was next. The monster—or what she had assumed was a monster—turned its head towards her, beady lights barely visible in a sea of black, and Eri had been certain in that moment that she was going to die after living such a miserable life.

But the "monster" collapsed in front of her in a heap, and it showed no signs of any desire to hurt her. Instead, the gasping voice begged instead, "Hug... me..."

And then his head collapsed onto her lap. The helmet and blades melted away, and all that was left was Denji-kun.

Eri could've taken the chance to run away. But where? Denji was the only one in the world who saved her, when nobody else did.

Eri learns that the "monster" isn't really a monster. He looks scary, but Denji was much more than that. He's the boy who taught her how to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the boy who has no qualms about sticking up his middle finger to Akaguro-san, and the boy who cries when the dog dies at the end of the book.

"Quite a frightening quirk, wouldn't you say so?" Nezu hums, eyes trained on Denji as the boy uses his bare strength to pull apart the metal plating of the robot and then slices the exposed wiring with his blades to finish it off.

Eri shakes her head. "Denji's not scary. Denji is just... Denji."

Denji zips through the air from robot to robot, not caring if he's stealing robots from other applicants. The others around him are even scared of getting caught in the crossfire of reckless blades anyways, so they scamper away in fear if Denji comes in their direction.

"He's good," Nezu says, eyes shining the reflection of the screen. "Though his combat style is a bit rough around the edges, the technique is certainly present."

The ground that Denji stands on rumbles, as does the ground of all screens displaying the practical exam areas. Eri watches with heavy interest as a giant mecha robot emerges—sending all applicants into a panicked frenzy.

"The zero pointer," Nezu says matter-of-factly, althought there is a small hint of mischief in his voice.

Eri continues to focus on the screen with Denji in it. He clearly has all intention of fighting it, but didn't Mister Nezu say it was only worth zero points...? Well, Denji can be a little, hmm...

...He's the type of boy who acts first and thinks later, Eri knows.

"The guy with the most points currently is going for the zero pointer!" One of the teachers in the background exclaims in disbelief. "Don't tell me he thinks he can take it down on his own?"

"Clearly, he's doing it as a show of power," a somber voice says with zero hints of amusement in his voice. The same somber voice sighs deeply. "It's been a while since we've had one of those."

"No, I bet you he just wasn't paying attention when I was going over the rules!" A scratchy voice adds. "Seriously, that kid..."

Denji manifests small blades in his toes to make tiny dents into the metal of the zero pointer robot, scaling the robot at a rapid pace. He tries to puncture the metal skin with the saw blades attached to his arms to no avail.

When that doesn't work, he climbs even higher until he reaches the top of the "head" of the zero pointer. More blood spurts out when a blade sticks out from the heel of his shoe and he jams it in the small groove between the plate containing the laser cannons and the rest of its body. He pushes that foot forward as much as he can.

The metal plate doesn't give.

Denji does the same thing with his other foot, gritting his teeth as he puts all his might into separating the two metal pieces.

"Come on!" Denji yells loud enough for the drone to pick up.

Eventually, the sound of metal groaning is accompanied by the sound of a loud clank as the plate is pried off with the efforts of Denji, leaving a small opening. Denji widens the gap by kicking the plate with his heels continously until its peeled halfway off, exposing the wiring and tubing underneath. Denji cuts through with his sharklike teeth, bits and pieces getting stuck in the ends of his mouth.

Very reminiscent of how a wild dog would tear its opponent to pieces.

Denji disappears from view as he descends down further into the insides of the zero pointer until eventually, the giant robot freezes in place. Denji climbs out to the opening seconds later, looking down from the high point.

"Whoa!" he says.

The zero pointer starts tilting ever so slightly...

"Oh shit!" Denji shouts when he realizes the robot is beginning to lose its balance. He slides down as quickly as he can using his blades to scrape against the metal surface in order to keep a stable momentum on the eay down. He lands on his steady two feet after sliding off right before reaching the robot's legs.

He runs just as the robot is falling over...

"Help!" A girl's voice calls out. "My ankle—I sprained my ankle!"

"I've got you!" Denji says, lifting the female applicant bridal style.

"W–wait, me too!" A boy whose foot is caught in the rubble after a building had collapsed shouts. "Please, I—!"

"Sorry, pal, I only save girls! You're on your own!" Denji yells. The girl in his arms makes a puzzled expression.

Eri notices that the room goes silent.

It's only when Nezu chuckles that the silence is broken. "He's certainly an interesting character."

That's a good thing, right? Eri's not completely sure.

Although Denji had the foresight to save his parka, the same couldn't be said about his shoes. He ends up walking in the hallways of the most prestigious hero school in Japan barefoot, dried blood caked around where the blades had cut through his skin earlier.

He ignores the whispers and strange looks sent his way, some of fear and others of awe.

Denji doesn't know where he's supposed to go in order to pick up Eri. Despite not feeling like he's accomplished much, his body seems to be sore. He wants to go back to the hideout and pass out. Probably nap the rest of the day away. That sounds nice.

He thinks about asking one of the staff, but he remembers his impression of them earlier. A sour distaste in his mouth, he decides against it and wanders the hallways on his own, ignoring the looks of adults and teenagers alike as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants.

"Hello!" A white paw waves at him.

"Oh!" Denji says, recognizing the voice. His expression changes when he sees Nezu and Eri approaching him, taking on a more friendly appearance. "I've been looking for you guys!"

"I should have mentioned a location earlier, so blame me for the confusing mix-up," Nezu calmly says.

"Nah, 's cool," Denji says, and he means it. Eri leaves Nezu's side to get closer to Denji, her eyes sparkling with interest.

"How did it go?" Eri asks.

"Not good," Denji says, rubbing the back of his neck with a forlorn expression. "Ngah... paper tests are friggin' hard. Who would've thought?"

At least when it came to matters concerning hunting heroes, it was at least within Denji's reach. It was only a matter of resolve. Meanwhile, a lot of the questions asked on the test was like a whole another language, completely undecipherable and gibberish-like. It fucked with his head the entire time.

Denji pats his stomach with his hand. "All that thinkin' in my noggin' made me hungry. Wanna go find a place to grab a bite?"

"If I may," Nezu intervenes, "I have some sandwiches in my office. I'd also be able to provide refreshments if either you or Eri-chan are feeling parched. It's been a long day, I'm sure, so don't feel pressured to accept my invitation."

He keeps his tone strictly polite, but not unfriendly. Denji raises an eyebrow.

"Wait, for free?"

"Of course. I'm merely extending my hospitality."

As if a switch had been flicked on, Denji's face lights up. There's no greater joy in the world than free food in his eyes. Well, except Pochita, but still, free food was a surefire way to make Denji's mood go up instantly.

The first thing Denji notices is that the office is huge. Even compared to Stain's hideout, which is already an upgrade from the room he stayed in with Pochita. U.A. is a freaking rich-ass school, for sure!

Nezu hums as he sets the kettle on the burner. He takes a glance at the two raggedy children sitting side-by-side on the couch, subtly thinking that they probably aren't the bunch who'd willingly drink tea in their free time.

"Is there anything you'd like to drink?"

"What you got, Mister Mascot?"

"Hmm... water, coffee, tea, soda, orange juice. Fancy any of those options?"

"Soda sounds fancy 'nough for me!" Denji says. "And juice for the lady!"

"Um, Denji..." Eri beckons him with her hand to lean in closer. Denji tilts his head to make it easier for Eri to whisper in his ear.

After Eri is done whispering, Denji nods, saying, "Got it."

When Nezu sets down the soda can and juice box on the table, Denji says, "Thanks, Mister Principal Nezu!"

Eri gives him a thumbs up in approval.

Nezu strokes his chin with a thoughtful expression. "Denji, was it?"

"Yup, that's me," Denji says.

"You were homeschooled, am I correct? At least, according to your application."

"Mmhmm." Denji nods as he opens up the soda can with his finger.

"I'm terribly sorry to ask, not that I am doubting your lack of knowledge, but, by any chance... do you happen to not understand what a principal is?"

"Well, I thought it was just part of your name until you asked," Denji casually replies. "So, it's some kind of title, if I had to guess? Maybe?"

All Denji knows about school is that there are students and teachers, and a classroom where the students sit to learn and the teachers stand in front of the chalkboard and do the teaching thing. Any other details are completely lost on Denji. He figured U.A. probably had a mascot 'cause it was so popular, but he didn't actually know if it was true or not. Just assumptions.

"Are you, like, a special kinda teacher?" Denji asks. "Man, I don't know."

"Close enough," Nezu laughs off, not offended in the slightest. If anything, he finds Denji amusing.

"It makes sense why ya got such a big office, then," Denji says, scratching his head. "And why ya can afford to give out free food."

Eri tries to punch a hole in the juice box, but no matter how hard she jams the straw through the plastic covering, it doesn't puncture through.

Denji pokes her on the shoulder to catch her attention.

"Other end," Denji says, pointing to the sharp end of the straw.

Eri inspects that the other end is indeed sharper before flipping it over, able to punch through the hole this time with relative ease.

"Is money a big issue in your household?" Nezu bold-facedly asks.

"Yeah, can't all be born lucky," Denji replies back with just as much bluntness. "If I was a millionaire, who knows what I'd be doing now!"

Nezu takes the kettle off the burner, transferring the pot to the tray, and bringing the tray to the coffee table.

"Did you want to enter the hero industry to be able to financially support your household? I hope I don't come off as if I'm judging, by the way. It's a valiant motivation, and many other students share it."

Nezu starts pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Nah, just thought it'd be cool," Denji nonchalantly says with a shrug. "'m not smart enough for other stuff anyways. Fighting's one of the only good things I'm good at."

Nezu takes a sip of his green tea before walking over to the fridge to grab the plate of packaged sandwiches on the top shelf.

"Yes, you seemed quite experienced in hand-to-hand combat. Who taught you how to fight?"

"Nobody," Denji says with a flicker of pride in his voice. He bangs a fist on his chest. "Taught myself, if that counts."

Nezu places the plate of sandwiches on the table. Eri waits for Denji to have his first pick, but Denji grabs one and offers it to Eri anyways. Eri accepts it, fingers beginning to unravel the plastic wrapping.

"Hmm... perhaps, you mean through books?"

"Does it—"

—look like I could read? Denji catches himself before the rest of the words are blurted out. It'd be a stupid fucking thing to admit. No reputable school would take in some guy who only just managed to learn how to read at his age.

"Didn't have any money for books," Denji says instead. "Just trained every day. By myself."

He keeps it vague. It's not far from the actual truth, anyways. Having been interrupted mid-reach to think harder about his answer, Denji takes the opportunity to take one of the sandwiches off the plate on the table.

"I guess there was this dude that gave me some lessons," Denji says. "His lessons were about stuff like thinkin' outside the box. He only helped me out recently."

Eri recognizes that Denji was talking about Akaguro-san. She had been listening in to the exchange with interest, and although she only somewhat understands what's being talked about, she still has a good idea of the main subject at hand.

"A mentor, then," Nezu says with a smile. "It's always nice to have help, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Denji says with a roll of his eyes. "I don't think he was such a great teacher. He was more of a 'just do it' kinda guy than a 'this is how you do it'. You get me?"

Eri nods to confirm Denji's words, nibbling at the sandwich.

"But he was a good cook," Denji says. "Honestly, that made up for all the other bullshit he put me through. There ain't a better feeling in the world than waking up to pancakes on the table!"

"...He was kind," Eri shyly says, almost embarrassed to admit it. Such a scary looking man, it'd be hard for Eri to say that she could get used to being around him.

But that seemed mean, to judge solely based on appearances. He was rough around the edges, yes, but not unlike how Denji could be described as rough around the edges. Akaguro-san had always gone out of his way to not directly interact with Eri when possible, as if somehow he was scared of a little girl as comical as it may seem, but the few times they did interact, he was nothing but patient with her. Eri couldn't come up with any negative remarks to say about him.

...If she had one complaint, it'd probably be that Akaguro-san doesn't shower enough. The stench of blood brings up memories for Eri that aren't exactly the loveliest. Who is she to tell him how to live his life when he was graceful enough to let them live in his hideout? Eri could never imagine.

Nezu blinks, as if he wasn't expecting both children to speak up regarding this mysterious mentor figure. It seems whoever this man may have been, he left a lasting impact on both of them.

"I've personally known some in the industry who are absolutely exceptional at their job. Teaching others how to do said job, however? I won't badmouth them, but you'd be surprised how different it can be," Nezu says with a smile. "It's not unheard of. Being a teacher—or mentor, that is—requires a patience and methodology that not all in the industry have. It's a shame, really."

"I'm just gonna pretend I know what you're talking about," Denji says.

"What I'm trying to say is that it's a normal phenomenon," Nezu says. "U.A. would be able to cover all the lessons that your mentor couldn't."

"So, like. Mostly everything," Denji flatly says. "Say, Mister Principal. You're asking me so many questions, it's only fair I get a chance to ask one back."

"That's a valid proposition."

"Okay, so what is it that you specifically teach?"

"I don't teach students directly if that's what you're asking. I mainly provide guidance to teachers who are interacting directly with students."

Denji tilts his head. "So you teach the teachers...?"

"Something like that."

"That's sick!" Denji exclaims. "Aww man, but you're way cooler than the other guys I've seen around. That sucks!"

"I may look soft and fuzzy on the outside, but I wouldn't go easy on my students. Theoretically speaking."

"I didn't mean it like that. You helped me when I needed it, and ya never looked down on me. It ain't like I'm asking for a lot, ya know?"

"The teachers are unfortunately not immune to bias at times. I try to be impartial to all applicants." Nezu chuckles. "Though, I suppose it actually looks as thought I've been giving you some favoritism."

Denji holds up the half-eaten sandwich in his right hand. "'Cos of the free food?"

"Don't worry about it," Nezu dismisses. "It won't negatively affect your application. I'll make sure of it."

"See? Whadda I tell you? You're super cool," Denji says, holding up a peace sign.

"I rather enjoy conversing with you as well," Nezu says. "It's refreshing, I'd say!"

Eri likes the pleasant atmosphere in the room. She's glad that Denji is finally getting along with someone naturally. She finds that it's too rare of an occurrence.

The results of the entrance exam had shocked many of the U.A. staff as it set a new precedent in all of U.A.'s history: the first Entrance Exam applicant to have ever scored first on the practical portion of the exam yet score last on the written exam.

"I'm afraid I can't give my input concerning this specific applicant," Nezu says at the board meeting with other teachers, his answer surprising everyone. "It'd be rather unfair."

"Unfair?" Midnight asks. "Wait, you like the kid?"

"Do you know how badly it'd reflect on us if we let this kid in! I know that the practical exam score is more important, but this is just ridiculous!" Present Mic shouts. "He probably didn't put any effort into the written exam because he thought he could get away with it! How can we let someone lazy like that into the hero program?"

"It's just spelling trouble," Aizawa stoicly agrees. He sighs. "But who knows? Maybe he had the answer sheet flipped upside down when filling in the bubbles," he adds with a completely deadpan tone. As if he has no trouble imagining someone dumb enough in the world to make that mistake.

"Did you see what he did for the essay portion of the exam?" Present Mic adds with heavy disbelief. "Show them!"

Cementoss holds up the offending piece of paper up, showing crudely drawn doodles of stick figures in the space where eloquent words should've been written.

Nezu holds up a hand to his mouth with mirth in his eyes, actively suppressing the laugh that is fighting to come out. Having personally met Denji, he already has enough context to be able to guess what type of character he is.

Perhaps not the best fit for hero school, Nezu could admit. But then that begs the question of whether hero school is only for those who are a perfect fit. U.A. is certainly home to a lot of different characters. At the same time, Nezu can precisely identify his own bias which is why he cannot speak up to defend the boy. The exam itself is the only thing that should speak for itelf.

"You think this is funny?" Present Mic groans. "I can't even tell what he was trying to say! What is this," he points to the drawing of the blob-like creature with eyes, "Is this supposed to be some sort of sentient rock?!"

"So the kid ain't the best at drawing," Snipe comments. "It ain't like that's a requirement."

"That's missing the point!" Present Mic shouts with stress.

"Calm down," Aizawa says. "Maybe you should just stay out of this. You clearly have a bias against the applicant."

"Yeah, what'd he do to you to make you so mad? Jesus," Midnight says. "I'm leaning either way. It be weird if the guy who scored first on the practical exam wasn't let in. We going to let another school snatch him up?"

"I'm just putting this out there for information sake, but I believe Denji isn't in a financial situation to consider other hero schools," Nezu hums. "He was homeschooled in the first place, but it seems there was a lack of proper education concerning all areas that the written exam tested on."

"So, he wasn't taught basic subjects?" Cementoss asks. "How come social services didn't check on his education status?"

"That, I don't know. I'm only relaying what I was able to gleam from our conversation."

"Why'd you take an interest in the kid anyways?" Midnight asks with curiousity.

Nezu shrugs. "He seemed hungry," Nezu says with a neutral expression as if talking about a stray dog he found on the side of the road. "As the principal, am I not allowed to feed our potential future students?"

"You know, U.A. isn't really the type of school meant for those looking to get into higher education," Hound Dog says. "We have exams for the sake of meeting government regulations, but in the end..."

Vlad King nods with his arms crossed, a look of understanding in his face. "He's better at fighting than all of the other applicants. There's even a gap between him and second place on the practical exam. If such an applicant didn't have the resources necessary to prepare him for the written exam, it'd be unfair to use it against him. We should consider circumstances, no?"

"No," Aizawa says. "The world is unfair like that. Whatever circumstances don't matter. Pity is not something U.A. can afford to give out. We must ask ourselves: is the applicant a good fit for the school?"

Silence permeates the room following Aizawa's defeanening question.

"That being said," Aizawa adds, "I'd like to remain neutral on the matter."

"You said it yourself, Shouta! The kid is nothing but trouble!" Present Mic protests.

"Yeah, and second place is nothing but trouble, too. In my eyes, I don't see much of a difference between them, even if one applicant just so happens to do much worse on the written exam. We need to assess what U.A. is looking for. If either first or second place are accepted, there'll be a lot of work needed to be done to shape their potential into reality. The written exam is just a formality on our end."

"Well said," Nezu praises.

Present Mic just stares at Aizawa incredulously. He always thought Aizawa was tough on students, especially first years, but here the man was defending that delinquent punk and even saying something as crazy as Bakugou Katsuki being the same as Murakami Denji! Present Mic thinks the difference between them is as stark as night and day. At least Bakugou Katsuki had a semblance of discipline...

"We don't know the students that well from the exam and application alone," Aizawa says. "We can only truly assess them after they're accepted. If Denji turns out to be a bad fit for the school, expell him. Simple as that."

"After that monologue, I'm inclined to just let the kid in," Midnight says. "Let him prove himself. Can't hurt, right?"

"Except he'd be taking a spot that someone else could be rightfully deserving of," Recovery Girl speaks up. "But in that case, we can just transfer in someone from general education if a spot opens up midway through the semester."

"That's true," Snipe agrees. "First place is first place, ain't it?"

"Which means he does technically 'deserve' to get accepted," Vlad King adds. "Being first out of thousands of applicants to enter isn't easy. We should at least recognize that."

"With that logic, we'd just automatically accept whoever ranks first in the written exam! And we've kept some of those students from entering the hero program in the past for a reason!" Present Mic adds, a little miffed at the hypocrisy of his colleagues.

"...C'mon, Hizashi. You and I both know that the written exam isn't all that important," Midnight says. "It's always been like that. Even the applicants themselves know."

"We should not punish the applicant for how we designed the exam," Cementoss adds. "If the applicant has enough points to make it, even due to our own loophole, he should be allowed to pass and enter the hero program."

"...If we pass him, he'll be the face of U.A. for this year," is Present Mic's last dying argument. "A disrespectful kid like him who doesn't take our school seriously. What kind of message would we be sending out?"

"I'm starting to think this is something personal," Midnight mumbles.

"Hizashi," Aizawa says. "It's fine. Let it go."

Another moment of silence.

"We've come to an agreement, then? At least, the majority of the room seems to harblr sympathy towards our controversial applicant. I must say, I am looking forward to seeing what Denji will accomplish at U.A." Nezu says.

"Says the one who won't personally be in charge of his education," Aizawa mutters, a lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

"I think I need a plan B," Denji says. "Whaddya think about working at a strawberry farm?"

Eri watches water drip from the ceiling. It's pouring especially hard today, and they had to set a bucket under the crack in the roof that's leaking rain into the hideout. It's mesmerizing to look at.

"Strawberry farm?" Eri repeats absendmindedly, too focused on the water preparing to drip once more into the bucket. It's satisfying when the bucket goes 'clang' when the drop hits the metal surface with such force.

"It's like a farm where they grow strawberries," Denji explains helpfully. "It's too boring, huh?"

Clang!

Eri peers into the bucket to look at the small puddle forming at the bottom.

"Hey, you listening?" Denji asks.

Eri shakes her head. Denji turns his head towards the window of the hideout, watching the heavy downpour through the bulletproof glass.

"Knowing me, I'd probably somehow fuck up being a strawberry farmer," Denji says, looking down at his own chest. "Chainsaws and strawberries don't go together."

Denji lies down on the bed mat, looking up at the ceiling with a deep frown. "Ain't got any hot chicks in the countryside either. It's just a bunch of old men everywhere. I've had enough of those in my life."

"Wouldn't a farm have chicks?" Eri adds.

"Not a strawberry farm!" Denji replies.

"Oh. You're right," Eri says. "They'd only have strawberries at a strawberry farm."

"Only strawberries and old men! But strawberries ain't bad. I like 'em."

"Me too," Eri says.

"Guess working at a stawberry farm is out of the question," Denji says. "Darn."

It's been rough trying to think of a back-up plan since Denji's gut is telling him he likely won't get in.

"What about a zoo?" Eri asks, her full attention finally on Denji.

"Come to think of it, there was this manga I saw on the shelf the other day that was about this cute girl with short hair who works at a zoo. She had this broom and everything. If I saw a girl like that working at the zoo, I'd sign up in a heartbeat."

"And the chicks?"

"A hot chick and a buncha actual chicks, all at the same place! What more could a guy want!"

Eri brings out of the children's books from the corner, pointing at the cover where a little yellow chick is illustrated. "I wanna feed them."

"Yeah, you can help too!" Denji says. "And then one day, we'll open up our own zoo! Me, you, and my girlfriend! And we'll have a big cage for chicks, the biggest cage in all of Japan! And then we'll get rich that way! 'Cos everyone will wanna come visit!"

Eri giggles. "But what are we gonna do when the chicks grow up?"

"Okay, I didn't think that far," Denji says. "They ain't cute anymore when they grow up into chickens. Maybe we'll just set them out into the wild when that happens."

"That's sad," Eri says.

"But they'll be free," Denji says. "And you know that saying about if you love somebody, you set 'em free. Cause people are happy when they're free. They like free stuff."

Eri ponders on Denji's words, finding them somewhat wise being an easily influenced six year old.

"How do you know?" Eri asks. "That they'll be happy?"

"I dunno. Just thought it was like one of those unspoken things everyone knows about. My head hurts, so let's stop talking about all this deep crap."

"Okay," Eri agrees.

Denji feels better after the conversation, thinking it might not be so hopeless if he does get rejected from U.A.

He's still breathing. His heart is still beating. He's alive. He'll make something out of his life, and he'll fulfill his promise to Pochita one way or another. Even if it's not the easiest path available nor what he envisioned, he'll get through.

Denji ends up buying the manga about the girl who works at a zoo. He reads through it at his snail-like pace, but the benefit of being forced to read slowly is that he has more time to enjoy each manga for what it is. Unfortunately, this specific manga is a slog to get through, the plot being uninteresting to Denji, but the cute way that the girl is drawn is enough for Denji to continue flipping to the next page.

It's been weeks since Denji's taken the entrance exam. There's been no signs of an acceptance letter nor Stain, which makes Denji think that maybe they really have been abandoned this time around. They don't really have any way to communicate with the man.

Not that Denji misses Stain. That'd be extremely fucking weird.

He can go fuck off to do what he wants. It's not any of Denji's business, but Denji thought that maybe Stain would've liked to know how the entrance exam had gone considering how the man had gone out of his way to help him.

"You applied to U.A.?" the employer, who's known Denji and has been hiring him on-and-off for cutting trees, asks. "Well, you can't come back if you get in. They'll kick you out for having a job on the side. Don't wanna ruin that chance."

"You think I'd get in?" Denji asks. The gruff man shrugs, expression remaining apathetic.

"Why not? You're the type of kid who does anything when he sets his mind to it. For better or for worse."

It's a half-compliment. Or a half-insult depending on the type of person you are. Denji is the type who sees it as the former.

"Thanks," Denji says.

Denji recieves his last paycheck from the dude, who tells him, "Don't come back. I don't wanna see your face no more around these parts."

Which is optimistic, and Denji's surprised at the unexpected positivity. The pay was utter shit, but he's glad to have left things off on an unbitter note. It was like saying goodbye to an entire era in a way, leaving the past behind with Pochita's sacrifice.

Denji licks at the strawberry flavored ice cream, thinking about strawberry farms again. Eri wanted to experiment a little more this time, so she went chocolate. She doesn't like it as much as vanilla, but waste not want not as she's learned from Denji. Ice cream is enough of a luxury that she'd feel bad to throw it away, deeming 'not liking the flavor' too petty of a reason.

"It's weird," Denji comments. "Am I gonna have to get used to this?"

"Used to what?" Eri asks.

"Not being treated like the gum stuck on someone's shoe," Denji says. "Eh, not like other trash got any place to judge. But now I'm heading towards a place where they keep the trash off the streets. So, maybe it's just the beginning."

Eri doesn't quite get it, but she wants to cheer Denji up nonetheless. "Why do you say you're trash? Mister Principal Nezu likes you."

"Yeah, but he's one guy out of, like, a million. Man, if only everyone was as chill as that guy."

"I think there is more nice people like him out there."

"The thing is, most 'nice' people are only nice to those they think aren't trash. It's, like, a rule of society. Trash stays trash for life, and keep the clean streets clean."

Eri frowns. "Then those people aren't nice. Real nice people would be nice to everyone."

"Probably not everyone," Denji says. "Look, I gotta admit that there's people out there who are even worse than the worst of trash. Those people, you can't be nice to 'em 'cos they're a lost cause. Like your not-dad. Fuck anyone who tortures kids! Some trash deserves to be taken out for good!"

Eri doesn't have a comeback for that specific reasoning, but she still thinks that anyone who treats Denji as lesser than everyone else shouldn't be labeled a nice a person. It's just a lie. Denji is a good person, she knows it in her heart.

When they finish their ice cream cones, they head back to the hideout. On the way, Denji says, "Looks like I'm outta of a job for real this time. We'll have to make sure we got enough money for food until I find another way to get some more."

Eri nods.

"It's stupid that U.A. doesn't let its students take side jobs. Again, not all of us are born lucky. Privileged bastards."

Eri wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. It's sticky.

Upon arriving at the hideout, Denji notices that there are details different from when he had left earlier that day. Stain's closet is opened with some articles of clothing haphazardly thrown on the floor, and there are more boxes of cup noodles restocked on the kitchen counter. On the bed mat, there's two envelopes and a piece of paper with Stain's chicken scratch handwriting. Of the two envelopes, one is sealed and the other one torn open.

First, Denji takes time to decipher Stain's letter. He works together with Eri to shorten the process of doing so.

From what he can tell, Stain only came back for a visit and he's not staying in the city for long. Just passing by quickly. At the bottom, the man scribbles a rough 'congratulations' and 'good luck, brat. you'll need it.'

Which, like, frickin' spoilers, my dude!

Lo and behold, the envelope that had been torn open was from U.A. High. Ugh, what a nosy asshole. Denji's not surprised because this is exactly the type of thing Stain would do. If he had been rejected, he's sure Stain's letter would've been dedicated to mocking him with an 'I told you so'. Bitch, who's telling who so now?

He plays the hologram recording, one starring All Might of all people, where Denji is told he's been accepted. He'd probably be happier if the old man hadn't ruined the surprise for him!

And what the hell does 'good luck, you'll need it' mean? He got in with his own efforts, thank you very much!

Eri claps for him, a pleased smile on her face. "Maybe Mister Principal Nezu helped."

"Maybe," Denji says, not really knowing. "But I got in, 's all that matters!"

The other envelope is filled with cash. Cold, hard cash. Denji is surprised at Stain's generosity.

There's a sticky note inside. It reads, 'If you recklessly spend this, I'll personally become responsible for your death. Also, remember to go to city hall to register your quirk. The girl as well, if she intends to attend school. I won't be here to hold your hand through the process.'

"Wow," Denji says, and he doesn't know how to feel about this. It makes him feel weird. Too weird.

Best not to think too hard about it, then.

"Guess he didn't forget about us," Denji says.

"I think he's happy you got in," Eri says.

"Happy? Him? The only thing that gets him jumpin' for joy is spillin' the blood of heroes," Denji snorts. It's true. He's not once seen a smile spread across the man's face in his presence.

But that's okay. Stain's smile is U-G-L-Y. Denji doesn't wanna see it if it can be helped. It even brings shivers down his spine to imagine a genuinely happy smile from Stain because of something wholesome. It's just not in his personality, and that is actually what Denji vibes with.

He doesn't like wholesome dudes. Denji knows one way or another, they're faking it to be so happy all the time. Even Mister Principal Nezu got a subtly sadistic edge to his voice sometimes, it's just well hidden under that deceiving appearnce of his. Denji likes a guy who can be openly read like that.

...Admittedly, he wouldn't mind a girl being wholesome. He can imagine a girl like that existing.

"I guess we're set for now," Denji says, happy that things are going well for them.

With Denji's spot in the most prestigious hero school locked in, things get moving. No more lazy days spent inside Stain's hideout, Denji and Eri use all their time preparing for April, which is apparently when school starts. He learns that it's not just a yearly cycle, but that school is split into small chunks of time called 'semesters'. That's wild.

"Look at me!" Denji exclaims with awe when he comes out of the changing room wearing the U.A. uniform. Eri circles him with eyes of awe, poking at the expensive material of the uniform. "Apparently, they said uniforms are free this year for us first years. So we don't even gotta pay for it!"

He thanks whatever God out there decided to be merciful to them.

"You look cool," Eri says. "Super, super cool!" She throws her hands in the air.

"I'm so cool!" Denji yells, lifting Eri off the ground and spinning around, not unlike what he used to do with Pochita. He laughs, ignoring the glares of the workers in the store who don't like the ruckus he's causing. Eri also laughs, waving her arms around.

Fuck them. They're not the ones who got accepted into U-motherfucking-A! Go tell off the rejects instead!

Denji walks around in his new U.A. uniform with his chin high, feeling oddly prideful with himself. He tries to flash an arrogant smile at any girl who looks his way. Nobody returns his smile.

They check out several grade schools around the area near U.A. High. Denji got the idea from Stain's letter that yeah, Eri should probably start school too. It'd be nice that she can start at a normal age when all the other kids are also starting. It's impossible to emulate a normal life under their current circumstances, but Denji's still gonna try his best!

At least she'll get a better childhood than whatever the fuck he got stuck with.

"Wow, look at that one!" Denji says. "It's got a pretty big building, huh?"

"The trees are pretty..." Eri comments.

"The uniforms are kinda mid, though," Denji says. "Do you care about that kinda crap?"

Eri shakes her head.

"Yeah, thought so," Denji says. They hop from school to school, but Eri's first choice is the one closest to U.A. in terms of location.

Denji talks to one of the ladies in administration about enrolling Eri.

"Parents are busy," Denji says. "I'm her big bro, so it's up to me to get her all set up."

Luckily, no other questions are asked. Denji thinks him wearing the U.A. uniform must've helped given a good impression considering the reputation of their students.

Like, yeah. Of course a U.A. student would be a responsible sibling to make up for the duties that the parents couldn't fulfill. Nothing shady there. The U.A. privilege is already working its charm!

Denji notes that this school is the most pristine out of all the ones they've been to. That's an achievement considering the other schools were already pretty damn clean to begin with.

"So, about, like. Fees and stuff."

"Yes, admission is free, however... the school doesn't pay for things like the uniform or school supplies and such. You'd have to send in an application to the government for that."

Psh. Like Denji wants to get involved with the law. Free stuff but at what cost? Ain't so free anymore!

"We got the money for that," Denji reassures, to which Eri sends him a worried look. "Do you know what the whole quirk registration thing is about? An old m—an uncle mentioned something about that."

"Does Eri-chan have a quirk?" the lady asks.

Denji looks at Eri, who looks back at Denji. Denji nods. "Yeah. She does."

"So, by law, you have to update the quirk registry at Masutafu city hall. It's a quick process, though. I've never heard of anyone having trouble with it."

"Mmkay," Denji says.

They return to Masutafu another day to get that done. Denji feels weird sitting in the waiting room with other people, mostly families with a child near Eri's age, to get their quirk registered. He would have never imagined himself doing this one day.

He stares down at the ticket with a printed number. It's so... bizzarely normal. A normal person thing. Denji doesn't feel like a street rat standing in a place like this. He feels normal.

"Denji, they called our number," Eri says with a gentle tug of his sleeve. He's wearing his uniform again. Just for the kicks. And the possibility of impressing a girl.

He meets with a man with neatly combed hair at some desk, who types at rapid speed on a computer. Somehow, Denji is more nervous than Eri.

"What's up?" Denji greets.

"Name."

Denji gives out the fake name, trusting the old man's word that they can't tell its fake. Click-clack-clack goes the keyboard as the man behind the desk does some sort of witchcraft on the computer.

"You don't have a file," the man states. "Where are you from?"

"Uh... countryside," Denji says, trying to think of an excuse on the spot. "I'm here in the city b—"

"Didn't ask," the man interrupts, fingers resuming typing on the keyboard. "I can infer from context clues. One moment, please."

Rude, Denji thinks. Could've at least let a dude finish his sentence.

The man reaches over, slamming an empty form on the table with a pen. All the empty fields look daunting to Denji, who barely knows how to read and write as it is.

"Fill out as much as you can," the man says. He slides over another one and a tiny pen for Eri. "Her, too. Help whatever she can't fill out."

The employee turns his full attention back to the computer as Denji racks his head trying to fill the form out. Ironically, it's Eri who can fill out more than Denji.

"You remember our address?" Denji whispers to her in disbelief. Eri shakes her head.

"It's the one that was on the envelope from U.A.," Eri explains. "I thought it'd be nice to have, just in case."

"Good save!" Denji praises. "Just glad we have something to put down."

It takes a good fifteen minutes to get enough down. The man takes it and starts to transfer the information over from the form to the online database.

"Quirk, please."

"Me?" Denji asks. The man sighs.

"I don't care who goes first. Anybody, just go."

Eri and Denji exchange glances. Denji understands the unspoken message in her eyes and clears his throat. "My quirk is that I can turn my body into a living chainsaw! I got this ripcord in my chest and if I pull on it, I activate my chainsaw form. All I need is a little bit of blood."

"Hmm, complicated," the man curtly says. "Chainsaw would be too simple of a descriptor, and that name implies that it's a mutation quirk. Which doesn't sound like your case."

Denji nods, but he doesn't know what the dude is going on about.

"How about chainsaw transformation? You can transform into a chainsaw. Simple enough?"

"Ah, I guess?"

Denji doesn't get why the name matters so much, but whatever. When it's Eri's turn, she shyly averts her eyes from either of the men's gazes, focusing her line of sight on her shoes. Her temporary shoes.

"Sorry, she has a bit of, uh. Quirk trauma? That's a thing, right?" Denji says.

The man behind the desk nods, but he doesn't say anything. He stares at Eri continuing to wait for an answer, but he doesn't actively rush her through any direct means.

"A break, perhaps?" the man snaps.

"Yeah, just take five," Denji says. The man leaves to give them privacy.

Denji gets off his chair to kneel in front of Eri. "Hey," he says awkwardly, not knowing how to approach the sensitive topic.

"Hi," Eri says back, equally awkward.

"You wanna talk about... it?" Denji says.

"Not really," Eri replies, her voice full of sorrow. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck, we all got shit we wanna keep in the closet," Denji says. "We decide what business should stay our business."

"I don't want to keep it a secret," Eri quietly admits. "But I'm scared."

"What, scared Imma treat you like a monster?" Denji jokingly says. "If either of us is a monster, it's me. I look like a scary nightmare that lurks under kids' beds at night."

"That's not true," Eri says. "You're not a monster."

"Well, if I ain't a monster, then you're definitely not one either. But you don't have to say nothing you don't want to. Just give the guy an answer, any answer. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"You mean... lie?"

"Yup. I lie all the time. Not to you, I mean to strangers. We don't have to tell the government anything we don't want to. I just said the truth 'cause I don't give a fuck. But you're different. You don't have to do everything I do."

"...Okay," Eri decides. "I'll lie."

Denji flashes her a thumbs up much too enthusiastic for a supposedly positive role model who just told the little girl it's okay to lie to authorities.

"Gyah... I'm beat," Denji says, flopping over on the bed mat on his back. Dealing with paperwork and logistics and crap is so draining. Bureaucracy can go suck his dick. "And we still got some much left to do... Ugh... Is school supposed to be fun? I'm beginning to think manga lied to me."

"I think it'll be worth it," Eri says, sitting criss-cross next to his lying form. "School is..."

"Scary? Boring? Exciting?" Denji lists off. "All of the above?"

"All of the above," Eri repeats.

"It's gonna be a pain in the ass to deal with teachers but it's literally what I signed up for," Denji grumbles. "You'll probably turn out to be a great student. You give off teacher's pet vibes."

"What's that?"

"When a teacher really likes a student," Denji says before his face twists up in disgust. "That came out really wrong. If any of your teachers 'likes' you in a weird way, tell me. I'll take care of them. I don't even like thinkin' about it."

"So, it's a bad thing?"

"No, no, when you're a good student and you get favored by the teacher. It's a good thing. I think. You get special treatment."

"Why is it called teacher's pet?"

"I dunno! I guess it's kinda like you've become the teacher's favorite punching bag in a way." Denji shrugs. "Man, I'm really not selling this whole concept. Just forget it. Go enjoy school however you like. I can't tell ya how to do it."

"I hope you enjoy school too," Eri says with hope in her voice.

"We'll see," Denji says with a voice that sounds like he doesn't know what to expect.

"Eri-chan, are you excited for your first day of school tomorrow?" the lady from the thrift store asks.

"Yeah!" Eri says.

Denji is looking through the manga section, disappointed by the number of repeats. It makes sense that the most unliked volumes end up all in one place, and rather than a variety of different series, it's just all the same issue of the same series. Still, it pisses Denji off.

"Is Denji-kun ready?" the lady asks.

"I think?" Eri says.

"Again, I can hear the both of ya," Denji says but he doesn't sound angry. "Anyways, we won't be able to visit as much now, gran. The commute alone eats up so much time. Wish it didn't."

"Masutafu is a ways from here, isn't it?"

"Yup," Denji says. "If U.A. wasn't such a top school, I would've probably given up by now."

"You can't!" Eri says, insistent.

"I said 'if'!" Denji defensively exclaims. "I'm going, I'm going! Gotta go check up on our good ol' Mister Principal, anyways. See how he's been doin'."

"We'll still visit," Eri promises, holding her pinky out.

The old lady chuckles, hooking her wrinkly pinky into Eri's. "I'll be looking forward to the visits, then. Please, keep me up-to-date on anything that happens."

"Ring me up, gran," Denji says, slamming three volumes of separate series on the counter.

"On the house, boy," the old lady says with a bow of her head. Denji's eyes widen.

"Really?"

"I've come to grow a little fond of the both of you," the old lady chuckles. "Plus, you two are my most loyal regulars. I've gotten more business in the past few months thanks to you guys. Escape this shithole as fast as you can."

"We will," Denji says. "Thanks, granny."

"Thank you so much," Eri says with a smile.

They leave the thrift store and head back to the hideout. Denji shakes his head, almost in shock.

"I can't believe this is happening," Denji says. "Feels so surreal."

Eri hums by his side, clearly in a good mood. Denji hopes that Pochita could see how far they've come now. He's a huge step closer to fulfilling those dreams.

When they lay on the bed mat together that night, Eri murmurs, "Can't sleep."

"Too hyped up?"

Eri nods.

"Count sheep. It's what I did whenever I couldn't sleep." Usually that was because he was too hungry and the pain wouldn't let him doze off. But he forced himself to get rest because he couldn't afford to be both starving and sleep deprived. It was one or the other. Both would get him killed.

"I'll try," Eri says.

"Don't try too hard or you'll be counting the entire night," Denji teases. He sighs, closing his eyes, thinking of what his first day will be like. He wants to crash into a girl, have her fall in love at first sight with him, and then start his newfound school slow burn romance with her.

Yeah. That'd be nice.

"Sweet dreams," Denji says before he lulls himself into unconsciousness. He hopes his first day won't be all that bad.