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When Nemuri was offered a job by the Hero Public Safety Commission, she thought it was the opportunity of a lifetime.
They found her after Oboro’s death, promised that if she worked with them, they would help her become strong enough to protect her closest friends—that she would never have to suffer loss like that again. It’s rare for the Commission President himself to take interest in any heroes who have not yet breached the top twenty; let alone a student. But he came to Nemuri himself, insisted her quirk was perfect for the sort of hero they were looking to sponsor.
And, like a fool, she took his open hand believing it to be her saving grace.
She graduated from UA and stepped straight into the open maw of the Hero Commission with bright eyes and hope for her future—
and then its teeth closed in on her throat.
At eighteen years old, the Commission President tells Nemuri: “Your quirk is perfect for assassinations.”
“Assassinations?” Nemuri repeats, certain she must not have heard him right. Heroes don’t assassinate people; they save people. Sure, they fight villains, but it’s never supposed to be a fight to kill. Villains are locked up in jail. They aren’t killed unless something goes wrong.
“Yes,” the President says. “Once a target is subdued by your quirk, there is no way for them to fight against you. It makes for an easy kill, wouldn’t you say?”
Nemuri shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t… I thought I was supposed to be helping—”
“Death is the only way to truly stop those who oppose heroes,” he interrupts. “The villain who caused the death of your friend had already been captured once. If he were simply killed instead of detained, your friend would not have died. You will stop something like that from happening again.”
It sounds wrong, but a violent desire to avenge Oboro tears through Nemuri’s chest. She can’t watch Shouta or Hizashi die like he did, and she can’t let his death have been in vain. Loud Cloud could have been a hero to rival even All Might. How many young aspiring heroes might Nemuri save by eliminating threats before they can bring harm to kids who have yet to reach their full potential?
“Okay,” she agrees, jaw set. “I’ll work with you.”
Lady Nagant graduated from Shiketsu Academy and began work as an underground hero straight after. Nemuri first hears of her years later, when she joins the UA staff as a teacher of modern hero art history. The Commission president sneers at the news, insisting she’s limiting herself and that she could be of much more use to society if she hadn’t ignored his offer to work with him.
But with the blood on Nemuri’s hands, she isn’t so sure that’s true.
Nemuri blinks, trying to gain her bearings and blinded by the sun until a purple-hued shadow steps in the way of it. It takes her several moments longer to register the sight before her as Lady Nagant, with one hand extended, backlit by vibrant light and grinning down at her.
“I dealt with him,” Nagant assures her. “The police are taking him into custody now.”
“Thanks,” Nemuri mumbles. She’s lucky this wasn’t a special Commission assignment and just a run-of-the-mill thief who’d used his quirk to rob a convenience store right where she happened to be on patrol. She doesn’t remember hearing anything about Nagant being assigned to this area today, but they aren’t too far from UA, so maybe she just happened to be in the area.
Nemuri reaches for Nagant’s hand, and for a moment, in the shadows, she swears it’s stained red.
She blinks, and it’s gone.
Nagant tugs her to her feet. Her eyes glimmer in a way that is so reminiscent of the way Nemuri’s once did. Back when she was in high school, before Oboro’s death, before the Commission snatched her up and turned her into a weapon. Back when she was confident hero was synonymous with good.
“I didn’t mean to steal your thunder,” Nagant says. “I was actually on my way to get groceries when I saw the fight, and it looked like you could use some help.”
Nemuri smiles, trying to think up some witty response while her thoughts are haunted by bloodstains she knows she’s washed off. “I don’t mind a little tagteaming.” She winks.
Nagant snorts. She pats Nemuri’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Midnight.”
Nemuri watches her walk away, heart splitting down the middle. Is it fair for her to run after someone who shines brighter than the sun when Nemuri herself will only ever be the darkest part of the night? Nagant is the hero she longed to be—she reminded her why she wanted to be a hero in the first place with nothing but a smile and an outstretched hand.
But if Nemuri touches her for too long, she’s afraid she will dim that light.
Hizashi begs her to hang out, persisting via a hundred calls and texts until Nemuri has no choice but to agree. She shows up to a bar and finds him in a booth with Shouta at his side and Lady Nagant across from him. Nemuri stops in her tracks at the sight. She wasn’t aware either Hizashi or Shouta knew Nagant, but then again, she hasn’t spoken much to either of them recently. No reason to worry them. Not when she’s doing all of this for their sakes anyway.
“Midnight!” Nagant greets with a wave. “I was so excited when Yamada-kun said you’d be coming!”
Nemuri smiles. She hopes it doesn’t look as plastic-y as it feels.
She slides into the empty seat beside Nagant. “I had no idea you knew my two favorite kouhai!”
“Aizawa-kun and I did some undercover work together during the summer holiday,” she explains. Shouta grunts in affirmation. “I’m trying to convince him to apply for a teaching position at UA.” She heaves out a sigh, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hands. “The turnover rate is crazy high. Most people can’t handle the chaos.” Her eyes light up, and she turns to Nemuri, grabbing her hands. “You should apply too! I know the students would just adore you!”
Nemuri’s heart stammers. Nagant’s hands are warm and strong, and Nemuri would make a home in them if she could, but when she looks down, she sees dark red caked beneath her fingernails. Even if the Commission permitted it, how could she possibly teach a new generation of heroes while carrying out assassinations after nightfall? How could any hero-in-training trust someone who has shed more blood than any villain?
She slips her hands from Nagant’s hold. “Alas! I doubt the Commission would let me.” A melodramatic sigh falls from her lips as she swings her gaze over to Shouta. “I would love to see you in a classroom, though, dear Shouta-kun~”
Shouta glares at her.
“You’ll be with Tsutsumi-san and I!” Hizashi exclaims, slinging an arm over Shouta’s shoulders. “What better company could you ask for?”
“Literally anyone else in the world,” he deadpans. He pauses, thinking for a moment. “Well, I suppose Tsutsumi-san isn’t so bad when she’s alone. I do not trust her in the presence of the rest of the UA staff, though.”
“Booo,” Tsutsumi pouts.
Nemuri tries not to think of the woman beside her as a replacement her friends found in her absence. It doesn’t matter. She pulled away from them on purpose; because it’s best for all of them. There’s no reason she should be upset. She doesn’t hate Tsutsumi for being close with Shouta and Hizashi in the way she once was, and she doesn’t hate Shouta and Hizashi for being close with Tsutsumi in the way she longs to be. Everything is absolutely completely totally FINE.
(She is so glad Hizashi chose for them to go to a bar. She does not want to be sober for this.)
They talk over their drinks, and Nemuri carefully avoids sharing anything of any importance in regards to her work, and the Commission, and the fact that she now knows all of the quickest ways to kill someone with her own hands. Tsutsumi shares stories about her students, Hizashi bubbles with excitement about the application he’s already turned into UA, and they both try to coax Shouta into joining them. Nemuri hovers on the edge of the conversation, until Tsutsumi invites her back in and asks If you could teach, what subject would you want?
Nemuri mulls over the question for a moment. She swirls the drink in her glass. “Not sure. Probably same thing as you.”
Tsutsumi beams. “I bet you’d be great at it!”
Nemuri sort of wants to cry.
Instead, she leans into Tsutsumi’s space and murmurs, “You don’t have to suck up to me; I already like you~”
Tsutsumi flushes. “I’m not sucking up,” she promises. “I think you could do anything you set your mind to, Kayama.”
Kayama. Not Midnight. Here, in the corner of this bar, Nemuri is not the silent killer who masquerades as a hero. With her friends, she is merely Kayama Nemuri and she is allowed to be human. She’s allowed to experience love and desire and anger and fear and joy and everything in between.
“Really?” she purrs, ghosting her fingers along Tsutsumi’s arm.
Shouta clears his throat loudly. “Have you forgotten we’re here too?”
Tsutsumi yelps, pulling back. “Sorry—!”
“Don’t be homophobic,” Nemuri interrupts. She takes hold of Tsutsumi’s arm, wrapping her own around it, then grins smugly at Shouta. “It’s not my fault you have impeccable taste in friends.”
Hizashi laughs loudly.
Shouta’s glare darkens.
For a little while, Nemuri’s skies brighten.
She and Kaina fall into each other as if they were meant to be in the other’s life, and Kaina pulls Nemuri from her spiral into darkness. They hang out with Shouta and Hizashi, and they go on dates alone, and Nemuri ends up at Kaina’s home more nights than not. Her own apartment is a vast, sprawling, prison cell. It’s empty and too-quiet and void of all life. Kaina’s, on the other hand, is small but cozy. There are paintings on the walls and books on the shelves; there are plants which she tends to every day and a handful of magnets on the fridge.
She treats the place she lives like a home, rather than simply somewhere to shelter between missions. And when Nemuri is with Kaina, she feels that sense of home too.
They keep things between them quiet—the Commission would never approve, and heroes are generally better off hiding their relationships from the public eye. But hidden away in Kaina’s apartment, where no one else can reach them, Nemuri lets herself fall in love.
Kaina finds her in the bathroom at four in the morning, feverishly scrubbing her hands with soap and steaming water. It’s been several days since her last mission from the HPSC, but Nemuri can still feel the stickiness of the blood clinging to her skin. She doesn’t want Kaina to see it—can’t let her know about the sins she hides, can’t let this fall apart. Kaina was the one who reminded Nemuri why she agreed to this job. She’s protecting the people she loves. All of this is for those she cherishes most, so she won’t lose any of them in the same way she did Oboro.
But if they find out—
If Kaina learns what she truly is—
“Nemuri?” she asks, voice heavy with sleep. “What’re you doing?”
“I had to use the restroom,” she lies. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Kaina shakes her head. She crosses the room, coming to a stop beside Nemuri, and shuts the faucet off. Nemuri’s compulsive scrubbing halts. Is her skin red because she’s rubbed it raw, or because of the blood? It must be the blood. It looks like blood. She reaches to turn the water back on, but Tsutsumi intercepts her.
“I—”
“I won’t ask you to explain,” Kaina interrupts. She grabs the towel from the hook on the wall, taking care to dry Nemuri’s hands gently. They don’t deserve a touch so soft. She deserves to have them cut off. “But I wish you would talk to me.”
Nemuri looks away. “I had a nightmare,” she mumbles. A half-truth. It’s all she can offer. In her dream, Kaina’s blood was pouring out over her, and the knife in her throat was Nemuri’s. Everything was sticky and wet and all she remembers at the end is screaming and screaming and screaming but no sound would come out.
Kaina purses her lips. She hangs the towel back up. Her silence eats at Nemuri, taunts her, says This is not sustainable. Says, You knew how this would end from the very beginning; why did you let yourself believe it could go any other way?
“I know there are things you don’t tell me,” Kaina says slowly, “and I don’t want to push you before you’re ready. But please,” she clutches Nemuri’s hands in hers, clinging to them as if they could save her. As if she has ever managed to save anyone. That’s the goal, right? Save Shouta and Hizashi, and Kaina as well. Take any preventative measures necessary so they can live a long and happy life, disregarding whatever the cost might be for Nemuri herself. She would give her life for theirs in a heartbeat.
What difference is giving up her soul instead?
“Promise you’ll come to me before your secrets destroy you.”
Nemuri’s lips twitch up into a smile. Her hands sting, but as long as they’re wrapped up in Kaina’s, she can ignore the pain.
She feeds Kaina the lie she knows she needs to hear: “I promise.”
In the end, there are two things that lead to Pro Hero Midnight’s defection.
1.
Kaina invites Nemuri to give her students a lecture. After much back and forth and a highly unpleasant conversation with the Commission President, Nemuri finds herself on the campus of UA for the first time since her graduation. She’d been pointedly avoiding it on account of the Commission’s feud with Principal Nezu, and also because she didn’t want to taint the memories from her time here.
There was no way for her to avoid every place she visited with her friends throughout her youth, but UA was sacred ground. Someone like Nemuri should not be allowed to step foot past the barrier, tracking blood everywhere she goes.
But Kaina begged, and the Commission decided it would be a good idea to strengthen bonds with the school, by which they meant, they wanted Nemuri to play spy and report back to them if she caught wind of any questionable activities happening under Nezu’s order. Nezu greets her at the entrance, though, and the glint in his eyes informs her that he knows exactly what her unspoken mission here is.
She smiles tightly at him. “Long time no see.”
“Indeed,” he agrees. “I will escort you to Tsutsumi-san’s classroom.”
Nemuri bows her head. “I appreciate it.”
She knows her way around campus, of course, but she doesn’t know exactly which classroom she will be lecturing in first. And if Nezu remains by her side as she traverses the distance between the entrance gate and the school building, she won’t have a chance to snoop around on behalf of the Commission President.
When she arrives, Nemuri slides open the door with a flourish. She strides into the room, head held high and chest puffed out, wiggling her fingers in a wave at the students before blowing a kiss to Kaina, who stands behind the lectern in her hero costume. Her long, vibrant, hair is pulled into a high ponytail and, despite the fact that she’s not actively fighting, her eyepiece still rests on the right side of her face, violet lens covering her eye.
“Welcome in, Midnight! I was starting to worry you might not show.” She raises an eyebrow playfully.
Nemuri flips her hair. “I got caught up in some dirty business on the way here,” she fibs. The real reason she’s running behind is because she sincerely did not want to get out of bed this morning. She comes to a stop beside Kaina, hip checking her for good measure. “I hope your students haven’t been too naughty in the meantime~”
Kaina laughs like the prettiest song Nemuri has ever heard. “I doubt the kids are much different than when you were here—in both the good and the bad.”
She cedes the floor to Nemuri, and the lecture itself actually goes fine. It’s fun, even, and most of the students are very receptive. In another life, maybe Nemuri really would have decided to become a teacher. She’d probably be better off for it.
The problem doesn’t arise until lunch, when Kaina is walking her from the cafeteria to the teachers’ lounge. One of the students from the first class she spoke to catches them in the hallway, face flushed and movements shy.
“Midnight-san,” she says, “um, I was wondering if…maybe I could get your autograph…? I’m a huge fan—”
“Of course, dear.” Nemuri hands her food to Kaina to hold so she can sign the student’s notebook. But when she goes to grab it, she sees red on her hands.
Sticky red blood stains the skin. There’s so much. There is so much. She blinks, trying to make the vision disappear, but when her eyes open once more, the red is still there. It’s dripping down her wrists, onto the floor, onto the notebook. It splatters over Kaina’s signature penned in lovely purple ink.
“Midnight?” Kaina asks gently.
She snaps out of her stupor, and the blood is gone.
“Sorry!” she says, too quickly. “Just trying to figure out which angle would be sexiest.”
She signs quickly, dark ink seeping into the page with as much weight as the blood. There’s an apology on the tip of her tongue, which she forces herself to swallow down. The student grins brightly at her when the notebook is returned, and Nemuri hates herself.
She can’t keep doing this.
She can’t keep—
She was supposed to be a hero, she was supposed to save people, but all she’s done is turn herself into hero society’s gravest lie.
2.
The Commission President introduces her to a small, underfed boy with wings sprouting from his back. He calls the boy Hawks and informs Nemuri that the Commission will be sponsoring him as a hero the same way they do for her. But instead of sending him to a hero school, they will train him themselves.
“Oh,” Nemuri replies dimly. The boy is still peering up at her curiously, finger digging into an Endeavor plushie. He can’t be older than ten. They’re going to turn him into a murderer.
They’re going to make sure he doesn’t have any of the same hang-ups as Nemuri. They’re going to squash any hope inside of him before it has the chance to bloom. They’re going to fashion him into the truly perfect weapon that Nemuri could never be.
Didn’t Nemuri agree to this so no one else would suffer the same fate?
Didn’t Nemuri agree to this so she could save people? Take down the villains before they have a chance to snuff the life out of anyone else.
Take down the villain before they have a chance to snuff the life out of anyone else.
If Nemuri herself is no better than any villain after all of the blood she’s shed, then hero and villain cannot be clear-cut terms as she was made to believe. And if hero and villain are not so easy to define, then what is stopping Nemuri from writing her own definitions according to everything she’s experienced over the past few years?
“You’re pulling away,” Kaina notes, having caught Nemuri on her way out of the apartment hours before the sunrise. She doesn’t chase after her; simply stands in place with her arms crossed, light from the street outside shining through the window and illuminating her face. She doesn’t even look angry. She just looks sad.
“No, I’m—”
“Nemuri.”
Her shoulders slump. “You’ll understand soon,” she promises. To inform Kaina of her plans beforehand would make her an accomplice, and Nemuri won’t put the lives of her friends in jeopardy because of her own mistakes. She’s going to save them. She’s going to do the only thing she still can to save them. She’s going to assassinate the villain before he can get his grubby hands on any other hero hopefuls and kill their light in the same way he did hers.
After all, her quirk is perfect for assassinations. Once her target is subdued by her quirk, there is no way for them to fight against her.
It makes for such an easy kill.
“You know you can always talk to me,” Kaina tries. There’s nothing Nemuri wants more, but she can’t. This is a weight she must carry on her own; a burden only she can bear. For the sake of the world, for the sake of rising heroes, for the sake of her friends.
“I know,” Nemuri tells her, blood on her tongue. “I just— I have to go. I’m sorry.”
She reaches for the doorknob behind her, twists, and runs without looking back.
Killing really is as simple as putting someone to sleep.
Nemuri stays with the body as security breaks into the room, too late to do anything. She allows herself to be cuffed and dragged away. With venom, she tells the Commission’s second-in-command, That winged kid you have will turn on you in the same way if you treat him like you did me.
Her face pales.
Nemuri grins.
For the first time since she accepted this job, she feels pure, unadulterated hope bubbling up in her chest. For the first time, she knows she served justice by bloodying her hands, and she feels no regret for the life she took.
She knows, this time, she has done the true hero work of saving someone in need of rescue.