Chapter Text
If you skimmed through a dictionary, went to the ‘s’ section, and found the definition for the word ‘school’ you’d be told that a school is an institute for educating children.
Yet this six letter word has another meaning most commonly known by children and teenagers, unbeknownst to most adults, - hell on earth.
You wake up at an ungodly hour five days a week, and spend most of your day sitting in rows of identical desks beside hundreds of students in identical uniforms. Students lug around kilos of books that they probably won’t use, and every day they go home, likely with an insatiable urge to commit arson and burn down that hellhole.
Though if you asked the students of U.A, the most prestigious hero school in all of Japan, what they thought of school, they’d spout nothing but praise for the institution, and how it was an honour to be able to attend. But even the most elite of schools have a meaning synonymous with every other school in the world; hell. It’s likely that for the students of U.A, school is more like hell. According to some sources, after hours of their endless training, they swear to have seen the darkest depths of hell before blacking out and arriving at the pearly gates. Some people online speculate that school for these blossoming heroes must be torturous, with schoolwork that is ten times more challenging than the work of your average public school, combined with long hours of extremely physical training.
Though when a certain someone comes to attend U.A in the new school year, it will become just as tortuous for the staff. Several fake cities will be demolished and be in need of repairs, and the school councillors will be working overtime. Who knew someone so… small… would carry so much trauma, rage and emotional baggage?
But there is a certain redhead who will find school to be indistinguishable from hell when he attends school for the first time in his 16 years of life. He never would have thought he'd end up attending a school such as U.A high. This boy was illiterate up until a few months ago! Even now it can be very difficult for him to figure out what the fuck those letters meant.
So with his literacy struggles, combined with attending the most prestigious hero school in the country, life will be like hell for the one and only Chuuya Nakahara.
–
Chuuya Nakahara can't stand his partner, the other half of Double Black, Osamu Dazai.
Anger simmered within Chuuya, as he stormed into the garage where his motorbike was kept. Despite that rat-bastard Dazai's nagging about dumping it, he would never throw it away. It was a gift from his late friend Albatross after all.
Oh yeah, his constant nagging and whining was another reason to hate Dazai!
‘Hate’ is a strong word, but it's the only one that can accurately describe how he feels about the bandaged maniac. Though you could also say he ‘detested’ the boy ,but it's hard to hate him for long, when he uses that adorable face of his against you. That stupid fish can just go die for all he cares.
Chuuya’s enraged, pure hate and boiling anger coursing through his veins. While plucking his helmet from the rack on which it sat, he had to be sure he had not activated For the tainted sorrow. He reallllyyyy wasn't in the mood to replace another helmet.
He had gotten into a heated argument with Dazai not even half an hour ago. Although the trust they held for each other had deepend after Chuuya had first used Corruption against the Demonic Beast Guivre a month or two ago, that didn't mean that they didn't argue any less.
If anything, they argued more, and the revelation of Chuuya’s past gave the bandaged executive more leverage to throw in Chuuyas face if he was ever at risk of losing an argument. Dazai hardly ever lost their serious arguments, it was an extremely rare occurrence that he would be backed into a corner.
Usually when Chuuya won, he'd relish his victory, opening a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru to celebrate.
But all he felt like doing now was to set that wretched Port Mafia headquarters ablaze. Yet he didn't. He knew that the Boss still knew the whereabouts of the remaining members of the Sheep. Mori would likely punish Chuuya by killing them. Despite Chuuya’s apparent betrayal of the organisation, and how they turned on him when they teamed up with the GSS - he still cared for them. They were all just kids after all.
Some may say that Chuuya is just a kid as well, but Chuuya knew better.
He couldn’t be a kid. Children were, well, childish and innocent, but equally as mischievous and naïve. They were all the traits that made them human, something Chuuya wasn’t and could never be. He knew he wasn't human.
And it was apparent that Dazai knew as well.
Chuuya needed to blow off some steam after their shouting match. And was there any better way of doing it than speeding around on his motorbike faster than the speed of light?
It was a common occurrence for the citizens of Yokohama to see a pissed off ginger teen terrorise the streets of the city.
But the boy didn't mean to terrorise anyone- he didn't realise that driving at an ungodly speed in highly populated areas (even at night, with no one out) would strike terror into the hearts of citizens.
Well, Chuuya was going to continue going on his motorbike rides for years to come.
He grips the handles, already out on the road. He twists them, relishing in the roar of the engine. There was something satisfying about the way the petrol smelled as the engine burnt it, and the way the wind flowed through his hair.
Speaking of hair, he hastily tied it up with the bobbin he kept on his wrist, waiting for the garage door to lift up. When it did, he tugged on his helmet, and sped off into the night.
The buildings either side of him soon faded into an illegible blur, the twists and turns of the city was enough to distract him from his earlier argument.
Enough for him to ignore the hurtful words Dazai threw at him, and to ignore the words he spat back in retaliation.
☆☆☆
The brown haired boy was distraught, anyone within a 10 metre radius of him could tell. Despite the fact that half of his face was hidden by bandages, how he was feeling was painfully obvious. Distressed and panicked. The other half of Double Black was opposite him, pure rage radiating off of him.
This wasn't like their usual arguments. Usually the two would have short, half-assed rows about stuff that doesn't matter. This was more serious, tension and emotions were high, and they'd spout any random bullcrap in order to get the upperhand.
☆☆☆
Chuuya grit his teeth, revving his motorbike some more. It was just Dazai, since when has he paid attention to his insults? He never has, so he shouldn't start now. Leaning forward, he grips both the handle and his hat in his right hand as he speeds up. He's surpassed the speed limit by a lot at this point.
☆☆☆
“You can't just charge in there with your gun and start shooting randomly, that's a shitty strategy, dumbass!” Chuuya yelled.
“Well, I'd like to see you come up with something better, Slug. And besides, it worked, didn't it?” Dazai shrugged, huffing at his incompetent dog's behaviour.
Chuuya scoffed, a red hue enveloping his form. “Hardly! It took out half of the opposition and half of our. Fucking. Subordinates. I had to save both your ass from the enemy and our subordinates from your… your… psychotic episode!”
“I wouldn't expect a slug to understand my excellence.”
“Excellence? Even an idiot like you should have a heart and realise that taking out our subordinates, our allies is a shitty idea!!!”
“They were just low ranking grunts, Chibi, give it a rest. You're far too emotional, you wouldn't understand.” Dazai sighed. “Let's just go to the arcade.”
“You're right, I don't fucking understand. And at least I have emotions. You're eyes are fucking blank, and you destroy everything you come in contact with. It's inhumane, so I will not be hanging out with a prick like you.”
Dazai's gaze immediately darkened. It was a look he hardly ever turned on Chuuya, but he didn't appreciate this prodding at his identity. If Chuuya was going to fuel his identity crisis, he would do the same for him. It was only fair.
“‘Inhumane?’ You're one to talk, Chuuya. I should never have expected you to understand anything I have ever said to you regarding humanity.”
Chuuya froze, eyes widening, the red hue deepening into a crimson.
“Care to elaborate, asshole?”
“You do not expect a dog to understand human matters, do you? You do not understand why I did as I did because you weren't programmed to. Last time I checked, you're 2,518 lines of code. So think of that next time you decide to interfere and question human matters.”
Dazai’s tone was ice cold, chilling him to the bone.
So why did it cause his heart to burn so?
He clenched his fists, staring Dazai dead in the eyes. Those cold, dark, blank eyes. How could he have the nerve to say that to Chuuya when he's… well, himself?
He was hardly human at this point.
He focused his gaze away from Dazai’s face, so not seeing the instant regret that flooded his expression.
“At least I know I'm not hu-” Chuuya snapped, unable to bring himself to finish his sentence. “You lost your humanity long ago, how have you not realised that? Do you ignore those fucking dead eyes every time you look in the mirror? You're just an emotionless wind up doll, not even human anymore! You'll always be Mori's puppet, you'll never change, you selfish prick.”
He turned fast on his heels, and stomped towards the exit, a storm of rage brewing within him.
“I don't know why I ever fucking thought we could have been friends.”
Chuuyas eyes burned as he slammed the door.
No, those were not tears brimming in his eyes.
And no, Osamu Dazai certainly wasn't heartbroken.
☆☆☆
Soon, the brightly-lit buildings of Yokohama whizzed past Chuuya in a blur. He was now riding his motorbike through the outskirts of the city, where it was safe for him to speed up even faster. There wasn't going to be anyone out here that he'd be at risk of hitting, after all.
His grip tightened on his hat, which was surprisingly still in his hands. He was definitely not furious with Dazai, and he was not sorry about what he said in the slightest.
He wasn't going to deal with all that right now.
He came out here to relax, to forget everything, so he could feel the wind in his hair, and the ghostly presence on the flags.
It was odd, but he felt closer to them while he was out on this motorbike. Maybe it was because one of them gifted this to him in his dying breaths, but it brought him great comfort. Out here, it was just him, his motorbike, the city -or just… forest and trees at the moment- and fond memories of the Flags and himself.
…And two men, walking in the middle of the road, and were bound to collide with Chuuya if he didn't do something soon, apparently.
“Shit!” He yelled, lurching to the right, making a sharp turn, slamming his bike off road and into the bushes.
With the sudden encounter affecting Chuuya’s reaction time, he failed to use his Gravity Manipulation to break his fall.
His fall?
The one that occurred when his bike's wheel got caught in a pothole. When his bike stopped, he kept going, slamming his head onto the unforgiving ground upon impact.
As he blinked out of consciousness, the last thing he saw was a sleep-deprived man, one who clearly didn't want to be there.
Not the nicest thing to see before he passed out, but eh, at least it wasn't Dazai.
—
Pro Hero Eraserhead didn't really know what he was getting into when he, albeit reluctantly, agreed to patrol the borders of Yokohama.
Yokohama was notorious for being a crime-infested quirkless city, which was shrouded in mystery. No one really knew what went on in there, as any hero sent in search of information never came out. Not in one piece anyway.
It was always the work of the ruthless Port Mafia that did them in.
Sometimes, the HSPC offices will be in mass panic, as they would have received the remains of their beloved heroes in a box.
Never usually in one piece.
On the rare occasion this did happen, there was always a blood-stained note accompanying the bodies.
They read: “courtesy of double black :p”.
Just that.
Written alongside a carefree emoticon, as if this was a prank played by children, not a crime of the highest order.
Now, Eraserhead wasn't exactly fond of his fellow heroes. Most were loud and boisterous, very irritating indeed (like his Husband, Hizashi Yamada, who accompanied him on his patrol.). But they were all good people, who have done no wrong and did nothing to deserve the horrible fates bestowed upon them by this “Double Black”.
But what made him even more unsettled than this was the teenage boy they had found on the roads a kilometer or two from Yokohama. Well, the boy that almost ran them over while he was going at an ungodly speed on his motorbike.
The boy that Eraserhead was sitting outside a hospital room for, hours after his allotted time for work had officially ended.
Now he was sitting here as Shota Aizawa, and his husband not as Present Mic, but as Hizashi Yamada.
The boy looked so fearful, that was what Aizawa concluded. He had only seen his expression for a few moments, but it was painfully obvious.
What horrors could this boy have been fleeing from? It must be something horrible, if the speed he was travelling at was any indication. And he must have stolen that motorbike in desperation to escape. How would a boy of 15 or 16 get his hands on a motorbike otherwise?
He’d heard that the Port Mafia had been expanding as of late, ever since the change in bosses a year ago. Though the Pro Heroes weren’t too sure if this was accurate information or not, as they had very few, if any, informants within the city that remained alive. The Port Mafia had eradicated them all within a matter of days after they first arrived.
They even assigned their most feared executive, who’s horrifying reputation had somehow managed to spread through hushed whispers to Mustafu.
The Demon Prodigy, half of Double Black, responsible for the deaths of multiple pro heroes.
Even here, in Mustafu, a two hour drive from their home city, the mafioso struck fear into the hearts of those who heard just a fraction of the atrocities they’ve commited. Although the presence of a Mafia in the crime-ruled city of Yokohama was common knowledge, the Demon Prodigy; Double Black and their list of crimes was kept under wraps as classified information as to not cause mass panic within the public.
When Aizawa was first assigned the job of patrolling Yokohama’s borders, he was given a brief description of the assumed appearance and age range of the Demon Prodigy, as well as their list of crimes.
To say that Aizawa was horrified would be an understatement.
He was given a list that was two A4 pages long. And the list was just an estimate. It was likely that they had commited much more. To add to his shock, the list excluded the crimes they could’ve commited as a part of Double Black.
Aizawa felt devastated for the citizens of Yokohama. He could only imagine what life must be like there with such a tyrant roaming the streets. It must be horrendous and filled with endless bloodshed. Not to mention how the city was impenetrable from the outside, and it was most likely the same from within. It must be an inescapable hell on earth, and yet countless quirkless people move there every year. They mustn’t know what they were getting into.
Most of all, he held the most worry for the children. He wasn’t exactly fond of kids, but he wouldn’t stand for anything remotely bad happening to them. He had heard rumours of a street gang made of kids in Yokohama a while ago, courtesy of arms dealers being arrested while attempting to cross Yokohama’s borders.
What’s the name of the gang again…?
Oh, The Sheep.
Regardless of any minor crimes those children may have committed, Aizawa prayed that they were safe from the tyranny of the ability users-
Aizawa felt a reassuring hand rest on his shoulder. He snapped his head to the left, relaxing when he saw the soft smile of Hizashi Yamada.
Hizashi tilted his head. “Shota, I can practically hear you worrying from here, you need to relax. The Little Listener will be fine, trust me.”
Aizawa said nothing, his gaze lingering on his husband’s hand.
For the moment, he should stop worrying about Yokohama, and focus on the wellbeing of the child they managed to save from that hellhole.
The door in front of them swings open, and out stepped a nurse, her mask hanging from her ear, wearing a concerned expression laced with horror.
Aizawa leapt to his feet, approaching the young woman. Hizashi followed suit, moving with less urgency than Aizawa, as if to ease his nerves with his calm movements.
“How is he?” Aizawa questions, feeling like a worried parent. (Hizashi smiled softly at this, maybe he should get some adoption papers ready?) The nurse eyed the two men’s hero attire, and quickly spoke up.
“Just so you know, he’s currently unconscious and in no shape to sit through an interrogation.”
“Don’t worry, we are not here for an interrogation, we’re off duty at the moment. We just want to know how he is doing.”
The nurse instantly relaxes, albeit slightly, but her look of concern does not fade.
“Well, he certainly has a concussion. It’ll heal without a problem, and there’s no sign of any internal bleeding. But, seeing as he’s from…” She hesitates, and shivers as she speaks the city’s name. “...Yokohama… we made sure to inspect him for any other injuries…”
Aizawa had a bad feeling in his gut, what injuries could this nurse be so concerned about?
“And? Did you discover any injuries?” His voice was flat, professional, not displaying any of the worry that he was currently feeling.
The nurse shook her head. “No, it’s-” She sighs, worked up about something. She stands to the side, holding the door to the hospital room open for the two heroes. “It’d be best if you saw for yourself.”
As they walked into the room, Aizawa was ahead, Hizashi held his hand carefully and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Lying on the bed, there was the ginger boy, hooked up to a heart monitor. Even while unconscious, he looked stressed, like he was fretting about something.
But they couldn’t dwell on it for long, Aizawa’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the boy's torso. He was shirtless, revealing a multitude of scars on the small boy's body.
Two scars that appeared to be the result of puncture wounds.
A few bullet scars.
Large, curled spotted scars wound up his arms, legs, and were faint on his cheeks, hardly noticeable.
A puckered scar the result of a stab wound rested on his gut.
There were many more, but they couldn’t take them in before another nurse gestured them towards the head of the bed. The nurse gently tilted the boy’s head to the side, revealing a tattoo on the back of his neck.
Not just a tattoo, but a serial number.
A258.
What the fuck has this kid gone through?