Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No more 'I love you' no more 'Goodbye'

It was summer, and the cicadas were chirping, an incessant stream of audible vibrations. It was hot; the boiling heat of July, and he could feel the sweat dripping into the tatami mats below him, seemingly drowning him in his shame.

His father had long since left him.

He wonders absentmindedly if he was Abandoned or liberated, beaten or reformed? He wasn't sure, his father had told him it would make him stronger- that the pain would fix him, mending what was broken and welding it into an impenetrable defence.

And yet Shoto didn't feel stronger. He felt so weak he couldn't move, pinned down by the agony and the sweltering summer heat. Powerless against nature's flames and his fathers searing fire.

—

Shoto was angry.

There was a scorching, boiling, and oh-so-angry fire setting his veins alight, his heart pounding with the force of its desperation. The self-restraint was beaten into him, fused into his very being by the melting heat of his fathers inferno.

And yet...

He wonders if this is how his father feels, a fucked up legacy of violence and burning hellfire. Shoto wonders if his father had once been the same way as him, falling prey to the ocean of fiery rage that feeds on their blood.

But how could he ask such a question now?

He bowed his head, looking down into the warm, bright eyes staring up at him- betrayal and regret shining in the irises that were once so cold, so all-consuming in their intensity.

His fathers lips parted, tears shining in the moonlight as he uttered his final words.

''Shoto... I'm sorry.''

He heard a thump as his hands went lax- and it all hit him at once.

His father was going to die.

His father was going to die, and there was nothing Shoto could do.

His eyes, a blue so bright they haunted his dreams- But in the light of the moon, they had never looked so gentle.

His voice- once so loud and relentless in its forecity, had sounded so weak, so fragile and drowning in... remorse.

And regret was something that Shoto couldn't even begin to fathom the implications of.

He moved before his head caught up, hugging his fathers body as he grew cold. Forgoing his hunger for revenge, he held the once blisteringly hot skin to his chest in a tender embrace.

Shotos' eyes were shaking, dipping between the lines of nightmares and reality, between hysteria and apathy.

What had he done?

But he knew what he had done, and was well aware that there was no turning back.

—

He was a villain now, and Endeavor had impressed the reality of villainy on him for every day of his life. He would be hunted down and killed. Or, if he was lucky, thrown into a cage for the rest of his life.

And maybe, just maybe Shoto deserved that; but he knew he couldn't give up yet. Freedom was finally, finally within his grasp- and he'd be an idiot not to seize that sliver of hope while he could.

And so he backed out of his fathers room, bloody socks padding silently against the tatami mats. 

But, as he reached the entrance a tidal wave of memories flooded through his mind, threatening to pull him under. His father tending to his wounds, his father bringing him dinner, his father checking on him every night- bending down to pat his head gently if he thought he was asleep.

And suddenly it hit him. He would never see him again, and for better or worse, he would never again hear his father say his name.

He hesitated, hand gripping the sliding door, and slowly turned around.

''Goodbye, father.'' he spoke into the void, a part of him hoping that somehow his father might hear it, and rise again to look at him with the loving eyes he was only privy to in his final moments.

But, he didn't. So with glossy eyes Shoto left, closing the door gently, his fathers corpse laying unmoving in the room he would never again have to enter.

Packing his belongings was quick, his sole possessions being a single manga, gifted from Fuyumi on his recent thirteenth birthday, and a pile of clothing. He absentmindedly realised that nothing he owned had been chosen by him. 

He hurried out of his bedroom, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, and unlike with his fathers room, he felt no impulse to turn back.

In what felt like no time at all and yet simultaneously the longest walk of his life, he had arrived in the genkan of his family home, an absurd amount of money stashed away in his bag- stolen from his fathers office on the way down.

Stealing might not be very heroic, but it's not like his father will care anymore.

Suddenly, he had the inexplicable urge to turn around and run back to bed, to hide under the covers and pretend it had never happened. To pretend that when he woke up everything would be okay, That his father would wake him up, and Endeavor would drag him into the training room for a glorified beating.

But he refused himself that indulgence. It was too late, and things would never be the same again.

So he took a deep breath, and slid open the front door.

The first thing he was greeted with was the howling winds of January, whistling past his ears and into the place he could no longer call home. 

But he moved forward, pushing against the current and into his front yard, sliding the door shut behind him with a resounding thud.

The plan was to leave quietly and efficiently, no looking back and no second-guessing. And yet, as he stood there looking out at a street he had only before seen through thick panes of glass, he allowed a smile to grace his lips.

A small laugh bubbled up, escaping him and invading the quiet night air. Tears sprung up, falling down his face in rivets.

He was free, free from that house; free from that man who shackled him his entire life. Free from the excruciating nights spent alone, wounded and hopeless. But he would never again have to feel that way, never again would he be a weak, pathetic victim.

So maybe Shoto indulged himself, prancing gleefully down the pavement in a way he had never been allowed before.

He tripped over his feet, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. It was a clumsy, somewhat pathetic attempt at skipping. And yet he had never felt so light, and he had never been so happy.

Chapter Text

Always, for as long as he lives, he will never want to admit that he’s alone.

Shoto had long since left the shadow of his family house, and was faced with a distressing revelation. What should he do now?

Shoto had rarely set food outside into the land unowned by Endeavor, and had limited knowledge of travel and fleeing a crime. 

But, it was late at night and the weather was pleasantly cold, so surely if he picked a direction and walked far enough he would figure things out, he thought.

And so Shoto walked through the dark streets of Musutafu, taking in the area with a newfound spark in his eyes, curiosity getting the better of him as he touched a telephone pole only to find himself pleasantly surprised as it was cold even to his right side.

The circumstances were deeply unpleasant, and Shoto was surprised he had yet to break down in regret or relief. He was always known to be apathetic, all semblance of empathy discarded in favour of creating a mask numb to all emotions. 

Perhaps this meant he was beyond saving, or maybe it was a good thing. His father always said that remorse helped nobody, but Shoto was unsure how much weight should be placed on the man's words now. Afterall, he was dead; a failure by his own standards.

Shoto felt like he had been walking for hours, when he suddenly stumbled upon a blinking white light at the end of an alleyway, narrowing his eyes to offset the intensity of its glare. He was well aware that walking down such a sketchy alleyway would probably not be the smart choice.

And yet his feet moved independently of his brain, rationality thrown to the wind as he shuffled around trash cans and discarded objects. Luckily, as he got closer to the light it’s strength began to dim into something much more tolerable.

He stepped over a final bag of trash and found himself standing in another street, vastly different from the one he just left. The road had neon signs lining the walls, displaying the names of the stores attached in flashing colours, despite the fact that only a few appeared to be open this early.

Looking ahead, he can now see that the light visible through the alleyway had been two lamps hanging on both sides of a sign reading ‘Subway.’ He knew that the subway was a form of public transport, but had always been warned against travelling on them.

But he was also aware that he had no choice but to continue moving, the farther away the better, and the subway was likely the best of very few options.

And so, Shoto stepped forth into the bright entrance, body tensed and eyes narrowed, prepared to defend himself if his fathers warnings were to be believed.

As he stepped inside, the first thing that caught his eye was the staircase leading underground, well lit with white tiles reminiscent of a hospital. He felt reassured by the lack of other people and the low hum of machines, likely working to keep the enclosed space warm.

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, he gripped onto a yellow handrail and began to make his way down into the station.

Unsurprisingly the trend of white tiles and bright white walls continued downstairs. He noticed a guard walking around, glancing at him suspiciously before lifting his hand up and speaking into what Shoto assumes to be a phone of some sort.

The space stretches out and is much bigger than the small entrance outside implied, with benches lining the walls and a long fence running next to the train tracks, gates spread out evenly for passengers to board.

Shoto walked up to an empty bench, hesitating momentarily before sitting down on the cold plastic surface with a huff. He felt glad that he could finally rest, as the heavy weight of his bag had begun to pull uncomfortably on his shoulder, still healing from a recent dislocation.

He looked around again, noticing a clock displaying the time in bright yellow numbers. It was nearly five am, and Shoto felt surprised to learn it had indeed been hours since he had left his fathers house. 

It was strange how much could change in a day.

Just ten hours ago he was with Endeavor, being thrown around the training room like a pathetic ragdoll as his father bore down on him with flaming fists, face contorted with rage as he screamed about his son's failures.

Shoto smiled at the memory, because despite the pain, fear and rage he had felt at that time, there was something pleasant about knowing he would never be made to feel such a way again. 

His smile dropped quickly as he suddenly felt another presence sit down besides him, and was unable to suppress the flinch at having been snuck up on in such a vulnerable position.

‘’I’m sorry to have startled you, would you mind if I sat here?’’ An adult woman with a soft voice and dark black hair asked, looking down at him with a gentle smile.

He averted his eyes, settling his gaze on the gates yet again. Despite his lack of response, the woman seemed to take his silence as a yes, settling down with her hands clasped elegantly together on her lap.

A few minutes passed by, filled only by the low muttering of security guards and the distant sounds of janitors sweeping the floors, before she spoke up again.

She coughed awkwardly, getting Shotos' attention as he glanced back at her. ‘’You look young, what are you doing here alone at night?’’ she asked hesitantly.

Shoto was unsure how he should reply to her, and while he felt the instinct to snap at her, there was something about her gentle phrasing that he couldn’t bring himself to resent.

‘’I haven’t ridden a train before, this is my first time.’’ He responded, prompting her to offer advice on how to proceed, and hoping that she wouldn’t notice his lack of a real answer.

She takes the bait, smiling eagerly at the opportunity to help. ‘’Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it soon. Here, come with me and I’ll help you buy a ticket.’’

The lady proceeded to stand up, picking up a purple purse Shoto hadn’t noticed was lying on the floor beside her.

She waited patiently for him to join her, and he begrudgingly tugged his bag back over his shoulder as he stood up slowly. She continued to smile and motioned with her head for him to follow, which he did, somewhat regretfully, aware that this was an opportunity he shouldn’t waste despite his desire to continue resting for as long as possible.

She led him slowly across the platform, attempting to engage him in conversation and failing, which only seemed to motivate her to continue talking further.

‘’This is the terminal, you just need to input your destination and pay to get a one-way ticket.’’ She spoke, looking down at him expectantly.

Shoto nodded his head, hoping to convey his thanks without words as he stepped up to the machine, hesitating before carefully tapping on the options that appeared, choosing somewhat randomly.

Before long he was left holding a ticket, a one-way stop to Yokohama. He looked up at the lady, who was yet again smiling at him.

She made a motion with her hand, the thumb sticking up and others held tightly against her palm. He tilted his head in confusion and carefully mirrored the movement, seemingly earning her approval as her smile widened.

‘’You’re older than them, but you remind me of my patients,’’ she spoke wistfully. ‘'You see, I’m a child psychologist.’’ She crouched down, despite only being a head taller than him, and for some reason the simple action made Shoto feel a lot safer speaking to her.

‘’I’m not sure what a psychologist is.’’ He can't help but feel stupid for not knowing, she spoke about it so casually- like he should already be aware, but despite his fathers rigorous schooling he had yet to hear that term.

She hummed gently, ‘’Well I talk to kids who are having trouble, or are sad, and I help them feel better.’’

‘’So, a doctor?’’ he asked, tilting his head curiously. She brought a hand to her chin as if to signify she was thinking, before beamining up at him yet again. Shoto wonders how she doesn’t hurt her face, forcing herself to smile all the time.

‘’Well, it’s like a doctor, but instead of helping fix bodies I help people with their minds.’’ She points to her head, as if to emphasise her point.

Shoto still isn’t entirely sure what she means, but nods along anyways. His father had told him once that his mother was sick in the head, maybe she helps people like her?

She stands up, dusting off her skirt as if it had gotten dirty, despite the fact that it hadn’t touched the ground. ‘’The train you need to take should be coming in ten minutes, would you like to sit together until then?’’ 

She held a hand out towards him, but after Shotos lack of response retracted it, seemingly unaffected by his rejection. The two walked in silence until they arrived at the bench they had been sitting on earlier, returning to their prior positions in comfortable silence.

They didn’t speak for the remaining ten minutes, the clock ticking down before the train arrived, accompanied by a grating screeching sound that prompted Shoto to quickly cover his ears with his hands, before realising his reaction and quickly dropping them.

He looked up at the woman, a stranger, and noticed her smiling at him once again. A thought suddenly occurred, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she would look at him with such kind eyes if she knew he was a villain and a murderer.

She motioned towards the train with her hand, nodding in its direction in an attempt to prompt him forwards.

‘’This is your train, you’d better get going before they leave without you’’ she teased, yet the realisation spurred Shoto to quickly grab hold of his bag, standing up swiftly before turning around and bowing deeply, immensely grateful for the strangers help.

The woman seemed flustered at his thanks, and quickly grabbed a card from the side of her purse, offering it to him with an expectant look on her face. 

‘’If you ever need any help or advice, anything at all, please call.’’ She said, her eyebrows tilted up as if she was somehow sad to say goodbye.

Shoto bowed again, taking the card carefully to prevent accidentally brushing her hand, before turning around towards the platform. 

Looking around he could see a few other stragglers stepping up to other gates, and followed their motions as he inserted his ticket into the machine and boarded the train.

It was exhilarating to board public transport for the first time; and he found himself buzzing with happiness as he sat down tentatively on the plain blue seat, holding his bag closely to his chest.

He looked out towards the vacant platform, and saw the lady waving as their eyes met, finding himself returning the gesture before he could begin to think about it.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the rest of the train journey wasn’t as interesting, and yet it wasn’t unpleasant. Shoto sat sideways, staring out the window at the tunnels, and occasional cities they passed by. 

The bright lights and colourful environments reminded him of the television shows he would sometimes watch as a child, and he felt a similar sense of wonder return to him as he gazed upon them.

At one point another person boarded his compartment, a man dressed in black sat down in the very corner and kept his head down, seemingly falling asleep instantly. Shoto could admire that kind of skill.

He turns back around to stare out the window, but is startled when his reflection looks back at him instead. His scar and distinctive hair were very bold, compared to the black and brown hair he had been seeing all day.

He knew what hair dye was, and decided he would have to search for it when they arrived at the city. Natsuo had spoken about it once whilst father was away on a business trip. 

‘’Shoto, when you get older you can always dye your left side to be white!’’ 

Now that he is thinking about it, he never did say goodbye to Fuyumi or Natsuo. He can’t help but feel bad, he had murdered their father and disappeared; what would happen to them?

He knew that Fuyumi could move out on her own, she had a job and was an adult… he just hoped that she wouldn't miss him or his father too much. But Natsuo, despite being much older than Shoto, was not an adult yet; what would happen to him?

Shoto shakes his head, attempting to dislodge the thought from his mind. Afterall, thinking about it wouldn’t help them. 

But maybe if he can find a phone he would try and give them a call, just so that they know he’s okay. 

—

Shoto suddenly wakes up to find himself jolting into the wall, the train has stopped yet again, and Shoto rubs the remnants of sleep from his eyes as he sits up straight, eagerly awaiting the voice to announce where they are now.

‘’We have arrived in Yokohama, Yokohama.’’ The robotic female voice calls out, whilst the doors on the left side of the carriage begin sliding open.

He hurriedly grabs his bag, which fell from his grip onto the floor at some point. He blinks away the dark spots clouding his vision from standing up too abruptly and walks out of the door with his train ticket clutched in his fist, just in case it’s asked for.

Luckily it isn’t, but unluckily the station is much more packed than the one in Shizuoka, with many people standing everywhere. Yet despite the crowds, it’s oddly quiet apart from the sounds of shuffling feet and beeping machines, likely due to how early it is.

Shoto quickly moved towards the mens bathroom as soon as he saw it, dodging around the adults dressed in suits and thick jackets, attempting to be as subtle as possible.

He successfully made it inside of the bathroom, but was surprised when multiple people were already inside. A man glanced up at him, but quickly resumed washing his hands. 

Shoto had never used a public restroom before. Luckily he wasn’t left confused for too long, as quickly another man came in behind him, walking up to a cubicle door and stepping inside. Shoto attempted to follow his example, choosing a different door lining the wall and stepping inside hesitantly.

The stall was small, yet not claustrophobically so. With only a toilet pressed up against the door and a roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall. Shoto turned around and noticed a lock on the door, eagerly pulling it closed.

With a heavy sigh he dropped down onto the toilet seat, basking in solitude after feeling so painfully exposed for hours. He opened his gym bag, shuffling clothing and money around until he finally spotted what he had been looking for; a plain black hoodie.

He quickly put it on, pulling up the hood to conceal his hair. It was hardly a great disguise, and anybody who looked at him for more than a second would spot his distinctive scar; but it would work until he could get his hands on some hair dye.

He almost didn’t want to leave the bathroom stall, there was something comfortable about being in such a small enclosed space. It reminded him of nights spent curled up with a stolen book in his oshiire, enraptured by a world beyond his reach.

But, unfortunately, he was well-aware he couldn’t hide forever. For all he knew his fathers corpse had already been found, and his face was already plastered across the news. He needed to move quickly, and had no time for sentimentality. 

Shoto left the bathroom, gripping the straps of his bag white-knuckled. It was relatively easy to blend in with the crowd due to his short-stature and hoodie, and he felt immensely grateful that he had decided to pack it.

The streets were somewhat empty, and the few people walking around at this time were busy walking to work, or buying groceries for breakfast. Before long he managed to spot a store with many colourful sets of hair displayed in the windows, catching his eye with their bright colours and dramatic haircuts.

He walked up to the door and tentatively knocked, unsure if he should simply enter or wait until a worker came to guide him through the store. After knocking a second time to no response, he stepped inside; hoping he wasn’t breaking any rules that would prompt the workers to call the police.

The shop had a black and white chequered floor, with bright red walls which displayed an array of music records. He looked around curiously, and began searching through the isles, hoping the hair dye would be displayed obviously.

Before he found the hair dye, he noticed boxes of contacts hanging on racks. The colours were unlike any eyes he had seen before. He wondered why they would need colours if they were made to help with vision, before noticing the word ‘cosmetic’ written in bold red across the packages.

Having a different eye colour could only help hide him further, he figured, browsing through the colours contemplatively. His eyes caught on a pair of bright pink contacts, so utterly different to his current grey and blue, and he grabbed a few boxes, unsure how long they were intended to last.

He only had to wander for a few seconds longer before he came across the hair dye, an entire aisle full of every colour imaginable, with any type of permanence. He was first drawn to the white dyes, reminiscent of his mother. But when he glanced down at the red dyes, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to them for some inexplicable reason.

He had always detested his left side, being the reason his mother was scared of him, and a constant reminder of endeavour seared onto his face. But right now, he felt a longing tug in his chest upon seeing his fathers exact hair colour sitting among the rest. 

He knew it might be a bad idea, but reached out to grab the dye anyway. The box stated that it was permanent, fully transforming your hair for up to a year. Shoto grabbed four boxes, just to be sure, before moving on.

He spotted a pair of fake, black, rectangle glasses and grabbed them on the way to the register. Hopefully they would help in distracting from his scar, which would be one of the biggest giveaways of his true identity.

Everything turned out to be an even ten thousand yen, and after a somewhat awkward encounter with the cashier, he had the products safely tucked into a cheap plastic bag. 

He continued to wander around the streets of Yokohama, his nerves increasing with every passing minute he was out in the open. Eventually he came across a crossroad, leading down into a somewhat dingy looking street. The perfect place for villains like him to hide.

Shoto walked quickly, eyes alert and body rigid. He couldn’t afford to be targeted by a villain right now, his quirk was too strong and too unique to belong to anybody else, it would be a dead giveaway if he was caught using it. He continued to weave through alleyways, moving deeper into the shady areas of the city.

He moved to walk down yet another dark alleyway, when he spotted a sign in the corner of his eye. It was falling off the wall of an old, somewhat grimy and broken-down building. 

The sign boldly displayed the word ‘Hotel’ in english, and Shoto counted himself lucky that his fathers english lessons had come in handy for the first time.

He hesitantly walked up to the building, the doors were chipped and the handle stuck at an odd angle. If he wasn’t so tired, and desperate for sanctuary, he wouldn’t take the risk of entering such a sketchy building.

But, he could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones, his shoulder pounding with pain and injuries throbbing. He knew he couldn’t keep walking forever, something had to give, and if he didn’t take this opportunity it would surely be him.

So he took a deep breath, gripping the handle and tugging it harshly until the door creaked open, revealing a surprisingly comfortable, albeit dusty, lobby.

He slowly walked up to the receptionist, a man with brown hair and fangs was sitting at a desk, placing a book to the side as he watched him approach with curiosity glinting in his cold, green irises.

Shoto cleared his voice before speaking, ‘’Hello, I need a room please.’’ He stated plainly, his voice somewhat raspy in a way that made him feel embarrassed. 

On the desk sat a clipboard, an old phone and a sign requesting cash only. His suspicions only grew at the sight of them, as surely a hotel would make enough money for better equipment than that.

The man across from him nodded, leaning forward over the desk and pulling the clipboard closer to himself, grabbing a pen from the front pocket of his shirt with practised ease.

‘’Alright kid, give me your name and how long you’ll be staying.’’ The man stated, eyes looking up at him, almost as if he knew who he was and what he’d done. It made Shoto uncomfortable, as if the man could see right through him.

He pulled his bags closer to his body, flinching when his shoulder sent a jolt of pain down his arm. He didn’t know how to reply to the man, and desperately clawed through his memories in search of a plausible fake name to give him.

‘’...Akuto Shuya.’’ He said slowly, stealing the name from the protagonist of his manga. It probably wasn’t smart to choose the name of a fictional character, the lie was too easy to discover with a simple google search.

The man's eyebrows raised, as if to ask if he was serious, before sighing and writing it down in English on the bottom row of his sheet. ‘’And how long will you be staying, Akuto-sama?’’ 

He shrugged and held up two fingers, which seemed like an appropriate amount of time to sort out his living situation more permanently. The man scribbled it down messily and nodded, moving to stand up and reach under the counter.

He brought his hand back up from below the desk, clutching a card with the number twenty-one on it. ‘’This is your key, don’t lose it, or you’ll be paying for a new one. The cost for two nights is fourteen thousand yen, upfront.’’ He spoke clearly, his gaze sharpening in an unspoken threat when he asked for the payment.

Shoto tried not to let it intimidate him, and quickly handed the bills over to the man, who brought out a small machine which beeped, going blue as it scanned over the money.

‘’Go up the stairs to your right, when you reach the second floor walk down the corridor, it’ll be the first on your left.’’ The man spoke gruffly, leaning back in his seat and picking his book back up, flipping through the pages quickly before stopping halfway through.

He could take the hint, and Shoto bowed quickly in thanks before moving towards the stairwell. The stairs were made of wood and the bannister was rusty, causing Shotos expectations for the state of his room to fall even further.

He struggled with the scanner outside his door for a solid five minutes, after having never used a card like it before, but he managed in the end. He quickly kicked off his shoes, picking them up with only two fingers as he juggled the bags in his arms.

The door let out a loud creak as he opened it, grating on his ears and making him wince. He looked down at his room, and felt pleasantly surprised.

It was compact, hardly bigger than the public bathroom stall he had seen earlier. The bed was pushed up against the right wall, with a desk and chair seated underneath a small window and a set of shelves lining the wall beside it. 

There was just enough space for him to close the door behind him, which revealed another door on the wall to his left, presumably the bathroom. The bed was slim and had a clean white duvet and pillow spread out on it, a western style which he had only seen before in pictures.

He dropped his bags down onto the desk, placing his trainers next to the door in an orderly fashion. He pulled the blanket up from the bed, slipping in between the covers quickly, desperate to finally rest.

The mattress felt soft, and was unexpectedly bouncy as the springs inside squeaked under his weight. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the comfort of the bed.

And for what might have been the first time in his life, Shoto drifted peacefully into sleep.

Chapter Text

So we await a signal telling us this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, fanning flames of emptiness.

Shota had many expectations for how his day would turn out. 

His class defying all logic with their unbelievable stupidity? certainly not ideal, but unfortunately predictable. 

Hizashi accidentally hitting him square in the eye with his ridiculous updo? Frustrating, yet a logical consequence of marrying the dramatic blonde.

Falling asleep at the wheel of his car, swerving at the last possible moment, and only narrowly avoiding a car crash? A typical monday.

One thing that Shota had decidedly not expected was for the number two hero to be found dead in his own home. 

Endeavors body had been discovered this morning, reportedly called in by his own daughter, who had discovered the corpse whilst making breakfast.

The case was being handled with the utmost discretion, with both the HPSC and police working together, the former of which had yet to make a public statement.

While Shota had not held any particular feelings towards the man, he had to admit that such a bold crime made even him feel uneasy, a sentiment that was mirrored by the rest of society.

Afterall, if the number two hero isn’t safe in his own home, who is?

With a sigh he pocketed his phone, rubbing his face furiously as he settled down into his garish yellow sleeping bag. Crime would be on the rise, and sleep would soon become a luxury amongst heroes.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind went back to the case, and not for the first time he spared a thought for the Todoroki children. He could only hope Social Security did their fucking jobs for once.

No matter their lacklustre track record, even they wouldn’t allow the children of the former number two hero to slip through the cracks. 

Afterall, all of Japan would surely be watching them with baited breath.

—

When Shoto awoke, it was slow and lazy. His surroundings slowly came into view as he battled the heavy haze settling over his vision, his body feeling impossibly heavy.

Sleep settling into his bones so... resolutely was not uncommon, in fact he found it happening every time the opportunity arose. 

Typically, Endeavor was not the kind of man who indulged such idle resting, keeping his schedule airtight with a strict five hours every night. Shoto imagined that if it was feasible, Endeavor would have him in the training room every waking moment until the day he died.

He supposed it was cathartic then, that he could now choose to be as lazy as he wished. 

His father was dead, afterall.

And yet…

A familiar knot of anxiety settled heavily in his chest, a nagging voice in his mind demanding that he get up, the consequences of disobedience weighing heavily in his mind.

He felt his fingers twitching under the blanket, which seemed to become heavier with every passing moment he spent trapped underneath the plush white duvet.

‘’No hesitation, Shoto. Villains will not sit idly by while you indulge your indolence.’’

And so Shoto found himself standing on the floorboards of the cramped room, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

As he looked around the room, he noticed the sun rising yet again outside of the window. He supposed it was for the best, at least he could now be certain of his situation.

His fathers body had been discovered, and he was now a wanted villain. Heroes throughout the country would surely be hunting him down, and the public would be aware of his distinctive appearance.

Perhaps the police had already found his location, afterall countless people saw him yesterday, and would have likely informed law enforcement immediately after recognising his scarred face from the news-

Shoto took a deep breath, expelling the air from his lungs, watching the cold mist invade the air before dissipating slowly.

It was irrational to worry about things he had no control over, and so, his gaze turned to the shopping bag laid haphazardly on the small desk, boxes of red dye spilling over the surface.

As he headed inside of the door on the left, he flicked the switch sitting on the wall. The lights flickered to life in the small room, revealing a cramped bathroom. 

There was no bath to be seen, but a small shower, toilet and sink were sitting against the tiled walls, seeming clean enough to be used without immediate concerns of sickness.

He quickly got to work, reading the instructions plastered boldly across the packaging and following them to the best of his ability. 

The process went surprisingly smoothly, presumably due to the simple nature of the dye. The brand is one of Best Jeanists many products, and permanently dyes hair down to the very DNA for up to a year.

He couldn’t help but feel curious about how such a product was developed, and if they got many complaints from people who wanted to back out of their commitment.

The dye was already drying in his hair, changing his right side to be an identical red to his left. 

For some reason, the permanency finally began to hit him. 

The small part of him that belonged to his mother had been erased; smothering the pure, white snow with a bloody crimson.

It was almost reminiscent of a time when his hair had been stained with blood, the white turning pink for many days. His father had made a joke about it, obnoxiously laughing as he wondered out loud ‘’How much blood until it stains fully red?’’

With a huff he hesitantly places the first contact into his left eye, blinking rapidly at the strange feeling of plastic pushing against his pupil. After both were in what he assumed to be the correct places, he stood up.

He was dressed in a large white hoodie and black shorts going down to his knees. He turned towards the mirror hanging above the sink.

The boy who looked back bared no resemblance to Shoto Todoroki. He looked tired, pale and a little sickly as his wet red hair hung down limply between bright pink eyes. His scar still stood out, but even that seemed to be paler.

He reached a hand up and put it on his throat, fingers ghosting over the purple bruising wrapping around his windpipe. Now that he looked closer he noticed the many injuries adorning him in a fresh light, it didn’t feel so normal anymore.

His healing shoulder, the burns on his chest, a bruise around his throat and more sporadically staining his legs and arms, his right ankle and wrists. He looked like a mess. He looked pitiful.

With a sigh he turned around, turning off the light behind him as he shut the door with a quiet thud. He paced around the small room, creating a mental list of things he had to complete before the day was done.

He had to get some food, first and foremost. Pangs of hunger flared up uncomfortably in his stomach. He had a decent amount of yen left, and while he was aware it wouldn’t get him far, hopefully he could last until he found a job.

Right, that was another problem, finding a job. How was he supposed to do that? His father had never really taught him about the process, about what options he had. All he knew was that he needed a resume, and to be over fifteen, neither of which applied to him.

He was already a villain, he thought, so pickpocketing might have to be his last resort.

With a sigh he grabbed some of the money from his bag, stuffing it into his pocket as he threw the pair of fake glasses on and tugged his pair of plain white trainers on, locking his door behind him with a click.

There was a man wandering down the hallway, he had bright purple eyes and a chain around his neck. He looked like a villain, but Shoto couldn’t say he was surprised to see such a man in a shady hotel like this.

The same man from yesterday was sitting in the reception, seemingly asleep as shaggy brown hair sprawled over the table. Shoto wasn’t completely sure if he would have to sign out, or let the man know he was leaving, but figured if he kept his room key he could verify his identity easily enough.

He just had to hope the man wouldn’t turn him into the police, and would leave him alone. To be honest, he had no contingency plans, if this didn’t work out he’d probably end up sleeping in some dingy alleyway.

He walked a short while until he came across a small konbini that he had passed by yesterday, moving to tug the glass doors open before they slid open automatically.

As he walked inside he spotted many isles, stocked to the brim with seemingly thousands of options for food and drink. Shoto had never gotten to choose what he ate before, thankful for whatever his father or Fuyumi offered after an exhausting training session.

Faced with so many choices, he realised that food must be enjoyable to some people. That is the only possible reason for so many options, it must be to serve people's preferences. 

Shoto thought hard about the food he had eaten recently, the rice balls made by Fuyumi, the Curry from yesterday and the Udon he had the day before. 

He didn’t think any of them were particularly good, just food, it kept him alive and kept his body moving, he had never truly considered eating for any other reason than necessity.

Was it really okay for him to pick anything? He felt weirdly vulnerable as he looked at the large selection of packaged foods, his hands shaking as he tried to figure out which option was correct .

By some miracle, a teenage girl chose this exact moment to walk beside him into the aisle. She quickly grabbed a packet of instant ramen and a bag of crisps before she moved past him, reaching out for a large bottle of green tea. 

She ignored him completely, and Shoto felt himself breathe a sigh of relief as she moved towards a cashier at the front of the store. He hesitated for just a moment before copying her movements, grabbing the same tea, ramen and crisps.

When he left the shop it was with another white, plastic bag gripped tightly in his hand. There had been a television inside, reporting on the news. It had said nothing of his father, and instead chose to focus on some new hero that had recently debuted.

He hadn’t been recognised either, in fact everybody seemed to be ignoring him. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected, but he couldn’t help but feel nervous. 'Waiting for the other shoe to drop' seemed like a perfect description.

When he returned to the hotel, the man at the front desk was now awake, scrolling on a phone which he recognised as a burner immediately. He had always thought that his fathers excessive teachings on such topics were unnecessary, but he felt a strange wave of gratitude for the man.

He glanced up at Shoto, green eyes sparkling with interest yet again. ‘’Good morning, Akuto-sama.’’ The man said politely. For some reason, hearing the name he had chosen made Shoto feel happy.

He nodded in response and the man seemed to take it as permission to continue talking.

‘’Nice makeover, I might not have known it was you if not for the scar. Any particular reason you might have decided to make such a change?’’ 

His fangs seemed to glint in the light, as if he knew something Shoto didn’t, almost like he could read his mind, knowing the answer yet asking anyways.

Shoto failed at suppressing a shudder, and the man leaned backwards in his chair almost lazily. ‘’I felt it was an appropriate time to… switch things up.’’ Shoto replied carefully, reusing a phrase from his manga.

The man simply nodded, before sighing in a strangely dramatic fashion and flopping back onto his desk. ‘’How long are you sticking around for, Akuto-sama?’’ he asked, and despite his carefree demeanour, Shoto felt he was asking genuinely.

‘’Two days.’’ He replies immediately, the same as he had said yesterday. Except now that he thought about it, two days may not be enough. He was still unsure how to approach getting a job, and didn’t particularly like his chances once he didn’t have the cover of this shady hotel.

‘’Mhm-’’ the man hummed, ‘’Two days, you said that yesterday too. Will it be two days tomorrow, as well?’’ he grinned, as if he had caught Shoto in a lie.

The boy bristled and opened his mouth to retort, before the man began talking yet again, causing Shoto to silence immediately.

‘’We get a lot of kids like you coming through here; villains, runaways, criminals. I’m not blind, and I can tell you haven’t got any plans, Akuto -sama.’’

The man spoke with conviction, moving a hand up to lazily scratch the back of his head. Shoto felt his body tensing up, his foot sliding back across the ground in preparation of a fight.

The man let out a huff as he grabbed a piece of paper out from under his desk, sliding it across for Shoto to see.

The boy hesitated, but moved closer to read the small black writing.

‘’A job application?’’ Shoto asked, utterly bewildered with the absurdity of being offered such a thing after being essentially threatened.

The man nodded, grabbing a pen from his pocket yet again and tossing it onto the sheet of paper. ‘’The pay is shit, but I need somebody else to help out. My… other employee ran off the other day, and I need somebody to pick up the slack.’’ 

His tone felt somewhat strange to Shoto. He spoke in a way that made him feel nervous. But what other options did he have? This was the kind of luck only seen in fiction, the fact that he had stumbled upon it so quickly, at such an opportune time…

‘’Okay, I’ll take the job.’’ He replied, his shaky right hand reaching towards the pen as he signed his name on the sheet, copying the man's english from yesterday.

It was strange, Shoto thought, for him to be so lucky. But, who was he to question such a thing? It was the best he was going to get, and it was too easy to pass up. 

The man introduced himself as Hachio Zushi, a name that Shoto felt was somewhat unusual. 

Zushi explained that Shoto could essentially keep his room in the hotel in exchange for working, with a small amount of money left over. It seemed like a good deal to Shoto, and considering the price of the room, was surely more than fair.

They discussed the terms of his employment for a further thirty minutes, before it was decided he would work for eight hours a day, everyday of the week. 

Zushi seemed to have no qualms casually admitting to illegality, expressing that he could get Shoto a fake ID within the week, in exchange for his salary for the next month.

He eagerly agreed, and felt a strange wave of emotions crash through him as he finally made his way back up to his room; his new home with his long forgotten shopping bag in tow.

Shoto felt it was all working out almost too well, he had only been on the run for a day and nothing had gone seriously wrong. He hadn’t been recognised, had gotten a job, a permanent place to stay, and a fake ID.

It made him feel uneasy, honestly. He felt his anxiety slowly ramping up to unprecedented levels. It felt like something should go wrong; and yet it hadn’t, which felt infinitely worse.

It was confusing, it was irrational, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of disaster looming over him. He carefully removed the fake glasses from his face, placing them on his desk as he moved his bags over to his bed.

He could probably unpack if he wanted to, it seemed like he would be staying put for a while. And yet… well, it wouldn’t hurt to leave it a little while longer, he thought, cracking open the packet of ramen and snapping his chopsticks in half.

A nice distraction came in the form of realising his ramen was not pre-cooked, and he would have to figure it out on his own. He checked the packet, finding vague instructions that implied they needed to be mixed into boiling water.

Luckily, there were no kettles in the small hotel room, a thought which made him wince. After filling the cardboard bowl with tap water from the bathroom, he put a heated hand to the bottom, watching as the water bubbled, the boiling water popping in a way that made him flinch uncomfortably.

He carefully mixed the coloured packets into the bowl, and it turned a strange red colour in response. He felt hesitant as he picked up the cheap, wooden chopsticks yet again, but steeled his nerves and took the plunge.

He silently slurped a large bundle of noodles into his mouth, and felt his eyes go wide as the taste hit him in full force. It was a strange mix of burning and sweet, a flavour which he had surely never tasted before. 

The ramen his sister made was always somewhat bland, made with the intention of easy digestion. It was overwhelming to eat something so… much for the first time. He gulped down the food, and felt tears drip into the bowl, the heat clawing its way through his nose and into his eyes.

Despite the burning, he worked his way through the bowl until all that remained was tinted water. His stomach felt satisfied, full in a way that was both sickening and freeing. 

If his father saw him now he would be enraged, his son eating such a food would surely feel humiliating for the prideful man. The room was silent, and the boy sat alone at his desk, staring down into the murky red water with a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

There's no salvation within your reach. Yet still, I recall your warmth...

''Happy birthday, Shoto.'' his father spoke softly, reverently, as if his name alone was something special, something to be treasured.

He was handed a small cat plushie, with bright teal eyes and fluffy white fur.

The boy has never held something so soft before, and he fumbles with it clumsily before gripping the fluffy cat by its ears, pinched between finger and thumb as he examines the gift with an awestruck expression.

''Thank you, father.'' Shoto says, a smile creeping onto his face.

His siblings seemed to hate him, and his mother had recently begun to avoid him. Shoto had learnt to not expect presents.

His fathers large hand rests on his head, messing the boy's white and red hair together, an affectionate gesture that causes Shotos smile to stretch impossibly wider.

Shoto loved his father.

—

The Hero Commission had been in disarray since the number two hero's corpse was discovered mere days ago.

They had worked swiftly, establishing a team composed of commission members, Heroes and Detectives from Musutafu.

There was no hiding a case this huge, and news of Endeavors death quickly swept through Japan, only minutes after his body had been recovered from the Todoroki estate.

The police put out a statement quickly, hoping to ease the worries of the public. It was revealed that Endeavor died from a stab wound to his chest. The knife was discovered to have been one of his own.

They also reassured that the Todoroki children were all safe and accounted for, and staying with relatives.

''One of Endeavors children, Todoroki Shoto, has been reported missing.'' The commission member spoke calmly, standing nonchalantly at the front of the board room as he stated such crucial information as if it held no importance.

A plain looking detective raised his hand, waiting silently for approval to begin speaking.

''Detective Tsukauchi, from the Musutafu Police Force.'' He introduced himself, sitting straighter as the room collectively laid their eyes on him.

''Why are there no plans to release this information publicly? Somebody could have spotted him, he's only a child, we should focus on taking him into custody as soon as possible.''

The commission member nodded in acknowledgement, coughing into his arm casually before responding.

''Todoroki Fuyumi provided us with a description of the boy, we will wait a few days until organising a search and announcing he ran away from a relatives house.''

A silence fell over the room yet again, broken only by the sounds of pen scratching against paper. Detective Tsukauchi moved to ask another question, but was silenced by the glare of his captain, mouth shutting closed as he clenched his fists in frustration.

He couldn't understand why the Commission had been acting so strangely during this investigation; making seemingly nonsensical, bordering on deceptive commands.

It was frustrating that a child was out there, likely distressed and alone on the streets as they waited around for seemingly no reason. But Tsukauchi knew his place. If he tried to argue, he would be swiftly removed from this case altogether.

And so he swallowed his anger, and unclenched his hands, picking up a pen as he continued listening to the Commission member go over details of the investigation.

He could only hope that the boy would be safely reunited with his family as soon as possible.

—

Waking up from his dream felt akin to waking from a nightmare. He felt sweat sticking uncomfortably to his skin, his breathing erratic as he hurried to sit up in bed.

He had left the lights on while he slept, a fact he was incredibly grateful for now. A hiccup catches itself in his throat, and just as he thinks he is about to start sobbing, he feels laughter tumbling from his chest with a wheeze.

It wasn't funny, he felt horrible, his mouth was stretching his scar uncomfortably, and he couldn't breath, but he just kept laughing-

He suddenly hears a loud thump on the wall to his right, and what sounds like a voice shouting. He jolts harshly to the side, nearly tumbling off the bed in the process. Mercifully, his laughter stops.

He places a hand over his heart, and feels the rapid beating. He couldn't understand why he had that dream, or was it a nightmare?

He can recall that time perfectly, as it was the only present his father ever gifted to him. He should have known at that time that nothing ever came for free.

Every day, Endeavor would dangle the cat over Shotos head. ''If you want it back, you have to earn it, Shoto.'' He would say as he tossed it to the floor, dragging his son to the dojo.

Less than a year later, it was burnt to ash in Endeavors palm.

He can feel his body shaking intensely, and clumsily removes himself from the tangled sheets. He feels like throwing up, and the memories of the many times he had done so before only serve to push him over the edge.

Shoto scrambles to get to the bathroom in time, hands over his mouth as he crashes painfully into the cold white tiles and throws up his ramen from yesterday.

His body heaves, throat burning as the disgusting bile falls into the toilet. It feels as if Endeavors shadow is looming over him. He feels sick.

''How can you hope to become a hero if you cant even take a punch without throwing up?''

His fathers booming, frustrated voice plays through his mind. The countless similar encounters swirl together, blurring the lines between past and present as he flinches away from an incoming attack that never arrives.

He feels sick.

Finally the heaving stops. His head is pounding painfully behind his eyes, and his knees were likely bruised by the harsh fall onto the tiles.

He can feel himself taking in shuddering, gasping breaths, but he can't quite seem to hear them.

He should be making a sound, it feels too real and all-consuming for him not to be, why can't he hear it?

He stays kneeling against the tile, head bent over the toilet bowl for what feels like a lifetime.

Eventually, slowly, the ringing he hadn't noticed in his ears dulls to a faint pulsing. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, in and out. He can recall his mother teaching him this trick, her soft voice reassuring him as he sobbed hysterically in her arms.

''Good job Shoto, just breath, in and out, you're doing so well.''

He stands on shaky legs, stumbling to the sink and washing his face and mouth thoroughly in an attempt to get rid of the awful taste of bile and regurgitated food.

This was part of the reason Fuyumi kept their meals so bland. His father had always been frustrated that his masterpiece had been born with such a weak stomach.

He sighed and flopped back down onto the soft bed, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm the headache which continued to pulse painfully.

He is reminded again that he should call Fuyumi as soon as possible. Zushi had a burner phone, maybe he could ask about where to get one?

His father had taught him about tracking phones, teaching him extensively so he could one day use his knowledge for heroics. Shoto felt his mouth twitch upwards at the irony of it.

Today was his first day of work, and he felt his insides burning at the thought of it.

So many things could easily go wrong. He could only hope his transformation was dramatic enough that nobody would recognise him.

But until then, he should spend his time resting, that would be the sensible thing to do...

And yet Shoto inches his eyes open, headache pounding relentlessly.

With nothing else to distract him, his mind returns to his dream yet again. He can remember naming the cat Touya, as its eyes reminded him of his elder brother, even if the two had never known each other.

Shoto missed having something to hug, a sense of comfort that he could only find from curling around the old toy, who was his only companion as a child after his mother was taken away.

He finds a part of him wishing that he had murdered Endeavor years ago, when the toy was still salvageable.

Similar thoughts of his father continued to haunt him throughout the day, cycling through his mind incessantly as he sat in the hotel's reception, tapping his hands on the wooden desk.

His emotions had been ruled by hatred and anger towards the man for so long, blaming the man for breaking his mother and sending her away, as if she was worth nothing more than a broken piece of furniture.

He should feel relieved, or elated that the man is dead, and would never hurt anybody else.

And yet...

His fathers final words continue to haunt him, why had he apologised? Did he think it would save him, that Shoto might even forgive him?

Before he could dwell on that particular thought, a voice called out to him.

''Hey kid, are you working here?'' Shoto looked at the person standing in front of him, they had a noticeable cat mutation, with orange ears sprouting from similarly coloured hair.

''Yes.'' Shoto replied, voice monotone and gaze unwavering. Zushi had spent all of two minutes explaining his job to Shoto this morning, and the man's teaching had left much to be desired.

It had been a few hours, and despite it being the middle of the day, only a handful of people had come in so far. It made sense, the building was sketchy, the only people stopping by surely did so for unsavoury reasons.

Shoto had to improvise quite a lot, and tried his best to remember how he himself had signed in.

He referred to a piece of paper Zushi had written the costs for rooms on, and tried his best to copy the man's actions, writing names down in English and depositing the money in the specified box.

He felt fortunate that the hotel was so unpopular, Shoto could only imagine the disaster that might have occurred had he been required to deal with a large number of customers.

Halfway through his shift, Zushi returned, scowling with a fresh bruise on his face. Shoto eyed the injury wearily, but ultimately decided not to comment as the man walked past him, into one of the employee only rooms.

Shoto wanted to follow him and ask about the burner phone, and the ID that Zushi had promised him. But the man had told him to sit there until his shift ended, and he didn't feel like testing his luck right now.

So Shoto, obedient as always, sat and did his job.

The work was mind numbing, and he found himself almost missing his fathers training. It was always horrifically unpleasant, painful and maddening, but never once had he been bored.

But still, Shoto didn't allow his restlessness to distract him from the work. He sat with his back straight against his chair, eyes on the front door for hours without moving a muscle.

Eventually, Zushi returned to the lobby, startling Shoto as he placed a bottle of water on the desk with a thud.

''Geez kid, are you a zombie? You haven't moved an inch since I came back.'' Zushi sighed, leaning against the desk as he stared at the wall behind Shoto. He couldn't help but feel grateful for the lack of eye contact.

Shoto simply shook his head as an answer, suppressing the instinct to respond immediately for fear of punishment.

Zushi grabbed the bottle of water from the desk again, and began shaking it in front of Shotos face in an obnoxious fashion.

With a huff the man relented, pushing the bottle into Shotos' chest. ''Take it, I figured you could use something to drink after your shift.''

Shoto glanced up at the old clock on the wall, finding himself somewhat surprised that his shift had been over for thirty minutes.

Time had always been a difficult concept for him to grasp, slipping through his fingers easily in a house where everyday was only as different as fathers schedule allowed.

He took the bottle of water gratefully, realising just how thirsty he was as he gulped down half of it in mere seconds.

Shoto recalled his plans to ask about a phone from earlier, and decided this to be as good a time as any to ask.

''Zushi-san, where could I get a burner phone?'' He asks, glancing up at the man who returned his gaze with those unsettling green eyes.

Zushi pauses for a second before answering. ''Well, finding them isn't hard. You could buy one for maybe ten thousand yen at most stores, but they require identification.''

Shoto felt himself deflate, it might take him longer than he had hoped to buy a burner afterall. Maybe he could steal one? That might require his quirk, though, which would only serve to get him arrested immediately.

With a sigh he resigned himself to waiting, standing up from the chair and stretching his shoulder with a satisfying pop.

''But-'' Zushi began again, standing up straight as he looked down on Shoto. ''I happen to keep plenty of spares around.''

There was something about Zushis tone that made Shoto pause, but yet again the offer seemed too good to pass up. With a burner phone he could not only call Fuyumi and make sure that she was okay, but check the internet for any updates.

''How much will it cost?'' He tried to keep his excitement in check, but felt it leak into his voice anyways.

Zushi smiled at the kid's enthusiasm. ''Fifteen thousand, sound fair?'' He asked, his voice steely as he tilted his head, as if he was waiting for Shoto to challenge his offer.

The boy simply nodded, while it seemed like a lot of money, it was more than fair compared to the price of one that would require ID.

Zushi went to fix up an old burner phone while Shoto grabbed the money from his bag, counting the notes meticulously to ensure he had the exact amount needed.

The phone was very similar to Zushis, a small metallic grey flip phone with a square camera on the front. When Shoto opened it, a keyboard displaying English letters greeted him.

''I didn't realise it would be English,'' Shoto deadpanned whilst assessing the device, somewhat disappointed. He would be able to use it well enough, but it might make things difficult if he had planned on using the internet or texting.

Zushi simply shrugged his shoulders in response, offering no explanation. Shoto sighed and pocketed the phone, thanking Zushi politely before returning to his room yet again.

He sat down at his desk, and eyed the untouched green tea and crisps from the corner of his eye. It would be a lie to say he wasn't hungry, but he couldn't help but feel nervous about throwing up again.

If he didn't make it to the bathroom in time, then he would have to pay for damages, or buy cleaning supplies. But still, starving to death wasn't exactly ideal either.

After placing his new phone on top of the desk, he got up and collected some fresh clothes from his bag yet again, deciding to take a shower and calm down before making any decisions.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn't very sure how to wash his clothes either. At home, he would always leave them in the laundry basket tucked away in the corner of his bedroom, and then the clothes would be delivered, clean and folded, outside his door the next day.

When he thought back to it, Fuyumi was likely the one who handled chores like that.

Endeavor was always somewhat paranoid about Shoto being found by villains, and kept him firmly out of the public's eye, locked away at home.

Because of this, hiring any maids or servants was off the table. Chores were done by his Mother, and then when she got too sick, Fuyumi took over.

Shoto felt another pang of sadness as he thought of his sister, while they had never been allowed to spend much time together, she did everything she could to take care of him.

Maybe if their call went well, he could ask her how he should do laundry. He only packed so many clothes, and would probably run out in the next few days and have to start wearing his unwashed ones.

In the worst case scenario, he supposed he could always just buy some new ones, but that was unsustainable in the long run.

He sighed, deciding to yet again give up on thinking about it until later, there was nothing he could do right now anyways.

He tugged on his hair, squinting to eye the red dye which clung stubbornly despite the water soaking it from above.

He wondered if his father would approve of the colour, or stare at it with disdain.

With a sigh he blinks repeatedly, having contacts in for so long had left them feeling surprisingly itchy...

Would Fuyumi or Natsuo be able to recognise him now? It had only been a few days and he looked like a stranger, even to himself. New eyes, new hair, new name...

But his scar was the same, and so he was Todoroki Shoto. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way to escape it.

—

''This case is a tricky one, Eraserhead. The police department has been working on it for a few years already. Hopefully your involvement will move things along.''

The detective sitting in front of Eraserhead had called him weeks ago, hoping to bring him into an investigation which required an underground hero for infiltration.

He had been stingy with the details, and had only told him that it would be a lengthy operation which would likely last a further few years.

''We've been investigating a certain Hotel in Yokohama. We discovered it after a drug dealer mentioned being recruited there multiple years ago.'' The detective hands a picture of the dealer in question to Eraserhead, a young man with bright blue hair.

He continues to talk, passing the relevant files to Eraserhead as he briefs him on further details of the case.

''Your job will be to act as a criminal so you can infiltrate the hotel, then gather as much information on the staff and other customers as possible.'' The detective pauses, collecting another stack of files and handing them to the hero.

''We can discuss further details at our next meeting, so for now make sure to read through those files thoroughly.''

Eraserhead nods, shifting the files under his arm as he stands up, slouching forwards as he begins the walk back to his car.

He would have to pick up some coffee on the way home afterall.

Chapter Text

But how many times will you have to sleep to be able to forget?

Todoroki Fuyumi has been having the worst week of her life.

This feeling was one that seemed to be recurring throughout her life, as if she was being poked and prodded, a test to see how much she could take before she reached a final breaking point.

Her father and her always had a somewhat strained relationship, with the man having no time to spend with her, between his hero work and taking care of Shoto.

And yet she just couldn’t seem to muster up the same resentment as Natsuo. The limited memories she had of her father were good, made up of the times when he would ask how her day had been, or when he would get her coffee on the way back from his patrol.

Even if they didn’t spend much time together, and even if she could count the times he had acknowledged her as a child on one hand, he was still her father, and she still loved him.

And so when she had knocked on his bedroom door, mug of steaming black coffee in hand, nothing could have prepared her for the sight that would meet her behind those doors.

Her father had never been late, his routine was unfaltering, consistent and never changing throughout the years.

He would wake up early, take care of Shoto, have his coffee and then head off to his agency.

So when he hadn’t made an appearance from his room after a few hours, she had to calm her beating heart and convince herself that he was surely just sleeping in after a long patrol.

And yet, when she thinks back to that moment, she had known something was wrong long before stepping foot in his room. 

She had known when she saw the bloody footsteps on the floorboards, and when she had noted the absence of Shotos single pair of shoes in the genkan.

She had known what Shoto would do, when he had yelled at father last week. Maybe she had known, somewhere deep inside of her mind, that things would end this way from the moment Shoto was born.

Father probably knew it too. There had been no mistaking the bloodlust, a sure sign of what would soon occur, that had radiated from the small boy.

‘’I will kill you.’’ He had yelled, voice devoid of emotion yet the intensity that burned behind such words was resolute. 

His words had haunted her for days, clawing at the very back of her mind, an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. 

But she had never been one who could face things straight on, when push came to shove she would always choose to turn away and run.

She could recall discovering her fathers body with horrifying clarity, the blood seeping into his futon and dripping onto the tatami mats. The stained knife laying beside him, glinting in the rays of the sun.

The events that followed afterwards are still a blur, a haze of interviews and mind numbing panic that settled deep into her bones, the kind of shock that would never truly leave.

A colleague from work that she had grown close with had offered her a place to stay, and Fuyumi accepted gratefully. Her job was the only part of her life that continued on uninterrupted, and she revelled in the normalcy of it all.

And so when she had just arrived home to her friend's apartment, and her phone began buzzing, announcing a call, the voice she heard through the speaker was one which she was prepared to never hear again.

‘’Fuyumi? It's me… it’s Shoto.’’

—

Shotos hair was still wet from his shower, water droplets streaking unpleasantly down his neck and into the collar of his shirt.

His new phone was sitting in his hand, cold metal pressed hesitantly to his left ear in a way he had seen others do countless times, yet had never done himself.

‘’Ah Shoto? Is it really you?’’ His sister's sudden words, laced with static, caused him to flinch, the phone vibrating against his ear unexpectedly. 

His mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish as he tried to grasp what words he should say next. He had never held a conversation with Fuyumi for more than a few minutes, and the two often came to an awkward standstill quickly.

He hesitated, and his voice wavered with uncertainty. ‘’Are you okay? I wanted to check in with you, to see how you and Natsuo are doing.’’ 

After his words, Fuyumi went silent for a while. He probably sat there for ten minutes, listening to her breathe through the phone. He was starting to get concerned, and considered speaking up to check she was still there, when he heard her voice yet again.

‘’Did you really do it? Shoto, did you kill him?’’ her voice shook, and it sounded as if she were sobbing as she stumbled over her words.

Shoto hadn’t been expecting her to ask outright. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from this call though, or why it had felt so urgent. Maybe he had imagined they would chat, and that she would assure him that she and Natsuo are okay.

Maybe he had been seeking an easy answer, a way to fix this strange feeling of guilt that had been eating him alive. 

Had he wanted Fuyumi to say thank you? To tell him she was grateful, and that he had done the right thing. 

That he was a hero.

‘’Yes, I did.’’ Shoto spoke without stuttering, his voice icy and devoid of emotion.

At that moment Fuyumi stopped crying. The call went silent for a few moments, before a loud beeping signalled that she had hung up on him.

—

It had been a week since his call with Fuyumi. It was strange that such a rejection seemed to have left him largely unaffected.

He can’t help but think he should feel more upset over it, devastated even, that she had so quickly tossed him aside as soon as he had saved her. But when he thought about it, he didn’t feel much of anything.

When he had woken up the next day and he checked the internet, there had been no sight of his name anywhere. Endeavors death was a huge event, and every Japanese news outlet was covering it, but Shotos name had yet to appear in any article.

But, the next day when Shoto checked, he had been reported missing. There were searches going on, and everyone in Japan seemed to be attempting to locate him, and yet none of them had even speculated that he was the villain who murdered Endeavor.

If his sister had managed to figure it out, surely she would have told the police about her suspicions? Or his recent confession?

And now that he thought about it, he had certainly left a large amount of evidence. There might as well have been a clear trail of blood leading to his current location, it was so obvious that there was no way the police had missed it.

So why hasn't anybody figured it out? 

Why was he only viewed as the orphan runaway, and not a villain? It was confusing, and as the days went by he would swing between anxiety and cautious relief. 

He can’t imagine Zushi would cover for him if his crime was revealed. The man had seen him before he had changed his appearance, and was almost definitely aware of his true identity- but hiding a runaway and hiding a murderer are two very different things.

But, luckily, work had continued uninterrupted. Zushi had begun to assign him a list of chores for when he had nothing else to do, and while they served to cure his boredom at least a little, it was frustrating how little he could manage without help.

Shoto had never been taught how to wash dishes, how to dust or hoover. His father seemed to think of such tasks as below him, and Shoto had naively assumed he would never need to learn.

He hadn’t considered how he would manage independently, but was quickly coming to realise just how little practical knowledge he had. 

It turns out that his fathers lessons had truly been nothing but preparation for heroics, for a future he had thrown away the first chance he got. It was endlessly frustrating, but equally humiliating when Zushi noticed his struggling and offered advice.

Today had been a particularly bad day, and his patience was running extremely thin after struggling with the machines he was told were used for washing laundry. 

He wasn’t sure where he had gone wrong, but all of his clothing had come out a different colour than they had gone in as. He would have to do further research before he tried again, and probably buy some new clothes too.

And to top it off there was yet another customer standing in front of him now, a lanky man with obnoxiously orange hair. Despite the fact that today was a relatively quiet day, it had still felt overwhelmingly busy.

‘’Hey kid, I’m going to need a room for three nights.’’ The man's voice was grating against Shuyas already fragile nerves, his poorly hidden condescension making him want to kick the man for figuratively, and literally, looking down on him.

He wasn’t used to being viewed as an object of pity, or being seen as a pathetic and weak little kid. But recently they were the only kind of looks he would receive, and despite knowing he could easily overpower these people, it irked him to be underestimated.

Shuya had never enjoyed sparring, but recently he had been itching for a fight- for the adrenaline rush that came with landing a punch and the addictive sense of control that followed it.

Against Endeavor he had never stood a chance, but against a man like this? Beating him wouldn’t even be a challenge. But unfortunately Shuya wasn’t stupid, and fighting a customer would be the dumbest possible thing he could do right now.

So with a huff, he reluctantly helped the man book his room, pointedly ignoring his smug expression as he made a big show of counting out the money, rambling endlessly about some kind of shady business deal he had made.

Shuya was fairly sure at this point that the hotel must be some kind of criminal refuge, based on the few snippets of conversation he’s heard outside, and through the walls of his room. 

The childish part of him almost found it scary, to be so close to people who wouldn’t hesitate to torture or even murder him. But he himself was one of those people now, so at least he knew they likely wouldn’t report him.

‘’Take the stairs on the right, your room is on the third floor.’’ Shuya said, handing the man his keycard, eager to be left alone again.

The man scoffed indignantly, shaking his head pettily, as if he’d been insulted somehow. ‘’Don’t you guys have an elevator?’’ he asked, eyeing the card in his hand with disdain.

Shuyas' patience was quickly plummeting into the minuses. ‘’No, we don’t-’’ 

The sensible part of his mind tried desperately to prevent him from talking, to shut up before he got himself into trouble, but this guy was just so damn annoying .

‘’-If you can’t walk one fucking minute to get to your room, I’ll give you a refund and you can sleep on the curb instead.’’ 

Ah, he had really screwed up this time. 

The anger had bubbled up, spilling over and into his words before he could yank it back into its place, and now he would be left to deal with the consequences yet again.

‘’What the fuck did you just say?’’ The man shouted, hands reaching over the reception and yanking Shuya up by his shirt, chair falling to the side as he pressed the tips of his shoes to the ground in an attempt to regain balance.

The man stayed deathly silent for a few moments, a clear challenge, giving the boy an opening- an opportunity to shut up and apologise.

But Shuya wasn’t Shoto anymore, he wasn’t the boy who would cower, begging for forgiveness as if it had ever been a solution, as if it could magically erase his mistakes.

He was Akuto Shuya now, and he wouldn’t grovel anymore, especially not to this prick.

‘’Are you deaf? I said that you should go sleep with the trash outside, you fucking assh-’’

The man's patience, similarly to Shuyas, seemed to finally run out. Shuya saw the fist coming, he was telegraphing his movements in painful clarity, and his punch was stupidly sloppy. 

But for some reason, Shuya didn’t dodge, and the fist met the side of his face, cutting off his next words. The impact wasn’t painful, but now that the man had started it, Shuya had an excuse to end it.

He Jumped over the table, knocking the man to the floor with a shout as he let go of Shuyas shirt. The boy stood up, snorting at the man who had unceremoniously landed on top of his suitcase, groaning from what had likely been an unpleasant impact.

Suddenly, Zushis familiar voice called out, alarmed as he rushed over. ‘’Fucking hell! Akuto what were you thinking?’’ he yelled, hurrying to help the man up from where he had fallen.

‘’I’m sorry about him, are you injured?’’ Zushi asks, moving away as the man brushes himself off, seemingly trying to maintain at least some dignity after being knocked flat by a thirteen year old.

Zushi turned around, glaring pointedly. ‘’Go wait in the back while I sort this out.’’ His tone left no room for argument, and Shuya nodded, turning around and walking quickly towards the staff break room.

The door creaked shut behind him as he entered the room which was quickly becoming familiar to Shuya, and he took a seat in one of two folding chairs, set up in the corner on either side of a similarly cheap table. His leg bounced with a mix of nervous energy and leftover adrenaline.

He had managed to control himself enough to not beat the man to a pulp, and he would be lying to say that seeing his smug face contort in shame wasn’t satisfying.

It hadn’t felt like enough, but at least the encounter had satisfied the itch that had been bothering him for days. How weird is it, that as soon as fighting isn’t demanded of him he seeks it out on his own?

He really is just like his father.

The door opens, hinges creaking with the motion. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground, relaxing his posture in an attempt to seem collected and unapologetic.

He hears sharp screeching as the chair opposite him is dragged across the tiles, and a huff as Zushi sits down heavily, eyes trained intensely on the boy in front of him. ‘’I’ll give you one chance to explain, Akuto.’’ He says, voice carefully level.

Shuya wondered if he could get away with lying, but Zushi had eyes that seemed to see right through him, so he doubted it would get him very far. He would easily wilt under the man's glare and give himself away.

He sighs, eyes shifting to the wall behind the man as he tries to organise the events in his head, grasping at the words to explain what had happened.

‘’He was whining about having to walk up a few stairs, and when I told him to shut up he didn’t take it well.’’ Shuya isn’t proud to admit his voice wavered a little.

Zushi sighs quietly and shakes his head, huffing as he crosses his arms and rocks the chair precariously on one leg. 

‘’Okay, I understand. But listen, it’s not a good idea to provoke guys like that, and if you do it again I’ll fire you without hesitation, you got that?’’ He looks back to Shuya, but this time the boy meets his eyes and nods.

The man seems to contemplate saying something else, but gives up, shaking his head as he drags a box of cigarettes out from his back pocket. 

The man lights it up with fire that makes Shouto flinch, an unwelcome reminder of the healing burn on his stomach, chafing uncomfortably against his bandages.

Shouto watches the smoke collect at the end of the cigarette, infusing the air with the smell of ash. Zushi noticed the boy's attention, and offers the packet out to him expectantly.

‘’I probably shouldn’t offer, but it might help to take the edge off.’’ He says, shaking the box, prompting Shuya to take one. The boy obliges, grabbing one in his shaking fingers, and stuffs it into his pocket as casually as he can manage.

He didn’t want to seem rude by not taking one, but he doesn’t plan on ever using it. 

Zushi stands up and pats him on the head a couple times, before telling him gruffly to get back to work. ‘’If that guy appears again, slip back here quietly and I’ll handle it.’’ He says, before shooing the boy away and back into the lobby. 

As the door closes behind him he coughs into his hand, the smoke is gone, but it feels good to cough, like a reminder that he can still breathe.

He begins walking back towards the reception, wincing at the scattered papers- he was just lucky that the technology was out of the way, unharmed by their scuffle. Zushi would have made him pay to replace them, and while it all looks insanely outdated, it would likely still cost a significant amount.

He is about to crouch down and start collecting the stray sheets, when he nearly jumps out of his skin after noticing a customer standing stock still in front of the desk. 

The man is slouched over, with long black hair and an unassuming grey jumper. Shuya can’t help but feel surprised, and somewhat nervous, that he hadn’t noticed him before. 

He’s usually impressively vigilant, easily picking up on the slightest twitch or sound, and yet he had failed to spot an entire person who had been standing so obviously in front of him.

He pushes down his trepidations and picks the seat up from where it had earlier fallen to the side, sitting down behind the reception after crouching down momentarily to pick up the discarded clipboard.

‘’Sorry to keep you waiting, what’s your name?’’ He asks, reaching across the desk to pick up a pen, hovering over the paper, waiting to begin writing.

The man shakes his head and holds up a hand. ‘’No, that’s alright. My name is Kotoi Saku.’’ He says, eyeing the paper sign which had fallen over. Shuya hurries to flip it back over, once again showcasing the crude message written by Zushi; cash only.

The man's eyebrows raise incredulously, and Shuya shrugs, pretending to understand what the man was trying to signal. 

He writes the name down in english- he wasn’t entirely sure why Zushi made it a habit, but chances are he had some kind of reason, so he had been going along with it.

The man shifts, drawing Shuyas attention back to him as he places the pen down atop the clipboard. ‘’Aren’t you kind of young to be working here? Where are your parents?’’ He asked, his voice was monotone, but failed to mask his concern.

Shuya had been asked similar questions a few times over the past week, and it still rubbed him the wrong way. He understood that he looked younger than he was, but it annoyed him to be treated like a little kid whose parents were out there missing him.

He decided to ignore the man's comment, trying his best to imitate Zushis glare from their first meeting. ‘’How long are you staying?’’ He asked, voice flat and tone bored. The man's eyes dart back towards the sign.

‘’Only tonight.’’ He answered, searching through the pockets of his loose black cargo trousers, likely trying to scrounge together his loose bills. Shuya nodded and listed off the price to him, taking the money and putting it away quickly.

‘’The stairs are to the right, third floor.’’ Shuya said, nodding in the stairwells direction. The man seemed to hesitate for a second, before shaking his head slightly and stalking off towards his room.

After doors swing shut, he gets to work collecting the loose papers from earlier, scattered around the desk messily. 

He couldn’t help but look forward to the end of his shift, deciding to forgo previous plans to buy some more food from that nearby konbini in favor of crashing into bed and sleeping for as long as his dreams would allow.

Chapter Text

The clear sky on the day I was born was so high, distant and endless.

A single thought came to Eraserhead, as he stood outside of the hotel for the first time.

‘How stereotypical.’

The building was in disrepair, and if it weren’t for the sign which boldly stated the establishment's nature in English, it would be easy to mistake it as an abandoned building.

Anybody passing by could easily spot just how shady it is. The kind of place that only attracts those with something to hide.

When he stepped inside, his initial impression was quickly proven correct. As the doors shut behind him, he was greeted with the sight of a man shouting at another, his clothes wrinkled and face red.

Eraserhead stood still by the entrance, assured that the wire attached to his jumper would pick up on any important information, content to stay quiet and watch things play out.

But luckily, or maybe unluckily, it was resolved less than a minute later, after the man who he assumed to be a member of staff successfully de-escalated the situation.

It took only a few interesting words for the enraged man to immediately sober, muttering out a halfhearted apology as he wandered off to the side.

The employee in question sighed defeatedly, before turning around and walking into a separate room, leaving Eraserhead alone in the lobby.

He hesitated momentarily, eyes darting around the enclosed space, searching for the blinking lights of cameras- or the telltale signs of a potential trap.

After feeling assured of his safety, he walked forward to stand before the front desk, and noticed that there were papers strewn around it messily. He eyed the door that the employee had left through carefully, listening for any signs of movement.

He felt confident that he wouldn’t be returning soon, so he got to work taking pictures of the scattered files. There were lists of names in what he assumed to be English, and a couple of documents which had many numbers sprawled over them.

Unfortunately, reading them would have to wait, as he heard footsteps moving towards the door and hurriedly dropped the file he had been in the middle of photographing. He returned to his position and stood lazily, as if he had been waiting undisturbed.

He had been expecting the man fro mearlier to emerge from the door, and was surprised when instead, a kid no older than thirteen walked out.

The boy had bright, distinctive red hair, with a pair of plain glasses and a black hoodie, which seemed about five sizes too big for him.

Seeing the kid instantly caused alarm bells to start ringing in his head, questions firing inside of his mind at a rapid pace. His instincts, carefully cultivated as a teacher, screamed at him that this couldn’t be right.

‘’Is this kid working here?’’

‘’Is somebody so young a criminal, or is he an oblivious civilian?’’

But unfortunately for the sake of this case, he knew he couldn’t ask such things without coming off as suspicious. With a heavy heart he proceeded to sign in, using the fake name assigned to him, crafted to protect his civilian identity.

His eyes returned to the young boy, and as he looked closer, he noticed a large scar adorning the left side of his face, surrounding a bright pink eye- possibly marring the skin right up to his hairline.

Despite his many years working as a pro hero, facing all kinds of horrors in the underground, it never hurts any less to see the remnants of such a painful injury scarring the face of a child.

It reminded him vaguely of the Todoroki boy who had disappeared several days ago. He had been keeping an eye out for him, but despite the searches across Japan, he had yet to reappear.

It was starting to look potentially grim to Eraserhead, who had dealt with runaways before. If they can’t be found within the first week, chances are they’ll come back traumatised, if they come back at all.

And with so many people searching for him, the fact that he had still managed to slip through the cracks and disappear certainly couldn’t mean anything good. Then again, it could be easily attributed to the small amount of details provided.

In fact, the public hadn't even been aware of Endeavors youngest child's existence until the recent report; which failed to provide any crucial information, such as his quirk, or even a picture of him.

There seemed to be such a lacking of data that it had inspired conspiracy theories, sceptics questioning if the kid was even real, or a coverup by the HPSC to distract from the fact that Endeavors murderer had yet to be found.

With a sigh, he directed his gaze back to the desk, eyeing a paper sign which had fallen over, attempting to distract himself from illogical thoughts related to a case he had nothing to do with.

He’d help create the file for this kid tomorrow, he could save the speculation until then.

The boy seemed to notice his staring, and hurried to pick the sign back up, a rather crude message sprawled on it, requesting cash only.

It would be suspicious, if this entire place wasn't already a red flag, but considering how shamelessly sketchy this entire business was, it came as no surprise that the staff and customers wouldn’t be interested in using things like credit cards.

Eraserhead raises an eyebrow, a silent question, and receives a non committed shrug in return. It would seem he wasn't the one to make that sign then, maybe the man from earlier?

When he prodded the boy about his parents, not so subtly digging for information, he was met with a wall of resistance.

As Eraserhead continued to ponder the situation throughout the day, an idea continued to plague him. What if this kid is associated with the owner of this hotel, his parents maybe? That would explain why he was working there.

But that would mean his parents are criminals at the very least, and villains at worst.

There would be a lot to discuss at their next meeting. Unfortunately it was looking as if he would dedicate even more time to this case than he had originally planned.

Thankfully there was some silver lining. At least he could sleep on the job.

—

‘’You have all reviewed the audio captured by Eraserhead on his mission several days ago, correct?’’ The detective asked the table, nursing a cup of coffee, looking even more dishevelled than he had last week.

After Eraserhead had signed into the hotel, he had spent the night trying to collect as much information on the other customers as possible.

He had overhead a couple different meetings taking place, mostly revolving around drugs- trigger, in particular. It seemed that many different manufacturers, dealers and gangs used the building as a neutral ground for shop talk.

The information gathered had been plentiful, and a lot more than they had expected for only his first mission; a reconnaissance one at that.

Unfortunately, when it came to the staff and owners running the operation, the results had not been so successful.

They had managed to pin a name to the young boy who seemed to be working there; Akuto. It was what the other employee, who they had yet to find a name for, had referred to him as.

Tomorrow a woman, known for her impressive quirk which could create a picture based solely on another's memory, would be meeting with him. After they had images to use as a reference, their attempts at identification would hopefully yield more positive results.

The detective himself seemed to be working tirelessly, splitting his attention between this and another, higher profile case he had been assigned to. Eraserhead winced in sympathy for the man, it would turn out that being well regarded at your job was not always a good thing.

And so it came as little surprise when he pulled Eraserhead to the side after the meeting, leading them back to his desk, which was currently drowning in an abundance of paperwork and files.

Tsukauchi smiled at him sheepishly as he rummaged through the mess, seemingly searching for something in particular. ‘’I’m sorry to ask this of you, Eraser, but I was wondering if you could do me a favour, it's for another case I was assigned yesterday.’’

Eraserhead took a moment, carefully considering it. He may be a workaholic, but even he had limits, and it would be illogical to overwork himself to the detriment of his other responsibilities.

‘’How much help would you need? I’m busy enough as is, between patrols, teaching and this other case we’re already working on. I don't have time for any other big projects.’’

He replies, leaning forward to grab a packet of sweets from the detective's desk, unashamedly helping himself. They  were close colleagues, and he knew the man well enough that he wouldn't mind.

The man in question shook his head in response, having finally tracked down the correct file.

‘’No, I just need help with a certain vigilante who has recently appeared in Yokohama. They’ve been causing us some trouble with their quirk, and they've already managed to escape multiple heroes by using it.’’

He was used to being specifically requested for cases like this one; it was somewhat common that he’d be directed to patrol areas for a time, with the intention of catching someone with a difficult quirk.

Yokohama was only a few hours away, which was part of the reason he had agreed to this other case in the first place. But if they wanted him to patrol there nightly in search of this vigilante, things might get difficult.

But with a sigh, he found himself reluctantly nodding. Hizashi would certainly dissaprove, but he'd always found it hard to say no when it came to hero work.

He could sleep on the train, he supposed.

—

The mantra repeated itself in Shuya's head, circling constantly and excessively- an unconscious and immediate response, attempting to calm himself down.

Because fucking shit- fucking shit, holy fucking shit.

A few weeks ago Shuya had first met the man who called himself Kotoi Saku. His first impression had been somewhat unpleasant, but not particularly memorable. But Shuya began to take note of him when he returned the following week.

And then again the next week, and then that weekend, and earlier this week as well.

There were many regulars at the hotel; in fact, the majority of their clients seemed to make a habit of it, as if it was a crucial part of their weekly routines to spend a few days holed up in some seedy hotel.

So Shuya hadn't originally thought that it was that strange for the man to be returning so often. But Zushi did.

‘’Let me know when he signs in, and if he asks any questions.’’ He had told Shuya the second time he had visited, sparking the boy's curiosity.

Zushi hadn't asked him for anything like that before, so clearly the man's sudden repeated visits concerned him for some reason.

Shuya had been quietly reading an old book lent to him by Zushi in his room after his shift, when he suddenly realised how hungry he was.

It was already dark outside when he checked, but the konbini nearby was open all night, so he didn’t think much of it when he set out, planning out what snacks he wanted to buy as he navigated the dark streets.

But, when he’d passed by an alleyway and heard the distinctive and memorable sound of bone breaking, or more accurately snapping, he found himself hiding behind a wall and peeking inside before he could think, desperate to locate the source of the noise- if only to put his mind at ease.

It failed to provide him such a relief, as he hadn't expected to see Kotoi Saku busy handcuffing another hotel regular, arm bent painfully, face pushed up against the grimy wall of the alleyway.

The boy quickly turned back around the wall, hiding himself from view.

shit- fucking shit, holy fucking shit. He thought, raising a shaky hand to cover his mouth in an attempt to muffle any sound escaping in his panic.

He desperately urged his body to move, to run away before the man caught him spying, but his legs were frozen still, body unmoving despite the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

He heard the sound of a phone snapping open, and flinched further into the wall he was leaning against, rocks pushing uncomfortably against his skin under the fabric of his hoodie.

‘’The villain has been successfully apprehended, yes, prepare a medic at the station please.’’

He spoke, voice deep and exhausted as Shoto heard the beep of the call ending.

Kotoi proceeded to take his leave. He dragged the so-called villain behind him through the alleyway, mercifully heading towards the exit Shoto was not currently hiding behind.

Shoto slowly slid down onto the pavement, wincing as the fabric of his joggers was caught by a stray shard of glass, cutting into his leg painfully.

Was that man a pro hero? Had he truly been so close to getting caught not just this time, but every moment that man had been in the hotel?

He had started to feel safe inside of that building, forgetting his worries and believing foolishly, naively, that he was finally free, and that he would continue to be. But a hero had managed to worm his way inside, what if he already knew Shotos true identity?

What if, at this very moment, the hotel was swarmed with police, bugged with cameras and microphones, preparing to pounce as soon as he returned.

These thoughts definitely weren’t helping his current panic, and breathing was quickly becoming harder, mind overtaken by fear and heart racing uncontrollably.

What should he do?

What could he do?

But no answer came, and his throat spasmed painfully- was he going to die?- unable to take in a single breath as his chest burned. His hands moved up, clawing at his throat in a desperate frenzy, aching to just breathe-

Just one breath could fix this- he was going to die, he was going to fail- and yet his body refused to cooperate.

He hit his head into the wall behind him, tilting his chin up as he grunted at the impact, the pain felt present yet far away.

The tight feeling in his chest lessened as he finally took in a shuddering breath, and then several more. As his ability to breathe returned to him, he became aware of the sound of sirens in the distance, and the blood under his nails.

He closed his eyes, arms sluggishly dropping with a thud to the ground.

He was exhausted.

His body felt so, so heavy. Would it be so bad if he took a quick nap, to rest before returning to the hotel- a walk which felt so horribly unappealing right now.

But he knew sleeping in such a position wasn’t an option. These streets weren’t safe, especially so late at night. He knew that he could handle himself if anybody bothered him, but the longer he went without using his quirk, the less desire he had to ever use it again.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the orange glow of the sky.

The sun was rising?

Had he fallen asleep? He slowly repositioned himself, sitting up straight as he removed his glasses from his face, rubbing his stinging eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He looked up to the sky again, over the surrounding buildings, to see bright orange and pink, the colours of sunrise.

He wasn’t good with time. It happened often that he would seemingly blink and hours had passed, day turning to night, and night turning to day before he could process it.

But something so drastic hadn’t happened since he had left his fathers house. Maybe he lost a few hours here and there, the mundane shifts blurring into a single instance of time, but something like this…

Perhaps he was too optimistic, but he had thought that he left this behind. That such a feeling was reserved for only Shoto, not Shuya.

How embarrassing, that he allowed something like this to happen for no good reason. His panic was unfounded.

So what if Kotoi was a hero? He would already be arrested if the man recognised him. The fact that he had signed into such a sketchy hotel likely meant he was corrupt, anyways, so what was there to be scared of? If he tried to sell Shuya out, the risk would be his own.

He stood up with a huff, the pain in his head doubling as his vision blacked out momentarily. He probably looked like a mess, Zushi was going to be pissed that he had managed to injure himself again.

He shook his body, attempting to get rid of any clinging dirt, and flexed his fingers before pressing the cool palm of his right hand to his temple, hoping to lessen his incoming headache, at least a little.

The walk back to the hotel felt longer than it typically did, his original quest for food long forgotten. His fingers were shaking horribly, weak from fatigue and hunger as he struggled to open the door.

He stumbled inside, eyes squinting in the sudden bright light. Zushi was nowhere to be seen in the lobby, and was probably in the staff room, slacking off or taking a break to smoke.

When Shuya had first met the man he had seemed pretty lazy and uncaring about his job. He had yet to be disproven.

His assumption was yet again proved correct as he leaned against the door, pushing his weight onto his shoulder to open it, and stumbling inside. Zushi was sitting in his typical chair, a book open in his hands and a can of beer sitting open on the table.

Upon seeing Shuya, though, he closed his book and put it to the side, focusing his full attention on the boy.

‘’Welcome back Akuto, who’d you fight this time?’’ He asked with a sigh, pointing towards the chair he had just been sitting in as he started shuffling towards a cabinet in the corner.

Shuya sat down as requested, relieved to no longer be standing on his shaking legs. ‘’A wall. I think I lost.’’ He said in his typical monotone, responding to Zushis earlier question.

The man huffed out an amused laugh as he gathered a small amount of medical supplies, just enough to keep anything from getting infected.

He tossed his small pile of gauze, and antiseptic wipes onto the table before pulling the other chair forward, angling it so he was sitting in front of Shuya.

‘’Where are you injured? The neck is obvious, but I need to know if you have anything else that needs dealing with.’’ He grumbles, picking up the wipes and getting to work disinfecting the skin of Shuya's neck.

He would have to be careful not to do something like this again, Shuya thought. It was surprisingly painful, and he winced everytime something so simple as the wind brushed past the wounds.

He’d had a multitude of burns before, to varying degrees, but he could never quite get used to the raw pain that came with a superficial one. It would seem he had accidentally inflicted something similar to himself by scratching, and it was deeply uncomfortable.

‘’My head, I think. I remember hitting it.’’ He says, trying his best to stay still as the bandages were applied over the sensitive wounds. His hands twitched with the effort.

Zushi nodded as he finished bandaging the boy's neck, leaning back in his chair as he motioned for Shuya to turn around.

The boy obliged, moving to sit with his legs draped over the sides of his chair, too tired to care about sitting in such a vulnerable position. It was strange, as the man had the kind of personality that would typically make him unapproachable, but he trusted Zushi.

He heard a hiss from behind him, and winced at the connotation. It didn't look great then.

‘’I’m guessing you’ll refuse if I ask you to go to the hospital?’’ He asked, mumbling under his breath incoherently.

Shuya simply shook his head in response.

The man seemed to hesitate, before sighing and standing up. Shuya heard the tap being turned on, and then turned off before he suddenly felt a cold cloth being pushed against the back of his head, the sudden sensation causing him to flinch embarrassingly.

‘’It probably isn’t life-threatening, so don’t worry. There are a couple minor cuts. It looked worse than it is because of the blood.’’ He says, proceeding to clean the boy's head, getting his hair wet in the process.

It was a relief, Shuya thought. He didn’t want to die, and if it was serious then he would have had to choose between that or being arrested and thrown in Tartarus. 

Both were extremely unappealing options.

Shuya turned back around in his chair, beginning to stretch his neck before feeling a sharp pain and thinking better of it, settling for stretching his arms instead, resulting in satisfying pops.

Zushi returned to the table after putting everything away (lazily tossing things into random cupboards) and thrust a box haphazardly at the boy, which very nearly hitting him in the eye if he hadn’t managed to catch it in time.

‘’Couldn’t you pass it to me? You just finished patching me up, would you really want to deal with a missing eye too?’’ He asked incredulously, assessing the box that was tossed at him. It seemed to be a brand called pocky, a kind of stick-shaped biscuit.

The man dragged his chair back to its original spot in the corner, metal legs screeching against the tile in a way so horrible it had Shuya rushing to cover his ears. The man had a habit of doing so, and the boy was starting to wonder if he had some kind of hearing impairment.

Zushi picked up his can of beer again, seeming to drink the remaining half of the can in seconds. Shuya would be lying to say it wasn’t impressive.

‘’You need to eat something, so take it. I was going to eat it for breakfast though, so the next time you’re at the store, you’d better buy me two boxes to make up for this.’’ He said, face planting into the table dramatically, as if he was too tired to keep sitting upright.

Shuya felt his mouth twitch upwards, and carefully opened up the box. Inside was a bag, containing a surprisingly generous portion of the snack, sticks coated with milk chocolate.

When he had lived with Endeavor, Shoto had never gotten to try food like this. If he was lucky enough to get snacks, they would be horrible-tasting protein bars, or simple things like rice crackers.

In the past few weeks he had gotten to try so many new things. Canned coffee, cola, crisps and biscuits… he hoped that one day he could say that he’d tried every type of food there is.

Maybe things weren’t perfect, but he’d fight to protect the life he had carved out for himself.

And if this mysterious hero stood in the way, well, he was already a villain afterall.

Chapter Text

Here, there are none of those children who have it so easy in life, either.

He barely manages to dodge the incoming fist, twisting out of the way in time as it swings through the air where his head had just been. He took the opportunity and kneed his attacker in the gut swiftly and with practised ease, knocking the boy to the ground.

With no time to regain his bearings, He hears shuffling from behind him, as the other teenager grabbed his knife, rushing towards Shuya, blade angled with the intention to stab him in the chest.

Luckily, the thugs' earlier injuries caused him to be careless and sloppy- and he was easily disarmed with a swift kick to the wrist, sending the knife clattering against the alley's wall before falling silently into a stray trash can.

‘’For fucks sake, dont you guys have anything better to do?’’ Shuya muttered under his breath, panting heavily from exertion as he bent down, placing shaky hands onto similarly trembling knees.

It felt distinctly pathetic, how weak he had become- how quickly those muscles that were painstakingly cultivated disappeared, leaving behind a boy with so little stamina he couldn’t run for more than five minutes without getting winded.

After his breathing evened out again, he stood back up with a huff, glancing down at the teenage boys who lay still on the grimy concrete. He had been wandering aimlessly through these sketchy alleyways when they had attempted to corner him, demanding that he hand over his money or possessions.

They deserved it, Shuya thinks, after all they had been the ones to pick a fight in the first place, right?

But as he looks down at them, he notes their skinny frames. They looked starving, with hollow cheekbones and greasy hair. He wonders if he would have been in a similar position to them, had he not thought to steal the money he had from his father, or come across the Hotel.

A hero would probably stay, and make sure that they were alright. A hero would offer them money, or some food, before advising them to be careful or go to the police for help.

Shuya turns around and walks away, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his best attempt at hiding the tremors currently wracking them so harshly.

When he arrived back home, he sighed dramatically as he flung himself down onto the freshly washed bedding. Zushis penchant for melodrama was starting to rub off on him.

The burn on his stomach had finally healed enough that it no longer required bandages, and the leftover bruises from Endeavor, and the one from that one customer, had all healed.

He can remember thinking that his fathers death would be the end of his injuries- that he might even get to feel what it was like to move painlessly, for the first time in his life. 

But new wounds continued to replace old ones.

It made him feel sick, trying to understand his own twisted thought process. Why did he let himself get injured in those fights? Both today, and with that customer. He could have dodged; should have dodged, and yet took the hits anyways.

Was there something wrong with him?

Every time he steps out of the shower, and looks at the array of purple bruises, the cuts and burns marring his body, he feels satisfied.

He rolls over on his bed, hands gripping the fluffy sheets as his eyes drift over to his desk, glancing towards the small stash of food he had accumulated over the past few weeks.

He wasn’t particularly hungry, and he had no desire to eat. Chewing was exhausting, and the novelty of new flavours quickly lost its intrigue after the first week of experimentation.

He couldn’t remember if he had eaten today, but maybe it would help distract his mind from running rampant. Lately, he’s gotten lost in his head often for some reason. How annoying, that he can’t even control his own mind.

He moves his heavy body sluggishly over to his chair, sitting down silently as he bends over and places his head atop his arms. 

He moved his eyes over to look at the pile of food, blowing hair from his face in an effort to clear his vision. Maybe he should cut his hair soon, the front at least. Endeavor would hate how long his hair was getting.

He remembers that when he was younger he had wanted his hair to be longer, so he looked more like his mother. Endeavor quickly caught onto his attachment, and used it to his advantage. For every day that Shoto met the man's seemingly impossible standards in training, he would allow him to go without a haircut.

Slowly the days that Endeavor was happy with his progress dwindled, until Shoto gave up on his dream of having long hair altogether.

Maybe he would never cut it again, just to spite him. He’d let it grow so long it touched the floor. It would get in the way, and it might cost more money to afford enough shampoo, but no matter what, just picturing the look of annoyance that would paint his fathers face at the sight of it would be worth it.

It’s a shame that he would never get to see that expression on the man's face again.

With a huff he reaches over the desk, picking out a plastic cup of crisps, ‘Jagarico’ was what the cashier had called them when they had been recommended to him.

Maybe he could try to find something else that can occupy him when bored. His manga and borrowed books were nice, but failed to distract him from his thoughts.

Zushi didn’t seem to think about anything very often, so maybe he would have some recommendations? Or maybe he’s just the kind of person that’s too busy running from his responsibilities to get bored.

The crisps were shaped into sticks, and made a loud crunching sound when he bit into one. 

His nose wrinkled, and he slid the cup away from him on the desk. They tasted strange, and the texture felt scratchy on his tongue. It was quickly becoming too much effort to bother eating them.

He stood up and collapsed back into his sheets again instead. The warm, soft bed was too inviting, and he had no motivation left to resist it. 

Maybe sleeping could be his new hobby.

—

‘’Psst- Shoto!’’ 

There's a boy with white hair waving at him, head peeking cautiously through his bedroom door, as if to reassure himself it would be safe to continue.

When his eyes meet Shotos, they go wide and his face breaks into a large, toothy smile.

His eyes are grey, like mothers. He knows this boy must be Natsuo, his brother.

Shoto tilts his head to the side, a silent question. ‘’Natsuo-san? What are you doing here?’’ he asks, removing himself from the comfort of his futon and sliding the door open for the other to enter.

The boy pouts, but wanders inside. ‘’San? There’s no need to be so formal, I’m your brother! Call me Natsuo-nii!’’ he says, shaking his head, exasperated. 

‘’I’m sorry, Natsuo-nii.’’ Shoto replies, head bent down in an attempt to hide his face from the other. He was horrible, to insult his brother the first time they spoke. Maybe he would never speak to Shoto again now.

Natsuos eyebrows raise in alarm, and he waves his hands around infront of him. ‘’No! That’s okay Shoto, don’t apologise, you can call me Natsuo-san if you want to!’’ He responds, as if attempting to placate him.

Shoto nods in response, and watches as the other walks around his small room. Shoto wonders if he’s looking for something, as he comments on anything and everything he sees, filling up the typically silent room with nervous chatter.

Shoto blinks and finds the two of them sitting up against a wall together, his hands in Natsuo's snowy white hair. 

‘’I wish I had hair like yours, Natsuo-nii. Maybe then mother wouldn’t have been scared of me.’’ The boy says, eyes downcast as his hands idly play with the surprisingly fluffy locs.

Natsuos breath hitches, and he lets out what Shoto thinks is a laugh before turning around, sitting on his knees so he’s once again taller than the younger brother. 

‘’Shoto, when you get older, you can always dye your left side to be white!’’ He says, smiling happily at his younger brother, but his eyes don’t match his enthusiasm.

Shoto tilts his head again, but Natsuo responds by simply mirroring the action. ‘’Dye?’’ He asks, prompting the other to explain, wondering how it could be used to turn his hair white.

His brother shakes his head fondly. ‘’You can buy it to change your hair colour, magic, right?’’ He asks, ruffling Shotos hair before standing up.

Natsuo was tall, but not in the same way as father. He nods and Natsuo seems to hesitate before walking towards the door, turning around as he steps outside the room.

‘’I’ll try to come back tomorrow, okay? And I’ll bring you a present!’’ He says cheerily, before sliding the door shut.

—

Shuya is sitting on the curb outside of the konbini, a can of coffee in his right hand as he watches the breath that leaves his mouth dissipate in the cold morning air. 

Weeks ago, the cashier had begun recommending food to him. He had seemed to take note of the fact that Shuya would wait until another person entered, and copy their order, and took it upon himself to instruct the young boy on which brands, and flavours, where best.

It had become a game for them; Shuya would visit at the same times every week, and the employee would smile widely, and duck behind the counter before emerging with a bag filled with multiple different snacks and drinks.

There had been some good recommendations, and some horrible. Today, he had offered Shuya a free can of coffee, stating that he looked as if he needed it.

Clearly, the man was wrong. He forced himself to ignore every instinct screaming otherwise to take another small sip, as he had been doing for the last thirty minutes, and yet the can seemed neverending. What an inventive form of torture this was.

The taste was abhorrent, bitter and wholly disgusting. He felt his nose wrinkle in distaste with every sip, but it was free after all, and it would be a waste not to drink it.

He sighed and adjusted his position, moving his right arm from its place folded over his legs to hold the can far away from him, as if the distance would spare him from its wrath.

He spots a pair of beaten blue trainers and black jeans emerge from the corner of his eyes, and turns his head up to look at their owner.

It was a boy who looked around the same age as him, with wild purple hair and eye bags which rivalled his own. He was looking hopefully at the can tucked in Shuyas cold fist, as if he could steal it with willpower alone.

Well, he hardly wanted it anyways, Shuya thought as he lifted the can up for the other boy to take. The kid hesitated, seeming to have a battle in his head before giving in and taking the can, nodding his head gratefully as he sat down on the curb.

‘’Thank you. You’re too young for coffee.’’ The boy says, with a surprisingly deep voice, chugging the aforementioned drink as if it were a lifeline.

Shuya scoffed and rolled his eyes at the other. ‘’We’re probably the same age anyways.’’ He mutters, glaring at the others trainers, unwilling to take his eyes off of him, despite having the desire to do so.

‘’No way! I’m thirteen and seven months old, you can’t be older than eleven.’’ He says indignantly, seeming to have taken some offence for a reason that Shuya can’t fathom.

The can of coffee is placed on the pavement behind him with a clink as he hums contently, seemingly over his anger in mere seconds. What a strange boy.

‘’I’m thirteen.’’ Shuya says, not even attempting to hide the annoyance in his tone. He knew that he should probably be bigger for his age, but his growth spurt would be coming soon, his father had said.

The boy raised an eyebrow incredulously, and squinted as if trying to reevaluate the fellow teenager in front of him, searching for any indication that they are truly the same age. ‘’The girls in my class are bigger than you.’’ He responds flatly, as if that simple statement automatically disproved Shuyas claims.

He was starting to get angry with this kid, and grabs the bag sitting beside him before standing up, trying his best to seem casual and not hurried as he walks away.

Hopefully he wouldn’t run into him again, what an annoying prick.

—

Kotoi Saku hadn’t checked in since the day Shuya saw him beating that man in an alleyway. He had made it a routine to arrive late every Tuesday afternoon, and Shuya couldn’t tell if his absence the next day made him feel relieved or nervous.

But, when Saturday rolled around, the man returned, like clockwork. Kotoi Saku checked in early, looking somewhat worse for wear. 

His eyes were red, and his face was twisted as if he was holding back a grimace. Shuya clenched his knuckles and averted his gaze from him.

‘’What happened to your neck?’’ The man asks suddenly, disturbing Shuya from his thoughts. 

Shuya had almost forgotten about the bandages at this point; which were largely unnecessary due to the wounds from his nails having long since healed, but he continued to wear them to hide the indents anyways.

He shook his head and yet again gave his best imitation of Zushis glare through his bangs. It didn’t seem to have any effect on the man though, who simply ignored it and took the keycard from Shuyas outstretched hand. 

He watches Kotoi like a hawk as he walks up the stairwell yet again, and tries to settle his nerves by reminding himself of the fact that the man wasn’t likely to risk exposing himself whilst turning Shoto in, and so he had nothing to worry about.

‘’It would seem that the illusive Kotoi is getting back on schedule.’’ Zushi exclaims, whistling as he moves to stand next to Shuya behind the reception, leaning his arms on the desk leisurely. Shuya was tempted to ask the man how he could also learn to whistle, but refrained from it. 

He nods in response, picking up the manga he had been busy re-reading prior to being disturbed

Zushi is silent for a few seconds, before tapping on Shuyas shoulder, attempting to gain his attention. The boy is tempted to tap his shoulder in return, or roll his eyes at the childish attempt to distract him. 

Unfortunately he seems to take Shuyas silence in stride, and simply leans his head down onto the desk, managing to look close to falling asleep despite what was surely an uncomfortable position. ‘’So,’’ The man begins, petering off into silence for a further few seconds.

Shuya was beginning to tire of the man's hesitance. Zushi can be threatening when he wants to be, and has a cold glint in his eyes dangerous enough to strike fear in the heart of any man. But the more that Shuya got to know him, he realised just how painfully awkward the man is.

‘’What?’’ Shuya bites out finally, glaring with as much venom as he can conjure up, only to be met with a bemused smirk. He really needed to work on his intimidation. ‘’You seem to have a lot of time to spare, despite my best attempts.’’

He doesn’t understand what Zushi is getting at, and furrows his eyebrows, attempting to sharpen his glare, only to startle a laugh out of the man instead. How humiliating, to be laughed at by somebody hardly any less pathetic than himself.

Shuya huffed, before rolling his eyes, attempting to feign indifference. ‘’What are you getting at, Zushi?’’ He had long since dropped the honorifics, giving up on faking any respect for the man.

‘’Have you thought about your education? You’re a smart kid, you could do well at school if you gave it a chance.’’ He responds, glancing away as if he was embarrassed to be asking.

Shoto had been receiving his education from tutors and Endeavor from a young age, and had never attended a school. Once Endeavor had deemed his knowledge of subjects such as maths, English, and Japanese to be adequate, he devised his own curriculum focused only on information he deemed ‘useful’ for heroics.

But Shoto was already learning, right? Everyday he learnt new things about the functions of the world, which would surely serve to be more useful to his future than anything Endeavor had bothered to teach him.

And he wasn’t sure where he would begin when it came to academics. He had no tutor, and no guidance, he wasn’t even sure what he would want to learn. 

And anyways- he was a villain. School was for normal kids, who didn’t murder their parents, and who deserved that kind of ordinary happiness. Something like that wasn’t meant for him, not anymore.

‘’No, I can’t go to school.’’ He says, hoping to end Zushis line of questioning there. And yet, the man persisted, moving to slide down the side of the desk, and sitting on the floor, as if he had even lost the will to stand.

Zushi put a hand to his chin, as if in thought. The action reminded him of the kind lady from the train station from over a month ago. He hoped that she hadn’t reported him to the authorities if she saw his missing poster.

‘’What about online schooling? You can sign up for classes, and they give you work to do. You would probably need a laptop, but if it’ll keep you occupied during work, and stop you from doing that creepy-ass zombie impression, I might be willing to scrounge up the funds.’’

He replies, off-handedly as if it was no trouble at all. Shuya finds himself wondering what a laptop is, but thinks better than to ask, he can google it later. 

Shuya sighs heavily, dramatically, and in clear imitation of his employer before responding. ‘’I’ll think about it.’’ He says, hoping against hope that this will finally dissuade Zushi from bothering him further.

‘’Also, have you bought my pocky yet? You still owe me, you know.’’

—

The next morning, when Kotoi emerged from his room yet again in the early hours of the morning, he dropped a mysterious plastic bag onto the corner of the front desk.

‘’It’s for you.’’ He said simply, before leaving quickly, and offering no explanation for the bizarre behaviour. Shuya felt somewhat nervous about looking through the bag, for fear of it being some sort of trap, or a bomb.

He winced when his hand met the cheap plastic, and it rustled under his touch with a noise which had never sounded so aggravated before.

He takes a deep breath before opening it.

Inside are a few rolls of bandages, an assortment of antiseptic products, an unopened bottle of water and a packet of strawberry pocky.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

I’m at fault for my life, I think back to that each and every time.

The plastic bag had been sitting on the desk since Kotoi had left, serving as a constant source of irritation.

Shuya knows that he should toss it in the bin already; but if it's bugged or rigged to explode then he can hardly just drop it into the breakroom, right?

He sits for hours, glaring at it, before Zushi finally returns from his trip outside. His left knuckle is bruised.

‘’I leave you alone for a day and you’ve managed to make an enemy of a plastic bag.’’ He observes, condescendingly. Asshole.

Zushi walks up to the desk and messes up the boy's hair- much to his irritation- before walking over to examine the bag for himself. 

After looking inside, he smiles brightly, before diving in and snatching up the packet of pocky, and pulling out a biscuit, eating it quickly before Shuya can get a word in. 

He starts speaking, in the most patronising tone possible. ‘’How sweet of you to finally remember to pay me back after a week of hoping, wandering, when oh when will Akuto-’’

‘’Kotoi left that bag for me while checking out.’’ The boy interrupts.

Zushi quickly spits the offending biscuit out, before throwing the box back down as well. ‘’Give a guy some warning, won’t you?’’ He grumbles, before picking up the bag and walking back outside, likely heading to throw it out in some random trash can.

It’s strange, because even though Shuya had been planning to do that exact thing, it still irritates him that Zushi would take it without asking. It was gifted to him after all.

When the man returns, neither of them say another word about it, and he simply sighs before walking into the break room, likely going to smoke.

What were Kotois intentions, anyway? Had it been some misfounded act of pity?

Or maybe, it was an attempt to bribe him. If the man had seen him Last week, it would be logical to assume Shuya would either warn Zushi or even report him to the police.

Unfortunately for the man, Shuya had seen no reason to keep it a secret from his boss, and had told him the next day. Zushis response was confusing, and he’s made a habit of leaving the hotel every day during Shuyas shifts since then.

He knows that the man is hiding something from him, and he’s torn between being grateful for the plausible deniability it gives him, and frustrated that he’s left in the dark about something that might be important for his own safety.

But for some reason, he wants to trust that Zushi knows best. He doesn’t truly want to know why Zushi leaves for hours at a time and returns with injuries, afterall.

Sometimes, it’s best to be left in the dark.

— 

Earlier, he had managed to get into yet another fight with some thugs that had been pestering him. The teenagers had been easily defeated- a sweep of the leg and a jab to the throat was all it took to incapacitate them.

And yet, unfortunately, he hadn’t predicted the knife quirk until it was ripping through his face. Zushi told him that it would scar. Shuya isn’t sure how he feels about that.

The man had then ordered him to go to the konbini, to pick him up some snacks, as payment for ‘patching up his dumbass.’ 

And so, Shuya had left, after some half-hearted arguments about ‘exploitation’ and ‘not being a servant.’

But unfortunately, upon arriving at the store, he spotted the same scruffy teenager that he had the annoyance of meeting a couple weeks ago.

And worse still, the boy isn’t shopping alone.

He is accompanied by a young woman, she's tall for a girl and about a head taller than the boy, with similarly lavender-coloured hair cascading down the back of her dress. They’re standing in the aisle for groceries, arguing about which loaf of bread to buy. 

Is that his mother?

Shuya has to fight the urge to duck behind the shelves so they can’t spot him, or run out of the store altogether, but doing so would be far too embarrassing for him to stomach. 

No, he wasn’t going to cower because of some two-bit wannabe delinquent. If it came to it, he could defeat that lanky boy in a fight with no trouble.

And so he walks past them at a brisk, yet casual pace, heading for the checkout where he can see the employee, Itou, is already waving him over. 

‘’Aku! We just got in a shipment of snacks from Europe. They’re a little pricey, but surprisingly good.’’ He says excitedly, already placing a few different packets atop the counter, prompting Shuya to pick which looks the most interesting.

Thanks to Itou, he has already made a habit of buying more food than he can eat, and his collection was quickly growing out of control. And so he pointed at only a simple chocolate bar, seeing no reason to waste money on snacks he might not like.

Itou nods his head hesitantly, as if disappointed, but packs it into his typical plastic bag anyways.

Shuya hands over the money requested, which is likely less than the actual cost, before grabbing the bag from the counter. ‘’Thank you, Itou-san.’’ He says shortly, eager to leave.

The purple-haired boy is still standing with the woman, and he walks past them quietly- not in an attempt to escape unseen, he just doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. 

‘’Hitoshi, what about this? You can take it to school for lunch tomorrow?’’ the woman asks, pointing towards a can of coffee, much to the boy's, ‘Hitoshis ,’ excitement. 

Ah, that’s right. 

That kid, Hitoshi, got to have a mother and go to school. He was a normal kid, one with a face unmarred and a bright future ahead of him.

Shuya had no right to look down on somebody like that, a boy with a value higher than he can ever have. He finds himself ducking behind the shelves thoughtlessly, listening in on their conversation.

Hitoshi moves to grab a can from the fridge, when the woman swats at his hand. ‘’That one has too much caffeine, you’ll stunt your growth that way.’’ She lectures, and yet she still sounds fond, loving .

Shuya wonders if his mother ever spoke to him in that tone. He can’t remember anymore.

Hitoshi sighs, but relents, and grabs a can which she approves of with a swift nod- before she moves to grab the drink she had just forced the boy into giving up. ‘’Hypocrite.’’ The boy says sharply, glaring at her. She simply smiles in response, tucking the cans into their basket. 

‘’Unlike you, I’m a fully fledged grown up! When you’re my age, I’ll let you rot your brain with this shit, I promise.’’ She responds, before they begin moving towards the checkout.

Hitoshi scoffs. ‘’As if you have any brains left to rot.’’ She huffs in indignation, and bumps his shoulder with her fist gently. ‘’Rude! And worst of all inaccurate. I’m in college, afterall, and-’’

He doesn’t hear the rest of the argument, as the door slides shut behind him.

—

‘’Okay, old man, I don’t know why you keep dropping these shitty bags off, but it stops now. ’’ Shuya barks out, standing up as he glares up at the man in question. 

His stature hardly helps with the intimidation factor, but he has to work with what he has here. This is the third time Kotoi has tried to give him medical supplies, and while at first it was suspicious, now it’s just plain creepy.

Kotoi hesitates before sighing and moving to drop the bag onto the desk again, an action which Shuya hastily moves to prevent with an outstretched arm. ‘’Think of them as a tip.’’ He responds simply, as if that explains anything.

‘’Well I dont want your tips, just fuck off already!’’ He yells, losing his temper.

He was angry - the enraged feeling claws through his throat relentlessly, painful in its intensity. He’s angry, because nothing makes sense anymore, because nobody makes sense . 

It’s his fault, everything is his fault, but he just can’t handle that, and right now he can’t handle Kotois cryptic actions and stupidly blank face. 

‘’Why can't you just leave me alone? I don’t need pity from some homeless vigilante- just stop. ’’ His voice cracks, yelling is already hurting his throat and distantly he can hear stomping from a room above them, likely a disgruntled customer.

Kotoi seems mildly disturbed by his outburst, and hesitates before finally retracting the bag. ‘’I’m sorry, I was concerned about your health. I won’t buy supplies without asking again, but if you ever need anything, I’m willing to help.’’

He bows deeply in apology, before shuffling out of the door, surprisingly unbothered after being yelled at. 

Shuya can feel his face twitching in annoyance, and he huffs before sitting down again, kicking the desk in a half-hearted attempt to vent his frustrations. 

—

Zushi is lying down on the new couch he had found for the breakroom. It was ratty and a pretty abhorrent green, but the man seemed pleased with himself when Shuya woke up and spotted the monstrosity, bragging about having lifted it inside without any help.

Shuya has suspicions that he had found it abandoned inside of an alleyway. Surely no shop would sell something that looked so worn. The boy kicks his feet, sitting atop the pleasantly cold countertop and wondering what Zushi had wanted to talk about.

He had been busy with laundry when the man had suddenly appeared, asking Shuya to come ‘hang out’ in the breakroom for a chat.

But it's been ten minutes now, and the man continues to waste his time, stating so eloquently that he’s too comfortable to be arsed moving.

‘’Have you given any thought to schooling yet, Akuto-kun?’’ Zushi speaks suddenly, startling Shuya as he hits his head painfully on the cabinet above him in surprise.

The man laughs at him from the couch, head tilted up to observe as Shuya hops down, rubbing the place he had bumped his head in an attempt to lessen the ache. ‘’Yes, and it’s a no.’’ He responds shortly, sitting down on his claimed chair, pulling his shoes up to sit on the edge, uncaring about dirtying the cheap plastic furniture. 

‘’I don’t want to pull the boss card on you, kid, but you need to give me a reason at least . I’m spending a lot of money on medical supplies, and I’d really prefer that you get a healthy hobby that doesn’t involve fighting random street rats.’’ 

It’s not like Shuya had ever asked Zushi to take care of his injuries after a fight. It’s his own fault that he keeps offering, really. 

But Zushi asked for an explanation, and Shuya really doesn’t want to go to school. ‘’There’s no point in it. I’m not a normal kid anymore, and I’ll… never have a career or anything.’’ He says hesitantly, pulling his arms around his legs defensively. 

The man is silent for a few seconds before sighing and falling out of view on the couch. ‘’I get that, but not everything has to have some kind of bigger purpose. If you can fight- simply because you want to, why can’t that apply to school? You’re thinking too much.’’ he finishes, sitting up again and lighting another cigarette. 

He understands what Zushi means, but it doesn’t feel the same. Fighting, it feels good, it feels like progress- training, a fortification of skills which are now necessary to him. He needs to know how to defend himself, he doesn't need to learn, or go to school.

But if it’s bothering him so much to call this impromptu meeting, then maybe it would be okay. He has free time to kill, anyways, and if it’ll get Zushi off his back, then maybe it’s okay to pretend, even if just for a little while.

‘’Okay, but I’m not going to pay for anything, you want me to do this, it’s your responsibility.’’ 

Zushi makes a noise of indignation, but agrees. ‘’I have a... friend who’s good with this kind of crap, I’ll ask him to sort out a course online for you. It might take a few weeks, and this isn’t an excuse to slack off, alright?’’ he chides.  

The man stands up from the couch, and walks over to sit down in the other plastic chair. He holds a cigarette out to Shuya, whilst lighting his own. ‘’I don't like smoke.’’ the boy says. 

‘’It’s good to smoke, it takes the edge off. Give it a shot, and if you don't like it, I won’t ask again, yeah?’’ he asks, grinning expectantly as he shakes the offered cigarette around. 

Shuya hesitates, but takes it, holding it out to be lit with the man's lighter. It passes his mind that he could probably light it with his quirk. He watches the other man smoking, and tries to mirror the actions, lifting the stick to his mouth and inhaling.

‘’Fuck what the hell-’’ Shuya coughs out, throat spasming as his eyes water. Cigarettes were horrible , he can still feel the smoke in his mouth, in his lungs, and it burns. 

Zushi starts laughing, as he takes the offending object from the boys hand, crushing the end into the table, uncaring about dirtying the surface with ashes, as he continues to exhale smoke with his own.

‘’Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it eventually, kid.’’ 

—

The sun was starting to set in the sky, leaving behind a trail of magical, bright colours. Vibrant pink and purple hues peak out from behind the row of abandoned houses, sitting on the street in front of him.

Shuya is messing around with a random cigarette he stole from Zushi, he has no intention to smoke it, he just wants something to play with.

He moves the cigarette between his fingers in a pattern, holding it between his index and middle fingers, then the ring, and then rolling it back to its original position, tapping it three times before repeating the cycle. 

It was calm, sitting on the curb and watching the sunset. 

Fuyumi has probably finished work by now, but Natsuo never returned until the sky was dark. If father were alive, they would be training, unless his patrol ran late. 

He had been checking the internet for updates on the case today. Someone has been arrested for Endeavors murder, a foreigner whose name starts with ‘Lev’ but Shuya can't remember the rest.

A hero would probably turn themself in, so that an innocent man doesn’t take the fall for his crime. A hero would take the consequences of their actions with dignity. But Shuya can't help but feel stupidly relieved, it’s villainous, but he is a villain.

He hears a scoff from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. ‘’Smoking is lame as hell. Are you trying to look cool?’’ It’s that same teenager, Hitoshi. 

Shuya doesn’t really feel like talking to him right now, or talking at all. He wishes there was a way to ask him to fuck off without having to move his mouth to say it. ‘’Go away, I don’t want to talk to you. Shouldn't you be at school?’’ He asks, hoping that pointing out the kids truancy will get him to back off .

‘’What do you mean? It’s nearly seven o’clock, school ended hours ago. Are you homeschooled or something?’’ he asks, inviting himself to sit down next to Shuya on the curb, legs kicked out leisurely.

He supposed that he was homeschooled. But if school had ended hours ago, then why did Natsuo always return home so late? ‘’I guess so.’’ He says shortly, internally debating if he should just walk away, despite how comfortable he had been prior to the intrusion. 

The boy hums, seemingly running out of things to question, or insult. ‘’Can I buy you something to drink? You gave me that coffee last time, so I owe you.’’ He says, scratching the back of his neck as he averts his gaze. 

Shuya didn’t really have a specific drink that he wanted, he usually just took whatever Itou recommended. Choosing for himself felt like too much effort. 

‘’Just buy me anything, not coffee.’’ He asks, tucking the cigarette into his pocket. The boy nods silently, and Shuya can hear the door sliding open, and shut behind him.

The colours of the sky was only growing more vibrant as time dragged on, and would probably grow red with the hues of sunset soon. He should return to the hotel before then, probably. 

Behind him the door slides open, and then shut again, he hears the sounds of the other boys' worn trainers hitting against the pavement as he crouches down beside him, holding out a small bottle of green tea. 

‘’It was on sale. Now we’re even.’’ He comments, before he sits back down, cracking open his can of coffee eagerly.  

He doesn’t talk again, and Shuya is content with the silence in the absence of his voice. The sky slowly turns into a vibrant mix of red and orange, casting its warm glow upon the surroundings. 

‘’I need to head home now, or my sister will worry.’’ The boy says suddenly, and Shuya turns his head to see him holding both of their empty cans.

He sees no reason to respond, but ‘Hitoshi’ continues to stand there, as if waiting for acknowledgement. Shuya also sees no reason to give the boy any ideas to bother him again, and he lets him stand there silently before he slowly, and awkwardly, takes his leave with a lazy wave.

Shuya huffs and turns his head back to the sky. Orange had always felt too intense, too suffocating to feel relaxing. Orange meant fire, it meant sweat and pain. 

But this warmth doesn’t feel so bad.

Chapter Text

I saw a spark of dim hope in the light, generated just now.

‘’The man responsible for Endeavor- the number two hero of Japan's murder- has finally been arrested-’’ 

No matter how many times he listens, the words won't make sense. 

‘’Levvy James, a foreigner from Australia. The man likely used his quirk, chameleon, to sneak undetected into Endeavors family home-’’ 

It feels so distant. These words, this situation, feels so distant and incomprehensible. 

‘’It has been discovered that many years ago, Endeavor arrested the man's sister, Levvy Addison. Could he have truly killed the number two hero? It’s looking more and more likely as-’’

He should feel something from these words, surely.

Guilt, anger, despair. Anything would be better than this...

He plays the video again. ‘’A foreigner from Austra-’’

And again. ‘’Endeavor arrested the man's sister, Levv-’’

And again. ‘’Could he have truly killed the number two hero?’’

Levy James, a man was in jail, on trial because of him. His life was ruined because of him. Wasn’t this akin to taking his second victim? His actions had caused another life to be lost, and worse still, this time, he had no convenient excuse.

And yet, despite knowing that, he doesn’t feel anything. Guilt, anger, despair, no- if he feels anything…

He feels relieved.

Can he even call himself a human anymore? Is it really okay, to keep on living like this?

…Maybe he’ll just go to sleep.

—

Visiting the hotel had quickly cemented itself as a part of his weekly schedule. He wasn’t so naive as to let his guard down when in the establishments vicinity, but he couldn't deny the tentative calm which washed over him when making the journey every Saturday.

Hizashi was opposed, to begin with. It was only rational to react in such a way if your partner is giving away his weekends in order to infiltrate a potentially dangerous operation. 

But when he had asked his husband what he could do to make the situation easier on him; his response had been surprisingly reasonable. 

‘’Sho, I understand this is important to you, but confide in me, yeah? I want to know what's going on, I don’t like being left in the dark.’’

And so, he obliged. Once he had begun giving Hizashi updates, things calmed down. In fact; the man seemed ecstatic to hear his weekly reports, for whatever reason. 

His newfound routine was a simple one. He would arrive at the hotel, set up his recording devices discreetly, patrol the area and then return during the prime socialisation hour for the clientele.

At one point he might have found it tiring, but in comparison to teaching? It almost felt like meditation. 

Right now, he was standing in the hallway on the third floor, with two casual acquaintanceships he had made during prior visits. 

The two villains were hardly good company, but are prone to gossiping. It felt somewhat shameful, to be chatting about such frivolous things with the criminals he was typically employed to catch, but there is no room for pride when lives may hang in the balance. 

‘’Isn’t the receptionist a child? I wonder why he’s employed here, of all places.’’ He wonders out loud, feigning indifference as he leans casually against the wall, a cigarette clasped between his fingers.

The man who went by Kusari nodded his head slowly, the chain around his neck rattling with the movement. ‘’Oh yeah, he’s the new one. Not sure what his deal is, boss probably found him to replace that other guy.’’ 

Kusari seems thoughtful, as if trying to recall something. ‘’The other guy?’’ Eraserhead prompts. This was the closest he had gotten to a lead after ten minutes of mind numbing chatter, and he’d be damned if he let it go without a fight. 

The other villain, Noshin, with bright blue feathers for hair, perked up from his position atop a stray stool. He was always eager to share any information he felt to be ‘secret,’ and prided himself as an informant. 

‘’You haven't heard? Before the kid, Boss had this other brat, bright green hair and a real nasty attitude. He was around for years; a pain in the ass, that was for sure. A few months ago he vanished, and then that boy appeared soon after.’’ 

The man finished talking, smiling smugly, as if he was somebody particularly impressive for knowing such mundane information. 

But Eraserhead had to admit that it was intriguing. ‘’Does anybody know where he disappeared to? Or where this new kid came from?’’ He asks, voice carefully balanced between ‘interested’ and ‘relaxed.’ 

Noshins feathers flap a little, and he seems to carefully consider his words for the first time since Shota met him. ‘’Well there are rumours… that the Mazoku got to him. But, I don’t see what they’d want that guy for.’’ He shook his head, as if simply voicing his denial was not nearly enough.

‘’But that kid? No, nobody really knows anything. He gets the job done, that’s all that matters.’’ Kusari comments nonchalantly. ‘’Boss’d get real pissy if we tried to meddle, anyways. He’s always been real protective of his little workers.’’ He sneers, purple eyes rolling.

The rest of the night was fairly typical after that. They parted ways after a mercifully short twenty minutes, spent debating over the newest episode of some show they had both been watching. For villains, they cared an awful lot about crimes against their beloved characters.

But, the information gained had been worth it. 

The Mazoku … not much is known about them. From what he can recall, they are spread out throughout the country and have control over a surprising amount of Central Japan. Eraserhead himself has never worked with a member, or even met one, but not once have they impeded his work.

If you look at the facts, logically, they are one of the best criminal organisations in Japan. They’ve even been known to lend aid to heroes on occasion. 

And yet the talk surrounding them amongst criminals is disturbing, to say the least.

Kidnapping, assassination, torture and even quirk trafficking.... These rumours about what should, by all means, be an agreeable group would make no sense, not unless it was at least partially true.

But this particular piece of gossip was likely false; a fantastical tale concocted out of fear for the Mazoku. But if there was any chance it was true… 

Well, Shota isn’t sure what he would do in that situation.

—

The next day when Eraserhead re-emerged into the lobby, ‘Akuto’ was sitting almost unnervingly still at the front desk. It was routine for him to share a few words with the boy before leaving.

He slowly walks up to the kid, and finally gets a reaction, as his shoulders tense defensively, looking up at him through hair long enough that it surely impedes his vision. 

That conversation from last night… Just how did this child start working here? 

Shota had originally thought that his parents might run the hotel or something similar, but the longer he stays here, the more likely it becomes that the boy lives here by himself.

If this wasn’t such an important case, he would immediantly call Social Security. But it had already been discussed amongst the investigation team; he will continue to keep an eye on ‘Akuto’ but not interfere. 

And yet everytime he sees him, his resolve weakens. It’s illogical, but it pains him to see his health steadily declining. Today, a large cut runs across the side of the kid's face, sloppily stitched shut in a manner which would surely have been painful.

‘’What happened to your face?’’ He asks, hoping it wouldn’t somehow offend the volatile boy, who seemed prone to outbursts.

The kid tries to glare yet again, another part of their weekly routine. It’s in no way intimidating to him, who has stared down eyes of raw bloodlust. 

‘Akuto’ finally scoffs, before slouching down into his seat dramatically. If he wasn’t so young, he might mistake him for a teenager. ‘’None of your business.’’ He mutters halfheartedly. 

The last time he had tried to offer the boy help, it had not been well received. When he had spoken to Hizashi, the man had cryptically advised him ‘Maybe next time instead of giving, try offering.’

In a moment of impulse, he takes out a business card from his pocket. ‘’Here, you can call me if you’re ever in need of assistance. Be careful to keep the wound clean.’’ He says, handing the simple white card which displays only a phone number over to the boy.

‘Akuto’ hesitates, likely taking time to debate every possible consequence of taking it, before slowly reaching a somewhat shaky hand out to accept. 

Shota nods in approval, and feels the corners of his mouth lift up into a small smile.

—

Yesterday, he had been forced to suffer for multiple hours in Hitoshis presence. The teenager was awkward, bratty and didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

Over and over he asked Shuya questions, and no matter how many he answered, he just kept finding new things to question.

‘What’s your name?’ 

‘What’s with that scar on your face?’ 

‘Are you sure you’re really thirteen?’

But then when he had finally had enough and asked him to stop, Hitoshi looked embarrassed. As if he really hadn’t known how invasive those questions had been.

It was annoying, he didn’t make sense.

With Fuyumi, Natsuo and father, it was so easy. He never had to try and understand them, because he knew them. He knew that Natsuo was uncomfortable around him, and that Fuyumi was scared of him.

In that house, at that time, there were no questions. 

The simplicity of ‘command’ and ‘answer.’ 

Today when he had first woken up from his dream, he might have remembered what it was about- but after throwing up in a panic, the only thing left that he can recall is his mothers long, white hair.

Based on that awakening, he knew it would be a bad day.

And then when Zushi returned later than usual looking distinctly furious, with his eyes narrowed and teeth clenched as he stormed upstairs, ignoring him completely, he was certain it was going to be a bad day.

When the man returned to the lobby, he seemed calmer, but was holding a suspicious black bag. He brought Shuya into the backroom, and emptied its contents onto the table.

A gun.

Zushi had somehow gotten a fucking gun.

Guns were obviously illegal, and obtaining one would require considerable criminal contacts. Shuya had known that Zushi was shady, he knew that…

But a gun? Not only are they difficult to get, but expensive too. 

Heroes are only typically taught the bare minimum for defending against a gun for that exact reason; because they hardly ever have to face them.

‘’Listen Akuto, this is important,’’ Zushi says. His expression is unlike any Shuya had seen from the man before.

‘’I need you to take this, and keep it on you at all times. If anybody dangerous enters the hotel, threaten to shoot.’’ He says sternly, handing the gun over.

It was small, and startlingly cold against his left hand. Silver, the same colour as his phone. 

‘’Zushi, where did you even get this? And what do you mean somebody dangerous?’’ He asks hastily. He has bigger concerns than appearing unphased right now.

Zushi sighs, he seems truly exhausted, and sits down, cradling his face in the palms of his hands defeatedly.

‘’Don’t question it. Now get back to work.’’ He commands. 

It’s an unfamiliar voice speaking unfamiliar words, yet such a familiar tone. 

The simplicity of ‘command’ and ‘answer.’ 

Shoto doesn’t question it, and gets back to work.

—

Stupid, he was so stupid. 

Why did he pick this fight? Against this man, a fight he would have never won. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten so weak, just maybe if he hadn’t gotten so sickly he could have won.

Maybe Shoto could have won.

The man scoffs, looking down on him where he lays amongst literal trash. ‘’C’mon, I thought you wanted a fight, isn’t that right kid?’’ He taunts, face contorted into an ugly sneer.

That’s right, he had thought that he wanted a fight. He stupidly thought that by beating someone like this…

Maybe the nothing could be filled with something; with that oh-so-addictive feeling of control earned when standing over a downed opponent.

But when the man had laughed heartily, and aimed for a kick he could hardly dodge, he realised that he hadn’t been looking for a fight.

He had been looking for defeat.

‘’I’ll give you some advice, from one no-good punk to another.’’ He says, taking a menacing step forward as he bends down, arms braced atop his knees lazily. ‘’Don’t go picking fights you can't win.’’ 

Shuya watches numbly as the man grasps a hand into his hair, pulling at the red strands painfully. ‘’Doesn’t feel great to beat on a kid, honestly. Take this as warning, the next guy won’t be so kind.’’ He says sharply, before leaving.

Shuya can feel his teeth clenched, but the sensation feels distant. He’s probably injured, but he can’t recall where. 

He looks up, the sky is dark, and a man clad in black is looking down on him. He wants to tell him to go away, but the words evade him, he can’t speak. 

‘’It’s me, Kotoi. Do you need immediate medical attention?’’ he asks bluntly. 

Shuyas mouth opens. ‘’No.’’ He responds, and the word feels foreign, as if he hadn’t been the one to speak it.

The man seems to hesitate, before grabbing a phone from his pocket. A burner phone. He’s about to dial, and Shuyas brain finally kicks in. He no longer has the cover of the hotel to hide behind, this man could arrest him with no consequences to himself. 

He could kill Shuya with no consequences to himself. 

‘’Wait- no, stop.’’ He croaks out quickly, stumbling over words in his desperation. He braces his arm against the ground and sits up, aiming his left hand up at the man.

Nothing happens. 

Kotoi looks from the phone in his grasp, to Shuyas outstretched hand. 

He tries to find his quirk; the fire which lays beneath his skin, ready to ignite. But there’s nothing there, his quirk is gone, and his skin is empty.

‘’I was just going to call an advisor. But okay, I won't.’’ he says simply, pocketing the phone once again. Shuya slumps in relief.

The man looks awkward, standing with his back hunched, and a foot angled towards the road, as if unsure if he should stay or leave.

‘’Are you going to call the police?’’ Shuya asks suddenly.

The man's eyes fall on him again, before answering. 

‘’I won’t, this time. Picking fights can easily lead to villainy, or vigilantism. Once you’ve made that step, it’s hard to come back from it. Be careful, stop acting recklessly.’’ 

He says it bluntly, words concise and voice measured.

So Kotoi didn’t know then- that Shuya was already a villain. That he was already aware there was no coming back from it.

‘’Do you need help?’’ Kotoi asks slowly, clearly uncomfortable.

The words sting, more than they should. ‘’Fuck off.’’ He says, but the venom he had intended to spit with those words had gotten trapped in his throat.

The man hesitates, before nodding, and walking off without a word.

—

The laptop arrived two days ago. It took little over a few weeks, and Zushi had seemed extremely pleased with himself when he handed it over. 

The gun was sitting cold against his left leg, tied there with stolen shoelaces and hidden with excessively baggy trousers. 

He’d been trying not to think about it.

The course was surprisingly easy to navigate. He was given work, resources, and an email so he could contact the teacher with any questions. 

Shuya tried his best to be interested, to care about it.

He was looking at the screen where it was displaying a diagram for biology. The human body, organs. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if he had stabbed his father in the liver, or the stomach. 

He closed the tab, opened a new one, a worksheet for mathematics. The symbols and numbers blur together into an incomprehensible block of text. 

The door opened, and he was thankful for the distraction. Zushi wandered inside, his scleras a bright yellow colour. Before the gun, he might have made a jab about it, but he thought better of it now. 

‘’Doing schoolwork?’’ He asks cheerfully, walking up behind Shuya to get a look at the screen. He makes a noise of surprise, and then chuckles. ‘’Got no clue what I’m looking at, honestly, looks like another language to me.’’

He may not be able to comprehend the symbols, but it seemed different for Zushi. Had the man never been to school? Now that Shuya thought about it, he had a tendency to offload any mathematics onto him.

‘’It’s difficult, I don’t really understand it either.’’ He says, tone laced with undertones of boredom. 

Question and answer, maths should probably be the easiest subject for him. 

But school was hard, the questions too abstract to be commands. How can he answer if he doesn’t know what they are asking, his head hurt just thinking about it.

Just how was he supposed to figure this out on his own?

‘’Yeah, you looked like you were struggling there, the teacher exists for a reason. Ask them for help if you need it.’’ Zushi comments, wiping the corners of his eyes and blinking. 

Shuya nods his head, and opens his email. ‘’I don’t know what question to ask. If none of it makes sense, where do I start?’’ He wonders, hands hesitating over the keyboard.

‘’Hell if I know, kid. Just say you don’t understand anything, a teacher should know how to answer that, yeah?’’ Zushi says, the door slamming behind him as he enters the breakroom.

Shuya closes the laptop.

Chapter Text

I am free to do as I please, so it should be simple, right? 

It’s been about three months since Endeavors murder.

And just as they had before, the seasons changed in the blink of an eye. The cold of winter was quickly smothered by the warmth of spring, the snow replaced with blooming cherry blossoms.

It’s hard to picture how he had ever lived in such a way, how he could put up with the constant misery, and how long it had taken him to break. Maybe he had gotten weaker not only in body, but in mind.

Is it really okay, to keep on living like this?

Was he really allowed to simply take on a new name and immerse himself into a life unrelated to his past crimes? To forget it had ever happened, as simply and naturally as the spring erasing the winter.

He keeps thinking about it- as if simply pretending to feel guilty changes anything. As if he’s so naive to think that simply ‘feeling bad’ about doing something so unforgivable would be enough of an apology. 

In truth, he doesn’t feel guilty at all. 

It’s as if those crimes were committed by another person, he can’t even manage this much.

But really, he doesn’t care about that either…probably.

—

‘’Is it really okay for us to play this, Natsuo-nii?’’

The older boy shakes his head fondly, as if his question had been one so ridiculous there was no point in even considering it. ‘’Of course, Shoto, Endeavor is away! So he can’t catch us now.’’ 

He says, gleefully setting up the ‘game’ he had brought with him today. It has a piece of cardboard with vibrant colours, and many small pieces of plastic accompanying it. 

Shoto thinks he can remember playing a game like this once, but the details refuse to return to him. All that is left is a sense of vague recollection, of cards with bright colours.

He didn’t really want to play this game, but Natsuo had asked him to, and Shoto didn’t know what to think at that time, simply going along with it had felt easier.

His brother had barged into his room, exclaiming that he had his promised gift, and excitedly dragged him away to the side of the house he was forbidden from entering.

The room they were sitting in was strange, it made him feel uneasy. Logically, it was almost identical to the rooms he was typically confined to, but there was something…

He didn’t know what to call it, but it was different.

Natsuo makes a shout of excitement, moving to sit down from his position on his knees and collapsing onto the tatami mats in an awkward, lazy way. If Father saw, he would surely not approve. ‘’Okay Shoto, this game is pretty intense so buckle up!’’ He barks, arranging some further pieces into a row.

‘’Choose your player, they’re all pretty much the same, so just go for whatever!’’ He says, pointing toward the row of plastic figures.

Shoto looks at each of them one by one, but they all look the same. Which is he supposed to choose? What’s the correct answer? Natsuo is looking at him, smiling at him, what does he want him to say?

‘’I don’t know.’’ Shoto says simply, heart pounding wildly in his chest. He doesn’t want to drag things on, sitting in suspense is torture. 

Natsuo nods his head and picks up one of the figurines. It’s a person with silver hair and a red scarf, his clothes look like a ninjas. ‘’This is Edgeshot, do you know him? He’s a hero, a real hero, not like Endeavor.’’ 

What does he mean? Endeavor is a hero, second only to All Might. ‘’Endeavor is a hero.’’ He responds slowly, thinking that Natsuo was simply oblivious, hand hesitating before reaching out for ‘Edgeshot’, holding the plastic in between both thumb and forefinger, unsure of what to do with it.

Natsuo speaks suddenly, voice filled with an intensely familiar vitriol. 

‘’Endeavor isn’t a hero. He’s an abusive asshole, he’s a villain hiding behind a curtain of heroism. He’s the true scum of society, don’t you dare try and cover for him.’’

His hands are clenched tightly into fists, head bowed down. 

Shoto still doesn’t understand, but nods anyway, trying to stifle the fear which had burnt his chest so suddenly. Natsuo takes a few deep breaths, before lifting his head back up. His hands are still shaking as he quietly announces the game's rules.

‘’I’m sorry for snapping, it’s not your fault. I just get so angry, when I think about it… but I won’t shout at you again, okay?’’ He says weakly, tossing the dice across the floor before moving his ‘Ryukyu’ figurine forward yet again.

Suddenly a voice calls out from further down the house. ‘’Natsu! Where are you? You said you had finished that homework yesterday and I-’’ The voice suddenly halts when it arrives at the entrance to the room.

It’s Fuyumi.

‘’Natsu? Why is Shoto here, you know Father wouldn’t like this, you’ll get in trouble if he finds out…’’ She says nervously, playing with a strand of hair absentmindedly as she clasps a bag tightly.

‘’It’s okay nee-chan, it’s just a game, and you know that father won’t be back for days. I should be allowed to play with my little brother.’’ He ruffles Shotos hair, motioning for him to roll the dice again.

Shoto does as instructed, rolling the dice, and moving his figure to his assigned square. This game was fun, it was a comfort akin to being told exactly what to do with no room for messing up.

Fuyumi and Natsuo continue talking, probably, but Shoto doesn’t really want to listen. Before long he opens his eyes to Fuyumi sitting in front of him, Natsuo having taken her place beside the room entrance.

‘’Sorry Shoto, I’ll take you back now. Let’s put this away okay?’’ Fuyumi says. He almost wants to protest, but knows better than that, and complies.

Natsuo waved him goodbye, and Shoto returned to his room.

—

He wakes up in a cold sweat yet again, the urge to throw up tugging painfully on his stomach. He's breathing in horrible wheezing gulps, as if he'd forgotten how. It's a familiar feeling. 

How stupid is this? To be tormented by dreams of those few happy moments in his life.

His life has had plenty of nightmare fuel, too many horrible things to count, after all. Maybe his countless head traumas over the years have made his brain go haywire, maybe he’s broken, cracked open like a porcelain statue-

He’s interrupted when his alarm clock- brought cheaply from a secondhand shop- begins beeping.

He pauses, before taking a few deep and measured breaths, calming his racing heart. 

That’s right, overthinking is pointless, a waste of time. He pushes down on the clock, and the beeping stops abruptly. 

He has to start work in an hour, he should shower before then.

Shoto routinely turns the shower's water to be as cold as possible, and his left arm involuntarily twitches in response to the intensity. He imagines it cleansing him, scrubbing his mind raw until all of his memories are gone, replaced with a shiny new brain, a shiny new person.

Shuya finishes drying himself, tossing his towel to the ground as he gets changed. An unfortunate number of his clothes were recoloured during his first attempt at doing laundry, so he settles for a plain white shirt and pink shorts.

In all honesty, he likes pink. He’d been raised wearing plain, unassuming clothing. When he looks into the mirror wearing these clothes, he feels even more distinct from that boy.

‘’Appearances are important, no son of mine will dress in such a manner.'’ His father had liked to say. At that time he hadn’t even questioned the man's logic, but he was truly a fool of the highest caliber. 

Or he had been, at least.

He brushes his teeth leisurely, watching the way his skin stretches around his fresh scar with interest. Despite the embarrassing circumstances of its origin, this scar feels like one he can be unashamed of.

After strapping the now familiar cold metal to his ankle, he walks back into his room, and glances around momentarily. The time reads six-forty, so he can laze around for a while longer. He should probably eat something, he thinks whilst walking up to the food placed atop his desk.

He asked the cashier to stop offering him so much food, and after the other had mistakenly assumed that his parents were unhappy with him snacking so much, he obliged.

None of it looks like something he wants to eat, honestly. Simply opening a packet was too much energy, let alone the physical act of eating… It was the worst kind of chore.

But he knows that he needs to eat, it would be pointless if he died from something like starvation now. He grabs a half-eaten packet of crisps, and starts slowly working his way through the remaining contents. 

He remembers that when he had first arrived at this place, food had been fun. It was stressful exploring new things and having to make those impossible decisions, but it had also been fun.

When had it been reduced to little more than a burden?

He scrunches up the empty packaging and shoves it into the small plastic bag sitting underneath the desk, close to overflowing. He would have to take the trash out soon.

It was hard to keep track of all these responsibilities, how had Fuyumi managed all these years? He was struggling, and yet the only person he was responsible for was himself. 

Hopefully, she is resting easy now, only having to take care of herself and Natsuo…

Grabbing the laptop charging on the floorboards, he makes the journey down to the lobby. It was another routine now, and he thoughtlessly placed the device down on the desk surface, opening up his coursework.

Japanese, Biology, and Maths. Thursday is a relatively quiet day, even by this shamefully deserted place's standards, so he can usually get his work done quickly, only having to spare a few hours at the end of his shift for chores.

Zushi hasn’t made an appearance yet, but it’s probably fine. 

It takes a roll of garbage bags to get through the trash littering the hotel's corridors, with the countless beer bottles and cigarette butts lying around, it was a miracle that the building doesn’t regularly go up in flames. 

It turns out that the reason why the hotel is shockingly clean is the exploitation of Zushis employees. At one point he had felt irritated about it, but after a short revolt against the man a few months ago, seeing the carnage that would befall the establishment without his help…

Well, learning how to clean is a small sacrifice for a habitable place of employment.

Zushi doesn’t make an appearance for the rest of the day.

After his shift ends, he hesitates for a few minutes before returning to his room. He had done his time, and the worst that would likely happen is some douchebag getting annoyed after waiting.

He doesn’t get it, but nobody ever tried anything reckless here. He had heard a few customers calling Zushi ‘boss’ so his current theory is that the man is the head of a syndicate, as difficult as that may be to believe.

It’s convenient anyway, as they can leave the reception unattended at times with no worries about getting robbed, or anything like that. 

He doesn’t really do much after his shift ends, when his list of tasks is finished and his obligatory coursework is fulfilled. Sometimes he wanders around the streets, sometimes he gets into fights. Most of the time though, he prefers to just lay around in bed, waiting to sleep.

When he lived with Endeavor, he wore a simple samue when sleeping. Now he only removes his shoes, and crawls into bed, maneuvering the duvet over his body into the shape of a cocoon. 

He thinks that it’s strange how quickly things became normal for him. Waking up, getting ready, going to work… just three months ago he never would have imagined this kind of life for himself. But now that he’s living it, it doesn’t feel strange at all.

It’s almost scary, how easy it was to adapt.

Wait, he had been thinking this earlier as well. Well, the ‘cleansing shower’ had never truly worked before, anyway. Still, it was nice to imagine living without these stray thoughts.

What a nuisance, it’s a waste of energy worrying. It’s illogical, his time is better spent doing something more productive. Like sleeping.

Hopefully, he will start to feel tired soon.

—

Every Friday, Shuya visits the nearby konbini.

He speaks to the cashier, buys his food and a snack or drink, and sits on the curb outside while watching the sunset.

It’s a little boring, maybe, but it’s his favourite time of the week. Barely a month ago, Shinso had caught onto his routine and made it his mission to pester him, every single week, without fail.

The boy is sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk currently, beaten trainers tapping an irregular beat against the concrete as he messes around with a similarly beaten notebook. His face is scrunched up in concentration, probably struggling for an answer.

‘’Hey, homeschooled kids are smart, right?’’ He asks suddenly, grinning lazily as if he had managed to solve some particularly difficult equation. 

Shuya isn’t sure if he should feel offended or confused by the boy's attitude. ‘’Where did that stereotype come from? Are you stupid?’’ He asks rhetorically, tone unbothered as he stares out at the orange sky.

He hears a thumping sound from Shinso but doesn’t bother to look, he’d probably done something dramatic, a faux show of offense. 

‘’I feel like you of all people have no right to call me stupid. What do you mean? The homeschooled kids on television are always insanely smart. It’s a subversion of expectations- or something like that?’’ He says, voice hesitant, like a kid using a word he hadn’t before.

Shoto had watched some television before, sure. When he was younger. He can remember his mother watching things with him. Of course, after a while, Endeavor had banned that as well. Cutting Shoto off from the world entirely.

A trope like that sounds stupid, homeschooled kids are smart? He’s been taught at home his entire life and was always an academic disappointment. 

He was bad at maths, horrible at memorising and concerningly slow at learning such basic things. To his tutors, he was an unteachable student. To Endeavour he was a disappointment at best. 

‘’Well obviously it’s wrong, I’m not intelligent like that. I’m impressively bad at schoolwork.’’ He confesses, continuing to stare adamantly at the sky. If Shinso says anything, he could probably beat the boy up decently easily. He’s pretty lanky, the type to trip over his gangly limbs, unable to throw even a half-decent punch.

He hears a snort from his right, and shoots the boy a withering glare. It works, and he holds his hands up, as if placating a wild beast. ‘’Sorry, Sorry. It sounded like you were bragging about being stupid, it was just kind of funny.’’ He says, letting out a sudden bout of laughter after he is finished talking.

‘’Do you live with your parents?’’ Shuya asks suddenly, catching the other off guard as his mouth shuts, clamping down on his tongue with a wince. 

He won’t lie, he’s been curious about this for a while. Shinso only speaks of his sister, and it makes him wonder…

Shinso coughs, wincing again as he leans over, face partially hidden by the angle. ‘’I guess it’s only fair to answer, since I ask you questions all the time.’’ He huffs, foot tapping rapidly against the pavement. It’s pretty clear that he might not want to talk about it, but Shuya doesn’t care enough to stop him from continuing.

He swallows thickly before speaking. ‘’My dad died a few years ago, I guess. I’m pretty much over it, but my ma… went kind of nuts afterward. She had to be admitted to one of those mental hospitals or something, and my sister ended up adopting me.’’ 

He looks back up after finishing, foot bouncing at a more typical pace. ‘’We ended up moving here from Saitama, so she could go to college.’’ He shrugs casually and moves to continue doing his schoolwork. His hand is shaking.

So, he was right after all. 

He and Shinso are more alike than either of them want to admit. At least his father died on his own, though. Shotos life would probably be incomparably different had his own father died years ago, Shinso was luckier for that, at least.

‘’Show me the question you’re struggling with.’’ He says, shuffling over to sit in front of the other boy. Shinso looks surprised, but tries his best to mask it with indifference. The same kid that yells at him so often for ‘trying to act cool.' What a hypocrite.

Shinso huffs, before tossing the notebook towards him, landing it upside down on his lap. ‘’Sure, but if you’re that stupid, I doubt you’ll be any help.’’ He drawls, moving to open his second can of coffee for today. It was no wonder why he had such prominent eye bags.

The notebook shows a pretty advanced mathematics question, or maybe it’s science? Shuya can’t tell the difference anyway. ‘’You were right, I don’t know what I’m looking at.’’ He says shortly, tossing the notebook back haphazardly, and nailing Shinso directly in the face.

‘’Fuck! That hurts, those corners are sharp you know.’’ He huffs, rubbing his face irritatedly.

He takes back that earlier thought, he and this kid are nothing alike.

—

Kotoi hasn’t appeared today.

That man hardly has a set schedule, but he always checks in during Shuya's shift. It’s probably on purpose so he can try and manipulate him with stupid sentiments and confusing gestures. 

But, Kotoi hasn’t appeared today.

He should probably be happy, ecstatic even, that he isn’t here. He hates that man, he hopes that he got arrested for corruption or beaten up by a villain.

Maybe, if Shuya is lucky, he won’t come back to the hotel again…

Chapter Text

Nothing will remain of us a thousand years from now, yet I still want to laugh with you

It’s summertime already, no matter where Shuya goes now, it’s always sweltering and he’s always shivering. 

Shotos malfunctions are never more obvious than when exposed to the summer's warmth. During the winter his body naturally acclimates to the cold, but the heat always creates this strange reaction.

The overwhelming temperature causes his right side to work in overdrive to neutralise the perceived imbalance, it’s common for him to get sick as a result, making the entire experience that much more miserable.

He wants nothing more than to lie in bed, trying to distract himself with meaningless entertainment, and spending his limited wages on cooling pads.

But unfortunately, Zushi is consistent, and has yet to offer any time off for Shuya. 

And he has no intention of asking for a break, his pride wouldn’t allow it. He had already resigned himself to a long and miserable summer.

‘’Akuto-kun,’’ The man in question calls out, appearing suddenly. ‘’Want to go on a vacation of sorts with me today?’’ He asks, strolling toward the front desk with leisure.

Sometimes he can’t help but wonder if Zushi has a telepathy quirk.

Shuya notices that the man is wearing a pair of colourful shorts, patterned with blue dinosaurs, for whatever reason. There are bright orange sunglasses lying in his tangled hair and matching flip-flops slapping loudly against the floor. He looks no more messy than he typically does, but there’s something about this outfit that screams ‘unhinged.’

Shuya raises his eyebrows skeptically, and moves to close his laptop. ‘’You can’t just spring something like this on me, had you considered that I don’t want to go outside in this weather.’’ He mutters, much to the others' clear dismay.

Zushis face crumples in mock grief, clutching a hand to his forehead as if about to pass out. ‘’What? You don’t want to go on a vacation with me? How cruel, you truly don’t care for me whatsoever…’’ He whines, shaking his head in disapproval.

‘’You’re so fucking dramatic, why would I want to do that anyways? You’re hardly my first choice of company. A whole day together sounds hellish.’’ He retorts sharply, face scrunched in annoyance. 

Sure, he had been hoping for some time off, but this sounds less like a vacation and more akin to punishment. Maybe it's fair retribution for his crimes, but isn’t this too harsh? 

‘’Don’t be like that,’’ Zushi laughs. ‘’I was planning to visit Shinjuku, it’s where I grew up. There’s some business I need to attend to, you’ll have fun if you give it a shot!’’ He says enthusiastically, patting Shuyas shoulder condescendingly.

It’s true that Shuya hadn’t been to Tokyo before, it might be interesting. And he does feel strangely energised today, he might as well take advantage of such a rarity and do something new.

‘’You don’t pay me enough to afford a trip like that,’’ He points out. ‘’But—I’ll come along if it’s your money, I guess.’’ After burning through his stolen money in his first few months, he’s been living paycheck to paycheck. Even a single train ticket could be disastrous to his budget. 

The man sighs despondently, ‘’Yeah, yeah I get it. I’ll handle the bill this time.’’ He relents, nodding his head as if it were something particularly generous, and not basic human decency. 

The prospect of having to pay fairly for something fails to dampen the man's mood, as he enthusiastically arranges a stand-in to work reception, more energetic than Shuya has seen of him before.

It takes Shuya a quick ten minutes to toss any necessities into one of the many discarded plastic bags littering his shelves, and ensure that the gun is strapped tightly to his leg. It would probably be bad if it fell out in public.

When he returns to the lobby, a woman with long red hair and similarly red scales decorating her face has taken the seat at the front desk, and is discussing something with Zushi animatedly. 

When the latter notices him emerge from the stairwell he waves, pulling an inconspicuous black bag over his shoulder. ‘’We’d better get going then!’’ He says to Shuya, before turning his head and addressing the unfamiliar woman once again. ’’I trust you’ll look after things here, Ryu.’’ 

Her name feels vaguely familiar, but he’s given no time to question it before Zushi is dragging him through the front doors, and out into the dingy streets.

The morning air is damp, and Zushi quickly lights a cigarette, smoke blowing into Shuyas face unpleasantly as he jogs to keep up with the man's pace. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve never gone out together before, their interactions limited to the confines of the hotel.

What did Zushi do during the day, even? He’s never truly considered it, but the man must have an entire life outside of that building…

But such thoughts are drowned out as the burning in his lungs is quickly becoming too painful to handle, and he thoughtlessly rushes forward and tugs at the strap of Zushis bag—a desperate bid to regain his breath. 

He can hear the wheezing from his own throat, and the other seems to take notice as he turns around, sighing as he lazily tosses his cigarette into a trash can lying discarded to their left.

‘’C’mon kid, we’ve only been walking for ten minutes. We’ll never get anywhere at this rate.’’ He sighs, but Shuya is too preoccupied to pay him any mind.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, in and out. 

Zushi is silent as his breathing slowly evens out, and the humiliation of the situation crashes down on him suddenly. He wasn’t Shoto, the successor of Endeavor anymore. He was just a sickly kid, his quirk reduced to little more than an inconvenience.

And sure, his boss was likely well aware of this. But it felt shitty anyways.

‘’There’s a bus stop nearby, if you can’t manage the walk we’ll have to catch one. You’ll owe me for the tickets.’’ He sighs, turning around to begin walking down the street again. His pace is noticeably slower.

Shuya can’t find it in him to complain about the obvious show of pity, and silently trails after him.

The bus stop they arrive at is predictably rundown, with empty bottles scattering the ground, broken windows and bright graffiti covering the rusted metal walls.

He can’t help but wonder if a bus would truly stop here, it was hard to imagine that a place like this was still in service. He recalls there being an old train station somewhere near the hotel which he had stumbled upon with Shinso once; most public services in these streets seemed abandoned.

‘’The government can’t be bothered with places like this. It’s just a bunch of shitty council houses and abandoned buildings.’’ Shinso had said. He enjoys going on tangents often, but maybe he had a point that time.

Zushi is messing around on one of his countless burner phones right now, fingers deftly tapping at the clunky buttons with ease. 

What would Shinjuku be like? He wonders how long it will take to travel there, and if Zushi has anything planned. 

He had said it was a vacation, but what does that mean? He’s not completely oblivious to the concept anymore, on television, it usually entails beaches and the occasional festival. Shinjuku isn’t near the coast, so are they attending a festival after all?

‘’So, what are we going to Tokyo for?’’ He asks, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Zushi looks away from his phone, grinning widely as his fangs shine in the blue light. ‘’That’s a secret!’’ He says obnoxiously, before returning his gaze to his screen, an obvious dismissal.

Well, that was a good sign at least. The man only smiles in such a way when he’s having fun at another's expense. His plans were likely harmless—physically, at least.

Before long, to his surprise, a bus pulls up to the stop, doors opening with a loud clang. 

Shuya hesitates, questioning which door to enter; front or back? It doesn’t look as if many people are on board, was he supposed to wait, or would the bus leave without him?

Oblivious to his plight, Zushi quickly enters through the back door, grabbing a ticket from the machine positioned nearby as he sits down in the closest seat available. Shuya scrambles to follow his lead, grabbing a ticket with a simple number printed atop it and sitting beside the other. 

The bus resembles a more compact version of the subway he had rode on earlier in the year, with bright blue benches and grey walls. 

There were many yellow bars set up, likely for people standing. The only other passengers were several elderly women, and a teenager wearing a school uniform.

One of the elderly women was eyeing Zushi suspiciously, and he felt strangely offended on the other's behalf. It was true that he had both a face and personality befitting a villain, yet it seemed unfair for him to be judged whilst minding his own business.

The drive flies by quickly, it seems they had narrowly avoided rush hour. The few people boarding were mostly elderly and students late to school. If they had boarded even an hour ago, things probably wouldn’t be progressing so smoothly.

Finally, the bus reaches their stop, and before Shuya can blink, Zushi is jumping out of the back door, rudely disrupting the people who had been attempting to enter.

Shuya rushes after him, and the pair receive looks of contempt from the civilians gathered around the stop. 

He hears an elderly woman whisper loudly behind them, ‘’They just left without paying, should we call the police?’’ There’s a murmur of agreement from whoever she was with, and he all but runs after Zushi in an attempt to escape their prying eyes.

‘’What the fuck! We could have just paid for our tickets, you know? What happened to me ‘owing’ you?’’ He hisses toward the man in question, face hot with humiliation.

Zushi simply shrugs his shoulders and lowers his sunglasses to cover his eyes. ‘’Call it impulse,’’ He laughs cheerily. ‘’You know how people view me, why not live up to their expectations? It's more convenient that way.’’

Shuyas anger subsides, and he considers the other's words as the two make their way into the subway station.

He’d hardly ever been incorrectly judged in such a way, but when others think of him as weak he feels a sense of indignation, and a strong impulse to punch them in the face.

But Zushi… he had a point.

If they were going to think of him as a villain, then what harm would acting like one do? It might not be very inspiring, or heroic, but it does seem fairly logical. 

Zushi busies himself with purchasing their passes, and hands him a child's return ticket. Shuya tosses the unused bus ticket into a nearby bin as they make their way toward a bench, settling in as they wait for the train.

After ten minutes of silence, Shuya looks over at the man, only to find him slumped down on the bench sleeping, closed eyes hidden behind his shades.

It’s impressive that he’s able to sleep in such an uncomfortable position—he may sleep at the front desk or in the breakroom often, but doing so in public? It was astounding, to say the least.

A total of three trains come and go before theirs finally arrives, at ten thirty on the dot. It takes Shuya a few minutes to wake up the man—he has a sneaking suspicion he was simply faking it to annoy him.

The train is almost identical to the one he had ridden before, the only difference being the amount of passengers. It makes sense that there would be more people traveling now compared to the early morning.

As they board, he takes note of the people sitting sporadically throughout the carriage. They all seem preoccupied with their devices, and it puts him at ease to know that nobody is paying him any attention.

He and Zushi sit beside each other in the corner yet again, and the train starts with a jolt. The ride will take over an hour, and he’s beginning to regret his decision to leave his books at home. He’s perfectly capable of sitting without entertainment for an hour—adept at it even, but it’s still somewhat annoying.

He finds himself counting things to pass the time; how many handrails there are, the number of small black dots that decorate the ceiling, and the amount of people who enter at every stop.

‘’We have arrived in Shinjuku, Shinjuku.’’ The familiar robotic female voice finally calls out, and he looks up to see Zushi busy exiting the carriage. He lets out a startled yell before rushing after him, hurrying to catch up despite the generous amount of time given to disembark. 

He grabs onto the man's black bag once it comes into range, successfully stopping the other in his tracks. Getting lost in an unfamiliar station would not be ideal.

‘’Do you see that?’’ Zushi asks abruptly, pointing toward a generic souvenir shop. ‘’That’s where I got these,’’ He flicks his sunglasses. '’What do you say, want a pair?’’ He asks, smiling cheerfully.

Shuyas mind is scrambling to keep up with the man's pace—it’s reminiscent of an eager dog, always looking for the next point of interest. He shakes his head in response, and continues to hang onto the man's bag. 

It’s too busy and his mind is overloaded—he can hear the squeaking of shoes on the floor and the sharp bangs of gates opening and closing. 

Luckily, Zushi begins leading them outside of the noisy station. He hasn’t felt so relieved since that knife was piercing his father's chest.

As the noise fades away into the dull buzz of the city, he can hear Zushi rambling ahead of him. ‘’It’ll be a short walk to the store from here, so try not to have another asthma attack, we’re on a schedule after all!’’ He laughs happily, seemingly indifferent to Shuyas grip on his bag.

He wants to ask what store they are heading to, but he doesn’t feel like talking right now. 

The man leads them down a high street, there are dozens of bright neon signs advertising anything from arcades and karaoke to adult shows—although most of them seem to be turned off, it was probably busy at night.

As they continue walking down the street he notices a declining number of people wandering; whilst it was hardly bustling before, it’s closer to desolate now, with only a handful of foreigners wearing similar getups to Zushi walking through the streets.

Eventually, they arrive at a liquor store, there are many leaflets stuck to the walls and a bright blue sign advertising them as having the ‘highest quality imported whiskey.’ 

Zushi pauses outside of the doors and runs a hand through his hair. ‘’I can’t remember if they let kids inside… shit, maybe I should have checked online.’’ He mumbles, before suddenly shaking his head. ‘’We’ll give it a shot, at least.’’ He says resolutely.

Shuya follows him into the store, the bright green door creaking shut behind them. There are countless aisles filled to the brim with different types of alcohol; whiskey, gin, beer, and wine of every possible variety stock the shelves.

He finds himself wandering the aisles slowly, reading the labels and trying to guess the languages. He walks out of the aisle slowly and intends to walk down another when he spots Zushi, speaking with the cashier.

The worker is an old man with silver hair which seems to shine in the light. They seem to be chatting about something that Zushi is busy buying. ‘’–You have good taste, this is the finest Shochu in Tokyo.’’ The old man remarks, handing a bottle over to Zushi, which he tucks into his bag.

‘’I’m more of a beer man myself, but my old man loved this brand.’’ He replies, shaking his head fondly. 

He notices Shuya hesitating by the shelf and nods, making his way toward the door to leave.

He follows after the man eagerly—this store smells strongly of chemicals and it’s beginning to make his head spin. The door creaks shut behind them again, and he gulps in the fresh air, eager to calm his twisting stomach.

‘’Okay, that’s our first task completed! Our next stop will be more fun, I promise.’’ He says.

It takes them nearly thirty minutes to reach their next destination, due to him needing frequent breaks to catch his breath. Maybe he should do some research on improving his stamina, at this point, it feels like a public humiliation.

But, despite the curious stares of the people who witnessed his pathetic displays, they soon arrived at the ‘fun’ location that Zushi had promised.

It was a rundown old antique shop.

Not just any rundown antique shop either—no, this was a shop home to shockingly few real antiques, even somebody like him could see that the majority of these objects were nothing more than cheap knock-offs.

It felt like somebody had brought one too many bootleg trinkets online and decided to open a shop to get rid of them, but if the dust was any indication, it hadn’t gone very well.

‘’Zushi,’’ He says solemnly, eyeing a disfigured plastic doll sitting atop a fake wooden table. ‘’Why?’’ He asks, seeing no reason to elaborate on the question.

The man huffs and walks up behind him, reaching over his shoulder to grab the doll by her dull blue hair and shake her experimentally.

Her head pops off immediately.

‘’Ah– well I guess that’s broken,’’ He laughs, as if he hadn't just decapitated the doll. ‘’Don’t worry about it, nobody gives a shit about these things anyways. Come on, follow me.’’ He says simply, tossing the plastic head down onto the similarly plastic table uncaringly.

Shuya turns and sees the man making his way further into the shop. They come to a set of old stairs, the boards creaking under Zushis weight as he walks up leisurely, as if he’d gone through these motions a hundred times before.

Shuya hesitates before running up the stairs after him, hand gripping the banister. There’s an inconspicuous door at the top, it would be easy to miss if not for the plain white sign hanging on the handle with ‘open’ written on it in English.

Zushi opens the door and rushes eagerly inside. ‘’Fuka! It’s been a while.’’ He calls out, bounding up to a tall woman standing behind a counter, she looks equally ecstatic to see him.

‘’Chio! It’s great to see you, how have you been?’’ She asks, and the two engage in a conversation too fast for Shuya to keep up.

He takes his time looking around, and realises it must be a local bar. The furniture is all matching brown wood, sleek and comfortable. There are two men sitting in one corner, busy chatting casually over drinks.

It’s dark and moody, but comfortable and warm at the same time. ‘’Hey, Akuto, get over here!’’ Zushi calls, waving from where he stands behind the counter.

‘’This is Fuka, she owns the place.’’ He introduces her, and she waves at him excitedly, leaning over the surface to get a better look at him. ‘’So you’re Chios new kid, huh? You’re younger than the other boy.’’ She states casually.

Ah that’s right—Zushis first name is Hachio, right? But it felt strange to hear somebody else refer to him so casually, as if he was intruding on something private.

But there was something else she said that caught his attention. ‘’The other boy?’’ he asks.

Zushi coughs, a not-so-subtle signal for him to leave it there. She hums and glances over at the man before shaking her head, disapproving of something that Shuya can’t grasp. ‘’His last employee, your timing was pretty great, you know? You showed up pretty soon after he ran off.’’

Now that he thinks of it—he had mentioned that, right? When he was first hired. He hadn’t thought of it as anything more than a passing comment.

It seems like Shuya hadn’t been questioning much at all, really.

‘’Yeah, lucky me!’’ Zushi interrupts, patting Fuka on the shoulder as he wanders back around the counter, and takes a seat on a barstool. 

‘’Anyways,’’ He starts, motioning for Shuya to sit beside him. ‘’I’ll treat you to lunch, this was supposed to be a vacation, right?’’ He says, grabbing one of the stray menus littering the counter. 

Shuya scoffs as he sits down. ‘’This can hardly be called a vacation, all you’ve done is drag me around all day.’’ He mumbles, looking over the menu carefully. He doesn’t want to risk throwing up again…

‘’I’ll just have some plain rice, thanks.’’ He says, putting the menu down carefully. 

Fuka seems to hesitate, but nods, turning her head to look at Zushi expectantly. ‘’You’ll be having the Tonkatsu, right?’’ She asks him, one eyebrow raised.

‘’You know me too well,’’ Zushi replies. He has a surprisingly soft smile on his face.

She nods her head and begins walking around the compact kitchen, busy preparing their orders. 

‘’Hey Zushi,’’ Shuya hesitates, unsure if it would be okay to ask. ‘’Why did you invite me today?’’ He asks quietly.

After all, Shuya hadn’t contributed anything to this trip. He hadn’t paid, was practically skipping work, and they had to walk much slower just to cater to his dying organs.

The man hums and pats Shuyas head, offering no response. 

He remains silent for the duration of their meal, listening half-heartedly as Zushi and Fuka chat animatedly about their lives, friends, and anything else they could possibly discuss.

A few hours later the pair are waving goodbye, leaving the antique shop behind.

‘’Okay, then Akuto, only one more place left.’’ He says, but he sounds less excited about this next place than he had for the others.

They walk in complete silence for only ten minutes before Zushi stops.

They’re standing at the entrance of a large graveyard.

There are graves of many sizes, all housing a different number of names, in various states of disrepair. Some have flowers or other trinkets sitting neatly in front of them, likely from visitors.

Zushi leads them through the winding stone paths until they arrive at a desolate corner, housing a single rock with the word ‘yeonggam’ written in barely legible English.

‘’It’s my father's grave, I made it when I was a kid myself. I’m always surprised when I see it’s still sitting here.’’ Zushi says solemnly.

Shuya didn’t know what to say, why had Zushi taken him here?

The man grabs the Shochu they had brought earlier, placing it in front of the makeshift grave gently. ‘’We’re probably more similar than either of us want to admit.’’ He says quietly, head bowed as he sits in front of the grave.

‘’I guess the reason I wanted you to come… maybe I didn’t think I could have come by myself. I haven’t visited in a while, it felt like it was time.’’ He tries to laugh, probably in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it falls short, sounding more depressing than joyful.

Shuya doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t speak. 

He kneels in front of the grave beside Zushi, and mirrors the other's position, clasping his hands together.

His father probably has a grave—not a rock written on by a child, but an imposing stone decorated with flowers gifted by his many fans.

He could understand why Zushi wanted him to come along now, because there was no way he’d ever make it to his own father's grave alone either.

Chapter Text

I ponder what you told me: how you really feel.

‘’Hey there, Saku.’’ A voice drawls from the man standing in front of him— Huang Hachio . The legal owner of the hotel, known as the ‘Mamba.’

‘’Using my given name already? Some would consider that impolite.’’ He responds, voice raspy after having spent the better half of his day yelling at a student who decided to tackle and restrain a shoplifter during their summer vacation.

It’s frustrating, trying to teach a class of future heroes. It seems that they are too often the type of kids who act first and think later—a horrible match for their chosen profession. 

Huang is leaning beside the hotel door, busying himself with a cigarette. ‘’I get the feeling you don’t care, isn't that right?’’ He asks, locking eyes with him from where he leans against the wall, eyes bright and daunting. 

The man throws his cigarette to the floor, and crushes it underfoot. His intentions with this conversation are abundantly clear.

‘’How’d you find out?’’ Eraserhead asks bluntly, not one for beating around the bush. Feigning ignorance won't help him now, afterall.

The fact that he was confronted here, and not inside where the man has a clear advantage… it’s probably safe to assume he isn’t looking for a fight, at least.

The criminal lets out a bark of laughter, before tilting his head up to the sky, gazing up into the clouds above the rundown buildings. ‘’You were hardly subtle about it. I’ve been around villains long enough to tell when someone isn’t one.’’ He says casually, as if this was a conversation with a friend, and not somebody capable of arresting him at any moment. 

‘’Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone. I might have been at your throat a couple years ago—but at this point…’’ He trails off, sighing softly. 

He can feel his instincts to interrogate begin to poke at him, and sifts through the potential questions he wants to ask before settling on one of the more tame, yet important options. 

‘’Are you involved with the Mazoku?’’

The man groans dramatically, reminding Eraserhead of his students after failing a test; it's not the kind of reaction you’d expect from a grown criminal being interrogated. ‘’Why bother asking.’’ He moans childishly, ‘’Feels like they’re in control of everything nowadays. Of course I am.’’ 

Well, it isn’t exactly surprising that he would so readily confess to being in cahoots with a criminal organisation like the Mazoku. When it comes to them, there’s no reason to lie, people know that the police can’t do shit about it.

‘’That kid who works for you, Akuto, who is he? Where are his parents?’’

Huang is silent for a moment, as if contemplating what the least incriminating way to answer would be, before lowering his head to look at the other directly. ‘’They didn’t tell you?’’ He asks, sounding unsurprised despite his questioning tone. 

‘’Who are you talking about?’’

The man slowly pushes himself up from where he lent against the wall, letting out a grunt as stray rocks and dust fall to the ground behind him. ‘’Well, you don’t have to worry about it so much for now. You’ll learn soon enough.’’ 

Huang stretches his arms up, and gives out a groan of satisfaction as the muscles let out a relatably audible pop. He begins to move toward the door of the hotel, and Eraserhead has the feeling that he won’t be handed another opportunity for questioning, not until there are bars between them.

‘’Why are you telling me all of this?’’ He asks anyways, curiosity overriding his logic which screams at him for asking such a pointless question.

Huang shrugs his shoulders and opens the hotel door, the light from inside pouring out and bathing him in its warm hue. 

‘’It just felt right.’’ 

—

He can feel the corner of his mouth twitch up ever so slightly as Akuto stares at him, bed hair standing partially up, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth hastily with his sleeve. ‘’Fuck, you have the worst timing.’’ The kid mutters, shifting things around on the desk before tossing his regular card towards Eraserheads face.

‘’I’ve heard that before.’’ He says, gripping the key in his hand loosely. ‘’Up late for halloween, huh? I didn’t think you were old enough to be celebrating.’’ He deadpans–as a high school teacher, halloween is his least favourite event for a reason.

Akuto scoffs lightly, shaking his head. ‘’We got a few cosplayers come through, that’s it.’’ He comments, busying himself with counting the given cash and logging in his alias. It strikes Aizawa every week that an interaction like this shouldn’t feel so normal.

The boy's laptop is open on the desk, and Aizawa glances at the screen as he begins walking past. It’s schoolwork, mathematics typical for a fifth grader displayed on the screen.

‘’Need any help with that?’’ He nods toward the screen, the question slipping out so naturally he doesn’t think twice about it. Akuto glances at him, seemingly unsure as the table rocks gently in tandem to the motion of his leg bouncing.

‘’You’re a teacher right?’’ He asks, moving to orient his laptop at an angle they can both view. Aizawa hums ‘’Yes, good memory. Mathematics isn’t a subject I teach but I do understand the basics.’’ The questions are multiplication, focusing solely on whole numbers. If he’s twelve or so, he’s clearly years behind his peers.

Nonetheless, it’s reassuring that he’s managing to pursue schooling despite the circumstances. And, well, it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t feel proud of every correct answer given.

—

‘’So~’’ Hizashi sings, chin resting on his hands as he smiles brightly from the other side of the kitchen counter. Shota ensures to bang the pot loudly as he pulls it from its place in the cabinet, tempted to ignore the unsaid question altogether. ‘’So what?’’ He replies shortly, feigning ignorance as he moves to collect ingredients from the fridge.

Cold air hits his face, causing him to squint his aching eyes to protect from the blast unsuccessfully. He can feel Hizashi feigning a sigh as the squeaking of a chair being dragged along the wooden floor for a better seat near the counter assaults his ears.

‘’How’s the kid? You don’t usually make me lunch on a sunday, anything good happen?’’ His husband yells, attempting to speak over the loud rustling of plastic. ‘’Well–’’ Shota pauses ‘’He asked for help with schoolwork yesterday.’’ He hears an excited gasp and shuffling of limbs behind him. 

‘’Tell me everything.’’ Hizashi squeals, and Shota turns to stand in front of his husband, staring into the others wide eyes with a smile undetectable to any but him. ‘’If we were correct in our assumption of his age, he’s years behind in mathematics. I helped him with fifth grade level work, but he was quick to understand once I explained with real life examples.’’ 

Hizashi hums to show he’s listening, eyebrows slightly clenched as he processes the information. ‘’What does the team think? Tsukauchi?’’ he asks. 

‘’I haven’t submitted my report this week, but I believe it’s more optimistic than expected. He seems to be relatively safe and is receiving an education–it’s not ideal, but being given access to the internet makes me doubt it’s a kidnapping case, and the likelihood of trafficking is slightly lesser.’’ 

Hizashi nodded his head before hastily moving a hand up to catch his falling glasses. Shota smiles fondly at his husband's antics and occupies himself with finishing lunch–Tonkotsu ramen, the others favourite.

Yamada was hardly a bad cook, his scrambled eggs good enough to rival the world's best–but despite first impressions, Aizawa enjoyed cooking. He slowly and methodically followed the instructions burned into his mind, and basks in the hint of pride he feels as the finished bowls sit ornately atop the counter.

Hizashi busies himself rustling through their utensil drawer as he walks over to their small dining table, balancing each bowl with a level of precision earnt through years of rigorous training.

The steam from the ramen makes his shoulders untense, breathing in the warmth as he glances out of their apartment window at the misty blue skies. 

There's a clatter as Hizashi drops a pair of chopsticks beside him, sitting down himself and letting out a content hum. ‘’It looks great, thanks for cooking today,’’ Hizashi says happily, tucking in excitedly.

The meal was peaceful, leaving him feeling full and content as he stands at the sink, taking care of the resulting dishes as Hizashi flips through radio channels in search of one ‘just right.’

It has been nine months since being recruited for the Mamba investigation, and he can’t help but feel conflicted about it.

‘’Tsukauchi wants to organise a raid on the hotel within the next six months–says I’ll probably be relieved of my participation soon after.’’ He finds himself saying. Shota isn’t sure how he wants Hizashi to respond–what it is he’s searching for or why he feels so unsure about it.

His husband turns down the radio and taps the old metal slowly. ‘’You’re nervous about it?’’ he asks. 

Shota focuses on the feeling of soapy water on his rough hands as the sponge he’s gripping unnecessarily hard glides over the surface of the chopping board. A fresh cut on his thumb stings ever so slightly from the action.

Hizashi probably knows better than Shota himself why this is bothering him. ‘’Our meeting is on wednesday this week but…’’ He sighs, placing the board into the drying wrack and shaking his hands in a futile attempt to dry them. ‘’The kid will probably end up in juvenile detention, or a group home in the best case scenario.’’

He hears a rustling behind him as Hizashi walks up, slowly wrapping his arms around Shotas torso firmly and leaning his neck on his husband's shoulder. ‘’He sounds like a good kid, Sho. Tsukauchi is an empathetic guy, he’ll look out for the kiddo and make sure he’s cared for.’’ He says softly.

‘’I know that.’’ Shota mutters back, sighing as he relaxes into the embrace. 

‘’He’ll probably have a record, either way. It’s a shame, he might have made a half-decent hero.’’

—

The chair he’s seated in is familiar, the blue leather pressing against the fabric of his hero costume, uncomfortable as always.

The bright white lights give the room a sterile impression, and the coffee tastes like cheap crap (not that the taste has ever stopped him before.) A handful of familiar police officers and detectives sit around the room, likely mourning the extra hour of sleep forgone for this meeting held at a familiarly early six am.

Routine was something he welcomed, yet even he could feel this particular one weighing on him.

The door handle rattled loudly before stilling, detective Tsukauchi had likely forgotten the trick to opening it in his exhaustion yet again. 

After a silent three seconds there’s a click sound, followed by the door screeching open as the detective steps inside, loafers thumping against the tiled floor. ‘’Morning everyone, sorry for my tardiness. I was held up with an interrogation.’’ He says, voice gruff.

Shota is by no means unfamiliar with being called a workaholic–yet Tsukauchis schedule makes even him wince in sympathy.

Officer Kihara nods his head to the detective in greeting, unusually chipper for this time of day–his daughter must have done well in that competition he had mentioned last week, then.

‘’Eraserhead I’ve distributed your report from last weekend. Good work on your progress, it bodes well that Akuto is allowed that kind of personal freedom.’’ The detective nods and cracks a small smile, taking his regular seat at the head of the room. 

‘’After consulting with the Director, he agrees that we should make our move as soon as possible. Huang seems likely to talk if we bring him in, he’s to be one of our top priorities.’’

There’s a chorus of quiet agreement throughout the room, and the sound of papers shuffling fills the temporary quiet with noise. ‘’Tsukauchi-San,’’ Kihara starts. ‘’The kid–we haven’t properly discussed our course of action regarding him.’’ The man says, clearly itching to have a plan prepared.

Tsukauchi makes a noise of agreement before sighing. ‘’Thank you for reminding me. I’ve been in conversation with a Criminal Psychologist who specialises in cases similar to this. The current plan remains the same: we bring him in for interrogation. We won’t be able to have a set course of action until we can learn more about the situation, I’m afraid’’ 

Shota sits up straighter. ‘’Whatever happens, we have a duty to handle his case with sensitivity. He’s a kid who can still be rehabilitated, we can’t let him down after standing idly by for so long.’’ He says, conviction lacing his words. 

He looks down at the pictures laid out in his file of Akuto. It’s been a while since these photos were taken, yet Akutos appearance has stagnated. The documents detailing potential health risks feel like a weight on his chest–a weight which will remain unchanged until he’s safe in custody.

‘’Sure,’’ Hinae, one of the original officers on the case, suddenly calls. ‘’But I feel we are straying from objectivity. I’m not saying the kid is a villain, but he’s a criminal nonetheless. Let’s not let personal feelings influence us impulsively, Eraser.’’ 

His voice carries an undertone of annoyance. He’s been on this case for years after all. Eraserhead can understand–even respect his position.

Aizawa, on the other hand, feels tempted to yell out in passionate opposition. 

He’ll be the first to admit that he has an unfair bias towards Akuto–He can’t help but look at the situation irrationally. He can’t help but see his students in the boy.

Maybe in another life he would indulge his worst instincts; charge into the hotel singlehandedly and ‘save’ Akuto, ensuring his future be a happy one.

But Eraserhead was too good at his job to let that happen.

‘’I’ll take that into account.’’ He replies.

Tsukauchi mutters something indecipherable before the ancient projector whirrs to life, displaying the detective's screen for the room to view. ‘’Moving along, we need to discuss who should be our priority contacts for the raid. I was considering contacting Edgeshot or Mirko for-’’

—

‘’You’re close, but this is a little off. About fifty years late.’’ He points to the writing on the boys screen, highlighting the notes in need of correction. Akuto huffs and quickly edits it, changing the date to sixteen-thousand as instructed. 

‘’Otherwise, these are impressively thorough notes, good work.’’ He says gruffly. ‘’As good as your students?’’ The boy mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans back, glaring into the screen. 

Aizawa contemplates the answer momentarily, he’d learnt that Akuto has a tendency to be… unpredictable. He’s long given up on contemplating every odd behaviour. 

‘’Undoubtedly.’’ He says genuinely. Despite being older, hero students found it impossible to take anything seriously–too cocky for their own good, believing naively that as long as they train hard enough, everything else is optional. 

The boy hums in response, pointedly refusing eye contact as he waves his hand dismissively. ‘’Whatever, I need to get back to work.’’ He says, closing his laptop and sliding further down into his chair.

He feels the corners of his mouth tick upwards again, but is quick to conceal it behind his gingham scarf as he walks up the familiar stairwell. 

Door locked securely behind him, he changes into his hero gear, tucking his winter scarf and gloves into one of many pockets. 

There’ll be a day when Akuto is apprehended, and they may never see eachother again. It’s probably harmful to the boy, in a way, to encourage this familiarity between them–giving him another thing to lose. 

It’s selfish, and it’s irrational.

The raid is in five months from now, this will end soon. 

But, well, regrets are purely irrational as well, he muses. 

Chapter Text

Hi everyone! The support this fic has gotten has been kind of insane, and motivating. I really appreciate every single person who read my work, and took the time to comment. 

When I started writing this fic I had no intention to write something long, or take it very seriously, I had simply wanted to practise my writing and potentially have something to receive feedback on so I could improve. 

I’m a person who struggles with burn out easily, and loses interest in things quickly. A pretty perfect recipe for an inconsistent author.

I’m sincerely sorry for my lack of communication when it comes to the future of this fic, I’m aware that I reassured people about my plans to continue and I apologise for misleading people, albeit unintentionally. 

I've gotten attached to this fic and I didn’t want to let people down by not having a conclusion, but I can't help but feel that I want to write something which I can be proud of.

I decided that I want to rewrite this fic, and do it properly this time.

I’ve been an avid reader of MHA fanfictions for years now and I’ve read multiple author messages similar to this, and I can’t guarantee that I will genuinely follow through on my plans to rewrite this story. I will try my best, and I hope that I do. 

If I follow through on this, I will release the Prologue with an estimated chapter count, and begin uploading chapters only after I’ve completed writing at least half of them.

If anybody has any questions about Cyclone that you would like answered (progress on the rewriting, general curiosity, even spoilers) please feel free to message me on discord, my username is matryoshkadolli

Thank you for sticking with me, and if you found this fic recently, thank you for taking the time despite it being unfinished.